It Increases As It Goes

CRESCIT EUNDO

Harry listened to Uncle Vernon lock the door, and to his footsteps growing quieter. Harry's fluctuations in mood, however dramatic, went clearly unnoticed and unheeded by Vernon. He hadn't the foggiest that, at this time, Harry was as unlikely to leave his room as Dudley was to enter it.

A clock ticked quietly.

Harry buried his face in his pillow and wondered: if he stayed like that, would he smother? He sunk his teeth in and bit down, willing the pillow to give way. It hurt his jaw, and he let go. The pillow slowly regained its original shape.

Progressing into one of his restless phases, Harry slid off his bed, onto his feet, and began to pace the floor.

What if they expelled him? They couldn't: it wasn't fair- the dementors! Where was Hedwig? Someone had to tell him what was going on. They were going to, he was sure, in the message that Hedwig was going to bring back. If only he could talk to Dumbledore, he would make him admit how unjust it was to leave him here, like this, in the dark.

Harry paced with even more ferocity. He felt the anger building inside him with each passing year, growing and adding up and leaving no room for anything else. And there was no where for it to go; NO WHERE FOR IT TO GO.

Harry sat down, and put his face in his hands. Maybe if he looked away from the window for long enough, Hedwig would appear there. He stole a glance: nope, no luck. He sat there for a moment, gazing out at the tops of the trees of Privet Drive. The light was leaking from the sky.

Harry reached under his bed and pried his loose floor board up. He pulled out the knife that Sirius had given him for Christmas last year. It was a pen knife, but there were special attachments: one to unlock any lock, another to undo any knot. He chose a normal-looking blade, and ran his thumb along the edge experimentally. No rust: it would never rust, it would always be sterile. He put it against the inside of his left wrist, and had the presence of mind to choose a place lower down, away from the visible veins and arteries.

It was surprising how rational and clear his mind seemed.

He put pressure on the knife and it slid smoothly into his skin, severing the ties between millions of living cells. Beads of blood gathered beneath the surface and swelled from the edges of the wound. He didn't want to wipe it away, which was odd: he had never much liked blood before. Harry tentatively made another cut, parallel to the first. It was deeper. Harry put the knife on the floor and then lay down beside it. He was shaking uncontrollably, and his throat felt blocked as though he had been crying.

Harry concentrated on quieting his breathing: in, out, in, out. It was the hardest on the way out, ragged, fragmented breathing. It was in this silence that he was creating came the sound of a distant crash, from the kitchen below. He sat up slowly and reached for his wand, listening intently. There were voices coming from downstairs now, too loud to be burglars. Who could they be? Harry stood carefully, his dripping arm forgotten: he was focused on the task at hand. He turned slightly, intending to fetch his knife to unlock the door, but, with a loud click, the door opened smoothly onto the dark hallway.

Harry raised his wand. His throat had cleared, his hand was steady. He walked quietly into the hallway, and along to the head of the stairs, where he froze at the sight of eight or nine wizards standing in the shadows below, regarding him quietly. A low, growling voice said,

'Lower your wand, boy, before you take someone's eye out.'

'Professor Moody?' Harry asked cautiously.

'I don't know about "professor." Never got around to much teaching, did I?' Moody growled. 'Get down here. We want to see you properly.'

Harry lowered his wand obligingly, but only a little. This might be the real Auror, Mad- Eye Moody, but then again, it might not be. The next voice Harry heard, however, relieved him of these worries.

'It's all right, Harry. We've come to take you away.'

Harry closed his eyes in relief. He was shaking again.

'P-Professor Lupin?' he said. 'Is that you?'

'Why are we all standing here in the dark?' said another voice, a woman's. 'Lumos.'

A wand tip flared, held by a young woman sporting violet hair, illuminating the group below.

'Oooh,' said the said woman, 'he looks just like I thought he would.'

Mad-Eye Moody, it seemed, was having the same doubts about Harry that Harry had had about him.

'Are you quite sure that's him, Lupin?'

After convincing Moody that, yes, he was, indeed, 'Harry', he descended the stairs, attempting to put his wand in his back pocket. Moody berated him promptly, and began to banter with the violet haired woman on the subject of wand safety.

Lupin held out his left hand, and shook Harry's warmly.

'How are you?' he asked, looking at him closely

'F-fine.'

Lupin withdrew his hand and gazed at it for a moment. There was blood on it.

'Harry,' he said seriously. 'Harry- what happened to your wrist?'

Harry's throat was blocked again, and so was his mind, because he couldn't think of the right thing to say. Hadn't he wanted Lupin to see? He had, but he couldn't remember, for the life of him, why.

'N-nothing- Hedwig. She... it was an accident,' he stuttered.

Lupin nodded, silently, his face very solemn.

'Nasty one, that,' said the violet haired witch, looking over his shoulder.

'We are leaving, aren't we?' Harry asked. 'Soon?'

'Almost at once,' said Lupin, regaining his voice almost as quickly as Harry had done, 'we're just waiting for the all-clear. This is Alastor Moody, Harry,'

Lupin proceeded to introduce 'his guard': Nymphadora Tonks, the violet haired witch; Kingsley Shacklebolt; Elphias Doge; Dedalus Diggle, who once bowed to him in the street long before Harry knew about wizards; Emmeline Vance; Sturgis Podmore; and Hestia Jones, next to the toaster.

They talked for a while, and Harry was quite enjoying his first opportunity to converse with witches and wizards after a summer of isolation, but Lupin checked his watch.

'You'd better go and get packed, Harry,' he said.

'I'll come and help you,' offered Tonks, brightly.

They walked to his room together.

'Funny place,' Tonks was saying. 'It's a bit too clean, d'you know what I mean? Bit Unnatural. Oh, this is better,' she added, upon reaching his room.

His room was quite a bit messier that the rest of the house. Harry started picking up his possessions and shoving them haphazardly into his suitcase.

Tonks looked around, eyes lighting on the blood on the floor, and the knife. She pretended not to notice, instead walking over to his open wardrobe and examining her reflection in the mirror there.

'You know, I don't think that violet's really my colour,' she muttered. 'D'you think it makes me look a bit peaky?'

'Er-' said Harry, glancing at her and taking the opportunity the wipe the knife off and shove it into his bag while she wasn't looking. On a second thought, he also pulled on a sweat-shirt. She watched his reflection in the mirror, knitting her eyebrows but staying silent.

'Yeah, it does,' she said resolutely. She bit her lip and donned a look of intense concentration. And her hair turned pink. Harry just gaped at her.

'I'm a Metamorphmagus,' she explained. 'I can change my appearance at will. I was born one. I got top marks in Concealment and Disguise during Auror training, without any study at all: it was great.'

Harry continued to pack, and was quite obliged when Tonks used a spell to pack for him. He guided his trunk (which Tonks had elevated for him), and Hedwig's cage, and proceeded out of the room. The moment his back was turned, Tonks pointed her wand at the blood stains on the carpet and very discreetly cleaned them up. It wouldn't do for any ruddy insensitive muggles to see that.

When they arrived back downstairs, Moody began to explain to him where the Dursleys had got to, and Tonks slipped away. Harry watched her out of the corner of his eye. She tripped.

'Oh, sorry Remus!' she said.

'It's fine,' Lupin replied.

There voices became quieter, and Harry could no longer hear, so he turned his full attention to Moody.

'...think they've been short-listed for the All-England Best Kept Suburban Lawn Competition. Tonks' plan, a good one at that: did the job, all right.'

'Can I borrow him for a minute, Alastor?' Lupin asked, coming up behind Harry.

Mad-Eye conceded, and Harry turned away to face Lupin.

'Come here Harry,' said Lupin, beckoning him into the living room where they were alone. 'I have some gauze, (borrowed it from Mad-Eye, he always has some), for your arm, I noticed it was bleeding quite a lot.'

'Oh, okay,' said Harry, looking anywhere but at Lupin.

'Here, let me do it for you,' he said, to Harry's surprise and pleasure. He could not lie to himself: some attention was welcome after being alone for so long. Lupin took Harry's arm and gently rolled down his sleeve. The two cuts were bleeding, slowly but relentlessly.

Harry allowed himself to look at Lupin, now that the man's attention was directed to Harry's arm. Lupin's face reflected concentration, and worry, perhaps. He was looking at Harry's arm, carefully wrapping it in gauze. Harry wondered if the gauze wasn't entirely ordinary, because he could swear the bleeding stopped as it touched his skin. He had opened his mouth to ask, when Lupin met his eyes and spoke.

'Don't hurt yourself anymore, Harry,' he said, surprisingly frank. He rolled Harry's sleeve back over the gauze and released Harry's wrist. Harry looked away, again, clutching his arm.

'I didn't- I haven't-' He broke off.

'Look at me,' said Lupin firmly.

Harry complied, reluctantly. He was taken off his guard by the tenderness in Lupin's expression. Lupin put out a hand and gripped Harry's shoulder bracingly.

'I'm not judging you, Harry,' he said resolutely. 'You have every right to do this. But it isn't worth it: it's unhealthy, it's dangerous.'

'I don't think that it's dangerous,' said Harry, even though he knew that it was exactly the wrong thing to say.

Lupin sighed released his grip on Harry's shoulder. Harry regretted what he had said immediately. What he had wanted to say was: I want someone to talk to, but it seemed stupid and it wouldn't come out.

'Don't worry, Professor,' he tried, as a sort of apology. 'I've only done it once; this was a first.'

'Good,' Lupin said, without relish. He spoke slowly and deliberately, as if he wanted to say more than he could, so it was important that Harry listen. 'Make it your last time too. I'm not judging you, Harry. I find it worrying that you would do this- hear me when I say that it is hurting you, and cutting more will hurt you even more. I want you to know that, if you need someone to talk to, you can come to me, even if you think it's stupid, or melodramatic. Do you understand?'

Harry nodded numbly. It had all happened in such rapid succession that he had not had time to think it over for himself. Harry was glad that Lupin had not asked him any questions, because he could not have answered them. Maybe Lupin understood that.

They walked back to the hallway where the knot of witches and wizards was waiting for them. Harry realized, a moment later, that he should have thanked Lupin, in the very least.

'We've got about a minute, I think,' said Lupin, when they had rejoined the crowd.

*

Dinner that night was more eventful than it need have been, reflected Remus. If they had simply kept Harry better informed, a lot of needless anxiety could have been avoided. Not even he could have predicted, though, the effect all this was having on Harry.

Remus let his eyes wander cautiously back to Sirius.

Mrs. Weasley was ushering them out of the kitchen: Harry, The Twins, Ron and Hermione. When she had disappeared, Mundungus lit his pipe almost immediately, inhaling green smoke into his lungs and exhaling it across the table. Sirius waved it away with his hand, and coughed.

'It's bad enough not being allowed fresh air, without you fouling it up for me, Dung.' he said bitterly. Mundungus waved his words away, and exhaled more green smoke.

'Oh, it'll diffuse, don't you worry, Black,' he said. 'Science, doncha-know: muggles study it.'

'That's all very well,' said Sirius, uninterested, 'but if you're going to smoke down here, then I'm not going to hang around.' He looked around the table before he left, looking at Remus last of all, and shut the door quietly behind him.

'Tell me about Science, Mundungus,' said Arthur Weasely eagerly.

'Well, it's about the way things work without magic, you see?' explained Mundungus. 'As they can't use it, they have to learn how to get on without it, don't they?'

'Fascinating, fascinating,' said Arthur.

Tonks rolled her eyes at Remus, who smiled indulgently. She inclined her head towards the door, and raised her eyebrows pointedly.

'Well, you'll have to excuse me,' Remus said, tucking his chair in and exiting the room quietly. He walked up the stairs slowly, given his first moment to be alone with his thoughts that night.

Sirius was milling about in the front hallway, eyeing the curtains that covered his mother's portrait. When he heard Remus on the stairs he turned.

'You look worried as Hell, Moony,' he whispered. 'But then,' he continued, 'you always are.'

Remus felt a sudden, uncontrollable affection for Sirius, and kissed him lightly, on the corner of the mouth. He hadn't expected Sirius to respond in kind, but Sirius didn't respond at all, at first. He gazed past Remus, at nothing.

'When I was in Azkaban,' whispered Sirius hoarsely, his eyes slowly making their way back Remus' face, 'I could barely remember you. The dementors took that all away. But I could remember- I could remember these scars...' and he took his finger and traced the diagonal scars across Remus' face. Something inside him was stirring again, like wings unfolding and preparing for flight after long disuse.

That was when Molly came down the stairs, and Sirius drew his hand away slowly, as if his reflexes were dulled.

'You two,' Molly said, shaking her head, 'standing in this hallway. I don't know what possesses you,' she passed them and continued down the stairs to the kitchen.

'Before I forget, Sirius,' Remus whispered, 'we've got to keep a special eye on Harry.'

Sirius looked at him grimly.

'He had blood soaked through his sleeve. I didn't ask,' he said sharply, troubled.

'I thought you'd notice,' said Remus, 'but don't - he doesn't need to be lectured about it. He hasn't made a habit of it yet.'

'Well then let me talk to him; let me get through to him. Someone has to. No one knows what It's going to be like when they start. They don't know how hard It is to fight off.'

'No, Sirius,' said Remus, 'at this point it's hard to know what exactly is causing his behaviour, and what will make it worse. It isn't the same for every-'

Just then Mundungus came trudging up the stairs, followed by Molly, Tonks and Arthur.

'See you later then,' said Tonks cheerily.

Mundungus nodded his goodbye, and they both slipped out the door.

'Staying the night again, Remus?' Molly asked conversationally.

'I don't see that I have much choice,' he replied. 'It turns out that I'm not welcome back at my flat. Something about hearing an animal in there - we aren't allowed pets.'

'Bet you couldn't have gone on paying the rent, anyway,' said Sirius.

Molly gave him a scolding look, as if to say it wasn't a laughing matter, but he was right.

'Shall I make up the spare bed for you, again, then?' she looked pleased.

'No need, Molly, no need,' said Sirius. 'That's all looked after.'

*

The banner that Mrs Weasley had hung in the kitchen, over the dinner table, read:

Congratulations

Ron and Hermione

New Prefects

Fred rolled his eyes at him, and Harry grimaced, wishing that he didn't agree entirely. He was still feeling neglected and under-appreciated, in spite of himself.

'I thought we'd have a little a little party, not a sit-down dinner,' said Mrs Weasley, beaming and adjusting the tablecloth. 'Your father and Bill are on the way, Ron. I've sent them both owls and they're thrilled.'

Kingsley Shacklebolt and Tonks were already there, as well as Sirius, of course, and Lupin.

Harry decided to go fetch a butter beer for himself, and took a detour past Lupin on his way, hoping he would say something. Lupin was, however, involved in a discreet conversation with Sirius, and simply smiled at Harry as he passed. He caught only a few words as he passed; he thought he heard Lupin say, consolingly:

'Azkaban would do that to a person.'

Mad-Eye arrived just then, shedding off his traveling cloak, and moving to greet Mrs Weasley.

'Oh, Alastor, I am glad you're here.' she said to him, still beaming, 'We've been wanting to ask you for ages - could you have a look in the writing desk in the drawing room and tell us what's inside it?'

'No problem, Molly...'

Listening to them, Harry realized that Mad-Eye must know what a boggart looked like in its true form. Mad-Eye was talking to Ron, now.

'Prefect, eh?' He asked, as his magical eye swivelled around to gaze into the side of his head. Harry had the very uncomfortable feeling that it was looking at him, and moved away towards Sirius and Lupin.

They didn't seem to mind their conversation being interrupted. Sirius smiled at him.

'I think I'll grab a drink, then,' He said. 'Be back in a minute,' Lupin watched him go with an odd expression on his face.

'How have you been, Harry?' Lupin asked good-naturedly.

'Not bad,' said Harry. 'We've been cleaning a lot.'

Lupin grimaced sympathetically.

'I know: I heard,' he said.

'Thank you for the gauze,' said Harry, quickly, awkwardly. 'I mean - my arm's getting better and all.' Lupin looked concerned and inclined his head, trying to catch Harry's eye.

'You taking care of yourself?'

'Yeah,' said Harry. 'Yeah, don't worry.'

'How can I not? It's a very serious issue, Harry.'

Harry swallowed, and nodded. In all logic, it was hard to believe that two minor cuts in his arm were anything to lose sleep over, but Lupin seemed to think so. Lupin seemed emotionally affected by Harry's action, and Harry liked that feeling. It wasn't power, exactly...

Sirius returned, and touched Lupin lightly on the shoulder as he rejoined them. From across the room, a voice rang out, and Harry turned to greet it.

'Well, I think a toast is in order,' said Mr Weasley, raising his goblet. 'To Ron and Hermione, the new Gryffindor prefects!'

Harry drank to them, as did everyone, and applauded.

Everybody began casually helping themselves to food. Tonks came up behind Harry and joined their ranks, smiling as if she'd never seen a dark night in all her days.

'I was never a prefect myself; my head of house said I lacked certain necessary qualities,' she said, pushing long red hair out of her face.

'Like what?' asked Ginny. She poked suspiciously at the closest baked potato, and selected the one directly behind it.

'Like the ability to behave myself.'

Harry looked at Tonks bitterly. Sometimes her optimism was refreshing, but other times it made him down right depressed. Ginny continued her inquiries.

'Sirius?'

Sirius simply laughed at the idea of that.

'No one would have made me prefect, I spent too much time in detention with James. Lupin was the good boy, he got the badge.'

Lupin gave this a nostalgic smile.

'I think Dumbledore might have hoped I would be able to exercise some control over my best friends,' he said. 'I need scarcely say that I failed miserably.'

Harry felt suddenly more at peace with the world: almost happy, and why not? He was with the people he loved most dearly, and his best friends were prefects. It was not a time for bitterness. So what if he wasn't made prefect? His father hadn't been either.

Harry went to fill his plate with food, carefully keeping close to Lupin so he could hear whatever he might say. He wasn't listening too carefully just then, however: Lupin was with Hermione, talking about elf rights.

Mrs Weasley asked him, very suddenly, if he agreed with her about Bill's hair, but he escaped, slipping away to go speak with Fred and George. The two of them and Mundungus were talking very quietly, away from the general mêlée. Mundungus hushed up in a hurry when Harry approached, but Fred winked at him and beckoned him closer.

'It's okay, we can trust Harry,' He said confidently. 'He's our financial backer.'

'Look what Dung's got us,' said George, holding out his hand so Harry could have a look. Harry didn't have the slightest idea what they were: rather small, shrivelled-looking black pods, emitting a rattling noise from within.

'Venomous Tentacula seeds. Need 'em for the Snackboxes, but they're a Class C Non-Tradable Substance,' he explained, 'so we've been having a bit of trouble getting hold of them.'

'Ten Galleons for the lot, then, Dung,' said Fred, causing Mundungus look scandalized.

'Wiv all the trouble I went to to get 'em?' he exclaimed. 'I'm sorry, lads, but I'm not taking a Knut under twenty.'

'Dung likes his little joke,' Fred said to Harry.

'Be careful,' Harry said warningly.

'What? Mum's busy cooing over Prefect Ron,' said Fred. 'We're OK.'

'But Moody could have his eye on you,' Harry said meaningfully.

That was enough for Mundungus and the deal was closed at ten Galleons.

'Cheers Harry!' said Fred, as he and George hurried off upstairs.

Harry's mood plummeted again. He wondered what Mr and Mrs Weasley would think of his position as the Twins' 'Financial Backer'.

To take his mind off of it, Harry sought out Lupin in his peripheral vision. He was talking to Kingsley Shacklebolt.

'... why Dumbledore didn't make Potter a prefect?' Kingsley was saying.

'He'll have his reasons,' said Lupin.

'But it would have shown confidence in him. It's what I'd've done,' Kingsley continued, ''specially with the Daily Prophet having a go at him very few days...'

Not wanting to look to Lupin as if he was eavesdropping, Harry cast around for something to do, and settled on getting more food, ignoring the protests of his stomach. He could barely remember that he had ever enjoyed this party. There was nothing enjoyable about it. And why would Lupin say that? What reasons could Dumbledore possibly have? Didn't Lupin think Harry worthy of the prefect badge? It suddenly made Harry sick to his stomach to imagine what Lupin must think of him, practically catching Harry in the act of cutting himself. Harry's only consolation was that Lupin couldn't possibly know that he had wanted to be caught.

Mrs Weasley announced her decision to turn in, and Harry wondered if he could as well, without attracting attention. He felt drained; he longed to lie down in his bed and be alone with his thoughts, as confusing as they were. He set down his plate, ignoring the food left on it.

'You all right, Potter?' Moody asked roughly.

Was he that obvious? Harry wondered.

'Yeah, fine,' He said, knowing it wasn't true. Both of Moody's eyes zeroed in on him.

'Nice to see those two getting along so well, again, eh?' said Moody, jerking his head towards Lupin and Sirius, who were standing together, again.

'Er... yeah,' said Harry uncertainly. Had they ever not been getting along?

'Come here, I've got something that might interest you,' Moody growled, retrieving a well-worn photograph from deep within his robes. 'Original Order of the Phoenix; found it last night when I was looking for my spare invisibility cloak,' He paused bitterly, 'seeing as Podmore hasn't had the manners to return my best one... thought people would like to see it.

*

It was about a week later, after having been sentenced to detention with Umbridge, but before having to serve it. Harry was lying in bed, and struggled to summon the peace of mind he needed to sleep. No one had ever sung Harry a lullaby that he could remember, but if he had been able to remember, that's what he would have been wishing for.

Harry couldn't believe that he was looking forward to a week's worth of detention because he had told the truth, and how they all whispered about him in the great hall, how everyone thought he was a nutter, just because he had told the truth. Even Professor McGonagall had been callous towards him. Sirius understood him though. He wished he could see him. And Lupin: he wanted to see Lupin very much. Lupin was so sympathetic.

Harry sat up in bed, slowly, not wanting to rouse anyone be rustling the comforters too loudly. The gauze was still wrapped around his arm, where it had been caringly placed by Lupin. Harry looked for the end and picked at it tentatively. He had kept it there for comfort, but he felt an unusual compulsion to see the damage he had done. He peeled the end up and unwound the strip from around his arm.

There they were. Two gashes in his arm, healing nicely. They were almost black, and the skin around was slightly yellow, but there was no sign of infection, nor had they bled since the gauze had been put on. Some old blood was left there, dried: he had not let the water touch his arm when he bathed himself.

Harry pinched the skin on his arm a little bit, and then got up to look among his clothing for Sirius' knife. When Harry brought knife back to bed with him, he left the curtains around his bed slightly open: to let some moonlight in.

When he was finished he shoved the knife under his pillow, and tried in vain to calm his breathing and rest... rest. Harry turned over, to lie on his left side, which seemed more comfortable for the moment. He could hear the sleep-deepened breaths of Ron, and many others, overlapping like a harmony. Harry turned over again. He didn't want to listen to the breathing anymore: he felt as if it was suffocating him.

Five minutes later, Harry wrapped the used gauze around his arm as tightly as he could, and walked down to the common room in search of solitude. It was empty when he arrived, and he chose his favourite chair by the fire.

The magic in the gauze was had clearly disappeared when Harry had removed it from his arm: he could see the blood soaking through, but he didn't care, he was so tired...

He lay back in his chair and gazed at the fire, eventually falling into a fitful sleep.

In his dream he was back at his hearing, and Lupin was there, stroking his hair and saying his name over and over again.

'Harry?'

'Harry.'

'Wha...?' said Harry groggily.

Harry opened his eyes to see the Weasley twins, standing over him. George clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

'Well, isn't this a pretty picture, Fred?'

'I suppose we'll have to get him to the hospital wing, won't we?'

'It does seem the right thing to do.'

Harry sat up and looked around. His arm was still bleeding, and both his clothing and the chair had soaked up a great deal of it. He could smell it; salty and faintly metallic. He tried to get up, but his head spun and his legs gave way.

'Oh, don't be silly, Harry, we don't expect you to walk on your own,' said Fred.

'And don't mention it:' George assured him, 'we don't mind in the slightest.'

'Helping you out is a right nice excuse for being out this time of night;'

'Saves us the trouble of being careful.'

Together, the Twins hoisted Harry to his feet and supported him between them with ease. He felt faint and shaky, and was glad for their help. They walked this way through the portrait hole, and for quite away through the corridor. Harry lost track of where they were; he was feeling weaker and weaker. But he figured that they were almost there, when Snape materialized from the shadows and halted their progress.

'What would bring you boys out of bed, at such and ungodly hour?' He asked, sneering.

'Harry's had a nasty accident, you see, Professor,' said Fred.

'Indeed,' said Snape, lip curling.

'And we thought it was our duty to help him out,' said George.

Harry, who could no longer support himself, as they had discreetly loosened their grip on him, slid to the floor, trying to resist the blackness seeping in around the edges of his mind.

'Seeing as he obviously couldn't get there on his own,' Fred concluded.

Snape raised his eyebrows.

'Well, you two may go back to your dormitory. I can certainly take it from here,' he said, 'but if you let me catch you on any detours, you will regret ever acting the good Samaritan.'

The last thing Harry saw was Snape conjure a stretcher, before the world shrunk to the size of the head of a pin, and then away completely.

*

'Oh, good, Minerva, you're here,' said Madame Pomfrey, shutting the door to the hospital wing silently.

'I was informed that there is a matter which concerns me...?' asked Professor McGonagall quietly.

Madame Pomfrey nodded grimly, and gestured towards the door behind her.

'I've got Potter in there; Snape brought him to me, out cold, with three wounds in his arm that would not stop bleeding,' she said.

Professor McGonagall's eyes widened.

'He is okay, though, Poppy?' she asked, thoroughly distressed.

'Of course,' she replied. 'I stopped the bleeding without a hitch, and gave him some Blood-Replenishing Potion. He'll be dining in the great hall, come morning.'

'There is the matter, however...' said Professor McGonagall, slowly.

'Of where he got the wounds; yes,' continued Madame Pomfrey. 'That is why I thought it appropriate that you be summoned, as his head of house.'

'May I speak to him? Is he awake?'

'He is awake,' she replied bitterly. 'I can't make him lie down.'

Harry stood by the window as Professor McGonagall entered. She came up right behind him, so that the hair on the back of his neck stood up.

'What happened, Potter?' she asked.

Harry swallowed. He had that feeling in his throat again, and his voice shook:

'N-nothing Professor,' he said, knowing it would not be enough.

'If there is anything in the castle, anything dangerous, you should tell me about it,' she said. 'It wouldn't do -'

'There's nothing. I told you!' he said, a little too sharply.

Professor McGonagall was a little taken aback.

'All right, if you insist on being stubborn, then there is nothing I can do. But when you feel like talking, Potter, I think it's important that I know what caused this.'

*

'Now, Ms Bell,' Umbridge said to Katie sweetly, 'you've only until five o'clock to write lines. I've scheduled another detention at that time,' she smiled sickeningly. 'So you'll have to write as many lines as you can in this short while, in order for the message to sink in. Otherwise I may ask you to return at this time tomorrow evening as well. You will write: I must not indulge in truancy. There will be no need for ink.'

Katie bell looked at her parchment. How would Umbridge know when the message had sunk in? There was no need for it, really, she had simply been up late with - someone - the night before, and had slept through her first class; she wasn't a truant. She smiled at her impulse to be discreet, in Umbridge's presence, about who she was up with last night, even in her own thoughts. It was a good impulse though: the need for secrecy was, indeed, great.

Katie considered herself lucky, though. Potter, she knew, was the one scheduled for the detention at five, and he had whole week's worth to go. She put the quill to the surface of the parchment, and began to write. I must not indulge in truancy.

She froze in horror. For a moment the message was carved into the back of her hand; it healed quickly, faster than any real wound. She watched it progress through each stage of healing: clotting, swelling with histamine, scabbing, and, finally, disappearing.

'What the bloody hell is this?' she exclaimed, panicking.

'I will ask you, Ms Bell, to watch your language,' said Umbridge, blatantly ignoring the fact that Katie had, in fact, asked a question.

Katie took a deep breath; maybe she was over reacting. Maybe she could handle this.

I must not indulge in truancy.

I must not indulge in truancy.

Katie threw down the quill in horror. She was shaking. She wanted to hate what that quill was doing to her. All those months of curling up in her bed and resisting the urge, turning her will power against it...

She pushed herself away from the lace-draped table much too hastily, and the chair tipped over, falling loudly to the stone floor.

'Ms Bell - ' Umbridge started, but Katie was already at the unlocked door, forcing it open, and running pell-mell down the hallway.

She gathered up her robes in both hands to make running easier, running past peeves, who hurled a couple curse-words at her as she passed, and down a flight of stairs. She tripped on the way down, banging her knees and slimly missing the chance to be trod on by a group of Raveclaws on the way to their common room. One of them, slightly removed from the rest, offered a hand and helped Katie to her feet.

'Be more careful,' she said, and Katie noticed that the girl's wand was tucked behind her ear. 'These particular stairs will trip you on purpose, I think.'

Katie thanked her, and walked at a statelier pace until she turned the corner, when, again, she broke into a run. When she was within sight of Professor McGonagall's office, she slowed to a walk, attempting to catch her breath, and entered calmly.

Professor McGonagall looked up from her desk.

'What is it, Katie? Is everything all right?'

Katie shook her head. The tremors were getting worse, her throat was sluggish and blocked, but practice allowed her to summon a relatively normal voice.

'I just left detention with Professor Umbridge, a-and she's going to come after me and y-you -' Katie steadied herself, 'you have to get me out of it.'

'Don't be silly, Katie, if you've been given detention -'

Katie interrupted, anxiety rising in her voice.

'You don't understand. You don't understand! She's making me write lines will a quill that cuts the words into you and writes with the blood!'

McGonagall looked horrified, but kept her composure.

'Can you show me the cuts, Katie?' she said, very seriously. Katie shook her head.

'No, they heal right away.'

McGonagall nodded. It couldn't have been that then. Besides, she realized, Potter didn't have a detention yet, not until five-o-clock that night, so it was impossible.

'I'm sorry. As disgusting a punishment as that is, as long as it isn't doing any permanent damage, I cannot force her to stop.'

'Well-' said Katie, 'but what about just me? You're my head of house...'

'I can't give you special treatment like that, my dear. That would be inappropriate,' said Professor McGonagall, tenderly.

'It wouldn't be like that! It's doing permanent damage to me. It is! You just - you can't exactly see it...' Katie trailed off. She swallowed nervously, screwing up her courage.

'I'm not sure I understand exactly what you mean, Katie.'

'All right,' she said, checking behind her to see if the door was truly closed, hoping this was the right thing to do, 'I'll show you what I mean, but don't tell her, mind.'

Katie rolled up the sleeve of her robes, and pointed at her arm.

'Can you see these scars?' She asked.

'Yes, I know them,' said Professor McGonagall. 'And they aren't the -'

'No they aren't the only ones: on my stomach, my legs too. I'm a cutter, Minerva. You must have known that. I cut myself,' said Katie, 'and I quit five months ago. It's the longest I've ever been clean: not even half a year.'

Professor McGonagall looked down at her desk for a good minute, and then looked up at Katie.

'Katie, I didn't know -'

Katie blushed, ashamed.

'I used to get Fred and George to help me hide the new ones, ' she said. 'With magic: they're quite good with that sort of thing.'

'Did they never try to help you stop?'

'Oh, no, they did try,' said Katie quickly, 'but they respected my want for privacy, too, and that was something they could help me with.'

'Katie, if you want someone to talk to, there are witches and wizards at St. Mungo's, trained to -' Professor McGonagall offered, but Katie interrupted.

'No, I'm on the up, don't worry, just, please, get me out of this.'

Professor McGonagall sighed and got to her feet.

'I will do my best. I'll tell her that you had a panic attack, and I sent you up to Poppy for a Calming Potion.'

*

Harry assumed the common room would be empty when he arrived back from his detention that night, but he found the twins there. They were sitting at on of the tables with a roll of parchment between them, not bothering to whisper.

'No price is too steep, George,' Fred was saying, 'and this stuff is dynamite. There's some real gold here.'

They stopped speaking when Harry entered, and smiled amiably at him.

'Detention tonight, Harry?' asked George. 'We thought so.'

Fred nodded, and patted the bench beside him.

'Why don't you come and sit with us for a minute? We need a layman's opinion on reasonable pricing.'

Harry didn't see that he had much choice. Fred's offhand comment seemed more like a direct command than his tone of voice suggested.

'Harry, old chap, we were wondering,' said George, when Harry had taken a seat.

'And we were awake at night worrying, I can assure you,' Fred interrupted. 'Go on, George.'

'What happened to you arm last night,' George finished.

'Nothing,' said Harry, scratching at a burn-mark on the table.

'Can't fool us with a lie like that, now can he George? You'll have to do better than that,' said Fred, slapping him on the back.

'It's not like we haven't seen the likes of that before, Harry,' George agreed.

'Unhealthy:' said Fred, 'nearly killed someone we knew.'

'Nearly killed me already, didn't it,' said Harry nervously.

'All the more reason to stop,' said George. 'You are stopping, aren't you, Harry?'

Harry nodded. He felt like he'd never be able to do it again after that detention, anyway. The experiences seemed too similar, at the moment, for him to conceive of it ever being a personal feeling again.

'Good,' said Fred, 'because if you don't, we'll unleash a monster on you.'

*

Minerva had managed to get Katie out of detention once, and Katie was careful never to get into that situation again. She couldn't think of anything worse for her recovery than sitting in an office with Umbridge, being forced to as-good-as-cut-herself. Katie was fairly sure that if the necessity arose, she could ask Minerva to help her out again, even though they had drifted apart, but as Umbridge's power grew more absolute, she didn't know if it would do any good. What she did know was that this punishment, that the dreadful woman had conceived, was affecting students all over the school. Katie had herself as an example; she had relapsed. It wouldn't matter if Minerva got her out of half a million detentions, it was too late: five months gone to waste.

She reminded herself that it wasn't a waste. For the first time in her life she had really fought against the urge to cut herself, and she swore that she would never forget how to. She didn't tell anyone, she knew what they would call her: weak willed, self indulgent. It wasn't as if she didn't try.

Tonight that was what she was doing: trying. She did it every night, sometimes into the wee hours. And sometimes she lost, but she told herself that it wasn't fighting if she didn't lose sometimes.

There was one night, long ago, when she had cut herself 93 individual times in one sitting. She picked at a loose thread in her pyjamas, and closed her eyes with exhaustion.

*

'Sit down, Potter,' said Professor McGonagall.

Harry did so, wringing his hands in his lap, somewhat like Dobby used to do when he was disobeying orders. McGonagall continued:

'I was talking to your Godfathers, - excuse me: Godfather, - this past Hogsmeade

weekend, about your...' she paused, casting about for the words, 'episode, not long ago. Remus Lupin seemed concerned as well. You see, it wasn't until the following night that I realized you yourself must be the source of those most unusual wounds -'

'You told them?' asked Harry, his stomach twisting.

'Potter, as your teacher and head of house it is my responsibility to report any dangerous activities you indulge in, and -'

Harry snorted.

'Dangerous: they all say it's dangerous, or unhealthy. What do they know?'

McGonagall looked over her glasses at him.

'Well you haven't exactly displayed to us that's it's a safe practice, have you?' she said, her voice curt. 'They would like a chance to speak to you, but that isn't possible at this time, as you have your studies to attend to.'

'I couldn't go see them...?' he asked morosely.

'No, I'm sorry, Harry. How would you get there? But the holidays aren't so far-off, and I'm sure you'll see them then.'

Harry nodded.

'Maybe.'

'In the mean time,' said McGonagall, 'they've requested I keep an eye on you. And ask if you could, perhaps, turn in whatever... implement you used.'

'No,' said Harry stubbornly.

He didn't want Sirius to know what he had used. He looked at his hands in his lap. His cuticles looked ragged.

'Potter?'

'What?'

'You aren't still using it, are you?'

'No,' said Harry. 'No, I'm not using it...'

He looked out the window, at the night sky, where the light had long since leaked away.

*

'I'm going to turn in,' said Ron. 'I can't do any more of this Potions rubbish tonight.'

'OK,' said Harry, 'I think I'll stay on a bit longer.'

'I think you're turning into Hermione, mate. Since when did you care about homework this much? It's not good for you,' muttered Ron, packing up his books and heading up the staircase.

Harry looked around. The common room was emptying, slowly: there were a few stragglers by the fire, playing exploding snap; Ginny, dosing in an armchair by the fire; him and Hermione.

Hermione was running her finger down a number chart.

'I think it's nice you're finally taking an interest in your studies,' said Hermione.

They were silent for a while longer, Harry prolonging the writing of his transfiguration essay, editing carefully and attempting to find more information to cram in.

Harry heard a girl laughing behind him, and turned around to see who it was. Fred and George had just come through the portrait hole with Katie Bell, from the Gryffindor quidditch team.

'Don't let them distract you, Harry,' whispered Hermione bitterly.

She gave her notes a cursory look, and shut her books. She looked over at his paper.

'That looks good, Harry:' she said proudly, 'nice and thorough. I'm going to bed, but keep working. It's worth it, you'll see.'

Hermione got up and walked over to the armchair where Ginny had fallen asleep, nudging her gently. Ginny opened her eyes and blinked several times, before getting up. The two girls walked up to their dormitory together.

Fred and Katie came to sit at the same table as Harry, and Katie smiled at him. He smiled back.

'Good practice last night, eh?' she said to him, 'You've improved so much since your first year, Harry. If I had your talent, I'd go professional after Hogwarts, I would.'

'Thanks,' said Harry awkwardly.

George had gone over to the fire, where there was still a small group of third years playing exploding snap. They kindly offered to let him join, but he declined.

'No thanks boys,' he said. 'Don't you think it was time you kids got to bed, anyway?'

They took his suggestion, and cleared off. George watched them go, walking over slowly to join Harry, Fred and Katie, at the table.

'What you working on there, Harry?' He asked, sliding in on the bench across from him.

'Transfiguration,' said Harry nervously. The cuts on his arm began to itch, but he ignored them.

George smiled menacingly.

'Isn't that nice?' he said, 'Transfiguration, for McGonagall.'

He gave Katie a bit of a look, and she blushed.

'Why don't you show Katie,' said Fred, 'what you've been working on for the past two weeks?'

'What?' said Harry. How did they know? They had no business -

'Go on, then,' said George.

'Don't worry,' said Fred.

'She'll understand.'

Katie laughed nervously. Fred and George were not behaving unusually, but something about Harry's reaction made it seem a little, well, sinister.

'Lay off, you two,' she said, 'if he doesn't want -'

But Harry decided to show her. Why not? There was nothing wrong with it, after all. They looked kind of cool, actually. He rolled down his left sleeve, and she froze, speechless. An angry flush was crawling into her cheeks.

'So when did you start doing it every night, Harry?' asked Fred.

'I thought it was two weeks ago,' said George, 'could have been sooner, though.'

'We caught him quite early on, half bleeding to death.'

'Tried to warn him.'

'But he didn't listen.'

She looked from Harry, to Fred, to George, and back to Harry again.

'That's not allowed,' she said suddenly. 'NOT ALLOWED.'

'I - what do you mean...?' asked Harry, startled.

'I was called pathetic, you know. And you - if anyone had warned me -' she exclaimed, 'if anyone had said it was dangerous - god - I bet you're not even fighting it, are you? I bet you think it's okay, don't you? It'll kill you. And you just sit there and show off to me. Well I think you're pathetic. See. Bet that feels right unfair. It's not fair -'

She paused for a moment, and looked at Fred.

'It's killing me, you know that? Killing me,' she turned back to Harry, 'and you don't even know what's It's gonna be like yet. You'll never be strong enough, two years from now you'll never kick it,' she laughed bitterly. 'Two months, even. I've been - I've done it for five years now, you know that? And for four of those years, four out of five, I'VE BEEN TRYING TO QUIT. Try Harry. Bloody try before It gets you, and you better listen to me and do what I say, because you'll regret anything else,' she got up, 'Trust me.'

Fred watched her storming off, and winced. George patted him on the shoulder.

'No worries mate;' he said, 'she needed that.'

Harry covered his face with his hands.

George looked back at him, and then Fred did too. They both grinned widely.

'We did warn you we'd unleash a monster,' said Fred.

'Though it was rather cruel,' said George.

'Because in the right mood, she can give Mum a run for her money, no doubt.'

George gave Fred a look, and then said:

'Well, Oedipus and I are off to bed, and it's high time you went too.'

'No lingering,' Fred agreed.

'And take her word on it, Harry,' said George. 'Granted, it was a bit confusing.'

'But we're sure you got the jist.'

*

Katie shut the door of her dormitory and sighed deeply. Her throat felt raw: she wasn't accustomed to yelling, but it was effective, she had discovered, at relieving her anger. Who knew? Of course, she would regret it in the morning, and probably apologize. It weighed heavily on her chest now, that she couldn't help Harry, despite her experience with the same problem. It wasn't the same for him, she reckoned, it couldn't be the same for anyone. But it hurt her to see people doing it, and, though she didn't like to admit it, she wanted to be the only one.

All her dorm mates were asleep, now, putting all their wars to rest. Was everybody fighting? Did everybody hurt?

Katie sat down near the window, and gazed out at the grounds below, slowly being touched by autumn. Two weeks ago, when the leaves started to fall, Fred Weasley had begun bringing her the most beautiful ones from the Forbidden Forest. They came in every colour: purples and blues spreading down the veins; handsome golds and rich scarlets on quidditch days, to match the Gryffindor colours. She wore them in her hair. Just yesterday he had brought her a perfectly formed oak-leaf the length of her forearm.

'What about Angelina?' Katie had asked him.

But he only grinned.

'Angelina doesn't like leaves,' he said. 'Not everyone's a great nutter like you.'

She supposed it was a bit nutty, but she did like the leaves. She loved to look at them, to hold them up to the window, and watch the light shine through. She suspected Fred had put a spell on them, because they did not crumble, nor did the colours fade. She had devoted rolls and rolls of parchment to documenting them, taking notes on the colour and drawing a silhouette of the shape, finding out from Professor Sprout what the tree from which they came might be called. It was something to occupy her mind at night, to cure her occasional insomnia.

Katie touched the cuts on her arms. Two weeks clean was not a very long time. But she had learned to regard any amount of time as long enough to be the beginning of forever.

Fin

1