Harry was in a haze after Dumbledore's speech. The words Malfoy had thrown at him the day before kept echoing relentlessly in his mind. You've signed my death sentence, Potter.
At the time, Harry had dismissed it. He'd thought Malfoy was just being his usual dramatic self, spouting off threats and self-pity. Sure, Harry had worried about what Malfoy might do next—but he hadn't really stopped to consider what might happen to him if he failed Voldemort.
And now… Malfoy was gone. Presumed dead.
And Harry couldn't shake the feeling that his blood was on his hands.
Dinner passed in near silence. No one had much appetite, and the few whispers that floated through the Great Hall sounded more like prayers than gossip. Harry barely touched his food. His gaze drifted to Ginny, sitting a little further down the table beside Demelza. Her face was pale and tight with shock, her shoulders tense. Their eyes met briefly, and he saw the same haunted question reflected in her expression: Did we kill him?
On the way back to the Gryffindor Tower, Ron kept shooting nervous glances at Harry, clearly trying to find the right words. "Mate," he started, "I mean, it's not like—it's not your fault—"
But Harry walked on in silence, not even acknowledging him. The guilt felt too heavy, too loud, drowning everything else out.
His friends would try to convince him it wasn't his fault. He knew that. And he knew they would mean it. But how could they understand what it felt like to carry the weight of someone's death? Even someone like Malfoy. Especially someone like Malfoy, who'd stood on the edge for so long, and who—Harry now realized—had already been falling.
Without a word, Harry climbed straight to the dormitory, not sparing a glance for anyone, not even Ginny.
Downstairs, the common room had shifted into a strange mix of numbness and defiance. Seamus and one of the seventh-years retrieved a hidden stash of firewhisky, and glasses were passed around among the older students. They drank to Katie's health, whispering her name like a protective charm, hoping that their shared thoughts might somehow help her heal.
Ron accepted a glass, downed it quickly, then followed Harry upstairs, still hoping to get through to him. When he entered the dormitory, he found Harry lying on his bed fully clothed, staring blankly at the ceiling. His glasses were still on, but there was no focus in his eyes.
Ron sat carefully at the edge of the bed, his voice unsure. "You don't know what happened," he said after a moment.
He waited, but Harry didn't respond. Just kept staring.
Ron pressed on. "I mean… they didn't find a body. Maybe he managed to run. Maybe he's hiding somewhere, recovering."
Harry finally turned his head toward him. His voice was flat. "Where would he go, Ron?"
Ron opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
"He was hurt," Harry continued. "Badly. There was so much blood. If he didn't come back to Hogwarts… who else would help him?" He let out a bitter breath. "The Death Eaters? Voldemort?"
Ron looked away, unsure of how to argue with that.
Harry turned back to the ceiling, eyes distant. "I forced him into a corner. I pushed too hard. I should've done something different…"
"You were just trying to stop him," Ron said softly. "You didn't want this."
"No," Harry whispered. "But it still happened."
Harry's eyes turned back to the ceiling, and the room fell into silence again. Ron didn't know what to say, but he didn't want to leave his friend alone. So he stayed, still sitting on the edge of the bed, both boys lost in thought.
After about ten minutes of tense quiet, the door creaked open slowly. Ginny stepped inside and paused just beyond the threshold. Harry turned his head toward her, their eyes locking across the room. The horror of what had happened passed between them wordlessly—what they had done, what they might have caused.
Then, without a word, Ginny crossed the room. Not caring that her brother was sitting right there, she climbed into the bed next to Harry. She laid her head on his shoulder, wrapped one arm around his chest, and even curled one leg over his lap.
Harry held her close, his hand resting gently on her waist, his cheek brushing her hair.
Ron blinked in surprise at their position but, to his credit, didn't say anything. He realized this wasn't the time to question their obvious closeness.
"I didn't… see it coming," Harry whispered, staring into Ginny's eyes.
"Me neither. But Harry… what was the alternative? If we hadn't stopped him…" She swallowed hard. "He would've smuggled Death Eaters into the castle. Someone else might've ended up dead. We did what we had to."
Harry gazed into her warm, sincere eyes, and the knot in his chest loosened just a little. She always knew exactly how to speak through his stubbornness, cutting straight to the truth. And she was right—they hadn't wanted Malfoy to die, but some things were out of their control. They had to destroy the Vanishing Cabinet. They had done the right thing. It just hadn't ended the way they'd hoped.
He gave her a tired smile and kissed her softly. Ginny immediately deepened the kiss, relief pouring through her that Harry was starting to let go of some of the guilt.
"OI!" Ron shouted, clearly forgetting how to breathe for a second. Both Harry and Ginny froze—they completely forgot Ron was still in the room. Even worse, he was still sitting on the bed, now with both hands over his eyes.
Despite everything, Ginny let out a snort of laughter she couldn't quite hold back. Harry chuckled too, rubbing the back of his neck as he sat up a bit.
"Er… yeah. That happened. Sorry," he said sheepishly.
Ron peeked through his fingers, then dropped his hands into his lap. He looked between the two of them, his expression unreadable for a moment.
"So… you're together now?" he asked.
"Yes, Ron," Ginny replied with a smile.
Ron's eyes flicked between them again, his brows furrowing as if preparing for a classic Weasley outburst. But then, slowly, his expression softened into a crooked smile.
"Well… about time, mate. But did you seriously have to tell me like this?"
Ginny smirked. "Well, sorry, but someone had to make the first move. You weren't exactly catching on."
Ron shook his head. "I did catch on! I just… didn't think you'd be snogging in my presence as a way of informing me about your relationship status."
Harry grimaced. "Yeah, that wasn't exactly planned."
"Clearly," Ron muttered, though there was no heat behind it. "You could've at least waited until I left the room."
Ginny raised an eyebrow. "You could leave now."
"I could," Ron said, "but then I'd be worried you'd really forget I exist."
That earned him another laugh from Ginny and a half-smile from Harry.
But the moment was short-lived. The door opened again and Neville stepped in, followed closely by Dean and Seamus. They all looked pale and quiet, the weight of the evening still heavy in their expressions. Seamus was holding a bottle of firewhisky and nodded at the trio on the bed.
"Sorry," Ginny murmured, already sitting up. "I should go."
She gave Harry's hand a final squeeze and stood. As she passed Ron, she paused, then leaned down and kissed his cheek. "Thanks for not hexing him."
Ron rolled his eyes. "I'm saving that for later."
She grinned at both of them, then slipped out the door, leaving the boys to settle in for the night.
Harry pulled off his shoes and lay back against the pillow, staring once again at the canopy above his bed. The others were moving around him—changing clothes, whispering quietly—but it all felt far away.
Even as he closed his eyes, sleep refused to come.
His mind circled back, over and over again.
What if we'd waited? What if we hadn't destroyed the Cabinet yet? What if we tried to talk to him instead?
He could still see the blood near the Shrieking Shack, the look on Snape's face, the scream from Pansy. He could still hear Malfoy's voice—cold and bitter—You've signed my death sentence, Potter.
What if he had?
You did what you had to, Ginny had said. But it didn't feel like that. It felt like he'd pushed someone past the edge. Like he'd started something he couldn't stop.
Harry shifted in bed, restless. His chest felt too tight. The silence in the room was suddenly too loud. He wanted to believe they'd made the right choice. That Malfoy's death, if it was a death, wasn't his fault.
But that little voice in his head whispered otherwise.
And for a long time, long after the others had fallen asleep around him, Harry lay awake in the dark—haunted by the thought that this war had claimed another life, and he might have helped it happen.
Harry's swirling thoughts were interrupted by the unmistakable creak of the dormitory door. He tensed, instinctively reaching for his wand as he sat up, heart pounding. Who would be coming in this late at night?
But then the curtains around his bed parted silently, and to his surprise, Ginny stood there in her nightgown, her hair slightly tousled and her expression soft but troubled.
"I knew you wouldn't be asleep either," she whispered as she climbed onto the bed, gently pulling the curtains closed behind her.
Harry blinked at her, stunned but not displeased. Quickly, he cast Muffliato to muffle any sounds. Ron might be okay with them dating now, but finding his younger sister in Harry's bed in the middle of the night? That was entirely different.
"I'm sorry to barge in like this," Ginny murmured as she sat beside him, drawing her knees up slightly. "I just... I couldn't sleep. I keep going over it, over and over again. Wondering what we could've done differently."
Harry didn't need her to explain. He understood. He always did with her.
Without a word, he lifted the blanket in silent invitation. Ginny hesitated only a moment before slipping beneath it, curling naturally into his side. He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close, and they settled into the warmth of each other's presence.
"Yeah," Harry said quietly, his voice rough. "Me too."
They lay there in silence, the world outside their curtain fading away. No explanations were needed. No reassurances. Just the steady rhythm of shared breathing and the comfort of knowing they weren't alone in their guilt.
Harry could feel the tight grip on his chest slowly easing. Ginny's warmth grounded him, her presence a quiet promise that they'd face whatever came next—together. His eyes began to drift closed, his breathing steadying. For the first time since the news of Malfoy's disappearance, he felt himself starting to let go.
Ginny watched him as his features relaxed, sleep softening the lines of worry on his face. She thought about slipping away, sneaking back to her dormitory before anyone noticed.
But then Harry shifted slightly in his sleep, his arms tightening instinctively around her.
She sighed, a quiet, almost imperceptible sound.
No, she wasn't leaving.
She needed this as much as he did. The steady rhythm of Harry's heartbeat beneath her ear was lulling her into calm. So she closed her eyes, letting the safety of the moment carry her into sleep.
Consequences be damned.
….
Morning came slowly, a pale light creeping through the curtains around Harry's bed. For a few blissful moments, everything was still. Warmth surrounded him, soft and comforting. He felt safe. Content.
And then he froze.
There was a very specific kind of pressure reminding him that he wasn't alone in bed. His arm was still around Ginny, her back pressed to his chest, her hair tickling his chin. And something else was definitely pressing against her bum.
Panic set in. Oh Merlin… no, no, no.
He tried shifting away slightly, careful not to wake her, but Ginny stirred and mumbled something incoherent. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, hoping the mattress would just swallow him whole. This can't be happening.
She shifted again—only a little—and then stopped. He wasn't sure if she'd noticed or if she was still asleep, but either way, he wasn't risking it.
"Nice to know you like to see me this morning." Ginny mumbled into her pillow, and Harry groaned, closing his eyes with embarrassment, turning his head away from her.
"Er… sorry about that," he whispered back, feeling like he might just die from mortification.
Ginny's voice was barely a whisper as she turned around to face him, her breath soft against his ear. "Don't worry, Harry," she teased, her voice light and playful. "If I had a problem with it, I would've left ages ago."
Harry felt his entire face flame with heat, unsure whether to laugh or cringe.
"Thanks, I guess..." he muttered, unsure if that made him feel better or worse. He shifted slightly, hoping she wouldn't notice his awkward position. But of course, she did.
"Seriously, don't worry about it." She smiled, pressing her lips against his, not exactly helping Harry's situation. He moaned into the kiss, and she smirked against his mouth.
"And with that, I'll let you to it," Ginny said, breaking the kiss and pulling back. She reached under the pillow, grabbed the Invisibility Cloak, and whispered with a mischievous grin, "I'm gonna go before Ron wakes up and murders us both. Wish me luck."
Harry let out a shaky breath of relief. "Good luck," he whispered back, his voice hoarse. "You'll need it."
With one last squeeze of his hand beneath the blanket, she disappeared under the cloak. A few heartbeats later, the door creaked faintly, and Harry knew she was gone.
Only then did he flop back against the pillow, his face burning with embarrassment. Brilliant, Potter. Absolutely brilliant.
….
When they met later in the Common Room, Harry was still awkward about the morning situation. Sure, he and Ginny had been dating for almost a month and a half, and this wasn't by far the first erection he'd experienced in her presence. But usually, he managed to wiggle away from her hug, or at least turn around a bit before she could feel anything.
But this morning was different. This was the first time she had definitely felt it too—and acknowledged it. Harry had retreated into his awkward self, reminding Ginny of the weeks before they kissed for the first time—when he could barely hold eye contact with her. This wouldn't do, she thought, watching him fumble with his words and avoid her gaze. She'd have to talk to him again later. After all, it was perfectly normal for boys to react like that, wasn't it?
Still, she couldn't deny the silver lining—it had successfully distracted Harry from thinking too much about Malfoy's disappearance. The guilt hadn't left him, but he hadn't shut down completely like she feared he might. That was a win, at least for now.
The atmosphere around Hogwarts remained tense for the rest of the weekend. Quidditch practice had been scheduled for Sunday, but Harry decided to cancel it. Meeting on the pitch without Katie—still unsure whether she'd be alright—wouldn't do the team any good.
Instead, he spent the afternoon with his friends in the Room of Requirement, bringing them to the cozy "living room" it had created weeks earlier for him and Ginny. He shared everything he hadn't told them before, finally opening up about the details he'd been holding back.
Ron smirked knowingly as he took in the fireplace, the squashy armchairs, and the warm lighting. "So this is where you two kept disappearing to all the time," he said, not even trying to sound casual.
Ginny entered a few minutes later, having caught up with Demelza on the way. Without hesitation, she crossed the room and kissed Harry soundly on the mouth. Now that most of their friends knew, there was no need to hide anymore. It felt good—right—to be able to show affection without worrying how they would react.
Ron rolled his eyes.
"I just don't understand why you didn't tell us right away."
Ginny raised an eyebrow at Ron, settling beside Harry on the couch.
"Oh, I don't know… maybe because someone would've lost his mind and started threatening hexes before we even had a second date?"
Ron scoffed, trying to look offended. "I would not!"
Hermione gave him a pointed look. "You threatened to curse Michael Corner just for looking at her the wrong way, Ron."
"That was different," Ron muttered. "He was—well—he was a git."
Harry chuckled under his breath, and Ginny leaned against him, clearly enjoying this. "Exactly. And we didn't really feel like adding a family feud to our to-do list."
Ron grumbled something under his breath but didn't argue further.
Neville folded his arms, pretending to be stern. "Still, I'm a little hurt you didn't trust us. We're your friends. We could've… I don't know, helped sneak you into broom cupboards or something."
Harry's face turned scarlet. "Neville!"
He smirked. "What? I'm just saying."
Ginny laughed, her hand finding Harry's. "Well, the secret part was kind of fun," she admitted. "But it's even better not having to pretend anymore."
Ron made a face. "Just please, keep the snogging to a minimum when I'm in the room."
"No promises," Ginny said sweetly, and Harry almost choked.
Neville looked up from the biscuit tin he'd been quietly raiding. "For the record, I thought you two were already together weeks ago. The way you kept disappearing and showing up late at Gryffindor Tower…"
"Maybe we should work on our subtlety" Ginny said with a chuckle.
"Yeah, well," Ron said, reaching for a Chocolate Frog, "just don't make me walk in on anything. I don't want to be traumatised."
Harry groaned. "You won't. We're not—Merlin, Ron…"
Ginny smirked and whispered loudly to Hermione, "That sounds like a challenge."
"GINEVRA!" cried Harry, properly scandalized by the chosen topic in front of her brother.
Hermione burst out laughing, and even Ron couldn't stop the smile tugging at his lips as the group settled into more comfortable conversation. The tension of the last few days hadn't gone, not completely, but for the first time in a while, laughter filled the room—and that was something worth holding on to.
….
Harry's better mood didn't last long after classes started on Monday morning. The first lesson was Potions with the Slytherins, and the empty seat where Malfoy usually sat drew everyone's attention. Even Professor Slughorn wasn't his usual self—he was slumped at his desk, barely acknowledging the class.
Ironically, today's task was to brew a Calming Draught—something nearly everyone could use at the moment. Harry flipped through his copy of Advanced Potion-Making—the scribbled one he'd ended up with on the first day of school. Despite Hermione's disapproval, he'd kept it. The handwritten notes between the lines had proved far too helpful to give up.
He read absently, trying to occupy his mind and avoid looking at the empty space a few tables ahead. That's when he spotted something new—an unfamiliar spell hastily scrawled across the margin:
Sectumsempra – for enemies
Harry paused. There was something about the sharp curve of the "S" that tugged at his memory. The handwriting… it felt familiar somehow. But he shook the thought away, blaming his tired brain for trying to distract him.
Later that afternoon, Defense Against the Dark Arts proved even more unsettling.
Snape wasn't himself. Instead of the usual practical lesson, he grunted a page number at them and slumped into his chair, arms crossed and shoulders hunched. He looked even worse than he had the night the attacks were announced—his normally greasy hair hung limp and lifeless, and a constant sheen of sweat clung to his forehead.
He looked… jumpy. Twitchy. Like he was expecting someone to burst through the door at any moment.
His hands trembled faintly, and Harry couldn't help but stare. Something was wrong. Snape looked like someone battling an invisible force. The image brought back memories of fourth year—of the way students had looked while resisting the Imperius Curse under Moody's (or rather, Crouch's) watch.
But Harry didn't believe that was the case here. Snape, a skilled Legilimens, would likely shrug off an Imperius Curse like it was nothing.
No, this was something else. Something deeper.
The moment class ended, Harry lingered near the doorway, watching Snape closely. The professor didn't even glance in his direction, simply swept from the room with long, urgent strides.
Harry's mind was racing. Something was wrong with Snape. Seriously wrong.
Without a second thought, he ducked into a quiet alcove, pulled the Invisibility Cloak from his bag, and threw it over himself. With years of sneaking practice behind him, he slipped through the corridor unnoticed, following the swish of Snape's robes as he descended into the dungeons.
Snape walked fast, muttering to himself the entire way, as if unaware of the echo his voice left behind.
"…would have known if it failed… I would've felt it…"
Harry crept closer, nearly holding his breath.
"…couldn't be dead… else I'd be dead…"
Snape's voice was tight, almost panicked. Harry's heartbeat quickened. What did that mean?
Snape turned sharply, entering a narrow corridor that led deeper underground. Harry kept his steps light, ears straining.
"…the Unbreakable Vow…" Snape murmured, almost like he was arguing with himself. "Making me do it… no choice, no choice…"
Harry's stomach twisted. He nearly stumbled, barely catching himself against the cool stone wall.
Unbreakable Vow?
He knew about those. They weren't just magical contracts—they were life-binding. Break them, and you died. But who had Snape made a vow with? And what was he being forced to do?
Snape stopped for a moment, his voice low and bitter. "He failed. Of course he failed. He was never meant to succeed."
Snape's footsteps slowed. "And now it falls to me… always me…"
Then, barely audible, like it was torn from his throat:
"If I don't do it… we die…"
They'd reached a heavy wooden door—Snape's private quarters, no doubt. Harry dared one more step forward, close enough now to see the tension in the man's shoulders.
Snape stood there for a moment, motionless, breathing hard.
Then, without another word, he disappeared inside and shut the door behind him.
Harry was left alone in the corridor, the words echoing in his mind like a curse.
Couldn't be dead… else I'd be dead.
The Unbreakable Vow.
Making me do it…
And now it falls to me… always me…
If I don't do it… we die…
Who was he talking about? What had he promised to do?
Harry thought there was an obvious connection to Malfoy, who had indeed failed his task. And now it falls to me. Does it mean Snape is taking over after Malfoy's failure?
Suddenly, Harry was more certain than ever that Snape was tangled in something far more dangerous than Dumbledore believed.
He made his decision quickly—this felt far too important to sit on. In that moment, his frustrations with Dumbledore evaporated. He turned on his heel and sprinted straight to the headmaster's office. This was something Dumbledore needed to know. Now.
Fortunately, the stone gargoyle let him through without asking for a password. Moments later, he was bounding up the moving staircase and knocking on the heavy door—harder than he probably meant to.
"Come in," came Dumbledore's voice, calm as ever.
Harry stepped inside. The headmaster turned from the window, looking at him tiredly over his half-moon spectacles.
"Good to see you, Harry. To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?"
Harry dropped into the chair across from his desk, breathless.
"It's Snape. Something's wrong with him."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Professor Snape, Harry. And what exactly do you believe you've discovered?"
Harry didn't let the correction deter him. Words poured out of him in a rush—Snape's erratic behavior, the muttering, the way he looked like he was barely holding himself together. And then, the part he'd overheard: "Unbreakable Vow… couldn't be dead, else I'd be dead… And now it falls to me…"
Dumbledore listened in silence, his expression unreadable. He nodded occasionally, his fingers steepled under his chin. But when Harry finally stopped, expecting a reaction—any reaction—Dumbledore simply gazed at him with that same maddening calm.
No shock. No alarm. No movement at all.
That's when Harry realized.
"You knew," he said, his voice low and sharp with betrayal.
Dumbledore didn't deny it. His silence was answer enough.
Harry stared at him, stunned. "You knew," he repeated, louder now, standing from his chair.
A bitter laugh escaped him. "Of course you did. You always do."
He started pacing, trying to contain the fury and confusion boiling inside him.
"I came to you months ago about Malfoy. Told you he was up to something, told you about the Vanishing Cabinet—and you did nothing! You let him stay here where he was a danger to everyone, and you still did nothing."
His voice cracked. "And now he's gone. Dead, maybe. Or worse. And Snape—he's unraveling. He's muttering about Vows and cracking under the pressure, just like Malfoy did. And what do you do? You sit there."
Dumbledore let out a weary sigh. "There are things you couldn't possibly understand yet, Harry."
"Couldn't understand?" Harry rounded on him. "Don't you dare. Don't you dare tell me that again."
He was trembling now, fists clenched at his sides.
"You're always defending them. Malfoy. Snape. Anyone but me. You say everyone deserves a second chance, right? So Malfoy got one—and look where that got us. Now Snape too, even as he's falling apart and talking about Unbreakable Vows. And me? What about me, Professor?"
Dumbledore said nothing.
Harry laughed again, but there was no humor in it. Only pain.
"You always give people chances—over and over again. But when did you give me one? We both know what the prophecy says. I thought this year would be different. I thought you'd finally prepare me for what's coming. But no. You've kept your distance. You made promises about helping me, about explaining what the diary and the tiara were. About the future I have to face. But you did nothing."
He turned to the door.
"Too busy saving the people who don't deserve to be saved," he muttered.
And then he left, slamming the door behind him so hard that the portraits on the wall rattled.
If he'd looked back—just once—he would have seen something he'd never seen before.
Tears. Silent, glittering tears slipping down the great Albus Dumbledore's cheeks.
….
Harry took the stairs from Dumbledore's office two at a time. He was at his wits' end and felt more alone than ever before. He had so naively trusted the headmaster—believed that Dumbledore would lead him, guide him, help him carry the crushing weight of the prophecy.
But now, the truth was clear.
It had all been wishful thinking.
The reality remained the same—he was still alone in all of it.
He paused halfway down a corridor, trying to gather himself. He had skipped History of Magic to follow Snape—his friends would still be in class, unaware of any of this. He tried to remember Ginny's timetable, but his mind was too clouded to focus. With a frustrated sigh, he pulled the Marauder's Map from his backpack and whispered, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
His eyes scanned the parchment until they found her name.
Ginny was in the library, sitting with Demelza, Colin, and Luna.
That was all he needed.
He turned on his heel and made his way there at once, barely aware of the route his feet were taking. He needed her. He needed someone who wouldn't lie to him, who wouldn't smile kindly and hide things behind wrinkled eyes. Someone who would see him—really see him—and not expect him to be strong all the time.
Ginny was at a table with her friends, hunched over her Transfiguration essay, when Harry entered. One look at his face and her quill froze in mid-stroke.
He didn't even glance at the others as he approached.
"Could you come with me?" he asked quietly, his voice low and strained.
That was all.
Ginny didn't ask questions. She gathered her things with practiced ease, threw her bag over her shoulder, and followed him out of the library without a word.
Harry led the way silently, heading for the nearest staircase. His shoulders were stiff, his jaw clenched tight.
Ginny said nothing. She knew he would open up when he was ready.
And until then, she would walk beside him.
They walked through the corridors in silence, Ginny a step behind Harry as he led the way through the castle. He didn't say a word until they reached the seventh floor. Then, without hesitation, he stopped in front of the familiar blank stretch of wall across from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy.
Harry passed in front of the wall three times, his mind focused on the same simple thought: Somewhere we can talk. Somewhere safe. A door appeared, and he pushed it open, holding it for her.
The Room of Requirement had taken the form of a warm, familiar space—just like the cozy "living room" it had offered them before. A large sofa sat in front of a crackling fire, soft cushions scattered around, and the faint smell of cinnamon and woodsmoke hung in the air.
Harry walked straight to the sofa and sank into it heavily, elbows on his knees, rubbing his face with both hands. Ginny dropped her bag and sat beside him without a word.
For a long moment, they just sat there, the fire popping gently.
Then Harry finally spoke.
"I followed Snape," he said, his voice hoarse.
Ginny's eyes widened a little, but she didn't interrupt. She just shifted a bit closer, resting her hand on his knee.
"I used the Cloak. He looked… weird, like he was fighting something. He was muttering to himself—his hands were shaking. And I heard him, Ginny. He said—he said, 'Couldn't be dead, else I'd be dead,' and something about an Unbreakable Vow making him do something. He looked like he was breaking apart."
Ginny drew in a breath. "An Unbreakable Vow?"
Harry nodded. "Yeah. I think… he's about to take over Malfoy's attempts…"
His fists clenched in his lap.
"And I went straight to Dumbledore. I thought—I don't know, that this time, he'd listen to me. That if I just told him everything, he'd finally do something."
Ginny watched him carefully, saying nothing.
"But he already knew," Harry said, the words bitter. "He knew. All of it. Just sat there, smiling like it was some sort of game. He knew about Malfoy. About Snape. He didn't care."
Harry stood up suddenly and began pacing, his anger spilling out now that the dam had broken. "I trusted him. I thought this year he was finally going to start preparing me, really preparing me. But no. All he does is disappear for days, or tell me to keep trusting Snape, of all people."
He stopped walking and turned to Ginny, his voice shaking.
"So I told him that he keeps protecting them, but never once protected me. Gin… I feel so alone right now."
Ginny stood up from the couch and walked toward Harry, pulling him into her arms and holding him tightly. Harry melted into the embrace, breathing in the sweet flowery scent of her hair. In that moment, with her arms around him, he wasn't as alone as he felt before.
But there was something he still had to say. He needed to tell her the truth about the Prophecy. Because, no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, it involved Ginny too. She deserved to know, to make an informed decision about whether she wanted to stay with him, despite the dark fate he could never escape.
He gently pulled back, meeting her gaze with a seriousness that made her heart skip a beat.
"Come sit with me?" he asked, his voice shaky.
Ginny immediately understood. He'd made up his mind to share whatever it was that had been weighing so heavily on him. She didn't hesitate, sitting down beside him, ready to listen.
Harry looked at her, pain etched deep in his eyes. He was silent for a long moment, searching her face like he wanted to memorize every detail—as if this might be the last time he'd ever see her.
Then, he turned his gaze to the roaring fire and took a deep breath, bracing himself.
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives… the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies."
Harry spoke the Prophecy in a voice barely louder than a whisper, and as the final words left his lips, he closed his eyes.
Ginny's breath hitched in her chest. She looked at him—at the pain written all over his face—and something inside her stilled.
So this was the truth. Finally.
But the strange thing was, instead of the crushing dread she expected, what she felt was... relief.
She had always known, somehow, deep down. Known that Harry would have a part to play in the war, a vital one. She had felt it in her bones since the Chamber of Secrets, since the moment she woke to find him standing beside her—bloodied, shaking, but alive—with the Sword of Godric Gryffindor in his hand.
Knowing the exact words of the Prophecy didn't change anything. If anything, it confirmed what she already believed: that Tom Riddle could be defeated. That the nightmare might finally end, even if it didn't feel like it yet.
Ginny reached out and gently took his hand, her thumb brushing over the back of it.
Harry opened his eyes slowly, expecting fear or pity in hers—but instead he found something steadier. Something stronger.
"I figured it was something like that," she said softly. "Not the exact words, of course, but… I've always known you were at the center of all this. You don't exactly blend into the background, Harry."
He let out a small, humorless laugh, but her tone wasn't mocking—just matter-of-fact, comforting in its honesty.
"You've been carrying this alone for so long," she continued, scooting closer to him on the couch. "But you don't have to anymore. You have me. You've always had me, even before you knew it."
Harry looked down at their joined hands, overwhelmed. "Ginny, this isn't… it's not fair to drag you into this. If Voldemort knew—"
She squeezed his hand, firm and certain. "I've been dragged into it, Harry. Since I was eleven. I know what he is. And I know what you are, too."
Her voice lowered, but grew fiercer. "You're not just the boy in the Prophecy. You're not just someone fate picked for this. You're you. The boy who saved my life. The boy who never stops trying to protect others. The one who still laughs sometimes, even when everything is falling apart."
She reached up to touch his cheek gently. "I'm not afraid of being with you, Harry. I'm afraid of not being with you. So whatever comes next, I'm in. All the way."
Harry blinked fast, trying to speak, but no words came. So instead, he leaned into her touch, letting her ground him in the silence that followed—just the two of them, together against the dark.
They were still curled up on the couch, the fire casting flickers of golden light across the walls. Harry was quiet again, his head resting against Ginny's shoulder, her fingers gently carding through his hair.
She didn't say anything for a while. She just held him.
Then, with that quiet confidence that was so Ginny, she said softly, "You know you're allowed to be just Harry sometimes, right?"
He blinked, tilting his head to look at her. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," she said, brushing her fingers through the fringe over his scar, "you're not just 'the Chosen One' or whatever stupid name people give you. You're also just… a boy. A really brave, ridiculously noble, sometimes annoyingly self-sacrificing boy. But still. A boy who deserves to feel good. To be cared for. To have someone who sees him."
Harry swallowed hard. "You do see me."
"I do." She leaned in and kissed him, gentle at first, then deeper when he didn't pull away. He kissed her back with more urgency than before, like the dam had cracked again. She shifted, pulling him closer until he was almost in her lap, their limbs tangled and breaths growing heavier.
He broke the kiss, resting his forehead against hers. "Gin… I don't want to mess this up. I feel like I ruin everything I care about."
"You're not ruining anything," she whispered, brushing her thumb across his cheek. "You're letting me in. That's all I've ever wanted."
Her hands moved slowly, reassuringly, one slipping under his jumper to find the warm skin of his back, the other drifting lower, finding the edge of his waistband. She paused, giving him time to stop her — but he didn't. He just looked at her with eyes full of pain and trust and something dangerously close to hope.
She kissed him again, slow and deliberate, and her hand dipped lower inside his shorts, easing the tension from his body in the only way she could.
Harry didn't say a word. His hands clutched at her waist, grounding himself. He pressed his face into the curve of her neck, letting out a quiet, shuddering breath.
For once, the weight he carried didn't feel quite so heavy.
And when it was over, when his breathing finally slowed and she held him against her chest like he was something precious, he realized that for the first time in a long time, he didn't feel like he was drowning.
He just felt… loved.
They lay in a quiet tangle on the sofa, the crackling fire casting long shadows across the walls. Harry's heart was still racing, though not from fear this time. He was staring at the ceiling, his mind spinning faster than his breathing could settle. He hadn't planned any of this—he never planned anything properly—but now it had happened, and all he could think was what if this was a mistake? What if it was too soon for their relationship to become something physical?
"You didn't have to do that," he mumbled, voice barely audible.
Ginny turned her head toward him, one eyebrow arched. "I know."
Harry winced and sat up, running his hand through his hair in a familiar gesture of panic. "I just mean… I didn't think—I mean, I didn't mean to—" He sighed, burying his face in his hands. "Merlin, Gin, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have— It wasn't fair. You didn't have to—"
"Oh for heaven's sake," Ginny cut in, sitting up beside him. "Harry."
He peeked through his fingers.
"I started it," she said simply, reaching for his hand. "I wanted it. I finished it. And I'm not sorry."
He looked at her like he needed her to say it twice.
"Really," she added, squeezing his fingers. "I know what I'm doing. I wanted to remind you you're still allowed to feel good things. That you're not just… a weapon. Or a prophecy. You're Harry. My Harry."
Harry blinked quickly, and then—just like that—the tension in his shoulders dropped.
"…Okay," he whispered.
"We're allowed to have this. Even now," she whispered back, resting her head on his shoulder.
"Just tell me…" said Ginny, her voice surprisingly vulnerable. "Was it any good? I've never done anything like this before."
Harry chuckled. "Any good? Did I look like I didn't enjoy myself?"
Ginny was still looking at him a little unsurely, so he continued.
"It was… absolutely mind-blowing, Gin." And he kissed her with such intensity that Ginny's worries evaporated.
Harry then shifted in his seat nervously, all awkward again. "Er… do you… do you want me to return the favor?"
Ginny smiled softly at Harry's awkward offer, brushing her thumb along the back of his hand.
"Not today," she said gently, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. "This wasn't about keeping score, Harry. Besides…" she glanced at the old grandfather clock peeking out from behind one of the Room's mismatched bookshelves, "we've got about ten minutes before dinner, and I don't fancy turning up late and red-faced."
Harry let out a breathy laugh, some of the tension easing. "Right. Good point."
She grinned and nudged his shoulder. "Come on. Let's go before Ron sends a search party."
They left the Room of Requirement together, not touching but close enough to be bumping to each other every few steps, sneaking along quiet corridors and stairwells until they reached the Great Hall. Ginny gave his hand a final squeeze and peeled off toward the Gryffindor table, settling next to Demelza. Harry slid into the seat across from Ron, his face burning for reasons entirely unrelated to the food.
Ron looked up from ladling potatoes onto his plate and raised an eyebrow. "Where've you been?"
"Library," Harry muttered quickly.
Ron narrowed his eyes. "Library?"
"Yeah," Harry said, stabbing a roast carrot with unnecessary force. "Revision."
Ron blinked. "For what?"
Harry fumbled. "Uh. History of Magic."
Ron blinked again, but thankfully, before he could question the absurdity of Harry voluntarily revising History of Magic, the clinking of glass echoed across the Hall.
All heads turned as Dumbledore rose to his feet at the staff table, his face grave but composed.
"May I have your attention," he said, his voice amplified by magic and rippling through the Hall. "I have an important announcement."
A ripple of murmurs spread across the students. Dumbledore lifted a hand, silencing them.
"Earlier today, Professor Severus Snape informed me of his decision to end his career at Hogwarts with immediate effect. He is no longer a member of the teaching staff."
The silence that followed was so complete, you could have heard a quill drop.
Harry's fork hovered halfway to his mouth. He didn't move.
Ron looked stunned. "Bloody hell…"
Ginny, across the table, locked eyes with Harry. Her face was unreadable, but her hand had gone still on her goblet.
Dumbledore's voice continued, calm but heavy. "I understand this news may come as a surprise. I will speak with each House individually over the next few days. For now, I ask that you remain respectful and calm. That will be all for tonight."
He sat down again, leaving the Hall buzzing with whispers.
Harry swallowed thickly. His thoughts were anything but calm.