(A/N: Sorry/not sorry for those of you I made cry last chapter. It does these old bones good to know that I was able to convey what I was trying to, though what I was trying to convey was sad.
WARNING: There are parts of this chapter that, while not graphic, are disturbing. At least, they disturbed me to write them.
As always, thanks for the views, reviews, follows, and favorites.)
When one spent nearly all of their free time with Miss Hermione Jean Granger, sixth year Gryffindor prefect at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, one naturally did two things more than most other teenagers. The first was spend an inordinate amount of time in the library or otherwise engaged in some intellectual pursuit, especially if said pursuit was related to an upcoming event. The second was you bore witness as one of the greatest magical minds of the age made plans and backup plans and backups for the backup plans. These were just the most recent and currently obvious examples that made Harry thank whatever deity or power of the universe that had brought Hermione into his life and made her such an integral part of his existence.
This thought passed in the blink of an eye to him as he stared down the mad witch that had sent his godfather through the Veil of Death, the witch who was the right hand of the wizard he was destined to either kill or be killed by. She stood at the end of the aisle as casually as could be, her hands clasped in front of her chest from her last clap and a maniacal countenance on her face. "Little Baby Potter all weepy for his dearly departed blood traitor buddy. For a moment I thought I was going to have myself a good cry. Honestly, there may have been tears," she said, wiping non-existent moisture from her cheek with one of her thin and deceptively delicate fingers.
Harry saw a number of the Order members as well as a few other people reach for their wands and knew that he couldn't allow that to happen yet; chances were high a bloodbath would ensue, as Harry was sure Bellatrix wasn't alone. More than likely there were more Death Eaters Disillusioned or under Invisibility Cloaks already in the room. Hell, for all he knew a good number of the attendees were either Polyjuiced or under the Imperius Curse. Still standing at the podium, he yelled "STOP!" His magically magnified voice echoed throughout the building and brought everyone up short as they turned to him.
Plan A, the one where absolutely nothing bad happened today, was officially shot to shit; to be fair both he and Hermione had agreed that the odds of Plan A playing out were pretty slim. Harry prayed that Plan B still held some merit, and also that the information that Plan B was built around was actually correct; the text they had found it in was archaic, but they also hadn't found anything that had refuted or rescinded what it had said. Please don't let me fuck this up he said to himself, though his voice betrayed none of his doubt. "Bellatrix of House Lestrange, you come uninvited, unbidden, and unwelcome during Dies Ultima, the Last Day of the son of a Pureblood house. As a de facto enemy of House Weasley, I demand that you leave these proceedings at once or face judgement before the Wizengamot for violating wizarding law."
"How dare a Half-blood brat try to teach a Pureblood witch about wizarding law?!" Bellatrix screamed at him, apparently incensed at his presumption.
"Harry is quite correct, Bellatrix," Dumbledore said, stepping into the aisle from his spot in the front row. "Last Day is one of the three event days that Pureblood houses in conflict may not vie with each other. The laws have existed since the earliest inceptions of the Wizards' Council, and the penalties can be quite severe." Despite any current disagreement he had with the Headmaster, Harry breathed a sigh of relief that he was there right then, confirming the existence of something that, aside from Hermione and himself, probably only the aged wizard's encyclopedic and seemingly supernatural depth of knowledge knew about. He, like Harry and Hermione, probably also knew that the current detente only existed so long as no one on their side fired a spell, and with both the raw emotions of the funeral and the sheer level of enmity those who followed the light held for Bellatrix it was probably only a matter of time before magic started flying. It was therefore imperative to try and clear the field as quickly as possible.
Harry looked quickly over to the twins while everyone's attention had moved to Dumbledore. Catching their eye, he rolled his eyes over the crowd before making a fist near his navel and pushing it away from his body quickly, as if he were yanking on something tied around his waist. It took a second, but they both got the message and started quickly pulling whatever they could from their pockets. Hermione, catching on to what Harry's intentions were, moved toward the twins in an attempt to assist, as well as shield what they were doing from anyone who may be watching; luckily since nearly the entire congregation was now standing and the twins were in the front row, they were effectively blocked from Bellatrix's line of site. As items came out, one of the teens would transfigure it into a length of rope or some other easily gripped object before either twin would move their wand in a quick motion and whisper an incantation, causing the item in question to briefly glow with a soft blue light. These items were quickly but quietly and surreptitiously being passed back down the rows. Harry knew he had to keep the focus of Bellatrix and anyone else she had brought with her on him in order to give Fred and George time to work, and so stepped down from the podium to stand next to Dumbledore. Moments passed as neither side said anything additional, content to stare each other down like in those old Western movies; the only things missing were a clock tower striking noon and some tumbleweeds. The delay suited Harry just fine; the longer this little contest lasted the more people would be out of danger when things went pear-shaped.
The older wizard spared a quick glance to his side, years spent caring for the nation's children in general and caring about this one in particular making his first thought that he should tell Harry to get back. He fought that initial instinct, though, by remembering his failures of the last week especially and also the words this boy had said both five days ago and today. No Albus thought to himself, in age perhaps still a teen but no longer a boy. This is his fight now, too; if I were being honest with myself it's always been his. Despite the fear he felt at the potential ramifications of his actions, he smiled slightly as he stood shoulder to shoulder with Harry Potter.
Hermione was desperately running possible scenarios through her head as the Weasley twins kept creating Portkeys and passing them out. She had silently cast a Homenum Revelio and discovered no less than 12 additional hidden people; she had no doubt that any Order members capable of doing so had already done the same. She saw Remus and Tonks in a quick conversation before turning back-to-back with Kingsley, each covering a potential sector of fire. Gawain Robards had Scrimgeour still seated and was scanning the room in earnest, no doubt seeing the same thing Hermione was. Most of the extended Weasley clan, however, stood mouth agog at what was transpiring, not knowing what to do, only barely acknowledging when a random article was stuffed in their hand or one of their fingers wrapped around a piece of rope that was passed up and down the aisle. Hopefully the Portkeys would solve the room's population problem.
Never in her thought process did Hermione entertain the idea of taking one of the Portkeys for herself, and the reason for that had stepped down from the small dais at the front of the room and was standing next to Professor Dumbledore, staring down the most dangerous witch in Britain. Harry was the most important person, the most important anything, to her, and she would follow through with her promise to stand with him, to take on all obstacles by his side. That didn't mean she wasn't scared to death, though. Especially when Harry looked over to George, who almost imperceptibly mouthed 'forty-five' to him, before Harry nodded and then looked at her with a small smile that she wasn't quite sure the meaning of. She found out soon enough, though, as he turned back to Bellatrix and started talking again.
"So where is your lord and master, Bellatrix? I'm surprised he let you so far off your leash after you and Lucius Malfoy failed so spectacularly last year."
"Oh, I'm sure my Lord will be along shortly; he promised to let me have a little fun before he arrived and once again showed the world his true power." Her eyes gleamed in reflection of the psychotic sycophancy she held for the Dark Lord.
"And what power might that be?" Harry asked. "Lies? Manipulations? Failure? It occurs to me that, in the four or five times I've met Voldemort not once has he actually won."
"You dare speak his name!" she shrieked, murderous intent obvious in her tone as her wand flew into her hand. Luckily, no one on their side took action as it stayed pointed at the floor.
Harry was now desperately counting down in his head, his drawn wand hidden in his arms crossed over his chest. "What, you don't like when I say Voldemort?" Bellatrix's left eye twitched.
10.
"I guess I can understand that."
8.
"I mean, I guess if I took the time to make up a silly name like Voldemort I wouldn't want people to use it either." Her brows furrowed as her temper was near to overflowing.
4.
"VOLDEMORT! VOLDEMORT! VOLDEMORT!" Harry yelled, distracting the Death Eater as the Portkeys around the room activated along with a number of Disapparitions, driving the population down from near 100 to now less than 20. It was a good thing, too, because as the non-combatants disappeared Bellatrix raised her wand and sent a Reductor Curse at Harry. He batted it away with a quickly incanted "Protego" before he and Dumbledore broke toward opposite sides of the aisle, the older wizard moving toward the Minister of Magic and Harry headed straight toward Hermione, who had begun Transfiguring chairs into solid barricades that they could hide behind. She ducked down, and Harry slid into the hastily built fortress after her, as the rest of the Death Eaters revealed themselves by throwing curses at the Order members and a few others that remained. "Well, Plan B is a bust," he said with a half smile/half grimace as pieces of the stone walls Hermione had built chipped away and landed on them.
"You have a stunning grasp of the obvious, Harry," she retorted as she peeked her head slightly over the top of their defenses before popping up, firing a brace of Cutting Curses toward a now visible target in Death Eater regalia who was taking on Fred and George, and quickly crouching back down beside her best friend.
"Hey, we can't all be bloody geniuses," Harry stated as he leaned around the side of their den, took aim, and managed to hit a target in the leg with a Reductor Curse. As he came back behind cover, he was surprised to find that he wasn't the least bit bothered at the moment by the screams he heard from his downed opponent, or knowing he was the cause of those screams.
Caleb's lessons on the need to be brutal in combat came flooding back to him, and as he took 2 seconds to contemplate his feelings he thought he finally understood where the war mage had been coming from. "There is need sometimes," one of the lessons had said, "to be merciful in battle. Sometimes those moments are obvious; sometimes not so much. However, your prevailing thought in any encounter should always be the continued survival of yourself, your comrades, and the innocent. Should you face an enemy who wishes your demise, this should always be at the forefront of your mind. Defeat your enemy by any means necessary, using whatever tools and talents you have at your disposal. Do not fret overmuch about honor, fair play, or even, at times, legality. Your first mission in any battle is to make it to the end. If that requires you to become a monster in the eyes of others then so be it; at least you will be a monster that returns to your loved ones to be made a person again.
"Stop woolgathering," Hermione admonished when she saw his eyes go slightly out of focus, "there's work to be done." He looked at her and smiled; both knew that the banter was just one of their coping mechanisms for the bone-chilling fear both were currently experiencing. She looked back and smiled quickly before cringing as another chunk of their walls gave way. "We can't stay here. Plan D?" He nodded and, with a look to Hermione to see that she was ready, they both crouched on the balls of their feet while again peeking over what remained of their stone wall.
The room had devolved into an elegant pandemonium. It looked like Dumbledore had taken a page from Hermione's book and Transfigured a large amount of material into defensive barricades, while also converting some into animals who would try to harass the Death Eaters. Bellatrix and 4 other opponents appeared to be working on those defenses, as well as Dumbledore, Scrimgeour, Diggory, and Robards who stood behind them. Towards their left, Fred and George were doing a passable job of keeping another Death Eater occupied, though no advantage appeared to be being gained by either side. Mad-Eye appeared to be holding two off by himself, however two prone figures near his feet indicated that at least some of their side was incapacitated or dead. Molly had Apparated away with a struggling Ginny at the beginning of the fight, but Arthur, Bill, and Fleur stood back-to-back like Remus, Tonks, and Kingsley as each group took on 3 Death Eaters of their own. Charlie and Percy rounded out the remaining fighters, those two Transfiguring defenses and casting Shield Charms repeatedly to protect a small group of people who hadn't managed to Portkey out and didn't appear to be able to Apparate.
Suddenly, there was a flourish to their left, and a frighteningly familiar curse like a purple flame flew toward the two teens. Both flung up Shield Charms to stop it as a large, well-built man with dark hair and a pale face emerged from underneath an invisibility cloak with a sneer on his lips. Both teens recognized him immediately; Antonin Dolohov, the man who had almost ended Hermione's life in the Department of Mysteries less than a year previous.
"You're that little slut I almost did in last June, aren't you?" he said with a lecherous look at Hermione that made Harry want to beat the man's face in with his bare hands. "Glad I didn't; that's a right fine arse you've got there. Would be a waste not to get some use out of it before sending you off. I'll bet you'll like it. You'll like me breaking you in before I break your spirit. I bet you'd love to slobber –"
They never heard how that statement was going to finish, as a streak of blue light shot towards him from Hermione's wand. A Protego stopped the bolt but staggered the man back a step. Harry understood in an instant where the force behind that curse came from. This man had hurt Hermione, almost killed her, would have killed her had she not hobbled his ability cast at full power before he struck. But it was still a point of contention within the young witch. She'd been bested, and at no point since he'd met her those years ago was that ever something that Hermione Granger would take sitting down.
More than that, though, he knew she was scared. That curse was the closest she had ever come to dying, and it had taken time for her confidence in herself and her abilities to build back up. She needed to prove to herself that she wasn't a victim; that she was up to the challenge that she and Harry had chosen to undertake. And it started here, with exorcising this particular demon. Harry kept his wand up and his eyes alert, ready to assist his best friend if she needed it but realizing she needed this in order to move forward.
"You want first crack at that snatch, Potter?" Dolohov stated derisively as he regained his footing, obviously trying to enrage Hermione by not only ignoring her but objectifying her. "Tell you what; we'll take turns, how's that sound?" Another bright blue spell left Hermione's wand in response, and again the older wizard was forced to take a step back from the force of the impact. Harry, however, kept his mouth shut. "That response seems a bit telling. Already had a taste of the goods, boy?" A third Reductor from Hermione was dodged, but Dolohov still had to put up a shield to protect against the Cutting Curse which flew in on its heels. "Oooh, a feisty one. I like it when they fight."
"Then you're going to love this," Hermione said before a long stream of spells flew from the angry witch's wand toward her opponent.
"Always let your bitches do your dirty work for you, Potter?" the Death Eater exclaimed, though if he was honest with himself he was being hard pressed by the witch in front of him. He wasn't sure what he would do if Potter also joined the fray.
Harry, however much he might be itching to jump in and help Hermione, continued scanning the rest of the room to both protect her and offer assistance elsewhere if needed. "I learned a long time ago not to get in Hermione's way when she sets her mind to something. Apparently her mind is currently set at showing you what happens when you make a brilliant witch angry."
As if to exemplify the point, an Incendio from Hermione caught Dolohov in the lower leg and, as he pitched off balance from the shock of suddenly being on fire, a spell Harry didn't know made the man's knees reverse direction, causing him to collapse upon them. A Finger-removing Jinx saw the man's wand drop to the ground, and a Langlock prevented any further bile spewing from the man's mouth. She walked over to the man and stomped on the wand, breaking in into several pieces. "Was that good for you?" she asked in a sweet voice, though Harry could see her trembling. "Must have been; you're speechless. Maybe a nap will help," she finished, before a Stunner hit the man in the face and he collapsed to the ground. Ropes shot from her wand and wrapped around him, ensuring he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.
Harry really wanted to run to Hermione and engulf her in a hug, however circumstances wouldn't currently permit that. Looking over at the mad firefights still taking place in the room, he knew what their next step needed to be. Pointing at Fred and George, a nod from Hermione saw the two of them launching simultaneous Stunners, one high and one low, that caught the Death Eater the older teens were fighting unawares and knocked them out of the fight for now. Harry hurried over to the twins while more ropes sprung from Hermione's wand.
"Boys, we need to get the rest of the people out of here and then split ourselves. Let's make our way over to Charlie and Percy. We'll cover you while you make the rest of the Portkeys." Acknowledgements quickly came from them, and the four teens scampered their way across to the second- and third-born Weasley sons. They plus Hermione and Harry formed a small perimeter around the terrified group, while Fred and George Summoned some debris from around them in order to create more Portkeys. Several agonizing moments later saw that the only people left in the building were combatants.
"We're clear! Time to go!" Harry yelled to the group at large. "You four, go," Harry commanded the Weasley boys he was with.
Fred looked like he was going to argue for a second, before nodding. "All the Portkeys went to the Burrow. Be right behind us, or Mum will have our arses," he stated before turning on the spot and disappearing with a crack, as did the other three. Hermione, predictably, stayed right by his side. They watched Arthur, Bill, and Fleur, who seemed to have defeated their foes, also Disapparate. The other two groups were still too involved in their fights to risk Apparition, but they both saw Mad-Eye stomp over to them with blood falling profusely from a wide gash on his forehead.
"Diggle and Doge are both dead," he said matter-of-factly, pointing out the two bodies the teens had seen earlier. The grizzled veteran looked over at the two remaining fights, obviously taking stock of what was still going on. "I'll help out Lupin and them, get yourselves over to Albus so we can get the hell out of here." A nod from the teens had the group split once again, spells shooting from all three wands as they re-entered the battle.
As the teens dove into the cover created by the Headmaster, they made a quick assessment of the situation. All three Ministry wizards were injured in some fashion, but Diggory's arm, mangled almost beyond recognition as a body part, identified him as the most seriously wounded. One Death Eater also appeared to be down, making four opponents still standing against the group. "Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, breathing heavily but still performing brilliantly despite his age and his damaged wand hand, "could I trouble you reinforce the barriers? Once Amos went down I haven't had the chance to do so." Hermione acknowledged him immediately and began supplementing Dumbledore's work with her own transfigurations, repairing the spots on the walls that had been heavily damaged by enemy spellfire.
"Professor, we need to go," Harry said, checking for any other wounds on the unconscious Diggory. "Everyone but us, Remus, Tonks, Mad-Eye, and Kingsley have left."
Dumbledore nodded but continued his work against Bellatrix and her remaining forces. "Rufus, do you think you could take Amos? I don't believe my students are ready to try leading a Side-Along Apparition yet." A nod from the Minister had the two men popping away, Harry and Hermione trying to make up the difference in firepower losing the former Head Auror caused.
Harry and Hermione had just succeeded in making the odds 4 to 3 in their favor when Harry suddenly dropped down behind the barricades, his hand immediately moving up to his forehead. "Goddamnit," he growled as the pain threatened to overwhelm him. "Plan F, Hermione," he managed to grind out through clenched teeth, and Hermione groaned.
Plan F. For 'Fucked.' With a capital F.
"Professor: he's here. Voldemort's here."
Harry had barely gotten the words out before the door to the building crashed open and a black-clad Lord Voldemort appeared in the doorway. All casting stopped as the Death Eaters retreated to rally around their leader. The forces of the light did likewise, collecting loosely along the bottom of the dais. There were 8 remaining defenders against Voldemort, Bellatrix, and 4 remaining Death Eaters. Against the likes of Riddle and Lestrange, however, numerical advantage did not necessarily equate to tactical advantage.
"Anti-Disapparition Jinx is up," Robards said as they gathered. "We're stuck."
"Where the fuck are your Aurors?" Mad-Eye growled at the remaining Ministry man.
"Oh, I'm afraid that's my doing," Voldemort replied without the barest hint of apology in his voice. "You see, I couldn't have them coming to interfere, so I had to give them something else to worry about. Apparently a massive explosion at the Tower of London supersedes a disturbance at a blood traitor's funeral. Speaking of . . ." A Summoning Charm from the Dark Lord had Ron's casket flying away from the podium and over toward the Death Eaters. Dumbledore, mid-way through trying to create a Portkey, stopped dead in his tracks as Harry stepped in front of the rest of the group.
"Touch him and I'll fucking kill you," Harry said in the most deathly calm voice anyone had ever heard from him. Despite the calm voice, everyone around him could feel the change in the atmosphere as Harry's magic began to permeate the air around them.
"But Harry, surely you're heartbroken at the loss of your friend," Riddle said in a sickly sweet voice. "I'm merely granting you your wish. Don't you want to embrace this pathetic excuse for a wizard again?" Blue bolts sailed from both his and Hermione's wands but to no avail; Bellatrix and the remaining Death Eaters blocked every spell sent their way as the Dark Lord's wand moved in a complicated pattern over Ron's body.
"No. Oh please God no," Hermione sobbed, having a terrible sensation deep in her chest regarding what was about to happen.
"Tom, stop this at once," Dumbledore commanded, but even the legendary wizard was powerless to prevent what happened next.
Voldemort finished whatever he was casting and looked back over at the group. "Hmmm? I'm sorry I was preoccupied. But look; there's someone who wants to say hello," he finished with a grin worthy of the devil as a hand latched onto the side of the casket. A second later Hermione's fears were realized in full.
Voldemort had turned Ron into an Inferius.
The soulless animation of dark magic rose out of the casket like some macabre puppet, dead cataracted eyes turning towards the group at the head of the room, a group now too stunned to do much else but watch on in horror. All but one.
"That is not my brother."
Harry Potter stood in the center aisle, the animated corpse of his best friend 20 meters away and closing, Voldemort about 5 meters behind it with that evil smile still plastered on his face as his followers laughed. Any pain Harry might still be feeling for being in the proximity of Voldemort had been erased by the renewed rush of adrenalin running through his system and the feel of his magic begging to be let free, to strike out in righteous fury against the abomination that had defiled Ron's remains. He knew Voldemort had done this to torture him, to torture all of them really. Inferi were already one of the most terrifying of the Dark Lord's weapons, and being faced with a loved one who had been turned into one likely was responsible for more than a few witches and wizards falling during the last war. Despite knowing logically that the Inferius was no longer the person you once knew, was just a husk defiled by some sick twisted bastard, seeing their countenance, the dead eyes, the feral mouth wanting nothing more than to tear at living flesh, was enough to shock even the sturdiest person into a stupor. Tom had done this to hurt him, to break him, to erase his hope. Harry couldn't, wouldn't, let the son of a bitch win.
Harry had to be ruthless. He had to be brutal. As Caleb had said, he had to become a monster in the eyes of his enemies, and hope and pray that his friends could help make him a person again. Hope and pray that his friends would want to help make him a person again after what he was about to do.
"That is not my brother." The repeated mantra helped to bury the growing disgust and self-loathing that had already welled up within him. Tears of anguish were rolling down his cheeks but there also was no mistaking his anger; it literally rolled off of him in waves, pushing the remaining chairs back away from him. He was suddenly glad no Weasleys remained in the building to see what had become of Ron's body, or to see what he was about to do. I'm so sorry, Ron he thought to himself as his wand came up. "Incendio," he whispered, and his spell flew true through the space between him and the Inferius, hitting it center mass. It immediately caught on fire, but Harry wasn't done yet. "Depulso," he said, and the Banishing Charm sent the flaming mass back at an unsuspecting Dark Lord, whose eyes widened in shock at the unexpected turn of events. It was exactly the reaction Harry had been hoping for; shock led to poor reaction time. Just as the projectile reached Voldemort, Harry incanted the final spell in his plan.
Please forgive me.
"Confringo."
The Blasting Curse caused the Inferius to explode, shooting flaming organic shrapnel into Harry's enemies. Two of the remaining Death Eaters immediately went down, their lifeblood leaking from multiple mortal wounds. The others, including Voldemort, had managed to put up shields, but not soon enough to prevent all of them from receiving at least minor wounds.
None of them were smiling or laughing anymore.
In fact, no one was doing anything on either side, too consumed by what had just taken place.
"Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus," Harry stated, confusing everyone with his choice of comment. His magic was now buffeting the robes of the people in the room and the walls had begun to shake.
"What the fuck are you on about, Potter?" Bellatrix said as she recovered the power of speech.
Harry focused his attention on the witch, his green eyes alight with power as his currently tenuous grasp on his magic started to break down even more. "What do you think happens when you poke a sleeping dragon?" Harry asked, smiling slightly at the dumbfounded look on Lestranges's face. He wasn't properly translating the Hogwarts motto, but at this point he was too angry to care. "It wakes up," Harry said simply in answer to his own question. "Rot in hell, bitch. Reducto!" Harry yelled, and a sky blue spell almost too bright to behold streaked from Harry's wand. Bellatrix put up yet another shield, but it wasn't enough; it could have been a concrete wall a meter thick and it wouldn't have been enough. Harry's spell tore through the shield like tissue paper, and an instant later Bellatrix Lestrange ceased to exist, the center of her chest vaporized by the severely overpowered Reductor Curse. "That was for Sirius. Now do us all a favor and just FUCKING DIE!" he screamed, and in response his magic surged forward, throwing the already dead witch's body back against the wall with a sickening crunch before it settled in a heap on the floor.
"Avada Kedavra!" yelled Voldemort, and the sickly green spell flew toward Harry.
"NO!" yelled Hermione as the shouted curse woke her from shock of what she'd just witnessed. She started toward Harry, but she knew she wouldn't be fast enough to reach him in time, especially after Remus grabbed her to keep her from getting in the line of fire, though there were tears in the werewolf's eyes as he also watched the Killing Curse race toward Harry.
The spell closed on Harry seemingly in slow motion. Fifteen meters. Ten. Five. As it came within a meter of him there was a spectacular light show as Harry's magic converged around the ball of light and appeared to squeeze, almost seeming to crush the spell out of existence. Harry looked down calmly to where this was happening before speaking again in a soft, even voice.
"Bellatrix killed my godfather. A man I barely knew but loved nonetheless. She has paid the price for her transgression." Harry then turned his gaze on Voldemort and, though the man formerly known as Tom Riddle would never admit it, with that glance the Dark Lord felt something he thought he'd long left behind.
Fear.
"You killed my mum and dad. Caused my childhood to be empty of love and filled with starvation and abuse. You've tried to kill me I'm not sure how many times. You've tortured me. You almost cost a girl I am very fond of her life in the Chamber of Secrets. One of your minions at Hogwarts supplied the poison that killed my brother before you turned his body into a crime against nature." Harry's even voice broke as his question for the Dark Lord was said with a growl.
"What do you think I'm going to do to you?"
The sounds of multiple Apparitions outside the door announced the arrival of reinforcements. Rufus Scrimgeour thrust open the door, a dozen Aurors behind him, but came up short as he saw the Dark Lord. Voldemort took the opportunity caused by the new arrivals' shock to drop the Anti-Disapparition Jinx around the building before turning on the spot and disappearing with a loud crack. His remaining two Death Eaters followed suit before anyone could stop them.
As soon as the threat was gone, Harry collapsed onto his hands and knees before hoarsely whispering, "Hermione. Help." Everyone could see him trembling.
The young witch threw off Remus's hold before sprinting to her best friend, landing beside him and taking him in her arms. She kissed his temple and felt an almost scalding heat coming from his scar. "I'm here, Harry. I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere."
The rest of the party advanced towards the duo, but no one could get within a meter of them; Harry's magic would shock anyone who tried to. It took a few moments for everyone to realize that the walls were still shaking. "Professor," Harry croaked out, trying to glance over at Dumbledore. The aged wizard was astounded to see that Harry's scar had darkened to such a deep red to be almost black, and seemed to be trying to burst open. "Professor . . . you need to get everyone out. I'm not sure how much longer I can hold it."
"Hold what, Harry?" Remus queried.
"I . . .," he gasped as a sudden jolt of pain shot through him before trying again, "I'm not sure. But I feel it. In here," he tapped his now bleeding scar, "and here," he said, then tapping his chest. "It's . . . dark . . . evil . . . malignant . . . and it wants out."
Albus Dumbledore paled as Harry described what he was feeling. He'd suspected since that terrible night in 1981 that there might be more to Harry's scar than met the eye. As his research had led him farther down the road toward the discovery of Voldemort's Horcruxes, he had become more and more convinced that somehow Harry had become one the night he banished the Dark Lord. That theory had been reinforced by Harry's reactions to the presence of Voldemort, most deeply exemplified by the events of the previous school year. Harry's explanation of what he was now fighting could really only mean one thing. Harry had poured his anger and his hatred of Voldemort and his Death Eaters into his magic, and it had responded in a way that defied belief; it had made him very powerful. Unfortunately, his already unstable emotional state since the death of young Mr. Weasley, combined with his heavy release of magic, meant that the Horcrux had awakened, and was now trying to either possess Harry, taking control of his body and his not inconsiderable magic, or it was trying to drain him as it had tried to drain Ginny Weasley in the Chamber of Secrets. Either way, Harry was now locked into a battle for his body, his mind, his magic, and his immortal soul, against a piece of magic created using some of the most heinous acts of malevolence ever conceived and by one of the most evil wizards that had ever lived. And, from the sounds of it, he was losing.
"Minister, please pull your Aurors back," Albus said to Scrimgeour, and he also signaled the rest of his own group to make their way away. Remus, however, was not to be moved, standing beside Dumbledore as the balance of people left through the doors, levitating the disabled and the dead with them. Dumbledore quickly cast a spell to ensure their privacy before he dropped to his knees as close to Harry as he could; Hermione was still the only one that seemed to be permitted through whatever barricade Harry's magic had erected. "Harry, I'm so sorry. I've kept things from you, and once again you must pay the price for my misdeeds." Tears were running down the old wizard's face as he continued. "Your scar is a Horcrux, Harry. A piece of Voldemort's soul detached from the whole to grant him immortality. The diary was one as well, and you know what it tried to do." Harry turned his gaze on Albus, and the look of betrayal and anger there almost broke the old man's heart.
"What do we do, Professor?" Hermione asked as she tightened her embrace around Harry, her anger at Dumbledore also rising as she began to understand what was likely happening to the man she held.
"I don't know what we can do," Dumbledore admitted. "I've long believed that Harry's power against Voldemort is his ability to love, but even that might not be enough."
"Get out," Harry said through clenched teeth, and both adults were terrified to see flecks of red in Harry's bright green eyes. "GET OUT!" He screamed, before burying his head in Hermione's chest. The shaking of the walls and ceiling worsened; a catastrophic failure was imminent.
Albus stood slowly, his head bowed. He looked to Hermione, seeing a matching look of loathing to the one he had gotten from Harry a few moments ago. "Miss Granger, his only chance is to overcome his negative emotions, which are being increased by the Horcrux, with even greater feelings of love. If Harry loses, the Horcrux will consume him. You must not let that happen," he finished firmly, the intimation in his statement clear. If it looked like the Horcrux was about to win, he expected Hermione to kill Harry.
"I think you've lost any say in what happens next, sir," Hermione said with an acidic tone before moving her head next to Harry's, one of her hands moving to run through his hair. Dumbledore nodded sadly before walking toward the exit, defeated in more ways than one. Remus, however, stood fast as he beheld the two teens. Hermione looked back up at him and smiled slightly. "I'll take care of him, Professor. Harry won't hurt me, but you need to go. Meet us at Grimmauld Place later," she said, the 'if we survive this' left unsaid. Remus tried to reach out one more time, but caught himself before following Dumbledore out of the building.
It becoming just the two of them left behind seemed to exacerbate Harry's pain. He collapsed onto his side and put both hands over his face, his fingers curling as it seemed like he was trying to rip his scar off of his head with his bare hands. Hermione tried her best to help, but the physical and mental pain was beyond imagination; Harry felt like his mind was being shredded like so much spent parchment. Blood that was too viscous and nearly black was pouring from Harry's scar at an alarming rate. Harry opened his mouth as if to scream, but he was in so much pain that he couldn't; he couldn't even seem to remember to breathe. His entire world revolved around the pain he was in and the terror of knowing that he was slowly being consumed by the evil that had attached itself to him as a baby.
That was until Hermione finally found herself. Terrified of what was happening to her best friend but determined that she was not going to give up, she took Harry's head in her hands and forced Harry to look her in the eyes. As had happened so many times recently, bright green met brilliant brown as she began to speak. What was left of Harry's psyche was amused that she was speaking in perhaps the bossiest tone he had ever heard from her; that was saying something. "Harry James Potter, I know you are still in there, so it's time to listen. You must fight. You must continue on for those you love and who love you in return. You know even the ones that aren't with us anymore are watching, Harry. You know they are, and they want you to fight. They need you to fight. I need you to fight. Think of us now, Harry. Think of the Weasleys. Of Ron. Of Sirius. Of your parents." The amusement hiding within his minutely lightening pain increased as he saw her blush. "Of me. I love you; with all my heart and soul I love you, Harry. Allow the joy of that love to fill you, to give you strength. And know that love, that all of our love, is, was, and will always be eternal." As Hermione spoke, flashes of his loved ones came into Harry's mind.
The photo from the album Hagrid had given him of his mother and father smiling and laughing as they danced on their wedding day. They were so in love, and he knew in the depths of his soul that they'd loved him just as fiercely. That they still loved him just as fiercely.
Sirius smiling as he strolled through Grimmauld Place singing Christmas carols at the top of his lungs. The man had gone through nearly half his lifetime enduring unbelievable torture at the hands of the Dementors, but just knowing that Harry would be with him on Christmas had filled him with the holiday spirit. Sirius had wanted them to be family, something that Harry had spent a very long time searching for and had only begun to understand when he'd first met the man, but Sirius had offered it to Harry without condition or reservation because of his love for his godson.
Laughing to the point of tears with Ron over yet another exploding cauldron courtesy of Seamus Finnegan. In triumph or failure, and regardless of the state of their relationship at the time, Harry knew Ron had always had his back when he'd needed him. As he'd said in his letter, he loved Ron as a brother and knew, despite it never having been said, that he was loved as a brother in return.
Hermione, her wild brown hair flying behind her as she leapt into his arms after she had been un-petrified, and his arms wrapping around her in joy at her return. He had felt so lost with her gone, and what he'd felt inside upon seeing her whole again lifted his spirits even now, years removed.
Hermione's arms wrapped tightly around him as the two of them rode Buckbeak up to the window of the room where Sirius waited to be rescued. Despite the severity of their task and the difficulties they had endured that night, the feel of her pressed tightly against his back was still one of his preferred Patronus memories as well as the subject of some of his more lurid dreams.
Another of Hermione as he first saw her at the Yule Ball fourth year. His jaw dropping at the sight of her, hair tamed and dressed in those periwinkle robes that somehow simultaneously hinted at, accentuated, and hid her burgeoning femininity.
A fourth vision of the young witch as she kissed him quickly on the cheek as they left King's Cross after the train ride home that same year. His hand had subconsciously reached up to touch the spot where her lips had been just a moment before as he fought the goosebumps that suddenly erupted.
A final image from just recently, of the mesmerizing look in Hermione's eyes as she'd first said the words he'd longed his whole life to hear: 'I love you.'
Through all of his adventures, through all of his mistakes and missteps, Hermione had stood by him. She was his compass, his guiding star, the person he depended on most and the person he most wanted to make proud. In that moment a thought struck Harry like the proverbial bolt of lightning, burning through the torturous pain that was wracking his body and mind. Oh Merlin, I'm in trouble. I'm in love with Hermione Harry thought to himself. He allowed the idea that he not only loved but was in love with her to fill his thoughts, and as this new and wonderfully terrifying concept crossed his mind he felt the pain lessen, felt the burning that had threatened to consume him reduce to embers as a voice thankfully not his own screamed in agony in his mind. He was turning the tide. Because of her.
He took a deep breath for the first time in what seemed like minutes and felt the cool cleansing air once again fill his lungs. His eyes closed as his magic collapsed in on the two of them, his pulling Hermione's with it as it concentrated on his scar. She felt the tug and welcomed it, willing to give anything and everything if it would help the man she held in her arms. Her best friend. Her truest companion. The man she now realized she had fallen hopelessly and irrevocably in love with. She wasn't sure when it had happened, but the reality of it hit her with the same force that it had hit Harry, and she cried in both grief and joy as she willingly gave of herself to help him win this fight, pouring her own magic into him to augment his own. She would not lose him.
Horcruxes are objects of the utmost evil, their creation requiring a mortal sin to be committed. Under normal circumstances, the destruction of a Horcrux requires the damage of the chosen vessel to such a point as it cannot repair itself or be considered the object it once was any longer. In the case of living Horcruxes, the only known method of destruction was the death of the being carrying it. This instance being a battle of minds and magic more than a physical confrontation allowed Harry, with Hermione's help, to circumvent the vessel and attack the cargo within.
Harry focused on the love he felt for her, as she did on hers for him, and together their combined efforts pushed the Horcrux out. As they did so, Harry's scar burst open spectacularly, though thankfully little additional blood came forth. What did emerge, however, was a greenish-black mist, which briefly tried to take on a humanoid shape before their combined magics once again began their assault, small bolts of lightning continually pressing the fog on all sides as it compressed the piece of Voldemort smaller and smaller, eventually collapsing it in to nothingness as had been done to the bolt of the Killing Curse earlier. Just before it blinked out of existence it let out a horrific scream, which died abruptly with a soft pop as it was destroyed for good.
The shaking of the walls and ceiling stopped, and the two teens laid there panting from the exertion, a not inconsiderable amount of Harry's blood soaking into his robes and running onto the floor from his opened scar. Despite that, he was feeling better than he had in his entire life, and it was thanks to the lovely young witch who was currently sobbing into his shoulder as she gripped the front of his robes for dear life. She looked up at him with her tears falling before putting one hand behind his head, pulling him forward, and hungrily locking her lips to his.
The two stayed this way for several minutes, lips moving against each other's as they shared their first kiss. Hermione's hand stayed locked on his neck while his hand ran repeatedly through her thick hair, knotting it even more than the battle had already managed to. As they slowly released each other after a series of quick follow-up pecks of their lips, his eyes finally opened again to behold her. Her clothes were dusty, dirty, and torn. Her hair was a mess. Her eyes were puffy from crying. Dear God, she's beautiful he thought.
"Is it me?" Harry asked, a look of consternation on his face.
"What?" Hermione responded, her brain scrambled from everything that had happened in the last 30 minutes and especially the last 3, the ones where she'd learned what Harry's lips tasted like. Harry looked concerned, and that immediately put her back on alert, fretful about what else they might have to deal with today.
"Well," he began, and his brow furrowed, "it's just that, I've kissed two girls. And both times, they've been crying. Is it me? Am I really that bad at it?" The smirk on his face was bright and playful as he finished his query.
Hermione tried to look menacingly at him but she just couldn't help it; she burst out laughing. "You're an arsehole," she finally got out.
"Maybe," he replied. "But you still love me."
She smiled before leaning down and kissing him again. "I do. I really do."
"I love you too," he said with a smile, and her eyes shone with happiness. "Hermione?"
"Yes, Harry?"
"This has been brilliant, and I really want to continue, but can you keep it in your pants long enough for me to get my head looked at?"
"Yep. You're definitely an arsehole."