Fugitive Prince

Fugitive Prince

By March Madness

"Why do you keep smiling to yourself, Phebe?"

"I was thinking about a nice little secret I know, and couldn't help smiling."

"Shall I know it sometime?"

"Guess you will."

"Shall I like it?"

"Oh, won't you though!"

Eight Cousins

, Louisa May Alcott

Chapter XII

"Harry, could you stay a moment?" Professor McGonagall asked. Harry paused from where he was picking up his school bag and nodded, sitting back down into his seat.

"See you later, mate," Ron whispered, passing by. Hermione whispered the same thing and the class left, trailing away in a shocked silence as they were brutally reminded that summer really was the end of their fun, that school involved hard work, and that some teachers never lost their cruel habit of assigning too much homework.

When the last of the students drained out of the Transfiguration classroom, closing the door and cutting off the early complaints about assignments, McGonagall looked up to see Harry still sitting in the back of the class. "Well, do come up here, Mr. Potter," she told him, eyes drifting back to a collection of papers on her desk. "I'm not prone to biting students."

Harry stood and made his way down to her desk at the front of the class, standing very still.

The windows were open and through them drifted in the sounds of play. Monday, though it was (and the first Monday at that), many students felt like summer was not yet over and were using their passing time to catch a bit of sun before the next class. Some were out, talking excitedly with the first years who were preparing for their first flying lessons while others used the time to pull quick pranks. Someone had brought back a collection of muggle water guns and even now held the plastic weapon under her arm, in a position where she could attack without suspect. Her friends, all Ravenclaws, were now pulling out the big guns, soaking friends from a distance and running before they got caught. A craze was even taking over the school as muggle-born students owled home for supplies and wizarding students gathered together for magical retaliation. Which might have worked, had they been allowed to use magic in the halls without punishment.

Fred and George thought the muggle attack hilarious, and even planned on adding some muggle-based products on their growing list of invention. It seemed the season for the wizarding world to embrace muggles.

"Because you've missed your first four years," McGonagall's voice rang through the noise and Harry quickly looked to her. She still had her face down, looking through the stacks for some undetectable paper but as she spoke, her beady eyes darted up, watching Harry's face through her glasses. "You'll need to take a few tests, to see if what we've heard of you is true."

"What have you heard of me?"

"Well, that your mother home-schooled you from early childhood, just as your guardians are now home-schooling your brother." McGonagall stopped as though even the brief mention of Leo caused her to sigh in admiration. So much power, her face was telling Harry. So much power your brother must possess. "Remus and Sirius owled the headmaster during the summer, bragging of your advance knowledge despite formal schooling but I must admit that much of their accounts seem to be empty boasting." Her eyes challenged him to deny it.

"My mother did teach me," Harry said in the pause that followed, feeling like she deliberately stopped to make him talk. "From her old school books, actually. But, I don't think I'm too advanced." He swallowed his tongue at the straight lie.

McGonagall nodded her head approvingly, going back to her desktop search. "I'd guessed as much," her voice clipped out. "Even if Lily taught you with her old books, the curriculum has changed greatly from her years here, bless her soul."

"Of course, professor." Neither Harry nor McGonagall dared to add that while the curriculum had changed, it hadn't necessarily changed for the better. The years that Lily and James had gone to Hogwarts had been much more difficult because, with the rising of Voldemort, classes had been stepped up a notch to better prepare graduating students for the dark world they'd face upon leaving the school grounds. A world torn up in bitter war and betrayal, where best friends couldn't be trusted lest they be turned against you.

With the fall of Voldemort only five years ago, classes had been brought back down to their normal status. Some of the things Lily had taught her prodigy son were no longer taught, had in fact been outlawed in public schooling as being dangerous, reckless, and far too advanced for young minds to handle.

"After each day this week, you will be expected to arrive here, prompt, after dinner. Each day, you will be tested on the material fifth years students should know. Now Harry," she paused, thinking her words over carefully, "do not be scared to admit that you don't know something. No one can blame you. Just do your best and, if you struggle with something, you'll be placed where you can best grow. Do you have any questions?"

Harry shook his head silently and McGonagall dismissed him to his next class, giving him less than a minute to get to the dungeons.

He ran.

*

"Congratulations," Snape sneered and the less brave students cowed before his wrath. "On stumbling through yet another year. How many of you managed to pass is a mystery, since very few of you seem to possess the brain power to remember that certain ingredients cannot be added together!"

Neville, singed from the roots of his eyebrows to the hair just beginning to grow on his chin, quailed in his seat as the smoke rising from his burned face stung his eyes. His fingernails dug into his hand, willing himself not to cry. He was a Gryffindor, after all. His parents raised him to be brave, his father was one of the best Aurors out there--next only to Alastor Moody, who was now teaching at Hogwarts, and Sirius Black, who only worked part time since the fall of Voldemort. What would his father think to see his son, flinching at the words of a known Death Eater?

Hermione raised her hand shakily from beside Neville, hair smelling like smoke and the very tips of its smoldering with bits of fire. "Professor Snape, can we go to the hospital wing?"

Snape glared at her. "Did I give you permission to speak, Miss Granger?"

"No-"

"Then you will wait until I do so." He paced to the front of the classroom, black robes billowing like storm clouds behind him. (Today's forecast: dark clouds with the high chance of rain, along with a spectacular lightning show.)

He reached his desk and sat down, glaring at the Gryffindor side of the room while the Slytherins smirked smugly. "Five points from Gryffindor, for being incredibly stupid. Another five from Gryffindor, for Miss Granger's cheek as well as for her inability to prevent this accident." Hermione made a sound of protest and the Gryffindors groaned while the Slytherins grinned. Snape looked up angrily. "Shall I make it ten points, Miss Granger-"

His rant was cut off when the Potions door opened up. Coming through the entrance was a tall boy, slim and cloaked in black robes that surged behind him as he half-ran in, moving in the wind that his running created. His skin looked too richly tanned for the dark dungeons. When he entered, he gave a great sigh of relief and wearily dropped his bags down at one of the empty front tables, walking up to Snape. "I'm sorry, professor, but Professor McGonagall kept me after class."

"Mr. Potter, are you telling me that it took you ten minutes to make your way from the Transfigurations classroom down to my classroom?" The room braced for an explosion when Harry, head down, nodded. What they got: Snape exhaled angrily then waved his hand. "Take you seat, Potter. Mr. Malfoy," Draco's head jerked up. "Tell Potter what he's missed."

"But-" Draco cut off his comment at the strangely angry look Snape directed towards him and made his sully way to join Harry at the front desk.

Snape cleared his throat and looked around. "What are you gaping at?" he barked and the class flinched, save for the still smug Slytherins. "Granger, take Longbottom down to the hospital wing. And Longbottom, I suggest you stay there until you learn that the mush between your ears is, in fact, useful." Hermione's chair scrapped against the floor and she helped the traumatized Neville out of his seat. "As for the rest of you, I expect your potions to be correctly made. The next potion that explodes loses twenty points. Do I make myself clear?"

There were some startled gasps from the Gryffindor side as well as many wishful/panicked looks sent to Hermione's retreating back. Their genius was leaving now of all times! Snape gave the room a final glare and turned, spinning on his feet to go back into his office and leaving the room alone.

"How on earth did you manage that?" Draco hissed. "You, a Gryffindor!"

"Manage what?"

Draco motioned towards the Potions Master's office door. "Manage not getting blown up. Sure, Slytherins get away with coming in late, but a Gryffindor?" He looked over Harry suspiciously. "Do you know the professor from somewhere?"

Harry's back stiffened. "No. What potion are we making."

The Slytherin waved a lazy hand. "A simple healing draught. Something any idiot can make." The loud comment was met with several sneers from Gryffindors, loud guffaws from Slytherins.

Harry went to work, sorting out the ingredients and splicing, dicing, and peeling--whatever needed to be done. Draco watched him for a moment incredulously. "You're actually going to make it?" he finally said. Harry nodded curtly. "Why?"

Harry stopped and looked up, locking his burning green eyes on the cloudy crystal eyes of Draco. "Why not?"

"Well... Snape obviously thinks you're a Slytherin," Draco drawled. "Or else, that you should have been one. He'll treat you like one of us, and we really don't have to make those potions in here. Unless we want to."

Harry looked around. The Gryffindors were frantically whispering among themselves, trying to use their collective knowledge to brew the potion correctly. They worked like ants, crawling from table to table, sharing the wealth of information while they collected more for the rest to use. Everyone was trying to get their own potion done while helping the rest.

The Slytherins, however, laughed at their rivals' attempts, visibly mocking the Gryffindors while they themselves lounged, talking and gossiping. Any potion making was merely for show, or else for personal benefit as Harry saw several girls grabbing ingredients to prepare a shallow truth serum. Occasionally, a Slytherin would call out an insult against one of the Gryffindors. They painfully reminded Harry of his own little brother, especially times when Leo didn't want to do anything but be lazy.

'No,' he argued against the demon-drawn comparison. 'Leo's not like that at all.'

Tensions rose and Snape, in his closed office, didn't seem to care if his students started fighting each other as long as his peace remained undisturbed.

Harry's face darkened. Standing up, ignoring Draco's hisses to sit back down, the black-haired boy marched to the front of the classroom and developed a waiting position, casting his eyes about the class and challenging those who looked at him. The noise settled into a stunned silence. No one ever approached Snape's desk unsupervised.

Harry cleared his throat and began. "For those of you who don't know, this particular healing drought is quite easy and quite useful. Say, for instance, you decide to go play Quidditch. By drinking this potion before you play, you not only lower your chances of getting a serious injury, but you also increase your body's healing time if you do get injured." He spoke in soft, measured tones, a voice he knew caught Leo's ever-wandering attention.

The Slytherins paused in their lounging, studying this new student who suddenly took over the room, raking their eyes along his body in the way they knew caused discomfort. Harry didn't seem to notice.

"Like I said, it's very easy to make," he continued. "But, some of you don't seem to know how to make such an easy potion." He nodded towards the Slytherin side and they bristled.

"Or some of us seem to think it's too easy," one called out angrily. He waved his hand to encompass the room. "Why should we waste our time learning something we already know?"

"So you get better," Harry replied curtly.

"You think you're so smart?" another asked snidely. "I bet that's the only healing potion you know how to make."

Harry paused and turned to look at the girl. "What exactly would you bet?"

She shrugged as though to show her own disinterest, but her eyes seemed to grow in hunger of a challenge. "Oh, I don't know... thirty Galleons?"

The room erupted in hoots as she made her claim and she smiled wickedly, daring Harry to take her on.

Harry stared at her a moment then, almost casually, drew into his robes, into a pocket, and pulled out a handful of twinkling golden coins, stunning the class into silence again. "What potion do you have in mind?"

"Wolfsbane," she announced after a moment's thought. "Made right here, right now."

"No," Harry darted away. Her smile grew. "It wouldn't be fair to you." At the confused looks on the room's faces, Harry added, "I live with a werewolf. You're asking me to make a potion that, for the last four years of my life, I've made on a monthly basis." There were some whistles of admiration.

"Gryffindors," Draco suddenly snorted, standing tall as the Slytherins' representative. "Too good for their own good." He glanced over to the girl. "Don't you know any harder potions, Pansy."

"None legal, Draco."

Draco rubbed his chin then smiled, a slow smile that corrupted his face. "Make the Drought of Living Death," he commanded. "The seventh year N.E.W.T.s potion." He pulled from his own pocket a handful of coins, spilling them onto his table. Some of the students saw stars and their fingers itched.

Harry stared at the boy for a moment, eyes and face blank of all emotion, then he dropped his Galleons onto the table.

Immediately, chairs scrapped against the floor as Harry chose a cauldron. "Here," Ron pushed his forward. "Use mine." Harry nodded his thanks then pulled off his robes.

"Guard the office," Draco whispered to one of his housemates and the boy nodded, darting off to stand before Snape's door. Draco folded his arms across his chest, smiling darkly as he watched Harry prepare.

The Gryffindors crowded around him, leaving enough space for him to work but preventing any attempts from the Slytherins to botch the potion. They needn't worry; the Slytherins pulled up their chairs to watch in interest but stayed away, determined to let the Gryffindor fail on his own.

Harry could almost remember reading the passage on this potion as a child, his mother standing around him, dancing around his lounging body as she attempted to make dinner with him studying. He would have moved to get out of the way, but she was determined to be nearby if he had trouble.

"Mum, what's this?" Harry asked, pointing to the squabble of words whose meanings evaded him.

Lily put down her bucket of sugar and moved over. "What, sweetie?" He pointed. "Oh..." Her voice took on a shushed tone. "It's the Drought of Living Death." Harry didn't understand any better. "It's a potion that makes a person go to sleep and stay asleep for a long time, so long that everyone else thinks that the person died."

"Oh." Harry looked down to the words again, comprehension dawning. Beside the list of instructions was a picture, crudely drawn, of a person drinking a glass of the potion. As he drank it, the person collapsed to the floor and Harry could imagine how others would think him dead. The image didn't move, didn't even look like he was breathing or that his heart was beating. He swallowed but curiosity sparked him.

"You won't have to learn about it until your O.W.L.s," Lily reminded him. "When you're in your fifth year at Hogwarts."

"He won't have to learn any of this until he gets to Hogwarts," James laughed. "But he still is."

Harry's eyes traveled past the still motionless body and he looked at the list of ingredients. Two and 1 quarter liters of purified water. Crushed dogwood, picked in the ripeness of spring or else the potion would lose it vitality. Seeds of a May apple, ground down to a fine salt. Flax petals, and linseed oil, squeezed from flaxseed. Powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood...

Harry counted off the instructions, adding the ingredients, as they were needed. The cauldron, its water turned a bubbly brown and evaporating quickly, shook as it sat heated by wizard's flame. His fellow classmates were watching, half-transfixed, as he effortlessly completed the potion. With a toss of his hand, he threw in the last ingredient--Sora egg--and ducked his head when the potion exploded in a great boom.

Snape's door flung open, soundly smacking the Slytherin boy before it. "What is going on here?" he growled, taking in the fact that not a single student was in his or her rightful seat, but also noticing with disgust that the Gryffindor side had each cauldron bubbling the same, correct color-

Save for one. At the front table, where Potter and Malfoy sat. The cauldron there was sizzling and beside it lay a good deal of money.

"Malfoy, what is going on here?" he barked.

"A duel, of sorts," Draco added, glancing over with some of his smugness to see that Harry's potion looked ill finished. "Potter dared us to challenge him, so we did."

"And what, pray tell, did you tell him to make?" the Potions Master bite out

"The Drought of Living Death."

Snape rolled his eyes and thought about simply skipping out of the class, leaving the students alone to maim and kill each other as they saw fit. Instead, with an exasperated sigh and a mutter of child idiocy, he stalked over to the smoking cauldron and waved the smoke away.

"It's finished, sir," Harry said politely, taking his seat. "All it needs now is to be frozen for seven days."

Snape looked down into the cauldron and saw, to his immense surprise, the correct result of the drought's brewing: a small round ball of clay, beginning to ooze in the dungeon's heat, but glowing with unnatural if magical light. With a whisper, Snape transported the drought to his storage and turned on the class, forbidding as always.

"I suppose you think I'm pleased that you managed to correctly brew such a potion by yourselves, reading from a book no doubt," he drawled cruelly. "I award Gryffindor two points." There was a mutter of dissent but Snape wasn't done. "And I take away one point, for using my ingredients without permission."

Now the Gryffindors swore but silenced as they realized exactly what teacher they were dealing with. Thankfully, Snape only raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He moved around the room now, checking on the potions and was forced to admit that the Gryffindors correctly brewed their potion.

"Now get out," he barked and they scrambled.

*

It was late in the evening. And Hogwarts sparkled.

The end of the start of a new week. In the Forbidden Forest, the centaurs looked up mournfully, eyeing the War Planet with distrust as its red light shined brighter and brighter. Mars, planet of the Greek and Roman god of war, went bloody in sky, signaling the presence and return of evil. It had been banished away years ago, with the failed attempt to resurrect the Dark Lord, but in the last few months the Red Planet grew closer, greater in color. Not good, for the people of the earth.

The unicorns frolicked by, swishing their tails as they tried to entice the serious centaurs to a game of chase but were coldly ignored. Undaunted, the hoofed beauties cried out shrilly, dancing and prancing along the familiar straits, nipping soft lips against the floating cotton buds. But they carefully avoided the cursed spot where the blood of one of their own had been spilt. Silver flowers, beautiful but deadly, warned away any unfortunate soul who happened upon the tragic place. Silver flowers that swayed to no breeze or earthly power, but waited for the chance to avenge the fallen unicorns by taking victims of their own.

Owls hooted in the night, creating their own magical song. Insects buzzed their flying wings and in the distance, the lone howl of a wolf cried out: "Come. I'm alone. Find me. I need you."

Bees danced their way to sweet night nectar and birds swooped in for a midnight feast. Crickets counted the hours 'til the morning, keeping watch of the falling chill. Far to the north, a dragon hatched, alone and abandoned when its parents were hunted from the area.

A glowing light, in the heart of the forest, and a song that lifted the ear called out the to prancing unicorns. They lent ear, neighing and adding their own notes, standing still in singing tribute. In the heart of the forest, a small fire steadily burned and as sudden as it began, it went out, taking with it the life of the undying bird. Majestically, the phoenix rose from its ashes, taking flight and spilling the golden light of its rebirth upon the inhabitants of its domain.

Crouching low, the black panther stalked the night, pausing as the bird flew over. With a lonely howl, the wolf leaped after the phoenix, playing a friendly game to keep the loneliness away but eventually getting abandoned as the bird flew too high. The unicorns fought against the air, raising up on their hind legs and calling out to the phoenix a greeting before returning to their games. The centaurs watched the rebirth, eyes locked to the heavens and minds working out the signs they saw there.

All life of the forest paused to greet the reborn king, and it flew over all. Even the slithering things, hissing in the pain of its approach, were forced to tribune. Cerberus, three-headed protector of the underworld, called "Fluffy" by the man who loved him, snapped playfully at the flying creature, all heads watching its travel across the sky.

Away and away, a barking cry carried on the wind. The wolf, howling again its painful solitude, perked its ears and called out an answer.

The cry came again and the wold bounded down the forest ground, howling out, "Call for me. I'm coming. Don't leave me." Each cry was answered with a bark and the wolf skidded past the laughing brook of tainted water, past the playing unicorns that stopped to watch it, past the centaurs, eyes locked to the sky. The phoenix let out a musical question and was answered, flying above the wolf towards the same source.

In the clearing of the forest, far away from the magical castle, a lion paced with white wings sprouting from its back. Its royal entourage sat around it, playing with each other, griffins one and all: head and wings of an eagle, body of a lion. They flew in the air, tussling and wrestling, pausing to cry out to the lonely wolf encouragement, to answer to the phoenix's song.

The single lion alone, king of the griffins, paced. A gryphon, full-bodied lion with wings, its day was not of play.

The lonely wolf pranced out of the woods, slowly entering the playing circle of griffins. They called to him, flying and diving in the air, inviting him to join them. It paused then played, the last of the arctic wolves, giant as a man but playful as a puppy.

The phoenix adopted a perch on a tree and sang out its deep-throated melody: (Why have you come?)

The griffins played on, ignoring the challenge. The gryphon stepped forward. (To sing, dance, and play.)

Newly reborn, the phoenix ruffled its feathers, the last of its birth fire falling to the ground, magically sparking but not spreading. (Now is not the time for play.)

(There is always time for play,) the gryphon argued lazily, stretching out its hind legs and flushing its wings to full span.

The phoenix song echoed through the forest as the phoenix king spread its long, golden feathers, a rainbow of color lighting the dark blue sky as it streaked upwards, flying higher than the clouds. The gryphon let out a roar of laughter and leaped after it, white wings catching up fast before the phoenix gave a burst a speed and led it on a chase around the moon.

The griffins cackled in laughter and took off after their king, royal entourage forming a tail to the mighty chase. The lonely wolf gave a howl of its own laughter, then called farewell to its friends before returning back to its lonely home, running free and fast on the ground, a continuous cry for friendship tearing at its throat.

*

"Welcome to your Divination test, Harry," Professor Trelawney murmured, sitting on a stack of pillows in the stuffy room. She watched him with her large eyes, as if she could take his soul apart with one look. "Your life has already been touched by this subject. I do not believe it will be difficult for you."

McGonagall snorted from her seat among the teachers watching the test, waiting for their own turn to test Harry on any particular subject. Outside, far and away, the lonely wolf of the forest cried out and Harry longed to leave everything to join it. His form was fast and unused, the building huge and contained. He wished to run again.

Already, he'd passed Charms as well as Astronomy, years one through four. The night was getting late but adrenaline pumped through Harry, vanquishing the sleepy foes of his conscience. Dumbledore was also there, judging whether or not Harry would be able to stay in his supposed year but, unlike the other eyes, his twinkling blue eyes added no stress no Harry, added no hidden mocking, pity, or grave calculation. The deep blues, peaceful hues, only gave Harry encouragement to do his best with the unspoken promise to be viewed with fairness and against no fallen expectation.

But, with the Divination professor sitting before him, watching him with her sharp eyes and wispy smells, Harry felt his stomach turn in a surprising feeling of anxiety. Of all the subjects, divination was the one he studied least, viewing it with the inherited contempt of his parents and also with hidden apprehensive, as though his mind knew that the study held ill tidings for him.

As if sensing his unease, Dumbledore watched Harry with a grave face. 'You can leave this,' his eyes seemed to say, silently repeating McGonagall's previous statement. 'Divination is an optional class and you do not have to be judged of it.'

'But I know about it,' Harry had replied to McGonagall. 'And I want to be sure that I can hold up to Hogwarts standards.' The professor rolled her eyes but called Trelawney down to the Transfiguration class, joining the rest of the necessary teachers.

Trelawney stirred a cup of tea and slid it across the table. "Drink, and tell me what you see."

Never really liking tea, Harry eyed the cup then closed his eyes and drank. The sour taste filled his throat, killing the senses on his tongue. As he drank, he could imagine the leaves, arranging themselves to suit the drinker, telling of futures hidden in soggy dips. He drank until the cup until only the dregs remained and Trelawney nodded in approval.

Placing the cup down, Harry swallowed, wishing to get the bitter taste from his mouth, before opening his startling green eyes again and focusing on the leaves before him. Only a pile of mush remained but, as Harry stared at it, the leaves began to form images, pictures that spoke to Harry without words.

"A cross," he murmured quietly but his voice seemed to echo, whispering across the room. "Hard times of course... a falcon, for my deadly enemy-"

"What enemy," Trelawney prodded.

Harry looked up, startled, and the emotion echoed itself in his eyes. "The Dark Lord," he answered simply. "The enemy of my brother is mine as well." He looked back down to the cup, repeating the images aloud but Trelawney gave a small start when she noticed that he no longer even had his eyes opened. Suspicious, she edged from her pillows and glanced into the cup over Harry's shoulder to find everything as he repeated them.

"The club, meaning an attack," Harry murmured. "The skull...danger..." He seemed to be drifting.

In his head, Harry felt spinning and turmoil. Images taken unseen from the cup instantly melted into meaning before being swept away. He felt as though he was falling, deeper and deeper into an empty space with no way out, trapped in his own mind-

With a shake of his head, Harry forced his eyes open, swallowing at the sudden thirst on his tongue. Would he be allowed a drink of water or did he need to finish this last test first?

Trelawney pulled the cup back and stirred it absently, going back to her pillows. "Very good," she congratulated. Then she held out her palm. "What do you see?"

Harry took her hand and absently traced his fingers down the natural tracks, feeling the curves and forms of her hand. He looked up. "This is your writing hand?" She nodded and he looked back down.

There was a strange sense of the unreal in that room, a strange sense of urgency as Harry let out a deep sigh. Every professor could feel it. Dumbledore watched with thoughtful eyes, eyes that belied a curiosity that now arose as he watched the young man whose power now filled the room, searching for something. Powerful was the wizard who could let his power form as a separate entity and Dumbledore suspected that, if Harry fully let go of his securities, his doubts, that his power would form as such. If the first brother was this powerful, how much more was the second son, whose life was prophesied?

"You have a long life line, but it's very weak," Harry finally stated in his quiet voice. He looked up and his eyes slanted in semi-confusion. "Weak, because you chose not to participate and because you wish to alienate yourself."

"Outside contact dulls the inner eye," the professor surmised, motioning for him to continue.

He looked down with the same absent look, as though he wasn't really looking anywhere. "You have few interests, devoting yourself fully to one thing at one time. Sickness has tried to claim your life many times and in the end, it will succeed to drag you down from your goals." He blinked in surprise and traced one deep line etched into her hand. "You have had many loves, but stay true to one and while ready and able to direct, to head, you prefer to let others take control."

She pulled her hand back with a small smile and, without a word, held out a small crystal ball.

Harry gazed into its foggy surface for many minutes and was about to pull away when something caught his attention. "I see... many people, gathered together."

"The school?" Trelawney prompted and Harry shook his head, never losing sight of the image that became clearer and cleared while at the same time fighting the urge to close his eyes.

"There's too many... wearing different colors..."

"The Tournament," Dumbledore spoke and the others nodded in agreement. Even McGonagall, disbeliever, felt like Harry spoke truth. "What else is there?" the headmaster asked, scooting forward.

He couldn't fight it anymore. Harry's head lulled forward and his eyes closed, shutting just as crystal tears gathered. "There is a lot of fear..." he murmured hypnotically. "Much fear..." His breathing became harder and the room seemed to vanish from his awareness, leaving him alone in the dark place that he feared so. It wanted to choke him and he fought against it, all the while seeing red lights in the distance, meshing with green sparks and inhumane screams. "So much fear..."

"Harry..." a far off voice sounded. "Come back, Harry..."

The darkness vanished and he saw again the many people, standing and watching, cheering and crying. He walked among them as a ghost, looking for what they saw but seeing nothing. Then he turned and saw. "There's a great field," he listed off unconsciously. He walked forward, stepping through the people in his way. "And the people are cheering. A contest is going on."

He looked around. "There are so many people."

"Harry..." the voice tried again. "Come back-"

"Someone's coming," Harry whispered, ducking behind a cheering witch. On the field appeared a shadow, overwhelming in its darkness. The crowd went silent save for Harry, mouth still whispering everything he saw. The shadow gave a roar and consumed everything and the crowd began to scream. The fear he sensed nearly knocked him from his feet.

Before the shadow stood another shadow, small but much darker, consuming little but enraging the greater one. As the greater shadow fought, it wasted away and vanished before the minor shadow, which grew, absorbing power from its fallen enemy.

The crowds cheered again but didn't seem to notice the remaining shadow, growing greater and stronger, strong enough to consume all and more that the other had. Darker, but contained within itself. It turned and looked to Harry, sending a bolt of pain through his being. He opened his mouth and screamed.

*

"Harry?" Dumbledore stood and came closer, reaching a hand out-

"Don't!" Trelawney smacked his hand away, ignoring the other professors' shouts. "You can't touch him. He's gone into a trace--has been trying to all evening." She looked over in small wonder towards to drifting child. "A true seer... touch him, and who know what will happen. You have to wait for him to return."

Meanwhile, Harry hadn't stopped his creeping whispers. Dejectedly, the other professors sat down and waited for the time being, watching with mounting suspicion as Harry whispered a description of a place he'd never been. Dumbledore studied the teen and returned to his seat as well.

Fear. It was etched on Harry's face and a cold sweat broke out on his forehead. His scar seemed to shine and, not for the first time, Dumbledore wondered exactly what curse had so scarred the child. The story fed to the world made much sense, but a tug urged him to look deeper. Look he did, but no answers showed themselves.

"They're scared again," Harry shivered, dipping his face from sight but his heavy breathing seemed to struggle air to his lungs. "It's not supposed to happen this way-"

"Enough," McGonagall ordered. "I will not have you torment one of my students." Surprisingly, Snape looked like he felt the same. "What did you put in that tea."

"Nothing," Trelawney replied calmly. "It is the boy's own nature. If he hadn't fought it, he'd not be in this position."

Anymore argument was silenced when Harry shouted a pearl of real pain, and jerked back hard enough to send himself crashing to the floor. After his scream, he went silent but was shaking so bad that it looked like he was still stuck in his trance. Under his breath, so quiet it could barely be heard, he was chanting, "no, no, no, no, no."

And a single drop of blood forced its way from Harry's scar.

McGonagall jumped forward but was stopped by Trelawney, whose eyes were narrowed. Her beads and charms rattled with her sudden movement and her wand was being held out with a shaky hand. "Stop, I've already told you he can't be touched!"

McGonagall pounded against the invisible shield that stopped her as well as anyone else from reaching Harry--or Trelawney, for that matter. "Let us through-"

Harry moaned and slowly blinked his eyes open. With a trembling hand and before the waiting professors, he wiped his scar's bloody tear from his forehead, staring at it shakily. Then he looked up and faintly asked, "Can I have a bit of water?"

"What did you see?" Trelawney asked, forcing her question.

Harry looked down. "Shadows, consuming one another to the cheers of the people. Heroes turning into villains. The end of the tournament." He looked up, green eyes tortured. "I saw the tournament's results."

"And?"

He looked back down. "Not good for the people of earth."

*

Harry stumbled weakly to bed, wishing he hadn't turned down the offer for help. Wishing more, though, that he could take back his words and deny memory. The looks on the professors' faces didn't help Harry at all.

He climbed up the last of the stairs, collapsing before the picture of the Fat Lady and debating whether it really was worth all the effort to go inside. It was very comfy, where he sat now, and it wasn't like sleeping inside would be any better than sleeping out here because once he was asleep, his body wouldn't care a whit about how it slept. At least, not until the morning, and then there'd be hell to pay-

"I told you," Hermione's exasperated voice carried towards him. "He said he was being tested, to see if he knew everything we did."

"And when exactly did he tell you that?" Ron was asking her.

Hermione gave a sigh and Harry could see them walking towards him, carrying a stack of books. "At dinner. When I asked him where he was going instead of just sitting there, stuffing my face while he left." She rolled here eyes. "Honestly, Ron, you can be so stupid at times."

Ron snorted. "I knew it!" he nearly shouted, voice full of mock outrage, to the empty (but for Harry) hallways. "I knew you couldn't go one day without calling me stupid, or ugly, or a big fat git-"

Hermione snickered into her hands but stopped short when she finally noticed Harry's limp form. "Harry!" she cried, dropping her books in surprise. "What are you doing out here?"

Harry pulled his head to the side. "Sleeping, or trying to."

"Sleeping? Out here in the middle of the blooming hallway?" Ron restated in incredulous terms. "And I thought you were supposed to be smart-"

"Come on," Hermione grabbed one of Harry's arms. "Let's get you up." Ron grabbed the other.

"But your books," Harry protested.

"Will be fine," Hermione reassured. She looked to the Fat Lady. "Marmalade!" The portrait swung open. They struggled inside, not only to help Harry up to his bed but to keep him from trying to do it himself.

"I'm fine," he argued, trying to get away. "Really. I can get there myself." But when Ron's grip slipped, the boy nearly crashed head first down onto the floor.

"Fine he says," Ron stated sarcastically, catching Harry in time. "Oh sure, we believe you Harry." Hermione glared over Harry's head and Ron's mouth went open in surprise. "What?"

"You're not helping."

"I am too! Look at me, holding his arm, dragging him upstairs--carrying the most weight, if I do add."

They finally got him into bed, nearly falling in with him, and Hermione, with a sigh, wrinkled her forehead. "What happened, Harry? Where the tests really all that bad?"

"Really, Hermione," Ron snorted, gesturing to Harry's limp form. "You ask if they're all that bad when we got stinking proof that there are. I'm glad that I've been here all the time and don't have to be tested on four bloody years of material at the same time."

Hermione burst out laughing at the look on his face but froze when movement came from the other beds. "Uh oh. I better go before someone catches me up here in the boys' dormitories."

"I'll come with you," Ron volunteered. "Besides, we need to pick up your books anyway."

Harry faked sleep when Hermione checked on him a last time, and when the pair finally left he exhaled loudly. All that, and this was only the first day. With a groan, he tossed himself into the pillows and closed his eyes.

"Come play with us," a deformed griffin urged him, deformed in the fact that its head was still that of a lion's. "Come on, there's always time to play."

He swatted it away. "No. I have to do homework." So the griffin took his papers and leaped away, jumping onto the clouds and going higher. Harry cried out and followed him but where the clouds held the griffin, he sunk into soft comfort, soft but slowly suffocating.

"Just need a little fire," a bird said, barely visible through the cloud's fog. It sat on the ground and twisted sticks of fire together. At last, a fire caught on and the bird eagerly jumped into it despite Harry's scream. It came out a phoenix but its tails were wrong. At the tip of each feather, a slow blackness was overriding the phoenix's golden color.

The gold eventually became complete black.

The phoenix sighed. "I need a better fire," it complained, turning into a miniature Sirius sitting over a pile of sticks too big for him to move but he tried anyway. "I need a better fire."

"Come play with us," the deformed griffin jumped onto Harry's head, claws scratching and drawing blood but even with the pain, Harry could tell that the griffin was pushing him out of the cloud's suffocation. "Come play. The red moon's out and the dark lord stirs, but time is still there for fun."

"Come play with us." Harry fell from the cloud and missed miniature Sirius's ground, falling into the blackness he dreaded. Falling into a dark hole where only the very top had light and he didn't have a ladder. He looked around and found one right next to his foot, too small for him to use but he climbed it anyway, shrinking down to fit it. The higher he climbed, the smaller he became until all that was left was a tiny spot and soon even that vanished.

He watched it all, watched his other self become smaller and smaller, then when the other self disappeared, Harry stepped on the small ladder, collapsing to the floor but happy no one else would disappear again. Red stained the sky, meshing with green sparks and inhumane screams.

"Come back to us," someone urged him but when Harry tried to stand, they laughed and shoved him back down. "No, you're not who we wanted." He was stuck in the small room while laughter filled the air, mocking laughter and slowly, he could feel himself shattering, breaking into a thousand little parts that he knew could never be put back together. The darkness drifted away and became a small shadow that turned to face him but Harry knew whose face he'd see and screamed.