Four-
Hermione's hand hovered over Ron's ashen brow, and she slowly let her palm rest on his forehead. Her warmth absorbed the coldness of his face, and she looked at his closed eyes; wondering, wondering.
Had Harry done this?
She tore her gaze from her friend and watched the healers rushing past the doorway. One passed, his gaze shifting to Ron, and then muttered to the healer-in-training by him, "Notify the boy's mother."
"No!" Hermione cried, leaping from her chair and chasing after the two. The healer turned, looking at her quizically, "His parents should know of his condition."
"Mr. Weasley disappeared months ago and she hasn't recovered yet- tell her her son is-is here, and she'll-" Hermione struggled to find words, but the healer shook his head, "She has a right to know."
"Then don't tell her yet," Hermione pleaded. The healer-in-training turned sympathetically to her healer, "We could do that."
Giving in, the healer sighed, "Until he recovers somewhat."
"He will live?!" Hermione exclaimed, her heart lifting. "He was hit by a total Cruciatus curse and left for sometime, and almost near the breaking point, but luckily Albus found him before it was too late." The healer-in-training supplied.
Thanking both, Hermione hurried back to Ron's room, and stared down at him. Softly touching his cheek, she bent over to kiss his forehead and straightened, throwing on her cloak. She was the only one left to reason with Harry.
.
"Avada kedavra!" Harry screamed, watching the green jet of light explode from his wand tip and enshroud the deatheater. The form fell to the pavement with a thud, and Harry gave a smile of triumph.
Muttering a spell under his breath, a jet of red gold light shot from his wand and hovered over the dead form. Slowly the gold mist began to shift to a solid form:
An ever-moving bolt of lightning pointing down to the deatheater.
Stepping back to gaze at his handywork, Harry's smile grew, and he hurried on deeper into Diagon Alley.
"I'm waiting." He called to the night sky, stopping and looking around, "I'm alone, Voldemort; come and face me."
A gentle wind lifted his hair as he revolved on the spot, searching for being that had ruined his life.
"Aren't we the confident murderer?"
Harry whirled around, trying to locate the source of the voice. A laugh reverberated through him in not sound but feeling.
"Where are you?" Harry demanded, clenching his wand with his right hand.
"I am merely waiting for your realization."
.
Voldemort stepped from the shadows to show himself before this arrogant young adult. Hatred beat on his every nerve like a waterfall as he glared into the green eyes of Harry Potter.
"This is it." Harry murmured advancing towards Voldemort. The latter snarled, "What will you do should you destroy me?"
"I'll kill every single deatheater that ever joined you," Harry spat. Voldemort, amused, laughed, "Purge the world of evil, will you? Your ideal society will never be accomplished by bloodshed."
"A massacre of killers is more worthwhile than of the innocent." Harry countered.
"Have you even considered those that will avenge those that died?" Voldemort asked calmly, watching with satisfaction as Harry's expression flickered, and Voldemort continued, "I believe your friend Longbottom is an excellant example. He tried to avenge the fate of his parents by planning to kill one of my deatheaters, Avery. Avery, of course, had nothing to do with the Longbottoms, but was nevertheless delighted to murder the foolish boy, and that is what you will do."
"No."
"Oh, yes, you would," Voldemort crowed, "if it was down to the avenger's life or your's, you'd choose your own. You see, Harry? No one ever plans to be who he becomes, yet the inevitable is waiting, Potter, waiting for you to stumble into it. It will consume you and the next thing you know you've killed a dozen people and can't wait for more."
"You're wrong." Harry whispered.
"Am I?" Voldemort scoffed, stepping closer, narrowing his eyes, "You've already adopted one of my techniques." He pointed to the sky where the gold red bolt flickered and twisted, "You've killed your aunt, if I was correctly informed. One of your friends will be next."
As if Fate had timed the cruel irony to perfection, a female voice called from nearby, "Harry?"
Voldemort's reflexes sent him in a frenzy of motion. Before Harry could even move the dark lord had seized the girl'sd wrists and dragged her from the shadows.
With his voice shaking with supressed emotion and comprehension, Harry asked, "What are you doing here, Hermione?"
Hermione's hand hovered over Ron's ashen brow, and she slowly let her palm rest on his forehead. Her warmth absorbed the coldness of his face, and she looked at his closed eyes; wondering, wondering.
Had Harry done this?
She tore her gaze from her friend and watched the healers rushing past the doorway. One passed, his gaze shifting to Ron, and then muttered to the healer-in-training by him, "Notify the boy's mother."
"No!" Hermione cried, leaping from her chair and chasing after the two. The healer turned, looking at her quizically, "His parents should know of his condition."
"Mr. Weasley disappeared months ago and she hasn't recovered yet- tell her her son is-is here, and she'll-" Hermione struggled to find words, but the healer shook his head, "She has a right to know."
"Then don't tell her yet," Hermione pleaded. The healer-in-training turned sympathetically to her healer, "We could do that."
Giving in, the healer sighed, "Until he recovers somewhat."
"He will live?!" Hermione exclaimed, her heart lifting. "He was hit by a total Cruciatus curse and left for sometime, and almost near the breaking point, but luckily Albus found him before it was too late." The healer-in-training supplied.
Thanking both, Hermione hurried back to Ron's room, and stared down at him. Softly touching his cheek, she bent over to kiss his forehead and straightened, throwing on her cloak. She was the only one left to reason with Harry.
.
"Avada kedavra!" Harry screamed, watching the green jet of light explode from his wand tip and enshroud the deatheater. The form fell to the pavement with a thud, and Harry gave a smile of triumph.
Muttering a spell under his breath, a jet of red gold light shot from his wand and hovered over the dead form. Slowly the gold mist began to shift to a solid form:
An ever-moving bolt of lightning pointing down to the deatheater.
Stepping back to gaze at his handywork, Harry's smile grew, and he hurried on deeper into Diagon Alley.
"I'm waiting." He called to the night sky, stopping and looking around, "I'm alone, Voldemort; come and face me."
A gentle wind lifted his hair as he revolved on the spot, searching for being that had ruined his life.
"Aren't we the confident murderer?"
Harry whirled around, trying to locate the source of the voice. A laugh reverberated through him in not sound but feeling.
"Where are you?" Harry demanded, clenching his wand with his right hand.
"I am merely waiting for your realization."
.
Voldemort stepped from the shadows to show himself before this arrogant young adult. Hatred beat on his every nerve like a waterfall as he glared into the green eyes of Harry Potter.
"This is it." Harry murmured advancing towards Voldemort. The latter snarled, "What will you do should you destroy me?"
"I'll kill every single deatheater that ever joined you," Harry spat. Voldemort, amused, laughed, "Purge the world of evil, will you? Your ideal society will never be accomplished by bloodshed."
"A massacre of killers is more worthwhile than of the innocent." Harry countered.
"Have you even considered those that will avenge those that died?" Voldemort asked calmly, watching with satisfaction as Harry's expression flickered, and Voldemort continued, "I believe your friend Longbottom is an excellant example. He tried to avenge the fate of his parents by planning to kill one of my deatheaters, Avery. Avery, of course, had nothing to do with the Longbottoms, but was nevertheless delighted to murder the foolish boy, and that is what you will do."
"No."
"Oh, yes, you would," Voldemort crowed, "if it was down to the avenger's life or your's, you'd choose your own. You see, Harry? No one ever plans to be who he becomes, yet the inevitable is waiting, Potter, waiting for you to stumble into it. It will consume you and the next thing you know you've killed a dozen people and can't wait for more."
"You're wrong." Harry whispered.
"Am I?" Voldemort scoffed, stepping closer, narrowing his eyes, "You've already adopted one of my techniques." He pointed to the sky where the gold red bolt flickered and twisted, "You've killed your aunt, if I was correctly informed. One of your friends will be next."
As if Fate had timed the cruel irony to perfection, a female voice called from nearby, "Harry?"
Voldemort's reflexes sent him in a frenzy of motion. Before Harry could even move the dark lord had seized the girl'sd wrists and dragged her from the shadows.
With his voice shaking with supressed emotion and comprehension, Harry asked, "What are you doing here, Hermione?"