Fall From Grace
Lend me your hand,
Blood is spilt and man will follow
Force to take one final stand,
Punishment too great to bear…
Raise your head and taste the courage
Fall from grace, lonesome night
Lend me your hand,
Blood is spilt and I will follow…
Feel the power of a fallen man.
Harry closed his eyes.
Dilapidated and hopeless, he breathed with infinite finality, sensing a bleak sickness crawling in his stomach.
The darkness of his eyelids swelled into palpable black. The cold, looming figure of Lord Voldemort towered over him, a silent sneer reverberating into Harry’s bones.
It was all over.
Muttered demands, incoherent whispers, sinister scoffs, melted into the void that was sound. Nothing could penetrate the horrible roaring in Harry’s ears. Nothing could penetrate the nauseous dread, the vile inevitability, and thundering disappointment swarming his insides. Already, though nothing more than preparations had begun, he felt the anguish of failure. Already, he felt diseased.
“Untie him.”
It took a moment for Harry to realize the words were his own. He felt vaguely surprised that he had enough energy to speak.
Opening his eyes, he searched Voldemort. “Untie him first, or I’ll not go through with it.”
Lean, black figures gathered like smoke around the quasi-human before Harry, their faceless masks unable to hide their malicious elation.
Voldemort considered Harry with dark, victorious eyes. “No matter,” he said, waving his wand indifferently. “He is not the one I need.”
Harry’s vision dodged the cloaked Death Eaters and watched as Ron’s shackles undid themselves. Then without warning, Ron’s body shot into the air and flew far off to the left, just as Harry had flown towards Voldemort earlier.
Then suddenly, before he could recognize the feeling in his heart as mild relief, long, binding ropes shot out from Voldemort’s wand and wrapped themselves tightly around his body.
“Feel privileged, Harry,” drew Voldemort, his stale breath whisking across Harry’s face, “to bear my soul is… the ultimate honor.” Then he backed slowly away, a vindictive grin spreading across his lips.
Harry could not move. The ropes were digging mercilessly into his skin, marking his body with long, red imprints.
The Death Eaters formed a half-circle around the scene, the edges of their cloaks whipping sharply in the wind. Harry was shoved to his knees, where he sat, his head bowed.
But when he looked back up, he saw Voldemort suspending a large, golden goblet in the air. For a moment he was blinded by the light radiating from it, but soon he could make out the finely plated gems encrusted at every angle. Along the top, in rolling, cursive script, was an elegant engraving, which seemed to be in Latin.
It hovered spectacularly before Harry, mere yards away, and then it hit him” Hufflepuff’s Cup.
The chalice seemed to vibrate, its edges growing faintly fuzzy. Voldemort’s gleaming red eyes were bright, illuminated by the cup, with his face contorted in deep concentration as he cut his wand through the air, tracing an elaborate pattern.
Then a tiny, bright ball of flaming light drew from the chalice and whizzed around in midair. Falling to the ground, the goblet rolled away as the white-flamed orb moved nearer to Harry. It blazed brighter the closer it got, and for the briefest of moments, Harry thought of fighting back.
“PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!”
Suddenly, a short, squat figure in black fell to the ground at Voldemort’s feet, his Death Eater’s hood rolling back to reveal a blotchy, unmoving face.
Harry’s heart skipped. Craning his neck, he saw numerous figures dashing down the steep hill to his left, bolts of light shooting from their wands.
“CRUCIO!” a Death Eater hollered at the approaching wizards, its curse barely missing its target.
“Stop them!” Voldemort shouted, his lips curling dangerously.
But to Harry’s right, more figures were sprouting from the hills. Harry made out the blurred faces of Hagrid, Mr. Weasley, and Moody, running swiftly towards him, their wands aloft, their expressions stern.
“Stupefy!” someone yelled, yet he couldn’t make out the voice… but his stomach clenched as his eyes strained to keep up with the scene as Lupin, Charlie, and Tonks ran headlong into the shrouded masses of black…
All around him the fight broke out, streams of purple and red shooting through the murky air, as Death Eaters and Order members tumbled to the ground, avoiding each other’s curses.
Harry could scarcely believe it; his heart gave a hesitant flutter as the flame of hope rekindled. Instinctively, his wrists began fighting off his bindings, his mind focused once more on defying Voldemort by any means necessary, and he only ignored the stinging pain as the rope dug deeper into his skin.
As he continued to struggle, Voldemort whipped his wand effortlessly and Harry watched in silent terror as Charlie Weasley’s body suddenly appeared before him, hitting the earth with an audible thud.
Harry’s eyes shot up to meet Voldemort’s. His blood boiled and the hatred in his glare briefly held Voldemort to the spot. But then, his pale lips lifted in a pitiless, satisfied smirk.
The shouts and screams of war pulsated the air around them as Voldemort stepped forward, preparing to finish the task at hand. The burning ball of light still lingered between them, and when Voldemort directed his wand at the mysterious object, it blazed a pale blue and soared once more in his direction.
Harry thrashed against his ropes, feeling a surge of boldness course through him as his jaw set in violent determination.
Yet Voldemort’s eyes grew wider with vindictive glory, his stature dark and ominous over the menacing, fiery sphere of light as Moody dueled with two Death Eaters in the background.
But then”
“Avada Kedavra!”
The smoldering sphere burst into red and white flames, light melting off its round surface like glowing water. It swirled and jerked in midair, convulsing madly, before suddenly exploding in a haze of blinding light.
“NO!” Voldemort screamed, his deathly hands outstretched in tormented fury.
Curses and spells continued to swarm around them, their casters’ voices loud and rumbling in Harry’s ears as Voldemort’s gleaming red eyes bore piercingly into his.
And then his scar burst out in pain.
Unable to move, he could only scream, the burning throb in his head tugging on every nerve. The intense searing scorched mercilessly through him, prickling behind his eyes like needles.
But then, it stopped. As abruptly as it had begun, it ceased completely.
Opening his watery eyes, Harry was astonished to find Voldemort had disappeared. The Death Eaters remained, the Order was still advancing on their numbers, the noise deafening, but Voldemort” Voldemort had vanished.
But before he could register all that was happening and where Voldemort could have possibly gone, a shorter, lean body slammed painfully into his, deep brunette hair obscuring his vision.
“Hermione?!”
He heard her yell a curse in the opposite direction before he felt her body push from his and dash around to meet his face. Throwing herself to her knees, she leveled herself with him as she grasped his shoulders and Harry saw her tear-stained eyes.
She looked battered and dirty, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she struggled to breathe.
“HARRY!” she shouted, her hands quickly fumbling with his ropes, “Oh thank God! I thought you’d be dead!” she cried hysterically, hot tears already streaming down her cheeks.
Frustrated, Hermione stood and took a step back before pointing her wand at Harry’s bindings and shouting some unknown command. The ropes fell to the ground as Harry jumped to his feet and automatically grasped Hermione’s hand.
Looking up, he met her gaze and was overcome with a flood of affection. He reached out roughly, his heart still pumping, and cupped her face; but she seized his wrist and began pulling him away from the battle, bowing over as she dodged Tonks and Lupin and headed straight for the cover of trees.
“Wait!” he hollered, yanking Hermione back. “Ron! He’s alive, he””
Just then Harry noticed a stream of red shooting towards them, and he grabbed Hermione and threw her to the ground, letting himself fall on top of her. He looked down and saw her panic-ridden face before heaving her back to her feet and dragging her along the side of the hill.
“He’s over here somewhere!” he hollered over the noise, ducking curses and forcefully keeping Hermione blocked behind his body.
Then she crashed into him as he came to an abrupt stop.
“Harry?!” she asked fearfully, eyeing the Death Eaters mere yards away.
“I found him!”
Harry dove through the fight and Hermione watched with wide, horrified eyes as he fumbled with something on the ground. But seconds later he popped back up, shooting Hermione a fleeting look.
Draped around his shoulders, was Ron.
Hermione gave a half-gasp, half-laugh as her eyes glossed over with renewed tears, her face breaking out into a momentary smile.
Quickly, Harry used his free hand to grasp Hermione’s arm and steer them away. But they didn’t make it two steps, as Ginny came running frantically in their direction. She paused only briefly to stare in relief at Ron safely strung across Harry; but then she regained composure and her eyes darkened.
“We’ve got to run!” she screamed, ushering Harry away. “Lupin said to get back to our brooms!”
Sure enough, Tonks and Hagrid came pounding across the hill, their wands pointing behind them as they sent jets of light soaring in all directions.
Harry recaptured Hermione’s wrist and ran, hard and fast, his breath hitching painfully in his chest as he struggled to keep Ron beside him.
He could hear the battle following them, tailing just behind as Lupin, Mr. Weasley, and Moody came sprinting forward, a mass of black robes chasing after them.
Their feet pounded sharply against the wet ground as they encountered the stream, Harry continually glancing over his back. Through sticker bushes and thorns, they ran, their hearts pumping feverishly, the muscles in their legs straining, with Ron’s lifeless body weighing heavily on Harry’s shoulder.
“Go!” Harry suddenly shouted over the noise, pushing Hermione forward. “You can’t wait up for me, Ron’s slowing me down, you have to just run!”
“No!” Hermione countered, fixing Harry with an anxious, ardent glare before she threw out a particularly forceful curse, sending two approaching Death Eaters flying through the air. Then she moved around to take Ron’s other arm and screamed, “Come on!”
Harry didn’t argue but hulled Ron away, his muscles aching less with Hermione’s help.
They continued to run, their breathing forced and irregular, Ginny’s hair whipping around corners just in front of them, Lupin shouting out curses behind.
Finally they reached the brooms. Harry dove into the overgrowth and whipped out his Firebolt before the others had reached him. Hermione tugged hurriedly on his arm, a soft, terrified whimper escaping her lips as a long stream of green shot from an emerging black cloak.
“Give him here!” Ginny hollered, pulling Ron from Harry’s grasp. Harry relented and made sure she was in the air with him before he mounted his own broom and roughly dragged Hermione on with him.
Flying into the air, Harry ascended above the treetops and soared over to Ginny.
“Can you balance him?”
She gave a steady nod, her arms wrapped tightly around her brother as she hovered atop the canopy.
Then abruptly, Harry kicked off and sent he and Hermione shooting towards the ground. “Help me fend them off the others!” he screamed over the wind, his wand already aiming at one of the billowing shrouds chasing Hagrid.
Hermione’s voice rang in his ears as she too threw out innumerable spells, sending more than a few Death Eaters face-first into the ground.
But then sparks began teeming in their direction, curses grazing their ears. Harry deftly dodged them all, weaving through the jets of light and pelting his own down below, each one hitting its target square in the chest with an audible thump.
Seconds later Lupin and Moody were in the air doing the same. It only took another moment for Tonks and Hagrid to reach their brooms, and as soon as they did, Lupin shouted at Ginny to fly away. She didn’t even pause, and soon Tonks dashed off to follow.
“HARRY!”
Harry turned sharply in the air, meeting Lupin’s pale face.
“GO!”
Harry hesitated, knowing that Mr. Weasley and Charlie had yet to join them. He hovered, his eyes frantically surveying the raging fight below, his instincts warring.
But when he felt Hermione’s anxious, trembling hands slide around his waist, and heard her muffled cries bury in his shoulder, he nodded indistinctly in Lupin’s direction before kicking off hard, flying away in a rush of wind.
----------------------------------------
Harry skidded to a stop when they reached Grimmauld Place, the cool night air washing over him as he landed and quickly turned on Hermione.
“Are you all right?!”
Panic, terror, and every emotion that had his heart racing minutes before on Azkaban climaxed as he fearfully scanned her face. She was bleeding from her lip, and dried blood had matted parts of her hair.
“I’m fine” oh Harry!” she shrieked, clutching his hands and holding them out. “Look at you! Oh, your wrists!”
For his wrists were bleeding, the tight ropes having created a circle of chaffed, raw skin which was excreting deep scarlet liquid. It looked as if he had been burned until parts of the skin had melted away.
“It’s fine, it doesn’t hurt,” he lied instantly, more concerned with the bruise swelling on the side of her neck. “God, what happened?!” he asked, his throat burning.
Hermione lightly caressed her neck and winced. “I must’ve gotten hit,” she deduced dismissively, her wide, brown eyes still examining Harry. “Oh Harry,” she choked, a sudden sob restricting her airway, “you look awful!”
“I’m fine,” he persisted, his brow creased as his hands ran through her hair, searching for the source of blood.
Hermione continued to lift Harry’s sleeves, comb through his hair, and run her fingers along his back, hysterically looking for injuries, muffled cries escaping her lips each time she found a new one. Harry’s hands ran the length of her neck, her arms, everywhere he could, doing the same, his eyes stinging as he came across a long, deep cut that sliced across her stomach.
“God… Hermione,” he breathed miserably, touching the red sensitive skin around the wound.
“Harry,” she whispered, tears evident in her cry, “you” you’re bruised everywhere,” she muttered wretchedly, not knowing what to do other than to press herself against him in a warm embrace.
Harry was caught off-guard but quickly flung his arms around her, burying his face in the crook of her neck, unable to discern the gentle words Hermione was speaking into his shoulder.
But then the memory struck him”
“HERMIONE!” he shouted, pulling her away to look her in the eyes. “Voldemort” his Horcrux” someone destroyed it!”
Hermione’s jaw dropped. “What?”
“Did you see that” that light? That white sphere flying at me? That was it! It was””
“That was part of his soul?!” she cried, her eyes wide. “But” but how” why”?”
“I’ll tell you later," he said hurriedly, "the point is, he made it vulnerable when he took it from Hufflepuff’s goblet and tried putting it in me” it was completely exposed, and” and someone””
“Hufflepuff’s goblet?!” she shrieked in confusion, trying to force her brain to register all he was saying. “Putting it in” in you… exposed…” she mumbled distractedly, her mind racing…
Then suddenly, she remembered. She looked quickly up at Harry, her glossy eyes suddenly the size of saucers.
Harry stared at her, sweat still gleaming on his brow. “What?”
“It was” I… I did it…”
Harry blinked. “Did what?”
“I saw it, and it was” Voldemort had his wand on it, and… you couldn’t move… I saw it going closer to you…”
Harry narrowed his eyes. “It was you? You” you did the Killing Cur””
“Oh God,” she muttered miserably, her head dropping. “I” I did… I performed an Unforgivable!” she cried, her eyes searching Harry’s pleadingly. “But Harry, it was only because I could tell it was something awful, why else would Voldemort be trying to attack you with it?! That’s what it looked like, from where I””
“Hermione it’s okay,” he wanted to laugh, “You destroyed a Horcrux!”
Hermione looked disbelieving, but her lips lifted in a smile and her eyes glistened with relief. Harry took her arms and made to embrace her, a delirious sob pushing at his throat.
But just then, Tonks and Ginny flew up and landed beside them. Harry let go of Hermione and dashed to Ron, who was still unconscious.
“How the hell did you get ahead of us?” Tonks baffled.
Harry didn’t hear her. “How is he? Is he okay?”
Ginny looked up at him, her eyes glassy. “He” he hasn’t moved the entire time…”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Tonks assured, waving her wand so that the door of Grimmauld Place swung open. “Let’s get him to a room.”
Harry heaved Ron to his feet and began pulling him up the stoop. Ginny ran along beside them.
“Why don’t you let me cast””
“No,” Harry immediately replied, his faced screwed in concentration. “I don’t want to use some spell to move him, it makes people look” dead.” He remembered Snape as Lupin charmed him out of the Shrieking Shack four years ago, and how his head had bobbed grotesquely on his stiff, unmoving body.
Hermione ran ahead and held the door wide. Once inside, Harry made a sharp right into one of the drawing rooms. With one last pull, he draped Ron’s limp body across the dusty red sofa.
“Where is he?!”
Mr. Weasley came running through the threshold, his face frenzied and wild. Lupin and Hagrid followed quickly behind as Mr. Weasley collapsed to the floor in front of his son.
“Ron?” he asked loudly, shaking his shoulders. “Ron, can you hear me?”
“He’s out cold,” Lupin asserted, his brows knitted together. “Voldemort must have put him under some spell to keep him from waking. But he’s definitely alive,” he confirmed somberly, feeling Ron’s pulse through his neck. “We need Pomfrey.”
But then, Mrs. Weasley stormed through the door, her eyes puffy and red, her arms outstretched as she rushed towards Ron’s unmoving figure. She didn’t say anything, only sobbed endlessly into his hair, her hand grazing his pale face with motherly tenderness.
Harry looked away. It was too much to take in after everything he’d seen tonight. He felt himself come crashing back to reality, as the wave of happiness he’d experienced at the thought of Hermione destroying a Horcrux left him completely. It was replaced by the sick twisting in the pit of his stomach as he gaped at his best friend’s family huddled around Ron’s lifeless body. The feel of Hermione’s warm pressure beside him was all that reminded him to breathe.
“Where’s Charlie?” he heard Mrs. Weasley ask, her voice shaking.
“With Moody, in the upstairs room. He just seems to be knocked out.”
When Harry looked back up, he found Lupin and Hagrid conversing quietly in the far-off corner, Hagrid’s scruffy head bent low, nodding silently. Mr. Weasley was pacing around the sofa, occasionally stopping to shoot his wife a wretched look.
“Harry?” Hermione whispered in his ear, “perhaps we should leave…”
But at that moment, Hagrid thumped out the door and out of sight, as Lupin stalked back over to the couch. “He’s gone to find Pomfrey,” he mumbled solemnly, running a hand through his hair. Then, “Harry, Hermione, are you two all right?”
Harry merely nodded, but Hermione said with amazing composure, “Harry needs to see Pomfrey too, after she’s looked at Ron and Charlie… he has bruises all over him, and his wrists”” she gently clutched Harry’s hand and lifted it for Lupin to see “”they’re bleeding terribly…”
Lupin’s eyes narrowed in concern as he took a step closer and examined Harry’s arms. But before he could speak, Harry snatched his hand away and said, “Hermione needs her more than I do. She’s got a gash on her stomach, it’ll get infected””
“You’ll both need to see her,” Lupin sighed, his face heavy with worry, “but for now you two need to go do whatever you can for your wounds while we watch over Ron. Hermione, I trust you know some basic healing spells?”
Hermione nodded. Lupin cast Harry a mournful glance before turning his back and bending low over Ron, whispering something in Mrs. Weasley’s ear. Harry thought of telling him about the Horcrux, but the look on his face as he attempted to console the Weasley’s made him too sick to think, let alone engage in such an intense conversation.
His nerves on end, Harry moved forward and stopped beside the sofa. Looking down, he saw Ron’s white face cushioned by a pillow, and watched in a daze as Mrs. Weasley pressed noiseless kisses against his forehead. Mr. Weasley sat beside her, his head in his hands, and Harry paused a moment longer to take one final look at his best friend, before the worry morphed into nausea and he had to turn away.
Hermione tugged gently on Harry’s jumper, and the two made their silent ascent up the creaking stairs, their breathing still uneven.
When they reached the landing, Harry looked to his left, and through an ajar door, watched as Moody bent low over Charlie Weasley, his wand prodding the red head’s motionless body.
“Come on Harry,” Hermione whispered, her hand grasping his elbow. “There’s nothing you can do… you can’t let yourself watch.”
Harry’s jaw clenched as he swallowed hard and turned away from the scene. Entering their room, he made a beeline for the bed. He sat upright, his back rigid, while Hermione closed the door.
“Did you see them?” Harry asked quietly, his voice hoarse.
“Who?”
Harry didn’t answer. His blazing green eyes were burning into the wall, his face blank of expression.
Hermione watched him worriedly. The cut on her stomach stung and her head felt heavy and aching, but she pushed it aside with one look at his cold, despondent face.
He wanted to feel angry. Above anything, he just wanted to feel angry. But he couldn’t. Instead, he felt worthless, hopeless… filthy. Some part of him registered that this was why he preferred anger: it doesn’t hurt as much as heartache.
His throat burned and his eyes stung with the visual of Ron’s still body. He was only faintly aware of Hermione’s presence, the restricted sensation that engulfed his heart taking over all conscious thought.
But Hermione moved closer and knelt before him, reaching out a trembling hand. With gentle, hesitant fingers, she wiped away the dark smudges of dirt beneath his eyes.
“Harry?”
He inhaled deeply and looked up.
“Who? Who was I supposed to see?”
Harry shook his head lightly. “All of them.” He paused, sliding his hands beneath his glasses and kneading them into his eyelids. “They all looked so… defeated.”
Hermione bowed her head in silence. Harry did not move. He felt the most severe anguish burn through his chest, as if a Dementor were right beside him, forcing him to relive every horrible emotion in the span of a second.
The weight of what had happened that night pressed in on him from all angles, clouding his vision and impeding his speech. The hole in his heart seemed to swell, filling him with an unrelenting emptiness as he finally fully realized exactly how close” so, unbelievably close” he’d come to failing… How close he’d been to an unthinkable fate…
Then suddenly, a swooping sound vibrated the air, followed by a loud, resounding crash.
Hermione jumped. Harry’s tense body reacted in panic, his wand already pointed out into the vacant room.
Standing, Hermione walked around the edge of the bed and towards the fireplace. Harry craned his neck to look over her shoulder, but couldn’t see, until Hermione picked up something from the floor and turned to face him.
In her hand was a jagged piece of glass, its sharp angles casting light on the walls. “The vase,” she remarked idly, eyeing Harry. She muttered reparo before rounding on him again, shooting him an odd look. “It didn’t break on it’s own,” she began gently, her expression a mix of wonderment and concern, “Harry… don’t bottle it in…”
He stared at the repaired vase, not really understanding or even caring to understand what it meant that he’d broken it without meaning to.
Hermione’s worried gaze met with his. But when he didn’t respond, she heaved a tired sigh and performed some quick healing spells on her stomach and neck.
Then she walked over to him, her footfalls light and measured, before stopping just short of his knees and bending low. He still didn’t meet her eyes. She lifted her wand and, starting with his wrists, moved across his body until all visible wounds were at least wrapped in bandages.
Then, still standing, she towered over his slumped posture and lifted his chin. When he still didn’t speak, she merely began wiping the rest of the dirt off his face, her ministrations slow and soft.
Without moving, Harry’s gaze finally rested on her face. He watched in a fuzzy haze as her sad, forlorn eyes shone with something unidentifiable.
“Hermione?”
She stopped her movements and looked down into his blood-stained face. Her eyes grew soft as she was swept with a sudden wave of understanding.
“No,” she breathed, leaning in closer to him. “Don’t. Don’t do this to yourself.”
Harry lowered his head. He could hear doors slamming around the house, Mrs. Weasley’s sobs, Lupin’s voice, Moody’s healing spells that didn’t seem to be working… it made the corners of his eyes burn.
But then he felt Hermione’s hand grazing his cheek. Goosebumps ran down his spine.
“You saved him, Harry…”
As he looked into her eyes, the sudden urge to argue with her rolled through him; some perplexed part of him he didn’t dare yet discover was screaming at him to convince her to abandon him… to tell her she was wrong, wrong about how she saw him and how she defended him… but cold weakness was flooding through his muscles, and all he could bring himself to do was lie back on the bed, his thoughts a blur.
Hermione moved around to the other side and lowered herself slowly onto the mattress, letting Harry’s head fall into her lap. Her stomach dropped curiously as she peered down into his eyes.
“Harry,” she began quietly, her voice trembling with an apology, “Will you… will you tell me what happened toni”?”
“Can we just” can we talk about it later?”
Harry swallowed, his eyes fixing her with a look she’d never seen before.
“Just a few minutes,” he assured her, his heart beginning to beat regularly now. “We’ll talk about” about everything, I just need… a few minutes… like this…”
Hermione gave him a sad smile, still uneasy about the strange new look in his eyes… but somehow it soothed her, the gentleness of it…
Her hands ran through his hair, slow and embracing, as she let herself lean back against the headboard, her furrowed brow still focused on his face.
Harry breathed deeply and closed his eyes again. He knew what waited once they opened. The conversations he’d have to have, the fear he’d have to face, the weight of the future that would descend on his chest… but as he concentrated on the warm pressure of Hermione’s hands sweeping through his hair, the noises of the chaotic house died out… the prospect of it all seemed almost tolerable, the knowledge of reality almost endurable, and he felt he could rise above it… maybe… if only he had a few more minutes… a few more minutes lying here, a familiar, sweet scent relaxing his muscles… a few more minutes…
…just like this.
Raise your head and taste the courage.