Part Three: The Darkest Night of All
How could I ask/how could I say/the things I need to/you'd go away
The secret eventually comes out, but it is completely by accident. There are many things he can blame, mainly the thin, useless curtain that surrounds his bedchamber, as it is not soundproof. A particularly frightening nightmare in which Voldemort kills his parents, Cedric, and Sirius over and over again in front of him causes him to shout incoherently into the night, frightening Ron and causing him to awake Harry. Unfortunately, in his semi-awake state, he mutters "I'll kill you like the prophecy says."
Not the best way to clue your friends in on your fate, but in retrospect it seems as good as anything.
When he is fully aware of his surroundings, he finds Ron pale faced and open jawed at his bedside.
"What do you mean, 'like the prophecy says'? What aren't you telling us Harry?" Ron said quietly, so no one else in the room could hear. He manages to convince his red haired friend to go back to bed, promising to explain in full detail when he and Hermione are both present to hear the explanation.
The next day they sit on his bed while the others are off at breakfast. Their eyes are upon him, the concern burning holes in his willpower.
"Harry?" Ron questions, offering a rough pat on the shoulder as comfort. "We're here for you, all right? Just let us know what's going on."
"If I tell you, you have to leave me alone. You can't speak to me, or help me with work. Nothing." His voice shakes on the first words, and steadily increases with strength. He watches as their faces distort, becoming upset. He knows this is the right thing, though they'll never see it the right way.
"You're mad if you think we'll do that," Hermione hisses. "We love you, you idiot."
"If you want to know, you'll do what I ask. You have to promise me. If you really love me, you'll do this. You'll do this for me. Please."
"Fine," Ron whispers hoarsely, and he grips Hermione's hand.
"The prophecy... there's more to it than I let on. I was chosen, in a manner of speaking. This didn't have to be my fate. But that doesn't matter. Voldemort knew his greatest enemy would be born in July to parents who had defied him three times. That's why he came after me, but even he didn't catch all the details. By trying to kill me he cursed me. If I don't kill him, he'll never die. And if I'm alive, he'll be dead." Hermione begins to open her mouth, but he holds up a hand to silence her. "Not a word," he demands. "I'm a murderer. I will be, at least. No one can help me, because this is my problem to deal with." He smoothes out the edge of his robes with trembling fingers, and pushes his glasses up on his nose. "Go now."
"Harry, I don't..."
"Go!" he bellows. He turns his back, but watches their reflections in the mirror as Ron gently guides her out of the room, all the while staring back towards him. He fights the urge to run after them, to beg them to fight beside him. He tells himself he is doing it for them. They need to live, and he needs to do this.
How could I ask/how could I say/the things I need to/you'd go away
The secret eventually comes out, but it is completely by accident. There are many things he can blame, mainly the thin, useless curtain that surrounds his bedchamber, as it is not soundproof. A particularly frightening nightmare in which Voldemort kills his parents, Cedric, and Sirius over and over again in front of him causes him to shout incoherently into the night, frightening Ron and causing him to awake Harry. Unfortunately, in his semi-awake state, he mutters "I'll kill you like the prophecy says."
Not the best way to clue your friends in on your fate, but in retrospect it seems as good as anything.
When he is fully aware of his surroundings, he finds Ron pale faced and open jawed at his bedside.
"What do you mean, 'like the prophecy says'? What aren't you telling us Harry?" Ron said quietly, so no one else in the room could hear. He manages to convince his red haired friend to go back to bed, promising to explain in full detail when he and Hermione are both present to hear the explanation.
The next day they sit on his bed while the others are off at breakfast. Their eyes are upon him, the concern burning holes in his willpower.
"Harry?" Ron questions, offering a rough pat on the shoulder as comfort. "We're here for you, all right? Just let us know what's going on."
"If I tell you, you have to leave me alone. You can't speak to me, or help me with work. Nothing." His voice shakes on the first words, and steadily increases with strength. He watches as their faces distort, becoming upset. He knows this is the right thing, though they'll never see it the right way.
"You're mad if you think we'll do that," Hermione hisses. "We love you, you idiot."
"If you want to know, you'll do what I ask. You have to promise me. If you really love me, you'll do this. You'll do this for me. Please."
"Fine," Ron whispers hoarsely, and he grips Hermione's hand.
"The prophecy... there's more to it than I let on. I was chosen, in a manner of speaking. This didn't have to be my fate. But that doesn't matter. Voldemort knew his greatest enemy would be born in July to parents who had defied him three times. That's why he came after me, but even he didn't catch all the details. By trying to kill me he cursed me. If I don't kill him, he'll never die. And if I'm alive, he'll be dead." Hermione begins to open her mouth, but he holds up a hand to silence her. "Not a word," he demands. "I'm a murderer. I will be, at least. No one can help me, because this is my problem to deal with." He smoothes out the edge of his robes with trembling fingers, and pushes his glasses up on his nose. "Go now."
"Harry, I don't..."
"Go!" he bellows. He turns his back, but watches their reflections in the mirror as Ron gently guides her out of the room, all the while staring back towards him. He fights the urge to run after them, to beg them to fight beside him. He tells himself he is doing it for them. They need to live, and he needs to do this.