Harry woke with a pounding headache. He looked around him—complete and utter darkness. That was just how he liked it. He felt for his glasses and put them on. Of course, his vision wasn't much better as it was still dark. His eyes adjusted fairly quickly—after living in dungeons for years they didn't really have a choice—and he could make out faint outlines of furniture. It seemed that he was on a couch somewhere—but where, exactly? Harry wished that his head would stop pounding. He pressed his cool hand to his forehead to dull the pain, and once his head cleared he remembered—he was at the Weasley's. Slowly, painfully, Harry rose from the couch and haded toward the cabinet. He was surprised that he still remembered where all the things were kept. He grabbed a headache potion and downed a bit of it. Instantly he felt his head stop throbbing and he sighed in grateful relief.
"Feel better?" said a voice. Harry swiveled around, startled, and then relaxed when he saw it was only little Ginny standing there.
"Yeah, thanks," Harry said, putting the potion bottle back in the cabinet. "What are you doing up? It has to be at least midnight.
"Checking on you—making sure, you know, you aren't dead or anything," Ginny said. Although she said it carelessly, Harry was puzzled to find slight concern beneath the surface.
"Oh, right. Thanks. I'm fine now. What, what happened?" Harry asked. All he could remember was the Sirius had shown up and then he'd blacked out. Harry winced at the memory, and Ginny looked uncomfortable.
"Well," she started, "You went unconcious and got a really high fever. We brought your fever down and decided to let you sleep. I guess you don't remember anything." Harry detected both relief and slight disappointment flitter across her face for one brief moment—he wondered what he could have done when he was so dizzy with sick that he didn't remember anything at all. He was amazed that emotional distress could send the body into such physical turmoil.
"No, I don't remember anything," Harry answered. Ginny nodded and headed back upstairs. Harry was about to let her go when suddenly, hesitantly, he asked, "Um, Gin?" he realized he was using her nickname, a right he had let die along with his parents, but he didn't care. She seemed surprised, but said nothing, merely turned around. "Where's…where're Sirius and Remus?" Her face fell.
"Oh…Harry, I don't think you're ready to see them--," she started, but Harry cut her off.
"I think I'll be the judge of when I'm ready and when I'm not. You don't even know me—where are they?" Harry snapped. Gin looked at him with ice cold eyes. Of course he hadn't changed. How could she think he might be different than before, might have a better heart?
"They're up at the flat they share in London. Don't go barging in at midnight. I'm sure they'll come by tomorrow. Good night." With that, she turned on her heel and went to her room upstairs. Harry went back to his couch. He knew he had made her mad, and, for some odd reason, he kind of felt bad about it. He frowned, irritated. Where had this sudden conscience come from—moreover, where had this consciousness come from? He had felt, since his parents had left, like he was in a kind of a coma—sure, his body was performing operations, but he never really felt like he was doing them. He was too numb. He wasn't sure he liked this new way of actually feeling and being and doing. He lay back down on the couch and closed his eyes. He knew Ginny was right—Sirius and Remus would come by the next day. His past had finally caught up with him.
Harry thought of everything. His parents, Rose, Sirius and Remus, the Weasleys, the Order. His stomach flipped over. He had betrayed them all. He hadn't given them a second thought, blinded by his lack of emotion. He had betrayed all he loved. He ran to the bathroom and threw up the meager contents of his belly. He sunk to his knees as his legs shook. He put his head in his hands, curled up into a little ball and cried for the first time in years. Finally, he understood what had happened, what he had done and who he had become. He was The Snake, but he didn't want to be. Not anymore. He wanted desperately to go back in time and be Harry Potter again. To make better decisions after his parents had died. To have a stronger heart. He couldn't believe himself, and was now absolutely beside himself with grief—not only for his parents, for whom he had never properly grieved, but for the friends and family he had lost with his betrayal. For the life that he could have lived, he cried.
What felt like hours later, he peeled himself from the bathroom floor and laid on the couch, never to know that Ginny had been standing on the stairs the entire time and then snuck up to bed when his breathing finally evened out.
"Sirius, why did you explode that way?" Remus asked Sirius when they returned to their flat after coming home from the Weasley's. Sirius was still mad, but he had calmed down considerably. Being mad at that jet-black hair and those green eyes had been easy all those years, but once he saw them filed with pain, the matter had suddenly become a little different.
"Well, I just can't believe they'd invite him in so fast! God, Remus, he as good as killed Dumbledore!" Sirius said, exasperated, though he wsn't really sure how he felt about him anymore. When he had seen Harry, he hadn't seen The Snake, the man he had hated for years, but rather the little boy he had once known and loved like a son. It made Sirius wonder what had really gone wrong—if anything had gone wrong. Had he been under Imperius? He couldn't be sure.
"I know, I know, but Sirius, they were going to kill him if something wasn't done. He's wanted by Voldemort, the Ministry and the Order. Making quick amends was the only way he could survive. I think what Minerva did was merciful. He would have died, Sirius. Did you know that? No. You cut out of the meeting too quickly to have known," Remus said, mad. Blood drained from Sirius' face.
"What? What do you mean?"
"Harry saved Rose and Ginny when they were imprisoned in Voldemort's lair this morning. He stunned his own master and took off with them. When he got there he told the girls to leave him there for dead, but they wouldn't have that—you know them. They couldn't just leave him there to be slaughtered. They took him back to the house and Minerva had little choice. Would you have let him be killed after he saved those two?" Remus demanded. Sirius slowly shook his head. Snake or not, it was still Harry, and he couldn't imagine just leaving his Godson on his doorstep to die after doing a good deed. "You made him physically ill, Sirius. Obviously, he's trying to repent."
"He'll have to do a damn lot of repenting," Sirius snapped. Harry or not, he was the Snake. He had murdered hundreds with his plans of mass destruction.
"I know. I know. But he's obviously a genius, Sirius. We need him on our side. If he stays on Voldemort's side, Sirius, I hate to say it, but then we're fighting a losing battle. He could be our key against Voldemort," Remus said rationally. Sirius shook his head in frustration. He understood what Remus was saying, but he didn't particularly want to believe him. "We'll go back tomorrow—hopefully he'll be ready to see us."
"Ready or not, here I come," Sirius growled. Remus shook his head and Sirius heard his footfalls retreat to his own bedroom. Sirius felt a sharp pang through his heart. He didn't know what to do—what Lily and James would have done. Grudgingly, he knew the answer. They would, slowly but surely, forgive their son. They'd still love him. Sirius was loathe to admit that he had to do the same.
Harry woke up the next morning to the sounds of Mrs. Weasley frying bacon in a pan. Slowly, groggily, he got up. Mrs. Weasley spotted him and smiled.
"Oh, good morning, dearie," she said cheerfully. "Feeling better?" Harry nodded.
"Do you need any help?" Harry asked. Mrs. Weasley's smile only got brighter.
"If you wouldn't mind setting the table, that would be wonderful," she replied. Harry went to the cabinets and got out plates, cups and other breakfast utensils for all six Weasleys and two Potters that were present. When he finished the Weasleys all started to filter down the stairs. The boys gave him glares, to which he just looked the other way—he could sense their surprise. The Snake would have given them glare for glare, but this, this wasn't the Snake. This was Harry.
Harry sat down and ate quietly while the Weasleys spoke with subdued animation—it was obvious that, because of Harry's prescence they were reluctant to let their true feelings show through. With a pit in his stomach, Harry realized he couldn't blame them. Ginny cleared her throat.
"So, you guys, I was thinking about going up to play Quidditch later. What do you say?" she asked cheerfully. Befuddled, the boys gave their nods of agreement and murmurs of "we'll beat the heck out of you, but sure, why not". "Mom, do we have a broom Harry could borrow?" she asked. Her brother's stared at her as her Mom looked thoughtful.
"Actually, I think we have Harry's old broom up with the rest of his old things in the attic. If you want to go run and grab it, then Harry could play if he wanted to," Mrs. Weasley replied genially. Ginny turned to Harry.
"What do you think, Harry?" Ginny asked. Harry looked down at his plate of food. Quidditch? God, he hadn't played Quidditch in so long…he could barely remember when his Father used to take him out to teach him how to play. He could barely recall those times when he and James would play against Sirius and Remus.
"Yeah," he said quietly, almost inaudibly. "Yeah, I'd really like that."
About a half an hour later, after they had fought with the banshee for Harry's broom, the whole of the Weasley children that were home and Harry and Rose were out in the woods on the Weasley's makeshift Quidditch pitch.
"All right you lot," George said. "My team is me, Fred and Ron, and your team is Ginny, Rose, and the Snake. Ron's Keeper for our team, I'm beater and seeker, and Fred's the chaser."
"And I'll be the chaser, Rose can be keeper, and Harry," Ginny said, putting emphasis on his name for George to hear, "will be the beater and the seeker."
"Whatever," George mumbled. "All right," he said aloud. "On your marks…get set…go!"
With that directive, they all kicked off form the ground. Harry rose with ease—he had always been a natural on the broom—and he marveled at the feeling. Working for Voldemort hadn't allowed time for flying on brooms. He was shocked at how much he missed it, how much he yearned for this feeling of unadulterated freedom. Wind whipping across his face, he raced across the field, completely unaware that a smile was plastered onto him.
"Harry!" Ginny called out, "Watch out!" Suddenly pulled out of his reverie, Harry opened his eyes to see a bludger headed right toward him. Instinctively he raised the club and whacked the ball out of his vicinity. His eyes narrowed at George, who had sent it right for him. Instantly he felt his alter ego seeping through him, and no matter how hard he tried to resist, he felt his body reacting to the constant exercises he'd been put through for the past few years. Threat, his body sang out. Destroy the threat. He set off after the bludger and hit it back to George. Surprised, George threw it back at him, and Harry sent it spiraling down his way again as they began a screwed up game of tennis. The other Weasley's were hollering for them to stop. When the bludger glanced off George's shoulder and nearly threw him off his broom, he threw his hands up in defeat, his eyes wide as he looked right into Harry's wild expression. They landed.
"Don't you ever," Harry shouted at him, "ever threaten me like that again!"
"Dude, it's a game," George said, bewildered. "I'm supposed to throw the bludger at you." Harry paled. He hadn't realized. He'd forgotten. He'd allowed himself to be taken over by the threat of it.
"I'm sorry," Harry said. He couldn't be sure now what the Weasley's were more shocked at—his sudden attack on George or his apology. He could bet that they were more surprised at the apology. "I…I guess I've forgotten…how to play." With that Harry dropped his broom and ran.
"Harry, wait!" Ginny called, and started after him, but her brothers caught her arms.
"Don't, Gin. We know what he's capable of—we don't want to see you hurt," Ron said tentatively. Ginny wrenched herself away from them.
"You might know what he's capable of, but I know what he's not capable of, and I know that includes hurting me!" Ginny said and then stormed off angrily. Rose shook her head.
"I'm sorry. I never thought—never could have guessed," she began, a bit choked up. Fred hugged her in a comforting manner.
"It's ok; we don't blame you Rose. If it had been George, I wouldn't have believed it either. Wouldn't want to have believed it," he said. George nodded in agreement, and Ron reluctantly conceded as well. "However," Fred said. "We do have to do something about him. We can't keep him here, Rose. He could kill us all in our sleep." Rose, nodded, tears streaming down her face as she finally realized what a real danger her big brother was. "So. Here's the plan…"
Ginny rushed down the forest's edge, furious, when she caught sight of Harry. She stopped, contemplating going the other direction, when she saw the expression on his face. He looked far older than he really was—he looked maybe forty or fifty in that moment. He looked like a man who had seen many horrors and regretted each and every sighting. He lay on his back, looking up at the sky, and sighed. Ginny crossed the grass that lied between them, and sat down next to him.
"What are you thinking?" Ginny asked, looking straight ahead.
"That I wish things could have turned out differently. Not just back there. But just…life in general. How it turned out," he said. Ginny looked at him, a bit surprised.
"But you…" she started, but Harry interrupted her.
"I never meant to become a monster. I never meant to side with that bastard. I was caught in a few very weak moments that collapsed my entire life," Harry plucked a daisy from the ground and twirled it around, examining it. "It's like the Roman Empire. There were just a few weak spots here and there, and when invasion struck, well, that was their Achilles' heel. They succumbed to darkness, as did I."
"But you did save Rose and me," Ginny generously pointed out, confused by his mood. Here was the Snake, evil by all accounts, a murderer. Yet, there was just something about him that made it so he could not at all be completely evil. He chuckled darkly.
"Yes, I did, didn't I? But one good deed doesn't make up for a lifetime of sin," he said, and after that the two sat in silence, contemplating the truth to those words. He lay down, looking up at the sky. "Thank you for listening." Ginny lay down as well.
"You're welcome. Harry, you don't have to keep everything bottled up inside all the time. I think that's what hurt you in the first place. You had plenty of people who loved you, who cared about you. They could have helped you," Ginny said. Harry sighed.
"I know. I just didn't see it. My own self-absorption was my demise," he said. He turned his head to look at Ginny. "I didn't see that I had a wonderful sister who loved me dearly. I didn't see that I had a Godfather and an 'Uncle' ready to pull me into their arms and tell me it was going to be ok. I didn't see that I had great friends here, willing to help pull me out of the mess I'd made." He took Ginny's hand and she looked at him, not really shocked, more contemplative, a little questioning. "Thank you for helping me see that—even if it is too late."
"It's never too late for redemption, Harry," Ginny said.
"Would you say the same thing to Voldemort, Hitler, or Stalin?" Harry asked. Ginny looked away. "That's what I thought. I'm just as bad, Ginny. No matter what I feel now. I cannot undo what I have done. I cannot reinvent myself."
"I wish you could," Ginny said quietly. Harry turned her face towards his.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because. I could have loved you very much," she said factually. Harry kissed her.
"And you don't now?" he remarked.
"Maybe," she whispered.
Harry played with one of Ginny's curls gently. He looked into her gray eyes. Guarded, and yet within them there was a fiery passion. Was it lust? Was it love? Harry couldn't be sure.
"You deserve more than this. More than me." Harry stated finally, not taking his eyes off of hers.
"Is it really your right for you to decide what is best for me and what is not?" Ginny demanded. Harry grabbed her about the waist.
"It damn well is—I love you Ginny," he said fiercly. Ginny didn't even so much as flinch.
"That's good to know, I suppose," she said almost sarcastically. Harry enveloped her mouth with his own.
"Do you trust me?" he asked. Ginny shook her head.
"No," she said.
"Good," Harry said, and wrapped her in a passionate kiss once more.