Soul Schism
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer : I am not, nor have I ever been, the genius known as J.K. Rowling. Therefore I do not, nor shall ever, own Harry Potter and its subsidiaries.
Summary : After Harry's Soul is split apart, Hermione must enter his mind and attempt to reassemble his soul, and discover the dark truth behind Harry's life before it's too late.
Pairings : Harry/Hermione (duh)
Spoilers: Books 1-5
AN: If any of you are familiar with MapleMountain, FYI, he's my dad, and I will have him review all chapters of this story before I post, because he has me read all of his before posting too, so read his fantabulous story, "Keeping A Promise " and leave reviews! Because he actually pays attention to them, and responds too.
Chapter 1: Release
It was all too much.
He couldn't stand it.
Images flashed through his mind as he lay on his bed at number 12, Grimmauld Place.
Dudley advancing on him with raised fists. His uncle dragging him by the scruff of the neck and throwing him into the cupboard under the stairs. His aunt standing over him as he scrubbed the kitchen floor. The old feeling of helplessness that had plagued him nonstop for 11 long years at Privet Drive, until the day he found out the truth. The day Hagrid had found him and told him he was a wizard, when he had felt something he had never felt before - hope. He knew then that the Dursleys had only acted as they had because they were afraid of him.
Afraid. Like he was now.
He still remembered the events of a year before as though they had happened this morning. The ropes that bound him to the headstone of Voldemort's father, preventing him from escaping the nightmare that still haunted his dreams. Voldemort's voice as he taunted Harry, telling him all the details of the events that had brought about his rebirth, only because he didn't think Harry would be alive much longer anyway.
He then recalled the panic he had felt a few months ago, when he was so sure Sirius was going to be murdered, his determination that no matter what, he would not allow that to happen. And the fear he had felt, not for himself, but for those with him when the Death Eaters told him it had all been a ruse to lure him to the Department of Mysteries. Guilt washed over him as he recalled how closely his friends had come to death, because of his stupidity.
Why did they not abandon him? They had all been hurt by the results of his actions that night. Why did they stay by his side, choose to continue being his friends when doing so put them in so much danger? He remembered Neville's screams as Bellatrix used the Cruciatus Curse on him. Harry had experienced that before, and he admitted to himself with no trace of shame that if he had the choice of abandoning somebody, or having the Curse cast on him, he would probably opt for the former. And yet Neville remained. Why?
Ron had also been through so much because of him. In accompanying Harry when he went after the Sorcerer's Stone, he had sacrificed himself in the chess game. He had almost lost a sister, when Ginny had been taken to the Chamber of Secrets, simply because Voldemort knew Harry would come after her. He had had his leg broken, when Sirius, lunging after Pettigrew, had dragged Ron away instead. If he and Ron had not been friends, then that would never have happened. He would never have gone with Harry to the Department of Mysteries, he would never have been attacked by those brains, would have been spared so much pain.
And then there was Hermione. If there was one person on this earth Harry owed his life to, it was her. She was the only one who had never abandoned him, although she had been given plenty of opportunities to do so. Ron had left him in fourth year, out of jealousy. Over their long association, Harry realized that she could have easily done the same many times. Instead, she not only stood by him, she had helped him learn the spell necessary to complete the first task, helped him research ways of underwater breathing for the second, helped him learn spells to protect himself for the third, and in so doing, kept him alive. She had sacrificed so much for him. Even as far back as first year, she had put her reputation on the line to get him and Ron out of trouble after they saved her from the troll. She had risked expulsion by stealing from Snape's office to make an illegal potion, to sneak into a different house so Harry and Ron could spy on the origins of a dangerous attacker, when she herself was in more danger than either of them. He remembered the look of surprise and pain on her face when she fell after Dolohov's curse hit her, not two months ago. He remembered how she had almost broken his ribs with the enthusiasm in her greeting last year when he had first arrived at Grimmauld.
How many times had her knowledge of magic saved his life? And how had he repaid her? By yelling at her, taking her for granted, almost getting her killed. Again, he felt the fear that came from believing she was dead, the strange feeling he had yet to identify as he tackled a troll to save her, when he had seen her lying petrified in the Hospital Wing. When she hugged him, when she kissed his cheek…
He didn't know what he felt for her, only that it was more than friendship. But love?
How should he know? He didn't even know what love was, so how could he know if he was in it or not? He had seen his aunt's soap operas, but he didn't think that what they showed was real love. He had also seen couples at Hogwarts, holding hands, kissing, happy in each other's company. Was that love, then, or was that just the motions of love? What was this emotion, described as the most powerful force on earth, that made people forget about their own safety, their own life, for the sake of someone else, this power that could outlast time, create the strongest of bonds. What was love?
He didn't want to die. He didn't want to be a murderer. He was afraid of what might happen to everyone close to him. He didn't want to push them away, because he was afraid of being alone. He had been alone before, for 11 years, and now that he knew what life could be like with people who cared about him, he had no desire to return to the lonely existence he had once led. Yet how could he not push them away, when staying with them might mean their deaths?
Sirius had died, and why? Because he cared about Harry. How many people cared for him now? A part of him suddenly wished he had never met Ron and Hermione, because they would be safe not knowing him. But the feeling vanished when he realized what it would have meant.
He lay on his bed as these thoughts chased themselves around his head, growing more confusing by the second.
He didn't want to die…Ron laughing at Neville's boggart…Hermione's hair close to his face…He didn't want to be a murderer…He didn't want to lose anyone else…What was it like to die?...Was Sirius happy, wherever he was?...How could he be so selfish as to not push people away?…Hermione falling…falling…
As he lay there on his bed considering all these things, he was surprised to feel warmth in his hand. Looking down, he saw a ball of light. As he watched it, it grew brighter, then dimmer, then brighter again, finally swirling in upon itself and forming a glass orb, with a bright light at its center.
He held the orb in his hands, sitting up straight. He looked into the light at the center. Some part of him wondered what this was, and how it had come to be there, but mostly he just wondered if it could help him with his current state of confusion. As he looked, the light grew brighter, and two dark shapes materialized within it. The shapes looked like the head and shoulders of two people, one with long wavy red hair, and the other with short unruly hair…black hair…
As the light grew brighter, and the features of the two people became clearer, Harry's eyes widened. A haunting melody of Phoenix song rose in his ears, louder and louder, until Harry couldn't hear his own thoughts. The song, and the sound of his own heartbeat blended together, until Harry could not tell which sound was which. Instead he stared at the people, who had finally become so clear there could be no mistaking them.
Harry closed his eyes, but he could still see them, could still hear the music of his heart and the Phoenix's song. They offered release, freedom from the pain and shame, the terror of his own uncertain fate, the confusion he had been trapped in for weeks.
Without a second thought, he accepted the offer.
Slowly, without making a sound, Harry, his eyes still closed, fell backward onto his pillow, his arm falling over the edge of the bed. The Glass slipped from his slack grip, and landed on the floor, where it shattered.
(AN: And, Cue dramatic, chilling music. Hee hee.)