Chapter 18

She Can Help Kill Me Too

Harry's recovery from his battle with Slytherin's locket dragged slowly for day after boring day. More than anything he wanted to leave that bed behind, but every time he felt well enough to walk a little, within a few minutes he returned to bed exhausted. Madam Pomfrey examined him each afternoon when Ron flooed to Hogsmeade to fetch her, and she began his potion therapy, which Harry had to admit helped a bit. But more than anything, she told him that he would have to take extreme care for the next month or two. Reading between the lines, Harry understood her real message: Don't do something else as stupid as whatever it is you just did.

Although the word "coma" sounds terrible, Harry much preferred the week after the Hufflepuff Cup Battle to the week following the Slytherin Locket Battle. While in the coma, he felt reasonably comfortable and content, but now he suffered from constant aches and exhaustion. Madam Pomfrey informed him that he could return to the Hogwarts hospital wing if he preferred, but Harry declined. His stated reasons were that he would feel more comfortable in his own house and that he did not wish to be a distraction at school. But he also did not want Ginny to see him like this.

The battle took its toll on Harry. Though only a few days had passed, he seemed to have lost fifteen or twenty pounds from his already wiry body. The bones on his face protruded noticeably, and his eyes sunk back into their sockets. What little fat he had disappeared, and Ron and Hermione could not help but notice that their friend seemed to have shrunk an inch or two.

By Tuesday, he had convinced Ron and Hermione to return to Hogwarts for classes, but they insisted on returning to Grimmauld Place every evening. Though grateful for their company, he could only find blackness for his future. He had no future.

"It wasn't too bad, Harry, we'll help you when you get back," Ron explained, as he told his friend about the Thursday DADA test, "You won't need any help for the practical part; you've been nailing those spells for years."

"My shield was not as strong as it could have been," complained Hermione, setting her bag full of books on the kitchen table, "I just couldn't seem to concentrate today." Ron shook his head knowing that her shield far exceeded his own.

"You need to concentrate less," Harry countered, his voice quivering slightly from his weakness and from the exertion needed to walk down the stairs to the kitchen, "You just have to let it happen. Decide what you want to happen and then make it happen. That is the essence of magic according to Dumbledore. I think I finally understand it now." Harry's faded blue t-shirt hung off of his shoulders like a tent.

"Easy for you to say, Harry," Ron joked while munching on freshly-baked cookies provided by Dobby, "but for us normal wizards, it's easier said than done. I've tried relaxing like you've been telling me, but then nothing happens at all."

"Well, once you figure it out, it makes magic a lot easier," Harry alleged, sipping the pumpkin juice provided by the house elf, "It's how I defeated that horcrux. I had to stop trying to control everything and just let it happen. It's kind of like flying. Hermione doesn't fly well because she is trying to control the broom with her mind. Good fliers don't think about flying at all; they just let their instincts control. That's more or less what I did. It was hard though," Harry added as an afterthought, not wanting his friends to think the battle had been a walk in the park.

"In my view, flying definitely is for the birds," Hermione defended herself while enjoying a cookie. She had removed her robe and wore jeans and a form-fitting sweater. Despite his illness, Harry could not help but notice his best friend and silently approved of her choice of attire.

Unaware of his musings, Hermione added, "It's been a bit difficult at school, Harry. Everyone is asking about you, wanting to know what happened."

"What's been the official lie?" Harry asked.

"That you took seriously ill and have been ordered to bed rest for at least a week. We've agreed that it's a form of wizard's pneumonia," Ron explained.

"I suppose that's not far from the truth," Harry commented, "Of course, I'm sure nobody believes it." Dobby placed two cookies in front of him, trying everything to add some meat to Harry's bones.

"Ginny definitely does not believe it," Hermione explained, reading Harry's mind, "She asked us what happened, and blew her top when we gave her the pneumonia explanation." Hermione paused before continuing, "She . . . said some things and then stomped away. Hasn't talked to us since."

Hermione was hiding something, Harry knew, but he considered a moment whether he truly wanted to know. He decided he did not and remained silent. Hermione expected him to ask what exactly Ginny said and furled her brow in confusion at Harry's apparent disinterest. She decided not to say any more. Ron, on the other hand, felt no such compunction.

"Yeah, she said 'Fine, I don't want to know. All I know is that you are going to kill Harry. How are you going to feel then?' You know how she can get, Harry. Steaming mad, she was."

So Ginny blamed Ron and Hermione. How dare she! Harry thought to himself, the visage on his face hardening.

"You tell her that if she wants to be mad at someone, she can be mad at me," Harry growled furiously, "I can take care of killing myself, thank you very much."

Hermione glared at Ron for his tactless statement, though she would have told Harry herself had he asked. She could not avoid feeling upset by Ginny's remarks too. Who had done more than I, thought Hermione, to try to protect Harry? Nevertheless, she would take the high road.

"We will tell her no such thing, Harry. You need to talk to her yourself. This game you two are playing this year is childish." This mild rebuke caused Harry to snap. He curled his lips into a snarl and thrust an angry finger towards his best friend.

"RIGHT, Hermione, all I've been doing since Dumbledore died is PLAYING GAMES," Harry replied furiously, releasing his frustration, "Maybe I should start taking things a bit more SERIOUSLY now. I really need to plan for my FUTURE, don't I? Yes, I understand. I should go right up to Ginny and say how SORRY I am that I haven't let her join in all this FUN. Then she can help KILL me too, if that's what she wants."

Ron and Hermione had been on the receiving end of a number of Harry's angry outbursts; nevertheless, the ferocity of his reaction to Hermione's rather tepid remark stunned them. The tirade exhausted him, and he had to rest his head on his elbows, breathing heavily.

On another day, Hermione might have responded in kind, but she knew Harry was in no condition for that.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to upset you," she replied as calmly as she could, moving around to Harry's side of the table, "You know Ginny is just worried about you. I don't think she really meant what she said." Harry merely glared in response, and Dobby helped him back to his bed.

HARRY POTTER SERIOUSLY ILL

The Prophet has learned from sources at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry that Harry Potter has taken seriously ill and currently is recuperating at his home. The exact nature of the illness is unclear, and the Hogwarts administration has declined all requests for comment, citing Mr. Potter's right to privacy. It is believed that Mr. Potter will make a full recovery after a period of extended rest.

Sources inform the Prophet that the illness is believed to be viral wizard's pneumonia. Some sources flatly stated their belief that in fact "The Chosen One" is not ill but is suffering the effects of an injury. Mr. Potter and his closest friends, Hermione Granger, muggle-born Head Girl at Hogwarts, and Ronald Weasley, son of Ministry official, Arthur Weasley, left the Hogwarts grounds last Friday. The purpose of their travel is unknown, and the Prophet has not been able to contact Miss Granger or Mr. Weasley for comment. The two of them, however, are reported to have returned to Hogwarts.

Harry handed the newspaper back to Hermione.

"Well, I suppose it was unavoidable. Students write to their parents. Not much we can do about it now," Harry reasoned.

In the past, Hermione and Ron knew, Harry would not have taken such an invasion of privacy with such philosophy, but they had to agree that in the whole scheme of things, the Prophet article rated far down the list.

"I agree, Harry, but I thought you ought to see it anyway," Hermione explained. Harry nodded and sat back on the overstuffed chair in the sitting room.

Ron and Hermione apparated back to Grimmauld Place Friday night after classes and planned on staying the entire weekend. Harry's condition had improved substantially over the previous two days, and he now walked about the house slowly, though climbing the stairs back to his room tired him. Dobby followed him everywhere, and when Harry tired, Dobby easily levitated him a few inches above the ground and floated the wizard up the stairs. Harry found this a bit embarrassing, but somehow it did not seem so terrible when Dobby did it.

More than anything, his mind had cleared, and he had been able to contemplate the events of the previous weekend. Until this moment, he had not discussed what happened in any detail with his friends, and when they gingerly inquired, he brushed off the questions, promising to tell the tale when he felt better. The time had come, and suddenly Harry felt an urge to relate the whole battle.

He looked at his friends, receiving cups of tea and pieces of cake from Dobby, and asked, "So I suppose you want to know what happened?"

"Of course we do," Ron replied, adding, "Only if you feel up to it." He sat at one end of a sofa, while Hermione occupied the other. Each of them had changed out of their uniforms into more comfortable attire, Ron wearing an old grey t-shirt, Hermione an oversized sweatshirt.

"Yeah, I'm up to it. Let's get it out of the way; we have a lot to discuss this weekend. I'll probably be back at Hogwarts next week, though I don't know why." Harry received his cup and cake and set it on the table next to his chair.

His audience sat horrified as Harry related the Battle of Slytherin's Locket, especially Harry's description of the initial attack of the horcrux.

"It felt like a huge knife of molten metal stuck into my heart and then twisted around a hundred times. I can't explain it any more than that. It was beyond pain; it was death."

At times during the tale, Ron or Hermione interrupted to inform Harry when he had said something audibly or moved in an unusual manner, and thus they could remember the various stages of the battle. Harry expressed surprise that his friends had shouted their cheers during the final attack.

"I remember feeling your encouragement, but I didn't know you were actually shouting; anyway, after the horcrux was gone, I really don't remember anything until I woke up the next day. I know that I must have been pretty bad off."

And so Hermione and Ron took center stage, informing Harry of his "death" and Hermione's desperate application of muggle emergency medical techniques. The story shook Harry to his core, as he had no idea that he had come so close to death. He stood up and hugged Hermione with all his might, thanking her for saving his life. Hermione cried freely as the emotions she had bottled up all week came gushing out. Ron looked on somewhat uncomfortably, until Harry motioned him over as well, thanking him for his lengthy sprint to the Hogwarts hospital wing. The two embraced fully as the tearfully happy Hermione looked on approvingly.

Harry tired quickly from the show of emotion, and they helped him back to his chair. After a sip of his tea, he felt better.

Returning his gaze to Hermione, he joked, "Sorry about vomiting on you. That was really uncalled for."

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On Saturday, Harry remained strangely quiet all morning, only minimally participating in conversations. They had agreed to have a "strategy meeting" after lunch, as Harry seemed to feel strongest in the afternoon. Ron and Hermione waited on pins and needles, knowing that something bothered Harry and that the afternoon session may prove to be, to say the least, uncomfortable.

Even one extra night's sleep had noticeably improved Harry's condition, and he walked around the house more easily now. While he did not feel up to a game of Quidditch, for the first time he believed that some day he may feel normal again. The three gathered in the sitting room, tension in the air.

Ron had not bothered to comb his hair on the non-school day, and a few red whiskers could be seen on his chin if one looked hard. Hermione's hair had been slightly tamed, but instead of finishing the job, she tied it back in a pony tail. The two boys had only rarely seen her hair done in that fashion, but neither of them gave it a second thought. Other matters occupied their minds.

Harry noted the others looking to him, expecting him to call the meeting to order.

"I can't say I'm very optimistic," he began, "Other than killing the horcrux, things didn't go right. I would say it was close to a disaster."

Instead of trying to contradict Harry, Hermione did him one better.

"We almost lost you, Harry. It can't get any worse than that. I don't know how you did it. You basically used up so much energy destroying the horcrux that you almost died." She shook her head, filled with pessimism. "I don't think you can survive another one. We have to do something else."

"Like what?" Harry asked. Sometimes the shortest questions are the hardest.

"I don't know," sighed Hermione despairingly, "We'll have to think of something. At least we have some time. We don't even know for sure what the other horcruxes are. And in any event, you'll need a couple of months to recover fully."

"Maybe one of us can do it next time," offered Ron, "or maybe we could somehow do it together, you know, combine our strength." He saw the others looking at him unconvincedly, and concluded, "I don't know how, but maybe we could figure out some way. I'll be honest, Harry, I know I couldn't have beaten it. I don't know who else could do it other than you. But you can only do so much. We may need to ask for help from the Order, or even the Ministry."

"I just don't understand it," Harry remarked with frustration, ruffling his hair with his hand, "I felt so much more in control this time. After I survived that first attack, I knew I was strong enough; I knew I had damaged the horcrux." He shook his head, "I should have been able to finish it off a lot earlier. The whole thing shouldn't have taken more than half an hour. I can't figure out why I became so exhausted."

"Harry, you're being too hard on yourself," consoled Hermione, "Nobody else could have done what you did."

"Dumbledore did. His arm burned, but other than that he was OK. He didn't almost die."

"Yes, but Dumbledore's dead now, isn't he," Ron argued, waving his hand in the direction of Scotland, "Sure, maybe Dumbledore could have done it, but I don't know anyone else who could."

Harry dropped his head in despair, finally admitting to himself and to his friends what he had been thinking.

"I don't think I can do it again, mates. It's too much. I feel so weak, so tired. But it's not just exhaustion. The horcruxes are doing something to me. The cup weakened me. That's why I couldn't finish this one off like I should have. Now the locket will weaken me even more. I don't know if I can do another one." He felt an abject failure.

"Let's think about this, Harry," Hermione began, trying to remain calm. She stood up and paced by the fireplace. "We know that four horcruxes have been destroyed - thanks mostly to you, by the way. Dumbledore thinks Voldemort's snake is a horcrux, but we don't know that for sure. If the snake is a horcrux, then maybe all we have to do is kill it. The other horcruxes have required you to use it in the way it was designed: Reading the diary; putting the ring on a finger; drinking from the cup; and putting the locket around your neck and opening it. But you don't wear a snake. How do you 'use' a snake the way it was designed? If we are lucky, you may not have to go through this again, at least with Nagini."

Harry followed Hermione as she returned to her seat and considered her reasoning, which largely followed one of his trains of thought. He remained unconvinced, however.

"I understand what you're saying, but I'm just not sure. That seems too easy. Nagini's horcrux, if it's even there, will not be so easy to destroy."

"And we don't know what the last horcrux is," added Ron, "How are we supposed to find that out. Ask Vol. . . Vol . . . Voldemort over for tea?" Harry and Hermione both smiled broadly at Ron, who for the first time in his life uttered the dark lord's name.

"Maybe there isn't another horcrux," Hermione surmised, "I mean we know that he wanted to split his soul into seven parts, meaning six horcruxes and the seventh in his body, but maybe he never had a chance to complete the sixth horcrux. When he disappeared after trying to kill you, he couldn't have created another one. So unless he created all of the horcruxes before he tried to kill you, he would have been one short." The two boys considered her argument and found it to be reasonable.

"But that's almost worse," Harry replied, standing up due to his agitation, "It's better to know for sure how many there are. Otherwise, even if I'm lucky enough to kill Voldemort, we won't know for sure if he is truly gone."

"Harry's right. Actually, you're both right," contributed Ron, "Somehow we need to figure out for sure how many there are." Harry nodded his agreement, and returned to his overstuffed chair.

Nobody wanted to ask the next question, "How?" They sat in silence, each hoping someone else would uncover the perfect plan.

Finally Harry commented cryptically, "The only way to know for sure is for Voldemort to tell us. Or for one of us to get inside of his head."

The other two could not respond for a moment, not exactly understanding Harry's point. Obviously Lord Voldemort had no intention to send them an owl discussing the number of horcruxes. What did Harry mean by getting "inside of his head?" Finally Hermione gasped when she realized what her friend suggested.

"No, Harry! Don't even think about that!" she implored, jumping from her chair.

"I don't want to think about it, but what else can we do. We're stuck," he argued back.

"What are you . . . ?" Ron tried to ask, only to be cut off by Hermione.

"But you know what happens. It could kill you. HE could kill you."

"HE'S GOING TO KILL ME, Hermione. I just don't know when," Harry responded pessimistically, "If I'm lucky, maybe I can take him with me."

"What are . . .?" Ron tried again without success.

"That's not true, Harry! You can defeat him, but not if you do something stupid like that!" Hermione admonished, her pony tail bouncing behind her, "We can't afford to take such risks until we have no other choice."

"WOULD YOU MATES LIKE TO TELL ME WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT?" Ron shouted, exasperated at his previous attempts to get a word in.

Hermione glared at Harry, who merely nodded at her to inform Ron.

"Harry is talking about trying to enter Voldemort's mind through his scar. Not only would that probably get you killed, you don't even know how to do it. This is NOT a good idea, Harry!"

Ron's mouth fell open dumbfoundedly, "You can't be serious, Harry. That could be suicide."

"No it wouldn't be," Harry shot back, "I think I maybe could do it. Before I was a lot weaker magically than I am now. I'd much rather have a go at entering Voldemort's mind than deal with another one of these horcruxes. Why do you think he hasn't entered my mind for so long? Because he is scared. I've been thinking about this a lot these last few days." Before he could continue, Hermione jumped in.

"We don't know how Voldemort thinks, Harry. I don't think he's afraid of entering your mind if he thought it would serve his purposes. We're lucky he's left you alone; it's given us time, and we still have time now. The most important thing for now is that you recover," the young witch argued vehemently.

"Besides, you don't really know how to connect with him, do you?" Ron added, agreeing entirely with Hermione on this one.

Harry hesitated with a knowing look in his eyes which Hermione immediately caught.

"Don't tell me that you've already tried this, Harry. Not in your condition." Hermione exclaimed disbelievingly, moving to the edge of her chair.

After another hesitation, Harry finally admitted, "I didn't try to enter his mind, but I just tried to see if I could connect with Voldemort through my scar. For some reason, I felt like I knew how to do it now. Last night I tried it just for a second, even less than a second. The first few times I couldn't, but then I focused on my scar the right way when I said 'legilimens" and I saw a flash of his mind before I left. Then I waited to see if he would try to enter my mind, because if he knew I made contact with him, I know that he would try to contact me in retaliation, but nothing happened. I don't think he knew what happened."

Hermione hopped off her seat in fury.

"Harry, do you realize how dangerous that is. Especially now, when you're so weak. You have to be extremely careful. Do you want to get yourself killed?"

The two friends glared at each other, and as often happened when the two H's got into it, Ron felt like a bystander. The lull in the action, however, allowed him to make a point.

"Listen, before you go off on each other, let me say what I think, then you can ignore me again," the red head cried with increasing frustration, "I think we need to think about what Harry is saying. Maybe it can't work, but it could be exactly what we need to do. You Know, . . . I mean, Vol . . ., Voldemort has never really had to face Harry like he is now. Harry can fight back, especially if he got some practice."

Harry deeply appreciated Ron's support, but Ron continued in a less complimentary fashion, "But Harry, Hermione's right, you have to be more careful. Now is NOT the time! We need to think things through, and you are too weak You HAVE to recover your strength!" The lanky red head had never spoken more urgently.

Hermione seemed surprised to hear Ron speak. Usually he stayed out of these arguments, but she realized that he had a point.

Still furious with Harry, she took a couple of deep breaths to control her emotions as she pleaded, "You can't give up hope, Harry. We believe in you a lot more than you believe in yourself. You've accomplished so much already, destroying two horcruxes in a month. Maybe we've been pushing it too hard. We need to have patience."

"Sooner or later Voldemort will start attacking," Harry responded from his chair, which seemed especially oversized against his emaciated body, "We can't be too patient. The more he does nothing, the more I am sure that his next attack will be spectacular. We need to be creative, think of something Voldemort doesn't think we'll do. That's why I tried to connect." Harry started breathing heavily from the exertion of the argument, and he put his hand over his chest.

"Dobby!" yelled Hermione, waiting a moment for the house elf to appear, "Harry's very tired, help us get him up the stairs to his bed."

"No," Harry argued meekly, "let me stay here." Dobby sensed Harry's weakness and took charge.

"Harry Potter must not become upset. Not ready for that. Harry Potter must come with Dobby."

Hermione gave Harry her hand and lifted him to his feet.

"You've got a long way to go, Harry. Please don't rush it. I'm sorry I got you upset." Harry hugged her briefly putting it into the past, and then stepped sluggishly towards the stairs. Dobby relieved him of that necessity by levitating his master to his bed.

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The boredom of Grimmauld Place became so unbearable that Harry happily returned to Hogwarts on Monday. Madam Pomfrey thought it prudent that Harry not attempt to apparate for another week or two; thus Harry took the floo network to Hogsmeade, accompanied by Ron. Though he felt much stronger, the walk to the Hogwarts front gate and then up to the castle exhausted him, and he did not attend classes that day.

Harry stuck to the story that he had been afflicted with an especially virulent form of wizard's pneumonia; nobody believed him. Wild rumors circulated. He battled with a score of death eaters, just escaping with his life after disabling ten (or more, depending on the story teller). Or he faced off with You Know Who himself, having been severely wounded before miraculously escaping. Unfortunately, several of these rumors made their way into the Daily Prophet. While this most definitely irritated Harry, at least it did not have the negative consequences of previous Prophet articles. To the contrary, he received universal support among all students with whom he had contact, and since almost no Slytherins remained, he did not suffer the unkind comments so common in the past.

Despite her anger at the refusal of Ron and Hermione to tell her the truth, Ginny could not hide her concern over Harry's condition. He assured her that he felt better and would be fine soon enough, but she knew better. His eyes betrayed him. Much of the life had left them, and the energy she had come to know seemed to have left Harry altogether. Her frustration at being left out of the group increased again.

The fall weather at Hogwarts turned for the worse, with plenty of cold rain and wind. Harry spent the next month recuperating, attending class, and pondering his next move. He again performed all spells, charms, transfigurations and hexes with increasing ease, but he no longer bothered reading the texts and wrote woefully short and detail-free essays. Hermione had become his personal tutor, drilling enough information into Harry's head to allow him to pass tests and complete his essays.

Even though technically Harry was not required to present exams and complete essays, per his agreement with Professor McGonagall, they thought it would raise too many questions if he did nothing at all. The Head Girl became increasingly distressed at Harry's lack of motivation and deepening depression. His green eyes had dulled another shade, and she knew that the boy in front of her was not the same boy she met on the Hogwarts Express all those years ago. How much more could he take?

During October, Harry had begun to spend more and more time alone. He often "studied" in empty classrooms, where in reality he dwelt on all that had gone wrong and the hopelessness of his destiny. Desperate and rash ideas entered his brain, only to be thrown aside. Stalemate again. He had no idea what to do next.

Then an event occurred which changed everything. While sitting alone late one afternoon, a flash of flame appeared out of nowhere and suddenly a beautiful phoenix appeared. Fawkes carried a letter, which it allowed Harry to remove. The phoenix trilled beautifully and then disappeared in a flare. Harry immediately recognized the handwriting on the envelope and quickly opened the letter, his heart pounding.

Dear Harry:

I have much to tell you. Please meet Fawkes alone in one hour at the place of your choosing. Fawkes will bring you to me. Please destroy this note after you have read it and tell no one! I will explain when we meet.

The letter lacked a signature, but Harry did not need to see one.