Harry Potter and the Missing Prophecy

Chapter Eleven

"So, what do you have to do now?" Ron asked.

"I don't really know. I'm supposed to become at one with the universe or something," Hermione replied, wrinkling her nose up. The whole thing seemed almost ridiculous to her, something devoid of all reason and all logic, against all the scientific and fact-based knowledge at her disposal. And yet... She couldn't deny it had happened. After all, hadn't the whole idea of a magical world seemed impossible to her all those years ago? Back then, the whole idea of magic was preposterous - her mother had once taken her to see a magician, and she had easily figured out how to do every magic trick she'd seen, just by using logic and reasoning.

But when that Hogwarts letter had been hand-delivered by a Ministry official who sat down and explained everything to her parents, her world had suddenly been thrown upside-down. Suddenly, the impossible was possible. And it escalated so quickly. Afterwards, people in rather mismatched clothing kept approaching her on the street and congratulating her on getting into Hogwarts. After a while, when she realised that this was actually happening, curiosity got the better of her better judgement, and she started talking to these strangers, questioning them about the wizarding world. When she lived in the muggle world she'd never had any real magic books to learn from until she asked and was told about Diagon Alley. She then spent weeks roaming around the wizarding shopping district, finding out everything she could about this whole new world that had opened up to her, and gradually she had realised just how lucky - no - how privileged she was to be a part of it. Far from being angry or embarrassed, she was proud and would use every opportunity to show off her new-found knowledge to her parents.

That's what this was like now. Something new, not previously considered possible - to be able to talk to the universe. But this time, there were no books to learn from, which made it all the more out-of-reach to her. The only precedence she had was the word of generations of centaurs, and even they didn't really know much. However, although she was finding it a little hard to accept, her experiences had taught her never to underestimate anything and to believe that anything was possible. It was this lesson alone that had her outside on a rather cold night, attempting to listen to the stars once again.

Ron had come with her to help. Harry had wanted to come as well, but Hermione had kindly reminded him he had detention with Snape and also said that having both boys there with her would just distract her and the whole thing would end up a waste of time. Harry wasn't best pleased with that answer, but nevertheless left them to it alone. He'd tried to hide it, but Hermione had noticed a definite flaring of the nostrils as he'd walked (with a hint of defiant stomping) down the stairs to the dungeons.

"So, how'd you do it last time?" Ron asked.

"I guess.....I guess I got quite emotional. It really felt like I could just reach out and grab the stars. It was like they were becoming a part of me, like they wanted to get under my skin, and it was terrifying, but I think that now that I know what it is, it won't be like - it won't be the same. I'll know what to expect."

"What were you emotional about? You were with Harry..." He looked towards the ground, a faint look of hurt shadowing his face. Hermione noticed this and felt bad without knowing why. She hesitated. She knew she should keep Harry's privacy by not mentioning what he'd said, but this was Ron, and she trusted him. And so did Harry. She reasoned that he had a right to know. And it was the only way to explain what she thought she had to do.

Hermione looked down at the dew-covered ground, seeing Ron distractedly flattening a small worm-mound down with his right trainer, his hands in his pockets.

Hermione sat down on the picnic rug and pulled her cloak together to gather some warmth. The nights were cooling quickly. Ron remained standing as she looked forward blankly. "That night, I don't know, but something in Harry just burst through to the surface. He told me everything that's worrying him. It's all the pressure, Ron. It's really getting to him. He's so angry with everyone. Saturday night seemed to just give him the opportunity to talk properly. He needed someone to listen, and I just happened to be in the right place at the right time."

"Oh," Ron said quietly. He looked towards the ground, a sad frown lining his lips.

Hermione realised that Ron was disappointed that he hadn't been the one Harry had spoken to, and she felt she had to distract him from this selfish line of thought. She spoke earnestly, staring up at his face.

"It's easy for you and me to tell him that we understand how he's feeling, but we haven't got a clue, Ron! He's never had any real family that he can remember. Then, as soon as he finds someone who can provide that link to his parents, that person is murdered. He may have us as a kind of family, but it's like a double-edged sword to him: we have loving - alive - families, and he doesn't. He's been told that only he can defeat Voldemort, when Voldemort has decades of skill behind him, and Harry only a fraction of that. Dumbledore hasn't helped him - the one source that could have helped him and could probably give him more help now - but the one source who's kept everything from him, things that would have saved Sirius. How can Harry forgive that... or trust him again? He's been told all this without any chance of a choice in his own - or for that matter, the world's - destiny, and he hasn't even been given a clue how he's meant to do it! Is it really any wonder he flipped when Malfoy crossed him? How can Harry expect anyone to understand what he's going through? How could anyone get even close to trying?"

Ron finally seemed to understand what she was trying to say as the drawn look and silence shadowed his face before speaking. "No wonder he doesn't want to talk to anyone about it... In his opinion, what would be the point?" he asked rhetorically. He had stopped sweeping his foot over the ground, and was now leaning against the tree - the same tree Hermione had been under with Harry a few nights earlier.

Hermione nodded. "So it's no wonder we haven't been much use to him either. But it's all been so confusing for us though. One minute he doesn't want us anywhere near him, the next he clings to us like we're his only lifeline to keep him from drowning."

There was a moment of contemplative silence, as Ron looked up at the clear night sky.

"So that night...." he prompted.

"That night," Hermione continued, "when he told me everything, it was such a huge relief to finally know exactly what's been going on in his head, to have the Harry I once knew coming back to me again..... well, I don't know, but I think that rush of relief, that rush of emotion is what made the stars talk. It couldn't be anything else..." Her voice trailed off as she stared blankly at the ground, staring at them as if it could talk and reveal the obvious answer.

"So... now what?" Ron asked, avoiding her eyes and shrugging.

Hermione licked her lips whistfully. "I reckon I'll just have to try and focus... concentrate really hard."

Ron looked up again. "Maybe you could try to remember a time when you were really happy, or really sad or... or something," Ron suggested, pulling away from the tree and coming to sit beside her on the picnic blanket.

Hermione stared off, sighing. "I could try, I suppose..."

She leaned back and lay flat on her back. She was aware of Ron looking at her intently. "Stop looking at me. I won't be able to concentrate if you're staring at me like that. It's unnerving..."

Ron turned away with a faint smile and began to play with an interesting piece of grass, taking care not to distract Hermione.

Hermione took a couple of deep breaths, then closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them, she stared at the constellations above and tried to empty her mind of all conscious thought, which she quickly found was very difficult to do, because concentration on emptying your mind required thought, and the one time when all you wanted to do was not carry thought, carry thought it did. Like trying to sleep because you knew you had to.

She started to recall an emotional time in her life, but the only ones bringing any real feeling to the surface were the sad ones, as they seemed so much more important and affected her so much more deeply than the happy ones. She could remember when her godmother had bought her the complete set of first edition novels from her favourite author for her tenth birthday, and she had been so happy then, but the memory of being told that her godmother had died made her previous happiness seem merely surreal. The joy at finding a whole new world opening up to her was wiped out by the anguish she felt at seeing, in her mind once again, Harry's face when he came back after the Triwizard Tournament holding Cedric Diggory's lifeless body.

She tried to concentrate on just one memory, so as not to overwhelm herself, but it seemed that the more there were, the stronger the overall emotion and the harder the memories were to get rid of. It brought tears to her eyes, and the stars grew blurry, but she did not let the tears fall. As she blinked them away, she thought she saw some of the stars move, but as soon as it caught her attention, it ¸immediately stopped. It seemed that the memory recall of sad moments was too emotionally unsettling and distracting to make the universe speak to her. She would have to try something else.

This time, she kept her mind focussed on the constellations above, trying not to acknowledge Ron's patient presence beside her. She took deep deliberately slow breaths in, letting them out slowly, framing each star-set in her mind and tracing a delicate thought of interpretation along each pattern as she locked sight on them above. At the back of her mind somewhere, she noted how therapeutic this actually was, and how totally relaxing, but still the night remained still. It almost seemed too quiet, and she couldn't even hear Ron breathing. Her eyes started to feel sleepy, so she closed them, transposing the inky sky into her mind's eye.

After what felt like a few minutes - it could have been much longer or much shorter than that - she heard a distant noise, like whistling. It remained distant to her, and she just let it linger there for a while, trying not to concern herself with what it was. She felt the atmosphere change around her. Like the air was wrapping itself delicately around her like a bundle, but she kept her eyes shut.

She gradually became aware of warmth touching her, a warmth that accompanied the reflection of a tender moment. She dared not open her eyes for fear of losing it, so she welcomed the enveloping heat that felt so right and somehow made her feel so happy. A smile played across the corners of her mouth.

Something tickled her face, and she was contemplating moving to scratch it when she felt cool lips meet her own. Momentarily startled, but unmoving, she opened her eyes, and was surprised, but not especially shocked, to find Ron leaning over her, eyes closed.

Hermione's heart leapt in her throat, but she didn't move a single muscle. She didn't even attempt to kiss back. Ron suddenly pulled away. His eyes slowly fluttered open to meet hers. He gazed at her, asking a question that needed no answer. She looked up at him blankly for a moment, then reached both of her hands up and delicately cupped his face, staring deeply into those rich blue eyes. She leaned up a little, then slowly pulled his face down to return his kiss.

As their lips met again and parted, the universe shifted, and she was stunned at how quickly the matters had altered, but then thought that perhaps she shouldn't be.

The noise grew louder and louder every second, but neither Hermione nor Ron could part. The two events strongly intertwined as Ron fell forward next to her and she turned on her side to face him, urgently pressing her body to his. He reached an arm up to grasp the back of her head, pulling her in further, kissing her fervently right down to her core. Then, very suddenly - and without warning - pulled away from her. He looked back at her intensely, panting and conveying every thought and every emotion through his eyes.

"Is it happening yet?" he murmured.

Hermione nodded without looking away, then smiled joyously. "Very much so..." she whispered, feeling the stars fall as a curtain all around her, inside her.

"What's it like?" Ron asked.

Hermione ventured a lingering look around her, trying to take it all in at once. Now that she knew what it was, she wasn't scared at all. It was in fact wonderful! "It's raining stars," she whispered in deep awe. "It's so colourful - I wish you could see it. It's so beautiful. It's not like last time... like anything I've ever seen before. It's not screaming at me, it's like... it's like music." She closed her eyes, appearing to listen, a smile slowly forming on her lips. "I can hear it properly now... I can hear it's language."

Hermione's face suddenly lit up from the inside, and Ron could see that something important was happening within her. She seemed deeply concentrated, her eyes darting right and left amongst the skies above. She suddenly squinted and shielded her eyes, as though being blinded by a light showering her. The sky hadn't changed a bit to Ron.

Spotting the moment, Ron quickly reached for the parchment and quill he'd brought along and started scribbling down the words as Hermione plucked them from the lips of the universe, just as she'd plucked his soul through her own.

Harry closed the door and leant his back against it, closed his eyes and exhaled heavily. His head ached.

Aware that sharp steely eyes were most likely burning through the thick wooden door behind him, Harry pushed away from it and swiftly moved away towards the stairs.

In his mind, the words of the conversation he had just had with Professor Snape fused together to become just a few simple emotions that echoed furiously through his body.

He had gone to his detention already dreading what Snape intended to do to him, but was stunned when Snape didn't tell him to gut some newts or mash some flobberworms for his stores.

He'd walked in with his head held high defiantly.

"Sit down, Potter," Snape had said, not looking up from the parchment he was furiously scribbling on.

Harry had sat down at a desk a couple of rows back from Snape and slouched rebelliously in his chair, waiting for what seemed an eternity before Snape had finally put down his quill and directed a glare at Harry. Harry had met his eyes and raised his eyebrows ever so slightly as an invite to challenge. Snape's face had never lost its evil sneer, but he had very suddenly and unexpectedly risen from his chair and walked over to the door. He had peered around it then closed it slowly, muttering a locking charm before turning once again to face Harry.

"I'm not going to run, if that's what you're worried about...." Harry had muttered under his breath to himself, secretly ensuring it was loud enough for Snape to hear.

Snape had not answered, but had paused his gaze on Harry, then stalked over to him and leaned right over his desk, close enough to instinctively cause Harry to lean as far back in his chair as possible.

"Listen, you ungrateful little...." The Potions Master's senses had got the better of his anger and he had stopped himself. "Contrary to what you might think, you are not shielded. Not by your friends, not by the Order, not by your stunning wit, and especially not by Dumbledore..."

Harry's anger had risen instantly and he had interrupted him. "I don't give a toss about Dumbledore..."

Snape had seemed to gather himself and had stood up straight, taking a step backwards. His voice had lowered and his face had moved into a more restful expression, one that Harry thought perhaps conveyed a sense of understanding.

"Evidently," Snape had said a little more camly. "As I was saying, you are not shielded and you are far from invincible."

Harry had frowned. "Have you brought me here to just gloat or something, 'cos I've got better things to do with my time." Harry had begun to rise from his seat. He had felt uncomfortable simply because the tones of their two voices hadn't seemed to complement or feed the right responses. He had sensed that the flow was wrong, distorted somehow, as if both parties had had the imperial need to talk, but had acutely felt the total wrongness of the exchange, as if the two parties were fighting their instincts to talk rationally.

"SIT down Potter," the Professor had snapped.

"You mean there's a reason why I should sit here and listen to you?" Harry had doggedly replied.

"You are in great danger, Potter," Snape had simply announced.

Harry had snorted with false laughter. "Hello?! Didn't you hear, Professor, I'm the great Harry Potter! I'm always in danger. It's what I do, what I am!" Harry had stood taller, anger and sarcastic resentment resounding in every spoken syllable. "Now if you'll excuse me, I don't think I'll be sitting here listening to any more of this particularly informative conversation...."

"If you walk out that door, Potter, I will not be held accountable for the deaths of you or any of your friends."

Harry had stopped in his tracks as his hand had grazed the door handle.

"Don't you dare talk about my friends..." Harry had gritted his teeth but had not turned to look at his professor, nor did he turn to leave. His hand simply remained paused on the handle.

"Malfoy is spying on you," Professor Snape had said. "He's trying to find out what your Prophecy said and means."

"Tell me something I don't know, Professor," Harry had replied, rolling his eyes to himself and finally turning to face Snape, a weariness slowly beginning to settle over him.

"You told Weasley and Granger, didn't you?" Snape had asked blankly.

"Did you really think I wouldn't?" Harry had raised an eyebrow, something he hadn't known he could do. But then sarcasm had never really been his forte. Not for Good Old Harry, anyway.

"No, I suppose not. Will you be telling anyone else and putting them in danger too?"

Harry had curled his lip upwards and taken a step towards Snape. "Well, I suppose that depends, maybe I should tell you..."

Snape's eyes had narrowed. "Your attitude is severely impaired, Potter. I don't think you realise the extent of what you have done by telling your idiotic friends what your future holds."

"Well, actually, it's none of your business if I do."

"Well, actually," Snape had shot back," it is. It's everyone's business. Malfoy wants that Prophecy, and the Dark Lord will kill him if he doesn't get it, and he knows it. Therefore, Malfoy is your biggest threat right now. Baiting him like that yesterday will not do you any favours."

Harry had rolled his eyes. He knew it was childish, but he just couldn't stand the thought that Snape might be right.

"If it leaks out and Malfoy finds out that Weasley and Granger know the Prophecy, then they will be in great danger. The Dark Lord would find it much easier to get to them rather than to get to you. And if your selfishness is what makes that happens, then what ensues will be your sole fault."

Harry had remained quiet. He knew this, but to have Snape force his consciousness to surface was the worst humiliation possible.

Snape had nodded at Harry's lowered gaze. "Yes, that's right, Potter," he had muttered. "Can't take it back now, though, can you?"

"We haven't been talking about it..." He had said, although rather meekly even to his own ears.

"And what makes you think that Malfoy will wait to hear it? He has a deadline to meet, and no doubt it's coming up very quickly. He will have guessed that you have told Weasley and Granger, and even without hearing what the Prophecy has said, he will advise the Dark Lord that they know. And I wouldn't be surprised if Malfoy has already been in your common room and planted all sorts of spying devices and charms there. He's already been spotted wandering around the castle when he shouldn't be."

Harry had remained silent. He had felt his heart hammering in his chest and his temples had throbbed.

"How do you know all this for sure? I thought Voldemort would have guessed you were a traitor by now." Harry had felt he had a right to ask, even though he knew it might be the death of him right this instant.

Snape's nostrils had flared, but he hadn't lost his temper like Harry had thought he would.

"Dumbledore and I believe he has, yet I must still play the part even though I am no longer privy to gather as much information as I was before. What I have told you is simple observation and deduction. Any fool could guess."

Harry had had an overwhelming urge to point out the obvious, but had also recognised it was neither the time nor the place.

"So what am I meant to do then? That's obviously why I'm here, isn't it, Sir?" Harry had said with special emphasis on the 'Sir'.

"Actually, thanks to your actions, there is not a lot you can do anymore. All I can advise is caution about what you say and where you say it. And not to provoke Malfoy...You had better pray he slips up when the Dark Lord calls him." Snape had looked away briefly, but Harry had noticed.

Harry, forgetting for the moment that this person was the third person on his "People I Most Hate" list, had quietly said, "What is it? There's something else..."

Snape had hesitated before saying, "Yes, there is, and I think I need to spell it out for you... The war is about to reach breaking point. The Dark Lord has plans in place, and once he has the Prophecy, the world will be thrown into absolute chaos. People will die, Potter. People will be tortured and killed for pleasure - wizards and muggles alike. Everyone knows that you are linked to him somehow, that you carry great responsibility, because of whatever this Prophecy says. You will not be able to do it alone, and nor will people let you. Whether you like it or not, you are the centre of the fight, but you are not its troops. The Order has fought for the same reasons before, and most of its members have lost all reason not to fight, and so they will fight again."

Harry had leaned back heavily on the door. "But I don't know what I'm meant to do..."

"Merlin's Beard, Harry! Of course you don't know what to do!" Snape had begun getting impatient, and Harry had been well aware of it. He had also been well aware of the bizarre nature this conversation had seemed to have taken. Was Snape, of all people, trying to give him advice? "If we knew what you had to do, we would have done it a long time ago! The Order will set the scene and you will play the part. Whatever must happen will happen at the right time. Everyone has their own agenda, but no one ever knows the what, when or how of it. Whatever happens will be a fate that's already decided. Even you will find that out."

What Snape had said had suddenly reminded Harry of Firenze's words. The universe was probably telling Hermione something to change all of their fates right now, and yet Snape was telling him nothing could be changed. But then he had thought of his own past. His own battles had always been won with whatever had been to hand. He hadn't known what he would or should do, but something had always told him what was right and sufficient in the face of danger: instinct had right away told him that the Philosopher's Stone would be tucked in his pocket; Fawkes had brought him the Sorting Hat and he had instantly known it would help him defeat the basilisk; when he had duelled with Voldemort in the graveyard, it was his instinct again that had told him to hold their wands together.

"I have to go," Harry had said, shaking his head. His headache was agony, and he had even felt his scar twinge slightly.

As Harry had walked to the door, rubbing his head, Snape had said, "Before you go, I thought I should let you know that we are to start Occlumency lessons again. It is not a request." He then muttered "Alohomora" at the door, waved his wand, and the door sprung open before Harry.

"Oh, and by the way Potter, nice verbal creativity yesterday."

Was that...? Was that a compliment?! Harry had thought to himself as he had left the room, his mind a whirlwind of tired emotions.

And Occlumency again?! Harry couldn't have helped but wonder if the Order had come from Dumbledore or not, as Snape had not seemed vexed at all at the idea, considering what had happened last time. Harry had shaken this thought away as another throb had echoed behind his eyes.

As he reached the hub of the castle the warmth of the Great Hall greeted him like an old friend. The faint aroma of chicken soup could still be detected in the air from dinner earlier in the evening. Harry breathed it in deeply, savouring the only taste of it he was likely to get. He carried on towards the stairs leading to Gryffindor Tower, but thought that maybe Ron and Hermione were still outside. He changed his mind and turned to the massive castle doors. He wanted to ask their opinion on what Snape had just said. There was nothing new in its content of course, but he felt confused anyway and felt the urge, or possible need, to talk it over with his friends. He felt he owed it to them to be honest after his recent resolution, no matter what Snape had cautioned him to do, and confusion meddled with his senses.

He turned the handle as quietly as he could, not for fear of being caught, as it was still before curfew, but because he didn't want to talk to anyone else.

It was getting cold. Harry walked quickly down the front stairs and over towards the lake where he knew his friends would be.

It was too dark to see very far ahead, and it was only when he passed a row of low trees that he could see the two sitting figures just ahead. He was about to call out when, when he was a little closer, what he saw made his feet root instantly to the ground and the words halt before crossing his lips.

A stunned shiver ran right from the tip of his head, through every fibre of his being, down to his toes. A gut-wrenching ache swiftly tore at him, and his face screwed up in some long-feared realisation of the inevitable. On the surface he didn't understand why, but that little ball of darkness in his soul that had recently developed knew why it pained him so much to see Ron leaning over Hermione in an unmistakably passionate embrace.

But he didn't scream. He didn't shout.

In a moment of tearing pain, Harry spun on his heels and strode down the path that led to Hogsmeade, The Three Broomsticks and a bottle of Firewhisky.

"Was it good for you?"

"Shut up! That's really cheesy! And stop doing that with your eyebrows."

"Well, you looked like you were having fun..."

"Ron, it was amazing! I never knew I could feel like that!"

"If anyone was listening to this conversation right now..."

"Yes, so stop making it sound so rude then! What did you get?"

"I'm not really sure. I think I spelled most of it wrong."

"If you turn your head to the side, that looks like a rude word...."

"No, I think that really is a rude word."

Hermione laughed and looked up at Ron, her eyes sparkling in the moonlight.

"Don't you want to get back to have a look at this?" Ron asked after a moment of having Hermione just stare at him.

"Not really..." She took the piece of parchment out of his hand and dropped it to the ground. She gently stroked his face with her fingers, tracing his lips. Ron pressed his hands to her waist and gently squeezed.

They spent a moment or two just staring at each other, then he leant down and brushed his lips across her cheek, then down her neck. He felt her shiver, then pull away suddenly.

"Stop, Ron, wait. I can't... I mean, I want to, but...." She flustered even in the dimness.

"Shh. You don't have to explain." He took his hand in hers, picked up the parchment and rug, then guided her back to the castle, neither in any sort of hurry.

"Listen, Hermione, you know this changes everything, don't you?"

"We'll have to tell Harry, I know... But he'll be happy for us, surely..." She said with a hopeful frown, although she didn't feel so sure at all.

"We'll have to be careful. I think Harry should know first before we start, you know, smooching in public and all that..."

Hermione gave quick nod.

They were silent as they climbed the stairs to the castle, then went up to the common room. Hermione was tired from the night's efforts, but she just couldn't help herself, and sat next to Ron on a secluded sofa instead, near their usual table, close to him, but not close enough to arouse suspicion.

"So what now?" Ron whispered quietly.

"I don't know... wait for Harry I suppose," Hermione shrugged. "I thought he'd be back by now. Snape must really be laying it on him this time."

"No, I meant about tonight... The stars, you know..."

"Oh." She took the parchment from Ron and studied the words, but her eyes just swam through the scribbles and none of the words took on any meaning or made sense. So she put it down after only a moment or two. "I think I'll look at it properly tomorrow. I can't concentrate anymore." She peered over the sofa to spy around and when she turned back she squeezed Ron's hand and pulled herself slightly closer.

They sat together in contemplative silence together for a while, staring into the fire, before Hermione said sadly, "It's a lot to take in, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"The whole..." she looked around again and then lowered her voice even further. "...Prophecy thing. And this one, whatever it means."

"We're not supposed to talk about it, remember..."

"I know, but don't you think it's strange?"

"Yeah, I know. But we always knew it, though."

"There was always something that bound them together. How could Harry have done all he has without that?"

Ron just nodded. "Do you really think there is something else that Harry has to use to defeat Voldemort?"

"I suppose that all depends." Hermione turned to look at him straight in the eye.

"On what?" Ron asked.

"On whether you think love really can save us...." Her voice trailed off as they forgot all thoughts of Harry and Prophecies and just sat there together in comforting silence, forming a conversation with their eyes alone.