Reborn into Harry Potter

half blood brince chapter 3

The fire had burned down to embers by the time I slipped away.
Ron's snores echoed faintly from the boys' dormitory, and Hermione's breathing was steady, soft as parchment turning. She had fallen asleep in one of the armchairs, her head tilted toward the flames, a book still open in her lap.

I lingered at the foot of the stairs, watching the shadows dance across her face. She looked peaceful — but even in sleep, her brow furrowed, as if the weight of the world refused to leave her be.

For a moment, I wanted to wake her. Tell her the truth.
That Dumbledore's "request" hadn't been a mission — it was an execution.
That the person he wanted me to kill wasn't a Death Eater. Not yet.

Instead, I turned away. My reflection wavered in the window — a faint outline against the ink-dark night. I hardly recognized the person staring back.

The castle was quiet when I left the common room, my footsteps soft against the rugs. Somewhere far above, an owl hooted — low, mournful. The air in the corridor felt heavier than before, as if the stones themselves were listening.

I reached the Astronomy Tower before I even realized where I was going. The moon hung low over the Forbidden Forest, pale and cold.
From here, the world seemed frozen — Hogwarts asleep, unaware that its future might depend on a single order whispered behind a closed door.

"Can't sleep either?"

The voice nearly made me draw my wand. I turned to see Harry leaning against the parapet, his cloak drawn tight around him. His eyes, bright in the moonlight, held the kind of weariness only battle could teach.

"Didn't mean to startle you," he said quietly.

"You didn't." My voice came out sharper than I intended.

He smiled faintly. "You say that like you actually believe it."

I exhaled. "What are you doing up here?"

He glanced at the forest. "Thinking. Trying to figure out how we're supposed to win when every step feels like we're already losing."

I didn't answer. Because I knew the truth he didn't — that Dumbledore's plans weren't built on victory. They were built on sacrifice.

Harry looked at me again, his expression unreadable. "He told you something tonight, didn't he?"

My stomach clenched. "What makes you think that?"

"Because Hermione's been staring at the fire for an hour like she's trying to rewrite fate," he said. "And you're out here instead of pretending to sleep."

I swallowed. "Sometimes pretending is the only thing keeping us from breaking."

Harry gave a short laugh. It wasn't warm. "You sound like him."

"Dumbledore?"

"Yeah. Always talking like you already know how the story ends."

Maybe I did.

He sighed and turned back toward the stars. "Whatever he said — whatever he asked — don't lose yourself in it. He's a good man, but he plays a dangerous game."

I almost told him then. Almost. But the words caught in my throat. If Harry knew, he'd try to stop me.
And if he stopped me — someone else would have to take my place.

When I finally spoke, my voice was barely a whisper. "You should get some rest."

"So should you," he said, but didn't move.

I left him there, bathed in moonlight, a boy who didn't yet know the price of being a symbol.

By the time I returned to the common room, Hermione had stirred. Her book had fallen to the floor, her eyes half-open.

"You went out," she murmured, her voice drowsy but sharp.

"I couldn't sleep."

She studied me for a long moment, the firelight flickering between us. "You talked to him, didn't you? Harry."

"Yes."

"Did you tell him?"

I shook my head.

She exhaled, shoulders relaxing just a fraction. "Good. He'd only blame himself."

Silence filled the space between us. Then, softly, Hermione said, "I meant what I said earlier. You're not alone in this."

"I know."

But when I looked at her — really looked — I realized she believed it.
And that terrified me more than anything Dumbledore had said.

Because if I failed... she'd fall with me.

The fire gave one last sigh before fading into ash. Outside, dawn was beginning to stir, pale and uncertain.

Somewhere, far away, a clock began to chime.

And I knew, as sure as the sunrise, that Dumbledore's words weren't a prophecy.
They were a countdown.