Disclaimer: See previous chapter. Also, the memories and the prophecy in this chapter were taken from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, the fifth book in the Harry Potter series written by J. K. Rowling (as if anybody even considering reading this story doesn't already know that).
Summary: See first sentence of answer for above Disclaimer.
Small Snippet to Torture Reader Until Reader Reads (And Reviews *Hint* *Hint*): He couldn't stand it; he had to look away from those eyes. Closing his own, he rested his forehead on her shoulder, and pulled her into him again as close as was physically possible it seemed. She ran her hands through his hair in soothing movements, waiting patiently for him to answer her, and he knew he would have to answer her. . . .
~*~*~*~*~
Memories
(Chapter Three)
~*~*~
Harry was sitting in a large, high-backed chair by a roaring fire. Old houses were always so cold even in the summer. The morning was nearing two o'clock, but still none of his Death Eaters had reported back to him. His patience was growing very thin; he would have to torture the one responsible for the hold up to make sure such delays wouldn't happen again in the future. Forget torturing the one responsible, anyone would do now; they were all in this together, they would all pay for making their master wait!
"Master?" squeaked a voice from behind him.
"It's about time! What took so long?" Harry questioned with a high, cruel voice.
"The Aurors . . . they were stronger than we had expected -"
"I don't care for excuses, Wormtail!"
"I am sorry my lord!" Wormtail said, dropping to his knees and crawling along the floor to where Harry sat. "I did not mean to upset you. Please, forgive me, Master?" he said, kissing the hem of Harry's robes.
"You know I do not forgive without payment. Stop grovelling, Worm!" Harry demanded, kicking at the pathetic excuse for a wizard in front of him. He waited for a moment, "Well?"
"Yes, my lord?"
"Was the operation successful?" he hissed, getting annoyed with the wizard's stupidity.
"Yes, sir. All of the remaining Death Eaters that were in Azkaban have been freed. We also killed two Aurors. One of our own fell, but he had been new." Wormtail hurried as to avoid the wrath of his master.
Harry smiled wickedly at the news. Finally, his army was starting to take form again. And now, there were two less people to aid that meddling old fool, Dumbledore. One loss was worth regaining the rest of his most loyal Death Eaters. Anyway, if that one was so easily taken to the grave, then he hadn't deserved to live. Weakness was not tolerated by Lord Voldemort.
"Where is everyone else, Worm?"
"They are waiting for you downstairs, my lord."
"Why did no one come with you?" Wormtail just eyed the ground nervously, but Harry didn't need him to say anything. He could see right through the little rat; he new the truth. "They were too afraid," he answered himself. "They shall all pay . . . first for making me wait so long, and second for their cowardice! Lord Voldemort does not tolerate cowards and weaklings!"
"Of course not, Master."
Harry rose from his chair, "Come, Worm." Harry started toward the door with Wormtail trailing behind him. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror across the room. . . . Pitiless, red eyes stared back at him. There was a loud clap of thunder and . . .
Harry sat bolt upright in bed covered profusely with sweat. He stumbled to the floor, still tangled in his sheets, trying to get to the mirror on the dresser. He leaned in close to his reflection, having left his glasses on his nightstand, to see his usual green eyes. At least, he still resembled himself.
He looked across the room and saw Ron, or rather, a blurry lump under a bunch of sheets, lying haphazardly on his bed. A loud snore told Harry that his best friend was still asleep.
He began running through his dream, trying to remember the details before they slipped away. He had been in Voldemort's mind again. . . . He had been talking to Wormtail about something important. . . . There had been a breakout from Azkaban and people had died . . . two Aurors and one Death Eater. . . . Then Voldemort had . . .
"Ah!" Harry clapped a hand to his forehead, his scar burning as though it were on fire. The pain began to subside almost immediately as he heard a loud thump from across the room. Harry's yell had woken Ron.
"Wassa matta, Harry?" Ron asked groggily from the floor.
"I had another dream."
"Was it another attack?" Ron practically whispered, now very much awake.
"Yes, a big one. They broke all of the Death Eaters out of Azkaban."
Ron gulped at Harry's statement. "Did anyone die?" he seemed almost hesitant to ask.
"Yes, but I don't know who."
"You need to tell someone from the Order."
"Yeah, I know. I was going to when my scar started hurting. Voldemort was about to . . ." Harry shuddered. "Never mind."
"Well, come on. We should hurry," Ron said, obviously trying to ignore the fact that Harry had used Voldemort's name. Harry grabbed his glasses and left, trailing behind Ron.
The two boys marched down the stairs and into Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's room. Mrs. Weasley woke with a start, grabbing for her wand before realizing who had woken her.
"What are you two boys doing up at this hour and in my room? Do you even realize that it's . . ." she paused to look at her husband's wristwatch, "two-thirty in the morning?" she started in a stern tone. "You should be in bed and asleep, not running around the house like -"
"Mum, shut up. Harry needs to tell you something," Ron interrupted her before she could continue her lecture.
Mrs. Weasley spluttered at her son's rudeness but soon regained her composure. "Well then, what is so important that you had to wake me now?"
"I had another dream," Harry began. "There was a breakout from Azkaban; all of the Death Eaters have escaped."
She looked up apprehensively at him, "Are you sure this wasn't just a dream, Harry dear?" She seemed to be choosing her words very carefully. "I mean, is there the slightest possibility that you might have been mistaken, again?"
"It was real, I know it was! You have to do something!" Harry couldn't understand why she wasn't doing anything yet; people had died, and she was just sitting there! Scepticism was etched on every feature of her face. Then, it hit him; she wasn't going to do anything. . . . She didn't believe him. "You don't think I'm telling the truth, do you?" he asked incredulously.
"Now Harry, it's not that I don't believe that you think what happened in your dream was real; it's just that the last time you had one of these 'dreams', it turned out to be a trap. I'm concerned that your judgment may not be at its best right now, and I don't think it's a good idea to worry the Order over nothing." She spoke calmly, as though trying to explain something complex to a small child.
"Nothing?" Harry was trying to keep his voice down but was failing miserably. "Oh yeah, Death Eaters escaping from Azkaban and people dying is absolutely nothing!" he said, sarcasm dripping from every word.
Her voice was becoming more impatient and agitated, "Harry, at least two members from the Order are stationed at Azkaban all day, every day. If something had happened, they would have contacted us -"
"They wouldn't contact you if they were unconscious or dead!"
Mrs. Weasley sat stunned for a moment but then continued defiantly, as though her word were final, "Harry, the Order is not going to go running off to Azkaban at two-thirty in the morning because of the off chance that a dream you had might be real."
"I'm not asking for that. I just want someone to tell Dumbledore!"
"Dumbledore doesn't need to be disturbed at this hour."
"You know, you weren't so doubtful when Mr. Weasley had been the one attacked! What if I had ignored it then . . . ?"
Silence filled the room after that statement. Mrs. Weasley was completely speechless. She almost looked like she was about to cry at the thought of losing her husband. Harry felt immediately guilty for yelling at her the way he did, but he had to make her see the truth. He was about to apologize for being so rude when a soft voice spoke up before he'd even opened his mouth.
"You know that he's right, Molly." Everyone jumped at the sound of Mr. Weasley's voice. Harry had only just realized how loud his argument with Mrs. Weasley must have been. "It couldn't hurt to contact Dumbledore and inform him of the news." She looked down and slowly nodded her head. Then, he turned around and picked up a small white candle from the top of a table next to the bed. He pointed his wand at it and muttered a few words under his breath. Almost immediately a flame sprung up from the candle, but it wasn't the shape of a normal flame; it was slightly larger and resembled . . . Dumbledore's head?!
As if seeing his Headmaster's head bobbing above a candle hadn't been shocking enough for Harry, the fiery form then began to speak, "Hello, Arthur. I assume you've contacted me because Harry's had another dream? Perhaps, it was one about a breakout from Azkaban?"
"So it's true, then?"
"I am afraid so."
Mrs. Weasley suddenly let out a small scream, "Hadn't tonight been Tonks' and Kingsley's turns to keep watch? Oh, Dumbledore, please tell me they are both all right!"
The flaming head nodded, "They are both fine. They sustained only a few minor injuries. Both should be as good as new after a good-night's sleep."
"Oh, thank Merlin!" she sighed in relief.
"We are still trying to get things back in order. There aren't any casualties to speak of, yet -"
"That's not true, sir," Harry cut in, "there were two Aurors and one Death Eater who lost their lives."
"Do you know who?"
"No, Wormtail didn't say who."
"You mean Pettigrew? Right, we'll continue searching, then. In the mean time, I suggest that the rest of you get some sleep. You've done all you can tonight. Arthur, I will be by later today once I am done here. Now, I must be going. Goodnight to you all."
A chorus of 'good-nights' sounded from the four people staring at the candle. Dumbledore's fiery head gave a small nod before the flame withered and died.
"Well, you two heard him. Go on up to bed. I'll wake you when breakfast is ready," Mrs. Weasley chided, her stern demeanour having returned.
The two boys went to leave, but right before Harry reached the door he turned and said, "Mrs. Weasley, I'm sorry about yelling at you earlier. I didn't mean to be so rude and -"
"Oh, don't worry about it dear. I'm the one who should be sorry; I should have listened to you the first time you said something was wrong. Now, go up to bed and get some sleep," She said, giving him a small hug before shooing him out of the room.
Harry and Ron were retreating under the covers of their beds only a short time later, Ron having a much easier time of falling into slumber than Harry.
~*~*~
"Harry. Harry, wake up," a distant voice called. He felt his shoulder shake lightly. "It's almost lunch time, you need to wake up," the voice called softly, hanging on the wind like an angel's whisper.
" 'Kay, just five more minutes, Mum," he murmured to the angel.
"Harry, I'm not your mum. Now come on, open your eyes. Mrs. Weasley told me to wake you up for lunch. She let you sleep in this morning because she knew you needed at least some rest, but she doesn't want you to sleep the entire day away. I really don't think it's a good idea to incite her wrath upon us, so get up," the voice said more forcefully.
Driven by the fear of Mrs. Weasley's infamous temper, he forced himself to escape the confines of nothingness he had been dreaming about. "All right, I'm getting up," he said, opening his eyes to see a blurry Hermione sitting next to him on the side of his bed. He took his glasses that she was holding out to him, "Thanks."
She nodded to him. "You need to hurry; lunch will be served in a few minutes, and Dumbledore will be arriving soon after lunch is over."
"Did Ron tell you about what happened last night?"
"Yes."
"Did they find the three who had . . . ?" he trailed off.
"We don't know. You'll have to ask Dumbledore when he arrives," her quiet voice hung sadly in the air. They sat there for a few minutes thinking about what news Dumbledore might bring before Hermione finally said, "I should let you get ready. I'll see you downstairs." She slipped off of his bed and left the room, closing the door behind her.
Harry soon made his way to the kitchen after getting dressed. He could hear Mrs. Weasley bickering with the twins, again. He suspected it had something to do with their shop. He was quite surprised she hadn't yet chided him for sponsoring Fred and George. It would probably happen sooner or later, though. Harry opened the door to find the five Weasleys, Lupin, and Hermione sitting at a table in the centre of the room. They all looked up to where he stood at the sound of the creaking door. A few 'hellos' were exchanged as Harry entered the room, seating himself between Lupin and Hermione.
"So, Hermione said that there hasn't been anymore news on what happened last night . . ." Harry started off, trying to get some more information.
"Dumbledore contacted us, but he didn't give us any details. He just said he'd be by at around one o'clock today," Lupin replied to Harry's unfinished question.
"Oh." Harry was going to ask something else, but was distracted by a small tapping sound. "Does anyone else hear that? It sounds like someone tapping at a window."
"We weren't expecting anyone except Dumbledore, and he knows how to get in; it must be an owl. Why don't you go fetch it, Ron," Mrs. Weasley told him. Ron left the kitchen to search out the source of the insistent tapping. "I trust you got some sleep after the events of last night, Harry? I mean this morning I couldn't wake you for the world, though, you still have those dark circles under your eyes. Did you lose weight? What have those Muggles been feeding you? Eat up, Harry; I won't have you wasting away, not if I can help it."
"Er, right," he replied a bit awkwardly; he was still having a hard time of getting used to people fussing over him. He didn't really know how to react or what to say, so he just took a big bite out of his sandwich to avoid having to give a more in-depth response.
Ron came back with a letter held open in front of his face. Judging by the expression he was making, Harry thought it was safe to assume that the letter wasn't from one of Ron's favourite people. Sure enough, Harry was right. "It's from Percy. He wants to say that he's sorry about what had happened last year, and he's glad that the family understands and will be welcoming his return." Ron gave the letter one last scoff before handing it over to his mother. "As if that'll happen." He settled himself back in his seat across from Harry to finish his lunch. "He's so pompous! After what he did, he expects us to welcome him back with open arms just because he wanted to say he was sorry, which he didn't say by the way! It'll be funny when he shows up at the house and finds it empty."
"He won't. He sent a letter a few days ago, as well. Arthur is going to meet him after work and bring him here tonight," Mrs. Weasley corrected him.
"What? You mean to tell me that you actually accepted his lame attempt at an apology after what he did to us and to Harry?"
"If you mean to say that he's realized the error of his past behaviour, that he's only human and makes mistakes like the rest of us, and that we have forgiven him, then my answer is yes," she responded slightly coolly.
"You have a very colourful way of interpreting the things I say," Ron noted wryly.
"Only when the things you say are rude," she quipped back at him.
"So, I suppose the rest of the family doesn't have a choice in the matter?"
"Well, most of the family have already decided to let bygones be bygones. Also, the Order decided to allow Percy knowledge of the whereabouts of our headquarters, so he'll be staying here for the rest of the summer."
"Fred, George, you knew about this, and you didn't say anything?" Ron asked incredulously. The two avoided his eyes, looking a bit nervous. "Ginny?" She was staring at the floor as she gave her head a slight nod in the affirmative. "Am I the only one who didn't know about this?" He asked, gaping at his mother.
"I didn't know about it. Of course, that's not exactly saying something. . . ." Harry replied half-heartedly.
"I meant people inside the family, Harry," Ron cut him off.
"Oh. Right. Sorry," Harry's voice dropped in volume with each syllable. Ron's words felt like a knife that had just been jabbed into his chest. An image of his parents and Sirius flashed in his mind. He could hear his mother screaming and himself shouting for Sirius to come back. Harry knew Ron hadn't meant it in a harsh way, but his words were still a reminder that Harry was just an orphan who had no one: Alone.
"Ron, that was really uncalled for," Hermione whispered, her eyes flashing.
"And mean," Ginny added contemptuously.
"What'd I do?" Ron asked, looking between the two. They both just glared at him. "What?"
Mrs. Weasley started tut-ing. "You know you're as good as family, don't you Harry? Don't bother with what Ron said."
"What did I say?" Ron kept repeating.
"I'll tell you later," Ginny mumbled to him to get him to stop.
Harry stared at his food, casting around for something to talk about to try and break some of the tension. The silence was killing him; there was nothing keeping him from thinking about his lost family, and he needed there to be. Stepping into the 'House of Black' was like being forced into a living hell of painful memories, and he needed the distractions that conversations with the others presented so he could stop remembering, stop hurting (even if it was only on the surface). He couldn't let the pain take a hold of him because if it did, it'd never stop. He had to be numb just to survive.
He still hadn't fully accepted Sirius's death yet. . . . Sometimes, he still found himself expecting Sirius to come bursting through the front door, saying, "Did you miss me?" . . . It was easier to pretend that Sirius was just on a long vacation of a sort. Though deep down, Harry knew the truth. . . . He just either couldn't or wouldn't face it.
"Harry?"
He focused his gaze upward to see a concerned Lupin looking at him. Suddenly he felt crowded as he noticed everyone else looking at him. He couldn't breath. He needed to be by himself. "I'm fine, really. I'm just not all that hungry," and with that, he got up and left the kitchen.
He regretted leaving the moment he was alone; the memories came rushing to him like a whirl-wind. . . .
The dream . . .
. . . Once again he was in the cathedral-sized room full of shelves and glass spheres . . . there was a shape on the floor at the very end, a black shape moving upon the floor like a wounded animal . . . A voice issued from his own mouth, a high, cold voice empty of any human kindness, "Take it for me. . . . Lift it down, now. . . . I cannot touch it . . . but you can. . . ." The black shape upon the floor shifted a little. Harry saw a long-fingered white hand clutching a wand . . . heard the high, cold voice say, "Crucio!" . . . He raised his wand, the curse lifted, and the figure groaned and became motionless. "Lord Voldemort is waiting . . ." Very slowly, his arms trembling, the man on the ground raised his shoulders a few inches and lifted his head. His face was bloodstained and gaunt, twisted in pain yet rigid with defiance. . . . "You'll have to kill me," whispered Sirius. . . .
Kreacher . . .
. . . the elf let out his loudest cackle yet. "Master will not come back from the Department of Mysteries!" he said gleefully. "Kreacher and his Mistress are alone again!" . . .
His last battle . . .
. . . Harry saw Sirius duck Bellatrix's jet of red light: He was laughing at her. "Come on, you can do better than that!" he yelled . . . The second jet of light hit him squarely on the chest . . . his eyes widened in shock . . . His body curved in a graceful arc as he sank backward through the ragged veil hanging from the arch. . . .
"NO! STOP!" Harry yelled and ran up the stairs.
'No!'
. . . "SIRIUS!" Harry yelled, "SIRIUS!" . . .
'Stop!'
. . . Sirius must be just behind the curtain, he, Harry, would pull him back out again. . . . But as he reached the ground and sprinted toward the dais, Lupin grabbed Harry around the chest, holding him back . . .
"Go away!" he whimpered.
. . . "There's nothing you can do, Harry -" . . . "Get him, save him, he's only just gone through!" . . . "It's too late, Harry -" . . . "We can still reach him -" . . . "There's nothing you can do, Harry . . . nothing. . . . He's gone." . . .
'NO!'
Harry ran into Sirius's old room, grabbed the first thing he saw, and threw it at a wall. "WHY NOW?" he shouted toward the ceiling. "Why did you have to leave me?" he whispered, dropping to his knees, trying to fight off the visions.
"Harry?"
He spun around to see Hermione rushing toward him from the doorway. He closed his eyes, and the next thing he knew, Hermione was wrapping him in her arms, holding him tight to her.
"I miss him. I miss him so much, Hermione!" his voice broke. "Why did he have to leave? Why? It's not fair. He never got the chance to live! He finally escaped from Azkaban, but he never got to live!" He pulled her closer, letting the emotions wash over him.
"Shh, it's okay, Harry. Let it all out. It's okay to cry if you need to -"
"NO! I can't!" But even as he said it, burning, hot tears spilled down his cheek. "I can't! The pain will never go away! I can't let myself be weak. I can't . . . I can't . . ." All the pain that he'd been suppressing, all the emotions he'd tried so desperately to ignore and forget were taking over him. He was falling and couldn't stop. Hermione was making small shushing noises to help calm him, but he needed more than that. His arms were wrapped tightly around her, holding onto her as though his life depended on it, as though she was the only thing keeping him sane.
"You don't always have to be the strong one, Harry," she whispered, pulling back enough to see his
face.
"Yes, I do."
Her eyes were searching his, as though trying to figure something out. "Why?"
"Because I'm the one everyone is counting on. . . ."
"Why is everyone counting on you?" She kept searching his eyes. Pausing for a moment as though hoping he would elaborate, she continued when he didn't. "Why did people keep coming up to you at dinner last night? What's going on that you haven't told me, yet? I know there's something more that you've been hiding. Is that why you didn't write over the summer? Talk to me, Harry!" she pleaded.
Now, was the time to tell her about the prophecy. He knew he'd never be able to lie to her, not now, not with those eyes boring into his. He wanted so desperately to tell her, to talk to someone about it, but he didn't know how to form the words. Where would he start?
She reached a hand up to his cheek and brushed away the tears that were still clinging to his skin. "Please, tell me, Harry."
He couldn't stand it; he had to look away from those eyes. Closing his own, he rested his forehead on her shoulder, and pulled her into him again as close as was physically possible it seemed. She ran her hands through his hair in soothing movements, waiting patiently for him to answer her, and he knew he would have to answer her. . . .
Steeling himself for the inevitable, he began his story at the point from when she had fallen that night. He told her every detail he could remember: how he had felt when he'd thought she had died; the fight with the Death Eaters and how the prophecy had smashed with no one hearing it; (with his voice trembling) how Sirius had died; his skirmish with Bellatrix; Dumbledore's duel with Voldemort; how Voldemort had possessed him; and finally, his talk with Dumbledore back in the aged wizard's office . . .
"Hermione, do you remember Lucius Malfoy saying that the reason Voldemort had attacked my family in the first place was because of that prophecy?"
"Yes."
"Well, he was telling the truth. That prophecy was the reason for everything that's happened between me and Voldemort! But I've got the upper hand on him in a small way . . . I know what it says. . . ."
She looked into his eyes, shocked and confused. "I thought you said that the prophecy smashed and that no one heard it . . . ?"
"Yes, and it's true. But, that sphere that was hidden in the Department of Mysteries was just a record. The real thing happened sometime within the year before I was born, and there was one very important person who had heard it entirely . . . Dumbledore. That night after I had calmed down a bit, he told me the prophecy using his Pensieve; I don't think he was actually able to get the words out himself, and I can completely understand. . . ." He averted his eyes, unable to hold her gaze any longer.
"So, are you going to tell me . . . or not?" she asked anxiously after a moment of silence.
He looked back at her hesitantly, "Can you promise me something?"
"Harry, I'm surprised you need to ask; you know I would never tell anyone!" she huffed, looking indignant and slightly hurt.
"Huh? Oh. No, Hermione, you know I can trust you with anything; that's not what I want you to promise me."
"Oh." She blushed at having assumed wrongly of her best friend.
"It's okay. I just wanted you to promise me that when I tell you the prophecy . . . you won't cry. I don't think I could stand it if you cried. . . ." he trailed off.
She frowned at him. "Why would I . . ." Suddenly, her eyes widened, and a look of pure agonizing terror crossed her face. "No -"
"Hermione?"
"No! NO!" She started shaking her head from side to side.
"Hermione, please -"
"It says you're going to die, doesn't it!"
"What?"
"The prophecy, it says that you're going to die! It does, doesn't it . . . Oh please, tell me it doesn't!" Tears began to form in her cinnamon eyes.
"Hermione, don't cry! Please, don't cry!" he said, trying his best to calm her down. What was it with him and making women cry?
"Does it say you're going to die, Harry?" Her voice was almost hysterical now.
"Please, stop! I can't stand to see you cry!" he pleaded.
"TELL ME! DOES IT, OR DOESN'T IT?!" she wailed at him, pushing him away to stand up.
"NO! Not exactly . . ." he replied nervously, turning his gaze to the floor.
"What do you mean not exactly?" her voice was barely more than a whisper now, trembling and breaking.
"Please, Hermione. This is hard enough to say without you crying. I can't say this with you in hysterics. I need you to calm down. Please, try to calm down. . . ." again he pleaded, his eyes begging with hers.
A few more tears fell down her cheeks, but she hastily wiped them away, taking in a deep breath. When she opened her eyes, she was visibly calmer than she had been only seconds before; though, she was shaking a considerable amount. She leaned herself against a nearby wall, and slid down it, hugging her knees to her and burying her face in her arms. "Okay, Harry."
"Hermione, can you look at me?" If he was going to tell her, he needed to see her to do it. He wasn't quite sure why, but that's how it needed to be, as thought seeing her face would give him strength.
Her chest heaved with another deep breath before she looked up at him, tucking her legs to the side as he took a hold of her hands.
Damn, why did he have to be so nervous? She had finally calmed down, and now he was going to turn into a wreck. No, he could do this. He needed to do this. "Merlin, I wish I had a Pensieve right about now . . ." One corner of her mouth twitched upwards but only for an instant. "Okay, here goes . . .
" 'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches . . . Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies . . . and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not . . . and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives. . . . The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies. . . .' "
She didn't make a move or say anything. For a moment, he wondered if she had even heard him. She just continued to stare at him with her eyes slightly glazed. He was about to wave his hand in front of her when she finally spoke. "It doesn't have your name in it, anywhere."
"No . . . it doesn't."
"Is there no one else who was born at the end of July and whose parents had escaped from V-Voldemort three times?"
"Yes . . . there is one oth-"
"Who?!" Her eyes widened with a hint of hope.
"Neville."
"Longbottom?"
"Yes."
"No one else?"
"No."
"So, it could only be about either you or him?"
"No."
"What do you mean 'no'?" she eyed him, confused.
"It's only about me. You're forgetting a part. '. . . and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal . . .' Do you see Neville sporting an ugly, lightning-bolt scar on his forehead?" he ask, raising his eyebrows.
The hope he'd seen earlier in her eyes vanished without a trace. "No," she whispered. "And your scar isn't ugly, by the way," she added as an afterthought. "So, it's all about you?" she continued after a minute of quiet.
He sighed and sat down next to her against the wall. "It's all about me. . . ."
She leaned her head against his shoulder. "Harry, what power do you have that V-Voldemort doesn't know about?" she asked, turning her head upward to face him.
His snort sounded deafening in the otherwise silent room. "I don't know. I don't think I have a power that Voldemort doesn't have or know about. But Dumbledore said I did. He said that the power I had took me to save Sirius, that it saved me from being possessed by Voldemort because he could not stand to be in my body that was so full of the 'force he detests'. He said my heart saved me. . . ."
She bit her bottom lip like she did many times when in deep thought. He could almost see her mind working as he looked in her eyes. "It sounds like he was talking about . . . love."
"Yeah, it does. But how is love going to help me win the final battle? How is it going to help me defeat the most evil wizard of the age? Am I supposed to love him to death, hmm?" He almost laughed out loud; the thought was completely ridiculous!
She chuckled lightly. "Well, no; that seems a bit ludicrous. But maybe loving somebody else will help you defeat him . . . ?" Her eyebrows knitted together as she continued to ponder before her eyes grew wide with questioning dread. "Wait . . . defeat him? You have to . . . ? Oh goodness, no! The end of the prophecy . . . that's what's really been bothering you! You have to either -"
"Kill or be killed. Yeah, that's what's been bothering me." he finished for her apathetically. He immediately regretted his words when he saw tears pouring out of Hermione's eyes once again. "Oh, no. Shh, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Hermione. Please, don't cry again. Please -"
"M-m-maybe - maybe it w-won't come tr-true," she sobbed, "Maybe -"
"Hermione . . . think about it. It's already come true," he said softly. She sniffed at him. "It came true when I was born at the end of July. It continued to come true when Voldemort attacked me when I was only a year old. And it's going to keep coming true until one of us . . ."
She wailed out and wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him snug against her body and practically pulling herself into his lap, as thought she were afraid he was going to meet his end right then and there. "You're not allowed to die! I won't let you! You are going to win that final battle or . . . or you'll have to face me!"
He couldn't help it, he had to let out a small laugh at her stubborn demands of him. "Well, I guess I'm going to have to win that battle now; there is absolutely no way I could ever stand up to the wrath of Hermione," he joked, wrapping his arms around her middle for the second time. She let out a small laugh along with another sniff, burying her head into the crook of his neck.
The two fell silent and just continued to hold each other. Hermione had finally calmed down and was tracing small circles on Harry's shoulder, while Harry was absent-mindedly rubbing her back slowly. It seemed like an eternity had passed before either one of them made any more movement from there initial embrace.
Harry was relishing the sensation of being held by someone. He'd never truly experienced just being held before (or if so, he didn't remember). The only time that even came close happened after the Triwizard Tournament when Mrs. Weasley had hugged him, but that paled in comparison to this.
He couldn't remember a time when he had felt this calm, this relaxed. . . . He wasn't exactly happy . . . or maybe he was? He wasn't happy in the sense of extreme elation, but in the sense that he felt safe, like nothing could go wrong and nothing mattered but this moment. . . . He was finally at peace.
~*~*~
A/N: I'm so sorry this took so long to write. First, my instructors were drowning me in homework. Then, when classes had ended (and I finally thought I could have a break), I found out that my guinea pig, Cocoa, has a malignant tumor (he has cancer), and he probably won't live longer than a month or so. The vet didn't think it was fair to put him through surgery when he wasn't going to make it anyway. We didn't want him to have to go through unnecessary pain without any hope of recovery or understanding. That would just be torture for my poor baby. So basically, all I can do is spend as much time with him as possible while waiting for the inevitable. Let me tell you, that wasn't what I needed to hear for Christmas.
Thank you all for being so patient. I know it's been a long time since I updated. Please, review; it means a lot.
Special thanks to my beta, Nati.
Lots of love to all my readers and (especially) to my reviewers.
- Amie