Disclaimer: Now really, you wouldn't believe me even I told you I own all these characters.
One-
"You don't see it, do you?" Hermione nearly screamed, wringing her hands in anguish.
"Hermione, I couldn't depend on her protection," Harry snarled, pocketing his wand, "if Voldemort is going to find me anyway, my aunt won't be much help."
"But she was your mother's sister!" Hermione wailed, both hands now clutching the doorframe, "She was your own flesh and blood; she had a husband, a son!"
"They made my life a living hell." Harry explained in a voice so calm it sent shivers down Hermione's spine, "Now I'm giving them a taste of what I endured for seventeen years."
"No one deserves that!" Hermione cried, "You could have just ran away from home, but you killed her. You could go to Azkaban for that."
"You're the one who doesn't understand," Harry began, his eyes sweeping over the cold form that had once been his aunt, to his friend, ashen and frightened, her eyes still wide in the horror she had just witnessed.
"This isn't about whether I'll go to Azkaban or not," he continued, "it's about defeating Voldemort. Neither can live while the other survives, remember? The sooner I kill him, the sooner we can carry on with our lives."
"Harry!" Hermione sobbed, "Harry, we can't just continue on in our lives. This isn't something that can be brushed aside once it's over. This is so much worse, you have to tell someone. Tell Dumbledore!" She pleaded, trying to steady herself on the floor that now seemed to heave and shake beneath her.
"Right, because he's always been there for me." Harry spat, glaring at her.
The wind seemed crushed out of Hermione's lungs as his piercing eyes cut into her heart. She staggered back, as if struck, the tears on her cheeks flowed silently but she forced her mouth open to say one more thing. "Harry," she started softly in a broken voice, "everything that's happened recently is like a grotesque distortion of who you really are. You speak of killing Voldemort, yet you, like him, have blood on your hands. You, like him, have lost all reason."
A silence smothered the atmosphere, and she watched as her friend's face paled, but then darkened with fury.
"You don't know what you're talking about. You haven't felt the pain I have endured. Face it Hermione, this isn't something you can just learn like words from a text. This is something that you have to suffer, to survive, to understand and use your own excruciating torture to twist to your advantage."
Harry's eyes blazed with a firey gleam as he expelled the last few words. Hermione bit her lip, overwhelmed with too many emotions. Giving him a fleeting glance, she hurried out of the main room and up stairs to her own room. She collided hard with another body, but kept stumbling up the stairs.
"Hermione!" She heard Ron call, but she just threw herself into her room and lay weeping on the bed.
"You and Harry have another fight?" Ron asked softly from the doorway.
Forcing herself to sit up, Hermione tried to form words to express how she felt, but ended up just falling back staring at the ceiling.
"I knew he'd be upset when I saw that that horsey looking aunt of his came to visit him." Ron barreled on, "I mean, he has to live with that family most of the summer, can't she just leave him alone?"
"She's dead!" Hermione finally errupted, more tears streaming down her face, "She had to tell Harry something, something about how this was his last year he was going to stay in her household. He started yelling at her, and-and-"
Her breath now ragged and gasping, Ron sat down on the edge of the bed, bewildered, and persisted for her to finish.
"Oh Ron, he killed her!" Hermione sobbed, throwing herself on his shoulder. She felt his whole body go rigid as the news sunk in, but somehow through all the thoughts that were racing through his mind, he managed to wrap a comforting arm around her and draw her close.
The two sat in silence until Ron began, "I should talk to him."
"He won't listen!" Hermione quavered, "It's as if he's forgotten who he is. All he can think about now is killing Voldemort."
"If we both go down there," Ron started slowly, "we might be able to talk some sense into him."
"I can't." Hermion breathed with a shaky exhale. Ron nodded, patting her on the back, "You write to Dumbledore, and I'll go talk to him."
Hermione nodded, and watched as he left her room, until every reluctant footfall on the step grew distant. Then, brushing aside her tears, she went over to the desk, and began to write.
Ron, meanwhile, trudged down the steps, thinking of what he would, or could say to Harry.
Harry, his friend through everything, had changed so much since their fourth year. Sirius's death and then Neville's had sent Harry into a torment of reeling guilt and remorse. It hadn't been Harry's fault that Neville had revealed himself to the death eaters. It hadn't been Harry's fault that they decided that the other candidate for Voldemort's downfall wasn't safe to live. If only things could go back to the way they had been.
Ron sighed, and stepped down the final stair to the flagstone floor of the Leaky Cauldren's dining area. He thought of all the times they had shared in that very room; the meaningless banter of Fred and George, the continuous remarks of his mother; Percy in a frenzy to find his headboy badge.
The redhead looked around the room as if he had never seen it before. On the cold floor lay the sprawled out body of Mrs. Petunia Dursley. Ron nearly retched at the sight, but forced it back down.
Then he realized that Harry wasn't anywhere visible.
"Harry?" He called, his voice falling flat in the room.
"Harry, are you under the invisibility cloak?" Ron asked, casting his eyes into every corner.
He remained silent for a second, straining to hear the smallest sounds that would betray Harry's presence. A swish of cloth, a supressed cough, the brushing of a hand against another surface.
Nothing.
Harry was gone.
One-
"You don't see it, do you?" Hermione nearly screamed, wringing her hands in anguish.
"Hermione, I couldn't depend on her protection," Harry snarled, pocketing his wand, "if Voldemort is going to find me anyway, my aunt won't be much help."
"But she was your mother's sister!" Hermione wailed, both hands now clutching the doorframe, "She was your own flesh and blood; she had a husband, a son!"
"They made my life a living hell." Harry explained in a voice so calm it sent shivers down Hermione's spine, "Now I'm giving them a taste of what I endured for seventeen years."
"No one deserves that!" Hermione cried, "You could have just ran away from home, but you killed her. You could go to Azkaban for that."
"You're the one who doesn't understand," Harry began, his eyes sweeping over the cold form that had once been his aunt, to his friend, ashen and frightened, her eyes still wide in the horror she had just witnessed.
"This isn't about whether I'll go to Azkaban or not," he continued, "it's about defeating Voldemort. Neither can live while the other survives, remember? The sooner I kill him, the sooner we can carry on with our lives."
"Harry!" Hermione sobbed, "Harry, we can't just continue on in our lives. This isn't something that can be brushed aside once it's over. This is so much worse, you have to tell someone. Tell Dumbledore!" She pleaded, trying to steady herself on the floor that now seemed to heave and shake beneath her.
"Right, because he's always been there for me." Harry spat, glaring at her.
The wind seemed crushed out of Hermione's lungs as his piercing eyes cut into her heart. She staggered back, as if struck, the tears on her cheeks flowed silently but she forced her mouth open to say one more thing. "Harry," she started softly in a broken voice, "everything that's happened recently is like a grotesque distortion of who you really are. You speak of killing Voldemort, yet you, like him, have blood on your hands. You, like him, have lost all reason."
A silence smothered the atmosphere, and she watched as her friend's face paled, but then darkened with fury.
"You don't know what you're talking about. You haven't felt the pain I have endured. Face it Hermione, this isn't something you can just learn like words from a text. This is something that you have to suffer, to survive, to understand and use your own excruciating torture to twist to your advantage."
Harry's eyes blazed with a firey gleam as he expelled the last few words. Hermione bit her lip, overwhelmed with too many emotions. Giving him a fleeting glance, she hurried out of the main room and up stairs to her own room. She collided hard with another body, but kept stumbling up the stairs.
"Hermione!" She heard Ron call, but she just threw herself into her room and lay weeping on the bed.
"You and Harry have another fight?" Ron asked softly from the doorway.
Forcing herself to sit up, Hermione tried to form words to express how she felt, but ended up just falling back staring at the ceiling.
"I knew he'd be upset when I saw that that horsey looking aunt of his came to visit him." Ron barreled on, "I mean, he has to live with that family most of the summer, can't she just leave him alone?"
"She's dead!" Hermione finally errupted, more tears streaming down her face, "She had to tell Harry something, something about how this was his last year he was going to stay in her household. He started yelling at her, and-and-"
Her breath now ragged and gasping, Ron sat down on the edge of the bed, bewildered, and persisted for her to finish.
"Oh Ron, he killed her!" Hermione sobbed, throwing herself on his shoulder. She felt his whole body go rigid as the news sunk in, but somehow through all the thoughts that were racing through his mind, he managed to wrap a comforting arm around her and draw her close.
The two sat in silence until Ron began, "I should talk to him."
"He won't listen!" Hermione quavered, "It's as if he's forgotten who he is. All he can think about now is killing Voldemort."
"If we both go down there," Ron started slowly, "we might be able to talk some sense into him."
"I can't." Hermion breathed with a shaky exhale. Ron nodded, patting her on the back, "You write to Dumbledore, and I'll go talk to him."
Hermione nodded, and watched as he left her room, until every reluctant footfall on the step grew distant. Then, brushing aside her tears, she went over to the desk, and began to write.
Ron, meanwhile, trudged down the steps, thinking of what he would, or could say to Harry.
Harry, his friend through everything, had changed so much since their fourth year. Sirius's death and then Neville's had sent Harry into a torment of reeling guilt and remorse. It hadn't been Harry's fault that Neville had revealed himself to the death eaters. It hadn't been Harry's fault that they decided that the other candidate for Voldemort's downfall wasn't safe to live. If only things could go back to the way they had been.
Ron sighed, and stepped down the final stair to the flagstone floor of the Leaky Cauldren's dining area. He thought of all the times they had shared in that very room; the meaningless banter of Fred and George, the continuous remarks of his mother; Percy in a frenzy to find his headboy badge.
The redhead looked around the room as if he had never seen it before. On the cold floor lay the sprawled out body of Mrs. Petunia Dursley. Ron nearly retched at the sight, but forced it back down.
Then he realized that Harry wasn't anywhere visible.
"Harry?" He called, his voice falling flat in the room.
"Harry, are you under the invisibility cloak?" Ron asked, casting his eyes into every corner.
He remained silent for a second, straining to hear the smallest sounds that would betray Harry's presence. A swish of cloth, a supressed cough, the brushing of a hand against another surface.
Nothing.
Harry was gone.