It's Always Darkest Before Dawn

Author's Note: With great thanks to Oldoverholt, Vicki B and Potterella. Without all of them this would have mightily sucked.

It's Always Darkest Before Dawn

Snape's wand rose, its owner's expression a mixture of hate and disgust. When the moment came he didn't even hesitate.

"Avada Kedavra!"

There was the all too familiar green light, and then a prone, lifeless shape falling backwards over the battlements...

Harry woke with a start, the sunlight streaming into his face and the smell of breakfast wafting through the air. For a moment he was unsure of where he was, but then he remembered the journey from Hogwarts, not on the train this time but by Portkey from Hogsmeade. Sitting up, he noticed the sweat on his forehead and the dull ache of his scar. The memory of Dumbledore's murder had occupied his thoughts almost constantly since it happened; now it seemed it was invading his dreams as well. Harry wasn't surprised; it would not be the first time his dreams had taken a distinctly unpleasant turn.

Harry got up and pulled on his clothes. Ron's bed was unmade, but that was nothing new. The distant sound of chatter and the enticing smell of food drifted up through the floorboards.

When he reached the kitchen he was greeted by what seemed to be the entire Weasley clan.

"Harry!" Ron called out from his seat at the table, his mouth half full with toast. "Took you long enough; we saved you some bacon and eggs!"

Harry hadn't realised how hungry he was until he tucked in. The general talk round the table was of the imminent wedding of Bill and Fleur. There was no mention at all of the war or Voldemort. Fred and George, who were apparently back staying at The Burrow for the wedding, were in full prankster mode, and twice Ron had to contend with fried eggs that slapped him round the face when he tried to eat them. At the far end of the table sat Mrs Weasley, who was pouring over a crudely drawn map of The Burrow's garden, talking about the wedding to her rather harassed looking husband.

"I'm just saying Arthur, that if we're going to have the ceremony outside then the garden will need a full de-gnoming! Can you just imagine if a horde of them popped up and started causing trouble during the vows? Whatever would people think?"

Harry ate the rest of his breakfast treasuring the normalcy of the morning. The conversation revolved around the wedding and Quidditch; the closest the conversation drifted to the War was the excitement over the Ministry's decision to temporarily revoke the law regarding underage magic, in order that young wizards and witches could better defend themselves.

After breakfast, Harry, Ron, the twins and Ginny grabbed their brooms and walked to the nearby, well-hidden Quidditch pitch. Harry had been pleasantly surprised to find that the relationship between himself and Ginny was comfortable; he'd expected things to be awkward for at least a little while following their break up. The ease between them didn't stop the jolt in his chest whenever she appeared however, if anything, it made him want her back all the more. But he couldn't escape the image that arose in his mind whenever he thought about her, Ginny being hit straight in the chest, just like Dumbledore, with the same ghoulish green light of the Killing Curse. He knew he couldn't be with Ginny, not because he didn't care about her, but because he did.

"Harry? Are you all right?"

Harry snapped out of the daze he'd fallen into to see Ginny floating in front of him on her broom, her brothers hovering a short distance away. Tightening his loosening grip on his own broom, Harry forced a smile.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said. "Just tired, that's all. If it's all right with you lot, I think I'll just watch."

Ginny didn't look convinced. "If you want to," she said. "If you're sure you're okay."

"Really Ginny, I'm fine." Harry tried his best to look as though it were true. Ginny looked as though she was going to say something else, but then Ron called over.

"Oi, Harry! If you're not going to be using that Firebolt how 'bout letting me have a go?"

Harry happily relinquished his broom to Ron and settled down on the grass to watch the Weasleys fly, four speeding shapes topped with blazing red hair. He found himself subconsciously analysing Ron and Ginny's performance, and made a note to talk to them about it before he remembered that, for him, there would be no more Quidditch Cup, there would be no more Hogwarts.

The enormity of the decision he'd made had yet to sink in; Harry had been avoiding thinking about it. When he did consider the future, he found himself overwhelmed by the impossible hopelessness of it, the sheer scale of what he was supposed to do. Find the remaining Horcruxes, destroy them and defeat Voldemort, and at the same time try not to get killed, and all the time wondering who would be the next to die. The horror of Dumbledore's death occupied his thoughts constantly, and even thought a year had passed since Sirius' death the pain still burnt just as harshly. And all the time Harry possessed the icy knowledge that, should he face Voldemort again, it would be a fight to the death. Harry he would either die, or he would have to kill.

Suddenly Harry felt suffocated, as though the responsibility of what he had to do was pressing down onto his shoulders like a lead weight. He felt himself overwhelmed by the sudden desire to leave and be alone. Looking up into the sky he saw the four Weasleys, flying and laughing in the sunshine, looking for all the world like they hadn't a single care. Harry debated calling out to them, but he knew Ron and Ginny would just fuss and ask if he was feeling okay, so he quietly slipped away.

He was halfway along the path back to The Burrow when he decided he wasn't much in the mood to hear about wedding plans either. Instead he started down another path, small but well trodden, that led into some nearby woods.

Harry had been walking about twenty minutes when he found a fallen tree on the edge of the woods. It was old, and the trunk had grown in a strange, twisted way that meant that now the tree had fallen, it made a perfect seat. Harry sat down, pleasantly surprised to find it was both comfortable and offered an excellent view of the surrounding countryside.

Harry had no idea how long he sat there, slowly getting more and more lost in his own thoughts. He replayed Dumbledore's death over again and again in his head. The remembered image of the deadly green light brought up another memory, much more vague, of his mother half sobbing, half shouting, a cold cruel voice answering her, and then that same green light again. Then yet more memories surfaced, of Cedric, eyes staring blankly upward, lying cold in a graveyard, and Sirius falling back behind the Veil.

Some time later, Harry managed to drag himself out of his grim thoughts and started back to The Burrow. The moment he walked into the kitchen he was pounced upon by a frantic looking Ginny and Ron.

"Where the bloody hell have you been?" Ron hissed.

"Out for a walk," Harry stammered, surprised by the mixture of anger and fear on his best friend's face.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Ginny said, and although she kept her voice low, it was clear that she too had been afraid.

"Why should I? It was just a walk," Harry said.

Ginny reached out and grabbed him by the arm. "There's a war on, Harry! I know we're trying not to talk about it, but it's still happening! Voldemort is out there, getting stronger, and it's you he's after! When we saw you'd gone, I thought..."

Ginny trailed off, and Harry was shocked to see her eyes were wet. Ron put a comforting arm around his sister.

"Gin, it is okay, he's right here, aren't you Harry... mate? Go tell the twins he's fine, stupid prat that he is," Ron said to Ginny in a soothing voice.

When Ginny had left the room, Ron turned back to Harry.

"What's wrong with you, just walking off like that?" Ron said angrily.

"I didn't think you'd worry."

"Didn't think we'd worry?" Ron replied. "There's a war on Harry! You can't just vanish off like that! Do you have any idea how dangerous it was?"

Harry felt a sudden surge of anger. Ron was lecturing him about danger? Harry had faced more horrible dangers than Ron could imagine.

"I know exactly how dangerous it was, thank you, Ron," Harry snapped. "Do you think it was more dangerous than facing Voldemort? Facing down Dementors? Battling Death Eaters? Because I managed those things just fine thanks, so I think I can take care of myself on a walk!"

Ron didn't get a chance to reply, as Harry stormed out of the kitchen and up to Ron's room, where he threw himself down on his makeshift bed. He half expected Ron to follow him up, but there were no footsteps on the stairs.

The anger and frustration boiled inside Harry. He was so fed up of people treating him like a little kid when they thought it was convenient, despite all the things he'd done and endured. How could Ron lecture him on keeping safe? He knew that there was no way Harry could stay safe, not when there was so much he had to do.

Harry laid there, memories, thoughts and emotions clashing in his head, until, tired of it all, he fell asleep. He woke to someone gently squeezing his shoulder, the room dim and gloomy as the evening had set in. Rolling over, he fumbled for his glasses, which had fallen onto the pillow. He put them on, and the shape sitting on his bed materialized into a sheepish looking Ron.

"Sorry 'bout waking you. Just it's nearly going to be dinner and Mum's worried enough about you missing lunch," Ron said.

"Oh. Thanks," Harry sat up. All the anger he'd felt towards Ron earlier had vanished; now he felt guilty for having thrown his friend's concern back in his face.

"Look, Harry," Ron said, fiddling with his jumper. "About what I said in the kitchen, I'm sorry. You're right, you can take care of yourself a lot better than most people, I mean, you've proved that enough times, right? It's just, it hasn't been that long since Dumbledore died, and everyone's still really upset, and when we saw you were gone, we just assumed the worst I guess. So, I'm sorry for having a go, I was a prat."

"It's okay," Harry said, reaching out to place his hand on Ron's shoulder. "You and Ginny were right; I shouldn't have just gone off without saying anything. I'm sorry. I just needed time alone for a bit."

"Time alone? Why?" Ron asked.

"Just to think," Harry shrugged.

"Look, Harry," Ron sighed, looking awkward. "Are you okay, mate?"

"I'm fine," Harry said.

"It's just that you've been a bit out of it the last couple of days," Ron said. "I understand that you would be, what with everything that's happened and all. But if you wanted to talk, I'm right here, okay?"

Harry stared at Ron and the earnest expression on his face. He considered telling him everything. How he couldn't stop thinking about Dumbledore's death, of other people who had died, and who might die. How he hated the huge responsibility weighing on his shoulders. How he felt that he was expected to do the impossible.

"I'm fine, Ron. Honestly," Harry said. Part of him felt bad for lying to Ron, whom he trusted more than anybody else. But if people were already worried about Harry taking care of himself, the last thing he needed was for them to think he was cracking up.

"If you're sure." Ron didn't look very convinced. "C'mon. We're going to miss dinner."

...

The wedding was less than a week later, on a beautiful summer afternoon. The Burrow was descended upon by masses of people. Like before, there was no mention of the war, at least not around Harry, but there was no ignoring the dark circles and new worry lines on people's faces. But the smiles and laughter seemed genuine enough; Harry got the impression the wedding was a welcome break from reality for everyone.

Only two members of the Delacour family attended, Harry overhead Mrs Weasley saying something about the rest being reluctant to enter the country. Harry recognised Gabrielle Delacour from the Tri-wizard Tournament. She was standing with her and Fleur's father, a cheerful but surprisingly ordinary looking man. Mrs Weasley was busy lecturing the twins on exactly what horrible fate would befall them should they pull any pranks during the wedding, and Harry and Ron had both managed to escape to the shade of a tree by the pond.

"When do you reckon they're finally going to get started?" Ron asked Harry, fidgeting with the neck of his dress robes.

"I have no idea," Harry replied. The pre-wedding reception seemed to have been dragging on forever; Harry was getting fed up with all of the whispers and sympathetic looks being sent in his direction.

"I don't understand what all the fuss is about anyway," Ron grumbled. "They want to get married, so why don't they just do it quickly, eh? Say 'I do', sign the papers and you're done. I don't see the point in all this arsing about."

"That, Ronald, is because you don't have a romantic bone in your body." The familiar, affectionate voice came from behind them.

"Hermione!" Ron shouted, staggering to his feet. Harry stood too, and surely enough, there was Hermione. They didn't hesitate to fling their arms around her in a hug, when they pulled away, she was grinning at them both. Just seeing her again lifted Harry's spirits. He hadn't realised how much he'd missed having Hermione around in the past week.

"How're you feeling, Harry?" Hermione asked, placing her hand on his shoulder, the grin on her face fading to a look of concern.

"I'm fine!" Harry said. "Really... I only wish people would stop asking."

"Oh. Okay then," Hermione said, sharing a sceptical glance with Ron. "If you say so, but if there's anything wrong you can tell us. We're right here... even if you're just feeling a bit down or anything."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Hermione, you just got here. Can't this wait-"

Harry was interrupted by Mrs Weasley, who seemed to appear from out of nowhere. "You two, honestly... have you been paying any attention, Ron? You need... Oh hello, Hermione dear, when did you get here? You need to get to your seats, the wedding's about to start, hurry up!"

The ceremony itself was quite short, and blissfully ordinary. There was much applauding the moment when Bill and Fleur were married, and a lot of rice and confetti was thrown, which seemed to be of the magical variety, as it continued to swirl around the couple long after. When everyone rose to get started on the lunch, Harry found himself shaking hands with a rather tipsy distant Weasley relation, and when he finally managed to extract himself, Ron and Hermione had both vanished. Harry moved away from the crowd and finally managed to catch a glimpse of them, disappearing down one of the many paths that led from the Weasley garden. Even though they were some distance away, Harry got the distinct impression they were holding hands, and he felt a sudden pang of jealousy.

Harry's entire body was shaken as a large hand clapped him on the shoulder. Turning, he saw that it belonged to Mad-Eye Moody, who was watching him intently.

"How are you, Potter?" Moody said, his magical eye focusing on Harry's face.

Harry opened his mouth to repeat the same thing he told everybody else, that he was fine, not to worry, etcetera. Nevertheless, something about Moody's gaze told him that honesty was the best policy.

"Not that well," he said.

Moody nodded as though he had been expecting it. "That night been preying on your mind, eh?" he said. "It's to be expected, yes indeed. Can't say I haven't given it a lot of thought myself, and I wasn't there. Tell me, Potter, what do you plan to do now?"

Harry hesitated. He hadn't actually given a lot of thought to his exact plans; he just knew that he needed to find the Horcruxes.

"I'm not sure... I thought I might go to Godric's Hollow."

"Ah," Moody said, a glint of approval in his normal eye. "Yes, Godric's Hollow would be a good choice, I think. Facing the demons of our past always makes us stronger. Moreover, who knows what you might find there? In fact, if you really want go, I'll take you there myself."

Harry didn't know what to say. Leaving Hogwarts, he'd been itching to start hunting for the Horcruxes, but now, after a week at The Burrow, he found he no longer felt the same drive to get started. Looking round, he took in the glorious summer weather, the laughing people, and the familiarity of it all. Then he remembered the cave, the gloom and the water filled with ghoulish hands and faces.

"I think I'll wait awhile, thanks," he said.

Moody's brow furrowed and his magical eye swivelled to focus intensely on Harry.

"That's your choice Potter of course," Moody said. "But remember." And with this he leaned closer to Harry and lowered his voice. "Dumbledore was counting on you. He trusted you to do what was necessary."

Pausing only to give Harry another grim look, Moody pulled his wand from one of his pockets and, with one flick of his hand, apparated away. Harry could only stare at the space he had occupied, Moody's parting words ringing in his ears.

...

Much later, after the guests had all left and everything had been cleared away, Harry lay awake in bed, unable to sleep. The curtains were open and the crescent moon was visible through the window. Harry stared at its glow, images of Dumbledore's death replaying in his mind, only this time with Moody's words as accompaniment. Sighing, Harry realised he would not be able to sleep. He threw back the covers and rose, making sure to stay quiet so as not to wake Ron, and snuck out of the room.

The ground floor of The Burrow was deserted, and Harry made his way through the dark to the Weasley's huge and extremely comfortable sofa. Sitting down, he closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind. He had only been there five minutes when a hushed voice called out to him.

"Harry?"

Opening his eyes Harry saw Hermione, dressed in her pyjamas and dressing gown, standing in the doorway with a small jar of bluebell flames clutched in her hands. The blue light from the jar revealed Hermione's expression of deep concern, and Harry looked away and closed his eyes again. But he still heard the shuffling of Hermione's feet and felt the sofa dip when she sat down next to him.

"You're not alright, Harry. I know you say you are, but you're not."

Harry felt a pang of guilt at the worry in Hermione's voice.

"Don't worry about it," Harry said, opening his eyes and turning to face Hermione. "It's my problem."

"I'm your friend, Harry!" Hermione said forcefully. "Of course it's my problem if you're not alright! I want to help you, and so does Ron! But we can't if you won't tell us anything." She reached over and took Harry's hand. "Just tell me what's wrong, Harry, please."

Harry stared at Hermione's hand and the fierce grip it had on his own. He had wanted to keep all the hurt and pressure he was feeling to himself, the last thing he wanted was to start burdening his best friends with it as well. But at that moment, with the warmth of Hermione's hand on his and the reassurance of her words, he suddenly found he couldn't keep it secret anymore.

"It's just that..." Harry began, painfully aware of how tired and stressed he sounded. "It's all my responsibility, Hermione. People are relying on me to do it all, to find the Horcruxes, to defeat Voldemort, to end the war. And what if I can't?"

Hermione squeezed Harry's hand comfortingly. "Nobody's expecting you to do all that Harry," she said.

"Yes they are," Harry said, "Even if they wouldn't admit it. Ever since our first year, when all everyone wanted to do was see my scar, people have been expecting more of me than anyone else. Dumbledore was relying on me to do everything that needs to be done. You know the prophecy, Hermione. I don't have a choice; it has to be me that does all of this, but what if I can't? What if I'm not good enough?"

There was a pause, and Harry was almost convinced that he'd scared Hermione with his outburst; but then suddenly, she threw herself forward and hugged him tight. Harry froze for a moment in surprise, and then eagerly returned the hug. He felt a wave of relief, as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Hermione pulled away slightly, her arms still resting on Harry's shoulders. "It doesn't matter, Harry, you've done so much already. You're a stronger person than anyone else I know. I could never do some of the things you have."

Harry stared at Hermione, her words sinking in. Sitting as they were, her face was close to his, half in darkness and half bathed in the light of the bluebell flames, her eyes seemingly huge and dark in the strange light. Suddenly, Harry found himself leaning forward and kissing her.

Hermione pulled away the instant their lips touched, but not far, their faces were still only inches apart. Their gazes were locked, and Harry found himself frozen, unable to do or say anything, fully aware that everything depended on what Hermione herself decided to do next. Even though it was only a few seconds, the moment and all its painful awkwardness seemed to drag on for ages. Then Hermione leaned forward and closed the space, kissing Harry softly, her arms once again resting on his shoulders.

When they broke apart for the second time, Harry tried to speak, but found the words stuck in his throat. He watched as Hermione's unreadable expression faded into another expression, this time all too readable: regret.

"Harry," she said, her voice half a whisper. "We really shouldn't have done that."

Harry replied with the first thing that came into his mind. "Sorry." He winced at how ridiculous it sounded.

"No," Hermione blurted out, then looked embarrassed. "I mean, you shouldn't feel that. What I mean is, Ron and I..."

Harry nodded. "You and Ron."

"Ron is... I care about him, a lot, really a lot. But this...you..." For once, Hermione looked as though she was at a loss for words. "I'm sorry Harry," she finished, and stood and left the room, leaving Harry to his thoughts.

Two emotions settled over Harry as he sat in the gloom, guilt and rejection. Sometimes, he reflected, he was his own worst enemy. Just as he'd thought things couldn't get any worse, he'd done something to make things go even more spectacularly wrong. He hadn't even realised he thought of Hermione like that until that moment, when suddenly kissing her had seemed like the most natural thing in the world to do.

After a short time he headed back off to bed. Sleep did not come easily, and Ron's quiet breathing only served as a reminder that Harry, intentionally or not, had stuck the knife into his best friend's back by kissing Hermione. Eventually though, Harry did drift into slumber.

The next morning Harry was awakened by Ron shaking his shoulder.

"Harry! Harry, get up! Breakfast!" Ron said, and sure enough Harry could smell bacon cooking somewhere.

When he entered the kitchen, he looked over at Hermione only to have her turn away, pointedly not meeting his gaze. His heart dropped; the last thing he needed was to have his friendship with Hermione turn sour over one stupid kiss. As he looked away from her, his gaze fell upon the person sitting next to her... Ginny.

A whole new wave of guilt washed over him as he realised that, not only had he betrayed Ginny, but he hadn't even thought of her until now. He'd been so preoccupied with worry over potentially hurting Ron and upsetting Hermione that Ginny hadn't even entered his thoughts. The guilt intensified even more when she looked up and smiled brightly at him.

Harry ate breakfast in silence. The twins had departed, and so breakfast was now a much more subdued affair; but still most of the conversation washed over Harry. He did noticed that Hermione was also eating her breakfast in silence. It was Ginny, however, who occupied most of his attention, as Harry tried his best to muddle through his feelings towards her.

He knew he cared about her. The sparkle in her eyes as she laughed at a joke Ron was making still made something inside him brim with affection. The idea of her getting hurt still provoked a wave of fear in him. He knew that he would love to be back with her, to still be able to hold and kiss her. He definitely still cared about her. The question now was, he supposed, was it only Ginny he cared about like that?

Harry expressed his emotions by stabbing at his bacon with his fork. Why couldn't things ever just be simple for him? He felt the same sense of suffocation that he'd felt watching the others practise Quidditch, it felt like it was building up inside of him and weighing him down. The urge to get out of The Burrow hit him, which left him surprised, for until now, The Burrow had been a place he'd always felt safe and contented.

Suddenly he thought of Privet Drive and his many miserable summers there. He remembered that he needed to talk to the Dursleys, and try to explain. He hadn't even told them that he wasn't coming back there for the summer, although he doubted they were anything but pleased by his failure to turn up. Nevertheless, he needed to talk to them before he set out to find the Horcruxes, whether they wanted to see him again or not.

Despite his desire to get away from The Burrow for a while, Harry found he didn't want to go alone. He knew he couldn't ask Hermione to go with him, and he wouldn't feel comfortable with Ginny. It didn't really matter, he realised; it was Ron he wanted to take with him anyway, Ron who could always be counted on to provide Harry with the backup and support he needed.

After breakfast, Harry pulled Ron aside.

"What is it?" Ron asked, taking note of Harry's grim expression.

"I'm going to see the Dursleys today," Harry said.

Ron raised his eyebrows. "Really... You sure?"

"Positive," Harry said. "And I was kind of hoping you'd come with me. You don't have to if you don't want to, it would just help."

"Of course I'll come with you," Ron said, smiling. "That's what mates are for, right?"

And not for kissing your girlfriend behind your back said a treacherous voice in Harry's head, but what actually came out his mouth was, "Right."

"We'll take the Knight Bus this evening," Ron said. "Best way."

Harry spent the rest of the day day being soundly beaten by Ron at Wizard Chess and planning what he was going to say to his aunt and uncle. Nothing he could think of sounded like it would go down well. Ron mentioned that Hermione had gone for a walk with Ginny, complaining that she felt like she needed some fresh air. Harry knew she was avoiding him. He'd considered telling her what he was planning to do that evening, but after what had happened he just didn't have the courage to face her yet.

When the evening rolled around Harry and Ron snuck downstairs, carrying their wands with them. Ron had told his mother where they were going, and she was waiting for them at the front door. She first tightly hugged Ron and then Harry.

"Now be careful, the both of you," she said when she finally released Harry. "Don't go any further than that house! And be on the lookout! And be careful! I mean it, Ron!"

Ron rolled his eyes. "I know, Mum. I promise we'll be careful."

The country lane outside of The Burrow was quiet; only the occasional bark of a fox broke the stillness.

"Lumos..." Ron muttered, and the tip of his wand lit up, casting strange shadows. Without pausing, he swept his wand down in a wave.

A deafening bang totally shattered the silence and the Knight Bus materialized inches in front of them. A figure jumped into the lane and began speaking.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just ste... Neville!"

Stan Shunpike's face broke into a grin as he recognised Harry. He looked different from when Harry had first seen him the summer before his third year. There was a gauntness to his face that Harry recognised as a mark of time locked away in Azkaban. Also Stan's wand was drawn at the ready, as though he were worried about exactly who might have flagged the bus down.

"Fancy seeing you again Neville, specially what with you being Harry Potter and all!" Stan's face suddenly went very serious. "Shouldn't be out by yerself, 'specially in these dark times!"

"Uh... I'm with him, actually," Harry said, gesturing to Ron, who was looking confused at Harry's apparent friendship with Stan.

"Well, still ain't safe!" Stan said with a nod. "But, it's your decision, innit? Where will you be going this evening then, Neville? Hogsmeade? Leaky Cauldron?"

"Uh, Number Four Privet Drive actually."

Stan shrugged. "Never heard of it, but we'll get you there sure enough! It'll be 14 sickles each."

Apart from its usual magical qualities, the bus ride was uneventful; with the exception of a sleepy looking witch huddled in the corner, Harry and Ron were the only passengers. Harry wasn't surprised; he couldn't imagine many people were keen on travelling about after dark at the moment.

The Knight Bus dropped them almost right outside Number 4, and with a parting wave from Stan, it quickly vanished off into the night. Gathering all his determination, Harry strode up to the front door. He considered knocking, but rather suspected that Uncle Vernon might simply slam the door in his face. The door wasn't locked, so he and Ron just walked in.

Harry soon found himself standing in the familiar surroundings of the Dursley's living room. Ron busied himself examining the pictures on a shelf in fascination.

"They really don't move at all, do they?" he said, poking at one. "Weird."

In that instant, Dudley entered the room; he took one look at Harry, made a strange squawking noise and vanished again. Moments later, he reappeared with his father and mother in tow.

"You!" Uncle Vernon roared. "And just where have you been, boy? Thought we were rid of you! Who's this?" He pointed at Ron.

"Uh, a friend from school," Harry said, hoping that none of them would suddenly recall Ron's presence at two of Harry's rather dramatic exits from Privet Drive.

"Hi," Ron said, grinning, unable to hide his amusement at Uncle Vernon's expense.

"Don't 'hi' me!" Uncle Vernon spat. "You're one of his sort, are you?" With that, he turned to Harry. "What do you think you're doing, boy, bringing more of your lot here? As if it wasn't bad enough you being around!"

"I won't be staying long," Harry said shortly. "I just need to tell you what's going on."

"Going on?" said Aunt Petunia going white. "What do you mean? There aren't more of those... things around, are there?" From his place behind his mother, Dudley whimpered.

"No, there aren't any Dementors here. Not now that I'm gone," Harry told her.

"Gone, are you?" Uncle Vernon said.

"Yes. I'm gone, and I won't be coming back," Harry said. "I've got to help with the war; Voldemort is more powerful than ever, and... Dumbledore is dead. Things are bad right now in the wizarding world."

None of this seemed to register a great deal with Uncle Vernon, but Aunt Petunia spoke up again.

"How bad?"

"Very bad," Harry said. "As bad as when my parents died. Worse."

"And you think you're going to do what exactly?" Uncle Vernon said his voice filled with contempt. "From what you told us before, this Vol...dee...whatever character sounds more powerful than you. He finished your parents off. What makes you think he won't do the same to you, eh? Thought you had him beat, and he came back! You've got no hope, boy. And what happens to us? To all the normal people while you lot fight each other? Cannon fodder no doubt! Pawns in your little war!"

"That's not true!" Ron spoke up. "It's only the other side who kill Muggles!"

"You would say that!" Uncle Vernon shouted. "Covering your tracks! Mark my words; you'd soon be sorry if the government knew about all of this! I'd like to see your little tricks stand up against the army! Oh yes indeed."

Harry sighed. The conversation was going exactly as well as he expected. He knew there was no reasoning with Uncle Vernon, but Harry had tried at least.

"Let's go, Ron," Harry said.

"Yes! Leave!" Uncle Vernon cried with satisfaction.

Once they were outside, Ron gave Harry a very sympathetic look.

"Well, at least it was short," he said.

Harry laughed. "Yes, short, loud and embarrassing."

"It wasn't that bad," Ron said.

"Thanks, Ron, but it really was. But it's done now, and I don't ever have to see them again." The realisation lifted Harry's spirits. "Come on, let's go back."

They hailed the Knight Bus again and were greeted by a surprised Stan, who clearly hadn't expected to be seeing them again so soon. Within fifteen minutes they were walking back into the welcoming warmth of The Burrow, a place that always did much to erase Privet Drive from Harry's mind. Mrs Weasley greeted them with hot chocolate and ushered them up to Ron's room saying they needed to rest. Before they were up the stairs, Harry caught a glimpse of Mr Weasley in the living room talking to somebody in the fire. He looked more troubled and exhausted than Harry had ever seen him.

They passed an hour trying to enchant Ron's socks to mend themselves. Neither of the boys had paid much attention during Professor Flitwick's lessons in basic household charms, and eventually the socks wound up running out of the window as though filled with unseen feet and making a break for freedom into the night. It was obvious the socks were beyond recovery, so Ron began searching for his Exploding Snap cards while Harry took their empty mugs down to the kitchen.

As Harry passed quietly by the living room, he saw that Mr Weasley was still talking in low tones to whoever it was in the fire, and had now been joined by Mrs Weasley. Resisting the urge to eavesdrop, Harry continued on by into the kitchen where he placed the two mugs in the sink. As he turned to leave, a familiar figure appeared in the doorway, one that made something in his chest jolt.

"Harry," Hermione said. Her hands were on her hips and she was frowning.

"Hermione," Harry replied awkwardly.

"Where did you go this evening... you and Ron?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably; he was definitely beginning to regret not mentioning his plans to Hermione.

"We went to the Dursleys," he said. "I needed to talk to them, let them know what was going on. I thought I owed them that much."

Hermione looked annoyed. "And you didn't want me to go? Didn't even want to tell me?"

Harry floundered. "I just..."

"You just what?"

"After what happened... you were avoiding me. I thought you wouldn't want to go!" Harry blurted out.

"Oh," Hermione said, suddenly quiet. "Look, Harry..." She took a deep breath. "Just because of... what happened, that doesn't mean I don't want you to stop telling me things."

"I wasn't trying to keep it from you," Harry protested.

"But you did!" Hermione said. "I was worried about you and Ron. In these times Harry... you can't just vanish like that."

Memories of the conversation he'd had with Ron only a few days or so ago rose in Harry's mind. He didn't mean to worry people like that, but he couldn't help it if they assumed he'd been kidnapped the moment he did anything unusual. He wanted to say all of that to Hermione, but he couldn't find the same anger and frustration in himself.

"Sorry," he said simply, "for not telling you about the Dursleys... and for the other night."

Hermione left the doorway and moved further into the room until she was standing just in front of Harry. "You should have told me where you were going tonight," she said softly. "But when it comes to the other night... there's nothing to be sorry about, Harry."

"So you don't blame me?" Harry asked tentatively, "For what happened?"

Hermione sighed and closed her eyes. "I don't know. No, I don't blame you, but I don't even know if blame is the right word. It makes it sound like what happened was, I don't know, a bad thing."

Harry hesitated, but could not help himself from asking. "You think it wasn't a bad thing?"

Hermione drew breath to reply, but then seemed to change her mind. For a moment Harry thought she was going to walk out, but then her hands were suddenly on his shoulders and her lips were pressed against his. It only lasted for a second before she drew away again.

"Oh," Hermione said as she stepped back, covering her mouth with her hand. "Sorry."

There was an awkward pause until Harry broke the silence. "Hermione," he said, gathering himself back together and trying to forget the sensation of the kiss. "What is it that you want? Please just say, because I really don't know what I'm supposed to be doing here."

Hermione looked at her feet and frowned. In the pause, all Harry could hear was the murmur of the Weasleys talking in the living room and the ticking of the clock.

Eventually, Hermione looked back up and met his gaze. "I care for Ron. I really do, and until this... thing, I was sure that I wanted to be with him. But now I just don't know anymore. Especially about you..." Suddenly, Hermione clenched her jaw in determination and spoke up again. "I'll tell you what I want, Harry: I want things to go back to normal, that's what I want. I want the three of us to be proper friends; I want all this awkwardness gone! There's too much going on right now for us to be getting wound up about stupid little things."

Relief bloomed in Harry's chest, and he felt at least some of the weight on his mind lift. Reassurance settled over him, and he tried to tell himself there wasn't the tiniest bit of disappointment mixed in.

"Okay." Harry nodded, smiling.

"You're sure?" Hermione asked. "You think we can go back to normal?"

"Yes, I do," Harry said firmly. "Do you?"

Hermione returned his smile. "Yes."

"In that case," Harry said. "Me and Ron were going to play Exploding Snap. Want to join us?"

Hermione grinned. "I'd love to."

Over the next few days, the trio relaxed back into their comfortable friendship. The awkwardness between Harry and Hermione evaporated, as did Harry's guilt. Occasionally Harry would catch himself gazing at Hermione and feeling rather wistful, but he quickly pushed those feelings to the back of his mind. They'd agreed to go back to normal, and it was his responsibility to make sure that happened.

Their time was spent enjoying the summer weather and each other's company. However, the war was becoming harder and harder to avoid noticing. Mr Weasley especially seemed haggard, run down and exhausted. There were many late night visitors to the Burrow, some of whom Harry recognised and others he didn't.

He let it all wash over him until one evening not more than three days later. Harry, Ron and Hermione had been sitting in the kitchen, half listening to the Wizarding Wireless, half talking, when suddenly there was a knock at the door, and in walked Remus Lupin. His face was pale, and Harry thought he looked more underfed and ill than ever. Mrs Weasley immediately abandoned her task of enchanting dishcloths to clean plates and hurried over to him.

"Remus, sit down, sit down! What's wrong?"

Lupin sank gratefully into a chair at the table. "It's not been a good day, Molly, I'm afraid," he said, smiling weakly. "There have been two more attacks in London. The first wasn't so serious, but the second..." He trailed off shaking his head.

Mrs Weasley's face set into an expression of firm purpose. "Come on into the sitting room, Remus. I'll get Arthur."

Lupin rose and followed Mrs Weasley out of the kitchen with barely a nod in Harry's direction. Once he'd gone, the trio exchanged wide-eyed looks.

"What do you reckon that was all about?" Ron asked, keeping his voice low.

"I don't know," Hermione said, shaking her head. "Doesn't sound good though, does it?"

They sat quietly in the kitchen, trying to pick up what they could from the muted conversation taking place in the other room. Harry knew that if he were to go and enquire, they would probably tell him what was going on. A lot had changed since his fifth year when he felt permanently kept in the dark. But something held him back.

Not much time passed until the hushed voices stopped. There was the sound of feet on the stairs, then the kitchen door opened, and Lupin walked in, his eyes fixed on Harry.

"Ron, Hermione," Lupin said, his gaze flickering momentarily to them before fixating back on Harry. "I wonder if you wouldn't mind giving Harry and me a moment alone, please?"

Ron and Hermione rose silently from the table and left the kitchen; just before he disappeared through the door, Ron shot Harry a 'good luck' face.

Lupin sat down opposite Harry at the table. He clasped his hands together and said nothing for a moment. When he did speak up it was softly, but firmly.

"I've been speaking to Alastor Moody. He tells me you're thinking of visiting Godric's Hollow."

Harry nodded. "Yes."

"I'm sure if Arthur and Molly were to hear me say this, they would not be happy," Lupin said, his eyes still intensely focused on Harry. "But nevertheless, I wonder why you haven't gone yet?"

Harry floundered, try as he might, he couldn't find a response. Something of his confusion must have registered in his expression, because Lupin began speaking again.

"I understand these are difficult times for you, Harry. They are difficult times for all of us, but none of us has to shoulder a burden like yours. I can understand why you would feel apprehensive. Why you would hesitate to start what will no doubt be a long and difficult journey. But Harry..." Lupin's expression was deeply sympathetic. "You can't put it off forever."

"I know," Harry said. "I'm not trying to."

"Maybe you don't think you are," Lupin said. "I know that it's not really my place to tell you this, Harry, but with..." Lupin's expression went grim. "...With Sirius gone, I'm the only one left who will."

Harry didn't say anything; instead he fixed his gaze firmly on the tabletop. Lupin sighed and rose from the table and walked to the doorway. He seemed about to leave when he turned back.

"Remember, Harry," Lupin said. "You don't have to do it alone." With that, he left. A bustle of activity in the hall was followed by silence. Harry could only assume that Lupin had apparated away.

Mrs Weasley stuck her head round the door. She was smiling, but Harry could see the stress and tiredness in her eyes.

"Go to bed, Harry dear," she said simply.

Harry did as she said and climbed up the stairs to Ron's room. As he went, Lupin's words rang in his ears. Memories of Dumbledore in the cave containing the fake Horcrux surfaced, of the trust Dumbledore had put in him. Mixed in were memories of Sirius, of himself facing Voldemort in the graveyard, of his parents reappearing for just a moment when his and Voldemort's wands had connected.

When Harry opened the door to Ron's room, he found both Ron and Hermione inside. They looked up at him expectantly as Harry took a deep breath.

"I'm going."

Ron and Hermione looked nervously at each other and then back to Harry.

"Where?" Ron asked.

"Godric's Hollow," Harry said firmly.

Both Ron and Hermione looked at the floor, their expressions apprehensive. It was Hermione who looked up first, the hesitancy on her face transforming into a look of determination.

"When do we go?" she asked.

"You don't have to," Harry said. It seemed so unfair to drag his friends into his problems, to make them face the same perils and dangers that were meant for him. "It's okay, you should go back to Hogwarts. There's no reason for all of us to risk-"

"When do we go, Harry?" Ron cut him off. Both he and Hermione were giving Harry the same look of steely determination, one Harry knew better than to argue with.

"As soon as possible," he replied. "Tomorrow even, if it's alright with you two."

Hermione nodded. "Better sooner rather than later," she said. "I'll write to my parents and tell them I'm going on a holiday or something."

"Mum's not going to like it," Ron said. "She's going batty worrying about my brothers as it is. I'll talk to her."

The rest of their conversation was used to make plans, to sort out exactly what they needed to do the following day. Eventually they decided to go by the Floo Network to Diagon Alley the next morning, taking all the things they thought they would need. Once there they could then use a Portkey that would transport them nearby to Godric's Hollow. When all this was decided, Ron, grim faced, slipped downstairs to tell his mother.

When Ron was gone, Harry sat on the side of the bed next to Hermione, and they stayed there in silence, both sorting through their own feelings regarding the time ahead. Harry was feeling a strange mixture of relief and fear. Over the past couple of weeks, he realised, he'd been caught up in a strange kind of tension. At the back of his mind he'd known that eventually he would have to leave to start searching for the Horcruxes, but he'd pushed those thoughts down. Now that it was actually happening, it was a relief to no longer have to pretend. However, there was no ignoring the building anxiety in his stomach as it sank in, or exactly how uncertain the future now was.

Hermione reached over and touched Harry's arm gently, jolting him from his thoughts.

"Are you alright?" she asked tentatively.

Harry smiled weakly. "I'm fine, just tired."

Hermione's arm slipped around Harry's shoulders, pulling him into a sort of half hug.

"Don't lie, Harry. Of course you're not alright! I know the kind of situation we're getting into. You'd be stupid if you weren't afraid."

"I'm not afraid!" Harry said, trying to pull out of Hermione's hold. She responded by tightening her grip.

"Who do you think you're talking to, Harry?" she said firmly. "I know you, Ron knows you, you can't fool us, and you shouldn't feel like you have to." She squeezed his shoulders. "I know I'm afraid."

"You're afraid?" Harry said, half turning so he could look straight at her. "Hermione, you know you don't have to go. If it scares you, I don't want you to go. You should be somewhere safe..."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh please. It's not the first time I'll have been in, what's the term now - mortal danger? Face it, Harry, you're stuck with me. The three of us have always confronted danger together, and I don't intend to change that now."

The door opened and Ron appeared. Hermione's arm dropped from Harry's shoulders, and they quickly shuffled apart. Harry had no idea why he suddenly felt as though he'd been nearly caught red handed; it had just been a hug between friends, nothing Ron would have batted an eyelash at.

"Well, like I said, she isn't happy," Ron said. Harry noticed how tired and melancholy Ron seemed. Hermione must have noticed too, as she gestured for Ron to come and sit on the bed between her and Harry.

"What happened?" Hermione asked.

"She said there was absolutely no way any of us were going anywhere, and then she stormed off into the garden. But then Dad went and had a word with her. He says we can go, but Mum wouldn't talk to me." Ron groaned and rubbed at his eyes with his hands.

"We should get some sleep," Harry said, patting Ron comfortingly on the back.

Hermione stood to leave, but before she went she pulled Ron into a hug, her arms wrapped tightly around him. Harry tried to tell himself he didn't feel even the slightest twinge of envy.

The next morning Harry and Ron rose early and started packing the bare essentials. Instead of using his large trunk that usually carried his things to Hogwarts, Harry was borrowing a much smaller, if rather travel worn, suitcase belonging to the Weasleys. When they were finished, they dragged their luggage downstairs where they found Hermione waiting with hers. It wasn't just Hermione waiting in the hallway however, Ginny was there too, her eyes fixed on Harry.

"Can I have a word with Harry alone?" she asked, her gaze not wavering. Ron and Hermione both slipped away into the living room without a word.

"So you're going then?" Ginny asked.

"Yeah," Harry said, unable to think of anything else to say. He wanted to hug her, tell her it would be all right and he'd be back, but in that moment it didn't feel right.

Ginny stepped forward so she was standing right in front of Harry. She gave him a quick, simple little kiss. When she stepped back, Harry could see her eyes were glassy with tears she was determined not to shed.

"Good luck." And with that, she turned away from him and walked into the kitchen. Pausing for a moment, Harry heard the door into the garden open and then shut.

Mr and Mrs Weasley were waiting in the living room where a roaring fire was already burning in the grate despite the hot summer weather. Mr Weasley looked morose, while there were clear tears brimming in Mrs Weasley's eyes. She pulled Hermione into a hug, and then encompassed Harry. When it came to Ron, she clung onto him tightly for nearly a minute.

"Be careful!" she said, sniffling.

"Harry," Mr Weasley said, stepping forward. He was holding out a simple wizarding robe, hooded and a bland shade of washed out grey. "There are a lot of people out there who'd love to get their hands on you. You don't want to attract attention, from them or anyone else. Wear this. And good luck."

Harry took the drab robe and pulled it on. It was slightly too big for him, but was certainly boring and unremarkable enough not to attract any attention.

Ron was first to go, taking a pinch of Floo Powder from the box held out by Mr Weasley. His father placed a hand on his shoulder and said something, too low for Harry to hear, but Ron seemed to understand. Standing in front of the fire, one hand gripping the battered suitcase holding his belongings, Ron threw the Floo Powder into the flames. The fire instantly seemed to grow and turned several shades of green; Ron took a deep breath, and in a clear voice cried out "Diagon Alley." He vanished into the fire.

Hermione went next, and then it was Harry's turn. Taking a pinch of Floo Powder, he faced the fire. His pinch of the powder turned the flames the same shades of green, and remembering his unpleasant experience just before his second year at Hogwarts, Harry made sure to keep his voice clear.

"Diagon Alley!" he cried, and stepped forward into the fire and an uncertain future.