Chapter Twenty Nine
I hope that you can all find it within yourselves to forgive me for this one.
Hermione's words reverberated around the top of North Tower.
When we leave this place, either you will be mended. Or I will be broken.
Harry slowly removed his hand from the blackened wall and ran it down his face wearily, smudging a trail of ash down his cheek.
Hermione moved a few more steps into the room, her wand held tightly in a fist. She maintained a collected façade but deep inside, in a place where nobody had ever seen before, she was more afraid than she ever had been in her life.
She waited for Harry to start cursing her, to shout, to glare, anything but this awful silence. But he simply looked at her, then started walking towards her.
Unconsciously, Hermione tensed her muscles, anticipating an attack, but then he slid right past her, their shoulders almost touching as he made for the door.
He was running away.
Not this time.
Hermione swivelled on her heels and pointed her wand at the doorway. "Protego Maxima."
Delicate threads of icy blue magic surged out of her wand and wrapped themselves around the entranceway, a glowing shield bouncing into place.
Harry stopped mere centimetres before it. He didn't turn to face Hermione when he asked quietly, "What do you want? I made my stance very clear last time we spoke."
Hermione took a deep breath, and when she spoke, her voice sounded awfully loud in that hollow room. "And I'm going to make my stance very clear now. If you want to leave, you're going to have to fight me."
"I could best you in a duel easily." Still, Harry did not turn. The only sound other than their voices was the soft, warbling hum of the shield charm.
"I'm not going to give up on you, Harry." Hermione took a step nearer. "Maybe you remember this, maybe you don't, but once I said that I will always have your back. You didn't want me, but the truth is… I never left. And the time has once again come to protect you. That's exactly what I'm going to do. I'll protect you from yourself if it's the last thing I do."
"Why couldn't you just stay away?" choked Harry, and he looked over his shoulder at her. His eyes were welling with barely contained emotion. "I didn't realise that there was anything particularly difficult about that."
"Everything about that is difficult!" snapped Hermione, throwing up her hands. "I'm not going to leave you alone until…" her voice broke, but she pressed on. "Until you have gotten down on your knees and apologised to me for everything you said."
Harry's jaw worked and he glanced away. "There will be no apologising if I meant every word of it."
Her heart sank, it threatened to shatter into millions of pieces, but Hermione held it together. If she couldn't rely on herself, then she could rely on no one. She plastered a scowl across her face and said harshly, "Look me in the eye when you say that. Look me in the eye, and I'll believe it."
Harry's gaze flickered to her, like a candle in the wind, but did not settle on her.
Hermione grimaced. "I know you're still in there, Harry, and I'm going to find you."
Harry broke. "This is me!" he roared, rounding on her, and his hair lifted, rustling in an invisible breeze. "Me! I am Harry, I'm just Harry, why can't you see that? Why can't you… why can't you leave me alone? Why can't you let me live my life?"
Hermione puffed up her chest, though she wanted to cry when she saw him like this. "Because you would be living a lie, and I can't allow that to happen to you. I know that Tom Riddle cast a False Memory Charm on you. I know that he has turned you into his puppet, and that is a despicable act."
"I am no one's puppet." But the words were uncertain, wavering.
A chance.
"I know you, Harry." Hermione slowly approached him, wand dangling loosely in her grip to show that she wasn't a threat. It was as if she was speaking to a child, a child who had been taught all the wrong things at such a young age. "I know you better than anybody else in the world, and this isn't you. Let me help you–"
"Don't patronise me," Harry hissed and pointed his wand at her. Hermione came to a halt. She hadn't seen him take it out. "I'm leaving, and I'm leaving now. Drop your shield, Hermione, or I'll break it by force."
"Fine." Hermione's gaze hardened. "I suppose we'll have to do this the hard way."
Harry looked at her suspiciously. The black smudge of ash beneath his eye was like a stark bruise on his skin.
Outside, the rain had begun falling.
Hermione circled the room, her heels drumming against the ground rhythmically as she walked. "Answer me a few questions. When you have, I promise that I'll drop the shield. There'll have to be no fighting. Just a few innocent questions, then you can go."
"I'll answer them as I see fit, if at all." Harry lifted his chin to stare down his nose at her. A manoeuvre he had almost certainly learned from Riddle.
As I thought.
Hermione smiled grimly and began pacing. She dragged one finger along the Fiendfyre soot across a wall and held it up. "Describe Rowan Poole to me."
Harry sneered. "Filthy."
Hermione struck up a second finger. "Describe the Creevey brothers."
"Infuriating."
A third finger. "Describe me."
"Condescending."
There was no hesitation. Perhaps she had been wrong…
"Are we done here?" Harry swivelled to face the shield, stretched across the doorway like a massive spider web. "If you don't remove your charm this instant, I am going to–"
"What about your mother?"
There was a pause. "What about her?"
Hermione's eyes drilled into the back of Harry's skull. "Describe her."
Another pause. His voice ached when he said, "My mother… was a coward."
Hermione gave a small shake of her head, almost unnoticeable.
She had found the stitches.
"Your mother was anything but a coward," she said softly. "I think you know that, deep down."
Harry's head was bowed, his hands trembling at his sides. "She… that night, she tried to save herself. She abandoned me."
"Is that the lie Riddle planted inside your head?" Hermione gazed out into the rainstorm. "Is that the biggest lie of them all?"
Harry's voice was almost imperceptible beneath the rattling of water droplets striking the roof overhead. "It's not a lie."
"It is, and you know it." She did not remove her eyes from the rain, this beautiful downpour which would be the one to wash away all her past fears and regrets. "Your memory of her is the deepest and darkest one that you possess. You first heard her voice when you were thirteen, remember? The Dementor was sucking at your soul, and you heard her crying, begging. I know you did. Because that it the memory you hold closest to your chest, isn't it? That is the memory that you keep tucked away inside a secret place, the place where your soul also belongs."
"I heard her begging for her own life." There was a tremor in Harry's voice and he pointed his wand at the shield barrier. "I answered your questions and you promised you'd drop the shield. Now do it."
"Riddle made a mistake to target that particular memory," said Hermione. She was so close, it was too late to back out now. "That memory is dear to you, Harry, and no matter what he has done to it, I think that you'll always know the truth."
"That is enough." Harry shot a spell at the barrier, but it was half-hearted and ricocheted straight off. He swore under his breath. "Fuck."
He attempted another spell, but again it bounced away. Now Hermione could see straight through him. Harry could have easily broken the shield by now, if he really wanted to. But there was a hollow cavity within his chest which wanted to hear the truth. A cavity which no lie could ever fill.
Hermione took slow, meandering steps to stand behind him. "You have a spirit which has been protected by a mother's sacrifice."
Another spell surged towards the shield. The spell was flung straight back at Harry, and it knocked his wand out of his hand. The useless length of wood clattered on the ground noisily.
Harry dropped to his knees, cradling his head as if he could shut out Hermione's voice.
"You have a scar which has seen a mother's sacrifice," Hermione continued, relentless, and there were tears in her eyes.
"Stop," Harry moaned, rocking back and forth, back and forth, a child in need of comfort after a long and dark night alone.
Hermione stooped down and picked up his wand, running her finger down the crack along its side. Jagged, rough. It was like a copy of the mark on Harry's forehead.
Her will hardened. "And you have a heart," she said, "a magnificent, beautiful heart, which knows the truth."
Harry was undone.
Great, wracking sobs split the atmosphere and Hermione looked down upon this broken boy who had seen far, far too much pain in his short life.
"Enough," he gasped. "I'm begging you. That's enough."
And so Hermione stopped.
"I'm sorry," he continued, tears streaming down his cheeks like rivers, his forehead pressed against the cold ground. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but it was all one big trick, it was all one big magic trick."
Hermione froze, and time froze with her. There was a single moment in which the world stopped spinning and she became untethered, forgot all that she had ever known. Then she whispered, "What did you say?"
Harry reared upright to stare at her with massive eyes. His nose was stuffy from crying, his eyes bloodshot, and there was a red mark on the middle of his forehead from where he had pushed it against the ground. "There was never a False Memory Charm," he breathed, licking away tears from the corners of his lips. "It was all an act."
Hermione dropped to her knees beside him, his and her own wand held limply. "I… I don't understand."
Harry hiccupped, scrubbed at his eyes with the backs of his hands. "I can't pretend with you anymore, Hermione. I tried so hard… but I can't do it anymore. What I'm about to tell you… you've got to swear you'll never repeat it aloud, not to another living soul. And when the night is over, I am going to have to pretend again, and you are going to have to stay away. Do you swear it?"
Hermione met his eyes, too bewildered to even comprehend what was being said. "I still don't know what you're talking about. Are you saying… Riddle never cast a False Memory Charm on you?"
Harry laughed, a cruel sound which hurt her ears to listen to. "He did, and he broke my heart because of it."
Hermione leaned against a wall, not caring that it was covered in soot, unable to tear her eyes away from Harry, Harry, returned to her at last. "Explain."
"It… it started with Rowan Poole's death. No, it started before that." Harry turned his wet eyes out the hole-in-the-wall window. His eyes had never been more green than they were now, glowing like cat's eyes in the dark. "It started on the night of Slughorn's Christmas Party. The night Tom and I finally got together. The night that I realised I was going to help him, even if it cost me my life.
"I clearly recall Tom saying that night, 'It's too late for me.' Too late for him to be healed, to amend the ways he viewed the world. That wasn't good enough for me. It's never too late for anybody to fix their ways. But I didn't know how to prove that. I spent night after night thinking about it, but nothing ever came to me. I don't have your scholar's mind, Hermione. The only thing I have is determination, and so I wielded that to my advantage.
"But then Rowan Poole happened. He tried to kill me, and I ended up killing him. Something I can never forgive myself for, no matter what he has done previously. I'm not a killer. I'm meant to be the one who saves people. But I failed."
Hermione stretched out a hand, took Harry's fingers and squeezed tight, never wanting to let go. "You're not a knight in shining armour, Harry. You're just a boy. Saving the world is not your duty."
Harry squeezed back and blinked back more tears. "But if I don't try, then who else in this whole fucked up world is going to?"
"Oh, Harry." Hermione crawled over to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, leaning her head against his shoulders. His body was cold, and her heart was breaking for him, all over again.
"It seemed that everybody was against me after that. I was shunned, hated. People wanted me to commit suicide – I heard their whispers. Even you disappeared, Hermione, for a while." Hermione opened her mouth, but Harry interrupted her before she could even begin. "And I don't blame you. Poole was your friend, and nothing will ever erase that. I even convinced myself at one point that you also hated me. The world had turned its back on me, and as much as that hurt, it made it easier. To do what I had to do. I was already the villain in their eyes, so what was the harm in properly playing the part?
"One day, Lestrange approached me in the library. He told me that Tom was going to cast a False Memory Charm on me, but that I shouldn't worry. It would do nothing but erase the pain I felt. It would heal me, and they would all take care of me. We would be brothers. I would be living a lie, but it would be the sweetest of lies.
"At that point in my life, I was weak, I was broken. I wanted to give in. I nearly did. I would have happily accepted the False Memory Charm, because I had nothing else left to turn to."
"What changed?" asked Hermione softly, and Harry leaned his head against hers. He sniffled.
"'Oblivion,'" he murmured. "'The weak man's salvation.' That's what I thought to myself as I sat there on the library ground, all alone. And as I thought it, I realised what I had to do.
"My entire life has been an uphill struggle. No weak man could survive that, but here I am today. I knew that I wasn't weak. I knew that I could never be weak, it's not a luxury I can afford. I wasn't about to give up, despite everybody who told me to quit. I happened to be sitting in the Charms section of the library, so I got straight to reading. I hit the books like I never have before, because I knew that it was my last chance. That night, Tom was going to get inside my head and mix it all up. Something I couldn't allow. I read for hours but it was useless, until I finally read about a witch called Adeline Fantomworth, who had been able to resist a False Memory Charm by sheer force. No one knew how, but that small snippet of information was all I was going to get.
"That night, I felt when Tom entered my head. I saw the false memories when he released them, they fluttered around like thousands of loose sheets of paper, lost in the wind. Those memories fought to hold my real ones down, and I allowed them to for a few seconds, so that I could learn exactly what Tom wanted me to see. I saw that he had changed my uncle, aunt and cousin. I saw that he had changed the Creeveys, you. He had even made Draco Malfoy out as a great person. And then I saw an image of my mother, trying to save herself. I have never been angrier than when I saw that. It took all I had, even more, but I managed to shut all those false memories into a box and throw them into a chasm which I never visit. And then I grew a rose forest around my mind, filled with thorns, so that Tom could never see inside my head again, so that he could never see that I had rejected all his memories. He never suspected a thing.
"But when the sun rose the following morning, so did the most difficult task. I had to pretend. I had to lift my head high and become the Harry that Tom had attempted to create. Sometimes I stumbled. But it was an almost flawless façade."
"Why didn't you tell me?" Hermione lifted her head, gazed at Harry. "I could have helped you, you're not cut out for this kind of thing."
"I didn't tell you because…" Harry swallowed loudly. "Because you had to believe it, too. If you, the great and mighty Hermione Delacour, believed the act, then Tom Marvolo Riddle sure as hell would as well."
"I could have pretended."
"You're hardly an actor." Harry smiled slightly. "Neither am I, for that matter, but I had somebody I loved that I was doing it for, and that was what pushed me to do it."
"Riddle," said Hermione, her voice harsh. "I cannot honestly believe that you could love him after what he tried to do to you."
"I love him dearly." Harry looked out at the rain and sighed softly. "I loved him dearly. He betrayed me, but nevertheless, this was a task that had to be done."
"But why?" Hermione gripped his hand tighter. "You haven't told me why you did it."
"I think I have." Harry's lips twitched sadly. "Tom once told me that it's too late for him. I was – am – trying to prove him wrong. You see, my job has not been seen through completely. I have yet to prove that a person who has crossed into the darkness can emerge in the light again."
"You're going to hold the façade until you 'become' Light again?" demanded Hermione. "To prove to Riddle that it can be done? Exactly how long are you planning to do this for? To pretend?"
"However long I have to." Harry set his jaw. "These past weeks, I have said and done some horrible things, Hermione. And I'm sorry for it, but it has to be done if I am going to one day show Lord Voldemort to see the light again."
The entire time they had been speaking, the charm which kept their true voices concealed began to fade, as it did every night until refreshed in the morning.
By this point, Hermione could hear Harry again, the Harry she had known for seven years, and there was her own voice – true and pure, with no lie to cover it up.
Up at the top of North Tower, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger spoke together for the last time. One final night before the act was to begin again.
Harry took his wand from Hermione's hand and held it up to the dim moonlight through the barrier of rain. The crack in it was bold and black. "This crack appeared after I cast the Cruciatus Curse," he said. "My own wand thought that I was a different person, that I was misusing it. Soon, I'll have to purchase a new one. When that happens, would you… would you keep my old wand safe for me?"
"You would give up your original wand?" asked Hermione disbelievingly.
"My wand is not loyal to this new Harry," said Harry, his tone grim. "The time will come when I can return to myself. Then I'll find you and I'll reclaim this old thing. When that day arrives, I hope it will be a much brighter world we live in."
Hermione shook her head – tears were beginning to fall from her eyes, all over again. "I don't know if I can do this."
"You have to," said Harry fiercely, pulling away from her. He stood and extended a hand to her. "This is exactly why I tried to hold you at arm's length, but you forced my hand and now you're obliged to become an actress in this play. Promise me, Hermione, that you'll follow through on this."
Hermione looked from his face to his extended hand, then back again. Then she accepted his hand and was yanked to her feet. Setting her lips into a line, she said, "I'll do my best."
Harry let out a breath of relief. "Thank you."
Biting her lip, Hermione reached for him and pulled him into one final embrace. She said into his ear, his soft hair tickling her nose, "You were cunning, Harry. You are cunning, more so than I could have ever anticipated. More so than any other person I've ever known. But maybe that's a good thing."
Harry wrapped his arms around her, cradling her close. "I became a Slytherin," he said, and there was an underlay of sadness in his voice. "When in Rome, do as the Romans do."
Hermione let loose a little hiccup of air. "I'm going to miss you, Harry Potter," she whispered.
Harry's grip tightened just a little, but he said nothing, and they stood there with their arms around each other, the closest embrace either had ever shared.
An ear-splitting crack fractured the moment.
Harry and Hermione jumped a foot in the air without relinquishing their hold on each other as the shield charm was broken into thousands of pieces.
In stepped Tom Riddle, and there was murder in his eyes.
"Tom," whispered Harry, horrified, and then realised that his arms were still around Hermione. He released her quickly as Mulciber, Lestrange and Nott followed their ringleader into the room, silently appraising everything in sight. "It's not what you think."
Hermione was shaking her head in tiny little motions by his side, as if she was trying to communicate something to him in silence. Her lips were pressed thin and white. But Harry couldn't read her.
"Harry," said Tom, and his voice was quiet. Too, too quiet. "Where has your French accent gone?"
It took a few seconds to register the question and then Harry slapped a hand over his mouth. He hadn't even realised that the voice charm had worn off. Between his fingers he breathed, "I can explain."
"Then explain." Tom was barely concealing his fury. It pulsed in his eyes, a black energy, and it frightened Harry. "I've had enough of this. Explain to me why you have had a French accent this entire year, but it has suddenly become English. Explain to me why it is that Delacour was wrapped around you like a common street whore. Explain to me why it is that your paternal cousin is a Mudblood, born to two Muggles, and yet your father is a pure-blood. Explain to me how it is that a Muggle and a pure-blood could be siblings. Explain to me, Harry, I'm waiting!"
His voice began rising in volume until it was a full-blown shout.
Behind Tom, Lestrange and Nott were shrinking away. Even Mulciber had the decency to look slightly alarmed.
"I…" Harry's gaze flicked around the room, seeking salvation in any form, but found nothing. He met Tom's eyes again, forcing himself to not flinch from the raw rage he saw. "I'm going to be honest with you, Tom. Hermione is… she's not my cousin. And I… am not from France."
Tom nodded his head slowly, his gaze never leaving Harry's. Thunder rumbled in the distance. "It appears that I have been made a fool of."
Lestrange and Nott retreated a few steps, Mulciber edged back an inch.
Harry rushed to disagree. "No–"
"Is Harry Delacour even your real name?" asked Tom, and Harry wished that he would raise his voice again, because anything was better than this deafening quiet. This tender fury.
Harry didn't reply and so nobody spoke at all. Each individual patter of a raindrop on the roof could be heard clearly in that moment.
Finally, Tom took it upon himself to speak another few words which would leave fractures in the air surrounding them all. "Tell me, Harry… was anything ever real with you?"
Harry bit his lip and whispered, "I wanted to be with you. That was real."
Tom snorted, a cruel smile curling his mouth. "You say that after we catch you in an embrace with Delacour. Or should we even call her that?"
By his side, Harry could hear Hermione's heartbeat, a rapid pummelling in his ears. She was just as scared as he was.
But this wasn't her battle to fight. It was his. He couldn't allow himself to be paralysed, not yet.
Harry swallowed. "Hermione and I aren't–"
"Enough with the lies," snarled Tom, and there was a swishing sound right before his wand appeared in his hand. "Delacour has gotten in my way far too many times. Initially, I had believed her to be a worthy opponent. But now I see that she is still nothing more than a filthy Mudblood, no different from the rest. No different from Rowan Poole. Phyllis Colbert. Myrtle Warren. As for you, Harry, I'm disappointed in you. Very disappointed."
Harry straightened his back, gripped his wand more firmly. Fire laced through his voice, newfound and vicious. "You don't get to say that, Tom. It's you who is the disappointment. You tried to change me with a False Memory Charm, and I can't forgive you for that."
Tom's eyes widened slightly. Deep and dark, dark blue. An ocean you could get lost in. An ocean you could drown in. "How do you know about that?" he demanded.
Unbidden, Harry's gaze flicked towards Lestrange, lurking in the background. His face was white, like a skull hovering there. Lestrange gave a miniscule shake of his head and Harry's eyes returned to Tom.
But Tom had already seen it.
He pivoted and studied Lestrange before saying in a dangerous whisper, "You told him?"
Nott and Mulciber also turned to stare at him. Lestrange remained rooted to the spot, like a rabbit caught in a car's headlights, and he did not reply.
Disgusted, Tom turned away again. "I'll deal with you later. Maybe I could torture both you and Delacour at the same time. You seemed to like her so much before, after all, trying so hard to get into her pants…"
Harry advanced forward a step, pushing Hermione behind him. "You're not torturing anybody, Tom."
Tom directed a malign stare onto Harry. "Move out of the way."
"No."
Tom's tongue flicked out as he wet his lips. There was a crazed light in his eyes. "You really don't want to get between me and the person occupying my blacklist."
Harry snarled, baring his teeth, and he split the air with his wand, a protective line sizzling through the ground, separating himself and Hermione from the other Slytherins. It blazed hot and white. "Fuck your blacklist, Tom Marvolo Riddle."
Tom's features slackened slightly, as if he had just come back to himself. But then he said, "So this is it. You would choose her… over me."
Harry hesitated and glanced over his shoulder at Hermione. She was clutching her wand, knuckles pale and her lips quivering slightly.
She believed that he wouldn't choose her.
Sadly, Harry turned back to Tom. "Today, you told me that you loved me. But if you truly loved me, you wouldn't make me choose."
"Love," spat Tom. "Somehow, impossibly, I love you. Yet you don't love me. I see now that love makes us weak. I was right to be afraid of it, and you told me otherwise, all the while seeing Delacour while my back was turned. You played me, Harry."
"I never played you!" snapped Harry, throwing his arms wide. "It was you who played me, saying that you love me. What a load of bullshit. You don't love me. If you loved me, you never would have tried to change me with a False Memory Charm. Hermione's the one who loves me. She's the one who has been loyal to me all these years, she's the one who would rather die before she forced me to be a different person. If you can't see that… then I'm afraid I no longer have faith in you, Tom."
Tom's lips thinned, his pupils dilated so wide that his irises were almost entirely gone. The flat and black eyes of a shark. "I'm giving you one last chance to move, Harry. You may have lied to me, but you're still mine, and I don't harm what belongs to me."
"I do not belong to you." Harry lashed out with his wand, sending a slash of scarlet light at Tom, breaking the bright white line between them.
Tom deflected, wild fury etched into his face.
Harry barely had time to regret that he had just initiated a duel because then Tom had thrown a wall of fire at him and Harry conjured a wave of water, extinguishing the flames.
Hermione, Lestrange, Nott and Mulciber all retreated in alarm, falling back into the room's perimeter.
Tom ducked beneath five consecutive shards of ice that Harry sent his way before hurling back a huge storm cloud, alive with flickering tongues of lightning.
Harry engulfed the cloud in massive, thick-walled bubble and sent it spinning straight back in Tom's direction. With a grimace, Tom caught the bubble and sent it flying out the window. He went on to conjure a whip from the end of his wand, flicking it around Harry's ankles.
Harry crashed to the ground and rolled, sending a Severing Charm at Tom. The short, sharp spell caught Tom on the temple, slicing through skin, and while Tom blinked away blood from his vision, Harry managed to free his ankles.
He circled his wand in the air and shouted, "Expecto Patronum!"
His stag erupted from the end of his wand and charged at Tom with its antlers lowered for battle. With Tom momentarily blinded by the light, Harry slashed his wand and said, "Confringo!"
Tom blindly blocked the spell, attempting to duck away from the light, but Prongs stubbornly followed him.
"Stupefy!" Harry sent a stunner next – his Patronus would not last much longer without a Dementor in sight.
The stunner was sent flying back, directed at Hermione, who hurriedly whipped up a shield charm to protect herself.
Prongs was fading out of existence and it turned its head towards Harry as if to warn him.
Shit.
Once the Patronus was gone, Harry knew that he might well be defeated.
He took one final shot, a last effort. He slipped around behind Prongs and intoned, "Incarcerous!"
The spell hit its target. Immediately, big brown ropes crawled around Tom, binding his arms to his sides and his legs together as the Patronus dribbled into a pale shadow, and then was ultimately gone.
Tom stumbled with his legs bound together, tripping and banging his head on the wall behind him. Harry towered over him, face expressionless. Tom's gaze was mutinous as he stared up at the victor.
The duel had finished barely after it had begun.
"No way," murmured Nott, watching his king's fall.
Harry had won this round, but he knew that it was because Tom was so wild, so emotional. The duel may have had a completely different outcome if Tom hadn't lost his head. But no matter what Tom's current mindset was, it was still a win for Harry and that was what mattered.
Holding Tom at wand-point, Harry watched as Tom released himself from the ropes with a grunt.
"Stop this now, Tom," he said softly. "No more fighting. You lost, fair and square, so it's time to back down."
Mulciber slipped up to Tom's side like a faithful shadow. "We should go," he advised as Tom pulled himself to his feet.
A muscle in Tom's jaw was ticking furiously, but he gave a stiff nod of his head and turned, following Mulciber and the others as they trailed out the door, sending unsettled glances Harry's way.
Harry kept his wand trained on Tom's back. He knew Tom well, and that boy would cheat horribly if that would ensure a win.
Hermione crept up to stand by Harry's side, her fingers coming up to encircle his wrist. "He's leaving," she murmured. "Lower your wand, Harry. It's over."
Slowly, slowly, Harry brought his wand down as Tom neared the doorway, showing no sign of turning.
His muscles relaxing, Harry looked at the wand in his shaking hands. He wondered, for the first time, exactly what it was that he had just done. He had ruined the whole pretence. The past few weeks had been for nothing.
He had ruined everything.
Another roll of thunder shook the ground and it wrapped around the voice which cried the worst curse of them all.
"Avada Kedavra!"
There was a breathless moment during which Harry's gaze darted up and his eyes met Hermione's. Harry had heard the curse, but he didn't really hear it. It simply echoed around his skull. Meaningless words.
There was a split second during which Hermione's mouth fell open, just a little – a morbid expression of faint surprise. She and Harry stared at each other, wordless, as a green light engulfed her body. Then she was no longer staring at him, and there was only him staring at her.
The body hit the floor with a sickening thud.
Lightning split the atmosphere.
"Hermione?" whispered Harry, staring down at her, unable to comprehend what had just happened. He dropped to his knees by her side, shook her shoulders slightly as if she was sleeping. "Hermione? Hermione, you have to wake up."
His voice was tiny in his ears, and she did not wake up from her eternal slumber.
Empty brown eyes stared up at the ceiling. Hermione had already left for a place far, far away.
The realisation hit him like a sword through his stomach. It was almost physically painful.
Hermione is dead.
Harry's lips began shaking as he whispered, "No. No. Hermione."
"Shit," said a voice, and another said, "I'm leaving."
Two pairs of feet fled back down North Tower, but Harry was unable to flee with them. He was ensnared in this moment, and a part of him always would be.
Lifting his eyes, Harry gazed at Tom who stood in the doorway, wand still outstretched. Tom's face was grim, as if he had just completed a pesky task which had to be done.
Horrified, Harry looked back down at Hermione on the ground before him. Her eyes were still open wide, her lips slightly parted. A death she had not been expecting.
"What have you done?" The question was hollow as Harry spoke the words and Tom stepped into the room again. Lestrange was still in the doorway, frozen. He had not fled the scene of the crime with Mulciber and Nott.
"I did what I had to," said Tom. "I always protect my investments."
:You killed her,: Harry hissed, his voice unsteady. There was so much more that needed to be said, but with tears welling in his eyes and his mind devoid of reason, there was nothing else he could manage other than an anguished, :Why?:
Tom did not answer, and Harry spoke no more.
But with his hand pressed against Hermione's, he felt the moment that she vanished.
Astonished, his gaze darted downwards.
She was gone.
Trembling, Harry combed the air was his fingers, wondering what trick it was that Tom was playing this time. But judging from Tom's equally bewildered face, this had been caused by a force far beyond both of their control.
Lestrange broke the silence with a hushed question. "Where did she go?"
Where did she go? The question reverberated around Harry's head as he knelt there on the ground, completely and utterly alone. A little voice which sounded a lot like Hermione whispered in his head, Or rather, when did she go?
When, thought Harry. When.
The Tempus Charm.
Hermione had once told him the only possible way to reverse it.
The one who cast the Tempus Charm must kill you while you are in the time that you have been sent to.
Could it be that it was Voldemort who had cast the Tempus Charm to send them back in time? Could it be that the question wasn't where Hermione had gone, it was when Hermione had gone?
Upon her murder by the hand of Tom… had she been restored to 1997?
The little Hermione voice in his head caressed him lovingly and said, Well done, Harry. Now join her in the future.
It was time for one final act.
"Kill me," whispered Harry, raising his fingers and staring at them with glazed eyes.
"What?" said Tom. He was taking baby steps towards Harry, a slow but gradual advance.
"Kill me," Harry repeated, his arms falling back to his sides limply. He looked up, met Tom's eyes. The pupils were no longer dilated, his features weren't twisted into ugly rage. "I can't do this anymore, Tom. I can't."
"I'm not going to kill you, Harry." Tom smiled crookedly. "It doesn't matter that you lied, again and again. It doesn't matter that I don't even know the real you. I could never kill you."
"I see," said Harry hollowly, and he lifted his wand and conjured a dagger from thin air. Tom inhaled sharply. Behind him, Lestrange let out a small exclamation.
The hilt landed in Harry's palm, and he wound his fingers around it, lifting it up to examine it. The blade was serrated, sharp. It should do the trick.
"Put the knife down, Harry," ordered Tom, his eyes as round as saucers.
Harry gave him a wounded little smile. "If you can't find it within yourself to commit the deed, I'll do it myself."
"You're being ridiculous." Tom trod closer, wary. He held out his hand. "You're not killing yourself. Please, hand that to me."
Harry pulled his shoulders into a feeble shrug. "What's the point? You only want me as a tool. The one person who loved me for me is gone. I am… completely alone."
A tear tracked down his face. That one tear was real.
Tom bobbed down to Harry's level. It was as though the crazed lunatic from minutes before had never existed. It was as though he had never committed a murder.
Tom's eyes were gentle as he rubbed the tear away with his thumb. "You're broken," he said. "Since Poole died, you've always been broken. But I promise to fix you. Let me cast the False Memory Charm on you, Harry, for real this time, and all this pain will go away."
Carefully, he pried the dagger out of Harry's hand.
Harry sat there, staring at his empty palm in disbelief, unable to register what was happening. His eyes blurred over.
"Everything is going to be okay," said Tom soothingly, holding the dagger away from Harry. "Everything is going to be okay."
Harry kneeled on the ground, motionless, and then he threw his arms around Tom, burying his face in Tom's shoulder, sobbing inconsolably.
He couldn't see Tom's smile, but he could feel it. It was a smile which said, "I've won."
It was a smile of victory.
The downpour had finally ceased and the air was fresh with rain.
Lestrange tiptoed into the room. He asked timidly, "What are we going to tell the professors? What are we going to tell them happened to Delacour?"
Harry lifted his face away from Tom's shoulder, resting his eyes on Lestrange. They were no longer tear-filled, swollen. They were the fierce eyes of a person who wasn't lost any longer and had finally rediscovered the path. "What happened to the Delacours," he corrected.
Tom and Lestrange looked at Harry, baffled.
They were no longer baffled when Harry closed his hand around Tom's wrist and drove the dagger into his chest.
Tom let out a howl of rage, yanking the dagger free. "GOD DAMN IT, HARRY!"
Unadulterated agony was swarming Harry's senses and he gasped, coughing up blood and saliva. But this pain was nothing. When Sirius had died, when Dumbledore had died, when Hermione had died, Harry had stared straight through the gates of hell, and he had lived to tell the tale.
This… he would take this ten times over, if it meant he could return to the side of the most loyal companion he had ever known.
He had run from the Second Wizarding War for too long. It was time to go home.
His sight was speckled with black dots now, his consciousness skipping every few seconds. Shuddering, Harry realised that Tom had lowered him onto his back and was scrambling at the wound with his fingers, attempting to staunch the bleeding.
Lestrange had finally taken his leave.
"Y-y-you…" The words refused to leave Harry's lips. They trembled out, malformed, and Tom was panting furiously. He had picked up his wand and was attempting to heal the damage, but it was no use.
After all, you don't specialise in healing. The thought drifted through Harry's head like a daydream. You specialise in killing.
The world was spinning, a flurry of black flecks.
Wait. There is still so much more to be said.
Harry sucked in a small breath, but abruptly choked on it. Blood dribbled out the side of his mouth.
Tom was chanting "Harry", over and over again, making it his mantra.
"T-T-To–" Harry stuttered and his lover, his enemy shut up, recognising the beginning of his name.
"What have you done?" asked Tom brokenly, peering down at Harry, and Harry allowed himself to get lost in that sea of deep, deep blue.
"O-once," began Harry, and the words were refusing to leave his lips. He tried again. "Once, I-I-I… l-l-lo-lov-l-loved y-y-y-you."
He trembled from the effort, his vision becoming unfocused. He forced himself back to the present, no matter how painful it was.
"B-b-b–" blood bubbled up past his lips. "But y-you… ne-ne-never l-l-loved m-m-m–"
"No." Tom cut him off in a whisper, kissing his forehead. He had chucked his wand to the side and was now gripping Harry's fingers like a lifeline. "That's not true. I love you more than life itself."
A bloody smile crept across Harry's lips. His time was nearly up, and he was no longer frightened of the unknown which lay ahead of him. "Y-you l-lo-love an i-i-i-idea," he said, fighting for breath, fighting those blasted black dots which were taking up most of his vision. He could focus on nothing but those eyes, floating above him, now. "You lo-love wh-wh-what I could have… be-been."
Those beautiful blue eyes filled with anguish. "Don't you dare die!"
Who was speaking? It was so hard to focus. There were only dots, spinning like a cyclone through the air.
Surely… surely the voice belonged to a person he had once loved. A person who had once loved him.
There was time for one last goodbye.
He conjured one final breath, one final magic trick, and murmured, "I'm sorry. But I have to go now."
The world collapsed into oblivion.
… Short epilogue coming soon.
