The Inner Darkness

Chapter 2: The Boy From the Darkness

Professor McGonagall was by Harry's side a moment later, looking down upon the unknown boy. Without wasting time, she glanced back to the rest of the students urgently. "As a result of these extenuating circumstances, the remainder of this class will be postponed until Thursday. Consider this slight mishap a blessing if some of you (she glared specifically at Neville, who was now purple with humiliation) feel that your abilities in Apparating need some last minute improvements."

Neville was the first one out the door.

"Prefects," stated Professor McGonagall, freezing Draco and inadvertently Crabbe and Goyle in their tracks. "Please take this boy to the hospital wing. Likely, he is some Muggle taken by Mr. Longbottom's careless blunder and will have to be memory charmed. I must visit the Headmaster immediately."

Harry and Draco exchanged quick glances and nodded, sharing an unspoken agreement without much effort. If they just cooperated, they would be done with each other that much quicker. While he despised Malfoy, yes, that was the right word, he was willing to work with him to insure that their time together was minimal.

In truth, Harry and Draco had not really been as fierce rivals this year as before. Having been sworn in as prefects, along with Hannah Abbot from Hufflepuff and Terry Boot from Ravenclaw, the quips and the insults had faded away shortly. Draco did appear to be taking his job as a Prefect seriously and had all but put aside his blatant desire to antagonize Harry. In a way, Harry liked Draco much better this way, though he could not miss that cold, alien gleam within his eyes whenever they briefly met eye contact. Each time Harry was half-tempted to speak plainly to this new, toned down Draco, the words caught on his tongue.

More importantly, he remembered the words on the train... and remembered just how cruel Draco really was. Muggles and Mudbloods first...

Taking one of the boy's limp arms into his, Harry dragged him up, leaning him heavily on his side.

"Help me, Malfoy," ordered Harry, who staggered under the weight of the boy.

Draco smirked wryly, watching Harry struggle with the boy for a moment. When finally he tired of the display, he drew out his wand and flicked it at the unconscious kid. "Morbilicorpus!"

The boy lifted off of Harry harmlessly, suspended in the air by Draco's spell. Another soft groan escaped from his lips.

Harry was used to doing things the Muggle way and he often forgot that he was a wizard. The other boy, however, had no such problems; after all, how could he forget he was a wizard? He had constantly reminded people just how pure his blood really was. Though not so much anymore.

With a slight blush, Harry nodded to Malfoy. He could not help but to feel modestly foolish. Malfoy rolled his eyes and, with a swish of his robe, began to lead the boy out of the room with his wand, followed shortly by Ron and Hermione. At the sight of Harry's friends tagging along with him, Crabbe and Goyle quickly fell into a protective walk, guarding their ringleader from any potential threat.

A strange thought entered Harry's mind at that moment. Harry wondered if that was how Ron and Hermione looked to others. Ron was at his left flank and Hermione was at his right. Was it just him, or was that always how they walked? He was always in the center of their triangle, his friends walking around him like protective guardians. Was that how they saw him? Did they really feel that they had to protect him?

As a test, Harry slowed his step, falling back behind Malfoy for a moment. Ron and Hermione did not slow their pace, however, until they realized that Harry was lagging back.

"Something wrong, Harry?" asked Ron, turning back and arching a red brow to him.

Hermione also looked at Harry with concern.

Harry shook his head, feeling a bit stupid. They were not his henchmen, they were not his bodyguards; they did not see him like that, thank god. They were Ron and Hermione, his best friends, who saw him as an equal. They did not look up or down to him, but right into his eyes. They knew when he was upset, they knew when he was angry; he owed them more credit than he gave them.

"Sorry, I'm alright," he replied at last, stepping forward again and falling comfortably in between them as they walked. "Just a bit tired, that's all."

"Understandable," nodded Hermione. "I rather had a restless night myself."

Ron smiled and leaned his head forward to glance around Harry. "Was it nightmares about getting a B on the Apparation test?" He smiled in jest.

Hermione eyed Ron coolly, but she let it slide without a waspish comment. If the person next to him did not pounce on such an opportunity to poke fun at Hermione, it just wouldn't be Ron. Unlike Malfoy or even Dean Thomas, when Ron joked, you knew it was just that. The kind twinkle in his blue eyes and the genuine smile upon his face never let Harry believe his jests were anything but in good fun. It was hard to be offended by Ron.

"Ha, ha," muttered Hermione drably. "No, I just could not sleep. There has been a lot on my mind lately."

It appeared, however, this put an end to Ron's jesting mood. "I bet it's got to do with Seekers named Krum," he muttered softly into Harry's ear, but still loud enough to be heard by Hermione.

Harry winced visibly as Ron violated the unspoken pact all three of them had agreed to at the end of the summer. There would be no more talking about Victor Krum. It was unspoken, obviously, because there wasn't supposed to be a problem with Krum. Ron, however, was very sore on the subject and still remained very bitter about it to this day. Hermione was no better off herself; she was forced to keep all her thoughts about the Bulgarian seeker to herself. She could not tell Ron for obvious reasons, but nor could she tell Harry, because he knew that Ron would be pestering him to hear what she said.

"What did you just say?" she replied snappishly. So much for not getting offended when Ron spoke, realized Harry.

Ron grunted morosely. "I said 'That's too bad, and I'm sorry. How come?'"

Hermione looked at Ron skeptically, but must have been in a forgiving mood, for she let him slide off the hook with that. "Don't worry about it. I'll be fine."

They continued to follow Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle up the stairs.

"So, who do you think this guy is?" asked Ron with a substantial amount of fake energy. Apparently, he was trying a bit too hard to change the subject.

"I don't know," replied Harry slowly, who had nearly forgotten about the strange, Muggle looking boy suspended in the air before Malfoy. "Neville must have summoned him from far away. He is dressed rather unusual... even for a Muggle."

"It makes no sense," professed Hermione, as the six of them made way up to the Hospital Wing. "There is no way Neville could have teleported someone into Hogwarts from the outside! You know as well as I do that cannot be done. No one can Apparate into Hogwarts."

Draco looked over his shoulder to Hermione. Apparently, he was listening to their entire conversation. "Never underestimate the power of the pathetic," he said wryly.

Crabbe and Goyle chuckled wordlessly at Malfoy's statement, while Ron and Harry both tensed up angrily.

"He's a better person than you, Malfoy!" barked Ron, apparently remembering to hate Malfoy now. How he could have forgotten, Harry only wondered. "He made a mistake, but at least he isn't a mistake himself, like you."

"A mistake?" replied Draco, with the hiss of a snake. "You have got to be kidding me. Adding Wolfsbane to an Invisibility Potion is a mistake, Weasel. Summoning Muggles from hundreds of miles away is something only Longbottom could do!" Draco then recalculated his leering lips, fixing Ron with a less disdainful and more comical expression. "And, wow, don't try to be witty again. That was frightening."

"I'm not buying that," snapped Ron, ignoring Draco's insult. "He couldn't have summoned him. You heard Hermione..."

"Of course you are not buying it," interrupted Draco snidely as they climbed the final flight of stairs and arrived at the hospital wing. "You can't afford it..."

"Why you..." Ron balled up his fists and took an antagonistic step forward.

"...And, don't make me take points from Gryffindor for threatening a prefect," added Draco pompously.

Harry immediately stepped in front of Ron, instinctively shielding his best friend. "And don't make me report the Slytherin prefect for abusing his power."

Crabbe and Goyle stepped in front of Draco, pounding their fists in Harry's direction. Harry could not help but glance a quick look to Draco's cronies; they seemed all too eager to bury their extremely large fists into his face. Harry did not back down, however. So it was a Mexican Standoff of sorts, Harry knew Draco would not be foolish enough to act first.

"Try it," Draco challenged, his eyes narrowing cruelly. "See what happens."

Harry's face burned with tension as he stole another sidelong glance at Draco's lackeys. It was clear that the two cronies held absolutely no fear of him; should he and Draco come to blows, they would knock him down so fast that he would not even remember what hit him. It was astonishing to Harry just how loyal Crabbe and Goyle really were. Yet, even at the cost of a trip to the hospital wing, he would not let Malfoy and his thugs control him. Perhaps it was his pride, or maybe it was his own hatred for the boy that just never went out, but he was going to take a swing at Malfoy, should he press him any further.

So, it was very fortuitous that Hermione of all people made a move to defuse the situation.

"Children, please," scolded Hermione mockingly, threading an arm between Harry and Draco's lackeys, for there was not much room for anything else, "can we at least bring the unconscious boy to the hospital wing before killing each other?"

Ignoring the dull pain that momentarily flickered in his right hand, Harry took a step back, as did Ron. "Fine," stated Harry. "Let's get this over with."

"Smart choice, Potter," remarked Draco as he turned back to focusing upon the floating boy. Crabbe and Goyle snorted scathingly, and fell back into formation, protecting Draco will the same vigor that Ron and Hermione protected him with. Harry could not help but wonder what Malfoy had ever done to Crabbe and Goyle to earn their loyalty like that.

Without another word, they marched into the hospital wing, Crabbe opening the door and allowing Draco to float the suspended boy within. Harry, Ron and Hermione followed reluctantly, just in time for Crabbe and Goyle to chortle and slam the door in their faces. Huffing indignantly, while Harry and Ron fumed silently, Hermione pushed the doors open again and the trio of Gryffindors entered the wing just behind the Slytherins.

Today, the hospital wing did seem rather crowded for a change, filled with about twenty young students and a very agitated Madam Pomfrey, and a livid Professor Snape. Harry swallowed with a surge of apprehension upon seeing Snape bellowing at a first year Gryffindor student named Matty.

"You somehow, in your infinite lack of wisdom, managed to turn a Hair Growth Potion into some kind of acidic, explosive bomb! Are they breeding Gryffindors for stupidity as the years go on?"

Matty was crying into his hands, as the burns and cuts the other twenty students were sporting were no doubt his doing.

"Mmm," considered Draco brazenly. "Doesn't seem like a good day for Gryffindor, does it, Potter?"

"Blow off, Malfoy," came the reply from both Harry and Ron.

Harry and Ron's voice, in unison, turned Professor Snape's attention up them. With magma-like rage plastered upon the lengths of his cheeks, he resembled a greasy haired volcano, in the process of erupting. If Harry wasn't so abashed by Gryffindor's lack of luck today, he would have taken time to enjoy this rather curious expression that Snape was wearing.

"And, what have we here?" demanded the Professor, fixing Harry with his unyielding, black eyes that seemed to be without pupils. He momentarily glanced at the unconscious boy, floating in the air before Draco. "An inept transfer student from the Colonies?... he shall fit right in with Gryffindor, I am certain."

"Longbottom managed to muck up Apparating," explained Draco humorously. "This kid appeared instead of Longbottom disappearing."

The greasy haired professor did not see the humor in this however. He just gave a resonated sigh. "Typical. I would expect nothing less from The Antiwizard himself."

"But, Professor," protested Hermione, in Neville's defense, "there is nothing typical about this. No one can appear or disappear from Hogwarts!"

Snape shook his head and managed an amused frown; Harry figured that only his deranged Potions Teacher could pull one of those off. "Ms. Granger, if I could put my galleons on one who could find a way through inaccuracy and blundering, I would be in the Bermuda Triangle, enjoying early retirement."

Harry sighed and accepted a few more minutes of mudslinging and Gryffindor knocking by Professor Snape, who seemed very content to unload his frustrations on Gryffindor's prefect and his friends. He could not help but notice that Snape, while ruthless to Harry and Ron, held a more reserved tongue when he spoke to Hermione. There was no doubt in his mind that he hated Hermione just as much, but Harry guessed that Snape could not help but respect her intellect and precision. It was well known that Hermione exemplified the qualities Snape cherished most within his students; he held no reservations to the belief that if Hermione were a Slytherin, Snape would take pleasure in her talents instead of simply put up with them.

Finally, Madam Pomfrey made enough time to take the strange new boy to an empty bed.

"Alright," she grunted the plump nurse tiredly, "if you are not injured, a prefect, or a professor, you have ten seconds to clear out."

Ron and Hermione both frowned, but did not put up much of a fight.

"We are going to get a game of Exploding Snap going in the Common Room," pronounced Ron, drawing a very bored look from Hermione, who seemed to desire that as much as a book burning. "Join us when you get off prefect duty."

Harry nodded and gave them a wave, as they walked out the door.

Once Crabbe and Goyle also cleared out, Madam Pomfrey calmly withdrew her wand and gave it a little twirl, performing a simple Scanning Charm. Once the spell was complete, she slowly ran it down from the tip of the boy's nose to his waist. After a moment, she waved the wand, tapping his forehead, his nose, both his cheeks, and then his chin, slowly weaving a web of intangible magic in the air.

Harry watched her with interest. A hidden secret be known, but he could not wait until next year, when he was able to learn basic Medimancy. It seemed like such a useful repertoire of spells to have at your beck and call. The ability to heal the sick and cure the wounded seemed like a spell that no friend should be without. He wondered how difficult they actually were to cast.

"Hmm," she considered. "Curious."

Harry and Draco stood on opposite sides of the bed, staring at the unconscious boy, who emitted another groan.

"What?" asked Draco pensively. Perhaps it was just Harry, but he could have sworn that Draco's curiosity was more perked than he lead on. Something interested Malfoy about this boy; he was not sure what.

Madam Pomfrey looked down at her wand, as if reading complex results that it was feeding her. "Physically, he is tip-top. There is no injury that should warrant the body to slip into a comatose state."

Harry arched his brow and took in the boy's tattered clothing. "Tip-top? He looks as though he was run through the jaws of a shark!"

"Tip-top," repeated Madam Pomfrey sharply, as if taking offense at her judgment being questioned by a mere student. "His aliment is a mental one and a simple Enervating Charm should bring him back to consciousness."

She leveled her wand and pushed it into the boy's chest with a slight jab. "Enervate!"

At once, the boy's eyes slowly opened, taking Harry aback with astonishment. While lazy and glassy, his eyes shined with strange coloring. Neither black, nor blue, they appeared to be settling for the middle of the road, deep azure pools that nearly hide his pupils within their depths.

"Wha..." murmured the boy as he shifted in his bed, blinking his eyes, no doubt trying to make sense of the blurs he probably was seeing. Weakly, he struggled to rise, but a firm hand from Madam Pomfrey upon his chest held him in place.

"Easy," coaxed Madam Pomfrey, resting her second hand upon his forehead. "Are you in any pain?"

Harry and Draco both stared down at the boy unblinkingly.

The boy lifted a shaky hand to his chest and held it over his heart. "Chest... hurts..." he rasped, in a groaning voice, barely touched by the aging effects of puberty. It was clear to Harry that this boy was likely a year or two younger than him.

"Easy dear," she said soothingly, as she ran her wand upon the boy's ripped, red t-shirt, and spoke a quick charm. The zipper in front (another very strange characteristic of his fashion sense, noted Harry) ran down from his neck to his beltline, falling off of his tanned chest. Madam Pomfrey gently moved the boy's hand from his heart and looked down at his skin, as did Harry.

A deep, purple bruise approximately seven inches across glared profoundly from below his left nipple, directly above his heart. Irritated swelling surrounded the injury, as if the very wound itself with infected and contaminating the skin around it.

"Oh yes, that does look painful," stated Madam Pomfrey without much sympathy; she worked her wand over the injury, repairing the wound without a problem. Within moments, the bruise was healed up completely with no remnants of injury. "Anything else?"

The boy still seemed rather drained, blinking lazily and groaning. "No..."

"That will do then," said the nurse, rising from her bent position over the boy. "Prefects, this one needs his rest. Leave shortly after you conclude your business."

"Very well," nodded Harry, looking up for a moment, before returning his look to the very haggard looking boy. He glanced up at Malfoy. "What else do we need to do?"

The boy rolled his eyes from to Harry and then to Malfoy.

"I have a few questions to ask this Muggle," stated Draco professionally. "You do not need to do anything else, Potter."

Harry could feel the hair on the back of his neck rising. From his previous experiences, he knew this meant one of two things: something was about to happen, or someone was up to no good. Based upon the relative safety of the room and the knowledge of his present company, Harry could hazard a guess that it was the latter.

"I shall stay and help you, Malfoy. I insist," responded Harry airily.

Draco shrugged indifferently. "Suit yourself."

"I will," quipped Harry unnecessarily.

A glare with the chill of arctic frost hit Harry for a moment, but was shifted just as quickly to the boy on the bed. The boy was staring at Draco with a hazy expression upon his face. Blinking his eyes twice with disbelief, he posed a strange question. "Riku?"

Harry looked up to Draco questioningly, as the silver-haired boy arched a brow with confusion.

"What?" retorted Draco, "Did you say something?"

"Is... that you, Riku?" he rasped weakly.

Draco seemed visibly affronted. It did not take an Arithmancy Master for Harry to conclude that Draco was not often confused for anyone else. In truth, Harry had never seen anyone who could possibly resemble Malfoy in the smallest way; with his platinum blonde hair, prissy looks and wizard robes, he was a horse of a different color all together. In the Muggle world, such boys learned to dye their hair brown and got a bit tougher at early age, for even wealthy parents would not stop schoolyard bullies from rearranging a rich boy's face for his lunch money.

The Wizarding World was so much different, however.

"Of course not," drawled Draco, tensing up with insult. Only a Malfoy could take offense at such a simple mistake. "I'm Malfoy, Draco Malfoy..." He puckered up his face with disgust, as if he had bitten into a lemon, "... not Riku..."

Harry licked his upper lip with a consideration. He could not help but notice this strange boy's accent accent. Perhaps an assumption that this boy was a colonist, grabbed from overseas, was not incorrect. His tone of voice seemed much more relaxed and was without any emphasis: the traits of an American accent. "What's your name?"

The boy lazily rolled his eyes over to Harry. He seemed positively confused and very weary, as if he had just awaken from hibernation. Apparently, he was just as 'out of it' as his expression would suggest, for he bit his lip tenaciously, as if searching for the answer. At last, he opened his mouth, a doubtful look upon his face.

"Sora... I think."

"You think?" questioned both prefects at once. Harry, however, continued with another question. "Are you from the Colonies?"

Conversation seemed to have a sort of regenerative effect upon the boy named Sora; his voice became louder and the reflective appearance of his ocean blue eyes seemed to have moistened up a bit with focus.

"Colonies?" he questioned, putting a slightly shaking hand to his temple, as if trying to force his mind to start working.

"The United States," snorted Draco disdainfully. "The Land of Lethargy."

Sora took up a rather vacant expression, searching for the answer of Harry's question. Harry wondered exactly what the state of this boy's mind was, for he seemed to be having a very hard time remembering even the most commonplace memories. If a person could not remember his or her own name, clearly something strange was going on upstairs.

"I... don't know," he replied at last. "Where am I?"

"You are in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, in England," supplied Harry, looking down at the boy with growing concern. "If you aren't from America, then where are you from?"

Groaning again, Sora shook his head, trying to rattle the memory loose from his brain. It was to no avail, however, as he gave up with a despairing groan. "I don't remember?" came the reply, sounding more like a question than an answer.

"He's got amnesia," muttered Draco. "Great... this'll make memory charms rather difficult. How can we sort out this bloody mess if we don't know what to sort out?"

But Harry was far more concerned about the boy than sorting out the problem was. What was he doing within that darkness... what was that darkness? And, while Harry was not certain of Muggle dressing trends from across the sea, he was certain that they did not include apple-red shorts, oversized yellow sneakers and zipper up t-shirts. Ignoring Draco, Harry continued to ask more questions. "Sora," he began, "it is Sora... right?"

The really messy haired boy nodded. "Yeah. I'm almost positive."

"What kind of name is Sora?" questioned Draco. "Doesn't sound American to me. Or even masculine... for that matter."

Harry decided at that point to inherit a Malfoy-sized blind spot in his vision, as well as a Malfoy hearing impairment in his ears. "Do you remember anything at all other than your name?"

Thinking hard, Sora put his finger to the side of his mouth. "I remember, a lot of darkness. I... but..." he trailed off shaking his head. "No, not really much at all."

"Darkness?" questioned Draco with sudden vigor, as if the mention of the very word sparked something within him.

"Yeah," replied Sora, looking over to Draco. "It surrounded me... it was cold... and... then, I don't remember anything."

"One of the first things you said was 'Riku'," suggested Harry. He sincerely wanted to help the boy remember a thing or two about himself. As much as he wanted to deny it, he had to admit Malfoy was right. If Sora could remember even just where he was from, that would make sorting out this messy situation much easier. "Who or what is 'Riku'?"

Sora shook his head in defeat. "I... don't know. It just popped into my head, when I looked at him." He nodded weakly to Draco, who shrugged in confusion. "It still does."

Harry was about to continue asking questions when the door to the hospital wing pushed open, and Headmaster Dumbledore entered with an urgent look stapled upon his brow. A vexed looking Professor McGonagall followed him and closed the door behind her.

"This is the boy," indicated the Head of House Gryffindor, pointing a frail looking finger to Sora.

Not even taking the time to order the two Prefects out, Headmaster Dumbledore moved to Harry's side, his long white beard nearly falling down over Sora. One thing about the Headmaster of Hogwarts that never ceased to amaze Harry was his undeniable aura. As if by casting a spell, the Headmaster of Hogwarts was able to make those around him happy, upset, scared or attentive. Even Sora knew that Dumbledore was the man to be looking at right now, and the Headmaster had not spoken a single word.

"Hello there," he spoke, in his soft, gravely voice. "I am sure this must be so terribly confusing for you..." the Headmaster trailed off for a moment.

"His name is Sora," filled in Harry.

"Sora," continued the old man, looking down at boy; a strange feeling of kindness was emanating from his wise, blue eyes. "But, I must insist on asking you some questions while the events are fresh on your mind."

Sora frowned deeply and looked up to Dumbledore apologetically. "I don't remember anything. But I'll try to answer."

"Indeed," sighed the Headmaster, a flicker of disappointment evident on his face. "Not a thing?"

The boy glanced down at his own chest despairingly. "Not a thing, sir. Who are you all, anyway?"

"Ah, yes," realized Dumbledore, "I am afraid I have gotten ahead of myself. I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," He calmly went around the bedside, introducing Professor McGonagall, as well as Draco and Harry.

Sora repeated the names to himself, as if trying to scribe them to memory. Harry had told the boy once before what the school name was. This second time around, the boy did not even bat an eyelash at the 'Witchcraft and Wizardry' part. Strange.

"The reason for our urgency, Sora, is because you arrived from a slight mishap in one of our classes. You were thrown forth from a fountain of darkness that has just dissipated, leaving no trace of itself here."

"Huh?" replied a now very confused Sora. "A slight mishap?"

"Yes," answered a very straight sounding Headmaster. "One of our students accidentally opened up a portal into the Inner Darkness, and apparently you flew through."

"What is the Inner Darkness, Professor?" asked Draco, with a fascinated gleam.

Dumbledore continued looking at Sora, seeing his equally confused look upon Sora's face. "The Inner Darkness was a well documented theory during the twelfth century, researched by the great wizards Alberstein Hostspire and Clement Merlintifar. It has always been a personal interest of mine."

"But what is it?" pressed Draco intently.

"In so many words," continued Dumbledore, "the Inner Darkness is existence, as we do not know it or understand it. Imagine that our world is a drop of light in a sea of darkness. The Inner Darkness is the formless dividers that separate worlds like ours... they surround the drops of light, but are unable to consume them."

Draco licked his lips at hearing the information. "But... they can be consumed if they are opened to the darkness, can they not?"

Sora's eyes gleamed over for a moment with recognition, but after a moment, it faded into despairing bliss. Harry stared at Draco distrustfully. Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, he could not help but be suspicious of the silver haired Slytherin.

Dumbledore, at that, lifted his head up to Draco and looked at him with an impressed gleam in his eyes. "Mr. Malfoy, have you studied the Inner Darkness?"

Draco shrugged, a pink twinge illuminating his face for a moment. "No, sir," he murmured defensively, "I am just not entirely unfamiliar with the theory."

"Yes," answered Dumbledore at last, "they can be opened, but the knowledge of how was not passed on by our ancestors, for obvious reasons, I believe."

"What are we to do about this boy, Albus?" asked Professor McGonagall, who by now seemed to have grown weary of this discussion about Inner Darkness. "You know he cannot stay at the school. He is not a wizard."

Sora blinked with a perplexed look, a look that Harry knew quite well from his own experience. That dumbfounded, slack-jawed setting was exactly how he had reacted, four years ago when he found out for the first time that wizards existed. "You are all wizards?"

"Yes Sora," replied Dumbledore with infinite patience, before turning back to Professor McGonagall. "Minerva, do not be fooled by commonplace appearance. For this boy to have even entered the Inner Darkness, let alone resist consumption by it, suggests that he is no ordinary person."

Sora, for the first time, tightened up his face into a slight pout. "Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"

"Headmaster," said Draco slyly, his voice grating on Harry's nerve. "Might I suggest that Sora be housed in Slytherin dungeon, until his memory returns? Certainly he cannot remain in the hospital wing, as there is nothing else Madam Pomfrey can do for him."

Harry glanced over at Draco with a distrusting look. Draco's sudden show of generosity and kindness was sitting poorly with him and was building up distrust within his chest, now more than ever. In all of his time at Hogwarts, Malfoy was the one person who could be counted on to care less about the well being of another person. Now, it was as though he cared too much. His most courteous gesture of offering Harry a handshake was most suspicious, and now, his offering to accept Sora into House Slytherin's dungeon was nearly psychedelic.

He did not like Draco acting differently.

"It is most kind of you to make such an offer, Mr. Malfoy," replied Dumbledore with a knowing twinkle in his eye, "but, I think it is in Sora's best interest to stay in Gryffindor, under the care of Professor McGonagall."

Sora looked from Draco to the Headmaster, grunting with bewilderment. "Gryffindor... Slytherin...?"

Harry did not miss that flash of hostility that crossed Draco's gray eyes. It was clear that Malfoy was up to no good, and his disappointment and firmly set chin was reminiscent of the times Harry had been able to get an upper hand on him. He was quick to step up to hammer in the point, wanting nothing more than to shut Draco up for the time being.

"Sure, Professor," said Harry, putting on a cheerful tone, just to spite Malfoy. "I'd be more than happy to introduce Sora around Gryffindor..." He glared at Draco, whose face was lined with subtle anger. "...make him feel right at home."

Sora grabbed his head with his hands. "Can someone please tell me what is going on?"

Dumbledore sighed heartily and nodded. "Yes, I apologize again. I do forget that this must be more confusing for you than it is for us." With that, the Headmaster looked to Harry. "Harry, please escort Sora to the Gryffindor Tower when he is ready and help him settle in. Answer any questions he has."

Harry nodded shortly. "Of course, Professor."

With that, Professor Dumbledore nodded to Draco. "You may leave, Mr. Malfoy. Thank you for your help."

Draco glared coldly at Harry and Sora both, and then looked back to Dumbledore. With no words, and just a nod, Draco stomped out of the room, closing the door behind him.

"Now, Harry... Sora," Dumbledore nodded to each of the boys in turn. "Professor McGonagall and myself have a few things to discuss in private." He turned to go, but laid one last statement upon Sora. "If you remember anything, please let myself or Professor McGonagall know, alright?"

"Yeah, no problem," said Sora with a nod. "Thanks, I guess. I still don't know what's going on, though."

Dumbledore opened the door to the hospital wing, followed by Professor McGonagall. "Your memory will return in time, I am certain.

And with that, they left, closing the door behind them.

Harry and Sora were left alone in the hospital wing, with the exception of twenty or so burn victims and a still rather furious Professor Snape. But, for all intent and purpose, alone, for no one seemed to pay them much heed at all. Sora sat up slowly in his bed, zipping up his t-shirt and running a few hands through his bushy, thick hair.

"Harry, right?" asked Sora, pointing to him.

Harry nodded, threading his arms across his chest nonchalantly, a kind of awkward stretch, concealing his prefect's badge for a moment. He then let his arms fall to his side. "Yeah."

"Alright," affirmed Sora as fixed him with a worried glance. "What the heck is the difference between a Gryffindor and a Slytherin?"

At that, Harry chuckled and adjusted his glasses. "In short, Gryffindors are the good guys and Slytherins are bad."

This brought a slight chuckle to Sora's lips. "I got that impression. That Draco kid... who is he?"

Harry calmly picked up Sora's very strange colored sneakers from the ground and handed them to him. "Draco Malfoy... he's your traditional 'no conscience/would do anything for myself' type."

Sora's azure blue eyes deepened like bottomless pit for a moment. He growled once in irritation. "I swear I've seen Draco before..."

"Huh?" gawked Harry as Sora put on his sneakers and leapt out of bed with no short supply of energy and grace.

"He's so familiar," continued Sora, biting his lip with concentration. "I know him."

"Well, you did call him Riku when you were just waking up, " reminded Harry casually. "Draco probably just looks like someone you knew, or something."

Sora nodded, running his hand through his hair again. "Maybe..."

With that, Harry escorted Sora out of the Hospital Wing, and through the crowded hallways leading to the Gryffindor Tower. The afternoon block was just ending and the halls were beginning to fill with students, talking in hushed whispers about the recent events in Hogwarts history.

"Everyone here is really a wizard!" exclaimed Sora with astonishment, as he stared after a pair of Ravenclaw girls, who were pointing at him and whispering. The robes, apparently, were a dead giveaway.

"Yeah," affirmed Harry as they made their way through the gossiping crowd. As was the common trait with Hogwarts, their secret was already out. Everyone seemed to know about 'Neville's boy' or as the Slytherin's gossiped, 'Longbottom's Muggle', as the whispers denoted. "Basically, we stay here all year round, with exception to summer holiday, and learn magic."

Sora nodded, taking in everything in with a pensive calm Harry could not help but respect, even a small amount. Here was a boy who remembered nothing of his past and was confronted by such an overwhelming present, yet he might as well have been watching a movie for the amount of hesitation and fear he showed. There was no doubt in Harry's mind that this boy was rather brave...

... or perhaps he was not entirely unused to the idea of magic being common place. For all Harry knew, the boy might be a wizard from either the colonies, or perhaps another world all together, as his travel through this Inner Darkness might suggest.

Sora hummed pensively for a moment as he followed after Harry. Instinctively, Harry leapt over a step on their way up to the Gryffindor Tower. "Any more questions?" he asked kindly.

"Yeah... Ugh!" cried Sora with shock as he suddenly sank up to his waist into adhesive goo. Harry turned about in shock and realized that Sora was stuck in one of the trick steps Harry had forgotten to mention. "Harry!" he yelped in shock.

"Oh bollocks," Harry chided himself as he grabbed Sora's hands and pulled him free of the trick step with a heave. "Sorry about that. I forgot to tell you about our little booby traps."

Sora wrinkled his lip bitterly. "Booby traps? Why do you have booby traps?"

"That's an interesting question without a simple answer," explained Harry as they continued on their way up. "But, the main reason is because everyone is afraid my godfather will try to kill me."

That statement and the slight glimmer in Harry's emerald green eyes had Sora chuckling, a reaction that Harry would have never predicted.

"Not much of a godfather is he, huh?"

"It is quite complicated," Harry said, justifying himself quickly, as they got off on the top landing of the tower and made their way up a short, spiraling staircase, leading up to the Fat Lady. "Suffice it to say he does not wish to kill me, however."

"That's nice. Better than the alternative," professed Sora, looking clearly amused.

Harry grunted slightly. He did not find this a laughing matter in the least, though he wasn't about to scold the boy after only ten minutes of being conscious. That would be too... Percy-like. At last, they approached the painting of the Fat Lady, who appeared to be writing upon the desk in her picture. Sora studied the moving painting for a moment with a long look, and jumped when he saw her look directly at Harry.

"Password?"

"Justice Sprite."

Sora blinked three times, his jaw dropping agape at the sight and sound. "You -You can talk?"

"That is the rumor," replied the Fat Lady listlessly as she began to swing open.

"What is your name?" blurted Sora, his azure blue eyes twinkling with wonder. "I... I'm rather sure I've never talked to a painting before."

Harry licked the top of his lip in consideration as he rolled his eyes skyward. What was the Fat Lady's name? I don't recall ever asking in four years. How strange yet simple this boy was.

The Fat Lady looked positively mystified. "I don't think anyone has asked me my name in a century."

No, I definitely never asked... realized Harry, truly amazed that such a small detail had passed him by for practically five years.

Upon seeing that Sora seemed genuinely interested in her name, she blushed slightly. "My name is Helen. What is yours, young man?"

"Sora," he replied kindly. "It's so cool that pictures talk here. Are you like a real person stuck in a painting, or... um... not?"

Harry could not help but chuckle as he listened to Sora's questions and watched that flickering, warm glow in the bushy haired boy's eyes. It was almost as though he cared too much, Harry thought. After all, it was just a painting, wasn't it?

"What?" retorted the Fat Lady, "I'm hardly the one that is stuck, my dear. You are the ones who are stuck, I'm afraid."

"What do you mean?" questioned Sora.

The Fat Lady cocked her head to one side with mild consideration. "Well, I do not know you, dear, but for the last five years, your friend has been moving from this room and back at least five times every day, and low and behold, he is right here, right now. If you ask me, he hasn't gone very far in all this time."

Harry huffed indignantly, but could not help but find a small amount of ironic truth to that statement. Shaking a bit of stiffness and pain from his right hand, he considered Sora for a long moment.

"Well, I'll talk to you again later," promised Sora with a modest wave. "I'm going to be living here now, for awhile, anyway."

The Fat Lady nodded and pushed aside the rest of the way, allowing Harry and Sora to pass through. As always, the Gryffindor Common Room was as warm and inviting as ever, with its fireplace warming up the cold December day. As promised, from within, Ron was playing a game of Exploding Snap, with Seamus Finnigan as his partner, against Fred and George Weasley. Other students, mostly younger ones, watched in awe of the skill that each boy possessed at the strange game. Hermione was nowhere to be seen, however.

"Alright there, Harry," hailed Fred (or George; even after five years, it was nearly impossible to tell them apart) "Hey, our seeker has brought back Neville's boy!"

From the crowd of observers, Harry caught sight of Neville rushing for the staircase and running up it and out of sight. Apparently, the forgetful boy was just not quite ready to face what he expected would be the 'wrath of Sora'.

Fred and George both rose from their game and leapt to Sora's flanks.

"So..." began Fred.

"... is it true what they are saying?" finished George.

"Are you really from another country..." questioned the first twin

"... and do you really have amnesia?" concluded the second.

"Because, if so..." opined one.

"... then we have a proposition for you!"

"Lucrative proposition even... if you are able to help us..."

"... totally free of commitment, we assure you."

Sora's head spun as he shook his head from Fred to George and back again several times at the exchange. Harry did not even want to hazard a guess at how the news about Sora's problem had spread so quickly to the Gryffindor common room.

"I don't remember anything," replied Sora hastily. "And, I have no idea where I'm from."

Fred and George both put an arm around Sora, smiling mischievously.

"Then, I hope you don't mind if we take you up to our room..." began Fred.

Sora tensed up visibly with nervousness. "Well, I suppose it depends. Where you are going with this? I'm... not like that."

"... we have been dying to conduct research on amnesia."

"Totally, painless legitimate research... we assure you..."

"... for intellectual curiosity, of course."

"Never to practically apply..."

"... on real people anyway."

"Might try it on a Slytherin or two though..."

"... so how about it?"

By now, Sora looked rather dizzy. "Well..." trailed off Sora indecisively.

"Excellent!" cheered both twins as both of the twins abandoned their game of Exploding Snap and half-escorted, half-pulled Sora up the stairs. The new boy, looking something akin to a mouse, caught in the paws of two cats, followed timidly behind.

Harry could not help but chuckle modestly as he sat down at the table next to Ron and Seamus.

"Well, that's quite alright," noted Seamus, looking to Ron with a glint of triumph in his eyes. "We were winning."

"Yes, they just wanted an excuse to get out of the game," observed Ron as he picked up the pieces to their volatile game.

Harry's eyes darted up the stairs, which Sora and the Weasley twins had just taken. "I wouldn't be so certain, Ron. They seem rather passionate about their research lately."

"Aye," affirmed Seamus, pushing a lock of sandy blonde hair out of his eyes. "I wouldn't be puttin' it past them to have out Amnesia Mints after they are finished with your new friend."

"I certainly hope not," murmured Ron with resignation in his voice as he rose from the table. "I have seen entirely too many first years with feathers, thanks to their Canary Creams."

"Let's just hope when the new boy gets back, he's still a male," snickered Seamus.

"Oh, that reminds me," began Harry enthusiastically, truly excited by a certain thought that popped in his head. He moved toward the fireplace and took a seat in one of the relaxing chairs. "Where is Hermione? Got a question for her."

Seamus and Ron joined Harry, shoeing at two third year students who had seats by the fire. Seniority had won over, and the two girls scooted away.

"She took off a few minutes before you came in, Ron," explained Seamus smartly. His bright blue eyes flickered with amusement. "Dean and her were going to do some studying."

Ron's eyes widened with disbelief. "Dean and Hermione? How long has that been happening?"

This was indeed new news to Harry as well. Ever since the night before school, last summer, Harry was mildly interested in the personal affairs of Hermione. While he had no specific problems with Dean, he was not really all that friendly with him. Harry was one to respect others, never speaking ill about anyone that did not deserve such words. Dean, on the other hand, loved poking more than just harmless fun at everyone. It was unfortunate, but over the last year, Dean had turned into a milder form of Draco, lightly picking on Ron's wealth, Harry's looks, Hermione's brains, and even Seamus' nationality. Ever since the darker-skinned boy had taken to referring to Harry as 'Orphan' or "Scarface", he had stopped being funny.

As a result, Seamus had taken more of a liking to Ron and Harry than ever, and slowly drifted away from Dean. Always kind, Seamus was a good guy and Harry knew he could count on him. Over the last few months, Seamus had been slowly working his way into the tight-knit triangle that bound Harry, Ron and Hermione. Yet, Harry just could not look at Seamus the same way he could with Ron. There was something binding involved in facing life-threatening situations with others... something that made their relationship something stronger than just kind words and a smile.

"I don't know," replied Seamus with a deliberate shrug. "I mean, I do not know if there be anything... it could just be a project they are working on." Seamus then turned on Harry. "So Harry, tell us about the new kid."

Harry's eyes left the crackling fireplace for a moment and fell upon Seamus. "Sora?"

"That's his name?" asked Ron incredulously, his carroty brow arching suspiciously. "A bit feminine, huh?"

"A bit," Harry could not deny, "but, who knows... where he is from, it might be common."

"Where is he from?" pressed Seamus, leaning forward.

Harry glanced over to the Irish boy. "He doesn't remember. His amnesia is very potent, I guess."

"Sounds more like a Memory Charm to me," Ron commented flimsily.

"Well, Dumbledore didn't seem all that surprised by it," said Harry, leaning back into the comfortable, maroon chair. "He said that Sora came from the Inner Darkness... I guess it might me a common side effect."

A hum of recognition from the Irish boy drew Harry and Ron's attention, as Seamus rubbed his lower lip in consideration, a habit he had when he was either intrigued or pensively considering something.

"Does that mean something to you, Seamus?" prompted Ron, a sudden look of interest upon his face.

Seamus lifted his hand from his lap and nodded once. "A wee bit. There was an old Irish wizarding limerick about 'The Inner Darkness of Fred Finkle..." I don't know if that be the same Inner Darkness, but it be talkin' about some right sinister things."

"How's it go?" questioned Harry.

Seamus thought for a moment, mouthing words silently in an attempt to churn the poem from his mind. "I... reckon it goes something like this..." He cleared his throat and began to speak in a light, flowing voice.

"There once was a wizard named Fred,"

"Who wanted to get way ahead,"

"The Inner Darkness he,"

"Controlled with glee,"

"Unlocking the world with a key..."

Seamus paused for a moment, looking to the rest of them, with a slight blush on his cheeks. "There is more, I just don't remember the rest of it as well."

Harry, however, looked to have swallowed a mucus bean. His eyes were widened and his face was slightly ashen with realization. "Malfoy mentioned something about the possibility of opening a world to the Inner Darkness. Try to remember the rest."

Again, Seamus went about mouthing the words, rolling his eyes up in his head and nodding with the beat of an unspoken lyric.

"Fred Finkle grew with strength and might,"

"Scaring up chaps all a-fright,"

"From green to jade,"

"His heart did fade,"

"And lost, in end, his keyblade."

Seamus winced apologetically, as he finished the limerick. "Something like that, anyway. It was in a book of poems I've read a score of times."

Harry tapped his chin in consideration, but did not say anything. The last line in the poem repeated within his head strangely, as if it was supposed to make sense to him, but just didn't.

"What is a keyblade?" asked Harry, posing the question to his two companions.

Ron and Seamus both shrugged helplessly, though the Irish boy seemed a bit more insightful. "Well, the first part of the poem mentioned a key... I think the keyblade is that key to unlock the world."

"Maybe," agreed Ron half-heartedly. "But its poetry... it probably isn't supposed to be literal. I mean, how does a heart fade?"

Seamus nodded decidedly, but Harry seemed a visible taken aback. "But, Ron, Malfoy said...!"

At that, Seamus chuckled lightly. "Harry, it's just a limerick. Don't get so worked up."

Harry sighed and realized that Ron and Seamus were right. It was a totally absurd concept. A key cannot unlock a world, and allow darkness to flow into it. Darkness already WAS in the world, hidden within cruel people who brought only misery upon their fellow creatures. People like Voldemort, who exist only to sow seeds of hatred, were the sources of evil. The whole concept of darkness being a physical thing, was just too farfetched... wasn't it?

"Yeah, you don't really believe in the Inner Darkness, do you?" asked Ron, with a bit of false bravado.

Harry sighed awkwardly for a moment. "No, I suppose I do not." He responded, measuring his words carefully. "But, five years ago, I did not believe magic existed in the world either."

Ron and Seamus had no quick retort to that, and remained pensively silent, if not a bit apprehensive. Their silence was all Harry needed to feel a bit back on the level with them, though he sincerely hoped that he was wrong.

"Let's chow up," said Seamus at last, breaking the newly formed ice. "I'm starving."

Ron chuckled once without mirth... it came out more like a sigh of relief. "You can say that again. This talk of Inner Darkness is depressing."

Harry stood up, thinking that idea quite grand. "I'll go rescue Sora from your brothers. I think it shall do him good to come with us."

"Aye," agreed Seamus. "Plus, I'd like to meet him. Not everyday you get to meet a boy from another world."

Ron and Harry both stared at him, as if he had just violated some sort of unspoken, but clearly obvious agreement between them.

"Um... I mean, another country... since the Inner Darkness doesn't be existin'... right?" Seamus blurted out quickly, trying to redeem himself.

"Right," answered the other two boys thickly, but not believably.

* * * * * *

"What is a keyblade?"

"Well, the first part of the poem mentioned a key... think the keyblade is that key to unlock the world?"

"Maybe, though, it doesn't really matter all that much...."

Draco sat by the fire of the Slytherin Common Room, his eyes focused upon the crackling flames as he listened to the Gryffindor's speaking within his head.

"Keyblade," hummed Draco with consideration. "I knew Potter would be trying to crack this mystery in no time."

He rubbed the palm of his right hand with his thumb with cold collection. A dull pain stung in his hand constantly, ever since he had inflicted Potter with a subtle Lurker Hex, following the advice given to him by the mysterious Raishoon.

Of course, Raishoon had not told him to hex Potter... that was his ingenious twist, Draco thought, a smirk crossing his face. What he had said was to be as alert as possible, for strange things would be occurring, as the concentration of Inner Darkness around the world thickened and tightened, in preparation for an invasion. What better way to be weary of school events than to have a link to the ears of Harry Potter... the one who'd be sure to stick his head into any abnormality, should it occur?

Now, he could focus his full attention on finding this mysterious Keyblade. And I bet that runt Sora will lead me right to it, he considered, as he looked up from his palm and toward the fire. I'll need something else to go on, Draco realized, something that will bring Sora's memory back... something that will remind him about what the Keyblade was. And, I will have to find a way to trick him into telling him. I am certain he knows what it is: Hogwarts little mystery Muggle.

Draco himself was no master of manipulation; sure, he could handle Crabbe and Goyle, as well as buy himself a place on a Quidditch team, but these were not major feats... earning someone's trust within a short period was no task Draco could handle, especially with his nefarious reputation.

But, realized Draco, as the fire danced off his considering, gray eyes... perhaps he could do it with some help.