The Inner Darkness

Chapter 7: Squirming Evil

Harry was one step ahead of Riku as the boy launched himself out of the water, propelling himself to amazing heights. He leaned back, training his wand on the incoming figure, working on survivalist instinct that had kept him alive all these years.

"Expelliarmus!" cried Harry. A surge of force erupted from his wand, striking Riku in the chest. While the force of the spell hardly disarmed the silver-haired boy (the spell was meant to disarm wands, not twenty pound falchions), it sent him flipping over backward, his leaping strike blocked rather effectively.

With the grace of a cat, Riku landed upon his feet, splashing up water as he landed. He glared at Harry, his eyes flaring with ocean-blue fury. "Is that the best you can do?"

Colin, who was a step behind, drew his wand as well, his hand shaking with fear.

"Don't make me do this," stated Harry firmly. "Put down the sword and lets talk about this."

"I've nothing to say," muttered Riku, in his even tone, not even taking a moment to consider Harry's offer.

He dashed forward, the water practically parting for him as he surged at Harry. Apparently, the laws of physics ceased to exist for this Riku, for the water served as no obstruction to his movement. He stretched out his sword, ready to impale him.

Harry leapt to the side and narrowly avoided the wicked blade. Riku's blade pierced the air where Harry's heart was a moment ago. His head momentarily sank underwater, obscuring his view of Riku. He would not have a chance against Riku while up to his waist in water. This boy was simply not bound by the same rules of gravity and motion that Harry was, and sooner before later, he would taste that wicked blade.

He surfaced, just in time for Riku to recover from his rush. The silver haired boy turned his head to him, and moved again at him, dancing in the water with unfathomable grace. Before Harry knew it, he was pressing in again, slashing at Harry ruthlessly with an overhead chomp.

Harry leapt back, narrowly avoiding the swing. The falchion splashed into the water harmlessly. His mind worked twice as fast as his body, a plan coming to mind despite the hopelessness of the situation. He made the vow that, if he were to escape from this alive, he would kiss Hermione for beating Basic Apparation into him. Riku stepped forward again, using his momentum to slash at Harry, waist-level. Harry pivoted to the side, his robe taking the worst of the hit as the curved blade sliced a formidable rip in the cloth, missing his skin by a hair. It became clear to Harry that he would not last another few seconds in melee with the obviously combat savvy Riku.

"Apparate!" exclaimed Harry, who vanished with a sudden pop... just in time for Riku's third swing to pass through the air where his head just was.

A split second later, he reappeared upon the pearly white beach. Now, he had a chance... he had some time to prepare some defensive spells, that would perhaps give him a chance to fight Riku on even ground.

Harry now became aware of a fatal flaw in his plan, a flaw that slapped Harry across the fate with the horror of its realization. He had forgotten all about Colin, who was screaming in fear and running from Riku, kicking up water as he ran. It had not occurred to him that Colin had never dealt with a single situation before that was threatening to him at all. It was the fact that Harry had looked death in the face well more than just a handful of times that kept his head in control of his actions. Colin, however, was lost in panic; he was not even trying to cast spells at all. The poor boy simply tried to outrun Riku... a prospect Harry knew would not work, given the current level of freedom the other boy had in the water. Harry was proven correct when the silver-haired terror took up the chase by leaping out of the water, practically gliding through the air in a series of fancy flips, and landing in front of Colin, with a loud splash.

The feeling of helplessness invaded Harry's mind, driving his heart into paralysis. Colin froze with fear, stiffening up like a board. Harry knew there was nothing he could do to prevent the inevitable. He had chosen to save himself; he had left Colin to die. What a prefect he was; Percy-like when it came to commonplace tasks and punishments, but a coward when it came to protecting those in his charge.

Riku did not smirk as he drove his falchion straight through Colin's chest. It was as if the action held no meaning for this silver-haired boy. Passion had no play in his ritualistic murder; he might as well have been cutting a roast for all the excitement upon his face. Colin gasped and let out a strangled cry for help, a cry Harry was too far away to answer with any assistance.

Time froze, as if fate itself desired to write an epilogue for Colin's life. Nevertheless, there was no denying it. Colin was going to die in a few seconds; this unfeeling bastard, for no reason, murdered him. There was another time in his life where he had seen someone kill with such perfect dispassion. Only when he was staring into those wide, glazed over eyes of Cedric Diggory did he realize what he had seen was real. Voldemort had that same malice, that cold uncaring disposition that allowed him to pronounce judgment upon a life, squelching someone with the utmost detachment.

Kill the spare...

In the times he had heard about Riku, he had never pictured him to be capable of so much. It was not even hatred that drew his blade. He could not hate Colin. What did Colin do? In fact, why was he attacking them? Why couldn't they talk this out?

With one last whimper, Colin ceased struggling and lowered his head; the last of his life slipped away into the waist high water, staining it crimson. Riku kicked Colin in the chest, pushing his body off the length of his weapon. An absolute calm possessed his movements, as he rid himself of the mortally wounded boy, as if he was ridding himself of an empty bottle after drinking deeply.

"Your next," Riku commented uncaringly, with the same energy as a cashier waving on the next customer. He looked at Harry and began to move.

Words could not convey Harry's frustration as he readied his wand. How did he get this so wrong? A moment ago, Colin, Sora and him were in the Headmaster's office, having a low-key discussion... and now, everything was so wrong.

There was simply no time for him to be shocked, however, as Riku started moving at him, his sword stained crimson from blood. Colin's blood. His gait was slow and deliberate, with only one purpose: to stall. He was relishing in Harry's fear and rage, gaining enjoyment from it, even if his face remained completely indifferent. Rage boiled through Harry's veins, causing him pain. Realizing the trial that would come, Harry focused on this pain, bringing it to life within his body. He felt alive and lethal, the spells he could cast forming within his mind so quickly that he did not know where to begin. He whirled his wand, taking a wizard's fighting stance he learned in Dueling Club and began rattling off spells. Riku stopped to consider Harry for a moment.

"Stupefy!" he cried, sending a blast of purple light at Riku. Upon seeing the oncoming spell, the boy planted his feet. As it neared, he simply jerked his torso to the right in a boxer's dodge, Harry's spell missing him by a hair.

"You still don't got it... try again," Riku baited lazily.

"Incendio!" continued Harry, too lost in rage for the taunt to have any additional effect. A simple spell learned in his first year, the Fire Charm was relative to as powerful as the wizard desired it to be. A fireball shot forth from Harry's wand, streaking at the silvery haired boy with a loud roar. All the arrogant kid had time for was to align the flat of his blade to take the brunt of the explosion. Struck by the full impact, Riku was sent toppling over backward, skimming over the surface of the water like a flat stone. Some of his hair crackled with flame, and he sported a few burns on his arms, his sword having saved his life.

To Harry's amazement, the warrior-boy was not cowed. He stood up after a wave broke over his head; the water extinguished the fire on his clothing and hair.

"Alright," hissed Riku angrily, finally showing some emotion as he rubbed his burned cheek. "My turn."

With an impressive leap, he shot out of the water, flipping four times and landing on the beach. Continuing on his threat, he began a very fast sprint at Harry, sword extended. Harry, in a slight panic, called out the first spell that came to mind.

"Serpensortia!" Harry hissed furiously. What had brought out this spell first, Harry did not know, nor did he waste time in reflection. With the completion of his spell, three pythons shot from the tip of his wand with a bright flash of green light, landing in a protective triangle formation between him and Riku. The silver haired boy froze with confusion, breaking off his charge.

"Get him!" yelled Harry, his voice sounding normal in his own ears. Judging by the expression of doubt upon Riku's face, however, he knew he was speaking in language of snakes. With coordinated precision, the three snakes slithered with surprising speed for the warrior, who took a defensive fighting style.

Harry, adding additional pressure, continued casting. "Locomotor Mortis!"

Riku rolled to the side in a fancy tumble, the spell kicking up sand as it struck the ground where he formerly was. He leapt back to his feet, trying to locate each of the snakes after his disorienting acrobatics. That small break in his concentration opened up the opportunity for a snake to leap up and sink its fangs into one of his arms.

He cried out in pain and his left hand slipped from his blade. A second snake tried to strike, but Riku drove the heel of his foot into the snake's head, sending it flying backwards. With a one-armed swing of his massive blade, he separated the biting snake's head from the rest of its body and backed up a step.

Harry watched Riku as he fought his snakes. Harry's snakes must have been sporting some serious poison, for almost immediately, Riku's movements became sluggish. The boy moved languidly, barely hacking a snake down before it bit him, his sword digging into the ground briefly before he hoisted it back up with noticeable effort. The snake he kicked sprung a second time, driving its sharp teeth into his well-muscled leg. Riku cried out again and lifted his sword. Using more gravity than actual force, Riku swung feebly at the snake, finishing it off. His chest was heaving and his face had already become drawn and very pale.

He eyed Harry wearily, but did not do more than stagger three steps toward him before he drove his sword into the sand, in an attempt to keep himself from falling.

"You don't... know what... you are... doing..." panted Riku heavily, his body shuttering from fatigue. "If Sora's memory... is restored... your world... will... perish... You've already... caused enough... damage... helping him this far."

Harry drew closer to him, his face set firmly. It did not matter what Riku said at this point, realized Harry with hatred. He was a no good murderer.

"Tell that to Colin," sneered Harry, pointing his wand at Riku.

Riku gasped, falling to a knee, his life beginning to flee from him. He gripped his sword with his good arm, resting all his weight on it. "Better by me... than the alternative..."

Harry's stubborn, proud side wanted to just ignore this person... this monster... this murderer. However, a small amount of intuition remained within his head. It was the same intuition that had held his wand when he had a chance to turn in Sirius Black, the wanted murderer who had entered his room with a knife... who, by all reports, had gotten his parents killed. In the end, had he not listened to this voice, Sirius and Professor Lupin would both likely be given the Dementor's Kiss.

"What is the alternative?" demanded Harry, his patience thin, but existing nonetheless.

Riku lifted his head with obvious effort, looking Harry in the eyes. He managed to utter a few sentences with fleeting bursts of strength. "Consumption by the Heartless... you become one of them... your heart stolen and filled with darkness... forever serving the Harbringer of Darkness."

Harry's face went deadpan, his expression as dark as a moonless night. "You killed him. He was innocent... Colin meant no harm to anyone..."

Riku snickered once, and lowered his head, the strength to stare at Harry proudly having faded away. "I wouldn't expect you... to understand... protected in your safe little world... never once having seen the horrors I've seen... " He gasped once, but he could not find the strength to draw a good breath. He teetered, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he struggled to remain conscious. "If you saw half... half of what I've seen... and realized what you've done here... you'd take my sword once I die and... and fall upon it yourself. It... it is the only way to escape..."

The exact reason those words had such an effect on Harry, he could not say. All hatred and malice fled from his system as Riku lost his strength, falling to the face first into the sand with a groan. His voice entered Harry's head one last time as the beach around him began to swim out of focus.

"With my death, Sora will regain his memory...now, you must stop him before it is too late."

For some reason, Harry felt the irresistible urge to look at the sky. He felt himself falling backwards, his body powerless to fight. He never landed, however, and passed harmlessly through the white, sandy beach. The sky gradually shrunk as he fell away from it, a strange effect that made his eyelids feel heavy. He lazily rolled his head to the side and saw that he was falling, descending into darkness.

* * * * * *

Two people screamed. They were voiced he knew. Their words were lost, but Harry knew these people were close to his heart. His eyes refused to cooperate, however, and would not open. It was as though they were stapled shut. To acknowledge the familiar voices, he tried to speak, but all that came out was a groan.

Rough hands grabbed his shoulders, shaking him roughly. At last, he won the struggle against his eyelids, forcing them to open a slit. Where am I? Was it all just a dream?

Ron was leaning over him, it had to be, for no one else had such sincere, modest blue eyes. He was saying something and shaking his shoulder roughly. And, directly to his side, he saw Hermione. It had to be her, for no one else had hair like her. She was kneeling next to him; he could smell her fragrant, herbal shampoo. He closed his hands around bed sheets and felt his head being cradled by an overstuffed pillow.

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione's voice echoed clearly at last, no longer obscured by the haze of unconsciousness. "Thank heavens!"

The room was dark, lit only by an antique chandelier, suspended in the air above them. He glanced down at his chest, trying to find some clues as to where he was. Finding that he was dressed in a hospital robe helped, however, he knew for a fact he was not in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts.

"Wha..." murmured Harry. "Where?"

Hermione was caressing Harry's hair affectionately, tender care flowing from her fingertips. Ron looked visibly relieved upon hearing him speak. "You are at St. Mungo's," he stated solemnly. "You were admitted five days ago."

Harry blinked, his strength slowly beginning to return. It seemed like only a moment ago, he was listening to Riku's last words, after his brutal and unprovoked attack. With a gasp, Harry suddenly lurched up, a surge of adrenaline giving him the strength.

"Colin?!"

Ron and Hermione both sighed and lowered their heads. It was Ron that spoke, after shaking his head. "He's dead."

Harry fell back into his pillow, grabbing his head with frustration. The small spark of hope Harry had felt within his chest, upon waking from a dreamlike state, was extinguished. No longer could he hide behind the possibility that it was all a dream. He had failed as a Prefect; Colin was dead because he was too weak to protect him. He now owed another debt... a debt he would never be able to repay.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," whispered Hermione softly, continuing to rub his head softly with caring affection.

"Sora..." Harry hissed, his teeth grinding. He balled his fist as he remembered the boy who had conveniently vanished, leaving Harry and Colin to die. "Where is he?"

Ron scowled and reached over to Harry's bedstand. He took hold of a roll of parchment and placed it into Harry's hand. "Here... this'll explain all that has happened in five days. It is not pretty."

"I... don't have my glasses," reminded Harry softly.

Hermione withdrew his glasses from her robe pocket and slipped them over his eyes. "There, Harry."

Harry glanced down at the parchment, almost afraid of reading the words on the page.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TRAGEDY STRIKES HOGWARTS!!!

Dark Wizard Sora the Sinful Murders Hogwarts Student; Boy Who Lived Grievously Injured

Associated Press: Rita Skeeter

"Never before have I met a Headmaster so willing to subject his students to mortal peril. He has failed in all respects as a suitable guardian and the only word that can describe his administration is sad," says Lucius Malfoy, Ministry Spokesperson and a concerned father of a Hogwarts child.

Friday, December 18^th, 1995 is a day that will live in infamy, written in the records, next to the date Sunday, June 24^th, 1995. Readers familiar with the second date need no reminder of the tragic conclusion to the Triwizard Tournament, where 17-year-old Cedric Diggory died in a freak mishap during the final task. The Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, has issued the following statement:

"I have known Albus Dumbledore for as long as I have been alive. I have allowed him to run Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry without any interference throughout my entire administration, since the fall of Dark Lord Grindelwald. I have given him the benefit of the doubt on several occasions, including young Diggory's death. But, after the second, terrible loss in one year, enough is enough."

Last Friday, the hands of Sora, the Dark Wizard of Hogwarts, killed fourteen-year-old Colin Creevey in cold blood. Details of this attack are limited, but allegedly, Colin Creevey and famous Harry Potter were led into Albus Dumbledore's office by Sora. Also present were Ron Weasley and Dean Thomas, two fifth year Gryffindor students who had been brought to the office for fighting. What happened then is a mystery to all but those present, however, at the conclusion of this meeting, Colin Creevey and Harry Potter were rendered comatose. Ron Weasley, Dean Thomas and the Headmaster had left the room earlier. Sora, alone, walked out of the office, according to eyewitness reports.

"After Ron and Dean's fight in the Great Hall, I knew Sora had gone to the Headmaster's Office," says Terry Boot, the Fifth Year Prefect of Ravenclaw. "I found it strange when later, I saw him running up to the Gryffindor Tower. He sure seemed like he was in a hurry."

When the Headmaster returned to his office, he immediately called for assistance and, within a half hour, had transported the two boys to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies, where young Colin was pronounced dead moments later. Harry Potter remains in stable condition, though how long he will be comatose is anyone's guess. Professor Dumbledore agreed to address the Daily Prophet and has spoken to me regarding the terrible tragedy last Friday.

"I accept full responsibility for Colin Creevey's death," quotes the guilty, cornered Headmaster on Monday. "I left my office to bring Ron Weasley and Dean Thomas to the Hospital Wing, while Harry and Colin were assisting Sora with a device I had made. It was a Reminisce, a magical invention that would help him regain his memory. I calculated that the three boys would be busy for the better part of three hours. I confess a flaw in my magic, however, and this was the cause of Mr. Creevey's death. I, hereby, resign as Headmaster of Hogwarts. My deepest apologies go out to the family of Colin Creevey: his father Bill Creevey, his mother Margaret and his younger brother Dennis. I can only beg your forgiveness for my failure."

Albus Dumbledore has since resigned as Headmaster of Hogwarts by the request of the Minster of Magic. Minerva McGonagall, the Deputy Headmaster, has since assumed the administration of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, pending an appointment of a replacement Headmaster by the Ministry. So far, no formal charges have been made against the Headmaster, despite his confession.

"It is absurd to think that Headmaster Dumbledore could have possibly struck out at one of his students, either by accident or on purpose. Plainly and simply put: It is not even an avenue to consider," says Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, and father to Ron Weasley, a survivor of Sora's awful attack.

But, other more prestigious and powerful mouths in the Ministry speak otherwise.

"As tragic a day as this is for the English Wizarding World, we must push on," says Lucius Malfoy. "For too long, careless mistakes have been overlooked by the current administration. No longer will this be true. I, personally, will be one of the applicants for the role of Headmaster of Hogwarts. I solemnly swear to do my part in preparing our children for the world in ways that Albus Dumbledore has failed in the past. I hope to see him brought up on charges of negligence, in regards to his acceptance of this "Sora" cretin and whose actions have led to an accessory in the terrible murder of a young Hogwarts boy."

Shortly after the tragedy, Sora was found in his room at Hogwarts. He has since been taken to Azkaban Prison, where he awaits his trial. The charge is murder, and the punishment for a guilty sentence will be the Dementor's Kiss. It is this reporter's hope that deaths of such a grizzly nature come to an end under new leadership at Hogwarts.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry tossed the paper aside and grabbed his face with dismay. One week before, life at Hogwarts was grand. For the first time in an entire half-year, it had seemed as though everything was calm. With a sound Defense against the Dark Arts Professor, no obvious plots by Voldemort, and Quidditch having resumed as usual, everything was going fine.

And now, it was over. Just about everything that could have gone wrong had. Another student lay dead at Harry's hands. Only this time, Colin's passing was much closer to home than Cedric's was, and Harry knew that his life had already become that much dimmer with that boy's death on his conscience. He had become part of Harry's routine. Every Quidditch practice from now on will be that much dryer without the team photographer taking his picture. It was not to say he wanted his picture taken, but not hearing that camera click when he made a great catch would remind him of his failure, each and every time.

If that wasn't bad enough, Dumbledore was no longer at Hogwarts. Never before would he have imagined that Dumbledore would fail at anything. But, because of Sora... Colin was dead. Sure, he could blame Riku, Sora's best friend, the one who actually drove the blade home, but how did he know that was even Riku? Could it not have been Sora in disguise? What was a modern Riku doing within Sora's past, desiring nothing more than to kill Colin and him? And where did Sora go, when they had entered the Remensice. He had been holding his hand one moment... and suddenly, he was gone.

It was going to get worse before it got better, Harry remembered thinking. That was the understatement of his life.

"Seamus is on his way," said Ron softly, "They are letting you have visitors now... the Minister of Magic himself forbad anyone but doctors to see you for the past five days!"

Hermione sighed and began dabbing Harry's face with a moist cloth. "A perfectly logical order," she reasoned. "Harry needed complete rest."

"When is Sora's trial?" asked Harry.

Ron shrugged unknowingly. "Dad says he'll be tried quickly. Probably by the end of Christmas Holiday."

Harry nodded grimly. It would not take too long for Sora to be found guilty and given The Kiss. Perhaps that was what he deserved... any revenge Harry might be able to bestow upon him would never add up to the severity of the Dementor's Kiss.

"What happened, anyway, Harry?" asked Hermione. "What did he do to hurt you?"

Launching into the explanation was almost as painful as reliving the entire experience. He started from the Stunning Charm on Ron and Dean (Ron gave him a particularly sour look, but held his tongue) to the encounter with Lucius Malfoy ("What was he doing there, anyway?" commented Hermione rhetorically, though Harry was unable to answer.) to the discussion of Draco Malfoy, (Both remained silent, for whatever he did not have a chance to tell Hermione, Ron surely supplied while Harry was unconscious) and finally, the entrance into Sora's past, where Colin was slain and Harry bested Riku.

"So, you really used the Snake Summoning Charm?" asked Ron energetically. "That is wicked!"

Hermione looked at Ron disapprovingly. "What a thing to say at a time like this..."

"Look," stated Ron sharply, failing to pick up on his own lack of tact. "Let's keep our eyes on the prize here. None of us liked Colin; he was a nice kid and did not deserve to die, but life stinks." Ron looked at Harry and nodded firmly. "Harry didn't cause his death, Dumbledore didn't either... he was murdered by Sora. The Inner Darkness consumed him and he was plotting to betray us from the second he stepped foot into Hogwarts."

"Ron!" exclaimed Hermione passionately. "Listen to yourself... 'none of us liked Colin'... 'life stinks'? What's gotten into you?"

Harry had to admit, he had never heard Ron talk like that before. Ron always seemed so wide-eyed and innocent, always looking for the better things in life. Now, it seemed as though that part of him had died with Colin.

"Well, what do you want me to say, Hermione?" he retorted hot-headedly. "That we have to take a month off to mourn the annoying kid with the camera? Hell, while we are at it, why don't we just find the Keyblade and give it to Malfoy as a Christmas present?" Ron held out his hands, as if offering an invisible package to someone not there. "Happy Christmas, Malfoy... from me to you: here's the power to end civilization as we know it... "

Harry stared at Ron, completely slack jaw. It was frightening to hear Ron talk like that; it was scary because Harry believed him. The loss of Colin hurt nothing but Harry's own pride. He wasn't upset that Colin was dead, he was upset that he failed in his duties. What could he say? He never liked the boy, and, with exception to Malfoy, he was the most annoying boy at Hogwarts. Of course he didn't deserve to die, but that was life. Life stinks. Good people die, because someone stronger decided to kill them. That is the way the world works.

What could he say?

"Right, Ron," hissed Hermione sarcastically. "Just give up... that makes things so much easier. You are just using Colin's death as an excuse to quit!"

"Yeah, well, at least I put up a fight to begin with instead of keeping my head in a damn book, hoping life will pass me by as long as my big head is hidden by a leather binding!" shouted Ron, his blue eyes widening with anger.

"Big head? Why you insufferable, nihilistic, lazy, good-for-nothing..." cussed Hermione, but she did not get to finish as Harry butt in.

"How long has it been since you two have gotten any sleep?" asked Harry loudly.

Both of his friends looked down at Harry. Only now did the Boy Who Lived see how deep the black bags under both their eyes were. It looked as though a good night sleep had not graced their bodies in months. Ron and Hermione exchanged glances and then looked back to Harry.

"Awhile," sighed Hermione. Harry had a hunch that when Hermione said 'awhile', she meant five days, at least. A short cram session with her was over two days long. A long one would be two weeks long. 'Awhile' likely fell snuggly in the middle somewhere.

"Too long," replied Ron tiredly, the very mention of sleep bringing a yawn to his lips. "I'm sorry, Hermione... sorry about the things I just said."

Hermione closed her eyes and shook her head. "No, I'm sorry, Ron. We should get some sleep."

"Hermione's stayed with us at the Burrow this past week," explained Ron. "Colin died at the end of the term, so no one was allowed to stay at Hogwarts for Winter Break."

She opened her eyes again and nodded. "I wanted to remain in the Wizarding World until you got better," she stated. "I wrote my parents and they allowed me to stay with Ron this holiday because they know how much you mean to me, Harry."

"Just go get some sleep, OK?" said Harry with a tired wave. "Stop worrying about me, I'll be fine."

Without warning, Hermione slowly bent down and kissed Harry on the cheek, her lips feeling warm and comforting upon his skin. Ron nodded with a silent promise, and punched Harry on the shoulder.

"Anyway, Seamus'll keep you company for a bit. He's always a bit late, but he'll get here."

With that, Ron left, heading away from the bed. It became clear to Harry why he was in such a dark place, for when Ron parted a black curtain about ten feet away, light poured into the room, forcing Harry to look away. When the replaced the curtain, it was dark once again, with only enough light to show Hermione's face.

"Do you think Sora was the one who killed Colin?" asked Hermione as she moved to follow Ron.

Harry frowned and closed his eyes, his own shattered pride still trying to reconstruct himself. He wanted to give Sora the benefit of the doubt, after all, Dumbledore still had faith in Sora. But, should he be wrong, and Sora was just amazing smart and a great liar, not only would he have failed in protecting Colin, but he will have failed in seeing the truth of the matter; he will have been blinded by hope.

"I don't know," replied Harry at last. "The trial will determine it."

Hermione shook her head. "Right, just like Buckbeak's trial determined him." She closed her eyes and sighed deeply, lowering her head. Her hair slumped down around her face, as if sharing in her defeat. "A fourteen year old boy is dead, and they need someone to blame. They can blame Albus Dumbledore, the greatest and kindest wizard the Earth has ever known..."

Harry bit his lip and frowned.

"They can blame Harry Potter... the Boy Who Lived... the only one who has stood up to a Killing Curse, and survived..." Hermione continued drably

"Or," added Harry morosely, "they can blame Sora... an unknown boy painted unjustly by Rita Skeeter as a Dark Wizard.

"What person would think twice about it? It fits perfectly..." thought Hermione with bitter sarcasm.

"Too perfectly... almost manufactured to be that perfect. Seems to me as if they picked out their scapegoat for anything that might happen well before anything did happen," opined Harry, sharing her exact sentiment. "We will worry about this tomorrow. Get some sleep, Hermione."

Hermione nodded again, and without another word, left his dark little bedchamber. Harry settled back into his pillow, with far more questions than answers concerning Sora. One truth rang clear in his head, however.

It would only get worse before it got better.

That sentence had an entirely new meaning to Harry, as he thought it over instead of sleeping. He had lost all sense of time, locked within his dark chamber in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies.

Harry had long since lost track of time, but he was certain that at least four hours had passed, maybe more. Seamus must have been waylaid by his parents or was not awoken tonight, Harry realized, as he yawned loudly. Heavy rings of fatigue circled his eyes with constant pressure, but he could not yield to them if he wanted to. His mind was a maelstrom of doubt, anger and frustration. He was a boat, trapped within a squall of feelings, blinded by the wind and rain of rage.

The scene on the beach within Sora's mind replayed itself, each sick detail emblazoned within his mind, like it were a mural etched on stone. He could still smell the saline, fresh air; he could still feel the wind across the back of his neck, and the water up to his waist. He could still see Colin, asking him if he wanted to teach him how to swim. Their conversation, after young Sora and Riku had vanished, had been completely informal. Harry had never spoke to Colin like that before. He had not talked down to him as he always did, (for it was hard to speak to the boy's face when he always was kissing his feet) but instead, had spoken to him like an equal. Colin Creevey, the annoying Gryffindor boy who had done nothing to anyone.

And now, he never would.

Over the summer, after Cedric's death, he had fortified his resolve by many sleepless nights. Just thinking about the meaning and reason of life had helped keep his mind occupied. What was the point of life if it was so fragile and easy to take away? Cedric Diggory had labored for seven years at school, bringing glory to a house that knew it not; he had been a good looking boy, a bastion of strength and honor that was so rare to find in anyone outside of House Gryffindor. But, in the end, he died. He did not die a glorious death, the death of a hero... the death someone like him deserved. The terrible truth of the matter was that he died a spare, in the exact words of Lord Voldemort. Because he was there, he had been killed simply and cleanly with a flash of green life and two simple words.

That was the frailty of the human condition... one simple spell. Good works, life achievements, honor... courage... what were those? They were not shields of protection to be wielded against such power. Standing tall against a dark wizard preparing to use the Killing Curse, no matter what forces kept ones feet rooted, was to insure that death would quickly snub ones strong, perhaps convoluted, sense of righteousness.

There was one difference between the deaths of Cedric and Colin, only one difference that really mattered. When Cedric was murdered, Harry knew who held the wand that did the dastardly deed. Wormtail, Peter Pettigrew, was a murderer and a low-life, one who served the Dark Lord with neither question nor complaint. So consumed was he by Voldemort's will, that he parted with his own hand to see him alive once again. One day, just one day, Pettigrew would be reminded of Cedric's death... once Harry had his revenge.

But, with Colin's murder, who held the wand? Was it Riku... the best friend of Sora which Harry had never actually met before, only had heard of second-hand? Had this boy somehow invaded Sora's mind and screwed with his memory? Did he fight to the death to protect his changes?

Was Dumbledore to blame? Did the kindly old wizard finally make a mistake, a very costly mistake that brought Harry and Colin into mortal peril... peril that Colin was unable to escape from? Was it Dumbledore's fault that he left the room to bring Ron and Dean to the Hospital Wing. Had he been there, could he have withdrawn Colin and Harry from the beach before Colin was killed?

Or was it Sora... had the younger boy played Harry for a fool since the day he had arrived? Ever since the boy had asked the Fat Lady for her name and spoken to her with such naïve and artificial charm, Harry had not been fond of him. It had annoyed him that Sora had been so open, seeking the friendship of even a painting. Thinking of it that way, Harry realized it was not fair to have judged him so quickly... but perhaps, it was more than that exchange that had driven Harry to dislike him. Perhaps it was his own sixth sense about Sora, screaming in his ear that something was off about this boy. There might have been something on the instinctual level that had yelled at Harry in his subconscious... that warned him not grow too fond of the boy.

But then, what about himself? Harry closed his eyes, feeling neither the warmth of comfort nor the beckoning of sleep that a bed was to provide. Maybe he was to blame. In such a cowardly move, he had Apparated to the beach, allowing Riku to slay Colin at his leisure.

His thoughts fell back again to the final words of Riku as he gasped his last, poisoned by Harry's snakes. "With my death, Sora will regain his memory...now, you must stop him before it is too late." What had that been about? Even if this was true, and Sora's memory had come back, he was locked in Azkaban... the cursed, prison of the Wizarding World, guarded by dementors. Only one person had ever escaped from Azkaban, and Harry knew that person was innocent. Perhaps, if Sora was innocent too... would he escape?

The questions did not end, in fact, they only began anew... repeating themselves inside of his head like a broken record that could not be unplugged from the wall. But, one thing was for certain:

It would only get worse before it got better.

* * * * * *

"Harry Potter, sir!"

Harry's eyes opened. It was difficult to tell whether or not he had been asleep, his waking hour nightmares were as severe as any dream might be. He felt fatigued and unrested; if he had been asleep, it did not revitalize him much at all. His glasses were still on, for he had not taken them off after Ron and Hermione had left.

"Harry Potter, you are alive!" called out a high-pitched voice, striking cords of familiarity. It was too dark for him to see who his visitor was, but he recognized that squeaky voice.

"Hello?" asked Harry the darkness. "Who's there?"

A weight suddenly fell upon his chest, as if dropped from the ceiling. Harry grunted and instinctively tried pushing the object off his chest, only to find that it was quite fleshy and warm.

"Lumos," called out the voice. A moment later, light shot forth from the outstretched hand of his visitor. He was standing on top of Harry, standing no more than two feet high. Harry could hardly believe his eyes.

"Dobby!" he exclaimed, staring with disbelief at the house elf. "What are you doing here?"

Harry did not often see Dobby, but each time, the house elf's appearance got even more bizarre. Today, he was wearing a ballet too-too around his waist, just beneath his Muggle-looking leather jacket, no doubt shrunk to fit his size. What was digging into Harry's chest was Dobby's bright neon yellow and green sneakers (different color on each foot). Finally, perched atop of his head was a raccoon skin cap. By now, Harry had adopted a 'don't ask' stance regarding Dobby and his choice of attire.

"Dobby is pleased to see that you is OK!" exclaimed the house elf tirelessly. "Him has come on special, Hogwarts mission to sees you!"

Harry grunted and rubbed his eyes wearily. "Secret mission?"

At once, Dobby was putting his finger to his lips and blowing. "Shhhhhh! Someone might hear Harry Potter... very secret mission!"

For the house elf's sake, Harry lowered his voice. "What secret mission?"

Dobby glanced around, as if hoping to spy some eavesdropper peeking through the curtains. He then leaned in close and whispered. "Dobby has secret message for Harry Potter... came to Hogwarts, it did... Headmistress tell Dobby 'Dobby, you is to take this to Harry Potter immediately" Dobby then straightened up his posture, and his voice increased in volume, delightfully forgetting his role as a 'secret messenger'. "Then Dobby says 'What you wish Dobby to take?' And then Headmistress McGonagall say 'This letter comes to Harry Potter, but Harry Potter can't get letters where him is, so Harry Potter's owl brings it to Hogwarts and gives to the Headmistress."

With a deft flick of his wrist, a rolled up piece of parchment appeared within Dobby's hand. Again, he glanced from side to side to make sure they were alone, before handing it to Harry. The parchment was rolled up and bound with a white ribbon, the same type of ribbons Harry might find at Hogwarts to bind letters there.

"Er... you came all the way from Hogwarts to deliver me a letter?" asked Harry with confusion.

Dobby nodded three times. "Yes, Harry Potter frees Dobby, so Dobby does things for Harry Potter if him can." The house elf widened his eyes even more, if that was physically possible. "Harry Potter is Dobby's bestest friend cause him save Dobby from old master."

"Well, er... thanks Dobby," said Harry, slowly glancing over the parchment in his hand. "I suppose I better read it."

Dobby nodded and extended his hand, giving Harry more light to work with. Harry slowly unbound the message. As he examined it closer, he noticed that there was writing upon both sides. One side was written in his handwriting... it was the message he had sent to Bastian, just before the fight in the Great Hall. Eagerly, Harry turned the letter over and began to read.

Dear Harry Potter,

I will trust you and hope I am picking the right person.

I suppose I better explain what happened. I have held off on a reply to this letter due to two other letters I received in a similar way, by an owl dropping them on my head. I received your letter about an hour after I replied to another letter from Sora. Basically, that letter said that the Keyblade is no longer safe and he needs it back. I told him where we could meet and when. He also said that you would be writing a letter trying to earn my trust. He said that you were an agent of the Heartless and trying to destroy the world.

So, I believed the first letter and threw this one out until I received a second letter from Sora, in completely different handwriting, saying how you were unconscious and that he was not going to be able to help me, he is imprisoned, He also said something about a Draco Malfoy who knew about me and wanted the Keyblade.

I dug this letter out of the trash. Whoever wrote that first letter wasn't Sora, and they know where I live. I will try to keep the Key safe if they come calling, but I don't know who or what I am up against. I might need some help.

I live at 24 Wehlheimer Straße, in Halmet, a small suburb outside of Hamburg, Germany. The day the first letter writer and I were scheduled to meet is Christmas Eve, the 24^th.. If Sora trusts you, I shall too.

Bastian

Harry practically froze as he finished reading the letter, lowering it down to his chest. How strange it was, in the chaos, he had forgotten all about the letter he had sent to Bastian. Yet, it had now arrived, and he had the location of where he would need to go to pick up the Keyblade. The only problem he saw now, however, was that today must have been the 24^th... how was he going to get to Germany in a few hours?

"Is it good news, Harry Potter, sir?" asked Dobby, his eyes widening with anticipation.

Harry stubbornly set his jaw. "I don't know," he replied, after considering it for a moment. "It might be... if I was in Germany right now. But..."

Dobby suddenly hopped up and down on Harry's chest. Despite his lightweight, it knocked the wind out of Harry with a gasp.

"Harry Potter needs to get to Germany?" asked Dobby energetically, folding his hands together and swinging them across his body like a pendulum.

"Well..." trailed off Harry with uncertainty, as he scratched the stubble on the bottom of his chin. He'd have to shave that off, he noted arbitrarily. He did not want facial hair for quite some time. "Yes, very much so."

Dobby beamed energetically and grabbed both of Harry's hands. Before he could protest, or say any words of objection, a sudden, giddy feeling clouded his mind in a thick fog. He felt as though the pillow behind him was growing larger and enveloping his entire head. A feeling of helplessness fell over him, as he tried to move but found that he was bound by chains of invisible force. The entire room drained away from him, spiraling into what appeared to be a portal of some kind that had opened right before his face. Falling toward it was disorienting, for he did not feel as though he was moving. It looked as though everything was spinning except him, and within moments, he was engulfed into the twisting nether.

* * * * * *

The toll of the grandfather clock in Draco's room (His father's loud, hostile voice calling out: "Get to bed, Draco!") shattered his concentration. Depending on the time of night and what Draco was doing, it would say different things, or simply not toll out at all. The hand must have struck twelve, he realized. He glanced over to it, as he often did when it interrupted him. It was a normal grandfather clock in all respects, save one. Perched atop the clock face was a second one with two hands. One was labeled Draco, and it was set to the eight o'clock position. Instead of an eight, however, it read: "Out of Bed at an Inappropriate Hour." The second hand, belonging to his five year old sister Lucille, was set at the twelve o'clock position: "Acting Appropriately". Draco snorted a bit, realizing that only sleep or studying at this hour would set his hand to the appropriate, 12 o' clock setting. Should his mother notice the clock in her room, she would be in to check on him, for certain.

His bed chamber was extremely well furnished in deep colors that had changed to green when Draco had been taken into House Slytherin in his first year. Rich tapestries depicting lions, snakes and other savage monsters filled Draco's room. Next to his archmage-sized elemental bed, (a family heirloom, able to heat or cool like fire, harden/soften like earth, bounce and ripple like water, or soften and deflate like air for easy carrying) a slanted, magically held stack of drawers spiraled to the ceiling of his room, ready to flip out any clothing Draco might ask for.

At the far corner of his room, a bright blue globe about five feet across glistened with a luminous sparkle. It was held upon a stand that resembled an arm of some Lizardman, its metallic arm holding the globe three feet in the air and gripping it with unmoving, pewter claws. This was a new addition, his fifteenth birthday present to be exact. It was simply called Gattablar's Globe, named after the wizard who had invented it. Draco, who was standing next to it, looked away from the clock and back to his work. This had been the object of Draco's focus for the last fifteen minutes.

"Resume," Draco stated crisply, as the ball once again shot an image into the air just above it, the form of a small wizard modeled after Gattablar himself.

"Yes, young sir," spoke the image of the wizard, a figure dressed in a maroon robe with a cowl over his face. "Your search is nearly complete."

Draco rolled his eyes. "It's been a half-hour already. How much longer?"

The figure frowned and sighed. "Begging your pardon, sir, but Germany is a big country."

With a grunt, Draco withdrew a crinkled up parchment from his pocket. "Bloody hell, I've already given you his street address, his name, his town and his country. How long can this possibly take?"

The figure sighed. "It is not as easy as you think. The Ministry of Magic in Germany is still rather boiled at the Ministry here for their rejection of the Manachi Modern Magic Act of 1994, and thus, has been limiting its access by Gattablar's Globes based in the United Kingdom for the last two..."

"I don't want a history lesson," grumbled Draco. "I swear, if you don't hurry this up, I'll have my father replace you with a newer version as SOON as it comes out."

The figured spoke evenly. "I am immune to your disdain, sir. If you want to vent your frustrations, I suggest kicking the wall."

Draco frowned and crossed his arms, tapping his foot impatiently. About three minutes later, the globe shifted from a blue hue to a golden yellow one, a signal of completion. It hummed with magic for a moment as the globe shifted from its solid, glassy texture, to a watery, rippling surface. A sheet of rolled parchment slowly materialized at the surface of the sphere, waiting to be read. Draco grasped the thin paper and unrolled it, and began to read.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Prompt Portkey Plots: Easy Access to Europe and Beyond for the Young/Apparating Impaired

Start Location: Land's End, England

Finish Location: 24 Wehlheimer Straße, Halmet, Germany

Going:

Total Travel Time: 2 hours, 2 minutes.

Returning in 2-12 Hours after arrival:

Total Travel Time: 1 hour, 47 minutes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With a wave of his wand, Draco banished the golden glow of his globe, replacing it with a ready blue color. The texture stiffened to glass once again as Draco began to speak. The wizard once again reappeared. "Anything else, young sir?"

"G-Owl," said Draco crisply. "I want to send Crabbe and Goyle a message."

"Of course, sir," stated the wizard. "What is the message?"

Draco held up the parchment. "Send them a copy of this, and tell them to meet me on Granmer Ave at..." He glanced quickly to the paper in his hand. "3 AM."

"Of course, sir," stated the wizard, who flickered out of view. About twenty seconds later, he reappeared. "The owls have been dispatched and will arrive momentarily. Is that all, sir?"

Draco nodded once. "One more thing," he asked, with a sly grin. "Have an owl drop me a message in Auschwitz with the location of the finest diners in town. I'm sure we will desire a victory roast once we finish our business in Halmet."

"Of course, sir," came the stoic reply. "Your owl will be dispatched the moment you set foot in Auschwitz from the Ministry of Magic in Germany. A service charge of one galleon has been added to your father's account."

"Fine," shrugged Draco uncaringly. He seriously doubted that his father would stir up much of a fuss over one galleon. "That is all."

"Have a good trip, sir," stated the wizard, as he melted back into the surface of the globe. With a final click and a low-pitched hum, the globe faded slowly from light blue to pitch black, as it deactivated itself.

Draco sighed and lifted his wand toward the dresser. Hesitation began to cloud his mind, for this was truly the first time he was leaving home without his parents' consent. However, there was simply too much on the line to miss his opportunity today. "I swore I'd never do this," sighed Draco with restrained passion as he lifted his wand, a wince visible upon his face. "Muggle Attire."

He knew that, even for a little while, he'd be traveling through the non-magic world. Usually, most wizards simply did not care as Muggles dismissed someone wearing a robe as wrong in the head. His father would not have cared about what Muggles thought of him, but Draco definitely did not want to draw that kind of attention to himself. Even if those who mocked him were Muggle scum, it would still burn him up badly and he might very well compromise himself by hexing the offender savagely. Whatever humiliation he felt at dressing like a Muggle would be only that much greater if his father had to go to Germany and pick him up, after he hexed a muggle who was mocking him.

One of his topmost drawers shot open and a white collared shirt, a green jumper and a pair of blue jeans flew out, dropping at Draco's feet. Finally, his closet opened, and a thick, winter jacket with an emerald green cap hit Draco in the side. With an undignified grunt, Draco grabbed up his clothing.

When I find Bastian, I will make all this worth it, he thought, as he crossed his room and into his personal bathroom to change. He calmly withdrew a black gem from his robe pocket and opened the door to the bathroom. Smooth and cold to the touch, it was strong and unbreakable, with no short supply of magical power.

A gem of pure concentrated darkness ... The Harbringer of Darkness, Raishoon, had said to him two nights ago, when he had summoned the strength to materialize into his room with this object for him. Use it to gain an edge over anyone who might stop you...

Draco flipped the gem into the pocket of his jeans. There was only one catch to this gem, however, and Raishoon had told him. He must have the Keyblade in hand first, for only the Keyblade held the power to release the power trapped within the gem. That, would be the tricky part, Draco realized.

Nonetheless, he was prepared to do what he must.