Means to an End
By Musou Misora
Disclaimer: HP and all its characters and concepts belong to J.K. Rowling and some other really rich people. Original characters and concepts belong to me—please ask before using them.
Prologue
Hermione breathed in the clear air of May's first dawning, its freshness more invigorating to her than tea or coffee. She had told Ron that she would sleep in today, getting in a bit of rest before starting up the NEWT study schedule on Monday.
Tomorrow, she thought. Sunday should be the day to rest. And what Ron doesn't know won't hurt my ears.
Besides, Harry was up.
Harry was always up, it seemed.
These days, the seventeen-year-old "Boy-Who-Lived" seemed to get by on a modicum of sleep; he practically lived in a caffeine-induced haze, not only studying for his NEWTs but also preparing for the final confrontation everyone was so sure would happen within the next few weeks.
But what Harry was preparing…now that was the million-Galleon question.
Not even Headmaster Dumbledore knew what was going on inside his one time protégé's mind. Harry had had a one-track mind the summer before sixth year: learn Occlumency, and learn it well. And he had. Driven by guilt and nearing insanity, the Order had witnessed untold numbers of owls carrying heavy, dark-bound books into the smallest bedroom at Number Four, Privet Drive. Harry had advanced in theory so much that summer it scared everyone.
Even the headmaster. Harry's wand movements and reflexes had surpassed what was expected of the most highly-trained Aurors, but when Moody had mentioned that he would practically be a shoe-in for advanced Auror courses, Harry merely shook his head and refused politely.
"After this," Hermione repeated softly from memory. "There will be no more fighting for me."
A small flutter of movement beside her snapped her back to reality. A slight breeze had brushed past her leg, and a shimmer accompanied it.
It's been nearly two years, mused Hermione. He's bound to get caught up in the moment sooner of later.
So Harry was sneaking around in his cloak, eh? Right in the corridor where the Room was located…she stopped.
"Harry?" she whispered suddenly. "You can't hide from me. Tell me what's going on."
The rustling of invisible cloth and a low chuckle greeted her ears, and she welcomed the almost-forgotten familiarity of the sounds.
"I knew I wouldn't get this one over on you," Harry whispered. "You might as well come in with me, seeing as you want to know and all."
"Ron's been worried as well," she replied. "But if you need this to be kept a secret…"
Her friend nodded curtly. "The less people know the better. I have a feeling what I'm about to do would be considered illegal or the final act of a desperate man. But you're like me—you don't belong in this world any more than I do."
Hermione was extremely confused. "Harry, we're wizards; of course we belong in this world!" Harry's face twisted into a faraway smile.
"You don't understand yet, Hermione, but you will very soon. But enough of this, we have work to do."
The door to the Room of Requirement swung open before them. Harry motioned for her to enter first, and she complied. A gasp escaped her.
The Room was filled with loose bits of parchment, large leather-bound books with ominous, archaic titles, a message board covered with written-over maps of Scotland, and a large blackboard with a series of calculated wand movements scribbled across its expanse. Hermione was flabbergasted…and horrified.
As soon as her friend entered the room, a steaming mug of liquid appeared in his hand. Harry smiled warmly at Hermione and asked, "Would you like something to drink? It's rather cool out tonight."
The young woman shook her head in a confused daze. "Harry…what is all this? You said you'd been studying this whole time."
"But I have been studying," he replied in a wry tone. He moved to stand beside her. "Hermione," he continued more seriously. "I've found a way to end this evil."
She didn't bother to look at him.
"It's very advanced, very dark, and very illegal."
Hermione snorted. "As if the world will care, as long as you get rid of that monster once and for all." Harry grabbed her arm and forced her to look at him. She shied away from his intense gaze.
"They'll hate me, Hermione," he whispered sharply. "The spell doesn't work right away. It's going to take time, and they're going to hate me for it, because they'll have lost everything long before the end comes."
His grip was like iron—she didn't realize he had become this strong. "Why, Harry?" she whimpered in pain. "Why do they have to lose everything?"
"Because the spell must be cast by the school, and the school uses its connection to everything within itself to make it work," he said, loosening his hold on her. "Don't you see, Hermione? Our world will lose its children."
"It—it won't kill them, will it?"
A bitter laugh erupted from Harry. "No, everyone will still live. But we can't go back to living until the school is finished with the spell. And that might take centuries."
Hermione was frightened by what her friend was saying. "Harry, I…"
A siren sounded. Harry rubbed his forehead gently. "He's here—it's time."
"No, we can't do this…"
"We don't have the luxury of backing out, Hermione!" he lashed out. They could already hear the echoing of spells and angry words through the stones of their beloved Hogwarts. Harry rubbed his scar again. "Good, he's inside the castle. It has to be done now."
Hermione backed away from him as he conjured a piece of chalk and drew runes on the floor of the Room. Time—death—preservation—evil—binds—destruction—salvation were the only ones Hermione's paralyzed mind could translate under this pressure. Her best friend was about to throw the lives of everyone in the school away, and all she could was watch.
Harry was standing now, gazing mournfully at her as if asking her to forgive him when the rest of the world would curse his name for all eternity.
The runes were glowing. They looked as if they had been etched in the floor for years, not seconds.
She was being ejected from the room.
The solid oak door swung closed.
At the last second, she remembered that she could open it again. She ran forward and met solid rock. She beat at it, screaming amidst broken bones and broken heart and broken soul. Why do I feel like this won't be the end of things? Why do I feel like he's simply prolonging something equally as horrible?
Her body wouldn't move anymore, and she could sense the same freezing feeling seeping into her mind.
Hermione drifted away into oblivion.
Time stopped for the inhabitants of Hogwarts.
The mourning cries of mothers and fathers throughout wizarding England resounded through time and space. Memory of a society ceased to exist, commerce and craftsmanship halting along with it.
Two years to the day, a small boy was born to Bill and Fleur Weasley. He was named Ronald Alexander, and became known as the first child born after the Great Loss.
Hogwarts, and most of its illustrious history, was wiped from memory. No formal center of education was built for the young witches and wizards of Britain. For all intensive purposes, life began for the magical community in the year 2000. Time passed, and soon all who remembered the name of Harry Potter were dead and buried.
End Prologue