A/N: Thanks again to everyone who reviewed the past chapters and hopefully you'll note that I managed to get this one out in much quicker timeframe than the last few. Yeah, me! And special thanks to carondelet for her taking on editorial responsibilities for me (she's too good to be considered a mere beta).
The Growing Darkness & the Fading Light
Chapter 9
"C'mon, Ron!" Harry called at his retreating form. "Can't we talk about this?"
"No!" Ron answered harshly, not bothering to look back.
Hands on his hips, Harry looked to the sky and sighed in exasperation. He didn't really expect the hand of God to reach down and put some reason into Ron's head, but on the off chance that it might, he could at least sneak a peak. Not surprised at the lack of intervention, he sighed again, redoubled his resolve, and fell into a jog, attempting to catch Ron before he entered the castle.
At the steps of the Entrance Hall, Harry managed to grasp a fistful of robes to prevent Ron from making any further progress. The redhead spun quickly and Harry was forced to appreciate just how imposing Ron's height really was.
"Just back off, Harry!" he snarled. "If you know what's good for you, you'll let it be!"
Harry was taken back by the smoldering fire in Ron's eyes and hesitated before following Ron the remainder of the way to Gryffindor Tower. As tempted as he was to lash out in return, he maintained his calm until Ron turned on his heel and renewed his march to Gryffindor Tower. Harry maintained a few steps behind Ron all the way to their dorm room, earning a slammed door to the face for his diligence.
Once again, Harry's anger flared at the slight, but he caught himself before kicking the door open. A few deep breaths and quick walk through his pre-Occlumency ritual (No Voyeurmort. Good.) and he was ready to wade into the wasteland that was Ron's anger and jealousy.
Harry cautiously opened the door and saw Ron leaning against the window frame with his back to the door. Harry shut the door behind him with an echoing click and began searching for the best words to assuage Ron's temper.
"Ron-"
"Why, Harry?" Ron's voice was a forced calm. It appeared that the quiet march from the Entrance Hall and the moments Harry spent calming himself outside their dorm room had done them both some good. However, the red head's voice still held an ominous undercurrent of fury as he continued. "Why her? Why not some other girl…any other girl? You're the bloody Boy Who Lived. You could have just about any girl in the school!"
Harry shifted from foot to foot. He and Ron didn't really discuss girls, not for real anyway. Sure, there was the occasional innuendo and suggestive remark, but never the painful honesty laid bare here. It was as if, on some subconscious level, both always knew it would come to this, two parting ways with the third. And if Harry could step back from his emotions, set aside his modesty, and be truly honest with himself and Ron, he always knew it would be him that paired off with Hermione. While Ron and Hermione shared a common history and a friendship with Harry, the foundation needed to take that next step was something that required a bond Hermione had long ago given to Harry. The casual observer need only look to the worried crease of her brow whenever Harry made yet another foolish decision or the proud smile she offered only to him after he finally perfected a spell she had spent hours coaching him in.
"I didn't choose this, Ron. It just-"
"You did!" Ron said, loosing his anger and turning to rage at Harry. "There is always a choice, Harry!"
Harry held his tongue. It was always better to let Ron finish his eruption before trying to talk reason him. A moment passed while Ron seemed to come to the conclusion that Harry had been properly chastised.
"So, Harry," Ron said coldly. "How long?"
Harry was caught off guard. Why does it matter how long?
"What do you mean?" he said evasively.
"Don't play dumb with me, Harry!" Ron's voice was rising again. "It's bloody insulting and I am smarter than that!"
Harry dropped his eyes and sat down on the nearest bed.
"A couple weeks," he answered quietly. "Hermione came to visit me at Grimmauld Place and things sort of took off from there."
"Is it serious?"
Harry felt a hot surge of anger boil up within him at the question. Who's being insulting now? He fixed Ron with a penetrating gaze and felt a raw satisfaction as Ron withered under his stare.
"Has it ever not been?" Harry said, not bothering to hide the challenge in his voice. He felt a grim satisfaction at taking the wind out of Ron's anger.
Ron turned away and began to walk around the room, deflating further with each subsequent step. His feet carried him from bed to bed before stranding him at the foot of Neville's four-poster where he began picking at some of the loose threads in the mattress.
"It was dumb of me to think she would…that she might…"
Harry's anger softened as Ron's whispered confession fell on his ears. He was unsure of how to deal with the redhead's statement. The disappointment with which Ron spoke the words was palpable. It hung heavy in the air and seemed to dull the evening sun streaming through the tower window.
Part of Harry wanted to let Ron wallow in his misery. Hermione had chosen him and love is a selfish emotion, it doesn't share or wax and wane with the tide. It sticks with you, simultaneously playing the roles of death sentence and eleventh hour pardon. It isn't something to be felt lightly. In spite of all this and as much as Harry was tempted to drive that final nail, he couldn't bring himself to bury Ron like that. Hermione would never forgive him and part of him still valued Ron's friendship despite this wedge that had been pushed between them.
"It's not dumb, Ron," Harry began, struggling to find a way to comfort Ron. "The last couple years-"
"It was dumb, Harry!" The thread snapped as Ron yanked at it harshly. "It was always you she talked about. Those rare moments I got with her when you were off at Occlumency, or during Prefect duties, all she ever spoke about was you. It didn't matter how the conversation started, she would always turn things back to you. Always," he finished in a hush.
Harry was at a loss. Ron was coming to accept his new relationship with Hermione as inevitable. Ron had all but conceded. He had won. He should be able to conjure the world's most amazing Patronus. So how did he know the spell would be nothing more than a wispy tendril of silver smoke, should he attempt it?
"Listen, Ron-"
"Forget it, Harry," Ron interrupted. "I think I should just head back to the Burrow. I need… I need some time alone."
Harry rose and moved in front of the door to the dormitory as Ron began to gather his things.
"Don't go, Ron. I don't want another fallout between us."
Ron continued to collect his things. It was as if Harry wasn't there.
"Stay, Ron," Harry pleaded. "We've got the whole weekend ahead of us. We can work this out."
"I don't think so, Harry." Ron's voice was uncharacteristically hollow. "I just want to get out of here."
Harry's mind scrambled for something to say, but came up empty, allowing the moment to slip away. The pit in his stomach grew with each passing second and soon, too soon, Ron had collected all his things and was walking past Harry towards the door. Harry put out his arm to stop Ron from leaving.
"Ron-"
"Let go, Harry."
"Don't do this, Ron."
Harry let Ron brush his arm aside and watched the redhead abandon the room. The ghost of his and Ron's future as friends seemed to go with him. It was hard to accept. Would he and Hermione really work out? Right now it seemed so, but would it really? Was Ron's friendship worth that risk? Was risking his relationship with Hermione worth Ron's friendship? Doubts came rapidly as Harry saw Ron disappear around the corner of the spiral staircase. This was a moment that he needed Hermione most. She would know what to say. She always did.
Harry's shuffled to the landing outside the dormitory and still the words would not come. He saw Ron descend out of sight and was left to stare at the cracks dividing the once solid blocks of stone supporting the tower. With disappointment settling heavily into his chest, he noted that some blocks did not show any evidence of the passage of time while others were fractured into multiple pieces.
Even the strongest stone crumbles with time.
Harry followed the network of cracks leading up the stairs as he turned back to the dormitory. While most had been ignored, here and there a few of the cracks had been mended. Harry was no mason, but he could still appreciate the difference in quality of the repair work. Some had little more than poorly mixed mortar shoved half-heartedly into the cracks while others spoke of considerable care and attention given to the repair. The flaws displayed by these were minor and offered only the slightest of imperfections to hint at the great force that had cleaved the rock into separate pieces.
Harry reached out to the tower walls, tracing a wide rift in one of larger stones. Inspiration descended on Harry in a rush and he dashed back into their room, looking for something small that Ron could take with him easily. Throwing open his trunk, he found a white pawn from his wizard's chess set and started towards the door before thinking better of his selection.
No sense pissing him off any more than he already is.
He ran back to his trunk and dug out the black knight, turning it over in his hand with a nostalgic smile before hurrying to intercept Ron before he reached the common room fireplace.
Harry's foot was on the bottom step of the stairs as Ron was digging through a small sack of floo powder.
"Ron! Wait!" Harry shouted.
Ron looked up and let out an audible sigh.
"Harry-"
"No, Ron. Just hear me out"
The statement brooked no argument. Ron's weary expression mirrored Harry's own. It seemed as if both young wizards weren't willing to let go of their friendship just yet. Ron's hand still clutched the floo powder, but he allowed it to sink to his side. With Ron's unspoken assent to hear him out, Harry touched his wand to the knight, whispered a brief incantation, and held it out for Ron, speaking quickly.
"Take this portkey. I've modified it so that you can use it at anytime on Monday evening. It'll take you to Diagon Alley. When you're ready to come just hold onto it and think of the Leaky Cauldron. It'll take you there whenever you're ready."
Ron's eyes danced between Harry and the chess piece. "Since when can you create portkeys?"
"All the Order can make them now." Ron's eyes widened, but Harry continued on. "There's a lot you don't know yet. If you come, I'll tell you everything; Hermione will be there too."
Ron's eyes narrowed again and Harry felt his gaze wander away from the redhead's glare.
"I figure the three of us should work this out and Hermione always seems to have the answers. Plus… she is in the middle of all this; the three of us should talk about it."
Not responding, Ron turned and threw the floo powder into fireplace. He was about to step into the green flames when Harry caught him by the arm.
Ron glared at the offending hand and Harry removed it quickly, not wanting to rekindle Ron's volatile temper.
"Just take it, Ron. You don't have to use it, but at least give yourself the option."
Ron snatched the chess piece from Harry's hand and stepped into the flames.
"The Burrow!" he shouted without turning around to face Harry. A moment later, he was gone.
* * * * *
The Fountain of Magical Brethren had not been restored in the weeks since Harry and the Order had fought Voldemort and his Death Eaters. It should have only required a simple spell to restore the display, but the Ministry had diverted so much of it resources to the effort of apprehending Voldemort that it couldn't be tasked with keeping up the farce of peace, love, and happiness.
Harry paused to regard what was left of the sculpture. The larger bits of stone that comprised the statues had been removed. All that remained within the disheveled walls enclosing the pool was a loose assortment of fractured rock, scattered piles of dust, and discordant hunks of mortar.
Dumbledore stopped a few feet beyond the structure, wordlessly waiting for Harry. Fishing in his pockets for a coin, Harry found a sickle and began turning it over in his hand as he stared into the rubble. After a moment of quiet reflection, a sardonic smile came easily to his face. "Fools," he muttered to himself, pocketing the coin again and falling in step beside the headmaster.
As much of the first part of their journey had been, neither Dumbledore nor Harry was compelled to talk to one another while working their way to Mr. Weasley's office. To say anything beyond the necessary words required to reach their destination would be to give further weight to the situation and neither was ready to commit that offense.
Harry's attention fell on the wizards and witches they passed along the way. Whether it was a dropped and forgotten parchment or jaw left hanging open, each person they passed seemed to find a new way to register shock at seeing the Boy Who Lived walking alongside Albus Dumbledore. The only commonalty amongst the crowd was the wedge of catatonic silence driven before the mentor and his prodigy and the rush of whispers churning in their wake.
Not soon enough for Harry's likes, they reached the Auror division and began to weave their way through the aisles of desks to the closet that housed the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office.
Harry was relieved that nods of respect and solemn words of greeting directed to both himself and the headmaster replaced the looks of astonishment he was subjected to earlier. Harry felt a sense of belonging here; within these walls was housed some of the few members of the magical community that could begin to understand the trials Harry had faced over the years. These were his brethren, the rank and file he planned to join after graduating from Hogwarts, the ones that would continue to die fighting the Death Eaters until he was ready to face Voldemort. These were the ones that would continue to die after that fight if he failed.
He searched the rows for the reassuring faces of Tonks or Kingsley Shacklebolt, but was unable to find a face he recognized.
I suppose it's for the best, he thought. Not sure what I'd tell them if I saw them anyway. Oh, I'm just off for a stamp of approval to commit murder. Have a bloody brilliant afternoon!
Harry shook his head in disbelief. He still couldn't fathom the logic behind this move. He had no intention of ever casting the killing curse. He had made that point clear to Dumbledore on numerous occasions, just prior to their departure being the most recent, so what was the point?
The headmaster rapped lightly on the door to Mr. Weasley's office. There was a muffled response followed by crash of what Harry assumed was Mr. Weasley's unsuccessful attempt to get by one of his filing cabinets.
Mr. Weasley peeked his head out of the doorway and smiled warmly at Harry and Professor Dumbledore. Harry relaxed at the sight. Apparently, Ron hadn't said anything to his father over the weekend.
"Albus. Harry." Mr. Weasley said by way of greeting. "I'm glad you didn't have any trouble on the way in."
Recalling the attention directed his way as they entered the Ministry, Harry was forced to stifle a derisive snort as Professor Dumbledore and Mr. Weasley exchanged pleasantries.
A gap in the conversation opened up and Harry took the opportunity to see just how much Mr. Weasley was aware of between him and Ron.
"Mr. Weasley?"
"Yes, Harry?"
"Have you spoken to Ron?"
Professor Dumbledore cast Harry a questioning sideways glance, but Mr. Weasley didn't seem to make much notice of anything.
"He's doing fine, as far as I can tell. I really haven't seen much of him since he got back from visiting you on Friday."
"I see."
"A bit odd, really? I thought he was going to spend the whole weekend there?"
"Yeah, `bout that," Harry answered, looking away. "You see-"
"Well," Professor Dumbledore interjected, clapping his hands together, "I believe Amelia will be expecting us soon?"
"Yes, of course," Mr. Weasley said, looking to the clock. "We are cutting it pretty close."
As a group, they began retracing their path to the elevators. Professor Dumbledore and Mr. Weasley quickly began discussing the case they were going to make to Madam Bones, leaving Harry free to amble along behind them in silence. The situation suited him perfectly. This was their battle to fight; if they wanted to check some stupid box or even grant him the right to grow another arse, it didn't matter to him. They could award him all the abilities they wanted; the only thing Harry cared about was maintaining the right to choose to cast the spell. It was bad enough that the fates had already taken the option of being an executioner away from him; at least he would be able to choose the manner in which he was forced to kill Voldemort.
A myriad of passageways, the familiar silence preceding hushed voices, and fifteen minutes later put Harry, Professor Dumbledore, and Mr. Weasley outside Madam Bones's chambers. The Minister's assistant practically fell out of his seat at the sight of them striding into the room. He disappeared behind a pair of mahogany doors with a stifled squeak, only to return moments later.
"The…the Minister will see you now," he said, avoiding the headmaster's twinkling eyes.
The headmaster led the way, but paused at the assistant's desk. The assistant's eyes flicked back at forth between the headmaster's face and his own fidgeting hands.
"Davenshot, if I recall correctly?" Dumbledore said.
"Yes, sir. Damien Davenshot."
"Slytherin? Right? Class of…1982?" Dumbledore queried, apparently delighted to remember Damien after so many years.
"It was 1983, actually…sir," Davenshot corrected nervously.
"Yes…yes…" Dumbledore said thoughtfully, "Quite gifted in Transfiguration, I believe."
"Yes, sir. I am flattered that you remember me," Davenshot answered as he picked at the seam in his robes.
"You've done well for yourself since your days at Hogwarts. Chief Assistant to the Minister of Magic is no small accomplishment. Congratulations."
"Thank you, sir." Davenshot replied, standing and gesturing to the door, but still avoiding looking directly at the headmaster. "Madam Bones will see you presently."
Professor Dumbledore gave the assistant one last smile and walked through the doors, his expression turning serious. Harry followed, noting the calmness that had returned to Damien Davenshot now that the headmaster had left. Harry ventured a glance at Mr. Weasley, each wearing matching amused grins.
Stepping into the office, Harry noticed the rich appointments with poorly disguised surprise. His prior impression of Madam Bones was that she was someone reasonable and down to earth, but the office retained an air of superiority to it that didn't quite fit his memories from his trial last summer.
Harry remained in the rear.
Let them take the heat.
Nothing they said or did could force him to use the killing curse. Whatever decision they made was irrelevant, he had to choose to cast the spell. No one could force that disgrace on him. It was his to choose or decline.
Madam Bones was standing behind her desk and offered a stiff, informal greeting to the three men as they entered her office. Efficient and decisive, the new Minister didn't waste any time; as soon as everyone was seated she delivered her decision to the headmaster.
"Albus, I am sorry, but I cannot exempt Mr. Potter from punishment if elects to use an Unforgivable, regardless of the target. To do so would completely undermine our justice system. Additionally, as your request is based on the prediction of a seer that remains unproven in the eyes of the Ministry, the belief that Harry, here, is the only one capable of defeating You Know Who is not sufficient justification."
Harry was glad that the Minister didn't fold over for the Professor Dumbledore. Madam Bones appeared to be a force to be reckoned with, despite the influence the headmaster held in certain circles. Interested in how he would handle this seemingly unusual challenge, Harry turned to watch Dumbledore's reaction.
"I respect your position, Amelia," he said, removing his half-moon glasses, "however, I must disagree. Lord Voldemort is a danger beyond measure to the wizarding world and Harry is the only one with the means to defeat him. Until recently, the Ministry itself retained a record of the prophecy. That, in itself, should be justification enough as to the validity of Sibyll's vision.
"As I made clear before, I am not suggesting that Harry be given full reign with the spell, I merely requested that he not be punished should he be required to use it against Lord Voldemort specifically."
Madam Bones leaned forward, folding her hands together rigidly. "Your logic is flawed here, Albus. Despite your confidence in her, I cannot accept the word of someone like Sibyll Trelawney. Time and again, she has made a mockery of the art of Divination. She is not recognized as a reliable source by any of the Unspeakables within the Department of Mysteries and without any official confidence in her prophecy, how could I possible pardon anyone from one of our most important laws? It is ludicrous to suggest otherwise!"
Mr. Weasley leaned forward in his chair. "Minister, if I may?"
Madam Bones gestured for him to proceed, but did little to hide her growing annoyance.
"Well, Minister," Mr. Weasley began, "you speak of the unreliability of Sybil Trelawney's prophecy, but how does that impact if Harry uses the curse against You Know Who? I don't believe any of the Aurors have any illusions of capturing You Know Who alive. To simply defeat him would be a dream for them. You remember how many Aurors were lost in the first war because the Ministry clung to the notion of capturing You Know Who and his Death Eaters. We'd be fools to make the same mistake again. Would it not be better to make this exception and move on? After all, if the prophecy is false, as you suggest, would make any difference if Harry was given this right?"
Harry shifted in his seat; they were getting nowhere.
Just make up your goddamn minds, all ready.
Madam Bones gave up hiding her frustration. "And how would we justify this to the public, Arthur," she said, her voice rising with each syllable. "How do we explain the Killing Curse is something we hand out on a whim to underage wizards, a power not even granted to our own Aurors?"
"Amelia," Dumbledore began softly, but Harry could sense the tension in his voice, "If Lord Voldemort were any other criminal, I would wholeheartedly agree, however, he is far from ordinary. He is an exceptionally gifted wizard and possesses skills exceeding those of your entire Auror department. How do you propose we capture, or, if required, kill him without the use of the Killing Curse?"
"Albus, if we have learned nothing else from Voldemort's first war, it was that there are many ways to kill a witch or wizard. If it indeed comes to that, our Auror staff or Harry, for that matter, can destroy Voldemort by means other than the Killing Curse."
"Amelia, please understand-"
"With all due respect, Albus, I am the Minister of Magic and consider this is my final decision. Despite his past and alleged future significance, Harry Potter is not exempt from wizarding law, nor will it be changed to accommodate him. I have already made exceptions for his protection as You Know Who seems to have taken a unique interest in him, but what you request is not for his protection, it is to take the life of another wizard. It remains up to the Aurors and the Ministry to determine what the best method is for apprehending Voldemort. If Harry kills Lord Voldemort in defending himself, then we have laws governing that action and he will not be prosecuted. However, we are not in the business of legitimatizing assassins and vigilantes."
Harry was in a bit of a shock. Aside from himself, he had never seen anyone challenge Professor Dumbledore's judgment.
The headmaster looked from Madam Bones to Mr. Weasley to Harry and back to Madam Bones. Upon turning back to her, he was wearing the familiar mirthful expression.
"I thank you for your time, Amelia. Of course, the Order will do what it can to support the Ministry and its Aurors."
"Your welcome, Albus," she answered curtly. "I am sorry we couldn't come to agreement here."
Professor Dumbledore nodded and rose to leave. Mr. Weasley and Harry followed in silence.
They exited the office and Harry noticed that Damien Davenshot was once again on edge around the headmaster. Despite still musing on the exchange he witnessed in the Minister's office, he couldn't help but laugh inwardly.
They walked out with Mr. Weasley and the headmaster speaking animatedly in hushed tones that even Harry couldn't hear. He didn't notice the same whispers and shocked looks as they made their way to the exit. He was watching Dumbledore's face, trying to discern exactly what was going through the headmaster's mind.
Outside the Auror department, Harry and Professor Dumbledore said goodbye to Mr. Weasley and met up with Tonks. Relieved that Mr. Weasley wouldn't be able to inquire further about the dispute between him and Ron, he struck up an easy conversation with Tonks and headed off for an evening in Diagon Alley.
"A word, if you please, Harry?" Dumbledore asked once they had arrived in the atrium.
Harry followed Professor Dumbledore to the side, hoping to learn how the headmaster was going to proceed with his premier weapon now slightly dulled.
"As I've said before, Harry, I wanted this pardon only as a final precaution, but should the situation arise, I want to be certain that you should not sacrifice yourself because of what the Minister has said here today."
Harry nodded faintly, a little surprised and impressed even more at Dumbledore's unwillingness to adhere to Madam Bones's decision. The fact that he wanted Harry to boldly defy the Minister's edict was a somewhat unnerving, though.
"You will always be protected at Hogwarts, Harry, from both Lord Voldemort and the Ministry of Magic."
Harry nodded again. That would be something, the best wizarding school in Britain defying the Ministry by housing the Boy Who Lived.
"Now off you go. I've told Nymphadora that you have two hours and given her a portkey for you to use to return to Hogwarts."
As Harry and Tonks flooed to Diagon Alley, Harry's excitement at seeing Hermione grew and his thoughts over the meeting with the Minister were set aside, to be considered some other time.
A/N: As always, any and all comments are welcome. Cheers!
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