Aunt Petunia's picture lowered her hands from her face, and Harry felt his chest tighten. He had run away so quickly after it all happened... he didn't know he'd hit her so hard. Her left cheekbone looked like it had been broken, then healed back incorrectly. Her face looked lopsided and somewhat deformed. He stared at her like he would a train wreck: feeling disgusted and horrified, but unable to pull his eyes away from her. He stared until Aunt Petunia put her hands over her face again and walked out of the frame, sobbing.
He didn't even read the article - he turned the newspaper over, to keep from having to look at his own guilty face. New pictures looked up at him instead: the faces of the dead Hogwarts students, including a melancholy-looking Hermione. He couldn't escape from any of it.
Harry ripped the newspaper in half, then in half again. He wiped the shredded pieces from the table in one long swoop of his arm, determined to rid himself of any evidence of the pain that he had caused.
"Harry..." Ron's voice sounded not entirely his own.
"I didn't mean to hit her," Harry said to Ron under his breath. Ron leaned in closer, cautiously, to hear him. "I wanted to hit my uncle, but she got in the way. He hit me first, that's why I had the black eye..."
"Harry!" Ron hissed suddenly. The door to the Great Hall was opened, and dozens of Ministry officials filed noisily into the hall. Most of them had copies of The Daily Prophet tucked under their arm or rolled up in their hand. Harry noticed that some of them weren't Ministry workers at all, but all of them looked angry. Dumbledore stood from his seat at the front table. Students rose from their benches to get a better look. Harry ducked down and crawled towards Dumbledore.
"Gentlemen, Ladies!" Dumbledore's voice rang out over the increasingly noisy crowd. "I must ask that you leave my students to eat their breakfast in peace."
"We're here for Harry Potter!" one of them yelled.
"He's got this to answer for!" another one cried, waving his copy of The Daily Prophet at Dumbledore.
Harry wished for his invisibility cloak as he got closer to the front table. Behind the teachers' table was a door that was near a staircase, which was one corridor away from his hidden dormitory. If he could get through that door, he'd be safe.
"Harry Potter must be brought to the court!" a witch screamed.
Harry's heart plummeted when many of the students around him agreed. He did, of course, know that what he did wasn't right, but the sense of injustice everyone was feeling seemed like too much. He silently willed everyone to stay standing and for their attention to stay on the witches and wizards in the center of the hall as he ducked close to the windows.
But he knew hiding wouldn't last.
"He's here!" a seventh-year Gryffindor cried out to the officials.
Harry stopped trying to hide and sprinted towards the teachers' table. He had hoped that being on the Gryffindor side of the hall would have the advantage of secrecy, but knew that the older students had a lot to gain if this somehow led to his death. Someone grabbed his robe to stop him, and he fell on the hard floor.
"Let me go!" he yelled, and he pulled out his wand. Before he could even think of a spell to use, someone snatched his wand right out of his hand. It would have been bearable if the faces surrounding him were strangers, or even Death Eaters, but they were fellow Gryffindors who held him down for the Ministry officials
"Stop!" Dumbledore growled, but it was no use. Before he or any of the teachers could do anything, the front table was showered with charms and spells from the witches and wizards who continued to pour through the doors of the Great Hall. Most of the teachers, including Dumbledore, were frozen in place, the rest were stuck to their seats, or had their wands struck from their hands.
Harry couldn't take it all in. He was numb to what was happening around him. He remembered the courtroom from Dumbledore's pensieve, and could all too easily see himself chained to it in front of the court, his aunt there with her deformed face that he caused, and dementors ready to take him to Azkaban.
The students who held Harry down were suddenly knocked off their feet by a well-placed spell. Some of his fellow students were fighting off the Ministry officials, and were even starting to fight each other.
There was no denying that the adult witches and wizards had a wider range of spell knowledge than the students, but as Harry -- now free from the students who held him down -- searched for his wand, he heard that the students were much more creative with their spells. Ministry officials were floating in the air, articles of clothing unraveling off their owners' bodies, and one witch had eyebrows that had grown so long that she couldn't see through the curtain of hair in front of her eyes.
Harry was hit with his share spells, but always seemed to have someone nearby to repair the damage.
"There is enough good in the world," he whispered to himself as a fourth-year Hufflepuff unjinxed his legs. He desperately hoped Ron was right.
Then, as if thinking about him had conjured him there, Ron was at Harry's side, followed closely by Malfoy.
A particularly angry-looking witch burst through the crowd and stood in front of Harry, her eyes bright with fury. She raised her wand.
"Avada Kedav--"
Before she could finish, Malfoy yelled out a spell Harry didn't know, and she screamed, dropping her wand as if it burnt her skin.
It was immediately apparent to Harry that the mob wasn't out for justice for his aunt; they were going to kill him then and there. Without his wand, he had no chance, so he gave up his search for it and fled for the door with Malfoy and Ron at his heels. The two of them managed to deflect hexes for Harry as he sprinted down the corridor towards his secret dormitory. He sped around corners, hoping that Ron and Malfoy were keeping up, and that there would be no more unforgivable curses used.
Ron screamed "Locomotor Mortis!" and Malfoy blocked a spell. Harry never thought he'd be so happy to have Malfoy on his side, even if it was for the wrong reasons.
When he arrived at the painting of the beautiful deaf girl, Harry stuck out his left arm and motioned with his right hand for the password. She looked concerned, but she nodded and the portrait swung open. Malfoy came around the corner, and shoved Harry into the room.
"Close it!" Malfoy yelled, as Ron turned the corner. The portrait was shutting, and Harry motioned to Ron.
"Quick!" Harry yelled. If Ron hurried, he could make it inside, too.
"No!" Malfoy pointed his wand at Ron, but Harry stepped in the path. Ron jumped inside.
The portrait sealed shut just as the mob turned the corner.
Harry closed his eyes, trying to catch his breath through the stitch in his side. This was it; he really was a prisoner in the room now. He heard the witches and wizards yelling out different would-be passwords to the girl.
When he opened his eyes again, Harry scrambled to his feet. Malfoy and Ron had their wands pointed at each other, facing off in a duel.
"Stop!" Harry yelled, and jumped between them. Malfoy shoved him aside instantly, never taking his eyes off of Ron.
Ron sputtered out a hex, and Malfoy blocked it. It took Harry several seconds to realize that Ron's hex wasn't directed at Malfoy at all, but at Harry.
"Ron..." Harry muttered. Ron stood on the other side of the tiny room, shakily pointing his wand at Harry.
"So there's really enough good in the world?" Harry growled, red-hot rage building in his chest. There was banging on the other side of the portrait, and increased yelling.
Ron just stood, angry tears in his eyes and his face twitching with nerves.
"I'm not a bad person," Ron said in a dangerous voice, keeping his wand fixed on Harry.
"The hell you're not!" Harry yelled. "Look at you!"
"You think I want to do this?" Ron spat. "I'm just thinking of my family. I NEVER wanted it to come to this."
"Right," Harry said. "You NEVER wanted your family to be rich. You're a real hero."
"DON'T TELL ME ABOUT BEING A HERO!" Ron screamed, shaking his wand at Harry. "You're the one who beat up your aunt! If YOU were a real hero you would have sacrificed yourself weeks ago before anyone got hurt! It's your fault Hermione is dead!"
Harry swallowed. The noise on the other side of the portrait was silenced, and Harry was sure they could hear their conversation. His ears buzzed in the silence. Ron wiped his wet eyes furiously. Malfoy stood near the door, his own wand pointing at Ron, ready to defend Harry.
"So you're going to kill me, then?" Harry asked quietly. He suddenly remembered Malfoy and Ron fighting at Lupin's house, how Malfoy had warned him about Ron. He felt sick to his stomach.
"You've been wanting to kill me all along," Harry said shakily, his heartbeat pumping so hard that it was affecting his voice. "You were the one who bought the pasties on the train, the one that killed Hermione."
Ron narrowed his eyes. "I didn't--"
"You gave me the wrong one," Harry continued, remembering the pain in Hermione's eyes.
"It wasn't--" Ron said, but Harry interrupted him again.
"How did you poison them in the first place? How could you be sure which one was safe for YOU to eat?" Harry advanced towards Ron, his fury building to a point of no longer caring that he was without a wand.
"I didn't poison them!"
"You gave me the wrong one!" Harry repeated. "YOU killed Hermione!"
"IT WASN'T MY FAULT! I GAVE YOU THE POISONED ONE!" Ron gasped at himself, and looked horrified.
"So, you knew they were poisoned?" Harry asked.
"She said there was only one," Ron sounded defeated, "she told me which one to give you, but she was wrong. It wasn't my fault... it was hers."
"Who?" Harry asked.
"The reporter who gave me the money for the pasties," Ron said. "She lied to me. If I'd known there was more than one poisoned one, I would have told someone."
"What a hero."
Ron glared at Harry. "I don't want my family to starve - I don't want anyone's family to starve. If The Visit passes and You-Know-Who keeps all the money, we will have nothing. Wizard coins are impossible to duplicate, and they're the only thing we've been using for thousands of years. It'll take a long time to create a new currency and a lot of people are going to suffer for it."
"So you're going to give in to Voldemort?" Harry asked. Ron cringed at the name. "He told me that he needed me to be dead. You think it's just an issue of pride? What if he knows something we don't? Why else would he come after me as a baby? Why does he need me to die?" Harry was talking to himself as much as he was talking to Ron. "If we give in to him, something bad is going to happen."
"If I let you go, someone else is going to kill you anyway," Ron said. "Malfoy will protect you until his birthday, but he'll turn on you, too."
Malfoy said nothing, and Harry knew that it was true.
"Now they're out to arrest you because of what you did to your aunt... you'll be captured and someone will kill you."
Harry felt trapped. The witches and wizards on the other side of the portrait had begun trying out different passwords again, and continued banging on the wall. Even if Malfoy beat Ron in a duel, he wouldn't be able to leave the room safely. Ron was right.
Somehow, Harry knew it was going to end up like this. He knew he wasn't going to survive, but he never thought it would be because of Ron.
"He can't kill you," Malfoy said. "He doesn't want to kill you, so he can't. Avada Kedavra doesn't work unless you really want it to."
"Well then I won't kill him," Ron replied. He walked to the door, which was shaking from the pounding of the Ministry officials on the other side. He was going to let them in.
Malfoy moved, as if to stop Ron, but Harry held up his hand.
"Don't," Harry said. "If this is what Ron wants, let him do it."
"It's not what I want," Ron muttered darkly. He reached for the knob. Harry swallowed, realizing that Ron was going to do it. He'd truly lost his best friend.
"Tell Sirius goodbye for me," Harry choked through the lump in his throat, holding back his tears with every ounce of energy he had left in him. He wasn't going to die crying.
"I will."
The door opened. Harry stood up straight as the wizards and witches advanced on him. A bright green light erupted in front of his eyes.
Dying, thought Harry, took a long time. He felt every minute of his whole life drag out as if he was reliving it all again, but it all happened in an instant. Even the memories he thought had been lost to him were resurfacing. His mother giving him a bath in a warm tub, stroking his wet hair, his father's strong hands holding Harry's as he learned to walk. Dumbledore's comforting squeeze before placing him on the doorstep of number 4 Privet Drive. He relived it all, until the very moment of his death, and he looked at Ron one last time. Even through his anguish, Harry couldn't help but hope that his friend wouldn't suffer anymore.