Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.
Author's Note: This is for all of you who have reviewed the last few chapters asking when this was going to be continued. I hope this is worth the wait, and I'll try not to keep you waiting so long for the next part!
Chapter 5 For Now
He struggled to stand up even though it felt like his bones were being crushed. He had to stand; he couldn't do this while kneeling. He would not kneel to him, not with him standing there laughing after he cast the Cruciatus.
"Still so stubborn, refusing to accept the inevitable. You're a fool," Voldemort mocked in his cold rasp of a voice. "Just as much of a fool as your parents were, and you'll die just like they did."
The mention of his parents pushed him to his feet, his wand trembling in his white-knuckled grasp. He hurt, all over, and his scar was burning, searing, as if someone was holding a red-hot poker to it. But his head was clear. He knew what he had to do.
He watched, carefully, until the very moment Voldemort raised his wand and opened his mouth. The split second when he too yelled "Stupefy!" It was the only hex he could think of at the moment. He knew it would have no more effect on Voldemort than a mosquito bite but it served the purpose.
A jet of white light shot out from his wand and hit the jet of green light from Voldemort's. And again, the two beams of light connected, merged, and held, turning gold and thrumming with power. Beads of white light were moving along the merged beam of light connecting the two wands.
It was exactly the way it had been three years ago in the graveyard in Little Hangleton, the same gold light and the same power making the light hum. And there was the phoenix song, clear and sweet and pure.
It was the same and yet different. Then he hadn't known what was going to happen; now he did and he was ready. Or if not exactly ready, as close to it as he was ever going to be. He was alone, again, just as he had been that night, but he knew he had an army behind him, a silent army and a small one, but a powerful one for all that. The army of the dead, those who had already died in the war to defeat Voldemort. He knew his parents were there, knew it as if he could see them. Sirius was there; Hagrid, Dumbledore, Mad-Eye Moody, Bill Weasley, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and others, people whom he didn't even know, Aurors and other members of the Order. And he knew they were giving him strength.
And he had Hermione, in his heart and his mind. Could hear her voice in his head, as clearly as if she was standing next to him, saying, "You can do this, Harry. I believe in you." And then, just as she had before every Quidditch game he'd ever been in, "Good luck and be careful, Harry."
His hand and arm was beginning to ache from the grip he had on his wand, that was vibrating with more and more force as the seconds became minutes.
He forgot about the pain in his body, forgot about the way his head felt as if something were trying to claw its way out of his skull. All he was aware of, every particle of his mind and body and heart were focused on the light connecting his wand to Voldemort's. Pushing the beads of light away from him and into Voldemort's. The beads trembled, hesitated and then slowly, began to move towards Voldemort, whose eyes were wide with impotent rage as he watched. The first bead of light just touched the tip of Voldemort's wand; the phoenix song was interrupted by a shriek of pain coming from Voldemort's wand.
And he knew the moment was right. It was time.
He closed his eyes, drawing up every last reserve of magical power left in him. And he thought of Hermione, saw her face in his mind as he'd last seen it, streaked with tears but smiling bravely, because he'd once told her he didn't want her crying face to be his last memory before he left.
He opened his eyes again, saw the red glare of his nemesis. "Deleo Spiritus!" The words came from his throat with every last bit of energy he had inside him, with the power of all the anger, sorrow, fear and hate he'd ever felt because of Voldemort.
There was a flash of blinding white light, a last shriek from Voldemort, one long drawn out "Noooooooooo!" Harry staggered back a step as he felt the surge of pure magic, of life, rush into him.
And then there was nothing.
Just a pile of black robes where Voldemort had been standing and on top of that, his wand.
Harry dropped his arm, breathing hard, feeling his legs beginning to weaken now that the tension was gone. He faltered but then managed to stagger the steps until he reached the pile of cloth and the wand that was all that remained of Voldemort.
Just one last thing to do and then his mission was done.
A quiet "Incendio" and the robes were lit on fire, burning, until there was only a pile of ashes.
He bent, took Voldemort's wand in his hands, and broke it in half. It had already wreaked enough destruction. Never again.
The world was beginning to swim around him. He staggered and then fell, still clutching the two halves of Voldemort's wand along with his in one hand. With the other, he reached into his own robes, his fingers closing around a handkerchief, the one personal object he'd brought, charmed to be a Portkey, the handkerchief Hermione had once lent him to clean his glasses which he'd inadvertently not returned.
His last memory was of the jerk he felt as if a hand was pulling him along by his navel. The world spun around him. He was going home…
And then the world went black.
Harry awoke with a start and a gasp, looking around disoriented for a moment.
And then he remembered. He was in Hermione's flat, in her guest bedroom. He had come home, to England and to her…
It had just been a dream, his usual one, reliving the last battle against Voldemort. Just a dream…
He relaxed back into the pillows, shuddering slightly as he thought of that last moment of Voldemort's life. He hated to think of it, and yet he dreamed of it constantly, as if his unconscious mind was trying to force him to accept what his conscious mind didn't want to.
He looked down at his hands, clenched into fists clutching the blankets and forcibly relaxed them, before slowly, almost reluctantly as if some force other than his mind was making him do this, he lifted his hand, his gaze fixed on the small clock beside the bed, watching as the clock wobbled a little before floating upwards. He lowered his hand and the clock settled back down on the nightstand.
He closed his eyes, a grimace of something like pain crossing his features. He didn't know why he kept doing things like that, tentative tests of his own power, when every time only confirmed his thoughts. Told him the truth of who and what he was…
Harry's thoughts were interrupted by a tentative knock at the door followed by Hermione's voice asking softly, "Harry? Are you alright?"
He reached over and put on his glasses as he answered, "Yes, come in."
The door opened to reveal Hermione, still in her pajamas, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.
Harry swallowed and promptly decided to keep his gaze fixed on her face. Not that Hermione's pajamas were at all revealing; they were as practical and simple as one could expect from Hermione. It was just seeing Hermione, whom he'd loved for so long and missed so much, like this, just awoken from her sleep… There was an intimacy to the situation, heightened by the fact that it was still night, an intimacy that made his heart clench with a mixture of longing and fear. Seeing Hermione when she woke up every morning- was this something like what she would look like? He wanted that, wanted her- but he couldn't have her… She was his best friend; he would accept that and be grateful for it…
Hermione sat down on the edge of the bed, frowning slightly as she studied him. Her eyes, made sharp from years of worrying about him and loving him, noted the shadows in his eyes, the lines around his mouth, making him look older than his years. "Hey, are you okay?" she asked softly, trying to keep her concern out of her voice.
"Yeah," he answered briefly.
She tilted her head to one side, eyes narrowing slightly as she looked at him. "Was it a bad nightmare?"
"How did-" Harry began and then stopped.
He looked as if he rather regretted his words but she answered his unfinished question anyway. "I heard you cry out, Harry, and besides, how well do I know you?" Her second question was spoken with a slight smile as she remembered all those years at Hogwarts; they'd been good years even if they had been dangerous at times. Years of getting to know Harry better than she knew anyone else from watching him and thinking about him.
Harry smiled rather sheepishly. "I should have known you'd know."
Hermione returned his smile with a small one of her own. "So what was it about?" she repeated her earlier question gently.
Harry looked away to his hands as they fiddled with the blankets before looking up and meeting Hermione's eyes. Should he tell her? The nightmare itself was basic; she didn't need to know the worst part of it, the part that still haunted him. Did he trust her? Even as he thought the question though, he knew it was a foregone conclusion. Of course he trusted Hermione, with everything he had. It wasn't a question of trust, never had been. Ironically, the problem was trusting her too much… He wasn't ready to tell her everything but he wasn't used to keeping things from Hermione; it felt unnatural… "It was about killing Voldemort," he finally said honestly.
He heard her suck in her breath sharply before she took his hand in both of her own in a gesture of friendship. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked quietly.
For a moment, he hesitated, looking at Hermione, the sympathy and understanding in her eyes. And he thought of all the other times during their years at Hogwarts that he'd told her what was bothering him, all the times she'd comforted him…
But then he thought of his greatest fear-remembered that moment in the Department of Mysteries and Hermione telling him he couldn't attack a baby, even a Death Eater with a baby's head, remembered the horror in her eyes at the thought… Pictured Hermione drawing back from him, the same horror in her eyes; pictured the friendship that had sustained him, the friendship that had kept him alive he often thought, crumbling, the affection he'd seen in her eyes and her smile being replaced with coldness…
And he looked at Hermione and finally answered, "No."
He sensed her slight hurt and softened the harsh word by adding, "Not now, maybe later," and further added but only in thought, Maybe never…
Hermione studied him, seeing the way his face and eyes had closed, going blank, so she couldn't read his thoughts, the expressionless face he adopted when he wanted to shut people out. She sighed. She hated knowing that Harry didn't feel free to tell her things, hated the feeling of being shut out of his thoughts and feelings, after she'd spent their years at Hogwarts with the comforting, if unspoken, knowledge that Harry confided in her, trusted her…
This Harry was different though, no longer the boy she'd known and loved but a man, whom she still loved and so similar in some ways to the boy she knew so well and yet different. There was a new hardness, a resilience, about him-just a hint of a difference in his air and his eyes but it was there, hinting at what he'd gone through in the last duel with Voldemort.
She pressed his hand in a gesture of affection before standing up. "If you're sure…" She bent and brushed her lips against his forehead in a quick kiss.
Harry closed his eyes for a moment, realizing yet again how much he valued Hermione's little touches of friendship. Growing up in a household with no love whatsoever, Hermione's affectionate gestures had been the first ones he'd ever received, the ones that had taught him to give and receive touches as signs of caring, from the first hug he'd ever gotten down below the castle in his first year, to his first kiss in his fourth year… Every little touch, every little gesture, was stored and treasured in his memory. Ron and he clapped each other on the shoulder and occasionally hugged briefly but they weren't like the little casual caresses Hermione bestowed as a matter of course, somehow didn't convey the same depth of feeling, the same level of loyalty… Not that he doubted Ron's friendship or loyalty; it was only that Ron's didn't display itself through gestures. Hermione's did. She had kissed Ron's cheek in their 5th year to wish him luck in the Quidditch match. She kissed his cheek to reassure him that she would always be with him as she had at the end of 4th year, or touched his hand to comfort him, or squeezed his hand before nearly every Quidditch match he'd been in as she told him to be careful… It was simply her way… And after all these years, he had grown from being made uncomfortable by it to expecting those little touches, wanting the reassurance every brief caress conveyed…
"You know I'll always be here to listen when you want to talk," Hermione said simply as she drew back.
He smiled slightly, his eyes warm with affection, the closed look gone. "I know. Thanks."
The words were simple but there was a wealth of meaning in his tone and she smiled, meeting his eyes. He was thanking her not just for tonight's offer of support but for everything-for the years of loyalty, of trust, of faith, and for the years of friendship to come… She knew it and she knew that he knew that she understood, just as she had always been able to understand without words what he meant…
Neither of them said anything more, only a soft "Goodnight" before Hermione left, closing the door behind her, leaving Harry to settle back in the bed, closing his eyes.
Maybe to anyone else listening to the few words they'd spoken, one would have said it had been completely meaningless. But then their communication had always been beyond mere words…
Harry lay back against his pillow, feeling a warmth beyond the mere physical warmth of the blankets. And even the memory of his nightmare and the thought of Voldemort, of himself and Voldemort-didn't seem as chilling as it had been…
And Hermione smiled to herself as she closed the door. Harry was still her Harry for all that…
He still had secrets, yes, had still not told her why he'd left or anything about his final encounter with Voldemort. There were still questions to be answered, still more words to be spoken… but that was for later.
For now it was enough that Harry knew she would always be there for him… Enough for Hermione to know, that whatever secrets he kept, it wasn't from a lack of trust in her. Enough to know that their friendship was as strong as ever, despite the secrets and the months apart…
It was enough. For now…