Planning a Path

This story is the product of Elizabeth and Katie's imagination!

Disclaimer: Oh, to be JKR…unfortunately, we aren't…

Chapter 1: Planning a Path

Harry sat up his bed (well, his makeshift bed in Ron's room) and swung his legs over the side. It was no use; he wasn't going to get any more sleep tonight. His mind was racing with thoughts of “The Plan”, as he had started to think of it as. He needed to go to the Dursley's, go to Godric's hollow, and somehow find the remaining Horcruxes. The locket, the cup, the snake, something of Gryffindor's or Ravenclaw's, he chanted in his head.

But then he had to add in Bill and Fleur's wedding into the mix. The date was set for July 4^th, 2 days from now. Don't forget Hogwarts thought Harry. Although he would not be returning as a student to the school that was his home, he was well aware that the resources critical to finding Voldemort's soul were at Hogwarts. Namely, Dumbledore's portrait, pensieve and any other useful information in his office, not to mention the library. To make matters worse, Harry had not confided in anybody but Ron and Hermione that he would not be returning to Hogwarts, and in fact he would be out in the world looking for Voldemort's shattered soul. As far as he knew, Ron and Hermione had not disclosed that information either. Harry could image quite clearly Mrs. Weasley's reaction to the news.

Part of Harry, a very big part, had considered simply running away with Ron and Hermione and leaving everybody with a note. He had quickly banished this idea, on the basis that if he didn't want them to catch up with him, then the Dursley's were out of the question. He was certainly not looking forward to seeing his Aunt, Uncle and cousin again, but Dumbledore had wanted him to. And despite everything, Harry still had some trust in the old man.

Harry sighed.

Resigning himself to another semi-sleepless night, he put on some socks and a green sweatshirt and slipped downstairs, careful not to wake anyone. He had been at the burrow for two days now, and so far had been very stealthy about his nighttime wanderings. He cringed at what Mrs. Weasley would say if she ever found out how little sleep he was getting. But thankfully Harry, who was far too used to sleepless nights, showed no side effects.

He padded into the cramped kitchen and sat at the table, in the same chair he had sat in all those long month ago that early Saturday morning. How much had changed. To avoid getting swamped in memories, he got to his feet and started heating up some water in the old copper teapot on the stove. Only 30 days left thought Harry then I'll be able to heat up this water with magic. He grinned in spite of himself at the thought of the new freedom his legality would bring.

And the new pressures.

Harry idly picked up yesterday's copy of The Daily Prophet and scanned the front page. On the front page was a picture of Scrimgeor gesticulating from a podium, presumably in the Ministry of Magic. He had just recently been getting a lot of press urging him to make a decision about the re-opening of Hogwarts.

“The wizarding world was split”, the article said, “between the reckless abandonment of letting our children live in an unsafe school, and those who would save their children by keeping them close to home.”

Harry snorted. The Daily Prophet, always so objective he thought sarcastically. He was torn between the two choices himself. To open the school would, in his mind, provide more protection for those children who would attend, but to close it would help his cause, for Hogwarts was an idle place to make base at during his travels. He, like the rest of the wizarding world, would have to wait for the School Governors to make their final choice.

The water started to boil, but unlike Muggle teapots that hiss and steam when hot, the Weasley's teapot glowed bright red and emitted a faint tinkling sound. He rose to take it off the stove, but was stopped by a voice in the doorway.

“I'll get it, Harry”

Harry heard the sweet, female voice he knew so well. He turned to see the face of one of his best friends, Hermione. She was wearing a grey plaid bathrobe and her curly brown hair was pulled back in a half-ponytail. She was rubbing her eyes sleepily with one hand, and walking toward the kettle, reaching out with the other.

“Hello, Hermione. What are you doin' up?”

“Same as you, I expect,” she replied sleepily. She yawned, setting the kettle down on the table. Harry fetched two un-matching teacups from the cabinet and two bags of cinnamon tea from a jar on the countertop and set them down as Hermione began to pour the steaming water.

As they let the tea brew, they sat down at the table. Hermione rested her head in her hands. “I know you haven't been sleeping, Harry. You might be fooling Mrs. Weasley and the others, but you cannot fool me. I know you too well.”

Harry shrugged. He wasn't surprised that she knew. She always knew when something was wrong with him, even if he never knew how. “I can't sleep, Hermione. There's too much to think about. Too much to worry about. And when I sleep… I… dream…” He swallowed, regaining himself. “Besides, how do you know I'm not sleeping?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

She sighed. “Because I don't sleep either, Harry. I—” she broke off, lowering both her eyes and her voice. “I know that I'm not going to be the one to face Voldemort in the end, but nevertheless, I am scared. But not nearly as much for myself as for you.”

Harry's vision blurred as he saw a vague seen of a small bundle, almost like a baby. Dark red eyes. Slits for eyes. Knives. Screaming. Snakes. Blood. Pain.

He shook his head, clearing his vision. His heart was pounding. He realized his hand holding the teacup was shaking uncontrollably, nearly spilling the contents. He set down the cup and put his hand to his forehead, touching his scar, to steady himself. What's happening to me? he wondered.

He looked up, and saw Hermione's eyes boring into him, filled with the utmost concern. “Hermione, I'm fine. Fine. Please. You shouldn't even come with me. This is something I need to do alone, and though your company would be welcome for the majority of the time, this is just too dangerous. I would have a much easier time of it knowing that you and Ron were safe.”

“What are you bloody talking about?” called another voice from the doorway.

Harry didn't even bother to turn around before he answered the voice. “Ron, you and Hermione can't come with me. Just stay here. If anything ever happened to either of you… No, you can't come.”

“Oh, posh,” said Hermione trying to calm him, as she stood up to set her empty cup in the sink. “I'm coming, and so is Ron. As soon as you give the word, we're leaving with you. Don't you dare try to give us the slip, Harry, because, mark my words, we will follow you. We've been through the past six years together. Don't expect that to change now, simply because you're `The Chosen One.'”

Ron collapsed into the chair beside Harry. “What she said,” he mumbled as his head drooped.

Harry sighed. “Alright. Fine. For your information, we're leaving the first of August. I have to wait until after my birthday, or else things could be… complicated. But for now, can we focus on the happier things for as long as we can?” He turned to a dozing Ron. “How's it feel to be getting a sister-in-law?”

~**~

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