All's Fair

~*~

Chapter Five

A sigh of frustration escaped his lips as Harry closed yet another useless book. Absently rubbing his slightly aching scar, he put the thick, aged tome away, only to immediately pick up a new one. He gave a small cough at the dust that flew up when he opened the yellowed pages.

Harry was beginning to get impatient. He had been searching for some sort of anti-love spell for almost a week now, to no avail. There had been a few charms mentioned that might have done the trick, but none that Harry could use on himself, as most spells required two subjects to work properly: the caster, and object the spell is intended for.

The only form of magic that the Gryffindor thought he would be able to properly implement on himself was Potions, much to Harry's disgruntlement. Suddenly he found himself wishing that he had spent more time listening to Professor Snape's long, droning lectures.

'The horrible man might have actually said something useful,' Harry scowled, flipping through the table of contents, only to come up with nothing once more. Disgusted, he thrust the text back on the shelf.

Just as his hand was reaching for another, all of the magically lit candles in the library were simultaneously extinguished, and Harry suddenly found himself in pitch darkness.

"Malfoy!" he shouted into the shadows, childishly stomping his foot in annoyance. "You stupid git! Stop doing that!"

The Head Boy had barely spoken a word to Harry since his clumsy apology the previous week, and Harry was only too content to let the Slytherin remain silent. With Malfoy actively ignoring him, avoiding the Slytherin and any awkward situations was made substantially easier. Harry conveniently chose to disregard any thoughts suggesting that part of him craved and missed getting attention from his rival, awkward or otherwise.

Unfortunately, Malfoy's refusal to speak extended to neglecting to inform the green-eyed boy (who was often preoccupied by his desperate research) when the nightly detentions were over. Instead, Harry was alerted that midnight had arrived only when Malfoy turned out the lights before returning to his dorm, leaving Harry to fumble his way out with a weak 'Lumos' from the tip of his wand to show him what lay directly in front of him.

Muttering the spell under his breath now, Harry once more made for the exit, his arms empty despite hours of looking for a useful book to help him in his task. He couldn't help but feel grim.

Things were progressively getting worse, even with Malfoy steering clear, and Harry was almost frightened at how rapidly his perspective of the blonde was changing. He still couldn't stand the other boy; he was an insufferable, stubborn, arrogant brat, after all. And yet Harry found himself more and more distracted from his determined hatred by such little things that should have been of no consequence. It could be something as simple and unintentional as a silver lock of sternly gelled hair falling out of place and into grey eyes, or the muscle in Malfoy's cheek that twitched when he clenched his jaw in concentration, or..

The list went on. It had become disturbingly inevitable that if Malfoy was in the same room, Harry's gaze would eventually wander in his direction. He had begun to notice strange and unrelated things he had never paid any mind to before: Malfoy was left-handed, but used his right to stir his cauldron; all of his school robes were made of a rich, smooth material that clung to Malfoy's slender frame; Malfoy always sat up-straight and facing the rest of the Great Hall at meals, sitting between Crabbe and Goyle but never talking to them; Malfoy kept his Head Boy badge as shiny and clean as Percy Weasley ever did, revealing that the blonde was genuinely proud of earning such a position; Malfoy rarely gave a true smile, but when he did it lit up his entire face, melting the ice that was normally in his eyes.

'This has to stop,' Harry groaned silently, stopping outside the portrait of the Fat Lady and rubbing his face, exasperated with himself. 'Don't think about him, Potter. You can not be a queer. What would Mum and Dad have thought?' That had become his mantra these past few days. Regrettably, it didn't seem to be working too well.

"Yes?" The Fat Lady asked impatiently, tapping her foot. "Are you going to give me the password sometime tonight, Mr. Potter?"

Harry blinked up at her blankly for a moment. "Oh, right," he said, snapping himself out of his contemplation. "Flower Necture."

The pink clad woman inclined her head slightly in acceptance before allowing the portrait to swing open and reveal the Gryffindor Common Room. The embers were slowly dying in the fireplace, and it looked as though all of Harry's housemates were already in bed, which was unsurprising considering it was a quarter after 12AM. Harry was grateful to be able to avoid any conversation, and instead just bustled along directly to his dormitory.

A small sigh of relief escaped his lips when he finally threw himself onto his bed - quickly to be followed by an exhausted whimper of aggravation. Detention may be over, but he still had to complete his homework for the next day, not to mention that tomorrow was Friday, which meant he had scheduled Quidditch practice for 5:30 sharp.

These late nights allowed him a maximum of a mere four hours sleep, and they were rapidly starting to take their toll on the raven-haired Gryffindor. With the added stress of worrying over Voldemort, N.E.W.T.S., the upcoming Quidditch season, and Draco Malfoy and the Elusive Anti-Love Spell, he felt he would surely crumble under all of the pressure. Harry had never been more thankful that Dumbledore had had the foresight to make Ron a house prefect instead of him.

Dragging himself off of his deliciously comfortable four-poster, Harry carried his worn leather school bag over to his desk and plopped down in the chair. Taking out his Potions textbook and a piece of parchment, he tried to force his tired mind to concentrate on writing the assigned essay: Describe and explain the purpose of the ingredients used in the Integumentum Fusion.

"The first thing the Fusion calls for is five butterfly wings." Harry remembered, doggedly turning the pages of 'Furthering Your Potion Knowledge.' He flicked to the back of the book, slowly scouring through the index's 'B' pages.

'Bones of a Mummy...' He read, 'Bravery in a Bottle.. Broken Heart Elixir...' Pausing, Harry ran the tip of his index finger over the last, frowning deeply in deliberation. 'That could be handy.'

Carefully opening the text to the page indicated, Harry was disappointed to see that there was only a short paragraph included on the Elixir, but what it said was enough to make his heart rate quicken in excitement. 'This might be it!' he thought triumphantly. Looking it over once more, Harry had swiftly started to copy it down onto the parchment when he heard his door creak open.

"Harry? You awake?"

Harry turned to see Ron's head peeking from behind the doorway. Catching sight of Harry seated at his desk, Ron quietly entered the room, shutting the door behind him.

"Hey, is everything alright?" Harry asked, and was concerned to notice the redness in Ron's eyes that suggested his best friend had been crying. Quickly standing, Harry ushered a sniffling Ron into the chair. "What's wrong?"

Ron was making a futile effort to hide his tears, clearly embarrassed at the display. "It's nothing, really, I don't know why I'm acting like such a baby," he mumbled, his cheeks a pale pink. "It's just. Well, Herm and I had a row. Sh- she broke up with me."

"Again?" Harry blurted before he could bite his tongue, and then winced when Ron's lip began to tremble again. 'Way to be sensitive, Potter,' he thought sarcastically, and awkwardly hugged the distraught redhead.

Gaining control of his emotions, Ron nodded. "She started harping on me about what I'm going to do after graduation again, and I just flipped out and starting yelling back for her to mind her own business," he sniffed. "She told me that if I can't even plan a future for myself, how can she expect to be a part of it." He accepted a handkerchief that Harry offered, and blew his nose before continuing. "But the thing is, I really have planned out what I want my future to be, and all of it includes Hermione! Harry, I love her more than anything, I completely and truly do. And I know I'm going to marry her one day."

A little taken aback by the conviction in Ron's tone, Harry stared at him for a moment. He hadn't realized how serious their relationship had gotten in less than a year. "Have you proposed to her?" he asked, shaking his head in mild disgust when Ron tried to hand him back the soiled handkerchief. "Just keep it, mate."

Ron pocketed the small piece of cloth. "Not yet. I wanted to wait until after we've graduated, and I've had time to save up some money. I need to be able to provide for her, you know? I don't want any family we start to struggle the way mine always has."

Getting over his initial shock, Harry felt his face break out in a grin. "Wow! Ron, I know she'd say yes! This is going to be so amazing, the two of you married. You had better make me your best man! Your mum will be thrilled-"

Ron laughed, and playfully swiped at the back of Harry's head. "I haven't even asked her yet, you prat!" His expression became troubled. "Do you really think she'll say yes?"

"Mate, I have never seen two people who were more perfect for one another," Harry said seriously, looking directly into Ron's azure eyes. "She loves you. Of course she'll say yes."

"I have to go make things up to her, then," the prefect sighed. The light blue gaze became faraway and dreamy. "Maybe instead of waiting for graduation, I can ask at Christmas, so long as I can save up for a ring in time. I can't stand to wait." He started to stand, smiling. "Thanks for the pep talk, Harry. You're the best friend a bloke could have, and if-no, WHEN I ask and Herm says yes, I wouldn't want anyone other than you to be my best man."

The two friends gave a brief hug, and Harry chuckled as they broke apart. "Listen to you, Ronald Weasley, you sound like such an old sap."

Ron grinned widely, ruffling Harry's already messy hair. "That's what love will do!" he winked. "Now we just have to find YOU a girl, which shouldn't be too difficult, seeing as you're famous and all. Also, according to Ginny, the female population of Hogwarts highly approves of your new style this year, what with the hair and the missing spectacles." Harry hid a blush and grimace, trying to think of a response, when Ron caught sight of the pile of books on Harry's desk. "Bloody hell, mate, what's with the miniature library? Do we have an assignment I somehow don't know about, or did Hermione put you up to something?"

"Oh!" Harry swiftly shut his Potions textbook, trying to casually cover up the notes he had written down. "I was just working on that Potions homework. You know, the Integumentum Fusion essay."

Ron merely waved his hand dismissively, and picked up one of the numerous History books Harry had borrowed from the Hogwarts library a week ago. The black haired teenager had been far too busy with other things to continue his research on the mysterious disappearance of Hirtus Figulus. At Ron's questioning look, Harry explained what little he knew of the story involving Godric Gryffindor's heir, and was pleased when Ron goggled in surprise. At least he wasn't the only one who hadn't known of Figulus.

"I don't remember ever hearing about him in History with Binns," Ron mused. "Not that I ever stayed awake longer than ten minutes in that class to listen to the boring old git. It sounds like the whole thing is awfully scandalous, though, seeing as how he ran off and left the Wizarding World to fend for itself against Grindelwald, which might be why they didn't teach it. I bet Hermione knows something about it."

Nodding in agreement, Harry looked at the texts thoughtfully. "I think it would be a really good idea for the three of us to try and find out what happened to him. Not just because it has to do with our founder, but because this Figulus fellow must have been an extraordinarily powerful wizard if he was a direct descendent of Gryffindor. If he's still alive and we can find him, he might be the key that helps the Light win the war against Voldemort."

*

The following afternoon was delightfully sunny and warm, but instead of sitting out by the lake for lunch with the rest of Gryffindor House, Harry found himself making his way to the all-too-familiar library, yet again. A few lame excuses had gotten his two best friends (who had apparently kissed and made up soon after Ron had left Harry's dorm the previous night) off his back, and he planned to use what little free time he had to find out more about the Broken Heart Elixir.

Re-reading the notes he had copied out of 'Furthering Your Potion Knowledge.' Harry chewed his lip anxiously. "The Broken Heart Elixir, otherwise known as the Coeur Cassé, was developed by the French Potions Master, Alexander Vacillé, during the Wizardry Revolution of 1747," he read aloud for the tenth time that day. "It is said that Vacillé was a victim of unrequited love for the daughter of his foe, and created the Elixir in a desperate attempt to end his suffering. It has only been used by few since, as it can be extremely dangerous to meddle in matters of the heart. Love is a terrible, powerful magick when it is felt for the enemy, and should be approached with great caution."

"It certainly is that," Harry muttered under his breath. "Not that I love the bastard, exactly, but that shouldn't make much of a difference, right? It should still work, all the same."

Trying to appear nonchalant under Madam Pince's watchful eye, Harry rifled through the card-catalogue, looking under 'C' for 'Coeur Cassé' when he found no references for 'Broken Heart Elixir' other than the textbook he had discovered it in last night. He muffled a cry of victory when he finally found what he was looking for.

"Coeur Cassé Potion can be found in 'Breuvages Magiques Pour des Émotions,' in the Restricted Section of the library. You must have written permission from a Hogwarts professor to have access to this book."

Harry snorted at the card. 'Of course, if you don't have permission all you need is either an assigned detention that gives you direct admittance to the Restricted Section, or an old hand-me-down Invisibility Cloak,' he smirked to himself. 'Or both.'

Stuffing the card into his bag when Pince's back was turned, Harry hurriedly left the library, hoping to catch up with his friends on their way to N.E.W.T. Double Charms. He would get the book tonight. With the stubborn Malfoy heir deliberately focusing his attention anywhere but on Harry, the Gryffindor should have a relatively easy time sneaking the text out.

With a little luck, he could be over his bizarre infatuation with the heartless Slytherin before the weekend was over.

*

Steeling himself for vil glare and sneer he knew were to come, Harry walked up to where Malfoy was seated at a round wooden table, using an eagle-feather quill to rapidly record an Arithmancy chart on a scroll of parchment. Harry cleared his throat, making his presence known, but the blonde only grunted in acknowledgement without looking up, reminding Harry strongly of his life back in Surrey with his guttural Uncle Vernon.

"I finished the Divination Section," he grumbled, trying to ignore the way Malfoy's long pale lashes created such lovely soft shadows on his cool, colorless cheeks, causing a hitch in his chest. "I was going to start on the Restricted Section next, but didn't know if you would want to supervise while I did that." Silently he pleaded for Malfoy to offer the same indifferent response he had been giving whenever Harry directed a question at the Head Boy these days.

His wish was granted when Malfoy's grey eyes only briefly flashed up at him, followed by a sharp, "I'm sure that the Golden Boy of the Wizarding World can restrain himself and manage not to do anything stupid with such complex spell-books. So, no, I won't baby-sit you tonight, Potter. Just do your job and keep out of my way."

Scowling at the other boy's attitude, Harry whirled around without another word and stalked over to the Restricted Section, checking over his shoulder to ensure that Malfoy had indeed stayed behind. He had. A wave of relief swept over him, and he pulled out the card he had stolen earlier that day, his hand trembling slightly in excitement.

"Breuvages Magiques Pour des Émotions," he whispered, running his fingers along the various titles. After covering the first two shelves, Harry began to worry that perhaps someone had already borrowed the book, but his fears were soon laid to rest when he saw a thick maroon tome with the desired words inscribed in silver on the spine. Feeling his heart rate quicken in anticipation, he sank to the floor, the book in his lap. The cover was peeling away and the pages looked as though they had been dipped in tea, but it was thankfully clean, unlike most of the library's collection, and Harry was relieved he didn't have to endure a cloud of old dust wafting out when he let the book fall open.

Emerald eyes widened in disbelief when Harry realized the page he had randomly turned to was the same exact one he was searching for. "Merlin, what are the odds of that?" he muttered, looking at the words 'Coeur Cassé' and hoping this was a sign from some deity that he was doing the right thing. Looking at the page in dismay, he realized that the entire book was written in French, which he knew little of.

However, the list of ingredients was clear enough, as most magical terms were the same in every language, and he relaxed slightly. Slowly reading them through, Harry noted immediately that he would have to raid Snape's private supplies if he were to go through with his plan. Most of the components he already had stored up in his room, courtesy of the kit Hermione had given him that summer, but the potion also called for hair from a veela, which was very difficult to come by unless one looked on the dark market.

A small noise caused Harry to jerk his head up, his panicked mind trying to think up what to say if Malfoy caught him neglecting his assigned punishment, but it was only the Grey Lady, Ravenclaw's resident ghost, who often wandered through the stacks at night. He exchanged a small wave with the transparent woman before she disappeared to another aisle.

Turning back to the book, Harry tried his best to translate the passage on the potion. Hermione had forced him to learn the basics of French when he had to compete against Fleur Delacour from Beauxbatons Academy in the Triwizard Tournament his fourth year, but he was disappointed to learn that he had forgotten most of it, and could only stumble his way through very little of the content. Praying that his French-English dictionary was still in his trunk somewhere, Harry slipped the maroon book into his robes.

Rapidly he began to sort through the bookshelves in front of him, putting everything in alphabetical order. He now only had three and a half weeks left to finish organizing the library's enormous collection, which would be nearly impossible to accomplish. Harry had wasted a whole week trying to find the anti-love spell, and he desperately didn't want Malfoy to have cause to extend his detention-sentence any longer than it already had been.

He began to plot out in his head a plan of action for what to do, now that he had found the potion he needed. He decided he didn't want to waste any more time, and that he should sneak out with his Invisibility Cloak to Snape's supply room tonight for the veela hair. It was a Friday night, and Harry thought it was likely that the Potions professor wouldn't be in his office over the weekend. He could brew the Elixir in his dorm tomorrow night after his detention, seeing as he didn't have any roommates this year that could possibly interrupt him.

Harry struggled to disregard the bit of uneasiness that had settled in his stomach. He couldn't wimp out now that he was so close to achieving his goal. In about twenty-four hours, all of this nonsense would be over, and he could once again focus on things that were important. 'You have to do this, Potter, there's no other way,' he convinced himself, taking a deep breath. 'How can you expect to concentrate on fighting Voldemort and helping the Order if you're obsessing over one of the Light's enemies all the time? It can't go on, it's too dangerous to feel this way about Draco Malfoy.'

Pausing in his work, he looked down at his hands. Harry was slightly irritated and appalled to notice how dry the constant handling of old grimy books had made his hands, a nice compliment to the calluses the strenuous new Quidditch season was already giving him. His rough palms looked as though they had been lightly dipped in sawdust, and he couldn't help but wonder at how Malfoy's own Seeker hands had felt so soft and smooth on his chin during their argument in the library a week ago, like silk. If they felt that wonderful just gripping his face, he could only imagine how they would feel gripping his..

Sternly breaking out of his reverie with a self-disgusted shake of his head, Harry glanced down at his watch, groaning when he saw he still had over an hour left until he could escape to his dormitory. Returning to sorting the shelf in front of him, Harry took comfort in the weight that 'Breuvages Magiques Pour des Émotions' created in his pocket, reassuring him that peace of mind wasn't too long off.

*

After another adventure of stumbling through the darkened rows of books, Harry hurried back to Gryffindor Tower, only stopping to quickly use the lavatory and say hello to the few members of his house that were still up before he donned his father's old cloak. While he was digging around in his trunk for the liquid-like material, Harry was relieved to see that his French dictionary was hidden at the bottom, and he added that, along with the stolen library book, to the pile of volumes currently covering his desk.

He had a close encounter with Hermione's mangy-furred cat, Crookshanks, in the Common Room, but eventually Harry was able to get back out of the portrait hole, wincing and looking over his shoulder at the kids playing Exploding Snap when the door creaked loudly. Fortunately the Gryffindors were caught up in their card game, and none of them paid any heed to the doorway opening seemingly on its own.

Harry had always been fond of walking around the castle at night, and tonight was no exception. The twisting halls, winding stairs, and secret passageways were charming to the boy, and he found himself wistfully wondering about what adventures his father and Sirius had during their nights at the school with the other Marauders. Maybe he could ask Lupin to tell him some of their tales the next time he saw the werewolf.

He was careful to avoid any paths that Filch or Mrs. Norris might be wandering, and used his old gimmick of pretending to be the Bloody Baron when he bumped into Hogwarts' troublemaking poltergeist, Peeves, in the dungeon corridor.

Slowly and quietly, Harry snuck into the Potions classroom. His jaw dropped in alarm when he noticed that Snape's office door was propped open, and there was the faint flickering glow of candlelight visible from within. Cautiously moving closer, he peered in the entrance.

There sat Professor Snape, in all his greasy glory, a scowl marring his already unpleasant face as he covered some poor student's essay with heavy red markings.

"Damn fool," the frowning wizard growled to himself. "To think a seventh year can't even figure out what nightshade is for." After a minute or so, Snape had finished with that assignment, and he immediately picked up another from a stack on his desk and began to read it through, snorting every now and then, in repugnance at his pupil's mistakes.

Harry bit his lower lip to prevent an annoyed groan from getting loose. Didn't the slimy arse have anything better to do than grade papers this late on a Friday night? 'Then again,' he reconsidered thoughtfully, 'this is Snape we're talking about here. It's not like he'd be the sort to have a date or actual friends or something.'

Deciding to attempt waiting it out rather than go back to his dorm straight away empty handed, Harry entered the small office as silently as he could and sat in a corner on the cold stone floor. He jumped slightly when Snape suddenly let out a sharp bark of laughter.

"Potter!" he spat out with loathing, and Harry froze, certain that Snape could see him through the Invisibility Cloak, as he had often suspected in the past. However, the man's beady black eyes were still trained on a sheet of parchment on the desk. Aghast, Harry came to the realization that the paper his professor was currently scribbling all over was his own Integumentum Fusion essay.

"Not bad, actually, Potter," Snape smirked nastily, completely unaware the Harry was eight feet away and listening keenly to every word spoken. "If you weren't such a smug, self-righteous brat and I didn't utterly despise you, I would have given you high marks for this one."

Harry clenched his jaw in fury, half tempted to forget about the veela hair and throw off the cloak, just to see Snape's shocked expression at being caught red-handed in his unfair grading methods. 'That hideous bastard! I knew he was docking my scores for personal reasons!' he fumed, hating the man with ever fiber of his being.

What felt like hours passed, though it was probably closer to twenty minutes, and the sallow-skinned wizard finally marked the last of the essays, blowing out the candles before he left for bed, unknowingly locking his least favorite student in his private office.

Not wasting any time, Harry instantaneously was on his feet and opening the storage cupboard with a wave of his wand and a soft 'Alohamora!' The Potions Master may have been one of the most horrific individuals Harry had ever met, but the teenager couldn't help but be appreciative of the man's organizational skills, especially after spending so many tedious hours systematizing bookshelves in detention. Finding the veela hair proved to be no trouble at all, and Harry carefully slipped a few long golden strands into a small pouch he had brought along with him.

Ensuring that everything looked exactly as it should, Harry quickly made his way out of the Potions dungeon, taking care to lock up before he went. He couldn't help but simper when he become conscious of the fact that, after numerous accusations from the professor, Harry had for once legitimately stolen from Snape's personal storage. He hated to think of what his professor would do if he ever found out.

*

Double checking to make sure that he had everything he needed, Harry set up his pewter cauldron on the floor, under the window, 'Breuvages Magiques Pour des Émotions' resting on his lap. Though the day had seemed to stretch out forever, Saturday night had finally arrived and, with a little apprehension bubbling in his belly, Harry was now prepared to brew the Elixir.

He had spent much of the afternoon holed up in his bedroom, translating the French text into English. It had proved to be more difficult than he had originally thought, but at last he felt that he had a good enough rendition to work from. He had been somewhat disconcerted when the instructions recommended using a personal hair or artifact of the foe that the caster was trying to fall out of love with in order to guarantee the potion's accuracy, but he had easily disregarded that minor dilemma as unnecessary in his case. He had only one enemy that he was presently in lo- .. er, infatuated with, so there was no need to make sure the potion targeted Malfoy specifically.

Little by little, he began to add the components together in the heated water, which he had boiled in the cauldron with the small, portable blue- flame spell that Hermione had often used during their first year at Hogwarts. Stirring the veela hair and arbutus petals in with the tip of his wand precisely six times, Harry sincerely prayed that the potion was supposed to be a brilliant shade of scarlet, as the book offered no illustrations to compare it to.

Removing the cauldron from the fire, he impatiently let it sit for twelve minutes, chewing on his thumbnail nervously while he waited. The raven- haired boy was quite surprised at how effortlessly he had been able to produce the potion. He supposed that he shouldn't have been, as he had managed to meet even Snape's high standards of scoring on his O.W.L. Potions exam fifth year, but this was the first time Harry had truly been able to put into practice what he had learned in the dungeons all these years. Typically for an out-of-class project, such as with the Polyjuice Potion in second year, Hermione would be the one out of the trio who would brew whatever potion was required.

Smiling to himself for having accomplished the Coeur Cassé Elixir on his own, Harry poured the concoction into a glass phial, swirling it around so that it the dim light reflected off of the crimson liquid. Staring at it for a moment pensively, the Gryffindor gently lifted the delicate container to his lips, stopping to inhale the almost floral scent coming from it.

'This is it,' Harry thought, his face flushed with fervor. He decisively flouted the voice in his heart that claimed he was making a terrible mistake. Following that voice's suggestions had never helped Harry in the past; Look at where it had led him with Sirius and Cedric Diggory.

Just a tilt of his wrist and a quick swallow, and Harry would never have to worry about pining over Draco Malfoy again. He felt almost feverish in his desire to cure himself of whatever this disease was that made him constantly obsess over his archrival. The potion was the only way for his feelings for the Slytherin to return back to the way they were supposed to be.

Harry gave the smallest of nods. Yes, he was decided. The phial in his hand tipped, and he felt the still-warm liquid pour smooth as silk down his throat. It had an agreeable taste, almost like sweet honeydew tea, and he licked his lips, trying to savor the flavor.

He sat, slightly disappointed at the anti-climatic results when nothing happened right away. Five minutes later, he hesitantly began to clean up his work station, putting the advanced Potions kit bottles back where they belonged on the shelf above his desk. He stuffed the stolen library book out of sight, in case Ron or one of his other friends decided to visit again tonight. That would certainly lead to an uncomfortable conversation indeed.

It wasn't until Harry was getting changed for bed and had unzipped his trousers that he felt a strange shiver go through his body. He paused in the middle of undressing, but then shrugged, assuming it was just a typical chill from living in he tower. Slipping on his blue flannel pajama bottoms over his boxers, he began to unbutton his shirt when it happened again.

A wave of dizziness and nausea hit, and Harry leaned his hand against the wall for balance as the room began to spin. From his experiences of fainting around the Dementors years ago, Harry vaguely recalled that he was supposed to put his head between his knees to get rid of the feeling of vertigo. Crouching on the floor, he tried to get control of his breathing, which had developed into ragged gasping. Even with his emerald eyes squeezed shut, the world still felt as though it were twisting around, and the skin all over his body suddenly broke out into a cold sweat. Clenching his fists together in agony, Harry struggled in vain to maintain consciousness.

'Well, this is certainly more dramatic,' he thought weakly, before the darkness took over completely and his petite frame slumped lifelessly on the floor.

~*~