Easy, Oh So Easy, a harry potter fanfic

Disclaimer: "I'd fight myself, you know I would, If I thought it'd do any good." –Zanna, Don't!

Warnings: Death, some Language, slightly AU (alternate 7th year)

A/N: Hey there, I'm still alive and writing (though mostly it seems to be essays these days). It's late and I can't think of much to say. Thanks for reading and letting me know what you think!

Easy, Oh So Easy

The soft earth squished and slid under his feet as he attempted to bolt through the water-choked moor. The very air seemed to drag him down, sodden with mist. It made him feel as if he were swimming rather than running through the night. If the moon shone above him he had no way of knowing, so thick were the clouds. Suddenly, the mire slipped out from beneath him and he found himself on his back, panting hard. This was it. There was no escape now. Heart slamming against his ribcage, he struggled upright, vainly trying to flee once more. It was no use. He heard the shout behind him and turned, preparing to meet his fate full on…

"Harry! Harry, wake up!" Someone was shouting at him. "Harry!"

He struggled into consciousness, "Wha-? What is it?"

"You were doing it again, Harry. In your sleep, thrashing and breathing funny and…" This time he recognized the voice as Hermione's.

Slowly the Gryffindor common room swam into view, blurry due to his lack of glasses. He quickly discovered himself to be on the floor, flat on his back, beside the couch he must have fallen from only moments before. Ron and Hermione hovered above, looking anxious, an emotion that was beginning to become them. He really did find himself in this situation far too often. He pushed himself into a sitting position, absentmindedly rubbing the arm that had taken the brunt of the fall, "And what?" he inquired, hand roving around for the spectacles that appeared to be MIA.

Hermione handed them to him and, when properly replaced, the world straightened itself out considerably. "And mumbling something," she responded, "I couldn't tell what."

"It was that same bloody dream again," muttered Harry, knuckling his scar which had faithfully begun to tingle. The shadows that danced around the room didn't help abate his uneasiness. Granted it was far past the middle of the night, the three had been alone for quite some time, but still, there was a feeling in the air that he couldn't quite shake.

"The Wuthering Heights one?" Ron inquired with a snicker.

"Ron!" Hermione chastised, "Just because Harry's dream occurs in a moor does not mean it has any relation to that dreadful Brontë novel!"

Ron ignored her, "Come on, mate, you're not gonna take this thing seriously, are you? Dreams, psh," he wave a hand in the air as if the word were a piece of dust that he could thoughtlessly wave away, " They're a load of bull. Five years of Trelawney's class should have taught you that much!"

"Ron, we must take reoccurring dreams like this seriously, especially these days!" Hermione lectured. Ron just rolled his eyes. "How come you know so much about Wuthering Heights anyway?"

Ron's ears turned pink. He was about to retort, when Harry spoke up, "Both of you, cut it out." He said this without any real conviction though, knowing the two would be back at it in a matter of minutes. "It was more real this time, more vivid. It's going to happen. Soon."

"What's going to happen?" Ron and Hermione spoke in unison.

"I wish I knew."

Dawn broke three hours later, though the term was debatable so cold and gray was the morning. A steady drizzle ran down the windows, reflecting of the sodden mood within the castle. The death of Dumbledore had done more damage to Hogwarts than any physical attack could have ever hoped to do. Harry still hadn't quite gotten used to the way his peers avoided eye contact, barely speaking in voices above a whisper, as if any motion towards normal human activity would bring the wrath of the Dark Lord upon them.

Though part of him would have very much liked to join in the unnatural behavior of his fellow students, he knew it was up to him to remain light and untroubled. To demonstrate his readiness for this self-appointed task, he whistled "A Little Fall of Rain" from Les Misérables as he strode confidently down to breakfast. Okay, granted, he could have picked a perkier song, but hey, it was whistling none the less.

As he sat down at the Gryffindor table, Ron gave him a queer look and his whistling came to an abrupt stop, ending in a high-pitched shriek that caused several first years to look over in alarm. Harry turned his thoughts, instead, to his bland, off-white potatoes. The poor things had definitely seen better days, but then again, hadn't they all?

The usual, to considerably more timid, flapping of wings announced the arrival of the post. Harry looked up instinctively, not really expecting to see anything worth noting. All his correspondents were either dead or in hiding. A familiar sight caught his eye, however, and his heart leapt into his mouth. Malfoy's eagle owl was swooping in amidst the rest of the letter-bearing fowl. Harry looked around wildly, half expecting to see the blonde standing in the Great Hall, wand trained directly at his heart. When he assured himself that his old rival had not returned, his eyes darted back to the owl which, in the short amount of time, had dramatically shortened the proximity between them. He gasped slightly as the creature's talons barely grazed his head before dropping a letter into his plate of potatoes, then flying away without a backwards glance. Harry was sure the potatoes deflated slightly on contact with the heavy parchment.

At this point, Ron and Hermione's attention had been effectively captured. "What is it?" inquired Ron.

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Clearly it's a letter, Ronald."

"Well, of course. I can see that!" Ron snapped back, "I only meant…"

Harry stopped paying attention to his friends, the examination of the letter a far more pressing matter. The envelope was made of a thick sort of paper that Harry had only seen a few times before. Across the front were scrawled only the words "Harry James Potter" in an ink so dark that, at first, one mistook it for black instead of its true venom green. For some inexplicable reason Harry thought of his first letter from Hogwarts.

Though half expecting the paper cut as he slid his finger beneath the seal, he still bit his lip to stifle the yelp as the delicate flesh was sliced open, releasing a few drops of crimson into the paper within. Only one word was written in the same green ink on the enclosed sheet, "Tonight". However, a moment later, his own blood reappeared before him, mocking him as they took the form of the letters LV. Harry laughed, smearing the blood about on the page until, instead, they crudely represented the figures TR. He knew it was somewhat childish, but it was he could really do in this situation, bile rising in his throat, panic rising in his heart.

His two best friends had finally stopped bickering and were beginning to once again gain interest in the letter. "Harry," Hermione fairly squeaked, "is that…blood?"

"Yep, mine," responded Harry in an attempt to be nonchalant.

"Who's it from?" Ron asked. Harry thought this was rather dense of him. Who else would send a letter that wounded its recipient? Really. He squinched up his eyes, "I mean, it would be easier to tell if you hadn't muddled up the signature like that."

Harry and Hermione both looked at him as if he were mental. Harry coughed awkwardly. Hermione spoke, attention focused solely on her friend with more than half a brain, "Tonight, that's clear enough, but where?"

"Oh, I think I know where," answered Harry, his mind drifting back to the moor he had only seen in his subconscious.

Hermione nodded as if she too could picture the scene that drifted across his mind, "Well, you're not thinking of going." It wasn't a question.

"Of course I am!" He began to feel slightly agitated as only he could.

"Are you crazy?" She looked taken aback, as only she could.

"I've been told that I am, yes."

"You'll be killed!"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Hermione," he responded wryly. She continued to stare at him, nonplussed. He sighed patiently and spoke with the air of someone explaining that London was the capital of England to a very stupid child, "Look, McGonagall is a talented witch, I'll give her that, no argument, but she's no Dumbledore. If the school were attacked, how long do you think we'd last, hm?"

She was not to be dissuaded though, not yet at least, "Harry, you can't think of it in terms of you or the rest of us, but rather you then the rest of us. He'll kill you, and then move on to Hogwarts!"

"Ah, but we must rely on that very slight chance that he won't kill me." His eyes sparkled slightly behind his full-moon spectacles. Hermione looked away, smart enough to recognize a losing battle when she saw one.

Ron seemed to have finally cottoned on, "Wait, we're not talking about (here his voice dropped to a dramatic whisper) You-Know-Who, are we?"

Harry clapped him hardily on the back, "Good man, Knew you could figure it out! You are a master of basic comprehension skills, Ron, and let no man tell you otherwise!" Ron looked somewhat pleased, though he was not quite sure why.

"We're coming with you." Hermione's jaw was set resolutely.

Harry should have argued. He knew he should have argued. But he had been through this argument so many times that he hardly saw the point. He always came out on the bottom. This time, he only nodded. "If you're sure you want to."

"Of course we're sure!" Hermione rebuked indignantly.

"Tonight. At six."

The other two didn't speak. They didn't need to.

Therein passed a type of day familiar to all those who equally loathe and hope for what is to come. It was a day where time slowed, weighed down by the dread that lied upon its inhabitants like a wet blanket, the dread of confronting what lies ahead, mixed, however, with the determination to face it. If. It. Would. Only. Just. Get. Here. Six did come eventually, though it took eons to do so and Harry feared that, by the time it arrived, he might already be an old man, too decrepit to do anything worthwhile. Then he remembered Dumbledore. Old man or not, it was time to fight evil.

The three of them prepared for battle, that is, the pocketed their wands and all huddled, rather futilely, beneath the Invisibility Cloak. It was peculiar, almost perverse, how routine it felt. With the help of the Map and some tricky spells, they made it to the grounds with relative ease and were soon outside the boundaries of whatever protective enchantments McGonagall had been able to conjure.

"Do you know where we're going?" Hermione breathed into the damp silence.

"He'll guide me." Crack.

The scene stretched out before him was so familiar it made his skin crawl, the moor, the damp air, the shadows. He couldn't decided which was more oppressive, the darkness, the silence or the sheer humidity.

"It's quiet. I don't like that. Everyone be on your guard." No sooner had these words left Harry's lips, than the world exploded. Or so it seemed to the trio. Their surroundings erupted in the blinding light of a thousand suns, and then they were all drenched in darkness, far blacker than the moonless night they had stood in moments before could ever hope to be. As is typically the case, the blackness was rapidly followed up by unconsciousness.

Harry regained the use of his ears before his sight was restored. "We caught the two of them, Master, but the girl got away." Harry's mind jolted at this unexpected piece of information, sending new life through his body.

"I see, I see," a cold voice hissed, miles too close than Harry would have liked. "This could prove interesting." Harry finally opened his eyes to the blurry world before him. His glasses were missing. Big surprise. "Ah, Lucius, it would appear our guest has awakened. Bring him here if you will."

Harry did not know why he bothered struggling against his bonds as the Death Eater approached, but it seemed to be his duty to demonstrate all forms of resistance and so, resist he would. This proved hopeless, though, as he knew it would, thus all he could do was take stock of his surroundings. Using his powers of deduction, he found himself magically tied to a large tree. Ron, he assumed by the moans, was bound to the other side. Lucius Malfoy cut him loose, taking care to knick his hands and wrists as many times as possible. Not like he expected anything different. Death Eaters, always so crass.

"Potter, do you know what I plan on doing with you?" hissed that awful, bloodless, reptilian face when Harry had been dragged the few feet that remained between them.

"Kill me," supplied Harry dully.

Cue high-pitched laugh, "Smart boy, Potter. Of course, I'm going to kill you, but first I am going to make you suffer!"

"Big surprise," remarked Harry, mentally trying to prepare himself for the Cruciatus Curse, impossible as it may be. But it never came.

"Imperio!" Harry blinked, trying to think through a fog. Okay, the just the Imperius Curse, he could handle that, until-

"Imperio!" Struck with Lucius Malfoy's curse on top of Voldemort's, Harry was practically helpless. His mind was saturated in a dull mist of artificial bliss.

"Now, Harry," requested Voldemort almost sweetly, "I want you to kill your best friend. You can do that, can't you?" Images of both Ron and Hermione flickered across Harry's mind. "Ah, yes, there are two. I want you to kill the girl." Harry nodded and took off across the moor. Lucius made a move to stop him, but his master held up a hand, "No Lucius, he's doing our bidding now."

As Harry ran, his magic intoxicated mind began to clear slightly. "Kill Hermione," he muttered to himself, "kill Hermione." Suddenly he stopped dead, "No!" he shouted. His mind snapped back, "Kill Hermione," and forward again, "No!"

Then a sound drifted to him, from far across the marshland, "Harry, is that you?" It was still faint.

His head swiveled towards the sound and he raised his wand, eyes glowing green as acid. He took a few steps, then halted abruptly, shaking his head like a dog trying to rid itself of a particularly nasty flea. "No." He took a few dogged steps away from the voice and his will grew slightly stronger. He took a few more and soon he was flat out sprinting as best he could under the conditions. Unfortunately, he was not quite fast enough, the familiar phantom voice was gaining ground.

"Harry! I've caught up to you at last!"

Perhaps at a distance he could resist, but now his task stood directly before. The magical competence of two very powerful wizards made itself entirely present in his brain and he had no choice but to obey. "Avada Kedavra!" The words slipped, unbidden, from his lips as his arm, wand in tow, was pulled up by some intangible force to point directly at her heart. It has been said that complete motivation and desire is necessary it in order to administer the killing curse, but if Harry didn't possess these attributes, the force controlling him certainly did. It was easy, oh so easy. She was dead before she hit the ground, killed by the one person she trusted most in the world.

This fact hit home and the utter horror of it lent Harry the energy to throw off the curse. "Hermione, no! No! No!" He ran over to her and began to shake her in a wild fit of panic, "No, I didn't, no! Enervate. Damn it! Enervate!" She remained as lifeless as ever. Though the wand had the power to take her life, it did not possess the ability to return it.

Harry felt colder than lifeless moor around him, colder than he had ever felt in his life. He sat down hard on the muddy ground, shivering. He would never forget this moment, he knew this now, he would always remember what he had done, what he had failed to do…

He stood up. One course of action stood out plainly before him and he had no choice but to take it. I must lie, he thought, I must lie and pretend I am still under their spell. He walked as casually as he could back into the camp of the Death Eaters, trying his best to keep his hands from shaking, his knees from buckling, his stomach from retching up its contents.

"Ah, you have returned, young Potter! Have you done what I asked of you?" That voice. If Harry could murder a voice, rip it into a thousand screaming shreds, he would have done so in that moment.

"Yes, Master." He replied.

"Good boy! Now I want you to kill-"

"Avada Kedavra!" Harry needed no aid in infusing the intent into the spell this time. Voldemort never even knew what hit him.

Only one purpose existed in Harry's mind at that moment and it had everything to do with escape. He longed to run as far away as humanly possible, remaining Death Eaters be damned. The Ministry could handle them or they couldn't, it was none of his business now.

Within this driven purpose, the thought of Ron still clung to his mind. In the confusion he stunned Lucius Malfoy, effectively freeing his remaining best friend from his bindings. The two boys locked eyes and, in that moment, Harry wished he could convey everything that happened to Ron, all the pain, all the grief, all the self-hatred and guilt that had begun to fester as soon as Harry broke free from the curse. Whether Ron understood or not, he never knew.

It was only when Harry got back to Hogwarts that he realized Hermione's body was still out there, left to rot amongst the stagnate wilderness of the moors. He never did retrieve it. He would always regret that.