The Traitor's Blood

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"What's your fault?"

Harry opened his eyes, though it made no difference. Everything around him was suddenly very dark. He could barely see his hands in front of his face.

"Who's there?" He looked around blindly in the darkness. He could just make out the faint outline of someone standing over him. The figure stepped closer and dropped into a crouching position, only inches from Harry's face.

Harry suddenly felt a familiar wave of warmth and comfort wash over him. He could not see the person's face but he was almost certain he knew who was there.

"Sirius?"

"Shh."

"Sorry," Harry whispered, though he was not sure why they had to whisper.

"So, why are you sleeping on the stairs?"

"I'm not ... I just ..." Harry sighed and tilted his head back so that it was resting against the hard wall behind him. "Ron's mad at me."

"Why?"

"His parents are ... missing. Some Death Eaters found your house - we don't know how - but I know they were looking for me." Harry growled quietly through his clenched teeth. "Why can't they just leave me alone for five seconds?"

"Why are they suddenly so keen to find you?"

"How should I know?" Harry barked back. "Sorry," he added quickly. "But I don't know. Unless ..."

"What?"

"Well ..." Harry hesitated. He did not know why but he was afraid to voice the possibility. Somehow, saying it out loud would make it all the more possible. But he knew he could not hide anything from Sirius. "Unless they've found out what the prophecy said. That would make sense. They would know that I am the only one who can kill Voldemort, and he ... he is the only one who can kill me. That's it!"

"Harry?"

The voice was not his godfather's. Harry opened his eyes and blinked up at the girl standing over him.

"Who are you talking to?" Hermione asked tentatively.

"No one," Harry mumbled. "What are you doing here?"

"I was on my way to bed and I heard you talking to someone." Hermione sat down on the step below Harry and frowned up at him.

"I wasn't talking to anyone." Harry wished she would stop looking at him.

"You said something about Voldemort." She narrowed her eyes as she continued to stare fixedly at Harry's face, as though trying to figure him out.

Harry wanted to deny it but he knew he could not lie to Hermione; she always knew when he was not being truthful. "I was just ... working it out."

"Tell me. I'd like to listen," she said softly. "You need to talk to people more."

Harry thought about arguing with her. He wanted to tell her that he did not need to talk to her; that he did not need to talk to anyone. But all he managed was a deep sigh.

"You know the prophecy that the Death Eaters were after in the Department of Mysteries?"

Hermione nodded slowly.

"Well, I know what it said." He avoided looking at Hermione when he said this.

"How? I thought the prophecy had smashed?"

"It did," Harry replied grimly. "But that doesn't mean it's gone. I heard it from the horses mouth, so to speak." He chanced a glance at Hermione, who continued to stare intently back at him. "Dumbledore kind of showed it to me. He was the one who heard it originally."

"So, what did it say?" Hermione sounded intrigued.

"Nothing good," he said simply. He was beginning to wish this conversation had never begun.

"You can tell me," Hermione urged.

"Why? What good will it do?" Harry got to his feet and stormed angrily past Hermione and down the steps to the empty common room. He dropped himself onto a comfortable sofa and thought vaguely of the possibility of spending the night in the common room. He could not go back to the dormitory.

He felt the sofa strain under the weight of a second person and was not surprised when he turned his head to see Hermione sitting quietly next to him, staring blankly at the fireplace.

"Go away," Harry found himself saying.

"No."

Harry closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again. "You don't want to know."

"Yes, I do."

"Why?"

"Because I want to help you, Harry," she said desperately. "You never talk to anyone and you keep everything bottled up inside. I want you to talk to me!"

"FINE!" Harry shouted, rising from his seat and towering over Hermione. "You want me to talk to you? You want me to tell you that I'm the only one who can kill Voldemort? You want me to tell you that the only way he can survive is if he kills me?"

"I'm sorry." Hermione's voice shook and she looked as though she was fighting the urge to cry.

"Why are you sorry?" Harry continued to shout. "I'm the one who's sorry. I'm sorry I was ever born! I haven't done anybody any good and I never will. I can't kill Voldemort. That's impossible! And he's going to keep on killing everyone around me until he finally kills me!"

"Don't talk like that," said Hermione desperately, tears now spilling down her cheeks.

Harry wanted to shout some more but he felt deflated. He continued to stand over Hermione until he finally admitted defeat and sunk back down onto the sofa next to her. He lifted his feet up, drew his knees into his chest and buried his face behind his legs. He felt Hermione's arm slide behind his back and she pulled him close to her.

They remained like this for a long time. Neither of them spoke but Hermione continued to cry quietly onto Harry's shoulder. Harry felt a great sense of relief to have told Hermione but he also felt terrible for placing such a burden on her.

"You can do it, Harry," she said suddenly. "You can kill him, you know."

Harry lifted his head and looked into Hermione's face. She looked so determined; he did not know what to say to her. "I ... I can't ..." he stammered.

"You can! I know you can!" She gripped his shoulder tightly. "And I'll be there to help you."

*****

The next two weeks seemed to disappear before Harry's eyes. The more he dreaded school starting, the closer the first day loomed.

Ron was still not talking to him. Harry spent the night of the attack on Grimmauld Place on the sofa. But Hermione had argued extensively with both Ron and Harry on the subject and Harry had resolved to return to the dormitory, if only to stop her shouting at him. But he and Ron still spent every night in mutual silence and avoided each other as much as possible during the day.

Ginny had become very withdrawn. She spent most days shut away in her dormitory, coming down to the common room only at mealtimes, when she ate in silence and returned to her room as soon as she finished eating. Harry was surprised to find that he understood her desire to be alone. He even told Hermione to stop pressuring her to talk and to just give her some space. Hermione had grinned at him when he said this and told him she was glad he had developed some sensitivity over the summer. He was not too sure what she had meant, but he did not ask her to elaborate.

Harry found the school even more boring than before, when he had at least had Ron to occupy him. He became so bored that he resorted to reading some of Hermione's books, though he did not absorb much of what he read.

They had not heard much from the Order since the night of the attack. Bill and Percy had paid them a visit the following day and told them that the Order were doing everything in their power to find Mr and Mrs Weasley, Tonks, Shacklebolt, Mundungus and Podmore. Even the Ministry were helping out, though Bill said this was only because some of their staff were involved, including two of their Aurors, so they had to be seen to be doing something.

Bill and Percy had not stayed long. They seemed eager to get out and help with the search. Hagrid had gone with them. McGonagall stayed at the castle but spent almost all of her time working in her office. She did not even join them for dinner anymore. And there was still no sign of Dumbledore.

"You two are so stupid," Hermione observed as Ron and Harry sat in the common room with her the night before school started.

Harry scowled at her over the top of his book. Ron grunted and continued polishing his broomstick, which Harry thought was stupid, as he had not flown on it for weeks.

"I'm fed up with this," she continued. "It's ridiculous. Ron, you know it's not Harry's fault that your parents are missing."

"Shut up, Hermione," said Ron warningly.

"No, I won't," she replied defiantly. "Harry's your best friend. You can't treat him like this. It's not fair."

"I can treat him however I like!" Ron continued to talk about Harry as if he was not there. "It's his fault my parents are missing! It's always his fault. I hate him!"

Harry had succeeded in ignoring Ron's nasty words until now, but somehow this last outburst had really cut deep. Harry threw the book onto the table, got silently out of his armchair and headed straight for the boys' dormitories. He had only reached the second step when he stopped suddenly.

A sharp pain had seared across his scar. He clamped a hand to his forehead. Then it happened again, worse than before. His legs gave way and he dropped heavily to his knees. And again the pain cut across his skull, causing bright white spots to dance across his vision. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Then it was gone and he was left kneeling on the steps, cold sweat dripping down his face and just a faint throbbing in his head. He looked up slowly and saw Hermione kneeling next to him with Ron standing close behind her.

"Are you OK?" Hermione asked softly.

"I'm fine," Harry mumbled. "I just ... I don't know."

"Yes you do," Hermione urged him. "You saw something didn't you?"

"I ... I ..." Harry struggled against the overwhelming urge to vomit.

"What did you see?" Hermione demanded.

"Three of them are ..." he forced the words out, "are ... dead."

"Three of who?" Ron asked. But Harry saw the comprehension dawning on his face as soon as he spoke. "Is it my parents?"

"I ... I don't know." Harry searched his brain, trying to picture what he had seen. But it had happened so quickly. "Somehow, I don't think it was," he said honestly.

"How do you know?" Ron demanded angrily. "Did you see who it was?"

"No, but ..." Harry could not explain it. "I'm just sure it wasn't them."

"We should tell McGonagall," said Hermione, taking Harry's arm and helping him to his feet.