Disclaimer: All things Harry Potter belong to JKR and are not being used for profit- since JKR shows no sign of selling me her copyright. Unfortunately. Luckily, I can still play in her world for fun.
Author's Note: For Demosthenes, and especially for Goldy, as this fic was inspired in large part by her brilliance.
Part 1 of 5
A Hero's Choice
Part One
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The one with the 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 not… and either must die at the hands of the other for neither can live while the other survives… the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…
Argh! Harry clutched at his head, tugging at his hair, ignoring the stinging of pain as he did so. He couldn't get the eerie voice of Trelawney saying the Prophecy out of his head. Always, it seemed, he heard it, vague echoes in his mind, taunting him, tormenting him with the stark, horrible truth of it all…
Telling him that it was because of this, because of him, that so many people had died. His parents had been the first to die because they'd been unlucky enough to have a son who was cursed with some 'power the Dark Lord knows not'. And then it'd been Cedric, for being so fair and wanting to be a friend to him. Poor Cedric. Then Sirius… He closed his eyes and clamped his lips shut against the half-sob, half-whimper he felt rising within his chest at the name, the thought of his godfather. He could still see Sirius' thin face, his sudden grin, hear his voice and the bark-like sound of his laughter. Could still see the look of surprise on his face as he fell through the Veil.
They had all died because of him, because of who (and what) he was.
And then there was everyone who'd been hurt simply because they were his friends. Luna, Ginny, Neville. They may not have been injured too badly (luckily) but it was his fault they had even been in the Department of Mysteries. Ron, attacked by that brain… Hermione… God, Hermione! Lying unconscious in the Department of Mysteries after that purple flame-like curse had gone through her…
And it had all been because of him. Because he was cursed.
He shuddered, feeling cold although it wasn't a physical cold so much as a mental one.
He hated this house. Hated it with an intensity he couldn't even describe. This terrible, stifling house, so filled with memories of Sirius. This house which had been Sirius' prison…
But he hadn't had a choice, had had to come here, when the Order had arrived to take him from Privet Drive. He almost felt that this house was worse than Privet Drive had ever been.
The sound of a knock on the door broke through his dark thoughts. He didn't bother to answer the knock, didn't bother to respond in any way. He didn't want to talk to anyone and no one seemed to really respect his "Go away" response as it was.
And, as he'd expected, his silence again was taken for an invitation and he heard the door open. He didn't bother to get up from where he was lying on his stomach on the bed, didn't bother to look around to see who it was.
"Hello, Harry," Dumbledore said quietly.
Now he sat up, more out of surprise than a wish to be courteous to the Headmaster. "Professor Dumbledore," he responded curtly. "What are you doing here?"
"I have been- I am concerned about you, Harry. You have had a difficult year, have endured things which would have broken a weaker person. I wanted to see you, to know how you are." Dumbledore's voice was gentle.
"How do you think I am!" he snapped angrily, his voice rising until it was nearly a shout. "My godfather is dead because of me and you just told me I'm going to have to kill or be killed! How do you think I am!"
Dumbledore sighed, moving until he was standing in front of Harry so Harry had to meet his gaze. "I am sorry, Harry. I seem to have made things harder for you instead of easier as I intended. I cannot undo what I have done, however, can only try to help you now." He paused before continuing, his blue eyes solemn. "I told you once that it is our choices which make us who we truly are, far more than our abilities. And more than any prophecies, as well. Harry, it is true that you are the one Professor Trelawney spoke of; you are the one who has the power to defeat Voldemort. But Harry, that does not mean that you do not still have choices to make. No one walks alone from choice." He paused, letting his words sink in to Harry's mind. "Now, what you must decide is what to do about the Prophecy. The Prophecy only says you are the one with the power; it does not tell how or when or if you will use that power."
"If you mean I have a choice about whether to face Voldemort or not, I don't! I have to do it! I can't just leave him to kill people and besides, he's going to come find me anyway. I have to kill him or die trying! I don't have a choice in that!" Harry spoke angrily, his voice harsh.
Dumbledore sighed again. "I did not mean to imply that you would, or that you can, simply run from your destiny. I do mean that now you must search your heart for what is most important to you, search your heart to choose how to react to the Prophecy. Search your heart for what you must do."
There was another silence in which Harry stared morosely at the floor and Dumbledore studied Harry with his wise old eyes, eyes that had seen so much and now looked upon one of the saddest sights in life, a young boy afraid of life, a boy who hated the thought of tomorrow rather than welcoming it, a boy who, for all the pitiable circumstances of his life, still possessed something, a strength of feeling, a caring mind and a heart of courage that fitted him for the hard destiny which was his.
"Search your heart, Harry, and I am sure you will know the choice you should make. I will see you soon, I'm sure," Dumbledore finished quietly, turning to leave the room.
The door closed with a soft click, leaving Harry alone again, to think over what Dumbledore had said.
To think-but not to decide. He had already decided. He knew what choice he had to make. Choice! It was hardly a choice; it was simply what he must do.
He had known it suddenly and with a certainty that couldn't be denied from the moment of hearing Dumbledore's words of searching his heart for what was most important to him. It was a knowledge that had been growing in his mind and heart for a while now, until that moment when what had been only lurking in the back of his mind had suddenly come front and center, until he could think of nothing else but this. His duty. What he had to do, the only thing he could do.
He chose to be alone-so no one else could be hurt because of him.
He was who he was-and he was meant to be alone.
He knew that now and he knew, too, what he needed to do. He needed to isolate himself. He had his task, his fate, one which no one could do for him and which no one could help him with. He was the one with the power the Dark Lord knew not, the only one with that unknown power. And he was a danger to anyone close to him.
He was a marked man-and therefore, unsafe company for anyone to be around.
For a moment, he had some vague plan of leaving Grimmauld Place altogether, taking his trunk and his broom and his Invisibility Cloak and simply running away- somewhere. Somewhere where no one else could be in danger because of him.
But even as he thought it, he knew it was impossible.
Grimmauld Place was not the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix for nothing. It was as close to impossible to sneak in as it was to sneak out-the more so because of the way he was watched.
Oh, Harry knew he was watched. No one had said anything to him but he knew how many times people, most often Mrs. Weasley and Remus, stopped off outside his room, not knocking or saying anything but simply making sure he was there. He knew that there was a reason he was never alone in the house, why there was always at least one, usually two, members of the Order in Grimmauld Place with him.
So, no, he couldn't simply leave. And beyond that, the part of his mind that spoke in Hermione's voice told him how reckless, how foolish to the point of stupidity, it would be to leave this one haven especially now when he knew just why Voldemort needed to kill him.
He couldn't leave. What he could do-what he had to do-was to close himself off from everyone.
Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were, thankfully, preoccupied and busy with work, their Order duties, and their children. Remus would be more difficult-but he could avoid seeing Remus. Remus was also busy and with the full moon coming up in the next week, he had every reason to not seek Remus out. Ginny was more difficult but she, again, he could avoid and besides which, he'd never talked much to her as it was. She was simply Ginny.
No, the most difficult thing to do and the most important thing he had to do was somehow end his friendship with Ron and Hermione.
They were the two people he cared about most, what was most important to him, as Dumbledore had said. And they were the two people most likely to be seriously injured (more than they already had been, he thought, shuddering) or, horror of horrors, killed because of their closeness to him. He shuddered again at the thought, feeling the cold hand of dread squeeze his heart tighter, at actually putting into words the fear that haunted his every waking and most of his sleeping moments.
He relived, over and over again, seeing that purple streak go through Hermione, the look on her face as she fell, and then how pale- how terribly, awfully, heart-stoppingly still- she'd been, lying on the floor. Relived that moment of blind panic before he'd managed to reach her side.
And remembered, too, the relief he'd felt on hearing Neville's, "Dat's a pulse, Harry, I'b sure id is." He'd never heard any words which affected him so powerfully, didn't expect any words could match the sheer impact of Neville's inarticulate, somewhat garbled, eight words telling him Hermione was still alive.
He didn't know how he was going to end this friendship of five years but he knew he had to. It would hurt, feel like he was cutting his own heart out-but he needed to do this. To keep them safe and make sure that no one was ever again killed because of him again-at least not if he could help it.
He got up and opened his trunk, pulling out the book of pictures Hagrid had given him at the end of his first year to look at the picture of his parents' wedding and swallowed back the lump of emotion that formed in his throat as he gazed at the familiar smiling faces of his parents and Sirius. I won't let anyone else be hurt because of me, won't let what happened to you happen again, not if I can help it. I promise. Mum, Dad, Sirius, do you hear me? I won't let it happen again. I couldn't do anything for you, Mum and Dad. And Sirius, I'm sorry. But I promise you I won't let it happen again. I can't let it happen again.
Whatever he had to do, whatever he had to endure, he would do it. If that was the price he had to pay for those he cared about to be safe, he would pay it.