The Lost Horcrux

Harry's Secret Suffering

Disclaimers: Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history.

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Harry woke in a heap on the cold floor. It was still dark, so he reasoned he couldn't have been splayed there for more than an hour or two. He had slid from the bed and collapsed to the floor with a dull thud, totally spent. His skin was soaked with sweat and, as his magic receded, he knew he wouldn't make it back to his room without aid. He summoned Rhian, made her cast a spell on Hermione for dreamless sleep, then had her whisk him to his own room with no more than the lightest of pops. However, it took a little more than light persuasion to get her to leave him be once they were there.

Harry loved his elves, but they could be immensely trying. He did allow Rhian to fetch him a Pepper-up Potion from Cassie's stores, but then insisted he be left to his own recuperation.

Harry checked, re-checked, then checked again that Rhian had actually gone. He even swept a spell over the room to make sure she wasn't just hiding, or making herself invisible. She was apt to resorting to such sly tricks to keep an eye on her stubborn Master. When he was satisfied that he was quite alone, he locked the door to his top-floor suite with the most powerful spell he could muster and moved into his bedroom.

The first thing he noticed was the picture of Hermione on his nightstand. It was from the day of Bill and Fleur Weasley's wedding. Harry had coaxed Neville to get Ernie MacMillan to 'acquire' a picture of Hermione for him, without raising too many suspicions. In hindsight, it probably raised every red flag there was.

He never asked how he actually got it, but Harry didn't care. He had the picture and that was all that mattered. And Hermione looked so shockingly beautiful in it that all Harry had to do was glance at the picture for his mood to improve. Every time he did, he tried to unravel the mystery of why he hadn't been so mesmerised by her that day, when he was actually there with her in the flesh. Why it had taken him so long, and a near-death experience, to fully appreciate just how beautiful a girl Hermione Granger truly was?

Harry knew the reason was distinctly Weasley-shaped.

But he didn't want to dwell on that. He'd broken enough things on their account for one night. So he dwelt on the picture instead, let his eyes linger on Hermione's slender form a little longer than he'd normally permit. The moving photo was the one indulgence he'd allowed himself for the past few years, but he didn't want to besmirch it by taking liberties with the time he was consented to look.

Her dress that day had been cut to form, and it accentuated all of her womanly loveliness. Harry feasted on her image, got lost in it, but he had to remember how to breathe. He recalled Dumbledore once telling him how men had wasted away before the Mirror of Erised. He could certainly relate to the concept now, could certainly imagine wasting away before this moving vision of elegant beauty before him.

Then she did something she'd never done before ... and blew him a kiss.

Harry was so taken aback by the action that if anyone had happened upon him they might have thought he'd been hit by Petrificus Totalus. Hermione's picture always acted the same way ... she waved at him, smiled, perhaps gave a twirl or a curtsey to show off her dress. But she had never blown kisses. Why had the picture changed? Harry was deeply fascinated by it. It brought a speeding thrum to his pulse and warmed his chest. It was the most insanely cute thing he could imagine.

Then his chest ached for an entirely different reason, and he remembered why he'd dismissed Rhian so firmly. He didn't know which of Ron's blows had caused this particular injury to Hermione, but a hairline fracture to the sternum more than hinted at the severity of the assault. Harry scowled at the thought. Then he gave Hermione's picture one last, slightly bewildered, look and crossed the room to the ornate bookcase in the corner.