The Human Condition

Chapter Two: Green Sparks of Malice

Harry felt himself beginning to shiver and his breaths became shorter. He backed up to the wall and stared wildly around the dark room. His hands were clenching his sheets and his jaw started to quiver.

"My, we are scared," she said, just above a whisper.

"Go away," he responded.

"I think not."

"Leave me alone," Harry mumbled weakly, tugging at his sheets.

She sniggered at him. "Alone? You do not wish to be alone, do you?"

"Yes," he murmured. He pulled his covers, got underneath them, and brought them over his head. Harry screwed his eyes up tight and buried his head in the pillow.

"You cannot hide from me. I am not your uncle; bits of fabric will not make me vanish, nor will your feign of sleep."

Harry covered his ears and shook his head. "Please leave me alone," he whimpered.

"No, I cannot do that," she said lightly.

"Why not?" he asked.

"You know why. You know what it is I ask of you. Listen, Harry..." she said. "Do you hear that?"

The only thing Harry heard was a thumping in his ears, other than that, nothing.

"It is the sound of loneliness, the sound of despair. I can make it go away if you do as I ask."

Harry pressed harder against his ears, so that the ear piece of his glasses cut into his skin, but she didn't stop talking. "I told you this would happen," she whispered. "I told you they would do this."

"You did this!" he whined. "You did all of this!"

"No, Harry, you did. Need I remind you of our last meeting? Of our conversation? Of my generous offer to you? I know why you are frightened, I know what you fear, and I know what you think. You cannot win this battle, Harry. I have already won."

"No," he said sternly.

"Yes I have. They are watching you right now. They see you having a conversation with yourself. They are diagnosing you. They will have you committed for life, in which case I will still win!"

"Go away you sick bitch!" he screamed. He leapt off his bed, hit the floor, and tried to stand up, but he was too weak and tired. He collapsed on his back and struggled against his entangled sheets.

She was laughing at him again. He could hear her laughter echoing in his mind, getting louder and louder; a horrible, malignant laugh that sent a cold chill up his spine. "Go away!" he yelled. "Go away!" He turned over on his stomach and tried moving forward on his elbows.

Then there was a whoosh from behind him and a scrambling of four feet. Harry crawled faster. He didn't even realize that he was hyperventilating when he felt someone put their knee in his back, taking him down to the floor.

"Get off of me!" he said, his cheek on the tile. He tried pushing himself off the floor, but whoever was crushing him down was too heavy and strong.

"Relax, Harry, everything's going to be fine," one of the nurses said. "Just relax."

"Get off," he continued between his shallow breaths. "Leave me alone." But just then, the nurse holding him down grabbed his wrists and pushed. "No!" he cried, thrashing the best he could against them. "No, don't!"

"Shhh," the female nurse said. "Calm down."

He gave one more kick when he felt a sharp prick in his shoulder. "I'm not crazy," he mumbled. "I'm not crazy, I'm not crazy, I'm not cra-" he let out a long breath, his fingers unclenched, and he stopped shaking. The bedpost that he could see became very blurry as he stared at it. The nurses voices sounded distant and foggy. He tired to speak but no sound would escape his moving lips. The pounding in his ears slowed and his breathing became deep. He didn't want to close his eyes, but they seemed to be working independently from his brain. His lids felt like anvils and before he could try to stop them, they shut.

Marc walked into the observation room the next morning with a cup of coffee in one hand and a Danish doughnut in the other. "How did he sleep last night?" he asked the warden as he pointed into Harry's room.

"Like a baby once the nurses tackled him down and injected him with a sleeping serum." Marc turned to face him.

"Excuse me? Why did they do that?" He set his coffee and doughnut on a table and rested his hands on his hips.

"Well, you asked me to record him and I did. I'll play it back for you." The warden took a wand, waved it at the observation window and a blue screen took its place, followed shortly by the recording of the previous night. Marc watched the entire reel allowing his coffee to sit unattended. The steam disappeared, the moisture inside the cup slipped into the coffee which was soon cold.

Marc stopped the recording and sat down at the table.

"Well?" the warden said. "What do think is wrong with him?"

Marc shook his head and opened a thick binder which sat before him. "Sounds to me like he's delusional, or it could be schizophrenia of some type. I have to talk to him some more. What happened to the mystery woman who was here last night?"

"She left after we gave him a dose."

"Who was she?"

The warden shrugged. "Search me. They just told me to let her watch if she wanted to. She didn't show me any credentials, didn't even talk to me. Probably some bureaucrat."

"Maybe," he said, looking back to his binder. "Let me know if she comes back, will you?"

"Sure thing," he said.

"Is he awake yet?" Marc asked.

The warden walked over to the window. "Nope."

"How much potion did they give him?" he asked incredulously, now standing up and looking in for himself.

"I think it was about 20ccs," he answered.

Marc scoffed, turned on his heel, walked out of the door, and instructed the witch to let him in. Once inside he strolled over to Harry's bedside and looked down on him.

Harry was out like a light. He was sleeping quite deeply; his chest rose and fell in a very healthy pattern. His cheeks were taking on more color, which he thought a good thing, so he decided to let him doze.

He walked out of the room, told the warden to leave Harry alone while he was gone, then he himself left.

The bright sun left shadows on Marc's chiseled face. The wind swept his sandy blonde hair and the blue birds greeted him with song. He walked to his white car, unlocked the door, and shut himself in. He was never good with Apparation; he preferred the Muggle ways of transportation. He sat there for a while pondering his destination, debating who he should talk to first. He pushed the clutch, stuck his key in the ignition, and started the car. He headed for the Leaky Cauldron.

Sparks Publishing was located across the street from the Daily Prophet in Diagon Alley. It was a tall grey building with old fashion architecture. Once inside, Marc asked to see Miss Granger and was then escorted to her office on the third floor. It was a large building on the inside. Plenty of windows flanked the golden walls. Editors worked away in the main room, while the higher officials had offices and cubicles.

"Wait here please," her secretary said. She ducked into Hermione's office, mumbled something, and told him to enter.

"Doctor Simon," Hermione said, getting out of her high backed chair and making her way towards him. "It's nice to meet you," she beamed, shaking his hand.

"It's nice to meet you. How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine. Much better, actually. Can I offer you a drink?"

"No thanks. Do you like Publishing?"

"Yes. It gives me time to work on my group. Harry told me I was wasting my talents by not engaging in more meaningful work, but I humbly disagree. Sit down, please," she said, signaling to a chair. She sat down in hers and grabbed her cup of coffee. "How is he?" she asked tenderly.

Marc grimaced and leaned forward. "I'm not really sure. I talked to him for a few hours yesterday and I'm going back today. I wanted to get some different angles on him. He seems to me, and again I've only known him for a day so it's just an observation, but he seems rather cynical. Maybe that's not the right word. He doesn't seem like he's a happy man."

Hermione didn't make a face of disagreement. She looked down into her mug then back to Marc. "Why should he be right now? He's been locked up for over a week and none of us are allowed to see him."

"Miss Granger, what I saw of him suggested that he was not a happy man outside the hospital either. I know he's your best friend, but bear in mind his state."

"His state?" she said. "What do you mean 'his state'? Look, I don't think he's insane. You have no idea what it's like to be him. What if he's telling the truth? Have you considered that?"

"He put you in the hospital."

"He didn't mean to hurt me," she said. "I believe him."

"You didn't even hear what he said, how could you know?" he asked calmly.

"Ron filled me in. Look, I think he's been through too much and this really put him over the edge. You have no idea, you really don't, about how Harry works."

"I know I don't but I'm trying. Can you tell me what Harry was like before the incident at Hogwarts?"

She considered him for a moment, then shook her head. "He's a tough one to explain. He's changed a lot since I first met him. When I think about the Harry I met and the Harry I know it's as if there are two different people. When I met him he was good, benevolent easy to be around. Now..." she said, her eyes watering. "Well, he has certainly changed. After he saw Cedric die he became short tempered, bad mannered, and was even a bit rude to Ron and me. Then Sirius was killed and everything became worse. I think he really loved him and looked up to him. He always treated Sirius with a lot of respect. Then Harry lost him too." She paused and took a sip from her mug. "He became distant after that, with Ron and me. He didn't do it right away but he slowly put a lot space between us. And then," she said, motioning her head down, "Mrs. Weasley died. So his loss number weighed in around four and he was only sixteen. I suppose that was the one thing about him that was always consistent, from when he was eleven to now."

"What's that?" Marc asked.

"He was never whole. Dumbledore agrees with me. I couldn't put my finger on it for the longest time, but there was something missing to Harry. He didn't have someone of his own, never someone he could call his. Sirius was it and Harry only knew him for about two years." She sighed and took another swig. "But I don't want to give you the wrong impression of him. Harry may not seem like it, but he still has a good heart. He does what is right. He fights evil so the rest of us can sleep at night. He's been doing it for most of his life and look how the world repays him."

"But he's not kindhearted, isn't that right?"

"No, it's not. When I was taking care of him a few months ago he was vulnerable and kind to a fault. He has his moments when the young, happy Quidditch Seeker shines through. But then there are times, when he's around large groups of people especially, he's that street wise, short tempered, smart mouthed... well, you've met him."

"Why are you still friends with him then," he asked, "if he's that tough to be around?"

"I didn't say that at all. Harry has a hard life, Doctor, a really hard life. I'd like to see you walk in his shoes for a day. He's never had it easy, not ever. He's my best friend in the world. He treats me better than anyone ever has, even now. When he's rested and back home he can be so wonderful. You can't base Harry on what you've seen of him. A measly three hours is what you're going on?"

Marc stared at her, thinking of all she had said, wrought with contradictions. Was Harry as complex as she portrayed? Or was he a simple message simply encoded? Whatever he was, it didn't bring him, Marc, closer to the problem.

Harry stirred. He didn't know whether he could open his eyes or if would be a wise decision. His head felt detached from his body and swimming in a hot liquid of some sort. His entire body was numb and there was a funny taste in his dry mouth. He didn't feel much like moving. It felt like he was flat on his back, raised only at the head because of his limp pillow.

He opened his eyes, but they moved slowly. The white ceiling of his room looked quite blurry, seemingly moving in space. He turned his head to his left to see his glasses on the table. His arm didn't obey his non verbal command to retrieve them.

The passage to his room suddenly opened. From what he could tell it was a woman who came in. She was carrying a tray.

"Good morning Harry," she said sweetly. He immediately recognized her voice; she was the one who stuck him.

"Go to hell," is what he planned on saying, but it came out rather groggily so it sounded like "Goth ba lell." She seemed to understand him, for she frowned. Harry felt a little better once he saw that.

"Are you hungry? You haven't touched a thing since you came here. The potion will wear off much faster if it can metabolize," she explained.

If only he had his wits about him, he could have really slammed her with harsh repartee. But, being in no state to fight her, he curled up his nose instead. She then picked up something on a spoon and moved it towards his mouth. He tried lifting up one of his arms to stop her, but they were as heavy as steel beams. He sealed his mouth shut, closed his eyes, and turned his head away.

"Oh stop being a big baby," she said. She grabbed his chin and made him face her. "Now open up."

This was not happening. How could he let her do this to him? He'd killed Lord Voldemort, the most powerful wizard in the world, for crying out loud. He certainly wasn't going to let this nurse man handle him and tell him what to do. He tried turning his head again, but the potion was still lurking around in his veins, making him very weak.

"You need to eat. It's part of being alive. Now open up."

Harry opened his eyes and did his best to glare at her.

"Don't give me that face. I'll get help if I have too, you know. You need to eat something or you'll starve to death."

He knew she was lying. Still, he was hungry and eating would be good. But giving in to her demands would mean sacrificing his dignity, and he certainly wasn't going to do that. Not to mention he would be letting her win, therefore giving her satisfaction; that wasn't an option either. So he continued to glare, his stomach grumbling.

"You're stubborn," she said, clenching onto his cheeks. "Do you know that?"

He nodded and couldn't stifle a smile. She sighed, smirked a little, and set the spoon down. "I want this gone when I come back, do you understand me?" she said, pointing to the tray.

"Mmm hmmm," he said, keeping his lips sealed. He didn't know how she expected him to reach it due to his immobile hands, but maybe that's why she tried to force feed him...

"Fine," she huffed, then left.

She could have at least given him his glasses, but no, she had to throw a fit and leave. He tried moving his arms again, but they were still too heavy. The numbness was starting to wear down. He could move his legs a little and wiggle his fingers, but not much else.

And then the passage opened again. Harry was tiring of that stupid whooshing sound each time some idiot decided to come and gawk at him. What was so wrong with doors anyway? Why did it have to make that sound?

"Good morning Harry." Why, if it isn't Doctor Clueless, Harry thought. Didn't he deserve some veteran in psychology? Why did he get stuck with this bozo?

Harry groaned in response.

Marc walked over to his bedside table, picked up his glasses, and slipped them on Harry's face. "Is that better?" he asked. He walked to the far corner and brought the chair back over to where Harry was, then sat down. "You had a rough night, didn't you?"

He unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth to answer. "Must've been tough to figure that out," he drawled. "S'pose you had your goons watch me all night." He tried to sit up but he was still stiff. Marc pointed to the bed posts and mumbled something under his breath. Harry suddenly found the bed lifting him to a sitting position. He felt like he might be sick and fall face forward onto his knees. "Geez, what is this they have me on?"

"It's a sleeping serum mixed with the Drought of Peace. Apparently you got a little anxious last night. You were hearing voices?"

"A sleeping serum and the Drought of Peace? It's a wonder I'm still alive."

"Harry, did you hear voices last night?" he pressed on.

"They came in last night and tackled me to the floor, like I was some animal. I would like a little more respect from the staff here. I'm not a criminal you know."

"Harry?" he said again.

"I did not hear voices," Harry said truthfully. He hadn't heard voices, but a voice.

"Then who were you talking too?" Marc asked.

"The tooth fairy if you must know. She's never come to me before, I thought she was repaying me for all the lost teeth I'd put under my pillow."

"You're lying. That wasn't part of the deal. You said you would be truthful when I posed a question to you."

"Only to questions I want to answer. I thought you would have gotten the hint from my dodging the question. This process would go much easier if you grew a decent brain."

"Or if you could cut the sarcasm and answer me straight."

"No," Harry said, shaking his head but smiling. "See, if you had some sense you would understand my sarcasm. But that's beside the point. Yesterday you were all concerned about my life story, which I decided would become a best seller, and you wanted to talk about the break from Azkaban. Now you want to ask me about voices?"

"Who was it you were talking to?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "There you go again. If you only had a brain. The truth, Marcus, is that I've already told you who the voice belongs to. Go poke around in your file on me and find out for yourself. Now, when will this damn potion ware off?"

"Probably in a few hours. I'm sure if it could metabolize-"

"Yeah, well that's all well and good, but I can't reach anything because my arms are dead weight. See the dilemma?"

Marc smirked, pulled his voice recorder out of his robe pocket and turned it on. "Dumbledore's party, Harry. Tell me about it."

Harry sighed, closed his eyes, and collected his thoughts.

****************

November 11, 2003

****************

Harry walked into a beautifully decorated hall, glowing with a golden light, emitted from dozens of great chandeliers hanging from a tall ceiling. The ceiling itself was painted Renaissance style, depicting great battles from history. White pillars held the hall together, which rested on a shiny marble floor, littered with at least one hundred people, all dressed in fancy robes.

There was an orchestra playing classical music that filled the room with magic. Multicolored fairies were flying around enjoying the attention they were receiving from various onlookers. Harry cast around the room for a familiar face, or a place to drop off his gift when someone pushed him. He wheeled around to find Fred and George grinning at him.

"Well look who showed up to the party," George said.

"Didn't think you'd make it," said Fred.

"We figured you would be out saving the world," said George.

"Or at least kicking some deserving schmuck around."

"But we've digressed from the real issue."

"It's bloody good to see you Harry!"

He grinned and gave each of them a manly back-slapping hug. "How have you two been doing?"

"Ah well, nothing totally interesting," George said.

"Just the usual," said Fred.

"And business?" he asked, giving them a week.

"Oh, you haven't heard then," said George, looking mildly disappointed.

"If you think I'm going to fall for your jokes, you've got another thing coming," Harry replied.

"It's like I always said, George," Fred said. "Harry's like family."

"You know Ron's here. He brought a girl with him! Can you believe it? An actual female with two legs, two arms- "

"- a complete face that functions-"

"- a face that lacks most deformities- "

"- and going against popular opinions, she actually seems to like him."

"Alas, I thought the world would always make sense."

"Where is she?" Harry asked.

"Probably scanning the room for better looking gents, if you're asking me," Fred said.

"Like Hermione's new dish. You know, Harry, Fred and I were betting she would have picked you to be her life long love."

"Bill and Charlie bet against us and said she'd go with Ron."

"So we still have time to win."

"That is if you're up for it."

Harry laughed and shook his head. "I'm afraid not, guys. Listen, tell me where to drop off the gift and then lead me to your main gathering."

"Big long table that says 'Gift Depository,'" Fred explained slowly, pointing to the table.

Responding slowly back, Harry said, "Thank you."

"Our lot is way over there in the corner," George told him, motioning to a general area. The hall was elliptical, so there were no corners.

"Listen for laughter and Ron crying when his date leaves with Broadmoor."

Harry shook his head at them, still grinning, and went to deposit his gift. There were hundreds of presents; large ones that looked to be very expensive, volumes of books, rare magical items with silver bows attached, and many cards. Harry put his small packaged down, shaking his head at the others. Then, walking around the circumference of the Hall, he found the Weasley convention. There were Fred and George, demonstrating what must be a deadly sweet to a child; Charlie was discussing a new book with Hermione, who was dressed in a lovely gown of midnight blue; Bill was enchanted by his lovely companion, Fleur, who was now his betrothed; Ron was talking to a tall good looking man Harry assumed to be Luke Broadmoor, and also an extremely attractive woman whom Harry had known before. He made an about face before she saw him, then walked away.

If it was Dumbledore's birthday celebration, then where was he? He was a tall man with a gleaming white beard and hair, yet the only people Harry saw were boring witches and wizards all engaged in mindless chatter.

He started to feel himself get a headache as he wandered through the crowd, keeping his head low as not to be noticed. Maybe Dumbledore had not arrived? It was fairly early. Perhaps he wouldn't show for another hour or two.

"Harry!" a woman's voice said. He turned to face her and beheld an attractive girl of about his age, with long red hair and a warm bubbly smile.

"Hey Ginny. How goes it?"

"Fine I guess. I'm looking for my boyfriend, actually. You know, our group is over there," she said, pointing to the corresponding location.

"I know. I was just looking for the Professor. And well, there's sort of.... you see that girl Ron's with.... she's sort of my, well it's complicated really. I don't want to.... please tell me you know where I'm going with this," he said to her.

"You dated her?" she asked, looking mildly entertained yet conflicted.

"Sort of. It was never formalized, but she might be upset with me. So I was thinking I would avoid that inevitable difficulty, you know?"

Ginny laughed. "I totally understand you. I've been put in that exact circumstance. I'm more like you, with dating that is. I like to browse a lot."

"Hermione capped on me the other day because of that. She just doesn't understand the concept of dating."

"People like us need to look around and explore the possibilities," Ginny said.

"That's exactly right. Dating is like shopping for shoes," Harry grinned.

"You have to try a bunch on to really know which pair is best," she explained.

"Too true."

"But unfortunately you'll have to face Jennifer. What happened between you and her?"

"It was years ago, but I sort of talked to other women. She, by the way, was engaged in countless conversations with other young men, but I am the evil one for doing the same. I really don't get you women and your double standards."

"Well it happens. I have to be honest with you, Harry. I'm looking forward to the entertainment this conflict will bring me."

Harry offered her his arm as he made his way over to the group. "You're a sick human being with a completely normal personality and sense of humor," he said.

Ginny laughed, laced her arm through his, and started over to Weasley corner.

The conversation pairs had gone through very little change. When Harry stepped into the group, however, everyone ceased their babble and looked to him. Bill and Charlie greeted him warmly, Fleur kissed both his cheeks, Fred and George made countless jokes about him, Hermione hugged him, and Ron shook his hand fervently. Hermione was the first to introduce guests.

"Harry this is Luke Broadmoor. Luke this is my best friend Harry Potter," she said. Luke looked much taller than Harry had expected him to be, but perhaps it was his bulk that gave him his massive appearance.

"It's nice to meet you," Harry said, shaking his dark skinned hand. "Hermione told me all about your first romantic encounter."

Luke grinned. Harry suddenly felt very ugly. "And it's nice to meet you, Harry. Hermione talks about you incessantly."

"She must be bored stiff then. You're not doing your job," he said with a wink. Luke laughed.

"Harry!" Hermione said, slapping his arm; she didn't appear angry.

"And this," Ron said, bringing his date. Harry shifted uncomfortably as they approached, "is Jennifer Williams. Jen, this is Harry."

Having never done this before, Harry gave a sideways glance to Ginny, who nudged her head at him. He was going to explain, but Jennifer beat him to it.

"We've already met," she said, glaring at Harry.

"Y-You have?" Ron asked, his ears turning red.

"Years ago," Harry said to her.

All the others, for some very strange reason, stopped talking to each other and honed in on the three of them.

"How did you meet?" Ron asked both of them.

"We met at a bar in London, remember Harry?"

"Yes," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Yes I remember. We met in 2001, it's now reaching the end of 2003. Perhaps we could lay our difficulties aside, letting bygones be bygones."

"We dated for a few weeks," she told Ron. "He asked me to go to a party in October for new Aurors, which included him. But I saw him talking to another woman."

"That isn't true," he said through his gritted teeth.

"Oh yes it is. I was there."

"Well then you know you left with some other guy and did who knows what with him."

"What are you accusing me of?" she asked.

"Not too bright are you?" he said to her.

She looked back at Ron with an expression of surprise. "Are you going to let him talk to me like that?"

"I don't know," he said quickly. She whipped her head back around to scowl at Harry.

"For your information," she said in a low whisper, "it's a tactic I use to make people jealous. You didn't even give me a second look when I left with that man."

"Excuse me if I can't comprehend your crude, twisted ways. You see, when I see women do that, I think they're on a job."

Jennifer drew back and slapped him. Hermione and Ginny went to converge on her, but she pushed her way through the gaggle and strode across the hall. Hermione touched Harry's cheek where a red hand mark now resided. "Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I've been hit much worse."

"You called her a prostitute," Ron said, looking revolted at the very site of Harry. "How could you do that?"

"You deserve much better than her. She's probably crying in some corner looking for a rich guy to pick her up. She's a player, Ron. She played me years ago and now she's looking to play you. It's a game to her. Go on. Follow her at a distance and see what she does."

Ron didn't move. He did, however, ease up on his glare.

"I mean it, Ron. You can get much better than the likes of her. She's attractive but not worth it. I would never lie to you." The tension certainly wasn't helping the throbbing of his head. He looked around the hall for a balcony and when his eyes locked onto one, he left his gang of friends for it faster than if he'd spotted the snitch.

It was a very chilly evening, so there was hardly anyone out here. Each star stood out against the veil of darkness like a diamond. He pulled a cigarette out of the box in his pocket and lit it up, sighing with relief with his first breath of it.

He scanned the sky for certain constellations, remembering certain events with each star. He stared at the brightest for a long while, pondering its sparkle, wondering if there was anything to name. He brought his head down to look at the street when the voice of a friendly old man greeted his ears.

"A silver sickle for your thoughts?" he asked.

Harry smiled before he turned to see Professor Dumbledore standing before him. He looked the same as he always did; a shiny white beard and long hair, atop a wise and smiling face. His blue eyes twinkled with adoration behind his half moon spectacles, which sat comfortable on his crooked nose.

"You'll have to pay much more than that, I'm afraid," Harry said to him.

Dumbledore reached out and grabbed Harry's shoulder and grinning he said, "Well then, I suppose we'll have to drone on about the weather, as a sickle is all I have in my pocket." He pulled himself towards Harry and gave him a hug that he might bequeath to a favorite grandson. "I'm so glad you came."

"I thought the party would be slightly different," Harry said, a smirk playing about his lips. "I was sure you'd have hundreds of cupcakes dancing to jazz music or something. This just isn't you."

"I did not plan this. Cupcakes sound much more appealing. I'm expecting quite a few more books and silver instruments that I don't need piled on my table. But you're here and that's what I wanted most. Tell me, Harry, what are you adventures like now?"

Harry sighed, leaned against the banister, and looked into his face. "Lonely," he answered truthfully. "I keep too many things to myself, Professor. I can't tell anyone anything without serious repercussions, but I want to tell them. It would be simpler if everything was out in the open."

"Ah. A hero's burden," he sighed. "Well, I hope there is a time when you can reveal what rests inside your head."

"No," Harry said, shaking his head at him. "There won't. Not for me." Harry stared into his eyes. "So how old are you now?" he asked.

Dumbledore chuckled and let Harry drop the last subject. "Too old to think I can keep up with someone so young," he said, leading Harry back into the hall. "I should very much like to move this party along so we can all get to the dancing. How long do you think it would take for them to realize I have arrived?"

"You just need the right person to make the announcement to everyone. And I think I know who would find no greater joy in it. Excuse me for a second," he said, and made his way over to Fred and George. "Hey guys. Do me a favor, would you?"

"What is your wish?"

"Dumbledore's here. Spread the word," Harry told them.

Fred and George exchanged joyous glances then went separate ways. Harry winked to Dumbledore, who now stood in the balcony's doorway.

Dumbledore was announced mere seconds later. He walked to the platform and smiled at people as he passed.

"Thank you for coming," he said to the crowd. "It is such a pleasure knowing that I have so many friends and admirers. I am not one to give long speeches, as you have probably already tuned me out of your busy ears, but I would like to say one thing. I am old. Treat me well. Thank you." He made his way down into the applauding crowd.

The evening seemed to be an enjoyable affair. Couples danced the night away; some more exuberantly than others. Fred and George used the time to sell a few new products. Harry soon realized this when some of the guests hair suddenly burst in to flames of green. No one looked in pain, but quite pleased with the results.

Ginny found her boyfriend. He was a tall man with a dark complexion, black hair and blue eyes. Several women craned their necks to get a better look at him, causing Ginny to grin to herself. She looked elated as she danced with him.

Hermione and Luke were also dancing, but not very well. Luke looked as though he wanted Hermione to lead and Hermione appeared to expect Luke to lead. After attempting this venture, they laughed at themselves. Bill and Fleur, however, danced wonderfully. Harry noticed Ron arguing with Jennifer. He wondered why he was even bothering with her.

"Avoiding the crowd?" Charlie asked him. Harry had been standing on a stairwell, looking down into the hall. He was quite content with merely watching all of them.

"You could say that. Sometimes it's more fun to watch," Harry answered.

"That's true. What do you think about Hermione's boyfriend?"

"He seems like a nice guy."

"He's a little on the dull side if you ask me," Charlie responded. "I thought being a Chaser would make him more... I don't know, lively. He's too quiet and his sense of humor leaves a lot to be desired."

"Well, if Hermione likes him then that's good enough for me." He was just going to ask Charlie about how his dragon business was going, when Minister Wilson spotted Harry and stormed him.

"There you are!" he said, his mustache flickering as he spoke.

"I know where I am," Harry said under his breath so only Charlie could hear. "How are you Minister?"

"Busy. I need you to accompany me tomorrow for the monthly inspection of Azkaban."

Harry gave him a questioning look. "Why me?"

"Azkaban is no longer controlled by dementors."

"Yes, I know that. So why do I have to go?" he asked.

"Some of the prisoners may attempt to attack me. It's happened before," he said hurriedly. "So I need an Auror to accompany me. It's you're turn, Potter, plain and simple."

"What if I'm busy tomorrow?" Harry asked. He wasn't even scheduled to consult his navel, but he always found a sick pleasure in annoying the Minister.

"Well," Wilson said, scratching his head, "that could be a problem. Yes, could you perhaps move your thing in the morning to the afternoon?"

"Could be tough," Harry said.

"Why don't you try?" he asked.

"Fine. I'll try."

He nodded and left. Charlie burst out laughing, grabbing onto Harry's shoulder for support. "What a joke," he said.

"You can't tell me they couldn't find a more competent wizard than that," Harry said. "The Minister of Magic is like the Prime Minister. Certainly a powerful wizard would want that job."

"A powerful wizard doesn't need a powerful position to gain something he already has."

Harry smiled. "A very wise observation, Charles."

Charlie chuckled. "Yes, I am quite proud of that one." Once they mulled over dragons, the latest Quidditch standings, and Charlie's brothers, someone in the immense crowd suggested that Dumbledore open his gifts. Looking at the mammoth pile of presents on the table, Harry sat himself down on a stair.

Ron came storming up them, glaring at Harry. "Why are women so difficult to understand?" he mumbled to himself. "Why are they so difficult sometimes? Why can't they just say what's on their mind?"

"Because then they wouldn't be women. Sit down," Harry said, patting the spot beside him. "Glad you listened to me."

"She's high maintenance, that one," Ron said.

"Never go for looks alone, little brother."

"Tell that to Bill. No wait, tell that to Hermione. You smell like smoke, Harry," he said, turning to face the crowd.

"Funny how that works, isn't it? What's wrong with Hermione's choice? He seems decent," Harry said.

Charlie leaned over to whisper loudly into Harry's ear. "It's because he's not Ron." Harry grinned.

"Shut up," Ron said to him. "Maybe we should watch Dumbledore open his presents."

"Boring," Charlie said. "He's got to be in his 160s by now. He's opened presents at least 158 times. It's got to get boring."

"I'm already bored," Ron said. "Everyone else is having a good time with their girlfriends, or in Hermione and Ginny's case, boyfriends. Dumbledore is opening.... something rather expensive from the looks of it, and I'm sitting here with Itchy and Smokey."

"Itchy?" Charlie said. But Harry wasn't listening. He stood up and watched Dumbledore pick up the small package that Harry had brought. Harry walked down the stairs and into the chattering crowd so he could get a better look at Dumbledore's face. Ron and Charlie followed behind him.

The professor sat down in the high backed chair with Harry's gift and unwrapped the package with great care. Then he came to the box itself. It was a thick cardboard, only silver and reflective. He could see his wavy representation as he went to open this. Now the room became very quiet as they watched Dumbledore enraptured by this very small gift. He raised the upper portion of the box slowly, set it down on the table, and moved the tissue paper to either side of the package. Then he froze.

Inside the box was six pair of thick, woolen socks. Each pair was a different color. He put a finger to them and the other hand to his mouth. His moist eyes took in each of them and looked to the crowd.

Most people were confused and even more were amused by the present. One guest said loudly, "What kind of person gives Dumbledore socks?" Dumbledore didn't care.

Harry stood a good twenty five feet from him, but Dumbledore laid eyes on him all the same. Harry winked at him then smiled every so subtlety.

"Socks," he said, barely audible.

Harry nodded. It was a special thing between the two of them; something no one else could figure out. Harry didn't explain it to Ron or Hermione, nor did Dumbledore clear it up when questions arose. They kept it secret.

The party raged on further into the night and the wee hours of the morning. Harry took several trips to his balcony for a smoke, returning only when it was no longer safe to hold the mini torch to his lips. His headache didn't diminish, his anxiety didn't ebb. At half past one, Hermione made Harry dance with her, ("Honestly, Harry, it's a party. Have some fun!") She led. At two, Luke made to take her home. Harry voiced his agreement to turn in for the night and was walking to Dumbledore to bid him a goodnight when a cold shiver ran down his spine. Goose bumps surfaced all over him, and the hairs on the back of his neck perked.

He looked around at the diminishing crowd for a source or explanation of his reaction, but everyone appeared normal. They were tired, full, and happy, but none of them were menacing or fearful. His head seemed to throb more as he walked toward Dumbledore, but he tried to ignore it. He usually had migraines around large groups of people.

"Socks," Dumbledore said, shaking Harry's hand.

"Socks," Harry replied.

"Thank you," he said, pulling him in for another hug. "I only wish I could get what you wanted so badly," he said in his ear.

Harry shut his eyes and whispered back, "Socks are much easier to come by, Professor. Goodnight and Happy Birthday."

******

Present

******

Marc shook his head. "I don't get it either. What's the big deal about socks?"

Harry, whose arms were now fully functional, though still prickling with numbness, was helping himself to some tapioca pudding.

"I thought you people were supposed to be good at listening," he said, shoveling a large spoonful into his mouth. A look of great pleasure came over his face as he ate it. "And I was never a big fan of this stuff," he said.

"So what was the deal?"

"I told you, it's between me and him. Besides, I thought you didn't care about the party. Weren't you ready to hear all about Azkaban?"

"Yes, but socks?"

Harry smiled a kind of smile which showed his relish of keeping something secret. He didn't talk about the socks ever again.

"The next morning I went to Azkaban with Minister Wilson. Since the second war, well, before that even, dementors were no longer in control of the prison for their obvious ties to Voldemort. In their place were highly trained wizards, capable of taking down most dark wizards, but certainly not all. They spent years learning how to do their job and it pays off. The Azkaban guards get more money than I do. The government decided to pay them a great amount of gold to keep them on our side.

"So anyway, it was a fairly routine procedure and no prisoner attempted to attack the Minister. The inspection was complete in two hours, and that's fast by Ministry standards.

"All of the prisoners were contained, controlled, and subdued as they were to be. The security charms were all in place, much like the ones in this room, and all disabling charms were working to their fullest. Everything was fine."

"But there was an escape, so something had to have been overlooked," Marc said, watching Harry's face.

"I guess this is where I have to release classified information to you. We do have a confidentiality agreement, right?" Harry asked. "That's how Muggles do it. You can't repeat anything I say to anyone?"

Marc hesitated.

"None of what I am going to tell you has been released to the public, for their own good. It's better that they not know the whole truth. If you want this story to continue, I would advise you to," he looked to the wall to his left, "make it so the wardens and whoever else is in there can't hear any of it."

Harry raised his eyebrows at him then continued on with his breakfast. Marc stood up and walked to the wall. "Exit," he said. The section vanished and he went into the observation room. There were two wardens, different from the one early this morning, and the short, thin Indian woman, who had watched yesterday, watching Harry. "Turn it off," he said, pointing to the window.

"Why?" one of the wardens asked.

"Because I am the one who's in charge. I said turn it off!"

Rolling his eyes and seeming to lose control of his spine, the warden waved his wand at the wall and it became solid.

"The audio as well," Marc added. The warden looked to the woman for some kind of assistance, but she glared at him and nodded. With another flick of his wand, the audio feed was shut down. "Thank you," he said, but he didn't sound gracious. He walked back into Harry's room.

Harry was spreading jelly on his toast now, looking quite casual and comfortable; a much different persona from the previous evening. The color was coming back to his cheeks and the dramatic lines formed by his skin being pulled over his bones were abating.

"Done," Marc said in reference to the observation room.

"Excellent. Have a seat," he said informally, looking to the chair to his left. "I am about to trust you with information not even some Aurors know. You best keep your mouth shut, or I will hunt you down and personally take care of you. I won't bother with going through the law. You understand me?"

"Yes," he said, scooting forward out of his seat.

Harry peered at him for a minute before continuing.

****************

November 13, 2003

****************

Each Thursday morning meant a long, boring staff meeting. For some reason the second week of the month was picked for this dreadfully wearying occasion. Harry had tried to be out in the field when these would occur, but today he was forced to participate. Fortunately, Ron was sitting directly across from him, passing him what looked like important files. They were not files, however, but humorous passages describing the annoying yet entertaining habits of the others around them.

They sat at a long rectangular table in a conference room in the Ministry. Tonks sat to the right of Harry, looking thoroughly bored. She was pulling at her pink hair, separating split ends which she was examining at a very close range.

Harry was writing a few of the words the Minister was saying on his parchment, but the entire border of his parchment was adorned in snitches, bludgers, Quaffles, and tiny players.

"Pssst," Tonks said, elbowing him in the ribs. Harry looked up at her, but she was signaling to Ron.

Ron had a small red paper ball before him. He was grinning at Harry.

"What?" Harry mouthed at him.

Ron scribbled something on his parchment, looked at the Minister, then showed Harry the sign. 'Table Quidditch.'

Harry nodded, reached across the table and grabbed the representational Quaffle. He tapped it with his wand to make it float better, then got ready to flick it. Ron looked at the Minister again. He was droning on and on about something, but Ron didn't listen long enough to get the gist of it. His head was buried in a pile of notes, his thick glasses on the tip of his nose. Ron sat back in his chair and made a ring with his two thumbs and two pointer fingers touching.

"I get to shoot after you," Tonks whispered in Harry's ear.

Harry flicked the Quaffle. It soared too high, missed the ring completely, and smacked Ron in the eye.

Tonks turned her laugh into a hacking cough, but had to cover her red face.

The Minister droned on.

Now it was Ron's turn. He blinked his eye a few times then positioned the Quaffle on the table, fingers behind it. Harry made a ring with his fingers and sat back in the chair. Ron stuck his tongue out in an odd angle in concentration then flicked it hard. Harry moved the ring so that the Quaffle would pass through it.

"YES!" Ron shouted. Tonks started coughing again, and Harry had to shove his fist in his mouth. The entire table stared at Ron, including the Minister.

"'Yes' what, Mr. Weasley?" he asked.

But lucky for Ron, he never had to explain. The lights in the office suddenly turned red and started to flash. Everyone pushed their chairs back and ran to their appropriate offices. Harry, Ron, and Tonks led the way to the Auror cubicles where a revolving dodecahedron, floating in mid air, awaited them. Once everyone was in the room it spoke in a deep booming voice.

"Three high security prisoners have broken out of the Azkaban prison. Four guards are dead, three are critically wounded. 17 guards have captured the one responsible for the break out. They await further Auror assistance." The dodecahedron blinked out of existence. The Minister looked around at his Aurors.

"Potter, you go," he said. "They sound like they have it under control. I want a full report when you get back."

Harry went to his desk. Ron followed him. "Harry," he whispered.

"What?" He took a parchment pad, a quill, and some equipment and stuffed it in his robes.

"Take me with you," he pleaded.

"You can't go with me," Harry said. "I have to go now, Ron. I can't dawdle." He walked out of the office, Ron in tow.

"No, please let me go! I need adventure!"

"Weasley," the Minister said, "stay here."

"Harry!" Ron said, his teeth gritted.

Harry sighed. "I'll need some administrative help, Minister. I'm taking Ron with me."

Ron turned around and smiled at the Minister, then berated Harry with thanks.

Massive security guards and huge trolls stood all around the prison itself. Ron and Harry stepped off the ferry (the only possible way to get to Azkaban) and walked to the building. Azkaban was a stone castle, made of black granite slabs. The prison was set up in the middle of the rocky island; tall and menacing. Harry half expected black clouds to topple it.

"You guys the Aurors?" a security wizard asked.

"Yes," Harry said. The wizard nodded then walked away. Harry and Ron followed.

"I've never been here before," Ron muttered, looking avidly around.

"Stay close," Harry said to him.

If the outside of Azkaban looked menacing, it must have looked right cheerful in comparison to the interior. Even without the dementors patrolling the corridors, it wasn't a place one would want to spend their vacation. The black walls were moldy; greenish black goo oozed from the crevices in the wall. It smelled like burnt flesh. Purple flames dimly lit the corridors, but only just. "Lumos," Harry said, and his wand ignited a bright blue flame.

"Harry," the lead guard said. He was a tall man who always reminded Harry of a Viking. He had rich brown hair and a thick brown beard and blue eyes. He came forward towards Harry, a look of utmost concern crinkled in his eyes.

"What happened?" he asked.

"The ones who witnessed it are in peril," he said, turning and leading the way down to the dungeons. Harry walked beside the guard and Ron flanked Harry. "They're mumbling incoherently, some of them are humming a strange tune when we ask them about the incident. Who is the other one?" he asked, nodding towards Ron.

"Oh, this is Ron Weasley. Ron, this is Orvell Haden, the head Security Wizard here."

"I wish we could meet in better circumstances," Haden said. "Like I said in the message, Harry, it took 17 wizards to apprehend the one responsible for this."

"Wait, I thought three broke out. What do you mean you caught someone?"

"That's just the problem. There was a break in."

Harry stopped in his tracks; Haden looked like he understood. "That's impossible," Harry said to him. "The only way anyone can get in here is by boat. Was it a guard who double-crossed us, or-"

"No. He appeared out of nowhere. He's not one of ours, he didn't come by the ferry, nor did he swim ashore."

"But it's impossible to Apparate into Azkaban, or Disapparate. So how did he get in and the three get out?"

"Therein lies our problem," Haden said. "Let me show you the scene of the crime." He led them to a cluster of cells. Four dead guards lay on the ground. One of them was still positioned at his post, the other three all pointed to one location. The three cells against the wall were opened, but not broken. It looked as though the prisoners had simply gone out for a stroll.

"The wounded have been transported to St. Mungo's," Haden said. Harry nodded, walked over the dead bodies, and stood in the central spot.

"He stood here," Harry said. "He took out the first guard before he even realized what had happened. Then these three came to attack, but they were killed instantly. He opened each door with magic, because their keys are still at their side," Harry said.

"It's impossible to unlock the doors without those keys, and if anyone other than the prescribed wizard touches those keys, they'd go insane."

"It appears, Haden, that nothing is impossible," Harry said, running his hand back through his hair. He walked to each door and ran his finger down the hinges, the frame, and the door itself.

"What do you reckon, Harry?" Ron asked.

Harry shook his head. "I have no idea."

"Is it possible that the, uh, perpetrator put the Imperius curse on the guards and made them open the doors?"

Harry shook his head. "No. All Azkaban guards are taught to resist the curse."

"That's not possible. The only person I've ever met to resist that curse is you," Ron whispered.

"Azkaban guard training is extensive, Ron. I'll explain it to you later, okay? The full tuition given to them is classified, so not many know about it. But we have to rule out the curse. It's something else."

"What?" Ron asked, feeling the door's edge with his finger.

"I don't know." He turned back to Haden. "You said it took 17 men to apprehend the one responsible for this. Is he still alive?"

"Yes. He was hit with three stunners at once. We put him in the tower."

"I want to speak with him. I also want to know what prisoners these cells belong to," Harry told him, waving at the empty cells. The names of the prisoners were not anywhere near the actual cells, just numbers.

"I have that right here," he said, handing Harry a file. "I'll take you to the tower."

"Ron," Harry said. "Take pictures, still pictures of the scene and the cells. And I want you to do a scan of this entire room, even the damn air, got it?"

"Sure," Ron said, looking at the uncovered dead bodies. "Harry?"

"What?"

"Could I have someone living down here please?" he said under his breath so only Harry could hear.

"Sure," he replied.

"Thanks mate," he said with a sigh of relief. Harry turned again, told Haden to send someone down to assist Ron, and walked up to the tower.

He popped open the file and looked at the brief files of the escaped prisoners.

The first was a man named Guy Burgess who was incarcerated September 22, 1980. Charges were espionage for Lord Voldemort and recruiting Death Eaters. But most of the required information for the prisoner was blank. There wasn't a name for the one who apprehended him or a date of his trial. Guy Burgess had been here for over 23 years and was never tried for his charges. There was a picture of him, taken in 1980. He had been a handsome man with sandy blonde hair, though he looked slightly hazed.

Harry read on. Burgess had worked as a historian at the International Wizard Bureau of Investigation, Intelligence sector. He was an American, living in Modesto California just before his subsequent arrest. But who arrested him? Who sent him to prison? Why was he never given a trial? Harry flipped through and found a current photo of him. He was spooky looking, like the rest of them. He had been here when the dementors stood guard, and even after. His hair was still blonde, but was unkempt and frizzy. His eyes looked dead, as Sirius's had, and dark. Yet he was still recognizable as the man who had entered.

Harry flipped to the next prisoner. Kim Philby was incarcerated on November 15, 1981 on charges of attempted murder, espionage, working for Lord Voldemort, and penetration of the International Wizard Bureau of Investigation. His entire file was complete. He stood trial in 1982 and was found guilty on all charges. There was a note saying that he had been recruited by Guy Burgess years before. He also worked for the IWBI, but as the Vice Director of the Counterintelligence Sector. Philby also had a before and after picture. He had entered prison as a middle aged man, not winning any awards for looks. Now, however, he was downright offensive. He was completely bald, but his dark eyebrows were overgrown, so they drooped into his eyes, which looked as dead as the others. His cheeks were sunken in and his lips were white and thin.

The third prisoner needed no explanation. Harry said his name out loud as they reached the tower. "Lucius Malfoy!"

"Yes, it's the second time he broke out of this place. The first time was understandable; our security was abysmal, but this time... Well, he's right inside, Harry." Haden pointed to a thick black door, so shiny Harry could see his reflection. "Do you want me to come in with you?"

Harry closed the file, handed it back to Haden, whipped out his wand, and shook his head. "No. I'll go alone." He pushed the door open, eased his way into the small round room, and shut the door with a great clunk behind him.

The man was still unconscious in a heap on the floor. Harry walked over to him and, with his foot, flipped him over on his back. He was wearing a silver mask, even over his eyes. Harry bent down carefully, put his fingers to the man's chin, and pulled off the mask.

The face that met his eyes was one he hadn't seen, or missed seeing, in many years. His silver yellow hair was slicked back into his hood, his pointed chin rested on his chest, and that sneering mouth was curled in a smile, even as he lay unconscious.

"Ennervate!" Harry said, pointing his wand at Malfoy's chest. Malfoy took a huge breath then opened his eyes, sitting up quickly and staring around. He started to stand when Harry kicked him back down.

"I would stay down before I put you there permanently," Harry said, almost growling. Draco looked first at Harry's legs then slowly moved his head towards Harry's eyes.

"I thought I would see you here, Potter," he drawled. He scooted himself towards the wall, propped one of his knees up, and rested his arm there. "There's never any action without you around."

"You're so lucky you're not dead," Harry said. "And you'll be even luckier if I find a reason not to kill you personally."

To Harry's dismay, Draco broke into a grin, then chuckled. "Killing me won't stop anything."

"How did you get in to Azkaban?" he asked.

"Wouldn't you love to know," Draco replied. "Thought you had everything under control, didn't you Potter? I saw you lurking around trying to find out about us... Pity you couldn't learn more."

"Answer my question," Harry said in a low whisper.

"Magic," he grinned.

Harry smirked. He showed Malfoy his wand, then slipped it inside his robes. Then he showed Draco his empty hands, like a magician does before he performs. Harry turned his back to him then paced the room, breathing deeply and steadily. Facing the opposite wall, Harry shut his eyes, flexed his fingers, and cocked his head from side to side. He flipped back to face Malfoy so fast that his cloak whipped the wall. He thrust his palms towards Draco and opened his green eyes.

Draco was lifted off the floor and hit the wall with a force greater than a hurricane. He would have screamed if his chest could allow it, but the pressure was too great. Draco's face was screwed up in pain, tears flowing from his sealed eyes. He was kicking his legs, flailing his arms as if pushing whatever was keeping him in place. Then he too opened his eyes.

Harry was grinning with malice, his green eyes glowing in the dark room, crackling with magic. Some kind of force was being expelled from him like vibrating shock waves, coming out of his palms and striking Draco's chest.

Blood started to trickle out of Draco's nose and mouth. Harry closed his palms.

With a painful thud, Draco hit the floor. He looked at Harry, wiping blood from his nose, to see him still grinning.

"Care to specify what kind of magic you used?" he asked. He posed the question like he was asking what kind oil one would put in a car.

Draco sat back against the wall. "You can't kill me," he said, minus the sarcasm and confidence. "You won't kill me."

"That is not the answer I'm looking for, Malfoy," Harry said simply. He walked toward him and kicked Draco hard in the stomach, sending him back to the wall. "I don't have time for games."

Draco coughed and clenched his fists. "You can't treat a prisoner like this," he said. "You'll get busted."

Harry laughed. "I'll get 'busted' will I? Look around. It's just you and me in here. I can treat you however I want. Now answer my damn question!"

"My father-"

Harry kicked Draco again. "I am fed up with hearing about your daddy. Daddy isn't here to save you. He left you here to deal with me. You have killed four Azkaban guards. Do you know what that means, little Draco? Let me explain it to you. You will be spending the rest of your life in prison. Daddy is a ruined man. Everyone knows what he's like; no one will respect him. Your mummy can't help you either. She's poorer than the Weasleys ever were. You have nothing, you hear me? Your daddy isn't going to save you. You're a worthless piece of vermin, being kicked around by me. How does it feel?" he asked, lifting Draco up by his robes and shoving him into the wall. "How does it feel to have me beating you? I can tell you, from my perspective, it feels pretty damn good."

Draco made to spit in Harry's face, but before the saliva could even escape his mouth, his face was on the floor, Harry standing on his back. He grabbed a handful of that slicked hair and pulled up.

"How did you get into Azkaban!" Harry yelled in Draco's ear.

Draco didn't answer.

"Tell me, Damn it!" he bellowed. But Draco was dedicated to his secrecy and said nothing. Harry lifted him up again and slammed him to the wall. His forearm was now against Draco's throat. "Tell me," he whispered.

Though in great pain and most likely frightened, Draco found it in himself to smile at Harry and laugh at him. "I guess you're heart isn't in it enough, Potter," he sniggered. Harry pulled back and, without touching him or using his wand, Draco flew ten feet, hit the wall, and fell to the floor in a pile. He was out cold. Harry faced his palm toward the silver mask and it flew to him, then he left the cell.

"Well?" Haden asked.

"Nothing," Harry muttered. "Keep him in the most secure cell you have and make sure he doesn't have the strength to wriggle his nose."

He walked back down to the scene of the crime. Ron was writing a report, a camera at his side. The Magical Forensic Unit was also there. They probably pushed Ron out of the way.

"Ready to leave?"

Ron jumped out of his chair, grabbed his camera, and ran past Harry towards the exit. Once outside, Ron started asking questions. "How did he do it? Get inside that is?"

Harry shook his head. "He wouldn't say." He jumped on the ferry and stood aside so Ron could do the same. "He just wouldn't say!" he yelled, kicking the bench. He slumped down onto a chair and put his head in his hands.

"You'll figure it out, Harry," Ron said, hoping to inspire confidence. "You always figure it out." He sighed and sat down next to him. "Maybe I don't have what it takes after all. You walked in there with no problem, but those bodies really..."

Harry sat up and leaned back in the chair, folding his arms as he looked to Ron. "Seeing death is never easy. You should never get used to it, don't even try. But your problem is lack of confidence. I know you can become an Auror, Tonks knows it, Hermione knows it. The only person who doesn't think you have what it takes is you. So stop whining and do it already." He grabbed his own parchment and quill and began writing.