“This wasn’t part of the deal, Harry! What kind of search is this?” Ron bellowed, angry red splotches on his cheeks. His skin was pale and his bones jutted out from under his skin. “You’re a bloody seeker! You know this isn’t any way to search for anything! Neville had more control of his broom in first year than you do of this nightmare!”
“I told you two to stay away, to stay home and live with your families. I told you to stay safe!” Harry snapped. He too was rather gaunt looking. Then again they all were. Gaunt, pale, tired, hungry, and so unbearably frustrated.
“Safe? My whole bloody family is under attack! Bill nearly got blown up at his own wedding!”
“Well mine are already dead! I’ve never had any family, except the Dursleys! Dementors are less soul sucking than them! I have the experience to compare!”
“Stop it! Both of you!” Hermione chastised, rubbing at her temple. Her whole being seemed entirely frail and brittle, like a leaf ready to crumble to dust. “Stop!”
“Didn’t you agree with me, Hermione?” Ron demanded. “Didn’t you say you thought he had more planned, too?”
Harry looked at Hermione, flinching when he saw the guilty look on her face.
She shook her head, wisps of hair flying madly around her face. “Of course, I did! But that doesn’t mean–”
“It means we’ve done nothing! Nothing but carrying this stupid locket! I listen to the radio every night hoping I don’t hear Ginny’s name, or Fred’s, or—”
Harry clenched his fists. “We all listen to the names! We all worry!”
“I said stop!” Hermione yelled, finally breaking. “You’re both idiots! How can you compare loss! We’re all afraid of losing something and someone!! Do you really want to whip out your wands? Do I need to conjure Ollivander’s measuring tape for you? It did seem to measure down to the slightest degree.”
“Oi!” Ron exclaimed. “I don’t talk about the size of your… your… c-cauldron cakes do I? This is between mates. Right, Harry?”
Harry made a strange jerky movement with his head, caught in between a nod and a shake.
“Between ‘mates’, is it? I thought we were all ‘mates’ here?” Hermione hissed. Her eyes had gone dark. “Or is it because I don’t have a dirty todger that my opinion doesn’t matter?”
Harry frowned. “Quit nagging him, Hermione. You know it isn’t that.”
Hermione’s voice went shrill. “Nagging him? Nagging him? Oh, I see. Are you going to gang up on me now like you always do? ‘Hermione, there’s no way that broom is from Sirius Black.’ ‘Hermione, it’s no wonder people don’t talk to you.’ ‘Hermione, there’s nothing wrong with this potions book, why do you keep nagging me.’ ‘Hermione, we don’t really need to study.’ Well maybe if you two actually studied and put more effort in we wouldn’t be floundering! You were too busy skeeving off and shoving your faces full of pudding or playing Quidditch. I’ve always been the one keeping you going enough so you can survive! And you ridicule me for it! You abandon me and talk bad about me and insist I’m an irritation to you! So why don’t you both go ahead and leave me like you always do! Go off half cocked and splinch your noses off! See if I care! Maybe I’ll finally get a proper share of these mushrooms you all whine about. If you wanted proper food, maybe we should have stuffed Dobby into my beaded bag before we left!”
“You should leave,” Harry snarled. “Both of you! This is my burden and–”
“Spare me your pathetic martyrdom,” Hermione scoffed.
A muscle in Harry’s jaw spasmed. “Excuse me?”
“Got a point, that one,” Ron sneered. “‘Oh woe is me, I’m Harry Potter. Everything is my fault. Look at all this money I have. No one understands me. ‘M not going to listen ever because I’m so sad and miserable and I want to make myself even more sad and miserable. I’m the Chosen One, so I can rant and rave all I want and make stupid decisions because I don’t want to listen to anyone. It’s all about me, me, me!’”
“You would know about that wouldn’t you, you jealous arse?” Harry’s eyes had gone cold. “‘I’m Ron Weasley. Why couldn’t I be rich? Why can’t I be great at Quidditch? Why can’t I be the one in the tournament? Why can’t I go to the dance with Hermione? Why can’t I be the hero?’ Should I help you out there, mate? I’ll just go kill your parents and shove you in the attic and send the gnomes in to chase you and bite you and eat up all your food?”
Ron exploded, curling his hands into fists, “You’ve practically killed my entire family already! It’s just a matter of time!”
“Then go home! Run away! Just make sure to leave the locket!”
“The locket,” Hermione muttered, pressing her hands against her temples, “Right… the locket…” She shook herself and spoke up. “This is all that stupid locket’s fault! Take it off, Ron! Please, take it off!”
Harry held out his hand. “Give it here. I should be the one carrying it.”
“I doubt it,” Ron scoffed. “Really, giving another piece of Tom to someone who shares dreams with him probably would be a bit barmy, wouldn’t it?”
Harry’s wand was in his hand before he knew it. “Give it back to me! It’s mine! Stupefy!”
Hermione threw herself between them, the spell hitting her full force. The close range and Harry’s anger strengthened the impact and she flew backwards, barely missing Ron, and landed with a sickening thud.
Harry gasped and reared back as if he’d been struck. He blinked rapidly, coming out of a daze. “I–”
Ron froze. “Whu– Hermione?”
She didn’t move. Ron scrambled towards her as Harry’s knees gave out. Harry clutched at his chest, breath coming out in short gasps as he looked at Hermione’s still face.
“Mione?” Ron pleaded, shaking her. He pulled out his wand. “Enervate!”
Hermione’s eyes fluttered behind her lids.
“Is she…?” Harry croaked.
“She– You–!”
“Shut up!” Hermione rasped. “Both of you!”
Both boys went silent, eyes glued to her. Her eyes were still closed, but her eyelashes were growing wet.
“This isn’t us. It’s that gaudy piece of jewelry. Everything is getting twisted and poisoned. Does it whisper to you, too? Pick at every fear and wound? I see you abandoning me or calling me mudblood. I see my parents’ broken bodies in the bush crawling with insects. Other muggleborns as emaciated as Jewish prisoners locked up in Azkaban with their souls being eaten away.” Hermione laughed, watery and bitter. “I even still dream of getting expelled. How ridiculous is that? We’re the top 3 wanted criminals in Wizarding Britain and I still have stupid nightmares about getting a Troll in Divination.”
Silence stretched throughout the tent. Ron quipped. “Don’t reckon it’s possible to get a Troll in Divination.”
Harry dug his fingers into his chest and glanced at Ron. “Maybe if she’d thrown her crystal ball at Trelawny.”
Ron gave him a tiny nod. “Dunno, if she saw it in the tea leaves and predicted it, then threw the ball, it’d be an O for sure.”
Hermione finally opened her eyes. “You both are awful. Terrible, awful people. But you’re mine. And I hate that necklace.”
Harry ran his fingers through his hair in agitation. “But we can’t just–”
“Throw it in the kettle! Stick it in our boots! We just need a moment without it touching our skin.”
Harry stared at her. His eyes flickered upwards to the gold hanging around Ron’s neck. Finally, he nodded. He grabbed their damp shoes from beside the fire and cautiously sat down next to them. Hermione was still curled up on the ground, Ron sitting next to her. He held out her shoe. Cautiously, Ron took the necklace off. The air was so tense it practically crackled. Ron’s breath came out in a sudden whoosh as he dropped it into the ratty trainer. Harry’s hands shook. He only had to put it down, but his muscles seemed to lock up. Hermione slowly pushed herself up. She grasped Harry’s shoe and loosened the laces, spreading it wide open. They watched her silently. She offered it to Harry and waited patiently. Understanding, Harry focused on relaxing his muscles and, as soon as he could, stuffed her trainer into his. He nudged Ron’s shoe toward him and Ron nodded, a look of determination on his face as he opened up his shoe and helped Hermione stuff Harry’s trainer inside.
“I hope,” Ron grumbled as he glared at the shoe, placing it on the ground in between them, “that old snake face is suddenly tasting our combined toe jam.”
Hermione sputtered like an impatient teapot before bursting into peals of laughter.
“Absolutely barmy, this one,” Ron sniffed, doing his best to keep a straight face.
Harry’s lips twitched. “Maybe we should stuff a few crusty socks in, for good measure.”
Hermione gasped for breath. “Why not your crusty Y-fronts?”
Ron looked scandalized, making a fair impression of Molly. “Hermione Granger! Todger, wands, Y-fronts?! What’s gotten into you?”
Harry broke, roaring in laughter, and Ron guffawed. They all laughed until their breaths ran out and they all lay panting on the ground.
“We really needed that,” Ron huffed.
Hermione hummed her agreement.
“I’m sorry,” Harry offered, “about the stuff I said. And the spell. I’m sorry, both of you.”
“Me, too. Minus the spell,” Ron sighed.
“Me, too,” Hermione agreed, “But, I think we all need to be honest and admit there were some truths in what we said, even if it got blown out of proportion.”
The fire crackled, the wind pressing against the side of the tent.
Ron popped his knuckles. “I think,” he said slowly, “that we should maybe look at as a quidditch team. A bit different since we’re all friends, but when the Cannons were good–”
Harry and Hermione groaned simultaneously.
“Oi! Listen! When they were good, they were good,” Ron plunged on, “They had this ritual. Two days before a game, they’d air all of their complaints about each other and spend the day working through them, so no bad blood could ruin their flow.”
“That’s actually quite interesting,” Hermione said with a hint of surprise, “Do they still do it?”
Ron shook his head. “They got a crap manager, then they had Oleander Wood and Marcella Faoust as Beaters. They hated each other so much they sent as many bludgers at each other as they did the other team.”
Harry rubbed at his scar. “It’s hard. It’s like I’m full of black ooze. I’m afraid if I open up, I won’t be able to control what comes out or how much will be me.”
“I think we’re all full of ooze at this point,” Hermione offered. “I’m afraid we’re going to drown.”
Silence fell again until Ron shifted. “I dream about my family dying. Or tortured. Sometimes, I dream that Ginny died in the Chamber. Or that Riddle suddenly bursts out from inside of her. The really bad ones are when Ginny is the one killing other people or when I've been imperioused and I’m the one doing the killing. But the worst ones are when I do it because I want to, because I enjoy it. That scrap metal… it tells me about all the glory I could have, all the fame and riches. Tells me if I got rid of you, I could have everything I wanted. Whenever I wear it, it feels like you two are plotting or hiding something from me. Like you’re secretly snuggling up with each other and sharing roast and scones and leaving nothing for me.”
Harry squirmed.
“You don’t have to say anything, mate,” Ron offered.
“Or it can be a small thing,” Hermione hummed. “Like.. one time, when you and Ron complained about the food I’d cooked, I had a vivid fantasy of beating both of you with the pan.”
“Oh, we’re talking about those thoughts now? Mine’s even worse, not that we’re measuring wands or anything.”
Hermione scoffed and Harry snorted.
“Well?” Harry prompted.
“I’m tired. Can’t we just be Death Eaters?”
“They do get away with everything,” Hermione grumped, “And they all miraculously have the best positions in the government.”
“I bet Scabbers is eating better than me right now,” Ron groaned. “How fair is that?”
“Vol– Riddle.” Harry swallowed harshly. “I dream of him. Becoming him. Being him. I hate that I saw him as a kid. Because I think I could have been that kid. I dream of murdering the Dursleys or the Malfoys. Or turning Ripper on Aunt Marge. Sometimes, I turn Little Whinging into a crater and I laugh as they scream. Or I dream of everyone blaming me for their deaths or my parents saying they wished they’d just let Voldemort kill me. I dream of dying over and over again. Sometimes, I feel like a stray that’s turned rabid. Like I’m hurting and going mad and I’m going to destroy everyone around me. I don’t deserve to be near anyone.”
“Mate? Can I ask you a question?”
“Go ahead, Ron.”
“I’m using my teaspoon here, so… your mum and dad died so you could live, yeah? With all this snake nonsense, have you ever felt like you’ve gotten to, you know, live?”
Harry’s breath hitched. “I… don’t know. I’m not sure I know what it means.”
Hermione hummed in thought. “If I can stick my tablespoon in, Harry, what would change if, instead of looking at it like we’re trying to save the world, you thought of it as we’re fighting to save ourselves and whoever else we manage to save would be extra credit?”
Harry stopped breathing for a moment. “I…I… think I’d feel selfish. I’m not worth it! I don’t want people to die for me! I wish I’d died with my parents in the very beginning! How– How could they die and leave me alone? Why would they want me to grow up that way? I don’t–”
He forced the sob in his throat back down.
“There are times,” Hermione admitted, “that I wish that if someone was going to kill Professor Dumbledore, it would have been first year. Because then you would never have had to go back to the Dursleys, and you would know that you’re worth it.”
“She’s right, mate,” Ron agreed quietly, “Besides, he wasn’t really helpful after that year was he? Couldn’t find a giant ruddy snake, didn’t check on my sister, couldn’t use his clout to save Sirius or Buckbeak, couldn’t protect a golden cup properly and didn’t even guard the damn prize enough to make sure it wasn’t a portkey.”
Harry rubbed his eyes and let out a watery laugh. “You’re awful. Both of you.”
“We’re awful together. All three of us,” Hermione corrected. “Forget about the world, we’re responsible for saving ourselves first. It doesn’t seem as daunting then, does it?”
“We should make a deal,” Ron suggested. “We’re going to tell each other what lies our fancy shoe charm is telling us. No hiding nightmares, because they could be more shoe lies. We will be the Gryffindor Cannons! No more dropped quaffles or misaimed bludgers! And maybe we could try to not sleep with it on, or at least take it off like we did tonight?”
Hermione tapped her chin. “I think that’s an excellent start. Maybe we should think about after this is over. It’s easier to imagine living if you have something you’re waiting for. Like, after this is over and I find my parents, I want to go skiing, all three of us at least. You all never got to visit my family like I did yours and I think I’d really like to share that experience with you.”
“A vacation does sound nice,” Ron sighed, eyes dreamy. “I want to go on a trip and eat. Just eat and talk and laugh. Nice and warm, no one knowing us by anything except that we’re the two blokes and bird who know how to enjoy a nice meal.”
“An eating tour? That actually sounds exciting,” Hermione agreed. “And the no one knowing us. I’m so tired of people looking at me. I’m sure you’re tired of that, too, Harry.”
“I…” Harry licked his dry lips. “I want to pay for all our trips. I want to help fix the Burrow, and I want to make Grimmauld place into an actual home. I love flying, I think I’d like to try other things besides brooms, thestrals, and hippogriffs. Parvati mentioned flying carpets once. What would you think of going to India and learning how to fly on one of those? Or in a carriage like the Beauxbaton delegation?”
“I think those sound ten times more enjoyable than a tiny broom and it sounds fascinating,” Hermione admitted.
“I’m game!” Ron exclaimed.
Harry relaxed and smiled faintly. “It’s a deal then?”
“It’s a deal. I can’t wait!” Ron cheered.
Hermione scoffed and rolled her eyes, amused. “Boys. Honestly. It’s a deal.”