Title: Father's Day
Rating: PG-13 (For this chapter)
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is property of other people. Aren't you jealous?
Author's Notes: Special thanks to spaz for pointing out the glitch. It should be fixed now. I'm glad you all liked the last chapter. I thought it was far too boring, but I guess that's because I had this chapter to look forward to. This is where all your patience starts to pay off. Note I said starts, not completely. ;) At any rate, thanks for the reviews. This should be a fairly long chapter - I apologize in advance. There's a lot I have to get done in it. A quick note - one of the reasons this chapter took so long is I had to think about how I wanted the battle with Voldie to go. I don't claim that this will be anything close to how it can or should be, but for my purposes, and since this story is AU, my prerogative.
Chapter 8: Recollections and Restoration
"I don't want to do this."
"I know."
"Then why are you making me?"
"Because you need to learn."
"I can't."
"Yes you can."
"I'll fall."
"Haven't we been over this already? I won't let go of you. I promise."
Harry Potter beckoned to the front of his Firebolt, which was hovering a few feet above the ground. He had already gotten on, and was sitting towards the back of the broom. Artie stood a few feet away; his face paler than normal as Harry motioned to the spot of the broom in front of him. It was Christmas Eve, and he and Artie had traveled to Hogsmeade for flying lessons. So far, though, Harry had spent the past fifteen minutes trying to convince Artie to get within a meter of the broom.
The older wizard clapped his gloved hands together, trying to generate some heat in the frigid air. He sighed tiredly, tugging the flaps of his cap over his ears and motioning to the front of the broom.
"We won't go very fast," Harry tried to reassure Artie. "Just up a bit and back down."
Artie frowned, glancing at the broom warily. "Okay, but you've got to steer."
Harry sighed. The point of these flying lessons was to get Artie comfortable guiding a broom, but he supposed anything would be better than sitting around here, arguing with the boy.
Artie took a few tentative steps towards the broom, cautiously swinging a leg over the handle behind Harry. The young wizard wrapped both of his gloved hands around Harry's middle, and with a slight sigh Harry pushed off into the air.
The younger boy gasped, his eyes squeezing tightly shut as his arms tightened around Harry's middle. Harry winced at the pressure on his ribcage, but he kept the broom sturdy at about five feet off the ground.
"Artie, open your eyes."
"That wasn't part of the deal."
Harry sighed again. "Artie, just trust me. Open your eyes."
From the way Artie's arms tightened around Harry's middle, the dark-haired wizard could tell Artie had done just that.
"Keep your eyes open, I'm going to move forward a bit," Harry said quietly. Artie let out a squeak.
Harry leaned forward, guiding the broom forward a few feet. Artie let out a whimper, and Harry rolled his eyes. This boy ended up in Gryffindor?
"Take it down," Artie said quickly.
"Artie, we've just gotten up here."
"I don't care, take it down."
"Not yet, let's go up another five feet."
Artie's protests were lost as Harry angled the nose of the broom upward, quickly moving the Firebolt to about 20 feet above the ground. Artie let out a yelp of terror, and his grip on Harry tightened so much Harry actually found himself struggling to breath.
"Open your eyes, Artie," Harry whispered hoarsely.
"Take us down first."
"Not until you open your eyes," Harry said; then, as an afterthought, added, "and keep them open."
"Okay, they're opened," Artie replied so quickly later that Harry knew there was no way he was telling the truth.
"No they're not, Artie."
"How can you tell?"
"Teacher's privilege. Eyes in the back of my head."
"Now you're lying," Artie said accusingly.
"Yes, and you just admitted you had too. Now open your eyes."
From behind him Harry could hear a muffled sigh of resignation, and he cast a quick glance under his left arm. Artie's eyes had opened, but the boy was staring at the ground in stark terror.
Slowly, Harry guided the nose of the broom towards the ground. Artie remained as still as a statue, hopping off the broom the second Harry's feet touched the ground. Harry stifled a grin - it wasn't as good as what he'd hoped for, but more than he'd expected at this point. He'd have to spend more time working with Artie later.
"That wasn't funny," Artie said, frowning as Harry gathered his Firebolt under his arm.
"No, but you kept your eyes open. That's progress," Harry said nonchalantly as the two began walking towards Hogsmeade.
Artie sighed, kicking his right sneaker in the snow. "Why can't I just use Floo powder to get everywhere?"
"Because there might be a time when you don't have any, and then what would you do?"
"I'll apparate," Artie said immediately.
"Apparation takes practice," Harry replied. "Your uncle Charlie splinched himself the first time he tried." Artie winced at Harry's description of what happens when a wizard is only half-successful at apparating.
"I guess," Artie grumbled. Harry smiled and tousled the boy's hair. Artie ducked underneath his hand, running forward a few steps and scooping up a bit of snow into a snowball. Harry saw the sphere launch towards his face and tried to dodge to the side, but Artie's aim was very accurate. The snowball impacted on the bridge of his glasses, spreading little white crystals across Harry's field of vision and sending the older wizard staggering back.
"With your arm, you could be a chaser," Harry grumbled, removing his glasses and trying to wipe them off with his scarf. Artie grinned, starting to prepare a second snowball. Harry's hand shot to his wand and he sent a wave of snow sailing towards the younger boy. Artie yelled and dropped, trying to cover his face as a foot of snow dropped on his head.
"Not fair!" He yelled. "I can't use magic!"
"Then I guess you'll have to aim very, very well," Harry said with a grin. Artie gave him a look of mock indignation before rolling to his feet. He gave Harry a wry grin as he began preparing his next round of ammunition.
* * *
Their snowball fight lasted most of the afternoon; and much to Harry's embarrassment, Artie somehow managed to win. The two retreated to Grimmauld Place to mugs of steaming hot chocolate and played wizard's chess late into the night. Later, after Artie had gone to bed Harry lay wide awake, staring at the darkened ceiling of his bedroom. He allowed his thoughts to drift over to Hermione, silently wondering what she was up to. His gaze flickered to the small box wrapped for her underneath their tree - after three days of searching to no avail, Harry had begged and cajoled Ginny into giving him some gift giving advice. Nerves wracked his body - what if she didn't like it? What if she thought he was being too forward? It was these thoughts that eventually accompanied Harry to his restless sleep.
The next day did not go much better. Harry found himself rushing back and forth across the house, trying to allocate his time between cleaning and cooking. He mentally cursed himself for failing to ask Dobby's help in this - he was not a bad cook, but he'd never tried a Christmas dinner before. His Aunt Petunia had never trusted him that much.
Now he was standing there, his head in the oven as he prodded the turkey with a long fork. From the pale appearance of the exterior, Harry had a sneaking suspicion that he had forgotten to do something. He glanced at his watch and grimaced. Hermione was due in a half hour.
"Can we open our presents now?" Artie's voice chimed behind him. Harry closed his eyes, gritting his teeth together as he turned to look at the younger boy. Artie had not liked the fact that Harry wouldn't let him open his presents until Hermione arrived, and now seemed intent on annoying him by asking the same question every three minutes.
"In an hour," Harry said through gritted teeth, pulling the oven mitt off his left hand and touching the turkey. It was still cold to the touch.
"I don't understand this," Harry muttered, backing out of the oven door. "I followed the directions exactly," he grumbled, slamming the door shut.
"Did you turn it on?" Artie asked, hopping from leg to leg. Harry leveled an icy gaze at the younger boy.
"Of course I turned it …," Harry glanced over at the dial for the oven. It was set to off.
"Da…" Harry started to swear, clenching his teeth at the last minute when he remembered Artie was present. Instead, he threw his oven mitt across the kitchen. How stupid could I be?
"Harry?"
Harry spun around, his eyes widening in panic as Hermione stepped into the kitchen, holding an oven mitt in her left hand, a bemused expression on her face. Artie clasped a hand over his mouth, stifling a giggle and Harry gave him a dirty look, sending the younger wizard scrambling for the exit.
"Lose something?" Hermione asked, smiling as she brushed Harry aside. Harry simply stared at her, jaw agape as she peeked inside the oven. "I thought I'd come over a bit early and see if you needed some help," she added, arching an eyebrow as she caught sight of the barely thawed turkey. "I see I should have come sooner."
"I had it under control," Harry grumbled, grabbing the potholder from Hermione's hand and storming across the kitchen. He began opening the cupboards, searching for anything that he could try to turn into an edible meal.
Hermione stifled a smile, crossing the kitchen and resting a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Maybe you should let me take over," she said, earning an icy gaze from her friend.
* * *
"I have to admit, this is the most unusual Christmas dinner I've had in a long time," Harry said.
The three of them had gathered on the rug in front of the fireplace. Two boxes of half-finished pizzas - one turkey, the other ham - were stationed a meter away from the group.
"I like it," Artie said, peeling off a gooey piece of cheese and dangling it above his mouth.
"Great," Harry muttered, "I'll remember to screw up dinner more often."
"Come on, Harry," Hermione said, taking a delicate bite of a ham-topped pizza. "This isn't that bad."
"No, it's not," Harry admitted. "We're just lucky we found that one place open."
Artie seemed to inhale his last piece of pizza, looking expectantly at Harry. "Now can we open presents?"
Harry rolled his eyes, giving Hermione a knowing look. She stifled a smirk and nodded her head a fraction of an inch. Then Harry gave Artie a slight nod. The boy let out a whoop and immediately ran for the Christmas tree.
Fifteen minutes later, the three of them sat surrounded by mounds of wrapping paper. So far, Harry had opened up a pair of thick, woolen socks (courtesy of Dobby), a maroon sweater and a book on childrearing from Mrs. Weasley, a broom service kit from Artie, a package of gags and jokes from Fred and George's shop, and some books on Quidditch and fighting the dark arts from Hermione. Artie had a small mound of gifts, including enough gags and jokes from Fred and George to last a lifetime (Harry grimaced on that one), some magazines and chocolates from his Gryffindor friends Amelia and Todd, a sweater and assortment of baked goods from Mrs. Weasley, and a brand new wizards chess set from Hermione.
"Hey, what's this?" Artie asked, pulling out one of the last remaining gifts from under the tree. Harry's eyes widened and his throat ran dry as the younger boy grabbed the final present under the tree - Harry's gift. Hermione gave Harry a questioning look, but his attention was focused on Artie as he nodded to the gift.
"Open it," Harry said, his throat dry. Artie gave him a curious look, but nodded and began unwrapping the gift.
Harry had spent the past few weeks collecting all the pictures he could find from friends and family of Ron and Luna. Thinking that Artie might like something to remember his parents by, he'd send out owls to practically all of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. They hadn't disappointed. As a result, Harry had been able to compile a photo album full of pictures of his family.
Artie's eyes widened as he began to comprehend what his gift was. He stared at Harry in amazement for a moment, and then a smile broke out across his face. He scrambled to his knees and hurriedly crossed the floor. Harry felt his breath catch when Artie's arms wrapped around his middle and the boy delivered a fierce hug. For a moment he sat in stunned silence; then, hesitantly he wrapped his arms around Artie. He glanced at Hermione, who had a hand clasped over her mouth. Her eyes seemed unusually bright.
Finally Artie pulled away, looking at Harry with an inquisitive gaze. "Tell me what the pictures are?"
Harry nodded, and the raven-haired wizard stood to his feet while Artie raced for the couch. He extended a hand towards Hermione, giving her a weak smile. She was positively beaming. Together, the two adults made their way to the couch, taking a seat on either side of Artie. The younger boy promptly pushed the photo album into Harry's lap, and Harry allowed his hand to brush over the picture of Ron and Luna he'd gotten from Seamus Finnegan.
Oh Ron, Harry thought to himself. I wish you could be here for this.
Inhaling deeply, Harry slowly opened the album to the first page, a smile crossing his face as his gaze fell upon the first picture.
"Well now, this was taken during our fifth year, shortly after your father had become keeper…"
* * *
Hours later, long after Artie's eyelids had begun to droop and Harry had carried the sleeping child to his bedroom; two adults sat on the couch, enjoying the late hours of the evening.
"That gift was perfect, Harry," Hermione mumbled as she leaned against him, staring at the flickering tendrils of fire that danced in the fireplace. Harry smiled, resting his chin on her forehead.
"I remember when Hagrid got me a photo album with pictures of my mum and dad," Harry said quietly. "I thought Artie might enjoy the same."
Hermione nodded but said nothing in response. They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, staring at the embers of a dying fire. Suddenly, Harry realized that he'd not yet given Hermione her gift.
"Ooph, Hermione," Harry muttered, shifting his weight as his hand reached inside his pocket. He hadn't put her gift under the tree - though why he wasn't quite certain. What had seemed like a perfectly rational fear at the time now seemed completely illogical.
"I … um … I meant to give you this but I forgot and well I hope you like it and ..." Harry said quickly, his face turning bright red, "… and stuff."
He quickly pulled out the chain from his pocket, dangling it in front of Hermione. Ginny had helped him pick it out from a jewelry store in Hogsmeade. A tiny diamond-studded locket, intricately carved in the shape of a snitch, hung from the gold chain.
Hermione gasped, and for a second Harry contemplated apologizing profusely. She doesn't like it, a sinister voice in his mind chided him. She doesn't even really like Quidditch. His throat went dry and his face began to redden from embarrassment.
"I love it," Hermione whispered, reaching out with her right hand to brush the tiny gem.
"I mean you … you can take it back to the store and stuff and I …" Harry let his voice trail off as his mind finally processed his best friend's statement. "You … you like it?"
Hermione smacked him playfully, taking the locket and opening it. Inside Harry had put a picture of him, Hermione, and Ron taken back during their first year. Hermione's eyes began to water, as she brushed a finger over the picture.
"It's perfect," she whispered, closing the locket tenderly. Her fingers deftly made their way to the clasp of the necklace and she quickly unhooked it and fastened the jewelry around her neck. The light from the fireplace glinted off the tiny diamonds, sending beams of rainbow light bouncing in every direction.
Relief flooded his body as Hermione threw her arms around Harry in a hug, and quickly Harry wrapped his hands around her, resting his chin on the top of her head.
"Thank you," Hermione whispered quietly. Harry felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth as he kissed the top of her hair gently.
"It's the least I could do," Harry mumbled, his heart thudding with relief. She liked it. She really liked it. "After all I've been such a prat…"
Hermione stiffened in the hug. Immediately Harry began cursing himself. You just had to remind her of that, didn't you, the voice chided again. Harry felt his heart fall as Hermione slowly pulled away from him, her chocolate-colored eyes meeting his as her face searched his for answers.
"Why did you leave, Harry," Hermione whispered quietly. Harry felt his breath catch in his throat as he met his friend's solemn gaze.
You'll never be able to protect her, Potter. As long as my followers live, they will never stop hunting you…
Harry's right hand squeezed into a fist as the words replayed over and over in his mind. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the memory - the memory that had haunted him for the past decade…
* * *
Hogwarts, Graduation Day, 10 years earlier…
The darkness was suffocating.
Harry Potter squinted against the towering columns of black smoke, trying in vain to pick out a few familiar voices among the screaming and wailing of the crowds. No one had believed that Voldemort would have picked today, of all days to attack. No one except Harry, and perhaps Dumbledore.
A dark cloud had passed over the sun, casting a dark shadow over the podium where Hermione was giving her final speech as Head Girl. Naturally, everyone's eyes had gone to the sun, wondering if a sudden rainstorm would disrupt the otherwise peaceful proceedings.
Harry had immediately recognized that the shadow had not been cast by a cloud. Rather, the shadow was a swarm of Deatheaters - hundreds, maybe thousands, perhaps. A few screams erupted from the crowd as people began to flee from the Quidditch Pitch. That was until fire seemed to spring out of nowhere, encircling the captive audience and barring any possibility of escape.
Now the sky was thick with dark smoke, and Harry found himself on his hands and knees, trying to stay beneath the rancid air. He'd long since lost track of Ron and Hermione, though he never stopped looking for either of them. Out in the distance he could see flashes of light - spells whizzing overhead between the teachers and the Deatheaters. Once or twice Harry had thought he'd caught a glimpse of Dumbledore, moving with inhuman speed as he sent spells swirling in all directions.
"Ginny! Where are you?" Mrs. Weasley's voice called through the darkness. Harry's head immediately snapped up and he began moving in the general path of the voice. Thoughts of Voldemort immediately fled his mind - he hadn't been seen anywhere. If he had, he had obviously taken to ignoring Harry, which seemed impossible in Harry's mind. It was easier to believe that this attack was a mere ruse. Not much easier, but easier.
Then a chilling scream exploded from the darkness about 10 meters to Harry's left.
Hermione…
Harry scrambled to his feet, tears burning his face where the smoke stung his eyes. He pushed chairs and people aside, not bothering to come to the aid of any one of the hundreds of dead or dying people scattered on his path. His mind was completely focused on the cries of the one person who mattered more than anyone else.
Lunging through the fiery fence that blackened the edge of the pitch, Harry burst into sunlight and fell to his knees, coughing and choking on the fresh oxygen as he searched for the woman he loved.
In the distance, Harry could make out Draco Malfoy, sprinting at top speed to the Forbidden Forest. Instantly Harry decided that Draco was the one who had harmed Hermione, and a second later he was on his feet, sprinting towards the tree line.
Sprinting, that was, until someone tackled him from behind, pinning him to the ground.
"Find Granger, Potter," Snape hissed, rolling off Harry and scrambling to his feet. "Let me deal with Draco."
Harry's eyes narrowed to slits as he watched Snape sprint towards the woods. Scrambling to his feet, and ensuring his wand remained intact, Harry began running to the woods when a familiar piece of fabric caught the corner of his eyes. He immediately slowed, jogging in a loop towards the fabric. His heart fell as he skidded to a stop beside the fabric, dropping to his knees. Angry tears welled in his eyes.
It was Hermione's Head Girl patch.
"No…" Harry whispered, punching his fist into the ground beside the patch. There was no doubt in his mind as to who had taken her.
"Voldemort!" Harry screamed into the air. He reached for the patch with his left hand, curling his fingers around the fabric. Almost instantly he felt a tug behind his navel as he tumbled into darkness.
He landed rather painfully on his left knee on a hard wood floor, lurching forward and landing on the left side of his face. He heard the snap as his glasses shattered, splinters scraping into the side of his face.
Wincing, Harry slowly pushed against the ground, scrambling to his knees as he fumbled for his wand. Relief flooded his body as he felt the familiar handle settle into his hand, and after muttering a quick spell to mend his glasses, he wiped the grime off his face and glanced around.
The place he was in was dark - and from the makeup of the furniture it looked like a house - one that had long been abandoned. For a second Harry allowed himself to think he might have been transported to the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade; but instantly he dismissed that idea. This place felt different.
Harry scrambled to his feet, glancing over the plastic-covered furniture as he made his way through the house. He held his wand in front of body, trying to move silently across the squeaky, dust-covered floor. He was met with limited success. Then he rounded a corner and all color left his face.
There was Hermione - lying unconscious on a couch.
In two steps Harry had crossed the ten or so feet separating them, dropping to his knees by Hermione's side. Tentatively, Harry lifted a hand and brushed a stray lock of hair out of her face. Angry tears burned his eyes as his fingertips brushed her cold skin.
"Sad, isn't it?"
Fury coursed through his veins as Harry gripped the handle of his wand so tightly his knuckles turned white. He pushed himself to his feet, narrowing his eyes as he turned to face the hooded figure that had intruded upon them.
"Voldemort," Harry hissed in a low voice, leveling his wand at the dark wizard.
A cruel smile slithered across the dark man's snake-like visage, his slit-like eyes narrowing in contempt for the younger wizard who stood between him and the unconscious witch on the couch.
"It's always the innocent ones that get hurt, isn't it, Harry. First your parents - your mother died on that very spot you stood - did you know that?"
Harry swallowed a lump in his throat as the anger billowed in his body. "You brought me here? To the place where you murdered my parents?"
Voldemort smiled. "Indeed. This is where it began, young Harry. And this is where it will end."
"You better believe it," Harry hissed, raising his wand to Voldemort's chest. "Avada Kedavra," Harry screamed. A jet of green light sailed out of his wand, but much to Harry's chagrin it dissipated inches away from Voldemort.
"You're a foolish boy, Harry Potter, if you think that I would once more allow myself to be defeated by the likes of you."
"Expelliarmus!" Harry screamed, and again a jet of light sailed out of his wand. This time Voldemort did not dodge, taking the blast of magic to his chest. Harry's eyes widened in surprise as the Dark Lord flew back across the room, hitting the wall with a loud thump.
Behind him, Hermione groaned. Harry's head snapped around, his wide eyes leveling on her unconscious form. A small trickle of blood trailed from the corner of her mouth.
"Ah," Voldemort rasped. "So now Mr. Potter realizes the truth. You may be able to kill me, Mr. Potter. But you will also kill her in the process."
Harry's eyes narrowed. "What did you do?"
Voldemort smirked. "An ancient and most effective spell," he said, his voice carrying a sinister air. "In essence, I have bound the mudblood's fate with mine. Every spell you cast on me will also affect her," he continued, his smile widening at Harry's horror-struck look. "A most effective trap, if I say so myself."
Harry took a step back. It's over, he thought to himself. I can't kill him, or I'll kill her. And if I don't kill him, he will kill me and everyone will die. He inhaled sharply and snapped his wand towards Voldemort's chest, his hand shaking so badly it was hard to keep it pointed in the dark wizard's direction.
Voldemort arched an eyebrow. "You'll do it, then?" he asked. "Do it, but be sure to say goodbye to your friend before you try. It will be the last time you see her alive."
No! Harry's mind screamed, the angry energy radiating from his body. Indecision crept through his heart, and for a second Harry's mind faltered.
It's over…
Everyone had put their hopes on him. In his mind's eye he could see the horrified expression on the faces of his friends when they received word of his death and Voldemort's rise to power. But they'd been wrong. Dumbledore had been wrong.
Harry couldn't kill Voldemort.
Slowly, Harry lowered his wand, the wand slipping from his fingertips and bouncing once against the hardwood floor before rolling to a stop by the Dark Lord's feet. A cruel smile crossed Voldemort's features, but Harry didn't notice it. The young wizard dropped to his knees beside Hermione's side, drawing the unconscious woman in his arms as he rocked back and forth.
"I'm sorry, Hermione," Harry whispered, tears stinging his cheeks and rolling into her mahogany hair. A sob shook his shoulder as he pulled her body tight against his chest. "I can't do it. I'm sorry. I can't kill him if it means killing you too."
If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love…
Dumbledore's words echoed in Harry's mind as the agony spread across his body. He lowered his lips to Hermione's forehead, brushing her warm skin with his tear-soaked lips.
Warm skin…
"An interesting choice," Voldemort's harsh voice interrupted the private moment. "Dumbledore would be so disappointed. A shame you won't live to see it." Voldemort leaned down, picking up Harry's wand in his right hand. With a cruel smirk, he pressed his thumb against the thin rod, increasing the amount of pressure exerted until Harry's wand snapped in two.
…cannot understand, it is love…
"I'm sorry," Harry whispered quietly to Hermione, the sound of Voldemort's evil voice fading into the distance until the only people Harry could sense were himself and Hermione.
There is a room in the Department of Mysteries that is kept locked at all times. It contains a force at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than forces of nature. It is also, perhaps, the most mysterious of the many subjects for study that reside there. It is the power held within this room that you possess in such quantities and Voldemort has not at all. That power took you to save Sirius tonight. That power saved you from possession by Voldemort, because he could not bear to reside in a body so full of the force he detests…
"Now, Harry Potter, it is time for you to die."
…love…
"Don't leave me, Hermione," Harry whispered quietly.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Green light shot out of the end of Voldemort's wand, shooting across the room to where Harry sat, cradling the woman he loved. The spell came within millimeters of hitting Harry, before crashing into a barrier of light so brilliant it nearly blinded both of the wizards in the room. Harry's eyes squeezed shut as he leaned over Hermione's body, shielding her from the scorching heat of the light. In the corner of his mind, Harry registered the sound of Voldemort's shill shriek as the light swallowed up his spell, separating the distance until it encompassed the whole of the dark lord's body.
That's it Harry, Sirius's voice whispered in his mind. Hang in there.
Harry's scar burned in agony.
It's almost over Harry, his mother's voice whispered against his ear. Be strong.
"I love you, Hermione," Harry whispered, tightening his grip around the younger witch as the pain shot through his body. Harry clenched his teeth together as his insides churned, fighting the feeling that he was being boiled alive.
You did it, Harry, his father's voice whispered in the back of his mind. We're so proud of you.
The pain finally released Harry, and he slumped forward, his forehead hitting the ground as his body went limp. Slowly the nerve cells in his body began to release him from the throes of agony, but his muscles felt heavy - as if they'd exerted all the force they could muster, and now had nothing left to give.
His grip on Hermione slackened, and Harry rolled onto his side, staring numbly at the fallen figure of Voldemort, who was breathing through heavy gasps. His face had been horribly disfigured beyond recognition, burned so badly in places his skin was actually black. Still, his hateful eyes glared daggers at Harry.
"This is not over, Harry," Voldemort rasped, a trickle of blood snaking out of the corner of his mouth. "You may have beaten me, but you'll never be able to protect her, Potter. As long as my followers live, they will never stop hunting you."
With a ragged gasp Voldemort took his final breath. Harry felt the darkness clouding his vision until all went black.
* * *
Present day…
"I always wondered how you finally beat him," Hermione whispered from her position on the couch. Her body was half turned on the comfortable seat, her head resting against the back as Harry told his story.
Harry nodded, looking down at the ground, "Dumbledore was right, in a way. There was one thing that I had that Voldemort could not understand - something he did not possess. Something that he could not touch."
"That still doesn't explain how I managed to live," Hermione said, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion.
"It didn't make sense to me either. Not until Dumbledore came to talk to me."
* * *
St. Mungo's, one week after the end of the Dark War.
Harry heard the footsteps echo in the back of his mind, struggling to open his eyes to see who was coming. It felt like someone had attached bags of sand to each of his eyelids.
"I was told I might be able to find you here," Dumbledore's warm voice echoed through Harry's mind. Groggily, sat up, blinking a few times as he tried to orient himself. He was in Hermione's hospital room. He glanced down at the mahogany-haired witch. She was still sleeping.
"Where are Mr. and Mrs. Granger?" Harry muttered, slowly releasing his grip on Hermione's hand and rubbing his eyes tiredly.
"I believe they left to get something to eat," Dumbledore said, pulling a chair beside Harry and looking down at Hermione with concern. The aged wizard rested a hand on the unconscious woman's forehead, as if to reassure himself of something; then gave a satisfied nod.
"She will be fine, Harry," Dumbledore said quietly. Harry shook his head incredulously.
"Voldemort said he bound his fate to hers. If he died she was supposed to die," Harry protested, feeling the all-too-familiar ache in his heart.
"Not quite, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said with a small grin. "While it is true that Voldemort cast a spell on Ms. Granger to keep you from casting the killing curse on him; I'm afraid his plans backfired."
"But I saw him die!" Harry protested, anger welling up in his body.
"Think carefully," Dumbledore said, nonplussed. "How did he die?"
Harry frowned. "Well, there was a bright light and I heard some voices and then it looked like he got swallowed by it and …"
Dumbledore raised a hand. "Precisely," he said. "Voldemort did not die of any of his own dark powers, but because he finally touched something that was so powerful he could not possibly exist in its presence. It was this power that eventually consumed him."
Harry felt his throat dry as he looked at Hermione. "But she's just laying there."
"I suspect that once Ms. Granger has gotten an appropriate amount of sleep, she will wake up on her own accord," Dumbledore said, rising to his feet. He clamped a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I am very proud of you, Harry. You have saved us all."
Harry nodded, numbly looking at Hermione. "It doesn't feel any different," he remarked.
"I suspect the shock has not yet sunk in," Dumbledore said. "Give it some time. I suspect by the time you leave for training, you will finally realize the great gift you have given us all."
Training…
Harry's eyes jerked up, meeting Dumbledore's gaze. "The other Deatheaters. Did they survive?"
Dumbledore gave Harry a sad smile. "Many died during Voldemort's final attack - good and bad. Unfortunately, it will take some time to eliminate the remnants of Voldemort's army."
You will never be able to protect her…
Dumbledore gave Harry's shoulder a light squeeze, silently leaving the room. Harry sat in silent contemplation, staring the sleeping witch, his mind racing.
They will never stop hunting you…
"I won't let them hurt you, Hermione," Harry whispered softly, brushing his lips against hers. "I promise."
* * *
Present day…
Harry lifted his chin, tears clouding his vision as he met Hermione's gaze. To his surprise, Hermione's eyes were wet with tears too.
"I left at the end of the week for training," Harry whispered quietly. "Kingsley offered to grant me an extended leave … but I couldn't just sit there and give the Deatheaters time to regroup and kill you and Ron and everyone else. So I left. I thought about you, every day I did. I told myself that as soon as I had tracked down their leader, I would come home - that I would come back to you."
A tear rolled down Harry's cheek as he glanced at the ground. "I didn't mean for it to be so long. I'm so sorry Hermione." He closed his eyes, trying to stifle the wave of emotion that seemed to throw his body into turmoil.
A ragged sob escaped from Hermione's mouth as she leaned against Harry, wrapping her arms around him and crying softly into his chest. Harry did not bother to stifle the pain anymore and felt it erupt in droves, pressing his tear-stained cheeks against her soft hair as they mourned for the time lost.
It seemed to last forever, but finally Harry gathered enough of his composure to draw the smaller woman against his body. Hermione sniffed, resting her head in the crook of his shoulder as they stared at the dying embers of the fire. Harry felt his throat go dry as he tried to clear his head and regain coherent thought, but all he could think about was the time he had wasted and how badly he wanted to make it up to Hermione.
"Will you stay tonight?" Harry whispered, his voice surprisingly hoarse. He felt Hermione stiffen; and his heart fell a bit as he looked on her dubious expression.
"Harry, I just don't…" she allowed her voice to trail off. Harry closed his eyes quickly, fighting off the angry tears as he nodded.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked," Harry whispered quickly, kissing her gently on her forehead before fleeing the room quickly. Somewhere in the back of his mind he registered Hermione's concerned call, but he quickly shoved it away as he fled to his room and crawled under his covers.
It didn't matter … nothing he said could make a difference. He had left, and she was never going to forgive him for that.
A sob erupted from his lips and Harry buried his head in the pillow, silencing it immediately as he gripped the sheets in his knuckles - trying to smother the pain that threatened to envelope him.
The door opened, and for a second Harry was tempted to yell at Artie to leave. But somehow he knew that yelling at Artie wasn't going to change anything - it wouldn't change things between him and Hermione.
But before he could turn over onto his back to make sure everything was okay, Harry felt a cool breeze pass over his body as the covers were drawn back and a weight settle on the bed.
"Harry?"
The voice did not belong to Artie.
Harry pulled his head out of the pillow, glancing at the womanly figure that slid underneath the covers next to him. Harry's mouth opened as his mind tried to process what was happening, but before he could utter coherent thought, Hermione's forefinger pressed against his open mouth.
"Shh," she whispered, closing the distance between them as she captured his lips in a tender kiss.
It was the last coherent thought Harry had that evening.