Magic Never Dies (Harmione)

Chapter 12

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He broke the surface of consciousness slowly, acutely aware of the pain snaking through his forehead. The mere thought of opening his eyes made them water; he lay perfectly still, taking in his surroundings with his other senses. It soon became apparent to him that he had not been out too long; he could hear voices all around him, members of the Order, still arguing. He was laying down, his head pillowed on something soft, but the acrid, burnt-gunpowder smell was stronger than ever.

Snatches of the heated conversation around the table drifted across the room.

"How could you keep this from us? How, and still call yourself loyal?" Professor McGonagall accused.

This? As far as Harry was concerned, knowledge of Voldemort's horcruxes was the least of it. Harry was still waiting for Snape's side of killing Dumbledore that night. Dumbledore might have said he was being truly loyal, but it was awfully hard to fuel an Avada with loyalty. Read impossible, if Harry's violent loathing of Bellatrix wasn't enough to manage more than the most cursory Cruciatus.

"If Albus had thought you needed to know at the time he would have told you himself. Now it is apparently up to the... boy. Assuming you would all be led by a seventeen year old." Snape.

"Harry wants Lupin to lead. He doesn't want to lead anybody; he just wants to get on with what he has to do without people killing him with their bloody good intentions. Or their rotten ones." Ron, furious. Talking back to Snape! Harry's heart swelled with gratitude.

Molly Weasley's horrified "Ronald Bilius Weasley!" followed predictably close on its heels.

Bits of what had happened before he had lost consciousness began flooding back; wrestling with the wand, the unendurable, searing pain when it had touched his scar, Snape telling him to stop fighting, it was too late to be fastidious. Greasy bastard, what the hell would he know. Hermione's voice, reassuring him, and...

He struggled a bit then, trying to marshal the strength required to sit up. He had to tell her what he'd realized. A hand moved quickly to his shoulder, resisting, and he heard Hermione whisper, "Don't move, if you can help it. Don't let him know you're awake."

He realized the something soft was Hermione; someone had conjured a couch or cot of some sort into the kitchen. They were off to the side, away from the action at the table.

He nodded once, slightly, to show her he understood. She fumbled a bit and something cool and wet pressed against his scar. She leant down, under cover of checking its application, and whispered, "He's told them he won't say anything about the horcruxes until he's talked to you. He said that's what Dumbledore would have wanted. He's been very cagey so far about where he's been and what he's been up to."

The reaction around the table now was to Ron's news, hardly the way Harry had hoped to broach the topic, but at least it was out there.

"Can he do that? Ask someone else to lead?" Tonks.

"Why not? It makes sense, certainly." McGonagall.

"The whole point of the Order wasn't to argue about hierarchy, it was to defeat Voldemort. What does it matter who leads, as long as Fawkes has chosen Harry and Harry chooses?" Bill Weasley.

"What do you say, Remus?" Harry knew that voice just by the concern in it; it was Ron's Dad.

"I'd say we should wait to see what Harry says when he wakes up. No offense Ron, I'm sure you know exactly what he meant to do, I'd just like to hear what he has to say about it. But I suppose if he asks me, the answer would be 'yes'. I personally think Harry's put himself on the line often enough for all of us to have earned our trust and our loyalty despite his age."