The Power He Knows Not

SpecialK220

Rating: PG
Genres: Romance, Action & Adventure
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 12/02/2006
Last Updated: 14/08/2007
Status: completed

"And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not..." During Harry's quest to find the horcruxes, he finds out just how powerful love can be.

Chapters

1. New Beginnings

2. Back To Grimwauld Place

3. The Locket

4. Unlocking the Secret

5. The Power He Knows Not

6. The Quest Continues

7. Fear Within

8. Revelations

9. Another Step Closer

10. The Attack

11. Moving On

12. Losing Ground

13. Discoveries

14. Into the Chamber

15. The Final Battle

16. The End and the Beginning

1. New Beginnings

The Power He Knows Not

Spoilers: Books 1-6

Rating: PG

Chapter 1: New Beginnings

The night was peaceful and still; the dark sky was dotted with millions of twinkling stars and the bright moon reflected on the surface of the pond. Nearby, a bird chirped its song sweetly, only to be answered a few moments later by a bird far off in the distance. The wind blew softly, disrupting the smooth, glasslike surface of the water and rustling the leaves of the surrounding trees. A single leaf broke off from a tree branch and elegantly swooped down, making its way gracefully to the grassy ground. The night was perfect.

Harry Potter sat completely still on a rock overlooking the pond, his legs pulled up tightly to his chest. If only his thoughts would reflect the peacefulness of his surroundings. If he listened carefully, Harry could just barely make out the sounds of music and voices from the distant Burrow where a party was taking place to celebrate Bill and Fleur's wedding, which had taken place earlier that evening. Harry had just barely managed to slip away from the crowd, with any luck, unnoticed; the last thing that he wanted to do right now was to dance and socialize. He could not stand to be around Mrs. Weasley offering him more food or Ginny begging him to dance any longer. Couldn't they see that he did not want to have fun right now- that he couldn't?

Harry continued to sit on the rock, staring at the peaceful water. His jet-black hair blew in the soft wind, exposing his jagged scar across his forehead, the mark of his past and his fate for the future. The single mark, cast upon him accidentally as a baby, exposed him to the rest of the Wizarding world. With his lightning bolt scar, Harry could no longer just be himself; he had become “The Boy Who Lived” or, even more recently, “The Chosen One”. Angrily, Harry reached down, snatched a stone from the ground, and flung it hard into the pond. The stone landed in the water with a loud splash, frightening a nearby duck that anxiously flew away.

He was leaving early the next morning. It would be hours after he left that the sun would fully rise and the Weasleys would awaken to find his bed empty, a note carefully placed on his pillow. He had already written the note to Hermione and Ron, explaining what he was doing, why he had left them. He could not bring himself to drag them into such danger. He would be going into hiding to fulfill the mission Dumbledore had set out to do the year before. He was going to tackle the dangerous task that lay ahead of him; he would hunt down the remaining horcruxes and dispose of them, shattering Voldemort's soul, therefore making the dark wizard mortal once again. Harry could not imagine venturing out on this dangerous journey alone, but the prospect of leading his best friends into danger frightened him even more.

Harry's mind began to wander and he began to imagine a life completely destroyed and taken over by Voldemort. A life where all of his friends, guardians, and mere acquaintances were gone, snatched away from him and killed at the hands of Lord Voldemort. The idea wasn't too hard to imagine. The single wizard had already taken away his parents, his godfather, his mentor, but Harry knew just what the dark wizard was capable of. He had seen too many times the amount of damage and despair that the single wizard could create. Harry knew, perhaps more than any other in the Wizarding World did, just how horrible a world controlled by Voldemort could be, and Harry wasn't going to allow that to happen. He was not going to sit back and watch as Voldemort tore apart family after family, as he created a world filled with fear and terror.

Harry heard a branch snap from behind him in the woods, interrupting his thoughts. Turning his head, he could see two small pinpricks of light bobbing up and down in the darkness. Soon Hermione and Ron emerged from the trees, but Harry continued to stare straight ahead at the glittering pond, avoiding the stares of his two best friends. He knew they would be asking questions; he knew they would be expecting answers, answers that Harry wasn't quite ready to give. “You left the party,” Ron stated bluntly. Harry remained silent, still staring straight ahead. A bird swooped overhead and landed gracefully on a tree branch nearby.

Hermione sat down next to Harry on the rock, her chocolate-brown eyes full of concern and worry. “Harry, what's wrong? What is it?” she asked softly, reaching out and gently placing her hand on top of his, causing Harry's hand to shiver. Still Harry refused to look his friend in the eye; he knew that the moment he made eye contact with the girl sitting next to him, he would not be able to control himself. Her eyes would entrance him, forcing him to spill out his secrets, his plans. Not yet, he told himself. Silence filled the cool night air.

“It's nothing,” he said finally, trying to keep his voice light and carefree, as if there truly was nothing wrong. Yet Harry knew that he was not going to fool anyone. He certainly would not have been fooled; his voice, even to him, held a certain edge, full of anxiety and nerves. But they would find out the next morning, not now. He mindlessly picked at a loose thread on his dress robes.

Hermione slowly took her hand off Harry's and crossed her arms as she shivered in the night's cool air. The thin material of her dress, still left over from the wedding earlier that evening, was doing nothing to block the cool night air. A small gust of wind passed by, causing her to shiver even more. Rubbing her arms, she sighed and looked helplessly at Ron, who shrugged and looked down at his hands. She glared at him, her eyes wide as if to say, Well, aren't you going to help?

“Well okay then,” Hermione said matter-of-factly, standing up and smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress. “We might as well head back to the party. People will begin to wonder where we went.” Harry looked up in surprise. In all of the years that he had been friends with her, Harry had never known Hermione to give up without finding out the complete answer.

Ron was staring at Hermione with disbelief, as if he, like Harry, could not understand why Hermione was giving up so easily. “B-but, don't you want-“ he stammered before allowing his voice to die away.

Hermione just nodded, in a sort of finality, before walking back towards the Burrow, where the wedding party was just finishing up.

***

Harry awoke very early the next morning. Looking out the window, he could barely make out the sun, peeking its way above the horizon. He slowly got dressed, and with a flick of his wand - his seventeenth birthday was the previous week, enabling him to do magic legally outside of Hogwarts- packed up his trunk. He paused for a moment before leaving the room, taking the moment to stare at the sleeping figure of his best friend, whose flaming red hair was peeking out from beneath the covers and an arm slung down next to the bed, the fingertips grazing the carpeted floor. Sadly, he carefully placed a letter on his pillow before opening the door.

Still looking back at his best friend, Harry failed to notice a large bundle on the other side of the door, resulting in him falling rather ungracefully on top of it and sending his trunk and other belongings flying across the hallway. The bundle began to move underneath him and a head of bushy hair appeared from beneath a blanket. “Harry!” she exclaimed, rubbing her head tenderly and staring at her best friend who was still laying on top of her, disbelief and confusion written across his face.

“Hermione,” he hissed quietly, trying not to wake anyone up, “what do you think you're doing?” He slowly got up off her and snatched his wand, which he had dropped during the fall.

“I was trying to prevent you from doing exactly what you're doing!” she hissed back, her eyes wide with outrage, her hands on her hips.

“Wha-?” Harry looked stunned. But how did she know?

As if reading his mind, Hermione grabbed him by his arm and dragged him back into Ron's room, quietly closing the door behind them. “Ronald, wake up,” she said loudly.

Ron slowly opened his eyes and yawned. “What's happening?” he asked, groggily.

“Harry, here, was leaving us,” Hermione stated, holding her chin up and refusing to look at her friend next to her, whom she was still gripping rather tightly by the arm. “Weren't you Harry?'

It took Harry a few moments to catch on to what was going on. He still could not figure out how Hermione knew he was leaving. But, in his heart, he knew she must have known for weeks now, most likely before he even figured it out. Harry and Hermione knew each other too well; it was as if there was a connection between them, a connection that no one else had. She seemed to know what was going through his mind, if he was troubled, if he was scared. Hermione was always able to tell what he was thinking, what he was planning. His heart dropped as he realized that by leaving her behind, he wouldn't be able to enjoy the connection; there would be no one around that would completely understand him, that would be able to tell him to snap out of whatever mood he was in. God, I'll miss her, he thought sadly. Looking up from the ground, Harry noticed his two friends staring at him, still waiting for his answer. “Well, you're not coming with me,” he said blankly.

“Of course we are,” Hermione said, her tone businesslike and final.

Harry glared at her and wrested his arm away from her. “No. You're not coming.” He crossed his arms and took a few steps back towards the door. Hermione, in turn, pulled out her wand, and with a flick of her hand, Harry could hear a small clicking sound of the door locking behind him. Inwardly, he groaned.

“But Harry-“ Ron began, his voice hesitant and uncertain. “Why can't we come with you?” He sat up in bed and swung his legs over the side.

“It's too dangerous,” Harry replied bitterly.

“That's never stopped us before,” Ron said, grinning. “I mean, look at us. We've handled Fluffy, a mountain troll, dementors, Death Eaters. We've always gotten ourselves into dangerous spots; it's, like, who we are.”

“No,” Harry said, his voice cracking ever so slightly. “Don't you see? I can't drag you into this because I can't bear to lose the two of you. You can't come with me because Voldemort will use you against me, I just know it. All my life, he has taken away anyone who was important to me, anyone who has risked his life to try to help me. First my parents, then Sirius, now Dumbledore…”

He trailed off, causing Hermione to open her mouth to speak. But Harry continued on, knowing that if he didn't get all of this off his chest now, he never would be able to. “I just can't take it anymore; can't you see that? Do you realize that I have been there, witnessing each and every one of their murders? I was there when Voldemort murdered my parents, I watched at Sirius fell through the bloody veil, and I was there, unable to do anything, as I watched Dumbledore be murdered by a man he put full trust in. I have nightmares every night, witnesses their deaths over and over again until I can't stand it anymore. I am not going to let that happen to you. This is my mission, my destiny. It was my name on the prophecy, not yours. I'm the target now, not you. But you will be, I just know it, if you come with me. And I'm not going to be responsible for my best friends' deaths.”

Harry suddenly couldn't handle speaking anymore; his throat seemed to close up, and he forced himself to not break down in front of his friends. He needed to remain strong; he needed to remain in control.

“Harry,” Hermione said, taking a step closer to him. “Don't you get it? You're trying to keep us away so we're not a target of Voldemort's, but we're already targets, we have been since we first became friends. And it was our choice to become friends. Ron and I knew what we were getting into when we became friends with you, we knew that making friends with The-Boy-Who-Lived would be dangerous, yet we chose to risk it. You were worth the risk; you were worth the danger. And even though you are no longer the scared, timid boy, in need of friends and love, you are still worth it now, even more than before. It was our choice, and even now, I would not change that decision, not for anything. Harry, we have been together so long, we are in this together.

“Your battles have become our battles; your destiny is ours. We chose for it to be this way and nothing is going to keep us away from you, away from helping you. Just like your parents, like Sirius, and like Dumbledore, we know what we are getting into. All those people who have died protecting you…it was their choice, Harry. Your parents, they knew you were Voldemort's target, they knew what was going to happen by having you as a son. Sirius knew that Voldemort had led you to the Ministry; he knew it was a trick, yet he chose to go anyways. He chose to risk his life protecting you. And Dumbledore, he knew what was happening to him. He knew the potion was poison, and yet, he drank it anyway, so you, Harry, could continue on the path of your destiny. So you could live to say that you have defeated the most powerful dark wizard alive. Life is all about choices, Harry. And this choice is not yours to make.”

“Yeah, Harry,” Ron piped in. “We're coming with you, whether you like it or not.”

Harry did not know what to say, he did not know what to think. Sure, it would be awfully nice to have help hunting down the Horcruxes, nice to have the company and the support of his best friends. But what would the Weasley's say? Or the Grangers? He could not just expect his friends to leave their lives behind, leave their family, their friends, to follow him. He was not going to return to Hogwarts, if it even opened the following year. He could not expect them not to return as well. And Hermione, who was guaranteed her life-long dream of becoming Head Girl. He could not deny her that experience.

Harry, who had been fiddling with his hands as he thought, finally looked up to see Hermione and Ron both staring at him, with tentative smiles on their faces, and questioning looks in their eyes.

“But what about your parents?” He asked, trying to find a loophole in Hermione's speech. “I can't take you away from your families. Surely they wouldn't want you gone for so long, much less, doing something as dangerous as what we'd be doing.”

“I've already talked to my parents about it before I came to the Burrow. They're not pleased about it, but they accept that it is what I need to do. They know how much you mean to me, Harry, and they know I'm not going to let you run off on some dangerous mission alone,” Hermione said simply. “Oh, and they said that we can stop by at anytime for dinner,” she added quickly, causing Ron's face to light up.

“And I can talk to my parents before we leave,” Ron added.

Biting his lip, Harry thought hard. “But then you two won't be going to Hogwarts in September,” he pointed out.

“Hogwarts may not even open.”

“But Hermione, you'd be Head Girl. I know how much you wanted to do that,” Harry argued.

Hermione just shrugged. “There are things more important than titles and school.” At this, Ron started laughing, so hard, in fact, that he rolled off his bed and onto the floor. “Yes, Ronald. There are more important things than school, and N.E.W.T.S, and being Head Girl. Things like friendship and bravery.” With her last words, she looked towards Harry, a knowing smile upon her face. Harry thought back to the last time Hermione spoke those words. It was right before he would be facing Lord Voldemort alone, before she would leave to bring Ron to the hospital wing, before she hugged him. The moment stuck out in Harry's memory; not because of the danger he faced, but because it was the first time he had ever been hugged. The first time someone told him just how special he really was.

Turning his attention back to the argument, Harry added, “I would like to leave as soon as possible; hopefully within the hour.”

Hermione smiled, “The sooner the better.”

“Well…” Harry thought hard, trying to come up with another excuse of why his friends should not come with him. He found that he could not. “Okay then,” he said softly. “I guess you're coming with me.”

Only seconds after he spoke these words, he pulled into a crushing hug by Hermione. “Oh, Harry,” she said, slowly letting go of him.

Harry looked at the beaming faces of his two friends standing in front of him, and slowly the corners of his mouth curled up into a smile.

Author's Note: So there you go. This is my first fanfiction, so be nice :-) I promise it will get better; this chapter basically sets up the plot. Thanks for reading and please review!!

-SpecialK220

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2. Back To Grimwauld Place

Chapter 2: Back to Grimwauld Place

“Well…” Harry thought hard, trying to come up with another excuse of why his friends should not come with him. He found that he could not. “Okay then,” he said softly. “I guess you're coming with me.”

Only seconds after he spoke these words, he pulled into a crushing hug by Hermione. “Oh, Harry,” she said, slowly letting go of him.

Harry looked at the beaming faces of his two friends standing in front of him, and slowly the corners of his mouth curled up into a smile.

***

Standing in the front doorway of Grimwauld Place, Harry felt a flood of painful memories washing over him, consuming him until it was all he could think about. His chest felt tight and his breathing grew uneven as he stood there. He had not realized that returning to Grimwauld Place would be so difficult; he had not realized how unsettled he still was over Sirius's death.

He felt Hermione slip her hand into his, giving it a small squeeze of reassurance. Suddenly he was glad his friends were there; if he could not even manage walking into an empty house without them, how could he possibly manage to hunt down the Horcruxes and take down the most evil wizard of the time?

“I'm going to go upstairs and unpack,” Harry said, breaking the silence that filled the front hall. He made his way to the rickety staircase, leaving his best friends alone. He did not want to stand there in the awkward silence, with his friends' worrying eyes watching him to see if he was all right.

Hermione nodded. “That's a good idea,” she said, and she began to follow Harry up the stairs. “Ron, are you coming?” she asked, turning around.

“Nah,” he said, shrugging. “I think I'll go in the kitchen and get something to eat.”

“Ronald, you just ate at the Burrow before we left. Honestly,” she exclaimed irritably. Ron didn't say anything back. Instead, he made his way to the kitchen, making sure to slam the door loudly behind him.

Upstairs, Harry sat on Sirius's bed, taking in his surroundings with a feeling of loss and regret. He yawned and lied back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. While the trio had only left the Burrow mere minutes earlier, to Harry, it seemed like several hours. Since their talk in Ron's room earlier that morning, they had had to pack and break the news to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley that they were leaving, an event that did not go as well as planned…

Flashback

“Mum? Dad?” Ron asked tentatively as he entered the kitchen, closely followed by Harry and Hermione. “I- err, we need to talk to you.” It was several hours after the trio's discussion in Ron's room, which had given Hermione and Ron just enough time to pack and to ensure that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would be awake.

Mrs. Weasley, who had been standing at the counter preparing breakfast, turned around. “What is it?” she asked, her voice full of concern. Mr. Weasley folded up the Daily Prophet and sat up more attentively in his chair.

Ron was silent for a few moments. “Harry, Hermione, and I are leaving. We can't tell you where we're going, but Harry needs to finish up the mission that Dumbledore started, and Hermione and I are going with him,” he said very quickly. His face grew redder and redder and he bit his bottom lip anxiously as he watched his parents' reactions.

Mrs. Weasley threw down the towel she had been holding. “You most certainly are not, Ronald Weasley,” she exclaimed angrily. “You are seventeen years old; you haven't even graduated from Hogwarts yet!”

“Molly-“ Mr. Weasley began.

“No, Arthur,” Mrs. Weasley said sternly. ”They are just children. It is the Order's job to fight against You-Know-Who, not three Hogwarts students… I'm not going to lose another one of my children in this war,” Mrs. Weasley said bitterly. “Bill almost died last month, Percy seems to be gone for good…I can't lose you too.”

“But Mum,” Ron said, his face still glowing red,”we are adults now. And this is the only way... Don't you see Mum? I can go back to Hogwarts and live my life later, but if I don't go with Harry, there may not be a later to go back to. There may not be a Hogwarts to go back to. This is the only way to stop You-Know-Who; I have to go.”

Suddenly Mr. Weasley stood up and walked over to where Ron, Harry, and Hermione were standing. “Good luck… to all of you,” he said finally, pulling his youngest son into a hug. Mrs. Weasley stood speechless.

“But Arthur-“

“Molly, I'm proud of them. They are standing up for what they believe in and not waiting around for someone else to do it for them. It is time that more people did the same, instead of sitting back and waiting. This war is not ending any time soon, and if these kids are going to take charge and lead the way, then, well… I couldn't be more proud.”

“Well, of course I'm proud of them,” Mrs. Weasley scoffed. “But- oh, alright. I don't like it, but I suppose I don't have a choice, do I? You three will just run off anyways, no matter what I say.” She pulled the three of them into a hug. “You'll write often?” she asked, tears running down her cheeks.

“Of course, Mum,” Ron replied, a smile creeping on his face.

“Then go,” Mrs. Weasley said, wiping her eyes with her apron. “Go save the world.”

***

“Where are you three going?” Ginny asked from the doorway, her arms crossed angrily over her chest.

“It doesn't concern you, Gin,” Ron said, not even looking up at his sister as he shoved his food into a bag. “Go back to bed.”

“You lot are leaving, aren't you?” she said, slowly making her way into the room. “Nice of you to invite me,” she added, bitterly.

“You can't come, Ginny,” Ron said, his voice growing more and more irritated.

“Harry, I can come, can't I?,” Ginny asked. She walked over to Harry and took his hand in hers. “Tell Ron that I'm coming with you.”

Harry sighed and pulled his hand away. “Ginny, I'm sorry, but Ron is right. You can't come with us; it's going to be too dangerous.”

“Then why do Hermione and Ron get to come with you, Harry?” Ginny whined. “I thought that I've proven to you that I can fight, Harry. I handled myself at the Ministry in my fourth year, didn't I? And ask anyone about my Bat-Bogey Hex-“

“Ginny, stop it,” Harry said. He felt his temper rise as he stared at the girl he had been dating only a couple of months earlier. “You don't know what you're up against.”

“Then why don't you tell me?” Ginny shot back. Harry didn't respond.

Harry sighed as he picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “We're leaving. I'm sorry, Ginny, but you can't come.” He walked to the door, but paused as his hand clasped the doorknob. “Goodbye, Ginny,” he said, softly. Not a single person in the room failed to notice the sense of finality in Harry's voice.

End flashback

A soft knock on the door interrupted Harry's thoughts. The door opened slightly, and Hermione stuck her head in the room. “Harry?” she said, her voice soft, her eyes full of concern. She sat in the chair by Harry's bed.

“How are you doing?” she asked, looking down at her hands.

“Fine,” Harry answered shortly. He did not really feel like talking and he could not figure out why Hermione was in his room.

Hermione was silent for several moments. Taking a deep breath, she finally spoke. “What's going on between you and Ginny?” she asked very fast.

Whatever Harry had been thinking Hermione would say, that had not been it. Startled, it took him several moments to answer. “Oh, well, I broke up with her. At Dumbledore's funeral,” he said, lacking any emotion. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed so that he was facing Hermione.

“Oh,” Hermione responded. She continued to look down at her hands, avoiding the curious look Harry was giving her. “I'm sorry.”

Harry shrugged. “But, the thing is, I feel as if I should be upset about it, like I should at least feel regretful. But I don't…” he trailed off. “I was a little sad at the beginning of the summer, but once I saw her again, especially after this morning, I don't feel anything. It makes me wonder if what we had was even true, you know? I mean, Ginny's a great girl, and she was fun to be around, but I don't think it went past that.” Hermione nodded supportively.

Harry continued, not even knowing why he was telling Hermione all of this, but at the same time, feeling relieved to get it off his chest. “I wasn't really me when I was with Ginny; I was just a normal sixteen year old boy with no evil fate, no prophecy. And Ginny…” he paused, looking thoughtful. “I really don't think she knows what I'm up against; what she'd be up against by dating me. And to tell you the truth, I don't really want to explain it to her. Does that make any sense?”

Hermione smiled and took his hand in hers. Harry felt something flicker in his chest, but as soon as it came, it was gone. “Of course it makes sense. Ginny has fancied you since before she even met you. I think to her, you were, and still are, The-Boy-Who-Lived, the hero of her dreams.”

“Yeah, that's it exactly,” Harry said, cutting Hermione off. “I want to be with someone who doesn't just see me as The-Boy-Who-Lived or The Chosen One; I want someone you sees me as Harry, just plain old Harry.”

Hermione chuckled. “You're anything but plain, Harry Potter,” she said, squeezing his hand.

Harry laughed. “What about you and Ron?” he asked, raising his eyebrows mischievously.

Hermione burst out laughing. “You had to bring up that!” she said, still laughing. “We got together at the beginning of the summer. But then he kissed me…” she trailed off.

Harry sat silently, not knowing what to say. “Oh?” he finally managed.

“Oh, Harry,” she said, still laughing. “It was like kissing my brother.”

“But you fancied him, didn't you?”

“I suppose,” Hermione answered. “But looking back, I really don't think so. I mean, I had waited for so long for someone to fancy me, and I suppose Ron just seemed…easier than waiting. I knew he fancied me, and I suppose for a while I fancied him back. I think I was being delusional,” she added with a chuckle.

“Well, okay then,” was all Harry could think of saying. He didn't know why he felt relieved that his two best friends were not dating each other; it didn't really even concern him. Yet, for some reason, at these words, Harry's mood perked up and his day seemed brighter.

***

Later that evening, the trio sat at the kitchen table; Hermione's notebook lay opened in front of them.

“I think we should do research in the morning,” Hermione explained to Harry and Ron, “and practice spells and dueling in the afternoon. That way, we will get a wide variety of training as we continue searching for the Horcruxes. And I was looking at the library and I noticed that it was full of a lot of books on very dark magic that will be helpful in our research.”

“We're not going to Hogwarts, and yet we're still getting as much work assigned to us,” grumbled Ron.

“How else do you expect to track down the Horcruxes and train for the final battle?” Hermione snapped, closing her notebook and putting the lid on her inkbottle. “We are in a war, Ronald.”

“I think it sounds like a good plan,” Harry said, standing up and taking his coffee mug over to the sink. “We'll start first thing tomorrow.” He noticed Hermione give Ron a triumphant glare, as if to say, See? Harry agrees with me.

Ron sighed and ran his fingers through his flaming red hair. “Yeah, well, okay… I suppose you're right. But we don't have to start working until tomorrow, right Hermione?” Hermione nodded her head, a small smile on her face. “Well, then. Harry, want to play a game of Exploding Snap?”

Many hours and several burnt eyebrows later, Harry stood up from the table, setting the cards on the table in defeat. “I'm going to bed,” he announced.

“You're just afraid to lose,” Ron teased.

Harry just laughed. “Nah, it's been a long day. See you tomorrow, Ron.” He made his way to the door, and after saying goodnight to Hermione who was in the living room, reading, went upstairs.

***

A blinding jet of green light flashed in front of his eyes, causing the walls of the room to glow. As quickly as the light had come, it was gone. The room was filled with shadows and darkness, the only light coming from the moon outside the window, shining into the room between the blinds.

Someone screamed from downstairs, the sound high and penetrating; a female's scream. Then the screaming stopped, and all he could hear was the ticking of the clock above the crib in which he lay. The door creaked open and he could then hear footsteps as someone came quickly into the room, careful to make as little noise as possible. The woman's breathing was raspy and uneven and she closed the door quietly. No sooner had she done so, the door swung open again, banging against the wall. He then heard the high-pitched scream again, echoing against the walls of the room.

Suddenly, two blood-red eyes appeared from the dark shadows; horrible, menacing eyes, with slits for pupils. “Stand aside, silly girl,” an evil voice said, deep and threatening. There was silence for a moment. Though he could not see, he knew the woman beside him had remained where she was, either out of bravery or out of fear. An evil laugh came from the mouth of the stranger. Then suddenly the voice rang out, “Avada Kedavra!” There was another jet of green light and he could hear a loud thump next to him; the woman had fallen to her death, her screams still echoing against the walls of the room. The evil blood-red eyes once again gleamed menacingly in the shadows. With an evil chuckle, he snarled, “We meet at last, Harry Potter...”

Harry awoke with a start. His scar seared with pain and he screamed out in agony, clutching his scar with both of his hands. Much to his surprise, the scar radiated heat beneath his fingers. His jet-black hair was drenched in sweat, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. Nightmares, like the one he just had, haunted his dreams at night, almost every night. Since Dumbledore's death, he had horrible dreams; dreams replaying the murder of his parents, dreams replaying Sirius falling again and again through the veil of death, and dreams of watching, unable to do anything, as Dumbledore was murdered. And each night, the dreams would become more vivid and more horrible and more evil.

Only moments after Harry woke up, his door was thrown open and Hermione barged in, closely followed by Ron. Harry groaned and rolled over in his bed; he hadn't wanted his friends to know about his nightmares.

“I thought you said you weren't having nightmares anymore, mate,” Ron stated as he sat down at the foot of Harry's bed.

“It's nothing,” he said, wiping the sweat off his forehead. “It's no big deal.”

“But Harry,” Ron continued, “it is a big deal. What if it's You-Know-Who again?”

“Look, Ron,” Harry said unenthusiastically, “it's nothing. I have these nightmares almost every night. Now go to back to bed.”

“Did you-“ Ron started, his voice trailing off as he noticed the exhausted look on his friend's face. Slowly, he made his way to the door, worry etched in his eyes as he looked back at Harry. “Well, goodnight then,” he said softly before leaving.

Hermione, who had been standing silently in the corner the whole time, bit her lip anxiously, as if she was trying to think of something to say. After several moments, she appeared to give up, and she left the room silently.

Harry sighed and lied back down, but sleep did not come; his mind was too full of thoughts. Having your parents murdered was one thing. Having to witness their deaths almost every night was another. Every night he had to watch yet another cruel, horrible episode of the horrors of his life. And there was absolutely nothing Harry could do about it. He would just stand there, powerless, watching the scene unfold before his eyes over and over again. In every single dream he had, whether it was about his parent's death or the night at the Ministry, the dreams would all end with the same horrid eyes, eyes so piercing, so horrible.

He laid on his back, his eyes wide open, his mind swimming with thoughts. He wondered what his dreams meant, if they even meant anything at all. Was Ron right? What if it was Voldemort, placing these images in his mind like he had done several years ago. Perhaps he was trying to frighten Harry, reminding him of the consequences of dealing with the dark wizard. Or perhaps it was completely unrelated and had nothing to do with Voldemort. Harry lied awake for the rest of the night, staring at the ceiling, not knowing that in the room next to his, his best friend was doing the same.

Author's Note: So there is chapter two…Hope you liked it. I promise it will pick up soon; I am still trying to set everything up. Next chapter, the trio will start training, there will be more about Harry's nightmares, and things between Harry and Hermione will continue to come up. They should get together in the next few chapters…We'll see :-)

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3. The Locket

Chapter 3: The Locket

He laid on his back, his eyes wide open, his mind swimming with thoughts. He wondered what his dreams meant, if they even meant anything at all. Was Ron right? What if it was Voldemort, placing these images in his mind like he had done several years ago. Perhaps he was trying to frighten Harry, reminding him of the consequences of dealing with the dark wizard. Or perhaps it was completely unrelated and had nothing to do with Voldemort. Harry lied awake for the rest of the night, staring at the ceiling, not knowing that in the room next to his, his best friend was doing the same.

***

“Harry, I think you should practice Occlumency again,” Hermione announced over breakfast the next morning. She bit her lip anxiously as she waited for his response.

Harry just shrugged, shoving a piece of toast in his mouth.

“I mean, with you having those dreams again…” Hermione said anxiously. “I think it would be good to prepare…you know, just in case.”

“Yeah, well, who's going to train me?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. “It's not like I can go back to Snape.” He said his former professor's name bitterly.

“Well…no,” Hermione said, looking down at her breakfast. “But, I've been studying Occlumency all summer and I think I know the basics. I at least know the Legiliment spell that would allow me to get inside your mind, which will make you practice blocking me out. I will not be able to teach you like Snape or Dumbledore could, but practicing would reinforce your skills and help you to block out Voldemort if need be.” Hermione said all of this very fast, her face growing redder and redder.

“Oh,” Harry said, unenthusiastically. He began buttering his toast before he looked up and saw Hermione looking at him anxiously, expecting his answer. “Well…I suppose,” Harry said, running his hand through his messy black hair. “It couldn't hurt, I reckon.”

Hermione squealed and hugged Harry tightly, almost knocking him out of his chair, before running off, muttering something about “research” and “so much to do”.

Harry looked up and noticed Ron staring at him, shaking his head slightly. “I hope you know what you're getting yourself into, mate,” Ron said, chuckling softly to himself and grabbing another slice of toast from the plate in the middle of the table.

***

“Are you ready Harry?” Hermione asked, looking up from How to Be a Master at Occlumency and Legilimency. Harry and Hermione were in the library, hours after breakfast. Harry was sitting on the ratty old couch in the library, nervously fidgeting with his wand.

“I suppose,” Harry said, dully. On the contrary, he felt anything but ready. He hadn't exactly gotten very far with Snape, and even what he had been able to master, was probably long gone from the lack of practicing. All of a sudden, Hermione's idea seemed less and less appealing. He was slowly remembering the horrible times he had with Snape, attempting to master Occlumency, with very little success.

“Okay, it says here,” Hermione said, biting her lip and pointing to a line in the book in front of her, “'to perform Occlumency, a wizard needs to completely close his mind, blocking out any feelings, memories, and thoughts. For many wizards-“

“I know all of this, Hermione,” Harry said, exasperated.

“Fine,” Hermione snapped, closing the book loudly. “Let's try it then. On the count of three, I will perform the spell and you will attempt to block me out, alright?”

“Yep,” Harry said, through gritted teeth, as he stood up and walked towards Hermione.

Hermione scowled, but continued anyway. “One…two…three…Legimens!”

Harry used all of his energy to block Hermione's spell, and at first, he thought he had succeeded. Then, all of a sudden, image after image raced through his mind…

He was seven, being beaten up by Dudley at the park as all of Dudley's friends stood around him, laughing and pointing. His glasses broke and he fell to his knees, running his hand aimlessly over the grass, feeling for them….He was looking into the Mirror of Erised, staring longingly at his parents in the reflection…He was back in the graveyard, facing Voldemort in the golden web, holding onto his wand with all of his might and watching the small bead creep closer and closer to him, Cedric Diggory only meters away, lifeless. ….In the Chamber of Secrets, scrambling around blindly to kill the basilisk, blood and sweat dripping down his face, a young Tom Riddle, laughing from behind him, and a lifeless Ginny Weasley sprawled out on the floor in front of him….Holding the Sorcerer's Stone in his pocket, as Voldemort told him to come to the Dark Side….

Harry tried with all of his might to stop the images. He didn't want Hermione to have to see all of the horrid moments of his life, the moments that haunted his dreams. But Harry found that he had no energy to block her out, and the memories continued to flash by…

He was fighting off hundreds of Dementors on the shore of the dark lake, and feeling his energy being slowly sucked away as they came nearer….He was in the Ministry of Magic, watching as Sirius fell through the veil, a surprised look etched on his face…. On the small island with Dumbledore, forcing his headmaster to keep drinking the awful potion and Dumbledore screaming in agony, the nightmarish bodies of the Inferi reflecting underneath the water's surface ….Back in the Ministry of Magic, this time being possessed by Voldemort, his scar bursting in pain beyond the imaginable, pleading Dumbledore to kill him, to end his misery…

Suddenly the images stopped and Harry found himself on the floor, sweat dripping down his face. “Oh Harry!” he could hear Hermione sob from above him. “I'm sorry. I couldn't stop, I couldn't get myself out.” Harry held up an arm and Hermione grabbed it, helping him up from the floor and to the couch. Harry felt dizzy, his mind completely exhausted.

“Harry,” Hermione said, tears dripping down her cheeks, “I never knew. I mean, I've always imagined all of those things you went through, but I never really knew how horrible they were.” She held up a cold, wet cloth to his forehead. Harry guessed that she had planned ahead, knowing that something like this would happen, and for that, Harry was grateful.

“You weren't supposed to see all of that,” Harry said, looking away from his friend. “I didn't want you to see all of that.” He took a deep breath, and feeling his energy slowly return to him, he continued. “Didn't you think that there was a reason why I never went into great detail about those things, why I didn't want you and Ron to come with me on this mission in the first place? I have seen things I do not ever want you to see, I have felt things I never want you to feel. And that's why I'm going to make sure to kill that wizard, to make sure that he never has a chance to make you see the things I've seen.”

Hermione looked at her best friend with awe. As he spoke those last words, she saw his bright green eyes harden with determination.

“Hermione, I'm scared,” he said softly. He draped his arm over the back of the couch, pulling Hermione closer to him. He couldn't help but notice how nice it felt, to just sit there with her.

“Yeah, I know,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder. “I'm scared for you too…”

“No,” he said, cutting her off. Hermione could feel his muscles tensing. “I'm not afraid of destroying the Horcruxes. I'm not afraid to face Voldemort. I'm not even afraid to die, really.

“No, I'm afraid of losing you,” he continued. “All I can think about since we've been here at Grimwauld Place, since we've begun this mission, is that I might lose you.”

“I can't promise you we'll be okay, Harry,” Hermione said gently. “But I don't think you have anything to worry about. Ron and I…we will be fine, Harry. Just fine…”

“I just don't know what I would do without you, Hermione,” Harry said, staring across the room, his eyes dark with determination, and his muscles tense with worry.

***

“How much longer are we going to have to research, Hermione?” Ron whined, as he picked up another book from the stack on the floor. The trio was looking through any book of dark magic, in search of information that would help them find the Horcruxes.

Hermione sighed. “Until you actually find something useful, Ron.” Ron had been driving her crazy all morning, interrupting her research to read her a passage from a completely irrelevant book. “No matter how interesting you find the confusion spell or the history of brooms to be, they won't help us find the Horcruxes.” Ron scowled and continued reading.

Moments passed by and Harry got up from the table and wandered around the room aimlessly, his mind growing restless from the amount of researching he had been doing. He paused in front of the tapestry on the wall, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black: “Toujours Pur” written across the top. Harry stared at the family tree, mindlessly reading the names along the lower branches.

His eyes fell upon one branch of the tree, making out a small smudge next to the name Regulus Black, where Sirius's name would have been. Suddenly, Harry felt as if the world had stopped, as if everything had been put on hold. His body went completely still and his breathing grew uneven and rapid.

A memory suddenly became clear in Harry's mind, a memory he had not thought of in two years, a memory pushed to the back of his head…

“My parents thought Regulus was a right little hero for joining up at first…he was murdered by Voldemort. Or on Voldemort's orders, more likely, I doubt Regulus was ever important enough to be killed by Voldemort in person…you don't just hand in you resignation to Voldemort. It's a lifetime of service or death…”

Harry quickly left the room, not responding to Hermione or Ron as they called after him, asking him where he was going. He made his way to his bedroom, and dug around in his trunk, spewing clothes and books all over the room, in an attempt to find what he was looking for.

“Harry,” he heard Ron ask from the doorway, “what in the bloody hell is going on?”

Harry didn't answer. Finally, he found what he was looking for, and he grabbed it triumphantly, a wide smile across his face.

“Harry?” Hermione asked, tilted her head to one side in confusion.

“Listen,” Harry instructed excitedly, as he unfolded the piece of paper in his hand. Hardly able to control his excitement, he began to read to his friends what was written on the paper.

“To the Dark Lord, I know I will be dead long before you read this but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret, I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more. R.A.B.”

“Regulus Black,” Harry whispered.

Hermione and Ron were quiet for several moments as they tried to figure out what Harry was saying.

Ron's mouth suddenly dropped open. “Blimey,” he said, shaking his head slightly.

“You know,” Hermione began, “we found a locket here at Grimwauld Place two summers ago, remember? No one could open it…What if R.A.B. never destroyed it?”

“What if he was killed by Voldemort before he could do so…” Harry added, thinking back to the memory he thought of back in the drawing room.

“But we threw it in the rubbish sack, didn't we? With all of the other junk we found” Hermione asked. Harry felt his heart drop. They had been so close… Harry could not believe how stupid he had been. The locket had been right in front of him, yet now it was gone.

“Yeah…,” Ron said slowly, “but Kreacher was stealing things from out rubbish sack all summer. Could he have kept it?”

“Ronald, you're brilliant!” Hermione squealed, grabbing him into a tight hug. Harry felt a wave of jealously pass through him, though he didn't have the slightest clue as to why.

“He slept under the boiler in the cupboard off of the kitchen, didn't he?” Hermione asked, remembering their visit to Kreacher's “room” over Christmas. Harry nodded.

The trio made their way to the kitchen, pausing outside of the cupboard.

When Harry opened the cupboard door, he noticed that the “room” still looked identical to how it had been several years ago. He noted that Hermione's quilt that she had given to him for Christmas was still folded and was sitting on top of a pile of Kreacher's “treasures”, looking very much unused. He made a mental note never to mention that detail to Hermione.

He bent down and began pawing through an assortment of coins, jewels, and photographs. Then he saw it. Nestled in a pile of filthy rags was a golden locket. Triumphantly he snatched it, instantly feeling a rush of magic flow through his fingers. Crawling out of the cupboard, he held the locket up to the light, smiling as he made out an “S” engraved on the front.

“This is it,” he said smiling. He looked up and saw Hermione and Ron staring at it, identical looks of excitement written across their faces. That was the last thing Harry could remember before everything going black.

Author's Note: Well, there is chapter three… A bit shorter than the rest, but oh well. Please review!

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4. Unlocking the Secret

Chapter Four: Unlocking the Secret

He bent down and began pawing through an assortment of coins, jewels, and photographs. Then he saw it. Nestled in a pile of filthy rags was a golden locket. Triumphantly he snatched it, instantly feeling a rush of magic flow through his fingers. Crawling out of the cupboard, he held the locket up to the light, smiling as he made out an “S” engraved on the front.

“This is it,” he said smiling. He looked up and saw Hermione and Ron staring at it, identical looks of excitement written across their faces. That was the last thing Harry could remember before everything going black.

***

Harry could make out voices around him as he slowly regained consciousness.

“Ronald, Harry is lying in bed unconscious from that bloody Horcrux- now is not the time to be asking me things like that,” he could hear Hermione exclaim from somewhere next to him.

“Blimey… I didn't think it would get you so worked up. I was just curious about how you felt about-“

He groaned softly as he tried to move; his body felt as if it was made of lead.

“Harry!” he could hear Hermione gasp from beside him. He slowly opened his eyes, groaning at the bright sunlight. He blinked furiously and finally, as his eyes adjusted, he could see Hermione, leaning over him, her eyes full of worry.

“Are you okay, mate?” Ron asked as he walked over to Harry's other side and sat on the edge of the bed. Harry wondered when he was even put in the bed. The last thing he remembered was finding the locket, and then passing out.

“What kind of question is that?” Harry managed to croak. “How long have I been out?” he added.

“Since yesterday,” Hermione responded grimly. “Oh Harry, we were so worried!”

“What happened?” he asked.

“It was so frightening,” Hermione said, running her fingers softly through his hair. He shuddered underneath her touch. “You were showing Ron and me the locket, and then suddenly, your eyes grew dark, almost black. Then you fell to the ground and started convulsing.”

“Nearly gave Hermione here a heart attack,” Ron added, chuckling. His tone suddenly turned serious. “No, but really, Harry,” he said. “It was as if the bloody thing possessed you. You looked as someone had Crucioed you.” He shuddered at the memory.

“Oh, Harry,” Ron added suddenly. “Tonks and Remus are here at Grimwauld Place with us. After you passed out…well, we didn't know what to do. I mean, I know you wanted to keep this a secret, but…”

“Ron,” Harry said, interrupting his friend. “It's fine, don't worry about it. I trust Remus and Tonks.”

Hermione and Ron both looked relieved.

“So, why did that happen? Why did the locket have such an effect on me?” Harry asked, feeling curious.

Hermione shook her head. “I don't know,” she said softly. “I just don't know…”

***

“Harry?” Remus asked, peering tentatively into the sitting room the following evening. He saw his former student sitting on the couch with Crookshanks curled up in his lap, peacefully dozing.

Harry looked up from the book he was reading, Extremely Dangerous and Powerful Dark Magic, and, seeing Remus standing in the doorway, quickly snapped the book shut, careful to cover the title with his arm. “What is it, Remus?” he asked.

Remus slowly walked into the room and took a seat in the chair facing Harry. After several long, awkward moments, he finally spoke. “Harry, listen… Tonks and I…we're worried for you, for all three of you. We need to know what you three are doing, what you and Dumbledore were doing before he died…”

“I can't tell you,” Harry said blankly, mindlessly scratching Crookshanks behind the ear, causing the cat to purr loudly.

“Harry, this is important!” Remus said, his voice loudly this time, almost desperate. Harry just shrugged.

“I received a frantic owl from Hermione several days ago, telling me that I needed to come here as quickly as possible, that you were hurt. There was no explanation about why you were hurt, or even why you three are here in the first place. I wasn't aware that you three had even left the Burrow, since there was a full moon last week. Tonks and I…we're here to help you, Harry. But we need to know what you're up to if we're going to help.”

“I'm sorry, Remus,” Harry said, finally looking up at Remus. “Dumbledore told me to keep what we were doing a secret, he told me not to tell anyone, besides Hermione and Ron. And he told me to continue following his instructions no matter what, even if he died. I intend to keep that promise. I'm sorry, Remus, it's just what I have to do.”

Remus nodded. His face looked slightly disappointed. “Just, can you let me know one thing, Harry? What you're doing, what you and Dumbledore were doing…it's to defeat Voldemort…right?”

“Yes, Remus,” Harry answered grimly. “We're doing our part to put an end to Voldemort, to fight him…and to kill him.”

“But Harry,” Remus said anxiously, “that's why we started the Order. We began it so young wizards, wizards like you, don't have to be a part of such a war. It's the Order's job to stop Voldemort, Harry…not yours.”

“You see, Remus,” Harry said, standing up, knocking an irritated Crookshanks to the floor, “that's where you're wrong. This is my job to stop Voldemort…it's been my job since I was a year old when he killed my parents. And I'm doing it not because I have to, or because I'm destined to…but because I want to, because I need to. I can't just sit back and wait for someone else to try to stop him, because I won't be able to rest until I personally watch him die.” Harry stopped talking and took a deep breath. Only then did he realize how uneven his breathing was, how tense his body was, how tightly his hands were clenched into tight fists.

Without speaking, Remus stood up and walked towards Harry. “I don't like what you're doing, but…I understand why you're doing it. I know I can't help you in the way I originally wanted to help, but…would you allow me and Tonks to give you a few dueling pointers, perhaps give you and Ron and Hermione lessons to prepare you?”

Harry smiled. “I'd greatly appreciate it, Remus,” he said.

Remus turned to leave the room, but then paused. “Your parents would be very proud of the man you have grown to be, Harry,” he said softly.

Those words stuck in Harry's mind the rest of the night, swimming through his brain and allowing him his first peaceful night in weeks.

***

“Ron, get up,” Harry hissed in his friend's ear early the next morning.

“Gimmefivemoreminutes…,” Ron mumbled, pulling his pillow tightly to his ears.

Harry snatched the pillow from his friend and whacked him repeatedly. “Get up now, Ron. Hermione's already downstairs eating breakfast.”

“I don't see why we have to train so early in the morning,” Ron grumbled as he rolled out of bed.

Harry just chuckled as he left the room to go downstairs. From the hall, he called out, “And no getting back into bed, either.”

A half an hour later, the trio, along with Remus and Tonks, stood in the drawing room, the furniture pushed to the sides of the room to give them more space to duel.

“Alright,” Remus said, pulling his wand out of his pocket. “I'll work with Hermione and Ron during the first part, and Tonks will work with Harry, okay?”

Harry nodded and followed Tonks to the other side of the room. “Wotcher, Harry,” she said, turning and facing him, her wand grasped firmly in her hand. So, Remus tells me that you're a master at Defense against the Dark Arts, and from what I saw of you at Ministry a couple of years ago, I'd have to agree with him.”

Harry smiled, and felt his face grow warm. “Well, let's see what you got,” she said, smiling as she raised her wand, drawing it level with Harry's chest.

They began to duel, Harry spending most of his time dodging Tonk's spells. Despite her clumsy nature, Harry soon discovered that Tonks was a quick and coordinated dueler. He shot off any spell that he could think of, from the disarming spell to the tickling charm.

After the two were too exhausted to continue, the stopped dueling, both collapsing ungracefully into the chairs at the side of the room.

“Pretty good,” Tonks said, her breathing heavy and uneven. Slowly her breathing returned to normal and she continued speaking. “One major thing, however,” she said,” is that you need to learn how to use nonverbal spells.”

Harry groaned, remembering the night only a couple months earlier, as he tried to fight Snape, only to be ridiculed and put down for not using nonverbal spells. If only he had managed it then…perhaps, he would have been able to prevent Snape's escape…

“…and, if you work hard enough, perhaps we can work on wandless magic.”

Harry looked up, realizing that Tonks was still talking. Embarrassed, and hoping that Tonks hadn't realized that he hadn't been listening, he asked casually, “Wandless magic, eh?”

“Well, of course it's darn near impossible to do,” Tonks answered. “Dumbledore could do it at times,” she added.

Harry nodded. He remembered seeing Dumbledore use it at the Ministry of Magic during his fifth year.

“And, well, I'm almost certain that Voldemort has mastered that skill,” she added dryly. “Of course, don't be disappointed if you can't do it, I haven't really met anyone besides those two that can actually do magic without a wand, and even Dumbledore could only do it at select times.”

“Well, let's get practicing,” Tonks said, standing up and pulling her wand out from her pocket. Harry stood up as well. Confused, he watched her pick a book from the bookshelf behind her and set the book on the floor. “Move the book without saying anything,” she said simply.

Harry spent nearly an hour, staring at the book with complete concentration, yet the book did not move. Running the charm through his mind over and over again, he tried with all of his might to move the book. Harry felt his frustration grow as each moment passed. Perhaps he was as “dimwitted” as Snape believed him to be; he couldn't even move a book without physically speaking the charm.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. “Harry,” he heard Tonks say. “We'll try this again tomorrow. Don't worry about it. It took me years before I could do it…Almost failed my N.E.W.T.s because of it,” she added, chuckling. “Enough for today. Go eat lunch with Hermione and Ron; they're already down there.”

***

Harry retreated to his room after dinner that evening, feeling depressed and pessimistic. He locked his door and lay on his bed, twirling his wand between his fingers as he ran through the day's experiences in his head. The nonverbal spells were a disaster. How did he expect to be able to stand a chance against Voldemort if he couldn't even master that? He turned to his side, spotting the golden locket resting on his bedside table. The trio had decided to leave the locket alone, and especially not to touch it, for the time being, until they figured out what to do with it.

Yet every day that went by that Harry didn't destroy the Horcrux inside the locket, or find another Horcrux, made Harry feel defeated. The longer Harry waited, the stronger Voldemort grew, the more followers he received and the more terror he spread.

Exhausted from the day's experiences, Harry closed his eyes and fell into an uneasy sleep.

“Potter,” Lord Voldemort hissed, appearing to Harry from the shadows. “We meet once more. It's quite funny, our little encounters, wouldn't you say? Still, each time, you still manage to slip out of my fingers, but not today, Potter. Today I have you right where I want you…”

Harry suddenly pulled out his wand, and pointing it towards Voldemort, he yelled, “Expelliarmus!” Voldemort, however, did not even blink as he threw off the curse with a flick of his wand, as if he was flicking off a small bug.

“Sectumsempra!” Harry tried again, hoping against hope that it would hit him, throwing him off at least for a second to give Harry enough of a chance to run.

Yet once again, Voldemort just shrugged off the curse, laughing in spite of Harry. “Silly boy,” he hissed. “You are a mere child. You'll never be a match for me…”

Suddenly, Voldemort snapped his fingers and Sirius appeared in front of him, then Cedric, and then Dumbledore. Then, as quickly as they appeared, Voldemort killed each of them in turn.

Then other people appeared, people that Voldemort hadn't killed yet: Remus, Tonks, Ginny, Ron…each appearing just for a second, before Voldemort shouted the killing curse on each of them, laughing at Harry's cries of protest. He could feel tears running down his cheeks. He couldn't handle it anymore. What had he been thinking, that he, a “mere child” as Voldemort called him, could stand a chance against the strongest, darkest wizard of all time.

Wiping his eyes angrily, Harry looked up and saw, to his horror, Hermione standing in front of him, terror etched across her face.

“Hermione!” he cried out, his eyes wide with shock, dread, and fear.

“You feel a rather attachment to this one, don't you Potter,” Voldemort said, chuckling. “The filthy mudblood,” he spat.

“Avada Kedavra!” Voldemort shouted, pointing his wand at the girl in front of him, and laughing again as he watched her body crumble to the ground.

“Nooooooo!”

***

“Harry?!”

“Harry, wake up!”

Harry slowly opened his eyes, suddenly aware that he was drenched in sweat, his heart pounding so uncontrollably, that he thought it would burst. “Harry, are you okay?” Hermione asked, soothingly. Harry realized that she was sitting on the edge of his bed. He shook his head no, unable to say anything, in fear that he would vomit.

Finding his voice, Harry croaked, “I'm sorry I woke you.” Hermione just smiled and shook her head, as if tell him not to worry about it.

“I don't even think Ron woke up,” she said, smiling. Suddenly her smile disappeared and her face was serious. “Was it another one of those dreams?” she asked, her voice businesslike and formal.

Harry shook his head. “It was different than the other ones…more horrible,” he said, running his fingers through his hair, which was still damp with sweat.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Hermione asked.

Harry was silent. He had no idea if he wanted to talk about it with Hermione. Quite honestly, he wanted to talk about it with someone, to help him sort out what the dream meant…and Hermione had always been the best person to talk to about such things. Yet, on the other hand, he didn't know how to tell her that the reason it was so horrible was that he saw her dead.

He had no idea why Hermione's murder in the dream affected him so much; when he saw her in front of him, he felt so much dread in the pit of stomach, far more than he had even felt when he saw Ginny, or even Ron, his best friend. And that single fact scared Harry the most, that in the past few weeks, Hermione had become so important to him, so special to him…

“Harry?” Hermione asked, snapping Harry out of his thoughts. “Do you want to talk about it?” she repeated.

“I don't know,” Harry admitted, looking down at his hands. “I suppose I do,” he added softly.

Hermione nodded, gesturing for him to begin. Harry wouldn't have been surprised if she had pulled out a clipboard and began taking notes, like the Muggle psychiatrists he had seen on the television at the Dursley's.

Harry explained his dream, pausing just before he reached the part of Hermione appearing. He was suddenly lost for words, unable to describe the rest of the dream.

“And then…” he finally said slowly. “You appeared.”

Hermione bit her lip anxiously and nodded for him to continue.

“God, Hermione,” he said, standing up suddenly. “I…I…” He found that he simply could not go on any farther. He couldn't explain to his best friend why her death affected him so much, he couldn't bear to even think of her dying.

Harry stood facing the wall, his back towards Hermione who was still sitting anxiously on his bed. “Harry, what is it?” she asked softly, her voice encouraging and comforting. She slowly stood up and walked towards her best friend.

Harry slowly turned around and nervously stuck his hands into his pockets. He didn't say anything for several minutes; he simply stared deep into her eyes, his gaze penetrating. “The thing is, Hermione,” he said slowly, his voice barely above a whisper. Suddenly, as he looked at the girl in front of him, he mustered the strength and courage to go on. “When you appeared in my dream, it was the most horrible feeling imaginable- I can't even describe it. It was horrible watching Ron and Ginny and…everyone else be murdered right in front of me, yet…I don't know…seeing you standing there, knowing that you were going to die any second, was just…”

Not knowing what possessed him to do so, he slowly leaned forward and pressed his lips softly to Hermione's.

As soon as his lips touched hers, a burst of light and magic shot from Harry's scar. The two of them shielded their eyes from the intense light that had filled the room, their mouths open wide with shock as they watched papers on the desk rustle as if a gust of wind suddenly entered the room. The windows shattered and books fell from the shelf like heavy drops of rain.

Moments later, the light slowly faded, as did the wind and the magical energy. Harry clutched his hand to his aching scar, and fell to his knees in pain.

Hermione stared in disbelief around the room, amazed at how much destruction had just taken place. Before she could even process what had just happened, she heard the door creak open. She turned around and saw Ron standing in the doorway, his mouth hanging wide open in shock.

“Bloody hell,” he managed to croak.

Author's Note: Sorry chapter 4 took so long; this chapter, for some reason, was really hard to write. I think the next few chapters will be easier, so expect another post sometime soon. Hope you liked it and please review!!!

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5. The Power He Knows Not

Chapter 5: The Power He Knows Not

Not knowing what possessed him to do so, he slowly leaned forward and pressed his lips softly to Hermione's.

As soon as his lips touched hers, a burst of light and magic shot from Harry's scar. The two of them shielded their eyes from the intense light that had filled the room, their mouths open wide with shock as they watched papers on the desk rustle as if a gust of wind suddenly entered the room. The windows shattered and books fell from the shelf like heavy drops of rain.

Moments later, the light slowly faded, as did the wind and the magical energy. Harry clutched his hand to his aching scar, and fell to his knees in pain.

Hermione stared in disbelief around the room, amazed at how much destruction had just taken place. Before she could even process what had just happened, she heard the door creak open. She turned around and saw Ron standing in the doorway, his mouth hanging wide open in shock.

“Bloody hell,” he managed to croak.

***

“Ron!” Hermione cried out. “Go get Remus or Tonks!”

“What the bloody hell happened to your room? And what's wrong with Harry?” Ron asked, still standing in the doorway.

“Ronald! Quickly!” Hermione shouted as she scurried over to where Harry was kneeling, clutching his scar with his hand. Ron, finally listening to Hermione, ran out of the room, yelling for Remus or Tonks at the top of his lungs. On any other occasion, Hermione would have scolded him, telling him that she could have simply yelled for them, but now, she was too focused on Harry to care.

She slowly helped Harry to his feet and was helping him lie down on the bed when Ron came rushing back into the room, out of breath, with Remus and Tonks at his heels.

Noticing Harry, Remus rushed over to the bed. Harry was shaking, his face pale, his body tense. Hermione noticed that his scar was stark white, practically glowing across his forehead. His fists were clenched so hard that his knuckles were turning white; his eyes were closed tightly in obvious pain. Remus sat down on the edge of the bed, and slowly brought his hand to Harry's scar. The scar was scorching hot, and Remus winced and quickly drew his hand away. “Hermione, go get me a cold, wet, cloth,” he instructed, not even looking at Hermione as he asked; instead, he stared intently down at Harry, his eyes filled with concern.

Much to everyone's relief, a few minutes after Hermione brought back the cold cloth, Harry's scar slowly began to cool down, gradually fading back to its normal color. Harry visibly relaxed; his hands fell limply to his sides and he drifted off into a deep sleep.

“He's fine,” Remus announced. He sighed with relief and finally looked up from Harry. Hermione noticed his jaw slowly drop as he took in the destruction around him. Up until that point, Remus had not paid any attention to his surroundings, focusing solely on Harry.

He gestured for everyone to follow him out of the room, allowing them to talk without disturbing Harry.

Giving one last glance at Harry, Hermione followed everyone else into the hall, dreading the conversation they would be having out there. She knew that everyone was extremely curious about what had happened: why Harry was hurt, why the room was completely destroyed.

“Hermione, what happened?” Remus asked, staring at Hermione so intensely that Hermione shuddered.

“I…I…err,” Hermione stammered. She had yet to sort out in her mind what happened, much less explain it to anyone else.

“Hermione, please,” Ron said, coming up next to her, placing his hand comforting on her shoulder.

“Well…” Hermione began. She looked desperately at the closed door of Harry's room, as if hoping that Harry would suddenly come out to explain everything himself. How was she supposed to explain what had happened? She hadn't a clue herself. “Harry had a nightmare,” she said slowly, “and I came in here to wake him up and help him get back to sleep…”

“Harry's having nightmares again?” Remus interrupted, stealing a quick, concerned glance at Harry's door.

Hermione nodded before continuing. “Well, this one was really terrible. He was fighting Voldemort, and losing quite badly. It seemed that every curse or spell was useless against Voldemort and there was nothing Harry could do to beat him…”

Remus nodded and gestured for her to continue.

“And then Voldemort began making people appear in front of Harry, everyone who Harry really cares about…before Voldemort killed each of them in turn.” Hermione choked back a sob as she finished retelling Harry's dream. She failed to mention to the others that she had been the final person that had appeared in front of Harry, that she was what had caused Harry the most pain and fear during the dream.

“But how did the room get like that?” Ron asked, confused.

Hermione hesitated. She didn't want to tell everyone about what had happened between her and Harry. She didn't want to announce that Harry had kissed her; she still wasn't sure what it even meant…

“I…I don't know,” she lied, looking down at her hands in embarrassment. “I don't know why it happened.”

***

“I'm still sore from yesterday's training,” grumbled Ron the next morning. Everyone was in the drawing room the following afternoon for another training session. Harry stood silent in the corner, looking sullen with his arms folded tightly across his chest. He was still feeling quite discouraged by his lack of ability from the previous morning and somehow, he knew that today wouldn't be any different.

“Don't worry, Harry. We'll go easy on you today,” Remus said, misinterpreting Harry's sullen mood. In reality, Harry felt quite fine. He had slept in late, and had woken up perfectly fine, despite a dull ache in his scar. “I'll work with Harry today, and Tonks will take Hermione and Ron,” suggested Remus.

Everyone nodded and split up into their assigned groups. Harry slowly made his way to the other side of the room to where Remus was magically arranging the furniture against the walls.

“I don't see why we're even bothering,” Harry said bitterly. “You saw how I was yesterday.”

“Let's just see what happens,” Remus said, a smile creeping to his face. He waved his wand, muttering a charm, and a chair scooted towards them, stopping just before it reached Harry. “Okay, move the chair, nonverbally of course.”

Harry sighed but began to focus his thoughts on moving the chair. After several uneventful moments, Harry began to grow even more irritated. “I told you,” he said bitterly to Remus, “I just can't do-“ He cut off, his eyes suddenly drawn across the room to where Tonks was dueling Hermione. He had no clue why, but his eyes felt glued to Hermione, and he found himself unable to pry his eyes away.

“Harry?” he heard Remus ask, snapping Harry out of his daze.

Still looking at Hermione, he snapped bitterly, “I can't move the bloody book!” as he waved his arm in exasperation.

“Harry!” Remus exclaimed.

Startled, he looked away from Hermione and looked down, just as a bright light burst from the ends of his fingers and connected with the chair, causing the chair to fly across the room and crash against the wall near where Hermione and Ron were training.

“Bloody hell, Harry,” Ron exclaimed, giving Harry a dirty look from across the room. “You could have warned me before you sent that chair flying at me. You nearly hit me.”

But Harry paid him no attention. He looked at his fingers in awe. “What just happened, Remus?” he asked, incredulous.

Remus gave a small chuckle before shaking his head.

***

“We need to talk, Harry,” Hermione announced as she entered Harry's room later that evening.

“Yeah, we do,” he said softly, as he got up from his desk and walked over to his bed and sat down. He gestured for Hermione to do the same.

They sat there in silence for several moments, neither knowing what exactly to say. Truthfully, Hermione and the kiss had been swimming through his mind all day, and he still didn't know what exactly to make of it. He had never really thought of Hermione in that way…but then why did he kiss her? And why did it feel so…right? Of course, it had only lasted mere seconds, before the room exploded, but still…

“I honestly have no idea what to say,” Harry said nervously. Beside him, Hermione nodded.

“I mean, I didn't really even mean to kiss you,” he admitted. “But then…it just happened.”

“Oh,” Hermione said softly. “It was a mistake…I understand.”

“What?” Harry said, confused. He then realized that he would have to be more careful with what he said; he didn't want to screw up his entire friendship because something he said was taken the wrong way. “No,” Harry said firmly. “A mistake is something that…well, if you could take it back, you would…this was more of a surprise. A good surprise,” he added.

“Hermione,” he said, turning to face her. “I honestly don't know what possessed me to kiss you right then, but it made me realize something.”

“The thing is, Hermione,” he said slowly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I think I'm in love with you. I think I probably always have been, I've been too stupid to realize it all of these years. And that scares me so much. I know I shouldn't love you, I know that this will only put you in more danger…But Hermione,” he said, gently lifting her chin with his hand, “I'm too darn selfish to care anymore. I need you—I love you.”

Tears welled up in Hermione's eyes and her lips slowly curved into a smile. “Oh, Harry,” she said, biting her lip. “You don't know how long I have waited to hear you say that. But then you said it was a mistake…oh Harry,” she said, wrapping her arms tightly around his shoulders, “I love you too.”

At these words, Harry smiled, his green eyes twinkling with happiness. So this is what it feels like, he thought happily to himself, to truly love and be loved. The feeling and connection he shared with Hermione, the wholesome love and devotion he felt towards her, made him realize how little he shared with Ginny and Cho. Both girls were pretty, but Harry was suddenly sure that his relationship with both of them was never beyond lust, beyond a silly crush.

Leaning forward to kiss her, Harry noticed that the door was open. Not wanting Ron or anyone else to walk in right then, he muttered a spell and the door slammed shut and locked with a soft click. And then he kissed her, and for the first time in his life, Harry felt truly happy.

After several moments, Hermione suddenly broke away, her eyes darting back and forth between the closed door and Harry. “Harry,” she whispered, her lips curling into a smile, “your wand.”

“What?” Harry asked, bewildered.

“Your wand,” Hermione repeated, pointing to Harry's wand, which lay on his desk on the other side of the room. “You just did wandless magic, Harry!” She squealed and grabbed him, pulling him into a tight hug.

All of a sudden, something clicked inside Harry's mind, and a memory flashed before his eyes.

“THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD APPROACHES…

…AND THE DARK LORD WILL MARK HIM AS HIS EQUAL, BUT HE WILL HAVE POWER THE DARK LORD KNOWS NOT…”

He snatched Hermione's hand, dragging her out of the room after him. “Harry-“ she squealed, completely taken aback at what was going on.

“Remus! Remus!” Harry shouted, scurrying down the stairs and rushing into the kitchen where he found Remus and Ron sitting at the table, playing chess, Tonks sitting beside them, watching. “Remus!”

“Harry, what is it?” Remus asked, looking slightly bemused.

“I've figured it out. I know what happened last night, I know why I could move the book nonverbally and wandless during my training. I've figured it out,” Harry said, hurriedly.

“Well, what is it, mate?” Ron asked impatiently.

“It's because of the prophecy,” he said simply.

“The prophecy?” Tonks repeated, biting her lip, as if trying to think very hard. Her eyes looked upwards in concentration. “Are you talking about the prophecy from the Ministry two years ago?”

Harry nodded.

“But…wasn't the prophecy destroyed?” Tonks said, obviously confused. She looked at Remus, a perplexed expression written across her face. Remus didn't say anything; instead, he continued staring down at Harry.

“You heard it, didn't you? You know what it said,” Remus said softly.

“Dumbledore was there when the prophecy was made. He told me what it said that night in his office,” he said dully, shuddering at the memory of that night

“What did it say?” Tonks said, hardly able to control her excitement.

“It said that I was the one with the power to defeat Voldemort and that neither of us can live while the other survives. That he will mark me as his equal, but that I will have power that he doesn't know of,” Harry said dully, as if he was simply reciting the words that had gone through his mind so many times during the last couple of years.

“That power is love,” he added, looking up at Hermione, who blushed and looked down at her hands.

“What?” Ron and Tonks asked in unison, apparently confused.

“The prophecy said that I will have a power that Voldemort doesn't know of…or, as Dumbledore believed, a power that Voldemort simply underestimates. It's love; it's that simple. That night at Godric's Hollow, Voldemort tried to kill me, but my mother's love kept me alive. Voldemort should have realized then that love was a powerful form of magic. But even now, he casts it aside, believing it to be worthless, because all of his life, he has never loved anyone and has never been loved by anyone.”

“You're not making any sense, mate,” Ron said blankly.

“If you'd listen,” Hermione snapped angrily.

“Well, last night…” Harry continued, ignoring Ron and Hermione. He was dreading explaining the next part. This was hardly how Harry pictured he would be telling his best mate that he kissed their best friend; he had no idea how Ron would react. He knew that Ron and Hermione were over, but still…

“After Hermione came into my room, we talked,” Harry said slowly.

“We know this already,” Ron said in a bored tone, causing Hermione to glare at him.

“I kissed her,” Harry said quickly, looking away from Ron.

“You what?!” Ron exclaimed, suddenly looking very interested.

Ignoring Ron's reaction, Harry continued. “I- I love her,” he said, glancing at Hermione with a small smile. “And that's why I can suddenly do wandless, nonverbal magic,” he concluded. “As soon as I realized that I loved her…it was as if I was granted these special powers, powers that came solely from love.”

“But Harry,” Remus cut in. “You did it once. That hardly means that…”

“He did it again,” Hermione interrupted, grabbing Harry's hand and giving it an affectionate squeeze, “just now… upstairs.”

Remus smiled and stood up to give Harry a pat on the shoulder. “Well done,” he said, his voice filled with pride. “Well done.”

“I can't believe you can do wandless magic,” Tonks exclaimed. “Honestly Potter, is there anything you can't do?” she joked.

At those words, however, Ron angrily pushed back his chair and stormed out of the kitchen, leaving everyone else completely shocked and confused.

Author's Note:

Well, that's chapter 5. Hope you liked it- please review!!!

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6. The Quest Continues

Chapter 6: The Quest Continues

“I- I love her,” he said, glancing at Hermione with a small smile. “And that's why I can suddenly do wandless, nonverbal magic,” he concluded. “As soon as I realized that I loved her…it was as if I was granted these special powers, powers that came solely from love.”

“But Harry,” Remus cut in. “You did it once. That hardly means that…”

“He did it again,” Hermione interrupted, grabbing Harry's hand and giving it an affectionate squeeze, “just now… upstairs.”

Remus smiled and stood up to give Harry a pat on the shoulder. “Well done,” he said, his voice filled with pride. “Well done.”

“I can't believe you can do wandless magic,” Tonks exclaimed. “Honestly Potter, is there anything you can't do?” she joked.

At those words, however, Ron angrily pushed back his chair and stormed out of the kitchen, leaving everyone else completely shocked and confused.

***

“Ron, let us in,” Hermione said a few minutes later, as she knocked loudly on Ron's bedroom door. “We need to talk.” There was silence; Harry and Hermione looked grimly at one another.

“C'mon mate,” Harry said loudly, banging his fist against the doorframe. “Let us in. We'll stay out here all night if we have to, Ron, and you know-“

Suddenly the door opened and Ron appeared in the doorway. “I swear, you two are the most bloody annoying people I've met. Never let up, do you?” he grumbled.

The trio stood there awkwardly for several minutes, none of them saying a word. Finally, Hermione spoke up. “Ron, can we please talk about this?”

“What's there to talk about?” Ron asked, throwing his arms up in the air in exasperation. “That my two best friends are snogging behind my back?”

“Would you rather we did it in front of you?” Harry joked, but he fell silent after Hermione gave him a sharp look.

“Ron, listen,” Hermione said gently, turning her attention back towards Ron. “We didn't do it to exclude you or hurt you…it just happened. This has nothing to do with you.”

Ron snorted and looked away.

“You and I aren't even together!” Hermione exclaimed, growing more and more frustrated. “Didn't we decide mere weeks ago that there was nothing going on between us, that there never will be?”

Ron didn't say a word. He just sat there, staring across the room, crossly.

“Ron,” Hermione said, her voice becoming bossy, as if she was speaking to a small child. “You had all of last year to ask me out, but you didn't; instead, you were too busy shoving your tongue down Lavender's throat. You lost your chance, and, as we realized at the beginning of the summer, what we thought was there, just isn't any more. Harry and I are together now and you have to accept that.”

She looked tentatively at Ron, hoping that he wasn't even angrier at her, but Ron remained perfectly still, not saying a word.

“What is this really about, Ron?” Harry asked suddenly, startling both Hermione and Ron. They had forgotten he was even in the room.

“What do you mean?” Ron said, finally turning to look at him.

“What I mean is, I don't think this has anything to do with me and Hermione being together,” Harry said defiantly. “So what is this really about?”

There was a long silence before Ron finally exploded. “God, Harry, isn't it obvious?!”

Harry looked at his friend in confusion.

“You have everything, Harry!” Ron exclaimed, throwing his arms up in exasperation. “Ever since first year, it's always been about you, hasn't it? You've been `The Boy Who Lived', `The Chosen One', while all I've ever been is Ron, Harry Potter's sidekick.”

“Oh, Ron,” Harry said, “you know it's not like that-“

“But it is, Harry!” Ron said, practically shouting. “You're the star Quidditch player, the youngest seeker in a century; you're the one who won the Triwizard Tournament, who faced dragons and merepeople; you're the one who everyone looked up to during the D.A. You have the fame, the money, and now you have Hermione…”

“Hermione's not some prize, some token,” Harry said, feeling his temper rise. “We've had this conversation before, Ron. I do not want the fame; I do not want the money. I just want to be an average seventeen-year-old wizard; someone who only has to worry about not failing his N.E.W.T.s, not failing the entire Wizarding world. And when I finally find something, someone, that makes me feel happy, that makes me feel normal, you don't want to let me.”

“It's not like that…” Ron said, sheepishly. “I reckon I'm just jealous…okay, incredibly jealous…It's just, you always get your way, don't you?”

“Get my way?” Harry exclaimed. “When have I ever gotten my way? Was it when my parents were killed, forcing me to live in that bloody cupboard underneath the stairs at my aunt's house? Or when I finally met my godfather, only to have him taken away from me as well? Or when the entire Wizarding World is against me because the Ministry was too stupid to realize that I was telling the truth about Voldemort all along? Or-“

“Okay, I get it,” Ron said, holding up his hand for Harry to stop. “I get it,” he repeated, slightly softer, looking down at his hands in embarrassment.

“It's just…you two won't leave me out in the cold?” Ron asked.

“Of course not. Hermione may be my girlfriend, but you'll always be my best mate. Nothing is going to change that…well, as long as you stop acting like a royal prat.”

“Yeah…I'm sorry,” he mumbled, obviously embarrassed, for his ears suddenly turned a vibrant shade of red. And that was the last they ever talked about it.

***

The next few days went by quickly for Harry. He spent most of his time in the library with Hermione, researching Horcruxes and spells that would be helpful in the final battle. Somehow, he felt that something had changed inside of him since he had started dating Hermione. His nightmares came less and less frequently, and when he was haunted in his sleep, Hermione would always come rushing into his room to comfort him.

But more importantly, Harry felt himself becoming happier, more at ease. He found himself less anxious, more content. He looked forward to those afternoons spent in the library with Hermione. To him, it didn't matter if all they did was research, or if they simply sat on the couch talking.

He began noticing the small, unimportant things about Hermione, things he had never even thought to notice before: how she bit her lip anxiously when she was trying to figure out a difficult problem or understand a confusing passage in a book, or how she would always make sure the stack of books beside her were perfectly aligned.

Ron found it amusing to tease Harry about the extensive amount of studying Harry had suddenly taken to doing. “That girl's rubbed off on you, mate,” he would say, chuckling at Harry's expense. And when Harry would argue that he actually enjoyed the research, Ron would cut him off, always replying, “Better you than me,” before walking off, leaving Harry behind, wondering what the hell he meant.

Harry was quite pleased at how well Ron seemed to be handling Harry and Hermione's new relationship. He didn't even seem bothered by the occasional kiss goodnight or when they held hands, something that greatly shocked and delighted Harry. He reckoned even Hermione would admit that Ron's emotional range had grown larger than a teaspoon over the past few years.

Besides studying, Harry spent most of his time training with either Remus or Tonks. The trio would train together in the morning, but after everyone else left, Harry would remain behind, spending extra hours working out and practicing dueling spells. He began working himself harder and harder each day. He knew that no amount of extra training would ever prepare him for what he had to do in the final battle, yet he still pushed himself, day after day, to new limits, setting new standards and goals for himself every day.

One afternoon, after a particularly long and tiring training session, Harry lay inert on the worn couch in the library, fiddling with the first fake locket he had found with Dumbledore.

Groaning, he shoved the locket in his pocket, rolled off the couch, and walked towards the table where Hermione was researching. “Have you found anything?” he asked, his voice weary.

“Nothing at all!” Hermione exclaimed, her voice filled with shock. Harry chuckled, highly amused that Hermione was genuinely shocked that her precious books didn't have all of the answers.

“What have you found so far?” Harry asked, pulling up a chair next to Hermione and sitting down.

“Everything about Dark Magic artifacts,” Hermione said, rhythmically tapping her quill against the table. “But to take the magic out of the artifact, these books only suggest burning or some kind of spell like Reducto.” She sighed.

“We've already tried those methods,” Harry grumbled. He thought back to when the trio had attempted to burn the locket, and he chuckled at the memory. In exasperation, Ron had just chucked the locket into the fire. Realizing what he had done, Ron had scrambled on all fours, dishing the locket out of the fire, burning his eyebrows off in the process. The locket, however, remained completely unscathed. It hadn't even been warm to the touch, despite the fact that it had just been sitting amongst the hot flames.

Harry groaned and opened The History of Dark Artifacts that was sitting on the table. The two of them had been sitting in silence for several moments, each of them scanning through book after book in search of some way to solve Riddle's mystery. Riddle's riddle, Harry thought, causing him to chuckle. However, the joke did not seem nearly as funny by the time he explained it to Hermione, and he turned his attention back to the book in front of him.

“Harry, look at this,” Hermione said suddenly, grabbing him by the arm and pulled him towards her so he could have a look at the book in front of her. “'An artifact is categorized as one of Dark Magic when a spell has been placed upon it, giving the artifact a magical energy that runs within it. Argus Lucient created the first Dark Magic artifact in 346 B.C., placing the enchantment upon a silver mirror…'”

“That makes sense,” Harry said, slowly taking in what Hermione had just read. “If ” Harry asked impatiently.

Hermione scanned the page, biting her lip impatiently. “Locus malum quod obscurum super simultas,” Hermione said suddenly. “That's the spell you use to cast Dark Magic upon an object…and to take away the spell…” She drifted off, scanning the pages furiously.

“Demo atrum veneficus navitas ut est intus simultas,” Hermione said softly, a few moments later. She looked up at Harry. “Do you think that would work?” she asked, excitedly.

Harry wasted no time. Getting up from his chair, he ran out of the library and to his room, where the locket was wrapped in a cloth in his drawer.

A few moments later, back in the library, he carefully set the locket on the table, being careful not to touch it. He still had yet to figure out why he had passed out after touching it the first time. He recalled that Hermione and Ron could touch the locket, free of any harm.

Pointing his wand at the locket, Harry clearly said the spell. Much to their disappointment, the locket remained intact, unharmed, the Horcrux still within it.

Feeling defeated, Harry slumped in his chair, shoving his hands angrily in his pockets. Inside his pocket, Harry's hand collided with the fake locket he had been fiddling with earlier. Taking it out of his pocket, he noticed for the first time how similar the two lockets actually looked, almost identical except for the snakelike S inscribed on the other locket. Snakes, Slytherin's mark…and Voldemort's. Harry thought to himself But of course it would be Voldemort's mark as well, Harry reasoned. Voldemort was the last descendant of Salazaar Slytherin, the last of the powerful lineage, the last to speak to Parseltongue…

“But of course,” Harry murmured softly, causing Hermione to look at him in confusion.

Ignoring Hermione, Harry eyed the snakelike S on the locket carefully. Concentrating with all of his energy, Harry slowly said the spell, Demo atrum veneficus navitas ut est intus simultas, again, this time in Parseltongue.

The effects were immediate. The locket split in half; a stream of light bursting from it, knocking Harry backwards. After Harry had gotten back to his feet, the light was gone, as was the locket; all that was left was a small puddle of gold where the locket had been.

He glanced next to him at Hermione, who was looking at him with a mixture of shock, confusion, and awe. “What just happened?” Hermione asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I did it,” Harry said, hardly able to control his excitement. “I just destroyed the Horcrux.”

Author's Note: I know I wrote things in this chapter that aren't necessarily possible from the books, but please excuse me. I tried to keep it as close as I could to what actually would happen while destroying a Horcrux. Oh, and the Latin spell…I used an online translator, so I'm sorry if it's not right.

But other than that, I hope you liked it- Please Review!!

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7. Fear Within

Chapter 7: Fear Within

Harry eyed the snakelike S on the locket carefully. Concentrating with all of his energy, Harry slowly said the spell, Demo atrum veneficus navitas ut est intus simultas, again, this time in Parseltongue.

The effects were immediate. The locket split in half; a stream of light bursting from it, knocking Harry backwards. After Harry had gotten back to his feet, the light was gone, as was the locket; all that was left was a small puddle of gold where the locket had been.

He glanced next to him at Hermione, who was looking at him with a mixture of shock, confusion, and awe. “What just happened?” Hermione asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I did it,” Harry said, hardly able to control his excitement. “I just destroyed the Horcrux.”

***

There was a party at Grimmauld Place that night.

It was a small party, with only the five of them, but a celebration all the same. Harry had finally given in and explained to Remus and Tonks about the Horcruxes earlier that evening. Tonks had looked shocked, revolted at such a concept, but oddly enough, Remus had not looked too shocked. When Harry had explained to them what Voldemort had done to make himself immortal, Remus had simply nodded, as if expecting such a thing.

Amidst the celebrating, Harry sat at the kitchen table, watching his friends talk and laugh as they drunk bottles of Butterbeer. Despite his excitement, all Harry could think about was Voldemort and the Horcruxes.

He was one step closer to facing Voldemort, one Horcrux closer to the final battle. The thought both exhilarated and terrified Harry. This was what he had, essentially, worked towards his entire life, but destroying the Horcrux made it all the more real. He had known since he was eleven that he would be facing Voldemort, one on one, eventually in the end. He had known since the year before that that time would be coming even sooner than he thought. A shiver went up his spine, causing him to shudder. Three Horcruxes down, three to go…

Halfway.

He was not ready. He had faced Voldemort and escaped four times already; this time should not be any different, yet Harry knew it was. Before, Harry had just concentrated on escaping, on getting away from Voldemort alive. Now, there was no escaping, no running away. In the final battle, it would be him and Voldemort, fighting until one of them died- there was no other way. He could no longer face Voldemort on the defense; he couldn't just throw out any blocking spell that came to mind.

He had to be better that Voldemort; he had to fight harder, think smarter, move faster. And how was Harry ever supposed to be better than the darkest, most powerful wizard of the time? How was Harry supposed to kill him?

Harry was the only obstacle in Voldemort's way to winning the war. Harry would be the only one standing in Voldemort's way; it would be up to him to defeat the dark power.

He would have to train; he would have to train harder than he could ever imagine, pushing himself beyond the goals and limits he had already set for himself.

Harry spent the next several days training as hard as he could. He woke up hours before dawn, using that time to work out, to grow stronger and become faster. He would train like normal with everyone else, but then afterwards, he would stay behind, sometimes working until the late hours of the afternoon.

The evenings he would spend in the library, looking through every book he could get his hands on, in search of something- anything- to do with Horcruxes or spells that would come in handy during the final battle.

Late one evening, Hermione found Harry in the library, his head resting on the table, fast asleep. “Harry?” she said, nudging him gently in an attempt to wake him up.

“Wha-“ Harry asked groggily. He yawned and sat up in his chair.

“Ron told me to let you know that his family is coming tomorrow,” Hermione said, pulling a chair up next to him. He raised his eyebrows. “He invited them,” she quickly added. “They're worried about him…about us.”

“I know they are,” Harry said. “Yeah, that's fine if they come.”

“How long are they staying for?” he asked.

“Shouldn't be more than a couple of days, I suppose,” Hermione answered.

Harry yawned and stretched his arms over his head, wincing at the pain the movement caused.

“Harry, you're working yourself too hard,” Hermione said.

“I'm fine, Hermione. Just a little tired,” Harry said and he mindlessly flipped the pages of his book.

“You're not fine, Harry,” Hermione argued. “You're exhausted. Look at yourself! For days now, it has been nothing but training for you. It's not healthy.”

“I have to be prepared,” Harry said bitterly, feeling his temper rise. “I'll stop when it's gotten to be too much.”

“But you won't!” Hermione exclaimed, her voice strangely high pitched. “Harry, I know you. You won't stop for anything; that's just who you are. When you set your mind to something, nothing stops you. That's one of the things I love about you: your determination, your intense passion and dedication when it comes to things you really want. But this has gone too far, Harry!

“I've watched you for days now, more closely than you probably can imagine. I know you don't sleep for more than a few hours every night, I know you get up practically in the middle of the night to train, and I know you stay behind after our normal training sessions to train some more. And when you aren't training, you spend your time in the library, pouring all the rest of your energy into researching- not that I'm not incredibly thrilled about that; I've only been trying to get you to study on your own for years now…

“But I know you, Harry. You won't stop for anything; that's just who you are. You're body may be exhausted, completely drained even, but mentally, you are so driven that you will push yourself, no matter what it takes.” By then, Hermione's voice had grown loud, her face red, her eyes holding the evidence of tears.

“My body is fine,” Harry argued. Hermione just gave him a disbelieving glare. She grabbed him by the arm, and he did everything in his power not to wince in pain.

“So, tell me that didn't hurt,” Hermione said, raising her eyebrows as she waited for his response.

Harry just smiled and stood up. “I'm fine,” he repeated, kissing her softly on the forehead before gathering up his books.

Hermione just sat there, feeling defeated. She had expected him to yell back, to make a big deal out of this confrontation, but he had not.

“Remember that the Weasley's are coming tomorrow,” she called out after him as he left the room. At least with the Weasley's visit, Harry would be less inclined to train as extensively.

***

“Oh, look at you, Harry- you've grown so much!” Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, pulling Harry into a tight hug, as if it had been years, not weeks, since she had last seen him.

“Hello, Mrs. Weasley,” he said, wincing as he pulled himself away from her. As much as he hated to admit it, he was extremely sore. “Ginny,” he said tersely, nodded in the younger girl's direction.

“Oh, I've just been worried sick about you all,” Mrs. Weasley said, giving the trio a motherly smile. They made their way into the kitchen where they sat awkwardly at the table, Ron, Hermione, and Harry on one side, facing Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and Ginny on the other. No one said a word for several minutes.

Harry yawned and leaned back in his chair, doing everything in his power not to fall asleep right then and there. He pretended not to notice the look Hermione was giving him. He hardly wanted to admit that she was right, that he was exhausted, that perhaps he was pushing himself too hard.

Harry looked across the table at the Weasleys, not knowing what to say. They looked as uncomfortable as he felt.

“So, what have you been up to?” Ginny asked suddenly, raising her eyebrows at the trio.

“Ginerva Weasley, I told you not to ask them that so soon,” Mrs. Weasley hissed in her daughter's ear, causing Harry to suddenly understand why exactly the Weasleys had come.

***

Harry hadn't realized how long he had spent at Grimmauld Place until the following morning, when four tawny owls came swooping through the window, each carrying with them a thick envelope.

“Oh,” Mrs. Weasley squealed as she spotted the four birds. “The Hogwarts letters have arrived.”

One of the owls dropped an envelope in Harry's lap and flew away. Harry looked down at the letter, slowly running his finger over the Hogwarts seal on the back. He had completely forgotten about Hogwarts, and judging by the gloomy looks of Hermione and Ron, he decided that he probably wasn't the only one who had forgotten.

Harry sighed and set the unopened letter on the table in front of him, glancing down the table where Ginny and Mrs. Weasley were studying Ginny's booklist.

“We'll go to Diagon Alley later this afternoon,” Mrs. Weasley announced, making her way to the end of the table where the trio was seated. “We can all go together to pick up your books. And Ronald, do your robes still fit you? I don't know how you manage to keep growing like you do.”

Ron's face grew visibly pale. Apparently, Mrs. Weasley was still under the impression that the three of them would be returning to Hogwarts, that whatever crazy mission they were on now would not last, that they would change their minds come the first of September.

“Mum,” he said slowly, the tips of his ears growing red, “we already told you…we're not going back to Hogwarts this year…” He trailed off, and looked nervously at the table.

“But, I thought- I assumed-“Mrs. Weasley stammered.

“Yes, that's right,” Mr. Weasley suddenly spoke up. He folded up the newspaper he had been reading and set it on the table in front of him. “You assumed. And obviously you assumed incorrectly.”

“Arthur, may I have a word with you…alone,” Mrs. Weasley said, her voice distraught. The two of them excused themselves to the hallway so they could talk in privacy, though their plan had little success. With the help of Fred and George's Extendable Ears, the four of them could hear every word that was said.

“Am I supposed to just sit back and allow my son to stay out of school, to involve himself with all of the danger this war has brought us?” Mrs. Weasley asked, her voice high pitched.

“Yes,” Mr. Weasley said firmly. “Because you told him he could, because you know that it's right.”

“But-“

“We've had this argument again and again, Molly. You have to realize that our boys aren't boys anymore. Ron's seventeen, technically an adult; he's allowed to make his own decisions.”

“And besides,” Mr. Weasley added, chuckling, “he's out there saving the world, isn't he? Our son, saving the world. Imagine that.”

Harry could make out the faint footsteps of Mr. Weasley as he left the hallway, and he knew that that would not be the last of that conversation.

***

Later that afternoon, Harry, Hermione, and Ron made their way through Diagon Alley. They had decided to tag along with the Weasleys as they shopped for Ginny's school supplies, for it was good to get out of the house.

Along the winding street, people huddled closely together, talking in low whispers, and looking anxiously about. The once warm atmosphere that Harry remembered was now gone, replaced with fear and anxiety with the war. Shops were boarded up; others had signs hanging in the storefront window saying “Store Closing- Everything 80% Off, Everything Must Go.”

As they passed by the variety of different shops, Harry paid close attention to each of them, trying to get a lasting envision of the street, for who knew when he'd be able to come back, or if there would be a Diagon Alley to return to.

He passed store after store; past Madam Malkin's where he had first met Draco Malfoy…past Eeylops Owl Emporium, were Hagrid had bought him Hedwig for his birthday…past Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, now vacant and boarded up, where Harry had gotten free sundaes from the owner…past Ollivanders…

Ollivanders.

Harry stopped walking and he stared at the empty store in front of him. “Mate, you coming?” he could hear Ron call from in front of him, but Harry didn't respond.

For some reason, Harry was drawn to the store, the store that held the most memories for him. Ollivanders was where he had gotten his wand, where he had first truly experienced magic himself…where he had first learned about Voldemort.

He slowly walked towards the store, pressing the palm of his hand against the glass of the store window. On display in the window was a single pillow, faded from its many years of being on display. Harry remembered the first time he had gone to Ollivanders; the pillow had been there before, but with a wand resting on it if he remembered correctly.

A wand.

Suddenly, just as it had happened before, a rush of memories came to Harry, memories that he had not thought of in quite some time.

“Talking of Diagon Alley,” said Mr. Weasley, “looks like Ollivander's gone too.”

“The wandmaker?” said Ginny, looking startled.

“That's the one. Shop's empty. No sign of struggle. No one knows whether he left voluntarily or was kidnapped.”

“Harry, what's going on?” asked Hermione as she walked up next to Harry.

“The wand- there used to be a wand on that pillow,” Harry said, pointing.

“Yeah, an old, dirty one, right? Looked ancient,” said Ron. “What's your point?”

“I think it was Rowena Ravenclaw's wand,” Harry said slowly. “Another Horcrux.”

“Another Horcrux?” Hermione repeated. “But Harry…it could be just an ordinary wand, put on display. You have no evidence to support that-“

“No, listen,” Harry said, cutting Hermione off. “The wand was on display because it was such an important artifact. And Ollivander…he went missing last year, remember? He left without any struggle- what if he took the wand with him into hiding, because he knew it was important, because he knew it was going to be stolen.”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said, obviously unconvinced.

“It makes sense though, doesn't it?” Harry exclaimed. He could feel his heart beating rapidly inside his chest. “And Florean Fortescue, he somehow upset the Death Eaters and was dragged off. Maybe they wanted information about where Ollivander went, but Fortescue wouldn't give it to him.”

“But Harry,” argued Hermione, “this is all guesswork. You have no idea-“

“Isn't all of this guesswork?” Harry exclaimed. “I'm not saying it's the right guess, but it's worth a try isn't it?”

Ron and Hermione just stared at him for a few moments before Ron finally spoke up. “You know, I reckon it is worth a try. I mean, Dumbledore wouldn't have let a lead like this go.”

The two of them looked anxiously at Hermione, awaiting her response. “You're right,” she said finally. “It's worth a shot.”

Once again, with the prospect of a new Horcrux, a new lead, Harry felt a wave of emotions sweep through him. Fear, dread, and excitement rushed through his veins as he gave one last look at the faded pillow in the window.

Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please review!

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8. Revelations

Chapter 8: Revelations

“The wand was on display because it was such an important artifact. And Ollivander…he went missing last year, remember? He left without any struggle- what if he took the wand with him into hiding, because he knew it was important, because he knew it was going to be stolen.”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said, obviously unconvinced.

“It makes sense though, doesn't it?” Harry exclaimed. He could feel his heart beating rapidly inside his chest. “And Florean Fortescue, he somehow upset the Death Eaters and was dragged off. Maybe they wanted information about where Ollivander went, but Fortescue wouldn't give it to him.”

“But Harry,” argued Hermione, “this is all guesswork. You have no idea-“

“Isn't all of this guesswork?” Harry exclaimed. “I'm not saying it's the right guess, but it's worth a try isn't it?”

Ron and Hermione just stared at him for a few moments before Ron finally spoke up. “You know, I reckon it is worth a try. I mean, Dumbledore wouldn't have let a lead like this go.”

The two of them looked anxiously at Hermione, awaiting her response. “You're right,” she said finally. “It's worth a shot.”

Once again, with the prospect of a new Horcrux, a new lead, Harry felt a wave of emotions sweep through him. Fear, dread, and excitement rushed through his veins as he gave one last look at the faded pillow in the window.

***

`Expelliarmus!' Harry thought to himself, flicking his wand behind him as he ducked behind a chair, out of breath. He saw a jet of blue light stream past him, missing Harry by mere inches. It was the following morning and the trio was in the middle of an intense duel, one that Harry found himself losing out of pure exhaustion. His magic, albeit strong and powerful, was no match against both of his friends, mainly because of the energy and strength needed to dodge two wizard's spells opposed to only one's. Sweat dripped down his forehead, his shirt sticking to his back and he noticed that his friends had hardly broken a sweat; but of course, he was doing twice as much work as them.

If only he could catch his breath; then Harry would be able to concentrate hard enough to make use of his powerful wandless, nonverbal magic. Concentrating hard, Harry thought to himself, `Rictusempra!', as he darted from behind the chair; Hermione, however, was ready and easily blocked the spell.

“Is this all you have, Potter?” Hermione sneered, in a voice very much like Draco Malfoy's. The simple reminder of Malfoy caused Harry to clench his fists tightly. “You expect a tickling charm will defeat Voldemort, do you?” Hermione continued, crossing her arms in a smug manner. Although Harry knew that Hermione was purposely taunting him, purposely imitating Malfoy to get him to fight harder, Harry could feel all of his muscles tensing with anger.

Hermione had said the exact thing that would send Harry over the edge; she had pinpointed the one thing that Harry had been worrying about over the past several weeks, the one thing that had constantly been eating him up inside, causing him to doubt himself.

“You're not good enough to even stand a chance against Voldemort,” Hermione sneered again and Harry felt a surge of magic build up within him; he felt his body tingle as the magic ran through him, originating from his heart, and then slowly spreading down his arms, through his hands, and down the tips of his fingers. The magic stayed in his fingers for several moments, causing Harry's hands to shake. And then, without any warning, the magical energy surged from him, casting an enormous yellow glow across the room; the pure force of the magic alone sent both Hermione and Ron flying backwards, landing on the floor in a heap.

The bright light slowly faded away, leaving Harry standing in the center of the room, his hands still held out in front of him, staring in disbelief at his friends on the ground.

“Bloody hell, mate,” Ron grumbled, pulling himself up and brushing himself off. “What was that?”

Harry reached down and helped Hermione to her feet, noticing the wide grin that was spread across her face. “Now that,” she said happily, “was the kind of magic I was looking for.”

“Brilliant magic, Harry,” Ron said, rubbing his arm, “but quite painful. I don't reckon anyone in their right mind would want to fight you now, at the risk of being tossed to the ground by a giant ball of magic.” And with that, Ron, still grumbling, left the room.

“Well, “ Hermione said, pulling Harry over to the couch, where they sat down, the softness of the couch bringing instant relief to Harry's aching muscles. “That was quite powerful magic you did there. Was there even a spell for it?”

Harry shook his head. “When you were taunting me-“

“Sorry about that,” Hermione interrupted. “But I needed to spark your magic somehow.”

Harry waved his hand, telling her not to worry about it. “I could just feel this magic swelling up inside of me,” he continued, “until it basically exploded.”

Hermione nodded. “It seems that your emotions play a large role in your powers; you didn't start pushing it into high gear until I started getting you angry.”

“Yeah, well,” Harry said, looking down, “Snape always said that I wore my emotions on my sleeve; that has always been my weakness.”

“No, I don't think so,” Hermione said slowly. “I don't think that's a weakness. On the contrary, I think it will help you win, in the end.”

“How do you reckon that?” Harry asked, raising his eyebrows. “I let my emotions play too large a role in my magic.”

“Well yeah,” Hermione said, twisting herself on the couch so she was facing Harry. “But I honestly think that in this case it may work to your advantage. Voldemort isn't going to be nice to you during the final battle; he's going to try to agitate you, get you all worked up, thinking that you won't be able to think clearly. Knowing him, he's going to say anything and everything to make you mad, assuming that it will only weaken you. But anything he says will only make you stronger, more powerful.”

“I think you're right,” Harry said slowly, carefully thinking about what Hermione had just told him.

“Well of course I'm right,” Hermione joked. “When have I ever been wrong?”

“Never,” Harry said simply. He leaned forward and kissed her softly on the lips. “That's one of the things I love about you.”

Hermione leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. They sat this way for several moments in silence.

“Hermione?” Harry said suddenly, his voice so soft it was barely audible. “I really do love you. I wouldn't just say it, if I didn't mean it.”

“I know, Harry,” Hermione said softly. “I love you too.”

“I just- I love you so much, more than anything or anyone. You mean the world to me. I mean, look at you; you're brilliant, kind, thoughtful, beautiful,” Harry said, pulling her closer to him.

Speechless at his kind words, Hermione managed a quiet, “Thanks.” She tilted her head down, trying to hide the blush that had crept onto her cheeks.

“But this is so weird to me…so foreign,” Harry continued. “I have never actually said those words to anyone. Not to Ginny or Cho… things weren't really like that with them. And I never got to say it to my parents; I never actually got the chance to…” He drifted off and was silent for several moments. Hermione remained silent as well, not knowing what to say, or if she should even say anything at all. From somewhere in the house, a grandfather clock chimed.

“I want to go to Godric's Hollow,” Harry said suddenly. He sat up straight, surprising Hermione who had still been leaning against him. “I think it's time to visit my parents…”

***

Several days later, Harry stood frozen at the end of a narrow path leading up to a small white house. He had known that this was the house long before he heard Remus point in its direction; he felt drawn to it, as if a magical force was attracting him, pulling him towards his old home.

The house sat in the outskirts of a Muggle village; Harry had felt uncomfortable and awkward, as they had made their way down the winding street, passing Muggle children playing in the front yards, under the watchful eyes of their mothers. This could have been where I grew up, Harry had realized. He could have spent his childhood years playing with the other children, instead of being cooped up on Privet Drive, where he was considered to be the child delinquent.

Now, standing in front of the home he once lived in, Harry felt a wave of emotion pass through him. After spending his entire life wondering about his past, he was finally experiencing it; he was finally able to see the home where his happy life started...and ended.

“C'mon, Harry,” Hermione said gently, taking Harry by the hand and pulling him towards the house. Harry felt more and more anxiety with every step he took. He realized that the house, which should have been in ruins after the attack, must have been cared for over the years. Despite a few weeds and a broken window, the house looked well cared for…almost lived in.

As if reading his mind, Remus said, “Dumbledore's been taking care of it over the years. He wanted it to look like it had when you lived in it.” Harry nodded, feeling his heart swell at the considerate gesture of his late headmaster.

Remus continued, “But keep in mind, there are still marks of the attack…even magic can't erase-“ But, Harry wasn't listening. Slowly, he opened the front door and made his way inside.

“Wow…It's just how I remember it,” Remus said in awe, looking around.

As his friends explored the house, Harry slowly scoped the room, staying on the front rug; he didn't dare to venture any farther into the house. He felt like an intruder, not belonging in the house. He spotted a rocking chair facing the window, where Harry expected his mother must have rocked him as a baby; there was a tall stack of books on the floor next to the chair. On the mantel there were several pictures, many of them identical to the ones Harry had back at Grimmauld Place in his photo album from Hagrid. Beside the assortment of pictures were several Quidditch trophies that Harry could only assume were his father's.

But then his gaze fell upon the wall opposite him; the wall was scorched and cracked- the only reminder of the killing curse that had killed his father. As if in a daze, Harry walked across the room. He slowly reached out and touched the wall with his hand, and he was flooded with memories…

“Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off-“

“But James-“

“Go! Quickly!”

Lily stumbled out of the room, Harry safely in her arms. She quickly made her way up the stairs. Below them, there was a sound of wood splintering, as the front door burst open; Lily gasped with fright and pulled Harry closer to her. Despite her desperate need to run back downstairs to be with her husband, she stayed still. By then, she was crouching in a hallway, peering around the corner to see what was happening below her. The hallway was dark and eerie, the only light coming from the bright, yellow moonlight shining through the windows. Harry began to whimper and Lily quickly pulled him closer to her, muffling his cries. There were sounds of fighting downstairs- a chair being knocked over, the breaking of glass, a cackle of high-pitched laughter, before…

“Avada Kedavra!”

Harry slumped against the marked wall, overwhelmed by the memory he hadn't known existed. He had heard glimpses of those fateful moments during his third year with the dementors, but nothing like that…

“Harry? Are you okay?” Hermione asked, coming up next to him. But Harry ignored her, pushing past her and running up the stairs. As if guided, he quickly found what could only be the nursery. The walls, which once had been covered in bright blue wallpaper, had faded over the years. The floor was filled with an assortment of plush animals and other toys, shelves were lined with books and photographs. A toy broomstick lay in the corner, the magic of it wearing off, causing the broom to convulse and twitch every so often. Harry could only imagine that he had spent many happy hours riding that broom, hovering only feet above the ground, yet still delighted at the feeling.

Harry could hear Hermione enter the room as he made his way over to his crib; a mobile of snitches hung above it. It was only then that Harry took in the charred walls, the cracked ceiling. One entire wall looked as if it had endured a fire or an explosion of some kind. But in a way, Harry figured, it had…

“Avada Kedavra!”

Lily choked back a sob as she ran into the nursery and gently set Harry in his crib before running back out into the hall, most likely to check on her husband.

Harry heard her screaming from downstairs, the sound high and penetrating. Then the screaming stopped, and all he could hear was the ticking of the clock above the crib. The door creaked open and he could hear footsteps as his mother came quickly back into the room, careful to make as little noise as possible. Lily's breathing was raspy and uneven and she closed the door quietly. No sooner had she done so, the door swung open again, banging against the wall. He then heard the high-pitched scream again, echoing against the walls of the room.

Suddenly, two blood-red eyes appeared from the dark shadows, horrible, menacing eyes that caused Harry to cry out. “Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!” Lily begged, her voice cracking with fright.

“Stand aside, you silly girl…stand aside now…,” an evil voice said, deep and threatening. There was silence for a moment. Though he could not see her, Harry knew that his mother beside him had remained where she was, either out of bravery or out of fear.

“Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead-“

An evil laugh came from the mouth of the stranger and he pushed his way past her. Harry could see the man's face peering into the crib. His eyes were blood red, his nose with slits for nostrils…he was past the point of humanity.

“Not Harry! Please…have mercy…have mercy…” Lily pleaded from behind him.

The man turned away from Harry, out of his sight. Harry cried out in fear, wailing for someone to hold him.

Then suddenly the voice rang out, “Avada Kedavra!” There was jet of green light and he could hear a loud thump next to him; his mother had fallen to her death, her screams still echoing against the walls of the room. The evil blood-red eyes once again gleamed menacingly in the shadows. With a chuckle, he snarled, “We meet at last, Harry Potter...”

“Harry!”

Harry opened his eyes and saw Hermione looking down at him, her eyes full of worry. “What just happened?” she asked, pulling him to his feet and Harry wondered when he had fallen. He rubbed his aching scar gingerly, avoiding Hermione's questioning stare.

“I saw it,” Harry said, turning away from her. “I saw everything from that night.”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said, taking a couple of steps closer to him and reaching out to comfort him. But Harry continued.

“I had seen it before- parts of it at least- in dreams, but nothing like this,” Harry said, shaking his head slightly.

Hermione bit her bottom lip, not knowing what to say.

“This was just so real, you know?” Harry asked, turning and facing Hermione. She nodded, although she really didn't know at all. She reached out and pulled him into a tight hug; Harry could feel her hot tears soak into the shoulder of his shirt. “I'm sorry,” she whispered to him over and over again.

***

Less than an hour later, Harry was standing in the village's cemetery, staring at the graves of his parents, Hermione, Ron, and Remus waiting for him in the street. Falling to his knees, Harry choked back a sob as he traced the names on the tombstones with his finger.

“Hello Mum, hello Dad,” he said softly.

“I've never really gotten a chance to come visit you before…All my life, I've dreamed of the day I would see you again; at the Dursley's I would wait for the day to come when you would come knocking on the door to take me back home with you…but of course, that never happened. But now that I'm here, I don't have the slightest clue what to say.”

Harry swallowed, hastily wiping away the tears that had fallen down his cheeks.

“I suppose you knew about the prophecy; otherwise you wouldn't have cast the Fidelus charm…Dumbledore told me about the prophecy during the fifth year and since then, I suppose I've just been trying to accept my fate. Hermione and Ron have helped a lot…I don't know what I would do without them- especially Hermione. She's my girlfriend now, in case you didn't know; she's a lot like you, Mum: brilliant and beautiful…you would have really liked her… Remus brought me here today…the last of the Marauders, Dad. He's helped me a lot over the last several years and I think this trip was really hard on him, with all the memories it holds for him as well…

“I am scared- no, terrified- at what I have to do. Sirius and Dumbledore have both died, and the final battle with Voldemort is coming nearer and nearer. I don't know if I can do it- I don't have your brilliance, Mum, or your courage, Dad- but I'm training really hard and I hope that's enough.”

“I just hope that's enough,” he repeated, his voice barely audible. He was silent for several moments, desperately trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to flow.

“Well, they're all waiting for me, so I suppose I should leave. I-I love you…

And, well, I miss you so much…”

Wiping his eyes furiously, Harry gave the two graves one last glance before standing up and making his way over to where the others were waiting. Taking a deep breath, he tried to compose himself, trying not to let it show how unnerved he was by the visit. Hermione draped her arm around his shoulders, pulling him close to her as they made their way down the winding street, back to Grimmauld Place, back to their quest.

Author's Note:

Sorry it took so long to get this chapter out; it took a long time for me to figure out what exactly I wanted to happen in this chapter. I hope you like this chapter- Please review!

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9. Another Step Closer

Chapter 9: Another Step Closer

Wiping his eyes furiously, Harry gave the two graves one last glance before standing up and making his way over to where the others were waiting. Taking a deep breath, he tried to compose himself, trying not to let it show how unnerved he was by the visit. Hermione draped her arm around his shoulders, pulling him close to her as they made their way down the winding street, back to Grimmauld Place, back to their quest.

***

“Harry?” Harry looked up to the sound of Hermione's voice and saw his girlfriend standing nervously in the doorway. Harry hastily moved to shove the photo album he had been looking at underneath his pillow. He had never actually shown Hermione or Ron the album Hagrid had given to him during his first year, for reasons unknown to even him. He had felt it to be his secret over the years, a secret that he didn't have to share with anyone, a secret to enjoy in solitaire.

“What was that?” Hermione asked, pointing towards the pillow. “What are you hiding from me?” Harry sat silently for a couple of moments, not wanting to show Hermione the book, yet feeling bad for hiding such a thing from her. Eventually, he sighed, pulled the book out from under the pillow, and gestured for Hermione to sit down on the bed next to him.

“What is-“ Hermione asked, stopping mid-sentence as Harry opened the front cover, revealing the smiling photograph of his mother. “Oh Harry, where'd you get it- when did you get it?”

“First year,” he answered, still staring down at his mother's picture, entranced at how she looked so happy, so innocent, so untouched by Voldemort. Had she already faced Voldemort by the time the picture was taken? How many times? Did she already know about the prophecy?

Harry looked up from the picture. “Hagrid gave it to me after I saved the stone from Quirrel.”

“Oh,” Hermione said simply and Harry suddenly felt bad for keeping it a secret from her.

“That's your mum, right?” she asked, pointing towards the album. The picture of his mother was now waving, her bright green eyes sparkling with happiness. Harry nodded sadly.

“She's beautiful,” Hermione said softly, a trace of sadness in her voice.

Together, they flipped slowly through the pages of the book, pausing at each picture. Hermione kept pointing out various people that they knew, but Harry was trying to drink in every detail, every last bit of information about his parents that he hadn't been able to know: his mother's sweet, joyful laugh, his father's playful grin…

Harry paused at the picture of himself, held in his mother's arms, his father looking over her shoulder. The three of them looked so happy…so perfect. How unfair it was that Voldemort took all of that away.

How different his life would be without Voldemort; he thought of how his father would have taught him how to play Quidditch, how his mother would have held him tight and told him that she loved him…

He could feel Hermione looking at him. “Do you want to stop? I could leave…,” she said softly.

“No,” Harry looked up. “Don't go…I'm fine.”

Harry flipped the page again and a small photograph fell out of the book and into his lap. It was the one Moody had shown him the summer before his fifth year, the one of the original Order of the Phoenix. Harry suspected that someone—most likely Remus—had stuck the picture in Harry's book for him to keep.

He hastily tried to shove the photograph back inside the book, but was stopped by Hermione. “What's that?” she asked, pulling the picture out of Harry's hands to have a closer look.

“The original members of the Order,” Harry answered cynically; seeing the picture had brought up the same bitter feelings he felt that summer when Moody had shown it to him. Seeing all of the smiling facing of the original members, most of them long dead because of Voldemort, was just a reminder of the consequences of the war, a reminder of what was being lost the longer Harry waited to fulfill his destiny.

“This is incredible!” Hermione exclaimed, staring intently at the picture. “Look, there are your parents, and Remus—he definitely has aged since then—and Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick… oh, there's Hagrid in the back, you can't miss him…and Dumbledore, and that old barman at the Hog's Head…”

“How did you get this?” she asked, excitedly.

Harry, who had been staring at his hands, looked up. “Moody showed it to me a couple of years ago…I reckon he thought it would be a real treat-“ He stopped mid-sentence as a person in the photograph caught his eye.

“Is that Ollivander?” he asked, grabbing the picture from Hermione's hands to get a closer look.

“I suppose so,” she answered, looking at Harry with a puzzled expression on her face. “Why?”

“I had no idea he was in the Order…” Harry said slowly.

Hermione continued to stare at him blankly. “Harry, what are you talking about?” she asked.

“Ollivander…if he was in the Order originally, then maybe someone knows where he's hiding…we could go find him, see if he still has Ravenclaw's wand, and check to see if it even is a Horcrux. This is it, Hermione, I just know it is.” Harry said all of this very quickly. His cheeks were flushed and his green eyes twinkled with excitement; he spoke with the same passion that Hermione had seen him have only a few times in the past.

Hermione bit her lip, not knowing quite what to make of everything. In her opinion, she thought it highly farfetched, but she couldn't bring herself to point that out to Harry. Sighing, she said slowly, “I suppose the only way to find out is to ask someone. Perhaps Remus will know…” She shook her head in amusement, watching Harry race down the stairs in search of their old professor.

***

Unfortunately for Harry, Remus was nowhere to be found. Unfortunately for Hermione, she had to put up with an hour of watching Harry pace back in forth in front of the door, checking his watch every minute or so, as they waited for Remus to return.

“What are you two doing?” Ron asked as he came down the stairs to find Harry pacing anxiously and Hermione perched annoyed on the edge of a trunk in the front hall.

“We're waiting for Remus,” Hermione said dryly, running her fingers through her hair. “Care to join us?”

“Oh…uh, no…” Ron stammered, his face slowly reddening. “I'm kind of busy, doing something upstairs…”

Harry stopped pacing, smirking at Ron with an amused expression on his face. “Are you writing to Luna again?” he teased.

“What?! No…of course not,” Ron stammered, his face now the color of a tomato. But as soon as he saw the disbelieving looks on his friends' faces, he changed his answer. “Well, fine. Yes, I am writing to Luna Lovegood. Happy?”

“Very,” Harry said, laughing. “It's about time you told us, mate. I know you've been sneaking letters to Hedwig at night.”

“Do you fancy her, Ron?” Hermione asked in mock sweetness.

“I'm going back upstairs…” Ron mumbled, walking back up the stairs towards his room.

Harry and Hermione burst out laughing, but were interrupted by the sound of the front door opening. “Remus!” Harry jumped up, almost tackling his former professor as he entered Grimmauld Place. Hermione smiled to herself, very happy that the person entering was indeed Remus and not another random member of the Order…like McGonagall… Hermione shuddered at the thought.

“What's going on?” Remus asked as he made his way through the door, closely followed by Tonks, who was sporting alarmingly bright green hair. Remus took off his hat and hung it on a hook on the wall.

“Why didn't you tell me Ollivander was a member of the Order?” Harry asked, crossing his arms across his chest.

Remus looked confused. “I wasn't under the impression you wanted to know…,” he said simply.

“Then, do you know where he's hiding?” Harry asked, his excitement growing.

“Well, of course. I was the one who told him of a good place to hide,” Remus answered, a bewildered expression still across his face.

Hermione jumped to her feet, surprised at where this conversation was headed.

“He's at the Shrieking Shack,” Remus continued.

“Did he tell you why he wanted to go into hiding?” Hermione asked, looking almost as excited as Harry.

“All he told me was that there was a lot of Death Eater activity around his store, and that he was beginning to feel unsafe, what with the war going on. A good thing too, Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour was attacked only days after he went into hiding, and their shops were right across from one another.”

Hermione let out a small gasp.

“Hermione, we need to go,” Harry said, his eyes still twinkling. “This is it.”

“Go where?” Tonks asked. “To the Shrieking Shack?”

The two teenagers nodded. “There's not…no, there can't be,” Remus said softly, looking at them in amazement. “Is there a Horcrux there?”

Harry nodded, a smile creeping upon his face.

***

Less than an hour later, Harry stood facing the Shrieking Shack, accompanied by Hermione and Ron. The old house looked just as it used to, and Harry wondered why he once thought it looked creepy and haunted; it was simply an old house, its years of aging evident by the broken windows and cobwebbed front porch.

Taking a deep breath, Harry began walking towards the house, and boldly opened the front door, stepping into the Shrieking Shack. He had sent Hedwig ahead with a letter to Ollivander, notifying him that they would be arriving.

“Mr. Ollivander,” he called out, slowly climbing the rickety old staircase, followed closely by Hermione and Ron. A light shone through the crack under one of the doors; Harry couldn't help but notice that it was the same room that he had first met Sirius in.

“Mr. Ollivander?” he called out again, knocking lightly on the door, before creaking it open.

“Ah, good evening Mr. Potter,” Ollivander said warmly. “I was expecting to see you.”

Harry looked around the room in amazement. Wands stacked ceiling high lined the walls. In one corner, a stone basin rested on an end table, silvery light glowing from it. The Pensieve looked similar to the one Dumbledore had in his office. A hundred or so wands littered the tables, each in various stages of creation. Some, Harry noticed, were simply sticks of wood, others carved and polished until they were sleek and smooth; a few had obviously just recently endured the charms and spells needed to create a working wand, and were twitching on the ground.

“New wand working properly for you, Mr. Weasley?” Ollivander asked, as the trio nervously sat down in chairs set up in the middle of the room. Ron, who had just sunk about a foot into a poofy armchair, looked up in surprise. “What?” he stammered, as he attempted to pull himself out of the chair.

“Ten and a half inches, ash, am I correct?” Ollivander continued, failing to notice Ron's discomfort. Ron nodded, causing him to sink even lower in the chair.

***

“And Death Eaters coming into my shop once every week!” Ollivander exclaimed, bringing a Butterbeer up to his mouth. The trio had arrived at the Shrieking Shack over an hour ago, and three Butterbeers later, the conversation was finally getting somewhere. “It's enough to send anyone into hiding.”

“Why do you think the Death Eaters even came to your shop, sir?” Hermione asked politely. Harry noticed Ollivander's eyes dart impulsively towards the corner of the room. Harry felt a smile creep to his face, and he tried hard to keep his excitement hidden.

“Oh, well…” Ollivander fidgeted, obviously uncomfortable with where the conversation had headed.

“It's because of Ravenclaw's wand, isn't it, Mr. Ollivander?” Harry asked suddenly, causing Hermione to shoot him an angry glare. He shrugged, and looked expectantly at Ollivander.

“The- the wand?” he repeated, looking dazed. He pulled off his spectacles, rubbing his eyes.

“Yes, Ravenclaw's wand,” Harry said, his voice filled with authority and confidence. “The one that was on display in the window.”

“But how did you—“ Ollivander stammered, remembered the last time someone had recognized the wand.

“Do you think the Death Eaters kept coming to your shop because of the wand, sir?” Harry repeated.

“Well, of course I would have no way of knowing for sure…”Ollivander said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He looked up and spotted the stern look that Harry was giving him. “But yes…I do believe that it has something to do with Ravenclaw's wand.”

“What makes you believe that?” Ron suddenly asked. Harry turned around, surprised; he had forgotten Ron was even there.

“It was almost fifty years ago…,”Ollivander said softly. Harry leaned forward intently, eager to hear what he had to say. “Young Tom Riddle came to my shop…but he looked nothing of how he did during his days at Hogwarts…he'd changed, though I thought nothing of it at the time…and well…I don't know…” He drifted off and looked anxiously towards the ground.

“Could you show us the memory, sir?” Harry asked suddenly, remembering the stone basin he had spotted when he first entered the room. “Please, sir, it's really important.”

Ollivander looked up, surprised. “Well, I suppose that won't do any harm,” he said. He stood up and made his way over to the Pensieve in the corner. Harry and Hermione looked in awe as he put his wand to his temple and pulled out a silver strand, before dumping it into the shimmering surface of the basin. Hermione, Harry, and Ron glanced eagerly at one another before looking down and allowing themselves to be sucked into the memory…

“Ah, good afternoon, Mr. Riddle…Thirteen and a half inches, yew, phoenix tail feather, wasn't it?” Ollivander asked brightly as a younger Tom Riddle entered the shop.

“Yes, it is a wonderful wand, sir,” Riddle answered earnestly.

“So what can I help you with?” Ollivander asked as he polished a pile of wands in front of him.

“I was in Diagon Alley, and thought I would say hello to an old friend of mine,” Riddle said, his voice thick with contempt that Ollivander didn't seem to notice. He glanced nervously at Ravenclaw's wand, resting on the faded pillow in the window.

“Well, actually, there may be something you can help me with. That wand in the front window…” Riddle began, but was interrupted by a customer entering the shop.

“Ah yes. Mrs. Bones, good afternoon,” Ollivander said, greeting the woman who had entered with a small, timid girl. “Ten and three quarters, oak, rather bendy, am I correct?”

The woman smiled and nodded. “We're here to get Amelia a wand. Starting Hogwarts at the end of the month,” she said, smiling proudly down at her daughter.

“Of course,” Ollivander said, “I thought I would be seeing you soon.” He went to the back of the store and came back carrying a thin wand. “Well, give it a wave,” he said impatiently.

Riddle who was standing in the corner, looking very displeased that he had been interrupted, eyed the wand in the window hungrily. His slightly bloodshot eyes narrowed, and he looked strangely inhuman.

“Did you hear about the killings this morning?” Mrs. Bones asked Ollivander. Ollivander shook his head, his mouth slightly opened in disbelief.

“Yes, it was in Ashwood. Killed that auror, Augustus Moody—he's been hunting down dark wizards for years now—and a few Muggles were killed as well, I believe.”

“That's dreadful,” Ollivander exclaimed, as he snatched yet another wand out of Amelia's hand, replacing it with a thick, stubby one. “Have they figured out who was responsible?”

As Mrs. Bones and Ollivander continued their discussion, they failed to notice the young man in the corner of the room, shrinking back into the shadows, but still eyeing the wand greedily.

It was another ten minutes before Amelia found her wand and the two of them left.

“So, the wand, sir,” Riddle said, startling Ollivander who had forgotten he was even there.

“For heaven's sake, dear boy,” he exclaimed. “Can't sneak up on me like that!”

“So the wand,” Riddle repeated. “It's Ravenclaw's wand, isn't it?”

“Well, yes it is,” Ollivander said, walking over to the wand and picking it up delicately. “You may just be the first person to recognize it as hers, I believe. Dear old thing…the pillow's even faded it's been sitting here for so long…”

“I will give you 100 galleons for the wand,” Riddle said, cutting off Ollivander, greed glinting in his narrow, bloodshot eyes.

“Of course not!” Ollivander exclaimed. “Selling such an important artifact as this? The wand has been in my family for hundreds of years—“ Right then, another customer walked into the shop, interrupting Ollivander, causing his to miss the enraged look on Riddle's face. As Ollivander was busy helping the customer, Riddle walked slyly over to the wand and muttered a long string of words. A small jet of green light shot from Riddle's wand, and Ravenclaw's wand glowed for a moment before returning to normal.

By then, the customer had left, and Ollivander turned his attention back to the mysterious boy. “A hundred galleons!” he muttered under his breath.

“An artifact such as this would be kept forever, kept safe, and protected, am I correct?” Riddle asked, the anger from his face was long gone, replaced by the mock politeness and respect he had adopted earlier.

“Well of course,” Ollivander responded, looking slightly confused at the sudden change of attitude. “This wand is forever safe; this wand is worth more than you know…”

“Well, good day then,” Riddle said politely, reaching forward and shaking Ollivander's hand, before leaving the shop. Ollivander stood immobile for a few moments, shaking his head slightly in bewilderment.

The memory ended, and with a swirl of colors, the trio found themselves back in the Shrieking Shack. Ollivander was standing to the side anxiously. “Such a great, powerful wizard...so terrible,” Ollivander muttered to himself. Harry guessed that Ollivander fully recognized the importance of his exchange with Tom Riddle.

“Sir, if it's not too much to ask, may we please have the wand?” Harry asked nervously, unsure how Ollivander would react.

Ollivander simply nodded and began rummaging through a pile of wands, before pulling out the one that was distinctly Rowena Ravenclaw's. Harry could see a small eagle etched into the handle. “Have it,” Ollivander said simply. “It seems to have done enough damage already.” Ollivander handed Harry the wand, which Harry carefully wrapped in a cloth—he didn't want the same thing as last time with the locket to happen—before Ollivander bowed them from his room.

Author's Note: Finally…Sorry that took ridiculously long to get out. The next chapter will be out within a week, I promise. And I know this chapter has a few unrealistic, farfetched things in it… Please review!

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10. The Attack

Chapter 10: The Attack

Ollivander simply nodded and began rummaging through a pile of wands, before pulling out the one that was distinctly Rowena Ravenclaw's. Harry could see a small eagle etched into the handle. “Have it,” Ollivander said simply. “It seems to have done enough damage already.” Ollivander handed Harry the wand, which Harry carefully wrapped in a cloth—he didn't want the same thing as last time with the locket to happen—before Ollivander bowed them from his room.

***

The final battle was drawing nearer; Harry could feel the tension building within him with every passing day. Voldemort had kept himself hidden under the radar for the last month, and the lack of presence frightened Harry more than anything. Every morning, Harry would scour every word of the Daily Prophet; he had even taken to buying Muggle newspapers, looking for even the smallest of unexplained events—a fire, abnormal weather, a car crash—that could possibly point towards Voldemort. But everyday, Harry found absolutely nothing and to him, it could only mean one thing: Voldemort was planning something. But what was he planning? When would it happen? Who would be involved?

Three Horcruxes had already been found and destroyed, another safely hidden in Harry's dresser drawer, wrapped carefully in a pair of old mismatched socks Dobby had given him for his birthday. Four Horcruxes now in his possession…three more to hunt down and destroy. Harry didn't have the slightest clue where to find Hufflepuff's cup, and Nagini…he expected he wouldn't have the chance to kill her until the very end. And then there was Voldemort to find and kill…a task far greater than the rest combined…

Harry sighed as he gazed blankly out of his window at Grimmauld Place, staring down at the empty street below. The sky was almost pitch black, only a few faint stars glimmering above. Rubbing his eyes groggily, he glanced at his watch and groaned when he realized it was already four o'clock in the morning. Not that he had been getting much sleep lately anyways. Harry didn't know when the last time he had gotten more than four hours of sleep during the night; his mind was far too occupied for sleep. He was constantly tense, constantly prepared for anything at any given time. Only yesterday, Ron had commented that Harry had been hanging around Mad-Eye Moody for too long, and Harry couldn't help but agree.

Sighing, he got up from his seat by the window and made his way down to the kitchen, where he spent the rest of the night scouring the Daily Prophet.

It was three hours later when Hermione made her way downstairs. “You're up early,” Harry said, not looking up.

“You were up even earlier,” Hermione replied, looking haughtily at Harry. Her face then visibly relaxed and her eyes softened as she sat down next to him at the table. “Did you even sleep at all?” she asked, concern evident in her eyes.

Lucky for Harry, Hedwig chose that moment to swoop through the open window and land on his shoulder, a letter firmly grasped in her talons.

“Who could this be from?” Harry asked, staring at the unfamiliar handwriting on the envelope.

“Look,” Hermione said, peering over Harry's shoulder, “it's addressed to all of us. Even Tonks and Remus… Do you think it's safe to open?”

Harry didn't answer; he carefully ripped open the envelope, and pulled out the parchment inside. “It's from Bill,” he said, releasing the breath he hadn't even realized he was holding.

“Everyone's going to the Burrow tomorrow evening for dinner. Bill says he has good news he would like to share with everyone,” Harry said as he read the letter.

“I wonder what his news is,” Hermione said excitedly. “Do you think he got moved up in his job? That would be wonderful, considering he's now supporting himself and Fleur.”

Harry just shrugged, not paying much attention to Hermione.

“What does Bill do anyways?” Hermione continued. “I know Ron's told me before…I know Charlie works with dragons, but Bill…”

“He's a curse-breaker,” Harry said suddenly, his mind suddenly focused. “For Gringotts.”

He stood up and ran his fingers anxiously through his hair as he began pacing back and forth.

“A curse breaker…,” Hermione repeated softly to herself.

Just then, Ron walked into the kitchen, looking like he just rolled out of bed. “What's going on?” he asked as he looked back and forth between his two friends, yawning.

“Bill's a curse-breaker!” Harry said excitedly. He stopped pacing and stood in front of Ron expectantly.

“Well yeah…” Ron said, making his way around Harry to sit down at the table. “I knew that already. He is my brother.”

“No Ronald, think about it,” Hermione said suddenly, scooting across the bench so she was sitting very close to Ron. “If your brother knows how to break curses…”

“—and we have a cursed object in our possession,” Harry added.

“—then he could help us destroy the Horcrux inside the cup!” Hermione finished, her face flushed with excitement.

“Mental, the both of you, when you do stuff like that,” Ron said, stuffing a piece of toast in his mouth.

“When we do what?” Hermione and Harry asked in unison.

Ron shook his head in frustration, but Harry could see he was trying to hold back a smile.

“No, but really,” Ron said, changing the subject, “that's a brilliant idea. Don't know why I never thought of that before.”

“Are you sure you want to tell another person about the Horcruxes, though? Do you think it's wise to do so?” Hermione asked suddenly.

“I'll bet Bill already knows about the concept of Horcruxes, being a curse-breaker and all,” Ron pointed out.

“I think Dumbledore would have approved. He would have thought it a good idea…to pool our resources, to use all of our strengths to our advantage…Anything to stop Voldemort.”

“We'll talk to Bill tonight then,” Hermione said.

“Tonight,” Harry agreed.

***

“Quiet down, quiet down,” Arthur said, tapping the side of his glass with his spoon. Immediately, the conversation died down, and after another burst of fireworks, courtesy of Fred and George, the entire room was still and quiet.

“I believe Bill and Fleur have something they would like to say,” Arthur said, smiling widely as he sat back down in his chair.

Bill and Fleur rose, identical smiles across their faces. Harry couldn't help but smile himself as he took in the young couple's appearance. Bill's scars had faded in the past months, leaving only a faint web of lines across his face, and Fleur's beauty seemed to have magnified greatly since the wedding. They looked so happy, so in love…and Harry was suddenly reminded of the pictures of his parents when they were young and just starting out as a young couple.

“Yes, Fleur and I have, what we think, is some great news, especially during these dark times of war,” Bill said slowly. He paused.

“Oy—get on with it!” Fred exclaimed.

“Yeah, while we're young!” George added.

“Vee are going to `ave a child!” Fleur exclaimed, her hand instinctively coming up to rest on her stomach.

Immediately the table erupted with noise as everyone showed their excitement.

Ginny, Fred, and George had gotten up from the table and were dancing around Fleur and Bill, chanting “They're having a baby!” over and over again, much like they did after Harry came back from his hearing. Mrs. Weasley, who, under normal circumstances, would have told her children to sit down and behave, was too busy hugging and kissing Fleur. Mr. Weasley was firmly grasping his son's hand, a look of pride and elation across his face, while Charlie was teasingly ruffling his older brother's hair.

Then, amidst all of the happiness and cheer, Harry suddenly felt uneasy, and he felt drawn to the dark forest across the Weasley's property. He looked up, away from the commotion around Bill and Fleur, and his scar suddenly burst in pain.

Harry stood up, his eyes wide with fear. “Harry, what is it?” Hermione asked gently, breaking away from where she had been talking to Tonks and Remus. Her eyes darted fearfully towards the forest and back at Harry, who was standing as still as a statue, his jaw firmly set, and his eyes unblinkingly fixed on a point in the distance.

Others began to quiet down as they noticed Harry's peculiar behavior.

“They're going to have a baby!” Fred, George, and Ginny's chant rang out loudly amidst the sudden quiet. “They're going to—“

“What do you reckon is going on?” Ron whispered to no one in particular.

“Do you think he's ill?” Harry could hear Mrs. Weasley ask worriedly.

“Be quiet!” someone else hissed from the other end of the table.

Remus stood up and made his way over to Harry. “Harry?” he asked, reaching out towards the young wizard.

“Get inside the house!” Harry suddenly yelled out. He whipped his wand out from his front pocket, holding it steadily in front of him.

“What's going—“ Hermione asked, her voice shaking with fear.

Suddenly, a stunner came out of nowhere, missing Harry by mere centimeters. Harry rolled to the ground, bring Hermione down with him. “Stay here,” he ordered, before ducking to the other side of the table and sending an Expelliarmus in the direction the stunner had come from.

He could hear Mrs. Weasley screaming, ushering her children into the house.

Harry ran as fast as he could towards the dark forest, vaguely aware of the others who were running behind him. Jets of light suddenly began shooting from the forest, and Harry began to be able to make out dark, shadowy shapes.

As if he was in a fog, he shot out spell after spell, pleased to hear several thumps, as Death Eaters fell unconscious to the ground. Suddenly, he found himself face to face with Lucius Malfoy. Thinking fast, he thought to himself, “Sectumsempra!”, and Lucius immediately fell to the ground, blood spilling from his chest. Harry wasted no time; jumping over the still body, he silently shot stunner after stunner at various Death Eaters.

He saw Tonks by the edge of the woods, dueling with a squat, lumpy wizard, Harry recognized as a man named Amycus, from the attack on Hogwarts months earlier. To her left, Remus was tiredly fighting against a massive, brutal-faced Death Eater. Harry silently shot a stunner towards the unsuspecting Death Eater, and couldn't help but laugh at the look on Remus's face when the man dropped unsuspectingly to the ground.

I've got to keep my focus, Harry quickly reminded himself. His training had prepared him well, he noticed, as he managed to dodge spell after spell that was sent his way.

Glancing over his shoulder, he nearly fell to the ground as he spotted Hermione fighting with none other than Dolohov. Immediately, Harry was reminded of the night in the Ministry of Magic: the purple jet of light, Hermione gasping, her eyes wide with surprise, Hermione dropping the ground, lifelessly, the burst of pain that had erupted from his chest, the panic and complete lack of thought he had felt until Neville had told him that she was alive.

He stood at a distance, watching proudly as she sent a stunner towards him, while dodging the Death Eater's own spell that had been sent her way. It was obvious that Hermione had been training hard since their fifth year as well. But then, Harry was forced to watch in horror as Dolohov sent another spell towards Hermione; she screamed and fell lifelessly to the ground.

Despite the incredible need inside of him to run over to her, to make sure she was alright, Harry was unable to move. I need to get to Hermione, he thought forcefully. A second later, he was filled with such an immense burst of emotion. He felt the magic inside of him begin to vibrate so intensely, so powerfully, that it made him feel nauseated. The vibration began from his heart, spreading outwards throughout his entire body: through his chest, down his legs, to the very tips of his fingers. It was building up; getting stronger and stronger; Harry could barely stand it; he felt his head throb with the incredible buildup of magic, until…

A flood of light and energy erupted from him, bursting in every direction; the magic knocked all of the Death Eaters surrounding him clear off their feet, the trees swayed dangerously, as if in the middle of a terrible storm.

As Harry felt the magic slowly dissipate within him, he began to make out the figures of his friends staring at him with wonder and admiration.

“Hermione!” Not wasting any time, Harry sprinted, jumping over the knocked-out bodies of the Death Eaters, towards the spot where Hermione lay motionless on the ground.

He fell to his knees beside her, instantly grabbing her wrist to check for a pulse. A second later, his face visibly relaxed, and he slumped over onto his hands, murmuring, “thank God…”

He opened his mouth to tell the others that he was going to apparate Hermione to St. Mungos, when something caught his eye. Mere meters away, a snake lay lifelessly on the ground, a snake several feet long. Nagini.

“Take Hermione to St. Mungos!” He bellowed behind him towards the others, who were still standing still, staring at him with pure amazement and fear. “Quickly!” he added. Everyone snapped to attention, as if shaken out of a trance, and within seconds, Hermione and most of the others disappeared.

Taking a deep breath, he swiftly pulled his sword—which Moody had told him to carry everywhere “just in case”—from beneath his Wizard robes, and stabbed the blade deep inside the head of the snake. As he had expected, killing the creature was not like killing a normal snake.

Blood splattered everywhere and his scar burst open. It was pain unimaginable, pain past endurance, and Harry thought for sure he was dead.

He had left the Burrow; he felt himself trapped, locked within the body of a creature with red slits for eyes. There was no escape…his entire body screamed for release…anything to put an end to the pain he was enduring.

“Does it hurt, Potter?” he heard a voice say inside his head, and he could almost see the ghastly face of Voldemort sneering at him.

Harry willed himself to be strong; to fight whatever it was that had taken hold of him…

“Death seems like a perfect answer now, doesn't it?” the voice said.

`No, I don't want to die... I need to get back…,' Harry thought desperately. It was just like being back at the Ministry of Magic, fighting the internal battle against the pain and suffering Voldemort had infused upon him. `I need to be strong,' he repeated over and over to himself. `I don't want to die.' But then again…

“It would all be over once you're dead…All of the pain, the suffering. It would all be gone,” the voice taunted

`Death would be nothing compared to this agony,' Harry realized. `Just let the pain end…” Harry could feel himself slipping away, allowing all reasonable thoughts and feelings to be sucked from him…

“Your filthy blood-traitor friends and that Mudblood of yours will finally be able to live normal lives without you there,” the voice coaxed.

`Yes,' Harry thought vaguely to himself, `Ron and Hermione will finally…” The image of Hermione flashed before his mind, and his heart suddenly was filled with emotion again. `Hermione!'

He felt the pain slowly lesson, the control of Voldemort over Harry's body weakened. `Fight it, Harry,' he told himself. He concentrated as hard as he could on Hermione…on her enchanting smile, her brilliant knowledge and wisdom…

The pain vanished, the control completely gone, and Harry found himself lying flat on the ground, the Burrow in the distance.

Voices echoed all around him, causing his head to spin. “Harry!” he heard someone call out repeatedly; they sounded so far away…

Slowly his eyes regained focus, his hearing became clearer, and Harry looked up and saw Remus's face mere centimeters from him own, fear and worry etched clearly across his face.

“Are you alright, Harry?” Remus asked.

“I'm o-okay,” Harry responded shakily. He tried to get up, but found himself shaking too hard to move even his head.

It wasn't until several minutes later when Harry had finally managed to get to his feet and was stable enough to stand without the support of Remus.

“What are we doing with them?” he asked, gesturing towards the motionless bodies of the Death Eaters scattered across the ground.

“Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt are transferring them to Azkaban as we speak. A bit of a lengthy and tedious process, I do say,” Remus answered, still looking at Harry as if he expected him to collapse at any second.

Harry looked up at Remus, and saw him staring fixedly across the yard. “Harry…” he said quietly, “is that…” He slowly made his way towards the corpse of the snake.

“You killed it,” he said suddenly, a smile creeping on his face. “It was a Horcrux, right?” he added, excitement growing in his voice.

“Yeah,” Harry said softly. “It's gone.”

***

Several moments later, Remus and Harry apparated to St. Mungos, where they were eagerly welcomed by the Weasleys, who were waiting anxiously for news about Hermione.

Harry pulled himself away from the crowd and sat quietly in the corner, staring blankly out the window. He leaned forward and pressed his still-aching scar to the cool glass of the window.

All he could do now was wait.

Author's Note: Wow, that took forever. I'm sorry- I know I promised it would be out soon. :-( These middle chapters, I'm finding, are quite difficult to write. I'm getting closer to the end, though, and those chapters will be easier…But still, there's no excuse for the enormous gaps between each update :-/ I hope I haven't lost too many people's interest…

So I was babysitting, and we were watching the Harry Potter movies, and one of the kids said, “I can't wait until Harry and Hermione get together”. She hadn't even read the books yet, and I thought it was really funny. We must not be that delusional :-)

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11. Moving On

Author's Note: I know I really don't have any excuse for not updating this in about a year…would anyone accept the excuse that I got really busy with my senior year of high school?? I hope I didn't lose too many of my faithful readers by the delay.

Chapter 11: Moving On

Several moments later, Remus and Harry apparated to St. Mungos, where they were eagerly welcomed by the Weasleys, who were waiting anxiously for news about Hermione.

Harry pulled himself away from the crowd and sat quietly in the corner, staring blankly out the window. He leaned forward and pressed his still-aching scar to the cool glass of the window.

All he could do now was wait.

***

Two days passed and still, Hermione had not awakened. Two long, miserable days, in which Harry spent solely at St. Mungos, sitting beside Hermione's lifeless form, holding her limp hand in his.

He knew time was running out. The attack at the Burrow had simply been a warning, a warning to Harry that the end would most certainly be near.

The healers said she would be fine, but as Harry looked down at her lifeless body, he felt a pang of guilt run through him. It was his fault Hermione was lying there, badly hurt. What had he been thinking, allowing her to fight with him? He knew she was capable of fighting; she wasn't called the brightest witch of her age for nothing. He had dueled against her, had seen the power of her magic, but watching her lie in the hospital bed at St. Mungos…he didn't know if he could handle it. And he knew next time she might not be “fine”; he knew that next time, she could be killed, and instead of watching her lie in a hospital bed, he could be watching her body be buried in the cold ground. The memory of his nightmare from the beginning of the summer flooded into his mind, and he squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to try to stop it.

“You feel rather attached to this one, don't you Potter,” Voldemort said, chuckling. “The filthy Mudblood,” he spat.

“Avada Kedavra!” Voldemort shouted, pointing his wand at the girl in front of him, and laughing again as he watched her body crumble to the ground.

He shook his head violently, trying as hard as he could to get the image out of his mind. He couldn't let that happen; he would do whatever it took to keep her safe. And though he didn't want to accept it, he knew that by being Hermione's boyfriend, he wasn't keeping her safe, but rather, putting her in far more danger than he could ever fathom. He knew what he needed to do.

He slowly stood up, stretching out the kinks in his back. He bent down and tenderly kissed her forehead. And with one last look of longing, Harry made his way to the door. “Goodbye, Hermione,” he whispered, and he closed the door behind him.

***

Harry spent the remainder of the day flipping through book after book looking for answers. He needed to destroy the last Horcruxes as quickly as possible. If Voldemort attacked before they were all destroyed… He shook his head, not wanting to think of the consequences of not being prepared for the final battle.

Sighing, he closed the book he had been reading and rubbed his eyes. It was so much easier to research with Hermione at his side.

He had tried using the spell, Demo atrum veneficus navitas ut est intus simultas, the same spell that had destroyed the locket, on the wand, but even after several attempts, the wand remained whole.

Frustrated, Harry began pacing back and forth, at times letting out his anger by kicking over piles of books that lined the library walls. He couldn't do this, not alone at least. But Hermione was in the hospital, and Ron was at the Burrow, after deciding, in light of recent events, that he needed to spend more time with his family.

The evening at the Burrow had been so cheerful, so light and happy. For a moment, Harry had almost forgotten about the war and his role in it. For a moment, he felt like a normal teenager, spending the evening with his friends and family. And Bill and Fleur had had such happy news.

Bill.

Harry almost felt like slapping himself for forgetting his and Hermione's conversation from a few days ago. In light of recent events, he had forgotten all about asking Bill Weasley for help. Quickly gathering up some of his notes and stuffing the wrapped wand in his pocket, he apparated to the Burrow.

***

He found Bill in the kitchen.

“Bill, can I have a word?” Harry asked nervously. He shoved his hands anxiously into the pockets of his jeans and looked around to make sure no one else was within hearing distance.

“Sure,” Bill said, setting down his cup of coffee he had been drinking. Noticing the nervous look on Harry's face, Bill's smile dropped. “What's wrong?” he asked, lowering his voice slightly and leaning in towards Harry.

“Bill, what I am going to tell you…,” Harry began. “No one can know about this, do you understand?”

“Of course, Harry,” Bill said. “You know you can trust me…What's going on?”

“As a curse-breaker, have you ever come across something called…” Harry dropped his voice down to a barely-audible whisper, and Bill leaned in even closer, so that his ear was mere centimeters away from Harry's mouth. “A Horcrux.”

Bill shuddered. “Yeah, I've heard about them…very Dark magic. We don't come across them very often though.”

“But you have heard of them?” Harry asked.

“Unfortunately yes…but why?”

Harry began to pace back and forth in front of Bill, occasionally running his fingers through his messy hair.

“Voldemort has created Horcruxes…to make himself forever immortal,” Harry explained. He stopped pacing and looked up at Bill, who was staring at a point across the room, deep in thought.

“A Horcrux, eh?” Bill repeated. “I suppose I should have figured that. If anyone would be involved in such Dark magic, it would be You-Know-Who.”

“No, not one Horcrux,” Harry said. He looked Bill firmly in the eyes. “He has split his soul seven ways.”

“Seven?!” Bill exclaimed, his eyes wide with shock. “Blimey!”

Harry chuckled. “Yeah…That's what Hermione, Ron, and I have been doing this summer. We've been hunting down the remaining Horcruxes and destroying them.”

“Wow, if my mum ever found out…” Bill said chuckling.

“We need your help, though,” Harry said, his face once again focused and businesslike. “So far, four Horcruxes have been found and destroyed. We have another in our possession, but we don't know how to destroy the Horcrux inside of it…we thought, perhaps you would know…” Harry looked up at Bill, expectantly.

“What is the object?” Bill asked.

“A wand. Ravenclaw's wand,” Harry added.

“Rowena Ravenclaw's wand?” Bill asked, his head snapping up to look at Harry. He ran his fingers through his long red hair. “But no one's seen it in years. How could he have…” he murmured to himself.

“Another Horcrux was Slytherin's locket—we already destroyed that one. And Dumbledore thought another to be Hufflepuff's cup,” Harry continued, completely ignoring Bill's reaction.

“And how did you destroy the locket?” Bill asked, curiously.

“I said the spell, Demo atrum veneficus navitas ut est intus simultas,” Harry said. “But that alone didn't work. I needed to say it in Parseltongue.”

Bill nodded. “Interesting…” He stared down at his hands for several moments, not saying a word.

“But doing that again won't work on the other Horcrux we have,” Harry said slowly.

“Of course it won't,” Bill said, standing up very quickly. “I wouldn't have a job as a Curse Breaker if all one needed to do was say a silly incantation. No…to erase Dark Magic from an object you need to find the essence of it, while still using the spell.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, his eyebrows ruffled in confusion. He wished Hermione was there with him; she'd be able to figure it out.

“You destroyed the locket because you spoke Parseltongue, the very essence of what made the locket Salazaar Slytherin's, as it shows Slytherin's cunning, sly nature —“ Bill explained.

“So to destroy the wand, I would need to utilize Ravenclaw's essence,” Harry interrupted, his eyes suddenly glowing in excitement and understanding.

“Which would be—“Bill began.

“Intelligence and cleverness,” Harry finished. But how? He slumped back in his chair, his earlier excitement and understanding gone.

They sat there in silence for several minutes, neither of them saying a word.

But how could intelligence and cleverness destroy a Horcrux? Harry asked himself. He was suddenly reminded of a moment back in his first year, as he and Hermione worked their way through the protections guarding the Sorcerer's Stone.

“Brilliant,” said Hermione, staring at the bottles of potions in front of them. “This isn't magic—it's logic—a puzzle. A lot of the greatest wizards haven't got an ounce of logic.”

He felt a smile creep across his face.

“It's so simple,” he murmured to himself. But before he could explain his revelation, a voice called out, causing both Harry and Bill to jump in surprise.

Ron came running into the kitchen, gasping for breath. “H-harry,” he said, leaning on the table for support, “it's Hermione. She's—she's awake.”

***

“Hermione?” Harry said softly as he entered the hospital room.

“Harry!” Hermione squealed, as she attempted to sit up.

Harry nervously made his way over to the bed, his hands fidgeting. He knew that it was unsafe and quite foolish for Hermione and him to stay together as a couple, but upon seeing her face, alive and well, he wasn't sure if he was going to be able to say the things he knew he needed to say.

It's for her own good, he reminded himself.

“Hermione…” he began, running his fingers nervously through his hair.

“Harry, what is it?” Hermione asked, the smile on her face slowly fading, her eyes suddenly filled with concern. “What's wrong?”

You need to do this. You love her too much to see her get hurt again.

“I don't think we should be together anymore…like be boyfriend and girlfriend,” Harry blurted out, quickly averting his eyes from Hermione.

“What? I don't understand…” Hermione said softly. Harry could feel his heart slowly break. He wished desperately that he didn't have to do this.

He closed his eyes. He felt his throat slowly begin to tighten, and he found it suddenly extremely hard to breathe.

He knew if he said he was breaking up with her for her safety, Hermione would simply scoff, maybe even start to laugh. He knew she would tell him that she wasn't Ginny, that she wouldn't let him run off on his own without her. He knew she would tell him that it was her decision to be his girlfriend, and that she knew the risks involved.

So he lied.

“I just can't do this anymore,” he said slowly, each word he spoke cutting deeper and deeper into his heart. “It's just not working,” he added, wincing at horrible he sounded.

It was a complete lie, and he knew it; in fact, the past few weeks had been wonderful…no incredible…with Hermione. He loved her in a way that he had never thought possible, and every moment he spent with her, he wanted to savor.

Tears began to well in Hermione's eyes, and it took every ounce of strength and focus for Harry not to break down. “It's for the best,” he managed to say, his voice sounding oddly unlike his own.

“For the best?” Hermione whispered, her voice barely audible. “How can you say that…” her voice trailed off.

There was a long pause, as tears began streaming down her cheeks. Harry did everything he could to reach out and hold her in his arms as he so desperately wanted to. He couldn't believe he was actually doing this, saying these things to someone he loved so dearly.

Wiping the tears from her eyes and taking a few deep breaths to calm herself down, Hermione began to speak. “Can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me you don't love me?”

You love her too much to see her in the hands of Voldemort, he reminded himself. He took a deep breath, and staring straight into her eyes, said, “I do not love you.”

***

Harry didn't allow himself to think about Hermione as he returned to Grimmauld Place; more so, he couldn't allow himself to think about it. He knew he had perhaps ruined the greatest thing that had come into his life, maybe even the only great thing that had come into his life. The very thought brought him to his knees in pain. He wished it didn't need to be this way, yet he knew it was for the best. He wished he could run back to Hermione and tell her it was all a big mistake, that he hadn't mean a word he said, but he knew he couldn't.

Harry focused solely on destroying the wand. The second he arrived at Grimmauld Place, he made his way to the library and locked the door to avoid any interruptions. He felt driven, determined to destroy the Horcrux—destroy Voldemort—as fast as he could; he would not let breaking up with Hermione be for nothing.

Careful not to touch the wand with his bare hands, Harry unwrapped the Horcrux. He instantly felt a burst of energy radiating from it, causing his whole body to shiver. The connection is growing stronger, Harry realized. With each Horcrux I destroy, the bond between me and Voldemort grows stronger. He vaguely wondered if Voldemort could feel the bond or, even more importantly, if he knew about his destroyed Horcruxes.

Slipping on the pair of dragon-hide gloves he had received from Lupin, Harry tentatively picked up Ravenclaw's wand. Nothing happened, much to Harry's relief.

And using the wand that once belonged to the smartest witch of the age, Harry recited Demo atrum veneficus navitas ut est intus simultas, closing his eyes in anticipation.

Harry felt himself being thrown back against the bookshelves, various tomes toppling on top of him. Pain spread through his body, like fire, until he felt numb. Slowly opening his eyes, the first thing Harry noticed was that Ravenclaw's wand was no longer in his hand. Where the wand had been, there was a hole, exposing the burnt flesh of the palm of Harry's hand. Harry winced as he peeled off his ruined glove. And tossing it aside, Harry noticed a pile of ashes on the floor; the remnants of Ravenclaw's wand.

He couldn't believe it. Completely forgetting about his injured hand, Harry jumped to his feet and yelled out in excitement. He ran to the door and throwing it open, yelled “One more to go!” to anyone that could hear him.

One more to go.

Another Author's Note: Please don't hurt me for having them break up They will be getting back together; this was just a very necessary step for Harry, a step that was incredibly hard to write (which is part of why this chapter took so long).

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12. Losing Ground

Chapter 12: Losing Ground

Slipping on the pair of dragon-hide gloves he had received from Lupin, Harry tentatively picked up Ravenclaw's wand. Nothing happened, much to Harry's relief.

And using the wand that once belonged to the smartest witch of the age, Harry recited Demo atrum veneficus navitas ut est intus simultas, closing his eyes in anticipation.

Harry felt himself being thrown back against the bookshelves, various tomes toppling on top of him. Pain spread through his body, like fire, until he felt numb. Slowly opening his eyes, the first thing Harry noticed was that Ravenclaw's wand was no longer in his hand. Where the wand had been, there was a hole, exposing the burnt flesh of the palm of Harry's hand. Harry winced as he peeled off his ruined glove. And tossing it aside, Harry noticed a pile of ashes on the floor; the remnants of Ravenclaw's wand.

He couldn't believe it. Completely forgetting about his injured hand, Harry jumped to his feet and yelled out in excitement. He ran to the door and throwing it open, yelled “One more to go!” to anyone that could hear him.

One more to go.

***

“Harry, you need to focus!” Lupin called out, his voice filled with frustration. The two of them were in the basement of Grimmauld Place, dueling. They had been practicing every minute they could over the last couple of days, doing everything they could to prepare Harry for the upcoming battle.

“I'm trying,” Harry said through gritted teeth. He angrily wiped the sweat off from his forehead. “Nothing seems to work.” And he threw his wand down on the floor in defeat.

The last few days, Harry began feeling less and less prepared, despite the more frequent practicing and the more intense training. He felt his magic slipping away from him, all of the progress he had made over the summer, slowly disappear.

“Of course nothing's going to work,” Lupin said, picking up Harry's wand and handing it to him. “Not with that attitude.”

Harry shot him an angry glare, but said nothing.

“You're just getting frustrated, that's all,” Lupin continued, his voice much friendlier and less annoyed.

Harry shrugged. “Well yeah,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“Why don't you and Hermione go see a movie or something?” Lupin suggested. Harry didn't say anything, instead, he picked at a loose thread from his shirt. “Oh c'mon. It couldn't hurt, taking some time off practicing.”

“Hermione and I broke up,” Harry muttered, looking away.

“What?” Lupin said, surprised. “Why? Did you two have a row?”

Harry shook his head, looking sheepishly at his feet. “No, I broke up with her.”

“And why the hell did you do that?” Lupin asked, his voice growing more and more angry.

Harry just shrugged, trying as hard as he could to keep his face expressionless, to keep from breaking down in front of his former professor, the last of the Marauders.

“You did it to protect her, didn't you?” Lupin accused.

Harry just shrugged again.

“And how did she take it?” Lupin asked, his eyebrows raised. “The Hermione Granger I know wouldn't put up with something like that.”

“Well, she wasn't happy about it,” Harry said.

“But she accepted it?” Lupin asked, his voice filled with disbelief. Harry nodded. “What did you tell her?”

Harry sighed. And looking away he said quietly, “I told her I didn't love her anymore.”

“That's not true, is it?” Lupin asked, his voice slowly becoming less angry.

Harry shook his head, biting his lip in an effort to keep his voice light and casual.

“It's not true in the least,” Harry said quietly. “Lupin,” he added, looking up, “I love her more than anything.”

Lupin nodded. “I know,” he said simply.

“She's handling it well,” he added.

Harry sighed. “Yeah, she is,” he agreed. His mind flashed back to a moment a couple of days ago, after he had destroyed the wand. Hermione had taken one look at his burnt hand and had dragged him into the bathroom to heal him.

“You're still going to help me?” Harry asked, very surprised. He had expected Hermione never to talk to him again, after what he had done and though her tone of voice was very tight and businesslike, she was, in fact, still talking to him.

“Well of course,” Hermione said as she wrapped Harry's burnt hand with a bandage, careful not to pull it too tight, though perhaps not being as delicate and careful as she normally would have been. “Ron and I promised to help you. Something as silly as you breaking up with me will not change that.”

Harry opened his mouth to object.

“But,” Hermione said firmly, before Harry had a chance to speak, “Ron and I can only go so far with you. This fight is, in the end, yours to fight.”

And with that, she fastened the bandage on Harry's hand, stood up, and left the room without another word.

The past couple of days had been similar. Harry and Hermione's relationship was very businesslike, and, while they didn't avoid one another, their conversations were curt and short.

And Harry couldn't help but connect the decline in his magic with the decline of his relationship with Hermione. Even the most simple nonverbal spell was difficult for Harry; a wandless spell was simply out of the question.

I'm just depressed and stressed, Harry told himself. Being without Hermione will take some getting used to. And then my magic with be back to how it used to be.

And with that, he put it out of his mind.

***

Harry found himself running down the narrow streets of Hogsmeade. But instead of seeing the spirited village with bustling shops and friendly people, Harry saw only death and destruction. Windows were shattered, doors broken down. Whole buildings were aflame. The night sky was pitch black, the only light coming from the burning buildings. Harry could see lifeless bodies sprawled across the ground, their eyes wide with fear, their mouths slightly opened in surprise. Not a single body was moving.

The village was eerily silent, unnervingly so. But Harry kept running, his wand held steadily in front of him, his eyes darting furiously back and forth looking for someone. Anyone.

He felt himself falling to the ground as he tripped over a crack in the broken cobblestone road. But not wanting to waste any time, Harry quickly jumped back to his feet and dusted off his robes. He looked up, and jumped backwards in fear as he found himself face to face with the Dark Lord himself, Lord Voldemort.

“Potter,” Voldemort sneered as he pointed his wand at Harry's heart.

“Riddle,” Harry sneered back, a smirk emerging on his face as he watched Voldemort grow agitated at the sound of his Muggle name.

“Crucio!” Voldemort yelled, and Harry did everything in his power not to scream. But it was pain beyond imaginable and Harry yelled out, rolling in agony on the ground.

“That hurt, didn't it Potter?” Voldemort asked as he released the curse, his voice mock friendly and condescending. “Maybe next time, we should include your little friends in on the game.”

He turned and pointed his wand to Harry's left. Harry gasped when he saw Hermione and Ron, tied up, lying in a heap on the ground.

“No…,” Harry murmured to himself, his eyes stricken with fear, his stomach feeling suddenly very nauseous. “They can't be…”

“Dead?” Voldemort finished for him, his eyebrows raised, his mouth curled up in a smirk. “Of course not, Potter. I thought it would be much more fun for you to watch the Blood Traitor and the Mudblood being tortured and killed.” He twirled his wand with his long, bony fingers.

“Y-you'll have to fight me first,” Harry said, staggering to his feet and holding his wand out as steadily as he could manage.

“As you wish, Potter,” Voldemort said, mockingly.

The two of them began firing off curse after curse, though Harry found himself spending most of his time and energy blocking Voldemort's curses, rather than firing his own.

Finally one curse hit him in the side, and Harry flew back, landing precariously on the ground.

“This is the end, Potter,” Voldemort sneered and he stood over Harry, his wand pointing at his adam's apple.

“You can't win, Harry,” he could hear Hermione yelling from where she was tied up. “You aren't good enough.”

“She's right, you know, mate,” Ron added. “You'll never be able to beat him. You might as well just accept it.”

Harry felt his heart sink. His own friends didn't even believe in him. And who was he kidding? They were right, of course. He wasn't ready; he wasn't strong enough; he wasn't powerful enough; he was still just a kid.

“Avada Kedavra!” he heard Voldemort yell. But Harry didn't move.

He could see the burst of green light coming towards him. But he did nothing to block it.

He simply allowed the curse to hit him square in the chest. He was dead. Voldemort had won.

Harry woke up, covered in sweat, his sheets twisted and tangled around him. Breathing very heavily, as if he had just run a marathon, Harry tried to sit up, his hand fumbling for his glasses on the bedside table.

Voldemort had won.

He had lost.

And he had just accepted it.

Harry couldn't get the image out of his mind. Of his friends telling him he couldn't win, of himself believing them, and then, in the end, really not being able to win. He squeezed his eyes shut and fell backwards onto his pillow in frustration. He didn't know why he was letting the nightmare bother him so much.

Because it was playing with your deepest fears.

It was true. Harry had had his share of nightmares before. He had watched as friend after friend was tortured and killed, all because of him. He couldn't stand it. Because, to him, it meant that he failed. He had failed his friends; he failed his parents who had died protecting him; he failed the entire Wizarding world.

And in this nightmare, unlike any other dream he had had before, he really did fail. In the worst possible way. If he was killed by Voldemort, he would be allowing unstoppable darkness to spread. There would be no limits to Voldemort's killings and everyone he loved, everyone he knew, everyone who had ever even heard of the Boy-Who-Lived, would be in harm's way.

It would be a failure unimaginable.

Rolling over onto his side, Harry rubbed his throbbing head. He hadn't had a nightmare in months…since he and Hermione had gotten together really. There had been a few at the beginning of the relationship, but Hermione had always snuck into his room with a bucket of cold water and a towel to calm him down. She always seemed to be able to sense when he was having a nightmare.

Unintentionally, he noted with disappointment that Hermione had not come. You were the one that broke her heart, he reminded himself. But he still couldn't push aside that gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach as he realized that he missed her terribly.

When the sun finally rose over the horizon, Harry dragged himself out of bed, his eyes bloodshot with lack of sleep. Groggily, he made his way to the door, not noticing the bucket of cold water and towel that had been placed at the foot of his bed sometime in the middle of the night. Nor did he notice the door across the hall open just a crack, with two eyes peeking out, watching him make his way down the stairs to the kitchen.

***

“Have you found anything yet?” Harry asked, after what seemed like hours of researching. The trio had spent the entire afternoon and much of the evening in the library at Grimmauld.

“If I had found something, I would have told you,” Hermione said coolly, her eyes never leaving her book.

“Maybe it would help if we just listed what the other Horcruxes were, and where they were found,” Ron suggested, closing his book. Rom seemed eager to do just about anything that meant he could put his book away and stop researching.

“Ron, we've done that already,” Harry said, frustrated.

“I think that might help,” Hermione said, closing her book as well. “It would at least help us sort our thoughts,” she added, ignoring the shocked look on Harry's face.

“Alright,” Harry said slowly. And then he too put his book away.

“So first there was the diary,” Hermione said, pulling out a piece of parchment and a quill.

“That was in Malfoy's possession, his most trustworthy Death Eater,” Harry added. “Voldemort would have felt pride from gathering such faithful followers.”

Ron and Hermione nodded.

“Then the ring…that was at his mother's home and would have connected Voldemort back to the strong Wizarding blood of Slytherin,” Hermione said, furiously writing down on the parchment.

“And the locket,” Ron said. “At that place where he used to torture the Muggle orphans.” He chuckled awkwardly. “Can you picture Little Tommy-kins? What a messed up kid.”

Harry smiled, not saying anything. He had already seen, of course, “Little Tommy-kins” in Dumbledore's pensieve. He had seen the young boy's obsession with power, his thirst to prove himself, to be considered special. I felt the same way growing up, Harry mentally added. Of course, he had never gone to such extremes as Tom Riddle had, but still…he had experienced what it felt like to be unloved, to be considered worthless.

“Then there's the wand,” Hermione said, startling Harry out of his thoughts. “But why…”

“Tom Riddle got his wand the day he found out that magic really did exist, that he really was special,” Harry interjected. “Getting a wand and feeling that burst of magic for the first time would have been very important to Riddle.”

“You're right,” Hermione said softly. “I hadn't thought of that. Well done, Harry.”

Harry beamed. “I was just remembering the day I got my wand…” We really are similar, he thought.

He shook his head. He didn't want to think about that. “So then there was Nagini,” he said. “Self explanatory as to why. He could talk to snakes.”

“And that leaves the cup?” Ron asked. “And that could be anywhere!”

“No…” Harry murmured. “Not anywhere.”

“Where then?” Ron asked. “At the orphanage where he grew up?”

“No, he hated that place,” Harry pointed out. Just like I hated the Dursley's, he added.

“To him, Hogwarts would be the place he considered home.” Just like I did.

“Dumbledore would have searched the castle, Harry,” Hermione pointed out.

“He couldn't search every place,” Harry said, standing up. He smiled, for what seemed like the first time in days.

“Where then?” Hermione asked.

“The Chamber of Secrets.”

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13. Discoveries

Chapter 13: Discoveries

“And that leaves the cup?” Ron asked. “And that could be anywhere!”

“No…” Harry murmured. “Not anywhere.”

“Where then?” Ron asked. “At the orphanage where he grew up?”

“No, he hated that place,” Harry pointed out. Just like I hated the Dursley's, he added.

“To him, Hogwarts would be the place he considered home.” Just like I did.

“Dumbledore would have searched the castle, Harry,” Hermione pointed out.

“He couldn't search every place,” Harry said, standing up. He smiled, for what seemed like the first time in days.

“Where then?” Hermione asked.

“The Chamber of Secrets.”

***

It was the morning after Harry's revelation regarding the last Horcrux and the trio was sitting in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, exhaustion clearly written across each of their faces. They had spent the entire night scouring the library and all of Hermione's numerous editions of Hogwarts, A History for information about the Chamber of Secrets; yet even after countless hours of researching and planning, they were still no closer to their final destination.

Harry aimlessly stirred his coffee with a spoon, his eyes bloodshot and glazed over. He stifled a yawn as he glanced across the table at Ron, who was fast asleep, and then next to him, towards Hermione, who was smoothing out the Daily Prophet that had just arrived by owl.

Harry had actually felt a sense of relief the previous night when Hermione had announced they were going to research and plan for their trip to Hogwarts all night. With the upcoming battle so close, especially with the knowledge of the location of the final Horcrux, Harry had spent many a restless night tossing and turning. Nightmares plagued his dreams on those rare occasions that he could, in fact, fall asleep, leaving him even more anxious and apprehensive.

Suddenly Hermione let out a yelp, causing Harry to jump in surprise and startling Ron awake so fast that he fell out of his chair and landed clumsily on the floor.

“What?” asked Harry and Ron together.

Hermione didn't say a word. Instead, she pushed the newspaper towards Harry and pointed to the headline that covered the front page.

HOGWARTS CLOSED

FOR THE FIRST TIME IN HISTORY

“Closed?!” Harry exclaimed, grabbing the paper from the table. “But they can't!”

“Well they did,” Hermione snapped, rolling her eyes at him. “Just read the article!”

The Ministry of Magic announced last evening that Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has officially and indefinitely been closed.

Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, told reporters that he had little to say about the matter, except to point out how dangerous these times have become, with You-Know-Who and his followers at such a rise.

“It is getting to be much too dangerous to allow the young witches and wizards of our society to stay away from their families during such treacherous times,” Scrimgeour said last night. “We at the Ministry of Magic believe that students will it will be much safer, in light of recent events and activities, if the school was closed. Though we were doing everything in our power to protect our students at Hogwarts, as we are dealing with You-Know-Who, we do not wish to take any chances regarding the safety and protection of the young witches and witches at the school and wish only to preserve the wellbeing of all students and families.”

This proves to be the first time in history that Hogwarts has been closed indefinitely and no statements have been made acknowledging how long the school will be closed.

“I don't believe this,” Harry snarled, crumbling up the newspaper and tossing it on the table. “Don't they realize that Hogwarts is the safest place for students right now?” he asked in frustration.

“What I don't understand,” Hermione said, her voice calm and steady, “is that the school opened for the fall term, showing that the Ministry of Magic felt the school safe enough to open.”

“Yeah,” agreed Ron. “Why close it now?”

Well it's certainly not for the `wellbeing of all students',” Harry said, sarcastically. “I don't believe this rubbish,” he said, gesturing towards the crumbled paper on the table.

“But what's the point then?” Ron asked. “Why would they close Hogwarts?”

“Money? Resources? Energy?” Harry offered. “Take your pick. The Ministry of Magic just doesn't want to have to put forth the effort required to keep the school fully protected.”

“It's absolutely ridiculous, if you ask me,” Hermione said angrily.

“Dumbledore always said that educating young witches and wizards was the most important thing,” Ron added.

“Well Dumbledore isn't around anymore, is he Ron?” Harry asked harshly, feeling a pang shoot through his stomach at the thought of the late headmaster.

“Well, no…he isn't,” Ron said dejectedly.

Neither of them said a word after that.

“Perhaps we should start thinking about the next Horcrux,” Hermione said, trying to fill the silence. “Closed or not, we still must go to Hogwarts to go into the Chamber of Secrets.”

“Maybe we should write to Professor McGonagall?” she suggested. “Even if Hogwarts is closed, she is still the headmistress and could help us.”

***

The following morning, a letter arrived for the trio from Professor McGonagall in response.

Dear Miss Granger, Mr. Potter, and Mr. Weasley,

It was delightful to hear from you again; Hogwarts is not the same without the three of you, though I am pleased to hear that you are making progress on the mission Dumbledore left behind. Regarding your wishes to return to Hogwarts to continue your quest, I am sure that can be arranged. Surely you have read the Daily Prophet and have heard the recent, devastating news, though such a setback will most definitely not be permanent. I would like to make it clear that I, as headmistress at Hogwarts, had no influence in the matter, and it was, and will forever be, my opinion that Hogwarts should remain open for any young witch or wizard who wishes to attend. I will meet you at the castle gates at 11 o'clock sharp tomorrow morning to let you into the school grounds. I will allow you to have complete reign of the castle, though, please, be careful. The Ministry is no longer protecting the school, and it is unwise not to be prepared for anything during these dark times. On this matter, I would like to address my concern towards your secrecy and confidentiality. Though it is admirable, Mr. Potter, to uphold Dumbledore's wishes regarding the mission's concealment, I do not feel it to be wise in such dangerous times. I will not push the subject any more than simply to offer my guidance and assistance, simply to ensure your utmost safety and, of course, success.

I look forward to seeing you again.

Take care,

Professor M. McGonagall

***

Harry, Hermione, and Ron found themselves the following morning outside the gates of Hogwarts at 11 o'clock sharp. And just like she said in her letter, Professor McGonagall was there waiting for their arrival.

The four of them walked in silence as they made their way across the school's grounds—which, in Harry's opinion, seemed unsettlingly quiet—and as they entered the castle. Harry was sure both Hermione and Ron were just as eager to ask their professor about the school's closing as he was, yet none of them spoke a word.

“Now, if you two would please excuse us,” McGonagall said as they entered the castle, causing Harry to jump after such a long period of silence. “I must speak with Harry alone.” She nodded at Hermione and Ron before turning to Harry. “Come, Mr. Potter. To my office,” she said, in such a formidable voice that made Harry feel as if he was back in class.

“We'll be in the library, Harry,” Hermione said as she watched the two of them leave, a look of puzzlement written across her face. It was clear that she couldn't fathom what the professor could want to talk to only Harry about. “Find us when you are finished,” she called after him.

Harry followed the professor through the halls, and was surprised when he realized where he and his professor were headed. He had expected them to go to Dumbledore's office, where he thought, as the new headmistress, McGonagall would surely have moved to. “But Professor,” he said nervously, “aren't we going to the Head office?”

McGonagall was silent for several moments, and it wasn't until they reached the door of her old office that she turned towards Harry. “In light of the circumstances, Mr. Potter,” she said austerely, though her eyes were light with compassion, “I felt as if my office would be more suitable. Simply, to take over Albus Dumbledore's office after such events would have been an intrusion on the old man's memory.”

“Of course, Professor,” Harry said quickly. “I understand. I completely understand.” And he did; he remembered the assortment of moving silver objects, the bowl of Lemon Drop candies, Fawkes's golden perch, and he felt a sense of satisfaction knowing nothing had changed.

“Sit down, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said, waving her hand towards the chair opposite her. Harry promptly obeyed; as much as he had gotten to know his professor over the years, he was still not as comfortable in her presence as he would have liked and, frankly, he did not want to get on the wrong side of her. Feeling a bit uncomfortable and awkward, Harry looked nervously down at his hands.

“Before Professor Dumbledore left with you on that fateful night last June, he spoke to me regarding the possibility of his untimely death,” McGonagall began, causing Harry's head to snap up in attention. He hadn't realized any sort of conversation had taken place. Had Dumbledore known, or, perhaps, presumed such events would occur?

“He asked me, if anything ever happened to him, to be in charge of giving you some things that he thought might be useful to you in the upcoming months.”

“You may be wondering why I have not given these objects to you before this point in time,” McGonagall continued, to which Harry nodded in response, “though I wish to understand my position in this matter.

“I did not, in the least, expect anything to happen to Albus that night. Quite certainly, I was in denial of what was at stake when he left with you. And once he did, in fact, meet his untimely end, I could not bring myself to accept such a dreadful fate and to give you the objects before you left for the summer.”

“When I learned you would not be attending Hogwarts in September,” she continued, “I thought you to be foolish, to be irrational. I was angry with Albus for making you believe that it was your duty to continue his mission when there were much older, more qualified, witches and wizards available. Pardon me when I say this, but I thought you too young to hold such a burden.”

“You and everyone else,” Harry muttered to himself angrily.

McGonagall, ignoring Harry's comment, continued. “I firmly believed that you, Miss Granger, and Mr. Weasley would realize your foolishness in due time, and return to Hogwarts and forget about the mission. And I realize now, that I was wrong; wrong about many things.”

“Yes,” Harry said resolutely, his jaw firmly set. “You were wrong.”

“So I hope you can forgive my mistake, and accept my apology,” McGonagall said sincerely.

Harry sighed and nodded. “Yes, Professor.” At this point, with the end so near, it seemed silly to hold a grudge over something so trivial.

“And,” McGonagall continued, as she stood up and pulled a crate out of the cabinet, “I believe these objects belong to you.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Harry said as he took the box from her.

He turned to leave the office, but he had yet to even reach the door, when McGonagall called his attention.

“Harry,” she said, her voice filled with an edge of apprehension, something Harry had never heard before in his professor. “I was wondering if you had changed your mind regarding the secrecy of your mission.”

“I'm sorry, Professor,” Harry said, shaking his head. “I stand by my former decision.”

McGonagall nodded, as if expecting such an answer. “I understand, Mr. Potter. I simply thought it my responsibility to offer.”

“And now, I believe you should return to Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley,” she said, with what appeared to be a small hint of a smile. “They have been waiting for your return for quite some time.”

Harry nodded, and after a quick goodbye, he left the professor's office and hurried as fast as he could with the heavy box, to the library, where they were anxiously waiting.

***

“Blimey!” Ron exclaimed as Harry set the box down on the table in the library. “What is all this stuff?”

“It's from Dumbledore,” Harry said as he pawed through the box. He pulled out a bag of Lemon Drop candies and smiled. But his smile quickly faded as his jaw dropped in surprise.

“It's Gryffindor's sword,” he said in amazement as he pulled it out of the box. Hermione and Ron, who had never seen it before, inspected it closely with awe and incredulity.

After pulling out the stone Pensieve and a pair of socks—“One can never have enough socks” Harry remembered Dumbledore once saying—Harry came across a thick envelope addressed to him, written in the narrow, loopy handwriting he had come to recognize so well.

Open only after you have triumphed over Tom Riddle in the final battle, was written right below his name. Harry quickly shoved the letter in his pocket, his heart filled with appreciation at his old mentor's gesture. With such a simple message, Dumbledore had been able to portray both his confidence and faith in Harry, something that gave Harry more hope than he had felt in a very long time.

“So what now?” Ron asked, once they had looked at everything in the box.

“Now,” Harry said firmly, his eyes filled with determination and purpose, as he fastened the sword to his belt, “we go down into the Chamber of Secrets.”

Author's Note: I know nothing really happened in this chapter, but just stick with me. It was more just a transition to the next chapter. And yes, the end of this story is very near

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14. Into the Chamber

Chapter 14: Into the Chamber

“So what now?” Ron asked, once they had looked at everything in the box.

“Now,” Harry said firmly, his eyes filled with determination and purpose, as he fastened the sword to his belt, “we go down into the Chamber of Secrets.”

***

The journey down into the Chamber of Secrets was uneventful, though Harry couldn't help but be entertained by Hermione as she screamed the entire way down the slimy pipe and as she landed in a heap on the layer of bones on the floor. He had forgotten that Hermione, who had been with him during what seemed like every adventure, had been in the hospital wing, petrified, the last time Harry had ventured into Slytherin's chamber.

“What is this stuff we landed on?” Hermione asked repulsively, holding up a rat's skeleton between her thumb and her forefinger.

“I believe it's the skeleton of a rat, Hermione,” Harry said, smirking as he watched Hermione yelp and promptly drop the bones back onto the floor.

“Let's just keep going,” Hermione said, her head held high as if pretending that it didn't bother her that she was walking across what could be considered a rat graveyard. Yet even with her pretenses, Harry noticed her nonchalantly wipe her hand on her robes when she thought he wasn't looking. He smiled as he watched her walk boldly out of the front chamber.

The truth was, he missed her. Terribly. And even though they still acted like friends, perhaps even still like best friends, Harry couldn't help but feel that he was much happier when they were together as a couple.

He shook his head, as if trying to clear his mind from such thoughts. He was on a mission right now and couldn't afford not to be focused.

“Where does she think she's going?” Ron asked, once Hermione had disappeared around the corner.

Harry sighed and began to run after her. “Wait up, Hermione!” Harry called. “You don't know the way!”

They found Hermione in the main chamber, staring in awe and amazement at the carcass of a basilisk.

“Harry,” she said, her eyes never leaving the body, “is this…?”

“The basilisk from second year?” Harry offered. Hermione nodded, biting her lip.

“Blimey!” Ron exclaimed. “That thing must be at least 50 feet long!” He tentatively reached forward to touch the smooth skin of the snake, and instantly recoiled, disgust written across his face. “And you fought this!” he exclaimed, taking a step back. “Incredible!”

Hermione, however, did not seem as excited as Ron did. “You fought this,” she repeated quietly. “When you were only twelve…” Her voice faded off.

“Just a bit of luck, really,” Harry said with detachment, shrugging his shoulders and looking around the chamber. It looked smaller than it did before, though perhaps he was simply bigger... The chamber seemed less eerie as well; the odd, greenish gloom he vaguely remembered had vanished, the carvings of the angry serpents seemed less intimidating. Though, maybe it was simply because this time, he didn't have to worry about a deadly basilisk lurking around each and every corner.

Harry made his way towards the statue of Salazaar Slytherin that lined the farthest wall, intrigued by the statue's face—its monkeyish appearance, the long, thin beard, the mouth that had once opened, releasing the enormous basilisk from within… --and Harry was suddenly reminded of the last time he looked at this statue:

He watched Riddle stop between the high pillars and look up into the stone face of Slytherin, high above him in the half-darkness. Riddle opened his mouth wide and hissed—but Harry understood what he was saying…

“Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four.”

Slytherin's gigantic stone face was moving. Horrorstruck, Harry saw his mouth opening, wider and wider, to make a huge black hole.

And something was stirring inside the statue's mouth. Something was slithering up from it's depths. The basilisk.

Harry stared fixedly at the statue's face for a few more moments, ignoring both Hermione and Ron as they came up to his side, asking him what he was thinking.

“The basilisk came from there,” he said suddenly. “From inside Slytherin's mouth.”

“What?” Ron said. “How? It's stone…the mouth is sealed shut.”

But Harry ignored him, and speaking in the snake language that had been both a curse and a blessing to him all his life, he spoke the words Tom Riddle once did to summon the snake.

And just like he thought would happen, the statue's mouth slowly opened, revealing the huge black hole, this time, thankfully, without a snake.

“Well, will you look at that,” Ron said with a chuckle.

“Levitate me up,” Harry ordered, pulling his wand out of his pocket.

“What?” Ron exclaimed, his smile instantly gone. “You're not going in there are you?”

“Ron's right, Harry,” Hermione said. “It might be dangerous. You don't know what's in there.”

“I'm going in,” he said firmly, his eyes fixated on the opening in the statue. “Now, levitate me please.”

Once in the air, Harry scrambled into the hole, and was instantly repulsed by the awful stench emanating from its depths. A snake did live here for over fifty years, he reminded himself, though that thought seemed to only make the terrible smell even worse. “Lumos,” he muttered.

“What's up there, Harry?” he heard Hermione call out.

“Give me a minute,” Harry called over his shoulder, as he made his way along the passage. The tunnel was the exact size of the basilisk, causing Harry to have to crouch down slightly as he walked to avoid scraping his head against the rough, arched top.

He continued along the passage, running his hand along the side and he walked. Even with his wand alit, he could barely see three feet in front of him, and he certainly did not want to get lost. But after winding his way through the passage for several minutes, his hand lost connection with the wall. Holding his wand above his head to see better, Harry saw a smaller passage, one fit for a human rather than a snake. Bravely Harry turned into this new passage and gasped with surprise when he came around the corner.

There, sitting unceremoniously on a wooden table, was Hufflepuff's cup.

***

Ron and Hermione were, of course, bickering when Harry climbed out of the statue, the last Horcrux safely tucked away in his robes.

“Help me down, will you?” Harry called down at them, smirking when he saw them both jump in surprise.

Once down on the ground, Harry pulled out the Horcrux, pure excitement and exhilaration written across his face.

“But how do we destroy it?” Hermione asked as she inspected the artifact, tracing her finger lightly over the yellow and black jewels that lined the outside.

Harry's smile instantly faded. That simple question had been on his mind a lot lately, and he had yet to think of the answer. He racked his brain for ideas.

“To erase Dark Magic from an object you need to find the essence of it, while still using the spell,” Bill had said.

Hufflepuff's essence… friendship and loyalty.

But how…

Harry sighed as he looked to his friends for help.

Friendship and loyalty.

The three of them, inseparable now for six years, epitomized the very core of Hufflepuff. It was so simple, so obvious.

“Perhaps,” Harry began, setting the Horcrux carefully on the ground and pulling out his wand, “we say the spell together.”

“What spell?” Ron asked, scratching his head in confusion.

“Demo atrum veneficus navitas ut est intus simultas,” Hermione quickly answered for him, causing Harry's head to snap in her direction in amazement. And when Ron still appeared confused, she added, “It's the spell we used to destroy the locket, and the one Harry used on the wand.”

“Oh.”

“Wands at the ready then,” Harry said. “On the count of three.” And when both Hermione and Ron were ready, he said determinedly, “One…”

“Two…”

He took a deep breath.

“Three!”

And together, the three of them spoke the words to do the spell. Yellow light streamed from each of the wands, connecting and forming a cage around them and the golden cup. Harry, Hermione, and Ron, emotionally connected since that fateful adventure with the troll, suddenly became connected by magic.

Energy radiated from the cage, building up with great intensity until Harry felt as if he could no longer hold onto his wand. He snuck a glance at Hermione and Ron, and saw them both struggling as well. He then noticed that Hermione seemed on the verge of losing her control, and that the light coming from her wand was gradually fading. You have to help her, he realized, and with a great push of magical energy he hadn't realized he still had in him, the stream of light coming from the end of his wand exploded. The explosion of light surrounded all of them, blinding them. And when the light slowly faded, Harry realized that the cage was gone. And so was the cup.

“Wow,” Ron said after a minute, staring in awe at the spot on the ground where the cup had been. Harry wiped the sweat from his forehead and tried to even out his breathing.

I'm still standing, he realized suddenly. Every other time he had destroyed a Horcrux, he had either passed out, or had been thrown backwards through the air before promptly passing out. Yet this time, all three of them were still standing, though somewhat shakily, not a scratch to be seen.

It's because we're in this together, a voice said in his head.

Of course. Things were always easier with the support of friends.

We're stronger together.

There was no denying it. They were stronger together. The three of them, together, were unbeatable. Hermione was their brains, Ron was their optimism, and he was their strength.

Harry recalled the times when the three of them were separated, angry at one another over silly arguments and misunderstandings…the time when Hermione had his Firebolt taken away out of fear that it had been tampered with; the time when Ron failed to believe that Harry hadn't put his name in the Goblet of Fire… Those were the times when Harry felt the weakest, the most vulnerable.

“We are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided,” Dumbledore had once said. “Lord Voldemort's gift for spreading discord and enmity is very great. We can fight it only showing an equally strong bond of friendship and trust.”

Dumbledore had been right, of course. Harry was as powerful as he was because of the support of his friends. He would be nothing without them. He thought back to the scared little boy that he used to be before he entered Hogwarts, before he had met Hermione and Ron. How much of an impact their friendship had had on him…

And then there was Hermione…

Harry glanced up and saw her standing across the chamber, her back towards him.

She was his everything: his source of strength to keep fighting, his motivation to succeed. She was the one who never gave up, who never let him settle for anything less than his full potential. She was the one who would spend hours and hours searching through all of the books in the library…to help him. And even when everyone else had turned away from him—even Ron—she was the one who was always there.

There was no denying the fact that he was stronger with her.

He remembered the explosion that resulted from their first kiss, the new, incredible magical power that came from their love for one another. His magic had improved tenfold during the few months they had officially been a couple. But lately…

Harry closed his eyes and he felt all the blood rush to his face as he fully realized his stupidity.

He had thought he was protecting her by distancing himself from her; but really, all he was doing was weakening himself. He couldn't pretend any longer that it was because of stress that his magical power was declining the longer they were apart; he couldn't pretend any longer that he was having nightmares every night simply because the end was drawing nearer. It was because of Hermione. Hermione was, and always would be, his source of his strength, his motivation, and his power. Without her, he was nothing.

I've been a right idiot, he muttered to himself.

And taking a deep breath, he called out “Hermione!” as he started to jog towards her.

But Hermione put her hand out, causing him to come to a stop. She was standing completely still, her eyes unblinking, as she stared in front of her towards the entrance to the chamber.

“Hermione,” he said again. “We need to talk.”

She didn't say a word; in fact, it appeared to Harry that she hadn't even heard him.

Finally she spoke, her voice sinister and grave.

“Someone is coming.”

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15. The Final Battle

Author's Note: I had tried so hard to write this before Deathly Hallows came out, but I ran out of time. But this chapter does not contain any spoilers for Book 7, as I tried to keep it as close to my original plan as I possibly could. I hope you like it

Chapter 15: The Final Battle

He had thought he was protecting her by distancing himself from her; but really, all he was doing was weakening himself. He couldn't pretend any longer that it was because of stress that his magical power was declining the longer they were apart; he couldn't pretend any longer that he was having nightmares every night simply because the end was drawing nearer. It was because of Hermione. Hermione was, and always would be, his source of his strength, his motivation, and his power. Without her, he was nothing.

I've been a right idiot, he muttered to himself.

And taking a deep breath, he called out “Hermione!” as he started to jog towards her.

But Hermione put her hand out, causing him to come to a stop. She was standing completely still, her eyes unblinking, as she stared in front of her towards the entrance to the chamber.

“Hermione,” he said again. “We need to talk.”

She didn't say a word; in fact, it appeared to Harry that she hadn't even heard him.

Finally she spoke, her voice sinister and grave.

“Someone is coming.”

***

Harry whipped his wand out from his back pocket, and, holding it steadily in front of him, slowly made his way back to the entry chamber. He could hear Hermione and Ron shuffling behind him, their breathing heavy and uneven. As Harry approached the doorway leading to the entry chamber he could hear the sound of voices growing louder and louder. He motioned for Hermione and Ron to stop, and he tentatively pressed his ear up to the stone door. He was sure whoever was on the other side could hear his heartbeat, which was hammering wildly in his chest. He suddenly wished he had a pair of Extendable Ears.

Through the thick, stone wall, Harry could faintly make out a muffled voice saying, “Remember the Dark Lord's orders. We're to keep the Potter boy alive for when the Dark Lord arrives to finish him off.”

“Death Eaters,” he whispered frantically to Hermione and Ron, gripping his wand tighter in his hand, his other hand automatically grabbing the sword of Gryffindor that hung on his side.

“We can't just wait here for them to find us,” Ron said, his voice cracking slightly.

Harry and Hermione both nodded. Then, slowly backing away, their wands at the ready, the three of them made their way back into the main chamber and huddled behind a pillar.

“How many of them do you reckon there were?” Ron asked, nervously biting his fingernail.

“I dunno… A dozen?” Harry whispered back, his eyes never leaving the doorway.

“A dozen?!” Ron cried out, causing Hermione to kick him in the shin to be quiet. Shaking his head, he said softly, “How the bloody hell are the three of us going to be able to fight against a dozen Death Eaters?”

Harry had no clue. He hated hiding here, like a coward, when he could be fighting the Death Eaters. Where was his Gryffindor courage? But his more rational side quickly reminded him how vastly outnumbered they were. They couldn't do this alone…

“We need to notify the Order,” Hermione whispered suddenly, grabbing Harry's arm tightly. “Send Professor McGonagall your Patronus, Harry.”

“But the Death Eaters will see it,” Harry whispered back. “And then they'll know where we're hiding. There'll be no way of escaping.”

Hermione bit her lip, looking down at the ground for a moment. Then, taking a deep breath, said, “Yes. I know.”

“You think I should?” Harry asked, turning to face her. He grabbed both of her arms with his hands, staring into her eyes. He didn't want to make this decision; he had led his friends needlessly into danger enough times already.

She nodded.

“Ron?” Harry asked, letting his hands drop from Hermione's arms. “What do you think?”

“I think you should, mate,” Ron said, after a moment's silence. “There's no other way.”

“This is the end then,” Harry said softly. He didn't know exactly how he knew this was the final battle. He certainly hadn't anticipated it earlier that day when they arrived at Hogwarts; but yet, he knew it in the pit of his stomach. The Death Eaters had somehow known they were here. And since they knew, Voldemort would certainly be aware of that fact as well…

“Yeah, I think you're right,” Ron said, nodding.

What to say to your best friends before facing what would be a horrible, deadly battle, Harry had no clue. He shook his head slightly, at a loss for words.

“Good luck?” Ron offered, causing both Hermione and Harry to nervously chuckle.

“Good luck,” Harry repeated, smiling slightly.

“This is it then,” he said, taking a deep breath. And conjuring his Patronus, he sent a message to McGonagall.

Mere seconds passed before the door crashed open. But Harry was ready. In quick succession, he stunned three Death Eaters, and triumphantly watched as they fell to the ground in a heap. Jumping over one, he yelled “Petrificus Totalus”, before conjuring a shield to protect himself. The Death Eaters, while originally caught off guard, recovered quickly, and soon, spells and hexes were being shot all across the room.

Harry fired off any spell that he could think of, as he kept an eye both on his friends and on the chamber door. He knew that it was only a matter of time before Voldemort came into the Chamber of Secrets; only a matter of time before the final battle would take place.

Hermione was to his left, brilliantly waving her wand and shooting several spells in quick succession, and Ron was to his right, holding his own against a short, stubby Death Eater. Voldemort remained hidden.

“Harry!” he heard Hermione yell out behind him, and, spinning around, Harry found himself face to face with Severus Snape..

“Potter,” Snape sneered, his cold, dark eyes fixed upon Harry with a mixture of disgust and resentment.

“Stupefy!” Harry yelled out. But Snape simply deflected the spell with a lazy flick of his wand.

“You insignificant boy,” Snape sneered, lowering his wand, and circling around Harry, his eyes never leaving Harry's. “You never did learn to keep your mouth shut and your mind closed.”

Hatred rushed through Harry stronger than he had ever felt before. This was the man who killed Dumbledore; the man who undoubtedly killed his parents. This was the man who made his life miserable the last seven years at Hogwarts…

Harry's eyes narrowed, his hand clenched so tightly around his wand that his knuckles turned white. “Is that so?” Harry said, his voice sounding uncannily like Malfoy's. “Snivellus,” he added, with a smirk.

And before Snape could react, Harry flicked his wand, his mind screaming “Stupefy!” with every ounce of energy he possessed, and Snape flew backwards, hit the stone wall, and landed unconsciously in a heap on the floor.

A loud crash interrupted Harry's momentary celebration, and glancing over his shoulder, Harry saw, to his great relief, members of the Order standing gallantly in the doorway.

The battle continued. Harry saw Mad-Eye Moody fling two Death Eaters against the wall. To his left, Lupin and Tonks were standing side by side, fighting against a lumpy set of Death Eaters Harry recognized from the night Dumbledore died.

Spotting Hermione in the corner, fighting an old witch with dingy, soiled robes, Harry quickly rushed to her side, dodging spells in the process. “Stupefy,” he said casually as he came up behind the old witch, sharing a slight smile with Hermione as they watched her fall to the ground.

Several stunners shot over towards the two of them, and Harry quickly grabbed Hermione's arm, dragging her down to the ground beneath him.

“Protego!” he yelled, scrambling back to his feet. Hermione jumped up next to him, conjuring her own shield as a spell shot towards them.

“Hermione,” Harry gasped, still holding his wand out, ready for any attack. “I lied.”

Hermione shot a stunning spell at a Death Eater. “What?”

“I lied, Hermione,” Harry said, trying to catch his breath.

“With what?” Hermione asked, still not paying much attention, her focus solely on keeping the Death Eaters away.

“When you asked me if I loved you,” Harry said simply.

“Harry, what are you talking about?” Hermione said, finally putting her wand down and turning to face Harry. He waved his wand, and a shield formed around them, protecting them from any spells for the time being. “This really isn't the time for small talk,” she added.

“The day I broke up with you,” Harry said, looking over his shoulder nervously. This really wasn't the place he had wanted to do this. But he knew the end was coming, he felt Voldemort's presence come nearer and nearer. “You asked me if I loved you.”

“You said no,” Hermione said softly, turning away.

“I lied,” Harry said, his voice just above a whisper. “Hermione, I—“

“Harry!” Ron screamed out, causing Harry's attention to snap back to the battle. And looking to his left, Harry spotted the very thing that had caused Ron to call out.

Voldemort had arrived.

He stood almost majestically in the entrance of the chamber, his snakelike eyes glowing from the flickering fire from the torches. The light from the entry hall illuminated him, making him seem taller, thinner, more terrible…

It was as if time had stopped. The entire battle stopped as everyone, Death Eaters and Order members alike, simultaneously lowered their wands, their heads turned to watch as Voldemort entered the chamber.

Taking a deep breath, Harry made his way towards him, his head held high, the room parting like the Red Sea as he crossed the chamber. The room was eerily quiet, Harry's footsteps echoing loudly with each step he took.

But as Harry made his way across the chamber towards Voldemort, he forgot all about his talk with Hermione. He forgot about the ongoing battle, the Death Eaters, the Order. He forgot about his fears, his worries. He forgot about the Prophecy, he forgot about the possibility—the likelihood—of dying.

For now, it was only him and Voldemort. The moment he had waited for so long for—since he was a tiny baby—had arrived. And nothing else mattered.

“Potter,” Voldemort snarled as Harry stopped in front of him. He stared at Harry with those callous eyes, causing a shiver to run down Harry's back.

“Riddle,” Harry sneered back, holding back a smirk that threatened to emerge across his face. He held his head high and stared back with equal intensity, his eyes almost burning with hatred at the man standing before him, the man that had caused him so much anguish, so much pain, in his life.

“How dare you call me by that filthy Muggle name!” Voldemort hissed, raising his wand above his head, and pointing it down at Harry. “Crucio!” he yelled. Harry felt himself keel over to the ground in excruciating pain. He could hear someone screaming in the distance. It was pain so horrid, so intense that, for a moment, Harry forgot where he was. He could think of nothing but the pain. He clutched his scar in agony; he was sure it had split open. It was too much. Surely he was going to die from this torture.

But the pain stopped. Harry opened his eyes to see Voldemort smirking down at him, stroking his wand with his long, bony fingers. “That hurt, didn't it, Potter?” he asked, his eyes glistening with excitement.

Harry scrambled to his feet as quickly as he could manage, still feeling the effects of the curse. He held his head high and casually brushed off his robes, in the pretense that the curse had barely hurt. He did not want to give Voldemort the satisfaction.

Harry raised his wand, pointing it directly at Voldemort's chest.

“You think you can beat me?” Voldemort scoffed, raising his wand as well. “You think you can beat Lord Voldemort?” he chuckled. Then, raising his voice, added, “The greatest sorcerer in the world!” causing many of the surrounding Death Eaters to cheer.

“You may have been able to dodge death in the past, Potter, but I do believe your luck has run out,” said Voldemort.

“Is that so?” Harry countered, sounding much more confident than he felt.

“Look around, you foolish boy,” Voldemort continued, holding his arms out. “There is no one to save you. No Dumbledore around to help you, and no mother to protect you. And very soon it will be very clear who's the more powerful wizard. You cannot escape me any longer.”

Harry narrowed his eyes and took a few steps backwards as well, his wand never once wavering. He could do this. He was ready.

“Bring it on,” he said slowly, his eyes narrowed in determination.

Seconds later, Harry realized that he was, in fact, not ready, as he found himself flung backwards like a rag doll by a jet of purple light.

He scrambled to his feet, just as another jet of purple light came towards him.

Harry fired off spell after spell, whatever he could think of. But he was growing tired. His body felt like lead, his brain, clogged and stuffy. He couldn't keep it up any longer… He fell to the ground… Voldemort was closing in…This was the end…

“I love you Harry!” Hermione's voice suddenly rang out from across the room.

“Isn't that sweet,” Voldemort sneered, standing over Harry, giving him a hard kick in the ribs. “The pathetic Mudblood loves you. How comforting.”

Yet, it was comforting, in a way Voldemort could never fathom. While Voldemort continued to mock Harry, bursts of memories flashed before Harry's eyes in quick succession:

They were on the train, riding to Hogwarts for the first time. Hermione entered the cabin, asking them if they had seen a toad.

…The scene changed, and they were in the girl's bathroom on Halloween, Hermione was lying to the professors about the troll.

…“Me! Books! And cleverness!” Hermione was telling Harry. “There are more important thing—friendship and bravery and -oh Harry—be careful!”

…Hermione and Harry were riding on Buckbeak, soaring to the highest tower to save Sirius, Hermione holding Harry very tight around the waist, her face buried into his back.

…“Well, of course I knew you hadn't entered yourself,” Hermione was telling Harry after his name came out of the Goblet of Fire. “The look on your face when Dumbledore read out your name!”

…His eyes fell on the girl next to Krum at the Yule Ball. His jaw dropped: it was Hermione.

…They were in the Ministry of Magic. `A streak of purple flame passed right across Hermione's chest; she gave a tiny “oh!” as though of surprise and then crumbled on the floor where she lay motionless. “HERMIONE!” Harry fell to his knees beside her', not being able to breathe until Neville had enough sense to check for a pulse.

…“Oh, come on Harry,” Hermione was saying, sounding impatient. “It's not Quidditch that's popular, it's you! You've never been more interesting, and frankly, you've never been more fanciable!”

…He was back in his room at Grimmauld Place with Hermione, just having woken up from a nightmare. He slowly leaned forward and pressed his lips softly to Hermione's, causing a burst of light and magic to shoot from his scar.

“You know what your problem is, Tom,” Harry said, jumping to his feet, startling Voldemort. It was evident that he hadn't expected Harry to be able to respond. Though a second later, the look of surprise had vanished, and was once again replaced with contempt and composure.

“You never experienced love, so all your life you have constantly underestimated its powers,” Harry said loudly as he slowly circled Voldemort. He felt a sense of power and control rush through him, all exhaustion and fatigue that had tainted him before was gone.

“There is no such-“ Voldemort began, his snakelike eyes narrowing, but Harry cut him off.

“Your own mother didn't even love you,” Harry continued, his voice growing a little louder with every word he spoke. “Ditching you at that orphanage, after her Muggle husband left her.”

He turned slightly towards the crowd of Death Eaters that were huddled together. “Your master, your `Dark Lord', was a Half-Blood, did you know that?” he asked, overtly. Raising his eyebrows as he turned back to face Voldemort.

“That is enough!” Voldemort roared. “Crucio!”

The pain was worse than before, since, Harry figured, Voldemort was far angrier. But Harry had too much adrenaline running through his body, too much excitement, for the curse to fully cause him the desired pain.

The pain stopped, and Harry continued speaking as if he had never been interrupted. His bones ached, his head throbbed, yet he couldn't stop now. He knew Voldemort was horribly angry, and it could be any time when the killing curse came.

“It was my mother's love that saved me that night sixteen years ago,” Harry said very quickly. “Saved me, and destroyed you,” he added hurriedly, as he saw Voldemort raise his wand in fury.

“It destroyed you,” he repeated, louder this time.

“It did not destroy me,” Voldemort snarled, though Harry noticed his wand drop ever so slightly. “I am still very much alive, and even more powerful. Some could even go as far as to say, I'm immortal. And once I kill you, nothing will stop me.”

“I know about your Horcruxes,” Harry said, smiling as he watched the color drain from Voldemort's face. “The diary, the ring, the locket, the wand, the snake, the cup…” he paused.

“All destroyed.”

“All that's left…is you.”

Voldemort, who had been silent the last couple of moments, seemed to snap out of a trance, yelling, “AVADA KEDAVRA!” , his voice echoing all across the chamber walls.

But Harry had been anticipating this. Right before the spell hit him, he yelled, “Expelliarmus!”, causing the two bursts of magic to connect, just as they had years before in the graveyard. But this time, Harry knew what to expect; he had been counting on that connection to occur when the two wands met.

Harry broke the bond before the cage could form, before the shadowy ghosts could appear as they had before. Last time, he was fighting to stay alive. This time, he was fighting to win.

Harry reached deep inside of him, picturing his friends, his classmates,…Hermione, and he began feeling the magic build slowly within himself.

He felt his magic spread through his body, swelling from his heart, and make its way across his arms, through his hands, and down his fingers. The magic magnified. His body began to shake from the growing intensity. He couldn't hang on to it any longer. It was too much.

And then it exploded. With a brilliant rupture of light, the entire chamber glowed with intense whiteness, causing Harry to have to shield his eyes. He felt the magic slowly leave his body, and the light slowly faded.

When the light had vanished, Harry looked around and saw that he was the only one left standing, though many members of the Order were slowly climbing to their feet. The Death Eaters, it appeared to Harry, were knocked completely out. And lying in front of Harry at his feet, was Voldemort.

Was he dead? Harry didn't think so. He stared at the limp body in front of him with disgust, his body shaking with hatred. He felt consumed by that hatred, consumed by the determination to end Voldemort's reign of terror. This was the moment he had waited for all his life.

With striking confidence, he pulled out Gryffindor's sword. And holding it high above his head, Harry brought the sword down, through the center of Voldemort's chest, where is heart should have been.

The body slowly began to deteriorate; the pieces began to break away and crumble to the ground, much as Professor Quirrell had when Harry had touched him back in his first year. Soon, all that was left of Lord Voldemort was a pile of ashes, and a long, wooden wand.

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16. The End and the Beginning

Epilogue: The End and the Beginning

Looking back on the night in the Chamber, no one in the Wizarding World knew exactly what had happened. While it seemed that the Boy-Who-Triumphed was the topic of every conversation in the weeks, months, and even years to follow, no one talked about the actual events that had transpired. No one talked about how they saw Harry slowly weaken until it seemed that he was going to fail; no one talked about his sudden burst of energy after Hermione's outburst; because no one could fully understand what had happened, it was simply pushed aside. It was a mystery that was always in the back of everyone's mind, but never spoken of.

Of course people tried to find their own answers to what had happened. Mr. Lovegood published an entire issue of the Quibbler on how Harry was temporarily possessed by Farwinkles, while the Ministry spent much of the following year trying to convince the community that it was the Ministry's efforts that had weakened He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, thus helping Harry defeat him. Needless the say, the majority of the Wizarding World recognized that this was, indeed, not the case, resulting in a rather drastic loss of support both for Rufus Scrimgeor and the ministry as a whole. It was Rita Skeeter who incidentally wrote the truth about that night, claiming that it was Harry's great love for Hermione Granger that had given him the power to destroy You-Know-Who, but ironically, not a single person believed this theory either, finding it even more outrageous and farfetched than Mr. Lovegood's Farwinkles. And Harry and Hermione were certainly not willing to defend her.

Nonetheless, the Wizarding World was, to say the least, overjoyed with the results of the final battle, going so far as to dub the day (much to Harry's dislike) Harry Potter Day. The Daily Prophet was filled for weeks with articles about Harry and about the final battle, with headlines covering everything from “Harry Potter's Favorite Color” to “What to do now that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is gone”.

It was an end of an era, an era the world was more than happy to see go. The years leading up to the final battle had been marked with fear and death far greater than many had ever seen, far greater than during the days of Grindelwald and even the earlier days of Voldemort. Not a single person, it seemed, hadn't been greatly affected by Voldemort. Families had been reduced to holding their breath as they arrived at their homes, in fear of seeing the Dark Mark hovering over their house, and students at Hogwarts began to dread the arrival of the owl post, crossing their fingers that their owl would swoop down to greet them only with letters of reassurance and comfort, rather than a death notice.

But those days were gone. And it seemed that all of England was far brighter, far happier, than Harry could ever remember. Diagon Alley returned to its previous nature, bustling with worry-free witches and wizards and young, happy children. Weasley Wizarding Wheezes was now booming with business, after the twins had expanded and opened three new shops across England.

And Harry Potter.

How he made it through the days and weeks following the final battle, Harry would never know. He had fallen unconscious after killing Voldemort, only to awake days later to an environment mixed with celebration and mourning. The Dark Lord was gone, but at a high cost. So many people had died, so many families torn apart, and Harry spent the weeks after the battle attending numerous funerals, unable to avoid feeling the guilt and obligation to attend the funeral of every single one of his former friends and acquaintances who had been killed during the battle. Emmaline Vance…Sturgis Podmore…Mad-Eye Moody…and others…all dead at the hands of Voldemort and his followers. And there were, of course, all of those who had been killed prior to the final battle during various attacks as well.

But life went on. The battle was over, and Voldemort was finally gone. And much to everyone's surprise and delight, all of his followers were gone as well, dying alongside their master the second Harry plunged the sword into Voldemort's body.

Harry had awakened in the hospital wing at Hogwarts after the final battle to find Hermione's face peering down at him, her mouth tight with worry and her eyes bloodshot from constantly being at his side for days. And much to Madam Pomfrey's dislike, the first thing Harry did after opening his eyes was to lean forward and kiss her firmly on the lips, causing an explosion to occur just as it had the first time they had kissed back at Grimmauld Place. Three shattered windows and five splintered chairs later, Harry opened his eyes to find Madam Pomfrey glaring down at him, her hands angrily on her hips, and Fred and George cheering and whooping, clapping him vivaciously on the back.

Despite their conversation amidst the final battle being rather rushed and distracting, Harry and Hermione's understanding of each other's feelings was very clear. Hermione's outburst during the final battle marked her understanding of both Harry's feelings and the importance love played in the battle. While Harry was the savior to the Wizarding World, she was his savior, giving him strength and hope in his time of need.

And now, ten years later, Harry was able to live the life he had always imagined, the life he had yearned for as he had stared into the Mirror of Erised his First Year.

They had, in due time, gotten married, and a few years later were blessed with a beautiful daughter, Lily Jane. But nothing could have prepared the Wizarding World for the birth of Lily, for, as the daughter of “The Boy Who Triumphed” and “the brightest witch of her age”, she was marked by extraordinary magical ability. It became instantly clear to the world that the little girl had inherited her mother's cleverness and love of knowledge, and her father's determination and raw magical talent. And while she did not have a distinctive lightning bolt scar across her forehead, Lily was constantly being stopped on the streets to be asked for her autograph. She was clearly her mother's daughter, with her bushy brown hair and rather large teeth, yet she had her father's startling green eyes, and Harry couldn't help but sympathize that she would constantly be told of such resemblances, just as he always had growing up.

And today was the day Lily was to start Hogwarts, a day Harry had been both eagerly anticipating and dreading. She had awakened very early that morning, bounding down the stairs, her arms filled with an enormous stack of books, instantly reminding Harry of a much younger Hermione, the Hermione he had met on the train his first year.

They had arrived at King's Cross without any problems, and Harry had to chuckle at his awestruck daughter as they passed through the barrier into the magical world on Platform Nine and Three Quarters. He vividly remembered the first time he had entered the platform, overwhelmed and mesmerized, and even to this day, he could still feel the same burst of wonder and awe he had felt so many years earlier.

After some rather lengthy goodbyes, he watched both with pride and sadness as his daughter climbed onto the train. He knew she would have a wonderful time at Hogwarts. He certainly had when he was younger. Hogwarts had become his home; it had marked a new beginning in his life, a beginning filled with friendship and excitement and love, things he had never experienced when he was growing up with the Dursleys.

Harry's thoughts reminded him of the letter Dumbledore had left him, the one “only to be opened after he defeated Tom”. He had found the letter almost a year after he had received it, stumbling upon it simply by accident after rummaging through a box of old clothes and finding the robes he had worn the night he fought Voldemort…

Dearest Harry, the letter had read.

First and foremost, I must applaud you on a job well done. I am assuming that if you are reading this letter, I was not able to be by your side throughout the entire journey, for which, I am deeply sorry. I recognized that my time was coming to an end, though it was my greatest wish to be with you until the very end. I hope this letter finds you well, and certainly not mourning over my passing, as, I'm sure you remember me telling you, death is but the next great adventure.

I am also assuming that if you are reading this letter, you have fought against Tom, and have won. I am sure the fight was spectacular, and I would have loved to have witnessed it myself.

Never underestimate the power of love, Harry; it is what separates us from people like Tom Riddle. With this I must add, rather forwardly of course, that I hope you have recognized your feelings for Miss Granger by now, though I did find great enjoyment and amusement from watching the pair of you dodge such feelings for one another during your days at Hogwarts. I do hope I am right in believing that she played rather large role in your journey and success.

Please promise me that you will now live your life the way you always should have, if circumstances had been different. Remember, this is not the end, but rather a closed chapter of your life. This is the beginning. Enjoy it!

And with these final words, I must leave you: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

Yours truly,

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

Harry felt his stomach flip at the memory of Dumbledore, but was instantly distracted as the train whistled, its doors slamming shut. He waved wildly to his daughter as the train slowly pulled away from the platform, Dumbledore's words still repeating in his head.

This is not the end. This is the beginning, Dumbledore had said.

He watched his daughter's face peering out the window slowly grow smaller and smaller as the train picked up speed, his heart swelling with happiness. His daughter was going to Hogwarts for the very first time, most certainly entering a new chapter of her life, a new beginning.

And as he and Hermione stood silently at Platform nine and three quarters, their hands clasped tightly together, he couldn't help but feel as if they too were creating their own beginnings, their own happy memories, with each passing day. Harry's outlook on life had changed drastically with the constant threat of Voldemort gone; his past had taught him to live each day to the fullest, for he, and he alone, had control over his destiny and his happiness. Each day brought a new opportunity to start over, to focus on the important things in life. Each day was a new beginning, a new chance for happiness, a new chance for…well, love. And Harry couldn't help but think that that in itself was a very magical thing.

THE END

Author's note: Wow, I can't believe it's finally finished. I'd like to thank everyone who stuck with it, even when I didn't post a chapter for an entire year…

Please review and let me know what you thought about it!

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