Chapter Eight: Come Back to Me

"How is he?"

"Stable." Was the only answer Harry was given. Amassed around him were Dumbledore, Sirius, Lupin, Mad-Eye and an unusually quiet Mrs Weasley. Hagrid had been taken to St. Mungo's after Sirius had discovered him in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. No one was entirely sure how he'd gotten there, reports from France had been scattered at best, but one minute he'd been tracking an ancient creature and the next he'd wound up covered in blood on the kitchen floor fighting for his life.

Wave after wave of guilt had crashed down on Harry since he'd been summoned to Grimmauld Place that morning. It was impossible to stop. An ocean of fury and misplaced blame that he couldn't shift, because if it wasn't for him Hagrid would never have been there in the first place. If it wasn't for him, Hagrid would be in his hut, caring for the Grounds, not fighting for his life in a hospital bed.

"And will he be okay?"

"We don't know." This was Sirius. His firm hand was clasped on Harry's shoulder, but it felt like a weight dragging him down rather than the uplifting sign of support his godfather intended.

"Hagrid understood the risks when he undertook the task," Dumbledore said calmly, "you know as well as I, Harry, that even if he knew this was the outcome, he would have done it in heartbeat." That really did not help. "He is being given the best care possible."

Harry nodded dully. It was all he could do. No one spoke and then, finally, the silence was broken by Moody.

"Well, is no one going to ask him?"

"Ask me what?"

All eyes fell on Dumbledore. Dumbledore. Dumbledore who had hidden so much from him, but whose light blue eyes were filled with so much doubt and grief that Harry couldn't even hold that against him now. Dumbledore was no monster, had he been wrong? Yes. But what did that matter now?

"If you are still willing to undergo the ritual Miss Granger discovered?"

"Of course." It didn't even seem like a question. Hagrid had just got himself hospitalised for this, Harry wasn't going to let that be for nothing. "When?"

"As soon as you're ready," Dumbledore told him.

"Well, what are we waiting for?"

"There's no guarantees this'll work, Harry." Sirius said quietly. "If it doesn't, we don't know what'll happen and even if it does…" The ghost of something seemed to pass over Sirius' face. "Even if it does, we don't know what comes next."

"So, what're you saying?"

"That it might be worth saying goodbye," Sirius confessed. The words hung in the air, floating above Harry like the spectre of Voldemort. 'Goodbye'. He'd known it could happen but he'd never wanted to think what that might mean, not consciously. His nightmares had given it a pretty good go. Daphne's face swam to the forefront of his mind, joined by Ron and Hermione. Part of him wanted to just do it. Just risk it all now, without thinking, but even as the words formed in his mouth he knew they would never come out.

No one wanted to look at him, all except Sirius. Dark eyes swam with tears that Harry had never seen before. Sirius had always been so dependably relaxed about life and death, so overly affected by the final consequence of living that he'd always seemed numb to it all, but in the confines of the drawing room, he looked every bit like anyone else staring into mortality. Harry touched his hand and forced himself to, if not smile, then wipe the fear etched across his own face.

"They couldn't have asked for anyone better," he said quietly.

A grimace contorted Sirius' face. "I was just thinking the same thing about you."

He was grabbed in a bone-crushing hug by Mrs Weasley, before shaking hands with Remus and Mad-Eye. Dumbledore's usually calm facade cracked slightly as he looked at Harry, tinged with regret almost. They would never be as close as they were, but Harry hoped if he got out of this they could have something.

The others were waiting upstairs and Harry didn't waste any time heading to the small bedroom that had become Tracey's room at Grimmauld Place. But even as he walked up the stairs the house felt less gloomy. Had the walls always been that bright? The carpet that soft? It was as though his senses were coming alive, amplifying everything up to and beyond the maximum. He'd thought he'd be scared, and after that initial spike, his body seemed to take over. The last few months had been fraught with panic, not knowing what was coming, but now that he did it was as if he was just enjoying what he might have left.

Panicked faces greeted him. Hermione was pacing. Ron clasping Tracey's hand on the bed, both of them teetering on the edge of the frame. And Daphne. Her face was almost blank, as though she couldn't bring herself to feel anything. She sat with one leg crossed over the other, her back straight against the wooden chair she'd sequestered. Blonde hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, a few strands of hair falling gently in her face. Harry didn't anything, trying to remember this, remember her. If this was going to be one of the last times he'd see her face, he was damned sure he wasn't going to forget it.

"What did they say? Is he okay? Is he going to be alright?"

"Let him breathe, Hermione."

"Sorry. Sorry. Oh, Harry. I'm sorry. Are you okay? I know you - but he's fine, isn't he? He's okay?"

"Stable," Harry said, echoing Dumbledore's assessment from before. "They're looking after him. Sirius said they're not sure if he'll pull through."

"But it's Hagrid," Ron said as if that were enough for the half-giant to defy the odds and survive. None of them said anything, not wanting to contradict Ron's silent plea but unable to bring themselves to support his claim either. It just was.

"And there's something else," Harry continued, leaning himself against the small chest of drawers and casting his gaze down to the carpet. It was easier. He wanted to face them, to give them that much respect, but he couldn't. His heart would break and he needed to keep going.

"Hagrid managed to get the Tarasque heartstring. So, it looks like it's time. And, erm." He took a deep breath. "Sirius said I should probably say goodbye in case, you know, it…"

But the sentence didn't really need finishing. They knew what he was saying. Hermione broke first. When Harry looked at her there were tears racing down her face, her hands clasped over her mouth. Ron's jaw was clenched, the skin on the hand clutching Tracey's white and stretched over his knuckles. Even Tracey looked shell-shocked. Her kind eyes wide. Mouth open.

"Oh, Harry." That was Hermione. Muffled. Quiet. Broken.

"Bloody hell, mate."

"Are you okay?" This was Daphne, it was only when she spoke that Harry managed to look at her. Her face was set, the kind of calm that hides unbridled fury and anger and an entire torrent of emotions that were completely unreadable. He hated that he was doing this to her, to all of them.

"No. You?"

"Absolutely nowhere near," Daphne admitted, she moved from the chair and approached him slowly, her eyes never leaving his face until she leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. It was gentle, tender, everything Daphne normally wasn't. Somehow that was more upsetting than anything else. He found himself pulling her into a one-armed hug.

"If this, erm, if I don't…" God, this was hard. "You're all amazing. I hope I get to tell you that again. I hope this works and we get to fight this but if it doesn't, I just wanted to say that I couldn't have asked for better people in my life."

"You'll be okay." Ron said firmly.

"I hope so."

"You?" He laughed, but it sounded hollow. Forced. "C'mon, you've fought dragons and all sorts. You'll be fine."

Everyone always thinks that, Harry thought. And in a weird way, it was true. You were always fine. Until you weren't. He just had to hope his luck would hold out. That he would make it. He couldn't even imagine that. Waking up. That thing gone. It was going to die, one way or another. Then Voldemort'd be next. Even if it meant losing everything, losing this, to rid the world of that kind of evil, it'd be worth it.

"Harry." This was Hermione again. Hermione, the girl with every answer in the world, suddenly unable to help. She couldn't tell him what to do this time.

"He'll be okay." Ron.

Hermione. "Oh, Ronald, will you please -"

"What? He's not dying." Angrier this time.

"Didn't you listen?"

"Yeah, there's a chance. Harry's had crappier chances before and always got through. Right, Harry?"

"Stop it, both of you." Tracey, the first words she'd said. Harry let out a steadying breath, trying to kickstart his mind but he couldn't. All he could think about was that piece of himself that wasn't. That part that laughed, high and cold. That part that made him question himself, that made him hate everything, hate them for caring, hate life for being so unfair, ha -

No. He wasn't going to listen. Not anymore. At his waist, he felt Daphne's grip tighten. Daphne.

"Guys. It's okay." He looked between them. "Ron's right. It might be okay, but Ron, Hermione's not wrong either. If I have to go, I wanna do this properly. So please, just let me, alright? I mean, how many people actually get to say goodbye?"

"When?"

"Soon as."

"I don't want you to go." His voice cracked. Tears were pooling in his fierce eyes.

"I know." Before he knew it Ron had barreled into him and was hugging him so tightly Harry was sure his ribs would pop. Hermione joined too. Then Tracey. And that's how they stood, no one saying anything. If this was how he had to go, Harry reasoned, he was glad they could be beside him one last time.

One by one they broke apart and made their excuses. Tracey followed Ron and Hermione, looking rather dazed, said something about going to triple-check the ritual to make sure they were fully prepared. That left Daphne.

"I'm sorry," Harry said to her when the room was theirs.

"Why? What have you ever done to be sorry for? No. No way. You don't get to be sorry, Harry."

"But if I -"

"Please, don't. Just don't. Please. Let's just be together, okay? Me and you." He hummed as she pulled away from him slightly so she could look into his eyes. "Harry, even if I knew this was where we were going, even if the worst happens, I wouldn't regret this for a second. Not one. This is where I'm meant to be. No matter what mum says or Voldemort or anyone."

"And where do you wanna be? I mean after all of this, if I -" He stopped, unable to ask her but she knew.

"With you, little place by a forest. Hide away from prying eyes, just us. Maybe a dog. I could go for a dog."

"Sounds nice."

"And a great big fireplace. And books. Lots of books."

"And a pitch."

"Ugh, if you insist," she smirked good-naturedly, wiping tears from her cheeks. "Okay. Fine. A pitch. But I get a library then."

"Deal."

He dreamt of that house as they walked downstairs. He imagined Daphne sat in an overly stuffed chair, curled up with a book, playing with her long hair, dog asleep in front of the fire. He pictured her telling him about her day as a Curse Breaker, of all the mystical objects she'd discovered and tombs she'd snuck into. Even as they discussed what came next and Dumbledore prepared to get started, he imagined what they could be like and dared, for the first time that summer, to let himself dream.

"It's going to be okay," Daphne told him, gripping his hand as Dumbledore asked him to lie down on the bed. He did as he was told, never letting go of Daphne. The others were there. Sirius. Ron. Hermione. Tracey. Mr and Mrs Weasley. He'd remember their faces for the rest of his life, which, he hoped was going to be more than the next few seconds.

"I know."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

"Come back to me, okay?"

"I'll try."

Someone said something and Daphne quietened. She never let go. Dumbledore came into his vision, his blue eyes twinkling and then everything went black.