“The Suffering”, as defined by T.S. Eliot: Those who gauge their actions off their emotion; One who lacks practicality and resolve in the face of danger; the selfish, the cynical, the vengeance-seeking. In other words: the world.
The Suffering
“The true hero does not allow himself to feel self-sympathy; in this, he is forever alone, because he understands the vulnerability which accompanies the Suffering.” “T.S. Eliot
One cannot be a savior
And a survivor.
One cannot be a Knight
And a King.
One cannot be a hero
And dwell in pity.
One cannot be a solider
And a commander.
One cannot sacrifice
And hesitate.
One cannot conquer,
One cannot overcome
And feel any emotion,
Besides determination.
For a true hero knows
He cannot let his humanity
Stand in the way.
For with emotion
Comes weakness
And a true hero knows
He can never be
Apart of the Suffering.
Harry’s tired eyes gradually fluttered open and blinked away the grogginess as gentle morning light filtered through the dusty windows.
He sighed and stretched his arms, and only then did he notice that one of them was wrapped securely around a serenely sleeping Hermione.
She had her head resting in the crook of Harry’s neck with her arms tucked comfortably between them. Her curtain of soft, russet hair cascaded around her, lining her relaxed face and tickling Harry’s forearm.
His eyes traveled down her rosy cheeks and rested on her slighted parted lips. Running his free hand through his hair, he watched her, a weak, drowsy smile tugging on his mouth.
Sinking deeper into the pillows, Harry pulled her closer and began staring at the dark, worn ceiling.
Ron’s at Azkaban, he thought miserably.
But he had no idea how to get there. He knew he couldn’t simply Apparate. Like Hogwarts, it was far more concealed than that. Whatever the Ministry was, they weren’t lacking in the area of prison security. And even if he could Apparate to Azkaban, he hadn’t the faintest where it was located.
Ask Hagrid, he thought to himself, remembering that he’d been there before. Hagrid will know.
Just then, Harry registered the sound of footsteps shuffling down the hallway outside the bedroom door.
He glanced sideways at Hermione’s tranquil, sleeping form, still fastened firmly to his body, and felt his stomach drop. But before he could jump to the other bed, Mrs. Weasley’s red top peeked around the door.
“Oh, I’m sorry Harry,” she said softly. “I would’ve knocked. I thought you’d be sleeping…”
Harry instinctively whipped his arm out from around Hermione’s shoulders and shot Mrs. Weasley a slightly frantic look. Hermione’s head plopped unceremoniously down on the pillow before she woke.
“It’s okay Mrs. Weasley,” he said hastily. “I’m just… err…”
“It’s quite all right, dear,” Mrs. Weasley smiled politely, her eyes shifting between the two.
Harry felt thoroughly awkward.
Hermione felt thoroughly indignant. She made a cluck with her tongue and turned a sleepy eye on Harry. “What was that for?”
Harry shut his eyes in embarrassment. Hermione, noticing the plump witch in the doorway, gave a small yelp and pulled the blankets tightly toward her, inching slowly away to the opposite side of the bed.
“Will you” well, we’d like you two in the kitchen when you’re dressed,” Mrs. Weasley told them with a suspiciously forced smile.
Harry watched her worried expression with a furrowed brow, but merely said, “Alright,” before shooting Hermione an unreadable glance and lifting himself off the mattress.
-------------------------------
When Harry and Hermione pushed open the kitchen door, they found the room was packed tight. Order members, a couple of which he hadn’t seen in months, crowded around the rickety table: Hestia Jones, Lupin, McGonagall, Hagrid, Tonks, Mr. Weasley, Bill, Kingsley, Moody, and at least a few others who were obscured in shadow.
Hermione abruptly turned towards Harry, her mouth half open, but Harry’s wide expression signaled he was just as confused by the large gathering.
Hermione saw his sleepy, dazed gentleness morph into serious concentration. His vivid green eyes had darkened, and his slouched posture and tender smile ceased and rearranged beyond recognition.
Something else has happened.
“Come in Harry,” Lupin called from the corner. “You should… take a seat.”
Harry felt Hermione’s anxious hand wrap around his forearm. Leading her to the end of the kitchen, he found a seat had been reserved at the head of the table. Taking Hermione by the hand, he led her to it and opted to stand behind her instead.
“What’s going on?” he asked tersely, eyeing Lupin.
For a long while no one responded. The trickling water from the broken faucet dulled the silence but quickened Harry’s heart.
“I received a patronus early this morning. About an hour ago,” Lupin finally said, though wearily.
Harry’s brow furrowed. “And?”
Lupin shot someone behind him an apprehensive look before continuing. “The patronus… was in the form of a scorpion.”
“Who’s patronus is that?” Harry asked.
“Severus Snape’s.”
Harry’s stomach crashed coldly to the floor. Immediately, a thin line of sweat built alone his hairline as rage and deathly hatred resurfaced and gripped Harry’s insides. Air caught in his lungs as he struggled to relearn how to breathe.
His hands felt weak and slippery on the back of Hermione’s chair.
And a pregnant pause ensued. Quiet desolation teemed around the enclosed space leaving looks of desperation and determined anxiety plastered on the many faces.
Refocusing on the room, Harry inclined his head towards Lupin, squinting disbelievingly with a tight jaw. “And why would Snape send you his patronus?”
Lupin took a shaky breath. “To warn me.”
Harry gaped openly, his sardonic eyes scanning the man’s face. “Warn you?! About what?!”
“After Dumbledore” after he was killed, the Order made me their new Secret-Keeper,” Lupin whispered resolutely, meeting Harry’s stare. “But after the attack on the Weasley’s home, it became apparent that it hadn’t worked.”
“What?” Harry fumed, feeling nauseous. “What d’you mean it didn’t work?”
“We missed something, the spell didn’t work, but we thought it had until” until Ron.”
Harry let go of Hermione’s seat and took an enraged step forward.
“You mean to tell me there’s no way to find out if the Secret-Keeper spell has worked unless someone’s attacked?!”
“There are ways, yes, and we tried them. We had a new Order member who hadn’t been invited to Headquarters yet try to find it. She could not. We assumed””
“Yeah, brilliant,” said Harry impatiently. His skin tingled and his limbs fought the desire to tremble in mingled fury and desolation. He suddenly felt very lightheaded and stingingly queasy. “What’s this got to do with Snape?”
Lupin sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose. “His patronus was carrying a message. It simply said, ‘You need Potter’s permission.’”
Harry shook his head, not understanding.
“Permission for what?”
Lupin stepped forward and leaned over the table, placing his hands on its rough, peeling surface. Dangling strands of graying hair hung sadly in his face as he looked up towards Harry.
“Your permission to be Secret-Keeper.”
Harry’s muscles tensed. “Why?”
Sighing gravely and fighting not to drop his gaze, Lupin muttered, “Dumbledore had Sirius’ permission to use Grimmauld Place as Headquarters. After Sirius died, Dumbledore sought your permission, and you granted it. But you have not granted the same for anyone else… and because Grimmauld Place is yours, and the original Secret-Keeper for it is dead, you have to agree to a new Secret-Keeper or else the spell won’t work.”
Harry’s hands balled into fists as his fingers tingled with the need to hit something. Anything. He felt white hot rage course through him and plant a deep-seeded burn directly behind his chest.
But he swallowed and managed to resume in a barely controlled voice.
“And you didn’t think of this earlier? You didn’t know that’s how it worked?”
“No. We did not,” Lupin responded simply.
Harry turned away. His eyes flashed across Hermione’s openly shocked face. He shot her a heartrending look before turning back to face the room.
“What does this mean?” he asked.
This time, Hestia Jones stepped forward. “It means Snape may still be on our side.”
“That’s not necessarily true,” Lupin spoke hastily, catching Harry’s outraged glare. “It may just mean””
“Snape is not” will never be on our side,” Harry said through gritted teeth.
The room fell quiet again.
“Never. I don’t care” what he does, he’ll never be on our side,” he repeated dangerously.
“Nevertheless,” Tonks sighed, “We have to consider the possibility that he’s not on Voldemort’s either.”
Harry breathed heavily and shoved his hands in his pockets. “This doesn’t change anything.”
“It has potential to change everything, Harry, if we””
“The only thing it changes,” Harry interrupted loudly. “Is that I might let Snape live when I catch him.”
The room stared him cold in the eyes. Harry peered at each individual in turn, daring them to protest.
“And that’s only if he’s not helping Voldemort, and only if he does something extraordinary to help us,” he resumed in a deadly whisper. “But he will never be on our side. Nothing changes the fact the he murdered Dumbledore. Nothing.”
Eerie silence pressed in upon them. Hermione had her fingers twisted in nervous concern as she eyed Harry from her seat. In the back of the room, Mr. Weasley could be seen with his drooping shoulders.
“It does mean at least one thing, Harry,” Lupin finally spoke.
“Yeah?”
“I’ll need your permission to be Secret-Keeper for the Order.”
Harry nodded silently. “Fine. You have my permission.”
“Thank you.”
Harry released a tense breath and leaned his weight on Hermione’s chair, his arms crossed. “So what do we do about Snape?”
“Nothing,” Mr. Weasley spoke up. “Not at the moment. If our suspicions are right and he is attempting to help us, the only appropriate thing to do is wait for his next move. Even if he’s not on our side,” he nodded approvingly towards Harry, “he still betrayed Voldemort, however subtle. Sending him a message or raising any alarm would be most unwise.”
Harry nodded.
“I’ve told everyone what you overheard last night,” said Lupin gravely. At this, Harry tilted his head to look at Hermione, who was staring back at him as she bit her bottom lip. “Snape will have to wait, Arthur is right. But if Draco Malfoy is going to be at Hogwarts, the castle will need protection. Clearly there’s something there Voldemort wants.”
Lupin turned his head to meet Harry’s gaze, a knowing look passing between the two.
“But we mustn’t forget about Ron,” he continued, looking around the room.
“We can’t Apparate to Azkaban,” Harry intruded. “Sirius told me””
“You’re right, we can’t. We’ll have to go by broom and foot,” Lupin nodded somberly.
“Hagrid, d’you remember how to get there?” asked Harry edgily.
“’Course I do,” he responded gruffly. “Once yer go ter Azkaban, ya don’t very well forget the place easily.”
“Great,” Harry smiled, revealing his boyish grin.
“I think we ought to split up,” Hermione spoke for the first time, her voice shaky but commanding. “A few should go to Hogwarts””
“Aurors, probably,” Harry suggested, catching on quickly to Hermione’s proposal.
“Yes, I agree… perhaps Kingsley, Tonks, and… Professor McGonagall?”
“Right,” Harry affirmed solidly, “And everyone else will follow me and Hagrid to look for Ron. We can’t put off either. They’re both important,” he finished, shooting Lupin a quietly rueful smirk.
Hermione smiled up at him, seeing determination replace his resentment.
Lupin looked at Harry, grinning. “That sounds like a good plan,” he agreed quietly. “Are there any objections?”
Mr. Weasley nodded approvingly to himself as Moody’s bulging blue eye swiveled madly in its socket.
No one uttered a word of disapproval. And before anyone could change their minds, Harry tugged on Hermione’s shirt, pulling her with him as he dashed from the room and pounded quickly up the creaky stairs.
If they were leaving for Azkaban, he would need his Firebolt.
A true hero does not allow himself to feel self-sympathy; in this, he is forever alone…
For one cannot be a hero,
And apart of The Suffering.