Harry's Grief - 1

"Harry–" her mum said, but he didn't give her time to finish.

"If I'm the one who has to stop him, I need someone to show me how to do it. I need to learn how to kill him," Harry said, his eyes blazing. "Can you teach me?"

Moody nodded solemnly.

"Potter…" Professor McGonagall said, apparently at a loss for words.

"What?" Harry shouted, rounding on her. "Am I supposed to continue to sit back and let him take you all one by one? Nothing changes in the end – it's still up to me. I choose to do it while there are still some of you I care about left."

Turning on his heel, Harry stormed from the room, roughly bumping his shoulder on the side of the portrait hole as he did. Both Hermione and Ginny moved to follow, but her father's soft voice stopped them.

"Let him go. He needs to burn off some steam."

They all stared at the empty hole for a moment, even Draco – looking pale and strained – was oddly silent. Professor McGonagall broke the stillness.

"Alastor, we'll put the Aurors in the Ravenclaw dormitories. You can get Filius to help you with that. Molly, can you please put the Dursleys in one of the empty dormitories here? Dobby can prepare the room. Dudley can join Mr. Malfoy, I believe he's currently alone on his floor."

"I'm not going to share a room with a Mud…er…a Muggleborn," Malfoy said, catching himself under Professor McGonagall's stern gaze. He shook his head as if to clear it.

"You'll stay wherever we have room, Mr. Malfoy," Professor McGonagall replied briskly.

"Malfoy?" Dudley asked, staring at the blonde for the first time. "I've heard Potter talk about you."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Charming."

*~*~*

After all the sleeping arrangements were settled, and Madam Pomfrey called to tend the injuries, Ginny quietly slipped out of Gryffindor tower in search of Harry. She knew his heart was breaking, but she wasn't certain what she could do about it, other than to grieve with him. At least she could ensure that he didn't have to go through it alone.

She knew instinctively where to find him. Pushing open the heavy front doors, she hurried outside into the cold night air. None of them was supposed to be outside the castle after nightfall, but if Harry were hurting, he would have gone to the Quidditch pitch.

As she approached it, the lights were blazing, and she could see a lone figure swooping around the rings. Rather than searching for the Snitch, he held a Beater's bat in his hand. She watched as he swung it at an approaching Bludger, admiring the way his taut muscles rippled when he moved. She could understand how he felt – the idea of beating the crap out of something was immensely appealing right now.

Turning suddenly, as if he knew he was being watched, Harry's body relaxed when he saw her. He flew down and landed on the grass near where she stood. A fine sheen of sweat covered his skin, despite the chill in the air. His eyes still held that same, haunted, deadened expression.

"Hey," he said, scuffing his toe on the ground.

"I was worried," she whispered, slipping her hand inside his gloved one.

"I'm all right – been here before," he said, shrugging.

"I know," she replied, wiping the damp hair from his forehead. "I'm sorry, Harry."

He nodded without speaking, and she watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed heavily. Pulling her into his arms and resting his chin atop her head, he whispered. "Why him? Why does this keep happening to me? Just when I think it can't possibly hurt anymore, he– Why did he do it?"