Glacies Nexium

hpotter225

Rating: R
Genres: Romance, Action & Adventure
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 17/04/2007
Last Updated: 05/05/2007
Status: in_progress

What is evil? What is good? We follow the trio through their last year as they discover the meaning of both. Emotions run high and tempers short through this intense mental, physical and magical journey. Excerpt from Chapter 4: With every second Harry dwelled on Snape his anger grew rapidly. He felt the shock and rage when Snape had killed Dumbledore come back full force. He felt the humility and disgrace when Snape had bested him in a dual without uttering a word. He hated the man, and the more he dwelled on it the more he felt a new plan forming in his mind.

Chapters

1. Chapter 1 - The Point

2. Chapter 2 - Muggles

3. Chapter 3 - Nothing Left

4. Chapter 4 - The Prince - Part I

1. Chapter 1 - The Point

Glacies Nexium

Chapter 1 - The Point

by hpotter225

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Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and I'm not nearly as creative as the rest of you at disclaimers.

* * *

Alone, at last, Harry gently pushed the door shut behind him and closed his eyes as it clicked shut. No more noise, weeping, moaning—it was gone, finally, and Harry was left to his own devices; left to revel in his own thoughts. Yet now that he was out of the nightmare, it had moved inside of him.

Dumbledore was dead.

A pained look stretched across Harry's face as he dropped his trunk on the floor and leaned back. He could still hear the old wizard in his head telling him that everything would be fine. He could still see the twinkle in the old wizard's eyes as he offered him a lemon drop. He could still feel his guts wrenching as the old wizard toppled over the railing of the Astronomy Tower.

It was Harry's fault.

If Dumbledore hadn't taken the split second to bind Harry, then he would have had enough time to disarm Malfoy and hold off the oncoming Death Eaters. If only Harry hadn't been the useless, defenseless child that he was.

Even though everyone else believed in him, he knew they were only seeing what they wanted to see. He wasn't a great, powerful wizard at all. He was just a boy—an unskilled, untrained boy fighting against men. No matter how many times he was encouraged, he still felt a twinge of guilt that he was failing. This was too soon for him to fight. He wasn't ready.

With a soft grunt, Harry grabbed onto his luggage. His arms felt like rubber tubes as he hauled his belongings upstairs to his room and dropped them in the doorway. It was exactly as he had left it: spotless and barren with a single, cheap cot in the corner.

“Here you go, girl,” said Harry soothingly to his snowy, white owl, Hedwig, opening her cage door. “Try to stay out of sight, will you. And don't pick up any letters, please. I'm not in the mood.”

Hedwig, indignant as always, ruffled her feathers and hopped over to the windowsill, which Harry pried open. With a squawk that Harry interpreted as “Don't worry,” she leaped out and was gone.

By some unfortunate stroke of luck, just as Harry was closing the window, an eccentric little owl zipped under it, colliding quite ungracefully with the wall and sending letters flying everywhere around the room. Harry rolled his eyes and stooped to fix the mess.

“Good morning, Pig,” he said dryly. “I bet you think this is hilarious.” He glared at the small, incompetent ball of feathers. “I'm not laughing.”

Pig rotated his head at an impossibly awkward angle and chirped loudly, then took flight in random, loopy circles around the ceiling.

Harry sighed and began to sort through his mail.

Harry,

You're not right in the head, mate. Staying at your old relatives' house is bloody insane. I don't know why you did it, but once you're tired and fed up with your fat, obnoxious cousin you're welcome to stay with us. Any company is welcome right now.

Don't you even think of taking off without me or Hermione. Even as dim as I am, I can still tell when you're being dishonest. We're your best mates. We're with you to the end.

That sounded really mushy. I'm sorry. We're all out of our minds over here. Mum's gone mental with washing dishes and cooking food (not that I'm complaining!). Everyone else just sits around the house silently.

If we're not there by the time you're done reading this, then we'll be there soon.

Ron

Harry crumpled the parchment and tossed it across the room. He didn't want any company. He just wanted to be alone.

Unfortunately, the sound of a doorbell interrupted his thoughts. He sighed deeply and then went down to answer it.

The door creaked loudly as Harry pulled it open wide, and a gust of wind blew back his already messy hair. To his right, Hermione was standing with her legs planted together and her arms pulled tightly around her chest. To his left, Ron stood, looking quite shocked and stupid with his fist in the air, ready to knock.

The grass swayed like waves on either side of the aggravatingly straight walkway to the front door. For a moment, the sun was entirely blocked out by a passing cloud, and the kids playing across the street stopped and stared into the sky with innocent looks of pleading on their faces. A cat on the neighbor's fence eyed the three patiently from the side.

Harry coughed and then stepped back from the door to let Ron and Hermione in. They both shot him pitying looks as they entered, and Hermione laid a hand on his shoulder in attempt to comfort him.

He slipped under it and closed the door, then turned to face his two visitors. No words were necessary for a greeting.

Hermione, however, was always one for formalities. “Hello, Harry,” she whispered, her eyes bent with concern.

Harry nodded. “Hello, Hermione,” he said quietly. He was about to tell her that she did not have to whisper because his relatives were on vacation, but he feared that it might start a conversation.

“Bloody hell,” Ron burst out suddenly, causing Harry and Hermione to jump at the loud noise. “If someone doesn't speak soon, I'll hex you both!”

“Language, Ronald,” Hermione said. Then she turned to Harry and crushed him in a tight hug. “It's so good to see you again.”

“Urm, Hermione,” said Harry awkwardly. “It's only been a day.”

“Of course,” she said, stepping back and eying him curiously. “But since I spent the whole night stressing over you running off without us, it seems like ages.”

“The idea may have crossed my mind once or twice,” Harry said sarcastically. “Then I saw horrible images of you and Ron hexing me into the ground and I thought again.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You know we wouldn't do that.”

“Maybe we wouldn't,” Ron interjected. “You'd be hurling slugs for a month, you git.”

“He didn't do anything, Ron. At least not yet...” Hermione eyed Harry warily.

Harry narrowed his eyes. “This isn't your fight.”

“This is everyone's fight Harry,” snapped Hermione. “Just because you're the one to deliver the final blow doesn't mean that you have to get there yourself. Think about all of the people who died for this cause before you were even born. This isn't your battle; this is everyone's battle.”

“Right,” said Harry curtly. “Why don't we get a bite to eat. I'm starved.”

Ron's face lit up with a huge grin. “You spoke my thoughts exactly. Lead me to the fridge.”

The “we'll finish this later” look on Hermione's face didn't pass his notice as he and Ron walked by her into the kitchen.

As Ron pounced on the refrigerator, Harry and Hermione took seats around the table, sitting directly opposite to each other. Her eyes were slanted and her glare was so strong that Harry felt like it was cutting through his chest. He shifted uncomfortably.

“We're staying here with you until your birthday, Harry,” declared Hermione suddenly. Ron, who had just raised a cheese sandwich to his mouth, stopped mid-bite and looked over at Harry.

“No,” said Harry simply, a small smile creeping onto his face.

“We've thought about it, and we're not leaving you alone again. Despite your good intentions, you do have a knack for getting into trouble,” Hermione argued. “Besides, you'll need someone around to brainstorm.”

Harry shook his head, still smiling. “I don't think so. It won't be safe with you two around me. You should spend as much time with your families as you can. Who knows how much longer you'll be able to see them?”

“You don't understand,” Hermione said. “We've made up our minds. We're staying.” Ron nodded in agreement from the counter.

This, Harry knew, was a battle he was not about to win. He decided to let his relatives deal with it. Already, visions of Uncle Vernon blowing a gasket appeared in Harry's mind. Maybe it wasn't that bad after all.

“Right,” said Harry. “I'm still trying to figure out what to do until I'm of age. Sitting around here doing nothing isn't quite the carnival I thought it would be.”

“Well, you have to prepare for the war,” said Hermione thoughtfully. “We should also work out what we already know of You-Know-What's and figure out where we should look next.”

In the background, Harry could hear Ron's jaw opening and closing on his sandwich, perfectly content and satisfied. His Aunt Petunia would probably grill him for information about the missing cheese later, but he hardly cared. Other, more pressing matters were on his mind.

Of course he had to prepare for the war, Harry thought miserably. Unfortunately, he was two months from his 17th birthday, when he would be of age to use magic outside of school. He supposed if he relented to Scrimgeour's pressing that he could get an early emancipation, but that would go against what he and Dumbledore were fighting for. No, he couldn't do that. He had to wait it out and find something to do in the meantime.

Despite his misgivings, Harry had actually considered reading until he was of age. That, however, reminded him far too much of Hermione for his liking, so he dismissed the idea, knowing she would cover that base for him.

Harry glanced up at Hermione and saw that, though her face was impassive, there were dark bags under her eyes. She had probably been unable to fall asleep because of worry, Harry reasoned. In his opinion, she had always been the type to care too much, fawning over the smallest injuries and hurt by the most innocent jibes. That was Hermione and he wouldn't want her any other way.

Ron was similar, except that he expressed his hurt through rage. All of the Weasleys were prone to violence when their protective nature was provoked. Their loyalty put even Hufflepuffs to shame.

Suddenly Harry folded his arms across his chest, narrowed his eyes, and then said nonchalantly, “Do either of you realize that Voldemort is ten times more powerful and more knowledgeable than me? I don't have a chance in a million against him. I'm just an unschooled, untrained amateur.”

“You're a great wizard, Harry,” responded Hermione forcefully. “You're a great wizard with the power to defeat Voldemort. Dumbledore believed in you and so do I. And so does Ron.” She stared pointedly at Ron.

“What she said,” Ron mumbled while downing his last bit of sandwich.

Harry shook his head. “Both you and Ron could beat me in a duel, and Voldemort could easily beat both of you in a duel. Other than that, I can only beat Voldemort by sheer luck.”

“That's why we're going to train,” explained Hermione, smiling. “We'll find the power Voldemort knows not. We have to.”

Ron nodded. “Look, mate, no one said it was going to be easy. Though I don't think you are giving yourself enough credit. You did fight Voldemort five times already and lived. And you also cast a Patronus in your…”

“It was all luck, Ron,” said Harry impatiently. “That had nothing to do with me. I got lucky every time. There's a reason why Voldemort was scared of Dumbledore and not of me—because Dumbledore was powerful and he knew what he was doing. I'm not Dumbledore and I never will be. There aren't any get-smart-quick Potions I can take, right Hermione?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “No, Harry, but there are loads of books that you can read. And once you are of age, you can work on stretching your magic levels. It isn't all that difficult, you know? It's just… a bit painful.”

“Painful?” asked Harry. “How painful?”

“Well…” began Hermione, her face blanched. “Maybe I shouldn't have said anything.”

“I'll find out either way,” Harry said determinedly. “Might as well tell me.”

Hermione looked troubled. “I've never done it, of course, but the books read that it feels like your skin is being cut from your heel, up your calves, thighs and chest, then down your other side. And you'll be rendered useless for a few days afterwards while your magic regenerates. It's proven to work, but I don't know if you can afford to be without magic for any period of time.”

“I don't bloody care if it feels like I'm burning alive,” Harry said through gritted teeth. “When do we start?”

“I'm not sure this is a good idea…” said Hermione reluctantly.

“It is,” Harry assured her.

“There are other ways.”

“Quick ways?”

“Well, no,” said Hermione slowly. “But we have time.”

Ron walked around the counter and took a seat next to Hermione. “Hermione,” he said, gazing into her eyes until she looked at him, “we don't have time.”

“I…” began Hermione, looking back and forth between Harry and Ron. “Oh, alright,” she complied. “We have to wait until you are of age. On the day you turn seventeen, your magic will have fully matured. It's not good to start before then because the limit of your magic will be lower, and it may even begin to drop.”

Harry leaned on his elbow, interested. “How often can I do it?”

Hermione gasped in shock. “You don't mean to do it more than once, do you?” Even Ron looked a bit perturbed.

“Why not?” asked Harry. “I'll do anything that will help.”

“You don't mean that,” stated Hermione. “That would make you the same as Voldemort, doing anything for power.”

Harry sighed in frustration. “Look,” he said, irritated, “if everything to do with gaining power is something Voldemort would do, then that rules everything out. Stop comparing me to Voldemort—we know that I'm not Voldemort and that I never will be Voldemort. Now, how often can I stretch my magic?”

Both Ron and Hermione had odd, almost pitying looks. “Probably once a week, Harry,” Hermione answered, “but that won't give us any time to search for You-Know-What.”

“It will help us retrieve them, though,” countered Harry.

Hermione sighed. “I suppose,” she conceded. “But don't do it when I'm around, please.” Her face was blanched at the thought, as if the idea of pain disturbed her.

“Of course,” Harry said, smiling. “And I've decided what we'll do until my birthday.”

“Oh?” asked Hermione, raising an eyebrow. “What's that?”

Harry grinned and made eye contact with Ron.

“We're going to be Muggles.”

* * *

A/N:

First off, I do not intend to update this story regularly. If I promised that then I would set up myself and any readers, if any, for a disappointment. This does not mean that I will not attempt to update regularly, because I will. I just can't guarantee it.

Please tell me what you think, make suggestions, berate, flame, anything you please. I have the ending and the beginning planned out vaguely, so your input will help shape the story greatly.

Thanks for reading.

Until next time…

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2. Chapter 2 - Muggles

Glacies Nexium

Chapter 2: Muggles

by hpotter225

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Warning: This chapter contains graphic violence and gore, not for the faint of heart.

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For the tenth time that morning, Ron growled in frustration. “How do Muggles stand these contraptions?”

Harry and Hermione sniggered as they watched Ron from the counter as he struggled on the couch with new a pair of overly tight jeans. He disappeared behind the backrest for a few moments and then sighed in exasperation.

“Maybe you should have tried them on first, Ron,” suggested Hermione.

“Maybe I should have…” grumbled Ron. “Maybe next time I'll give that horrendous woman a piece of my mind! Trying to sell me torn up jeans… Like I wouldn't notice. Honestly!”

Hermione nearly fell out of her chair from laughter. Ron looked scandalized.

“Well, if that's the way you feel,” he said in mock-hurt, “then I'll just leave.” He hopped to his feet, shot Harry and Hermione a snobby look, and hobbled from the room.

“When he grows up will be the day we all die,” muttered Hermione, shaking her head amusedly. “Luckily, we don't have much to worry about.”

“Speak for yourself,” said Harry blandly, taking a deep drink of his traditional morning coffee. He smacked his lips and placed his mug down on the table, thoroughly satisfied with the bitter flavor. Every summer since he turned eleven, he had drunk coffee in the morning. He used to like it sweet and creamy, but since the beginning of his 17th summer he liked it black.

“So,” began Hermione, “why here? Why Muggles?”

Harry smirked. “The Order has done such a good job hiding and protecting me that I figured I would take myself off their hands. If they can't find me, then I strongly doubt Voldemort will find me. Besides, I think McGonagall would try to make us go back to Hogwarts. We don't have time for that.”

“You mean you don't intend on telling anyone where we are?” Hermione asked, appalled that Harry would even suggest such abhorrence.

“We have a winner,” Harry said jokingly.

Hermione swatted him on the shoulder from across the counter. “That's not funny, Harry,” she reprimanded. “They'll be worried sick!”

“At least they'll have something to do,” Harry responded truthfully, “other than baby sit me and make sure that I stay out of trouble.”

“You know they didn't do that,” said Hermione, folding her arms across her chest. “They were just looking out for you.”

“While keeping me in the dark about everything and treating me like a child,” Harry continued. “Now I'm the one with the information and it's about time they experienced some of their own medicine.”

“No,” Hermione said firmly. “That's not right. They're the adults.”

“If you don't like it then you can leave,” said Harry. “It will end up better for you in the long run anyways.”

The door swung open as Hermione opened her mouth to speak. Ron strode in, decked out in full Wizard robes and a baseball cap. He glared at Harry and Hermione with a look that dared them to speak.

“That's, umm, nice Ron?” asked Harry. “The red hat really doesn't go with your dark green robes. Sorry. Neither does your hair.”

“You should have gotten the navy robes, Ron,” chided Hermione. “I knew you would look terrible in those.”

“Gee, thanks guys,” said Ron with irritation. “My confidence is flying high now. Excuse me while I burn my clothes out back.” He saw the serious expression on Hermione's face, however, and decided it would be better to stay. “What's wrong?” he asked, crossing the room and sliding into the seat next to Hermione.

As Hermione turned to answer Ron, Harry leaned back in his chair thoughtfully. He had noticed that the dynamic in his best friends' relationship was strikingly one sided. Ron cared, of course, and so did Hermione, but it was apparent that she didn't quite understand what she was getting into. It appeared that Ron wanted a typical Hollywood relationship with witty banter and arguments followed by making out. Hermione, on the other hand, wanted to sit around and talk. The two ideas did not mix well.

Harry quickly became bored watching his two friends converse, so he stood up and walked out into the hall of the hotel. The smell was repugnant. Harry had chosen the worst hotel he could find because he reasoned that it would be the most difficult place for him to be found. He suddenly regretted his decision as he watched two drunken women stumble down the hall to the stairs. He nearly gagged as he heard the sound of retching immediately after they rounded the corner.

Seeing no one around, Harry slipped his wand out of his sleeve. Ever since Dobby had set off the underage magic detectors in his second year, he had slowly come to the realization that the Ministry didn't track the wand user, but rather the location. Since they sent him a letter when he didn't perform the magic, then that meant they didn't know who cast the spell. They only knew it came from his house.

Now seemed like the best time to test his theory, with no one around and plenty of wretched, odorous infections to clean. He brandished his wand and raised it into the air.

“What in Merlin's name do you think you're doing?”

Harry froze. “I'm cleaning up this stench.”

“You aren't cleaning that with your wand,” commanded Hermione as she rounded on him. “You're not of age.”

“They won't know I did it, though,” said Harry. “They only track the location, and not the caster.”

Hermione folded her arms as Ron came out of the room behind her. “You don't think they would expect underage magic coming from a Muggle area in Britain?”

She was right, of course, Harry knew. She was always right. And suddenly it came to Harry that she knew a lot, she was a powerful Witch, and she could apply her knowledge. Why, then, was he the one destined to kill Voldemort? She was far more qualified than him. Yet he was glad she wasn't. He didn't wish his fate on anyone else.

“You're right,” Harry agreed, pocketing his wand. “I'm just going to go for a walk,” he said, seeing Ron standing close, almost protectively behind Hermione. “If I'm not back in a couple hours then I'm probably fine.”

“Why don't we all go? We could use some fresh air,” Hermione suggested brightly.

“No,” said Harry pointedly. “I'll be back.” He turned on his heel and headed to the stairs.

“Change out of those wretched clothes, Ron,” Harry heard as he began his descent. Then the voices faded away.

Harry breathed the fresh air deeply as he exited the front of the hotel. It seemed to flow through his body, cleansing the filth that he had inhaled inside. The sunlight washed over him, reflecting off his pitch black hair and off into the distance. He spread his arms out wide and shut his eyes, tilting his hear towards the sky.

After another deep breath, Harry took off down the sidewalk at a brisk pace, passing quite a few tourists and stragglers on his way. He didn't know where he was going, or even why he was going. He was just going.

A few street corners later, Harry stopped as he saw a crowd of Muggles rushing down the street to his left. Someone jumped up and cupped his hands around his mouth, hollering loudly over the bustle. “Don't do it, man!” The crowd pushed even harder and began hollering louder. Harry turned the corner and stopped dead in his tracks.

At the end of the street was an old church with a large stained glass window almost covering the front side. The roof was slanted to either side around the entrance and a large steeple grew up in the front. Below the steeple was a tall window, and in the window was a young boy, held up only by his grip on the exterior stones.

The blood in Harry's veins seemed to explode with fire. He was already halfway to the building by the time he realized he was in a sprint.

Suddenly, the crowd stood still and the clouds came to a stop. The swaying trees and grass halted as Harry flew down the street, covered by the shadow of the massive steeple. His movements were completely silent and swift. He shoved open the door and rain straight ahead into a spiral staircase, a picture of the boy imprinted in his mind. There was something odd about him. And there wasn't much time. But there was all the time in the world.

“Open the door!” shouted Harry as he struggled with the handle at the end of the stairway. It was locked.

Silence followed.

“I said open this door,” repeated Harry. “Now!”

More silence.

Then he heard it, amidst the roar of the crowd—an ear piercing scream. And suddenly all he could hear was his own heart pounding in his chest, threatening to jump into his throat. He kicked the door open and frantically lunged for the window.

It was empty.

Harry dashed to the window and grabbed onto the edges to stop from falling out. The sight on the ground was gruesome. He stumbled backwards and shut his eyes, leaning back against the cold stone wall.

“Why if it isn't Harry Potter,” drawled a familiar voice. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Harry's eyes snapped open. He had no words to speak to Bellatrix. His mind could not function. Something was wrong, terribly wrong, horrible, disgusting, perverted. Everything clicked at once—the glazed look of the child, the irresponsiveness of his eyes, the extended wand.

“The Dark Lord will be pleased. He has blessed me with the honor of killing you.”

The words did not register. Harry's mind was still repeatedly flashing images of the innocent boy standing in the window. He figured out what was wrong with the image. It was the glint of wood in the background. The wand, the sunlight reflected off the eyes in the background, it all made sense.

“Good bye, Harry. Crucio.”

The spell nailed Harry in the chest and the fire in his veins became an apparent reality. It spread through his skin and bones, through every organ in his body. His nerves didn't even consider reacting.

Harry turned towards Bellatrix.

“Crucio,” she repeated. “You nasty little boy. Avada Kedavra!”

The green light moved towards him, inching through the air at a grudgingly slow pace. Harry didn't care. His eyes were locked on Bellatrix.

Destroy, mangle, rip, tear her, insisted a voice in Harry's head. She is nothing, insignificant, meaningless. You are ten times her. She is weak, defenseless, and miniscule. Crush her.

Harry smiled. He looked down and wondered when his feet had left the ground. He turned his head back to Bellatrix. She was staring where he was, seemingly oblivious to his movement. His arm moved freely in the air towards her face. His hand glowed red. His palm opened. His fingers spread and bent at the tips.

In a single motion his arm snapped into a straight line and the killing curse dissipated against the wall. For one instant, Harry saw the terror in Bellatrix's eyes. In the next instant her skull was bashed against the wall and her limbs departed from their home in her body.

Blood all over the ceiling and walls, splattered on the floor and on the door, covered Harry's legs and waist as he landed in a crouch. It seeped through the small cracks in the wooden floor, dripping down the side and splashing on the stone steps below.

Excellent, laughed the voice in his head. Excellent, indeed.

“No!” shouted Harry maniacally, ripping the door from its hinges and hurling it out the window. He punched the wall in a blind rage and felt his hand shatter against the hard surface. His vision swirled with red as he jumped down the stairs five at a time, sliding his hands on the slick wall. He ran through the crowd of Muggles as if they weren't there and stared at his smashed hands as though they were awkward and unfit for his arms.

Somehow, he arrived back at the hotel. By the time his hand closed on the handle to his room, his mind had returned enough for him to feel the blinding pain shooting through his arm. He pushed the door open and fell into the room.

“Harry!” he heard a voice shout over his pumping heart.

But his vision filled with blackness and he heard no more.

* * *

A/N:

I have an odd feeling that this will be the end of the road for most potential readers. I'm sorry if this is so, but this is the way the chapter came out and I am far too lazy to change it. If it's horrible, please tell me. If it's too repulsive, I will rewrite it. If it's good, I will continue.

Please review and give me your thoughts!

Thanks for reading.

Until next time…

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3. Chapter 3 - Nothing Left

Glacies Nexium

Chapter 3: Nothing Left

by hpotter225

* * *

There was one particular instance in which Harry remembered being unable to open his eyes, and that was when he had crammed for two entire days then crashed after taking the final test. That time was amusing. This time was frightening.

He felt his whole body tingling as he tried to twitch his eyes, tap his finger, anything to ensure that he wasn't a paraplegic. His attempts failed quite miserably, he decided after five minutes of futility. His eyes felt so heavy that even if they did open they would fight to shut themselves again. The broken connection between his brain and his body was disconcerting.

With nothing else to do, Harry forgot his physical incapability and tried to glean the meaning of the low buzz he heard. It sounded like a heavy piece of furniture sliding across the floor. When his whole useless body slid up the bed and his head collided with something hard, he determined that he was correct and that the he was either on the furniture or the furniture had run him over.

“Ronald, be careful!” shouted a familiar and quite relieving voice. “You're going to hurt him.”

“He'll be fine,” Ron said back knowingly.

Thank Merlin for friends like Hermione, Harry thought to himself. If Ron had a twin brother I would be dead. Either that or Fred and George would have killed them both. Harry tried to smile to himself, but instead a shock ran down his spine and he felt an impulse to lurch forward. Unfortunately, his body was not in a state to do any lurching, so the pain took a second pass and then subsided.

Deciding it would be profitable to stop listening for his impending doom, Harry tried to remember why he was incapacitated on a foreign piece of furniture. Nothing obvious came to mind. This was certainly an odd predicament.

Then pain struck as Harry felt the remains of his left hand obliterated by a vice-like grip. With a loud howl of anguish, Harry yanked his arms and legs into his chest. He was not, however, in any state of mind to glory in his achievement, for his entire left hand felt like it was burning from the inside.

“Are you bloody insane?” screamed Harry, his eyes snapping open and glaring at the perpetrator. “That's my bloody hand!”

Hermione was quite shocked, indeed. “Harry!” she exclaimed.

“What happened?” Harry yelled in agony.

“I was hoping you could tell me,” said Hermione, who was sitting in a chair next to Harry. “We didn't know if you were going to wake up.”

“You don't remember what happened?” asked Harry.

“All I remember is you falling through the doorway clutching your shattered hands. You had said you were going for a walk. Then you came back looking like that,” said Hermione, waving towards Harry's hand. “Ron hasn't been out of his room for two days.”

Harry shook his head, which turned out to be a terrible idea as he felt pain course through his neck. He winced. “I don't remember what happened, either. Hey,” Harry reached out a hand and rested it on Hermione's knee, gritting his teeth to avoid showing the pain, “what's wrong?”

Hermione, who had been looking down at the floor, turned her head up to look at Harry. She smiled weakly. “What might have happened if you had run off alone? You could be dead.”

“I'm not dead,” said Harry. “You and Ron saved me, just like you always have. Don't worry about it. I'm not going to run off.”

An invisible weight lifted from Hermione's shoulders. “Promise?”

“I promise,” Harry repeated.

Hermione smiled and covered Harry's hand with hers. “Thanks, Harry. That means a lot to me.”

“Yeah,” said Harry quietly, suddenly feeling warm inside. “You're welcome.”

One of Harry's eyes twitched from the intense pain in his hand. Much to Harry's dismay, Hermione leaped to her feet, letting his hand swing into the side of the bed. Harry grunted and bit into his lip.

“Madam Pomfrey just arrived,” Hermione announced. “I'll fetch her and you can get that hand cleaned up.” She quickly exited the room.

And then Harry looked around, noticing for the first time that he was lying in the Hogwarts infirmary. He winced, though this time not from pain. He would have a lot of explaining to do.

Moments later Madam Pomfrey bustled into the room carrying far too many vials full of lethal looking potions. “Mister Potter,” she said curtly, “you have quite a propensity for getting into trouble, you know?”

“Yes,” responded Harry dryly. “I've come to notice that.”

“Wait one second,” Madam Pomfrey said loudly, placing her hands on her hips. “Did Miss Granger let you out of the body bind?”

Harry looked down at himself and then back up at Madam Pomfrey. “I think so,” he replied.

Madam Pomfrey shook her head, muttering “Kids,” and picked a vial of green sludge from her tray. “Drink this,” she demanded, handing the unpalatable solution to Harry.

“With pleasure,” Harry responded, eying the vial with distaste. He swallowed once, then downed the contents in one gulp. It tasted like cherries, he thought. “That is actually quite good,” he said happily.

Madam Pomfrey handed him another vial. “Don't get your hopes up.”

Harry sighed. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

“I can't tell you,” said Harry firmly.

After the mob of Weasleys had finally left, Lupin had slipped in to talk alone with Harry. His aged and worn face had nearly broken Harry's resolve. He looked so desperate to help, yet so troubled that he couldn't. But Harry couldn't let him help, not after Sirius.

“Harry,” said Lupin quietly, leaning forward and covering his face with his hands. “Harry, please don't do this. You can't do it alone. Your parents wouldn't want that.”

That was a low blow, Harry thought. “My parents are dead,” he whispered. “All of their friends but you and Wormtail are dead. If I lost you then I would have nothing left of my past. It wouldn't be worth it to kill Voldemort and not be able to live my life after.”

Lupin shook his head grimly. “What about me? You're the last reminder of James and Lily that I have, Harry. You may need my help to get through this.”

“No,” said Harry. “I can do this on my own. I have to do this on my own.”

“You'll need training,” suggested Lupin.

“Covered,” Harry responded bluntly.

“Advice,” suggested Lupin.

“Hermione,” said Harry.

Lupin sighed and leaned back in his chair, placing his hands on his knees. “You're making a mistake, Harry,” he said. “I'll be here if you need me.” Without looking at Harry, Lupin stood up and turned swiftly around, then walked quickly out into the hall.

Harry watched with mixed feelings. He knew Lupin felt useless, just as Harry had felt for sixteen years of his life. It was not a good feeling by any stretch of the imagination. He knew Lupin was going someplace to be alone, just as Harry had for sixteen years of his life. It was not a set of good memories by any stretch of the imagination. But it didn't kill him.

The golden sunlight on either side of Harry was filled with sparkling specks of dust, coming together at a point in front of him and whitewashing the flat wall across from his bed. Shadows of the few remaining owls danced across the floor with silhouettes of letters and parcels clamped firmly in their claws. The dark outline of a hand swept into Harry's view and he turned his head to see Hermione leaning against the window to his right.

“Hey,” she said with a smile. “How are you feeling?”

Harry's eyes squinted. “Fine, I suppose.” He raised his shield his face from the glow around Hermione's hair. “Yourself?”

“Fine,” Hermione said quietly, still smiling. “Ron isn't taking this well.” Her eyes turned slightly towards the ground. “He puts on an act for you, you know? He tries to be strong, but he's worried. I'm worried. We both expected something like this to happen. If you had died…”

“I didn't,” said Harry, cutting her off. “I don't know what happened, but I do know that I didn't die.”

It was difficult for Harry to tell against the blinding light, but he thought he saw Hermione's eyes glistening. He shook his head, trying to get his imaginative thoughts out of it. There was nothing odd about Hermione crying over him; she was his best friend, after all, and he, hers. He had almost died.

“Where is he now?” Harry inquired.

“In the Gryffindor Common Room,” said Hermione. “You should talk to him.”

“I will,” Harry said, sighing deeply. “Hey, you know that I'm sorry, right? I shouldn't have walked out on you and Ron like that. I'm not capable of going out alone yet. I should have waited.”

“Harry,” said Hermione, walking to him until she was standing directly in front of where he was leaning back between the two windows. “Don't say that. You're a great wizard. Look at me.” She reached out her hand and tilted Harry's chin so that he was looking directly into her eyes. “You're going to win. We're going to win. Don't forget that.”

“Yeah,” said Harry, averting his eyes. “That's the plan. I'm going to go see Ron. Why don't you come up in a little while and we'll figure out what we're going to do next?”

A long silence fell between them in which Hermione leaned back with one foot flat against the wall where Harry had been. She pulled her hair back behind one ear. “Sure, Harry, I'll be up in a bit.”

Harry nodded and quietly walked out into the hall.

The walk to the Gryffindor Common Room took longer than Harry remembered. Maybe it was because he was admiring the gargoyles and portraits that he had lived with for the past six years; or maybe it was because he had a lot on his mind; or maybe he was dragging his feet to savor every last moment in the only place he had ever called home. Whatever it was, it was the least of Harry's worries as he stepped through the portrait hole.

“Hello, Harry,” Ron said from across the room.

Harry stared straight ahead at Ron, who was standing with his back to Harry, both arms spread to the side, planted on the stair railings, and one foot up on the first step.

“Hello, Ron.”

Ron's heavy breathing carried throughout the room amplified by the hard stone walls. His head was hanging slightly between his shoulders and his hair looked slightly disheveled from the back.

Harry crossed to the fireplace and sat down, letting the dim light bask his body. “Do you know what this is?” he asked, holding his wand up in the flat of his palm.

After a short silence, Ron's voice sailed over the back of the couch. “It's a wand. It's your wand.”

“No,” said Harry, chuckling once. “This is Voldemort's wand.”

Another silence followed.

“Not only is this Voldemort's wand,” Harry continued. “This is the wand that's going to kill him. This wand is going to deliver the final, killing blow that will end this war. This wand is the deliverer of justice, a tool designed to tear the last seventh of Voldemort's soul from his pathetic body.”

The fire shone on the polished black wood of the wand causing the surface to appear as though it was rippling. This simple shred of wood, Harry mused, which he trustily served him for half his life would take the life of the man who took the life of his parents, his Godfather and his friend. It was a worthy fate, Harry determined, and smiled grimly.

“Can I touch it,” said Ron's quiet whisper from just behind Harry's head.

Harry raised the wand into the air and Ron's hand picked it up. For a moment Harry could hear the swish and flick as Ron swung his arm, likely running through the motions with which he imagined fighting Voldemort.

The portrait hole was open and Hermione slowly crossed to the center of the room. The sound of swishing died down and Harry turned in his seat to see Ron's and Hermione's eyes locked as they shared a brief moment of understanding.

“Hello, Hermione,” said Harry after a while, breaking their stare. “I think we're all set.”

“Good,” said Hermione with a smile. “I heard your speech—sorry, I couldn't help it.” A slight blush crept onto her face. “Did you mean it? All of it?”

Harry's eyes darkened and he walked around, sitting back against the top of the couch where he had been lying. He stared at the wand in Ron's hand and then back up at Hermione. Ron twirled it one last time in his fingers before sliding it into the front pocket of Harry's robes.

Harry looked up and made eye contact with Hermione.

“Yes,” he said determinedly. “I'm going to kill him.”

* * *

A/N:

What do you think? Is it realistic enough? Hopefully I haven't botched everything.

I'm interested in your response.

Thanks for reading.

Until next time…

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4. Chapter 4 - The Prince - Part I

Glacies Nexium

Chapter 4: The Prince - Part I

by hpotter225

* * *

The dungeon ceiling seemed lower than Harry had remembered. He ducked under an archway that led down a wide hall to his old Potions classroom. When Hermione had suggested they search in the dungeons for any possible clues, Harry had objected adamantly. However, as he considered the source of the suggestion his mind quickly changed and they began their search. It did, after all, give Harry an excuse not to get chewed out by the Order for running off—not that he minded, of course.

So far everything had been boring and useless. It was all the same—stones, chains and the occasional smashed cauldron. There wasn't even a portrait to be seen, which Harry found quite disturbing. The lack thereof had the odd effect of making him feel like he was being watched. He took a cautious glance over his shoulder.

“Will you stop that?” bellowed Ron. “You're freaking me out.”

Harry huffed. “Sorry. I guess I am getting a bit paranoid.”

“Just like Mad-eye, mate. You'd better get that checked out,” said Ron jokingly.

“I'd give anything right now to have his mad eye,” laughed Harry. Suddenly his chest hit something hard and his breath was knocked out of him. It was Hermione's head.

“As attractive as his swiveling eyeball is, I like your eyes just the way they are,” said Hermione. “So why don't you two start looking and stop gabbing?”

Ron jutted his lower lip out and narrowed his eyes as Hermione strutted down the hall ahead of him and Harry. “She really is something,” he said with admiration, smiling. “I feel like the luckiest man alive.”

Harry nodded as he watched Hermione turn around twenty feet down the hall and put her hands on her hips expectantly. His mind told him to say, “You would be if I wasn't with Ginny,” but instead he said, “You sure are, Ron.”

As Hermione rounded the corner, Ron walked faster to catch up, leaving Harry lagging behind at his slow pace. Soon Harry was walking alone in the hall, though he knew his friends were only just around the next bend. Then he stopped and listened as the footsteps receded into the distance.

“Hurry up Harry,” Ron's voice bellowed. “We're going to Snape's old office.”

Snape, thought Harry bitterly. He had nothing but loathing for that despicable man. For six years he had sat through Snape's classes and complained to anyone who would listen that the man was untrustworthy. No one had listened; they had all disagreed. It was little consolation that they were all wrong.

With every second Harry dwelled on Snape his anger grew rapidly. He felt the shock and rage when Snape had killed Dumbledore come back full force. He felt the humility and disgrace when Snape had bested him in a dual without uttering a word. He hated the man, and the more he dwelled on it the more he felt a new plan forming in his mind.

Without another thought Harry spun around and bolted down the hall.

Moments later the sound of bickering could be heard approaching from down the hall. Hermione and Ron came around the corner, Ron rolling his eyes at something Hermione said, and then stopped, staring stupidly at the spot where Harry had been.

“Harry?” said Ron quizzically.

“Oh no,” said Hermione, eyebrows narrowed with worry. “He didn't…”

* * *

Headmistress McGonagall's office was surprisingly open. Harry raced up the steps and knocked hurriedly on the door.

“Come in,” came the terse response.

Harry pushed open the door and approached McGonagall's desk with as much composure as he could muster. “Hello Headmistress,” he said respectfully.

McGonagall visually deflated. “Please, Harry, call me Minerva. You're practically an adult now and Merlin knows you reached the maturity level a while ago. Anyways, you wanted to see me?”

“Yes, ma'am,” said Harry, “I was wondering where Snape lived.”

The stare Harry received was long and concentrated. “You don't intend to pursue Severus, I presume?” she asked carefully.

“Not exactly,” said Harry cautiously. “I'm looking for something at his house. Well, I mean, there might be something of importance there.” He stumbled gracefully over his words.

“Indeed,” said McGonagall, once again piercing Harry with her stare. “I cannot withhold this information from you, but might I implore you to allow a member of the Order to accompany you? Remus, perhaps.”

“No,” Harry said quickly, almost spitefully.

His response elicited a brief look of shock. “Miss Granger and Mister Weasley will go with you, I presume?”

Harry said nothing.

“Mister Potter,” said McGonagall firmly. “I will give you the information you request, but I cannot allow you to go alone. It is far too dangerous for you to be wandering around alone.”

“I have to,” Harry said quietly.

A long silence and another glare followed. Finally, McGonagall shook her head in defeat. “I do not agree, but I cannot stop you.” She pulled a length of parchment from her desk and gave Harry one last disappointed look before dipping a quill and scrawling on the parchment. “Here,” she said, holding the letter out. “I expect to see you back for breakfast.”

“Thanks,” said Harry, grinning widely. “I'll do my best.”

And he backed out into the hall.

* * *

Hermione and Ron quickly deduced that Harry was nowhere to be found in the dungeons and expanded their search to the upper section of the castle. They split off, Hermione heading to the Headmistress's office and Ron to the Gryffindor common room, with a plan to meet in the Great Hall twenty minutes later.

Familiar feelings of dread washed over Hermione. In the back of her mind she had expected Harry to run off, but she had convinced herself countless times that he wouldn't. Now, she was cursing herself for being so trusting.

A swarm of thoughts buzzed around her head that she barely noticed where she was walking. The warm body she collided with did much to bring her back to reality.

“Sorry,” said Hermione in shock. She blinked a few times and stepped back.

“Are you drunk?” responded a familiar voice.

Hermione blinked again forcefully. “Of course not,” she said.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Well you should watch where you're walking, then.”

“Harry!” shrieked Hermione, her eyes snapping wide open. She leaped forward and entangled her arms around him, grabbing the back of his robes tightly with her hands and pulling him close to her.

“I… umm… am glad to see you, too, Hermione,” said Harry confusedly. “What's wrong?”

She pulled back and stared into his eyes for a moment. “We thought you had left.”

“Without telling you and Ron? Do you think I'm that stupid?”

“Of course not,” said Hermione. “You know you'd be dead without us.”

“Yeah,” said Harry quietly. “Dead.”

After a short silence, Hermione placed her hands on her hips and tilted her head expectantly. “Well?” she inquired. “What did you do?”

Confused, Harry raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Why did you run off?”

“Because I wanted to find Snape's house,” said Harry dryly. He held up the letter in his hand. “And I did.”

For a moment, Hermione stared at the paper. At first her look was blank, but then it quickly became uneasy and questioning; Harry could tell by the way she subtly bit her lower lip and brought her eyebrows together.

“Are you sure…” she began.

“Yes,” said Harry simply, cutting her off, “I want to find You-Know-What's, and one of them might be there.”

The light from a high stained glass window cast a myriad of colors about the hall where Harry and Hermione were walking. Harry looked down and marveled that he couldn't find a pattern amidst the reflections. It looked like he was walking through a sea of broken glass.

“Wait,” said Harry. “Stop.”

Hermione stopped and raised her eyebrows questioningly.

“Look,” Harry said, raising his arms to his sides and pointing at both ends of the hall. “Have you ever thought it was odd that this is the only hall in Hogwarts without any decorations? There are no paintings or gargoyles—just these stained glass windows.”

Hermione looked her and up at the ceiling. “You're right,” she said. “I haven't noticed that. There's probably a reason. Headmistress McGonagall might know.”

“Maybe, but it's not important. We should find Ron,” said Harry.

Hermione smiled. “He's in the Great Hall. Come on,” she held out her hand. “Let's go.”

“Sure.” Harry smiled back and grabbed Hermione's hand.

They walked briskly back to the Great Hall.

* * *

“There you are,” said Ron as Hermione entered the room. “And you've found the old sod as well. Great job, mate.”

Harry grinned. “From `bloody prat' to `old sod,'” he said with interest. “What have I done to deserve such an honor?”

“Stow it,” Ron growled jokingly. “You have some explaining to do.”

“Explain myself for visiting the Headmistress?” asked Harry innocently. “Well, since you asked so nicely, I was getting Snape's home address.”

The look on Ron's face elicited a laugh from Harry. “Well you can't expect me to kill the old sod without his home address, can you?”

It was now Hermione's turn to be shocked. “Harry!” she protested. “You said…”

“That, too,” he said pointedly. “But don't think I won't kill him if he's there.”

Hermione's face was nearly unreadable, but Harry could see a tinge of fear in it. Then he realized that he had just openly admitted his intent to murder Snape. And he had done it confidently, without thinking. She had good reason to be frightened.

“In a very nice and pleasant way, of course,” he added, smiling.

“Ha ha,” said Hermione dryly. “Very funny. How do you expect to kill him if he can throw off your spells without speaking a word?”

Logic was not Harry's forte. That was why he was so glad to have Hermione around to beat it into his head. Together, they filled each other's weaknesses. That is, if Hermione had any weaknesses.

“I was thinking we could bring my mum along,” suggest Ron. “Even Snape couldn't handle a fiery Weasley mother!”

Harry looked pointedly at Hermione. “He does have a point.”

“Yes, I'm sure that would work wonderfully. But let's really think about this first. He can throw off your spells because he can use Legilimency on you to predict them.”

“That doesn't make sense,” said Harry. “Legilimency doesn't read minds.”

Hermione scrunched her eyebrows together. “You're right. I never thought of that.” She was quite surprised at this. “How was he doing it, then?”

“If I knew,” said Harry, “I'd have killed him a long time ago.”

“Professor Lupin might know,” Ron suggested.

Hermione and Harry turned to him.

“Then let's find him,” said Harry, and he turned to the doors of the Great Hall.

* * *

After much searching, they finally found Lupin in Headmistress McGonagall's office. Both him and the Headmistress appeared distressed and were arguing heatedly.

“You let them go? Minerva, they are just kids!” said Lupin, obviously trying to stay calm but failing. “They could be killed. You must tell me where they are.”

“Remus,” said McGonagall sadly, “I cannot go against Harry's wishes. That was Dumbledore's only demand.”

“Harry would want me to know,” Lupin said.

“Except that he won't even tell his own friends where he's going,” responded McGonagall tersely.

“He what?” asked Lupin after a slight pause.

McGonagall narrowed her eyes. “You heard me. He's not going with his friends.”

Harry could only see the back of his head, but he was sure that Lupin's eyes were wide with shock.

“And you still will not tell me?” Lupin asked quietly.

Then Harry felt something poking into his ribs and he turned agitatedly to see Hermione elbowing him and staring at him expectantly. She pursed her lips.

Harry sighed. “Professor,” he said, stepping into the Headmistress's office. “I am going to Snape's house. Ron and Hermione are coming with me.”

The two adults looked like deer caught in headlights.

“How long?” inquired Lupin, nodding at the door.

“Just a minute,” said Harry. “We came to ask you a question.”

“Sure, anything to help,” Lupin responded.

Harry lowered his eyes. “Can you teach me how to duel?”

At that moment, Ron and Hermione entered the room staring bewilderedly at Harry.

“I thought you were going to ask him about Snape?” said Hermione.

“You've gone mad,” said Ron helpfully.

Harry smiled. “I haven't. Snape deflected all of my spells, but the spells I used were weak anyways. He could have escaped had they hit him. I need to learn how to duel - what spells to use, how to move, how to attack, how to defend, how to parry.” He turned back to Lupin. “Can you help me?”

Lupin furrowed his brow. “Of course I will, but why not someone more qualified? An auror? Tonks, perhaps.”

“Because I trust you,” said Harry bluntly. He knew that he was excluding the entire Order of the Phoenix with his statement, but he thought it best to start off on a new foot, trusting no one. McGonagall pressed her lips firmly together.

“Do you really think it smart to trust so few people?” asked Lupin.

“I will not make the same mistake as my parents,” said Harry firmly.

Lupin jerked back like he had been smacked in the face. He stumbled backwards into a wall and his eyes reflexively flicked down to the floor. A wave of emotion swept through Harry—he felt as if he was suddenly seeing through Lupin's eyes, feeling what Lupin was feeling, reminiscing what Lupin was reminiscing. His hurt, pain, agony, confusion, disbelief, everything coursed through Harry's body. It was so intense that Harry nearly buckled over and was forced to steady himself against McGonagall's desk.

“Professor, I'm sorry. I didn't mean…” Harry trailed off. “It's just that I can't risk anything. If I'm betrayed…”

If Lupin heard him or not, Harry didn't know. All he knew was that for the next few minutes no one said a word while Lupin's breathing slowed gradually to a normal rate. Ron and Hermione had receded to the back of the room, both with sad looks.

Finally Lupin looked up. “You're right,” he said quietly. “I'll teach you to duel, and if you want I'll help you do anything else. Your parents would have wanted that.”

Harry smiled and held out his hand. “Thanks, Professor.”

Lupin forced a smile and shook Harry's hand. “Please, Harry, call me Remus. You look far too much like James to be calling me that.”

“Sure,” said Harry. He turned to McGonagall. “I'm sorry you had to see that. It wasn't right of me to say what I did, and I'm sorry.” He took a deep breath and looked around the room. “Now, I think I'm going to get some rest. We all need it.”

Everyone nodded in agreement.

* * *

A/N:

Yes, I know that was a weird chapter. Harry is being a jerk, but give him a break, he has just been through a lot. Consider his insensitivity a result of him being slowly desensitized over the years.

This chapter was mainly plot development. Next chapter will be more action, and we'll see the beginnings of the far too delayed H/Hr relationship.

Also, I also wanted to mention that I haven't updated for a while because I was in Maryland on a pseudo-vacation. It took me two days to write the chapter after I got back, which is why it took so long.

Please tell me what you think, be it good or bad. I'm open to suggestions, plot ideas, subplot ideas—anything, really. This story is for your enjoyment, so I'm trying to do my best to make it enjoyable. And if you have any long, complicated ideas, my AIM screenname is in my profile.

Thanks for reading.

Until next time…

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