The Darkness Within

The green-eyed monster conquers ... and reigns.

The Darkness Within

Chapter 3: A Destiny Chosen

The Monday after the Halloween feast, Harry was sitting on the floor in the sixth-year boys' dormitory, head resting on his bed and an open potions text in his hands.

"Hey, Harry," said Ron, coming through the door. "What are you doing here? I've been looking all over for you."

"I wanted someplace quiet to study for the potions test tomorrow, but since you found me anyway, what did you want to talk about?" Harry stood up and promptly sat down on his bed, motioning for Ron to come over.

The taller boy stood uncertainly for a moment and then said, "You know, I should probably be studying potions too; can't expect Hermione to help me through a test," he quipped. "So we'll talk later, ok? It's nothing important." He started to back out of the room.

"You sure?" called Harry after him.

"Yeah, it's nothing, really," answered Ron while going downstairs, where he settled into a red armchair and pulled out his own potions text. After a while, Hermione climbed in through the portrait hole, sat in her usual place near the fire and opened a book. Suddenly, the redhead's attention started to waver and his eyes, instead of focusing on the material for the test, strayed to the girl, observing the games the firelight played in her hair.

Hermione could feel his eyes on her, but was too scared to acknowledge his gaze, certain that if she did, the peace would be shattered. Consequently, she stayed immersed in her book as the minutes and then hours of the evening ticked by.

On Tuesday morning, the three Gryffindors in Advanced Potions made their way to the dungeon classroom and took their seats, Hermione next to Ron and Harry next to Draco Malfoy. As the students were whispering last minute revisions, Professor Snape stalked into the classroom and stood rigidly in front of his desk, glaring at each and every one of his students.

"Today's test," he sneered, "is going to be practical."

A gasp went through the classroom at this bit of news as the students had prepared for a written examination.

"With your desk partner, you are going to brew a potion of my choice, without using your books or your notes." He grinned quite evilly, "The potions are going to be antidotes to some rather ... unpleasant substances. After completion, you are going to test your antidotes on yourselves. Whoever manages to walk out of this classroom on his or her own two feet, passes. You will find the name of the potion for which you must brew an antidote for on the parchment in front of you," Snape added, and with a flick of his wand, said parchments appeared on the desks.

"You may begin."

Harry was cleaning up his potions supplies and putting them in his bag while Draco Malfoy poured the completed potion into a glass vial for Snape.

"Mr. Malfoy, Potter," came the voice of their Potions master, who was standing in the front of the classroom.

"Have you completed your antidote?" the professor asked.

At Malfoy's affirmative nod, he motioned for the boys to come and stand at the front of the classroom and asked who of them would be testing the potion.

"Potter can do it," Malfoy sneered.

Harry shrugged and took the steaming vial of potion from his teacher's hand. He gulped it down in one go and shuddered, as he was quite instantaneously covered from head to toe with warts. Feeling deeply disgusted, Harry picked up the vial of antidote he and Malfoy had brewed and downed it. For a second he felt as though his whole body was burning. Then it was over and he was feeling back to normal.

Snape looked at Malfoy as he said, "Correctly brewed; you passed." He motioned the two boys out of the way of the next pair, a couple of Ravenclaws, and added as an afterthought:

"Oh, and Mister Malfoy, twenty points to Slytherin for effective tutelage of a hopeless case."

Upon hearing that, Harry clenched his teeth and Malfoy turned to say something to him, sneering. However, the sound that left his mouth in the next moment was a shriek of pain. While looking at Harry, he had walked right into a Ravenclaw student who was making his way towards the professor's desk carrying a large glass with an angry-looking potion sloshing inside. As Malfoy collided with the other student, the glass impacted with his left side and tipped over. In the resulting cloud of yellow smoke, Harry smelt burnt cloth. Looking at Malfoy, he saw the acidic substance eating away at the sleeves of the other boy's school robes One more second and it would burn its way through completely and start on the human flesh beneath.

Without thinking or hesitating, Harry grabbed the sleeve and pulled. The contaminated cloth covering Malfoys arm came ripping off and he let it fall to the ground. Then he saw it and his eyes went wide. There, on the inside of Malfoys exposed arm, was the Dark Mark. The sign of Voldemort's Death Eaters. Harry blinked and looked up at Malfoy, who was staring at him with something akin to fear in his usually hateful eyes. Then Malfoy unfroze and pulled off the ruined robe, throwing it over his arm to cover the mark.

Harry felt as though he was not really there, his mind going a million miles per hour, replaying the image of the mark on the Slytherins skin. In a sort of haze, he saw Professor Snape making his way over to where they stood and grabbing hold of Malfoy's shoulder, telling the other students that he was escorting the boy to the hospital wing.

"Potter! Potter!"

Harry snapped out of it at the sound of Snape's voice. The professor was looking at him. He had known. And now, so did Harry. Professor Snape leaned closer and hissed in his ear:

"You - tell - no - one."

And then he was gone in a swish of black robes, taking Malfoy with him. To the hospital wing, or maybe not, thought Harry, remembering the blemish on Draco Malfoy's arm. The rest of the students picked up their things and followed, leaving the classroom to go to their next lesson. Harry and Ron said their goodbyes to Hermione and went off together. The conversation during the trek to Trelawney's tower consisted of Ron mumbling about bloody gits of potions masters and equally nauseating Slytherins, namely one Draco Malfoy.

"I mean, Harry, why did you help him? He wouldn't help you ... or any Gryffindor ... and Snape giving points to him..." Ron grumbled. "Still, did you see the look on his face when that kid hit him with the potion? A moment of beauty that was..." the redhead added in a more cheerful tone.

As the boys walked, Harry nodding in all the right places to contribute to the conversation, he couldn't stop thinking about what he had seen. The Dark Mark on one of Hogwarts' students. A Slytherin, mind you, but still a student. This meant Voldemort's army was growing, expanding to include everyone sharing his views, regardless of age - or it could mean that the Dark Lord was becoming desperate. Somehow, Harry did not think the last option was likely, remembering the Dark wizard's charisma and the loyalty it inspired in his fanatic followers.

Snape had told him not to tell anyone. Did that meant Dumbledore already knew? Knew that Malfoy was a Death Eater like his father and still let him come to Hogwarts? Or maybe Dumbledore didn't know and Snape wanted him, Harry, to keep the secret. But why would he do that? How could he expect Harry to lie and keep secrets from his friends?

With a start, he realised he was already keeping some secrets from his friends. Harry put that thought out of his mind quickly. But what if Snape wanted him to keep the secret from Dumbledore? Where did his loyalties really lie then, with the Light or with the Dark?

Harry's mind was still reeling with unanswered questions and revelations as he made his way down to the Great Hall with Ron to join Hermione for lunch. Said girl was sitting in her usual place and looked up to greet the boys with a smile as the two took their places next to her. When he was sitting down, Harry felt someone's eyes on the back of his head and looked up to see Draco Malfoy stare right at him from the Slytherin table with a look of pure hatred, but tinged with fear. He tensed and turned his back on the other boy abruptly to see Hermione watching him.

"Harry..." she began.

But he shrugged, motioning her to be quiet and putting a piece of potato in his mouth. She seemed ready to protest the obvious dismissal, but after a moment of looking at the raven-haired boy, she let it pass.

Neither of the two noticed how intensely Ron, who would usually sit down and lose himself in the process of eating, was looking at them, observing the silent byplay of motions, gestures, and unvoiced words. The meal passed in silence.

That evening, after losing a game of wizard's chess to Ron, Harry climbed up the staircase to the sixth-year boys' dormitory. It was still early and the room was empty. He laid back on his bed, intent to spend some more time pondering the appearance of the Dark Mark in Hogwarts, its reasons and consequences. Its implications.

"Harry! What are you doing here?"

Déjà vu.

Ron plopped down on the bed next to him and said, "I wanted to talk to you." His tone was grave.

"What about?" Harry sat up to face his friend.

The larger boy's ears went red and he didn't seem to be able to look Harry in the eye, instead he stared at his hands when he mumbled, "About Hermione."

Seeing his best friend's apparent discomfort, Harry had a pretty good idea of what the upcoming conversation was going to be about. He also knew he really, really did not want to have that discussion. Not after what Hermione had told him. Last year - heck, even last month, he would have been bouncing with joy at Ron's final confession of having feelings for his other best friend, the declaration of love he and the rest of Gryffindor tower had been waiting for since fourth year. Now, though, he was dreading what it would do to the Trio's friendship. But this was something that obviously couldn't be ignored any longer.

"What about Hermione?" he asked.

Ron was fumbling his way through the confession. "Ilikeher. I - I mean I like her. I really like her. In the girlfriend way. I like her."

Harry ran his fingers through his hair, sighing. "No surprise there, Ron. Everyone knows you like her. Since forever, I think."

"So you're not angry? Not mad about..." the other boy trailed off suddenly and paled as the comprehension of what Harry had said sunk in. "What do you mean everyone knows?"

"Well, it's pretty obvious. The way you always look at her when she's not watching..."

Ron was starting to panic. "Does she know? Harry, do you think Hermione knows too?" His voice was rising.

It would have been funny, Harry thought, if there was a happy ending attached to this conversation. He recalled his earlier talk with Hermione and felt he had to answer Ron truthfully.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure she does."

A light started to shine through the panic on Ron's face and he rounded on Harry, "How can you be so sure she does? Has she talked to you about me? She has, hasn't she?"

It was a statement and not a question. Harry could not lie. Not while looking his best friend in the eye and having a conversation that was going to hurt them all in some way.

"She has," he answered quietly, not wanting to say it.

"Harry," Ron started anxiously, "what did she say?"

The redhead's face was alight with excitement; there were stars dancing in his eyes, Harry thought while he awaited the answer. He seemed so sure now, despite the earlier insecurities, as if it were fate. He seemed so sure of what Harry was going to say and when he would, his contract with destiny would be sealed. From the Golden Trio a golden couple would emerge. All that was needed was for Harry to say that Hermione liked him too.

Harry couldn't do it. He couldn't say the thing that would make his best friend happy. In that moment, he would have traded almost everything in the world to be able to say that Hermione was in love with Ron as well. But he couldn't. He couldn't lie. All he said was, "I think you should talk to Hermione."

The light in Ron's eyes was fading. "Talk to Hermione," he repeated, looking straight into Harry's eyes. "What would she say to me?" he questioned. "Harry, what would she say to me?" His voice was rising in pitch.

"It isn't my place to say!" Harry shouted back, starting to feel scared. It is crumbling, he thought. 'No, it's not,' a voice inside him answered. 'We've always been alright. We'll be alright now, too.'

Ron was shouting too, now. "Why did she talk to you, Harry? Why would she talk to you?"

'It's going to be all right,' the voice insisted. 'You've had fights since you were eleven. You've been friends since you were eleven; you've been family since you were eleven.'

Ron was shouting.

We were children, when we were eleven. We told each other everything. We had no secrets. We trusted each other completely.

Ron was shouting.

"What else did she tell you? She doesn't like me! Does she like you then, eh? Harry! DOES SHE LIKE YOU?"

Harry froze. No. Maybe. I don't know. He couldn't answer. Not now.

Ron was still shouting.

"Do you like her? You knew I like her!"

There was betrayal in Ron's accusations. The voices in Harry's head were getting louder. Impossible. No. He had to answer Ron, had to reason with him, and then ... everything was going to be all right. They, all of them, were going to be all right.

Harry couldn't get a word out.

Ron's voice went quiet. "I trusted you."

No, they weren't alright. They weren't eleven anymore, children anymore. The foundations of the Golden Trio were crumbling. Distrust, jealousy - the feelings were creeping in. And yet, he felt that Ron was overreacting. Harry had not lied to him.

His conscience was whispering in his ear: but you have lied to him about other things. You're lying to him right now.

I trusted you.

Harry didn't know what they were talking about anymore. It wasn't about a girl, it was about everything. The Prophecy. His destiny. His secrets. Everything.

I trusted you.

And he couldn't deny his conscience. He looked up with sadness in his emerald-green eyes.

"I know." There was no denial in his voice.

Ron turned his back on him, stalked to his bed and pulled the curtains closed around him. Harry felt he couldn't stay in the room and went down to the common room where he sat down in the armchair farthest from the fire, swallowed in darkness and shadows. I trusted you. He hadn't felt so alone since ... ever.

He was alone. Alone with his destiny.

There was no one to trust. No one who trusted him. He forced back the tears threatening to escape and sat in his chair, watching the world around him go about its business and then retire for the night.

Hermione came up to him once. He told her, "Ron knows now, Hermione," and asked her to leave him alone for a while. She did not question him. She felt it too, the shifting of balance in the trio's relationship. All she said was, "Ron will be fine, Harry. We'll be fine." Then she left.

She didn't understand. She hadn't seen the surety of fate in Ron's eyes, when he had told Harry he was in love with her. When he, Harry, had had the conversation that was hers to have. When he had had to watch pain replace the love in Ron's eyes.

It was her fault too. Yes, it was her fault. Harry couldn't trust Hermione and Ron couldn't trust him. No, it was not going to be alright. They might heal and maybe even forgive, but it was never going to be the same. The innocence was lost. Childhood was gone. Illusions of a perfect friendship had ended.

In that moment, Harry made a pledge to himself. He would fulfil his destiny. And he would to everything to win. And then, someday, he would be free to have the true friendship back. A friendship without secrets. A friendship where trust was given freely.

... to be continued ...