Chapter 40
You Must Fear Me
"What do you think he's going to do?" Ginny asked nervously as she picked at her breakfast.
"He'll be mad," replied Ron simply, keeping his voice down to avoid eavesdroppers, "He didn't want us to go looking for him." This mattered not to Hermione.
"The important thing is that we have to be careful. I don't think he'll attack us, but we can't assume anything."
Normal black robes covered their muggle clothing, for they intended to leave all wizarding clothing behind once they left Hogwarts after breakfast. Ron had piled food onto his plate out of habit, but he barely managed to eat half of the eggs and sausage provided by the Hogwarts house elves. Still, he exceeded the girls, who managed only a few bites. Benjamin Duval's recent photograph of Harry haunted them. The Harry Potter they knew so well had little resemblance to the Harry Potter in that picture, whom they intended to meet that morning.
"Do you think we can do any good?" Ginny pondered, "I mean, just because we're there doesn't mean Harry's going to get rid of You Know . . . Voldemort."
"I know . . ." Hermione muttered, her voice trailing off. The three of them had worked so hard to find Harry, that they had not had enough time to develop a plan to help him. So far the only idea involved moving Harry to Grimmauld Place, where they would install themselves. They would stay with Harry all the time, smothering him with their love in the hope that Voldemort's spirit could not survive in that environment. It was not much of a plan.
"Give me a few minutes," Hermione quickly requested as she rose from her seat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, "I want to talk to Professor McGonagall for a minute. Meet me at the front door at nine o'clock. Ginny and Ron stared at the Head Girl's robe flowing behind her as she rushed out of the hall.
Hermione knew the headmistress' schedule. McGonagall never returned to her office immediately after breakfast. This suited Hermione perfectly, for she had no intention to speak with the headmistress. Some instinct pulled her towards the painting of Albus Dumbledore. Reaching the darkened office, she saw the former headmaster sitting comfortably in his chair, eyes closed.
Hermione hated to disrupt such a serene scene, but she spoke loudly nonetheless, "Professor Dumbledore! May I speak with you, please?"
The painted headmaster had not been sleeping after all, as he immediately opened his eyes, and upon recognizing the talented young witch, he smiled.
"How may I be of service, Miss Granger?" The old man straightened in the chair, gently rearranging his robe and adjusting his half glasses.
"We found Harry, Professor. I mean, we know where he's staying, in your old flat, and in a few minutes Ron, Ginny and I are going to see him. We're all nervous about it. To tell the truth, sir, I'm terrified. I feel like I know Harry better than anyone, but I have no idea how he's going to react to us. I'm not sure I know this Harry. He's a very powerful wizard, Professor. If for any reason we have to defend ourselves, I'm sure he could defeat the three of us without even trying."
"Certainly I understand your nerves, Hermione, but from what you related to me before, I doubt that Harry will act violently upon seeing you. He will greet you reluctantly, but he will greet you. However, you must be careful after you have been with him for awhile. That is when his controls can become lax and Voldemort's spirit may momentarily overcome him."
Hermione nodded her understanding, and tilted her head back again in order to see the portrait high above her.
"What really bothers me, professor, is that I don't know what to do to help Harry kill Voldemort's spirit. I don't know if it can be done. If it can't be done, I can't blame Harry for wanting to . . ." She could not finish the unthinkable thought.
Dumbledore gazed severely at the young witch, his eyes scrunched in deep thought. After a lengthy silence, he decided upon his words.
"Miss Granger, I am not sure how Voldemort's spirit can be removed from Harry's. I have my suspicions, but the thought is too terrible to speak. Harry would not wish me to speak it, and I believe he would be correct." The old man in the portrait paused again, reconsidering the matter. "No, I cannot speak it. I am sorry Miss Granger."
"Is there any other way? A spell, or incantation, or ritual?" Hermione asked desperately, grasping at straws, "In muggle religions, they use exorcisms to rid people of demons. There must be some way!"
"If there is another way, I am not aware of it. This is a most unusual situation, Hermione, one that to my knowledge has never occurred in history." The old man by now had risen from his seat, pacing the confines of his portrait. "Perhaps a solution will present itself. I must confess, however, that I am not optimistic. Of course, many times during my long life my suppositions turned out to be incorrect. I can only hope that the same occurs with regard to Mr. Potter."
The young woman stared at her feet as she stood a few feet from the portrait, the painted Dumbledore towering over her. Slowly she raised her head to look up.
"Harry told Ron and me one time that if Voldemort takes over his soul, we have to kill him. I told him I didn't think I could do it."
Dumbledore gazed down without any trace of surprise, but his eyes filled with sadness. The unspoken question, he knew, was whether he believed that Ron and Hermione in fact should comply with Harry's order. After a pregnant pause, the old man in the painting finally spoke as plainly as he could.
"Hermione, Harry is correct. If Voldemort is able to exert dominion over Harry's soul, the world faces a tremendous danger. As you stated, Mr. Potter is an extremely powerful wizard, at least as powerful as Tom Riddle, probably more. The answer to your dilemma is terrible but simple."
Hermione knew the answer before Dumbledore spoke it, but she needed the reinforcement that the professor provided. Her decision remained firm. If Harry had to be killed because Voldemort's spirit prevailed, she would do it. Alone. Nobody else would have to be involved, and she would bear the consequences of her actions. Alone.
Finally she asked one last question, "Do you think I'll have to?"
"That I do not know, Miss Granger. More likely Mr. Potter would take matters into his own hands before circumstances reached that point." Hermione's eyes glazed over in contemplation, and the headmaster let her ponder for several moments.
"Thank you, Professor," she finally whispered. She took two steps towards the door, when Dumbledore's final words halted her progress.
"You are a brave young woman, Miss Granger. It is far easier to sacrifice one's own life for the good of the world than to sacrifice the life of another. I pray that neither sacrifice shall be necessary."
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Dobby kept an especially close eye on Harry after the house elf managed once more to prevent his master's suicide. The shocking refusal to obey a direct order somehow jarred Harry's sensibilities, and for the moment he could consider his situation more clearly. Thoughts of ending his life temporarily ceased, but the underlying despair and hopelessness remained. What was he to do?
Perhaps his only consolation consisted in the fact that Voldemort enjoyed being inside of Harry's body even less than Harry enjoyed hosting the spirit. Harry's basic goodness and his unswerving love for his friends caused the young man's body to serve as an Azkaban prison for the evil being. While the wizard always sensed Voldemort's presence and mood, they no longer communicated intentionally with each other. The remnants of the dark lord had attempted to control his nemesis, to overcome his defenses, but the boy proved too strong. Now Voldemort realized that he had driven Harry to within a hair of ending his life, which consequentially would have ended the spirit's existence as well. Patience replaced rage. The dark lord's spirit would bide its time, looking for opportunities to advance its cause. It had to prey on Harry when at his weakest.
The two days that passed since the aborted suicide had been the best Harry experienced in the new year. His nausea subsided, and he had been able to eat more than normal. His level ten depression perhaps improved to a level eight, though he remained far from being the life of a party. Other than Dobby, he had no one with whom to converse, and over the weeks, he spoke less and less. So far on this morning, he had spoken exactly four words since he had risen: "That's fine," when Dobby asked if his planned breakfast was satisfactory, and "Thank you," when Dobby placed the food on the table. Internally, however, his mind never stopped.
Thus it is not difficult to imagine the shock that ran through his body when he heard the doorbell ring. Harry had not heard that sound since before Dumbledore died, when the pizza delivery man arrived. Dobby jumped into the air as well, and looked at his master for instructions. Harry stood up abruptly and reached out his arm. His wand, stored in a drawer in the bedroom, shot out of its confines at Harry's call.
"Don't answer it," Harry whispered to Dobby. Probably someone at the wrong door, he figured. If he stayed quiet, the person would go away. But the next sound shocked Harry even more.
"It's us, Harry," Ron proclaimed loudly, "We're coming in." Harry heard a muffled "alohomora" and the clicking of the lock, and before he had a chance to react, the door opened, and his three best friends marched through, closing the door behind them. Dressed in typical muggle clothing, blue jeans, sweaters and scarves, they each carried a small rucksack, magically enhanced to carry most of their belongings.
Harry's wand reached his hand just as his friends entered the flat, and he stood frozen to the floor. None of the four of them smiled, and for several moments a nervous silence fell on the room. Harry noticed that his wand pointed at the intruders, and he immediately lowered it.
Finally a clearly enraged Harry turned towards Dobby and angrily spat, "I ORDERED YOU NOT TO TELL THEM."
Before the cowering elf could defend himself, Hermione shouted, "HE DIDN'T TELL US, Harry. We found you ourselves. Dumbledore's portrait remembered enough to put us in the general area, and then we were able to figure out the rest. Dobby didn't do anything wrong."
Harry directed his glare away from the elf and towards his friends.
"You shouldn't have come," he muttered, turning away from his friends and moving the four steps to the window, his wand trembling in his right hand, "I asked you not to come. I TOLD you not to come." He pulled the curtain back a few inches and examined the activities on the street three stories below.
"Would that have stopped you if it was one of us in your shoes?" Ron responded. They all knew the answer.
"Well, you're here," Harry stated simply, still refusing to make eye contact, "What do you want?" Their friend's welcome could hardly be termed heartwarming.
"We want you to let us help you," Ginny replied just as simply. Harry still resembled the Benjamin Duval photo, without the sunglasses and cape. His cheek bones seemed to protrude even farther, his hair had grown longer than ever, well below his neck, and his face was haunting in its gauntness and the several day's growth of his beard. He had lost a lot of weight, and the black t-shirt he wore, which they had seen him wear dozens of times before, hung off his shoulders like a bed sheet. Given the cool weather, he had pulled on a pair of black sweat pants earlier that morning, but only wore white socks on his feet..
"Thanks. I appreciate it. I really do. But there is nothing you can do. You can't stay here. I'm too dangerous." Harry had become so non-verbal in recent times that he seemingly could not form a sentence more than a few words long. He continued to look out the window.
"We're not leaving, Harry," Hermione declared with finality, taking a few steps towards her friend, "Maybe you're right. Maybe there is nothing we can do. But we're not going to leave you." Harry continued to stare out the window, not reacting to her words, so she took another couple steps across the tiny sitting room, now only a few feet away from him. "You've done so much for us, so much for the whole world. It's time you let us do something for you."
Harry dropped his head, but he would not turn around. Deep inside of him, he could not avoid feeling relief and joy that his friends had found him, but at the same time their presence terrified him. Suddenly all the muscles in his body tensed. Hermione gently touched his left arm, just below the sleeve of his shirt, and gingerly pulled on it to turn him around. Voldemort immediately reacted, rushing though Harry's body in a state of panic.
"KILL HER!" the disembodied voice filled Harry's mind, "KILL THEM ALL." Harry felt a surge of power rush into his wand arm, seemingly beyond his control.
"MOVE!" Harry yelled, and Hermione jumped back a step. She saw his body tremble and his arm jerk up and down, and she and her friends shook in fear. Harry held the wand in his violently shaking hand, and they knew all too well what he could do with it. Inside his body, he felt the rage surge, trying to overwhelm his resistance. Kill them, it demanded again, They must die. His wand arm shook uncontrollably, until suddenly he turned towards Dobby, observing from the kitchen. Harry lifted his wand, and Hermione and the others started to duck, but then she saw Harry throw the wand as hard as he could at Dobby, who immediately raised his hand to slow the speed of the projectile. The elf caught it easily a second later.
"GET IT AWAY FROM ME!" Harry ordered, terror in his voice from the realization of the crime he had almost committed. He closed his eyes, stood up straight, and breathed in deeply several times, finally bringing Voldemort's spirit under control. His three friends continued to shake from the realization that their friend came close to attacking them. None of the four moved a muscle for half a minute. Harry succeeded in breathing more regularly, resting his head against the wall next to the window.
Hermione fretted that she had almost caused a catastrophe with her first attempt to reach out to her friend. Now, however, he no longer held his wand and seemed to have calmed down. She needed to show him that they would not leave, that no matter what, they would not abandon him. She inhaled a deep breath before taking the two steps towards Harry, whose eyes remained closed. Her hand reached out, trembling noticeably, touching his left arm again.
Harry did not resist and moved haltingly to face his friend. Though her heart pounded in her chest, she slid her arms between Harry's and edged her torso next to his. It took a long time to complete the process, but finally Hermione succeeded in embracing her best friend, wrapping her arms across his back, but not squeezing them. Initially Harry did not respond, but eventually he allowed nature to take its course, and he rested his arms gently on the girl's back. He appreciated Hermione's bravery, for he could feel her anxiety.
"Don't worry," he whispered, "I'm OK right now. I'm in control." Hermione took that as a invitation to tighten the embrace, and the two friends readjusted their arms and gently squeezed each other. He could feel her relax little by little, and then her chest slightly trembled, and Harry realized that Hermione was crying. A moment later she audibly sobbed, the emotion of the moment and of the last months overcoming her.
That set off Ginny, who with tears streaming from her eyes approached Harry. Hermione continued to cry quietly into Harry's shoulder, but as Ginny approached, Harry released his left arm and moved the older girl to his right side. He invited Ginny to come near with his free arm. The red head silently accepted the invitation, and in a moment, both of the girls embraced him. Ron stood back observing. Harry and his eyes met, and Ron could see the hollowness. Perhaps the emotion of the two females moved him, but it could not penetrate far. Harry's heart and soul remained little affected. He shed no tears.
After embracing their friend for a long time, the two girls released their hold and wiped the remaining wetness from their cheeks.
"Sorry, Harry," Ginny murmured, "but it's been so hard to find you, and we've been worried sick. We thought you might . . ." She could not finish the sentence.
"You thought I might kill myself," Harry offered coldly, completing the thought, "If it wasn't for Dobby here, I would have." They all gazed at the embarrassed house elf until Harry added, "I wish he hadn't stopped me." The words had the effect of a bucket of ice water to the faces of his friends.
"That's why we're here, Harry," Hermione explained, "While you're still alive, there's hope. But you need us. You've always needed us just as we've always needed you. If you throw us out, then there will be no hope. I know you're not happy that we found you, but we just couldn't let you do it without even trying to help you. Can't you understand?"
"I understand. Maybe you're right, but I'm afraid that I'll hurt you. Or worse. Voldemort lies low for a while, and then suddenly he surfaces, and I can barely control him. It's a constant war, and it requires all my concentration. You need to be extremely careful around me." Harry seemed exhausted from the effort to suppress Voldemort, and his shoulders hunched forward.
"We know," Ron explained, "We know that you are not the same Harry Potter we knew before it happened. But deep down, you're still there, and we're going to do whatever we can to help that person find his way back."
Harry stepped wearily to the sofa in the small sitting room, now cramped with his three guests, and threw himself onto it, lying down on his back with his arms behind his head. He often found himself in this position, usually with his eyes closed. In this instance, however, his eyes stared emotionlessly at the white ceiling. Several moments passed. His friends expected Harry to respond to Ron and Hermione's remarks, but soon it became clear that he had no intention of speaking. The others glanced at each other, confused by Harry's actions. While they indeed were his best friends and the normal niceties of civilized society could be relaxed, his behavior could only be characterized as rude. The three of them had only just arrived, and already he was virtually ignoring them.
Dobby came to the rescue, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
"Dobby wanted Harry Potter's friends to come, but Harry Potter would not allow it. Harry Potter is afraid that he will hurt his friends, but Dobby will not allow it. Can Dobby cook breakfast for Harry Potter's friends?" The friends gave thanks that the subject had been changed.
"No thank you, Dobby," Hermione responded kindly, "We ate at Hogwarts, though to tell you the truth, I didn't eat much. Maybe you could prepare a snack for us?" Hermione did not feel the least bit hungry, but they all wanted some activity to distract from Harry's distant attitude. He continued to lie on the sofa apparently disinterested.
"Oh yes, Harry's Granger. Dobby is happy to have something to do." The elf could barely keep one foot on the ground. At last, hope existed that Harry could be saved. He rushed back to the small kitchen.
"Let me help you, Dobby," Ginny offered, happy for the opportunity to busy her hands during these uncomfortable moments.
This left Ron and Hermione standing stupidly in the tiny sitting room of the flat. They stood motionless for several moments, unsure of what they should do, when finally Harry spoke in a flat voice
"If you're going to stay, make yourself comfortable. Sit down."
His friends accepted this small indication of acceptance, however reluctantly given. Hermione sat in Dumbledore's favorite chair while Ron pulled a chair from the kitchen. Harry continued studying the ceiling but glanced once or twice as the others situated themselves.
Once they seated themselves, another uncomfortable silence ensued, until finally Harry quietly asked, "What's been happening? At Hogwarts."
And so Harry renewed his relations with Ron, Hermione and Ginny. Mostly, his three friends did the talking, informing him of the latest events at the school. An abbreviated quidditch season had been arranged, though it would not count as an "official" season, Ron explained. No house cup would be awarded this year, though teachers still awarded or subtracted points to each house out of habit. Hagrid was doing fine but cried every time he saw one of them because he would think about Harry. Harry feigned disinterest, but occasionally he interjected a question, and his friends knew that he was listening. It was a start.
By the end of the afternoon, the three uninvited guests became antsy. They had not done anything all day, which apparently was exactly what Harry did (or did not do) every day. Logistics needed to be discussed, and finally Hermione broached the subject.
"Harry, we were thinking that it might be hard for all of us to stay here. This flat is pretty small for the five of us." Harry stood by the window listening but not acknowledging her. "Wouldn't it be better to return to Grimmauld Place? There would be a lot more room there, and it would be more comfortable."
The young man by the window continued to study the street below him, giving no hint that he had heard her. Hermione wondered if she should try again, or wait until later, but finally Harry turned towards them, anger in his eyes.
"I didn't ask you to come here. In fact, I specifically told you NOT to come. You can go wherever you want, but I'm staying right here." He stared menacingly at Hermione and then Ginny. "You really don't understand, do you? You really don't know how dangerous I am. I could kill all three of you right now. He wants me to. Why do you think I'm lying around here all day, barely saying a word? I have to concentrate all the time to control him. He's afraid now. He left me alone for awhile, but now that you three are here, he's worried. Sooner or later, he's going to try to force me to kill you." His green eyes glowed with intensity, and his hands trembled.
His friends shuddered at the outburst, but they previously warned themselves to remain strong. Ginny did her best to appear calm.
"I'm not afraid of you, Harry . . ." She did not have the chance to finish her thought.
"YOU SHOULD BE! YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND! YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND! YOU MUST FEAR ME!" Harry's body shook as he yelled.
"We do, Harry, we do," Hermione insisted, "and we will be careful. But we've been in a lot of dangerous situations, haven't we? At the Ministry, in the mountains, at Godric's Hollow. We are brave, Harry. We are Gryffindors!"
"We understand more than you think," Ron added, "Have you looked at yourself? There's danger written all over you. But we're not leaving! We'll stay here. We just thought it would be more comfortable at your house."
"Safety is more important than comfort," Harry countered softly, having regained his composure, "Other people can go to Grimmauld. All of your family. Remus. I can't handle that. I can barely handle you three."
Hermione jumped forward and surveyed the sitting room.
"Right. We'll stay here tonight. When you're ready, we can move. Harry will sleep in his bedroom, and Dobby sleeps there too. I assume you don't want any of us in there with you, right? So I'll transfigure the sofa and a couple of other things into beds, and we'll sleep out here. You're right. Safety is more important."
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Living with Harry Potter was no picnic. Enemy number one: boredom. Harry did virtually nothing all day long. This would not have been so bad if he participated in their conversations, but usually he paid his friends little or no attention, completely withdrawn in his constant effort to control Voldemort's spirit. He did not even like watching the television, and though he did not object when Ron or Ginny turned it on, they realized that the noise bothered him. The TV usually remained off.
Enemy number two: tension. After his explosion on that first day, Ron and the girls tried to choose their words carefully. Inevitably, other explosions followed.
On the fourth day, the three friends' boredom reached dire levels, such that Ron gently suggested, "Harry, why don't we go outside for a bit. Get some fresh air. We can stay right around the flat."
In response to this innocuous statement, Harry's eyes widened in fury, "YOU CAN GO ANYWHERE YOU WANT. I DIDN'T ASK YOU TO COME. I CAN'T GO ANYWHERE."
Fortunately Harry always calmed down immediately after his explosions, but his friends remained constantly on edge. Moreover, conversations among the three of them had to be limited due to Harry's constant presence. Only after their friend retired to his bedroom late at night, or during his lengthy showers, could they whisper their thoughts freely.
Their late night discussions focused on enemy number three: uselessness. They felt that their presence served no purpose. True, Harry had not kicked them out, but he hardly paid them any attention. No attempt had been made to deal with Voldemort's spirit, the real problem. Finding Harry certainly had been a tremendous accomplishment, but would it result in a wasted effort? Would Harry end up killing himself despite their intervention?
Finally after several days, the three huddled together late one night to reconsider the situation. They had showered, put on their night clothes, and completed the nightly ritual of converting the furniture into beds, which covered virtually the entire floor space of the sitting room. First thing in the morning, they would reverse the process.
"Harry wants us to be here," Hermione concluded, still drying her hair with a towel, "because he hasn't asked us to leave. Or he could leave himself if he wanted. Go to some mountaintop somewhere."
"But he barely responds to us," Ginny countered with frustration, "Every time we try to get him talking about trying to solve his problem, he either ignores us or blows up. We're all cooped up in this tiny flat, and I'm going crazy." She wrapped her arms around her knees, pulling them to her chest as her back rested against the wall.
Ron allowed the two girls to go back and forth before he finally intervened, "Look. We've been expecting too much of Harry. I think we thought that we'd just barge in, hug him a few times, and somehow Voldemort would die. Now we know it's not that easy. We're in this for the long haul. Let's lower our goals, take baby steps."
The girls nodded silently, and for the next hour they discussed a new strategy. Over the next weeks, they progressed slowly, but they did progress. Most importantly, they put no pressure on Harry, not initiating conversations or making demands. As a result occasionally, three or four times per day at first, Harry would ask a question. This led to a brief conversation of no more than five minutes. They spoke of the mundane. None of them mentioned anything to do with Voldemort or Harry's predicament. After a week of this, the quantity and quality of the conversations increased, and everyone relaxed.
In order to relieve their boredom and cabin fever, they took turns leaving the flat for several hours at a time. This allowed them a chance to decompress their brains from the constant pressure of Harry's presence. At first Harry objected, concerned that they would betray his privacy, but after many promises, he relented with a warning.
"You will not want to see what happens if you bring someone else here." They knew that Harry did not make idle threats.
By March the pattern had been established, and Harry's mates patiently followed the plan, trusting that sooner or later a breakthrough would occur. The tension in the flat continued to decrease, and Harry seemed slightly more at ease. Certainly he talked more often and freely, for as long as an hour before he felt the need to withdraw.
Finally Harry himself raised the subject that the three companions had studiously avoided. With Ron absent while on his break, Hermione and Ginny sat in the sitting room reading while Harry occupied his accustomed spot by the window, as usual wearing his black sweats and t-shirt.
Without turning to face the girls, he broke a lengthy silence by asking, "What am I going to do? I can't live like this forever, can I? But he's still there."
Hermione and Ginny glanced at each other in shock, but they determined to make the most of this opportunity.
"We don't know, Harry," Hermione softly answered, "but you've just taken the first step. When you feel that you're ready, then maybe we can discuss our options. We haven't wanted to pressure you."
"I know I've been terrible to live with. I'm just so scared. I look out on the street and see all those people. Maybe I could go out there, I tell myself, but he's still here." Harry pointed to his chest. "He's still inside of me. I can't take that chance."
"We understand," Ginny assured him, "but you can't stay in this flat forever. Sooner or later you'll have to step out that door. Maybe at first we can go to the country or the mountains where nobody is around. You haven't left these walls for more than a month." Harry continued his examination of the street below. He desperately wanted to leave this flat and become a person again. The girls knew not to speak.
Sooner or later Harry would respond, and in fact after a minute he whispered, "Maybe that's a good idea."
Excitement coursed through the veins of Hermione and Ginny, but they carefully avoided any expression of enthusiasm.
"Would you like to go today or tomorrow?" Hermione asked casually.
"Ron's not here. When he gets back, we can go." The young wizard finally turned to face his friends. "I haven't said 'thank you' to you. I don't know what I would have done if . . ." His chin dropped to his chest.
Ginny and Hermione exchanged glances again and nonverbally agreed. They stood up and approached Harry, and for the first time since that first day, they embraced him. This time Harry wanted them to, and he wrapped one arm around each of them, pulling the two girls tight to his skeletal body.
"We'll have a picnic, Harry. Does that sound all right?" Ginny suggested.
"Sounds nice," he whispered. The three of them held each other for a long time.