A Range Of Honesty

It was well past midnight when Harry Potter returned to Gryffindor Tower. No one except a few oblivious fifth years were awake, hurriedly finishing scrolls for Professor Snape. It was for the best, Harry decided, tightening the scarf around his neck. It didn't feel that chilly outside any longer, but it seemed colder to him once he had entered the warmth of Hogwarts. Sighing, he hurried up the staircase that led to his dorm room.

Harry refused to regard what had happened just a few hours ago. He refused to admit part of him had died when the album was burned unrecognizable. When he had sat on a rock, contemplating the feeling of growing hatred he should feel towards Draco Malfoy, he realized there was nothing. Nothing mattered now. His one link to his family was shattered. Gone within just a few seconds.

Harry quietly eased into the room, closing the dorm room door behind him. He wrenched the scarf and jacket off, tossing them into the corner of the room as he made his way to his bed.

"Er, Harry?"

Startled, Harry looked around him, before spotting Neville Longbottom sitting up in his bed, wand lit and a book in his lap.

"Yeah?"

"Er," Neville flipped a few pages of the book and extracted a piece of, what looked like to Harry, paper. Harry walked over to the bed, accepting it from him. It was a picture. "It had fallen out earlier," Neville said.

"Oh," Harry stared down at the picture. It was of himself, and his parents, all waving happily at him. Lily Potter blew a kiss and Harry crumbled. With shaking his hands, he tore the picture in half and dropped them into the trash bin on the way to his bed, leaving a gawking Neville behind.

---

In the morning, Harry rose to Ron's wakeup call like he always did. Silent and hurriedly. Admittedly, Harry's least favorite part of the day was the morning. You reflected on your goals for that day, and in the end run, having to think about the day before. And that's something Harry never wanted to think about. What was the point? In his life, something awful always happened 'Yesterday.'

Harry dressed himself mechanically, more like seeming like a chore rather than anything else. Once dressed in his black robes, he hurried downstairs, where he met up with Ron and Hermione.

He almost didn't feel like eating with them, let alone at all. Not acknowledging feelings were probably the easiest way to go, so no one got hurt. Mainly, himself. And if he thought about... well... that. He'd cry. And crying over something as silly as pictures wasn't exactly being productive.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Hermione asked, concerned.

Harry smiled tightly, and nodded. "Fine. Perfectly fine. Never been better. Shall we eat?" He had never felt like so much of a prat than at that moment. Lying to his best friends?

Hermione frowned. Harry didn't look all right. His eyes were puffy, as if he'd been crying. But she'd never seen Harry cry. Ever. She wasn't going to press him. If he wanted to talk, he would. Right?

"Okay, let's go have breakfast," Hermione said. She gave him a half smile and together with Ron they made their way to the Great Hall.

---

First class of the day was Double Potions with the Slytherins, and Harry was in no mood to attend that class. The thought of even having to sit in the same room as Draco Malfoy left a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. And to worsen his mood, Professor Snape sadistically paired him up with Pansy Parkinson. At the table behind Malfoy.

It took every last strength not to reach over and shove him head first into the cauldron.

"...My father sent me an owl this morning," Malfoy was saying. Harry glanced up at the sound of his smug voice. "He said he was proud of me. I got the highest NEWTs, you know."

Crabbe, who was his partner, just grunted in response.

"He's never admitted this to me," Malfoy continued. He turned around and sneered at Harry. "Unlike some orphans who'll never even get to LOOK at his parents again."

Harry pressed his lips together, ignoring the bait as he tossed the Jobberknoll feathers into his potion. He could hear Draco's malicious laugh and it only made him angrier.

"...and to top all of that, do you know what he told me?" Crabbe shrugged and Malfoy sighed, but continued haughtily, "He said he's getting me a position at the Ministry of Magic. As Fudge's assistant."

Harry warily glanced back up from the mess he and Pansy were creating, "You're... what?"

Malfoy turned around, shooting him a suspicious look. "Listening in on my *private* conversation, Potter? Maybe you do have it in you to be bad." He smirked. "Not that you have any sort of influence to guide you."

Harry ignored him, and once again returned his attention to the potion. Pansy awkwardly shoved the next ingredient into the black cauldron and Harry tried to steady his shaking hands. A dull throb in the back of his head began pounding, and every time Malfoy laughed at Crabbe, it grew louder. And louder.

"Potter," a voice snapped. Harry blinked, staring up into the scowling face of Professor Snape. "Class ended 15 minutes ago. Why are you still in my classroom?"

Harry blinked again, startled. He glanced around the room, to, indeed, find it empty.

"Sorry, Professor," Harry said.

"No you aren't," Snape snapped. "That's twenty points from Gryffindor! Don't dawdle again or that'll be fifty points."

Not arguing, Harry gathered his books and wand and left, not feeling anything. Between Professor Snape and Malfoy, his life was hell. And he couldn't even tell Ron or Hermione about this. They wouldn't understand. Yes, they'd try, and tell him it'll get easier. But how can you tell someone that it felt like you'd lost your parents all over again?

---

"Harry, where have you been?" Ron asked as Harry as he stumbled in the Great Hall at lunch time. He'd gone out to the lake after Potions class, skipping the rest of morning classes. He'd cried for the whole two hours he'd been there, sobbing into his arms until there were no tears left to cry. The cool air had chilled his pink face and then he'd come across the pile of ashes. And the tears had returned, cascading down his skin.

"No where," he said, softly. "I just had something to do."

"Professor McGonagall is pretty mad," Hermione said, frowning. "We had a quiz in class today."

Harry shrugged, "What I had to do was more important."

"Probably sneaking off to Hogsmeade," a voice snickered. "After all, we don't have a trip for weeks. Golden Boy *must* be getting restless."

"Shove off, Malfoy," Ron snapped before Harry could comment. "You're wasting our good air by breathing."

"Hmm," Malfoy nodded crisply, and then smirked. "I suppose you are right, Weasel. You can't afford to let someone else breathe it. Oh, wait. It's free. I understand, now."

Ron stood up, but Hermione restrained him.

"Don't, Ron," she chided, "he's not worth it. Think of how disappointed your mum will be." This calmed him enough to return to his seat, but his brown eyes glinted dangerously up at the Slytherin.

"Leave us alone," Harry said. His voice was low and both Ron and Hermione turned to him in surprise. Harry rarely acted as if he was furious, let alone a dead calm.

"So, Boy Wonder finally speaks," Malfoy drawled. "Planning on returning to the lake anytime soon, Potter? I had a lovely time yesterday. Didn't you?" Laughing cruelly, he swept off in a whirlwind of robes.

Ignoring Ron's shocked question of "Why were you at the lake with *Malfoy*?," he rose to his feet and pulled out his wand. Allowing the growing anger to take over, he remembered the letter from Potions class. The one Malfoy was going on about that his father was so proud of his NEWTs . . . Eyes darkening, he shouted, "Accio Malfoy's letter!"

"Hey!" Malfoy whirled around, facing turning red in anger. "Give that BACK!"

Harry held the letter in front of his face with his index finger and thumb, staring cruelly at the black inked scrawl of Malfoy's father. As his eyes trailed down the text, lathering on praise about Malfoy's hugest accomplishment as a Malfoy, he felt the anger ebbing. He couldn't destroy the letter, not how Draco did his album.

That would be sinking to *his* level.

Besides, wouldn't he have been proud if his father had sent him a letter like that?

Sighing, Harry dropped his hand and allowed the letter to fall to the ground in a flutter of wind. He felt a tear trace down his cheek and he pushed it away.

He'd never have that.

Never. So why should someone else have to suffer?

Not even Malfoy deserved to feel that loneliness.

--End.