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Category: Alternate Universe, Post-HBP Characters:None Genres: Tragedy Warnings: Dark Fiction, Death, Sexual Situations, Violence Story is Complete Rating: R Reviews: 1174 Summary: Harry gets one night that gives him a glimpse into what life could be like with the Dursley's. But events turn for the worse and both Harry and the wizarding world are left wondering what it's consquences mean for the future of the world. Hitcount: Story Total: 501624; Chapter Total: 9294 Awards: View Trophy Room Author's Notes: I don't own anything. JK Rowling owns the entire Potter Universe. No copyright infringement is inteded. I write fan fics for fun. |
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Chapter 47: Goodbye Surrender The sound of soft voices and the feel of feather light touches across the chest brought him out of the darkness and quiet surreal surrounding him. Slowly, dim, red light filtered through his closed eyelids and the softness of the surface he was lying on began to register against his bare skin. Then in another instant, the pain and soreness of body came rushing back to him, though his brain was still fuzzy and numb, only able to sort through one thought at a time. Slowly, Harry opened his eyes, the blurry outline of a white ceiling above him filling his vision. He moved his eyes to his right, his head still resting on a soft pillow. A shock of pink hair interrupted the blank white of the plaster above him. And as he moved his eyes to the left, a mane of dark red hair stood out stark against the white walls and ceiling. They were healing him. They were touching him and taking care of him and part of his mind couldn’t comprehend why they were or how they could have even brought themselves to do this. They must know about Charlie. They must know of what he’d done. And yet, Ginny and Tonks were sitting next to him, cleaning and healing his wounds, talking quietly between themselves, not shying away from him in the least. He wanted them to stop. He wanted them not to have to touch him. The thought of Ginny’s hands on him disgusted him. He felt so dirty, so criminal and undesirable and knowing she was there, caring for him, made him feel sick to his stomach. He alone would deal with this, what he’d done. He didn’t want her near him. That had been his intention before he’d been knocked out, to leave and get away. He assumed Remus had stunned him or did something else to render him unconscious. And now he felt as if his body was made of lead. He was too tired to move and too sore to exert any sort of energy to try and get them away from him. He could feel that his arm had been removed and he vaguely wondered if it had been done for healing purposes or for safety…whose he could only guess. Gathering all the strength and energy he could muster at the moment to do any sort of action, Harry closed his eyes, swallowing before he spoke. “Finish what you’re doing…” he began as strong as he could mange. His voice was cracked and low from disuse. “Then leave,” he finished, his eyes focused solely on the ceiling above, avoiding the startled looks he knew he was getting from them. “Harry,” Ginny breathed out, sounding startled, yet relieved he was awake. The relief and caring in her voice stabbed at him. Ginny moved forward up the bed towards his head and reached to bring a hand to the side of his face, to caress it. Before she could touch him, he closed his eyes and turned his head to the side, away from her hand. Ginny didn’t say anything, but Harry felt her pull her hand away and felt the bed sag further under the weight of what his actions were doing to her. “Harry, they’re trying to help you,” another voice came from the foot of the bed and Harry lifted his head up a fraction to see Remus standing there, watching the scene with concern. Help me? He thought to himself bitterly, restraining the sardonic laugh that bubbled up within him. Instead, he laid back on the pillow staring up the ceiling again, ignoring them as best he could, hoping they wouldn’t push any further and provoke him into a rage. “Finish what you’re doing and then leave,” he repeated, closing his eyes and waiting for them to respond. His request was met only by silence, but he could almost hear the silent communication going on among the three of them, their eyes meeting and contemplating what to do and how to react to him. They must have decided to let him be and listen to his demands, because he felt light touches again begin working on his wounds, the potion and damp cloths were cold against his skin. This time there was no small talk or quiet conversation among the other three people in the room. They instead worked in silence, the tension and stress in the room palpable in the air around them all. Harry lay there in complete silence, his eyes closed, trying to keep his breathing steady and not lash out, push them away and tell them to stop touching him. But he knew he had injuries that needed repair and he letting them fix them would only benefit him in the long run. He needed to be healthy for what he knew was now coming shortly. “You should–probably–stay in bed a while,” Tonks’ voice advised quietly and hesitantly as they finished up healing his wounds, placing bandages on the ones that would need to take some time to completely knit the skin together. Harry only responded by taking a deep breath out through his nose while he continued to stare unseeing at the ceiling above him. He felt Tonks get up from her side of the bed and her footfalls moved away from him and towards where Remus was standing. Ginny remained sitting on the bed for a few moments longer, as if she were waiting to see if he’d respond to her and hoping she’d draw him out of his funk by asserting her presence. But he remained steadfast and unmoving and she finally moved off the bed, defeated in her hoping and wishing for the best. Shortly after her retreat from the bed, the muffled sound of the small group’s movement towards the door could be heard echoing throughout the strained atmosphere. They seemed to pause just before the door and he pictured in his mind that they were looking back towards the bed, hoping he’d spring up and tell them to come back, that he wanted to talk and he needed them. But he did no such thing. He wanted to be alone and he was going to make sure they understood that completely. With a soft click, the door opened and allowed the three departing occupants to step out into the quiet hall before it slid shut, once again cloaking the room in a deafening silence and leaving Harry to his tormented thoughts and exhausted mind and body. ------------------------------- -------------------- Remus let the door slide shut softly behind him, his hand lingering on the door knob a bit longer than necessary. “What do we do now?” Tonks asked Remus as he turned to face her and Ginny. “Hopefully he’ll be laid up for a few days with his injuries,” Remus replied as he stepped away from the door. “We’ll be able to keep an eye on him.” “He’s going to leave, isn’t he?” Ginny questioned, but sounded as if she knew the answer already. “I don’t know what he’ll do,” Remus replied truthfully. “I’m not sure he even knows. But the way things are…I’d say he’s capable of anything.” “I don’t know if I can do this,” Ginny whispered desperately. “I told him earlier today…that I wasn’t going to leave…ever. But I’m not sure me–or any of us–trying to get him to open up and accept any sort of help from us is going to do anything but harm. I don’t know what to do…” Tonks wrapped an assuring and comforting arm around her shoulders, not being able to say anything that would provide any real comfort to the younger woman. “I want to rush back in there and hold him and make him feel better…make him ok,” Ginny continued, swiping away a stray tear. “But I know it won’t do any good–and I’m afraid–“ she paused, as if her last words were just registering in her mind. “I’m afraid–to set him off.” “How can I say I love him–and be afraid of him?” she asked, sounding thoroughly horrified of the thought. “Because it’s not really Harry in that room,” Remus said simply, gesturing for them to move down the landing and then the stairs to the first floor. “That man in there is not the same one you’ve fallen in love with and we all care for. Harry’s somewhere else right now…and he needs to find some way to come back. We need to do what we can…but he needs to find the light in himself again.” ----------------------------- ------------------------------- It had been six days since the fray at the Burrow in which Charlie had lost his life and Harry had lost that last shred of innocence. It was New Year’s Eve and two days before had been Charlie’s funeral. It had only been the Weasley family and a few members of the Order who attended as they had secretly and covertly made the trip to a cemetery on the outskirts of Ottery St. Catchpole where many generations of the family had been laid to rest. Harry had spent those last six days holed up in the bedroom he had been inhabiting since the arrival at the so-called safe house. He had not attended the funeral and not joined in any of the grieving and had not engaged in any sort of conversation with whomever braved or chanced coming in. Whenever somebody brought food or tried to tell him what was going on, he either sat on his bed, cross-legged with his head bowed, ignoring their feeble attempts at contact or he stood near the window, watching the snow fall and the days come and go, his back turned on whoever was in the room with him. The time between the attempts was spent trying to get away from the images and sounds assaulting his mind. Every time he closed eyes, it seemed Dolohov’s face would fill his vision and his screams would pound against his ears. His mind was at a constant war, one part justifying and rationalizing what he’d done, glorifying the fact that he’d kept another person or family safe and alive because of it. The other part of his conscience was like a constant whisper in his ear, telling him he was a monster, he was a murderer and unworthy of forgiveness or sympathy from anyone. There were times that he thought he might go crazy with all these thoughts and conflicting emotions colliding throughout his mind. The haunting sounds and images, the warring words and unstableness of his mind created a situation that Harry could not stand for any prolonged period of time. So he did what he had only once done in defense when his mind had been attacked from the outside. This time, he was protecting what was left of his sanity and his mind from his own internal war. For hours at a time Harry would escape into the inner recesses of his consciousness, shutting everything off and hiding from the world in the comforting depths of the blankness of a thoughtless mind. Here he did not have to think about what he’d done; he did not have to listen to the sides within himself tugging at him, struggling for control; he did not have to really exist at all…he could just be. Right now was not one of those moments of blissful escape and much needed mental rest from the din inside his head. Right now he was leaning against the window, watching the snow fall again, and trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his left hip. He had tried sitting down, laying on the bed to get comfortable and ease himself back into one of those escape modes, but the discomfort in his hip was too much for him to stay on it for too long and it was beginning to get to him. He knew exactly what it was from. When they had healed his other wounds they had neglected to go any lower than his waist, ignoring any bruises or cuts he might have had. He didn’t know if it was in respect of his privacy or if they had been too afraid to chance it when he had so abruptly stopped them and demanded they leave him be. Whatever the case, he had soon discovered that he had a cut about a foot long on his thigh, just below his bum. He’d ignored it when he first found it, thinking that it would begin to heal itself and the worst he’d have is another scar. But within a day or so the cut had become red and raw looking, the skin around it turning hot to the touch and very irritated looking. The symptoms soon spread and just yesterday he’d starting noticing the dull pounding in his hip. He also knew he had a bit of a fever and was prone to random spells of dizziness, which was why he was currently leaning against the window frame, trying to stay upright. He knew the cut was infected and that it was getting worse. He also knew that he didn’t want to draw anyone’s attention to it and have them fussing over him. It was hard enough dealing with the limited contact that he was now having with them all when they attempted to communicate with him, but the idea of having them touch him and get close again was nauseating to think of. But there was no way he was going to last much longer if things continued to progress as they were. If he did nothing, he’d end up passing out or worse and the others would be drawn to help him without him being able to have any choice in the matter. He had chuckled a bit to himself, something he hadn’t truly done in a while, that it would be rather humorous that he would be defeated by a simple scratch despite his supreme powers and other unworldly abilities. He was trying to wait it out until he was almost sure everyone would be in bed. He could usually tell when that was because he could hear their footsteps retreating up to the higher floors and he often heard the soft sobbing of Mrs. Weasley as she and her husband retired to their room, where they were able to let go again and grieve for their son. He hadn’t heard that tonight yet, but he could tell by the sky outside that it was late and there was a good chance that most of the occupants of the house were in bed or had retired somewhere quiet for the night. He knew that it was probably his best chance to try and find some sort of relief and way to clean out the wound without having to risk running into someone and having to answer questions and look into their eyes and see their own conflicting emotions looking back at him. Harry sighed out, trying to gather himself enough to make the trek outside his room to find something that would help him. Deciding that waiting could only make things worse, he gingerly placed weight back onto his left leg, biting down on his lip to keep the grunt of pain from escaping. After crossing the room, he quietly opened the door and stepped onto the landing. He looked up and down the hall and saw several closed doors. He didn’t want to chance walking into someone’s bedroom, so he decided that perhaps the kitchen would be a good place to look. He knew that’s where potions and medicines were kept at Grimmauld Place as well as the Burrow, so that might be the likely place for this house as well. And the kitchen was pretty much the only place outside the bedroom that he knew where it was. They had appeared in the middle of the small, bright kitchen when they’d arrived back from the Burrow, but that had been all he’d seen and he’d not taken the time to take note of any of the details of the kitchen. Leaning against the wall slightly and using it for support, he limped quietly towards the stairs, stopping every few steps to steel himself and take in a deep breath to abate the pain for a few more moments. Then agonizingly slowly, Harry thumped down the steep staircase, biting back the sounds of pain and discomfort threatening to escape with each step. Once at the bottom, he stopped, accessing the situation and his surroundings. The sitting room to his right was dark, save for a gas lantern hanging from a far wall. There were two cots standing near the middle of the room. But the beds were empty and made and Harry briefly wondered if they had been set up for the injured Moody and Kingsley and where the men were now. Harry turned his attention to the closed door of the kitchen ahead down the hall. There was a faint light coming from the crack under the door, but he could hear nothing; no sound of soft talking or clanging of pots and pans that might signal that someone was awake and hungry or doing something to pass the time of night away. Harry thought for a second about returning back upstairs and waiting longer until the light was no longer on in the kitchen. He could not tell if there was someone in there, or if they’d left a lamp or two on as had been done in the sitting room. Harry was just about to not take any chances and retreat back upstairs, but the sharp pain in his leg made a sudden reappearance and the room lurched dangerously, reminding him that waiting wasn’t the smartest of options. Thinking more of his physical pain than any other worry, he continued towards the kitchen, trying to regulate his gait and hide his limp if indeed he did run into someone using the eating space for a midnight snack. He paused just outside the door, pressing his ear up against it to strain for any now audible sounds. Satisfied by his own ear that the odds were on his side, Harry placed his hand on the door and pushed it open. Before the door was completely open, Harry knew he’d made the wrong assumptions and found himself in a very undesirable and unwanted situation. Seated at a table in the middle of the room were Fred, George, Bill, Mr. Weasley and Mrs. Weasley, along with Remus, Tonks, Percy and a very battered looking Kingsley Shacklebolt, who seemed to be propped painfully in his chair, the side of his face and his hand bandaged up. They all turned their heads in the direction of the opening door, their eyes resting on Harry as he stepped into the kitchen and froze under their scrutiny. He had the sudden urge to run up the stairs and escape their stares, but he knew he wouldn’t physically make it back up the stairs and they would probably attempt to stop him now that they saw he’d come out of the bedroom. He’d have to just go on getting what he needed to heal the cut; pretend they weren’t in the room and go on with what he needed to do. Harry looked past their wondering gazes towards the rows of cabinets lining the far wall. He’d have to pass around them to get there, but he was determined to do so as quickly as possible. He took another steeling breath and then started towards the whitewashed cupboards on the far side of the kitchen, ignoring their inquiring stares and concerned faces and trying to keep his limp as unnoticeable as possible. He passed around the oak table where everyone was seated and leaned against the counter top, ignoring the soft, worried-sounding muttering going on behind him. He reached up to the end cupboard and grasped the handle, pulling it open to find glasses and cups. He moved to the next one and found plates and platters stacked nice and neat along the white shelves. The next housed bowls and saucers. Harry slammed the last one in frustration, finding that he was breathing hard as panic rose inside him. He stepped back slightly from the counter top and pulled open a drawer, only to find cutlery. He slammed the sliding drawer shut and it clanged loudly, bouncing open and then closed again with the force of the action. He tried several more drawers, only to find them filled with spoons and other utensils, towels and cloth napkins. He slammed his fist into the tiled countertop before taking a step towards the stove so he could search the cupboards hanging on the wall over the old cast-iron stove. But as he took that step towards it and planted his left leg, it gave way and he was forced to hang onto the edge of the counter to keep himself from falling to the ground. He heard several people gasp his name and the sound of scraping and moving chairs signaled that a few of them had attempted to get up to their feet to aid him. But where he expected to be surrounded by concerned people, he found only one hand had reached for him, resting gently on his shoulder as he partially rested against the counter. “No,” he growled as he attempted to shrug the hand off. He found his voice was cracked and hoarse from disuse and it added to the disgruntled factor in the tone. But despite the bite to his retort and his blatant gesture to deny any help, the hand remained, squeezing lightly. “Harry…what are you looking for?” a female voice asked softly near his ear as he closed his eyes against a wave of dizziness that had suddenly assaulted his senses. He waited until the world righted itself before opening his eyes and turning his head slightly towards the sound of the voice that had repeated his name again. Mrs. Weasley was standing next to him, her face full of concern and her bright brown eyes watching him carefully. Harry locked with her gaze for only a moment before tearing his eyes away and instead focusing on the white, tile counter top as he bowed his head and closed his eyes. “Antiseptic potion,” he said quietly, his voice still rough and scratchy. “You’re cut?” she asked softly. Harry nodded slightly. “It’s…infected,” he admitted very quietly. “There’s…there’s some in the sitting room,” she told him, her hand slipping from his shoulder and down his arm to his elbow. “Come…we’ll get it taken care of,” she added as her grip tightened around his elbow and she pulled slightly at it as if wanting him to follow. Harry actually let her apply enough pressure to cause him to take one step away from the counter, but something snapped in his head suddenly and that repulsed urge won over again. He ripped his elbow out of her reach and fell back against the counter, panting from panic and pain. “No…I’ll…go…I’ll do it,” he told her roughly as he tried to straighten himself up. She looked severely hurt at his response for a second, but then her eyes softened and she held her hand out for him to take. This gesture threw him back and shocked him greatly; he was at a loss as for what to do. All he could do was stare at the outstretched hand, standing stock still and frozen to the spot. “Harry…please let me heal it for you…that’s all,” Molly said quietly. “I promise…that’s all,” she added. Something in her plea and the promise and sincerity in her voice did something to Harry. He had half a mind to brush past her and ignore her outstretched hand. But there was something in the back of his head, a voice that wasn’t taunting or torturing him but was assuring him that nothing would happen and he would be safe for this moment. Very slowly, Harry took a step forward and reached out his own arm for Molly to take. She appeared for a moment to be surprised that he’d given in so quickly, but she took his arm and helped him limp forward. She draped his arm around her shoulder and put her arm lightly around his waist, allowing Harry to lean on her for support. He could feel all eyes on him and Mrs. Weasley as she helped him towards the door. But he was too focused on getting out of there and not relying solely on the help of the woman beside him. Without an interruption, the pair made their way to the sitting room, painfully and slowly, finally stopping so that Molly could help Harry sit on one of the unoccupied cots. As Harry sat, he leaned to his right, hissing slightly in pain as a new pain shot through his hip. “You’re–um–going to have to–show me–where the cut is,” Molly said unevenly and hesitantly as Harry struggled to find a position that was the least bit comfortable. She knew where about he was hurt but wasn’t going to push her luck by being overly bold and chance pushing him away somehow and erasing the bit of headway she had made with him. He wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible, so Harry did not delay the inevitable. He stood again from the cot as Mrs. Weasley went to a far corner where a table was set up and gathered up the supplies she would need to help him. Trying to stifle the feeling of self consciousness that was creeping up on him suddenly, he reached for the waistband and button on his dirty and worn jeans. He fumbled with them a bit, his hands shaking from exhaustion and lack of sleep as well as that underlying sense of fear and disgust he thought he could feel in the air around him and that seemed to follow him, reminding him constantly of his deed. After a few moments he found success and he lowered his trousers to the ground, stepping out of them, left only in a dingy pair of black boxers. The open air on his legs stung and bit at the wound on the back of his thigh and he had to force back another hiss of pain. Just about that same time, he heard a soft gasp of surprise from behind him and he turned to find Mrs. Weasley close by, eyeing the wound with a look of pity and empathy for him and his pain. A sudden thought occurred to him that he should be embarrassed about standing in the middle of an open sitting room in his underwear, not to mention, in front of his girlfriend’s and best friend’s mother. But he was too tired, too confused, and too weighed down to summon that emotion to the forefront. “Oh my,” Molly whispered as she set down the bottles she had in her arms. “Harry…just lie on the cot…I’ll see what I can do…ok?” she added, gesturing to the cot. Harry followed her instruction and clambered back onto the small bed, swinging his legs up gingerly and lying on his right side, exposing his left to be healed. Mrs. Weasley moved to the side of the cot, leaning over him and taking in the red and raw looking cut and irritated skin around it. “It goes up further?” she asked hesitantly. Her hand had frozen in mid-air as she had reached towards the black fabric, attempting to expose the rest of the jagged laceration. But she had stopped, thinking better of her actions. Harry only nodded and reached back to pull the leg of his shorts back just enough to give her a clear view of the cut without exposing his bum to her and the rest of the world. Harry then lay his head back down on the soft mattress and closed his eyes, trying to clear his head as Mrs. Weasley waved her wand over the area, accessing the magnitude of the situation. “Harry…the infection is pretty deep. I’m going to have to re-open parts of it and get into the cut to get to the worst of it,” she told him. “It…it’s going to hurt a bit,” she said softly. Harry nodded in acknowledgement and unconsciously gripped the sheets of the cot with his left hand, awaiting the pain that would come. His eyes clenched shut painfully and his entire body jerked at the initial contact of Mrs. Weasley’s wand to the wound as she began to work. He bit down on his lip and inhaled sharply through his nose as she split open the cut and then dabbed and wiped at it with bandages soaked in antiseptic potions. He could feel the potions seeping into the tissue around the cut, permeating every cell and wiping away the infection that had set in. He tried not to cry out as the burning sensation spread across his leg and then engulfed his senses. “I’m going to close it up now,” Molly told him gently and he readied himself for a new wave of pain he knew was sure to accompany her words. But the closing up wasn’t as nearly as painful as the cleaning of the wound and the clearing of the infection. Harry only closed his eyes and tried to breathe steadily as his skin knitted back together. “That should do it,” Molly said quietly. “I’m just going to cover it up with a bandage while it heals. It should mend completely sometime before morning. Until then…you should probably rest,” she told him. Harry nodded and then rolled onto his back as Mrs. Weasley directed him and helped him bend his leg enough so that she could wrap his entire upper leg in a clean white cotton bandage, covering the large wound so that it could be free of any new bacteria as it healed. When she was done and the bandage secured with a sticking charm, Harry sat up, reached for his discarded jeans and began to pull them on. When he had pulled them back on, he looked up to find Mrs. Weasley holding out a small beaker to him. “It’s something for the pain,” she told him, answering the confusion in his questioning gaze. Harry continued to look at the beaker warily, convinced that she had put something in it that might make him sleep or relax. Though it might actually be beneficial to him to be under those effects that a calming draught might bring, he didn’t want it, to be dependent on them and drugged into relaxation. “It’s just for the pain…nothing else,” Mrs. Weasley added, reading into Harry’s hesitancy to take the potion from her. Somehow Harry knew that she wouldn’t lie to him and he reached out and grasped the cup from her. He slowly gulped down the cool, minty liquid and he felt instantaneous relief as it slid down his throat and radiated to the parts that needed the most relief. As he finished up the small amount left in the bottom of the beaker, he was startled by the sagging of the cot next to him and he looked out of the corner of his eye towards his right as he swallowed the last bit of potion. Mrs. Weasley had sat down beside him, her head was bowed and face hidden behind one of her hands as she sighed heavily. Her entire body seemed to sag and fall with the weight of the stress she endured the past few days. She was defeated and broken and Harry was at a loss for what to do. Part of him was pushing for him to leave, to disengage and get away. But just watching her fall apart and sit there so lost prevented him from allowing himself to be so cold and distant. Almost as if without his permission or communication from his brain, he placed the empty cup in his hand on the table next to the cot and reached over, taking Mrs. Weasley’s free hand in his. He remained looking forward, afraid to see the surprise and tears in her eyes, but he could feel her gaze on him and wasn’t surprised when she squeezed his hand back. “I’m sorry,” Harry found himself whispering quietly into the dim room. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry about Charlie…about everything that’s happened…” he breathed out, feeling the sudden need to say something and fill the pained silence with his apologies. “I’m so sorry,” he repeated, hoping his voice conveyed the sincerity that he suddenly felt about the whole situation. Mrs. Weasley sniffled, obviously trying to stem and ebb her rising tears brought on by the mention of her fallen son. She seemed lost for words and could not find it in herself at the moment to provide Harry with comfort when she felt so lost herself. Instead she put an arm around Harry, abandoning any prior hesitancy she had been using within him prior. Harry surprised himself by leaning into her embrace, resting his head on her and allowing her to wrap her arms around him, comforting Harry as well as herself with the gesture. Harry stayed in her embrace, closing his eyes as the impulse to break away and move away from her touch became strong and he had to use all his power to stay still and soak up the warmth of her arms. Somewhere in his mind this embrace was comforting and her presence was calming and right. Even as he felt her hot tears fall into his hair as she held him close, he stayed still and continued to melt into her, allowing the tension and the strife of the past days wash away as he began to drift into a different sort of peaceful oblivion, unlike the escape he had been using to run away from his thoughts previously. Her heartbeat, loud against his ear, was like a lifeline he was trying desperately to hold onto, telling him that he was still there and he hadn’t slipped so far away from reality that all had been lost. She was holding him, not shying away, when in his mind she should be keeping far from him. “We love you Harry,” she whispered into his hair as she began rubbing the back of his neck and upper back in a soft pattern. “We love you,” she repeated quietly. The combined effects of the soothing massage of the hand against his neck and back and the warmth and softness of Molly’s motherly hold were beginning to cause his lids to grow heavy and his breathing to become slow and measured. It was the first time in days that he was actually welcoming the beginnings of sleep, unafraid of what dreams or images would assault his mind as soon as he closed his eyes and drifted away. Harry shifted his head on Molly’s shoulder, bringing his legs the rest of the way up onto the cot so that he was in a laying position. Molly had guided Harry’s head to her lap as he lay down, still rubbing the back of his head and neck in the same comforting manner. For the next few minutes, Harry’s body began to finally shut down in response to the extreme exhaustion he was feeling. He was drifting away and each second it became harder and harder to avoid the sleep that was coming for him. Finally he gave in; falling asleep in the lap and embrace of the only mother figure he had ever really known. ------------------------------ ---------------------- It had been quite a while since Molly had disappeared into the sitting room with Harry and while there had been no signs of distress or problems, the length of time still worried Arthur a bit as he kept glancing at the closed door while listening to several others go on about Order business and things happening at the ministry. He felt slightly ashamed about being worried about what was going on in the other room but there was so much that had gone in the last six days. There was so much grey area when it came to Harry and Arthur could only shamefully admit to himself that he was fearful of the young man and what he could be capable of. Unable to keep himself in the conversation and his mind in the room, he quietly excused himself from the table, citing tiredness as the reason for his dismissal. He waved a parting hand at the calls of goodnight from the others as he reached the door and silently left the kitchen. He paused in the hallway as the door to the kitchen closed behind him. There were no sounds coming from anywhere and the quiet of the house unnerved Arthur. This house they’d been staying in had a knack for being unnaturally quiet. It wasn’t like the Burrow, full of life and noise and always bursting with people. This house reflected the pain and sorrow of his family. The quietness and the stillness of it all was a constant reminder of what had happened to their family, what they had lost. Arthur’s feet carried him forward a few steps towards the archway leading into the sitting room. Just before he came to the entrance, he saw the soft light of a lit gas lamp bouncing off the blue walls of the hall. He paused again, listening for a footstep or any sort of noise, but his ears were once again met by the oppressing and unknowing silence. Biting back whatever apprehension was coming to him, Arthur took the last few steps and strode into view of the sitting room. To his surprise Molly was sitting with her eyes closed on the cot. She was not asleep, but seemed to be lost in thought as she softly stroked her fingers through the mop of black hair of the boy resting in her lap. Harry’s eyes were closed, his body totally relaxed and he seemed to be resting, if not sleeping. As he took another step into the room, Arthur’s leg banged against a nearby side table next to the couch, causing the half empty potion bottles to rattle ominously against one another, cutting into the heavy silence. While Harry remained still and didn’t stir, Molly’s eyes flew open and she was shaken out of her daze, her eyes directed towards the sound of the clanking. She instantly found the source and she smiled softly at her husband who was looking very apologetic for having startled her. “Is everything ok?” Arthur mouthed softly across the room as he continued carefully through the remaining furniture to his wife. “Yes,” Molly replied with a nod as she followed her husband’s gaze to the slumbering boy. “Finally got him to fall asleep a bit ago,” she told him, looking down at Harry, his chest rising and falling softly as soft snores escaped his slightly open mouth. “Did you give him anything?” Arthur asked. “No. He let me hug him actually…and he just sort of…fell asleep,” Molly explained. “I don’t think he could stand being awake much longer. I don’t think he’s slept since…” she trailed off, opting not to mention the night that had altered their lives forever. “I just gave him something for the pain. He’ll have to stay off his leg for a day or so…the infection was pretty bad,” she continued, changing tack and avoiding her last statement. “Do you want me to help get him upstairs?” Arthur questioned as Molly rolled her neck slowly as if stiff from sitting on the cot without back support. She shook her head. “I don’t want to risk waking him up by moving him,” she explained. “I think it’s best we keep him down here.” Arthur nodded, wondering if Molly really wanted him down here so she could watch him, make sure he was ok. Charlie’s death had ripped both of them and would continue to as time went on. Both of them felt as if they’d failed in their roles as parents and protectors of their children. Perhaps having some sort of control in this situation and being able to watch Harry, make sure no harm came to him, gave Molly some of that back, if only for a moment. “You can’t stay like that the whole night,” Arthur supplied as he reached for a pillow and a blanket from a nearby empty cot that had housed Mad Eye before he’d taken up residence in one of the first floor rooms. “I’m alright,” Molly attempted to wave him off. “Come now, Molly,” Arthur pressed for his wife to listen. “Let’s get you to bed.” His pleading blue eyes met her brown and she sighed heavily, allowing Arthur to support Harry’s head and shoulders so she could slide out from underneath him and untangle herself from his arm, which was wrapped around her. For a second it looked as though Harry would wake up. He lifted his head slightly at the motion of being moved and he let out a small, startled gasp. But Molly carefully slid the pillow underneath his head and he seemed to settle back down as his head met and sank into the soft fabric of the pillow. Arthur followed up by spreading the blanket over Harry’s body, making sure his bare feet were covered fully before he stepped away. “Maybe I should stay down here on the sofa…or something,” Molly said suddenly, her voice cracking a bit as she watched Harry sleep. “So he doesn’t wake up and not know where he–“ “He’ll be fine Molly,” Arthur tried to placate her. “I’ll make sure the others know he’s in here…he’ll be taken care of.” “Like we’ve been taking care of him these past few days?” Molly asked quietly. Her voice was filled with what sounded like guilt and blame. “We tried–“ Arthur tried to justify the events of the jumbled and confused previous week or so. “We left him up there alone, Arthur,” Molly cut him off. “We did the bare minimum…” “We had so much to deal with on our own, Molly,” Arthur tried to explain. “No one could have expected us to forget about–“ “I’m not forgetting about Charlie,” Molly snapped brokenly. “I buried my son the same as you as did. And don’t believe that I don’t think about him every moment of the day,” she continued, tears now falling freely. “But I know–that where he is–Charlie’s ok now–he’s safe,” she said as she placed her arms around her husband, who had begun to let his own pain and tears flow again. “But we’ve got children here who aren’t–who need our help–who need us.” Arthur screwed up his face to keep his sobs at bay and placed his face on the top of Molly’s head as they embraced. “And Harry’s as much our son as any of our others,” Molly continued. “But I can’t help him like I can them. I don’t know how to…” “So I need to do what I can–what he’ll still accept before we risk losing him for good,” Molly finished, her voice nearing the level of a whisper. “I’ll stay down here with you then,” Arthur told her, as he lifted his nose out of her hair and held her head to his chest, solidifying the embrace. Molly accepted her husband’s offer and they both summoned the needed blankets and pillows from other areas of the house. Arthur enlarged the sofa enough for the both of them and they settled down together, resting in each other’s arms. It was just before dawn when they finally nodded off, having spent the last few hours in taking periods of restless sleep in turn, waking every few minutes to gaze at the adjacent cot and make sure the young man upon it was still sleeping peacefully. ------------------------- ---------------------------- The first thing that registered in his mind was the stiffness in his back and the dull throbbing pain in his left leg. He shifted to try and relieve the sensations, but found the surface he was lying on was the source of his discomfort. Rolling his neck to unkink the muscles and stretching his arm high above him to relieve the tension in the rest of his body, Harry sat up with a grunt of effort and took in his surroundings. Even without his glasses, Harry could see that he was still in the sitting room that Mrs. Weasley had brought him to. He must have fallen asleep in Mrs. Weasley’s care, though couldn’t remember doing so. Harry reached for the nearby end table where he could see his glasses sitting on the edge, taken off by someone after he’d drifted off. Once they were on his face, the rest of the room came clearly into view and he saw blankets and pillows on the couch, discarded and twisted as though someone had recently been sleeping there. He fleetingly wondered who had stayed down here and had they spent the entire night with him? That then brought up the question of what time it was. The sky outside a nearby window indicated it was late afternoon, but how long had he slept after not resting for nearly the past week? He could have slept for days. But the questions seemed to slip from his interest when the sound of loud and excited conversation met his ears. There seemed to be several voices speaking and conversing in the next room over. He wondered if perhaps they were having supper. Just the thought of food made Harry’s stomach rumble and remembered that it had been more than a few days since he’d had a good meal. Part of him didn’t think he had it in him to face a room full of people. Despite his period of rest and the fact he’d actually slept an undisturbed sleep, the feelings were still there, taunting him and making him feel isolated and separated from the others. He was different now and he always would be. But he was hungry and knew that if he didn’t eat, the healing to his leg and his rest would be for naught. Harry swung his legs off the bed, his bare feet touching the warm, worn carpet. He took a moment to steady himself and let his body get rid of the last vestiges of sleep before he stood up and hobbled towards the hallway. His leg was still stiff and he remembered the bandage that had been put around it. But the good news was that it was not throbbing or overly painful for him to put weight on it. The wood floor of the hallway was cold against his feet, but he carried on towards the door of the kitchen, where light was still filtering underneath the gap between the bottom and the floor. Harry paused outside the door, stalled not only by his apprehension, but by the sound of his name. “No, Harry always said that Dumbledore didn’t think it was Gryffindor’s sword,” Ron’s voice came to him through the door. “It’s got to be something of Ravenclaw’s…” “But you’ve already said you guys have been through countless books and other stuff and you haven’t found anything that would suggest there is something significant enough to even be considered,” Bill’s voice responded. “But that doesn’t mean there isn’t something we haven’t overlooked,” Hermione interjected. Her response was followed by the moving of what sounded like the moving of heavy books and the shuffling of papers. “We have to keep pressing on now…keep looking. We don’t have any real leads right now and I’m not sure waiting would be best…given that Harry’s–“ “A fucking nut job?” Harry asked aloud, attempting to finish Hermione’s statement as he pushed the door open and entered the kitchen. Somehow, standing there, listening to them talk about things without him there, talk about him behind his back, angered him and any relief he’d felt in the last few minutes was gone. “Given that…I’ve killed someone? That I’m a…raging, psychotic lunatic, Hermione?” Harry questioned sarcastically, his comments cutting into thick air that had settled down on the occupants of the room upon his arrival. He could see now that everyone except Moody and Kingsley were in the kitchen. Books they’d been searching through the past few months, as well as papers, lay littered about the table. It looked as though they’d been enjoying quite a cozy little meeting and it annoyed him beyond comprehension. “What are you doing?” Harry asked the room at large without any sort of tact in his voice. “We’re doing some research…we thought we’d get a start and let you–“ Ron tried to explain. “Well, stop…I’ve rested, so stop,” he told him firmly, his eyes searching the entire room. His eyes stopped momentarily on Ginny, who was looking down at the table in front of her, lost in thought. “Harry, we’re only trying to–“ Remus tried to placate from his spot near the far end of the table. “Stop trying!” Harry cut across him. “Stop helping…stop doing anything!” “Mate, remember when we agreed you didn’t have to do this alone?” Ron asked, standing up from his seat, addressing Harry directly. “Well, you still don’t…we haven’t given up. Not on this…not on you,” Ron added, gesturing to the research resources on the table and to Harry. It wasn’t enough that their continued search for Horcruxes was now futile. He knew where the last ones were. He knew one would only be revealed when he found the snake and that moment was likely to come only when he came face to face with Voldemort himself. And in regards to the final Horcrux, they were all closer to it than any of them would ever know. In all reality, there was really nothing more to their hunt, nothing left but the final confrontation and the loose ends that would need to be tied up to completely finish this war. “Your brother’s dead, Ron,” Harry said without conviction or hesitation. The words seemed to have the same effect as if Harry’d hurled a knife at Ron. Ron blinked rapidly and struggled to contain the pain and anger the comment had fueled beneath the surface. “He’s gone, buried in the ground…and he can’t come back.” “I know that,” Ron replied as solidly as he could manage, keeping his voice deadly calm. “Then how come you still don’t get it?” Harry asked Ron and it seemed everyone in the room. “How many more of you have to go? How much more do you have to lose before it sinks in? Before you realize–“ “What?!” Ron snapped. “Realize what?” “Realize what happens when you’re involved….when you try and help me,” Harry started to rant. But Ron’s incredulous sounding voice broke him off, disregarding anything Harry might have to say. “Who made it so you get to be so god damn selfish?” Ron spat disdainfully. “Why does everything–always--have to be about you?” “You don’t think I wish it wasn’t?” Harry snapped back. “But I can’t help that I’m the one in the center of this war…that I–“ “This war is not about you, Harry,” Ron interrupted him again, shaking his head slowly. “It was going on long before you were born. And the way you’re going now…it’ll be going on long after you’re dead.” “You’d like that wouldn’t you? Well lucky for you, it might happen,” Harry shot back. “But how many people are you willing to watch go along the way? Wasn’t it bad enough you had to watch your brother bleed to death in your arms? Watch your family get ripped apart and your home invaded just because I was there?” “Don’t you dare do that to my family…don’t try and take that from Charlie,” Ron hissed dangerously. “My brother didn’t die because of you…so don’t try and make it about you. Charlie fought and died protecting his family, his home. He was fighting for what he believed in…what we all believe in and for a cause we know is right.” “I’m not in this just because you’re my friend, Harry. None of us are,” Ron continued when it seemed Harry had no retaliatory remarks. “We’re all fighting to make something good for the people we love. To make sure that–no matter the cost–we’re able to create a life worth living, where we don’t have to worry about all this prejudice and evil going on anymore. And maybe after all this we’ll be able to have our own lives, families…futures,” Ron added, as his eyes swept over the people around them. There were already beginnings of families in the room, couples who were about to embark on that part of their lives. And there were also those in the room who wanted that for themselves, who aspired to get to that part of their lives and share it with someone special. “I thought that’s what you were fighting for too,” Ron said directly to Harry. That same sinking feeling that had assaulted Harry on Christmas day, when he realized that that part of life was not to be his, began to creep back into his mind. Ron, Hermione, everyone in this room, was fighting for their futures, hoping for better times. He was fighting towards his end. “I thought so too…” Harry whispered, closing his eyes briefly before bowing his head. “Then fight for it again…don’t give up,” Ron told him. “It’s what my best friend would do…it’s what you’d do…” But he couldn’t. He’d never really had that chance and the cards had never really belonged to him. His fate had been decided long ago and all his illusions of life and love were just fillers for the bigger picture. The ends truly did justify the means and anything that happened between that fateful night sixteen years ago and the end was just fodder for a tragic storyline…his story. At that moment, it seemed clear what needed to be done. If only he could make them understand without breaking them completely. “You lost your best friend a long time ago, Ron,” Harry said quietly. “Harry Potter’s been gone since the day that Voldemort decided to rip apart his family and shatter any sort of chance for that future you’re fighting for. He can’t have that sort of life now…and there’s only one way to make him alright again,” Harry finished, already knowing what must come next. “Harry? What are you talking about?” Ginny’s voice broke through the stressed silence as everyone tried to take in and comprehend what he was saying. He didn’t want to come outright and tell them that he contained a Horcrux within him and that he must die in order for the light to win against the dark. Voicing it out loud would make it final and absolute. And while he accepted its very real meaning, he wanted to cling to that last, finite amount of hope he had. “I’m–I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his hand already shaking with anticipation. He couldn’t think of anything else to say that would justify and explain things properly to them, even as Remus, Mr. Weasley and Ginny all began to rise from their chairs. Then without any hesitation, Harry did not reach for his wand but simply raised his left hand towards the others. Some of them had started to move, expecting something to happen, but were not able to do so quickly enough. Wordlessly, wandlessly, and effortlessly, Harry cast a freezing charm on everyone in the room and watched as they all stopped in time, unmoving and petrified. Their expressions were varied forms of shock and surprise, their bodies stuck in different stages of movement, all towards him. As Harry moved forward into the room, he noticed their eyes still on him, following him, being the only parts they could willingly move while they stood frozen inside their own bodies. He knew he had their attention and they could see and hear him without interruption or interference. Trying to avoid the searching looks they were giving him, Harry moved towards the table and gathered up the scattered parchments and papers outlining possible leads and helpful information. With a flick of his wrist, they burst into flames and disappeared from sight. He did the same with the books, only slightly regretting having to destroy books that might have some sort of value, historically or monetarily. But he needed to make sure they wouldn’t continue on their misled quest and attempt to carry on. Next, Harry summoned his rucksack, arm, and cloak from upstairs and put on both his arm and cloak. He went around the table and opened up the pantry, filling his rucksack with a few items that might tide him over if need be. He summoned various healing and pain potions that might be useful if he got in a bind. All the while, the Weasleys and the others stayed under the effects of the spell, their eyes the only giveaway that they were aware of what he was doing. He slung the rucksack over his shoulders and made sure his wand was tucked safely inside his cloak and robes. He then turned to address all of the frozen figures, who were trying to make sense of what would come next. “It’s not your fault,” Harry spoke into the silence. “You’ve done what you could…and you’ve helped me in ways I don’t think you realize,” he paused, the lump in his throat getting harder to contain. “But you can’t help anymore. My fight…is not yours anymore,” Harry said quietly, the frantic movement of eyes in all directions was making him nervous now. “Keep each other safe…take care of your families,” Harry continued, his eyes landing on the visibly pregnant Tonks near Remus and the expecting, but still flat-stomached Fleur near Bill. “You’ve all given so much already, that I can’t ask you to fight anymore,” Harry said. “Stay out of sight…stay hidden. Keep holding onto all those things you’ve been standing for. You’ll have it one day soon…I promise you that. But your part in the struggle is over for now…” He turned his attention to individuals now, facing Remus. “I know you want to protect me…that you want to uphold the promise you made to my parents,” Harry continued. “I know it doesn’t seem it…but you have…as much as you could. And there’s nothing I can say that’ll properly thank you for being that link for me…for just being here.” Harry had to turn away. The soft brown eyes of his mentor and former professor were boring into his, trying to connect and break free of the spell. Harry knew he was bursting to be released and stop Harry from doing what he was about to do. But there was no breaking the spell unless the caster willed it. He next turned towards Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, who were both frozen in mid-stand, but their eyes were watching him carefully. “You’ve done so much for me,” he started shakily. “You’ve filled that void in my life that I never thought could be. The times you said I was like your son–part of your family–it was never just words to me. But sons don’t put their families through the hell you’ve been through for me. I’m sorry…” Next up were Ron and Hermione, both reaching towards him in petrified states, their eyes wide, blue and brown searching him frantically. Harry had to take a moment to steel himself, knowing that leaving them was going to be harder given what they’d been through with him. They’d been there since the beginning and up until recently, he thought they’d be there with him at the end. But it was not to be. “You two–are amazing,” Harry struggled to get out. “I never thought–I’d have friends like you–that I’d meet two people who are as selfless and loyal as you are. But I’m sorry…you can’t join me in this one last adventure. This one I have to take alone.” “Stay together…hold onto one another,” Harry ended, feeling his emotions begin to overwhelm him and start to constrict his throat. He knew who was coming next and he almost wanted to skip this part, to leave and spare himself the angst he knew would surface. But he couldn’t do that to her. He stepped in front of Ginny and took a moment to take in her essence. Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, a few stray strands falling into her face. Harry wanted to brush them away and tuck them behind her ears, but he was afraid to touch her, knowing it would make this all the harder. Her face was drawn and pale, stress from the past days’ events showing on her face, detracting from the usual brightness that radiated from her. Her brown eyes were not full of surprise and panic that the others had been showing. Instead, they were searching, watching his every move, waiting to hear what he was going to say. “I’m so–sorry,” Harry broke down, not being able to hold it in any more. He brought his lips to her forehead and kissed her softly, his lips lingering on her warm skin as he breathed deeply into her hair. “I’m sorry–I’m sorry I can’t give you forever,” he cried, still maintaining contact with her. “You deserve so much more,” he whispered into her forehead before he pulled away to take her in again. This time, her eyes were filled with tears, tears that were slowly leaking from the corners of her eyes and falling down her cheeks. Instinctively, Harry raised his left hand and with the pad of his thumb, he wiped the tears away, caressing her cheek softly as if memorizing the feel of her skin against his. “I’ll always love you… remember that,” he told her. “And all those dreams we had…everything we’ve ever talked about…there was always truth in that…they weren’t just words.” “Don’t let them go,” he continued, wiping another wave of tears from her face. “You once told me–that you’d die for me. But you have to live for me too. Don’t let this be it…don’t let this be all there is,” he finished, feeling his own tears starting to creep up and sting at the corners of his eyes. He had to look away to keep himself from breaking down. With a heavy sigh, he reached into an inside pocket of his robe that he hadn’t touched in weeks. He pulled out the thin chain that had he’d put there weeks ago. The two gold rings clanked softly as held out the chain they had been placed on. For a moment he held his parent’s wedding rings in his palm, closing his left hand gently over the cool metal surface. Then with another shaky exhale, he held the chain up and drew it over Ginny’s head, guiding it to her neck, where the rings then lay against her chest. “These were always going be yours anyways,” he found himself saying, though he’d pictured giving her these in a different way, in different circumstances. He pulled away, drawing the hood of his cloak over his head as he turned away from her for the final time, shifting his rucksack securely on his back. “Please–listen to what I’ve said,” Harry spoke aloud to the room again, finding some source of strength for his voice to carry. “Don’t attempt to follow me. If you do…I can’t guarantee I won’t do anything to keep you from continuing to track me. You’ll hear from me…if and when the time is right.” “The charm on you will release only when I’m gone from here,” he explained, taking one last glance around the room, making sure all of his strings were cut and his tracks covered. “I’m sorry it had to be like this,” he said quietly. “But things have changed…my path’s a bit clearer now. And this has to end.” With that, he strode from the room and out into the darkened hallway of the quiet house. He found the front door and stepped out into the cold evening air. He glanced for a moment, taking in the white farm house he’d just left. The area around the house was quiet and still, only gently rolling hills and snow covered pastures could be seen for miles. Then with a flick of his wrist, he released the binding charm he’d been holding on those in the kitchen and Apparated away with a soft pop. A/N: Regarding the next chapter coming up…I’m going to pull a JK here and we’re going to jump ahead in time a couple of weeks to the important stuff. We’re at a crossroads here. Harry’s gone to face his destiny and try and find Voldemort and the Order and his friends are stuck between a rock and hard place. I’m not going into detail on what Harry’s doing. He’s trying to find Voldy and pretty much drifting around, trying to remain in the shadows while doing so. The Order is continuing to do little things to thwart the DE from taking over the Ministry and other instituions. So our story will pick up next a month or so later. Don’t worry…I promise it won’t disappoint. Hehe! |
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