Disclaimer: JKR still owns HP and everything related to it; no money is being made, etc etc.
Author's Note: My contribution to the growing number of post-HBP 7th year fics out there.
For Anne, Ebony, and the ever-brilliant and wonderful Lori-for making me realize that our ship cannot and will not sink- no matter what delusions about love JKR seems to have.
The title is a small (tiny, really) tribute to Lori, taken from one line from the latest chapter of HWTF.
From My Soul
Part 1
They were leaving the Burrow tomorrow.
It couldn't be too soon for him.
He was restless, much as he loved the Burrow and the Weasleys. He knew what he needed to do, had decided it weeks ago.
And besides, here at the Burrow, he was uncomfortable. Because she was here.
He couldn't help himself; he stared at her. She was avoiding his gaze, he knew, as she had been since he'd first arrived at the Burrow. He supposed he could hardly blame her.
But it hurt, somehow, that in the way she was smiling and talking and, well, flirting so determinedly with friends and neighbors who had come for Bill and Fleur's wedding, he could see that she was set on moving on.
He couldn't blame her; he'd ended things with her after all and he made for dangerous company. She was pretty and popular; no wonder she wanted to move on. He hadn't expected her to wait.
It just bothered him. It wasn't so much hurt-he wondered why he didn't feel hurt but somehow, he didn't even though he kept telling himself he should-as just being bothered. Bothered that she, who'd sounded so sincere when she'd said she didn't care about the danger she'd be in, had decided to move on so quickly without waiting more than the four and half weeks it had been since he'd ended things.
A small voice in his mind commented rather snidely that she'd waited just about the same time as their relationship had lasted, but he pushed the thought from his mind.
He couldn't blame her. He didn't blame her. He hadn't asked her to wait until later; he couldn't even think of a 'later'. He couldn't think of anything beyond the next few days, tomorrow and the day after that…
And even now, a month after everything had happened, thinking about their weeks together felt like remembering something that had happened years ago, to another person, in another time. That hadn't really been him…
But even so, that she'd found it so easy to move on bothered him.
He didn't even know what was really bothering him; he just knew he'd be glad, for once, to leave the Burrow.
They were leaving tomorrow.
He and Ron and Hermione.
There had been a minor scene with the Weasleys when Ron had mentioned this. Mrs. Weasley's first reaction had been to forbid it absolutely when Mr. Weasley had, though with a grave face that showed the effort it took, reminded her that Ron was of-age and therefore free to make his own choice.
Harry had stayed silent, watching, a reluctant, uncomfortable bystander. He knew that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley didn't blame him; they didn't begrudge his putting Ron in possible (probable) danger; they were only reacting as parents, wanting to protect as much as possible. But they cared for him too and they'd given in with as much grace as they could muster.
He'd been nearly mauled by Mrs. Weasley's final motherly hug as she told him, in a rather choked whisper, to be careful and take care of himself. He'd had to look away, blinking furiously, to keep back tears at the thought he couldn't help-that his own parents would have reacted this way too. They would have hated the thought of his going off alone but they had understood that he needed to do this, that he needed to go into the battle of his own volition…
He needed to do this. For his parents. For Sirius. For Dumbledore. For all the people whose lives had been affected, ruined, by Voldemort.
This was his choice, he'd told himself yet again, and he didn't regret it.
He slipped his hand into the pocket of his dress robes (he'd wondered on putting them on today if this would be the last time he wore them, probably was) and closed his fist around the fake Horcrux.
It hadn't left his pocket since that awful night, a silent reminder of his reasons, his mission-not that he needed it.
He hadn't thought much about the mysterious RAB; he hadn't had the time.
The Dursleys seemed to have made up their minds that if he was only going to be around for them to torment for the few weeks until his birthday, they'd make the most of it and had deliberately kept him busy- cleaning the house, cooking, watering the lawn, weeding the lawn, mowing the lawn and any other number of chores. And for once, he'd almost welcomed the mundane tasks; they kept his hands busy and served as something of a distraction from the thoughts which intruded whenever he was alone.
R.A.B.
He remembered what Hermione had said before, that the note sounded like someone who had known Voldemort.
The Dark Lord.
He stiffened, his fist clenching tighter around the locket, as he realized. Dark Lord… It had to have been a Death Eater, or a former Death Eater at least. No one else would have called Voldemort the Dark Lord; and who else would have known the Dark Lord well enough to guess that he'd make Horcruxes? He remembered what Dumbledore had said; that Riddle/Voldemort had never had friends, that not even his Death Eaters really knew him though they claimed to know him more than anyone else.
It had to be a Death Eater.
R.A.B.
The memory flooded into his mind with such clarity it might have been yesterday-and he wondered why it had never occurred to him before.
Except that it had been a random little detail which had been forgotten in the interest of other revelations, like Sirius being related to the Malfoys.
"My idiot brother… soft enough to believe them… he joined the Death Eaters… he was murdered by Voldemort. Or on Voldemort's orders, more likely; I doubt Regulus was ever important enough to be killed by Voldemort in person… he got in so far, then panicked about what he was being asked to do and tried to back out…"
Regulus Black. R.A.B.
It had to be.
And that meant…
His stomach dropped.
They had to go to Grimmauld Place.
The house he'd avoided thinking about, the house he wished he never needed to set foot in again.
"Harry."
Hermione's voice sounded close by and he started, not having noticed her approach from his preoccupation.
She sounded rather breathless as if she'd just made a discovery. Or as if she and Ron had just been snogging, he couldn't help but think, and wondered why his stomach seemed to twist oddly at the thought.
"I just thought of something," she said excitedly and, glancing at her, he knew it was a discovery. He recognized that look in her eyes from when she had an idea; he'd seen it so often from that moment in first year when she'd pointed out where she'd read the name, Nicholas Flamel.
"About the locket. R.A.B. It's--"
He said the name at the same time she did. "Regulus Black."
She stopped. "Oh, you know," she said, and the mixture of surprise, disappointment, deflating of excitement and an odd pleasure somehow struck him as being inexplicably funny.
He suddenly felt like laughing, real humor welling up inside him for the first time in weeks, and grinned. "I thought of it just now too."
Their eyes met and then she was smiling and he was smiling too until they both started to laugh.
What exactly they were laughing over, he didn't know. He just knew that it felt good to laugh like this. It felt good to share some real amusement with someone, with Hermione. And he suddenly wondered why it seemed like it'd been so long since he'd last talked to her. Which was ridiculous, of course; they'd seen each other only weeks ago. But somehow it did feel like it had been months since he'd talked to Hermione. Since he'd seen Hermione.
But whatever that rather preposterous feeling, it felt good to laugh.
Their laughter died down until they were only smiling at each other, before Hermione continued on, her voice once more serious, although her eyes still smiled. "But that's not it; I remembered something else. Harry, I think I know where the real Horcrux is."
He stiffened, the last remnants of amusement leaving him. "Where?"
"Remember those glass-fronted cabinets we had to empty out that one day? It was in there, that heavy locket, remember, that none of us could open. We just tossed it into the sack with the rest of the things; it's still there; it must be. No one would have moved the sack, I don't think, not when we put it up in that old, unused room by Buckbeak's room where we moved all the other stuff we cleaned out."
His chest tightened and he felt a rush of energy along with gratitude. She was right; it had to be that. He'd forgotten it, only vaguely remembered it even now but she was right; it had to be the real Horcrux.
They had to go back to Grimmauld Place but at least now they had a specific object in mind. They wouldn't have to stay in that bleak place too long.
He'd really begun now; he knew where to start his search for the real Horcrux.
Thank to Hermione.
"Thanks," he heard himself say.
She looked surprised. "For what?"
"For-" he made a vague gesture with one hand, "for thinking of it, for giving me a place to start looking. For- for just helping. Even here when you should be having fun, should be with Ron or something, for still thinking about this."
She flushed slightly at the mention of Ron but shook her head. "You don't have to thank me. Of course I'll help you, didn't I tell you I would?" A shadow crossed her expression as she added, her voice lowering slightly, "I didn't help you enough this last year. I- I should have believed you about Malfoy. I should have trusted you more. I'm sorry, Harry, so sorry for not trusting you. I- I should have helped you more…"
"No!" he said forcefully. "Don't say that; you did help me. You were right about how I shouldn't be so quick to trust the Half Blood Prince and you were right that it wasn't right for me to use his advice so blindly to do well in Potions. You were right in reminding me that I was spending more time obsessing over Malfoy instead of doing what Dumbledore told me to do and trying to find out about the Horcruxes from Slughorn. You were right about that."
He gave her a sheepish look. "We were both wrong about some things and both right about others so we're even."
She managed a small smile and putting her hand on his arm, gave it a quick, reassuring sort of squeeze. "We'll get it tomorrow, Harry. We'll find the rest of the Horcruxes too."
He nodded, his throat inexplicably tight at this simple gesture, and realized again just how incredibly glad he was to know that Ron and Hermione would be with him.
Hermione gave him a last smile and then left and he saw her stopping to talk to Luna.
"Wotcher, Harry."
He turned to smile at Tonks and Remus who had come up. "Hi, Tonks, Remus."
Remus studied him for a moment and then asked quietly, "How are you, Harry?"
His smile faltered a little but he answered quickly, "Fine. I'm fine."
Remus looked rather skeptical but didn't contradict him and then was silent for a moment before adding, with a small, half-sad smile, "He would be so proud of you, you know."
Harry swallowed hard, cutting his gaze away briefly. "How do you know?"
"I just do. We talked about you- last year. He was proud of you then, and he'd be proud of you now, I know it." Remus paused, blinking and then put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "You've done well, Harry."
Harry's stomach twisted a little. No, he hadn't-he'd caused Sirius' death; he'd trusted the Half-Blood Prince; he'd put off finding out about the Horcruxes-and he still didn't have the slightest idea where the last 2 Horcruxes were-or how to destroy them once he got them. "I- thanks," he finally said numbly.
Remus smiled slightly. "You have done well, Harry. No one could have done any better-and believe me, Sirius is proud of you. He always was."
"Thanks," Harry said again, more certainly this time.
Remus nodded and Tonks smiled and winked before they left hand-in-hand to join Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.
Harry's hand closed around the locket again. Sirius, Professor Dumbledore, I won't let you down. I promise…