When the Snow Melts

The Golden Trio Once More

"About two weeks' worth," he mumbled.

She smiled brightly at him, trying to lighten the mood. "That's not too bad. We can finish that up in no time. We can meet up after class in the library and..." she had begun to ramble.

"Please don't," he interrupted. "I can do it on my own."

"Oh," she whispered softly, a hurt look appearing on her face. Seeing Hermione's sad expression set Ron on edge. He flushed angrily, glaring at his friend.

"What is your problem lately?" the red-head exploded. "Too good for us or something?"

Harry had been expecting this to happen eventually. It was just like Ron to jump to the wrong conclusions. His rage had been threatening to boil over for a while. Hermione could only restrain it for so long before it erupted. Harry buckled under the intensity of Ron's fury.

"That's not it at all," he explained, eyes downcast as he struggled with his emotions. "I'm just tired of you guys always fussing over me. It's not your job."

"Well someone has to," Hermione admonished. "Because you're certainly not."

He gave her an exasperated look that she ignored as she continued to rant.

"You almost died, Harry!" she exclaimed. "Do you have any idea what that did to me? To us?"

He sheepishly turned away, mumbling, "I know – I just – I'm not..."

He trailed off, struggling in vain to identify and put his feelings into words. His thoughts were in disarray, his tired brain was refusing to work properly. He hadn't been sleeping well.

Unbidden, the memory of last night's dream played out.

Sirius' hands were wrapped tightly around his throat. Cold dead eyes bore into him.

"When will you ever learn, Harry? Everyone who gets close to you will suffer and die," he taunted. "Let me end it for you?"

Harry nodded his acceptance. Bony fingers dug into the flesh of his neck. His breathing became erratic.

Neville's hand on his shoulder brought him crashing back to reality. All eyes were on him. His expression darkened.

"If you get close to me, you'll just end up getting hurt," he whispered ominously.

"That's not true, Harry," Hermione assured him, expression softening.

Harry gave her a dubious look, about to argue with her assessment when she cut him off.

"And even if it is true," she continued authoritatively. "That's not your choice to make – it's ours. We would be opposing Voldemort with or without you. Cutting us out of your life will not protect us from that."

Harry had come to terms with his fate over summer break. Accepting his eventual death had been easier than he could have ever imagined. What he had difficulty accepting was all the collateral damage his destiny was inflicting. If he stayed near them, they would die – just like... He struggled to push the memory down to no avail, he'd been avoiding thinking about it for so long.

<<<<<   >>>>>

Aunt Petunia's bloodcurdling scream echoed through the house in the wee hours of the morning. Harry was already bounding down the steps to find out what was happening outside. The front doorway stood wide; he could already see the blood from the end of the hallway. Aunt Petunia was shaking like a leaf, hand covering her mouth, eyes wide in horror. A few cautious steps down the hall and he understood the reason for her scream. Tommy's body, or what was left of it, was strewn in pieces across the front of the house. Three members of The Order stood out front with their backs to the house, wands in hand, guarding against another attack, a fallen death eater at their feet.

Dumbledore had decided that it was best if Harry stayed with his relatives until a more suitable safe house was found. Several members of The Order were assigned to keep watch on them while those arrangements were being made. One of them had been Tommy Shanklin.

He was an older man who had lost his muggleborn wife during Voldemort's last rise to power, forcing him to raise three boys all on his own. Two of them were members of The Order and the third worked for the Ministry. He was so proud of them and talked about them quite frequently.

If not for Tommy's company, Harry would have gone insane. With everything that had happened, he was having trouble processing it all. It helped that he had someone to talk it over with. It was nice having someone around that just treated him like a normal teenager, like a son even.

But now, the only reason he knew these were pieces of Tommy was because he recognized the wedding ring on the bloody hand that was lying on their doormat.

One of the three Order members turned back to check on him. With a sick feeling building in his stomach, Harry realized that it was Tommy's oldest son. He ran to the hallway bathroom to empty the contents of his stomach into the toilet, violently dry-heaving when there was nothing else there. How could he ever face them again?

When no further attack was attempted, it was decided that Harry should be moved immediately. His family was moved to a different location. They felt it was safer that way, less dangerous. Harry wondered who was in danger - him or them?

After that, his nightmares had taken a turn for the worst. It had been a regular occurrence for him to relive Sirius' or Cedric's death in his dreams. He half-expected to start dreaming about Tommy's death as well, but that was not what happened. Instead, his subconscious had taken on the form of his Godfather, warning him to keep his friends away, offering to kill him. It was getting harder and harder for him to tell truth from dreams.

<<<<<   >>>>>

Harry blinked away tears, taking in the determined expressions on the faces of his friends. Trying to protect them when they refused to keep themselves safe was a pointless fight – there was no winning. They were going to do what they wanted, and he couldn't stop them no matter how much he desperately wanted to.

As if he hadn't been seeing his friends properly for a long time, he finally took notice of them – noticed their haggard appearance, the weariness in their shoulders, the shadows under their eyes. He had been so absorbed with his own feelings that he hadn't really bothered to consider their feelings. They had been walking on eggshells around him, afraid to give substance to their fears, pretending everything was alright. He had shunned their concerns, shutting himself off from them, growing irritated with them when they pushed back. It hadn't been fair to them.

He felt himself slipping, becoming overwhelmed by emotions he had not allowed himself to feel, shaking against the force of it as tears ran unchecked down his face. He felt so miserable, so ashamed of how he'd been behaving.

"I'm sorry," he sobbed bitterly. "I wasn't trying to hurt you."

Hermione launched herself at him, wrapping him up in a tearful embrace. Harry buried his face in her shoulder, letting her comfort him.

"Just promise me you'll stop being so stupid," she scolded, her voice thick with emotion.

Harry nodded against her, not trusting his voice just yet.

"And no more secrets," Ron added for good measure, wiping tears off his face.

After their emotions had settled, Harry finally told them what had happened during his summer break and about the dreams he'd been having.

End Note: I am on a roll. I knocked this one out the day after the last but delayed posting it to go back through the story. I am sorry to have withheld it so long. Someone told me my story was crap and it really threw off my game. I had to go back over the previous chapters several times to nitpick at them. I'm not as confident as I pretend to be.