Songs of Regret

Harry Potter sat at the small wooden table inside of the large, drafty tent. He wore a blank expression and stared ahead of him at nothing in particular. His hands idly rolled the snitch that Dumbledore had willed him back and forth across the rough, unpolished surface.

He was exhausted physically, emotionally, and most definitely mentally. He knew that his psyche was near the breaking point and worried that if this ordeal didn’t end soon that he’d go the way of the Longbottoms and find himself with a permanent bed in a mental ward.

He continued to roll the snitch as his stubborn brain lurched on with question after question despite its fatigue.

How are we going to find the next Horcrux? What the hell could it be? Why had Dumbledore thought they could do this? How could the universe have ever allowed for a man such as Voldemort to exist in the first place? Why was his life so hard?  How many losses was he going to have to suffer? How could Ron just abandon him like he had?

Harry stood then and paced beside the table, clenching the snitch in his cold hand.

All he wanted was to live a peaceful life. Was that really too much to hope for? His steps became heavier and faster as his agitation grew at his thoughts.

How dare Ron, his supposed best mate, leave them!?

Emotions now exploded in Harry’s chest and he growled out loud and kicked the chair that he had just moments before occupied.  Now on top of everything else he had to worry about Ron being out on his own, worry about his safety, worry that he might be captured, worry about how hard his departure had been on Hermione.

Oh, Hermione.

Harry ceased his pacing, reached his hands up and scrubbed his face, pushing his head back with a deep sigh. “Thank the gods for Hermione,” he thought quietly. If it weren’t for her he surely would be dead already.

He looked over at the plain canvas walls of the tent that were shuttering under the intense wind that blew outside and thought of the young woman that he knew sat on the ground beyond them.

He made his way to the flapped entrance of the tent, stuffed the snitch in his pocket and stepped outside. He pulled his coat up around his neck and face to shield them from the harsh wind, looked out upon the nearby landscape and saw her sitting some meters away in the distance.

Hermione’s brown curls danced about her bowed head from the wind as she read the book in her lap. She was perched at the very edge of the cliff they had settled on and her legs dangled over the precipice. She shivered as she turned the page and Harry suddenly felt a restored sense of love and appreciation for his friend.

He knew that she had suffered just as he had.  She had endured more than her fair share of fear, ridicule, pain, and loss. And what was more, she took it all on voluntarily just to help him. Hermione was not the Chosen One. She didn’t have to expose herself to the trials and hardships that came with helping The Boy Who Lived. She could have thrown in the towel at anytime and left him to face the suffering alone.

But Harry knew that Hermione would never leave him. Her heart was fierce and loyal and she possessed an intense passion to rid the world of injustice. If there was ever anything in her power that allowed her to lessen the anguish of others, even at the risk of her own well being, she used it. Hermione Granger would sooner die than desert a life in need.

Harry looked down at her and noticed that she was now eyeing him from her spot on the ground. She gave him a weak smile and patted her hand on the flat rock beside her to invite him to sit. He joined her at the ledge and after getting himself settled turned his reddening, weather beaten face to her. She closed the book she had been reading and Harry read the cover:  Articles of the Ancients: a Guide to the Dark Objects of Olde.

Harry was impressed that Hermione had managed to stash a fair amount of books concerning dark arts and objects in her bag before they had been forced to set out on their seemingly endless journey to discover Voldemort’s Horcruxes. Whenever they weren’t searching for food or walking, she had her nose in one of those books searching for any tidbit of information that might help them on their quest. Harry was glad that she had the distraction. 

Hermoine shivered again and Harry wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “So,” he began, “find anything new?”

She sighed audibly and shook her head, “Nothing useful, no.”

Harry knew that she was trying, but he couldn’t help the feeling of frustration that crept back into his chest at her admission. She had been at it for weeks. How could she not have found anything to end this misery? He frowned slightly in concentration.

“What about that pearl-thing you read about before,” he ventured.

Shaking her head again, Hermione reopened the book in her hands to the page that contained the information she had found earlier about the pearl in question. “The Paenitentia Pearl is not even worth discussing again,” she said matter-of-factly.

“But -” Harry started to argue.

“But nothing, Harry. I know you think an object that could reverse your biggest regrets would be great, but it wouldn’t work like you’d imagine. And that’s if we could even find one. I’m not certain they even actually exist. Finding one would be more difficult than all of these Horcruxes combined. And besides, from what I’ve read, the thing would most likely cause more regrets than it would solve.”

At this she scooted herself away from the cliff ledge, got up, and walked back to the tent.

Harry stared after her and furrowed his brow. He didn’t understand how being able to regret away Voldemort’s existence could cause more regrets. If they could just find a damn pearl and wish him out of being then they wouldn’t be in the mess they were right now. But Hermione’s tone had signaled that there would be no more discussion about the pearl. If she said that it wouldn’t help then he’d just have to trust her. She was his best friend and the brightest witch of their age after all.

A/N: Paenitentia is Latin for regret.