Two-
"Don't send the letter yet!"
Ron's panicked voice cut through the air as loudly as if he had been standing next to her. Hermione jerked the letter she had been tying to Pigwidgeon's foot away automatically, and heard Ron thumping up the stairs,
"He's gone!" Ron gasped, pulling at his collar for air, "He left!"
"Where?!" Hermione demanded, finding that her feet took her over to Ron, and that her hands now grasped his shirt in alarm and fright.
"How should I know?" Ron snapped, his face going red, "Just add this disaster to everything else that's happened. I'll go tell the others what's going on."
"Maybe your dad can-" Hermione began, but then paled even whiter than before and clapped her hand to her mouth, "Ron, I'm sorry!" she apologized tremulously through her fingers. The dark red color in Ron's face had drained to grey, but he said nothing. Slamming the door behind him, he disappeared into the hall.
Her hands shaky with exhaustion of crying, Hermione penned in the new predicament, and then tied it to Pigwidgeon.
"Find Dumbledore," she whispered, "and hurry back with a reply."
Pig hooted cheerfully, ignorant of all the turmoil that seethed in the inn, and zoomed out the window. Hermione fell on her back on the bed, and said in a voice softer the breeze outside, "I can't take much more of this."
.
Ron left Ginny in her room hugging her pillow in silent sobs, and reluctantly went to his mother's room. It had almost been four months since Arthur Weasley had disappeared, but Molly still clung to her shredded hopes that he was alive.
It pained Ron's heart to see his mother in such a state, and he avoided her when he could, but the reluctance he felt was multiplied tenfold for this occasion.
Knocking softly on her door and slipping in, he found her staring out the window with her shawl thrown around her shoulders. Her face was haggard, wan, and her whole body seemed stooped and ravenous for happiness again. Everything about her was so pathetic and conquered. To know that his words could only send her deeper into depression sent his stomach into waves of nausea and self-loathing.
"Evening Mum," he greeted, biting his lip to restrain the tears of absolute grief and loss.
.
Harry wandered through the streets of Diagon Alley deep in thought. Ever since Dumbledore had told him the prophecy, he'd lost all hope of living a normal life even to wizard standards. All that mattered now was that the Dark Lord must be vanquished. Harry knew that he'd destroyed his protection by killing Petunia, but he knew that the information would find Voldemort. The bait was irresitible. A seventeen year old boy disconnected from his only living relatives with only the care of a poor wizard family on his side and the under the protective eye of a wizard now shunned by the public.
Harry knew he wouldn't have to wait long. Knew that the conclusion of this war would soon come. Knew that he would either kill the most feared wizard or die himself.
That fact had hardened his soul. He didn't care about living, only that Voldemort must die or the world would suffer from his, Harry's own defeat.
The evening shoppers gave him wide birth as he walked, whispering and sending glares at the most feared and ridiculed young man they had celebrated, shunned, celebrated, and then evaded again. He was the one who was to kill You-Know-Who; the one who had duelled with him so many times and escaped; the one, it was rumored, who sent the Longbottom's son to his death.
Harry no longer cared how others regarded him. They weren't the ones who sacrificed their happinesses for a greater cause. Harry thought of Petunia, and felt a chill seep into him. It was not of regret, nor even sadness.
The coolness jerked him back to reality, back to the street that now seemed so black, lifeless, and cold.
Unnatural, was what it was. Harry yanked his wand from his back pocket and lit the tip with a bisyllabic whisper. An all too familiar rush of ice spread through him, and he paused, waiting for the dementors to appear.
Out of, it seemed, nowhere, four became present. Without so much as a quicken in his heartbeat, he cried, "Expecto patronum!"
Wisps of silver shot out of his wand, but dissolved in the thick darkness. Harry repeated the spell, but only to the same results. Harry conjured an image of joy in his mind and tried again. This time the stag errupted out his wand and chased the dementors away. Calm as he had been before, Harry slipped his wand back in his pocket, and continued on his way.
.
"I told you not to remain in the Leaky Cauldren," Dumbledore began softly, blinking down at them.
"We just needed to get our things," Hermione explained in a pained tone, "we didn't think that anything could happen in one night."
"Miss Granger, have you forgotten everything you have been through?" Dumbledore demanded, his voice suddenly sharp, "How long did it take to recover the Sorceror's Stone? How long did you spend in the Shrieking Shack? How long were you at the Department of Mysteries?"
Hermione, her tears spent, merely nodded miserably.
"A letter has already been sent to Mr. Dursley." He continued.
"Did you tell him Harry did it?" Ron asked worriedly.
"I told him it was the work of a dark wizard."
"But Harry's not-" Ginny broke in angrily, but Dumbledore continued, "Only the mind of a dark wizard would kill a muggle merely because she was in the way."
"He's not a dark wizard!" Ginny persisted, her eyes flashing.
"If he does not see reason soon," Dumbledore began, "it will be a battle of two dark wizards, both more powerful than concievable."
"But if Harry wins..." Ron trailed off.
Hermione, Ginny, Ron, and Mrs. Weasley looked apprehensively at Dumbledore, who sighed, and folded his hands together.
"We must try to change him before the confrontation, or we will be no better off than when Voldemort was in power."
"Don't send the letter yet!"
Ron's panicked voice cut through the air as loudly as if he had been standing next to her. Hermione jerked the letter she had been tying to Pigwidgeon's foot away automatically, and heard Ron thumping up the stairs,
"He's gone!" Ron gasped, pulling at his collar for air, "He left!"
"Where?!" Hermione demanded, finding that her feet took her over to Ron, and that her hands now grasped his shirt in alarm and fright.
"How should I know?" Ron snapped, his face going red, "Just add this disaster to everything else that's happened. I'll go tell the others what's going on."
"Maybe your dad can-" Hermione began, but then paled even whiter than before and clapped her hand to her mouth, "Ron, I'm sorry!" she apologized tremulously through her fingers. The dark red color in Ron's face had drained to grey, but he said nothing. Slamming the door behind him, he disappeared into the hall.
Her hands shaky with exhaustion of crying, Hermione penned in the new predicament, and then tied it to Pigwidgeon.
"Find Dumbledore," she whispered, "and hurry back with a reply."
Pig hooted cheerfully, ignorant of all the turmoil that seethed in the inn, and zoomed out the window. Hermione fell on her back on the bed, and said in a voice softer the breeze outside, "I can't take much more of this."
.
Ron left Ginny in her room hugging her pillow in silent sobs, and reluctantly went to his mother's room. It had almost been four months since Arthur Weasley had disappeared, but Molly still clung to her shredded hopes that he was alive.
It pained Ron's heart to see his mother in such a state, and he avoided her when he could, but the reluctance he felt was multiplied tenfold for this occasion.
Knocking softly on her door and slipping in, he found her staring out the window with her shawl thrown around her shoulders. Her face was haggard, wan, and her whole body seemed stooped and ravenous for happiness again. Everything about her was so pathetic and conquered. To know that his words could only send her deeper into depression sent his stomach into waves of nausea and self-loathing.
"Evening Mum," he greeted, biting his lip to restrain the tears of absolute grief and loss.
.
Harry wandered through the streets of Diagon Alley deep in thought. Ever since Dumbledore had told him the prophecy, he'd lost all hope of living a normal life even to wizard standards. All that mattered now was that the Dark Lord must be vanquished. Harry knew that he'd destroyed his protection by killing Petunia, but he knew that the information would find Voldemort. The bait was irresitible. A seventeen year old boy disconnected from his only living relatives with only the care of a poor wizard family on his side and the under the protective eye of a wizard now shunned by the public.
Harry knew he wouldn't have to wait long. Knew that the conclusion of this war would soon come. Knew that he would either kill the most feared wizard or die himself.
That fact had hardened his soul. He didn't care about living, only that Voldemort must die or the world would suffer from his, Harry's own defeat.
The evening shoppers gave him wide birth as he walked, whispering and sending glares at the most feared and ridiculed young man they had celebrated, shunned, celebrated, and then evaded again. He was the one who was to kill You-Know-Who; the one who had duelled with him so many times and escaped; the one, it was rumored, who sent the Longbottom's son to his death.
Harry no longer cared how others regarded him. They weren't the ones who sacrificed their happinesses for a greater cause. Harry thought of Petunia, and felt a chill seep into him. It was not of regret, nor even sadness.
The coolness jerked him back to reality, back to the street that now seemed so black, lifeless, and cold.
Unnatural, was what it was. Harry yanked his wand from his back pocket and lit the tip with a bisyllabic whisper. An all too familiar rush of ice spread through him, and he paused, waiting for the dementors to appear.
Out of, it seemed, nowhere, four became present. Without so much as a quicken in his heartbeat, he cried, "Expecto patronum!"
Wisps of silver shot out of his wand, but dissolved in the thick darkness. Harry repeated the spell, but only to the same results. Harry conjured an image of joy in his mind and tried again. This time the stag errupted out his wand and chased the dementors away. Calm as he had been before, Harry slipped his wand back in his pocket, and continued on his way.
.
"I told you not to remain in the Leaky Cauldren," Dumbledore began softly, blinking down at them.
"We just needed to get our things," Hermione explained in a pained tone, "we didn't think that anything could happen in one night."
"Miss Granger, have you forgotten everything you have been through?" Dumbledore demanded, his voice suddenly sharp, "How long did it take to recover the Sorceror's Stone? How long did you spend in the Shrieking Shack? How long were you at the Department of Mysteries?"
Hermione, her tears spent, merely nodded miserably.
"A letter has already been sent to Mr. Dursley." He continued.
"Did you tell him Harry did it?" Ron asked worriedly.
"I told him it was the work of a dark wizard."
"But Harry's not-" Ginny broke in angrily, but Dumbledore continued, "Only the mind of a dark wizard would kill a muggle merely because she was in the way."
"He's not a dark wizard!" Ginny persisted, her eyes flashing.
"If he does not see reason soon," Dumbledore began, "it will be a battle of two dark wizards, both more powerful than concievable."
"But if Harry wins..." Ron trailed off.
Hermione, Ginny, Ron, and Mrs. Weasley looked apprehensively at Dumbledore, who sighed, and folded his hands together.
"We must try to change him before the confrontation, or we will be no better off than when Voldemort was in power."