Note from Allen Harding: This is just something that I found in my archive. I wrote it a while ago and decided I'll upload it in place of Chapter Four of Tempora Mutantur to fill the gap because it might take me a while to finish the fourth chapter. If you can tell what the date is, you'll figure it out.
Update: I think this release is a little bit late, but it's all I could manage with everything going on. Full explanation will come in the note in Tempora Mutantur chapter four, when it's done. I just don't want to waste your time right now.
Update 2: I'm garbage.
Once more, he threw the battered snitch into the air and caught it. He, alongside several Weasley's, enjoyed another bout of Quidditch in the yard. Not something they expected to do to pass the time considering the current atmosphere of the Magical World.
The game closed with Harry Potter catching the snitch once more. Who else but the chosen one to bring the end of a match. That's what it's felt like for Harry for the past six to seven years. A game of chess and he was the King. Not a position he'd ever wanted. He never wanted people countlessly putting their lives on the line, going as far to sacrifice themselves to that he may survive to fulfil a damned prophecy.
People like Sirius, like his parents, like Dumbledore…
It wasn't fair, nor should any life be, but it appeared that Harry got the deluxe package of express unfairness. When an opportunity to live a decent life approached him in the form of a letter at the age of eleven, he was beyond delighted to learn that he could live a life worth living.
Some may see it as a blessing. Now, according to the young man who sat by the window of the Weasley's home, the burrow, it was a curse.
A curse bestowed upon him because he was born on the wrong damned day. He was destined to defeat the greatest dark wizard the modern wizarding world has ever seen, beyond the likes of Gellert Grindelwald. He was barely an adult; he would only turn in a few days now. His strokes of luck have run out, and it would soon be just him, his gut and his will to survive.
Who else would have to die for the chosen one of the light? The thought crossed his mind every night right before he'd fall asleep. It wasn't fair, to think that he was so righteous and deserving of people willing to lay their lives down for him.
He was a magnet of death. He would ponder if he required some glasses from Lovegood to see Death himself, hovering over his shoulder, waiting to reap the next soul that dies for him. Perhaps it was even a game for him, taking humour in Harry's failures and making bets on who would be next.
Control was something he struggled to get any grasp of. He was always the one controlled. Like a piece on the board, and never the player. He was meant to survive, no matter the cost. Harry had no say, nor had a choice in the issue.
So here he sat on the third floor of the burrow, watching Auror's patrol the wards as the wedding of Fleur Delacour and Bill Weasley, forced once more to stay and sit on his ass like the little bitch he's been made into. Waiting day and night for the orders from the Order to bark, or attack. Away from the action, away from making an impact on the war.
Clunk~
Harry's hand hovered away as he was delved deeper into his thoughts, sending the snitch to the wooden floor with a soft bang, rolling towards the open doorway. He hardly felt any will, any purpose or reason to pick up the escaping snitch. To him, it was just another example of things he worked hard to get and keep, only to lose them because of his mistakes.
Concluding he wouldn't go and retrieve the snitch, his eyes returned to the field. He recognised the black hair that now belonged to Tonks. Ever since the loss of Sirius, the tone and personality took a toll on everyone, more so on Harry and the Blacks, with the notable exception of Bellatrix Lestrange, the one who had killed him. Her bubbliness faded away and was replaced with a stoic, determined expression as if counting the ways she could rain hellfire on the deranged Lestrange.
Everyone had lost someone this war, or at least were all too close to losing one now. For the Weasley's, that had been George Weasley when he lost his ear in the battle over Little Whinging. It only got worse that night when they'd learnt that Alastor Moody had been struck and killed.
Then the question came once more
'Who's next…' Harry muttered, shutting his eyes and letting his head fall back to the wooden wall.
Time was never something Harry was great at, and it was reflected at and out of school consistently. He had only gotten better thanks to one of his best friends, the other often worsened it. The bookworm, the one person he heartfully admired and cared for since his first year. Ronald may have not been Malfoy, but his attitude made him uncannily similar. The only reason he stuck with him for that year was that he was his second friend, and his family was kind to him at King's Cross.
He was glad that Ronald grew a soul over time and stopped being a git. The only downside was that it took him much too many years. Nonetheless, Ron was a good friend when it counted. Hermione on the other hand, was much better in so many ways, though Harry could never admit it. If it were not for Hermione, he wouldn't have gotten out of every single year at Hogwarts alive. He owed her more than he could ever give, and so did so many others. Yet, nobody paid her enough attention or care because of her blood status.
They were the two people he cared for the most out of everyone in the entire world. He cared about the Weasleys, and the Tonks' and so many others, but not as much as them. Every day, he feared the day he would lose them, and that day was becoming more and more real every day that passed in the Second Wizarding War.
Tomorrow was his birthday, the day when he could finally take control of his life and move his own piece on the board. He recalled the day yesterday when his best friends approached him on planning to leave the burrow. Though it was never his intention to make plans, or at the very least, make an arrangement with them.
They were right on one thing, he needed to leave the burrow in order to get something, anything done. They were wrong to think that they needed to do it with him. Nothing wrong with being selfish once in a while.
'Harry…' a woman's voice came from the doorway. The young man shifted his eyes from the horizon and focused on the speaker.
It was Hermione, and her expression had all features of worry drawn upon her lips and eyes. She was no longer the girl that he befriended on the Hogwarts Express, she was a fully-grown woman with the most brilliant mind he's ever had the privilege of knowing. She was beautiful in her own way, even with the dirt on her temple and her slightly tamed locks, it was the expression of care and sincerity that made her shine where she stood.
'You're thinking,' she commented.
'I'm not allowed to think now, am I?' Harry hadn't intended to sound rude as the words escaped his lips, but it was too late, and the bookworm was on the offensive as she stepped into the room. Even when she was angry, her beauty didn't go unaccounted for.
Harry berated himself, unable to focus on the critical matter of the conversation as his eyes only focused on the one best friend that he cared more for than the other, for a very particular reason. A reason that he had to keep suppressed…
'I know that look.'
'What look?' he shot another question.
'The look you have right before you do something stupid,' she answered, placing her hands on her hips.
She saw right through him, once again. An open book he was to her, but the same could also be said for her to him.
'Well, I often do stupid things, don't I, Hermione? Go ask Sirius…'
He was sour, he's been sour for the entirety of this summer. Perhaps his downwards thinking worsened it, and now he was letting it off on Hermione. Before he had the chance to apologise, she approached him and slapped him.
Harry was shocked as he raised his hand to caress the reddening mark on his cheek, checking if it was actually real if what happened had actually happened. His eyes returned to hers, to find hers welling up.
The area he'd been sitting was elevated by the window, he was chest level against anyone, and in this case, the perfect height to be slapped at. They stared at one another for what felt like a very long moment as the silence struck between them, the last sound made by the slap across his left cheek.
'I-' Harry tried to start.
'You're not the only one in pain, Harry,' she said, sniffling shortly afterwards. The guilt was hitting Harry hard, forcing him to his feet to stand in front of her. He wasn't the one to usually start the hugs between them, but this was his fault, and his responsibility to mend it.
He sunk his arms to place his hands at her waist. Eventually, her eyes softened, and a tear fell. Harry pushed his hands so that it rested on her lower back and he pulled her in. Her anger was quickly replaced with sadness as she returned the hug by lazily raising her arms to ring around Harry's chest from under his arms.
The embrace wasn't supposed to feel any different than the hugs they shared over the past six, nearly seven, years. For the first time, it was. The feeling of tears upon his chest, accompanied with her tightening grip around him that didn't feel painful, but instead, real, if ever there was a distinction between them. All her hugs had her pouring her heartfelt care for the other, Harry being the primary recipient for those past years.
Once again, he mentally began beating himself up for not giving her the care and mind she deserves when she time and time again did the same for him. His arms snaked further around her, and he pulled on her tighter, though not as hard as she would. He likes to think that he's built his shoulder muscles off Hermione's hugs alone.
He's come a long way from the scrawny, short kid from the cupboard underneath the staircase. With Quidditch and his life being consistently threatened, he's grown into a suitable young man, all things considered. Harry wasn't nearly as tall as someone like Bill, but he was one or two centimetres below his youngest brother. His height consistently astonished him as he could see and feel Hermione's cheek pressed against his upper chest rather than his above his shoulders.
It was special, feeling the tears through his shirt, reach right above the skin above his heart. He placed a hand on the back of her head and stroked her brunette curls.
'I'm sorry…' Harry whispered after bending his head down to her ear. Her response came in the form of her sobbing softening
'When I left home, I had to obliviate my parents, Harry…'
Harry, along with everyone in the burrow, didn't know this, the extent Hermione had gone to protect the people she loves. It angered him, with a heat that could only be directed at himself.
'You're not the only one making sacrifices,' she continued.
'I'm sorry Hermione…' was all Harry could muster.
The pressure from Hermione's prolonged hug had Harry struggling to keep his footing and eventually stumbled back onto window seat. Harry grunted as Hermione fell onto him, barely managing to keep himself steady and caught her properly before he smashed his head into the window behind him.
Hermione's grip on him readjusted as she attempted to gain comfort in the awkward position they'd been thrust into, succeeding by lifting herself so that she sat on his lap and her face now buried in his shoulder.
'I wish I could've done so much more for you guys…for you,' he said softly.
They sat together, long enough for there to be a noticeable shift in the brightness of the sunshine. Harry's arms still wrapped around her midsection while she sat on his lap with her arms under his. Time took a toll on them, Hermione's tears dried and her crying had come to a halt. Her head was resting on his shoulder, her thoughts empty and bright as her attention was wholesomely devoted to the moment between them, similarly could be said for Harry.
The smell of her vanilla shampoo that she brought from home that he learnt to love over the years, accompanied by the unique smell of old tomes and parchment. She must have resorted to some Hermione level of light reading while they were playing Quidditch.
'Kids! Lunch is ready!' The Weasley matriarch bellowed from the ground floor of the burrow, startling the pair. Hermione's head shot up, and Harry released her, letting each other stand up.
Harry ran a hand through his hair while Hermione did her best to straighten hers out. Then Harry went to tousle with his shirt, a slight concern from the wet mark.
'I'm sorry Harry…I overreacted,' she confessed.
'That time of the month?' Harry joked with a grin. This time, she playfully swatted him at the chest.
'Prat…' Hermione said, raising her hand to his cheek. She placed it right over the fading mark on his cheek, caressing it, with the hope of making it feel better. Harry couldn't help but be affected by the warmth of her hand.
Although Harry could see the worry in her tear-stricken eyes, so he brought his hand to cover hers, lightly pulling her hand off with a soft wrap of his fingers around hers, which she replied by wrapping her own around his as well.
'It's fine. I was a prat…' Harry admitted, looking down at their hands.
'Lunch is ready! Get your butts down here!' Molly shouted once more up the stairs. Her angered voice never fails to startle them and look towards the doorway.
Their hands never detached when their eyes returned to one another. Hermione couldn't grasp what was so captivating about Harry's eyes. Harry was the first to release the grip in their hands
'I think we should head on down…'
'Yeah,' she agreed, tucking a curl over her ear nervously with her now freed hand.
She turned around to make for the door, somewhat hesitant to leave. When she didn't hear a second pair of footsteps, she looked over her shoulder
'I'll be down after you,' Harry reassured. Hermione nodded and finally left the room, letting Harry take a sigh of relief as the tension had gone with her.
He waited for a few minutes, or at least it felt as such with his pacing around the bedroom. His feet finally made it to the staircase and began taking the journey down, but stopped himself when he found the family snitch on the steps outside of Hermione and Ginny's room. For courtesy, he picked it up with the intention of returning it.
Harry's curiosity intrigued him as he approached the doorway of the room. He never had a reason, nor was given an opportunity to look within this very bedroom, but now, for whatever reason, he was curious.
The door was ajar, so it took little effort for Harry to push it a little further open and peek through. He didn't see it as being perverted or anything, looking into a girls bedroom, up until the point he laid his eyes on articles of clothing exclusive to the female gender, as well as exclusive to his ex-girlfriend, and his best friend.
The room had a distinct aroma to it, one he was familiar and liked, and another he found a little strong on the nose. The room was distinctly divided as if it were continually battling one another, where one side room matched his best friend, with stacks of books on the bedside, and another belonged to Ginevra Weasley, the home of the strong perfume and high degree of feminism.
Harry could tell that one of the two was more dedicated to how they look and smell rather than how intelligent and brilliant they are in mind. He took a bold risk when he made his first step into the room, stepping onto discarded trousers that belonged to Ginny. It was an educated guess because Ginny was clearly messy, while Hermione's area was clean and collected, not an article of clothing messily left on the floor.
Her bed, on the other hand, …if there was a place where Hermione decided to let everything go, it was her bed. Her bed sheets were askew, where on one side there was parchment, spell tomes and historical books with what she would deem useful in this time of crisis. On another side was some clothing that was recently washed, or has just been used. Articles of clothing like a violet coloured brassiere on top of matching knickers. He didn't bother fighting the blush creeping to his cheeks.
He understood that it was an invasion of privacy, but there was a particular kind of intrigue coming from the open book on Hermione's nightstand. It wasn't like any of the books laying on her bed and bedside, it was smaller, like a muggle book. He peered onto the pages to find written words from a quill, not print or magically calligraphed. If he wasn't mistaken, it was a journal or diary of some sort.
Harry took one look over his shoulder before picking up the book and placing the snitch in his hand in its place.
Dear Diary,
Hey, it's me again, but who else could it be right? I spent the morning outside with the boys, and girl. By spent, I mean being in the presence of their Quidditch game while I attempt to peacefully read a book about Frederick the Great Sorcerer.
Did you know he discovered that Horcrux's are incredibly difficult to destroy? Frederick had to cast a thunder spell and rune the ground around the Horcrux to magically keep it still while he struck it repeatedly with controlled thunder. The Horcrux was an empty bottle of firewhiskey of all things.
Anyways, I watched the game occasionally. Cheering Harry on to catch the snitch once again. Five years of cheering sort of became a habit at this point. He did catch it, though he didn't have that glow about him. The glow whenever he finally caught the hardest attainable object in the game. Instead, he was disdained, sad, always thinking, and it's definitely not positive. I worry about Harry. When have I never worried about that man.
Listen to that. Man. It too has become a habit. Knowing Harry like I do, it's not difficult to perceive him as a real young man, much too mature for his own age. If you combine the mental age of both the twins, and perhaps Ronald, Harry would still be older, despite him being the youngest of us three.
It's that maturity that also worries me. Harry thinks about the real problems and tries to deal with it on his own because of his annoyingly stupid nobility and bravery. If there was anyone at school that deserves to be a Gryffindor, Harry takes the cake.
Harry turned the page over, it was surprising how much she could write in such a conserved book with that neatly written, albeit small handwriting that had him struggling to understand her elegant calligraphy.
He tried to run on us the day after we survived the trip from Little Whinging. He thought it would save us, it would protect us. We have always been stronger together. Why can't he understand that after six years?
We tried to talk to him, convince him to make plans to leave the burrow to hunt the Horcruxes on our own rather than risking the lives of the Order when they are needed elsewhere. But he was reluctant, saying we should listen to what the adults say and be where we are required.
I can't help but feel that he's lying. I want to trust his words, but I know him. I told Ron about my doubts, but he didn't believe me, said I was overthinking things and told me to go back to researching. It was a mistake, us trying to be in a relationship. After all, I now realise I care more about him as a brother. We were never going to work out, with all of our fighting and all of our bickering. I'm glad we could stay friends though.
I'm going to have to deal with Harry myself before he does something he'll regret. I'm going to head upstairs because I think he's in his room right now. Be right back
There was nothing else on the latter half of the page, presumably because Hermione was yet to return and write about their moment upstairs.
Harry took another glance over his shoulder to see if he'd been caught red-handed by anyone, but the doorway was clear, and the sound of conversation downstairs reassured him.
He figured his time had elapsed in the room and placed the book shut on the bedside table. When he left the room, he pulled the door behind him, leaving ajar just as he'd found it.
Eventually, he reached the ground floor, where he found the majority of the Weasley youths around the dining table, talking to one another. Hermione sat beside Ginny and the earless twin, and across from them were Ron and the other twin, with an empty chair beside them.
'Ah! Harry dear. Napping so early in the day?' Mrs Weasley asked behind one of the countertops. Harry took a glance at Hermione, who nodded at him.
'Yeah, uh-' bringing a hand to rub the back of his head as he formulated the rest of his excuse 'Quidditch sort of got to me.'
'Yeah, you should have seen Harry on the pitch, slow as a boggart he was,' Fred commented.
'Or that might have been the old Cleansweeps,' George chimed in. Mrs Weasley hushed the boys and called Harry over to take a seat and have something to eat.
The conversation continued between the Weasley's mainly regarding the recent Quidditch game they played and how unfair one side was compared to the other, even when they agreed at the beginning it was fair. Even though each team had one twin, had one older Weasley, and had one younger Weasley, and one-plus-one. In this case, was Fleur and Harry.
Harry could hear his name being used as an excuse for the unfairness and left no comment in the conversation, there wasn't much he could say to deter it. He's been a seeker since his first year. Nor did he want to add fire to the flame and let the conversation go its own way with the Weasleys.
Picking at his food and taking the occasional bite, he looked up at Hermione, who was doing the same. They'd both had their thoughts on the moment upstairs, Harry more so since he took an extended peek into Hermione's personal life by reading her latest entry in her diary. There was guilt, but his interest superseded it.
It looked as if she makes a habit of writing about him, mostly in worry. What else was in the diary? He guessed that anyone who would read someone else's diary would be plagued with similar curiosity.
One point that worried Harry was that Hermione was deciphering him quicker than he could act. Time didn't appear to be on his side once again.
'So Harry, how's the suit fitting you?' Ginny asked, posing her head on her palms with her elbows on the table. It, to a large degree, made Harry uncomfortable. Not her question, but rather how she asked it accompanied by her attitude since their breakup after Dumbledore's death.
Originally, yes, he broke up with her to protect her from Voldemort. If ever they learnt of who she was to him, they would place her on the top of a kill or capture list to get to him. Now, with the time to think more clearly about the things that matter in his life, he couldn't help but notice the way she treated him, and the way she acted in Gryffindor house as a whole. Lavander Brown was notoriously the woman who has had a turn with every man, with the notable exception of Harry Potter. If only there was a word for that…
Ginevra Weasley, on the other hand, is subtly gaining a reputation of having the most boyfriends, and for a now-sixth year, that's quite an accomplishment. To Harry, it was unusual and made him sceptical of her intentions. Seamus told him in the dorm that she was doing it to get his attention and he should be flattered. Harry was, but when he finally did take her upon the offer of being together, he was glad for those few months.
Time lets you think, lets you reconsider and understand. His conclusion? Ginny appeared to have an obsession with him, which was only made more apparent when he remembered every encounter with her in the first three to four years he knew her. The way she would blush and leave whenever she saw him. The way she would talk about him and his heroics all summer, according to the twins. It was unhealthy, and he wasn't an expert on relationships, but he didn't think an obsession was good for one.
'I actually haven't gotten around to trying it on yet,' Harry answered, taking a sip of tea from his mug.
'Well, I can help you with it after this,' she said cheerily. Harry noticed George raise an uneasy eyebrow at Ginny before continuing his conversation with his brothers.
'I'm good Ginny, I'm thinking of talking to Tonks when I'm done.'
'Tonks?' She seemed unhappy with his answer, and he wasn't alone in his notice. Hermione even looked up from her book that she kept on her lap to glance quizzically at Ginny, 'I'm sure she's going to be busy with a bunch of Auror stuff.'
'Yeah, but even Auror's need to take a break. I'm sure she could use the company around now,' Harry whipped back, taking another pick at his food. He could sense Ginny making another excuse, but was cut off by Hermione.
'How is the shoulder, Harry?' she innocently asked. It was a simple answer. What had happened was at the closing of their Quidditch match was Harry catching the snitch. In a typical Harry manner, he would catch the snitch while simultaneously hurting himself by sliding into the ground, shoulder first. He hadn't dislocated it, thankfully. But Hermione rushed to his side dropping her books in worry, even though she knew well that this wasn't the first time he'd hurt himself catching a snitch. She cast a healing charm, and he was good as new, nothing more than that other than Harry reassuring her that he was fine. So once again…
'It's fine. Doesn't hurt at all. It's like it healed with magic,' Harry ended sarcastically with a playful grin. Hermione only smiled back and flicked some rice at him with her spoon.
Attention, now drawn from the twins and Ron, there was silence and anticipation as they looked to Harry for his reaction.
'I've fought dragons, basilisks, dementors,' he picked up his utensil and prepped it with a few pieces of rice 'and the Dark Lord himself. You dare fight me?'
He said, aiming intimidatingly at the bookworm
'Your funeral.'
'Wotcher Harry. What the bloody hell happened to you?' Tonks asked, holding back her laughter, sitting back on her elbows on the grass just before the perimeter. It was difficult to describe, the aftermath of what had happened at the dining table.
'Could you, please?' he said, gesturing at his body, flicking off some rice from his chest and shoulder.
Tonks raised her wand and Harry could feel the refreshing warmth of the scouring charm grace his body from head to toe. When he opened his eyes, he found his body cleansed of the residue of his latest battle.
When he looked at Tonks on the ground, she had a questioning eyebrow raised, to which Harry answered
'Hermione didn't want to do it herself…can't say I don't blame her.' He walked up and took a seat beside Tonks, laying his head down on the grass.
'I'm guessing you didn't come here to get me to clean you up?'
'You would be correct in your assumption Nympha-Oof!' The pound from Tonks' balled up fist upon his chest had him stopping in his tracks.
'You know the rule,' she affirmed, withdrawing her hand.
'Yes ma'am,' he said with a smile. He enjoyed teasing her, and she enjoyed the light banter. Everyone won.
'So what's up?' she asked cheerfully, her personality taking a one-eighty that didn't startle Harry anymore.
Harry's plan to go and talk to Tonks was made well before the spectacle in the bedroom. He worried about her, and he felt he had the right to be. Remus left her because he knew due to his half-breed status, he would be persecuted and hunted down. Being with her would further put her in danger.
Tonks was protected by her Auror status, which meant she had the ministry at her back, but even the pureblooded ministry have relentlessly tried to belittle the rights of half-breed beings. An example being the recently incarcerated Dolores Umbridge, who was facing jail time for her use of banned magical equipment.
But even the ministry was standing on thin ice. From Amelia Bones to Kingsley Shacklebolt, they've countlessly claimed that with the rise of Voldemort's forces, it would only be a matter of time before the ministry would fall. Everyone has taken precautions, even the wedding was a risk at this time, but people saw it as a sign of hope, to bring light into up and coming darkness. Harry saw it as an unnecessary risk.
'How are you holding up?' He asked, bringing his hands to fall underneath the back of his head to cushion against the ground.
Tonks watched him for a moment before joining him in his lay, letting her black hair sprawl across the grass.
'Still standing, ain't I? Just waiting for the inevitable,'
'And that is?' Harry asked, already knowing the answer full and well.
'The first battle,' she answered glumly.
They laid in silence, staring at the clouds as they floated by. Over the few years, they've gotten to know each other quite well, coming together and becoming good friends since their shared loss. Harry often mused that if she were a couple years younger, and not in love with a man he considered an uncle, he would make a move.
Right now, she was vulnerable. One of his lesser proud skills, being able to sense and detect vulnerability in others better than most. Either that or everyone struggles with the concept of having a caring heart. If there was anything he could thank the Dursleys for, was that they made him into a man that treasures and appreciates all that he's given. With that, he learnt to care for others, putting them before him in every instance.
The attention given to everyone he meets enables him to see more than most, to understand what they are feeling and help them. Most of the time, it was Hermione Granger.
Harry pushed himself onto his elbows to look towards the burrow
'Be safe will you. I need you here. They need you here,' now it was Tonks' turn to join him in looking at the burrow. They could see through the windows, the Weasleys chatting and laughing with one another around the kitchen. Innocence, if ever there was any left in this war, 'You may not be at your peak, but you're still one of the damn near best Aurors around. I bet Moody'll agree if he were here.'
Tonks turned to Harry, her sad look turning into a smile. She raised her hand to his cup his cheek, and Harry's thoughts immediately turned to
Is there something with my face today?
'Aww. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you just want me here with you,' she said with a sweet tone.
'I do-but I mean-you are-' he stammered, his cheeks probably giving enough heat for her hand to feel it.
'Don't worry, O Chosen One. I'm just teasing you,' she mused, removing her hand.
'Good to know some things don't change,' Harry said, smiling with his head down, trying to get rid of his blush.
'You know you like it,' Tonks teased once more.
'Maybe,' he nonchalantly added.
Tonks leaned over and nudged him with her shoulder
'Oi. If you don't watch yourself, I might just give you more than you could handle,' she said with a wiggle of her eyebrows.
The insinuation would have flown over his head had he been younger, but in the later years at Hogwarts, he'd faced more than his fair share of teasing remarks, especially after he was thrown on a pedestal by the public.
'Or maybe you'd find that you've bitten off more than you could chew.'
Confidence was something that Harry had learnt to hone in his recent year at Hogwarts. If Hermione wasn't there to keep him in check, he might have gone astray with it.
Now that he thinks about it, if Hermione wasn't there to keep him in check all those years…
'You'd best stop before I drag you off into the field for a good sn-'
'What do you think of Hermione?' Harry asked, his mind elsewhere, looking off into the burrow's windows once more.
Tonks wanted to sputter her displeasure of her tease going unnoticed and interrupted, but the attention from his eyes to the window of the burrow to the melancholic, serious tone of his voice. It was a topic that mattered.
'What do you mean?' She asked, seeking clarification. Harry nearly chuckled at his own vagueness.
In the window of the burrow was no longer the Weasley's playing around and laughing, but rather just one person, alone at the kitchen sink. You'd think it would be Molly Weasley alone in the kitchen once more, this time it was Hermione Granger. It appeared that she'd taken it upon herself to wash the dishes, the muggle way.
'How long do you think I'd last without her?' he wondered solemnly.
The conversation was already turning into a different tone when he mentioned her name, but as of the moment, it felt it was heading towards grim territory. Tonks didn't need her Auror training to be reasonably concerned.
'What are you thinking, Harry?' she asked.
He couldn't say he hadn't anticipated the concern. But making up a lie to mask his intentions was more heart wrenching than he'd initially thought
'What will happen if I lose her?' Harry let himself sigh, 'I don't think anyone understands how much I owe my life to her.'
Hermione gave a look through the window, no doubt feeling the two pairs of eyes peering at her through it. They were gentle looks, as if sombre. She returned a smile and a small blush at the attention before her eyes retreated back to the dishes she was washing.
'You know that I'm painted as a hero, a strong survivor and all that. Truthfully, if anyone cares to look into the details, I'd be dead without her.'
'What makes you think you'll lose her?'
'What do you think, Tonks? It's the same reason we struggle every day and night with the thought of never seeing another.' The tension, the atmosphere of being in the beginning stages of a full fletched war had everyone tense. More so for the people dedicated to fighting in it.
'She taught me more than any class in Hogwarts ever could,' Harry mused.
'Don't be telling that to McGonagall,' she retorted. They wanted to laugh, but they couldn't, not with this darkness hanging in the air. Harry thought this would be a way of closing up the conversation before it got any more awkward and stale between them. He pushed himself onto his feet, sweeping the backside of his trousers, then began walking back to the burrow.
'Harry.'
He looked over his shoulder at his name.
'She taught you to protect yourself. Now it's time for you to protect her, maybe?'
When Tonks said it, she hadn't accounted for Harry's underlying thoughts, which only solidified the path he had lingering in his head.
'You're right. It's the least she deserves,' Harry replied, continuing his steps to the burrow, leaving the Auror worried.
When Harry finally returned through the back door of the burrow leading into recently cleaned dining room, he followed the sound of running tap water and clinking plates.
As expected, it was Hermione leaning over the sink, exactly where he'd last seen her. On the counter were two stacks of five dishes, recently washed and dried. Unfortunately, it was only half of the number of dishes remaining in the sink. There was a distinct stressful atmosphere as she let out groans of annoyance.
'Mind?' Harry asked, sliding in beside her, gently nudging her with his shoulder.
'Please…' she answered with a breath of relief, pulling away from the sink and grabbing the hand towel on the side to begin drying her hands.
It amazes them just as it amazes others: the little words they needed to exchange to understand what the other is intending. Harry sidestepped to the sink and picked up where Hermione left off.
'Cleaned yourself up, have you?' Hermione asked with her backside against the counter as she wrapped the towel around each finger to dry them thoroughly.
'Not like you didn't help,' Harry retorted with mock sour in his tone.
'Not like you deserved it.'
'You started it,' he raised his left hand from the sink and flicked some droplets of water at her, making her reactively recoil, 'and asked for it.'
'Maybe…' she breathed with a little laugh, raising the towelette to her face to wipe the tiny specks of water. Hermione dropped the rag onto the counter and let her head fall back, and her eyes shut. Her brunette curls pulling themselves from the front side of her shoulders to slip over and drop down to barely tickle the tiling of the worktop.
A soft sigh drew his attention from the pan in hand to the girl beside him. Maybe it was the way the sun was hitting her hair and back, making her glisten and her elegance radiate towards him.
The pan slipped from his grip, forcing Harry to return his focus to the sink and grab one side of the pan as the other clashed with the pile of dishes that remained, causing a light splash to hit him in the face.
'Shi-,' Harry let out, recoiling.
He could sense his best friend roll her eyes at his mishap. Hermione reached over with the rag and gently wiped the droplets on the lenses of his glasses.
'What would I do without you,' Harry mused, cracking a smile.
'Same thing as always,' she said, pulling her hand back 'Recklessly jump head first into danger and find a way to win.'
When the words reach his ears, all he could let out was a sigh. He closed the tap and set the brush down on the side.
'Hermione, you know I'm not nearly as strong as you think I am, right?' he placed his palms on the edge of the counter 'You shouldn't believe in me this much,'
'It's not belief, Harry. I have faith in you.' Hermione said, taking a step closer to him to place a hand on the crook between his shoulder and neck opposite of her. 'Faith I've had since the first year I've met you.'
Her hand slid up his neck to his cheek, to which she lightly pulled his head to face her.
'You're the bravest, most loving man I know. You have so much to love and so, so much worth protecting. That…is more important than strength, because nothing can stop Harry Potter from protecting the people he cares most deeply for.'
She brushed his cheek with her thumb gently.
'That's the man I have faith in.'
Somehow, for the second time today, the two managed themselves in such a tense confrontation. But, like the first time, a Weasley intervened…
'Oh,' a voice at the entrance to the kitchen let slip. Hermione immediately dropped her hand to her side, and they both looked over at the source.
George stood, with a look of curiosity mixed with surprise. A few seconds passed until he returned to the wheel, at which he looked over to his side and knocked over a broom that was leaning on the wall with obvious intentionality.
'Oh, whoops. I was looking for this,' George stuttered, picking the cleansweeper from the ground and backing out of the room, giving Harry a knowing wink.
Harry rolled his eyes and turned back to Hermione, who was rubbing the back of her neck and looking out the window.
'Hermione?'
'I…have to go upstairs. Things to do, and Ginny probably needs my help with something,' was all she muttered with a nervous smile before she made for the stairs. Harry cracked a smile as he watched her ascend.
Ginny was outside helping with the venue.
He stepped into the hall, stepping over some misplaced clutter on the ground to make his way to his destination.
'You need to think more for your family.'
'You don't think I'm not?'
The voices he heard ahead were voices he knew but were also voices that seemed to be an argument. Harry approached the room and pressed against the wall next to the door to listen in.
'You know-'
'What do you expect us to do, Kingsley? Whip out the Perkins's tent and go on the run?'
'Arthur…'
Harry didn't mean to eavesdrop, but Ron had told him that Kingsley wanted to talk to him and that he was currently with his father. He recognised the item mentioned, Perkins' tent. Around four years ago, he could vaguely recall entering his first magical tent, and being in awe of the capacity of magic. He was surprised Mr Weasley still had it after all this time.
His attention rebooted when the air grew silent, and footsteps began nearing him. He pulled himself from the door and immediately knocked on the door
'It's Harry,' he announced.
'Come in,' Arthur called. Harry pushed on the knob and stepped into the cramped office space.
'Ah Harry, I was just leaving. I hear Kingsley needed to talk to you?'
'Indeed,' Kingsley confirmed.
'I'll help the others set up for the big night,' Arthur pushed himself around his desk 'Kingsley. Harry,' he bade before he walked past Harry, shutting the door behind him.
'Harry…' Kingsley said, taking him to one side with an arm, away from the door, lowering the volume in his voice.
'You deserve to know some things. Things…most members of the Order don't even know.' Kingsley sought a breath before continuing 'Dumbledore put all his trust and faith in you, more so than any other man I know. I wish to do the same.'
Harry nodded, curious, and worried…
'We're anticipating a strike at the Ministry from You-Know-Who's forces with the intent of seizing full control of the Wizarding Government. We've taken all the precautions we could to prevent this from happening, but we must prepare for the worst.'
Harry's gulping was a simple summarisation of his reaction to this news.
'Our intelligence also tells us that they intend to use the Ministry's resources to find you, Harry. You and I both know that it won't take long…'
'Because of the wedding…' Harry finished.
'Yes.'
'Whether people like to admit it or not, I'm a danger to everyone here.'
An eerie silence fell between the two, an untold, unsaid ultimatum making itself known. A card in the deck that nobody wanted to draw, but it was the only one worth playing, and cards were in Harry's hand.
'I'm sorry, Harry, for asking so much of y-'
'Just tell me what to do,' Harry interjected firmly. There wasn't a hint of disappointment in his voice, but instead, resolve.
'I take it this isn't the first time this has crossed your mind?' Kingsley asked, sombrely.
'Would it matter?' He countered.
'I guess not,' Kingsley sighed 'Here I thought you'd take a substantial amount of convincing for you to leave your friends.'
He reached into his robe to pull a battered, leather holster from a pocket. Encased within it was a wand with equal, if not, older age. The holster appeared to have been ripped and repaired a dozen times over to the point that even magic couldn't hide how much it's gone through.
'I can't imagine anyone else Alastor would have wanted this to go to,' Kingsley said, holding out the holster to Harry.
'His wand?' Harry asked, taking the holster into his hands, allowing his fingertips to run over the cracked leather.
'13-inch Blackthorn with Dragon Heartstring at its core, a prime example of a warrior's wand if ever there was one.'
Harry pulled the wand from its base, drawing it from its holster. He pointed upwards to inspect the nature of the wand, several scratches and markings revealing itself from the dim lighting of the room.
'Your disappearance will have to reach the Ministry, which is where I come in. If any information gets turned over to You-Know-Who, it must be that you are on the run.' Harry nodded once more before sheathing the wand.
'You have a tough road ahead of you, Harry. A road you alone, must take. We must have complete assurance that no one knows where you've gone. For their safety.'
'And of yours?' Harry asked.
'I don't expect to be safe in the oncoming days. I expect to be on the frontlines, buying you time to do what you've been destined.'
Kingsley reached into his robe once again to pull out a pouch.
'I took the liberty of withdrawing some galleons and pounds. I'm sure you've brought along your own, but neither of us knows how long this journey of yours will take. Merlin knows you can't be seen wandering into your nearest Gringotts at a time like this.'
'Thank you, Kingsley.'
'Arthur mentioned Perkins' tent. You may as well pack that along to dynamise your venture. You're going to have to stay on the move if you want to keep his forces off your scent.'
Harry was astonished by the amount of thought Kingsley had put into this. Harry had only gone so far as to packing a bag and booking it.
'You leave tonight under the cover of darkness on the brink of your birthday and apparate away from here. It is the only way to avoid the Ministry from being able to track where you went. We'll know you left, but not where.' Kingsley took one last look around, before continuing 'I suggest packing the tent tonight to avoid being caught. I cannot stress how important it is that no one can know where you've gone.'
'I bid you good luck, Harry.' Kingsley extended his hand to him.
Harry took his hand and shook it.
'Luck to you too, and again, thank you, Kingsley.'
Kingsley gave Harry a curt nod and left through the door.
Upon watching Kingsley make his way through the cramped hallway and out of Harry's sight, he decided to follow suit. Hearing the floo run, Harry arrived in the lounge of the burrow, alone once again.
'Arry.'
There wasn't a doubt in his mind who was the lady behind him who called his name. After all, she was a fellow fighter, someone he saw as a comrade on the battlefield as they suffered the trials of the Triwizard Tournament side-by-side. He undoubtedly surpassed all expectations of him from the world that day, including hers.
'Fleur.'
She approached him slowly, and Harry allowed for an embrace as she gently wrapped her arms around him.
'We haven't really gotten the chance to talk since we got here. I'm so happy for you, you and Bill.'
He looked over her shoulder, out the window to the tent in the open yard. All the people that were going to be attending the wedding in the following days. All of them, in danger, because of him. His mere existence was a threat to the people he grew to care so much for.
'Zank you, 'Arry,' Fleur thanked, parting from the embrace to look into his distracted eyes 'Somezing troubles you?'
'Just imagining,' shifting his eyes to Fleur, 'Y'know, how beautiful you're going to be in your wedding dress,' he said, flashing her a cheeky smile.
'Charmer,' she replied with a small blush on her cheeks.
'Is that Harry?' a voice from the same door Fleur came through asked.
'Is that Mister Delacour?' Harry jokingly threw back.
'Uh, that's not how it works.'
'Yeah…nah…' looking towards Fleur for a second 'That's definitely how it works.'
It was now Bill's turn to blush and redden like a tomato, not that it was the hardest thing for a Weasley to do.
Fleur couldn't suppress her laughter at the emasculated figure that was Billius Weasley. While Harry, with no shame, lets out a laugh and gave Bill a pat on the back. Bill let out a sigh and gave the Gryffindor a playful, rough tousle of the hair. A move Harry ducked from after enduring a second of it.
'I'd love to stay, but I need to write my well wishes for you guys,' Harry stated, picking up some stray parchment from underneath an ink pot on the coffee table he was standing next to. He didn't care much for who the parchment belonged to, but Harry needed an escape quick anyways. There was an aching feeling at the back of his head that Fleur was going to read him like a book if he wasn't careful.
Harry gave them a wave as he backed through the living room towards the staircase
'Do be nice will you,' Bill exclaimed from around the corner.
'I'll try my best.'
Under the cover of darkness on the brink of your birthday…Harry recalled as he peeked over his comforter to check the authenticity of Ronald's snoring. He picked his glasses from his bedside table and slipped them on, then carefully slipped out from under the comforters. He had already dressed before hopping into his bed to mock slumber, a tactic he perfected over his school years.
Leaning over the end of his bed to discard the laundry he'd placed to obscure the rucksack he'd packed hours before, grabbed it from its handle, and brought it over the bed to sling it on as quietly as he could, over his shoulder. It was a magically expanded bag that he'd knicked from Ron. No doubt charmed by Hermione. All that was left was Perkins's tent that was still laying in Mr Weasley's office.
Harry didn't see Ronald as a threat to his plans. His heavy sleeping would see to it that Harry would not be caught, but he had only one shot at this. So he manoeuvred around the messy bedroom, dodging trinkets and clothes to make his way to the door.
Shutting the door quietly behind him, he stood at one of the highest points of the spiral staircase that he would have to descend. There was a handful of levels before finally reaching the ground floor.
Passing by George and Fred's room, slightly paranoid that there was a trap outside their door, set to trigger should someone knock on their door, or merely walk past it at this hour. Those boys were the comic relief of Harry's tale, if ever there was a time of worry, mishap, or tragedy, the Weasley twins could be counted on to shed light on the ever darkening world. From opening a joke shop in the middle of Diagon Alley after the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named with no shame or worry.
Then there was Fleur and Bill's room, the two individuals that would be standing in the face of danger by tying the knot in the face of darkness with no fear. Fleur was a terrifyingly robust and grown woman in Harry's eyes. She was one of those ladies in his life that he would fear the most if the repercussions of his upcoming actions ever reached him. And it hardly had anything to do with the fact that she was quarter-veela. Then there was Bill, a real man that Fleur deserved, offering more than any weak-willed, drooling man could ever give her. After the tournament, Harry only wished the best for every battle-scarred witch or wizard who endured the challenges the medieval competition enforced. That goes for Viktor Krum as well.
Being under the control of the unforgivable, Imperius curse, and forced to turn his wand onto his adversaries with the ill intent of settling them in the dirt forever, was a wake-up call to the Hungarian seeker. Viktor realised that he was playing for the wrong team by allowing himself to be taught in the dark arts at Durmstrang and have it distort his worldviews. He promised Harry that he would repay him for saving him. He'd go on to leave the Hungarian Quidditch team and essentially fall off the face of the Earth. No one has heard from him since.
Harry made it down to Mr and Mrs Weasley's bedroom door, which could easily be discerned from the rest as there was a sign on the front in capitalised letters that denounced entry from anybody except the parents of the many Weasley children. He could imagine that the twins have done their fair share of pranks on their parents which eventually led to that sign being put up and to his assumption, magically bound to the door. Arthur and Molly were the closest things to parents that Harry could ever get. Even though they entered his life by accident on Platform 9 in Kings Cross, they've grown to become people Harry loved as if they were his own family. They took care of him and put food in his belly when his real family failed to do anything remotely close to that. For that, Harry was grateful for them. They were the greatest example that not everyone in the world was as horrible as the Dursleys.
He let his hand loosely grip the banister as he descended to the final bedroom. Harry remembered taking a momentary glimpse into the bedroom the day before when no one was inside, distinctly invading the privacy of his best friend by peering into her latest diary entry. There was that familiar cross of aroma's leaving the bedroom, making him wonder how they could ever handle sleeping in that room with such a strong smell about it. Then again, the durability of his best friend surpassed everyone. While the heiress of the Weasley family surprised nobody with her lack of it. Over the years, Harry came to understand the Ginny was a very, confusing lady. Her emotions were always extreme left or right, and never at a calm centre, never with serenity. Harry realised too late that his lack of understanding led to a relationship with her as she intentionally made Harry jealous. The foundation of their relationship was unstable, and it didn't take long for him to realise that it wasn't going to work out as long as Ginny saw him as the Boy-Who-Lived and not as a normal…man. To this day, Ginny's infatuation with him unsettles him, even as he called the relationship off after Dumbledore's death.
Then there was the stable minded, serene, brilliant best friend of his. The lady in his life who never left his life and never stopped believing in him. Her words the afternoon earlier still resonated in his mind. The faith that she had in him. Harry turned his head one way, shutting his eyes as he tried to suppress the emotions that were knocking on his eyelids. As much as he wanted to stay, he knew that it wasn't a matter of what he wants, but what he needed to do, for the safety of everyone he cared about. Kingsley stressed the fact that Harry was in fact right.
He felt like Dumbledore at that moment, burdened with secrets that he couldn't dare share for information was delicate. If he was to be the man everyone believed he was, the man Hermione had faith in, he couldn't do it here.
'I'm sorry Hermione,' was all Harry could muster in his whisper towards the closed door of his best friend's bedroom.
Arriving at the ground floor as quietly as he could manage, surprised that he barely caused any squeaks or creaks on his way down. He walked past the floo, taking his steps as slowly as he could, trying to see through the darkness of the house and slipped into the hallway that led to Arthur's office. He froze in place, noticing a bright white light underneath the door of Arthur's office. He took a step aside towards the kitchen and placed the rucksack on the countertop. He looked towards the clock, his eyes trying to make out the hours, minutes and seconds, but it was too dark. Then he heard a click from the hallway, likely from the door unlocking, Harry thought.
Another, softer click arose panic in Harry, his breath began to quicken and his composure to falter. He couldn't let this plan fail. Trying his best to keep his cool, he realised that there wasn't an excuse in the world that Harry could throw at Mr Weasley that would convince him that he wasn't doing anything wrong. He imagined a scenario that he was grabbing a cup of water, or that he had a headache and needed to wash his face. His mind finally settled on one solution. He unzipped the rucksack and shoved his arm in, searching for one item only.
Then the door opened, and the light source inched closer to the living room, Harry turned around to take a quick glimpse towards the clock, which was now illuminated by the nearing light. The second hand was about 20 or so seconds passed the hour. It was his birthday. He drew his wand from his back pocket and pointed it into the dark abyss of the rucksack, uttering
'Accio cloak.'
A cloak sprang forth from the hole in the bag, and he caught it mid-air, placing it over him and the bag. Well in time as a tired Weasley patriarch emerged from the hallway with his wand pointed at the ceiling with a Lumos spell cast. He took a look right into the living room, then left, towards the kitchen where Harry stood with his breath still. Arthur took an unusually long look into the kitchen and began walking over.
Harry couldn't keep his breath still forever, so he attempted to control it. He exhaled as slow as he could, followed by a quiet, elongated intake. Sounds of which were soft enough for Arthur to remain oblivious, even as he stood less than a metre from Harry's invisible form.
Arthur reached onto the drying rack to pick a cup and began filling it with water from the tap of the sink. It was worrisome, to have to turn underneath the cloak without moving the cloak itself because he had to obscure the rucksack that was between him and Arthur on the island in the middle of the kitchen.
He waited for what felt like an eternity, questions like what was Arthur doing at midnight, why did he have to drink a cup of water, why does he drink so slowly, flooded his mind. Harry grew an uneasy amount of impatience, due to the fact he was arched in an awkward position because he had to cover himself and the bag, but the cloak wasn't that large, and he wasn't that short anymore. If he wanted the cloak to cover his feet and the bag on the table, he needed to lean uncomfortably.
When Arthur finally deposited the empty cup in the sink, he started to walk away and past Harry into the living room. At which Harry let out a sigh of relief.
Which was followed by immediate regret.
Arthur turned around, pointing his wand at thin air, his eyes squinting from his tire. Harry once again, remained as still as possible, wishing that Arthur would believe that it was a figment of his imagination and leave.
To his luck, Arthur mumbled something and withdrew his wand before turning around and heading for the staircase, aching to join his wife in bed and get some rest. After all, there was a wedding today.
Harry waited a minute after he heard a door shut from the stairwell, to be safe. Eventually, he pulled the cloak off of him and stuffed it back into the rucksack. He had a little confidence in his steps as he knew that everyone had to be in their rooms by now. Standing in front of the door, he pulled on the doorknob and was offered a sound rejection as it refused to open. He pulled his wand out once more, and his second spell as a free man was alohamora, unlocking the door ahead of him into the office.
He entered the familiar room, scanning the shelves, looking for anything that could resemble a tent. Then he remembered, it's a wizards tent, he's never seen a magical tent or a muggle tent before it was assembled. After a couple of minutes searching, he found what felt like several sticks bundled within layers of cloths. There was a tag around it, held together by some string that was labelled
'Perkins,' Harry read aloud. He took off the rucksack and placed it on the office desk, opening it wide. Picking the bundle from the shelf, he carefully put it into the bag, glad that there wasn't any magical conflict between the two magically expanded items. He didn't read too much into that part of his charms class, he was more of a DADA student, as most people would know by now.
Leaving the office, not bothering to lock it behind him because, by the time the door was checked, they'd know he was gone.
They'd all know by the morning. Not because they couldn't find him, but because he would tell them himself. He approached the dining room, which was right by the stairwell. He took off his rucksack once more, this time opening the large pocket on its face, then pulling out a couple pages of parchment. He placed the parchment on the side of the table towards the stairwell and pulled out the snitch that has been in his pocket since yesterday, and placed it on top of the parchment.
When he told Bill and Fleur he was writing well wishes for them, he wasn't lying. He was writing for everyone. What kind of man would he be if he didn't at least say goodbye?
He took one last look at the stairwell, as if something inside him wanted a specific someone to come down, so that he could at the very least, say something to her since there was a good chance that it would be his last. Resisting the urge to stay any longer, he made for the front door.
Harry followed the path to the burrow one last time, walking until he was sure he was at the edge of the wards. He had to be at the border, but not outside. The wards had to detect the fact that Harry James Potter had left the premises, and it had to reach the ministry.
Satisfied with the distance he's walked, he turned around to take one last look at the Burrow. A place he was glad to call a home away from home for so many years. The people there treated him like family, as he did the same to them. He loved them, cared for them…
and love and care is the reason that he's doing this.
'I'm sorry.'