Lost

Chapter Four

Constant pressure

"Well, actually, I had really been thinking it would be better if you didn't visit us, but, of course, you had to escape from the Dursleys', and my mum's nature, you know, all protective-like. Really though, Harry, I don't know why Hermione is acting so...strange...towards you. It's as if she's..."

"As if she knows something about me that makes her avoid me like the plague. A disapproving, yet curious air."

"Well, that's impossible though, isn't it, Harry? You never hide anything from us."

Wrapping his scarf ever tighter around him, Harry breathed out, watching the puff of breath become visible in the cold air. Rubbing his eyes, he turned to Ron, asking, "What was that? I'm so tired, I heard barely anything of what you said except the Hermione part. Every time I hear her name now, I jump. She's been acting so weird, I don't know how to react to her anymore. I hate this."

The redheaded boy looked down at his friend sympathetically, saying, "Me too, Harry. I don't know how to deal with it or react to her either, really. Usually it's me and her who fight. But her acting like this towards you--this is different. Especially since you never hide anything from us, never have. She's unjustly avoiding and accusing you. It's bloody horrid."

Allowing Ron to pour him a cup of hot chocolate, Harry scuffed his foot dismally against the floor. I'm lying to them, have lied to them, my best friends, for so long. I feel like I barely know them anymore, because they barely know me; the true me. If only Draco were here...ah, bloody hell, there I go again...missing him...Damnit! I hate hiding secrets from them. How much longer can I stand this?

"You did like that card I sent you for your birthday, right? It wasn't too crazy?"

"No, Ron, it was fine. I loved it. Hey, I'm gonna go sit down in the common room alone for a bit, alright? Staring at the fire in silence will...clear my head." Harry ignored the concerned look Ron gave him when he accidentally voiced the last part.

Grabbing the cup of hot cocoa, Harry walked down to the common room and sat down on the couch. He began to sip it slowly; then he remembered that that was the way Draco had drunk his wine on Valentine's Day: slowly and elegantly. That boy, Harry had felt like he could say anything to him, like a best friend. No, Draco hadn't been a best friend...he'd been more. Mentally cringing at the memory of the other boy, and absentmindedly wondering why he hadn't gotten any letters from the ex- Slytherin, Harry stayed silent. Truly, the world is a dark and lonely place.

Glancing at the Daily Prophet that lay on the table, an article caught Harry's eye. Moving the cup away from his lips and reluctantly giving up the sweet taste, he picked up the newspaper, noting the heading:

Death is eating us and You-Know-Who is broiling catastrophe

His attention now riveted in terror on the words before him, Harry dropped his cup of cocoa with a clash. Eyes wide, he began to read, little snippets of words and phrases popping out at him: death eaters spotted at Diagon Alley...cloaked figures roaming in muggle world...unidentified causes of death....poison...OtherWorld...What??

Blinking, Harry traced his eyes back to the single sentence that burned in his mind: The OtherWorld Gate has been breached by a Death Eater, and glitches are beginning to happen to the spells that keep muggles unaware of magical places, and therefore wizard, witches, and magic as well.

Horrified, panicked, and worried, one name flashed through Harry's mind: Draco!

-----*-----

"Headmaster, now that you're done reading the article, I just wanted to say my opinion. It's about Draco...well...first of all, I think we should do some research on the OtherWorld Gate, to try to find how the Death Eater caused a split in it and went in. That means more magical creatures, both good and bad, will be arriving in both muggle and magical areas, and the Ministry won't be able to handle them all anymore. Also, if Voldemort finds a way to force us all into whichever dimension of the OtherWorld suits his particular kind of power and purpose, then we could all be under his control. Draco, being a Summoner, could now be in possible danger, because, his blood having a mixture of many magics in it, unlike other wizards and witches of the world, will be pulled towards the OtherWorld. After all, he originally came from there, and although normal wizards and witches will feel the pull, we will be able to fight against it because we're more firmly situated in this world, and our one particular types of magic we use. Whereas Draco has inside him the ability, power, and root of all kinds of magic, so his pull towards the OtherWorld will be stronger.

"So I hope you take these facts into consideration, Dumbledore."

Nodding at the young man's intelligence, the Headmaster smiled, that twinkle in his eye, saying, "Yes, yes, Harry, all this is true. I'll make sure to keep a watch on young Mister Malfoy as well. However, I will simultaneously be conversing with the Ministry as they investigate the OtherWorld Gate, and the recent news on Death Eaters and Voldemort. Perhaps if you could form a group to help us; I have my own contacts, but we need all help we can get. Hermione, perhaps, could research the OtherWorld, I could make plans with the Ministry of Magic, and Mister Weasley could have the job of sending owls to inform other wizards that are not on my special contact list. If needed, he can fly on broom to give them the news."

"Alright. I'll tell them what's happening...but...what about me? What should I do, sir?"

Dumbledore smiled that ever knowing smile, saying brightly, "Ah, I am glad you are determined to lend your assistance in this time of need, no matter what the cost. I would like you, Harry, to trace the paths of all muggles who have been hit with the glitch, and fix up those situations to the best of your abilities. You see...some of the muggles have come into our world, magically and involuntarily transported; maybe even into some of the other witchcraft and wizarding schools! So please, concentrate on these tasks, and make sure to tell Ron and Hermione the bad news right away."

Nodding, Harry walked away, thoughtful. If only Draco was here now; that Slytherin could solve a problem in any situation. Harry walked, slowly, as if in a daze, suddenly wondering...Hermione has been acting so strangely towards me lately...how will she react to this? How will both of them react? This is horrible.

Chapter Five

Two steps forward...one step back

Utter silence pounded on Harry's eardrums. Eyes furrowed in worry, his gaze switched from Ron to Hermione, both of who looked identically shocked and horrified.

Voice cracking, Harry asked, "So, you guys willing to do what Dumbledore asked? This isn't for us...it's for the witch and wizard world. If the situation worsens and gets out of the Ministry's hands even more, we need to be there to help. I mean, well, Dumbledore will help the Ministry, but...we can help, too."

He glanced at Ron, seeing the redhead's expression wasn't changing. Then, hesitant, he looked over at Hermione. Recently every time he looked at her she gave him that accusing, glaring, yet somehow sad look. It confused him; he hated it, but didn't know how to fix it. This time, however, the look she gave him was one of thoughtful agreement.

Ron raised his hand, voice trembling as he croaked, "Wh-When do we start, Harry?"

"Now," Hermione answered, holding out a hand to Harry. Smiling slightly, Harry reached out, about to shake Hermione's hand. Although she was agreeing to help the world, he felt perhaps she was forgiving him for whatever it was she'd been acting so strangely towards him for. Or so he thought. But all thoughts of being forgiven for he didn't know what disappeared from Harry's mind when Hermione suddenly wrenched her hand from his hold, as if he had leprosy, and, shooting him an annoyed glare, turned on her heel.

Crossing her arms, and blowing a chocolate ringlet from her forehead, the girl snapped, "Okay, I agree. Let's get to work." Pulling out her laptop computer, she sat down and began immediately.

Harry sat down, nonplussed, on the couch behind Hermione, who knelt on the floor, leaning over her computer avidly searching. He threw Ron a confused look, twisting his hands in aggravation. Ron bent his head down, sympathetic, and shook his head in answer to Harry's unspoken Why is she doing this, acting like this towards me?

It was a question that Hermione would usually help Harry answer in application to Ron when they fought. But this time, the tables were turned. Harry shivered, slumping down, his mind boggled from so much stress the past few months. He wanted to ignore the world and be able to dream in peace of piercing shimmering blue-grey eyes...

-----*-----

War.

That's what it has always been.

As much as he tried not bring up such foreboding thoughts, Harry couldn't help it. All his thoughts were negative; either he missed Draco, or he thought of impending doom. Flicking away a tear, he gazed at his hand, lying on the exact spot Draco had sat, when they first talked, sitting on this exact same stone windowsill of this secret room--it seemed like years ago.

It has made my life better, loving Draco. It used to be that I'd be loathe to admit anything besides pure hatred for the Death Eater's son. Now, just the thought of him causes me elation...or should I say, it did. Now that we're separated, his memory only causes me sorrow.

He sat there, staring out into the forbidden forest, glancing at the smoke rising from Hagrid's hut. And now, life only worsens, not only personally, but in the world out there, too.

Harry stood up and walked briskly out of the secret room, absorbed in his thoughts, heading back towards the common room. Suddenly, he froze, as a memory came to mind, of something Draco had once said to him: "I have no destiny to take control of! Fate brings me life the way it is, the way it has always been, cruel and uncaring of personal needs and wants. I don't care if she serves life to me on a silver platter, a gold one, a copper one, or wooden! Because with one word or signal, that plate could be broken in half and become even less enjoyable for me than it already is. Don't tell me to take control of my destiny, because I can't control anything except myself."

That was how Harry felt now. He couldn't control his destiny. Everything that Fate gave him resulted in disasters, catastrophes, accidents...bad things, basically. He sometimes desperately wished he was someone else. A normal wizard--if there was such a thing. Just anyone! Even if it was...a Squib, a poor person, an unpopular person; he could stand to be anyone, wished to be anyone. He wanted so fiercely to sometimes be anyone BUT Harry Potter!

Harry was swung out of his thoughtful trance, blinking as he realized he was now back in the common room. How long had he been here? He hadn't even realized he'd arrived back. Hermione turned to look at him quizzically, saying, "Something wrong, Harry? You're making agitated noises. If you need to talk...I'm here." Suddenly, he spotted the old Hermione. The kind, intelligent, bossy, helpful Hermione. He really thought he'd lost her, a few weeks back when she'd begun acting different, more like a disturbed, annoyed, regretful witch with a plan. He'd seen the anger in her eyes with every glare. But with every glance...he'd seen sorrow, regret, and longing, as if he had betrayed her and denied her something she dearly wanted, and as if that betrayal had been partly her fault, but mostly his. And he couldn't remember having done anything to make her act like this towards him. It was driving Harry mad.

"Hermione..." before she could clam up, in that way he was so familiar with, having seen Draco do it so many times, Harry sat down nearby her, reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder. "Hermione...please...just tell me what's wrong! I...Ron and I...we've been so worried about you...I know we can fix this up if we try..."

He stopped, and awkwardly hugged her, feeling confused inside, as she wept bitter tears against his shoulder. This had been two steps forward...but he knew, somewhere along the line, he'd have to take one step back.