Unchained Melody

The streets were silent at night, however not a comfortable one. It was the silence of absolute fear and confusion, as the families hurried into their houses when the darkness fell over the skies, wondering if the demon that prowled along the roads with his invisible cloak of shattered dreams would strike out. They wondered with curious minds if he would come after them, like two monsters in a fairy tale, grabbing a frail child's arm while their Mummy's and Daddy's ripped their bodies apart trying in vain to clutch onto their child with all their might.

It didn't matter that there were nights when he woke up drowned in sweat that slivered into his nose through his throat burning as the salt touched sensitive membranes. It didn't matter that no one cared who he was, that he wasn't thought of as "The Boy Who Lived" but in secret thoughts only whispered to pets and babies who couldn't speak as "The Boy Who Failed". Oh how sadly they fell, thousands dropping at the sight of the bright light, and crumpling to a quick death. There were times at night when he would wake with small droplets of blood on his hands, unaware if it was his own or someone else's. And, as he quickly scrubbed away the crimson stains, he was shortly reminded that he did fail. Not because he had not rid of the evil, but because he had rid of many innocent lives that were involuntarily connected to the evil.

A soft shade of moonlight reflected of his taunt, pale skin as he stared at the green eyes in the mirror in front of him. It dared not speak the thoughts it could, for it too only whispered what it really believed to the air when no one occupied the room. He hadn't looked in a mirror in so long; he almost couldn't recognize the reflection that stared back at him. Eyes wide with emerald rings as white light illuminated a small halo around his ebony hair.

With shaking hands, Harry Potter turned on the water. The sink filled with the clear liquid, squishing around the white basin, before he cupped his hands and placed it under. It was cold and sent instinctive chills to his bones, as he repeatedly rinsed his face. Sometimes he did this gesture over and over again, the feeling of wanting to wash away the pain and evil never completely going away. It never changed.

Nothing ever did.

"You alright?"

Harry jumped, not expecting to hear the female voice echo inside the bathroom. His head nodded a little, hoping that it would suffice for an answer. It did.

"Do you want me to leave?" asked a small and almost inaudible voice. Placing his hands against the counter, Harry looked over into a pair of dark blue eyes.

"Your eyes change colors?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I-I--yes," she stammered, her eyes widening, as she began to fiddle with her platinum blonde hair. "It depends on what I wear really. Usually when I wear dark clothes, they turn grey..." She trailed off looking down at her naked body, crossing her arms over her chest to cover up the exposing skin.

Taking a deep sigh, Harry walked away from the mirror back into the bedroom closing the door behind him. The girl was younger than most he usually brought home, and her torturing innocence radiated off porcelain skin. She scurried away from him, a worried look on her face. Harry knew she was afraid.

"No," he responded evenly, pulling back the messy blankets on the bed, "you don't have to leave. Unless you want to..."

"No!" the girl said quickly, "I want...I want to stay."

"Okay then," Harry said with a shrug crawling back into the bed. After a small silence, he looked back at her. "Are you coming back?"

It was a simple question, a question he asked many times before, with many others. They all had the same hair, the same eyes, but the innocence varied. Some had the lost vacant look that Harry knew too well, the look of apathy and despair at the same time. They didn't care if they were living. They were just living until the air in their lungs ran out.

He looked back over into the girl's eyes, which, conveniently had changed into a deep set of grey. He liked to look into their eyes, focus on their iris' while he was inside of them, perspiration dripping off his forehead as grew closer to reaching oblivion.

A cool draft swished under the blanket, sending goosebumps over Harry's thighs, but the warmth of the female next to him made the prickled skin smooth again. Her fingers trailed through his hair, down to his nose removing his glasses, and over his chest. Although the touch was delicate, Harry closed his eyes, the feeling burning every time a fingerprint pressed against him. She didn't know it was like that, she just wanted to please him one last time.

Sinking his head against the pillow, he let out small shuddered breaths as the girl did the best she could to make him happy. It didn't matter that he didn't remember her name (was it Mara? Melissa? Marlen?), it didn't matter that he wasn't thinking about her when she touched him. All that mattered was he drifted back into the small state of ecstasy, and no matter what happened only the blonde hair and pale eyes could do that.

"Do you like that?" she whispered huskily, her tongue licking against his earlobe.

"Hmm," Harry murmured, acknowledging acceptance.

"Want more?" she inquired, moving under the blankets ready for the answer.

"Yes..." Harry hissed, grabbing a hold of her naked hips. They moved together throughout the night, hours passing by them like minutes, almost seconds. He drove her to peaks until she couldn't take anymore, and still kept going. It was an endless drive, almost like a drug, intoxicating him to the point that no matter what his body screamed, his mind wanted it again, and he would go to any means necessary to have it.

***

A bright light ripped through the windows blinding Harry's eyes. Groaning he turned on his stomach, jerking a pillow over his head to shield from the light. He reached out beside him blindly to see if the girl was still there, but found, as usual, she wasn't. She probably left right after he fell asleep.

They always did.

He was almost asleep again when he heard the bedroom door open, accompanied by a small clatter of footsteps against the wooden floor. He didn't care who it was, and made an effort not to look out from his small hiding place.

There was a deep sigh, a noisy shift of weight and some rustling of clothes.

"Honestly Harry. I don't know how you do it."

It was Ron, of course, making his daily visitation to come see Harry and give him the same lecture about getting out and doing something rather than stay at his flat and find random girls to have one night stands with.

"It's called mojo, Ron," Harry grumbled under the pillow, "Obviously something inside you've not found yet."

Ron scoffed, tugging at the blankets cocooned around Harry's body. "Just get up," he mumbled.

"I don't want to," Harry whined pulling with his free hand at the blankets.

"That's just too damn bad, now get up. I want to talk to you about something."

"If it's another lecture, I'm really not in the mood. I was up late last night."

"I'm sure you were," Ron said not bothering to hide his sarcasm, finally pulling the blankets free. "Now get dressed," he commanded, tossing some clothes on the bed, "I'll go make coffee."

Harry groaned again, throwing the pillow behind him, and crawling out of the bed. He didn't bother to put on any trousers, feeling that since it was his flat, he could do what he wanted. However, he was still naked, and pulled on his discarded boxers on the floor.

"What is so important that you want to disturb my sleep?" Harry said hoarsely putting on his glasses as he entered the kitchen.

"It's almost two o'clock in the afternoon, Harry. You should be up now. I came over because you're invited to a party I'm throwing."

"I don't want to go," Harry automatically replied with a shrug.

"No. You are going whether you like it or not, so I suggest you get used to the idea and try to figure out what you're going to wear," Ron said firmly as he poured two cups of coffee.

"Yes, mother," Harry mocked, starching his head and taking the hot cup, blowing over the steaming brew. "Where is this gathering?"

"The Mansion, of course," Ron said as though it were common knowledge.

"Oh." Harry pondered if he should really go. "What is this thing that you find it so necessary to drag me into?"

Ron leaned against the wall of the kitchen, blowing over his coffee. "Masquerade Ball. Pretty big social gathering. I'm actually doing this to help the Ministry get more employees since..." His voice trailed off a little, leaving them both in silence for a long time.

"Right," Harry said almost apathetically, "and explain to me what a Masquerade Ball is."

"You really are sheltered, Harry Potter," Ron grinned, taking a liberal amount of his drink. "It's a ball where you hide behind masks. The whole key is to go through a night, without revealing who you are," he explained.

Harry furrowed his eyebrows, sipping on his coffee. "Sounds boring," he commented dryly, "and tell me again why you are making me go?"

Ron set down his cup, sighing as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Because you are worrying me--and Ginny. You stay locked up in this flat, then go out at night, find some one night shag, and sleep all day until you get back up and do the same routine again. It's not healthy." His blue eyes filled with concern, making Harry feel a pang at his heart.

"Yeah, well, nothing we do is really healthy, so I just make best of it while I still have breath in my body."

"You're coming tonight," Ron repeated again, confirming the thought.

"Yes, yes, I know this."

"Ginny will be by to pick you up. Do you have something to wear?"

Harry thought about the question and realized he didn't have anything nice to wear. "No," he answered honestly, "I don't. I've not bothered with dress robes in a while. You do want me to wear a dress robe, right?"

"Yes of course," Ron replied, picking up his cup again, taking another drink. He looked at the watch on his wrist, biting his lip as he thought for a moment. "Ginny will have to take you shopping then," he thought out loud, "I've got a few errands to run before the party and I have to get things set up."

"Is Ginny okay with this?" Harry inquired curiously. A quick thought ran through his head wondering if she was against going out of her way to take him shopping, he wouldn't have to go.

"She'll be alright with it. She's the one who told me to make you come and said that she'll do anything she can to help." Ron shrugged. "You're not getting out of this Harry, so get over it."

"Okay, okay," Harry said defeated, "I'll go to this stupid ball thing you have going on. Doesn't mean I'll have a good time."

"You don't have to, that's up to you. I'm just making sure you go." Ron smiled triumphantly.

****

Ginny always had a presence that made her distinctly different from her brothers. Most people dubbed it off that it was simply because she was the only female of the Weasley clan, however Harry knew it was otherwise. She always had a beauty about her, something youthful, which could have well been from her being the youngest of them all.

She possessed a glamour all of her own that only identified through careful stares, and she knew it. Virginia Weasley knew she had turned into a beautiful young lady. She knew people looked at her, tilting their heads curious about what was so different, yet everything was the same. And she knew that when turning around her brown eyes meeting into another pair of eyes, they would quickly glance away, pink flourishing into their cheeks.

Just as Ron had said, Ginny was at Harry's flat within a couple of hours, dragging him down to Diagon Alley into Madame Malkin's. She looked through the robes offered to her, tilting her head, in contemplation, small curls cupping her freckled cheeks. She pointed to a robe silently, and the helper gave it to Ginny. Turning around she lifted eyebrows at Harry silently asking what he thought.

He shrugged, glancing to the other side of the shop feeling bored and began to walk away to look around.

"What about this?" she called from her spot, pulling out a deep green robe.

"Anything but green," Harry said eyeing the robe, "I've had more green robes than I could count."

"It matches your eyes." She shrugged giving it back to the helper.

"Exactly. That's what they all say," he said wrinkling up his nose in disgust, "so just anything but green. That's all I ask."

Ginny nodded slowly, biting her cheek in contemplation. "So," she said searching through the colored fabrics before her, "talked to Oliver lately?"

Harry took in a sharp breath at the name she said. "No..." he trailed off quietly.

"Oh." More silence. "Well, why not?"

"Last I heard," Harry said winding back around to where Ginny was standing, "he moved in with Cho Chang temporarily." He shrugged. "I've not talked to him since he moved out."

She turned, her red curls flowing behind her back. "Why?" It was a simple question, but it took everything in Harry to answer it. Naturally, he shrugged the question off.

"He's happier without me."

"I highly doubt that."

"Keep doubting, but it's the truth."

"You should talk to him," she commented, her brown eyes serious, "it's been at least a month and he misses you."

"How would you know?" Harry asked, leaning against the wall next to him crossing his arms across his chest.

"Despite what you may think, I've got my sources. You could just stop by Cho's and see how he's doing and all..." She shrugged at the suggestion, and turned away to look at a deep blue robe. "Besides, it beats hanging out in those disgusting pubs and picking up those things you call women."

"You weren't available," Harry smirked watching the pink rise into her cheeks.

"Because you never got out of the flat," she retorted her voice sweet as sugar. "What do you think about this?" She lifted the dark blue robe next to Harry, biting her lip. After careful glances from Harry to the robe she shook her head.

"What was wrong with that one?" he asked.

"It had too much purple. I want blue." She pointed to a lighter shade, more aquamarine than blue, doing the same procedure as before. "That's it," she called to the helper, pulling out a bag full of money.

"You don't have to pay," Harry said quickly, moving away from the wall and going straight for his pocket.

Ginny lifted up a hand silencing him. "It's okay, Harry. You don't have to be kind and caring all the time. I've got it."

For some reason, Harry felt slightly hurt by the comment. Kind and caring? It had nothing to do with being kind and caring, and everything to do with his hatred for charity. He wasn't poor, and he didn't need her help. But he kept silent, as he usually did, and allowed her to pay the fee all the same.

****

Just as Ron had explained, Harry was going to go to the party, no matter what. After he had arrived home from getting his dress robe with Ginny, she told him to be ready by 8 o'clock and as the sound of bells chimed eight times from the large clock, he became fully aware someone would be arriving to pick him up. As though on cue, there was a sharp knock at the door, making him jump.

When Harry opened the door, a fairly attractive young girl in lavender robes greeted him. "Hello," she said softly, obviously shy, "Mister Weasley sent me to...come get you." Her accent was Irish sounding, small blonde curls surrounding her face perfectly.

"I see," Harry said, leaning against the door jam. "How are we getting there?"

"I have a portkey, sir," she replied, pulling out the locket around her neck.

"Hmm," Harry nodded, biting his cheek as he played with the girl. "I guess we better go, huh?"

"Um...yes, yes, sir," She stuttered, her cheeks flushing with pink as Harry grabbed her hand lightly. She opened the charm lock, and soon the nauseating feeling crashed down upon both of them, until it was too unbearable to stand. Opening his eyes, Harry noticed that the portkey had placed them right on the front steps of the Weasley Mansion, where Ron stood waiting.

"Ah, very good work, Drusilla," Ron complimented.

"You're welcome, sir," she answered, dropping Harry's hand quickly and walking inside even quicker.

Harry grinned at the shy girl, raising his eyebrows at Ron. "Servant of yours?" he inquired.

"Yes. She's new, but she's one of our best. Come now, the party's already started." He turned around to go inside, when he let out a small, "Oh!" and whirled back around in front of Harry. "You'll be needing this," he said, handing him a mask.

"I...I don't understand." Harry looked down at the feathery mask, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

"Harry." Ron drew in a deep sigh becoming exasperated. "It's a masquerade party. You wear this." He took the mask gently so the feathers would not fall off and detach from the glue on there, carefully pulling the string in the back and placed it over Harry's eyes. "See? Easy. Now get in there, and stop moping outside."

"I rather like moping outside, thank you," Harry said indignantly.

"I'm sure you do," Ron mumbled, following behind his friend as they walked back inside the mansion.

There were many people present at the party. Harry couldn't identify who had arrived for the occasion through the sea of masks that conveniently hide their own faces. Some of the beauties covered most of the guests face, and others just enough to cloak their eyes. He walked along the side of the walls, careful to stay quiet and blend in with the paint next to him, his fingertips grazing the smooth surface. Finally finding a vacant spot near a corner, he sat down, suddenly feeling very tired and thankful for the newfound sanctuary.

What am I doing here? I don't know how I got myself dragged into this.

Harry placed his head in his hands.

"Hiding in the corner?" a low voice drawled in front of him.

"No, this is not the corner," he looked over and pointed to where the corner was, "That's the corner. This is just the neighbor of the corner." He glanced at the person standing in front of him, face hidden under a shiny silver oblong mask, that matched the stranger's eyes. Harry felt his heart flutter a little more as he stared at the color.

"Feeling anti-social?" the stranger asked, a small smirk tugging at their lips.

"You could say that."

"Ah, yes. And I have," the stranger added.

Harry noticed that the person's attire consisted of a Muggle black suit accompanied with a small red rosebud in the pocket, rather than the usual formal cloaks everyone else was wearing. There was a cloak, however, that flowed behind him, like wings of a black angel, his fingers covered with white gloves. The stranger tilted his head and began to stare back at Harry, making Harry feel very uneasy and he looked away quickly.

The stranger let out a chuckle. "You don't have to look so uncomfortable." After a long silence, he let out a small sigh. "So, do you plan to sit here all night and just wallow in your sorrows?" he inquired, his smile dissipating and becoming very serious again.

"What is this? Twenty questions?" Harry asked, puzzled, wondering who this person was and what they really wanted to do with him. "And I am not 'wallowing in my sorrows', I am just...checking out the scenery. But you're in my way."

The stranger turned to the side, letting out his hand, gesturing to the crowd as though presenting a king to his kingdom. "Forgive me if I should be in your way, sir," he said with a hint of sarcasm. "I'll remember next time not to stand in the way." He turned around and began to walk away. Harry found himself feeling at a loss for words, and suddenly very lonely.

Pushing the thought aside, Harry leaned back against the chair crossing his arms and thinning his lips. He was bound not to like this party; he hated parties. He hated the balls he went to at Hogwarts, he hated all the social gatherings Ron drug him to, and he was determined to hate this one. Taking in a deep breath, Harry watched the guests dance, holding glasses of champagne and laughing carelessly. They acted as though nothing had happened in the past two years...that everything was the same when he was only a student at Hogwarts. They were programming their minds to have a good time.

"So, do you plan to sit here all night and just wallow in your sorrows?"

Wrinkling up his nose in frustration, Harry gathered himself up and began to walk toward the stairs that were typically off limits to everyone, but after careful consideration, he decided that Ron wouldn't mind. Glancing over his shoulder, he double checked to make sure that he wasn't noticed but merely a wallflower to be ignored. It was easier to blend in with the inviting walls, as he could watch everyone on his own, and no one would have to tell him otherwise.

Harry glanced at the bright yellow plaster, flourished with gaudy paintings of the Weasley family, and achievements they had done over the years. Some had older relatives that happily waved back at him, making a sick feeling flow through his stomach. Each frame was decorated beautifully with gold trim engraved with flowers; something Harry knew automatically was Ginny's doing.

Once he reached the top of the stairs, he began to walk down the long hallway of many bedrooms. Trying to remember where the west wing was, he began blindly searching for the area, going down to the end and turning left. He felt relieved when the large double glass doors appeared at the end, the balcony inviting him outside.

Closing the doors behind him, Harry walked over to the edge of the large area. There were a few old stray rickety chairs, but, all in all, the entire balcony was bare. Harry liked that. He began to enjoy simplicity and the area not being cluttered with furniture worth hundreds of galleons, and the simple layout only added to his enjoyment. Breathing in deeply, Harry felt his lungs stinging from the biting cool air. It was a wonderful feeling, the feeling that he could be cleansed with fresh air. He always loved outdoor air. It didn't smell stale and contaminated with everyone's outtake of breath, struggling to gain more oxygen in one room.

"Well well," a voice cooed from behind him, making Harry spin around to search into the darkness, "I see I'm not alone."

"Who's there?"

A small light flashed in front of a white cigarette, firing up the end, as the person extinguished the lighter and sucked in a deep breath off the skinny stick. The stranger exhaled slowly, white puffy clouds of smog fogging up around them, reflected by the moonlight, before chuckling softly. "I'd tell you," the voice said amused, "But then I'd have to kill you."

"Oh that's very frightening," Harry said, his words biting, "Too bad I'm not the scaring type."

"If you knew who I was, you'd drop dead where you stand."

"Try me."

"I will, just not right now. I'm enjoying the moment."

Pursing his lips together, Harry turned around mumbling "Fine," and feeling extremely annoyed. He didn't like mind games, and that's exactly what this person was playing. Leaning over the thick concert railing, he peered down at the stories below, a wave of nausea washing over him. The slimy taste of bile rose up in his throat the more he pushed against the railing, and for some reason he didn't move back. The ground looked so inviting from above, and although Harry didn't have a broom or anything to glide on to make the landing softer, he wanted to reach the bottom and allow his face and fingers to touch it.

A tight grip wrapped around his arm, jerking him back away from the edge. "What...What are you doing?" Harry stammered, vertigo making it hard for him to see.

"Saving your life," the voice said calmly. Harry finally noticed that it was a male voice, one that drawled with a certain familiarity although he couldn't pick up from where. He almost collapsed against the stranger's chest, his strength quickly diminishing.

"I guess this makes you my hero," Harry giggled, incoherent from the dizziness. He leaned closer to the figure in front of him, trying to stop the agonizing sickness threatening him.

"You could say that," the person murmured, his grip on Harry's arm loosening as he reached up to tug at a piece of ebony hair. Harry couldn't understand what was going on, but the warmth of body head and aroma of champagne and strawberries made his mind more fuzzy and hard to concentrate. Letting out a small sigh, he closed his eyes tight, vertigo slowly wavering away. The person guided him over to a chair, setting him down slowly, as though he were handling a fine piece of china.

There was a loud bang, and the warmth quickly went away, leaving the aching feeling in his stomach to rush back again. The double glassed doors opened, and Harry tried hard to focus his eyes, but it didn't matter as the moonlight reflected against a bright red piece of hair, and he knew who it was.

"Ron?"

"Where the hell have you been?" Ron cried quickly, "I've been looking all over for you."

"How sweet," Harry said dully.

"Are you drunk?"

"No, I just don't feel well...You mind helping me?" Ron came over, placing Harry's arm around his shoulder, and wrapping his other one around his waist.

"You smell...you smell like champagne. You are drunk."

"No..." Harry tried to argue but his voice trailed off.

"You're a very bad liar, Harry, now come on, let me get you into a bedroom."