42. The Battle Within

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Hermione passed Kreacher on the stairs as she made her way down to the main floor.

"Good morning, Kreacher, " she said.

The old elf glanced her way before slowly carrying on up the stairs.

"The mudblood is talking to Kreacher again. Is she aware of strange things? Kreacher thinks not," he muttered, and then gave a strange little cackle.

Hermione watched him pass by Ron who yawned and scrubbed his head as he came down the stairs.

"I don't know why you bother," Ron said.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

"He's never going to change," Ron said. "You're wasting your time."

"You changed," she retorted. "I figure if you could make changes in your life, then why not Kreacher? Everyone deserves to have the right to choose their own path in life, including elves."

"Even if that path doesn't agree with yours?" Ron muttered.

"What was that?" Hermione asked.

"Nothing. I'm going to find something for breakfast."

"There was a book I wanted to read from the library, so I'll be downstairs in a minute. Have you seen Harry yet?" Hermione asked. "He didn't come up last night."

Ron raised his eyebrow at her, and Hermione became very flustered.

"Not that I was waiting for him or anything, mind you, I mean, I was just wondering..."

Ron rolled his eyes. "No, maybe he fell asleep in the Library," he said quickly to cover his laughter as he moved away.

He really wasn't in the mood for an argument or any further discussions this morning; he was hungry. He made his way downstairs to the kitchen and was in the process of pulling the eggs out when he heard Hermione's frantic cry.

"RON!"

The eggs lay splattered and forgotten as he ran up the stairs, wand out and ready. He reached the library just as Luna appeared beside him. They rushed in to find Hermione sitting on the floor with her back to them, sobbing quietly. As Ron approached, he found out why: Harry's head was cradled in her lap, the gold locket hanging from his neck.

"Bloody hell, Harry," he said. "What did you go and do that for?"

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Harry was laying face down. He could hear someone calling his name, so he rolled over and looked up towards the blurry blue sky.

"Harry!" he heard again.

He sat up and groaned. He felt like he had gone a round or two with a Hungarian Horn-Tail. His glasses were handed to him and he looked up at the concerned face above him.

"Are you okay, son? You gave me quite a scare," his father said.

"Dad?" Harry said.

He was confused. Something wasn't right. He looked around; searching for... what was he searching for? Last thing he remembered was falling...

"Harry? Are you okay? You must have taken quite a hit to the head. Do you want to rest?"

Harry took the hand that was offered to him and stood up looking around.

"If you're looking for the snitch, it took off after you dove for it. It headed towards the far end of the field," his father said.

The snitch. That's what he was looking for, wasn't it? He could see vague shadows in the back of his mind, but every time he tried to grasp them, they disappeared. He must have hit his head harder than he thought. Harry looked at his dad, who was looking at him worriedly.

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