A/N: Ok lets hope theres no formatting errors this time around!
For those that follow me because of Family Matters: Yes I was writing a sequel, and I was damn proud of it until the file corrupted and I lost a chapter and a half. It might not have been too much in the scheme of things but it killed my motivation for it. They take me SO LONG to write! So this is a move away from the structure of what could have been, we're going of the rails baby!
Fallout
He envied his younger self. The one that had been usually comatose through the initial fallout of whatever dangerous activity he'd been a part of. There was no such reprieve this time.
A brilliant flash crept under his closed lids, waking him up. Then he heard the sounds of many people shouting questions, and others answering. Another magical flash of a camera overwhelmed his senses, forcing his eyes open. He groaned. His whole body felt like a funny-bone that had been banged and burnt. Further description was beyond him currently.
"Are you alright Harry?" Came a quiet growl.
He glanced up at Dumbledore who was crouched beside him, half shielding him from the assembled press. "Yeah." He hurt but knew he was fine, especially compared to Ron and Hermione. Hermione. "Is Hermione ok?" He asked hurriedly.
"I do not know. She is in the care of Madame Pomfrey currently." Dumbledore muttered back, keeping an eye on the gathered Reporters and Aurors. "Can you stand?"
He gritted his teeth. The fuck I can't. "Yes."
For incredible strength for such an old man, Dumbledore helped him into his feet, where he swayed for a moment. When the dizziness receded, more questions arose. "What happened to the rest of-"
The old man read his thoughts, regaining a semblance of his usual character. "I have taken care of the matter, and each will be going to Azkaban. Now, I must ask you to wait in my office. I have an important matter to discuss with you."
"I'll wait in the Infirmary sir." Countered Harry, his jaw set.
Dumbledore looked ready to argue but something in Harry's face must've stopped him. "Of course." He led the teen over to the closest Fireplace, none of the Reporters stopped them as they pushed through the throng. In fact, it looked as though a kind of mild repelling charm forced them aside. "Hogwarts Infirmary." Was the destination called as Harry stepped into the emerald flames, leaving the shouts and flashes behind.
He staggered out next to Pomfrey's office, and was greeted by a horrible sight.
Ginny, it seemed, had cried herself to sleep, half sitting in a chair, her head on Ron's bed on top of her folded arms. Neville and Luna sat very close together, talking quietly before a privacy screen that obviously hid Hermione. Without realising why it was there, he strode over pushing it aside, desperate to know if she was ok. What he found was a topless Hermione. What drew his attention, instead of the more cliché parts of a girl's body, was an angry red gash that went from her right collarbone to her left hip.
He barely noticed the Healer's painstaking wandwork as she traced the wound, muttering a string of spells under her breath. "Get out Potter." She scolded, but he didn't notice.
He could only look on in shock as seeing his best friend hurt so badly. To realise that an non-verbal spell could produce such damage... At that moment, he hoped that he'd killed Dolohov. Then he realised the blame also lay with him, the one that led her into such a terrible situation. His teeth clenched involuntarily. He should have found another way there, to go on his own. If he had, Ron would still be alive, and Hermione would never have to go through what she did. He was the broken one, his own life was worth far less than hers, or Ron's.
"Potter!" His thoughts broken, he looked at the Healer. She definitely looks mad. "Privacy screens are called such for a reason. Wait outside, I shall see to you soon enough." He blinked, then ducked out, cursing the mental fog that slowed each of his mental processes. Now back in the middle of the room, he took in the scene again. To an onlooker, it was reminiscent of a Commander inspecting his troops after a battle of some sort.
A very inexperienced one. He thought wryly, he then extended the analogy in his head. One that had lost one of his troop. All for a lie. The bed Ron lay on was closest to the wall, opposite the main doors, furthest from the living. To rest peacefully, undisturbed? Soon enough he found himself leaning against the wall next to the body, staring at it as if life would reappear in his friend's veins if he merely looked long enough. When nothing of the like happened, he took in Ginny, noticing the sheets soaked with the girls tears under her arms.
His legs could not support him any longer.
He slid down the wall to the floor.
Honesty, he could relate to his legs' plight, he wouldn't support himself either. It hadn't been an obstacle course to overcome, or a problem to solve, or a beast to slay with help. It had been a fight, a fight against adults who far outmatched him. And he thought he could save Sirius? He couldn't be more shocked by his own naivety. It seemed even he got lost in the legend of The-Boy-Who-Lived, the Hero, the Saviour of the weak.
Ironic as I'm just as weak.
Ron was dead. And it was all his fault. The finality of such a statement rocked him to his core. He hoped against hope that Hermione survived, as she was the only thing that gave him cause to live now. He wouldn't be able to kill himself though, even if she didn't survive, he realised this much. He'd spent so much time with the absence of friends, that he craved for meaningful connections more than his own sadness. Losing them both would change him, he knew this as he could feel it already, the coldness that settled deeper within his heart. The Yule Ball the year previous, and his episode with Cho Chang this year now felt like a sick joke to him.
He would be alone again, in the worst way. The worst way being the fact he knew now that so many people know his name, yet none will know the real Harry Potter. Again, envied his nine year old self, the one who had taken it as gospel that he would never have any friends. The Freak, now a naive, idiotic murderer. He had visions of trials and stern faces looking at him with barely concealed loathing, and Dementors carrying him to his cell where he would remain forever. It was just after all.
"Harry?"
He blinked and turned his gaze towards the sound. Neville stood above him, nose-repaired and a pitying look upon his face. The School Healer stood to his side further away with her wand held threateningly. Or it would have been if he didn't know the first spell she would cast would be a diagnostic one. A spell he still didn't know how to do, which was both surprising; as he'd had it cast upon him far more often than the usual student. And not surprising; due to the fact it was cast silently, accompanied by wand movements that made his head hurt with their complexity. "I'm sorry Madame Pomfrey." Said a guilty Harry.
She ignored his apology. Which was fair, for he knew the witch was never one to stand at the ceremony. She merely healed him to the best of her ability, their usual rapport this time was stymied by the sheer number of injured students now under her care. "Up, Potter. You don't look too bad but I want to be sure."
She glanced at Neville who gave Harry a hand and hoisted him to his feet, leading him to a free bed. The Longbottom waved aside his muttered thanks, telling him that he'd saved their lives. Something that sounded obscene to him, considering Ron lay dead mere feet away. But he remained quiet, his fighting energy had long left his body. So he lay, while the Healer went to work.
By the end he could sense her disquiet, it had been that same reaction that he'd received after his time in the graveyard the year previous. Neville and Luna watched on, their voices muted until the Healer muttered a spell under her breath as she interpreted the patterns and colours that weaved over his body. "Cruciatus."
Neville straightened instantly, eyes bored into his.
"What? He reacted defensively. "You know Bellatrix." He turned to his Healer. "Same as last time Madame?"
She frowned at him. "Not quite. You received a larger dose this time so the after-effects will be much worse."
"And?"
Her frown deepened at his curt manner. "You have a choice: Either I render you comatose for a few days while your body recovers. Or, you only take Dreamless-Sleep at night and the effects will continue for at least a week."
He had to admit, being put into a coma would be a far better option this time around. But it would mean he would have to trust Hermione would be ok when he woke up. And that was something that sat mightily uncomfortably with him, he simply had to know if she would be alright. And while he would be in pain, he would at least be able to communicate with her or help however he could. He owed her that much for following him.
"I'll grin and bear it." He said flatly. It was decided. He might not grin, but he would bear it. He now hoped it to be a sort of penance, for what he'd done.
The Healer huffed. "If it becomes too much, the first option is always available."
He signed his understanding and she let him be. Despite the company of Neville and Luna, he had little to do other than worry.
At first he worried for Hermione, but he would be close at hand if anything happened so he could live with that. There was also the fact that his godfather, who was still on the run, had entered the MInistry in order to fix his mess. The green jet that narrowly avoided them both aside, if he was caught in the Ministry, there would be no escape. Hopefully Dumbledore can get him out. He mused. Until it hit him that he had led a group of teens that broke into the Ministry and probably the most sensitive Department in it. I might be in the same amount of trouble as SIrius, come to think. Marauders live on. He thought with a depreciating chuckle to himself.
The lighthearted internal banter gave way to a wash of guilt. Sirius had exposed himself for him, Hermione was grievously injured, and Ron was dead. He wanted to run away from the horror, but something wouldn't let him. It wasn't the fact that it was now painful to walk, although that was true as well, it was something else. He would accept responsibility, even if the sense of it was new to him. But after the D.A., after all of those that learnt from him and followed his orders without question. He was starting to see what Hermione had meant. Sure, he was shy, but leadership came easy to him. And such a position came with drawbacks, as he'd read in a book Oliver Wood had leant him when he first joined the Gryffindor Quidditch team. There had been a whole chapter on the Captain and their role and responsibilities:
'For a Captain of any team, ultimate responsibility for their team's performance rests on his/her shoulders. A Captain must lead by example and by promise. The team will grow under the correct tutelage, they will respect each other, they will strive that much more for each other because they know their teammate will do the same in return. The way a Captain loses, highlights the qualities or those that are lacking in such a person. A Captain can find fault with specific players, but all responsibility falls upon the Captain for not foreseeing such problems, for implementing the wrong tactics, and for not preparing their team for every eventuality. This is why captains are born, not made. They instinctively shoulder responsibility as easily as they do their broomstick. Any Captain should make notice of this chapter, no matter the experience.'
That left only one option. After rummaging for his wand he concentrated on what he was about to do. During his reading for the D.A., he'd come across a specific use for the Patronus Charm. It could be used to deliver messages, the odd thing about it was that the use changed with the intent. The Patronus Charm itself was a very intent laden spell, meaning there weren't too many specifics to the spell itself. It was the main reason Hermione had had much trouble when learning it, as there weren't specific steps to replicate for flawless execution.
So, he concentrated, trying hard to ignore the depressing air around him.
The first attempt failed in a whisp that dissipated quickly, the second however led to a shining Stag that merely looked at him, rather than charge around looking for threats. He'd already decided what his message would be, after considering the difference between a Magical and Muggle family. "Arthur Weasley: I assume you've heard what's happened. Please get yourselves, and Hermione's parents to Hogwarts Infirmary." Not knowing how to finish the message, he nodded at the Stag who, to his surprise, nodded back and shot through the wall into the darkness.
Only when it left, did he realise how comforting and warm it was, immediately missing its presence. He almost didn't notice that Ginny was awake and staring at him, but he did catch sight of Madame Pomfrey who was half out of her office, no doubt wondering what the sudden light was. "I'm sorry Madame, no more magic, promise."
She made no comment, disappearing from view once more. Then Ginny moved over to him, seeing this, he asked Neville to get him his quills, parchment, and the most advanced Defensive Magic book he could find in his trunk.
Neville nodded, Luna touched his hand, and they both left together. I'll have to thank Neville properly soon.
As she moved over, he caught sight of her face in the candlelight: It was blotchy and swollen from crying and the position in which she slept. The vivaceant girl was no more, and he could only point the finger of blame in one direction. "Look Ginny, I'm so sorry, I owe you-"
Her eyes narrowed at him, and while he knew why her twin brothers feared her. He hadn't known what it felt like until now. "No you don't, we all went voluntarily, we all could have died." She spat out.
"It was my curse." He responded flatly with finality. There was nothing she could say to him that would alleviate his guilt.
She huffed at his defiance, and looked ready to argue. But instead, she reacted the same as Dumbledore, studying him intently before changing the subject. "Hows Hermione?"
He didn't argue with the abrupt change in subject. His gaze darted to the mass of privacy screens, and his mind replayed seeing the scar across her body. Both in the Department, and in her state of undress that made him feel uncomfortable. "Pomfrey says she'll be ok, she-she hasn't been wrong yet." A weak sort of chuckle left his lips in response to his unease.
She gave him a pitying look. "Don't worry, she'll be up and yelling at you in no time."
"I hope so." If anyone deserves a yelling at, It's me. She can hate me even, as long as she's alive. He looked up to find Ginny giving him a look, again reminiscent of Dumbledore. Her gaze, darting between himself and the screens for a reason he couldn't fathom.
They were interrupted by a Weasel Patronus that burst through the same patch of wall his own had left through. It rose upon its hind legs and spoke in the voice of the Weasley Patriarch. "Thank you Harry. I've sent Molly to collect her Parents, they should be along shortly. I'll be at the Ministry for some time yet. See you soon." The Weasel faded from existence, leaving behind a sense of dread.
While his idea of parents was more textbook than the usual teen, he realised that they may not appreciate having their daughter maimed so. Especially in a world they know little about, and can do little to prevent the dangers accompanied with it. To start with, he'd wanted to do the right thing, he assumed they would want to know at least. He was sure his letters that went home to the Dursleys about his previous injuries went down as a right laugh with his uncle.
What would his parents do if they found out he was injured at school? Would they drop everything to be with him? Or would they trust the Healer to do her job and merely send a letter? These questions were ones he'd pondered before, and he did every time he was in the Infirmary. The answer was one he would never know, and he realised this. He just couldn't help but wonder, it fit into the fantasies he'd had about his parents on occasion. The ones in which they cared for him unconditionally and with such conviction, something he'd had little of. Even after rejoining the Wizarding World.
In fact, there was one person he knew that cared about him in such a way, considering the events of this year. And she lay in the next bed, behind a wall of screens, grievously injured from the consequences of caring about him so. The closer people were to him, the more likely they would be injured. He glanced over at Ron's body before correcting himself. The more likely they will die for following me.
During his ponderings, Ginny had left without him noticing. It made sense, he wasn't the greatest conversationalist in the world. He wasn't a young Tom Riddle that had boundless charisma, he was merely a name. A Freak. He actually wondered how he had friends, even if a friend was something he'd dreamed of for the first decade of his life. Were those that attended their 'Study Group' his friends? Or was he a simple repository of skill they needed? Was he just someone that was placed on a pedestal for a cause, the Anti-Umbridge Movement for example?
He never reached an answer, due to the Infirmary Fireplace suddenly lighting up the room in a wash of green. He swallowed nervously, it was Mrs. Weasley, followed by a wide-eyed Mr. and Mrs. Granger.
He'd seen the Grangers before of course, both in Diagon Alley, and in Kings Cross as they waited for their daughter to appear from seemingly nothing. But never had he been formally introduced. Mrs. Granger looked as close to Hermione as one could be, the only difference was that her own curls must have calmed as she aged. As he considered Hermione's hair problems, he noticed that her father hadn't helped matters. His own was extremely curly, yet cut short, almost military short, so they didn't stand out as much.
As soon as the parents entered the room, Madame Pomfrey was already bustling over. She didn't make it in time to prevent Molly from seeing her son, laying, ashen in the far corner. Uncharacteristically, she silently hurried over to his bed and fell into the same position as her daughter. The Matron looked torn between her and the Grangers for a moment before moving towards the latter. "Mr., Mrs. Granger, call me Poppy. I'm the-"
"Healer attached to Hogwarts yes." Finished Mrs. Granger. "Can we see our daughter?"
Pomfrey took their response in stride. "Of course," She led them towards the screens. "Would you like a moment alone? Or would you like to ask questions?"
Harry merely lay there and watched the horrible spectacle from his bed like he was watching the Dursley's TV. Nobody seemed to notice him, but that was fine. He could only continue to hear the conversation as those involved disappeared from view behind the screens.
"What happened? Growled a male voice.
Pomfrey's voice remained clinical. "All I know is that she was attacked by a criminal. The spell in question is a dark cutting hex, it creates a cut and burns the exposed flesh. The result is usually deadly, in truth this is the smallest cut that I've seen with this particular spell."
"Recovery?" Asked a feminine voice.
"She will make a full recovery, but it will take quite a while. I can see her taking a multitude of potions for around a month."
Harry sighed, further relief flooding through him.
"When will she wake up?" Asked the same male voice, though it was no longer a growl.
"I'd planned to later this evening, so I can run some more tests."
"Who can we ask to get the full story?" Asked the male voice.
"Of the six that can give you a full story, two are here. One of those is deceased, and the other is recovering from Cruciatus exposure. I would ask you to refrain from questioning him, but he isn't one to follow orders." The first part was delivered flatly, while the last part had an odd lilt that confused him for a moment.
As he hurriedly debated whether he wanted to give them a full account of his failure or not. The feminine voice asked another question. "What is this Cruciatus you mentioned?"
Pomfrey's voice betrayed that she was beyond disgust at the topic. "It's called the Torture Curse, use of which earns a life-sentance in our prison. Too much of it, and it can cause insanity." Silence followed her explanation.
Neville had told him about the fate of his parents fully earlier in the year. He'd naively thought the Bellatrix would kill him at his request, he'd figured upon a spot of torture first, but the same result. Now however, he wondered if she would actually have killed him or just enacted the fate of Frank and Alice Longbottom upon him. He shivered. Then grimaced as the movement caused a flash of pain all over his body, the remnant of the curse being discussed.
"Well you are obviously Mr. Potter."
The odd comment interrupted his thoughts, causing him to look up at the face of Mr. Granger. "Sir?"
The elder man considered him for a moment before elaborating. "Hermione's description of you was rather comprehensive."
Harry couldn't help a small blush at his words, to know that a friend had described him so, rather than an author he didn't know was both refreshing and embarrassing. Whether it was because of the fact that Hermione was a girl or not, he couldn't decide. "You want to know what happened? Sir?"
"Considering both herself, and her friends are either dead or injured. Yes." The man's voice was both calm and demanding, and led him to make the decision to relive the tale, he was her father after all. He assumed his own would be the same.
"I'll have to go back some time so you'd understand properly." Harry threw in, in an selfish effort to avoid prejudgement of the man in front of him. Nothing would absolve him of guilt of course.
Mr. Ganger nodded tightly and took the available seat by his bedside. "She-she was incredible. Sir." He stammered, and after this underwhelming rejoinder, he told the tale: Of Umbridge, the D.A., his dreams, including the one that saved Mr. Weasley's life. He told of their capture, Umbridge's threat and Hermione tricking her into the hands of Grawp and the Centaurs. His earlier awe of the girl had fled by the time he'd reached near the end of the tale. He himself was in awe of her quick thinking that got them into the Department, and how she fought against the Deatheaters. But he could still see her incapacitation as clear as day. How she fell and lay motionless.
His earlier boredom-driven reflection had led him to believe that it had started the downward spiral, how his blind rage had manifested and killed his best friend by accident. But he didn't tell those that had gathered during his retelling about that, speaking it aloud would be the end of the tenuous grip he had upon his calm.
A commotion at the door punctuated the end of his story neatly, Sirius Black came into view and moved quickly to hug him but was held back by the Matron. He'd looked incensed until she informed him of his injuries, the quietly restored Lord Black looked abashed and summoned a chair and sat on Harry's other side. "How is everyone?" He asked Harry.
The question was answered by the Healer, who had reappeared with Mrs. Granger at the disturbance. "Mr Weasley is deceased, Miss Granger is in an induced coma, the others are fine."
Sirius whirled around in shock, taking in Ron's still form and Mrs. Weasley's sobs, then the screens that surrounded Hermione's bed. He then caught sight of her parents. "Mr, Mrs Granger, House Bl-I… I owe you, anything." He took in their silence. "I'm Harry's-"
"Godfather yes." Finished Mrs Granger. "I take it you are not a mass-murderer?"
Sirius nodded stiffly. "Your daughter helped save me, I'll be forever grateful, House Black is indebted to you."
The Grangers looked to each other before Mr Granger gave him a nod. Sirius then stood to his full height, looking unlike the man Harry knew. "Could I ask to talk to my godson in private?" The others gave nods and retreated, Pomfrey to her office and the Grangers back to Hermione's bed.
Sirius looked into his eyes for a moment before speaking. "Tell me what happened, from the moment you stepped into the Ministry."
"Nothing happened until I removed the prophecy," He began. "Then they just appeared from nowhere and surrounded us. Seeing as they didn't kill us all right away and they asked nicely for the Prophecy, I told the others to smash the shelves while Lucius was monologuing." He smirked after this line, he hoped his godfather would appreciate the humour, it usually helped himself deal with things whenever he used it. Even if Hermione had classed his humour as more sarcastic than just plain humourous.
He continued the story, up until he got to the room with all of the desks. Then his voice started breaking, but he relayed it the best he could. "And then I…" This time his throat closed up fully, he felt fully justified in what he'd done, but it still shocked him.
"I saw the body Harry. I know."
Further shock flooded through him. "Body? You mean he's-"
"Dead, yes."
Thoughts ran through his head two at a time, searching for a justification for taking a life. Especially as brutally as he had. There was only one that fit though. "He nearly killed Hermione." He found himself growling.
SIrius leant back, seemingly pondering what he was about to say, before tilting his head towards Harry. "Antonin Dolohov is a monster, the things he's known to have done are far outdone by the things he's reputed to have done. He joined Voldemort's cause from a distant land. Russia's revolution was bloody, and on a scale larger than our own Blood War, but there were less of the horrible acts that define Voldemort's rise. I'm sure you can gather why he moved to Britain." He leant forward. "You. did. a. good. thing. Harry. I just wish it wasn't you who had to do it."
"I'd do it again." The four words left his lips with absolute certainty, the others hadn't killed, and he didn't believe they had the capacity to. He, on the other hand, had been killing since first year, although those circumstances were different than the usual cold-blooded murder. He had no intention of seeing how his friends would deal with taking a life themselves.
Sirius sighed. "I know." He looked at his godfather questioningly, so he then elaborated. "There is… a transformation of sorts, that takes two parts to complete. First is to see someone die, the second is to take a life yourself."
He didn't like the sound of 'Transformation'. "What do you mean by-"
"Not transformation in any magical sense. It's… psychological, you will never be the same Harry. I will never be the same boy that graduated from Hogwarts, for my change happened not long after the fact."
Harry warmed a little at the words of his godfather, realising that he wasn't alone, war had happened before. He could see it in the people around him now. "Who?" He asked and instantly internally grimaced, he would hate the same question if it was directed at him.
SIrius wasn't even looking at him anymore, instead staring out the closest stained window into the night's sky. "Marlene McKinnon. Towards the end of seventh year, we'd become a regular thing. Nothing like your parents, I didn't have it in me then. But, now I realised I loved her." He shot a shaky grin at him before continuing. "Not long after I'd joined the order, we got word that McKinnon Estate was under attack. So we went, the Marauders and the Prewett twins. Molly's brothers." He clarified for Harry.
"Marlene was the only one left by the time we got there, I entered the room just in time to see her die." Sirius paused for a long time, a part of Harry knew he was reliving the moments as clearly as they had happened. He knew the feeling intimately. "It was my first battle, I'd gone through Auror training, and I was confident. But seeing her die, I just… It happened in a blur. Gideon and Fabian lay dead in a pile of Deatheater corpses, Peter was bleeding, Dolohov and Yaxley were gone, and Lily, in her shock, told James she was pregnant."
They remained silent, both lost in their own ponderings. Until Sirius chuckled. "Of course James and Lily fought for hours after that. James being overly protective and Lily objecting to it. Remus stayed out of it, not sure what hold Lily had over him though, and Peter..." His face darkened as he trailed off.
"Thanks." Harry murmured.
Sirius seemed to read his mind. "I'll always be there pup. I also have you to thank for saving my wretched life."
Harry nodded, before taking advantage of having his godfather so close. "I don't want to live, Sirius." He whispered.
His godfather stared at him, eyes shining. "I know how you feel." Was his quiet reply. Then a fire was lit behind his eyes, drawing Harry's own gaze. "But let me tell you why I live. I live for you, for Remus, your parents and a girl taken from me before her time. You fight Harry," He growled. "And you make them proud."
Harry blinked at the strength of his godfather's words. It made him think about who he would live for. Hermione, Sirius, Remus, Neville, Ginny, Luna… I'll die if it means they live. He could care less for the wider WIzarding World, they'd been so fickle so far. He would instead live for those he knew that cared, or the ones he hoped that cared. His dream of a family hung in the balance, especially with Voldemort back. It wasn't enough to simply exist anymore, he would prevail or die trying, it was his lot in life and he accepted it now.
The voice of his godfather punctuated his thoughts. "You've got this pup." Harry smiled his thanks just as Nevile and Luna returned, the former holding a book and writing supplies.
Luna, of course, didn't wait for introductions. "Hello Sirius Black."
The man in question looked as shocked at the greeting as Neville did at seeing him next to Harry. "Hi." He replied to the girl and turned to the boy beside her. "Neville I presume? You have the look of Frank about you."
Neville looked to Harry, who nodded and then offered his hand. "Yes, Did you know them well?"
Sirius looked downcast. "Not very well sadly, I was new in the order and didn't see them too much. I'm sorry."
Neville nodded and handed what he was holding to Harry, who thanked him and set it aside. He had a question to ask. "Sirius?"
"Mmm?"
"How did you get out of the Ministry?"
Neville looked as interested to hear the answer as he did, drawing a chair and plonking himself down. Luna had moved over to Mrs Weasley who had been joined by Ginny who had returned at some point.
Sirius winked at Harry. "A Marauder has his ways Prongslet."
He rolled his eyes at that evasion, but enjoyed the jest nonetheless. "There's no way you got out as Padfoot."
The pair stared at each other in a game of chicken with Neville looking between the two, puzzled. After a few moments, Sirius relented. "Alright, alright, you look like Lily with that stare. Albus protected me, I think he's going to use the fact that I helped you to provide cause for a retrial. Or… just a trial, seeing as I didn't get one to start with." He finished with a huff.
Neville looked shocked at this tidbit of information. "Really?" With his Grandmother on the Wizengamot, skipping the trial was something he would appreciate the significance of more than Harry
Sirius snorted. "Yep, stunned and woke up in Azkaban."
Neville sat back in shock, and remained silent for a time. Harry took advantage of this opportunity. "So what happens when you're freed?"
Sirius scratched his chin. "I'm not really sure, I'll have to visit Gringotts at some point."
He was too confused about the subject to ask anymore questions, it showed him just how little he knew about the Wizarding World. Neville however, perked up, asking a multitude of questions. Harry was content to listen and learn. It didn't escape his notice just how easily Neville had taken to Sirius, who he'd known as a mass-murderer only minutes ago. Did he really respect him that much to just trust Sirius because he said so? If so, Neville was a far more loyal and trusting friend than he'd realised.
The longer he'd thought upon it, the more guilty he felt. He'd held the boy at arm's length instinctually, only really trusting Ron and Hermione. It left him with a conundrum, those closest to him got hurt, but he selfishly, wanted more friends. The connections he'd made this year through the D.A. were amazing, but that sort of thing still overwhelmed him.
It looked as though he had more than one decision to make.
…
-Later on-
He was just about to take his Dreamless Sleep potion when the double-doors swung inwards once more.
The highly polished nature of the wooden doors reflected the light of the long-risen moon across the flagstone floor. Into the room walked Dumbledore, looking as opulent and eccentric as ever. Until he saw Harry. The green-eyed patient watched as the venerable man's shoulders slumped minutely, and moved over to the chair beside his bed. Without bothering to transfigure it into something more comfortable, the Headmaster sank into it and gazed at him.
"How are you feeling Harry?" He asked with a nod to the cliche-ness of such a question.
Harry placed the vial back on the table with a clink. "Not the best, sir."
A twitch of his beard was the only outward sign Dumbledore showed before staring out into the night sky. "It looks as though you've become adept as suffering. I daresay Poppy will name a bed in your honour soon."
He smirked a little, patting the sheet gently. Too hard and it made the constant ache worse. "I'm usually in this particular bed."
The man beside him gave a sigh. "Thus, my point stands. It seems… that I have failed you every year you attend Hogwarts. In fact… Each year you live would be a testament to my failures."
Comprehension was exquisitely slow for him right now, so he asked: "What do you mean sir?"
The elder man seemed to settle, before folding his hands together upon his lap. "I believe you know of an excellent spell to deter evesdroppers, if you could be so kind."
Dumbfounded, he grabbed his wand. "Err, I suppose so. Muffliato." As he waved his wand to cast the spell, he felt the relaxing rush of his magic moving inside him obeying his command. It was the same sort of calm that his Patronus produced, while using magic, the pain retreated from his body. He had a feeling the Healer would look poorly upon him casting spells and 'tiring himself out'. Which was fair, he reckoned, with the little he knew about magic and the body.
Dumbledore gazed at him fondly, before elaborating. "I feel I should explain my actions this year, you'll see why when I finish."
Harry studied the aging mage, finally he would get an answer for his aloofness this year. It had actually hurt him quite a lot more than he'd let on. In times past, the Headmaster would always stand by him, even if it was from afar. This year had been drastically different from those previous. "You ignored me all year."
A downcast and exhausted man answered his statement. "Yes. You see, after what you told me of the ritual Tom used, and your dreams this year, I surmised that you had a connection with Voldemort. A connection he could exploit, and for a master Legilimens, a connection is all he would need to destroy you… or myself. So… I felt if I distanced myself from you, you would be protected from him." He gave a long sigh. "An old man's mistake Harry, Tom knew my weakness, and planted a false vision that would send you to the Department of Mysteries for him."
His jaw ached from keeping his mouth shut during the Headmaster's speech. He'd already connected the dots, and he was furious with the result. "If I knew… Ron… Hermione…" His fist that no longer held his wand clenched and creaked with anger.
"I cared about you too much." Dumbledore continued. "I cared more about your peace of mind than the truth. I was, and still am, scared that if you knew the truth. You would distance yourself from your friends, and become an easier target for Tom. I see a part of myself in you."
All Harry could think of was what this decision meant for him. He'd gotten his friend killed because this man had lied to him. Despite this new information, he couldn't shift the blame off of himself. Ron had been worth more than that, the Weasley's were as well, the family that welcomed him back to the WIzarding World with open arms.
Dumbledore seemed to read his thoughts. "Attribute the blame to myself Harry, for your own sake. Believe me when I say that the guilt will destroy you." He said consolingly.
"NO!" Harry spat. "I cast the spell. I. Will. Not. Be. WEAK!" The vial to his right exploded, bits of potion landed all over the pair. The grey of the Headmaster's beard now had a blue tinge in patches.
The old man hadn't reacted in the slightest, he instead, looked even more downcast. "I'm afraid I have more to divulge to you Harry, something far worse than what we just discussed."
"How else did you fuck up!? Spat Harry, who now stewed in perpetual fury. It was all he could do to not attack the elder man like he had Dolohov. He settled for taking perverse pleasure in insulting a man he'd once admired and respected. After all, very few could say such to the man's face, even less had the right to, as he did.
"The Orb was not the only record of the Prophecy. Sybil Trelawney made the same Prophetic to myself a decade and a half ago during an interview for the Divination post at Hogwarts. We were overheard by a Deatheater who was ejected from the premises halfway through the telling. Of course, he told his master what he had heard. And this… Well, you know the results. The Prophecy described two children whose parents had defied Tom thrice. Yourself, and Neville Longbottom. One of these children would have the 'power he knows not', so, naturally, Tom moved to remove these potential equals." He gave a long sigh. "That night, Frank and Alice Longbottom were tortured into insanity in the hope of locating Neville, while Tom moved in on Godrics Hollow."
It was an information overload, but several things puzzled him about the whole story. "But-"
"Please bear with me Harry, it is quite the convoluted tale." Harry settled, his anger giving in to curiosity. "You see, Tom only knew about the first part of the Prophecy. Once you hear it yourself it will make more sense. Tom would in fact, 'Mark his equal', you."
His hand unconsciously jumped to his scar. "Why me?"
"No man, apart from Tom, could answer that question Harry. But sadly, I have one more piece of devastating news for you. But first I'd like for you to stow your wand away."
It was an odd request, but he complied. By now he was worried he would snap his wand with the vice-like grip he had upon it. This whole tale had answered a few of the questions he'd always wanted to ask. But he didn't like the old man's disposition, it irked him to see Dumbledore so defeated.
Dumbledore stood and started pacing, it looked like he was visibly chewing upon the problem. Somehow, it oddly relaxed Harry slightly, seeing a familiar sight once more. All relaxation fled when he fixed Harry with a piercing stare and uttered the next few words. "The most pertinent part of the Prophecy states thus: Neither one can live, while the other survives."
He spent a moment repeating the words over and over in order to make sure he properly understood what had been said. Neither one of us can live. While the other survives. When it hit, a wave of numbness flowed through him. He'd watched Voldemort and Dumbldore's battle himself and witnessed its spectacle and pure power.
He was going to die.
The ringing in his ears had become his world.
He could feel his body shaking.
"Why tell me now?" His voice shook as he uttered the question.
"As I said before, I cared-"
"IF YOU FUCKING CARED YOU WOULD HAVE TOLD ME WHEN I WAS ELEVEN!" Harry screamed at the decrepit old man. If he'd have known earlier, he would have had no friends, no one to suffer beside him. Each time his friends had been hurt in the years past, it had hurt him more. After waiting for so long to finally make friends, he'd turned out to be a danger to them. He glanced furtively at the empty bed that had once supported his friend's corpse.
If he'd known, he would have accepted it. It was his lot in life after all. Even as a lonely nine year old, he was less vulnerable that he was now. He could have prepared himself properly, there would be no one to distract him and to get hurt. It would have given him purpose, he would have been better, quicker, more knowledgeable of spells that he could have directed at his Prophesied enemy.
At the thought of his friends, the pain intensified. Because he'd been so unprepared, he would die while his friends would live on without him. At least he would be seeing Ron soon enough, then he could apologise.
The old man's words reached him again. "This is why I didn't tell you. I couldn't bear to see you cut yourself off, you need your friends Harry."
"I DON'T CARE ANYMORE!" He screamed and to his shock, he heard a crashing sound and looked up to find all of the stained glass that surrounded the Infirmary had fallen in shards, some piercing the unattended beds and littering the ground. Much like his dreams of a family, one that he'd been determined to bring about up until then.
Shocked, he looked towards Hermione's bed in fear and found her unaffected. No doubt the work of Dumbledore whose wand was falling to his side as he looked.
"Go…" Harry croaked "Just go…"
Just them, The queen of the Hospital Wing herself strode in. No doubt seeing the destruction of all the windows in the building. "I agree Albus, please leave."
Dumbledore simply nodded and flicked his wand, each window repairing and settling itself within their stone frames once more. "Come to my office at your leisure to hear the whole thing." Was the only thing he said before sweeping from the room. Leaving a tutting Healer in his wake.
"I shall get you a new potion Mister Potter." She said before moving towards her office.
He nearly asked to be put in a coma due to all of the wild thoughts that swirled around in his mind. Not to mention the pain of his lost future. But after glancing at the bed where he knew Hermione lay, he resolved to stick with his original plan. He needed to make sure she was alright. Then he could cut ties with her, and the rest of his friends.
...
