Chapter 16: Awakenings

Harry was lying flat against the grass, his senses spinning. Somehow, his eyes were open again, to see the burning stag above him, rearing and kicking out at the clinging night. He wanted to move, but couldn't, and a growing dizziness made it less desirable by the second. It only abated when an intense cold gripped him, growing worse the longer he lied there, unmoving—unmoving and watching.

At some point, he became aware of torturous cries coming from somewhere nearby. He tried to make out who it was, but there were too many voices, all talking, crying. Someone was being soothed; another was being held back; still others were fighting, loudly.

How was he hearing all this? The Dementor had kissed him. Shouldn't he be gone? The cold within was numbing, reaching so far inside that his very soul felt frozen, chained to ground beneath him. In cold like that, how could he possibly still be breathing? Harry focused on his body and was alarmed to feel nothing at all. He was numb. His icy hand must have gone limp in Ron's because the next thing he heard was Ron moving next to him.

"No, mate," Ron whispered, "Not now." His breathing was labored as he drew close, watching Harry stare at his Patronus. "Come on." He grasped Harry's arm, pushed at his shoulder, both shoulders—his hands shaking and restless. "Come on, Harry! It didn't happen. It didn't!" Harry wanted to speak, wanted to reassure him that he wasn't completely gone, but he couldn't. His face was surely just as blank as if he had lost his soul. "Say something, you—"

But he couldn't, and a niggle of doubt burrowed into Harry's mind. Maybe this was what it was like to be kissed—just freezing to death. It wasn't as if anyone had ever done it and lived to tell.

Above him, the stag had grown still, and bowed its head. At first, Harry thought it had bowed to him. But then the words "Expecto Patronum!" rang out once more and a brilliant shape flashed by so quickly that it was impossible to make out.

Ron saw it and screamed after it, "You're too late!" He punched the ground angrily, then fell to weeping.

Someone else was crying, but the rest of the voices had dropped into a hushed silence. A tall, bearded figure in purple went striding by purposefully, with not even a glance toward the ground. Harry silently begged Dumbledore to help him, his vocal chords and lips frozen beyond use.

Prongs stood above him, watching the headmaster, head poised. Then it turned back to Harry and slowly bowed its head once more.

As its face lowered, Harry felt the icy grip on him shudder blissfully. The Patronus radiated heat that grew until the glowing was so bright that Harry had to shut his eyes, and was suddenly able to; but he didn't turn away. To be fair, he couldn't. But even if he could, he wouldn't. He desperately wanted to touch the stag, to pull some of its brilliant life into himself.

Ron had fallen to the side, out of the way, with Harry's hand still grasped in his own again. Harry heard him whispering something, but couldn't listen. The heat was nearing his face, moving closer, now so achingly close. If he could only touch it . . .

Then something pressed to his lips, searing them. He felt himself spasm all over as life was forced back into frozen limbs. A glorious wildfire spread throughout his body until every part of him burned.

Ron's hand felt cold in his now and Harry heard a gasp as it was jerked away.

"Harry?"

Light had seeped everywhere inside him, filling up the hidden cracks, exciting every last atom beyond bearing. It was beautiful, but, just—too much. Harry's mind spun out to oblivion on a wave of white-hot heat . . . .

. . . then with a rush, the world returned.

Ron was yelling something. Harry, somewhat startled at being able to open his eyes, saw Ron's face over him, nearly washed freckleless by white radiance. And beyond him, Prongs was standing proudly—blindingly beautiful.

"Harry?" Ron's hands hovered over him shakily, obviously afraid to touch him again. "What did it do to you? Are you all right?" Harry paused, not sure if he could actually speak or not. Ron grew agitated. "Come on! I know you're in there! Say something! Anything!" Ron stopped abruptly, then sat back on his heels, talking to the air with a blank look on his face. "He can't talk. What am I saying?"

Harry swallowed, fiercely determined. He was well back from the point of no return. "I'm fine," he croaked.

Ron's looked down, his eyes wide. "Wha— what did you say?"

"I'm fine. Just a bit . . . winded."

Ron smiled so big that new tears were forced out of his eyes. "You're all right. I can't believe it!" Then his blue eyes clouded and his smile dropped away suddenly. "How is that possible? I mean, how are you all right? I just saw a Dementor give you the Kiss."

Harry paused, listening to the slow, thick beats of his heart. "Dunno. Just am."

Ron grinned again. "I can't believe it! You're all right. You're all right! Come on! Let's tell the others!" Ron scooped Harry into his arms and jumped up with a whoop, the sensation causing Harry's mind to spin into overload again. "Mum's not going to believe it!" Harry clutched at Ron's shirt and screwed his eyes shut.

"Ron, what are you doing?" Hermione asked tearfully.

"He talked! He's all right!" Ron sounded hoarse, but whooped again and spun them around. People were yelling at Ron, and Harry wanted to, but he couldn't, and the dizziness dragged at him horribly until the roar in his ears overtook everything and he couldn't feel anything anymore.

Harry was teetering on the very edge of consciousness, trying to persuade himself to stay awake, even though staying awake meant feeling that horrid pain in his head. He wanted to stop everyone from worrying and crying . . . .

Voices faded in and out. He knew that he was still in Ron's arms, a stiffer and more sober Ron now. They were walking. There were several people right around him and Harry could suddenly hear everything.

"Why are you moving him?"

"He doesn't have a bloody neck injury, Gin," Ron said tensely.

"How do you know that?"

"Because he told me he was fine!"

"That's what he always says," Ginny said with an edge to her voice. "It doesn't mean anything!"

"Did he move?" Hermione put in, the words thick with tears.

"Not exactly."

"Then we don't know what that thing did to him," Hermione snapped.

"Put him down, Ron," Ginny pleaded. "You might hurt him."

"No! I'm taking him inside! He's all right, I tell you!" Ron bellowed, edging his way into the Burrow, and the murmur of voices ahead fell into a hush. Harry was relieved by the sudden quiet. Every movement exacerbated the pain in his head, and every sound sent bolts of yellow and red shooting back and forth in front of his eyes. He could hear Hermione sniffling as she followed, and knew that Ginny must be nearby. He felt terribly guilty about their worrying, but it was honestly all he could do to cling to consciousness.

"You can bloody well stop crying now! He's all right," Ron reiterated loudly as he made his way to the couch and laid Harry down. The couch was soft. Harry lay flat on his back comfortably, relieved to stop moving, watching the colors flash by in his mind as the others talked.

"'All right?'" came a familiar, drawling voice. "I don't think a vegetable can be classified as 'all right.'"

There were loud, angry cries from around the room amid a flurry of motion signaling Ron's short temper. "He woke up and he talked to me!" Ron finally yelled, furious. Someone must have been holding him back.

"You're living in a dream world, Weasley. He's been Kissed," Draco taunted, his voice laced with bitterness. "He can't wake up and he can't talk."

"Shut up, you coward," Ginny yelled over the other protesting voices. "You were hiding here in the house the entire time Dementors attacked!"

Others agreed in loud voices.

"Yes, of course I was hiding," Draco agreed easily. "No sane Slytherin would have set foot out of the door with Dementors loose."

"Well, even Gryffindors wouldn't have been out there if it was just you the Dementors were after!" Ginny shot back. "We were trying to save Harry!"

"Well, for all your noble intentions, it doesn't look as if you succeeded. I can only imagine the guilt you must feel. Poor, littlest Weasley. Now there's no one to love you, after all."

Ginny gasped as if she'd been slapped. There was a slight scuffling and several cries of "Oi!" as the Weasleys fought among themselves. Then a sharp report rang out, then silence. Draco had been slapped.

Ginny growled in a low voice, "Harry should have let the Death Eaters kill you when he had the chance."

"Ginerva Molly Weasley!" Molly sounded scandalized. "Apologize at once!"

Draco spat out something Harry couldn't hear. Someone was pulling Ginny away from him. Harry was struggling to move now, to shout with the others.

"I'm not apologizing to him!" Ginny cried.

"He practically gift-wrapped Harry for his dad!" Ron yelled angrily, and several other voices chimed in agreement.

"That WASN'T MY FAULT!" Draco screamed over the din, completely beside himself. The room went silent. Nothing could be heard but Draco's erratic breathing, which quickly calmed. "Do you realize that it's absolutely impossible to get something across to you people unless it's screamed directly in your faces?"

"Draco, perhaps it would be better if you went . . ." Mrs. Weasley trailed off uncertainly.

"Home?" Draco half-laughed. "I don't have a home, Mrs. Weasley. And I do apologize for being a bother and for telling the truth, as uncomfortable as it may be. But may I remind you that if I hadn't been at your pathetic little Order's Headquarters tonight," Draco's voice grew colder by the second, "cousin Nymphadora would be dead. Ask her yourself."

"He's right," Tonks said in a tight voice. "And I've said 'thank you' nicely, cousin, but that doesn't mean we have to sit here and listen to you all night."

"Out, Draco," Charlie growled.

"Fine. I can see you're still all under the spell of the Boy-Who-Got-Kissed. Let me know when—" His voice was drowned by a deluge of outrage. Movements and scuffles came from so many directions that Harry's head whirled.

"Stop it! Everyone stop it! This is terrible!" Molly Weasley was crying over the chaos. "Someone take Draco upstairs, please."

"I've got him," Charlie said grimly.

"I will not be escorted outside like garbage! If you do not let go of me I'll—"

"What? Call Daddy?" That was Fred, in a dark voice. "Try again."

Draco fell silent as they left the room. Everyone seemed to breathe easier and Harry felt the focus turning back to him.

"He hasn't moved, Ron, are you sure he's all right?" Ginny whispered, close by.

"What did you see, Ron?"

"I—I don't know. I couldn't see anything until the Dementors were gone. Then Harry went limp and was sort of—sort of, staring . . . ."

There was a long pause, with a few whispered conversations in the background.

"Where did Dumbledore go? I thought he'd be back by now."

"He's chasing away the Dementors," Ron answered Hermione in a low voice. "Dad and Mad-Eye went to check on him. They'll be back."

"I just can't believe this." One of the twins—probably George.

"But you said Harry talked," Ginny insisted.

"He did," Ron said quietly. "After his Patronus bent down to—to—well, it looked like it kissed him."

"I saw that," Fred interjected. "I thought it was sniffing him!"

"It kissed him?" Hermione said blankly.

"Why would it do that?"

"Well, it is sort of the opposite of a Dementor. Maybe it was trying to heal him? I dunno," Ron offered lamely. "All I know is that he went limp and cold as ice when the Dementor had him, and after his Patronus did . . . whatever it did, he was warm again."

Everyone was staring at him now, and Harry wanted to open his eyes. He couldn't. Footsteps sounded from the stairs.

"So, is Dung still missing, then?" Charlie asked the question quietly after he'd entered.

"Yes, dear," said Mrs. Weasley. "I'm sure he'll turn up, though. Mundungus seems to have at least nine lives."

"Tonks," Ginny said in a dubious voice, "did Draco really save your life?"

"Oh, I'm afraid so," Tonks sighed. "He's been flouncing around Headquarters like some disenchanted Frog Prince for days now, demanding this and demanding that, like we were his bloody servants. But I have to admit, as soon as the Death Eaters came through the door, he was up casting spells while I was still tripping over my own feet."

"Death Eaters attacked Headquarters?"

"Ron, where have you been?"

"Oh, George, don't be ridiculous. Ron's been out of his mind about Harry," Hermione said firmly, then turned to Ron. "The attacks were almost simultaneous. The Dementors must have gotten here only a minute or so after the attack on Headquarters. Mrs. Weasley had Flooed off to help just before we started hearing yelling outside."

"Hermione, why did you get here so early?" Ron asked bluntly. "I mean, not that I'm not glad or anything—without your Patronus, we'd have been . . . but, well, weren't you supposed to get here later tonight?"

"Yes, I was," she sighed, sounding as if she'd just sat down. "But Harry's birthday was so terrible for him, and I wanted to cheer him up. So I Flooed your Mum and asked it we could have a party tonight. I got here and started setting up while you were all playing Quidditch. It was going to be perfect. Nobody knew."

At this, Harry grimaced slightly. The movement was enough to encourage him and he tried forcing his eyes open as Hermione continued.

"So there I was, putting up the decorations with your Mum's help, when Dumbledore Flooed us about the attack on Grimmauld Place. Mrs. Weasley left to help and a minute later, Tonks brought Draco back through to keep him out of trouble. She Flooed back and almost immediately, there was yelling outside and—Dementors. Oh, it was just . . . terrible."

"Was anyone hurt in the attack?"

Tonks took up the story. "Several Death Eaters were killed. McNair was one of them. Molly was cut with the Concidus, but she was healed quickly, since we knew the spell, thanks to Harry."

"Poor Mum," Ginny said weakly. Then she gasped. "Harry?"

Finally, Harry had opened his eyes. A chorus of incredulous voices rang out, and there were hugs all around.

Harry was fighting to focus on the figures that appeared immediately beside him. "Harry?" Hermione had sat on the edge of the couch, grabbing at his hand tearfully. Ron stood behind Hermione, hands shoved in his pockets, face working. Ginny knelt beside him.

"I'm here," Harry whispered. "I'm all right." They all looked relieved and happy, but no one said anything at first. "And my back is fine," he directed toward Ginny with a small smile. She flushed.

"Well, it just looked wrong," she muttered. "I mean, the way you were Kissed . . . ." She shook her head.

He looked at the three of them, his emotions in a whirl after hearing all that had happened, but somehow, his thoughts were as clear as a mountain stream. Seldom had he felt such clarity, but the words that finally settled in his mouth left a bitter taste. Harry took a deep breath and looked at Ron. "I should be gone, but I'm not. And as far as I can see, it must be because of the Prophecy, because I'm the only one who can kill him." Next he locked eyes with Hermione. "I'm tired of this. The next time I see Tom will be the last." He heard Ginny take in a long, slow breath. "Are you with me?"

Hermione, her eyes bright, nodded. "Of course I am."

Ron put a hand on her shoulder and swallowed before voicing his answer, "Sure, mate. You know I'm here."

Harry turned his head slightly, risking the dizziness for a clear look at Ginny's face. She knew the least of anybody, and he wasn't exactly sure why he was including her, but knew it felt right. "And you, Gin?"

"I'll be whatever you need me to be, Harry," Ginny whispered, her eyes dark with promise. Harry stared at her a moment, slightly mesmerized. There were footsteps approaching and the happy buzz of voices.

"Everyone out of the way! Pomfrey's here!"

"Look at you, crowding around that boy like he isn't at death's very door for the third time this summer! Get away now," she shooed them in that familiar manner, then stopped to stare at Harry. "Well, now, isn't this a change? Wide awake this time, are we?" Despite himself, his eyes slowly slid shut. "Ah, now that's more like it. Clear out, you Weasleys! And you, too, Miss Granger! The boy needs his rest!"

As everyone called back their goodbyes, Harry took a deep breath and sighed. He was exhausted, though he felt more centered than he had in a long time. He had faced death, and denied its siren call, coming back from the point of no return. He wanted to live.

His thoughts drifted as Pomfrey's wand moved over him silently. In seconds, he was out again.

"Harry, you are awake," came Professor Dumbledore's bright voice as Harry blinked and looked around him. The room was dark, reflecting the night outside. Low voices came from the kitchen, and there was the familiar thumping of footsteps going up and down the stairs. He was still in the den at the Burrow.

"I am," Harry agreed.

"And talking as well, I am very relieved to see," Dumbledore added, his eyes twinkling merrily. "I was beginning to wonder if we would ever find the cat that had your tongue."

Harry smiled, but denied the urge to explain. He didn't think he could.

"Though I missed your heroics, I have been apprised of your tenacity in defending the Weasleys from harm. I must say that I am very grateful to you for saving my dear friends from a dreadful fate." Dumbledore's face was grave.

"It wasn't just me, sir," Harry broke in. "Hermione, Charlie and Fred all helped with their own Patroni. I was stupid enough to forget that I could do the spell without words until the last second. And I still got Kissed, or at least I think I did. I was lucky to survive."

Dumbledore shook his head slightly. "You do an admirable job of being hard on yourself, Harry, but you might want to take a vacation every now and then. Your Patronus was powerful enough to drive away the Dementors until I got there, and powerful enough to restore you to health after coming a hair's breadth away from losing your soul to a Dementor." Harry watched Dumbledore closely, but saw no hesitation on the Wizard's face. "It is indeed you we must thank."

"Did you find Mundungus?"

Dumbledore's face fell. "I'm afraid he was a casualty. His body was found behind the garden, the victim of one of Voldemort's schemes. You see, Mundungus had an unfortunate devotion to the cinnamon buns served at the Knobby Broomstick and often ate there before he went to work. I suspect he met quite a few of his old friends there, to make deals of one sort or another. We never could completely reform him, you know," he confided conspiratorially.

"At any rate, according to the results of Severus' discreet inquiry, a disguised Death Eater slipped Mundungus a slow-acting poison in his cactus milk this morning. Apparently, Mundungus was feeling quite chatty from the poison and, not realizing who he was talking to, he revealed to the Death Eater several things: one, that you weren't speaking, two, that you were expected to be up and around today, and three, that he was the only seasoned Auror on duty today.

"When you went outside and began your game of Quidditch, a Disillusioned Death Eater Apparated away to give the signal. Simultaneously, the attack on Grimmauld Place was begun, and the Dementors were somehow drawn to the Portkeys Voldemort had made out of large tarps. Perhaps he's found a way to communicate with them. Since they all seemed to be determined on getting to you, that would not be an unlikely guess."

Harry felt a cold chill settle in his stomach.

"At any rate, as you were fleeing toward the house, I was gathering Aurors to defend Headquarters and Apparating there. We were well into the battle by the time the Dementors attacked you, and Miss Granger could not get her desperate message through to us. The Death Eaters had blocked the Floo at Grimmauld Place after Tonks came back through, knowing that we would run to your defense. After the battle was over, Tonks tried to return to the Burrow and realized it had been blocked. We arrived here as soon as we could, only to find the defense collapsing and you in the clutches of a Dementor, though your Patronus was charging toward you with a bright vengeance the like of which I have never before encountered. Quite remarkable, even among such a plethora of remarkable events as this."

"Is Mrs. Weasley all right?"

Dumbledore's smile brightened. "Oh, yes and she's just as full of spice and vinegar as usual. Everyone is just fine. Now, there is someone else who wishes to speak with you, if you feel you are ready."

Harry nodded tentatively, feeling that Dumbledore was trying to warn him of something.

"Severus?" Then Harry understood.

Severus Snape swept into the room looking as pale and disdainfully venomous as usual. His robes swirled around him as he came to a stop at the couch, while Harry tried unsuccessfully to sit up. He had to settle for being propped up against the arm of the couch.

"Potter. I must say, you're looking frightfully peaked and close to death, as seems to be your peculiar wont this summer."

Harry stared at him for a moment, stunned that the man could make him so ruffled with one sentence. Then he resigned himself to doing an impossibly difficult task. With as much sincerity as could be managed, he looked up at the Potions master and said, "Thank you for saving my life."

"Which time are you referring to?" Snape asked with an evil gleam in his eye.

"Take your pick," Harry said tersely.

"Severus," Dumbledore intervened with a mild tone. "Harry has hardly been at fault in any of these attacks."

"Of course, Headmaster," Snape agreed in an oily voice. "However, I hope you do not mind if I seek to rid myself of these last-second emergency responsibilities as much as possible." Dumbledore gestured, encouraging him to continue. Snape turned to Harry. "I have prepared, in this flask, a universal antidote which should render any poison harmless, at least any that Death Eaters might try to use. I will be giving these to everyone in the Order shortly." He handed a small flask to Harry with a cord attached. Harry held it lightly in his fingers and carefully worked the cork out. Inside there were crystalline pellets, each about the size of a mustard seed. "If you suspect your food of being contaminated, simply put this on the tip of your tongue and let it dissolve before eating. If you ingest a poison, take one immediately afterward and it will be neutralized." Harry nodded, closed the flask, then tied the cord around his neck and tucked it beneath his shirt.

Snape turned to Dumbledore. "I felt it was a necessary precaution. It is probable that Harry's system is more susceptible to poisons after the incident this summer." Harry looked up sharply at that statement; it was the first time he'd heard that. "And it is also probable that he will, in all likelihood, be the target of several more attempts on his life at Hogwarts. Indeed, I expect it will be quite a feat simply to keep up with all the machinations of the sixth year Slytherin class."

"Don't give up quite so easily," Dumbledore cautioned him. "We have ways of protecting Harry at school that not even you know about. And more to the point, Harry has come up with an idea as to how to make Voldemort vulnerable to an attack."

Snape raised his eyebrows. "Intriguing, on both accounts. What, praytell, is this wonderful idea?"

Harry felt a mischievous smirk play on his lips. "How about a demonstration?"

Snape crossed his arms in front of his chest, and glared and smiled at the same time. "Please."

"Go ahead, Harry," Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eyes.

Harry pushed himself up further into a sitting position, hoping that he didn't look too pathetic along the way. He pulled out his wand, closed his eyes and erected the gray screen in his mind. This spell had to be particularly strong, strong enough to break through Snape's mind and knock him on the undignified backside of his immaculate robes, to pay him back for all the humiliation—

No. Harry jerked in his thoughts. Procclumency was a positive magic that depended upon strong, loving thoughts for its power. Taking a deep, calming breath, Harry focused on love.

But instead of Sirius, the Weasleys came to his mind. Surprised, he nonetheless remembered the many kindnesses of them over the last few days—the jokes, the food, the care and their patience in waiting for him to speak. And then the way the brothers had fought for him, tried to protect him—against Dementors, no less. Ginny had run out there, too, risking her life again for him. Harry's heart ached painfully, but with a good, sweet ache that fed his soul.

His hatred neutralized, Harry turned to his stock memory, the darkness of the day Ginny was taken to the Chamber of Secrets. The events played inside his mind on the gray screen. He heard a loudly expelled huff of breath from Snape indicating his boredom, but ignored it.

When his memory reached its conclusion, when they were all together in Dumbledore's office—all the Weasleys and Dumbledore, Harry raised his wand, opened his eyes and yelled, "Procclumis!"

Snape rocked back on his heels as the spell hit him and then stood as if mesmerized. A grimace crossed his features, and then another one. Harry and Dumbledore watched him in amazement as, half a minute later, a strange smile came across his face. Harry was stunned and dropped his wand, but the Headmaster chuckled.

Almost immediately, Snape became aware of himself and snapped his head to look at the Headmaster. "It could not possibly be that amusing." He turned to look at Potter. "Imbecile! Sharing your memories with the Dark Lord will only give him further leverage against you. You cannot fight him with warm, fuzzy feelings!" The last words came out with a hiss.

"No," Harry readily admitted, "but it could force him off his guard, like it did at the—" Harry paused at the quick lurch of his stomach, but he forced himself to finish. "At Malfoy Manor."

Snape's gaze narrowed. "You must control that, Potter. No matter what they did to you. You cannot show weakness or he will eat you alive."

"On the contrary, Severus," Dumbledore injected. "I have often said that Harry's heart is his best and most useful weapon. If he hardens himself too much, it will be unable to save him, unable to save all of us."

Snape scowled. "It is too late for anyone's 'heart' to save the world from the Dark Lord; you must know that! I have told you over and over again: you put too much faith in a mere boy, Headmaster! He is weak. He is not the hero the Wizarding World needs! Just look at him!"

The room was silent. Harry, for his part, was wondering if he was supposed to be insulted. He agreed.

Snape did not seem to notice that he'd crossed a line. "How many times have I saved his life—the Savior of the Wizarding World's life—just this summer? It's outrageous!"

"What is it that you want, Severus?" Dumbledore asked sternly.

"Want? I want for the Wizarding World to save itself! I want the mound of driveling fools who inhabit this world to realize that they have power in their veins, in their very blood. They do not need a boy hero," he sneered. "They do not need The One. And, by Merlin's blood, you are not the One!" He spat these last words at Harry as if they'd been stewing in his mind for the past five years. They probably had.

Harry watched Snape, letting his words ruminate for a moment. The man's venom seemed to drain Harry's anger completely, the opposite of its usual effect, and he had no idea how to reply. It seemed foolish to even try. But then again, who said he wasn't foolish?

Harry took in a long, slow breath. "It is outrageous. And ridiculous. And sort of a nightmare. When I came into the Wizarding World, I knew less than the smallest Wizard toddler about this World, and what it needed to save it. I had no idea of the things I would be asked to do, or if I would at all capable of doing them. Since then, it's just gotten more difficult and more dangerous. But there's no turning back. And if there's one thing I have learned, it's that Tom has got to be stopped.

"It doesn't matter who stops him. It doesn't matter if it's me; I didn't ask to be anybody's anything. But I'll be damned if I'm going to sit by and do nothing while he kills my family and my friends, drags Dumbledore through hell, tortures me, and tries to destroy every good thing the Wizarding World has left." Harry sucked in another breath, suddenly shaking with anger. "If that makes me the One, then okay, I'm the bloody One. But I promise you this: you won't hear me saying it. It'll be them, like it always has been." He blinked away tears.

"And I can promise you one more thing: the next time I meet Tom, it will be the last."

Snape seemed at a loss for words, but quickly recovered. "The Dark Lord has vowed the same, Potter. You would be wise not to put your trust in whatever strength it is that you think you have. I believe Lucius has shown you how weak you can truly be."

Harry heard the name with a pang that took away his breath, and he felt the blood drain from his face, but he did not look away. Snape seemed satisfied, oddly enough, and inclined his head slightly. Then he excused himself and swept out of the room.

Harry slid back down to a lying position and felt himself go limp. He should sit back up, perhaps, and chat with Dumbledore about Procclumency, but just couldn't.

"Take another rest, Harry," Dumbledore said in a low voice. "We'll have plenty of time to talk about the school year. Don't let Severus' words upset you. He does not have the heart you have, and cannot understand the strength that comes from it. It is, perhaps, the great tragedy of his life. Sleep well."

Harry didn't exactly understand the words, but he had experienced Snape's lack of heart many, many times before. He was asleep in seconds.

Harry only rested a few hours that time, and woke to find the house quiet and dark. A light had been left on in the kitchen for him, and it spilled onto the floor with a warm cheerfulness that drew him like a moth. Unfortunately, every single muscle he had was sore and protested any movement vigorously. Was it from Quidditch or the ice-cold touch of the Dementors, or the fiery kiss from Prongs? He had no idea which, but it made moving very, very difficult.

Walking painfully into the kitchen, he saw with an appreciative glance that a bowl of ever-warm soup, a glass of pumpkin juice and what he thought was probably a sandwich wrapped in a napkin had been left out on the table for him. But something else had caught his eye as well. Up on the wall was a banner that Hermione must have been putting up while the Quidditch game was on and no one had bothered to take it down. "Happy Birthday, Harry," it read. A few balloons were tucked away into a corner, bobbing idly.

Harry grimaced. He really had had an awful birthday—spending part of it being tortured, part of it flying past endurance, part of it unconscious, and the other part bleeding to death. It was nice of Hermione to think of trying to have another one for him. Of course, this one had been ruined, too, though. Trelawney would have a field day with that.

By the time Harry sat down at the table, his mouth was watering. Breakfast had been hours and hours ago.

There was a note on the table from Mrs. Weasley explaining the food and that everyone had been too exhausted to stay up longer to wait on him. It was extremely apologetic, but Harry didn't mind at all. Eating a nice meal in peace and quiet every now and then was not a burden.

When he was halfway through the meal, he heard a thud and a groan. He stopped with the spoon halfway to his mouth and looked over at the door to the living room, where the noise had come from. Stumbling footsteps were heading toward him, ones that he thought he recognized.

Ron appeared in the doorway, shirtless, mid-yawn, hair sticking out in all directions, stretching his arms up to rest on the doorframe. He eyed Harry blearily.

"You awake, then?"

Harry nodded and ate the spoonful of soup. Ron stared at him, frowned and then ambled over to the table, where he sat with a loud thunk. "You're not doing that silent thing again, are you?"

Harry swallowed another mouthful of soup and smiled, "No. I'm still talking."

Ron eyed him warily. "Had a vision?"

"No."

"Nightmare?"

"No."

"Good," Ron said, yawning again. He laid his head down on his arms and muttered sleepily. "Guess I'm still off-duty, then."

Harry smiled and watched Ron for the two seconds it took for him to fall asleep again. Then Harry finished up his soup and sandwich, drained his pumpkin juice and stood unsteadily, feeling the pull on his muscles again. With a grimace, he headed over to the sink and put in his bowl and glass.

He decided to walk around the dark house a bit to stretch out his muscles, especially his thighs. They ached with every step, and he finally paused to do a few stretches, finding that it eased the pain a bit. Then he found himself leaning against the wall in the darkened living room, feeling the Burrow cocoon him in safety.

Earlier today, despite the wards, this house had almost been destroyed because of his presence here. And only hours later, he'd bound Ron, Ginny and Hermione to him in pledge, to help him with his task. His stomach tightened. It had to be this way; they had to stand with him, but how could he possibly keep them safe?

As Harry's eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, he began to pick out a faint light seeping down the stairs. Far above, footsteps crept across the floor. Someone was still awake up there.

Harry contemplated the light for a while, cloaked in the darkness and the peace. In three weeks, he would be headed back to Hogwarts. And judging by what Snape said, his sixth year would be even rougher than his fifth.

But then that only made sense. This was war—his war with Tom.

And no matter what happened, there would be no turning back, not until Harry won or until he reached the true point of no return and went on to join the ones he'd already lost.

Either way, on the other side of the bloody battle that was going to be his sixth year, he looked forward to peace and a well-deserved rest. For this year was the one in which Harry Potter would fulfill the Prophecy. And, Snape be damned, this year, he would prove whether or not he was the One.