Harry Potter and the School for Wizards

It had seemed like forever. Harry had felt years of physical torture, his skin and sinew flayed from bone, and then replaced, time after time. The worst of it was that he saw the same thing happening to Ginny, and knew that it was his fault.

Harry felt somehow like he was where he was supposed to be. He heard a familiar, motherly voice talking to him from the distance. His eyes couldn't open all the way, because a blinding light made it almost impossible for him to see. Was he dead? Had Roland been right about the spell?

"I think he's awake," he heard a voice say, and realized that it was Madam Pomfrey. He expected to hear Ron and Hermione answer, before realizing that was impossible.

"Harry, are you back with us?" The calm, imperturbable voice of Albus Dumbledore washed over Harry like a wave of cool, clean air.

"Too. . .bright," Harry croaked out. There was the sound of shutters being closed and curtains drawn, and a cup was held up to his mouth. Harry eagerly swallowed every drop before asking for more, and draining another.

He blinked his eyes, and although they still hurt, he could see better now. Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey were there, faces drawn. Albus still had his customary twinkle, if a bit less of it. Harry saw that he had company. He wasn't surprised to see Ginny lying on a nearby bed, pale and almost lifeless, but was stunned to see that Falco, too, lay nearby. He should have been dead -- Harry had seen him fall, seen the green light fly at him.

Albus' eyes followed Harry's gaze. "Yes, Mister Van Hoek is still with us. We are not sure why, or if he will ever recover. It is possible that your attempt at a Killing Curse was inadequate. If only that were enough..."

Harry wasn't sure what Albus meant.

The Headmaster continued, "It is good to have you back, Harry. We almost believed that you would not return."

"How...long?"

"Don't try to talk yet," Pomfrey answered, but Albus put his hand on her arm.

"I need to talk with Mister Potter alone for a few moments. If you would, Poppy?"

She nodded, grimly. "I'll look in on Miss Weasley. Let me know if you need anything." She turned and walked away. Harry thought that was a bad sign - she hadn't given Albus a time limit.

"Harry, if you need to sleep longer...if you are not quite ready to face the world...then I would suggest that you fall back asleep. I cannot force you to do so without worsening your condition, but you might not be best off being awake at this time."

"How...long?"

Albus sighed. "You've been asleep for just over four months. The term is coming to an end. But, if you are not truly recovered, you should perhaps sleep still longer."

"Why?"

"Harry," Albus looked grim. "You used an Unforgivable Curse on a Hogwart's student - an eleven-year old child, Harry - whose only crime was in trusting his parents enough to let them put him under what he thought was a protection spell. Whether he died immediately or not is immaterial."

Harry was stunned. "Then Falco... he was under the Influensus curse? Is that why the Hat put him..."

"No, Harry. The Sorting Hat would not have sensed such a curse - after all, if it were that easy, we would just designate St. Mungo's as a house, and let the Hat sort out those that should not be admitted. Falco was put into Slytherin, as much as I can tell, because he had a hero. From the time he was a young child, he had worshipped a great wizard, a young man who did great things while still at Hogwarts. He had to hide them in his dormitory, but he had pictures of this wizard in his nightstand, copies of daily prophet articles about him, even a set of Quidditch cards that he had hand-made about his hero. The hat put him in Slytherin because of his ambition to do great things, Harry, not because he was evil. And, because his hero was someone that the Hat had always believed belonged in Slytherin, despite the young man's request to be elsewhere."

Harry felt miserable, and then even lower. He knew who Albus was talking about.

"How could he feel that way? Especially after having classes, here?"

"Harry, he didn't hate you, although he didn't understand why you wouldn't give him a chance."

Harry started to sob, quietly, to himself.

"Harry, I have gotten you a trial, although it has been quite difficult. Many people secretly wish that their heroes would topple, that they would prove themselves to be made out of the same clay that the rest of humanity. They show little mercy for those that do, however. There was a motion to have you Kissed before you awoke, but it was argued that even that was too merciful. After all, a successful Orpheus curse is incredibly painful. It was only within the last few weeks that I managed to convince the Ministry to grant you a trial, with the possibility of commuting your sentence to life imprisonment. That is as much as I can do for you with them, Harry, and it is not much. I'm afraid that England is no longer your grateful, adoring public. As soon as I've confirmed that you are awake, and fit for trial, I am to inform the Ministry, and they will arrive to bring you to Azkaban to await your trial. That is why I'm giving you this opportunity now, Harry. If this is just a waking dream, if you still need sleep, now is the time to have it."

Harry sensed that Albus was trying to tell him something, to give him an opportunity, and he decided to hold onto it - his instinct serving him, although no desire for life drove him.

"I think you're right, Professor. I'm not fully here, not truly awake. Before I fall back asleep, though...how is Ginny?"

"I'm afraid, Mister Potter, that she continues to suffer. Mister Weston was confined immediately after casting the spells on both of you - Aurors had located the Killing Curse, and were on their way even as he cast them."

"Why? I mean, why is she still asleep?"

"The Orpheus Curse, Harry. It is, in some ways, the inverse of the Killing Curse. Love is not the defense against it, at least not under most circumstances. It only works, in fact, on two subjects who care about one another, where both of them truly believe in that care. It does not have to be romantic love, but it is strongest in those cases - that is, in fact, the only time that it may be fatal. Ginny must both truly love you, and believe that you care for her - although she does not believe it to sufficient depths to have died as of yet."

"You knew. You knew this could happen." Harry's tears were forgotten.

"Yes, Harry, I knew. This is why we had decided to protect you, by forbidding Miss Granger from seeing you this year, while at Hogwarts. The Ministry has since forbidden all visitors, or she would have been at your side."

"You forbade her." Harry's tone was ice, now. Hatred had started to build in him. "And this, this is the yearly apology from the great Albus Dumbledore, who knows all, and tells only when it's too late. Tell me, Professor, if she dies, who will they blame?"

Albus was still calm. "Harry, I understand your anger, but I don't think that..."

"You don't think," Harry shouted, "that I should say more? Tell me, Headmaster... how many of the people that died are because you wouldn't tell us everything? How many people would still be alive if you had trusted us, if you'd treated us like adults."

"Harry, you were not adults."

"In what way?" Harry asked, his bile rising. "When you stand alone against the darkness - alone, because the people who are supposed to save you can't or won't, alone, because they leave you that way, alone, because they don't trust you enough to just tell you the truth, alone, because your friends are sent off, or dead, isn't that enough to make you an adult?"

"Harry, you are distraught."

"And you," Harry stated, throwing off his blankets, "are trying to tell me how I feel, just as you've tried to control what I thought and what I knew. I don't know...I don't know how I feel about Ginny, but I know that Hermoine was my best friend, and you made me think she'd forgotten about me, so that you wouldn't have to tell me about the spell." His wand was on the nightstand - that was odd, he would have thought it would already have been snapped or confiscated. He snatched it, gripping it tightly.

"Harry, a broken heart is the only defense that will work. A truly broken heart. If you'd known about the spell, you might have known that Hermione was staying away from you because she loved you, and she would know the same for you - then, if you were lured together, you would both be killed."

"No, Albus, that's not the only defense. The only defense is truth. If we'd known, we could have faced it somehow. We would have been able to look out for the people trying to find out about us. We might have even staged something - gotten someone who looked like Hermione together with me, to spook them out. But at least, we would have been together." He didn't really think about what he was saying, he just knew that he wanted to hurt Albus the way he'd been hurt. He was starting to believe that the Headmaster couldn't really feel, that he couldn't care - the man didn't realize that people felt pain. He thought that somehow, if he could just make Albus hurt as much as he did, then the Headmaster would stop trying to hurt him.

"Harry, please, sit down." He did, almost by reflex, but reflected that he didn't seem to be getting to Albus. The Headmaster still looked implacable. His eyes even held a hint that looked like triumph. Was he trying to push Harry over the edge? Or was he just hoping that Harry would listen? "Harry, I understand that perhaps, you have issues that have been lying dormant for some time. I think there are things that are eating away at you that you need to get out. You can yell at me, Harry. I won't break."

The anger started to boil inside Harry. "Maybe I want you to break. Maybe I want to see that you can feel anything, anything at all - that you listen to me, instead of just ignoring what I say, and making your own plans anyway. Maybe I'd like to have believed that I had someone left who trusted me, who thought I could have handled the truth, or could have just given me a chance. Goodbye, Headmaster." He stepped to the window, and shouted, "Accio Firebolt."

In seconds, his Firebolt was streaking towards him. He grabbed it, and, not reflecting on the picture that he cut, wearing only tartan boxers, mismatched red socks, and a hospital gown, he flew off into the sunny June morning.

~.~.~

"You wanted to see me, Professor Dumbledore?" Snape said tentatively, as he entered the Headmaster's room, but there was no answer. The Headmaster sat in his chair, his wand dipped into his Pensieve. His face was red, with the look of someone who had wept until they had no more ability to weep.

Professor Snape wasn't sure whether or not to interrupt. While he was impatient by nature, he didn't consciously want to work against the Headmaster's well being.

He walked over to the Headmaster's side, and then noticed something out of place on his desk. There was an unrolled scroll, held open by a pair of paperweights, its color irregular and stained. The writing on it was uneven and hard to read, but Snape recognized the writing instantly. It was Harry Potter's hand. Snape clenched his fist, and then relaxed it. The only thing that Snape despised more than the undeserved adulation that Harry had received all his life, was the fact that he'd earned the hatred towards himself from Harry.

Dumbledore had given him a good talking-to on the night of the Valentine's Ball. He was the only one that Snape would take criticism from. Even so, Dumbledore's past suggestions that he was being too hard on Harry had gone over his head; he knew that Harry was just like his father, that Harry idolized James, in fact. It never occurred to him that Harry had no idea who his father was.

Professor Snape blamed himself for the chain of events that had led to Ginny being hurt. From interrogating Roland, he could see that there was very little that Harry could have done differently, other than choosing a different target or medium for the release of his anger.

The Headmaster showed no sign of waking, and Snape still didn't want to enter the Pensieve. He felt that to be the ultimate betrayal, violating someone's memories without their permission. Besides, there were more than a few memories in there that he would prefer to forget.

Instead, feeling only slightly guilty, he started to read the note. In Harry's unsteady hand, it said:

"Dear Professor Dumbledore,

"There was much that I had to say when we last spoke that I would take back, but there is also much that I would not. I've been trapped in an accursed cycle for the last eight years, a cycle of trust and betrayal, and I refuse to let that cycle harm anyone else that I care for.

"I can't see you changing your behavior any time soon, so I'll have to change mine. I suppose that would have happened anyway - in Azkaban, I don't think anyone would shield me from unpleasant truths, assuming I avoided being Kissed. But I don't feel like letting that happen.

"Now that Voldemort's gone, I guess Hogwarts doesn't need me anymore. Since you're content to let the Aurors have me, I suppose you won't be too upset to lose me entirely. I won't plan on seeing any of you again.

"Tell Hermione and Ginny that I love them both, that they were the best friends I could have had, and that I'll miss them both."

"Tell Professor Snape that he was right about me. I never knew that I had so much hate - so much violence inside of me. I didn't know that I could try to kill someone just for the accident of the choice of a Hat. He was right to call me arrogant. I've always thought that everything was my fault, that every death and painful thing that happened was something that was in my power to have avoided, instead of putting the blame where it belonged. With the people who let a scared child face evil alone, without even letting him know why.

"Good-bye.

"Harry Potter"

Professor Snape sat down and cradled his head between his hands, and waited for the Headmaster to come out of the Pensieve. Harry was lost to them now, and it was his fault.

~.~.~

Somewhere over water, off the coast of Scotland, Harry soared on his broom. He wasn't sure what he was going to do next. The Aurors would be after him, and he could hardly blame them. He didn't have much of a plan -- he'd try to borrow some clothes and sneak into Gringott's, although he didn't know how someone with a face as recognizable as his would manage it. Beyond that, he didn't know.

He wondered if he ought to find out if there was anything more to the plans that had sent Falco and Roland to try to kill him, or about their motivation, but that was more of what had gotten him into trouble. He just wanted to leave all of these problems to someone else. For now, he just hoped that he could lose himself until the Aurors gave up chasing him, and maybe find something resembling a normal life elsewhere.

FINIS (Continued in The Darkness of the Soul, currently in Beta)