"And you're saying that you saw this as well, Severus?" Lupin said, rubbing his eyes wearily.
Harry found himself seated, yet again, in a squashy purple armchair in Dumbledore's office. At least this time, however, he had company – while Professor Dumbledore was in his usual spot behind his desk, Professor McGonagall stood to his right, while Lupin leaned against a bookshelf, and Snape lurked in the corner, glaring at Harry.
"Yes," he said, still eyeing Harry distastefully, as though he'd been caught breaking school rules yet again.
"Right," Harry thought ironically, "Rule number 372: No prophetic visions during class time."
"But the vision ended with Hogwarts burning, and the curses flying back and forth?"
"NO!" Harry insisted. How could they keep ignoring this?
"Harry, I was asking Professor Snape," Lupin said, wearily, "We know what you saw."
"That's correct," Snape said, still sneering at Harry moodily, "The pain immediately subsided, and the visions ended. I did not see Mr. Weasley."
"I know he didn't!" Harry said hotly, "Because we'd already broken the connection by then! Professor Dumbledore, you have to—"
"We are taking this very seriously, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said patiently, "No one wants to see Mr. Weasley get hurt."
Almost against his will, Harry's eyes flicked none-too-subtly over to Snape, and down to the floor. Snape merely snorted, and turned away.
Dumbledore folded his long fingers, and leaned back, as though he hadn't a care in the world.
"And you say your scar began to hurt before Professor Snape attempted to enter your mind?"
"Yes," Harry said, remembering, "It was already stinging before that."
"Well, I see no cause for alarm at present," Dumbledore said, and Professor McGonagall's eyebrows flashed upwards in disbelief, "I believe that Snape accessed Harry's mind at a time when Lord Voldemort was already trying to access it. When Harry used Protego, both Harry and Snape actually glimpsed a bit of the Dark Lord's plans. This may actually work to our advantage."
"No cause for alarm!" chuffed Professor McGonagall, "No, certainly not!"
"The Order was expecting something along these lines, Minerva," Dumbledore said gently, "And has been making preliminary preparations...With the Ministry in his pocket and the Dementors and Giants under his wing, it was only a matter of time before Voldemort tried to take Hogwarts."
"But surely," Professor McGonagall sputtered, "He wouldn't dare, Albus. Not with you here."
"I am only one man, Minvera," Dumbledore said quietly, "And as I've told you before, Voldemort has powers I will never have."
"And as I've told you before," she rejoindered, "That is only because you are too noble to use them!"
"I agree with Professor Dumbledore," Lupin said quietly, "They've broken into Gringotts, they've broken out of Azkaban, they've manipulated and infiltrated the Ministry...Hogwarts is the last stronghold in the wizarding world. He's definitely coming."
"Severus?" Professor McGonagall asked, as though appealing for an opinion.
Harry wasn't quite sure what she meant by the question, or why she needed Snape's opinion. He was still lurking in the corner with his arms folded across his chest, looking at the floor. He seemed to be thinking. After a brief pause, he simply nodded once, and looked away.
"Well," Professor McGonagall said with a hopeless air about her, "What are we going to do? The students will have to be sent home!"
"WHAT?!" Harry shouted, jumping to his feet.
"Sit down, Mr. Potter!" Professor McGonagall barked.
"Harry, sit. Minerva, compose yourself," Dumbledore said with an almost irritating calm, "As I've said, I see no cause for alarm. As Professor Trelawney's most recent prophecy reveals –"
Snape snorted from the corner of the room, but Dumbledore continued as though he hadn't heard.
"We have until 'the third month' to prepare – which I'm assuming, refers to March. We will simply need to step up our preparations. As for sending the students home, absolutely not. Hogwarts is meant to prepare these students for the rest of their lives as witches and wizards. And in times like these," Dumbledore said firmly, "Knowledge truly is power. To close our doors and send tomorrow's witches and wizards out into the world unprepared, and unable to defend themselves would be doing Lord Voldemort a favor. As Professor Lupin kindly pointed out, Hogwarts is, essentially, our last and only stronghold."
Harry stood slowly, earning an eyebrow flash from Professor McGonagall, a sneer from Snape, and a worried scowl from Professor Lupin.
"Yes, Harry," Dumbledore said, in the same pleasant, brisk tone.
"I want to help."
"Absolutely –"
"Listen," Harry said, interrupting Professor McGonagall as gently as he could, "Just...listen."
"Ron, Hermione and I have fought Lord Voldemort or his Death Eaters every year for the past five and a half years," Harry said simply, "And I'm tired of being left out of the loop."
"I can see where this is going," Professor McGonagall said, bristling.
"I'm not going to ask to join the Order," Harry said, and he was again rewarded as Professor McGonagall's eyebrows crept even closer to her forehead, "Because I know you'll say no. But I want to help. And so will Ron and Hermione. And to be frank," he said, picking up steam as something bubbled up from deep within him, "So will Ginny, and Neville, and Luna, and Dean, and every single student here. Because...because it's not just a school. Because it's our home. And we deserve a chance to defend it."
"Mr. Potter, just because we are encouraging you to learn to defend yourselves doesn't mean that we intend for you to—"
"Don't you get it?!" he burst out, angrily. His eyes met Dumbledore's, and his scar started to twinge again. He felt another burst of anger, this time not his own.
He took a slow, deep breath, and with a conscious effort, closed his mind. The tingling immediately stopped, and all that was left was a calm quiet.
"It has to be me."
The air seemed to grow heavier. He didn't need to explain – they all knew what he was referring to. Harry felt the same swimming light-headedness every time he tried to speak about the Prophecy, but where before there had been anger, fear, desperation, and resentment, there was now only the clear knowledge of what had to be done.
"In the end, no matter what the students do, or the Ministry, or even the Order...it comes down to me. It does every year, and it will every year until it's finally done."
He felt his voice shaking slightly, and he noticed that while he was carefully not looking at anyone, nobody was looking at him, either.
"I just want it to end. I want it to be over. The Order is going to do what it has to do. But the other students can't just going to sit idly by and wait to be attacked, and neither can I."
He finally looked up to meet Professor Dumbledore's eye.
"He's already taken enough from me," he said quietly, "He's not getting Hogwarts. Voldemort is mine."
For a while, nobody said anything. Harry thought he saw Dumbledore give him a strange look, but it was such a brief flicker, that he told himself he was probably imagining things.
"Very well," he finally said, in a slightly hoarse voice, "We will need to discuss what we've seen here tonight with the rest of the Order. We will send instructions to you via owl in the morning. Does anyone have anything else to say?"
"Are you keeping up with the D.A.?" Lupin asked quietly.
"Yes," Harry said, "First meeting since we got back is this weekend."
Lupin nodded, "Good. Focus on the upperclassmen especially, Harry, I've got my hands full with the first through third years."
Harry simply nodded.
"I think that's all for now," Dumbledore said, standing, "We shall need to call an emergency meeting of the Order, to fill everyone in on recent developments, and discuss accelerating our strategy."
He glanced at Harry at this, and Harry reflected he was probably going to discuss with the Order exactly how he and the students should be involved, and how much they should know. He felt a small surge of annoyance, however irrational, that they would yet again be discussing him behind his back. He knew it was somewhat petty – they'd have to discuss it, of course. But he didn't have to like it.
Discuss it...how much they should know...
Ron and Hermione! He had to tell them, now.
"I'll see you out, Harry," Lupin said, as he led Harry to the stone staircase.
They said nothing as the stairs revolved and sank, Dumbledore's office slowly disappearing from view. The realization that had been quietly nagging at the back of Harry's mind grew larger and more insistent. He hadn't had time to think about all the ramifications of the second part of the Prophecy, having just witnessed it and reported it, and being far more concerned about Ron than himself. But now, the full meaning of it hit home.
The third month... "And one must die by the other's hand..."
The culminating line of the prophecy was going to be fulfilled at Hogwarts, in March. It seemed so close. In roughly two months, he would either be a murderer or...
"Cease to exist," Harry thought, the very idea seeming ludicrous. Everything he knew would come to an end, immediately, in a burst of cold, green light. No more common room. No more Quidditch. Not even any Dursleys. For about the millionth time that summer, he found himself questioning what life after death might be like. Would it hurt? Where would he go? Would he see Sirius and his parents again?
"Harry," Lupin said softly. His voice was tender, but Harry could see the strain on his face.
Harry shook his head "no," and looked away, and Lupin said nothing else as the stone staircase continued to spiral downwards, and eventually ground to a halt. There was nothing Lupin could say to make it better, and there was nothing Harry wanted to hear. In fact, as much as he loved Lupin, there were only two people he wanted to be with right now.
"Take care, Harry," Lupin said, placing a hand timidly on Harry's shoulder, "Send me an owl, maybe."
Harry nodded, and tried to smile reassuringly but his neck and jaw didn't seem to be working properly, and his head just jerked oddly. He turned, and walked back to the common room, breaking into a trot, as he got further and further from Dumbledore's office.
He reached the portrait hole panting, to find the Fat Lady was asleep, her chins quivering slightly as she snored stentorously. He still couldn't find his voice to wake her, however, so he slammed his hands desperately into the frame of the Fat Lady's portrait.
"OH!" she shrieked, "Good heavens! What do you mean, thumping about like that? I was sound asleep!"
Harry still couldn't speak, so he merely panted for a moment, his hands hanging by his sides.
The Fat Lady eyed him strangely. "Are you alright, dear? I can't let you in without the password, you know that."
"Mm," Harry muttered, finding his voice, "Mim. Mimble."
The Fat Lady continued to gawk at him, an expression of mixed concern and curiosity on her pudgy face.
"Alright, love, that'll do."
The portrait swung open, and Harry felt a surge of gratitude towards her – she'd always been a stickler for the rules, but it appeared she was finally cutting him a bit of slack. He entered the common room to find Neville laughing shyly as he, Dean, and Seamus played a game of Exploding Snap. Ginny was curled up on the sofa with one of Ron's Marvin the Mad Muggle comics.
Harry would later reflect that it was odd for Neville to be up this late. He was social enough, yes, but in his own quiet way. By this point at night, he'd usually retreated to the quiet of his bed hangings, to study a bit, or get an early night.
"Harry," Ginny said, her face lighting up, "How are you?"
Her expression immediately darkened. "You look a fright! What's happened?"
"Ron?" Harry asked, stupidly.
He'd meant to say something like, "Oh, I'm fine, nothing to worry about. Say, if it isn't too much trouble, you wouldn't happen to know where Ron is, would you?" But that one syllable seemed to be all he could manage.
"Oh...isn't he up in your room?" Ginny asked the boys, her face a mask of worry.
"Err," Neville said awkwardly, "I...don't think so."
But Neville had always been a bad liar, and Dean and Seamus were looking at him with confused expressions on their faces – that was all Harry needed to know. Ron was upstairs. He'd go get Ron, and then Ron could ask Ginny to go up and get Hermione, and then he could sit down with both of them, and...well, he didn't even know what, but he had to tell them. He had to unburden himself of the weight of what he'd seen tonight, what he'd heard. He didn't even stop to think why Neville might be lying about Ron's whereabouts. Whatever it was, there were more important things afoot right now.
He bounded up the boys' staircase, not even registering Neville's feeble protests, and burst through the door to the sixth years' room.
"Ron?" he called desperately, his eyes turning immediately to Ron's four-poster.
The bed hangings were closed, and there was no answer, but Harry couldn't hear Ron's loud snoring, either. He crossed the room, annoyed, and reached for the hangings. He had no idea why Ron was avoiding him, but whatever was going on—
"Ron!" he shouted, as he wrenched the curtains open, "I know you're awake."
Ron was leaning up on one arm, his face white as a sheet, goggling at Harry as though he'd seen a ghost. His bare chest was glinting like freckled marble in the moonlight, in stark contrast to his ginger hair.
"Ron, are you alright?" Harry asked, himself surprised by Ron's reaction, "It's only me, for heaven's...sake..."
Harry trailed off as his gaze wandered past Ron's bare shoulder, and he noticed a few locks of bushy brown hair peeking out from under the covers at Ron's side.
"What's..." he began to ask, but he stopped himself again, as he mentally answered his own question. He felt as though his stomach had turned to lead and was slowly sinking to the floor, while there was an odd jerking sensation in his chest. He felt as though he couldn't get any air into his lungs.
The rest of Hermione's face slowly emerged from under the covers. Her bushy hair was a mess of curly tangles and frizzy wisps, and her cheeks were a brilliant crimson contrast to Ron's paleness. She looked absolutely beautiful, and utterly miserable. Harry closed his eyes in horror, as he noted her shoulders were bare as well. The image was burned into his mind's eye, however, even as he tried to push it away. The small muscle that connected her shoulder to her neck flexing, the slight hollow above her collarbone...
"It's not what you think," Ron said, hoarsely.
"Harry," Hermione said, in a very small, sad, un-Hermione voice.
Feeling as though his brain had been Petrified, Harry quietly turned and left the room, feeling the doorknob click softly into place as he shut the door behind him. He stood in the hallway, immobilized, staring at the floor. He wasn't sure how long he stood there, but it was only when he turned to his right that he saw Neville standing a few steps down, wringing his hands anxiously.
"She, err...asked me to...err, not to, rather...I mean, she didn't – it's not like they were trying to..."
Harry soundlessly began to walk down the stairs, brushing past Neville. He walked mechanically through the stiflingly warm common room, feeling Dean's, Seamus's, and Ginny's eyes on him as he crossed to the portrait hole.
"Harry?" Ginny asked anxiously, but Harry already had one foot through the portrait, and stepped out into the corridors. He wasn't quite sure where he was going.
"Harry?" he heard Hermione's voice call behind him, desperately, but the portrait swung shut immediately after. She must have come down the stairs to try and find him. He wondered momentarily if Ron was with her, and what state of dress they might be in.
He raced through the corridors, the main gate to the school growing larger in his field of vision. He saw his hands push the doors open, rather than command them to do so, and he burst out onto the grounds, the cool night air sharp in his chest, and dizzying to his mind. His eyes were stinging, from the cold, he imagined...the scent of a log fire lingered in the air, and the stars shone bright and cruel in the inky sky. He didn't know where he was going, but his feet seemed to know, as they pelted the ground, the world shaking around him as he was carried along...
