Harry rubbed his eyes wearily as the curtains on his window grew lighter with the rising of the sun.
What a night, he thought to himself as he yawned. Well, I was right when I said I wasn't going to get any sleep.
Hermione's voice saying "I will not be in love with a murderer!" had been ringing through his head all night. Could she really have been in love with him all this time and he never noticed it? She'd said as much, but he couldn't help feeling that he would have picked up on some hint.
Unless you've been so consumed with your own pain that you haven't been paying attention to those around you, a voice inside him said. Maybe that was it: he'd been so preoccupied with himself that he hadn't really given much thought to what Hermione was feeling.
Until last night, anyway. He spent his evening pacing around the flat, his mind racing from the revelation of Hermione's love for him, what she had told him about Pettigrew and his own hate-driven desire to see the man die. He drank the entire kettle of tea he had brewed while Hermione was here, and that certainly hadn't helped him to calm down. There were just too many questions: could he really be the one to kill Pettigrew? Did he actually deserve it or was his own torment punishment enough? And the one question that kept popping up, even more glaring than the others: Did he love Hermione too?
Granted, she had always been there for him, putting herself right in harm's way to protect him, and she was always concerned for him, even though he had proved that he was more than capable to handle most things. But he always thought she'd had feelings for Ron: they were always fighting, and she seemed pretty upset during that whole Lavender incident sixth year. Now that he thought about it, it was sometime during the mad rush that was their last term at Hogwarts that Ron and Hermione had stopped fighting so much, which Harry had been grateful for at the time, but had never really questioned its meaning. Had she started feeling this way then?
Harry shook his head and looked at his watch, which read 8:30. I can't keep thinking about this right now, he told himself. It only leads to more questions, and I've got something to do today. I need to focus on that.
Unfortunately, he had just as many questions about executing Pettigrew as he did about Hermione. She made that Desolation Row place sound so horrible that he couldn't imagine spending any time at all there, and Pettigrew had spent three days, if not longer. She also had said that he was completely broken. So could he really kill someone like that?
The same side of him that had insisted all along that killing Pettigrew was the right thing to do answered with a resounding "yes." Harry knew Pettigrew was beyond forgiveness, and he was, at least in part, responsible for so many deaths that he kept telling himself that he shouldn't feel anything for the man. He deserved to die, and it was his right to be the one to do it.
Then, Hermione saying that if he did this he was going somewhere she wouldn't follow, came back into his mind and he was as stuck as he had been all night.
Just focus and try to get trough this, he told himself, trying to get a little quiet in his mind, if only for a brief time.
He made himself some dry toast and forced himself to eat it, although he didn't taste a single bite, and then took a long, hot shower, trying everything he could to make himself relax. He took his time getting ready, just selecting a pair of plain jeans and blue shirt (he had no idea what to wear to an execution), and found that after all that time, it was only 11:30, which meant he still had one more hour to wait.
He opened his door to grab the Daily Prophet, and got his first breath of outside air in days. The sun which he had seen through his curtains this morning, was already being hid by an avalanche of grey and white clouds. A normal day in London, he thought as he grabbed the Prophet and shut the door.
He plopped down on the couch and looked at the cover, and groaned loudly. In huge letters across the front was "Pettigrew to be executed today," complete with a picture of a groveling Pettigrew, tears running down his cheeks. He was tempted to just throw the paper away, but he caught his name in the first paragraph, and so gave it a quick read-through.
He was more than a little surprised when he read that Chief Warlock Scrimgeour had issued a statement saying that on the advice of his Interrogators, since this was the first execution of this type in centuries and the fact that such a young person was going to performing the act, he would not release the time of the execution, nor would anyone but official Ministry workers be allowed inside today.
Harry couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief at this, which meant he wouldn't have to deal with all kinds of people being there. This didn't seem like Scrimgeour, but when Harry saw that it was on the "advice of his Interrogators," he said a silent thanks to Lupin, who he was sure was the one responsible for this.
The rest of the story wasn't anything new; just background about himself and Pettigrew, as well as a brief history of the death by wizard's hand execution. He just skimmed the story before opening the paper, hoping to find something to help clear his mind.
He spent the next hour slowly leafing through the paper, sometimes stopping to read a piece or two of a story, but never the whole thing, and he had forgotten what he read as soon as he stopped. His mind kept wandering back to Hermione, and he had to tell himself time and time again to focus on the task at hand.
Finally 12:30 rolled around, and Harry got up, ate another quick piece of toast to settle his stomach and went into his room, a jacket out of his closet, made sure he had his wand, and with a deep breath, stepped outside.
It felt good to be out of his flat, which suddenly seemed unbearably stuffy now that he was outside. He decided to put his jacket as he headed to the door to the street.
As soon as he stepped outside he was hit by a flash of light, and the sound of yelling voices. When his eyesight finally cleared, he saw the entrance to his building was ringed with reporters and people with cameras, all shouting questions at him.
A slew of curses flew through his mind. Of course, he thought. If they can't inside the Ministry, they'd just wait for me outside. He wished he had thought of this - he would have brought his Invisibility Cloak, but it was too late for that. All he could do now was push through the crowd and try to get to the telephone booth as quickly as possible.
The people weren't too easy to push aside, and he had plow his way through them, with questions constantly raining down on him like, "Mr. Potter, do you think your parents would approve of this?" "Is this about revenge?" "Is there anything you're going to say to Pettigrew before you kill him?" and "What do your friends think of your choice?"
That last question was more than he could take, and he finally broke through them and started running toward the street where the booth was. To his dismay, he could hear the sounds of footsteps behind him, and fought back the urge to turn around and attack them with his hand.
At last he made it to the booth, with the crowd still behind him, and saw McGonagall and Tonks pacing in front of it. They both looked up at the sound of the crowd approaching and their eyes momentarily widened in shock. Then they moved forward towards the rush of oncoming people and Harry ran between them.
The crowd was just about to run into the two when McGonogall suddenly shouted, in a voice that Harry recognized well, "If you don't want to be reporting on an insider's account of life in Azkaban, than I would halt!"
It was like the people had run into a wall; they screeched to a halt, and looked at the two women.
"The Chief Warlock said that was once he was inside the Ministry, not out here," one of the cameraman said in a hesitant voice.
"You will leave the boy alone," Tonks said, stepping towards the crowd, who all stepped back in response.
Harry was so grateful that they had been there, and briefly wondered whose idea that had been as he stepped into the booth. He dialed 62442 and when the welcome witch asked his business he said, "execution of Peter Pettigrew" and a badge popped out with the word "executioner" on it, which made his stomach roll.
He looked back and saw the crowd still standing trying to get a picture of Harry, but McGonagall and Tonks still stood in their way. Right before the lift kicked on McGonagall turned and smiled encouragingly at Harry.
He nodded in gratitude at her as he was lowered into the Ministry.
He removed his jacket as the lift went down and soon the doors opened and he found himself in the Atrium again, which was far less crowded this time around; there were only a handful of wizards wandering around, and they all looked up when he walked into the room. They all know why I'm here, he said to himself.
According to the clock on the wall, he was a few minutes early to meet Hermione, but he saw her standing a little ways in, and her eyes quickly flickered to him as he got out of the lift. He walked over to her and offered a faint smile.
"How are you feeling?" she asked, looking at him directly in the eyes, as if she could read any decision he had come to that way. It made him feel a little uncomfortable, and he looked away.
"All right, I suppose. I didn't sleep very well last night."
"I know the feeling," she said, which caused him to look back at her. He found himself analyzing everything she was saying, trying to make up for all the signs he had missed before.
Not finding anything in what she said, he decided it was better to just get this over with.
"Come on, we're going to be late," he said as he headed towards the check point. Harry was allowed to keep his wand, and they were admitted to the lifts which would take them to the Department of Mysteries. The ride to the ninth floor was almost completely silent, as if they had both run out of things to say. Or maybe it was because there is too much to say, Harry thought to himself.
At last they arrived on the last level and they stepped into the plain corridor that ended in a simple black door. As they walked to it, Harry was swarmed with memories of his last visit here; the mayhem and chaos as they tried to find the prophecy before Voldemort did. It was here that he would see Sirius for the last time. Just the thought made his hands ball into fists.
They reached the door and opened it and stepped into the circular room that they both remembered so well. It was just as it was last time: the twelve black doors, the candles with the blue flames and the floor so polished that it looked like they were walking on water. Standing in the center of the room was one of the witches from the Wizengamot; her silver hair looked liquid blue in the candle light.
"Shut the door," she said in a hard voice.
Hermione let the door close, and the room whirled around them, the black doors bleeding together while it spun, until at last it slowed to a halt. Harry was a little dizzy, but the witch wasn't even fazed. She looked around for a minute, then walked to one of the doors, opened it, took a brief look and motioned for them to follow.
They followed the witch through the door, and were in the Death Chamber. Just being in the room gave Harry goosebumps. It was just as cavernous as he remembered, with the stone benches that ran all the way around the room that turned into steps as the led to the huge dais and archway in the center. He heard Hermione shiver, and momentarily thought about putting an arm around her, but thought better of it.
The chamber was dimly lit, but Harry could see five people on the dais, looking in their direction. One of them was on their knees. That's Pettigrew, he thought to himself, and suddenly all the feelings of doubt and uncertainty he'd been feeling seemed to attack him at once, and for a moment the ground seemed to shift under his very feet, like the room was trying to make him fall into the archway - just like Sirius.
Scrimgeour's voice, which seemed suddenly far away called, "Come on, Mr. Potter, everything is ready," and the witch moved down the stairs. Harry suddenly felt like his feet were made of stone and that he couldn't lift them.
He didn't know what to do until he felt a hand slip into his, and looked over to see Hermione looking up at him, not with judgment or anger, but with pure and honest caring and friendship. He found that he was able to move again, and they descended to the dais, hand-in-hand.
The sound of their footfalls on the stone echoed through the chamber as they neared the dais, and Harry felt his own grip on Hermione's hand get tighter and tighter. At last they reached the pit and those waiting for them, and stopped. He could see them a bit more clearly now, thanks to the lone candle on the dais, but they were still largely cloaked in shadow. Lupin came down to stand in front of them.
From the dais Scrimgeour said, "Ms. Granger, if you will please accompany Mr. Lupin." Hermione looked at Harry, then at Lupin who nodded, then she squeezed Harry's hand and let go, and allowed Lupin to lead her up to the dais. He was left standing alone.
"Mr. Potter, the time has come," Scrimgeour said, and Harry trudged up the dais to stand with everyone. He could only make out about half of their faces, due to the poor light, but Snape looked relatively pleased, and Harry had a sudden urge to push him into the archway. It was so near. He was jolted out of this train of thought by the sound of Pettigrew weeping. Harry looked over to the kneeling man, but couldn't really make out his face, a fact for which he was grateful.
Scrimgeour stepped forward and announced, "On today, the twenty-third of July, the condemned Peter Pettigrew shall be executed for crimes against the wizarding world by one, Harry Potter. The Wizengamot has sanctioned this punishment and gives Mr. Potter their full support."
Everyone stepped back until in the middle of the dais Harry and Pettigrew were facing each other.
"Mr. Potter, draw your wand," Scrimgeour ordered, and Harry reached down with a shaking hand and pulled his wand out of his pocket. He could feel the fragments of his calm breaking apart, and panic starting to set in. Could he really do this? his mind screamed.
"Mr. Potter, you may execute when ready," Scrimgeour said and the room fell silent, save the quiet sounds of Pettigrew crying.
Harry raised his wand and pointed it and Pettigrew's shadowed face, and froze. The last part of his control shattered, and his mind started reeling.
He heard his mother's scream as Voldemort killed her, thanks to information given to him by Pettigrew.
He watched Cedric die and Voldemort rise from the cauldron, with Pettigrew standing their, smiling in triumph.
Sirius going into the archway…Dumbledore falling from Hogwarts…the charred bodies of so many innocents…
They all went flying through Harry, and the rage had kept in check all this time poured out. His hand stopped shaking and the wand suddenly seemed an accusatory finger, damning Pettigrew for all that he'd done. You deserve this, the rage in Harry said, and I deserve to watch you die.
The darkness in the room seemed to deepen, and Harry felt himself fall into it. The words for the killing curse sprang into his mind and he was about to start saying them when he heard a voice inside of him, a voice he had been pushing away for days now; Hermione's.
You don't have to do this! Let it go! Let it go and we can be together!
Harry suddenly realized, in that moment, that he did love Hermione; that he had all along, that he wanted to be with her.
After! the rage screamed. Finish this first!
At last, Harry found his own voice amidst the chaos inside.
But if I do this, I'll lose her forever!
Would you rather not do this, and carry it around for the rest of your life?
Harry felt like he was drowning. His wand was shaking again, and he looked around desperately for help. All the faces around him, including Pettigrew's were cloaked in darkness, and he couldn't see anything. His eyes were drawn to the one source of light on the dais, and under the candle stood Hermione.
She was looking at him, tears welling up in her beautiful brown eyes, but he could see love shining from them as well, a love that he had just discovered, but already felt like he needed.
Harry closed his eyes and the two emotions raged against each other.
Do it! Kill him and end the nightmare! His grip on his wand steadied.
Hermione, soaking wet in his apartment, telling him she loved him.
Harry Potter's eyes snapped open, and he knew what he had to do.
Fin
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