~~ 12 ~~
End of Spirit
"Hearts are worn in these dark ages,
You're not alone in this story's pages.
Night has fallen amongst the living and the dying
And I try to hold it in
Yeah, I try to hold it in."
--Sarah McLachlan
Night falls rapidly.
As the curtain of darkness descends, it brings with it a chilly shield of cold. Slowly, as the hours wane, a storm brews. Now, as we sit warming ourselves as best we can by the fire, a screaming vortex of falling ivory flakes spins outside the window. We can no longer see the storm-but we can most certainly hear it. The whooping and high-pitched shrieks seem to come from a banshee rather than the wind. The temperature has dropped to what must be near or below zero, and even the fire is not enough to keep us adequately warm. Harry and I, sharing a wand, must alternate heating spells because one wand can only cast one spell of such nature on a single person at a time. We have scooted closer together in the chairs Ron left, trying to use the body heat of each other to help. Still, there is a definitive gap between us, both mentally and physically. Neither of us dare get too close to the other. I know I am still confused over the events of earlier, and I suppose Harry is as well.
A silence has fallen along with the darkness. The only sound around us comes from the wind's howling and the fire's crackling. It would be a picturesque winter scene, if it weren't for all the worry and tension that surround us in an ebony cloud. Not a word has been spoken between us in the past two hours, not out of anger or irritation, but purely out of a desire to think the thoughts the plague us. Harry's eyes, as far as I know, have not moved from the waves of the flames in over an hour.
The last time we spoke-meaning that we held an actual conversation, and not just simple, two- or three-letter words-was immediately after Harry came to the door to call me in after Ron had departed. I had stepped in hesitantly, glancing around myself, uncertain if I wanted to come inside if Ron was still there.
"He's gone," Harry had stated quietly, seeing my reaction. He give a nod in the direction of the leaping and playful flames. "Come on, hurry up, it's cold out there."
When I step in, I notice the two chairs that have appeared since the last time I was here, and follow Harry's lead as he walks toward one and sits down. He looks to me expectantly, and I take the seat across from him.
I can see in his carefully guarded eyes that he wants me to ask the question he knows I will-I can see that he will not bring it up unless I do, and that doesn't leave me with a good feeling of how his and Ron's conversation had gone-not that I'd had a good feeling to begin with. I had felt slightly heartened when, listening closely at the door from outside, I'd heard no shouting. There had only been the dull murmur of inaudible voices. But I know from past experience with Lucius and Voldemort that some of the most threatening and terrible conversations take place in low voices rather than screams.
Finally, with a deep breath and a mixed desire about whether I want to know or not, I ask, "Well . . . what happened?"
Harry skirts around it a bit. "Well . . . we talked," he muttered, stating the obvious with the art of a master.
"And?" I prompt.
After a few moments of prolonged silence, Harry says, "Ron doesn't hate you, Hermione. And he doesn't blame you anymore . . . not really. He's just confused. He wants some time to think before he sees you and talks to you. Besides that, you know how his pride is. He didn't say it out loud, but I don't think he wanted to come up to you and admit he'd been wrong-his ego needs a little time to settle on it first."
An abrupt anger overcomes me, and I find myself losing my temper a bit with Harry. "Look, don't think you have to sugar-coat it for me. I've been through a lot in the past two years, and if you think what he says now is going to break me, you clearly know me even less than I thought you did. I'm not letting Ronald Weasley-who is notorious for being one of the most stubborn people in all of Europe-get to me. It'll disappoint me, yeah, because I'd like to have him for a friend again. But if that's one thing of many that I can't regain, then that's all right. Just don't lie to me!"
Harry sighs. "I knew you'd react this way, I told him you would. But I'm not lying."
I let out a snort of dry humor. "Oh, yes. That's why he's been so angry every time I've seen him-that's why he kicked you out. Because he doesn't blame me. The next thing you're going to tell me is that Voldemort is forfeiting to Dumbledore, and Lucius and Draco will volunteer to be servants for the Gryffindors."
"I told you I wasn't lying!" Harry snaps, but then sinks back into his chair, rubbing his eyes. When he speaks again, his voice is calmer. "I'm sorry. It's been a long day and we're both tense and tired. It's probably best if we don't discuss anything right now, or else we might end up saying things we don't mean. We need each other right now. We'll have enough in-fighting once you come back to the group with me later. We don't need anymore."
I had nodded, and that had been the end of our conversation.
Much of the following hours I spend contemplating Ron and Harry and what had really happened between the two of them. Try as I might, I just cannot believe that Ron actually said what Harry claims he did. Even Harry took a long time to fully trust me, and Ron hasn't been with me as Harry has. So am I supposed to believe that after everything he's done to show he blames me, suddenly Harry's word is enough? I don't buy it.
I wonder what Harry is thinking about as I sit trying to focus on the happier events of the day. His face is drawn and tight, a grim expression in his eyes, and I know whatever he is thinking is no happier than what I am. I do my best to keep myself thinking about how the Sphere is broken and how I might have a chance, but just as quickly as that joy filled me, it has left. For I know that our saga has not ended yet. I am safe for the time being. Things are getting better. But things could easily take a turn for the worse. Voldemort is out there, looking for Harry and his group-with even more vigor than before, I'd imagine. Sooner or later that situation is going to boil over into a violent confrontation, and the odds of us emerging victorious-or even alive and running-are somewhere in the negative region.
Hours pass, and I must have dozed off sometime, because the sound of a knock at the door jars me awake suddenly. My head, which had been resting on my own shoulder, jerks up and I feel the beginnings of a crick in my neck. Harry is already at his feet, wand held tight in his hand, staring at the door with a look of apprehension.
"We have a special knock," Harry whispers to me, his eyes never leaving the front door. "That wasn't it."
I feel Harry's tension for a fraction of a second before the knock comes again, and this time I can hear a distinct rhythm to it. Harry notices as well and lets out a sigh, a sign that all is well, but I can see the irritation in his face. He walks toward the door and throws it open, wand still held close in case of a trick.
Sirius steps into the room, a flurry of snow and a wave of cold air on his heels. Harry forces the door closed and locks it again.
"Did you forget the knock or something?" Harry demands testily. "You damn near scared us into running!"
"Sorry," Sirius growls, but he does not sound contrite, as he pulls down the hood of his cloak to reveal a very irritated expression. "Dumbledore's group has a different signal. Ron gave me yours and I got distracted when the wind nearly blew my bag away."
"Yes, well, I suppose it's always good to get the adrenaline pumping," Harry muttered, a bit less angrily.
"Well isn't this one hell of a welcome," Sirius laughs humorlessly. "Harry, I have spent the past hour walking through this storm because Dumbledore thought it was too dangerous to Apparate right into Diagon Alley. You have spent the past hour nice and warm with a fire right in front of you. Please, don't make me lose my patience."
I can see Harry's eyes flash in a burst of unnecessary anger. "Yeah, well you aren't the one who snuck around Puerclades earlier and risked death. You aren't the one who was tortured. You aren't the one who nearly didn't make it out alive. No, you're just the one who walked through the snow."
"Harry-" Sirius says, looking surprised at his godson's irritation. I am surprised myself. I had no idea Harry had grown so testy in the hours of our silence.
Harry sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose for a moment without looking up. "I'm sorry," he says finally, his voice calmer. "I'm just really tense right now."
Sirius nods slowly. "It's all right. Some food ought to help you calm down."
"You have food?" Harry asks in interest. I realize for the first time just how hungry I've grown. I've not eaten anything in at least twenty-four hours.
"Not with me, no, but they've got some ready back at the hideout," says Sirius. He sets down the small bag he was carrying and opens it, pulling out two black cloaks. He tosses the first to Harry, who eagerly puts it on. The fire is almost dead now, extinguished by the air blown in by Sirius's arrival. The light is so dim it is difficult to see. Sirius then tosses the other to me. I catch it and begin to shrug into it when I feel his eyes on me. I look up.
"The plan went accordingly?" he asks me quietly.
"Yes," I reply.
He gives me a slight smile. "Good."
I remember how he'd asked me not to hurt Harry again, and I sense that he is referring more to this than to the actual plan of destroying the Sphere. While I can't say I've fulfilled that promise, I'm on my way. And a feeling of slight happiness washes over me for an instant. It feels good not to let someone down-it's a feeling I haven't known for far too long.
Sirius looks down and grabs something else out of the bag and throws it to me. Distracted, my arms caught up in the jacket, I miss it and it rolls to a stop at my feet. I look down and see a beat up, cherry wood wand lying at my feet.
"It's an old one," he says. "Dumbledore provided it."
I bend down and pick it up once I've managed to get my arms successfully where they belonged in the jacket. I roll it over in my hands looking at its reddish wood and feeling its smooth texture. It's cold as ice, and while I am relieved to be armed, at the same time, holding it fills me with a slight unease. I tuck the wand away into a pocket of my jacket and the feeling away into a pocket of my mind.
I look up to see both of my companions watching me, their faces carefully blank. I feel anxious under their gaze and look down, wishing they'd find something else to focus on. I've grown used to being ignored, and it's the times when people do pay attention to me that I fear. That feeling has not yet left me.
"You ready, Hermione?" Harry asks softly. "I don't know about you, but I'd really like some of that food."
I nod, but suddenly realize for the first time since I've awoken just where we're going. I'm to face all of my one-time friends yet again. The last time I saw them has not yet been lost on me. My hunger is quickly replaced by a boiling nausea, and I doubt if I could eat anything and hold it down.
"Good, good," Sirius says, pulling out a small bag and walking toward the fire. He dumps powder from the bag into his palm and throws it into the fire. The crimson flames melt into glistening emerald and the fire is reincarnated, licking at the shadows and salivating ash. The green light it casts around the room is not so much comforting as it is eerie.
Always one to seek knowledge, I can't help but speak the question that is on my mind. "Sirius, you said Dumbledore didn't want you Apparating, but why didn't you use Floo Powder?"
Instead of Sirius, it is Harry who answers me. "We're hiding out, Hermione. Floo Powder is hard to come by. What little we get we have to steal from Dark wizards, and that's far too risky to do often. We reserve it for when there's no other option."
"Oh," I say calmly, watching the leaping flames play their dancing game. I turn my eyes to Sirius again. "May I ask something else?"
"Certainly," Sirius replies graciously.
"Why didn't you tell us before we went into Puerclades that Snape was an ally?"
Sirius seems confused for a moment. However, a moment later a look of understanding dawns on his face, and he nods. "Ah, that. So I take it you ran into him?"
"We used him to get us up to Malfoy's office. I presented myself to him, but he figured out what I was doing-or part of it, at least," I explain.
Sirius nods again. "Dumbledore thought that telling you was a bad idea for many reasons. He wanted to see what the two of you could do on your own, without aid from one of us. He wanted to see if you would betray Harry. The likelihood of that happening was higher when it was just you and him. With Snape around, it would have discouraged such a thing. He also didn't want Snape to reveal himself as a traitor by aiding you. Dumbledore really needs him as an informant.
Harry narrows his eyes. "Well, that was bloody lovely of him. Let's not sacrifice old Snape, we'll just put Hermione and I in more danger. Not like losing us is a crushing blow, or anything."
"Harry, it wasn't like that," Sirius insists. "It was a tactical move. Snape didn't help much even after he found out you were there, did he?"
"No," I reply. "He just offered me a chance to leave without getting caught. I said no and he took me Lucius. He didn't know that's what I wanted, of course."
"See?" Sirius said. "Snape wouldn't have helped much even if you'd known."
"I still think you should have told us," Harry mutters, but drops it after that. Sirius watches him in uncertainty for a moment, but does not attempt to continue the conversation either.
Without another word, Sirius steps forward and yells, "Harry's hideout!" Like some phony Muggle magician, he spins away into nothingness.
Harry and I are alone once more. He steps forward, but looks back at me. I have not moved, nor do I want to. My eyes are still focused on the almost hypnotizing flames. I may have proved my innocence to Harry, even to Sirius and Dumbledore, but who's to say the others will have forgiven me? I don't want to face it. Not now. Not ever.
I feel him take my hand and look up. His face is still blank, but he says soothingly, "It'll be fine. We'll go together. Just yell what Sirius did simultaneously with me and we can go at the same time."
I nod slightly and allow him to pull me forward. By some miracle, I managed to force out the words at the same time as Harry, and I step into the green flames beside him, still in a state of autopilot.
It is cramped in the spiraling world of green, and in my already nauseous state, I almost vomit. I realize that Harry's arms have ended up around me, and he is holding me close. This is the last thing I notice before the Floo Network spits us out.
If I thought the landing would provide some type of relief, I was incorrect. While usually you can step out of the fire with some kind of grace, I now find myself lying atop Harry on the wooden floor of his hideout. He is coughing-I have likely winded him-and my nausea has not subsided. I roll off of him and on all fours, I wretch in the direction of the floor. Only air is produced; it's been too long since the last time I've eaten for anything to come up.
My nausea begins to retreat and now I can focus, which I cannot say is exactly a blessing. Being on my hands and knees, all I can see is their feet, but the feet are all around me. This is a preferred view, in my mind. It is their faces I fear.
Beside me, Harry is standing. It is utterly silent; so silent in fact that I wonder for a moment if perhaps everyone has ceased to breathe. A hand is held out to me and I grab it, allowing it to pull me to my feet. Naturally, it is Harry who stands beside me now, and I can still feel the distance between ourselves and those who surround us.
Before us, in the cramped living room of the house, sits a large crowd of people, all of whom are staring at me. Ginny, Fred, George, and Neville are piled on the small couch, so tightly that it must be more than slightly uncomfortable. On a chair nearby, Hagrid is sitting. Angelina and Katie are standing, arms folded across their chests, not making direct eye contact with anyone. On a mismatched chair that he must have summoned himself, Dumbledore sits, watching me through his half-moon glasses, his gaze making me more uncomfortable than anyone else's. Sirius, Lupin, and Mad-Eye Moody stand in the corner, talking quietly. Lupin and Sirius have already seen me, and therefore do not feel the need to stare, I suppose. While I've never met the real Moody, from what I've heard of him, he doesn't seem the type to watch when he could be discussing, and he is living up to that image. Ron is not present.
For at least thirty seconds, it is a silent standoff with everyone motionless and staring at one another, each side too afraid to break the silence first. I look to Dumbledore furtively, willing him silently to start whatever discussion is to come, but he is waiting patiently, probably understanding that it will do him no good to start it off. It should be started by someone more directly involved. While I understand his reasoning, I can't say I like it.
At long last, Ginny stands. Her face is blank and she walks forward. All eyes are now on her as she hesitantly steps closer to me. When she is about five feet away from me, she halts. Her eyes bore into mine, searching for answers to her questions. I guess she finds them, because a moment later, she shyly hugs me.
"Hermione, I never wanted to believe it," she says before pulling away.
I try to give her a small smile, but I am too unnerved by all those standing behind her, all those who've expressed neither welcome nor hostility. But what is even more unnerving is the fact that Ginny has broken the temporary stare-down. Now is the moment I've been dreading and anticipating.
As Ginny steps to the side to welcome Harry quietly, Neville stands. He looks at me with painful hope in his eyes.
"Like Ginny said, I never wanted to see you like they did," he mutters. "But I had no reason not to. I believe Dumbledore, though. If he trusts you . . . so do I. Welcome back." He looks for a moment as though he wants to come forward and hug me as well, but in the end his shyness overcomes him and he sits back down, cheeks red and burning, eyes glued to the floor.
I feel a small surge of hope. Two of them have forgiven me. But that hope comes crashing down when the Weasley twins stand and send an angry glare in my direction.
"We don't believe it," George says coolly. "Maybe you've convinced Harry-"
"-By magic possibly!" Fred adds.
"-But you've got a long way to go before we can trust you again," he finishes. "I'm not saying we never will. I guess I can give you the benefit of the doubt, a chance to prove yourself to the rest of us. But for now, we're taking Ron's side."
Fred nods in agreement. They do not sit down again.
My stomach is churning as I look to Angelina and Katie. They see me looking at them and exchange a glance. It is Angelina who speaks. "Hermione . . . we don't know either way. Just let us make our own judgment, with time."
I give them a nod. I can understand that. I'd rather have them all at that stage than have some of them on one side and some on the other. Doubt and uncertainty are what I'm used to. While I understand the hatred, I don't want it. And while I appreciate Ginny and Neville's support, I have trouble accepting it.
Now Hagrid steps forward, his face slightly moist with tears. He looks as if he wants to hug me, but refrains, for which I am glad. He sometimes loses control of his own strength, and for the time being I like having my bones intact. But he gives me a watery smile.
"Hermione, I'm with Neville. If Dumbledore believes yeh, so do I. It's good to have yeh back with us," he murmurs. "I thank Merlin Harry had the courage to help yeh."
"Yes, Hermione, welcome back," says a serene, smooth voice. Dumbledore is now standing. He is directly in front of me and smiling.
My throat too tight to speak, so I settle for a simple nod.
"I do hope you won't mind if I cut the reception short, but we have much to discuss. We are in a dire situation, that is one thing we can all agree on." Dumbledore, with a wave of his hand, has pushed the furniture to the side, so that it is lined against the walls, giving us more room. As the chair hits the wall beside Moody, he leaps and fires a curse at it, followed by a glare at Dumbledore. Dumbledore winks in Harry's direction, a small smile playing on his lips. He then conjures a table filled with food. Harry moves forward with the rest to grab a bite before the food is all taken-the Weasley twins are already eating with unnatural speed-but I hang back. I do not feel enough a part of them to step forward and take anything. I feel as though I am the one left uninvited.
Harry, however, notices my hesitancy. He walks back and stands before me. "Come on, Herm. You've got to be hungry," he says quietly.
I shake my head. "Not really," I whisper.
With an almost comical amount of hesitancy, he puts his arm around my shoulders and leads me forward. "It'll be okay. They're all willing to give you chance. Ron's coming around, and so will Fred and George. Trust me."
"Sure," I mutter in an unconvinced way.
Once they are all satisfied that they have snatched up enough food, they all take seats upon the floor, surrounding the table in a large circle. Lupin, Sirius, and Moody have moved to join us. Moody remains the only one standing, slightly back from the rest and watching, his abnormal eye spinning in a disturbing way. Upon Harry's insistence, I sit. Dumbledore is next to Harry, and Neville is next to me. He gives me another shy smile before looking away.
A hush has fallen again, and all eyes dart between, Harry, Dumbledore, and I. Dumbledore clears his throat. "While I'm sure most of you expect me to conduct this discussion, I feel it would be impolite not to allow Harry to lead it. He has much to say, I am sure, and there are many matters that need to be sorted. This is his group, his hideout, and I am merely a guest." He waves a hand allowingly in Harry's direcion. "Harry."
Harry shifts next to me, sitting up a little straighter and trying to appear confident and strong. "Er, right. Well . . . I guess we need to sort out the positions Hermione and I will hold. Whose the leader in Ron's place?"
"You're the leader again," Fred states, looking a little ashamed. "Sorry we kicked you out before, mate. We weren't really thinking all too clearly . . . but Ron agreed to let you take over now."
Harry gives a small nod. "All right. Then we need to talk about Hermione. First of all, whether you believe her or not, I expect you to treat her with respect. I'm not saying you have to trust her-take all the time you like to get to that stage. But I don't want people playing jokes on her-" a look is cast in Fred and George's direction-"or being cruel, verbally or otherwise. Does anyone have a problem with that?"
"Ron will," Fred says quietly, his eyes trained to the floor.
"I've dealt with Ron, he'll go along with it," Harry says bluntly. "Does anyone else have a problem?"
Many surprised looks are exchanged at Harry's irritable tone, and no one dares speak up.
Harry nods. "Good. I'm sure you can tell I'm not too happy right now. No, I'm not. And it's not that I'm angry with you. If this had all happened differently, if someone else had done what I did with Hermione and if I had been in Ron's position, I can't say I wouldn't have done the same things. I can't say I wouldn't have believed the same things. I won't hold that against you. I won't hold your kicking me out against you. But I'm quite worried, because what we did earlier had an unforeseen side effect: Voldemort's pissed off. We knocked out his headmaster and head Death Eater, made that man look like a fool, destroyed the Sphere, and took off. Yeah, I'd say we've made him mad. But Voldemort doesn't slam doors and throw things. When he's mad, he wants revenge."
"I don't know if you're so right there," George said, his voice humorous as though trying to break the grim veil surrounding us. "I'd say he probably breaks some stuff-people's skulls included-and then he looks for revenge."
"Stop making jokes, this is serious," Harry snaps, and George falls silent. "Look, he's going to come after us. And if he really wants to, he'll find us. This run-fight-hide thing ends here. We need a better plan. We have to prepare for him. We have to decide what we're going to do. For the past two years, we've always known that he was out there looking for us, but I don't think any of us really honestly believed that one day our lives were going to come to an end. Who does, until they're at the moment when they're facing that immortality? But now it's time for us to face it, because more likely than not, that moment is just around the corner, and our only chance of evading it for a little longer is to strategize right now."
A dead silence follows in wake of this proclamation.
"Way to ruin the moment, Harry," Fred whispers, obviously intending to be funny, but his whole demeanor is grim, and I can see that Harry's words have buried themselves as deeply inside of him as they have inside of the rest of us.
"What can we do?" Katie asks quietly.
"I'd say we have three options," Harry says. "The first is to see if we can keep running and keep our lives for another month or so before he catches us. Maybe we can try to get out of the country, make it to somewhere where he doesn't have complete control. The second is to fight. Go to Hogwarts and battle it out. See who wins and who loses, bring on the end ourselves. Or our last option: throw in our hats, here and now. Give up. Sit and wait for him to come and find us."
Harry looks around at everyone, each person's reaction. I feel the pressure and the tension that has been filling him now. He's right. I finally am free, only to find myself trapped in a situation where I will most surely die. None of us stand a chance. All of those options are simply paths of different lengths leading to one ultimate destiny.
A smooth voice breaks the silence. "Alastor, would you please take a seat? We won't bite, but if you keep pacing, someone may get irritated enough to do just that," Dumbledore suggested mildly.
Moody, who'd been pacing and driving me to distraction, seems to have been jolted from a reverie. He growls, "Sure," and sits down, still some distance away.
Harry sighs and rubs his temple. I can see the fear and shadows in his eyes. Being the leader he is, it is his job to make his best friends choose from an array of unappealing options. Looking at him now, looking at everything now, I am consumed by amazement at myself, at how I actually thought that we could go back to the way we were. Harry and I can never be the same people again, and our situation can never return to what it was. What foolish part of my mind ever constructed that illusion?
Harry has begun talking again, his voice void of emotion, and his face slack and resigned. "I have no idea how I'm supposed to go about this. I'm asking you to vote on a life or death decision, but I don't know how else to handle it."
"Voting's fine, mate," says Fred consolingly. "It's a good, democratic way to handle things."
"Odd way to handle this, but don't worry about it," George adds. "We'll do it for you. Whose all for the 'let's-just-sit-here-and-let-the-Dark-Lord-come-kill-us' option? No one? Okay, moving on. What about the 'let's-go-be-martyrs-and-fight-him-for-about-ten-seconds-before-he-destroys-us' option?"
Now several people look confused. Alastor Moody's hand rises high into the air, along with Sirius's and Lupin's. Other than that, everyone else remains still. The looks on several people's faces would imply that they'd been considering that very option before George worded it in such a blunt and frightening way.
"Three? Not bad, not bad. Better than zero, anyway. So, finally and predictably, whose all for the 'let's-run-away-and-try-to-cross-a-border' method?"
Practically everyone's hand goes up. Harry, George, Dumbledore, and I do not move, but it is clear what the general consensus is.
"Well, that's pretty obvious, mate," George says decidedly. "What's your take, Harry?"
Harry is staring at them all blankly. When he speaks, his voice is oddly hoarse, a voice belonging to a man that has resigned himself to the worst. "I think it's a stupid decision, honestly," he states. "Running away is doing no more than prolonging the inevitable. It's not going to do any good. More fear, constantly living on the edge, knowing deep down you're never going anywhere, but never wanting to admit it. That's what we're in for with this decision. Based on that, does anyone want to change their vote?"
No one moves.
"Well," says Ginny timidly a moment later, "if we were to cross a border to somewhere that hasn't been so taken over . . . maybe we could fight there. Gain more people, some land of our own. A resistance and a real stronghold. That would give us a chance."
Big if.
Harry sighs again. "I guess so. Fine then. I'm overruled. We took a vote, that's the outcome. Looks like we're running. Professor Dumbledore, do you want to add anything?"
"I will say no more than this: I agree with your take on it, Harry," Dumbledore says in a grim tone. "However, I am willing to give this a chance, so long as people will give some other method a chance should this not work out and should we get the opportunity to change our plan."
Translation: Give fighting a try should we live long enough to realize we've been stupid.
I agree with Harry and Dumbledore, but my word is worth nothing here, I know. I keep my mouth shut and listen.
****Harry****
I am groaning inwardly. What are they thinking? Running holds nothing but disaster. True, fighting is almost sure to leave us in a bad place, but at least we're doing something. We're trying to accomplish something. We wouldn't be the first small army to win a big war. The most unlikely, probably, but there's always a chance. Yeah, Ginny's idea is a good one, but there's the ever-present, unspoken question of if we can get across a border and find a new stronghold before we die. It's too unlikely to consider. Death Eaters are everywhere. We can't go into towns, and the borders are magically guarded. You can't just Apparate out anymore. No Floo Powder will take you out of the United Kingdom, either. Even if we made it to the border, we'd have to go across at a designated checkpoint, all of which are guarded. Why can't anyone else see that only death lies ahead for us on this route?
It's over, I realize more strongly than ever. It's something I've been coming to terms with since those hours in the building in Diagon Alley with Hermione. We stand no chance. I think I've known that, deep down, since we agreed on the plan to destroy the Sphere. Maybe even before. We were standing so close to an edge before, I think I knew that helping Hermione was going to tip us over. It's why I kissed Hermione-because I care for her, and I knew that it would be ending soon, somewhere deep in my soul. I wanted her to know how I felt before that end came.
Then the long, grueling hours of silence in the building. That was when I truly realized it, deep down. We never really stood a chance. We've never made progress toward our spoken goal of defeating Voldemort. We just survived, hoping and praying for one more day. We called ourselves rebels, a resistence group, and yet we never were. It just made us feel better; made us feel as though we were being useful. But that kind of existence can't last for long, a life of borrowed time. Sooner or later you have to pay the debt.
What bothers me even more than our decision to run is the fact that I know that it doesn't matter which option we choose. It's all going to lead to the same thing. Maybe I want to fight because I can't take the constant question of when that time will come anymore. I just want it to be over with. Nothing beyond this life could be as bad as here and now.
"Fine, then," I sigh, rising to my feet. "Decided. At first light, we run. Better start packing, we've only got a few hours -"
I break off suddenly, as a screaming pain overtakes my skull. I fall to my knees and hardly even notice the shattering pain as they hit the wooden floor sharply. I clench my teeth tightly. I want to scream from the agony, but I can't even seem to do that, as if my vocal cords are locked along with my jaw. My skull feels like someone is tearing it apart at the seams, ripping it slowly, torturously.
And then comes the laughter. High-pitched, cold, and the single most awful sound ever to be heard on the planet, it resonates through my mind, almost as agonizing as the pain in my head. Suddenly, with awful and certain understanding, even through the pain, I know: All this time spent planning has been wasted. Running, fighting, the battle of the decision-all a waste, all irrelevant. All because of one horrible and mind-numbing fact coming to me in an instant of perfect clarity:
It's already too late.
A/n: Here ya all go! I won't have chapter thirteen up tonight; it's really long and will take me a long time to edit. I'll put it up tomorrow. But I hope you like this chapter more than I do-it's not one of my favorites. It sort of bugs me for some odd reason. Hope you guys don't have the same reaction. Have a lovely Friday evening, and I hope many of you get to see PoA! :-) (Waiting for Monday is driving me crazy . . . friends of mine who don't even like it all that much have tickets for today . . .)