Scrap Parchment

She walked back to the common room slowly, misery nipping at her heels as she passed through the sterile corridors. There was a solemn comfort in the dark emptiness of the hallways; the cold harshness of the silent stone walls perfectly projected the innumerable sorrows she felt within. It enchanted her, the emptiness, leveled her- and almost kept her walking right past that familiar portrait she had entered into so many times without a second thought. Turning hesitantly, the secrets of the darkness called to her; enticing her to play with them; a child in a field of daisies- but she couldn't; not tonight, at least. Muttering the words that would grant her entry, she stepped through the dark portrait and made her way to the abandoned common room.

"I know you're hiding something from me," came his sullen voice from the darkness. He was waiting for her again. She should have known; he was always waiting for her.

"Sod it, Harry!" she nearly shouted in frustration, watching a raven-haired shell stare back at her from his place in the shadows. Shadows that, as of late, befit him like a newborn child wrapped in a blanket; pushing away the harsh reality of a frightening new world for which he was not prepared. "Stop sneaking up on me like that."

He walked forward, and dim candlelight revealed to her an expression dark and beaten. "I know you're hiding something from me," he repeated stiffly, though his face betrayed the calmness in his voice. A thousand tiny muscles worked tirelessly against him, desperately shouting his uneasiness aloud for her alone to hear. He eyed her with an intensity that told her quite clearly he had heard more than he should have that night, and pleas of innocence would not allow her to escape his scrutiny again.

"Do you now?" she responded, meeting his eyes with an increased hostility in her own.

"And how would you know that, Harry?" she continued, taking a bold step forward. "Become a bit of a perv, have you?"

Her remark had the desired effect. He stepped away, farther into his safe-haven shadows, his eyes finding comfort on the velvet carpet beneath him. "Hermione, that's beside the point," he countered after a moment, regaining his composure. "You're hiding something from me, and I'm about ready for the truth." She laughed then, and his green eyes questioned her response.

"That's rich, Harry, but you know what?" she asked, her voice quick, annoyed. "I'm sick and tired of you chastising me about being truthful when you haven't exactly been the pillar of honesty yourself!"

'Well, that's that,' she thought to herself as he tried rather unconvincingly to mask the truth written so plainly in his eyes.

"What are you talking about?" he replied hotly. "I told you I'm not bloody hiding anything!"

"Oh really," she mused, preparing herself for the inevitable consequences to follow. "Well, how about this..." She walked passed him, her shoulder colliding with his harshly as she made her way to an open window by the stairs. Moonlight welcomed her skin like sweet nectar, bathing her in a silvery hue. What she said next was something he never expected; never would he have expected what she said next.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches," she said sternly, face aligned with the heavens.

His mouth fell open. Razors of truth slashed through his skin relentlessly as he tried desperately to find his voice, a lump of cruel morose smothering it malevolently.

"Born to those who thrice defied him," she continued. "Born as the seventh month dies."

"Hermione," he managed finally in a weak, barely audible voice. "How did you find out?" She continued to ignore him, her face masked in pale moonlight as her eyes remained on the stars.

"And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal," she continued clearly. The razors continued to slice and his anger grew to an uncontrollable indignation. Moving over to the window in long strides, he grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around, forcing her to meet his gaze. Vibrant green clashed against cool brown as stubbornness and candor fought furtively in the space between them.

"How did you know about the prophecy?" green demanded.

Cool brown stared blankly for several minutes, before cryptically responding, "So it's true then."

"Of course it is!" green shot back, narrowing in anger. "How did you find out?"

Brown looked ahead defiantly. "You told me."

Green blinked slowly, shaking back and forth. "No I didn't, Hermione," green responded, searching brown desperately for any hint of a clue. "What exactly are you playing at?" Brown looked away.

"This," she said quietly. Reaching into the pocket of her terry cloth robe she pulled out a tattered piece of parchment and pushed it into his hands. "And I'm not playing, Harry." She walked out of the room then, leaving him to stare confusedly at the item in his grasp, the little voice in his head that he liked to ignore pleading with him to follow her up the staircase.

He pushed the voice from his mind and focused instead on the piece of her she'd left behind. He recognized the parchment instantly; it was the same one he had caught her obsessing over in the library, the one that made her face turn red when he asked about it. After a moment he unfolded it, and was baffled to find a letter he'd written to her earlier in the summer.

Dear Hermione,

I'm glad to hear you had fun with your parents. Dudley is being a royal prat, as usual. I know you're just being kind, but please stop worrying about me so much.

I'm fine. Really.

See you soon,

Harry

"What the bloody hell is this all about?" he shouted angrily, though she was no longer there to hear him. Trying to make sense of the letter in his hand he read it again, and then a third time. It was on his fourth read that he noticed some very faded writing in one of the corners. He stared at it intently, willing it to reveal its secrets.

'Look on the back, you twit,' his mind screamed. Turning it over, he saw that in his very own handwriting something had indeed been scribbled down hastily on the back of the letter; something he'd never meant anyone else to see.

The one with the power to vanquish the dark lord approaches

Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies

And the dark lord will mark him as his equal

But he will have power the dark lord knows not

And either must die at the hands of the other

For neither can live while the other survives

"Oh, God."

Crumpling the parchment into a little ball and placing it into the pocket of his robes, he stared blankly at the stone wall before him. Unable to move, he remained that way for some time.

No one was ever supposed to see it but him. No one was ever supposed to know.

She was never supposed to know.

His chest flooded with cold, wet reality and he struggled for breath as a simple truth claimed what remained of his senses; he was, without a doubt, the daftest little prick on the face of the planet.