The Space Between

The worst of it still sneaks up on me - usually in the middle of the night or when I'm otherwise least expecting it. It disturbs Ron and Hermione when I awaken in the night trembling and screaming, reliving the events in Voldemort's dungeon. After a year, things should be better, right? I stopped having screaming nightmares after Cedric's and Sirius' deaths within a few months.

Maybe that's why I chose to leave the Aurors. When, after six months, I still couldn't face dealing with Death Eaters in a kill-or-be-killed situation, I handed in my resignation. By the time I got home that day, owls with job offers were lined up on the windowsill. I had Hermione bin them for a couple of weeks, but when they didn't stop, I began reading them.

The variety of positions people were willing to offer me based on nothing but my name surprised me. If I had wanted, I could have been an "exotic wizard dancer" in a new club in Diagon Alley - which Ron and Hermione laughed at until I provided a sample of what the job might entail. After that, they began screening the offers. "Protecting me" they called it.

I could have gone to work in the Ministry, practically naming the position I wanted. Luckily for Minister Fudge, I don't want the responsibility of any job within the Ministry right now. I'm tired of people looking to me for all the answers when I have none. If it weren't for Hermione and Ron, I wouldn't have made it this far.

A final heave shoves my robes, armguards and pads into my locker. When all was said and done, I accepted the offer from Puddlemere United as their reserve Seeker. Two months ago, the primary Seeker crashed horrifically into the stands during an exhibition match against the Ballycastle Bats. She was too traumatized to return - something I could understand completely.

So, I'm the starting Seeker for one of England's oldest Quidditch teams, a position I earned on talent. I'm sure my name doesn't hurt my standing, but it's my skills and talent that got me here. Ron did go through a withdrawal period when I turned down the Cannons, but has made a compromise with himself by coming to my matches dressed in Chudley orange. That is, he attends when he's available.

Ron went back to work as an Auror three months ago. I see him becoming darker with each assignment, so I know he hasn't worked out all his demons yet. Hermione worries about him more than I do - but that could be because on his worst days, he returns home and attacks me.

Hermione and I figured out after a couple of weeks that Ron's days could be judged by which of us he turned to first, providing we were both home. On days with few difficulties or little trauma, Hermione gets Ron's first attentions. The days Ron doesn't talk about are the ones in which he attacks me first, the rougher the better. It's hard for me to deny him because, through the Killing Curse scar we share, I can feel his strongest emotions. So, I let him work out his feelings by being passive, submitting to his attentions as it were.

"Hey, Potter!" one of the Beaters, Adam Davidson, calls.

Looking up, I smile at him. "Yeah?"

"Great practice," he says from the doorway. "Were you trying to beat your own record?"

Embarrassed, I blush. The record for fastest catch had been held by a Seeker who had gone on to play for England in the World Cup. Until I arrived. I wasn't aiming to beat it, but during my second practice as lead Seeker, I caught the Snitch in a minute and a half. During the practice just finished, I caught it within two minutes twice.

I shrug and grin. "What can I say. I'm good."

Davidson throws a towel at me before laughing and exiting the changing room.

Buttoning up my shirt, I finish changing. The three of us are going out tonight. Though it's close to the anniversary of Voldemort's defeat, it will really be more a celebration of our survival. With a grim smile, I rub the scar on my chest.

I make my way out of the changing room, heading to the player Apparition point. Once I started on the team, so many people - mostly young witches - began attending the practices and trying to sneak into the changing room that the team owners warded off the changing rooms and set up a secure Apparition point for the players.

Before I get out the door, something sharp stabs me in the chest. Suddenly breathless, I try to sit on one of the benches, miss, and fall to the floor. Something has happened to Hermione or Ron, I think fleetingly. I try to tamp down the feeling of panic surging through me, but can't.

Breathing heavily, I roll onto my side into a fetal position. No one comes to investigate the noise I'm making - a distinct keening sound - so all my teammates must have left by now. Get a hold of yourself, Potter. Are you a man or a mouse? That thought, so like something Hermione would say, gets me in motion.

Slowly, I stretch myself out again. Panting, I stand up, pressing hard on my chest scar. Once up and leaning heavily against the wall, I do my best to shut down the pain.

After a long minute, I am able to control it using, ironically, the same method I used to use to shut out Voldemort. I trace way back along the connection. The pain is from both Ron and Hermione. Ice courses through my veins. If both of them are in trouble, that doesn't bode well.

Scrambling out the door finally, I move to the Apparition point. Since we live in a Muggle neighborhood, we regularly Apparate into the backyard or to a wizarding pub a few blocks away.

Not knowing what I'll find when I arrive home, I decide to Apparate to the pub. Hopefully, that will allow a few minutes to assess the situation rather than being ambushed as soon as I appear.

Appearing with a small pop at the back of the pub, I allow myself a brief smile at the first thought in my head: I didn't splinch myself.

My smile disintegrates almost immediately. The pub, whose only claim to fame is that Harry Potter lives nearby, is decimated. I pull my wand. Casting a revealing spell shows that the Killing Curse was used, liberally.

Tears prickle at my eyes as I survey the destruction. At least twenty people dead. Some seem to have tried to fight back - their wands are out - but others were hit in the back, totally unaware. I spot the two weeknight waitresses, Sue and Annie, slumped over the bar.

Holy bloody fucking hell. What happened here? I pick my way carefully through the upturned tables and bodies. Hasn't there been enough death and destruction? It reminds me all too eerily of the Battle of Hogwarts.

Finding the door, I escape. I should stay to see if there's anything I can do, but I can't stomach it. I should stay and call the Ministry, but I don't want to delay any further. Besides, I don't want to look at death.

The night air is cold, colder than it should be for August. In addition to the pain that still surges through me from my scar - pain which I can now identify as the Cruciatus Curse being applied - and the ice in my veins, an awful foreboding fills me. You killed Voldemort, why are you so afraid now?

I being running the ten blocks to our house. Knowing something is happening, but not knowing what, is driving me crazy.

Panting, I turn the corner. What I see stops me cold. Emotions rage within me: horror, shock, fear, worry, hate, disbelief. It's worse than my discovery of the pub massacre. My knees suddenly go weak and I fall to the sidewalk.

It's only when the neighbor's porcelain garden gnome - which amuses Ron - explodes that I realize I've lost control. Helplessly, I try to reign in my emotions before I destroy the neighborhood. Panting, trembling and close to retching, I manage to rein myself in after a minute. Then I look up at the house again.

I walk toward it like a zombie. With every step, I work on ruthlessly shutting down every emotion, especially the strong feelings toward Ron and Hermione. It's the only way I'll survive what I find inside.

For, floating above our house, its green shade shining brightly against the ink-black sky, is the Dark Mark.