Semper Solus

- partII: the good old days -

The next day, Harry and Hermione were back in Azkaban, preparing for another interview. They stood outside the cell containing Macnair, one of eight new prisoners who had just arrived at the wizarding prison. Hermione conjured two chairs in the cell.

"Good afternoon," said Harry smoothly. "Care for something to drink?"

Macnair growled, "Nice try, Potter, but I've been warned about your little tricks."

Harry sat down. "Then I guess we'll have to do this the traditional way."

"You're wasting your time. I'll never tell you bastards anything!"

They ignored this. Hermione was thinking very fast of how to ask questions that he would answer. "Tell me," she said slowly, "have you done any travelling recently?"

Macnair glared at her. "Not to where the Orb of Slytherin is," he said maliciously.

Hermione stared right back at him. "All right, so you know what we want. So why don't you help us out? It'd save you a lifetime in here," she said, gesturing to the prison cell around them.

"No," he spat, "when my Master sees my loyalty, he will come and break me out of here. He will get all of us out of here!" The other jailed Death Eaters had apparently been listening in on the conversation, because there was an explosion of cheers from the other cells. Behind his sunglasses, Harry rolled his eyes.

"Oh, really?" said Hermione amusedly, traces of a smile evident on her face. "You can't mean the same 'Master' that seems to be having quite a lot of trouble establishing his own little 'reign of terror' in Britain?"

"All because of you two!" Macnair snarled. He dove at Hermione, but she was too quick for him; she jumped out of the way and Macnair came crashing into the empty chair. After getting to his feet he charged at Harry, who aimed a well-placed kick to Macnair's chest that sent the inmate flying backwards into the corner. Eyes flashing dangerously, Macnair sank back onto his stone bench.

"So much for getting out of Azkaban on good behaviour," said Hermione scathingly. She took out her wand so that Macnair could see it.

Harry smirked as Macnair scowled at them. "So what were you going to tell us?" Harry asked calmly.

"Go to hell, Potter."

"Try again."

Macnair spat on him; Harry nonchalantly wiped his sunglasses off on his robes.

Frustrated, Hermione said, "You're on your last chance. Tell us where the Orb is."

"Or what?" Macnair sneered.

"Or we'll kill Voldemort," said Harry, feeling that Voldemort's destruction was the only thing that could scare Macnair into talking.

"Ha! It can't be done!" said Macnair haughtily.

"Then why not just tell us where the Orb is, if it won't kill Voldemort?" Hermione shot back.

"I'm telling you, it's impossible!" barked Macnair.

"You just watch us," hissed Hermione, slamming the barred door closed behind them as they left the cell. "I guess we'll have to do this the long way," she said to Harry. Ignoring the various obscenities being shouted at them by the Death Eaters they passed, they made their way back out of the prison.

"Barking mad," Hermione muttered, shaking her head. She checked her watch and said, "I'd better go-- I've got loads of reading to do."

"Have you found anything?"

"Well, no... but then again, I've only had one night to look. There's no doubt in my mind that we'll find something eventually." She Disapparated.

Harry checked his own watch. It was half past noon-- which left him plenty of time to study Dark Arts in the Twentieth Century. Lucky me, he thought.

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"...born in 1926, graduated from Hogwarts in 1944. Disappeared from the country until 1970 when he started gaining power..."

It was evening. Harry was at Remus's house, sharing what little information he'd gathered about Tom Riddle/Voldemort-- nothing he hadn't known before. It was becoming irritatingly clear how little was really known about Voldemort, particularly about his origins. A week of searching their own books had revealed nothing that would be of any use to them.

There was a knock on the door and Hermione entered, a large beaker of potion under her arm. Curls of smoke were rising out of it; Harry was sure that this was Wolfsbane Potion. Sure enough, when Hermione set it down on the table, Remus said quickly, "Thanks very much, Hermione."

"Not at all," she replied. She cleared a stack of books from a chair and sat down in it. "Had any luck with the Orb?"

"None, whatsoever," said Harry. "But I thought we might look into Albania; I mean, that was where he was after he fell the first time."

Remus shook his head. "We've no reason to believe that it's there. Nobody knows where he went during those years between Hogwarts and 1970. He underwent twenty-six years of Dark Arts training and magical transformations, but this could have been anywhere. The fact that he used Albania as his hideout is irrelevant... I mean, nothing there helped him to regain his power alone..."

"But wouldn't you say Albania has at least a possibility of being the right place?" asked Hermione.

"Certainly... at least, it has as much a possibility as anywhere else..." said Remus pensively.

The discussion continued into the night, and was ended only when Remus announced his tiredness and retreated into his bedroom. Harry went outside and crossed the street-- he was about to enter his own house when Hermione caught up with him.

"Harry-- wait." He turned to find Hermione coming up the steps of his front porch. "Aren't you going to say goodnight to me?"

Missing the teasing sarcasm in her voice, he said quickly, "Er, sorry-- goodnight." He turned back around to walk into the house, but Hermione stepped in front of him.

"Harry, listen. Next weekend Gryffindor plays Slytherin for the Quidditch Cup. Want to go watch?"

"No, thanks."

"Why on earth not?"

"Hermione, we're in the middle of our most important project ever-- I don't have time to go and watch silly games."

"It was more than just a 'silly game' when you played for Gryffindor, wasn't it?" she retorted.

"That was before... well, I've realised what's important and what's not."

"So spending some time with your friends isn't important, then?"

"What friends?" Harry said bitterly.

"Harry!" Hermione looked as though she might explode with frustration. "Why are you doing this to yourself? You know perfectly well who your friends are-- Ginny, Dean, Seamus, Fred and George..." she started counting off names on her fingers.

"They don't need me."

"Oh, is that so? And I suppose you don't need them, either?"

"How can I do my work if I'm dependent on other people? Besides, I learned a long time ago that I can't trust anyone-- except maybe you and Remus, and Dumbledore..."

"Fine." Hermione's voice was exasperated, but her face showed only concern. "I don't understand why you think that way, but I can see you won't be swayed..." Her voice became quiet and pleading. "But please think about it, Harry. We deserve a break, it'd be good for you to get out, and good for me too, for that matter. It would mean a lot to me..."

Harry frowned. He hated arguing with Hermione-- she was always right. "Fine, I'll go," he said resignedly.

Hermione smiled and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before she Disapparated. With an annoyed sigh, Harry went inside, opened the latest book he'd been assigned, and began to take notes.

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A week later he was sitting high up in the stands of the Quidditch stadium. It was actually the first time he'd been in the stands; it seemed strange not to be in the changing room or out on the pitch with the rest of the team...

Stop it, he ordered himself. You're an Auror, not a Quidditch player. You shouldn't have let Hermione talk you into this. You're too weak. He scowled his displeasure that he was allowing himself this luxury. He reasoned that the only way he could fix the situation was to not let himself to enjoy it.

The stadium was full-- all the students had taken their seats and were ready for the match to begin. But before the teams took to the pitch, the commentator had a special announcement to make. "On behalf of Hogwarts I would like to welcome our guests of honour to today's match. Supporting Slytherin today we have Auror Blaise Zabini, and former Slytherin Quidditch players Terence Higgs, Adrian Pucey, and Marcus Flint!"

The commentator paused as she waited for the Slytherins in the crowd to stop cheering. Then she continued, "And supporting Gryffindor, we have four Weasleys-- Fred, Angelina, George, and Katie, all part of the 1994 and 1996 Quidditch Cup-winning Gryffindor teams!" Their section of the stands was magically illuminated and Harry could see Fred and George grinning and waving, their faces painted scarlet and gold-- the colours of Gryffindor. Angelina held up a little boy (who judging by the mop of red hair was hers and Fred's son) who was wearing face paint to match his father's.

"My mistake," said the commentator, "we have five Weasleys in attendance today. And also supporting Gryffindor today, the world-famous Auror pair, Hermione Granger and... HARRY POTTER!"

Harry was almost blinded by the lights that were all suddenly focused on them. He could barely hear the commentator rattling off Hermione's academic records and his Quidditch statistics over the spectators' deafening cheers. To please the crowd he forced a smile and held up his hand in a dignified wave. To his left, Hermione was both beaming and blushing.

"And now let's start the match!"

As the teams emerged from their locker rooms and onto the field amid torrents of noise, Harry felt a strange sort of nostalgia, which he quickly forced to the back of his mind. He swiftly quashed the familiar rush of excitement when Madam Hooch sounded her silver whistle and the match began. He refrained from shouting and cheering with the rest as the two teams battled on...

"And Slytherin Chaser Foot with the Quaffle now, rocketing up the field... Wow, did you see that? Foot fakes out Gryffindor Chaser Hall, passes her, it's just him and the Keeper... and he scores! Thirty-ten for Slytherin now. Brian Smith with the Quaffle now for Gryffindor, look at him go! Come on, Brian... OUCH! Collides with Slytherin Beater Danforth, he'll feel that in the morning. Quaffle taken by Slytherin, but Foot takes a Bludger to the face, that'll leave a mark. He drops the Quaffle, and it's caught by Amanda Hall, who puts it past the Slytherin Keeper for a goal! Thirty-twenty now to Slytherin!"

Harry exhaled, realising that he had been holding his breath in anticipation. "Looks like this'll be a close match, these two excellent teams will fight until the last breath! I think it'll come down to the Seekers-- John Grant of Slytherin and Nick Forbes for Gryffindor, but there's been no sign of the Snitch yet. Smith just scored again, it's tied at thirty points. Foot with the Quaffle again, loops the Gryffindor defender... YES! Gryffindor Keeper Sarah Freeland pulls off a spectacular save and now it's Hall again... LOOK AT GRANT AND FORBES!"

The Snitch was hovering near the centre of the pitch and the two Seekers were hurtling towards it from opposite ends. Each was bent low on his broomstick, eyes locked on the tiny flash of gold. A blur of green and a blur of scarlet... they were going to hit each other dead-on but neither would swerve from his path...

CRUNCH. The Seekers collided at full speed at the location of the Snitch, which disappeared from view. The crowd collectively winced as both Seekers fell-- Grant's broom spiralled downward before he regained control and looked around wildly for the Snitch. But it was too late-- the stadium erupted in cheers as scarlet-clad Nick Forbes thrust his fist into the air. He paid no heed to his heavily bleeding nose as he clutched the Snitch in his left hand and dangled from his airborne broom with his right.

Harry couldn't stop the memories flooding back to him as he watched Nick Forbes float to the ground to be swarmed by the frenzied Gryffindor crowd. He couldn't help cheering as Dumbledore presented the Quidditch Cup to the team captain. His throat felt unusually tight as he saw his old House celebrating wildly... he couldn't help it. It was lucky he was wearing his sunglasses, so that nobody could see the distant look in them as he longingly thought of those carefree days.

Back at home, Harry silently deplored himself for enjoying the Quidditch match. You can't have these pathetic feelings-- they'll get you into trouble. They'll make everything harder. So he forgot his emotions once again and returned to his solitary life.

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Next morning his breakfast was interrupted when Hermione's head appeared suddenly in the fire.

"Harry," she said, "can you come over here for a minute? Dumbledore wants a word..."

When he arrived she told him, "We have a few minutes to wait-- he's got some Hogwarts business to take care of first. Have a seat." She gestured to the couch, upon which Harry sat down. Rather than counting dots on the ceiling as he waited, he attempted to count the books that were in neat lines on the bookshelves, tossed in a basket in the corner, and stacked high on practically every accessible horizontal surface.

"So..." Hermione said as she straightened the seven crucifixes hanging on her wall for protection against vampires and vindictive, undead spirits. "Did you enjoy the Quidditch match?"

"It was..." he paused as he searched for an acceptable word. "It was inspiring."

Hermione turned to face him. "God, Harry, why don't you just admit you had fun?"

"It's not important," Harry said rather coldly. "And I can't afford to be weak anymore."

"Why exactly is having fun a sign of weakness?" Hermione asked patiently, but just as coldly.

Harry was spared answering, because at that moment the head of Albus Dumbledore appeared in the fire. "Ah, I see you are both there, very good," he said. "I have been giving some thought to the Orb of Slytherin matter as told to me by Remus. You haven't been having any luck so far in your search?"

"No, sir, our books don't go into that sort of detail," said Harry.

"Well, then I insist that you come to Hogwarts to help you in your search. As you have captured Death Eaters over the years, the Ministry has confiscated some... highly interesting books and objects from their homes. They are now being stored in the Restricted Section of the library. I give you permission to use them in your research-- but be careful, they are rather powerful Dark objects."

"Thank you, sir."

With that, he disappeared from the fire. Harry simply sat for a few moments, not really looking forward to the prospect of reading through hundreds more books on the Dark Arts. Hermione, on the other hand, leapt up from her seat. "Well, what are we waiting for?" she said, and tossed some Floo powder into the fire. "Hogwarts library." She disappeared in a rush of green fire.

Harry had no choice but to follow her, so he did. When he arrived in the library he found his partner already immersed in a huge and sinister-looking book. A few of the more dedicated Hogwarts students were in the library revising for their exams, which were a little less than a month away; when he passed by them., they whispered excitedly to each other before scurrying out of the room, probably to tell their friends that the famous Harry Potter was in the library.

Sure enough, minutes later they had returned with what seemed like the entire school. Harry remembered all too well how quickly gossip spread through Hogwarts, particularly gossip involving him. It was quite difficult to work as a crowd of students stood nearby, pointing and whispering rapidly, but he ignored them as best he could. One small witch got up the nerve to ask Harry for his autograph.

"Only if you get Hermione's first. It's a packaged deal," he told her.

The girl slid the parchment across the table. Although she was clearly ruffled by this distraction, Hermione smiled tolerantly and signed the parchment before returning to her book.

Harry then autographed the parchment and waited until the girl returned to show her friends, who were all giggling madly. To prevent further disruption from other students keen on getting his signature, he conjured up a soundproof curtain across the library, shielding Hermione and him from the view of the tittering throng.

"Doesn't it bother you?" he asked Hermione.

"Does what bother me?" she responded, her face still buried in her book.

Harry hesitated-- Hermione could potentially be quite dangerous when interrupted from her work. But he pressed valiantly on, "When people see us, they really only see me, you know." He paused, wondering if he had offended her, but she was still reading her book, showing no signs that she had even heard him. "I mean, that girl, she just asked for my autograph and ignored you." Having made his point, he stopped speaking and waited for her reply.

He watched Hermione's eyes travelling over the words in front of her. Having finished the paragraph she finally looked up.

"You're confusing me with Ron," she said quietly, with a soft smile.

Something flickered in Harry's habitually cold green eyes. She saw it; she reached out to take his hand, but quickly withdrew her arm when he automatically shrank back from her touch. But she didn't stop talking.

"You've been famous since you were a year old, Harry. I don't expect to compete with that. I don't want to compete with that, anyway. It's not important at all."

"I never wanted to be famous," said Harry sullenly.

"I know you didn't." She gave him a reassuring smile before adding, "I appreciate your concern, though."

She went back to her work. Having nothing else to say or do, Harry did likewise. But his mind was no longer on the book in front of him (Secrets of the Dark Arts). He was thinking about the name Hermione had mentioned.

Suddenly he wished that they could do their research someplace else. Just to be in this building, this school, forced memories of happier times into his stubborn mind. Indeed, the happiest seven years of his life were at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Seven years, side by side. Hermione and Harry.

And Ron.

Ron Weasley.

Harry's red-headed, freckle-faced, Quidditch-loving best friend. They were all but inseparable. Everything-- classes, meals, homework, Quidditch-- they did together.

He'd been equally close to Hermione, but for different reasons. She'd always been the sensitive, loyal, and sensible one. And she still was, of course.

But Ron was simply more fun to be around. Hermione had her own distinctive sense of humour, dry and sarcastic, not unlike that of Remus Lupin. But with Ron, everything had been funny. Nothing put Harry in better spirits than a game of Quidditch in the orchard with the Weasley brothers, or an intense snowball fight out on the grounds with Ron and the twins, or a quiet game of wizard's chess near the common room fire, Ron easily beating him every time. Like Sirius, Ron could find humour in any situation, no matter how dire...

That's not a good thing, he fiercely tried to tell himself. Some things are simply not funny. Yet this argument inside his head quickly dissolved. Ron had become a lot more mature-- and he wasn't stupid. He knew when to joke around and when not to. Harry couldn't help feeling he missed Ron's company.

Stop being so dismal! he silently screamed at himself. He'd been telling himself this for years, over and over. God forbid that his life be fun. I don't want to have fun. That's not who I am.

But it is who you were, said another, different voice in his head. Why did you change? Just because Ron's gone doesn't mean you can't have fun.

That's not what I'm here for, said Harry's willpower. All that matters is killing Voldemort.

Harry's conscience replied, But look what you've become ever since that has been your mindset. You're ignoring your real feelings.

No! I don't need feelings. I don't have feelings.

Even worse!

It's necessary! Extracurricular relationships become obstacles!

But--

SHUT UP! Harry bellowed at the quarrel inside his head, which hurt as if his conscience and willpower had been punching each other as well as arguing. He felt annoyed, exhausted-- the way he always did after listening to a fight between Hermione and Ron.

Oh, look, there's Ron again, said his conscience. You can't keep yourself from thinking about him, can you?

I could if you would just stop remembering him, his willpower shot back.

Just admit you miss him. Admit you're sad.

Fed up, Harry silenced the voices in his head by slamming Secrets of the Dark Arts to his forehead. Having done this he slowly lowered the book, to find Hermione watching him carefully.

She stood up. "I think you need a break, Harry," she said soothingly. "Let's take a walk."

"I'm fine," said Harry through gritted teeth.

"Well, I need a break, then," Hermione said firmly. "Let's go."

Harry grudgingly followed her out of the library. They walked briskly through the familiar hallways, ignoring the whispers and pointing fingers of the students and portraits as they passed.

When they came to the entrance hall Hermione stopped abruptly as her eyes fell upon something mounted over the huge oak doors. Harry followed her gaze. It was an enormous obsidian plaque, bearing words of gold:

in memory of Ronald Weasley

Order of Merlin, First Class

"Order of Merlin, First Class," Harry read the last line of the plaque aloud. "Think we'll ever get First Class?"

Ignoring Harry's question, Hermione hissed at him, "Is that all you see? Order of Merlin, First Class? What about the first line, your best friend's name?"

When Harry didn't answer her, she pulled him outside by his arm. She marched him across the grounds, all the way to the shores on the side of the lake farthest from Hogwarts. She had brought him to a secluded location, sandwiched between the forest and the lake. There were three small boulders here-- Hermione sat on one and Harry on another.

They simply sat in silence for a while as Hermione watched a scowling Harry. She had taken him here on purpose, to try to get him to feel something. After he, Ron, and Hermione had discovered this spot in their fifth year, it had quickly become their favourite place on the Hogwarts grounds. She knew he had a particularly large collection of memories that took place here. And judging from the pained look on his face that he was working hard (and failing) to conceal, he was reliving some of those memories right now.

"I'm not doing this to be mean," said Hermione, staring out at the lake.

"Why are you doing it, then?" Harry asked, trying to keep his deep voice calm.

She looked at him. Harry was surprised to see tears on her face. "I'm worried about you," she said in a shaky, quiet voice.

"Well, don't be."

Exasperated, Hermione jumped off her rock and pulled Harry off of his own. She held him by his shoulders at arm's length, as she looked directly into his face. She said slowly, "I want you to tell me what's wrong."

"What makes you think something's wrong?" he said doggedly.

"This," - she shook his shoulders a little more forcefully than she probably intended to-- "is not Harry. The real Harry Potter is a kind, happy, emotional, caring guy that I went to school with for seven years. This," - she shook his shoulders again-- "is a machine, a wizard who is only concerned with killing Voldemort, and couldn't care less about himself or other people, and feels nothing."

As though to prove her point, she grabbed his head, pulled off his sunglasses, and kissed him on the lips, her cinnamon eyes not leaving his green ones. When he simply stared stonily back at her, she threw her arms around his neck and burst into tears.

Harry stood as still as though he was Petrified, though he was breathing rather heavily as he waited for Hermione to release him.

"You're wrong," he said monotonously. She stopped sobbing, but didn't lift her head from his shoulder, which was soaked with angry, sad, and frustrated tears. "I care about other people. That's why I'm fighting Voldemort-- so all my old friends and everybody else can live and not have to worry about him. And to avenge my parents' deaths, and Sirius, and Ron..." Hoping he had made a strong enough case to pacify Hermione at least temporarily, he let his voice trail off.

But far from tranquilising her, his words seemed to send her into a rage. She pushed him backwards, away from her, hard. "So that's all your 'friends' are to you? Reasons to fight Voldemort?" Hermione said this loudly, and so venomously that Harry took several steps back to put more space between them. He backed up as far as he could go without falling into the lake, but Hermione closed the gap quickly. Seething with anger and less than a metre away from him, she hissed, "You have no idea what real friendship is about, do you? Wait, I take it back-- you were a good friend for seven years, keyword being were. You know what it's all about. You just choose to ignore it, for no good reason at all."

Hoping she wouldn't push him into the lake, Harry said and did nothing. Hermione's blazing eyes softened a little, but were still fiery. "I can't make you change back to who you really are. If you want to keep up this façade, well, that's your choice. But you owe yourself better. You deserve better than what you give yourself. Remember that."

Hermione gave him a final, piercing stare, so reminiscent of Professor McGonagall that Harry half expected her to try to give him a detention. But she only walked off, saying, "See you tomorrow, Potter."

Her last word hit Harry like a bullet. Never in his life had she called him only by his surname. He didn't move from his spot until she had disappeared into the entrance hall of Hogwarts. The argument had left a very strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. Upon reflection, he realised that he had never really had a fight with Hermione before.

She's wrong, he told himself for the thousandth time as he lay awake that night. Over the past six years he'd repeatedly told himself not to make the same mistake twice-- that mistake was allowing himself to become close to the people around him. And when he lost the people he loved, it hurt-- a lot more than it hurts not to love at all.

Over six long years he had slowly convinced himself that he was doing the right thing. And no one, not even Hermione, would change his mind.

I don't eat, I just devour
Everyone in every hour
All is me is all I need and that's all that I care

Propelled through all this madness

By your beauty and my sadness

I'll never change or rearrange till I've finished what I've started

And life leads me here
It shows me, I have never really loved no one but me
Like the time, you slipped through my hands
I'll never understand why I'm such a Selfish Man

Walk around me, not before me
I'll pretend not to ignore ye
But I'll compromise if I realise you can do something for me
I'm ugly and you know it
But you think I am a poet
So I'll keep the rhyme if I feel in time, it gets me where I'm going

And life leads me here
It shows me, I have never really loved no one but me
Like the time, you slipped through my hands
I'll never understand why I'm such a Selfish Man

All I heard was an unearthly silence,
Apart from the violence, explode in my head
Where at all once was this moment of beauty
No more since it slew me
No never again

No, I'll never understand why I'm such a Selfish Man