Harry Potter and the Will to Live

Chapter Four: The Alma Reflection Hex

Harry Potter and the Will to Live

Harry couldn't keep his mask up for long once he was seated on the cold slab of metal in a secret room, hidden deep underneath St. Mungos. He wore only a pair of loose sweatpants and a grim look in his eyes. He was skinny, that he knew, but looking at himself in a mirror for more than twenty hours made him agonize over it. The rib bones that were slightly noticeable, the shoulders that had enough muscle on them to appear strong. His hair fell completely over his eyes, blocking most of the green and his scar unless he pushed it away.

He'd been in solitary for about a day now, with nothing to do but stare and make sure he breathed in the sharp, freezing air. He'd long since given up trying to warm himself. They'd told him it wouldn't make him sick, just cleanse his internals.

Snorting at the disgusting picture that phrase made, he leaned back, shivering as the cold metal hit his back. He hated this, the waiting. For a couple hours, he managed to stay seated, his eyes open. He lived off only four hours of sleep a day, usually even less, so he stood and began to pace restlessly. More like lope across the small room. There was nothing better to do, so he jumped in a circle and continued pacing.

* * * * * *

"Kid's not even tired and he's been pacing for the last-what? Ten hours?" Michael Wellers swiveled in his chair. He considered himself a workaholic, more so than the wife and kids that had left nearly five years ago with his credit cards and all the valuables in his house. He'd laughed it off, pitied the kids, and just worked harder. He'd seen no reason to get moody over it. So when his long-time crush Mackenzie Snape came to him and brought him from France to England, he'd done it without a thought. He was the only one in Europe who had the credentials and the strength to do the Alma Reflection Hex.

So he'd come willingly.

"Only has a half-hour left," Mack whispered. Her heart hurt, and thudded painfully in her ears. She could tell, even if Harry couldn't, that he was scared spitless. He wasn't tired, wasn't hungry, probably wasn't even cold anymore, but he was worried, and scared.

It just wasn't right.

She stood and stretched, eyeing the misty cube where they could make Harry out, pacing around the room, then twirling to start to the other side.

"Is it time yet?" Hermione asked quietly. The three of them sat on a large, King-sized cushion that had been placed in the room for the purpose of sleeping. Harry had asked for them to watch, for some reason that baffled Mack. She thought he liked keeping things to himself because he thought nobody understood him. But he'd startled her with the request, and since she was worried about him, she'd given in and obeyed his wishes.

Dumbledore checked his lunar watch and nodded. "Start the warming jets," he told Michael. "Then start working on the passwords. We'll be in there in fifteen minutes, Mack. Go get Remus down here quickly."

Michael scrubbed his face with his hands, then went to scrape them of all the dirt that had accumulated on them during the last day.

They were in business.

* * * * * *

The warmth that blew into the room had him pausing, then settling back onto the metal settee. He wanted to shudder, but refused to let himself. It was bad enough that he knew he was terrified, but it would make it so much worse if they knew it too. He waited in tense silence, then sighed with relief when Mack came bounding in.

She rocked on her heels a few inches in front of him. Harry laughed at her, knowing she wanted to hug him or something.

"Can't touch me," he chanted with a snicker, smiling reassuringly to Hermione and Ron.

"Mackenzie, come on, honey bunch." Michael danced into the room, wearing only a pair of sweats and a white muscle shirt. He nudged her out of the doorway and started settling the witnesses into each of the four corners in the room.

"Ron, go with Mack; Hermione with Remus. Dumbledore, take that pretty young red head and settle on in over there." When he turned towards Harry, everybody in the room faded out. Vaguely, Michael heard Dumbledore issue orders to them all. They were to stay seated at all times, silent. They were not to call out, and not to scream. At that, Hermione bit her lip to keep from bursting into tears.

Harry sucked in a deep breath in preparation when Michael lifted his hand, but instead of casting a spell, he felt Harry's forehead, lowered his voice.

"I'm going to have to belt you down, Harry," he said in a low, soothing voice. "So, just lay on your back and we'll get this started."

Harry obeyed, shivering as he touched the still cold bed. Michael cast a binding spell, and thick soft straps of leather bound Harry down, across the forehead, his chest, his feet and wrists. For the first time, he shut his eyes tightly.

"Just keep your eyes closed if it helps," he allowed, then felt a tinge of surprise when Harry opened them.

"I'll watch," he said firmly, surprised to hear his voice shaking so badly. "How long will it take?"

"About three hours give or take." He ran his fingers over every chord, tightening and cinching them. "I need you to breathe deeply for me, over and over. This thing-" he held up a brilliantly colored rock that reflected the light-" is made from a solid calming solution. Its going to ease the tension, lessen the pain you feel during seizures. I don't want you to worry about a thing. In fact, while your breathing, concentrate on clearing your mind."

That was easy. With having Occlumency lessons for the best part of a year, he didn't find that too much harder than writing an essay for Snape. Annoying and time-consuming, but very much possible.

Michael waited nine minutes, until Harry lay limply and relaxed. He squeezed the stone and watched as blue-green mist floated above Harry a moment, before meshing with his skin. Harry's eyes drooped considerably, but remained steady and clear.

He pulled out his want, glanced at Dumbledore for the check-in. Dumbledore glanced at each couple, wrapped around each other and pushed into the corners the way Michael had told them to. Within one single instant, his wand glowed a blindingly bright white, shooting in a zillion different directions, centering from its place against Harry's scar. Wind caused their hair to whip and their flesh to tingle at the sudden change in temperature. The room seemed like a tomb placed in a freezer. The light dimmed, limiting the wand to a light glow, a pulsing gold. The wind gave a ferocious whip before going berserk.

The walls seemed, to everyone in the room, to shrink closer, to close in on them like a tiny box with a Shrinking Charm placed on it. The grief filled the room slowly, stealing their breath in its intensity. Harry began to shudder, then convulse. Veins bulging everywhere, he struggled, trying to shy away from the tip of Michael's wand unsuccessfully.

Harry tensed his muscles, swearing out loud. The pain was so intense, so unexpected, that he regretted ever telling anyone about the seizures. He could feel the pain reverberate off him and bounce like a tennis racquets from wall to wall. The pain switched to guilt, waves and waves of dark, bone-deep guilt. Then the doubt, the worry, the regret. It was a cycle he despised, revolving over and over and over again until Harry had to fight to keep in every fiery gasp. He didn't notice he was shouting until the wind died down and Michael whipped the stone against the high wall above the vacant corner, where it shattered and lay on the ground in tiny shards of crystal.

For a moment the room was dead silent except for Harry's harsh panting and quiet sobbing. Michael, trembling, uncast the bounding spell. Harry rolled off and hit the floor. He stuck his head between his knees, panting and hacking. There was no doubt that if they'd had let him eat, it would have came out at that moment.

"Harry?"

He was so cold. So very cold and shaky. The hand Mack put on his shoulder caused him to shudder and shrink away. He couldn't bear kindness right now. Kindness would shatter him. He had his forehead on the tile floor when Dumbledore squeezed Mack's shoulder. She stood, and one by one they reluctantly left the room, leaving the large arched doorway open.

Harry let out a cry that sounded inhumane even to him. But he couldn't hold it in, it built in waves that swarmed over his head and left him weeping weakly against that cold slab of metal.

They let him be for an hour. He took most of that time without moving, concentrating all his energy on calming his pounding heartbeat. By the time Michael came in, he was leaning against the wall, eyes puffy and mind fuzzy, but as sturdy as could be expected. His arms felt like jelly when he and Michael struggled to get his upper body into a thick sweater. He recognized that it was a new one from Mrs. Weasley, with a stag in silver surrounded by black. The gift nearly brought him to tears again, but Michael slipped an arm around his waist and heaved.

"You did good, Potter," he said quietly, avoiding Harry's eyes. "You did real good."

Harry kept his eyes on his feet, forcing them to keep moving.

Step after step after step...

* * * * * *

He woke with his face pushed into the familiar cotton spread of his pillow in the Hospital Wing. He was bundled under another of Mrs. Weasley's sweaters and at least four bedspreads. Still, he shivered with the remaining ice blocking his veins. He enjoyed the feeling though, with the sun spraying across his eyes and a warm breeze ruffling his face. His eyes opened slowly, feeling dry and rough.

He was awake, knew it as well as his body did, but when he moved it was the slow precision of an aged man.

"Morning."

Grasping for his glasses, he stared at Mack, the flowing robes and mussed hair. She was milky pale and shifting her feet in a rare sign of uneasiness. Harry moved his eyes and wrapped the bundle of quilts around his shoulders.

"Hermione and them?" he asked quietly. Instinctively, he reached a hand to his throat and winced. "I sound like I'm dying," he complained.

She chuckled and sat down. "It'll leave you in a few days, before the Welcoming Feast, at least."

He rolled his eyes. "I think I should get to stay here for the first week of school. I need a lot more rest." His eyes were just hopeful enough to have her grinning-really grinning-at him. He was glad because he thought she looked ill or something.

"Yeah right, Potter. You're starting school just like the rest of them."

"The rest of them haven't been under the Alma Reflection Hex," he muttered.

"About that..." She cleared her throat. "It was-"

"I don't think you should say anything." There were marks on his skin from where the straps and cut into flesh. His stomach flipped. "You don't have to."

"But I want to," she insisted. She stole Harry's hand and squeezed. It lay cold and limp in hers, which hurt even more than being rejected. She cursed herself when her eyes teared, then swiped furiously at them with her free hand. "Harry, never, ever, could any of us have realized it was that bad. It was beyond imagination, beyond comprehension, even though I was there, feeling what you felt. I just want you to know that I might not really understand when it happens, but I'll listen. I was in Gryffindor Tower where the Weasleys and Hermione have camped temporarily." When Harry just stared down at the bed, she lowered her voice. "They're really worried, Harry. Molly and Arthur nearly passed out when we came out."

"Are Ron and them all right?" he asked quickly, his head snapping up. He'd completely forgotten about them. About what they'd witnessed may have done to them.

"They were shaky, but fine. Worried, too, in great amounts, but they hung on. Had some trouble sleeping, but we took care of that with a couple sleeping draughts."

"Thanks."

They sat in awkward silence for a while, uneasy around each other when so much had been revealed. Harry didn't want to make her uncomfortable, but he really wasn't in the mood to talk. And he didn't want to ask her to leave because he didn't want to be alone. Dreaded it greatly, in fact, more so than he had in a long time.

"Are you hungry?" When he shook his head, Mack stood. "You really should eat, Harry. I'll just go get you something from the Great Hall, something light and easy on the stomach." She left the room.

Harry leaned back against the headboard and winced when his aching joints protested. For a moment he stayed still, wondering how he felt about the entire situation he'd just stepped into. There was the familiar black hole in the pit of his stomach, one that had been there since he'd lost Sirius in the Ministry. A pit of grief and sadness that seemed to expand until it made a misty cloud above his head.

He didn't know what it was, but it seemed to grow larger over the process of the Alma Reflection Hex.

"Harry!"

He looked up. The door slammed, and Hermione bulleted in with a cry. He didn't know if it was a cry of joy or relief, but it did something to him. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him straight on the lips. When all he did was stare, she tightened her grip around him.

"You're awake," she said quietly, rocking him.

"Ah..." It took a second for his brain to click back on. "Did you just kiss me?"

She laughed, still rocking him back and forth. "I did, as a friend. Your friend. I've missed you so much this summer. I'm sorry I haven't been around more."

Gradually, his arms came to rest around her waist. She didn't seem anxious about letting him go anytime soon. "It's not as if we've been given that much of a choice," he murmured into her bush of hair

"I'm still sorry. I feel as if I should have been here for you. It just feels so cruel to let you bear all this on your own, the seizures, the prophecy-"

"You know?" he said sharply.

She pulled back far enough to meet his eyes. "Mack was worried and stayed with us last night. We stayed up all night and went through stories with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Dumbledore even stayed with us."

"So, you all just spent the night just talking about me?"

She winced, apologetic. "You were on our mind, Harry. You can't expect us to just forget you after that...that thing...yesterday. It messed us up good and well. Mack and Mr. Weasley accidentally said something, I'm not sure which one though, and it all just spilled out. Why didn't you tell us?" Instead of ranting or accusing, which Harry had been prepared for, she merely laid her head back down on his shoulder and waited, curled towards him like an innocent child would to a parent telling an important event in history.

He stuttered for a moment, then sighed out a whoosh of breath. "I honestly don't...know, Hermione. I guess it didn't seem real to me until I got to the Dursleys and actually thought about it. It was a lot to take on, still is in fact. I guess saying it aloud would mean it was irreversible, permanent somehow. And I admit I didn't want you two to worry about me even more than you already do. The way you and Ron look at me-no, actually-it's the way everybody looks at me. As if I suddenly can't take care of myself and am going to drop dead."

She closed her eyes. "Do you know how much weight you've lost, Harry?" she whispered. "Do you know that sometimes we can call your name and you just stare into space, as if you can't be reached? Did you notice that your hair's growing out suddenly? That means you don't care. The magic inside you controls your hair growth. Either you want it long, or you just don't care. Do you know how much it hurts to realize your best friend doesn't care whether he lives or dies, that you can't do a bloody thing to help him get through life? How much it hurts to realize that you're not needed?"

"Oh, Hermione." Shaken, he pushed her back to stare at her. "How can you think that?"

"It's the truth, isn't it?" she asked loudly, her chin going up in challenge. "Isn't it? You don't need any of us and you let us know that every time you say your fine, or you turn away after having a nightmare. I don't want you to be able to care for yourself. It's just not healthy. I want you to lean on me, on Ron and everybody else. You'd be surprised how many people care about Harry Potter and not the Boy-Who-Lived. I don't want you to keep Ron and me in the back of your mind so you don't come to us at bad moments. I want you to tell us what you see, Harry, what you feel and think. I care, and I want you to know that. I don't want you to keep me from the ugly part of your life. I've been a part of that side of you since we were eleven. It was that part of your personality that made us best friends, Harry, and I would have died without having you or Ron, and all the people that come with you both. The past year," she said firmly, but gently, grasping his forearms in her hands tightly," ever since Cedric Diggory died, you've been pushing us out. When Sirius died," he recoiled," you pushed yourself so far away that it felt like you were gone. As if the Harry we knew and loved had vanished.

"Don't you understand?" she asked desperately, beginning to weep unabashed. "We can't lose you-I can't lose you, Harry. You're my best friend. I love Ron, but he doesn't understand sometimes, just like you don't understand some of the things he does. We're a unit, and you can't break it. You can't." Her hands tightened past the point of pain, but Harry didn't blink. He was staring at her, really seeing her for the first time in months. "If you'd just get past the pain...we can help. We may not understand how it is for you, but we can help. You don't have to be alone, Harry, so don't take the choice of choosing to be with you from us."

"I can't," Harry said after a several minutes of tense silence. "I just can't, Hermione. Losing Sirius reminded me that what I do reflects on you and Ron, on the Weasleys. It was my fault that he was there that night. It was my fault that you and Ron and Neville and Ginny and Luna nearly died, that Neville was put under an Unforgivable." He shook his head when Hermione, tears streaming, tried to say something. "No matter what you say it was my fault. Mine, and mine alone. Even if nobody else believes that, I always will. It's a part of me now, a part that I've tried to cast away but I just can't. It would destroy me, Hermione, literally kill me, if I lost you or Ron trying to save somebody. I like to be the hero, just like you said."

Mutely, Hermione continued to weep and shake her head.

"I know you and Ron want to help me-"

"Don't make us sound like idiots," Ron hissed. He stepped towards the bed and away from the doorframe, his eyes flashing furiously. "I don't want to hear excuses, Harry. We want V-Voldemort dead as much as you do. Just because we can't kill him directly doesn't mean we don't want it done any less. You're our best friend and, dammit, we're going to help you directly or indirectly, whether you want us to or not. What you say or try to do to stop us won't do anything but make us help behind your back. It is our choice if we want to stand beside you, beside my parents and the Order and all that matters, and risk our lives. I resent you trying to take that away from me. If we want to die trying to stop Voldemort, then we will. You can't tell us what to do, Harry. I won't let you. This isn't just your fight. You weren't the only one hurt by Voldemort, and you won't be the last most likely. So just shut up for once and let us help you before I really get pissed."

Harry shoved a hand through his messy hair and studied them. Hermione, her chin shoved up in defiance and pain with trails of tears, and Ron, his first friend ever, standing ram-rod straight with his arms crossed and his eyes on fire. They wouldn't give up, he knew. They never had. He could see them both dying for the Light's cause without using a drip of his imagination.

"I just don't want you to get killed," he muttered, scrubbing his eyes. He was still so exhausted, which he found amusing since he'd just slept for the best part of a day.

"For one thing, Harry, I don't believe for an instant that you would let us get killed," Ron said honestly. "You couldn't do anything for Sirius," he said, reading the look in Harry's eyes easily. "And believe it or not, you learned a great deal from him, and his death. And if, by any chance, one of us does die, it would be our fault. You haven't made us do anything we didn't want to do, Harry. For Merlin's sake, get that through your thick, unbreakable skull! It would be our own fault if we got killed, and I, for one, wouldn't mind giving my life if it helped you kill Voldemort."

"Harry, I brought you some eggs and-" Mack paused in the doorway. Her gaze quickly assessed the scene, flying over Hermione and Ron, to land on Harry. What she saw there was dangerous, but alive. And she hadn't seen much of anything alive light those emeralds in the entire period she'd known him. "Sit down, Ron. If you two haven't eaten, there's quite enough here for all of us. But we'll have to share two goblets. I didn't expect you."

"We're not leaving," Hermione said curtly, to Harry.

Harry knew that look. And knew he'd only tire himself out even more if he tried to argue. The surprising thing was that he wasn't sure if he wanted them to leave him alone.

* * * * * *

"Do you think we should do Patronuses in Sixth Year?" Mack asked him anxiously.

Harry grabbed a piece of his hair and pulled it down so he could see it. He didn't have to pull it much, he mused with a small, grave smile. It was getting longer every day, but he was determined to keep it the length it was today. He liked the way it covered up his scar and hung in his eye, although it was making his forehead break out a little by the extra grease it left. And he liked the way it was neater. There was too much hair for it to stick up in rebellious tufts. All it did was sway when he made any sharp movements. He thought it suited his new look. After releasing it, he scrubbed his bare face and figured it was going to take him a while to get used to not wearing glasses. He had made Mack use her healing source to heal his eyes. She's been reluctant and slow about it, but he'd convinced her to finally do it. After all, he had no parent or relative to stop him.

"Harry!"

Annoyed at being disturbed during this new round of self-found confidence, he turned his head. Mack stood in a nice velvet robe with silver lining on the cuffs and necks. Her hair was pulled up in a rare show of vanity, and left her face enough room to show the worry lines playing on her forehead and between her brows. She was also scribbling furiously away at her lesson for the week.

"What?" he asked, annoyance giving way to amusement.

"Do you think Patronuses would be appropriate for Sixth years?" she shouted impatiently.

He grinned. "Should be. Although a lot of the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws already know how to do them from last year's D. A. But it should fit in nicely with the curriculum." He'd been up reading it for the past week and basically making her lessons himself. The seizures had lessoned, but the nightmares and insomnia had only increased.

She glared at him. Then sighed. "Fine, I'll use your lesson plan for this week. But only this week!"

Harry beamed. "I don't care," he said honestly. "It was just fun."

"Have you asked Dumbledore about continuing the D. A.?" she asked as she plopped down. She watched Harry pause, considering, then pull of his t-shirt to pull on the top of his uniform.

"Haven't thought about it, really," he admitted, going for the tie next. Then he stared distastefully at the gray vest. "I only did it because Voldemort was back and Umbridge was trying to make us fail our O. W. L. practicalities."

"Oh," she said with a feigned say, "Harry's using big words now."

He laughed at her. "Whatever you say, Mackenzie. It was only a temporary thing."

"You enjoyed it, didn't you?" She could see he had in the way he spoke of it. "If you hadn't you wouldn't have kept doing it."

"I wouldn't have kept doing it if they hadn't learned something," he corrected her, placing his wand into his waistband. He wouldn't be able to relax if it wasn't in easy reach during the entire feast. "I did my best and Dumbledore hinted that everyone who participated in it passed. It served the purpose, and there is no purpose anymore."

"It doesn't have to have a purpose. Dammit, Harry, you know you want to do it again! Why can't you just go up Dumbledore and ask if it would be all right to hold the D. A. again? Some of the kids in Hogwarts do need some after-class studying, you know. Wouldn't hurt."

"Fine," he said absently, "if your going to have a hissy fit, I'll ask him."

Her cheeks flushed with anger. "Why you little-"

"Potter, Mackenzie!" The sharp voice of Snape cut them both off. They turned simultaneously to the door, glaring. "The carriages have arrived. Dumbledore has asked me to make sure you both see him after the Feast." Without another word, he swirled around dramatically and stalked down the hallway.

"He has a talent with theatrics," Mack muttered with a note of grudging admiration.

"Yeah," Harry said with a snort," all you need to go with your lame jokes is making a big entrance."

She slapped him lightly against the head. "You're an arrogant, cocky jerk, Potter. No wonder Snape hates you." Then she ruffled his hair and grabbed her scarf."

"Why are you wearing a scarf?" Harry asked dubiously, running a hand through his hair in a nearly identical move to his father's.

"Because it looks good. Scarves are all the rage in America."

He made a face. "Who cares? It's just clothes."

She gave him a pitying glance. "And that's where we differ, Mr. Potter."

"Is this when I'm supposed to say 'I concur Professor Snape'?" he said mockingly.

Mack let out a breezy laugh and strolled out of the room. "Yup."

They were the last ones to enter the Great Hall. Mack squeezed his shoulder in her only show of affection in public before they went their separate ways, Mack going to her seat between Dumbledore and her father, and Harry taking his saved seat between Hermione and Ginny. He smiled at them, then turned to Dumbledore, who seemed to have been waiting for them to enter before beginning his speech.

"I'd like to welcome our first years and our returning pupils before we start on this year's rules and regulations." His eyes twinkled a little as they swept over all four House tables. "As always, the Forbidden Forest is off limits to everyone, no matter the circumstances." Although his eyes stayed on the Ravenclaws, Harry found himself sharing a smile with Hermione, Ron, and Ginny. "Second, I'd like to say that curfews have been raised and the rules tightened. With Voldemort at large, I'm afraid I've had to secure the school in case of attack."

There was a quick wave as whispers that ended sharply when Dumbledore continued to speak. "There will be severe punishment for any dueling out of class. Filch and myself have agreed that it is dangerous to be using magic against or within Houses. Any violation to this rule will receive a week's detention and a three-thousand-word essay on House co-operation, causing their House to lose fifty points in the process. Quidditch try-outs will be hosted in the middle of October and last an entire week. Second Years and up may try out. Lastly, I'd like to introduce you to your new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Miss Mackenzie Snape."

There was quick silence where Mack blushed fiercely and waved, then the audience gave a feeble welcoming clap. Harry just grinned. He had an idea she was mentally killing Snape. When she met his gaze, her eyes were fierce and blood thirsty.

"She looks so embarrassed," Hermione murmured sympathetically.

"Wouldn't you be, being Snape's only daughter?" Ron questioned, instantly filling his plate with food once it appeared.

"I guess."

Ginny frowned at Harry when he piled a small spoonful of mashed potatoes onto his plate and left it at that. Resigned, he dug out two more spoonfuls and a piece of tenderloin.

"She'll set the Slytherins straight tomorrow," she said, laughing at the thought. "I can just read Malfoy's mind. Probably thinks he has another ride on easy street."

"That's something I'm looking forward to," Harry said full-heartedly.

* * * * * *

Harry laughed at Mack and Snape as he exited the Great Hall. They were against the wall near the door, standing a good, solid ten feet away, both having identical scowls on their face.

"Could you have taken any longer, Harry?" Mack snapped at him.

Ron and Hermione grinned at her before sprinting up the stairs to catch up with the other Gryffindors.

"Actually, I could have," he admitted, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Didn't know you could blush like that, Mackenzie. Really attractive. You nearly had all the First Years drooling in their whities."

Her mouth snapped open and Snape, who had been looking impatiently down on them, turned to watch her.

"You are so dead for that one, Potter," she hissed, then let out a laugh. "So dead. I'll get you in your sleep; I'll rip every particle of your skin away with your scalp." She made a gesture, but he could see the twinkle in her eyes.

She began to stalk away, Harry running to keep up with her long strides. She wasn't much taller than he was, but she managed to eat up the ground as efficiently as a bulldozer.

"Had to admit it was a good one," he insisted cheerfully. "Oh, come on, Mack, admit it. And I still owed you for the cocky arrogant remark from earlier."

Her mouth twitched, then went taught when Harry gripped her arm and swayed.

"Harry?"

He tensed and instinctively clutched at her arm. The corridor had suddenly gone dark. He felt the ground tremble and quake beneath him, then roil until it began to swirl in great, huge circles.

"Harry! Answer me!"

He felt something cool-granite, he thought, or rock. He wasn't sure if it was the wall or the floor his hand was trying to get purchase on, but he clung to it in hope of it stopping. Fear welled up in him, and a feeling of anger, of confusion and darkness, swept over him.

And then he could see again, his hand clutching at his forehead, staring up into Dumbledore's worried blue eyes. Swearing softly, he sat up, swaying again as the room gave a quick, fierce spin that had his stomach flipping violently.

Baffled, he studied Mack, who kneeling beside him; Snape, who was leaning against the wall in the corner, and Dumbledore, still dressed in his Wizard best, watching him like an eagle.

He scrubbed his left hand against his scar and winced.

"Your scar?" Dumbledore asked gently.

He shook his head, then stopped the instant pain reverberated around his skull and bounced back for a second hit.

"Harry?" he asked again. His gnarled hand squeezed Harry enough to have him recoiling, but it seemed to knock him back into reality.

"Something's not right, Professor Dumbledore," he said, meeting his eyes. "The seizures-they're not Voldemort's doing. I just realized it. Dammit! Why didn't I see it before?" he cried, yanking at his hair. "My scar is the link to Voldemort right?"

Dumbledore released his shoulder and sat next to him on the red cushion settee he had placed against the wall. He nodded cautiously.

"My scar doesn't hurt when I have a seizure! If Voldemort had found a way into my head, it would burn my scar, like it just did. I would know it. Bloody hell." He moaned. "Who the hell is in my head?" he demanded of the Headmaster. "Who the hell is in my head?" he shouted.

"Okay, Harry, calm down-"

"No!" Furious, he jumped to his feet to pace around the room. "I refuse to calm down! I have no reason to calm down! Do you know what its like to have Voldemort in your head, reading your thoughts? And then you find out its somebody else? For Merlin's sake, I have one Dark Lord out for my blood, and another trying to find out where I am! I'm not going to bloody calm down!"

But he did. Eventually. The room had quieted after his tirade. They didn't say anything. Even Snape, to Harry's amusement. Whenever he came near Mack, he got all quiet and polite-like. Harry wasn't sure if he liked it or not, but it was getting on his nerve. By the time his fury had reached a new, dangerous pitch, the room was silent as a tomb, and it had nothing better to do than calm until Harry was merely standing in the middle of the room, his hands stuck in his pockets. One of Dumbledore's tables full of knickknacks was tumbled in the corner.

"That's becoming quite a habit," Dumbledore noticed dryly.

Harry shrugged. "I always seem to get angrier in this room." He glared at Phineas while saying it. The portrait glared straight back at him.

"So," Mack said, reclining in Harry's spot on the settee," you ready to tell us what's going on and what this babble about 'another' is about. You weren't really making sense when you woke up."

Vaguely, Harry looked around for a clock. Annoyed, he looked at Mack pointedly. She glanced down and said it was nearing ten o'clock. He paced again, slower, thoughtfully.

"This was definitely a Voldemort episode. He was angry. Furious, really," he corrected. "And confused, I think. It was a first. An odd feeling like I didn't know where I was, what I was doing or who I was. It was just like...dizzy." He gave a grunt of annoyance. "I don't know how to explain it, except that something caught him off guard and something made him furious."

"Did it have anything to do with a child?" Snape asked suddenly.

Harry looked at him. For a while he had forgotten he was even there, which was probably why he made such a good spy. Or so Dumbledore said. He frowned, trying to remember something.

"I heard the word child, yes. I think. I'm not sure," he warned as Snape straightened, "but I think so. All I remember are a few words, and his emotions. He was so furious," he murmured, shuddering. "Only time I remember that is when-" Baffled, he stopped mid-sentence and shivered again. "He's never been that angry, except for the one time I wrote to you about the Azkaban plan."

"The what?" Mack asked sharply. "When was this?"

"About a week ago, maybe the first or second night he was here," Dumbledore answered promptly.

Her head snapped to Harry's, her eyes as hard and angry as obsidian.

"How could you not tell me that, Harry?" she said furiously. "How could you not tell me something that important?" Her voice became a shout by the time she'd stood. Harry tensed. "An Azkaban plan that you wrote to Dumbledore about but couldn't tell me?"

"You couldn't have expected me to just trust you, Mack!" Let out a deep breath, he shoved a hand into his hair. This was only getting him even more stressed out.

She sputtered. "Trust? What is there not to trust about me? What have I done that could possible say anything else?"

"Exactly!" Harry shouted, gesturing. "I've told you everything about me, Mack, things nobody knows, things that Voldemort would kill you for! You're near me every minute of every day. You're like a bloody shadow! For Merlin's sake, Mackenzie, can you imagine trusting somebody after a day or two of meeting them when you have Voldemort trying to kill you? Do you know how easy it would be for him to infiltrate Hogwarts? It doesn't have to be a Death Eater or somebody with the Dark Mark plastered on their left arm. It could very well be a pleasant, pretty young woman, just like you! You don't understand, do you?" he asked loudly. "I have to be careful, Mack, not just for me, but for my friends. We're all in this together, like a unit. Voldemort would use them against me. Everyone knows that."

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "But I have to be careful who I trust from now on."

* * * * * *