A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I hope you will enjoy this next chapter and please review it as well. I am eager to hear any criticism whether good or bad or otherwise.
The Growing Darkness & the Fading Light
Chapter 2
Harry sat at the writing desk in his bedroom the following day attempting to compose letters to Ron and Hermione. He had already cast aside three pieces of parchment trying to express the change in his living status before settling on telling them that he would be going "home" for the remainder of the holidays and hoping they would get the hint that Harry was returning to Hogwart's. He dispatched Hedwig with both letters, telling her to return to Hogwart's after delivering them.
With nothing else to do, but wait for word from Dumbledore as to when he would be leaving, Harry began to gather his things so that he could leave at a moment's notice. He pulled his trunk out and placed it atop his bed. Undoing the fastenings, he opened it up to reveal some of the school supplies and other items he hadn't unpacked since leaving Hogwart's in June. A full repack was in order and he began removing these items to make room for the rest of his possessions. Tugging free a pile of school robes, he saw several shards of glass cascade from the black fabric to the bottom of his trunk, coming to rest beside the frame of the mirror Sirius had given him during the previous Christmas holidays. The remnants of the mirror held his gaze for several moments before he thought to put his robes down.
The familiar grief for his godfather wormed its way back into his thoughts and a new guilt emerged at seeing the fragments of the last thing Sirius had ever given him. Had Harry used this mirror, none of them need ever to have gone to the Department of Mysteries. It was a bitter lesson to learn, but he would not make the same mistake again. He reached over to the bedside table and hastily grabbed his wand.
"Reparo," he muttered, transfixed by the teardrops of light issuing from the tumbling pieces of glass.
The shards fell into place and Harry tentatively pulled the mirror from his trunk, bringing it closer to his face to regard the image presented there. He found himself looking at a gaunt, pale visage. It was startling to see; cold, haunted eyes surrounded by sallow skin looked back at him in disbelief. And as much as he wanted to believe the face in the mirror was not his own, the stark reality of the lightening bolt scar and emerald eyes Harry saw there was undeniable.
He continued to stare into the mirror, dragging his hand slowly down his cheek and along his open mouth. "What am I becoming?" he whispered to the empty room.
Harry had not seen his reflection in several weeks. He knew he had been eating only enough to keep his body functioning, but seeing his current condition brought the disquieting realization that he was slowly destroying himself, making himself weaker. At this rate, Voldemort wouldn't have to kill him; Harry was doing it for him.
Harry saw the flicker of fire rekindling in the reflection of his eyes. The jaw in the mirror set aggressively and the mouth tightened. He was not weak. He was not going to die cowering in sorrow in a dead man's house. He would forever mourn Sirius just as he had always mourned his parents, but he would never let it kill him. His grief for Sirius and his parents would be the knife in his hand, the wand that ended Voldemort's useless existence. He would kill him ten times over for each of his parents and ten times again for Sirius.
The intensity of these thoughts shook Harry from his daze. He was squeezing the mirror so tightly he was likely to break it again. He set the mirror down on the bedside table and closed his eyes, taking a moment to calm his ragged breathing. Control was essential. Recklessness killed Sirius. He would not be reckless again.
After several moments, Harry resumed his packing, leaving out his wand, a change of clothes for the next day, and the mirror. He wasn't quite ready to put the mirror away yet. He left the bedroom and made his way down to the kitchen to get something to eat, he needed to recover his strength.
Harry arrived in the kitchen to find Tonks and Remus talking over lunch. They stopped their conversation to greet Harry.
"Hello, Harry," Remus said hesitantly. "Are you hungry?"
"Yeah, starving actually."
Tonks summoned a plate from the cupboard and place half of her sandwich on it, offering it to Harry. "Here you go, Harry," she said warmly.
"Thanks," Harry said, accepting the plate, "you not hungry?"
"Not really. `Sides, I've got my girlish figure to watch," she teased.
Remus glared at her in warning, but Harry didn't want people walking on eggshells around him anymore.
"As if you couldn't just morph into whatever body you wanted anyway," he joked, taking a bite of the sandwich.
Tonks gave Remus a smug half-smile and returned to eating her half of the sandwich. Remus shrugged his shoulders and turned to look at Harry for a moment before speaking.
"Professor Dumbledore told me about his plans to transfer you to Hogwart's."
Harry was still chewing his bite and nodded his head in acknowledgment.
"He also told me the details about your training this summer as well."
Harry nodded again.
"I'll spare you the `be careful' lecture as, I am sure, Professor Dumbledore has already given it to you and I will tell you that the Black family, being what it was, has a rather vast collection of Dark Arts texts upstairs that might be beneficial to you."
Harry choked down his bite of sandwich and looked up to regard Remus curiously. "I wouldn't have expected you to support this."
"I could tell you that I trust Professor Dumbledore explicitly and, while that is true, I trust the young man you have become more. It will be a difficult task, I assure you, but I expect that if someone like Severus Snape can resist the temptation of the Dark Arts, you certainly could," Remus answered seriously. "Finish eating and I will take you upstairs to have a look. We'll find you a few books today to get you started. Once you learn how to make portkeys and apparate, you will be able to come back here regularly and consult them as needed."
Harry nodded and took another bite of his sandwich. Tonks cast Remus an unusually serious look before turning to speak to Harry.
"Harry," Tonks began softly. "Be careful with this Dark Arts rubbish, okay? In the previous war, the Ministry had the Aurors Division study the Dark Arts for the same reason Dumbledore wants you to and several of them went over to You-Know-Who because of it."
The distaste that Harry felt the night before at learning he would be studying the Dark Arts was returning. "I will," he said over a mouthful of sandwich.
Remus said nothing and returned to his soup; the rest of the meal was subdued.
"Come on, Harry," Remus said when they were finished. "Let's see what we've got upstairs."
Harry rose and followed Remus from the room and up the stairs and to the landing outside Sirius' bedroom. Remus turned the doorknob and walked in, heading to the bookshelf at the far end of the room. Harry hesitated at the doorway despite his newfound acceptance of Sirius' passing.
Since his arrival at Grimmauld Place, he had avoided Sirius' bedroom, sensing that the heart of the grief in the house and in his heart resided within these four walls. Remus seemed to have noticed that Harry hadn't followed and halted halfway across the room, casting Harry an apologetic look.
"I'm sorry, Harry," he said tenderly. "If you want to wait downstairs, I will select a few books and bring them down to you."
Harry sat in the doorway with his eyes darting around the room, his mind clouded with sadness at the sight of Sirius' belongings. Remus advice was quickly beginning to make sense when a sparkle of light next to the bed caught his eye. He didn't dare believe it. With a pounding heart and ragged breath, he walked purposefully into the room and snatched up the source of the light from the bedside table. Harry held in his hand the companion mirror to the one he had in his bedroom below.
"I'll be in my room," Harry called over his shoulder as he walked dazedly from the room.
He made his way down to his bedroom and shut the door quietly behind him. Walking over to his bed, he shoved his trunk roughly to the floor and sat down on the edge of the bed. He reached for the top of his bed, grabbing the newly repaired mirror and began examining the two alongside one another.
Harry lost track of time and didn't stir until a soft knock echoed from the door.
"Come in," he called absently.
The door opened softly and Remus entered, padding quietly over to Harry's writing desk.
"I've got the books for you, Harry. I'll leave them on your desk, here."
"Thanks," Harry said, shaking himself from his stupor and placing the mirrors on the bedside table together. He rose and walked over to the desk to inspect the books. Grabbing the top book, he began turning it over in his hands.
"I'd start with that one," Remus said indicating the text in Harry's hand.
The book was encased in a smooth, well worn leather cover, dyed midnight blue. Harry ran his fingers over the surface and felt strangely drawn to the text; aching to thumb through its pages. On the front, Harry found the title embossed in gold letters, Delving into the Dark Arts.
"That one will give you a solid overview of standard Death Eater spells. Some of it you will recognize, most you won't."
"I'll start reading through them right away."
"Let me know if you have any questions," Remus said. "Professor Snape is the real expert, but I will help you out however I can."
"Thanks again," Harry responded without taking his eyes off of the book. He walked over to his bed and lie down flicking through the table of contents. He barely registered the click of the door when Lupin had left.
Harry spent the rest of the afternoon and evening flipping through the books without noting the passage of time. Finally a crick in his neck became too painful to ignore and forced him to set them aside and stretch a little. He rose and began walking around the room to get his blood circulating again when the rumbling in his stomach told him he was hungry again.
When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he heard an unpleasantly familiar voice from behind the door to the kitchen. With a sigh, he pushed into the kitchen and was greeted by the even less pleasant sneer of Severus Snape.
Professor Snape broke off his conversation with Remus and turned to face Harry.
"Potter," he snapped, "we will be leaving first thing in the morning for Hogwart's."
"So you'll be taking me then?" Harry asked curtly.
"Yes," Snape answered derisively, "be ready by five a.m."
"I'm ready now."
"Then all you have to do is be waiting for me in this kitchen at five a.m., otherwise you can spend an additional night here. It's retched enough that I have to play chaperone to you without being your god forsaken alarm clock as well," Snape said caustically.
Harry choked off his retort at Remus' warning glance and proceeded to locate his dinner while Snape and Remus returned to their now hushed conversation. Harry tried to overhear what they were discussing, but was unable to distinguish any details.
Harry was picking through some scraps from the previous night's dinner when the doorbell rang.
"Can you grab that, Harry?" Remus asked, poorly masking the strain in his voice.
Harry nodded and threw a last contemptuous look at Professor Snape before exiting the kitchen. He ascended the stairs to the entryway and put his eye to the peephole. The sight that greeted him left his heart racing and a rare smile on his face. He tore open the door to see Hermione reaching for the doorbell again. At the sight of him she shrieked happily and dropped her bag with a loud thump, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug. Harry returned the hug in kind, marveling at the simple relief holding her provided.
"It's so wonderful to see you, Harry," she said over his shoulder. They held each other for several moments before she pulled back a bit and pecked him on the cheek. "With the restrictions on our letters, it feels like forever since I've been able to really talk to you."
"I know what you mean," Harry answered dropping his hands from her waist. "C'mon, let's get you inside."
Hermione released him and Harry bent down to retrieve her bag. "Not going to be staying long, huh?" he said weighing the bag in his hand.
"No," she replied, clearly disappointed, "my parents said I could only stay for two days before I have to go back home."
They walked inside and Harry shut the door behind her. "Do you think they'll mind if you go to Hogwart's in the morning instead of staying here?"
"I think they'd prefer it, actually," she said, starting up the stairs. "It took a lot of convincing for them to let me come here at all." Then, after a pause, "Why are we going to Hogwart's?"
Harry could help, but smile. It would be good to have Hermione with him at Hogwart's, if only for a couple days. Snape, he figured, would not be amenable to anything less than Dursley caliber abuse during his stay.
"I'm to start some special training. I'll be there all summer," he answered. "I'm still in the same room," he added quickly, hoping she wouldn't press him for details. "I'll take your stuff up to yours and Ginny's room and meet you back here."
"Actually, I'd rather use the extra bed in your room, if that's okay?" she asked nervously. "With the Weasleys gone, I'd rather not be up there all alone."
Harry knew better than anyone how difficult sleeping alone in Grimmauld Place could be. "Sure," he said, heading towards his bedroom, "that'd be great, but we had better not say anything to Lupin. He'll pitch a fit if he finds out we're sharing a room."
Hermione's soft laugh warmed the hallway.
"I wouldn't worry about it, Harry," she said nonchalantly as they entered the room. "You're as good as they come. I'm sure Professor Lupin understands that you'll be a perfect gentleman."
Harry smiled at Hermione's words, but wasn't as confident as she was. However, he figured what Lupin didn't know wouldn't hurt him. And since he was on duty with the Order tonight, the house would be empty except for Harry and Hermione and these were the types of nights where the lack of activity in the house encouraged nightmares unlike any he had experienced during the last year.
Harry set Hermione's bag down at the foot of her bed and shoved his trunk back under his so that she could walk down the aisle created between the beds. He lied down on his bed, his earlier hunger forgotten, and watched Hermione walk around the room investigating the different items on display there. He smiled inwardly as he saw her eyes widen in delight at the sight of the books on his bedside table. Christmas, it seemed, had come early for her. That was, until her face clouded, and Harry knew she had read the titles. Clearly, a difficult conversation was inescapable.
"Harry," she asked, her voice full of concern, "why are you reading these?"
She reached to grab the top book, but recoiled when her fingertips brushed the surface of the top book.
Harry swung his legs to the floor and stood next to her, plucking Delving into the Dark Arts from the stack. The familiar tingle flowed through his hands causing his heart to race, much as it had when he saw Hermione at the front door.
"Professor Dumbledore wants me to study them so that I'll be prepared to face Voldemort next time."
"I don't understand. Why the Dark Arts themselves? Why not just defense?"
Harry reluctantly set Delving into the Dark Arts back on the table. Taking Hermione's hand he led her over to her bed. "You should sit down, there's a lot you need to understand."
Hermione looked up at him questioningly, but didn't say a word. Harry sat down facing her and rested his elbows on his knees looking at the floor. He sat there trying to decide where to begin as images from the last month flitted across his consciousness. He saw the black door from the Department of Mysteries, Sirius falling through the veil, Hermione collapsing, his conversation with Dumbledore last night, Hermione collapsing again.
"How's your chest?" he asked.
"My chest?"
"Where… where you were hit with that curse."
"Oh… it's fine. Twinges occasionally, but nothing to bad," she answered nonplussed. "Harry, what are you getting at?"
Harry looked up at her sadly. "I never apologized for that. I'm more sorry for that than I can ever say."
"Harry, you don't need to apologize."
Harry let his head sag again. "I do. I don't know what he threw at you, but I expect you would be dead if he had been able to speak the incantation. And that was entirely my fault. I led you into that. It was too close of a call."
Hermione slid off the bed and kneeled in front of Harry, grasping his hands tightly in her own.
"Harry, look at me."
Harry looked up and saw nothing but warmth and care in her eyes.
"I chose to follow you, Harry. That decision was not yours to make. And, as much as you would like to assume
the blame for that, I won't let you do it. I control my own destiny and it has always been my choice to stand with
you."
Harry rose sharply and tugged his hands away from hers roughly. He walked to the end of the beds before turning to look
intently into Hermione's hurt eyes. Her expression softened the tone of his next words, but did not lessen the
impact of them.
"Hermione, you're right. Your destiny is in your control, but mine isn't. I have a bloody road to walk. And there's a good chance I won't survive it. You shouldn't follow me into something like that again."
Hermione stood and closed the distance between her and Harry. "Harry, everyone controls their own destiny and whatever yours brings you, you won't face it without me."
Harry laughed darkly and turned from her, walking over to the writing desk. "Whatever gods there may be, Hermione, it seems they have a slightly different perspective than you."
Harry sat down on the edge of the desk, facing Hermione and placed his feet on the chair. Hermione walked over to the desk and rest her hands on the back of the chair, eying him fixedly.
"What aren't you telling me?" she asked.
Harry gazed into her eyes carefully, before deciding he had nothing to lose by telling her the details of the prophecy.
"I know what the prophecy said." Hermione's eyes widened.
"From the Department of Mysteries? How?"
"Trelawney originally told it to Dumbledore before I was born. Back at the end of third year, he told me that her prediction of Wormtail's escape brought her total number of actual predictions up to two." Harry snickered blackly. "This, apparently, was the first."
"What did it say?" she breathed.
Harry studied her for a moment before speaking the words etched into his memory.
"The one with 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 know. And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives."
Hermione looked stricken. Harry was disgusted with himself for the macabre pleasure he felt at seeing her this way. Maybe now should finally understand.
"So now you understand where my life leads. You were right. You control your own destiny, but I have no choice but to face Voldemort. You shouldn't follow me next time. There will be no more narrow escapes. The next time we meet, he or I will die," he said sharply. "That's why Dumbledore has me studying the Dark Arts… to prepare me to face whatever Voldemort will throw at me."
Harry saw the rapid rise and fall of her chest and the tears glinting in her eyes. She tugged the chair out from under his feet, forcing them to drop to the floor. She threw herself at him, hugging him desperately, as if he were going to melt into the air before her eyes.
For a moment, Harry was astounded at how peaceful he felt in her embrace.
"It won't be you," she sobbed into his shoulder. "I won't let it."
Harry grasped her shoulder and pushed her gently off his shoulder. Her face was inches from his, streaming with tears.
"Hermione," he said softly, "you must not follow me next time-,"
"Harry-," she pleaded.
"No Hermione, I almost lost you once and for those few seconds, my world ceased to turn," Harry said, blinking away his own tears. "I can't risk your life again. It would destroy me and I wouldn't stand a chance against Voldemort."
Harry felt her hands trembling against his arms. "Then you have some small sense of how I've felt for years," she whispered.
Her words hit him hard. As she breathed the last word, he realized she no longer saw him as her best friend. To her, he was merely the continuation of herself and it suddenly made sense to him as if he were watching from outside himself. He saw them clinging to each other. Her, refusing to allow him to go where she couldn't follow. Him, desperate to hold her and be held in return.
She didn't have to say it. He knew it without hearing the words. She loved him. It was that simple. The recognition of that notion scared and exhilarated him. Loving her could kill her. Loving her could save him from himself. She stood there in his arms offering her love to him without doubt or question, the only woman who would not challenge his intimacy with her.
Harry's heart and mind tore at each other as he and Hermione lost themselves in each other's eyes, her earlier tears forgotten, their uneven breathing the only measure of time passing by. The intensity between them continued to grow to the point of rupture. Harry knew all he had to do was lean forward, press his lips to hers and she would be his. She would never leave his side. They would never live to see eighteen.
A tear escape the corner of his eye unchecked and his heart broke into a thousand pieces. He tore himself from her and sank to the floor, cradling his head in his hands. It was all too much; the single tear was soon joined by countless others. Hermione's soft crying cut through his chest shattering the thousand remaining bits of his heart into tens of thousands of bleeding fragments.
"I'm sorry, Hermione," he choked out. "I can't do this…not now…not yet."
Somewhere between his fractured breathing and the pain constricting his chest, she came over to him and wrapped her arms around him, letting her tears mingle with his.
"I'm here, Harry," she said softly between her tears. "When you're ready, I'm here."
Harry leaned into her and looped his arms around her waist willing the world to melt away, seeking shelter in her embrace.
The blackness of night crept into the house as they spent the last of their tears, giving way to exhaustion and, soon after, falling asleep in one another's arms. And that's how Snape found them in the morning.
A/N: All right. Now, be honest. How many of you really thought that was Sirius' face in the mirror at first? I cackled madly while writing that bit and I hope you were sufficiently frustrated by it.
And speaking of being frustrated, I imagine many of you are furious that I didn't have Harry kiss Hermione there, but Harry's a right mess here emotionally and his acknowledgement of his and Hermione's feelings overloaded him forcing him to withdraw from the moment in order to cope with the situation.
Hark! I do believe I hear a review box calling your name. Let me know what you think, good, bad, or otherwise. It's always good to get feedback so that I can improve my writing. Cheers!
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