Harry was just stashing his new birthday gifts in his trunk when a pair of familiar voices echoed down the hallway of Number 12, Grimmauld Place.
"Honestly, Ron, she's your sister! You ought to at least pretend to be happy for her!" Hermione was saying, exasperated.
"Happy for what?" Ron sniped back. "Happy that she's snogging everyone in Gryffindor Tower? First Dean, now Seamus. Who's next, Colin Creevey?"
The two of them appeared in the doorway, distinctly red-faced, and Harry attempted a grin. It had been kind of the Weasleys to throw him a birthday party, but all the cake and presents in the world couldn't make him forget whose house this was, whose absence was so enormous that it seemed to swallow them all. Hermione and Ron sat on Ron's bed and exchanged an uneasy look that made Harry bristle.
"So, didn't you love the latest Wizarding Wheezes, Harry?" Ron began, helping himself to a chocolate frog from the pile of gifts stacked on Harry's bed. "Mum nearly hexed the twins into next week when they tested the Garish Ganaches. They turned Ginny's skin blue for three days! I guess they've finally got them working though."
"Yeah."
"Are you all right, Harry?" Hermione asked, peering at him anxiously. "You look ghastly."
"I'm fine," Harry replied, avoiding their eyes.
"What did Professor Lupin want to talk to you about, anyhow?" Ron asked, reaching for another chocolate frog.
"He wanted to give me my birthday gift from Sirius," Harry said dully, showing them the watch. "It was my father's watch. He'd given it to Sirius, before." As Harry's words died, he became dimly aware of the chill silence that filled the room.
At last, Hermione began cautiously, "Harry, don't you think you ought to talk about Sirius a bit?"
"No," Harry said shortly.
"Well," she began again, "you're clearly upset about it. Don't you think talking about what happened might help?"
"Not really," said Harry irritably.
"But Harry, you're not the only one who's missing him—"
"Hermione," Ron broke in, "you heard him! He doesn't want to talk about it."
Hermione whipped around to face Ron. "He needs to talk, Ron!" she said fiercely. "Don't you see what he's doing? He's blaming himself again."
Hermione whirled back to Harry. "You are, aren't you?" she said accusingly. "You're telling yourself that it's all your fault."
"It IS all my fault!" Harry shot back.
"You see!" she crowed triumphantly. "I knew you were blaming yourself! But Harry," she plowed on, "you're being ridiculous. If you're going to blame someone, blame Voldemort!"
"Voldemort would never have gotten me to the Department of Mysteries if I'd learned Occlumency!" Harry said angrily. "Or if I'd used the two-way mirror Sirius gave me. Of if I'd listened to any one of you!"
"Voldemort tricked you, Harry," Hermione said hotly. "And Sirius wouldn't want you to be blaming yourself for that!"
"We'll never know what Sirius would've wanted, now will we?" Harry snapped back. Suddenly, he found himself unable to sit across from Ron and Hermione any longer and sprang from the bed to pace in front of the window.
"Sirius would've wanted you to be happy, Harry," Hermione said firmly. "He died trying to save you, after all."
Harry felt his chest constrict. Rage, frustration burned his throat. "I'M TIRED OF PEOPLE DYING TO SAVE ME!" bellowed Harry, fixing Hermione with a glare. "Everyone who has ever cared about me has gone and gotten themselves killed trying to save me. Maybe they ought to just let someone finish the job for once."
Harry heard a gasp come from his two friends, but glared stubbornly out the window. Rain lashed at the windowpanes like knives.
"Not everyone, Harry," Hermione said in a trembling voice.
"What?" Harry said irritably, turning to look at his friends. Hermione was looking at him, tears swimming in her eyes, while Ron studied his hands uncomfortably, refusing to look at Harry.
"Not everyone who cares about you is dead, Harry," Hermione said in wavering tones. "Ron and I are still right here."
Harry suddenly felt a huge lump rise in his throat and turned back toward the window. Blinking back the tears that pricked at his eyes, he said quietly, "It might be better for both of you if you weren't."
"You don't mean that, Harry," Ron said in a hurt voice.
"Oh, don't I?" Harry replied, furious with himself. He knew he was hurting his friends, but their safety was more important to him than their feelings at the moment.
"No, you don't," Hermione said, her hoarse voice growing more confident by the second. "Love is not something you can switch on and off, Harry. We love you, and we're not going anywhere."
Harry pressed his forehead against the cool, dark windowpane and swallowed the sob that was clawing at his throat. He didn't dare speak.
"You're not getting rid of us," Ron said quietly. "Hermione and I have talked, Harry, and that's just what V-V-Voldemort would want you to do."
Harry blinked in surprise and looked at his red-haired friend. Ron's face was pasty white, his freckles standing out in sharp relief, and he looked absolutely terrified at himself for saying Voldemort's name. However, it was obvious that his friends weren't backing down, and Harry hated himself for what he was about to do.
"Listen," Harry said with difficulty, "you're making it harder than it has to be. I can't…you aren't….you don't understand."
"What don't we understand, Harry?" Hermione countered.
"You don't understand what it's like to face him!" Harry said, pleading. "I almost got you both killed last term, and it's not your battle to fight."
"What do you mean it's not our battle?" Ron said angrily. "He kidnapped Ginny! He tried to kill my father, or don't you remember? It's everyone's battle, Harry."
Despising himself, Harry fumed, "Is that supposed to make me feel sorry for you, Ron? He's after me, and you know it. Don't tell me you're jealous because I have bloody madman after me and you don't!"
Ron turned a furious shade of red and looked as though he'd like to punch Harry. And I definitely deserve it, Harry thought bitterly. Harry moved toward the door, knowing he wasn't wanted anymore. Before he could move, however, Hermione grabbed his sleeve and glared at him.
"You're hiding something, Harry. What is it you're not telling us?"
"I'm not hiding anything! I'm just trying to make you see reason ," Harry said hotly. "Voldemort's after me, it's nothing to do with you, and you ought to just leave well enough alone."
Harry moved to leave again, but Hermione held fast to his sleeve. "You've been hiding something since the end of last term, after the Department of Mysteries. What is it?"
"I'm not hiding anything!" Harry protested loudly. "Now let go of me, and stop being such a know-it-all!"
This time, Ron wrenched himself away from Hermione's protesting arms and shoved Harry back onto one of the empty beds. Harry sprang back and made to go after Ron.
"Stop it!" Hermione shrieked, stepping between the two fuming boys. "Stop it, Ron!" she commanded. "Can't you see, he's trying to pick a fight?"
"Well, it's working," Ron retorted, still furious. Harry sank back onto the bed and crossed his arms over his chest.
"He's trying to push us away," Hermione said, tears shimmering in her eyes once more, "because he thinks he's protecting us. Well, it's not going to work, Harry! I know you're hiding something—"
"FINE! You want to know what's bothering me so badly, Hermione? I'll tell you!" Harry shouted. Then, still furious, he lowered his voice and said tightly, "I know what the prophecy said, the one Voldemort wanted, and it isn't good. Either I have to kill him, or he kills me. So you see, it has nothing to do with either one of you, and given my past record, it would be best for both of you if you weren't around when it happens."
Harry drew a shaky breath and found he could not meet Ron or Hermione's eyes. The room was so silent that Harry could only just make out a light cough from the portrait on the wall. He supposed it wouldn't matter than Phineas Nigellus had overheard the prophecy; he'd been in Dumbledore's office all these years, after all.
"Oh, Harry!" Hermione breathed at last, and Harry felt her sit down beside him on the bed, gently grasp his hand, and lean against him. Harry felt the bed sink down on his other side and knew that Ron was there, too.
"Does the prophecy say you have to be alone when you kill him?" Ron said testily.
"Ron—" Harry protested wearily.
"No, Harry," Ron interjected sharply, "hear me out. You've saved our lives more than once, and don't think that we've forgotten. But I, for one, don't intend to sit by and watch you fight him off alone just because of some stupid prophecy."
"So you intend to get yourself killed then?" Harry said angrily.
"What makes you so sure we'd get killed? Don't forget, Harry, we were at the Ministry, too," Ron said evenly.
"I haven't forgotten," Harry said heavily, remembering Ron clutching at the front of his robes, remembering Hermione lying still and cold after being hit by Dolohov's curse.
"So that's it, then," Hermione said quietly. "We're in this together, Harry. If he wants to get to you, he has to go through us."
Harry felt his throat close up and blinked rapidly to still the tears that threatened to fall. Despite his best efforts, a few tears leaked out and Harry wiped at them furiously with his hand. Hermione, still holding his other hand, gave it a light, reassuring squeeze. "You—you don't have to do this, you know," Harry managed at last.
"We know, mate," Ron said, giving him a good-natured shove. "We're doing it because we want to."