Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters are copyright of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros., and they were used without permission. However, they were used with consideration and with no intention of making money. This story is simply an appreciative fan's attempt at writing something to contribute to the world of Harry Potter.
Warning: Snape is a real jerk through much of this.
Chapter One
A steady late summer rain was coming down, drenching the ground and covering the windows, the streams of water falling like tears. Harry's spirits were very much in tune with the weather at the present moment.
The hour was late - sometime between three and four in the morning, and he was sitting at the worn wooden table in the neglected kitchen of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. This was the third night in a row he had not been able to sleep, and so, resigning himself to the fact that he was better off awake and out of bed than fooling himself by lying down for endless hours and constantly changing positions, only to disturb Ron's sleep, Harry was now nursing a cup of weak tea and staring blankly out the high window into the darkness.
Harry's mind drifted, and he imagined his pampered cousin, Dudley, as he slept deeply in his comfortable bed on Number Four, Privet Drive. They were the same age, and yet Harry had faced and was currently facing things normally dealt with by people several years, or decades, older than him. At seventeen, Harry wondered if he could truly complete the daunting task that was set before him: destroy the remaining Horcruxes and ultimately defeat Voldemort.
In the couple of months that had passed since the end of Harry's sixth and probably last year at Hogwarts, much had happened, but none of it had been good. Even at Dumbledore's funeral, Harry had managed to find hope among the despair, laughter among the tears that threatened to overwhelm. He had declared so faithfully and loyally that he was Dumbledore's man, through and through.
Well, Dumbledore's man was a seventeen-year-old orphan who had no leads to follow on his quest, and the start of term at Hogwarts had already begun, and Harry and his two best friends were drop-outs. Even though Ron and Hermione had told him they would follow him wherever he went, and even though he was inwardly grateful beyond words for their friendship, a larger part of him wanted to push them away. Enough lives had been lost already.
Upon coming of age, the Order had come to the Dursleys' house to safely take him away, but dementors had attacked, and Tonks would have been without a soul had it not been for Lupin's quick intervention. They had come far too close to losing another to the cause.
At Bill and Fleur's wedding, which should have been a happy occasion, an unexpected Death Eater attack occurred, killing Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody in the process. Even though Harry had never been very close to the aged ex-Auror, the loss of him was still painful. It was yet another loss for the Order of the Phoenix.
Now, Harry had returned to the only place he could, but Grimmauld Place wasn't his home. Harry wasn't sure what he would do with the dilapidated house, but for now, it was probably the most secure place he could be. He still needed to visit Godric's Hollow, as he said he would, and he wanted to make that journey alone. The evident problem was persuading Ron and Hermione to stay behind.
None of this left him with any clue where to begin, however. Hadn't Dumbledore left some sort of information for Harry? Then again, Harry supposed Dumbledore hadn't expected to die so suddenly.
A creak from the door, and Harry glanced up to see Hermione tentatively stepping into the dank kitchen. She cast him a concerned look and offered him a weak smile in way of greeting. Harry noticed how dishevelled her hair was, and the dark circles around her eyes were evident. Apparently, he hadn't been the only one lacking sleep.
She poured herself a cup of tea and took the seat opposite Harry, clutching the cup between her hands.
"Harry?" she asked quietly, searching his face with her weary eyes. "I know this is probably a stupid question, but are you all right?"
Sighing deeply, Harry almost purposefully drew out his exhalation, wishing to further postone the inevitable answer. His shoulders slumped, he breathed, "Hardly, but of course you already knew that, Hermione."
Hermione remained silent for a moment, wondering if Harry would elaborate. He regarded her equally silently, perhaps challenging her to ask another absurd question. Harry wasn't sure if it was the sheer tiredness or the weight of what lay ahead pressing on his mind or the growing void of insurmountable loss eating away inside that irritated him, causing him to want to bite a retort.
"What do you want me to say, Hermione?" Harry suddenly barked, finding his voice, although it held no conviction. "I always - we always depended on Dumbledore. As long as Dumbledore was around, we felt somehow safer, but I guess we were only deluding ourselves. Hogwarts was supposed to be safe as long as Dumbledore was there, but whoever would have thought that one of Hogwarts' own teachers, a member of the Order, and someone Dumbledore so blindly trusted would turn on him? Snape was a lot of terrible things, but I never thought he'd actually murder Dumbledore! Don't you get it, Hermione? I was right all along about him, and Dumbledore in his 'seeing the good in people' was so wrong for so many years. If he was wrong about Snape, what else was he wrong about?" He paused, gathering his anger closer, and stated sarcastically, "Oh, let's see... maybe the locket Horcrux? He made me force him to drink that vile potion, thinking it for the greater good... to finally get our hands on another one of the Horcruxes, and look where it got him! Dead! And for no reason!"
While Harry had his tirade, he had stood and was now pacing the length of the kitchen restlessly. His rants had been loud enough to wake Ron, who was now standing next to Hermione, who was still seated. Neither of Harry's friends could find the words to make him see reason or calm himself. Over the past several weeks, Ron and Hermione had been witness to small outbursts from Harry, but nothing compared to this. More often than not, Harry had seemed withdrawn to himself and less prone to sharing what was on his mind with his friends. They weren't sure which was more worrying: Harry's silence or shouts. Either way, they knew they had good reason to be concerned.
Harry's breathing was quick and short, but as he finally stopped pacing and was standing still, he looked over at his friends, daring them to find a suitable solution to his multiple problems.
Ron moved his mouth, but no sound came out at first. He tried again and spoke evenly, "Harry, mate... you've got to calm down. Look, I know you've got loads on your plate, stuff you shouldn't have to face, but we told you, we're with you the whole way."
While the better part of Harry knew Ron meant well by his words and intentions, he bit back, "Oh, and that's supposed to help, Ron? What am I supposed to do when you or Hermione wind up the next victims of one of Voldemort's attacks?"
From her seat, Hermione was crying silent tears, and then she choked back a sob. She stood and hesitantly approached Harry. "Please, Harry," she implored, a tone of desperation creeping into her voice as she reached for his hand with hers, "I... I know Dumbledore may have been wrong about Snape, but he was a great wizard and a great man. He wasn't perfect, but I think he had the right idea about Vol- Voldemort. I really think he was on to something with the Horcruxes. He destroyed the ring after all, didn't he? He spent years researching, trying to find out everything he possibly could, and, Harry, he wasn't about to leave you completely at a loss as to what to do next. Do you still have that mysterious note from R.A.B.?" she suddenly asked.
Harry was caught off-guard by her question. He had been so intent on focusing all his energy on his anger that he had forgotten they still had the task ahead of him.
"Er, yes," he stated, pulling the folded note from his pocket.
Harry had been carrying it around with him ever since taking it from the fake locket the night of Dumbledore's demise. It was tattered around the edges, and the creases were well- worn. Harry had taken it out, unfolded it, read it, and folded it, returning it to his pocket, every day. He handed it to Hermione, who perused it and then nodded, the resolve in her eyes akin to that of when a sudden spark of inspiration came to her and she then would announce she was off to the library.
"I thought so," she murmured. She left without explaining anything to either of the boys, much like she always had at Hogwarts when venturing into one of her research forays.
Harry glanced at Ron, who stared back equally confused. A couple of minutes later, Hermione returned with an ancient-looking book.
"I found this in the library," she explained.
Ron couldn't help but grin. Whether Hogwarts' library or the one in the Black home, Hermione was drawn to books. Unfortunately, Harry didn't share the same humor as Ron at the situation. They gathered round their friend as she opened the book to the front inner cover and pointed at some writing there.
R.A.B., it read.
The handwriting was the same as the note, and Harry found himself wanting to strike himself upside the head for being so daft. They had just spent three days in the house of the author of that note.
"Regulus Black, of course," Harry said between clenched teeth.
Everything Sirius had told Harry about his younger brother, from joining the Death Eaters to suddenly wanting out and then being killed shortly thereafter, came flooding back to his mind. As thoughts of what he knew about Regulus played through his mind, Harry's thoughts were directed to a specific memory: Two years ago, cleaning out Grimmauld Place, throwing away old things, Kreacher keeping some of them, an old locket no one could open...
"Maybe it's still here," Harry said, suddenly feeling hope course through him once more.
With renewed vigor, the three of them searched and scoured the entire house, from attic to basement, the whole day. Kreacher's old nesting area was especially checked, three times over, for the locket, but after a long, gruelling day, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were back in the kitchen, dirty and tired, and Harry's temper was the worse for their failure.
"I should've known," he grumbled, slumping into a chair. He rested his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands. "It's pointless, isn't it?" he questioned. "What's the point of even trying? Who am I kidding? Dumbledore was so adament about his claims - that I have 'the power the Dark Lord knows not' and all that rot. He was wrong about Snape. He was wrong about the Horcruxes, too, probably. And... he was wrong about me."
Harry found himself falling into darkness deeper than ever that night. Ron and Hermione looked on, feeling drained and lost, wishing they could give Harry a reason to keep his faith in the cause, but as the rainstorm outside turned for the worst, so Harry Potter turned for the worst. When he removed his face from his hands, his once vibrant green eyes now held an emptiness remininscent of Lily Potter's lifeless eyes as her body lay on the floor of Godric's Hollow seconds after sacrificing herself for her son.