Author's Note: Well, I'm going back to college tomorrow, so I thought I had better get the next chapter up before I return to class. Let me warn you all right now that I may not be able to update for awhile-I'm sorry. School means homework, papers, and studying…in other words, a busy RL. I'll make as much time for this story as I can, but there are no guarantees. I'd like to thank you all for your reviews (I always enjoy reading them) and also, thanks to Nitya and Kalie for checking this chapter over.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
THE DARKNESS WITHIN
He did not return to the common room until after he was sure everyone was at their first lesson the next morning. He had remained in the Room of Requirement for the whole night, staring at a wall, reliving the moment when he found the younger Ravenclaw in the dungeon. Somewhere along the line, his imagination took control and in his mind's eye he could see a dark figure with a knife stabbing her. Sleep eluded him. He could tell that his eyes were bloodshot as he walked down the corridor to the Fat Lady.
"Where have you been?" she asked. "Merlin-how did you get blood on your robes?"
Harry looked down and examined his robes. The blood that stained them was now dry, as was the blood on his hands. "Fool's gold," he murmured. The Fat Lady sighed, but admitted him.
The common room, as he expected, was quite empty. One thought crossed his mind: Must get the blood off. He walked up to the boys' bathroom, stripped, and stepped into one of the stone showers before turning the nozzle and letting steaming hot water hit him. He did not feel the heat, though; he was too preoccupied by his own thoughts and emotions.
So it was clear: June Winters died because of him, and now Sinead Cassidy had too. Voldemort had them murdered to do what? Attract his attention? Harry leaned against one of the stone walls. Voldemort had his attention from the very moment Harry had learned that he had murdered his parents. He could see their faces floating in front of him-his parents, Cedric, Sirius, June, and Sinead…people who had died because of him. Cedric, June, and Sinead were just innocent bystanders; Sirius and his parents died to protect him, something that could have been avoided had that prophecy be never made.
He swore viciously. He wasn't anybody special. He was just an ordinary young man, a young man that was cursed because of something a Seer saw and one of Voldemort's minions had overheard. Had that inn been more protected when Dumbledore went to go meet with Trelawney, he wouldn't be in this mess.
But he was in that mess. There was no changing the past. There was nothing he could do. And now he had a destiny to achieve-to become a murderer or to die. He already felt like a murderer.
Maybe if he died now the world would be safer.
His mind scoffed at him. Yes, the world would be much safer if Voldemort runs free, unchallenged, with no one to stop him. No, he had to remain alive, to defeat Voldemort. But the question was: how many people would die because of him?
He cleaned himself up and turned off the water before stepping out and wrapping a towel around his waist. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and groaned. His eyes were indeed bloodshot after staying up the entire night and his five o'clock shadow appeared to have come in ages ago. His face was, if possible, paler than Malfoy's.
He walked back to his dormitory and pulled on a pair of boxers and a bulky tee-shirt that used to belong to Dudley before crawling into bed. He needed to sleep, but he was afraid to. He was afraid of what he might dream. Eventually, exhaustion won out and his eyes drifted closed.
*****
"Boy, he looks awful."
"D'you think we should alert one of the professors?"
"No. He doesn't look sick."
"D'you think this has anything to do with that girl dying last night?"
"I dunno. Dumbledore didn't say who found her, or how she died."
"I can't believe someone else is dead."
"Me neither."
Harry opened his eyes to find Dean and Seamus at the foot of his four poster talking. He looked out the window and saw that the sun was setting.
"Oh, you're awake," Seamus said indifferently when he noticed Harry. "You've been here all day?" Harry grunted. "Guess so. You okay?"
"I'm fine," Harry snapped. He hauled himself out of bed and rummaged through his trunk for some clothes to wear.
"Did you hear that another girl has died?" Dean asked. Again, Harry grunted. "What d'you think is going on here?"
"A war," Harry replied flatly, pulling out a jumper and a pair of blue jeans.
"Here?"
"Everywhere," Harry said.
"Hermione's been looking for you," Seamus told him. "She's been worried sick all day."
Harry paused. "Where is she now?"
"Looking for you, last I saw," Dean replied. "Ron was with her, but he had to go off to Quidditch practice. Maybe he was hoping that you'd be there."
"They never even thought to check the dorm," Seamus murmured.
"Too obvious," Dean said.
Harry pulled his jumper over his head before grabbing his shoes and putting them on. Then, when he was ready, he crossed over to the dormitory door.
"Where are you going?" Seamus asked.
"Nowhere," Harry replied, pulling open the door and leaving.
No one who would bother him was in the common room, but he felt the stares of many as he walked through it and to the portrait hole. Once outside, he walked down the corridor, his only thought telling him to flee.
He found his way back to the Room of Requirement-for some odd reason he felt he could truly be alone there-but he wanted something to do, something that would take his mind off of the terrible feelings inside of him.
When the door appeared, he opened it to find lumber everywhere and a worktable sitting in the middle of the room. Frowning, he stepped up to it and saw something that amazed him-the blueprints to the broom the Marauders were going to make-the Phoenix. And sitting next to it was the list of spells Lupin had given him to help him on his way.
He looked around. Next to the table was a stack of books with titles like Broomstick Carving for the Obsessed and Speed and Agility: How to Properly Shape Twigs. He picked up the book on broomstick carving before settling down on the floor and beginning to read. By the time he finished, he looked at his watch to see that it was 3:00 in the morning.
"How about a place to sleep?" he asked the room. He wasn't entirely sleepy, but the rational part of his mind urged him to get back to normal sleeping habits.
The room seemed to shimmer in acknowledgement and suddenly, a small cot appeared by the rear wall. Harry grimaced. It didn't look too comfortable, but he didn't care. He gratefully crawled into it and relaxed, but the moment he did, every feeling he had been trying to avoid came crashing back to him…anger, guilt and sorrow. He rolled over. It was going to be a long night. By the time he fell asleep nearly an hour later, he could once again see Sinead Cassidy being stabbed by an unknown assailant in a black hood, something which continued to plague him in his dreams, and when he awoke in the morning, a cold sweat had dampened his bangs and his hands felt clammy. He shivered involuntarily as he tried to shake the image of blood.
He crawled out of the cot and immediately felt his stomach growl. He hadn't eaten for an entire day and he briefly toyed with the idea of going to the kitchens and enlisting Dobby's help, but before he even took a step towards the door, a plate of eggs appeared on the worktable. Silently thanking the room, he crossed over to the table and picked up the plate.
"Could use a fork," he murmured and suddenly one appeared on the table, as did a goblet of orange juice.
He ate and drank until he lost all desire for food and drink and the room apparently recognized this, for the plate, fork, and goblet vanished. Harry looked around at the lumber and the blueprints, deciding on what to do first. Finally, he took a rather thick log and dropped it onto the worktable before examining the blueprints. Then, he got to work, taking out his wand and uttering spells in order to trim and shape the wood. It took a better part of an hour, but when he was done, he stood before a rather rough-looking broomstick shaft.
Consulting the blueprints again, he thought, What I could really use is a piece of sand paper. Then, right next to the broomstick, a 6x6 inch piece of sand paper appeared. He picked it up and began to sand down the shaft, mildly irritated at the room's ability to hear his thoughts.
You provide so much, he thought savagely, but you can't bring those girls back to life. You can't bring Sirius back, or my parents, or Cedric. You can't stop the pain. You can't make me lose the knowledge that they're dead because of me. You can't end my suffering! He threw down the piece of sand paper and fell to his knees panting. You're just a room that provides simple, trivial things that don't help anyone at all!
The room did not react. Harry growled in frustration. It was apparent that the room didn't take offense to his mental onslaught, which was just as well. Harry really didn't want to lose his supplies.
He sighed. Was this how his life was to be-pain, death, and misery? Did he have nothing to look forward to in his life? He shifted and sat, brooding. Closing his eyes, he searched within himself for some lingering form of happiness, a memory that would make him smile, but every memory he thought of only seemed more dismal. He saw the Dursleys frowning at him, dementors swarming ever closer, his godfather falling back through the veil…
"NOOOOO!" he howled; his eyes opened to the dark room and he discovered he was shaking. He jumped back up and the room lightened a little as he launched himself back at the worktable, throwing all of his energy and emotions into his work. Within time, the shaft was completely sanded and he turned his attention to the twigs that would make up the broom's tail.
He worked tirelessly until he had honed at least half of the twigs, always glancing at the blueprints to assure he was shaping them right, and always checking Lupin's spell list to make sure he was using the right spell. Then, hours later, he collapsed on the floor, exhausted. The cot appeared in the back of the room again, but he shook his head.
"No," he gasped. "I think I might go back to the common room tonight." He checked his watch; it was past midnight. He hauled himself wearily onto his feet. "Keep this stuff safe for me, will you?" he asked the room. Suddenly, everything disappeared and he was standing in a completely empty room. He murmured his thanks and walked to the door before looking back sadly. Why he was leaving the room that had been his refuge, he did not know, but something was drawing him away.
He walked down the corridors on the seventh floor, not caring if he was caught by Filch or some prefect. Detention was a lesser hell than what he was feeling. In fact, a detention would probably take his mind off of the deep well of darkness he felt inside of him.
The Fat Lady was snoozing as he approached, but she woke up with a start when he tapped her frame. "Whozair?"
"Fool's gold," Harry murmured and the Fat Lady blinked.
"Oh, it's you. You've got some people worried, you know," she told him.
"Fool's gold," he repeated, irritated.
"Alright, alright," she muttered, and swung forward.
He climbed through and entered the common room, thinking about his four poster when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. He diverted from his path to the boys' dormitory and walked over to the sofa in front of the fireplace, where someone was sleeping, someone with bushy brown hair.
Hermione looked as though she were freezing. She had pulled her body into a tight ball and she did not have a blanket. Harry frowned. What was she doing down here?
He turned away and headed up to his dorm, but the image of Hermione's sleeping form lingered in his mind. As he pushed open the door, he sighed. Getting out his wand, he murmured, "Accio blanket," and the blanket Hermione had knitted him for Christmas soared from his bed and to his outstretched hand. Then, turning, he headed back down to the common room, where he crossed back over to the sofa and the sleeping form of Hermione.
He stood before her for a moment, watching her sleep, wondering if she was able to sleep peacefully at night. Slowly, he draped the blanket over her, all the way up to her shoulders. Then, he got on his knees before her and, on impulse, caressed her cheek. He rose, and as he did, he heard a voice. "Harry?"
He looked down. Hermione's eyes were open and she was staring up at him. "Harry, where have you been?" she asked as she sat up, concern etched in her eyes.
He hesitated for a moment, then murmured, "Nowhere."
"Are you alright?" she asked him, getting up and standing before him.
He felt like running, but his legs felt like lead. "I'm fine," he said quietly.
"You don't look alright," Hermione commented. "When was the last time you ate anything?"
"This morning," he replied.
"Harry-"
"Don't," he whispered. "Just don't." He managed to move his feet and he walked to the boys' dormitory. "I don't want to talk about it-I just want to be alone. Good night, Hermione."
She frowned. "Good night, Harry. Thanks for letting me borrow your blanket."
He turned and faced her as he opened the door. He regarded her for a moment, standing by the sofa wearing a set of pale blue pajamas, clutching the blanket in her right hand. "You're welcome," he replied as he started up the steps. He thought he heard her whisper something more, but he had shut the door before he heard it properly, and he did not want to turn back to find out what it was.
*****
He awoke the next morning to find the sun shining. How could the sun shine when he felt so terrible? Looking around, he saw that everyone was sleeping in, so he took his chance and exited as quickly as he could.
He went to the bathroom and cleaned himself up. He actually took the time to shave away the fuzzy beard that was growing. He ran a hand through his damp hair, causing it to look even more unruly. He didn't care. Finally, he got dressed and went down to the common room, where several people were, including Hermione and Ginny, who sat on the sofa. Ginny had laid a hand on Hermione's and was murmuring something to her as Hermione gazed into the fireplace.
He tried to get away, but Ginny saw him. "Harry!" she called. Hermione looked up sharply as Harry reluctantly turned towards the two. "It's about time you showed your face. Where the hell have you been?"
"None of your concern," he snapped, causing Ginny's eyebrows to rise.
"Oh don't take that tone of voice with me. What's the matter?" she asked.
"Nothing," he said and turned again, but then Hermione suddenly called out to him quietly.
"Harry, don't go," she pleaded quietly.
He frowned. Staying was going against everything his mind was telling him, but he looked into Hermione's sad brown eyes and he felt some of his own sorrow melt away slightly. He sighed and sat down in one of the armchairs. "Alright," he muttered.
Ginny gave Hermione a significant look as Crookshanks jumped up off the floor and into Harry's lap, purring. He scratched the cat's ears absently as he stared into the fire.
"So what have you been doing?" Ginny asked him suddenly.
"I don't want to answer questions," Harry told her. "Just leave me alone."
Ginny scowled. "Oh, that will make things better."
"Ginny," Hermione said sharply. "Just drop it for now, okay?"
Ginny looked like she couldn't believe her ears. Just then, the door to the boys' dormitory opened and Ron walked out. "Harry! You're back! Where the bloody hell-" He broke off when he saw Hermione's warning look. "Er-glad you're back," he murmured lamely and sat down.
Harry looked down at his watch. Then, he gently placed Crookshanks back on the floor and got up.
"Where are you going?" Ron asked.
"Breakfast," he muttered vaguely and opened the portrait. The other three jumped up and followed him. Down in the Great Hall Ron and Ginny chatted while Harry remained quiet, pushing the cereal in his bowl around with his spoon.
"So yeah, while you've been gone, Katie and I have handled the practices," Ron said. "They were okay, not as good as when you're around through."
"Hunter had his first bad practice Thursday-wasn't so good yesterday either," Ginny told him.
"Caught a couple of Slytherin first years spying on us," Ron muttered. "Don't know why the little buggers would. I mean, we've already played Slytherin."
"Maybe they're going to give information to Hufflepuff so that we won't have the lead in the Quidditch Cup standings after our match with them," Ginny suggested.
"Hufflepuff's rubbish though," Ron murmured. "And I hope you don't plan on going easy on them because of Finch-Fletchley."
Ginny looked quite offended. "My loyalties lie with Gryffindor, you great prat. Justin's not going to change that. He doesn't care about Quidditch really."
"Just making sure," Ron mumbled. Ginny punched him-hard. "OW! What was that for?"
"For not trusting me," Ginny said scathingly.
Harry dropped his spoon. "I'm going outside," he decided and got up, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny scrambling after him.
"We'll come too," Ron said. Harry only shrugged. In all honesty he didn't care whether Ron, Hermione, and Ginny accompanied or not.
"Actually, I can't," Ginny said as they climbed the marble staircase back to Gryffindor Tower to get their cloaks, scarves, and gloves. "I'm meeting Justin soon and we're spending the day together."
Ron's jaw dropped, but before he could say anything, Hermione said, "You're mouth's open, Ron. Do us all a favor and don't insert your foot into it."
Ron scowled. "I wasn't going to do that."
"Yes you were," Ginny said with a smirk. "Thanks, Hermione." Hermione shrugged, but gave a small smile just the same.
When they retrieved what they needed, they headed back downstairs; Ginny parted ways with them eventually, heading to the library to meet Justin.
"What do you want to do outside?" Ron asked as they crossed the entrance hall to the oak front doors.
"It's all up to Harry," Hermione replied.
Harry grunted at that before opening the doors and stepping out into the cold winter air. He shivered slightly as he walked across the grounds, Ron and Hermione following him. Suddenly, he caught sight of something he was sure he didn't want to see, something that made him stop in his tracks: two people, a man and a woman, walking towards the castle with a girl, flanked by Professors Dumbledore and Flitwick. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach.
"What is it, Harry?" Ron asked, but Hermione was following Harry's line of sight and whispered, "Oh God."
"What?" Ron asked her. "What's going on? Who are those people?"
"I imagine they're Sinead Cassidy's parents," Hermione replied. "Isn't that her little sister, Siobhan?"
"Yes," Harry whispered. He turned his back on the sight, closing his eyes tightly, fighting off the emotions brewing inside him.
"What are they doing here? They're Muggles," Ron said. "I thought Muggles would just see old ruins and a 'Keep Out' sign if they approached Hogwarts."
"Yes, but if you'd ever bother to read Hogwarts: A History you'd know that Anti-Muggle Charms can be removed for certain people, like a Muggle-born's parents," Hermione explained and then frowned. "They must be here to pick up the body."
Harry grimaced and began walking as fast as he could. He didn't want to be anywhere near the girl's parents, to feel their pain and to know that he was responsible for it.
Ron and Hermione swung around as he marched away. "Harry!" Hermione called. "Wait!"
He didn't wait though; he didn't even pause. He continued all the way down to the frozen lake, Ron and Hermione joining him a second later. Ron rubbed his hands together and then pulled his scarf closer to his face. "It's so bloody cold outside. How about a little heat, Hermione?" he suggested.
Hermione took out her wand and waved it, the classic bluebell flames she was fond of appeared and floated in front of them. Ron huddled near it and shivered. "Is that better?"
"Much," he said. "Thanks."
"How about for you, Harry?" she asked, glancing at him.
"It's fine," he said flatly. He looked out at the frozen water, quelling his emotions to the point of feeling vacant inside. He was nothing more than a shell.
"Y'know Harry, that boys versus girls Quidditch match is coming up soon. All Quidditch players are invited to the next prefects' meeting, to discuss the rules and how everything's going to happen. It's next Friday," Ron told him. Harry grunted.
"As Gryffindor captain, you're required to attend," Hermione added, to which Harry grunted again.
"You will, won't you?" Ron asked him.
Harry shrugged. "It's cold. I'm going back inside."
Ron and Hermione gave each other worried glances as Hermione waved her wand to dash away the flames before following Harry back up towards the castle. As they entered through the oak front doors though, Harry came to a dead stop and fear flooded his eyes as Dumbledore walked out of the Great Hall with Sinead's parents. Dumbledore paused when he saw him and turned to the parents, murmuring something. Harry felt a strong urge to run.
Before he could move one foot, however, Dumbledore called softly for him. "Harry, could you come here please?"
Harry gulped. His brain kept urging him to run, but his feet shuffled forward automatically. He hung his head in shame as he approached Dumbledore and Sinead's parents.
"Harry," Dumbledore said gently, "these are Sinead Cassidy's parents. They would like to have a word with you."
"Okay," he mumbled, gazing at his feet.
"Perhaps we could take a walk outside," Mr. Cassidy suggested.
"Yes, sir," Harry murmured and followed Mr. and Mrs. Cassidy outside, Ron and Hermione watching them go.
They walked around the grounds for several minutes before Mr. Cassidy said, "Professor Dumbledore told us you were there when Sinead died-that you found her, but could not save her as she was wounded so badly."
"I wanted to save her," Harry whispered.
Mrs. Cassidy stifled a sob. "Did she s-say anything about us b-before she d-died?"
Harry was quiet for several moments. The truth was he didn't give her enough time to speak about her family-to say any last words. He pressured her for information on her attacker and she died trying to tell him. Another pang of guilt wrenched through his stomach.
When he finally spoke, he lied to them. "She said that she loves you both and that she loves Siobhan too." At that, Mrs. Cassidy wept.
Mr. Cassidy wrapped his arms around his sobbing wife and pulled her close so that she could cry against his shoulder. His voice was shaky when he spoke. "Is that what she said?"
"Yes, sir," Harry replied. "I'm so sorry."
"S'not your fault, dear," Mrs. Cassidy said, detaching herself from her husband and wiping her eyes. "We're just grateful you found her."
Harry frowned. But it is my fault, he thought. Voldemort is having these girls killed because of me-to get my attention. It's all my fault.
"Thank you for talking to us," Mr. Cassidy said. "I'm sure you have things you must attend to, so you better be on your way."
Harry nodded, taking his opening and walking away as fast as he could. He walked into the castle, through the entrance hall, up staircases, and down corridors until he found himself at a familiar patch of wall. Concentrating hard, he walked past the area three times until the door to the Room of Requirement appeared. Sighing heavily, he opened the door and walked inside.
The room was not what he expected it to be. It was full of glass and china…fragile objects that could be broken easily. He picked up a rather delicate looking snow globe and felt his anger rise. The room had obviously sensed his rage before he had and now all he wanted to do was to destroy things, things the room had so kindly offered.
With a howl of frustration, he launched the snow globe across the room and watched it shatter against the wall. He grabbed a Rememberall next and threw it too, a savage pleasure filling him when he heard it crash against the wall as he picked up a wooden chair, carried it over to the doorway, and swung. The ensuing CRACK made him only want to do more damage. He hit the chair against the doorway again and again until all he was holding was two stubby legs. He tossed those aside and marched back for more.
He tipped a table holding several glasses and ceramic plates over so that they shattered when they hit the floor. He picked up a crystal ball and tossed it straight downward. Anything he could get his hands on and destroy, he did. Teacups, jars, inkbottles…fragments and shards glistened on the floor as the candlelight played over them as Harry continued his rampage. He didn't stop until he felt his emotions drain and exhaustion take over. He shuffled his way over to a spot by the wall where there wasn't that much debris lying around and leaned back, his breath labored.
Suddenly the door opened and Harry slipped back into the shadows. One lone figure walked in and closed the door, squinting around the dimly lit room before whispering, "Harry?"
"How did you find me?" Harry asked fiercely, his anger rebuilding.
"The Marauder's Map," she replied, holding up the piece of parchment. "Ron completely forgot until about fifteen minutes ago that he still had it."
"I'll have that back now. Accio!" he said sharply as he pulled out his wand. The map was wrenched from Hermione's grasp and fell neatly into Harry's outstretched hand.
"Harry-"
"What do you want, Hermione?" Harry asked her, stepping out from the shadows and facing her. "Why did you come here?"
"To talk to you," she said. "Harry, I know you're feeling guilty about-"
"IT'S MY FAULT!" he bellowed. "I KILLED THOSE GIRLS!"
"No, you didn't! It's not-"
"IT'S MY FAULT!" he repeated, grabbing a broken teacup and throwing it at the left wall, where it shattered into a thousand tiny little fragments. He picked up a mangled candelabrum and threw it too.
"Harry! Please, stop!" Hermione cried.
He looked up at her face-the terror and worry in her eyes-and felt a surge of guilt flood his being, leaving him mortified with himself. The last thing he ever wanted to do was to frighten Hermione.
"Oh God," he whispered and slumped to the floor. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He buried his face in his hands.
She looked around the room, at the destruction. Then she looked down at the young man who had caused all of it. How could he live with the burdens he did? She kicked aside a broken piece of wood as compassion filled her and she knelt down in front of him.
"I'm a horrible person," he murmured, his voice shaking.
"No," she said earnestly, "you could never be a horrible person. It's not your fault, Harry, and it never will be. Voldemort is trying to break your spirit by putting the very things that make you so much more powerful than him against you. You care about people, Harry, and that alone makes you a wonderful person. It's not your fault," she repeated.
He looked up and to her great surprise there were tears in his eyes. "They didn't deserve to die-those girls…Cedric…my parents…Sirius…they didn't deserve it."
She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. "No, they didn't," she said quietly as she pulled off his glasses and gently pulled him closer still so that he laid his forehead on her shoulder.
"They shouldn't have died," he whispered and finally let his grief poor as his tears fell.
Hermione held on to him tightly, rocking back and forth to help soothe him. Only once before had Harry been this vulnerable and that was the night Voldemort had returned. She reached up and ran her fingers through his messy hair, breathing deeply and trying not to cry herself. His tears were soaking the blouse she was wearing. A tear escaped her eye.
As comforting as Hermione's shoulder was, he needed more. He needed to talk to her, to hear to her soothing voice. He pulled back from her gently, and as he did so his cheek brushed against hers, the rooting reflex instilled from birth causing them to both to turn their heads towards each other…their faces mere centimeters apart. And suddenly, his lips were on hers, desperately seeking the comfort he so needed.
He expected her to pull back and run away, but he never expected her to kiss him back. He never expected her to reach up, touch his cheek, and deepen the kiss. Just as part of him was beginning to enjoy what was happening, his mind screamed for him to stop, reminding him that he was kissing his best friend.
He pulled away gently, although he felt like he had done so abruptly. Hermione's face was flushed pink. They gazed at each other for a moment when Hermione sighed. "I know," she said quietly, "you didn't mean it."
"No," he said, just as quietly, "I did."
"Y-you did?"
"Yes," he said and it was the truth. "I did, but I-" He took her hand in his suddenly and looked into her eyes earnestly. "-I don't know why."
She nodded slowly. "Maybe you'll figure it out."
He looked into her brown eyes and saw hope mixed with fear. "I will, don't worry."
She looked down at their joined hands and squeezed his gently. "How about we get out of here and go back to the common room?"
He nodded. "Alright." He pulled himself off of the floor and helped Hermione up, never letting go of her hand. As they turned towards the door, he paused. "Hermione?"
"Yes?" she asked, turning towards him.
"Thanks," he whispered and gave her a slight smile.
She returned his smile as she pulled open the door and led him back into the light.