The Article Chapter 5, a harry potter fanfic

Part 5

A blood-curdling scream rang through Harry's ears and for a moment he thought it was he himself making the agonising sound as death heralded in around him. But the green light he could feel burning the air, even from behind closed lids, died so quickly that his eyes shot open in surprise and momentary astonishment; the spell snapping out of existence with an incomplete incantation. As soon as he saw Voldemort's focus had left him, he realised the wailing sound was not his own, but coming from behind the closed door across the room.

With a potent mix of adrenaline and fear coursing through him, Harry's body involuntarily jumped in his bonds as something crashed against the exterior of the solid wood, succeeded by several further bangs, all to the tune of the dreadful screeching.

A hiss of frustration left Voldemort's thin lips and Harry dragged his eyes back to his would-be murderer, watching the pitiless orbs shift away from him, a furiously impatient hand swiping through the air to throw open the offending portal and reveal just who was fool enough to disturb the Dark Lord in his triumph.

The hideous sound filled the room as a disturbed and distraught Wormtail fell heavily through the open doorway, his entire body convulsing and fighting against what seemed to be his own silver hand, which was clawing at the man's neck with malevolent intent.

The sight was so bizarre that Harry almost missed the flash of fury and mild curiosity that flickered across Voldemort's pale features in succession. However, he noted the calculating expression descending on the pale visage, a sight that made him internally recoil.

"What is the meaning of this, Wormtail?" Voldemort asked after a moment, tone soft and dangerous, almost conversational, as if the man he was addressing wasn't beside himself with distress.

"M-my Lord, please…" was the strangled response, Wormtail's human hand, and all of his strength, clearly focused on keeping its silver counterpart at bay. There was blood lining his collarbone where vicious scratches and messy, bruising finger marks marred the skin.

Harry stared, dumbstruck, his mind too overwhelmed to truly take in everything he was seeing.

"You have betrayed me."

Voldemort's words were almost a whisper, with no regret tangible in them, only cool nonchalance and a hint of disgust.

Wormtail's face was wild with fright now and he shook his head repeatedly, focus lost for just a moment; enough time for his master's gift to wrap itself around his windpipe, making his eyes bulge in a morbidly cartoon-like fashion.

"Magic can be a most frightening thing, indeed. Don't you agree, Harry?"

Voldemort's sudden shift of address made Harry's blood turn to ice, reminding him of his own imminent death, meeting those red eyes that were now ignoring the torment of his servant in favour of his true victim.

"But perhaps you don't fully comprehend the dilemma my servant has found himself in?"

Harry couldn't find words. He felt himself stare uselessly, expression betraying him.

"Lord Voldemort always knows, even the slightest hint of disloyalty…" the wizard paused for a moment, looking down at the wand held in his spider-like grip. "Poor Wormtail's mind must have betrayed him, if only for a moment. Fortunately, my magic doesn't suffer traitorous intent."

The dangerous eyes shifted to the silver hand that was now squeezing the life out of the wretched man writhing on the floor.

As if from another lifetime, Dumbledore's words on Voldemort's unwillingness to have a servant indebted to Harry echoed back to the boy-who-lived and then he understood, at least in part. With wide eyes he watched the result of a reluctant, unfulfilled life debt play out. Struggling, Harry's body suddenly wanted to act, unable to watch the pitiful scene in front of him with absolute indifference.

Voldemort actually turned away from the scene, as if it wasn't worthy of his attention, his gaze wholly on Harry once more.

"It seems poignant how many have come between us, Harry. And how they pay the price for their interference."

The words were underscored with the final gurgles from Wormtail's throat, signalling his end. The fight left Harry's body as the hopelessness of the scene filled him once more, looking away from the dying man directly in his eyeline. A vicious thought echoed in the back of his mind, some dark part of him convinced that Peter Pettigrew deserved it, but he couldn't bring himself to feel truly satisfied, the entire scenario too sick and twisted for him to stomach.

A moment passed with agonising length, and then, even with Harry's silence, it seemed Voldemort himself had no further words to offer. Wormtail had gone silent and limp, his face forever frozen in terror, and the thin, bony hand of the Dark Lord raised its wand once more. Harry momentarily mourned the fact that he had to hold his nerve a second time this night, facing into his death with as much dignity as he could muster, now reluctantly willing it to be over. He knew his fear would betray him soon, but he refused to give Voldemort the satisfaction of seeing it.

However, he would have to hold out a little longer, as there was a pause in the air, the anticipated green light nowhere to be seen. Within seconds, his bonds seemed to fall away and Harry's eyes widened upon seeing Voldemort whirl around, robes flying; a demonstration of the frustration within, anticipating the sudden intruder that took the astonishing form of Dobby. His tiny body was standing in the open doorway, eyes wide, his skinny arm still raised from magically freeing Harry.

An unholy scream of fury and disbelief left Voldemort, his face twisted in outrage at the insult of having a mere house elf challenge him, and his wand slashed through the air toward him with wicked speed, but Dobby disappeared on the spot.

Harry's own bewilderment suddenly fled, reality crashing down on him, his wrists relishing their freedom, telling him to go; to run. Springing from the chair, ignoring his jelly-like limbs, Harry threw himself toward the door, almost stumbling over Wormtail's body.

"Don't you flee from me, Harry Potter!" came the high, cold voice and an invisible force grabbed at Harry's ankles, causing him to trip and slam to the ground, his elbow cracking on the stone. However, as Voldemort advanced, Dobby was suddenly by his side, his sweet face determined, grabbing a hold of Harry's arm immediately. "Harry Potter must hold onto Dobby!"

No sooner were the words out of the kind elf's mouth did his little body spasm violently, as if struck by a jolt of mangled electricity, crumpling in a small heap on the cold ground.

"Dobby!" Harry shouted, glancing back at Voldemort with panic, seeing the monster's wand poised from the spell he had just cast, face alive with the will to strike once more. Harry grabbed at the small elf, relief flooding him at the subtle rise and fall of Dobby's chest, signalling the life that still existed within.

The laughter that filled the room then was neither joyous nor amused but rang hard and contemptuous.

"My, my, such lowly creatures coming to your defence. It's almost amusing, Harry, how life has favoured you so. Seconds from death and my treacherous servant lends you another few minutes of life by giving his own. And now, this elf will die on your behalf, only to buy you more, inconsequential, time. Do you detect a pattern?"

Harry moved in front of Dobby's form, facing Voldemort, shielding him, swallowing hard against his nerves and shaking legs. He tried to push the words away before they took root in his brain, aware that somewhere in the far corners of his mind he was thinking the same thing. He couldn't let Dobby join the list of those who had simply bought him more time. He wouldn't.

"As I said, this will not be like our past encounters. I cannot abide your existence any longer and shall enjoy ending your life. However, it will be just you and I. Further interference will not be tolerated, as I have anticipated this moment for too long and it is mine alone to enjoy. Stand aside and I will end this miserable creature before I grant you your death."

"Stand aside, you silly girl..."

Indignation on Dobby's behalf bubbled inside of Harry's stomach, fuelled by the echo and similarity of the words Voldemort had dictated to his mother moments before her death and he found a little strength that, lifting his chin and chasing away his own fears for just a moment. It wasn't so bad, really. At least he would follow in his mum and dad's footsteps and die proudly, protecting someone innocent, someone he cared about, instead of bound to a chair like a helpless child.

But Dobby surely would not survive long beyond himself and that understanding saddened him.

As he stared down the snake-like face that once was Tom Riddle, Harry knew this was it. There wouldn't be more borrowed time. A twitch at the corner of Voldemort's thin lips could have been the beginnings of a twisted smile, but somehow he knew that it was an involuntary move of displeasure and irritation at Harry's defiance.

"Very well," the monster hissed. "If you insist on protecting vermin, let that be your legacy, Harry Potter."

The wand that was so like his own lifted into the air and Harry watched it, heart hammering. Unconsciously, he stepped backward, arm reaching blindly for Dobby, pushing the limp little body well behind his own. He could at least do this. Buy the troublesome and dear elf another few minutes, perhaps enough time for the creature to make his escape – though not with Harry it would seem.

With an almost aloof numbness, he watched thin lips move, the spell cast, and took a quick intake of breath as the green light formed. The spell finally overtook him, slamming into his body with a ferocity that lasted no more than a millisecond, burning out just as quickly as a doused candle, and he dropped, dead before hitting the ground.

Something had changed when the world came back.

He felt oddly light. That was the first thing that came to mind as Harry's limbs stirred and his thoughts seemed to wake from extended sleep. However, far too quickly, it was as if his body suddenly caught up on itself and stifling, burning air filled his lungs, forcing him to fly up into a half-seated position, gasping for breath, choking on something poisonous and feeling it leave him with each desperate gulp he took, his limbs shaking as his brain took control of them slowly, one muscle at a time.

Then someone screamed. Or shouted. There was a crash. Broken glass? He couldn't be sure. Dragging his eyes open for the first time, the world dawned dark and blurry. His green orbs were wide, ten million things rushing back to him all at once, the dim candlelight that should have been gentle now burning his sight with the ferocity of a vicious spell he couldn't recall just then.

His panicked self took in a half-lit bedroom, hard and handsome old-world furnishings surrounding him on all sides; familiar and not so, even without his glasses. He digested this for a moment, his subconscious accepting this current unknown as a safe space, before turning on his side and violently dry-heaving, his body attempting to reset itself, but his stomach empty, so he simply choked out nothing, the sensations wracking his body with shoots of pain.

"Harry?! Harry!"

Someone was beside him now, but nausea was building in his stomach and he scrunched his eyes tight, not quite hearing the alarmed words that were dancing in the air around him.

There were warm hands on his shoulders, soothing almost, but then they grew desperate, turning his body around so he was forced to look up into the incomprehensibly alarmed eyes of Albus Dumbledore. Harry took in the half-moon spectacles with wide, foggy eyes, still not quite grasping the situation. He could make out the headmaster's mouth moving, but he wasn't following the words quite right. He heard his own name again and then he heard another's.

"Severus, please!"

It would only be much later that Harry could look back on this moment and reflect on what it meant to see Severus Snape look truly stunned. He was standing so close that even with his dismal eyesight, Harry noted the wide dark eyes, gaunt face and the small expression of mild horror playing around the thin lips. It was also curious that Snape didn't seem to be able to allow himself to move. He simply stood there, so near, but completely still. Dumbledore called his name at least twice more before the man almost flinched back to himself, straightening and standing tall, wiping all expression from his face.

"P'fessor," Harry managed to get past his scratchy throat, shaking his head slowly at the headmaster. "I don't…"

He meant to tell the concerned face that he didn't understand, his thoughts jumbled and memory momentarily deserting him.

Dumbledore's face schooled itself, smoothing out the concerned lines into a small smile that Harry found comforting – despite the alert tension still visible in the blue eyes.

"It's alright, Harry. You're safe."

Harry's body took the words to heart without the permission of his mind and he calmed, nodding and dropping back to his pillow, breathing more slowly, his chest rising and falling evenly after a minute. Ignoring the whispered diagnostics taking place above him, he felt his mind lulled to sleep by his body's own steady rhythm, unaware of the uproar – both joyous and disbelieving – his awakening had just triggered.

Much later, it would become apparent that Harry had been laid in rest in an uppermost bedroom of Grimmauld Place, the room lit by soft candles in a strange sort of vigil that he was removed from as soon as life overtook his body once more. This was something that still caused shivers to run down his spine, forever considering that room to be his reluctant funeral parlour.

Though he had been hidden away from the prying, unwanted eyes that existed at Hogwarts, members of the Order had gathered in the kitchen below in response to the dreadful news that had been delivered that night. Each of them now existed in an alternating state of uproar and shocked quiet, utterly bewildered that Madam Pomphrey was now treating a very much alive Harry. Despite the clearly deceased boy that a weeping, injured Dobby had managed to get back to Dumbledore only hours before.

As he sat up in a freshly-laundered bed the following morning, away from the disturbing funeral scene he had awoken in, Harry's own disbelief at the story Remus was shakily telling him didn't quite match the look he could see in the eyes of a kind Mrs Weasley, who hovered in the back, itching to fuss over him with renewed vigour. Hermione and Ron were by his bedside, eyes wide but smiling with a raw happiness that was slowly chasing away their grief.

It occurred to Harry that the odd sense of indifference he felt in that moment to what had befallen him last night wasn't quite right.

He had died.

And Remus' uneven words had just confirmed what he already knew.

He remembered the light hitting him, but nothing after that. How was that possible? The very thought made him shiver slightly, forcing Mrs Weasley to hurry forward and tuck him in more tightly, to the point the cosy duvet cover was pinning him down. But he found he didn't mind. Loathe as he was to admit it, he needed the comfort right now.

However, his friends, the Weasley matriarch and a reluctant Remus finally left the room when Dumbledore asked to speak to Harry in private. Hesitant, Harry's worry only grew when Dumbledore's entry was followed by Professor Snape, the man's eyes on him from the second he crossed the threshold, refusing to let up, even when Harry looked away. Flashes of those dark eyes looking wide and alarmed jumped to the forefront of his mind, but he shook them off.

There was the longest pause, or at least it felt that way to Harry, as the headmaster smiled kindly at him, taking a seat in Ron's empty chair. Snape remained standing. And staring.

"Harry, I know I spoke with you earlier, however – despite Madame Pomphrey's reservations – I think we need to discuss last night in full, as there are far-reaching consequences that you both need to be aware of."

Snape started at the word 'both', finally removing his dark eyes from Harry's pale face and over to the headmaster.

Harry sat up in bed slightly at this, examining the elderly wizard's face carefully.

Dumbledore had been the first person he saw when he awoke, that Harry remembered. And they had spoken when he was more lucid, but only to ascertain Harry's health. Madame Pomphrey and the headmaster together had examined him several times, checking for what, Harry wasn't sure. Dumbledore even had tears in his eyes at one point, as he ran several spells over Harry's form – the incantations lost on the young Gryffindor, who understood that he could never truly perceive what those words achieved.

But now they were both relatively calm, and Harry felt that there was a story here. One he needed to hear. And he had a thousand questions of his own.

"Sir, how did I – even if I was, you know…" Harry paused, wincing at the word he couldn't get out. He settled for an easier question. "How did I get back here?"

Dumbledore's face softened. "Ah, you have dear Dobby to thank for that. And a handful of others who played their part. It just so happened that Dobby returned to the castle last night, a strange act of fate in its own way. When he learned from the other elves that you had been searching from him and then failed to find you, he immediately sought out Mr Weasley and Miss Granger. Naturally, when they then couldn't locate you, your friends came straight to me. I must admit we were at a bit of a loss until Kreacher, rather reluctantly, appeared in my office with your relatives. Though, he seemed unable to relay anything to us, struggling with any questions I addressed to him concerning you"

Harry gaped. "I told him not to. I only meant… But then, he wouldn't have been able to say anything at all?" The heaviness of his power over Kreacher then dawned on him, and he cursed himself for the wording of his orders to the elf.

He internally berated himself for his stupidity, however Dumbledore held out a kind hand. "Please, my boy. Considering what happened with Sirius, I understand. And while your actions were reckless, I appreciate that you only meant to protect the Dursleys by ordering Kreacher to maintain secrecy. Though it did offer a major obstacle to finding you, as the Dursleys themselves had no idea of where they had been held captive, describing only the rooms they were held in and transported between."

Harry nodded, dumbly. But he wasn't really comforted by the words, embarrassment brimming in him.

Dumbledore's continuance with the story brought Harry back into the moment.

"But then the most surprising thing happened. Young Draco happened upon my office. Mr Malfoy rather inartfully asked for protection for his family, which the Order – perhaps some reluctantly – granted. In return, he then hesitantly spilled his thoughts on your supposed intentions."

Harry blinked in surprise. Voldemort had told him the Malfoys had all but defected, but he hadn't expected Malfoy to do as he said and go straight to Dumbledore.

Thank Merlin he did.

"Once it was clear you had elected to go to Malfoy Manor by yourself," Dumbledore's tone took on a note of disapproval and he peered down at Harry over his half-moon spectacles. "We began to work on dismantling the wards. Narcissa and Lucius arrived at Hogwarts at the behest of their son and, with severe reservations, finally relented to his demands that they stay there. However, even with the family gone, Voldemort had added his own brand of magic to the property, no small matter, I assure you. Severus went ahead and tried to locate you, however it seems as though Tom did not wish to be disturbed and had disappeared with Wormtail into a part of the house closed to his remaining Death Eaters."

Snape made no sound during this part of the speech, but he had started to pace the floor, slowly.

"Luckily, as you yourself had surmised, elf magic is not always limited to the same restrictions as that of witches and wizards. And Dobby was more than intent upon going in to find you."

Harry stilled, knowing they were at the part where his knowledge of the story took over. He sighed, looking uneasily at Snape, who was ignoring his eye now completely.

There was a very long pause, the silence weighty.

"Tell us what happened, Harry."

Dumbledore's voice was tinged with a far-off sadness now and it made the Gryffindor uncomfortable. He sighed, sinking into his pillows, resigning himself to a tale he'd rather forget. But first, he had a question of own.

"Sir, why didn't you move to save the Dursleys sooner? Why was it only when I was in trouble that anyone did anything?" Harry did his best to keep the bite of anger he was feeling from infecting his words, but judging by Dumbledore's resigned face, the man had noted the tone all the same.

"It wasn't an intentional delay, Harry. Petunia and Vernon's location was unknown. And they only arrived at Malfoy Manor several hours before you found them. Before then, none of our allies could locate them. Alas, even Severus was not party to that detail, or when their move occurred. I suspect Tom wanted to guarantee you, and only you, came to him on Draco's instruction."

Harry sighed, his head beginning to hurt. He glanced at Snape, wondering why someone in his position was so out of the loop. Though, judging by Voldemort's fixation on privacy tonight, perhaps it wasn't so unexpected.

Rubbing his eyes, Harry looked back at the two men, resigned now to offer some information of his own.

"I take it the Dursleys told you how Kreacher got them out?"

A solemn nod followed this.

"Well, I didn't quite make it in time. I ordered him to leave with them and then I think I was hit by a stunner, because the next time I woke up Voldemort had me tied to a chair in some small parlour room, or something. We… talked, for quite a while."

Dumbledore looked at him intently.

Harry sighed again, looking away as he admitted the next part, strangely embarrassed for some reason.

"He, um, tortured me a few times."

Snape had stopped pacing. He wasn't looking at Harry, but he was clearly listening intently beneath the lengths of his dark hair. Dumbledore's mouth was a grim line and his eyes held a terrifying anger when the Gryffindor finally met them again, but he didn't interrupt.

"He basically said he wanted to kill me in his own time. He wanted to enjoy it." The words were bitter, but Harry forced them out.

"He was about to do it when Wormtail interrupted. He was in a panic, screaming, fighting off the silver hand Voldemort gave him."

Dumbledore's expression was full of understanding, but Snape's was now back on Harry, curious and distrusting.

"It killed him. Voldemort did nothing. He said he had betrayed him." Harry swallowed, hard. "He then told me that Wormtail had bought me more time, like others had before him. He was in the middle of casting the killing curse when Dobby showed up. He was furious at the interruption. Dobby freed me and I tried to get to him, but Voldemort hit him with something, knocking him out, and ordered me to move aside so he could kill him first. He wanted my death to be in private, just the two of us. But I didn't want Dobby to be killed like- like everyone else." Harry posture slumped slightly.

"So, he said fine, if I wanted to die protecting him, I would. He cast the spell and that was it."

A moment's beat passed in the room.

"That was it?"

Snape's voice made Harry jump and he inwardly recoiled from the absolute fury on the man's face, the dark eyes now firmly fixed on him, ignoring the warning look from Dumbledore.

"You were dead, Potter. I myself witnessed it, confirmed it even – after Madame Pomphrey. And now you tell us the Dark Lord cast the murder curse on you for a second time, and you wake up mere hours later, as if such a curse from one of the most powerful wizards ever to walk the earth was no more than a simple little spell to be thwarted?!"

Snape was shouting now.

Harry couldn't recall the man ever shouting at him like this before. He was all coldness, cleverness and biting remarks. This unabashed outburst was something new, akin to the temper he had displayed when Sirius escaped the dementors.

Dumbledore was standing.

"Severus, please calm yourself!"

Whirling around in a dramatic fashion, the ex-potion's professor turned on the headmaster.

"Honestly, how can you listen to this, Albus?! The boy is completely disregarding-"

"I'm not disregarding anything!" Harry snapped, pulling the focus of the two men to him, his own temper flaring. How dare Snape accuse him of downplaying this.

"I can't explain what happened. I don't even remember anything after he cursed me. But what do you suggest I do, sir? Lose my mind over the fact that I was murdered and somehow managed to claw my way back to my miserable existence for no apparent reason?"

Through his heavy breathing, Harry realised the subtext of those words, and he stopped short, alarmed and ashamed. It almost sounded as if he was disappointed to be back. He hadn't meant it to come out like that.

Willing himself to calm, he tried to brush off the sinking feeling that was taking over his body.

"Harry," the headmaster said very gently. "I understand this must be traumatic, beyond what any of us can understand. But I might be able to shed some light on why you survived. And it was certainly not without a most important reason. It might help for you to hear the full story. In any case, it's time."

Snape's head turned toward Dumbledore so fast that Harry thought his neck might snap. An unpleasant tingling feeling was creeping up Harry's spine as Dumbledore sighed, weary and determined in one, taking a seat once more and gesturing for Snape to do the same – which he finally did with some reluctance, his face frustrated but evidently interested.

As the odd group settled in to hear the headmaster's story, he cautioned them with absolute secrecy, simultaneously unravelling and stitching Harry's life back together in a few long minutes of conversation that revolved around the terrifying truth of a human horcrux and the remaining others that lay hidden in the world beyond the borders of the little bedroom they currently inhabited.

Harry's strange state of mind continued for the next few days, broken by the joy of his friends at seeing him alive and relatively healthy after such a horrific shock. A highlight of the entire ordeal was Dobby's visit, who, now fully recovered from his own experience with Voldemort's magic, wept for a full hour with relief at Harry's very much alive state, apologising over and over for not saving him.

The boy-who-lived reassured him that he did save him, which only made the small elf cry harder.

What Harry didn't tell him was why he was able to bring Harry's 'body' back in the first place. Dobby had awoken, weak but alive, to find Voldemort unconscious and Harry seemingly dead. In his grief, he immediately aparated back to Hogwarts with the boy he had come to save, in an absolute mess of shock, never sparing a thought for why the Dark Lord was himself indisposed.

Dumbledore's guess, most likely a good one, was that when Voldemort unknowingly destroyed the soul piece inside Harry, he himself was affected for a few moments. This stood out in Harry's mind all through his conversation with Dobby, but he buried it, determined to enjoy the elf's newfound happiness.

Dobby's visit had brought Kreacher to mind once more, though strangely, Harry had only encountered the more unpleasant elf once since he had awoken, and it was when Harry was lying in bed late one night, trying to get to sleep. The elf had skulked in the half-open doorway, clearly thinking the boy was out for the count, standing there for some time, as if hesitant about something. Harry didn't alert him to the fact that he was awake, nor did he later seek him out to question him on it. That was a conversation for another time.

As Harry recovered, there was a lot of talk about what to do about his supposed death. The wizarding world was ignorant about the events, but did Voldemort believe the boy to be dead? Dumbledore reasoned that he did not, as he would have publicly broadcast it if this had been the case, as a moment of personal triumph.

The dark wizard was being cautious, which signalled doubt and inevitable danger.

"Imagine how frustrated he must be, not knowing," Hermione pointed out one evening, as she, Harry and Ron sat around the ground floor sitting room.

Ron actually snorted. "Imagine how upset he'll be when he finds out you're alive, Harry. I mean, he's basically dedicated all his time to immortality. And here you are, two killing curses later."

"Ron!" Hermione scolded, eyes anxiously darting between them, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

But Harry actually cracked a smile, his first moment of mirth since that night. And even though the thoughts of the snake-like monster made his skin prickle unpleasantly, he savoured the amusement at his expense. Although, he had to admit that it was a cheap victory over someone who had caused him so much anguish.

He had, with Dumbledore's permission – not that he wouldn't have done it anyway – spent the night before telling his best friends everything. Their faces had gone from awe to horror and back again, paling further when he finally admitted the reason for his survival.

Hermione was quicker to digest the scenario than Ron. She had asked if Voldemort would guess what had happened, once Harry's survival was confirmed. Truthfully, even the headmaster wasn't sure; Harry had asked this question himself.

"What happens now, though?" Hermione questioned. Even Ron's face dropped a little and he shrugged, looking to Harry for guidance.

"What do you reckon, mate?"

A sigh was the response.

"I'm not sure. Though, if we ever want to defeat him, we'll have to start with all the pieces of his soul."

Ron blanched slightly. "But, Dumbledore said they could be anything, right? How is anyone supposed to find them?"

Harry stood up and shook his head, stretching his legs slightly and casting an eye to the drizzle outside, just visible between the heavy curtains. He didn't have an answer.

"Look, I just wanted to say," Harry started, a touch awkward. "Thanks for being so, well, normal with me. I get that it must be a bit weird. Especially after what I told you last night. Even Snape got a bit strange when Dumbledore told him everything."

"Harry," Hermione said softly. "You're still the same person. Nothing that happens could ever change the three of us."

This earned her a grateful and well-pleased smile, which turned to a look of fake annoyance when Ron followed with some choice words of his own.

"Oh please, like we're surprised. Harry Potter, boy-who-lived-twice, defeater of basilisks and thwarter of dark wizards, bane of bat-like professors and redeemer of irksome little Malfoy gits. Just another thing to add to your list of legends."

Ron's ear-to-ear grin earned him a pillow to the face, but his best friend really did find comfort in his humour. It lightened the situation for himself and chased away some of the thoughts plaguing him.

He didn't want to tell his friends as much, but he had felt strange since that night. Something inside had shifted, but he couldn't tell if it was for the good. Surely having an invasive piece of soul destroyed was a positive thing, right? Why wasn't that clearer to him though? He was balanced between feeling hollow and happily light. Unwanted as it had been, there had been something attached to him for all that time, he had grown up with it. Having it gone was both a relief and a huge change, and while the effects felt subtle, he suspected they weren't.

Also, where did this leave him on the 'chosen one' detail? Was he still destined to fight Voldemort? Thinking about this as he moved to stand by the grimy window, Harry sighed softly. He suspected this expectation hadn't changed and no doubt Voldemort would be livid and all the more determined now that he had escaped him again. It wasn't lost on him that Voldemort's temperament that night had been far less playful than in the graveyard two years ago, or even in the ministry last year. The wizard was tired of and finished with Harry's existence. And if he wanted him dead so badly, he would continue to hunt him, forcing him into confrontation again. And deep down, even with all thoughts of horcruxes aside, Harry understood that he really was out of chances now.

"Hey, Harry. What's the story with the Dursleys?" Ron asked, once again saving him from his dark meanderings.

"Dumbledore said they're recovering. A lot of shock. He said Dudley wants to, er, visit. He'll be here tomorrow. Dunno if my aunt and uncle are coming. They've been moved to another safe house, but this time they're not insisting on going to work or running errands. A healer is with them to help, well, deal with everything I guess."

"They'll be okay, Harry," Hermione said, but he didn't fully buy her tone.

He nodded, an appeasement easier than opening that story too much. It was worrisome enough that Dudley was coming here, but he wouldn't know what to say to Vernon or Petunia.

Though he dreaded certain aspects of it, he really couldn't wait to return to Hogwarts and get back into routine. Being here, recuperating in this house, was holding Harry hostage to his thoughts. His friends' visits after classes helped immensely, but he still felt an irritating restlessness. Though, when he dreamed, all he saw were flashes of green light and a silver hand choking him in the dark. Perhaps he should ask for a Dreamless Sleep potion next time Madame Pomphrey came by to check on him?

He could also feel the questions that everyone wanted to ask him, but didn't dare. He hoped they didn't. He had no answers about death to give, not really.

"Hey, fancy a game?"

Harry's eyes left the window and turned around to Ron pulling a chess board out on the carpeted floor beside him. An ease dropped over the dark-haired boy and his mouth quirked, moving to sit down as Hermione rolled her eyes and pulled out a book – though she threw a cushion down and sat closely beside the two boys while she read.