A/N: This is different from the first time I posted the chapter. The incident I had with Harry killing Dolohov is uncharacteristic of the character I have in this story, and so I got rid of it. It's one thing for Harry to have murderous feelings, and it's another for him to act on them without provocation. So this is a new version of this chapter, the changes taking place from the dream to the end.
Chapter Six
Torn
It felt like ages since the last time he had seen Luna or Neville, seemed too long since the last time he had seen Fred, George, and Ginny, but there they were, gathered in the kitchen of Twelve Grimmauld Place. It felt strangely like fifth year for a moment, and Harry had to remind himself that Sirius was not here this time, nor would he ever be here again - it was one thing he was finding too hard to let go of. Gathered around what used to be a group of children, now becoming adults, were Remus, Tonks, Shacklebolt, Moody, and Mr. Weasley. At eighteen, Harry felt so much older and wished he were so much younger, if only for the opportunity to have had a childhood rather than have the memories of being locked in a cupboard under the stairs, or memories of all the times he came so close to Voldemort, or the people killed by or because of him. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to remind himself that what was in the past was done and couldn't be changed no matter how badly he or anyone else wanted it to be.
"Harry?" The touch of a warm hand on his and a soft, concerned voice brought his mind back to where it ought to be. He looked at Hermione. "All right?"
"I'm ok," he answered, nodding once. He looked at everyone around him, stopping at Luna. "I never said thank you," he said to her, "you did wonders for my leg." he said to her. She'd healed it almost completely, leaving a slight limp the only visible sign that anything had been wrong.
"It was my pleasure, Harry," she replied in her usual misty voice. "Although, I would advise you to be more careful in future practice endeavors."
"I will," he said smiling slightly. He looked around at all of them again. "I know this isn't how we all wanted to see each other again," he said "and I'm sorry that it has to be like this. But we know why we're here; we all know that this day was inevitable." Hermione sat close by watching Harry with something akin to reverence; he had changed, yes, and now she was seeing just how much. He was holding himself and his affairs with a responsibility she wasn't used to seeing; in their school years she didn't view him as irresponsible, but this air around him now was different. She was seeing the difference in Harry's boyhood, and Harry's impending manhood. It was almost strange to her to see him this way, to see him in such an adult light. She covered his hand with hers, squeezing momentarily, reassuringly. He squeezed back almost imperceptibly. "Voldemort has been back, and he's not going away until he kills me, or until I kill him. At one point, I thought I could do it alone, but I realize now that I can't. I need you to help me."
"Don't worry, Harry," George said seriously.
"We'll help whatever way we can to bring the slimy bastard down," Fred finished for him.
"It's different now," Harry said quietly, and his gaze shifted down to his lap. "Without Dumbledore… it's just different. It's going to be harder. I don't know how to beat him, not at this moment, but I'm trying to learn."
"You'll do fine, Harry," Ginny said, speaking for the first time since she'd arrived. He looked up at her and saw that she held nothing against him; he could see in her eyes that she was ok - they were ok. "If there is one thing we all know, Harry, it's that you can do this - with or without Professor Dumbledore. He knew you could do it before he…was gone, and I'm sure he still knows it." He nodded once in acknowledgment and thanks.
"It's getting late," Remus broke in quietly. "I'm sure you're all tired, so maybe," he looked at Harry, "we could continue this tomorrow?" Harry wanted to just get it over with, but he just didn't have the mind to talk to them all, to explain everything in intricate detail - it was late, and there was tomorrow (this time there was tomorrow, because there was no guarantee for him how many tomorrows there might be left).
"Yeah," Harry replied. "You're all welcome to stay if you like, there are plenty of rooms."
Harry found himself sitting on the edge of his bed, staring down at his hands. He didn't think it would be as hard as it had been to talk about Dumbledore to everyone. There were so many mixed emotions in talking about him, he didn't know which way he should feel; there were the good memories, the memories of twinkling eyes and half-moon spectacles, a soft voice and a strong-point. And there were still the memories he would rather forget; his blackened hand, the way things happened in the cave as he drank the green potion and how helpless and guilty Harry felt, and then there was the last memory, the one outside Hogwarts with Snape and Draco Malfoy and Severus, please… His jaw tightened and he closed his eyes, dropping his head in his hands.
"Harry?" He thought it was almost funny how well he was learning Hermione's voice, how well he was learning what the different pitches and inflections meant when she spoke. He looked up at her. "I saw that… well, that you were…uncomfortable, talking about Professor Dumbledore earlier and -"
"I wasn't uncomfortable," he said quietly, sitting up a little more. He looked away from her for a moment, and then back, catching her gaze and holding it despite the urge to turn away. "It just… really hurt, Hermione." She could see it in his eyes. She closed his door quietly, making her way over to him, and sat beside him, urging him silently to go on, but he said nothing.
"It's alright," she said quietly. "You can tell me, Harry."
"It hurts so much, Hermione…" he whispered. "He should have had more time - I know he lived a full life, I know, I do, but… I wanted more time with him. He was… he taught me so much, and I feel like I still have so much left to learn but…" he looked at her, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears "how do I learn it now that he's gone?"
"I loved him, too, Harry," she whispered. "He was more than just our Professor to all of us." She felt her own tears slide down her cheeks as she watched him swallow hard and nod.
"It's not fair, Hermione," he said. "He shouldn't have… it shouldn't have happened that way." He turned to look at her and she wrapped her arms around him without warning, and it was almost strange how he knew she would before she did. It felt good - her arms around him, her comfort. They held tight to each other.
"I know," she whispered, feeling her tears drip off of her chin and onto Harry's shoulder. They seemed to stay that way for some time until they finally pulled apart and she wiped her tears. "It's really late," she said quietly. "I should get to bed."
"Hermione?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you," he said quietly. "I reckon it's better for me to get this out than to hold it all in - I've learned, while I was away, that when I hold things back and bottle it all up… when it comes out it's a little more than a tantrum."
"What do you mean?" she asked, her brow creasing. It occurred to him he ought to save the explanation for another time, and shook his head slightly.
"Never mind," he said. "I'll explain it some other time; it's really not that important."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure," he replied. "Goodnight, Hermione."
"Goodnight, Harry." His door closed quietly, shutting out the thin line of light from the hallway.
He knew what it felt like to think of his parents and realize he never had the chance to know them, because they died for him before he could even remember their faces without aid of a picture. He knew what it felt like to gain Sirius, and feel like he finally had someone - family - and he might have a chance at some real happiness, and then he knew too soon what it was like to lose him. He knew what it was like to have Professor Lupin, their best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and have him resign because of thing out of his control. He knew what it felt like to be close to Albus Dumbledore, to get to know him on a personal level; he knew what it was like to spend time with him, to learn from him, and he knew what it was like, what it felt like to lose him, to watch him die. He wouldn't let anything happen to anyone he loved - never again.
His breath was coming out in white puffs, his glasses dotted with raindrops; it was raining so hard he could barely hear anything above the roar of it. He ignored thunder, ignored lightning. He knew there were three, only three this time. Bellatrix was to his right. Someone masked, he couldn't see the face, was to his left. Antonin Dolohov was in front of him. He was aware of something warm running down his arm and dripping off his fingers. He was acutely aware of Hermione clutching his arm, hearing the sounds of her trying to hold back tears - Ron was lying on the ground next to them, unmoving.
Harry could feel his blood pulsing in his temples and he could feel a dull rage growing - starting from his gut and progressing everywhere. It was getting hard to hear over the roar of blood pounding in his ears. Images of his mother, his father; images of Sirius and Professor Dumbledore… He remembered the Department of Mysteries and how Tonks could have been killed, Hermione, Ron, Luna, Neville…They all could have been killed. He was tired of watching them hurt the people he cared about. And he felt it, white hot and exploding all over his body. The Death Eater to his left was on the ground, crawling away; Bellatrix was clutching at her side, blood running over her fingers as she retreated and Dolohov was moving quickly to her side.. Everything from there was a blur. He had his wand, he remembered shouting something but he couldn't remember the words or hear himself say them; he remembered dropping his wand and then dropping to his knees. He could hear Hermione crying. He couldn't do this again, he couldn't lose another person - not like this… He heard himself telling Ron to wake-up. When he touched him, shaking him gently, he didn't move. He noticed his eyes and he remembered Cedric, the blank stare. His chest grew tighter.
"Ron, wake-up," he said. "Please…"
"Harry," Hermione said, kneeling down beside him. They were soaked through their clothes. "He's gone," she cried quietly and he was barely able to hear her over the rain.
Harry opened his eyes, finding nothing but dark, and it took several minutes before his eyes could adjust properly; without his glasses everything remained blurred. His tee-shirt was stuck to his chest, wet through with sweat. His heart was racing, and his lungs ached from breathing so hard. He tried to clear the image from his head. Just forget. He had to forget. He couldn't let this haunt him. He sat up, trembling violently. Images of Ron dead flashed in his mind. It was his fault because Ron was there to help him - I killed him. He felt the bile rising in the back of his throat and scrambled out of bed as quickly as he could, trying to be as quiet as he could. He made it to the bathroom just in time to lift the toilet seat. He heaved and vomited, willing himself to let the images go, to let the memory of it go. He vomited almost violently, his entire body trembling, and when it was over he rinsed his mouth and washed his face with trembling hands. He looked at himself in the mirror. He'd had dreams like this before, while he was away, and each time they seemed to happen in exact detail. He shook his head, fighting the urge to throw up again. He didn't care who he had to kill to ensure the safety of his best friends - he'd kill whoever tried to get to them, anyone who tried to hurt them. He'd lost enough and he was sick of losing people, he was sick of the hollowness of grief. He wasn't going to let anyone come close to Hermione or Ron. He wasn't going to be the cause of death for another person he loved ever again. He shut off the light and left the bathroom. Ron was not going to die.
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