Triad

The Boys In The Locket.

Eight Months Earlier:

Harriet crossed the camp, trying not to cringe at the prying stares.

She can't blame them, though. She knows what she looks like now. There's blood drying on her skin, pooling in the curve of her eyelashes, plastering her hair. Her hands are trembling. She'd had a nasty run-in with Death Eaters while her group was going after supplies. Lately, almost all rebel incursions ended the same way, in battle.

Harry takes a deep breath, drowning out the torrent of unpleasant thoughts trying to swallow her.

Just minutes ago, she'd heard a man begging for his life as he died from a spell she'd cast. Harriet had no intention of killing him, really. They all ended up begging eventually. Ideals aren't worth much when you're curled on the ground, holding your own stomach.

She injured Death Eaters in battle before, but she never killed them. Potter told herself that she shouldn't cross certain lines, but with the war going the way it was, she could not say how long she would be able to keep that belief.

People looked up to her. They counted on her to lead . Every single one of her decisions carried too much weight.

Generally speaking, Harriet didn't know how she got there, being the face of their little rebellion. She didn't know much these days, but she was aware that men like Kingsley Shacklebolt were grateful that she didn't make things worse than they already were by acting like a moralist fool.

That wasn't the kind of war that they could win through the power of love and friendship alone. Ethics and triumph no longer went hand in hand in their world.

The rebels were at a clear disadvantage from the start, so Harry learned pretty quickly to get her hands dirty and do what she must without complaining.

Even accepting the harshness of reality, she felt she was reaching a limit. She didn't want to blame the camp, but it was inevitable not to think about it.

That arrangement was supposed to be temporary, just a Death Eater attack that she and her friends had accidentally intercepted while hunting down Voldemort's Horcruxes, but it was a month already, and they were still there.

Ron said that people felt safer in Potter's presence when she talked about leaving. Harriet wanted to scream at this, as she was the one putting them in danger in the first place.

They weren't fighters, at least not in the beginning.

The camp was little more than that, a huddle of tents in the woods, full of desperate people trying to survive. Voldemort had closed the whole country by putting his Death Eaters in strategic places. The International Confederation of Wizards had already made it clear that the Dark Lord was a problem Great Britain had to deal with alone.

With the growing influence of purists and nowhere to run, half-bloods, muggle-borns, squibs, and blood-traitors picked up their families and fleed to places like this one.

More and more people arrived every day, searching for the promise of Harry Potter, who would save them all. Harry Potter, who would lead, who would fight back .

Her life wasn't her own anymore, but it never really was since that damned prophecy.

As she passes by, people in the camp interrupt their daily chores to stare at her. At this point, she's accustomed. They have been gazing at her with their greedy eyes ever since Harriet's Hogwarts letter tossed her into that world, but now the weight of war is wearing her down, keeping her in a constant fight-or-fligh t state.