Chapter- 49 : Fraudulence Part - 7
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Harry sat down opposite her with his back to the water. He so wanted to sit by her side and throw an arm around her shoulders to offer what little comfort he could but knew she would only shy away. She had ever since the battle at Hogwarts.
"This can't go on," he said quietly, looking straight at her. She, in turn, was fully focused on her fingers as they idly ripped apart a blade of grass in her lap.
"George has been almost catatonic for weeks. Molly has cried and cooked so much that I think I ate more salty food this month than ever before in my life. Horrible as that is, at least I understand. You, however? You won't even talk to me."
His little speech over he looked for any kind of response or recognition, but she didn't give him a sign she'd even heard. He deflated and looked down at the ground himself.
"I... I don't know what I expected, really, when the war was over. I hoped you would be happy and we'd kiss and make up." His cheeks heated a little at the blunt phrasing, but honestly the prospect had lost a little of its lustre by now. "I feared you would have found someone else or be angry for me breaking up with you and you would never want to see me again. Instead, you're" - he gestured helplessly - "this, whatever it is. You need to talk to me and tell me what I did wrong."
At this her head shot up and she shot him a look so full of hurt, disappointment and betrayal that he flinched back.
For a long while she silently stared, but Harry was so relieved he'd gotten any kind of response from her that he held himself back from making any kind of noise.
"You died," she finally whispered so softly it was barely audible.
His shoulders slumped. Many people had expressed their displeasure with him about that. "It was the only way. I told you, my scar was a horcrux-"
"Not that," she hissed, furious for the briefest of moments before her eyes watered and she once again looked at him, heartbroken. "You're Harry Potter! Harry Potter is not supposed to die."
Brown eyes flashed with betrayal and she bit out, "How could you!?"
His gut clenched as a horrible realisation pierced his brain like a shard of ice. "You're not even upset with me, are you? Your Hero let you down, instead."
She looked confused, and that's when he knew.
"I'm sorry," he said as he stood up and wiped the dirt from his hands. "I don't think we should see each other any more."
Even now, six months later it made him clench his jaw in anger.
All the time she had pursued him she had chased a dream, one of some storybook hero. A hero that would fight for her and her family. A hero that would get hurt, but always get better. A hero that was strong and invincible.
A hero... that wasn't him. His apparent death had driven it home and now that she finally understood that she felt betrayed like he had led her on. In the end she'd never really seen him as a person.
Harry had stayed out of her way from that moment. Come to think of it, he'd never even yelled at her. A betrayal like that deserved that much, at least some kind of punishment.
How would she ever learn if nobody taught her how wrong it was what she'd done, the shrew? Really, he should Apparate to the Burrow right now and give her a piece of his mind.
He should storm in and yank her outside by her hair and then beat her until she was within an inch of her life for-
Wait, what? Ginny – the bitch – was in another universe and this world's Ginny – bloody bint – had never even met him.
She deserved it, anyway. How dare she not meet him.
The confusion was enough for Harry to realise something was very wrong and sweating heavily he staggered backwards until he was once more on the main road. The compulsion wavered until he broke it with a mental jerk and a violent shake of his head.
Breathing heavily, Harry's quavering legs failed to hold him up and he scrambled backwards on his hands and heels until his back hit a tree on the other side of the road where he sat, wide eyed and chest heaving.
What the hell was that?
It must be a repelling ward, he realised distantly, although it was unlike any he had ever seen before. It was a typical Muggle-repelling trick to make unwanted visitors remember something important somewhere else, like leaving the stove on at home, but this...
With a sick feeling he realised Voldemort would find it funny. He'd want to keep people away, but why do something as mild as make them remember something important when you could torture them instead. Make someone beat their ex-girlfriend to death with their bare hands. If not for the fact that his was forever lost to him the trap would have ensnared him too.
Harry sat there, wide-eyed, breathing heavily like a race horse.
It appears he found the Gaunt shack.
Merlin, he was an idiot for thinking he could do this on his own. He'd been caught without his wand out even – not that it would have done him any good.
The Gaunt shack wasn't even visible from where he was sat; at least fifty yards of trees and plants were in between. On top of that, the repelling ward, nasty as it might have been was probably only the first line of defence so people wouldn't stumble upon the actual traps. A sudden series of people violently dying on the spot was hardly inconspicuous, after all.
He couldn't do this, he realised and his shoulders slumped as he deflated. He simply didn't have the skills required to get through the traps. Without someone like Hermione or Dumbledore by his side he would just be cannon fodder.
For fifteen minutes he sat there, shaken up and certain that he couldn't get any closer, yet unwilling to concede defeat and leave.
Only after he got sick of his own wallowing did he slap himself upside the head for his defeatist attitude. So what if he couldn't go in himself? He hadn't been able to approach the Goblet of Fire either, but that could simply have been circumvented by asking someone else to do it in his place.
The circumstances weren't exactly similar, but they were close enough that they applied. Still, asking someone to do that for him was inhumane...
He perked up and searched his memories for the right spell. Raising his wand he drew a sideways figure-eight before jabbing through the centre. "Serpentsortia."
This was his first time casting the snake summoning charm and the results were not quite as advertised. What landed with a thump on the ground in front of him was a cross between every breed of snake he had ever seen or heard of. A tiny head with bulbous eyes and overly large mismatched fangs was attached to a six-foot long body that was alternately thickly coiled with muscle or thin as his little finger and more appropriate for a snake a tenth its size. It looked disastrous to the point it was comical and reminded him most of an incorrectly inflated balloon animal.
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