Unofficial Portkey Archive

Harry Potter and the Bite of No Mortibus

Chapter 5: Exile to Grimmauld Place

"Come now, Harry dear," Mrs Weasley called in a hurry as she rushed all of them out the door. "We'll miss the Muggle bus if we don't hurry." She locked the door behind him as he walked out. Thankfully, she'd agreed on shrinking their trunks until they reached platform 9 ¾, since four huge wizarding trunks weren't easy to pull onto a bus that would only wait two seconds-at the most-in one stop.

Mr Weasley had announced that Dumbledore thought it best to stay in crowded places as much as possible to avoid any seriously dangerous encounters. Despite the fact that everyone was now aware of Voldemort's return, Voldemort was still more than capable of waiting patiently for the right time and place, which so far, had not come yet. Harry would not be escorted by the Aurors or Order of the Phoenix members this time as the last time had aroused far too many suspicions among certain Slytherins who thought it best to tell their Death Eater parents.

Harry was sure that Mr Weasley's choice of transportation was not based only on the amount of people carried by it. Mr. Weasley was as fascinated by the idea of a Muggle bus as he was with anything Muggle.

Truthfully though, Harry missed the ruckus that came with the usual escort. Even Fred and George hadn't been able to come as they had to open up the shop, and Tonks hadn't been around much because of her 'new assignment'. He missed the clatter of sound that followed them everywhere and generally always managed to get him away from dark thoughts.

Oh, yes, lately he'd been thinking quite a bit ever since he received that smuggled edition of the Sunday Prophet. He'd read the entire blasted thing from cover to cover, and didn't gain much in respect to the article on the front page. There were only a couple of interesting inserts about how the unbroken wands had been kept, and how Percy Weasley, Ministry's secretary, "had no knowledge whatsoever of what had transpired behind Fudge's closed door, where all the top secret documents were signed, outside his line of sight".

Bullocks! Harry was sure that the decadent Weasley was perfectly aware of the entire ordeal, and was just trying to keep himself covered and protected. Harry didn't mention anything to the Weasleys, and Hermione had helped him remove the article from their sight. Of course Fred, George, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley must have been aware of it and were trying to hide it, if poorly, but everyone thought it best that Ron and Ginny didn't know.

Hermione felt the deepest disgust towards Percy, and agreed that Percy must have been aware of what had happened. She didn't dare say much though, only talking about it on the rare occasions that she and Harry were alone and she was certain that nobody was within earshot.

"Oh, here it is!" Mr Weasley shouted as the well known red vehicle came round the curb and he began to call to it, frantically waving his arms in the middle of the street and ordering it to stop. It did so even though the bus driver, a stout man who looked like he'd been sitting behind a steering wheel too long, looked at the wizard as though he was rather mental.

Not that he wasn't, of course.

Harry followed everyone up the high steps and toward the very back, where he, Ron, Ginny, and Hermione, took the four seats lined up under the rear window. Ron and Ginny kept looking around open mouthed, noticing that there weren't any round tables with chairs that fell over at every bump, that it ran within the speed limits, and that there wasn't a man named Ernie or Stan talking their ear off, which apparently was quite normal on wizarding buses.

Harry however was still absorbed in his thoughts. The last few weeks had been so strange. Since the Diagon Alley episode, people were constantly popping in and out of Grimmauld Place, stopping only for a few whispered sentences, and then popping out to do something that Harry would probably never be aware about.

Dumbledore spent nearly the entire day-and a hefty portion of the night-in the kitchen of the home, speaking to everyone and anyone that he thought needed to be heard, Harry hadn't seen anything but a few wisps of his white beard disappearing around a corner to talk to someone secretively.

Snape was probably the most frequent visitor, and their hushed discussions went on for hours at times. However, Snape had never mentioned Occlumency-he hadn't even so much as graced him with a glance of acknowledgement, but maybe that wasn't as unusual as it might have been-and Dumbledore didn't seem to care or notice. Obviously they thought their conspired thoughts were much more pressing, urgent matters, than Harry Potter, the boy who was in the middle of it all, the boy who had to die because of it, or become a murderer. Maybe he was being selfish and petty, but he thought he should have been made a part of it.

What really picked at his curiosity, however, was Iridis Larvae. She was very often a participant to those quiet conversations, seeming to know more than both the men put together, and even more frequently, she stayed with the Headmaster for ridiculously long stretches of time, most not even speaking, but rather looking at each other (though that might not have been the most adapted choice of words since the Oculus Immensus had no real eyes) and seeming to read each other's minds.

Harry wanted to know what was going on, he wanted to know what they were not telling him.

Then, suddenly, a thought struck him.

Maybe they didn't know.

For some reason, he felt the swelling urge to talk to Dumbledore about his reoccurring dream of one of his best friends dying.

*°*°*

The arrival at King's Cross was much like every other in his previous years, rushed.

There was Molly Weasley jogging ahead of the four teens (each pushing a heavy cart that attracted strange stares from the Muggles) shouting to her husband who was panting, trying to keep the pace at the back of the line. "Hurry, Arthur or we'll miss it!"

"Oh, if that Muggle bus hadn't hit that poor man on that two wheeled chair crossing on those strange stripes in the road we would have had plenty of time!" He huffed in a complaint of the senior citizen in a wheelchair that had been nearly killed while crossing the street.

The two of them attracted even more attention than the trunks and the cages of strange animals (even Pig seemed quiet compared to the two).

It was 10:55 when they all crossed the barrier and stepped onto platform 9 ¾, and Harry, along with his friends, shoved their trunks onto the train as quickly as they could, found a compartment that looked empty enough, and all together stuck their heads out the window to say their last salutations to the Weasley parents.

"Try not to get into too much trouble this year!" Mrs Weasley shouted at the Hogwarts Express, but none of them bothered to give her a reassuring answer.

In Harry's mind the admonishment from his best friend's mother sounded rather frustrated, and scared, as though she knew something was going to happen, but was not aware of what it was. Nobody was.

Hermione was the only one who, like him, thought twice about what Mrs. Weasley had said. Ron and Ginny were probably too used to her.

In any case, Ginny had already pulled out her textbooks to review a little more before getting to the castle, and Ron had pulled out his set of Wizard's Chess, which Hermione admonished him for. "Ron, we have to go to the Prefects Compartment! You, too, Ginny! You're the new Prefect, remember?"

The siblings let out identical sighs as they stood and began to exit the cabin. Hermione looked back at Harry. "We'll only be a minute," she offered, making it sound like an apology.

"I know," Harry sighed, remembering how Dumbledore had said that the only reason Harry hadn't been made Prefect had been because the ancient Headmaster thought the boy had already enough on his mind. He didn't like being left behind, but maybe he could take the opportunity to think some more (it was much easier to think without the Weasleys around). "Go," he told her.

She looked back at him uncertainly, biting her lip as though the thought of him by himself in that cabin left her more than a little uneasy. "Are you sure?" She asked regretfully, knowing that she had no choice in the matter in any case.

"Yeah, no problem," he replied with a half smile. "You'll only be a minute, you said so yourself," he reassured her, almost feeling the urge to chuckle. She smiled at him, and turned to follow the Weasleys.

Now, the question in Harry's mind was, should he go talk to Dumbledore about his dreams, or wait until he found out more about what was going on? If he was to take the previous year as an example, he could hope that there would be a long period of time still before any plan was put into action by Voldemort. After all, his other infamous session of dreams started more than five months before it was acted upon.

Then again, that could just have been practice, and this time Voldemort could be doing this at a much quicker pace, especially now that he'd freed the Death Eaters from Azkaban and they were at his beck and call.

Harry's question was why Hermione, though?

True, she was one of his best friends, but so was Ron. Harry could very well see, from Voldemort's point of view that Sirius had been the right person to torture Harry with. Not only was Sirius Harry's Godfather and only remainder of a family, he was also out of Hogwarts and out of contact with Harry, allowing the boy's anxiety to grow over time. Tricking Harry had been a good way to draw Sirius out of Grimmauld Place.

Hermione, though, seemed like a far lesser target to Voldemort.

Harry doubted it was because of her origins. Because Hermoine was a Muggle born, that should have made her a lesser opponent than a Pureblood in Voldemort's eyes, like, for example, Ron and Ginny, or Neville (who represented the other half of the prophecy), or Lupin (who was also an important Order of the Phoenix member), or even Dumbledore or Harry himself.

It could have just been because Hermione was one of his best friends, and therefore one of the people he cared about most in the world. And maybe Voldemort thought her weak because she was a girl, but Hermione had proved time and time again that she was not weak, and in any case, Voldemort himself had more than one female on his side.

Like Bellatrix Lestrange.

Harry still didn't want to recognize the fact that he'd used an Unforgivable on her. Even stranger was the fact that, no matter how enraged he'd been, he still hadn't managed to make his curse very strong. Harry had thought very often of this in the light of late events.

When the time would come to face Voldemort, Harry understood very well that he could not count on a killing curse or on any of that sort, which was both a relief and a worry. How in Merlin's name was he to kill him otherwise? He gave a mental shrug, maybe he would find out in Occlumency if Snape ever decided to start teaching him again. Besides, he was sure that Voldemort's first choice in what to send at Harry when the time would be right was nothing other than the Avada Kadavra. Since their wands had the same core however, he couldn't use it anyway.

There seemed to be no end to the question as Harry turned it over and over in his mind countless times until the plump lady with the Trolley of Wonders came by.

It was strange that his friends hadn't come back yet, but he figured they'd been held behind by some pointless assignment or another, so he stocked up on goods for himself and his companions as well, and went straight back to his brooding, this time chewing on a Chocolate Frog.

He was numbly aware of people going back and forth in front of his compartment, many of them halting before it-as though wondering whether or not step in and speak to him-and then continuing on their own way. He didn't know if it was because they'd heard of the Department of Mysteries, or if they thought that he was mentally preparing a plan to destroy Voldemort, or if they'd heard of his loss, or if he just looked like he didn't want to be bothered. Whatever the reason, he was glad of the lack of interruptions.

Cho Chang had walked by (as far as he managed to count while completely ignoring her) four times with a couple of followers already. Oh, there was the fifth. He hadn't even bothered to try and see what expression she was wearing. It was none of his business anymore, and he honestly didn't care anyhow.

"HARRY!" Shouted a breathless Hermione as she burst through the door of the compartment, making Harry jump out of his skin. She looked like she'd just made a mad dash across the length of the train. "I'm so sorry it took so long, but the new Head Boy kept on trying to grope the Head Girl, and it took us forever to get all the issues over with, and then Malfoy was being his usual self so it was really hard to finish a conversation" she rushed in sense of explanation.

"Yeah," Ginny panted behind her, entirely out of breath. "To compensate Hermione turned our patrol into a race against time! It felt like we were running some bloody marathon!" She stood leaning against the door (Ron in much the same position next to her), trying to regain her breath, before calmly going to her seat to retrieve her books and picking up where she left off before they had gone to the Prefect's compartment. Ginny actually didn't look that upset as to getting back so early.

Ron looked much worse for the wear as he stepped to his Wizard's Chess set and looked at it dejectedly. He really didn't seem to want to do much of anything at the moment, which suited Harry just fine.

Hermione hadn't even been allowed to sit back down next to Harry, when the compartment door was pulled open, this time by a sneering Malfoy. "Skipping patrol, aren't you?" He looked like the very portrait of the Cheshire Cat (the one that Hermione always said was by far the worst character in the Lewis Carroll world).

"No, actually," Ginny replied calmly, not offended in the least and with her breath completely back to normal, her eyes not leaving the page they were on. "We've finished already. Why? Haven't you?" Despite the fact that her tone was cordial, it came across as rather insulting, which had been her intent in the first place. Ginny looked like she was spending too much time around Hermione, considering that it had been a trademark Granger comment.

Malfoy, apparently not knowing how to counter it, turned his sights elsewhere. "So Potty, enjoy your birthday present?" He asked maliciously, a corner of his mouth twitching upwards at the very thought.

Harry didn't flinch in the slightest. He didn't even give him the cross look, though Ron looked ready to pull out his wand. "I don't know what you're talking about," Harry watched the half smirk twitch away before turning his sights to the quickly changing scenery outside the window.

"Oh, you mean, you haven't heard?" Harry, still without looking at him, shrugged his shoulders carelessly. "You haven't heard that interesting story about the Dementors back in Azkaban?" Harry knew perfectly well from the beginning that he'd been talking about the break-in at the Wizarding Prison, but he still shrugged his shoulders, his eyes not leaving the passing sights in front of his window.

"Or is it that you just don't care, after your little doggie died?" Right there, that felt like a knife twisting in his gut, but Harry refused to show that it had affected him. And, in any case, Harry was more and more convinced by the day that Sirius was lost, not necessarily dead. He shrugged again.

"It's funny that you should be acting so calm after an Unforgivable," now, how in bloody hell had he known that? Well, it wasn't very hard to figure out how actually. It simply meant that Malfoy was still in contact with his father.

Thankfully, Hermione saved him from having to react to the last comment, "Don't you have to finish your patrol, Malfoy? I wouldn't want our Head Girl to find out you lacked in your first assignment," Hermione told him calmly and cordially, though it came across with a definite edge. How she managed to do that, nobody knew-except, maybe, Ginny.

The Slytherin walked out wordlessly after spitting at Hermione's feet. Ginny managed to grab hold of her brother's shoulder before the redhead got his badge taken away.

Harry felt his teeth grind at what he'd just done, but it was quickly washed away by a feeling of shame as he felt Hermione's eyes on him, Malfoy's use of the word 'Unforgivable' not escaping her. Harry refused to look at her, but her unwavering stare was making him squirm nervously. He didn't know what she was thinking, and he didn't want to know. He didn't want the last person who treated him normally to stop behaving like herself around him.

Sighing in defeat, he stood up and walked out of the compartment, the air in there seeming to suffocate him with questions he was not ready to answer, and might never be. There were too many regrets, too much grief, too much despair and self loathing. Too much guilt about everything.

Walking with his arms crossed in front of him as though they were a shield of some sort, he had barely taken three long strides when he heard the compartment door open and one of his best friends' familiar steps tapping quickly up to him.

"Harry!" She called, making him stop in his tracks.

He took a deep sigh before turning around to face her, his arms still protecting him as he prayed that she wouldn't ask about Malfoy's mention of an Unforgivable. "Yeah?"

She gave a long annoyed sigh at him, which, strangely, seemed to calm him a little. "Look, Harry, I can only try and guess at what happened after I passed out in the Department of Mysteries, and I won't say that I don't want to know," she began, her tone belying something other than her frustration at his lack of sensibility sometimes. Harry knew that she felt wounded that he didn't understand her state of mind at the moment, probably thinking that he should have known her better by now, "but I'm not going to force you into telling me." She told him. "It's not the first time that you keep something from me, or Ron, for that matter, but you've always let us in on it when the time was right, and I trust your judgement in this." He nodded, his eyes fixed to the ground, as his mind played with the, rather terrifying, idea that, if he ever told her or Ron what he'd done he'd end up losing both.

"Harry," Hermione called him again, this time softly. He made a sort of grunt of acknowledgement, but kept his steady gaze pointed at the ground between their feet. "Harry," her tone annoyed this time, and he felt, more than saw, her placing her hands on her hips in a manner that reminded him strongly of Mrs Weasley as she got ready to shout a lecture at one of her misbehaving children. He still didn't look at her. He heard her sigh in defeat as she dropped her arms from her hips and brought them to cup his face. "Look, at me Harry," she ordered him, and he felt the urge to bolt away, but this time did as told.

She was watching him, the same way she watched him when he needed to be understood and she knew she was the only one who could provide that. Full of compassion, and understanding, and trust in his decision. She looked worried for him, she always did, and her eyes were pleading with him to understand her, at least once in his life, and understand what she was trying to tell him. "Harry, you know I could never be ashamed of you, right? You know that?"

He tore his eyes from her as he turned to look out the window in the corridor, taking his face out of the safe shelter that was provided by her hands. "Yes, you could," he told the window quietly, "and you will."

"Harry!" She exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air in frustration, making him to look at her again. She was wearing an exasperated, yet amused smile. She looked at him while shaking her head in disbelief. "Harry, you're not a saint, you know. You've done stupid things, and broken rules, and been an all around prat several times, and I don't blame you for it. It's who you are and it's part of your humanity," she started, and kept on going before he could say that what they were talking about was different from a few broken rules. "Harry, I don't blame you for the mistakes that you're bound to make. And I definitely will never blame you for something you did in a moment of desperate anger," she'd phrased it rather perfectly. Desperate anger. That had been exactly what he'd felt when he'd chased after Bellatrix Lestrange.

She had his complete attention now. "I don't know what I would have done if I'd been in your place," she whispered, this time her turn to look out the window, her eyes bright and watery, maybe from a trick of the light, maybe from the thought of watching a man she loved fall through that veil that she'd claimed as dangerous. "I think I might have lost my mind and broken down in hysterics," she seemed ashamed to confess that, but he knew very well that it would never have been the case. "But you, Harry…you react to this so differently from me or other people. Things happen to you and you fight back and you try to protect the people that you care about," her face was nearly entirely hidden by her hair as she stared at her feet, her face turned to the side.

"Yeah," Harry mumbled, "my people-saving thing, right?" He spoke bitterly.

Her head snapped up. "No!" She whispered outraged, upset that he was refusing to see what she was saying. "Harry…I should have never said that, I was just trying to make you think about the situation a little more clearly."

"You were right though." She was always right, and he never listened to her. Prat.

"Harry, I don't blame you for running to the Department of Mysteries because I know you were too worried about Sirius to even see straight, and I won't blame you for anything you might have done when you saw him cross that veil, because I know that whatever you did, it was because you cared so much about him and you didn't want to except what had happened," she sounded exasperated and desperate to get the point across. "And your people saving thing…Harry, it's probably the most beautiful thing about you," she said in a whisper. "If it hadn't been for that, I would have probably died in first year, locked in a bathroom with a troll." She joked. "I wouldn't want you to change that, Harry," she told him, a slight smile tugging at the corner of her lip, "just…try to consider things a little more."

Harry sighed. It was pointless to argue with her, and her little speech had actually aroused a wish in him to tell her what had happened to get the burden off his mind for a while. And he should have told her and Ron about it before they heard it from a Slytherin or other. He just wasn't ready yet. And it terrified him to think that he could scare the two of them away. They were all that he had left. His only link to sanity.

As though sensing his thoughts, Hermione stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, a little awkwardly since his arms were still crossed in front of him. Harry had never been one to take well to physical displays of affection, having lacked them his entire life, but she knew that words weren't getting through him, and she didn't know how else to make him understand that she was his friend, and she would never abandon him. "You're not going to lose us Harry," she told him, standing on her tiptoes and trying to seep that knowledge into him.

And, slowly, he felt his arms unfold between them, and come to cross behind her back, drawing her into a real, intimate hug, as he clung to her as though he was clinging to the last bit of sanity left in him.

"You're never going to lose me Harry, I'll always be here when you look for me," she whispered quietly. In the back of his mind he knew, with absolute certainty, that this was wrong. He had no right to cling to her, he should have put distance between them, making her free of the prison that was their friendship to live her life safely and happily away from him and the danger that being near him implied.

He just couldn't though. It was selfish of him, but he couldn't let go of his friendship to her, or Ron.

Numbly, he heard several footsteps approaching, and, with a sigh, they both relented in their comforting embrace, Harry realizing that all the hugs that Hermione had been giving him in the last few weeks (more than she'd given in five years of friendship) were as much for her sake as for his own.

Pulling apart, they noticed that the steps were provided by Cho Chang, closely followed by three other girls, one of which they recognized as Marietta, the girl who had told High Inquisitor Umbridge about the secret DA meetings. Cho was wearing a rather pinched expression as she passed by, as though she was trying to look like she didn't care but failing rather miserably.

Harry found that he was completely unaffected by this.

He wasn't, however, when he saw her, and her friends, sneering in a rather ugly manner as they passed by Hermione, Marietta's lip curled in disgust, probably remembering the "Sneak" incident. He felt his jaw tightening.

"Let's go, Harry," he heard her say in a tight voice as she tugged on his hand, pulling him in the direction of their compartment. "Ron and Ginny must be worried." She had obviously not forgotten the 'Sneak' incident, either.

As they walked away, he distinctly heard Marietta whisper loudly to Cho, "I told you there was something going on!" Hermione tugged on his hand a little harder, her walk a little stiffer.

Harry felt that there was something going on there that he'd missed somewhere along the way.

*°*°*

Harry stepped onto the platform behind his friends after the Hogwarts Express pulled at a stop, tugging at the neck of his robes. In the last few hours a strange kind of anxiety had taken over him, and it had nothing to do with his conversation with Hermione earlier. It had come over him as he'd looked out the window to changing scenery. It had been a beautiful day actually, clear and devoid of clouds, the sky a startling blue. It might have inspired tranquillity in most people, but Harry couldn't help but feel that it was mocking him, provoking a strange sense of foreboding.

The sun was beginning to set behind the castle of Hogwarts, streaking the sky behind it a deep vermilion fading into orange and dark purple hues. It made for a beautiful sight, and many girls behind him were heard sighing and commenting its charm, yet, as he felt the bitter chilly wind whip sharply at his robes, he couldn't help but think that it spoke of nothing but pain. And loss. And it only added to his uneasiness, making the horrid image of Hermione's dead face resurface from the recesses of his dark dreams.

He chanced a sideway look at her, and realized, to his surprise that she was looking at it with apprehension as well.

Hagrid's booming voice made him jump and pull away from his thought as he could be heard shouting to the first years to go to him. "'ey, 'Arry!" He greeted him from afar. "Ron, 'Ermione." His salutation seemed a little less enthusiastic than it might have been, but maybe it could have been from the small amount of first years that were gathering around him.

They waved back to him, and headed for the horseless carriages, which weren't really horseless, but rather pulled by Thestrals, creatures that were invisible to anyone who hadn't been witness to a death.

Harry, who'd been walking rather very close to Hermione, heard her whisper to herself in a surprised hush, "I can't see them."

Before asking what she was talking about, he heard his name being called by a familiar voice, and turned to see the clumsy figure of Neville Longbottom running to catch up to them. His nose was back to normal, Harry noticed. Luna was closely behind him, looking at them with her wide eyed stare, holding a copy of the Quibbler, which had actually become a rather reliable magazine after that article about Harry, and fixing her unwavering stare on each of them as she greeted them.

The carriage ride was actually rather very quiet, since Hermione seemed to be wrapped up in her own thoughts, her mind plagued by one of those questions that only she could answer, and Harry didn't know how to react to Neville, while everyone else didn't know how to react to Harry.

The only one that seemed completely at ease seemed Luna, who was idly staring at her copy of the Quibbler upside down and singing 'Weasley is our king' in a whisper.

Thankfully, the ride was short and over quickly, and everyone practically jumped out of the carriage to run to the Great Hall, Harry's feeling of foreboding increasing as he watched the sky again. To his surprise he felt a slight twitch on his forehead.

But…at Hogwarts. It wasn't possible, was it? Unless, of course, Voldemort managed to get another of his followers to teaching against the Dark Arts. It had already happened twice.

With that queasy feeling settling in his stomach he made his way to the Gryffindor table, ignoring the sighs of those staring transfixed at the inspiring sight above them that showed through the enchanted ceiling, and sat down, waiting for the first years to enter, not actually paying attention to anything around him, in his mind the question of what this heavy feeling in his stomach was and the question of who might be the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher ringing in his mind.

As he was about to scan the faculty's table for a new face, he heard Hermione gasp next to him and grasp his arm strongly to catch his attention. "Harry! Look!" She was staring fixedly at someone at the teachers table, somewhere near Dumbledore's seat, and Harry saw immediately who she was pointing out to him.

Not like she was hard to miss.

Sitting next to the space generally occupied by McGonagall, was a thin, ghostly, ethereal looking creature, with milk colored skin, strikingly white hair, and empty white eyes, wearing an opal colored robe. Among the colorful teachers she stood out like a beacon. Harry recognized her unsettling looks instantly. Iridis Larvae, the Oculus Immensus that had been appearing in and out of Grimmauld Place since the first day he'd returned there.

"Dumbledore must have gotten her to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts," he heard Hermione whisper in awe, trying to picture the things that an Oculus Immensus could teach them.

Then Ginny's voice pulled them both out of their stupor. "Hermione, did you see who's sitting next to Snape?" She asked, a slight note of amusement in her voice.

They all turned to see who she could have been referring to. And there, next to a very disgruntled looking Potions master, with hair spiked in all sorts of directions much like a hedgehog's, splashes of gold and red covering her head, sat a very talkative Nymphadora Tonks.

"What's she doing here?" Ron asked startled.

Harry thought he might have had an idea of what she may have been doing there, but it just didn't seem very plausible. Hermione looked like she might have answered that, had not a door swung open, and a small group of first years entered, led by a stern looking Professor McGonagall, who was using a walking stick for support, and followed by Hagrid, which, upon closer inspection, Harry noticed was lacking the horrid bruises from the previous year. Maybe things with Grawp were cleared up, but he felt that this particular chapter had not been closed yet.

Harry had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he hadn't even realized that the Sorting Hat had already finished his song, and he'd missed it entirely, and was now being perched atop the first of the newcomers, a shy looking girl with blonde braids named, "Archer, Madeline," a Gryffindor.

Then there was "Baker, Anthony," in Hufflepuff. "Barner, Christina," another Gryffindor, "Crill, Tonya," a Ravenclaw, followed by two Hufflepuffs, four Gryffindors, and another Ravenclaw. So far there had been no Slytherins. And then a name was called out that Harry was already familiar with.

"Evans, Mark," McGonagall called, and a familiar red haired, scared little boy walked up to the stool and sat on it as the Sorting Hat was placed on his head, taking a few seconds before shouting out, "Gryffindor!" The boy visibly relaxed, and, jumping from the stool, ran to the nearest free seat, that, Harry realized with horror, was right in front of his. Not that he didn't like the boy who lived three streets over from the Dursleys, he just didn't want any of what Little Whinging gave him there at Hogwarts.

"Hello, Mark," Hermione greeted him with a smile, which he replied to shyly, glad that someone had acknowledged him nicely.

"Hi," he whispered quietly, as he looked around, his eyes landing on Harry, and becoming wide, before he jumped, falling off his seat, and let out a short scream, interrupting McGonagall from calling the next name. "What are you doing here?"

Harry's neck and face started to burn with a flush as he felt the stares of everyone in the Great Hall watching him and the new boy. "Er," he tried to say.

"But you're supposed to be at that St. Brutus school for the really bad criminals!" He yelled in fear from his seat on the floor. The Slytherin table burst out laughing.

All Harry could mumble was another embarrassed "Er," as he felt the entire school's stares. He really wished that the last particular bit of information had been kept from the school's knowledge. Hermione nudged him lightly.

"Er…No, that's just what the Dursleys say to people so they don't have to explain that he's a wizard. They hate magic," Hermione answered for her friend, who was rather speechless at the time. Mark looked between her slightly amused, yet confused, face and Harry who was nodding to say that she was right, and touching his scar nervously. He blinked.

"Oh," he said quietly, getting back on his seat, a highly embarrassed look crossing his face.

McGonagall could be heard clearing her throat. She looked more than a little miffed at the interruption. "I would like to continue with the Sorting if you are quite done," she told sternly, and without waiting for an answer went on to do exactly what she'd said.

Chancing a look at the teacher's table, Harry couldn't suppress a groan.

"What's wrong, mate?" Ron asked from his left.

"Snape's never going to stop bringing this up," he pointed to the Potions master, who, for once, wasn't wearing his usual sneer, but a, rather alarming, smug expression.

"You're forgetting about Malfoy," Ginny told him, turning to glare at the Slytherin, who was still chuckling at Mark's revelation.

Harry shrugged. "Malfoy I can handle," he sighed, watching Snape again. "But Snape's been trying to make me sound like a criminal since first."

"Who are you talking about?" Mark asked in a small voice, trying to make himself small in front of Harry, looking as though he was scared to ask, but was too curious to stay quiet.

"Professor Snape," Hermione replied in a hushed voice, not wanting to be heard. "He teaches Potions, and hates Gryffindors. He's always taking points off for no reason," her lip curled in a display of disagreement toward his manners.

"He has it in for Harry," Ginny added.

"But," the little boy started, "from how you're talking it sounds like everybody has it in for him."

Everyone looked at him with raised eyebrows, just as Dumbledore stood up.

He cleared his throat and the Hall went quiet. "Tuck in," he told them, as all sorts of wonderful food appeared on their tables, and went completely unnoticed by the section of Gryffindor table who was still staring at the little boy. Nobody had actually ever had to explain this to anyone, since everyone they'd encountered so far already knew.

"Mark, didn't your father tell you?" Hermione asked him, her voice incredulous. "Didn't he talk to you at all about what's going on?"

"You mean about…those bad wizards?" He whispered so that only they could hear him, not daring to call them what they were.

Hermione nodded. "Didn't he tell you the whole story? About his cousin, and the baby?" Mark nodded, looking pale. "Mark, Harry was that baby," she told him, "so a lot of people do have it in for him."

"Oh," Mark looked at Harry, not knowing what else to say. Quietly, they began to pile food on their plates, allowing their thoughts to be absorbed by the wonderful house elf provided meal.

"That also makes you cousins," Hermione added nonchalantly, biting down on a piece of ham and chicken pie.

Harry nearly choked on his food, Mark dropped his fork with a clatter, and Ginny nearly spit out her pumpkin juice. Ron was lucky, as he was still filling his plate, though he did manage to ask rather touchily, "How does she always know everything?"

"Ronald, if you'd been listening to the conversation you would have probably figured out that I spoke to Mark's father," she replied dryly, continuing to eat as though she was commenting the weather.

"When?"

"At Diagon Alley, when you were at Gringott's."

A look of understanding crossed Harry's face. "Your Prefect's instincts?" he asked, referring to what she'd told him that day. She nodded with a smile to him. "But," Harry began, slightly confused, "I thought the Dursleys were my only relatives."

She shook her head. "They're your only immediate relatives, Harry. You have plenty other relatives here in the Wizarding World, they're just not close enough to be considered family."

"How does she know all this?" Ron exclaimed indignantly.

Harry looked to Mark, who was staring at him as though he was trying to figure out what to think of all this. Harry noticed that Mark had several scratches on his hands and a still healing bruise where his shoulder met his neck. "Dudley cornered you again?" He asked, pulling the conversation away from what it had been. The boy blushed, and nodded embarrassed.

"Used to do it to me too, till I got my wand at least," Harry told him secretively.

"Really?" The boy looked surprised and slightly hopeful, as though Harry would let him in on the secret to stop being tortured. Which he did.

"Yeah," he leaned over the table and closer to him. "Next time you see him, show him your wand. He knows you're not supposed to do magic out of school, but he'll be too scared to try his luck." Mark grinned widely at this, going back to eating, now entirely enjoying the wonderful meal.

Once they were well fed and satisfied, the familiar clinking of McGonagall's spoon against her goblet caught their attention as the Headmaster stood up again. "A few start of the year notices," he began after having greeted them, much like he had in previous year. "Mr Filch would like to remind you that the Forbidden Forest is still…forbidden, and announces that any and all Weasley's Wizard Wheezes items are not allowed. You may go in his office to take a look at all the other things that are not permitted as there is a list on his wall.

"On a different note, there are two changes to our staff that I would like to introduce. Taking over the course of Defence Against the Dark Arts will be Professor Iridis Larvae," and the Oculus Immensus stood, taller than the Headmaster, and a collective gasp was heard all around, as though nobody had noticed her till then, and everyone seemed too stunned to cheer until Hermione started clapping, enticing the others, "and, as High Inquisitor, Nymphadora Tonks," and the young Auror stood up, her hair now flashing from gold to scarlet as she gave Dumbledore a glare for having told everyone her first name. There was a large round of applause at seeing that this High Inquisitor didn't seem to have anything to do with the last one.

"Tonks is High Inquisitor?" Ron exclaimed, thoroughly shocked.

"But she's much too young for the Ministry to have chosen her," Ginny added rationally.

"Actually, I'd imagine it was rather easy for Dumbledore to get her, and quite clever, too, wouldn't you say?" Hermione thought out loud. "I'd say that now that Voldemort" she ignored her friends who shuddered around her, "is officially out, Fudge wouldn't refuse Dumbledore anything, being he the wisest and probably most powerful wizard alive. I surmise that all he had to do was ask for a Metamorphmagus, there aren't that many. And Tonks is likeable, unlike Umbridge, people wouldn't be afraid of her. She's easy to trust," Hermione explained, her attention back to Dumbledore as he spoke again after the applause died down.

"The Ministry has also revoked all of the Educational Decrees that High Inquisitor Umbridge had styled last year." The applause was deafening, and the Hall seemed abuzz as they set out to sing the school song, nearly every tune an enthusiastic one.

Strangely, though, Harry had felt hollow the entire duration of the Welcoming Feast.

Ron and Hermione beckoned the first years to them as they led them to Gryffindor tower, Ginny and Harry walking next to them, the latter beginning to feel uneasy again as he felt a sort of twitch under his scar, almost as though it was perking its ears to catch a sound it wasn't sure whether it had heard or not.

And there was a sound. A tumbling, and scrambling, and frightened screams from a couple of staircases below.

Confusion and panic spread like a wild fire as many girls were heard screeching. Hermione rushed to look over the railing of the landing she'd been standing, closely followed by her friends. Three landing below, a first year who had been sorted in Hufflepuff was dangling in empty space over the ledge as two older students held his hands to keep him from falling the long height to the ground. How he'd managed to fall over the high, thick railing couldn't really be figured out at first glance, but one thing was more than obvious.

The boy was going to fall to his death if somebody didn't stop it.

And somebody did.

Hermione quickly whipped her wand out of her pocket, performed a well practiced swish and flick of her wrist, calling out, "Wingardium Leviosa!" The effort to keep the scared child up seemed to lessen for those that clutched his hands so Harry did much the same that Hermione had done and cast his own levitating charm, followed by Ron and Ginny.

A sigh of relief spread through the corridor as the trembling frail looking child's feet touched solid ground softly, and soon after questions were beginning to fly. How had he fallen over? Had someone pushed him? Why?

But there really wasn't any time for questions, and Hermione knew that. "Ginny, take the first years up to the tower. Ron, go get Dumbledore and the Head of Houses, I'll go take him to the Hospital Wing," and with that she ran down the flights of stairs calling out to make room for her as she was Prefect, leaving Harry behind with an extremely oppressive feeling behind.

He didn't know what the feeling meant, but he knew that he shouldn't leave Hermione alone. He contemplated running to catch up after her, but she'd already reached the boy and was levitating him to the Hospital Wing, and the steps leading to her were far too filled with people who had stopped to see what was going on for him to reach her before she was out of sight.

He felt Ginny grabbing hold of his robes as she turned in the direction of Gyffindor tower telling him that they should have gone to take care of the first years, who were scared out of their wits, and were submerging them with questions as to what could have possibly happened. "Well," Ginny began, not really knowing what to say and feeling like that had not been a good first day as a Prefect. Just then the stairs moved and attached to a different landing, the first years gasping in surprise and screaming in fright as they latched onto the hand rails. "The stairs like to change a lot. Nobody's ever gotten hurt though before, it generally only gets you lost at first. Maybe somebody shoved him by accident while it was moving and he fell over."

Harry looked back over at the landing. "Ginny, isn't that the landing right before the Hufflepuff Common Room, the one that continues on into the dungeons?" Confused, the redhead leaned over to see as well.

"I think so. Why?"

"Because Crabbe and Goyle are running down there," he told her simply.

"Harry, you don't think…?" she asked, looking disgusted at what she knew was a strong possibility.

And then a thought hit him. "Where's Malfoy?" He wasn't with Crabbe and Goyle, and Harry was sure he'd seen him at dinner. And then his scar hurt. A lot. So much that he lost his balance and fell to the cold steps, his hand over his forehead, his sight blurring and changing, no longer seeing the overcrowded steps, but a deserted corridor, one that he knew very well.

It was the one leading to the Hospital Wing, but it wasn't seen as he would have normally. The eye level was far too low, practically touching the ground, and the eyes that were seeing it were looking around slowly, as though searching for something.

And he knew what that eye level was. He'd seen it before in another such occasion, and he grew terrified of what it could mean. Struggling to his feet he heard himself telling Ginny to get everyone out of there, though he couldn't have explained how he'd managed that, and ran stumbling down the flights of stairs, instinct driving him along the familiar way while his sight of the surroundings was covered of the view seen from someone else's perspective.

From a snake's perspective.

He knew.

He knew now that Voldemort hadn't been fooling with him while showing him Hermione's dead face. He knew he wasn't sidetracking him onto a fake victim. He was trying to slowly chew away at his judgement so that he wouldn't say anything about said dreams to anyone.

And it had worked. Harry had allowed it to work, and now Hermione was going to pay for his lack of logic.

He could hear footsteps, but they hadn't been registered by his ears. It was Nagini who was hearing them nearing, which meant that Hermione was walking right into the arms of her awaiting death. He saw her running into the snake's line of sight, levitating the boy who had passed out after his earlier shock behind her.

Run, Hermione. Run! He screamed at her mentally, yet Nagini wasn't chasing after her. Relieving as that thought might have temporarily been, another struck Harry as he fuzzily watched Hermione break through the heavy door of the Hospital Wing. What's it waiting for? He asked himself as Nagini squatted in a dark unseen corner. Ron should be along with Dumbledore soon. He knows that! Didn't he? Maybe he was certain that they would be held back. Maybe that's where Malfoy went.

Terrified of the last thought, he sped up, slamming into the walls in front of himself that he couldn't see through the foreign vision overlapping his own. Please, Hermione, stay in there! Don't come out yet. Just wait for Dumbledore. Wait for Dumbledore like you always would and you'll be safe. Wait for me to get there. Just wait a little longer. He kept chanting in his mind, knowing that she wouldn't be attacked unless she was alone.

It had all been planned, he knew it. That first year had been pushed on purpose over the ledge, and it was easy to figure out that Hermione would be the only one to understand that she had to do something instead of just gaping at the sight of him hanging out there. It was easy to figure out that she would also feel responsible of taking him to the hospital wing. It was easy to figure out that if someone managed to stop Dumbledore or other from reaching her on time she would be an easy target.

It had all been planned, and he hadn't stopped it.

And then, through the snake's eyes he saw the thick doors of the infirmary opening, and time went slowly.

He tried to speed his pace, but it was as though he was watching the entire thing through stills in slow motion. With each running step, all he heard was his own heart beat drumming in his ears, and all he saw was what the snake was seeing as it sprinted forward, seeming to take forever to reach his best friend's feet, taking long enough to make him hope that he could reach her on time, after all the Hospital Wing was right around the next turn, only a few steps into the corridor.

But no, in an infinitely painful moment that would be locked in eternity, he saw through Nagini's own eyes that it had reached Hermione. He could feel the snake's jaw opening as though it were his own, and felt the bite as though he had inflicted it, feeling the resistance of flesh being pierced by sharp points.

And he saw.

He saw Hermione look down at her murderer, fear and unspeakable pain written all over her face, her mouth open in a scream that he could hear both in mind and in his ears as he rounded the corner, and begin to see with his own eyes.

Nagini was already slithering away, but he didn't care. Hermione's scream had turned to a strangled gurgle as she slid to the ground, her soft muted thud sounding final as time began to move at it's regular pace and he finally reached her.

Too late. Much too late.

He heard himself scream her name as though his voice was coming from somewhere so distant, so far away that it was veiled and unclear. He took her in his arms, as she convulsed, her skin already grey and ashy, her body shaking so much that he almost couldn't hold her still in his grasp.

Her eyes focused on him weakly, and her mouth moved as though to form words, but nothing seemed to come out, and, much like a candle's light burns brightest before dying out, Hermione's body began to spasm beyond control and then stopped altogether, and then she was as she was in his nightmares. Her eyes on him but unfocused, dull…dead.

That's when he felt.

He felt his voice hurting his throat as it burst through to scream his denial, he heard his voice booming down the halls and all through the castle, he felt an essential part of himself being ripped away. He felt the pain that he'd refused to feel since Sirius come to shred at his sanity as it added onto this new…this…he didn't know what it was, but nothing-nothing-in his life had been so absolutely…wrong.

It couldn't be Hermione, it simply couldn't be. Not her. Not now, not ever. Just not her.

In his arms, Hermione gave another shudder, as her body was still under the effects of the bite, and he could feel, he knew he could feel her life as it seeped out of her and dispersed into thin air.

He was sobbing, his body heaving with his great heaving gasps of pain.

Somebody was trying to get him off of her, but he wouldn't let them. He held onto her as firmly as he could, not letting go of his only bit of sanity left. He wouldn't even look around, he didn't want to know who was trying to pry Hermione's body away from him. He just wouldn't let them.

Until he felt a hand on his shoulder that he recognized all too well.

Dumbledore.

Where had he been while Harry had been running as though the very essence of the world was on the line? Where had he been while Hermoine was being attacked? Ron had gone to fetch him earlier, had he cared so little about his students that he felt he could take his dear sweet time?

He was Dumbledore, the never wavering pillar of wisdom, he was supposed to know everything. He was supposed to stop things like this from happening.

But he hadn't. He hadn't stopped Crouch disguised as Mad Eye from turning the Triwizard Cup into a Portkey that would lead to Voldemort's resurrection, he hadn't stopped Sirius from falling through the veil, and he hadn't stopped this.

And Harry hated him for it. With one arm he clung to Hermione while he flung the other in all directions to inflict strong angry blows onto the ancient wizard endlessly, stopping only when he had nothing left in him at all, his arm to sore to be lifted again.

He felt his strength leave him as he clung to Hermione, her body already cooling while he sobbed into eternity.

"Harry, you have to leave her now," he heard the Headmaster say as their eyes met. There was no twinkle behind them as usual, and it might have been Harry's blurred vision, but he could have sworn that Dumbledore was crying. Again. "Go back to your dorm."

"No."

"You have to leave her, Harry," Dumbledore repeated. "Go back to your dorm," his voice held an underling of understanding, but he didn't. He didn't understand anything.

"I can't stay here," Harry told him truthfully, his eyes trained on him, his voice strong, but betraying what the utter despair that he was feeling.

Dumbledore wouldn't speak, and Harry refused to let Madame Pomfrey take Hermione.

"Where would you go?" He finally asked.

"Anywhere but here," Harry replied readily. "There's nothing left here." Nothing but heart wrenchingly intense pain at the memories of his happy moments with her all throughout the castle. He couldn't live with those haunting him everyday.

Harry knew that, this time, Dumbledore understood.

"Grimmauld Place, then?" he proposed. Harry nodded. There was no place that he could go to that wouldn't be filled with Hermione's words, voice, and scent, but anything was preferable to Hogwarts castle.

He didn't ask if he would ever come back, and Harry was grateful for that.

He watched Dumbledore stand, and reluctantly allowed the school nurse to take Hermione away from his vice like hold, and slowly, leaning on the wall for support, he stood as well.

He ignored McGonagall's tears, Ginny's distraught look (when had she arrived in the first place?), and Ron's hurt and angry expression, and allowed his body to lead him through the familiar passages to the Headmaster's office.

Dumbledore had told him that he didn't need him to explain anything, the portraits could very well retell the tale for him, and instructed him to step into the fireplace.

"I will send your things to you and tell you when the memorial service will be held," and without waiting for Harry's reaction, the Headmaster threw Floo Powder at the boy's feet calling out the name of Grimmauld Place.

Harry allowed the green flames to devour him and transport him to the one place that he had once wanted to avoid, feeling that something more than the obvious was wrong with what had happened.

Something was brewing, slowly simmering to boiling point, and it wouldn't be long before he found out what.

To be continued.

There it is! Oh, my God! I ACTUALLY cried while I wrote this (and it was really embarrassing since I was working at the time and clients were coming in). Anyway, this was really emotional for me, and it's supposed to be one of the most important points of the story (there will be more of course, I couldn't just put the climax in the fifth chapter!) and I hope it gave you the feelings it was supposed to. If it didn't, then I'm really wasting my time writing. Anyway, I didn't answer any questions this time because I really thought it wasn't the time (and I have a fever so I sorta don't feel like it), but ask away and I'll answer next time.

Please, tell me what you think because I absolutely need opinions for this.

Thank you

Love

Pearl