Ta Tu Alainn

Chapter Two:

Living With It

Harry had nothing to do but trudge back up to the dorms. All was quiet there; no one else was in the tower. All he needed was some peace and quiet. He picked up a book and got started in on his History essay: 'The History of the Magical People of Your Choice.' He looked over the options. Merpeople didn't really look all that interesting, and besides, he'd already had contact with them last year. Hags were a bit too disgusting, werewolves lived among wizards, and so they were just a bit too easy. House Elves, no that might offend Dobby. Goblins and trolls he already knew about, so he didn't see the point. Then the word 'Sylph' caught his attention. He had no idea what that was. He knew, automatically, that this was what he was going to study. The page the book instructed him to turn to was 340, so he opened the great volume, and tried to find any word of sylphs on the page. They were really just going on and on about ancient magic, and how it was once far greater than wizards, the new magic. Then there was a paragraph that caught his eye.

There was once a time when wizards and witches were new, their magic had developed over time in their blood, and, as we know, magic isn't necessarily hereditary. We have the squibs, who could have been born pure bloods, and we have the Muggle-borns, who have no link whatsoever to magic. Wizards and witches are really just human, so they have the flaws of humans, while other beings don't. In the old times, just after the Trojan wars, wizards and witches were very protective.

This didn't go over too well for the sylphs, as they were discovered at that time. They were found to be older and wiser than our kind, and were shunned for being different. Whenever a wizard saw a sylph, they would kill them, and they would destroy their homes, until finally, well before the Celts, they had drifted totally into legend, and were thought to be a myth and only a myth. They had been beaten back by the wizards. They didn't even have the honor left of having their true name known. They are now called faeries, an insult to their greatness, as people now mistake them for fairies.

There was nothing else. It hadn't even described them. It must have been a long time ago that the sylphs were known. He would just have to delve deeper. Harry wrote down all the notes that he could from that short mentioning, and was about to leave for the library, when the rest of the Gryffindor boys came in.

"Well, I never said women understand you," Seamus was saying boisterously. They had stopped laughing when they saw Harry was in the room. There was an awkward pause, as the boys didn't really want to explain what they were talking about to him, but Harry was looking inquisitively at them with his head cocked.

"'Lo, Harry," Ron finally said, raising a hand in greeting.

"Hello, Ron, Seamus, Dean, Neville," Harry said with a cheerful grin. "So, what's the discussion on today? Girls? Girls? Oh, wait, I know, girls."

"Right, well, we don't have to continue this if you don't want to listen to us," Dean apologized.

"Oh, no, well, I was just going to the library anyway, so I guess you shouldn't be bothered by me all that much." Harry stood, catlike, grabbing his book hurriedly as well as his parchment and a quill. No one bothered to move out of the way of the door, so Harry worked his way around the crowd gathered there. Ron looked as if he was about to say something, but then decided it wasn't very appropriate, and let Harry on his way.

As he was walking, Harry decided that it would be a while before his friends were completely comfortable with his new . . . er . . . status. He didn't care how beautiful the snow was today. As far as he could see, it was just gray, nothing really special.

Why do I have to be so different? Harry was thinking as he trudged the corridors, trying to somehow stop himself from getting to his present destination. It wasn't like he wanted the attention; it's just that when love came into question, he wanted to be as true to himself as possible. If he didn't love girls, he certainly wasn't going to date them, let alone marry them. He just wanted to be happy, but others found his happiness disgusting. What could he do? Nothing. So he chose to have prejudice wash over him.

"Watch where you're going!" he heard someone shout at him from his new position on the ground. "Don't touch me! I don't want to be tainted by you!" After spitting in his hair, the Hufflepuff walked off.

Harry gathered his things once again into his bag and went off, this time much more aware that there were others in the halls as well as he. The jeers started as he got into the main part of the school, and the pushing shortly after. The people went out of their way to elbow him in the ribs, to abuse him. A run involuntarily broke out, and Harry nearly sprinted the rest of the way to the sanctuary of the library.

He slammed the door behind him, panting heavily as he tried to catch his breath. There weren't many people in the library on Sundays; they were usually enjoying the last day of the weekend. Cautiously, Harry edged away from the door and went over to the rows of books that had a big sign above them that read: "Magical Creatures and People." He scanned the titles, searching out a book that could help him. When he had traveled through three rows, he found an empty worktable. Apparently, it was for those lowly and weary travelers who were exhausted from the extent of their journeys through the library. He gratefully plopped his bag down on a chair, sat in a second one, and went to find the card catalogue for this particular section. This in itself was an adventure, as he finally found it right next to the cards in the botany section across the library.

"Let's see . . . Selky . . . Sprites . . . Sylphs! Aha!" He stared at the card he had pulled out. "'See Ancient Myths'?"

So, Harry once again found his little island of a table, gathered his things yet again, and took off to find the Ancient Myths section. It was obviously not on the first floor, along with all the rudimentary books; it was a much more delicate subject than that. Harry decided to look on the second floor.

Here was where he had found his books on theory and law and such stuff like that; they had philosophy and wizard religion in them. He stared at the card. 'Ancient Myths?' He decided it must be a hidden section, to compensate for the lack of manuscripts on the subject. He went into the very corners of the second story. Finally, after about a half an hour of looking, he found the (now infamous, in his mind) section of the library. There was no table in sight. Do they REALLY want us to research this or not? Harry asked himself, rolling his eyes. Luckily, there was a comfortable armchair near the railing that Harry could sit in to study. The coffee table was just right for him to put his feet on, but he didn't dare. He feared the wrath of Madam Pince. So, instead, he set up camp on the table.

Harry brought the card with him when he went back to the shelves. There weren't very many books listed on it, and Harry wondered if a lot of them would be checked out. Somehow, his mind severely contradicted this thought; it had taken him nearly an hour to find the section itself, let alone the books within it. Besides, there had been a lot of easier beings on the list. However, there were only three books on the list that weren't in the restricted section, and now he read the titles to himself:

A Wizard's Guide to the Magical People of Britain

Photographs of the Legend: Sylphs

Man or Mortal? The Great Question

The third looked the best of all of them, so he started the quest. The shelves were only sorted by what type of people the books were talking about. He stared as he started to walk through the aisles, checking on either side of him. The dusty volumes were somewhat of a guide to him as to what books to look at; the level of dust told volumes. Some looked as though they hadn't been looked at for ages. Harry trailed his fingers across them, searching for just the right title. He finally found it at the very end of the aisle, right next to the photography book. The book looked distant, and he picked it up after long thought. He took it back to his table, and flipped through the pages, but the first thing he saw was this sentence:

The idea of sylphs is so ludicrous that sometimes I wonder why I'm even writing this book; they have no place in the culture of wizards.

Harry decided that this book would be a bit too opinionated to learn anything from. So he took it back to the shelving area, and went to find The Wizard's Guide to the Magical People of Britain. This book was amazingly easier to find. Perhaps that was because it had more than just sylphs in it. Before he sat down in the chair again, he checked to see what pages contained the sylphs. Page 102. He flipped to that page, and saw what looked like a picture of a little fairy. He angrily put the book back on the shelf. Grabbing his book bag, he returned the card to the catalogue and sulked out of the library. He decided that his best chance was the Restricted Section, and he needed a note for that.

The title of the book he needed had been written in Latin, luckily Harry spoke Latin. It was Ut Venustus Natio Interpretari, or, roughly, The Fair Tribe Explained. He resolved to ask the first teacher he met that wasn't Snape to sign him a pass. Up ahead he saw Professor Flitwick, and ran to catch up to him.

"Professor! Professor, I want to get this book out of the library, but it's in the Restricted Section, so I need someone to sign for it. Could you please do it?" Harry called, catching up to the small yet surprisingly speedy professor.

"Oh really, well, I'd be obliged." O Short One stared down at the note, then looked up at Harry quizzically. "You do know this is written in Latin, right?"

"Oh, yes, of course, why?"

"It's just, I didn't know if you'd be up to it, exactly. I mean, you being . . . well, you."

"What's this all really about?" Harry stared down at him, intrigued.

"Erm, just forget I said that."

Harry thought he knew what this was all about, but he didn't want to embarrass the professor more than he currently had, so he spared him a sharp contradiction.

"Thank you, Professor Flitwick, you've been a great help."

"Anytime, for the knowledge that you speak Latin, I would do anything." His old professor smiled at him happily and walked away.

Harry turned on his heel and stepped away into the realms of the library for the second time in the day. This time, he had a purpose and wasn't just browsing. The librarian looked completely immersed in something that looked suspiciously to Harry like a Cosmopolitan magazine from the states, and didn't' even notice when Harry walked right up to her desk and dropped the note on the empty space. He cleared his throat rather loudly, and finally the severe woman looked up from her spot behind the desk and flushed in embarrassment.

"So, what do you want?" the old bookkeeper inquired, still a lovely shade of rose.

"I want to get this book from the Restricted Section," Harry quietly requested.

"Ah, yes, the Restricted Section should have known." Then, noticing the warmness with which she had spoken, cleared her throat and glared at him with disapproval. "You do know this is in Latin, don't you?"

"I've already been through that with Professor Flitwick, and yes, I have registered that particular fact, and I can indeed speak Latin. Could you please just show me to where the book is?"

The madam shuffled irritably and went off into the shelves. Harry followed close behind her, staring over her shoulders all the way. She went into the Restricted Section boldly, and went right to where she thought the book would be resting. However, it wasn't with the other books written in Latin, and Madam Pince looked puzzled, and then led him off into another section, and Harry could have sworn that if this had been a cartoon, she would have had a little light bulb above her head. She led him off into another section that looked suspiciously like a section that held tombs about magical creatures. However, they had no luck here, and she took him off into yet another section. This one looked like it held dark magic, and they quickly passed through it. They didn't have a lot of options left, and Madam Pince looked utterly confused.

"I swear, no one has checked that book out since last century, it should be hanging around here somewhere." She shook her head and went to the last resort. "Accio Ut Venustus Natio: Interpretari!"

The book came whizzing out from behind a shelf, as it had fallen into such disuse that it really had no reason to be out on the main shelves.

"Here you are, Mr. Potter, I hope you enjoy it."

"Thank you for everything, Madam Pince." Harry smiled at her gratefully.

"I'll still need you to some with me to the front and officially check it out," the librarian said almost apologetically.

Harry followed her to the front desk and he took his quill out of his bag. He wrote his name out on the sheet that she held out to him, and handed it over to her. Their hands brushed, and Madam Pince stared at his terrifically long fingers. She raised an eyebrow at him, and to throw her off, he smiled quickly as if nothing had happened, and carefully pulled his sweater so only the very tips of his fingers showed. He tried not to walk away too quickly, and when he wasn't in her sight anymore, he broke into a little jog, and forced himself to slow down.

The Gryffindor commons were starting to clear because lunch was drawing near, but Harry still noticed some of the boys squirmed a little when he walked in. Hermione was happily helping Parvarti with her homework, and Harry walked over to them and sat on the couch next to Hermione.

"Hello," Harry greeted them.

"Hello," Hermione and Parvati said together, but Parvati continued to talk to him.

"Look, I understand why you didn't want to dance with me that much at the Yule Ball, and there should be no hard feelings between us."

"Thank you, I'm so sorry, I just wasn't brave enough to come out last year, so I had to pretend that I liked girls, and I feel so bad that I ended up hurting you. I really didn't mean it. You had good right to be angry."

"Harry, did you already have the assignment of that nasty essay for Snape about the uses of Eocene in potions?" Hermione asked after they had a little 'moment.'

"Yeah, god, I hated that."

"Where did you look?" Parvati asked frantically.

"I'll loan you the book I used. When's the due date?"

"Next Thursday."

"Ah, right, well, I'll go get it for you now. Excuse me." Harry started up the stairs to the boy's dorms and went inside.

"AIIIIGH!!" he heard Dean squeal, accompanied by the rushing of fabric to get behind the curtains of his four-poster.

"Apparently, someone's in here," Harry said wryly to himself.

"Harry, to avoid further embarrassment, could you please KNOCK!!!???"

"Okay, I'll be out of here in a moment."

"Cover your eyes!"

"What?"

"COVER YOUR EYES!!!!!" Dean screamed.

"You're behind a curtain, I can't see anything," Harry said, pointing out the obvious.

"Just do it!" Dean panted.

"All right, all right, they're covered!" Harry put his hand over his eyes like he was shading them from the sun, and one handedly searched through his trunk. "I'm out, you can come out now," Harry called over his shoulder as he left. Harry laughed a bit at the slightly younger boy's foolishness as he practically skipped down the stairs.

"What was all the screaming about?" Hermione asked suspiciously. "The entire common room could hear you."

"I walked in on Dean changing for his date tonight with Lavender." Harry sat down beside her once more on the sofa. "Apparently, I should knock before entering the dorms."

"Ah. Is that it?"

"Mission interrupted, but completed." He grinned.

"Thank you," Parvarti smiled at him, a little condescendingly, but that was her nature, and Harry dismissed it.

"You know where Ron is?" Hermione inquired.

"No idea, I thought he was with you, and since I was in the library, I'm sure he was no where near me." Harry pulled out his book, and started reading the introduction. Apparently, the sylphs captured the wizard who wrote this when the wizards were killing them off (he was a child at the time), and he had grown to love the people. He skipped the page to the next chapter.

Chapter 1: The General Appearance of Sylphs

When I lived with the Fair Ones, as they like to be called, I noticed several differences in their general anatomy from that of my own. I like to think of them as the little differences that let a wizard know what he's dealing with.

There are, for one thing, two varieties. There is the flying variety, and the wandering variety. I will distinguish between them later.

All sylphs are light of stature, and they are graceful. It's just their natural way of being. I don't think I've ever seen one stumble. Graceful does not mean slow, by any means. They move with the quickest actions, their reflexes amazing. They can capture you easily, and fight easily. They can see what you're going to do almost before you know what you will do. They can read minds.

Their hands are set up differently than ours are. The fingers of a sylph are longer than the palm by a third. Futures of sylphs are impossible to interpret through Divination because the lines aren't the same. Rather, the lines are just a circle, all palms the same. Hearing is another one of the sylphs' strong points. All sylphs have pointed ears, and they are so acute that they can hear the beating of a heart. Their skin shines, with a quality rather like glass, and it catches the sun, complements their normally bright eyes, and makes them look absolutely stunning.

There is only one thing that is only the sylphs' trait. They are both male and female at the same time. Physically, they have really small breasts, the curves of a woman, and a womb. Emotionally, they are feminine in their way of thinking. Physically, they have the male ability to sire children. Emotionally, they handle tough situations as a man would, most often without showing too much emotion. The only time when one sex is always dominant is when a mortal and a sylph have made children. Then, the child is more masculine if the mortal was a mother, and more feminine if the mortal was a father. There are always, of course, exceptions, but I have never heard of them, and they aren't really spoken of, as the prime existence of the sylphs is for equality. They wouldn't see being different an issue. The only hair they grow is on their heads; they don't get armpit hair, facial hair, leg hair, or any other kind of hair anywhere than on their heads.

That is basically all the physical differences between a mortal and one of these Immortals; we will go into magical differences in the next chapter. Now, I plan in going into the two different kinds of sylph, starting with the flyers.

They have wings, which must be very obvious. But the wings are not always showing, nor are they a part of the arms, as you will. They seem to have a way of making the wings disappear into their backs, so they can walk among mortals. Apparently, their bones are hollow, like those of birds, so they can fly easier. These are the makers of the Invisibility Cloaks that are so rare in our world. Tears, though hard to come by, of a flying sylph can be used exactly like those of a phoenix; their healing powers can strain into the emotional world as well as the physical. Saliva will also work, but it will never be as powerful for it doesn't have the same symbolism as tears do, but you can use the saliva if you're desperate. However, the laws of the sylphs say that they aren't allowed to just give healing to someone or something unless they know that person has a destiny to fulfill. They also aren't allowed to give tears or saliva out in bottles to sell, and they are punished for the rest of eternity. According to their laws, some things just have to happen, whether they are good or bad.

The wandering kind of sylph is very different, of course. They are the rulers. They rule over the lands, they came up with the government for sylphs. These are the ones that have the more magic abilities.

They can split their bodies, or, in other words, make two of themselves. Of course, one is an illusion, but they will confuse you so much you won't know which one is which. Their specialty is glamour, and they delight in tricking the human eye. All wandering sylphs have an ointment put on their eyes when they are born, for one thing, it helps their vision become absolutely perfect, for another, it makes it so they can see through glamour. Wandering sylphs also have the ability to stay underwater for any period of time under a full day and night. They love everything quick moving, and if you play music for them, their weakness shows, and you will have them caught up in a dance forever. As no sylph (wandering or flying) can give milk to their children, the wandering sylphs obliged to breed cattle, and the finest cattle you will ever see at that. They are very strict as to who uses which cows for what, and they take pride in their livestock.

Those are about all the differences between sylphs and humans. In the next chapter, I shall speak of magical differences, and go more into their use of glamour.

Harry looked up from his reading with a stunned expression on his face. So, this was what he was . . .

"Harry? Are you all right?" Hermione asked him, lightly concerned.

Before Harry could answer, Hermione was thoroughly preoccupied with Ron, who had just walked into the common room. Harry hurriedly scooted over to give him more room on the couch. He needn't have bothered. Ron sat so close to Hermione that if Harry hadn't moved, he would have been quite comfortable.

"Hello, gorgeous," he murmured, putting his arm around her immediately.

"Hello, handsome." They kissed passionately right in front of Harry, and Harry stared at them. They look like a couple in an old movie, he thought to himself. He nearly laughed at this thought, and they heard him stifle a giggle.

"What?" Ron asked incredulously.

"You two look like a couple in a movie from the 1940's!" Harry exclaimed. Hermione started laughing too, and Ron just went on looking completely lost. "I don't know if I should, but I'm going to leave you two alone." Harry got up and walked silently up to the fifth year boys' dorm. He knocked at the door, and heard Dean yell at him that he could come in.

"Sorry about the little outburst from before, Harry, I wasn't decent."

"In more ways than one," Harry replied with a little smile on his face. Dean looked confused, but then went on.

"Well, anyway, I was wondering if, er, you could give me some fashion advice. Should I wear the blue shirt, or the navy shirt?"

Harry looked at Dean, then at the shirts.

"The navy, it's much drearier for the season."

"Is dreary good or bad?"

"For winter, good."

"All right then. Thanks, Harry." Dean smiled awkwardly. "Erm, Harry?"

"Oh, right, well, I was going to the showers anyway." Harry grabbed his shampoo, a towel, and went into the sound proof bathroom. Dean would never know that he wasn't taking a shower.

Harry opened the book to the page where it described what all sylphs looked like. He stripped so he could examine himself more closely, and scrutinized his reflection in the mirror. His body had the hourglass shape of a woman's; Harry supposed it was the feminine side of him. He couldn't see that he had breasts like a girl, but since his mother was mortal, the book said he'd be more masculine than feminine. His fingers were longer than his palms, and the lines on his hands now formed a rather sloppy circle. Ears getting still longer and more pointed, Harry knew he wouldn't be able to hide them for very long. Hair had not grown, and had never grown, anywhere but on his head, that explained why his arms were bare.

Now came the hard part. Figuring out just what kind of sylph he was. He turned his back to the mirror and looked over his shoulder. His back stretched out before his eyes, bulging with what Harry thought to be wings hidden underneath it. So he could fly. Like an angel, he thought to himself, and sighed. Over the wings beneath the skin, his back looked swollen, and painful, but it wasn't. He wondered how he would go about getting his wings out so he could fly.

Harry backed up until his knees hit the edge of the toilet. They buckled underneath him, and he 'harrumphed' once indignantly. Bloody . . .

* * *

The two lonely professors had been studying for hours, and had found no existence of Potters before James (Lily too, but that was through marriage) and Harry, Lupin's journal hadn't given much away, and they still didn't have the information they needed.

"Why can't we find anything?" Sibyll muttered, nearly pulling her hair out in little clumps.

"I don't know. This should be easier than it is." There was a pause as both women tried in vain to get rid of their headaches. Then Minerva looked up, mouth slightly open, eyes wide, hands shaping her face. "I have an idea."

"I sensed that." Sibyll was starting to go back to being the airy-fairy. Minerva shot her a glare.

"Do you know the head of Beauxbatons very well?"

"No."

"Well, I should probably write her then. I want to know if James actually came from France, because that could put us off into a very different direction. I'll find all the pictures that I can of him; you will too, there might be a clue in his appearance. If we can't figure anything out ourselves, we might need to talk to people he knew. I guess we should also send a letter to Durmstrang, you never can be too careful. I'll talk to you at dinner tonight, if I have any leads. I hope we don't have to ask Albus, he can be so flowery at times!" With that, Minerva gathered her things and left a bewildered Sibyll behind.

Minerva went to her room right away to write the letter. Adrenaline rushed through her veins, and she reminded herself that she shouldn't get so worked up over it. The letter was quickly but neatly scrawled, and she read it over.

Dear Madam Maxime,

I do hope this letter finds you in good health. I just wrote to ask you a favor. I'm doing research on the Potters, and I was wondering if James went to Beauxbatons before he came here to Hogwarts. He joined third year, saying he had just moved, but he never told anyone from whence he came. I would appreciate your help more than you can ever know, and I will understand if you simply can't.

Deputy Headmistress,

Minerva M. McGonagall

She made an exact copy of the letter, only this time it was changed to fit Durmstrang standards, and she went off briskly to the Owlery. She was somewhat insulted that she couldn't find this possibly important information, and she wasn't about to give up anytime soon.

* * *

Hermione came up, breathless, for air, from her snog-session with Ron.

"What?" he asked, panting slightly, hair rumpled.

"Where's Harry?"

"Remember, Dean told us he went to take a shower, the odd little bugger."

"Dean, or Harry?"

"Harry."

"Ron, that was two hours ago. Even Harry wouldn't take a shower that long."

"Don't worry about him. He'll be fine, Hermione, he's a big boy now." Ron playfully kissed her neck, and Hermione soon forgot her worries.

* * *

Harry had checked out the photography book from the library, and was studying the pictures. The sylphs had the same sheen above their eyes that he was starting to notice above his own, and their skin shone with what looked like glitter. The book was fairly new; the pictures were in brilliant color. Harry stared at them, transfixed, and turned the pages delicately with one long-fingered hand. These modern sylphs looked just like him, their brilliant eyes, their shiny skin, their elegant, long-fingered hands, their sculpted ears, and their swollen backs.

Harry knew this was what his father had been. He had taken out the old photographs of his parents, and compared the sylphs to his father. James had, at best, tried to hide what he was. He usually wore long-sleeves to hide his hairless arms, and pants to hide his hairless legs. The long sleeves were usually too big for him, so they didn't show how long his fingers actually were.

Of course, it had taken a while for Harry to accept the fact that he was of neither sex, that he actually wasn't technically gay. It was a slap in the face, but for all purposes, he needed to keep up the appearance that he was a male. Of course, he had always known that he was more feminine then all of the boys in his dorm, but he had never once suspected that that was because he really wasn't a boy. He shivered. Thinking about this kind of thing was starting to gross him out. Needless to say, he'd always think of himself as a boy. Everyone would. The pronouns used for Harry would always be 'he' or 'him.' What else were they to use? It? No.

Harry wondered if his mother had known that James was a sylph. He supposed his mother had found out before the marriage, so she wouldn't be surprised. But there was one thing that bothered him. Why would his father hide what he was?

It wasn't until much later that night when he found the note. Someone had left it for him to find in his book bag, and Harry unfolded it. It read: Leviticus; chapter 17, verse 22: You shall not lay with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination. God hates that. Harry felt like beating his head open.

* * *

Hermione pried Ron off her for just a few moments, to catch her breath.

"What is it now, love?" Ron asked sweetly.

"You just wore me out, that's all." There was a slight pause as both panted lightly for more air.

"Do you have any idea how much better my life is with you in it?" Ron asked her, playing with her curls. God, she's so beautiful. I never thought I'd find myself snogging with someone like her, he thought absently.

"Tell me," she said, smiling a little and playing with his shirt.

"Before there was you, I was always so tense, and unsure of myself. There was Harry on one hand, in his entire splendor, and then there was you, on the other, with all your knowledge and beauty. I always felt like the middleman, you know, someone who nobody really thought about. Weasley, the right hand man to the great and wonderful Harry Potter."

"He wouldn't like to hear you talking about stuff like that, Ronald Weasley, and you know it," Hermione teased playfully.

"Aw, Harry knows full well what I'm talking about."

"I'm sure he hates it though," Hermione added pointedly.

"You're so observant sometimes, it's kinda creepy. Anyway, where was I?" he inquired, a smile lighting his blue eyes.

"Middleman," Hermione reminded him, closing her eyes.

"Ah, yes, middleman. Then, everything changed. With You-Know-Who on the rise again, Harry was called into serious action, and he couldn't be bothered with his social life anymore, well, except with us, that is. I suddenly wasn't even his middleman anymore. I was my own person, I didn't have a label. Then you . . . well, somehow you changed over the summer. You aren't so argumentative, and I realized just how much I liked you, that I had a long-term crush on you, and I went for it. I have a life, other than listening to what Harry is figuring out, pitying him, and following him."

"Now, Ron, don't be spiteful. Come here." She grinned a little at him, and he leaned in towards her to start their kissing again.

Neither of them seemed to notice that the common room was perfectly full, that the twins were cheering them on, or that it was bright daylight.

* * *

Draco stared around the Slytherin common room, a headache just starting to tease his brain. This was no normal headache, oh no, this was caused by his father. He felt the pressure; it hit his brain painfully hard, his body screaming at him to do as his father wished. The great clamp of his father's will was being tightened ever so slowly, yes, slowly. The pain was murder. Murder. Arson to his head. His father knew just how to yield this power of his, oh yes, and he wielded it at his own will, the curse coursed through Draco's very veins, branding him, scalding his memory. Half the time he couldn't remember doing anything, Lucius sent cruel images to his son. Finally, Draco gave in and went to get his books. He could no longer stand the drumming in his head.

What was worse was when Draco didn't know if the feelings he felt were true, or if his father had induced them upon his soul. Subtlety was a tactic Lucius had picked up long ago. From where, no one really knew. Maybe he figured it out himself. But Lucius was smart, ah yes, very smart. He knew the nature of the curse that he had so generously placed upon his son. He could prod, ever so slightly, just a little, once, and he would plant a seed. Then, he would prod just ever so slightly again, and he would just lightly have gotten closer to victory. Now that the thought had come up twice, his son would remember it. A third time, and the noose would get ever so slightly nearer the dragon. After a few days, he could try it a fourth time, and his dragon was ensnared. A fifth time and his son actually believed what was being imprinted in his mind. He did that also with the normal teenage feelings, so Draco could not feel for a girl truly, rather his father would get pictures of all the Slytherin girls and pick one to implant as a crush in his son's mind.

He chose one every so often, but wasn't really troubled with it. After all, a Death Eater has more important things to do than sit around and think about possible matches for his son. He also had to cater to Voldemort.

* * *

Harry soon found that there were certain rules he had to follow, now that he was open about being gay. For one thing, the boys in the dorm were a bit squeamish about being seen nude, ("But I've seen you guys change for years!" Harry complained) and forced him to change in the bathroom, where he would remain until the coast was clear. Also, it wasn't decent for Harry to touch other guys anymore, like, if one of his guy friends was crying, he couldn't comfort him with his touch, he had to remain at a distance and console them from there. He learned to accept the abuse the other students at Hogwarts directed at him for being gay. The way people would kick him if he bent to pick up his books, or the way they would spit at his feet when the teachers weren't looking, or the way they repeatedly left the message from the Bible in a place they knew he'd find it were becoming commonplace. The teachers didn't even discipline people for it anymore. The girls had readily accepted him as 'one of them,' as Lavender put it, and Harry soon found himself being their confidante when talking about boyfriends. This put him in a very hard situation, because he knew just exactly what the girls thought of all the boys in the class, and he heard a lot of stuff about guys' turnoffs. Of course, all the Gryffindor boys knew Harry knew all this stuff, and they'd come to him for strictly confidential meetings about how to impress their girls/crushes. This could get downright awkward and annoying, if they ever stopped to ask Harry what he thought about it. Luckily for Harry, Ron and Hermione never came to him with problems.

However, Harry was missing out on a lot of social stuff, mainly because a lot of dances or things in Hogsmeade were 'couples only.' Not that Harry had the time to go to Hogsmeade, that is. Dumbledore had decided that he would get Harry done with school as soon as possible, so they were working double-time on it. With all the schoolwork and Quidditch practice, Harry decided that he could do without sleep, at least for a little while.

Gradually, he was just plain forgotten by most people. He stayed on the sidelines, just trying to play his cards right so nothing seriously bad would happen to him. He made sure that he was never found on his own, and took the invisibility cloak everywhere with him, just so some gay-bashers wouldn't catch him on his own.

One morning, Hermione and Ron were having a very 'meaningful' conversation that made absolutely no sense to the others at the table, when Hermione got the 'Daily Prophet,' squeaked, and hid it under the table.

"What? What's in there?" Harry asked her suspiciously. "Oh, wait, I know, they've written the 'gay' story, haven't they?"

"I thought you wouldn't want to read it."

"Who wrote it?" Ron asked, gently grabbing the newspaper from her. "Oh, it wasn't Rita Skeeter."

"Oh, well, then I'm not very interested in reading it. It shouldn't be that far from the truth."

They could hear the Slytherins roaring with laughter over at their table, and Harry tried to hide behind Alicia Spinnet. This was getting to be almost just like fourth year all over again.

"So, Potter, I hear that at least 1,000 witches are mourning their chance to be with you!" Pansy shrieked.

"I think this article is exaggerating just a little bit," Blaise Zabini screamed. "The only ones who wanted you were Patil, Granger, and Moaning Myrtle!"

"But I doubt any of them would have you now! You couldn't keep a wilde-beast as a boyfriend with your looks!"

"Oh, no, that wouldn't be it. He's too emotionless. Not really up to a good fight OR shag!"

"Well, he's no worse off than you!" Ron shouted at them. Harry smiled to see that his friend still stood up for him.

"At least now it's completely out in the open," Harry sighed, leaning back in his chair. "If you'll excuse me, I have a lesson with Dumbledore to attend." He stood and left, jeers following him all the way.

"Hello, Mr. Potter. Glad to see that you're doing well," Dumbledore said, smiling eccentrically at Harry.

"Hello, Professor," Harry smiled a bit shyly at him, and sat down.

"Today I want to talk with you about . . . " the old man trailed off into a long speech about Harry's History homework for the day, and Harry listened intently.

* * *

Everything had seemed relatively normal that day, except, of course, the newspaper article. However, other than that, to Harry, all was good in the world, which should have set him off to realize that he couldn't possibly stay that way. It should have been a looming omen for him. And it was.

Harry didn't know if he was just being paranoid, or if he actually had a basis for his feelings, and he didn't know if it was because he was a sylph or not, but the Boy-Who-Lived knew that something wasn't right in the world. Everything had just been too . . . odd. Normal would have been the word for anyone else, but normal was not normal for Harry. For Harry, something bad had to happen to him, or else he knew he should be suspicious. And nothing had happened today, so he knew this couldn't be right. It wasn't even raining.

They were eating dinner when Harry first felt it. A little prick at the back of his neck, as if something that shouldn't be there was. Then he felt it again, a little twinge in his scar, and he gently touched it. He knew something was wrong. So he put up his guard.

"Harry, what's wrong?" Hermione queried nervously, glancing around the hall.

"There's something coming," Harry whispered.

"Aren't you going to alert staff about it?" Ron whispered quietly to him.

"Are you kidding? I have the distinct feeling that what is about to happen is supposed to happen. If I stopped it, the world would change. I don't feel like I should. It might change destinies."

Ron and Hermione looked like they were going to ask more questions, but he gave them a look that said not to.

He could feel it. The presence. It was in the school. It was going to bring pain with it, but Harry didn't know what to do. All he could do was wait. His meal grew tedious, stretched out, but for what he was waiting for, he had no idea. He played lightly with his fork, listening to Ron and Hermione's voices as they got more strained, and then just started to stop all together. The intensity of Harry's thoughts were reaching out of his body, through his beautiful green eyes, and purging the room in restlessness. With a slight movement of the door, a rat entered the room, and Harry understood what was to happen now. He remained quiet.

His jaw clenched, hands turning cold with their sweat. He felt the odd madness of the mind that was frantic, yet strangely like that of an animal. The bare essentials. He felt his death approaching.

It happened quickly. Why at dinner, Harry could only guess. Perhaps it was to intimidate the professors. Perhaps it was just simply because the man had no common sense, whatever the case scenario may be, what is fact is that a Death Eater came bursting into the Great Hall within ten minutes of when Harry first felt his shock.

The mask was firmly in place, but Harry could feel this person's eyes glittering with a madness that was only what you could expect of a Death Eater. His black robes were slightly too small, as if the person standing before them had no time to shop for the proper size. He finally spotted Harry, and made for the Gryffindor table.

"You! You're coming with me, no matter how hard you fight!"

Harry heard a distinct note of fear in this man's voice, and knew instantly who it was. No other Death Eater would be so stupid as to run into the Great Hall and try to attack a single person.

"Not now!" Harry hissed, nervously looking from side to side. He crossed his arms in a chill, and his neck arteries stood out plainly in the light of the thousands of candles.

"What do you mean, 'not now?' I'm here to capture you!" The Death Eater puzzled over this.

"The Dark Lord hadn't bid you to make a public appearance, did he? At least, that's not what he told me," Harry queried, hoping this wasn't just some misunderstanding of his.

"What? I-I don't know what you mean. The Dark Lord gave me specific instructions to capture you today."

"You weren't supposed to do it here. Fool!"

The Death Eater paced before the room, all eyes on either him or Harry. Harry stared around coolly before continuing.

"At least now I can declare, once and for all, my loyalty to your side, fellow dark wizard."

"My lord won't like this! You should hold your tongue, boy, if this was all staged," the Death Eater muttered.

"You know nothing! I know why the lord doesn't trust you now, you are nothing but a bungler of plans."

"Harry?" Hermione spoke up timidly. "Wh-what's going on?"

"You heard me, Mudblood, I have an allegiance with the Dark Lord, my lord, Lord Voldemort. If not for this rotting bungler here, I would have been able to keep this secret far longer, but I guess now is the time to pledge my loyalty," Harry sneered a sneer that would have rivaled Malfoy's best. "An you thought you all had me pegged, well, I guess this must come as just a bit of a surprise," Harry chuckled, madness shining in his eyes.

"Harry! Why you little . . . "

"I'm a little what, Weasley? You have no pureblood pride whatever. How can you possibly know what is right and what is wrong?" Harry's voice was low with icy venom.

"But he killed your parents!" someone shrieked, Harry didn't know who it was.

"And a good riddance in my life! I grew up with Muggles, and learned the truth about them (the filthy rodents!). If I had grown up with those Muggle-loving freaks-" Harry's jaw visibly tightened. "-I would not know truth from false, they were a nuisance to the world, if ever there was one."

"I'll flog you!" Ron shrieked, angrily.

Harry turned in his seat and shot him a glare so full of hidden meaning the entire hall fell quiet. Ron shrank back from the shorter boy, fear written plainly on his face. Harry's eyebrows shot up as his eyes widened, then he turned back to the Death Eater.

"But-how . . .?" the Death Eater stammered.

Harry provocatively straddled his chair and grinned lopsidedly, evilly. He leaned back, the picture of evil, putting the Slytherins far to shame. His pointed ears stuck out a little from behind his hair, giving him a decidedly wicked devilish look. His long fingers curled around what was supposed to be the back of the chair, but were in his front.

"Well, I let the Dark Lord come to me one night. It was as simple as that. Such power should be taught, and I wanted to learn of it before he killed me. He is more powerful than me by far; I was awestruck when he listened to my plea to help him. So I was leant into the inner circle. You were only supposed to capture me so I could be initiated, and get instructions from him in person. Imbecile! You should have figured that!"

"How can I know you are not lying to me?" Finally, the minion of Lord Voldemort seemed to get some common sense to ask questions.

"What must I do to prove this to you?"

"How can I truly know that this isn't just some elaborate trap to attack me?" he asked suspiciously.

"I don't know. You are the one who forgot I'm on your side. I have no reason to make up for it," Harry cooed, another evil grin gracing his features.

"Give me your wand," Harry smirked when his friend said this much, and got up from his chair, strutted over to the man nonchalantly, and handed him his wand. Harry glanced from his wand to the Death Eater mask, sneered slightly, and took his hand away.

"So you would willingly go with me?" the Death Eater asked, stunned.

"Of course. Let's leave now." Harry linked his left arm with the man's right, and smiled up into the Death Eater mask.

"Ok, well, my lord shall be pleased."

The entire hall watched as Harry steered the Death Eater out of the hall, arms linked in a bond of friendship. Harry hadn't given up his wand the entire time, but no one knew that. He deftly slipped it out the sleeve of his robe, muttered Stupefy, and the tattered Death Eater sunk to the ground unconscious.