Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Please don't think for a second that I support the Harry-is-the-seventh-Horcrux theory. I really don't. I think a lot of the arguments for this idea make sense, but it just seems too convenient. I don't think JKR would ever make it happen in the books – not because Harry would die, but because it just seems too easy for her. I don't particularly like this idea, but realistically, I had to incorporate it. I mean, Harry would have to be an idiot not to at least consider it, and that's what I'm making him do here. So please don't assume that the rest of this story is going to play out with the plot that Harry is a Horcrux, because I'm trying my best to not go down that alley. I'm sure you readers have seen it done way too many times already.

Chapter Forty-Five: Hero Complex
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For several endless moments, Harry didn't receive any reaction. He began to question whether or not he'd even said it aloud.

And then they all started.

'That's impossible when –'

'You're out of your –'

'Harry, dear, don't –'

'Potter, you can't just –'

'– you consider the facts.'

'– bloody fucking mind!'

'– say such awful things!'

'– blurt out things without thinking.'

Harry felt anger bubbling up inside of him. Did they think he wanted this to be true? The way there were reacting, the things they were saying … it was almost as if they thought Harry had chosen this path for himself.

The arguments died down and suddenly all eyes were on Harry again. He could feel their stares burning into him, but what could he do? Smile and make it all better? His hands were tied. This was the first time in a while that Harry could remember feeling so absolutely hopeless about literally everything.

Never in his life had he pretended to believe that things would work out. There were very few moments that he'd actually allowed himself to have hope. But this shift in his professed destiny hit him square in the chest, and coupled with his injuries, it managed to knock the wind out of him. There really was no way out. His last fight was coming, and coming fast. He didn't get a choice in the matter. He didn't even have a fighting chance.

Still, he accepted his life.

If Tom Riddle had remained a troubled wizard, instead of turning into Lord Voldemort, Harry would still have a mum and a dad and a godfather. He would have a whole other life. In some strange, parallel universe, he believed that there was a Harry Potter living happily with all of these things, the things he lacked here in his own world.

But Tom Riddle had become Lord Voldemort, and Harry had ceased wondering about all the possibilities "if" brought him long ago, for the same reason he'd stopped spending night after night looking at the Mirror of Erised. Fantasy – a place where he was blissfully able to have everything one could ever want exactly when one wanted it – had a drugging pull, and sometimes he thought he could lose himself in it if he tried.

He was comfortable with his destiny. Really, he was. As much as one could be, at least.

Because what else was there for Harry? Nothing. Everyone else in his life had a role to play. Ron was a son, a brother, a strategist, a warrior. Hermione was a daughter, a thinker, a star student, an elf liberation activist. Ginny was a sister, a maverick, a boyhood crush if there ever was one. Mrs Weasley was a mother of seven. Mr Weasley was a provider. Tonks was an Auror, a protector. McGonagall was a professor, a headmistress, the leader of the Order.

And Harry was the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord.

He was born to beat Voldemort. That was all there was to it. And if he didn't have that – if he didn't have the title of Boy Who Loved to put to his name – what did he have? His parents were dead. He had no siblings. He wasn't a brilliant student. He wasn't outgoing or funny or particularly interesting. He wasn't anything at all, really. He felt certain nobody would have ever noticed him at Hogwarts if it hadn't been for his scar and the fact that the Daily Prophet had nobody better to put on their front page.

Harry Potter was just a name. A legend. A scar.

If he was wrong about this Horcrux theory, if he lived past all of this … if the name lost its appeal and the legend stopped being passed on and the scar faded … what then?

He'd spent most of his life locked up in a cupboard under the stairs, being ignored by a family who did their best to hide the proof that they were truly related. He'd spent the last six years emerged in a world of uncertainty and danger. He knew better than to look for a way of out this war. He was a warrior. Fighting Voldemort and other Dark magic was all he really knew how to do. He could duel, but how far could that get him after the war?

He would have Ron and Hermione. He would have Ginny. But he couldn't make them the center of his world when he would only a part of theirs.

He was kidding himself with Ginny anyway. He couldn't love her. He'd grown up in a situation in which love didn't exist for him. He could try, but he couldn't ever succeed. He couldn't love her the way she deserved to be loved.

He didn't know why he was wasting his time thinking about this. He wasn't going to survive this war. But was that really such a bad thing? He loved the people in this room as best he could, even though it probably wasn't good enough, and he was showing that love by fighting. He was fighting – searching for Horcruxes, going through hell training and strategizing, working with the Order when he secretly thought it was pointless – for them. As long as they made it through this whole ordeal and went on to live long, happy lives, he didn't care about himself all that much.

Besides, he'd been waiting all of his life, and he thought he'd very much like to meet his mum and dad. And he'd love to see Sirius again.

How bad of a place could the other side be if people like that were there, waiting for him?

It wasn't as if he was hoping to die. Despite the morbid thoughts that sometimes went around and around in his mind, he would never choose death over life. But he'd given it a lot of thought recently, and he reached the conclusion that he was, quite simply, destined to fight Voldemort. And when that fight was over, even if his side won out, Harry knew that he would be dead. When your destiny was fulfilled, there was no other reason for you to stick around.

'This doesn't make any sense,' Hermione declared. 'Why would Voldemort make you a Horcrux if he planned on killing you? I mean, if he was stashing his soul, wouldn't he want to put it in something a little more … permanent? Something he knew would still be around in a year or two?'

Harry winced at her words, though they were true, and Hermione's eyes widened.

'I don't mean it like that!' she cried quickly, and maybe she really hadn't. But she was too logical for her own good, and so Harry would bet his life that she'd known exactly what she'd been saying, at least on some level. 'I'm just saying that Voldemort is trying to kill you. Not keep you safe, like the other Horcruxes.'

'Except,' said Harry, 'Voldemort hasn't tried to kill me since fifth year. D'you think it's because he got tired of the chase and decided to give up? Not likely.


Hermione shook her head. 'And when would he have done this?' she asked. 'Voldemort went to Godric's Hollow when you were a baby to kill you. He wouldn't have made you a Horcrux just incase things backfired. Voldemort wouldn't ever take precautions. He never would have considered failure a possibility for himself.'

Harry shook his head. 'I'm not saying that,' he said. 'But he possessed me back at the Department of Mysteries. The night Sirius died. Did I ever tell you that?'

Ron spoke up. 'You don't really think that while he possessed you, he –?'

'We thought the snake was a Horcrux because Voldemort could easily possess it, like he did on the night Mr Weasley was attacked. Voldemort can possess me just as easily when I'm not using Occlumency,' said Harry. 'There's a reason his Death Eaters are never allowed to hurt me … and I'm starting to think it's not just because Voldemort wants to finish me off himself.'

'This is ridiculous,' Mrs Weasley said, but her voice cracked.

'He wanted seven Horcruxes. If he'd only made six by the night he came to kill me … that means he'd been planning to make the seventh one after I'd been killed. But I didn't die. And so he had to wait until he regained his power to make the last one. He had to wait until after he came back at the end of our fourth year. And what did he have to lose by making me the last one? Nothing. What do I have to lose?' His eyes strayed to Ginny for the first time since he began speaking. 'Everything.'

'No,' Ginny said fiercely.

'And either must die at the hand of the other … we all know that I'm the only one who can beat Voldemort. But in order to do that, I need to destroy all of the Horcruxes first,' he said. 'Isn't it the perfect plan? If I'm a Horcrux, then the only way we can even prepare to fight Voldemort is if I'm destroyed first. And the only way we can beat Voldemort is if I'm the one who does it. Both contradict each other. If I don't destroy myself, but I get rid of the others and then I actually beat Voldemort … who's to say that the part of his soul in me wouldn't – I don't know – turn me into him?'

'That would never happen!' cried Ginny.

'Says who?'

'Says me.'

Mrs Weasley sighed, seemingly appalled with her daughter's attitude. 'Ginny –'

'Stay out of this, Mum,' Ginny growled, glaring at Harry, and he finally understood what Ron meant when he said Ginny could be just as intimidating as Mrs Weasley when she tried.

'Harry,' Hermione said, and whether she spoke because she had an idea or because she wanted to keep Ginny from making the situation worse, Harry wasn't sure. 'You can't possibly be so sold on this idea. You don't even know for certain. And there are so many aspects you haven't considered.'

How would she know? Why did Hermione always have to act like such a bloody know-it-all? This was more complex than she realized. Maybe Harry hadn't considered every possible aspect, but did that mean he was wrong? Nobody could deny that his idea made a hell of a lot of sense.

'Like what?'

'Like – maybe you're right, and you are going to have to die for this. But what if you make a Horcrux of yourself beforehand? Would you be able to come back just like Voldemort planned on doing?'

'Yeah,' said Ron lamely. 'You could do that! That would work.'

'Maybe,' said Harry, his heart pounding. 'Except if this is true, and part of Voldemort's soul is inside of me, who's to say the Horcrux wouldn't retain my soul and his?'

He looked at Hermione, but she said nothing.

'C'mon,' he challenged. 'What do you say to that?' She didn't speak. 'Exactly. You and I both know that it wouldn't be worth the risk.'

'Not worth the risk!' bellowed Ron. 'Of course it would be worth the risk if it meant keeping you alive!'

'That isn't the concern here,' said Harry coldly.

'Well maybe it's my concern!' yelled Ron, and he looked so afraid, yet so determined.

The room fell momentarily silent.

Harry could do nothing but look at his best mate, who he'd grown up with, who he loved like a brother. He knew that when he died, it would be hell for Ron. Just the way it had been hell for him when Ron had "died". But how could Ron stand before him and act like Harry was the enemy? Wasn't Harry doing them all a favour by bringing this up and making them realize it was a possibility? That it was going to happen whether they liked it or not?

'Why is it you? Why does it have to be you?' Ginny demanded, as if he hadn't just verbalized most of the thoughts and explanations he had running around in his head. 'He possessed me in first year. Am I to believe that I'm the final Horcrux now?'

Harry hadn't considered this. 'Gin –'

She stormed over to Harry and kissed him, hard on the mouth. He knew she'd lost it then, because there was no reason at all why she could possibly think doing that in front of her entire family would be a good idea. She pulled away, and he saw something in her eyes that terrified him.

'You think I haven't considered this before? You think I haven't laid in bed and night thinking to myself, Maybe Harry won't be able to find the last Horcrux because that little piece of soul is floating around somewhere inside his own body? I have,' she told him. He wondered how Ginny could come up with such an idea ages ago, and yet he hadn't even considered this a possibility until just now. 'I've thought about it more than you know. I've worried myself sick over it. But would I kiss you if I thought you were somehow breathing Tom's soul into me?'

'Ginny,' Harry said pleadingly, though he wasn't sure what he was asking for.

'Just remember that I poured my heart into that diary for nearly a year. I know what something with a hunk of Tom Riddle in it is like.'

'It doesn't work like that,' he said.

'Then how does it work?' she demanded.

He didn't have an answer for her. But just because he didn't know enough to be able to tell her how it worked didn't mean he was wrong and she was right.

'You like it,' she said accusingly. 'You like thinking that you're a Horcrux.'

What the hell was she talking about? He'd have to be pretty messed up to feel good about this situation.

'You couldn't be more wrong,' he said.

'Am I? Or am I right on the mark?' she asked. 'You love that this is all about you! Admit it – you love how important this whole damn situation makes you feel! It's only you who can defeat Voldemort. Only you have the power to win this war. You love the thought that you're such a big, scary wizard that Voldemort had to make you a Horcrux because it was the only way he thought he could stop you.'

'Ginny –'

'What the hell is wrong with you that you can't just have hope? You say you want to survive this but I see no proof of that! All you talk about lately is when this is over, when you're gone. Maybe you're ready to give up and lie down, but I'm not. And I refuse to let you do this to yourself. What about the rest of us, Harry? What about me?' she yelled. 'So stop feeling sorry for yourself already and quit being such a selfish little bastard.'

She turned around to leave. Harry grabbed her left hand. She slapped him across the face with her right one. He let her go, too shocked to speak, and she stormed out of the room.

He didn't know where any of that had come from. The things she'd said … it sounded like she'd been holding it in for months. She probably had. But where did she get the right to say any of that to him? Maybe he acted like a prat sometimes, but he'd never done or said anything with the intention of hurting her or making her feel bad. And anything he ever did, he did it for her. Whether it rubbed her the wrong way or not.

'Mr Weasley, Miss Granger,' said McGonagall, her voice breaking the thick silence that had settled in after Ginny left. 'Please escort Potter back to Hogwarts and see to it that he remains in his bed until someone tells him otherwise.'

He didn't need Ron and Hermione to follow him and treat him like a bloody infant. He would gladly go back to Hogwarts. It sounded a hell of a lot better than staying in the same house as Ginny.

No, he would much rather go back to his hospital bed and feel sorry for himself. Like Ginny said, he was awfully good at it.

How dare she say those things to him? She had called him selfish in the same breath as she'd asked him, what about me?

What about her?

It was only some time later – when he suddenly felt sensations of guilt and anger separate from his own – that he realized he could once again sense Ginny.

But he couldn't bring himself to care, and so he closed his mind to her and went to sleep. She'd called him a selfish bastard, and he fully intended on proving her right.

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When he awoke, Ginny was sitting beside his bed.

'What d'you want?' he grumbled.

If she realized that he was being miserable on purpose, she said nothing. A part of his was still furious with her, though in the foggy moments that followed waking from a deep sleep, he couldn't remember why.

'I don't think you're a Horcrux,' she said. 'Not because it scares me to think about it. And not because I would die if it was true. I just don't think you are.'

He sat up. He wasn't sure if he was talking to her yet.

He didn't really know how to go about this. He honestly couldn't remember a time when she'd done or said the wrong thing in an argument, but he was pretty sure that that was what had happened this time. And he was pretty sure, judging by the way she was in front of him looking embarrassed and friendly, that she knew it. Was this her way of apologizing? And if it was, should he even accept it?

He reminded himself of all the times he'd been a git and she'd forgiven him. Maybe he'd never said anything as hurtful as what she'd said to him, but then again, maybe he had. There were times that he thought he understood almost everything about Ginny. And then there were times when he had absolutely no clue what she liked and didn't like.

'Why not?' he asked.

She leaned back in her chair. 'The other night, before you got hurt … Voldemort had somehow gotten into your mind. Right?'

'Yeah,' said Harry. 'So?'

'I felt it, too,' she said, and he felt a wave of guilt hit him at the thought of Ginny feeling pain because of her connection to him. 'So if you think you're the Horcrux because Voldemort can possess you, or whatever he does, you're wrong. Because he did the same thing to me that night. And Tom did it all the time when I was little. That doesn't mean I'm the Horcrux. Maybe – maybe he can just do that sometimes to people.'

Harry didn't even know what to think anymore. If he was honest with himself, he no longer felt as sure of everything as he had before going to sleep. He'd been so positive that he'd figured out the big secret. And now … he didn't even know.

What was worse, he didn't know if he was relieved or not.

If it turned out that he was the final Horcrux, at least he would know what the final one was. But if he wasn't, it would most likely be for the same reasons why the snake wasn't. Right? And that would put him right back at square one. This war wasn't going to last forever. Voldemort wasn't going to hold off and give Harry time to figure everything out for himself. What little time he had left was ticking away, and he could do nothing, especially not when confined to that bloody hospital bed.

He figured he could probably stand to talk to Dumbledore and see what his thoughts on the situation were. But at the same time, he could remember the anger he'd felt earlier at Dumbledore, and it worried him to think that Dumbledore's new answers would evoke that same response in Harry.

'Maybe,' Harry admitted. He didn't know if he was right, but that didn't mean he thought he was wrong. He could think of a lot of reasons why he was the Horcrux. Still, there were a lot of other possible explanations for all of his ideas.

He supposed the only way he would know for sure would be to find the snake and kill it. If Nagini really was the final Horcrux, Harry would have quite a time getting to that stupid snake.

He was in for several obstacles, but then again, wasn't his whole life just one challenge after the other? He was ready for this fight. He was going to give it everything he had.

And there were times, like right now, that he felt certain he would win. He would give Ginny and Ron and Hermione and everyone else the safe life that they all deserved. He knew that it mattered to them if he survived. And he knew that it should matter to himself. But looking at the big picture, Harry couldn't really be bothered with the idea of his death. He found it hard to see a problem with it, especially when his dying meant he'd be saving so many other lives in the process.

He moved over in his bed and Ginny climbed in beside him, just as she had many times before. It hurt him to think that she'd felt the same sort of pain that he had when Voldemort had found his way into Harry's mind.

It occurred to him that Voldemort probably knew about Harry and Ginny's connection now. How else would one explain trying to invade one person's mind and ending up in another's?

How many times would Ginny be hurt because of Harry? She had already felt so much pain, whether directly because of Harry's own stupid actions or because of someone else's reaction to her relationship with him. Harry said he loved her, and he did. As best as he could, at least. But how could he justify putting someone he loved through all of this? It wasn't right.

'Ginny,' he said. 'I love you.'

'I love you, too,' she said.

'I know. But … listen …' he began, and then paused. Was he really going to say this? And what would she say in response? 'This isn't going to be easy. It's just going to get harder and harder. And a lot more dangerous. Voldemort – there's no way we can hide our connection from him anymore, I don't think. So if you – if at any time you think you want to walk away … I would never hold it against you.'

He was fairly certain that she would never voluntarily leave him. But at the same time, he wondered if it was because she didn't want to, or because she felt an obligation to stay. There came a point where everyone ultimately had to put their own interests first. Where a person had to stop being a team player and make decisions based on what they wanted and needed. For some people, like Tom Riddle and Snape and the Malfoys, that time came quickly. Much quicker than it did for people like Dumbledore and McGonagall and Sirius.

When would that time come for Ginny?

She turned her head and her eyes met his. 'I hate that you just said that,' she told him. But he was too tired to fight with her, and maybe she felt the same way, because she closed her eyes and relaxed against him.

'This is suicide,' he whispered, sometime later. She said nothing, and he realized that her deep, even breathing meant that she was asleep. He eventually drifted off to sleep as well, his dreams filled with images of the dozens of ways Ginny could be tortured and killed because of him.

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