Irrevocably

Beginning - Part Three

Knowing Voldemort was still out there–barely alive, yet clinging to life nonetheless–weighed heavily on me and Harry. It consumed my every thought, taking me away from the present and hurling me into the past–a past I knew I didn't actually remember, though I felt like I did all too well.

I had no time, no energy or effort, to give to anything other than Voldemort's return. I couldn't even think about what George holding onto me in the Dark Forest meant. Those festering feelings were clawing towards the surface but, with everything else going on, I kept them at bay. And as our exams drew nearer, I couldn't be bothered with something as trivial as worrying over my marks.

Everyone else–Ron, Hermione, the twins, and Dean–were scared of Voldemort, too, but they didn't give it as much gravity as Harry and I did.

They were scared, and sympathetic to our fears, but not plagued in the same way that we were.

Harry was ever-convinced that Snape was the one after the Philosopher's Stone. That he was Voldemort's servant and intended to resurrect him. While I wasn't entirely convinced, I didn't have enough ground to stand on to contradict him.

He was hardly coping with the new information Firenze had given him in the forest. I didn't dare to send him spiralling further by doubting him, especially when he needed me most.

His scar had started to hurt him, worsening day-by-day, and he was perpetually exhausted from the nightmares that refused to give him any rest. Though I didn't have nightmares, my mind was relentless—never slowing down long enough for me to find adequate rest, either.

Eventually, I caved. We needed to get through our exams, first and foremost, and I reminded Harry of this. While focusing on them given the circumstances was nearly impossible, we did what we could.

My brother and I would stay in the common room long after the others had retired for the night. After enough reading that his eyes were bleary, and his mind was preoccupied, he'd manage to fall asleep. I sat close enough to where his head could rest on my shoulder and, even in sleep, he knew I was right beside him.

He only got a few hours, if he was lucky. But it was more than he got without me.

We argued like siblings did, and didn't always agree, but Harry was still my first and best friend. So being there for him, even if it meant sitting uncomfortably for a while so that he could sleep, was easy.

It helped me, too. Knowing that he was there. I just never told him that.

Unfortunately, sitting awake meant my mind was able to wander.

What would it mean if Voldemort came back?

Would Harry be able to evade him again?

Would I be able to?

Luck saved me the first time.

Luck did eventually run out, though.

The last few weeks leading up to the end of school were busy: study, overthink, try not to think of Voldemort's impending return, study some more. If I wasn't studying religiously with Dean and the other Gryffindor first years, then Fred and George were quizzing me. They put on a good front of being nothing more than troublemakers, but they had some of the best marks in their year.

And if not with any of them, or propping up an exhausted Harry, Hermione sat on the edge of my bed, the two of us mindlessly stroking Cinder's soft fur while we studied until our brains hurt.

Once it was time to take our final exams, I somehow found myself well-prepared.

I wasn't as studious as Hermione, but I paid attention, gave it my best effort, and excelled in all of my classes all year long. Thankfully, it paid off. Plus, doing well in my exams meant one less thing to worry about until the end of term.