A/N: This was originally planned as two separate chapters, but I combined them together to avoid redundancy. This also marks the end of the Harry's POV storyline...enjoy!
August 31, 1998 (Harry)
Make it stop.
Harry had a splitting headache. At first he thought it was lingering side-effects from the Ritual of the Serpent, which he'd suffered for many days after the fact. But he could hear boisterous voices just outside his hut, children screaming and running about, which were the source of the irritation. Harry didn't know what time it was, but he was still exhausted, so it was probably too early for such activity.
Go shut them up.
Harry ignored this festering thought, but he did know sleep was a lost cause, so he forced himself to sit up on the cot and stretch to begin his day. After sleepily pulling on clothes and grabbing his wand, he stumbled out of the hut into the early morning light. Several children, ranging in age from around ten to fifteen, were making a racket as they expended restless energy and chased one another around the village square.
Harry spotted Hermione among them, several smaller children holding onto her arms and legs affectionately. They had all taken to her by now; despite her not speaking the so-called 'Sacred Tongue', they all doted on her and insisted on introducing her to their various pet snakes. When Hermione saw Harry approach, she greeted him with a radiant smile, which was enough to melt away the remaining vestiges of irritation and fill him with warmth.
"Morning, sleepyhead!" she greeted him, accepting a hug and a kiss on the cheek from Harry.
"Morning," said Harry. "Bit early for everyone to be playing so loud, isn't it?"
"You didn't hear?" Hermione frowned. "We're going into town today! The children need to pick up their school supplies for next year."
"Supplies?" Harry frowned. "They attend school?"
"The children attend Castelobruxo from age eleven to eighteen," explained Xoco, who approached Harry from behind, speaking in Parseltongue. "It is our one remaining connection to the outside world, to keep the village updated on modern magical theory."
"And what if the children wish to stay in the outside world?" asked Harry.
"Many do," Xoco shrugged. "Some leave forever to work abroad. Others return at an older age, bringing home husbands and wives to start families. But the village population has remained stable for centuries."
"Huh," Harry said, surprised. He saw Hermione raise a curious brow at him, and he knew she would love to hear more about this later. Or perhaps she already knew, thanks to Translating Charms and her more frequent outings into the village to interact with the locals?
Harry was content to spend his time within their small hut, resting or reading the remaining books they'd saved from Krum's collection. He wished Hermione would stay with him more often – not only for the physical pleasures of intimacy they'd recently begun exploring, but for the intellectual company. The longer he spent alone, the more he felt like a passenger in his own brain, prone to getting lost in the annals of memory or consumed by the task ahead of him. She had always been more social than him, more willing to branch out and meet new people, while Harry distrusted others and preferred the company of only a few. Excluding Ron from his already-tiny social circle had been a big blow – he couldn't afford to lose Hermione as well.
Quit being paranoid, Harry chastised himself. She's not going anywhere. He agreed to accompany the group on their shopping trip, not particularly looking forward to large crowds, but hoping for some quality time with Hermione in the magical district of Rio de Janeiro. It would also give them the opportunity to catch up on world news, which they'd been blissfully unaware of for several months. Harry's scar had begun burning again in earnest, and he was curious to find out why.
Eventually Xoco and a few other adult chaperones beckoned for the children to circle round, with Harry and Hermione in tow. They would be arriving via Ministry-sanctioned Portkey, which took the form of a rusty metal pole some six feet long. The children eagerly lined up to place a hand on the pole, with Harry and Hermione at the end, glamours in place to disguise themselves. Xoco counted them down, and at precisely ten-thirty, the Portkey whisked the small group away.
Harry's feet touched down in a narrow alley, sandwiched between two older buildings made of stone. Immediately he sensed that something was not right. Frowning, he drew his wand, turning towards the main thoroughfare, sensing Hermione doing the same to his left. They led the way forward into the magical district, sensing danger, ready for anything they might meet…
What Harry encountered in the open district center was not what he expected. It was crowded, yet deathly silent; nobody paid them any mind, all seemingly focused on something out of sight. Harry lowered his wand but kept it at the ready, quietly pushing through the crowds towards the source of the disturbance. As he drew closer, he could hear the faint sound of a distorted voice, coming from some kind of wireless device. Everyone was listening to the man's report with rapt attention, speaking in rapid Portuguese, his tone dire.
Hermione gasped and pointed at something on one of the building displays. Harry frowned at a stack of newspapers, displaying the day's headline. Harry could not understand most of the words, but he didn't have to speak the local language to understand the largest word on the page: VOLDEMORT.
Hermione grabbed a paper off the shelf; the owner of the store didn't even notice, as engrossed in the radio report as everyone else. Hermione tapped the cover with her wand, and Harry watched over her shoulder as the letters rearranged themselves into English, allowing them to read:
LORD VOLDEMORT ASSERTS POWER
The British Dark wizard known as Voldemort has moved out of the shadows to claim his rule of Great Britain and a number of other European nations. He was rumored to be behind many of the uprisings and political upheavals around the globe in recent months, and has now claimed a position of ultimate power.
"I have conquered all who could challenge my authority and assert myself as ruler of the wizarding population," Voldemort said in a statement to international press last night from the British Ministry of Magic. "My first order of business is to eradicate the Statute of Secrecy, designed to stifle wizarding authority over the inferior Muggles. I encourage witches and wizards everywhere to demonstrate your power and no longer hide in shame from what you truly are. The Muggles will come to fear and worship us once they are faced with our superior abilities and intellect."
Voldemort's rise to power has been met with enthusiastic support from many wizards and witches, and also some fierce opposition. The Dark Lord was faced with rebellions in his native country of Britain over the past year, but has largely silenced his critics and consolidated enough power to take over the Ministry and set his sights abroad.
Corban Yaxley, Britain's International Ambassador for Magic, has encouraged wizards and witches around the globe to embrace Voldemort's message of strength and unity and pressure their local governments to pledge their allegiance to the new leader. Brazil's Ministry of Magic has already pledged their support, recruiting young fighters to join Voldemort's growing army of global Peace-Keepers.
In addition, the Ministry has removed Roberto Silva, an outspoken Voldemort dissident, from his post as Headmaster of Castelobruxo. The new Headmaster, Lucas Carvalho, has promised to keep Brazil's magical children safe and "eliminate the toxic Muggle influence that has poisoned the school's culture".
Harry read with increasing dismay, knowing that it was the worst possible news. All hope for a peaceful transition of power, for a bloodless fight from the shadows, had gone out the window. Voldemort clearly felt comfortable enough coming out into the open, and was not making his blood purity agenda any kind of secret. His heart sank at the phrase "silenced his critics"...what exactly did that mean? Had Voldemort moved on members of the Order? Was there some kind of battle that the former acolytes of Dumbledore had lost? He shuddered at the thought.
He was distracted by the sound of quiet murmuring from all around them. The radio broadcast had ended, and the locals were discussing its implication in urgent, hushed tones. Hermione waved her wand to employ another Translation Charm, and they began to catch snippets of conversation and spoken fears:
"My parents are Muggles; do you think I should be worried?"
"I don't know if I want my son studying under Carvalho. Silva was a good man; it's unconscionable that he should be replaced."
"Will my wife be allowed to keep her job at the Ministry? She swears she has a magical grandmother, but we don't have the paperwork to prove it…"
Harry could only imagine how bad things were in Europe if Brazil – nearly as far geographically as one could get from Britain – was already feeling the repercussions of Voldemort's rise to power. He was grateful to be so far from the source of the danger, but was quickly realizing that there was nowhere truly safe on the planet for them to go.
That included the village they'd called home for the past month. The locals may have been receptive to them thus far, but Harry could see the looks of worry on the adults' faces as they learned the news, the curious stares of the children looking up at Harry and Hermione. Could they trust the younger ones to keep their mouths shut about the visitors to their little dwelling? Would a Voldemort supporter at Castelobruxo overhear one of them gossiping about the boy with the lightning scar whom they had been sheltering throughout the summer?
It's time to go.
"We have to get out of here," Harry muttered at once, taking Hermione's hand and steering her away.
"What? Why?" Hermione whispered in alarm. "We're disguised, and everyone is too distracted to notice us."
"For now," said Harry. "The village folk look spooked. Who's to say they won't turn us in if the safety of their children is in question?"
Hermione glanced over at the group they'd arrived with – the group she'd spent the last few weeks falling in love with – and released a heavy sigh. "Should we say goodbye?" she asked, almost wistfully.
"Too risky," Harry said, and guided Hermione roughly towards the exit. He could sense the growing paranoia of the populace here, the charged atmosphere that could cause even the most rational head to lose its cool. His instinct that something bad could happen at any moment had yet to fade.
Thankfully, Hermione did not argue, merely sending an apologetic look towards Xoco as they disappeared into the crowd. Harry led the way out of the magical district, guided only by instinct. They stopped short at a large brick wall, through which Harry could sense the boundary between the Muggle and wizarding worlds. Was this like the entrance to Diagon Alley? Did they need to tap the bricks in a particular sequence to gain passage?
"Legilimens," Harry heard Hermione whisper, and he felt her magic wash over him as she stared at the wall. She examined it for a moment, then raised her wand and swiped it in a downwards motion. The wall parted down the middle and swung forward like a set of double doors, allowing them to step forward onto the main streets of downtown Rio de Janeiro.
To Harry's dismay, the feelings of paranoia and tension did not dissipate here; if anything, they got worse. The Muggles were seemingly just as agitated as the wizards and witches, speaking in hushed tones, gathered in groups around storefronts.
Harry caught a glimpse of a television broadcasting the local Muggle news through a shop window, and his stomach turned at the sight of Voldemort sneering down at him. So the Statute of Secrecy had truly fallen after all. The Muggles were just becoming aware of the magical world around them, and the fear was palpable in the air, even moreso than in the magical district. Harry could only imagine how powerless they must feel, faced with a wizard dictator dead-set on subjecting them to mistreatment and potentially enslavement for the foreseeable future.
There was a sudden crack of Apparition, causing both Harry and Hermione to look wildly around. A man in wizard's robes had appeared in the center of the street, and for a brief moment of terror, Harry thought the Death Eaters had found them. But the man did not address them directly, instead shouting in rapid Portuguese to the gathered bystanders gawking at him. Hermione quickly cast a Translation Charm to let them hear what he was saying.
"Bow down, filth!" the man cackled wildly, gesticulating with his wand as he taunted the Muggles all around him. "I am your superior! Fall to your knees or be squashed like an insect!"
"Shut up," an old man grumbled as he puttered along past the wizard. Harry knew immediately that this would not end well.
"Crucio!" bellowed the wizard; the old Muggle collapsed to the ground, writhing in agony. Harry felt Hermione stiffen beside him, and he felt compelled to intervene, to save the poor Muggle. But it would be foolish to draw attention to themselves. They needed to leave before they were discovered, before the wizard realized he was not the only magical being in the area…
Then a voice whispered to Harry. A calm, authoritative voice that spoke only the truth.
Kill him.
Before Harry even registered what he was doing, his wand was in his hand and his arm was leveled at the wizard torturing the Muggle in the street, his lips uttering the phrase that had haunted his dreams for nearly two decades:
"Avada Kedavra!"
Harry felt a rush of sinister energy as a green jet erupted from his wand, striking the wizard in the chest. The man instantly fell over backwards, dead before he hit the ground.
There was a moment's suspended silence, they all hell broke loose. Bystanders were screaming and pushing each other out of the way to get out of Harry's path. Harry stood there, dumbfounded, staring down at his wand as though it had betrayed him.
"Harry!" Hermione screamed in his ear. "We have to get out of here, now!"
Already more pops of Apparition were sounding all around them as Brazilian Aurors arrived on the scene, wands sweeping the crowd for the perpetrator. Hermione grabbed Harry's arm and steered him in the opposite direction, forcing them deeper into the retreating crowd. They rounded a corner into an alleyway, and Harry felt Hermione twist them away into nothingness, Disapparating them out of the area.
They reappeared miles away, atop a secluded hillside overlooking the city, with the statue of Christ the Redeemer bearing judgment overhead. As soon as they landed, Hermione rounded on Harry, looking equal parts terrified and furious with him.
"What on earth has gotten into you, Harry Potter?" she demanded. "A Killing Curse?"
"I…" Harry stammered. He was still clutching his wand in his shaking hand, unable to justify or even explain what he'd done. "I don't know what happened, Hermione."
"Well, try to explain!" Hermione said. "I didn't think you were capable...I mean, honestly, of all the spells…"
"It just happened," Harry said lamely. "I wasn't really thinking. It was impulsive and stupid, I know."
He considered telling her about the voice in his head, the compulsion to raise his wand without really meaning to. But would that make him seem crazy? He'd been feeling out of sorts for weeks now, ever since the Ritual of the Serpent, and Hermione had been sick with worry. Why trouble her with one more thing? It was a simple mistake, a moment of weakness induced by stress, that's all.
Hermione stepped forward to caress Harry's cheek and look up into his eyes. He stared back, marveling at the deep empathy in her brown eyes. Then he felt a sharp stab of magic as she Looked into his mind, probing his thoughts, digging into his memories—
"Bloody hell, Hermione!" he protested, breaking eye contact and flinching away from her. "How about a warning next time?"
"I'm sorry," she said breathlessly. "But what if this is a symptom of the Dark magic in the rituals? You know it can induce madness if you aren't careful—"
"I'M NOT MAD!" Harry shouted. "The guy was torturing an innocent, and I stopped him! So what if I killed him or Stunned him? He deserved it either way!"
"I don't think the Aurors would look at it that way…" Hermione groaned.
"The Aurors would have delivered me to You-Know-Who either way!" said Harry. "I don't know if you've noticed, but we're already the most wanted people on the planet! One Killing Curse isn't going to change that."
"But it's such a wicked spell…" Hermione sighed forlornly. "Dumbledore always said that the act of killing causes permanent damage to the soul—"
"Well, Dumbledore's dead," Harry said callously. "Because he was too weak to do the things necessary to beat the Dark Lord. I'm not. If I have to kill a few people on the way to saving the world, so be it."
Hermione released a shuddering breath, arms wrapped around herself in a tense, defensive pose. "What do we do now?" she asked. "I don't know if the village elders will take us back after that…"
"We move on," Harry said simply. "I've basically finished recovering, and we never intended to stay permanently. I have to seek out the next step of the Path."
Hermione looked uncomfortable with this idea. But surely she had to know this was coming. They couldn't hide away in the Brazilian wilderness forever; Harry's journey of self-improvement was only just beginning. She may feel uncomfortable with the constant uprooting of their lives, but it's what they signed up for when they left Britain.
Eventually Hermione seemed to come to this same conclusion, because she steeled herself and nodded. "Okay," she said. "Where to next?"
"China," said Harry confidently. "There's a monastery somewhere in the mountains that teaches Eastern practices you can't learn anywhere else."
Hermione looked uncomfortable with this idea. "Maybe we should check in on the people back home first," she offered nervously. "The news report made it sound like there was an incident in Britain…"
"We'll be caught for sure if we try to re-enter Britain," Harry said firmly.
"Okay, not Britain then," Hermione said hastily. "But j-just somewhere we can keep tabs on what's happening. Just for a little while."
Harry studied her face, sensing her elevated emotions. She was clearly stressed from the events of that morning, not the least of which involved watching her best friend commit murder in broad daylight. But Harry knew how much she craved answers, how she must be yearning to know what was going on. Harry may have cut all ties to his home country, but Hermione still had friends and family to think about. (Were her parents still in Britain? Would they be targets? He'd never bothered to ask her before.)
She's slowing you down.
Harry's brow furrowed at the stray thought. It was callous and cruel, but also not wrong. Why should he care what was happening in Britain? Whether the news was bad or cataclysmic, it matters not – his task remained the same. Walk the Path; build his strength; win the war. Ideally that would end with as many old allies still alive in Britain as possible. But he couldn't control that, and he had to focus on what he could control.
But he couldn't say no to Hermione. She stared at him with that look, that pleading look that he could never say no to. She had followed him halfway across the globe unquestioningly for over a year now. He ought to return the favor in some small way.
"Fine," he sighed. "We'll return to Europe, but not Britain. And if I say we have to move, we move."
The relief on her face made the decision worth it. "Thank you," Hermione said with a deep exhale. Harry held out his arm, mentally preparing himself for the multi-jump Apparition it would take them to reach their destination. Hermione took it, sidling up close to him, wrapping her free hand around his waist. He paused, relishing in her touch for just a moment.
This is a mistake.
Shut up, Harry told the mysterious voice as he spun on the spot and whisked them away from South America.
It was tough to say who was more surprised when the door opened. Fleur Delacour-Weasley nearly fainted in shock at the sight of the two most wanted criminals on the planet outside her home; Hermione nearly screamed at the sight of Fleur's baby bump, several months into pregnancy. Bill was inside, looking similarly aghast at Harry and Hermione's appearance, but he welcomed them inside nonetheless.
Their French home was small and cramped, but there was enough room for Harry and Hermione to squeeze behind the kitchen table as Fleur rushed to make them tea. It was a wonder that they'd found the place; Bill had given Harry the address the previous summer, prior to the wedding, in case he ever needed a safehouse during his journey abroad. Mrs. Weasley had been furious with her eldest son for doing so, still in denial that Harry would be leaving at all; Harry was grateful now for the gesture.
"I'm surprised to see you here, Harry," said Bill, sounding exhausted. "Most of the old Order had given up on ever seeing you again."
"We intended to stay far away," Harry admitted. "We've been all over the place. But when we heard the news, Hermio—well, both of us wanted to know what was going on back home."
"It's been a rough few weeks," Bill sighed. "Fleur and I returned here from Shell Cottage just a few weeks ago. And none too soon, because the Ministry has been raiding known Order houses in Britain for the past month straight."
"Is everyone alright?" asked Harry.
Bill hesitated before answering, and Harry knew that could only mean bad news. "No," he finally managed. "McGonagall got sacked last term, and she was found dead in her home soon after. Lupin went on the run among the werewolves, but no one's heard from him since February. And my parents...well, they didn't survive the last raid."
Harry's heart sank at the news, as Hermione gasped in horror. "Bill, I'm so sorry," Harry said honestly.
Bill could only shrug and reach for the bottle of liquor on the counter. "They were foolish not to flee like we did," he muttered. "And to keep holding Order meetings, with everything going on...well, it was only a matter of time."
"But the Order's still fighting, right?" Hermione asked softly.
"Fighting who?" Bill chuckled. "Dumbledore didn't leave us with much to go on, except to 'follow Harry'. It's a lost cause. All that fighting's going to do is make matters worse."
"He's right," Harry cut in before Hermione could retort. "I won't be able to return to Britain for several more years. Until then, everyone just needs to keep their heads down and not draw unneeded attention to themselves."
"But what about the people suffering under You-Know-Who?" Hermione demanded. "The poor Muggle-borns being rounded up and imprisoned, or worse? And what about the many Muggle-born children yet to be born in the coming years? Who will protect them once they start showing signs of magic?"
"That's not our problem, Hermione," Harry said flatly. "Those people will continue to suffer for decades, for centuries unless I can beat him. That has to be my sole focus from now on, or all of this is for nothing."
The four of them sat quietly around the table sipping tea for the next hour, all too consumed with worry to say much. Fleur directed them to the guest room, which Bill had been using as an office, and that night Harry and Hermione found themselves crammed in a double bed, holding each other tightly, each ruminating on the dire events of the day.
Harry had many things he wanted to say in that moment. We shouldn't stay long...we're imposing and putting an added target on Bill and Fleur...we have to keep moving… But he could feel Hermione shaking in his arms as sleep eluded her, could hear the barely-suppressed sobs she fought to contain. He couldn't bring himself to let her down again when all she needed was comfort and reassurance that it was all going to be okay.
"We'll get through this," he whispered in her ear. "It seems bad right now, but we'll persevere. We will win this war. I promise."
Hermione's sniffles slowly subsided, and he could feel her gradually relaxing in his arms. Eventually her breathing settled into a gentle rhythm as she drifted off into an uneasy sleep. He felt some of his own tension dissipate, realizing that he'd been feeding off of her negative emotions and amplifying his own.
She's making you weak.
As always, the voice spoke only the truth. But Harry didn't want to hear it right now. His love for Hermione was the only thing keeping him sane, keeping him grounded through this ordeal. If that made him weak, then so be it.
Millions will die in the meantime, and your logic is "so be it"?
Shut up.
Voldemort wants you to be weak.
I said SHUT UP!
"Harry?" Hermione stirred sleepily in his arms.
Did I say that out loud?
"It's nothing," Harry murmured, and he did his best to fall asleep alongside her, ignoring the continued taunts from the voice in his head.
Harry promised Bill they would only stay for a couple of days at most.
He reassured Fleur that they'd be out of her hair by the end of the week, maybe a day or two longer.
He begrudgingly allowed Hermione to extend their stay a bit longer as she worked out ways to safely contact people back in Britain for news.
Before Harry knew it, the fall months were stretching into winter, and they were still stuck in the guest room of Bill and Fleur's modest home. Worse yet, everyone had settled nicely into the new routine, such that, to Harry's chagrin, the newlyweds no longer saw Harry and Hermione as a burden. They adapted to the shared space well, and while the stresses of the outside world cast a pall over everything, their little foursome took solace in one another's company through the dark times.
Nobody could know Harry and Hermione were there, of course. Bill didn't dare inform the Weasleys back in Britain, for fear of intercepted mail, and they were careful not to be seen out in daylight in case of spies keeping tabs on former Order members. Fortunately, France remained one of the last opponents of Voldemort's new regime, and while they were fighting a losing battle, the Death Eaters had yet to set foot in the country until its Ministry could be brought into line.
Fleur's pregnancy was a difficult one as she entered her third trimester, forcing her to take leave from her job and remain at home. Hermione jumped at the opportunity to assist her, taking care of various household chores and bringing Fleur things so that she could stay off her feet. Harry could sense Bill's quiet gratefulness, allowing him to continue working as his wife was cared for in his absence. It was a convenient arrangement, but one that Harry felt only entrapped him further in a situation he was eager to get away from.
The home was small enough that Harry could not avoid Hermione and Fleur's company forever, often getting roped into their excited conversations about the baby. "Have you decided on a name yet?" Hermione asked one afternoon as she helped Fleur apply lotion to her legs and back.
"We are letting ze gender be a surprise," Fleur smiled. "I 'ope to name it after my grandparents – Louis if eet is a boy, Victoire for a girl. Bill insists on 'Arthur' for his father, but 'e figures the first Weasley boy born will get zat honor anyway."
"All lovely choices," Hermione smiled.
"What would you name it? If eet was your child?" Fleur inquired.
"Oh…I don't know," Hermione sighed thoughtfully. "I've always loved the name Dillon...it means hope. Or Evangeline for a girl – meaning good news."
"We could certainly use some hope and good news nowadays," Fleur muttered. "'Ow about you, 'Arry?"
"Sorry?" Harry muttered, looking up from his book on blood magic. "Oh, I'm never having kids."
"What?" said Fleur, eyes widening. "But of course you will! Zis war will not last forever, and you would be a wonderful father."
"I probably won't survive this war," Harry chuckled humorlessly. "And if I do, I'll be too twisted in the head to raise a child."
"Harry, don't say that," Hermione reassured him. "Fleur's right; any child would be lucky to have you as their parent."
"Either way, that's too far in the future to think about for me," said Harry. "There's too much for me to do first."
"But you don't have to let that drag you down forever," Hermione smiled. "You can afford to relax and imagine a better life every once in a while—"
"Can I?" Harry snapped, slamming his book shut to glare at her. "Every second I relax is another that the Dark Lord remains in power. Every day I'm not getting stronger prolongs everyone else's suffering. And I'm just supposed to ignore that fact?"
Harry didn't wait for a response, standing up to stalk out of the room and house entirely. He knew he'd soured the mood, that Hermione and Fleur had honest intentions and weren't trying to rile him up. But such conversations only served to remind him of how powerless he felt, of the difficult task ahead of him, which he was neglecting with every passing day he caved to Hermione's desire to stay.
Bill and Fleur's home rested in a Muggle neighborhood, making the odds of being recognized low, but Harry nonetheless paused to apply a glamour to himself before pushing forward into the chilly autumn air. He knew these streets well by now, having taken to wandering them in the evenings, when he could stand the suffocating environment of the home no longer. It was not just the close quarters that grated on him, but the stillness, the peace and quiet, that contrasted the chaos of his mind.
I shouldn't have snapped at her, Harry grumbled to himself, remembering Hermione's stunned and hurt face at his outburst. I should apologize.
You have nothing to apologize for. You were right. You are cursed, and you would only pass on the madness to a new generation.
Harry had taken to arguing with the voice in his head on these long walks, but more often than not he came to agree with its blunt honesty. He did not know where the voice had come from, or whom it belonged to, but he instinctively felt that it was an entity other than his own. It was different from his connection with Voldemort, which felt like a foreign presence in his head – this was more organic, like a passenger residing within his own mind. He had come to think of it as a sort of guardian angel, or perhaps a conscience, whispering in his ear and providing guidance when needed.
Hermione's just scared about what's going on, Harry thought. It's not her fault for being weak. This wasn't her burden to bear.
You're right, it's not her fault. It's yours for indulging in her weakness.
Harry winced. As always, the voice spoke nothing but the truth, and he knew it was right.
I can't just force her to leave, he lamented. She's not ready to move on.
Then move on without her.
That idea hurt even worse. The thought of continuing down the Path without Hermione's reassuring presence was a painful one. She was his rock, his beacon, preventing him from slipping into madness. Could he stomach such a loss?
No, he couldn't. He knew the voice had a point, but he also knew how much it would cost him. So he pushed the voice aside and circled back towards the house, resolved to stay however long it took for Hermione to change her mind. She would come around. She had to.
And so he waited. Waited as the first snow fell on the small French village, blanketing the area in a thin layer of white powder. Waited as the first signs of holiday festivities began – wreaths on doors, carolers roaming the streets late at night. Waited as Fleur insisted on cooking a lavish Christmas meal, despite the others' concerns about her being on her feet for several hours – "Eet may be our last chance to celebrate for a while," she argued, which nobody could dispute.
Harry decided it would be best to leave soon after the Christmas meal, but struggled to find the right time to break it to Hermione. In the week leading up to the big day, Hermione took ill, making frequent quick trips to the bathroom to vomit. Likely food poisoning, Fleur reasoned, as she too had experienced some nausea in recent days, though that could have been from the pregnancy. In any case, Harry decided he could put things back a bit further to the new year, once Hermione had enough time to process their next move.
Christmas was a quiet affair; Fleur made a delicious roast ham with Hermione's help, which Harry and Bill carved up and served for the two under-the-weather ladies. They talked about everything besides the war – Bill shared some of his engaging curse-breaking work for Gringotts, Hermione questioned Fleur on the differences between Hogwarts and Beauxbatons' course material, and everybody reminisced on the Triwizard Tournament of four years prior, which had introduced them all to Fleur in the first place. They pointedly ignored the subject of the third task, for obvious reasons, though Harry and Hermione got a kick out of Fleur's account of her disastrous Yule Ball experience with the "eediot" Roger Davies.
Later that night, as both couples retreated to bed, Harry knew that now was the best opening he would get to break the news to Hermione. He pulled her towards him, but she winced and grabbed at her midsection at the sudden movement.
"Sorry, food cramps," she muttered. "What's on your mind? You've been distracted all day."
"Yeah," Harry admitted. "Listen, Hermione...I've been thinking. About the future."
Hermione was silent for a moment. Then she said, "Me too."
"You have?"
"We've spent far longer here than we intended to," Hermione sighed. "I know Bill and Fleur said they don't mind the company and extra helping hands, but we've overstayed our welcome."
Harry breathed a sigh of relief; he had hoped that she wouldn't be too averse to leaving. "Agreed," he said. "So I'm thinking we can stay a few more nights, maybe until the new year, then set out for China. I've been studying Muggle maps and have a few places in mind to start looking for the monastery."
Hermione once again did not respond right away, and Harry got the impression that she had something else on her mind. "Harry," she said slowly. "I...I don't think I can go to China."
"You don't?" Harry frowned. "You reckon we should start somewhere else on the Path instead? I'll have stops in Africa and Siberia to get to as well—"
"I don't think I can walk the Path with you anymore, Harry," said Hermione shakily. "I can't watch you put yourself through hell anymore. It hurts too much."
"But I always come out on the other side unscathed," Harry pointed out, a rising feeling of panic coming over him. "You've helped me more than you know."
"That's not the only reason," Hermione said quickly. "Now that the Statute is gone, I'm worried about what's happening back home. All those Muggle-born children being persecuted...their poor parents when they realize what their sons and daughters are...I can't just do nothing."
"You're not doing nothing," Harry said adamantly. "You're helping me get stronger so I can return and put a stop to it all."
"But so many will die in the meantime!" said Hermione. "There's no one protecting those people. No one in Britain would dare stick out their necks, not after what happened to the Order—"
"So you expect me to drop what I'm doing and go back to Britain to babysit stowaways?" Harry demanded.
"No," said Hermione. "You should do what you think is best. But I have to do the same, and I think I'm more needed back home."
Harry struggled to wrap his head around the implications of what Hermione was saying. "So you're leaving me?" he asked quietly. "To be the most wanted fugitive in Britain?"
"I'm already the most wanted fugitive, aside from yourself," Hermione chuckled. "We've both gotten pretty good at evading capture. If anything, Britain will be the last place they expect me to be."
"But I need you," Harry said, suddenly feeling very small and vulnerable.
"So do all those kids being rounded up!" said Hermione. "I can't be with you every step of the way towards defeating You-Know-Who. I would just get in your way, slow you down."
She's right, the voice in Harry's head pointed out. But that was the last thing Harry wanted to hear.
"I'd be lost without you, 'Mione," he said weakly, pulling her closer still. "You're the only thing that's kept me going all this time."
"And I'll be waiting for you, when you return home," Hermione reassured him. "Let that be your motivation."
"You can't do this to me!" Harry protested. "Please...please don't go back! You'll be killed!"
"I'd rather be killed than watch other people suffer while I stand by," said Hermione. "Isn't that why you're doing what you're doing, too?"
"Defeating You-Know-Who is more important than rescuing a couple Muggle-borns!"
"I disagree!" Hermione said adamantly. "What if I'd been born ten years later? What if, instead of getting my Hogwarts letter on my eleventh birthday, I had Death Eaters showing up on my doorstep to take me away to Azkaban?"
"Well, that isn't the lot we drew for this war," Harry said shortly. "We're on the front lines, whether we like it or not."
"And I have the power to decide how best to fight!" said Hermione. "I want to look out for my own, if no one else will. I'll try to find other adult Muggle-borns willing to fight back. We'll protect who we can and prepare things for you when you return."
Harry felt like he was suffocating. This could not be happening. "I spent all this time here, waiting for you," he groaned. "Because I couldn't go on without you. And this is how you repay me? By abandoning me when I need you the most?"
"Don't say it like that!" Hermione pleaded; she was getting emotional too. "I love you, Harry, and I always will. But our paths will just have to diverge for a while. If the prophecy is true, I'm certain I'll see you again, and we can pick up where we left off."
Harry clutched at Hermione for dear life, as though trying to physically restrain her from leaving. "Please, just...let's talk about this," he begged. "Don't decide anything now. Tomorrow we'll hash everything out properly. We'll find a way to fix this, I swear it."
They held each other tight, silently crying at the prospect of separation, for a few moments of tense silence. "I'll think about it," said Hermione.
A flood of relief washed over Harry. That was all he needed to hear. Tomorrow he would prepare the strongest argument he could manage for why she should come with him. Returning to Britain was a fool's errand, a suicide mission. However noble her aims, it served no purpose other than to endanger her own life. Harry couldn't fathom the thought of anything bad happening to her – he would keep her safe, no matter what. That thought soothed him as he drifted off to sleep, holding the love of his life tight, putting off the prospect of tomorrow for just one more night.
Harry was alone when he awoke.
That was odd. Hermione often rose earlier than he did in the mornings, but she always did so with a kiss and a whispered "Good morning". He was surprised by her absence, along with the sunlight streaming through his window betraying the late hour. But no matter. He would find her in the living room and they could have their talk.
But she wasn't there, either. Strange...maybe she'd gone for a walk? That was unlike her, especially given her recent bout of illness. He poked his head into the kitchen, where he found a disconcerting sight: Bill and Fleur, crowded in a corner, engaged in hushed conversation.
"Erm...you guys seen Hermione?" asked Harry. They turned abruptly towards him, and he knew immediately that something was wrong. Both of them looked worried, and they regarded Harry with an almost fearful expression, as though unsure how he would react to whatever news they bore.
"What is it?" he demanded.
"She...she left a note," Fleur said shakily. She held out a folded slip of parchment, which Harry took and opened. He recognized Hermione's looping handwriting at once:
To Bill and Fleur,
Thank you for your hospitality these past months. I'm sorry for the abrupt departure, but I just can't stay here any longer. I wish you and the baby the best.
To Harry, I love you dearly, and I'm sorry. But my mind is made up. We'll meet again someday, I'm certain of it.
-Hermione
Harry re-read the brief letter several more times, not really processing the words anymore, mind struggling to comprehend what just happened. She couldn't just be gone. Right? She would have said goodbye. This note couldn't be all – she must know he would want a proper explanation. It made no sense to him.
"Harry?" asked Bill cautiously. "Are you alright?"
"Swell," Harry muttered. He set the parchment on the counter top, panic slowly starting to rise again. He didn't want to break down in front of Bill and Fleur, nor did he trust himself to remain composed in the Muggle neighborhoods surrounding the house. So he turned on the spot and Disapparated, thinking of a place far, far away from here.
He reappeared on a remote mountainside somewhere in Eastern Mongolia, guided only by a map he'd studied some days prior. He winced in pain as soon as he landed; looking at his right hand, he'd Splinched himself, leaving three fingernails behind. It was foolish to attempt Apparating quite so far in one jump, but he needed to be far away from people right now. And from his high vantage point, he seemed to be the only human for many miles in all directions.
So he dropped to all fours and screamed. Screamed until his throat was hoarse and raw, cried until his eyes felt like they couldn't produce any more moisture. His magic rose up around him in a turbulent maelstrom, swirling around him in a whirlwind of emotion and pain. This hurt more than any loss he'd felt before. Worse than Cedric, worse than Sirius, worse than even Dumbledore. Hermione was his foundation, his whole world. Her departure was a betrayal, an abandonment unlike any he'd fathomed possible. He had never felt more alone than in this moment, and he continued to grieve, willing the cold ground beneath him to swallow him whole and take all this pain away…
Enough!
Harry's sobs gradually slowed to heavy gasps, then to quiet sniffles, as he settled onto his knees and his magic calmed around him. He could feel the voice in his head like a heavy presence now, looking down upon him like he was an insolent child throwing a tantrum.
Stop feeling so sorry for yourself, the voice chastised him. Emotion is weakness. Weakness is what you're trying to purge from yourself to win.
Sod off, Harry thought defiantly. I lost the only person I could rely on. I can afford to mourn that loss.
No you can't. You've lost people before, and you'll lose people again. Every moment you waste wallowing in self-defeat only prolongs the war.
I can't do this anymore, Harry thought despairingly. I'm not strong enough to do this without her.
Yes you are. I will help you. You will become great, greater than even the Dark Lord, and then you will have the power to never lose anyone you care about ever again.
I don't even know who or what you are! Harry protested. Why should I trust you?
When have I led you astray before?
Harry thought back. To killing the man in the streets of Rio de Janeiro. To snapping at Hermione and Fleur out of irritation. But he'd been justified in those instances, hadn't he? The voice never lied, and it only bolstered his confidence when he needed it most. If anything, he should have been listening to it sooner – then he wouldn't have wasted the past four months in France, catering to the whims of a woman who clearly didn't care for him as much as he'd thought.
I'm sorry, Harry thought. You're right. I'll start listening now.
Good. Hermione leaving you is a blessing in disguise. You're better off without her.
Harry thought back once more on all the moments of joy he'd shared with Hermione. The meaningful conversations they'd shared; the wonderful nights of intimacy; the comfort of having some who accepted you unconditionally. He reminisced on the beauty of their relationship, savoring every detail, lingering on every detail of her face for as long as possible.
Then, he Occluded it all away. Such thoughts would only drag him down now. He had to look ahead to the future now. The past was only hindering his path to greatness. He got to his feet, full of steel resolve, ready to leave Hermione – and his emotions – behind him.
You're right. I'm better off without her.
