Ugh, I feel like I was trampled by a herd of Hippogriff.
Harry, blearily, opened his eyes, feeling completely drained, but at the very least, he was alive.
Not sure that's such a good thing, if this headache turns out to be permanent.
He moved his head to one side, trying to move it to a cooler part of the pillow, and realised as he did so where he was. His old longtime companion and secret mistress: the hospital wing.
I'd say it's good to be back, but somehow, the thought makes me ill.
He shook his head slightly, and regretted it immediately as a wave of dull aches sharply pricked across his skull, like a dozen knives stabbing into his head. This was not his idea of a good start to the day at all, and he raised a hand to try and suppress the pain in his head by pressing his fist against it. As he did so, his hand brushed past something soft, and quite a bit fluffier than his sheets. Looking down, he saw a bushy mane he'd know anywhere, and for the first time since waking he smiled. Well, it was more a grimace, but it was as close as you get after the kind of pain he'd endured.
What -was- that?
He now fully began to regain his sense of time and place, and realised he must be here because what had happened wasn't a dream. Somehow, that made the memory of the pain worse still, and the aches in his body seemed to become clearer and sharper as he recalled what had brought them about. It still didn't answer his unspoken question though: what had happened? He knew it had to be his scar, if the still considerable pain centred on it was anything to go by, and he could think of no other explanation that would make sense.
It's odd though, I don't remember any visions of anything. And besides, it's been calm for ages.
That thought worried him; had the link reopened with Voldemort? Was it ever closed to begin with? As he considered that, he realised with mounting horror that, surely, the pain had to be related to Voldemort in some way. But usually, there was some obvious explanation, some kind of vision, or a dream, or a sound. Something, anything. He remembered next to nothing though. He did feel however, a sense that there was something he should remember, just beyond the edge of recollection, and the feeling was driving him mad as he tried in vain to haul that something back into his conscious thought.
It was as he wrestled with his thoughts that Hermione, still with her head beside him, had begun to stir, and he was distracted immediately, eyes snapping to the back of her head.
Has she been here all night? Wait, how long have I even been out?!
Worry began to creep through his mind as he tried to establish what day it was, but the hospital wing contained no real reference points. There was no calendar of any kind in sight, much less a clock to go by. Again, he was pulled back to the present as Hermione stirred again, and this time made a few grunting noises, before beginning to move her head, rubbing at her face and eyes. He waited until she turned to look at him before speaking, not wanting to startle her.
"Hello Hermione, we have to stop meeting like this."
He didn't know it, but shock at Harry's being awake quickly changed to joy in Hermione's heart, as that simple, decidedly Harry greeting, blew all her fears for any lasting damage to him away, scattering them to the winds. It was with a widening smile, and a warm if cautious hug, that she greeted him back.
"Hello Harry, you do need to stop putting yourself here to begin with."
Harry chuckled, but regretted it quickly as his chest cried out a protest and pain shot across him again. He winced slightly at this, and Hermione's face took on a clear look of worry again as she watched him clutch himself tightly.
"Are you OK? Do you need Madam Pomfrey?"
Harry shook his head, though not looking too convincing given his still evident discomfort and, deciding the nurse would be furious if she wasn't summoned to check her patient on his waking, she moved away to get her, sending an apologetic look at Harry, knowing how much he hated the fuss Pomfrey always brought. He was still too distracted with his aches however, and she knew she was making the right decision.
She returned a minute later with Madam Pomfrey moving quickly to Harry's bed, examining him closely.
"What on earth is it about you that you always seem to end up back here, Mr Potter? You're keeping me in a job, but I'd prefer it not be done in such a dramatic manner."
Harry, silently acknowledging the rebuke, smiled a little back at her, and gave a simple apology in reply. Pomfrey tutted, and began prodding and poking him with her wand, as well as administering several exceedingly disgusting potions to him, and he was sure to grumble throughout it all, just as she was sure to ignore every mutter without comment.
Her examination done, Madam Pomfrey moved back from him, vanishing the empty bottles and giving him and Hermione stern instructions to remain here until the headmaster arrived shortly. Harry tried pointing out that he was, after all, not exactly going anywhere fast in his condition, but knowing him as she did, Pomfrey clearly didn't trust him. Nor for that matter, and to his consternation, did Hermione who, as Pomfrey left, made a point of sitting on his bed, effectively sealing him under the covers, before moving a soft hand to his face, stroking his cheek lightly in affectionate greeting. He really did smile then.
"I'm sorry, Hermione."
"Don't you even dare try it Harry Potter," Hermione cut off his apology, still looking at him affectionately but a slightly reproving edge entering the hand on the side of his face, which near enough pinned his head facing her, and his eyes looking into her own. "If it weren't the fact this happens to you so often, I'd hear your apologies, but there's no point apologising when more likely than not you'll end up here again before either of us are much older."
She spoke sternly, but Harry knew she was simply hiding her relief under the mask of pragmatism she always used when she was scared or worried. He smiled at her, not replying for a moment and placing his own hand over hers on his cheek.
"I suppose you're right," He paused for a moment, eyes going a little distant as he sunk into thought, before he asked, "Do you know what happened?"
Hermione shook her head, worry showing on her face again, her mask cracking, as she looked down for a moment, doing her best, it seemed, to calm herself.
"We were hoping you'd tell us that, me and Dumbledore I mean," she replied, anticipating Harry's question before his eyebrow had even begun to raise, "You just collapsed suddenly, a few minutes after we said goodnight last night. I heard you...yelling, and I found you on the floor, curled up and shaking. I was scared Harry."
She really did look angry now, but he now she wasn't really angry at him, just upset by the memory and probably angry at her own helplessness. He pressed her hand against his face a little firmer for a moment, and as he did so, a memory returned to him. That touch. It was a vague and blurred memory, but he knew that touch had helped him somehow. He just wasn't really sure how. He spoke again, voice full of gratitude that he couldn't properly understand, but new she needed to know he felt.
"Thank you, Hermione. I don't know exactly what happened, but you probably saved me."
She looked blankly shocked at that, not knowing really what to say, but his gratitude almost rolled off him, washing over her and she finally felt calm again. He was safe, he was Harry, and that was all she needed. She leant over and placed a gentle kiss on his lips, moving back and smiling at him, their faces a bare inch apart.
"I don't know that I can take the credit for that, but if I did, I'd do it again, and without any hesitation."
He smiled widely up at her now, returning his lips to hers briefly and gently, and as best he could, he assured her with his gaze that for him, the same was true. That certainty about and for each other they shared was unbreakable, and with that, nothing else could ever compare. It was the security and the safety he'd always wanted, and he found he felt just as much joy to be able to offer it to her as to receive it from her.
They remained close together, Hermione lying beside him, clearly still exhausted from the night's events until, some time later, the doors to the hospital wing opened and Professor Dumbledore swept in, eyes lighting up as he saw the two of them.
It was strange, really. Harry thought that he should feel embarrassed, he ought to feel embarrassed, especially in this intimate moment, with his headmaster sweeping in. Yet, as he looked up and met his headmaster's smile, he found he didn't really care to move away from Hermione, and she certainly wasn't going anywhere. Instead, he chose to greet his headmaster as he always did.
"Good morning, sir, I hope you're well?"
Dumbledore near enough beamed until his face split, clearly delighted Harry sounded so much like he always did, and returned the greeting with his usual flair and enthusiasm.
"Good morning, Harry. I am very well, though I had hoped to find you tucked up in your tower, or, indeed," he added with a small, conspiratorial wink, "curled up on a couch with your companion, though I assure you I would not be so rude as to barge in there. In any event, how are you feeling?"
Harry smiled, a little red faced at his headmaster's typically embarrassing form of humour, before responding with similar enthusiasm.
"I feel great now, a bit sore, but much better."
Dumbledore continued to smile, and drew up a chair to sit beside Harry's bed while also, in his usual thoughtful fashion, summoning one for Hermione too. It would, after all, be pushing it a little to remain curled up with her when the headmaster's inevitable questions came. Still, he noted with happiness that though she slid from him and sat on the proffered chair, she kept her hand firmly clasped to one of his own on the edge of the bed.
The headmaster smiled at Hermione in greeting, which she returned a little shyly, but with Gryffindor courage, met his gaze, before both she and Harry look expectantly at the headmaster. After a few moments of thought, Dumbledore spoke.
"Harry, I apologise for coming to you so soon after waking, and disturbing the two of you, but I do need to ask some questions."
Harry waved away the concern in the headmaster's voice with a smile, giving him a clear look to indicate he knew it needed to be done, and was willing to help if he could. Dumbledore smiled at him again, before pressing on.
"Well, I'm sure Miss Granger has already asked at least some of them, but first and most important: do you know what happened yesterday evening?"
Harry frowned, still struggling to recall the events that had led him here. He remembered beginning to undress, then a sudden, incredible pain, losing his ability to see or hear, and collapsing to his knees. He sighed as much in frustration as pain at the memory, and tightened his grip slightly on Hermione, who returned it silently.
"I'm really not sure, Professor. I think it was my scar, but, well, the pain was everywhere." Dumbledore's eyes fixed with his, waiting for him to continue. "I'm sure it was my scar, really. It's the part that hurts the most now, and although my whole body felt like it was tearing itself apart, my head was the worst." He shuddered a little at the memory, his knuckles now turning white as he gripped Hermione's hand, who neither protested or showed any sign of discomfort. Encouraged by her touch, he continued again. "I can't clearly remember anything professor. No voices, no visions, no anything. If it was Voldemort, I don't know what happened. Has he done anything sir, is he back?"
The headmaster sighed, shaking his head and disappointed, though not surprised, that Harry had little new information to give. He had expected that it would take time, given the severity of the mental attack, though it thankfully left no permanent damage it seemed, for his clarity on what happened to re-emerge. Fiddling with the sleeve of his robes slightly, he answered as best he could.
"As far as the Order or I know, nothing has happened, Harry. No attacks have been reported, no Dementor sightings, no hint of Tom's presence. Yet, I agree with you, he had to be involved, no other explanation makes sense."
Dumbledore seemed to consider his thoughts for a few moments and they all fell into silence, fear settling into the pit of Harry's stomach again, an anxious fear born of the uncertainty of not knowing what, if anything, had happened. After a few moments, Dumbledore sighed again, and met Harry's eyes with a stare that scared him. His headmaster rarely looked so grave.
"Harry, my dear boy, I have decided today that there are some things you need to know, and they are not good news, I'm sorry to say. It is also likely to be very...upsetting. If you wish to speak in private...?"
Harry didn't even need to shake his head, or Hermione to ask, he gave both the headmaster and Hermione a look that said it all: whatever was said was for all three of them, or not to be said at all. To his surprise, Dumbledore smiled a little at this, and he realised the headmaster almost certainly expected this. He knew Harry as well as anyone after all, with the possible exception of Hermione of course.
"Very well. I want you to know Harry that I have kept this to myself, not because you didn't deserve the knowledge, or because you weren't ready for it. In this case, and I beg your understanding, I did not speak because I in truth did not know if my suspicions were true. As such, I didn't wish to burden your already heavy shoulders with yet more awful thoughts. As it is...I think we no longer have any choice, as there is no longer any doubt."
The headmaster paused, and Harry, though dread was building in him as surely, he could tell, as it was in Hermione, given the incredibly sad expression on his headmaster's face, nodded his head, accepting the apology his headmaster was attempting to give, and believing him, knowing he was sincere. From Dumbledore's expression, it was clear his unspoken thoughts were reaching him, and he seemed to steel himself before pressing on.
"You will, I'm sure, recall well that Tom has created horcruxes to prolong his existence. Your assistance, Miss Granger, in finding new ways to destroy those has been much appreciated, I might add," Dumbledore spoke with a smile to Hermione, who smiled weakly back, but waiting for him to reach the point.
"I have suspected for a long time Harry, that when he first attacked you all those years ago, his destruction caused more than his physical banishment from your home. As we've discussed previously, multiple horcruxes was an idea until now never attempted, given the incredible damage even one does to a soul. I suspected that after seven of these creations, his soul must now be utterly devastated and that, when he was defeated by you the first time, part of it may have been, for want of a more academic and precise term, loose."
Harry said nothing, mind working quickly to digest this information, and as he looked at Hermione, he noticed her face had gone deathly pale. She knew what the headmaster was hinting at but Harry, sluggish as his mind still was so soon after waking, could only stare at Dumbledore, his confusion evident on his face. Dumbledore sighed deeply, breaking eye contact for a moment, before continuing.
"When he was destroyed, I suspected your scar, the night Sirius and later Hagrid retrieved you, might be more than the remnants of a curse. There was a distinct and significant magical aura around it, what I call a signature, of sorts. I knew it well, as no other aura had been so strong and distinct in my long life: it was Tom's."
He paused, sighing deeply again. Hermione's eyes, Harry noticed as he looked at her, were reddening fast, and tears were beginning to run freely. He wished he was able to sit up and wipe them away, but could only squeeze her hand firmly again, willing her to feel his mental hug of reassurance. He was growing impatient to learn what the other two seemed now to know, and asked: "So what does that mean, did he leave a curse on me then? Is that why I can see the visions? Talk to Snakes?"
Dumbledore looked at him sadly, and nodded his head.
"In a manner of speaking, yes, I believe he left a curse. Specifically, I believe he made you, entirely by accident, his unintentional and to my knowledge final, horcrux."
Harry's world went dark. He couldn't speak, couldn't even make a sound. Hermione was sobbing openly now, and threw herself onto him, but he couldn't even bring himself to comfort her. He felt like he was falling, falling down a deep pit, and everything was flying away from him. Then the sting of pain hit him again, and as he reached up to clasp his head in pain, as Hermione and Dumbledore both leaned over, alarm evident in their faces, he finally remembered what he was so sure he'd forgotten.
That presence. It was -him-
He felt sick, so much so he had to lean over the side of the bed, dry heaving as Dumbledore quickly summoned a bucket for him to use, but he had nothing to bring up and only retched, the sound dry and the bile in his mouth burning.
He remained leaning over the bed for a minute longer, feeling completely sick to his stomach. Feeling violated. It explained everything: the voices, the visions, the Parseltongue, the sorting hat. Everything fell into place like a morbid and lethal jigsaw. I was never alone, not from the moment he killed my parents.
As he finally regained control of himself he leaned back into the bed, body burning now not only with pain, but pure, unadulterated anger, and his eyes blazed as he looked at Dumbledore. He was finally able to pull Hermione, still crying, tightly to his side to reassure her as best as he could without words. Then he spoke, voice hard and cold.
"It was him, headmaster. I don't know exactly how it happened, but I remember the feeling clear enough now. It was...that thing inside me. It attacked me last night. No..."
He paused, the pain of the memories beginning to release from the dam he'd probably subconsciously blocked them behind rushing over him in a tidal wave. Gathering his thoughts, with Dumbledore, looking both upset and anxious for him to continue, he began to put his thoughts to words.
"It wasn't like anything I'd felt before. I could feel him inside me, sir. I could feel him trying to get out. It was like he was trying to tear me apart from inside my own head. And he was happy."
Dumbledore didn't respond, his own shock, horror and disgust evident in his face, but something else lurked there too: anger. It reminded Harry again, as it always did on those rare occasions Dumbledore grew angry, that the kindly old man was still the most powerful wizard alive. He could feel the energy puling around them like the beginnings of a hurricane, but knowing it would never harm him, or more importantly, Hermione, he said nothing as the headmaster continued, evidently, to think. After a while, he spoke again.
"Then it confirms my worst fears, Harry. Your words confirm a number of suspicions I'd had, but it doesn't really fit in with what we know. Harry, horcruxes are capable of independent actions, up to a point, but in your case, it was largely suppressed by your own, stronger, will and, literally, soul. That Tom's horcrux attacked you now is odd, but might be explained as an attempt at freedom, which ordinarily I'd maybe accept. However..."
Dumbledore paused yet again, and Harry could almost hear his mind whirring with activity as he considered the possibilities.
"This disturbs me. A horcrux attempting to possess the host would make sense. But attempting to destroy the host and escape, when a horcrux cannot exist without a host to begin with? It makes no sense."
Harry didn't speak, he had no idea what to say to that, and clearly, Dumbledore was now descending deep into thought. It was clear that answers weren't coming today. However, as he sat in silence, rubbing Hermione's head gently in the way he knew she loved, she finally spoke, her soft voice vibrating from her chest to his own, but the feeling offered no soothing as she spoke her next words.
"Headmaster, if what you say is true, Harry's horcrux has to be destroyed."
Harry's mind really did go blank at that, the simple, horrifying realisation he hadn't come to. No, hadn't admitted. It was a death sentence. Nothing more, or less, and spoken so softly, so gently, by the one person who made him want to live the most. He almost couldn't bear it, this was worse than the feelings of physical pain the night before. This painful, almost soul-shattering realisation, left him feeling hollow and empty, as he simply stared at the headmaster, whose face confirmed everything.
Dumbledore didn't say anything, and Hermione didn't even cry. She just turned and looked up at Harry, and as their eyes met, he felt himself almost die at the sight. The pain in her eyes was a thousand times worse than his own. Because he had caused it. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair. After all they'd come through, after how far he'd come with her, after what he had finally begun to feel. And it was all for nothing.
He simply pulled Hermione to him, and she buried herself into his chest, shaking with silent sobs, and he felt himself ready to do the same. But he had to be strong, and growing up with the Dursleys, you learned to be strong, fast. He simply stared with empty eyes at his headmaster, waiting for him to speak.
"I'm truly sorry, Harry. I cannot tell you how much I wished I didn't have to tell you this, that it wasn't true."
That did it. Those words broke Harry's final barriers down, crashed through the false and paper thin front he'd tried to put up. Not even his headmaster could help him, could help them. He would die, he'd lose Hermione, lose everything, and there was nothing he could do. His face crumpled, and he simply buried himself in Hermione, unable even to cry, simply hiding himself in the one person who gave him so much joy, so much reason to live, and completely broken that he had brought her to tears so many times in such a short time.
Albus Dumbledore said nothing, he couldn't say anything. He knew this had to be said, that they had to know, and it tore him apart completely. For the first time, even with all his crimes, he truly felt hatred for Tom Marvolo Riddle. A boy with such promise, who had done nothing but bring this kind of misery to so many. Knowing that as a fact was bad enough, but seeing the consequences before him, for a boy he'd come to view as family, it was enough to break him.
Finally, he spoke, standing as he did so, and deciding he couldn't simply sit here and watch this a moment longer. He pushed his magic out, enveloping the both of them, in the way his phoenix had long ago taught him, filling them with all the care, compassion and love he could. Willing them to calm. As he did so, he spoke his vow, and he needed no wand to make it unbreakable.
"I promise you, the both of you, I will find a way to remove that curse from you, Harry. Tom Riddle will never win, not so long as the three of us live to stop him."
Harry and Hermione looked up at the headmaster, feeling his magic, and in that deep connection Dumbledore opened up to two of his most prized students, most prized friends, he would surely say, they felt his own sorrow too, and his own sense of helplessness. This shocked them out of their own misery, to not just see but feel their headmaster, their guide and in many ways, their idol so vulnerable. Without a word, reaching in to the deepest and most basic roots of magic, they used that connection to return the headmaster's comfort, and this seemed to surprise him deeply, but not as much as the words Harry spoke. Though he spoke them alone, he could see in Hermione's eyes she shared every word.
"You won't do it alone, sir. We're in this together, and we'll find a way. After all," and Harry smiled softly, cleansing the last of the headmaster's own fears and replacing it with the confidence he was always famed for, "With us, Slughorn, and the best damn school in the world at our side, what chance does a halfblood with a bad attitude and daddy issues have?"
That simple, completely Harry vow, finally brought back the sound that the hospital wing, and the empty school, so desperately needed to hear again. The simple sound of laughter. The sound that reminded Harry, with a sense of shock and dismay, that it was Christmas day.
And it was meant to be such a wonderful day too.
But then he realised, as the headmaster left them, with his first ever full and warm hugs to the both of them as he did so, that despite everything, it didn't matter what happened that day. She was with him, they were with him, as was Slughorn, he knew, and all his friends, and the Order. So many people still remained by him, so many people he could protect, and nothing else mattered but that. That thought was the greatest gift.
He turned to Hermione, smiling at her apologetically as she looked at him, clearly confused at his expression.
"I'm sorry I don't have my present with me Hermione, and for ruining it, but happy Christmas!"
She looked at him, blinking slightly as it dawned on her too, then she smiled, and leaned in for a quick kiss.
"You could never ruin it, Harry. We're together, and that's all that matters." She kissed him again, slightly longer this time, and it was with a dizzying warmth going to his head like firewhiskey that he grinned at her as they finished, "Happy Christmas, Harry." As they enveloped each other in another, warm hug, he knew that, for today at least, their problems could wait. Today, like tomorrow, and every day after it, they would never let Tom Riddle beat them.
