CHAPTER ONE
A/N - Welcome to my first fanfic! If you're reading this, thank you. This is my first foray into writing for Portkey, and I invite you to join in the adventure. This story, The Final Countdown, is the first in a 3-part trilogy. This story, at least the beginnings of it, are to canon, but will soon take on its own shape and course, as I introduce both established and new characters of my own into the mix. Thanks very much for reading, I really hope you enjoy and can leave a review. Oh, one last thing; Europe rock! Hence the title…IT'S THE FINAL COUNTDOWN! DE-DE-DE-DUH, DE-DE-DE-DE-DUH! Okay, I'll stop…
The clear blue canvas of the sky made the perfect backdrop for the sunset, the blue fading into a deep orange in the dusk as the sun began to drop from the horizon. Harry Potter stood leaning forward against the wooden fence on the outer-most edge of The Burrow, where a thin path winding through the hedgerows and shrubs led to the open field where he had played Quidditch with Ron and his older twin brothers, Fred and George.
Through his rounded glasses, he watched the sunset with a quiet awe, a new awareness born of his own destiny. How many more of these sunsets did he have before him?
Behind him, Harry could hear the faint strains of music, dancing, happy times. The wedding of Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour that mid-afternoon had been a simple affair conducted outside The Burrow, attended by all manner of guests from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the Ministry of Magic, and the Beauxbatons Wizarding Academy of France.
Harry had enjoyed the ceremony itself, sitting beside his best friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. He enjoyed watching two people he knew, not well but well enough to be fond of, become truly happy. Harry yearned for the ability to remember a time when he had felt that happy, but all roads led back to one…Voldemort.
Harry had distanced himself from the party as the afternoon wore on into evening, slipping away hopefully unnoticed in the midst of the laughter, the food and drink, the company. He had loosened the white tie he wore over a dark blue shirt and navy trousers, his jacket laying forgotten over a chair somewhere.
He had wanted to enjoy himself today; he yearned for it. But it didn't come. The cold, dark emptiness within Harry's soul had grown over the course of the month or so it had been since the death of Albus Dumbledore. He had felt guilty earlier, in joining the toasts to the happy couple, laughing at the best man speeches, enjoying the banquet dinner that must have become the bane of Mrs. Weasley's existence, in its size and quality.
How dare you, his heart had raged at Harry. Once again, it had isolated him from all those around him. Better do it now, it'll only get harder later. The bad thing was, Harry was starting to agree with that.
"Harry?" A familiar voice said, behind him.
Harry turned around; Hermione stood before him. In a pale silver-blue dress, her brown hair magically straightened for the purposes of today, she looked truly beautiful. The look of concern on her face, though, was a keeper, something that was never too far away. Especially this month…
"What are you doing here?" She asked, stepping closer, carefully with her heeled shoes on the uneven grass.
Harry nodded behind him, out over the open fields surrounding The Burrow, "Just watching the sun go down." He had said that way too casually; lately, Harry had begun watching his words very carefully around Hermione. It wasn't just what he said, but the way he said it, that his best female friend picked up on. And even when he got it right, she still saw through it half the time. He turned back to lean his arms across the fence.
"Is that all?" She asked insightfully, moving beside Harry, leaning over the same fence. She shivered involuntarily against the slight breeze in the air, something Harry noticed. He raised his left hand to the sky, closed his eyes for a second, and clicked his fingers loudly.
"Show off," Hermione retorted dismissively.
"At least it's progress," Harry said. A few seconds later, a dark shape flew across the vast garden, straight for Harry's outstretched hand. He caught his jacket effortlessly, slipping it over Hermione's shoulders. She smiled her thanks as they resumed their vigil, the orange sky becoming tinted with purple. Harry's grasp of unspoken, wandless magic had come staggeringly quickly to Hermione; he already had the basic commands mastered.
What she didn't know, however, was that Harry regularly did without sleep, so he could fit in a few more hours practice, as Ron and Hermione concentrated on sorting through the various clues that would, or in their case would not, lead them to the Horcruxes. Such a division had been Ron's idea, and Harry accepted it as a good idea in a kind of largely unspoken conversation between the three one evening, as the importance of what they were doing together began to further sink in.
"Did you enjoy the wedding?" Hermione asked quietly.
Harry nodded, eyes fixed on the horizon, "Yeah, it was great."
"I noticed you keeping a respectful distance from Ginny…"
"That's one way of putting it," Harry said, again too casually, "Where's Ron?"
Hermione shook her head slightly, "Engaging in a drinking contest with his brothers. Including the groom."
Harry grinned to himself, "Guess we're carrying him home."
"Speak for yourself," Hermione countered, with an air of polite indignation. She turned her head slightly to look at Harry again, "Are you sure everything's alright?"
"Yeah, why?"
"You've been a bit…withdrawn, lately," Hermione started tentatively.
Harry turned to face her, his brow creased in mild irritation, "Hermione, you know me better than anyone. If you've got something to say, say it."
She huffed loudly, "Fine. I know you haven't been sleeping, you barely eat, you spend every waking moment you have practicing, more and more by yourself these days. I'm worried about you."
"Believe me, since that prophecy you're not the only one."
"I know what you're trying to do, Harry."
"What?"
Hermione sighed; not in anger or irritation, but in sorrow, "You're shutting us out, Harry. All of us."
Harry turned back to the sky; he couldn't bear to face her when she was like this. When she was right.
She continued, "You think it's going to be easier for you, for the rest of us, if you cut your ties to this life before you face him."
Harry could feel his throat begin to seize up. Please, not here…
"Life doesn't work that way, Harry. People don't have a spell to turn off their emotions. You need us, Harry, more than ever…and we need you," she finished quietly.
Harry turned back to her, "What could you possibly need me for?" His voice was soft, quiet…broken.
"You're our friend…" Hermione said quietly.
Harry interrupted her, shaking his head, "All I do is cause trouble." He turned away from her, "People around me, the ones that get really close to me…" He trailed off, a tear forming in his eye, "My parents…Sirius…Dumbledore…all they ever did was try and protect me…"
Hermione moved closer, putting a hand on his arm, "It's okay," she whispered.
"I know what's going to happen to me," Harry said, allowing the tear to run down his cheek, his voice wavering, "I've accepted that. It's…Hermione, I don't want anyone else to die…"
"We won't," Hermione whispered.
"You don't know that," Harry said.
"'ARRY!" Ron Weasley emerged from behind the hedgerows, staggering forward with a goofy smile plastered across his face, his cheeks red from…well, Harry needed one guess. His blue suit, matching with all the other Weasley brothers, was disheveled, his white shirt wet from…yeah, Harry only needed one guess at that too.
Ron almost ran into Harry, throwing his arms around him in a bear-hug, "ALLO MATE!" Beside him, Hermione turned away, huffing loudly again, her arms crossed in front of her. Harry winced and grimaced, but could do nothing to break his other best friend's grip.
"Just wanted to say I love ya, mate!" Ron slurred.
"Thanks," Harry said, all of a sudden unsure of how to act in this situation.
"I mean it man, without ya, I coulda been a…a…"
"Drunk?" Hermione said testily.
"Yeah yeah, one o' them," Ron said, waving a hand wildly in Hermione's general direction, "I gotta get back, mate, Fred's challenged me to a drinking game. I can't lose, innit!"
"Innit," Harry said plainly as Ron let go of him and stumbled off up the path. He glanced back at Hermione, whose mouth had thinned into a fully-fledged pout. She shook her head, "Typical."
"What?" Harry asked.
"On the day of his brother's wedding, he makes a mockery of himself!"
Harry allowed himself to grin again, "I think the groom's a bit worse for wear, too."
Hermione did not dare let herself smile, but the anger displayed on her face slowly faded. She stepped closer to Harry again, "Look, if you need to talk to someone, you can always…"
"Yeah, yeah, I know," Harry said quickly, waving off her request with a remarkable air of casualness. Just like that, Hermione observed, his shield was back up. He was once again The Chosen One, not the lonely, frightened boy she had just had a rare glimpse of…
"Do you want to go back to the party?" Hermione asked.
Harry nodded reluctantly, "Yeah, okay."
"Okay," Hermione said, linking her arm around Harry's. Together, they began walking back up, Hermione leaning on Harry's arm to steady her, with these shoes she was wearing. Gradually, they re-entered the throng of humanity.
There had to have been a hundred people here, Harry thought. Everyone he knew, at least those still in the realm of the living, were here. He could see Hagrid towering above the rest, dwarfed only by Madame Maxine as they both knocked back a tankard of…something. So many people were dancing, most of them Harry recognized as Hogwarts and Beauxbatons students. It looked more lively than the Yule Ball ever did…then again, Harry had been slightly prejudiced against that particular function. Mrs. Weasley was bustling about doing something or other, snapping at her husband for not moving quickly enough. Harry shook his head slightly, a slight smile appearing. The more things change, the more they don't.
A new song started, magically hanging in the air. Harry faintly recognized it; he creased his brow trying to recall. Hermione, her arm still linked with his, turned to him, "What?"
"I remember this song from somewhere," He said.
Hermione smiled, "Don't you know anything about old Muggle music?"
When Harry displayed ignorance, she pressed on, "This is a song by Queen, it's a classic. Come on," She said, guiding him over towards the makeshift dance-floor. The last thing Harry felt like was dancing, but he listened to the words as he allowed himself to be dragged along by his best friend.
This thing, called love
I just can't handle it
This thing, called love
I must get round to it
Somehow, those words carried a special poignancy for Harry, despite the fast and catchy music. Then he remembered; the power he knows not.
I ain't ready!
Crazy little thing called love
That makes two of us, Harry thought.
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