The Burden of Fear (WARNING: Harry Potter six spoilers)

[The Missing Link]

Author: Me
Genre: Harry Potter, post-Half-Blood Prince
Spoilers: THIS WILL SPOIL ALL OF BOOK SIX.
Warnings: Nope; the content is pretty tame.
Disclaimer: Sadly, all your Potter are belong to Rowling.
Author's Notes: This is the first of several scenes that I can envision being a part of book seven. I've tried to write this in as close to JKR as I can without losing my own personal touch to the story, and I've tried to keep myself from using any artistic license if any. I hope you enjoy!


The Burden of Fear
Scene One from The Slytherin Speculations


Harry held tightly to his wand as the brief glimpses of Wizarding homes passed by his eyes. All he could do was watch nervously as scene after scene appeared and then disappeared from view, his tense body frightened to see what might be found at his destination. Of course, it was quite possible that everything was perfectly fine with nothing to worry about. Despite this, Harry kept telling himself that it was, after all, no secret that the Weasleys treated him as if he were family now, and though Harry was quite appreciative of their gestures, in the end, it merely gave the Death Eaters one more reason to hate the family of “blood-traitors”.

He had sent Hermione and Ron through the Floo Network before him, staying behind momentarily, wanting just to make sure that no one suspicious had been following them. Where they had come from wasn’t exactly the friendliest part of town, nor was it the safest, but it had been a necessary visit. Thanks to Hermione’s researching skills, not to mention some helpful spying by the few remaining members of the D.A., those of age now part of the Order of the Phoenix, the search for Lord Voldemort’s horcruxes had been going amazingly well. In fact, Harry had accounted for five of the six vessels that carried fragments of Voldemort’s soul, all of which personally destroyed by Harry. All that had remained was finding Nagini—the last of the horcruxes—and in turn finding the Dark Lord himself, which had proven to be a particular challenge. None of the clues and hints Dumbledore had given Harry seemed to yield any information about the Dark Lord’s whereabouts, and it was obvious to Harry that the Death Eaters were not simply going to hand over the key to their headquarters and let him waltz in! They had been forced, rather, to have some inside help, and doing so meant recruiting Dobby to sneak inside the Malfoy mansion and listen for any clues that might tip off where the last piece of Voldemort’s fragmented soul might be found.

Thankfully, the mission, once enacted, had been both painless and successful. Dobby’s report to Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been remarkably useful; in his journey through the mansion, he had happened upon Narcissa and Draco within one of the many sitting rooms, and it seemed that they had had an argument with one another. In usual fashion, as Dobby told them the story, he occasionally felt the sudden urge to ram his head into a wall for fear of saying something malicious about his former masters, but Harry always stopped him just short of doing so, urging Dobby to tell him all that he had heard.

“Dobby then heard the Malfoy boy say that he was no longer interested in being a Death Eater,” he had reported after one such episode, “and that he did not care whether or not he returned into the old shack in the Gnarled Forest. Dobby heard my old mistress crying, saying that You-Know-Who would kill Malfoy should he disobey, but the Malfoy boy did not seem to care at all. It was like the Malfoy boy would prefer to die . . . .”

Dobby had done good, Harry thought once more. He had found out precisely the information Harry needed: the Gnarled Forest. Harry surmised that Voldemort would not stray too far from his headquarters for any length of time, and Nagini was likely to be there with its master as well. The last obstacle in Harry’s path was removed, and Harry knew with increasing assurance that, indeed, the end was coming whether he liked it or not.

Perhaps it really was for the best. The Daily Prophet was still insistent upon calling him “the Chosen One,” even with greater intensity now since Dumbledore’s death. It was reported that wizards and witches were no longer looking to the Ministry of Magic to solve their problems, but rather The Boy Who Lived. Harry’s refusal to be the poster boy for the Ministry had had virtually no effect, for now he was still the beacon of hope that the Ministry had hoped for. It was all bilge to Harry, however; he had stopped caring long ago. It wouldn’t have taken a Divination expert to foresee it. Harry no longer read the Prophet anymore, having decided that it was of no use to hear how dependent the Wizarding world was on him. Only Ron and Hermione read the paper anymore, pouring over the latest news line by line for new attacks by the Death Eaters, how the Ministry was reacting to them, and the obituaries to see if anyone they knew had been killed. Harry, however, already knew what he needed to know: Voldemort had chosen him, Harry had received some of Voldemort’s powers and become his equal, and now he would face the only thing that still seemed to chill him these days, that single line from the prophecy.

Neither can live while the other survives.

A moment later, Harry stopped suddenly, landing in the familiar emerald fire of the Weasley fireplace. His wand snapping to the ready, he slowly stepped over the grate to find Ron and Hermione already dusting the ash off of their shoes. Beyond them, Mrs. Weasley occupied herself in the kitchen, preparing the evening meal, while Mr. Weasley sat upon his easy chair looking happily towards the fireplace.

“You three keep coming in later and later,” said Mr. Weasley as Harry appeared, “but welcome home.” His demeanour, however, quickly turned professional. “Oh wait! I nearly forgot. You know the routine, Harry! I have to make sure that it’s you. When did your cousin eat when we came to get you for the Quidditch World Cup?”

Harry rolled his eyes in his head, but Harry held his tongue about the nonsense of asking questions. After all, he knew that Mr. Weasley was just doing as the Ministry of Magic had requested of him. “Dudley ate a Ton-Tongue Toffee that Fred ‘dropped.’”

“Very good, very good. Welcome home, Harry. It’s good to see you again.”

“Thank you very much,” he said quietly, still finding it difficult to be interrogated every time he came into the Burrow, the place he had recently come to know as his primary home. He took his attention away from Mr. Weasley and began walking towards the table in the kitchen.

“Not so fast, Harry. You need to question me first!”

Harry paused for a moment before looking at his two friends, each giving him a quick nod to indicate all was well. “If Ron and Hermione have already questioned you and believe you, then so do I.”

Mr. Weasley looked mortified for a moment, as if some Ministry mandate had just been violated in his own home, but he quickly regained his composure. “But . . . but . . . I could have bewitched them so that they’d do that! You need to be sure it’s me; the Ministry recommends it! Ask me my question, Harry.”

Harry sighed inwardly, but he relented. “If you insist. What is your favourite Muggle contraption?”

“Airplanes, of course.”

“Nice to see you’re still yourself, Mr. Weasley,” he added, trying not to sound too mean-spirited. It had been a hard day—a dangerous day, and Harry truthfully wanted nothing more than to relax and toss away the cares and worries he had experienced; dealing with the nonsensical advisories the Ministry had been religiously publishing was not his idea of that. He gave away a great sigh as he looked at Ron and Hermione tiredly.

Hermione’s had already began to frown somewhat as she took in Harry, her stern eyes already examining him from head to foot. “Harry, you look absolutely exhausted,” she observed quietly. “It looks like you need to take a break. You sure you don’t need to lie down for a while?”

“I’m fine, actually,” Harry lied, his voice sounding somewhat unsure of that fact. “It’s just been a long day, you can imagine.”

“You poor dear, I told you not to work yourself to death. I simply won’t have it!” Mrs. Weasley turned towards Harry, placing her arms upon her waist as she looked matter-of-factly at him, but she couldn’t keep from grinning for too long. “Don’t you worry, though, Harry. I can have some dinner for you soon if you’d like.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Weasley, but I’m actually not hungry tonight.”

“What?” questioned Mrs. Weasley, coming over to the fireplace with a twisted expression on her face. “You’ve been gone for days on end, coming in late at night, always high-strung and worrying over everything! Come, Harry, a nice meal will set you right. Besides, you probably haven’t had a nice, warm meal since the last time you’ve been home.”

Harry, however, shook his head more adamantly than before. “I’m really not hungry. I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

Mrs. Weasley looked as if she had been slapped in the face. “Do you hear this, Arthur? He doesn’t want to eat? Well I won’t take no for an answer, Harry,” she said resolutely, nearly rushing back into the kitchen. “At least let me give you some bread, just so you can’t say I’ve starved you to death!” Coming back with a freshly made roll, she nearly forced it into Harry’s hand.

Harry proceeded to take his usual place at the Weasley table—Percy’s old spot, since he was still of the mind not to pay the Burrow visit—still covered in soot from the chimney, and he set his head upon his arms on the table. Ron and Hermione quickly joined him, sitting next to one another opposite Harry as they shared worried glances. The silence in the entire house prolonged before Hermione looked at Ron and gave him a gentle poke in his side with her elbow. Ron nearly jumped from the table, not expecting the nudge, but he quickly settled down, his face now appearing as bright as he could make it given the circumstances. He looked at Harry, asking, “Harry, you know, we haven’t played a game of Wizard’s Chess in quite a while. Might you be willing to have a go at it after supper?”

Harry picked up his head from the table and looked up at Ron, and Harry could clearly see Ron’s intentions behind his expression. He couldn’t help but grin at his best friend, seeing that he was trying to do all he could for Harry. He knew that Ron was trying to loosen him up a bit, trying to pull him away from his thoughts about Voldemort, but Ron wasn’t going to be able to help him tonight. He was weary, he was burdened, and he had quite a bit on his mind, and neither Hermione nor Ron would be able to relieve the weight on his shoulders. He let out a brief sigh but actually did grin slightly, but Harry shook his head at Ron. “You’re really great, Ron, but I’m just not into it tonight. I . . . I think I just need a little time to myself tonight.”

Ron looked somewhat sullen at the reply, and Hermione’s face all but looked outright worried for Harry. “Alright, mate,” he said. “Perhaps another time, right?”

“Right,” answered Harry. He then stood up from the table and went over to the front door of the house. He stood there for a moment, staring aimlessly at the doorknob, before coming to a decision. “I’m going to head out for a bit, get some fresh air.”

“Don’t stay out too long,” Mr. Weasley warned, “and don’t go too far either. The Ministry’s protections start fading as you get out a bit.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.” With that, Harry left the house, closing the door softly behind him.

Harry knew he didn’t have to explain himself, especially to Ron and Hermione; they already knew his thoughts without even having to ask. Then again, it didn’t take a Legilimens to know what was on his mind or what circumstances he would soon be facing. Soon he would be going after Voldemort himself, duelling with him until one of them outlasted the other. He had already accepted the notion for some time; Hermione had helped with that, of course, researching and teaching him a few choice spells and techniques. He had practiced them quite often, and he felt as if he could face him. However, that didn’t mean Harry was ready for it. The final battle would be soon, and the closer Harry got to actually facing his nemesis, the wizard that would not let him live until he was killed, the lower his stomach sank within him.

He wandered towards a small thicket of trees a short distance from the Burrow, and though he realised that it was probably further than he should have gone, he really wasn’t in the mood to care at the moment. He just needed a brief moment to collect his thoughts and sort them out. It won’t be long, he reassured himself. Realising that he still was carrying the roll Mrs. Weasley had given him, he threw it as hard as he could into the trees before finding a tree on the outside of the wood. He quickly hopped atop a low branch and placed his back and head against the tall trunk of the tree, his legs resting upon the length of the limb. Through the small throng of leaves, he could see the lights of the Weasley home burning brightly, none of his friends having retired for the night. Slowly his eyes closed, and desperately he sought peace, the very peace that he felt whenever he saw pictures of his parents . . .

His parents . . . there they were again. Harry could see them off in the distance, smiling at him, beckoning him to meet them once again. Harry’s heart leapt in joy, and he ran to them, finally to embrace them after so much time apart from them. It can’t be, thought Harry, yet as he looked again, there they still were. Mom! Dad! As he ran, his arms spread out in order to reach them, to touch them as he could never do before, but as he came closer, with each passing step, the expressions upon their faces slowly passed from elation into fear, and then finally pain. They fell to the ground, their bodies writhing in pain and convulsing sporadically. He could hear his father and mother screaming. Harry stopped, fearing that he himself was causing their pain, but another thing caught his eye. There, beyond his parents, was a shadowy hand, and in that hand was a wand Harry was intimately familiar with—yew wood with a phoenix feather core, thirteen-and-a-half inches—pointed at his parents.

“Stop it!” Harry cried, quickly pulling his own wand from his pocket. He took aim for the hand and screamed in anger. “Lacarnum Inflamarae!” Harry had expected a huge stream of fire to leap from his wand at the hand, but nothing happened. His wand would not obey him, as if the very warmth he always felt when holding it had been sucked dry.

The body owning the shadowed hand slowly faded in as Harry stared as if petrified. The figure that appeared was clothed entirely in a black robe, a hood encircling his head so that his face could not be seen, and a sleeve of midnight covered all but the tips of the figure’s fingers. Slowly he approached, its wand still pointed threateningly at Harry’s parents, a vicious laugh suddenly erupting through their screaming. “That is for you getting in my way,” the figure said after his laugh, “but this is for your son getting in my way. AVADA KEDAVRA!”

“NO!”

A beam of green light erupted from the wand and hit both of his parents with full force. Instantly, their screams were silenced, and they fell to the ground as immobile statues. Harry looked on with horror as his parents died in front of him. He had just had the opportunity of a lifetime to meet his parents, and it had been taken away from him, lost to him forever! A fury erupted through Harry as he realised that the figure before him was no less than Voldemort himself, the one who had tried to kill him nearly eighteen years ago, the one who had left the lightning-bolt scar upon his forehead. Harry’s chest heaved viciously as hate flowed through his veins. “You’ll pay for that!”

“Will I?” scoffed the Dark Lord, seeming completely unthreatened by Harry’s words. Slowly, the hooded wizard stepped aside, and behind him upon the ground lay a beautiful girl with long, red hair. Though Harry could not see the girl’s face, he knew at once her to be Ginny. Quickly his eyes took her in, and to his relief, he could see that she was still breathing, although a spell had been cast to keep her from moving. Harry’s attention was thrown back to Voldemort, seeming quite pleased with Harry’s fear. “I presume this is someone you know, Potter, someone you . . . care for? If you duel with me, Potter, the Weasley girl dies, another life gone because of your interference.”

Suddenly, as if willed by Lord Voldemort, Ginny cried out, “Harry!”

“Ginny!” cried Harry.

“What will it be, Potter? Your life, or hers?”

“Harry!”

“I . . . er . . . I . . . I can’t . . .”

“HARRY!”

Suddenly a hand grabbed Harry’s shoulder, and his eyes flew open. In a daze, he had started to reach for his wand as his eyes blinked at the person holding onto him, but he soon found it to be Ginny standing there on the ground, looking up sympathetically at him. “Ginny! I . . . I thought . . .”

“We could hear you screaming from the house, Harry,” she said worriedly. She stood up on her tiptoes and reached her arms around Harry in a tight hug. Harry froze for a moment before settling closer, hugging her back. “We were all really worried about you.”

“It was . . . just a dream,” he said, and Ginny nodded to him, showing her understanding. Despite the darkness of the night, the moon already risen high in the sky, he could see her sympathetic and caring brown eyes clearly in the night, and so he dangled his legs over the side of the branch, offering Ginny to climb up next to him.

Graciously, with Harry’s help, she hopped upon the branch and seated himself before looking at Harry. “A dream . . . or a nightmare?”

Harry paused for a moment before answering. “A nightmare, I guess.”

“What was it about, Harry?”

Were it any other person tonight asking him the question, Harry would not have been inclined to answer, but he had decided quite some time ago not to exclude Ginny from his life, and he was not going to make an exception now. Harry took a calming breath, steeling himself for the emotions that would come as he retold the dream. “I . . . I could see my parents in my dream. And then I saw him. I saw Voldemort. He had . . . used the Cruciatus Curse on them. Then he killed them before my eyes, saying that it was my fault that he was killing them.”

Here Harry swallowed deeply, pausing a moment before continuing the tale. Ginny placed one arm across Harry’s back, resting her hand on his shoulder, and her other over one of his hands, trying to comfort him as much as she could. “What happened then?”

Harry took a deep breath and then looked down at Ginny’s hand upon his own. “I wanted revenge. You can’t imagine how much I wanted it. I wanted to kill him myself, to use the Killing Curse on him, but before I could, then he showed me you. You were there with him, and you couldn’t move. He threatened to kill you if I did something, and if I didn’t, he would kill me. It was either my life or yours, and . . . I couldn’t do it. I . . . I couldn’t . . .”

Before he knew it, he was actually crying, a few stray tears streaming down his cheeks. He fell into Ginny, who was already pulling him towards her in an loving embrace, holding him gently. “Shhh, it’s alright, Harry. I’m still here with you.”

Soon, the tears began to dry up, and Harry lifted himself from Ginny, shaking his head at her. “I’m such a fool,” he admitted, looking earnestly now into her eyes. “I had thought that keeping you away from me would keep you safe. I had thought . . . that if you were just my best friend’s sister, he wouldn’t touch you; you’d be safe.” Harry shook his head as his shoulders sunk. “Yet despite it all, no matter who you are to me, you’re just as involved as you’ve always been.”

Ginny considered this for a moment, her blazing eyes staring brightly at Harry. “So does this mean that we’re getting back together?”

“Er . . . what?”

“Oh don’t play stupid with me, Harry Potter,” she said, her voice sounding quite charming and playful. “Every time you return to the Burrow, you always find some time to spend with me, just you and I. It’s almost always during the night when everyone’s asleep, when we shouldn’t be out of the house, without telling anyone where we’ve went. I’m not as unobservant as you think, and I also know you better than anyone else!” Harry almost looked quite taken off guard, as if his darkest secret had just been flung into the open. “And don’t you forget for a moment that you’ve also told me those secrets Dumbledore has told you! You know—about that power that you have that Voldemort doesn’t have, that power of love? Here you are, tossing aside the greatest ally that you’ve got,” she said rather sultrily while winking at Harry, “trying to protect her when all you’re doing is weakening yourself.”

Ginny paused for a moment and then continued, her voice much quieter. “Harry, I’ve waited for you for eleven months. All this time, I’ve not seen anyone else because I’ve waited for you, and I would easily wait for you for as long as I needed to, because out of all the boys that I’ve been with at Hogwarts, out of all the boys I’ve ever even met there, you’re the only one that I ever actually felt like I could be myself with. After I got to know you, I didn’t have to worry about saying my mind to you, even when it wasn’t something you wanted to hear. I always knew you’d understand. Only with you has it ever been quite like that, no one else. You are the one I want, Harry, the only one. It’s because of that why I’ve waited for so long for you. But if it comes down to you worrying about me regardless of whether or not we’re apart or together, then it’s absolutely ridiculous for us to be apart. If it does us no good to be apart, I would rather take my chances into my own hands and be with you. Everything else is just absurd.”

Harry looked absolutely stunned. It was as if she had cast one of her infamous hexes on him, blasting his mind into stupefaction. He merely blinked for a moment, his mouth incapable of speech until finally he was able to stutter a few words. “You . . . you’ve waited for me?” Harry asked, his voice sounding disbelieving, but in all honest he was quite touched . . . and surprised. Ginny merely nodded quietly, patiently waiting for Harry to find his reaction. “I . . . I don’t know what to say. I . . . I . . .”

Ginny chuckled slightly and titled her head down so that she could only see him by peering upwards. “You know, sometimes you needn’t say anything at all. You could, for example, do like you did back in the Gryffindor common room and ki—”

He needed no further prompting, Closing his eyes, Harry leaned forward and firmly pressed his lips onto Ginny’s, kissing her like he’s wanted to do for quite some time. Ginny, not seeming to mind the sudden interruption, responded immediately with her own kiss, and the long-forgotten feeling of sparks electrified through Harry once again. With every second that passed, the feeling of the weight upon his shoulders lifted from him, freeing his heart once again to dare love like he’d been afraid to do all this time. A moment of guilt rushed through him, feeling badly for realising that his promise to Ginny at Dumbledore’s funeral had been quite unnecessary, but it was only a passing moment as Ginny swept herself into Harry’s mind, filling him completely with the warmth of compassion and love. As they slowly parted, their eyes opening to look into each other’s, they suddenly both laughed as if they were children, all the while feeling the heat of the rekindling of that familiar flame.

“Thank you, Ginny,” Harry said quietly. “I definitely needed that.”

“For me as well; I’ve been waiting for months after all!” she quipped.

They shared another laugh as they began to pull each other in once again, but, as they did, they heard a soft crack coming from the woods behind them. They pulled apart quickly, and Harry grabbed the Invisibility Cloak from his pocket and threw it over the both of them. They remained motionless, barely breathing, as the sound of footsteps noisily trudging across the forest floor approached. A figure then emerged from the trees a small distance away, and the frail moonlight gradually revealed a pale face, covered with greasy, black hair, and a body covered by a thick, black robe.

“Is that—?” asked Ginny softly.

“Snape,” hissed Harry angrily.

For a moment, Snape looked around the field, at one point in Harry’s direction, but he hastily looked away, merely seeming only to be surveying the magic around the Burrow. After a few seconds, seeming pleased with his observations, he took his wand out and took a few more steps out of the woods, now clearly in plain sight. His gaze finally focused upon the house once more, and a smirk spread across his face. Without any more hesitation, he proceeded towards the Burrow, his wand at the ready.

Harry and Ginny looked at each other with horror on their faces.


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