NOTE: See, its not abandoned! I just needed my beta around to prod me!
Disclaimer: D'you really think JK Rowling would kill off …..beep
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When was the last time something had gone exactly according to plan for anyone?
It never seemed to go that way for Harry.
He didn't know why this plan would have been the exception.
Staring blindly at the paper in his hands, he didn't pay any attention to the owl that had delivered it until it leaned over and bit him rather sharply on the back of the hand.
"Bloody bird!" He spat, and with a flick of his wand and an almost silent incantation, the bird bothered him no more.
It appeared, for the Boy-Who-Lived, that bird blood and feathers was the latest decorative craze.
Paying it no attention, he forced himself to move his eyes below the horrific picture that took up over half of the page.
Numbly, he read the small writing below.
Hermione Granger-Weasley's body was found this morning by the gates leadings to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
This is shocking enough in itself, but what really surprised this reporter was the dark Mark etched on arm of the best friend of the Boy-Who-Lived. With the both of his best friends now gone, one has to wonder...Will Potter crack? Or did he perhaps take the life of Hermione Granger-Weasley? …Rita Skeeter.
Everything went red.
All the glassware in the house that did not have unbreakable charms on it promptly shattered.
Voldemort's laughing voice echoed in his head, and his scar seared.
"SONOFA--" He gathered his magic to him, and Apparated to the Hogwarts' gates.
The force of his anger slammed the doors open to the Great Hall when he was ten feet away.
He barely remembered the walk to the Headmaster's office.
The next time he was truly conscious of what he was doing, he had Dumbledore up against a wall, his wand pressing into the old man's throat.
"YOU KILLED HER!"
The wizened wizard looked at him with sad blue eyes. "No, Harry, I did not."
"Bullshit!" The green-eyed young man spat.
Dumbledore reach up, touched his fingers to the wand pressed against his throat, and carefully eased it aside. "Her choices killed her, Harry. Hermione was a supporter of the Dark Lord, though it was not her fault. She was willing to try to make good for her choices."
Harry narrowed his eyes, and took a few steps away, keeping his wand trained on the Headmaster as he assimilated the information. "So you did kill her," Dumbledore started to object, but Harry overrode him. "Because you foolishly believe that everyone in your precious Order can be trusted, you revealed Hermione as a spy. The information was leaked back to Voldemort." His voice got progressively colder as he continued. "So, you killed her, old man. Not her choices, but YOU!"
By the time he was done, Dumbledore's eyes were gleaming with unshed emotion.
Harry sneered at the sight. "I'm sure in the hundred plus years that you've lived, you've learned how to fake emotion, so forgive me if I don't fall all over myself to tell you I believe you, I forgive you. I don't." He gave him a calculating look, feeling something die inside. "I know I've got at least three people's blood on my hands, Dumbledore, but how many do you have on yours?"
With that, he turned and walked away, calling out one name as he left Hogwarts.
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"Harry Potter sir called for Dobby?" The elf wrung his hands as he looked at the distressed man who had just plopped down on the couch with a bottle of firewhiskey in his hand.
"Yes, I need to know something, Dobby…Would you want to come work for me? Be my…friend and get paid?" He took a long swallow of the whiskey as he waited for Dobby's answer, which was swift in coming.
"Dobby would be delighted, Harry Potter sir!"
There was a noise from the front of the house, and the sound of the front door banging open. "Harry? Harry, are you here? Answer me, damn it!"
Harry sighed, and started to push to his feet to go answer the door. However, it just seemed like too much effort, and he plopped back against the cushions, hollering out. "Yes, now bloody go away!" He looked at Dobby. "You need to go to the Headmaster and turn in your sock, or whatever, Dobby. As soon as possible."
"Dobby will go immediately, Harry Potter sir!" The hyperactive little creature replied, and disappeared with a pop.
"You're not getting rid of me that easily," Isabelle said as she entered the room, sitting in the same chair she had before. "Now, Potter, talk. What the bloody hell happened? I read the paper, I heard about Hermione's death."
He rolled his eyes. He really wasn't in the mood to put up with anyone, much less Isabelle. "Good for you. You can read. Now go the hell away." He said bluntly, and took another swallow of the drink he clutched with a death grip.
"Yes, I can read. It's called an education, and yours is clearly lacking in manners." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Now, talk."
"What is there to say?" He said, giving in. Part of him knew he needed to talk about this. "Hermione revealed that she was a Death Eater. Apparently she volunteered to spy for the Order..." His eyes flashed stone-cold. "...and Dumbledore announced it to them because, of course, NO one would leak information. It got back to Voldemort. Hermione died."
Isabelle's expression grew steadily angrier as he spoke. When he finished, she swore under her breath. "I knew something like this would happen, I bloody warned him!" she flared. "I told him weeks ago he had a spy, and he assured me that wasn't possible!"
"Yes, well, he's Dumbledore. You know, the great all-knowing wizard..." The next words he muttered about Dumbledore were not the type to be repeated in the presence of young ones, or those with delicate senses.
"Well, I've had just about enough of this bollocks," Isabelle said darkly. "So, what are we going to do about it?"
He stared down at the bottle in his hands for a long moment, and then raised his eyes up to Isabelle's. "Dobby is handing in his sock to Dumbledore as we..." Just then, the small elf appeared, and proudly handed over the ragged black sock to Harry. "…speak." He thanked Dobby absently, and said to Isabelle. "I'm moving things ahead, but quite frankly...I have no clue what to do next."
Isabelle scowled at the wall for a long moment, contemplating the step she knew she was now obliged to take. "I've been thinking about this for a long while now," she started slowly. "Since long before our last little chat. I've never really been happy about the way Dumbledore runs things, but at the time he was far preferable to Voldemort. Now…I don't know." She stopped and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before continuing. "You need a way to get that potion of yours to Dumbledore. Alright, I'll take it."
Harry raised a brow, and glanced in Dobby's direction, then shrugged. He didn't care either way. "Alright." He said simply, and got to his feet, heading towards the potion room. "It's done enough. If it kills the old man...oh well."
Isabelle stood and followed him. "I doubt it will," she said, and there was a faint note of regret in her voice. "He's a crafty old bugger, I'll give him that. I'm sure he's got safeguards to stop this sort of thing."
He nodded, and sighed regretfully. Harry had been teetering on the abyss, and very clear about the fact that he stood alone now, only for himself, but after what had happened...He was tired of it. So, once in the potion's room, he quickly bottled a small flask of the poison, and handed it to Isabelle. "It's up to you how you get it to him, you're the bloody Slytherin. Just make sure you're quick about it. Snape'll probably show up soon, and he doesn't need to know we've already begun."
Isabelle nodded curtly, balancing the vial thoughtfully in her palm. "His lemon drops, I think," she said with a smirk. "He'll never see it coming."
"Whatever," Harry said, and walked out of the room, calling over his shoulder, "I've got spells to study. Feel free to show yourself out." A moment later, he was in the bedroom, closing his door behind him. After a short time, he heard the sound of soft footsteps just outside his door. Harry stood in the slight darkness, his eyes closed.
"You're not alone in this, Harry," Isabelle said just loud enough for him to hear. "I want to help you, if you'll let me. I know we've never exactly been on good terms, but…well…oh, forget it. Why should you care?" The footsteps started again, fading rapidly towards the front of the house.
He rested his head against the wood of the door as Isabelle left, and it was a long moment later that he said into the silence, "I can't care. Not anymore..."