Chapter 24: Revero Detinu

Dumbledore's office was dark. The few candles lit seemed to do little to penetrate the night, and the gloom this brought was augmented by the three silent figures. Hermione's hands lay in her lap, twisting and turning upon each other. She kept glancing up at Harry, then shooting Ron a look, as though trying to say something or willing one of them to do so. Harry hunched low, his elbows upon his knees, his head bowed, his eyes closed, looking like some ancient Gothic statue. Ron's chin rested in his hand and his eyes squinted with concentration into the dark.

This was so strange to him… He'd known death before, knew the pain better than any of them, but now there was a feeling that was beyond his knowledge. It was as though he was missing a part of himself, literally. As though a great chunk of his very being had been ripped away from him.

Ron glanced over at Hermione. She was still in her bed clothes, as was he. Harry, however, was fully dressed. It had seemed a long time when Ron and Hermione had stood outside the dormitory door, trying to coax Harry out. When he finally had come, wearing even his cloak, he hadn't said a word but marched straight to Dumbledore's office. Ron had taken a quick peek inside the dormitory before following Harry; there was no sign of Draco.

When Ron and Hermione had told Dumbledore everything, Ron had been sure Harry would demand to go with a search party. Harry didn't say a word. Not a single word.

The door to the office slowly swung open. Ron and Hermione looked up expectantly. Harry didn't move. Professor Dumbledore, Remus, and Sirius entered, looking like they'd just returned from a funeral. The three men walked over to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, Remus speaking softly.

"We found the house; there was no Dark Mark over it. However, there is no question that Voldemort was there. No one was left alive."

"We didn't find Azar's body, however," Sirius said quickly. "She could still be alive. The Ministry is searching for her and—"

"No," Harry suddenly spoke up, shaking his head. "She wasn't at the house."

Four in the room jumped, staring uncertainly at him. Dumbledore just nodded slowly, as though his fears had just been confirmed.

"She flew out, on a broom. They chased her. She…she fell from the broom," Harry said numbly, "because of the Cruciatus curse. She fell…"

"How do you know this?" Sirius asked, almost as though to insist Harry was imagining things.

The boy still didn't look up. "I saw it. Through Voldemort; my scar." He mumbled through all he'd seen, all the way to "Somnora!" and waking back on the dormitory floor.

Remus knelt down in front of Harry, putting a hand on his arm. "Harry, I know this is hard," he said quietly, "but we have to find her. Try to describe the area you saw."

Harry still didn't look at him. "It was probably a park. Not too far from the house; she didn't fly for long. It was an open area of grass with a few trees around, and I could see a streetlamp and a road beyond. That's all I can remember; that's all I saw."

Remus patted his arm and then stood up.

Sirius rubbed his godson's shoulder. "We'll find her, Harry."

"She…there's still a chance that she's alive," Ron said slowly.

Hermione nodded firmly. "There's still hope."

There was a long motionless pause and then Harry spoke up. "You've felt it, too. The absolute emptiness. It's the Revero Detinu."

Sirius and Remus glanced quickly at each other, not needing to say a word. Memories of a Halloween night sixteen years ago flooded their minds.

"She was a link in the chain," Harry said, staring at the floor. "Without her, we're no longer connected. We only know our own feelings, not each others'. We're all alone. Completely alone. … There is no hope."

Any weak denials that might have surfaced in the room weren't spoken aloud. After all, Ron and Hermione knew that the bonds they had held for nearly a year were no longer there. Sirius and Remus knew the same emptiness from long ago. And Dumbledore knew Tom Riddle and Azar Zundel, and that they were capable of all Harry had said.

The office door suddenly opened and Professor McGonagall entered, soon followed by Professor Snape. For the first time since he had come to the office, Harry looked up. The instant his eyes found Snape, they flashed and a yell escaped his lips. His chair flew back as he flung himself out of it, running at his professor. Sirius, in shock, grabbed for him too late. It was Professor McGonagall who stopped Harry's dash, though it took effort.

"Mr. Potter!"

"You killed her!" Harry screamed, still trying to get at Snape.

Sirius hurried forward, holding Harry firmly. Harry hardly noticed, all his effort focused at getting to Snape.

"She's dead because of you!" Harry continued to rant at the top of his lungs. "You killed her! You killed her! He killed her, Sirius!"

Sirius dragged Harry back, forcing him in his chair and trying to calm him.

"Harry, what are you talking about? What do you mean?"

No longer struggling, Harry's eyes still shot daggers at Snape and his teeth were clenched. "He taught us the Poison of Delayed Sleep! He taught it to his students, and she used it! He killed her! She'd be alive if it weren't for him! She wouldn't…she wouldn't have…"

Harry broke down, unable to finish. He sobbed into Sirius' shoulder. Ron and Hermione had watched all this with wide eyes and now stared at Snape like he was a traitor. Dumbledore noticed this.

"Harry," he said quietly, causing the boy to sit up and reduce his tears to shaky deep breaths, "Ron, Hermione." The two stopped staring at Snape. "I was the one who asked Professor Snape to teach you that potion."

"But, Professor, why?" Hermione said, her voice unusually high.

"A large batch was needed, that's all I can tell you," Dumbledore said, his voice grave. "But it was never meant to be used by the students. That's why you were never taught the spell. I didn't believe anyone would try to learn it on their own. I was wrong."

Harry's eyes slowly returned to the floor. Then he stood up sharply. "I'm going for a walk," he said.

"We'll come with you," Hermione said quickly.

"No. I'm going alone." He glanced up at his friends. "Don't worry; I won't do anything." His eyes went back to the floor as he headed for the door. "Sirius, find her. Please."

He left the room, walking down the staircase and then the halls slowly. He'd seen the look on Sirius' face, and those on Remus' and McGonagall's and Snape's. They knew why the Potion had been made but he didn't and wasn't going to. All the years, all the changes, and still he was left in the dark. He was always left in the dark.

When he finally looked up, he found his feet had taken him to the North Tower. He wasn't surprised really. Without hesitation, he climbed out the window and onto the roof. The house elves must have cleared it of snow to prevent a collapse; it was dry but still cold. As Harry stood up straight, he saw a hunched figure topped with pale blond hair.

"Draco? What are you doing here?" he asked quietly.

Draco shrugged, turning his head towards Harry slightly. "I wanted to talk. Azar and I always came up here to talk."

Harry just stood there for a while, not even noticing the frozen wind. Then he sat on the roof, his back to Draco. The air was cold, stinging his exposed face and causing his nose to run. He sniffed and noticed Draco doing so, too, more than once. His eyes turned upward. The night was cloudless and the stars spread out far and bright. The moon was directly above him, the smallest sliver of silver. The eastern horizon was graying, but only slightly. Dawn was still a long way off.

Draco took in a rattled breath, bringing Harry out of his reverie. "She's not coming back, is she?" he asked quietly, choking on the words.

Harry couldn't answer, staring off into the utter depths of the night. He felt his sight began to swim and tried to blink it away, but only succeeded in freeing the tears to tread an icy path down his face. Sniffing, he pulled his cloak in tighter around him. A sudden weight was placed on his thigh and he reached instinctively into his robe pocket. His hand closed around the grooved metal, warmed from sitting in his pocket, and he gazed on the bronze eagle he'd made. For her. He closed his hand tightly around it, but the cold night soon stripped the figure of all the warmth it had held.

"No," he said hollowly. "She's not."

Again he wrapped the cloak tightly around him, burying his face in it so Draco couldn't see his tears or the eagle he gripped in his hand.

****

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley cut their holiday short. They arrived at Hogwarts midday, Ron and Hermione meeting them in the Entrance Hall. Ron and Mr. Weasley headed for the kitchens to get some lunch, while Hermione and Mrs. Weasley went to the Gryffindor tower. Harry and Draco had been sitting near the fire but Harry stood when the women entered. Mrs. Weasley instantly went and embraced him, and Harry hugged back. He didn't cry or bury his face in her shoulder, just thanking her for coming.

Draco sat where he was, staring into the fire with a purposeful nothingness. Ron and Mr. Weasley soon returned, having run into Sirius and Remus and brought them along. Those that ate did so in silence and no one in the room tried to start a conversation. Mrs. Weasley insisted on cleaning up. Sirius' hands were all nerves, tapping constantly on his leg and clasping and unclasping at intervals. He didn't eat.

As lunch was put away, small murmurs of conversations started up and grew. Sirius made his way over to Harry, sitting close. His hands seemed even more jumpy.

"Harry," Sirius said quietly, "the funeral's tomorrow."

"I know," Harry said, his voice rasping slightly. "I'm not going."

"You don't mean that. … The worst thing, I think, about being sent to Azkaban right away was that I wasn't there; I never had a chance to say good-bye to your parents. Not for many years."

Harry shook his head. "We had a chance to say good-bye; that's what I want to remember. She knew she wasn't coming back. We already said good-bye."

"It's different, Harry. You know that."

"Harry," Mrs. Weasley spoke gently, having overheard, "we'll be there. All of us. You don't have to go through this alone."

Again, Harry shook his head. "It's not that. I know she's dead; I accept that. But…"

"She doesn't belong in a hole in the ground."

Draco caught them a bit by surprise; he'd seemed completely introverted the whole day. He glanced up at them when he said those words, but then looked back at the spot he'd been staring at for the past hour.

"Exactly," Harry said quietly. "I…I don't want to go look at a casket for my last memory of her."

"She's above that," Draco added.

Harry nodded.

Sirius and Mrs. Weasley could find no argument against their reasoning.

****

Mrs. Weasley walked along Hogwarts' corridors in a plain, black Muggle dress. She had just returned from Azar's funeral. There had seemed to be very few people there; so much of her family had died with her. A gas leak, the Muggles had been told. The whole family died in their sleep. Mrs. Weasley, however, had come across the Needlebits, people she'd gone to school with and whom had apparently been the Zundels' neighbors. She talked with them in hushed whispers to find out what the world beyond the newspapers thought. The death of one of the Four, particularly a Seer, was not to be kept hidden.

The conversation replayed in Mrs. Weasley's head as she absently fingered a tapestry. "They say that she may have been the one that held the wand against herself, but I just can't believe it." "No, not Azar. Yet I can't help but wonder why You-Know-Who would want her dead; he may be many things, but foolish is not one of them." Mrs. Weasley nodded silently throughout the whole conversation; after all, she knew what had happened. Azar had used the Poison of Delayed Sleep on herself. Why, she still wasn't sure.

A movement in the seemingly empty hall caught her attention. It was Draco, walking in front of her and dressed in his full Hogwarts garb. "Draco, hello; how are you?"

Draco turned his head slightly towards her but didn't slow his step. Mrs. Weasley took a few long strides to walk next to him. "Fine, thank you," he said brusquely, his attention turning forward again.

"I'm here, Draco," she said quietly. "If you ever want to talk, I'm here to listen."

She reached out and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. Draco knocked the hand away, quickly stepping away from her and staring at her angrily. Mrs. Weasley could only gape.

"I'm fine," he said through gritted teeth. "I don't need anyone. So leave me alone. Just go away."

He spun back around, storming down the hall. Mrs. Weasley stood frozen.

****

Hermione marched determinedly down the stairs from her dormitory. She still wore her Muggle clothes from the funeral and kept sniffing. It felt as though her heart was tearing in two. But she had thought this over carefully, for a much longer time than since Azar's death. That was just the final push.

"Hermione?"

The girl jumped, looking up to find the very person she was about to go searching for. "Ron, hello."

"Are you okay?" he asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.

Hermione shrugged. Oh, he was not making this any easier. She glanced around the common room; it was still Christmas Holiday, so she only had Harry and Draco to worry about. They didn't seem to be there.

"I need to talk with you," she said, knowing there was no turning back.

"Sure. What about?"

"Well…" She'd lied. There was turning back. But she wouldn't let herself. "About time, really."

Ron looked at her, puzzled.

"We don't have much of it, really," Hermione went on slowly. "We're leaving Hogwarts this year, to go out into the world, yet I feel like I've experienced so little. I've known so few things, so few people."

"Hermione," Ron said quietly, his brow furrowed, "what do you mean?"

She took a deep breath, and, though Ron couldn't see it, she was biting her tongue to fight back the tears. "Now is not the time for…us. We're seventeen, Ron. Everything's too serious…we take it all too seriously. We still have our whole lives before us and…I don't want my choices limited."

Ron just stared at her blankly, unable to understand. Hermione gave a deep sigh.

"Ron, I want to break up."

The freckles on Ron's face stood out starkly as the color drained from it. He opened his mouth slightly. "How can you leave me now?"

Hermione was silent awhile, unsure of what to do.

"Here," she said quietly, unclasping the necklace she wore. "I'm giving this back."

Ron stared blankly at the glass teardrop hanging from its silver chain. His eyes went back to Hermione's face and he pushed back the hand she held forward. "No. I gave it to you. I love you, Hermione. It's yours, always."

With a slight sigh, Hermione took Ron's right hand with her left, giving it a comforting squeeze. Then she eased open his fingers, his palm up, and placed the necklace in his hand, closing it over the teardrop.

"Maybe later," she said quietly, "but not now."

Numbly, Ron stared at her, then slowly turned to his hand. The numbness seeped from him, overwhelmed by a growing burning. His hand clenched tighter against the glass and he had trouble breathing.

"What have I done," he said through gritted teeth. "What have I ever done to deserve this."

"Ron," Hermione pleaded, "it's not about you. I just can't…tie myself down, not now. I haven't even experienced life, neither have you. I don't want to be just the acquaintance, the friend, the wife. I need a chance to be nothing but myself."

His eyes looked up at her with accusation. "This is because of Draco, isn't it?"

"Ron, no, I can't…" Clouds passed over Hermione's eyes, exasperation etched on her forehead. "You just don't listen, do you? This has nothing to do with Draco, or Harry, or anyone. Except maybe Azar. I… Who knows how much time I have, Ron? I just don't want to be trapped in a relationship—"

"Oh, so you're trapped, are you?" Ron's nostrils flared. "Show me the cage, Hermione, because I don't see any bars around us."

"No, please, Ron, it's not like that. I just don't want to feel obligated—"

"Now you feel obligated to love me, is that right?" Ron said loudly.

"Well yes, if you must know!" Hermione yelled, her eyes flashing. "There is never a right time, Ron. You said it yourself: 'How can you leave me now?' That's how it always feels, as though if I'm not constantly helping your self-esteem then I am the scum of the world. I want you to be happy, Ron, but I want to be happy, too."

Ron gaped at her for a long time, feeling as though she might as well have said, "Avada Kedavra." Then his jaw set firmly in its place, his fists clenching. "Sorry it's so much of a chore for you to respect and support me!" he yelled, his face going red. "If I'd known, then I could have just never spoken to you about anything! You would have preferred that?!"

"Why do you have to make everything I do that you don't like into some vindictive act?!" Hermione cried angrily. "I don't want to hurt you, Ron!"

"Too late!"

The words rang in the air as Ron left her, stomping off to the staircase. Suddenly, he spun back around, though not to stop.

"This is still yours; always!" he yelled, hurling the necklace at Hermione.

Hermione numbly tried to catch it but missed. It fell to the floor, shattering into five pieces. For a moment, both stared at Hermione's feet.

"Trust you to let something so important drop," Ron growled, heading back up the stairs.

"You were the one who threw it!" Hermione called after him. She glanced at the mess at her feet with disgust, then stormed up her own set of stairs.

Harry sank even lower in his chair until the slamming of his friends' respective doors echoed through the common room. Then slowly he stood, walking over to where the Dream Weaver had broken. He hadn't needed to see their faces to know this fight was serious. Gingerly, he knelt and gathered up the broken pieces, chain too, in his hand. Should he throw them away? But no, it had cost Ron so much, he couldn't do that. Yet what good were broken pieces of glass? … Not now. Maybe later.

****

Whether or not they realized it, the students of Hogwarts returned to a school vastly changed from the one they had left. Ravenclaws were stunned; one of their own was gone. Whispers traveled around about how and where, though none were really sure. Gryffindor was tense; there was something about their tower that no longer felt so welcoming. No one could put a finger on it.

Ron and Hermione puppy-dogged Harry around, though never at the same time. "You feeling all right?" became more than hackneyed. When his friends weren't following him, however, eyes were. Everyone whispered about how the people around him seemed to die, he was sure. If Azar had never become friends with him, she would still be alive.

Despite the gloomy atmosphere, classes were unchanged. They went on much as they always had. The students in them were another matter. Hermione's hand seemed to have decided to regain its habit of shooting into the air at every possible interval, even more so than in her first year. Ron had been a bit lost for a while, but was quickly snatched up by Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil who seemed determined to help him overcome his many losses. Draco had a dark look or dismally blank stare for every person and occasion. Despite the ungluing of his group of friends, however, Harry felt as though he hardly cared. It didn't really matter.

"Potter!"

Harry jumped, his eyes finding Snape, who stood in front of their Potions class expectantly.

"Well?" Snape said, his voice awash with sand and oil.

"Sorry, Professor," Harry said, though his voice held no apology. "I wasn't paying attention."

"I asked what the key ingredient in the Defensive Draft is." Snape knew Harry had no idea and wanted to relish it.

He had little chance, though. A sudden swish interrupted the silence as Hermione's hand shot up right next to Harry. Then, without waiting for Snape's consent, she answered his question.

"New Moon Lilies."

Snape stared at her with contemptuous surprise but seemed to think better of deducting points. "Correct… Can anyone tell me what abilities this plant can produce if prepared properly?"

Again Hermione's hand was up, though she waited for Snape's cold nod before speaking. "New Moon Lilies, when used in a Defensive Draft, have the distinct ability to make the drinker virtually undetectable in areas of low light. Finding them is a hard task, however, for they take these properties on themselves. New Moon Lilies are also unique in that they only grow in the winter, and then only for the night of the first new moon of the year. At any other time, they are only roots, useless for potion-making and resembling radishes."

Snape gave something of a sneer. "Well, well, well. It seems Miss Granger is back to being the undisputed-best-of-class with a fury. No more competition then?"

It felt as though someone had grabbed hold of Harry's heart and wrenched it from his chest. He felt a now familiar sting come to his eyes and his vision began to swim. Unable to endure it, he stood up sharply and raced out of the room, knocking into Snape in his blind retreat.

Harry didn't care what he was doing or where he was going. He just had to get away; away from his concerned friends, away from his staring classmates, away from Snape.

Turning a corner sharply, he ran head-on into something, falling to the ground. Harry hastily dried his tears in an attempt to see what had gotten in his way. Gradually, the fallen figure of a very dazed Professor Connerly came into view.

"Oh, Professor, I'm so sorry!" he exclaimed, standing and then helping her up as well. "I wasn't watching where I was going and—"

"Harry," she interrupted, her voice worried, "are you all right? Have you been crying?"

"It's just…I…"

She reached out and touched his shoulder so comfortingly that he couldn't help it. He burst into tears, heaving uncontrollable sobs. Gently, she put her arm around his shoulder.

"I don't have a class right now," she said quietly. "Let's go to my office and talk."

Harry nodded. Though still unable to stop the tears, he managed to quell his sobs by the time they came to her classroom. She led him to her office and sat him down. Taking a seat next to him, she waited for him to speak.

"She…she's gone…" he said softly, tears still running down his cheeks. "And he acts as though she's just moved!"

Connerly looked at him, concerned. "Who?"

"Snape," he answered bitterly, relating what had happened in class.

The expression on Connerly's face changed dramatically. It looked as though her sympathy and anger were fighting for control.

"Why does he hate me so much? So much that he could say that?" Harry asked, his voice helpless.

"He doesn't hate you, Harry," she said, her voice still torn between anger and sympathy. "He just hates the world and wants everyone to feel the way he does."

"He deserves his misery."

Sympathy finally won over in Connerly's mind.

"No one deserves that kind of misery, Harry. Not people like Snape. Have you ever talked to him, Harry?"

"Talked to him? How could I talk to him? Can you even talk to a man like that?!"

Connerly smiled slightly. "You'd be surprised. Just try, Harry. You never know what gems you might find in slate."

Harry blinked at her, stunned. "That's what Dumbledore said to me last year… About Draco."

"It applies in many situations," she smiled, giving his hand a squeeze. "I'll excuse you from Potions, okay? Why don't you go to your dormitory and get some rest?"

Harry nodded, leaving the room after a comforting hug from Professor Connerly. He didn't head for his dormitory, however; he went to the Prep classroom. There was something else weighing on his chest. Sirius only had one class a day, so Harry knew he wasn't teaching. Sirius sat at his desk, grading what Harry recognized to be their essays on their future careers. After thinking long and hard about it, Harry had decided to copout and just write about being a professional Quidditch player. Of course, that was before Christmas. He didn't know what he might write now.

Sirius looked up from his work, smiling warmly. "Hello, Harry. How are you doing?"

"Alright. You?" Harry replied without thinking. He didn't tell Sirius about Snape; he would sooner play football with a manticore.

"I'm doing okay," Sirius nodded, waiting for Harry to say what he came in for.

It wasn't that easy. Harry's eyes traveled over Sirius' desk. He picked up a paperweight pyramid, examining it. On one side a dog was etched, on another a stag, and on a third a wolf. The fourth had something on it once, but that had been viciously scratched until the animal was indiscernible.

"I got that a long time ago," Sirius said, adding with a wry smile, "It's been altered since."

"She asked me to go home with her for Christmas," Harry said, still examining the pyramid. "I refused; I refused every time she wanted me to meet her family."

Sirius stood up, walking over to Harry. "Harry, understand tha—"

"I should have gone!" Harry said, slamming the pyramid back on the desk.

"You couldn't have done anything, Harry," Sirius said forcefully. "If you had gone, then you'd be dead, too."

"I wish I were!" Harry cried, his teeth clenched in a vain attempt to hold back his anger. "It would have been better if I'd just gone and been killed."

"Don't say that, Harry," Sirius murmured, taking his shoulders. "You're needed alive. We need you here, Harry."

"You need death?" he answered quietly, his eyes wide and pained. "You need the suffering, the terror? Voldemort is after me, and wherever I go, the people around me die. And it won't be until one of us is killed that it stops."

Harry turned away, walking to the window and placing a hand against the glass. Sirius watched him, at a lost for what he should do. Outside, the sun was bright, reflecting off the snow and painting the world a blinding white. There stood Harry, the room dark but for the shining light of the window, and he a dark silhouette among the glow. And Sirius realized—a small jolt rushing through his system—that he'd paid more attention to the bright light than the small shadow that lay within.

Suddenly, Harry turned, breaking Sirius' train of thought. In his eyes were desolation and fear, coupled with the smallest grain of hope.

"She doesn't have to die," he whispered.

"What do you mean, Harry?" Sirius asked slowly, unsure of where this was going.

"Don't you see?" Harry cried, his voice rising as he rushed towards Sirius, his hands out almost pleadingly. "There are ways around it! We can save her!"

Sirius stayed silent, uncertain and concerned.

"A time-turner," Harry said desperately. "We can get one and go back."

Sirius closed his eyes, bowing his head slightly. So that was it. He should have seen it. Slowly, he shook his head. "No, Harry."

"Why not?! If they let Hermione have one for her stupid classes, why won't they let me save Azar!" Harry yelled angrily, tears coming down his cheeks. "They have to… I have to go back… I have to."

Sirius held the boy tight, letting him cry. "You can't, Harry," he said quietly. "Don't you think we would have gone back and saved your parents if it was that easy? We can't. And neither can you. You can't change the past, Harry."

"Like hell I can't," Harry said, pushing away. "If I could go back and save you, then—"

"Harry, listen to me," Sirius said sternly. "Time is a complicated thing. When you and Hermione used the time-turner to save me, you didn't change the past. No, don't argue, listen. All that had happened that day happened just the same. If you and Hermione hadn't gone back before Fudge and Snape entered my room, then you wouldn't have been able to do anything, because you would have been trying to change the past."

"Of course I would have. Why would Fudge and Snape seeing you make any—"

"It would. I would have met the Dementor, no matter what you did. You knew that was going to happen, not that it had happened. If Azar… if that hadn't happened, then we wouldn't be talking now, and so you wouldn't think to use the time-turner, and so you wouldn't save her. I know it doesn't make the most sense, Harry, but that's the way it works. You can change the future, but not the past. At least not the past as you know it."

"But I saved us," Harry said in a fading whisper. "Hermione, you, me, I went back and saved us from the Dementors. Why can't I…?"

"You didn't know that your going back would mean the difference, Harry," Sirius answered quietly. "But you know now."

Harry stared out the window, breathing deep, trying to control his tears. Yet it proved fruitless. He thought he'd succeeded, that the feelings had been caged deep down, but then he saw his face in the window's reflection and the snow outside; that was all it took. The cage broke, and the tears came. He hardly even realized when Sirius took him in his arms, trying to comfort him, but Harry was simply thankful to have someone to hold onto. He felt like such a child for all the tears he shed, but it didn't matter. He didn't care.

"It's okay, Harry, go ahead and cry," Sirius comforted.

"It just hurts so much," Harry sobbed.

Sirius looked up, but didn't see the ceiling. To him, it was the night sky, dotted with stars, and he was looking at the darkest space. And as he stared, clouds seemed to come to his eyes, in them such anger, such hate, such determination that if his gaze had been upon a being, that creature would have fallen to its knees and prayed it might see another day. And he remembered.

****

Harry decided to spend lunch in his dormitory, following Professor Connerly's advice. He lay on his bed, absent-mindedly stroking the small bronze eagle he'd made as it walked about him. That's why he hadn't given it to her before she left on Holiday; he'd been able to make it move—like his golden lion—but he knew he had to do Azar one better. He had wanted to make it fly.

Ron opened the dormitory door like a shamed little boy coming to tell his mother he was sorry he said he hated her. Harry quickly twisted the bronze eagle's tail feather to make it freeze, hiding it in his hand. Ron stood there a while, shuffling his feet.

"We're collecting New Moon Lilies tonight," he finally said, as though continuing a nonexistent conversation. "There's a patch by the Forbidden Forest, and it's a new moon tonight. That…that's why we talked about them in class. We'll be making the Defensive Draft next time."

Harry sat up slightly, giving a small smile. "Thanks, Ron."

Again Ron shuffled about nervously, his hands burrowing deep into his pockets. "You alright, Harry?"

The predictability of the question almost caused Harry to laugh out loud. "I'm fine, Ron. Just had a bit of a moment in Potions. What happened when I left?"

"Snape just went on with the lesson, the slimy git," Ron muttered irritably as he sat at the foot of Harry's bed. "He wouldn't even let me follow you! I was ready to slam that pointed nose of his right into his smirky face. He didn't take any points away, though. … He shouldn't have said that."

Harry sat up fully, folding his legs beneath him. "I think he knows that now."

"You know, I don't know why he's a teacher. He hates everything that breathes," Ron said wryly. "And I still think he could be a Death Eater. All those that say they're reformed are tripe. They had to learn the Unforgivable Curses; they used them! They used the only way there is to kill someone instantly. I just… They're called the Unforgivable Curses for a reason, after all! I just wish I knew why Dumbledore thinks Snape is any better than the ones running around in masks."

"I wish I knew, too," Harry said quietly, setting his chin on his knees. Something Ron said netted in his mind, staring at him like some terrible fish. He knew what he had to do.

****

"Alrigh', everyone got yer dragon-hide gloves?" Hagrid called above the class, wearing his own gigantic pair.

Heads bobbed up and down. Their murtlaps were fully grown now and living in a makeshift pen by the lake. Today, however, they each had the murtlap they'd raised in their hands, so if they weren't wearing their gloves, they were surely regretting it. After all, the spines they were about to harvest were extremely sharp.

"Good. How 'bout yer pliers? Anyone need some? Good," Hagrid said with a nod. "Now, yeh need ter be careful removin' the spikes. Yer gloves will protect yeh from their spines, but not from their teeth. Ter avoid bein' bitten, yeh want ter grasp the loose skin at the back of their necks, like this. Everyone's got their gloves, righ'?"

Another nod went through the group. The moment Hagrid's giant hand took hold of the murtlap's skin, it let out an ear-piercing screech, then another and another. The cries reminded Harry somewhat of the mermaid singing he'd heard in his fourth year; above water, of course. Everyone tried to find a way of covering both their ears without letting go of their murtlaps.

"Now," Hagrid called over the shrill screams, "see how it's curlin' in ter a ball how it does when it's frightened? This is what yeh want 'cause it makes the spikes easy ter get at and they come out easy, too. So when yer murtlap does this, take yer pliers and gently pull on one o' the spikes, easin' it out."

The murtlap, thankfully, had stopped its constant shrieking in favor of the occasional yell, and many were surprised that it didn't make a sound as Hagrid took out one of the spikes on its back. He placed it in a long vial beside him.

"Now, if yeh pull back with the way the spike is growin', yer murtlap won' feel a thin'. Yeh all have yer gloves, righ'? Good. Each of yeh need to pull out five spines and put them in ter the vials yeh have beside yeh. Then put yer murtlap back in the pen and bring the vials ter me. Professor Snape will be teachin' yeh how ter prepare the spines later."

The rest of the class was spent taking out the sea anemone-like spikes—although Hagrid had made the action look easy and painless, many didn't find it so. Neville Longbottom was so alarmed when his murtlap shrieked as he took out a spine that he dropped the animal, spending the next five minutes running as the angry murtlap chased him through the snow. When finally everybody had taken five spines from their murtlaps and returned them to the waterside paddock, Hagrid let the class leave early. Harry glanced back just in time to see the many vials Hagrid had been collecting slip from his hands and fall to the ground. He hurried over to help him pick them out of the snow. Hermione moved to follow, but stopped when Ron got there first. She waited a while, then went off to lunch with Draco.

"Here, Hagrid, we'll help you," Harry said, stooping to scoop up the spines.

"Thanks, yew two," Hagrid said, a little gruff. "I don' know why I dropped them. Bit edgy, I guess."

"None of them broke," Ron offered as comfort. "Not even the vials."

"Well that's a good thin'. Don' think Professor Snape would have been too pleased with me breakin' his bottles," Hagrid said with a smile as they walked to his hut, their hands clutching tight to the vials.

Harry couldn't help but notice Hagrid's shaky hands, and the fact that although he felt near frozen even with his cloak, Hagrid was sweating.

"Are you okay, Hagrid?" he asked.

"Me? Ah, yeah," came the offhand answer. "Migh' be comin' down with a bit of the flu, but Madam Pomfrey'll fix that in a jiff."

They reached the hut, setting the vials in a corner, and then Hagrid ushered them off. As he headed back to the castle, Harry couldn't help but feel a bit suspicious.

"Did you notice Hagrid acting a bit stranger than usual?" he asked Ron.

"Yeah. He even kept repeating himself in class. I got a bit sick of being asked if I had my gloves."

"Do you think it's the flu like he said?"

Ron shook his head. "Something's definitely off, there's no doubt."

"Why do you say that?" Harry asked.

"He didn't offer us any food to refuse."

****

Potions class that afternoon was a bit strange. Snape did indeed have the murtlap needles, and their assignment was to pickle them. More than a few kids were sure they'd heard the potions professor wrong, and many were at a total loss for what to do. What was even stranger was that Snape was constantly pacing the classroom, watching and reprimanding them as though they were playing with plutonium. No potion-making, no boiling cauldrons. Just pickling murtlap spines.

A small white piece of paper suddenly plopped in front of Harry. He nonchalantly picked it up, making sure Snape was on the other side of the room before he dared to read it.

'Looks like the ditzy duo are at it again.'

He glanced over at Ron, who smiled and gave him a wink, and then past him at Lavender and Parvati. They were arguing over whether the spines should be pickled together or one at a time. Harry quickly got out his quill, scrawling under Ron's writing:

'Odd classes lately. First the New Moon Lily picking, and now pickling murtlap spines. And I used to think this class was called Potions for a reason. Makes you wonder if Snape's snapped.'

He slid the note over to Ron, pretending to peer closely at a spine. The piece of paper was soon back.

'Since when was there a need to wonder?'

Harry held back a laugh, quickly pocketing the note as Snape came up to them. The bell soon rang and everyone left as fast as they could, wanting to get away from the more-tyrannous-than-usual Snape and laughing about the absurd class.

"Good thing he didn't see that note," Ron laughed as he walked down the hall with Harry. "Would have been the death of both of us."

"I think he would have killed you twice."

"Naw, only one and a half times."

"Harry!"

Hermione was hurrying towards them. Almost magically, the moment Hermione came up, Ron was down the hall with Parvati and Lavender. Hermione didn't seem to notice this.

"Doesn't it seem a bit odd that we were pickling murtlap spines in Potions?" she asked slowly, as though she suspected far more than she revealed.

Harry nodded. "That's exactly what Ron and me were talking about in class. Well, passing notes about."

Hermione's eyes suddenly went wide as she halted in the middle of the hall, staring at Harry in horror. Her hand went to her mouth and Harry was sure he saw tears in her eyes. Before he could say anything, she was running down the hall. He felt a pang of guilt; he'd been so sure Hermione was fine talking about Ron, but apparently not.

****

Harry watched the metal figurines with dull eyes. His gold lion paced the length of his bedside table, looking both lazy and busy at the same time. The bronze eagle flew around the room, landing periodically on his lamp to rest. It had taken a lot of studying and work, but Harry had done it; he'd made the eagle fly. It finally landed and covered its head with one wing, falling asleep. Harry reached up and turned one of its tail feathers, freezing it. His lion, too, seemed to have tired from its pacing and stretched its body along the wood to rest. Harry twisted its tail and it stopped even its slight twitching.

The door creaked open almost against its will. Harry looked up to see Hermione walk in. Her eyes looked very red. Her hands clutched a paper, and from the looks of it, she'd been turning and twisting it for a while. Harry was certain it must have something to do with Ron.

"Harry?" Hermione said softly, looking uncomfortable.

He didn't answer, just looking at her.

"I…I have something for you," she went on, as nervous as ever. "From Azar. She gave it to me a few months ago. She told me to give it to you…should anything happen to her."

Harry's eyes went wide, and he snatched the letter from her hands.

"I'm sorry I didn't give it to you sooner, but it was driven out of my mind… I swear I thought she was joking," Hermione babbled, near tears. "It was just like her to say something like that. But when all this happened…"

Harry ignored her, tearing the letter open and reading it.

Hello Harry legs,

Well, I guess if you're reading this, I interpreted my dream correctly. Remember the forest nightmare? It became clearer and clearer to me the more I thought. I saw faces among the green light, and I knew them. They were my family. But then a wand pointed at me, and instead of the killing curse, I was stupe stunned. It didn't take me long to figure out why: I am a Seer. I knew—if my dream was right—Voldemort would try to make me prophesy for him. I also knew that he would win over in the end. And so I learned the spell for the Poison of Delayed Sleep, easier than the killing curse.

Don't think I killed m did it because I didn't want to live. Nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, in the weeks after I took the potion, I was constantly afraid that someone might say that spell, just as a joke, and that would be the end of me. But I had no other choice. I knew that if it came down to those options, I would rather die than do anything to help Voldemort. I know I must seem like a coward, that I should have been able to stand the pain. That's just it. I didn't I wasn't afraid of what might happen to me. I was afraid of what I might do. I was afraid of the people I might hurt, the innocent, those I love. I hope you can understand that, Harry, and you can make others understand.

On a more personal note, I know somehow you've decided that it was all your fault. Harry James Potter, get that notion out of your head this instant! I swear, if I must I'll find a way to knock some sense into your head, even if that means I have to get you struck by lightning. And don't think I won't! You know me better than that.

I know everything must be kind of overwhelming right now. I know I've probably shocked a good many people and I know not everyone will understand. But now you know, Harry legs. You must also know this: every beginning has an ending; every life shall fade away; every story has a hero; every darkness dies with day. You are the hero of this story, Harry, and daylight isn't far away. I promise.

Just be careful. I've Seen other things and I'm afraid I don't want you being foolish. Don't let the hero fade away, too. You haven't time for that. You've got a story to tell.

All my love always,

Azar

Harry closed his eyes after reading the note, rereading it in his head so he could hear Azar saying it. He opened them again, looking at Hermione through green pools.

"Thank you, Hermione," he said quietly.

Hermione smiled, but was unable to keep a sob from escaping her throat. Harry stood up, taking her in his arms. She held him too, burying her face in his shoulder. The two friends stood, embraced and crying, for a long time.

****

It was Saturday. No classes. No Quidditch. Ron and Hermione were avoiding each other, and Draco was avoiding everyone. So Harry had nothing better to do than wander the halls of Hogwarts and think. It had been a good many days since he'd realized what he had to do. He still hadn't done anything.

The problem was, he didn't know where to start really. He could try to do it alone, but that seemed risky. No, he had to find someone to help him, someone to teach him.

"Whoa, hello, Harry. Can-you-hear-me?"

Harry started, looking up to find Sirius waving a hand in front of his face with a smile. "Sorry, Sirius," Harry said with a smile. "I was getting lost in my head."

"And here I thought you were sleep-walking," Sirius sighed, as though disappointed. "How's school going, Harry? Failing anything?"

"No, not yet."

"Ack, well try harder at it, will you?"

Harry just shook his head with a laugh. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a flash of red, looking over to see it was Professor Connerly. Sirius clearly saw her, too. So Harry couldn't help but feel surprised when, as Connerly came down the hall, Sirius deliberately turned his back on her. The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor paused behind Sirius, looking at him waveringly, but she only nodded at Harry and went on. Sirius watched her go as her footsteps faded.

"What's going on?" Harry asked.

Sirius shrugged. "We had a bit of a row. I'm trying to lay low for a while."

Harry smiled slightly. "What about?"

"It was stupid, really," Sirius murmured, thinking it over. "She just wants to take our relationship up a notch, and I…well, I'm comfortable with my notch right now."

Harry couldn't help but feel a bit surprised. "You're the one not wanting to go to the next level? I would have more expected it the other way around, and considering this is Professor Connerly we're talking about, that's saying a lot."

Sirius looked very uncomfortable. "What's the rush, eh? I'd like to stay here for a bit longer. And—hey, I'm the parental figure; you should be asking me for advice on love, not offering it."

Harry just shrugged, though he still felt there was something more behind it.

Sirius seemed to realize Harry wasn't buying his explanation; he quickly said, "I've gotta go; papers to grade" and hurried down the halls.

The meeting put an idea in Harry's head. He knew Sirius wouldn't be able to help him, but what about Connerly? No, that was no good. She would never agree to teach him, and just because she was the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher didn't mean she knew them. He had to ask someone who would know, without a doubt—someone who would see the necessity of his learning.

A sudden determination took over; this was it, no turning back. Harry marched swiftly down the hall, down into the dungeons. He felt almost furious, more so with every step. The door to Snape's office slammed as Harry entered. The potions professor looked up with mild surprise, watching his student come purposefully up to his desk.

"I want you to teach me the Unforgivable Curses," Harry said, his fists clenched.

Snape turned back to what he was writing. "That is nothing to joke about, Potter."

Harry slammed his hand in the middle of Snape's parchment, splattering the wet ink. Snape jumped, truly shocked. Harry just glared down at him. "I am not joking."

Snape stared at him warily. "You've seen the effects of those spells, Potter. Why should you wish to perform them?"

"Because I have seen their effects!" Harry yelled. "I can't stop them, so I must fight them; fire with fire."

Snape glanced him up and down, his eyes holding a sardonic pity. "You place too much on your shoulders, Potter."

"Only because the world puts too much in my hands!" Harry said angrily. "I only ask to have every means of defending myself!"

Snape sneered. "You've lived this long without knowing the spells."

"Yes, I have, but so many haven't. I have, but so has he. It can't continue forever like this; surely you know that!"

"There is something you must understand, Potter," Snape hissed, looking squarely into Harry's eyes. "The Unforgivable Curses are never used in defense. They are the products of long, ruthless thought, not the sudden whim of a panicked boy."

Harry didn't blink, staring right back at Snape. "I know.

Snape seemed to be measuring Harry in his mind. He nodded. "All right, Potter. I will discuss this with the headmaster—"

"No," Harry said firmly. "No one can know about this but you and me."

Snape's eyebrow rose. "I wasn't asking you a question."

Harry's hand clenched, crinkling the parchment Snape had been writing on. "Neither was I. The less that know, the better; this is illegal and I don't want Dumbledore tied to it. I also have no desire to sit through more concerned lectures. I've had more than my fill. And you owe me. So does he. The least you can do is allow me to exact revenge."

"Revenge," Snape said heavily, "is not—"

"I told you, I am done with lectures," Harry snapped. "Either you teach me or I learn by myself. I don't care how, but I will learn those curses."

Snape kept his mouth shut for a long time, again measuring Harry in his mind. He finally said, "I'll think about it."

That was good enough for Harry. He left.

~*~*~

A/N: I admit, this chapter was very hard to get out; not emotionally, but I just seemed unable to write. I'm not particularly pleased with it, but them's the breaks, kid. Only a few more days! Ack, I gotta get writing! And reading, too! (Though reading all 4 books shouldn't take me too long. ^_^)

I'm sorry if you're disappointed/angry/murderous because Azar truly is dead. If you no longer want to read this fic, that of course is your choice. Even if I wanted to hold a gun to your head, I'd have to buy it first, and I'm too lazy to do that. I will let you know, however, that Azar's far-into-the-future premonition was not false or made up, if that's any consolation.

Thank you everyone who reviewed!

Jeanne: Thanks. ^_^

Jona: …well, I did. *sheepish* Thanks.

Sonata: I know, I know! *hangs head* Sheesh, I get myself nice and used to the idea of her being dead, and then I post the chapter and all you make me feel horrible again! Ah, well… Thank you.

F75: Thanks!

Princess: Thank you for being nice. ^_^ No, I can tell you, her premonition was true. However, Azar's premonitions come scattered, and so they are/were open to her interpretation. Just a warning. ^_^ Thanks!

Abbey: lol And here I was thinking I would have a none death-threat review. ^_^ Thanks.

Trisana: Yes, Percy is taking someone with him; just not Azar. *runs away quickly, yelling back* Thank you!

Liliana-Suger: Hm… Evil person, wonderful writer. Yeah, I can live with that. ^_^ Thanks for the review!

Humvee: Yeah, mystery does seem like it would be popular. It's so…mysterious. ^_^ Ah, please don't stop reading! I've had her death planned for so long; I couldn't cop out. Besides, you'll see later, she had to die. Thanks for the review, however wishy-washy. ^_^

Starry: I had to. I had her death planned almost since I introduced her… Thanks for the review.

Chickenhead: To quote a good book and movie: Life is pain. Anyone who says differently is selling something.

Elucreh: :P

Lil_angel: Thank you. ^_^

Slycat-blaze: Wow, thank you! I'm always ecstatic to get another reviewer/reader! Thank you so much for the review.

Shrimpo/Jewels: *feels another wave of guilt* I'm sorry to disappoint so many. Thank you for the review, though.

I'm always blown away by how many reviewers I have! You guys are wonderful.

Be Excellent to Each Other!

-Ady