Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters mentioned in this story. Trust me, if I did, there'd be much more leather and boylove. nod Anyway, enjoy it regardless. Luff, Margie.
Summary: In his sixth year, Harry Potter named Ron Weasley his Secret Keeper, as the war grew more treacherous. However, this plan backfired, and now the trio has been cut down to a duo. Under the orders of a man he respects, Harry turns to one of his most loathed enemies for salvation, and ends up finding much, much more. WARNING: THIS IS SLASH! THAT MEANS THERE IS MALE/MALE LOVE! IF THAT BOTHERS YOU, LEAVE! Thank you.
Consequential Requiem,
Chapter One: The Weight of Loss
He doesn't like being alone. That much he knows. Being alone is abandonment, and after the deaths of his parents, he doesn't think he could deal with losing anyone else. That's why he was so cautious to make friends. He doesn't particularly try to put himself into situations where the absence of another could cause him such pain. But there's nothing he could do about it now. He merely stares down at the note left on his friend's bed, tears that will never fall stinging his eyes.
"Harry?" comes Hermione's voice. She rests her hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently, reassuring him that everything will be alright. But he knows it won't. Ron is gone, all because of him. He hold the note up and begins to read it aloud.
"Mister Harry Potter,
It seems that your Secret Keeper couldn't keep his mouth shut through sixteen Unforgivables, the last of which I'm sure put him out of his misery. No, I didn't kill him. Where would the fun be in that? You can visit him in the permanent ward in that fabulous hospital of yours, where he'll spend the rest of his days, insane and alone, all because of you. I know where you are now, Potter. So don't bother trying to fly away again." His voice cracked as he read the name, something that had never happened to him before. But this time, it was all his fault. It was all his fault, and he knew it, and reading the name was the admittance of that fact. "Lord....Lord Voldemort."
It's almost a whisper, but he says it nonetheless, and now, there is nothing he wants to do more than run outside and surrender himself to the hordes of Death Eaters he is sure are on their way to get him. It was a bad idea, making Ron his Secret Keeper. He had known from the start it would be dangerous. He just hadn't considered the consequences of the danger, and now they were grinning wickedly at him, mocking his lack of preparation.
"Just leave me alone, 'Mione." he says, his tone laced with hatred, fists clenched in fury. Hermione watches him as she exits. That fear, that anger, it's so out of place in his eyes that it almost hurts her to look at him. As soon as she exits, she slumps to the ground, deep sobs wracking her body.
He can hear her, from where he stands, next to Ron's bed. The Weaselys will all be here soon enough, and they'll want their share of blaming him. He's willing to accept it, ready to accept it, but he doesn't think they are. Not yet. For a long time, they won't accept that it's his fault. Or maybe they'll accept it too quickly, and trick themselves into thinking otherwise. Either way, he escapes that blame for the time being, but he wishes they would just let him have it now, to ease his own suffering.
It's a selfish thought, and a foolish one, but he can't help it. He never asked to be the Boy Who Had to Carry the Whole Bloody World on His Shoulers. However, there's no going back in time. Not now, not ever. He doesn't think he'd change anything even if he had the opportunity. Because change causes problems, and it's frightening. Ron not being in bed where he's supposed to is change. Voldemort breaking through the supposedly impermeable forces of Hogwarts is change. It's all dangerous and frightening, and he knows it will break him down in the end, like a disease.
Slowly, he lowers himself to the ground. Someone's knocking on the portrait of the Fat Lady, he can hear it from up here. He lays his head back against the wooden boards of his best friend's bed, and closes his eyes, listening to the shouting in the Common Room below. Perhaps it's the Weasley twins. He wouldn't be surprised. Out of all of his siblings, they were often the most protective of Ron. Why should they change now? Just because everything else had changed didn't mean they had to, right? His eyes shot open, in the hope that it was them. If it was them, that meant that there was something even slightly normal left in this world that had been thrown into chaos.
He sighs in annoyance as Hermione's cry of, "You can't be in here! You're not even a Gryffindor! What gives you the right to just barge into our problems like this!?" reaches him.
She and whomever has come into the Commons have halted outside the dormitory door. Harry raises himself to his feet, tiptoeing slowly to the door, pressing his ear against it, and listening.
A voice he knows all too well is speaking to Hermione, and the authority with which it speaks is enough to make him sick.
"Orders from Dumbledore. Now, if you'll be kind enough to move aside."
There is a pause, and Harry guesses that Hermione has stepped in front of him. The sound of a loud smack as her hand comes into contact with his face makes Harry smile. He was correct.
"You can't just intrude on Harry's feelings like this! It's not right!"
The unnamed companion sighs. "It may not be right, but it's my job, so I'll tell you once again, move aside."
"No."
"Then I'll be forced to move you."
A slight rustling indicates that Hermione has pulled her wand from her pocket.
"You make one move towards that silly little stick of yours and I'll hex you to the moon and back, you bastard."
Harry's eyes widen slightly. Hermione hardly ever swears. He decides that he'd better end this before it gets out of control. With a bark of, "Sod off Malfoy!" he yanks the dormitory door open. A pair of docile, yet slightly amused, silver eyes watch him from over Hermione's head.
"Good evening Potter." Draco drawls in that ever-present aristocratic tone that sets Harry's stomach spinning so wonderfully. He blinks. Draco Malfoy does NOT give me butterflies, he reminds himself.
"What can I do for you?" Harry asks, rubbing his temples. He isn't wearing his glasses. He stopped wearing them in his sixth year, deciding that a vision correction spell would be much easier to deal with.
Draco smirks up at him, holding up a yellowed piece of parchment. "I've got a request from the big boys upstairs, Potter." he says quietly. Harry's left eyebrow rises in a high arc, conveying his disbelief of Malfoy's claim. Draco sighs and offers the paper to Harry. "Read it if you bloody want to."
Harry quickly scans the letter, confirming Dumbledore's instructions and his signature. "I suppose I've got no choice then, aye?" he asks.
Draco shakes his head. "I'm afraid not."
Hermione, who, much to Harry's bewilderment, has remained silent up until this point shouts. "What!? Harry, you're actually going to go with him?"
Harry nods, his infamous serious expression on his face. Hermione positions herself so that she's looking up at him with her tearstained face.
"Harry, please! Please think about what you're doing!" she begs. Harry smiles reassuringly, albeit a little sadly, at her.
"I know what I'm doing, 'Mione." he says affectionately, resting his hand on her cheek. But she pulls away from his touch, as though it burns her. Her eyes are now wide, with disbelief and anger.
"Get out of my sight." she whispers, turning and walking down into the Common Room where the rest of the Gryffindors are waiting. Parvati throws her arms around Hermione, comforting her, as Draco escorts Harry out. Her comment as he leaves reaches Harry's ears, and it makes him smile.
"That Malfoy boy practically has 'I'm a Death Eater' emblazoned on his chest.
(A/N: I went with shorter chapters to help the story flow. Bwahahaha!)