A/N: Just as a note as people are STILL leaving me reviews saying that James Potter was a Seeker and not a Chaser, please click HERE and scroll to the Hogwarts section where it says NOTE in regards to James and Quidditch.
And I've tried to reply to reviews, I really have, but for some odd reason Portkey isn't showing me a reply button, just a report button. :( Not happy! Now, you've all complained about how long it takes me to update. Real life gets in the way, and it's going to get worse over the next two weeks. I'm going to be working really late every day at work because the lady who I share my position with is going on medical leave, and I have to do both our jobs. :/ So please, please bear with me! I got this chapter out as soon as I can, so now there's just one left plus the epilogue. And it'll be good, I promise. :D
EDIT:: HOLY CRAP. 25 reviews in one night, I think this is the part where I die happy. Okay, so I forgot June only has thirty days and I said acronym instead of anagram. I'm an idiot, but this is what happens when I stay up later than I should to finish writing and posting. Everything is fixed now, hooray! I swear I need a proper calendar in front of me, but for dates/days of the week references in 1997 I use my computer calendar, so otherwise I don't really check. I'm bad. My brain works faster than my fingers, I swear.
Disclaimer:
"So you almost forgot to write this again. For that, can I stay as SuperLang?" asks Lang hopefully, his scarlet cape flapping in the non-existent breeze as he sips from a glass next to him.
Crystal shakes her head. "Nope, today you get to be one of your favourite television characters."
"Ooh, which one?"
The potion he was unknowingly drinking began to take effect as he begins to shrink and appear younger. A few quick transfigurations and he is wearing a diaper, and his head is shaped rather obliquely.
"You didn't. Damn you, you vile woman!"
"Now, Stewie, be nice and say the words Mommy wants you to hear," mocks Crystal.
Lang-Stewie glares at her, muttering death threats. "Harry Potter isn't yours; you're a bitch, blah blah blah…"
"What a good boy. Now, Stewie, why don't you go play in the other room while I post this chapter?"
"Why don't you burn in hell?"
<><><><><>
True to the promise he'd made to himself, Harry did his best to discover exactly what was going on with Hermione by the end of the week. He'd tried stealing the Book of Requirement away from her and thinking desperately of needing to read what Hermione was reading, but to no avail. Apparently the book required your thoughts to be far more specific than that. Every night since he'd given her the potions he'd slept with her in her bed, but it was clear that she was barely sleeping any more than 4 hours a night. He supposed that was better than the usual three she'd been getting over the past several weeks, but subsisting on four hours of sleep wasn't enough. Harry didn't want to resort to dosing her with more potions, so he instead held her tightly as she slept, and when she did wake up he refused to let go and pretended he was still asleep. In an attempt to appease Harry, Hermione would relent and just lay there. He'd hoped she'd perhaps get back to sleep, but it never happened that way.
Short of resorting to reading her mind, which he was sure she'd blocked him from doing, he had tried everything possible to discover what was going on. Harry had even stayed behind in Defense class one day to talk to Dr. Lang, but the oddball professor hadn't exactly been forthcoming with information. Even when Harry had asked him directly what he and Hermione had been working on.
"Classified information, that is." Dr. Lang hadn't even looked up from the papers he was grading.
Harry sighed. "Dr. Lang, please. I need to know what's going on. Ron and I have been able to persuade Hermione to take better care of herself, but she's still obsessive over that blasted book and whatever she's working on with you. She sleeps maybe four hours a night and eats when Ron and I watch to make sure she finishes what's on her plate. I'm worried about her."
"And she's worried about you, did you ever think of that you thick-headed berk?" roared Dr. Lang suddenly, drawing himself up to his full height and glaring into Harry's fiery emerald eyes. "Did it ever occur to you, you arrogant Gryffindor sod, that maybe, just maybe, she spends her nights lying awake, for fear of the nightmares that terrorize her sleep? That she throws herself into her work to keep the horrendous images from burning themselves into her brain? That she sees eating as a waste of time because she could be using that time to do something productive?"
"Hey, you're a Gryffindor!" Interrupted Harry angrily, furious at the idea that Dr. Lang understood what Hermione was going through when he didn't.
"You're missing the point, Potter!" yelled Dr. Lang. He tugged at his vibrant orange hair in frustration as he sank into his seat. "Hermione is terrified right now. She's terrified that she won't be able to save you from the last Horcrux. She's absolutely petrified that our solution won't work, no matter how much I reassure you. But more than anything, she's horrified by the knowledge that you're such a noble prat that, if she told you what it was, you'd go off and do something stupid. And I'm inclined to agree with her."
"It's a potion, isn't it?" asked Harry, despite the tirade he had just sent his professor on. "Something having to do with Healing, and Muggle medicine, and the last Horcrux. Otherwise she'd just go to Slughorn. He already knew what Horcruxes were; she didn't have to explain it to you. And he's the Potions professor. She comes back to the dorm smelling like the potions dungeon most nights."
The doctor sighed, and conjured himself a cup of coffee. "Sit down, Harry. It's going to be a long night."
Harry pulled a chair up to Dr. Lang's desk, and sat. "So she told you, then. About the Horcruxes. She must be desperate."
"She didn't tell me anything, Harry. How do you think Slughorn knew all those years ago what a Horcrux was?"
The young Gryffindor was confused. "You're what, twenty-eight? Twenty-nine? There's no way that you're the one who originally told Slughorn what a Horcrux was."
"True, but my father was old enough. And when I was old enough to hear it, he told me what they were," said Dr. Lang sadly.
"What happened to him?" asked Harry.
"Killed personally by Riddle. Memory charms can be broken, Harry. And dead men don't talk."
Harry swallowed at the cool tone Dr. Lang employed while discussing his father. "So how come Tom hasn't come after you then?"
"He thinks that the knowledge died with my father, and that Slughorn is too stupid to realize he was Obliviated." Dr. Lang sighed, taking a sip of his coffee. "But that's neither here nor there, Harry. You have questions, I have answers. It's just difficult for me to decide how much I should tell you while still respecting Hermione's request of secrecy. Why don't we play twenty questions, then? All yes or no answers."
"Okay then… Am I allowed to think out loud before posing a question?" Harry was fairly sure that the Defense professor was utterly mad, suggesting children's games when his girlfriend's health and sanity were on the line, but if it was what was required of him to get the information he needed, he was willing to play along.
"Yes. Nineteen."
"Dammit, I didn't think that'd count! Alright then. It has to be a potion. When she comes back late at night her hair's all frizzy like she's been over a steamy cauldron, and I can smell the aconite on her robes. It's very distinctive. But that's weird, because aconite is basically Wolfsbane, and I know Remus has a source for his potion. Although aconite in its floral form is toxic. I already know you're developing a potion. Is it a poisonous potion?" pondered Harry.
"Yes. Eighteen."
"Are you going to use it to kill Voldemort?"
"No. Seventeen."
"Well if it's not Tom, who the bloody hell are you planning on poisoning?"
"Yes or no questions, Harry."
Harry glared at him. "Fine." He paced back and forth in front of the desk for a few minutes, muttering things under his breath. He ran through a list of potion ingredients compatible with aconite in his mind that would also be poisonous. He was silently thanking Hermione for lecturing him on Potions for all those years, and for the valuable information he'd learned in sixth year. Even if it was from Snape the slimy git. He came up with Deadly Nightshade and asphodel, but that was the best he could think of. There wasn't a potion he could remember that combined such ingredients.
If Dr. Lang and Hermione had indeed brewed up a poisonous potion, which was clearly in relation to the Horcrux, it was obvious that they were going to somehow going to use the potion on the Horcrux. That was where he was baffled. Hermione was convinced that the last Horcrux was inanimate as Nagini hadn't been one. Now that she knew what it was, she wasn't telling. Harry was sure that if she'd discovered something to disprove her earlier theory, she would have told him about it.
Then again, he'd also been fairly sure that Hermione would never withdraw from him the way she had for the past two months. Perhaps she had proved herself wrong.
"Are you going to use the potion on the last Horcrux before Riddle?"
"Yes. Very good, Harry." The doctor leaned back in his chair, sipping at his coffee. "Well, go on, then. Sixteen."
"Is the last Horcrux a living, breathing, sentient object?" asked Harry nervously, almost afraid of the answer. It had to be the only rational explanation, otherwise why go to all the trouble of poisoning it?
"Yes. Fifteen."
"Bloody hell," whispered Harry dazedly, lolling back in his chair. He had hoped that the only being he'd have to kill other than Riddle himself would have been Nagini, but now he knew that wasn't the case. The sixth Horcrux was out there. It was alive, it breathed, and it was capable of rational thought. And he'd have to kill it, all because Tom Riddle wanted to be immortal.
Harry sighed resignedly, and went back to pondering. He tried to concentrate on everything Dr. Lang had said so far, but realized there was one glaring blank. One very important thing. Not something he'd said, but something he hadn't.
"The potion isn't fatal." Stated Harry, meeting Dr. Lang's eyes. "You're a Healer. You fix people, you don't kill them. And you had that long chat way back with Hermione about mixing Muggle and magical technologies. I'd be willing to bet that this potion, this poison, is somehow helpful. Almost like people who build up immunity to a poison because of prolonged exposure."
"Absolutely none of that was in a form where I could answer yes, or no, Harry." The Healer took a long pull of his coffee. Harry was beginning to wonder if it was laced with Ogden's.
"That doesn't matter, because I know I'm right. I just can't figure it all out yet. But I will. Just… no more twenty bloody questions."
Dr. Lang sighed, and leaned back as he looked wisely at Harry. "Blast us noble Gryffindors." He took another sip of coffee, and then rested it back on the desk. "Alright, I'll admit it, Harry. I'm worried about Hermione, too. But I know the reasoning behind her madness, and trust me when I say that she would be even worse off if she weren't doing what she is right now."
Harry didn't understand that. "How could she be any worse off?"
"If she weren't busy finding a way to solve this problem, she'd be otherwise occupying herself with something equally distracting. At least what she's doing right now is productive, even if it's also somewhat harmful," said the doctor, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. "I'll try and cut back on the time she spends here, Harry, but understand that what she and I are working on is very sensitive, and it has to be just right."
A few moments of silence passed before Harry spoke again. "Why won't you just tell me what's going on?"
The Defense professor smiled a sad smile. "I'm afraid I can't, Harry. Hermione's sworn me to secrecy. I can give out nice cryptic little clues and answer yes or no questions, but I can't say anything directly. Or write it, even."
Harry understood, recalling perfectly a time in his fifth year when Hermione's immaculate spellwork had labeled Marietta Edgecombe a `SNEAK'. "Well that answers that," he said softly, his head drooping. "I really should get back to her, Dr. Lang. I've spent too long away as it is. I'll be lucky if she's still in our suite."
"I understand, Harry. I wish I could be of more help, but when you do see Miss Granger, please tell her that I said everything is going well, and she best get some rest the next few days or she'll be of no use to the process at all. Perhaps that will help you out a bit."
While the message was rather cryptic, Harry nodded and bid his teacher goodnight before heading back out into the halls.
He didn't even bother checking the Heads suite, because he just knew that Hermione wouldn't be there. If he left her alone for too long she would run off to the library again. Ron couldn't be trusted to watch her; he was often too busy with Luna and was easily distracted.
Harry made straight for the library, and gave a curt nod to Madame Pince as he entered. She huffed, and muttered something about students not understanding that the library had to close sometime. He ignored the elderly witch and made his way to the deepest corner of the Restricted section where, sure enough, Hermione was on the floor with that blasted Book. He was beginning to wish that he'd never found it at all, and was more than half-tempted to chuck it out the nearest window.
Instead, he knelt before his girlfriend and saw that she'd fallen asleep with the book in her lap. There were moist tracks on her cheeks, indicating she'd been crying. Harry was sure that must have had something to do with the book, but just as he glanced at the pages the lettering began to fade away. He caught `an Horcrux' at the top, but that was it. He closed the book and laid it gently on the floor next to Hermione. He shrunk it and tucked it into his pocket, and then gathered her into his arms. They left the library that way with a half-sympathetic, half-disapproving look from Madame Pince. Hermione didn't stir until several minutes after he'd tucked her into bed in Gryffindor tower.
"Where is it?" she asked frantically as her eyes snapped wide open and she bolted upright.
"I'm not giving it back," said Harry defiantly, his gaze hard.
"Harry, you don't understand, I need that book! If I don't have it there's no telling what might happen!"
He shook his head and lowered himself onto the bed next to her. "I'll tell you what will happen if I don't give you that book. You'll fall asleep. You'll sleep more than four hours. You'll eat properly, you'll stop obsessing and you'll go back to normal."
"No, I can't! It's late, I should be with Dr. Lang, there's still so much to do!" she cried nervously, wringing her hands.
"He said you weren't needed tonight, Hermione."
"What?"
Harry sighed, and coaxed his girlfriend into lying back down. "He asked me to tell you that everything is going well, and to get some sleep. You're of no use to him if you can barely function."
"Preposterous. We're not done all the necessary preparations, we must-"
"NO!" Shouted Harry, standing and crossing his arms over his chest. "I've had it, Hermione. Dr. Lang tells me that whatever it is you're doing, you're doing it for me. Well, I say that's utter crap. You want to do something for me, Hermione? Sleep! Eat! Do anything but obsess over that stupid ruddy book and work on potions with Dr. Lang! Be Hermione Granger again. Come…" his voice broke, and he turned away from her, his head hanging low. "Come back to me," he whispered, staring at the carpet.
"I'm here, Harry," said Hermione forlornly.
"No, you're not. You're in the library, the Defense classroom, anywhere but here. And even when you are here, it's like you're not. Your mind is somewhere else, and you're turning into a mess. I know you're eating and sleeping more than before Ron and I convinced you that you were hurting yourself, but Merlin, look at yourself Hermione! You're skinny as a rail, the circles under your eyes are so dark it looks like you've been beaten, and you're bloody possessed! I want my girlfriend back. I want my best friend back. I want Hermione back."
Tears slipped down Hermione's cheeks at Harry's harsh, yet true, words. He was being so harsh, and yet he didn't even understand why she was truly doing this. Hermione knew if she told him he'd go off and do something rash, and she didn't want that to happen. She settled for the only thing she could think of. "I love you, Harry," she said quietly, still faced with his back.
"Funny, it certainly hasn't felt like it since the day I gave you that ring."
Harry whirled around and took her right hand in his, examining the ring. "I gave this to you December twenty-fifth. It's February twenty-first. You've barely let me kiss you in two months, we only share a bed because it's the only way I know you'll sleep longer than three hours, and you've been so withdrawn it's like I don't know you anymore. I miss you."
Hermione sniffled and wiped at her tears with the back of her hand. "Oh, Harry… if only you could understand."
"That's just it, Hermione. I don't understand, because you won't tell me. Lately I'm beginning to wonder if my promise meant anything to you. I meant it when I said I wanted to marry you. I love you more than anything, Hermione, but if you can't be honest with me… if you can't tell me what's going on…" Harry trailed off there, almost afraid to vocalize the words he was about to speak. "If you can't be honest with me, Hermione, we have no relationship. That sort of thing is built on honesty and trust. You're hiding something from me, and I can't even trust you to feed yourself."
A sob escaped Hermione's lips, but Harry turned away, pretending not to hear; pretending that the sound didn't break his heart.
"If you change your mind on any of this… I'm moving back into my room. You don't have to talk to me or even see me if you don't want to. Just… if you change your mind, you know where I am."
And then he left.
<><><><><>
Two hours and forty-eight minutes.
That's how long it had been since Harry had left Hermione's bedroom.
That's also how long it had been since he'd last seen her.
She hadn't come after him. Hadn't said anything. Hadn't tried to stop him from leaving.
Sure, he was technically down the hall, but it was the words that were spoken, the finality in his tone of voice. And she hadn't come for him.
Casting the strongest silencing charm he knew, Harry broke down. He kicked violently at his bed, punched numerous holes in the walls, smashed every mirror in sight, and screamed until his throat was raw and bleeding. He wished with all his heart that he could just be sad about the whole ordeal, but he was furious as well. Furious for being stupid enough to walk away from her when she needed him most, and furious with her for refusing to help even herself.
Three hours and four minutes.
That was when Harry Potter finally allowed himself to cry.
<><><><><>
Saturday morning found Harry limping his way to the hospital wing to see Madame Pomfrey. As he walked in the doors he was greeted by scores of Slytherin robes, and yet he was not comforted by the accuracy in Dr. Lang's statement at the long-ago beginning of term. He was tired. He hadn't slept at all that night; instead he had lain awake praying for some sort of sound, some kind of indication that Hermione was alright to come from her room. Instead, there was only silence.
A few diagnostic spells from Madame Pomfrey confirmed that in the process of taking his anger out on the furniture, Harry had lacerated most of his right hand, exhausted his esophagus, broken three toes, four fingers, and two hearts. The cuts on his hand took little enough time to heal, and a small vial of orange potion took care of the torn tissue in his throat. Some mildly painful bone-mending spells repaired his damaged phalanges, but Madam Pomfrey didn't have anything for a broken heart.
Harry returned dejectedly to his room and stayed there for the remainder of the weekend. He didn't leave for anything other than the loo. Dobby popped in to bring him meals and informed him that he was also doing so for Harry Potter's Grangey, though she was reluctant to each much of what he brought. She hadn't left the suite either, and it killed him to know that she was right there, had faced losing him, and still wasn't telling him the truth of what was going on.
Ron had been furious come Monday morning when Harry finally emerged for class. He had been trying to get into the suite the entire weekend, but both Harry and Hermione had apparently instructed Ogden that neither one of them wanted any visitors, regardless of whom they were. The old whiskey-maker had taken their instructions quite literally, and had refused access to anyone other than Dobby, who could just Apparate in as he liked anyway. McGonagall had stopped by when Ron reported to her that neither Harry nor Hermione had been seen all weekend, but Ogden had reassured her that they were indeed inside, alive, and both wishing to remain undisturbed.
He had done his best to question Harry, but the bespectacled wizard refused to comment. He'd had enough. He didn't want to relive the pain in public; it was rather like rubbing salt in a fresh wound.
Hermione had not been much better either. She'd taken great care to avoid him the last forty-eight hours, and had arrived to class just moments before it was scheduled to begin. Rather than sit in her usual seat with Ron and Harry, she'd gone to a solitary desk at the front of the classroom and remained there. She did the same in every class the trio had together, and was entirely unresponsive when anyone would question her.
In Potions that afternoon, Slughorn had asked her about the properties of Foxglove, more commonly known in the Wizarding World as Dead Man's Bells.
Hermione had just blinked, and shook her head. She knew the answer all right, better than she was willing to admit at that moment. But she couldn't bring herself to speak.
Baffled, Slughorn had moved onto the next student while making a mental notation to ask Minerva to pop in on the Head Girl and see that she was alright.
The rest of the month passed and bled into March in similar fashion, with both Harry and Hermione taking every precaution to avoid one another. Every night Hermione slept two hours or less and Harry cast Silencing charms and sobbed until he had no tears left. Soon Harry was becoming as pale and emaciated as Hermione, as he'd lost his appetite and spent most of his sleeping hours mourning for the loss of her love.
Ron hadn't known what to do. He'd tried to get them to talk to one another, had tried to go between one another, but to no avail. He'd had numerous other students attempt to intervene before moving onto faculty, but even Dr. Lang, McGonagall, and Dumbledore combined couldn't get the pair of them to budge. It seemed as though they were well and truly over. Ron's suspicions were confirmed when he saw several fifth, sixth, and seventh year girls swarming Harry after class one day. In past years, Harry would have politely refused them and gone about his business. But he just stood there and let them attempt to make their advances. Sure, he still turned them down in the end, but he was listening now before he offered them a smile and a kind reason as to why he wasn't interested. Ron didn't realize that Harry now knew how they felt, to be rejected with no explanation, turned down flat with no room for leeway.
With his own heart shattered into pieces, Harry couldn't help but hear the poor girls out. He didn't want anyone else to feel the way he did.
Term passed, N.E.W.T.s were taken, and Hermione scored an average of one hundred and twenty-three percent despite her horrible condition. Harry had not fared so well, but Ron felt that a ninety-three was remarkable in light of the circumstances. They were both looking healthier, as Ron and Dobby had conspired to get them to at least be physically healthy if they insisted on continually wallowing in their own misery. Harry had taken up weight-lifting to resolve his anger and Hermione had returned to practicing yoga in an effort to keep herself calm. On the outside they were the picture of health.
On the inside, they were both falling apart.
Days after N.E.W.T.s, Ron formulated a plan that he quickly put into action. It may not have been brilliant, but it certainly did work. He entered the Heads suite when he knew that both Hermione and Harry were in their respective rooms. Silently he entered Harry's room, and Stunned his best mate. Then he ran into the hallway and began yelling at the top of his lungs.
"Hermione, come quick! There's something wrong with Harry! I was coming to borrow the Map and I found him on the floor!"
Seconds later Hermione was there, by Ron's side. "What is it? What do you think happened?"
Ron shrugged, and began to slowly back out of the room as Hermione focused on Harry's lifeless body. He raised his wand as his back hit the wall of the hallway, and pointed it at the door. "Hermione, I'm sorry, but this is for your own good. For both of you." And then with the best non-verbal spellwork of Ron's life, he closed and locked the door with a charm he was sure Hermione didn't know. Just for good measure he threw in a bit of blood magic that Ginny had taught him to keep Fred and George out of his private things. He pricked his thumb with a conjured sewing needle, mumbled a few words in Latin, and rubbed his bleeding thumb along the edge of the doorframe.
Dobby popped up beside him a moment later, and snapped his fingers. A glowing blue line appeared around the perimeter of Harry's room, and the tiny elf smiled up at Ron. "Harry Potter's Wheezy forgot that Harry Potter and his Grangey can Apparate in Hogwarts. Dobby has stopped them, sir. House-elf ward that stops other elveses from Apparating."
"It'll keep them in?" asked Ron, silently thanking the goggle-eyed elf for his help.
Nodding, the house-elf waved his hand and snapped his fingers again. "Now Harry Potter's Wheezy can remove the ward if he be's needing to." With a small crack, the elf was gone.
Ron sighed, slumping to the floor, hoping with all his strength that this would work. He remained there for a few moments, and when he didn't hear any shouting, he put up a ward that would notify him if anything went wrong, and then left the suite.
<><><><><>
"Ennervate," whispered Hermione, pointing her wand at Harry from a corner of the room. She had wrapped herself in his comforter and safely tucked herself away between the night table and the wall, hoping it would take him some time to notice her. She had figured out as Ron was locking the door that Harry was alright, and decided to take a few moments to weigh her options before waking him up. She'd decided that she'd let him come out of it, and then come to her.
He sat up and looked around, blinking, seeming to be wondering where the hell Ron had gone off to. Seeing a lack of ginger hair in the room he groaned, and laid back against the carpet, tenderly pressing his fingers into his ribs. Hermione supposed he must've bashed them off something on his way down from the Stunner.
Minutes passed as Harry lay curled in a ball on the floor before the tears started to escape his eyes. He quickly cast a Silencing charm and went about his usual manner of sobbing quietly, occasionally whispering her name. He slowly rose to his feet, his body shuddering with the severity of his cries, before he took aim and punched the wall. Softly muttering a Healing charm over it that he had picked up from Madame Pomfrey; he braced himself and threw another hit.
He continued the process for a minute or so before Hermione figured out that he was punishing himself. He would heal the cut, and then open it again causing himself even more pain. He finally swung around and took a good kick at the bedpost before he heard her whispered "Oh, Harry…" and realized that she was there.
She'd known all along that he'd been hurting over this. She could feel it over their link, and she knew he could feel her anguish. Hermione also knew that Harry would be too absorbed in his grief to distinguish between the two different sources, so she never said anything. She just wished she'd known it had come to this. It was like Harry had invented an entirely new form of self-mutilation, wizard-style, and it killed her to see that he was doing this because of her.
"Hermione," he rasped, his throat hoarse from crying and venting his frustration.
It was the first time they had spoken since February. And it was June.
She flew to her feet, discarding the comforter behind her as she threw herself into Harry's arms, her tears mingling with his. They stood together like that for a long time, holding each other so tight they could barely breathe and tears making wet salty tracks down their cheeks. Knees buckling beneath them, they tumbled onto the floor still wrapped up in one another's embrace.
Time passed, neither of them was sure how long it was, before they had run out of tears to shed and their bodies were sore and aching from the exhaustion.
Harry helped Hermione to sit on his bed, and then cupped her cheek in his hand as he stared into her eyes. He noticed that they were now a dark brown with a hint of green, and was sad to realize that it was because their tight bond had been broken. "Please," he whispered hoarsely, his eyes searching hers.
Hermione didn't have to ask, she knew exactly what he meant. She reached beneath her robes and pulled out a long silver chain with a vial hanging from it. It was filled with a pearly scarlet potion, and Harry's blood ran cold seeing it. It was the poison, the potion she and Dr. Lang had been working on. And she was holding it out to him.
"It's the only way," she said quietly, pressing it into his palm. "If there were any other way, Harry, I would have found it by now. But there's been news of Death Eater attacks in the last week. Voldemort's not afraid of you as much anymore. He's coming back. And we don't have the time to keep searching."
"Searching?" asked Harry, his voice serious. "But you found the last Horcrux. That's why you and Dr. Lang developed this potion to destroy it."
She nodded, tears springing to her eyes. "Yes."
"Then what are you looking for?"
"I've tried everything, Harry," she sighed heavily, wiping at her eyes. "I've looked everywhere; I've done everything I can. But there's no other way." Her lower lip began to tremble and she bit down on it, but that only succeeded in making her chin quiver as well.
Harry looked puzzled. "I don't understand, Hermione."
She sobbed then, a great sob that wracked her entire body. Harry drew her into his arms immediately, pressing a kiss to the top of her age, the first in several months.
"I wish you didn't have to understand, Harry. But there's no other way. That poi-potion… It's for you, Harry. For you."
Harry pulled back and looked at the vial in his palm, horrified. "You want to kill me?"
"No, Harry, no!" she cried, shaking her head. "It's you, don't you see? You're the last Horcrux. You've got to be. It's the only logical explanation. The Book told me."
In the terrifying reality of the situation, Harry recalled the bit of writing he'd caught in the book all those months ago. `an Horcrux'. He'd thought it was some grammatical issue where `an' was the proper precedent prior to a noun beginning with `h'. Now he realized. `Human Horcrux.' He'd missed half the first word, and had so remained blissfully ignorant.
"But Nagini…" he whispered, his eyes dull and unfocused, his brain refusing to accept the truth.
"Was a diversion," admitted Hermione, her hands grasping his, winding tightly around the vial. "It's the Elixir of Eternal Rest, Harry."
"So you're putting me down like a rabid dog, all because Voldemort decided to be a git and stick a bit of his soul into my body."
Sniffling at the harsh words, Hermione shook her head. "I couldn't possibly."
"But you could ignore me all those months."
"Harry, now is not the time for this! I love you. You love me. We still love each other, I just… I didn't know how to tell you. I had to make sure that I was right, that there were no other possibilities. I couldn't afford to make a mistake. And I certainly can't afford to lose you. That's what Dr. Lang and I spent so much time working together. This elixir is the answer, Harry."
He stared at the vial. "What does it do," he asked flatly.
"It's a combination of Muggle and magical medicinal herbs, and a chemical component of one of them. It's basically aconite, lily flowers, asphodel, belladonna, oleander, and foxglove. There's some Neriine in it, that's the Muggle chemical, and a bit of hemlock as well."
"What does it do," repeated Harry.
"It kills you."
"Well, that wasn't the answer I was hoping for."
Hermione sighed, tears still stinging her eyes. "Temporarily. We hope. This combination of ingredients is enough to stop your heart and render you dead. Dead has different definitions these days, most Muggles go by brain wave activity to determine clinical death, but that's recent technology. Horcruxes are old magic; they would consider your heart stopping enough to kill you."
"So you're going to stop my heart, then what."
"We have anywhere from four to six minutes to accomplish what's necessary. If I'm right, we will be able to dispel the Horcrux fragment and bring you back."
"And if you're not?"
Hermione looked down at her feet. "Harry, I can't lose you."
"Just tell me."
"If we wait more than 6 minutes, you could suffer from serious brain damage, and end up in St. Mungo's the rest of your life. Even if you're not a Horcrux, there's still the same risk."
"So by Voldemort's hand or yours I could die." Harry looked away, focusing on some unseen spot on the wall. "Well, I'd rather it be peaceful than the bastard cursing me into oblivion, I suppose."
Tears quickly turned into full-blown sobs, and soon Harry was cradling Hermione against his chest again.
"I'm not going to lose you. You're not going to die," she whispered repeatedly before tilting her head up to kiss him. "Harry…"
He crushed his lips to hers in a searing kiss.
She was barely able to breathe, and broke it. "All these months… I'm so sorry, love."
"We don't have time to dwell on the past, `Mione. Hell, we might not even have time to dwell on the future." Said Harry gruffly, almost afraid to look into her eyes. He focused instead on her hands, where she was twisting his promise ring round and round her finger.
She slowly brought her eyes up and he met them nervously.
"Harry…" she whispered, kissing him lightly. "Please. Just for tonight, let's forget all of this. Let's just pretend."
"Pretend what?" he asked breathily, his lips millimeters from hers.
Holding up her hand with his ring on it, she waggled the finger in front of his eyes. "That this isn't just a promise. It's a guarantee. And that it just happened."
His eyes widened, as he began to comprehend her meaning. "You-you want me to…"
"Yes, Harry," she whispered. "I know I've been horrible to you, I've neglected you, but please forgive me. Harry, please. Make love to me. Please…"
She barely managed to get her last plea out before his lips were on hers, and he was crushing her into his chest. He pulled away and slipped the ring from her right hand before looking into her eyes. A flash of green lit up the chocolate brown so fleetingly that he would have sworn he imagined it. He shook his head to clear the image, and then slipped the ring onto the third finger of her left hand.
"Mine," he growled against her skin as he nipped at her neck.
"Yours," she gasped, digging her nails into his back.
"Forever," his voice rumbled, his hands barely moving fast enough to get all of her clothing off. He was impatient, he couldn't take the waiting anymore, and he ripped off her skirt and blouse, tossing them onto the floor with her robe.
Hermione moaned and tore at his shirt, buttons popping off and scattering about the room. Their lips and hands couldn't move fast enough, and Harry was far too impatient to wait for Hermione to get his trousers off. He kicked them off himself before laying her back on the mattress and delving his tongue immediately along her slit. She cried out as his tongue massaged and teased her, and she could feel the liquid heat pooling between her legs. He slipped a finger, then two, inside of her, pumping rhythmically. Hermione gasped and pushed him away, rolling on top of him and biting down hard on his neck. She wanted to mark him as hers and hers alone, in any way possible. As she bent over him to lick and tease her way along his length, she focused her gaze on him and smiled.
"I want you to say it, Harry," she demanded.
"No, not until he's gone," he managed to gasp out; his own words suddenly making him wonder why she was doing this. Hadn't she always wanted to wait until they knew there was a future for them? Though, he supposed the part where his chances of dying had increased dramatically had something to do with it.
She glared at him and nipped at the soft flesh at the base of his hardness. "Say it." Hovering with her mouth poised just over his tip, he could feel her hot breath on him. "Say it!" she repeated.
"Hermione Potter."
"No. You skipped a step."
"Dammit Hermione, no! I'll not make that promise to you when we don't even know if I'll live or die." Harry tried to sit up, to make her understand that he was serious; that he did want to marry her after Voldemort was gone but that he wasn't ready to make that promise until he knew it was for certain, but she pinned him back down and took his entire length into her mouth. He threw his head back in frustration, torn between making her understand and taking the pleasure she was offering. In the end his cock won as he flipped her over and dipped his fingers into her, making sure she was wet enough to take him.
He looked deep into her eyes, again seeing that flash of green fire in them. "Last chance to change your mind," he offered, lightly pressing into her.
She thrust her hips up in answer and cried out in pain as her hymen broke. Her nails left crescent-shaped imprints in Harry's shoulders, but he didn't notice. He was too busy kissing her brow feverishly, whispering words of encouragement as she bit her lip. Her eyes squeezed shut as she rode out the wave of pain, with Harry still buried within in her but not moving.
I'm okay, she whispered in his mind. Just… give me a second. I love you.
A few seconds later she began to move against him, and it took every ounce of control Harry possessed not to ravish her. He moved with her, slowly at first and then faster, not minding in the least the sharp pain from her nails. She was drawing blood, he was sure of it, but he didn't care. As she rocked her hips against him and arched her back so that her breasts pressed against his chest, Harry would have willingly sworn that he'd died and gone to heaven. Before tonight, he'd thought that there was no better feeling than Hermione's mouth surrounding him. Now he knew better. He knew that he'd be daydreaming about this night in class the next day, or every day for the rest of his life for that matter, and he was barely able to concentrate on anything but the sweet scent of her skin beginning to sweat beneath him.
"Hermione... sweet Merlin, I love you." He kissed her deeply, pouring every feeling he had for her, every ounce of passion and love into his kiss. Hermione's hand rose to cup his cheek, and he lifted his own hand to meet hers. With a soft smile he took hold of her hand, and pressed it back into the mattress above her head. She continued to dig the nails of her other hand into his back, and kissed him fiercely. Harry slipped his free hand underneath Hermione to cup her arse and lift her up a few inches. The angle he was now thrusting from was driving her into madness, and she cried out as she felt herself near release.
"Oh, Harry… Haaarrryyyy…"
Her nails dug deeper into his back and her ankles crossed behind his hips, pulling him in deeper with each thrust. He moved faster, harder, and moments later they both screamed out in ecstasy. Harry collapsed just off to Hermione's side, still within her though he was slowly going soft. They were both panting, and both so preoccupied with what had just happened that neither noticed every piece of furniture in the room was hovering at least a foot off the floor. Accidental magic certainly did occur at odd times.
With murmured words of love and apology, they fell asleep nestled in each other's arms.
<><><><><>
The next morning was perhaps one of the most awkward that Hermione and Harry had ever experienced, and that was including the night after their dinner in Paris all those months ago. When they awoke next to each other they seemed to have temporarily forgotten that they had made up the night before, and both were terrified.
Harry remembered first, and he pulled Hermione into his arms and lay back down. She froze, terrified, until he reminded her that Ron had locked them in his room the night before, and that she had admitted to him that he was the last Horcrux.
As he looked into her eyes before kissing her, he noticed with satisfaction that they were slowly bleeding from chocolate to emerald, signifying their reestablished connection. He tenderly fingered the ring hanging from her neck, smiling as his lips met hers.
"So now you understand," stated Hermione quietly, snuggling into the crook of his arm.
Harry nodded. "I didn't like it, but I can understand why you did it."
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, keeping the tears at bay. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to tell the one person you love more than anything else that they're most likely going to die? I've no guarantee that the potion will work, Harry, but it's the best we could come up with. It's either that or you keep vanquishing Riddle's physical form over and over until we find another way."
Shaking his head, Harry's eyes bore into hers. "No. I trust you. If you say it could work, that's all I need to hear. I don't want to spend the next five or ten years of my life repeatedly going after Voldemort just to buy time to find some other way of getting the bastard's soul out of my body. We'll develop a battle plan, and go from there. I suppose we should tell Ron, then. We'll need him."
She nodded, silently wishing that things didn't have to be this way.
The reunited couple spent the next several hours in bed, catching up on all they'd missed since December before they left the Heads suite in search of Ron. Dobby had lifted the anti-apparition ward earlier that morning after he'd popped in with breakfast and noted the young Gryffindors asleep in each others' arms. He'd popped out again as silently as he'd come, and gone to notify Harry Potter's Wheezy that all was well with the Head Boy and Girl. Shortly after Ron had entered the suite and removed the blood-keyed locking charm he'd also placed on Harry's room.
Ron wasn't surprised to see Harry and Hermione stroll into the Gryffindor common room hand-in-hand shortly before lunch. A wide grin broke out on his face as he jumped up to greet them, and together they left for the Great Hall.
Hushed whispers fell across the enormous room as the reunited Gryffindor Trio strolled down the aisle towards their usual seat at the table. Most of the whispers were about the couple's joined hands than the Trio standing together once more, and those that weren't were too inaudible to discern. Ron noticed a smile on the Headmistress' face, and he acknowledged it with a nod.
Both Harry and Ron noted with satisfaction that Hermione's healthy appetite had returned. It no longer seemed like she was being forced to down the food on her plate, she was actually enjoying eating it with gusto. Harry noticed she was digging back into some of her favourite foods like garlic mashed potatoes and roasted chicken, and she'd been hungrily eyeing the glazed carrots on Ron's left. After it had all been washed down with a glass or two of pumpkin juice, the Trio made their way to the Defense classroom where they settled in for the afternoon to develop a battle plan with Dr. Lang.
<><><><><>
After a week of meeting with the Defense professor and several trusted Order members such as Tonks and Lupin joining in those meetings, a plan was in place. It didn't seem like a whole lot of time to prepare for the final battle that would decide the fate of the Wizarding world, but there was only so much time left before Riddle and his Death Eaters were sure to strike out again.
As soon as all parties involved were one hundred percent positive that they had everything they needed to be prepared, Harry paid a visit to the broadcasting building of the Wizarding Wireless Network. Rather than commandeer the Wireless as Riddle had done so many months ago, he had made an appointment to appear on the station. Shortly after his introduction by the radio deejay, Harry cleared his throat and took the microphone in his hand.
"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls of the Wizarding world, I am Harry Potter. I'm sure you all remember a rather terrifying broadcast last year where a rather malevolent wizard known to many of you as You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named took over this station. This wizard is Lord Voldemort, which is an anagram of his real name, Tom Marvolo Riddle."
To his credit, the deejay didn't even flinch at the name. In fact, he grinned and shot Harry a thumbs-up.
"You all know me as the Boy Who Lived, or The Chosen One. Blimey, even as Saviour of the Wizarding World. But many of you forget that I am simply a seventeen-year-old boy named Harry Potter, who wants nothing more than to live a happy life and finish school without the fear of death hanging over my head. I can't do this, however, because Tom Riddle won't let me. He continues his mad attempts to take over our world and kill me, even though they're all futile.
"I am here today, speaking to you over the WWN, to inform not only the Wizarding public but the crazed man that styles himself as Lord Voldemort as well, that it's time to end this. Tommy Riddle, I'm calling you out to finish this once and for all. Be at Hogwarts, the morning of June thirtieth. It's time for this war to end. The morning of June thirtieth, Hogwarts grounds. Be there, Riddle. Or I'll come find you."
<><><><><>
*hides from angry readers and rotten fruit being thrown.*
I swear, I'm not killing Harry. Just trust me. Please. I've seen stories be abandoned by their readers for employing this particular theory but I beg of you, hear me out before you give up on me!
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