Harry Potter and the Moment of Silence

Expecting the world to treat you fairly because you are a good person
is a little like expecting the bull not to attack you because you are a vegetarian.

- Dennis Wholey

It may sound absurd, but don't be naive

Even heroes have the right to bleed

I may be disturbed, for once you can see

Even heroes have the right to dream

And it's not easy... to be me

-- Five For Fighting (Superman)

Away from Me by Evanescence

I hold my breath as this life starts to take its toll

I hide behind a smile as this perfect plan unfolds

But oh God, I feel I've been lied to

Lost all faith in the things I have achieved

And I

I've woken now to find myself

In the shadows of all I have created

I'm longing to be lost in you

Away from this place I have made

Won't you take me away from me

Crawling through this world as disease flows through my veins

I look into myself but my own heart has been changed

I can't go on like this

I loathe all I've become

I've woken now to find myself

In the shadows of all I have created

I'm longing to be lost in you

Away from this place I have made

Won't you take me away from me

Lost in a dying world I reach for something more

I have grown so weary of this lie I live

I've woken now to find myself

In the shadows of all I have created

I'm longing to be lost in you

I've woken now to find myself

I'm lost in shadows of my own

I'm longing to be lost in you

Away from me

Chapter Nine: Going to a Place Called Home

Harry Potter and the Moment of Silence

Seeing Hogwarts was both painful and bittersweet when Harry saw it. He was grinning; he liked to think he couldn't help it. After nearly a month of staying, sleeping, and eating in St. Mungos Hospital, it was a relief to get out for some fresh air. It was nice to know he wasn't being guarded by Aurors and on a twenty-four hour suicide watch by the St. Mungo's nurses. Of course, going to Hogwarts wasn't going to deter that last problem very much, but his watchers at Hogwarts would be appreciatively much more discreet than those at St. Mungo's. Harry didn't have to ask Dumbledore to know that the Headmaster had told the entire staff to watch him and his friends. He didn't have to be brilliant to know the amount of attention he was going to receive from his peers and students was going to be equally exhausting and infuriating as the attention and admiration he'd received at St. Mungos. The only exception was he was free to move around and do as he pleased at Hogwarts.

But now, walking on the Hogsmeade trail up to the castle with McNara at his side, he could be happy for a moment. Indeed, his mood was bright and uncharacteristically optimistic against McNara's uncertainty as they strolled sedately side by side. The werewolf was more worried about Harry's interception with the student public than he himself was. Harry could handle taunts and insults; he could handle them both better than adoration and respect of any kind.

"Just remember, Harry, that if any of the other kids make fun of you or give you any problems, you go straight to the Headmaster or one of your professors. No arguing, do your homework, be polite, don't get egotistical," this last comment came out teasingly.

"Merlin, McNara, you'd think I was your own blood and flesh going off to Muggle preschool. I can take care of myself, and I'm sure that the gang won't leave me for a minute." His eyes burrowed together. "I wonder if Hally was already sorted and if so, what house was she sorted into?"

"I don't know. I've only met the girl once, and that was only for a second or two. She seems like the Ravenclaw sort, don't you think?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know anything about that. She didn't go to school in the Gray Dimension -I wonder how Dumbledore's going to play that- and she hasn't had any formal education. She's kind and sweet and smart, but I can see her being a Gryffindor just as well. She's brave enough to date me, so I don't see her being put in any other house but mine."

"I guess you'll see, won't you?"

"Guess so."

They passed through the open gate, careful to stay on the grass since the horseless carriages were still passing through in a long, slightly skewered line. Near the castle doors, Harry thought he fancied seeing McGonagall waiting for him. He wouldn't be surprised that Dumbledore was worried about him during the short walk from front door to Great Hall. They climbed the rest of the lawn in silence, until Harry smiled at his Transfiguration teacher.

"'Morning, Professor McGonagall."

Her look gently probed him, looking, Harry knew, for any physical signs of illness. She'd find none, Harry knew. He wore a robe that was slightly big in sleeves, and his fever was low enough that he wasn't sweating all that much. He was disgustingly pale and thinner than normal, but other than that, no scars except the one on his forehead and cheek showed. The one on his cheek was the only give away that he'd been put through torture less than three months ago.

"It is evening, Potter." But she said it gently and gave him one of her rare, approving smiles. "I'm glad to see you looking better than the tabloids assume. Considering them, you shake whenever you speak and your eyes are crossed."

Harry's look was amused. "I didn't know you read tabloids, Professor."

"Of course not, but gossip and such are inevitable. McClara, aren't you? You look familiar."

McNara struggled to give her a smile. "I'm Gwenivierre McNara, Professor. A Ravenclaw from ten years ago." She turned to look up at Harry -as he was a mere inch taller than her now- and frowned. "You'll write?"

"I told you, McNara, that I would, and I promise to tell the Professor here if anyone gives me any problems. Stop worrying."

"Okay. Well." She nodded at McGonagall. "I'll be going. Have a good year, both of you."

McGonagall and Harry watched her descend the trail for a few minutes. Then she turned to him. "Come, Potter, we just barely missed the Sorting." She held the door open for him and Harry passed under. "The Headmaster would have liked to intercept you, but it was impossible being who he is. I'm to tell you that you have a meeting with him after the Feast, so wait for him before you leave the Great Hall."

"Professor, did Hallyanka Questcinzay get sorted already?"

"Yes, into Slytherin, as a matter of fact."

Harry stopped in his tracks, horrified. "You're kidding!"

"I assure you, Mr. Potter, that I am not. She was the first to be sorted, so I was able to hear the answer before leaving to pick you up."

"Slytherin?" With his mood massacred and left bleeding behind them in a bundle of burned rags, he started walking again. "She's a Slytherin? I'll never see her."

"You'll share most every class with her, Potter, and it isn't as if you'll be chained in your Common Rooms all day."

He sent her a look that clearly stated she had no clue what he was talking about. She went to grab the knob; he grabbed her wrist quickly. McGonagall blinked in surprise and stepped back. "All right, there, Potter?"

"Yeah. Just give me a minute." He was sure the look he leveled at the door would have rivaled the look he would have sent a cobra. "They're all going to stare at me, aren't they?" he asked unhappily.

Her look was blank and veiling. "You should expect that by now, and I'm sure they will whisper while staring at you."

"Cheery thought," he retorted sardonically.

"Are you ready now, Mr. Potter?"

"Yeah, yeah, open the door."

She did, and when they walked in, the room went dead silent. Harry shoved his fisted hands into the pockets of his robes and kept his head level. By the time he sat down between Ron and Hermione, whispers had broken out and necks had craned towards the Gryffindor table. Hermione slipped her hand into his and smiled, although it was purely a stage one.

"Just take a deep breath and talk to me. They'll stop soon."

"I know." But he took a deep breath and kept his eyes on hers. "McGonagall said that Hally was put in Slytherin." His hand tightened on hers. She jerked a little when her hand tingled with the power that slid into her.

"She was, which sort of surprised all of us, but Malfoy's sitting next to her and guarding her like a mutt."

"Good." He wanted to look up towards her, but didn't want to meet the eyes that were still watching him. Conversations had started back in on waves of shouts and excited voices, but most conversations were discussing the Boy-Who-Lived and his latest suicide attempt. And, of course, sharing whatever gossip about that certain subject they'd learned over the summer. "I'd have to kill him if he didn't watch out for her in a house like that."

"Harry?" Ron's voice sounded as if he was stifling a laugh. "Think you could focus on either me or Ginny now? You look entranced."

Reluctantly, he looked away, and compromised by staring at Ginny, who grinned and put a hand to her mouth to smother a laugh.

"Be quiet, Ginny," he snarled. "It isn't funny."

"Yes it is. You look like you're about to face the guillotine."

"Might as well be," Harry grumbled, then scrubbed his face with his hands. "Did anything important happen while I was escaping St. Crazy's?"

Ginny snorted out. Her hand lifted to her mouth, which was full of mashed potatoes, to make sure none flew out. She swallowed audibly. "St. Crazy's? You nicknamed St. Mungos St. Crazy's?"

"It's true," Harry hissed indignantly. "The people who work there are completely insane. Not the mental illness type, either, but the totally mass murderer type of crazies."

Hermione laughed and shook her head. "Nothing has happened at all since we last saw you. Well, Ginny did have an incident with Malfoy that had her mother fainting, but..." She trailed off, shrugging in amusement. "Ginny has refused to divulge any information on the subject."

"Mum was just over heated, was all." Ginny stabbed at her carrots with her fork. "Malfoy and I were doing nothing but talking."

"I'm sure," Ron said with a snort. "I still don't like the way he looks at you."

Harry lifted his head and glanced at the Slytherin table. He was reassured a little by the way Mal had situated himself so Hally was at the end of the table. Hally's shoulders were slumped slightly, but the two of them were talking quietly. She was sitting across from a sixth year girl in glasses who seemed to be unhappy about something. Malfoy himself seemed to have separated himself from his other classmates, who kept shooting him disgusted, scornful looks.

"You dating Mal, Ginny?"

Her eyes flared, giving him the answer he needed. "No, I am not. I hate him. I despise him with every blood cell in my body and, unlike the way you three have done, I intend to stay hating him for the rest of my life."

"I don't like him," Ron said, in defense for himself.

"Oh, be quiet, Ronald." Hermione sent him a superior look. "Malfoy has been very helpful. If he hadn't offered us his house for the Order Headquarters, and for our own housing, we wouldn't have been able to spend the summer together. It wouldn't have been safe to get the four of us together in any other place."

"It doesn't mean he's on our side."

"He's getting better," Harry said. "He hasn't insulted Hermione at all, has he?" She shook her head, agreeing. "And he's been there for me whenever I've needed him. Not to mention he's going to be looking out for Hallyanka. How did she get into Slytherin?" This time it was him who stabbed moodily at his vegetables. "She doesn't have a single Slytherin quality in her."

"I don't know, Harry." Hermione broke into a loaf of homemade bread and passed it around. Harry took a piece, then passed it on to Ron and Ginny. "She didn't have much of a problem spending a good little mountain of your money when we went to Diagon Alley."

A grin split Harry's face. "I don't see why she shouldn't have. Damn, I wish I could have gone shopping with her."

"You, the Conqueror of Voldemort, want to go cloth and accessory shopping with your foreign girlfriend?" Ginny snorted. "You never bought me all those pretty things you let her buy."

"You didn't come from a different dimension. And you would have bit my head off if I'd even mentioned buying you something with my own money."

Hermione said, "You and Ron both have that problem."

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Stop agreeing with Harry."

"Nope. He's being civilized and, unfortunately for you two, he's also right."

Harry sent Ron a grin. "Ha ha."

He didn't eat as much as Hermione would have liked him to, but he joined in their conversation, so she didn't mention it as much as she would have had he been brooding and sulky. Some of the other Gryffindors joined their conversation about Quidditch, some of them (mainly Neville) who met his eyes in complete support. For Harry, it made him relax even more. Tonight wasn't as bad as he'd thought it would be.

Once Dumbledore stood and gave the ending speech, benches scraped back as hundreds of students rushed to leave the Great Hall.

"Harry!"

Harry had been hurrying over to try and catch Mal and Hally before leaving, but at Neville's call, he turned. "Yeah, Neville?"

"I just wanted to say..." His face blossomed with color as he struggled to find the words. "I just wanted to say that, that...thank you." He grabbed Harry's hand and shook it fervently.

Understanding perfectly, he clapped Neville's shoulder with his free hand. "I gotta' go find my girlfriend, Neville."

"Yeah, there's a rumor going around you're dating that girl from some foreign country. Hally-wonka, wasn't it?"

Harry smiled. "Holl-yong-ka. I'll have her meet you one of these days."

Neville nodded once. Harry watched him for a minute before disappearing into the crowd again.

"Mal!"

The blonde was leading Hally out of the room, but stopped and turned when he heard Harry calling him. They met, fighting to get out of the crowd of people, several of which looked at them in complete confusion. That was when Harry remembered that the last time they'd seen him and Mal, they'd been at each other's throats off and on the entire year.

"Harry!" Hally hugged him tightly, then kissed his cheek. "I tried to ask the hat to put me in Gryffindor, but the hat -did you ever hear of a talking hat? - said that I was supposed to be in Slytherin."

He rubbed her back. "Don't cry, Hally, it won't be that bad."

She sniffed and rubbed a hand under her nose. "But they kept glaring at Draco and making fun of us."

"It's just words, Hallyanka. You'll be fine. Would you rather have been put in Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, where you wouldn't know anyone at all?"

She shook her head miserably as the Hall emptied out. "We better be going, Draco."

"Why don't you wait by the door for me, Hally? I need to talk to Harry real quick."

Wiping her cheeks, she went to lean again the Great Hall's doors.

"You better not leave her for a moment, Malfoy," Harry hissed, "or else I will kill you."

Malfoy's eyes flared with anger. "Shut up, Potter. You will do no such thing. I just sent her away so I could tell you that I'll take care of her. Knowing your pathetic Gryffindor thoughts, I imagined you thought that she'd need someone to look after her."

The snooty tone was a little unfamiliar to Harry. True, him and Malfoy hadn't really gotten intimate, intimate, during their talks, and they still called each other by their last names, but he recognized this stiff, very proper tone from the first few lessons Mal had given him in the Dark Arts.

"I'm sorry, Mal." He scratched his chin, uncomfortable in his position. It wasn't often he apologized and really actually meant it. When Mal stayed tense and ramrod straight, he rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry. It's just that- I have a lot of enemies in your House. Now, apparently, so do you. There's the off chance that Olean can get into the castle."

"I won't leave her for a second, Harry. I'll make her stay with me in the Commons until she gets tired. I'll warn Pansy, but that might just make things worse."

"I wouldn't even do that. Just keep an eye on her, eavesdrop a little, warn Hally." Harry rubbed his eyes. He was sick with worry. "I'm trusting you to take care of her, Mal. Don't let me down, okay?"

Mal nodded, though his eyes had widened slightly. Without saying anything else, he turned and left the Great Hall with Hallyanka. Harry watched them leave. When a hand came down on his shoulder, he lifted his face to Dumbledore's.

"I'm sure she'll be fine, Harry. Hallyanka grew up tough."
"Yeah," Harry said quietly, "the only thing is, where she grew up, women were united in a common group. Here, they'll eat you alive and spit you back up. Why couldn't she have been in Gryffindor?"

The hand on his shoulder squeezed. "It was not meant to be, Harry. Come on. I have decided to hold the meeting here."

"Meeting?" Harry turned, and was relieved to see only McGonagall and Lycander seated at the Head Table. Everyone else had cleared. He took a seat next to Dumbledore and pulled up a leg to hug. His stomach was hurting and he was tired, so he laid his head on his knee, but made sure he could watch all three adults at the same time. "Why are we meeting again?"

"To make sure you have no more plans for learning the Dark Arts with Mr. Malfoy again this year." McGonagall's lips were in a thin, tight smile. "Do you?"

Harry shook his head. "I doubt I'll need that type of Dark Magic to fight Olean. I mean, Mages don't specify magic in either categories of good and dark."

"If not that type of Dark Magic, than what kind?" she asked suspiciously.

Harry smiled innocently. "Professor, I give my word I won't use Dark Magic in this school unless I have a knife at my throat. Well, actually, that might not be so rare."

"This isn't a joking matter, Harry," Dumbledore said quietly. "I know that if you give your word, you'll try not to break it, but if you think the stakes are high enough, you won't even remember saying that."

"Well." Harry laughed bitterly and lifted his head. "That's a nice thing to say the day I get out of the hospital."

Dumbledore gave an exasperated sigh. "Harry."

Harry mimicked him and gave a sigh. "Headmaster." Then, more seriously, he dropped his head down again. "Do you want me to lie to you, sir? 'Cause I will if it's what I think you want to hear. I'm sorry, but I can't tell you what I'm going to do or what I'm not. I'm going to go with the flow. I've been reading a bunch of Dark Art books, but I know better than to work them on anyone. What do you want me to do?"

"I don't want you to do anything but be a normal student, but that is not going to happen, is it?" Dumbledore sent McGonagall a glance. "Last year, you missed a lot of your classes."

"I was training with Lycander."

"And some of the classes you just skipped. Do you deny that? I believe you spent a lot of time up in the Astronomy Tower. When you were in classes, you didn't listen and you barely got average on what tests you managed to take before May fifteenth."

What did the guy want from him? Harry thought desperately. What more did he, Harry Potter, have left to give? Did Dumbledore expect him to get perfect grades? Be a genius with everything magic?

Hell if Harry knew what anyone expected and wanted from him anymore.

"I skipped a lot of class, yeah." His rubbed his eyes with his loose hand and wished for his four-poster bed. "So what? You want to give me a detention?"

McGonagall spoke up. "We cannot give you a detention for what happened last year, Potter, but if we catch you doing it this year, we'll be forced to punish you accordingly. Now, it has come to our attention that you may be feeling superior to what's going on in class, but it wouldn't hurt you to practice with your wand or just listen. If anything, ask if we can give you some advanced homework-"

"Advanced homework?" Harry spat. He straightened and pushed his leg back onto the ground again. "You expect me to ask for advanced homework? You just said I was below average in my grades!"

"The only reason you got such low grades is because you weren't trying."

"Bugger that," he sneered. "I don't need to try. I don't need a wand, for Merlin's sake. I'm a Mage!" He gestured wildly. "I don't deserve to be in a Wizarding school! I would quit school if I didn't think Dumbledore and Mrs. Weasley would have a heart attack! I'm seventeen. Yeah, I skip classes. Yeah, I drink whiskey. Yeah, I'm bloody suicidal if you think about it, but what do you all want? I don't have anything more to give to you people! I'm just trying to keep it together so I can fight Olean when I get the chance. I don't care about school. I don't care about my grades or my classes. I just don't care."

"Romane," Lycander said quietly, "just because you have Mage powers does not mean you do not belong in a Wizarding school. And if you quit school, then you would not get a job, and Fudge would not have reason to have gone easy on you."

Harry jumped to his feet. "You think he went easy on me? The only reason I got away with telling so little about the fifteenth is because I threatened him!"

Dumbledore rubbed his hands over his eyes, pressed hard, and took a deep breath. "Are you telling me you threatened the Minister of Magic with fatal harm, Harry?"

His stomach was killing him. "Yeah, I did. What are you going to do, send me off to Azkaban?" Disgusted, he started walking towards the door. "I have to get to bed if you expect me to show up in your pathetic classes tomorrow." He punched a hand, palm out, at the doors, which burst open with a loud 'crack' and slammed it shut with a loud, deep groan. For good measure, he locked it. Lycander would be able to open it, but not for at least a couple hours.

He was disgusted with himself to feel tears stinging his eyes. One of his arms wrapped around his stomach and squeezed, as if squeezing the ulcer would make it go away or stop hurting. In fact, it only made it hurt worse, but he didn't pull his arm up.

Grinding his teeth against the pain, he put an arm out against the wall and lowered himself to the floor. He was by the stair to the dungeons, and didn't expect anyone to notice or hear him. Everyone had already gone to bed, though it was barely an hour after the Welcoming Feast. Or, if not to bed, to sit in front of the fires lit in all Common Rooms.

Harry simply rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. He didn't know what to do anymore. What did they all expect of him, anyway? What the hell did they want?

He was doing the best he could. Couldn't they see that he was so close to completely breaking down? How could he, a seventeen year old, know how close he was to giving up and not the adults around him? He was about to fight the second mass murderer that was after him.

And they were talking about skipping classes and detentions?

Harry stood and managed to get to the Common Room. The moment he realized he didn't have the password, he looked up and realized that Ron, Ginny, and Hermione were sitting in the hallway, backs against the wall. Ron was looking through a copy of the Quibbler and Hermione and Ginny were glancing through the Sunday Daily Prophet. Ginny was the first to see him, and nudged Hermione.

"Harry." The three stood simultaneously. Ginny moved forward to take his hand. "Did something happen?"

Harry pulled his hand away and looked at a spot above Hermione's head. It felt almost as if she hadn't spoken at all.

"Harry? Are you feeling okay? You look feverish." She would have lifted her hand to feel his forehead if he hadn't glared at her. "Would you say something?"

"What's there to say?" He sat down, or more like let himself go limp, and propped himself up against the wall. "Dumbledore thinks I'm irresponsible and would go around, prancing, using Dark Magic as if I like it. McGonagall wants me to ask for advanced homework and gave me a lecture on how I barely got my grades to average last year. I'm seventeen, an orphan, the most powerful wizard in this dimension; I have friends, a gorgeous, sweet natured girlfriend. One of my old enemies is now one of the few people who actually understand me. I've killed dozens of people, including a mass murderer, and flooded an entire Scottish village. I was faced with the possibility of Azkaban, and all I have to show for my life is an Order of Merlin, First Class and a writ of arrest. I'm seventeen," he repeated, amazed, "and my best friend's parents, my father's best friend, and the Headmaster of the most prestigious Wizarding schools in the world, decide everything that matters in my life."

Ron snapped his fingers in front of Harry's face after sitting across from him for several moments. "Harry, you're not making much sense."

"My whole life doesn't make sense."

Hermione sat next to him. Ginny, on the other hand, hesitated. "I want tea. I'm going to go on down to the kitchens and get us all some."

Before she could turn, Harry flicked his wrist. A silver wrought tray held a shiny pewter mug of steaming water and packets of tea for the four mugs. Harry stared at it. "Merlin, I hate that."

Ginny shook her head and took a seat, completing the slightly disfigured square. "Why hate it? I think it's pretty nifty."

Balefully, he sent her a look. "You're not helping, Ginny. You're supposed to be soothing while I drown in my own self-pity."

She giggled slightly. "Go ahead and drown, Harry. We'll drag you to your bed once you go unconscious."

He gave a laugh, too, and leaned his head back. A small, thin scar went across his throat, and rustled when he swallowed or talked. Unbeknownst to Harry, his three friends watched it for a little while, their faces grim.

"I want Firewhiskey."

Hermione's watery eyes shot sparks. "Alcohol isn't the answer, Harry."

"Yeah, but it sure does blunt it."

Ron shook his head. "Sometimes, Harry, I don't know what to say to you."

"That's good, 'cause sometimes I don't know what to say to you, either." He tilted his head and grinned at Ron. "Odd, isn't it, with us being best mates and all."

Ron shrugged a shoulder. "We get by well enough."

"Yeah." Sighing, he rubbed his face. "We get by."

The four of them sat in silence in the aftermath of Harry's words. Ginny poured tea into the mugs and passed them out. Harry cupped his mug in his hands, enjoying the warmth it spread into his fingertips. He drank, and it didn't scald his mouth as it did theirs when they took their first sip.

"Is anyone else aware that we're having tea outside the Common Room in a corridor?" Ron asked idly.

"Yes," Hermione stated matter-of-factly. "It's better than being in there with Parvarti and Lavandar. Oh, by the way, Harry." She rolled her eyes. "They were talking about how great a kisser you are."

Harry choked on his tea. "How the hell would they know? I've only kissed three people in my entire life. And they've never once seen me kiss any one of those girls. Hell, I don't even think they know who either Cho or Hallyanka is."

"They would say Cho was too old and Hally didn't count because she's from a different dimension." Ginny made a face. "And poor old Ginny wasn't good enough for the great Golden Boy."

Ron covered his eyes. "You have been spending way too much time with Malfoy, Ginny."

Harry's brows furrowed. "Why wouldn't you be good enough for me? Hell, if anything, you were better than I ever was. I was the one who kept lying to you. And you are so much prettier than Parvarti and Lavandar."

Ron groaned from behind his hands. "Harry; don't flirt with my sister in front of me, please."

"I'm not flirting, Ron. Bloody hell, I have a girlfriend."

"Have you slept with her?" Ginny asked boldly.

"Bloody hell!" His face flaming, he struggled to set his mug down without shattering it. "Way too personal, Ginny. Way too personal."

"You have," she accused with a gasp. "You actually slept with the wrench?"

Ron scrunched his face up and made a noise, his hands still blocking his face from view.

"Ginny!" Hermione hissed.

"Don't talk about her that way," Harry snapped. "Yes, I slept with her, but we were both thinking clearly. We knew what we were doing. Either way, it isn't your business. Now don't call her that in front of my face."

There was thrumming silence. Harry's and Ginny's eyes were locked, both gazes angry and passionate.

"Fine," she spat acidly, "you don't want to talk about gorgeous Hallyanka Questcinzay, fine. We'll talk about something else. Why did you try to kill yourself?"

The change of subject was worse than talking about Hally. Speechless, he sent Hermione a pleading look. She simply set down her mug and folded her hands. Ron took his hands away from his face, but looked just as miserable and uncomfortable as Harry. This was one subject they all wanted to hear from him about.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"We do," Hermione said calmly.

"I don't," Ron said instantly. "Harry was delirious when he did it. It was just one big accident."

"I want Harry to tell us that." Hermione sent Ron an fierce glare. "Even if he lies."

"I don't have to lie. It was an accident. Hermione, do you honestly believe I'd be capable of doing something like that?"

Hermione wiped at her eyes. "I don't know what you're capable of anymore, Harry. All I know is that you keep distancing yourself from everyone and everything. I know you're a good person, but you forget that more often than not, and when you do you always do something rash. I know you're stronger than even Dumbledore knows and sometimes you take advantage of that. I know you're in pain, and grieving, and you refuse to let yourself be happy until Olean's gone." Again, she wiped at her cheeks. "But I don't know what you're capable of, Harry. Honestly, I can see you contemplating suicide, and I don't understand how you beat Voldemort. I can't understand, Harry, how you could fight so strongly and fiercely when you look around as if you wished you were dead. I don't understand anything anymore, no matter how many books I read, no matter how much I try. I just can't."

Her words hurt. Oh Merlin, did they hurt to hear. Harry hadn't tried to block them -couldn't, even if he'd had a mind to. What did he say to something like that? What could anyone possibly say to that?"

"I don't- Dammit." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't understand it, either, you guys. Life, for me, is like a chess game. I just -I have to move to keep myself safe. Things happen; I try to block blows; and, as much as I do to you, Ron, I lose. Every time I start to trust someone, Voldemort kills them."

"Harry, Voldemort's dead," Ginny pointed out.

"I know that!" Harry shouted angrily. Then, when Hermione winced and looked around, he lowered his voice to a low hiss of pain and despair. "I know he's gone, but it doesn't matter. Nothing changes. I still have to worry about the three of you. I still have to have guards. My scar still hurts sometimes, I still have nightmares. Sirius and Hagrid are still dead. I'm alive, and I don't feel a thing anymore. I'm just numb. When I was in St. Mungo's, I felt trapped, dead. So I just kept hitting my elbow against the wall until I could feel something beside the numbness. I've known of Voldemort and have been fighting him almost as long as I've known the two of you.

"Every time I read a newspaper, I'm being hailed as some hero. I won an Order of Merlin, First Class. I've saved lives and killed a mass murderer. Sirius was the only person that I knew would never leave me. Hagrid was the one friend who gave me nothing but love and loyalty. Everyone is dying because of me. I've caused so much pain, so much bloody grief, and I'm called hero."

Harry swore gruffly and wiped at his cheeks with angry fists. "So I met Malfoy in the middle of the night. So I lied to all of you. I went to him because he was something that, that I felt was like him. He was dark and angry and bitter, and I wanted to know Dark Magic because I thought it would be an outlet. I tried so hard to be like my old self. I didn't want to be so cold, bitter, and full of grief, but it didn't work. I hate myself for putting you all through everything. I hate myself for being so weak and self-serving, but I can't change. I've tried to talk to you guys, I swear, but it's like I can't breathe. Sometimes I feel like I can't even have a conversation."

"I would give anything -anything- if it meant going back to first year, playing Quidditch and chess, doing homework, and learning about the Wizarding World. But I'd also go back to the day I met Malfoy, and I'd shake his hand. I'd insult you, Ron, your family; I'd have asked the Sorting Hat to put me in Slytherin instead of Gryffindor. I would have called Hermione a Mudblood and make sure the Weasleys cursed me everyday of their lives. I've ruined everything; my life, the Weasleys, Hermione's. I wish you all had never met me. Maybe then at least someone I cared about would be happy."

Hermione was crying into her open hands. Ron's arms itched to comfort, but this conversation, this talk, was a fork in the road.

"I admit," Ron said slowly, "that you aren't easiest friend to have, Harry. You can be mean, rude, impossible, a girt, selfish." Harry closed his eyes tightly and struggled not to break into sobs like Hermione. "But you are the most honorable person I know. You're not some hero or figurehead to me, but my best damned friend. When it comes to things that matter, Harry, you always manage to come through. You'd rather die than see anyone in pain or being treated unfairly. And, frankly, I'm glad I've been your best friend since I was eleven. You've changed so many lives, mine included. You made me think of more important things than winning a Quidditch match and protecting the family honor. I was a selfish jerk before I met you and learned to care about people other than myself."

"He's right, Harry," Ginny said. "You bring out the best of people."

"No, I don't." Fed up, Harry shook his head. "I bring out the worst in people. I don't see why the media loves exploiting me, I don't know why girls talk about how I kiss, I don't know why men want to be me. I have no clue why people look up to me."

"Harry, will you stop already? I'm so sick of you acting like everything is over. I know it seems like that but, for Merlin's sake, if you've lasted this far, don't you think you can stake it out for a while longer?" Ron shoved a hand through his hair in a move he'd unconsciously borrowed from Harry. "Having this type of attitude does nothing but make it more unpleasant for all of us."

"I'm sorry," Harry said loudly, sincerely. "I swear, I am, but I can't stop it. I don't understand why everyone thinks I'm so special. I don't know why everyone thinks I can defeat every Dark Wizard that pops up. I can't live like this."

Hermione reached forward to grab his hand. "Harry," she said kindly, her brows furrowing, "you and I both know that you don't have a choice. Fate has decided to put the world's problems on your shoulders. I don't know why. You don't know why. Nobody knows why, but that doesn't change the fact that you have to do what you have to do. Nobody can do it for you, no matter how much we all want to. You are a good, honest man who just happened to be born Harry Potter. You care about your friends, innocent people, students, the world. You're modest and kind and sweet, and strong. When we need you most, you're there. You would do anything for us, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, but-"

"No buts, Harry. You love us, don't you? You love the Weasleys, Remus, the Order, even Dumbledore, don't you?"

Miserably, he said, "Yes, but Hermione-"

She squeezed his hand. "You are one of the best men I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, Harry. There is nothing you can ever say or do that will change my mind. If the choice was you or some strange little child you've never met in your entire life, you would sacrifice yourself without a single thought. Yes, you did do Dark Magic and you injured-"

"Killed, Hermione, killed."

"And you killed a lot of people," she corrected without losing rhythm. "But are you trying to tell me you deliberately killed those villagers? And are you trying to tell me that the world isn't a better place without Voldemort, Lucius, Bellatrix. No one blames you for what you had to do, for what happened by accident. Or at least no one that loves you. You are a good man, Harry," she repeated eloquently. "Drinking or practicing the Dark Arts has nothing to do with that. It's what you have inside of you that makes the person you are. Voldemort gave you scars, but he couldn't do anything but put those feelings on dormant. You shut yourself off so often that, sometimes, you forget what you have inside of you. You forget all of the wonders you can do, Harry. My God, have you ever thought of the things you can do with your type of power? You can -and have- saved dozens of lives and stopped a war before it could truly happen again. Whether or not you become an Auror when you leave Hogwarts, you're going to be the same good person you are as you were when you were eleven. You'll always be good. It's just not in you to cause pain to someone who doesn't deserve it."

"I've caused you pain," Harry said. With his free hand, he wiped at his cheeks furiously. "And you never deserved it."

"It's first instinct to cause pain when you yourself are in pain, Harry. Think, will you? If we didn't want to be around you, if we didn't love you and thought you a good person, we wouldn't have stuck around you for so long. You have a lot of people willing to die with you, so don't push us away, okay? We may not be going through everything you are, but we're feeling it every time we see you. We're never going to stop loving you, no matter how many Dark Lords you kill. That isn't going to change. We're not just friends, you know. We're a family." She laughed at herself, sniffed again. "Look at me, getting mushy and into that 'we're a family cliche' from all the movies."

Ron, willing to change the topic to something lighter, enthusiastically dove in. "What're movies?"

Tears made Harry feel humiliated, immature, and self-pitying. Although he still felt like that now, it was more of an accepting self-pitying. He rubbed a hand under his nose, feeling idiotic, and rose. "I'm going to go to bed. I think it's safe to say you'd have the Common Room to yourselves."

The three rose before he could turn. Hermione reached out again, took his hand, kissed his cheek. "I love you." She waited a moment. "Come on, Harry, I know you have it in you to say it back. Come on. Gee, Harry, you never struck as me as the type whose afraid of commitment."

His lips fought to curve. He chuckled. "I love you. Happy, now? And it was a completely platonic I love you." He sent Ron a look. "I have a girlfriend."

"Yeah, yeah, stop bragging." He pushed Harry forward into the Portrait hole after Hermione smugly said the password (Hollyferns) and stepped into it herself. "We should all probably go to bed, seeing we have torture early tomorrow morning."

Harry lifted his lip in disgust. "Watch. Hermione and me will probably have Potions tomorrow while you get a free period and laze about the Common Rooms all day."

Ron grinned and took the steps three at a time. "I wouldn't mind that, mate. In fact, I think I'll sleep easier with the image."

"You're a cruel, cruel man, Ron."

Once they both left the girls in the Common Room, it was silent. Like Harry had said it would be, the dim room was empty. The fire in the chimney was burning down, but was stoically putting up a good battle. Ginny moved slowly to sit in front of it. She reached over, gripped the fire poker with whitened knuckles, and stabbed slowly at the fire as if her joints were slow and rusty. Unlike Harry and Hermione, she didn't bother to hide the tears now that he was gone. Silently, Hermione knelt down, her hand going to Ginny's shoulder.

"How are you, Ginny?"

"It's nice to know you still care after replacing me with that bumpkin Hallyanka," she said bitterly.

A little startled, Hermione took her hand back. "I haven't replaced you, Ginny. No one could ever do that."

The redhead gave a snort. "If that isn't irony, I don't know what is. I can't be replaced, and yet my boyfriend broke up with me and now has a better, sexier one, and you barely spared me a look since she came here to planet Earth." She said 'planet Earth' as if it was something spiteful.

"I-I'm sorry, Ginny, I didn't know that I was."

"Yes, well, it's sort of hard for me not to notice."

For what felt like the hundredth time that night, tears stung Hermione's eyes. "I'm so sorry, Ginny. I guess-I guess it was just that Hally was so happy when she came. We're all not used to such pure happiness anymore. And, I don't know, she came out of a living nightmare and I felt bad. It's no excuse -well, yes, it is, actually, but it won't erase what I did. I'm sorry," she said again. "I never meant to hurt you."

"I don't blame you," Ginny said with a small, shaky smile. "I would have done a Harry and pushed you away like he always does."

"Why? Was it because of what Draco did?"

Ginny's posture stiffened. "I wish you'd never been there when Mum woke up. It was nothing, absolutely nothing."

"If it was nothing, then why did you kiss him back? You told your mother that he wasn't forcing himself on you."

"I did that just so he wouldn't have eight furious, flaming red haired men after him with pickaxes and carving knives and wands."

Hermione frowned. "So he did force himself on you?"

Ginny didn't know. She still couldn't figure out why she'd responded in that way to Malfoy -Draco Malfoy, of all people- and why she felt the niggling emotion to keep him from looking like a bad person.

"No, he didn't. Well, he did at first, but- No one's kissed me since Harry. I think I was just feeling lonely and got sucked up in the past. Damn him, Hermione, he makes it impossible for a girl to fall out of love with him. I don't want to not love him. I just hate seeing him with her."

Hermione sighed. "Maybe you just think you still love him. He's saved us all, and he is really cute, if a bit gangly."

Ginny's smile was strained. "You like 'em gangly, remember?"

The insinuation wasn't lost on her. "Don't start on me, Ginny. I'm begging you."

"Harry should know that you and Ron are wondering whether or not to go out."

"I told you, we're not wondering anymore. It's over and done with. We are not going out. Ever."

"Harry would hate to know that you guys were putting yourselves on hold just because you think he would react irrationally about it."

"Everything isn't about Harry, you know!"

"Don't lie and tell me that the only reason you aren't dating Ron isn't because of Harry."

"Well, it is, but-"

Ginny tsked and said, "No buts, Hermione."

"We're doing the right thing, Gin. You'll see. Harry doesn't need anymore on his plate right now."

She shook her head. "If you say so, Hermione. If you say so."

When they both went up to their separate dorms, and lay in their beds, both wide awake and unbearably sad, it came to Hermione that Ginny had steered the entire conversation away from herself once again.

The youngest Weasley really was spending too much time around Draco Malfoy.

* * * * * *

He didn't know what possessed him to do it. Really, it was absurd and something the old Harry would never have done. In fact, he didn't really want to do it either, but he did.

Harry Potter ran laps around the Hogwarts lake like a man possessed with millions of little demons. He ran fast, his legs eating up ground that was wet and dewy with mist. His skin was heated and felt like flames were engulfing him. Every once in a while, he collapsed onto his knees. He was sick once, into a bush that bordered the Forbidden Forest, but he got up without giving himself time to breathe. It was early; early enough to have the sun hiding behind the far horizon, but the sky was a gray, promising color that was enough to have his paranoia easing slightly. If it had been pitch black, he would probably have still run. Something had grabbed him by the throat the moment he had awoken, something restless and caged that had yet to release it's teeth from him. He'd woken up from a nightmare of blurred images, blood red eyes, shrieks of pain, and the pounding rain. The scar on his forehead and stung with the aftermath of the dream, a sort of remembrance of sorts, he guessed.

He'd tried to drown himself in the shower, dunking his head over and over again, choking on the water, and dunking his head down again. His breath had been gasps that he'd stifled with his fist time and time again, so as not to wake his roommates.

It was the most bizarre thing that had ever happened to him. In a way, it seemed that the demon in him kept forcing him to move, to sweat, to cry, and he refused to do only the last. By the time he let himself collapse against a moldy log beneath an extraordinary oak, his body felt as if it had been smashed by a Muggle wrecking ball. A hysterical bubble of laughter erupted from his throat, and he let it out in between gasps. His stomach burned, but that was familiar pain, which meant he only felt it if it intensified. He closed his eyes, enjoying the burn in his body.

What was wrong with him today? Something had to be off for him to run off like a wild man with a devil on his heels when normally he shrank from physical sports like this. In Muggle school, he'd been the last to be picked during recess not only because he was the loner of the entire class, but also because he refused to do anything even if he was picked. With a small smile, he remembered a boy who'd tried to get him to play soccer.

Harry had played all right. He'd played that ball till it ended up hitting the poor boy in his most vulnerable place. Of course, he'd been sincere with apologies, but now he found it absurdly funny.

Without being aware of it, he drifted off to sleep. When he awoke, it was because he'd heard something snap. He jumped to his feet, hand plunging into his robes for his wand, before he heard the two first years shriek and fall back as if burned. His heart was pounding and his chest heaving. He forced a reassuring smile and aimed it at them.

"I'm sorry. I must have fallen asleep."

"You're-ah-you're-" The girl, a small redheaded pixie with a pointed chin and emerald eyes, gave up and simply gave a weak, awestruck smile.

"You're supposed to be in lessons," the boy said. He, too, bore a strong resemblance to a gypsy. His skin was dark and his chin pointed. His eyes were darker than that of the girls, but just as green. Harry came to the conclusion that they were twins, since they both looked unbelievably young and relatively around the same age.

Harry looked at his wrist before realizing that he didn't have a watch. "Uh, do either of you know what time it is?"

"It's almost lunch," said the girl instantly. Her smile was dazzling. "You must have been sleeping here a while. Can I touch your scar?"

"Lena!" The boy hissed at her, giving her a glare that could have rivaled Ginny's and Ron's put together.

Her smile didn't quake or waver. "Well, can I, Mr. Potter?"

Harry reached up and rubbed a hand against his scar. "Why?" he asked suspiciously.

"'Cause."

Reluctantly, he sat down, picking up the robe he'd discarded. He pooled it into his lap and relaxed a hand down on the moldy log he sat on. "I guess."

She came forward, tossing her school bag onto the ground at his feet. Her finger was hesitant as it traced the lightning bolt on his forehead. She giggled a little, than frowned as if thinking it improper.

"Does it hurt?"

"Not anymore."

"They call you the most powerful magical person of the century."

The boy came forward, his hands shoved in his pockets.

"Do they really?" Harry said, uninterested. "Well, don't believe everything they say in the tabloids."

"The Daily Prophet isn't a tabloid, is it?"

"'Fraid so." He laughed. The kid was a classic. "What's your name?"

"Oh!" She giggled. "I'm Selena Holcomb. He's my brother Gideon. We're twins."

"I thought so. Gideon, you're really quiet."

He smiled a little. "I know. Lena says I'm shy."

"You are," she pointed out, than went back to Harry. "You missed your lesson, then?"

"Yeah. I don't even know what I missed. Are you First Years?"

Gideon nodded. "We saw you last night. Everyone was saying you defeated some guy named, what was it, Lena, Voldermort?"

Harry nodded. "Voldemort. And yeah, I can guess what I did to him could be called defeat. I don't like to talk about it though."

He jumped when he felt a finger on his arm, and turned to see Lena tracing one of his whipping welts that was below his shirtsleeve. It was vicious looking and still pink. He grabbed her wrist.

"Don't touch me, Selena, unless I tell you that you can, okay?" He said it as gently as possible, but it had slightly disturbed him.

She frowned. "Okay. Was that from Voldermort?"

"Voldemort," Harry enunciated. "And yes, it was. Listen, I've got to go."

"Can we walk back to the castle with you, Harry?" She jumped and was grabbing her bag and his hand before he could reply. When he glowered down at her, she just smiled.

"Lena. He doesn't want to hang out with a bunch of First Years. Do you, uh, Potter?"

"It's not that you're First Years," he said, instantly feeling guilt coat his stomach. "It's just, I have to get into the castle and talk to my friends. They're probably worried about you."

"Are the redheaded peoples your friends?" She swung his arm in hers, amusing and annoying Harry simultaneously.

"Depends on if they were a girl a foot shorter than me and a guy a foot taller than me. And a girl with bushy hair."

"The Head Girl," Gideon said instantly. "Granger, isn't it?"

"Yeah." The boy was intriguing, though a little disquieting. Harry almost pitied him. It had to be hell being shy with a rambunctious female twin. "Did you see them?"

"Yup." He snatched Lena's bag with an exasperated sigh when it hit a twig. She'd been dragging it along the ground like a dirty rag. He hefted it over his shoulder, ignoring her saucy look of gratitude. "They were talking to the Headmaster. Some blonde boy was with him. He was mean. He knocked over my friend's Stevie's books without even apologizing."

Harry thought that that was an improvement from what Malfoy had done to him in their First Year, but didn't mention it. "Were they really worried?"

"How would I know?" The boy said somewhat harshly. "They didn't look twice at us, except for the Head Girl. She went up and down the table asking if any of us needed help with our timetables."

They went up the steps and fought against the door, as was tradition since the door must have weighed over a hundred pounds, and made their way to the Great Hall. Harry used his free hand to pry hers off. "Sorry, but I have to go to the Common Room. I need to shower."

Lena looked like she wanted to ask to come with him, which made Harry grin and walk away. When he hit the corner, though, he felt compelled to look back.

"I'll see you all at dinner." Then turned. His smile only widened at her whoop of delight.

"I think he likes us, Gid!" she said loudly.

The room was empty. He assumed, since both it and the dorms were empty, that lunch was good today. He undressed slowly, tossing his shirt somewhere towards his bed. It reeked to high heaven of sweat and body odor, but he didn't really care. Then, with the water on as hot as it would go, he got in. The water burned his skin bright red instantly. He hissed a little in momentary pain, but let his muscles relax when it warmed his skin. His hair was still shoulder length and messy. Vaguely, he thought of cutting it when he stood in front of the mirror. The room was one big white cloud, which Harry alleviated with a light cooling charm.

When someone knocked, he frowned and called, "Whose there?"

"Professor McGonagall. You've got five minutes, Potter, to meet me in the Common Room."

Her tone was furious. Since it was a habit, he made sure he took more than ten, before dressing in a tee and jeans, with his robes placed over them. Sighing, he yanked his hair back into a low pony and wondered if he should pierce his ear, like Bill did, and thought that he would if he could find a piercing parlor next Hogsmeade. When he did appear in the Common Room, it was to find it empty except for a furiously pacing Professor McGonagall.

"What were you thinking of, Potter?" she fumed at him the moment he stepped out of his dorm.

"Well," he said slowly, descending the stairs, "I was thinking if I should cut my hair shorter. And then, maybe, if there's a parlor in Hogsmeade, I'd get my ear pierced. What do you think?"

"I think a month's detention would be sufficient for deliberately disobeying me!"

The Portrait hole opened to bring in Ron and Hermione, who both looked startled to find McGonagall pink in the face and shouting.

"Well, if I'd known you'd be this angry, I would have come down buck naked and made your deadline. Excuse me for thinking that you might get a little disturbed."

"Potter, this is not going to be a copy of last year!" Harry rolled his eyes, which only seemed to infuriate her more. "You are a regular student here at Hogwarts and there will be no more special advantages coming to you in the nick of time. Fifty points off and two weeks detention with me! Miss another class, and you'll dread the day you were put into Gryffindor, do you understand me?"

If he hadn't faced and killed a Dark Lord, Harry would have been terrified. Professor McGonagall was a force to be reckoned with.

It was just too bad he was feeling reckless today.

"Fine, I'll be sure I sleep during class than outside of it."

"That's it, Potter, you go to Dumbledore as soon as classes let out today!" With an angry glare that had Ron ducking slightly when she passed him and Hermione, she stormed out of the room like a tornado.

Moodily, Harry turned and went back up to the dorms. With nothing to do but wait for his friends expected arrival, he flung himself on his bed.

"Harry, where the hell were you?" This from Ron, who slammed the door behind him with such force Harry lifted his head a little.

He let it fall back before answering. "I went outside around sunrise and fell asleep by the Forest. Some First Years woke me up and I came up here."

"What was up with you and McGonagall, though?" Hermione seemed deeply angry with this. "That was a rotten thing to say to her, about going down there in the nude. It was mean and sexist and just plain rude."

"Hermione, go away."

She snatched at his arm and yanked him up. Cussing, he had no choice but to sit up and rub his shoulder socket.

"Harry, school is more important than you think! How do you expect to be an Auror if you never show up for class?"

"Merlin's bloody sake, it was one class! One! Why is everyone jumping on my back for one bloody class?"

Hermione grabbed his hand and hauled him to his feet. He was surprised at the tinge of red on her cheeks. She shoved a finger at his face.

"You listen to me, Harry James Potter, or else I'll nail you in the face and you won't get back up again! You are going to go down to the Great Hall, eat a hearty lunch even if I have to shove it down your nostrils, and you're going to come with me and Ron to Transfiguration afterwards. After that, you are going to go to Dumbledore and apologize nice and neatly. And then, you are going to come back to this room -no walks outside or around the castle, no sitting up in the Astronomy Tower- and you are going to sit by the fire and study until I feel that you aren't going to fail you N. E. W. T. 's. Do you understand me?"

Miserably, Harry wondered if Hermione was adopted and if McGonagall was her biological mother.

"Harry, did you hear me?"

He shoved a hand through his hair and hated that his biggest weakness was his love for his friends.

"Yeah, I heard you."

* * * * * *

Pain came from the sharp point of Hermione's elbow the minute class was dismissed. Harry glowered at her. Hermione had been horrible since they'd left Gryffindor Tower. She'd forced food and drink upon him, then made him study until class started, and then made him sit next to her in the front row of seat beside her. And she made him take notes, and elbowed him fiercely whenever he dozed off. By the time the bell had rung, he was so relieved he stood up instantly.

"Remember what I said," she hissed before taking his bag, slinging it over her shoulder, and her own, and leaving the room. Harry waited for the room to empty before approaching the Transfiguration professor. McGonagall was sitting, watching Harry approach, and her lips were thin with disapproval.

Surprised, he caught a little bit of hurt in her unyielding eyes. The words Hermione had made him memorize and wanted him to say were instantly forgotten and replaced with sincere guilt.

"Professor," he said quietly, "I had no right to say a thing like that to you. You just caught me at a bad moment, and I took out my anger on you. I didn't mean to embarrass you or anything. I really am sorry."

He turned to leave. At the door, she called.

"I except your apology, Potter, but you still have detention for a week and you still have to meet Dumbledore right now. The password is Sugar Pops."

Harry didn't turn, but sighed and continued outside of the door. He didn't want to see Dumbledore, so his steps were slow and sluggish, unlike his mind. The day was made even worse since he hadn't been able to talk to Malfoy, to ask him to meet him in the Room of Requirements at midnight. He didn't want to learn about the Dark Arts, but he needed to fight with somebody, and Mal was the only one of his friends who could handle him. In fact, Mal had been better than him, but Harry bet that had changed since he'd gained some muscle and strength in the Souriom de Solfiace.

He would give Hedwig a note to give to him, if she was up to it. His owl was getting up on years now, and probably wasn't so happy at the moment since Harry hadn't really paid attention to her in months. He knocked, and was surprised to hear Dumbledore's voice telling him to wait for a few minutes. Harry silently pressed his ear to the door, curious as to whom the Headmaster was talking to. Then, when he heard Minister Fudge's furious low tones, as if he knew it was Harry Potter outside the door and knew he had to be quiet, his face disfigured into a horrible mask of hatred.

"I am telling you, Dumbledore, the boy needs mental help. He's violent and rude and, and simply shouldn't be in a school full of impressionable children."

"I'm afraid, Cornelius, that you shouldn't be here as well, considering you are more of a danger to my students then Mr. Potter is. He is seeing a counselor four times a week in an unused room on the third floor. Someone will always be with him here. I assure you that he is no danger to any child or staff member in this building. Unless, of course, the Minister of Magic comes into his life and makes it harder than it already is."

"Dumbledore!" Fudge's voice was low and pitying. "You believe this boy's lies that he sprouts off as much as he talks! This boy killed a village of innocent people with a swish of his hand, deliberately. He stabbed a man and incinerated him, all allegedly without a wand."

"He's a very powerful boy, Fudge. You underestimate him. He did what he had to do. If you continue to look at this with your eyes closed, and you remain Minister, you're going to miss out having a great Auror on your hands. Right now, I'm sure Harry will refuse to even enter Auror school with you heading the Ministry."

"I refuse to have him enter even as a clerk into my Ministry!"

Harry's veins burst with anger. Your Ministry, my arse, he thought, and decided I'll get Ron into the Minister position before letting you get it again.

"That will be your problem, Cornelius."

"I'm putting into motion a protest for Potter to be immediately removed from Hogwarts and placed into solitary mental confinement. A psychological evaluation might be mandatory for the boy in a few weeks."

"Mr. Potter is already seeing a St. Mungos -and Ministry approved- psychologist, Cornelius. If a psychological evaluation is to be performed, Dr. Simmons will do it, as is your law."

Oh, the image of Fudge's face going beat red at that was simply so pleasurable that Harry stood. He went over to the couch by a shelf of books and laid down. Knowing Fudge, he had no clue that it was Harry that was being held in wait, and would probably take as long as possible to try to convince Dumbledore.

He sighed, resting an arm over his eyes. Exhaustion still plagued him after his impromptu nap that morning, and he battled to hold off the effects.

Fudge was going to regret being born after this, he decided. Harry would make his life hell for all that he'd done. Maybe, if he convinced Dumbledore to let him talk to a reporter on school premises, or at the Three Broomsticks on a Hogsmeade weekend, he could make his opinion known. Being Harry Potter, people would listen to him. He'd hate to use his name as a marker, but if it helped keep Fudge cleaning toilets in a year, he'd do it.

The door opened to Dumbledore's inner office. Harry sat up, leveling himself up on his arms, and grinned at the Minister. His plan had greatly boosted his spirits and calmed his new restless inner voice.

Fudge gaped at Harry. "What are you doing here?" he asked, his gaze going to Dumbledore's face accusingly.

"Why, Minister, I do believe I go to this school. I needed to talk to Headmaster Dumbledore. What were you doing here?" Harry asked innocently.

"That's none of your business, Potter," the Minister snapped, making his way to the door while stuffing his hat atop his head.

"Oh, Minister?" Harry's smile was even more sharp and dazzling, like a particular blade that had just been sharpened. "Good luck in the election this year."

Fudge's face was white as a sheet when he looked at Harry. The fear in his eyes only made Harry sit up, still grinning, and wave at him, but his face turned back to bleak and utter dislike as soon as the door shut.

"That man," he said slowly, "is the biggest git in the entire British Isles."

Dumbledore gave him a weak smile. "And you are one of the most diplomatic people I know when you want to be. Did you do that on purpose?"

"Do what on purpose?"

"Scare him speechless?"

"Well," this was said dryly, "it isn't the most difficult thing to do."

Dumbledore conjured a chair since Harry seemed comfortable on the couch. "McGonagall is quite angry with you, Harry."

"I know she is. I apologized."

"Did you mean it?"

"Yes." Embarrassed, Harry sat up and folded his feet beneath him. "I didn't miss class on purpose, sir. I mean it. I just went walking in the morning and fell asleep out by the pond."

Dumbledore's brows furrowed. "I don't like the idea of you going out there alone, Harry. Especially if you fall asleep. It could be very easy for Olean to get to you with you being that unaware."

"Uh, Professor? You do know Mages can sense one another, don't you?"

At the Headmaster's blank face, Harry explained. "We can sense each other whenever we come within a certain distance of each other. I can always tell beforehand when Hally or Lycander come to enter a room. Olean won't catch me unaware, sir, I can guarantee that."

"I still don't like the idea of you sleeping outside in the dark. Be careful, if you must."

"I will. McGonagall said I still had to have a detention."

"How long did she say?"

He shrugged. "First she said two weeks, and then she said one after I apologized."

Dumbledore rose to his feet and went to stand in front of the window. Before him, lay what he'd spent a lot of his long, long life keeping safe. Hogwarts was the only child he'd ever needed. He'd die before he'd ever let anyone hurt his children. He turned, studied the boy he'd spent seventeen years trying to protect. And what he saw both pleased and worried him.

"I have been more lenient with you than any other child under my care, Harry," he said quietly. "These last two years, however, have been almost pathetic. You cannot miss class. It is important to a lot of people that you become an educated man before leaving Hogwarts. Your parents would have wanted it; Sirius would have wanted it. I have had a lot of people coming up to me and expressing their concerns that, although life is absurdly unfair to you, we have been a bit...too lenient."

Harry had a feeling that what was coming was anything but good.

"What you said to Professor McGonagall was cruel and mean, Harry, and I know you're sorry, but if I refuse to give you a detention, then the next time you are having a bad day you will lash out just like you did today. The only problem is that you have a very busy schedule this year, what with counseling sessions four days a week, meditation with Lycander, classes, and the free time that is becoming expressively rare to you."

"The DA," Harry said quietly. "I have to teach in the DA, Professor. That's one thing I won't quit. Those people are my friends, and I'm the only one with actual experience that can teach them something. I can talk to them, and I won't have to debate whether or not it's appropriate. I'm not a professor here, so in the DA I can talk to them about stuff that adults would feel uncomfortable doing. Hogwarts needs more awareness."

Dumbledore was silent for a moment. "I respect that, Harry, but-"

"Sir, it's nonnegotiable." There was a hint of steely stubbornness in his voice, and a resonating power and maturity beneath the words.

"Okay, Harry, you can keep teaching the DA. But if it comes between your time with Simmons, Lycander, or classes, it will be the first to go."

Harry wanted to disagree, but Dumbledore looked so sad and old that he didn't want to put more stress on his shoulders.

"Professor?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"I was thinking of asking Lycander to teach me some hand-to-hand combat. I just thought you might want to know I was going to approach him about it."

Dumbledore nodded and smiled. "Thank you for that, at least. You may go."

Harry stood. "And the detentions?"

"I just don't have the heart to pass them onto you, no matter how much I think will go improving your disposition. Just behave so I don't have to impress punishment on you."

I'll try, he thought fervently as he let himself out. As he waited for the moving stairs to make it level with the floor, he placed a hand on his temple and closed his eyes. He wished that Dumbledore had given him the detentions so he wouldn't have to feel this gut wrenching guilt and despair. It would have been better. At least then, if the Headmaster had been angry, he wouldn't have looked so defeated and resigned, as if he knew Harry wasn't strong enough to battle Olean yet.

His feet wanted to take him outside, but Harry forced them to head for the Great Hall. He'd seen Hermione angry before, but earlier had just been plain scary. It would kill him to lose a friend like her, especially over something so trivial as being late for class.

Dinner was in full swing when he entered. He sent Hally a reassuring smile and was happy to see Malfoy sitting beside her.

"Hey, Harry!"

Harry patted Lena's head as he passed her, giving her that same, sober smile he'd just given Hally, and conceded on to where Ron and Hermione sat at the end of the table closest to the Head Table. They were chatting animatedly, and paused only briefly when Harry sat across from them.

"Ron, I'm telling you, he isn't bad."

"How would you know? You only met him for a few minutes more than me."

"I'm a good judge of character. I think I'd know if he were some evil git from America. You're just mad that he called you Gerald."

Ron gestured indignantly. "He got everyone else's name right. It isn't like Ron is particularly hard to remember."

Hermione flicked her eyes over at Harry. "Harry; grab more food than that. You're never going to get better if you don't gain some weight. And, Ron," she said, turning back, "Professor Locke is not a Death Eater."

Harry obeyed. "Whose Professor Locke?"

"The new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher." Ron stabbed at his sirloin steak with a moody jerk of his arm. "The Prefects and Heads got to meet him on the train over here, and earlier today during role call he called me Gerald. I don't think anyone in this school even has the name Gerald, and yet he called me by it."

Harry shifted to roll his eyes along the Head Table. Dumbledore had just arrived to take his seat between McGonagall and Snape. There was Sinistra, Grumbly-Plank (who had taken over Care of Magical Creatures after last Christmas), Snape, Flitwick, and a couple others that he recognized. When he came to a tall, narrow-bodied man in a black tee and jeans, he narrowed his eyes and studied him. So this was Professor Locke, he thought curiously, regretting slightly that it had been that class that he'd missed. Why couldn't it have been Potions or Charms?

Locke lifted his eyes as if sensing Harry's study. Their eyes met, and he wasn't surprised by the hint of recognition in them. He'd never met a wizard or witch that hadn't recognized him, so it came as to no surprise.

"Harry."

"Hmm?" He turned back, finding his plate filled. Hermione had probably grown impatient and piled food on it herself.

"He's from America. New York to be exact." Hermione smiled guilelessly at him and handed him a fork and knife.

"He any good?"

Ron grumbled, which caused Hermione to elbow him. Her mood had changed from argumentative to mildly cheerful. "We don't really know yet. All we did today was roll call and we went over what we've learned the last few years. He seemed interested in you, Harry, which makes Ron suspicious. I liked him."

Harry shot another look at Locke, found him still staring. Chewing, he frowned. "He doesn't seem the type to be a Death Eater. I can take him, either way."

"Take who, Harry?" Lena plopped into a chair next to him, smiling widely. She shoved out a hand at Hermione, who blinked at it. Her head cocked, she shook it.

"You're one of the Holcomb twins, right? Sabrina?"

Her dimple winked and she shook hands with Ron, who looked at Harry with a puzzled look in his eyes. "Selena. You're Ron Weasley, aren't you?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah."

"I've heard about you all. Some of the Third Years are just gushing with stories about the Tri-Wizard Tournament. You were both under water, then, weren't you?"

Hermione looked ready to start giggling again.

"Uh, Lena." Harry put a hand on her shoulder, knowing most of the Gryffindor table was watching. "Why don't you go back to your brother? I'm not really in a good mood right now."

"You got in trouble, didn't you?" Her eyes were bright. "Sasha McGuirre said you have a record for getting in trouble. Well, I don't know why you're upset about it. What do you expect after sleeping on a log through the entire morning?"

"Selena," Harry said through clenched teeth. "Please."

She rolled her eyes and stood. "I'm going, I'm going. Oh, Gid says hi."

Harry didn't think Gid knew she was up here with him. The boy had seemed quiet, but desperately protective over his capricious sister.

"You fell asleep outside?" Ron said, surprised.

Harry sent a glare at Lena's retreating back and continued to eat.

"Harry," Ron said persistently.

"I was feeling restless, okay?" he snapped. "I went out and ran for a little bit, and sat down to take a rest. I fell asleep and when I woke, Selena and her twin Gideon were there. It isn't a big deal."

"Harry, have you been having nightmares?" Hermione's voice was only concerned, not accusing, but Harry didn't see a difference between the two.

"Hermione, when don't I have nightmares? I was just restless. I went for a walk."

"I thought you said you went running," she said quietly.

He shoved a hand through his hair. "Does it matter?" He stood to leave, and was more than a little surprised when it was Ron who grabbed his wrist and yanked him down instead of Hermione.

"We just worry about you, Harry."

"Well, I can't handle worry, Ron. It just...I can't handle it."

Ron released his hand. It had burned. "Just calm down. It's just us you're talking to."

He covered his face. "I'm just really, I don't know, I guess I'm just really stressed right now. I'm trying right now, I really am, to keep you both in on what I'm feeling, but I'm just-" He kept his hands up, unsure of how to explain it.

"Harry, we know you're trying. That's all we're asking for. Just relax." Ron forced a grin. "No pressure, right?"

Hermione nodded and sought Ron's hand beneath the table. "No pressure."

Discouraged, Harry removed his hands and made himself eat, even though it only upset his stomach. He wasn't feeling that good again.

* * * * * *

He was exhausted. When you hadn't slept straight in two days, you weren't really awake, but you were never quite asleep. There was a level of pure exhaustion that he seemed to ride on indefinitely. He'd been unable to keep his head up in Charms class, and had accidentally added gingerroot instead of fang in Potions, causing a Fever Reducing Potion to splatter on near a dozen people, all who got bleached dots on all of their clothing.

He was just glad they'd been reviewing something harmless.

So it was with great reluctance and desperation that he made his way to the Hospital Wing three hours after curfew. Sniffing, he wiped a hand under his nose.

"Potter?"

Harry swirled at Snape's voice, his heart jumping to life in his chest. "What?"

Flitwick came closer, his face screwing up into a look of worry. "Are you all right, Mr. Potter?"

"I'm going to the Hospital Wing," he muttered reluctantly. There was no way in Hell Dumbledore wasn't going to lean about this now. He'd had hopes of begging Madam Pomfrey to keep it to herself.

"Are you ill?" Snape said, sounding dull and spiteful as always. "Is it your ulcer?"

Harry's upper lip curled. "I'll be fine once I visit Pomfrey."

"Then you won't mind us walking you there."

Dammit, why did Snape have to be so suspicious?

"Not at all," he lied, and hurried his pace.

He knocked briefly on the door before opening it and walking in. Madam Pomfrey was sitting at her desk, mixing something that sat in a steaming cauldron. At the knock, she looked up.

"Potter?" she asked, standing as her eyes rover over the two professors. "You may go, professors. I'll take care of him."

Harry let himself fall onto a bed as they both left and smiled weakly at the matron. "I need Dreamless Sleep Potion."

"Well, sit up, then. I can't feel your forehead when you're flat on your bottom."

He struggled to sit up, ignoring the tinge in his stomach as he did. Pomfrey laid a hand on his forehead, frowned, and placed her hands on his stomach. Harry knew she was only seeing if the ulcer was still so well defined, but it still made him uncomfortable.

"Well, Potter, it looks like you'll be staying here for the night."

He groaned. "Why? I just need to get some sleep and I'll be fine. I promise."

Disapprovingly, she nudged him down beneath the sheet and thin blankets. "Then you are not aware of what you are promising. You have a fever and your ulcer is just as worse as it had been before, maybe even worse. What are your dreams about?"

Harry just looked at her.

"Oh, Potter." She released a breath of air. "I tell you, you are the most exasperating person on Earth."

"And in the Souriom de Solfiace."

"Here." She hurried to a shelf and pulled out a pitcher. After pouring it into a pewter goblet, she shoved it to his mouth. "Drink this."

Harry choked. "I can still use my hands, you know!" He took it himself under her watchful eye, screwing up his face as he did. "This tastes as horrible as it always has."

She felt his forehead again. "Has your stomach been burning or stinging lately?"

"No," he lied instantly. He couldn't afford to miss classes tomorrow. "It's been fine."

She continued to stand beside him until his eyelashes fluttered down one last final time and his chest evened out in sleep. Then she went to alert the Headmaster, as two professors already had.

* * * * * *

"Harry, where were you?"

Harry sat down next to Neville as Ron and Hermione had sat beside each other. His two best friends sent him looks that clearly stated they were not happy with them. Indignantly, Harry fumed that he'd been desperate for some kind of relief. It was their fault, seeing as they refused to let him drink.

"Hospital Wing. My fever spiked again."

"Your fever?" Neville's face was blank.

"Yeah, Nev, that was why I was in St. Mungos."

"I thought you were in there for what happened on May fifteenth."

"Longbottom! Potter!" Locke's sharp voice rang to the very back of the room. "Would you like to share something with the class?"

"No, sir," they both said loudly.

"Good. Now, dueling techniques. Everyone turn to page 211 and take notes. Finnegan, read out loud."

Neville placed his book on the dent that signed the two different desks. Harry, gratefully, leaned towards so he could keep up.

"I heard about you trying to kill yourself."

"I didn't do it on purpose. I was delirious."

"Still..." Neville shrugged. "I would have come and visited you when me and Gram went to see Mum and Dad, but the Aurors wouldn't let us in."

Harry kept his eyes on the words, struggling to put them to memory. "Yeah, there were lists that you had to be on to be allowed to visit me. I don't know, it was stupid."

"I can't believe they put you under arrest. I mean, you didn't do anything but kill the bastard."

"It doesn't matter. Locke's glaring at us, so I guess we should be quiet."

* * * * * *

"So, Harry, what would you like to talk about?"

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "Nelly, you've asked me that a dozen times in the last two hours. My answer hasn't changed. I don't want to talk about anything," he said slowly, enunciating each word as if Nelly was a little boy who couldn't understand simple phrases.

"Well. I guess I'll just have to keep asking until you answer with something else."

Harry dropped his head to relax against the hard back of a chair in agonized exasperation and boredom. This was their first session at Hogwarts. Since he'd left his second class of the day for the last twenty minutes and had already eaten dinner with Nelly, they were sitting in a dusty, unused classroom on the third floor. Away from everything and anything remotely interesting. Harry had eaten only an apple to spite Nelly, which had failed miserably since Nelly had simply continued to eat seconds. At first, he'd thought it was something like reversal psychology, but it didn't make sense how that was supposed to get him to eat more, so he discarded that thought.

He wished Nelly would go away. Then he'd be able to go down to the Great Hall and talk with Hally. He'd barely had three words with her since school had started, and it was starting to frustrate him in more ways than one.
"How about this, Harry? You tell me what you're thinking, and I'll tell you what I'm thinking. Does that sound good?"

Harry rubbed his face, laughing slightly. "No, Nelly. Oh Merlin, are you a case. You do know I'm not going to talk to you, right? You're wasting your time, trust me."

"Okay." Nelly let out a breath and sat forward. "So you're feeling impatient for these sessions to end, are you?"

Harry spoke simply to shut him up. "Sure, Nell. Sure."

"How about a deal?"

"No thanks."

"No, hear me out, Harry." Nelly tapped his fingers on his makeshift, dusty old desk and waited for Harry's eyes to meet his. "If you spend five sessions with me talking about May fifteenth -with you detailing everything you did and participating- I'll eliminate the rest and sign your mental presence perfectly compatible."

Sign my mental presence perfectly compatible? What the hell did that mean?

"Let me get this straight." Harry gestured as he spoke. "You want me to talk to you about May fifteenth, and you'd quite coming here after five sessions."

"You'd have to tell the truth and you'd have to tell it all, Harry."

Harry considered that. "No," he said after a minute's hesitation. "I think I'll take boredom and mental dysfunction hand in hand. But thanks for the offer, doc. It meant a lot."

An hour later, when he walked out the door, he pondered why in all hell's fires he'd called Nelly doc. He remembered it from on of the Muggle sitcoms Dudley used to watch. It didn't matter why he'd called him it. Nothing really mattered anymore.

When he came to one of the abandoned towers, he paused at the stairs before bounding up them. Curiosity had always been his biggest curse. The abandoned tower was as old and dusty as the unused classroom he'd just left. There were a few tables, a couple loveseats, and a window that matched the one of the Astronomy Tower. Harry went to that and struggled to remove the rusty hinges. When they came, Harry was flung slightly backwards with the window held in his hands.

He chuckled, shrugged and threw it behind him to shatter on the floor. With the window bare, he scooted himself forward until he could rest his back against the side of the window. From here, he could see the Gryffindor Quidditch team during its late practice. The Chasers were passing the ball back and forth, while the Beaters wove in between them beating the Bludger to each other and back again. Ron was in the vague area of the hoops, but seemed to be watching his team more than them. Ginny was several yards higher than they were, but Harry could only tell it was her by her ponytail of red hair that flew out behind her like a silk scarf.

On the field, he guessed was Hermione and Mal (his blonde hair was a beacon) and most likely Hallyanka. They were teaching her the rules of Quidditch. Unbearably sad, he pulled up his legs and hugged them to his chest. He wanted to teach her how to play and to fly on a broomstick. He wanted to be sitting next to her when she met Snape and sat through a class struggling to take her first set of notes.

He just wanted to be with her, but he was used to not getting what he wanted.

He closed his eyes for a moment to let the familiar grief roll through him.

* * * * * *

Hally was still with Hermione. Mal didn't like that she was going to have to go back to Slytherin House by herself, but she'd been adamant.

"I can take care of myself, Draco," she'd said with a wide, excited grin. She hadn't understood a damn thing about Quidditch, but she'd laughed and giggled nonstop while watching the Gryffindors practice. Ron had been iffy about letting them watch, but Mal had promised not to tell the other team members. As it was, the whole of Slytherin House was trying to get him off the team and out of captainship. If it hadn't been for the challenge of a duel, he wouldn't have left Hally down there at all.

But Draco Malfoy would take a challenge until the day he died. That was one thing he was sure would never change in him.

His hand was barely on the handle to the Transfiguration room when the hand covered his mouth and his nose, and something sharp pierced his stomach.

* * * * * *

"Hedwig?" Harry leaned forward on his knees, his hand sturdying him in the windowsill. When the owl began to circle nervously several dozen yards over, he lifted his fingers to his lips and whistled loudly. The owl veered towards him, her one wing doing most of the flapping. Concerned at the red he saw, he leaned out to catch her.

"Baby?" he said. Hedwig was covered in blood and she was squawking. Her talons jerked and scratched and left his fingers bloody. That was when he noticed the note attached to her leg. Fury began to simmer in his blood as he lifted it, opened the one fold. It was simple, and yet it froze his very blood in his veins.

He's in the dungeons. He was only the first to pay. Just watch.

"Come on, Hedwig." Harry cradled her in his arms and began to sprint.

There were dozens of dungeons, but Harry's gut had him going for the Potions room. He was panting and gasping by the time he got down the three separated floor. Who was he? He'd seen Ron, hadn't he? Was it someone else? Dumbledore? Before he could assume, he burst into the room.

"Malfoy!" He fell to his knees before the puddle of blood and was lifting his hand to the pulse in his neck. Hedwig continued to squawk, but Harry toned her out. Whoever had done this was going to pay.

Severely.

"Mal. Malfoy! Mal! I need you to open your eyes for me, okay? Open your bloody eyes."

Harry lifted his hands to Malfoy's stomach and ripped open the bloodied robes and the shirt. Mal was deadly pale. So pale he looked almost albino, but that skin was covered in the thick red of fresh, human blood. He didn't think about it, just put his hands where most of the blood centered, and concentrated on the skin.

Malfoy cried out suddenly.

"It's me, Malfoy. Shut up. Grind your teeth or something."

"What..." he gasped, pained, "...are you doing, Potter?" He screamed out when Harry pressed.

"If I don't do something, I think you'll bleed to death. Close your eyes."

Malfoy didn't close his eyes. A bloodied hand, it had been stomped on as badly as his face had been, lifted to clasp on Harry's shoulder, where he squeezed.

Harry ripped a sleeve from Mal's robes and wrapped it as tightly as he could, then ripped the other when it didn't surround his waist. "Do you know who did this to you?"

Malfoy struggled to speak. His whole body was shaking and his eyes were huge. Harry asked again, insistent. The blonde shook his reddened hair and gasped. Water sprang to his eyes and fell, but Harry barely noticed them. He yanked on the bandage that would just have to do and felt a rush of guilt when Malfoy screamed.

"What is- Potter! What in hell is going on here?"

He snaked a hand beneath Mal's knees and another under his neck and lifted him up. He stumbled a little, but strode to the door and Snape.

"Somebody stabbed Malfoy." Then he bulleted past him and took off at a strained run.

Mal's hand -the one that clenched his shoulder in a death grip- went limp, just as Harry exploded into the Hospital Wing.

* * * * * *