Author's Notes:
Very Interesting. I see why so many other stories on this site have begging for more reviews, though. A thousand hits and 11 reviews on the prologue. I don't suppose we can up that to 1 in 50 on this chapter, can we? Thanks. *grin*
Those of you who did review (you know who you are), thanks. As for this being a dark story, certainly at the beginning. As for the grammar, its written the way it is because that's how I write. Any implication it gives is specific and intentional.
As for the confusion of the prologue, this chapter should clear it up some. And just so you know, I've got everything through Chapter Nine finished currently, but, of course, I have managed to dislocate my shoulder, which means I can't exactly type quickly. So I'll post each chapter a couple days apart. Hopefully I can type again by that time.
Chapter One: Summer Memories
Two final ingredients. That was all his potion needed now. Snape… Snape would have been pleased, ironically enough. Everything the man had ever taught Harry, the knowledge Harry had despised merely because of its source, had come into play for what would be the greatest triumph of the career of a great man.
An unknown triumph. The potion was designed that way. If it worked, he would have no more than a lunar month with his memories of the future, before he became the child of the past once more. Which meant, of course, that he had to pick a critical time in the past, one that would change everything.
He let his gaze drift from the bubbling potion on the desk, across the picture frame which held a picture of his reason for doing this. Even now, the sight of her was enough to catch his breath. His eyes kept moving, and finally settled on the third of four objects on the desk.
It had been one of the few things to survive the devastation. Without the Army, or the Order, and especially, without Dumbledore, Hogwarts had never stood a chance. The few teachers had saved what they could. Five people had not yet been dead when he had arrived.
But for all his power, Harry Potter was helpless before Death. From the attack on the school, no one on the side of good, of light, survived. Now, of course, no one from the other side survived either.
But this had remained. Dumbledore's Pensive. There were no thoughts or memories swirling in it now, the death of the physical body having drained them all away years before. But now, picking up his wand from the desk, he drew out a memory, then another, then another, and more. They swirled faster and faster…
He had let the magic guide him. He was unsure of the memories he had chosen, except the last one, which he always remembered on nights like this one, rain and lightning shattering the heavens.
Harry gazed into the pensive, knowing he would find the right memory among the ones that were there, knowing the magic he had relied on would guide him true one last time.
* * * * *
Harry lay on his bed in Number Four, Privet Drive, facedown, in a pillow soaked with tears. He had been home four nights now, and he had not slept any of them through. Words, sights, sounds, feelings, all echoing inside his head, all tearing aware at the fragile brace of sanity he had left.
Four hours of sleep in four nights. The Order must be worried sick about him, of course. He knew his last letter to them had been incoherent enough they would probably think him completely mad.
The images were the worst, of course. The purple curse light striking Hermione down. Ron, struggling futilely against the brain and its trailing thoughts. Sirius, in shock, the red glow of the stunner fading as he toppled backwards through the veil.
Then the terrible words. "And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…" The complete and total responsibility for his entire world.
He had failed Sirius. How could he protect an entire world? How could he protect Hermione? And Ron, of course.
Seeing them, in the hospital wing, so broken and battered, he had nearly died on the spot. A cruel twist of fate, of course, that he could not have died there if he had wanted to. If Harry were to die before Voldemort, it would have to be by the Dark Lord's hand.
He had no family. Sirius had been family. Dumbledore too remote, Hagrid too… Hagrid.
There were the Weasleys, but they… he was close, but it was always so different with them. They treated him, for the most part, as Harry. But even still, even with Ron, there was always Harry Potter, The Boy-Who-Lived, lurking under the surface.
Which left… Hermione.
Yes, Hermione.
Even watching Ron attacked by the brain, or his other friends being tortured and injured by the Death Eaters, even the pain as Voldemort had possessed him, to force Dumbledore to kill him, all that paled in comparison to the pain he had felt when he had stood in the hospital wing.
Her breathing was even, though very slow, and extremely shallow. He knew she was still alive by the slight pull on her thin garment as her breasts rose and fell with each breath. Ron, just as injured, nearly, had been unconscious in the next bed, but for five minutes after entering the hospital wing, following his talk with Dumbledore, he could do nothing but stare at Hermione, her face pale with her near death experience, drained of the life, the passion about learning and helping that made her who she was.
Nearly a corpse.
When at last his gaze moved on to Ron, Harry had had an easier time of it, imagining what it would be like if…
He had lost them. Either of them. But it was easier with Ron, Harry recalled of his thoughts at the time.
And truthfully, the thought of Ron going and not Hermione, was easier still to him. Hermione, some part of him whispered, would be as hard, if not harder, to lose than Sirius had been.
Because he loved her.
The memory ended. Another began.
* * * * *
He still could not tell Ron and Hermione what the prophecy had said. It was too hard for him to even think about it. Two weeks he had been back at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, but yet, even they could not break him out of his funk.
He felt like he no longer wanted to be close to them, because…
They would try to protect him, to help him. They would try this when he lost.
Not 'if' he lost, but when. When he really considered it, all the times he had beaten Voldemort before had been luck. His mother had saved him three times. Dumbledore had saved him once, and only Fawkes had prevented him from dying in the Chamber of Secrets
What chance would Harry Potter have, alone?
Clattering had interrupted him, and Ron had come into the bedroom then, looking slightly put out and scared. "Can I hide from Hermione in here?"
Harry had forced a chuckle. "What did you do this time?"
"I don't know."
Harry had pointed to the floor. "Under the bed."
Diving, Ron had hid from Hermione just in time as she stormed into the room, her hair billowing behind her, a huge cloud of brown curls.
Much larger than the day before. Ron's doing, no doubt. Probably even an accident, but Ron would have laughed, and then…
Harry could see the results standing in front of him. Cheeks flushed, eyes snapping, hair wild and attractive…
Beautiful. Apparently, Hermione saw his lips move just as she finished asking her question, which Harry missed completely, so stunning did she look encased in her annoyance. She repeated the question, which Harry heard this time.
"Is Ron hiding somewhere in here?"
"No."
She took him at his word, and left, departed, looking elsewhere in the large house for Ron, who, after a moment, slid gratefully out from under the bed.
"Thanks, mat…"
Harry cut Ron off, his decision made the night before. It had to be done for all concerned, his thoughts this morning only echoing his choice in his head, mocking him. "We need to talk. About Hermione."
Ron had looked at him, still sitting on the bed, his eyes widening slightly, then flopped onto the foot of the bed, his eyes focusing on Harry as he sat there. "What's going on?"
Breathing out slowly, he had taken his time answering. "I know you really like her, Ron. Tell her that."
Ron had looked horrified. "You've got to be kidding."
When Harry had shaken his head, he watched the thoughts flicker behind Ron's eyes. No, it was not a setup so Harry could pick her up on the rebound. He was not that devious, and Ron could not believe he would do that to his best friend. Other thoughts occurred too, obvious to Harry as he watched Ron's mouth hanging open. Eventually Ron asked the question Harry had to lie about. "Why?"
Fortunately, Harry had foreseen this and was ready with an answer. "Because the two of you are driving me crazy. Ask her out and see what happens. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised."
Ron looked at Harry for a second more, then a grin spread across his features. "Did she put you up to this? It's a joke, right, so she can get a good laugh?"
Harry was forced to shake his head again. "No, Ron, this is your best friend telling you something that will be good for both of you, in his humble opinion."
Ron bit his lower lip. "What about you, mate? I know you feel nearly the same as I do about her. I was gonna let you go first." He grinned sheepishly. "And see what happened, so I didn't make the same mistakes."
Harry chuckled at that, but again, his plan had already provided him an answer for this as well. "Ron, remember the Mirror, first year? How it showed you surpassing your brothers in everything as your deepest desire?" At Ron's nod, Harry had continued. "I'd like to think of you as my brother, Ron." Ron's eyes had suddenly got shiny at that. Neither of them had voiced it before, though they had both thought it. "Step out of my shadow, like you want to with all your brothers."
Ron had stared at him, surprise evident on his face, relief plastered there too. He was definitely choked up. "I… I… Thanks, Harry."
Harry had smiled, then his face grew deathly serious for a second. "Don't even think about hurting her, though."
Red hair shifting everywhere, Ron had shaken his head, believing the threat in Harry's eyes. Which was real, to a small extent. "Absolutely not, mate."
"Good." Then he grinned, to show he had been joking. Mostly.
Ron stood up, grinning back. "I think I'd probably better go find her and apologize."
"What exactly did you do?"
Ron had grinned even more. "Not telling, or she'll think you were in on it. I'll pay for this one on my own."
Harry's eyes had widened. "Must have been bad."
Ron nodded. "Yeah. And after… this, well, think of it as beginning to repay you." He had slipped out the door after checking to make sure Hermione was not standing right outside.
Then he closed the door on the hardest conversation Harry had ever had with his best friend, his brother in all but blood. It would keep Ron and Hermione safe when he died, he hoped. Except…
Well, maybe they would live a little longer. And Ron would protect her better than one cursed with Harry's fate.