The Growing Darkness & the Fading Light

Disclaimer: Of course I don't own Harry Potter. Do you honestly think I would be posting a story here if I did?

A/N: It's going to be a rough ride for Harry (and Hermione too). If you have read my one-shot, “Feel the Pain,” you will realize that I don't mind running Harry through the wringer. This story will be no exception to that. Also, this chapter doesn't merit the R rating yet, but it will require it in subsequent chapters.

Summary: Harry returns to Hogwart's during the summer before his 6^th year to continue his study of “Remedial Potions.” His training, however, will be expanded to include darker, more dangerous skills that poison his mind and threaten to destroy the blossoming love between him and Hermione. He soon reaches a crossroads that leaves him caught between the growing darkness and the fading light within himself.

The Growing Darkness and the Fading Light

Chapter 1

Within a couple days of arriving at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, Harry emerged on the rooftop looking for refuge from the oppressive atmosphere of the house despite the heat and humidity hanging thick in the outside air. He sank into a seated position near the edge of the roof overlooking the street and indulged his voyeuristic instincts from behind the illusion barring any outsider discovering the existence of Number Twelve.

It had only taken a week and a half for Dumbledore to relent and remove Harry from Privet Drive, but the departure meant Harry faced a bleak house cloaked in his godfather's memory. As such, Grimmauld Place became as much of a prison as the Dursleys', bartering a neglected existence in Little Whinging for one in London that forced him to dwell on a frightening fusion of grief, bitterness, and self-loathing.

The absence of Hermione and the Weasleys from Grimmauld Place left the house with a vacant feeling despite the flurry of activity caused by the Order members coming and going. Under these conditions, Harry was left to his own devices and his grief for Sirius festered and mingled with a guilty conscience and his anxiety over the portents of the prophecy, leaving him wasted and desperate for September to arrive.

As Harry surveyed the neighborhood, he noticed that the homes were once magnificent, but economic depression left them in the hands of those individuals on the lowest rung of society without the means to maintain their former splendor. What astonished Harry, though, was that despite the financial difficulties of the residents' existence, simple joys could still be found here, simple joys that had eluded his grasp for the last sixteen years in spite of the stacks of galleons in his Gringott's vault. He knew you couldn't buy happiness; that concept was a creature of circumstance and the circumstances in his life were painfully beyond his control.

A squeal of delight caught his attention from across the street. He saw children ascending a rusty jungle gym next to a tattered house with peeling paint. They laughed as they climbed and hung from the bars while other kids ran around the yard chasing each other in an innocent game of tag.

A wave of jealousy washed over him at the blissful ignorance of the boys and girls. The memories of his youth were the exact opposite of the pure happiness he was witnessing and were chock full of abuse and neglect. The simple act of childhood play was fouled by Dudley's assaults and fear of his gang drove the other children to treat Harry as a outcast, leaving the confines of his cabinet and imagination as his only companions.

This sort of segregation seemed to him to have become the standard in his life. Even when he had made meaningful friendships after entering the wizarding world, the ever-present danger of Lord Voldemort stepped in to shadow his footsteps and continued to disrupt any sense of normalcy Harry might have hoped to experience.

As was normal in the days since Sirius' death, this sense of isolation was at the forefront of Harry's mind whenever he was able to detach himself from his grief long enough to consider his future and the prophecy that haunted it. It seemed that he would, at best, be a killer, but he felt the more likely scenario was that he would die a painful death, ending the difficult path fate had chosen for him. He would be destroyed by an evil wizard, half a century his senior, with powers unmatched by any wizard alive, save perhaps, Albus Dumbledore. However, the headmaster was not the one with the distinction of being forced to square off against Voldemort. That responsibility fell to Harry alone. And yet, somehow, Dumbledore believed in him with an unwavering confidence. And while that flame of hope brought some light to Harry on rare occasions, it typically only served to define just how vast the cold darkness engulfing Harry really was.

With a sigh, he shook his head, attempting to dispel the hopelessness building up inside of him. He returned his attention to the street, but his subconscious, it seemed, was not willing to let go so easily. Further up the road, he saw a young couple about his age walking hand-in-hand down the street. A casual observer might not notice anything remarkable about them; both were relaxed and enjoying the company of the other. They're eyes met with unspoken adoration, but Harry could sense that the burden of their futures was significantly absent, as it should be, neither was concerned with tomorrow or the day after. Each lived in the moment; focused on the simple pleasure of grasping the hand of their partner. They were as carefree as two normal teenagers discovering each other should be.

The sight of the young lovers spurred his thoughts back to the disaster that was his relationship with Cho, if you could even call it a relationship, a monumental foray into stupidity seemed a more appropriate description now. At the time, though, it seemed like one of the few bright rays of sun cutting through the clouds of an otherwise miserable year, but turned out to merely be a filtered light serving only to illuminate the discovery that his vision of Cho was distinctly different from reality. In Harry, she saw a surrogate for Cedric and her unwillingness to understand the manner of his relationship with Hermione taught Harry that the next woman, should he survive the war, would need to accept Hermione's place in his life without doubt or question. Her fall in the Department of Mysteries disaster reinforced what he had always known, but had never consciously acknowledged, that she was a fixture in his life, far too important for him to lose over the whims of some silly girl's insecurities.

The sense of isolation these thoughts brought was commonplace to Harry these days. Ever since Professor Dumbledore had shared his knowledge of the prophecy, Harry began the delicate task of keeping a calculated distance between himself and those closest to him. He wanted them close enough to protect, to be there at the drop of a hat, but not so close that there would be unnecessary consequences. He told himself it was necessary, that this was the only way he could prevent Voldemort from using one of them as he used Sirius to get to Harry. And though this decision caused considerable turmoil in his heart, he cast it onto his back with the other burdens he already bore and began building walls to protect his friends.

Ron was the easier to divert. Talk of Quidditch and games of chess allowed Harry to maintain the appearance of their usual friendship without drawing attention to the stone and mortar he was placing between them. Hermione was a much more difficult state of affairs altogether. She was far too perceptive to allow mundane conversation to distract her from the barriers Harry was attempting to erect. Her intuitive ability to sense his thoughts and feelings allowed her to see the gaps in his masonry and her mere presence took away two bricks for each one Harry put into place. He felt a guilty pleasure that his most intrepid efforts to protect her served only to tie her more tightly to him, placing her near the forefront of his and, likely, Lord Voldemort's mind as well. Harry knew her loss would destroy him; her death would be the proverbial final straw.

The emotional whirlpool into which he was spiraling into overwhelmed him and he drew his knees to his chest, folding his arms around them and let his head fall forward to hide his face in the cavity created there. Even though Number Twelve was not visible to the casual onlooker, he thought he should do his best to conceal the tears burning at his cheeks.

Harry did not know when the tears had stopped. His eyes had long ago reached a point where they could not produce any more tears and a mask of numbness slid into place, replacing the feelings that had plagued him before. He rolled over to his side, curling himself up in a ball, blankly staring at the golden sun sinking below the horizon.

Dusk was settling in, before a creak on the roof surface jarred him to life again. He pushed himself up to a seated position again and turned to face his intruder without a word of greeting. A pair of aged, weary looking eyes watched him from behind half-moon spectacles. Their usual twinkle was conspicuously absent, Harry couldn't even muster the anger he sought to feel when Professor Dumbledore showed signs of weakness. Being angry with the headmaster only brought further pain that threatened to tip the delicate mental balance he was trying to hold onto.

“Hello, Harry,” Professor Dumbledore said softly, walking over to Harry and sitting beside him. Harry nodded and followed the headmaster's gaze to the fading glow on the horizon. Harry had nothing to say and waited for Dumbledore to speak his mind. The first stars of the night were shimmering into view before he spoke.

“I think we should keep your stay here short, Harry,” he said. “I would like you to come to Hogwart's as soon as I can arrange it.”

“Hogwart's?” Harry asked, looking at him in surprise.

“Yes, I want you to resume your study of Occlumency right away.”

Harry returned his eyes to the horizon. “Will Snape be teaching me again?” he asked harshly.

“Professor Snape will be instructing you in other capacities, but I will be teaching you Occlumency myself.”

“I see,” Harry sighed, closing his eyes. “What, er—, capacities will he be instructing me in?”

“Professor Snape has first-hand experience in the Dark Arts most favored by Lord Voldemort. He will be educating you in spells that are best kept out of the normal Hogwart's curriculum.”

Harry's eyes snapped open at this announcement and his heart began racing. He sat there for several moments mastering himself as Dumbledore's words sunk in, but his trepidation was persistent.

“So, I'm to be learning the Dark Arts themselves, not just defense against them?” Harry asked, fearful of what this might mean.

“That is correct, Harry,” Dumbledore answered sadly. “It is imperative that you fully understand Voldemort's capabilities as soon as possible. Understand, that I am asking you to walk a very dangerous road. The temptation of the Dark Arts presents a very fine line between a comprehension of them and an infatuation with them. However, every indication the Order has is that Voldemort is attempting to force another confrontation between the two of you soon. With the greater wizarding world aware of his return, he has no patience for hiding his actions anymore and he is attempting to force our hand; he will come after you at the first opportunity he gets.”

Professor Dumbledore paused for a moment before continuing.

“As unfair as it is, Harry, this war revolves around you and him. For my part, I plan on doing everything in my power to make certain that you are as prepared as you can be when it comes time for you to face Lord Voldemort.”

The grim dejection Harry felt earlier was returning. “So I'm to be the tip of the spear, then? As sharp as you can make me…”

“Look at me, Harry,” Dumbledore said sternly. Harry wearily forced his eyes to meet the headmaster's. “You've been dealt a horrible hand and no one is trying to reduce you to a weapon in this conflict, but you are inextricably at the center of this and the Order and I continue to do everything within our power to ensure your safety. Your intertwined destinies demand that you face Voldemort again, but we must be certain that you will not be without the skills necessary to defeat him or those required to protect yourself.”

Harry's initial instinct was to argue with the headmaster, but he no longer possessed the resolve to do so and nodded absently, resigning himself to Professor Dumbledore's judgment. Several moments passed in quiet reflection before something the headmaster had said caught his attention.

“Professor?”

“Yes, Harry.”

“You said you had to make arrangements before I could come to Hogwart's.”

“That's right.”

“What are these arrangements? Why can't I leave straightaway?”

Professor Dumbledore seemed hesitant to respond and stared intently at Harry before speaking.

“Well, Harry, Amelia Bones has been much more accommodating as the new Minister of Magic than Cornelius Fudge ever was; however, she still has some reservations about some of the requests I have made.”

Harry didn't understand. “What requests?'

“I have asked for you to have certain exemptions that would normally not be conferred upon anyone else your age.”

Harry wasn't sure whether to be excited or suspicious. “Exemptions?”

“Well, under the current circumstances, there are four things that you need to be able to do without reprimand from the Ministry. First, I have asked for you to have full absolution from the restriction of underage magic, essentially granting you the status you would not receive until your seventeenth birthday.”

Despite his ill mood, Harry felt a rare smile tug at the corners of his mouth. He almost wished he was still at the Dursleys'. Professor Dumbledore noted Harry's smile and chuckled softly to himself.

“I really don't think we need anymore Ministry interference, do we, Harry?”

“No sir,” Harry responded, “I'll be quite happy to not attend any more hearings questioning my judgment.”

“Madam Bones signed the exemption yesterday morning, Harry. You have been free to answer to your own judgment for a full day-and-a-half.”

His grin, growing by the second, took on a mischievous quality. He reached into his pocket and tugged free his wand, looking at the headmaster.

“May I?”

“Certainly, it's no longer anyone's decision but your own.”

Harry stood up and walked towards the center of the roof and held his wand out in front of him.

“Expecto Patronum!” he cried.

A silver mist issued forth from the tip of his wand, coalescing into the form of a great white stag. The stag cantered around the roof searchingly, before coming to stand before Harry expectantly.

“Hello, Prongs,” Harry said, eying the stag fondly. “Looks like we'll be seeing a lot more of each other.”

Harry slowly reached up to stroke the powerful neck of the stag, but the creature dissolved back into mist before he could touch him. “See you soon,” he whispered to the night, dropping his hand to his side. The stag's departure reminded Harry that Dumbledore still had more to say. With a sigh, he returned to his seat next to Dumbledore.

“All right, what was the second exemption?” he asked with a smirk. Dumbledore was still smiling.

“I think you like this one as well, Harry. In addition to your Occlumency and Dark Arts training this summer, you will be learning to apparate a little sooner than expected as well.”

Harry's smirk grew into full smile, before realization dawned on him. “But Hermione always said you can't apparate into or out of Hogwart's. How am I going to practice?”

“Yes, Miss Granger is quite correct. You will be learning to apparate in the hills surrounding Hogsmeade, which leads us to the third exemption. You will be learning to create portkeys and using them to travel to and from the hills. As such, I have asked Madam Bones to allow all members of the Order to be able to create portkeys without admonishment from the Ministry for not registering them. It's a relatively minor request that was extended to previous members of the Order and I am confident that she will allow this.”

Harry did not miss the subtext in this pronouncement.

“So am I now a member of the Order?” he asked.

“In a manner of speaking, Harry.” Dumbledore answered. “Because you are still a student and have those responsibilities to address, you will not be involved in every discussion or meeting, but you will be kept abreast of the overall activities of the Order and what we know of Lord Voldemort's activities. Your primary responsibility to the Order, however, is to become the most capable wizard you can. Given the details of the prophecy, the principal focus of the Order must be to prepare you to face him. Your education and training is paramount. The other members of the Order will be working to reign in Voldemort and his Death Eaters as much as possible.”

“I understand,” Harry replied, glad to finally be privy to the details that so intimately affected him.

“While Madam Bones had agreed to these last two exemptions in principle, there are still some details to work out. Once that has been completed, we will transfer you to Hogwart's.”

Harry nodded his head. “And the fourth exemption?”

Harry's eyes followed Dumbledore as he stood and began pacing around the rooftop for several moments before turning to regard Harry seriously.

“Harry, before I tell you about this last exemption, you must understand that there is no guarantee that we will need to exercise this possibility or that even if we do, that it will be successful, but it is an option we need to have, nonetheless.” A foreboding ache settled into Harry's stomach as Dumbledore continued.

“I had to share the details of the prophecy with Madam Bones in order for her to agree to consider this. She still remains undecided, but the proposition is that you will be the one person for which the use of the killing curse is forgiven.” Harry's eyes widened and his jaw fell open. “So long as you target only Voldemort, you will not be held accountable for using the curse.”

The ache in Harry's stomach was replaced with writhing nausea. He let his head sagged forward an closed his eyes allowing his breaths to become deep in an effort to force down the bile in his throat. He ran his hands through his hair repeatedly, willing this all to be some sick joke. He knew that Dumbledore's words had profound implications.

“That curse killed my parents,” he spat without looking up at Dumbledore. “If I use that curse, I become no better than Voldemort himself!” Harry's eyes blazed as he looked up to regard Dumbledore without bothering to hide his contempt.

Dumbledore's expression softened, never taking his eyes off of Harry.

“I quite disagree Harry,” he answered calmly. “The killing curse is a creation of the evilest dark wizards, but it does not make you wholly evil by using it once.”

Harry's anger was getting the best of him. He rose sharply to glare at Professor Dumbledore.

“That's not what that fake Moody said in fourth year! He said every time we use it, you lose some of your humanity!” he railed.

“He was not wholly incorrect, Harry,” Dumbledore answered in the same calm voice. “The killing curse requires the caster to have the utmost disdain for the life of the recipient at the moment he casts the spell. That sort of pure hatred of the spell's intended target is what consumes the caster's humanity. The spell itself is fueled by this and is merely an expression of the hatred that already exists within the caster.”

Harry turned his back on the older man and walked to the peak of the roof before turning to look down on the headmaster with a steely gaze.

“You're asking me to become everything I despise. You're asking me to sell my soul.”

Dumbledore matched Harry's intense gaze and walked up to join him.

“The killing curse should be your last option, Harry, but you need to know that it is an option that is available to you. I trust your judgement as to whether or not the time is right to use it.”

The headmaster turned and began walking to the window from which Harry had originally used to climb on the roof. He paused at the window and cast Harry a last sorrowful look.

“I know I am adding to the already heavy load you are carrying, but rest assured, you have many around you who wish to help you carry it. You need not be alone in this.”

Harry continued to glare at him as he disappeared through the window.

A/N: Whew! Well, I think that gives me quite enough material to work with. I am really excited about this story so I hope you will enjoy it. I imagine many of you are eager for a H/Hr snogfest, but that will be a while in coming. With this story I really want to contrast Harry and Hermione falling in love (which takes a while under the circumstances I have set up) against Harry's struggles with the Dark Arts and his own inner demons. So now its your turn to review and tell me what you think. Cheers!

-->

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!

-->

A/N: As always thanks to everyone for the kind words of encouragement. This is my first endeavor into a fanfic of prolonged length so I hope I can maintain your interest throughout.

The Growing Darkness & the Fading Light

Chapter 3

Harry had his first dreamless night in weeks. The nightmare came upon waking.

A scuffling sound startled him from his sleep. He peeled his eyes apart to find Professor Snape standing over him, with undisguised anger etched across his face.

“I have seen many disgusting things in my life, Potter,” he said acidly, “but nothing as revolting as you and little Miss Know-It-All falling in love.” He uttered the last word as if it were something repugnant that could only be found underneath a rock.

Harry struggled for a retort, but opted to glare openly at Snape as his brain wasn't up to the task of trading barbs just yet. He untangled himself gently from Hermione, wincing as she stirred in her sleep.

“We'll be ready to go in five minutes,” Harry croaked.

“You'll be ready to go in three minutes,” Snape hissed. “And next time you'll tell me before inviting along any stragglers.”

Harry's face flushed red at the slight to Hermione, but he smothered the brewing fire, contenting himself to stare defiantly at Snape's back as he strode from the room.

Taking a calming breath, he turned back to Hermione's sleeping figure. Her head had fallen to her chest, obscuring her face in oceans of hair. She had clearly sacrificed her comfort for his, leaning her back against the desk drawer handles and tucking her legs awkwardly beneath her.

Harry squatted down in front of her, tenderly pushing the hair from her face. “Hermione,” he breathed. She moaned and shifted a bit, but didn't wake. “Hermione.” A little bit louder this time.

Her eyelids fluttered open and she gazed absently at him for a moment before becoming fully alert.

“Harry,” she whispered. eHeHH

“Yeah,” he answered softly. “C'mon, Snape's in a right wicked mood so we need to get downstairs quickly.” He grasped both her hands and pulled her to her feet.

They both hesitated, still grasping each others hands and standing toe to toe. The intoxication of her nearness brought his senses to full awareness. His pulse quickened at the feel of her breath mingling with his in the inches that separated them. He could still see the salt tracks from the previous night's tears marring her smooth skin.

He tugged a hand free of hers and raised it to her cheek, using the pad of his thumb to erase the tracks on her cheeks. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply, delighting in his touch.

“I'm sorry I made you cry,” he said gently.

She opened her eyes slowly and reached her free hand up to press his hand into her cheek.

“Harry,” she answered quietly, “don't apologize. You've been asked to bear more than any person has the right to ask of you. And as bad as I want us to happen, I know the depths of your heart and I don't want to jeopardize what's happening here because we tried to push ourselves too quickly.”

She grudgingly pulled his hand from her cheek and squeezed it in her own. “It'll come, Harry. When you're ready, it'll come.”

Harry sighed and looked down at their clasped hands, “You deserve better than this, you know. You deserve more than what I can offer you now.”

To his surprise, she laughed softly. “Perhaps, and one day I plan on collecting in full. For now, though we'd better hurry up. I expect Professor Snape is having kittens down there.”

Harry smirked and proceeded to extract his trunk from underneath his bed. Without time to change, he hastily stuffed his books and clothes into his trunk. He hesitated for the slightest moment before pocketing the mirrors and his wand while Hermione collected her bag from the foot of her bed.

Harry followed Hermione to the kitchen, the successive thumps of his trunk banging down the stairs ringing loudly off the walls. They found Snape waiting in the kitchen, brimming with impatience.

“Perhaps, Mr. Potter,” he said upon their entrance, “Miss Granger is too much of a distraction for you to keep your appointments. Perhaps, you would be wise to proceed to your future commitments alone. It would be awfully inconvenient of you to be off entertaining yourselves in a broom closet when the greater wizarding world requires your services,” he alleged malevolently.

Hermione's face turned a violent shade of scarlet. Harry stepped between her and Snape, doing little to hide the fury seeping out of his every pore.

“Perhaps,” he seethed, “you should just tell us how we are getting to Hogwart's and leave well enough alone.”

The corner of Snape's mouth turned up in triumphant smirk, but he said nothing as he retrieved two objects from the table next to him. He strode over to them, holding out a spatula for Harry to take.

“Portkeys,” he said, giving no other explanation. Still angry, Harry took the spatula roughly and waited for further instructions. Snape turned to Hermione saying sweetly, “For the little wife.” He held out a rolling pin.

Hermione snatched the rolling pin violently, looking ready to bludgeon Snape with it, but restrained herself, gripping it with white knuckles. Snape turned from her, moving to address them both. Harry shared a frustrated glance with Hermione behind his back before Snape spoke again, sneering.

“Your portkeys will take you directly to the entrance hall in Hogwart's castle. I will apparate ahead to the gates outside of Hogwart's to ensure that there are no obstructions awaiting us. In the event there are problems, I will immediately return here to inform you. Miss Granger's portkey will initiate first. Assuming all goes well and she arrives safely, Potter, your portkey will trigger five minutes after that. Do you understand?”

Harry and Hermione nodded. Snape stepped forward, pointing his wand at Hermione's rolling pin. He closed his eyes for a moment, concentrating.
“Portus,” he said before repeating the process for Harry's spatula. Without another look, he disappeared with a soft crack.

“Bastard,” Harry muttered.

Hermione sighed heavily as she hitched her bag up on her shoulder. She stepped over to the kitchen table and sat down.

“How long you figure before these kick in?” she asked, raising the rolling pin.

“'Bout five minutes, maybe ten.” He said, yawning. “It'll take the git that long just to walk up to the entrance hall.”

Harry sat down beside her, resting his head on the table atop his folded arms. Hermione smiled tiredly at him and closed her eyes, resting her head on his shoulder. They waited in comfortable silence until Harry heard a small intake of breath from Hermione and felt the weight on his shoulder disappear. He cracked his eyes to see that he was alone in the kitchen; Hermione's portkey had seemingly activated. Harry stood up, rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and grabbed the handle to his trunk. Tapping the spatula impatiently on the top of his trunk, he waited until he felt the customary jerk in the pit of his stomach and was soon careening on his way to Hogwart's, bumping roughly into his trunk the whole way.

The landing was jarring and Harry couldn't keep his feet. Professor Snape was standing off towards side of the entrance hall nearest the dungeons, smirking at Harry's awkward arrival.

“So much for the legendary Quidditch reflexes of the great Gryffindor seeker, eh Potter? Perhaps spending the last year in the stands has dulled your abilities.”

“Yeah, and maybe this year Malfoy will be able to distinguish a snitch from a bludger.” Harry snapped as he clamored to his feet.

Snape ignored Harry's comments and began issuing orders. “Take your belongings to Gryffindor tower. Breakfast will be available in the Great Hall at eight. The headmaster expects you in his office at ten.HH”

Snape turned on his heel without offering any further details and descended into the dungeons. Harry shook his head bitterly at Snape's retreating form before turning to see that Hermione had apparently experienced similar success with her portkey as she sat nursing a bruised knee on the bottommost steps leading to Gryffindor and Ravenclaw towers. Harry pulled his trunk over to Hermione and helped her to her feet.

“How's your knee?” he asked.

“A little sore. I can't wait to learn to apparate so I don't have to deal with these ridiculous portkeys or the Knight Bus anymore.”

Harry pulled out his wand as she spoke and shouldered her bag. “I know what you mean. Hopefully, by the end of summer, I won't have to deal with them anymore.”

Hermione was confused. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, I never got a chance to tell you last night. Dumbledore arranged for me to start apparition training this summer.”

Harry enjoyed the shocked expression on Hermione's face for a moment before levitating his trunk, guiding it alongside him as he started up the steps to Gryffindor tower. Hermione rushed up after him and began her interrogation.

“Why do you get to start early? You're not even sixteen, let alone seventeen yet!” she said, clearly affronted that Harry would be learning to apparate before she would.

Harry's chuckled to himself causing her to huff audibly. Clearly, taunting Hermione with his newfound privileges would be considerable fun. Perhaps even more fun that it would be to lord them over Ron.

“Dumbledore made a series of requests to the Minister, asking that I be allowed certain exemptions from wizarding law,” he said.

“And what, exactly,” she said indignantly, “would these exemptions be?”

“Learning to apparate, of course, as well as full wizard status as far as performing magic goes—,”
Hermione huffed again.

“—and members of the Order can create portkeys without registering them.”

Despite enjoying every huff immensely, Harry thought a little flattery might assuage Hermione's irritation some.

“You know, a bright witch once told me, many times I might add, that you can't apparate into our out of Hogwart's so I'll be using portkeys to get to and from my apparition training.”

Hermione's scowl evaporated and she beamed at him proudly.

Harry smiled, but it faded quickly as he recalled Dumbledore's last request to allow him to perform the killing curse. He decided to keep that particular exemption to himself; he didn't want Hermione to know about that if he could at all help it. And, he reasoned, the Minister had not yet agreed to that request so there was no reason to worry Hermione with that bit of information anyway.

They reached the Gryffindor common room and separated to store their belongings in their individual dorm rooms before meeting back up in the common room. They spent the remainder of the morning wandering around the grounds, enjoying each other's company and stopping only to eat breakfast.

Eventually, ten `o' clock rolled around and Harry was due to meet the headmaster.

“Do you want to come to meet Dumbledore?” Harry asked.

“You go ahead,” Hermione answered. “I'm sure Professor Dumbledore would like to speak with you alone.”

Harry nodded, “Where should I meet you afterwards?”

Hermione's eyes brightened, “Where do you think?” she teased.

Harry laughed, “I'll see you in the library then.”

Harry waved goodbye and marched off to the headmaster's office. He reached the statue outside Dumbledore's office before realizing that Snape had conveniently neglected to tell him the password. He tried the passwords he knew Dumbledore had previously used with little hope before visualizing the shelves in Honeyduke's Sweet Shop and rattling off the names of the treats he could recall. He was halfway through the second shelf when the statue leapt aside to reveal Professor Dumbledore waiting for him.

“Come on up, Harry,” Dumbledore said before turning and walking up the steps.

Harry followed him into his office noticing that everything had been restored to proper working order since his last, somewhat less than cordial visit to the headmaster's office. He sat down in the chair opposite Professor Dumbledore's desk and waited for the headmaster to speak. Dumbledore took his seat behind his desk, reaching for a sheet of parchment to his left. He held out the parchment to Harry.

“Harry, this is a schedule of when you will be conducting your training this summer. We will be treating this summer much like any other school term. You will attend individual instruction during the week much like you would attend classes normally. You will have four hours of training each day. You will spend one hour each day learning to create portkeys or apparate. Another two hours will be devoted to Dark Arts training with Professor Snape and you will have a final hour prior to dinner each night learning Occlumency with me.”

Harry looked over the schedule Dumbledore had given him as he explained it, nodding as he went. Dumbledore continued.

“Your evenings and weekends are yours to do with as you please. Of course you will have research and assignments to complete, much as you would have during a regular term. You will also have a one week break midway through the term and prior to the start of fall term to recuperate.”

“Recuperate?” Harry asked.

“Yes, Harry. As you know, Occlumency can be quite taxing on the mind. Study of the Dark Arts can have a similar effect as well. I expect you will be able to create portkeys and successfully apparate by your first break. After that, your lessons with Professor Snape will be longer and more intense. As such, your body will be requiring significant periods of rest. You will find that week break to be much needed when it arrives.”

The now familiar sense of foreboding slipped into Harry's mind, putting him on edge.

“Anything else?” he asked cautiously.

“Just one more thing, Harry.” Dumbledore began. “I want you to be completely open with me regarding your studies this summer. If you ever feel overwhelmed, excessively tired, or anything else out of the ordinary, I want you to speak frankly with me as soon as possible. I expect that this will be a challenging summer for you and want to ensure that you are successful with the tasks set before you.”

Harry regarded Dumbledore curiously before responding.

“I will Professor. Do I begin today?”

“I think we can delay the start of your lessons until tomorrow. Enjoy the rest of the day with Miss Granger,” he said with a mirthful undertone. “The two of you have the rare opportunity to enjoy free reign of Hogwart's today without being disturbed by other students. I understand she will be here tomorrow as well, but I don't think we can delay any further beyond today. I expect the Restricted Section of the library will keep her properly occupied while you otherwise occupied.”

“We get access to the Restricted Section?”

“Yes, Harry. You will recall that the Restricted Section houses books for students studying Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts. Your lessons with Professor Snape will require you to have access to those texts and the two of you will be using that area extensively this fall. I expect she will be more than delighted to read ahead. Although,” he raised a knowing eyebrow, “I wouldn't torment her by withholding this information for too long, I do believe she will be reaching her seventeenth birthday this fall and I am certain she knows that a fair deal more creative spells than you do at the moment.”

Harry suspected Professor Dumbledore had been using Leglimency, as he had been toying with the idea as soon as the headmaster revealed their access to Restricted Section, but didn't say anything. He laughed softly and rose to leave the office. “Thank you, Professor.”

Dumbledore nodded and Harry left the headmaster's office, walking rapidly to the library. He knew Hermione would be ecstatic about having access to the Restricted Section and he couldn't wait to see the delight on her face. He found her near the back of the library, sitting at one of the long study tables reading a book entitled, The Dark Arts and Its Repercussions. Harry swept into the chair opposite from her, grinning ear to ear.

“Hi, Harry,” she said quietly without looking up. “What did Professor Dumbledore want?”

“He wanted to discuss my schedule this summer and added a new privilege to my growing list,” he said conspiratorially. Her head snapped up to look at him suspiciously as he gave her the most mischievous smile he could exhibit.

“What now?” she said frowning.

“Oh, it's nothing you need to concern yourself with,” he teased, standing up and marching towards the Restricted Section.

“Harry Potter!” Hermione exclaimed loudly, fortunate that Madam Pince was not present during the summer holidays. “What is this new privilege you're talking about?”

Harry ignored her and strode up to the rope barring entrance to the Restricted Section, standing before it appraisingly.

“You know,” he said seriously, “it's a pretty dumb rule that we can't use these books until the beginning of the school year.”

Hermione had stood up and was walking impatiently towards Harry.

“Yes,” he continued, “quite the dumb rule.”

He reached over to remove the rope when Hermione's shrill voice stopped him.

“What do you think you're doing?” she said, grabbing the rope to prevent him from undoing it.

He turned to see her irritation begin to spill over and knew he had pushed her about as far as he dared. One corner of his mouth turned up into a half-smile before he spoke.

“I am exercising our new privilege.”

The irritation in Hermione's face evaporated. “Our?” she questioned, raising her eyebrows.

Harry pulled the rope free of her grasp, leaving an opening for her to enter.

“Yep,” he answered, holding his arm outward to indicate that she should enter first. “After you.”

The smile that sprung onto her face could've launched a thousand ships. She squealed in glee and darted into the Restricted Section, tugging Harry along behind her.

They skipped lunch and spent the rest of the afternoon in there digging through the gold mine of new books. Harry finally appreciated Hermione's excitement whenever she found a particularly interesting read; the variety of different spells, enchantments, and protections against the Dark Arts scattered amongst the numerous texts was so enthralling that Hermione was the one to tear Harry away hours later when the rumbling in her stomach became too much to ignore. She grabbed The Dark Arts and Its Repercussions and pulled Harry bodily from the library.

It was almost five `o' clock when they arrived at the Great Hall. There was only one small table setup in the Great Hall and it didn't appear as if dinner was going to be served anytime soon so Hermione suggested they head down to the kitchens and see if they could get some food from Dobby beforehand.

As always, Dobby was exceedingly accommodating and provided them with a small feast. They left the castle and headed down to lakefront to eat and enjoy the warm summer evening.

They spent two hours eating and talking and for the first time in a month, Harry felt uncharacteristically carefree. He forgot about the horrors of learning the Dark Arts from Snape, he forgot about losing Sirius, he forgot about the weight of the prophecy. He was simply Harry, not The Harry Potter and he was able to enjoy sharing an excellent meal with Hermione, who, until recently, was his best friend. Now she was something of uncharted territory. Not his girlfriend, but something significantly more than the best friend she was before her arrival at Grimmauld Place the day before.

The evening sun was approaching the horizon and they fell into a comfortable silence. Hermione sat leaning against a tree quietly reading The Dark Arts and Its Repercussions while Harry waded knee-deep into the lake, skipping stones across its smooth surface as he mused over the change in his relationship with Hermione.

He knew where she stood. She had removed the mantle of friendship long ago and stood holding it in one hand, the other hand clutching a lover's shroud securely, waiting patiently to adorn it. For his own part, he grasped the cloth embodying their friendship tightly to his chest. It strengthened him and forever remained untainted by his presence. But as his gaze fell on the lover's shroud held tentatively in his own hand, a panic seared through his soul despite the radiance it emitted. The gleaming white fabric could scarcely hope to withstand resting against his bloodstained robes.

The stones left his hand seemingly of their own accord, falling to rest at his feet beneath the water. His body followed them down as he sunk to his knees, ignorant of the fact that he was fully dressed. He wanted to wash it all away, to cleanse himself of the filth in his life, to emerge untarnished and able to love without committing Hermione to an early grave.

The sound of Hermione calling his name intruded on his sullen thoughts. The feel of the cool lake water against his skin came back to him in a rush and he realized how absurd he must look to her. He stood up and began trudging back to the shore. Hermione ran out a few steps into the water to meet him.

“Harry! Are you okay?”

Her eyes were lined with concern.

“I'm fine, Hermione. Just in a bit of a daze, that's all,” he answered mechanically.

He knew he hadn't fooled her for one minute, but she didn't seem to want to press him.

“Come on. Let's get you up to the common room and changed into some dry clothes.”

Harry nodded and helped her gather up the remnants from dinner. The walked in silence to the Gryffindor common, Hermione casting furtive glances at Harry periodically. They reached the common room and Harry lazily pulled out his wand, casting a spell to ignite the logs in the fireplace. Hermione sat down on the couch and studied Harry while he leaned against the fireplace, attempting to dry off.

“Wouldn't you rather just change?” she asked.

“Good idea,” he said blankly. “I'll be right back.”

Harry climbed the stairs to his dorm room and walked to his bed, pulling open his trunk to find a clean set of clothes. He placed his change of clothes on Ron's bed next to him and began undressing. As he did so, he tugged free his and Sirius' mirrors from his pocket. He examined them sadly for a moment before setting them next to his clean clothes and resuming his changing. He finished dressing and headed back down to the common room.

He found Hermione staring into the fire, watching the dance of the flames. At the sound of his footsteps approaching, she looked up him and smiled gently. He sat down next to her and began staring into the fire himself. They sat in silence for a few moments before Hermione spoke.

“Talk to me, Harry,” she queried.

“We've talked all day, Hermione.” Harry said evasively.

“I mean really talk to me, Harry,” she pleaded. “About Sirius. About the prophecy. About studying the Dark Arts. I understand that you have the world and more on your shoulders, but if you want me to wait for you, you need to let me help you walk that road. I need to walk that road with you.”

Harry sighed heavily and leaned forward, letting his head sag and resting his elbows on his knees. He ran his hands roughly through his hair trying to discover why he didn't want to tell her everything. Was he just trying to protect her from the pain? Was he afraid of showing weakness? Was he just playing the tragic hero?

“I wouldn't know where to start, Hermione,” he said wearily.

She slid over next to him and laced her arm inside his, bringing her hand up to intertwine her fingers in his. Harry knew that this gesture of intimacy was heading in a dangerous direction, but he couldn't find the voice to object to the comfort of having her hand in his.

“Start with Sirius,” she whispered.

Harry closed his eyes. His jaw tensed as the familiar grief burst through the dam he had erected to hold back the pain.

“It hurts,” he choked out. “It hurts that he never got to live the life he deserved. It hurts that I'll never know what its like to have a father.”

Hermione brought her free hand over to enclose his in both of hers. She rested her head against his shoulder and he felt the slightest bit of moisture seeping through his shirt.

“I wish I could bear this pain for you, Harry,” she said softly.

Harry's opened his eyes.

“Don't. I wouldn't let you take it if I could give it to you.” He gently pulled his hand free and turned to face her directly, looking hard into her eyes. “I deserve this pain, Hermione. It reminds me to do everything I can to protect those that are still with me. I won't ever let it go. I need to carry it with me.”

Harry stood up and walked to the window overlooking the grounds, gripping the window sill tightly.

“Sirius is gone,” he said stonily. “I can't change that. And as much as I've blamed myself and Dumbledore for it, it all comes down to Voldemort. If you take Voldemort out of the picture, none of this ever happens.”

He turned to face her with a look of cold fury on his face.

“I'm going to kill him. Not because of some damn prophecy, but because I want to.” His voice grew in volume with every word. “For my mum. For my dad. For Sirius. For everyone whose ever died because of the fucking bastard!”

Hermione wasn't just weeping softly anymore. She was openly crying, staring at him with a look of fear in her eyes. He was scaring her.

Harry forgot his anger instantly. He rushed over to the couch, kneeling in front of her. He grasped her folded hands in his, looking up at her pleadingly.

“Hermione, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. My anger just got the better of me. Please… please stop crying.”

“I'm sorry, Harry,” she said, wiping the back of her hands across her eyes and trying to pull herself together. “It's just…with you studying the Dark Arts this summer, it scares me to see this anger in you. I've been reading about it and the Dark Arts feed on every negative emotion there is! They end up consuming the wizard that's using them! I'm scared that I going to lose you, Harry, that I'm going to lose the person I—”

“You won't lose me, okay.” He climbed up onto the couch and cradled her in his arms, rocking her back and forth slowly. “I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here. I'm still your Harry, okay? I'm right here.”

Harry held her that way until she stopped crying. She was still clinging tightly to his shirt so he kicked off his shoes and lay down with her on the couch. She rested her head on his chest while he stroked the hair out of her face, still trying to soothe her. She soon fell asleep and Harry began to feel his own eyes getting heavy. As he drifted off, he noted with a soft chuckle that this was the second night in a row that he had slept with Hermione. At least Snape wouldn't find them like this again.

But that's just how Snape found them in the morning.

A/N: Just kidding about Snape finding them! I couldn't resist the temptation to scare you! Anyway, tomorrow will begin the descent into the Dark Arts for Harry as well as the beginning of the rest of his training. Let me know what think. Cheers!

-->

The Growing Darkness & the Fading Light

Chapter 4

Harry enjoyed another dreamless night, awaking to the sensation of Hermione's fingertip tracing the scar on his forehead. Her fingers radiated warmth, driving the ever-present ache in his scar to the back of his mind. He lay there for several minutes enjoying the tenderness of her touch, however, she seemed to have noticed his deep breathing become shallower as he transitioned from sleeping to wakefulness because she pulled her hand away quickly, bringing it to rest lightly on his chest. The absence of her caress heralded the return of the throbbing in his scar and left an intense desire for her touch again, stronger than what he had felt when he handled the Dark Arts texts in Grimmauld Place.

“Why'd you stop?” he asked, cracking his eyes slowly. He was still lying on his side on the common room couch facing her. She had propped her head up on her elbow and was smiling nervously at him.

“I... I just—” she fumbled, looking away. Harry smiled at the typically verbose Hermione struggling for words.

“Got caught with your hand in the cookie jar?” he offered.

“Something like that,” she said shyly.

Before the nagging voice in the back of his head could tell him he was making a mistake, he found himself lacing his fingers into hers. Hermione's eyes darted briefly to their interlocked hands and back to Harry's eyes, a relieved smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“It felt good,” he said. “It was the first time in weeks that it hasn't hurt.”

He squeezed her hand gently before speaking again.

“Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah, I am,” she said before looking away with a sad sigh. “I'm so sorry, Harry.”

“What do you mean?”

“Here I am, supposing to be strong for you and I end up falling to pieces,” she said guiltily.

“Hermione, you, of all people, have nothing to apologize for,” he said sincerely. “I slipped off the deep end last night. You did nothing more than voice the same concerns I've had too. Don't ever apologize for speaking your mind to me. It's one the reasons I lo—”

Hermione's eyes widened slightly.

“—that you're so special to me,” he finished. “You're my voice of reason, the only one who keeps me sane amidst all this rubbish.”

Hermione was breathing deeply and her eyes became misty before she dropped her head to his shoulder and looped her arm around him, tracing indeterminate patterns on his back.

“Thank you, Harry,” she murmured. “Thank you.”

Harry kissed her softly on the forehead and pulled her into himself. Having her this close was exhilarating. Gone was the sense of simple comfort her embrace had given him in the past. It was replaced by a burning need and a sense of fulfillment so deep that he felt his chest constrict with every touch of her flesh against his.

Harry's thoughts drifted back to his first flying lesson and chasing after Neville's Rememberall. That was the first time in his life that something had felt so absolutely perfect; Hermione held intimately in his arms like this with her breath dancing lightly across his neck was the second. He continued to hold her close to him, reveling in her nearness before the rational side of his mind spoke up, reminding him that he had lessons that day.

“C'mon,” he said softly, “we can't stay here all day.”

Hermione propped her head on her elbow again and looked at him.

“Why not?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Harry's jaw went slack as Hermione laughed.

“Get up, you oaf,” she joked, pushing him gently off the coach.

Harry laughed, but began musing over what exactly she had in mind as they proceeded upstairs individually and got cleaned up and ready for the day, meeting back in the Gryffindor common room half an hour later. They left for the Great Hall with rumbling stomachs, walking silently and were halfway there before Harry figured out what was different about Hermione. For the first time that he had noticed, she was wearing perfume.

“You're wearing perfume,” he said bluntly.

She smiled demurely at him.

“Do you like it?” she asked hopefully.

Harry nodded.

“It's nice and subtle,” he answered truthfully. “I think it's perfect for you.”

Hermione smiled again, apparently very pleased with herself. However, a very unpleasant thought occurred to Harry.

“Is that the stuff Ron got you last Christmas?”

“Oh, god no,” she answered quickly. “Ron bought me a witch's perfume. And as much as I love the wizarding world, I will always prefer muggle perfume. That stuff he bought smelled like an odd mixture of seaweed and doxy spray. I bought this a few days ago.”

Harry was relieved. He hoped she had dumped the stuff that Ron had given her down the drain.

“We're going to have to tell him, you know,” he said seriously.

Hermione was silent for a moment before she responded.

“I don't know what we would tell him?” she challenged. “Nothing's actually happened yet. We're getting there, but I would like to keep this between us until we're both ready.”

Harry felt guilty at the subtext of her words. He was the holdup, he was the reason they would be hiding this from Ron. When they spoke to Ron about this, it wouldn't be a pleasant conversation, he knew, but Harry didn't want to dwell on unpleasant future events today. This was his last day with Hermione; he wanted to make the most of it.

“So you don't think we should tell him we slept together?” he teased sinfully.

Hermione looked scandalized, but he could see a slight smile around the edges of her mouth. “We did not sleep together, Harry Potter!” she snapped, slapping his arm playfully.

“Twice,” he countered.

Hermione huffed audibly and picked up her pace. Harry had to skip a few steps in order to catch up. They reached the Great Hall and Hermione couldn't keep up the charade any longer. She gave him a last spiteful glare, before smiling at him and walking into the hall to see that Professors Dumbledore and Snape were already sitting at the lonely table set in the middle of the hall.

Breakfast went quickly. Although Dumbledore was always entertaining company, the pallor Snape threw over the table prevented Harry or Hermione from fully enjoying themselves. Harry and Hermione rose to leave after finishing their meals when Professor Dumbledore addressed Harry, holding his pocket watch.

“Harry, I want you to meet me back here in twenty minutes. We will begin your Portkey lessons then. After that you will have an hour break before meeting Professor Snape in the Entrance Hall.”

“Yes sir” Harry answered.

Harry and Hermione left, taking their time walking to the library and keeping their conversation light and pleasant. Neither seemed in a rush to get there, but the deadline of meeting Professor Dumbledore forced each step.

“I'd better head back,” Harry said when they had finally reached the library. “I'll meet you here in an hour?”

Hermione nodded and leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. The kiss just caught the corner of his mouth and judging by Hermione's resultant blush and muttered goodbye, it wasn't unintentional.

Harry watched her retreat into the library. Part of him wanted to follow her inside the library and pursue that kiss more, but thoughts of the damage it would cause held his body in check and he turned to walk back to great hall cursing Voldemort and prophecies the whole way.

His lesson with Professor Dumbledore went well. Portkeys, it turned out, were pretty easy to create. Determined concentration on the destination and the time of activation was all that was required in addition to the simple incantation. As wizards aren't a terribly focused lot, this was the crux of the Ministry's motivation to keep tight controls on their creation. However, by the end of the lesson, Harry was able to transport himself to various points around the Great Hall. The headmaster was suitably impressed at the ease with which Harry picked up the ability and informed him that it would be more difficult as the distance traveled grew, but that he was confident, that Harry would be able to move on to apparition by the start of the following week.

As Harry departed the Great Hall to meet Hermione in the library, his thoughts returned to her half kiss when he left. He could feel his resolve weakening where she was concerned and felt horrible about it. It seemed to him that he was clinging to her as he sank into an abyss, using her as his lifeline, but he remained fearful that her ability to anchor his descent was limited and he would end up dragging her down with him.

It was with a heavy heart and a guilty conscious that he found her in the library. Unsurprisingly, she was thumbing through a book eagerly. When she heard him approach, she leapt to her feet.

“Harry,” she said, rushing to his side and shoving the book she was reading into his hands, “I've found something that I think will really help with your Occlumency lessons! It's a series of mental exercises that help you clear your mind. I think if you do this before going to bed, you'll be able to block out Voldemort's attempts to influence your mind at night.”

She was practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. Harry flipped through the pages she had marked, smiling at her giddiness. She did seem to have come across something very useful. From his rapid scan of the text, it seemed like this would be exactly what he needed.

He closed the text, setting it on the table carefully and turned to Hermione.

“Thank you,” he said softly and without thinking, enveloped her in a hug. “You are far too good to me.”

She seemed to treasure the hug and squeezed him back tightly. He could feel her heart pounding against his chest as he held her. The scent of her perfume wafted through his nose and brought an adrenaline rush and he found himself staring into her hopeful eyes as they reluctantly drew apart. His resolve was weakening, but not yet destroyed so he placated his adolescent instincts by bringing a hesitant hand to her face to tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear, tracing the edge of it delicately.

“Thank you,” he repeated in a whisper.

She gave him an anxious smile, but held his gaze. The moment to kiss her was now, he knew, but it came and went as Harry was unable to resolve the dispute in his head. She nervously pulled away from him and sat back down at the table picking up another text laying there. He retrieved the book she had given him and took the seat opposite from her.

The remainder of the hour passed in an agonizing, awkward silence. Harry began reading at the first page that Hermione had marked, but found himself sneaking furtive glances at her from beneath his eyebrows and noted that she too, despite her renowned studious nature, seemed to be stuck on the same page of her own text. Finally, he closed his book with a snap, announcing that he had to go meet Snape in the Entrance Hall.

“I'll walk with you,” she said, closing her own book gently. “I need a break anyway.”

“Well, well, the lovebirds have arrived,” Snape drawled when they entered the Entrance Hall.

Harry's jaw clenched, but he ignored Snape and turned to face Hermione, stepping between her and the Potions Master.

“You should go. I'll deal with the Prince of Darkness,” he added with a nod over his shoulder.

Hermione's face was red with embarrassment, but she was composed as she nodded back, gifting him with a sympathetic smile.

“I'll meet you here at lunch, then?”

Harry said good-bye before following Sna

pe's billowing cloak down the stairs to the dungeons. He expected Professor Snape to lead him into the usual Potions classroom, but he strode by it without a word before stopping further down the hall in front of a door that Harry hadn't been through before.

Snape opened the door and strode into the inky blackness that lurked behind it. Harry followed suit, lighting his wand as he went. He wasn't more that a few steps into the room when the door slammed shut behind him. Harry turned to see the lock slide into place at the edge of his wand light with a disheartening click. He turned back to the looming darkness to find Professor Snape out of sight, apparently somewhere beyond the fringes of Harry's sphere of light.

“Put out your wand, Potter,” Snape ordered from the darkness.

Harry wasn't too keen on plunging himself into total blackness with his beloved nemesis lurking out of site in a near empty castle. The situation just didn't feel right and he hesitated.

“Put it out, Potter,” Snape snarled from somewhere to Harry's right.

Harry turned to face where he thought Professor Snape was standing, before extinguishing his wand. He heard the click of the Potions Master's heels circling and rotated on the spot to follow the sound as it traveled around him. Snape circled him several times without speaking as if he were sizing him up like some nocturnal predator.

“Light is defined by the natural occurrence of darkness, Potter,” Snape hissed, still circling. “In this room, we are blanketed by the absence of light. You, with all your Gryffindor courage, are at a severe disadvantage in a duel at this moment.”

Harry tensed, anticipating an attack, but the rhythmic clicking of Snape's heels never ceased; he never heard any muttered incantation.

“Your wand can be charmed to prevent it from lighting,” Snape continued. “In that environment, the best you can do is cast spells randomly hoping to hit your target.” Snape heels stopped and his whispered incantations were spoken in rapid succession carrying through the room with its usual command.

“Nox Aerturnus. Nigrum Aspectus. Umbrae Passus.”

Harry knew attempting to light his wand would be useless. He had reached the end of his patience with Snape's little game. He crouched and crept silently toward the sliver of light indicating the entrance to the room.

His instincts and quick reflexes saved him. He dove aside at the first sound of Snape's incantation, crashing hard into what seemed to be some kind of column. The stunner missed and Harry was able to recover from his collision with the stone pillar and cast his own stunner back to where he guessed Snape was prowling.

He felt a point of pressure in the small of his back and knew Professor Snape had him. “Not nearly close enough,” Snape whispered into his ear. “Professor McGonagall said you wanted to be an Auror, Potter. You have a long way to go if you wish to survive your first week on the job. Finite.”

Harry felt Snape's wand drop from his back and heard his heels clicking once again as the Potions Master strutted away. Snape stopped quickly and torches flared to life along the walls of a large room with three rows of six columns, each as wide a man and running the length of the room. At one end of the room was the door through which they had entered, the other end held a large table that appeared to be empty.

“Three simple spells known to virtually all dark wizards defeated you Potter. The first will prevent an opponent's wand lighting, the second and third allows the caster sight despite the darkness and silences his movements. You have proven yourself to be a competent dueler in the past. Do not relax your guard in any of our lessons again.”

Snape turned with his usual flourish, moving to the end of the room opposite of the entrance. Harry followed slowly and silently, gripping his wand tightly. They reached the empty table and Snape waved his wand, revealing a familiar tome wrapped in a midnight blue leather cover. Snape brought one of his pale hands lovingly on the cover.

“This will be your new bible,” Snape said before turning to face Harry quizzically. “Do you believe in God, Potter?”

“I suppose,” Harry answered with a sardonic snigger.

“What about when you die, Potter?”

“When I die…” Harry began bitterly, “I expect to find him laughing.”

“Indeed, I guess that makes two of us. Perhaps, we are not as different as it might seem—”

Harry was sick of this crap and his frustration from the last few weeks erupted.

“We are very different!” Harry retorted harshly. “The Dark Arts is not something I choose to play with for amusement! I am only here because of the rubbish Trelawney spouted before I was born!”

Harry cast his wand roughly onto the table, folded his arms gruffly across his chest, and took a few steps away from Snape, berating himself for his outburst. In his anger, he didn't hear Snape speaking.

When he came to, he was propped against one of the pillars and unable to move. He opened his eyes to find Snape squatting in front of him, his black eyes glinting dangerously.

“I told you to never lower your guard, Potter.” he spat.

Harry anger hadn't abated any, in fact, the knowledge that Snape had hit him in the back while unarmed and the accompanying pain in his body only inflamed his previous anger more.

“Go fuck yourself!” he attempted to shout, but no sound came out of his mouth.

“Silencing charm,” Snape said nonchalantly. He stood up and walked a few steps away before beginning to pace casually in front of Harry. “It is your turn to listen, Potter, and as you can see, I will not tolerate any further interruptions. First thing you must understand about these lessons is that this is the business of the Order of the Phoenix. As such, I am not bound by the normal restraints of my position as your professor. Second, the Dark Arts aren't something you play with,” Snape paused and looked coldly at Harry, “they play with you if you are not vigilant...”

Snape's words hung thickly in the air for several moments as he and Harry exchanged poisoned stares.

“And lastly, you will confine your pathetic whining to Gryffindor tower. As I tried to teach you before during Occlumency, your emotions are a liability. You will control them and use them to your benefit or the Dark Lord will feed you to the wolves.”

Snape casually waved his wand and Harry was able to move. Harry suspected that he could speak again as well, but was brimming with rage and didn't trust himself to hold his tongue if he spoke. Harry sat up and immediately marched purposefully over to the table, retrieving his wand. He turned and cast a vicious glance at Snape. Snape sneered in return.

“Well Potter, I see you are learning quickly. Continue to control your emotions like you are now and you will survive your experience with the Dark Arts. If you had been this quick a study in Occlumency, perhaps your dear godfather might still be with us.”

Harry knuckles whitened around the shaft of his wand and he took a malevolent step towards Snape before the rational side of brain kicked in and held him back. Snape was clearly goading him, trying to see how far he could push Harry. He stood there glaring dangerously at Snape, fighting to even out his breathing. Snape inclined an eyebrow appraisingly.

“Interesting,” he muttered before walking back to the table to retrieve the book resting on its surface. “Don't you worry, Potter, you will have the opportunity to exorcise your demons. These classes will be practical in nature. We will leave the theoretical work as your homework.” He held out the book to Harry. “You will research the spells I performed when we first arrived and be able to perform them flawlessly when we meet tomorrow.”

Harry read the cover of the book Snape was offering him: Delving into the Dark Arts.

“I have this,” he snarled through gritted teeth.

Snape again looked at Harry curiously.

“Then you will have no trouble providing me with twelve inches of parchment detailing the limitations of the spells and their respective counters when you arrive tomorrow.”

Snape tucked the book under his arm and strode from the room without sparing Harry another glance. The torches fizzled out at the door snapped shut behind him. Harry was left alone in total darkness.

“Lumos,” he muttered with a frustrated sigh. His wand didn't light.

“Asshole,” he breathed as he stumbled his way toward the crack under the door.

A/N: Sorry for the delay in posting this. I had really hoped to post about once a week, but the holidays being what they are, I was pretty busy visiting with family and such and unable to write as much as I had hoped despite having two weeks off of work. I hope everyone enjoyed themselves and kept safe. So that means… review time (I have next to no shame). Please let me know what you thought, good, bad, or otherwise. Thanks!

-->

The Growing Darkness & the Fading Light

Chapter 5

Harry let his eyelids droop until only a sliver of emerald cut through the black veil of his eyelashes, causing the hallways to blur indistinctly as he departed the dungeons. In this detached state, he could feel his anger slowly untangle itself from the fabric of his mind as he numbly ascended the staircase to Gryffindor Tower, vaguely noting the scrape of his shoes against the marble underfoot.

He entered the common room and immediately fell onto the couch opposing the fireplace. Leaning back into the ample cushions, he closed his eyes and forced his breathing to become deep and rhythmic; expelling additional bits of anger with each exchange of air.

Many minutes passed before Harry pushed himself out of the protective comfort of the cushions and bent forward, resting his elbows on his knees. With a melancholy sigh, he began pushing his fingers along his scalp, furthering the calming effects of his dazed walk from the dungeons. He massaged the final fragments of frustration away, leaving him sitting in disbelieving wonder at the situation in which he found himself.

Within the framework of reason, he could not fathom any justification for Snape's persistent malice towards him. The Potions Master's continual need to punish him for the sins of his father seemed to know no limits. Even in the absence of the prophecy and the shadow of Lord Voldemort hovering over him, Harry's tenure at Hogwart's would have been a tortuous journey, an uneven path strewn with stones Snape had cast his way.

He amused himself for a few moments with thoughts of what he must have done in a previous life to deserve this kind of providence before settling his gaze on the blackened stonework of the empty fireplace before him. At first, he saw only the sizeable stain of soot blasted against the masonry, but soon after, his eyes lost their focus and he began to distinguish random shapes and patterns within the field of darkness.

Harry intuitively recognized the beauty hidden among the subtle swirls and irregular gashes, made heavy by the frequent fires shelter there. At another time or under different conditions, he seriously doubted if he would have had the clarity of mind to notice or appreciate the concealed contours he had discovered. He slid off the couch and edged closer to the fireplace, placing his hand on the tarnished mantle to support himself as he leaned into the opening. His inspection, however, was abruptly cut short by the soft click of footsteps emerging from the portrait hole. He pushed himself upright, giving one final glance at the soot deposits he was examining, but the unusual details seemed to be lost again. Thinking he must have imagined it, he dropped his hand from the mantle and turned to greet Hermione.

“Hey,” he said lightly as she rounded the corner.

“Harry?” she said, glancing down at her watch. “What happened to your lessons with Professor Snape?”

He sank back onto the couch, sitting on his hands and staring at her feet.

“I don't right get it myself,” he said looking up at her over the rim of his glasses, “but I think I may have pissed him off a bit,”

“Harry!” she exclaimed, stomping over to stand in front of him. “What do you mean, you pissed him off?”

“Well, you know how he gets,” Harry said defensively, “he just started pushing my buttons to see how far he could make me go and I kinda blew up at him. Next thing I know, I'm waking up, magically bound and unable to speak. He lectured me, gave me homework, and left.”

Hermione sat down on the couch next to him, looking at him sadly.

“Don't start Hermione,” he said warningly.

“Don't start what?” she asked nonplussed.

“Don't start lecturing me like I'm some four-year-old. I know—,”

“Harry.”

“—I lost my temper and I—,”

“Harry!”

“—shouldn't have, but I don't need—,”

“HARRY!”

“What!” he snapped.

“I'm not going to lecture you,” she said in her normal voice again. “I'm sure Snape was being a right prat.”

“Oh…” he said dumbly. “Sorry.”

“It's all right, Harry. I'm just worried. I want you to be done with these lessons as soon as possible. I don't think Snape is the right person to teach you the Dark Arts.”

Harry found himself in the strange position of defending Snape.

“Name one person on our side that has better knowledge of Voldemort and the Dark Arts,” he challenged.

“I realize that,” she said sedately, “but I'll bet Snape buried himself in the Dark Arts growing up. The fact that he emerged on our side is a miracle in itself. He's going to be walking a razor's edge teaching you.” She bit her lip nervously and looked hard into his eyes. “I don't want you to be there when he slips.”

Harry was at a loss for words. He stood up and began pacing in front of the fireplace. He hadn't considered Snape's risk in this. What if the temptation for Snape was too severe? Did Harry really want to be caught alone in the dungeons of an empty castle when Snape fell back into the fold?

Hermione rose and stepped into his space, barring Harry from treading any further.

“Just be careful,” she said, taking up his hand. “I like my Harry just the way he is.”

His worries about Snape's deficiencies fled from his mind, replaced by the profound simplicity of Hermione's sentiment.

I'm hers.

He brought his free hand up to her jaw, guiding it along the edge of her face, acutely aware of his quickening pulse and the crumbling walls surrounding his heart.

I'm hers. She's mine.

The now familiar warring in his heart and mind resumed their ongoing battle. The mental anguish that he had so carefully coaxed away before returned tenfold. Yet, despite the torture he placed upon himself, he could not restrain his finger from working its way down her face, coming to rest softly underneath her chin, urging it upwards with the slightest bit of pressure to bring her face in line with his. He saw her gaze dance back and forth between his eyes and mouth, waiting for him to confirm her hopes. Fixing his gaze with hers, he brought his finger up over the curve of her chin and across her parted lips, pausing momentarily to allow her to press a firm kiss into the swirls on his fingertip.

He broke the tie binding their eyes together and looked to her mouth, silencing all arguments and bringing the moment to a crashing halt. A long black line of soot marred her smooth skin from just beneath her ear to the softness under her chin and up to finish where his finger still rested against her lips.

Harry hid his soot stained hand behind his back and stepped back from her fighting to keep a smile off of his face.

“I'm really sorry, Hermione,” he said as neutrally as he could manage.

Hermione was crestfallen and walked somberly to gaze out of the window, not realizing Harry had unintentionally transferred soot from the mantle to her cheek, chin, and lips.

“It's alright, Harry,” she said, poorly masking her disappointment. “I know things are hard for you right now.”

“It's not that, Hermione,” he said, biting his lower lip in an effort to keep from laughing.

With a frustrated groan, she spun sharply to look at him. “Then what is it? I can't keep doing this, Harry. This `almost' relationship we keep playing with is killing me. If you can't be with me now, fine! But don't make me think you're going to kiss me every time were together.”

Harry knew this should be a serious conversation, but he couldn't hold back the smile any longer. That was a big mistake.

“Is this some game to you, Harry?” she yelled as she advanced on him. His grin evaporated instantly.

“Of course not,” he said emphatically, backpedaling and putting his hands up in front of him, gesturing for her to stop. “It was an accident… I—, I—, I didn't' realize.”

Hermione suddenly stopped her progress, her eyes darting from Harry to his outstretched hands and back again. This happened several times before she brought her own hand up to her cheek, dragging it roughly through the grime marring her skin. Harry saw that much of the soot had been wiped away. She looked into her hand, before turning her penetrating gaze on him.

“An accident?” she said, marching over to the couch. Harry continued to back up to the bottom of the stairs leading to the dormitories.

“Er—, well—, yeah,” he stuttered. His eyes flicked over to the mantle and the telltale smudge where he had placed his hand. “You see, I didn't realize I had put my hand in the soot… when I was at the fireplace. And then you came in and, er—, well I was kinda distracted.”

Harry believed he might be getting somewhere with her when he thought he saw her restraining a grin, but he couldn't be sure if he'd really seen it. She paused momentarily from undoing the fastenings on her bag to glance over at the fireplace eyeing the smeared soot suspiciously. With a trademark huff, she resumed searching her bag feverishly.

“Er—, Hermione…what are you looking for?”

“My wand,” she answered coldly.

“Shit,” Harry muttered, stepping backward onto the first step. “Accio,” he said loudly, holding his hand out to collect his wand as it flew to him from the couch. Hermione didn't look up, but smiled momentarily at the display of wandless magic before returning to her bag.

“Aha!” Hermione exclaimed, clearly a bad sign.

That did it for Harry. He turned and sprinted up the stairs to his dorm room. The slam of the bedroom door behind him echoed up and down the staircase, but Harry thought he could still hear Hermione's methodical footsteps on each stone step. Grinning ear to ear, he looked around frantically for an escape before seizing on an idea. He faced the door and held his wand in front of him.

“Colloportus,” he muttered. He knew it wouldn't stop her, but it might buy him the few moments he needed. He quickly ran around the room drawing the shades over each of the windows. The jiggle of the lock announced Hermione's arrival.

“Oh please, Harry,” she said, muffled by the thick oak door. “Surely, you can do better than this.”

Harry dove beneath Neville's bed, hoping his suspicions about the spells would be correct. Hermione's muffled voiced sound again and the door to the dorm room creaked open. Some light still filtered in around the edges of the shades and from the stairs. He just needed Hermione to start searching by his or Ron's bed.

“Isn't this something more befitting a Slytherin, Harry?” she asked the room in an amused tone. “Running and hiding like this is so very un-Gryffindor.”

Harry watched her feet track towards his bed in the feeble light. When she finally reached the foot of his bed, he seized the opportunity and gave his wand a subtle flick. The bedroom door slowly crept shut, dimming the room further. It let one small creak escape as it finally closed fully, the lock sliding into place with a resounding click. Harry choked down a mischievous laugh as he saw Hermione's feet start creeping back towards the door.

He composed himself quickly in order to attempt the spell he had in mind. He was about to whisper the incantation when Hermione spoke.

“You know, Harry,” she purred, “if you wanted to get me into your bedroom, you need only have asked.”

Harry's head rose sharply, banging solidly into the wood frame of Neville's bed. Hermione spun quickly, chuckling and approached his hiding spot.

She levitated Neville's bed to rise off the ground. Harry's astonishment at her brazenness wore off quickly and he rattled off the spells in rapid succession, much as Snape had done earlier.

“Nox Aerturnus. Nigrum Aspectus. Umbrae Passus.”

He felt a surge of adrenaline course through his veins as the room fell into a deep blackness, obliterating any and all light sources. The darkness only existed for a fraction of a second before the walls and furniture took on a bluish hue. He caught a brief glimpse of Hermione's form before the bed came crashing down above him. The exposed portions of her skin glowed in a fierce red, while the parts hidden by clothing were a muted orange.

“Harry?” Hermione called warily. “What did you just do?”

Harry scurried quickly across the floor, cringing initially when he felt the vibration of his belt buckle scraping across the floor, but relaxed when no sound emerged from it. Hermione seemed to have given up trying to coax Harry into speaking and was now attempting to light her wand.

“Lumos. Lumos. LUMOS!” Hermione gave up, groaning loudly in frustration. “What did you do!”

Confident with the success of his spells, Harry popped to his feet and trod a wide circle around her, approaching her kneeling form from the rear. Apparently, she was still under the impression that he was hiding under Neville's bed.

“Fine, Harry,” she exasperated, turning to sit on the stone floor with her back to Neville's footboard. “You win. Now turn the lights back on!”

Forcing his amusement under control, Harry held his breath as he crept over to her and knelt down next to her, placing his mouth inches from her ear. His proximity to her brought the welcome scent of her perfume, mixing in with her own unique scent. “I don't,” he began, but Hermione started violently, clearly not realizing that Harry was so close.

“Bloody hell, Harry!” she yelled, pushing him roughly onto his backside. “You scared the shit out of me!”

Harry was laughing hard now and had to spend a few moments gathering himself before he could speak again. “Such language, Miss Granger,” he teased, sliding up next to her on the floor. “I expect your parents would be very disappointed to here you speak like that.”

“Well, fortunately they are not here, but having Ron as a friend for so many years can't help but wear off on you,” she retorted. “Now really, Harry, turn on the lights.”

“I tried to tell you before freaked out. I don't exactly know the counters just yet. That's my homework for tomorrow.”

Crossing her legs, Hermione brandished her wand again. “Finite,” she said softly, grinning slightly at Harry once the light reentered the room again.

Harry nudged his shoulder into hers. “I got the best of Hermione Granger,” he said smugly.

She nudged him back. “It won't happen again, I can assure you of that.”

She climbed to her feet and stood in front of Harry, offering him her hand. “Come on.”

Allowing her to help him to his feet, he asked, “Where to?”

“First, we both have to clean up and then were off to the library. You've homework to do and there is no way I am going to be outdone by The-Boy-Who-Has-The-World's-Worst-Study-Habits,” she said tartly.

“Now that is totally unfair!” he answered in mock indignation, grabbing up his schoolbag and his copy of Delving Into the Dark Arts. He paused to enjoy the familiar feel of the midnight-blue leather beneath his fingers before continuing. “I am certainly no worse than Ron. And, for that matter, Seamus, Dean, and Neville have nothing to be proud of either.” Hermione smirked and led the way out of the dorm room.

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly. By the time Harry had to leave for Occlumency, he had completed his homework and needed only to practice the spells and their counters that evening to be prepared for Snape's next lesson.

“You know, Harry,” Hermione said as they gathered their belongings. “We keep this up and you'll run the risk of becoming a quality student.”

“Surprising,” Harry said thoughtfully, “you'd think spending hours completely alone with a pretty girl would be an obstacle to good grades.” Hermione's lips pursed modestly at his words causing Harry to mentally pat himself on the back.

Hermione left him at the entrance to Dumbledore's office and Harry couldn't help but be disappointed that she didn't give him another kiss. He watched her walk away down the hall, tilting his head appraisingly as he couldn't quite stifle the nigh sixteen year-old in him. Feeling a touch guilty, but happy with his evaluation he muttered the password to the headmaster's office and began thinking about Occlumency again.

Professor Dumbledore was sitting at his desk waiting, when Harry finally reached the office.

“Good afternoon, Harry.”

“Sir,” Harry answered, slipping into the chair across from the headmaster.

“I understand that you've already learned quite a bit about Occlumency from Professor Snape,” Harry's face clouded, recalling the very unpleasant lessons with the Potions Master, “but I want us to start with a clean slate, as if you are just being introduced to the subject for the first time.”

Harry's watched Professor Dumbledore as he stood up and began pacing back and forth behind his long desk, keeping the corner of one of his eyes on Harry while he did so.

“Occlumency, Harry, and its counterpart, Legilimency, are implemented in a variety of ways. For example, external penetration of the mind can be forced upon the subject in a most brutal fashion. This method is very dangerous for the recipient and can be nearly as dangerous for the Legilimens as well. Professor Snape used this method with you previously to a much lesser degree, enabling both of you to come out of the lessons relatively unscathed.”

Harry suppressed a snort. Dumbledore seemed not to have noticed or chose, at least, to ignore Harry's reaction.

“He was able to force your mind to relive whatever memories he found there,” he continued. “On the other hand, there are more subtle ways of manipulating the mind, as Lord Voldemort used with you in the past.”

Harry's jaw clenched intuitively, remembering the bitter price of his foolishness. The headmaster paused in his strides to look seriously at Harry.

“Do not be angry at yourself, Harry. You could not have known the vision Lord Voldemort was placing in your mind was not of your own creation, just as you do not know that I have been monitoring your thoughts and emotions since you arrive here moments ago.”

Harry felt himself wanting to get angry with Dumbledore for invading his mind without permission, but was curiously unable to do so. He was still upset at the indiscretion, but instead of railing at the headmaster, his thoughts drifted to his Firebolt and he was overcome with the need to go flying to ease his temper.

Professor Dumbledore turned from Harry and walked over to gaze out the window overlooking the Hogwart's grounds.

“A beautiful day for flying, don't you think?” he said wistfully. “I imagine, with a decent broom, one could easily find peace of mind amongst the clouds.”

The headmaster's eyes displayed their customary twinkle when Professor Dumbledore looked at Harry's comprehending face again.

“You see, Harry. When the mind is not prepared for a mental assault, a wizard can easily be caught unawares. Last year was a difficult year for all of Hogwart's, but most especially for you as you, in particular, seemed to have drawn Professor Umbridge's most vehement ire. In addition to this, the lack of information provided to you regarding the activities of Lord Voldemort understandably added to your frustration, making it much easier for Voldemort's to plant visions in your head.”

Harry noted that the twinkle had faded from Dumbledore's eyes, replaced by a flicker of sadness.

“So how do I prepare my mind?” Harry asked. “The best advice I got from Snape was to empty it of emotion, but he never told me how.”

The headmaster resumed his seat, before answering.

“Close your eyes. Close them slowly.” Harry took out his wand before complying, preparing himself as he had done previously with Snape.

“You won't need your wand, Harry. This is merely a mental exercise that will help you balance your emotions in order to prepare your mind.”

Harry set his wand down on Dumbledore's desk and closed his eyes.

“Now, I want you to start with the muscles in your face and begin relaxing them,” Dumbledore said soothingly. “Work your way down your body to your toes until you feel your whole body is fully at ease. Be certain to not skip any parts of your body, this will free your mind from the tension locked up in your muscles, allowing it to focus on any external intrusions. Once you feel your body fully relax, begin ignoring all input from your senses one by one until your mind is completely focused only on your thoughts.”

Harry felt his body sink into his chair as his body began to relax. Gradually, his focus began to shift from the customary tenseness in his body to concentrate only on the sounds filling his ears. The sounds drifted away and Harry's mind began to wander, ignoring all input from the environment, until Dumbledore's voice brought him back to reality.

“Keep your eyes closed, Harry,” the headmaster said from somewhere behind him, “but focus on your breathing; keep it deep and rhythmic. We are going to try and sensitize your mind to the moment another enters it.”

“All right,” Harry said softly, shifting his attention to his breathing. He felt the steady rise and fall of his chest, concentrating on inhaling and exhaling in regular intervals. This continued for several minutes before his mind began to wander. Dumbledore was taking a long time attempt to break into his mind. He hadn't even heard him speak the incantation yet.

Harry found himself reviewing the events of the day: Snape's lesson, Hermione's near kiss, his ambush of her in the dorm, the study session in the library. He began to feel the hairs along the nape of his neck stand on end, though no breeze disturbed the air within the headmaster's office. The sensation was followed by a distant, steady beating, almost imperceptible to his mind. At first, he thought it might simply be his heightened awareness monitoring the blood flow coursing through his veins, but as he focused on it more, he discovered that it was out of time with his own pulse. Realization dawned on him and he pushed himself to concentrate harder on the headmaster's slow, steady heartbeat.

As he applied his mind to the task of scrutinizing the foreign palpitations, each subsequent thump of Dumbledore's heartbeat rang louder as the seconds slipped by, quickly matching the volume of his own increasingly erratic pulse. With his diligent breathing long since evaporated, Harry found himself incapable of isolating his own heartbeat from the din of noise cluttering his thoughts. He dug his fingernails into the fabric of the chair arms as he sought a distinction between the irregular staccato of his heartbeat and the steady drumming of Professor Dumbledore's when, suddenly, the irregular beating of his own heart was all that echoed through his mind.

“Harry,” Dumbledore said, now sitting comfortably in his chair again. “Tell me what you experienced?” he continued, ignoring Harry's apparent failure.

Harry opened his eyes and restored his breathing to normal before answering.

“It seemed to be going well at first. I was able to focus on my breathing, but it seemed to be taking forever and my mind began to wander; I never even heard you speak the incantation. After a while, I could hear your heartbeat in my head and I started focusing on it. It grew louder and louder as time went on and pretty soon, I couldn't tell your heartbeat from my own. After that, you broke the connection.”

Dumbledore contemplated Harry's words for several moments over his folded hands.

“At what point do you think I entered your mind?” he asked appraisingly.

“I think it was when I first felt your heartbeat.”

“Good, Harry. You are absolutely correct. The various involuntary thoughts that are required to maintain the functions of our bodies cannot be wholly masked when performing Leglimency. The most talented Legilimens are the ones capable of keeping this signal hidden, thus avoiding detection by the subject's mind they are attempting to break into.”

Harry nodded while the headmaster explained this. “So does Occlumency work the same?”

“Yes it does. As you become more proficient with Occlumency, you will be better able to hide your own biological indicator, as it where, and discern the presence of an outsider's much more readily. Additionally, once a connection has been established, diligent effort will allow you to be able to push back into the Legilimens mind.”

Harry leaned forward in his seat. “That happened last year with Snape!”

“Yes, Professor Snape, told me about that success.” Dumbledore replied casually. “I anticipate, given the proper environment, you will be quite the talented Occlumens. Now, let's resume your practice, I was actually present in your mind when it first began to wander. I would like to see you able to sense the exact moment that someone enters your mind.”

Harry walked back to Gryffindor tower, gritting his teeth against the throbbing in his skull. Despite being much less aggressive in his effort to teach Harry Occlumency, Professor Dumbledore's repeated assaults still left his mind vulnerable and aching.

The headmaster continued penetrating his mind in the same manner for the remainder of the hour. Harry's focus on his breathing was so acute that he remained ignorant of the headmaster speaking, but always his mind began to wander and he soon became aware of the foreign heartbeat shortly thereafter. By the time they concluded the lesson, he was capable of maintaining his focus on his breathing for longer and once his mind did start to wander, it was for subsequently smaller periods of time before the onset of the steady cadence of Dumbledore's biorhythms.

Collapsing onto the couch in the common room, Harry closed his eyes and began rubbing his temples to massage away the painful pounding in his temples. He began to focus once again on his breathing, urging his mind to shut out the outside world until he could master the pain in his head.

The sudden, unanticipated contact against his face jarred him from his solitude. His eyes snapped open and he saw Hermione's face lit by the sun filtering through the window. The soft smile she offered did little to hide the concern behind her eyes.

“Let me, Harry,” she said softly, sliding her fingers beneath his and dutifully taking over massaging away his pain.

Harry watched her in rapt admiration. Their eyes met occasionally as she eased the hurt from his weary mind. She was beautiful, he knew. Though, not many of the boys in Hogwart's seemed to recognize it since she didn't put the effort into flaunting it like Parvati and Lavender did. He suspected most guys would think she was cute enough and move along to the young women that paraded themselves around for the guys to gawk at. Hermione had more self respect than that and that kind of grace served only to enhance her allure in his eyes, he realized. Keeping her head above the fray and on more important things was her greatest attraction and Harry found himself extremely glad that most other guys didn't notice her in anything more than a fleeting moment. She deserved to be treated as more than a trophy. Her beauty warranted appreciation that went well beyond her features; it delved to the heart of love itself. If you weren't ready to fall in love for real, you weren't ready to be with Hermione.

That was it. That was the moment Harry fell in love with her. He had taken the mental leap that superseded simple teenage attraction and dove headlong into something that could grow into his greatest strength and most profound weakness.

Their eyes met a final time and they held one another's gaze as Harry pondered these revelations. His gaze was intense as he urged himself to say what his heart felt. Finding himself unable to speak, he smiled softly at her as a curtain of her hair fell out of place, framing her face in waves of her chocolate locks. Tenderly, he lifted his hand to tuck the stray tendrils behind her ear. He slid his hand slowly down to the nape of her neck; resting it there he drew circles on her cheek with the pad of his thumb.

Sliding over to make room for her, he tugged her gently down beside himself. Harry's heart began racing as her breath drifted across his neck and his eyes lost focus despite the glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. He allowed his head to loll back further into the cushions beneath it, closed his eyes and wearily conceded himself to the internal battle of wills emerging from the recesses of his psyche.

The mental volleys seemed to have reached a maddening impasse. Their relationship held such vivid texture; he knew that each step he took forward with her was inescapable and irreversible. The question became: would the next step with her begin the downward spiral or would it be his saving grace and at what cost?

In defiance, his heart screamed out brutally to damn it all, to forget about consequences, to forget about the pain of loss, and love her with every ounce of his soul. The sheer severity of passion he felt seemed to feed on itself as his love for her fueled his instinctual need to protect her and isolate her from the horrors he was facing, preventing him from pursuing that love in the first place.

Hermione lifted her head from his shoulder and he saw her eyes lined with expectation, hoping that this would be the moment of intimacy that would bring the long awaited kiss, the simple expression of love that would be the harbinger of his accepting her into his heart.

He brought his hand up to touch the smoothness of her cheek, disgusted at his own inability to restrain himself. He dragged his thumb back and forth along her lower lip, edging her mouth open further with each pass of his thumb. Her eyes burned with passion, locking with his; her breath washed over the back of his hand rushing through the upright hairs along the exposed flesh. She licked her lips in anticipation, brushing her tongue momentarily against his thumb, chasing any remaining rationale for resisting her from his mind. All opposition was cast aside as a foolish attempt to avoid the inevitable. His heart held all the power at the moment. It screamed out to him…

Damn it all...

His thumb slid effortlessly across her mouth, denying any feeling from the rest of his body.

Damn it all…

Blood pounded in his ears, obscuring all sound from his mind.

Damn it all…

He leaned towards her, the depths of her eyes the only thing he saw.

Fuck it all…

She was his only sensory input. She was his everything.

I'm hers. She's mine.

His chest heaved, struggling to maintain air in his lungs.

Fuck it all…

He blinked and his lips were crushed against hers. Visions of tenderness were forgotten as the cascade of pent up emotions issued forth from their bodies unchecked. He pressed his body into hers trying to force their separate hearts into a single body. She pushed back in kind, drinking in every drop of passion flowing from him.

Macabre laughter rang through the vastness of Harry's consciousness, cold and malicious.

He knows. He's been watching… waiting…

In the shock of comprehension, he tore himself violently from her, screaming as he fell off the edge of the couch and onto the floor. The back of his skull cracked loudly off the stone floor and his glasses flew from his face, but the pain in his scar bore the brunt of his attention. He gritted his teeth against the pain and got to his feet backing towards the fireplace. Hermione was watching him fearfully, her face still flush with passion and her fingers resting against her swollen lips where he had kissed her.

Where I kissed her.

My kiss.

My kiss of death.

The cold stone of the empty fireplace pressed into his back and he could retreat no further. He sank to the floor. The laughter and pain subsided only to be replaced with shame and guilt. He pulled his hand away from his forehead and saw stars amidst his vision of Hermione rushing to him.

“Harry,” she breathed, grasping his face in both her hands. “What happened, what did you see?”

Harry couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes. “He knows, Hermione. He knows.”

A/N: Sorry for the delay in this chapter. I had to carefully word things here so I hope you forgive the tardiness. On top of that, I'm back to work, so the time available for writing has dried up considerable. Hope you enjoyed the piece.

Also, you can blame carondelet as well. Frequent e-mail exchanges with her interfered with my writing times as well. (MLS - I think this make us even, no? And I beat you in getting my Chapter 5 up first, hah!) Seriously, you should go read her fic in progress: HP and the Black Society. It's a brilliantly written piece. Cheers to one and all!

-->

The Growing Darkness & the Fading Light

Chapter 6

“— she will be safer with her family, Harry.”

“Professor Dumbledore,” Harry pleaded, feeling his nails dig into the soft wood of the headmaster's desk, “there has to be another way.”

“I'm sorry, Harry, but keeping you and Miss Granger together like this will only further Lord Voldemort's purposes.”

“How is that possible?” Harry asked, his voice raising, “There is no safer place for her than at Hogwart's! If I am safe here, she has to be too!”

“Harry, please sit down and hear me out.”

On the surface, Professor Dumbledore's voice was as calm as ever, but Harry's awareness to the subtleties of the headmaster's speech had grown significantly in recent years. Those four simple, but carefully spoken words betrayed an undercurrent of frustration at Harry's increasing challenges to his authority. Somewhere in the back of his consciousness, a grim satisfaction crept into Harry's thoughts at being able to get under the headmaster's skin. He accepted that Dumbledore might very well have the final say in this argument, but Harry felt a malicious sense of triumph that he was not going to leave the office without exacting some small victory in the process.

Harry studied the headmaster for several moments before complying with the his request. Pointedly unclamping his hands from the desk, he backed up into the chair behind him and sat down heavily. He began rubbing his temples, attempting to ease the ache from Voldemort's latest violation.

Professor Dumbledore watched him for several moments, searching for an indication that Harry was calm again. Apparently satisfied, he proceeded to tell Harry what the young Gryffindor didn't want to admit to himself.

“Let's assume that we do have Miss Granger stay at Hogwart's, Harry. The two of you have always had a most extraordinary connection. This new territory the two of you are exploring—”

Harry felt his cheeks burn. He had not been able to keep the fact that he and Hermione had kissed from Dumbledore when he related Voldemort's intrusion to his thoughts.

“—will undoubtedly grow further and Lord Voldemort will able to witness every step you two take together. Until you master Occlumency and can keep Lord Voldemort's advances at bay, your continued relationship with Miss Granger places her in considerable risk.”

Harry was of two minds as the headmaster spoke. To keep Hermione at Hogwart's was to give continue to give Voldemort an open window to the now intimate bond he shared with Hermione. To have her leave the school was to put her out in the open, where a knowing Voldemort could snatch her at any moment.

Damned if you do. Damned if you don't.

Frustration began to mount in Harry's mind, boiling over once again into familiar territory.

“How do you expect to protect her out there?” he growled, gesturing wildly to the window of the headmaster's office. “Only inside Hogwart's can we protect her every hour of the day. Here,” he said, suddenly on his feet, “I can guarantee she is safe, even if Voldemort is aware of what she and I are doing.”

“Harry,” Dumbledore said, “how then, do you propose we tell her parents that their daughter is to remain a caged bird until her new boyfriend gains a command of Occlumency? They have little appreciation for our world or our ways and would not comprehend such a concept. In their eyes, they would simply see us as keeping their daughter from them.”

“We'll make them understand,” Harry shouted. “Whatever it takes!”

“Please Harry, I must ask you to trust my judgment in this matter. We will afford her the same protections that you had last summer and more.”

Harry looked at the headmaster in disbelief, “Your protections didn't do me a whole lot of good last year, did it?” he said coldly.

Dumbledore leaned back into his chair.

“Mundungus will not be part of her detail.”

“Who then?” Harry challenged.

“We will use the best we have Harry: Alastor, Remus, Arthur, Nymphadora, Kingsley, they will all take turns acting as her guard. In addition, we are increasing the protective wards on her parent's home. Her security will be second only to the protections you have at the Dursleys' or any student has here at Hogwart's.”

Harry began to feel an independent drumming in his head that seemed unrelated to the ache from Lord Voldemort's assault. He walked to the window and rested his forehead against the cool glass, watching the clouds gather amongst the hills beyond Hogsmeade.

“There has to be another way,” he said, his voice darkly resigned.

The headmaster rose and walked around his desk, standing behind Harry and following his gaze to the hills.

“I've always felt you two should be together, Harry—”

Harry was still uncomfortable about talking about his new relationship with Hermione, but it was reassuring to hear the headmaster say it as if were the most natural thing in the world. He turned slowly around to see the headmaster's faced lined with concern.

“—but we need to make sacrifices in the short term to protect those we care most about. Master Occlumency, Harry, and we will be able to free up the restrictions on Miss Granger.”

Harry felt his shoulders sag as this new burden settle in heavily amongst his many others. Hermione's now restricted freedom rested solely in his ability to lock tight the doors to his mind. His chin sank to his chest and he let out a forlorn sigh. Dumbledore was placing still another burden onto his already heavily laden back. How could he take all the power out of his hands, yet still put the burden of her freedom on his shoulders? Harry lifted his eyes to meet the headmaster's, a fresh fire kindling to life in his chest.

“I will never forgive you if something happens to her out there,” he said flatly before heading towards the door, where he paused to fix the headmaster's with one final, angry stare. “Never.”

* * * * *

Harry fingers dug into the cracks of the stone wall of their own accord as he descended the stairs from the boys' dorm room like a penitent monk. Much of him didn't want to reach the bottom of the stairs and face what awaited him there. The other part of him knew it was inevitable and that they would force her to leave whether or not he and Hermione had taken the opportunity to say goodbye to one another.

This goodbye haunted him more than when he had left Sirius at Grimmauld Place last Christmas. This goodbye didn't feel like `so long' or `see you soon.' This goodbye felt like forever… eternity... pain without end. This goodbye felt like… goodbye. Saying that one simple word would never tear so great a rift in his heart, letting Hermione go would never be harder.

Harry continued walking down the staircase. Each subsequent impact of his footfalls against the infinite stone of the castle reverberated through his body, throttling his soul. They were putting her out in the open, a ready target for Voldemort, his new and powerful weapon in his effort to destroy Harry.

The final step of the staircase came into view. Harry fixed his gaze on it as he approached, daring himself to believe that many more steps would suddenly appear beyond it to delay the agony that would come with knowing Hermione was leaving the safety of Hogwart's grounds.

At last his foot reached the hard stone of the Gryffindor common room. He saw Hermione leaning against the windowpane, staring idly out the window. The fading sunlight was glinting off her moist eyes, but no tear tracks had yet marred the smooth skin of her cheek.

Seeing her this way, Harry desperately wanted to run to her and pull her close, never letting her leave the solace of his arms. It was something he knew she would never want or need, but, perhaps, it was really him that needed to believe he was protecting her.

The scrape of his shoes caught her attention, causing her to turn and face him. She didn't approach, but her face lit up at seeing him. He gave her an apologetic smile and proceeded to join her at the window. As he was closer and able to see her more clearly he noticed that her joy was limited to her facial expressions only. Something in the depths of her eyes seemed off, wary almost.

He leaned up against the window frame opposite her as she studied him, each waiting for the other to speak first. As the moments passed and they both searched for words, Hermione began fidgeting with the edge of her shirt.

“Harry?” she said. “Is…is he…here?”

Harry wasn't sure how to answer. He didn't know how long Voldemort had been watching before, how could he be certain he wasn't watching now?

“My scar isn't hurting so I don't think so.” This was all the honesty he could manage.

Hermione visibly relaxed, but not fully. Harry's answer, it seemed, was not as positive as she had hoped for.

“How long do we have?” Harry asked, hoping to get away from the subject of Voldemort's presence or (hopefully) lack of presence in his head.

Hermione flicked her wrist over, glancing at her watch. “About five minutes or before I have to leave for the Entrance Hall.”

“I wish you didn't have to go—”

“I know.”

“—or, at least could come back before school starts.”

“Me too.”

They fell into another awkward silence. Harry knew this was their last five minutes together and everything in his soul cried out to fold her into his arms, but she still held that look in her eye and he had that nagging voice in the back of his head. Were they really alone?

Harry let out a frustrated breath and began turned to look out the window.

“I'm sorry, Hermione.”

“You've been saying that too much.” Hermione reached for his arm and firmly pulled him around to face her, sliding her hand into his; Harry couldn't meet her gaze.

“None of this is your fault, Harry.”

“I know,” he answered, letting his face wander to the fireplace. “It's just…if it weren't for me you would never be in this position. I'm sorry I'm not giving you what you deserve…”

“Harry,” she sighed, “look at me.” Harry sadly returned his eyes to hers. “Do you care about me?”

“Of course, but that's the whole—,”

Hermione brought her hand up to cover his mouth.

“That's all I need or deserve, Harry. Nothing more.”

Harry leaned back into the thick glass and seated himself on the window sill, searching her eyes. There was no fear there, no hesitancy lurking just beneath the surface. Her eyes truly were windows into her soul; she knew Voldemort could be listening to this and didn't care. She understood the implications and risks of their feelings and still, she didn't run away.

Snaking his hands around her waist, he pulled her into a secure embrace and rested his head on her chest. She hugged him back, but kept one hand free to push the hair away from his forehead, kissing him softly on his scar.

He continued to hold her that way for another minute before she spoke as she pulled herself gently away from him.

“I should be getting down to the Entrance Hall, Harry.”

Harry nodded miserably and stood up, trudging along beside her towards the portrait hole. He scooped her bag off of the couch and hitched it onto his shoulder, before recalling what he had gone up to the boys' dormitory for in the first place. Grasping her hand in his, he forced her to stop and face him.

“Hermione…” he said quietly.

Her eyes seemed to take inventory of his features searching for what was on his mind.

“What is it, Harry?”

Harry slid his hand into his pocket until he felt the metal frame of Sirius' mirror. Bringing it out into the open, he offered it to her.

“I want you to take this. It was… Sirius'.”

A pained expression washed over Hermione's face.

“I couldn't possibly take it Harry. If this was Sirius', you should keep it to remember him by.”

Harry turned her hand over and pressed the mirror into her palm, watching her study the mirror.

“Of all people, you must have this mirror,” he said, as their eyes met again. “This mirror would have prevented Sirius' death if I had remembered it. I won't make that mistake again with someone else I love.”

Harry saw Hermione's eyebrows gather as her eyes filled with emotion. Her fingers closed around the fine edges of the mirror as Harry let his hand drop back to his side. She began turning it over in her hands, her thumbs following the lines in the metalwork surrounding her reflection.

“I have the partner to it. I thought we could use it to talk to one another since they won't let us be together,” Harry said with a shrug. “Though… I never got to try it out with Sirius,” he added in a constricted voice.

“I'll take good care of it, Harry… always. Thank you.”

Leaning in, she pressed a faltering kiss to his lips. He kissed her lightly back, tensing his body, as he was unsure and not confident in the lack of a foreign response echoing through his mind.

They sat in silence for several moments as if watching a man about to be hanged. Hermione's eyes bored into Harry's features, repeatedly flicking up to his scar, expecting his face to contort into a grimace any second. Harry eyes danced around the room, occasionally meeting Hermione's concerned stare, as he searched his mind for an indication that Voldemort was present.

“Nothing,” he said after a minute. “I feel nothing.”

Hermione visible relaxed and smiled apologetically at Harry. Nodding her head towards the exit, she said, “Come on. I'll bet they're waiting for us.”

“Not yet.” Harry answered, stepping into her space and grasping both of her arms, his face inches from hers. “Use the mirror. Keep it with you all the time. All you have to do is just say my name and we'll be able to speak to each other. There is no way I'm going to let anything happen to you out there and I need to know your safe.”

Harry raised a hand and tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear, bringing it to rest at the back of her neck. Pulling her head forward, he met her halfway, kissing her with all the hope, joy, and passion that had been denied in their first two kisses. This kiss went uninterrupted and neither registered the loud bang of Hermione's bag falling from Harry's shoulder as he backed her up slowly into the large study table. Her arms snuck around his lower back, pressing the mirror into him as she added her own strength to his.

A muffled moan escaped her mouth as his kisses moved from her mouth, to her chin, to her neck. He tangled his hands in her hair as she let her head fall back, his mouth dancing along the collar of her shirt to the skin beneath her ear.

He continued to place a trail of kisses back to her mouth before he felt her gently pushing him away. Their eyes met amidst their ragged breath and each saw the fire smoldering inside the other.

Hermione bit her lip as she forced down her desire. “Harry,” she gasped. She seemed to want to say more, but struggled to locate the words.

Harry soon had his breath under control and nodded his head in understanding.

“I know.”

He took a step back and retrieved her bag from the floor. Linking his hand in hers, they headed down to the Entrance Hall.

A/N: Sorry for the big delay here. Serious computer issues have inhibited my ability to write so it's been a tough road getting this chapter up. Incidentally, you may have to wait several weeks for Ch7 as well. My laptop is going to be service for 1-2 weeks, my son's birthday is this weekend, and I am moving into a new house on the 16^th which will need a fence, yard, painting, etc. As you can imagine, I will be quite busy. I will try to write whenever possible, but we'll just have to wait and see. Later.

-->

A/N: I know, I know. It's been forever since I posted a chapter. I won't bore you with the details, but writing has been exponentially difficult lately without the benefit of a computer. Sorry for that, but I won't delay you any further…

The Growing Darkness & the Fading Light

Chapter 7

The malice blossoming in Snape's eyes chilled Harry's blood as he ventured past the threshold of the Dark Arts classroom. The Potions Master was hovering just beyond the first row of columns with his arms folded crisply across his chest and his trademark sneer souring his face. He offered Harry no word of greeting, allowing his black eyes to speak his intentions with startling clarity.

In the week since Harry had begun his summer lessons, he had become accustomed to the violent dance between himself and Professor Snape. Their lessons went well beyond practical application and settled into therapy sessions for both them as each exorcised their own demons upon the other.

Amidst the flurry of spells fueled by hate, grief, and madness, Harry had proven himself to be an adept pupil. Snape never gave praise or any words of encouragement, but Harry understood that the increased rigor of their exchanges was a veiled effort by Snape to find the limits of Harry's ability to operate. With the overwhelming anxiety he was feeling at his separation from Hermione and an acute concern for her safety, he had an enormous vault of dangerous emotions to draw upon when he faced his new mentor.

Despite this wealth of ability, it was through no small effort that Harry survived his tutelage. Snape was a deadly efficient dueler, wasting little effort in his confrontations. He possessed an uncanny ability to anticipate virtually every action of Harry's and on those occasional moments when the young wizard surprised him, his reflexes were lightning quick and his injuries minimal.

Despite an inherent wariness at this knowledge, Harry summoned all of his Gryffindor courage and met Snape's intense stare with a forced air of nonchalance. To not give Snape that mental edge was paramount. More than anything, these duels proved to be a battle of wills between the two men. The Dark Arts themselves were no more than the chess pieces lying amidst the tattered classroom that was their playing board as they sought to outmaneuver each other in a macabre game of methodical, focused emotions and unrestrained malcontent.

Belying his apparent lack of concern, Harry's body was tense with anticipation of the climactic moment when they would begin their next lesson. Snape had yet to initiate the conflict under the same set of circumstances as any of their previous encounters. In a feeble attempt to maintain an air of instruction, the Snape built each subsequent session on the last, creating new levels of pain and discord as they went.

In the last lesson, Harry had perfected the ability to shatter bones with a subtle wave of his wand and a single scornful thought. He fingered his wand, happily recalling the blissful sensation of channeling the black magic and the almost orgasmic feedback as the spell struck home. With this in mind, he contemplated taking the initiative as he bypassed the Potions Master to deposit his bag and text and the rear of the room. As tempting as the notions was, he deciding against it, though, and was forced to walk backwards once he had passed Snape, dropping his cavalier act in the process so that he might continue to study his adversary, ready for the slight twitch that would signal the impending tempest.

Snape, for his part, seemingly rotated on the spot without any evidence of doing so. He did not blink, shuffle his feet, or even incline his head, but he was now standing with his back rigidly facing the door leading to the corridor from which Harry had entered.

Harry had almost reached the back of the room when he sensed the violation. Snape's mouth never moved to indicate an incantation, nor did his breathing alter in the slightest, but the steady drone of a foreign heartbeat emerged to dance in rhythm with own, if only slightly out of step.

So we're back to this again, Harry thought.

Harry had finally reached the table at the rear of the classroom and dropped his bag and book on the tabletop without sparing it a glance. His mind cried out at the loss of the seductive warmth of the Dark Arts text, but unfamiliar staccato of two heartbeats in his mind and the rush of adrenaline surging through his veins took precedence over his attachment to the text.

Harry stepped back into the aisle way created by the columns and stood facing Snape examining his face, posture, and breathing for the slightest suggestion of what was to come.

The beating rang louder in his ears, threatening to upset his concentration on the Potions Master. And in the space between breath and thought, there it was, subtle and deadly by its very nature. The oily curtain of hair suspended on either side of the Potions Master's head swayed slightly, barely perceptible, but betraying the shift in his body weight nonetheless as he began to raise his wand and spoke the incantation.

Harry reacted instantly diving behind a column, casting a protection charm as he moved. The echo of Snape's incantation was drowned out by the eruption of stone and mortar from the pillar Harry was sheltering behind. The breaking spell was not well aimed and Harry had learned the hard way that Snape was deadly accurate. He could not remain where he was; Snape was trying to corral him.

As Harry's heart accelerated from the adrenaline coursing thorough his veins, the slow, rhythmic drumming of the foreign heartbeat became more obvious.

Harry pushed the distraction from his mind and focused on the here and now. In a flash of insight, he grabbed up a loose piece of stone and focused on it for the slightest moment. His skills now were advanced enough that he no longer needed to speak the incantation to charm the stone. A violent jerk from the pit of his stomach tugged him harshly as the portkey transported him to the other end of the classroom. He arrived abruptly and quietly enough to see Snape's unsuspecting form disappear behind the second row of columns. Once the Potion's Master was out of sight, Harry darkened the room and silenced his movements, but intentionally did not utilize the Black Sight. The carrying hiss of Snape's voice sounded throughout the chamber, telling Harry that Snape had indeed charmed his own vision to see in the magically induced darkness.

As he began to feel his heart race on to greater speeds in anticipation of catching Snape unprepared, Harry forced the organ back to a state of calm and it soon fell into step beside the secondary pulsations in his mind.

This was where the gamble came in. Weaving in and out of the columns, Harry followed the path he suspected Snape was taking. If all went well, he would be able to catch Snape just before Snape was ready to spring his own trap. Finally, the last row of pillars approached and if Harry had guessed right, Snape would be circling the column and about to cast his spell right—

With a fiendish smirk, Harry charmed the fragment of stone in his hand just as Snape cried out his own incantation from behind Harry.

Angoris!

Harry collapsed to the ground in a heap. Awash in the agony of Snape's spell, Harry didn't hear the scream of pain from Snape as the bit of stone fell loose from his hand and impacted the ground solidly emitting a magically enhanced flash of light when it struck. With his magically enhanced sight, Snape would be blinded by the flash of heat and light and would remain so until he was able to visit a healer.

It was to be Harry's defining moment, the time he bested Snape without question. But looking back on this moment, Harry felt the Potions Master received the lesser of their two evils as Harry was subjected to visions of terror erupting from his past and fueled by the breadth of his fears and regret.

At first, the chilling screams of his mother's dying breath pressed in on his ears. Over and over again he heard her voice, laced with fear, abruptly cut short and wilt away as Voldemort completed the killing curse. Against the visions of Cedric Diggory's lifeless eyes starting accusatorily at him from beyond the grave he closed his eyes stubbornly, daring to avoid the vision. But sewing his eyes shut would not have kept his from the agony of losing Hermione.

His hands were bloodied with the trauma of nearly losing her in the Department of Mysteries. She had dismissed his guilt as unnecessary, but this moment, this spell resurrected that grief into a demon of his past, haunting in its intensity. The pained changed and now it was no longer the mistakes of his past, but a staggering version of the future.

Lucius Malfoy stood above his Hermione's half-naked form, dressing casually as if departing for a weekend holiday. The last crimson drops of blood spilled forth from between her legs and her cold, lifeless face was shrouded in terror at the final moments of her life.

Somewhere behind his consciousness and the suffering he was enduring, he acknowledged the spell as the birthright of a dementor. Subjected to this kind of mental abuse for a substantial enough period of time would transform the recipient into a shadow of a soul. They resultant distortion of humanity would become a being so desperate for any measure of happiness that it will use its own magical prowess to consume joy from any and all beings that have the misfortune to cross its path.

The misery rained down on him in torrents as Snape's enchantment continued its work. Harry clutched the ground, desperate to crawl away from the pain, wearing the flesh of his fingertips raw as he pulled himself in some vague direction.

Anywhere, but here.

The thought interjected itself among his whimpers as Harry's body shuddered from the overdose of despair seeping from his pores. And still the beating pounded his skull. In this state, he was unable to contain his cries and never heard the stumbling of Snape's footsteps following Harry's tormented noises as he made his way through the darkness to exact his revenge on the younger wizard.

The final tendrils of Snape's magic expended themselves and Harry was released from enveloping wretchedness he was experiencing. Able to think clearly once again, Harry snapped to his feet and steadied himself against the nearest pillar. Uncertain of the Potions Master's location, he immediately lifted the artificial darkness he had previously invoked. He quickly found Snape working his way from pillar to pillar toward Harry, his unseeing eyes wide and his head cocked to the side, straining to catch any and all sounds.

Harry's mind still suffered from the echoes of his torment and in this haze, every ounce of his hate, grief, and suffering found a focus in his approaching mentor. The spell leapt to his mind, cleaving all his existing thoughts in two and reforming them into a hurricane of fury and anguish. The spell summoned from the depths of his mind was nothing more than an obscure entry he had absently noted while immersed in his Dark Arts studies several nights ago. Despite this murky recollection, the words were on his tongue with little more thought than to inflict as much pain as possible upon the crippled wizard stumbling amongst the stone columns.

“Letum Alutus!,” Harry roared, channeling every ounce of his intensity into those two words. Like many Dark Arts spells, the sensation was nearly orgasmic. The magic flowed from every cell in his body to his wand arm lighting the tip of his wand in an unearthly glow. The light exploded into individual droplets of light, raining to the ground between Snape and Harry. Every stone that was touched by the light droplets tore itself free from the mortar attaching it to the floor and rose to hover in the air between the rivals. Harry smiled darkly at the shock of realization dawning on Snape's face through the field of floating stones. He gave a slight flick of his wrist and the stones launched themselves at the fleeing Snape, transfiguring into a murder of crows as they careened through the air.

The crows began to attack Snape in a whirling mass of black bodies and thundering wings. Snape suffered immensely, for his part, and was forced to pick the birds off one by one, but the inability to clearly identify his targets made the myriad of spells at his disposal go awry. The price for Snape's violation on Harry's psyche came in the form of clawed flesh and repeated attempts to peck his sightless eyes from his skull.

Harry sat back in the afterglow of the spell, enjoying the spectacle of Snape's defeat like a fine wine. The last of the crows fell to the ground amongst the heap of carrion surrounding the Potions Master. Snape had miraculously saved his vision at the cost of his flesh. In his exhaustion, Snape fell to his knees, fighting to maintain consciousness and do some minor healing of his wounds.

Seeing this, Harry rose and pocketed his wand. He was coming down from the high of the spell and saw no point in sticking around. Snape would survive and the lesson was clearly over.

He smiled one last time at the sight of Snape's shredded garments and summoned his book and bag from the back of the classroom. He shifted his thoughts from the Dark Arts lesson to the renewed thundering in his head. The headaches were the worst part of performing the Dark Arts. They grew worse as the severity of the spell was magnified and he supposed he would get used to them in time, but it was a price he was willing to pay. With the payoffs he had just experienced, the thundering in his head amidst the beating of his now calm heart and the excited pace of the foreign heartbeat was tolerable.

A/N: This chapter was considerably shorter than I had originally planned, but as Dell has yet to fully extract it's head from it's ass, I still don't have my laptop back and functional after a month and a half. To make a long story short, I decided to post up this scene (kludged together over 4 or so different computers) and will continue on with Chapter 8 being sort of an extension of this scene.

Also, I am not totally happy with this scene either. I feel I may have made Harry slip to far to the dark side a little too quickly. I guess I am too close to the material to say for certain.

Again, I apologize for the wait on this chapter. Cheers and thanks for reading!

-->

A/N: The man stood up and staggered into the clearing bearing the remnants of his foe is his bloodied hand. He threw the remains before the assembled group and collapsed into a heap, his task complete. In turn, each stepped forward and witnessed the tattered pages before them …

The Growing Darkness & the Fading Light

Chapter 8

Harry welcomed the growing light as he emerged from the fading darkness of the dungeons. The drumming in his head was receding and outside that shadowed subterranean existence, he could choke down the bile fueling the flames of hatred Snape always inspired.

The sweet summer wind rushed through the covered walkways, bringing with it a bittersweet dose of guilt at the knowledge of Snape's condition in the bowels of the castle. Harry was simultaneously grateful for the humanity of the notion and hating himself all the same for sympathetic thought. A mental debate began as he compelled himself into a jog, taking the shortest possible route to the headmaster's office.

His thoughts churned as he rushed along the myriad passageways. After all the years of humiliation and hostility from the Potions Master, hadn't some measure of justice finally been served? Hadn't Snape finally gotten everything he deserved?

Let the fucker rot.

The instinct danced alongside the guilt of prolonging a wounded man's suffering.

Let the fucker rot and die.

Wasn't Snape partially responsible for killing Sirius? In not setting aside his disdain for Harry's father, hadn't he sabotaged Harry's best efforts at Occlumency?

The crows could be reanimated…

Snape's face danced across Harry's mind, bearing the shock of comprehension as the caws of the first transfigured stones reverberated off the pillars. The Potions Master's eyes were wide and unseeing as horror mixed with disbelief etched themselves onto his features.

Harry slowed to a stop as he entered the hallway leading to Dumbledore's office.

Return and finish it. Be rid of the man forever.

Harry looked over his shoulder recalling the visions induced by Snape's spell and the nightmares he knew would renew themselves later that night as a result. How much pain was too much? How much misery could one man impart on another before a violent reaction was justified?

“No,” Harry said aloud. “I'm better than that. I'm better than him.”

With renewed determination, Harry dashed down the hall, breaking stride only to deal with the gargoyle obstructing his access to the headmaster's chambers. A moment later he was bursting through the solid oak door and calling for Dumbledore.

The headmaster was reclining thoughtfully in his chair behind the vast mahogany desk cluttered with texts, parchment, and some muggle newspapers.

“Headmas—”

Professor Dumbledore held up his hand to stay any further speech from Harry.

“Madam Pomphrey is on her way to the dungeons to assist Professor Snape.”

Harry's jaw hung limply in the air, seeking the clarity of mind to form questions that provide him with a means to explain how the headmaster could have divined the circumstances for Harry's abrupt arrival.

Dumbledore gestured to one of the chairs opposite him.

“Sit down, Harry. I would like to discuss your progress in your Dark Arts lessons.

Clarity of thought was something that Harry now possessed in abundant quantities. He immediately went on the defensive.

“Everything's fine,” he answered shortly, ignoring the offered seat. “I'm doing quite well, I should think.”

“So it seems.”

Harry couldn't help himself; he gave a small laugh and walked to the window. The sky was cloudless and bright, bringing a comfortable warmth to the castle grounds. Near the edge of the lake, he could see the tree that he and Hermione had eaten dinner under on what seemed like ages ago. Dumbledore was talking again and Harry knew where the headmaster was going with his inquiry, but he already knew what the solution was. He needed Hermione. He needed to hear her voice, see her smile, feel her touch against his skin. He needed her stability. He needed her love to balance out the hate. In the end, she was the only one that could hold him to the tightrope he was walking. In the end, she was the only thing that mattered.

“Come sit down, Harry. I think we should begin our Occlumency lesson a little earlier today. Perhaps we can speak more afterwards.”

Harry responded with a heavy sigh and a shake of his head, but fell into the chair across from the headmaster, immediately closing his eyes. Neither spoke as Harry began the ritual of mental purification and rhythmic breathing that had become a fixture at the beginning of each Occlumency lesson.

Harry compartmentalized and set aside his warring emotions over Snape's wellbeing for another time as he allowed the last tendrils of thought to slip away, leaving room for him to observe the percussion of his heart. He had but a few moments to witness his heartbeat in isolation became obvious that it was shadowed by another

“I can sense you now,” Harry said lazily. This skill had become automatic over the last week and required little effort from Harry.

“You are mistaken, Harry. Are you certain of what you felt?”

Harry opened his eyes are saw the concerned gaze of the headmaster searching his face, looking for…something. The phantom heartbeat remained, diminished only by Harry's lack of focus.

“Could it still be Snape?” Harry ventured. “He tried using Leglimency during our duel.”

Dumbledore rose wearily and began pacing the office.
“I think that is very unlikely, Harry. I have given Professor Snape strict instructions that he is not, under any circumstances, to interact with you other than for the purposes of instruction in the Dark Arts.”

The headmaster stopped mid step and returned to studying Harry's features. Harry sat in silence, his mind working furiously to put the pieces together, but coming up short. He ventured a glance at the headmaster and saw Dumbledore's eyes flick to his forehead. Harry's breathing quickened and his eyes met the elder wizard's as understanding passed between them.

Harry looked away. “Voldemort,” he said without preamble.

“I'm afraid it is the only possibility remaining, Harry. Something about that scar has linked the two of you in more ways than one.”

“So he's…always watching?”

“Perhaps, Lord Voldemort is a phenomenally capable wizard and could have the presence of mind to monitor your activities continuously while still attending to his own pursuits at hand. It is a monumentally difficult task to accomplish and I suspect, given his other activities, that he only ventures into your mind when he feels the need. In the least, that he always has that option.”

Dumbledore took his seat again and both wizards sat contemplating this new bit of information for many minutes before Harry broke the silence.

“He could use it as a weapon, couldn't he?”

The headmaster met his gaze, but didn't respond. He just stared at Harry with eyes that confirmed Harry's suspicion.

“You had said before that the mental link between a Leglimens and their target could prove dangerous to the target.”

“You are correct, Harry. Using a method similar to the one Professor Snape employed with you, a Leglimens could indeed push beyond the higher level thoughts and remembrances to the subconscious thoughts regulating the target's biology. That is to say, Voldemort could not only force you to relive your worst memories, he could also force your mind to cease the automatic functions of your body. He could interfere with your breathing or heartbeat. Given enough time, he could even deny the hunger reflex from reaching your brain. Over the course of weeks he could starve you, if he wished. If he discovers this knowledge, Harry, he is limited only by his imagination.”

Harry shifted in his seat and let an uneasy sigh escape. Where did it end?

Professor Dumbledore leaned forward onto his desk again, placing his glasses on top of some parchment to his side.

“Understand this first, Harry. Voldemort isn't anymore aware of this ability than we are, but we must protect this knowledge. I expect that Voldemort has not fully realized the depth of the connection between you two. It appears that he has not made the full connection between Leglimency and your scar. We will need to adjust your summer studies for a while in order to devote more time to your Occlumency. If we can accelerate your abilities here, we will be able to undermine any attempts Voldemort might make to use this ability against you.”

Harry was still reeling from the magnitude of harm that Voldemort could inflict on him, but managed to slip in a single coherent thought.

“Does it work both ways?”

The words gained strength as he spoke them. In the hushed silence that followed his pronouncement, he grew bolder. Dumbledore, for his part, reclined back into his chair, steeping his fingers as he turned the option over in his head.

Harry didn't know how, but he was suddenly on his feet again, leaning heavily on the headmaster desk. His gaze was hard as he willed the headmaster to meet his stare.

“It does. I know it does,” he said firmly. There was no compromise in his voice. He knew the answer the moment he had posed the question.

Professor Dumbledore turned and looked on Harry with a mixture of admiration and sadness.

“To do what you suggest, Harry, would be to wage a battle of wills against Voldemort. A mental struggle in which Voldemort has all the advantages: he is older and more experienced, you would be attempting to push into the one place where he is undoubtedly strongest.”

“But it could be done?” Harry asked feverishly. “I could do the same to him.”

“Yes, Harry. It could be done. But you must understand one thing before you begin to consider this, Voldemort is my equal when it comes to Occlumency and Leglimency. I myself taught him this ability and have met no other wizard or witch that holds as much skill in these branches of magic.”

Harry took in all the headmaster's words and recognized the truth of them, accepting the logic that it would be a miracle if he could accomplish that feat. And still…and still, some not so small part of him believed he could do it.

* * * * *

“Christ, Ron!”

“Oh shut up, Harry!”

Harry didn't bother hiding his smirk. He was beginning to appreciate the fun Ron got out of working up Hermione. Besides, he had incentive to keep Ron focused on Quidditch. If he didn't bring up Hermione, he might save himself from a not so friendly reunion.

“Well, you were the one that was all hot and bothered to get onto the Quidditch pitch straight away and here you are making a mockery of yourself.”

“Oi! Cut a bloke some slack, eh,” Ron snapped as he brushed the loose blades of grass from his faded Cannons robes. “I've not been on a broom in ages.”

Harry decided to let the challenge die as Ron remounted his broom and flew off to retrieve the Quaffle, leaving Harry to his own thoughts for the first time since Ron had arrived. Despite the fun he was having at Ron's expense, Harry was relieved for a break in conversation. Since Ron had unexpectedly flooed into the Gryffindor common room this morning, it had been a nonstop of talk about the upcoming Quidditch season or speculation over who would be replacing Umbridge. And then there was the difficult dance they performed whenever there discussion turned towards anything involving Hermione.

Harry tried to pretend that all was normal whenever Ron mentioned her, but he often struggled to steer the conversation to safe waters. Part of him suspected that Ron was aware of something being amiss and he seemed to be trying to trap him with little tidbits of conversation. It was a chess match between them and Ron played this mental version as well as he played the physical game.

Of course, Harry had his trump card. Ron was always willing to hear about Harry's lessons with Snape. And while they were unpleasant at best, to recount, the notion of Harry “kicking the greasy git's ass,” as Ron phrased it, reduced Ron to childish giggles and destroyed any line of thought he had previously had on cornering Harry about Hermione.

Each time Harry recalled his last encounter with the Potions Master, it brought a fresh twinge of guilt for Harry. Snape was fully recovered now, but elected to let class pass for a couple of days. Harry was certain that Professor Dumbledore had stepped in as a referee of sorts and asked Snape to delay further lessons so that the air could clear a bit between the Harry and the “greasy git.”

Ron was calling his name now and Harry was forced from his musings.

“Yeah, Ron?” he yelled back.

“You ready for dinner?”

Harry glanced towards the sun and estimated it was approaching six.

Right on time, Harry thought with a small smile.

“You go ahead,” Harry called. “I'm gonna release the snitch and get some work in myself.”

“D'you want me to wait?” Ron answered, although Harry could tell he was just being polite and laughed at Ron's feeble attempts at sincerity.

“No. Go ahead. Just make sure there's something left for me, all right?”

Ron waved and began flying back to the castle. Harry pretended to retrieve the snitch and even did a few practice dives to keep up appearances. Once he was certain Ron was all the way back to the castle and likely filling his plate, Harry dashed down to the stands and whipped his mirror from his pocket.

“Hermione.” Harry ventured.

Several moments passed and Harry was afraid she wouldn't be able to answer. With her muggle relatives visiting, it was difficult to find time together.

“Hermione,” he tried a little more forcefully this time.

The mirror clouded over for a moment before clearing to see Hermione smiling back at him.

“It's been too long,” she said warmly.

Harry nodded his agreement.

“I've missed you too.”

“How are your lessons going?”

Leave it to Hermione to get right to the hard part of a conversation.

“Did I mention that Ron's here?” Harry tested lamely.

“Oh,” she said anxiously, “what are you going to— wait a minute!” Damn. “We'll get to Ron later. Why are you trying to change the subject? What happened with Snape?”

Harry tried to look affronted.

“How did you know it was Snape?”

“Honestly, Harry,” she said, raising her eyebrows, “could it be anyone else? It's not like there are a whole lot of other options for you to blame it on at the school.”

Harry paused for a moment and closed his eyes, searching. Voldemort was still there, but his attention was elsewhere. Harry couldn't say why or where it was, but there seemed to be something hidden amongst the palpitations and he knew…he just knew Voldemort was otherwise engaged.

Opening his eyes, he saw Hermione studying him and decided to take her lead, he needed more time with that nugget of information before he was ready to discuss it.

“Snape was injured during one of our sessions.”

Hermione's face was impassive for several moments as she digested this, but soon a furrowed as she thought on it more.

“How?”

The bluntness of the question took Harry off guard.

“He's fine, Hermione,” Harry said quickly. “Madam Pomphrey has been to see him and he is fully recovered.”

“What spells did you use?”

Another direct question.

“Only one Dark Arts spell. Other than that I created a—“

“Which spell?”

Another.

Harry sighed and looked away from the mirror. This was not the mushy, romantic conversation he'd imagined.

“I used the Letum Alutus curse. It was something I stumbled across when doing another assignment.”

Hermione's face disappeared from the mirror for a moment and Harry heard a sound that he knew far too well. Hermione was making a note of the spell.

Her face reappeared and was clouded with concern. Fortunately, Hermione seemed to have set aside the Dark Arts issue. Unfortunately, she latched onto yet another difficult topic.

“What are you going to tell Ron?”

“I dunno,” Harry said heavily. “I need your help in this. He's here for the rest of the weekend and I don't know if I can manage without you. There's only so much Quidditch and Umbridge hate one guy can handle.”

Hermione laughed.

“What?”

“I'd have never expected to hear you sick of talking Quidditch. You and Ron go on for hours about it.”

“I know, but I've never had anything to hide before.”

“Then don't hide it, Harry. Just tell him as gently as possible and we'll deal with the fallout.”

“I'd rather we did this together.”

“Well, that's a little difficult under the circumstances?”

“Yeah, but—”

“And we can't drop this on him once school starts again. He'd never get over it if we dated all summer without telling him.”

“I know that, but how—”

“Just pull him aside, tell him you have something important to say and then say it.”

“That's all well and good, Hermione, but—”

“You'll do fine, Harry.”

And with that, dealing with Ron fell squarely into Harry's lap. Hermione went onto talk about her family visiting and how she and Tonks would have conversations late into the night when Tonks was on duty watching her. Harry tried to follow along, but couldn't seem to move beyond the issue of talking with Ron. In the back of his mind, was a whirlwind of thoughts that wouldn't go away. Until one comment of Hermione's separated itself from the others.

“…and Tonks said she would take me to Diagon Alley next week to buy—”

“Wait!” Harry interrupted excitedly. “What day?”

“Well, we haven't decided yet.” Hermione explained. “I was thinking of going on Wednesday or Thursday.”

“Can you go no Monday?”

“I don't know what Tonks' schedule is, but I suppose if she's available and willing.”

“Try to make it happen, okay?” Harry pushed.

“Why Harry, I don't understand what it matters.”

“Mr. Weasley and Dumbledore are taking me to the Ministry on Monday afternoon. I think I can get them to let me swing by Diagon Alley afterwards. We could meet up there and maybe get a few hours together.”

Hermione's face lit up with excitement, but her ever rational mind would not be restrained.

“Do you think Dumbledore would allow it?”

“I don't see why not,” Harry challenged. “Considering how heavy things have been lately, I think I deserve a quiet evening in Diagon Alley. If you just happen to be there too, then `Whoa! What an amazing coincidence!'”

Harry's feigned surprise didn't go over as well as he'd hoped. Hermione remained skeptical.

“I suppose, but we can't get caught Harry. Professor Dumbledore's whole point in separating us was to keep Voldemort unaware of what's going on.”

“I know that,” Harry answered, getting frustrated with the headmaster again, “but, I need to see you. This whole mirror thing isn't enough. Even though I can see and hear you, you're still too far away. And now I can tell when Voldemort is watching. Professor Dumbledore and I had a breakthrough with my Occlumency the other day. I can sense when his attention is on me.”

“That's wonderful, Harry!” Hermione said from behind a wide smile. “I knew you could do it.”

A moment passed with Harry basking in the glow of Hermione's admiration. It warmed his heart to see her smile at him in that way. If nothing else, he was willing to become a proficient Occlumens just to see her look at him that way again.

“So, can you block him out now too?”

“Not yet,” Harry answered, looking towards the pitch. “We're just moving into the defense aspect of Occlumency now. So far, we've just been focusing on detection.”

Hermione's smile faded a bit and Harry resolved to work harder.

“It's coming, though,” he added, thinking of his discussion with Dumbledore. “I think I've found a technique to push him out of my mind. I just need practice.”

Their conversation drifted to trivial things before Harry took note of the sun and recalled that Ron was likely well beyond done eating and would be looking for him soon.

“I'm sorry, Hermione, but Ron should be done soon. I'd better get back.”

“I understand, Harry. My family is leaving tomorrow morning so I should have a lot more free time after that. Can we talk again then?”

Harry nodded. “I'll try to get away from Ron for a while.”

“Handy, those.”

Harry started at Ron's voice and quickly stuffed the mirror into his pocket. He could still hear Hermione's muffled voice questioning what was happening.

Ron's voice was hard as he spoke from several rows up.

“You should say good-bye to your girlfriend, Harry. I doubt she'll appreciate you stuffing her in your pocket like that.”

A/N: I am so sorry this took so long to get out. I struggled with exactly how I wanted to introduce Ron into the story and realized that I should've done so via a letter a couple chapters back. I had the first section of this chapter written for a couple weeks, before managed to figure out the stark transition you've read here.

Thanks for reading and to everyone who hasn't cast me to the four winds with taking so long on these last few chapters. As always, I appreciate those that have reviewed in the past and look forward to comments of any kind. You CAN'T upset me so please tell me exactly what you think. Cheers!

-->

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!

-->

A/N: Well, several 60 hours weeks at work helped to delay this one. I can see this is becoming a bit of a pattern for me. I think a chapter a month sucks, but what can a poor sap do? *shrugs*

The Growing Darkness & the Fading Light

Chapter 10

"Are you sure you’re okay with this?"

"Harry, Harry, Harry," Tonks said dramatically, "it’s an honest mistake. I just conveniently forgot to tell Remus that you would be here too when he drops Hermione off." Tonks put on her sweetest smile, cocked her head sheepishly, and batted her eyes. "Whoops! Silly me."

Harry grinned despite himself. "All right," he said, forcing down the smile, "I just don’t want to get you in trouble because of us."

Tonks tossed her hand dismissively. "Don’t worry about it, lover boy. I can handle Dumbledore and Remus just fine, thank you very much. Now, let’s get a move on or we’ll be late."

"Thanks, Tonks. I owe you one." Harry said, resuming the walk to the Underground.

"Oh, I’ll collect, Harry." Tonks replied, falling in step beside him. "Don’t you worry one bit. One of these days, I’ll definitely be calling this favor in."

After a short walk and some easy conversation, they reached the platform for the London Underground. Tonks took a moment to find a dark corner, disappeared for a moment before emerging as an elderly woman. She pretended not to recognize Harry, choosing instead to amble along and take up residence a few feet behind him where they waited in silence for the train to arrive. Harry casually looked around every so often and despite her withered appearance, he noticed Tonks’ eyes remained youthful looking and alert, scrutinizing each new person as they arrived on the platform.

Several more minutes passed before the distant rumbling of the train grew louder from the tunnel to Harry’s right. It drew to a stop and Harry was looking for a seat when a feeble old voice called to him.

"‘Scuse me, son. Could you help an old lady with her bag?"

Harry turned around and saw the ripened Tonks leaning heavily on a railing and looking at him hopefully. Harry followed her outstretched arm to the bag that had seemingly appeared at her feet.

"It’s my back, you see," she said, as Harry fought to hide his smirk, "I have trouble bending over when I’ve dropped something."

Harry scooped up her bag, grimacing at the weight she seemed to have conjured into it. With a grunt, he offered his elbow to her, saying in a strained, but saccharine voice, "Can I help you find a seat as well, maam?"

She took his arm leaned heavily on it. "My, aren’t you a sweet young man?" she said, patting him none too gently on the side of the face.

Harry led her down the aisle and helped her into a seat, taking a spot across the aisle from her. Moments later the doors slid shut, the train pulled out, and began rattling down the tunnel.

Tonks allowed her head to fall to her chest, feigning sleep. She even went so far as to allow a long tendril of drool to fall onto to the shawl draped across her shoulders. Despite her sagging head and soggy wrap, Harry could barely see her eyes opened into narrow slits. He smiled inwardly; no one would ever suspect that she was an Auror, what with how well she played the part of the crazy old bat.

Under Tonks "watchful" gaze, Harry let his head fall back against the train window. The glass was cool against his scalp and he allowed himself a few moments to relax, enjoying the rhythmic sway and bounce of the train as it trundled along.

He soon found himself in a wonderfully detached kind of trance as he lazily stared at the blank train roof. Several blissful minutes slipped past before he first felt it; it was so subtle that it seemed no more than a passing, random chill dancing along the ridges of his spine. The sensation grew and fear entrenched itself in his brain, shattering the rare moment of mental relaxation.

Harry sat up quickly. In the fraction of a second it took for him to press his eyes shut against the violation, he saw Tonks’ wide eyes focused on him. The drumming heartbeat quaked through his mind and before he could begin to put in place the walls as Dumbledore had instructed him just this morning, Voldemort was there, sifting through his thoughts and emotions like one would casually thumb through the Daily Prophet.

Desperate for control, Harry fought to focus on a topic, any topic, in his haste to lead Voldemort away from his upcoming meeting with Hermione. A groan of pure desperation escaped his throat, tinged with a strain of effort as he struggled to recap the various Quidditch matches of the last school year.

He remembered the fight in the first match of the year and the raw pleasure he felt when his hand struck Malfoy’s cheek. He was sensing Voldemort struggling to bring forth information from Harry’s psyche. Emboldened, he moved on to the next match, recalling sitting with Hermione and watching Ron fumbling to stop goal after goal. But then, in the midst of a breath, Harry’s concentration faltered. A lapse occurred and Voldemort snatched control of Harry’s thoughts from his tenuous grasp.

With no further handle on his mental processes, Harry was cast into the role of a spectator. He was mired in some freakish abyss and the roar of Voldemort’s heartbeat pounded into his skull. His memories of the last year flashed across the horizon of his consciousness, accelerating before his mind’s eye like a home movie stuck on fast forward…he and Hermione leaving the Quidditch final to help Hagrid with Grawp… Hermione’s fall at the Department of Mysteries… the kiss Voldemort didn’t witness... the incident with the mirrors.

Harry exhaled, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He’s gone.

The thundering in his head faded to its usual dull pulsing and Harry cracked his eyes to see Tonks poorly veiled panic. He gave her a subtle shake of his head and Tonks eyes returned to narrow slits. Harry stared at her for a moment longer and noticed that her eyes didn’t dart around as frequently, spending much of their time focused on him.

The rest of the ride was thankfully uneventful, though Tonks appeared to be running low on drool halfway through the trip and took to making periodic snorts instead, jarring her from her "sleep." Each snort was punctuated with her head snapping up suddenly and resettling into a new position, followed closely by more drooling when she could manage it. However, with the Dark Lord’s intrusion so fresh, Harry couldn’t find the humor in her antics anymore.

Finally, their stop pulled into view and Harry exited the train with Tonks stifling a coughing fit closely behind him. The walk to the muggle side of the Leaky Cauldron was short and the two young wizards were able to slip in unnoticed by the crowds passing by.

"Go find a table in the back," Tonks muttered, as she shuffled past him on the way to the bar. Harry began a sullen march towards the rear of the pub, but not without overhearing her ordering a Firewhiskey. "—and make it strong! None of that namby-pamby, watered down rubbish you served me last week!"

Harry shook his head in disbelief at the scene she was making, but was grateful that the pub’s attention was fully on her, allowing him to go unnoticed as he took a seat at a dimly lit booth. His head fell into his hands of its own accord and repeatedly ran the full length of his scalp, from his forehead to the nape of his neck. It was a motion conducive to lessening the strain.

What could Voldemort have learned?

Seems like nothing significant.

Everything happened so fast, though.

Did I miss something?

His thoughts, worries, and frustration over Voldemort’s violation hammered down on his shoulders with each passing moment. They sheer weight of it brought his torso closer to the tabletop and stilled the soothing rake of his fingers across his scalp.

Immersed so deeply in the failure to keep his walls up, Harry did not hear Hermione’s footsteps approaching. He only looked up once she had slipped into the seat opposite of him. For her benefit, he consciously dropped his hands from his head, relaxed the tightness in his jaw, and tried to hide the sadness from his welcoming smile. His concerns need not weigh her down as well; they should be set aside and be dealt with another time.

"Hi."

"Hi."

That single, simple syllable conveyed much between them. With it, he unintentionally conveyed the sentiment of the burden he was carrying, but asked her not to interrogate him about it. Her response was filled with concern, telling him she was here when he was ready, but that the reprieve was not limitless.

Harry stretched his hand out across the tabletop and linked it with hers, relishing in the reassurance of her skin against his.

"I’ve missed you."

"Honestly, Harry, we talk just about every day."

"I know," he said unsteadily, "its just…the mirrors aren’t enough."

She pulled his hand to her lips and pressed a warm kiss into the back of it. "Then let’s get out of here. We’ve only a couple hours."

Harry nodded and looked over to see Tonks and Remus sitting next to one another at the bar. From where he was sitting, the two seemed to be playing the part of perfect strangers, but Harry could just see the subtle move of Tonks lips followed by an even subtler nod of Remus’ head. She made a show of readjusting her shawl and for a moment her eyes met Harry’s. Harry inclined his head towards the rear of the pub and slid out of the booth.

"I’ll go now so Lupin doesn’t see me," he said to Hermione. "Leave with Tonks as soon as she can shake him."

Harry walked through the gateway to Diagon Alley and squatted on the other side, waiting for Hermione and Tonks. He pressed his back into the cool brick of the building and allowed the worries of Voldemort to return. Racking his brain, Harry fought to recall the unfocused, fading images of what the Dark Lord had forced through him mind. He turned over each memory again and again before they slipped away, but nothing seemed to stand out as dangerous.

What was he looking for?

What’s his angle?

The frustration of it was maddening.

Is this what he wants? To torment me?

Harry slid his eyes shut and took a few calming breaths. Habitually, he fell into his usual Occlumency routine and began to concentrate on his heartbeat. Readily, the echo of Voldemort’s heartbeat sprung to the forefront of his mind.

It wasn’t even a thought, merely an instinctive response. Maybe it was his anger at the Dark Lord’s earlier assault. Maybe he just wanted to prove he wasn’t weak, but he found himself wrapping his thoughts around the palpitations of the Voldemort’s heart. Each beat rang louder and louder and Harry was able to sense the thoughts and feeling of the Dark Lord with increasing clarity.

He knew Tonks and Hermione would be coming soon, but brushed aside the distracting thought as images were coming to his mind’s eye now. The rank and file of the Death Eaters stood before Voldemort. They seemed to getting instructions, though Harry couldn’t here what was being said.

Voldemort completed his instructions and, as one, the assembled Death Eaters bent at the waist and began filtering from the chamber. Ecstasy filled Voldemort’s mind. Good things were about—

"Harry!"

Harry started and opened his eyes to find Hermione’s face a few inches from his own. She was worried. Her hands brushed his damp hair from his eyes; he was sweating from the exertion of pushing into Voldemort’s thoughts.

"I’m all right, Hermione," Harry said quietly, pushing himself to his feet. "I was just practicing Occlumency while I waited."

Hermione remained skeptical. Her face made that painfully clear. "You were breathing awfully hard."

"It’s nothing," he said, extending his hand for her to take. "C’mon. We’re supposed to be on a date."

Hermione took his hand, but her lips were pursed and her brow knitted in concentration. They walked into Diagon Alley past Tonks who was studying him as she pretended to be examining a crate of dragon dung. As they passed, her voice carried to his ear.

"Strike two, Potter. One more and this show’s over." Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, but Harry pretended not to see.

Together, they began browsing the shops. Initially, they walked in an evasive silence. Not only could they not help but notice Tonks following at a distance, there was still the matter of Hermione’s ill-disguised worry over Harry’s peculiar behavior.

The sight of Flourish and Blott’s changed that. Once they entered the dusty shop, Hermione’s eyes lit up and she tugged Harry from section to section pointing out spell books she was planning to purchase when she had the money.

The tension resurfaced momentarily when they passed the stacks dedicated to Defense Against the Dark Arts. This time, it was Harry’s turn to tug on Hermione’s hand, claiming interest in an animal transfiguration text two rows over. Hermione sluggishly relented and seemed to about to say something before thinking better and started challenging Harry’s statements on the mechanics of cross-species transfiguration.

Almost wishing he was back in the Dark Arts section, Harry was grateful when a rather loud rumbling from his stomach finally managed to get Hermione’s attention and gave Harry the out from her lecture that he had been looking for. Hermione smiled and agreed to a private meal in one of the more secluded eateries in Diagon Alley.

On the way out, they brushed past the elderly Tonks, Harry discreetly whispering their destination to her.

"Get the fish" was her hushed reply.

Harry was thankful for Hermione’s assent to eat somewhere inconspicuous. Upon entering the café, there were only a handful of other patrons and they were able to get a table away from the glass window separating the restaurant from the rest of Diagon Alley.

They ordered (Hermione got the chicken, Harry got an obvious glance to the forehead and the fish) and were soon talking about how best to handle Ron.

"I dunno, Hermione. I’ve not seen him like that since fourth year. He ran the whole gambit of emotions after he found out. I thought he was going to take my head off one second, the next minute, he was sulking like I’d just stepped on Pig."

Hermione pried Harry’s hand apart from one another where they were working themselves into knots and held each in hers.

"Harry, I think it’ll just take him some time to get used to this. He’s probably feeling everything there is to feel about this situation: betrayal, isolation, self-pity, jealousy…" she trailed off, looking away Harry.

Harry wasn’t certain what to make of that reaction. The words spilled out before he could restrain himself. "Did you ever fancy him? ‘Cause if you did or still do, I…I think I should know."

It was Harry’s turn to look away. He knew he didn’t deserve her. She deserved someone who could focus on her alone. Someone who had grown up in a loving home and didn’t need to stumble about trying to figure out what the hell love really was. She deserved someone whose life didn’t hang in the balance and hadn’t dragged her into the same mess knowingly.

Hermione released his hands and slid around the table to sit in the bench beside him, lacing her fingers in his and dropped her chin to his shoulder. The feel of her palm against his was reassuring.

"I’ve never fancied him, Harry; he’s just a good friend."

Despite the reassurance of her words and intimacy of her closeness, his doubts still lingered.

"Wasn’t I ‘just a good friend’ until a couple of weeks ago?"

"No, Harry," she said simply. "You were my boyfriend waiting to happen."

Harry smiled at that. "Oh really? Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you Miss Granger?"

Hermione lifted her head and looked at him poignantly, her face serious.

"It’s not that at all, Harry. It’s just… I don’t think either of us has ever had nor will ever experience again a connection like what you and I have together. It goes beyond friendship. We have an intimacy that I haven’t seen anywhere else. And besides, I can’t think of one other person that would take on a mountain troll for a nagging, bossy little witch."

Harry smiled again at the memory. Hermione laughed softly.

"Now, I’m not going to be so pretentious as to say I’d fall in love with anyone who might have saved me from that troll, but it definitely made me take notice of the kind of person you were. The rest of the pieces fell in over the years."

"Ron says you were mothering," Harry teased, forgetting his paranoia. It just didn’t hold water in light of Hermione’s words. "He still does actually," he added thoughtfully.

She leaned forward and kissed him. "I call it something much more than that."

A few moments of comfortable silence passed as each kept thought over the conversation. It was Hermione that broke the silence.

"Do you think he’ll come tonight?"

Harry sighed heavily. "I really don’t know. I gave him a portkey to activate whenever he wants. I guess we’ll have to wait and see."

Hermione nodded in response and their conversation drifted to other things, enjoying the simple pleasure of the other’s company. It lasted through much of the meal when the serenity of their time together was broken by chaotic screams and from outside the café.

Intending to see what was happening, Harry and Hermione rushed to the window of the café with the other customers and staff, where they met Tonks as she burst into the restaurant. She had returned to her normal body and had her Auror badge displayed prominently on her robes.

"You two get to the back and don’t come out for anything!" she said quickly, turning to leave again.

Harry grabbed her by the arm, stopping her. "What is it? What’s going on?"

"A group of Death Eaters came out of Knockturn Alley."

At the mention of the Death Eaters, the staff and other customers ran to the back of the café. Harry, though, pulled his wand from his pocket, starting to move past Tonks.

"No way, Harry!" Tonks said firmly, stepping in front of him. "I’ve already alerted the other Aurors and the Order. You two lie low here until I come back for you."

"Is Voldemort out there?" Hermione asked, her voice full of fear.

"No." It was Harry that answered. "But he’s close."

"I can’t waste any more time here," Tonks said shortly, turning to go. Harry grabbed her arm again, stopping her progress.

"Are you alone out there?"

There was a heartbeat of hesitation in her response and Harry recognized the truth of the situation. "No." She wrenched her arm from Harry’s grasp and disappeared into the mass of people fleeing from the Death Eaters.

Harry paused momentarily before starting after Tonks. Hermione caught his wrist spinning him around to face her.

"No chance, Harry!" she said, her voice stern. "Let the Aurors and the Order handle this."

"There is no way I am going to stand by while Tonks is out there alo—"

"Christ, what is it with you three?"

Tonks had returned towing a pale, but determined looking Ron behind her. She shoved him roughly through the door and disappeared again.

"Are you all right, Ron?"

"I’m fine, Hermione. It’s just…" His face was ashen, "it’s not good out there."

That sealed it for Harry. "I’m going. Ron, you and Hermione stay here. I’m—"

"You’re not going anywhere without me."

"You know I have to do this, Hermione. What do you think this whole summer’s been about?"

"I don’t give a damn what some prophecy says, Harry. This is a trap. You are not going without me."

"You guys know what the prophecy said?"

"Hermione will explain everything to you." Harry said, turning to leave.

"Harry! No!"

"Hermione! Do you hear that screaming?"

Hermione was silent. Ron merely watched the two with his mouth slightly ajar.

"It’s because of me! People are dying because Voldemort wants to get at me! I know Voldemort’s trying to lure me out, but it doesn’t matter!"

"You don’t know what they’re doing out there, Harry! It’s not worth the risk!"

Harry turned to look at Ron, knowing full well the answer to his question. "You were out there, Ron. What’s happening?"

Ron looked surprised for a moment at being included in the conversation before nodding sadly. "They’re using the Killing Curse, Hermione."

"I don’t care! You’re not leaving without me, Harry!"

Harry stepped into her space, grasping her shoulders. Ron turned away.

"I have to go alone. You know I have to do this and I won’t be able to fight them if you’re there. I need to know you’re safe here, so I can focus on them. This time you can’t come. I’m sorry."

Hermione eyes began to fill with angry tears and her mouth was drawn tight. Harry cringed inwardly at the pain written across her face, but she needed to understand. He couldn’t fight Voldemort or the Death Eaters if she was there. He couldn’t risk her. If nothing else, her fall in the Department of Mysteries taught him that.

"I’ll be back, Hermione. If it’s just Death Eaters, they can’t kill me. The prophecy told us that much for certain."

Harry squeezed her arms and turned to leave. Hermione let him get out the door before moving to follow, but Harry was one step ahead of her, using a mild slicing charm to cut his palm. A small, angry line of blood formed there and he pressed his palm to the glass, muttering an archaic incantation. The perimeter of the café door and windows glowed a faint crimson before fading away.

"It’s blood magic, Hermione," Harry shouted through the glass, "found only in Dark Arts texts. You won’t be able to counter it. I’m sorry."

She began throwing spell after spell at the door in a frantic effort to break the charm. Harry tried to forget the mixture of anger and fear he saw on her face as he began fighting the way through the crowd. He felt bad for trapping her like that, but his guilt was soon forgotten as the crowd finally thinned out and he was able to appreciate the full impact of the Death Eaters appearance.

He saw people writhing on the ground, trampled by the fleeing crowds and calling for him to help them escape. Beyond those people in his immediate vicinity, he saw a concentrated assortment of bodies littering the street, near the entrance to Knockturn Alley. Some were clearly dead, others dying, many were simply laying still, leaving Harry unable to judge their condition.

About fifty yards down the street, a wall of darkness was slowly creeping down the alley like an inky black fog. Tonks was nowhere to be seen, but Harry could hear the thundering of spells echoing from the beyond the veil dividing the bright evening from the magically induced night. He suspected Tonks was somewhere within and tried in vain to tame the thundering panic in his head and heart as he sprinted towards the blackness.

Harry rushed into the dark, enchanting his eyesight as he entered. He saw the Death Eaters moving as a group away from Harry. With his enhanced sight, he could make out what appeared to be Tonks form hunched behind a wall with a faintly glowing body at her feet; it wasn’t dead, but appeared to be nearly so. A bright red line across her wand arm showed she had been injured and the wound would be serious if not attended to immediately.

Harry silenced his footsteps, picking his way among the corpses as he moved toward Tonks. If she was unable to see in the magical darkness, she might very well stupefy him when she heard him approach. He couldn’t call out to her either, for fear of alerting the Death Eaters in so doing.

Confident that he wouldn’t be heard, Harry rushed as quickly as he could towards her. As he neared her, he realized that she was stooped over Mr. Weasley’s body. His body temperature appeared so low that if they didn’t get him out of here soon, he wouldn’t survive.

Harry was within five feet of Tonks. "Tonks!" he whispered as loud as he dared.

Tonks reacted to the sound with instincts brought on by her Auror training. Her wand arm whipped to point at Harry and he was saved from her stunner only by the fact that her injury prevented her from aiming her wand properly.

Harry dove behind the corner, avoiding the spell. "It’s Harry, Tonks!"

"I told you to stay put!"

"It’s too late for lectures now! You and Mr. Weasley need to get to St. Mungo’s."

"I am an Auror, Harry. I am not going anywhere."

"Listen, Tonks, you can’t even properly hold your wand. You’ll get killed if you go out there again and Mr. Weasley doesn’t have that much time. He’s getting colder by the moment."

"Make a portkey, Harry, and take him to St. Mungo’s. I’m staying!"

"Fine!" Harry snapped. "Let me fix your arm though."

Tonks held out her arm for Harry.

"I’m no healer so this is going to hurt," he said.

Tonks nodded and set her jaw determinedly. Harry placed his wand tip to her wound, muttered a burning charm and drew the wand along the length of her injury. Tonks grunted against the pain, but didn’t cry out.

"How’s that?" Harry asked.

Tonks attempted to tighten her grip around the shaft of her wand, but Harry could see her fingers struggling with effort to hold the thin piece of wood steady.

"At least it’s not bleeding anymore," she said darkly, using her other arm to push herself to her feet.

"Where are the other Aurors and the Order?"

"I think they’re on the other side of the Death Eaters. I only caught sight of Kingsley and Remus before Arthur and I were hit."

Harry decided then and there to take Tonks out of the battle. She wouldn’t survive thirty seconds without the use of her wand; especially if she was separated from the others. He tucked his wand into his pocket and stooped to lift Mr. Weasley.

"Help me get him to his feet."

Tonks squatted down and threw one of Mr. Weasley’s arms around her neck as she and Harry struggled to lift the dead weight Ron’s father. In the process of lifting him up, Harry made a show of struggling against the weight and used the diversion to sneak his hand back into his pocket. He fished out his wand and a galleon, stepping out from underneath Mr. Weasley’s arm when they were upright and forcing Tonks to bear all of the weight. Tonks looked at him angrily, but Harry ignored her, wedging the galleon between her body and Mr. Weasley’s.

"Portus," he whispered and turned to leave.

"Har—" Tonks shouted, but she was cut off by the activation of the portkey.

Guilt was beginning to become a larger and larger part of his thoughts as he had now forced both Hermione and Tonks out of the fight and didn’t look forward to the repercussions of doing so. Once again, he forced the emotion aside in an effort to keep his mind clear and maintain his focus.

He rounded the corner they had been sheltering behind to find two Death Eaters had separated from the group; apparently sent to investigate the sound of Tonks’ spell.

At the sight of Harry emerging from behind the building, both Death Eaters hurled spells at him. Harry sidestepped the clumsily cast Killing Curse and used a shielding charm to block the stunner from the second wizard. The spell ricocheted off his defenses and Harry was able to cast a powerful banishing charm on the first before having to dodge another stunner from the second. The first Death Eater flew heavily end over end before hitting a building wall headfirst. There was sickening crack, a splatter of red, and the mask he was wearing slipped away. Harry was unable to dwell on what he had done as the second wizard was on top of him quickly, but in the flash in which he saw the familiar features between the lines of blood cascading down the Death Eater’s face, he knew having unintentionally killed Goyle’s father would have serious repercussions.

The second wizard seemed enraged at the fall of the first and became even more reckless, concentrating on casting as many spells as he could in rapid succession. His focus was clearly off as the spells were weak and poorly aimed. Harry merely deflected them giving ground until he spotted an opening. A well-placed full body bind settled the matter and Harry set off towards the remaining Death Eaters.

Harry moved quickly along one side of Diagon Alley, keeping close to the storefront displays in case he needed quick cover. From what he could estimate, there were about twenty Death Eaters ahead of them, packed in tight formation. They appeared to be engaged with another group of wizards, but Harry couldn’t tell how many were in their opponents’ ranks or whether they were Order members or Aurors.

A surprise to all, a powerful column of light emerged from the center of the Death Eaters and shot towards the sky. Harry hid behind a barrel of potion ingredients, crushing his eyelids shut against the burn in them. A minute or so passed before the burn dissipated and Harry slowly opened his eyes to see that the darkness had been dispelled. He removed the enhancement on his vision and peeked around the barrel to see the pack of Death Eaters scattered along both sides of the alley, sheltering from the wedge of Aurors forcing their way down the center.

The Death Eaters began a strategic withdrawal towards Knockturn Alley, attempting to create as much carnage as possible as they withdrew. With their focus on the advancing Aurors, Harry was able to subdue several wizards easily as they came close enough to him until his eyes fell on the familiar, distinctive features of the Black family. Bellatrix Lestrange had cast her mask away and was making a poignantly slow withdrawal amidst a whirlwind of acid green smoke.

The sight didn’t inspire the rage that he had felt when he saw her defeat Sirius, but rather a cold, grim fury and determination to exact revenge for Sirius’ loss.

She will not escape again.

He moved to intercept her retreat, beating her to the entrance to Knockturn Alley. Harry put his wand through a complex series of motions, forcing a myriad of stones free from the buildings on either side of the slender opening. They assembled themselves in a sturdy wall, blocking any route of escape from Diagon Alley.

The Aurors began pressing their advantage in numbers, causing the Death Eaters to break ranks and run towards Knockturn Alley. Seeing the entrance barred and the situation rapidly deteriorating, many chose to disapparate while others dashed down side streets rather than get caught in a skirmish with Harry and the Aurors.

Bellatrix had picked up the pace of her retreat, sensing the breakdown of the Death Eaters around her. Her wild eyes began searching the wizards and witches closing in around her, looking for something. She finally turned towards Knockturn Alley and met Harry’s fierce glare. She smiled satisfactorily at him and dashed down a street about twenty yards from Harry.

The Aurors had separated into groups to pursue the Death Eaters. Harry fell into stride behind the pair chasing Bellatrix. He was gaining on the pair when they turned a corner, going out of sight. Harry heard the rumble of an Avada Kadavra and saw the brick reflect the acid green light of the spell. He hesitated at the corner, before peeking his head around to find Bellatrix gone and her victim’s faces frozen in shock. Both men were young, too young; younger, perhaps, than even Tonks was.

Harry moved a little slower and took the twists and turns of the passageway carefully not wanting to stumble upon another ambush. He froze in his tracks when he heard Bellatrix’s mad giggling echoing around him.

"Just a bit further, boy," she said in her girlish, mocking voice. "Come avenge my dear cousin’s death."

Harry crept along the corridor slowly as Bellatrix’s maniacal laughter taunted him from every direction. The passageway opened into a courtyard about the size of Hogwarts’ Great Hall. Bellatrix was sitting casually with her legs crossed atop a carved marble bench near the fountain adorning the center of the courtyard.

She smiled warmly at him as if he were an old friend come to call after so many years apart.

"Come to play with Bella?" she asked. Gone was the babyish quality to her voice, replaced by a more seductive tone. "The Dark Lord says you’ve had a taste of the Dark Arts. Keep it up and you might make a fine Death Eater. You are maturing into quite the dashing young wizard."

Harry ignored the game she was trying to play. He shifted his weight to the balls of his feet and bent his knees slightly, preparing to move quickly.

"How about a midterm exam?" she teased, rising and advancing on him slowly, her wand casually at her side. "No theory or long essays on this one, dear Harry. You’ll need only your wand."

Her skill with the Dark Arts was superb; Harry never saw her wand move beyond the sway of her arm as strolled towards him. Nor did he see her lips utter an incantation, but she was quickly enveloped into the same whirlwind of acid green vapor. Her raven hair wrapped itself across her face like a death shroud as the vapor encircled her, still ambling his way as if to like she was seduce him as a lover.

Harry snapped his wand at her, launching a stunner towards her. It cut through the vapor, but Bellatrix blocked it casually as if swatting a fly.

"Now, now, Harry," she said sweetly, "this is a Dark Arts exam. You’ll need to dig into those vast reserves of guilt, hate, and anger you hold so tightly if you want to get proper credit. Stunners and flimsy defensive spells don’t count."

Harry began circling her to prevent being trapped in a corner. Whatever that green haze was, he suspected he wouldn’t fare well inside of its clutches.

Bellatrix had given up her graceful chase and began purposefully stalking him like a predator. The rounded one another in the space between the fountain and the exit to the courtyard.

"Well then, Harry," she said, stopping suddenly, "Let see if I can’t help you along a bit."

Harry leapt out of the way of the Killing Curse and rolled back to his feet, summoning a defensive wall between him and the second Killing Curse Bellatrix cast behind the first. The wall shook as the spell struck it, but held firm despite the power Bellatrix had put into the curse.

"That’s an impressive bit of work there, Harry," she said from behind the wall, "but still not quite the Dark Arts I was so looking forward to."

She darted from behind Harry’s wall, getting a decent angle on him and thrust her wand out. "Crucio!"

Harry ducked further behind the wall and felt it shudder again as Bellatrix’s spell impacted on it. Seeking a quick resolution to this battle, he slashed his wand diagonally in front of him, forcing a large cracked through the pavers. The severed wall remained elusively still for a moment before Harry banished the upper half of it towards Bellatrix, hearing her gasp in surprise. She was only able to get a weak shielding charm up and much of the wall struck her directly, the wall crumbling around her. She fell in a heap and lay very still.

Harry let his head sag, resting his hands on his knees in exhaustion. The intensity of the Death Eater encounter finally settled around his shoulders as the adrenaline that had been coursing through his veins faded, leaving his muscles twitching from the withdrawal of the stimulant.

He pulled off his glasses to wipe the sweat and dirt from his face. Even in the fuzziness that pervaded his sight, he could tell that Bellatrix had him exactly where she wanted him, his guard down, his thoughts moving away from their duel.

Her wand trained on his heart.

"Crucio." It was a whisper so soft, it was almost endearing. The power the curse held was anything but endearing.

The ground rushed up to meet Harry as the full force of the spell swept his feet from underneath him. His wand was lost and forgotten as he instinctively contracted his limbs, pulling his body into a tight ball. Each thunder of his heart against his chest was a lifetime; an eternity that was solely created for and defined by the sensation of pain. His flesh felt as if it was being peeled off, layer by layer. Every bone in his skeleton seemed to fold in half without the sweet relief that accompanies the telltale snap of them breaking. Each organ in his torso swelled to the point of rupture.

Simple death would have been trivial compared to this suffering and yet there was no relief from the agony spawned by Bellatrix’s wand. The torment was ceaseless and Harry was on the brink of losing consciousness when Bellatrix finally relented.

In the aftermath of the curse, his body sank into the ground, ready to be swallowed whole by it. He ached all over and didn’t dare move for his wand; another bout with the spell might well destroy his sanity.

"You’re a fool, Potter, to avoid using the Dark Arts."

Harry painfully cracked an eye and saw her pulling herself from the pile of stone he had buried her in. A steady stream of blood graced her forehead, flowing down her temple and onto her cheek. She seemed to take pleasure in the injury, not bothering to wipe the stain from her skin.

"In the Dark Arts lies the power to destroy an opponent with a breath," she was squatting in front of him now, looking at him as if he were a lost puppy, "or to make them suffer an eternity and beg you for death."

She reached forward and tenderly brushed a lock of Harry’s hair aside, revealing his scar.

"You had the power to win this duel. All those wonderful spells dear Severus has been teaching you and you let the opportunity slip away. How unfortunate."

She rose and walked casually back to the stone bench she had been sitting on when Harry entered the courtyard. She had prattled on long enough that his mind was beginning to lose its fogginess and began to seek a means of escape.

Bellatrix took her seat on the stone bench and regarded him curiously. "You still haven’t learned have you, Potter. If you neglect to use the power given to you, there will be consequences. For instance," she said, turning her wand over in her hand, "your mudblood girlfriend will not leave Diagon Alley alive."

Harry’s muscles instantly recovered as the adrenaline returned to them with a vengeance. He was on his feet and ready to make a move for his wand when Bellatrix summoned it to her waiting hand.

"Ooh, struck a nerve, did I?" she mocked. "Yes, my dear Harry, the mudblood is awaiting me like a caged bird, isn’t she? You did, after all, manage to do indulge yourself in some blood magic for her benefit, didn’t you?" She trailed a finger through the line of blood on her cheek and brought the tip to her mouth, kissing away the crimson liquid. "I guess I’ll have to give you partial credit for that," she said sadly, "but it just won’t be enough to pass your exam, I’m afraid."

She stood up abruptly and Harry tensed. "Well, the Dark Lord will be wanting to see the both of you now." She flicked her wand at the building to her left and a group of bricks resorted themselves into a doorway that seemed filled with a silvery fluid. It was some means of magical gateway. "After you, Harry."

Harry didn’t move, focusing instead on the rubble from which Bellatrix had extracted herself. It can be done.

"Letum Alutus," he breathed, feeling the magic from every inch of his body coalesce into his wand arm.

The rubble shifted a bit drawing Bellatrix’s attention from Harry, when a cluster of the shattered stones glowed faintly and leapt into the air in response to the movements of Harry hand. Bellatrix gasped in shock at seeing such a powerful display of wandless magic and brought both wands up in front of her defensively.

Harry drew back his arm and snapped it forward. The stones accelerated toward Bellatrix and transfigured into a cloud of midnight black crows. Their cries echoed off the surrounding buildings as they enveloped Bellatrix in a maelstrom of snapping beaks and raking claws.

Much like Snape had done, Bellatrix attempted to kill off the crows one by one, but was unable to make much progress. Harry began closing the fingers of his hand and the crows responded by condensing into a tightly wound storm around Bellatrix. Their proximity was so close and their speed so great that she was struggling to make her spells connect. She was soon on her knees and the end was near. Harry could smell it in the air.

"Release the crows, Harry."

At the sound of Dumbledore’s voice, Harry relaxed the fingers of his wand arm and the crows scattered into the evening sky. Bellatrix slumped to the ground in defeat. The Aurors that had accompanied the headmaster surrounded her and placed wards on the area to prevent her escape or rescue. One of them retrieved Harry’s wand and returned it to him, his eyes wide and fearful.

The worn handle of his wand fell into his hand eagerly. The phoenix feather in its core seemed eager to finish the task he had started. Harry would be free from her, reborn without the weight of her existence around his neck.

"I believe Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger are waiting for you to return, Harry." Harry started and looked at the headmaster through the red haze clouding his vision. His blue eyes were stern and unyielding. "Say your good-byes to them then return immediately to Hogwarts. I expect to see you in my office in thirty minutes."

Harry nodded mutely and set off towards the café where Hermione and Ron were sheltered.

Where I imprisoned them, rather.

Harry worked his way past the Aurors and back out to Diagon Alley proper. A few more Aurors were scattered here and there, interrogating captured Death Eaters or gathering bodies. None had made it as far as the small restaurant in which Harry and Hermione had been having a pleasant meal just a short half hour ago.

When he reached the café, Harry could still see the smear of blood staining the door where he had touched it. He looked in the window and saw Hermione sitting on the floor with her knees pulled up to her chest and her folded arms resting atop her knees. His insides burned with jealousy as he saw Ron’s arm wrapped around her in an awkward attempt to comfort her.

Seeing Harry at the window, Hermione leapt to her feet and ran to the door. Harry could tell by her face that he didn’t look too good. He swallowed hard and looked from Hermione to his palm where the previous cut was still leaking blood. Harry drew another line across his palm and pressed his hand to the glass. As before, the whole front of the café glowed momentarily. Hermione thrust the door open and Harry was forced to step back to keep from being struck by it.

In the space of a few short seconds, Hermione had hugged him so hard, he thought his head was going to pop off, slapped him hard across the face, and slumped down to the ground, crying incoherently and not letting him or Ron touch her.

Harry looked up to see Ron standing in the doorway. His face was hard despite the attempt at remaining calm. Jealousy burned behind those eyes and Harry knew that things were going to be worse before they got better.

"Big mistake, running off like that," the red head ground out.

He pushed past Harry and began walking down the Alley.

"Ron!" Harry called.

Ron stopped and turned to face Harry, clearly not happy at being addressed again.

"Your dad," Harry said. "He’s hurt pretty bad. He’s at St. Mungo’s"

Ron quickly fished something out of his pocket and held it out to Harry.

"Send me there. Now."

Harry held out his wand and charmed the black knight again. Ron disappeared immediately, on his way to St. Mungo’s.

A/N: I’m off to work on Chapter 11 now. Cross your fingers tightly for me. Maybe with a little bit of mojo, I’ll be able to get it out in less than a month.

The Growing Darkness & the Fading Light

Chapter 11

The humid air swelled around Harry, enveloping him in the reek of acrid blood and discharged urine. Healers were moving through the street collecting bodies and separating the crows from their feast.

They soon approached Goyle Sr.'s body, causing Harry to tense visibly. As they had done with the other corpses, they laid a thin white sheet over his body and levitated it onto a conjured stretcher. Unlike the others, however, the body was immediately turned over to the custody of an Auror and taken away separately.

Harry let out a pained breath. It's true then. I'm a killer.

The weight of that realization tugged him to the ground. The cobblestones bit into his knees and palms as he retched into the gutter, mingling his vomit with the blood seeping into the sewers.

He knew nothing about Goyle Sr. except that he was a Death Eater and what little he could glean from his son's behavior. The Goyles were followers, that much was certain. Had they not fallen in with the Malfoys, they might well have been chosen for another Hogwarts' house and escaped Voldemort's machinations.

Harry rocked back into a squatting position, forcing himself to endure the odor as penance for his sins. He felt he should do no less considering the line he had now crossed. Intentionally or not, he had killed someone. He tried telling himself that Goyle Sr. was a Death Eater and his demise unintentional, but a shadowy voice lurked around the fringes of his mind, whispering doubts and thrusting aside his attempts at justification. As the smell grew in strength, so did the voice, but it wasn't whispering anymore; it was thundering. Bishop had taken pawn. Pawns understood little of the greater tide of war, they simply followed their king's orders.

He needed Hermione. That much was evident. He needed her wisdom, her support, her kind hand. He wanted her to tell him that it was only an accident and he wasn't at fault, that it could've happened to anyone, that he had done the right thing.

Hermione wasn't here though. Remus had arrived and interrupted their argument before it was resolved. She left with Remus, casting one last angry look over her shoulder before covering her mouth and nose against the rising stench. Without her support, Harry was left alone and doubting with only his own indecision and second-guessing for company. Harry portkeyed himself away shortly after she left, only able to go as far as Hogsmeade station successfully; Hogwarts concentration of magic made it too difficult to penetrate at the moment. He trekked the remainder of the way to Professor Dumbledore's office on foot and waited there as instructed.

The headmaster joined Harry via the hearth an hour later, arriving in a flash of green fire.

“Harry, do you truly understand why I want you to learn the Dark Arts?” he asked immediately.

Harry gaze shifted from the window to the headmaster. It was a stupid question. “Because Lord Voldemort will be using them against me, we discussed this already,” he said tiredly.

“Yes, that is it in part,” Dumbledore responded, settling himself on the edge of his mahogany desk. “However, what Professor Snape has told you before is also true. Lord Voldemort is an exceptionally skilled manipulator, particularly so, when the one being manipulated is impulsive and easily swayed by their instincts.”

Harry was certain the headmaster could've chosen his words better. “So reckless Harry needs lessons controlling his emotions?” Harry snapped, his voice rising. “Is that it?”

“Harry, you and I should be able to have this conversation without either of us letting anger or frustration determine our behavior,” Dumbledore said, his voice stern and standing up again to pace around his office immersed in contemplation. Harry let him have all the time he wanted, his thoughts returning to the spray of blood fanning out from Goyle senior's head.

“You seem to be struggling with the Dark Arts, Harry,” Dumbledore said after several moments.

“I'm quite capable,” Harry challenged.

“Oh, I don't doubt your abilities at all,” the headmaster said, waving a hand dismissively, “but I was referring to your ability to maintain an objective viewpoint during tense, emotional situations.”

Harry was incredulous. “So you think I should've just let Bellatrix go?”

“I would like you to have left that task to the Aurors, Harry, but this isn't about you seeking justice. The manner in which we conduct ourselves however, is of primary concern and is what sets us aside from the Death Eaters. For example,” he stopped to look pointedly at Harry, “in your encounter with Bellatrix Lestrange today, you conducted yourself admirably until she found where you were sensitive. A coercive threat was all that she needed to push you beyond your conscious limits. You took all of your anger and rage and focused it into a single devastating act of vengeance.”

This was not the tongue lashing Harry had been expecting since he met the headmaster in the courtyard. He feared that Dumbledore would berate him for meeting Hermione against his wishes. It was almost as if the headmaster expected him to seek her out.

Despite this realization though, Harry was still defensive of his actions. Every instinct screamed to him to argue every point, challenge every detail, resist in whatever form his imagination could concoct. But there was a decisive infallibility to the headmaster's words that stifled any opposition from Harry. Professor Dumbledore had said in a simple sentence what his consciousness had been telling him since the haze of anger and frustration had lifted in the courtyard.

A moment passed before Harry submitted to brutal honesty over lying to himself and the headmaster. “I can't separate the two,” Harry said quietly, avoiding the headmaster's gaze, “the Dark Arts and my emotions. I react. That's just how I think. I don't know how to sit back and evaluate a situation without feeling.”

“Harry,” Dumbledore began, speaking gently as he took his seat and removed his half-moon spectacles, “that is part of the reason why I have had Professor Snape teaching you the Dark Arts. You must think beyond the immediate details of his instruction. He is an example in many ways. He understands where you have been more than you will ever really know. He also masterfully walks a fine line between society's rather conventional views of good and evil. You are allowing his demeanor to cloud your judgment and failing to see the man behind the facade.”

Harry rubbed his temples, unable to follow the headmaster's thread. “I don't understand, Professor Dumbledore, what it is that I'm supposed to be looking for?”

“He is a shadow of the man he could have been. Embracing the Dark Arts at such a young age with as violent an upbringing as he had has formed him into a man that defines his happiness by the misery he brings to others. He is buried in malice, ill contempt, and disdain. Events have occurred in his life which allows him to define his own personal division between right and wrong. However, as you have experienced, Severus will readily tread across the commonly accepted lines our society dictates when it suits his purposes. But underneath it all, he understands where the point of no return lies and has placed himself on the correct side of our struggle, in spite of the scorn heaped upon his name.”

“You're not telling me much. All I'm hearing is that Snape is nothing more than a git that happens to be on our side.”

“Then let me say it more plainly, Harry. Severus Snape can teach you how to separate your emotions from your actions. Your mutual dislike forces you to deal with the hostility you share. In learning the Dark Arts thus far, you have focused on the means of casting the spells, binding your emotions to that learning in the process. What you have not discovered is how to isolate your feelings from the act of conjuring a spell. The judgment used to select a spell is very different from the emotion required to empower one.

“Professor Snape has attempted to push you to your emotional limits, not to exact revenge on you for misplaced anger. Rather, his intent is to encourage a detachment and enable you to see beyond the Dark Arts as an outlet for your negative emotions. Once you achieve this, the Dark Arts become no more than simple mechanics with a stigma attached to them.

“It seems, however, that Professor Snape and I have misjudged how deep your emotional reservoirs go, Harry, particularly in reference to Miss Granger.”

Harry sat back, pondering Professor Dumbledore's words. “Professor Snape hates me. I don't know how I can learn this separation when dueling with Professor Snape. He seems to have this insane hate for me. When he comes at me, my emotions are the only thing that keeps him from killing me. How am I supposed to learn anything in that situation?”

“Perhaps then, Harry, we should alter the format of your classes. Professor Snape is teaching you in the same manner as he was taught, the same manner in which all Death Eaters are taught. Needless to say, his teachers were less than desirable and—”

“His teachers?”

“His father and Lord Voldemort, Harry. In Professor Snape both sought a student that possessed the requisite mental strength and was capable enough to withstand a confrontational approach. Neither would have allowed Severus to survive had he been unable to adapt to the situation. Professor Snape had to make certain sacrifices.”

“Such as?”

The headmaster waved his hand to forestall Harry.

“I have told you enough about Professor Snape's background, more so, perhaps, than you need to know. Professor Snape's history is his own to keep and share as he chooses. I only divulge this information so that you might appreciate his perspective and take the step that he has been unable to. I expect you to be Professor Snape's negative.”

Harry closed his eyes, tucking his fingers underneath his glasses to rub out some of the aching in them.

“You should return to Gryffindor Tower, Harry. This evening has been difficult on yourself and the entire wizarding world. You will need your rest.”

Harry ignored him. He needed to hear it said outright, confirmed by someone with some measure of objectivity.

“Tonight was an ambush, wasn't it?”

Dumbledore sighed and sat back heavily into his chair.

“Yes, Harry. Nymphadora told me of your behavior en route to Diagon Alley. As such, we'll be intensively devoting the next few days of your Occlumency lessons to advancing the placement of your mental barriers. Lord Voldemort will be emboldened by his successful penetration of your mind tonight, tempered only by the capture of Bellatrix LeStrange. But for the moment, you need rest. Go on now.”

Harry nodded and rose, pausing momentarily when he reached the door.

“Professor?”

“Yes, Harry.”

“Could I send an owl to Hermione? We left Diagon Alley on bad terms and I'd like to work things out.”

“I don't believe that is a good idea.”

“Please, sir,” Harry pleaded. “She's been the only one keeping me going through all this. I need her help. I'll be certain to clear the letter with you if I have to, but I need to speak with her. I can't let this go on.”

Harry felt a soft probe at his mind, but was too mentally taxed to get barriers in place to prevent it. The headmaster's eyes softened and Harry dared to hope that he would be allowed to contact Hermione.

“Very well, Harry, but do not discuss your locations or what either of you are doing at the moment. You will need to confine your conversations to resolving your disagreement.”

Harry's heart felt a little less burdened. “Thank you, Professor.”

Dumbledore nodded, the corners of his mouth rising slightly. Harry turned and left. He would try the mirrors first, but he suspected that Hermione wouldn't be responding to hers any time soon. A letter would be much more difficult for her to ignore.

* * * * *

Harry wedged himself between two exposed roots of the oak tree at the lake's edge. The steadfast endurance of the tree provided him with much needed reassurance. Harry had tried for a full day and a half to rouse Hermione via the mirrors, but the glass reflected only his own guilty face.

The time spent fretting over resolving things with Hermione was worming its way into his skull, breeding doubt and poisoning his confidence. He was ready to fold. His pride, his justifications, none of it mattered anymore. He needed to hear her voice or see any expression other than the furious glare that was burnt into his mind upon their separation. Hogwarts was a tomb when she wasn't around. And without her regular companionship to chase away the decay, if only via the mirrors, he felt like a shell of a man.

Harry shook his head to bring his focus back to the parchment unfurled before him. There was a cluster of ink drops where he poised his quill and attempted to begin the message to Hermione. But the words wouldn't come and the ink would continue to drop, marring the yellowed surface of the parchment.

Even the simple expressions were so difficult to come by that he started talking aloud to himself, hoping a little coaching would help.

“Start simple, Harry.”

He didn't know if saying it aloud would help since he'd already tried starting simple several times to no benefit. Still, he scratched a “Dear Hermione” and stared at the parchment again. A tentatively spoken “I hope you're well” followed and then nothing after that for five whole minutes. So he decided to force it, throwing out whatever thoughts he could extract from his mind.

Dear Hermione,

I hope you're well. I'm as well as can be expected, considering. I don't know if you'd heard but Mr. Weasley is going to be okay. Thank Merlin for that! At least that's what Dumbledore said. I'm glad he wasn't hurt. Or you or Ron either. Tonks is OK too. That's a bit of good, yeah?

My lessons have shifted a bit. I think—I hope— this'll make you happy, if nothing else, but I'm not dueling with Snape anymore. Professor Dumbledore stepped in and is altering things. The last couple days, we've gone `hunting' in the Forbidden Forest instead of blasting each other to hell and back. Madam Pompfrey is relieved to say the least. Not so much for the wildlife out there. I don't think should say anything to Hagrid about it.

Harry paused again and took a deep breath, steeling himself.

Hell, Hermione. I just need to hear from you, anything but this silent treatment. I'm as sorry as you can imagine. So very, very sorry about what happened at Diagon Alley! You are right to be mad at me. It just all seemed like the right thing to do at the time. I thought you'd be safer that way and I'd be able to do better out there, but I was horribly wrong. I ran into Bellatrix LeStrange and she seemed to know everything about where you were and how I'd left you. Voldemort must have picked it out of my brain or something during the battle or maybe he was watching the whole time and I just didn't realize it.

I know you're ignoring me and I deserve it, but please, we've always been able to talk through things in the past. This is the treatment you always give to Ron when he's being a git. I don't want to feel like Ron. I want to feel like Harry. The one who can't get express a thought without you already knowing where I'm going with it.

Please contact me through the mirrors or at least write back to me. With this silence, I feel like the Great Squid is dragging me under. I need to know that we'll get beyond this. That I haven't buggered everything that has happened this summer.

Love,

Harry

Harry reread the letter and felt like an idiot. He damn well wrote like an idiot. But it was done at least and he dared to hope that it would arouse a response out of Hermione if nothing else. If they could get back to talking, he believed, they could get back on better terms.

Harry rose and hiked to the owlery. Mid-summer was a relatively slow time for the owls and they all perked to life, looking eager the moment Harry entered, each one hooting and rustling their wings and shifting from side to side on their feet. Harry scanned the various recesses in the stone tower that comprised the owlery, looking for Hedwig. The snowy owl was already ahead of him, descending to the pedestal in the center of the room as he looked the other way. Harry only caught on once she nipped at his wrist. He pulled a treat from his pocket and gave it to her to chew on while he lashed his note to her claw.

“Take this to Hermione and don't leave without a response, okay?”

Hedwig dipped her head in response and turned to leave.

“But don't peck her hand to pieces or anything like that, okay? Just wait patiently.”

The owl took off without any indication that it had caught Harry's qualification. He certainly hoped the message had sunk in.

Harry checked his watch as he left the owlery. He was due to meet Dumbledore for another Occlumency lesson in twenty minutes. He could spare the time, but figured he might as well head to the headmaster's office early. Maybe they could start early and Harry wouldn't have to think about Hermione's silence.

When he arrived outside Dumbledore's office, he heard the headmaster's voice mingling with second. Harry listened at the door, but was unable to make out any words until the headmaster beckoned him.

“You may enter, Harry. We aren't discussion anything that I wouldn't advise you of regardless.”

Harry stood up from where he was listening at the keyhole and entered the office his face burning with embarrassment at being caught.

The headmaster waved Harry into his usual seat and continued his conversation.

“Go on, Remus. How might we anchor the Occlumens?”

Lupin's head nodded to Harry in acknowledgement from the room's fireplace, wreathed in green flames.

Remus continued, “It's a bit tricky, but Ernhart believes an accomplished Legilimens could act as a conduit of sorts to ensure the Occlumens doesn't lose track of his own biorhythms while assaulting the target. The hard part is that the Occlumens will be a single entity with three heartbeats clattering around in his mind. And with kind of assault you are suggesting, it's likely the Occlumens will not be able to distinguish which is his own, which is his target, and which is the Legilimens bridge. He'd have a two in three chance of snuffing out the wrong life force. Ernhart believes its much simpler to just penetrate the mind as a Legilimens.”

“And Ernhart is?” Harry interjected.

Remus answered, “Ernhart Mackenzie, Harry. One of the leading experts on fundamental magical theory. He's not the best practicing Occlumens out there, but is extremely knowledgeable in obscure magical methods.”

Dumbledore turned a grim face to Harry. “I've asked Remus to speak with some other theorists on the idea you proposed: of going into Voldemort's mind and combating him there. Of course, we kept the particulars vague, for their own safety and ours as well.”

“I thought you were against it?” Harry asked, shocked. “All that about being where Voldemort's strongest and all that.”

“Well, I'm afraid you raised a compelling point, Harry. I'm just exploring all our options. When it comes to Lord Voldemort, I'm learning that I must keep everything on the table. All options must be considered so that we may best understand what tools we have at our disposal in defeating him. Unfortunately,” he continued, rising from his seat and walking around the room, “I remain unconvinced that the danger to the Occlumens—you in this case—is much too high. I would like to see a higher likelihood of success before attempting anything on this level.”

Dumbledore turned to face Remus inside the fire. “Thank you for taking this on, Remus. Continue the discussion with Ernhart, if you would, and contact me if you two discover anything illuminating.”

They said their goodbyes and the green tinge to the flames faded away.

Harry stood up and walked to one of the tables, fingering a spindly silver instrument. It was possible, Mackenzie had confirmed it. His success depended only on his own abilities.

Dumbledore's presence in his mind was very much a strong knock on the door these days. And while Harry wasn't proficient at keeping him out all of the time, he was determined to hide his thoughts.

“What do these things do?” Harry asked, indicating the instrument he was playing with.

Dumbledore walked over to the table while Harry regulated his breath, guiding his thoughts and Dumbledore's probe towards his problems with Ron. He could feel the mental barriers fall into place around his intentions on the conversation they'd just had with Remus.

Dumbledore stepped next to Harry and paused for a moment. Harry felt his concentration falter, the mental dance between himself and the headmaster introducing fault lines in his defenses. The probe slipped away, Ron's pain and jealousy came back into focus and Dumbledore finally spoke.

“They are works of Goblin art, Harry. Something I received as a gesture of gratitude while brokering peace in a past dispute.”

“That right?”

“Yes, unfortunately, I saw less gratitude from the wizarding contingent. A bit of a shame, really. But enough of that, let us turn to your Occlumency lesson. That is what we are here for after all and to be frank, the stakes are quite high.”

“Right.” Harry followed the headmaster to his desk and sat down in his customary spot.

“Now Harry,” Dumbledore began, taking his seat as well, “As we've just seen, you seem to have the rudimentary elements of Occlumency in place.”

“What do you mean, Professor?”

Dumbledore smiled serenely, eyes twinkling.

“While I am certain that you are concerned about the status of your friendship with Mr. Weasley, I highly doubt that it would be foremost of your mind after the conversation we just had with Remus. I would expect your thoughts to be at least somewhat related to the task at hand.”

Harry paled a bit, but didn't respond.

“A mental feint, Harry, is exactly the avenue you want to pursue in turning away another's penetration. However, the feint must be plausible to the intruding mind. If they are expecting to find you thinking about hippogriffs and instead find you pondering dragons, you can well be certain that the Legilimens will understand the fallacy for what it is.”

Harry mumbled his acknowledgment, noting that he'd have to be sharper in guiding his thoughts.

“Now that you have the fundamentals down, Harry, we should move into more aggressive forms of Legilimency.”

Harry blanched, recalling his sessions with Snape last year.

“For the time being,” Dumbledore stood as he spoke, “in such circumstances, it is best to not bother trying to divert the intruder, instead - at least initially - resist their every effort.”

The headmaster walked to the window and peered onto Hogwart's expansive lawns.

Harry cleared his mind in anticipation, willing blankness into his mind and patched together a steady rhythm to his breathing. His basic defenses were in place only a moment before they crumbled beneath Dumbledore's onslaught.

The headmaster's mind searched everything across the expanse of Harry's mind: the intent to subvert the headmasters wishes in going after Voldemort, the ache that came whenever Hermione came up, the creeping doubt over whether he and Ron would ever recover their friendship, the guilt over Goyle's father's death. All these images turned over in Harry's mind, beyond his control, as the headmaster examined them as if idly turning a globe to find some obscure country.

And then a vacuum replaced the probe. Harry was again alone in his head, his breathe coming in harsh, ragged gulps, and his knuckles white where they gripped the arms of his chair.

Professor Dumbledore sat down in his chair and set his wand aside, near a stack of parchment, his face slack, but very serious.

“You'll need to be able to repel these kinds of attacks, Mr. Potter, if you wish to confront Lord Voldemort in his own head.”

Harry's face burned with shame and embarrassment and more than a little anger.

“I understand,” he ground out, “sir.”

The rest of the session continued in much the same manner with Professor Dumbledore cracking Harry's mind repeatedly and emphasizing his superior skill as a proxy for Lord Voldemort's. By the time Dumbledore dismissed him, Harry had been properly chastised and was deadly resentful. He stood and left the room without another word, his fists knotting at his side and his wand calling out to him to break something.

* * * * *

The remainder of the week brought no response from Hermione and after a weekend of nothingness, alone in Hogwarts. Harry's resorting to trying to reach Ron. His probes, while answered, were tersely phrased notes that boiled down to the redhead telling Harry to sod the hell off. The world seemed to be falling apart around Harry; difficulties with Dumbledore continued to mire Harry down, creating further friction between the two. As with Snape, Harry had fallen into a rut when it came to Dumbledore's aggressive Legilmency penetrations. The only thing that seemed to be going well was his lessons with Snape. The old antagonism was still there, but a small, fragile gap had emerged, creating a small degree of segregation in his spell casting and his emotions.

Harry stepped behind a tree, following Snape's lead and hiding as the centaur herd rode past, shaking the ground beneath their feet. Avoiding unwanted combat, they continued on in silence, deeper into the forest, before they first caught the clattered voice of the harpy talking to herself.

This hunting, on some level, still aggravated Harry. Snape had told him to abandon his whining; it this hunting or face the Dark Lord unprepared.

The harpy nest was contained within a great evergreen tree. The enormous fir climbed in web-soaked shadows towards the canopy of the Forbidden Forest, ultimately emerging into the heavens and summer sunshine as a vast spire to rival any of Hogwarts own.

Snape stepped next to Harry and spoke in a low voice. “Draw her out.”

Harry sighed audibly, communicating his disgust with the Potions Master, and then moved from his shelter into the open area, stepping heavily over the branches.

The harpy immediately ceased her self-address and with a rustle of her wings, descended to thickest branch of the tree. Now out of the shadows, Harry received his first full look at the monster and he was filled with confusing emotions. At once he was simultaneously struck with desire and revulsion and above all, a profound sadness at seeing the pitiable creature. At the creature's core was the naked torso of a beautiful woman, beautiful enough to put Fleur Delacour to shame. But the visage of youth and was destroyed by the madness that consumed the creature, fangs protruded over lips from which leaked a slavering mucus. Where thin arms should have been, there were instead great wings, sheathed in black feathers and intermingled with gray, rotting ones that fell away whenever she shifted. And instead of a long slender legs that would catch the notice of any wizard were short, stubby haunches end in claws like those of an eagle, with sharp talons that never seemed to stop twitching, dislodging the bark beneath them.

She leered at Harry, shifting anxiously on her feet, and spoke to him in a warbly voice, “You are trespassing, yes you are. This is the Harpy Tree. No beasties enters here. You will die if you stay.”

Frankly, Harry had no idea what the hell Snape wanted him to do. He had hoped she would just leap at him and be done with it. That way, he could just go into defense mode and end the fight as soon as possible.

“I'm not leaving.” Harry responded, tensing as he spoke, ready to move as soon as the harpy was.

The harpy did not respond and but remained on her perch, muttering. Harry had to strain his ears to catch what she was saying.

“He must die. He is powerful, this one. He has come unwanted. We must be cautious though. Yes.”

She suddenly spread her wings to their full width shrieking at the top of her lungs. Harry reflexively backed away several steps, his eyes fixed on the harpy who hadn't moved, but resettled her wings back at her sides.

And then the upper reaches of the tree responded with shrieks of its own, the answering cries of other harpies, descending from the perches. Harry turned suddenly to look at Snape who remained beyond the sight of the harpies, sitting on a fallen log with his legs crossed.

“There's more than one?” Harry shouted.

Snape merely sniffed and ran a knuckle across the end of his hooked nose, apparently addressing a mild itch he'd found there.

Harry swore and returned his attention to the gathering swarm of harpies dissolving out of the murky tree and descending on him at great speed, swerving around the dry and barren under branches.

Four, no five, Harry counted, remembering the sentinel still sitting on her perch.

He cast a shielding charm around himself to buy some time and retreated from the clearing under the tree to the more densely packed vegetation he and Snape had just left, hoping the overgrowth would hinder the harpies' wings.

The harpies attacked in pairs, the first of them careening into Harry's shield charm at top speed before bouncing away out of Harry's field of vision. The second was right behind the first and with the shielding charm dispelled, Harry received several gashes along his shoulder before he could get out of the way.

The burn didn't go away as he recovered, aiming his wand and pouring his all his malice into a bone shattering spell. The harpy's wing crumpled and she hit the ground with shriek, tumbling end over end before coming to a stop and laying still.

Just a monster…she's just a monster. I'm not a killer.

His mental reassurances found no purchase in his mind and he spun to face the next two harpies with his wand held tentatively before him. A clumsy stupefy missed the first one. His wand shook in his hand as he reached out for the killing curse, an agonizing line of thought that sliced his chest, somewhere deep inside. He hesitated further, feeling an electric thrill itch in his fingertips and simultaneously churn his stomach with nauseating revulsion.

His hesitation took too long and the rush of green light that ended the harpy's life came from Snape's wand. The Potions Master walked the rest of the way into the alcove of trees into which Harry had retreated. He cast an enormous shielding charm around the two of them, a shimmering hemisphere fifty feet in diameter that frustrated and taunted the remaining harpy.

“Hesitation will kill you every time, Potter.”

The calm disdain that laced Snape's voice infuriated Harry. He took a deep breath and scrubbed his face with his hands, trying to cover his shaking. He'd almost done it, wanted to do it, wanted to kill so easily, without regret, without concern for consequence.

Snape turned his wand once Harry dropped his hands. The shield expanded around them, buffeting the screaming harpy further away.

“I'm going to drop the charm. Do not hesitate again. You will be merciless. They are monsters as is the Dark Lord. You will kill it and without remorse. Anything else is unacceptable.”

He nodded to the fallen harpy with the vacant eyes. Harry shivered, silent in his disgust.

Snape walked to the far edge of the shield charm, giving the harpy a direct line of attack to Harry. The barrier fell away immediately and harpy shrieked in intense excitement, quickly transitioning from its hover to gain speed and dive on Harry.

Harry instinctively trained his wand on the beast. This one however seemed to have learned from watching its sisters fall and darted and dodged, keeping Harry from getting a solid bead on it. The burn in his shoulder caught his attention again and he used that to build up the hate in his mind.

Punish her. She's a distortion. Evil. Pure Evil. Kill her. Save yourself. Punish her.

The mental game was starting to work and his hand shook less and less as he swung it back and forth, tracking the harpy. She was quickly getting too close and he'd have to cast or be taken out.

“Avad-”

He clamped off the rest of the curse. The revulsion of hearing it spoken aloud - from his own mouth - made him want to retch. Awash in self loathing, he dropped his wand arm and let the harpy barrel into him at full speed.

A shot of pain exploded in both shoulders where her talons ripped through his robes and into the flesh underneath. Both claws hooked under his left and right collar bones and he felt himself jerked into the air. She twisted suddenly and released him, sending Harry tumbling into the undergrowth.

As he lay there, quite still on the flat of his back, little filaments of black crept in around the edges of his vision. His breathing was ragged and painful and all the while, the filaments wove themselves into a larger part of his sight until there was only a small, coin-sized window to the world onto which his mind held.

There was nothing left in him to resist. He no longer had Hermione as an anchor. No Ron for levity and Dumbledore seemed content to let Snape draw him down to hell.

The coin of light closed up after a few more breaths and all the world was black. His hearing held out a moment longer and just before he lost consciousness, Harry heard the telltale rush of a freight train and knew Snape had destroyed the harpy.

A/N: The completist in me took over and I came back to the chapter. We'll see if I can't bang out the rest of the story as well.

-->