Authors' Notes: Okay guys, Eowyn and I are truly sorry for the extended delay! The fact that you are still reading this touches our hearts! We appreciate every single one of you! Now off you go to enjoy another chapter in this ever going saga. And as always, please remember to REVIEW!! Your words and thoughts on our hard work are what keep us going. Now Enjoy!
Chapter 5: Talks of Prophecies
Harry stood in the hallway, staring blankly at the door that had just been slammed in his face. He considered calling after Ron, but he couldn't think of anything else to say. After a moment, he went in search of Hermione.
She wasn't in her room. After a moment's hesitation, Harry remembered the library at the far end of the corridor. It had still been full of cobwebs and unpleasant spells the last time he had seen it, but perhaps Dobby had finished cleaning it out since last Christmas. It would be like Hermione to take refuge in a library, even if she had nothing to study.
Harry headed towards the back of the house, still automatically tiptoeing through the corridor that had once been decorated with house-elf heads, even though it had been a long time since anything there had begun screaming at his approach. This may have been why he heard the barely audible sound of weeping through one of the doors on his left.
When he opened the door quietly, another wave of guilt immediately assailed him. Once again, he had forgotten about Aunt Petunia. He stood motionless for a moment, torn between comforting his aunt and continuing his search for Hermione, who--to judge by the look he had seen on her face--was also crying quietly somewhere. But he, Harry, was responsible for Aunt Petunia being here, and he was the only one she had left now. He went in and sat down next to her on the bed.
"It'll be all right, Aunt Petunia." What else could he say? He put a hand on her shoulder.
"I'm all alone, Harry. There's no one left now. Vernon-my Duddy-" she broke down into sobs again.
"I know," Harry said soothingly. "I understand. You're not alone, Aunt Petunia. You have me, and the rest of the Order. We've all seen what Voldemort can do to families, and we're going to stop him. We can't bring anyone back, but we can stop him."
"How-how can you p-possibly understand? You were too young to remember your-your parents."
Harry glanced downwards as the memories came flooding back. When he spoke, he still had to struggle to keep his voice steady.
"You're wrong about that. I hear them die whenever I face a dementor. And I see Cedric. He was only a student, and Voldemort killed him for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And Sirius-" his voice cracked; he stopped and took a deep breath. "Sirius was like a father to me. He was killed trying to save me from Death Eaters. And then last year dementors attacked Hogsmeade-- that's the village next to Hogwarts, but they were all innocent victims-"
Aunt Petunia sniffed and looked at Harry with new respect. "I had no idea. How do you do it, Harry? Go on like nothing's wrong…."
"Is that what you think? That I go on like it never happened? No, Aunt Petunia, just going on at all is hard enough. But you manage. You think about them a bit, and cry a bit, and then you go do what you have to, because people are depending on you." Harry wondered whether that had been the wrong thing to say. It was true enough for him, but Aunt Petunia had just lost the people that depended on her most. However, she seemed heartened by his words. She sat up straighter, wiped her eyes, and glanced around the small bedroom.
"Look at this place," she said briskly. "I've gone and left my suitcase half unpacked with clothes everywhere. Disgraceful, really. It's not that difficult to keep a room tidy…." She stood up and began organizing her belonging quite vigorously. Harry gave a small smile and left her to it.
* * * * * *
Harry awoke the next morning with a groan. Sleep that night had been elusive, punctuated with nightmares in which Bellatrix Lestrange featured largely. He smothered his face in the pillow in an effort to block out the blinding sunlight in his eyes and get back to sleep again. It was a futile effort. He finally sat up, and his gaze fell on the bed next to his, where Ron was still snoring loudly.
Harry turned away again, the harsh, jealous words of his quarrel with Ron echoing in his head. He tried to tell himself that it wasn't his fault. He hadn't meant for Ron and Hermione to break up, far from it. Hadn't he done his best to stay out of their way all of last year? Ron and Hermione were his best friends; of course he didn't want them to fight. Why did he feel relieved, then?
"Harry?" Ron's voice called tentatively.
Harry looked at him, cautiously. "What?"
"Harry-I'm sorry about last night, OK? I didn't mean any of it."
Harry nodded slowly, not entirely convinced. Ron kept talking, as if he needed to justify himself.
"I know you couldn't help overhearing. You were just the first person I saw, and so I took it out on you. You just caught me at a bad time, that's all. I said a lot of things I didn't mean. Both of us did."
"Have you apologized to Hermione?" asked Harry.
Ron looked startled, and angry. "I should have known you'd take her side!" he spat. "You and Hermione-both of you-no," he amended. "I'll stay out of it. Just go away."
"Ron, are you all right?"
"I want to be alone. Go away."
Harry wandered down towards the kitchen, thinking vaguely that most of the house must already be awake. He found Mrs. Weasley pouring coffee for Aunt Petunia, while Remus read the morning's Daily Prophet and Hermione looked over his shoulder. Both wore concerned expressions on their faces.
"Hello, Harry," Aunt Petunia said in a rather strained voice. Remus and Hermione looked up at once, and Remus hastily folded the newspaper and laid it on the table.
"Good morning, Harry! Did you sleep well?" he asked, a little too cheerfully. When Harry walked over to the table, Remus rested his arm across the paper, effectively obscuring the headline.
"Stop trying to hide things from me, Remus," Harry said in a warning tone. "Let me see the paper."
"There's nothing in there that you don't already know-"
"Let me see it."
"There's really no need-"
Harry jerked the paper out from under Remus's hand and opened it to the front page.
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Strikes Again!
There has been yet another attempt on the life of the Boy Who Lived, writes Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter. Just yesterday, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and an unidentified number of Death Eaters descended on Number Four, Privet Drive, the Muggle house where, until now, Harry Potter has spent his summers.
It is a well-known fact that, following the miraculous defeat of You-Know-Who over sixteen years ago, Harry Potter was sent to live with his Muggle aunt and uncle. Albus Dumbledore, whose idea it was, seemed confident that Harry's relatives would somehow be able to guard him, despite the deplorable lack of protection about the Muggle neighborhood.
Unfortunately, whatever precautions Dumbledore might have taken failed utterly late yesterday afternoon. Harry Potter, who was not at home, survived once again, but Muggles Vernon Dursley and Dudley Dursley, Harry's uncle and cousin, were brutally murdered with Unforgivable Curses. The alarm was raised when a passing Squib, Arabella Figg, chanced to see the Dark Mark floating in the sky over Number Four, Privet Drive. Ministry officials, arriving at the scene too late, found the following message written on the wall of the living room:
Your time is up, Harry Potter.
"Either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…"
Cryptic though this message may seem, the Daily Prophet has confirmed that it in fact refers to a prophecy made years ago, concerning the eventual fates of both Harry Potter and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. It was believed that this prophecy was lost without ever having been heard, but recent events suggest that this secret is not as safe as some may have thought it. The Department of Mysteries, which is supposed to keep track of all prophecies, claims to have no knowledge of this regrettable breach in security, calling it "very odd."
Although he refused to speak to reporters, young Harry Potter seemed deeply shocked by yesterday's events. "They were innocent," he kept repeating, "They didn't deserve this." Harry then appears to have expressed his feelings by causing a television (a large, square, Muggle invention) to explode. This action has since been the cause of much concern and speculation, as it occurred without the use of a wand, incantation, or in fact visible magic of any kind. The Boy Who Lived is still full of surprises, it appears. But rest assured, this Daily Prophet reporter is on the case!
"Can you believe this woman?" Harry exclaimed, throwing down the newspaper. "She all but accuses Dumbledore of putting me in danger, and then to say she'll be on the case-"He stopped short, suddenly noticing the look on Hermione's face, not exasperated but anxious. "What is it now?"
Hermione pointed to the line of the prophecy. "Neither can live while the other survives. . . . Harry, what does that mean?"