A Hero's Choice

A Hero's Choice

Part 5

She was the first one to break the comfortable silence, a silence that healed them both, a silence of trust, of faith restored.

"Why did you say those things, Harry?" Her voice was quiet.

He hesitated for the barest moment but then answered, "It's because Voldemort has to kill me so being my friend is dangerous and makes you a target too. I couldn't- I didn't want anything to happen to you because you're my friend."

She was silent for a moment and then frowned. "But Harry, you've known about Voldemort since 1^st year; why suddenly did you decide you needed to protect us by keeping us away from you?"

He swallowed. He should have expected that her logical mind would see through his admittedly rather flimsy summary, truthful as it was, of his reasons. "I saw what happened to Sirius, what happened to you and Ron and everyone in the Department of Mysteries because of me and I knew I couldn't stand it if anything like that happened again. But more than that, it's because Voldemort doesn't just want to kill me; he has to. Because I'm the one 'with the Power the Dark Lord knows not' and neither of us can live while the other survives." He spoke dully, too drained to feel the usual mixture of dread and fear and helplessness and anger at remembering the words of the Prophecy.

"What- who said that?"

"It was Professor Trelawney's first real prophecy, the one Voldemort was trying to get in the Department of Mysteries," he answered tonelessly.

"It wasn't lost?"

"No, that record of it was destroyed but Dumbledore still knew it; he showed it to me from his Pensieve afterwards."

"Oh," was all she said, somewhat feebly.

He was silent as well and wondered with a rather sick feeling of apprehension, how she would react, what she would think. What she finally did say was the last thing he expected.

"That's all?"

He turned his head to stare at her.

"That's all the Prophecy said?" she repeated.

He blinked. "Basically, yes."

She nodded once. "Okay."

"You- you don't care? Don't you have anything more to say?" he asked incredulously.

"I only care for your sake. Otherwise, it doesn't matter," she said calmly, almost as casually as if they were discussing the weather and not a prediction that he would have to murder or be murdered.

"What?" he gaped at her.

She met his eyes. "Harry, I've known for a long time that you're going to have to face Voldemort. You're going to face him and you will defeat him and you are going to survive."

Somehow, the sheer confidence in her voice comforted him. If Hermione was so sure of it, then maybe it would really happen and he would survive...

And though just a few minutes ago he could never in his wildest dreams have imagined making light of the Prophecy in any way, he felt the corners of his lips quirk upward in the faintest of smiles, felt the smallest flicker of amusement. "Can you predict what will happen so certainly, given that Divination is such an imprecise branch of magic?"

She didn't smile; her tone and her expression remained completely solemn. "Yes because this has nothing to do with magic. I just know that you're going to defeat Voldemort and live to celebrate it." She paused slightly and then said, "I know it, because I can't believe, refuse to think, that it's possible for you to go through so much and not survive in the end. You're going to win and you're going to live because you're doing this for good."

She paused again and now she did smile slightly, just the hint of a smile lifting the corners of her lips although her eyes remained serious. "Besides, I won't let anything happen to you."

It was a promise, a solemn one; he could see it in her eyes. And the depth of devotion it revealed, a devotion that went beyond simple loyalty and beyond friendship, shook him to the core. He knew, suddenly and certainly, that she was committing herself to do anything to help him. She would do anything to help him. And the knowledge touched him, and comforted him, too, somehow. Comforted him--and for the first time since that afternoon, no, the first time since hearing the Prophecy in Dumbledore's office, he felt the beginnings of hope.

She said nothing more and neither did he but he somehow knew that whatever happened, whatever Voldemort had planned, he would get through it. He could endure anything, as long as he had Hermione by his side.

Hermione and Ron--they were what he needed.

Oh lord. "Ron. He- he must hate me now," he burst out suddenly.

"No, he won't. You just need to explain things to him," she reassured him. "We can explain now," she continued, standing up and holding out her hand.

Harry stared at her outstretched hand for a moment, an odd look on his face.

"I- I hate fighting with Ron," he said quietly as he put his hand in hers and stood up.

"I know you do. But it'll be okay. He'll forgive you."

"Yeah," was all he said, somewhat curtly, but the fact that his hand was still holding hers more than made up for any curtness in his tone.

He automatically reached for his wand, forgetting for a moment what had happened earlier, and then gasped. His wand felt- warm- to his touch, again. And he knew that he could do magic again. His magical ability had returned to him. He was himself again. "It's back," he said, staring at his wand in his hand, more to himself than to her.

She heard him and glanced at him curiously. "What's back?"

He looked up at her, smiling slightly and tightening his hand around hers. "Nothing. It's nothing. I just- I really need you," he finished softly and realized it was the first time he'd said that. The first time he'd admitted aloud that he couldn't do this alone.

Her gaze softened, the corners of her lips lifting slightly but she said nothing, only turned and they left his room together.

He knocked hesitantly on the door to Ron's room and then opened it, without waiting. He glanced at Hermione, hesitated, and then slipped his hand out of hers. She understood and waited, hovering just inside the room while he continued inside until he was facing Ron who was staring broodingly at a chessboard and the game he looked to be trying to half-heartedly play against himself.

"Ron..." he began and then trailed off, uncertainly.

"Sod off, Harry," Ron snapped coldly, not looking up from the chessboard.

He flinched and felt a pang of fresh guilt and regret. It was his fault Ron was so angry; he'd been so harsh, so mean. "Ron, I- I'm sorry. I- I just-- it's because of the Prophecy!" he finally blurted out desperately.

Now, Ron looked up, confusion written clearly over his features. "What Prophecy?"

"The one in the Department of Mysteries. Dumbledore- he told me what was in it, why Voldemort wanted it. It- it said I-" he swallowed before forcing himself to continue. "I'm the one with a power the Dark Lord knows not, the only one who can defeat Voldemort. And that- that Voldemort has to kill me or I have to kill him because neither of us can live while the other survives." He finished in one breath, his words running together, his voice dropping until it was a hoarse whisper. "And I- I didn't want to drag you two into it, didn't want to make you targets."

Ron stared at him, his anger completely forgotten, blinked, opened his mouth, closed it and then opened it again. "Harry, I- you- er--you might d--" he stopped abruptly, cutting off the last word before he could say it.

"Yeah. I know," he responded quietly, meeting his best friend's gaze. "I really am sorry for what I said. I didn't- I didn't mean it, you know," he stammered a little awkwardly.

Ron's eyes met his levelly and for a split second, Harry saw the part of Ron he rarely showed to anyone, the part of Ron that felt deeply, the depth of loyalty and friendship and simple courage that Ron hid behind jokes and wisecracks. "It's okay. Forget it, Harry."

"I'm sorry," Harry faltered, just needing to say it, make sure Ron really understood.

"Stop apologizing. You sound like an ass," Ron said, the beginnings of his usual grin appearing on his lips.

Harry felt his own lips twitch into an involuntary smile and knew it was okay. He still had Ron.

And he had Hermione.

He needed them. And he knew that as long as he had them to help him, he could do anything.

~*~*~

Harry swallowed as he faced Dumbledore, his insides suddenly feeling very cold. He wished sickly he had never agreed to this. Why had he agreed to this? He wasn't ready, didn't want to do this again...

Dumbledore had come again to Grimmauld Place just a week after his first visit and suggested, gently, that if Harry was willing, he should continue his Occlumency lessons. Suggested but with a certain look in his eyes and slight hint of steel in his tone that made Harry feel with a dull certainty that Dumbledore's "suggestion" was more of an order and if he chose not to follow it, he would regret it all too soon.

He shuddered slightly at the memory of his Occlumency lessons with Snape and had just thought, desperately, not Snape. I won't do it if Snape's teaching me again. I can't, when he heard Hermione clear her throat slightly and say, with less confidence than usual, "I- er, I don't think that Professor Snape should teach Harry Occlumency again. He- he didn't really help and he made things really hard for Harry."

He snapped his head around to look at her, meeting her eyes for a moment. Thanks, he told her with a look, a slight smile.

She shook her head ever so slightly, as if to say, It was nothing. Don't thank me.

Dumbledore turned to look at Hermione and for a moment, a flicker of regret and sorrow crossed his face. He sighed. "Yes, Miss Granger, you are right. I'm afraid that I misjudged Professor Snape and that is one mistake which I will regret for a very long time." He turned back to meet Harry's questioning gaze. "I will be taking over your Occlumency lessons, Harry." He paused. "I will understand if you do not feel quite ready yet but I must stress how important it is that you resume your lessons soon."

Occlumency... If he had tried harder, would Sirius still be here? Harry wondered with a sudden sharp stab of loss and regret.

But he didn't know if he was ready, ready for another invasion into his mind when even the memory of Voldemort possessing him seemed to cause his scar to twinge in remembered agony.

He felt Hermione move closer to him, slipping her hand into his, and he knew he had to say yes. He had to agree. It would be difficult but he- he had Hermione and surely it wouldn't be half as bad as lessons with Snape had been...

"Okay," he heard himself say. "When will we start?"

And Dumbledore had finally allowed himself to smile, a glint of unmistakable approval in his eyes. "I think this weekend will be quite soon enough. I will see you then, Harry."

Now, facing Dumbledore, with every terrible memory of his lessons with Snape in his thoughts, he wished he hadn't felt so confident.

Yes, he had Hermione and she gave him strength but how much could she really help? How much could anyone really help against the incredibly draining experience of having your mind invaded?

"Calm, Harry," Dumbledore spoke soothingly. "Shut your eyes and simply try to empty your mind of everything, as if you're trying to fall asleep."

Harry closed his eyes, aware of at least one difference immediately. Closing his eyes facing Dumbledore did not seem nearly as stupid as closing his eyes while facing Snape.

Empty his mind... empty his mind... How did a person empty their mind? He wondered if there was a book on it, How to Empty Your Mind, and decided to ask Hermione. She would know. She always knew...

Empty his mind. He tried not to think anymore...

"Now..." Dumbledore drew the word out slowly and Harry tensed automatically. "Legilimens."

Aunt Marge was handing him a box of dog biscuits as a Christmas gift and Uncle Vernon was glaring and hissing, "Thank her, you ungrateful boy, thank her!"... Hermione lying Petrified in the Infirmary, a mirror clutched in one hand... Sirius was falling through the Veil in the Department of Mysteries, looking surprised... Hermione, her eyes filled with tears of hurt and heartbreak and reproach, turning and running out of the room... Hermione falling to the ground after being hit by Dolohov's cur--no! Not Hermione! He jerked back, his knees weakening, giving way, and then he was back in a room at Grimmauld Place, Dumbledore's concerned face staring down at him.

"Harry, are you alright?"

He was breathing hard but his head was clearing. "Yes," he gasped out, moving to stand up.

"You did quite well, Harry, for the first time. You did eventually manage to block me out; now we must work at making it come easier and not make you collapse from the strain of it."

Harry grimaced, resisting the urge to hold his aching head.

Focus. He had to focus. He had managed to resist Moody's Imperius; he could do this, couldn't he? Faintly, in some part of his mind, he heard her familiar voice say, "You're a great wizard, Harry..."

"Ready now, on the count of three... one--two--three-- Legilimens."

The room wavered and then vanished from his sight.

Ron was lying unconscious on the wizarding chess board surrounded by decapitated stone chess figures... Cedric was lying dead on the ground, eyes wide open, a look of surprise on his face... He was staring at the ghostly figures of his parents who had been conjured from Voldemort's wand...

And then the image flickered. He heard someone cry out, felt a sharp stab of pain go through his head.

He was on his knees in Grimmauld Place still, panting, his cheeks wet with tears he realized belatedly. He swiped them off with a trembling hand, forcing himself to his feet.

"Better, Harry, better," Dumbledore said quietly, encouragingly. "It took you less time to expel me from your mind and seemed to take less effort as well. And now I think that's enough for today."

He reached into the pocket of his robe and handed Harry a bar of Honeyduke's chocolate. "Chocolate might help restore you a little."

He smiled slightly now as Harry sagged into a chair. "I fear I must be careful not to make these sessions too difficult for you or Miss Granger will, I have no doubt, be upset with me."

Harry tried not to flush at the knowing understanding and gentle amusement in Dumbledore's tone, as if Dumbledore knew very well how Hermione felt and worse, how Harry felt about Hermione.

Dumbledore sobered. "I am glad that you have Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger to turn to, Harry. Value their friendship. This capacity for friendship, for love, is perhaps the greatest strength you have against Voldemort who knows nothing of it. The strength which we gain from our friends, our loved ones, is the most fundamental and most human of feelings--and Voldemort neither understands nor cares about this sort of strength. You have it, Harry, in abundance, and it may be what saves you in the end."

"But- but they're in danger because of me. People who are close to me, people I care about, die..." Harry protested, his voice faltering on the last sentence as he spoke aloud part of the guilt he felt at not being strong enough to isolate himself from Ron and Hermione.

Dumbledore sighed again, suddenly looking weary. "What happened to Sirius was not your fault, Harry. As for your friends being in danger, they are in very little more actual danger by being your friends than they already would be, living in a wizarding world at war as they are. Your Miss Granger is Muggle-born and the best witch of her year; she would already be in danger even were she not your friend. And being your friend has helped them, saved them, in ways you may not even know. No, Harry, isolating yourself will solve nothing; your friends will not be much safer and you will be weakened, more vulnerable to Voldemort's schemes."

"I- I wanted to push them away," he finally admitted. "But I- I couldn't."

"Pushing them away would only play into Voldemort's hands. In the end, Harry, it's your choice, your choice to cling to the good in your life, the loyalty of your friends, or to allow Voldemort to weaken and finally destroy the good in an attempt to save those you care about."

Harry stared. "My choice... is that what you meant about choosing what to do about the Prophecy?"

Dumbledore's blue eyes met his, the twinkle in his eyes absent. "Yes, I must confess it was. You did well today, Harry. I will see you again at this time next week."

"Yes, sir," Harry answered somewhat absently. Was it true that being his friend had helped Ron and Hermione in some way? He hoped desperately that it was; if he could believe that, he would feel better about not being able to push them away.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice sounded concerned as she stopped in the doorway. "Are you alright? How did the lesson go?"

"I'm okay," he assured her, managing a smile. "My head just hurts. I- I'm just going to head to bed."

"Okay."

They headed down the hallway to his room in silence and had just stepped inside when it happened.

Sudden searing pain erupted in his head, through his scar.

He was angry, vindictively furious... He was looking down at a man, kneeling in front of him, his head bowed... "I am sorry, my Lord," the man murmured humbly.

"I do not accept failure," he hissed. "Fool! Blithering idiot! Failures are useless to me."

The man bowed his head even lower. "I will not fail again, Master."

"No, you will not. Go now. Next time I will not be so forgiving," he said, a wealth of deadly warning in his tone.

The man looked up and he saw his face.

Dolohov.

He felt a fresh surge of anger on recognizing the man, his hand clenching tighter around his wand... Dolohov- he hated him for another reason...

He jerked sharply, suddenly aware of other things, the bare dungeon-like room, Dolohov kneeling, fading around him... He was still angry but it was for something else and the awareness somehow dimmed his anger.

It was something else... A vague vision of someone falling to the floor flickered through his mind and his anger abruptly vanished, replaced with fear and--

And someone was shaking him.

"Harry! Harry!"

He blinked, realizing he was looking at Hermione's terrified face.

"Harry, are you okay?" She looked close to tears, her hand gripping his tightly.

"I- I was in his head again," he gasped out. "He was angry. About something."

He winced, grabbing his head with shaking hands as if holding it would somehow ease the throbbing in his scar. He was trembling, his heart pounding, but amid all his exhaustion, his aching body, he was conscious of what had first broken through the haze of his intrusion into Voldemort's mind. Seeing Dolohov- remembering what he'd done to Hermione- had been the first thing he felt that was himself and not an extension of Voldemort's mood. And it had broken through his trance-like state.

Harry stumbled over to his bed, with Hermione's help, collapsing onto it.

"Go to sleep, Harry," she said quietly, turning to go.

But he grabbed her hand. He didn't want her to go, didn't want to be alone right now when he still felt the remnants of Voldemort's vindictive fury inside him, blurring the line between himself and Voldemort. "Stay with me," he blurted out.

She moved back to sit beside his bed, her free hand smoothing over his hair in a soothing gesture, and then she bent and pressed her lips gently to the scar on his forehead, lingering for a moment. And he could have sworn the burning pain in his head eased, to be replaced with the warmth of her lips, the soft puff of her breath against his skin.

He let his eyes close, exhaustion rolling over him, but his last conscious thought was of the comforting awareness of Hermione, sitting beside him, her hand holding his. And maybe, even Occlumency wouldn't be so terrible--as long as he had Hermione...

If it takes my whole life
I won't break, I won't bend
It will all be worth it
Worth it in the end
Cause I can only tell you what I know
That I need you in my life
When the stars have all gone out
You'll still be burning so bright...

~Sarah McLachlan, "The Answer"

The End