I'm not in Denial

Harry - The Old Crowd

"Honestly, Albus! It would be so much easier to treat Potter´s wounds in the infirmary..."

Professor Dumbledore´s raised hand and uncharacteristically serious expression halted Madam Pomfrey´s stressing words, causing her to sigh softly to herself while turning back to continue to tend to Harry´s scar in unquestioning submission. The young wizard winced occasionally as the school matron pressed a cotton swab to the tender wound, ironically gritting his teeth painfully to lessen the pain. Professor McGonagall, standing beside the headmaster, was looking on at her student with a very pale, shaken and concerned looking expression. She also had that grave seriousness about her that Dumbledore had adopted. Damn, you´d have thought that someone had died or something.

"Ow..." Harry hissed unhelpfully, squeezing his watery green eyes as tightly as he possibly could, his hands clutching the armrests of his seat so firmly that he could feel the jabs of tiny splinters imprint against his palms.

"Poppy?" Madam Pomfrey turned to Dumbledore at his questioning request. Although Harry didn´t understand the underlying question in the word, the matron seemed to know exactly what Dumbledore was requesting of her. Maybe she had the Inner Eye or something. Harry smiled weakly, wishing that Ron were in here to laugh with him about that. He eyed the door again. Harry really wished that they would let Ron and Hermione into the office now. He could imagine Ron pacing bad-temperedly outside the door, wanting to break it down as Hermione restrained him, though wringing her hands in nervous fear. Poor Hermione. First Ron got himself beaten half to death, now Harry was being attacked by Dream Voldemort. Perhaps she should have chosen safer people to be friends with...

Madam Pomfrey sighed resignedly at Dumbledore as she answered his question, shaking her head and turning back to glimpse at the scar.

"It´s deep, Albus. Deeper than just the unconscious self-infliction found during a vivid dream. I don´t wish to jump to conclusions but, well..." She trailed off. "If you allow me a second or two, I can fully repair it."

"Please do," Dumbledore nodded serenely, forever unruffled and calm. He caught Harry´s eye and produced a small smile. "If that is fine by you, Harry." The Boy Who Lived smiled half-heartedly back.

"I´d rather have it closed up, thanks."

Madam Pomfrey didn´t join in the weak amusement as she pulled out her wand with amazing grace and, without another word, placed the tip deep within the gaping gash on his forehead, causing Harry to cry out and squeeze his eyes even tighter with both surprise and pain.

Now he thought that he maybe should have told them to leave it open...

While gritting his teeth into numbness, he felt a sudden warm hand clutch his own clammy one to relieve the pain. Though not knowing whom it was, Harry realised that at that point he didn´t even care if it was Snape and crushed it with all his might, squeezing back tears in the process. Feeling a warm, soothing balm of light fill within his wound, Harry´s grip slowly lessened as he lost himself in the peaceful, honeyed sensation. Somewhere in his blurry subconscious, he heard Madam Pomfrey mutter a combination of words under her breath and he immediately felt the severed sides of his scar tingle, then pull together to join once again. He relaxed his closed eyes, enjoying the harmonious feeling, forgetting everything and everyone around him. He could really just go to sleep right now and never wake up...

"Potter? Potter, wake up! Goodness sake, Harry...Harry!"

He was jerked awake, causing his glasses to fall crooked and his eyes to blink repeatedly, and somewhat angrily. His green eyes lifted up at the guilty party and he scowled slightly, readjusting his spectacles. What was Madam Pomfrey´s problem? He was really enjoying that. However, the school nurse was too busy looking at Professor McGonagall (oh, it was her who was holding his hand) and Dumbledore, both huddled over Harry and looking down with extreme worry.

"Oh Albus..." Professor McGonagall said shakily, tearing her eyes from his scar to look at the headmaster with such distress that Harry thought it almost surreal. He actually found himself squeezing her hand to cheer her up. He bit his lip. Perhaps he should have said something. After all, they all looked as though they were going to have a collective stroke. He coughed uneasily.

"Err... I´m fine. Really. You know, it was just a dream and I´ve had them before, it´s just that..."

But, for once, Dumbledore seemed to be ignoring him as the headmaster turned away, making his way with almost difficulty to his desk then slowly lowering himself creakily down onto his chair. Harry felt a knot in his stomach when he realised just how old the Headmaster suddenly looked. Facing the three pairs of expectant eyes watching his every move, Dumbledore looked troubled as he caught Harry´s.

The Boy Who Lived gulped.

Reaching for his scar unconsciously, he retreated his fingers with a yelp as he touched the tingling mark. It was scalding hot and would have burnt him if he´d left his fingertips there a moment longer. He didn´t need a mirror to know how it looked. He was now pretty sure why McGonagall had shivered when she had glimpsed at it. He was pretty sure that it had turned as black as the Dark Mark. He was also pretty sure that this was a very bad sign.

"I believe that it is time to activate the PortGate," Dumbledore suddenly said, some of his old vigour imminent in his voice. He sighed dejectedly with a sad smile as he looked on at the three occupants. "It unfortunately seems as though the time is upon us once again."

Harry, being the only person in the room without a clue what Dumbledore was going to do, felt as though he should have asked something as the other two nodded shakily, mumbling their concurrence. However, he was too busy wondering what on earth a PortGate was as Dumbledore stood, brandished out his wand and poured water-like liquid from the end of his wand to the desktop; falling into the shape of a solid Crystal Ball as it impacted against the polished wood. Harry couldn´t help thinking how very cool that was. And he also wondered why the Headmaster was going to do a Trelawney. Squinting his eyes in curiosity, the dark-haired boy managed to vaguely make out a gold type, circular object embedded in the centre of the ball, which looked oddly like a ring. This puzzled Harry even more as his forehead creased. What on earth did it do? And why was Dumbledore pulling up his sleeves like that? Harry unconsciously jiggled to the edge of his seat, leaning forward to catch every bit of the scene, his hand still held in Professor McGonagall´s vice-like grip. He was afraid to pull out of it, just in case his fingers didn´t come back with his arm.

Dumbledore placed his hands around the crystal sphere serenely, his palms flat on either side of the smooth glass surface as he closed his eyes. Harry tried not to blink, just in case he missed anything. Then he heard it. A soft buzzing noise slowly amplified throughout the room as the crystal began to gradually glow into a dazzling gold under the headmaster´s fingers. Dumbledore stood tranquil, a look of pure concentration on his wise and aged face as the loudening noise began to shake ornaments off of his shelves and Harry was forced to cover his ears; the entire room vibrating so uncontrollably that the young wizard was afraid it would explode. Harry, being British and never being out of the country, figured that this was pretty much what an earthquake would be like. He also figured that he didn´t much like earthquakes. He closed his eyes as the blinding glowing light began to hurt his eyes and the vibrations intensified, trying to shake his skinny body off his chair and making his glasses jump dangerously to the end of his nose. It was when Harry began to say prayers quickly under his breath, his teeth chattering with the shaking room all the while, when Dumbledore finally opened his mouth to softly say.

"Initiatiato."

At once a blazing light flashed through the room, so forceful and intense that it knocked Harry and his chair clean backwards, splintering the wood frame beneath his spine and causing him to hiss as the back of his head impacted with the floor. Great, now he had lost another billion brain cells. He immediately felt two pairs of hands help him up by the shoulders and his chair by its broken back. It took The Boy Who Lived a while to figure out what exactly had happened as he rubbed the back of his tender head with a frown but when he saw the difference, he couldn´t stop himself from blinking stupidly. Well, to be more exact, Harry had blinked stupidly at the five separate differences as they lifted themselves out of the rubble of ornaments and off the floor. Dumbledore smiled softly at his new arrivals, the melancholy of the situation still very present in his smile. "Well, I can safely proclaim that that was a very dramatic entrance."

Harry, who knew it was rude to stare with your mouth open, continued to do so as he caught sight of the five figures rising laboriously out from under the objects that had been thrown about in the quake. A middle-aged and bad-tempered witch, who had popped out first, muttered swears under her breath as she pulled her foot out of the Sorting Hat´s entanglement then dusted herself off irritably. If Harry didn´t know better, he would have sworn that she was Mrs Weasley in disguise. The newly-arrived witch did not look happy as she huffed up at the headmaster, her hands on her hips.

"Impractical, I tell you. Absolutely impractical! Who on earth invented such a daft way to travel? Honestly, Albus, I could have been sitting on the toilet for all you knew! Calling me without so much as an owl or notice!? And the entry! How can I ever be of assistance if I fall on my head and get a concussion?" Dumbledore´s smile became a full-fledged grin and he chuckled good-naturedly as the other bodies slowly and painfully got to their feet.

"But my dear Arabella, do you honestly believe that I would have enough time to owl you beforehand if I were being chased by a pack of rabid gnomes?"

Another oddly familiar growl from across the room sounded in alliance with Arabella, causing Harry´s heart to jump slightly in recognition.

It couldn´t be.

The Boy Who Lived shook his head in feebly. Of course he was hallucinating. Harry had already had two hard hits on the head; he must have been hearing things. But if the Gryffindor didn´t know better he could have sworn that that was...

"She´s right, Dumbledore," the thin, black-haired man rasped as he stood up from the ornament covered floor, his hand disappearing behind his short, stringy strands as he rubbed the back of his injured neck, wincing at the bruises he felt. "And it´s not as if dogs have the most dignified ways of living their..."

"SIRIUS!"

Harry knew he probably sounded like a schoolgirl in his enthusiasm, but he just didn´t care. If it was possible his Godfather´s face, at first quite confused when he turned to the voice, broke into a grin both wide and caring. The dirtied loose grey robes he wore and the unkempt look were suddenly forgotten in that instant and Harry mused that he´d never seen Sirius look more like the man in his parent´s wedding photo than just then. However, in all his little meditations, the young wizard completely forgot that he was still in a pretty delicate condition and stood so fast to join his Godfather that the blood rushed painfully to his head, blinding his vision and making the room spin nauseously.

Oh great.

It was just when he thought he was going to fall and break his head open again, and get a good telling off from Madam Pomfrey in the process, that he felt a pair of strong arms catch him securely, keeping him upright and from hitting the floor. Blinking his eyes lazily for the swirl of colours to subside, the grey blur in front of Harry slowly focused into the utterly concerned and pale face of Padfoot. Harry smiled tiredly.

"Hey, Sirius."

Sirius didn´t reply, he just looked up at Dumbledore, still holding Harry up, with an apprehensive frown on his face. Harry sighed bad-temperedly. Oh, not him too. The boy wizard wanted to yell at everyone to stop worrying about him and cheer the hell up but he felt a little too likely to vomit to rally up the effort to.

"Dumbledore?" Sirius´s asked in disquiet, his expression hinting frustration as he looked at the wise headmaster. Dumbledore lowered himself into his chair, serious once again as Sirius helped Harry back into his own broken chair, standing by his godson with a concerned hand on his shoulder. It was only then that Harry actually noticed the other three persons who´d arrived. His third year Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher, Remus Lupin, was looking at him with a face lined with worry while Alastor Moody, the famous Auror, glared at him with pure suspicion with his large, twitching, hawk-like glass eye as the other normal one looked at the headmaster. Harry realised that he didn´t recognise the last man, who was gazing at him silently, but Dumbledore had already begun profoundly before the young wizard could enquire.

"I have called you all today, not only to test-run my grand invention," here he smiled at Arabella the witch, who blushed when she recalled what she had previously said, "but to inform you all that I believe the activities and motions discussed in the Order of the Phoenix should now be instigated."

"But why now, Dumbledore?" the stranger in the bright purple robes asked, his almost cartoon-like face in earnest. Harry thought he looked like the type of man who would usually smile all day and bounce happily from place to place. However, the small man was presently not smiling. Like everyone else (except Moody who just looked plain paranoid), he was worried. Dumbledore looked up to meet Harry´s eyes; Harry knew what he had to do. Feeling somewhat self-conscious, he shakily and reluctantly lifted his hand to move his fringe from his scar. He heard a roomful of gasps, felt Sirius´s hand tighten on his shoulder and felt his own face burning red in discomfiture as Arabella took out her reading glasses and leaned forward to get a better look. He looked down from Dumbledore´s thanking smile, wanting to run straight out of the room and never return. He bit his lip. There was no way he was going to cry. Not in such a public place and in front of his Godfather. He was not going to cry just because he sometimes hated who he was. He was not going to blubber like a stupid little kid just because the darkest wizard in the world wanted him dead.

"Harry, are you alright?" Harry looked up at Dumbledore, feeling sheepish; his hate for all the attention very apparent on his face. He knew there was really only one thing that would cheer him up.

"Can... can Ron and Hermione come in now?"

Like asking a Fairy Godmother, his wish was granted. With a flick of his wrist, Dumbledore had magicked the door open. However, it appeared that the two Gryffindor´s weren´t quite as ready to see Harry as he was them. It seemed that they were so impatient to see their best friend that Ron had somehow coaxed Hermione to give him a leg up so he could peer through the glass at the top of the door. In fact, Ron was trying with all his might to crane his neck to look into the room, grumbling swears under his breath as Hermione nervously asked if he could see anything, trying to hold his heavy and large foot up with difficulty and a red-face in the process. Harry couldn´t stop himself from grinning when they both finally noticed the roomful of people looking at them with amusement. There were looks of complete horror on both their pale faces. With eyes and mouths wide open, Hermione snatched back her hand in her mortification, causing Ron to fall straight to the ground in a heap. Harry could hear Dumbledore chuckle behind him as Madam Pomfrey sighed bad-temperedly at the redhead, who was still looking completely shocked as he lay sprawled on his back on the ground.

"Do you need even more medical assistance, Mr Weasley?"

Hermione, whose current skin colour could rival any lobster´s, sheepishly and guiltily helped pull up Ron by the arm as the redheaded Gryffindor raked his other hand through his hair, awkwardly licking at his lips and looking queasy when seeing the peeved look on the school matron´s face. Neither had yet to notice Harry.

"Uh, I... I´m... err... I´m fine.... I think... err... And is Harry ok?" he said the last bit very fast, the tips of his ears going red as he did. Hermione was still holding onto his arm, looking very embarrassed but seemed to be pressing her fingernails anxiously into the redhead as she bit her lip and awaited the news with him. Oh, for God´s sake! Now his best friend´s were becoming all worrisome. And the old nag look really didn´t suit Ron. Finally deciding that enough was enough, Harry sighed with exasperation and stood up, throwing up his hands in weary frustration and causing surprised looks from his audience.

"Listen, I´m fine. Honestly, everyone. I´m ok. I´m all right. Just peachy. I´m fine and dandy. You don´t have a thing to worry about."

"Your scar seems to think otherwise, Potter," Moody growled, leaning his weight on his wooden leg as he shifted against the wall, his marred mouth smirking in a twisted manner as his eye rolled around in his head. Dumbledore nodded at his associate.

"I would have to agree with Alastor, despite your... persuasive argument, Harry." Here he smiled in slight sympathy. "This can only indicate that the time has come, and we all know what jobs we must fulfil." He seemed to give each occupant a poignant, meaningful look and everyone returned it with an equally determined look in their eye. Ron simply looked as though someone had just picked him up randomly off the street and thrown him into this scene as he scratched his head. Harry caught his eye smiled at him weakly, which only caused the redhead to finally notice the black scar, blink repeatedly, gulp loudly and step backwards while gesturing to it and mouthing, `You-Know-Who...?´ Subsequently, Harry heard Hermione gasp and pull out a notepad and pen, scribbling madly into it. Oh brother.

"I´ll contact The Connoisseurs Union," Lupin said as he stood, his tired grey face resolute as his eyes gleamed alert. "We´ll need their help, especially with the Ministry´s lack of assistance."

"You´ll need help, Remus," Sirius said stepping forward, his absence from Harry´s side immediately inducing Ron and Hermione to quickly hurry to his side, both looking down at him with worried concern and nervous glances at each other. Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey also stepped forward as the cartoon-faced gentleman, whose name Harry caught to be Mundungus Fletcher, seemed to be deep in conversation with Dumbledore. Harry muted out their words, even Sirius´s. It was all starting to get to him. Ignoring the adults, he turned to his two friends, who´d taken refuge in Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey´s seats. There was an uncomfortable silence for a while, no one knowing exactly what to say before Harry turned to Hermione.

"Err... so, um... Did I miss anything important in Herbology?" Ron looked up from his fidgeting hands, cracking a grin on his still pale and shaken face as he caught Hermione´s eye. The young witch smiled guiltily then looked away.

" `Mione was too worried to pay attention," Ron explained, a little gleam in his eye. "Cut up her Pinshoot roots so badly that Professor Sprout told Neville to give her a hand." Harry´s wide eyes, then hysterical laughter, seemed to make Hermione even more irritated as she scowled at a laughing Ron.

"You can talk, Ron Weasley. You were so distracted that I had to stop that Venomous Tentacular from taking your hand off!"

"Was not!"

Harry, still laughing, didn´t even notice that Sirius had come back to join them. His Godfather was at his side in an instant. Must have been his dog-like reflexes.

"Behaving yourselves, you two?" Sirius asked, a twinkle in his dark eyes as he eyed the pouts on both Ron and Hermione´s faces. "You know, I´m counting on you two mature adults to look out for Harry." Sirius turned to the two of them exclusively, smiling paternally.

"Sirius!" Harry cried out in protest, blushing madly and trying to look at him huffily. Did he have to embarrass him and treat him like a child?

"We will!" Ron cried out stoutly, ignoring Harry´s interruption and looking offended that Sirius could ever doubt him as he huffed his chest out. Hermione poked him in the ribs so he deflated as Sirius grinned again and ruffled his red hair affectionately, causing Ron to let out a sheepish smile.

"Look after yourselves, too. And no mischief this year. I mean it. Anymore owls about any of you being in the infirmary, I´ll be back to collect you all." Hermione nodded, very content to follow this advice as Ron pouted and pursed his lips, grumbling.

"You´re getting soft in your old age, Snuffles. You sound just like mum..." However, before Sirius could get too offended and as Harry tried to stifle a smile, Professor McGonagall entered their little circle. Hey, one more person and Harry was sure they could have a party.

"Mr Weasley, Miss Granger, could you join us for a moment?"

Looking at each other warily at the quite stern, important note in the Deputy Headmistress´s voice, both Ron and Hermione followed her without question, though Ron did nudge Hermione in front and push her along first. What was going on? Harry creased his forehead as he watched Dumbledore whisper something in his friends´ ears when they reached him, both nodding zealously at whatever he´d propositioned. Now, why did Harry have a feeling that they were talking about him? Maybe hanging around Mad-Eye Moody was making him paranoid.

"Are you genuinely alright, Harry?" Sirius soft enquiry nearly made Harry grumble. He loved Sirius and everyone else that kept asking about him but sometimes it got annoying. Even if he felt far from ok, he was hardly going to mention it. Besides, he didn´t want to inflict his nightmares on others. He wouldn´t wish that on anyone. Not even that git Malfoy.

"Sirius, I´m fine it´s just that..." He couldn´t lie at the look on his Godfather´s face. Harry dropped his eyes, looking down at his hands as he played with his fingers. "I... I sometimes don´t think I can hack all this. I mean, it´s so much to deal with and all and sometimes..." He cracked a weak smile. "I-I guess it sounds really stupid and all but I feel really alone..." He immediately felt Sirius´s hand on his shoulder as he squeezed his eyes shut again. Harry wouldn´t let them well but he was pretty sure that Padfoot could see how red they were.

"Harry," he said sternly, almost as though he were telling Harry off. "You honestly have no reason to feel alone. Just remember that you have a Godfather who loves you and two great friends who´d do anything for you. Don´t forget that, no matter what they throw at you. Alright?" Harry managed a smile.

"Alright."

At Sirius´s words, he turned over to look back at Ron and Hermione. To his surprise, they were having an arm wrestling match on Dumbledore´s desk. And Hermione seemed to be winning. He blinked to make sure he wasn´t just imagining things... but no. There they were... arm wrestling. What on earth...?

He studied the look of red frustration and strained, withering concentration on Ron´s face and the huge beam of utter smugness from Hermione. Damn, she really was kicking his arse. Harry couldn´t stop himself from grinning as Sirius tutted at Ron´s dismal performance.

The grumpy, funny, bad-tempered redhead and the bossy, know-it-all prefect.

He couldn´t have chosen better friends if he tried.

Ron - The Pensieve

Who´d have thought she´d have that much strength in her?Ron wondered afterwards as he massaged his aching, strained wrist with his fingers, wincing with the pain. Then again, he supposed that all those useless books Hermione carried about with her all the time resulted in daily weight lifting. Bloody unfair advantage, that was.

He grumbled.

Not only did he have to live with the shame that the small and fragile-looking prefect was stronger than him (he shuddered as he imagined the gleeful expressions on Fred and George´s faces when they found out) but Ron had also lost the bet he´d struck up with Hermione. Bugger it. He knew they should have played Wizard´s Chess. He was yet to find a worthy enough opponent, and Hermione´s skill in chess would definitely have secured his place as Harry´s eventual secret keeper. However, Hermione had won fair and square (Ron snorted) and she would take the position when the time came. Despite his childish protests, Hermione did reason with him sensibly that he could help Harry in other ways and that he was still the closest thing the orphaned wizard had to a brother... but still! Ron still couldn´t help feeling more than just slightly resentful and sulky. Harry was his best mate, too! He´d risked his life, and still would a thousand times, for the Boy Who Lived and he understood Harry better than anyone did, including Hermione! After all, she was just a girl...

The redhead winced as soon as he thought that. If Hermione had ever heard him calling her `just a girl´...

Beaten by a Mudblood and a girl, Weasley? Why aren´t I fucking surprised?

Ron scowled. Bloody Malfoy. As soon as the real Draco Malfoy had left, the imaginary foe had parked himself into Ron´s head and refused point blank to bloody leave, no matter how hard (and painfully) the Gryffindor tried to beat him out. He was getting stronger with every day that passed and now that little buzzing in his ear had become a fully-fledged permanent sneering. Nowadays, he just tried to shrug it off but his imagination was very good at creating cutting rejoinders about his family when posing as Malfoy. This being the case, Ron wondered why his inner monologue made his own comebacks always sound so stupid. And it was seriously beginning to get to him. It was like some twisted and totally oblivious obsession now, though Ron would rather go live as the bearer of Aragog´s children in the Forbidden Forest than ever admit that. However, the redhead would admit that it was bloody annoying, with the blond prick long gone and all, that he still managed to have spats with him. But then again, the Gryffindor reminded himself that the Slytherin shit wasn´t long gone, was he...?

Ron gritted his teeth.

Piss off, Malfoy. Just get lost at the back of my head or something...

Why should I when I know you don´t want me to, Weasel? Why don´t you just pay me a visit...? You know exactly were I am...

Yeah, you think you´re so clever, Malfoy? Why the heck would I want to visit a pointy-faced bastard like you anyway?

Because you want to fuck my brains out.

Shit.

Admitting it now, are we? Faggot. Bet you really got off on my hands being up your robes, too...

No! You´re barking, you are! Like I´d want you touching me...!

Is that why you´re imagining me naked?

Bugger. How did that happen...?

Pervert.

Conniving Bastard.

Schizophrenic shithead.

...Listen. Just...just go fuck yourself, Malfoy...

Why don´t you do it for me, Weasel? Or just do it to me? I´m not far and I know you want to, you perverted little queen...I´m right here waiting for you, Potty boy. Right fucking here...

Right, this was definitely going too far. Why was his mind turning against him like this? Ron had always treated it well. What had the redhead ever done to it except let it doze while he muted out lectures and chewed happily on a sugar quill? Ron squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head angrily as the imaginary Malfoy gave him an authentic and utterly infuriating smirk, flicking his blond hair out of his silver eyes. Damn it. Why couldn´t he just get the sexy and psychopathic Slytherin bastard literally out of his head?

Oh shit.

He just called Malfoy (the git) sexy. He actually admitted that he was attractive. But... but just because he was observant didn´t actually mean he wanted to kiss or grope the stupid little bastard, did it...?

Ron gulped at the imagery.

This wasn´t good. This wasn´t good at all.

He was in trouble.

The Gryffindor felt his hands going clammy. He was beginning to panic.

He was in a lot of trouble.

He needed to fix this. He needed to stop thinking about the prick like this. He needed to know what happened in the hallway that day. He needed to know what Malfoy had done to him. It must have been a spell or something. Yeah... some illegal Death Eater curse. Trying to make Ron think he was gay when he clearly wasn´t. He wouldn´t put it passed the little shite. Oh, he was going to give the slimy git such a pounding when he next saw him...

Ron needed to talk to Dumbledore. Dumbledore would know what to do. Dumbledore could give him advice. But, most importantly, Dumbledore knew what had happened. Ron was sure of it. Which is why the redheaded Gryffindor was still sitting in the headmaster´s office as Dumbledore escorted everyone else outside like a gracious host, leaving Ron alone to gape at everything in the extraordinary and beautiful room. Grand sparkling mirrors, pictures of past Headmasters snoozing contentedly in their frames, odd diagonal placed shelves on the wall stacked with seemingly useless, noisy and colourful junk and a little box on Dumbledore´s desk, which was full to the brim with sweets were just a few of the things that the redhead peered interestingly at... especially the sweets. However much Ron´s mouth watered though, the Gryffindor figured that stealing treats from the most powerful wizard in modern times was about as stupid as poking a sphinx in the eye with your wand. Besides, even Dumbledore had a weak spot. And lemon drops were as good a cause as any Ron had heard.

Uh-oh.

The immediate thought of food caused the Gryffindor´s stomach to growl fiercely, demanding to be filled as soon as possible. Ron bit his lip as he tried to cradle his noisy belly, hoping it would lessen the noise. Darn it. It was all his own fault. The redhead should have known what would happen when he thought of sweets. He grinned sheepishly to himself as he wondered what Hermione would think about his obsession with eating twenty-four hours a day. Probably give him her book on `Magical Diets and How to Follow Them´. With a snigger, Ron thought how well someone like Crabbe could benefit from a book like that. Pity that the stupid dolt couldn´t read to save his life. And even clear diagrams would have to be explained thoroughly. How the heck did someone as impatient and as intelligent as Malfoy hack him and his equally brainless twin?

Can´t even stop thinking about me for two seconds, Weasel? You´ve got it bad.

Ron groaned. How had he gone from talking about lemon drops to Malfoy?

Both confectionaries you want to suck?

Naff off!

Heh.

Right, he could do this. He could stop thinking about that conceited little arse for longer than ten seconds. And he could bloody well prove it, too. Muttering "Distraction... distraction... distraction..." under his breath repeatedly into an odd sort of chant, Ron´s desperate blue eyes gazed imploringly around the room for any form of anything that could divert him for at least a minute, or until Dumbledore came back. Anything shiny or edible would do...

Why don´t you check whether I´m edible, poor boy?

Lalala... I´m not listening to you...

Ultimately (while ignoring the arse and his pervy innuendos), he found a suitable enough distraction in the wardrobe at the far side of the room; its door tantalisingly ajar. Leaving a half-open closet lying around one of Hogwarts´ famous trio was never a good thing, and especially when they were trying to run away from the taunts from their imaginary foe... unless you want them to go through your stuff. Too closed to see any of its possessions and yet quite open enough to stimulate one´s curiosity... Man, it was too good to miss. Ron grinned nervously.

Wicked. A distraction... Eat that, you pasty git.

Wow, an open closet. How appropriate. Nice to see your small mind can deal with it, Weasel.

Still can´t hear you...

Ron immediately stood up, warily eying the door Dumbledore would be returning by with nervy glances. He stepped with obvious anticipation and hopping steps towards the fine-crafted closet, his feet too big to make his awkward steps look like tiptoes. Although it took effort, the redhead tried his hardest not to look like a troll (or Goyle) trying to impersonate a ballerina as he leapt towards the enticing wooden box.

It wouldn´t hurt to look... and it wasn´t as though he were going to steal anything... He only needed to sidetrack his mind for a couple of minutes... But what was that Muggle saying again? `Curiosity killed the cat´...? Ron´s brow furrowed as he again pondered how nutters Muggles were. Whose cat were they talking about? He really didn´t exactly understand how a cat had anything to do with this, though Ron secretly hoped that it was Filch´s that snuffed it. Nosy, conniving little...

He reached out to place his fingertips on the edge of the already slightly open door. Still nervous enough to bite down on his bottom lip and flash one last glimpse at the office door, Ron peered through the opening crack and into the closet as he pulled the door further towards him. He blinked at his findings. After all his curiosity and anticipated wondering Ron was finally faced with...

A whole load of goldfish bowls with lots of foggy stuff in them.

Ron made a face. Darn it. Not a galleon in sight or even a weird and very cool `Good against Evil´ gadget to use against You-Know-Who. It wasn´t as though he didn´t know what they were. He hadn´t lived practically 16 years as a wizard to not recognise a shelf full of Pensieves when he saw one. However, Ron also knew not to meddle in other people´s thoughts. Not only had Percy made that quite clear when he filled his own room full of them (some even in spare bottles that were lying around) but his mother, whose good books he was presently in, would give him such a bollocking that he would be completely deaf in one ear until Christmas. So, with a dejected sigh and a horrible inkling that Dream Malfoy would return very soon and begin to harass him until his ears went scarlet, Ron proceeded to close the door. However, that was until his bored eye suddenly caught sight of a little plaque beside one of the Pensieves. He did a double take. He blinked again. His brain tried to make sure he wasn´t hallucinating as usual. Then his mouth dropped open, his hand frozen stiff on the door.

Violet - Weasley/Malfoy Incident

This was it. This was what he wanted to know. This was what he had wanted Violet to tell him, if she wasn´t such a forgetful hag. Ron gulped at his findings, both his conscience and the muscle under his skin tingling as he eyed the swirling, silvery mist.

He knew he shouldn´t... he couldn´t (especially if his mother found out)... but just looking at the answer, which even a usually befuddled person like Ron could tell was staring him straight in the face...

And for some wild reason, he irrationally felt strange contentment from his name being first.

He hopped nervously on the spot.

...How could he resist? Ron licked his lips uncertainly, peeking at the office door again. He didn´t have much time...

Just a little peek. Just two seconds were all he needed to see what had happened... he could go inside and practically touch and taste whatever Violet had seen. He could see himself. He could see Malfoy. And he could see exactly what the malicious bastard did to him on that fateful day.

And so he did it. He did exactly what his father had explicitly told him throughout his entire life not to do. He´d trusted his safety into an object whose brain he couldn´t see.

With one last paranoid glance back at the door, Ron gulped, squeezed his eyes tightly and slowly put his quivering, lightly freckled hand into the depths of the liquid vapour.

In an instant, he felt his entire hand freezing painfully with the strange sensation. He gritted his teeth, swearing loudly as the cold travelled in arctic trickles up his arm, spreading to his chest, pushing whole glaciers through his heart and spreading down to his legs and up his neck to his head - giving head-cold a whole new meaning. His mind went numb and he automatically felt tired, head spinning and more confusion dawning on him than looking at any of Hermione´s Arithmancy graphs. And before he knew it, he felt himself being spun around and around and around, being swirled and churned beyond form and his body... and very slowly, he felt himself being sucked into the basin like liquid through a straw...

And then he landed. He hardly remembered falling but Ron Weasley sure as heck knew that he hit the ground, especially considering the pain he felt on his now tender rear. Scowling, he rubbed his aching backside as he lifted himself slowly and sorely onto his feet, muttering the many ways he was going hurt Malfoy (a lot) when this was over. But then he realised where exactly he was and thoughts of turning Malfoy into a cruelly pink bunny rabbit were gone from his head. Blinking repeatedly, Ron took in the scene in incredulous disbelief, his mouth open in amazement.

It was bloody creepy.

He was standing in that very corridor off the third floor all over again. Glancing all around him as though he had never seen the place before, Ron found himself standing right outside Violet´s picture. He could smell that scent of winter in air, could note the desolateness of the corridor absolutely identical to how it had been before and he could hear the more than familiar laughter down the hall. Trying to wipe the dust of the stone floor off his jeans, Ron lifted his eyes and squinted his eyes through the bright hallway. He looked down the fork in the hall and his sight nearly made him choke down on plain air as his eyes bulged. Crikey, he was actually hearing and seeing him and Harry coming back from Quidditch practice! He could see his past self chuckling with Harry, both with their broomsticks over their shoulders casually but Ron (who pretty well guessed by now that he was very invisible) was too busy looking with loathing and a strange jolt of his heart at the new arrival on the scene to heed their conversation. Malfoy, looking completely pissed off and a bit more sickly pale than usual, stormed right into Harry and his past self, making Ron´s own fists clench as he heeded the remarks, the taunting, the smirks, the fluid body movements and the way the Slytherin shit always knew the right buttons to push.

God, hearing it all again still made the redhead shake with pure rage. He was as red-faced as his past self.

It was just as the present Ron was about to attack Malfoy himself when the blond pounced, making Ron step back in shock at the abruptness of the attack. Biting the inside of his cheek, he tried not to join in. Not only would it do no good (considering he was a mere phantom here) but he couldn´t get his emotions all mixed up in this, despite how hard the redhead found this order to be. Watching this was the reason he was here.

And so he watched.

He watched Malfoy break his jaw. He watched Malfoy break his nose. He saw the spray of blood splatter over both their faces. He watched himself trying to gasp for breath, drowning in his own blood as the punches increased. He watched Harry try and pull Malfoy off. He felt a spasm of anger hit him as he watched the blond hit his best friend, making him cower to the ground. He heard Harry´s groan, a sound of broken of glass and then...

Ron felt his heart plummet to his stomach, his mouth completely dry.

He watched as Malfoy kissed him.

He watched in breathless awe as the tongue explored his mouth. He watched, gulping loudly, as the teeth bit viciously into his lips. He watched with a shudder as Malfoy´s bloody lips latched cruelly onto his throat, sucking and biting brutally into his flesh. He watched Malfoy retreat. He watched the look of complete mortification on his pointed face. And then he watched Harry swing his Firebolt over Malfoy´s head, knocking him out over Ron´s bloodied, unconscious past self.

But Ron only kept one image in his head. He watched the first press of lip to lip over and over and over until it played in loop within his raging mind. He watched it as he exited the Pensieve. He watched it as he staggered out of Dumbledore´s still empty office. He replayed it in his head as he hurried down the stairs and passed the gargoyle. He saw it play again and again as he ran pale-faced down the halls, slammed the Hogwarts´s entrance doors open and sprinted breathlessly through the grounds and to the Whomping Willow. And Ron Weasley even saw it as he used his wand to hit the roots, running through the passageway he´d just revealed and heading in wild, brutally fierce fury straight towards the Shrieking Shack.