:Rectitude:
:Chapter
One:
:Harry's Worst Fear:
He knew that he was here. He could sense his presence. He knew what he had to do. He had heard the prophecy. He had to kill Voldemort.
He had been running through the dungeon for ten minutes now, still without any resistance, any acknowledgment, any sign of life, particularly that of Voldemort. It was unnerving to say the least. He had checked every door that he had come across, blasting them open with a powerful Reducto curse, only to burst back out with no more idea of where Voldemort was than before entering the room. After ten more minutes of searching, he came across a dark corridor that seemed to stretch for miles. He knew this was the right way. It had to be.
As he started down the corridor, Harry took his wand out and yelled, "Lumos," before he was engulfed in the encroaching darkness. Not fazed by the foreboding, palpable darkness, Harry rushed onward, hoping and praying that he would find Voldemort. His prayers were answered... despite the strange nagging feeling he felt tickle the back of his mind. Up ahead was a door, but not just any door, a door with someone inside the room the door guarded. The light filtering through the cracks of the door had tipped him off of what was behind the door; who was waiting behind the door's old, feeble wood. Voldemort was inside, waiting for Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One. Harry was ready. He was destined to be ready. He had to be ready, or else the world would fall into a nearly corporeal darkness. The wizarding world and the Muggle world. This battle was for all of mankind, not just for pure-blood wizards. This was for life.
"Nox," Harry whispered, making sure not to alert the occupants of the next room to his presence.
Harry reached out for the door, absently noting the trail of fresh blood giving off a crimson glow in the flickering torch light escaping from below the door. Reaching for the doorknob, then realizing that the doorknob that may have once been had long since passed, put his hand flat against the door, feeling a slight warmth permeating the thin wooden barrier. Gathering his nerves, he pushed the door open slowly, trying to be completely silent. When the door was halfway open, he forgot his mission, forgot his reasons, forgot the prophecy, forgot the attempt of silence, forgot everything that had ever happened to him prior to this moment. All he felt was pain. Horrible, piercing pain, making him sick beyond what he had ever experienced.
'I have to run! I have to run! I have to run! I have to run!' he thought franticly, trying to run. Not run away, but forward. Forward to the figure on the floor. He knew it was too late, but he had to run. He had to be sure.
In what had seemed like an eternity, but was merely a second, Harry dashed toward the limp figure five yards in front of him. Eyes following the trail of blood that he had mindlessly noted outside the door as he ran as fast as he could toward the figure still lying motionless ahead of him. In what seemed like another eternity to Harry, he reached the figure that he considered his biggest fear. Tears streaming down his face, falling into the fresh blood pooled around the figure like a steady flow of diamonds falling into a sea of rubies, Harry began turning the figure toward him. He already knew. But he had to be sure.
With a scream of agony, he threw himself backward, turned his back to the red haired boy who had an empty look in his once vibrant blue eyes. Ron was dead.
Harry collapsed onto the floor, his face landing in the trail of blood leading to his dead friend. He could smell the death in the room, if not from the previous deaths that had undoubtedly occurred in this dungeon's past, then from the fresh blood inches from his face. He felt sick. He could feel the warm bile rising, threatening to over take him in a acidic heave. He couldn't hold it back anymore. He let out a faint, rasping cough, followed by the uncomely sound of rather thick liquid hitting a stone floor.
He had to move. He couldn't stay here and let him get away with this. Voldemort would suffer for this. He would pay.
"I WILL KILL YOU! I WILL FIND YOU! I WILL MAKE YOU WISH YOU NEVER HAD BEEN BORN!" He screamed as tears began freshly pouring down his somber face. His pale skin seeming to grow paler by the second, despite the warm fire light in the room.
After fulminating his thoughts about his merciless enemy, he heard a sound that lightened his heart.
"Harry?" an almost inaudible voice called out of a dark corner.
Harry ran toward the corner as he took out his wand again.
Harry was now noticing how expansive the room was as he hurried to the dark corner to the right of Ron's body. He knew the voice that called out to him. He didn't hesitate to have some hope, knowing that she was still alive, still here for his sanity. As he closed in he heard the sound of violent sobbing. She had been hurt, and she knew about Ron. He could hear her shallow breathing as she continued sobbing to a melancholy rhythm that scared him, but still gave him hope that she was still alive. He increased his pace, thinking this impossible as his legs were already near collapse. He reached the corner of the dungeon, seeing the silhouette of the person he knew would be slumped against the wall. He slowly lifted his wand, "Lum-"
"No! Please..." she rasped.
"Hermione, please! It's okay. I won't let him hurt you anymore!"
"No, Harry! I wont let you see me like this... no one should ever see me again... I've done enough to the ones I love. I don't wont to hurt you," she said lightly, seemingly choking on her own tears.
"Don't say that! I don't care what you look like! I don't care about anything except to know if I leave you here, that you wont die! Now let me see!" Harry yelled, regretting it almost immediately when she whimpered in a tone that he had never heard from her in his entire life.
"You should kill me! I don't deserve to live anymore! I can never go back! I don't want to go back!" she retorted, sounding like she had only moments to live no matter what happened.
"Not after what I did..." she added precariously, in a whisper.
"You couldn't do anything that would make you not want to live. I know you Hermione. You wouldn't hurt anyone unless they deserved it. You wouldn't do anything to those who you care about." he replied, almost authoritatively.
"I - I - I -" she choked out.
"What, Hermione?" said Harry, interrupting her.
"I killed Ron!" she cried.
"LUMOS!" Harry screamed, thinking that she was hurt too badly to be alone, and because he wanted to know what condition she was in after the horrible information was divulged.
Harry gasped. He knew she was hurt when he heard her sobbing but he never expected this. He would never even dream of the kind of torture that he saw Hermione show signs of. Her face was bruised severely, the startling effect heightened by her entirely drenched face. She had been crying for hours and hours. Her clothes were wet with tears. Her hair was cut to a shorter length, but not all of it was level, as it seemed someone took a knife and cut down her hair randomly, making it look as though she were nothing but a homeless girl that had been picked off the streets of London. That's when Harry noticed her arms. Harry started crying again; crying for his last friend, who was tortured and used like no other. Voldemort had carved the Dark Mark into her left wrist with a knife. It was still dripping blood. He knew why she was here in the corner. Why she had the Dark Mark carved into her flesh: she had killed Ron, but with no volition of her own.
"He made you kill Ron under the Imperius curse," He said, in a tone that was on the fringe of pure hatred and matter-of-factly, making Hermione cry even harder; making her shallow breaths seem even feebler than before.
"I'm sorry, Hermione. I should have been here. I would have stopped him from-" he stopped suddenly, seeing the fear in Hermione's brown eyes swell. He saw the unpronounced fear; the tensing of her entire being as he heard footsteps behind him.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!" bellowed a voice from behind him.
Harry turned his head just in time to see a jet of bright green light pass his face, streaking toward the wall behind him. He knew what Voldemort had done. He wasn't aiming for Harry, but for the beaten and battered girl in the corner. Harry knew why Voldemort had lured him here. This was where Harry was going to die. With or without the Dark Lord no one knew, but he knew that even after killing Voldemort, the hole left inside him was too great to conquer, and he would die because of it. He could feel the insatiable ache already: wanting revenge, wanting to torture the Dark Lord, wanting to make him suffer for eternity, wanting himself to die, to just give up and let death take him away from his own suffering. He was condemned to a life of suffering, and he had had enough.
"Do it." He said calmly. "I've had enough."
"Oh? Resigned to your fate already, Harry?" Voldemort replied in his chilling voice, his crimson eyes sparkling with glee.
"I don't care anymore. There's nothing in my life worth living anymore; I don't want to ." he retorted.
"Well, if you are so quick to die, I suppose I wont stop you." said Voldemort coldly.
"I would have tortured you before the end, but I think I've delayed your demise for too long to let this opportunity pass up."
Harry tensed. He was going to face off against Voldemort. He would run and attack Voldemort while he was too focused on the ease of his curse.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!" bellowed Voldemort once more as a green bolt of light shot straight toward Harry.
'Now!' thought Harry, diving to the left.
Voldemort's curse missed Harry, and Harry bolted upright, pointing his wand at Voldemort.
"Reducto!" cried Harry.
At the same time, Voldemort pointed his wand at Hermione's motionless body and said, "Accio Mudblood!" summoning Hermione's body in front of him as the Reducto curse hurtled toward him.
Harry cried out as his curse hit Hermione's body in the stomach, ripping apart the clothes and flesh of his friend's body.
"NOOO! NOOOOO!" Harry screamed.
"HOW DARE YOU! I WILL KILL YOU! SHE DESERVED BETTER THAN THAT!" Harry shrieked, shaking with rage as his sanity began cracking.
Voldemort cackled.
While Harry was screaming for his friend, Voldemort had taken the opportunity to come wand-to-face with Harry.
"She was nothing more than a Mudblood! Will you see her in death? Perhaps," boomed Voldemort.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!" yelled Voldemort.
The last thing Harry saw was a bright, ominous green flash. He was left floating in darkness.
Alone.
"NO!" Harry yelled as he leaned straight up in his bed. He was covered in cold, icy sweat, and his breathing was shallow and rasping.
'Only a dream,' He kept repeating in his mind, like a calming mantra that soothed his mind and heart as his mind continued to replay what his dream entailed. His heart was beating fast, becoming louder every second, sounding like a muffled drum waiting to escape from his body.
He was still in his bed at number 4 Privet Drive. Still away from school for the summer holiday. Still alive. Still had his friends. He began to catch his breath, steadying himself while he shook uncontrollably. He got up and stumbled toward the door of his bedroom. He was sick. He had to get to the bathroom before he collapsed onto the floor and lost his resolve.
After stumbling blindly through the Dursley's hallway, Harry made it to the bathroom. He flipped the light on and hurried to the toilet before he let go. He fell down in front of the toilet, grasping it with his shaking hands, then unleashing the torrent of bile that had been rising since his dream ended.
Harry had never felt so bad in his life. He couldn't break away from the dream. He still wished he was dead. He could still hear Voldemort's evil laughter, watching as Hermione collapsed in the corner, her eyes lifeless and empty, giving Harry an accusing stare. He tensed again, vomiting once more into the malodorous toilet. The image of Hermione's body been shredded by his own attack burnt into his eyes. Suddenly the door burst open, showing a very disgruntled Uncle Vernon, his face turning a brilliant purple already.
"What is wrong with you, boy? You've been throwing up like this for the last nine days since you came back from... you-know-where!" growled Uncle Vernon.
"It's nothing." replied Harry, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.
"It doesn't sound like nothing, boy! I hear you almost every night, screaming in the night, calling out for whoever you're calling out for. It's worse than the noise your ruddy owl makes in the night!" bellowed Uncle Vernon.
"You better not have brought back some sort of illness from your... world, boy. If one of us catches something from you, you'll have hell to pay. I will not get sick with some freak disease!" said Uncle Vernon ostentatiously, clearly clinging to his belief that anything not normal was was a waste of time, not to mention bad, foul, worthless, and so on.
"Yeah, that's all that it is, just some freak disease. You don't have to worry about catching it since you're not a freak," replied Harry sardonically, which was obviously not recognized by his uncle.
"Well, good," replied Uncle Vernon with an almost happy gleam in his eyes.
"Now get back to bed," said Uncle Vernon. "Quietly!" he added sternly.
As Harry's uncle left the room, Harry caught a glimpse of his uncle's pajamas; the same color as Ron's resplendently red hair. This reminded Harry of his dream once again, and he vomited into the toilet for a third time. Then a fourth. After the sixth time, the bile finally relented, letting go of the tremulous boy. After steadying his breathing, Harry sat up, flushed the toilet, and went for the sink so he could wash his face. His face was pale and sullen, with large dark spots under his eyes; his eyes red and raw from his intense crying during his dream. He turned the warm water on and splashed his face with it a few times, feeling a small amount of relief.
As he went back to his room, he decided to write Ron and Hermione. He was going crazy from boredom... among other things. He needed to talk to them both. He wasn't going to mention the dreams though... no one would ever know of them. They hurt to much to even think about. Thinking about thinking about them hurt. Even thinking about dreams in general made his heart ache with a stinging pain. They wouldn't have to know. He'd make sure they didn't. The only thing that comforted him about his dreams was the lack of pain in his scar. As long as that never happened... they were still just dreams...
After what seemed like hours, Harry rolled up the parchments he had been tirelessly scribbling on and affixed them to Hedwig's leg. Harry rose out of his chair and went silently toward his window. He opened the window smoothly, letting the pleasant summer breeze calm him before going back over to Hedwig.
"Take these to Ron and Hermione, girl. Go to whoever is closest first. Come back when they've both received them," said Harry softly.
Hedwig gently cooed in return, then turned away from Harry and flew out the window.
'Have a safe trip, Hedwig,' thought Harry as he walked over to his bed and collapsed on top of his blanket. He was asleep before he even hit the mattress.