Up Against A Concrete Angel

     "Hermione? Are you going to be home for dinner this week?" he asked almost forlornly. When she heard that note, the bushy-haired young woman stopped, her hand on the door, and slowly turned around.

     "I..." She hesitated, not knowing exactly what to say, not wanting to spend that much time around him in the awkward atmosphere of a relationship gone wrong. Why couldn't they have just stayed best friends? "Yes Ron. I'll be here."

     He smiled with puppy-dog like eagerness shining in his eyes. Maybe just for one night they could pretend to be in love again. Just pretend. That was enough for him. Even he wasn't so thick as to not realize that them entering into this relationship was a mistake. "I'll coo-...er I'll get your favorite stuff. Brussel sprouts and all!" Ron trying to cook was a -bad- idea, they'd found that out ages ago.

     Hermione smiled. A sad, hollow expression, that showed how clearly she was wishing for the past. "and I'll pick up some chocolate frogs or something for desert. But ONLY if you promise to brush your teeth!" She shuddered. "All that sugar..."

     Ron rolled his eyes at her. "Yes, mother."

     She snorted. "Thats just...wrong, Ron. Really really wrong."

     He thought for a moment and then nodded. "Yeah, mate, you're right."

     Hermione arched a brow, and then smiled a bit more naturally. "Mate.." She whispered. "That sounds nice." and with that she turned, opened the door, and walked out.

     Well, he'd never been lacking in courage, and he wasn't about to start now. All he had to do when his steps faltered, was to think of her. Now lying so far below-ground, wrapped in Death’s loving embrace. "Voldemort..." he murmured, pushing the round framed glasses up to their proper position on his nose as he wandered through the Forbidden Forest, not caring that the hem of his robes were now ragged and torn from the many thorns and brambles trying, almost valiantly, to hold him back. Did the magic of the forest guess what he was going to do? He didn’t know. And at the moment, all he cared about was following through. Following through till the end. /Till death do us part/.

     One foot in front of the other.

     Clearing his mind the way he'd been taught.

     His shoulders squared against the droop he knew they longed to give in to.

     Tilting his head ever so slightly, listening with all the might available, without casting a spell. He didn’t want any of Dumbledore’s people being able to trace his location. /Or the Ministry for that matter./

     A small smile gracing rather "kissable" lips, according to...her.

     He was close. He knew it. The scar had begun to burn. He resisted the urge to press his knuckles to it, to try and knead the pain away. It was only going to get worse, as he well knew. For he was walking into his enemy’s hands. He knew there was going to be a meeting here tonight, near Hogwarts, and he fought off the nagging suspicion that Voldemort had let his plans be known deliberately. He'd prefer things to be done on his terms.

     But, it didn’t matter.

     Nothing did.

     Not now.

     "Well, that’s wrong..." he whispered, pausing to sneeze several times, as rain soaked the emerald green robes specially chosen for the occasion. "One thing does...VOLDEMORT!" He ended on a yell, head thrown back, sound coming from deep within him.

     Silence.

     No answer grated across his nerves, made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

     "VOLDEMORTTTTT!" He gritted his teeth, and tried again. Still no answer, but he could sense amusement. Kneeling suddenly, knowing instinctively what he must do, he lowered his eyes to the ground, and concentrated on opening the link between them fully.

     /Bastard!/ He shot out when he could feel the Heir of Slytherin's presence more clearly along the line they had.

     /Well, hello, Mr. Potter. What brings thissss…unexpected pleasure?/ The voice sent shudders through him.

     Shudders he didn’t try to hide.

     /I...give up./ Harry replied, his shoulders slumping as he tried to allow grief to shine through, but again, there was merely nothing. /You snake-tongued son of a-/ "Aii!" Crippling pain shot through him, and he flopped face first on the floor of the forest.

     /I am more powerful than you can even imagine, Mr. Potter. Expecially now. Do you know WHY, Mr. Potter?/ There was malicious amusement in the voice.

     /Because you destroyed me?/ Harry muttered this mentally as well as vocally, as he pushed himself back up to a kneeling position. There was dead silence along the link, and then...

     ...He heard laughter?

     Not cruel and malicious as usual, but genuine laughter. Something he'd said, or that someone else had done, had really set Voldemort off into the "giggle-fits" as he'd heard Lavender say once. Some of the amusement translated to him, and he could feel his lips curling in a reluctant smile. Abruptly the sound halted, and Voldemort spoke, but this time, it was a true voice he heard, not a mental connection.

     "Crucio!"

     Pain shot through him, scalding every nerve, but Harry didn’t scream. It was if he'd blocked part of himself off from it, and he stared dully up at Voldemort while his body writhed in the dirt.

     A brow was arched as the torture was called off.

     Red eyes narrowed.

     A smirk played about both sets of lips.

     "Welcome home, Harry."

     "Thank you, my lord."