Disclaimer: See Part 1.
Author's Note: Thank you, everyone, for reading and reviewing this story so far. I appreciate every single review-even if I don't get to reply to all of them.
And now, the chapter where some actual plot begins to happen.
From My Soul
Part 9
The next few weeks settled into a sort of quiet routine.
Hermione spent most of the days curled up over the books which she had gotten from the Restricted Section and she had made two trips back to Hogwarts to return a few books and take out more coming back from each trip with so many books Ron had asked her after the last trip whether she'd left any books in the library at all.
Harry and Ron spent the days practicing dueling and generally practicing magic. Harry had improved by leaps and bounds with his use of non-verbal spells and Ron had even managed to best Harry in a duel once. (Ron had been grinning and rather unmercifully triumphant for hours until Harry calmly proceeded to use the Levicorpus spell on him, silently, catching Ron by surprise. At which point Ron had stopped being quite so cocky although he had then challenged Harry to a game of wizarding chess and won easily which had somewhat soothed his ruffled ego.)
Morning was the time Hermione liked best in their day. Mornings when she had quiet breakfasts with Harry since Ron liked to take advantage of not having classes and not having his mother around to wake him up by sleeping in. Mornings when Harry would sometimes stumble into the kitchen in his pyjamas, sleep-flushed and still slightly bleary-eyed behind his glasses. Mornings when she could tell just by looking at him whether or not he'd had nightmares during the night and when she could try to comfort him. Mornings when he would greet her with the little smile she loved because it was the one he generally reserved for her. Mornings when she could talk or not talk as she pleased and didn't need to worry about what Ron might say.
Mornings when it was just her and Harry and she could forget about the rest of the world for those few minutes…
Harry and Ron, both as disguised as Hermione could make them with several layers of Appearance-Altering Charms (and both having been made to promise several times over not to do anything stupid or rash no matter what happened and under no circumstances to venture into Knockturn Alley), had gone into Diagon Alley and wandered around, spent several hours in the Leaky Cauldron hoping for some news that may not have made it into the Daily Prophet. They had been there, again in disguise, the last day before Hogwarts opened, and even seen Mrs. Weasley and Ginny from across Diagon Alley, shopping for Ginny's school supplies. Neither had gone up to speak with them, however, in order to preserve their disguises and Harry, for one, had been glad for the excuse. He did not want to talk to Ginny again, not after the last time he'd seen her at the Burrow the morning after Bill and Fleur's wedding.
They had wondered, feared, that Voldemort might take advantage of the few days before Hogwarts opened to stage an attack on Diagon Alley, days when he knew there would be more children around than usual-but oddly, thankfully, the days passed without incident.
September 1 and the new school year began.
Harry spent the day glancing at Hermione as if for signs that she regretted her decision not to return, as if she regretted resigning her Head Girl-ship. He couldn't see any, though, although she was the one to mention it that morning over breakfast, calmly and with no other intonations that he could detect in her tone.
The very quiet-ness of it, the routine which they had established, had just begun to lull them into a sort of tranquility-interspersed with moments of frustration at still not being able to find any more information on destroying the horcrux or where Hufflepuff's cup might be-when the deceptive peace exploded in their faces.
The day began normally. Ron was still sleeping, Hermione sipping her morning tea with Harry drinking pumpkin juice, not talking but enjoying the quiet camaraderie.
And then the Daily Prophet arrived, being dropped, as it usually was, into the chimney for the kitchen fireplace and shooting out with magical precision to land on the table.
Harry picked it up, scanning it, as he went to refill his glass when he saw the article.
Ministry of Magic Employee Forced to Kill His Wife With Son Watching
Last night, three Death Eaters broke into the house of Ministry of Magic employee, Philip Musgrave, placed him under the Imperius Curse and then forced him to kill his Muggle-born wife, while their 8 year old son watched. Mr. Musgrave was murdered immediately after he had been forced to strangle his wife. Their son, David, was left alive and found babbling and traumatized by Ministry officials.
Unfortunately, while the terrorized ramblings of young David Musgrave revealed to the Ministry what had occurred, his information could not help identify the Death Eaters as they were all masked and hooded.
Mr. Musgrave, who finished Hogwarts in 1980, worked in the Ministry's Department of Magical Catastrophes as an Obliviator and was thought to have a bright future in the Ministry. His wife, Lucy, who was Muggle-born, finished Hogwarts in the same year as Mr. Musgrave and married him the following year.
This latest attack is the most brutal and marks a cold-blooded protest against the marriage of pure-bloods with Muggle-borns…
The article continued but Harry didn't read it, couldn't read anymore, shock, horror and fury welling up inside him until he wasn't aware of anything else. There seemed to be a sort of buzzing in his ears, a shade over his eyes.
He was very vaguely aware that Hermione had gotten up and was saying his name, asking what was wrong, in a tone of growing concern.
He clenched one fist around the Daily Prophet, hearing it crumple and then tear as if from very far away and then he found he simply had to move, to stand up, to walk around, do something in a futile attempt to calm himself.
He made it all the way out into the front hall before something inside him snapped. He could picture a little boy having to watch as his father killed his mother before his eyes and then was murdered. He could see the flash of green light and the man dropping down beside the body of the wife he had been forced to murder.
This was the sort of sick atrocity which Voldemort and his followers were capable of, gloried in-and he was still nowhere closer to knowing how to destroy the remaining horcruxes than he had been weeks ago.
"Damn it!" His voice had risen to a shout of mingled fury and a sick revulsion at the brutality of it and without even meaning to but somehow needing to release the tidal wave of anger he could feel growing inside him, he blindly hurled the forgotten glass in his hand.
And then it all seemed to happen at once.
The glass smashed into the curtain-covered portrait of Mrs. Black. The curtain flew open and the Spello-tape which had been covering her mouth was torn off, perhaps by the impact of the glass hitting it.
Hermione, who had followed him out, pale from having read the same article from the ripped Daily Prophet which he'd dropped, cried out in surprise at his outburst, drawing Mrs. Black's attention.
Ron stumbled out of his door still in his pyjamas, wand in hand, as if he feared they were under attack.
"Filth! Half-breeds! How dare you set foot inside this house and contaminate it, you low, unworthy little fiends!" Mrs. Black was shrieking at the top of her lungs. She turned her wild-eyed glare on Hermione. "Worthless Mud-blood whore! Living with two boys like the disgraceful piece of tra--"
"Shut up!" Harry's roar drowned out both Ron's cry of indignation and Hermione's gasp and so surprised Mrs. Black with the sheer volume of it that she did, for a moment, stop her screaming.
"Shut your bloody mouth, you evil woman! Hermione's worth more than one million of you; you're not fit to touch her shoe!" Harry's voice rose on every word, filled with so much fury he couldn't see straight and felt rather dizzy.
He felt a surge of rage, power seeming to bubble up from some hitherto-unknown place deep inside him. His horror over what had happened to the Musgraves mingling with, swallowed by his even greater wrath at Mrs. Black's mad shrieking. That she-that anyone-would even dare to think such things about Hermione, call her Mudblood as if she was something less than them, say such things about her… That people would hurt her, kill her, because she hadn't been born to magical parents…
He could hardly breathe, couldn't think except for the violence rising inside him. He just needed to hurt her, the evil, foul-mouthed old hag, make it so she could never say something about Hermione again…
With no clear thought or plan, he found himself raising his hand in a slashing motion almost as if he wanted to slap the old woman, feeling an odd surge of something go through him, shaking him.
For a split second, nothing seemed to have happened but then the portrait of Mrs. Black, frame and all, cracked, split straight across, slicing Mrs. Black at a diagonal across her chest and her neck, cutting off her last shriek and killing the portrait instantly.
And then, both pieces of the portrait fell from the wall to the floor with a resounding crash, achieving what none of them had ever been able to do before, even with all their efforts.
He lowered his hand, his fist clenching, a muscle working in his jaw, his heart pounding as if he had just run a marathon, staring at the destruction he had wrought.
Oh God…
Shocked silence ensued.
To be finally broken by Ron. "That was bloody brilliant!" Ron breathed.
"Ron!" Hermione shot him a look of irritation.
"That was the best piece of silent magic you've done!" Ron continued, ignoring Hermione as if she hadn't spoken.
"That wasn't silent magic," Hermione corrected him quietly, staring at Harry who hadn't moved and was still looking at the pieces of Mrs. Black's portrait. "That was wandless magic."
"Wandless-you mean he lost control like when he blew up his aunt?"
"No," Harry finally spoke up, his voice sounding odd and speaking slowly as if he were still trying to wrap his own mind around it. "This was different. I- I meant to do it, wanted to do it and somehow, I did it."
There was another silence.
Harry broke it when he said still in the same odd, detached tone, "My wand is in the kitchen. I don't-I just…"
Hermione pulled herself together, going back into the kitchen to get her own wand and clearing up the mess from the broken portrait with a few quick flicks of her wand, before she went over to Harry who still hadn't moved.
"Harry," she said quietly.
He blinked, the strange expression in his eyes leaving as he finally looked at her. "I'm sorry," he blurted out, "for what that hag said."
Hermione flushed slightly, color returning to her face over-riding her lingering pallor. "It doesn't matter. It's only words, the lies of a crazy old woman."
"It does matter. You shouldn't have to hear-you don't deserve to be called names."
"It's okay, Harry. She didn't hurt me." She paused and then added softly, "But thank you for defending me."
His expression softened a little, his features no longer so stiff and oddly life-less.
She put a hand on his arm and he followed her back into the kitchen, sitting down with a sigh.
Ron joined them a minute later, having changed out of his pyjamas and into jeans and a t-shirt.
"What happened there, Harry?" he asked as he sat down, for once not attacking his breakfast as he usually did.
"I- I don't really know. I was just so- angry- and I wanted to do something, stop her ranting and somehow I felt I could do it. It wasn't even thinking about it; I wasn't thinking; I just did it-and it worked."
"But wandless magic-Harry, that's…"
"I know."
"What spell did you use? We tried so much and nothing worked."
"I used Snape's Sectumsempra curse," Harry answered flatly, his voice hard when he pronounced Snape's name, a shadow crossing his face.
Ron nodded but didn't say anything. The mention of Snape-and the glancing reference to the Half-Blood Prince's book which had caused so many problems last year-sobering him and effectively quenching his curiosity to find out any more.
"I'm going to go see what I can find out about wandless magic," Hermione said. "Harry, you- you look kind of tired. You might want to rest for a little while." She spoke gently, concern in her eyes.
"Yeah, I think I will," Harry responded, standing up and picking up his wand from where it was on the table, pausing for a moment to stare strangely at his wand before he seemed to mentally shake himself.
"What do you reckon just happened?" Ron finally asked after Harry left.
"I'm not sure but I think we've just found out at least part of the power Harry has."
"Do you think he's going to be able to just do wandless magic all the time now?"
"No," Hermione said slowly, frowning at her empty mug. "I think it worked now because of the strength of his emotions, even if he managed to control it. I don't-I need to do more research."
"What happened to set him off?"
"Read the Daily Prophet," she told him as she too left the kitchen.
~*~
Neither Hermione nor Ron saw Harry for the rest of the day.
He had retreated to one of the unused rooms upstairs and didn't come down for lunch or dinner either.
Hermione sighed and hesitated before knocking on the door.
"Come in, Hermione."
She opened the door with one hand, balancing the plate of food she had brought up for him on the other.
"I thought you'd be hungry," she said by way of greeting as she sat down beside him.
He was sitting on the floor, his back against the wall. The room looked as if a whirlwind had ripped through it; there were scattered pieces of torn paper over the floor and even a broken chair. She frowned to herself. Had Harry done that?
"How did you know it was me?"
He paused in his desultory picking at the food, blinking. "I- er- don't know; I just did."
She studied him in silence.
He looked his usual self again; the odd look and expression he had had that morning had disappeared.
"Are you okay?" she finally asked softly.
He looked at her for a moment, thoughtfully, and then blurted out, "I don't think Nagini's the last horcrux."
She blinked at this seeming non-sequitur. "What?"
"I don't think it's Nagini," he repeated.
"Then what is it?" she asked hesitantly, something about his expression giving her pause, making her think she wasn't going to like his answer.
She was right. She didn't.
"I think it's me."
She caught her breath at his blunt statement. "Harry, you- it--" she faltered, not sure what she could say, how to respond. All she knew was the immediate, instinctive rush of denial she felt. No, it can't be. She knew she didn't know that much about horcruxes, didn't understand much about them but somehow she could not believe that Harry had a piece of Voldemort's scar inside him.
"It's me-or my scar, but me. I- I don't think he meant to do it; it may have been an accidental sort of thing, a mistake, an unintended consequence from that night he killed my parents and tried to kill me the first time. I think he was planning to use my death to make that last one but that didn't work and instead of killing me, my mother's sacrifice somehow turned it around and made me one."
She flinched in spite of her resolution not to react, at the bitterness in his voice. "Harry, I- how can you know that?"
He pushed himself to his feet, pacing the room restlessly. "I don't know it-not for sure. It's just-it makes sense, don't you see? It's not like there's some 'Ten ways to know you're a horcrux' or 'Ten ways to know if you've got a piece of Voldemort's soul in you' list out there for me to check the symptoms!" His voice had risen with every word as she stood up as well.
She had thought Harry was himself again, but she'd been wrong. He wasn't… And suddenly she was terribly unsure of herself, unsure of what to say, how to react to Harry's new belief. She only knew she could not believe it was true.
"Symptoms of what?"
They both started and turned to stare at Ron standing in the doorway. And Hermione realized she'd left the door ajar when she'd entered. Not that it mattered. Ron needed to be here for this too, was just as much a part of it as she was.
"Symptoms of being a horcrux," Harry answered.
Ron visibly swallowed. "You-you think you're-you've got a bit of You-Know-Who's soul in you?" The horror in his expression and his tone was unmistakable and Harry's expression hardened slightly.
"What other reason is there? I'm a Parselmouth; Voldemort and I can get into each other's heads; I have all this extra power I shouldn't have if I were normal. And Snape said Voldemort wants me alive. All this just adds up to one thing: I'm the last horcrux."
Silence greeted Harry's conclusion as Ron stared at Harry with shock, doubt, and apprehension chasing their way across his face.
"I think you're wrong." Hermione faced Harry bravely, refusing to let herself react to the anger in his expression.
"You're making too much of this, Harry. It's-it's not always about you." She nearly stopped there at the blast of hurt anger from the look Harry gave her but she went on, though her voice trembled slightly in spite of herself. "I don't believe it. I can't believe it. I- it just doesn't make sense! Harry, why would Voldemort have tried to kill you so many times if you've got part of his soul inside him that he wants to protect?"
"He didn't mean to turn me into a horcrux; it was an accident! He only just figured it out-and that's why Snape said at the end of last year that Voldemort wanted me alive."
"It couldn't just be because Voldemort hates you so much he wants the privilege of killing you himself?"
She winced inwardly at how harsh that question had sounded and heard Ron suck in his breath sharply.
Harry had gone white-although she wasn't sure whether it was from hurt or anger.
And even though she almost hated herself for saying something she knew would hurt him, she had to. Anything was better than having Harry think he was the last horcrux and would need to die to finally defeat Voldemort for good. She refused to believe that Harry's death would be necessary. "Think about it; from the moment Voldemort found out about you, he's been obsessed with getting to you. He wants to kill you and he's been waiting to do it for years now; why would he pass on that pleasure to one of his minions? He wants to prove the Prophecy wrong and the best way to do that is to end it by killing you himself, turn the Prophecy on its head. It's not that he wants you alive because you've got a piece of his soul in you; he wants you alive so he can kill you himself! It'll be his ultimate triumph."
Another silence fell, Ron staring at her as if she'd grown a second head and Harry looking anywhere but at her.
She watched Harry, holding her breath, hoping he would understand, hoping he would accept her point and hoping, so much, that he wouldn't be angry at her for saying what she had.
He finally looked at her and she caught her breath at the look in his eyes. He wasn't angry at her; he did understand…
"You really think so? You really think I'm not a horcrux?" There was tremulous hope in his tone and in his eyes.
"Yes," she answered simply. She managed a faltering smile, joking feebly, "So don't get too excited about getting to off yourself for the common good."
Harry gave her the ghost of a smile.
Ron laughed out-loud, lightening the atmosphere in the room immeasurably. "Geez, Hermione," he told her with a grin, "if that's the sort of nice thing you say to your best friend, remind me never to make an enemy of you."
They all chuckled.
She glanced at Harry, their eyes meeting and in his eyes, she saw a silent thank you.
She smiled at him and knew that things were going to be okay between them.