Begin the End
"I can't believe Snape gave us this much damn homework for over the summer. Five essays, FIVE! It completely ruined my summer. Mum wouldn't let me go to Egypt! She made me stay here with Fred and George. And she made us clean the whole time! Screw cleaning, it should rot in hell, along with Malfoy," Ron took a deep, revengeful breath.
"Well, I think that you are completely over reacting," stated Hermione, "Besides, it would do you some good to actually hand in all you homework, now that you are a Prefect. Don't you agree Harry?"
"What?" he glanced up from what he had been staring, namely the ground.
"I said don't you think…" Hermione's voice slipped back out of Harry's thoughts. He wasn't concerned about Snape's homework. Or that fact that Mrs. Wesley was furious with Fred and George for leaving school and starting a joke shop. His scar was bothering him, as it did very often now. But it wasn't like last year; he no longer felt Voldemort's emotions. This was different. Powerful. The never-ceasing burn, fading in and out of sharp pains to slight dull throbbing, was always there.
Then there was Dumbledore. He was sick, and to be sick is to be weak. With his scar burning, he feared an attack. Dumbledore the only wizard Voldemort feared was ailing. The headmaster was fully alert but it was eating him alive, the lack of sleep, the never-ending school demands, and then the threat of the next Dark Age looming on the horizon, it was piling up and was too much for one man to handle.
"Harry? What's the matter?" a concerned voice weaved in and out of his ears. His face had turned to stone, worrying his friends. His eyebrows furrowed and he ignored them and concentrated more on solutions.
"Sure, I'll have what she's having," Harry said absentmindedly without even bothering to ask Hermione to repeat her question. His mind was elsewhere, wandering in a world of questions.
How the hell can I help Dumbeldore? We need him more than we need anyone else, especially right now! Voldemort is rising, I know the signs, I can feel it through my scar.
He got up and just began walking. He didn't notice his friends all staring at him, giving each other confused looks. He just walked, like a zombie, down Diagon Alley. He was so into his thoughts, he didn't notice the oddities about Diagon Alley from what it normally was. It didn't seem as cheerful a place, nothing did anymore. Of course, he was nearing Knockturn Alley but still, he remembered a sudden change from "happy" to "dark".
They would be going back to Hogwarts this year, for their sixth year. It was going to be a great year. They were planning on acing everything imaginable and getting ready. Dumbledore wasn't supposed to get sick. Now all that remained at Hogwarts, that was as true as Dumbledore, was D.A. which still stood proud and strong. There was no way they would let Voldemort win this time. No way.
All summer everyone in D.A. had spent their vacation in Diagon Alley, practicing in hidden corners and locked rooms. They worked hours on end perfecting spells from the Disarming Charm to the most complex hexs and jinxs. They were kept complete secret and all members remained loyal, even Fred and George cam in every other week or so to learn and contribute. The promised if there was ever a sign of danger, their joke shop was second.
There was a reason it was kept secret though. If anyone found out about the army they would assume it was a cult, run by a miniature Voldemort, himself. Harry wondered if he really was. Everyone had coins in their pocket which burned when he needed them; Voldemort used the Deathmark on people's arms. He taught everyone dark curses used to injure people, which is essentially what the Death Eaters were trained to do also. What makes us any different than?
Dumbledore, that's what. Or rather that is who. Dumbledore was the opposite of Voldemort. He wasn't evil. He believed and was on the good side, and his dream was to overthrow Voldemort but not so he could rule by people fearing his very name. The thought crossed Harry's mind again about Dumbledore being sick. The only wizard feared by Voldemort was sick. What would happen this year?
He had reached the end of Diagon Alley, where it turned onto Flamer Lane. He turned back around and continued to walk. He saw the wizard people going about their normal business acting as though nothing was wrong. He passed a newsstand and picked up a copy of the Daily Prophet. The top Head line was about the Bunny Appreciation Week, funded by Punk Bunny Foundation.
Whatever he thought I was stupid to think that Voldemort rising and the possible death to us all would be more important than… "punk bunnies".
He was just wondering what punk bunnies were when suddenly he was surrounded, or it seemed he was. He looked and black looked people with their hoods all the way up and over their heads were scattered around him in every which way. He remained calm, but looked around, trying to find a way out. He ran to the nearest building and dashed up a flight of stairs.
He yanked open a door and heard a squeal. He walked backwards when suddenly an arm wrapped around his neck. A wand was pointed at his neck. "Don't move" she said.
He knew that voice, "Hermione?"
"HARRY? What the fuck is your problem?!?!" she shouted, releasing him from her grasp.
He turned, realizing why she had flipped out. Barely wrapped around her was a sheet which she appeared to have yanked off the bed when she heard her door open. Harry now realized where he was, her room she had been staying in while waiting for the start of the school year.
"Hun, you don't have to be so uptight," he soothed, "no one knows where you are, remember? It's a hidden room."
"Let me get dressed first, and then we will talk."
Harry heard Hermione open her trunk and grab the pieces of clothing from the top. After a moment, she stated "Okay, I'm decent."
He turned around a crossed the room, and sat down on her bed. She was in the bathroom mumbling to herself, with a hair-elastic in her mouth and a brush in one hand. She dropped the brush into the sink with a thud, and then twisted the elastic around her hair a few times. She came out of the bathroom, dressed in Muggle clothes. Her pair of iridescent navy-blue hip-huggers and a lavender spaghetti-strap tank top accented her tan, which she had acquired in Italy during the week long break from D.A. practice.
Harry patted the bed, next to him, and she plopped herself down and hen flopped onto her back, staring up at the ceiling.
"You feeling better?" Harry said with a deep look of concern on his face.
"Yeah, I guess so. Most of the bruises are gone now."
"Except for that huge purple bruise on your back I take it."
She sighed, "Yes, and I still have one on my knee and another on my stomach. But they don't smart as much anymore, really."
This summer hadn't been easy for Hermione, and Harry knew every bit of it and why. Some damn Italian fool had tried to jump her during her stay in Italy. She managed to get away, but could not escape the severe bruises and mental damage. He remembered how she had come home, her ride arriving around 11 o'clock at night. Dirty, tattered, and distraught. At first she locked herself in her room, allowing no one in. Eventually Harry had managed to coax her out of her room. Falling back into the flow of things, she still remained completely on guard. He had also noticed she hadn't been sleeping as heavily as she used to, for she was always worn with bags under her eyes.
"I don't think you fine. You haven't been sleeping, you barely ever eat, and you are still working your tail off for D.A. You shouldn't worry so much; if you haven't noticed Ron and I barely ever leave your side."
"I'm sorry, I really am. It's just…" she stammered as she sat up.
"Just what?"
"It was so frightening, and unpredictable. I never, ever want to be that unprepared and vulnerable. And what about Ron? How am I ever going to tell him? He still doesn't know. What if he thinks I'm stupid or weak or something."
"You are not stupid, and one of the strongest people I know. As for Ron, he loves you unconditionally, he wouldn't care. He would help you."
Hermione suddenly started to tremble. She looked small and fragile, completely unlike Hermione. Strands of her straightened mahogany hair had fallen out of her hair tie, framing her face. She stretched back, her tank top riding up slightly showing off her toned (and now tan) stomach. He reached around her shoulder and hugged her tightly because Harry knew she needed it.
"Its okay sweetie, everything's gonna be okay. Just sleep for once, please? For me?"
They sat there for over an hour, eventually Hermione fell asleep. Harry gently lowered her onto her bed, pulled her shirt down over her stomach as far as he could, and tucked her wand into her pants pocket. He tip-toed across the room, and silently shut the door after him.
He walked down the stairs in a trance. Thoughts crowded his head again as he walked out the front door. He rounded a corner of a building and bumped into a very anxious and frantic Ron.
"Where were you? Where is Hermione? What is going on???"
"Ron, shh! Not so loudly! She is upstairs in her room asleep. I sat up there with her until she fell asleep, thought she nearly strangled me out of fear. I accidentally tried to hide in her room."
"What's wrong with Hermione? Why is she so uptight lately? And why were you hiding?"
Harry put his finger up to his mouth and glanced over his shoulder a few steps ahead of Ron, and motioned for him to follow.
"These people in black cloaks were everywhere. Only one way out, and that was the Inn, thought at the time I didn't know it was the inn. Then I ran up into her room, and she was getting dressed and I didn't see her, but she saw me. She must have grabbed a sheet and wrapped it around herself before strangling me. Luckily I recognized her voice."
"But why is she so like…" he acted out a tense spastic motion.
"I couldn't say…"
"Well, I am definitely determined to figure it out, wait! Do you think those cloaked people know about D.A.?"
"I'm not sure," Harry said, "but if they do, then it's over."
"Damn, I knew it was too good to be true. Everything was fine until…"
"Until we became friends basically," Harry finished his sentence for him, "face it, wherever I go danger and death follows."
"I was talking more about D.A. Harry, you know I was." Ron quickly assured Harry. In his mind, however, he didn't want to admit that Harry… well, that Harry was right.
"It's okay, I don't mind it really. I understand I'm alone in this, no matter how many friends I have, I will always be alone. It's okay, really. I have the best friends and a wonderful girlfriend. I am fine only separated at times. There are things I have to do… on my own and in my own time. Look, this is or last week before school starts and I want to enjoy it. Besides, why are we so glum? We are leaving for Paris tomorrow! Come on, let's go get some coffee."
