FIC: Book Seven (2/?)
Series: Book Seven
Title: The After Affair
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: HP/SS with other mild possibilities
Word Count: 2,880
Betas: Ziasudra and Lesameschelle
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and am making no profit.
Summary: Deaths aside, the war is only just beginning. Harry now faces a task he has chosen to bear... to destroy Voldemort and restore the Wizarding World to a relative peace. But whom can he trust when the darkness shadows even the brightest light?
The wedding of Bill and Fleur had been a welcomed retreat from the horror of Dumbledore’s death. Harry sat in the twin’s empty room, staring at the various knickknacks leftover and despite the earlier festivities, his mood was darker than ever. Ron had come in a quarter of an hour ago, asking him if he wanted to come down and play a game of chess, but Harry couldn’t.
All he did instead was lose himself into thought. If he closed his eyes, he knew he would see the same scene over and over again like he had for the past week. Snape yelling, “Avada Kedavra!” And Dumbledore collapsing, dying in front of him.
Why had Dumbledore protected him? Harry gritted his teeth. If Dumbledore hadn’t, he’d still be alive and-and everything would be all right. Everything was always all right with Dumbledore. Harry might not have understood all that the Headmaster had done for him until this year, but he understood now. His greatest defender was dead. Who was he anymore?
Harry Potter. Boy Who Lived. Dumbledore’s man?
All he knew was that he wanted to destroy Snape, wrap his fingers around that white, pasty neck and strangle him to death. Snape didn’t deserve a nice death. He deserved a horrible one for his terrible betrayal. Dumbledore had completely trusted the bastard, and look where that had led!
Harry shook in his rage and his pain. He wanted to cry, but he needed to be strong. He had to be strong. It was a matter of trying; it was a matter of necessity. Harry clenched his fist, digging his nails into his palm. He would do what Dumbledore had carefully laid out for him. He knew he was the one Dumbledore had chosen to complete this task and he would do it. He’d heard the prophecy, it might not have been him originally-but it was him indisputably now.
He couldn’t run from his destiny, so all he had left to do was embrace it.
First he would go to the Dursley’s. The Headmaster had mentioned when he’d come to take him away, that he should go back. Harry didn’t really wish to see Aunt Petunia again, but if Dumbledore wanted him to return then it was a small thing to do. After that, he needed to make sure the real locket had been destroyed… whoever R.A.B. was. Harry couldn’t leave it to chance, not when Dumbledore had died for a fake horcrux! Then there were the other horcruxes out there and… and once he found them all and destroyed them-then Harry would go after Snape.
And finally, Voldemort.
-
Dumbledore was telling him to trust Snape, but didn’t he understand? Harry pushed his hand through Dumbledore’s ghostly form and yelled, “Can’t you see? You’re dead! Snape murdered you! He can’t be trusted!”
“Oh Harry,” said Dumbledore, “have you forgotten what I said? I completely trust Severus Snape.”
Harry felt a hand on his shoulder and he turned around, dreading who he would see and-
“Harry!” shouted Ron, pushing at his shoulder. “Wake up. It’s past noon.”
His green eyes snapped open and he shoved the assailant away, reaching for his wand and pointing it at a blurry redhead. The voice, Ron’s husky baritone, registered. It was his best friend and he’d just drawn his wand at him! Harry groaned and dropped his wand, letting it clatter against the floor.
“Harry?” asked Ron, stepping forward and grabbing the glasses off the side table. He placed them into Harry’s hand. “You all right, mate?”
He took a deep breath and put his glasses on, blinking rapidly until he could focus on Ron’s familiar face. Harry grinned reassuringly and nodded. “Just… bad dream,” he croaked.
“You-Know-Who?” asked Ron, his eyes darting about a bit.
“No,” said Harry in a clearer voice. “I… it’s just-” He just couldn’t tell Ron everything. He knew he ought to, but how could he say that Dumbledore had told him he trusted Snape, when obviously he had been so very wrong?
“What?” asked Ron as he took a seat on the bed. “You haven’t told me anything in a long time, and Hermione and I-well, we can tell it’s eating you up inside.”
“Nightmares,” murmured Harry, not able to look his best friend in the eyes. “Just nightmares.”
“All right,” said Ron after he smiled. “Get dressed and come down. There’s some good grub downstairs.”
Harry nodded and rolled out of bed.
-
Eating hadn’t made him feel any better. Harry wrinkled his nose. It wasn’t that food made him sick. It wasn’t that at all. It just didn’t make him feel good. He could remember a time when he had just come to Hogwarts, when food had made him happy. But then why shouldn’t it? Food had always been a luxury before.
“You aren’t eating much,” said Hermione in a chiding, though gentle, manner. “You haven’t been eating much all week.”
“Lay off of him,” muttered Ron. “If he’s not hungry, then he’s not hungry.”
It was the first time that Ron had spoken up for him, Harry thought with a warm feeling in his stomach. Ron was always the one that got Hermione off his back, though that didn’t mean Ron wouldn’t nag at him in private. Harry supposed it was a boy thing, to get at each other behind a closed door rather than to go at it in public. Then again, Hermione wasn’t likely to be in the same room as him when he only had his boxers on.
“Hmph,” she said and crossed her arms over her chest. Harry watched her with shuttered eyes and noticed that she had an irritated look that didn’t bode well for him. “I’m just trying to do what’s best for him.”
“And you don’t think I am?” asked Ron, looking more hurt than offended.
“I didn’t mean it like-”
“I’m sorry!” blurted Harry. He flushed darkly when both of them turned to him, their almost spat forgotten. “I know I haven’t been a really good friend right now… but there’s a lot going on my mind. I promise…” he began before the words lodged themselves in his throat. “I just-it’s not like I’m not eating. I’m getting lots more food than I did when I was… younger.”
“But you’re growing,” replied Hermione while she gestured at him emphatically. “You need nourishment.”
“You sound like my mum,” said Ron with a teasing tone. “Ronald Bilius Weasley, you’d better eat all your greens if you know what’s best for you!”
Harry snickered a little and he saw that Hermione was holding back a smile of her own. He held up his spoon and took a huge bite of his soup. He raised an eyebrow and Hermione shook her head. Ron grinned and Harry knew that for now, everything was all right.
-
Snape was sneering at him, holding the locket. But how had he gotten it? Harry tried to grab it, tried to snatch it away before Snape could take it to Voldemort. Try as he might, he couldn’t reach it. He almost felt the locket, so close and yet so far away. Harry tried to scream, to say nasty things to Snape, hurt him as much as he had hurt Dumbledore. The words were stuck and he fell to his knees, completely undone.
“Did you think you could destroy the Dark Lord, Potter?”
Harry tried to get back onto his feet, but he stumbled and collapsed.
“Did you think you were a Savior?” hissed Snape. “You’ve only brought destruction and devastation. You caused his death!”
Harry woke up gasping. Every night, every night since that day there was something to unsettle him. He groaned and turned onto his stomach. He buried his face into his pillow and tried to rub the horrid nightmare away like he had done to his tears. But it was no use. He knew they would return.
An hour and forty-five minutes later, he fell asleep only to wake up a scarce hour after. Harry had lied in bed thinking and trying not to. When Ron had barreled into the room, Harry hadn’t bothered trying to pretend he was still sleeping. Instead, he’d smiled at his best friend.
“Hey mate, are you going to stay in bed all day again?” asked Ron, sitting as he was on the bed. “I’d really like to spend some time with you before you head to the Dursley’s. And do you really need to go? I mean, you’re of age soon and all.”
It wasn’t that Harry wanted to go, but he had to. Dumbledore had asked it of him, and it was the least he could do, considering… Harry squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep, soothing breath.
“Harry? Are you all right?”
Harry smiled and nodded. “This is something that has to be done.”
Ron sighed and returned the smile. “How long will you be there? Not long, right? We’ve got horcruxes to chase and all.”
Somehow Harry kept his face from grimacing like he felt inside. He knew that he had given Ron and Hermione plenty of time to turn back, but there was no way in hell that he was going to let them come along. This wasn’t sneaking around Hogwarts and freeing Buckbeak. This was going up against Voldemort, and if Dumbledore could die-what about them? He couldn’t risk them. They were all he had left.
“Mmm…” murmured Harry as he shifted around and suddenly realized he had a slight problem. “Is there still any breakfast left?”
“Yeah,” answered Ron. “Mum’s kept a muffin for you downstairs.”
“Tell her thanks and now get out so I can get dressed.”
Ron’s smile turned into a full-blown grin. “Communal showers hardly make for shyness, mate.”
Harry groaned and pointed decisively at the door. “Out!”
“Have a nice wank!” exclaimed Ron before he wisely shuffled out of the room.
Burying his face into the pillow, Harry wiggled his hips and sucked in air sharply at the tingling sensation. Why were his bits half-hard after that sodding nightmare? It was hardly something to induce a response like that, even if he was a young bloke. If it’d been a dream about Ginny, then yeah he’d understand. But it wasn’t-it was Snape-and that was sick.
Bloody Snape. Harry snarled. No matter what, he’d avenge Dumbledore.
-
“So… Ron said you’re going,” remarked Hermione as she set the muffin and a cup of pumpkin juice in front of him. “When do you leave?”
“Bloody hell!” exclaimed Ron. “Give him a chance to eat.”
Harry hid a grin behind the muffin he’d snagged from the plate. “Probably tomorrow.”
“When will you be back?” asked Hermione.
Ron made a strangled sound in his throat, but his eyes were bright with affection for his girlfriend. Harry could see it easily, though Hermione didn’t seem to notice as she waved her hand in the air in a dismissing fashion. All her attention was focused on him.
“I don’t know,” he answered honestly.
He took a huge bite out of the muffin so that he wouldn’t have to talk. He chewed on it thoughtfully, his eyes drifting between his two best friends. He saw worry and concern on their faces. They really did care about him, probably as much as he did for them. That’s why he couldn’t risk them. His resolve had already been set earlier, but seeing them now-together… strengthened it.
“C’mon, give it a rest,” said Ron, taking a seat next to Harry and propping his chin on his hands. “Considering it may be our last day together, what’d you like to do?”
Harry shrugged and swallowed. “Doesn’t matter.”
“’Course it does!” exclaimed Ron. “So what’ll be? Quidditch? I could get Fred and George to come down in the evening after the shop closes up. I doubt they’ll mind. They’d probably jump at the chance. Then there’d be three to a team and-”
“I’d rather not,” said Harry, knowing that it would mean spending a significant amount of time with Ginny.
While their breakup had been fairly amicable, they certainly weren’t enemies, he still felt uncomfortable being in her presence too much. She’d often shoot him looks, significant ones, letting him know that she wasn’t afraid of whatever would happen. She might not be, but he was. Ron and Hermione were enough of a target without adding her… and however well their relationship had gone, Harry really didn’t want to worry about her. His best friends were more important.
“What about chess?” asked Hermione, her eyes looking at him full of understanding.
There were times when Hermione’s all-knowingness could be fairly aggravating, but this was one of the times Harry was pathetically grateful. She knew why he didn’t want to play Quidditch and she was going to save him the trouble of explaining. God, did he love Hermione. Definitely, unquestionably the most important woman in his life. He smiled a bit, though maybe not forever. Maybe when this was over… he’d get a chance with Ginny. If he lived that is.
“Chess sounds great,” said Harry. “Don’t you think, Ron?”
Ron glanced at both of them with a curious expression before nodding. “Sounds great.”
-
The soft, sweet chattering between Ron and Hermione was something Harry would carry with him to the end. They were trying to be quiet so they didn’t disturb him, but he’d only pretended to be asleep in the first place. He hadn’t wanted the conversation to drift back to the subject of it being too late for them to get out.
In his mind, it wasn’t. The danger was ascending, but it hadn’t peaked yet. There were other horcruxes to destroy and even though he might like the strength Ron and Hermione could provide, he didn’t want to endanger them. No, it was better that they stayed together and safe. Harry rolled over on his side and started the little groans Ron liked to tease him about that signaled he was on the verge of waking up.
Just like he thought, Ron whispered, “We ought to leave. He’s going to wake up if we keep… you know talking.”
And kissing, Harry mused. And touching.
“All right, let’s go to your room then.”
Their weight abandoned his bed and his ears heard all too clearly the sound of the door closing. It was the sign he’d been waiting for, but that didn’t mean he’d wanted to hear it. There was something sad, knowing that all too soon there would be more distance and separation than there ever had been between them.
But war wasn’t a pleasant affair for the weak of will.
And he would be strong.
-
He forced himself to sleep, but when morning came-he was already gone. The good thing about being him, he didn’t really have many things. Not much stuff that he had to take, at least. There was that photo album from Hagrid, the invisibility cloak, and of course his Firebolt. The rest he left behind.
Dear Ron & Hermione,
I’m leaving most of my things behind. I’ll be back for them later. Just shrink and store them somewhere, all right? I thought it was best I head to the Dursley’s before dawn. Can’t be much danger that early in the morning, everyone’s still bloody sleeping! I know I want to be, but might as well get this over with.
Love you,
Harry
However, they wished to interpret the letter-he’d let them. Maybe they really did think he was going to come back, ask them to help him, and put them in danger. If they did, they really didn’t know him that well. Silly Ron and Hermione. Merlin save them and their love. They deserved to be happy, and he desired to see things right.
He curled his fingers tightly against his palm. Horcruxes. Voldemort. Then Snape.
-
Apparition was an uncanny, uncomfortable feeling. It felt unnatural, probably because it was. Even if magic was an extension of who he was, he didn’t think his body much liked being disengaged and thrust to another place with the possibility of losing limbs. That said, he was glad he was competent at it. Misplacing an arm, a foot, an eye wasn’t on his agenda. Facing the Dursleys was.
Harry steeled himself, his rucksack slung across his shoulder. He marched resolutely up the walkway to the front door and stopped. It wasn’t the end of the school year yet, and they weren’t really expecting him. But he wasn’t going to be here too long, just long enough to get things done-even if he didn’t quite know what.
Maybe he’d know once he got in. Merlin knows, Vernon wasn’t going to be thrilled to see him. Disaster clung to him like a second skin. But it wasn’t like he asked for it. If he could have been a normal boy, he bloody well would have been. And yet, if this was his fate, bring it on. He didn’t have to do anything like Dumbledore had said. It was his choice and he chose to act.
He raised his hand and knocked on the door.
TBC
A/N: I know I've been horrid about updating, but I'm working on two different things and other shit as well. Why is the short story such a drain? I feel dead everytime I write one. Leave some revival pills, much appreciated.
Title: The After Affair
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: HP/SS with other mild possibilities
Word Count: 2,880
Betas: Ziasudra and Lesameschelle
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and am making no profit.
Summary: Deaths aside, the war is only just beginning. Harry now faces a task he has chosen to bear... to destroy Voldemort and restore the Wizarding World to a relative peace. But whom can he trust when the darkness shadows even the brightest light?
The wedding of Bill and Fleur had been a welcomed retreat from the horror of Dumbledore’s death. Harry sat in the twin’s empty room, staring at the various knickknacks leftover and despite the earlier festivities, his mood was darker than ever. Ron had come in a quarter of an hour ago, asking him if he wanted to come down and play a game of chess, but Harry couldn’t.
All he did instead was lose himself into thought. If he closed his eyes, he knew he would see the same scene over and over again like he had for the past week. Snape yelling, “Avada Kedavra!” And Dumbledore collapsing, dying in front of him.
Why had Dumbledore protected him? Harry gritted his teeth. If Dumbledore hadn’t, he’d still be alive and-and everything would be all right. Everything was always all right with Dumbledore. Harry might not have understood all that the Headmaster had done for him until this year, but he understood now. His greatest defender was dead. Who was he anymore?
Harry Potter. Boy Who Lived. Dumbledore’s man?
All he knew was that he wanted to destroy Snape, wrap his fingers around that white, pasty neck and strangle him to death. Snape didn’t deserve a nice death. He deserved a horrible one for his terrible betrayal. Dumbledore had completely trusted the bastard, and look where that had led!
Harry shook in his rage and his pain. He wanted to cry, but he needed to be strong. He had to be strong. It was a matter of trying; it was a matter of necessity. Harry clenched his fist, digging his nails into his palm. He would do what Dumbledore had carefully laid out for him. He knew he was the one Dumbledore had chosen to complete this task and he would do it. He’d heard the prophecy, it might not have been him originally-but it was him indisputably now.
He couldn’t run from his destiny, so all he had left to do was embrace it.
First he would go to the Dursley’s. The Headmaster had mentioned when he’d come to take him away, that he should go back. Harry didn’t really wish to see Aunt Petunia again, but if Dumbledore wanted him to return then it was a small thing to do. After that, he needed to make sure the real locket had been destroyed… whoever R.A.B. was. Harry couldn’t leave it to chance, not when Dumbledore had died for a fake horcrux! Then there were the other horcruxes out there and… and once he found them all and destroyed them-then Harry would go after Snape.
And finally, Voldemort.
-
Dumbledore was telling him to trust Snape, but didn’t he understand? Harry pushed his hand through Dumbledore’s ghostly form and yelled, “Can’t you see? You’re dead! Snape murdered you! He can’t be trusted!”
“Oh Harry,” said Dumbledore, “have you forgotten what I said? I completely trust Severus Snape.”
Harry felt a hand on his shoulder and he turned around, dreading who he would see and-
“Harry!” shouted Ron, pushing at his shoulder. “Wake up. It’s past noon.”
His green eyes snapped open and he shoved the assailant away, reaching for his wand and pointing it at a blurry redhead. The voice, Ron’s husky baritone, registered. It was his best friend and he’d just drawn his wand at him! Harry groaned and dropped his wand, letting it clatter against the floor.
“Harry?” asked Ron, stepping forward and grabbing the glasses off the side table. He placed them into Harry’s hand. “You all right, mate?”
He took a deep breath and put his glasses on, blinking rapidly until he could focus on Ron’s familiar face. Harry grinned reassuringly and nodded. “Just… bad dream,” he croaked.
“You-Know-Who?” asked Ron, his eyes darting about a bit.
“No,” said Harry in a clearer voice. “I… it’s just-” He just couldn’t tell Ron everything. He knew he ought to, but how could he say that Dumbledore had told him he trusted Snape, when obviously he had been so very wrong?
“What?” asked Ron as he took a seat on the bed. “You haven’t told me anything in a long time, and Hermione and I-well, we can tell it’s eating you up inside.”
“Nightmares,” murmured Harry, not able to look his best friend in the eyes. “Just nightmares.”
“All right,” said Ron after he smiled. “Get dressed and come down. There’s some good grub downstairs.”
Harry nodded and rolled out of bed.
-
Eating hadn’t made him feel any better. Harry wrinkled his nose. It wasn’t that food made him sick. It wasn’t that at all. It just didn’t make him feel good. He could remember a time when he had just come to Hogwarts, when food had made him happy. But then why shouldn’t it? Food had always been a luxury before.
“You aren’t eating much,” said Hermione in a chiding, though gentle, manner. “You haven’t been eating much all week.”
“Lay off of him,” muttered Ron. “If he’s not hungry, then he’s not hungry.”
It was the first time that Ron had spoken up for him, Harry thought with a warm feeling in his stomach. Ron was always the one that got Hermione off his back, though that didn’t mean Ron wouldn’t nag at him in private. Harry supposed it was a boy thing, to get at each other behind a closed door rather than to go at it in public. Then again, Hermione wasn’t likely to be in the same room as him when he only had his boxers on.
“Hmph,” she said and crossed her arms over her chest. Harry watched her with shuttered eyes and noticed that she had an irritated look that didn’t bode well for him. “I’m just trying to do what’s best for him.”
“And you don’t think I am?” asked Ron, looking more hurt than offended.
“I didn’t mean it like-”
“I’m sorry!” blurted Harry. He flushed darkly when both of them turned to him, their almost spat forgotten. “I know I haven’t been a really good friend right now… but there’s a lot going on my mind. I promise…” he began before the words lodged themselves in his throat. “I just-it’s not like I’m not eating. I’m getting lots more food than I did when I was… younger.”
“But you’re growing,” replied Hermione while she gestured at him emphatically. “You need nourishment.”
“You sound like my mum,” said Ron with a teasing tone. “Ronald Bilius Weasley, you’d better eat all your greens if you know what’s best for you!”
Harry snickered a little and he saw that Hermione was holding back a smile of her own. He held up his spoon and took a huge bite of his soup. He raised an eyebrow and Hermione shook her head. Ron grinned and Harry knew that for now, everything was all right.
-
Snape was sneering at him, holding the locket. But how had he gotten it? Harry tried to grab it, tried to snatch it away before Snape could take it to Voldemort. Try as he might, he couldn’t reach it. He almost felt the locket, so close and yet so far away. Harry tried to scream, to say nasty things to Snape, hurt him as much as he had hurt Dumbledore. The words were stuck and he fell to his knees, completely undone.
“Did you think you could destroy the Dark Lord, Potter?”
Harry tried to get back onto his feet, but he stumbled and collapsed.
“Did you think you were a Savior?” hissed Snape. “You’ve only brought destruction and devastation. You caused his death!”
Harry woke up gasping. Every night, every night since that day there was something to unsettle him. He groaned and turned onto his stomach. He buried his face into his pillow and tried to rub the horrid nightmare away like he had done to his tears. But it was no use. He knew they would return.
An hour and forty-five minutes later, he fell asleep only to wake up a scarce hour after. Harry had lied in bed thinking and trying not to. When Ron had barreled into the room, Harry hadn’t bothered trying to pretend he was still sleeping. Instead, he’d smiled at his best friend.
“Hey mate, are you going to stay in bed all day again?” asked Ron, sitting as he was on the bed. “I’d really like to spend some time with you before you head to the Dursley’s. And do you really need to go? I mean, you’re of age soon and all.”
It wasn’t that Harry wanted to go, but he had to. Dumbledore had asked it of him, and it was the least he could do, considering… Harry squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep, soothing breath.
“Harry? Are you all right?”
Harry smiled and nodded. “This is something that has to be done.”
Ron sighed and returned the smile. “How long will you be there? Not long, right? We’ve got horcruxes to chase and all.”
Somehow Harry kept his face from grimacing like he felt inside. He knew that he had given Ron and Hermione plenty of time to turn back, but there was no way in hell that he was going to let them come along. This wasn’t sneaking around Hogwarts and freeing Buckbeak. This was going up against Voldemort, and if Dumbledore could die-what about them? He couldn’t risk them. They were all he had left.
“Mmm…” murmured Harry as he shifted around and suddenly realized he had a slight problem. “Is there still any breakfast left?”
“Yeah,” answered Ron. “Mum’s kept a muffin for you downstairs.”
“Tell her thanks and now get out so I can get dressed.”
Ron’s smile turned into a full-blown grin. “Communal showers hardly make for shyness, mate.”
Harry groaned and pointed decisively at the door. “Out!”
“Have a nice wank!” exclaimed Ron before he wisely shuffled out of the room.
Burying his face into the pillow, Harry wiggled his hips and sucked in air sharply at the tingling sensation. Why were his bits half-hard after that sodding nightmare? It was hardly something to induce a response like that, even if he was a young bloke. If it’d been a dream about Ginny, then yeah he’d understand. But it wasn’t-it was Snape-and that was sick.
Bloody Snape. Harry snarled. No matter what, he’d avenge Dumbledore.
-
“So… Ron said you’re going,” remarked Hermione as she set the muffin and a cup of pumpkin juice in front of him. “When do you leave?”
“Bloody hell!” exclaimed Ron. “Give him a chance to eat.”
Harry hid a grin behind the muffin he’d snagged from the plate. “Probably tomorrow.”
“When will you be back?” asked Hermione.
Ron made a strangled sound in his throat, but his eyes were bright with affection for his girlfriend. Harry could see it easily, though Hermione didn’t seem to notice as she waved her hand in the air in a dismissing fashion. All her attention was focused on him.
“I don’t know,” he answered honestly.
He took a huge bite out of the muffin so that he wouldn’t have to talk. He chewed on it thoughtfully, his eyes drifting between his two best friends. He saw worry and concern on their faces. They really did care about him, probably as much as he did for them. That’s why he couldn’t risk them. His resolve had already been set earlier, but seeing them now-together… strengthened it.
“C’mon, give it a rest,” said Ron, taking a seat next to Harry and propping his chin on his hands. “Considering it may be our last day together, what’d you like to do?”
Harry shrugged and swallowed. “Doesn’t matter.”
“’Course it does!” exclaimed Ron. “So what’ll be? Quidditch? I could get Fred and George to come down in the evening after the shop closes up. I doubt they’ll mind. They’d probably jump at the chance. Then there’d be three to a team and-”
“I’d rather not,” said Harry, knowing that it would mean spending a significant amount of time with Ginny.
While their breakup had been fairly amicable, they certainly weren’t enemies, he still felt uncomfortable being in her presence too much. She’d often shoot him looks, significant ones, letting him know that she wasn’t afraid of whatever would happen. She might not be, but he was. Ron and Hermione were enough of a target without adding her… and however well their relationship had gone, Harry really didn’t want to worry about her. His best friends were more important.
“What about chess?” asked Hermione, her eyes looking at him full of understanding.
There were times when Hermione’s all-knowingness could be fairly aggravating, but this was one of the times Harry was pathetically grateful. She knew why he didn’t want to play Quidditch and she was going to save him the trouble of explaining. God, did he love Hermione. Definitely, unquestionably the most important woman in his life. He smiled a bit, though maybe not forever. Maybe when this was over… he’d get a chance with Ginny. If he lived that is.
“Chess sounds great,” said Harry. “Don’t you think, Ron?”
Ron glanced at both of them with a curious expression before nodding. “Sounds great.”
-
The soft, sweet chattering between Ron and Hermione was something Harry would carry with him to the end. They were trying to be quiet so they didn’t disturb him, but he’d only pretended to be asleep in the first place. He hadn’t wanted the conversation to drift back to the subject of it being too late for them to get out.
In his mind, it wasn’t. The danger was ascending, but it hadn’t peaked yet. There were other horcruxes to destroy and even though he might like the strength Ron and Hermione could provide, he didn’t want to endanger them. No, it was better that they stayed together and safe. Harry rolled over on his side and started the little groans Ron liked to tease him about that signaled he was on the verge of waking up.
Just like he thought, Ron whispered, “We ought to leave. He’s going to wake up if we keep… you know talking.”
And kissing, Harry mused. And touching.
“All right, let’s go to your room then.”
Their weight abandoned his bed and his ears heard all too clearly the sound of the door closing. It was the sign he’d been waiting for, but that didn’t mean he’d wanted to hear it. There was something sad, knowing that all too soon there would be more distance and separation than there ever had been between them.
But war wasn’t a pleasant affair for the weak of will.
And he would be strong.
-
He forced himself to sleep, but when morning came-he was already gone. The good thing about being him, he didn’t really have many things. Not much stuff that he had to take, at least. There was that photo album from Hagrid, the invisibility cloak, and of course his Firebolt. The rest he left behind.
Dear Ron & Hermione,
I’m leaving most of my things behind. I’ll be back for them later. Just shrink and store them somewhere, all right? I thought it was best I head to the Dursley’s before dawn. Can’t be much danger that early in the morning, everyone’s still bloody sleeping! I know I want to be, but might as well get this over with.
Love you,
Harry
However, they wished to interpret the letter-he’d let them. Maybe they really did think he was going to come back, ask them to help him, and put them in danger. If they did, they really didn’t know him that well. Silly Ron and Hermione. Merlin save them and their love. They deserved to be happy, and he desired to see things right.
He curled his fingers tightly against his palm. Horcruxes. Voldemort. Then Snape.
-
Apparition was an uncanny, uncomfortable feeling. It felt unnatural, probably because it was. Even if magic was an extension of who he was, he didn’t think his body much liked being disengaged and thrust to another place with the possibility of losing limbs. That said, he was glad he was competent at it. Misplacing an arm, a foot, an eye wasn’t on his agenda. Facing the Dursleys was.
Harry steeled himself, his rucksack slung across his shoulder. He marched resolutely up the walkway to the front door and stopped. It wasn’t the end of the school year yet, and they weren’t really expecting him. But he wasn’t going to be here too long, just long enough to get things done-even if he didn’t quite know what.
Maybe he’d know once he got in. Merlin knows, Vernon wasn’t going to be thrilled to see him. Disaster clung to him like a second skin. But it wasn’t like he asked for it. If he could have been a normal boy, he bloody well would have been. And yet, if this was his fate, bring it on. He didn’t have to do anything like Dumbledore had said. It was his choice and he chose to act.
He raised his hand and knocked on the door.
TBC
A/N: I know I've been horrid about updating, but I'm working on two different things and other shit as well. Why is the short story such a drain? I feel dead everytime I write one. Leave some revival pills, much appreciated.