30 March 2002
Harry paced outside Ron and Hermione's home, knowing he was doing the right thing, but having a hard time with it. I don't even know what I want from them. Well… he did, but he didn't. Could they give him absolution? He didn't think it was possible, but—
His gut churned. What if he told them and they just confirmed what he'd suspected all along? It was so bizarre to be able to see so clearly where he was weak. There were cracks all around him, and he knew that if anyone confirmed his guilt, he would fly apart. It made him feel like a coward to know that his exile from the Weasleys had been as much for his protection as for Ginny's.
"Damn it!" he swore, and kicked the fence. He lifted both hands to his head (glad that it was night, and Ron and Hermione lived in a private area) and took a deep breath, not knowing if he was trying to straighten his hair or pull it out. And before he could talk himself out of it (the image of Dennis Creevey making Ginny laugh burned his eyeballs -- he hadn't spoken to her in three weeks, enough was enough), he marched up to the front door and kicked at it.
Then he felt bad, and knocked like a human being. "Ron!" he shouted.
His fist was raised again when the door swung open. Instead of Ron or Hermione, it was George's surprised face that looked out at him. Figures. "Hi, George," he said as casually as he could. "Is Ron home?"
George's mouth closed with a snap. The door slammed shut. Harry stared at it for several seconds, and he had not idea how to react—
"Sorry," George said, opening the door again. "But – what the hell?" Had the moment not been so intense, Harry might have found humor in George looking so shocked. "Where – where did you get the Polyjuice, Fred?" George asked with the faint air of grasping at straws. "Harry hasn't been seen in years."
The censure came through loud and clear, but Harry just couldn't deal with this on top of everything else. He pushed by George, hoping that a solution to his sudden problem would miraculously appear once he stepped inside the house. It didn't. The situation was just as awkward in the coatroom as it was on the porch.
Find Ron.
He glanced nervously at George, who hadn't appeared to have recovered yet, and then walked all the way into the house, following the voices. With a sinking feeling, Harry realized that he had no idea what he had just gotten himself into. George was one thing. What if he'd just walked in on all the Weasleys?
"Ron, go see what's keeping George," Hermione said.
George brushed by Harry, still staring at him. "Harry's here," he announced as he rounded the corner. "You know – Harry Potter. The exile."
Harry sucked in a breath and followed him in. Ron, Hermione, and Angelina all stared up at him. It was a cozy scene of two couples, and it really drove home the fact that he hadn't spent any time at all with Ginny in what felt like years. "I need help," he blurted out. "And… not from Ginny's brother, but. You know. My friend. Please." A dim part of him kept up a running commentary on how stupid he was being: George was here… Harry sounded absolutely pathetic. But Ginny's voice was loud in his ears, and it just didn't matter.
"Why aren't you two as surprised as I am that he's here?" George asked.
Harry ignored him. It was difficult to place his thoughts in any sort of order. They were scattered around his head, as though he'd thrown them there after Malfoy Manor and never bothered to tidy up. The prophecy. The Killing Curse. How he felt about it. It was nearly incomprehensible, even to him.
"Harry and Ginny are what?!" George asked loudly, piercing Harry's thoughts.
"Just be quiet, George," Ron said.
Something warm was thrust into Harry's hand, and he looked down into a glass of steaming, amber liquid. Gratefully, he drank the entire thing. "I'm not so sure. About me and Ginny," he said. "She's furious with me, because I—"
"How the fuck did that even happen?"
"George, shut up!" Ron and Hermione said together.
Harry grimaced, almost wishing that they would let George talk. The more he tried to pinpoint his thoughts, the more they slipped through his fingers. Like trying to catch water or wind. "I need to know if I deserve her or not—"
"Of course you deserve her," Hermione interrupted immediately.
"You can't just say that," Harry told her. "You can't. It's just…"
George took his brief pause to raise more concerns. "How long has this been going on? Why didn't you tell us? And—"
"Petrificus Totalus," Ron said. George froze and toppled over. Angelina, who had remained completely silent thus far, squawked. "Don't tell me he didn't deserve that. Harry, you have one minute to explain, and then I'll have to beat some sense into you. I don't want to," he added hastily. "But if you—"
"It has to do with the prophecy," Harry said, the vast well of bitterness rising up in him whenever he thought about it almost choking him. He heard Hermione take a deep breath, and his glass was refilled. The alcohol loosened his tongue. "After the visions—"
"Visions?" Angelina asked softly.
"Voldemort made him watch Ginny being brutalized," Hermione replied. "In his head. Remember how I told you—"
"Did you tell them about the Horcruxes?" Harry asked abruptly.
"Yeah, mate, we sort of had to," Ron said. "We figured it didn't need to be a secret anymore."
"If it was… we're sorry," Hermione said.
"Don't be," Harry shook his head. "It just makes things easier." And it did; it meant that he didn't have to explain things even more. "You have to understand that Voldemort intended to break me—"
"But he didn't," Hermione said earnestly.
Harry shook his head and looked at her. "He did. I was useless, pretty much. And then he said that he'd let her go if I let him kill me."
"Like he would have," Ron said darkly. "I'm glad you didn't—"
"I did," Harry said. "I meant to give her the protection that my mother gave me, so when he cast the spell, I didn't fight. I didn't want to. You have to understand that," he said, almost pleading. "I really meant to die, I swear I did." He wanted to make sure that Ron – and George, who was still immobile on the ground – knew this.
Ron gaped at him. Even Hermione was silent, uncomprehending.
"I was a Horcrux," said Harry.
"But how is that even possible?" Hermione asked. She sounded angry. "How could he even do that? It wasn't—"
"I don't know how, but his soul was already really unstable when he tried to kill me," Harry said. "So it just sort of attached to me. And that's what the prophecy was really all about – I had to die—"
"How are you alive?" Ron asked.
"Because of what happened to her," Harry said, tasting bile in the back of his mouth. He swallowed more firewhisky to hide the taste.
"But—"
"I had to take the curse willingly, all right?" Harry said. His voice was louder than it normally was. "In order to live, I had to not fight back at all." And suddenly it was like a dam burst, and words flooded into his mouth. "And you know what I thought? I thought, this is just fucking great. How many people died – my parents, Sirius, Cedric, Mad-Eye, Dumbledore – so I could get there? And then I couldn't even do that right."
"What the—"
To his fury, he felt his eyes fill. "I meant to die because of her, because I wanted to protect her, and then it turned out that she fucking saved my life, all right?" Rage rose up in him, and he threw his glass against the hearth with as much force as he could muster. "Sorry," he muttered, knowing he was completely out of control, but not knowing how to change that. His hands were shaking almost uncontrollably.
The room was dead silent, and Harry couldn't even look at them.
"Being in love with her makes it even worse," Harry said almost conversationally. "It makes it better, though, too. I don't know." He tilted his head up and looked at the ceiling. "Death is one thing. But Dumbledore always said that there were things worse than death, and what Ginny suffered… I just am – so many people paid this huge price, and Ginny most of all, but here I am."
Harry chanced a glance at Ron and Hermione. Both of them had identical looks of horror on their faces, and even though it was what he had expected, it felt like a dagger in his stomach. And it wasn't just normal horror; he saw what he was feeling reflected back on their faces. It was stark, and went bone deep.
"So, he used her as a weapon, and it worked perfectly," he said. "Like a charm. I was really fucking willing to die at that point. But then, because the normal rules like life and death don't fucking work the way they should for Harry Potter, I got to live. And now she's furious with me for thinking I don't deserve her!"
There was a whisper of movement. Harry knew immediately what it was, and he didn't even turn around. Let them curse me, he thought. Now that he'd actually said the things out loud, they sounded even worse than they did in his head. And maybe Ginny just didn't see things rationally; maybe he'd been taking advantage of her. Because how could she not possibly think that it wasn't amazing that she could even look at him? And—
"Petrificus Totalus," Ron said again.
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30 March 2002
Ginny stared at the right corner of Dumbledore's portrait, not having any idea how to even begin. Her cheeks burned, and she really wished that she had someone else to talk to. But she couldn't talk to her parents, she didn't really have any friends, and she felt uncomfortable talking to Ron and Hermione about Harry.
Dumbledore was safe. He knew Harry, and he probably knew the situation better than even Harry. Certainly more than Ginny did. And she didn't have to reveal that she was in love with Harry. The other professors didn't have to find out. Everyone in the castle knew that they were close; it was logical to ask these things.
"Did you know that Harry took the Killing Curse?" she blurted out. "Not when he was a baby. When he defeated Voldemort. Right before."
The figure in the portrait made a steeple of his hands. "I knew that he must have," he said quietly. "I knew that he was a Horcrux—"
"You knew?" Ginny said loudly. Though she had expected that Dumbledore knew more than he said, the flash of anger took her by surprise. "And you didn't do anything? Or even tell him? Or—"
"I was trying to save his life," the portrait said. "I admit, I didn't tell him in the beginning because I thought no child, no adolescent should have to walk around with a death penalty. And then when Voldemort took his blood the night he returned, I didn't tell him because had he known that he would survive the Killing Curse, the sacrifice wouldn't work correctly. It is intention that matters with magic."
Ginny nodded, though it hurt to remember the moments before Harry had taken the curse. Ever since that memory had come back to her, she kept replaying the image over and over again. And it ripped through her every time. "He did it because of me, you know," she admitted. "He meant to die for me and he still doesn't think that he deserves our – our friendship. I don't understand."
The portrait eyed her serenely, though Ginny could tell that he was measuring her. The painted blue of his eyes could see right through her, it seemed, weighing her. She lifted her chin.
"Harry's greatest flaw has always been that he blames himself for things outside of his control," said Dumbledore. "It is, I think, understandable. Ever since he was little more than an infant, he was at the center of a prophecy, and the person Voldemort wanted to kill most. This, of course, led those around him to try to protect him, therefore placing themselves at risk."
Ginny remained silent, not wanting the portrait to stop talking if she asked the wrong question, or said the wrong thing. Several of the other portraits shuffled their feet and cleared their throats. "Preposterous," one of them murmured. Ginny glanced at him; something in his face reminded her of Sirius Black. "One person can't be held accountable for the actions of a madman."
"Thank you, Phineas," Dumbledore murmured.
"But even if he really thought that Voldemort capturing me was his fault, then why doesn't he realize that by dying for me he made up for it? Not that I think he was to blame at all," she hurried to add. "I never did, I swear. But he died for me, and it's a miracle he's alive at all—"
"He thinks you're the miracle. Or, rather, what happened to you," Dumbledore said softly. "He's certain that he owes his survival to what happened to you. Because it wouldn't have worked if he hadn't taken the curse willingly, without fighting. And because he took the curse willingly and without fighting to protect you, and because he did that due to what you experienced, he blames his survival on your treatment at the hands of the Death Eaters."
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30 March 2002
Harry's limbs immediately froze, and he toppled over. He watched the stones of the hearth rising up to meet him, and felt a numbness that had nothing to do with the spell. But just before he hit, he was lifted into the air as though he was as weightless as a feather, and settled onto the rug.
Another spell was whispered, and Harry could tell that George had been released from his own body bind.
"If you say one thing to make him feel worse, brother or not, I will hurt you," Ron said. What the--?
"I won't," said George. "But… just to get this straight… Harry took the Killing Curse for her?"
"Of course he did," Hermione murmured.
This was followed by a long period of silence that was maybe even as long as ten minutes. Harry couldn't tell; from his position he couldn't see a clock to measure the time. He began to feel a bit annoyed with them; what was taking them so long? Why weren't they talking, or cursing him, or anything?
The worst thing about being immobilized was the fact that Harry literally had no distractions. He was frozen, and he couldn't do anything. He couldn't say anything. His thoughts battered at him, and he just wished they'd get to it. Even if they validated all of his thoughts…
"I told you she was acting cold to him," Ron said loudly. "That day in Hogsmeade -- I told you. What the hell is she thinking?"
No one answered him.
"You can't just leave him like that, Ron," Hermione said. "Why'd you bind him, anyway?"
"I don't know what to say to him yet," Ron said in a low voice. "And I didn't want him getting the wrong idea and running away."
"Since you don't know what to say to him, could you tell me what the hell is going on?" George asked tightly.
Hermione told him. Harry listened as she calmly and succinctly told George a short version of how they got together, lingering on parts of the story that made him uncomfortable: Harry rushing to Hogwarts on Christmas, and buying Calliope. George didn't say anything. Harry wished he would. It just wasn't right that one of the twins would be so silent.
Quite suddenly, he felt the curse on him lift. Feeling came back into his limbs, and he stretched, feeling embarrassed and resentful and yet happy that Ron hadn't kicked him out of his home yet. "I wasn't going to run," he said.
"I don't even know what to say to you," Ron said honestly. "I could tell you until I'm blue in the face that it wasn't your fault—"
"And you were just as much a victim as Ginny was," Hermione said softly. "Just in a different—"
"No, I wasn't," Harry said sharply.
"Keep lying to yourself," Ron said ruthlessly. He made it sound like a challenge. "You just stood there and told us that you regret being alive. You exiled yourself from everyone you love, and you've been living in misery for years. But you're a happy-go-lucky bloke without a care in the world, aren't you? Not hurt at all," he added sarcastically.
"Ron," Hermione said warningly.
"Hermione," Ron imitated her tone. Harry watched out of the corner of his eye as Ron dropped his head into his hands and pulled his hair viciously. "Let me get this straight, Harry," Ron said in a muffled voice. "We get taken to Malfoy Manor. Hermione and I escape. You stay because—"
"I heard her," Harry murmured. "She was in the kitchen—"
"You stay because you heard her," Ron continued. His voice was shaking. "And then – what? Voldemort came?"
"Not yet," Harry said uncomfortably. There had been the matter of killing the Death Eaters, and then Ginny having to make sure they were really dead. "The Death Eaters were dead when Voldemort came," he added. Ron and Hermione exchanged a shrewd glance. "They tried to get me to hurt her," he explained. One second under the Imperius Curse and Lucius Malfoy's voice in his head was all it had taken.
"All right. Then you kill the Death Eaters who are trying to force you to hurt her," Ron said. He was speaking very slowly and clearly. Harry bristled at this.
"What was I supposed to do?" he asked loudly. "How was—"
"And then Voldemort comes," Ron talked over him, almost shouting. "And he forces you to watch Ginny get raped again and again. And then he tells you that he'll let her go if you let him kill you. Which you do."
Harry stared at Ron blankly. Why is he repeating everything?
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Ron shook his head at Harry and forced himself to relax. I'm not going to get through to him, he thought. He wished he hadn't let Harry up. It was easier to think when he knew that Harry couldn't move. But now that his best mate was mobile and (Ron had to admit) a flight risk, the words just wouldn't come.
Not that they had before.
He'd never seen Harry look so desperate and hopeless at the same time. And Ron had absolutely no idea what to say to him. What can I say? What Ron felt most was an almost overwhelming sense of gratitude. Every couple of seconds, the knowledge hit him -- Harry died for my sister! -- and made it difficult to think. George was having the same problem, Ron could tell.
And it hurt a bit too that Harry had it all mixed up in his head. He really has no idea what he did, Ron thought, awed. And he couldn't even shake some sense into him, because Harry would never see it the way Ron did.
Every few seconds, it was on the tip of his tongue to say thank you, but he always stopped himself just in time. Harry would not be receptive to Ron's gratitude, that was pretty plain.
"Would you stop staring at me like that?" Harry asked grumpily.
"We can't help it. You just told us—"
"George," Ron said harshly, shaking his head and wishing that he hadn't let George stay. I should've kicked him out as soon as Harry got here. "Listen, Harry," Ron said. "Am I the person you should be talking to? Shouldn't you be talking to Ginny?"
"She left me," Harry said indignantly. "And then she was laughing with that Creevey bastard. And besides—"
"Wait," Ron held up his hand. Harry fell silent.
Ron glanced over at Hermione, who still appeared to be at a total loss for words. Her face was very pale, and Ron felt a surge of sympathy for her. This kind of thing – their best friend dying and being given a second chance at life – went beyond books or theories. He could practically see that big brain of hers trying to process it and make sense of it.
Ron looked forward to the explanation.
Especially of Ginny's part in all this. Ron couldn't help but feel more than a little angry with her. He equated it with everyone being furious with her for her issues with their father. Knowing what they did now, none of them would think of yelling at her for having nightmares or being uncomfortable in his presence. Ginny's issues were understandable, and so were Harry's.
She could've given the bloke a break.
But whether or not Ron liked the fact that Ginny had hurt Harry, Harry was in love with her, and whatever absolution Harry thought he needed had to come from her. This sparked an idea, and he pushed himself off the sofa and over to the small desk in the corner of the room.
"Ron, what are you doing?"
He didn't answer Hermione, but opened a drawer, rummaged around, and came out with a parchment. "Look at it, Harry," he said quietly, holding it out to him.
Harry reached for it, furrowing his brow.
"When Ginny went back to school, we wanted to be sure that she was actually the person sending the letters," Ron explained. "So we had her pick a symbol that she'd put on the—"
"I know," Harry interrupted. "That's how you found us out in the first place."
"Look at what symbol she picked," Hermione said, finally stirring, and following Ron's thought process with ease. "That's your scar. That's what she chose, because you make her feel safe."
"And if she doesn't blame you, why do you blame yourself?" Ron asked.
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30 March 2002
Ginny felt as though she'd Apparated right in the middle of a brick wall. Oh. Horror welled up inside her, and it really didn't seem to have an end. I don't deserve you, he'd said. I keep thinking you're going to come to your senses.
She heard the words again. This time she understood the pain behind them. They echoed in her ears like bats flapping in a cave. She felt the weight of the eyes of the portraits on her, like they were poking into her skin. Understanding and grief and rage and something completely indefinable broke in waves over her.
"Is it true?" she asked, swallowing hard.
Dumbledore was silent for a very long time. "It wasn't supposed to be, as I will tell him if he ever finds himself here. But yes, it is logical that he would make these assumptions. However, I think that it is skewed in his mind—"
"There's nothing wrong with his mind," Ginny said fiercely. "He's just – he's been hurt and – and – and—"
But she couldn't finish. She didn't even know how she was feeling, let alone what she wanted to say. I got what I came for, she thought, looking around the room but not really seeing it. Dumbledore's words had been like a slap in the face, and the last of the hero worship that had been with her since she was just a little girl died.
"I wasn't suggesting that he is mad," the portrait said gently, almost respectfully. "Harry is, I believe, a man in a million. But he has never viewed himself in that light. I doubt that he has ever sat down and – pardon me for saying this, but I assume that you want my full honestly?"
Ginny nodded when it became apparent that he was waiting for her answer.
"I don't believe he has ever sat down and considered the fact that his willingness to sacrifice himself is rare, and the capacity of love he can feel for people is great," he said. "In this, Harry can only see the terrible aspect of love, the most terrible and powerful and beautiful force in the universe. And he has, I believe, gotten it twisted around in his head. He believes that because the prophecy was about him, he shares equal blame in how it played out. He is only able to think that your experience saved him because he was willing to die, and his willingness saved him. But really, it was the fact that he loved your brother, your family, and you enough to make that choice that saved him."
Ginny gaped at him, incapable of speech.
"I imagine that he didn't feel for you then what he does now," Dumbledore said delicately. "Therefore, I assume that his reasons for making that choice had to do with you being his best friend's little sister, and the youngest child of a family who had taken him in and given him everything he'd never had before."
A thousand different thoughts sparked in her brain so quickly that she didn't have time to fully articulate them – even to herself. She saw half-formed memories in her mind's eye, until she was whirled around to another one, like there was a tempest inside her head. And all the while, the indefinable feeling kept growing and growing until it eclipsed the hurt and anger.
A part of her – the hurt and angry part – recoiled from the realization before she even had it, but then—
It was worth it.
Standing where she was, with the perspective she now had, and knowing what she now did… it was worth it. If what had happened to her had given him the chance to survive being a Horcrux, even after being struck with the Killing Curse… it was worth it.
She'd been telling herself for months that she was in love with him, but it really smacked her across the face. Seventy days of torment flashed in front of her, but now with greater clarity, the awfulness of it dimmed. It was not a warm, happy feeling. It was like being genuinely comforted by a blanket made of asbestos, but Ginny couldn't help but find peace in the very same idea that had tortured Harry for so long.
Maybe I wouldn't want to go back and have it happen again, Ginny thought. But the idea of Harry having to die because of the Horcrux inside him was worse than her memories. I love him that much. She'd never thought to look for a silver lining in that particular cloud, but there it was, blinding her.