Sweet Resolve

Fumbling his confidence
And wond'ring why the world has passed him by
Hoping that he's bent for more than arguments,
And failed attempts to fly

The sands in the hourglass of summer had finally fallen through, and now the new term's cycle had begun. Just as the first sands tumbled through with urgency and speed, so did the first day pass for Harry. Sitting within the drawn hangings of his dormitory bed, listening to the consistent and rhythmic breaths (or in Ron's case- snores) of his fellow classmates, Harry tried to recollect just how he came to be lying awake with his parents' photograph in his hand.

~~

The recent ephemeral nature of his life began upon arrival at King's Cross. Harry barely registered the hands that clung to him and tears that fell upon his shoulders as Hermione hugged him deeply and wept tears of relief upon finally seeing him and hearing his voice. Ron was only slightly more composed, his hand resting on Harry's shoulder from the moment they greeted until they boarded the train. Mrs. Weaseley was no less jubilant, reprimanding him for not contacting them more (truth be told- he did not write to them once, but no one wanted to mention it just yet).

Their joy was short-lived once they realized that their once buoyant and understanding young hero shrugged off all their incessant overdone affection and protectiveness with a look and tinge of disdain.

"We ought to board the train soon. It was nice to see you, Mrs. Weaseley, Mr. Weaseley." With that, Harry pulled away from Ron's grasp, collected his belongings and sauntered aboard. His two friends were stunned for a moment.

"Ron, why did you have to grip him as if afraid he'd disappear? It's no wonder he wanted to escape your clawing hand!" Hermione threw an incensed glare at Ron, hands on hips in true Granger-fashion.

"Oh that's rich Hermione, truly rich! You've done nothing but blubbered about how you missed him and wanted to talk! For Goodness Sake! You practically soaked his shirt- he probably wanted to go changed his sodding wet clothes after your antics." The two continued until Ron's younger sister, Ginny, smacked them both lightly and told them to board the train, lest it leave them to bicker for all eternity.

"God, you two are starting to get on my last nerves! You've become so irritating!"

With that, they all clambered onto the Hogwart's Express.

If Harry were fortunate, this would all have gone unnoticed. But, those two could wake up the dead with their arguments, so even though he had claimed the furthest booth, hoping to stay in peace for at least a few minutes, their sonorous banter carried through the entire train. It was all Harry could do to keep from banging his head against the wall.

They finally found him, and after Hermione returned from the prefect meeting (being head girl and all), they began with the usual prying questions- "How was your summer?" "Why haven't you written?" "Did something happen?" and so on. Neville Longbottom, who had joined them once he regained Trevor his toad from the clutches of the Slytherin Blaise Zabini, noted Harry's reticence and tried to quiet the crew, but to no avail.

They finally caught their tongues for a while when seeing that Harry really wouldn't budge- his forehead was plastered against the window, staring blankly out at the hills and trees that were relinquishing their lives to the coming of fall. Finally there was silence, though at first it was tense and anxious. But eventually Ron goaded Dean Thomas to a game of chess, Hermione and Seamus Finnegan were discussing their new curriculum, Ginny pulled out a magazine for teen witches, which she kept lowered so that Harry could not see his face in the corner of the cover (most eligible teen once again), and Neville had resigned to training his toad to stay in one place.

Harry had no time for this anymore. He was marked in more ways than one. The lightening across his brow was not a symbol of heroism and justice. Not to him. It was, rather, a symbol of horror, murder, and a sealed fate. And his dreams... they seemed to be marked as well. Voldemort was driving him insane! He stole a glance at Neville when no one was looking, and breathed a sigh of relief. Neville had grown up a bit- he was a bit broader, and by most accounts looked more confident, but he still had that air of innocence that was promised by youth. In fact, all they all had. Despite the horrors many of them had witnessed in the past years, especially last term, they still maintained an air of hope and optimism.

Harry was happy for that. He wanted them to remain like that for as long as possible. He stared at Neville one last time and turned back to the window.

Harry felt a bit more at ease knowing Neville's fate had not been sealed. He was beginning to see Neville's true nature begin to shine through, slowly coming out of his shell to reveal a courageous young man. Surprisingly, above everyone else, Harry really wanted Neville to live the life he deserved. Of all the people in this booth, he really thought his docile friend had suffered the most in life and was the most receptive and understanding to Harry's moods. Book-smart Hermione dwelled too much on the factual aspects, and Hot-Head Ron burst into flames of emotion at the smallest trigger. But Neville... he knew what pain really was, witnessing it with his parents and with the events of last year, and still came out so strong, despite his bumbling nature. Yeah, he wished he had known him better the past six years. So Harry took a rare opportunity to stare out into the clouded sky and thank God that Voldemort hadn't yet robbed his friends of their fates.

Because this battle was Harry's alone. And he would not allow anyone else to get in his way, to come along for a ride on a thestral, to travel the depths of tunnels to fight evil. They could never understand any of it. Not the yearning of his heart for a simpler life, or the crying of his soul for revenge, or the resoluteness of his mind on the fight for innocence.

They just could not understand completely, even if he explained it all. Some things would always be a solitary burden, so Harry needed to change that burden into strength. It would be terribly difficult though, because he had to battle against both the urge for running into their open unseeing arms, and the urge to bash their heads into the window for their blindness.

Harry hoped the difficulties would start later, but Ron and Hermione had other ideas.

"Oi mate, you haven't said a word the entire trip. Is there something on your mind you want to talk about?" Ron asked while stuffing his mouth with a chocolate frog.

Harry stiffened at the imploring question. "No Ron, there isn't anything I want to talk about."

"But Harry-" Hermione butted her bushy haired head into the conversation, "-you really ought to talk. It's not wise to keep stuff in. You may do something irrational later, what without our advice or guidance. We've been writing you all summer about the goings-on with the Order. The least you could do is reciprocate a little bit."

Hermione sometimes lacked tact despite all her knowledge.

"The least I could do? The LEAST?? Hermione! Don't assume I have anything to tell at all, and even if I do, don't assume you need to know about any of it! I haven't asked about the actions of the Order, I could care less! Anything I really need to know, I'm sure Voldemort will be delighted to inform me through my fucked up dreams!" Harry fumed.

The whole booth had frozen in anticipation to what Hermione would reply- even Ron who usually had a comment about Harry's dreams, refused to comment.

Hermione was prepared though. "I knew it! You have been having dreams! Have you seen the attacks, do you know where he will be attacking next? Has he been hurting you?? Oh God, has he tried to control you, is he doing so now?? Is that why you won't talk to us??"

Harry's anger was growing with every word she added to his fire. He was seething. "No, nothing of the sort. So drop it." Ginny gulped a bit too loudly and hid behind Seamus in fear Harry would throw daggers at her.

"Harry Potter, I will not drop it. We all want to help. If it isn't that, then what? Have you... oh, have you had dreams about the Ministry last spring? Oh god, is V-V-Voldemort" Harry hated how she stammered out the name "sending you images of Sirius?? Oh the bastard, to throw the mistakes of last year at you like th..." Harry would never let her finish that statement. Not then, not ever.

"SHUT UP! Ok Granger?!? Don't you dare ever throw around my godfather's name so trivially again! And how dare you, how fucking dare you, who do you think you are?! To assume I need, or better yet, want your help! No, to please your fuzzy little head, VOLDEMORT is not giving me any dreams of the sort- No I had those nightmares long long before anyone could consider throwing my mistakes at me like that! So if you think you're being original in rubbing my face into yet another loss, another gaping hole in my soul, then I have to disappoint you there! So Shut. The. Fuck. Up."

Ron finally burst, "Hey hey hey! No one is saying you messed up, no one at all! Hermione meant nothing like that! So calm down mate! She's right though, if you're having nightmares you ought to tell Dumbledore..."

"No Ron, Hermione is not right. Because she is under the misconception that you lot can help. Bah! I'm sick of all this, all of it... I need to walk. Please, don't follow me." It was more a command than a request. Harry rose from his seat and refused to acknowledge the tears brimming in Hermione's eyes or the look of fear that was plastered on everyone's shocked faces. With an undetectable regretful sigh, he slid the compartment door open, and left, taking with him the cloud of anxiety. He never noticed that Neville had heard his sigh, and had mentally noted to remember the look of sadness on his face.

The sands of time tumbled quickly after that. He did not have any run-ins with anyone. It seemed that even if no one had heard the argument, they had felt it. Harry could sense the residual magic that had emanated from his booth, from him, that had changed some students' hair green, had cracked the doors of various compartments, and had created a soft melancholy tune that vibrated through the walls of the train.

Had he looked at himself, he would have noticed why everyone was avoiding him, even the Slytherins. His hair was maniacally spiked up on end, his eyes had adopted the deepest green, and if anyone dared look at him long enough they might see the tinge of gold in his irises. But it was his expression that scared everyone off- scowling like a gargoyle, set like stone. A first year almost fainted from fright, and Colin Creevey's camera lens shattered before he even had a chance to raise it to Harry's face.

Harry was not aware of his appearance, he was not aware of the fear he instilled, he was not aware of the silence that surrounded him. All he was aware of was that his friends had crossed the line, and he needed space. Maybe pushing them away would be easier than he thought, especially if they continued to behave like this.

He finally relegated himself to the entrance of the train, sitting on the steps next to the door, waiting for the train to finally pull into Hogsmeade station. He had finally calmed a bit, and was about to start thinking about what was plaguing him since his birthday, when a familiar tone of loathing invaded his thoughts.

"Well, it seems you've finally found your place, Potter. Not even good enough for the riffraff. Nowhere to go but the dirty steps."

Ahh Malfoy... Harry was split between being relieved that someone still wanted to challenge, not coddle, him, and wanting to drench Malfoy's hair with boggart droppings for being so irritating.

"Sod off Malfoy, or else I may have to introduce your face to the ground." Not his best comeback, but it would have to do.

"Ohho, I should be scared? Just because you attempt to derail the train with your childish emotional hijackings? No no, Potter, I think you should reconsider your previous reques. It seems that everyone else did sod off, and if you're not careful, I just might find you too much of a bother to deal with myself. Not out of fear, just out of pure annoyance."

Harry turned up to see a... playful? ... smirk on Malfoy's face. Even his comment wasn't full of anger or, like he said, fear.

Instead, Malfoy was inviting Harry, inviting him back into some realm of normalcy.

When in heaven's name did it come to be that I would find Malfoy's irritating prattle as a comfort? And why would he offer it to me, when it seems he knows I need it? Harry was very befuddled.

"Ahh the wheels are finally turning in your pathetic little mind, are they? I'm surprised, it took longer than I expected. But then, I guess all your intellect was wasted on finding the best seat for smearing your clothes with filth. I applaud you Potter, for taking the depths of uncleanliness to a new level." Malfoy arched an eyebrow and rolled his eyes as he slowly clapped his hands, the sound resounding in Harry's ears.

"Right Malfoy, it seems I did find the foulest place after all- considering you seem to be inhabiting this spot. It will take days just to erase the foul stench of your breath from my memory." His immaculate soul would never allow an insult on his vanity hehe.

However, Harry never expected Malfoy's next remark.

"Touché, Potter."

And with another smirk, he turned and left for his compartment, leaving Harry with another troubled set of thoughts to mull over. Why oh why was Malfoy being what could only be called as civil with him? Hmmm... Harry would save that for later, for now he would just return to his prior thoughts.

Everyone who had witnessed that had released a breath, and returned to their own booths, not wanting to tamper with the delicate balance that had been created by the two enemies.

The next few hours were all a blur- rolling into Hogsmeade station, where Harry was able to conjure up his belongings with a few flicks of his wand (he had studied much over the summer), then taking the boats across the lake to Hogwarts. Harry barely spoke a word or shared a momen with any of his housemates at the welcoming feast. He only received a few hurt glares from his best friends, and a questioning look from Neville.

How he ended up at the common room was beyond him, but he was forced to come to his senses to hear Hermione recite the password for the gryffindors- "crimson mane." Nothing eventful happened as Harry pulled himself away from the apprehensive crowd of students, especially his own classmates.

He climbed into his bed, and drew the hangings, casting a few silencing and locking spells, so no one could pry into his drapes unwanted. Then he sat. And stared. And thought. And pondered. And wondered. And contemplated. And everything in between.

He did not want to sleep. He would have to talk to someone about it. He just could not continue living like this, waking up in sweat as if the exertion from his dreams were real. Coming into consciousness sore and bent out of shape. Maybe Dumbledore... no, he knew who he had to speak with. If these dreams were the work of Voldemort, then he had to fight it. And as of yet there was only one way his mind knew to stop Voldemort from invasions. Occlumency. Which meant Snape.

Ugh. Shivers crawled all over his body from the thought of asking Snape for help. But somewhere in his mind he also knew that only Snape could help- not because of his skills, but because of his attitude with Harry. Snape would challenge, push, force Harry without all the doting and pampering. He need revulsion, it would only fuel him more. Yes. Tomorrow, he would go straight to Snape.

In fact, Snape might know... if dear ol' Voldie were up to something concerning Harry's dreams, than Snape might know what. He might explain what the abysmal blackness was, why there was a sole corner lit from an unseen source, why this corner was ridden with rocks and stone. He might explain how Harry knew in his dream he had to break down that wall, how every night before he was sucked into consciousness he felt his insides wrench from disappointment, anger, and frustration that he made so little progress breaking through.

Maybe Snape could find out what was hidden.

But then, Maybe he couldn't, or didn't know. So Harry would have to be wary just how much he shared. Because a nagging voice told him he had to keep this a secret, a slimy little voice wrapped its cold fingers around his mind enough to convince him that no one should know. The ghostly fingers played all the necessary notes in his brain to ensure him that in time it would all be fine. In time.

Somewhere during his musings his roommates had come in, tentatively calling his name, but nothing else, and had all fallen asleep. He never even heard them. Now he yearned for some company, someone to tell him, other than the distant voice, that it really would be okay. He desperately needed assurance that he was doing the right thing- with his friends, with Snape, with his dreams, with his fucking life.

What Harry needed was his parents.

So he undid the spells, clambered over to his trunk and pulled out a photo album. After finding his favorite picture, he removed it and crawled back into bed, seals up and all.

~~~

Hours later, he still caressed the figure with long red tresses and emerald eyes. She was sharing a longing look with her husband, as they sat comfortably in the grass by a glistening lake. Her tummy was slightly protruding, an early sign of pregnancy. Harry turned his gaze to his father, young and handsome, with wild hair, and bespectacled eyes, and a grin that started out impish, and turned into pure happiness as he placed a hand on his wife's belly and tickled her fervently.

A tear formed, and dropped onto their picnic basket, and soon another and another. Harry did not want to rain on their day in the sun, but he couldn't help it. Waves and waves came crashing down. Outside, the night was still and calm, revealing nothing that was happening within the curtains that had fallen upon Harry Potter.

~~~

And so it was, when Harry awoke the next morning, breathing heavily from another night of scraping and pounding that he saw he was still clutching a photo of his parents, still hoping he had their approval on what he was to become in the coming months.

Because Harry would finally take his position- the ultimate weapon against Voldemort- alone. For the sake of his friends. His schoolmates. His teachers. His sanity.