Harry gulped and nodded. Voldemort's intense eyes glanced him up and down, before he turned and stalked away, robe fluttering behind him. Every single Death Eater that was able to scampered after him, forming rows.
The muttering erupted in a great wave across the grounds, as people started helping the injured and searching for the dead. A wail came from a mother who had found her son's body, and soon others formed a cacophony of mourning.
Harry looked down at Ron, who had been biting his tongue to stop himself crying out in pain on Voldemort's appearance. He started moaning again, unable to contain himself any longer.
"Oh Ron!" Luna sobbed. "Oh Ron! I'm so sorry; you were trying to save me-"
"No, Luna, it's not your fault," said Harry comfortingly. "Ron, come on mate, we'll get you some help…"
"Oh my goodness!" Hermione had appeared. She seemed to have been in a struggle, as her robes were torn and there were minor injuries on her face. "Numbinus!" The area around Ron's eye swelled up, and he calmed down a little, still clutching his eye.
"What was that?" said Harry.
"Pain dimming charm." Hermione put her wand away and helped Ron to his feet. "I can't do anything for the actual wound but that looks terribly painful."
Gently, they guided him into the Great Hall, half carrying him. Luna tagged along, sobbing and holding his hand.
The dead were laid out respectfully, as they had been in the Dungeons. Harry's breath hitched in his throat as he saw people he knew. Along with Professor Sprout and Mundungus Fletcher were Cho Chang, Professor McGonagall and Dennis Creevey, all sombre and silent in their death. The injured were being treated around the sides, the most severely hurt first. Healers were rushing around franticly, and Madame Pomfrey looked out of her mind. The Malfoys were huddled up in a corner, looking unsure of their surroundings, while their son bottled potions Snape had brewed. Snape's patronus, the silver doe Harry's stag had teamed up with, was standing at the door, a shining beacon to all the people who were carrying the injured. Tonks was feeding Remus, who had transformed as it was full moon, some wolfsbane potion, to ensure he remained harmless. Harry found what he was looking for as he spotted a group of red-haired people.
They staggered over to the Weasley family, conjuring a bed to place Ron on. Fred was lying on one besides him, his leg still twisted in that strange way. Harry and Hermione aided their friend down, Hermione half-dropping him as he was heavy.
"Ron!" Mrs. Weasley shrieked, looking hysterical upon seeing the green liquid splattered across her son's face. "Oh, my little Ronnikins, what happened? How did this happen? Oh, Ron!"
"Mum…" Ron croaked weakly.
"Yes?" Mrs. Weasley put her face close to his. "What is it, Ronnikins?"
"Don't go mental…"
George, who was at Fred's bedside, sniggered. "That's it, Ron, keep up the humour!"
He smiled, and Mr. Weasley glared at him. Harry was surprised to see Percy standing next to him, in Death Eater's robes, looking frail and shaken. Bill was comforting his little brother, though he looked old and tired, and Charlie was mourning for someone he knew that had died. Ginny was a few beds away, helping the healers by dressing people's wounds. Ron had once mentioned she wanted to be a healer. Luna stayed by Ron's side, tearfully telling Mrs. Weasley how brave Ron was.
"Blimey," muttered Fred from his bed, as Healer Ginny came to sort her brother's eye out (as well as a more experienced healer). "Our little bro's hurt too, eh? Well, apparently I've got to have this leg cut off, it was a spell that broke it, and they can't heal it." He sighed. "First George looses an arm, then I a leg, and now Ron's lost his eye. We'll soon have enough severed body parts to build a new Weasley brother."
George sniggered, and Hermione shot a that's-not-funny look at his twin. Harry might have laughed at Fred's joke had his mind not been so crammed with worry he didn't even recognise it as a joke. He was going to fight Voldemort… now… he wasn't ready for this… it was far too early; he hadn't been prepared… what if he lost? The whole Wizarding World would fall into Voldemort's hands… wasn't it only yesterday that Dumbledore had taken him to find the locket?
Dumbledore. He needed to talk to Dumbledore.
"Harry?" Hermione asked tentatively as Harry turned to go. "Where- where are you going?"
"I have to do something," he whispered, not looking at her. "I have to find something out."
"No." She took his hand, forcing him to look at her. "Stay with us, stay with me. This could be your last-" She caught herself, biting hard on her lip.
"-Hour." Harry finished the sentence.
"No! I do think you'll do it, you will!" She seemed to be under the impression he didn't think she believed in him. Harry was suddenly aware of the Weasley clan watching.
"I hope I do Hermione," Harry sighed. "But I need to do something first. I'll come back, I promise. I'll come back so you can- can wish me luck." Slowly, his fingers slid from hers, until only their fingertips were touching. Harry lingered, allowing the feel of his fingertips pressed lightly against hers to consume him, before breaking away completely. As he broke contact with her, he felt as though he had created some barrier separating him, and his only hope of defeating Voldemort.
He gave the Weasleys a tiny smile, looked back in Hermione's eyes for a minuet, and turned to leave. As soon as he was out of sight of everyone, his pace quickened into a run. He skidded down the hallway, muddy shoes sliding on the floor. Evidence of the fight was everywhere: portraits smashed, suits of armours wrecked, scorch marks on the carpet, walls knocked in, the occasional dead body or limb. Harry raced through it all, his desperation to speak with Dumbledore growing with every step.
"Uh… Dumbledore!" he yelled at the stone gargoyle, and, surprisingly, it moved. It made a funny grinding noise as it did so, as though it hadn't been used in a long time. Harry raced up the stairs three at a time, slamming the office door open.
Bitter disappointment flooded him as he realised Dumbledore wasn't in his portrait. He looked around the undisturbed, dusty office helplessly.
"Looking for me, Harry?" said a voice he recognised. He whipped around, to see Dumbledore was occupying Armando Dippet's portrait.
"Proffessor!" Harry looked up at him. "I need… I need advice."
"But of course you do, Harry." Harry wondered who had painted him, as they had captured the way his sparkling blue eyes x-rayed you almost perfectly. It couldn't be as good as the real thing, though; no artist was that good. "You are nervous, as is understandable."
Dumbledore stepped through the wall until he arrived in his own frame. He then fixed Harry with a contemplating stare.
"Here is what you should do if you seek guidance: You must now go to the Hog's Head, as discreetly as you can. My brother, Aberforth, was the barman. There is something underneath the bed, in a small blue box. An old, old family heirloom: a bottle containing Godric Gryffindor's memories."
Harry gasped. "So it's true? You are Gryffindor's heir, just like me?"
"Indeed." Dumbledore smiled. "Now you are the sole surviving heir, who isn't a muggle, of course."
"What about your brother?"
"Killed by a giant a few months ago."
"Oh… I'm sorry."
"Oh, he's joined me now. I suppose that's good, I wasn't on very good terms with him for the last few years of my life."
"Oh… well, I'll just go, anyway…"
Once again racing down the corridors, once again skidding, Harry threw on his invisibility cloak and crept out of the castle. He stepped into the night, hugging the invisibility cloak tighter to him. He found a Thestral, licking blood unpleasantly off a dead carcass, and climbed upon it.
Digging his knees into the creature's bony sides, he got it to start flying. He rode it over Hogwarts grounds, trying not to look at the blood-stained grass, over to Hogsmead.
The Hog's Head pub was, predictably, deserted. He easily broke in, trooped upstairs, and carefully removed the blue box as instructed. He wiped an inch-thick layer of dust off a delicate memory-bottle, peering at the contents. They were, indeed, swirling strings of memory, neither liquid nor gas. They were, however, darker than usual memory, a waxy yellow colour, like paper that had aged.
He flew back to Hogwarts on his Thestral, and got back to Dumbledore's office, mentally congratulating himself on not getting caught.
"Got them? Good. My pensive is in the draw. You know what to do."
Harry poured the memory into the stone basin, surprised to find it slid out easier than fresh memory. He took a quick glance at Dumbledore, then plunged his face into the memory, feeling it slither around his face, pulling him in…
*
Harry had expected his surroundings to be in black and white, or possibly sepia, but the bright sunlight filtering through the clouds allowed the trees and grass around him to be as brightly coloured as a normal summer's day.
Harry noticed a man equalled down, looking at footprints embedded in the sand. He was very tall, with broad shoulders and tree-trunk legs. He had bright auburn hair that fell onto his shoulders like a mane, and across his chin in the form of a beard. His facial features were strikingly sharp, but sharpest of these was the pair of glimmering emerald eyes shaped like almonds.
Godric Gryffindor peered at the footprints with those eyes, concentrating intensely. He seemed to figure something out, as he looked in the distance, eyes narrowed, and then jumped on his horse, a powerfully built chestnut stallion. Harry felt himself being thrust forward, so he flew alongside the horse as it galloped at an unnatural speed. They thundered along the gravely road, dust streaming behind them in great clouds, for what seemed like hours, all the while Gryffindor egging the horse to go faster. He seemed to be desperate to get somewhere.
They finally slowed down, and Harry saw they were approaching a small, dilapidated cottage. It looked slightly foreboding, with its black painted walls and smashed windows, but Gryffindor just waltzed right in.
Harry followed him into the dark house. It seemed to be one-roomed.
"Papa! Papa!" squeaked two voices. One belonged to a young boy with Gryffindor's auburn hair pulled into a plait, and the other was a girl with the same emerald eyes. Both children looked no older than six or seven years old, and were exceptionally small and vulnerable- looking when compared to their father. They were chained by the wrists with a thick black chain that was attached to the plane stone wall. The room itself was incredibly bare, and much bigger than it seemed from the outside. There was nothing on the walls except a dusty mantelpiece and an unused fireplace, and the floor was barely a few unpolished floorboards that had been scuffed and splintered from the years.
"Cordelia!" breathed Gryffindor, his usually tough face melting at the sight of his children. "Godfrey!"
He started towards them, but was suddenly cut off by an invisible wall, and a simply evil chuckle from the shadows. He zipped around, and a widely smirking man materialized from the shadows. He was dressed in dark green and silver robes, and had a dark goatee lining his chin. His sleek hair, equally as dark, fell to just past his shoulders, and his eyes were narrowed in a twisted leer.
"Give me my children back, Slytherin," Gryffindor's voice was dangerously low, and he looked like a lion stalking its prey.
Slytherin laughed in that twisted way again, but this time with an extra hiss. The hiss lingered when he stopped chuckling.
"Go to them," he whispered, and Harry thought he was talking to Gryffindor until a large python slithered over to the screaming kids, and he realised he was speaking parseltounge.
"Give me my school back, Gryffindor," he countered. Gryffindor drew his wand, a big, thick, log of a wand. At the same time Slytherin drew his, which was, in contrast, extremely spindly and narrow.
"When did it get to this, Salazar?" said Gryffindor, a little sadly. "Two great friends, pointing wands at each other?"
"Since you introduced mudbloods to the school!" Slytherin spat. "Why you bother… though, I hear you're good friend Miriam Merlin married a mudblod, yes?" Harry raised his eyebrows at the name Merlin. "What was his name again?"
"Orestes Granger." Harry choked on his own spit.
"And her son is a squib, am I correct?" Slytherin sneered.
"Yes, Heracles is a squib," Gryffindor growled.
Slytherin's sneer deepened. "Pathetic." Gryffindor looked even angrier. "Now, are you going to ban filth from the school?"
"Never!" Gryffindor roared, and with a clash of sparks they began duelling.
Harry had to shield his eyes from the bright colourful lights that flashed before him. This was duelling at a level Harry had never even dreamt of. Gryffindor, for such a burly man, moved with unparalleled grace and ease, shooting two or three spells at a time, commanding his magic with power, and Slytherin made his wand look like an extension of his arm.
The little house wouldn't stand much more of the spells, and sure enough it was soon ripped apart by the sheer ferocity of the duel.
With a rising movement of his arms, Slytherin summoned great, trunk-like vines to tear out of the earth, like a monstrous version of Devil's Snare. Brilliant, roaring golden flames erupted around Gryffindor, disintegrating the plants as soon as they touched, and then turning to consume Slytherin.
But the flames turned black as they made contact with him, and rose to form a giant, fiery snake. The monstrous snake made a throaty hissing sound along with the crackling and spitting of the flames, flicking its scorching black tongue so sparks spouted into the air. From Gryffindor's wand shot a lion patronus, its lush silver mane stretching to the small of its back, its broad, muscular limbs padding softly on the ground as it prowled.
The flaming black snake hissed in warning, spitting more flames as it did so. From the lion's fang- lined mouth sounded a mighty roar, and those dagger-like white teeth latched onto Slytherin's snake, and it began eating the flaming creature. As it devoured the dark serpent, it grew bigger and bigger until it was as enormous as the snake had been before it had been consumed.
It gave a deafening belch, spitting a few black embers, before giving Gryffindor a satisfied look.
"Extundo extremosis!" roared Gryffindor. This was the only spoken incantation for the duel, and Slytherin, who was not expecting it, was hit square in the stomach and sent flying backwards, whizzing through the air.
Harry thought he would drop back to earth and start duelling again, but he flew higher and higher into the air, screaming and cursing in rage, until he was a tiny speck against the pale blue sky.
Panting, Gryffindor turned to his children. He must have undone the chains using magic as they sprang free and the tiny children raced towards their father. He knelt on the ground, and tears of happiness sprang to the old lion's eyes as his children hugged him, safe and sound.
*
Harry landed back in the office with a thud, breathing hard into the dusty carpet. That had been exhilarating.
He got up, not just because he didn't like the taste of dust, but because he wanted to talk.
"Wow!" he breathed. "That was- Gryffindor and Slytherin's duel!"
"Yes. Did you understand how Gryffindor beat Slytherin?"
"Uh, with that spell?"
Dumbledore sighed in exasperation, rubbing his brow wearily. "Oh, Harry, what did I tell you all those years? Love!" Dumbledore swooped down into the portrait below him, looking excited. "Gryffindor's love for his children drove him to keep fighting! It was the same love that kept your parents together till the end! The same love that your mother had for you that caused her to sacrifice herself for you! And it is the same love that runs through your veins, which will be Voldemort's downfall. Love is a very powerful thing, Harry, and it is something you are shrouded by, while Voldemort has none. I thought I'd taught you this."
Harry's mind was reeling. He knew in his head that love was the power-Voldemort-knows-not, but did he in his heart?
"Don't you think Gryffindor was as nervous as you are today, deep inside? He was going to fight a man who was about as equal in his magic, a man who, being his former friend, Gryffindor knew would be ruthless in his quest for power, with his children's lives at stake. Now, if Godric Gryffindor could do it, what's to stop Harry Potter from doing it?"
"But I don't have the strength," whispered Harry quietly. "I'm not Gryffindor- I need longer to prepare. I don't have the power."
"You'll find it," said Dumbledore calmly, his penetrating blue eyes roving over Harry's face, his nose, his eyes, his scar- "when the time comes, you'll find the strength you've always had."
Harry still didn't understand, still didn't quite think he was ready, but he knew he had to trust Dumbledore's word. He had no choice. "You're right," Harry muttered. He knew he had to do this. Slowly, he turned to leave.
"Hey, Sir," Harry turned back to the portrait, "you know Gryffindor's friend, Miriam Merlin? Was she related to the Merlin?"
"I should imagine so," said Dumbledore.
"Well, did I hear correctly? Did she marry Orestes Granger?"
Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling. "Yes."
Harry took an excited breath. "Well- well aren't Orestes and Heracles Greek names? Because, it could be a family tradition, passed down from generation to generation…"
"You must remember they lived over a thousand years ago; the chances of that are very unlikely." But Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling even brighter. "But not impossible."
"You mean-?"
"It is not for me to tell you what you are obviously thinking, Harry. Perhaps a closer look at your friend's family tree will answer your questions. But for now, Harry, you must face your destiny. You must face him."
*
Harry made his way back to the Great Hall, as he had promised Hermione. The hall was deserted apart from the people lying in beds and the Healers quietly rushing around. Everyone had gone outside, waiting for him to appear on the Astronomy Tower.
But there she was: Hermione, sat at Ron's bed, keeping watch worriedly over him as he slept, half his head wrapped in bandages.
"Harry," she whispered. Harry joined her at Ron's side, and squeezed his shoulder.
"Thanks mate," he whispered. "You are- always were- the best friend."
Harry tore his eyes from his friend's restful face, back to Hermione. "Walk with me," he breathed.
Hermione nodded, and together they strode along the familiar path to the Astronomy Tower, each step causing Harry to become more and more aware of his surroundings, taking in every detail. If he lost, would these walls only contain muggle-hating bigots? If he lost, would Hogwarts become Voldemort's property? Who would be left to stop Riddle from taking over the world?
It didn't feel real, as he walked side-by-side with Hermione. It felt as though he was an onlooker, a spectator, observing them from the sidelines though he was looking through Harry Potter's eyes.
It was surreal, like a vivid dream, as though he would be pulled out of his body and thrust back in his bed, warm and cosy.
This was, he knew, what his whole life had been building up to, this sacrificial hour which would reveal at long last whether it would be Voldemort who died, or him, and the Wizarding World as he knew it with him.
His journey had been a riddle; struggling to figure out the next step, trying anything to find out the answer, nothing being as it seemed. And now he was about to discover the riddle's end… but some part of him didn't want to.
Only the knowledge of Hermione's presence kept him from turning and fleeing, only the warmth of her hand clasped gently around his. The sound of her footsteps echoing in perfect symphony with his kept him from hearing the lonely silence around them. She was the bright light that drew him into the darkness, the angel that escorted him to a room with two doors; one that led to a long lifetime of happiness and one that led to death's open arms.
And if Voldemort were to push him through the second door, if he were to fail, what would become of the people he loved?
The slight pressure Hermione put on his wrist told Harry they had stopped. They were in the corridor leading to the Astronomy Tower. He looked up the stairs, at the door on the side. He would never have thought that would be the door to his destiny.
"We're here," Hermione breathed, her words vibrating in Harry's head. Her chocolate coloured eyes were scanning his face desperately, moist from the unshed tears built up in them. Her gaze delved deep into his, as though she would never be satisfied just looking at him.
"I know," Harry whispered back. "And I'm- I'm afraid."
Hermione entwined their fingers, and Harry was suddenly reminded of mirror-Hermione. "That's perfectly normal, Harry. Perfectly fine."
"I'm not afraid of death." For this was true; Harry no longer feared dying, his fear dissolving gradually over time. It had become a hostile companion in his adventures, always watching, always waiting to take Harry away. Harry had occasionally brushed cloak hems with death, but never bounded into it's waiting arms. "I'm afraid of failure."
"Failure?" Hermione looked confused.
"If I were to die tonight, if I were to fail, then I don't know what would happen to everyone who was on our side. A world where Voldemort reigns is unthinkable. That's what I'm so afraid of, Hermione. Letting everyone down."
A tear escaped Hermione's eye. "You won't. You could never fail us."
Harry broke away from her and looked away. "I don't have enough."
"Enough what?"
"Love. Dumbledore said the key to defeating Voldemort was love. But I don't have enough. Sure, I know the Weasleys and everyone love me, but it's not the same as my parent's love. But they're dead. I have no one who loves me!" Harry hadn't been aware that his voice had gotten louder, and tears had formed in his eyes. He banged his fist on the wall, a sign of his pent-up rage.
Hermione had remained stone-still as he spoke; her head bowed so loose strands of hair fell over her face, covering her eyes. She looked smaller than usual, and very sad.
"You don't get it, do you?" she whispered softly, her voice cracking with something that sounded like disappointment. "After all this time- all this time- and you never realised."
It was Harry's turn to look confused. Hermione raised her head, so Harry could see she was crying, with such a strong sadness it made Harry want to cry.
"I love you." And she pressed her lips to his.
Little fireworks exploded in Harry's mind. Every cell in his body had caught ablaze, and tiny electric shocks were running along his nerves, except to his brain. It couldn't work, couldn't think, except about how incredible it felt to be kissing Hermione. He was completely frozen in shock. He couldn't move, couldn't breath, couldn't even remember his own name…
They broke apart. Hermione took one look at his face and recoiled, breathing sharply as though he had been shot in the heart with an arrow. She was clearly heartbroken. She seemed to have mistaken his wide eyes and gawping mouth for signs that he didn't feel the same way.
Harry wanted to comfort her, wanted to tell her the truth, but he was stuck. Completely glued in place, his limbs stiffer than iron.
Tears were now pouring down her face, and she looked completely stricken. She backed away, destroyed, and a choked sob escaped her throat. "Good luck, H- Harry," she whispered softly, before fleeing, leaving Harry empty and alone.
*
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