Chapter 10
Watching
I spend the next two hours trying to convince myself to go up to Harry's room. I'm not sure why I can't seem to muster up the courage.
The small clock on the mantle piece chimes once. One o'clock. This sound sparks my determination and I heave myself out of my chair, slipping out of my flat and up the stairs to Harry's. The door opens soundlessly as I make my way to his bedroom. Twice I find myself stopped in the middle of the hall, filled with the urge to turn back, but something inside of me keeps me going. The door to his room, the last one on the left, is cracked open, a soft stream of pale moonlight gleaming against the hardwood floor. My breath picks up as I turn the corner, steadying myself on the doorframe, to find him...asleep.
I exhale sharply in relief, stepping further into the room. He's dressed in the same clothes he had on earlier with his body flung haphazardly across the disheveled satin sheets. The light from the window rests upon the contours of his form, enhancing the slightly blue tint to his lips and glaring upon an empty glass vile clutched loosely in his hand. I brush his hand and sleeve as I pluck the vile from his relaxed grasp. The icy dampness of both cause me to jerk back. Upon further inspection, I find that his clothes are rain-soaked and the empty tube had once contained a Dreamless Sleep Potion. Instinctively, I pull out my wand and mutter a quick drying and heating charm, readjusting his body and pulling the covers up to his chin.
With a soft sigh, I turn to leave, but a bluish glimmer from his closet holds me in place. Curiosity overcomes my better judgment and I push the door open to reveal a weathered stone basin filled with a gleaming air-like liquid. A Pensieve. I can barely contain my amazement, having seen only one of such an item in my entire life in Dumbledore's office. How had Harry come to possess one? Why had he kept such an artifact from Ron and me?
I step closer, allowing my finger to brush over the ancient runes around the edge of the smooth rock. As I gaze into the silvery depths, the haze clears, and I find myself staring down into an all too familiar room: the common room of our safe house in Godric's Hollow. It had taken the magical power of the entire Order to reconstruct the ruin that had once been the Potter estate and to reset the enchantments to make it Unplottable, but it had been done in a surprisingly short amount of time. The house, though large, had held a warm sort of coziness in the midst of a cruelly cold war, yet the memories made inside were far from happy. Without my knowing, I find myself suddenly leaning forward toward the surface of the memory as I notice two figures standing a few feet from each other. From my position outside of the basin, I am unable to hear what they are saying. Automatically, I reach out and let my fingers graze the now transparent surface.
For a moment, everything is dark as I fall into blackness, then I land heavily on my feet and find myself staring at...myself, only seven years younger, with a Jiff peanut butter jar clutched in my hand. My ever-bushy hair is pulled into a ponytail high at the top of my head and my reading glasses are perched on the end of my nose.
"Harry, how many times have I asked you to throw away the peanut butter jar if there isn't any peanut butter left?"
I spin around sharply, meeting Harry's tired eyes and a wave of deja-vu hits me. Why on earth would he have chosen to keep this memory?
"I dunno, about a thousand."
"Then why do you insist upon leaving it in the pantry?"
He shrugged in return, his _expression showing how ridiculous he thought this conversation was. Now, looking back, I wonder why I pushed him. Perhaps it was because of the total frustration that hovered over us like a storm cloud.
"Answer me, damn it!" I watch myself cry, grabbing his shirt sleeve to keep him from turning from me.
He whips around, slapping my hand away. From my fly-on-the-wall position, I see the iced over look in my younger self's eyes.
"How dare you?" I spat, staring at him with a look of disgust that I didn't know I could possess.
"How dare you?" he sneered back, taking a step toward me, "Yelling at me over something as bloody stupid as a jar of peanut butter when we're in the middle of a war!"
"Come off it!" I screamed, "As if you're doing anything to help our side! Disappearing to who knows where at all hours! Having meetings with Kingsley and the rest of the Order where you say you don't learn much at all! Cut the martyr act, Harry! It's getting old."
I shake my head at that little segment. Now, of course, I know exactly what Harry was doing during that time, learning how to perform the Resurrection Charm. I can feel myself choke up as I watch the argument escalate.
Harry's shoulders squared; his _expression hardened. Yet now I see something that I didn't notice a few years ago: the expectation in his eyes, as if he was slowly but painfully reaching a goal.
"-and you don't talk to me about anything anymore-"
"Maybe I don't want to talk to you about anything anymore."
I continued as if I hadn't heard. "-you just ignore me as if I'm not even here-"
"AND WHAT HAPPENS WHEN I TELL YOU?" he exploded, and I watch myself reflexively step backwards. "What happens when I tell you about everything I've been doing, huh? You already know too much, Hermione! What happens when he finds out you know how he can be defeated? What if our charms don't hold and Death Eaters find out where we are? What if we slip up somehow and they take you or Ron?"
His eyes widened and his voice, _expression, and actions became slightly manic. I remember the feeling that came over at that exact moment; that those panic-filled eyes of his weren't actually looking at me, but through me, as if he couldn't really see me at all. His hands grabbed my shoulders and pulled me closer to him as he leaned his forehead against mine. His voice lowered to a shaking whisper.
"I can't let anything happen to you. The only thing that keeps me going is knowing that I can keep you safe. He tells me that I can't. At night, when I try to sleep, he gets inside my head and tells me that I can't protect you but I know that I can. You just can't know about anything that I do. You're already high enough on his list. He'll stop at nothing to get to me, he already knows how much-"
He stopped. His eyes fluttered closed and I watch him take me into his arms, burying his face into my neck.
"Please, don't make me tell you. You're better off not knowing. Just trust me. Please," he pleaded, and I don't notice I'm crying until I feel the coolness of tears against my cheeks.
Suddenly, the room blurs in a haze of color. It takes a moment for me to realize that the venue is changing. The blurred shapes start to re-define themselves, and I find that I am in the same house, but in Harry's bedroom. His back is to me and he sits at his desk chair, writing feverishly on a piece of parchment. I walk to him and peek over his shoulder to read.
The Last Will and Testament of Harry James Potter
I, Harry James Potter, being of sound body and mind, declare that this Will and Testament be binding to my beneficiaries at the time of my death.
To Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Weasley, I leave the entire contents of my secondary Gringotts vault, along with my undying gratitude for taking me into their home when they didn't have to.
To Mr. Remus Lupin, I leave all title and property rights to Number 12 Grimmauld Place, along with any monetary legacies left to me by my late godfather.
It is my final wish that the entire contents of my main Gringotts vault, control of my stock in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, the title and property rights to the Potter Family Estate in Godric's Hollow, and all items of personal and/or sentimental value, be divided equally between my two best friends, Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger. Also, I ask that each be given the sealed envelopes enclosed upon the reading of this will.
Signed,
Harry James Potter
Where was I when he was doing this? I never knew of him writing such a thing. Of course, the three of us had brought up the subject on one of our drearier days, but we had quickly brushed it off. Writing out a will would have made everything seem too real, too final; as if we didn't believe we could win. Obviously, Harry had taken the idea a bit more seriously than Ron and I.
Then my eyes scan to two wax-sealed envelopes on the desk next to him; my name shines in emerald ink on the leftmost one. I reach out a hand to take it, overwhelmed with curiosity over its contents, but my hand simply glides through it. Of course, I'm in a memory. It's not as if I can just pick something up and move it.
Harry sighed as he rolled up the scroll and slid it, along with the two envelopes, into a small velvet bag. He stood up and brought the sack to his trunk, taking great care to place it at the very bottom before closing the lid.
Memory-Harry made his way out of his room, shutting the door softly behind him. I follow, my frustration at not being able to read the letter eating at my insides. I hear voices coming from our common room. Harry stopped and I do the same at his side where he stands looking down into the room from a small balcony in the corner.
I can see the younger versions of Ron and me lounging on the rug in front of the fire. Ron's back is propped up against the couch, and my head is resting in his lap as he plays with my hair.
"Ron, have you thought about what might happen if we don't make it?" I asked, and I watch as Ron's hand ceases its ministrations.
I remember this conversation as if it were yesterday. It's odd how that happens, isn't it?
"You can't think like that, love," Ron replied and looking back, I can see that Ron was never all that comfortable with the two of us using terms of endearment, but he used them when he felt a situation was becoming uncomfortable, as if to distract me from the topic. That had occurred a lot in our on-again-off-again relationship. Even then, I could tell that the nickname sounded awkward.
Harry shrunk back into the shadows, but stayed at a short distance from the overhang, so as to still hear the conversation below.
"But don't we have to, in a way? We've been preparing all this time, but what if we just can't? What if he can't? His whole life has worked up to this. What if it doesn't turn out like we hope?"
Ron sighed.
"Don't worry about Harry. I reckon he can take care of himself. Why don't we just spend as much time together as we can, okay?"
I don't watch Ron lean down and brush his lips against my forehead. I'm too busy looking at Harry, whose face turned away from the affectionate display, but not before I see a fleeting look of longing in his eyes. And before I know it, the colors are all blending together again. After a moment of confusion, I find myself in a different place, a different time, and a different memory.
This time, I find myself standing in the middle of our dining room. Obviously, there is a dramatic amount of time between this memory and the last one. Ron and Harry are sitting across from each other at the table, both in black slacks and button-up dress shirts; Harry's blue, and Ron's maroon. The two are indulged in a heated but hushed conversation, and I move closer to make out what they are saying.
"You've got to calm down, mate, they'll be here any minute."
Harry's hand raked through his hair as he replied stiffly, "I am calm."
"No, you're not. You can't protect her from other guys, Harry. You're going to have to let her make her decisions based on what she knows about him, not what you know. You say he's a complete prat, but you have to let her learn that on her own."
"But he's not worth the ground she walks on. I've heard about how he treats his witches. She deserves someone better-"
"How do you know that she's wasting her time with him, huh? Maybe they'll hit it off; you know how Herm is with dating. You could count the times she's gone out with guys that aren't us on one hand. I think she deserves to have a bit of fun. How do you know that Darren won't be that for her?"
"I just do, okay! She needs someone who understands all that she's been through, who appreciates her, who loves her for everything she is. Someone-"
"-like you?"
Harry bowed his head, his eyes studying the wooden tabletop as Ron sighed, then spoke up, "Look, I'm not all that pumped to meet this bloke either, but you have got to keep a cool head about this. Otherwise, she'll make you pay for it later."
Silence.
"Harry?"
Harry stood up abruptly, pushing is chair under the table.
"Yeah, of course," he agreed, his tone full of forced offhandedness, "I'll calm down. Could you get the door when they get here? I think I left something in the oven..."
His voice trailed off and the memory starts to fade before my eyes. The colors and shapes swirl before me until they mold back together to form Harry's living room. The fire crackles in the grate, but my view of the flames is partially blocked by the appearance of three red and gold stockings hanging from the mantelpiece. Our Christmas tree glitters in the corner of the room, sparkling with silver and gold tinsel, crystal ornaments, and jewel-bright fairy lights. Under the tree, lying on top of three sleeping bags, are me, Harry, and Allie. Allie and I are asleep; Allie's small body is curled against mine, her ebony curls resting on my arm as it cradles her. Harry is on Allie's other side, his head propped up on his elbow as the fingers of his other hand reach out to brush her cheek.
Before his fingers reached their destination, however, she stirred, her tiny eyes fluttering open to gaze around her.
"No Santa yet?" she asked innocently.
"No, sweets, not yet."
Sleepily, she crawled the two feet to his side and lay down with her back to his chest. Instinctively, it seemed, his arm went around her small form, hugging her body to his.
"Doc?"
Harry smiled down at her.
"Yes, Allie?"
"Are you `n Ms. `Mione marwied?"
"No."
"Then why does she sleep in your house?"
"Because she's my best friend."
"Oh...she's pwetty."
"Yes, she is."
"I think you should marwy her."
Harry chuckled, but it seemed more somber than humorous.
"You think so?"
"Yep...Doc, when will Santa Claus come?"
"When you go to sleep."
"Oh, alright. Goodnight, Doc."
"Goodnight, Allie."
The memory lasted a few moments more, long enough for Harry to lay an already half-dozing Allie at my side, then to brush a light kiss to both our foreheads.
The full realization of Allie's death hits me full-force and I can feel the sobs build in my throat.
"Get me out of here," I think, concentrating on Harry's bedroom so as to pull myself from the myriad of memories.
But for some reason, I can't seem to do it. Instead, the setting is changing yet again. It sharpens, more quickly than the others, into a place I have hoped to see again only in my nightmares: the graveyard.
This time, I am standing behind Harry. His wand is thrust out, pointing forward.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
My eyes follow the jet of bright green light as it passes from his wand to Voldemort. The curse hit him directly in the chest and he let out a blood-curdling scream before collapsing to the ground in a pile of robes. However, the light continues and I see it pass, quick as lightening, down a chain from the Dark Lord's limp wrist to mine. In a flash, Harry is at my side, Voldemort's body forgotten, his hands roaming my neck to find a pulse and coming up blood-stained.
Frantically, he dug through his robes, pulling out his worn pocket knife he got from Sirius. With a manic grace, his fingers flicked at the blade and it sprung from its sheath. He didn't even flinch as the blade slashed against his hand, leaving a trail of red in its wake. He moved the hand to my chest, just over my heart and began to mutter something under his breath. I faintly recognize a few of the words as "life" and "death," but the incantation is in Latin and I can't make out most of the rest. As he finishes, he seems to weaken and his skin visibly pales. His breathing becomes ragged, and I notice that the wounds on my body seem to be disappearing without a scar to be seen. My attention is distracted when Harry let's out an animalistic cry. I spin around to see his pallid skin break and bleed, the substance soaking through his robes.
Sobs escape my throat as he yells out again, louder this time, and I try to block it from my mind.
"Get me out. Just bring me back home."
This time, I feel a tug at my back as if I am attached to a thin rope, and I am pulled out of the memory, landing hard on my knees on Harry's bedroom floor. Sobs claw at my throat and I glance at Harry's form on the bed. Through my tear-clouded eyes, I can just make out the razor-thin, white scar on his palm. Hurriedly, I fly from the room, one hand clutching at my chest, the other shutting the door, and I let the tsunami of emotions crash into me.
A/N:: THERE IT WAS! I hope that you guys wanted a longer chapter, so you got it! So I expect a good amount of reviews. Because I believe that millions of reviews motivate an author to write a longer chapter!! Love ya'!!
^Mandy^
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