The Battle for Everything

midnight pain

Rating: PG13
Genres: Angst, Drama
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 05/10/2005
Last Updated: 01/12/2005
Status: paused

Sometimes the battle for everything is worth so much more than you have to give.

Chapters

1. Prologue: Home

2. Chapter One: Healing Charms and Phoenixes

3. Chapter Two: The Path of Thorns

4. Chapter Three: The World We Love

5. Chapter Four: Lost

6. Chapter Five: Burnout

7. Chapter Six: Torn

1. Prologue: Home

Prologue:

Home

It was strange how years could feel like eternity, strange how when someone you love is gone for so long the nights seem ominous and too much colder. It wasn't the least bit strange how the hurt of his sudden leave-taking affected everyone that loved him, how it made the days so much harder to get through (and not one went by when they didn't think of him). All of this ran through her mind as she lay there in bed unable to sleep again, staring out the window and thinking like always. She looked at the young man asleep beside her, thanking everything and anything she could think of that she still had him. She reached out and touched his mess of red hair, smiling a little at the way his limbs stuck out from the blankets; some thought a long time ago that their relationship was bound to be something beyond friendship, but it never was. He had remained her best friend for years now, and they never so much as shared more than a friendly hug or a friendly peck; when she had the worst times sleeping he offered to let her stay with her, as any best friend would. She sat up and leaned over, kissing his forehead softly as he slept. She carefully slid out from under the sheets and moved to the window, wearing a white cotton shirt with the buttons down the front (it used to be Harry's). She opened the window, feeling the breeze immediately as it blew the sheer curtain and her long, curly hair. It was unseasonably cold out, but then again, it always felt too unpleasantly cold since he went away.

The two of them never expected it, never saw it coming (honestly, no one did). They knew he was distraught and distracted, maybe even a little obsessed, but they never thought he'd go and leave them the way he had. The two of them felt like they had lost more than a best friend; they felt they had lost a brother (they both loved him as such, and maybe she loved him as more). She cried. He cried. They worried and ached and worried more. They wondered every single day that went by if he was ok, if he was even alive. They heard nothing from him, but never stopped hoping for one minute there might be an owl one day with a piece of parchment with his handwriting scrawled across it. But the hoped-for-owl never came; there was neither parchment, nor handwriting they were longing to see. They didn't know where he was or if he was ever coming back. They just knew that he was gone (and they knew that it hurt, hurt so deeply).

“Hermione?” She turned to see Ron walking towards her, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “What are you doing?”

“I was just…” she looked out the window again, fighting tears she thought would have stopped coming by now. “I was just thinking,” she said softly. He stood beside her now, a hand on her shoulder.

“About Harry?” he asked quietly. She looked up at him with tears in her eyes and nodded. He smoothed her hair and put his arms around her, letting her rest her head against his chest. “I know,” he said quietly. “I always think about him.” She sniffed and lifted her head, wiping her tears and looking out the window again.

“Ron… do you think he'll ever come back?” Her voice was so quiet, so hopeful and fearful and pained. And he was at a loss. There were so many nights he sat up hoping his best friend would come back, trying to figure out where he had gone, why he had gone so abruptly. And he had come to the same conclusion every time: that he didn't really know anything.

“I don't know,” he said quietly, staring out at the bright moon. “I don't know, Hermione.” He watched another tear roll down her cheek, watched her wipe it away, her lips trembling slightly. “But we can't keep torturing ourselves like this.”

“I know that. I know that, Ron, I do, but… He's our best friend. We don't know where he is. We don't know what he's doing. We don't know if he's ok. We don't…” she took a shaky breath and was even quieter, “we don't even know if he's alive.”

“I think about those things too, Hermione,” Ron said quietly, staring outside. “I think about him every single day. I think about…if he had just told us, let us come with him - wherever he went - that we could have helped him. I think sometimes, that… maybe I could have stopped him.”

“I just want him to come home, Ron,” she said softly. “I just want him to come home, and be ok…”

“I know; it's all I want too,” he said quietly. She stood from the windowsill, wrapping her arms around him and resting her head against his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. They worried endlessly, tortuously for the first year; the second year they still worried, but it was a little easier to sleep at night (not that they didn't take turns having horrible nightmares of what might have happened to him); the third year they had yet to stop worrying, but it was a little easier to get through the days, a little easier to fall asleep without waking up an hour later from awful nightmares. Three years had gone by and they had heard nothing (no one had). Three years that felt like three lifetimes.

September had proved unseasonable. It rained almost every day, accompanied by unusual cold, and it stormed every night. Hermione often shivered at the remembrance of Dementors; weather like this always reminded her of them. She and Ron were sitting by the fire; the Ministry had been particularly busy with the investigation of increased Death Eater activity and now they were simply trying not to think too much of what it could mean, and just trying to enjoy each others company and take comfort in it. It was quiet; it felt almost too quiet. The darkness of the night seemed endless, and it felt as if the cold were creeping into every corner. She snuggled closer to him, wanting nothing more than to be warm, silently wishing to be close to Harry and tell him she loved him (and hear him say that he loved her and he always would), and chase away the feeling of iciness that seemed to have seeped into her bones. The rain outside was pelting the windows, the lightening fierce, the thunder roaring so loudly so often the panes of glass shook. He kissed her head softly and rested his chin on the top of her head, thinking (always thinking they never seemed to be able to stop). She jumped at the sound of the deafening thunder, sounding as if it had cracked the very foundation of the house; she didn't realize at first it wasn't the sound of the thunder that scared her. Feeling the wind suddenly whipping through the room and the bitter coldness from outside, they looked to the doorway.

“Oh my goodness…” she whispered, feeling the color drain from her face. They were up in an instant, rushing to him. He was soaking wet, dripping, his skin cold and pale; he looked sick.

“Harry…” Ron said in shock. He and Hermione ushered him into the living room, bypassing the sofa and getting him as close to the fire as they could. He had been gone for three years - three entire years, left without a word, and he was there now - he just showed up. And it was ok. They didn't care about anything else; the only thing that mattered was that he was alive. Hermione threw a blanket around his shivering form. She and Ron didn't ask questions (not that they didn't care or didn't want to know); Harry would tell them when he was ready, whatever it was he needed to tell them. His eyes were a duller green than they remembered and they seemed blank. Hermione and Ron looked at one another, Ron sitting next to Harry trying to warm him up and thankful to see him alive. Hermione knelt down in front of Harry, taking his cold, wet face in her hands, lifting his head just a little to look at her.

“Harry,” she said softly. “Are you alright?” He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. He shook his head, his eyes vague and suddenly coated with a sheen of tears. She hurt for him. This Harry with them now was not the Harry that left them; something had happened and this Harry was broken. She could see it in his eyes, feel it through his skin, and it was breaking her heart. The pain radiated from him, and one look at Ron told her he knew it, too. “Harry?”

The vacant look in his eyes was replaced by one of great pain and he whispered, “None of it made any difference…” Ron looked at Hermione, not quite understanding what Harry was talking about, or what he meant. They didn't even know what he had been doing all this time. He muttered the same thing a second time, staring blankly at the flames in the fireplace, shivering slightly.

“Ron, get some tea,” she said, her hands on Harry's knees. He looked between her and Harry for a moment, unsure for a moment if he should leave her with him. What if something had happened to him, and he wasn't himself? What if he hurt her?

“Should I leave him alone with you?” he asked out loud, regretting it immediately from the reproving look she shot him. “I mean, he could be like Neville's parents. What if someone used the Cruciatus curse until he went mental?”

“Ronald Weasley,” she hissed. “How could you even think something like that let alone say it? Tea. Now.” With one last look at Harry, he turned and made for the kitchen. Meanwhile, she stayed kneeling at Harry's feet, looking up at him with worrisome eyes. It was obvious something was wrong but it didn't seem he was going to tell them, and she wasn't sure if she should pry since it could be, and probably was something traumatic. She looked for signs of both a physical and magical struggle. His clothes were ripped, frayed, drenched and dirty. His hair was a mess and matted to his head from the rain. His glasses were cracked, and he had some scrapes above his left eye and a cut across his cheek. The only obvious conclusion she came to was that he was fighting someone, but she was at a loss for who and why. She shifted in front of him, touching his cold cheek, but he didn't seem to notice. This wasn't the return she had been expecting. She knew enough that this was something she and Ron shouldn't handle on their own; they needed to contact the people who needed to know, and who could help Harry out of this…whatever it was.

The floorboards creaked as Ron reappeared with a steaming cup of tea. He was foolishly relieved that Hermione was alright, scolding himself for even thinking that Harry ever would or could hurt her. He handed her the mug without a word and sat down next to Harry, who hadn't moved since he left.

“Wait,” she said, before he got comfortable. “They have to know he's alive.”

“Hermione, if anyone gets a hold of the news he's alive, or here, they are going to go crazy. The entire wizarding world is going to be on our doorstep!”

“Ron, you don't need to inform the entire wizarding community. But we need to get someone here to help him. I think you can see that he's not right.” With her words he looked at his best friend again, knowing that she was right and that if they tried to do anything to help him there was a chance of only making it worse. He nodded. “Send an owl to Lupin, tell Pigwidgeon to get it there as fast as he can, and mark it urgent. Don't mention Harry's name; there are still threats out there.”

“What about Tonks? She's an auror, so shouldn't we owl her, too?” he asked.

“Chances are wherever Professor Lupin is Tonks is there, too. Then send an owl to Professor McGonagall.”

“And what about you?” he asked. “Are you going to sit with him?”

“Yes. Someone needs to watch him. There could be any number of things wrong with him, and I don't want him to do anything to hurt himself.”

“What if he tries to hurt you?”

“He won't,” she said surely. “I know he won't. And you know it, too.”

“You'll yell if you need me?” He looked down at her and she nodded. He bent down kissing her quickly, and ran upstairs. This wasn't at all what he had hoped for. He had hoped that Harry would have come home perfectly fine, gotten berated by him and Hermione and just about everyone else for leaving without telling anyone where he was going, and then settling comfortably into the life they had known previously. This was not going as he had imagined.

Ron flung open the door to the bedroom, greeted by Pigwidgeon's angry chirps. He went immediately to the desk Hermione had insisted on him having in the corner and pulled out some parchment. He grabbed the quill sitting in the inkwell and began writing furiously. Pigwidgeon perched on his shoulder, nipping at his ear.

“This isn't the time to be a prat, Pig,” Ron said agitatedly. “Harry's home and he's in trouble.” The little grey owl stopped nipping, stopped chirping, sitting still on Ron's shoulder as he wrote to Lupin, and then McGonagall.

Professor Lupin,

We need you. He's here and he's not right. There's something wrong and we don't

know what to do. Tell Tonks we need her here, too. Hurry.

Ron

He folded the parchment somewhat haphazardly, sealing it in an envelope and marking Urgent on the front. He tied it to Pigwidgeon's leg and looked square at him as he perched on his arm. “This is important,” he said. “Pig, you need to get this to Lupin as fast as you can. Understand?” The little grey owl chirped and Ron tied the other message on. “This one goes to McGonagall.” He chirped again, nipping Ron's finger affectionately before taking off in a little flurry of grey feathers. Ron dropped down into the chair at the desk, sighing. He moved his hands over his face as if washing it with invisible water and then ran his hands through his hair. Harry was downstairs and soaking wet; he needed some dry clothes. Ron knew he had enough to spare, even if they were huge on Harry. He stood and made his way to dresser in the corner, opening draws and rummaging through them for something - anything - that was dry and warm for Harry to change into.

Hermione sat on the floor at Harry's feet doing nothing more than watching him. He had yet to acknowledge hers or Ron's presence, and she wasn't entirely sure what to do about the whole situation. What if it wasn't even Harry sitting there? She shook her head, cursing herself and Ron silently for putting the crazy ideas in her head in the first place. She knew it was Harry; she couldn't explain how she knew, but she did. She was still holding the mug of tea, warming her own hands instead of his; he hadn't seemed to notice she was offering it to him, or he was completely ignoring her - neither was improbable. She looked around the room nervously, impatiently, for something, anything to give her some idea on how to just get through to him. She looked for something that might jog his memory if that was the problem, or a book with a spell or a charm to pull him out of this daze, but the rational side of her won out, keeping her from trying to do any such thing. The last thing she wanted to do was cause any more harm that may have already been done.

“Harry,” she tried again softly hoping to get some kind of reaction. She sat up on her knees, holding the mug with one hand and using the other to reach out to touch him. For a moment she was hesitant, unsure of how he would react. She put her hand on his but he didn't look at her, rather continued to stare past her at the fireplace. “Harry.” She reached up and gently touched his face, but nothing. She gently stroked his cheek with her thumb, wishing there was something she could say or do to make this better, to wake him up from this trance. “Oh Harry,” she said softly. She sat there on her knees, feeling tears sting her eyes as she gently caressed his face. All this time they had wanted him home and he was here, but he wasn't the way she had expected and it hurt. She caressed his cheek and for a moment she watched his eyelids droop, almost as if he were relishing in her touch, comforted from the contact. It was short-lived. He leapt up, knocking her backward and knocking the tea cup from her hands. It crashed to the floor and shattered, bringing Ron bounding down the stairs.

“Hermione!” Ron rushed passed Harry, nearly knocking him down to get to Hermione. She was lying on the floor staring wide-eyed at Harry. “What happened?”

“I-I don't know,” she stammered. They both looked at him and realized he was clutching his forehead and the expression on his face had become one of excessive physical pain.

“Bloody hell,” Ron said quietly. “What's the matter with him?”

“His scar,” she said knowingly. They watched him drop to his knees on the floor, hands pressed firmly to his forehead. Ron helped her up and they both rushed over to Harry who fell back onto the floor, his face and forehead breaking out with beads of sweat. She moved to go to him and Ron grabbed her arm, pulling her back

“Don't.”

“Ron! Harry needs our help!” She shouted at him, wrenching her arm away from him and running over to Harry, wrapping her arms around him and holding him close to her chest. He had suddenly become very still against her, his breathing rapid and his pulse quick. His skin was cold and clammy but sweat dripped from his forehead. She looked up at Ron, who was looking down in confusion and dismay. Harry's eyes were closed but his face was still slightly contorted. “I think he passed out,” she said quietly.

“Well…we can't leave him there,” Ron replied. “Let's get him on the couch; Lupin and Tonks can take care of him when they get here.” She nodded in response and helped Ron lift Harry up (not that it was very difficult) and place him carefully on the couch. “You don't reckon he's been cursed, do you?”

“No,” she said shaking her head. “This isn't the after effects of a curse. This is something else entirely, but I'm not sure what.”

“So what do we do?”

“You stay down here with Harry until Professor Lupin and Tonks get here. I'm going upstairs to check some of my books; though, I'm positive this isn't a curse, it doesn't hurt to be a little extra cautious.” She nodded at Ron, bent down and kissed Harry's forehead quickly and headed for the stairs. She was fairly certain she knew what had just happened, but quite unsure of why. She knew, as well as other members of the former Order that Voldemort and Harry were connected and it was quite often through his scar Harry felt his presence. She knew that when Voldemort was close Harry felt a burning sensation in his scar; she also knew that when something was happening concerning Voldemort and his followers that Harry felt that, too. When Harry felt extreme joy, Voldemort felt it and for him it would be pure torture, and to retaliate was only too easy with his connection to Harry through that same scar. She wondered why now, would Voldemort see a reason to attack Harry? Did he know that Harry was with them, and was he trying somehow to locate him? She wasn't sure. At that moment, she couldn't be sure of anything.

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2. Chapter One: Healing Charms and Phoenixes

Chapter One:

Healing Charms and Phoenixes

Hermione spent the better part of a half an hour in her room going through books. She looked up what she could on curses, and even the Imperious Curse didn't fit this particular display. She was, as she had suspected, right that Harry was not under a curse, or spell. This was something else entirely, and she was pretty sure it had to do with whatever traumatic events had happened in the three years he had been gone. There was a part of her that wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, yell at him for taking off the way he did and making them worry the way they had - but that was going to have to wait. She'd yell at him when he was better. She piled her books neatly on her desk and sighed. She pulled her messy hair back into a ponytail and set to the task of cleaning Harry up, and waiting for Lupin and Tonks and Professor McGonagall to get there. As she passed Ron's room she noticed the clothes on the floor by the dresser, and assumed that Ron had also come up here to get clothes for Harry to change into, not expecting him to go into whatever sort of fit had happened downstairs. Maybe it was being in this place again… She grabbed the clothes and hung them over her arm, the floorboards creaking as she left his room.

She filled an old, but clean basin with warm water and grabbed a cloth from the bathroom. Before the others got there she wanted to at least tend to the visible signs of struggle; she didn't want to worry them more than they needed to be, and she felt a strong need to take care of him. She knew Ron would want to help, and he would do what he could, but she knew that the majority of it would be left up to her as she was the one who, aside from a magical life, education, and career, was studying muggle medicine. Her parents were dentists, after all. When she returned to the living room the fire was still going strong and Ron was sitting in the armchair watching Harry, who hadn't moved since she and Ron put him on the sofa. Ron heard the telltale floorboards and looked to Hermione, carrying a basin with water, a cloth, and clean clothes he'd thrown on the floor when he heard the shattering tea mug. She noticed he'd cleaned up the mess.

“Any word from Lupin?” she asked as Ron stood and came to her, taking the basin of water from her and carrying it over to the sofa. He nodded.

“He sent an owl back. He'll be here with Tonks within the hour.” he said as she handed him the clothes he was holding. “What did you bring these down for? He can't change himself while he's unconscious.”

“No,” she said, kneeling beside the sofa and brushing his black hair off his forehead. She mused that he needed a haircut. “But, we're his best friends, so I doubt he would mind.”

“What? You mean we're going to change his clothes for him?” he looked a little uncomfortable, and she nodded. “Hermione, best friends share a lot of things, but really, I have to draw the line at taking Harry's clothes off.”

“Ronald,” she scolded. “It's not like I'm suggesting we bathe him.”

“Thank god,” he mumbled.

“We're not going to strip him naked,” she said, dipping the cloth into the water and wringing it out. “We're just going to get him into dry clothes. I'll do it if you don't feel comfortable.”

“I'm not sure I'm comfortable with seeing you taking Harry's clothes off either,” he replied.

“Oh honestly, Ronald,” she tutted and shook her head.

“Well, I'm not.”

“Come off it,” she said. She took the cloth and gently dabbed at the scrapes above his left eye, removing dirt and blood. She dipped the cloth in the water and wrung it out again, this time dabbing at the cut across his cheek. She wished he would wake up and tell them what had happened to him.

“He looks like he's been through hell,” Ron said, sitting in the armchair again and watching her.

“He does, but we don't really know what happened. Although, I have my suspicions.” she said and looked up at him.

“What suspicions?” he asked her, creasing his brow. He didn't have any suspicions and he wanted to know what ones she had. She just looked at him before going back to tending to Harry. “Honestly, Hermione, what suspicions?”

“Death Eaters,” she said. She looked up at him and his mouth had snapped shut, and his eyes were slightly wider. “Think about it Ron, who else would do this? I mean, I know Harry has made enemies, but no one else would do this. This has Voldemort written all over it.”

“I hate it when you say that name,” Ron said quietly, shivering a little. He still couldn't say his name without stuttering, and oftentimes avoided saying it altogether. He watched her tending carefully to Harry, who still didn't wake, and he knew that she was right. They knew that when he left the fight was far from over, but without him there, there didn't seem to be anything left to fight, which had given Hermione the sneaking suspicion that Harry had left because of some stupid sense of heroism; she was almost positive he knew that once he was gone the threat to them would be gone as well, as it would chase after him. The things he did made her so angry some times. She set the cloth in the basin full of water and set it aside.

“Give me those clothes,” she said to Ron, who leaned over and gave them to her without question. He stayed in the armchair. He loved Harry like a brother, yes, but he wasn't going to undress, or dress him for that matter. He figured it was better to just let Hermione handle this part; she was the one studying to be a muggle doctor aside from a witch.

She took off his glasses and handed them to Ron, moving to his side again. She carefully pulled his arms out of his jacket and set it aside; next, she pulled his arms from his tee-shirt, carefully pulling it up and over his head. She gasped out loud and Ron looked down at his feet. There were several wounds over the front of him. His chest was littered with bruises and cuts that looked less than taken care of, his ribs a little too visible for her comfort. There were what looked like unhealed burns, and he looked altogether disconcerting. She pressed her lips together, feeling her chest tighten with apprehension as she picked up the cloth from the basin and wrung it out once more. She began to dab lightly at the wounds on his chest, his rib cage, his stomach. She wet the cloth again, wringing out more dirt and more blood. The more she tried to help him the worse she felt about the entire situation.

“I really hope they get here soon,” Ron said quietly. “He needs some serious healing.”

“If they can even heal all of this,” she said quietly. “I'm keeping his shirt off until Tonks has looked at him. I'd rather she see him straight away and heal him as soon as possible, if possible.” Ron was determinedly looking at his feet as he nodded. He didn't want to see Harry looking like that. She made quick work into getting him into a pair of Ron's pajama pants without so much as blushing; if she were going to be a doctor she had to learn not to be embarrassed about these sorts of things, but strangely she wasn't embarrassed anyway. She touched his face gently, leaning down to kiss his forehead and finding that his forehead was burning, and finding that she was unsure if it was a fever or just the scar - Voldemort doing what he could to torture Harry. She practically leapt up when she heard the popping sound coming from across the room. She wasn't sure she had ever been so happy to see Professor Lupin and Tonks; Professor Lupin looking as he always did, and Tonks with her shockingly pink hair. True to form she ran to Professor Lupin and threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

“It's good to see you, Hermione,” he said softly, hugging her in return and patting her back.

“Oh Professor, there has to be something you can do,” she said pulling away, and determined not to let him see the tears in her eyes she looked at Harry.

“I don't know how much I can do, but I assure you that there is at least something Nymphadora can do.” With that she looked at Tonks who looked less than pleased to have been called by her first name. From the first time they met her she'd made it known she didn't want to be called by her first name, and so far the only person she had seen or heard get away with it was Professor Lupin. “Where is he?”

“The sofa,” Hermione replied pointing and heading towards it, Ron standing as his former professor and Tonks approached him.

“When did he get here?” Professor Lupin asked stopping in front of Ron. “Hello Ron,” he said, outstretching his hand. Ron shook it thankfully, and nodded to Tonks. Professor Lupin looked at Harry. “My goodness…”

“He got here almost an hour ago. I told you it was urgent,” Ron said. “He had a fit or something a while ago and he hasn't woken up since.” They watched as Tonks passed Professor Lupin and went straight to Harry; she bent down to inspect him and her mouth hung open slightly in shock.

“I'm sure we can all guess who did this.” Tonks said, looking at them all for a moment and then back at Harry. “I'm assuming no one followed him,” she said, and then added quietly, “not that they could find this place.”

“No, I don't think so,” Hermione said. “Why?”

“There has been an increase in Death Eater activity of late,” Professor Lupin said. “We just don't want our next report to happen on your doorstep.”

“Neither do we,” Ron said. “How can we be sure?”

“Ron, think about it.” Hermione said, “This place is protected. Death Eaters couldn't find it if they wanted to. When Harry inherited this place it was under a Fidelis Charm, and as far as I know, it still is.”

“Oh,” was all he said, and by the look on Professor Lupin's face he too remembered this key factor, and looked a little more at ease. Ron looked at Tonks, touching one of the darkest bruises in the center of Harry's chest. “Can you help him?”

“Yes, of course,” she said. “I can't heal him completely, but I can heal him enough.” She touched the dark spot. “This looks like a…a scorch mark, or something of that nature. He was hit here,” she said as she gently touched the mark with her fingertips, “with a curse, and a powerful one at that.” She pulled out her wand. “Episkey,” she said quietly, pointing her wand at his chest. The rather large, dark spot diminished but did not disappear. She did the same over various bruises, cuts and abrasions - some disappeared altogether, and others merely were lessened in their intensity. This hadn't been what Hermione or Ron had been hoping for, and judging by the expression on Professor Lupin's face, as well as the one Tonks wore, they had been hoping for more than this as well.

“Perhaps he needs a stronger healing charm,” Professor Lupin said, coming to stand beside her. She looked up at him for a moment before nodding, and then muttered another healing charm. Some wounds lessened, and others did something peculiar: they seemed to heal for the moment, only to reopen moments later.

“Why aren't all the injuries gone? Why isn't he healing?” Ron asked.

“Some of these injuries are extensive, and they've been here for some time,” Tonks answered. “Whoever cast the curses on him to cause these wounds knew what they were doing, and they knew they were powerful enough to cause real damage. Which is why, I imagine, they cast them on him in the first place,” she said. “I'm not sure how some of these wounds didn't kill him, and I'm not going to question it right now.” In truth, none of them wanted to question it. None of them wanted to think of the fact he should be dead but thankfully wasn't. It seemed that the only thing that mattered was that he was there at all, even if he was unconscious on the sofa - he was there, breathing, and alive. After three years of wondering if he even was alive, it was a relief just to see him there. At least now they knew he was safe, or at least as safe as he could be. “Did he say anything?”

“The only thing he said was…” Hermione hesitated.

“Yes, Hermione?” Professor Lupin said, eager to know if it was anything of use to them in figuring out where this boy had gone, been, and done.

“He said… `None of it made any difference'.” She said sadly, confusedly. “I don't know what he meant.” Professor Lupin simply gazed down at him, remembering when Harry had said those words to him more than three years ago, after Sirius was freed but not a free man. Harry had felt then that he had failed, and what he had done made no difference, when in fact it had and he just couldn't see it. This, as it would seem, was a similar circumstance. Professor Lupin had no doubt in his mind that Harry had been out there, somewhere, fighting everything that threatened to take away the things and people that he loved; there was no doubt in his mind that Harry had been out there alone, fighting with everything he had to keep the last few things and people he loved so deeply safe and out of harms way. He only wished he had known Harry would try to do such a thing, because he would have done anything in his own power to stop him from doing something so foolish.

“Should we wake him now, Nymphadora?” Professor Lupin asked. “He might be able to tell us something about where he was all this time; at the very least he can tell us who did this to him.” But they were interrupted by something, and Tonks looked away from Harry in search of the source; it sounded almost like a song - a song that they hadn't heard in years. All of them seemed mesmerized by it for a moment, and as it grew closer it seemed almost calming to them, if not somewhat saddened as well. The melodic sound was something they had heard before, though in an entirely different context and circumstance, and it was no less beautiful now than it was then.

“Ron, open the window,” Hermione commanded, feeling strongly that she knew what, or rather who it was, and he did so without question. The song grew louder, closer, and within minutes its source became apparent. With great ease and inherent grace the bird glided through the open window, the mere sight of it a personification of beauty and splendor.

“Is that…” Ron started, staring in awe as it perched on Harry's stomach.

“A phoenix,” Hermione finished. “Fawkes, to be precise.”

“That's Dumbledore's phoenix?” Ron asked in astonishment. “No one has seen or heard from him since… since the funeral at Hogwarts.”

“Yes,” Lupin said quietly. “It seems that Fawkes had one other person besides Dumbledore that he was, and apparently still is quite loyal to.” They all watched in amazement as Fawkes gave a few more notes to his beautiful song before leaning over the wound at the center of Harry's chest. They watched as a few precious, powerful tears touched the surface of his skin; they all seemed to hold their breath and watched as it was returned to a state of health. In one swift movement Fawkes moved to perch on the back of the sofa, looking down on Harry. Professor Lupin and Tonks exchanged glances and nodded to one another as Ron and Hermione watched them in anticipation. If Tonks succeeded in bringing Harry back to consciousness he might be able to tell them where he last was with the Death Eaters, if that were indeed the case; if she succeeded in waking him, he might be able to tell them anything he might have learned about Voldemort's plans to give them the upper hand. Really, the most important thing on all of their minds was just hearing from him that he was ok. If that was all he could say, the only thing he knew, that would be more than enough. It seemed they all collectively held their breath, hearts beating a little more quickly than they had been moments ago. Hermione found herself thinking just wake up, Harry; just please wake up; Ron found himself thinking please, just be ok. Professor Lupin looked at Tonks, and she at him.

“I think, perhaps, we might try now,” he said softly, with a grateful glance at Fawkes.

“Ennervate,” Tonks said quietly. They all watched anxiously, including the phoenix, waiting for Harry to move, to open his eyes, say something, anything; but it was a few moments before Harry showed signs of waking. First his brow creased, and then he took a deep, shaky breath. He didn't open his eyes right away, and for a moment they worried he wouldn't.

“Harry?” Hermione's voice was soft and tentative, unsure what kind of reaction she would receive if any. He swallowed a little harshly, and took another shaky breath.

“He knows I've come back.”

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3. Chapter Two: The Path of Thorns

Chapter Two:

The Path of Thorns

Ron and Hermione were more surprised than Lupin or Tonks to hear him talk, having seen the state he was in before, having seen that he didn't seem to acknowledge or recognize them. Now he seemed to have clear thought and perfect ability to speak. Ron moved over to him as he sat up carefully, slowly, and handed Harry's glasses back to him. He slipped them onto his face, ignoring the cracks in the lenses - he could fix them later. He looked at all of them and ran a hand through his hair. He knew what they wanted, knew that they wanted to know everything, and that Ron and Hermione would want it all in the very deepest of detail. He just couldn't do that right now. Sitting up he looked down at himself, realizing he had no shirt on and looked questioningly at his friends.

“You needed healing,” Hermione said, handing him the shirt of Ron's she had brought down for him.

“Thanks,” he replied. “I'm sorry about earlier,” he said as he pulled the shirt on.

“What happened?” Tonks asked, sitting down on the other end of the couch.

“I told you, he knows I'm here. Voldemort knows that I'm here, and he wasn't very happy about it,” Harry answered.

“Harry, that's impossible. This place is protected by a powerful charm-“

“I know,” he interrupted, effectively cutting Hermione off. “I know that. I didn't mean he knows I'm here; he knows that I'm back with you lot.” He looked around the living room and then at Ron. “Mind if I ask for a drink?”

“Not at all,” Ron said, starting to head for the kitchen. He stopped halfway there and turned around. “Harry?” Harry looked at him. “It's good to have you back.”

“Thanks, Ron.”

“And if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I'll kill you.” With that he went into the kitchen to get glasses and something to drink - something strong, because he had a feeling they were going to need it. Professor Lupin moved from where he was standing near the sofa to stand in front of Harry, and he stood there just looking down at Harry.

“Don't look at me like that,” Harry said quietly.

“Harry…” he said quietly. He wanted to say more, because there was so much more that needed to be said, yet he found there were no words coming out of his mouth, and said the only thing he could: “You have no idea what a relief it is, how good it is to see you alive.” He didn't know what to say to that and simply looked up at Professor Lupin, all the things they needed to say remaining silent in their eyes. It would have to do for now. Thankfully the awkwardness was interrupted by Ron returning with an arm full of glasses and a bottle filled with amber liquid.

“Fire whiskey?” Hermione questioned and Ron shrugged.

“It's fine,” Harry said, accepting the glass Ron handed him. No one said anything while Ron handed them glasses and poured for each of them. “We're missing someone,” Harry finally said.

“What are you talking about?” Professor Lupin asked.

“I know that you surely notified Professor McGonagall,” Harry said.

“You're right, we did,” Ron said. “But she's Headmistress at Hogwarts, and it's not so easy for her to get here.” They all nodded, accepting this was in fact the case, and dropping it promptly.

“Harry…” Hermione started hesitantly, and he found himself suddenly holding his breath. “What happened?” There it was. The single question he didn't really want to answer, because he really just didn't want to think about it right that moment. Yet, somehow he knew that Hermione would be the one to ask. Sometimes, he really wished she'd stop caring so much.

“A lot, actually,” he said, and proceeded to be the first to drink of the fire whiskey, and the first to finish his entire glass. They all looked at him but said nothing. He got up and took the bottle from where Ron had put it on the mantle above the fireplace. He poured himself another glass. “It all depends on how much you want to know, and where you want me to start.”

“Why don't you start at the beginning, Harry,” Professor Lupin said. Harry downed his second glass of fire whiskey, grimacing as it burned the entire way down. He poured another glass, speaking as he did so.

“There isn't enough time in the world to start from the beginning,” Harry said. He was quiet for a few moments as everyone but him exchanged glances. Professor Lupin sat down next to Tonks, and Hermione and Ron sat down on the love seat adjacent from the sofa. Harry finally looked up at them. With the bottle of fire whiskey in his hand, he made his way to the armchair and sat down. “When I left, I didn't do it to intentionally hurt any of you,” he said. “I did the only thing I thought I could to protect you all, and maybe it wasn't exactly the best way to do things, but at the time I thought it was the only way. So I left.”

“We could have helped you,” Hermione said quietly.

“You see, that's the thing,” he said, pouring more whiskey into his glass, but only sipping it this time. “You couldn't have. Well, it's not that you weren't capable, it was more or less the fact that I needed to do this alone. I had to face down my demons without endangering everyone else in the process.”

“So you ran away?” Ron said a little angrily. Harry took a deep breath and gulped more of his whiskey. “What good did that do any of us, Harry? Do you have any idea how worried we all were? I mean, we didn't even know if you were alive!”

“I know,” he said quietly. “And for that, I'm sorry.”

“Harry, you still haven't told us what happened,” Tonks said, looking pointedly at him. Her pink hair seemed the same as always, and he realized that it must have been her who healed him; he hadn't even realized that Fawkes had found his way upstairs to the bedroom Harry would inevitably make his. Harry sighed, followed by another gulp of whiskey.

“Funny how it stops burning the entire way down after a while,” he mused, looking at the liquid in his glass. He didn't really want to have to remember it all at that moment; he didn't want to relive it all just yet. And at the same time, he couldn't figure a way out of telling them everything, knowing that telling them he didn't want to talk about it would never float.

“Don't change the subject,” Ron said. Harry was a little surprised; he knew that Ron could be quick to anger, but he didn't remember him being this assertive before. Harry guessed that spending all the time he was sure Ron had with Hermione while he was away caused some changes. Harry looked up at him.

“Fine.” He finished his glass off. “When I left, Voldemort sent all of his little minions chasing after me, just like I knew he would. I didn't really care, though; I just wanted to get him, even if I got myself killed in the process.” He saw Hermione tense at this, but continued. “Before you even ask, no, I didn't kill him. And yes, I fought with Death Eaters - day in and day out.”

“That's not really telling us much, Harry,” Tonks said, a little more softly. “We can't go off and find them if you don't tell us who, exactly, you were fighting.” He looked away and sighed, shaking his head slightly.

“After a while you don't remember their names; their faces all start to look the same - because that kind of evil shares one face, and you're not meant to remember its individuals.” There was silence in the room following that, and he couldn't look at them. “That's all I remember,” he finally added. For some reason, Hermione didn't believe him entirely; she believed that he might have a hard time recollecting exact names and faces, but that he didn't remember anything? That she didn't believe, and she knew him well enough to know when he was lying, for whatever reasons he may have.

“What?” Ron could hardly believe those words had left his mouth. “Harry, you're gone for three years - three years - and you don't remember what happened?”

“Ron, don't,” Hermione said softly. He looked at her as if she had sprouted horns; he couldn't understand why she wasn't upset by this.

“Look, I'm sorry if that isn't what you wanted to hear but… I…” he shook his head again. “I just don't remember. I'm sorry.”

“Perhaps we should call it a night, hmm?” Professor Lupin interjected, looking at Harry. Without a word he could see the gratitude in Harry's eyes. “We'll come and check on you tomorrow.” He stood, Tonks following. “Do let the rest of the Weasley family know tomorrow that you're back, and that you're safe.”

“He will,” Ron said for him. “Because there is no way he's getting out of the yelling my Mum is going to give him.” Lupin smiled, even if it was just a little.

“Alright then, Nymphadora and I will be by tomorrow. Try and sleep well, Harry.” With that, they apparated, and were gone. They three of them sat in silence for a moment, and Ron and Hermione watched as Harry poured himself another glass of fire whiskey, and downed it fairly quickly.

“I think you've had enough, Harry,” Hermione said as she stood and made her way over to him, taking the bottle from his hand. “I don't want you drunk on your first night back.”

“Too late,” he replied, looking up at her through cracked lenses, dark lashes and heavy lidded eyes. “I'm sorry,” he said quietly and looked away. He couldn't bear looking at her, looking her in the face when he knew that the hurt he saw in her eyes was there because of him. She reached down, sliding her fingers under his chin and tilting his head up to look at her.

“I know,” she said softly.

“Harry, none of the other stuff really matters,” Ron said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “We're just glad that you're home, and that you're ok.”

“Thanks, Ron.” There was an uncomfortable silence for a few moments in which Hermione took the opportunity to put the fire whiskey back on the mantle. They looked at one another waiting for someone to say something, or for Harry to move.

“Maybe you should get some rest,” Hermione finally said, looking down at him. He remained sitting, staring down at his lap. Now that Lupin and Tonks were gone, he seemed to have resumed acting a bit like he had before they were there. Ron and Hermione didn't understand. “Harry?”

“I lied to you.”

“What?” Ron didn't quite understand what Harry was talking about. “You lied to… about what?”

“I know,” Hermione said softly, earning her a confused look from Ron and a sad glance from Harry.

“I remember everything.”

“I know,” she said again.

“But you just said that…” Ron was nowhere near stupid, but he was confused by this. He didn't understand how or why Harry could lie about the people - if they could be called such - that put him through hell. Ron just didn't understand why Harry wouldn't jump at the chance to give names.

“I know what I said, Ron,” Harry said, somewhat impatiently. “I lied, alright?” He looked up at them both and sighed. “Look… I don't know all of their names; some of them I've never even seen before. But, I do know a few faces, and it's no one's fight but mine. I don't want you,” Harry said pointedly as Hermione opened her mouth, “or anyone else chasing after those monsters.”

“Can you at least talk to us, Harry?” Hermione asked softly. “I know you don't want to have to replay any of what happened to you, but… you can trust us. Please?”

There was so much to say. He didn't know where to begin, or how to even start at the beginning. He didn't know how much he should tell them or if he should just tell them everything - all of it with no modifications. He knew he would, at some point, but not tonight. Tonight he was tired, and weak, and he didn't have the strength to tell them everything. “This war is far from over,” he said with absolute finality that made Ron shiver. Harry gestured for his two friends to sit on the sofa; what he had to say he didn't recommend hearing while standing. “You know the stories. You know how powerful Voldemort was when he killed my parents.” They nodded. “He's just that strong now, if not stronger, and he's not going to just give up. He's going to do everything and anything he can to have the wizarding world in the palm of his hand - he'll kill anyone who gets in his way, and that doesn't just mean me.”

“And his Death Eaters? Is that why Lupin said there was more activity among them?” Hermione asked and Harry nodded.

“There are more than there ever were, some younger than we are. Bellatrix LeStrange I remember clearly and she tried to kill me more than once, and I don't just mean in the past. Three nights ago she and I had a go; I'm not sure which one of us left with more damage. But she's the least of my worries,” Harry said, suddenly wishing he still had the bottle of fire whiskey in his hand.

“You mean Voldemort?” Hermione said and Ron shuddered.

“Yes and no.” He was quiet for a moment and ran his hands through his hair, realizing that his head was spinning more than just a little. “Lucius Malfoy is out of Azkaban.”

“What?” Ron and Hermione spoke simultaneously, and then Ron continued. “How is that even possible? Harry, if Lucius Malfoy broke out of Azkaban the entire wizarding world would know. It would be the front page of the Daily Prophet! You're mental!”

“I wish my being mental was the case, but it's not. Lucius Malfoy is not in Azkaban - I know, because he tried to kill me last night. He's got one of his useless cronies impersonating him in Azkaban. And before you tell me I'm wrong, if Hermione could brew Polyjuice Potion in our second year at Hogwarts, then I'm sure Lucius Malfoy knows how to do it and get it to ever is in prison for him.”

“This is insane,” Ron said before Hermione had a chance to speak. “Next you're going to tell us you've had a nice little chat with Snape.” At Harry's lack of response Ron snapped his head in his direction. “Don't even…”

“Snape is out there, too. I've seen him, but only briefly. He's smarter than we used to give him credit for. I have no doubt that he helped Malfoy with his little trick to get out of Azkaban - and it's not like the Ministry can depend on Dementors,” he said the word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth, “because Voldemort has them in his pocket, too.”

“Harry, how long ago did you see Snape?” Hermione asked.

“It depends on which time you're asking about. The night Lucius Malfoy tried to off me for…” he shook his head “I've lost count, but Snape was there. I saw him. I don't know exactly what he was doing-“

“Oh I'm sure he was there for a cup of tea and to ask you how you were doing,” Ron interrupted. “He was there to kill you, Harry.”

“Maybe,” Harry replied.

“Have you seen or heard anything about Draco Malfoy?” Hermione cut in before Ron could say anything more. This seemed to pique Ron's interest more than Snape.

“Have you killed him yet?” Ron asked, eyebrows raised almost in excitement. Hermione elbowed him, and he rubbed his arm where she'd hit and glowered at her.

“No I haven't killed him, Ron,” Harry replied. He realized now that he was feeling very sick to his stomach, and reminded himself never to drink that many glasses of fire whiskey in so short a time span ever again. “And strangely, I haven't seen him once, or heard a word about him. This leads me to believe he is very well hidden by his father - or Voldemort - or he's already dead.”

“I vote for dead,” Ron interjected. Hermione tutted and shook her head.

“Really, Ron, killing everyone that works for Voldemort isn't the answer,” she said annoyed.

“It isn't?” He replied, sounding thoroughly surprised.

“I find it odd, really, that not one of the Death Eaters I encountered was him or that none of them even made mention of him,” Harry said. “It doesn't add up…” He leaned forward placing his head in his hands in an attempt to get the room to stop spinning wildly. Seeing that he obviously wasn't feeling well Hermione stood, motioning for Ron to do the same. He really hoped he wasn't going to throw-up.

“Harry, you've told us enough for tonight. We'll help you up to your room.”

“I think Fawkes is already up there,” Ron said. Harry looked up warily.

“Fawkes is here?”

“He healed all the wounds that Tonks couldn't,” Hermione said softly. “I doubt that he'll be disappearing again any time soon; I think he's yours now Harry.” She extended her hand and helped pull him out of the armchair, and before he had a chance to move she wrapped her arms around him tightly. For a moment he didn't move out of shock, but it wore off quickly and he easily and comfortably wrapped his arms around her in return, hugging her just as tightly. “I missed you so much,” she whispered, holding back tears.

“I've missed you more than I can say,” he whispered in return. They remained in their embrace for a few more moments before slowly pulling apart. Harry's cheeks were now a delicate shade of pink, not from hugging Hermione, but as a result of his slightly drunken state.

“Come on, mate,” Ron said, urging him forward. “I'd like to get you up the stairs before you puke all over the place.”

“Ron!” Hermione scolded and shook her head. “We'll walk you to your room, Harry.”

“That sounds like a good idea, because I don't think I can walk up the stairs on my own.” Ron smiled a little and shook his head, Harry walking between him and Hermione. It felt good, better than good to have Harry home again, but he knew that it didn't end there. Harry was home, yes, and he was alive and fairly ok, but he knew that Harry's words had been truer than he was willing to accept at the moment they had been spoken: This war was far from over. It was only just beginning.

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4. Chapter Three: The World We Love

Chapter Three:

The World We Love

How ever wonderful it was to be back where he belonged Harry found it difficult to sleep. Thankful he hadn't drunk enough to be sick he wished he'd drunk enough to at least have passed out. There were so many things - too many things to consider now that he had come home; for instance, staying. He wanted nothing more than to stay right where he was but he realized some time ago that it wasn't about what he wanted, but about what was best for the people he loved. He also had this place to think about. This used to be Sirius' house, and was given to him after the fiasco of Sirius' death - a death he still felt sickeningly responsible for - and ever since then he found it difficult to be there. With a quick look around the room he realized that not only was Fawkes perched on the headboard of his bed, but that this room was once the room that Sirius called his own. His chest got impossibly tight and the space around him seemed to grow impossibly smaller. He wondered to himself if he was ever going to get over Sirius' death, and decided that what he needed at that moment was air and time to think.

He found himself on the rooftop of Twelve Grimmauld, and found it to be as good a place as any for both air and thinking. He found that the night sky reminded him so much of the bewitched ceiling of the Great Hall at Hogwarts; the small stars glittered, set in an impossible vastness of velvet blackness. It even reminded him of the speeches that Professor Dumbledore would give at the welcoming feast, every year at the start of term. He took a deep weary breath and sighed. He remembered then something Dumbledore had told him once: “You know, Harry, I understand that you did not wish for any of this to happen to you, but I strongly believe it was you for a reason. There was a great man once, a wonderful writer, William Shakespeare. Have you ever heard of him?” Harry shook his head. “Ah, well yes, you may be a bit young. However, he wrote a great many plays and poems, and in one play called `The Twelfth Night' a character named Malvolio said: Be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon `em.” His eyes twinkled as he looked down at Harry. “I believe you should take those words to heart,” he said and sighed with a slightly bemused expression. “And all those people thought, and mind you still think that Mr. Shakespeare was merely a man with a wild imagination; imagine, Harry, what they might have said if they knew their dear Mr. Shakespeare was quite a bit more than a brilliant muggle.” He winked at Harry and left him to his thoughts. Sometimes Harry thought it was almost amusing how insightful Albus Dumbledore had been. He knew then that Dumbledore had recited those words to him for a reason, but only now did he understand them.

“It's a bit chilly out.” Harry turned his head in the direction of the soft voice, recognizing it immediately. Hermione was carefully walking towards him and pulling a soft blue sweater tighter around her. He mused as she sat next to him, mirroring his position - knees drawn up and arms around them - that Hermione was becoming quite a beautiful young woman.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked her, realizing that she was right and that it was a bit colder than he had noticed.

“Well, I went to check on you, and when I saw that you weren't in your bed I went looking for you. I figured you might be up here thanks to your strange attraction to nauseatingly high places.” She smiled a little and so did he. She looked up at the sky. “I can see why you'd be out here, too. It's beautiful,” she added softly.

“It is,” he replied softly in return.

“How did you get up here?” she asked, stifling a yawn, cocking her head to the side and looking at him. He looked back at her.

“Magic,” he said and grinned a little, causing her to do the same. She realized he would have to have gotten up there the same way as she.

“Well of course. And don't grin at me like that,” she said unable to stop herself from doing so as well. “I don't think well when I'm exhausted.”

“Really?” he said in mock surprise. “I assumed you thought well at any given time.”

“Shut up, Harry,” she laughed lightly. “But, I guess the more important question is what are you doing up here?”

“Thinking,” he replied vaguely, staring off in front of him. There was a dog barking somewhere off in the distance.

“About anything in particular?” she asked. She was watching him now, gauging his facial expressions and body language. As long as she was looking at him he knew, as did she, that he couldn't lie to her.

“Quite a few things, actually,” he answered. “I'm thinking about finding another place to live.”

“What? Harry, why? This house was Sirius' and he-“

“That's exactly it, Hermione,” he said softly, cutting her off. “This house was Sirius'.” She understood what he was trying to say, and she sympathized with his pain, but she couldn't agree with his decision to leave and/or giving up the Black house.

“Harry, he wanted you to have this house for a reason, and not simply because you were his godson. For all you know, he left you this house because there may be something in it to help you fight, or even defeat Voldemort.” He didn't say anything for a while and she had shifted her gaze to stare at her feet. Harry leaned in toward her and nudged her shoulder gently with his own.

“Leave it to you to come up with something like that, Hermione.” He smiled at her a little and she did at him in return.

“So, you're staying then, right?”

“Yes,” he said sighing in mock resignation. “I'm staying.” And like he knew she would she threw her arms around him, and held him tightly in one of her famous hugs. She'd forgotten how good it felt to hug Harry this way.

“Good,” she said softly, and he swore he heard the threat of tears on the edge of her voice. He found he didn't want to let her go. He never thought he would miss anyone so much in the three years he had been gone, but being around Hermione again he was quickly realizing that he was wrong.

“I'm not going anywhere,” he said softly, “ever again.” She seemed to hug him tighter. He wasn't sure how long they were wrapped in their long overdue and proper embrace, but it had gotten cold and Hermione's teeth chattered slightly. They released one another and Harry had to smile just a little when she laughed lightly while she wiped a few stubborn tear. “Let's go inside,” he said standing and offering his hand; she took it and he helped her to her feet.

“Wait,” she said stopping and looking up at Harry. “There's something I need to know.”

“What is it?”

“The horcruxes, Harry,” she said seriously. “Did you find any more of them?”

He nodded. “Two,” he said.

“Harry…” she gaped at him. “Where are they?”

“Safe,” he replied. “I'll explain it all tomorrow - to you, to Ron, to Lupin, Tonks, and to Professor McGonagall.”

“But Harry,” Hermione said, “you know that as Headmistress she can't just leave.”

“I know,” he said and looked away. “That's why we have to go to Hogwarts.”

“But… none of us have been back there since…” she trailed off.

“Since Dumbledore was killed, I know,” he replied looking out over the city. “But this is too important. This isn't about not wanting to go back there; it isn't about not wanting to relive a painful memory, Hermione.” he said quietly. “It's more important than that. This is about the lives of innocent people, and not just in the wizarding world. Voldemort wants more than that, so much more, and that can't happen. I won't let that happen.”

Hermione grabbed his hand and squeezed lightly. “We've told you before, Harry: Ron and I are with you no matter what.” He nodded and squeezed her hand in return before tugging gently to go inside, and once in the warm confines of their rooms sleep proved elusive once more. The overwhelming anxiety of returning to Hogwarts kept him from getting more than a few hours of sleep, and those few hours were plagued by dream-memories of the night Dumbledore was murdered. He remembered his face perfectly, his eyes and the pleading in his voice, Severus, please… Harry had thought he hated Severus Snape even more than he hated Voldemort, but there was something else… He hated to even think Snape had a reason, hated to even have a single thought in his defense, but something was off about the whole thing that he had been too blinded by rage and sadness to see that night. He wished he could just talk to Dumbledore, even if it was just for a moment; he just wanted to hear his voice again, maybe ask him a question or two… By the time he was done speculating and wishing for things he was sure would never happen the sun had risen. He sighed and rose from his bed, deciding to shower and get dressed.

He had just finished dressing when there was a quiet knock on his door, and Ron opened it slowly. Harry took notice that he was looking more and more like Mr. Weasley the older and taller he got. He told Harry that Hermione was downstairs and she wanted him to come down and have some breakfast before they left. They walked in silence downstairs to the kitchen where Hermione was cooking eggs and bacon and sausage, and from the smell of it burning toast. Ron sat at the familiar table of Twelve Grimmauld followed by Harry. Any other person absent for three years would have forgotten the look of a table, but Harry remembered it in specific detail down to the cracks in certain places, burn marks from hot pans, and gouges from silverware. There was a radio set by the sink softly playing what Harry knew to be a muggle radio station, and what he knew to be oldies. Ron poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice and Harry did the same.

“So, where is it exactly we're going today, Harry?” Ron asked him. “Hermione said she wanted you to come down and have some breakfast before we leave so…”

“Hogwarts,” Harry answered, causing Ron to choke on his juice and spit most of it in his lap. Harry would have smiled, but the thought of going to Hogwarts was less than appealing, and made the current state of Ron less funny than it normally would have been.

“For goodness sake, Ron,” Hermione scolded placing a large plate of eggs and a large plate of bacon in the middle of the table, and shaking her head.

“It wasn't my fault, Hermione,” he spluttered. “I think Harry is trying to kill me. Honestly, Harry, that wasn't a very funny joke.”

“He wasn't joking,” Hermione said before Harry had the chance to. “After breakfast we're going to Hogwarts to see Professor McGonagall; we have some really important things to discuss with her.”

“How does she know?” he asked Harry.

“Because I was up past my bed time and so was she, so we talked before we went to bed. If you'd have been awake I would have told you too…”

“Harry, I owled Professor Lupin, Tonks, and Mr. Weasley to meet us there,” she said as she now set down a small plate of sausage and the toast he smelled burning when he first came down. “I figured that while I was awake last night, I might as well let them know rather than sending them all letters early this morning and expecting them to be there.”

“Thanks, Hermione,” Harry said.

“This is beginning to feel like school again,” Ron said with something resembling a scowl on his face. “Why are we going there anyway?”

“There are some things that you all need to know. It's important for you all to know because eventually, it may come down to your lives depending on it. Now that Voldemort knows that I'm back with all of you, that I've come home, he won't stop trying to find ways to get to me, to get me to come after him because that way he's the one in control.”

“Harry found two horcruxes,” Hermione said and this time Ron choked on eggs.

“You what?”

“Well I found one, and figured out where the other one was.”

“And that,” Hermione said, “is why we have got to go to Hogwarts to talk to Professor McGonagall and especially Professor Lupin and Tonks.”

“What does my dad have to do with it?” Ron asked looking worried.

“He was part of the Order, Ron,” Harry said. “He needs to know, too.”

“And what about the Order, Harry?” Hermione asked. “Dumbledore was head of the Order, and I don't think we've all been together since.”

“I think it's time for a New Order,” Harry said quietly. “This time, I'll run things. I know that maybe Lupin should, or your dad,” he said looking at Ron, “but I'm the one Voldemort wants, and I'm the one who knows the full extent of what we're up against.”

“Harry,” Hermione said softly. “You don't have to explain. We understand.” Ron nodded in agreement, taking it all in. Harry nodded as well.

“Alright, we'll leave after breakfast,” Harry said. “We'll go on brooms.”

“In broad daylight?” Hermione questioned.

“Well, it's the only way to get there. We can't apparate, and we don't have a flying car, so…” he looked at Ron with a slight smile who gave one in return. “I know you don't like flying, Hermione, but it's the only way to get there.”

“You can even ride with Harry,” Ron said and looked at Harry. “She hates riding a broom with me. She says that I'm going to drop her.” He rolled his eyes.

“You did drop me, Ronald.” she shot back.

“That was only once!” he defended himself. “And Fred caught you!”

“And if Fred hadn't been there?” she asked with her arms crossed over her chest. Ron looked at his plate and stuffed toast into his mouth; Harry had to laugh, remembering how they always used to bicker and seeing that things hadn't changed too much. Harry helped himself to more eggs, more bacon, and another piece of toast.

“No bacon, Hermione?” he asked.

“Harry, really, I'd rather not eat a piece of a dead pig,” she replied making a rather unpleasant face that reminded him of Narcissa Malfoy.

“Thanks, Hermione,” Harry said dropping his piece of bacon back to his plate.

“Harry,” Ron said, “don't ever ask her why she isn't eating something, because after she tells you, you won't eat it either.”

“Yeah, I see that now.” he said shaking his head and grinning a little. The rest of breakfast went smoothly with light chatter between the three of them and a few laughs. He realized just how good it was to be home, aside from the fact that they still had a war to fight. He helped clear the table, and watched as Hermione bewitched the dishes to wash and dry themselves, and he smiled a little. Ron leaned towards him.

“Mum taught her to do that,” he whispered. Harry grinned.

“The two of you should go get your brooms,” she said turning to them. “Professor McGonagall will be expecting us soon.” They both nodded and headed upstairs.

Harry made a slight detour when he reached the top of the stairs, making sure Ron had gone into his room. There was an empty room that he remembered storing several boxes of Black heirlooms and trinkets. He snuck inside, closing the door quietly behind him and started looking for the box he distinctly remembered it being in. They had this war to fight, and he refused to lose; he was determined to win, and this one thing brought him a step closer.

The journey to Hogwarts went smoothly, after convincing Hermione that they were flying high enough not to be seen by muggles. He felt peculiarly weighed down by the object in his pocket, hidden beneath his robes. And when Hogwarts finally came into view he felt his heart drop to his stomach, suddenly wanting to turn back and not step foot on the grounds. Hermione felt his entire body tense and tightened her arms around his waist, as if saying it's ok. Turning back wasn't an option now, maybe it wasn't ever an option, but he knew this was too important to let a bad memory get the better of him. This was far too important to turn away from because he could still remember Malfoy and Snape, and the pleading in Professor Dumbledore's voice - this had to come first, no matter how much it hurt. When they touched the ground and several groups of students stopped to stare at them, mostly him, he was reminded of the days he spent there, of the days he, Ron, and Hermione were once students and got into more than their fair share of trouble, and shared some of the best times of their lives. But that was over now, and they weren't here to reminisce. They were here to save these children from a future that would hardly be worth living. Nodding to a few students along the way they made it, finally, to the entrance and found themselves in the familiar Entrance Hall, greeted by a less than friendly familiar face.

“Potter. What are you doing here? Come to cause more trouble, have you?”

“Maybe later, Mr. Filch, but right now I need to see Professor McGonagall. Is she in her office?” he asked, trying to ignore the dirty look he was getting in return. Some things would never change, and that included Argus Filch's dislike for him. He nodded, picking up Mrs. Norris who was weaving her way around his feet. They headed in the direction of the Head Mistress's office, leaving Mr. Filch behind. Harry's heart was beating so loudly he could hear it in his own ears. They passed the Great Hall, constant chatter flowing out towards them; he looked at Ron and Hermione and gave a soft, sad smile, remembering the days the spent in there, and when they reached the office that once belonged to Professor Dumbledore they found Professor McGonagall herself waiting for them.

“We've been waiting for the three of you,” she said curtly. “In.” They all looked at one another before following her inside, Harry knowing that before he could get a word in edgewise she was going to lay into him for leaving the way he did.

The office looked almost exactly the same as it had when it belonged to Professor Dumbledore, save for a few things that obviously belonged to Professor McGonagall. Professor Lupin was already there, as well as Tonks and Mr. Weasley, and they were, of course, the last to arrive. Professor McGonagall moved behind her desk and sat down, not taking her eyes off of Harry who was intently staring at the floor.

“How nice of you to join us, Mr. Potter,” she finally said. “I should think that you have an excuse for the last three years?” she asked and he didn't answer. “I must tell you, that it was the most irresponsible thing I have ever known you to do; what made you think you could just leave and not tell anyone where you were going?” Her voice was rising in frustration, or anger, but mostly because she had been just as worried as anyone else. “You could have been in serious trouble, which I have no doubt you were, and no one could find you to even help. I should hope, Mr. Potter, that you have learned a very valuable lesson.”

“I have, Professor,” he said quietly, not looking at her.

“And I hope that we never have this conversation again, because if you worry me the way that you did again, I may not be here to impress upon you the seriousness of your mistakes.” He finally looked up at her and saw that along with her voice her expression had softened. She had been truly worried about him, and he knew so because for her to say that if he ever did it again, she would die of worry - that was saying something.

“I'm sorry,” was what he replied with. “To all of you, I'm sorry. I know that it was stupid to leave, and I see that, but that's not what we're here for. There is something else much more important than my stupidity,” he said seriously. “Voldemort knows that I've come home, and that puts all of you in danger.”

“Surely you aren't thinking of leaving,” Professor McGonagall said to him.

“No, not at all,” he replied, and then continued. “He's getting stronger, and I think he might even be as powerful as he was when he murdered my parents, maybe stronger than that - I can't be sure. But even that isn't the point.

“Dumbledore created The Order of the Phoenix for a reason, and we pretty much abandoned it when he died. I think it's time for a New Order, and I think it's time that we start meeting again.”

“Harry, what made you come to this decision?” Mr. Weasley asked.

“I found two of Voldemort's horcruxes.” There was nothing but silence as everyone looked at him worried, shocked, and unable to speak.

“Where are they?” Professor Lupin finally asked.

“They're safe. One of them I found while I was away, and the other… the other I just realized where it had been all this time - the Locket. When Professor Dumbledore and I went to get it, it was a fake. There was a note inside from someone with the initials R.A.B.”

“Regulus…” Professor Lupin said quietly, possibly without realizing he had spoken out loud until everyone looked at him, and Harry nodded.

“Regulus Atilius Black. I couldn't think of anyone else it could have been. The note in it told us that he had taken the real locket and that the one left behind was a fake.” he said.

“So where is the real locket?” Tonks asked.

“It's been at Twelve Grimmauld all this time. When Professor Dumbledore called together the Order in my fifth year, we helped Mrs. Weasley clean the house. We stuffed away a heavy locket that was in with a bunch of other Black heirlooms. That's the real locket. Regulus must have brought it back to the house, and with the Fidelis Charm protecting the house, Voldemort could never get to it.” Harry explained.

“Is it still there?” Professor McGonagall asked.

“It's in my pocket.”

“Harry, is it such a good idea to bring it out of the house?” Mr. Weasley asked. “There is nothing protecting it from him if it's out of the confines of the Fidelis Charm.”

“Except me,” he replied. “He won't get anywhere near it as long as I have it. And the reason I brought it here, is because I know that Professor Dumbledore kept books, information on how I might be able to destroy the soul fragment in the locket. Maybe,” he added, seeing the unease in their faces. “I don't know for sure if there is anyway for me to destroy the soul fragment without destroying the locket completely.”

“And the other horcrux?” Professor Lupin questioned. “What is it, Harry? Where did you find it, and where is it now?”

“Ravenclaw's wand, and it's safe back at the house.”

“Goodness,” Professor McGonagall blurted her hand flying to her chest.

“Before Professor Dumbledore died, he told me that Voldemort was most likely looking to make things of great magical history into Horcruxes. There was the diary, Gaunt's ring, Slytherin's locket,” he held it up for emphasis, “Hufflepuff's cup, the snake Nagini, and since he couldn't get his hands on anything that belonged to Gryffindor, Ravenclaw's wand.”

“Where did you find it?” Mr. Weasley asked.

“In the Malfoy Manor,” he answered. “After I figured out that Ravenclaw's wand had been kept by descendants of her family, I knew that Voldemort wouldn't be able to resist getting his hands on it. I did some digging and found out that the last descendant to own it was murdered, has been dead for years, and the wand was missing. Maybe it's my hatred for anyone Malfoy, but something told me to look there. He went to Azkaban for Voldemort, so who was to say he wasn't hiding something in the house?

“In my second year I ended up in Borgin and Burkes by accident and he was there with Draco, looking to sell things the Ministry wouldn't be too happy to find in his house. After thinking about that I realized that maybe, just maybe Voldemort might have stashed it there. I mean, who would think to look in the Malfoy manor?”

“How did you even get it?” Hermione asked. “There is no way you just walked into the Malfoy manor.”

“I'm still not sure how I managed it. It was almost like… like someone knew I was coming. It was almost like someone helped me get in.”

“How can you be sure it's not a set up?” Lupin asked, looking terribly worried.

“I can't explain it, but if you held that wand in your hands… you'd know, too. It's not a fake. It wasn't a set up. I just can't help but wonder how anyone knew I would go there, and who would help me.”

“It doesn't sound right, Harry,” Tonks said.

“I know, but trust me. It's a horcrux.” he said, stowing the locket back underneath his robes, safely in his pocket.

“And what now?” Professor McGonagall asked. “Surely, you know I will give you access you anything you need, but what after that?”

“We do whatever we can.” he answered.

“At what expense, Harry?” Hermione asked. “Your life?”

“I hope it doesn't come down to the expense of anyone else's lives except Voldemort's, Hermione,” he said. “But if it comes down to mine… The world we love is at stake, and to me, that's worth dying for.”

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5. Chapter Four: Lost

Chapter Four

Lost

The library was much the same as it had been during the years he had attended Hogwarts. Madame Pince still minded the rule of quiet in the library, which apparently extended to those who were no longer students. He and Hermione poured over books for hours in both the student accessible books and the restricted section, which Madame Pince wasn't too happy about either. Ron had gone off in search of the rest of the castle hoping to find something in the Room of Requirement, or get some information from their former professors. By dusk he and Hermione had yet to see Ron and they were both too tired to continue searching hopelessly through thick, old, dusty books. His head was beginning to throb at the temples and his eyes were literally sore from endless reading.

“I think I've had it, Hermione,” he said as he closed the book, spraying a cloud of dust everywhere. She fanned it away.

“I could keep going if you want me to,” she said, not taking her eyes from the pages in front of her.

“Some things never change, do they?” he said watching her.

“I guess not.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, rubbing his fingers clockwise against his temples. “We'll pick it up tomorrow, Hermione. I'm tired and I don't want to be here anymore looking for answers that we can't find.” She finally looked up at him and saw he was not exaggerating; he looked exhausted.

“I suppose you're right. My eyes hurt.” She closed her book more carefully than he had, avoiding the cloud of dust. “We should find Ron.”

“Where should we find him? It's not like he told us exactly where he was going.” Harry said.

“He just didn't want to have to read,” she replied. “Sometimes I wonder if he touched a book if he might go into fits.” Harry chuckled and she smiled.

“We could look at the map.” he said. She looked at him questioningly and cocked her head to the side.

“You have it with you?”

“I've always had it with me. I couldn't chance it ending up in the wrong hands, and besides, it was once my dad's so…” he shrugged and she understood. He pulled out the map, said the incantation, and watched as the moving dots appeared on the parchment. Ron, as it appeared, was in the Headmistress' office. They nodded to one another, slipping the books back into their places on the shelves and headed for Professor McGonagall's office to fetch Ron. It would be far later than they had anticipated when they returned home. Harry thought it best to ride the brooms to Hogsmead and apparate from there to Twelve Grimmauld Place; they were all too tired to fly such a long distance.

“You can do better than that!” The words seemed to echo over and over, carry precariously on the edge of the wind whipping and stinging his face. He felt something rising in him that he couldn't ignore, something so much more than anger alone. He felt an uncertain rage boiling to the surface. There was one single clear thought that rose to the front of his mind: Kill her. He barely felt his arm raise, his wand pointed at her chest. He felt his control slipping and something else taking it over, pushing him. A hiss: yessss.

“No!” he screamed, struggling to take his wand down. “I won't do it!” More hissing: You and I are sssso alike. You could do it; you know you could. You want to. He dropped his wand and dropped to his knees. He could feel her standing over him, looking down at him. Her hair whipped around her like a cloud of thick, black smoke, but he could see her face clearly, unobscured. Her eyes were cold and hard.

“You are so like Sirius.” she said with a sneer.

“Shut up!” he screamed, struggling to get to his feet, to not hear her.

“You have to want it to hurt, Potter,” she said and he tried so hard not to listen. She pointed her wand at him. “You have to like the pain.” He picked up his wand but his hand felt numb.

“You killed Sirius.” he said evenly, his forehead burning, throbbing.

“I enjoyed it, too. And I killed so many others. Did you know it was my idea to kill your precious Headmaster?”

“Shut up!”

“We'll kill everyone you love. I'll do it and I'll enjoy it.” He felt sick. He was too weak to move. “The werewolf; the blood-traitor; your mudblood princess.” He staggered to his feet and took a step back. “We will kill every last person you love until you're alone, until you want nothing more than death.”

“You. won't. touch them.” he punctuated, raising his wand with a suddenly steady arm. “I'll kill you first.”

She smiled. “I dare you.” He hesitated. She raised her own wand. The hiss again: No. I need him alive. And as quickly as it had begun it was over. The sudden pain was blinding, crippling. He couldn't move or speak, only scream. He felt the burning in his forehead followed by flowing warmth. He screamed.

Harry gasped for air, sitting upright with his blankets tangled around him. He was covered in sweat. Feeling something dripping slowly he reached a hand up to his forehead; he touched his scar and when he pulled back his fingers were smeared with blood. He grabbed a handful of tissues from the bedside table and wiped his forehead clean, relieved to find he was no longer in excruciating pain. He realized his hands were trembling violently. That dream was too real to be only that; he remembered having a confrontation as such when he was away, with Bellatrix, but Voldemort had not been present when in this dream he clearly was. He didn't understand completely; the only thing he did understand was that Ron and Hermione were going to need extra protection. If Voldemort needed him alive, no matter what the reason, he would do whatever it took to get to him, including harm or kill both of his best friends. He needed to take whatever precautions to protect them. Shaking still, he threw his blankets off and stripped of his sweat-soaked tee-shirt and ran his hands through his dampened hair. He picked up his want, pointed at the lantern set on the desk in the corner and muttered a charm to light it. He saw that both Fawkes and Hedwig were sleeping and proceeded as quietly as possible to his desk. He needed to send a letter to Lupin and Tonks; he needed aurors. He picked up his quill and uncorked his inkwell. His hand still shook as he wrote, his heart finally starting to slow. He had known the nightmares would start; it was the same as it was after Sirius died, after Dumbledore was killed, and he knew that this was more than those nightmares ever were. This wasn't about guilt or grief, or about missing someone, this was something completely different. His instincts were telling him that he needed to protect his best friends because Voldemort wanted him for something - it made no difference what for; whatever it was he would do whatever he could to get Harry to give himself over, and he knew that meant he would get to him through the people he loved. He wasn't going to let that happen.

He folded the parchment, corked his inkwell, and put the letter in an envelope. He went over to Hedwig, waking her, to which she gave an indignant nip at his fingers. He apologized and explained. He tied the letter to her leg, and carried her perched on his arm to the window; he opened it and sent her out with the message. He sighed, watching his breath leave the window in a white puff. He closed his eyes letting the cold air cool his overheated skin. He left the window going back to his bed; he was tired, exhausted even, but he knew that sleep wasn't going to be easy or peaceful. He was resigned to the fact the rest of the night would be fitful, and lay back against his pillows, pulling his blankets up around him.

It felt like morning came too early. He assumed there had been no letter back to him from Lupin or Tonks since neither Ron nor Hermione made any mention of it. If he could keep the dream from them, and what it meant he felt it could keep them just that little bit safer, and he knew how Hermione worried about things, and he didn't want her to worry about something she didn't really have any control over. So when he sat down to breakfast he made it seem as though he was well rested and unperturbed. Hermione smiled at him and Ron was lost in reading the Daily Prophet. He was glad for the cup of strong coffee she handed to him as he sat down.

“Did you sleep well?” she asked him as he sipped from his mug. He nodded.

“Yeah. It was nice to be in a familiar bed,” he replied.

“It was nice to know you were safe in it.” He smiled at her and she turned to the refrigerator to rummage for something. It felt so natural to be this way, here with the two of them. He hoped that when it was finally all over it would still be this way.

“I'm going to the Ministry today to see my dad,” Ron said setting down the paper. “Did you want to come? I mean, if there is anything you need to discuss…”

“Oh, no, you go,” Harry replied. “I think I'm going to stay here today and think on some things. We really need to start getting a plan together, and if you don't mind,” he said looking to Hermione “I was hoping you would help me with that end of it.”

“Of course I don't mind, Harry,” she said. “I've been telling you that you need a plan, that you can't go into this thing half-cocked. You'd get yourself killed that way.”

“Well, send an owl if you decide that you need to,” Ron said standing. “You'll fill me in on all the details when I get back later?”

“Of course,” Harry said, reaching across the table and taking the newspaper from where Ron left it.

“Alright then. Be seeing you.” He apparated with a small wave, leaving Harry and Hermione the kitchen to themselves.

“You know, I kind of assumed that you and Ron would be a thing by now,” he said as she sat down across from him. He saw a faint smile touch her lips and watched as her fingers curled delicately around her maroon coffee mug.

“You're not the first person to say so,” she said.

“So why aren't you?”

“Well… a lot of reasons,” she replied. She looked up at him then, sitting back in her chair and folding her legs under her. “Of course there was an attraction between us, but that isn't enough to base anything on. Ron is wonderful when he wants to be, and he was an amazing friend to me while you were gone. He was always there and he cared for me. But…” she shook her head and smiled again. “Who can have a relationship with someone when the best thing you have in common is bickering?”

Harry smiled, too, now and nodded. “I guess that's a good point.”

“Ron has been a wonderful friend, and I'm sure that he always will be but… beyond that, we just don't make it.” Harry nodded in understanding. “And what about you?”

“Well,” he laughed, “I really don't think Ron is my type, Hermione. I prefer the more feminine type.” She joined him in laughter and tucked her hair behind her ear.

“That's not what I meant,” she laughed lightly. “I meant you and Ginny, Harry. Are you going to try again?” She watched him as his smile faded some and as he took a deep breath.

“I don't think so,” he replied. “Ginny is a wonderful girl, but… I mean, she'll find someone.” He looked at Hermione again. “But that someone just isn't me.” They were quiet for a few moments, both of them staring into their mugs.

“So what now?” she asked quietly.

“We focus on the task at hand: Voldemort,” he answered.

Harry found himself in a vast library in the basement of Sirius' old house, one that he had no idea even existed. There were shelves upon shelves upon shelves of books, chairs and a table; the carpet was soft and dark maroon. Most of the books were covered in a thick layer of dust, giving them the knowledge that Sirius must not have used it often if at all. A few of the books he recognized from seeing them in the restricted section at the Hogwarts library.

“Should we keep these?” he asked her, touching one with his fingertips.

“They're just as safe here as they would be at Hogwarts; no one that shouldn't see them can get their hands on them here,” she replied. “With the protection on this house, anyone unwanted wouldn't be able to find it and even if somehow they did, I'd hate to see what would happen to them if they got in here.”

“Why didn't the protection on this house disappear when Professor Dumbledore was killed?” he asked quietly as he turned to her.

“I don't think the Fidelus charm works that way. Since Professor Dumbledore was the secret keeper, I would assume the secret went with him. He is the only one who can tell where this place is, and well, I guess death can't change that since he still has the secret. Did that make sense?” she asked.

“Plenty,” he replied. “So what exactly are we doing here? I mean, what are we looking for?”

“I'm not sure yet,” she replied “but just look. If we look through these books we're bound to find something to point us in the right direction, something to help us formulate a plan.”

“You don't have to do this, you know,” he said. He watched her pull a book from a shelf, wiping the dust off with her hand. She opened it carefully and they could hear the crackling of the binding.

“I know,” she said, not taking her eyes from the pages. “I want to.”

“I don't think you realize what you're getting into, Hermione. I don't think you realize the kind of danger-“

“Stop, Harry,” she cut him off. She looked up at him. “I know the danger. I know the risks. I've known for a long time, and I don't care. Danger and risks don't scare me. Stopping Voldemort and saving you is all that matters.” Without thinking he stepped forward and put his arms around her. She dropped the book she was holding. After a moment she put her arms around him, hugging him back tightly. For a moment he didn't think he wanted to let her go, or that he ever could. When he finally let go he didn't need to say anything; she understood without words. Hermione was always good like that.

“Let's get back to work then, shall we?” he said and she smiled, nodding.

“Let's start with tactics,” she said, holding an old leather bound book out to him. “Fighting tactics are too important to overlook. If you're going to beat him, Harry, you need to be smarter and faster.” He accepted the book and took it to the table, pulling out a chair and sitting down. He opened the front cover hearing the familiar crackling of the binding; the pages were aged and yellowed. Hermione sat down beside him with a book of her own, something that looked like Spells for Combat. They set to their task.

They lost all track of time, lost in books and planning, the scratching of their quills on paper and the sound of turning pages. She couldn't remember the last time she saw Harry so dedicated to something, and it ignited something in her that she couldn't explain; that he would go through so much, do so much just to protect her, to protect Ron and his family and all the people he cared for… she couldn't explain the feeling, even if she tried. She just knew it was powerful and real. She rubbed her eyes, the beginnings of a headache forming for reading for hours on end. She sighed loudly.

“Harry, we need to take a break,” she said. “We've been down here for hours and Ron is probable home and wondering where we are. And I'm starving.” He looked up at her, glanced back at his book for a moment, and looked back up at her again.

“I didn't realize we'd been down here for so long.” He stood and stretched. “Come on, let's see if he's home and fill him in on what we've found so far.”

They made their way back to the sitting room, but Ron was nowhere in sight. However, Hedwig was perched on the back of the couch with a letter tied to her leg. Harry had hoped he would see it before Hermione had the chance, but as things had always been hardly anything ever went unnoticed by her. He made his way to Hedwig who angrily nipped at his fingers for leaving her waiting so long. He apologized quietly and untied the letter; the question on Hermione's face didn't go unnoticed by him.

“Is that Remus' handwriting?” she asked as he broke the wax seal.

“Yes,” he replied, hoping to leave it at that but knowing that would never fly with her.

“What is it about?”

His eyes were moving across the paper, making his response time a little longer. “I wrote him and Tonks about a dream that I had… He's just answering.”

“A dream?” she questioned, stepping closer to him. “What kind of dream, Harry? One that has to do with Voldemort?”

“Yes.” He looked up at her after he finished reading. “It wasn't a normal dream. And before you ask, the reason I didn't tell you was because I just wanted to keep you out of any unnecessary danger. You and Ron are both in enough as it is.”

“Tell me,” she said “now.”

“This wasn't just a dream, Hermione. It felt too real. I think Voldemort is trying to get to you and Ron through whatever connection we have. He's trying to use me, my mind, to find out how to get to you. He knows he can hurt me, maybe even beat me, if he does something to you and Ron.”

“And what did Remus and Tonks say?” she asked, the anger fading from her eyes and being replaced with concern.

“They agree. He's trying to get into my mind; he's trying to use my own thoughts and feelings against me.” They stood looking at one another for a long moment. “I won't let him do that, Hermione. I won't let him get into my head and use it to hurt anyone I love.”

“How are you going to stop it?” she asked, sitting down on the sofa. He followed suit. He sighed and ran his hands through his messy hair.

“Do you remember when Snape was supposed to be teaching me Occlumency?”

“Of course I do,” she answered.

“Tonks is capable of teaching me as well, says this letter. I have some basic skills, but I need further training if I want to keep him out of my subconscious as well as my conscious mind.”

“When is she going to teach you?”

“We're going to be having a training session every day, starting tomorrow. While I'm training, I'll leave research up to you and Ron until I can come in and help. I'm not trying to push anything off on you both, but… If I'm going to protect anyone I need to be able to keep him out of my head.”

“I understand,” she said putting her hand on his knee. “Ron will understand, Harry. There is nothing that we can afford to be compromised in this. We'll all do what we have to.”

He looked down at his lap. “I just feel so lost, Hermione. There is so much to be done, so much I have to learn and… I thought Professor Dumbledore would be here to teach me everything I needed to know.” He looked up at her with glassy eyes. “I took him for granted. I thought he would always be here for me. I just… I wish he was here, Hermione. He was always able to give me some direction.”

“He's not gone, Harry,” she said softly “not truly. We just have to go about things differently.”

“I wouldn't be able to do this without you,” he said quietly. She smiled softly, feeling the sting of tears.

“We'll get through this,” she said, taking his hand and squeezing gently. “I promise you, Harry, we will get through this.”

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6. Chapter Five: Burnout

Chapter Five

Burn Out

Tonks proved to be timely in her instruction; she and Remus arrived the morning after Harry received his letter from them. Unlike Snape, she took time to explain to him the importance of Occlumency, and exactly what leaning it entailed. He felt at ease with her; he didn't feel the dread of learning as he had with Snape. They spent time talking at length about the training and when they were finished Hermione, Ron, and Remus went to the library to continue looking up any information they could find to help Harry in his fight; Harry and Tonks excused themselves to an unoccupied bedroom on the second floor of the house.

“I'm not sure I understand what we're doing today,” Harry said as she closed the door behind them. With her wand she moved furniture to clear the center of the room, and left two pillows on the floor.

“First, sit,” she said, pointing to a pillow. They both moved to a pillow and sat down. “Are you comfortable?” He nodded. “The first thing you need to learn how to do before we can do anything else is relax.”

“Relax?” he said skeptically. “Anybody can relax, Tonks.”

“No, that's not entirely true. By relax, I mean you need to learn to completely clear your mind. It needs to be blank.”

“You're teaching me how to mediate?” he questioned. She seemed to think about this for a moment, and nodded slightly.

“You could call it that,” she said. She set her wand down beside her, folding her legs beneath her. “Go ahead and put your wand down. You won't need it.” He remembered briefly when Tom Riddle told him he wouldn't need his wand. He set it down beside him but within reaching distance, making sure that it was easily accessible if necessary. It didn't go unnoticed by her, but she said nothing.

“What now?” he asked.

“Get comfortable,” she said. “Now, I want you to close your eyes. Don't think about any,” she said and he found that, suddenly, her voice was very soothing. “You're safe here with me, Harry.” He didn't nod, but he understood that she understood. “I want you to clear your mind, and picture a white light - any way you want it to look, but a white light.” He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, trying to rid his mind from any other thoughts he might have and concentrate on his white light.

Hermione took another book from the stack beside her, Remus and Ron sitting across from her. She glanced up, seeing Ron reading intently. There was a small sort of amazement at the lengths they would go to help each other; to anyone else Ron reading might not mean anything, but to her, knowing that he was reading for Harry and for Harry's cause, it meant something more than she thought it would.

“Ron,” she said quietly, causing both of them to look up. “Thank you.”

He sat staring at her for a moment and then shook his head slightly. “You don't need to thank me, Hermione. Harry doesn't need to thank me. He's risked his life so many times… The least I can do is read a book or two, or ten, to help his chances.” She reached a hand across the table and took his, squeezing gently. In Remus' eyes was a soft glow of admiration - he remembered the days when he had his best friends, when they were so dedicated to one another as this, when they would have risked their lives for each other, and he missed them terribly.

“Hold on to that,” he said softly, causing both of them to look at him. “What you three have, hold on to that. Don't ever, ever let that go.”

Ron spoke before Hermione had the chance to. “We never will,” he said.

“Good,” Remus replied softly. “You three need to be strong for and protect each other. When this war is at its peak, everything will feel like it's crashing down around you. You need to be there for each other. I'm not just saying this only because I care for you; I'm saying this because I know. I was there for the first war, and I know what that was like. This will be no easier; this will be much worse.”

“You have us, too, you know,” Hermione said quietly. “We'll be here for all of the people we love.” He smiled softly at her and nodded, letting go of their hands.

“I think we will come out of this alright,” Remus said quietly. “Yes, I think we will.” He returned his eyes to the reading in front of him. Ron and Hermione shared a passing glance that spoke volumes before returning to their own work.

Remus and Tonks didn't leave until late in the evening. They had all worked through lunch, and were late returning to the sitting room around dinner time. Harry was drained in all aspects; he never realized that trying to keep a constantly clear mind for hours could be so tiring. Both Ron and Hermione had headaches from reading nonstop for hours and hours. Remus and Tonks were both tired and hungry, and left with promise of returning the next day to pick up where everyone had left off. Hermione sat down beside Harry on the sofa and Ron leaned up against the fireplace.

“I have to have other training as well,” Harry said. “I need to learn Occlumency properly and apparently I need to have proper training in dueling, and other sorts of combat, as Tonks put it. She wants the both of you to have training as well.” They looked up at him.

“What kind of training?” Ron asked, moving to sit in the armchair.

“She wants you both to be able to block anyone from entering your minds, and she wants to make sure you're both able to fight if it comes down to it,” he answered. “I'll be training with Tonks a few hours every day, and the two of you will be training with her an hour or so a couple times a week.”

“I suppose it's best to have all our bases covered, Harry. We don't want to chance anything,” Hermione said as she pulled her hair back into a ponytail. “Who's going to be instructing us in physical training?”

“Kingsley Shacklebolt,” he answered. “The physical aspect of it we'll be training all together. And Ron, you might want to get a hold of your brothers and Ginny - they could benefit from some of that training, too.” Ron looked at him speculatively. “It's just for safe measure. I don't plan on involving them in any fighting to be done, don't worry. It's just better to be safe than sorry.”

“You're right,” he said sighing. It was obvious he was as tired as Harry and Hermione. “I'll owl them first thing in the morning.” He cleared his throat. “Will you, uh, be alright with Ginny around, mate? I mean, uh, well you know…” he shrugged and Harry smiled a little. He and Hermione looked at one another in understanding.

“I'll be fine, Ron,” he replied. “Thanks for asking, but I'll be just fine.” Ron nodded.

“Well let's get a spot of supper then,” he replied. “I'm starving and I'm tired.”

“When are you not starving, Ronald?” Hermione asked, watching as Harry stood and extended his hand to help her to her feet. They chuckled.

“Reading works up an appetite,” he defended. “I swear. I could eat just about anything right now.”

“Somehow, Ron, I don't find that hard to believe,” Harry replied looking at him. They shared easy laughter as they entered the kitchen. Harry found himself wishing it could stay this way, this easy. He knew, from the burning in his scar he purposely had failed to mention to any of them, that this easiness, this comfortableness would be gone all too soon.

Ron decided after dinner that it was best to let his family know sooner rather than later about training, leaving Harry and Hermione sitting on the sofa, fire blazing in the fireplace. He was watching the firelight in her glass; he'd learned recently that she had a taste for wines, specifically for Basserat de Bellefon Brut Rosé Champagne. He had smiled when she went into detail about the flavour balance. He sat just watching the light reflecting in her glass for some time, neglecting his own in his hand.

“This isn't going to be easy, is it?” She asked finally, breaking their comfortable silence. She looked over at him and waited for an answer. He looked away.

“No,” he replied quietly, tilting his own glass in the firelight. “It's going to be harder than we ever imagined, Hermione.”

“I never imagined living through it,” she said sipping her wine. He looked pointedly at her; she could feel his eyes on her and tried to ignore it until she couldn't anymore and looked back at him.

“Don't say things like that,” he said. “You'll get through this just fine. This is going to be… I don't even know the right words to explain it, Hermione, but think about what it means afterward. We can live when this is over.” He watched her take another sip from her glass, watching the rose coloured liquid as it touched her lips and receded.

“I know,” she finally said softly. “I know, Harry. It's just…it's hard to be optimistic sometimes.”

“Believe me, I know.”

“This training we're all going to get, I think it's a good idea. I mean, if we say we're all in this together, we all need to have the training to actually do so.”

“It's going to be rough,” he said, feeling his eyelids growing heavy. “Between the mental and emotional and the physical training with Shacklebolt… We're going to be drained.”

“It'll be worth it in the end,” she replied.

“It will be,” he agreed quietly. He finished the last few sips of wine in his glass and settled to watch her take her time with her own. When she finished he took her glass from her and placed them both on the mantle above the fireplace. He sat back down beside her, slightly surprised when she moved closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

“I have faith in you,” she said softly. His arm came to rest gently around her shoulders and his cheek came to rest on her head. “I've always had faith in you - in us, all of us, Harry.” He wanted to say something but he found he couldn't speak. His eyes had closed of their own volition and he could feel Hermione breathing softly and evenly against him. She was already asleep and he was quick to follow. The burning in his scar would wait until morning.

Harry and Ron sat at the kitchen table eating cornflakes, oblivious to the fact Hermione had come into the room, hair still wet from her late shower. She stood watching them for a moment as they ate, one hand occupied with a spoon and the other with a paper; Harry was reading the Daily Prophet and Ron was reading the Quibbler. Somehow, she wasn't surprised with this sight, and a slight smile graced her lips, because for that moment the gravity of everything didn't matter. These were her boys, her best friends, and for that one moment they didn't hurt, they weren't in any immediate danger, and they were just as they used to be. There were some things that never changed, and then there were the things that one wished would never change.

“Lovely reading material, Ronald,” she said, stifling a laugh as she startled him and he spilled a spoonful of cornflakes and milk in his lap.

“Bloody hell, Hermione,” he said shaking his head. “Make some noise when you come in a room, would you?” Harry grinned, chewing his cereal and glancing at Ron, and giving Hermione a look of approval. “It's not funny, Harry. The woman is going to give me a heart attack, I swear it.”

“Rubbish,” Harry replied grinning. “The most you'll get is a weak bladder. And believe me Ron; I'm going to be there with a camera when Hermione makes you wet yourself.” Hermione snorted with laughter. He looked at her, noticing she had envelopes in her hands. “What's that you've got?”

“Oh,” she replied looking down at her hands, “mail. Word spreads fast that you've returned.”

“Who are the letters from?” Ron asked.

“We have… there is one from Neville, one from Luna,” she smiled at Ron. He scowled and went back to his cornflakes. “She fancies Ron,” she said smiling.

“Shut up, Hermione,” he said into his food, his face turning crimson.

“They are all for you, Harry,” she said. “There is one from Fred and George, and one from Ginny. Oh, and I cannot forget your Howler from Mrs. Weasley.” She smiled, Ron smiled, and Harry paled.

“What?”

“Glad I'm not you mate,” Ron said trying to hold back laughter.

“Relax, Harry,” she said, “I was only kidding. You don't have any howlers.”

“Bloody hell, Hermione,” he echoed Ron's words. “I think you almost killed me and almost made me wet myself at the same time.” She and Ron laughed, and she brought all of Harry's mail to him. He picked up all the envelopes, just staring at them for a few moments. “I've been thinking,” he said. “Luna and Neville risked their lives in our fifth year at the department of mysteries… I think they should be a part of the New Order.” Ron and Hermione exchanged glances. “And Fred and George, and Ginny - we're all old enough now to do this and do it right.”

“I agree with you, Harry,” Hermione said. “They deserve just as much as anyone to be a part of this.”

“Why my sister?” Ron asked. “I know she's growing up, Harry, but…she's still my little sister…” Harry hated the pained look on Ron's face.

“I promise you, I won't let anything happen to her,” he said. “Things may not have worked out the way we thought it would, but I still care for her Ron - I feel like she's my little sister, too.”

“We'll keep each other safe,” Hermione said, looking between them.

“I don't want this to be happening, Harry,” Ron said quietly.

“Neither do I, Ron,” he replied. “But we can't pretend this isn't happening. If we want to live, and if we want to save all the people we love, this has to happen and it has to happen now.”

“I'll write them,” Hermione said. “I'll tell them to come here when they can, and we'll figure things out.” She took with her the letters, a mug of tea, and went out to the sitting room. Harry could see her from the kitchen begin to write the letters one-by-one. He looked at Ron, who was staring down at his food.

“I'm sorry,” he offered, not sure of what else to say.

“Don't be sorry, Harry,” Ron replied. “You shouldn't be. I know you're right; we have to do this. Better sooner than later, right?” Harry nodded a little.

“Everyone is going to pull through this just fine, Ron,” Harry said. “We've got the most capable people in the world teaching us. We'll be alright.” Harry was no longer sure if he was trying to convince Ron or himself, maybe both. Ron nodded.

“Come on,” he said standing, his red hair a mess. “Since she's writing to everyone, I guess we can clean up in here.” Normally Harry would make a crack about Ron cleaning, but somehow it just wasn't right at this moment. Thoughts of Voldemort, and fighting, of the New Order invaded everything else. He wasn't sure he could handle all of this at once - that any of them could handle all of this at once. It was beyond having the choice anymore.

The New Order gathered it's members quickly, knowing that staying close together meant better tactics, better chances of survival, and less chances of being attacked. It was quickly decided on which nights they would meet, who was to be called in an emergency, and what to do if they were found out. Everything was covered, and the training began. They knew it would be hard, but Harry's training was particularly grueling. The mental aspect left him weaker; the physical aspect left him bruised, cut, bleeding, often times too worn out to even see straight. Both Ron and Hermione were tiring quickly as well. This task was harder than they had anticipated, and it was beginning to show. Hermione watched as Shacklebolt fired curse after curse at Harry, watched as Harry struggled to avoid them, send them or something worse back. She watched Ron struggle with it as well, trying so hard to be up to Shacklebolt's standards. But they were quickly wearing thin. Hermione suggested easing up a bit, that training this hard was doing more harm than good; Harry was too stubborn to listen, as it had almost always been. She watched and watched, and watched curses and hexes flying at him. It was only a matter of time before he got hurt, she knew. She was right. She hadn't heard what Shacklebolt had used to curse Harry, but she watched him crumple at the opposite end of the room, crying out in something she knew had to be excruciating pain.

“Stop it!” she screamed. “Stop it! That's enough! Can't you see this isn't helping anyone?” she yelled at Shacklebolt. He lowered his wand, panting, watching as she and Ron rushed over to Harry, lying on the floor and gasping for air. “Harry?”

“Bloody hell, what's wrong with him, Hermione?” Ron asked her, the worry on his face evident and well read. She quickly checked over him, bypassing several cuts and scrapes, several bruises and minor burns. She carefully tried to pull up the leg of his jeans. His scream was so loud, so intense she fell backward in astonishment, her heart pounding in his chest.

“What did you do?” she screamed at Shacklebolt. Getting back to her place she looked for herself. “You've broken his leg!” She screamed at him, her eyes flashing with fury. “What is wrong with you Kingsley? You're supposed to be teaching him, not torturing him!”

“Do you think Voldemort is going to cast a tickling charm? Do you? He's going to torture Harry if he gets the chance, torture him until he begs for death.”

“Hermione, he's shaking bad,” Ron said looking down at Harry.

“He's in shock,” she said. She looked up at Kingsley, her eyes flashing. “Go and get Tonks,” she said through gritted teeth. “Get her now, and tell her she needs to heal him.”

“I don't think she can heal that, Hermione,” Ron replied, looking pale.

“She's an Auror, Ronald. She can heal him.”

“She's rubbish at healing charms of this magnitude,” Kingsley said, now looking much more remorseful, guilty even.

“I…can't…” Harry gasped. “This is…too much.” His lips were tinged with blue and his skin was ashen. He was shaking. Hermione carefully slid behind him, lifting his head to rest in his lap and gently running her fingers through his hair.

“Shh,” she hushed softly. “It will be different from now on,” she said. “There are better ways to do this.” He grimaced.

“Oh god…” he moaned. Ron was staring at the bone sticking through his best friend's skin. “Do… s-something.” His teeth were chattering viciously.

“Ron, get a blanket,” she said. “And then I want you to apparate out of here and get Luna. You know she can heal him better than any of us could.” Ron nodded, standing and leaving to get the blanket.

“Harry,” Shacklebolt said. “I, uh, I didn't mean for this,” he said gesturing to Harry's leg.

“I… k-know,” he stammered.

“What happened?” They all looked up to find Remus standing there. “Kingsley, you're supposed to be teaching him, not trying to kill or maim him.” He stared disapprovingly at the man now crouched by Harry.

“It w-was an a-accident,” Harry managed to stutter out.

“He's in shock,” she told him as she'd told Ron. “Ron is getting a blanket and then he's going to get Luna. She can heal him.”

“Yes, she can,” Remus agreed. “She has a gift for it.” He knelt down beside Harry. “Nothing is ever simple with you, is it?” he asked with a hint of a smile. Harry gave an awkward grin.

“N-Never.”

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7. Chapter Six: Torn

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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