A/N: Well, it's finally here. I got this done while sitting in the airport. Exciting, no? Thanks to VirtualFaerie/MalfoyMyFerret for beta work.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: SHATTERPOINT
Harry sat in the still darkness of his dormitory, chests full of the other boys' belongings pushed up against the door. He knew Ron had tried to get Harry to let him in numerous times, but he didn't care. He didn't care about anything at all anymore. He couldn't feel anything; every time he tried, he only experienced an aching numbness that would not leave him. There were moments when he doubted it ever would.
The thoughts, images, and memories roiled through his beleaguered mind. The aftermath of the battle, the dead being tallied, Malfoy being taken to the dungeons, Hermione holding him tightly and crying, begging him to say something. But he had barely felt the cold stinging of her tears against his skin, barely felt the subtle warmth of her lithe figure gripping him forcefully. It all didn't seem to matter.
Why, why had things gone this way? It wasn't right, it wasn't fair. He had done it all out of justice and right, and the need to protect humanity from itself. Power, it was all about power, getting it, keeping it, and acquiring more and more. Didn't anyone care about what was right anymore? Or was he the only one?
Shieldbreaker was his! It had chosen him, he knew it. It had come to him, and he had wielded it with efficiency. But in his time of greatest need, it had abandoned him. Its utter invulnerability left him, leaving only glaring weakness behind in its wake. He didn't deserve this.
And all at once, as that thought was bereft of his mind as quickly as it had formed, he felt the urge to vomit. The boy, not much older than him, a gurgling cry as the blood fountained from his chest, coloring the grass red, falling dead to the ground. Life had left his eyes before he'd even had a chance to consider he could not win. Had he even seen his end coming before Shieldbreaker's steel had slashed through his flesh? Harry didn't have the answers. He didn't want to have the answers to that.
He had killed. People's lives had just ended because of his actions. Because of his foolish pride. That's what it was, not some noble aspiration to keep the Swords from spreading. His pride that he could not be defeated. Drunk with the power of his Sword, he had challenged all, never expecting to be overcome. But it had happened. He had made a mistake.
Dully, he realized someone was pounding on the door. He ignored it. It was probably Ron again. He didn't want to face Ron, not now. But as a voice called out from behind the door, he raised his head slightly.
"Harry, please let me in. Please, I just want to talk to you. You don't have to be alone right now!" pleaded Hermione. Harry was torn. He had this urge to just stay there and stew in his utter bleakness… But this was Hermione. If he couldn't talk to her, who could he talk to?
Slowly, he rose from the bed and shambled over to the door, lethargically moving the chest away from it and lifting the lock. The door creaked loudly as he opened it, revealing her tear streaked face.
The sight of her almost broke Harry down. His knees felt like jelly. How could he have neglected her like this? And Ron… He made a mental note through the haze to talk to Ron.
Silently, she stepped past him and sat down on his bed, waiting for him to come and sit next to her. He pushed the door closed again and collapsed next to her, his whole being feeling tired.
She leaned against his shoulder in stillness for a long moment, letting the quiet reign. Then she angled her head towards him slightly.
"What are you thinking, Harry?"
A fair question, he reasoned. After all he had been pondering, all that had been leaping through his mind, he wasn't quite sure himself.
"I'm thinking… Why me? Why did this all have to happen to me?"
She sat up, biting her lip, gazing at him. "I don't know why it seems to be your lot in life to be involved with all this. But, Harry… I do think that everything happens for a reason. You got Shieldbreaker for a reason, and you lost it for a reason. You were involved for a reason too."
Harry stood up violently, facing the wall for a moment, before spinning back to her. "A reason? And what reason is that? To become a murderer?" he yelled angrily. "I killed people! I split their bodies open with the steel of Shieldbreaker, watched their blood drain from their bodies the same way I saw the life drain from their eyes! I saw that same dullness in their eyes that I saw in Cedric's. And it was my fault!"
Hermione lowered her eyes slowly. Harry was instantly sorry for yelling at her. She didn't deserve this. "I'm sorry, Hermione, I just… I killed them… How am I different from Voldemort? I'm a killer." He breathed raggedly, and felt the urge to vomit returning. He swayed on his feet, and collapsed into a heap on the floor, leaning heavily again the wall, eyes beginning to burn.
Hermione stood and knelt next to him, cradling his head against her shoulder. "You are different, Harry. I know you are. Many people couldn't do what you've done. They forget that he who fights monsters must take care that he does not become one. That's what makes you different, Harry."
He looked up at her, her eyes seemingly stretching into infinity. "I… I don't understand."
"Don't you see, Harry? You care. That's what separates you from Voldemort. Every death is weighing down on you. You care so much you are in agony for it, you feel as if it was your blood being spilled out there. Those weren't callous killings, Harry. You didn't want to. But you had to."
He swallowed hard, looked at the floor. "That doesn't make it right."
She lifted his chin to look into his eyes again. "And that, Harry, is what makes you who you are, and not Voldemort." With that, she brought his face close to hers and kissed him softly, holding him against her, as his tears began for real.
Harry staggered out of the boy's dormitory half an hour, after Hermione had reluctantly departed to dinner, leaving him behind momentarily at his request. He had expected the common room to be quiet by now, but found that he was in error. Huddled in a chair near the fireplace sat Neville. He stared blankly at the flames, shivering slightly despite the warmth from the hearth.
Blinking with puzzlement, Harry slowly approached. Neville was hunched over, eyes half closed. "Neville? What's…What's wrong?"
He didn't answer for a long moment. When he spoke, it was in a low, broken voice. "It left me."
Harry grew more confused, before recalling that Neville had lost Coinspinner earlier in the day in the brutal fight. "You… You just lost it, Neville. It was an accident."
Neville shook his head. "No, Harry. I knew that Sword inside and out. It left me, on its own. It was waiting for the opportunity to slip away. You know the verse."
Harry reflected that yes, he did know it. Coinspinner, to please the gods, slips from him like a snake.
"Neville, please listen to me. I know how you feel. I just lost Shieldbreaker, to Voldemort's own hands no less. That's something I have to live with. It's not something I can accept easily. But I have to. And figure out a way to defeat it, defeat Voldemort."
Neville slammed his fist down on the arm rest, bolting to his feet to face Harry. "No, you don't bloody understand! You think you do but…" His visage was contorted in pain and anger. "You can't. You've always been… You've always been a better wizard than I have. I don't even have my own wand. This is my dad's. All my life I've never been good at anything. I'm practically a squib!"
"Now what…the hell does being a better or worse wizard have to do with this?" Harry regretted the anger in his tone as soon as he spoke. But Neville didn't back down, or deflate at all.
"Coinspinner gave me something I never had. It gave me power, strength, ability. I was better because of it. But now… It's gone, and I'm back to this. To me. To nothing." He cast his gaze down, and he seemed to retreat within himself, falling to the floor on his knees.
Harry immediately dropped to his own knees in front of Neville. "That's not true, Neville. It wasn't just Coinspinner. You have to realize that. It may have given you an advantage, but you had the guts to use it. When I looked at you when we went after Hermione and Ron, I saw why the Sorting Hat put you in Gryffindor, Neville. I saw courage in your eyes. I saw the strength to do it, the will to win against any odds."
Neville snorted. "Odds. Of course I could beat the odds. I had luck."
Harry shook his head. "It wasn't luck that made you set off that night, or agree to go with me to save Snape today. It was heart, Neville. It was you."
Neville hesitated, but continued to resist. "But without Coinspinner I never would have. I needed it."
Harry smiled, recalling something Dumbledore had told him what seemed like a lifetime ago. "But you made the choice to use it the way you did. You didn't have to."
Neville looked confused. "Of course I had to. It was the right thing to do… Even if I'm terrified of Professor Snape."
Harry continued smiling. "Exactly. You chose to use the power for good. Not everyone would have made that same choice Neville. It's our choices, not our abilities that define who we are. Professor Dumbledore told me that. And I believe it. You showed me something of yourself there Neville. The true you. You are a Gryffindor. Your parents would have been proud of you, Neville."
Harry immediately realized he had revealed too much. Neville raised his head to look at Harry. "You know." It was not a question.
Harry closed his eyes. "Yeah… I found out, by accident last year. I'm sorry, I…"
Neville shook his head. "It's alright… I… My grandmother has always been proud of what my mum and dad did for us, fighting against You-Know-Who. I just… I didn't want to tell anyone. But maybe… It's part of who I am, whether I want to admit it or not. Maybe it's time." He reached out a hand to tentatively clap Harry on the shoulder. "Thanks, Harry. For everything."
Harry gripped his forearm. "We have to stick together, Neville. That's what friends are for." Neville grinned, and they both stood up.
"Are you coming down to dinner then?" asked Neville, glancing towards the portrait hole.
Harry shook his head. "Go on without me. There's one more thing I need to do first." Even though I don't really want to.
Harry stopped at the entrance to the Hospital Wing. Even here, he could hear the groans of injured men. Madame Pomfrey could heal most of the wounds, but some of the curse wounds were nasty ones that would not be easy to heal.
He took a deep breath before stepping in. He was met with the sight of every bed filled, with some people having to sit on the floor. Many were unconscious, many other lay awake. He had never seen so many people in here at once. After two massive, bloody battles, he supposed it was to be expected.
Professor Dumbledore stood near Madame Pomfrey, Fudge, and Reynolds, who appeared to be conferencing. Harry knew he had been throwing around enough weight for today and reluctantly held back, itching to get in and listen to what was being said. Soon enough, the meeting broke and Professor Dumbledore turned to leave. Spotting Harry he strode slowly over, looking down at him.
"Harry… What brings you here?"
"I, er… I wanted to see how… How bad is it?" he blurted out.
Dumbledore studied him for a moment, then nodded slowly. "11 of our people are dead. Several others may not survive. At least 50 are wounded," he stated frankly.
Harry swallowed hard. 11 dead, maybe more. Because of him, part of him whispered harshly. Shaking that thought from his head, he spoke again. "I also… I wanted to see Professor Snape."
Dumbledore again kept his gaze on Harry for a time, before gesturing over to one bed. Harry looked past Dumbledore, seeing the sallow faced teacher lying in one of the hospital beds, staring blankly at the ceiling.
He stepped around the tall headmaster, angling for Snape, who gave no indication that he had noticed Harry. As Harry stopped next to the bed, though, he spoke up. "And what have you come here for, Potter?" The voice was a weak croak, lacking the menace that normally was its staple.
"I just wanted to…I don't know…sir…"
Snape blinked slowly, then sat up slightly, turning to look at Harry with his black eyes. "You perhaps were curious as to how I was captured, Potter? Or have you come to gloat over saving me? I assure you, I care not. I accepted the dangers of my work before you were born." The old edge seemed to be returning.
"I just. Why?"
"Why what, Potter?"
"Why turn spy? Why help Dumbledore?"
Snape's eyes narrowed, as his gaze bore into Harry's emerald eyes. "The first thing to understand about that, Potter… Is that you do not understand. Do you believe I enjoy causing pain, Potter? That I am a sadist?" His lip curled slightly. "You would be very wrong yet again, Potter. All I will tell you is this, Potter. Sometimes we do things we don't understand the reason for. But sometimes we're given another chance. Professor Dumbledore saved my life. He saved me from myself." Snape lay back down. "It's possible that one day you might actually understand that, Potter. Right now though… You have no comprehension."
Harry looked at Snape for a moment. "I know more than you think I do." When Snape gave no response at all, Harry clenched his jaw, turning to leave. At least he was closer to the truth than he had been before. He headed down to the Great Hall.
Walking in the doorway, he found it quieter than it ever had been before. Information spread like wildfire around Hogwarts he knew, and no doubt the entire student body by this time knew what had transpired today. The fighting, the deaths… And the appearance of Voldemort. The noise level dropped a bit more, towards grave-like, when he made his way in. He avoided their gazes. He was so tired of people staring at him for one reason or another. Locating Ron and Hermione, he took a seat next to her. She grasped his hand, squeezing it softly, before returning to her meal. She looked pointedly at Ron, who coughed slightly from all the food he had been consuming, and turned to Harry.
"So… You better then?"
"Better than I was. And, Ron… Thanks for at least trying."
A smile tugged at Ron's mouth. "You're not the easiest person to deal with sometimes. Bloody hero."
Harry chuckled despite himself. "Next time, you can be the hero."
Dean Thomas spoke slowly. "Well… At least it's over, right?"
Harry was about to answer when Reynolds burst in, followed closely by Dumbledore. They practically ran up to the main table, where Cornelius Fudge was sitting, looking sullen. They whispered a few words, then Dumbledore turned to address the students. His face was grave, a condition Harry reflected that he had seen far too often lately.
"I regret to inform you all that there has been another attack. Voldemort… And his Death Eaters have struck the Ministry again. This time in a far more brutal fashion."
Shocked murmuring erupted throughout the Great Hall. Stunned, Harry turned to look at Dean, whose face had fallen. Hermione just sat there, staring at her plate, disbelief written on her face. Ron was shaking his head, hands covering his face. "No… It's only just begun." Where it ends… Only Merlin knows. One thing Harry did know, though… The days ahead would be dark. Unbearably dark.
A/N: Thanks to my reviewers: slyphiad, Eric Wilke, Padawan Leia, Kai_Lun_Mau, Midknight, SoulShine, Ryusuken, harryherm84, Cris, and tiredone. Apparently no questions this time, sooo…