Unofficial Portkey Archive

Chapter 30: An Island, Alone

No Man Is an Island

Traditional / by Ingemar Olsson

" ...No man is an island, no man stands alone

Each man's joy is joy to me

Each man's grief is my own

We need one another, so I will defend

Each man as my brother

Each man as my friend."

"Harry…" Hermione tried quietly.

But still he said nothing, a miserable, strained expression on his face, and moved determinedly forward in the now torchlit halls of the school towards their quarters. Hermione swallowed painfully. They had spent the remainder of the day in the intensive care ward of St. Mungo's with the Weasleys until Mrs. Weasley had made them leave, only due to pure exhaustion. They had protested, exclaiming over and over that they would rather stay for Ron, Ginny and the twins; to be there when Mr. Weasley and Charlie came out from their unconscious states, but Mrs. Weasley had been insistent. Tomorrow was Sunday, she had reminded them, and they were well in need of a day of rest. She had promised Ron and Ginny would be back with them soon as for now they were staying nights at the Burrow, and had even managed to choke out that she would floo Dumbledore information for them on Bill's funeral arrangements before she had fallen completely apart again, supported on either side by Fred and George.

They had portkeyed back to Dumbledore's office where he had been waiting for them, but the wise Headmaster had decided with one swift glance over Harry, that he was in no shape to discuss anything this night.

The day had been horrific enough without knowing Harry blamed himself for Bill's death. It was too much to handle. And if it was too much for her, Hermione knew Harry must be in absolute agony.

He had been distant and almost silent all day long, and though Hermione was not a skilled Legilimense by any stretch of the imagination, she had known Harry for so long she could practically read him inside and out. She could almost see the thoughts playing out on his face.

Their hands stayed clasped together as they walked, but Harry held hers loosely and far enough away from his body so that when their arms swayed they would not brush against one another. Almost as if human contact burned him; as if he was unworthy of it; as if he was sure now his company, possibly even his very touch was a prelude to doom.

And the thought that Harry felt these things was so evident to Hermione that she felt sick with it.

Harry even managed to enter their common room completely ignoring the insane antics of Sir Cadogen as they brushed past him. He made to let go of Hermione's hand and began heading immediately toward his room, but she would have none of it.

"Harry, stop."

"It's late Hermione; I'm tired…We can talk in the morning." He managed to release her hand and turned to move toward his door.

Hermione stared at his back for a moment. "Whose room do you want to sleep in?"

Harry's posture went rigid then, and tears quickly stung Hermione's eyes. He turned slowly to her, managing to avoid her gaze, and slouched as if under some heavy load, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"I…maybe I should…We'll get more sleep if we…go it alone, I think."

He raised his eyes only slightly and gazed at her from under wet lashes until her face, surrounded by orange firelight, began to crumble.

Acting on instinct he began to move quickly toward her, but then caught himself before he gathered her to him, looking for a moment as if he was unsure what to do with his arms.

"Hermione, I don't...Please don't cry..."

She breathed in deeply. "It's not for me, Harry…"

Harry blinked. "I know today's been hard...I just thought, if we... separated ourselves a bit, we could find some perspective..."

"I don't need perspective, I can see perfectly clear," said Hermione suddenly quite certain as she raised wet eyes to him. She breathed in again to calm herself. "I won't let you do this, Harry."

Harry backed away from her a few steps and hardened his expression, still avoiding her eyes. "I don't know what you mean. It's been a long day, Hermione. We both need to sleep."

Hermione grabbed his hand before he could get any further and pierced him with a gaze. "I won't let you do it, Harry. I won't let you go."

"Hermione..."

"No," she said calmly. "Come sit with me."

"I don't want to!"

"What?"

"Sit!… I want to be alone!" He said finally, frantically, and then mumbled out the rest quietly. "… I have to be alone."

Hermione shook her head. "No you don't."

"You don't understand…"

"I do," she said quietly. "More than you know. I know you, Harry."

Harry worked his jaw and then mumbled quietly. "You shouldn't."

Hermione peered at him. "What?"

"Nothing. Forget it," said Harry as he made to walk to his room again.

However, Hermione grabbed his hand again. "No, it's not nothing, Harry! What'd you mean 'I shouldn't'? Shouldn't what?"

And Harry whirled on her and lost it. "YOU SHOULDN'T KNOW ME! I should never have ALLOWED it! What will being close to me get you, Hermione? I mean be honest; what has it ever got anyone!? It gets you closer to losing your life prematurely, that's what! Every person I touch that BASTARD takes away! It's only a matter of time before it's Sirius, my dad, Ron or another Weasley and MY GOD did you SEE Molly today!? And Ron and Ginny and Fred and George…I did that Hermione…I..DID..THAT! I let them in! D'you think he would've picked the Weasley's as a target if he didn't know they're like family to me!? If he didn't know I love them!?" Harry's deep voice cracked with emotion and Hermione found that she almost couldn't take the suffering in it. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she moved toward Harry to hold him, but he backed quickly from her.

First it had been that Harry felt unworthy of love, and now, when he finally had it, after she and Ron had spent years making him understand he was worthy of it, he felt the only way to keep those around him safe was to deny himself of it. The irony of it nauseated her.

"Harry," said Hermione franticly, "Please try to understand…"

"And you…gods Hermione…if anything happened to you, I couldn't…" Harry choked out. "I wouldn't want to live."

Those unclouded, crystal green eyes Hermione loved so deeply stared at her with such anguish. His longing gaze travelled over her form and just then, Harry looked to her like the thirstiest man in the desert, staring at an oasis on all sides surrounded by iron bars.

He took a moment to breathe deeply as he looked at her, and she immediately recognised the blank look that finally washed over his face. He was trying to resign himself.

That hideous voice in the back of his head, the one that must sound conspicuously like Vernon Dursley, shouting to him he should have known he was not worthy enough to keep anything good or lovely, so why long for it? She'd seen it crawl like a dark shadow over him before. It was as if he'd known all along that for him, nothing good could last.

By god but she would make it…

She grabbed him and pulled him to the couch with her, knowing full well he could easily escape from her grasp but would never hurt her to do so, and planted her hands on either side of his face forcing him to make eye contact with her.

"Harry, listen to me…"

He shook his head determinedly and made to stand but she moved quickly to straddle his legs so that he was pinned there.

"No, you listen!" she said grabbing his face again. "You don't get all of the say in this, you hear me? The Weasley's, Sirius, your dad and I, we love you because we want to, not because you've somehow tricked us or lured us in! I love you because I choose to, plain and simple, and nothing you do, no amount of pushing them or me away will change that…"

Harry fiercely grabbed her arms. "I won't let him hurt you.".

"And I won't let you isolate yourself!" said Hermione, equally as fierce. "And if you think Ron or the Weasley's will either, you're bloody wonkers."

She sat silently for a moment, waiting for his protest. When it didn't come, she continued.

"It won't matter how far you back from us. He already knows you love us. He'll know why you've suddenly chosen to go it alone, and it won't make a bloody bit of difference in the end. And Harry, you've got to know Bill didn't give his life just for you. He died trying to protect his father and anyone else Voldemort might attack. We're all targets in one way or the other; all of us. Everyone. You're not the sole deciding factor."

Harry sighed deeply, breath whooshing out from his lungs as if he were exhaling out some poison. He felt in his heart she was right, but fear still lurked in the corners of his mind. Bill Weasley was not the first of Voldemort's victims, and he certainly was not to be the last. How could he live with himself knowing some were to be targeted simply because of their connection to him? Moreover, what was Voldemort's reasoning behind whom he chose? Harry knew he hated him and loved to cause him pain, but wouldn't drawing all of his enemies out for his final war be a better use of the dark lord's time? Wasn't that his ultimate goal? Why all of the playing round the issue first? Harry had never taken Voldemort to be a patient wizard no matter how much he might love torturing the boy-who-lived. It simply didn't add up.

Hermione stared at Harry until she could take his silence no longer. "Harry what are you thinking? Please tell me…"

Harry snapped back to the present and realised Hermione still had a hold of his face and was peering anxiously at him. And despite all the dark thoughts running rampantly round in his head, they dissolved away to be reformed later when his gaze met hers.

"I'm sorry… I'm sorry for scaring you or…or hurting you. I don't want to push you or the Weasley's away, it's just sometimes...I'm not sure what to do." Hermione winced. She so often wished he didn't have to take the burden of everyone else's safety upon his shoulders. It was enough what he already had to deal with. She let her gaze sweep back over the familiar face she loved more than any other in the world. His desperate expression frightened her.

"Sometimes I actually lie awake nights thinking on how to keep all of you safe," Harry continued, now with an ironic twist to his lips. "Only thing I ever come up with is to somehow go back seven years in time and keep myself from ever meeting any of you. I've wished so hard for a time turner that could go back that far. Sometimes, you know…I dream on it. Finding a way to travel back and right everything."

Hermione cried out and pulled Harry to her, hiding her face in the crook of his shoulder, taking in his familiar scent with something akin to desperation. As if he might somehow, someway find a way to go back and do just that. And Harry finally slumped free of the false hard wall he had built round him and crushed her to him, his face buried in her thick hair, tears wetting the long curls. Gods but without Hermione where would he be?

"I don't ever want that to happen Harry…NEVER. I love you so much. Please don't ever wish it again. Please don't. Merlin I'd be so empty… Please don't ever say that again."

Neither said anything more until hours later, they made their ways to Harry's room and crawled under the thick golden quilts on his bed, curling up tightly together until they felt secure enough to let their eyes drop closed on the horrific day.

***********************************

Sunday morning came round unbidden and unwanted. Harry knew moments upon waking up with Hermione snuggled close to his chest, he was still to serve detention in Snape's classroom with Malfoy and Nott. And what with all of the drama he'd endured with them yesterday, and the even worse drama that had followed, it depressed him to think he had to face another day of it.

Thinking to himself that the quicker he got to it the sooner he could escape, Harry finally untangled himself from Hermione's long smooth limbs and eased out of bed, snugly tucking the golden quilt back around her.

Upon reaching their small common room he found to his surprise, a large breakfast still steaming warm waiting on the coffee table. Eggs, sausage, bacon, toast and jam and a full carafe of pumpkin juice, freshly squeezed as it still had pulp floating on top. He smiled to himself. News tended to travel fast round Hogwarts halls, and he was sure Professor Dumbledore had alerted a certain adoring house elf of Harry's punishment. He grabbed some of it up and stuffed it in his mouth, feeling slightly better, if only for the moment, about the morning. Thank God for Dobby.

However, despite his full stomach, the long trek to the Potion's classroom was even more unpleasant than it had been morning before, what with fresh thoughts of Mrs. Weasleys agonised face and the rest of the Weasleys, minus Bill, looming sad and ghostly pale in his mind. He also couldn't stop himself from frantically trying somehow to figure who would be the next victim to warn them. There was no way of knowing, and yet he felt if he could just concentrate hard enough, he might somehow be able to think as strategically and twisted as Voldemort did. Beyond all of that he still had his talk with Dumbledore to not look forward to. Harry thought to himself he might not be able to stomach the Professor gazing at him with his wise, kindly eyes, telling him he was somehow not to worry or to blame himself, and to leave everything up to the Order. As if Voldemort was to be left up to them in the end. Dumbledore knew Trelawny's old prophecy even better than Harry did…

As he pushed open the large oak door, Harry was surprised to find only Malfoy and Nott staring malevolently at one another at the front of the classroom, surrounded by the usual potions paraphernalia. Malfoy turned to look at him, and Harry was surprised to see a tiny bit less of the usual hatred for him in his eyes.

"Potter."

A very small, minute, almost microscopic bit less.

Draco turned immediately to the cauldron on the table before him and began adding dry and liquid ingredients to the already bubbling mixture. Harry approached them, noting immediately how Nott still had the slightly bewildered look of someone who couldn't quite remember something they weren't sure had been important anyway. Harry glanced again at Malfoy, who this day had been sure to wear a long sleeved shirt under his black Hogwarts robes. Harry wasn't quite sure why he had decided to keep Malfoy's dark mark a secret, except for the fact that for some odd reason, he truly believed the Slytherin had been forced to receive it.

"Where's Snape?" asked Harry.

"Left suddenly," said Nott in a most unfriendly voice. "Dunno why… Something about dead Muggles needing to order something."

Harry stared at him. "What? What the ruddy hell does that mean?"

"Glove up and shut it, Scarhead," said Malfoy irritated as he stirred the clear, foul-smelling mixture clockwise. "It's obvious he only caught bits of the conversation. That freak werewolf old friend of your father's came in ten minutes ago and whispered to him for a few minutes. They bolted off, after."

"Professor Lupin?" said Harry quickly. What had his father wanted with Snape?

"You know any other mutated freaks round here?" asked Malfoy.

"I can think of a few," said Harry, eyeing him viciously.

Malfoy sent him a hateful glare but chose to ignore the comment. "We've switched jobs. Nott's got the pickling; you'll be the jar filler."

Harry had too much on his mind to argue they had picked jobs without him, and pulled on a pair of heavy plastic gloves, absently beginning to fill jars and send them Nott's way. After, Nott plucked various slimy things from their old jars and plopped them unceremoniously into the new, grumbling and complaining under his breath the entire time.

Around noon, and still under little to no supervision save a teacher popping their head in every now and then, Nott announced rather forcefully he was taking a rest. Neither Harry nor Malfoy seemed to think this a bad idea and all three put down what they were doing to retreat as far away from one another as possible to different parts of the classroom.

With his feet propped up in front of him, Harry slouched down in a desk. After a few minutes he noticed Malfoy taking surreptitious glances his way, with a look on his face that said he was obviously fighting with something in his mind.

One side evidently won, and Nott's suspicious gaze followed Malfoy as he finally sauntered over.

Harry had been chewing absently on his knuckles as random thoughts ran unsorted and unorganised through his mind, but he couldn't keep from dropping his hand and raising one eyebrow at Malfoy as he approached.

Draco sneered at him. "Don't piss yourself Potter, I'm not coming for an autograph. I just want information."

Harry gazed impassively at him. "About?"

Malfoy thinned his lips and tightened his fingers into knuckles, once again looking as if he were waging an inward battle. "About… About Re… Ginny. I want to know what happened yesterday…with her family."

Harry blanched and shifted in his seat. Yesterday was the last thing he wanted to discuss; and Malfoy was certainly one of the last people he wanted to discuss it with.

"She and Ron'll be back soon. You can ask her yourself."

Draco glared at him. "Ginny and I aren't exactly on speaking terms for the moment Scarhead, in case it slipped your attention."

"Can't imagine why," Harry shot back.

Malfoy snarled at him. "Just tell me what happened damn it. Is she alright?"

"Not really, no." said Harry. "Her father and brothers were attacked."

Malfoy glared at him. "I've heard that part Potter…"

"Bill Weasley's dead."

Malfoy froze and stared at Harry for a few moments, studying the hardened, almost dead look on the other's face. He turned his back to him and ground his fists into the desk in front of him. Ginny...

"SHIT."

"Yeah." Harry stared expressionless at him for a few moments before he spoke again. "Three guesses who headed the whole thing."

Malfoy rounded angrily on him, and Harry noted his face was even paler than usual.

"I don't need you to remind me about Lucius, Potter," he growled furiously. "I've had a token of his shitsorry affections burned into my damn arm, if you'll recall." He glanced Nott's way and when he saw the other wasn't paying attention for the moment, rubbed gently at his bicep and mumbled to himself. "All last night bloody thing burned like hell."

Harry stiffened and sat up straight letting his feet slam to the floor. "What!?"

"Yeah, well it does that from time to time," sneered Malfoy scathingly.

Harry scowled at him. "If he's calling his Death Eaters together it means he's planning something else!"

"You think?" Malfoy replied with a harsh look. "Trouble is no one but the Death Eaters know where he'll strike next. There's nothing you or Dumbledore's pathetic secret Order can do until it's done, is there?"

The expression on Harry's face as he eyed Draco froze in shock. He slowly stood and took a careful step forward. What he'd just said… He didn't know what he was going to do but he knew however the ferret had found out… something had to be done…

"Where'd you hear about a 'secret Order'…" said Harry in a dangerously calm voice.

Malfoy smirked at him and lowered his voice as well. "Please, Potter. Whatever they call themselves… The moment five or six of them burst in on you and yours frolicking round with the Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries two years ago, Voldemort had them figured. He knew Dumbledore would try building a resistance against him."

Harry's expression hardened. "I suppose Daddy filled you in on all this, then…"

"Lucius did yes," said Malfoy without blinking.

"And where do you get they call themselves an 'Order'," said Harry, determined to give away nothing.

"Dead Muggles needing to 'order' something," said Malfoy flippantly, referring to the snatch of conversation he and Nott had overheard earlier. "The conversation according to Nott. Along with what I already know, it doesn't take a science wizard to figure it out."

"So you eavesdropped," said Harry with a subtle raise of one eyebrow.

Malfoy reached in his pocket and pulled out a wad of what appeared to be flesh coloured string. "These helped a bit."

Harry snatched the stuff from his hand and looked it over. "What the bloody… Where in the hell did you get these!?"

"Weasley's Wizard Wheezes; Diagon Alley, Scarhead or haven't you heard?" said Malfoy snatching the string back from Harry and stuffing it back into his pocket. "Extendable Ears. Quite a clever invention for a couple of dirt poor mongs… Probably wouldn't have sold to me directly; our history and all. But they'll sell to another Slytherin if the price is right, won't they? It wasn't hard."

"But when did you…"

"Shopping for school supplies late August for Salazar's sake," said Malfoy disparagingly. "Your little triad of do-gooders aren't the only ones round here interested in the goings on."

Harry stared at him for a moment, a look of complete dislike on his face before he finally spoke. "Well?"

Malfoy stared indifferently at him. "Well what…"

"What did they say, dickhead!?"

"Pots and kettles Potter," glared Malfoy with hatred in his voice. "Even if I gave a damn whether you knew or not and I don't, it wouldn't matter. All I heard was some crap about dead Muggles and the Order."

Harry growled in frustration and brushed past Malfoy to head back toward the mess of jars, potions and slimy specimens, shortly trailed by Nott and then Malfoy, who was smirking to himself. Although he was equally as angry at the lack of information, a frustrated Potter still never ceased to lift his spirits.

The entire afternoon passed by Harry completely Snape free. As he glanced up at the magically boiling cauldron clock above his head and watched it belch up a bubble from its inside reading four o'clock, he thought to himself that under any other circumstances he would be rejoicing in the fact he hadn't yet had to face the Professor. However this day, every time the classroom door cracked open a bit he would lift his head hopefully, only to be disappointed by Professor Sprout or some other teacher checking in on them. The snatch of conversation Malfoy had heard between his father and Snape had been eating away at his mind, and he was desperate to find out what exactly had happened to keep Snape away all afternoon.

The door to the classroom finally banged open right as five o'clock bubbled out from the cauldron clock and popped with a wet squelching sound. Snape walked in, looking weary, but by no accounts any less irritated or condescending.

He waltzed over to the three and glanced over their progress with disdain. "I see you've managed to get them all, though I suppose I shouldn't have expected the job to look any less sloppy or carelessly done." He turned his small dark eyes on Malfoy and Nott. "You two may leave. Potter, you're to head to the Headmaster's office straight away. He'd like a word with you."

Harry knew Snape had stressed the last part in an attempt to make him think he was in trouble with Dumbledore, but he wasn't fooled. He knew it had something to do with the snatch of conversation Malfoy and Nott had overheard, and without a word to Snape, he rushed out of the classroom.

Malfoy, thinking to himself he would like a bit of information as well, shot him an unreadable look as he ran past.

************************************************

Immediately after Harry disappeared at a full run round the corner, Nott wasted no time engaging Malfoy in an almost chest to chest staring contest.

"Decided to make friends with Potter as well?" said Theodore in a disgusted voice. "Oh dear… Daddy'll be so disappointed."

"Though he is good for the occasional bit of information I never have and never will be friends with Potter, dipshit." Malfoy regarded him with a haughty sneer. "And as for what Lucius thinks, I really don't give a damn."

"Right," said Nott brusquely, stepping back from him a bit. "After school you know what he expects of you. Your new 'fraternisations' as of late, are really making it seem as if you're thinking on betraying him and Voldemort; and believe me, I'm not the only Slytherin who's noticed it…You piss daddy off any more and come graduation you won't have a home or an inheritance."

Or a life… thought Malfoy darkly. Despite himself, he was grateful Potter had obliviated Nott's memory of the 'dark mark' incident. It would have given the little arse-wipe more to use against him.

"Because I'm feeling generous today," said Malfoy angrily. "I'll let you in on a little something I don't think you've understood before I decide on again beating the shit out of you. What I do or don't do, is none of your ruddy-arse concern, so from now on, you can stay the hell out of it."

"WRONG," spat Nott flatly. "What you do is most of Slytherin's concern, Draco. You're Lucius Malfoy's SON in case you've not noticed. For years most, if not the whole of our house has looked up to you. You've been THE example of what Slytherin is. We've waited to see what you would become after Hogwarts; how high you would rise in Voldemort's ranks. We've known because of your father you were on the strongest path, and most of our fathers are directly in line under yours for Voldemort's power. In fact, Lucius Malfoy is the very one Voldemort listens to the most, the only one Voldemort has allowed to recruit others for him. If Lucius' own son would betray him, if he's seen as so weak that he loses respect from his own son, how d'you think Voldemort will see our fathers, or their successors?! After that, d'you think he'd trust Lucius or anyone linked to him? D'you think he'd trust their sons and daughters? And I won't let you influence my friends or any of the others away from our chance at real power!

See Draco… it DOES concern me what you do; it concerns ALL of our house loyal to the dark lord. It could effect how the rest of us, and our entire house are seen, and I won't let you ruin us."

Sodding Salazar… Draco had always prided himself on knowing everything going on round him, but this revelation had come as a complete shock. So the Slytherin were watching him? Up until this point, had he been making Voldemort proud? The thought nauseated him. He had no dillusions of grandeur like Potter and his bootlicking entourage; to be good, honest and always forthright or any of that other shit. However, to think all this time he had been looked upon as the prototype of a future head Death Eater, gods… He'd always known what Lucius had in store for him, he'd just never known how much it might affect those around him.

Nott had an almost mad gleam in his eye, and to a less ballsy wizard it would have been unnerving. But Malfoy continued to stare blandly at him.

"You are a barking little gimp, aren't you?"

"As they say Malfoy, one shitty apple ruins the whole otherwise impeccable barrel," Nott unaffected, continued in a low voice. "I'd rather see that one exposed for what it is and chucked out. What happens to you after is your problem."

And with that, despite the new revelation Nott had given him, Malfoy had finally had enough.

"Shining example or not, I've had enough of you shoving your fat arse in my business," he snarled furiously, moving to grab a fistful of Nott's shirt and bring him close to his face. "But if you want to dick around, fine. I've got time enough to again beat the hell out of you."

Nott narrowed his eyes, but said nothing in reply. Although during their last match he had landed a few well placed blows himself, he knew he had taken the brunt of the beating. Malfoy was a bit more toned from Quidditch than he, Theodore, was.

Draco shoved Nott back from him, ready if need be to begin and finish another fight, but Theodore backed away a bit as if beginning to head back toward the Slytherin part of the castle.

"You just watch your step," he pointed menacingly as he made to turn on his heel and stride away. "I'll be watching you. And Merlin knows you stray out of line, my father will hear about it straight away; and then guess who'll be next to know?"

Nott left the question hanging as he left knowing there was no need to answer. However, as far as Malfoy was concerned, his threats were ignored.

If he stepped out from line Lucius would not need to rely on Nott's father for information, would he? Draco grimaced as he rubbed his still smarting left bicep… The moment he stepped out from the protective confines of Hogwarts grounds, Voldemort would attend to him personally.

With that morbid thought playing havoc with his mind, Draco decided to himself he needed a stroll in fresh air to clear his mind and turned to stride as stoically as possible the opposite way down the hall.

****************************************

Completely out of breath, Harry skidded to a halt in front of the ugly gargoyles guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's office and barked the password. The thought that something else may have happened to others he loved made his blood pump even faster in his veins, and as if he were in a state of blind panic, he tore up the revolving staircase taking two steps at a time.

As he had expected he found the Headmaster sitting behind his desk in deep thought, his fingers steepled beneath his chin, and worry lines creasing his face, belying his usual calm exterior. As Harry approached he glanced up at him over the rim of his half-moon spectacles.

"Harry, sit...please."

Harry kept his eyes glued to Dumbledore and threw himself into a chair. "Professor, what's happened?"

Dumbledore pursed his lips and dropped his fingers from underneath his chin to clasp them familiarly before him on the desk. When he spoke his voice was serious and even. "Unfortunately Harry, one of the things we've feared most."

Harry stared at him. "We? Who d'you mean, we?"

"Your father, Sirius and I," said Dumbledore, sighing. "We've felt for some time Voldemort might choose to target those who've had close association with you. Though his first attacks were on Arthur, Charlie and Bill Weasley, it could have been seen as mere coincidence that you're involved with their family. However, with this new round, we've become more certain than ever that Tom is not choosing his targets randomly. I fear there is method to his madness."

Harry pounded a fist angrily into the desk before him. "DAMN IT! Who is it? What's he done…"

"Early this morning Sirius flooed me an urgent note on an item he'd just seen over the Muggle news. Privet Drive in Little Whinging was attacked," said Dumbledore, with a regretful look on his face that said he wished he could deliver the news in an easier way. Harry started in surprise. "Your old house at number four, along with another house further down was destroyed. Vernon Dursley was killed."

Harry stood up suddenly, almost knocking the chair beneath him to the floor. "No! It can't… that doesn't make any sense! You've always said that house is safe what with my mother's sacrifice being such a strong ward and Aunt Petunia sharing the same blood… You said the magic protecting me was ancient and almost unbreakable!"

Dumbledore's head nodded down as if from under too much weight. "You are right, Harry. And as long as you were there, the wards and protections that followed you made the residence safe. However, the moment you leave it… Harry every September when you've come back to school, the protection has left with you. Do you remember six years ago how Professor Quirrel, possessed by Voldemort, was not able to touch you? The sacrifice Lily made placed that magical bond over you, not the house. Although the bond your Aunt Petunia shares with you makes the magic that much stronger when you're there, you, not the house itself, are what has made the residence safe. I can only imagine Voldemort had specific reason for waiting to attack the Dursleys now."

For a moment Harry, with a completely bewildered expression on his face, could only sit and stare. Uncle Vernon, dead… He wasn't sure how to feel. He had very few relatives left in the world, and he felt even after all the Dursleys had put him through over the years he should feel, if not sadness, at least some type of remorse. However, all he felt was a glaring emptiness. When he'd gathered himself enough to clear his mind, he asked the next obvious question.

"Aunt Petunia and Dudley... are they..."

"Alive," said Dumbledore quickly, "though quite shaken and a bit banged up for it. Your Aunt was with your cousin in his room this morning it seems, something to do with a nightmare he'd had from what I've understood. There was a loud explosion on the first floor. Apparently your uncle made your aunt and cousin stay put and went downstairs to fight off the intruders." Dumbledore shook his grizzled white head and sighed sadly.

"Though he did manage to get one of them, even with a shotgun a Muggle is no match for three Death Eaters …"

Harry was cognisant enough to wonder quickly how Dumbledore knew about Muggle firearms before his thoughts took him back to more pressing matters.

"And how did Aunt Petunia and Dudley escape?"

"Petunia heard what had happened and somehow found the presence of mind to take Dudley and escape out of his window. They fled to one of the neighbours houses."

Harry dropped his hands from his face and sat upright. "From Dudley's window!? On the second floor? How did they manage?"

"They jumped Harry," said Dumbledore with a bit of respect in his voice. "Your Aunt Petunia suffered from a few sprains…unfortunately Dudley broke one of his ankles and wrists. Had quite a bit more bulk for the fall, I imagine. Only moments later members of the Order showed on the scene, but they were too late for your Uncle." Dumbledore gazed sadly at the younger man sitting before him. "I'm sorry, Harry."

Harry merely thinned his lips and nodded. He hated himself for the little emotion he was feeling over his uncle's death. Though the man had shown almost no kindness to him in the whole sixteen years he'd been living with him, he was human, and family. The thought that he felt almost nothing but regret that Voldemort had struck again made Harry's insides squirm with guilt.

"So… Aunt Petunia and Dudley… Where've they been taken?"

"Well, first let me say their injuries have been healed. Madame Pomfrey flooed straight away to their new temporary place of residence to take care of it, though you can be sure she did endure quite a bit of protest over the use of magic." And here, despite the situation, Harry noticed Dumbledore almost couldn't hide the twinkle that suddenly lit his eyes.

"You must understand Harry, we couldn't very well leave them without protection in the Muggle world. Of course, to stay at Hogwarts was never a possibility, and there are too many untrustworthy wizards and witches at the ministry to let them in on, so the Endangered Muggle Relocation Program is out of the question. We had to put them somewhere they would be protected; somewhere completely hidden from sight… Your godfather has generously offered to share his estate with them."

Harry sat bolt-upright in shock. "Grimmauld Place!? You've sent Aunt Petunia and Dudley to Grimmauld Place!?"

He clawed a hand through his hair. Despite himself, an image of Aunt Petunia having a simultaneous coronary/stroke over the bachelor-like, wizarding state of the house, and Dudley hiding behind her, as pale and shaking with fright as her and again pressing a hand over his arse, played through his mind. For a moment, Harry felt as if some sort of sick, inappropriate laughter might suddenly come bursting out. Eloquent words left him as he stared open-mouthed at the Headmaster.

"Holy shit."

Dumbledore favoured him with a wan smile and sighed. "Though I do wish I had no more bad news for you Harry, unfortunately there is still the matter of the other destroyed house further down from number four. It was Arabella Figg's residence, I am deeply saddened to say. She was killed as well."

Harry's gaze snapped up to Dumbledore's once more. Gods, Mrs. Figg… Merlin, she'd done nothing but live quietly by herself; a lonely old woman with too many cats for company. Nevertheless, for probably as many years as he had lived at number four she had been keeping watch over him and reporting his welfare to Dumbledore. Voldemort must have somehow found out about her... No. Not somehow. The dementors two years ago... directly following their attack could they have seen Mrs. Figg running toward him? Upon retrospect, it was almost certain they were working for Voldemort, then and now. It was probably also how Voldemort knew to find the Dursleys...

Harry found he had very little to say he wanted Dumbledore to hear. Here again was another person who had lost her life simply because she knew him. And the real bitch of it all, was there was nothing Harry could do to stop it. Whatever sick headgame Voldemort was playing with him, he was giving him no out. If he was trying to draw Harry out, why the bloody hell wasn't he giving him somewhere to meet him and end everything? What other reason was there except simply to torture him? Perhaps for all of it, the torture aspect was strictly the only reason. If it were true, that would make Tom Riddle an even sicker bastard than previously thought.

"Though members of the Order have informed Muggle authorities of the reality of the situation, they've officially reported what happened at number four and ten as related gas main explosions to prevent panic," said Dumbledore. He studied Harry carefully for a few moments before he next spoke.

"Now, not only wizarding officials, but Muggle ones as well have been made known of Voldemort's renewed threat. We can only conclude he now wants his presence known throughout the entirety of England."

"England…" Harry had been bowed low in his chair with his face in his hands, but he now sat up and eyed Dumbledore.

"Purging just England of half bloods and Muggles won't satisfy that mental son of a bitch," he said bluntly. "He won't rest until he's done the world Professor, mark my words."

Dumbledore eyed him and nodded slowly before his clasped hands. "You are right, Harry. England and our part of Scotland is just the beginning for Tom. It is for this reason even now, several Aurors, Hit Wizards and members of Magical Law Enforcement not deceived by the Ministry's lack of belief in Voldemort's return, and loyal to our cause, are in extra training with the Order of the Phoenix. Some others are being sent to recruit as many creatures of our world we feel might be sympathetic to our cause."

"Recruit…" Harry's gaze flew back to Dumbledore once more. "Which creatures? Who?"

"Whomever in the end will stand with those on our side and fight. Centaurs, giants, goblins, even freed house elves… Voldemort is almost certainly recruiting his own army even as we speak," said Dumbledore wearily. "We've always believed the discord and division in our world would cause a rift that would one day culminate in war. That time is now fast approaching, it seems."

Harry nodded, feeling slightly overwhelmed with the overflow of information he was receiving, and impatient to share it with Hermione. "And the Aurors and Ministry Wizards… where are they being trained?"

"Inverness, Scotland at a secure location. They've been apparating weekly for extra training, if and when final war is made reality," said Dumbledore, leaning forward to clasp his long-fingered hands in front of him and once again peering seriously at Harry over his glasses. "Our situation is dire, indeed Harry. Between our factions, more than ever before the threat of war is most imminent. You've known for some time the final battle with Voldemort himself was to be in your hands. It is for this reason I ask you to begin training with James at the sword, and using your abilities with wandless magic, harder than ever you have before."

Harry stared at him for a moment and then spoke. "I've been in training with dad since the beginning of the year. Our last class of the day is with him. He and I spend an hour extra on the sword, and I do regularly use wandless magic."

Dumbledore nodded but fixed Harry with a grave look. "I am aware. James has kept me informed of your progress. He's stated many times you're a natural at the sword and that your wandless use of magic is improving. However, I want you to understand something, Harry. The real situation will be far removed from the quiet, twofold environment you share in James' classroom. You must be capable of concentration amidst a chaos of commotion and sound. You must be able to focus your magic; at times, even centralising on two tasks at once while confusion and disorder surge round you. When the final conflict takes place, I would be sorely remiss in allowing you to be ill prepared. I could never stand for it, especially for a member of…" Having said this, Dumbledore paused and for a moment seemed heavily burdened by something. When he next spoke, his voice was melancholy and more subdued than Harry had ever heard it.

"I could never forgive myself for it, Harry."

With the sudden unexpected show of emotion Dumbledore had just done, Harry felt for a moment oddly out of sorts. He scrutinised the Headmaster carefully for a moment, but when it became obvious he was going to get no explanation for it, Harry leaned uneasily back against his chair, keenly observing him.

"Alright Professor. It makes sense what you're saying, of course. I'll train harder and longer with my father."

Dumbledore nodded briefly, and for a moment, seemed to be examining Harry just as closely as Harry had done to him.

Believing their conversation was over, Harry stood as if to make his way out from the office until Dumbledore's kind, softly rasping voice called to him once more.

"Harry a moment more, please." He fixed him with a compassionate look, and upon seeing it, Harry immediately found he was sure he did not want to hear what else the Headmaster had to say.

"I understand you've heard this before and from my own mouth no less," began Dumbledore quietly, "but you mustn't blame yourself for all that has happened. Whether or not Voldemort has been choosing his victims based on their relationships with you, he, and only he is to be condemned. He chose you as his enemy, not the other way round. You've had no choice in any of this."

I've had choices... Every person I've let into my life I've chosen, thought Harry darkly, and the jury in his mind began screaming accusations at him once again.

As if Dumbledore could read his thoughts, he continued. "I wonder Harry, if you've ever heard the expression, 'no man is an island, but every one a piece of the continent.' It was written long ago by a quite insightful Muggle named John Donne. Not only does this statement make us realise we need others with us to travel life's journey, but also that what happens to one, happens to all."

Harry felt that to look into Dumbledore's face would reveal what he was thinking and feeling, so he continued to avoid the professor's eyes. That wise, penetrating gaze that seemed always able to search out his innermost workings, and that kind old face, the one that every time he saw it, seemed to be almost etched in understanding of him; these were things he couldn't bear to accept tonight. Bill Weasley, Uncle Dursley, Arabella Figg… three people, innocent, yet executed… and their only crimes had been knowing him.

If he had been looking though, Harry would have seen the Professors face lined with more than understanding. As he continued, he also peered at him with concern.

"You're father has spoken with me on this 'renewed covenant' you've recently made with Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, and on the strange occurrences following. I believe as they, your father, and you do that your meeting those two was by no means chance. I believe it was meant to be. Why Sibyl's prediction with you and Voldemort having to kill the other came first, before her most recent ones, we'll never know. However, it is certain she is correct in that you, Ms. Granger, and Mr. Weasley are somehow bound on more levels than simple friendship. Your entire careers at Hogwarts are living proof of it. Except for a few glaring instances, you three have always faced challenges together. As much as Ronald and Hermione need you to fight against the evil that is threatening our world, you need them. Don't turn your back on them, Harry. Don't try facing these challenges on your own. Don't try fighting the pain on your own. As much as you fail to accept it, this war involves all of us. Whether or not Voldemort's victims have had some connection with you, the fact is certain, there would have been victims. If not Bill, Arabella and your Uncle Dursley, it would have inevitably been others. Know this, Harry. You are neither the cause, nor the blame. But where Voldemort is concerned, you will in the end be the deciding factor."

Dumbledore then looked gently and sincerely at him. "And if I were able, I would take your place."

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat and found himself staring into the Headmaster's eyes in slight confusion. Why would anyone wish his place on themselves? However, the answer he found staring back at him, more than the question left him confused and feeling slightly uneasy, as if something else were being hidden from him…

He stood quickly. "I need... I've got to go. I need to talk with… with someone."

Dumbledore nodded and watched him sadly as he left, letting the solid oak door concealing the revolving staircase click shut behind him.

"Go talk with her Harry," he whispered.

********************************************

Draco pushed open the gigantic oak doors of Hogwarts and stalked out into a late January evening. He had had only a few minutes before the house elves automatically apparated away the remains of supper to bolt down a bit of it, and had taken a moment to survey the bewitched ceiling of the Great Hall for the weather.

It was no surprise then, when he stepped out into a drizzling, depressing dark blue and black evening lit only by the moon, with a scattering of grey clouds just for adding a bit of drab colour.

He pulled his heavy wool cloak tighter about him and shoved his hands into his pockets to ward off the cold and icy drizzle. Without even having to think much, he knew where he was headed. Besides the large tree growing just outside the Quidditch pitch, to him there was no better area for thinking at night than by the lake. He began walking towards the area where the thickest brush and plants grew. In case someone else had decided on an evening walk as well, he would be well hidden sitting there, away from intruding eyes and mouths.

Gods... he had problems enough to work through and worry on without Nott poking his bastarding nose in. The letter from Lucius practically ordered him to begin using Ginny and any other means necessary in order to gain information on what Dumbledore's resistance was next planning. How he was supposed to just happen upon such information, being in the right place at the right time, was beyond him. He wondered just who it was at Hogwarts Voldemort already had working for him and gleaning information.

Malfoy had no desire to see Voldemort win the war, even if it meant Potter had to win to fix it. And it was just thoughts like these he knew Voldemort might catch him on if and when he decided at any given moment to focus his uncanny mind on him. He tried keeping his thoughts well hidden, but at times they would slip past when his defences were down. It would only take one lapsing moment while Voldemort was centred on him to doom him.

These thoughts hammered at his mind as he stepped round a large clump of bushes, and found himself coming to an abrupt halt, staring at the back of quite possibly the last person he needed to see at the moment. Right then, Malfoy came to think it was a distinct possibility he was cursed.

Ginny sat with her back toward Hogwarts and her knees drawn up toward her chest, watching the lake ripple thousands of multiplying rings with each tiny drop of rain. The moon shone as a huge lump of gold towards the back of the water, sending a great golden beam of light beginning large and ending small towards the shore. The end of it seemed to land on her head, making her damp red hair shine.

Damn.

She must have just got back from the hospital. As he wrestled with himself on what to do, indecision clenched at his stomach. He shouldn't get close to her again; it was exactly what his father and the dark bastard wanted, yet if he didn't, he was taking a dangerous risk. Nott's threat darkened his thoughts as well. Besides the glaring notion that he might very well not anymore have a home or inheritance to live on after school, these were the least of his worries. His life ending prematurely had decidedly landed the top of the list.

If he was stealthy enough, he might be able to back away before she saw or heard him. It was for the best.

He began moving backward slowly, his feet making no noise on the damp ground, until without turning or even indicating she'd heard him approach, Ginny's bitter voice shattered the quiet, sounding rather odd and echoless in the openness of the grounds.

"You're not leaving on my account… Don't think for one minute I care what you do."

Malfoy's heart gave an odd jump at her voice, and he gritted his teeth for it. Damn it to hell.

"How the bloody hell…"

"The lake, Draco. Acts as a sort of mirror at times; reflects things. Amazing, I know."

"I was just... I didn't know you were out here, Red."

"Obviously," she said blandly.

Malfoy thinned his lips in anger, but he would find later, it was more at himself than at her. "I hate to disappoint you, but I can walk anyplace I damn well please. Last I checked, this wasn't private property."

To his surprise, Ginny hardly reacted to his statement and turned her face to the side. "Seems the week is just full of surprises then. Last I checked, I was still a virgin."

Malfoy grimaced. He'd known the time for this conversation would be soon, but he felt now was definitely not the time.

"I'm sorry for that... really. Look, I'll just go and leave you to it, alright?"

However, as he moved to walk away, Ginny stood to her feet abruptly, turned, and glared at him. Her nose and eyes were reddened, and he could see wet trails running the length of her cheeks. Gods… he'd never known what to do with a crying female. Bloody hell.

"Running away are we?" said Ginny harshly, but the shakiness in her voice belied her in control exterior. "I've just got one question… What in the bloody hell possessed you?"

Draco found himself getting instantly defensive, just as he always did when confronted by someone. Old habits died hard. "What d'you…"

"I mean I might understand you wanting to brag to your entire house about shagging the poor, gullible Weasley witch had we actually done it..."

"I don't brag shit to any of my housemates Red," said Malfoy.

"Oh no!?" barked Ginny. "Then every one of them just simultaneously came up with the idea on their own, I suppose?"

Draco thinned his lips and shook his head. "That bastard Nott started spreading round our house you were easy."

"And you had nothing to do with it, I suppose…"

"Not with that no," said Malfoy, with his hands balled frustratedly in his pockets. "I told father I was just shagging you to throw him off our trail. I never expected him to brag it to anyone…"

"What was it then?" Ginny cut him off in a hard voice.

Draco blinked at her. "Wha... I don't know what you're... "

"Was ruining mine and my family's reputation not enough for you? Did you and your father have a nice sit together to plan his attack on my dad and brothers!?"

"What the hell're you..." began Draco, completely confounded. "I had nothing to do with that!"

"Oh right," cried Ginny, taking a step back from him. "You've always hated my family! What was it you've always called us? Blood traitors? An embarrassment to pureblood wizards? I'll bet you threw a right large celebration once you'd heard my brother was killed!"

"Your talking about Lucius Red," stated Draco in a hard tone. "Not me."

"I'm talking about ALL of the Malfoy's!" yelled Ginny, choking on her sobs and pointing an accusing finger at him. "It WAS your father who murdered Bill, they've found, did you know!? Charlie woke earlier this afternoon and told us everything. Very early in the morning he, father and Bill were headed some thirty yards behind our house to portkey to their guard positions. Your father and two of his son of a bitch underlings jumped them from behind!"

Draco sighed and shifted his feet. He wasn't sure what to do or how to react. It was obvious Ginny was hurting and simply taking it out on him and yet, he was completely unequipped to handle it.

"I'm sorry... but I had nothing to do with... "

"My mum found them in the field behind our house a couple of hours later when she headed out to do some gardening," spat Ginny hoarsely, "did you know!? My own mum found them!"

"Gods… I'm sorry Red. Really…"

Ginny made a snorting sound and began to walk round him to head back toward the castle. "Don't lie! You've always hated my family! I should've listened to Ron… He told me you were just using me… He told me not to fool myself into thinking you really cared for me…"

"I do, damn it!…"

Ginny whirled round to glare at him. "Sure… sure you do. Well save yourself some time and effort and don't bother! I don't need the Malfoy type of caring, do I!? I'd rather keep the rest of my family!"

Draco growled angrily in the back of his throat. "I'm sorry for what's happened to you Red, I really am. But I had nothing to do with it for shitsake!"

However, Ginny only narrowed wet, swollen eyes at him and hissed quietly. "Just you stay away from me."

She turned on her heel to stride back up to the castle, but Draco grabbed her arm and spun her to him. She stared back at him with a startled look mixed with, to Malfoy's surprise, a bit of fear. He recoiled instantly and dropped her arm. She really must now equate him with his father. But no matter. If it kept her away from him, and accordingly, his instructions from his father, it did the job.

"I will," Draco seethed through his teeth in almost a whisper, though he felt as if he were dying inside. "But you remember something. It's my father, and his instructions from Voldemort that's done this, and it's not over. I would never hurt you or your family, whatever you may think of me… But Voldemort won't stop until everyone who stands against him is done in. He has loads of people on his side. Even now he has some spy in the castle working to get information on Dumbledore and Potter. He's a mental son of a bitch, Ginny. Don't at any time think you're safe. Don't ever stop looking over your shoulder, and don't think he's done with your family. As long as any of you breathe he won't be through, you hear me?… Anyone who isn't for him is against him, pureblood or not. And whether or not you believe it, by the end he'll want me dead as well."

Ginny stared up at him, watching conflicting emotions flit across his face just as steadily as they did over hers. She found herself unable to say anything else, so she simply nodded brusquely at him and turned to walk back to the castle, sensing his eyes on her the entire way.

Malfoy sighed as he watched her go, feeling as if he had been wrung dry, and left for dead. There was no one left, now. He truly was alone, but by now, he'd got used to it. He'd always been alone, really. But at least it had taught him to be resourceful. He had never had anyone else to help him through much of anything, and he had known all along his time with Ginny had been nothing more than a breath; a short sigh of reprieve. However, he hardened his jaw with an iron-like resolve as he began to walk round the lake. Draco Malfoy was nothing if not a survivor.

*************************************************

Harry swung Sir Cadogen's portrait open with only a wave of his hand, startling the knight so much he fell from his backwards perch on his horse to land to the ground with a loud clang.

As he entered, knowing for certain he would find Hermione on their common room couch incessantly cramming for N.E.W.T.s, he had his mouth already open to blurt out to her what Dumbledore had just divulged to him, but the sight before him made him shut it with a quick snap.

Hermione was there just as he had predicted, surrounded by parchments and opened books and quills with her knees drawn up to her chest, but Ron sat beside her, with Lavender Brown on his other side holding his hand. His whole form was slumped on the couch and bent with a type of heavy depression Harry had never seen on him, and his eyes and nose were still red and swollen from a recent bout of crying. Harry could see Hermione and Lavender had been crying with him.

Without looking up, Ron spoke quietly, sounding congested. " 'Lo mate."

Harry stood staring for a few seconds not sure what to do, until Hermione beckoned silently to him with her hand to come sit with them. He approached slowly and sat himself down carefully next to Hermione, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees to peer at Ron.

"Ron… something else happen?" He asked dreading the answer.

"No… nothing like you think. Mum's just set the funeral date for Bill." Ron sighed and pulled himself up a bit straighter. "March first. He'll be buried in the field behind the Burrow where he was found. Mum says it's fitting…also said she wanted him near, you know… so she can visit him often."

"I'm sorry mate." Harry's throat began to ache. "Where's Ginny?"

"Wouldn't come here with me," said Ron. "I told her it would do her good to be with friends, but she said she'd rather be alone. Can't blame her, I suppose. She's always been that way."

Harry sighed. "Yeah she has… though I wish she wasn't."

Ron simply nodded and clawed a hand through his shorter red hair. "Charlie's awake, too."

Harry looked at him quickly. "That's good mate… has he said anything?"

Ron paused for a few moments, staring at his hands, which he began gripping and ungripping before Lavender grabbed one of them back from him again and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"He's still a bit out of it," said Ron quietly, his voice suddenly turning bitterly cold. "But he did manage a few details… like who attacked them."

The change did not slip Harry's notice.

"I've had an idea…who did he name?"

"Lucius Malfoy," said Ron in a dangerously icy, numb voice. "Charlie's also said one of the others might've been Bellatrix Lestrange, he thinks. Said before she cursed him he yanked her mask and caught a bit of her face. Thought he recognised her from the photos in the Prophet."

Harry let his back slap against the couch and scowled through his teeth. "I don't doubt it."

Silence ruled for a while, and Hermione continued to glance from Ron, who was being consoled and whispered to by Lavender, to Harry, giving him worried glances and grabbing onto his hand. Harry understood what she was conveying to him. Ron looked almost murderous. He must feel now, some of the same emotions toward Lucius Malfoy and the other Death Eaters that Harry himself had carried round in his heart toward Voldemort. He now knew how it felt to have a family member murdered. The change in Ron was evident, and Harry hoped the cold, dead feeling would stay surface enough not to drain down into his soul. He'd had enough experience with it himself, and it was a diseased, festering thing; almost impossible to cut away from oneself once it took root.

Harry decided then, that it was time he told Hermione and Ron of what Dumbledore had just revealed to him. Though he loathed throwing more anxiety into the mix, if he didn't tell them now, he was certain he would never. A constant wall seemed to continue building itself around his insides, brick after brick, layer upon layer. He could almost feel its effort to reach the top. Bill is dead… a cemented brick slapped onto another. Clink… Charlie and Mr. Weasley injured… Clink… Vernon Dursley and Mrs. Figg, dead… Clink… Murdered. All to get at me. Clink.

Harry forced the darkness away. Now was not the time. "I've got more bad news, I'm afraid."

Instinctively, Hermione scooted closer to him and grabbing at his arm in an effort to prepare herself. Lavender sat up suddenly, and Ron for his part, glanced at him with an almost anaesthetised look on his face, as if his head were trapped in a fog.

"Go on. It can't get much worse."

It can Ron. It will. "This morning, Sirius flooed Dumbledore. Last night Death Eaters attacked Little Whinging and my Uncle Vernon and Arabella Figg were attacked… they're dead."

Lavender gasped and bolted to her feet. "B..but they were Muggles, weren't they!?"

"Mrs. Figg was a squib, so she might as well have been," said Harry quietly. "They never had a chance."

"Oh my god," Lavender sat again and spoke breathlessly to Ron. "Ron I've… I've got to go. I've got to owl and see that my parents are all right and that they've heard… We live near Surrey… please understand… I'll be back soon."

Ron nodded and kissed her cheek. " 'Course. Go on."

Lavender stood and nodded to Harry and Hermione before sprinting toward the portrait door and throwing it open, letting it slam shut behind her.

Silence fell in the room so heavily, it seemed almost alive and breathing. That was until, Ron spoke quietly.

"I'll kill them, you know."

Both Harry and Hermione suddenly turned to look at him. It was the first time he'd finally looked both of them full in the face since Harry had entered the common room earlier, and the expression on his face was full of determined hatred.

"Ron…" began Hermione, her voice shaking a bit.

"Don't say it, 'Mione," said Ron with a deadly quiet, his body completely still. "I don't care what you think on this… you either, Harry. When time comes, when Voldemort finally sends for you mate, I'll be right there. I'm going to make sure they're both done in; the third bastard as well when I find him out. All of them, mark my words."

Harry knew it was useless to try talking to him on it. Honestly, he wasn't sure what he would say to him if he could. He wanted just as badly to kill Voldemort; for the deaths of his parents, for Hermione's kidnap and torture only last year, and for the ones he had killed and undoubtedly would kill in the near future.

He knew that kind of hatred, the kind that ran too deep… the kind that flooded wide and high, utterly filling. With practice you could keep it from completely drowning you, though Harry knew Ron had had little experience. Harry found he again didn't have the words to help Ron or anyone else. It was like a drained pitcher trying to fill another, almost empty other than a few drips.

"Ron… I know how you feel. I'm sorry. It's all I've got." Harry put his arm round Hermione, who grabbed Ron's hand, and his and held tight. "I know he's not done though, mate. There'll be others..."

"Soon, I know." Ron nodded almost blankly and settled back against the couch again. "It's clear, isn't it? He's baiting you until he's ready."

As soon as he had said it though, Ron knew how Harry must feel upon hearing his own worst thoughts spoken aloud, and he knew him enough to know what he must feel.

"But we don't blame you Harry," said Ron clearly, piercing him with a serious look. "You can't claim fault for that sick bastard."

Harry nodded in agreement but Hermione caught the faltering in his eyes and squeezed his hand. He turned to her and she leaned forward, placing her forehead on his.

"He's right," she whispered. "Listen to him."

At the absurdity of hearing Hermione entreat him to listen to Ron's opinion, which she normally held in a bit of low regard, Harry began to smile. His first smile of the day, and it suddenly occurred to him that those facial muscles had been sadly long, underused.

The insanity and utter derangement of it all played havoc with his emotions. He felt suddenly as if he would like nothing more than to scream aloud until his voice gave way, or punch something, to pound and pound it until it was left as nothing but a splintered pile of rubbish, to laugh hysterically until it ultimately ended in sobbing… to jump out from his skin and take someone else's.

However, if he had known what was to come in comparison, the complete underwhelming of what had already occurred would have shocked him into silence.

A tapping came to the window, and all three turned to see a large brown barn owl with a scroll tied to its leg banging its beak against the window, the cold drizzle on its feathers illuminated by the moon.

Harry's heart sank as if weighted. Owl post never came this late unless it was…

Hermione stood to approach the window, but Harry quickly grabbed her hand and pushed her back to the couch, shaking his head sternly at her and placing a hand quickly to her face.

"I'll go."

Pulling out his wand even though he rarely needed it somehow made him feel more armed, and Harry neared the window slowly, throwing it open quickly and stepping back with his wand arm outstretched. The sudden action startled the owl into flying backward from his perch for a moment, but he had been well trained. He returned instantly, and stuck his leg out.

Harry hesitated and then quickly untied the letter from her leg, watching her again as she flew off into the wet darkness of the sky.

He sat himself on the couch and Hermione and Ron surrounded him instantly as he charmed the letter to unroll.

The chosen first are not the last

Peaceful reprieve is now elapsed.

A short delaying of the hour

Then hard and swift a heavy power.

A mighty fist and sweep of hand

A cleansing reckoning at command

Grieve and bow with bent soul hollow

Tell me, who is next to follow?

Harry, Hermione and Ron sat slowly back against the couch together, one after the other, feeling, on anything still dependable in their lives, more shaken than ever before; because at any time, in any still, unassuming moment, it might be ripped away.

As for Harry, just as he felt himself closer, crawling back to the ones he loved, he encountered the accusing jury inside his mind; the one that screamed his blame, and the one that held him accountable for everything.

And part of it, he knew was true.

A/N: I know, I know. I'm extremely slow with the updates, and I'm truly sorry, everyone. But I'm happy with this chapter, and I hope you are too. I know a lot of you are unhappy with how long it takes me to update and I'm really really sorry! But I do it to make sure you get quality reading and a bit of mystery, and not just a boring, contrived story.