Where Do I Go From Here?

Blackness filled every space within the depressed house, darkening corners that no one thought could possibly be made darker and darkening the hopes of those who slept fitfully on lumpy, old mattresses held up meagerly by beds with weak, shifty frames. Harry rolled onto his side for the umpteenth time that unsettling night, for sleep simply refused to come. He couldn't very well ignore the heavy rain that was pelting the roof and all sides of the house nor the thunder that cracked across the rolling sky like a whip.

Sighing loudly, he sat up in bed and rubbed absently at his scar. Voldemort either had not been doing anything exciting recently, or the connection between the two opposing wizards had grown even weaker, for Harry had not felt even the slightest prickle on his forehead lately. From across the room, Ron's uneven snores could barely be heard over the noise of the unrelenting rainstorm, and with a sudden flash of lightning, Harry's eyes glimpsed Ron's slumbering form.

Wanting - no, needing - someone or something to distract his overactive mind, Harry grabbed his glasses off the nightstand and practically slapped them on his face. Ron was clearly asleep, so he didn't want to disturb his friend. Standing and sliding into his slippers, Harry made his way out the room, his wand in his right hand, dimly lit at the tip.

They had been at Grimmauld Place for just over a week now, and Harry was growing impatient and restless. He argued with his friends over where to go next, but without any leads, their quest to seek the remaining Horcruxes would prove a fruitless endeavor. Hermione especially had been opposed to simply leaving without a plan, which had been cause for friction between Harry and her the past couple of days.

Harry went to the kitchen, thinking that maybe food would help keep his mind off of things. He lit a couple of candles, just enough to see where he was going in the room, and set to making a sandwich. After scraping together a few bits and pieces, Harry had a decent enough sandwich and sat down at the table to devour it, realizing that he was suddenly quite hungry.

The moment he sat down, though, the door to the kitchen creaked open. Harry started for a second before realizing that it was only Hermione entering the room. She looked at him, her face etched with concern, and the signs of lack of sleep visible on her visage.

"You couldn't sleep, either?" asked Harry.

"No," she sighed in way of reply. "I thought I heard someone up, so I decided to investigate."

"Investigate?" Harry inquired wryly, with a raised eyebrow.

Hermione rolled her eyes and gave a withering sigh. "Do you care for a cup of tea?"

"Sure, it doesn't look like I'll be getting any sleep tonight, anyway, so why not?"

Hermione set to putting a kettle on the stove and preparing the tea things. When everything was ready, she placed a cup of weak tea in front of Harry and sat down opposite him, a steaming cup clasped between her small hands.

They sat in silence for a while, each taking the occasional tiny sip out of their cups. After a few minutes, Hermione ventured, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Harry cast her a puzzled look. "About what?"

Hermione had to refrain from sighing again in his presence. "Harry, I know what's going through your mind. Maybe you should contact the Order. They could help us."

"No," Harry said resolutely. "I don't need anyone's help. I have you guys, but without Dumbledore, there's no one who can help us."

"You don't know that," Hermione argued gently. "Surely Dumbledore must have confided some of his knowledge to some of the Order members."

Just the mention of Dumbledore's name was beginning to bring back bitter memories. Harry scowled and scoffed, "Oh, just like the Order knew all about Snape and his real motives? I still don't understand how or why Dumbledore trusted that bloody traitor - that, that... murderer."

Harry's voice grew more and more savage and raw as he spoke. Hermione reached for his hand across the table. He didn't pull away, but he didn't seem comforted, either.

Harry," Hermione said slowly, searching for the right words. "I- I've been thinking about that night when- when Dumbledore died, and the more I think about it, the less things seem to add up."

Hermione felt Harry's hand tense in her own, and then he altogether recoiled. "What doesn't add up, Hermione?" he ground out harshly. "Are you saying that I'm a liar? That Dumbledore didn't really die - no, get killed? I saw the whole thing, Hermione - right in front of my eyes. Dumbledore was a fool to have trusted Snape."

"Dumbledore was not a fool!" exclaimed Hermione, realizing their voices were growing louder. Lowering her voice, she continued, "That's what I mean. You said Dumbledore begged right before he was, you know... killed. Dumbledore would never beg for his life. Think about it, Harry. Didn't Dumbledore tell you to keep giving him that poison when the two of you went into the cave that night, that no matter what you were supposed to obey him?"

"Y-yes," Harry stuttered. "And I hated every second of it!"

"What if Dumbledore would have died, anyway? You heard what Hagrid said - that he overheard Snape and Dumbledore arguing. Wouldn't it make perfect sense in the context of things if, consider for a moment, that Dumbledore ordered Snape to kill him?"

"What!" Harry exclaimed, standing up and balling his fights. "You're talking crazy, Hermione. Are you under the Imperius?"

Harry came at her like a mad man and glared into her eyes, frightening her. She knew he was searching for a glazed-over look in her eyes, but finding nothing suspicious, Harry placed a hand on each of Hermione's shoulders and literally shook her. "What's the matter with you? Are you suddenly defending Snape, just like you always did?"

Harry stopped shaking her and removed his hands, continuing to shake himself. He was enraged, but his voice was unsteady, and his eyes were tearing up. "I don't care what you say, Hermione," he whispered very quietly. "Snape killed Dumbledore."

Hermione was quite shaken up herself when she replied, "Harry, I'm not trying to justify what happened, but all I'm asking is for you to consider the possibility that maybe- maybe things aren't what they seem. Snape could have killed Luna and me that night when we went to get him-"

"Well, he did stun Flitwick," protested Harry weakly.

"Yes, stun, but not kill. He could have killed anyone who got in his way. He could have killed you or taken you directly to Voldemort that night. Why didn't he?" she challenged.

"I- I don't know," Harry stammered, growing frustrated, but finding his anger again. "But it doesn't matter. I told you at the end of the school year that I would make Snape sorry he ever killed Dumbledore, and I mean to see that through," Harry said with fierce determination.

The burning rage in Harry's eyes scared Hermione. She knew she would be risking a lot by breaching this subject, but at least he had not estranged her.

"All right," Hermione gave in. "I'm sorry, Harry, for bringing up such a sore topic. I- I won't mention it again."

But that doesn't mean I don't intend to find out the facts behind what happened between Dumbledore and Snape, she thought.

Too exhausted to argue further, Harry simply nodded. Feeling drained, Harry dumped the remainder of his tea down the drain and headed for the door. "Maybe I ought to just get to bed," he muttered, turning and leaving a very worried Hermione in his wake.