Murmurs from the Dying Sun

Murmurs from the Dying Sun

Chapter Four: Lest I Stiffen

I will not shut me from my kind,

And, lest I stiffen into stone,

I will not eat my heart alone,

Nor feed with sighs a passing wind.

~Tennyson

Over the next few weeks, time at Grimmauld Place passed slowly and steadily. Mrs. Weasley helped Ron and Hermione finish cleaning out Sirius's room, and all of the man's belongings were packed up and put away for Harry to get when he was ready. The only thing they'd chosen to leave out was the chain and ring Harry had seen down in the kitchen when Hermione had been showing it to Mrs. Weasley. After having Moody check it over for curses, they had handed it over to Harry. He had studied it just long enough to note that both pieces were made of the same twisting pattern that entwined silver and gold, and then he had tucked it away in his trunk, safely wrapped in one of the hideous socks he'd gotten from Dobby and never worn.

Even after that task was finished, Mrs. Weasley seemed to have no trouble finding them chores to do. They had to clean all the rest of the bedrooms, help out in the kitchen, and go over the other rooms every few days, as the dust seemed to settle in quickly. No one had voiced a complaint since Ron had taken the brunt of Mrs. Weasley's ire upon suggesting that the tasks would go much faster for someone with a wand. Harry wouldn't have complained anyway, as he didn't mind the work as much as the others. It was a distraction from the monotony of sitting around and trying to turn his thoughts away from Sirius, and all the other mistakes he had made in his short lifetime. It was an exercise in futility in any case, as he usually ended up falling into a fitful sleep and suffering the usual nightmares. If Ron noticed anything, he didn't comment on it to Harry, but he was of the opinion that his friend was unaware of the extent of Harry's grief. But then, Ron had been spending more time with Ginny than usual, so he had an excuse. Harry didn't know if it was Percy's supposed betrayal or Harry's own indifference towards his friends that had prompted Ron's change in behavior, but he often had the bedroom to himself while Ron and Ginny sat downstairs and played games of exploding snap or wizard's chess, which Ginny was almost as good at as her brother.

While Ron and Ginny grew closer and Harry wallowed, Hermione read. Harry knew this only because Mrs. Weasley had announced one morning at breakfast that they were going to start on the library. Apparently Hermione had read every volume in the massive collection of books she owned and was ready for new reading material, as well as a more comfortable place to curl up with the large tomes she tended to favor. As Sirius had never been one to sit around in a library, the room hadn't been opened in years, so Mrs. Weasley spent the first day with them, getting rid of any cursed objects before leaving the four of them to clean away the layers of dirt and grime. They had spent one very unpleasant afternoon trying to get the fireplace in working order, and in the end had been forced to recruit Mr. Weasley and his wand to the effort. Hermione was extraordinarily and almost worryingly pleased when they finished, and she walked around the library muttering about the rare treasures an ancient, pureblooded family like the Blacks would have in its collection.

Apparently, this had worried Mrs. Weasley as well, and out of fear that some of the books were cursed and might attack a potential reader, she made them promise not to open an unfamiliar book unless someone else was in the room who could help them or get help if something like this occurred. The main result of this decree was that Hermione frequently tried to recruit Harry to join her in the library. He had reluctantly followed the first few times, browsing at opposite ends of the library from where she searched. Of course, it hadn't taken Hermione long to set aside a pile of books so large that Harry wasn't sure she could finish all of them if all she did was read for the rest of the summer, and he decided it was a good thing that, not having gotten their OWL scores back, they had no summer homework. After finding and reshelving more than a few books that were clearly dark and, more worryingly, that intrigued Harry, he decided that his friend had enough to last her at least for the day, and had left for the solitude of his bedroom. In the following days, he had been more than reluctant to return, and had bluntly told Hermione so without telling her why. He knew that he was being deliberately cruel and unfriendly, but he didn't think he could deal with his friends at the moment. He had even taken to sitting away from them during mealtimes, and while Ron and Ginny often shot worried, uncomprehending looks his in direction, Hermione had begun to ignore him when she realized what he was doing. Harry found this odd, as he would have expected her to be the one trying to get him to open up, and Ron and Ginny to be ignoring him for acting like a prat.

Mostly, however, Harry found that he couldn't really bring himself to care one way or another. It was bad enough trying to dodge Remus's persistent questions, as the man had been to the house every other day since the conversation with Harry, trying to get him to talk about his feelings and Sirius's death. Harry would involuntarily shut down the moment his godfather's name was mentioned, though he knew that Remus was trying to help him and felt bad completely ignoring him. Thus, he began to steer the conversation in other direction, such as the murders and disappearances that were beginning to occur daily, or Harry's desire to learn more defensive spells and strategies, now that he knew it really was his job to get rid of Voldemort once and for all. Remus's face fell every time Harry changed the subject, but he seemed unwilling to break the silent truce between them and would try to content himself with playing the role of professor.

Harry was, in fact, trying to look through a defense book at that moment, hoping to distract himself from his usual depressing thoughts. It wasn't working very well, however, as he couldn't seem to concentrate on spells he couldn't even do. The books Remus and Sirius had gotten him were great, but they were more of a reference to various defensive spells and curses, and they didn't teach one how to work the spell. Remus had promised to bring him a better one the next time he came, and Harry hoped that trying to learn some news spells, even if he couldn't practice them, would help him from dwelling on the memories that plagued him.

A knock on the door interrupted his apathetic lolling then, and before Harry could get up to answer the door or yell for the person to come in, the door opened and Ron stuck his head in. "You all right there, mate?"

"Fine," Harry replied quickly. "What do you need?"

"It's dinner time," Ron answered. "Ginny and I are down in the kitchen helping Mum. D'you think you could stop and tell Hermione? I reckon she's in the library again."

Harry nodded. After all, where else would Hermione be? "Sure. We'll be down in a few minutes."

"Great." Ron beamed a smile at him, and then his head disappeared and he shut the door behind him.

Harry sighed and shut the book, then stood from his bed. The work around Grimmauld Place had slowed down considerably, and he was beginning to get stiff from lying around, reading and thinking so much. It certainly hadn't been enjoyable living with the Dursleys, but at least then he could go for walks around Little Whinging and annoy Dudley by following him and his gang around. He'd noticed that his cousin had been even more wary of him since the Dementor incident of the previous summer and by now Harry was sure he would have turned to finding amusement in annoying the whale of a boy. Here at Grimmauld Place, they couldn't risk leaving the house much because of the Fidelius charm, and it wasn't safe to wander around that area of London, anyway. But Harry longed for the fresh air, possibly to go for a broom ride. At this point, he would even take chores like mowing the lawn or weeding the garden back on Privet Drive.

Thinking hopefully about this, Harry left the room, visions of sweeping through the air lifting his spirits, if only a little. How he longed to be back on his broom. As much as he didn't look forward to returning to Hogwarts and the loads of work that sixth year would entail, it would be enough to get to fly again. He had vaguely considered the idea of Umbridge's Quidditch ban, and decided that it could probably be overturned, but even if it wasn't, there was no rule stopping him from flying, and Dumbledore wouldn't keep his Firebolt, as it was Harry's private property even if he couldn't play Quidditch.

He reached the library with these positive thoughts in mind and entered to find Hermione curled up in an armchair with a book that probably weighed half what she did. Her bushy hair was falling out of her makeshift ponytail and curling around her face, and her eyebrows were stitched in thought. Harry was filled with a sense of comfort watching her and momentarily regretted his cold behavior towards his friends, but he pushed his thoughts to the back of his mind as he remembered that they were supposed to be getting down to dinner.

"Hermione," he said, trying not to startle her badly and likewise not succeeding.

"Oh, Harry!" she said when she saw him. "I didn't realize you'd come in."

"Ron just told me it's almost time for dinner. We should head down to the kitchens," he told her, feeling suddenly awkward.

"Oh," she replied, disappointment shining in her eyes at the thought of having to leave her books. "Already? It seems I just got down here."

"It's almost seven," Harry informed her. "Come on ... we should go."

Hermione nodded and reluctantly turned away from her book, frowning deeply. Harry had to hold back a smile that wanted to cross his face, as he knew that she wouldn't find his amusement flattering. Instead, he opened the library door and waited for her to exit before following her out and down the stairs to the kitchen.

Ron and Ginny were rushing around helping their mother when Harry and Hermione arrived, Ginny standing over the oven and Ron setting far more than the usual six places at the dinner table. Hermione moved to the sink to wash her hands for dinner, but Harry stayed in the doorway, not wanting to get in anyone's way, yet not really wanting to help.

"Who is coming for dinner tonight, Mrs. Weasley?" he asked curiously when she popped her head into the dining room to check on Ron's progress.

"Oh, the other boys will be here, and Remus and Tonks and Kingsley," Mrs. Weasley replied. "There's going to be an order meeting after, so you four will have to make yourselves scarce when the meal is over."

Harry almost shot back a question asking why he couldn't stay, but he knew he wouldn't get a real answer, or at least not one he liked. He supposed he would rather not have to face the other members anyway, especially Snape. He would be perfectly happy if he never had to see that man again.

"Harry, help me get a couple pitchers of butterbeer," Ginny implored as Hermione moved farther into the kitchen to see if she could do anything to help Mrs. Weasley finish dinner.

Harry had just stepped out of the doorway and into the room, however, when the floo chimed. The four teenagers turned toward to find two identical redheads coming in through the fireplace followed quickly by Charlie, who was staying with them in their London apartment while on a leave of absence from the dragon preserve he normally worked at. Harry had never asked exactly why Charlie had taken a leave of absence, but he was under the impression that it had something to do with Percy's supposed betrayal. Harry figured that he, too, would feel bad if he were staying relatively safe down in Romania - as safe as one can be when they work with dragons for a living - and his family was living in danger, forced from their home.

Greetings were still going on when the fire flared again and Bill came through, looking harried but cheerful. Harry made sure to say hello to all of them before Ginny finally pulled him into the kitchen to fetch the pitchers of butterbeer, which were drained almost immediately by the group of Weasley boys who had settled themselves at the table. Not long after, Tonks and Kingsley followed Mr. Weasley in straight from the Ministry. Looking at them, Harry felt quite certain that Shacklebolt hadn't slept in days, though surprisingly Tonks looked wonderful. He supposed that could have something to do with her metamorphmagus abilities.

By this time, Mrs. Weasley was scrambling around the kitchen, trying to finish dinner so they would have time to eat before the other Order members began to arrive. Hermione got up to help her and Harry, feeling bad about sitting down when she was working, followed her with Tonks close at his heels, looking enthusiastic about helping in the kitchen. They were just setting bowls and plates of food onto the table when Remus came through the floo. He looked haggard, tired, with circles under his eyes, but he gave Harry a reassuring smile as he slipped into the empty seat between Harry and Shacklebolt. As the others took their food, he passed Harry a book on practical defensive instruction that Harry had asked for, after being frustrated by all the books which named spells but didn't teach one how to do them.

Dinner went by quickly, but well, Harry thought. He got caught up in the joking of the Weasley brothers, with occasional input from the others, and managed to eat more than he had in a long time. It was one of the things Mrs. Weasley always seemed to chastise him about. Tonight, by the time everyone was finished eating, the food was completely gone, and the mother of seven was beaming at having successfully stuffed so many people.

"I think it's time we get cleaned up here for the meeting," Mr. Weasley said, but everyone was so full that none of them made a move to get up, causing Ginny and Tonks to giggle, and Ron to reach for his cup in hopes that some butterbeer still remained in it.

The cup was, unfortunately, empty, but Hermione's was half full, and when he accidentally bumped it, the contents spilled all over her. Hermione jumped up quickly from the table, but not before a significant amount of butterbeer had soaked into her pants. She shot Ron an almost murderous look.

"Oh, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, standing up quickly and moving to where Hermione stood. "Scourgify. There," she nodded as Hermione's pants immediately dried up. "That's all better. Now come on, everyone, help me move these dirty dishes into the kitchen. Others will begin arriving any minute now!"

Harry reluctantly stood and gathered up all of the empty plates around him, stacking them together and following Remus into the kitchen. With everyone helping out, the dishes were put in the sink and set to washing very quickly, and Harry was relieved to leave for the library with Ron and Hermione before he was forced to talk to any other Order members. The three of them trudged up the stairs, saying good-bye to Ginny as she kept going up towards her bedroom, where, she had informed them, she would be writing a letter to Dean.

They had only just arrived, however, when Harry stopped suddenly. Hermione had already begun rummaging through a large pile of books she had set aside.

"What?" she asked when she saw Harry standing in the doorway.

"I forgot my book ... Remus brought me another one on Defense," he explained.

"Well, can't you find something else to read?" Hermione asked. "This is a library, there are thousands of books in here."

"Yeah, mate, there are even a few good ones on Quidditch," Ron added.

Harry frowned. "I really just wanted to look through the one Remus brought me," he said, feeling sullen. "I'm not much in a reading mood tonight."

Ron shrugged. "Then run back down and get it. I'm sure the Order meeting hasn't started this quickly."

Harry considered it for a moment, and then turned and headed back away from the library towards the kitchen without a word to his friends. He found more and more people beginning to arrive downstairs, and Remus gave him a questioning look. Harry reached under the chair he'd sat in during dinner, still unoccupied, and pulled out the book, holding it up for the werewolf to see. Remus smiled and nodded in response.

Starting to feel other eyes on him, Harry quickly headed out of the kitchen and pounded quickly up the steps, wishing there were some alternate way he could get out some of his energy. Swinging around the corner at the top of the stairs, however, he came to a complete halt as a dark figure ran smack dab into him. The book went flying out of his hands as he crashed to the ground. It took him a moment to regain his bearings, but when he looked up, he wished he hadn't.

He scrambled to his feet as a dark, furious stare bore into him. The hallway was narrow and he found himself backed against a wall, trying to get as far from the Potions master as he possibly could. Snape loomed over him, though, surprisingly, not by nearly as much as it had once been. It didn't really matter. Harry still felt more intimidated by him than he had by anyone.

Breaking his malicious gaze with Harry, Snape leaned over. When he returned to full height, Harry could see that he was holding the dropped book in his hand, and he realized that he hadn't even remembered he'd been carrying it.

"Harry Potter. With a book. Will wonders never cease?" Snape asked sarcastically. When Harry didn't reply, he continued. "Eloquent as always. Though, of course, the apparent clumsiness you so often display in my classroom hasn't improved. Tsk, tsk, Potter. You haven't practiced walking all holiday."

Harry, quite frankly, wasn't in the mood for it. He wasn't even in the mood to yell at Snape, which was surprising. Possibly because he was the only person here who didn't think Harry should be babied. What he really wanted was just to leave, to get away from everyone. Instead, he held his hand out. "Can I please have my book back, sir?" he asked politely.

Snape smirked. Apparently, he was in the mood to play. "Perhaps I should make sure it's appropriate reading first. Fortunately, I can assume it isn't Potions, as there's no way you made it into my NEWT level class with the pitiful piece of mush you call your brain."

"Mush? Is that a technical term?" Harry asked through gritted teeth.

"For you perhaps it should be," Snape said.

"In case you hadn't noticed, Snape," Harry responded, his voice raising. "I'm not in the mood for an argument. So would you please give me my bloody book back and allow me to move on? The only good thing about not being allowed to attend Order meetings is that there's less time to spend with you!"

Snape paused, eyes widening, as Harry's comment sank in. Harry didn't regret the words one bit. Snape was correct; there was no way Harry had made it into NEWT level Potions, and if Snape was no longer going to be his professor, then there was no reason to hold back his true feelings.

"You certainly seem riled up enough to me, Potter," he replied scathingly. "Try to remember that I am your elder, and do not make the mistake of forgetting that I was once a Death Eater. I could hurt you in way you can't even imagine! Now, about this book ..." Snape turned the book in his hands and flipped open the front cover. "A Practical Guide to Magical Defensive Tactics Against Dark Magics." Well, I see someone has finally decided it's time to learn something to use against the Dark Lord, not that any pathetic attempt you will give it will do any good. Perhaps if you had Miss Granger's brains and work ethic, you might make a passable opponent, but sadly, such a thing will never happen, not when you feel the need to play the hopeless, clueless hero. Though I am curious, Potter, what was it that prompted this, the knowledge that he really is going to be the one to off you, or the fortunate death of your beloved mutt of a godfather that you caused?"

"SHUT UP!" Harry yelled, and was about to yell it again when a low, familiar voice spoke.

"Severus." Remus's tone could only be described as disappointed and hurt. He stepped around the corner and into the hallway where Harry and Snape stood, revealing a red-faced, livid Mrs. Weasley.

"Severus Snape! How dare you?" Harry flinched at the tone and took another step backwards, colliding with the wall. Mrs. Weasley must have noticed, because then she turned her attention to Harry. "Harry dear, I'm sorry you had to put up with this man's abominable behavior. Why don't you run along to the library? We have to get down to the meeting."

Harry grimaced but nodded his agreement. He paused only for a moment before slipping past Snape and beginning down the hall.

"Harry, aren't you forgetting something?" Harry turned at the sound of Remus's voice. "Severus, the book?"

Snape's face tightened, but he shoved the book in Harry's direction, letting go before Harry had a good grip on it so that he struggled to keep from dropping it again. Harry decided not to say anything, and instead moved on and turned the corner that led down to the library. He stopped then, not wanting to enter the room where his friends were waiting while he felt so angry and hurt. He certainly hadn't expected the voices of Mrs. Weasley and Remus to continue when they thought he was far enough away not to hear, but they did.

"That was low of you, Severus," Remus said, his voice gone cold. "I know you and Harry have never gotten along, and though I think it wrong of you to hold a grudge against a teenager because of his deceased father's actions when he himself was young, I don't contest it because Harry seems to handle it and has, in fact, been uncooperative in return. But right now that boy is in immense turmoil and the last thing he needs is for you to treat him like a substandard idiot and accuse him of causing Sirius's death, which he already believes is true."

"Perhaps that means it is," Snape responded dryly.

Harry couldn't see the reactions of Remus and Mrs. Weasley, but after what came next, he could certainly imagine them.

"No, Remus, allow me." Harry had never heard Mrs. Weasley sound quite so formidable. "You are a despicable man, Severus Snape. Just despicable! I don't care whether you dislike Harry because of his who father was or because of something else he has done or said. I do imagine that, with the way you have treated him since the very beginning of his education at Hogwarts, he has given you some reason or other to dislike him, and I also just as highly imagine that he never would have done so if you had allowed yourself to get to know Harry Potter and not just assumed he was James!

"Everything aside, you shouldn't treat anyone like that! You know as well as anyone that Harry was not responsible for Sirius's death. You make me think you're glad to see him dead, but until now I was sure you wouldn't stoop so low. I'm starting to think all those complaints I heard from my children are nothing short of true! Harry is still a child, and is feeling hurt and depressed and a load of misplaced guilt, and it is beyond my comprehension what must have been going through your mind when you decided to yell at him like that back there! I know you're aware that Harry has now been fully informed of his role in this war, and he is in a fragile state at this moment. Have you no compassion?"

Harry didn't know what to feel after Mrs. Weasley's speech, a maelstrom of emotions rising inside him. Instead, he listened to the rest of the conversation play out.

"Oh, yes, fragile Harry Potter, the poor unwilling hero," Snape sneered. "Do not try to intimidate me, Molly, for the Dark Lord is far more frightening than you could ever be. It is clear that we both see very different versions of Potter, though perhaps yours is tainted by the unimpressively low standards you have been forced to set for your own children. Might I suggest that if we were not to treat Potter as such a delicate object, then he might cease to be one? Now I, for one, am going downstairs before we irk Albus with our tardiness."

Snape's sharp, clicking footsteps began and then stopped abruptly, and he could just barely hear Remus's next words. "Snape, you can say what you wish and insult whom you wish, but I will not allow you to treat Harry that way and damage him even further. Keep away from him."

"Oh, yes, I'll be sure to steer clear of him just because you've ordered me to, werewolf. Harry Potter gets enough babying from the two of you that I'm sure he can handle a few truthful words from me. Now, if you don't mind, I am going down to the meeting before Albus begins without us."

There was a pause and then Snape's clicking footsteps moved off down the hallway and disappeared. Harry stayed where he was, just around the corner, hardly breathing as he listened closely to anything Remus or Mrs. Weasley would say. He wasn't sure why he was so interested, but he couldn't help it. However, it remained completely silent. Harry could imagine them sharing a look of annoyance or sadness or even pity, but no words were spoken before they, too, moved away and down the stairs to the kitchens, where the meeting was being held. He waited a few more eternal moments before letting out a long sigh and heading in the opposite direction.

Trying his best to swallow back the annoyance and anger and other emotions that were trying to take control of him, Harry entered the library. Hermione was now seated in a large, squishy armchair, curled up in it with a thick book that probably weighed more than she did. Ron was sprawled on a couch on his stomach, browsing through a book on Quidditch that was more illustrations than words, the kind of book Ron preferred, as Harry well knew. His book still in hand, Harry refrained from greeting either of them short of a nod, and instead dropped into a seat of his own and cracked open his book.

"Hello, Harry," Hermione said aloud as he flipped to the first page.

He looked up and saw his friend looking at him expectantly, almost hopefully. "Hullo," he replied, looking back down at his book and hoping she would have the sense to leave him alone.

Apparently she didn't. He could feel her eyes on him as he tried to make himself read the words on the page before him and so he looked up and gave her a cold smile.

"Is everything all right, Harry?" she asked.

He couldn't have said why, but something inside made him want to jump up and yell at her, to make her see, truly see that he wanted to be left alone and that her constant badgering and bothering wasn't helping anyone. He didn't have the heart to be so mean, yet he didn't have the strength to quite deny his urges.

"Everything's fine, Hermione. Leave it," he said.

Hermione shot Ron a look that was clearly asking him what could have happened in the time that Harry had gone back down to the kitchen to pick up the book Remus had brought him. Harry rather hoped they wouldn't ask, because he didn't feel like explaining his encounter with Snape.

When Hermione looked back over at him, words on the tip of her tongue, he gave her a nasty glare and cracked open his book, refusing to look back up at her. If that didn't send her the message, then he didn't know what would. He couldn't be any clearer. He sat, uncomprehending, for five full minutes before he felt safe from any responses Hermione might have had to his attitude and started to look over the first chapter of the book.

Merlin, this was so boring! He usually found anything having to do with Defense very interesting, not least because his life depended on it. Yet he found it impossible to concentrate on the instructive pictures he saw, and instead got up from his seat, abandoning the text Remus had selected for him, in favor of wandering through the library. He wanted to get away from Ron and Hermione and prevent any more rude comments from escaping him, so he made his way to the opposite end of the library and turned the corner down the last row of shelves.

Once out of his friends' sight, he leaned back against once of the shelves and, closing his eyes, forced himself to take a long, deep breath and let it slowly out. Getting worked up over Snape was utterly foolish and he told himself he should have more sense than that. Of course Snape was going to try and rile him up by insulting and baiting him. He should expect nothing less from the insufferable Potions master. Besides, since when had it mattered to him what Snape thought? Since he finally said something true, a voice spoke up. Everything he said about finally learning how to fight Voldemort, about how I might have prevented Sirius's death ... it was all true. That, he could not bear. He could not stand to think that even Snape knew he was to blame for Sirius's death. And then Remus and Mrs. Weasley jumping in, trying to defend Harry as though he was some fragile toddler - literally! He couldn't believe they had dared to call him fragile! Was that really how he seemed to everyone?

Opening his eyes, he forced the anger to abate. Remnants lingered and so he began reading over the titles of the books in front of him. The titles all sounded rather foreboding - most of them had "Dark" somewhere in the title - and Harry remembered having found this section at some point earlier in the week when he'd been dragged down by Hermione. The fact that a single one of them seemed interesting worried him, but he became quickly engrossed in the titles. The Art of House-Elf Sacrifice for Application in the Dark Arts, Harry read off the spine of one. He'd better not let Hermione see that one; she would be horrified at just the title, and would no doubt use it as more proof that the House Elves desperately needed to be freed.

On and on they went, books on all different kinds of dark arts, until one in particular caught Harry's eyes. The Use of Human Blood and Flesh in the Darkest Regenerative Practices and Rituals, the cover read. Harry ignored a shiver that ran down his spine and impulsively pulled the book from the shelf. Wasn't this exactly what Voldemort had done when he had used Harry's blood, as well as Wormtail's hand and his father's bone, to give himself a new corporeal body? He cracked the book open and, when nothing terrible happened, started flipping through the pages. There were few illustrations, but those that existed were quite gruesome, often showing in great detail where on the body the blood needed to be collected from or the cut of flesh needed for the magic to bind. It was sick, and Harry looked on in fascination.

Keeping the book propped open on the edge of the shelf, Harry looked around for some place he could be alone. But the only comfortable seating was close to Ron and Hermione, and Merlin knew what they would say if they looked at the title of the book he was reading. No, actually, Harry knew as well: they would be shocked that he would even want to read such a book, then they would tell him it wasn't healthy to be reading such a book, and then Hermione would probably threaten to tell Remus or Mrs. Weasley what he'd been doing.

Yet he found that he didn't really care what his friends thought. As much as it pained him to sound so superior, he was the Boy-Who-Lived, not them. And though he hated it, though he would have done almost anything to relieve himself of such a title, there was nothing he could do. He was the sole hope of the wizarding world, and he had to deal with that in his own way. If it meant reading dark, sickening books about just how Voldemort had managed to become mortal again, then he would do it in a heartbeat. Besides, if he could be forced to watch it all, to even be forced into participating, all while tied to a gravestone, then surely he could read it in a book.

Moving purposely back to his seat, he haphazardly set aside the book Remus had brought for him and settled in, opening the book before him. Hermione glanced up and he looked quickly down. He could feel her eyes on him, but he forced himself to concentrate on the words in the book and eventually her attention moved back to her own reading. Slowly, Harry began flipping through the pages, looking for key words that would alert him to something Voldemort might have done. Of course, Voldemort might have done any one of these rituals - some of them were rituals similar to the one Harry had witnessed, but others were used more simply to give strength and resilience. Harry suspected that these concoctions and spells would be just a bit more effective than the standard strengthening potion or defensive spell, for one to take such lengths to use them.

And then he flipped another page, and there it was. There was a new entry, and at the very top were a few lines that had been etched into his memory since that fateful night at the end of fourth year. Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, he read. Though he knew it so well, seeing it right there written down in a book that had been in Sirius's home all this time affected him in a way he hadn't expected, and he was unable to hold back a low gasp. His eyes skimmed the passage, bypassing most of the parts on the flesh of the servant and bone of the father. Right there it was, in excruciating detail.

Blood of the enemy is most efficacious when extracted from a deep cut on the inside of the elbow. Harry felt bile rise in his throat and he involuntary clutched at the second major scar he'd received, right where Wormtail had cut him open. The forceful removal of blood from the enemy is historically significant because, when this spell was more widely used, the donating wizard's arm would be fully severed at the elbow of the dominant arm so as to limit the enemy's further use of magic. Sometimes blood would even be extracted from both arms, effectively preventing any further use of magic in all but the strongest of wizards. Harry felt flushed and a little sick at the revelation. If this were the case, why hadn't Voldemort completely cut off Harry's arm? Not that Harry wished he had, but it seemed odd that Voldemort would show any mercy. Perhaps his source hadn't mentioned the possibility. And then he remembered: Voldemort hadn't cut Harry's arm off because he had been planning to kill Harry in a duel. He had wanted to prove his great superiority, and it had backfired. Harry had been almost grateful when he realized that Voldemort wanted to duel him, and not realizing they had brother wands, had probably saved his life. Now Harry knew that it had probably saved his arm as well.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice broke through his thoughts and he looked up guiltily, unsure as to why he felt that way. "Harry, you don't look well. What on earth are you reading?"

"What? Nothing. I just couldn't concentrate on the other one," he answered truthfully. "I'm fine."

Hermione looked skeptical. "You don't look fine," she responded, setting aside her own book and reaching for his.

Harry moved it out of her grasp while trying not to lose his page. He wanted to read everything he could about this spell. Why had Voldemort chosen it, when there seemed to be so many others? Exasperated, she stood up and managed to grasp the edge of the book in one hand. Harry refused to let go, and a sort of tug-of-war ensued.

"What are you guys doing?" Ron asked in confusion.

"I want to know ... what Harry's ... doing," Hermione replied through clenched teeth, never stopping her fight for the book.

Finally, it seemed, the book had had enough. Both pulling too hard from opposite ends, it went flying out of their reach and landed closer to Ron than either of them. They were both silent and still for a long moment before Hermione scampered over to the book. Harry decided to give up on trying to stop her; it was futile to argue with Hermione over something like this. The young woman reached the book and flipped it over before opening the front cover. Her eyes drank in the title rather quickly, and she looked back up at Harry with a mixture of concern, surprise, and anger on her face.

"Harry! What are you doing reading something like this? This is entirely inappropriate!" she chastised.

By that time, Ron's curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he leaned over to read the title. Soon, he too was staring at Harry, but more in shock than anything. "What would you even want from reading something like that, mate?" he asked uncomprehendingly.

"I just ... wanted to read it, all right? I'm certainly entitled to read whatever I want, so get off my back. Just because I've moved onto books with actual words doesn't mean you have to be jealous, Ron," Harry said maliciously, glancing down at the Quidditch book.

Ron's face flushed crimson and he looked as though he might retaliate at any moment, but Hermione held up a hand to stop him. "Harry, that was uncalled for. I rather wish you would read about Quidditch instead of this. I don't understand why you would even want to. This book is dark, Harry."

"Oh, thanks, I hadn't noticed," he replied sarcastically. "And it's not my fault if you don't understand the fact that there are things out there that are unpleasant and dark and that I need to be prepared to face them."

"You don't need to be prepared to face them yet," she told him in exasperation. "There are two entire years until we're out in the real world, and until then we'll have people protecting us. Even after that we'll be protecting each other."

"Oh, yes, because that protection has been so great until now!" Harry spat back at her. "Hermione, I'd be dead if it weren't for the fact that fate stepped in and gave me a wand with the same core as Voldemort's. Even if two years were a long time, which it's not, I'm already in the real world, in case you hadn't noticed. I would think that after what happened at the Ministry, you of all people would realize we need to be prepared for what's out there right now, and not some distant abstract future."

"Of course I realize that, Harry," Hermione responded. "But you do that through books like the ones Remus has been bringing you, books about defense and spells and warding. A book on dark rituals like that, it's unnecessary and inappropriate, and a little scary that you're so interested. I don't think you should be reading it, and if you don't stop I'll tell Remus."

"Oh, Merlin, of course you will!" Harry exploded. "I'm so sorry for being interested in something that concerns you so much, Hermione! Yet I fail to see how it can be inappropriate to read about a ritual I've already been forced to participate in. Then again, you wouldn't understand how that feels, would you?" He gave her a disgusted look. "Forget this. I don't have to take your shit."

Standing up swiftly, he sauntered out of the library and never once looked back, leaving Ron and Hermione staring at the library door as it slammed shut.

**********

When he had calmed down enough to become aware of his surroundings, Harry was unsurprised to find himself staring the walls of the bedroom he and Ron shared. The violent orange of the posters Ron had hung was doing to little to assuage his anger, and once again Harry began pacing the length of the room. Ron's picture frame, having been repaired by Mr. Weasley, again held the picture of the three friends smiling and laughing without a care in the world. Those horrible, smiling faces of his friends jarred him in an unexpected way. He subdued the urge to chuck the picture at the wall a second time.

Still, what right had they to laugh? What right had they to be cheerful when Harry was feeling so miserable? But you're not miserable in that picture, Harry had to remind himself. You're just as happy as they are. And that was when he realized that it wasn't about them; it was about him. He was jealous because they could still lapse back into that blissful, peaceful state whenever they wanted to, and Harry couldn't. He was fated to fight Voldemort and until then there would be no respite for him. He was torn between wanting to destroy something and wanting to curl up on the bed and cry.

He did neither. A knock sounded at the door and he groaned, falling back onto his bed. He was not in the mood for a lecture right now, and was gathering up his strength to tell Hermione just that, when a distinctly different female voice called out his name. Still cross, he stood and opened the door to find a petite redhead on the other side.

"Ginny? How did you know ...?" he asked.

"Well, the slamming door might have had something to do with it," she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. She pushed past him into the room and made herself comfortable on his bed. He turned and followed her with his gaze but didn't move other than to shut the door again. "Come on," she ordered, patting the bed beside her.

Deciding against protesting, Harry approached her, coming to rest lightly on the edge of the bed, as far from her as he dared. The redhead only looked at him for a very long moment. She was studying him, Harry knew, trying to gauge how upset he was and what she should say or do to make him calm down and feel better. It annoyed him that she thought she could read him so easily, that she would even try, but he kept his emotions to himself, and tried to avoid her gaze.

"What's wrong, Harry?" she finally settled on asking.

Harry looked at her sideways. "Wrong? Nothing's wrong."

"Harry," she repeated in a tone that told him he was treating her well below her actual intelligence level. She gave him a withering look and he copied it sarcastically. "Ginny," he mocked.

A hurt look flashed across her face, but she hid it quickly and easily. "For Merlin's sake, what happened?" she asked again.

"Nothing of import," Harry replied coldly. "Now, I appreciate that you want to help, but if it's all the same, I'd really rather be alone right now, okay? I'm really just all alone, anyway," he added in lower tones.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ginny asked before he could move away.

"Nothing," he replied after a pause. "It means nothing, Gin." Neither of them moved. Harry sighed. "It means that no matter how much you'd like to make it better, there's really nothing you can do."

Ginny met his eyes. "Harry, I don't even know what you're talking about, but how do you know I can't help unless you let me try?"

Harry wasn't sure even he knew what he was talking about. He knew that he wasn't really, literally alone. One word, and Ron and Hermione would be at his side. Likely so would Ginny and the twins, and probably Remus as well. They would follow him into battle even if it meant certain death; they wouldn't stay behind even if he asked them to do so. Yet they were only his friends, only pawns in a war of greater import than even Hermione would dream. Even if they went with him to the end of the road that led straight to Voldemort, there was nothing more they would be able to do. The prophecy left little room for interpretation. It was quite clear that no matter who was with him, it was Harry himself who would have to step forward and strike the final blow to one of the darkest wizards of their time. No one could take his place.

"Ginny, I can't."

"Yes, you can," she said softly. "All you have to do is tell me what you can."

Harry sighed and was silent for a long time, and then he surprised himself. "I was looking at a book, and it was dark. Dark rituals, I mean. Stuff only Death Eaters would do. But I was just looking at it, because I was looking for ... something Voldemort would have done," he explained, choosing not to mention the ritual that Voldemort had already done. "It wasn't like I would ever try anything like that." His eyes pled with her to understand. "But Hermione, she got so angry, and Ron just looked so confused and ... hurt ... like it was wrong of me to even look, like there was something wrong with me for wanting to. Like I was going to turn into the next Voldemort or something. Is that what you all think, that I'm going to turn into Voldemort?"

Ginny didn't respond right away, but looked lost in desperate thought. "No. No, you won't, Harry. No one thinks that," she told him.

"It's not like I even want to use those things, Ginny. I don't! But sometimes I wonder ... how am I supposed to defeat him if I don't know anything about him? I don't know anything about the Dark Arts, and how do I fight them if I don't know what they are? I hate the thought of learning things like that, and of the possibility that I might have to use it, but Merlin, if I have to defeat him, I want to be prepared, you know?" he asked, with conviction and a bit of anger.

Ginny looked at him sadly. "It just ... she doesn't understand, Harry."

Harry didn't have to ask what she meant. He knew what it was that Hermione didn't understand that he and Ginny did, and not only because it was probably the only thing. She didn't know what it was like to feel Voldemort infiltrate your mind and your body, to feel tainted and dirty because of it. She didn't understand what it felt like to be under the control of him, to know that he was using you to hurt yourself, and you were completely powerless to stop it.

And then he did something that he hadn't done in a very long time. He cried. It wasn't more than a sob, one anguished sob that tore at Ginny's heart as she heard it, and a single tear falling down his cheek, violently swiped away. The redhead shifted on the bed and wrapped her arms around Harry, whether or not it was welcome, rubbing his back, offering as much comfort as she could. He refused to cry more, though Ginny knew it was still there, waiting for the moment when it could come crashing to the surface. One of these days, Harry was going to crash, and all she could do about it was make sure to be there along with Ron and Hermione.

When she felt him relax enough, she broke away and faced him on the bed. "Harry, I love Hermione like a sister, and I know she's practically a genius, but she doesn't know everything. She doesn't know what it's like to feel spoiled by him, to know that you'll always have some impure part of him lingering inside you. It makes you want to fight him. I know how you feel. I do. I want him dead, for what he did to me. And for all he's done to you. You'll do what you have to, and you'll know if it's wrong. Listen to your own instincts, all right? They won't lead you astray. If I know anything, it's that you would never do anything you didn't think was right."

Harry looked away. While it was nice that someone felt that way, he didn't know if it was true. Would he always do what he thought was right? In the past, that may have been true. Of course he'd tried to protect the stone, tried to protect Ginny, kept Sirius from being kissed by a Dementor ... all of those things had been instinctually right. But now things weren't so simple. Some decisions weren't black and white, and Harry knew that now. Besides, what did it matter if he did what he thought was right if things ended worse than they ever would have otherwise? He had thought he'd been doing the right thing, going after Sirius in the Ministry, but Sirius had never even been there.

"What if that isn't true?" he finally asked quietly, as much to himself as to Ginny. He looked back over at her. "What if I forget what's right and what's wrong and I turn out to be just bad as him? What if I really do turn into Voldemort?"

"Harry, that's not going to happen," Ginny insisted. "He's a monster. He doesn't care about anyone or anything, except himself. You could never be like that. If you ever did do anything wrong it would be in trying to help one of your friends, someone you care about. And because of that you could never become Voldemort, because he would never do anything for anyone else."

Ginny looked at Harry with pleading eyes, begging him to believe her. She reached out and took one of his hands in hers.

"I don't know what else to follow, besides my instincts, you know? So I won't know it if I do." He paused and met her eyes. "Will you promise me ... will you make sure I don't? Will you tell me if I do something wrong, if ...?"

"Of course I would. I'm your friend, or, at least, I think I am. Harry, why do you believe that you don't deserve to be loved by anyone? That no one could love you? It isn't true."

Harry was silent for a moment, and Ginny had to hold tight to his hand as he tried to pull it away. He finally gave up, but still refused to answer. Did he really believe that?

"It doesn't matter. I would never let you go through anything alone. I'll be with you no matter what happens, until Voldemort is dead and no longer a threat? Ok?"

Harry nodded. "Ok. Gin, I ... I think I want to be alone for awhile now. Really this time. I just need to think for a little while."

Ginny considered this for a moment and decided that it was all right to leave him for now. She was only beginning to see just how much there was to Harry that she had never realized before ... things she thought that Hermione and Ron didn't even realize. She didn't know much about his life outside Hogwarts, besides the fact that he lived with unpleasant relatives, but she was starting to wonder just how unpleasant they were. With that, and everything he had been through with Voldemort, he was bound to have issues. She had been so infatuated with him that she had never seen it, but now that she had decided she was going to be his friend and hope for nothing more, she was determined to make sure that her friend was all right.

"All right. But promise me you'll come knock on my door if you need anything at all."

"I will," Harry told her, and she believed him.

He stood along with her, and both of them looked to the door. But instead of turning and moving to it, Ginny took a step closer to Harry, closing the space between them and pulling him into a hug. Harry was still for a moment, surprised, but then he allowed his arms to snake around her and held her tightly for a moment, letting her warmth seep into him. When they broke apart, Ginny was looking up at Harry, and Harry stared back down at her.

He never even realized that they were slowly moving closer together until their lips touched. Intrigued, Harry didn't break away. This was much different from kissing Cho, though different in a good or bad way he couldn't decide. Her lips were dry but soft. Ginny deepened the kiss and Harry allowed her to, thinking that the new wetness felt odd. When it ended, Harry found himself looking into Ginny's shining brown eyes. Never very eloquent in the first place, as Snape often enjoyed pointing out, Harry was at a complete loss for words.

Ginny's lower lip pouted out. "I ... I just had to know," she explained very softly.

Harry was suddenly able to place the emotion he saw reflected in her eyes. Regret. "Ginny ..."

"We're fine, Harry. Friends. I should go finish my letter to Dean."

Harry nodded and gave her a lopsided smile. He watched her move to the door before adding, quietly, "Thanks, Gin."

"Anytime, Harry. I mean that, so don't forget it."

He didn't respond, and so she left, slipping out the door and gently clicking it shut behind her. Harry let out a very long breath, and collapsed back onto the bed. He was now even more confused. It had been good to talk to Ginny, to listen to her tell him that he wasn't evil. She understood what it was like to have had something taken away by Voldemort, just like he did, and, right now, it wasn't something that Ron or Hermione could relate to. Harry sincerely hoped that they would never be able to. Perhaps that was part of the reason he felt so guilty for dragging them along to the Ministry.

Silently, he curled up on the bed. He was much calmer than before, but for a feeling inside as though he was being torn into pieces.

**********

It was some time later that there was another knock on the door. He wasn't sure who to expect this time; he thought it might have been Ginny again, or Ron wanting to go to bed, or possibly Remus or Mrs. Weasley, coming to check on him after the meeting. He was quite surprised when it turned out to be Hermione on the other side of the door. He didn't say anything and neither did she for a very long moment, until he finally stepped aside, allowing her to enter the room. Hermione slipped past him and went to Ron's bed, where she sat down on the very edge, looking uncomfortable. Harry shut the door and took a step in her direction, then changed his mind and stayed standing right where he was.

"What do you want?" he asked. When she didn't answer, he continued. "Giving me a chance to fess up about what I was reading before you do it for me? Gee, Hermione, you're so generous."

He wasn't sure where the bitterness came from. He thought that he's calmed down after his talk with Ginny.

"Harry, I don't want to fight with you!" she blurted out in response.

"Coulda fooled me," Harry mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and jutting his chin in the air like a petulant child.

Hermione apparently chose to ignore his behavior, though Harry wasn't sure why. If there was one thing Hermione couldn't stand almost as much as ignorance, it was immaturity.

"Harry, when you said that you'd already been forced to ... well ... did you mean that Voldemort used one of those rituals to - to come back, the night of the third task?"

"You're a smart girl, Hermione, you figure out what I meant."

"Harry," she said warningly. Then, more softly, "I didn't realize, all right? I just ... I worry ..."

"So you do think I'm going to turn into the next Voldemort or something," Harry said, trying to stand his ground. He was torn between feeling angry and just plain sick.

Hermione's mouth dropped open. "Harry! No! How could you think that?"

"Then why are you so worried about me reading Dark Arts books, Hermione?" Harry asked accusingly. "Why would it worry you unless you're afraid that I'm going to use them and turn into some monster like him?"

"Harry, I'm not worried about what you're going to do, I'm worried about you. You haven't been handling Sirius's death well ... I don't think you've really been handling it at all so much as trying to pretend it never happened! How do I know you aren't going to read those books and end up hurting yourself?"

Harry's breath caught in his throat. He couldn't help himself; he took a few quick steps and collapsed onto his bed, leaning over his knees as though his breath had been knocked out of him. Hermione studied the hunched back of her friend and wondered if she should go to him, but she was afraid of what his reaction would be if she did.

"You think I'm going to try and hurt myself?" Harry asked in a wounded voice. "Do you really think that of me, that I would do something like that? No, trust me, that's the last thing I would do. I may hate the people in this world sometimes, but I wouldn't ever do that. I know my place. I'm not going to try and kill myself so you can stop worrying."

Hermione didn't understand exactly what he was saying, but Harry hadn't expected her to. Instead, she latched on to what she had understood.

"Harry, I never meant that. I just meant that maybe you would try something ... something you thought was a good idea because you were blinded by grief, something that could cause you harm. I never meant you'd do it on purpose. I -"

"Hermione, just stop," Harry said with a labored breath.

Hermione shut her mouth and slumped on the bed, feeling entirely defeated. At the beginning of the summer, she had been able to tell through Harry's letters that he wasn't doing well, but she had hoped that coming here, being with his friends and surrogate family, would help him through his grief. Yet it seemed like there was nothing anyone could do to get through to him.

"Ginny said you wouldn't understand," Harry said, breaking her thoughts.

"Ginny said?" she asked sharply.

"Yes," Harry replied calmly. "She said it was different for you, and I guess she was right. I've always been different, so I've never noticed. But she understands, because he's a part of her, too, ever since the Chamber."

"Oh," Hermione said in a ghostly whisper. "You're right ... I'll never understand the way she does."

Harry caught the wistfulness in her tone. "I certainly hope you don't," he assured her. "I don't want anyone else close to me to have to feel that stain. Consider yourself lucky."

Hermione nodded, but there was a faraway look in her eyes.

"Seriously, Hermione," Harry repeated then, feeling it necessary. "I never want you to have to experience something like that. No one deserves to."

Hermione didn't respond right away, and Harry wondered if she was even still listening to him. When she did look up at him again, she looked very, hopelessly sad.

"Harry, I ... I don't understand. What happened? At dinner, you seemed to be doing well, everyone was. You and Ron were joking around with his brothers, everyone seemed relaxed, almost happy. And then, after you went back for your book, you came to the library in such a horrid mood. Something must have happened. Why won't you tell me?"

Harry let out a long sigh and leaned over his legs, his elbows resting on his thighs. He began running his hand through his hair, massaging his scalp. "I ... do I have to tell you about it? I don't even want to think about it."

Hermione frowned. "I can't help you if I don't know what happened."

"Maybe I don't want your help," Harry sneered back, feeling guilty the moment he saw the hurt look on Hermione's face. "I ran into Snape, all right?" he finally admitted. "Do I even need to say more?"

"I wish you would," Hermione answered truthfully.

"He was just being Snape. You know what I mean." He felt a constriction around his chest as he remembered the conversation, and all of Snape's nasty, true words.

"Harry, what did he say to you?" Hermione asked, distressed by her friend's reaction.

"He told me I'm responsible for Sirius's death!" Harry shot back. "And for once he's actually right!"

It was the first time Harry had ever said it to Hermione, to any of his friends really. For as much as his mind had dwelled on his own guilt, he had spoken of it very little. Only to Remus, really, and only because he knew that Remus must be missing Sirius just as much, if not more, than him.

"Harry, you can't actually believe that's true!" Hermione protested quietly but forcefully. "I mean, I know it's hard ... I know it must be. But you can't think that ... that it was your fault."

Harry looked down into his hands and avoided Hermione's gaze. "You wouldn't understand."

"Make me," she insisted.

"You won't!" he yelled. "You won't. It's different, all right? Just ... please, just stop trying to help."

"I'll never stop trying to help you, Harry," Hermione said softly but with a resolute determination that Harry recognized in his friend.

"You're too stubborn for your own good," Harry responded, in a tone which did not reveal whether he thought this was a good or bad thing, which was quite convenient as he did not know.

"Probably why the hat actually put me into Gryffindor when I insisted upon it," Hermione mused, sending an unsure grin in his direction. They had, apparently, effectively changed the subject, and though she was reticent to let it drop, knowing that Harry had many issues, particularly over Sirius's death, that he hadn't dealt with, she was really just relieved not to be arguing with him anymore.

"You would have been a good Ravenclaw," Harry relented. "But I'm glad you ended up in Gryffindor."

Hermione was pleased by his statement, but she noticed that behind the reluctant smile his eyes were dull and sad-looking. She stood from where she sat on Ron's bed and went to Harry, wrapping her arms around his hunched figure. He did not react, but neither did he protest, so she kept holding onto him, and was gratified when he let out a long sigh and she felt his body relax.

"Everything will work out all right," she murmured as she gave him one last squeeze then looked down at him sadly. "You look exhausted. Get some good sleep tonight, ok?"

Harry, who hadn't known exactly how to react when she thrown her arms around him unexpectedly, didn't reply. He was still trying to figure out what he was feeling; it was a more daunting task than he would have thought. Hermione frowned but still moved towards the door.

"You're going to bed?" Harry asked.

"Yes. I'm tired; I can't read anymore tonight," she replied.

Harry raised his eyebrows, but his back was to Hermione now and she didn't see it. "Not going to sneak down after the Order meeting to scrounge details?"

"No, I'll leave that to Ron. I think he wants to see Charlie and Bill and the twins before they leave."

An eerie stillness, completely silent, overcame them for a moment before Harry nodded. Hermione waited in the doorway for just another moment, but when tears started to fill her eyes, she stepped out into the hallway, and pulled the door firmly shut behind her.