Disclaimer: I'm afraid that my limited brain capacity would never allow me to produce such a wonderful concept as Harry Potter, nor would my finances allow me to buy him. Therefore, I regretfully state that I own neither Harry Potter, nor any other characters that you may recognize. I'm not even sure if I own the plot.

Note: I'm assuming that you already know the basic story of Harry Potter from books 1 through 5.

'Italics' stand for thoughts/letters or text

Chapter Twenty-One: Hermione's Help

Canon dimension:

After leaving Dumbledore's office, Harry ran blindly, as if by running he could leave the awful images he had just seen behind. Unfortunately, it was not so. Before long, he collapsed, shaking, in a deserted corridor.

"What am I going to do?" he moaned to himself. "Voldemort's going to kill me…"

He thought, truly thought, about what the Headmaster had said: "Do you know that people look up to you as a beacon of hope? You carry a great responsibility on your shoulders."

Sure, Harry knew that people looked up to him; he had enjoyed that immensely…but as a sign of hope? What if he failed them? Never before had he doubted his ability to live up to the world's expectations, but then he had not seen or known of Voldemort's power. The memory duel in the courtyard had just confirmed that he could hardly hope to stand up to the Dark Lord without some kind of miracle.

"If I can't kill Voldemort…I'll be…humiliated!" Harry mumbled. "I'm the Boy-Who-Lived; I'm supposed to be able to defeat him…"

"Harry?"

Harry's head snapped up. "Wha…Hermione? What are you doing here?"

"I'm a Prefect," Hermione reminded him. "I was making my rounds. What are you doing here? It's after curfew. I know Professor Dumbledore wanted to talk to you, but you should have been done before now."

"I…er…w-wanted to take a walk," Harry stammered, trying to think up an excuse.

Hermione frowned. "You wanted to take a walk," she repeated slowly, "so you came up here to an out-of-the way corridor and then sat down talking to yourself?"

"Um…yeah."

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry. You may not be my Harry, but I still know you better than that. What were you really doing?" Stepping closer, Hermione raised her wand, which was glowing from the Lumos Charm, and peered at Harry. His face was white, and he wore an expression of utmost dismay and confusion, as if the very foundations of his world had been shaken. Much as he tried to hide his distress, it was painfully obvious that something was wrong.

"Harry…are you okay? What happened?" Hermione asked immediately, kneeling down next to him. "Are you sick?"

The other teen stared at her with wide, desperate eyes. "Hermione," he whispered, "how am I going to kill Voldemort?"

For a moment, the two Harrys ceased to exist, and Hermione saw only the same scared little boy that she had first seen on the Hogwarts Express four years ago. Leaning forward, she impulsively hugged him. "Oh Harry…you don't have to kill him. Professor Dumbledore will protect you—"

"But I'm the Boy-Who-Lived," Harry interrupted. For once, he sounded unhappy rather than proud of the title. "I have to fight him. It's what people expect. Everyone knows I did it once, so they'll expect me to do it again."

"So what? It's your life, Harry. You don't have to live by the stereotype of the Boy-Who-Lived. Don't you want to be your own person?"

"Well…I don't know. I just don't know. But I don't want to fight Voldemort!"

"I know," Hermione said gently, "but you're right in saying that everyone expects you to. I wish you didn't have to fight either, but you're right in the middle of things. You-Know-Who isn't going to give up, now that he's back."

"So what do I do? I…I don't want to…die."

"Hmm…train, I suppose. Maybe you can't stand up to You-Know-Who in terms of power and knowledge, but you can at least learn to defend yourself," Hermione pointed out briskly.

"Train? You mean, like study and practice spells and stuff?" Harry queried, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

"Yes. Don't look at me like that, Harry. You can't ride off your fame forever. What are you going to do after Hogwarts? Not everyone will just hand you a job because of your title."

"Ah…all right," Harry agreed reluctantly. Pausing, he hesitated for a moment before adding, for the first time in his life, "I wish I wasn't the Boy-Who-Lived."

A faint grin appeared on Hermione's face. "You aren't so different from my Harry after all."

Although he didn't know why, Harry felt a faint surge of pleasant surprise at her remark. "Er…thanks."

"You're welcome. Come on, then, you need to get back to the dorms before a teacher finds us," Hermione urged, offering him a hand. She pulled him to his feet and they started off down the corridor.

Author's Note: I'm not quite happy with this chapter. Something is a little off about it…I'm no good at writing deep characterizations or anything, so please let me know what I can do to improve it.