Chapter 1; THE SOUND OF SILENCE

Head down, soaked by the rain, Harry was standing in the cold evening.

He had been there since the burial ceremony had ended. He hadn't been aware of it all, actually, as he felt trapped in a maze he couldn't escape from. Dumbledore was dead, and nothing else mattered anymore. How could it? The most powerful wizard of this age had passed away, killed by a member of his own staff. Killed by a traitor, while he was on a quest to destroy the vilest piece of magic Harry had ever heard of. Horcruxes. The thrill that came down his spine had nothing to do with the cold, hard rain that had started falling about an hour ago. Harry was lost, utterly alone in the dark, and the only person who could have helped him rested in a marble tomb under his very eyes.

The task of destroying the remaining horcruxes, necessary to even think of facing Voldemort, was his to undertake. Harry's heart constricted, feeling hopeless on front of what he had to accomplish. As he had been pointed out before, he was never really prepared for that. He hadn't even finished his magical education, nor was he of age. The only reason he was alive was because of the blood protection his mother had laid on him with her dying breath, and of what his friends were willing to go through to help him. And he was now alone. Ron was out of his league, Ginny only though of comforting him, and the best Hermione could do was to provide theoretical arguments and discussions, not anything even remotely related to duelling or finding horcruxes. Remus had fled, hoping to escape the ministry-led werewolf hunt that spread throughout the country. McGonagall and Moody were busy keeping the Order from falling into chaos and despair. Sirius was dead. Dumbledore was dead.

Harry was weak, he knew it. He was even weaker than usual lately and even more so since Dumbledore had fallen from the astronomy tower. He knew he wasn't without talent, especially when provoked, or when his friends or people he knew were in danger. He could fly, too. That though almost made him smile – as if that could help in fighting dark wizards. His lips were too sore to react, so he ended up grimacing. Shaking his head, he made himself focus. He needed to find the horcruxes, a need so compelling it was almost physically painful. He had to find them, so that Dumbledore's death wasn't in vain. Harry couldn't bear the thought of his former headmaster dying in vain. Even if last years' events had somehow created a rift between them, as Harry had had a hard time adjusting to his new status of equal to the elder man, Dumbledore still represented to Harry what magic was. How good, how surprising, how exhilarating it still was, even six years after he entered the wizarding world.

And now Dumbledore was dead. Harry couldn't see how the Order would stand a chance without him. McGonagall was an excellent teacher, behind a very stern look, and Harry had a thing for the old auror: a grizzled man, who had been through hell and back, a natural survivor. But both of them were mentors, not fighters; they could lead, think, galvanize beaten troops, but they couldn't face Voldemort in battle. That was his role to play, his reason to carry on, his purpose. The sheer magnitude of it all made Harry's head spin. Yet, somewhere in all of these doubts, he couldn't help but feeling relived. He had spent his whole life suffering because of the Dark Wizard. He never got to meet his parents, was raised by despising relatives, and was threatened on a yearly basis. Because of him, his friends would never be safe. Because of him, Harry had to keep Ginny at bay when the only thing he longed to was having her in his arms. Because of him, Cedric Diggory was dead.

Raising his head, Harry gazed on the nearby silhouette of Hogwarts. The afternoon had slowly drifted into the early evening of a cold summer day, and the students of the four houses should be going to bed about now, joking, or complaining about their teachers. Tonight, none of this was happening, and in the general sorrow, nothing distinguished the venerable school from a haunted castle. The difference between the usual low humming of whirling activities and general happiness that Harry had come to associate with Hogwarts, and the gloomy atmosphere that had seized the castle since Dumbledore's passing hit him when he understood what his former headmaster had meant by love being his greatest power. His love for the castle, the staff, the students of each house (although the love he felt for Slytherin was very different from what he felt each time he stepped into Gryffindor's Common Room) and the endless little adventures and surprises that came from living with magic often threatened to overwhelm him. These feelings were the opposite of the fear, despair, madness, or death Voldemort and his death eaters strove on, and comparing the two opposite made Harry shiver with righteous fury.

The fury was a burning wire twisting in his guts, a white-hot steel poured in his mind, a reeling fire occupying each of the low breath he took. As anger shook Harry, the magic stirred deep within him, the compelling urge to act waking up something in his core he didn't even know the existence of. Power gathered, insufflating him, rushing from his limbs. Jerking his head back, exposing his face to the icy wind, Harry screamed in the night. In his shout, he poured his desperation, his frustration, his grief, his anger, all the feeling that had matured within until he was full of them. Now articulate language could express his feelings, and so he didn't try to rein them in. he let the loud shout die out of itself. Then, the throat sore, body weakened by the fury that inhabited him not a moment ago, he crumbled to his knees.

Exhausted by the power surge, he vacillated for a short moment. His weakened state had not affected his mind, however. While he recuperated, he pushed aside his grief to reassess what had just happened. Slowly raising his right arm, he flexed his fingers, almost blue from the cold rain that had not cessed to fall. Mesmerized, he paused to retrace the rush he had experienced, trying to recreate it. The only other time he had witnessed such a built-up of pure energy was the first time he had touched his wand. Taking it from out of his pants, he raised it to his eyes. The wand fit immediately inside his palm, pointed outward, out of habit. Remembering the conflicted feeling that had forced the pent-up magic to break free, he closed his eyes, and raised his wand. Carefully mustering his thoughts, he pushed aside the loss he felt for Dumbledore. He didn't want to threaten his experiment by letting his thoughts wander to very nearby white marble. This was why he had closed his emerald eyes. He knew he could do it again. And yet he failed at his first try. And his second. And his third. Frustrated, he let his control slip and the souvenirs of the Battle of the Astronomy Tower managed to spring to the foreground of his conflicted mind. It seemed like his grief would not allow him to move on. The guilt of focusing on something else than his former mentor gripped him in the guts, making him feel sick with himself. With a long sight, Harry changed of tactic.

Instead of trying to deny the sickening guilt and grief Dumbledore's departure was causing him, he mentally turned to face his inner turmoil. Baring his teeth in the effort to stand his ground in front of the maddening bits of his life with Dumbledore, he reviewed it all. The older man's laugh, twinkling eyes, aerial like walking, his fierce presence when faced with the dark arts, his usual unusual welcoming speeches, his superb spell casting. The accumulated strength of the remembrance made him cringe, but he held on. The guilt made him defiant, the defiance made him angry, the anger woke up the power again. As a single tear slipped on his check, quickly lost in the battering rain, Harry raised his arm once more, and from the tip of his wand a white pillar of light escaped, its bolt like shape thrust at the black clouds hovering over Hogwarts. That was his tribute to Dumbledore.

The power used to sustain the light pillar was tapping in his magical reserves, exhausting them quickly, and yet there seemed to be nothing Harry could do to server that link before he overstretched his strength. The maelstrom of emotion was still raging inside him, making him oblivious to his safety. He even missed the approaching footsteps coming from behind his crumbled form.

"Harry!" Ginny's concerned voice summoned him from the deep pit of guilt he had cast himself in. "What happened? Are you all right?"

Harry was unable to answer for a while. Understanding what a confused state he must be in, Ginny didn't press him any further, and let him closer to her. He buried his head into her shoulder, letting her cuddle him without a word. The seconds passed by, both teenagers getting soaked by the rain while Ginny tried to ease Harry's pain by gently stroking his hair. Then, slowly, as if hesitating, Ginny began to speak again, choosing carefully her words.

"Do you remember the time, in my first year, when He possessed me? I wasn't...I wasn't myself this year, not at all. When you put an end to all this, and we went to Dumbledore's office, I was so scared I even though of escaping rather than face him. I hadn't done anything wrong myself, but I didn't think I'd be able to convince Dumbledore. And yet, when we spoke together, he never doubted my recollection of what had happened. I'm sure he must have thought about it much more than he let out, but for a while I could face myself in the mirror. His approval, his dismissal of any wrong from my part even made me guiltier than before, if that was possible. I put up a brave face every day, but every night I used to cry myself to sleep, almost all summer long. And do you know what I understood then?"

Harry pulled himself up, revealing the silent tears he had been shedding, and face her, a hollow expression not quite leaving his green eyes. Ginny's heart constricted at seeing him like this. There shouldn't be so much pain in those eyes! There should only be the exhilaration of flying or playing pranks, living the life he had been denied since he was one year old. The despair made her fierce, hardening her resolve.

"Nothing should eat you alive, Harry. There are things in this world we have no leverage on, things that infuriate us, things that we don't understand. But be it as it may, and let us face the future undaunted. The past is spent, and there's nothing to be done about it. The best thing we could do is to honour the dead, but to live on for them. And for ourselves. Don't give up, Harry. Don't give up on life, because I'm not giving up on you."

The silent sobs softly shacking Harry had ceased, and, still kneeled, he straightened up. Ginny's hand cupped around his chin, and, now apprehensive, she whispered. "Come back to the castle. Come back to the fire so we can dry ourselves." She didn't dare add "come back to me" as she tentatively leaned in to kiss him.

He kissed her back, slowly at first, but quickly gaining assurance until he poured his loss in the kiss they were sharing. His lips moved ever so lightly on hers, raising goose bumps that had little to do with the rain. She stroked his neck, then his cheeks, desperately trying to deepen the kiss. Without seeming to pay attention, he pulled back, a shy smile on his lips, eyes still closed, and pressed his forehead against hers.

"Okay, Ginny. Let's go back to the castle."

They got up, knees shaking from standing so long in the rain, and began to walk back to the castle. The night was fully there now, and just a few lights here and there betrayed any activity in the old castle. Slipping through the gate, they let themselves in, not wanting to attract attention. Harry's spell that had generated such a blinding light must have been missed by the students and the staff, who didn't want to look by the window in the direction of the white tomb, or mistaken for a thunderbolt. Ginny had seen it because she had been out looking for Harry, who hadn't come at the evening's meal. Beside her, still grasping her hand as they crossed the shadows of the corridors, Harry walked, lost in his thoughts.

Still conscious of Ginny's warm hand, Harry made his way to the common room. Once there, he sat on a sofa next to the fireplace. Taking his head in his hands, he silently watched Ginny conjuring warm chocolate for the two of them. He took the one she was offering him, and appreciated the fact that she let the silence undisturbed, preserving the eerie of the moment, letting them mourn on their own, and yet together. He had to think.

He would not be coming back to Hogwarts next year, of that he was sure. There was just no way he was going to sit back and relax for one more year while innocents were dying. He felt he owed that to them, and to Dumbledore. The old man had laid down his life in the fight against the Dark Lord, and now Harry was going to step up to his mentor's commitment. That meant leaving Hogwarts' security behind, and facing the outside word. He would let Hermione and Ron behind. He would of course keep in touch with them as often as possible, but they could be allowed to accompany him. Hermione was the brightest witch Harry had ever seen, but she was a perfectionist. In a fight, she would lose the split-second difference between victory and defeat by trying not to fire just a spell, any spell, but by trying to find the exact best spell for any given situation. She would be of a greater aid by planning for him, searching for items he would have overlook, and tracking down anything related to Horcruxes. Harry would have preferred to have Ron with him, to know his mate had his back, but he needed him here, because of what he had to say to Ginny.

Carefully keeping his emotions in check, Harry began speaking. "Ginny…I've been thinking."

"Thinking about what, Harry?" Ginny raised her head from the chocolate cup she had barely touched.

"About us. About what I have to do next. Dumbledore left some things unfinished, and I think he meant for me to take it up after he…after he passed."

"What did he left you?"

"I'm sorry Ginny, I can't tell you." Harry shifted on his seat, uneasy. He hated not telling her the truth, but that was the only way he would get her to agree to stay behind. "I promised I wouldn't tell anyone but Hermione and Ron."

"But wouldn't you, like, need some help to do whatever it is you have to do?" Ginny got closer to Harry, sitting on the edge of his sofa. She put away her mug, clenching her fists. "I'm not getting left behind, Harry. You know I can fight, and I've got as many reasons as you to go after Voldemort." She desperately tried to control the raising edge to her voice, knowing it would only prevent her from convincing him. Boy, could he be thick when he was trying to be noble!

"No Ginny, I'm not letting you behind. I'm leaving everyone behind, including Ron and Hermione. I'll be going from place to place next year, and I won't have it happening to you. If anything happened to one of you, I wouldn't forgive myself."

"Well you can't protect me from this war, Harry, not either way. Because if you leave me, I'm not going just to sit back and relax while the death eaters pick up my family, one after the other. I'm fighting, Harry, with you, or the Order of the Phoenix, or with the Dumbledore's Army. Too many of us have shied from or responsibilities in the past, but no longer." Staring right into his eyes, she added, defiant. "Beside, would you like it if your girl just waited for you quietly at home? Is this who you think I am?"

A tired smile came to Harry's lips. He loved her so much went she was like that, the fiery red-head ragingly victorious of the Quidditch cup he had kissed in front of the whole House without even caring of the other's reactions. His smile broadened, and began to move to kiss her, the urge to touch her almost too powerful to resist. He caught himself up, but barely, and saw her frowning as he drew back. This was going to be much harder than expected, and yet part of him hoped Ginny would stand up to him and find a way so they remained together. Part of him desperately wanted her by his side.

This was how Ron and Hermione found them, Harry constricted by what he had to say, Ginny torn between annoyance and worry. Ron, who was the first to enter the common room, straightened up, taking in the faces of his friend and of his sister.

"Hey, what's going on here, are you breaking up with my sister or what?"

Annoyed, Ginny cast him a sour look, and fired back. "What about you? What's the reason you're coming back here well past midnight? Did you finally ask Hermione out?"

Both Harry and Ron gaped, while a very red, and yet strangely smug Hermione came out from behind Ron. Taking his hand firmly, she answered with a weak voice. "As a matter of fact, he did. I was relaxing in the library, he came to find me."

"Well, good for you." Winking at Hermione, Ginny turned to smile at her brother. "And you, now you've come to your senses." As the couple came closer, she jerked her head to Harry. "Not to be a buzz killer, but I'm going to need some help here. Harry's being 'noble' again."

"You make it sound like I'm being stupid" mumbled Harry. "Look guys, all I want is for you to stay safe, is that impossible to understand?"

"Harry, we understand you concern." Hermione, who had seated next to Ron in front of Ginny and Harry, pattered him on the lap. "but you can understand we feel the same way about you, can't you?"

"That's not the same thing, Hermione, and you know that. I can't just turn my back from this fight, it is mine. Remember the prophecy."

"What Prophecy, Harry?" Ginny pressed his hand, desperate for answers that might help her understand where Harry was going.

Sighting heavily, Harry turned to face her. Gazing into her eyes, he began to speak. "Last year, when I gathered the D.A. to go to the Ministry of Magic, do you remember Malfoy's bickering about a prophecy? It turned out it was actually important, or at least Dumbledore's thought so. Well, he said it was because Voldemort thought it was, but that's not what matters. I'm supposed to finish him off, Ginny. Or to d-die trying." The night's heavy emotions finally caught up with him, making him stumble on the last part.

Ginny forced a smile, grasping his hand even stronger, whitening her joints. "Well, if you think I'll let you dump me after this one…dating the Boy Who Lived, who's also the One…" Closing her eyes for a short while, she mustered her feelings, and addressed him as if oblivious to Ron and Hermione. "You can do it, Harry. I know it. I believe in you, but stop saying you'll die trying. I won't let it happen, okay?"

Harry stood up, slipping his hand out of hers. He gazed at the fire, letting Ron and Hermione exchange puzzled looks, and Ginny cringing, drawing her hand he had just abandoned back to her chest, grasping both hands, fighting the feeling of rejection. Slowly, with an otherworldly tone, he began to recite the verses he had heard almost a year ago.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches

Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies

And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not

And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives

The One with the power to defeat the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies"

Harry's low breath sounded very loud in the silence that fell between them as Ginny took in what she had just heard and two very worried Ron and Hermione monitored her reaction. Harry had closed his eyes tight, bracing for the next round. He knew his friends would press even harder to accompany him, out of compassion or worry. He would not – could not – allow it.

"Well," Ginny broke the silence, as if reluctantly. "it's not as if it's a surprise, is it? We've always knew you'll have to finish him off, Harry. You wouldn't rest otherwise. It's just going to be harder and longer now Dumbledore…I mean, you'll need us all the more Harry. Don't turn you back on us."

Casting pleading looks to Ron and Hermione, she silently asked for support. Hermione was the first to rally her.

"Harry, I know you think Dumbledore left you something to do. It's just…he never intended you to do it entirely on you own. He asked you to tell us." A frown and a nod from Ginny made her hurry to press on. "Beside, you weren't much older than Ginny is now when you learnt what it is you have to search."

Harry sharply turned to face her, fury in his eyes.

"You wouldn't dare! Don't you dare tell her what I'm hunting down!" It was his turn to turn to Ron for support, while Ginny snorted. "Ron, mate, you've got to help me on this one. It's your sister!"

All eyes on him, Ron took his time to answer. When he did, he addressed Harry, not the girls.

"Are you absolutely positive you have to do it on your own?" A sharp nod confirmed it. "Okay. I suppose there's not much we can do to convince you otherwise."

Both girls began to protest, but he stopped them on their tracks, raising his hand, still looking right at Harry.

"If that's how it's going to be, could you answer a question, and make a promise?"

Uneasy about this sudden change of tone of the conversation, Harry nervously shifted on his feet. Regaining his seat next to Ginny, but careful not to touch her, he nodded Ron to go own. Ginny, still looking hurt, stiffened when he sat, but didn't try to take his hand either.

"The question first then. Will you try to come back as often as possible? I'm not going back to Hogwarts next year, and I plan to help the Order, so you won't have to worry about having a secure spot to rest. Think of it as a back-up shelter, okay?"

Once again the centre of attention, Harry looked in turn to his friends' expression. Ginny's face was closed, not betraying any emotion. Ron was merely waiting for his answer, although his hand was squeezed tight around Hermione's. Hermione was the most worried one, her eyes going between Harry and Ginny.

"I suppose I can. It won't be often, not a chance, but I need to keep in touch anyway, in case something happen."

Before the girl started protesting, Ron hurried to say, grinning "Yeah, don't expect to survive the fit mom's going to throw if you don't show up at Bill and Fleur's wedding, you know, now that Phlegm's the better thing that happened to our family in a long time if you ask mom."

Ginny barely suppressed a surprised laugh while Hermione drew closer to Ron. It was the first time Harry heard him call Fleur like this, which made him smile. They were the best friends he could have wished for, and he loved them so much for that. But that was exactly why he had to do what he was doing – no one was being hunted down and hurt because of him. Putting on a sour mask, he pressed on, his voice hard.

"And what's the promise?"

Both girls looked startled. Ron responded, smiling shyly.

"I know and we know, Harry, that you think you're alone in this. But you're not. Would you promise to call us for help anytime you need it, or before you face Him?"

Despite himself, Harry couldn't help but being impressed by his friend. Whether it was a side effect of Ron's chess skills, or his uneasiness with feelings, but he had Harry cornered. From confusion, hope had flared in Ginny's eyes, while Hermione, feeling very proud, lightly kissed Ron in the neck. Harry, despising himself for what he had to do, was reduced to play his last card. If alienating his friends was what it cost to keep them safe, them he would go on with his plan.

"Yeah, like it would help me to take care of you while I'm battling Voldemort. Remember the Ministry, Ron, you ended up a burden. Hermione, you're much more helpful in a library, where you belong. You're certainly not a fighter. If you want to help, come up with a secured communication device we can use, and send me info on my prey. Ginny…"

Harry braced for her reaction. Ron's look and Hermione's shock already told him he had succeeded, and that his friends would not object to him leaving. With some time, they might come up with new arguments, but he would not leave them the opportunity; he was leaving at dawn tomorrow. As soon as he had taken care of Ginny, he'd leave to his room.

"Ginny…I don't want you."

Staring in Ginny's brown eyes, he watched as the young girl's expression went from surprise when he began peaking, doubt when he stopped, shock when she understood his statement was more general than Voldemort's matter, and finally pain as her eyes filled with tears. The hurt reverberated in all her body as if she'd been hit. Getting up on her feet, ragingly whipping the tears out of her eyes, she faced him.

"Is this what you want then, Potter?"

Making himself to look right at the havoc he was forced to cause, Harry stood up too.

"Yeah, this is."

As the girl he loved stormed out of the room, Harry felt like his heart had stopped beating. Fighting the urge to run after her to console her, he kept his false features on, and addressed Ron and Hermione, shell-shocked at his sudden change of behaviour.

"If there's nothing more to whine about, I'm leaving."

For a long time in Gryffindor's Common Room, the burning wood was the only thing disturbing the calm of the night, as Ron tried to bring solace to a crying Hermione.

When Harry woke up the next morning, he was alone in the bedroom. He assumed that Neville had gone to the great hall for the breakfast, and that Seamus had come back home. He supposed a lot of worried parents would come and collect their offspring now Dumbledore was no longer here to guarantee the school's security. Ron was nowhere to be seen either, probably sulking from last night's conversation, or, if Harry was lucky, comforting both girls and still trusting Harry would do the right thing. No, Harry chastised himself, he shouldn't hope for such things. He had to bear the burden of doing the right thing, even if he was the only one aware of it. Beside, constantly thinking about his friends and worrying about them would only made it easier for Voldemort to get to him the next time he would use legitimacy on Harry.

Passing his hand in his hair, Harry rubbed his scar. He had no recollections of what had happened once he had leaved the common room, but he must have hit the sack at soon as he got there, because he was still fully dressed. His scar had hurt sometime in the night, a result of the evening's conflicted emotions. Or of Voldemort's joy, Harry darkly assumed. Dumbledore gone, he would already picture himself Minister of Magic, undisputed ruler of all Great Britain.

The only thing preventing him from collecting his plunder was a rapidly vanishing group of scattered and scarred survivors whose leader had just been killed by a traitor. And a sixteen years-old boy who suddenly felt very alone and powerless.

Trying to shake himself out of a mounting felling of despair, Harry packed his school stuff in his trunk, changed to his muggle clothes, and prepared his Firebolt for the flight. Magically shrinking his trunk, Harry transfigured it in a black backpack. He shouldered it, casting a last glance at the room that was his for six long and happy years, and turned his back on Hogwarts.

Circling the venerable castle, feeding his memory before nostalgia took its toll, Harry saw his friends walking to Dumbledore's tomb. He debated whether or not to join when, and was about to turn tail without further ado when he saw a white winged form making its way to meet them. Suppressing a sight, Harry leaned on his broom, and raced Hedwig. Emerging from Gryffindor's tower, he zigzagged close to the ground, going at breakneck speed to catch up with his owl. Try as he might, he still got there second, stopping to a standstill in a heartbeat before dismounting in front of his friends, leaving the white tomb between them. Hermione suppressed a throb, but Ron, whose arm was cast across Hermione's shoulder, smiled tentatively to Harry. Harry nodded, happy to see that there was at least a relationship that would be easy to mend. Ginny's expression was torn, a mixt between fierce defiance, proclaimed indifference, and red eyes. Hedwig had chosen to rest on her right shoulder, and was eyeing Harry disapprovingly.

Oblivious to the other's presence, Harry spoke softly to her.

"Would you care after her please? I can't take her with me." Hedwig's offended howling didn't manage to distract him for Ginny's sight. He refused to break eye contact with her, postponing the moment of departure as much as possible, reluctant to leave.

"I will. Take care of yourself, Harry." Tears menaced to overwhelm Ginny confidence, making her squeezing her eyes tight to avoid crying in earnest.

"I will" was his answer. Without adding anything, he swung his leg over his Firebolt, took a deep breath, and without turned to say goodbye to his friends, kicked hard the ground to take off.

Head up, bathed by the sun, Harry flew in the warming morning.