Avenged Sevenfold

SecretKeeper

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance, Action & Adventure
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 30/11/2005
Last Updated: 16/04/2007
Status: in_progress

He can't fail this time. Not again, he thinks to himself. There's too much to lose. Far too much. // Death Eaters attack-- but don't kill? The Order plans-- but won't let Harry fight?Harry's 'seventh year' proves to be drastically unlike anything he's ever experienced. Will Dumbledore's old rhetoric of love and hope last when Harry's strength is tested to its limits? Will loyalties survive when each side seems bent on self-righteousness? Lives will be lost. Faith will diminish. But some things-- some affections-- never change. // And with Dumbledore gone, a power struggle begins. Will Harry be able to slip into the role of leader he's destined to take? What will become of Harry and Hermione? Will they be able to rescue their friend? The world? Themselves?

Chapters

1. Trial by Fire

2. Desecrate Through Reverence

3. Avenged Sevenfold

4. Waking the Fallen

5. The Suffering

6. Unholy Confessions

7. Radiant Eclipse

8. Fall From Grace

9. End of an Era

10. Tragedy and Travesty

11. Debacle and Disclosure

12. Inhale

13. And Embers Rise

14. Loopholes

15. Knocks on Doors

1. Trial by Fire

Bottom of Form

Disclaimer: The subsequent characters and terms are property of the amazing J.K. Rowling. The title of the story is very, very fitting (and you will all soon see why), but is actually named after one of my favorite bands. Consequently, all chapter titles and some of the lyrical excerpts belong to them. Others are my own. No infringement is intended.

Themes: Action/Adventure. Romance. Angst.

Author's Note: Well, here it is! Feel free to take “Run” off your favorites, folks, as this is officially the rewritten version. I was only a couple chapters in to “Run”, so it doesn't much matter anyway. At any rate, I am thoroughly excited by this story! It promises to be riveting.

When you reach the end of this chapter, a few of you will be asking yourselves, “Why?” I can't elaborate, as I don't want to give anything away, but rest assured any and all questions in your mind will be answered.

Enjoy!

Avenged Sevenfold
Trial by Fire

This agonizing lie
This trying time
Demands all of me,

The innocence I've lost
The blood its cost
Leaves unhealed scars within

This rendering pain
This unmerciful stain
Of unjust and stolen years
Has defied me time again

The choked sobs of night
The oppressing light
Has made a slave of me.

But I will not abate,
I will employ the hate
That has been planted deep inside

I will not falter
Valor will not tire
And I will defeat
This trial by fire.

Harry peered out Ron's open window at the Burrow, and into the black, starry sky. The hushed wind tangled itself in his unruly black hair. Closing his eyes, Harry sucked in a deep, refreshing breath before leaning his weary head against the ledge. He could hear voices of jovial laughter from bellow: the remnants of Bill and Fleur's wedding.

It had been a humble but beautiful ceremony. Fleur's relatives did not hide their shock too well upon seeing Bill's extensive scars. They did, however, give their polite condolences, and ended up receiving Mrs. Weasley's blessings (which, Harry thought, was the miracle of the century).

He could see Ginny sitting on a bench out in the yard, watching Fred and George entertain the Delacour's with merchandise from their joke shop. He longingly wished to feel lighthearted. Nothing would have made him happier than knowing he was still capable of laughter.

He'd hidden it well, he thought; the pain of Dumbledore's death… the constant tightening of his chest whenever he visualized his late mentor. It happened more than three weeks ago, but to Harry, it felt fresh and alive, as if he were reliving it every time his eyelids descended. But other than a few sleepless nights, he thought he was to be commended on how well he'd worn his mask of determination and contentedness.

Desperately trying to release the spell of his despondence, Harry sighed. His thoughts suffocated him, but he pushed them aside and focused on the distant, swaying trees.

But before he could relax the worry and hurt from his mind, a creaking floorboard signaled someone's arrival.

“Harry?” came Hermione's gentle voice as she softly knocked on the wooden door. “Can I come in?”

Without turning to face the entrance, he mumbled, “Sure.”

The hinges squeaked as Hermione's face peeked around the frame. She entered slowly before shutting the door behind her with a soft thump.

“I'm glad you're alone,” she said quietly, barely audible over the laughter and applause issuing from below. “I've been meaning to talk to you.”

“Alright, then,” he said.

Hermione moved closer and positioned herself on the edge of Ron's bed. She placed her elbows on her knees and leaned in so that she could whisper and still be loud enough to hear.

“Well, it's— it's silly, really, but… Oh, I've been meaning to say this for ages, I just couldn't pluck up the courage,” she sighed, sounding agitated with herself.

Feeling the closest thing to curiosity he'd experienced in weeks, Harry turned to face her, indicating with his eyes that it was ok to go on.

“You see, it's just… I've been feeling… Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry,” she pleaded at last, her voice exuding tenderness and concern.

Harry's brow wrinkled in confusion. “Come again?”

“You told me— you've been telling everyone, all along, and no one— not even me!— believed you… I just can't… I'm sorry, Harry,” she cried.

“Hermione, what are you on about?”

“Snape,” she muttered. “You knew… you kept telling us, but… no one listened, and now look,” she whispered in agony. “Dumbledore… Dumbledore's dead, and no one believed you… but I should have,” she said firmly. “I should have trusted you. You've been right about everything before, and I should have trusted you.”

Harry's mouth bobbed open. He certainly wasn't expecting this. He hadn't thought about it, honestly; he blamed no one but Snape for Dumbledore's death, and hadn't considered that anyone else— least of all Hermione— would either.

“Hermione,” he began soothingly, “Listen, it's—”

“I know it's not my fault, per se,” she interrupted desperately. “But I— I still feel terribly guilty, Harry. I'm so sorry for not listening to you. I can't imagine how frustrating that must have been, to not have even your best friend believe you…”

“Ron did,” he muttered before he could take the words back. He knew he'd made a mistake before he'd finished. The look on Hermione's face was tormenting, and Harry wanted nothing more than to shovel the words back inside.

Hermione's lip pouted as glistening tears bordered her lids. Her face was suddenly drained of all color.

“I'm sorry,” Harry hastened to say. “I didn't— that came out wrong. I just meant that—”

“No, it's alright,” she choked. “Ron was the better friend… he believed you… and I… I…” she couldn't finish. Tears streamed down her pale face, leaving glossy streaks across her smooth skin in their wake. She hurried to wipe them with the back of her hand, but it was useless.

Harry fought the urge to comfort her. He wanted to assure her that he wasn't bothered, that he had expected nothing less than Hermione's usual logic-drive outlook when he'd went to her with his theory, but the fear of an awkward embrace, combined with his preoccupied thoughts, had him rethink his instincts.

“You gave me your honest opinion,” said Harry. “I didn't expect anything less.”

“My opinion,” she spat nastily at herself, avoiding Harry's worried gaze, “should have been focused around trusting your judgment.” She finished wiping away her tears, licked her lips, then sat up straighter and faced him. “I'm sorry,” she said sturdily.

Harry managed a half smile despite himself. “You're forgiven.”

Hermione's eyes brightened as she seemed to visibly deflate. She offered her own shy smile before heaving a deep breath.

“Besides,” Harry continued, “I haven't always been right in the past. You tried telling me that the Department of Mysteries was just a trap… I should have trusted you, too. So let's call it square,” he said.

Hermione's smile broadened. “Ok.”

Harry went back to gazing at the tall, green trees. Their movements made them appear to be almost alive. Hermione kneeled on the floor and joined him. Harry glanced over at her, and found her eyes were closed as she wore a comfortable grin. It amazed him how guilty she'd felt.

He knew, in that moment more than in any other, how good of a friend she truly was.

----------------------

“Went well, didn't it? Bill looks happy,” Ron commented an hour later, as they climbed beneath their sheets.

“Yeah,” Harry mumbled solemnly.

He was still fighting his inner struggle. He felt ready to blurt out his feelings any moment, but kept them on guard. It was difficult, though, after Hermione's emotional confession. He knew himself well enough to realize that, had it been earlier in the evening, he would have broken in and spilled his heart out.

A long moment passed, during which the only sounds were whispering leaves rumbling in the surrounding forest. A cricket chirped in a bush somewhere in the distance, and Harry felt ready for a full night's sleep. He knew the next morning would dawn far too early— the first day of their hunt for horcruxes.

“Harry, you still awake, mate?” Ron asked cautiously, interrupting Harry's trance.

“Mmm,” he mumbled in response.

Harry heard Ron's mattress shift as he sat up in bed. “Listen,” he began, and Harry knew he was in store for another confession. “I sort of… I overheard you and Hermione earlier,” he blurted quickly before he lost his nerve.

Harry sat up too, finding Ron's eyes. “Yeah?” he asked, trying to restrain his anger. Had he been eavesdropping?

“I wasn't trying to listen in,” Ron hammered on, shaking his head lightly. “I was on my way up to find you… you sort of disappeared on me… but Hermione beat me to it, so I— I—”

“Spied on us?” Harry offered irritably.

“N— no! No, mate, I wasn't spying on you,” he affirmed decisively. “Honest, Harry, I didn't mean to. I just overheard Hermione, and she sounded right worried, you know? So I hung out for a minute to see what was going on…”

Harry narrowed his eyes, watching his friend intently. “Yeah. Fine.”

Ron gave him a quizzical look. “Hey, you alright? You seem a bit… a bit jumpy.”

Harry considered Ron for a moment. For the first time since Dumbledore's death, he felt ready to confide in someone… but Ron? Ron seemed preoccupied with his own musings. Harry found himself wishing he'd taken his earlier opportunity to let off steam with Hermione. Not that he had any idea what it was he'd have said.

“I'm fine,” he responded, calming down.

“Ok. Well, anyway,” Ron continued. He seemed to be readying himself for something… mustering courage, almost. He took a deep breath before plunging onward. “I wish I could talk to Hermione like that.”

Harry's eyebrows raised into his hairline. “What?”

Ron flushed a deep scarlet that reached his ears. “You know… the way you two were talking…”

Harry wasn't expecting to have this conversation this night. This night of all nights. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb, taking a long, steadying breath. Ron seemed genuinely anxious. Harry would answer his best friend's call for help.

“Ron,” he started, “She was crying. It wasn't some deep, significant discussion on the meaning of life,” he finished, failing to sound casual and interested.

“No, I know that,” he responded. “But I mean… it was still… it was still heartfelt, you know? When you're not around, the closest we get to anything serious is Hermione's complaints about not being able to take N.E.W.T.s this year,” Ron said, nearly rolling his eyes.

Harry shook his head, disbelieving that even Ron could be so dense with girls. This was Hermione, after all.

“It's not that difficult,” Harry offered grudgingly. “You just need to relax a bit. Don't be so concerned with… look, just let the conversation flow naturally,” he finished.

“Easy for you to say. It's different with you, you know it is,” Ron retorted.

“Yeah? How so?” Harry flamed.

“You're— you two don't… you don't have that tension…”

“The only reason you have tension is because all you do with her is bicker,” Harry snapped, though trying to keep his voice low. “You don't listen to what she says, you're not hearing her. Instead you're— you're hung up on hormones and pretenses… it's ridiculous, that's what it is.”

Ron gaped at him. “Yeah, you think so?” he asked nastily.

“Don't reckon I would've said it if I didn't.”

Ron hoisted himself up off his bed and walked to hover right above Harry, who had flung onto his pillow in frustration.

“Do you fancy her?” he asked resolutely.

Harry turned over to look him in the eyes. “What?”

“Do you fancy Hermione?” Ron repeated.

Harry's lips thinned.

“Well? Do you?”

Harry sat up abruptly, nearly bashing heads with Ron. “No. Happy?”

“I didn't think so,” Ron said. “You've been with Ginny for months now, anyway.”

Harry clenched his teeth and looked away. He hadn't told anyone about breaking up with Ginny. And from the current state of things, he didn't suspect this was the best time to mention it.

“So I can't figure why you're being such a prat about this,” Ron finished.

Harry wanted to hit him. Had Ron not considered that the last thing on his mind was girls? Had he not enough wisdom to understand that his complications with Hermione were the last of his worries? Harry thought any goon would understand that he didn't care about Ron's hormonal frustrations. It was all so immature, anyway.

But Harry wasn't all together certain why he wasn't able to control his temper. Despite his self-righteous feelings on the matter, he knew Ron was his best mate, and knew this topic would spring up eventually.

Harry pushed his fingers behind his glasses and kneaded them into his eyes.

Focus. Just focus, he thought. You need to get your temper under control. It's just Ron. You knew this was coming one day. It's just Ron.

“Alright,” he murmured, setting his glasses straight. “Sorry.”

He chanced a glance up at Ron, and saw his face relax.

Sitting down on Harry's bed and fumbling with his hands, Ron muttered, “What do I do?”

Harry had scarcely seen him look so vulnerable. Oddly, it infuriated him more than saddened him. “I dunno,” was all he was willing to advise.

Ron sighed and stared at his feet. “Sometimes I wonder… I wonder if it's meant to ever happen. There's these little signs, but what's that mean if I can't even talk to her? Not about anything important. Not how you do.”

Harry propped himself on his elbows and glared hard at the side of Ron's flushed face. A tinge of remorse crept into his interior and nestled itself right in the pit of Harry's stomach.

“Look,” he said forcefully. “I— I don't know what else to tell you. Hermione isn't… she's not as concerned with books as you might think. Half the time I reckon she uses them as an escape, you know? She's really caught up in this war. You might want to try bringing up something besides… whatever your usual topics are.”

Ron brought his hands together and nodded. “Yeah… yeah, I think you're right.” Using his knees as support, he stood up and turned towards his bed. “Err… thanks, mate.”

Harry nodded, knowing full well that Ron couldn't see him.

-------------------------

Harry flung the covers off and jumped to his feet. He'd been woken by the sound of some spell slicing through the air.

He rushed to the window and searched frantically for what made the noise. For a long moment, he saw nothing. But just as his heart was calming, he noticed a green hue emitting from above his head.

Looking up, Harry saw the large eyes of a serpent peering down at him.

The Dark Mark.

“Ron!” he screamed. “Ron, get up!”

Harry looked down and past the tables which still bore decorations from the wedding. Marching slowly forward was a long line of black, billowing cloaks.

“RON!” he screamed again, rushing to his bedside. Harry shook his shoulders violently, still yelling at him to get up.

“W- what? Harry, what's going—”

“Death Eaters!” he bellowed, before running out the door.

He climbed the stairs two at a time before bursting into Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's room. “Mr. Weasley! Mr. Weasley!”

The balding old man blinked up at him from beneath his night cap. “Harry? What's—”

“The Dark Mark— Death Eaters, outside!” he yelled, starting to panic. At that very moment, the house shook roughly, causing Harry to grasp the bedpost for support.

“Dear Merlin,” Mr. Weasley mumbled, his face paling. “Harry, go wake the others. Get everyone out, Apparate away, hear me?”

Harry charged from the room and continued to fly up the stairs. He rushed into Hermione's room, but found Ron was already there and yelling at she and Ginny to wake up.

Dashing across the hall, he flew into the twin's room, where they and Charlie were still sound asleep.

“Fred! George! Wake up!”

Charlie rose from his bed and met Harry's eyes. “Harry, what's going on?”

“Get up! We've got to Apparate!”

Charlie was already on his feet. “Death Eaters are here, aren't they?” he asked, far more calm than what was normal, Harry thought. “That wasn't an earthquake, was it?”

“No, it—”

The house shook a second time and Harry heard the distinct sound of a door being broken in.

“George, Fred, make sure everyone gets out,” he said frantically. “And that includes you, Harry,” he added, exchanging a knowing look.

Harry shifted his gaze and faintly registered Fred's stunned stare before rushing out the door. He ran headlong into Ron, who got the wind knocked out of him, but ignored it.

“My Dad and Mum— where are they?”

“Dunno, but we've got to get everyone out,” Harry replied hurriedly.

Another shake, and he heard the door burst open.

“Crucio!”

A woman's voice let out a horrifying scream from below.

“MUM!” Ron shouted before pushing past Harry.

“Ron, no!” Harry grabbed his sleeve and threw him against the wall. “You can't, you're outnumbered!”

“What would you do if it was your Mum, Harry?!” he responded furiously.

Harry stared him cold in the eyes, searching Ron's face. “She mine as well be,” he said in a dangerous whisper. “But it's suicide. Not even I'm that reckless.”

“Yeah? Department of Mysteries not own up to `reckless' anymore, then?”

Hermione and Ginny whipped around the corner, bumping into Ron.

“What are you two doing?!” Hermione shrieked. “Let's Apparate, now! Ginny, hold onto my arm—”

“No,” Harry said forcibly, still staring at Ron square in the eyes. “Me and Ron are going down.”

“What?!” Ginny yelled.

“No, Harry, you—”

“Why the hell are you lot still here?!” George appeared around the doorway. “Ginny, take hold of my arm! Don't let go…”

“Harry and Ron are going down!” she screeched.

“Yeah, so are we, soon as we get you two to Headquarters,” Fred said, meeting Harry's eyes with a nod. He grasped Hermione's arm, and before either she or Ginny could protest, the twins had Disapparated with them.

Harry heard glass shattering and spells tear through walls. Mr. Weasley screamed, “Look out!” to Charlie from below, just before the house shook again.

Someone was already marching up the stairs, only a few paces from where Harry and Ron stood.

“You don't have to do this,” Ron told him, his jaw set.

Harry didn't answer. He kept his eyes focused on Ron, but unsheathed his wand and pointed it down the stairwell. “Stupefy!” he yelled, and the approaching Death Eater toppled downward.

Ron broke Harry's gaze and eyed the crumpled figure. “Not that you couldn't be useful, of course…”

They dashed down the stairs and were met by the sight of Mr. Weasley dragging his wife's unconscious body across the foyer, as Charlie tried defending them against two oncoming Death Eaters.

Harry's chest hitched. Ron's face quickly morphed from pale shock to red outrage. They heard a loud crack issue from just behind them, and turned to face the twins.

Harry didn't delay. He jumped across the remaining stairs and landed with a thump as he shouted “Petrificus Totalus!”

One of the Death Eaters advancing on Charlie fell sideways and hit his head on the coat rack.

“Stupefy!” Harry yelled, and the second fell on top of the first.

Harry's breathing was ragged and uneven. He spun around to make sure Ron was ok.

George ran to his mother's aid and muttered, “Ennervate,”. She winced, but it was her first sign of life. She seemed to slowly come out of her state, much to George's visible relief. Mr. Weasley was still bent beside her, brushing the hair from her white face.

“Are— are there more?” Ron questioned anxiously.

“I dunno.” Harry moved to the window and peered out cautiously. “I don't see—”

“STUPEFY!”

Ron hit the floor with a sickening thump, his eyes closed and his arms sprawled awkwardly.

Two more tall, dark figures sprang into the room, one of which felt daring enough to leave her mask down.

Bellatrix.

Fred screamed, “Expelliarmus!”, but she merely muttered “Protego,” as if intensely bored by the proceedings.

Before she'd even finished uttering the shield charm, the other Death Eater screamed, “Stupefy! Stupefy!, and both Charlie and Mr. Weasley fell to the ground.

Fred, George, and Harry clustered together. The Death Eater Harry had hit on the stairs was waking.

“Well, well, well,” Bellatrix grinned wickedly. “Look who we've got here! Wee little Potter, trying to save his pathetic, blood-traitor friends…”

Harry's blood boiled as he clenched his wand and his nails dug mercilessly into his own skin.

“Hasn't it been made clear enough that everyone you love will die? Hmm? Risking your neck for such a lost cause really isn't too intelligent, boy, especially considering that you're the 'Chosen One',” she taunted, spitting out her last words. “Never were too bright, were you? You must take after your beloved headmaster,” she cackled. “Foolish and arrogant, just like him. Pity he died of it. Shame, really, that—”

“STUPEFY!” Harry shouted furiously, but Bellatrix blocked it with a flick of her wand and quickly yelled, “Petrificus Totalus!”.

Harry fell, his face smacking against the hard floor. He could hear his blood rushing in his ears, his face hot with fury. He heard Fred and George shout curses, but the Death Eater from the stairwell had risen, and before long they were knocked unconscious.

Bellatrix kicked Harry over onto his back.

“You remember these words, boy,” she spat in his face. “I could have killed you tonight. Right now, with my wand pointed at your chest, I am in control, and your filthy life would be put where it belongs.”

She leaned down and put her mouth inches from Harry's ear.

“But what fun would that be, if I could just as easily continue to take what is most precious to you?”

She rose and took a few steps backwards, a maniac glint in her eye as she spoke to Harry. “It'll always be the ones you love, Potter. So long as you continue to put them in danger— so long as you continue to fight this hero's fight— it will always be them.”

She gave him an evil smirk before turning around and walking casually out the door.

Behind her, Harry saw another tall Death Eater trace her steps into the night, carrying an unconscious Ron with him.

This agonizing lie
This trying time
Demands all of me,

The innocence I've lost
The blood its cost
Leaves unhealed scars within

But I will not abate,
I will employ the hate
That has been planted deep inside

I will not falter
Valor will not tire
And I will defeat
This trial by fire.

-->

2. Desecrate Through Reverence

Disclaimer: The characters belong to Jo, the title and lyrics belong to Avenged Sevenfold. And just so we're clear, they're meant to be directed towards the Order, not Hermione.

Author's Note: I dedicate this chapter to my good friend and fellow H/Hr shipper AstridSkywalker. She's been the best support I've had while writing this story, as she always encourages me to believe in whatever amount of talent I may or may not have. Fellow tree-burner, here's to you!

Avenged Sevenfold
Desecrate Through Reverence

Hard news, taken harder,
Don't look to me.
Disappointed, we don't agree,
(Don't look my way for help,
from the beginning you came to me)

Far away, you keep on trying...
Holding me down, but I'm breaking away
Trying to distance my life…
To you I'm not one in the crowd,
But one with the answers
But you're all dead to me

I'm alone in here
No more feelings
Killed my fears
I can't save you
Save yourself

Darkened eyes you'll see,
There is no hope, no savior in me
(Don't look this way, don't breathe this way,
don't stare this way, anymore)

Harry tried desperately to move a limb, any limb at all, but he'd experienced this curse before, and deep inside knew it was pointless.

Not Ron, not Ron, they didn't take Ron, he kept thinking, still struggling to stir.

“Arthur?”

Harry's stomach fell.

Mrs. Weasley had woken. He knew what the sight looked like even without being able to see it: Her entire family was defeated, unconscious and unmoving, sprawled at her feet.

“Arthur!” she shrieked loudly. “Ennervate! Ennervate! Oh, Charlie! Fred?! George!”

Just then, Harry heard a series of loud cracks emit from behind his head.

“Good Merlin,” came Remus Lupin's voice.

“Molly, are they— are they dead?” Harry heard Tonks ask quietly.

Though Harry knew better, the spoken words made him internally flinch and fight harder to move.

GET UP he screamed at himself.

“N— no!” Mrs. Weasley shrieked. A second passed in which Harry assumed she'd taken their pulses, because when she spoke again, there was much more confidence in her voice. “No, they're— they must have just been stunned,” she sighed, sounding relieved.

Harry felt pressure on his shoulders, and soon the world was right side up. Lupin leaned him against the wall, eyeing Harry's stiff face.

“He's alright,” he spoke to Tonks over his shoulder. “He'll be back in another few minutes.”

No! We don't have a few minutes! Harry thought achingly. They've got Ron! THEY'VE GOT RON!

Harry felt his chest physically quiver. His hands and feet pricked, as if going numb, and hot steam rose in his throat. He was breathing heavily, his eyes a bright green flame. Get up! GET UP!

And suddenly, not knowing how he did it, he toppled forward, his muscles obeying his command.

“Harry!” Mrs. Weasley cried. “Oh, thank goodness, I—”

“THEY'VE GOT RON!” he shouted immediately.

A relieved smile hung on Mrs. Weasley's face before her eyes widened in horror.

“What?” Lupin asked forcefully. “Who has Ron, Harry?”

“The Death Eaters!” he screamed loudly, his face flushing scarlet. “Bellatrix— they took—” he gestured helplessly towards the door, his hand flying madly through the air.

Tonks was white. Her hair suddenly turned a silvery gray. Harry looked to Lupin, still pointing towards to door, who only gaped at him in disbelief.

Anger pushed at Harry's chest. Why were they just standing there?!

He flew out the door and ran into the middle of the yard. He searched the skies wildly for any sign as to which direction they fled, but he knew that Apparation left no such hints.

Storming back inside, he was met by a hysterical Mrs. Weasley, who was clutching at her husband's lifeless arm. “Ron, no, not Ron! Oh my baby,” she was murmuring, her agonizing cries muffled into Mr. Weasley's robes.

Harry turned on Lupin furiously. “Why're we just standing here?!”

Lupin's mouth hung open, his eyes confused and unblinking.

“Harry, is everyone else ok?” Tonks stepped up to him and put a hand on his shoulder. Harry moved away.

“Yeah, everyone's fine!” he shouted. “Professor Lupin, why are we standing here?!” he questioned angrily.

“Harry…” Lupin spoke softly.

“Are you sure? You didn't hear the killing curse?” Tonks continued.

Harry's shoulders tensed, his rage barely under control. “No, they didn't use the killing curse, they're just stunned! And Hermione and Ginny Apparated to Grimmauld Place, alright?!”

Tonks let out a low, steady breath and turned to face Lupin. “We've got to get everyone to Headquarters,” she whispered steadily.

“What?!” Harry yelled. “Headquarters?! What— what're you— they've got Ron!” he hollered desperately, pounding his fist against the wall.

“I know, Harry, but we've got—”

“Got to what?! Wait for orders?! From who, Dumbledore?! In case you forgot, he's dead, no one's here to save the day anymore,” he stormed furiously. “We have to go after them! THEY'LL KILL HIM!” he cried, ignoring Mrs. Weasley's increasing sobs.

Lupin shook his head, remaining as calm as possible. “No, they won't.”

Harry blinked.

“You've gone mad,” he said, his voice breaking.

“They didn't kill any of you. They could easily have, but they didn't kill, not even Ron. There's a reason… they have a plan…”

Harry's brow scrunched tight in mingled bewilderment and frustration.

“They took Ron for a reason, Harry,” he continued solemnly. “They won't kill him. They need him for something—”

“Oh, well that makes me feel loads better,” Harry snapped.

“Where do you presume we go, Harry?” Lupin said, his voice finally rising. “Did they leave you any clues? A map, perhaps?”

“Well I— I thought—”

“We haven't any better idea as to where they took him than you,” Lupin spoke, lowering his head and massaging the bridge of his nose.

“That's not— but there's—” Harry staggered. The realization hit him like a thousand stabbing knives, digging into his heart.

Ron was gone.

And they had no idea how to save him.

-------------------------

Harry made his way up the staircase of Number 12, Grimmauld Place in a daze. His palms were sweaty and fidgety. His chest was tight, his breathing constricted. It took all his effort to lift his legs high enough to reach Hermione and Ginny's bedroom.

“Oh, Harry!” Hermione shrieked the second he opened the door, as she ran into him, obscuring his vision with a great mass of brown hair. “I was so worried, thank goodness you're all right,” she smiled into his neck.

Harry didn't know what to say. How do you tell someone their best friend has been kidnapped by Death Eaters?

He stood stiffly and wrapped his arms around Hermione in an almost mechanical motion. It was all he could think to do.

But Hermione backed away and read the terrified expression in his eyes. The back of her hand grazed across his forehead. “Harry, do you feel faint? What's wrong?”

He shook his head, his eyes darting to the floor. “I— there was…” he croaked.

Ginny approached the pair, her hand reaching to clasp Harry's arm. “Harry?” she whispered. “What happened?”

Looking up to meet her gaze, Harry blinked back tears.

“Ron—”

Hermione gasped and Ginny dashed from the room, fear and panic etched on her young face.

“Harry— is Ron ok?!” Hermione asked despairingly. “Harry, talk to me! What happened to Ron?!”

Harry lowered his head. “The Death Eaters took him.”

“What?!” she shrieked. Her eyes were wide and pleading, begging for Harry to break into a grin and say, `No, just kidding…' only he didn't. Her bottom lip trembled and her hands shook at her sides.

Then suddenly, Hermione fell to the floor in a heap of silver and red night robes. Harry rushed to catch her just before her head smacked against the door.

“Hermione!”

Harry brushed back her hair and gently shook her arm. She looked up at him, her eyes blinking heavily and searching around the room as if she was intensely dizzy.

Lifting her to her feet, Harry wrapped her left arm around his shoulders and eased her out the door.

“Harry, no,” she whispered weakly. “Not Ron…”

He bit back the urge to scream in misery. Hearing Hermione fumble with his same indistinct, disbelieving thoughts, made the situation seem much too real.

“Where are we going… who else…”

“Everyone else is fine,” said Harry, allowing Hermione to lean against him. “They were all stunned— no one could do anything, I was in a body bind,” he explained wearily, as if trying to describe a nightmare. “It was… they just took him, Hermione… they took him…” he finished, pausing briefly on the steps to let his words wash over him.

Hermione straightened and met Harry's eyes with her own. They were so filled with dread, it winded him. “They're all— the Weasley's are downstairs?”

Harry nodded.

“Do they… are they all awake now?”

Another nod.

Hermione bit her lip and turned away from him.

She knew what that meant. It meant they all knew about Ron by now. It meant she was on her way into a room filled with grieving, horror-struck people who'd just had their son, brother, friend, stolen from them by Voldemort.

When they reached the kitchen, it was to a sobbing Ginny and Mrs. Weasley. They were holding each other, the mother caressing her daughter's long, red hair. Mr. Weasley sat in a chair beside them, his face in his hands. Charlie was leaning in a corner, consoling himself just as much as he was attempting to console Fred and George.

Lupin, Tonks, Kingsley, and Professor McGonagall sat around the table, each looking exhausted, speechless, and out of place.

Hermione, chewing on her lip with bloodshot eyes, made her way towards Mrs. Weasley. She placed a tentative hand on her shoulder, afraid to make a wrong move, but Mrs. Weasley quickly grasped Hermione in a tight embrace, crying into her hair.

Harry stared as Hermione gently patted the woman's back, cooing soft words in her ear. She looked beside herself.

It was all too surreal.

“Harry,” Lupin said from the opposite side of the table, snapping him out of his trance. “Why don't you take a seat… We're just waiting for Moody and Hagrid,” he explained in a hushed voice.

Harry looked around and saw Fred giving his twin a tight squeeze on the arm. They were turned towards the wall, but he could hear their muffled, watery sniffs.

He reluctantly obeyed Lupin's request, and spent the following minutes staring at the wooden table on which his entwined hands were resting. Mrs. Weasley calmed down, just slightly, and Hermione took a seat beside Harry.

No one said a word. The silence was all-consuming, ringing in their ears. Dust from the table swirled and disappeared into the faint, muted light every time Harry nervously drummed his thumbs against the hard surface. He found himself squinting at a rusted nail in concentration, but distantly registered that no coherent thoughts struck his numbing mind.

He just wanted to wake up from this nightmare.

But then, the distinct sound of Apparation hung in the room. Harry set his jaw, disappointment that it hadn't been a dream flooding through him.

“What in the blazes happened?!” Moody shouted just behind Harry's ear.

Lupin began explaining the night's events in a detached whisper. Moody grunted and shook his head profusely, his ethereal blue eye rolling around vilely in its socket.

“Harry, Hermione!” Harry turned in his chair, but before he could get a look through the doorway, he was being held tight to a chest in a bone-shattering hug.

“Hagrid,” Harry choked.

“What happened?” he asked scruffily. “I was on me way ter feed Witherwings when Tonks' patronus—”

“They took Ron.”

Hagrid gaped, his bushy eyes shifting restlessly. He began shaking his head, nearly falling backwards, as if Harry's words had hit him hard in the stomach.

“Wh—”

“Everyone else is fine,” he continued. “Except Ron.”

Harry looked away from Hagrid's stricken face. He couldn't handle watching anyone else crumble at the news.

Instead, he glanced at Hermione, who had her arms wrapped around herself as she stared hard at the floor.

I won't sit here and let them torture Ron. I won't sit here and let them play him like a chess piece to get to me. I won't.

“Professor Lupin,” Harry called, interrupting his conversation with Moody. “I need to talk to you.”

Without waiting for a reply, he strode into the hall and waited by the landing.

He watched the gloomy, orange light from the streetlamps filter through the murky windowpanes, trying to collect his thoughts. The curtain that disguised Sirius' mother's portrait gave a small stir.

Harry felt sure she was mocking him.

“What is it, Harry?” Lupin asked as he appeared from the doorway, his forehead wrinkled in uncertainty.

Harry unlatched his revolted focus from the curtain with a straining sigh.

“Horcruxes,” he blurted out, meeting Lupin's eyes. “Do you know anything about them?”

Lupin's wrinkles deepened. He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, his mouth hanging slightly open.

“Yes, I do,” he said slowly. “What's this about Harry? How do you know about Horcruxes?”

“Voldemort. That's what he's using… Horcruxes, to stay alive. That's his lifeline.”

Harry watched intently as an assortment of emotions flickered on Lupin's face. Turning away from Harry, he lifted his arm to lean against the stair's railing, his eyes dark and set.

“How do you know this?” he finally asked.

“Dumbledore,” Harry responded simply.

Lupin gave an almost indistinguishable nod.

“I'm telling you this,” Harry began, the first hints of pleading in his voice, “because I trust you.”

Lupin turned his head to meet Harry's eyes, his own half-hidden behind a thin layer of graying hair. “I won't betray that, Harry,” he muttered.

Heaving a deep breath, Harry kept his focus on Lupin's gaze. “And also because I need you to search for the remaining ones.”

Lupin lifted himself from the railing and shot Harry a suspicious look. “What?”

“He split it seven ways— his soul, I mean—”

“Harry…”

“I destroyed one my second year, it was his old journal. Dumbledore destroyed another— Slytherin's ring— and he suspected that Hufflepuff's goblet was one, and his snake, Nagini, too, so they might be the best places to start—”

“Harry, I'm not sure—”

“—but here's the thing,” Harry continued, determined to give Lupin every amount of information he had. “…we went to destroy another, the night he died. We got to it, but there— it was a fake. Someone with the initials R.A.B. stole the real one and left a note with the fake,” he said, which caught Lupin's attention. “I have the phony one, if you want to see it. Actually,” he thought, “You can have it. I don't need it.”

Lupin eyed him sadly.

“Harry, don't you see what's happening here?”

Harry shook his head. “No,” he said, his lips thinning. “And to be honest with you, I don't much care. All I know is, Ron's out there, being held by Death Eaters. He's not dead… you said it yourself, they need him for something—”

“Yes, Harry, and that something is you, understand?” he replied urgently, taking Harry firmly by the shoulders. “This is what they do, you must know that by now. Voldemort's plan is to take everyone you love and turn it against you, in more ways than one, might I add. This time he's using Ron to distract you from looking for the Horcruxes. He knows you, Harry,” he sounded apologetic. “It wasn't luck that kept you from being murdered tonight. It was Voldemort's orders—”

“No, that doesn't make any sense,” Harry refused, taking a step back as he felt hot irritation rise in his throat. “Voldemort's always wanted me dead, why would—”

“Because Voldemort must do it himself,” Lupin pressed, his voice rising. “He's figured out that sending Death Eaters and portkeys and diaries won't work, Harry. He's tried to kill you your entire life, and nothing, nothing he's done has worked,” he smiled, and Harry thought he heard a tinge of pride in his voice. “He can't get at you physically, so he's trying to tear you apart emotionally.”

Harry thought back to Bellatrix's words, and grudgingly admitted to himself that Lupin was right.

“But she had me, Lupin,” he mumbled gravely. “She even said it— `I could kill you right now… and besides, how would Voldemort know that I'm looking for his Horcruxes? Dumbledore didn't tell Snape, if that's what you're thinking, so I— I don't understand—”

“I admit it's suspicious,” he divulged solemnly, tearing his eyes away. “But that only means there's a piece of the puzzle we haven't figured out yet. Harry,” he reached for his shoulders again. “Please listen to me. I can help you search for these Horcruxes… but I can't do it for you. You're the only one Dumbledore confided in. You alone have the information and means to track them down… you're the one who's connected to Voldemort, through your scar—”

“But I'm not!” Harry fumed angrily, his patience wearing thin. “Not really… He's been using Occlumency, I can't—”

“You're still connected, even if you don't realize is consciously.”

Harry's teeth clenched as he stared at his feet. He felt walls of loneliness and despair mounting around him, suffocating, gripping his heart.

It was too much. It was all too much. He'd been abused, neglected, taunted, ostracized, and tormented his whole life. He'd been alone, so very alone, for as long as he could remember. Everything about him set him apart from everyone else.

He hated it.

And he wouldn't let it control him anymore.

Not this time.

Harry's fists tightened into fists as he reached his conclusion.

“I'm still going.”

Lupin closed his eyes in mingled frustration and fatigue.

“Where, Harry… where will you go?”

He shrugged. “Anywhere. Doesn't matter. I'll start with places Voldemort was last spotted. Something'll turn up.”

“Harry, you can't just—”

“I said I'm going,” he repeated, his voice steady and deadly calm. “I'm tired of being everyone's hero, Lupin. I'm tired of it. I'm tired of putting all of me into this— this life I didn't ask for. But I've done it anyway,” he spoke in a dangerous whisper, shooting Lupin a defiant glare. “Because it's right, because I'm the one who has to. I've made a choice to see this through. But my loyalty to a cause becomes severely limited when it means sacrificing my loyalty to the closest thing to family I've ever had.”

Rubbing his eyes, Lupin heaved a deep, audible sigh. Harry watched him, daring him to protest.

But as soon as he opened his mouth, Harry cut him off.

“Listen,” he continued heatedly, looking up to capture Lupin's eyes. “I'm not going to fail. I'm not going to abandon what needs to be done, alright? But this is Ron, d'you understand? Ron. And I won't play the martyr this time. I won't play the— the rescuer. I'm not a prop or a— an empty shell, just taking orders to do what everyone else needs, and that fact… that fact is the reason nothing Voldemort's done has worked. My feelings… this is what separates me from him. And I know it can be my downfall, I'm not stupid,” he spat crossly. “Don't think for a second I didn't learn something from Sirius' death. But this is where I draw the line. I won't be your savior, Lupin. It's time I learn to save my friends first. It's time I learn to save myself.”

And with that, he stormed up the stairs without a single glance back, leaving a stunned and helpless Lupin in his wake.

------------------------

Hermione stood anxiously outside Harry's bedroom door, eyeing the knob as if it were prone to burning her hand if she touched it. Her fingers grazed against the cold, rough metal, but quickly clutched themselves at her side before she returned to ogling it.

Finally, she gathered the courage to proceed.

“Harry?” she asked the large wooden frame as her knuckles softly rapped against it. “Harry, can I— can I come in?”

She heard the floor creaking in the bedroom behind the door, and registered the sound of a mattress being shifted by weight, but still no encouraging voice met her ears.

After a moment, Hermione jiggled the handle to see if it was locked.

It was.

“Harry, please, I just want to talk to you,” she pleaded, her eyes struggling to somehow see through the wooden barrier. “Lupin told me you two had a— a bit of a row downstairs, but he… I don't know what's going on, Harry… I just want to know what's happening…” she finished, sounding defeated and worn.

A gentle click resonated through the long, empty hallway. Hermione looked down and noticed the doorknob had rotated.

Turning it fully, Hermione pressed her weight against the door and slowly entered the room.

Harry's school suitcase was lying open on his bed, overflowing with what appeared to be unfolded clothes and old, large books. The window beside the bed was thrown wide, allowing gushes of warm, summer night air to dance with the moonlight on the hardwood floor.

But Harry himself was no where to be seen.

“Harry?” Hermione called worriedly.

Then, standing beside the window, a tall frame came into focus as droplets of color ran down its length. Suddenly, it looked as if a bucket of paint had been thrown on top of it, as the colors began to take form and outline a top of unruly black hair.

“Disillusionment Charm,” Harry explained quietly as its affects wore off. “I had to make sure I knew how to do it.”

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip, her fingers pulling at themselves in a concerned fit. She turned from him, towards the suitcase, and nodded in its direction.

“You're leaving?” she whispered.

Harry stepped next to the scattered belongings and met Hermione's gaze. “Yeah.”

Hermione nodded, the corners of her eyes stinging furiously. “Lupin told me about your row.”

Harry sucked in a huge breath of air, his eyes closed, and sat on the corner of the bed. When he opened his eyes, he found two great, brown ones peering into him, filled with anguish and unbidden worry.

Hermione was kneeling before him, asking some question without words.

“Hermione,” he quietly exclaimed, “This isn't… I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, `It's a trap, you can't fall for this, you know there's a greater reason they took Ron…' is that right?”

Hermione tore away her gaze and hung her head, focusing on Harry's shoes.

“I know,” he said, his voice taking on an air of defiant determination. When Hermione lifted her head, she could see the fierce resolve etched into the fine lines of his face, even through the strings of curly hair positioned in front of her eyes.

“I know,” he repeated, softly this time. “But I can't— I won't… does that mean I sit around and pretend he's still here?” he questioned at last, his chest rising and falling steadily.

Hermione sniffed back a tear, her head shaking somberly. “I don't know, Harry. I just… I don't know.”

Harry leaned closer, his hot breath almost reaching Hermione's skin. “But I do,” he whispered. Hermione looked up and her cheeks flushed upon seeing his deep, green eyes boring into her. She bit her lip, and thought of nothing else to do besides place her frail, shaking hands on his knees.

Hermione thought she saw Harry flinch at her touch, but when he placed his hands on top of hers, the idea was immediately dismissed and replaced with a warm smile.

“Lupin looked a bit… err… put off,” Hermione grinned impishly.

Harry, however, didn't return the demeanor. His brow knitted together in concentration as he refocused on the chair in the corner. “He means well. I know he does,” Harry spoke almost inaudibly. “That's why I trust him. But he doesn't— he can't understand.”

Hermione shifted her hands in a comforting embrace. Harry looked down to see his fingers entwined with hers. He gave her hand a quick squeeze, leaving Hermione wondering how he always managed to be so soothing, even when it was he who needed it.

“You might… I mean, you understand, don't you?” Harry asked her, his eyes begging for something Hermione couldn't place. Assurance?

“Of course I do,” she cooed gently.

Harry swallowed hard. “I've done this… I've been this forever. I've always been the `Boy-Who-Lived'… and I know I can't escape that. I know… I'm the one. I have to finish him.”

Hermione's lips quivered at his softly spoken words. She already knew what he said to be true. She'd always known, even before the prophecy. But the weight of hearing it now, on this night, was unbearable.

She closed her eyes and let the warm, calming wind tangle itself in her hair, hoping it would carry away her fears and Harry's burden. Allowing the pressure of Harry's comforting hands engulf her senses, she sighed a deep, miserable sigh that enveloped her worst nightmares.

“You know that,” Harry whispered. “Everyone knows that. But you… me and you— and Ron— we know something the Order doesn't.”

Hermione slowly lifted her lids to meet Harry's intense stare. His eyes weren't as bright as she remember them being, even a minute ago. They were dulled and sorrowful, almost apologetic, and Hermione couldn't ignore the flicker in them that said it had nothing to do with Ron this time.

“What do we know, Harry?” she asked meekly, blinking back the burning sensation behind her eyes.

Harry released one of her hands and cupped Hermione's cheek, wiping away a single tear that had fallen despite her greatest efforts.

“We know that everyone has a breaking point… and that this is mine,” he said sadly, watching her. “We know that… there comes a time when we have to break the hold on us. We have to grow and meet our challengers... We know that I can't be everyone's savior all the time. You know that… you've seen me for… for more… you and Ron are the only ones who've ever separated me from the name on that prophecy. I know that. We know… that sometimes… sometimes I have to stop being the Boy-Who-Lived. Sometimes I just have to be—”

“Harry,” she choked, finishing his thought with a sad smile. “Sometimes you just have to be Harry.”

Holding me down, but I'm breaking away
Trying to distance my life…
To you I'm not one in the crowd,
But one with the answers

Darkened eyes, you'll see,
There is no hope,
No savior in me.

Don't look this way, don't breathe this way,
Don't pray this way,
Anymore.

-->

3. Avenged Sevenfold

Author's Note: A huge thank you to everyone who's reviewed! The enthusiasm and positive feedback has been utterly overwhelming! All your encouraging words have really inspired me, so for all of that, and more, I thank you. I hope you enjoy chapter three!

Avenged Sevenfold
Avenged Sevenfold

Taken was the love I knew
Stolen was the fight in me,
Battered was the heart I had
Lost was my motivation to see

Buried is the badge of courage
Broken is this life of privation
Shattered are the morals I held
Dismissed is the idea of salvation

But one too many times
You've stolen the air from my lungs
One too many times
You've eclipsed the rightful sun

I've fought and bled and died
A thousand different times
I've sacrificed and wept
For values I have not kept

But no longer will I allow
Your reign to take hold,
This time I will finish you
And be avenged sevenfold.

“Alright,” Harry breathed quietly, his voice betraying his will to sound steady. “It's— I have to go now.”

Standing, he turned towards his suitcase with slumped shoulders, the warm wind making one last effort to be heard.

“You mean we,” Hermione corrected, her face devoid of emotion as she tried to appear determined.

Harry stopped abruptly, his hands falling to his sides. He tilted back his head, his weary eyes briefly surveying the ceiling before fluttering shut.

“I knew you'd—”

“Yes, as you very well should have,” she interrupted, straightening her knees and standing. “Don't try to be noble with me, Harry, I'm not some damsel in distress, I can take care of myself perfectly well, and if you think for a second I'm going to sit around and let you—”

“Easy Hermione,” Harry breathed, his body shifting to face her. “I'm not… I wasn't going to— I knew you'd be coming,” he said. “I didn't ask because… I mean, I assumed…”

Hermione's mouth was hanging agape, bobbing open and shut like a fish out of water.

“You… it's… ok?” she questioned, feeling winded that he was letting her follow him without any argument whatsoever. She stared into his eyes, searching for any hint of the lost little boy she'd met on the train so long ago, or even the overly-righteous, exceedingly independent adolescent from fifth year. But she found none, and nearly gasped at the strength and maturity emitting from his familiar green eyes.

Harry merely smiled.

“There's a problem, though,” he continued, ignoring Hermione's question and apparent perplexity. “I haven't the faintest—”

“—idea as to where we're going, yes, I know,” Hermione commented airily as she snapped out of her trance. “It doesn't matter.”

Harry blinked. “It… doesn't?”

“No,” she confirmed, feeling decidedly less shaky as she smoothed out her nightgown. “I've gotten some good pointers from the Order. They've been discussing possible locations in the kitchen.”

Harry gaped at her, the beginnings of anger rushing through his blood. “You mean— they told you where to go? After Lupin tried to tell me n—”

“No, no,” Hermione hurried, eyeing Harry anxiously. “While you were talking to Lupin, Moody and McGonagall were discussing where they might have taken Ron. It wasn't— they didn't know I was paying attention, and they certainly didn't suspect we'd use the information to go looking for him on our own.”

Harry took a deep breath and nodded, his hands digging into his pockets. “Alright. What did they say?”

“Well,” Hermione considered. “They feel certain Ron's being held captive somewhere away from Voldemort. It makes sense, because… well, you heard Lupin, Harry… we've been over this… it's— this is all a ploy to distract you, to trap you—” she cut off short at the miserable expression suddenly buried beneath Harry's eyes. “Err… well, in light of that, they're not going to keep him somewhere that'll lead you or the Order directly to Voldemort's headquarters. They decided it would be some place remote, but not too far, since they need to keep him within your reach…”

Harry removed the last jumper from the dresser and tossed it into his rusty brown, overflowing suitcase. “Well,” he sighed, “seems like pretty flimsy logic, but if that's all we have to go on…”

“It's not flimsy,” she muttered indignantly, folding her arms protectively over her chest. “It's just… it's just a bit vague. But I think I have an idea.”

She flicked her wand, and the remaining belongings piled themselves into Harry's open trunk. Another complicated pattern through the air, and the objects and clothing within organized themselves.

“The mountains,” she said softly, watching a pair of jeans iron themselves flat. “I think— well, I read that Death Eaters used to hold meetings in the mountains a lot during the first war. Particularly because that's where the Giants are, so it proved a very secluded place, away from Muggles and such.”

Harry's possessions stopped stirring, leaving a considerable amount of space left within. Waving her wand once more, it shut and locked itself, before Hermione's smaller trunk appeared with a tiny pop.

Harry gazed at it with detached eyes. “You know the Ministry's going to—”

“Honestly, they're much too busy to worry about a seventh year witch packing a trunk. I'm nearly of age anyway. So are you, for that matter. I'd be surprised if they even notice.”

Harry shrugged, not really caring if they did. “So, where are the nearest mountains?”

Hermione busied herself with the latches of her tattered trunk before removing several articles of clothing. She took the few short steps towards the attached bathroom and shut the door behind her with a decisive click.

“Hogwarts,” she called from behind the wooden barrier, her voice muffled. “Remember? There's a stretch of them just north of the grounds.”

Harry nodded to himself and instinctively felt for his wand in his pocket.

A moment later, Hermione emerged, fully dressed and grasping her night robes. Folding them neatly, she locked up her things, and stood to meet Harry's intense stare.

“Ready?”

Harry swallowed hard and felt his stomach lurch unpleasantly. “Hermione…” he whispered, taking a step closer. “I can't…” he stopped, lowering his head and breathing deeply. When he lifted his head to meet her gaze, his eyes were grave and somber, making his soft face appear ten years older.

“Harry?”

He licked his lips and took a steadying breath. “I can't let them get you,” he finally spoke, his voice rough and breaking between syllables. “If they… it could mean… they'd have so much power over me, if they captured you too, more than… I just… can't…”

Hermione's stomach gave a strange flutter. The echo of far off laughter riding on the wind was the only sound piercing the gentle quiet that was suddenly pressing down on her. Harry's loss for words lingered between them, manifesting into unanswered questions and burning impulses thick enough to suffocate the thoughts from the girl's mind.

“Oh, Harry,” she managed to murmur, ever so gently, taking his hand in hers and receiving a heartrending jolt when she found it was trembling. “They won't. I promise—”

“You can't promise me that,” he mumbled, watching their hands with a furrowed brow.

“Harry,” she whispered again, “I won't let them take anything else from you… I won't let them take you from me,” she breathed.

Harry moved nearer, catching her eyes with a heart-stopping gaze. “Just promise me you'll be careful. Promise me… Hermione, if something happens and I ask you to leave, if I tell you to run—”

“Shhh,” she whispered. “It's all right, Harry. I'll be okay. We'll be okay.”

Harry offered her a weak smile, tightening his grip on Hermione's hand, unwilling to break her confidence with his throbbing doubt.

----------------------------------------

Two days.

Forty-nine hours.

Forty-nine hours and thirty-seven minutes.

Forty-nine hours and thirty-seven minutes…

Since Ron had been taken from beneath Harry's nose.

And as Harry sat in a cold, wet indent, hidden in shadow cast by the great cave ceiling above him, he could not help but count down the time.

He and Hermione had Apparated to a snowy mountaintop, from which they could almost see the tall trees that outlined Hogwarts. Luckily, the icy peak had forgiven their forgetful ignorance at not realizing that mountaintops were indeed cold, despite the season, and felt fit to provide the couple with a deep, accommodating cave on the south-most ledge.

There, the two had been hiding, constantly on the lookout, constantly searching for any signs, for…

Forty-eight hours and thirty-nine minutes, Harry recited, his mind flashing unbidden images from his last conversation with Ron.

“The only reason you have tension is because all you do with her is bicker. You don't listen to what she says, you're not hearing her. Instead you're— you're hung up on hormones and pretenses… it's… ridiculous, that's what it is.”

“Yeah? You think so?”

“Don't reckon I would've said it if I didn't.”

Harry sighed and shut his eyes, hoping it would shut out the memory. The heavy weight in the pit of his stomach seemed to squirm and tear at his insides, reaching his heart until a fiery ache twisted behind his chest.

Why had he been so short with him? Why had he been on pins and needles, uncharacteristically ill-tempered towards his best friend? He remembered feeling frustration and… something else, something unidentifiable, burn through his throat and rise inside of him.

But why? None of what he recalled feeling made sense. What had he been feeling? It was a new sort of pain, one of the few he hadn't been experienced with handling.

Guilt.

“Do you fancy her?”

“What?”

“Do you fancy Hermione?”

Silence.

“Well? Do you?”

“No. Happy?”

Harry tore his focus from the deep, inky sky, feeling suddenly restless and aggravated. Removing his glasses, he buried his face deep in his hands, eyeing a small pool of half-frozen water from between his fingers.

One of Harry's hands reached up to comb through his hair, his eyes stinging as he allowed them to flutter shut.

“Harry?”

Hurrying to lift his head and appear emotionally unscathed, Harry turned to face Hermione, his glasses askew.

“Hermione, you should be sleeping,” he said, nodding towards the bluebell flames which encircled a makeshift bed of blankets in the corner.

“It's three in the morning, it's my turn to be on the lookout,” she reminded gently as she crouched beside him, tucking dangling strands of hair behind her ears. “Harry, are you all right? You look…”

“Tired?” he offered, trying to sound kind and absorbed, but instead sounding awkward and flat.

“Well,” Hermione mulled slowly, watching him with suspicion. “I suppose.”

Harry tugged on the sleeves of his jumper so that his hands were tucked inside, safe from the nighttime chill. His eyes returned to scanning the sky, the trees below, on the watch for any signs of movement. His eyelids weighed heavily against his piercing green orbs, but otherwise he felt wide awake, and was terrified of giving his mind the opportunity to run rampant.

He was acutely aware of Hermione's presence, her distinct vanilla scent wafting with the wintry frost.

“The bed's still warm,” she spoke softly, still crouched low. “Go sleep, then. I'll wake you at eight.”

Harry shook his head. “No, I couldn't sleep if I wanted to. Go on, I'll stay up.”

Hermione clicked her tongue, a frustrated groan escaping her lips. “Honestly, I knew you would do this. Harry, you must slee—”

“Shhh!” Harry suddenly commanded, his hand flying to grasp her arm. “Did you hear that?”

Hermione shot the dark air an anxious look, her face swiftly changing expressions. “No… Harry, what—”

“Right there! Again, I heard it… Hermione, put out the flames,” he ordered hastily, jumping to his feet and unsheathing his wand.

Hermione obediently flicked her wand, all five flames vanishing. She turned back to him, clutching his sleeve with wide eyes. “What did it sound like? Was it close?”

“No,” he whispered. “It sounded pretty far off… but it sounded like… like someone Apparating…”

Hermione strained her ears, taking a tentative step closer to the cave's opening. The only sound she heard was the muddled dripping of a melting icicle.

But suddenly, a faint yet distinguishing pop resonated through the air.

She slowly turned her head, hoping to catch Harry's gaze. Her grip on him strengthened as she kept her wand steady beside her.

Harry's eyes blazed, his face screwed in concentration.

“Harry, what do we… should we…”

But before she could finish stammering, Harry had sprinted to the back of the cave, returning a second later with his Firebolt and invisibility cloak.

-------------------------------------

Minutes later, they were soaring across the black, star-patched sky, utterly invisible to anyone besides themselves. The chilly wind pounded harshly against Hermione's ears, the ends of the invisibility cloak flapping against her shoes.

Hermione could feel Harry's urgency in his tense muscles, in his strained shoulder blades, as she felt the broom tip downward, Harry bringing them closer to the treetops.

“What're you doing?” she whispered in his ear, barely audible over the gushing wind.

Hermione felt him shiver.

“We'll never see anything from this high,” he called back to her, twisting his neck. “Just hold on tight.”

Hermione didn't object. She cast her eyes below for the first time since ascending into the night, and her stomach gave a sudden leap. She hurried to refocus her gaze on Harry, but the damage was done. An anxious moan pressed against the back of her throat as her arms tightened around Harry's waist.

Then Harry's voice overrode the loud wind. “There,” he pointed out, one hand motioning just to their left. “D'you see that?”

Hermione took a breath of courage and tore her eyes from his face. Squinting, she could just make out the bleary form of thick red smoke rising between a broad cluster of evergreens.

But before she could respond, Harry was kicking off faster, the invisibility cloak whipping furiously around them.

Hermione quickly closed her eyes, her fingers bunching up Harry's jumper. But soon, she felt them slowing down and registered the slightly warmer climate.

“Hermione?” Harry asked uncertainly, craning his neck.

“I'm fine,” she replied shrilly. “Are— where are we?”

Harry lowered the broom a few more inches and gently loosened Hermione's grip on his shirt. “On the ground, for starters…”

Hermione opened her eyes to find they were hovering not more than a foot from solid earth.

“Oh…”

“We're in a valley… right next to the mountain we're staying in,” he explained quietly, hopping off the broom and lending his hand. “The smoke we saw… it's not far… and it was red, meaning… it was from some sort of spell… can't be muggle campers…”

Hermione took Harry's hand gratefully and felt the ground beneath her feet with a contented sigh. “Well, what do we do about your Firebolt?” she said in a hurried whisper. “We can't carry it around with us… it's too big, if we're trying to be invisible…”

“We'll leave it here.” Harry bent and tapped his wand to the broom's shaft. In seconds, it had vanished into the soil itself. “Stay close, and make sure you're under the cloak…”

Then they sprinted off, Hermione still grasping Harry's hand. He dashed between shrubs and thickets, occasionally glancing back to make sure Hermione was well-concealed. Hermione's legs worked feverishly to keep up with him, but her heart was racing too fast to notice their protesting pains.

Soon— sooner than Hermione expected— Harry came to an abrupt stop and threw out his arm to keep Hermione behind him.

“What? What is it?” she whispered, eyes straining to see through the dark.

“Voices,” he answered shortly.

Tiptoeing, Hermione stayed close behind Harry, chewing her bottom lip raw as she struggled to hear.

She had only taken five steps when a loud explosion rung through the air.

Hermione jumped.

“Wormtail!” came a woman's irate voice. “One more time and I'll have you screaming for death, I swear it…”

Hermione felt Harry's hand strengthen around hers. Slowly, he took another tentative step nearer the voices, moving past a tall, thick tree.

“S- sorry, I—”

“If it weren't for the Dark Lord, I'd have killed you already,” the woman spat.

“Where is Narcissa, Bellatrix?” came a deep, familiar voice.

Harry stopped. His back straightened and Hermione read his look of outraged alarm.

Snape.

“With Draco,” she responded, sounding annoyed. “I doubt she'll be coming. What's this all about, Severus?”

Hermione's mouth hung open, her eyes wide and anxious. She pressed herself close to Harry's side and felt his fingers open to entwine with hers. She couldn't see a thing. It was all voices in the dark, sounds without faces…

Hermione watched Harry out of the corner of her eye. His jaw was set as he swallowed hard, his chest suddenly rising and falling unsteadily.

“Harry…” she whispered warningly, but he shot her a dangerous glare.

“I do not have any intentions on proceeding without the required audience,” Snape commented impassively. “The Dark Lord wishes that Narcissa and Lucius be made aware, and I intend on—”

The sound of two Apparating bodies pierced the hushed voices.

“My apologies, Severus,” said Narcissa in a distressed tone. “I was with—”

“Draco. So I've been told,” said Snape indifferently. “Lucius, I trust everything is in order?”

“Yes, Draco has been given his instructions.”

“Very well. The Dark Lord has asked me to inform the three of you that there has been a slight change in plans.”

“Change? To what?” Narcissa asked.

“Firstly, neither his nor the Weasley child's locations—” Hermione heard Harry intake a sharp breath. “—are to be known to any other Death Eaters. Evidence of treachery has been… uncovered,” he stated tersely.

“Treachery?” Bellatrix huffed. “What—”

“He insists that this be honored,” Snape continued, ignoring Bellatrix's confused inquiries. “I'm not at liberty to address specifics, I'm afraid. In light of this, tomorrow's meeting has been temporarily postponed. I've already informed the others—”

“But—”

“More importantly,” he persisted, “The Dark Lord asks that we cease the hunt for Order members. There role is now crucial if Potter is to be lured. This new approach requires that they live. At least… for now.”

Bellatrix made no sound. The crescent moon reflected lightly off Harry's glasses as Hermione eyed him worriedly.

Finally, Snape resumed.

“Is everything understood?”

“What of the dementors?” Lucius asked quietly.

“What of them?”

“Are they… cooperating?”

“Of course. The Dark Lord delivered the boy to them himself. They are not foolish enough to disobey his requests.”

“Surely, though, they will have… difficulty… restraining themselves. Their eagerness has been troublesome in the past,” Lucius persevered with deadly calm.

“As I've said,” Snape reiterated, the first hints of frustration lingering on his lips. “They are not foolish enough to disobey a direct request. It is of no concern. Presently, we must only concentrate on our other objective. Who will be escorting Draco?”

“I had hoped yo—”

“You know I cannot, Narcissa,” Snape responded expressionlessly. “They will have already placed protective charms against me. The castle is sure to be heavily—”

“Of course, I understand,” she replied quickly. “Then… I will go with him.”

There was an extended pause.

“You will be caught. I've told you, Goyle or Crabbe would be ideal candidates. As students, the three of them are likelier to gain access…”

“But they are useless!” Narcissa suddenly shrieked. Lucius hissed at her to stay quiet, but she ignored him. “They cannot provide protection or— or any amount of help! He needs a skilled wizard, if he's caught—”

“He won't be, I assure you,” said Snape. “I know their safety precautions. Having been employed there for a great many years, I should think my confidence would put your nerves at ease, Narcissa…”

Narcissa sighed. “Of course, Severus.”

“Good. Then we're finished here. I will call for you if there are any developments. Lucius, Narcissa, be sure to contact the Dark Lord and inform him of Draco's progress, when he is finished…

“Oh, and also,” he added. A soft crumpling noise met their ears as Snape spoke. “The Dark Lord asked me to deliver this, Wormtail. Your next orders, I presume. Be sure to discard of the parchment properly this time.”

Hermione felt the air shift as Snape Disapparated. Harry looked furious, his free hand balled into a tight fist. Hermione gently touched his arm. He turned to look at her, but his expression didn't change.

Hermione knew he had wanted to attack Snape.

“I'm going back to my son,” Narcissa muttered indistinctly.

Another sound of disapparation.

Harry jerked forward but Hermione caught his sleeve. “No, you musn't!” she hissed in his ear. “We're far outnumbered, Harry!”

Harry bit down hard on his tongue until he felt a bronze taste sweep through his mouth.

Another sound of disapparation met their ears as Lucius left Bellatrix and Wormtail alone.

“Well. I'll leave you to your orders,” she spat nastily. Soon she had gone too.

Harry suddenly whirled around and began pushing Hermione backwards.

“Harry, what're you—”

“Quiet!”

He led her away until he was sure they were out of earshot. Dropping her hand, he said in a determined whisper, “Hermione, I need you to run.”

Hermione stared at him. “What?”

“D'you remember, I told you to promise me… if I asked you to run…”

“Harry, what's going on, what's—”

“I'm going back. I need to face Wormtail. He'll be able to tell me where Ron—”

“No!” she cried, shaking her head vigorously. “Harry, he'll kill you! He won't tell you anything about Ron—”

“Then I'll make him,” Harry said lowly between gritted teeth. He gave her a look of solid resolve, his eyes boring deeply into hers.

Hermione's chest hitched. He looked fearless… utterly fearless… and that reckless bravery she found flickering in his eye's light frightened her.

“I'll make him,” he repeated steadily. “I won't let him escape again. I've had enough.”

Harry threw off the invisibility cloak and took a step back. “I need to do this one on my own, Hermione,” he said quietly. “I'll be fine. But I need you to run back to the Firebolt and send word to the Order— Malfoy's going to be at Hogwarts. Tell them everything, but not where we are, alright?”

When Hermione gave no answer, he repeated, “Alright? Hermione I need you to answer me…”

“O- okay…” she stammered.

Harry reached out and found her invisible arm. “The Order needs to know what we heard.”

Hermione nodded distractedly, internally struggling as to whether she should listen to him.

“Now run,” he told her, letting go. “Run…”

And before Hermione had finished making up her mind, he dashed boldly away into the thick, black forest, heading straight for Wormtail.

One too many times
You've stolen the air from my lungs
One too many times
You've eclipsed the rightful sun

I've fought and bled and died
A thousand different times
I've sacrificed and wept
For values I have not kept

But no longer will I allow
Your reign to take hold,
This time I will finish you
And be avenged sevenfold.

-->

4. Waking the Fallen

Warning: I've rated this chapter R for some graphic language. Other than that, it's relatively mild.

Author's Note: I dedicate this chapter to all those who've reviewed. Thank you, everyone. You're all truly inspiring.

Also, I strongly recommend the following video. It really inspired me to make this chapter everything it needs to be: http://www.youtube.com/w/Caught-in-the-Sun?v=V4xUjfq_P4s&search=Harry%20Potter

Avenged Sevenfold
Waking the Fallen

See the delusion, my child,
See the hold on you
See the evil lurking
Follow your instincts through.

See the pain, my dear,
See the hate and misery
See the struggle, see the fight
Seduce the control, this black night

See the lies, my love,
See the hopeless fear
See the dismal tomorrow
And be inspired here

For this cursed life you've led
Has hidden blessings, disguised
Taste the rush
Taste the power
Watch the enemy
And devour

For this cursed life you've led
Gives you power he knows not
So taste the love, use its magic,
Take it all in—
For tonight shall be the end of damnation
For tonight you wake the fallen.

Harry's feet pounded hard against the firm ground, leaving light puffs of dirt swirling in his wake. His right hand clutched his wand, sturdy and straight, as his determined emerald eyes burned a hole through the smoldering black night.

He jogged swiftly, his lips clenched securely shut, breathing hard through his nose.

Until he stopped abruptly, skidding in the soil and squinting through the darkness.

He had heard the ruffling of crumpled parchment in the distance, but no amount of strain on his eyes would permit sight. The blackness around him pulsated, thick and impeding, as if alive and trailing his every step.

Harry knew what he had to do.

It was finally time.

“Lumos!”

Harry's unwavering voice carried through the dense shadow, echoing eerily off the silently watching trees.

“Who's there?” Wormtail shouted, sounding as if he was making an intense effort to sound less frightened than was true.

Harry's ears latched onto his voice. He followed its reverberation for a few quick paces until he spotted the clearing.

“Who's there?” Wormtail asked again, more urgent this time. “I heard you, I can see your wand's light!”

Harry stepped out of the shadows, the illumination glowing around him as a faint smirk tugged on one corner of his lips.

“Hello Wormtail,” he said casually, inching sideways along the circular clearing.

Wormtail's beady eyes glinted and widened, just visible in the muted light which fought from Harry's wand.

Shuffling backwards, Wormtail's hand shot up to grasp at his chest.

“Harry? Harry P-Potter, how did you— what are you doing here?” he asked, a note of nervous exaggeration ending the question, as if he'd just encountered his best mate shopping at the same outlet.

Harry stopped and titled his head. “Well,” he considered slowly, “I'm here so that you can tell me what you've done with my best friend.”

Wormtail blinked several times, his back now pressing hard against the tall trunk of an oak.

“What— what're you on about?”

Harry took three swift steps in Wormtail's direction, his mocking expression instantaneously morphing into fiery abhorrence. “Don't fuck with me, Peter.”

Dropping the poorly folded parchment, Wormtail hastened to snatch his wand from his pocket, but Harry was too quick.

Harry redirected his wand in one swift motion, his outstretched hand pointing it directly at Wormtail's chest. His lips thinned and his irises shone brightly in the former Marauder's direction, daring to give any reason to curse him right then.

“Not a good idea,” he whispered dangerously, eyeing the wand which protruded from Wormtail's robes. “I mean it, Peter. No messing around this time. You're going to tell me everything you know about Ron, or I'm going to give you something to cower about.”

They stared at each other hard in the eyes, watching for any flinch, any sign of vulnerability. Harry's initial thoughts of taking Wormtail's wand immediately crumbled when he suddenly recognized that performing the summoning charm would give Wormtail enough time to Disapparate.

And Harry could not lose this opportunity to save Ron.

“I'm waiting,” Harry growled lowly, trying to diffuse his moment's panic at realizing that he nearly gave Peter time to escape.

Wormtail merely swallowed, visibly, as his right eyebrow twitched anxiously behind a wayward tuft of hair.

But when Harry leapt forward so that his wand's tip poked him violently between the ribs, he whimpered, “I don't know where they took the boy, the Dark Lord, he's not telling anyone of his plans, he's—”

“You're a rotten liar,” Harry spat, his patience thinning.

“I don't know where your stupid frie—”

“Didn't Snape ever tell you he gave me Legilimency lessons?” Harry asked forcefully, following a whim and deciding to intimidate Wormtail by magnifying his own power. After all, Harry already knew that Peter Pettigrew was influenced by it. He'd demonstrated that through choosing Voldemort over his own friends.

“Maybe he didn't,” Harry grinned ruthlessly, reading Wormtail's anxiously perplexed stares. “I can see in that thick skull of yours,” he continued, squinting in concentration on Wormtail's shifty eyes. “Memories… flashes… I can see exactly how you got here…”

Pretending to read his thoughts, Harry leaned forward and eyed the man more intently. Ducking back, Wormtail's fingers flicked over his own wand, but Harry's next words stopped him dead in his tracks.

“It seems you were always like this… even around my Dad and Sirius, always just the follower. I'm surprised Snape hasn't hexed you yet for cheering on my Dad as he hung Snape upside down, showing off his unders…” Harry grinned, using the memory he'd seen in Dumbledore's pensieve during his Occlumency lessons with the former Potions master to his advantage.

Wormtail, however, could only gape. His eyes grew wide and apprehensive, watching Harry with unabashed astonishment and— could it be— awe?

“I already know Ron's with the dementors,” Harry spoke again, quickly and businesslike. “But where? At Azkaban?”

Wormtail gulped, but did not reply.

“Doubtful,” said Harry. “Too obvious.”

But when Pettigrew gave naught but a blank stare, Harry's anger fumed. His breathing intensified as he watched the rat before him avert his gaze. The fury and revulsion which resided in the depths of Harry's scorched heart pieced together and rushed hotly through his furiously pumping veins. The magic in his emotion melded and eased from within, swirling around the pair, nearly unnoticeable if not for the heavy pressure suddenly suffocating Pettigrew's corpulent limbs.

And in its pain, Pettigrew collapsed to the earth.

Harry wasn't sure why the man was suddenly spread at his feet, but he didn't care. Nothing rationally coherent entered his mind.

“Listen,” he snarled brutally, bending nearer Wormtail's pale face. “I'm not an idiot,” he spat. “I know this is all a set-up. The same old formula Voldemort's—” Wormtail recoiled. “—been using for ages. So why don't you make this easier on us both and just tell me where the hell they're keeping Ron!”

Pushing himself from the ground, Wormtail sputtered spitefully, “If it's so obvious then why do you need me to tell you?”

Harry glared.

“Because—”

But then time slowed and it all suddenly clicked.

Voldemort wanted Harry to find Ron.

Ron was meant to be found.

So that Harry would pause his search for Horcruxes, Voldemort had kidnapped Ron. And so that Harry could be predictably in one spot, trapped, available to be killed, Ron had been taken someplace palpable.

Voldemort was killing two birds with one stone.

It was that obvious.

“Azkaban…” Harry whispered to himself, solving the last bit of the puzzle in his mind, momentarily dropping his gaze from Pettigrew.

And that was all it took.

“Expelliarmus!”

Harry's wand shot out from his hand, landing with a dull clunk beside a large boulder some twenty feet away.

“Stupefy!” Wormtail shouted, but Harry dove out of the way, dodging the streak of light by mere inches.

Rolling behind the boulder, Harry hurriedly felt around the damp earth with both hands, searching hastily for his wand. His heart quickened and thumped behind his chest, feeling strained and lacking oxygen.

Harry could hear Wormtail's fumbling in the dark, approaching closer, probably a yard from where he was currently hiding.

Hiding…

Harry's jaw set. If anyone had been there as witness, they would have sworn that his green eyes flamed brighter.

Jumping from behind the rock, he leapt to one side and flattened his torso against the ground. Wormtail spun around, hearing, but not seeing, until Harry kicked out his foot, pulling Wormtail's legs out from under him.

Harry rushed his hands over the dirt, searching, hoping, then—

“STUPEFY!”

Wormtail, still pushing himself upright, immediately collapsed again.

Still unable to see in the dark, and with specks of dirt caught in his eyes, Harry had only a vague idea as to where Wormtail was positioned, but he held out his wand straight and steady, pointing it in the Death Eater's general direction.

But it was quiet. He couldn't hear anything. Not Pettigrew's breathing, not even the swaying of the trees.

Squinting and heaving deep breaths, Harry muttered, “Lumos,” and braced himself for an attack.

But none came.

Harry's brows knitted together. Pacing around the clearing, he kept his eyes tense and alert, pouring his light over every crevice.

But there was nothing there.

“FUCK!” he yelled, kicking at an upturned root.

Huffing furiously, Harry weaved between the trees on the edge of the clearing, refusing to accept that Wormtail had Disapparated.

There was no crack! There wasn't anything, not a sound! he thought feverishly.

But then a small whimper resonated through the air.

Harry stopped moving. His own blood pounded loudly in his ears. Turning slowly, he gazed behind him, sensing a presence.

He looked just in time to see the grotesque form of a half-rat, half-man shift and morph, sprouting arms, a long tail and nose being sucked into the body itself. It twisted and convulsed briefly before rising, perfectly vertical.

Caught off guard, Harry could only stare, only partially registering that it was Pettigrew.

“Crucio!” Pettigrew shouted, but Harry jumped out of the way just in time, the curse grazing past his sleeve.

“Petrificus Totalus!” Harry countered, but the spell only rang through the night, missing its target as it transformed back into a rat.

It was too dark, Harry couldn't see; the inky air pressed down on him, and he fought, his senses on end, but—

“CRUCIO!” Pettigrew yelled again, facing Harry's back, and—

Pain. Insurmountable pain, slapping Harry cold across the face, pouring into his blood and shattering his organs. It teemed through him from the inside out, aching and burning, ten thousand needles digging deeply into his skin, another ten thousand fighting their way out, leaving his veins ablaze with liquid fire—

But then it ended. Before he could even release a scream, it ended, as quickly as it came.

Out of breath, Harry flew up from the ground and turned to face Pettigrew in time to watch a bright blue streak of light form from thin air, coursing through the night and hitting Wormtail square between the shoulder blades.

Wormtail crumpled to the ground.

Shaking and dizzy from the aftershock of the Cruciatus Curse, Harry recoiled but straightened his legs resolutely, clenching down on his teeth.

“Who's there?” he hollered into the empty heavens.

No answer came.

Wincing, Harry turned towards Wormtail, but he wasn't there. In moments, he'd vanished— again.

Spinning around, Harry held out his wand, adrenaline pumping through him, his eyes shifting, fighting against the oppressive shadow. He knew Wormtail was still there somewhere, hiding like the rat he was—

“Stupefy!”

Harry whirled around in one fluid motion, his aching body subconsciously preparing to be hit, only—

What in the hell?

Wormtail was facing Harry, thirty feet away, his wand outstretched in his direction. The residue of the curse hung in the air, like a firework, but it hadn't hit him. It hadn't hit Harry at all.

Then suddenly—

Crack

And Wormtail Disapparated.

“GOD DAMN IT,” Harry shouted, knowing he had escaped for real this time.

Furious with himself, Harry punched into his hand and began striding quickly away, back towards where he left Hermione.

He took three steps and tripped.

Spitting the dirt from his mouth, Harry craned his neck to see what he'd fallen over.

There, just visible, contrasting against the deep brown soil, was half a shoe.

Harry quickly moved forward and felt up the shoe, grasping at some invisible barrier and swiftly tugging it away.

“HERMIONE!”

------------------------------------

“I'm not suggesting it's your fault, Harry, but is this not exactly what I warned you against?”

“This was different—”

“Harry—”

“Listen, I'm not having this conversation again. Nothing's changed.”

“Harry, if you—”

“I said I'm not having it—”

“Hermione may not survive next time!” Lupin suddenly shouted crossly.

Hermione's head throbbed as her eyelids fought the will to open. She could hear Harry and Lupin in the distance, their voices echoing from behind some barrier. Despite the unbearable headache, she could make out their conversation and felt nausea swell in her stomach cavity with each word.

“I'm not trying to frighten you away Harry, or even tell you how this situation ought to be handled. But if you want to find Ron, as well as keep yourself and Hermione safe, you must take precautions.”

“I tried getting your help, but you were more concerned with the Horcruxes than Ron!”

“You know that isn't true,” Lupin retaliated. “But if the Horcruxes aren't located— you— you must listen to reason, you must do this properly, Harry! You must face reality!”

“I'VE HAD IT WITH YOUR BLOODY REALITY!” Harry yelled furiously. “Here's my reality, Lupin— Ron is missing. He's being held by Dementors, and Voldemort wants me. I'm the one who's got to find him, I'm the one! I WON'T LET THEM TAKE ANYTHING ELSE!”

Even through the sound of rushing blood in her ears, Hermione could hear Harry's strained breathing. And for a long moment, she heard nothing else.

“They'll take her next, Harry.”

For another moment, silence hung in the air.

“No they won't.”

Hermione shuddered as she heard heavy footsteps then the sound of a slamming door. She forced her eyes open, blinking blearily into the dimly lit room. The dark ceiling above her swirled and twisted in and out of focus.

A faint moan met her ears and it took Hermione a moment to realize it was her own. Her weak fingers pulled on dangling threads of fabric as she attempted to grasp something stable to pull herself up.

But then, she felt strong arms wrap around her sore shoulders, and soon Hermione found herself sitting upright and swimming in a sea of vivid green.

“Harry?” she asked meekly.

No answer came, but the emerald orbs so close before her lifted in a sad smile.

“What— where are we?”

“Grimmauld Place,” he answered gently, sounding so different than he had just a moment ago with Lupin.

Hermione's lungs felt choked and scratchy, as if she'd inhaled a large amount of smoke. But she swallowed back her nausea and tried to focus on Harry's soft features.

“How did we—”

“Just get some rest,” he told her quietly, looking away for the first time.

Through hazy vision, Hermione watched Harry fumble behind his back and return with a small silver cup of piping hot liquid.

“Drink this,” he said, tipping the rim to her yielding pink lips.

The liquid burned her throat painfully until it turned suddenly cool within her, soothing away the wounds. When she opened her eyes again it was to find Harry sitting on the bed beside hers, watching her fervently.

As she met his stare, images of that night swooped through her mind like a dark cloud of terror. She remembered standing stock still under the invisibility cloak as Harry dashed off into the night. She remembered the incredible weight that dropped to the pit of her stomach when he did, and the hollowed feeling in her chest for the first few seconds she didn't move.

She remembered the sound of her feet pounding against the hard earth as she strived to keep up with his hastened steps, and she remembered probing through the dark for what felt like hours when she lost him and began her endless search.

She remembered stumbling across a huge boulder before realizing she was in the clearing. She remembered watching with wide, horror-struck eyes as Pettigrew pointed his wand at Harry and uttered an incantation. She remembered rushing around the side of the trees, fighting to make out where each man was positioned between sudden bursts of light.

She remembered time slowing and the mingled look on Pettigrew's pointed face.

She remembered hurling out towards Harry, arms outstretched, ready to push him aside.

She didn't remember thinking about it.

Blinking into the rough atmosphere, Hermione delicately brought her hands from under the bed covers and pulled on her fingers. Harry was staring at her with an opaque, unreadable expression.

Dropping her gaze, she began timidly, “Harry, I—”

“Forget it.”

“No,” she whispered, “Harry, I— I'm sorry…”

Harry stood. “I said forget it.”

Hermione's head lowered to face her entwined fingers. “Is— what happened with Pettigrew? Is everything all right?”

Hermione lifted her head in time to see Harry's muscles tense. His back straightened when he turned from her. “Define all right.”

“Well, I mean—”

“Just, never mind. Get some sleep.”

“Harry—”

“What do you want, Hermione?!” he shouted abruptly, spinning around to face her. “Tell me, what is it you want to discuss now?”

Hermione's mouth opened blankly. “I just— I want to know— what happened… if you… if you're…”

“If I'm what?” he asked harshly, looking stressed. “Fine? All right? Sure. I'm great. Absolutely great. Happy? Now please just go to sleep.”

Hermione shook her head, baffled. “Harry, what's—”

“Why'd you do it?” he asked out of no where, his lips thinning to an angry line. “That's what you want to talk about, isn't it? What happened? What happened is, you decided to put the last person I had on my side in danger— you just hurtled from thin air! You could have been killed, Hermione!”

Hermione's cheeks burned a fiery red. Her eyes emitted a torn, anguished expression, reflecting all the misery and fear and uncertainty she'd been compacting for months. She didn't know how to respond to him.

She didn't know what to say.

For the first time since she could remember, Hermione didn't have the answer.

“You could have been killed too, Harry,” she whispered meekly.

“Yeah? Well that's news, I tell you— being who I am, that idea's hardly crossed my mind—”

“Harry…”

“No, forget it.”

Hermione swallowed hard, her body starting to shake with pain.

“I'm sorry,” she said quietly.

Harry stopped in his tracks, one hand stretching towards the door handle. She watched his shoulder blades rise and fall with a heavy sigh before he finally turned to meet her anxious stare.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered again, the corners of her eyes stinging curiously. “I just— I didn't consciously think about following, I— I meant to stay and send the patronus, but then— oh, Pettigrew was cursing you, and— I couldn't see through the dark! But I saw him coming forward, and— it was all a blur, then… then I'm… here…”

Harry pushed his fingers beneath his black-rimmed glasses and rubbed hard at his eyes. “You shouldn't have done that,” he said. “You promised you'd run if I asked you to, I needed you to be safe. You should not have done that,” he repeated in a low voice, still massaging his eyes.

Hermione leaned forward in her bed.

“But what was I supposed to do?” she begged, looking tormented. “I couldn't just let him torture you!”

“Not that,” he said. “You weren't supposed to do that. And yes, you can. You must let me do this, Hermione—”

“I am!” she nearly yelled, barely fighting off hysterics. “But I'm doing it with you, Harry! And you have to let me!”

Harry's nostrils flared as he approached the foot of her bed. “That's not how it works. Hermione— I'm going to get hurt! That's my place in all of this! And how do you think I would have felt had you'd died?!”

Hermione's mouth hung open, but she wiped at her eyes forcefully and met Harry's challenging glare.

“The same I would have, if I hadn't done what was necessary and you ended up convulsing on the ground again!”

Silence.

Her words shook the room. Harry watched her with a distant look in his eye.

Then suddenly, he took the last quick step to her bed frame and leaned over, close to her face so that they were less than a foot apart.

“D'you see this?” he asked heatedly, lifting the hair from his forehead. “This is my scar! I'm the one who's got to do this, it's my name on the prophecy!”

Hermione's eyes traced the thin, lightening-shaped line which seemed deeper than usual in the muted light of the dank bedroom.

Snorting, Hermione spat, “Oh, and I suppose that makes you special, does it?”

Harry's jaw tightened.

“Excuse me?”

“You might be the Chosen One, but you're not the only one affected by this war!” she shouted at him, a glistening line of liquid building along her lower eyelid.

Harry blinked at her, utterly taken aback. Pulling away, he shook his head and gazed into her as if he'd never laid eyes on her before.

“Don't call me that,” he said tersely.

“You're not the only one who's lost a best friend, Harry!” she continued desperately, trying to ignore the hurt look in Harry's eyes. “Ron's my friend too, but you seem to forget that! You seem to forget that no one wants to see the people they care about die, including me! You seem to forget that I care about you too!”

Taking another step back, Harry looked away. “What's that got to do with—”

“Oh, please, that's what this is all about and you know it! You're angry because Pettigrew escaped and I got injured and you feel like it's your fault!” she cried, tears streaming freely down her face. “You feel like you should have s- saved me somehow, that you're the o- one meant to be the martyr! But you said it yourself, Harry! You can't be everyone's hero all the time!”

Hermione saw Harry's teeth clench.

Breathing heavily, he muttered, “I'm not trying to be.”

“But you are!” she argued, throwing all caution to the wind. “Harry, I support you in trying to find Ron— I'll follow you, wherever you want to go, but maybe— maybe Lupin's partially right,” she said, flinching at the burning, frustrated glare she received at the remark. “We need to be more careful, we'll only fail faster if we're not— and you, you're not letting anyone help you! You're pushing everyone away, everyone who cares about you—”

“That's rubbish,” he spat.

“Is it?” Hermione questioned in a high pitch. “So that's not why you broke up with Ginny, then?”

Hermione's heart plummeted.

Her mouth hung open as a wave of frantic guilt washed over her, chilling her blood. A moment of dizziness overtook her as she recalled Ginny's sorrowful pleas to keep their break-up secret.

And Hermione really did not want to discuss it. It was a dark, looming conversation which made Hermione feel unnerved and claustrophobic when thought about.

“How'd you know about that?”

Hermione looked up and bit her lip, eyeing Harry with concern.

“Did Ginny tell you?” he asked, stunned.

Hermione nodded slowly.

Harry set his jaw. His adam's apple rose and fell dramatically behind the delicate skin of his neck as he swallowed down a hard lump.

“She's got nothing to do with anything.”

Hermione's lip was going numb but she continued to chew it raw with worry and apprehension. But finally, she spoke.

“I think she does, Harry,” she murmured quietly.

“You don't know anything about us,” he said. “Things were complicated. But it had nothing to do with—”

“Harry, she told me,” Hermione sighed, resigning herself. “She told me what you said. You did it to protect her, I understand. You did it to—”

“You don't understand anything about that.”

Harry focused away from her then, blinking heavily at the nearby window.

“Harry—”

“Drop it.”

“If that wasn't why, then—”

“I had my reasons.”

Looking back at Hermione, Harry noticed the gleaming streams of tears which lingered on her cheeks. Sighing, he sat beside her on the bed, his weight causing the ancient mattress to creak and shift.

“I had my reasons, Hermione,” he told her again. And the finality in his voice was such that she dared not press on.

Instead she only nodded solemnly and allowed the silence to envelope them for several long, consecutive minutes as she closed her eyes and contented herself with the warm pressure of Harry's body pressed close to hers.

Long minutes passed in which neither uttered a word. Eventually Hermione's lids fluttered open and she felt her body relax at the sight before her.

Harry was sitting on the edge of the mattress, his eyes half-covered behind a mass of unruly black hair. He looked so vulnerable, so completely human and defeated. His fingers reached up to scratch a spot on his chin before he glanced sideways at Hermione.

“I'm sorry,” he mumbled inaudibly.

He didn't need to explain why.

And Hermione didn't answer, but tilted her head to lie on his shoulder. Wrapping his arm around her, Harry let his head rest on hers as he let out a deep, mournful sigh.

“Now what do we do?” Hermione asked quietly, her words muffled into Harry's neck.

Harry thought back to his conversation with Pettigrew—

It is that obvious…

—and smiled.

“I think I have an idea.”

See the lies, my dear,
See the hopeless fear
See the dismal tomorrow
And be inspired here

For this cursed life you've led
Gives you power he knows not
So take it all in—
For tonight, my love,
Tonight you wake the fallen.

-->

5. The Suffering

Author's Note: Relatively short chapter this time, but it was either this length or 20 pages. Anyway, this is dedicated to the reviewers, as always. Thanks everyone, you really inspire me to continue the story. :)

“The Suffering”, as defined by T.S. Eliot: Those who gauge their actions off their emotion; One who lacks practicality and resolve in the face of danger; the selfish, the cynical, the vengeance-seeking. In other words: the world.

Avenged Sevenfold
The Suffering

“The true hero does not allow himself to feel self-sympathy; in this, he is forever alone, because he understands the vulnerability which accompanies the Suffering.” -T.S. Eliot

One cannot be a savior
And a survivor.

One cannot be a Knight
And a King.

One cannot be a hero
And dwell in pity.

One cannot be a solider
And a commander.

One cannot sacrifice
And hesitate.

One cannot conquer,
One cannot overcome
And feel any emotion,
Besides determination.

For a true hero knows
He cannot let his humanity
Stand in the way.
For with emotion
Comes weakness
And a true hero knows
He can never be
Apart of the Suffering.

Harry's tired eyes gradually fluttered open and blinked away the grogginess as gentle morning light filtered through the dusty windows.

He sighed and stretched his arms, and only then did he notice that one of them was wrapped securely around a serenely sleeping Hermione.

She had her head resting in the crook of Harry's neck with her arms tucked comfortably between them. Her curtain of soft, russet hair cascaded around her, lining her relaxed face and tickling Harry's forearm.

His eyes traveled down her rosy cheeks and rested on her slighted parted lips. Running his free hand through his hair, he watched her, a weak, drowsy smile tugging on his mouth.

Sinking deeper into the pillows, Harry pulled her closer and began staring at the dark, worn ceiling.

Ron's at Azkaban, he thought miserably.

But he had no idea how to get there. He knew he couldn't simply Apparate. Like Hogwarts, it was far more concealed than that. Whatever the Ministry was, they weren't lacking in the area of prison security. And even if he could Apparate to Azkaban, he hadn't the faintest where it was located.

Ask Hagrid, he thought to himself, remembering that he'd been there before. Hagrid will know.

Just then, Harry registered the sound of footsteps shuffling down the hallway outside the bedroom door.

He glanced sideways at Hermione's tranquil, sleeping form, still fastened firmly to his body, and felt his stomach drop. But before he could jump to the other bed, Mrs. Weasley's red top peeked around the door.

“Oh, I'm sorry Harry,” she said softly. “I would've knocked. I thought you'd be sleeping…”

Harry instinctively whipped his arm out from around Hermione's shoulders and shot Mrs. Weasley a slightly frantic look. Hermione's head plopped unceremoniously down on the pillow before she woke.

“It's okay Mrs. Weasley,” he said hastily. “I'm just… err…”

“It's quite all right, dear,” Mrs. Weasley smiled politely, her eyes shifting between the two.

Harry felt thoroughly awkward.

Hermione felt thoroughly indignant. She made a cluck with her tongue and turned a sleepy eye on Harry. “What was that for?”

Harry shut his eyes in embarrassment. Hermione, noticing the plump witch in the doorway, gave a small yelp and pulled the blankets tightly toward her, inching slowly away to the opposite side of the bed.

“Will you— well, we'd like you two in the kitchen when you're dressed,” Mrs. Weasley told them with a suspiciously forced smile.

Harry watched her worried expression with a furrowed brow, but merely said, “Alright,” before shooting Hermione an unreadable glance and lifting himself off the mattress.

-------------------------------

When Harry and Hermione pushed open the kitchen door, they found the room was packed tight. Order members, a couple of which he hadn't seen in months, crowded around the rickety table: Hestia Jones, Lupin, McGonagall, Hagrid, Tonks, Mr. Weasley, Bill, Kingsley, Moody, and at least a few others who were obscured in shadow.

Hermione abruptly turned towards Harry, her mouth half open, but Harry's wide expression signaled he was just as confused by the large gathering.

Hermione saw his sleepy, dazed gentleness morph into serious concentration. His vivid green eyes had darkened, and his slouched posture and tender smile ceased and rearranged beyond recognition.

Something else has happened.

“Come in Harry,” Lupin called from the corner. “You should… take a seat.”

Harry felt Hermione's anxious hand wrap around his forearm. Leading her to the end of the kitchen, he found a seat had been reserved at the head of the table. Taking Hermione by the hand, he led her to it and opted to stand behind her instead.

“What's going on?” he asked tersely, eyeing Lupin.

For a long while no one responded. The trickling water from the broken faucet dulled the silence but quickened Harry's heart.

“I received a patronus early this morning. About an hour ago,” Lupin finally said, though wearily.

Harry's brow furrowed. “And?”

Lupin shot someone behind him an apprehensive look before continuing. “The patronus… was in the form of a scorpion.”

“Who's patronus is that?” Harry asked.

“Severus Snape's.”

Harry's stomach crashed coldly to the floor. Immediately, a thin line of sweat built alone his hairline as rage and deathly hatred resurfaced and gripped Harry's insides. Air caught in his lungs as he struggled to relearn how to breathe.

His hands felt weak and slippery on the back of Hermione's chair.

And a pregnant pause ensued. Quiet desolation teemed around the enclosed space leaving looks of desperation and determined anxiety plastered on the many faces.

Refocusing on the room, Harry inclined his head towards Lupin, squinting disbelievingly with a tight jaw. “And why would Snape send you his patronus?”

Lupin took a shaky breath. “To warn me.”

Harry gaped openly, his sardonic eyes scanning the man's face. “Warn you?! About what?!”

“After Dumbledore— after he was killed, the Order made me their new Secret-Keeper,” Lupin whispered resolutely, meeting Harry's stare. “But after the attack on the Weasley's home, it became apparent that it hadn't worked.”

“What?” Harry fumed, feeling nauseous. “What d'you mean it didn't work?”

“We missed something, the spell didn't work, but we thought it had until— until Ron.”

Harry let go of Hermione's seat and took an enraged step forward.

“You mean to tell me there's no way to find out if the Secret-Keeper spell has worked unless someone's attacked?!”

“There are ways, yes, and we tried them. We had a new Order member who hadn't been invited to Headquarters yet try to find it. She could not. We assumed—”

“Yeah, brilliant,” said Harry impatiently. His skin tingled and his limbs fought the desire to tremble in mingled fury and desolation. He suddenly felt very lightheaded and stingingly queasy. “What's this got to do with Snape?”

Lupin sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose. “His patronus was carrying a message. It simply said, `You need Potter's permission.'”

Harry shook his head, not understanding.

“Permission for what?”

Lupin stepped forward and leaned over the table, placing his hands on its rough, peeling surface. Dangling strands of graying hair hung sadly in his face as he looked up towards Harry.

“Your permission to be Secret-Keeper.”

Harry's muscles tensed. “Why?”

Sighing gravely and fighting not to drop his gaze, Lupin muttered, “Dumbledore had Sirius' permission to use Grimmauld Place as Headquarters. After Sirius died, Dumbledore sought your permission, and you granted it. But you have not granted the same for anyone else… and because Grimmauld Place is yours, and the original Secret-Keeper for it is dead, you have to agree to a new Secret-Keeper or else the spell won't work.”

Harry's hands balled into fists as his fingers tingled with the need to hit something. Anything. He felt white hot rage course through him and plant a deep-seeded burn directly behind his chest.

But he swallowed and managed to resume in a barely controlled voice.

“And you didn't think of this earlier? You didn't know that's how it worked?”

“No. We did not,” Lupin responded simply.

Harry turned away. His eyes flashed across Hermione's openly shocked face. He shot her a heartrending look before turning back to face the room.

“What does this mean?” he asked.

This time, Hestia Jones stepped forward. “It means Snape may still be on our side.”

“That's not necessarily true,” Lupin spoke hastily, catching Harry's outraged glare. “It may just mean—”

“Snape is not— will never be on our side,” Harry said through gritted teeth.

The room fell quiet again.

“Never. I don't care— what he does, he'll never be on our side,” he repeated dangerously.

“Nevertheless,” Tonks sighed, “We have to consider the possibility that he's not on Voldemort's either.”

Harry breathed heavily and shoved his hands in his pockets. “This doesn't change anything.”

“It has potential to change everything, Harry, if we—”

“The only thing it changes,” Harry interrupted loudly. “Is that I might let Snape live when I catch him.”

The room stared him cold in the eyes. Harry peered at each individual in turn, daring them to protest.

“And that's only if he's not helping Voldemort, and only if he does something extraordinary to help us,” he resumed in a deadly whisper. “But he will never be on our side. Nothing changes the fact the he murdered Dumbledore. Nothing.”

Eerie silence pressed in upon them. Hermione had her fingers twisted in nervous concern as she eyed Harry from her seat. In the back of the room, Mr. Weasley could be seen with his drooping shoulders.

“It does mean at least one thing, Harry,” Lupin finally spoke.

“Yeah?”

“I'll need your permission to be Secret-Keeper for the Order.”

Harry nodded silently. “Fine. You have my permission.”

“Thank you.”

Harry released a tense breath and leaned his weight on Hermione's chair, his arms crossed. “So what do we do about Snape?”

“Nothing,” Mr. Weasley spoke up. “Not at the moment. If our suspicions are right and he is attempting to help us, the only appropriate thing to do is wait for his next move. Even if he's not on our side,” he nodded approvingly towards Harry, “he still betrayed Voldemort, however subtle. Sending him a message or raising any alarm would be most unwise.”

Harry nodded.

“I've told everyone what you overheard last night,” said Lupin gravely. At this, Harry tilted his head to look at Hermione, who was staring back at him as she bit her bottom lip. “Snape will have to wait, Arthur is right. But if Draco Malfoy is going to be at Hogwarts, the castle will need protection. Clearly there's something there Voldemort wants.”

Lupin turned his head to meet Harry's gaze, a knowing look passing between the two.

“But we mustn't forget about Ron,” he continued, looking around the room.

“We can't Apparate to Azkaban,” Harry intruded. “Sirius told me—”

“You're right, we can't. We'll have to go by broom and foot,” Lupin nodded somberly.

“Hagrid, d'you remember how to get there?” asked Harry edgily.

“'Course I do,” he responded gruffly. “Once yer go ter Azkaban, ya don't very well forget the place easily.”

“Great,” Harry smiled, revealing his boyish grin.

“I think we ought to split up,” Hermione spoke for the first time, her voice shaky but commanding. “A few should go to Hogwarts—”

“Aurors, probably,” Harry suggested, catching on quickly to Hermione's proposal.

“Yes, I agree… perhaps Kingsley, Tonks, and… Professor McGonagall?”

“Right,” Harry affirmed solidly, “And everyone else will follow me and Hagrid to look for Ron. We can't put off either. They're both important,” he finished, shooting Lupin a quietly rueful smirk.

Hermione smiled up at him, seeing determination replace his resentment.

Lupin looked at Harry, grinning. “That sounds like a good plan,” he agreed quietly. “Are there any objections?”

Mr. Weasley nodded approvingly to himself as Moody's bulging blue eye swiveled madly in its socket.

No one uttered a word of disapproval. And before anyone could change their minds, Harry tugged on Hermione's shirt, pulling her with him as he dashed from the room and pounded quickly up the creaky stairs.

If they were leaving for Azkaban, he would need his Firebolt.

A true hero does not allow himself to feel self-sympathy; in this, he is forever alone…

For one cannot be a hero,
And apart of The Suffering.

-->

6. Unholy Confessions

Author's Note: Sorry for the unbelievably long wait! *hugs everyone* College has hit me with quite the load recently, is all. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter— be sure to let me know! ;)

Disclaimer: The lyrics found in this chapter belong to the incredible Avenged Sevenfold.

Avenged Sevenfold
Unholy Confessions

“I'll try," she said as he walked away,
"Try not to lose you."
Two vibrant hearts could change.

I wish I could be the one
The one who doesn't care
But I know this is where I have to be
And maybe in the end
We can be

Trust in me,
I know the way to go
No one's guiding me

Confided in me was your heart,
I know it's hard to fall and
I know it's hurting you,
But it's killing me

I wish I could be the one,
The one who doesn't care
But being the One on the stand,
I know the way to go,
All I need
Is for you to hold my hand.

Mostly everyone had paired up after reaching Hogwarts' grounds. As the Order stood at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, hidden in deep shadow, Hermione had stood silently gazing into the cold, empty windows of her school. They peered down at her, dim sunlight skipping off their smooth surfaces and winking at her like eyes, leaving Hermione transfixed in dejection.

Now, Hermione squinted between her flowing brown hair, trying to make out the exact identities of the dozen or so black specks around her in the sky: the Order.

Hermione's stomach dropped and tickled objectionably as she peeked over Harry's shoulder and bunched his jacket between her fingers.

They were at least a hundred feet in the air, and she really didn't understand why on earth anyone would make this a sport.

“Don't worry, I think we're getting close,” Harry called over his back, accurately interpreting Hermione's nervous hands.

Five minutes later, they were over raging water. Hermione busily buried her head in the crook of Harry's neck, unable to see the soft smile tugging on the corner of his lips.

The waves below howled and swirled in a tangle of translucent green and blue. The wind, already slicing loudly through the air, intensified and fumed in Hermione's ears.

“Hermione, you'll want to see this,” Harry hollered, his muddled black hair flapping across Hermione's forehead.

Bracing herself, Hermione looked up.

The gold and pink rays of the summer sun gleamed around a massive mound in the distance. And there, a collection of tall, jutted rock and metal which peeped in front of the horizon like a shadow puppet, was Azkaban.

Hermione's shining russet orbs widened in awe, both at the beauty and horror of the rapidly approaching scene. Her eyes watered in the whipping wind, and she made to rub them before one of the black dots she'd been observing shot quickly past her, nearly grazing her outstretch elbow.

It was Tonks; she'd sped up, zooming past everyone and heading into the horizon at what Hermione thought to be an excessively dangerous speed.

She was just about to cluck her tongue in disapproval when she stopped herself, and eyed the side of Harry's face instead. His brows were knitted close together, his lips thin, his eyes analytical.

Hermione anxiously opened her mouth to warn Harry against what she just knew he was about to do, but was too late, as she only managed to swallow a gulp of salty air as Harry kicked off, propelling he and Hermione past Tonks, past Lupin, past everyone, color whipping around them in a blur, the wind so loud it was silent, Hermione's hands clutching at Harry. Her abdomen tickled nauseatingly, her mouth ran dry, and then—

They'd come to an abrupt halt.

Harry lowered the broom to the ground and jumped off breathlessly. He lent Hermione his hand, squinting into the sky as Moody and Hagrid approached from above.

Hermione's mouth still hung open, her eyes still wide. The shriek which she meant to give when Harry had first sped off had been slapped out of her in a horrified shock.

But now—

“HARRY!”

Harry swung around to face her. “What?!”

“What were you— are you— why— you bloody PRAT!”

“It wasn't that fast,” he muttered quietly, a lopsided grin pulling on the corner of his mouth.

Soon, the rest of their party caught up with them and made soft landings on the cliff, their shoes hidden by the island's tall, brown and yellow grass. Mr. Weasley moved towards Lupin, his expression grim, as the two began talking in a feverish whisper.

Ginny immediately ran to Harry's side, but caught sight of Hermione before reaching him.

“Hermione, you all right?”

Hermione couldn't answer. She could only stare with wide eyes into the distance, her hands still slightly shaking at her side. Harry glanced at her face and barely stifled his amusement.

“Err… right… umm, anyway,” she turned to Harry, “I've told Dad I want to go with you when we split up.”

Harry's expression instantly hardened. Hermione, with great difficulty, snapped herself out of her shocked trance and eyed the pair cautiously.

“Ginny… it's probably best if you went with your Dad,” he said after a while, his voice grave and somber.

Ginny shook her head. “No, Harry. I want to be with you.” She let the words hang in the air, her deep eyes pouring into his. Hermione's stomach dropped sordidly.

“Alright, Harry, Hermione, you two go with Lupin, Moody, and Charlie,” said Mr. Weasley, breaking the awkward silence from a distance.

Ginny tore her gaze from Harry. “Why is it assumed they go together?!” she asked nastily, her eyes narrowed on her father. “I've told you, I'm going with Harry—”

“Yes, yes, I remember,” he sighed in defeat, shooting Lupin a pleading look. “Then— Tonks, you join them?”

Tonks gave a sturdy nod.

“Well…” Mr. Weasley cut off, casting his mournful gaze on Ginny's turned back. “Everyone else… you're with me.”

-------------------------------

The dead grass crunched loudly beneath their feet as Harry's group pushed aside draping branches and made their way towards the center of the island. It couldn't have been much past four in the afternoon, but darkness had already descended. The only light was a faded and muted yellow as it fought to filter through the thick canopy of lifeless leaves above them.

The great, tall trees which blocked every path had clearly been dead for decades. Harry reached out his hand and touched one of the trunks, and was overcome with the thought that it was a mystical death, one born from misery, anguish, and sorrow so intense it sucked your very soul from you—

Dementors.

Harry barely had time to grieve for the striking innocence of nature, so unguarded against the Dementors, before Lupin interrupted his thoughts.

“There's a clearing ahead,” he called, “but a… break in the path just beyond that. We should camp here for tonight and get an early start. We shouldn't attempt to move on in the dark.”

Harry gave a silent, cynical laugh, wondering what gave Lupin the idea that the sun's absence had anything to do with the time.

A quarter of an hour later, tents had been conjured and supper with it. Hermione sat inside at the rickety wooden table, setting the bowls and plates.

“You'll have to do with what we have,” Moody growled as he kicked Harry towards the table. “No Molly around to fix anything decent.”

“I'm sure it's just fine, Professor Moody,” Hermione offered kindly, secretly breathing through her mouth as atrocious wafts of green steam met her nose.

“When are you going to stop calling me `professor,' girl?”

Hermione blushed lightly.

“Err… what's this?” Ginny asked, spooning some chunky brown soup hesitantly into her bowl.

“It's stew, Weasley, what does it look like?” Moody snarled.

Ginny scrunched her nose and avoided Moody's glare.

“Want some, Harry?” she asked, reaching out for his bowl.

“Err… no thanks, Ginny…”

“Why not?” Moody snapped, “It's all we have, you had best deal with it—”

“No, it's just—” he stumbled, searching aimlessly for an excuse. “It's, uhh…”

“Harry doesn't like lima beans, sir,” Hermione spoke up timely. Everyone at the table turned to look at her.

“Is that so?” Moody inquired, his ethereal blue eye fixing her with a contemptuous stare.

Harry leaned over to peer in the pot of stew, his eyebrow quirked.

“Yes, it's— he's never been fond of them, which is why he doesn't take to stew often,” she offered, trying not to cower under his accusing watch.

Harry rested back in his seat and glanced at Hermione from the corner of his eye.

“Oh, I didn't know,” Ginny muttered.

“Fine then. Guess you'll have to starve boy,” Moody growled again.

“Rather starve than eat that mess,” he whispered to Hermione under his breath.

Hermione lowered her head and hid her smile.

An hour later, Harry was no where to be found. Lupin and Tonks sat in the corner on old, makeshift beds, talking quietly and casting each other furtive glances. Moody was making rounds, limping from one tear in the tent to another, watching the outdoors with his unwavering `constant vigilance.'

The only noticeable sound echoed from Charlie as he tapped his fingers against the table, his eyes pouring over a thick blue tome, his head resting in one hand.

“Hermione, have you seen Harry?”

Hermione looked over her shoulder to see Ginny eyeing her worriedly. “No, I was just wondering about him too.”

“I'm worried about him,” she confided quietly. Hermione turned around to look at her. Ginny's cheeks were flushed, her eyes hollow and cold.

“So am I, Ginny.”

The redhead shook her head, averting Hermione's gaze. “Something's wrong… it's more than Ron. I can tell there's something else going on… between us.”

Hermione felt a sudden flood of frustration. How could Ginny be so concentrated on her love life when Harry was suffering? How could she be so selfishly inclined towards her own wants and needs when Harry needed someone? When there were more important things going on?

“Well… you'll have to ask him, Ginny. Excuse me for not being caught up on the latest teenage gossip.”

Ginny looked up to meet her eyes, stunned. “I'm trying to ask Harry,” she said spitefully, “but if you haven't noticed, I can't find him. No need to get snippy.”

“I don't think now's the best time to go to him with relationship issues,” Hermione returned in kind. “And I'm not being snippy. I'm just worried. About Harry.”

Ginny narrowed her eyes on her, as if looking for something more than Hermione's flat responses. “Yeah, well you're not the only one, Hermione.”

Then she walked away, her curtain of red hair nearly whipping Hermione across the face.

-----------------------

Too long. He's been gone for too long. Days. They'll have at least tortured him by now.

Harry's thoughts clouded his vision. He looked out into the smoldering forest, his eyes hazed and unfocused.

“Harry?”

Turning around, he found Hermione walking slowly towards him, her arms folded around her waist.

“Hey.”

“What are you doing so far from everyone?”

Harry threw out his arm. “Looking at Lupin's `break in the path,'” Harry said sarcastically, his free hand motioning towards the ground.

Hermione looked down to see she was standing on the edge of a cliff. The thick, tall grass covered the jutted ledge, but stretching for at least thirty yards was a great crack in the ground, as if a giant had come along and peeled back the earth. It was an empty, bottomless pit, with cool, damp air emitting from the center; looking down, there was no end in sight. Only black.

“Yeah, my reaction too,” Harry said, watching Hermione's eyes light up with shock.

“I wonder how that got here,” Hermione questioned breathlessly, her eyes still sweeping over the edge.

“Dementors, probably. Another precaution to keep prisoners from escaping.”

Hermione whipped her head up to meet Harry's gaze. He gave an imperceptible shrug and shook his head.

“Yeah. I don't know either.”

Hermione saw the sadness behind his usually guarded eyes and knew he was talking about Sirius. The gap was too wide; there was no feasible explanation for how he'd gotten past it.

“Well, maybe it… maybe it ends?”

Harry looked down the sides of the ledge, tracing the line, which stretched as far as the eye could see. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Harry sighed deeply and ran his hand through his black hair. “I wonder if McGonagall's run into Malfoy yet.”

Hermione pulled on her fingers, watching Harry unabashedly. After a long moment, she lifted her hand. “I brought you a sandwich,” she said timidly.

Harry looked down at it. “I thought all they'd brought was stew?”

“That's all they brought, yes,” Hermione affirmed, peeling off the plastic bag. “But I snatched some of Mrs. Weasley's sandwiches before leaving. I had a feeling they'd come in handy.”

Harry took the sandwich appreciatively. “Thanks… for earlier, too. I didn't even know there were lima beans in there.”

“Would it have mattered?” Hermione teased. “I can tell you, it was horrible, lima beans or not.”

A smile tugged on one corner of Harry's lips.

A long minute passed in which Hermione considered her next words.

“Umm…” she began restlessly, “Ginny… she's looking for you.”

Harry stopped chewing and looked Hermione square in the eyes.

He swallowed. “Yeah.”

Hermione bit her lip. After a moment's hesitation, she sputtered, “Harry, what's going on? Why—”

“What do you think about Snape?” he asked out of the blue.

Hermione's brow furrowed. “Come again?”

“Snape, sending his patronus…”

“Harry, don't change the sub—”

“I haven't gotten to ask you about it yet,” he interrupted. “What do you think?”

Hermione sighed in defeat. She looked around helplessly for a moment before turning back to face him. “Well… I'm not too sure, Harry.”

“Rubbish,” he said between a bite. “You always have a theory.”

Hermione pursed her lips. “I don't think he's on our side,” she said tersely.

Harry paused and raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yes, really. It's like you said— he killed Dumbledore. Nothing can redeem him from that. And anyway, it wouldn't make sense,” she reasoned, “He's obviously a coward. What reason would he have for fighting against Voldemort now? There's something else going on here.”

Harry nodded and flicked a piece of crust into the black abyss. “The question is what.”

“Well,” Hermione considered slowly, “Have you thought that— that maybe Voldemort's told Snape about the Horcruxes?”

Harry lowered his sandwich and regarded her shrewdly. “Why? What would that have to do with anything?”

“Well, why would Voldemort tell Snape about something so dangerous? It would be extremely risky, to trust anyone, even a Death Eater, with that information… Knowledge of the Horcruxes is knowledge of Voldemort's mortality,” she asserted candidly. “And we both know how much Voldemort loves himself. How dear to him his own life is… so if he's told Snape, it's because he feels not telling him is an even greater risk… and why would that be?”

“Because he knows someone else is on to him— an enemy— and he needs to protect the Horcruxes. And he needs help. Snape's help,” Harry exclaimed dramatically, his eyes concentrated and resolute.

“Precisely,” Hermione affirmed. “And that enemy is you, Harry… which comes to one of two possibilities: Snape is genuinely on our side… or, Voldemort knows you're after his Horcruxes, and has sent Snape on a mission to stop you.”

Harry's lips thinned as he turned his gaze to the ground. What little light was able to sift through forest reflected softy on his glasses as Hermione watched his features tighten into determined deliberation.

“Alright then,” he muttered after a moment. “If that's the case, why would Snape have helped us? Why did he send his patronus?”

Hermione shook her head lightly, crossing her arms and gazing past the great hole before her. “I don't know,” she mumbled, “That's one piece of the puzzle we can't know for sure. Not yet. But it must be that… to presume Snape's nature isn't inclined towards Voldemort… it just wouldn't be logical.”

Harry sighed.

“Yeah, well… I agree with you. But there doesn't seem to be enough room for much of anything besides doubt anymore, let alone logic.”

Hermione shut her mouth hastily and focused on his pained features. The warm breeze ruffled the tall grass… the only sound which broke the momentary silence.

“Harry…” she began softly, “Are you… are you all right?”

He turned his head halfway towards her, shooting her a guarded look. “That's one hell of a question, Hermione.”

She shut her mouth worriedly, fixing him with apprehensive glances.

“Well,” she started, “It's just— I know there's a lot going on, but—”

“None of us are `all right' at the moment. But I'm fine… it's just been a difficult week. A difficult year.”

“A difficult life,” Hermione muttered gently.

Harry's eyes quickly shot up to meet hers. Turning fully, he faced her and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Hermione, I—”

“Don't hide from me, Harry.”

He closed his mouth abruptly.

“I want to be here for you… but I can't. Not when you do this. Not when you let me in a little, just to shut me out completely.”

Harry licked his lips and turned his gaze to the sky. “Hermione, what are you on abo—.”

“You hide, as if you're afraid of something. But it's just me, Harry… and I don't know what's happened.”

Harry stared back at her blankly, unwilling to reveal any reaction. Hermione took a deep, steadying breath.

“Last year… last year something was different. It was so subtle I don't even think you noticed, but you didn't— it was as if you didn't need me anymore.”

Harry looked up at her with a furrowed brow, pain and uncertainty etched in the light specks of his eyes. “That's not true.”

Hermione lowered her head. “It felt that way,” she murmured quietly. “And now… I don't know. I know it's silly, but… I just wish you'd open up a bit more. Just tell me what you're thinking. Every other time, you've been able to talk to me, and… I just… don't want that to change.”

He was looking straight at her, watching her eyes even though she continued to avert her gaze. He saw her hands fidgeting together, but also saw the steadfast resolve in her distant expression, and in it, recognized the Hermione he'd always known. Even still, her frail form and flyaway strands of auburn hair added to his idea that she looked so terribly lost.

“I don't feel as strong as everyone thinks I am,” he said quietly after a moment. “I'm just a boy, Hermione. Just an ordinary teenager with a scar.”

Hermione lifted her head and answered him with the most sorrow-worn eyes he'd ever seen. A second later, he felt a warm pressure envelope his fingers, and looked down to see Hermione's hand gently holding his. “You may only be a teenager, Harry,” she whispered, “But you're far from ordinary.”

Harry fought the urge to look away. The soft breeze swept through his hair, ruffling the ends so that they folded lightly across his eyes. “I wish I was as confident as you,” he whispered back.

Hermione smiled sullenly and gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

“What if… what if I fail, Hermione?”

Hermione tilted her head sadly, her eyes morbid and embracing. “You won't, Harry.”

Harry swallowed and bent his head. “You can't promise me that it's not a possibility.”

“Harry…” she whispered quietly… then paused, searching for words. She focused on his piercing green eyes, the looming forest backdrop fading into haze. “You're a great wizard, Harry,” she smiled. “I've always said so. But not… not for why you might think,” she breathed. “There are some things no one can take from us. Hope, strength, love… no one can take them… not even Voldemort. And you have them… more than anyone else, you have them. And unless you let him, Voldemort can't take those things away. So, as long as you fight… you can't fail,” she whispered. “Sometimes you just have to remember what you're fighting for.”

Harry's eyes burned into hers. Flecks of color sparkled with an unspoken reaction.

She shifted, feeling naked under his eyes. And after a long moment, his intense stare unnerved her. She felt his powerful green orbs focusing intently on her every move, her every thought, as if they saw straight through to her innermost feelings.

He gave no sign of it, but she swore there was a pleading look embedded in his soft expression. Her fingers tingled with the desire to reach out and assure him, but of what, she didn't know. Her subconscious mind registered the distance between them and how it had somehow closed in seconds. His uncertainty was asking her a question, she could see it, but his gaze held so much meaning she couldn't bring herself to decipher his beseeching looks.

His lips parted slightly, his eyes refocused on something faintly lower than her eyes, someone moved closer, she didn't know who, and suddenly her muscles relaxed unnaturally as she froze to the spot, her whole body on edge, her heart palpitating soundly with the weight of whatever was about to happen.

“Hermione?”

Whirling around, she saw Lupin's tall frame emerge from the shadows as her mind came crashing down roughly, thought after indistinct thought toppling heavily onto her weak chest.

“Harry?” Lupin continued, oblivious to Hermione's winded expression. “What are you two doing out here?”

Hermione heard Harry try to clear his throat. “Just talking.”

Lupin stepped forward and fixed the couple with a suspicious look. “Alright,” he mulled slowly. “Well… let's get back now. Azkaban Island isn't the best place for nighttime strolls.”

He shot Hermione an almost knowing glance before turning his back and shuffling through the trees.

Hermione suddenly noticed her ragged breathing. She hastily sucked in a breath of damp air, trying to calm her nerves.

She didn't move to face Harry. But after a minute, she felt the soft ground shift beneath her feet as he walked around to stand in front of her. The façade he wore with Lupin only moments ago melted away as he resumed his deep stare.

Hermione's vision blurred; she felt almost dizzy, she didn't know what was happening. But a second later, a delicate, warm pressure met her cheek. Focusing her eyes, she found herself whirling in a pool of blazing green.

Harry's hand was lightly cupping her cheek. He leaned in, bringing them closer, and breathed, “I know exactly what I'm fighting for.”

His eyes smiled sadly down at her, but he gave no other indication of his meaning. He dropped his hand from her face, and immediately, his features returned to the hardened, concentrated expression he'd taken to wearing the past few months. His boyish grin faded, his compassionate glances were replaced with the familiar rough determination.

But it didn't matter; she'd seen it was still there… the other part of him. He showed her the weak, vulnerable, Harry she'd known existed… the one that needed comfort and assurance just as much as anyone.

Hermione inhaled a shaky breath. Harry took a step backwards, never relinquishing his gaze from her eyes. Until finally, he put his hands in his pockets, quirked a half smile, and turned around to walk back through the thick forest.

I know it's hard to fall
And I know it's hurting you
But it's killing me.

-->

7. Radiant Eclipse

Disclaimer: The lyrical excerpts in this chapter belong to Avenged Sevenfold.

Author's Note: This chapter is dedicated to Papertrail— thank you for always leaving reviews, and good ones at that! It really means the world to me. As for the rest of you… *eyes narrow* be sure to let me know what you think!

I do apologize for the wait. I had to write this chapter in pieces, as it was very emotionally and creatively draining; and I had to be very careful, as it's such a vital installation to the plot— which, I strongly feel is only beginning to be exposed. ;) Oh, and whoever can interpret Hermione's dream gets a cookie. Small hint: her initial reaction when Harry wakes her says it all.

Avenged Sevenfold
Radiant Eclipse

And in this deed, I'll pay the price
For all the damage I have done
Tonight the sacrifice has begun…

Close your eyes or look away,
Fate exposed, won't let me stay
Hope will fall tonight with broken wings,
Descending entity in me.

The next morning did not dawn, but instead seeped through with damp, grey light which was further diluted from the thick canopy above.

Harry rolled over in his cot, restlessly waiting for everyone else to wake. But he'd already been lying there for hours, and could take no more procrastination. If Ron was there, he already felt guilty enough for the less than two hours of sleep he'd gotten.

Pulling on his jacket, Harry strode silently across the tent to Hermione. She was lying flat on her back, her brow knitted as soft moans of horror escaped her sleeping lips.

“Hermione,” he whispered, bending low. “Hermione, wake up…”

Her eyes flung open in terrified panic, searching Harry's face without really registering that she was no longer in her nightmare.

“Tell me why! Is it me?!” she asked hysterically, clutching Harry's arm.

“You've been dreaming,” he breathed, pulling back her hair from her lightly perspiring face. “It was only a nightmare, no one's here.”

Hermione's eyes shifted nervously around the room before her chest lifted and fell heavily in a deep sigh. Licking her lips, she swallowed hard before peeling back the covers.

“Oh Harry, it was awful,” she murmured, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she sat upright. “There were dementors everywhere… far too many, possibly hundreds… and they—” her gaze shot up to meet his. “—they took your soul,” she whispered miserably, “…and were coming for mine… and when its mouth opened to perform the kiss… I saw you inside… your eyes, and— and you were so sad,” she finished, her voice breaking with a sudden sob.

“Why were you sad, Harry?” she asked suddenly, pulling gently on his collar.

Amazed and bewildered, Harry blinked several times before answering. “Well I reckon because I'd just had my soul sucked out of me…”

“No,” she breathed quietly, surveying the floor, “…that wasn't why.”

Harry stared at her with troubled, uncertain eyes. It was only a dream, and he couldn't understand why she was finding such meaning in it.

Standing up, he held out his hand and tried forcing something of a smile. “Come on,” he said bracingly, “Let's wake the others.”

----------------------------

They tread through the woods, the wind whipping their flushed faces as they encountered the great chasm Harry and Hermione had observed the night before.

They flew over it on their brooms, and though Harry knew it was pointless, he flew extremely quickly, feeling as if the black abyss would suck him down if he wavered over it too long.

They continued to fly for another half mile before Lupin ushered them to the ground.

“We're getting near the center,” he told them, running a hand through his hair. “This stream here—” he motioned towards a snaking line of glistening water, “—I've heard of it, it runs into a small lake in the middle of the island. We'll just keep following it on foot; if anyone's here, they'll see us sooner if we go by broom.”

He then waved his wand spectacularly through the air, causing a great, silver patronus to stream from its tip and gallop off through the trees, presumably to alert the other group of their location.

After hiding their brooms in large, lofty bushes, Lupin began tracing the thin stream through the labyrinth of trees. The sticker bushes cut through Harry's pants and into his skin as he attempted to blast away bramble and thickets. Hermione followed directly behind, one hand fastened to his jacket, as Ginny and Tonks trailed at the back.

After long, torturous minutes, the stream began to widen. Trees became scarce and thin tributaries branched off and coalesced with other shimmering torrents.

Harry's stomach clenched uneasily. He watched the water swell around him, knowing they were reaching the center, and could not fend off the sudden dread which pushed at the back of his throat.

Turning around, he met Hermione's eyes. Her gaze became perplexed but consoling as his unreadable expression blanketed his features.

“We're here,” Lupin whispered, leaning over to peer through overgrowth. They were standing just on the edge of the forest— beyond them, naught but rolling hills. “Now listen, we must stick together. The idea is to search the grounds, not make ourselves known, so don't use any magic that might get us noticed.”

“Noticed by who?” said Ginny, quirking an eyebrow and casually plucking a leaf. “Seems to me we're alone on this rock.”

Lupin began to respond, and Harry started to cut him off with his own remark, but he barely had time to register Ginny's defensive glare before a distant, looming sensation pressed hard at his temples.

Blinking rapidly, he brought his hand to his chest and looked around with morbid suspense.

“Harry? Harry, what is it?” Hermione asked cautiously, her eyes anxious.

“D'you feel that?” said Harry, so quietly the rest strained to hear. A forceful wave of depression swept powerfully over him. “It's as if— no… no, it can't be…”

“Harry you're scaring me, what're you talking about?”

“DOWN, ALL OF YOU!” Lupin suddenly shouted, pushing Harry and Hermione back with one arm.

Billowing black shrouds mysteriously swooped from the sky. Long, dark cloaks followed like scorching, opaque smoke as they surrounded the group, Hermione's gasp audible over the thundering in Harry's ears.

Then suddenly, his breath caught in his chest as a swift wave of wretched sorrow twisted in the pit of his stomach.

“DEMENTORS!” Lupin yelled as he moved into view, his wand already unsheathed.

Moody cast a patronus, but it only fended off one angle. It was impossible to see them through the trees, they were pelting from every direction, so lethal Ginny was already looking faint.

Pushing himself from the ground, Harry stood and shouted, “Expecto Patronum!”

A large, glowing stag shot out from his wand and charged the suffocating mass of black, and for the briefest of moments Harry thought it was over.

But then a powerful gust of wind tore through the air, knocking Lupin sideways. Harry struggled to keep his eyes open in the fierce bluster as he pointed his wand wildly into the sky, screaming Expecto Patronum despite that no dementors were visible.

“Harry, watch out! Come back here!” Hermione hollered hysterically, but Harry couldn't hear her over the roaring in his ears.

Then without warning, a loud, piercing sound, like that of thunder, shook the ground. Forcing his eyes open, Harry saw a band of dark, masked figures marching over the nearest hill, steadily towards him: Death Eaters.

Looking around frantically, he recognized that only he was out in the open, on he was visible. Lupin had been knocked into shadow, safely hidden with the others in thick overgrowth of the forest.

Through the gales of wind and swift jolts of thunder, Harry met Hermione's eyes. They were possessed with deep anxiety, pleading wordlessly that he jump to her— to safety.

“HARRY, get back here!” Moody shouted angrily from beneath the low canopy of thorns. “There's too many, we'll not take them until the others arrive!”

Harry looked back to Hermione, but her eyes had clouded over with a different emotion. She glared at him with hard fortitude, her brow tense and furious.

Harry knew what she was going to do.

Suddenly leaping out from her crouched position, Hermione's outstretched arms made to grab at Harry and pull him down, but before she reached him, he had his wand pointed at her chest. If he ducked for cover, if she pulled him down, the Death Eaters would know where they were hiding. They would all die.

Harry cursed her with a forceful blow that shoved her back in place, an unapologetic gleam in his eye.

He didn't wait to see if she was okay. Ignoring Lupin's angry pleas, he dashed out and ran headlong at the oncoming Death Eaters.

Unsheathing his wand with vehement force, Harry cursed the nearest cloaked figure, watching it tumble down the steep hill. Screaming, Harry blasted away two more as he dodged the dozens streams of light flying at him.

But there were at least fifteen, he was completely alone, and it happened within seconds— the jerking sensation in his bones, the twitch of his muscles. And suddenly, before he could retaliate or before Lupin or anyone else could come to the rescue, he fell and landed hard in the grimy dirt, frozen in position.

Unable to even blink, his eyes frantically scanned the sky, horror coursing painfully through him as a Death Eater kicked him over and he saw Hermione's stricken face running towards him, her wand shooting violent jets of blue.

Lupin and Moody had also dashed out from the forest, splashing through the murky stream as they reached Hermione's side.

Harry's heart sunk with a deep burn.

But before he could watch any of them advance on the Death Eaters, an excruciating throb penetrated Harry's spine. He felt his body being thrust away from the fight, like a magnet was pulling roughly on his vertebral column.

He was being dragged across the ground, over the hilltop, until his body lifted high into the air and began twirling grotesquely like a spiraling football.

Then as quickly as it had begun, it stopped.

Harry's frozen eyes were speckled with dirt. His stomach twisted painfully, nausea and faintness rising in his chest and pressing hotly against his throat.

But his limbs had regained movement. Miraculously, his muscles obeyed his command, and though his head continued to swim in a violent stream of pain, every fiber of his body eased into relaxation.

Craning his neck, Harry blinked the dirt from his eyes and peered around him in silent caution. It was quiet and still. He'd landed quite a distance from the battle, and could faintly hear the curses and screams in the background— the only feeble evidence of the heated fight.

Fifty yards to his left was the lake they'd been trying to reach; around him, nothing but dead grass and steep, ominous hills. The forest was completely diminished here, and he knew, even if he hadn't noticed the tall, bulky towers of rock and metal which joined to create the cells of Azkaban prison, that he'd reached the center of the island.

Rolling over onto his back, he rushed to wipe his glasses clean before jumping to his feet.

But before he could move, a loud shriek tore through the air and echoed off the distant tiers of Azkaban's hollow cellblocks.

Jerking in the direction from which he'd been dragged, Harry's feet dug into the ground, his legs pumping furiously as he ran back towards to fight.

But he didn't make it five feet.

A cold, raspy voice drawled, “Leaving so soon? I was under the impression you were taught better manners.”

Harry stopped dead in his tracks.

“Dumbledore was always such a fool for the niceties of warfare. So predictable in his beliefs that war does, in fact, harbor rules,” mused the bitter voice. “One could say it was his… downfall.”

Harry turned around, his heart pumping brutally, and faced two cold, red eyes.

“Not surprised, I see,” said Voldemort, a deathly smirk stretching his thin, white lips. “No, for all the things you may be… unintelligent is not among them… Yet I hardly think you fit to be called my equal,” he suddenly spat, his pale face growing maniacal with hate.

Harry clutched his wand fiercely, blood pounding in his ears. For a moment he couldn't believe it, couldn't believe it was him, but then— Harry's eyes narrowed. Had he just said `equal'— ?

“Yes, I know of the prophecy… does it really surprise you? Severus tells me you've long suspected him, says you were never quite as trusting as your dear mentor,” Voldemort sneered with a mirthless laugh.

Harry's muscles tensed. His limbs felt cold and numb, his eyes glassy as they bore violently into the fiery red ones before him.

Voldemort jeered at Harry's expression, his smile spiteful and vindictive. Raising his wand, he shot green sparks into the air. Within seconds Wormtail appeared, limping to his master's side. And next to him, gagged and being dragged through the dirt by a thick, rusty chain, was Ron.

Harry's heart sunk to the pit of his stomach. Sick horror squirmed mercilessly inside him, but his jaw set intensely as he returned to fixing his glare on Voldemort.

“Such a brave boy, to come all this way for a friend… to abandon your responsibilities and put everyone at risk for your selfish desire to play the hero,” Voldemort sneered.

Fire burned deeply in Harry's chest.

But behind Voldemort, several long, black cloaks were approaching. Standing beside Wormtail, they guarded their Lord with raised wands.

Ron was lying face down, unmoving.

“He knows you, Harry, Lupin had said. This is what they do, you must realize that by now. They took Ron for a reason… they won't kill him. They need him…

Harry swallowed hard and lifted his head. “What is it you want?”

Voldemort grinned, making his face appear more shallow and thin. “I want to ensure the prophecy never comes to pass.”

Harry was breathing heavily and his face contorted into mild confusion, though he tried to mask it.

Voldemort continued to sneer, cool hatred evident in the lines of his face. “You would have been proud of your Headmaster, Harry… for he never divulged to Severus what it was the prophecy contained, despite his greatest efforts to gain Dumbledore's trust. Oh yes,” he chuckled nastily, speaking in slow, deliberate syllables, “it was quite the challenge, I confess… which was made all the more difficult by the unfortunate events at the Department of Mysteries… shattered to pieces before I could so much as hold it,” he finished quietly, his voice a raspy whisper.

He took a step closer to Harry, his eyes narrowing viciously as he surveyed the lightening bolt scar. “But Dumbledore proved accommodating in the end,” he continued, his slit-like nose flaring grotesquely. “He was quite fond of magical instruments… used them frequently, to organize his thoughts… and did not take care to keep as close an eye on Severus as perhaps he should have,” he glowered lucidly. “It only took a distraction in the form of my Death Eaters— which young Draco Malfoy provided— to allow Severus the time to extract the memory of Dumbledore hearing the prophecy from his pensieve…”

Harry's heart pumped even more furiously, his head spinning. It couldn't have been that easy— that simple— Snape couldn't get into Dumbledore's office, no one could, he'd witnessed Umbridge try in fifth year—

“Your thoughts betray you, Harry, I am disappointed… are you really that concerned with the specifics?”

Legilimency.

Hurriedly, Harry made to block his thoughts, release his memories, but Voldemort only laughed coldly and tilted his head to meet Harry's eyes.

“It is no use, spare me your pitiful efforts of resistance,” he snickered lowly, watching Harry's face. “I do not mind telling you… Severus was aware of the plans… he planted himself in Dumbledore's office before the two of you went on your ridiculous search for one of my Horcruxes. Not a difficult feat, considering how completely the old fool trusted him,” he spat.

Harry tried wrapping his mind around all of this, but his heart was straining painfully and his head was swimming with more thoughts and emotions than he could handle. Sweat glistened along his hairline, dripping into his eyes and stinging them glaringly. He blinked away the pain, and when he was finally able to refocus on Voldemort, found that he was holding Ron by the chain around his neck.

Instinctively, Harry jumped forward, Ron's pale, unmoving face causing his breath to catch in his throat, but Voldemort yanked his body back forcefully, Ron's limbs gangling like a rag doll.

“Patience,” he whispered wickedly.

But Harry could no longer take it. Every feeling he'd been bottling up, every emotion he'd experienced in the last five months, exploded inside him like liquid fire.

“LET HIM GO!” he shouted, his fear vanishing.

Voldemort looked triumphant. “Very well,” he snarled, “I will let him go… unharmed… if you agree to lend me your soul.”

Harry's breathing intensified, his angry confusion evident on his face. “What?”

“For the spell to work, you must be willing, you stupid boy… so I will make the trade. His life for your consent.”

Harry's rage kept him from speaking. He looked from Ron to Voldemort, from Voldemort to Wormtail, unable to force words from his mouth.

Voldemort looked casual as he began pacing around Harry, dragging Ron with him. “He is the one you would miss the most, is he not? The Triwizard Tournament revealed your vulnerability for your friends, Harry… and the prophecy says one of us must kill the other… yet I rather thought using you to bear part of my soul would be much more efficient,” he smirked. “A human Horcrux, if you will… did you know the first ever Horcruxes were living creatures?”

His eyes lit up with sadistic glory. “Oh yes, very ingenious magic… for even when all other parts of the soul are destroyed, the one within the living creature manifests into the soul's owner… Do you not see the brilliance?” he asked wildly, his eyes blazing with bitter victory. “If part of my soul resides in you, I can never die— For even if you managed to destroy me and all my other Horcruxes, I shall live on in you… and manifest once more into Lord Voldemort… it is infallible…”

His voice had taken on a maniacal tone as his widened eyes flashed dangerously with flagrant malevolence.

The dark figures in the background drew nearer, their stride slow and measured as they surrounded Voldemort and Ron.

Harry vaguely registered that the sounds of the far-off battle had dissipated. With pessimistic dread, he wondered unbearably if Hermione had made it.

“I'll not wait forever,” Voldemort spat loudly, lunging towards Harry with surprising agility. “The choice is a simple one—”

“You'll wait,” he said between gritted teeth, anger flooding through him, “as long as I need you to. You can't do this without my permission, so I'd appreciate it if you'd show a bit of… patience.”

Voldemort's sneer wiped clean off his face. He stood to full height and looked down at him, his eyes burning through him. Harry's scar prickled, but he did not let it show.

“Foolish boy,” he whispered icily, his face moving in closer to Harry's. “You dare to command me—”

“Who's R.A.B?” Harry asked suddenly, interrupting Voldemort again. His heart sunk with the continually forming realization of what he'd have to agree to. He wasn't sure if he was being smart by pressing for information, or simply buying time from the inevitable. “Didn't fancy you much either, did he?”

Voldemort's breathing grew visibly labored as his eyes cut deeply into Harry's. His thin nostrils flared rapidly as he reached out a long hand and scraped the side of Harry's face with his sharp fingernails.

Harry did not so much as wince.

“Your courage will be the end of you Potter,” Voldemort hissed. “You are reckless, and it shows in the number of loved ones you've lost.”

Pushing aside the horrifyingly accurate words, Harry gripped his wand harder and met Voldemort's gaze. “I won't agree to a single damned thing until you tell me about R.A.B.”

Voldemort's malicious grin pulled on one side of his mouth. “Another victim of courage, I daresay. His attempts to betray me were feebly executed… I killed him.”

“Who was he?”

Voldemort ran his paper-white fingers across Harry's forehead; Harry jerked away. “Let us say… your dear godfather was one of few Blacks who resisted my rise to power.”

Harry swallowed hard, the lump in his throat ascending dangerously high. Looking off into the distance, he gazed at Azkaban's deathly looking cells.

Voldemort was watching, waiting, his impatience palpable. The Death Eaters continued to circle around them, their cloaks cracking in the wind.

Harry's blood ran cold. He looked to Ron, ashen-faced and lifeless, and knew… he had no choice.

Nodding indistinctly, Harry felt a part of his heart go numb. A weight unlike any he'd ever felt pressed hard at his chest as the horror if his next word swelled inside him.

With an excruciatingly heavy heart, Harry set his jaw and looked up into the icy, malicious eyes of Lord Voldemort.

“Fine.”

Hope will fall tonight with broken wings.

-->

8. Fall From Grace

Author's Note: You know, I nearly forgot to post this update on Portkey… I'm not going to beg for reviews, but I will say that it seems like very, very few read Avenged Sevenfold on this site, so… I don't really see a need to post here anymore. *shrug* At any rate, for now, I'll post that latest chapter— whoever reads, I hope you like. :)

Avenged Sevenfold
Fall From Grace

Lend me your hand,
Blood is spilt and man will follow
Force to take one final stand,
Punishment too great to bear…

Raise your head and taste the courage
Fall from grace, lonesome night

Lend me your hand,
Blood is spilt and I will follow…

Feel the power of a fallen man.

Harry closed his eyes.

Dilapidated and hopeless, he breathed with infinite finality, sensing a bleak sickness crawling in his stomach.

The darkness of his eyelids swelled into palpable black. The cold, looming figure of Lord Voldemort towered over him, a silent sneer reverberating into Harry's bones.

It was all over.

Muttered demands, incoherent whispers, sinister scoffs, melted into the void that was sound. Nothing could penetrate the horrible roaring in Harry's ears. Nothing could penetrate the nauseous dread, the vile inevitability, and thundering disappointment swarming his insides. Already, though nothing more than preparations had begun, he felt the anguish of failure. Already, he felt diseased.

“Untie him.”

It took a moment for Harry to realize the words were his own. He felt vaguely surprised that he had enough energy to speak.

Opening his eyes, he searched Voldemort. “Untie him first, or I'll not go through with it.”

Lean, black figures gathered like smoke around the quasi-human before Harry, their faceless masks unable to hide their malicious elation.

Voldemort considered Harry with dark, victorious eyes. “No matter,” he said, waving his wand indifferently. “He is not the one I need.”

Harry's vision dodged the cloaked Death Eaters and watched as Ron's shackles undid themselves. Then without warning, Ron's body shot into the air and flew far off to the left, just as Harry had flown towards Voldemort earlier.

Then suddenly, before he could recognize the feeling in his heart as mild relief, long, binding ropes shot out from Voldemort's wand and wrapped themselves tightly around his body.

“Feel privileged, Harry,” drew Voldemort, his stale breath whisking across Harry's face, “to bear my soul is… the ultimate honor.” Then he backed slowly away, a vindictive grin spreading across his lips.

Harry could not move. The ropes were digging mercilessly into his skin, marking his body with long, red imprints.

The Death Eaters formed a half-circle around the scene, the edges of their cloaks whipping sharply in the wind. Harry was shoved to his knees, where he sat, his head bowed.

But when he looked back up, he saw Voldemort suspending a large, golden goblet in the air. For a moment he was blinded by the light radiating from it, but soon he could make out the finely plated gems encrusted at every angle. Along the top, in rolling, cursive script, was an elegant engraving, which seemed to be in Latin.

It hovered spectacularly before Harry, mere yards away, and then it hit him- Hufflepuff's Cup.

The chalice seemed to vibrate, its edges growing faintly fuzzy. Voldemort's gleaming red eyes were bright, illuminated by the cup, with his face contorted in deep concentration as he cut his wand through the air, tracing an elaborate pattern.

Then a tiny, bright ball of flaming light drew from the chalice and whizzed around in midair. Falling to the ground, the goblet rolled away as the white-flamed orb moved nearer to Harry. It blazed brighter the closer it got, and for the briefest of moments, Harry thought of fighting back.

“PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!”

Suddenly, a short, squat figure in black fell to the ground at Voldemort's feet, his Death Eater's hood rolling back to reveal a blotchy, unmoving face.

Harry's heart skipped. Craning his neck, he saw numerous figures dashing down the steep hill to his left, bolts of light shooting from their wands.

“CRUCIO!” a Death Eater hollered at the approaching wizards, its curse barely missing its target.

“Stop them!” Voldemort shouted, his lips curling dangerously.

But to Harry's right, more figures were sprouting from the hills. Harry made out the blurred faces of Hagrid, Mr. Weasley, and Moody, running swiftly towards him, their wands aloft, their expressions stern.

“Stupefy!” someone yelled, yet he couldn't make out the voice… but his stomach clenched as his eyes strained to keep up with the scene as Lupin, Charlie, and Tonks ran headlong into the shrouded masses of black…

All around him the fight broke out, streams of purple and red shooting through the murky air, as Death Eaters and Order members tumbled to the ground, avoiding each other's curses.

Harry could scarcely believe it; his heart gave a hesitant flutter as the flame of hope rekindled. Instinctively, his wrists began fighting off his bindings, his mind focused once more on defying Voldemort by any means necessary, and he only ignored the stinging pain as the rope dug deeper into his skin.

As he continued to struggle, Voldemort whipped his wand effortlessly and Harry watched in silent terror as Charlie Weasley's body suddenly appeared before him, hitting the earth with an audible thud.

Harry's eyes shot up to meet Voldemort's. His blood boiled and the hatred in his glare briefly held Voldemort to the spot. But then, his pale lips lifted in a pitiless, satisfied smirk.

The shouts and screams of war pulsated the air around them as Voldemort stepped forward, preparing to finish the task at hand. The burning ball of light still lingered between them, and when Voldemort directed his wand at the mysterious object, it blazed a pale blue and soared once more in his direction.

Harry thrashed against his ropes, feeling a surge of boldness course through him as his jaw set in violent determination.

Yet Voldemort's eyes grew wider with vindictive glory, his stature dark and ominous over the menacing, fiery sphere of light as Moody dueled with two Death Eaters in the background.

But then-

“Avada Kedavra!”

The smoldering sphere burst into red and white flames, light melting off its round surface like glowing water. It swirled and jerked in midair, convulsing madly, before suddenly exploding in a haze of blinding light.

“NO!” Voldemort screamed, his deathly hands outstretched in tormented fury.

Curses and spells continued to swarm around them, their casters' voices loud and rumbling in Harry's ears as Voldemort's gleaming red eyes bore piercingly into his.

And then his scar burst out in pain.

Unable to move, he could only scream, the burning throb in his head tugging on every nerve. The intense searing scorched mercilessly through him, prickling behind his eyes like needles.

But then, it stopped. As abruptly as it had begun, it ceased completely.

Opening his watery eyes, Harry was astonished to find Voldemort had disappeared. The Death Eaters remained, the Order was still advancing on their numbers, the noise deafening, but Voldemort- Voldemort had vanished.

But before he could register all that was happening and where Voldemort could have possibly gone, a shorter, lean body slammed painfully into his, deep brunette hair obscuring his vision.

“Hermione?!”

He heard her yell a curse in the opposite direction before he felt her body push from his and dash around to meet his face. Throwing herself to her knees, she leveled herself with him as she grasped his shoulders and Harry saw her tear-stained eyes.

She looked battered and dirty, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she struggled to breathe.

“HARRY!” she shouted, her hands quickly fumbling with his ropes, “Oh thank God! I thought you'd be dead!” she cried hysterically, hot tears already streaming down her cheeks.

Frustrated, Hermione stood and took a step back before pointing her wand at Harry's bindings and shouting some unknown command. The ropes fell to the ground as Harry jumped to his feet and automatically grasped Hermione's hand.

Looking up, he met her gaze and was overcome with a flood of affection. He reached out roughly, his heart still pumping, and cupped her face; but she seized his wrist and began pulling him away from the battle, bowing over as she dodged Tonks and Lupin and headed straight for the cover of trees.

“Wait!” he hollered, yanking Hermione back. “Ron! He's alive, he-”

Just then Harry noticed a stream of red shooting towards them, and he grabbed Hermione and threw her to the ground, letting himself fall on top of her. He looked down and saw her panic-ridden face before heaving her back to her feet and dragging her along the side of the hill.

“He's over here somewhere!” he hollered over the noise, ducking curses and forcefully keeping Hermione blocked behind his body.

Then she crashed into him as he came to an abrupt stop.

“Harry?!” she asked fearfully, eyeing the Death Eaters mere yards away.

“I found him!”

Harry dove through the fight and Hermione watched with wide, horrified eyes as he fumbled with something on the ground. But seconds later he popped back up, shooting Hermione a fleeting look.

Draped around his shoulders, was Ron.

Hermione gave a half-gasp, half-laugh as her eyes glossed over with renewed tears, her face breaking out into a momentary smile.

Quickly, Harry used his free hand to grasp Hermione's arm and steer them away. But they didn't make it two steps, as Ginny came running frantically in their direction. She paused only briefly to stare in relief at Ron safely strung across Harry; but then she regained composure and her eyes darkened.

“We've got to run!” she screamed, ushering Harry away. “Lupin said to get back to our brooms!”

Sure enough, Tonks and Hagrid came pounding across the hill, their wands pointing behind them as they sent jets of light soaring in all directions.

Harry recaptured Hermione's wrist and ran, hard and fast, his breath hitching painfully in his chest as he struggled to keep Ron beside him.

He could hear the battle following them, tailing just behind as Lupin, Mr. Weasley, and Moody came sprinting forward, a mass of black robes chasing after them.

Their feet pounded sharply against the wet ground as they encountered the stream, Harry continually glancing over his back. Through sticker bushes and thorns, they ran, their hearts pumping feverishly, the muscles in their legs straining, with Ron's lifeless body weighing heavily on Harry's shoulder.

“Go!” Harry suddenly shouted over the noise, pushing Hermione forward. “You can't wait up for me, Ron's slowing me down, you have to just run!”

“No!” Hermione countered, fixing Harry with an anxious, ardent glare before she threw out a particularly forceful curse, sending two approaching Death Eaters flying through the air. Then she moved around to take Ron's other arm and screamed, “Come on!”

Harry didn't argue but hulled Ron away, his muscles aching less with Hermione's help.

They continued to run, their breathing forced and irregular, Ginny's hair whipping around corners just in front of them, Lupin shouting out curses behind.

Finally they reached the brooms. Harry dove into the overgrowth and whipped out his Firebolt before the others had reached him. Hermione tugged hurriedly on his arm, a soft, terrified whimper escaping her lips as a long stream of green shot from an emerging black cloak.

“Give him here!” Ginny hollered, pulling Ron from Harry's grasp. Harry relented and made sure she was in the air with him before he mounted his own broom and roughly dragged Hermione on with him.

Flying into the air, Harry ascended above the treetops and soared over to Ginny.

“Can you balance him?”

She gave a steady nod, her arms wrapped tightly around her brother as she hovered atop the canopy.

Then abruptly, Harry kicked off and sent he and Hermione shooting towards the ground. “Help me fend them off the others!” he screamed over the wind, his wand already aiming at one of the billowing shrouds chasing Hagrid.

Hermione's voice rang in his ears as she too threw out innumerable spells, sending more than a few Death Eaters face-first into the ground.

But then sparks began teeming in their direction, curses grazing their ears. Harry deftly dodged them all, weaving through the jets of light and pelting his own down below, each one hitting its target square in the chest with an audible thump.

Seconds later Lupin and Moody were in the air doing the same. It only took another moment for Tonks and Hagrid to reach their brooms, and as soon as they did, Lupin shouted at Ginny to fly away. She didn't even pause, and soon Tonks dashed off to follow.

“HARRY!”

Harry turned sharply in the air, meeting Lupin's pale face.

“GO!”

Harry hesitated, knowing that Mr. Weasley and Charlie had yet to join them. He hovered, his eyes frantically surveying the raging fight below, his instincts warring.

But when he felt Hermione's anxious, trembling hands slide around his waist, and heard her muffled cries bury in his shoulder, he nodded indistinctly in Lupin's direction before kicking off hard, flying away in a rush of wind.

----------------------------------------

Harry skidded to a stop when they reached Grimmauld Place, the cool night air washing over him as he landed and quickly turned on Hermione.

“Are you all right?!”

Panic, terror, and every emotion that had his heart racing minutes before on Azkaban climaxed as he fearfully scanned her face. She was bleeding from her lip, and dried blood had matted parts of her hair.

“I'm fine- oh Harry!” she shrieked, clutching his hands and holding them out. “Look at you! Oh, your wrists!”

For his wrists were bleeding, the tight ropes having created a circle of chaffed, raw skin which was excreting deep scarlet liquid. It looked as if he had been burned until parts of the skin had melted away.

“It's fine, it doesn't hurt,” he lied instantly, more concerned with the bruise swelling on the side of her neck. “God, what happened?!” he asked, his throat burning.

Hermione lightly caressed her neck and winced. “I must've gotten hit,” she deduced dismissively, her wide, brown eyes still examining Harry. “Oh Harry,” she choked, a sudden sob restricting her airway, “you look awful!”

“I'm fine,” he persisted, his brow creased as his hands ran through her hair, searching for the source of blood.

Hermione continued to lift Harry's sleeves, comb through his hair, and run her fingers along his back, hysterically looking for injuries, muffled cries escaping her lips each time she found a new one. Harry's hands ran the length of her neck, her arms, everywhere he could, doing the same, his eyes stinging as he came across a long, deep cut that sliced across her stomach.

“God… Hermione,” he breathed miserably, touching the red sensitive skin around the wound.

“Harry,” she whispered, tears evident in her cry, “you- you're bruised everywhere,” she muttered wretchedly, not knowing what to do other than to press herself against him in a warm embrace.

Harry was caught off-guard but quickly flung his arms around her, burying his face in the crook of her neck, unable to discern the gentle words Hermione was speaking into his shoulder.

But then the memory struck him-

“HERMIONE!” he shouted, pulling her away to look her in the eyes. “Voldemort- his Horcrux- someone destroyed it!”

Hermione's jaw dropped. “What?”

“Did you see that- that light? That white sphere flying at me? That was it! It was-”

“That was part of his soul?!” she cried, her eyes wide. “But- but how- why-?”

“I'll tell you later," he said hurriedly, "the point is, he made it vulnerable when he took it from Hufflepuff's goblet and tried putting it in me- it was completely exposed, and- and someone-”

“Hufflepuff's goblet?!” she shrieked in confusion, trying to force her brain to register all he was saying. “Putting it in- in you… exposed…” she mumbled distractedly, her mind racing…

Then suddenly, she remembered. She looked quickly up at Harry, her glossy eyes suddenly the size of saucers.

Harry stared at her, sweat still gleaming on his brow. “What?”

“It was- I… I did it…”

Harry blinked. “Did what?”

“I saw it, and it was- Voldemort had his wand on it, and… you couldn't move… I saw it going closer to you…”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “It was you? You- you did the Killing Cur-”

“Oh God,” she muttered miserably, her head dropping. “I- I did… I performed an Unforgivable!” she cried, her eyes searching Harry's pleadingly. “But Harry, it was only because I could tell it was something awful, why else would Voldemort be trying to attack you with it?! That's what it looked like, from where I-”

“Hermione it's okay,” he wanted to laugh, “You destroyed a Horcrux!”

Hermione looked disbelieving, but her lips lifted in a smile and her eyes glistened with relief. Harry took her arms and made to embrace her, a delirious sob pushing at his throat.

But just then, Tonks and Ginny flew up and landed beside them. Harry let go of Hermione and dashed to Ron, who was still unconscious.

“How the hell did you get ahead of us?” Tonks baffled.

Harry didn't hear her. “How is he? Is he okay?”

Ginny looked up at him, her eyes glassy. “He- he hasn't moved the entire time…”

“That doesn't mean anything,” Tonks assured, waving her wand so that the door of Grimmauld Place swung open. “Let's get him to a room.”

Harry heaved Ron to his feet and began pulling him up the stoop. Ginny ran along beside them.

“Why don't you let me cast-”

“No,” Harry immediately replied, his faced screwed in concentration. “I don't want to use some spell to move him, it makes people look- dead.” He remembered Snape as Lupin charmed him out of the Shrieking Shack four years ago, and how his head had bobbed grotesquely on his stiff, unmoving body.

Hermione ran ahead and held the door wide. Once inside, Harry made a sharp right into one of the drawing rooms. With one last pull, he draped Ron's limp body across the dusty red sofa.

“Where is he?!”

Mr. Weasley came running through the threshold, his face frenzied and wild. Lupin and Hagrid followed quickly behind as Mr. Weasley collapsed to the floor in front of his son.

“Ron?” he asked loudly, shaking his shoulders. “Ron, can you hear me?”

“He's out cold,” Lupin asserted, his brows knitted together. “Voldemort must have put him under some spell to keep him from waking. But he's definitely alive,” he confirmed somberly, feeling Ron's pulse through his neck. “We need Pomfrey.”

But then, Mrs. Weasley stormed through the door, her eyes puffy and red, her arms outstretched as she rushed towards Ron's unmoving figure. She didn't say anything, only sobbed endlessly into his hair, her hand grazing his pale face with motherly tenderness.

Harry looked away. It was too much to take in after everything he'd seen tonight. He felt himself come crashing back to reality, as the wave of happiness he'd experienced at the thought of Hermione destroying a Horcrux left him completely. It was replaced by the sick twisting in the pit of his stomach as he gaped at his best friend's family huddled around Ron's lifeless body. The feel of Hermione's warm pressure beside him was all that reminded him to breathe.

“Where's Charlie?” he heard Mrs. Weasley ask, her voice shaking.

“With Moody, in the upstairs room. He just seems to be knocked out.”

When Harry looked back up, he found Lupin and Hagrid conversing quietly in the far-off corner, Hagrid's scruffy head bent low, nodding silently. Mr. Weasley was pacing around the sofa, occasionally stopping to shoot his wife a wretched look.

“Harry?” Hermione whispered in his ear, “perhaps we should leave…”

But at that moment, Hagrid thumped out the door and out of sight, as Lupin stalked back over to the couch. “He's gone to find Pomfrey,” he mumbled solemnly, running a hand through his hair. Then, “Harry, Hermione, are you two all right?”

Harry merely nodded, but Hermione said with amazing composure, “Harry needs to see Pomfrey too, after she's looked at Ron and Charlie… he has bruises all over him, and his wrists-” she gently clutched Harry's hand and lifted it for Lupin to see “-they're bleeding terribly…”

Lupin's eyes narrowed in concern as he took a step closer and examined Harry's arms. But before he could speak, Harry snatched his hand away and said, “Hermione needs her more than I do. She's got a gash on her stomach, it'll get infected-”

“You'll both need to see her,” Lupin sighed, his face heavy with worry, “but for now you two need to go do whatever you can for your wounds while we watch over Ron. Hermione, I trust you know some basic healing spells?”

Hermione nodded. Lupin cast Harry a mournful glance before turning his back and bending low over Ron, whispering something in Mrs. Weasley's ear. Harry thought of telling him about the Horcrux, but the look on his face as he attempted to console the Weasley's made him too sick to think, let alone engage in such an intense conversation.

His nerves on end, Harry moved forward and stopped beside the sofa. Looking down, he saw Ron's white face cushioned by a pillow, and watched in a daze as Mrs. Weasley pressed noiseless kisses against his forehead. Mr. Weasley sat beside her, his head in his hands, and Harry paused a moment longer to take one final look at his best friend, before the worry morphed into nausea and he had to turn away.

Hermione tugged gently on Harry's jumper, and the two made their silent ascent up the creaking stairs, their breathing still uneven.

When they reached the landing, Harry looked to his left, and through an ajar door, watched as Moody bent low over Charlie Weasley, his wand prodding the red head's motionless body.

“Come on Harry,” Hermione whispered, her hand grasping his elbow. “There's nothing you can do… you can't let yourself watch.”

Harry's jaw clenched as he swallowed hard and turned away from the scene. Entering their room, he made a beeline for the bed. He sat upright, his back rigid, while Hermione closed the door.

“Did you see them?” Harry asked quietly, his voice hoarse.

“Who?”

Harry didn't answer. His blazing green eyes were burning into the wall, his face blank of expression.

Hermione watched him worriedly. The cut on her stomach stung and her head felt heavy and aching, but she pushed it aside with one look at his cold, despondent face.

He wanted to feel angry. Above anything, he just wanted to feel angry. But he couldn't. Instead, he felt worthless, hopeless… filthy. Some part of him registered that this was why he preferred anger: it doesn't hurt as much as heartache.

His throat burned and his eyes stung with the visual of Ron's still body. He was only faintly aware of Hermione's presence, the restricted sensation that engulfed his heart taking over all conscious thought.

But Hermione moved closer and knelt before him, reaching out a trembling hand. With gentle, hesitant fingers, she wiped away the dark smudges of dirt beneath his eyes.

“Harry?”

He inhaled deeply and looked up.

“Who? Who was I supposed to see?”

Harry shook his head lightly. “All of them.” He paused, sliding his hands beneath his glasses and kneading them into his eyelids. “They all looked so… defeated.”

Hermione bowed her head in silence. Harry did not move. He felt the most severe anguish burn through his chest, as if a Dementor were right beside him, forcing him to relive every horrible emotion in the span of a second.

The weight of what had happened that night pressed in on him from all angles, clouding his vision and impeding his speech. The hole in his heart seemed to swell, filling him with an unrelenting emptiness as he finally fully realized exactly how close- so, unbelievably close- he'd come to failing… How close he'd been to an unthinkable fate…

Then suddenly, a swooping sound vibrated the air, followed by a loud, resounding crash.

Hermione jumped. Harry's tense body reacted in panic, his wand already pointed out into the vacant room.

Standing, Hermione walked around the edge of the bed and towards the fireplace. Harry craned his neck to look over her shoulder, but couldn't see, until Hermione picked up something from the floor and turned to face him.

In her hand was a jagged piece of glass, its sharp angles casting light on the walls. “The vase,” she remarked idly, eyeing Harry. She muttered reparo before rounding on him again, shooting him an odd look. “It didn't break on it's own,” she began gently, her expression a mix of wonderment and concern, “Harry… don't bottle it in…”

He stared at the repaired vase, not really understanding or even caring to understand what it meant that he'd broken it without meaning to.

Hermione's worried gaze met with his. But when he didn't respond, she heaved a tired sigh and performed some quick healing spells on her stomach and neck.

Then she walked over to him, her footfalls light and measured, before stopping just short of his knees and bending low. He still didn't meet her eyes. She lifted her wand and, starting with his wrists, moved across his body until all visible wounds were at least wrapped in bandages.

Then, still standing, she towered over his slumped posture and lifted his chin. When he still didn't speak, she merely began wiping the rest of the dirt off his face, her ministrations slow and soft.

Without moving, Harry's gaze finally rested on her face. He watched in a fuzzy haze as her sad, forlorn eyes shone with something unidentifiable.

“Hermione?”

She stopped her movements and looked down into his blood-stained face. Her eyes grew soft as she was swept with a sudden wave of understanding.

“No,” she breathed, leaning in closer to him. “Don't. Don't do this to yourself.”

Harry lowered his head. He could hear doors slamming around the house, Mrs. Weasley's sobs, Lupin's voice, Moody's healing spells that didn't seem to be working… it made the corners of his eyes burn.

But then he felt Hermione's hand grazing his cheek. Goosebumps ran down his spine.

“You saved him, Harry…”

As he looked into her eyes, the sudden urge to argue with her rolled through him; some perplexed part of him he didn't dare yet discover was screaming at him to convince her to abandon him… to tell her she was wrong, wrong about how she saw him and how she defended him… but cold weakness was flooding through his muscles, and all he could bring himself to do was lie back on the bed, his thoughts a blur.

Hermione moved around to the other side and lowered herself slowly onto the mattress, letting Harry's head fall into her lap. Her stomach dropped curiously as she peered down into his eyes.

“Harry,” she began quietly, her voice trembling with an apology, “Will you… will you tell me what happened toni-?”

“Can we just- can we talk about it later?”

Harry swallowed, his eyes fixing her with a look she'd never seen before.

“Just a few minutes,” he assured her, his heart beginning to beat regularly now. “We'll talk about- about everything, I just need… a few minutes… like this…”

Hermione gave him a sad smile, still uneasy about the strange new look in his eyes… but somehow it soothed her, the gentleness of it…

Her hands ran through his hair, slow and embracing, as she let herself lean back against the headboard, her furrowed brow still focused on his face.

Harry breathed deeply and closed his eyes again. He knew what waited once they opened. The conversations he'd have to have, the fear he'd have to face, the weight of the future that would descend on his chest… but as he concentrated on the warm pressure of Hermione's hands sweeping through his hair, the noises of the chaotic house died out… the prospect of it all seemed almost tolerable, the knowledge of reality almost endurable, and he felt he could rise above it… maybe… if only he had a few more minutes… a few more minutes lying here, a familiar, sweet scent relaxing his muscles… a few more minutes…

…just like this.

Raise your head and taste the courage.

-->

9. End of an Era

Author's Note: Again, I apologize for the wait… but here it is! I'm very excited to present chapter nine to my Portkey readers, and I do hope you enjoy it. Let me know!

Avenged Sevenfold
End of an Era

A fire, a storm
Circling around them
Victims of circumstance,
Of tempestuous weather
They will rise and
They will fall
Together.

A fire, a storm,
Circling around them
Fighting the circumstances
Which lead them to rise
And fall, in love
During this terror
For all that they've known
It will be
Their end of an era.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You truly are your parents' son, Harry.”

“Sirius would be proud…”

“Just like James, he is…”

“You may only be a teenager, Harry… but you're far from ordinary.”

His mind automatically clung to these memories, striving to recuperate from the mental and emotional abuse of the past few days. The steady rhythm of warm, gentle hands running through his hair had successfully calmed his heart and stabilized his rapid breathing.

But it was short-lived. There was a thumping up the stairs, a hard knock on the door, then a loud creak in the floorboards. Yet not until Hermione's hands stopped and drifted away did Harry begrudgingly open his eyes.

“How are you feeling?” Lupin asked somberly, shutting the door behind him.

Harry sat upright and fixed the man with a sardonic glare. “Brilliant.”

Moving towards the bed, Lupin conjured a simple wooden chair and melted into it, his exhaustion evident in the expression on his face. “I meant your wounds,” he corrected, eyeing the black bruise swelling around Harry's jaw.

“I mended his wrists the best I could,” said Hermione, “but the bruising… it's beneath the skin, I couldn't do much with them…”

“I'm fine,” Harry sighed exasperatedly, feeling like a broken record.

“And you, Hermione?”

“I'm all right,” she replied, rubbing the side of her neck. “A bit sore, but…” she trailed off for a moment, averting Lupin's gaze. “How's Ron?”

Lupin heaved a deep breath and sat back in his chair, his hands resting on his knees. “He's stable,” he said quietly, looking off into the corner of the room. “We have Pomfrey working on him right now. She thinks he'll be all right, but… we can't be sure yet.”

Harry hung his head. Hermione consolingly grazed her fingers across his back, unable to feel the wave of chills it was causing to run down his spine.

“Any word from McGonagall yet?” Hermione asked quietly, startling Harry into remembering that she and Kingsley were still at Hogwarts searching for Draco Malfoy.

“No,” Lupin replied, “but we didn't expect contact for several days. She needs to be extremely careful, and can't give off any signs that she's there. But if we don't hear anything by Sunday, we'll be flying to Hogwarts ourselves.”

Hermione nodded solemnly.

“Harry,” said Lupin, his voice changing direction. Harry knew what was coming. “We need to talk about what happened at Azkaban.”

Standing, Harry strode to the opposite side of the room and began pacing.

“I know you don't want to, especially now, but we-”

“After we were separated I was surrounded by Death Eaters,” he began, feeling a faint dizziness engulf him as his mind whipped through the images. “Voldemort appeared, I don't know from where… and there was Ron.”

His voice shook involuntarily at the end, but he swallowed hard and looked up to Hermione's anxious stare and felt momentarily sobered.

“And he was unconscious?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah…” he paused, forcing himself to relive the experience. “He was bound together with chains.”

“Chains?” Lupin inquired, leaning forward in his seat. “What did they look like?”

“I don't know,” Harry scoffed, not seeing any possible significance in Ron's bindings and wanting to be done with the conversation. “Rusty, I think…”

Lupin's brow furrowed. “Okay… continue.”

Harry took a deep breath and shot Hermione an unidentifiable look. She smiled warmly, temporarily concealing her uneasiness, and urged him on with her eyes.

Harry licked his lips and continued pacing, his voice echoing off the wide, dank walls as he told them everything.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Twenty minutes later, Harry sat on the edge of the bed, watching Lupin's distant expression register everything he'd just learned. Hermione was silent beside him, her head spinning though her body sit still.

“What I don't understand,” she finally said, her words coming slowly, “is why Voldemort didn't simply kill you. Clearly he had the opportunity… why go through all the trouble of making you a Horcrux?”

Lupin looked up and focused on Harry. “That's a good question.”

Harry nodded and straightened his glasses. “I know, I've thought about that. But it makes perfect sense when you figure who we're talking about. It's Voldemort. What's the one thing he's sought more than anything- even more than killing me?”

“Immortality,” Hermione whispered, her eyes bright with dawning comprehension.

“Exactly,” Harry confirmed, instinctively massaging the still chaffed skin around his wrists. “He's thinking into the future. Who's to say another prophecy won't be made a hundred years from now? Two hundred? Getting rid of me only solves half his problem… the immediate half. But he expects to live forever, and not even Voldemort knows how the future'll turn out… but keeping me around as his human Horcrux ensures a lot…”

“It ensures his immortality,” Hermione finished, shifting to face him on the bed. “Because you're his `equal,' and there can only be one real threat at a time… which explains why he never went after Dumbledore. Aside from being terrified of him, Dumbledore posed no threat to his life, because the prophecy claims only you can destroy him…”

“One threat at a time,” Lupin mumbled, his eyes growing hazy again as he concentrated on their rationale.

“Yes, because that's what the prophecy implies- by stating only Harry can kill Voldemort,” Hermione affirmed, clarifying for herself as much as for Lupin, “and keeping Harry alive fulfills his `threat quota,' but keeping him alive as a Horcrux fulfills his goal of immortality…” she trailed off then as she too gazed off across the room. “It's the perfect plan,” she whispered, disbelief and horror mingled in her voice.

A long moment passed in which Harry said nothing. Hermione had begun fingering a torn piece of fabric from the bed sheets and Lupin had his arms crossed, his stare still intent on the wall opposite.

But after a while, Harry said, “But he didn't get to go through with it… thanks to you,” he muttered, his eyes moving from Lupin to Hermione. Hermione's cheeks reddened. “And it taught us something else about Voldemort… something that could be used to our advantage. His downfall, even.”

“What's that?” Hermione asked curiously.

“He takes things too literally.”

Lupin looked up at Harry in confusion before a knowing smile tugged on his lips.

“Come again?” said Hermione, her head tilted as she watched Harry closely.

“Voldemort's plan works under the assumption that I'm the only one able to destroy him, as you pointed out,” Harry enlightened, a shadow of a smirk growing. “But that's not necessarily true… He's taking the prophecy too literally. Dumbledore explained that it's still our choice to validate the prophecy… that the prophecy holds true only because we make it true, because we've both made the choice to be the other's end. But if I'm gone, that doesn't mean there's no hope,” he concluded, staring Hermione directly in the eye. “That doesn't mean Voldemort can't still die.”

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Bluebell flames flickered in their glass jars, lining the room and reflecting their soft glow in the four tall windows. Heavy rain was pounding against the old house, dampening the air and casting flickers of shadow on the floor through the light of the flames.

Yet the dreamy atmosphere was lost on Hermione, as all her attention was focused on much more daunting details.

“All right, so we have…” she trailed her finger down a scrap piece of parchment, her bottom lip prey to her teeth. “Hogwarts, the obvious… umm…” she clicked her tongue as she eyed the list. “Hogsmeade, the unlikely… Merope Gaunt's old house, which we can't even be sure is still there… where else could Voldemort have hidden Horcruxes?” The distressed tone of her voice made it clear she was still somewhat shaken by the recent events.

Harry let himself fall face first onto the bed. “Anywhere,” he said, his voice muffled through the mattress. “Absolutely anywhere. That bloody necklace was in a cave for Christ's sake… I'd never even heard of it before.”

Hermione sighed and turned back to her parchment, struggling to ignore her anxiety. “Well,” she considered, “didn't Dumbledore say Nagini could be a possible Horcrux? It would make perfect sense now that we know he's so keen on targeting living creatures,” she spat, sounding particularly menacing.

Harry quirked a half smile, his face still pressed to the bed.

“Yeah, but we'll have to save Nagini for last… wherever that snake is, it's with Voldemort.” He lifted himself straight and started walking towards the other side of the room, his hands behind his back. After a moment, his head snapped up. “The orphanage!” he nearly shouted, striding briskly towards Hermione.

Hermione's eyes grew wide. “Yes!” she cried, clasping her hands together. “Riddle's old orphanage, where he grew up!”

“It'd be the perfect spot, hardly anyone knows where he came from,” Harry deduced.

“But do we know where it is? There are loads of orphanages…”

“Don't worry,” said Harry, a faint grin reaching his eyes, “I went there with Dumbledore in his pensieve… I know exactly where to find it.”

Hermione beamed. But she quickly turned back her parchment and began scribbling madly. “Okay, so we know where we're going,” she mumbled distractedly, her pink tongue appearing between her lips as she wrote. Harry stared, mesmerized… before hurriedly averting his gaze.

“We need a plan on how to destroy it once we have it though,” she continued, her hand stopping as she lifted her eyes on Harry. “We don't know what it'll be, and we may have to improvise… best to go in having some sort of idea as to how we get rid of it.”

Harry's brow furrowed. “We've been lucky so far… Dumbledore did all the work for the first few, and with Hufflepuff's goblet… well, that was just a stroke of genius on your part.”

Hermione flushed deeply but had trouble hiding the faint smile appearing on her lips. “Well, that was only-”

“No,” Harry said forcefully, stepping closer, “we'd have one more to track down if it weren't for you,” he added, then paused, his eyes newly bright as they surveyed her face. “There would be a lot- a lot of things, actually… that would be harder… if it weren't for you…”

Hermione's smile lingered until Harry coughed roughly and looked away. She bent her head to meet his eyes, but he was adamantly avoiding her gaze. Tension quickly swelled through the room, which wasn't helped by Hermione's mystified silence.

Harry let out a tense breath. “Anyway,” he continued, his voice cracking involuntarily. He cleared his throat. “A standard curse won't work… so, we can eliminate typical dueling spells.”

Hermione's stomach was inexplicably unsettled now, and she found that looking at him made it worse. So she focused on the floor as she said, “I think Voldemort would be expecting magic… didn't you say Dumbledore had a Horcrux, a ring, that he wore?”

Harry nodded slowly. “Yeah… but what's that got to do with this?”

“Well, why else would he continue wearing that ring if it was causing him so much pain? Voldemort must have created it so that someone had to endure wearing it in order to destroy it… maybe we need to think in those terms?”

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Harry surveyed the ceiling and let out a long breath. “Maybe.”

Hermione stood and positioned herself between Harry and the bedpost, ignoring the quickened pace of her heart as she drew nearer. “Harry, why don't we…” she stopped, her whispered voice deciding how to propose an idea she knew he wouldn't like. “I think we ought to take a couple days to plan this out properly,” she eventually managed.

He straightened and looked her in the eye, momentarily startled by her closeness. Still, the skepticism was clear on his face.

“I know you don't want to wait,” Hermione affirmed knowingly, “and I know why. We do need to make it our top priority now we've got Ron… but it won't make any difference if we get there and don't know what to do. Some research could go a long way…” she licked her lips, hesitant to imply her next thought. “And… we really should prepare for what we might- might encounter… and practice some defensive spells.”

Harry took a long breath through his nose before finally giving his nod of consent. “All right.”

Smiling, Hermione reached out a hand and lightly squeezed his elbow. Harry half-heartedly and reluctantly returned her contentment, until he watched her grin fade and her face fall despondently.

“Hermione?”

She hung her head quickly, eyes scanning the side of the room in a feeble attempt to distract herself from the slight welling of tears stinging behind her lids.

Focusing on the glow of a bluebell flame, she calmed her nerves and listened to the rain still trickling down the windows. “I need you… to promise me something,” she whispered, her face still turned away.

A concerned crease formed between Harry's brows as he watched something new flash behind her eyes.

“Promise that… that you won't sacrifice yourself,” she finished, finally looking up into his shining green orbs.

Harry opened his mouth to speak, confused and dazed, but nothing came out. For a long while he merely stared into her eyes, overwhelmed with the look she was giving him.

“What are you talking about?” he finally whispered, inching closer in hopes of catching her stare.

Hermione inhaled deeply before swallowing the burning lump in her throat. “Earlier with Lupin you said- said it didn't have to be you who killed Voldemort,” she whispered. “As if… it wouldn't really matter if you died… and the look you gave me… the tone in your voice…” she cut herself off, blinking rapidly. “Everything's changed,” she continued, barely audible over the soft thud of rain, “nothing about our lives is the same now… and all I have left is you.”

For a second Harry forgot to breathe. He looked down at her, willing her to look back at him. “Ron will be okay,” he insisted quietly, staring. “And you have your parents-”

“For how long?” she said suddenly, challenging him as she stepped closer. “How long before there's an attack? Months? Days? They're in a Muggle town, Harry! They'll be the firsts targeted! And you can't guarantee Ron will be all right,” she cried, “you can't guarantee any of the Weasley's will be all right! No one can guarantee that!”

She swiped at her eyes before peering back up at him. His mouth was slightly open and his forehead wrinkled in deep concern.

“Hermione, I-”

“Please,” she breathed, settling down, “just… promise.”

Harry swallowed hard but couldn't tear his eyes away. Somehow he knew he would feel guilty promising something like that. The time might come when he'd have to break it, and if in that moment he remembered how her eyes were begging him right now, he might falter.

With measured breaths, Hermione took the last step forward, her body nearly pressing against his. Her stomach jolted and her hands grew hot but she refused to think of these things as she leaned in and whispered, “Promise me…”

She watched the emotion flicker in his eyes. He wasn't breathing, at least not audibly, and when she placed a gentle, pleading hand on his chest, imploring for his promise, a light shiver raced down his arms.

He swallowed, the soft hue of the flames illuminating his glasses, casting a glow around him in the darkness of the room. Her chest constrained in surprise when she realized how very close his face was… if she just leaned in…

Her lips parted slightly and her stomach flipped uncontrollably. He was looking at her, through her… she couldn't decipher the message in his eyes but what she didn't know was that he couldn't either. Something in her mind screamed to stop but his gaze had refocused on her mouth and she couldn't…

Gradually, timidly, their lips came together, Harry pressing against her ever so gently… it was a whisper. His hands trembled imperceptibly as one cupped her cheek and the other nervously wrapped through her hair. Her face still wore an expression of surprise, but now melted completely as she gave a tender gasp.

Their mouths worked slowly, lazily, his soft lips tugging gently on hers, their minds swelling with astonishment at what was happening.

Then suddenly, neither being able to tell which made the first move, their kiss deepened as Hermione moaned softly in amazement, feeling their warm, velvety cores clash gently, shyly, eagerly together…

After a moment Harry pulled away, his eyes still closed. Hermione breathed heavily to catch her breath, eyes nervously scanning his face. Her insides were fluttering, her heart on fire, and every nerve ending tingled across her skin in the places his hands had been.

His throat rose and fell with a harsh swallow, his lids finally trembling open to look into hers. She could not conceal her shock or her worry… or her glassy, hopeful eyes.

Stepping back, his brow creased in deliberation. He was surveying her flushed face, her swollen lips, his gaze flashing to hers as he struggled for coherent thought. His heart was racing… yet a reprieved sob threatened to push at the back of his throat.

After an extended minute, he felt her hands slide down his chest to rest back at her sides, and he looked away.

Finally, his breathing still somewhat irregular, he glanced up at her one more time, an unidentifiable look in his eye, before turning quickly and walking out the door.

Hermione blinked into the shadowed room, taking shaky breaths. Her mind was buzzing and her fingers shivered in remembrance of the feel of him… What just happened?

She had received her promise.

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For all that they have known
It will be their end
Of an Era.

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10. Tragedy and Travesty

Author's Note: I won't make any excuses for why this update took so long. I'll only say that I [temporarily] lost my muse, and found it extremely difficult to write this chapter. It would have been hard even with my muse, honestly. Anyway, do enjoy it, and rest peacefully with the knowledge that chapter eleven is already underway. *hugs faithful reviewers*

Avenged Sevenfold
Tragedy and Travesty

Her eyes were full of tragic promises
Though a million words had gone unsaid
He wouldn't, shouldn't, couldn't-
Or risk betraying a dying friend.

He wanted to remember
But could not seem to forget
All the consequences Love
Can have on a life of debt.

He wanted to remember
But could not seem to forget
The locks of liability
His conscious had long since set.

He wanted to remember,
Yet tried so hard to forget.
But could no longer pretend
The feeling was not there
When he raised his head
And was breathless from her stare.

And still
Her eyes were full
Of tragic promises.

His fingers flipped through endless pages, the muted black print on the grimy sheaves fading into the backdrop of the parchment.

It was only an act.

He was avoiding it. He wouldn't think about it. He couldn't think about it. Not now.

Ding.

The great grandfather clock in the foyer echoed up the vast staircase, vibrating off the walls.

Harry listened, and counted.

Five.

Five o'clock.

Five o'clock in the morning.

Harry shut the book with a loud thump. The friendless pages puffed little circles of dust in protest. It hadn't helped his expedition at all. But, then again, he hadn't really expected it to. He highly doubted the existence of any book which might outline how to determine whether an object is or isn't a Horcrux. No, the book had only been about preoccupying his mind.

“Promise me.”

But it hadn't worked.

Peering down, Harry eyed the massive tome on his bed with deep disdain. He had been blindly reading it for at least three hours. But nothing he did, nothing he thought, nothing in his immediate power would release the memory of her- how she trembled when he touched her, how she gasped when their lips met, how his stomach dropped when her tongue ran hesitantly, softly across his.

Clasping his eyes shut, Harry took a long, hard breath and attempted to regain control over his nerves. They tingled and electrified with every prolonged thought. He was starting to feel ill.

Yet tirelessly, he tried wrapping his head around what had happened, what it meant. But his thoughts could not penetrate the dulling depression of doubt and uncertainty and guilt.

That was it. Above anything, he felt guilty. And as he imagined the look on her face just before they kissed, and realized that single memory made him more content than he'd felt in a year, his guilt only swelled and stabbed achingly at his heart.

Lying back, he stared blankly at the ceiling. The light from his wand was casting long shadows in the corner and Harry wished the darkness would produce a Dementor, or… something. Anything. But he couldn't go on like this, not knowing what to do, not knowing what to say, not knowing what to think. At least Dementors had a definitive act- the patronus- whereas this… this had no answer.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he resigned himself to confusion.

What felt like only five minutes later, the grandfather clock struck another long, low chord. Again, he counted.

Six.

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“You're sure it's all right to come in?” Ginny asked apprehensively, her small frame working its way through the creaking threshold.

Harry nodded insincerely. It was just a minute ago that he recalled hearing the gongs chime six a.m., and yet the clock on the mantle now read an astonishing eight in the evening. The sun was setting on another uneventful day, translucent rays of red and golden brown creeping silently up the walls.

“Why have you been holed up in here all day?” Ginny asked bluntly, an apology completely absent from her voice.

Still not in a cheerful state, Harry only shrugged and turned to sit on the sofa. “I've had a lot to think about.”

Taking a few steps nearer, she responded honestly, “I can only imagine.”

Harry sighed, feeling appreciative of her candor. It let him feel more at ease with being direct himself. “Why do I get the feeling you're here to add something else for me to think about,” he stated casually, the barest hint of amusement in his voice forgiving the harsh words.

Ginny took it in stride. “Because you know me so well,” she smiled weakly, crossing her legs as she sat beside him.

A long moment passed in which they stared blankly into the unlit fireplace. Suddenly, Harry became very aware that it was Ginny sitting next to him. The realization put him on edge as his hands cradled the armrest, his body turning to face whatever situation awaited.

“Care to enlighten me?” he asked.

Ginny blinked out of her reverie. “Well,” she considered, “Ron's doing a bit better. Madam Pomfrey said he'll likely be conscious by morning.”

Harry nodded indistinctly as he stared off into the corner. “I know. Lupin's told me.”

“Oh, Lupin was here?”

Harry's gaze landed frigidly on her face. “Ginny, please just tell me what's wrong.”

She hesitated a long while, her brows knitting together as she contentedly eyed a missing patch of fabric on a throw pillow. “It's complicated,” she whispered lightly, remorse carrying across the short distance to Harry's ears. “You'll… have to forgive me while I try and word this properly.”

Despite the burden of Horcruxes, Voldemort, War and- more recently- Hermione, weighing heavily on his heart and mind, Harry sat patiently while Ginny struggled with herself.

Watching her hands, he noticed how nervous she truly was. They were tangling themselves in purple and bronze threads- remnants from the torn pillowcase. She did this when she was unsure. Only when she was unsure.

“You remember… a few months ago, when you told me how much easier your life felt once you came to Hogwarts, despite the loads of trouble from Voldemort?”

Harry inhaled deeply, knowing her question wasn't one she expected to be answered.

“You said it was because you met Ron and Hermione,” she continued in a hushed voice, her eyes still averting his. “And that it was easier fighting alongside someone than it was being idle, but… being alone.”

Harry recalled the conversation vividly. It was one of few they had together that delved into more emotional territory.

Breathing evenly, he brought his hands to his lap and watched the cold fireplace as Ginny resumed.

“Well… the last few days, I've been doing a bit of thinking myself.” The deep blush in her cheeks gave away her intentions more clearly than the insecurity in her voice. “I figure… perhaps it would work the same now. Perhaps, despite everything, it'd still be easier… or, at least tolerable, to do this with someone as opposed to- to doing it on your own.”

Harry finally understood. It was about that.

Them.

He looked directly at her, surprise clenching his nerves when he found she was finally looking back at him… and for a fleeting moment, he remembered. He remembered what it was like to sit by the lake, her hands whisking away every doubt as they combed through his hair. He remembered what it was like to have a solace and a comfort so unlike anything else he'd ever experienced. He remembered what it was like to know someone loved him in that way.

But he remembered that he wasn't doing this on his own.

And he remembered why he'd had to break things off in the first place. The real reason.

He hung his head slightly to avoid her intense stare. His head spun and his lips dried and all he wanted to do was focus on anything besides her. And yet, with all his hesitation and mounting regret, he found the truth he'd been seeking less complicated than he'd imagined.

Truth, he knew, was never complicated. It was often hurtful and often made things complicated, but truth in itself was liberating.

And as he lifted his eyes to look at her, he somberly decided that a little liberation, despite the pain, was the best thing anyone under these dark circumstances could receive.

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His body was unnaturally stiff as he stood wearily outside her bedroom door. The floorboards beneath his feet creaked despite the fact he wasn't moving.

Knock. Just knock.

He didn't.

His glowing green eyes only scorched the surface of the wooden door. He felt cold and numb, though his mind kept racing, almost outrunning his heart. Shadows from the corridor crawled the length of the planks, finally bumping silently into his body as the sun set completely.

Without letting himself think any more, he swallowed hard and rasped his knuckles against the only physical barrier between them.

Immediately, he heard footfalls approaching. His heart caught up to his mind, then passed it. He was suddenly devoid of coherent thought, yet he simultaneously became keenly aware of his hands. He knew they were growing damp. Ignoring all this, and ignoring the hole in his inner stomach, he lifted his head and consciously reminded himself to breathe steadily.

The door swung open, revealing Hermione's flushed cheeks and eyes. Her features were soft as she peered up at him, restless surprise evident in the way her gaze swept across his upper body but completely escaped his stare.

Neither said a word, and the air between them swelled. It grew thick with heat and uncertainty the longer they stood. Their only friend was the impeding Dark, its shady blanket masking some of the truth in their eyes.

Finally, Hermione gave a light clearing of her throat. “Hullo,” she breathed roughly, the act of speaking coarse on her vocal cords after twenty-four hours of silence.

Harry anxiously licked his lips. “Can I come in?” he asked gently.

“Oh, of course,” she muttered quickly, moving out of the way. Her face was burning and her arms tingled with unidentifiable fervor.

Slowly, Harry made his way to the edge of the sofa. He eyed it for a moment, hands tucked safely in his pockets, before breathing deeply and opting to lean against the wall instead.

“Lupin says Ron's starting to visibly heal,” offered Hermione in an uncharacteristically meek voice. Taking a couple steps forward, she allowed the door to swing shut as her arms folded protectively across her fluttering chest.

“Yeah,” mumbled Harry.

Silence ensued. Hermione didn't feel ready for this. Whatever this is.

After an extended moment, “Have you found anything helpful in those books?” she questioned, sounding distracted, lost.

Harry shook his head and focused on the opposite side of the room. “No.”

Hermione, nodding calmly, allowed a faint smile. “I expected that.”

Harry looked back at her; she could have sworn his brooding eyes lightened just slightly.

“It's more about preparation,” she explained, feeling a bit more confident now that his gaze was less dismal, “the sort of thing you don't know will help until you need it. I'm sure you found something useful… you just might not know it yet.”

Harry's shoulders drooped in comfortable relaxation. Her casual tone, quick disposal of tension, and soothing voice succeeded in bringing him back to the reality that this was Hermione, his best friend. “I must've read through five books,” he confided, running an exhausted hand through his hair. “A couple things jumped out at me, but I can't pinpoint why.” He shrugged.

“Do you feel any less… nervous?” she asked quietly.

Shifting, he took several steps before dissolving into the sofa, his head lying back on the crease of the armrest. “Not really,” he said honestly.

Hermione moved to sit beside him, a strange flurry of activity grasping her airway, causing her throat to run dry. “Oh. Well… sorry,” she muttered lowly, fiddling with the hem of her jumper, “I thought reading up a bit would calm your nerves. It was one of the reasons I suggested we wait a couple days. But, if nothing else, it bought us a bit of time to watch over Ron.”

Harry was gazing off into the dull painting of a meadow that was hanging askance above the mantle. “Yeah,” he breathed, the pit of his stomach going raw with a plethora of emotion.

Hermione noticed the change in the air around him instantly.

“He'll be all right, Harry,” she whispered, feeling silly for repeating such a tired phrase. But she didn't know what else to do; he looked so alone.

He swallowed visibly. “I know.”

A different kind of tension descended on them now, a dark and unforgiving presence that reminded them of solemn responsibilities. Everything else, everything between them, melted away for that brief moment. Life once again revolved around Ron and Horcruxes. As Hermione stared, transfixed on the floor, she distantly registered that for the first time ever, it was a welcome burden. It was, for better or worse, familiar territory- something she could not say for her confused feelings towards Harry.

“What about the two of you?” he asked suddenly.

Hermione snapped out of her trance and turned to face him. She was taken aback to see his gaze intensely on her, eyes pouring out a stream of loaded questions.

“What do you mean?” she fumbled.

Harry closed his mouth for a moment, turned his head, and breathed deeply through his nose. For a second, his features contoured into a look of hesitant deliberation; but finally he looked back at her, closely examining her for a reaction as he answered. “I mean the two of you. Together.”

It looked painful for him to release the words, like a dagger had sliced through his heart with the knowledge that he might not want to hear the answer or even think about what the question could really mean.

Hermione looked equally apprehensive, realizing they had somehow warped from one emotional terrain to a completely different one. “I… don't know.”

She fell quiet, unwilling to look at him. But she sensed his eyes on her, and imagined how pained they must be, from all of it, and forced herself to divulge.

“We've never really… established anything,” she whispered, feeling mysteriously guilty and dreading the moment when she'd have to face Harry's eyes. “I can't even be sure where we stand. It's all terribly ambiguous and- just, confusing. You've seen how we are, Harry,” she mumbled, “Nothing's certain. I don't know how we'll be.”

Harry seemed to nod from the corner of her eye, his head now hanging low in concentration. She continued to watch him through her peripheral vision, focusing on the stress-induced wrinkle forming between his brows. He looked lost in thought.

But after a second, his head still hung and his eyes still intent on the floor, he said, “It's over with Ginny.”

Confused, Hermione's head tilted to one side. “How do you mean?”

Harry's chest heaved, signaling his fatigue. “I mean… it's over. Permanently.”

Hermione's eyes widened. She sat in silence for a moment, never taking her eyes off Harry's face.

“What?” she finally sputtered.

Never relinquishing his gaze from the floorboards, he said, “She came to talk to me tonight.”

And he left it at that.

Hermione didn't speak. She knew he needed a minute to gather his composure before he explained, but even still, she wasn't sure she was capable of intelligent speech at the moment anyway.

After a long silence, he resumed in a faded voice. “Remember- d'you remember how you said I wasn't being completely honest about why I'd broken things off with Ginny?”

Startled by the question, Hermione could only nod.

“You were right.”

Some complex emotion twisted inside Hermione's abdomen. Her breathing had nearly stopped, but why, she didn't know. It was the way his forehead crinkled during his admission, the way his voice was pleading and tense all at once. Something about it stirred her core.

“She brought up Voldemort. Thought I might have an easier time if I wasn't going it alone,” he continued quietly, eyes still a mass of dark solitude and contemplation. “Which, was her way of suggesting we get back together.”

Hermione stared. Through the darkness she saw his face contract in deliberation before she realized exactly how dark it was, and in a sort of otherworldly trance, conjured a few candles. Their light flickered whimsically on his skin, highlighting the scattered gashes still red and irritated from Azkaban.

“What did you tell her?” Hermione managed, almost inaudible.

Taking a deep breath, Harry closed his eyes before speaking. “She's too unfamiliar. I- I don't mean we're strangers, I mean… she's too unfamiliar with me. She doesn't know what it's been like. She doesn't know any of it- she can't. She can't remember because she wasn't there.”

He stopped for a moment, opening his eyes. They remained narrow and focused on the wall, his silhouette stretching further down the floor the taller the candles burned.

Hermione watched.

“It's not her fault. She couldn't control whether she was or wasn't around to witness everything, to understand me. Ginny… she's amazing. I know her. I… love her,” he whispered, sounding aimless, “but I'm not in love with her. I can't be. She'll never identify with my life. It's been too different, too separate from her own.”

Breathing, Hermione finally gathered the ability to use her voice, though it was in constant danger of shaking. “And… you need that. You need to be identified- to be known. Not as a title. As Harry,” she said quietly, feeling like she was learning more about him now than she had all year.

Harry nodded, hands clasped tightly together between his legs. “When we broke up… she said she understood. She wasn't angry, she wasn't hurt. Because she understood. Which is how I knew she didn't.”

Hermione's brows knitted together. “How so?”

Sighing, Harry sucked in a deep, shaky breath.

“The reason she wasn't upset was- it all had to go with pinning me down,” he confided, still speaking fluidly, softly, “and she thought she had. She thought I'd ended things because of Voldemort. Solely because of Voldemort. Because I was stupidly sacrificing that way, because that's how I am… a hero. Everyone's. Hers.”

Then, finally, he turned his head and looked at Hermione, the sudden truth and vulnerability in his eyes frighteningly bright. The silence in the room seemed to swell.

“But that's my image, not me. That's how I'm portrayed sometimes, that's what's expected of me. But I've never… that's not all I am. There's more to it than Voldemort, yet she didn't see that, she never has,” he breathed, “She bought into it. All of it; the same things mostly everyone's bought into, with the rare exceptions… you, Ron,” he said quietly, “And she's had no choice but to buy into it, really, seeing as how she was never there, never there to see, to really understand. So to her… everything I do it about what I am,” he concluded, “not who; which is why she immediately assumed I'd ended our relationship out of pure sacrifice.”

They locked gazes and Hermione's heart tightened in her chest. The room waited silently for several extended moments while Harry wetted his lips and watched Hermione with curious interest.

“You, though… you knew better,” he said gently, “you knew better because you knew me.” Then he faltered, dropping her eyes to watch the sofa in what was apparent internal reflection.

Hermione melted. She moved nearer, placing their bodies inches apart. She soon felt his warm presence pressed against her arm; he looked up, causing a wave of terrifying emotions to sweep through her. She could almost feel her fingers start to tremble as the memory of his kiss swept powerfully over her, replaying in her head a million times in the span of a second.

Again, she felt his hot gaze land on her mouth, and again she tried fruitlessly to avoid the entire thing, but his commanding, bright green orbs penetrated her resolve.

The candles' light was whispering between them, dancing slowly off their skin and into their eyes. His body stiffened, and Hermione's stomach dropped unexpectedly. She thought she'd be more prepared this time, more composed and aware, yet the same haze of confusion grazed her mind as she watched him beg for something with his eyes.

But then he dropped her gaze, looking uncertain, afraid. Deep thought wove a crease along his forehead before bowing to the authority of indecision. It was evident in his posture.

Slowly, avoiding contact with her skin, he shifted off the sofa and stood, leaving Hermione feeling oddly vacant as she could only peer up at him from her low position.

But when he took a few sturdy steps towards the door, she didn't turn to watch him go. She only sat, stunned, confused, immobile, gawking in uncertainty at the pasty wallpaper.

But then his footsteps stopped.

He kept facing the door for a long while, until finally he turned his neck and stared at the back of Hermione's head.

His throat rose and fell dramatically as his eyes exuded extreme internal pain, brows tight together in throbbing doubt. Opening his mouth slightly, he paused, thinking hard.

Finally, his voice came, rough and deliberate. “If there's something between you and Ron… you should act on it before it's too late.”

Though he was quiet, so very quiet, the words were loud and harsh in Hermione's ears. Her heart constrained.

She didn't move, didn't respond… only watched him, allowing the hollow, sweeping sensation of distress and remorse mount inside her as he turned slowly away and disappeared into the dark hallway.

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11. Debacle and Disclosure

Author's Note: This chapter really marks the beginning of the second half of the story, though I'd probably say we're over half-way through at this point. As such, there will start to be several allusions to events and discussions that took place in the earlier chapters. If you haven't done so, you might want to skim over the first part of the story and re-familiarize yourself. Otherwise, I fear you might not recognize all of the references.

As always, an extra special thanks to all my reviewers. You truly did help me find my muse. *hugs*

Avenged Sevenfold
Debacle and Disclosure

Mirror, mirror,
Despite this foundation
I am falling.
Sweet reflection,
Will you save a picture for me?

For what I am about to do
Could I ever repent?

Mirror, mirror,
Despite this bolt
I am wide open.
Sweet reflection,
Will you save a picture for me?

Mirror, mirror,
Despite this foundation
I am falling.
Sweet reflection,
When will you show
The only real question:
How far am I ready to go?

The following day dawned bright and blustery as the sun's soft rays skipped off smooth surfaces and the window panes hummed with the wind. The usually cool, dark corridors of Grimmauld Place were receiving a long overdue bath in light; and all across the house, dust particles shined and danced in midair, finally, with the help of the effervescent sun, able to signal their arrival for the first time in weeks.

At the moment, however, nearly the whole of the house's guests were crowded in the basement kitchen, staring at a very late breakfast of toast and eggs. Every chair at the long, weathered table was taken, shoulders nearly bumping together each time a person reached for the pumpkin juice.

Though for all its occupancy, the room remained in dense silence.

Harry sat at one corner, his eyes hazy as he watched his eggs for any sign of life. To his left, Hermione was sipping slowly from her cup and trying to convince herself that she wasn't anxious, she wasn't nervous, she wasn't confused, she wasn't vexed, she wasn't.

Taking a deep, fulfilling breath, she poked at her crust with a fork before managing to glance up. Across the table sat George, his plate untouched. Beside him, Ginny was reclined in her seat, not even making an attempt to look half-interested in her food.

She must have felt Hermione's gaze on her, because she looked up and the two girls locked eyes. Hermione tried her best to force a sad, understanding smile, but must've failed miserably as Ginny quickly returned to focusing on the butter.

“Has anyone discussed where we go from here?” Ginny suddenly asked, eyes narrowing but still averted.

The sound of speech visibly startled Tonks and a couple others who were clearly lost to their own dark musings. Mrs. Weasley, however, didn't seem phased.

“Of course we have.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Weasley affirmed, “we're just-”

“Still in the process of mapping it out,” interjected Lupin, sensing Molly's thinning patience.

Ginny turned in her seat to face George. “Has anyone told you anything?” she asked sulkily.

George shook his head, then took a quick swig of his drink.

“I suspected as much,” she resumed, back to glaring at the table. “None of us are ever kept in the loop.”

“Ginny, you're not in the Order, you-” began Mrs. Weasley.

“So? Does that mean I'm expected to just lie around and watch everyone die?”

Hermione stiffened and watched Harry carefully from the corner of her eye. He was looking at Ginny now, all pretense of contentment gone from his features.

“Ginny,” cried Arthur loudly, his tone firm and distraught, “no one's going to die. You're simply going to-”

“I'm not an idiot. Someone's bound to die,” mumbled Ginny under her breath, only audible for Harry, Hermione, and George.

“-have to be patient while we plan things out. The honest truth is we're not sure how to best attack You-Know-Who at the moment. He's well-protected and needless to say, incredibly powerful.”

The room fell quiet again. Hermione's gaze shifted from Weasley to Weasley until finally resting back on Harry. His jaw was set and his posture made it blatantly evident that he was on edge. Hermione wondered whether he was considering telling them of their plans to find a Horcrux at Voldemort's orphanage.

“We have dozens of guards stationed around London, Surrey, and Wales to protect the Muggles in case of an attack,” said Lupin quietly, his face coming out of the shadowed corner to reveal dark circles beneath his eyes. “And we've just sent fifty or so to northern Scotland and Wilshire to do some undercover scoping. Charlie's going off to Romania tonight,” he continued, nodding towards Charlie, “to round up as many wizards as he can. His connections say there's at least a hundred willing to come and help.”

At this moment, Moody made a loud clatter with his silverware. “Hundred won't be enough,” he said hoarsely, watching Harry with his normal eye and, apparently, watching the ceiling with his other. “We need an army here, not a damned militia.”

Mr. Weasley scooted his chair closer to the table and placed his elbows on either side of his plate. “We've also got Bill and Fleur working on the Beauxbatons' staff,” he said. “They're proving difficult to convince, but Madam Maxine will be joining them tomorrow. We expect her support will really help unite France's magical community against the Death Eaters.”

Harry shifted in his seat. Hermione felt sure he was feeling guilty about not confiding in them their Horcrux plan; but, she felt equally sure he had just decisively decided he wouldn't.

She knew him. He didn't want them distracted over and focused on something they couldn't help. The Horcruxes were his responsibility. Voldemort was his responsibility. The Order could only fight one half of the war. And there was no sense in causing hype over the other half they couldn't control.

“Try not to lose too much sleep, Ginny,” Lupin implored, though his rigid posture defied his request. “We're doing all we can.”

“What about Professor McGonagall?” said Harry abruptly, leaning forward in his seat. “It's going on a week. We should've heard something by now.”

Hermione was not comforted by how Lupin's eyes immediately went dark at the mention of McGonagall's name. If he had looked tense before, he was as edgy and stiff as a board now. Quickly, he flashed a look to Moody.

“You're right,” he muttered despondently, “which is why we've sent Hagrid and Slughorn to Hogwarts to find them.”

Hermione blinked.

“Slughorn?” questioned Harry, disbelief etched in his brows.

For a fleeting moment, Lupin looked almost amused by Harry's reaction. “Yes, I know. Very unlike him, isn't it?” He inhaled deeply. “But, it seems when he arrived home late one night from Hogsmeade and found the Dark Mark glaring above his roof, and his entire home scorched with burning spells, he decided it was safer to choose a side. And seeing as how we don't usually burn innocent wizard's homes, he chose ours.”

Hermione digested the news with a dose of optimism. Perhaps Slughorn represented many wizards at the moment. Perhaps too many were simply afraid, afraid to join the fight; but if, like Slughorn, they inevitably found the fight on their doorstep anyway, they'd be inspired to step in.

She turned her neck to watch Harry's reaction. Again, he looked contemplative, his profile unmoving as he stared straight ahead at the sink.

After a long minute, Hermione noticed he wasn't the only one caught in a trance of reflection. Everyone, even Ginny, appeared to be lost to their own thoughts, analyzing and planning.

And still, no one had touched their food. Now, the only sound resonating through the still air was that of Fred's knife scratching aimlessly, thoughtfully across the wooden table-

Until suddenly, Moody's bulging, electric blue eye swirled madly in its widened socket, pointing up again at the ceiling, before quickly jerking back to the room at large. “Pomfrey's coming.”

Hermione froze.

Ron.

Suddenly all the air seemed to be missing. Hermione's face grew hot with nervous anticipation and she instinctively reached over to grasp Harry's arm. His hand slid to meet hers, fingers wrapping firmly together. Despite recent events, there was no awkwardness in the touch. Only comfort.

Hermione's eyes darted to Mrs. Weasley. She had gone white as paper and had apparently also gone weak in the limbs, for Arthur was cupping her hand without reciprocation.

Ginny's eyes were wide; Fred swallowed visibly.

The room shrank.

And now they could hear her footsteps. She was coming. She had news. Important news, by the sound of her rapidly approaching feet. He was either dead or conscious. One or the other. The hurriedness of her impending stride left no room for a middle ground.

Twenty feet away.

Ten.

Two.

The door swung open. And there stood Madam Pomfrey, flushed and glistening with a thin layer of sweat. The bags beneath her eyes made Lupin's look like poorly applied mascara. But somehow, she was- grinning?

“He's awake,” she said, out of breath, clenching her right hand around the doorknob for support.

A relieved sob echoed from behind Hermione as the room regained its normal size. Mrs. Weasley began crying onto her husband's shoulder, completely overcome.

Harry was staring. His blazing green orbs were bright and glassy, and growing wider though his mouth kept thinning. Until finally, he blinked several times, and released a heavy breath, his chest shaking with the weight of it. Then he turned to Hermione, intense, relieved disbelief in his eyes as he searched her.

She felt a tingling sensation spring to life behind her lids and knew she wouldn't be able to stop the tears of joy. Smiling broadly, she reached out and threw herself onto Harry in one swift, tight embrace.

They stood there, hugging, for an indeterminable amount of time. The kitchen was buzzing now with renewed conversation, everyone bustling to hear how he'd come out of it and who'd get to see him first.

“Actually,” Pomfrey began, sounding somewhat reluctant, “he… he's asked to see Ms. Granger first. Alone.”

Some of the talking immediately died down. Hermione let go of Harry and turned to look Madam Pomfrey directly in the eye.

“Me?” she questioned skeptically, utterly thrown.

The older woman only nodded, incapable of hiding her disapproval.

Hermione immediately sought Harry's eyes. When she found them again, they were happier than she'd seen in months, yet somehow, not quite right. They were darker than before. A hole swallowed her stomach as her mind raced with a thousand possibilities for why that was.

But he blinked again, and nodded, mentally ushering her through the threshold. Hermione looked back at the others and caught Mrs. Weasley's eye.

Noting the soft expression she found there, Hermione shook her surprise and shot Harry one last look, before stepping out the door and making her way up the stairs.

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It took all the willpower in Harry's veins to stop himself from pacing. From his windowsill, he lazily watched little brown and gold birds soar through the treetops as he tried to force his mind to recall what it felt like to be free in the air, searching for the snitch.

He supposed that was the real beauty of it: knowing what to do. There was comfort in the familiar. To most teenagers, the idea of finding- let alone catching- such a tiny, discreet object as the golden snitch was quite the burden. The entire game rested on your shoulders. Your Housemates were watching. Your teachers. And if you didn't find it? The pressure was too much to be loved.

But that's what made it so easy for Harry. It was one responsibility. One goal. It wasn't complex, it wasn't ambiguous, there was no mystery. He knew what needed to be done, how it needed to be done, and he did it. This, more than anything, was what made Quidditch so unlike anything else in his life.

Sighing deeply, Harry tore his eyes away from the window and fixed his gaze on his wrists. They were still red and the skin around them looked slightly singed. But it was a vast improvement. The bruising around his jaw and eye socket had all but disappeared, but remained just as sore as ever.

Rubbing his left wrist, he sat staring blankly at his bedpost. The first hints of pink and orange were falling from the sky now, soft as lace, their gentle tint peeking through the feathery clouds.

But Harry wasn't aware of any of it as he continued to nurse his wounds. Discarding the pretense of Quidditch, he resumed his anxious ruminations over Ron.

But just then, a light knock sounded against his door.

Beginning with a mane of unruly, curly brown hair, a hesitant figure peeped inside from the hallway. “Can I come in?”

Harry stared at her for a moment before nodding. “How is he?”

“Good,” she said, shutting the door with a soft click. But something in her tone suggested otherwise. Not that she was lying, necessarily, but that she was hiding… something. Her eyes were unnaturally lost and busy, surveying the room as if to keep herself distracted.

“He's up and talking, then?” Harry asked.

“Oh, yes,” she said after a pause, solidifying Harry's suspicion that her mind was elsewhere. “He's- doing well. He won't eat though, and can't remember anything about being with Voldemort. You should have seen his face when I told him,” she tried to chuckle, but failed, her voice mirthless. “His ears went bright red. But the last thing he recalls is being at the Burrow, fighting off the Death Eaters with you.”

Harry watched her. Throughout her entire explanation, she'd never once looked up to meet his eyes. Right now, even, his worries increased as he noticed her hands fumbling together.

There was definitely something going on.

“Hermione- what's wrong?”

Her head snapped up. “What? Nothing! I've told you, he's doing as well as can be expected-”

“You were in there for hours. Something had to've happened.”

Hermione's mouth hung open a bit, her eyes flashing from Harry's face to the floor. She wrapped her arms around herself in a protective manner, clearly fighting some internal struggle.

Finally, she stepped forward and sat on his bed, arms still cradling her abdomen. She looked lost and vulnerable, her entire presence swallowed by her obvious agony.

Harry was getting exceedingly worried. There was something different, an added element almost, to her despondency, and it was completely separate from what he was used to seeing.

“Hermione?” he asked quietly, stepping closer.

She shut her eyes a moment before slowly turning her head. Harry watched her with growing unease. The palms of his hands felt sticky and cool.

It took several terse minutes before she hesitantly opened her mouth.

“I… kissed him,” she breathed, eyes growing glassy when she looked up to see Harry's face go pale. “I kissed Ron,” she repeated, sounding disbelieving now, her voice on the verge of cracking.

Harry's shoulders went rigid. His breathing paused and his eyes searched hers intensely, looking as if they were fighting off whatever thoughts were clawing to the surface.

“Harry, I'm-” she choked on the lump in her throat, mouth running dry. Her voice was a low, rough whisper, but it shook the room. “I was only trying to take your advice,” she begged, “doing something before it was too late- I-”

“You don't have to explain yourself,” he managed hoarsely, quietly.

Hermione fell silent. She kept swallowing hard, the skin of her throat rising and falling in cruel quiet waves.

Harry wasn't looking at her now. His head was bowed low, leaving Hermione's stomach clenched tight as she surveyed his shadow.

The dead quiet rang in her ears. She had never felt so lightheaded in all her years as she struggled with what to think.

But after a while, Harry slowly peered up and forced the faintest of smiles. “Besides, I probably would've done the same,” he joked, consciously pleading that she'd stop looking at him like that.

But she didn't. She didn't smile at his line or pretend to be uplifted by it. She only hung her head lower, placidly watching the shapes on the floor and wishing her voice would say something on its own accord.

Harry wet his lips and turned away. There was a growing sickness swelling inside his stomach. He had to get away. He couldn't keep watching her.

He cleared his throat to make sure it wouldn't shake. “I'm going to see him,” he muttered, and left her sitting there before she could think of something to say.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once outside the room, he had to physically control his arm from slamming the door shut. He breathed, fighting the urge to go back and talk to her.

With measured steps, Harry strode down the hall, whisking through the still-glowing dust and leaving it swirling angrily in his wake. Every time his feet hit the floor, he felt heavier, weighed down.

He reached the stairs that took him to the third floor, but stopped at the first step. Placing his left hand on the railing, he leaned all his body into it, his head facing the ground. His chest heaved with powerful, wobbly inhalation.

Then abruptly, he pushed himself from the stairs and ran into the nearest room. It was empty except for a desk, a chair, and a few side tables.

He shut the door with a loud snap and closed his eyes, back pressed against the wall. He stood there for several long minutes, reminding himself to keep steady, to keep collected.

He rubbed the palms of his hands against his eyes, pushing hard. But it wasn't enough.

Flinging his lids open, he took a quick step towards the desk and kicked powerfully at its leg, causing it to topple over and land on the floor with a harsh thump. His breathing ragged, he stared at it and wanted nothing more than to throw it across the room, break it, hex it, anything.

His body shook. His hands balled into fists. But he didn't scream, didn't flinch, didn't show any of it. The only proof of his complex suffering lay battered, though intact, on the floor.

And that's where he left it as he threw open the door and flew up the stairs, willing his mind to forget what Hermione had told him.

When he reached the room where Ron was staying, he paused and ran a hand through his hair. He felt himself calm slightly at the sound of the Weasleys' voices.

Allowing himself one last minute, he shut his eyes a moment before stepping inside.

Mrs. Weasley turned to see him enter, a huge grin breaking across her face. “Oh Harry,” she squealed, jumping from her seat to wrap him in a tight, motherly hug. “Thank Merlin for you,” she said, brimming with grateful delight. “This is the second time you've saved my son- and he's all right! He's perfectly fine,” she sniffled, letting him go. “Thank you, dear.”

Harry's face burned hot. He didn't think he deserved such praise. “Oh, err… no problem.”

Mrs. Weasley held him by the shoulders and peered at him a moment longer, happy little tears trailing down her rosy cheeks before she released him completely and turned to the others. “All right, let's give them a few minutes alone,” she called.

Ginny exited and when Fred and George walked passed, they gave Harry a gentle smile and an appreciative pat on the arm. Mr. Weasley shook his hand, unable to speak his thanks with the emotion still caught in his throat.

Soon, they were all out. Turning back to the bed, he finally saw Ron.

He was sitting up, propped on some pillows and enjoying a tall mug of butterbeer. His face had lost much of its color and his hair was sticking to his forehead, but he otherwise looked fairly healthy.

Harry grinned, momentarily remembering nothing besides the fact that his best friend was alive.

“My hero,” said Ron with a smirk.

Harry couldn't stop his smile from expanding. “Shut it,” he teased, pulling up a seat.

“No, really, Harry,” he said, quirking an eyebrow and widening his eyes. “You're my knight in shinning armor. I'm seeing you in a whole new light here. Either that or I'm being blinded by that bloody halo over your head.”

Harry laughed and relaxed into his seat, ignoring the pang of guilt chilling his skin. “Don't be a prat, I only did what anyone'd do for their best mate.”

Ron's nose scrunched up. “You are mental if you think the average bloke would walk about looking for You-Know-Who, best mate at stake or not. Insane, that is! I nearly couldn't believe it when they told me,” he admitted, “that is, until I remembered it was you we were talking about.” He leaned back on his pillow, looking pleased with himself. “Knew from the first moment I saw you it'd be a good idea to make friends. Pay-off's been great.”

Harry took a refreshing breath of air and continued to smile broadly. He didn't remember how good it felt having Ron around until he'd almost lost him.

“Fred and George reckon I should be your house elf,” he explained, taking a drink of butterbeer. “After all the times you've saved our skins? Honestly, there's been Ginny, Dad, me- twice now! That `noble' bullocks is actually pretty attractive, you know. It's made me realize why Ginny fell for you so hard. I've been thinking me and you should have a go too,” he winked, unable to hold in his hilarity.

Harry stared at him a moment before breaking out in laughter. Ron joined in and the two sat there a long while, grinning like they were back at Hogwarts in third year, laughing over one of Seamus' stupid jokes.

But eventually, Harry realized what he'd said about Ginny, and his laughter faded. He knew Ron didn't know yet, about his breaking things off permanently with his sister.

And this made him realize how much else Ron couldn't yet know.

A picture of Hermione sprung to mind, and he felt his chest tighten.

But Ron was looking directly at him now, his ears taking on another tinge of pink. “Seriously, though,” he began somewhat meekly, “…thanks.”

Harry nodded, blood rushing to his face. “Don't mention it.” Then, coughing away his previous thoughts, “I guess they've told you what happened?”

Snuggling further into his pillows, Ron took a heavy breath. “Yeah. Hermione- she told me first. Then everyone in my family had to retell their version, so I've pretty much got ten thousand perspectives of information banging in my head.”

Harry dug his hands into his pockets. “All right, good. I'm glad. I don't fancy retelling the whole thing.”

“Well, let me get something straight though,” Ron mulled as he chewed reflectively on the side of his mouth. “You-Know-Who- he knows about the prophecy?”

Harry nodded solemnly. “Yeah.”

Ron let out a long breath, then shook his head. “How?”

“Snape,” Harry replied simply. “The night Dumbledore was-” he momentarily faltered at the thought. “-killed,” he resumed, “Snape planted himself in his office. Dumbledore wasn't expecting it, so… his pensieve was just lying there. Snape found the memory of him hearing the prophecy and told Voldemort.”

At this, Ron's lips thinned in anger. “Bastard,” he muttered, “we've been saying it all along, haven't we? Bloody prick.”

Harry scoffed in concurrence. Then, “But there is something I need to tell you, something the others don't know.” He stopped, considering. “Unless Hermione's told you already.”

Ron's brows knitted together as he watched Harry from the corner of his eye. “Err… I dunno, probably not.” Then he leaned in a bit closer, but avoided Harry's gaze. “She's, uhh… she was acting a bit strange, honestly.”

Harry's stomach squirmed. Focus, he told himself. “How?”

Ron gritted his teeth, looking thoroughly uncomfortable. “I dunno mate, she was just… well, she- she kissed me, for starters.”

Ron's face had never been so red. It almost outdid Uncle Vernon's.

Harry felt the now-familiar sense of deep burning in his chest resurface. He wanted to recoil, wanted to think about anything else, but kept a straight expression. “That's… good, isn't it?”

Ron made a face, then shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, I guess… but it wasn't at all like her. Out of the blue like that?”

Ron didn't catch the odd flash of emotion in Harry's eyes. “Well, we sort of talked about it the other night.”

“Yeah?” Ron perked up.

Harry nodded, swallowing hard. “I just- I told her she should do something before it was too late.”

Ron's entire head remained red as a beet, but he shot Harry an appreciative look.

Silence. Minutes of silence, in which Harry pleaded for the knot in his abdomen to loosen enough to breathe properly.

But before he could focus, Ron was sitting up straighter and fixing Harry with a fervent glare.

“Well? Aren't you going to ask me how it was?” Ron demanded.

No, Harry thought instinctively. But he gathered himself quickly, and with a dose of humility said, “Oh- err… how was it?”

“Weird,” he immediately responded, looking far-off. “Mind you, it was bound to be that way… after being friends for so long,” he stated, but Harry could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

And his guilt came crashing down full-force when he consciously thought that being friends wouldn't necessarily make it “weird”- and he would know. For “weird,” he knew, was one of the last words Harry would use to describe it.

But to Ron, he only nodded, his hands reaching to wipe the dampness off on his trousers.

“Anyway,” Harry resumed, not liking the quietness of the room and how he was sure his heart could be heard through it, “did she mention anything about the Horcruxes?”

A light crease formed between Ron's eyes. “Yeah, a bit, but she said she wanted to leave it to you to tell me.”

“All right,” he began, sitting up a little straighter. “Well, we spent a while deciding where we might find one. We came up with a couple fair options, Merope Gaunt's old house being one of them. But we decided- his orphanage is a good place to start. When Voldemort was a kid, you know,” he clarified.

Ron shook his head and successfully masked his shudder at Voldemort's name. “Is it just me, or is it too weird to think about him being a kid?”

The corner of Harry's lip lifted slightly. “Yeah.”

“D'you know what we're looking for?” asked Ron.

Taking a deep breath, Harry shrugged. “Not really. I reckon it'll be one of those things where we'll know it when we see it.”

Ron didn't look comforted or reassured, but Harry could tell he was trying to look content with the answer. “Don't worry,” Harry promised, “if it's there, we'll find it.”

“What about destroying it once we do have it?” he raised curiously, a hint of uncertainty magnifying his voice.

But for Harry, it was the first topic of the day in which he felt wholly confident. “Did Hermione tell you how the last Horcrux was destroyed? Hufflepuff's goblet?”

Ron considered for a moment before nodding in recognition.

“I got the idea from that- that's the key to it,” said Harry.

Ron looked incredulous. “Key to what?” he raised an eyebrow.

“All of it,” he answered, “we've got to get the soul out of the object. We've got to make it completely vulnerable. Once we do that, it'll be easy destroying it. We'll just do the same Hermione did- killing curse.”

Ron still wasn't looking convinced. “Yeah, but… that sounds easier said than done, mate. Before, You-Know-Who did it for you, right? Probably used some intricate, half-invented spell we'll never be able to figure out.”

Harry nodded in agreement. “But we won't be using a spell.”

Entirely confused now, Ron eyed Harry like he was going mad. “Then what'll we use? A can opener?”

Harry couldn't stop his faint, lopsided grin emerging at the look on Ron's face. But when he spoke, his words struck with the force of gravity.

“The best thing anyone could use when you're trying to suck the soul out of something.”

Finally, Ron's eyes dawned with comprehension.

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12. Inhale

*Hides from flying fruit* I'm sorry this was so long in coming, guys. I wrote the chapter, was in the process of submitting it, when I realized-- I'd forgotten a crucial scene! *gasp* So I had to go back, write another few pages, and bump the ending of this chapter to the beginning of chapter 13. *sigh* But on the plus side, that means half of chapter 13 is finished! Yay!

I also want to add that... I can't thank you guys enough. Without your reviews, I would've dropped this by now.

And this chapter Inhale is dedicated to my good friend Paul, for being wonderful support and for allowing me to be a little... dependent.

Avenged Sevenfold
Inhale

And if you can't bring yourself to heal
And if you forget everything else
Tonight, in this unbidden agony,
Please don't forget us.
Hold your head high
Remember me,
Look to the sky
And inhale.

Hermione lay flat against the mattress, her arms sprawled out above her head. Her russet curls fanned out along the silky red pillow, glimmering in the late afternoon light that was shining through the window. Staring blankly at the ceiling, her thoughts betrayed her much-needed respite.

It was now just over a week since Ron's sudden recovery. Madam Pomfrey had been stringently administering Sleeping Draught at what felt to be every five minutes. As such, he was only awake for a couple hours a day, and during those few hours he was too sore for any amount of activity.

Hermione's visits to him had become brief. She couldn't shake the unease in her stomach when she sat with him in silence- when she sat with him at all. They'd taken to avoiding each other's eyes completely and held firmly to meager conversation. Horcruxes, Voldemort, the Order- none of it was brought up anymore. Hermione didn't feel comfortable talking to him about it. He'd seen and heard enough recently, and was incapable of helping she and Harry in his current condition anyway.

At least, that's what she told herself late at night when the guilt rose up in her. What she wouldn't bring herself to admit was that she felt horrifying sick over the unfolding circumstances of their relationship.

She couldn't believe she'd kissed him. She hadn't been in her right mind as panic had taken hold with the remembrance of how close she'd been to losing him, and what's more, how close she'd gotten to Harry. Both truths were equally frightening.

Harry.

The name hung in the forefront of her mind like a bipolar Christmas ornament, constantly dangling over the danger of falling and smashing into a million shards. She would feel the air being sucked out of the room each time he entered, like a vacuum of reality. One moment, the thought of him brought an irrepressible smile to her face, as a warm wave of comfort and affection washed serenely over her.

The next, however, she'd remember what they'd done. She'd remember the look in his eyes as he had left the room, and the rebellious tingling of her skin that swept her arms when she recalled their closeness. In those times, she wasn't sure whether to let loose the grin of inexplicable contentment that threatened to claim her lips, or sob endlessly into her pillow in a final concession of grief, guilt, and above all, confusion.

They hadn't talked about her kissing Ron. Then again, they hadn't talked about anything besides locating and destroying the next Horcrux. Each time she would tentatively stray off topic, Harry's eyes would grow distant and his entire mood would evaporate into a mask of inscrutable complexity.

And so she read. She read, and wrote, and researched, and mapped out possibilities. It was complete, trained focus. That's what existence had become. No eye contact with Ron. No physical contact with Harry. No jokes, no laughter, and no resemblance of the ordinary teenagers they looked to be on the outside.

Focus. And that was all.

And it was driving her mad.

Sighing, Hermione flipped over onto her stomach, burying her head in her arms. There was too much to think about, but she had to let herself relinquish focus and just escape for a moment.

But her moment didn't last long. A quick tapping emitted from the window above her head. Craning her neck, Hermione made out a round, hazy shadow with suspiciously white plumes pressing against the pane.

Reaching up, Hermione unlatched the glass and let Hedwig fly in, a flurry of soft, white feathers scattering across her lap.

The white owl hooted at her as a packet of papers fell on her legs, causing the feathers to jump away into the air.

“Thanks, Hedwig,” Hermione murmured, giving the bird a loving stroke on the head.

She laid the paper flat against the comforter, placing it between her elbows as she resumed her horizontal position. A twinge of hesitation stopped her hands as she realized it was the Daily Prophet. Whatever it said, it was sure to be the last thing she needed to hear at the moment.

But unwillingly, her memories fleetingly brought about an image of Harry and how much he must be enduring. Focusing on that made her even more lightheaded and worried than focusing on Horcruxes.

Gathering up her resolve, Hermione inhaled a lungful of fresh air before dutifully scanning the grim looking pages.

The Daily Prophet- Breaking News
Death Eaters Attack Surrey and Edinburgh

Last night, in the quiet suburbs of Surrey and outer Edinburgh, Muggles and wizards alike awoke in the early hours to the green gloom of the Dark Mark rising eerily above the treetops. Without warning, hundreds were killed, hundreds more injured, and countless homes were left destroyed. Reportedly, the Muggle Prime Minister addressed the nation at noon today, vowing that, “these gruesome acts of terrorism against the people of Great Britain, and of the free world, will not go unpunished.” According to Gordon Knuce, spokesman for the Scrimgeour administration, “the Prime Minister has initiated thorough and efficient efforts to ensure that the general muggle public believes the attacks to be acts of religious extremists.” Still, even with all of “BBC World News” propagating this façade, the Wizarding community is left without the luxurious cushion of guarantees.

“We cannot definitively state that those responsible will be held accountable in the near future,” said Mr. Knuce, looking extremely harassed, towards the end of the Press Conference. “After all, one must take into consideration that these are Death Eaters we're dealing with; it's hardly a snap to catch them.” As of one o'clock this afternoon, Ministry officials have reported an estimated death toll of 310- and rising. With such a large number in mind, it is difficult to accept Mr. Knuce's and the Ministry's policy of “there are no guarantees.” Out of those 310, it is speculated that at least 200 were wizards and witches.

When asked what measures the Ministry is currently taking to apprehend the offenders, Mr. Knuce had this to say: “Our best Aurors are on the job. We have called in the reserve officers to act as reinforcements, and safety-lock charmed doorknobs are being distributed free of charge to magical citizens.”

One issue the Ministry refused to address, however, is the identity of the dozens of wizards and witches who were spotted on the scene of the attacks even before the Ministry's Aurors had arrived. “They call themselves the `Order of the Phoenix,'” stated Knuce dismissively, “but they are not in official league with the Ministry of Magic.” Those few details were all he was willing to divulge; and yet, Melinda Scotchsten, a survivor of the Edinburgh attacks, offered this perspective: “Why not?” she asked brashly, “why aren't they in league with them? My family owes their lives to the Order. The Ministry's being thick. These people are heroes.” This view seems to be the general consensus among the civilians, as our initial polls indicate that 81% of those who survived attribute their safety to this mysterious `Order of the Phoenix.' No members of the group have been officially identified thus far.

Still, one rather significant issue remains to be spoken of: Harry Potter. The so-called “Chosen One” was no where in sight during the attacks, and has not been seen or heard of since the late Albus Dumbledore's funeral. “If he is indeed the Chosen One,” commented Percy Weasley, a staff member of Scrimgeour's cabinet, “he has thus far done a remarkable job of invalidating himself.”

Scoffing loudly in an overt show of disgust, Hermione angrily furled the paper into a ball and threw it across the room. She sat on the bed staring at it, a furious fire burning her eyes.

Finally, she pushed herself from the mattress and aimed her wand at the crumpled sphere. “Fieruate,” she said sturdily, and watched in solitude as the form lifted high into the air before disappearing in a blazing blue flame.

“What was that?” came Harry's voice from the doorway.

Hermione spun around. “Oh,” she said timidly, averting her eyes, “err, nothing important, I just got frustrated with an enchantment I'd been-”

“Don't bother,” Harry interjected softly, pushing off from the doorframe and striding slowly to the bed. “I've already seen the Prophet.”

Hermione felt her cheeks tingle with a new shade of pink. She shot Hedwig a look, as if the owl would have some idea as to where he'd gotten another copy of the newspaper; but Hedwig's wide, glassy eyes only stared back in docile passiveness.

Hermione turned back to Harry and tried forcing a small, embarrassed smile. Harry didn't return it; instead his hand patted against the cool steel frame of the footboard, pensiveness in his eyes as he regarded the floor. “Three-hundred ten,” he mumbled softly in a miserable, defeated tone.

Hermione's face fell as an invisible rope pulled around her stomach, creating a nauseous pressurization in her abdomen. “I know.”

She eyed him with a pained expression, not quite trusting herself to say anything else. But soon, he released his firm grip on the metal post, and when he raised his gaze to meet hers, she saw a new, steely determination in them.

But before she could assure him for the hundredth time that he wouldn't be doing anything alone, that she would be there to fight, Harry had turned away.

Hermione could tell he was going to leave. He'd been spending all his time researching a mysterious `theory' he didn't want to divulge yet- some way he thought they might be able to destroy the remaining Horcruxes.

But she couldn't take the tense silence between them. It followed them like a shadow, only easing when they were deep in conversation about Voldemort and the War. And she understood why it was there. She understood why a heavy weight was slowly corroding the relative normalcy between them.

She feared it. It brought a fierce swell of aching anxiety with the mere thought of mentioning it aloud, but she didn't think she could bear not knowing any longer. For all the fear she felt at his possible reactions, what scared her even more was the possibility of letting the weight drag them apart.

Her insides were a writhing mess when she visualized how he might act in response, but she had to know. For her own sanity, she had to do it.

“Harry,” she called, just as he'd reached the door.

He turned back around to face her, his expression questioning as he tucked his hands in his pockets.

“Look,” she said, bracing herself with a deep breath, “I- we need to talk.”

Harry's eyes darkened, but his face was carefully trained as he watched her. He didn't say anything.

Hermione dug deep into her reserve of courage to muster the will it required to keep looking at him directly in the eyes. Unbidden, the memory of his gentle lips played on the white canvas in her mind.

Willing it away, she glanced to watch his reaction- and she could tell… he knew. He knew what she was referring to. She could see it playing through his mind too.

But her complete inability to interpret even a fraction of what he was thinking brought cold nervousness to the surface of her skin.

Watching him stand there in rigid silence, so alone and isolated in the frame of the door, she suddenly felt like apologizing. But she couldn't bring about the words, so settled on mild mumbling. “It's just- I need to know what you're thinking,” she breathed, pleading with him, “I need to know what you're…” she swallowed. “…feeling.”

Hermione dropped her gaze to the floor as her last word throbbed in her head. Her heart began to hammer a fast, heavy beat against her chest. She brutally pushed aside all thoughts of Ron and all her confusion at not even knowing what she herself was feeling, and focused on steadying her nerves.

Finally, after what felt like hours of silence, Harry's voice broke across the room, deep and uncertain. “I don't think it's a good idea.”

Hermione's stomach clenched painfully, a shaking sadness swarming within her. Yet somehow she forced her vocal chords to work. “What's not a good idea?” she asked meekly, fearing his clarification.

She looked up and was further unnerved upon realizing he'd been watching her intensely. He was closer than she'd remembered him being a moment ago.

“Talking about it.”

Hermione's teeth clung in desperation to her bottom lip. “Oh.”

Harry didn't move. He stayed rooted to the spot, hands stiffly resting in his pockets.

“Why?” Hermione eventually asked, hoping she was imagining the quiver in her voice.

Harry licked his lips and glanced away, eyeing the wall for a silent minute. “Because I don't know what to say.”

His quiet, breathy words lodged themselves in her throat. She felt tight and constricted, even more unsure now than she was minutes earlier. The tension, she thought vaguely, must be visible in the air.

She couldn't do anything but watch him, trying to find a movement of his hands or a look in his eyes that told her what she wanted to know. Nothing came. So with a fight, she found her voice. “I only want the truth,” she muttered.

Harry looked tense. His body was unnaturally unmoving, like he was forcing every muscle to remain still.

As he refocused his eyes on her again, Hermione had to put effort into her breathing. His eyes… they were telling her something. Something, but- she couldn't decipher what. He'd covered them with too many dark, impenetrable layers.

“I know,” he finally said, as light and quiet as a feather, “that's the problem.”

Her mouth hung slightly open as her eyes bowed into a sad expression. She didn't know what he meant by it. By any of it.

Harry saw the hurt on her face, and dropped his protective walls enough to show his own concern and confusion. “I- I wouldn't even know how. It's just-” he seemed to struggle with himself for a moment. Then, “It's just not a good idea. I… I can't,” he whispered, reaching out a gentle hand to lightly grasp her elbow. He found she was trembling, so little that no one else would have noticed.

But he did.

He snatched his hand away like he'd been burned, looking vaguely ashamed.

Hermione's eyes were still averted, but had they not been she would have seen the flash of guilt and pain he couldn't hide.

Sighing, he buried his emotions again and caught her gaze. “It's not- please don't take it as anything,” he breathed, willing away the wounded look she was sparing him. “Please, Hermione, I- can't,” he repeated, sounding miserable.

His loss for any other words strengthened the pressure on Hermione's chest as she swallowed thickly.

Harry bit down on his tongue to prevent from losing his resolve. “I'm not sure I'm ready,” he continued quietly, “If it helps… I don't know what's going on in your head either.”

Hermione looked up at him then, glossy brown eyes aching behind a haze of dark lashes. "All you'd have to do is ask."

She watched something flicker deep behind his guarded eyes. His breathing seemed to stop. Something was warring in the conclaves of his mind.

But when he finally spoke, his voice offered no hint of it. "And you'd know what to say?"

Biting her lip, Hermione struggled to speak, but the way he was watching her was disorienting.

"I…" she trailed off. Her left hand clutched around her right arm.

No other words came.

Harry smiled sadly, knowingly. There was still that unidentifiable look shining mutely behind his irises, but nothing else gave her any sign of what he was feeling.

Stepping back, he cleared his throat and attempted to regain a normal posture. “I'm going back to the library.”

Hermione still didn't move. She didn't know what to think, let alone what to say. She felt a swell of disappointment descend upon her.

He was slowly walking out of the room. But just before he disappeared, lost to the shadows of the hallway, she found her voice one last time.

“I'm sorry,” she offered, suddenly not caring that her voice had cracked. She wasn't sure what she was apologizing for; but if he was feeling anything even close to what she was, she was apologizing for the guilt he was experiencing over what they'd unwittingly done to Ron.

To her surprise, Harry turned his head to the side and looked into the room over his shoulder.

“So am I.”

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Hermione woke late in the night, a headache stabbing sharp needles behind her eyes. Hissing in pain, she rolled from underneath her covers and searched the nightstand for her wand.

Finding it, she cast a quick spell and sighed in relief as the edge was taken off the sting.

When she opened her eyes fully, they shifted through the dense darkness and immediately landed on Harry.

He was sleeping in the bed beside hers, the blankets a tangled ball at his feet. A small lamp was lit beside his head, and cradled in his arms was a thick, black book with yellowing pages.

Hermione's heart gave a harsh, rogue thud before planting itself firmly in her throat. Why had he chosen to sleep in her room, of all places? Especially after the awkward conversation they'd had?

Gradually, she put her feet to the cool hardwood floor. Keeping her gaze trained on Harry's face, she lifted her body off the bed.

Making every effort not to be heard, Hermione cautiously tiptoed over. Upon closer evaluation, she found his black hair matted to his forehead, covering his lightening bolt scar. Her eyes traveled to his, shut tight in slumber- but there was a deep crease between them, and as she surveyed it, she recognized what was happening: he was having a nightmare.

He was perfectly silent but for his steady breathing. Leaning down, Hermione cast a cooling spell to remove the sheen of sweat from his smooth skin. Then, with slow, deliberate hands, she pushed back his hair, sweeping her fingers through the silky stands before bringing them back to his forehead.

She glanced around quickly, satisfying her inane fear that someone may be watching. Turning back to him, she inhaled deeply before gently grazing her fingers along the crease formed between his eyes.

The soft padding of her fingertips worked tenderly as they massaged his temples, flattened his wrinkles of sleeping worry, and swept down his jaw line, soothing away his agonized expression.

After a few moments, the muscles in his face relaxed. He rolled over, one arm hanging off the side of the bed, leaving the book he'd been nursing behind. Curiously, Hermione flipped the heavy tome onto its back and read the fine, gold print scrawled neatly in the middle: Dark Creatures, Darker Magic.

Startled, Hermione's eyes widened as she wondered where he would have found such a book. Of course, her mind reeled, we're in the House of Black, they would keep such things in their library.

Flashing Harry one last look to ensure he was still sound asleep, Hermione gradually lowered herself on to the bed. She flinched when the mattress gave a squeaking lurch.

She stopped, barely keeping herself from collapsing as her muscles grew sore from her half-sitting position, until Harry made no move and she resumed her slow descent.

Finally, her back against the headboard, she was able to put the large volume in her lap and slide her fingers beneath the cover. Opening it, a great waft of horrible smelling dust erupted into the air like an invisible volcano, causing Hermione to quickly bring her shirt over her nose.

Managing to ignore the thick, yellow dust, she turned towards the back of the book where a particularly worn page was earmarked. Peering at the dull black print with concentrated eyes, she read.

The Dementor- Chapter eight discussed the creature itself; this description, however, will be pertinent to the Dementor's uses in Dark Magic. It is common knowledge that wizards have used the Dementors' powers to sustain- and take- life since before the Dark Ages. It is not widely known, however, that “Alexander the Great” studied Dark Magic under his tutor, Aristotle, who is credited with first discovering the art of creating Horcruxes. After Alexander witnessed the murder of his father—King Philip II—- he vowed to become immortal, and used his schooling from Aristotle to create the first documented Horcrux. However, before he could return to Macedonia, Alexander died a mysterious death. Dark Scholars have long wondered how this was possible, if he indeed had created a Horcrux. It has become a widely accepted theory, however, that an unknown Persian Wizard dubbed “Achmeden,” spying on Alexander through his ranks, discovered his secret to success and employed the use of a Dementor to bring about his fall.

The rest of the page was barely readable with its fading print, but it wouldn't have mattered. Hermione was too stunned to continue. She stared so long at the last sentence that a watery build up was gathering along her lower eyelids.

Blinking, she remembered to inhale. She turned from the book to Harry's sleeping form, then back again. It all suddenly made perfect sense.

She was too awake to try and sleep now. Carefully leaning to the end of the bed, Hermione grabbed the blankets and tucked them comfortably around Harry's body.

When her hand grazed his bare chest in the process, she flung it back to her side. She cursed herself as a shot of electricity ran the length of her arm.

Regaining composure, she stretched her legs and lay back on the pillow. Careful to avoid contact with her best friend, Hermione propped the book on her knees and resumed her wide-eyed reading.

It felt like she had just fallen asleep when the sound of a door being thrown open and hitting a wall startled her awake.

Instinctively flinging off the covers, Hermione sat straight up in bed and shook the sleep from her head. As if sensing Hermione, Harry abruptly did the same.

Their eyes locked for a tense moment. Harry regarded her curiously, no doubt wondering how they ended up in bed together. But the question in his eyes was stifled by growing anxiety as his expression swiftly shifted to one of worried puzzlement.

“What was that?” he asked in a whisper.

Hermione shook her head, brining her gaze from his face to the door. “It sounded like the main door in the foyer.”

Suddenly, a blur of loud voices rose from the staircase and permeated their bedroom walls. Hermione froze. She could hear the distressed voices of Mrs. Weasley, Lupin, Pomfrey, and McGonagall.

Hermione's head snapped up. “McGonagall?” she said shrilly.

She saw Harry's lips thin and his green eyes go cold. McGonagall was supposed to still be at Hogwarts with Kingsley, looking out for Draco Malfoy.

Then it hit her.

“Hagrid and Slughorn!” she exclaimed, spinning around to face Harry fully. “Do you remember? They went to Hogwarts to find Professor McGonagall and Kingsley since they'd been gone so long…”

Harry nodded stiffly, his ears still strained to make out what the many voices below were saying.

Hermione felt a swell of fear as she realized- McGonagall was crying.

Capturing Harry's gaze, her face paled. She couldn't move. Harry's face was expressionless, but its utter lack of color only frightened her more.

Something was happening.

Just then, before Harry could jump to the door, a thud of footsteps came closer before their own door swung open.

It was Ginny.

Her face was white and her eyes were as red as her hair, which was disheveled around her shoulders. She gazed between Harry and Hermione for a moment, her orbs quickly growing glassy, before she spoke in a frantically hoarse whisper.

“Harry…” she stopped, facing Hermione.

Harry stood instantly, straightening his glasses and instinctively untucking his wand from his pocket. “What happened Ginny?”

The young girl grasped the door handle for support, streams of tears finally emptying from her eyes and tracing her cheek bones. The voices grew louder and more strained from below, echoing off the wide halls.

Hermione stood and moved forward, feeling her heart pound wildly within her.

“Harry,” she repeated miserably, a sob obstructing her speech, “It's Hagrid.”

Chills engulfed Hermione. She shook involuntarily as her eyes traveled to Harry's face. He was rigid as a board.

“What about him, Ginny?” he demanded, not sounding as sturdy as he'd hoped. “What happened?”

Ginny let out a final sob before blinking up at them both.

“He's dead.”

If you forget everything else tonight
In this unbidden agony,
Remember me
And inhale.

-->

13. And Embers Rise

Avenged Sevenfold
And Embers Rise.

“Courage is not a lack of fear. Courage is when fear takes hold with both, cold hands, and you feel it as surely as you feel the sun... and you do what is right anyway.”

Hermione sat on the damp roof outside her bedroom window. The warm breeze was sliding her saline tears across her jaw and neck, before evaporating them into the summer air.

She couldn't fathom it.

Hagrid.

It didn't feel real. He couldn't be dead. It just wasn't possible. He's Hagrid, he's part giant, he's… a friend.

Her shoulders shook with uncontrollable sobs. She brought her legs to her chest and buried her face in her arms. Her heart was pounding violently in her throat, forcefully pushing out her tears and leaving little room for breathing. Her mind spooled with memories from mere hours before, but that now seemed so long ago…

“Professor- what- where's Hagrid?” she stammered frantically as she and Harry burst from the room, forgetting Ginny and flying down the stairs.

McGonagall didn't look up. She was leaning into Madam Pomfrey, completely silent but for the uncharacteristic hiccups of grief.

Harry turned wildly to Lupin.

“Lupin?” he asked, his voice catching on the lump in his throat. “Where is he? He's just- he's in the kitchen… isn't he?”

Lupin's head hung low, his light brown hair obscuring his eyes. “Harry… I…”

“I'm sorry, Harry,” came Kingsley's gruff voice. He was grasping the railing so hard his knuckles were turning white. “There was nothing we could do.”

Hermione began shaking her head, refusing to believe their words but unable to stop the influx of tears welling in her eyes. “No,” she whispered miserably, “that can't- he's part giant, he's-”

“Giants are not immune to death, Ms. Granger,” said McGonagall, startling Hermione. Her words sounded much rougher than her tone. She was quiet, the white of her eyes bloodshot and glassy. “He took the killing curse to the chest… no one can survive that.”

The teacher's gaze shot to Harry as if acknowledging the rare exception, before anguish overcame her again and she turned stiffly away.

Pomfrey knelt to her side, whispering something indistinguishable. Lupin, Moody, Tonks, Kingsley, Mrs. Weasley, and Charlie stood silently, rigidly, their eyes averted and their faces pale.

Hermione turned to Harry and her heart sunk to the pit of her stomach. His mouth was hung slightly open, his expression blank and ghostly white but for the unnatural brightness of his disbelieving green eyes.

“Harry,” she whispered, feeling a hot tear roll down her cheek. But she could think of nothing else to say.

The foyer reverberated with sick silence. Harry's expression didn't change. He kept staring ahead, color continuing to drain from his face.

Hermione was frozen. She couldn't move. Every limb seemed to be missing as she stood against the wall, feeling as if she were floating.

It's not possible…

“Who did it?”

Hermione blinked heavily up at Harry, surprised that he had spoken.

“Narcissa Malfoy,” muttered Kingsley, slowly lowering his head. “She… she came with her son. Her, Draco, Bellatrix Lestrange, and that Gregory Goyle boy-”

“Bellatrix Lestrange?! Harry fumed loudly, blood rushing in his ears. “She was at Hogwarts? Aren't there protections against that?!”

Kingsley nodded sadly. “Yes, but… Draco Malfoy and Gregory Goyle are teenagers. Since no official arrangements have been made for the school to close yet, Hogwarts still recognized them as students and let them pass. When the gates opened for them… the other two must have followed behind.”

Pausing, Kingsley inhaled deeply before continuing. “Minerva and I… we were hiding out in Gryffindor tower so we could see if anyone was approaching the school… when Horace and Hagrid showed up… we told them to keep to the staff room, so the lower floors were covered…”

He choked on his words, his head pivoting back and forth on his shoulders in anguished incredulity. “They came tonight… it was nearly two… Minerva and I, we didn't realize until we- until we heard them.”

Hermione was shaking now, her arms wrapped tightly around her chest as she surveyed the Auror with wide eyes. She wanted to turn around, to hold Harry and cry together, to run up and embrace Ron and be with alone with her two friends; but she was too shocked to move. Her blood felt cold in every vein.

“When we reached the first floor,” Kingsley resumed in a low whisper, “it was- I watched him fall.” He stopped, turning away and licking his lips. “He was fending off Narcissa and Draco at the same time… Horace had the other two… when they saw us, they fled. I took a shot at them as they ran across the grounds and- and I hit one of them… but I couldn't tell which. It was just a shadow. The body fell to the ground but another ran back and hulled it off.”

Tears streamed freely down Hermione's face at Kingsley's description. It was getting increasingly difficult to breathe. Chancing a glance at McGonagall, she noticed the older woman was standing straight, her shoulders square in an obvious attempt to regain composure.

Hermione's gaze flew across the rest of the occupants. They all looked stiff and morbid, like tombstones, the wretched expressions on their faces a living epithet to yet another lost soul fighting for their cause.

With a loud sob, Hermione flung around and ran into Harry's arms. She felt his trembling hands rest lightly across the small of her back. Her tears ran down his bare shoulder before tracing the length of his arm.

“Where- where is he now?” Hermione heard him say, his chest rumbling against her.

“Still at Hogwarts,” mumbled Lupin, “Horace and Arthur are- they're there taking care of him.”

Hermione's stomach clenched painfully at the possibilities of what “taking care of him” could mean. Slipping his body in a tarp? Covering him with a sheet? Moving him to his hut?

With that thought, Hermione instantly remembered Fang. The poor boarhound would be heartbroken.

She felt Harry nod indistinctly, his cheek grazing her curls. Releasing him slightly, she stood back to look in his eyes. They were hollow and unseeing, but when they flickered to her face, something in them lit up before finally allowing a slow build up of tears.

He closed his eyes, squeezing them hard. His fingers clutched at Hermione's shirt, balling the fabric up in his fists. “You said you hit one of them,” he gritted out, his eyes still clasped shut, “what curse did you use?”

Through her haze of desolation Hermione vaguely registered the true meaning of the question: did you get to kill one of them?

But she saw Kingsley shaking his head in her peripheral vision. “Not the killing curse,” he muttered, pain and regret evident in his voice. “I was hoping… I'd be able to catch one of them and use them for information.”

He finished speaking and silence rang in Hermione's ears. For long, breathless minutes, no one said a thing, and all she could bring herself to do was press more tightly to Harry, hoping he would feel her and know he wasn't alone.

But eventually, the silence grew too loud for comfort. He gently pried her away, unwilling to meet her questioning eyes. He didn't say or do anything… but he looked resigned, defeated.

Hermione felt the loss of his body in the form of a growing hole in her heart; but she understood he needed some time alone. So she watched somberly, tears sticking to her dark lashes, as his retreating back moved up the stairs before disappearing into the darkness.

The breeze continued to sweep away her tears, but Hermione continued to provide more. She didn't know how long she'd been out there now, but her legs were beginning to cramp.

Swatting away a rogue tear, she shifted to sit crossed-legged, careful not to slip down the steeping roof.

Her leaky eyes rose to the horizon, and between a row of houses and a scattering of tall trees, she made out a faint line of pink creeping along the earth. It was nearing dawn.

Heaving a deep sigh, Hermione sniffed and tucked her hair behind her ears.

But just then, she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. Turning, she saw Harry's leg poking through the open window. Slowly, he climbed out, his body emerging one limb at a time.

He had thrown on a t-shirt, but otherwise looked exactly how he did a couple hours ago in the foyer: disheveled and drained. His eyes were still bright, but Hermione could tell he still hadn't let himself cry properly.

He scooted closer to her, his legs straight and almost reaching the end of the roof. He leaned back against the house before pushing his fingers beneath his glasses and rubbing hard at his eyes.

“I went with Ginny to tell Ron.”

Hermione swallowed, the sharp pounding in her temples increasing as she visualized Ron receiving the news. “How did he take it?” she asked meekly, her voice raspy.

It took Harry a moment to respond. “Not well,” he finally muttered. Hermione could tell by his tone that he was struggling to speak through the tightening of his throat. “But Ginny's… she's going to stay with him again tonight.”

Hermione sniffled again and nodded imperceptibly. Returning her gaze to the trees, she took a shaky breath and allowed her lungs to fill with the sweet night air.

Birds were just beginning to chirp softly in the far distance, and the faint horizon was casting purple light on the dewdrops, illuminating them to look like the sky's fallen effervescent tears.

Her tired, bloodshot eyes were seconds from closing when Harry's low voice wisped her ears. “He's the one who got me from the rubble after my parents died.”

Hermione turned to face him, a fresh wave of sadness engulfing her as she watched him peer out into the night.

“Did you know… when Lupin was teaching me how to cast a patronus in third year… I couldn't produce anything the first few times. The memories I'd been using… they weren't happy enough,” he divulged quietly, the wind lifting and releasing his black tresses. “Honestly, I didn't have many really happy memories. I had to concentrate hard for the right one. …you know which one finally worked?”

Hermione knew the question was rhetorical, partly because his eyes were still focused on the trees… but she shook her head anyway, incapable of words.

“The memory of Hagrid telling me I was a wizard… and that I'd be leaving the Dursleys'.” He paused, and Hermione noticed his throat rise and fall with a harsh swallow. “He was the one, you know. He's the one who told me. It changed my life. He changed my life. Hagrid was-” his voice caught, but he cleared it resolutely, “-Hagrid was the first person to ever stand up for me.”

His eyes grew dark and he wet his lips. Hermione felt her chest tighten painfully within her. The look on his face melted her heart. She wanted to scream out in rage, mostly on his behalf at how unfair life had always treated him.

Why this? Why this, of all things? Why did it have to be Hagrid?

She took a few steadying breaths, determined to fend off her tears this time, and determined to be there for him. “He loved you, Harry,” she said softly, pleading for him to look at her with her eyes. “He loved you like a son… just as Dumbledore did, and Sirius. You know that, don't you?”

Harry's brow creased together as he strained to fight his emotions. “That's just it, Hermione,” he responded, in barely more than a whisper. “And now… his caring for me isn't the only thing he has in common with Dumbledore and Sirius.”

Hermione felt sure her heart had cracked in two. She understood the meaning of his words, and they hit her hard in the stomach as slight nausea burned beneath her skin…

They're all three dead.

Her will betrayed her as a faint whimper escaped her lips. Instinctively, she moved closer to him, letting her leg bump into his.

She watched him achingly, longing for him to turn his gaze upon her and let out what she knew was at the surface, clawing to break free. But he still didn't look to meet her eyes… but he felt her watching, and soon his own were swelling with a sparkling liquid, drowning out his sea of green.

The second the first tear glided sadly down his face, Hermione leaned over and wrapped him in her arms. His sobs finally escaped him… Hermione's gentle touch the last straw on his weakening strength to bottle himself in.

She held him tight, her eyes closed against his hair as she kept his face to her shoulder. He shook lightly in her arms, and she screamed inside at the feeling of helplessness that was tearing her apart. Running her fingers through his hair, she muttered what she hoped were soft, consoling words.

They sat like that, on the roof of Grimmauld Place with Harry surrounded by Hermione's warm body, for a very long time. He made no move to separate, and she wasn't about to push him away now.

Minutes, hours later, when the sun danced past the horizon and graced the couple with pink, warm beams, Harry was still sitting in Hermione's embrace, utterly still and silent but for the steady rhythm of his heart.

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Later that morning when the sun was floating high in the summer sky, Hermione forced open her burning, tired eyes, and sat up in bed.

Harry was beside her, his face turned into the pillow and his chest rising and falling gently beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. She offered his sleeping form a saddened, weak smile before shuffling out of the covers and making her way across the room.

She was picking out a towel for her shower when her gaze landed on her old homework planner from last year. It was opened to April 1st, and in bold red letters she had written, “Fred and George's birthday- watch out for pranks.”

Hermione almost managed a short laugh, but her heart still felt much too heavy. However, it did cause her to suddenly remember something- Harry's birthday.

Flipping to the end of the planner, she frantically reached the month of July and scanned the pages hoping to recall today's date.

Several pages after the highlighted date of Bill and Fleur's wedding, her fingers stopped turning the sheaves as she eyed the scroll hurriedly.

July 26th.

“The 26th?!” she shrieked silently. Calming herself, she strained her mind to think of something fast. But she'd need at least an hour to come up with a proper idea, so she decided to think it over in the shower.

When she emerged, wrapped in a white cotton robe and her soaking hair draped around her shoulders, she felt confident in what she'd thought of.

She was prevented from ordering the necessary items at that moment, however, as Harry was right in the center of the room, changing shirts.

A deep blush crept up her neck and landed hotly on her cheeks as she struggled to tear her eyes away from his bare back.

She cleared her throat, and he turned around. “Oh, hey,” he murmured, slipping his head through the circular opening.

“Morning,” she returned faintly, feeling inexplicably weak in the knees. Biting on her tongue, she forced herself to think straight. “Get enough sleep?”

Harry shrugged. “Probably not,” he admitted, sitting on the bed and slipping on a pair of socks, “but it'll have to be enough, because I've got a lot to do.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “You do?” she asked curiously, “like what?”

Heaving a deep breath, Harry stood from the bed and hastily did up the sheets. “Like preparing to leave.”

Air caught in Hermione's throat as she watched him unblinkingly. “Leave?” she questioned mildly, feeling a great sense of loss swarm her insides, “where are you going?”

Harry stopped fumbling with the covers and walked to stand a mere foot in front of Hermione. He looked her directly in the eyes, his arms rising to grasp her hands. “I'm going to Voldemort's orphanage,” he told her quietly, his voice still weighed down by the previous night's occurrences.

“To look for the Horcrux?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. I just-” he paused, letting go of her and running a hand through his hair. “-I just can't sit here `preparing' any more. I've got to do something. I've done all the research I can. And I've got an idea, at least… though it's a bit dodgy.”

Hermione knew he was referring to his plan of using a dementor, but didn't feel now was the right time to tell him she'd figured it out. “When are you going?” she asked, fighting to mask her anxiety.

Harry looked away to the far side of the room. “Tonight.”

Hermione tried to make herself appear sturdy, but his single word was secretly making her experience ever fear she'd ever had for him all at once.

“Will you be telling the others?” she asked quietly.

Predictably, Harry shook his head. “No. They'll just want to have meetings and plan it out and take more time… but I can't wait any more. It's got to be done now.”

Hermione breathed in deeply before meeting his gaze and giving a single nod of consent. “I understand,” she said, “but I'm going with you.”

For a silent moment, Hermione thought he was going to argue. But something unidentifiable was flickering in his eyes, and instead, a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged on one corner of his mouth.

“I know.”

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The moon was wide and orange, illuminating the grass with a soft blanket of light. The wind had picked up and it tangled itself in Harry's unruly hair as he and Hermione slipped out of the house through a first floor window.

Racing to the street, they flew past a row of lampposts before resting along a line of trees. Harry instantly whipped out his Firebolt from beneath his Invisibility cloak. Mounting the broom, he draped the cloak over him like a tent and allowed an opening for Hermione.

She climbed on after him, clutching her hands around his torso and burying her face in the crook of his neck.

Harry suppressed a shiver. Then kicking off from the ground, they shot up into the air, the sleek watery-feeling fabric pressing lightly against their skin.

Nearly forty minutes later, they landed in a circular patch of grass that was surrounding a tall stone monument. The trickling of the liquid was all Hermione could hear as they cautiously slid off the broom, hiding it in a nearby bush.

She waited silently as Harry concentrated on listening to the sounds of the night. His eyes were dark and strenuous as they surveyed the area around them.

Finally, after a few long minutes, he cast her a satisfied look and gestured to his right.

They set off down the old cobblestone street, Hermione gazing around at the ancient looking houses. They was scattered far apart, tall, overgrown trees separating them, though they all shared certain uncanny characteristics.

Her legs worked to keep up with him as he made a sharp left and strode purposefully down a different, narrower road.

Five minutes later, he halted. Hermione followed his gaze.

Before them, towering from the earth like a stalagmite, was a massive structure with countless windows which peering down at them like knowing, black eyes. The moon's light was filtering through passing clouds, casting a ghostly glow on the rippled glass panes.

Hermione instinctively reached for Harry, finding his arm and grasping it firmly. Harry's wand was outstretched before him as he led her around the front and to the back of the building, where a much smaller one was attached.

There was a single wooden door above the steps of the smaller structure. Harry climbed the short distance, and Hermione noticed there were long, slithering vines pressed against the frame and wrapping around the handle.

Harry touched his hand to the door's rough surface. It was damp and cool with the night air, but it was more the knowledge that Voldemort's own hands had likely been in that very spot that sent an unnerving tremor down his spine.

Clearing his throat, Harry turned back to Hermione. Her features were arranged in apprehensive fervor, but the warm familiarity of the determination in her eyes relaxed his shoulders.

“Nothing seems out of place,” he said quietly, reaching for the handle behind his back, “but I still want you behind me.”

Hermione nodded indiscernibly as her throat fell with a thick swallow. She heard rather than saw Harry inhale a deep, bracing breath before he faced the door again, his hand slowly turning the knob.

A second of bated silence rang in Hermione's ears as she watched him step into the unfathomable dark. She took one last glance behind her, content to see naught but the pale streetlamps within view, and followed.

“Shut the door,” Harry whispered.

She complied and immediately wished she hadn't. If it had been dark before, it was pure, tangible black now. Not even the comforting outline of Harry's lean frame met her wide, searching eyes.

“Harry?” she breathed, valiantly fighting off the note of fear she found caught in her throat.

“I'm here,” he whispered instantly, and she felt the air shift in front of her as his hand searched for hers. She reached out lightly, finding him, and entwined her fingers through his own.

Finally, Harry muttered a soft lumos and sparkling light graced the hardwood floor beneath them. Hermione blinked away the sharpness of it.

She watched closely as Harry lifted his wand and illuminated the room around them.

It was incredibly small, no larger than a closet, but a wide opening in front of them showed a long, narrow corridor which crept deep into the retreating black.

Dust filled Hermione's lungs as she struggled not to cough violently against the invading particles. There was an old wooden bench to her right, but what kind of wood, she could not tell, for it was covered in a thick layer of gray. Hanging above it was a rickety, makeshift coat rack with six rungs, one of which was cracked and broken, its shaft dangling silently in the still air.

“We must be in the mud room,” Harry prompted quietly. “If I remember…”

His voice trailed off, leaving Hermione to swell with a flurry of combined astonishment and admiration as she watched Harry's glowing eyes concentrate on the shadow that was invading the corridor.

Without another word, he strengthened his grip on her hand and pulled her forward, leading them down the hall. Hermione actively worked to avoid the grimy walls on either side, recoiling slightly as she watched an unnaturally large spider fall gracelessly from the ceiling.

Suddenly, Harry made a sharp left. But almost immediately, he halted, raising his wand high above their heads.

“Look,” he whispered, motioning before him, “that's the main entrance. The stairs to Voldemort's old room are just around the corner.”

Sure enough, Hermione could make out the form of a tall, double-paneled door in the near distance, two rectangular windows cut out above it, allotting the seeping light from the lamps to slink menacingly along the high ceiling.

In another fifteen steps they were standing in front of it, and when she peeked over her shoulder, the corridor from which they had come had already been swallowed whole by the thick night.

Stepping to one side, Harry let Hermione come up beside him as he peered thoughtfully at the lobby in which they found themselves. Seemingly floating above their heads was a large, crystal chandelier that was fiercely throwing the rays of ethereal light in every direction. It hung slanted in the air, one side missing two candle holders.

Nothing could be seen to their right, for the black was still too drowning. But Hermione had to work hard to suppress the chill that enveloped her when Harry stepped forward, his wand's light revealing a long staircase that seemed to disappear into the ceiling.

Harry spared a glance in Hermione's direction; she pretended not to notice, but quickly rearranged her features to look tough and resolute. Though there was currently no reason to panic or worry, the surroundings pressed upon her an indelible sense of foreboding. This was Voldemort's quarters, as a child, no less, and the knowledge that his once-innocent feet had padded down these halls in his youth twisted her perception of reality. The barely noticeable shiver that ran the length of Harry's arm assured Hermione he felt it too.

With a final breath, Harry moved towards the stairs and gently let his weight fall upon the first wooden slab. Predictably, it creaked and whined beneath his pressure, but he strode on to the next step without a flinch.

Down another corridor they went, walking a bit too briskly for Hermione's comfort.

Finally, Harry turned to her and gave her a wry smile, motioning towards an ajar door to their right. “This is it,” he breathed, watching her closely.

She stared at the thin slice of air gaping between the door and its frame, then nodded her consent. Harry moved forward.

Pushing it open, the rusty hinges resisted his force for a moment before popping loudly and echoing off the walls. Hermione snapped her eyes closed, clutching her wand as she wished away the eerie sound.

But suddenly, just when her hand made to wrap more firmly around her wand, it flew from her in one swift motion, landing somewhere across the room without a sound. Instantly, hot fear pushed its way up her throat as she felt Harry's wand forced from him as well.

Abruptly, a light came on in the corner. Hermione felt Harry tense as she stared wide-eyed around the room, taking in the dank, desaturated colors of the sleigh bed that sat beside a heavily curtained window.

“My apologies,” drew a sniping, silky voice… but its owner was no where to be seen. “I could not afford you the opportunity to use these.”

Hermione's heart hammered in her chest. She could not yet see who it was that was speaking, but the voice was too familiar for comfort.

Then, tall and brooding, a figure appeared from one of the darkened corners of the room; both their wands were clutched in the man's long fingers. As the light crept up his face, Hermione felt herself gasp in shocked horror.

Snape.

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Author's Note: I'm explaining myself here so that my message reaches all readers. I received a number of flames after the last chapter. Some were lashing out about Hermione kissing Ron a couple updates back. I feel it is necessary to justify this choice. I didn't do it because I like tormenting my readers. I didn't do it because it was fun to write. Lord knows it wasn't. I did it because a "7th year" fic would simply not be realistic without keeping true to HBP canon. I felt, for the sake of my story's credibility, something had to happen between the two. If you are unaccustomed to realism in fan fictions, or prefer AU/non-HBP compliant fics, I suggest going elsewhere.

I would also like to clarify the second (though related) reason for the flames: Hermione's confusion. Apparently, this has been perceived by a couple readers as OOCness. I will willingly accept that my characterizations may not be spot-on. However, citing Hermione's confused feelings over Harry and Ron is not a valid choice. Hermione is not infallible. She is a wonderful character, and, in my humble opinion, a wonderful person; yet she still has flaws, and she still experiences typical human emotion. Portraying her confusion, I felt, was necessary to portraying a well-rounded Hermione, as opposed to the standard Mary-Sue version. After all, it is only natural for one to be confused in her state of condition.

I am always accepting of criticism, so I don't wish anyone to feel that I am closing myself off from advice. I merely request that you do, indeed, give advice, and not rude remarks.

To those who didn't flame, I thank you. 99% of you have been my lifeforce for continuing this story, and I hope you all realize I would not be continuing if it weren't for your kind assurances that I should.

-Sadie

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14. Loopholes

Author's Note: This story won the Quicksilver Quill Awards over at MuggleNet Fan Fiction. As such, this chapter is dedicated to all the readers over there who nominated it. I am honored beyond capable words. :) For everyone else, thanks for keeping up with this! Here's to answered questions, new plot twists, and above all, being one step closer to the full-blown romance! *Raises Glass*

Avenged Sevenfold
Loopholes

“It is in the center of confusion and agony that our true selves are revealed.”

Hermione blanched, but her shock was nothing compared to the look in Harry's eyes.

They were frightening, his bright green blazing an almost visible path across the air, landing directly on Snape's own cold, black irises.

“What are you doing here,” Harry said tersely, his voice a low rumbling growl.

Snape strode casually across the room, examining Hermione's wand with feigned interest. “Preventing your uncanny knack for idiocy from interfering in what needs to be done,” he drawled composedly, assuming the same tone he used the many times he'd insulted the boy in class.

Harry released Hermione's hand to take a bold step forward. His face was flushed red with searing fury and the space around him seemed to tremble with his presence. “You killed Dumbledore.”

A hush descended upon the four walls encapsulating them. Harry made no mention of the Horcruxes, no mention of Voldemort, or of their compromising situation. The ferocity with which he snapped straight to the point, straight to the root of their circumstances, caused Hermione's blood to freeze.

“I did,” Snape responded, seemingly unphased.

But he said no more.

Hermione felt heat rising in the room. Her eyes were transfixed on Harry, then on Snape, as she struggled with her mind for coherent thought.

“Give me my wand,” Harry demanded slowly, quietly. The calmness with which he spoke was far more terrifying than if he had shouted.

Snape dropped all pretense of inspecting their wands, instead turning his unreadable expression upon Harry's stiff form.

“No.”

Clenching his hands into fists, Harry barely managed to control his breathing. “Now,” he commanded.

Snape's lips curled into a sinister sneer. “You are in no position to be making demands, Potter,” he snarled, tucking their wands into his long, black robes.

“And you're in no position to live, coward that you are,” he whispered brutally, eyes trained in defiance, “but that doesn't seem to stop you, does it?”

Snape's jaw formed a rigid line. His utter stillness told Hermione that Harry's particular choice of words shook him.

“If you will not respect my presence for remembering how I assisted your pathetic efforts to safe house Grimmauld Place,” he started coolly, “then you will respect my presence for remembering that I am currently in possession of three wands, and you, in possession of none.”

Hermione's chest hitched. She did remember Snape sending the Order his patronus, warning Harry how to protect Headquarters. Her gaze flew to him now; his lids blinked, obstructing his green eyes for a split second, signaling that he was remembering too.

“Nothing,” Harry began with deadly calm, “nothing you have done or could do would make up for murdering Dumbledore.”

“Spare me your inane boasts of rectitude,” Snape spat, his eyes finally lighting with intolerance. “You are the last person to whom I would justify my actions, but if it will mollify that slow-witted mind of yours long enough to end your pitiful excuses for verbal affronts, rest peacefully in knowing that the old fool brought it on himself.”

Harry stiffened visibly before relinquishing all control over his emotions. “You filthy liar!” he shouted, smashing his fist against the wall, “at least have the guts to-”

“Guts, Potter?” Snape rose warningly, his shadow towering as he brought himself taller, “and what would you know of those?”

Harry clamped his mouth shut and breathed heavily through his nostrils. But before he could retort, Snape had turned to address Hermione.

“My my, Ms. Granger,” he began icily, “I had always suspected you to be above the intelligence level requisite of association with such a petulant child.”

Harry flung himself in front of Hermione, blocking her view of Snape. “Don't,” he said lowly, hardened hatred on every syllable, “ever speak to her like that.”

Hermione's muscles tensed with anxiety at the following, daunting silence. Peering carefully over Harry's shoulder, her mind still numb from shock, she could see Snape regarding him behind cool, expressionless eyes.

“It seems I have struck a nerve,” Snape finally commented, folding his arms across his chest. “The Weasley girl will be most displeased.”

Instantly, Hermione's face reddened and burned with a mixture of hot mortification and loathing.

But she could only bring herself to eye Harry in surprise as she peeked at the side of his face and noticed the crimson rising in his cheeks, too.

“Ah,” Snape began once more, watching the pair with vicious pleasure, “a nerve indeed.”

“Shut up,” Harry spat, shooting him a death glare. “You don't know what you're talking about.”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “From the flustered look of Ms. Granger, I daresay I do.”

Harry whipped around to glance at her, the barest hint of a humiliated apology evident in his expression. Hermione hung her head, helpless to the entire situation.

“Explain to me again why you're here,” Harry drawled darkly, “without the sarcasm.”

Snape folded his arms across his chest. “I have a Horcrux.”

Hermione inhaled a sharp breath.

Had she heard properly? Surely the stunning presence of Snape was intoxicating her ability to think or hear clearly.

But she sensed, and saw, Harry's shoulders go rigid, his back straight as a board. His arms hung stiffly by his side, and he made no move, yet the absence of his steadied breathing signaled his momentary disbelief.

“What?” he finally croaked, his voice hoarse.

“A Horcrux, you dimwit. Or can you not manage your breathing and listening functions simultaneously?”

Harry moved deeper into the room with mechanical motion and Hermione followed. She watched in astounded silence as Harry regarded Snape with hesitant, skeptical eyes.

“What are you playing at Snape?”

“Play?” he questioned bitterly, his eyes narrowing on Harry's face. “I assure you, I do not play, Potter.”

“Why should I believe you?!” Harry snapped, unable to control his temper any longer. “You can't be trusted! You murdered Dumbledore, you betrayed-”

But he was cut off, as Snape had tossed him a tiny, shining object. It was a silver and glass compass that fit securely in the palm of Harry's hand. Confused, he looked up and fixed Snape with a look before opening his mouth.

But he was interrupted once more.

“Dumbledore's,” Snape explained dryly, beckoning to the object. “I presume the Dark Lord stole it from his office during his youth.”

Harry's eyes widened; it did look familiar. Among all the trinkets Dumbledore kept on the various tables in his office, he could scarcely begin to recall it explicitly, but the faint memory of seeing it sitting beside a pair of intricately decorated scales rushed to mind.

In the pensieve, Harry thought, abruptly remembering. When Voldemort came to him asking to teach Defense class… it was there.

When he looked up at Snape, he shook from his reverie with the realization that the Potions Master was regarding him with a self-satisfied smirk.

“This doesn't- I don't understand,” Harry confessed, momentarily forgetting that he wanted to kill him.

“Don't you?” Snape leered. “The Dark Lord is fastidious in selecting which objects will harbor his soul; surely, this does not surprise you.”

“No, but-”

“Then certainly you understand the significance of choosing one of Dumbledore's prized possessions? Everything he has selected, he has done so with utmost deliberation.”

Hermione was winded, her heart still pumping and straining achingly within her- and from the creases in Harry's forehead, she knew he was experiencing similar effects.

“Think, boy,” Snape spat, “knowing the Dark Lord as you undoubtedly do, how fitting would it be for him to mock Dumbledore in such a personally scornful gesture?”

Hermione knew, that if nothing else, Snape was indisputably right about that. But Harry would not be deterred.

“It's just a bloody compass,” he said, his voice regaining its frosty tone, “it doesn't prove anything!”

Snape scoffed loudly. “Relentless,” he murmured. Then he walked towards them. Harry defiantly stayed rooted to the spot. Snape clutched Harry's arm painfully, but Harry didn't wince as Snape took the compass back.

Raising a hand, Snape threw the fragile sphere against the wall with great force. Harry instinctively jumped back, but to Hermione's surprise, it didn't shatter.

It should have. It was only glass. But it was perfectly intact, and what's more, it was suddenly glowing with soft yellow light.

“Touch it,” Snape commanded.

Hesitantly, Harry bent over and reached out a hand to put his palm to it. But immediately, he snatched it back with a pained hiss.

“My apologies,” Snape sneered mockingly, “did it burn you?”

Harry looked up and flashed the man a vengeful glare.

“Does that satisfy your misplaced curiosity?”

Harry didn't answer because Hermione took a step nearer and responded for him. “Yes,” she said, “but why is our curiosity misplaced?”

Looking down his nose at her, Snape smirked. “Because,” he said lowly, “you presume I have countless hours to dedicate to your piteous accusations, and such presumptions will result in a much-welcomed parting before other issues of equal or greater importance can be discussed.”

“All right, then,” Hermione quipped angrily, glad to have found her voice, “why are you helping us?”

For the first time, Snape seemed to have to actively think of how to respond. His pale face remained impassive, but the pause he allowed to take over insinuated his temporary cognition.

“How's that for `issues of greater importance'?” Hermione jabbed.

Finally, Snape remembered himself and shot her a condescending glare. “Hardly relevant,” he commented, “and even less so considering your predisposed decision to doubt my every word.”

“Point taken,” Hermione conceded, finding Harry's eyes and begging him to not strangle Snape with his bare hands- yet. “But we're listening now.”

Snape folded his arms across his chest and surveyed the couple beneath heavily lidded eyes. “I trust you will pass this information on to the Order.” It was not a question.

Hermione nodded stiffly.

“Who is leading it now, in Dumbledore's stead?”

“Professor Lupin,” Hermione answered.

Snape's face immediately morphed into a furious look of hatred. “That fact alone is almost enough to make me rethink my loyalties.”

Harry started forward angrily but Hermione caught him by the elbow; Snape looked amused.

“You keep a short leash, Ms. Granger,” he mocked.

“Are you going to tell us or not?!”

The Potions Master leaned back against the wall, crossing one booted foot over the other. “Dumbledore's death was the fool's own fault. The only reason the old man trusted me was because he had forced me to take the Unbreakable Vow the night I decided I no longer wished to partake in the Dark Lord's agenda. Essentially, the Vow described three conditions: I must ultimately be loyal to none but the Order, and I must always do what is in the Order's best interests, and I must obey Dumbledore's instructions.”

Hermione gaped openly. Her head worked to keep up with the information, but Harry wasn't so patient.

“Unbreakable Vow? What the bloody hell is-”

“It's a magical bond, Harry,” Hermione breathed, still transfixed on her former teacher. “If you take it, you must abide by it. Refusal to follow it through completely results in-”

“Death,” Snape finished for her. Hermione gulped.

Harry was shaking his head, fury buried just beneath his carefully trained expression. “How should we believe that? How do we know you're not lying?”

“Are you truly that idiotic?” Snape leered. “Look what's in your hand, boy.”

Hermione glanced at Harry's hand, now clutched tightly around the Horcrux.

“If I was loyal to the Dark Lord, why, pray tell, would I provide you with that?”

A thought struck Hermione. “But- Dumbledore's dead. I read that the Vow no longer applies once the bonder or the participant passes away.”

Snape quirked an eyebrow, seeming to be marginally impressed by her knowledge. “This is true,” he allowed, “which makes my helping you all the more noble, does it not?”

Hermione bit her lip, tasting a metallic liquid burn her tongue. “Let's just assume, for time constraint reasons, that you're telling the truth. It still doesn't explain why you told Voldemort about the Prophecy.”

“I didn't tell the Dark Lord anything, you foolish girl,” he said scathingly. “What would I have to gain by serving him? Has it never occurred to you that, as unfortunate as it may be, we both live in the same world and therefore we would both experience the same negative effects of a megalomaniac's rise to power?”

“Oh don't play off like we're stupid,” she hollered angrily, “we know he rewards his followers!”

“In order for something to qualify as a `reward,' Ms. Granger, it must be given. The only reward he assures us of is life. Something we are born with. Something that is not in his right to give or take.”

Hermione's eyes narrowed in concentration. “You get power.”

“From whom?” he laughed hollowly. “You should know by now the Dark Lord does not share power.” He paused, searching Hermione's face before snapping back to glare at Harry. “It would prove just as detrimental to me if he ascended as it would to you. Life would be lifeless, if your meager brain capacity can register such a notion.”

“Answer the question, Snape!” hollered Harry, fury pulsating past reason. “How did Voldemort find out what the Prophecy said?”

“The Dark Lord commandeered my memories,” Snape uttered coolly. Hermione could tell by the tense lines of his face that his patience was quickly waning. “He didn't want my version of it; he wanted to hear it himself. So he found the memory of my hearing the Prophecy in Dumbledore's pensieve and finally had what he'd long been searching for.”

“But why would you even go through the trouble of listening to the Prophecy in Dumbledore's pensieve if you weren't working for Voldemort?!” snapped Harry. “You did it without Dumbledore's orders! You did it in secret! So if this rubbish about an `Unbreakable Vow' with Dumbledore was true, you'd be dead right now, just as you should be!”

Snape took two furious steps forward. “Do you think for a moment,” he began in icy calm, “that the Dark Lord would trust me so thoroughly had he not also placed me under an Unbreakable Vow?”

Hermione felt her heart contract. Was what she hearing possible? Could it be that, all this time, her Potions Professor had been magically tied to both Voldemort and Dumbledore?

“How- how is that- ?”

“The difference,” Snape cut off, “is that Dumbledore knew of my vow to the Dark Lord. The same could not be said in reverse. As such, every time the Dark Lord gave me an order, Dumbledore and I would have to discover the loophole in the phrasing.”

Hermione struggled to keep a clear line of thought while also clasping to Harry's arm in an attempt to soothe his visibly infuriated nerves. “How could you possibly manage that?” she piped questioningly, brow knitted in concentration.

“As I have no doubts you are aware, Granger, the vow only binds the taker by direct order. Both the Dark Lord and Dumbledore would have to explicitly map out exactly what it was they expected me to do. So when the Lord told me to `keep my alliance to him quiet,' I did. When I went to Dumbledore, I never uttered a single word.”

Harry's eyebrow rose defiantly.

“I wrote it down,” Snape finished. “Such has been my existence. The Dark Lord gives me an order I find a way around it. With Dumbledore's help, it was trying, but… manageable, nonetheless.”

Hermione took a moment to catalog this new information. She felt if she didn't, her head would explode with the complexities of it all.

“All right, we get it,” Harry spat, “you had to listen to Voldemort because of the vow, but you found ways around it since you had Dumbledore in on the charade. Pretending I'm willing to believe a single thing you say, none of this explains why the bloody hell you were sneaking around Dumbledore's office to listen to the Prophecy!”

“Actually, Potter, if you had been paying attention, you would already have deduced the answer,” fumed Snape, his black eyes freezing on Harry's face. “Young Mr. Malfoy, as you may or may not know, was instructed by the Dark Lord to repair a cabinet stationed in Hogwarts. This cabinet's brother was located outside the grounds. You may recall a certain student falling prey to this scheme,” he reminded them. “Since the Dark Lord could not instruct his Death Eaters to act until Malfoy had completed the task, and since it was impossible to discern when that would be, no one was aware of the date on which the attack would occur until the date was already upon us. I was summoned to the Dark Lord and informed that the assault would transpire in less than one hour. During this private meeting, he directly ordered me to plant myself in Dumbledore's office and use his pensieve to search for the memory of him first hearing the Prophecy. When he dismissed me, I rushed to the Headmaster's office to inform him of the situation.”

Snape paused, his gaze lifting from Harry and focusing hotly on the wall opposite. “It was a turning point in the war,” he divulged calmly. “Yet I was rendered largely helpless. For among the order to try and obtain the Prophecy's words, I was also ordered to `make no moves which would alert any of the staff as to the coming attack.' By this point, I had perhaps half an hour before the assault, and no readily available loophole by which I could inform the Headmaster. My only hope was for Dumbledore to use Legilimency to read my thoughts, to see the impeding situation. Yet when I spoke the emergency password to enter his office, he was not there. I was met only by an empty chair. I spun around, attempting to think of what move to make next. Five minutes later, however, it was of no more use. I heard the commotion issuing from below. It had begun.”

Heart palpitating restlessly, Hermione's eyes watered with the quietly told tale of that night. For the first time in nearly seven years of knowing Severus Snape, not once had she ever heard pain in the man's voice- until now. Even Harry was standing still, his arms hanging loosely at his sides.

“With Dumbledore missing from the castle, undoubtedly on one of his improvised excursions,”- Harry's stomach lurched as he remembered their trip to the cave- “and me being magically bound as I was, I was left no choice. I hurried through his pensieve, searching for the memory. Dumbledore must have been reviewing it a lot in the days prior, for it sprouted up instantly. Once I had the memory myself, I stormed from the office and into the battle. The rest, I'm sure, you already know.”

Before Hermione could react, Harry had pulled himself from her grasp and lunged forward, nearly pushing the former professor back against the wall. “So you did it to save your own skin!” Harry shouted irately, the veins in his neck swelling with anger. “You could have chosen to die! You could have broken the vow, but instead you risked everything and went prattling back to Voldemort! That's why you're a coward, Snape! Because you'd sooner keep your own sodding self alive than do what's right!”

In one fluid motion, Snape had grabbed Harry by both shoulders and shoved him roughly against the bed's solid footboard. Hermione gasped and started forward, but Snape already had his face an inch from Harry's and was speaking in a dangerously low whisper.

“You listen to me, boy,” he said in a soft, menacing voice, pressing his wand into Harry's jugular. “I would obliviate you myself this very instant if I weren't certain I would be irreparably damaging your mind- something you can ill afford, given your current lack of intellectual prowess. However,” his grip tightened around Harry's collar, and Snape drew his lips up next to his ear, “if you dare to call me a coward just once more, I may conveniently forget that you dearly require both of your brain cells.”

Harry pushed Snape off of him with unexpected strength. The two stood, chests heaving, glaring hard at the other. A solid minute of silence ensued.

Finally, Snape relinquished his glare and brushed off his robes; he straightened to face the two teenagers, looking disturbingly composed. “Again, you failed to pay adequate attention, Potter. The second term of Dumbledore's vow was that I do what was in the best interests of the Order. Do you think it not to be in the Order's best interest to keep me alive? Is it not in their interest to have a spy among the Dark Lord's inner circle? My very presence commands such respect and value that you should be grateful to even experience it.”

Harry's teeth were clenched and his knuckles grew white as they balled into fists. But he did not speak, could not speak, for Snape had changed directions as top speed.

“I cannot stay,” he asserted. “The Dark Lord expects me to be at the meeting which is to commence in approximately fifteen minutes.”

Hermione realized her jaw was hanging slightly agape and made to shut it hastily. Swallowing to wet her dry mouth, she shot Harry a look which clearly expressed, please don't kill him yet, before speaking.

“Quickly, then,” she started, surprised by how calm she sounded even to herself, “this Horcrux you've given us. Where did you find it?”

Snape sniffed and peered at her down his crooked nose. “Here, at this forsaken orphanage. You were, surprisingly, right about its location. But when the Dark Lord sent me to retrieve it, I instead pretend it had already been found so that I could ensure its destruction.”

“How did you manage that?”

The Potions Master smirked widely. “Loopholes. He ordered, `find the Horcrux and bring it to me,' which I did. I found it and brought it to him. None of his instructions, however, entailed handing it over. It was sitting idly in my pocket when I lied and informed him it must have already been found.”

“And how many others know about the Horcruxes?”

Snape's dark eyes glinted smugly. “To my knowledge, myself and the Malfoy family are the only Death Eaters aware. Lucius and Narcissa were only informed because Draco has been sent on a mission to find a replacement Horcrux, an object to bear another part of the Dark Lord's soul now that the one here is, supposedly, missing. Naturally, to obtain a suitable object, he sent Draco to-”

“Hogwarts, yeah, we know.” Harry was tense and on edge and burning a hole into the side of Snape's head with his eyes, but Hermione could tell, somehow, that even if he didn't forgive this man, he was beginning to believe his story.

For his part, Snape was doing little to mask his shock. “How did you-?”

It was Harry's turn to look smug. “Because we overheard your little get together in the mountains,” he said, one corner of his lips quirking upwards. “Hermione figured it out. She said that's where you'd likely have one of your meetings. We flew to the mountains and hid in a cave until we heard people Apparating. Sure enough, there you were, doling out some rubbish about a `change in plans.'”

Snape almost looked angry, but then his thin, pale mouth twitched convulsively. “Perhaps you possess three brain cells, then.”

Harry glared.

“Didn't Wormtail tell you?” asked Hermione. “Harry fought with him after everyone else had left.”

The creases around Snape's eyes wrinkled. He shook his head. “I have not spoken with Wormtail since that night. In fact, he was not at the last meeting.”

“Could that mean he told Voldemort about dueling with Harry and he's being punished?”

Again, Snape appeared highly skeptical. He turned away from them, letting silence stream through the air. Hermione glanced nervously in Harry's direction, but he seemed equally clueless.

Finally, the man whipped back around to face them. “I must go.”

“What?” Hermione screeched. “What about Peter Pettigrew? What do you make of it?”

Hermione could see the concern in Snape's eyes when he focused them on her. “If you overheard our conversation that night, then you must also have heard that the Dark Lord is convinced there is a traitor in his ranks. He never divulged his precise suspicions, but if he is not telling me about others' encounters with Order members…” he trailed off suggestively.

“He suspects you?” Hermione muttered quietly, distress in her voice.

Snape's face remained impassive. “I do not know. But knowing that he does not trust me enough to tell me of Pettigrew's encounter Potter indicates that he is watching me closely. More closely than I had previously realized.”

With a swirl of his black robes, Snape unsheathed Hermione's and Harry's wands. He fingered them briefly, seeming averse to returning them, but eventually tossed them back to their respective owners.

“I must arrange a meeting with McGonagall. Tell her to meet me at The Bloody Viridian pub in London. Exactly one week from today, at nine o'clock in the evening.”

Harry was shaking his head before Snape had even finished his sentence. “No one's going to meet you alone, Snape. Just because I haven't killed you yet doesn't mean I trust you. She'll be there, but don't fool yourself into thinking the whole Order won't be watching in the shadows.”

Narrowing his eyes on Harry, Snape mumbled, “Very well,” before latching the top button of his cloak.

“And by the way,” Harry continued, “Draco's already been to Hogwarts. Just a couple nights ago. He brought his mom, Bellatrix Lestrange, and Gregory Goyle. They didn't make it far. But Hagrid-” Harry swallowed the burning lump that had suddenly lodged itself in his throat. “-Hagrid was killed.”

Snape was completely motionless for several consecutive moments. He blinked once, a sign that he was registering the information. After a long, extended pause, he offered a stiff, curt nod in Harry's direction.

Then, walking to the corner, he seemed about ready to apparate. He halted, though, and slowly pivoted around to face his two former students.

“Remember, Potter,” he said quietly, his voice hoarse with warning, “to win this war, you cannot simply play defense.”

With that, Severus Snape spun on the spot and disappeared with a muted crack.

In the empty silence of the room, Hermione's heart slowed to a normal pace. Her breathing remained strained, however, as she faced Harry and met his eyes.

His emerald gaze flickered with a flurry of emotion. The now-familiar unidentifiable one was still pressed beneath the layers, watching her with a fervent intensity.

But it was the emotion that was perceptibly deflating his façade that made her want to envelope him in her arms.

A single whispered wish, laced in a single agonizing plea.

Please let me have done the right thing by letting him go.

-->

15. Knocks on Doors

Author's Note: Guys, I'm back. :) About my long, long absence, I can only say that it was due to very personal reasons. I hope you can trust me that it was not pure laziness on my part, and please do not think I've lost interest in the story. I haven't. I will finish it to the end. I beg your forgiveness, and offer this (rather long) chapter as an olive branch.

Avenged Sevenfold
Knocks on Doors

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. His eyes were on fire with a furious migraine.

“Hold on,” Ron said questioningly, propping himself up on his elbows. Even now he was relatively bedridden, as Madam Pomfrey was still working to heal his internal wounds. “So Snape thinks You-Know-Who's on to him?”

Harry found Ron's eyes.

“Assuming he's telling the truth about any of this, of course,” Ron quickly amended.

Harry nodded and instantly regretted it. A piercing throb of pressure clawed mercilessly at his temples. Shoving his fingers under his glasses, he rubbed hard at his eyelids before speaking in a pained whisper. “Yeah. Apparently Voldemort hasn't said anything about my confrontation with Pettigrew.”

“Or Pettigrew didn't tell Voldemort,” Hermione thought aloud.

Ron frowned. “Why wouldn't he?”

Hermione shook her head lightly, thinking hard. “I can't be sure. But it has to be a possibility, hasn't it? It doesn't seem logical that Voldemort would trust Snape enough to tell him about the Horcruxes, and even send him to retrieve one, but not trust him enough to tell him about something as relatively insignificant as a fight.”

Harry pushed his glasses back up his nose with an audible sigh. “She's got a point.”

Ron looked skeptical. He tilted his head back against his pillow tiredly. “Not everything's logical, Hermione.”

“Yes, Ron, I'm aware,” she returned. “But we've got to consider every possibility, and it seems only-”

“Logical?” Ron smirked.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. She opened her mouth to retaliate but was cut off by Harry's anguished hiss.

“What's wrong?” she asked, standing and moving to kneel beside him.

“This bloody headache,” he groaned, his eyes shut tight, his forehead pushing into the palms of his hands.

“Maybe you should go lay down,” she suggested, resting a concerned hand on his shoulder.

The flush of pain subsided momentarily and Harry dropped his hands to his knees. Eyes still shut, he leaned back in his chair, face blindly upturned to the ceiling. “I can't,” he sighed, “I've got to wait up for Lupin and McGonagall.”

“Why aren't you down there, anyway?” Ron asked, referencing the emergency Order meeting Lupin had called when Harry and Hermione had told him of their encounter with Snape.

“Ronald!” Hermione said, scandalized, as she turned to face him. “Can't you see he's in pain?”

Harry hurried to answer the question before his two friends had an opportunity to bicker. “I didn't feel like reliving the story a third time in one night. But before the meeting's over Lupin and McGonagall are supposed to come get me so I can be there for the final decisions.”

“What final decisions?” Ron asked.

“Mostly just who's going to be part of the security cover for McGonagall when she meets with Snape next week.”

“And where to go from there,” Hermione added thoughtfully. “We should try and anticipate the possible outcomes of the meeting. We don't want to be at a loss for what to do when it's over, however it turns out.”

“Good luck,” Ron muttered darkly.

Hermione crossed her arms over her stomach and fixed Ron with a silencing glare. “You're not helping.”

“My, how quickly your temperament changes depending on whether or not I've been sacked by Death Eaters,” he remarked pseudo-casually. “Reckon you'd feel right awful if I suddenly went missing tomorrow.”

Hermione's mouth hung open in shock. “How can you joke about that?!”

Harry's eyes shifted wearily between the two as they quarreled. Eventually, the unbidden memory of Hermione confessing to him that they had kissed bombarded his already-aching mind. Immediately, Harry's gaze fell on Hermione's lips as he imagined them pressed to Ron's.

“I've got to use the loo,” he said suddenly, standing. The thought gave him trouble breathing.

Hermione stopped arguing and looked up at him from behind a set of listless eyes. “Are you sure you're all right?”

Harry nodded slightly, careful not to make any sudden movements in case his migraine attacked again.

Moments later, he was shutting the door behind him and stepping into the shadowy safety of the dark hallway, shielded against the haunting image of Hermione and Ron, as if the visual evaporated along with the light.

He breathed a little easier.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

He was leaning against the railing of the small balcony attached to the bay window in Sirius' old room, arms folded over each other, when she finally found him. A warm breeze swept across her exposed arms as she stepped out into the moonlight.

“Harry?” she asked tentatively.

He turned his head over his shoulder. “Hey.”

She took a small step forward, wary of his frame of mind. He looked exhausted. “Did you want to be alone?”

Harry's gaze drifted off for a moment to land on the floor. After a minute he seemed to have made up his mind. “No, it's fine. I was just letting Hedwig out,” he said, turning his eyes back to the creeping dawn that was poking pink fans of light over the housetops.

Hermione came to stand beside him, leaning against the railing as well, but facing him instead of the open sky. “How's your headache?” she asked sincerely.

“A bit better. I don't know. I can't tell,” he sighed. His eyes were heavy, and he blinked slowly as he watched Hedwig whiz across the horizon.

Hermione watched him, confused. “What do you mean?”

Harry shrugged and looked off in the opposite direction of Hermione, as if she was a distraction that wouldn't allow him to find words. “I can't tell whether my head hurts from the headache or from… everything else.”

Hermione's heart lurched at the trauma in his voice.

“Between Hagrid, Snape, the constant battles breaking out across the country… not to mention this,” he said, lifting a small glass compass out of his pocket. “I just don't know where to begin.”

Nodding in understanding, Hermione inched closer so she could speak more quietly. “I know, Harry,” she consoled. “But it's one step at a time. Tonight, worry about Snape. Tomorrow, worry about the Horcrux… and leave most of the battles to the rest of the Order. They haven't got near the burden you have. They can handle one aspect of the war on their own for now.”

Harry exhaled perceptibly, giving a slight nod and tucking the compass back in his pocket.

A pregnant pause ensued for several eternal seconds. Hermione fumbled around for something wise to say, something that might relieve, even temporarily, his painful uncertainty; but Harry spoke first.

“How's Ron?”

Hermione blinked. “Oh… well, Madam Pomfrey was with him when I left. She's performing some more healing spells.”

Harry nodded absently, shifted his weight to his left foot and turning his head an inch more in her direction- but he said nothing else. The green of his eyes hazed over and fell victim to a light crease between his brows as they peered out across the scattered rooftops.

“What are you thinking?” Hermione asked eventually. She wanted him to be able to vent his worries to her, and she knew he wouldn't without prodding.

Harry's eyes fell a fraction of a centimeter. “Just… that Lupin's taking an awful long time with this meeting.”

Hermione surveyed his face closely, chewing thoughtfully on the side of her mouth.

“Please don't lie to me, Harry,” she finally said, her voice making her sound far more confident in her allegation than she felt. “You can tell me, you know.”

“Come off it,” said Harry, not meeting her eyes, “why would I lie about something like that?”

Hermione didn't answer. She shifted her gaze from Harry to her hands, fidgeting with the hem of her top. She looked up to the sky and saw Hedwig was gone, off soaring somewhere beyond her sight. Collecting every last ounce of courage in her body, she tucked her hair behind her ears and turned back to Harry.

“Nothing's happened between me and Ron,” she blurted.

She felt Harry go rigid beside her. “Oh,” he muttered. He swallowed thickly.

“Not since… not since the one time, I mean,” she corrected, speaking quickly, as if doing so would make the moment less uncomfortable.

“Right,” replied Harry, sounding oddly formal. “Great. I mean- right. Okay.”

“I just didn't want that to be something you were thinking about,” she confided, secretly glad that Harry wouldn't meet her eyes. “I just thought you would… that you should know.”

Harry nodded stiffly in response.

“It's just, you never really let me explain-”

“There's nothing to explain,” Harry cut in, sounding more defiant than he'd intended. Softening his tone, he sounded despondently resigned as he added, “I always sort of suspected, anyway.”

Hermione looked surprised. “You did?”

Harry flashed her a confirming glance before returning his eyes to the sky. He cleared his throat roughly.

“Oh,” she mumbled.

A long, ringing silence met their ears. In the near distance, several grasshoppers greeted the rising sun with a chorus of strings… but it was not enough to distract Harry's thoughts. His mind began to reel with the sound of Snape's slithering voice.

“I seem to have struck a nerve… the Weasley girl will be most displeased.”

“I won't pretend I never suspected myself,” Hermione said meekly, sounding apologetic but looking determined to say everything she was feeling. “But Harry… you know it never amounted to anything.”

Harry's throat was running dry, but he swallowed and forced a brave face. “Until recently.”

Hermione's head fell to stare at the floor guiltily. “Well, I don't really… I don't actually count that.”

Harry looked at her incredulously. “You don't count a kiss as meaning something?” he asked defensively.

Hermione heard the hurt in his voice and blanched. “No!” she said hurriedly. “I mean- yes! Yes, it means something,” she hastened to explain, feeling her heart drop like an anchor to the pit of her stomach. “I only meant that-”

There was a sudden knock on the door that, with her already wired-out nerves, made Hermione jump.

Harry rubbed tiredly at his eyes. “It's just Lupin.”

A second later, Remus Lupin edged around the balcony's door and motioned behind him with his thumb. “Harry, you'll want to come downstairs now.”

“Finished telling them about Snape?” he asked, trying to sound casual while avoiding the way Hermione's worried gaze was still focused on him.

Lupin shook his head, and seemed to do so in slow-motion, as if he was just too tired and worn to move any other way. “Actually, we've just received an owl… I think you should take a look.”

Confused, Harry found Hermione's eyes on instinct before looking perplexedly at Lupin.

“Owl? From who?”

“Scrimgeour. He's requesting an `audience with the Order,'” recited Lupin, his expression tightening into a look of carefully-suppressed resentment.

Harry stood motionless in shock. Hermione stared at Lupin, her mouth half-open in surprise.

Before she could ask any questions, Harry was reaching for his robes and heading to the door. And the look of resentment on his face was not so carefully suppressed.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harry pushed forcefully through the kitchen doors, on fire at Scrimgeour's arrogant request, but stopped abruptly when he saw exactly how many people were there.

Six dozen, at least, and the kitchen itself had obviously been magically expanded. Harry could only attach names to a quarter of the faces staring back at him. He blinked around the room in surprise.

“Everyone, this is Harry,” said Mr. Weasley, but the newcomers' expressions at his entrance had made it very plain that the introduction wasn't necessary.

“Err, hi,” Harry said awkwardly. The room muttered a breathy “hello” back, their voices laced in the awe still plastered across their faces.

Lupin and Hermione walked in, and Hermione's eyes widened to saucers. She stood firmly beside Harry, scanning the room full of strangers. “Wow,” she whispered.

At that moment, Ron stumbled in, looking pale and especially lanky with the weight he'd lost, but also determined not to miss out.

“Ron!” cried Mrs. Weasley instantly, rushing towards him. She grasped his shoulders lovingly and asked, “How are you feeling? Are you quite sure you're well enough to be out of bed?”

“I'm fine, Mum,” he mumbled, his ears turning 50 shades of red.

Mrs. Weasley fretted under her breath, but let him stand alone beside Hermione and Harry. “Whoa,” he breathed, “who are all these people?”

Hermione shook her head. “I'm not sure… I'm guessing new additions. But usually only the higher-up Order members attend these secret meetings. This is more than I've ever seen.”

“I reckon they might be recruits from other countries,” Harry whispered to them, then pointed to a blonde man standing amidst a small crowd of younger-looking wizards. “That bloke in the blue robes has got the Beauxbatons crest on his pocket.”

“Everyone, this is Ron Weasley- Arthur and Molly's son,” Lupin began from the other side of the kitchen, “and Hermione Granger, Harry's friend. They've been helping Harry for years, and though they're young, we consider them mature and experienced enough to be here.” He then turned to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. “The new faces you see here are some of our friends from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. They're representing their respective countries' efforts against Voldemort-” several wizards gasped, one witch nearly fainted and the others gave violent shudders- “but Madam Maxine isn't here tonight. She's working on something else for us at the moment.”

Harry nodded and tried to offer an appreciate smile to the crowd.

“We were just finishing our discussion on the recent developments regarding Severus when this came,” said Professor McGonagall, flicking her wand and sending a piece of fancy, foiled paper floating towards Harry.

Harry unfurled it and held it out so Hermione and Ron could read.

Professor McGonagall,

I will skip the usual preamble. I send this owl with a humble request: an audience with the `Order of the Phoenix.' Please, let us pervade pretenses- I know you are an involved party, and I do not presume to judge. Actually, I think it time that the forces against You-Know-Who unite, and I would very much like the opportunity to share intelligence and confer on what our next steps should be. I genuinely pray that we can ignore past differences in favor of fighting this common cause. I do believe the times call for it.

Kindly send word when your decision has been reached.

Sincerely Yours,

Rufus Scrimgeour
Minister of Magic

Harry crumpled the letter into a tight ball.

“`Share intelligence,'” said Hermione heatedly. “What he means is, we share our intelligence with him. They haven't got any. Why else would the Ministry be reaching out to the very group they've spent the last two years slandering?”

“Exactly,” Harry said, his fingers turning white with the force of his grip around the letter.

“It could be ze good opportunity,” suggested a short French woman standing beside Moody. “You would not haft to hide your… ooperations, as you do now.”

“Sophie's right,” said Kingsley, standing from his seat in the corner and moving towards the center table. “I know the Ministry's been despicable, but if they start supporting us, we could gain some valuable resources.”

“It would almost triple our numbers,” offered a stocky, dark-skinned man with a heavy Bulgarian accent.

Hermione could tell Harry was struggling hard to restrain his anger. His lips thinned as his teeth clenched; he looked sharply away from the group to clear his head.

Hermione said what Harry would have if he'd trusted himself to speak. “I'm sorry, but that's being awfully naïve. We know how the Ministry works. They don't want to help us, they want to help themselves.”

“Haven't they done enough to prove they can't be trusted?” Ron jabbed, surprising Hermione and Harry with the strength in his voice. “We're better off without them. They'd slow us down with their… decrees, and red tape, and all that bullocks.”

No one said anything for several consecutive moments. Hermione saw Harry's eyes close and knew he was thinking hard.

“Ms. Granger, Mr. Weasely,” McGonagall finally spoke, “We, more than anyone else, can comprehend your frustration. I don't think for a minute that the Minister's motives are as sincere as he's portraying them to be.”

Hermione's shoulders relaxed with relief. At least McGonagall understood.

“But that does not mean the benefits wouldn't be to our favor as well,” she continued, adopting a more familiar, stern tone. “Now isn't the time to hold grudges just for the sake of proving a point. We can do that after we've defeated You-Know-Who.”

Hermione sighed. Logically, she knew McGonagall was right. Ron chewed thoughtfully on the side of his mouth, considering her words.

Harry still hadn't said anything, and it worried Hermione to see him so silent.

“Would it mean Scrimgeour would have to come here?” Ron asked.

Kingsley shook his head. “No. We'd have to select a team to meet with him on Ministry premises. We couldn't risk letting him know the location of our Headquarters.”

“Bloody hell,” Ron exclaimed. “How dodgy is that? Parading up to the Ministry? Do any of you actually read the Daily Prophet? Some people in this room are wanted `criminals,' don't forget.”

“Ron's got a good point,” said Tonks. “We should meet with him on neutral grounds. Hogwarts, even.”

“If we meet with him,” Harry amended in a low voice.

The room quieted again. Everyone peered silently in Harry's direction.

“We should just see what he has to say. That's all. I agree we shouldn't jump to conclusions and assume the Ministry is being genuine,” said Lupin, breaking the silence. Then, after a long pause, he decided it was time to offer a bit of insight from beyond the grave. “Even still, Dumbledore would not want us to pass up a potential opportunity to stop Voldemort just to spite the Ministry, Harry.”

Harry looked at Lupin. He held the older man's gaze for a long time before breathing deeply and turning to consult Hermione with his eyes. She gave a small, approving smile.

Harry finally nodded his consent.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“How can he sleep?” Hermione whispered scathingly, glaring hard at the side of Ron's sleeping form. “It's all I can do to get in an hour most nights.”

Harry didn't say anything. It was the following evening, and the three had spent the entirety of their day planning out the upcoming meetings with Scrimgeour and Snape.

Ron had fallen asleep on the red velvet lounge chair around 9. Hermione envied his ability to pass out so quickly. The dark colors of the library's long, stately curtains combined with the soft cracking of the fire made her yawn and stretch out along the couch, but her mind was still working furiously.

Tentatively, she asked, “What are you thinking?” half-hoping the question would bring about an opportunity to finish their earlier conversation, before Lupin had knocked on the door and interrupted them.

Still, Harry said nothing. He only looked into the fire, dazed, his hands resting idly on his knees.

“Harry?”

His head snapped up. “What? Sorry. I was thinking.”

“What about?”

Harry's chest heaved in a deep, tired sigh. He stretched his neck and leaned back against the armrest, facing Hermione, his eyelids barely holding themselves open. “Everything. Scrimgeour. Snape.” After a moment, he added, “Trying to decide who I hate the most.”

Hermione managed a tiny smile. “I've already decided on that.”

“Yeah?”

“Umbridge.”

Harry let out a snort of a laugh.

“I like to blame her for most things,” she smirked. “The Prophet. Horcruxes. Voldemort. Inferi. Your retched cousin. The whole nine yards, really.”

Harry laughed. Ron snored and kicked at an invisible monster, whimpering something that sounded very much like “run” and “tarantula.”

Hermione's stomach fluttered at seeing Harry's boyish grin make an unexpected cameo, even though she knew it would quickly fade. It had been so long since he'd really laughed.

After a few minutes, though, his face predictably resumed its serious character as he peered back into the writhing flames of the fireplace.

“When is the meeting with Scrimgeour again?” she asked, fully knowing the answer but also knowing it would do him well to speak his thoughts.

“The day after the meeting with Snape,” he scoffed.

“Do you believe him?”

Harry's head tilted toward her. “Who?”

“Snape.”

He breathed heavily through his nose. Licking his lips, he turned away and considered his words. “I don't know.”

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. She joined Harry in staring deeply into the rising flames for a long while, listening to the light howl of the wind softly vibrating the windows. She tried to focus on her thoughts instead of how close her shoulder was from brushing against Harry's hand.

The grandfather clock sang in the sound of midnight. Hermione glanced sideways at Harry. The orange glow of the fireplace reflected off his glasses.

She took a deep breath. “Harry?”

He turned his head in her direction, releasing the light that was trapped behind his glasses. “Yeah?”

Hermione cleared her throat nervously. She reached into her brown messenger bag sitting on the floor and pulled out a book-sized rectangle dressed in shiny red paper. It had curls of gold ribbon sprouting from the center, like a firecracker frozen in time.

“Happy birthday,” she muttered in a breathy whisper. She cleared her throat again.

Harry's face lit up in surprise. He sat motionless for an extended second, as if struggling to register her words and visualize the day's date on a calendar. Was it really July 31 already?

She handed him the small package. “You don't have to open it now,” she told him. She started to stand, prepared to leave him alone with the present.

Harry stared at the shimmering gift in his lap.

“Wait,” he called, reaching up and grabbing her wrist before she'd made it completely off the couch. He gently tugged on her arm, gesturing for her to sit. She did so hesitantly, her cheeks suddenly flaring in a shade of red deeper than that of her present.

Harry, still a little dazed, picked at one side of the wrapping and lifted it open. A small piece of parchment tumbled out.

He glanced up at Hermione before unfurling the folded square.

Harry,

I remembered how, over the years, you would always open up the photo album Hagrid gave you when things got hard. It always seemed to comfort you a bit, even in darker moments. I figured you would appreciate more of the same now, what with everything that's going on.

I want to tell you that I'm incredibly proud of you, Harry. Your parents would tell you the same if they were here. And I want to tell you a million other things, perhaps beginning with how much you mean to me, and how as long as Ron and I are here, you should never feel like you're on your own. But sometimes, I'm not as articulate as everyone thinks. Sometimes I don't know how to tell you, or even if that's the right place to begin. But, you know what they say. A picture's worth a thousand words. If that's true, then maybe this will say all the things I can't.

Happy birthday,
Hermione

Harry's chest swelled with warmth and looked up to find Hermione's eyes, but they were averted to the floor. He valiantly stifled the strange prickling behind his own.

His fingers pulled open the rest of the packaging. A soft black, leather-bound photo album rested between the papery wrappings. In the center, a scrolling, gold font read:

Harry Potter, A History

Harry grinned widely. He flipped to the first page and found an 11-year-old-self blinking bewilderedly up at him. His photo-self kept squinting into the picture and then backing away, as if the photographer had caught him off-guard. Of course it was probably Colin Creevey.

He turned half-way through the book, and this time he was standing, laughing raucously, underneath his favorite Weeping Willow tree by the lake at Hogwarts. Ron was with him… he had his right arm draped casually around Harry's shoulders as he wore his trademark lopsided grin. Harry remembered Hermione taking that shot. It was the day after the first task of the Triwizard Tournament, when Ron had finally believed Harry's story about not submitting his own name to the Goblet of Fire.

Several pages later, and Harry was met with the only picture in existence of he and Sirius together. They were sitting at the kitchen table in Grimmauld Place, presumably the summer before fifth year. Sirius was spreading jam on a piece of toast as he talked to Harry, who was listening attentively with half his back turned toward the camera. Just before the end of the magically-moving scene, photo-Harry looked over his shoulder at the photographer and both he and Sirius waved with tired smiles.

He'd forgotten about that moment completely. It was when Sirius had told him the entire, detail-strewn story of how he and his father had become animagi. Harry shook his head in disbelief. He couldn't believe he'd almost lost that memory forever.

A few pages after that one, and it was Christmas time in their fifth year; Harry stood talking animatedly to Hagrid in the Great Hall, looking frustrated (over Umbridge, probably). Photo-Hagrid patted Harry lovingly on the shoulder, buckling photo-Harry's knees. Harry's eyes stung with tears as he watched the scene play out nearly a dozen times.

Eventually he flipped to the very last picture in the album. He was standing beneath a flowery lattice in the Weasley's back yard, donning his best dress robes and smiling bashfully into the camera: Bill and Fleur's wedding day. Then Harry watched as his photo-self gestured to someone outside of the frame, urging the unseen person to join him. Finally, Hermione emerged in a sky blue dress, blushing as she shot glances to the camera. When she reached Harry, though, she wrapped her arm around his waist and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. Photo-Harry's eyes dropped to the floor as he shyly snaked his arm around Hermione. Just as the scene ended and began replaying, they both lifted their heads and smiled broadly through time and space.

“I left a few empty pages in the back,” Hermione whispered, bringing Harry back to reality. “I expect we'll need them one day.”

Harry looked up from the album and found Hermione's eyes. The words he wanted so desperately to say caught in his throat. He swallowed thickly.

“Hermione,” he whispered, in awe, looking back at the picture and fingering the corner lightly.

“I'm sorry I couldn't find one of you and Dumbledore, but I'm going to keep looking,” she said, feeling increasingly uneasy about whether dredging up old photos was a proper birthday gift. “I know it's not much, really, I just thought since-” her words broke off when Harry let the album fall between them on the sofa as he leaned closer to Hermione… so close, she swallowed the rest of her sentence in a surprised gasp as his hand cupped her face.

She looked into his eyes and found them swimming in a pool of poorly-masked emotion. They peered into her, wide and searching. Hermione stopped breathing.

“Hermione,” he whispered again, his voice raspy and his eyes never leaving hers. “It's perfect.”

Slowly, an inch at a time, he leaned further toward her, until she could smell his warm, distinct scent. Her lips parted slightly, and she was shocked to realize her hands were clutching at Harry's shirt.

He paused. He dropped his gaze to her lips, then raised them back to her eyes. Behind his own, an internal war raged. Eventually, he leaned down and kissed her lightly on the cheek.

Hermione's stomach was in knots. She fought off the feeling of disappointment.

Before she could register exactly what that meant, and before Harry had even completely pulled away, a loud, pounding knock resonated throughout the room.

Harry jumped back in surprise. Hermione, head spinning, released her grip on Harry's shirt with a startled yelp. Ron gave a furious snore and tumbled around on the lounge chair.

“Potter? Are you in there?”

Heart racing, Harry gulped and tried steadying his nerves. “Yeah,” he called out, forcing his eyes to survey Hermione. She was staring wide-eyed at the floor.

McGonagall strolled in and didn't bother to shut the door behind her. “I thought you three-” she glanced over at Ron, still sleeping, “-or you two, at any rate, should be the firsts to know.”

Harry's interest was piqued enough that he tore his eyes from Hermione. “To know what?”

McGonagall's expression softened noticeably. “I've just been to a consultation with the school governors. Hogwarts will not reopen this year.”

Harry looked away. He'd been expecting this sooner or later, but that didn't cushion the blow.

“I'm sorry, Potter. Granger. It's not that we think Hogwarts wouldn't be safe. It's that most of the teachers, myself included, would be far too busy helping the Order to manage a school. I'm afraid I don't possess Albus' multi-tasking abilities.”

Neither Harry nor Hermione said anything for a long while. Eventually, Hermione said in a miserably low voice, “We understand, Professor.”

McGonagall offered them one last look of sympathy. “There's always next year,” she told them, before exiting the room.

Harry looked at Hermione. Her face was hidden behind a veil of brown curls.

“It doesn't matter,” she shrugged, fighting valiantly to mask the sorrow in her voice, “You weren't going back anyway, and I wouldn't have without you.”

Then she stood, grabbing her messenger bag, and walked silently to the door. She stopped just before it, and turned to look at Harry with sad eyes.

“Happy birthday.”

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