Deora Ar Mo Chroi

Chapter 1

Whispers of Doubt

You don't see the tears my heart cries

Torn apart by these iridescent white lies

Please don't tell me anymore

I don't want to remember before

~anon

The chilling mist swirled sedately, even morosely around the street, embracing the hollow buildings with clammy grey tendrils, winding its dissembling fingers lovingly around bared ankles. Harry Potter padded anxiously down the cobbled road, ignoring the shockwave of pain that snaked up his unshod feet every time they hit the cold ground.

He moved jerkily, at times lumbering frantically through the smoky blur, then stopping just as suddenly as he waved his arms uselessly about, as if he thought he could dispel the encroaching monochrome. But all the time his head was craned forward at a painful angle as his eyes darted all over the place, from one eddying grey to another, blinking away in irritation the tears of strain.

A vague insistency flitted around his brain, whisperings that threatened to halt him in his tracks. Since when had Hogsmeade experienced fog? How could a bustling wizard town be so eerily absent of any form of life? Still, pulled by a will alien to his own, yet not entirely hostile, Harry continued his solitary passage down the main street of Hogsmeade.

He was searching...what for? Searching...it was something important, direly important, but why couldn't he remember? Harry shook his head as if his thoughts would somehow fall out of his frozen ears and into his equally numb palm, but still all he knew was that if he had to find it...he just had to...

Harry's eyes snapped opened so suddenly a stinging pain exploded behind his cornea and he pressed the palms of his hand into his closed eyes till white stars burst against the black backdrop of his eyelids.

His heart was still racing when he finally took his hands away from his eyes, jerking erratically against his ribcage as if he had really had been wandering around Hogsmeade. What did it all mean?

This year's decorations were less elaborate than usual. The usual mistletoe and holly festooned the walls of the Great Hall, lightening the gloomy obsidian, but they were hung more haphazardly than usual. Furthermore, with Hagrid disappearing constantly ever since the start of the sixth year, there was only a solitary Christmas tree towering dismally beside the High Table, the lighted candles swaying gloomily on drooping branches. The few students there, however, were just as boisterous as usual, maybe more, with the prospect of two glorious snow-filled and school-free weeks.

"I still don't see why we can't go to Northern Ireland," Hermione groused, buttering her toast with a deft hand. "It would have been such an enriching experience. Professor McGonagall will be giving the students a personal tour of that famous haunted castle in Belfast. I've read all about it in A Comprehensive History of-"

"Hermione!" Ron said in exasperation. "How many times are you going to rant on about the bloody Ireland trip?"

"Well, I was just talking, that's all," Hermione said huffily. "No need to get so riled up!"

"But this must be the fiftieth time-"

Harry grinned as he bit into his buttered toast, letting the salty tang simmer on the tip of his tongue. At least some things were still the same, he thought with a tinge of bitterness he tried to ignore, gazing around the Great Hall, now a lot emptier with most of the students home for the Christmas Break and the other 6th years on their way to Ireland.

"I was just saying what we could have learnt if we had gone on the trip," Hermione said primly, her knife flying over her toast so vigorously the bread was taking on an unnaturally squished look.

"Oh I'm sure!" Ron snapped. "If you want to go so much, why don't you just bloody leave? I'm sure you can still catch them at the station, they only left half an hour ago!"

"I'm not saying -" Hermione began angrily, but Ron interjected quickly.

"I, for one, know where my priorities lie! You know full well Harry's uncle and aunt will never allow Harry to go. Now if Sirius was..."

Ron trailed off suddenly, his face and Hermione's twin mirrors of horror. They sneaked silent peeks at Harry, who was staring determinedly at his toast, wishing one of them would speak. The oppressive silence was starting to smother him.

So, if Sirius was here, it would have been different, right? Harry thought with a kind of blind rage, his stomach churning in electric waves of emotion. Oh, so many things would have been different. A muscle twitched in his jaw as pain unfurled within him like an emerging moth. Thank you so much Sirius. You wanted to have your fun, didn't you? Well, you've had it, and for that I have to pay?

"Erm, Harry?" Hermione squeaked timidly from opposite him.

"I'm really sorry, Harry," Ron said in an anguished voice. "I didn't think. I mean, it was...I just feel so stupid!" Ron burst out.

With an effort Harry dragged his eyes off the fascinating slice of bread in front of him, the knot in his chest loosening slightly at the crumpled look on Ron's face.

"It's okay," he muttered, managing a tiny grin.

Harry could almost hear the tension in the air shatter and dissolve into the dusky red dawn peeking in through the enchanted ceiling.

"So, shall we go fill in our choice for the Career Commitment Course now?" Hermione's voice was suspiciously exuberant. "They'll be removing the form by the end of breakfast!"

"Yeah, okay," Harry said, mildly surprised to find his voice sounding normal. He was getting better at hiding his emotions. "We're applying for Honeydukes, right?"

"Yup," Hermione smiled at him, looking relieved to see Harry get back on his feet so quickly. Harry felt a twinge of quilt as he attempted to squash all sour thoughts into oblivion. "It's offering three places, one for each of us."

"And free food!" Ron said gleefully, downing the last of his orange juice in one gulp.

Hermione arched an eyebrow at Harry, who felt a reluctant grin tug at the sides of his mouth. He swung himself off the bench and started up the Great Hall, heading to the communal notice board in at the Entrance Hall.

Once Harry was out of earshot, Hermione leaned across the table and pulled the sleeve of Ron's cloak. Accustomed to this, Ron turned reflexively, one leg over the bench, worry shrouding his eyes.

"He's not getting any better," Ron whispered, casting a glance around the Gryffindor Table, which seemed empty with most of the younger students occupying seats nearer the entrance of the Great Hall.

"I know," Hermione replied, her voice so low Ron had to lean forward to distinguish it from the bustle of the lower-years. "I understand that Sirius is very dear to Harry, but he shouldn't bottle it all up! He never used to, remember? Whenever he was mad last year, he-"

"He'd just blow up, yeah," Ron finished. "Rather hard to forget that."

"Yes, but now he tries to hide all the pain. It's tearing him up inside."

"Still, what-"

"What are you guys doing standing back there?"

Ron started so suddenly he tripped over the heavy oak bench, balanced precariously for one wild second, arms flapping vigorously to maintain his unbalanced centre of gravity. Alas, physics was against him that day, and he slammed into the Ravenclaw Table behind him, to much ejaculation from some flabbergasted second-years.

"Ron's cloak got caught in a chink on the seat," Hermione called back towards Harry, wearing a suitably exasperated expression on her face. Harry nodded sagely, trying uselessly to suppress a grin.

"Why must you always use me?" Ron hissed furiously, glaring alternately at Harry and Hermione, his face deepening to beetroot as he felt inquisitive eyes on him.

"Because that's the kind of stuff you do," Hermione murmured impassively, turning to hurry after Harry. Scowling, Ron extricated himself from the Ravenclaw Table and strode after Harry and Hermione.

In the Entrance Hall, Harry headed towards the notice board, where a greyish white parchment took up half the board, an elaborately cursive 'Career Commitment' adorning the notice in bold black ink, followed by a list of the participating Hogsmeade outlets in plum purple. Harry fancied he could even detect a whiff of the bitter scent lingering on the thickly penned letters. An ash mottled quill hovered gently beside it, the Hogwarts emblem stamped in black on one side.

"Well, go on then," Ron snapped, having just stomped up to where Harry and Hermione were contemplating the notice. He seized the levitating quill slightly harder than was absolutely necessary and thrust it at Harry. His ears were still a suspiciously dark pink.

Biting his lip to keep back an impetuous snicker, Harry took the quill and placed its nib under the title of Honeydukes, glancing idly at the other names already on the notice. He recognised Neville's uneven wording under Three Broomsticks, and wondered briefly whether it would be safe to visit the place while Neville was serving.

"Dear, dear," a voice drawled lazily from behind Harry. He stiffened reflexively, his fingers clamping down onto the quill as he recognised the voice. Thought it had been a while since the owner last bothered him, old habits still died hard, and he turned around rather woodenly. He noticed with an undercurrent of amusement Ron and Hermione looked equally tense. It almost felt like old times.

Facing them was Draco Malfoy, a bored expression on his snobbish face. "My goodness, first Weasley, then Potter. You do realise that Hogwarts is one of the only magical institutes in this region that offers absolutely free education with no strings attached, and here you are, trying to destroy school property." He looked pointedly at Harry's right hand, still clenching the quill tightly.

Harry released his death grip immediately, feeling somewhat guilty as he watched the quill float up and down in a woebegone manner, its feathers crushed and bent out of shape, the Hogwarts logo now unnaturally distorted.

"What's the problem?" Hermione asked brusquely. Harry looked at her, surprised. Hermione hardly ever initiated any fights. He saw her sneak a sideways glance at Ron, whose eyes widened.

"Yeah, stop bothering us," Ron said threateningly, moving slightly towards Malfoy. Harry frowned, but before he could ponder the peculiarity of Ron and Hermione's actions, Hermione was speaking again. "You haven't spoken to us since the start of the year, why start now?"

"And it was such a delightful habit, so why don't you keep it up?" Ron added hopefully.

Malfoy smiled condescendingly at Ron, whose ears darkened again. "What do you mean haven't talked to me? What about prefect meetings?" he spoke in an infuriatingly injured manner.

"But you haven't talked to - I mean, other than that," Hermione amended quickly.

A sudden silver flickered in Malfoy's dull grey eyes. "Indeed?" he murmured in Hermione's direction, but appeared distracted. "Just pointing out your logical fallacy. Making those sorts of hasty generalisations in the exams will cost you precious points. Say, Potter -"

"Go away," Ron and Hermione snarled together. They had moved so they were directly in front of Harry, blocking him so that all he could see was the tip of Malfoy's silvery blond hair. He had the distinct impression he was the only one clueless about the current situation.

"I'm afraid I can't," Malfoy said silkily. He indicated the notice with a curt nod of his head. "I'm here to sign up for Honeydukes."

Malfoy ignored Harry, Ron and Hermione's starts of surprise. "So are you three, I believe?" he continued in a conversational tone. "I wouldn't recommend it, since one of you won't get in. I don't want to pour cold water, but I'm betting on either Potter or Weasley."

"What makes you say that?" Ron said angrily, his fists balled so tightly his knuckles were an unnatural white.

"Well, they do select candidates based on their grades," Malfoy said with unperturbed calm. "Of course, you're not supposed to know that, but I thought rather than let the wonder trio be split up, I should let you have the chance to choose again."

"And how would you know?" Hermione asked, looking extremely dubious.

"Because I recommended the idea of Career Commitment to Dumbledore. After all, there's only so many times one can go to Ireland," Draco replied without missing a beat.

"Plus money's rather tight, nowadays, isn't it? With your father in Azkaban and all?" Hermione said shrewdly. "I'm surprised the Aurors didn't seize all your family's assets."

A sliver of emotion flashed across Malfoy's eyes, then darkened to an almost abysmal monochrome.

"Sirius Black," Malfoy rapped out, every syllable sharp across Harry's ears, all trace of drawl gone. Hermione made as if to say something, but Malfoy had already spoken.

"He died because he was too full of himself, didn't he?"

It was fortunate that Ron and Hermione were in the way, or it was unlikely Malfoy would have survived for Christmas. For Harry had charged at Malfoy, his eyes dilated to a bright, unseeing emerald, unrestrained rage licking the tips of his iris.

It took the combined efforts of both Ron and Hermione just to prevent Harry from just moving forwards. "TAKE BACK WHAT YOU SAID!" he bellowed, his body pulsing with electric fury. A rushing buzz pounded in his head as he clawed savagely at the air, so intent on scratching out Malfoy's face he didn't notice someone striding purposefully towards them from the Great Hall. Just a few more inches...just a bit more and he'd make sure Malfoy would never again be able to smirk in that supremely unconcerned manner.

How dare he say such things about Sirius? Blaspheme his name after he was gone? How dared he? He had no right to condemn Sirius. Especially since he was correct...

"Harry! Harry, calm down!" Hermione yelled desperately, tugging futilely at Harry's arm. She looked around desperately, then saw something which could only make their day worse. "Harry! Snape's coming!" she hissed right in Harry's ear.

Who cared? What did anything matter except ripping off Malfoy's foul, glib mouth? Did he have any right? He didn't know anything about Harry's suffering. I'll make him know, Harry thought brutally, I'll teach him pain.

"Harry, Snape's coming!"

Snape? To hell with Snape! Snape...His mind was suddenly numbly blank, a sneering voice echoing through every last vestige of his sanity. Fools who wear their hearts proudly on their sleeves...

All emotion snapped out of him and a sudden light-headed lethargy washed over him. His arms dropped limply to his side and his body relaxed so abruptly that caught by surprise, Ron and Hermione dragged Harry backwards and all three of them crashed into the wall. Harry felt his head connect dully with the notice board behind him, but the throbbing ache that snaked through his head felt oddly distant. He felt his feet give way and slid down the length of the wall till he hit the ground, and the accompanying thumps from either side told him Ron and Hermione were also going to have sore rumps that day. So that was why they had been acting so unusual, a little voice whispered from beneath the blanketing folds of ennui. They were trying to protect me. Because I can't control myself. Because I wear my -

"What's going on here?" a voice sneered.

Hermione, who had been nursing a smashed elbow, looked up to see Professor Snape glaring down at them over a bulbous, hooked nose, and jumped up immediately. "I can explain, Professor," she said quickly, wishing she could punch the blandly polite expression off Malfoy's face.

"It's my fault, professor," Harry said tiredly. He felt vaguely giddy, yet a strange sense of peace seemed to be perforating him. So this is what it's like when you don't feel anything, Harry thought. He could lap in this comfortable apathy forever.

Ron and Hermione looked shocked, and Snape looked faintly disoriented. Even Malfoy's face slackened for a fraction of a second.

"Pardon?" Snape finally said. Possibly he had never heard Harry use such docile tones in speaking to him before. Indeed, never.

"It's my fault," Harry repeated. "I got upset with Malfoy."

"You...Well, ten points from Gryffindor," Snape's voice had resumed its usual brisk tones. "And...keep up that sort of behaviour. If you want to stay safe." He stalked off, cloak blowing out from behind him.

For one taut moment, everyone just stared at Harry, who was gazing absently at the rippling fabric of Snape's cloak, his eyebrows slightly creased.

Er, Harry, are you okay?" Ron ventured at last. He was sitting on the floor with one leg drawn awkwardly up to his chest, and he was massaging his shoulder where he had crashed it against the notice board.

"Yeah, don't worry about me," Harry said with an effort at injecting some sort of emotion into his voice. He tried to quirk his face into a smile, but from the looks on Ron and Hermione's faces, he suspected he must have only succeeded in making himself look constipated. "Really, I'm fine," he repeated. Ron looked at him uncertainly.

Hermione stooped down in front of Harry and held out her hand. Harry looked up in surprise to see her smiling at him, her chocolate brown eyes misted with tenderness. "Come on, let's go back to the common room."

All his lethargy was up-surged with an onrush of restrained emotions, and he took her outstretched hand tentatively, willing himself not to throw his arms around her and cry out all twisting, throbbing pain. With an almighty tug Hermione pulled Harry off the floor, propelling him towards the stairs.

"Ron," she said briskly. "Fill in our names."

"'kay," Ron said, seizing the quill.

"You're still choosing Honeydukes?" Malfoy said sharply. He had been observing them silently for the past minute. "Even after knowing one of you won't get in?"

Hermione stopped on the bottom flight of the stairs, and turning back to Malfoy, said very clearly, "I don't believe you."

Something stirred briefly behind Malfoy's eyes, but when Hermione looked again bland silver pools stared back at her, its very immobility eerie.

He cocked his head to one side, and Hermione faltered slightly, feeling the steel grey bore into her, feeling a slight twinge of...despair?

"I...I don't believe you'd do anything for anyone else's benefit!" Hermione's eyes flashed hazel with defiance.

Malfoy didn't move.

"Done!" Ron threw the quill down, and with a triumphant glare at Malfoy, took off after Harry and Hermione.

"What do you think Malfoy's up to?" Ron murmured, once they had turned into a hallway and were well out of his earshot. "Do you think he really initiated the Career Commitment?"

"I have no idea," Hermione replied, her eyebrows furrowed. She shivered slightly, remembering the unnatural sensation she had felt when he had stared at her. "But I didn't like the way he was manipulating us. I'm pretty sure he didn't want us in Honeydukes."

"But why not?" Ron asked "It's strange, Malfoy's been acting very unlike himself since the beginning of this year."

"I know. Even Crabbe and Goyle have been unusually subdued. I wonder why they didn't stay behind for Work Experience with Malfoy?"

"Huh. Maybe having their fathers in Azkaban is affecting them."

"Maybe..." Hermione said doubtfully. "Have you ever wondered how come they're all still in Azkaban after so long? You'd think that with the Dementors on Voldemort's side (Ron flinched, then tried to act like he just had a crick in the neck) they'd break out of there in no time..."

"Do you think maybe they're just trying not to draw attention to themselves?"

"Possibly..." Hermione murmured. "But whatever Malfoy's up to, I don't like it."

Harry hardly listened to their conversation as he trudged along mechanically beside them, thoughts swirling around in his brain with a dull persistence, mismatched sentences singing their cavorting lullaby in his ear.

Keep up that behaviour...if you want to keep safe...because he was too full of himself...fools who wear their hearts proudly on their sleeves...

We're all fools, aren't we? Harry thought bitterly.

Back in the Entrance Hall, Draco was staring at Ron's untidy scrawl, an almost imperceptible crease between his eyebrows. Then, as though suddenly galvanised, he took the quill from where it was floating on its side when Ron had thrown it down, and added his name in neat cursive under 'Ron Weasley'. Replacing the quill carefully in an unnecessarily vertical position, Draco strolled off.

Only the feathers of the quill, looking yet more dolefully crumpled than ever, told the lie to his emotions.