It Could Have Gone That Way; A Harmione Fanfiction

Chapter 73: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

Harry writhed around, drenched in sweat. He no longer had control over his mind, over what he was thinking, over what he was seeing. He wasn't fully conscious, and that was all he knew.

He could see Lily Potter. She was standing in front of a cot, facing him - but he was not Harry, surely not, he couldn't be Harry. Lily was screaming,"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!" At the top of her lungs.

Another voice came , deep, sharp, and furious, from his mouth,"Stand aside, you silly girl...stand aside now!"

"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead! Not Harry! Please...have mercy...have mercy! Not Harry! Not Harry! Please - I'll do anything-!"

"Avada Kedavra!"

The room lit up green and the woman fell to the floor. He moved towards the cot, in which a small boy was sat. The boy clambered to his feet, clutching the bars of his cot curiously, peering into the intruder's face with a kind of bright interest. Perhaps he thought it was his father who hid beneath the cloak, making more pretty lights, and his mother would pop up any moment, laughing.

He pointed the wand very carefully into the boy's face; he wanted to see it happen, the destruction of this one, inexplicable danger. The child finally began to cry, for it must have seen that he was not James. He did not like crying, he had never been able to stomach the small ones' whining in the orphanage.

"Avada Kedavra!"

And then he broke. He was nothing, nothing but pain and terror, and he must hide himself, not here in the rubble of the ruined house, where the child was trapped and screaming, but far away...far away...

"No..." he moaned.

The snake rustled on the filthy, cluttered floor, and he had killed the boy, and yet he was the boy...

"No..."

And now he stood at the broken window of Bathilda's house, immersed in memories of his great loss, and at his feet the great snake slithered over broken china and glass...he looked down and saw something...something incredible...

"No..."

"Harry, it's all right, you're all right!"

He stooped down and picked up the smashed photograph. There he was, the unknown thief, the thief he was seeking...

"No...I dropped it...I dropped it..."

"Harry, it's okay, wake up, wake up, Harry!"

He was Harry...Harry, not Voldemort...and the thing that was rustling was not a snake. Harry opened his eyes.

"Harry," Hermione whispered,"do you feel all-all right?"

"Yes." He lied. Harry was in the tent, lying on one of the lower bunks beneath a heap of blankets. He could tell that it was almost dawn by the stillness and the quality of the cold, flat light beyond the canvas ceiling. He was drenched in sweat, and could feel it on the sheets and blankets. Hermione was kneeling down next to him, looking quite exhausted. "We got away." Harry observed.

"Yes." Hermione said breathlessly,"I had to use a Hover Charm to get you into your bunk; I couldn't lift you. You've been...well, you haven't been quite..." There were purple shadows under her brown eyes and Harry noticed a small sponge in her hand: she had been wiping his face. "You've been ill." She finished shakily,"Quite ill."