A Rush of Blood to the Head by Longfletch

Rating: PG
Genres: Angst
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 19/02/2007
Last Updated: 19/02/2007
Status: Completed

As Harry watches the last part of his past burn, he reflects on what he has lost. Mentions of
character deaths.




1. untitled
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*This attacked me a few nights ago. Listening to “A Rush of Blood to the Head” by Coldplay too
many times is bad for me.*

*------------------------------*

Harry Potter stood on a hilltop overlooking the burning Riddle House. The last bit of his past
was being destroyed.

Only a few days earlier, he had been in the realtor's office, listening to his
congratulations on buying the house. “Little Hangleton could use the fix-up,” he had said
happily.

A section of the roof fell in and Harry allowed himself a smile. He was surprised that the plan
had gone so well. When he had gone to Fred and George a month ago asking for their help, he
hadn't expected them to come up with such a powerful blaze. They had outdone themselves.

*Who knew such a small marble with fire inside would make such an inferno?* he thought.

He looked to his left where there was only air. Ron should have been there. He was gone on a
journey to, as Luna put it, “find himself.” Harry could remember Ron's almost giddy expression
as they arrived at Harrington Airport. “I'm finally going to see what this fuss about airplanes
is about,” he had grinned. Ron wrote every once in a while. The last time Harry had heard from him,
he was enjoying the sun in South America.

Ron needed it after his family's tragedy. Percy had died protecting Ron from a Killing Curse
and Charlie had been paralyzed from the waist down from so many curses. His mum and dad had never
really recovered from the shock of three children being attacked within a year. Ron couldn't do
much to help them, and so, he had left to figure out what his place was.

There had been another reason Ron had left England for a while. Harry looked to the empty space
on his right. Hermione had left them to fend for themselves and Ron had needed the reality check.
Her death made Harry turn inwards. He was alone.

She had been his Hermione for four months. Whether or not it had been the happiest or saddest
time of his life he could not say. All of his dreams had been gone in the instant she had fallen in
front of the library of Hogwarts.

*What irony,* he mused, *for her to be killed before the things that had protected her so
many times before.*

This had been her brainchild, burning the house. It had all started as a joke between her,
Harry, and Ron and developed into a solemn pact. Late one night, Harry asked her how she came up
with the proposal to start with.

She only shrugged and said, “I have no idea. Blame it on a rush of blood to the head.”

Below him, the roof caved in. The deafening noise of its collapse mixed with the sirens of the
fire trucks rushing to the scene. Soon the fire would be put out, leaving behind a charred
wreck.

Harry turned away. He had seen enough to know that their promise had been fulfilled. A small
weight lifted from his shoulders with every step he took down the hill. From here, he had no idea
what to do. Fate and common sense would guide him as it always had.

Decisions from a rush of blood to the head would show him the way.

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