Chapter Twelve: Hermione's Help

Two Dimensions To the Left, September 1st 1995:

After leaving Dumbledore's office, Harry ran blindly. He didn't know why he was running, nor did he care. All that mattered was getting those awful images out of his head. A pinch of fool's hope told him that if he ran far enough he could escape it. Escape the demons that this world's Harry had left behind for him. Escape the dark foreboding future that those sinister memories had spelled out for him.

He ran up stairs through corridors, ignoring the indignant cries of the portraits. Because if he ran, Quirrel's burning face would leave him. The large hissing face of the Basalisk would disappear. He wouldn't have to relive nearly losing Sirius to the Dementors, or the haunting glow of blood red eyes that were now burned into his head.

Unfortunately, his fantasy was quickly diluted, for once he had reached the stairs of the Astronomy Tower, his legs gave out. Apparently, flying on a broom was not as athletic as one might think, for his "Quidditch muscles" were now non-existent thanks to a month of no practice. And, as much as it pained Harry to admit it, he wasn't in the best of shape to begin with. Sighing, he slumped against the wall, with nothing but a hitched breath, and still-potent memories.

"What am I going to do?" he moaned to himself. "Voldemort's going to kill me…"

He thought, truly thought, about what the Headmaster had said: "Do you know that people look up to you as a beacon of hope? You carry a great responsibility on your shoulders."

Sure, Harry knew that people looked up to him; he had enjoyed that immensely…but as a sign of hope? What if he failed them? Never before had he doubted his ability to live up to the world's expectations, but then he had not seen or known of Voldemort's power. The memory duel in the courtyard had just confirmed that he could hardly hope to stand up to the Dark Lord without some kind of miracle. This was so different. In his world being the Boy-Who-Lived was an honor. He was the guy that all the girls wanted, and all the guys wanted to be. He was popular, and no one cared if he screwed up, because he killed Voldemort. But here, he was scrutinized for everything. He noticed the whispers people had directed at him. The cruel glares just waiting for him to screw up. It was horrible.

"If I can't kill Voldemort…I'll be…humiliated!" Harry mumbled to himself between breaths. "I'm the Boy-Who-Lived; I'm supposed to be able to defeat him…"

"Harry?"

Harry's head snapped up. Hermione was standing there, staring at him. "Wha…Hermione? What are you doing here?"

"I'm a Prefect," Hermione reminded him. "I was making my rounds. Some kids like to come up to the Astronomy Tower with their… dates. What are you doing here? It's after curfew. I know Professor Dumbledore wanted to talk to you, but you should have been done before now."

"I…er…w-wanted to take a walk," Harry stammered, trying to think up an excuse.

Hermione frowned. "You wanted to take a walk," she repeated slowly, "so you came up here to an out-of-the way corridor and then sat down talking to yourself?"

"Um…yeah."

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry. You may not be my Harry, but I still know you better than that. What were you really doing?" Stepping closer, Hermione raised her wand, which was glowing from the Lumos Charm, and peered at Harry. His face was white, and he wore an expression of utmost dismay and confusion, as if the very foundations of his world had been shaken. Much as he tried to hide his distress, it was painfully obvious that something was wrong.

"Harry…are you okay? What happened?" Hermione asked immediately, kneeling down next to him. "Are you sick?"

The other teen stared at her with wide, desperate eyes. "Hermione," he whispered, "how am I going to kill Voldemort?"

For a moment, the two Harrys' ceased to exist, and Hermione saw only the same scared little boy that she had first seen on the Hogwarts Express four years ago. Leaning forward, she impulsively hugged him. "Oh Harry…you don't have to kill him. Professor Dumbledore will protect you—"

"But I'm the Boy-Who-Lived," Harry interrupted. For once, he sounded unhappy rather than proud of the title. "I have to fight him. It's what people expect. Everyone knows I did it once, so they'll expect me to do it again."

"So what? It's your life, Harry. You don't have to live by the stereotype of the Boy-Who-Lived. Don't you want to be your own person?"

"Well…I don't know. I just don't know. I've only ever been the Boy-Who-Lived, that's what everyone expects. But I don't want to fight Voldemort!"

"I know," Hermione said gently, "but you're right in saying that everyone expects you to. I wish you didn't have to fight either. I wish no one had to fight. I wish he didn't come back, but you're here, right in the middle of things. You-Know-Who isn't going to give up, now that he's back."

"So what do I do? I…I don't want to…die." Harry berated himself for sounding so weak, but he couldn't help it. For the first time ever, he had to be responsible, and that was a suit that didn't fit him at all.

"Hmm…train, I suppose. Maybe you can't stand up to You-Know-Who in terms of power and knowledge, but you can at least learn to defend yourself," Hermione pointed out briskly.

"Train? You mean, like study and practice spells and stuff?" Harry queried, wrinkling his nose in disgust. Work?

"Yes. Don't look at me like that, Harry. You can't ride off your fame forever. What are you going to do after Hogwarts? Not everyone will just hand you a job because of your title."

"Ah…all right," Harry agreed reluctantly. Pausing, he hesitated for a moment before adding, for the first time in his life, "I wish I wasn't the Boy-Who-Lived."

A faint grin appeared on Hermione's face. "You aren't so different from my Harry after all."

Although he didn't know why, Harry felt a faint surge of pleasant surprise at her remark. "Er…thanks."

"You're welcome. Come on, then, you need to get back to the dorms before a teacher finds us," Hermione urged, offering him a hand. She pulled him to his feet and they started off down the corridor. Harry watched her with an admiration that he had never seen before. As they walked away, Harry vaguely wondered if his own Hermione was anything like this.