What Else Can We Do?
Part 1:
The Dreamers
Chapter 6:
'And I have known the eyes already, known them all –
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?'
-'The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock' by T.S. Elliot
It was eerie how long Hermione sat there staring at him. Harry couldn't help the uncomfortable feeling that she was measuring him up in some way, though her expression betrayed nothing of what she'd decided on. Somehow, he'd gotten sucked into staring back at her and the oddly competitive side of him refused to back down first. He really did want to look away, but he couldn't, not now, not when the hunger made it impossible. It weirded Harry out a bit that his mouth watered when he suddenly thought of what it would be like to kiss her. What it would be like to run his hands over her body, and to feel her warmth and know her smell, of which he had had tantalising hints of due to her proximity.
'Can I kiss you?' she asked without any preamble, her expression no longer calculating but questioning, almost concerned.
He frowned.
'Or could Ron? I can call him back,' she offered, even though she knew that Ron had gone to fetch Aberforth quite some time ago.
Harry shook his head at that. 'That'd just be . . . odd,' he finally said.
'So?'
He nodded reluctantly, warily watching her as she came closer, nervous and feeling ready to bolt. His kisses with Cho suddenly seemed very far away, so much so it was like they had happened to someone else. He very nearly moved away from Hermione then, not caring if that made him a coward, but the hunger raised its ugly head again. The hesitation meant he missed his chance to escape.
She kissed him, awkward and chaste at first, until he felt her hand in his hair, another at the back of his neck. The touch was gentle, but it seemed to overwhelm him, so much so he deepened the kiss to get away from it, to distract himself with something else.
He'd been trying not to imagine what it'd be like to kiss her, but he had anyway, slipping into daydreams before he knew it. And now that he was kissing her, it was strangely anticlimactic, but at the same time it was different from what he'd expected in a surprising way. A good way. He'd imagined it being too weird to be passionate, that he'd be counting down the seconds until he was free, but Hermione seemed to melt into their embrace, committing to this necessity with an enthusiasm he would never have thought he could ever inspire in her. There was no question of not reacting to that intensity when it was so openly expressed, when it was an honour so kindly bestowed.
But what if it's Ron she's imagining behind those closed eyes? a traitorous thought whispered before it was drowned out by sensation.
A cough startled them into disentangling themselves from one another, blushing furiously. Looking everywhere but at Ron and Aberforth's faces, Harry realised belatedly, dazedly that the hunger had abated somewhat, becoming an ache instead of a feeling of hollowness. Relief swept through him, making him feel almost giddy.
And that was the only reason he forgave Hermione for her smug excuse of 'giving Harry his breakfast' and Ron's awful attempt to cover his snort of laughter with cough.
Harry was satisfied to see the old man was still royally pissed off after their argument. A pinch from Hermione wiped the smile off Harry's face and he schooled his expression to disdainful instead. It was the best he could do when Aberforth was concerned and the dirty look Ron tried to give him wouldn't convince him otherwise.
'So what is it that you wish to discuss?' Aberforth started stiffly, crossing his arms. It seemed most of the old man's ire was for him, a fact Harry relished in as much as he did the magnificent scowl he was getting.
'We'd like to know about the mission,' Hermione replied, taking Harry's hand as she said it. His eyes flickered down to them, not liking how bewildered he felt by the action, or how humbled. He wished that this wasn't all so confusing. He could do with a dose of simple right about now.
'Wait,' Harry said abruptly as a thought struck him. 'I'd like to ask you something first before this deteriorates into something horrible as it no doubt will.' Aberforth spluttered and looked ready to either throttle Harry or curse him. Hermione squeezed Harry's hand warningly. 'I know that you said our future selves gave up on us and thought damning us a better option, but why the hell did you go along with it?'
'Harry, this isn't helping -' Hermione cut in, but he charged on anyway. The way the rage sparked and rode through him demanded nothing less.
'Who are you to decide that we would make the same mistakes as your time did? You could have done so much else,' Harry ignored Hermione's sigh at his side and Ron throwing his hands up in defeat, all of his attention on Aberforth. 'You could've warned us and changed the future that way. Anything but this . . . I think you made a fucking poor call on this one, sir.'
'Think what you will,' Aberforth replied coldly. 'It was not I who decided on implementing this plan. It was you. The Harry I knew. What I think doesn't matter.'
Harry snorted derisively at that. 'You say that as if that doesn't make you accountable.'
'Fine,' Aberforth bit out, pale and stony faced. 'By Merlin, you are an ungrateful little shit. I didn't give up everything to stand judged and be found lacking by a child who knows nothing. But I see that you don't care about anyone but yourself. If you won't listen to me, then see for yourself the fate we saved you from.' Aberforth withdrew his crystal ball from its pocket and tapped with his wand, scaring Harry with his dark eyes. The hologram memory flickered to life around them, putting them in the middle of a battlefield. Harry froze when he saw an older version of himself, wearing glasses and still scarred. That Harry slashed his wand down, a lethal-looking curse leaving its tip, his eyes blood red. Ron and Hermione were in the memory too, and they were fighting for their lives.
They were fighting Harry.
There was a madness in that Harry that made Hermione cry along with her older self, her hand over her mouth, horrified. Ron was at her side then, gripping her shoulders, his expression deeply sad as it watched their battle, one that would no longer happen. Harry was silent when Aberforth cut the memory off before they saw its end.
'That Harry . . .' Aberforth said quietly, 'who was the best man I knew, entrusted me with a desperate mission he could not realise. He made me promise to take his place before he was consumed by the soul shard hidden behind that lightning bolt scar of his. That shard was Voldemort's horcrux. He became an extension of the Dark Lord when it consumed him. He knew it was too late for him. But not for you. You could have the horcrux burnt out of you by the Change still.'
Harry felt like he was on auto-pilot, one line of the prophecy replaying in his head like a jack-in-the-box: . . . and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal . . . and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal. He found himself asking softly, detached, 'Why you? Why not -'
'My brother?' Aberforth asked contemptuously. 'He died. Long before everything went to shit. He was the lucky bastard in the end. No, it was me because there wasn't anyone else left.'
Harry fell silent and something deep in him seemed to crumble.
'What happened to . . . to us?' Hermione asked quietly.
'You died,' Aberforth answered. 'And you took him down with you.'