There is no such thing as day without night, joy without pain, or success without loss, but that will never make it easier for the heart.

-Mariella Eyre, Hogwarts Headmistress, 1356-1408

Harry had spent the months after the loss of Sirius in a half state of awareness. He knew that even through the thick, unfeeling skulls of the Dursleys it had penetrated that something was wrong. They did not know that Harry had lost another tie to his family, and they would never understand it.

Dumbledore insisted on his staying there over the summer. No amount of arguing from the Weasleys or Lupin had dissuaded him and so he had returned to the hell more commonly known as Privet Drive. Uncle Vernon had not locked up his things, thanks to the severe threats from Moody and the Order, but after a few weeks of crying hysterically every time he saw something that connected to Sirius he had locked them all up himself. He had even asked Ron to watch Hedwig.

His firebolt made him remember its giver. His books reminded him of the school and that inevitably led to the thought of the Marauders. Just the fact that Hedwig had at times brought letters marked from Snuffles had brought him to tears. He could not even carry his wand, a fact that NO ONE else knew. Harry had never realized how intricately twined Sirius had been with the rest of his life. He cried to sleep more often than not, and tended to speak in fractured utterances.

Only Ron, Hermionie and Hedwig knew how he was not quite sane. His friends sent him letters trying to cheer him up, but always ended with the same question. “How are you really?” To them alone he told the truth; he was in hell. To everyone else he had recovered entirely. Lupin would ask how his homework was going. The rest of the Order would send along information they had found, and Harry would respond in chipper handwriting and write bright sayings, but the effort put into maintaining the mask of happiness was enough to put him to tears when he was done.

He had been tired before. He had fought evil and he had worked himself nearly to death with assignments while at school.

But he had never felt so emotionally exhausted. Any minor event could throw him over the edge. The layer of cheerfulness was like a balloon that had been blown larger than it could withstand. To all the world it seemed whole, but Harry only had a single thought of joy. Padfoot and Prongs were united once again. He used that thought each time his façade broke, and he would carefully repair his joy and then stretch it out again and rebuild the mask.

A minor miracle came in that Dudley had stopped taunting and harassing him.

The rest of the world was devoid of any blessing.

Voldemort had risen again, and the wizarding world was doomed. It was a somber fact that everyone knew, but no one mentioned. Fudge had announced his mistake and every auror was on duty, but once a week Harry received a small letter sealed in black and borne by a black owl, telling him the exact death count and every name. If any relatives were still alive, Harry would write to them, assuring what he could and extending his condolences to the grieving survivors.

The mistakes that Voldemort had made in his last reign were corrected as he built a new regime. The aurors, and members of the Order of the Phoenix were targeted specifically and the Ministry was practically ignored. For all of Fudge’s promises, his people were slaughtered as he blustered on about what was being done.

Harry felt the most sympathy for the Muggles that were killed. They never understood what had happened, and the families were lied to. It was disgusting.

Harry heard a gentle knock on his door. Sitting up and throwing his legs over the side of the bed he walked over to open it. Aunt Petunia handed him a small tray with chicken soup a ham sandwich and two cookies. She was the closest at Privet Drive to him, and tried to do what she could, which, in Harry’s opinion, was worthless, but the small actions, allowing him to eat in his room, not threatening to throw him out, smiling softly, kept him from the worst actions.

She gave him a small smile, which he returned falsely.

“Thank you.”

“Not at all.”

And she was gone.

He ate in silence, and was about to set the tray outside the door, when he heard another knock. Dudley entered without waiting and set a pile of letters onto the bed, picked up the tray and disappeared down the hall.

Harry took a breath to calm himself and started on the stack. The first was a brief note from Arthur Weasley updating Harry on the location of his family members. All of the Weasleys were strewn over the world. Arthur still had his job at the Ministry, Molly was working in America, the twins ran their shop in Diagon Alley, Bill was based out of Egypt, but at any moment could be in any Middle Eastern country, Charlie was recruiting in Asia, Percy was still a ministry prat, and even Ron and Ginny were working. They stayed together, but worked part time jobs in Ireland to serve as contacts for the wizards there. Hermionie moved weekly over Europe, dropping off packages from the Order to its members. Arthur’s letter confirmed their positions, and briefly wished him well.

The next was from Lupin.

Harry,

I hope that this owl can find you. Considering how many charms have been put on that house to protect it, I’m surprised you can even find it, let alone this bloody old owl. I swore I would write weekly to let you know I was alive, so I am. If you haven’t heard, Lucius Malfoy has disappeared with his wife. Draco is still around, but is living alone and is being watched by the Ministry. The Lestranges have made their existence known once more by repeating what they did to the Longbottoms. Their most recent victims were the Abbots. We aren’t sure why yet. If it isn’t a problem I’d like you to write their daughter. It may help. She is in your grade, Hannah. She’s in Hufflepuff. Do you know her?

I hope you’re well, and I’m glad that you have managed to move on, painful though it may be.

Yours,

Moony

PS. The Moon lines up with when I should next send you a letter, so I will send one directly before and after.

Harry bit down hard on his lip to fight back tears over some of the lines. The Abbots. Another to add to the toll. Hannah was a nice girl and did not deserve the suffering, but no one ever did. He promised himself he would write her after finishing all the letters and moved to the next.

He had three condolence letters from witches and wizards expressing their gratitude towards him for exposing what he knew. Those were thrown in the basket after a skimming. The letter from Dumbledore told him not to fret, but little else. Then there was a small black letter, just like every week.

Inside it read:

Mark and Crystal Abbot – Muggle Born Wizards, tortured to insanity by the Lestranges, Surrey, Sunday

Jessica McLaughlin – Squib, killer unknown, London, Monday

Brigitte, Laurel, Brie, Phillip Lamoure – Wizards, killer unknown, Bordeaux, Tuesday

Jonathon Morgan – Muggle Born Auror, killer unknown, whereabouts unknown, found Thursday

Seven Unidentifiable Persons – killed by backlash in fight between Crabbe and Ministry Auror, Thursday

Kelly, Kristi, Colleen Green – Muggles, killed by McNair, New York, America, Saturday

Harry filed the letter with all the others, and vowing to send condolences, turned to the two remaining letters. His heart skipped. One of them was small, simple and blood red. He ripped it open to read:

Aaron Crabbe – Death Eater, killed by Ministry Auror, Thursday

It was all it said, but a small flame flared in Harry and he knew that one of the enemy was dead. He always enjoyed receiving red letters.

His temporary excitement vanished as the thought of Sirius drifted into his mind and he opened the final letter.

Little though it made sense, the letter was from Snape. He continued to hate Harry, but said he respected the fact that he could not be left in the dark, and he was completely blunt in what he wrote. Harry had asked him to write, begged actually, and his letters were usually more useful than a hundred papers or a thousand letters from Dumbledore.

Mr. Potter,

In the last two weeks since I have written, the Dark Lord has managed further contact with the Giants and is preparing to sign an alliance with them. Dumbledore has been informed, he will address it as he sees fit. The Dark Lord has managed to trace the basic outlines of where you reside. I have been informed that countermeasures have been taken to prevent his locating you, but ever Death Eater is working towards the goal of your destruction. Take heed of anyone wearing long sleeves and in the mean time purchase a book called Broken Wand by Lucille Cauldrona. It will explain how to defend without using a wand, which is a probable situation.

As I am on the current team assigned to locating you, I have been able to plant a few pieces of false information, but I must stress that you MAY STILL BE FOUND. In such a case, run and do not look back. Myself or another of the Order will find you. Above all else DO NOT LEAVE YOUR HOME. Do NOT go outside.

For the sake of saving myself a lecture, I will tell you that none of the deaths can be credited to my actions.

The Dark Lord will not move against you until you present an opportunity. Do NOT give one. If you do I will bring you back so that I can have a chance to torture you properly.

Remember that you will need to have completed the essay I have assigned you. As smug as you are, undoubtedly you will not have started.

Professor Severus Snape

Harry sat down heavily at his desk and ran a hand through his hair, throwing it back into disarray. Snape was the most useful of his contacts and never ceased to amaze him. Despite the mutual hatred between them, Snape was honest and did not hide details. Harry had developed what bordered on pride in the man. He worked as a spy for the most dangerous man in the world and had not been caught. But Harry was still in shock that the professor could continue to think about essays.

He sighed and began penning the letters to the survivors.

In his life, the Dark Lord attacked not him, but those around him, because friends are the supports that give a man strength. With them, he can withstand anything. Without them, a breath of wind will knock him down. But until all of them are gone, he will look for a way to continue. Such was the way of the boy-who-lived, despite a lapse in effort.

-from The Boy-Who-Lived, A Biography by George Fiddler

Harry walked down the stairs and entered Petunia’s perfect kitchen. He rummaged through a shelf and found a package of cookies. Taking a few, he placed them on a plate and prepared to sit in the living room. His own bedroom had begun to trigger memories of Sirius even without any of his wizarding belongings visible. It had been a week since the last update when he had learned of Crabbe’s death. He would receive the next set today, and did not look forward to it. The Daily Prophet had reported twenty deaths, which meant there were at least thirty, plus more no one knew of.

Vernon was in the office, Dudley was playing videogames, and Petunia was out in the garden with the roses. Dudley walked by as he was finishing the first cookie, and said nothing, but passed on and out the door. With nothing better to do, Harry stood by the door and listened to the conversation.

“Can I go out tonight?”

“Of course Diddy-kins. Where are you going to go?”

“Just to hang out with my friends. Nothing special.”

“Alright then, when do you think you’ll be back?”

“Around midnight.”

“That’s awfully late, Diddy.”

“I’ll be fine. I can go.”

“Yes, you may.”

Harry rolled his eyes at the worthless conversation, but before he had left, they continued.

“Dudley,” Petunia said. It made Harry freeze; she never used his name. “I want you to be sure to be nice to Harry.”

Harry felt like he had been punched. There was no way she would say it otherwise.

“Why? He’s one of them. He’s a freak.”

“But he is going through something, and I think someone may had died.”

“So?”

“Well, I think that this person was important, and I think that Harry is blaming himself.” That was it. Harry didn’t hear anything else. He dropped the plate, and distantly heard it shatter while he ran up the stairs. Even Petunia knew that it was his fault. And for the first time in his life Harry was not disagreeing with his Aunt.

It was his fault, and he knew it.

“It is my fault. It is my fault.” He whispered over and over. He wrapped his arms around his legs, drawing them to his chest and cried. It went on for almost an hour. Fitful choking sobs and long periods of silent tears.

He cried himself dry and then went on in unrestrained pain. His clock had just changed to noon as he stood and took a breath. The cube was in his pocket and he felt a minor desire to touch it, but he was too emotionally lost to find enough strength. He prepared to write a letter to Ron, keeping him constantly updated on the progress of his failing sanity, and heard a muffled shout.

Jumping to his feet, he ripped the window open, and distantly knew that his reflexes had not faded.

“Help!” He heard again as the breeze entered.

Petunia was still in the garden and before Harry could think, he was down the stairs and outside. She was being attacked by a Knarl, but she had no idea how to react. Harry dealt with the creature, and only as he moved to his Aunt to help her, did he realize what he had done.

He was out of his house. He had been told a thousand times by a thousand friends not to leave his house for any reason.

And now he had.

Harry jumped and dragged Petunia inside. She was shaking in fear from the Knarl, an dh was shaking worse. He knew that he was in no state to fight or defend himself, and for all the peptalks he had imagined Sirius giving him, he could not find the strength. The thought of Sirius shattered him on the inside as it always did, but he managed to avoid crying while he helped Petunia calm down.

Dudley waddled in from the kitchen, and stared at the scene, completely at a loss. Once Harry was sure she would be fine, he left her in the kitchen with a cup of tea, and retreated to his room and wept.

*~~~*~~~*

Uncle Vernon returned that night to find Petunia still in the kitchen, mud on the floor and tea spilt on the table. Harry was called down instantly, and Dudley’s name quickly followed. Dudley was out on his nightly romp and could not answer, so Harry walked down alone, and met the icy glare of his Uncle.

“What did you do to her, boy?” He hissed.

“I didn’t do anything. I helped her with a minor problem.”

“She’s not acting like it’s minor now.”

“No.” Harry looked at her slowly, “She isn’t.”

“WHAT HAPPENED?” Vernon screamed

“She was attacked by a knarl. They look like hedgehogs, but they hate it when someone offers them food. I ran down and got it away from her.”

“What was some ruddy KNARL doing in my YARD?”

“They live everywhere.”

“All because of you and your ruddy abnormality, no doubt.”

Harry’s emotions were still too thin. He had cried all afternoon, his eyes were still bloodshot, he had not received his post, he was weak in body, weak in mind, weak in spirit, and afraid of his mistake. Vernon’s words stabbed through to him like knives and tore his veil of protection to shreds.

“If my wife gets hurt again because of you, you’ll leave this house. And the same is true of Dudley. I don’t want some death magnet living beneath my roof and if you think–”

“Vernon, stop.” Aunt Petunia calmly interrupted him. “Harry helped me, nothing more. I was attacked by one of these things before, I overreacted today. Harry does not need to be punished. Hand me that dish towel so I can clean this up, and Vernon, you and I will be going out to dinner tonight, go get changed.” Vernon looked flummoxed, but moved despite it. “That’s all I can do for now Harry, do not leave the house, and do not make a mess in my kitchen. Cook whatever you please for your supper, but the kitchen had best not have a speck of dirt when I return.” She nodded brusquely and went to change.

*~~~*~~~*

Harry watched their car turn around the corner of Privet Drive from the front window of number four. He waited until he heard a faint tap to his side and had to open a window for a sleek black owl. The letter it carried was on regular parchment, so it was not the death count, but carried an air of supreme importance.

He ripped it open.

Mr. Potter,

I had always known you to be an insufferable fool before this time, but now my belief is concerned. Did I not say NOT to leave your house? Did I not clarify to you how imperative it was that you stay where you are? Perhaps your over-inflated ego decided that you were mighty enough to fight off whatever the Dark Lord threw at you when he had located you.

I can personally say that you would not, and as I would be one of the ones assigned to attack you, I would not hold back anything if you are so useless as to reveal yourself before we have granted you the time to do so.

The Dark Lord does not know your exact location, but thanks to your idiotic jaunt today, he knows the approximate area, and has planned to severely attack Little Whining tonight. Even if every person you know and love is dying outside your door tonight, DO NOT LEAVE. If you do and the Dark Lord does not kill you I will complete his task myself.

DO NOT LEAVE YOUR HOUSE.

Continue to work on your essay.

Professor Severus Snape

*~~~*~~~*

In Harry’s life it seemed that no message came too early. Only a few hours after the correspondence with Snape, and when the entire Dursley family was once more in the house, Harry was in the kitchen searching for a glass of water. He heard a series of cracks and his head snapped up fearfully. His still bloodshot eyes scanned the room fretfully.

Silence hung accursed over the house, and Harry put his back to the wall as he shook violently. The night was cool for mid summer, and the breeze moved a tree and danced shadows over the room. Harry’s mind went immediately to his earlier stupidity and the warning he had received. Voldemort could easily be there, and Harry wasn’t even armed. He would die, and there was nothing he could do. So much pointless loss, just like Sirius’.

Harry collapsed and curled into a half fetal position with tears streaking over his cheeks. He could do nothing but wait, and hope he had luck. After a few minutes he saw a dim flash of green light, like it was from far away, and he managed to claw his way up. Pain seared through the scar, and he saw Mrs. Figg’s house. The light had come from there, and he then heard the cracks of Disapparation. There were the same number as before.

He knew because he counted.

Running out the door and across the cul-de-sac, Harry threw the door open and saw the worst. Mrs. Figg was lying on her side and her eyes were scared. She had clearly tried to fight back, based off the number of ornaments and photo albums that opposed her, but she was only a squib and in the end she was as defenseless as a Muggle.

Her cats had been killed as well, all but one. The kitten was pure white and pawed in bewilderment at her owner and fellow pets. Harry watched as the cat moved one to the next, to the next, and could not help but hold his own vigil with her until she was done. The kitten somberly moved to his side and rubbed against his leg.

Harry picked her up.

“Cleopatra.” He read off her collar. Cleopatra’s eyes were warm and golden, and were the saddest things, Harry had ever seen. She was no more than five months, and small. She sat comfortably on his shoulder. She mewed once for the loss, and it sounded like a heart breaking.

He should have cried again. Tears should have once more streaked his already wet face. Sobs should have wracked his body, and moans of fear should have rent the air. But they did not. Harry turned from graveyard and walked back to number four. He stood by the window and waited a few minutes for an owl with Cleopatra on his shoulder.

One swept in with a small black envelope. He opened it and scanned down. Seventeen Muggle Deaths. Six Wizards. Three Witches. And one Squib.

He placed it calmly into the file he kept, and was about to begin condolences when he froze. He had finally realized what he had to do.

And what was at stake if he didn’t.

Cleopatra licked his cheek.

“If I am never the target of his anger, I will die having never known real fear.”

-Kingsley Shacklebolt

Harry stood so quickly the chair toppled backwards and clattered on the floor. Cleopatra leapt down, and watched him cautiously from the corner. He finally understood it; he could see what would happen if he did not fight out of the stupor he had lived in.

“I can’t stay like this anymore, Sirius,” he forced himself to use the name, and forced the tears away, “I can’t keep mourning for you. I love you and I love my dad and mum, but I have to fight now. You would never have taken this long to start, but I did, and now I need to move quickly. Dad, I’m sorry I couldn’t live up to the actions you did, but I’m trying now. I spent all summer wallowing in my own self pity because they never let me see what else there was.

“The Order didn’t show me what was happening. They never do. They didn’t last year and now you’ve gone through that damn veil, Sirius. The only one who tells me anything is the man that you both hate! Snape’s the only one who doesn’t try to coddle me or shield my eyes from the hardships of the war. Damn it, if they won’t explain anything someone else is going to die. And I can’t handle losing another. I WON’T lose another!

“They don’t get it. I have to fight Voldemort one day. I have to or he will continue to live. According to the prophecy, I’m the ONLY one that can do anything. I don’t want to but I have to. THERE IS NO ONE ELSE!” Harry was screaming at his ceiling and a step from letting magic do things of it’s own accord. He ranted and paced, and his emotion snapped. “I am going to kill Voldemort.” He whispered to himself. “I am going to kill Peter, and I will not stop until I have. No matter what the cost.”

He made the promise to himself, and to his mother and the Marauders and to his friends. He even promised it to Snape.

For every death count he received he would fight harder and for every lie he was told, he would work longer. The spirit of him had nearly been extinguished, but he had managed to find his motivation and nothing would stop him any more.

He threw aside the flimsy mask he had clung to and began to build walls. He drained weakness from his mind and heart, and in its place poured a substance like a liquid diamond that he cooled and forced to his will. There would be no more crying. There would be no more mourning and there would no longer be a voice that restrained him. He would do everything it took, and the world of rock and ice he had built would be the only thing to protect him until the final fight.

Harry coolly climbed down the stairs and opened the lock on the cupboard beneath them. His old room held his things.

Pulling them out all at once, he brought them up the stairs and back into his room. He sat down and began to pen letters, waiting for an owl’s visit.

*~~~*~~~*

Dear Ron,

I need you to send Hedwig back. I need her.

Thanks,

Harry

He handed the letter to the barn owl and returned to the others he was working on. The owl hopped away from Cleo and flew off. Harry stroked the cat’s head and wrote.

Minister,

At this time I require a permit specifically from you stating that I have the right to use my wand and magic outside of school for both this and next summer.

Thank you,

Harry Potter

**

Professor Snape,

I need to know who was assigned to the murder of Arbella Doreen Figg. It occurred tonight, she was a Muggle and lived near me. I also need to know which books contain the best descriptions of anti-poison potions. Send a list of useful supplies and any advice you may have. Please reply immediately and continue to alert me of Voldemort’s movements.

Harry Potter

**

Hermionie,

What is the most advanced book on Defense that I can buy?

Harry

**

He sent the letters and waited, he could do very little at the time. He had to wait for responses before he could move onward, but he lifted his textbooks out of the trunk and began to read through them. For the first time in weeks he fell asleep with a dry face.

Pain is part of war. Death is an inextricable part of war. Victory, victory is optional.

-James Potter after being accepted to the Ministry as an Auror

Remus Lupin stepped onto the small porch of number twelve, Grimauld place and watched the stars. They moved above him, telling stories in a language he could not understand. A small streak of white light swept across the sky, and he remembered back fifteen years to the day that Harry had survived. The celebrations had lasted for hours, and owls had drifted in the air beneath the glowing tapestry the shooting stars had made. He had sat and mourned with Sirius, not knowing the accusations that would soon be leveled against him. As one, they had wept for the loss of their two greatest friends.

He could remember lashing out at an unsuspecting wizard who was smiling over Voldemort’s disappearance. Sirius had restrained hi from moving physically. When dawn had risen, Sirius had risen abruptly, muttering about the rat. Remus had not given it a thought, but after all these years later, he understood.

With a heavy sigh he shook his head and stepped back into the house. It was empty, even Kreacher was dead at last. Everything was hollow, and the small warmth Sirius had brought to it had vanished. It was desolate, it was harsh, it was cold, but more than anything it was Black. Sirius’ mother still shouted from the wall at times, and the hatred for his kind seeped off the walls. His rare visitors appeared suddenly and departed the same way. Most of them did little but eat sleep and leave on their next task.

Ever since Dumbledore had assigned him to guard the house, his life had been bleak. He had decided to peruse the magnificent library, but the doorbell rang. His hope soared. Someone was visiting, and it was casual, otherwise they would have apparated inside.

“Coming. Hello, how are-” He flung open the door.

Three Death Eaters were standing where he had a few minutes earlier. Cloaked, hooded, and menacing they watched his panic for a moment. He drew his wand after a half-breath of delay and raised it to duel. They laughed, and small streak of blindingly pure white light shot to his stomach. The world flashed, and then went dark.

*~~~*~~~*

“Honey, where did you put the mayonnaise? I wanted to finish your sandwich for tomorrow at work.”

“It’s in the refrigerator, just like always, Sarah.” Aaron said calmly from the couch. He was watching WWF and was ready to head to bed as he heard a piercing scream. His fiancée was standing stock still in the kitchen and staring in a panic out the window. He ran to her side, and saw what she did. A tall man with an eerie mask and long black robes was at the window.

Sarah’s hand went into the air, and pointed tremulously. “It’s him. It’s him. It’s You-Know-Who.”

Aaron was confused, but with her so scared, he stood to confront him. “Who are you? Go away. This is private property. Leave. Leave or I’ll call the cops.”

“Fool.” The man whispered before waving a small dark stick like it was a wand. Aaron flew back and crashed into the wall.

His vision swam before his eyes, but returned in time to hear Sarah say, “I’ll tell you everything. Everything I know, just please don’t hurt me.”

The man leaned over and pointed the stick to her head. “But you don’t know anything. Avada Kedarva.” In a flash of green light, Aaron saw her die, and as he sat in shock, the man moved towards him. “Ah, a muggle, how nice. Now let’s hear you scream.”

An invisible hand grabbed his arm and twisted, excruciating pain tore his mind apart. The shoulder dislocated, but the arm kept twisting. It was sick and gruesome, but he could do nothing but cry out in agonizingly long shrieks. It seemed that every second took an hour and more. But finally the pain relaxed, and left only the lingering remnants.

Even those were enough to leave him in tears. He pleaded for his life, but was greeted with carefree laughter. The hand returned and, grasping his upper arm, tightned. It cinched inward until the bones began to shatter and snap. With a final crunch he heard it separate entirely. His pain-drunk eyes saw the dripping red stump attached to his body.

“She never told you did she? What she was? Why she was greater than you? It doesn’t matter though. You die just the same.” The man lifted a small bottle from inside his cloak, and forced it into Aaron’s mouth. For a few seconds there was nothing, and there was a faint hopeful thought of an antidote. A sudden stab of pain wrenched his body. His fingers and feet were burning. The torture paused and then rushed forward. It crept up his extremities, leaving him alive by a breath. Again his eyes caught only a glimpse of what was happening.

He was burning to death, but there were no flames, no smoke, no visual. Only the charred remains and the heat that was searing off nerve endings.

Aaron felt it reach his chest, felt it reach his brain, and felt it pause as though assuring itself that he was suffering. Then it struch through, and Aaron felt his heart burn to nothing in his own chest. He fell dead, black and little better than soot, beside his wife who was unscathed.

The Death Eater laughed and disappeared.

He began to take the battle seriously, and this was when the onlookers began to have hope of victory. Once he had set his determination, nothing would stop him.

-from The Second Great War by Quentin Trimble and Bathilda Bagshot

Harry paced in his bedroom, spinning his wand over his fingers, and ignoring the minor pain in his leg. Tripping and falling when he had jumped out of bed to receive an owl from Snape had strained a muscle. It still stabbed pain through him when he misplaced his foot.

Hedwig gave a quiet hoot and he turned to look out the window. Almost a dozen post owls were flying towards him. He flung the window open a second before they reached it, and a long line of them settled onto the edge of the bed. Hedwig made her disapproval of the event vocal until Harry had taken all the letters and packages and sent the birds on their way.

The first letter was marked from Snape, and came with a large box.

This is a set of books that will be useful. Read them well, and write when you become confused. I will expect an owl response for why you wanted them.

Work on your Essay for my class.

Severus Snape

Harry laughed again at his teacher’s obsession with the doing of homework. Aside from Hermionie, none of the students had begun to work yet. He opened the box and found five volumes with Latin titles embossed in silver over the ancient leather. “Well, this is an unusual feeling. I’m going to be thanking Snape. Odd.”

The next letter had a Ministry stamp on it. For a second he thought it was a death notice, and that he had lost someone, but the parchment was innocent and plain white.

Owl Results.

Mr. Harry Potter,

At the end of your fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, you took the OWL examinations. Enclosed are your results.

Charms Written: E

Charms Practical: O

Charms: O

Transfiguration Written: E

Transfiguration Practical: O

Transfiguration: O

Herbology Written: O

Herbology Practical: E

Herbology: E

Defense Against the Dark Arts Written: O

Defense Against the Dark Arts Practical: O

Defense Against the Dark Arts: O

Potions Written: E

Potions Practical: O

Potions: O

Care of Magical Creatures Written: O

Care of Magical Creatures Practical: O

Care of Magical Creatures: O

Astronomy Written: O

Astronomy Practical: A

Astronomy: E

Divination: P

History of Magic: Incomplete

Total Owls: 5

Please note that the History of Magic examination will be retaken on the 3rd of September.

Professor H. L. Lewhinn

Harry stopped breathing for several seconds while staring at the paper in front of him. He had enough, he could become an auror. He could be like his dad, like Sirius, and he would be able to train properly. He had even gotten Outstanding in Potions. Harry paused.

Snape was going to kill him.

There was a small letter with the names of deceased Death Eaters. One. Some unknown man by the name of Ferdinand Velaquez.

The letter from the Ministry with the death count was far from encouraging though.

Aaron Rickman & Sarah Jordan – Muggle and Muggle born Witch, killed by unknown death eater, Washington DC, America, Monday

Lissandra Foss – Pureblood Unspeakable, Avada Kedarva, St Petersburg, Russia, Monday

Keizo, Ryutaro, and Obuchi Moynay– Muggles, backlash, Nagoya Japan, Tuesday

Ponciano Arriaga, Joseph Cartwright, James Watt, George Stephenson, Richard Twittlemore, Nicole van Norden, Elisabeth Mazzenta, Marcello Berntinnetti, Phillipa Arnesto, August Bebel, Kelli Miffinpugg, Megan Aurelian, Simone Bolivar, and Ibn Mansura – Wizards, Dark magical explosion, Southwest Belgium, Wednesday

Thisbe Lonsalthan – Witch, Poison, Berlin, Wednesday

Casey Firelighter – Wizard, Avada Kedarva, Casablanca, Morrocco, Thursday

Andromache Saindon, Formosa Tulucture, Inojean Greyhame, Etheena Warbuckler – Witches, insane from torture, recovered in Salem, America, Friday

He sighed, and placed the note into the growing folder. Twenty-five. The numbers were outrageous, especially is such large groups. He found a brief, scrawled message from Hagrid, stating merely that he was fine. A fretful and vague update from the Weasley clan head, along with three pies, found in a large box, cheered him slightly. Hermionie’s was on a small piece of paper, and upon seeing the shaken handwriting, he read on tentatively.

Harry-

I’m very sorry it took so long to respond, but I’ve been moving a lot. I’m fine, just tired. Recently I was in Romania, I got to see Charlie, Ron and Ginny. They all say hello.

The book that you wanted is called In the End of All Things, by Nigel Waikowski. It may be difficult to find, but there are still copies around. Until I can write again,

Hermionie

There was a letter he did not recognize, and he held it at arm’s length, opening slowly, until he realized that magic could kill him no matter what.

Mr. Harry Potter-

You are an fool, and worse than that, you are an unnesscesary fool. You-know-who is not bak. He is dead. Dead. DEAD dew you here me? Now, stop playing with the minds of the people of the –

He threw the note into the trash, and laughed to himself at the grammar and spelling mistakes. He received those occasionally, and threw all of them away. The Daily Prophet had asked him to give an interview, but he would have to refuse.

Finally, he reached the last letter. It was from the Minister of Magic, and Harry’s heart skipped a few beats. It was opened more apprehensively then every other note he had ever received.

Mr. Harry J. Potter,

As to your request for a Underage Magic Usage Exemption Form, it has been denied flatly. I will not issue it, as you do not need it because you-know-who HAS NOT RETURNED.

Cornelius Oswald Fudge,

Minister of Magic

“DAMMIT!!” Harry screamed. “Fine. Just Fine! DAMN!” He threw the letter in a ball, across the room and raged, “How the bloody hell am I supposed to train if I can’t have a wand, huh? How the hell am I supposed to take on Voldemort if I can’t even be ready for him, It doesn’t exactly do me much good does it? NO! I need to be able to train Minister, dammit, I need to be able to train, I don’t have another option.

“If I had another option don’t you think I would have taken it by now? Do you, Mr. I can’t accept the truth until a dead body is at my feet. Damn you Fudge, Damn You!” He gave a choked scream and dropped to the ground beside his bed. He wanted to sleep and never wake up, but he had to much physical energy. Harry lifted a book from his chest and threw it with all his strength.

It slammed into Hedwig’s cage and she squawked loudly. He through the light from his table, and it shattered against the wall.

The clock was beaten with his fists until nothing remained but the flattened fragments. The table was overturned, spilling water into a river that moved, snakelike over his floor. His pillow was ripped in half by the force of his grip upon it, and feathers floated patiently downward.

It didn’t matter. He was stuck in a dead end. There was nothing he could do. Everything had hinged upon the Minister giving him the form, and now it was refused. He was stuck.

“Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!” He shouted again, and again, using each to punctuate the inkpots he threw to the wall. Streaks of black oozed down; black, blue, iridescent, green, violet, and even a blood red. When his hand found his glasses upon his face, he clutched them until they shattered. There was no pain, and he threw the remnants to join the ink. “Shit, I can’t DO THIS, Sirius! Dad, I can’t manage it. I can’t. It’s impossible without that God-be-damned form! Shit. Damn. Fucking Hell!”

He ran his hands over his face as the adrenaline driven energy ebbed away and felt pain in both. Eyes blurred from lack of glasses, he could still make out the crimson flood coating his palms. It had a strange beauty to it, like a piece of blown glass, painted by a master. Harry was enraptured by the splendor and throbbing of it. So centered was he on what was before him, the blood began to fall to the floor, that he barely heard the crack of Apparation.

His eyes found their way up, and he saw a professor standing before him.

“Damn boy, can’t you do anything properly? If you wanted to die, why didn’t you just let Voldemort find you, it would have saved time.” Severus Snape growled as he began to magically heal Harry. The pain in his face and hands was gone. “Or was that not your intent? There. Now, where did your glasses go you oaf?” Harry pointed blearily. “Occulus Reparo. There, put them on.” The room moved back into focus, and Harry stared about bleakly at the havoc he had wreaked. Little was untouched, and many things he loved were destroyed.

“Reparo. Scourgify.” Snape corrected everything that Harry had done in just a few brief seconds, and Harry hung his head. The weighty embarrassment for what he had done crashed down and he closed his eyes.

He was behaving like a fool Sirius would never have done that, and neither would his father. “Professor, I –”

“Quiet, Potter. There is no time for your petty excuses now, although I will expect an explanation later, and it had better be damn good to justify what you did. For the mean time, we need to leave. I have a Portkey with me.”

“Why do –”

“Something is wrong with Lupin.”

Harry felt the bottom drop out of his stomach and he froze. For a few seconds he could only think about all the times he had lost people. The screams, the begging, the tears of pain echoed in his head, but above them all floated the image of Sirius falling through the veil, and Remus holding him back.

The Portkey was placed before him, and he felt the familiar jerk behind his navel.

“You want to do the impossible?”

“Yes.”

“Then do the unpredictable, the rash, the idiotic, because if you're lucky, chance will be on your side, and you’ll succeed...It’s the theory I use every day.”

-Taken from a conversation between Harry Potter and Severus Snape

“Pick yourself up off the ground, Potter. The ground may be comfortable but you need to be standing. Up, now.” Harry’s head was swimming. He was confused and tired. His head felt like it had been beaten. Snape had shown up and told him something. It was important, but he couldn’t remember what it was. He concentrated and the thought sprung to life in his mind.

Remus. Something had happened to Remus.

Harry flung himself up from the ground. It made a rush of blood flood his head, and he nearly fell back down, but will power prevented it. As he clung to the wall, he looked around trying to identify his location. There were portraits on the wall of a deranged woman in black. She woke and opened her mouth to scream obscenities, but Snape closed a long curtain with a flick of his wand. He grabbed Harry’s arm and dragged him down a hallway to the kitchen where, on the table, lay an unconscious man.

Remus was paler than usual, paler than he had ever seen him. Even the moon failed to remove so much from the man. The few wisps of blonde hair had finally succumbed to gray, and his skin felt cool.

“Is he dead?” Harry asked in a flat voice.

“No, but close. If he wasn’t a werewolf, he would be.” Snape moved to a cauldron in the corner. “Gather those newts’ eyes in the bucket, and bring them here.” Harry stepped to a large wooden tub, big enough to house twenty or thirty gallons. Inside it, instead of the water he expected, were half a dozen bags of slimy gray spheres. He picked them up and handed them to Snape before allowing his gaze to return to Remus.

Snape scoffed over some action of Harry’s but the noise was followed a breath later by the low ‘poof’ of the potion finishing. In a small vial, it was brought to Remus’ lips and forced into his mouth. He sputtered, and spit it out.

“Damn wolves,” Snape muttered, “Potter, hold his head in place.”

Harry obeyed. The liquid was forced down, and after a few frantic thrashes, lay still.

Everything crashed down onto Harry a second later. “What the hell did you give him? What the bloody-hell did you give him that he couldn’t stand? What was it?”

“There was silver dust in the potion. It was necessary. Once he wakes up I’ll need you to-”

“No. Wait a minute. What the hell were you trying to do giving him silver dust? It could kill him, and probably is right now.”

Snape paused and sneered menacingly. “For your information, Potter, that silver dust may kill him. But it is essential to the potion and is also the only thing that has any chance at saving him. If you wish for him to die, I can administer a potion that will render the silver inactive, but it will kill him as well. Right now he has a chance, do you wish to eliminate that?” He did not wait for an answer. “Sit down in the living room. There is an hour to be wasted before we know if we were successful. In the mean time, I want your explanation. You won’t leave until you tell me, and if I think you are lying, I must inform you that I always keep Veritaserum on me.”

Harry met the icy glare for a few seconds and then smirked. “No.”

“What did you say? I want an explanation for your foolishness.”

“You are not going to receive one though.” Harry stood up abruptly. He had realized something again.

And realizations led to action.

“I am going to the Ministry for a short time. When I return we can talk, particularly the explanation of what happened to Remus. For now, you can just wait, Sir.”

He did not bother to wait for a response; he turned on his heel and strode from the house. A quiet fire was raging in him once more, hiding behind the cold exterior that had reemerged after his outburst. It would not be easily tamped down.

He was staring into the abyss of the future and knew that he might lose another friend. The only way he could help was if he was ready, and to be ready he had to use his wand. The only way to do that was to force the situation on Fudge. He jogged down the street, and never looked back.

*~~~*~~~*

The Minister’s office gave off an impressive air as Harry threw open the door. “Hello Sir.” He said passively.

“How, how did? What is? How?” The man bumbled. For a few seconds he could do nothing but mutter to himself and blink. Then he drowned a glass of some liqueur and took a deep breath.

“Why are you here Potter?”

“I need my wand rights.”

“I told you already, you do not need them, and therefore will not be receiving them. I thought that I had made that quite clear in my letter. The world does not need another of Dumbledore’s flunkies wandering around the world with more power than is good for him.” Harry ran a hand through his scraggly hair, intentionally using the same gesture that his father would have. It could only help for Fudge to associate Harry with his James. Both of them were powerful. He was about to speak, but was cut off. “How did you even get in here? That door is locked with magic and can only be opened with magic.”

Harry turned slowly to the door and said dryly, “Oops.” The minister prepared to blather on, but stopped. “Sir, tell me why exactly I don’t need to train with my wand.”

“You are protected, and any training you really need can wait until your return to Hogwarts. From there the almighty Dumbledore can protect you, just like he always has.”

“And what happens when Dumbledore is killed? What happens when there is no one but me to stand up against Voldemort and dare to fight back? What happens if when that time comes, I don’t know what I’m doing?”

“That would never happen.”

“Sir. It will. And when it does we won’t be expecting it. The attack could come in two years or in two days, and we don’t know. We can’t know. But we can be ready. If you won’t let me train legally, I will do so illegally. And don’t think I won’t.”

“You would be thrown in Azkaban.”

“I’d break out.”

“You’d be on the run.”

“Perhaps, so was Sirius, and he kept fighting.”

“You would give up your life, just so you can use your wand during the summer?” He said incredulously.

Harry sighed, the man was not understanding the severity of inaction. “Sir. I have to have these rights. And yes, I would risk Azkaban for this because the other option is much worse. If you don’t give me them, then you are sentencing the wizards of the world to servitude, and the Muggles to death. Can you handle that counterweight?”

“That would never happen. It would be impossib-”

“No, sir. It would happen. I would die unless I joined him. Families like the Weasleys would be killed for their affinity to Muggles. Families like you would be placed in chains and forced to work for him. It would happen.”

“Potter, what you are saying is foolishness. You-know-who hasn’t returned-”

“Yes he has.”

“Then why hasn’t he-” He continued without hearing Harry.

“Minister.”

“-attacked? That stunt you preformed-”

“Minister.”

“-with that murderer proved nothing but your desperation to-”

“Minister!”

“-fight ME! And your lies are what killed Black. Not that a wizard who claims to be on Our side should be upset when something so Dark and disgusting dies!”

Harry sighed and looked up, collecting himself and muttering curses. He looked back to Fudge and opened his mouth to repeat the name one last time. It was unnecessary. Fudge was dead silent and staring openmouthed and wide-eyed.

“What?” He asked.

“P-p-p-parseltongue.” The minister whimpered.

Mentally ripping himself apart for carelessness, he once again collected himself, and suppressed the subconscious second language. He would need to ask Snape about the habit later. When he spoke again it was with an enormous force of emotions behind every word.

“Minister, first, Sirius was not Dark. And second, I have to have my wand rights. You know as well as I do, and probably like it even less than me, that I have to fight Voldemort.” Fudge shuddered as he had every time. “You can’t even stand his name. You have yet to admit he has returned, just because you don’t like me. You saw the proof sir. You saw it and you have to accept it. It is my job to fight him, not yours, but your announcement would make everyone’s lives easier. I have faced him four times; eventually I have to win if by nothing but chance. If I don’t then we all die. The options aren’t wonderful, particularly for me. Now, it really is your decision, but if you have half an idea of what the world needs you will overcome your playground enmity for me and give me what I need. It is your choice.”

Harry waited a few seconds as the gears in the Minister’s head worked overtime. “Do you have an answer, Sir?” He asked quietly.

Fudge could not hold the gaze of the teenager, and slumped to the desk, dejected at his loss. Harry waited patiently while a quill floated over the parchment to write the dictation.

“I,” Fudge’s voice broke, and he cleared his throat. “I, Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister of Magic, here give to Harry James Potter the full rights of a graduated and adult wizard, including full-year wand use, an Apparation license, and am hereby giving him leave to purchase or otherwise obtain non-tradable substances of any class.” He took the quill in his hand to sign it, and then handed it to Harry. “Is that all, Potter?”

“You added more than I asked for. Why?”

“I would rather you did not return to my office demanding anything again.”

He accepted the letter, and said “Thank you, Minister. Thank You.” He put into the last two words more emotion and honest gratitude than he had ever before in his life.

“The rights go into effect as of now, but the other offices will know about them within the hour.”

The bewildered young man nodded and turned around, exiting the room, and quickly the Ministry with a look of wonderment on his face. He headed back to Grimauld Place cradling a faint glimmer of hope.

…And he told me ‘vengeance is sweet.’ He has been around far too many muggles.

-quote from Ronald Weasley in The Boy-Who-Lived, A Biography by George Fiddler

Harry reentered Number Twelve Grimauld place to be met with a very upset Professor. He was faced instantly with a raised wand and stopped as Snape hissed, “What the hell were you doing you insubordinate, over-absorbed, egocentric, vainglorious boy? I have told you a thousand times that you are not to leave your house, and I only removed you so that you would be able to help me save the werewolf’s life. I NEVER gave you permission to leave THIS house, and at the moment it is only by great self-restraint that you have not met the same end as your parents.”

“Are you finished Professor? You,” Harry asked coolly, continuing without pause, “have no right to say anything about my parents. And for your information, sir, I went to the Ministry so that I could obtain wand rights so that I will be able to train. The Order is keeping me in the dark again and last time it ended in tragedy. I will not let that happen again. I will be ready to face Voldemort. sir, I have to be and I am getting tired as hell of being Protected. My job in life is not to be sheltered. It is to fight, and hopefully win against Voldemort.

“If the Order continues to ignore me and never lets me leave my own home then there is no way that I will have a chance. At the moment I barely have one as it is and you know it. I do not need to listen to you lecture me about what I can and cannot do. It is choice, and if you try to interfere, I may very well lose my temper. Which I guarantee you is not a pretty thing.”

“Potter! Be Quiet!”

“No sir, because I really don’t care what you have to say. So you can just stay quiet yourself or you can talk, I do not care. I am not taking orders from you until you give me a reason why I should.”

Harry cut off as a half fisted slap rattled his head. Snape was glaring so intently that Harry was relatively certain he would find a hole burned through his forehead.

“Sit, now.”

Harry sank into a chair in the foyer. “Lupin was hit with a spell to make his wolven side more dominant. It was preformed,” Snape had begun to use the deadly whisper so common in his classes, “by three Death Eaters. The potion I gave him contains silver dust because silver can be lethal to the wolf, but in the right dosing will counteract the spell. He returned to normal ten minutes ago. He will live. Now. You owe me your explanation.”

In a quiet voice Harry described his actions from earlier. At the end he said, “Sir, I don’t have any way to win this right now. If I were to have to face Voldemort, I’d lose. I know it. The only chance I have is to learn, but I don’t even have a way to do that.”

“What exactly did the minister give you then?”

“Full year wand rights. An Apparition license. License to purchase any substance.”

“Then, you idiotic boy, he did give you a way. You can do whatever is necessary to learn.”

“I don’t know what I need to do.”

“Then I will help you.” Snape sounded like he was using a crowbar to pry the words from his mouth.

Harry watched him skeptically. “I still don’t have any reason to trust you. I came with you because of Remus, but in any other circumstance I wouldn’t have. Why should I trust you?”

“You have to trust me Potter.” The professor responded icily, “You have to trust me for the same reason that I have to help you train. Like you said, there is no other option. Now, if you would like to see Lupin you may. Do not touch him or give him water though. Be back out here within ten minutes.”

*~~~*~~~*

Harry returned to the room before the given time had passed. Lupin had been unable to speak, dazed to insensibility by the potion, and Harry felt sick looking at him.

His face and hands were a pasty gray that echoed pain. His skin was both clammy and burning. His hair had tripled its age. And his body was weak and thinner than natural.

But it was his eyes that scared Harry so. They were a breath above death, possible of conveying only one emotion: pain. It wrenched at his mind and his resolve to see his friend, his father’s friend, lying so badly injured.

As he walked back in Snape met him with the same cold glare, and said, “You have yet to explain your reasons, Potter.”

Harry looked down, thinking for a few seconds, and when he looked up he was more mature, and was even closer to being his father reincarnate. “For the reason you have to help me train. Because there is no choice, because I will never get to be what I want to be, only what I need to be, because for all the times I try to help, someone gets hurt, someone dies. So what I did before was because I didn’t understand then. I do now. There is no other option and so I’ll have to find a way.

“I’m sorry for what I did, it was stupid, it won’t happen again, and I would greatly appreciate you not mentioning it to anyone, especially Dumbledore.”

“Well, that’s good to know. I was asking about your little self-destructive stunt in Little Whinging.”

“That…that…Sir, I receive death tolls every week. I write to the survivors every week. I, occasionally find it to be a bit much. Unfortunately, I did not have any liquor immediately available.” He paused, and added sarcastically. “I’ll be sure that next time I locate a liquid therapist. I don’t suppose you could recommend something. I am a naïve Gryffindor after all.”

Snape’s eyebrows rose suddenly, “Potter, that was almost a Slytherin comment.”

“I try.”

The professor paused, and then quietly asked. “But why are you fighting? Necessity isn’t enough. You won’t win because of necessity.”

“I fight because there’s still hope th-” He stopped and shook his head.

“Because there’s beauty-” Again he shook his head.

“Because of lov-” Once again his head shook. “No.” Harry said to himself.

Snape stared deep into the boy’s eyes. “Why?”

Ice swept through Harry, cutting off and holding back the warm emotions he used to be surrounded by an revealing the motives he had pretended didn’t exist. “Revenge. I am fighting for revenge.”

“Then you have a chance yet.” Snape nodded, as though he knew some great secret, then conjured a large stack of boxes from the next room.

Dumping half a dozen heavy poles into his arms the professor said. “You will want these.” He added a silver cauldron and some rare potion ingredients. “And these. Wait one moment.” Snape apparated a few rooms away, reappearing with a large bottle.

It was added to the top of the pile. “Sir, why did you just give a minor a bottle of liquor?”

“Potter, is your memory failing you? You asked for my suggestion, didn’t you? Forty year Napoleon Brandy. Have a nice day, Potter.”

Harry was handed a portkey, and managed to grip all the packages while he disappeared.

While the accompanied yank tugged at him he heard Snape say, “Work on your essay.” In the same heartless tone he always used.

The simplest test in the world is to check a raw emotion. Anyone playing a part will never catch the meaning in time. And if they do, then they must have worked rather hard on the character, and they deserve to trick you.

-Harry Potter

Harry Potter sat down heavily on his chair for a few moments respite having casting spells constantly at magical foes for the past two hours. The summer sun was falling and was reflecting off the glass in the window, making it nearly impossible to see in that direction. He waited, breathing heavily, wishing for a glass of water, but too exhausted to bother transfiguring something.

In the silence he could count his own breaths and hear his own heartbeats. For a few moments he was content merely to sit, hearing that he was, if nothing else, still alive, but finally he stood and read back over a page in the books given by Snape. Upon opening them and discovering that they were Dark Magic, he had begun to fly through them, and was about to begin the second Volume.

His hands flipped past the last pages, but hesitated over a small note in the Appendix.

--Concerning Extemporizing and Invention--

The spells noted in this Volume are of the most valuable and most dangerous type. A small mistake will have deadly if not disastrous results. Be advised that when forced to create new spells or add a variation old ones, it is safest to do so when completely free of distraction. Despite the many dangers, the time may come when you will be forced to go against the advice of this author. In this case, my only recommendation, and the only advice I can give is that you truly have your heart behind it. Whether the spell heals or kills if it has not been previously studied, emotion may save you.

Harry snorted. In a time of crisis, the only time he might need to create a new spell, there would certainly be somewhere around four dozen distractions. But despite the implausibility of the statement, he filed it into his mind with everything else, and continued reading.

As with most spells Wizards and Witches are capable of executing, the form of Magic studied in these books may be enhanced by using a focus. Wizards commonly use a possession of a loved one, or a photo. However, the use of a Blood Stone[Volume 4, chpt 14, pg 476] or a piece of Tear Glass[Volume 3, chpt 18, pg 743] can increase the ability of the Wizard to move his spell farther.

Shaking his head, Harry scolded himself for wasting time on a series of babble that was of no use to him. He prepared to go another round with the enemies he created, but a flap of wings outside his window announced the coming of the weekly post.

The first owl flew in, depositing a large stack. It seemed that the Order had consolidated there shipping. Two more owls entered, clearly from Ron and Hermionie.

He tore into the letter from Hermionie, but it was merely an update as to her state of living, which was, for once, tolerable; she was with her family for a short time.

A letter from Moony didn’t say much more than that he was still in recovery from the combined effects of the moon and the spells along with the potion given to him so mercilessly by Snape.

Growing impatient with the useless messages, he grabbed Ron’s.

Hey Harry-

Guess what! I–

“BOY! GET DOWN HERE NOW!!!” Vernon’s merciless bellow echoed, even through the closed door. With a sigh, Harry sat down Ron’s letter and moved to the top of the stairs.

“What?” He shouted in response.

“WHAT IS BLOODY WRONG WITH YOU? WHY DO YOU THINK I WANT TO TALK TO YOU? GET DOWN HERE, NOW!”

Grudgingly, but not wanting to further upset an already unstable man, Harry walked to the door to see Vernon holding it shut and shaking in his burgundy rage.

“Yes?” He said emotionlessly. Thanks to the wand rights, his fear for the Dursley’s had diminished.

“Why, may I ask is there a………a one of YOU on my doorstep?”

“There is?” Harry said suspiciously, “What did they look like?”

“He was wearing ROBES!”

“Lovely, Uncle that is highly useful, after all there is only one person in the whole world that wears robes and would want to talk to me, therefore that piece of information has fully clarified the situation. Thank you.” Harry’s voice was dripping sarcasm. “Move Uncle, I will look myself.”

He drew his wand and stepped to the eye hole.

“HOW DARE YOU THREATEN ME WITH THAT THING!”

“Uncle I am not threatening you, now please step back.” He looked through the hole and saw a tall lanky boy with flaming red hair and a tiny owl on his shoulder. “Ron.” He said as he opened the door.

His friend stepped inside and waited while a wand was held to his heart. “What happened beneath the school?”

“You and I went with Lockhart to find my sister, he was a prat, but after the cave in, caused by my broken and spell-o-taped wand, you were separated and saved her after killing a basilisk and fanging a diary.” He waited for another question.

Harry decided on a whim to try something. “Hi Hermionie.” He said as though she was walking up behind Ron.

Ron’s face lit up and he turned around quickly, shouting, “’Mionie!” When he turned back with bright red ears, he said, “Nice test. And so you know it doesn’t mean anything. Do you believe who I am now?” Harry nodded. “Good. How’re you doing Harry?”

“Pretty good, do you want anything to eat, Ron? Drink?”

“Biscuits and tea I think.”

“Good plan. Come on in.”

“Don’t we need to go to the kitchen?”

Harry just smiled and shepherded his friend up the stairs.

The only thing more dangerous to him than his suspicious enemies, were his suspicious friends.

-from The Boy-Who-Lived, A Biography by George Fiddler

Ron stepped into the smallest bedroom at number four Privet Drive directly behind Harry. Harry moved to the desk. He lifted off the top and set it in the corner, still covered in books and paper. It revealed a small freezer/refrigerator. With a grin he opened the fridge. Milk was set down. He opened a drawer and removed a microwave. It was plugged in and he heated water.

He had bought the appliances but magically wired the desk.

For a few minutes Ron stood, bewildered, in the doorway, but finally regained the ability to walk and moved to sit on the bed. “Who put all this in?”

“No one of consequence.” Was Harry’s cryptic answer.

“Uh-huh, where did you-”

“Oh be quiet and drink your tea.” Ron, despite wanting to know how everything had been created decided that it was better to gorge himself first and ask questions later.

“So, how are you doing, Ron?” Harry asked over the meal.

“’m good. Busy, but that’s to be expected, what with-.” He stopped suddenly, trying to hide what he had been doing.

“Ron, you might as well tell me.”

“But I promised Dumbledore that-”

“Ron,” Harry said quietly and dangerously, “do you remember last summer? Do you remember how I was when I found out what everyone had known but I hadn’t because everyone had ‘promised’ Dumbledore that they wouldn’t tell me? Do you remember what happened because of it? Do you remember seeing me at Number 12 during that first bit of time? Do you really want me to do that again?”

“Harry, I promised-”

“Ten….nine…”

“-I’d love to tell you, but-”

“Then do. Six…”

“It isn’t that simple.”

“Five…”

“I want to tell you, it’s just that-”

“Four…”

“-it isn’t your right to know.”

“Like hell.”

“Harry, this is NOT about you.”

“Two…”

“Harry, please, it will just make it worse.”

“One…Zero.” Harry pulled out his wand again, knowing that he would go through with whatever Ron made him.

“Put it down, you don’t even have your wand rights.”

Harry smirked in an almost Malfoy-esque manner; “Actually, Fudge gave them to me about a week ago.”

“Oh.” Ron’s ineloquence for once was a perfect match for the situation. No matter what he had said it would have been out of place. He had, for once, found the right thing to say.

“Ron, I am your friend. I have known you for five years. You were one of the first decent wizards I met. I know your family. I know where you live, and I have saved your life on multiple occasions. Oh, and if that isn’t enough, I am the boy-who-lived. Tell me what it was because at the moment you are being a complete prat.”

Ron sighed in resignation and rubbed his hands over his face. “I only found out when the Order asked me to work on it, so I’ve only known a few weeks, but for the last few months Remus has been disappearing on the moon, and since we know that he isn’t drinking his potion, we were concerned, but now…Harry the number of Werewolf bites has nearly tripled in the last few months.

“The Order had me and Ginny trying to find anything: information, other werewolves, anything. But what they really wanted us to find was a cure, but as of now…

“Harry, even Remus doesn’t know. They keep saying that it’s too much like last time. That last time they thought Remus was the traitor and so they put faith in Peter, and, well you know what that caused. Harry the Order is terrified that Remus might be a traitor, and if he is, Harry, you won’t make it to see You-know-who again, let alone fight him. You’d be killed in your sleep.

“All we want to do is prove that Remus isn’t a traitor, and to find a cure for him. Merlin, I shouldn’t have told you this.”

Harry sat down, feeling a bit confused and rather vulnerable, a feeling that had become nonexistent in the last week.

Remus might be a traitor.

Again.

And again the Order was accusing him of it.

“Nice to see it has so little impact on me.” He said sarcastically. “Well Padfoot, Prongs,” He continued under his breath, “What do you think? He IS the last of the real Marauders. That should count for something, but he does have one hell of a case against him. Maybe I should actually talk to him, not my ceiling. Maybe. Why do I even bother anymore, Sirius? It’s not like any of these people have enough of an IQ to be worth saving.”

“Umm, Harry, are you talking to two of your…deceased relatives?”

“It’s not any stranger than praying.”

“What praying?”

“Wizard-borns,” Harry said, using it like an insult, “It’s like an extended apostrophe to someone who is dead.”

“What’s an apostrophe?”

“It’s talking to someone that isn’t there, but acting like they are, it’s a literature term.”

“A what?”

“Dammit Ron, take a Muggle Studies class, call Hermionie, or talk to your dad, for the moment just ignore the fact that I was talking to the dead and keep explaining. Have you found anything about a cure?”

Ron sat on the bed, doing an impressive imitation of a deer in headlights. “See Sirius, my point is proven. It’s a clear case of nonexistent IQs.” Harry said to the ceiling once more.

“We- we found one rumor, but it wasn’t much more than that. There’s supposed to be one potion that can help, but it’s almost impossible.”

“Why?”

“Because the potion involves ingredients that are exist in about three locations world wide. One with you-know-who-”

“Dammit, Ron just call him Voldemort!”

“-one with the Malfoy’s, but they don’t have enough, and one with a wealthy American wizard. The American won’t sell, and it’s not like we can just ask either of the others, so the potion is almost impossible. The spell that goes with it is just as bad. There’s no one that can do it. You have to have someone who wants to kill the person, attack with Avada Kedarva while the person is in wolf form, but only target the spell to kill the wolf not the person.

“It was only tried once and the inventor just ended up being bitten, and then there were just two of them. That was back in the thirteen hundreds in China, the Yuan dynasty. It turns out that Shamanism had a lot more magic in it than most wizards give it credit for. The Pax Mongolica, combined with the educated class in China developed it. But like I said, it was only tried once. And after the Mongols were ousted, it was ignored. It’s only in a few books in the world, all of which are supposed to be in the hands of the people with the supplies. The other problem is that the ingredients are counteracted by the Wolfsbane potion, so the process would have to be done while Remus was out of control.”

Harry nodded to himself, a bit shocked that Ron knew so much, but staying as focused as he could. “What are the difficult ingredients?”

He pulled out a sheet of parchment and began to write while Ron continued. “The most basic ones are wolfsbane, Unicorn horn and Phoenix tears, but that’s where simple ends. You need four teeth from a sphinx that were willingly parted with, a sorcerer’s stone, yeah like the one that was destroyed in our fist year, a live basilisk egg. Basilisk blood, scales and a fang. The water has to be from a specific spring on the Asian Steppe. The cauldron has to be made of solid silver, even though it will probable melt through. And then there’s the most random one, Three dozen long stemmed roses with their thorns still on and their stems cut to exactly forty centimeters.

“So basically the spell is impossible, and me and Gin are trying to find another. Fat chance of that.” Ron finished sourly.

“What was it called?” Harry asked, still scribbling furiously.

“Er…um…er…oh, there it is, Frean Coriathal.”

Harry stared at the name and tried to remember if it was in one of the books Snape had handed him. “Accio Index.” It flew into his hand, and dropping of Ron’s jaw was audible.

While Harry scanned through looking for it, Ron made a few garbled noises in an attempt to ask his question. Harry finally found the note on the spell and summoned the proper volume.

The Frean Coriathal, a brilliant display of effort between two conflicting cultures, is a rumored cure to the curse of a werewolf. It has never been proven to work, but by all analysis, it should. For further information refer to Very Hard Magical Cures and Other Silly and Pointless Efforts.

Harry laughed mentally. All of the books were Dark, and therefore the referenced book was Dark, but the title made it sound like a kid’s book.

Unfortunately, at that moment, Ron found his voice.

“Harry, first of all, how did you summon those books without using your wand?”

Wait a minute, how did I? Harry thought. He didn’t have time for a response before Ron picked up speed and began to look more and more like Mrs. Weasley when lecturing. Had his friend not been so upset, it would have been funny. “Second, WHY DO YOU OWN SO DAMN MANY DARK ARTS BOOKS?! These aren’t kids books, these are ‘how to commit a crime so heinous that you will be thrown to the dementors for even thinking about it’ books, how in the hell do you have them? And more importantly WHY do you have them?”

Harry’s attempts to interject an explanation were quickly overrun. “The only person that owns those books is You-Know-WHO! How did you get- oh sweet Merlin, you traitor!”

“Hey! I’m-”

“You bloody turncoat, you treacherous little bastard! THIS is why you aren’t upset over Sirius anymore isn’t it? Well I guess it’s good he never knew you were just a backstabbing rat, outstripping even PETER! You deceitful LOUSE! We TRUSTED You! You ignorant, Heartless, DESTROYER OF HOPE! I HATE YOU, YOU TWO-FACED, DARKNESS CORRUPTED, SON OF A BITCH!”

Harry chose that final insult to lose his own temper. He jumped up with his wand out and held it towards his friend. “I truly appreciate the level of trust you have in me, friend, now get out.” He flicked his wrist and Ron disappeared. He wasn’t quite certain what he had done, but knew that it worked.

In a brief spat of curiosity that intermingled with his anger, he did a translation spell on the books’ titles. The shining silver letters shifted to spell, The Dark Arts and How to Use Them, by Link J Grow.

“Oh. Shit.” He said.

The books were written by one of Voldemort’s predecessors; one of the Dark Mages Merlin had fought, and one of the most powerful ones too. Ron had obviously spent some time around Hermionie to be able to translate the Latin so well.

Pigwidgeon landed on his shoulder and trilled loudly.

Then Harry realized where he had sent his very angry and very vocal friend.

Number Twelve Grimauld Place.

Where everyone was suspicious of everyone.

“Double Shit.”

Of all the mistakes made by the different fighters in the war, the Order’s thought that Harry was a traitor was easily the most spectacular.

- from The Second Great War by Quentin Trimble and Bathilda Bagshot

“Harry is a traitor?” Professor Dumbledore asked shakily. Severus rolled his eyes mentally.

Ron nodded emphatically. “He had the books, he was using magic without regard and he used a Dark spell to transport me here. Not to mention the fact that he has been saying You-Know-Who’s name since he heard it, and he’s survived You-Know-Who more times then anyone in living history. He has to be. It is the only explanation”

Severus and Lupin exchanged a glance. Every other person in the room was seething and muttering about the lowest circle of hell, reserved for betrayers and other traitors.

They, however, had both taught him and they both knew how steadfastly dedicated to Light he was.

“We have no choice but to believe Mr. Weasley.” Dumbledore said slowly. Lupin grunted indiscernibly and strode defiantly from the room.

Evenly, patiently, and desperately holding to the calm that all Slytherin’s developed, Severus waited until the meeting had been dismissed before apparating to his and Lupin’s private meeting place.

Long time hate and child enmity aside, when they needed answers they met each other here.

As soon as they were both there, Lupin asked, voice filled with conflicting emotion, “How do we deal with this situation?”

“Why do we need to do anything?”

“Because he is innocent, maybe? Or is that not enough of a reason for you?”

“No it’s not.”

“So we are going to let the Order of the Phoenix, one of the few groups with any respect in this world, side against him.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“You know that better than I do.”

“Fine, so we just let them believe it?”

“Yes.”

Remus growled and leaned against the wall. “How can they even consider thinking this?”

“Because he appears to have changed. However, that boy is unstoppably Gryffindor, and that is obvious to everyone that meets him.”

“He’s actually showing a bit of green lately.”

“Indeed. What I meant is that that the Dark Lord and all his minion’s could promise that boy the world and he wouldn’t accept it. The only thing he might give in for would be the return of his parents.”

“No he wouldn’t.” Lupin said in a quiet voice.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Voldemort offered it to him. In his first year. It’s what Harry saw in the Mirror of Erisid. His parents. He was offered them back and he refused.”

Severus stopped dead in his thoughts. He turned and stared directly at the werewolf. Harry James “Unstoppably Gryffindor” Potter had stood in front of the one thing he wanted more than anything else, and said no.

Said no to the most convincing man in the world.

“He is much more than I had thought.” He finally responded quietly.

“Yes, he is. We should let him-” Lupin stopped suddenly and both of them reached for their galleons. Miss Granger had recently shown them the DA’s technique for contacting each other and the Order had quickly adapted it.

13570012

The code for Grimauld place.

They apparated back to headquarters.

Moody appeared next to them, the last of the arrivals and they waited for Dumbledore’s orders. “Due to Mr. Weasley’s discovery, and that we just tested him with Veritaserum, it can only be concluded the Mr. Potter is wavering towards Voldemort’s side.” Severus wanted to scream. He knew why Potter had the books, but even Slytherins refused to break promises. “Alastor, I would like you to write a letter to him. Try to sound natural and see how he responds. It is all we can do. Go back to your homes. If Harry Potter is a traitor, you all know what it means.”

Severus bit back another scream at the incompetence of his side. He waited until everyone but Lupin had gone, and then said, “We cannot tell them what we know .”

Lupin sat down and growled, “I know. We gave him our word. Even you keep that.”

“I gave him my word not to tell anyone, and so I will not.” Severus said resentfully.

“I thought you hated him.”

Severus stopped again, uncertain of how to respond, finally he said, “I do, but we need him to live, so I am putting that behind what needs to be done.”

Lupin nodded, “It will have to be enough. I have to leave now.”

“As do I.”

Two cracks sounded in the quiet house, and they were gone.

“Always listen to your teachers. Especially the ones that hate you.”

-Harry Potter

Harry grumbled over the letter before him. Snape had resorted to three words. Start your Essay. He had skipped salutations and closings.

Harry wanted to ignore them as he had with every other letter, but decided to listen to the warning this time. The professor’s handwriting had become distinctively violent in the suggestion.

He had yet to look at the assignment, and did not know what it was about. He assumed it was something tedious and useless, like every other summer assignment he had clawed his way through.

Harry had not worked out why it was so important to Snape that he start. A quick gesture opened the chest, a locking spell that responded only to his hand, and he removed a flattened scroll from beneath Standard Book of Spells Grade Five.

It was thrown to the table, causing Pigwidgeon, who still refused to leave, to hoot in annoyance, and Cleopatra’s hair to stand on end. He tossed a sheaf of parchment over as well, added a wand and nonchalantly floated a bottle of ink to join the rest. Without turning to watch the ink, he pulled out his wand and reset the locking spell.

Uncaringly, he undid the battered scroll.

Sixth Year Potion Students Competent Enough to Pass Their Owls-

One five foot essay on the most powerful healing potion possible. It is called Ashanal. It has the ability to save someone on the brink of death.

This year we will be studying and analyzing Healing Potions and Protection Draughts. We will begin to brew Ashanal starting the day we return.

-Professor Severus Snape

Harry stopped, staring open mouthed at the paper.

“Oh.”

He picked up his books and began to leaf though them, searching for information, but stopped suddenly as he realized what the letter had meant. Snape had handed it to him personally at the end of the last year, without knowing Harry’s test results.

Harry blinked forcefully, trying to concentrate, and started to write a rather vocal letter.

With friends like these, who needs enemies?

-Muggle expression favored by the Boy-Who-Lived

Harry jumped as a trio of owls flew through his ever-open window. It was too annoying for him to keep removing the warding spells so the owls could enter. He was searching through Snape’s books for a warding spell that allowed only owls as the bugs were beginning to drive him crazy.

The first bird he recognized instantly as the Professor’s black Cyllen. He removed the letter and a shrunken box from her talon, gave her a drink of water and made sure she was up to the return before he even considered the other two. One he didn’t recognize, but the other was Errol, and was carrying a Howler. He checked the smoking red letter quickly to see who it was from.

Ron.

Harry took one look at the ailing bird and muttered, “Poor animal doesn’t deserve this, but it should royally piss Ron off.” With a quick gesture the bird and letter were both returned to sender. It was the same spell he had used to expel certain idiotic red-headed gits.

The final owl turned out to be from Moody. Harry frowned, Moody was not a letter writer. He was cautiously opening it when a series of crashes squeaks and hisses piqued his attention. In the hallway, Cleo and Pig were snapping back and forth reenacting a cartoonishly ridiculous scene. “Cleo, get over here.” Cleo had been trained by Mrs. Figg and immediately scampered to his shoulder.

Pig was slightly less cooperative. Eventually Harry snatched onto the fuzzy snitch and locked it into a cage he hadn’t known he owned.

“Is everything alright?”

Harry jumped slightly less than a foot straight up before drawing his wand and preparing to attack speaker.

“Hello Aunt Petunia. Did you need something? I’m sorry about the noise this fuzz ball was making. I am sending him back to his owner as soon as I can find a way.” He said detachedly.

His aunt muttered something about psychiatric help for the whole family and walked away trembling.

The Dursleys had been largely ignoring him, except for unique circumstances like the arrival of Ron on their doorstep.

“Ruddy Git. Anyway, back to the letters I guess. Right Cleo?” She leapt from his shoulder and began to attack the scratching pole Harry had mail ordered.

Hedwig sailed in with her dinner just as Harry was starting Snape’s message.

“’Lo Hedwig.”

Potter-

The Order was told of your ‘Dark’ activities by the youngest Mr. Weasley. It has caused an uproar similar to their reaction to my aiding the Werewolf. Dumbledore has asked that Moody write you and try to determine your loyalties. He has no doubt done so by now.

The decision of whether or not to tell them of your plan lies with you, however, it may be important that you know how quickly they accepted the ‘fact’ that you are ‘Dark.’ In light of this it may be best that you reconsider how much faith you put in them. The package I have attached is a pensieve with my and Lupin’s combined memories of the discussion.

As my intelligence in these matters far exceeds your own, I decided to follow my belief. Lupin is privy to the fact that I sent you the books. I informed him of the fact upon his proclamation that the Weasley boy was lying. It seems that you have at least one person on your side. (That person is NOT myself.)

By some miracle - or perhaps the impact your ego has on the universe twisted fate to your favor - the Dark Lord has decided that your jaunt outside was a distraction to keep him from where you actually are. He is currently searching London. DO NOT GO OUTSIDE AGAIN. For the moment he has been deceived but if you appear there again, he will establish the truth.

The letter I received from you yesterday only further demonstrated your idiocy and deepened my belief that allowing you to enroll in advanced potions was a mistake. How I knew that you had passed your OWLs has nothing to do with you, so you will not ask about it again. Work on your essay as I know that you at the minimum now know what the assignment is.

Your subconscious use of your parseltongue abilities is not a reassuring sign of your sanity. I will send what texts I can on the subject.

The Dark Lord is developing a spell that is, as what best be understood by a Gryffindor like yourself, a blast of the Killing Curse. I lack details. Once I have managed to procure them, I will inform you of what I can. THIS IS NOT PERMISSION TO LEAVE YOUR HOME. In a case of extreme emergency, myself or Lupin will arrive at your home to take you to a secondary facility.

Professor Severus Snape

Snorting at the Professor’s ceaseless insults, Harry enlarged the box, opened the pensieve and began to watch in disgust as the events unfolded before him.

*~~~*~~~*

Ten minutes later Harry had watched the side ‘loyal’ to him establish his guilt based on the testimony of a hormonal and notoriously blockheaded teenager.

He skimmed the letter from Moody, able to see past the first layers.

He crumpled it up and burned it to vent some anger, then scribbled a quick reply.

To the Order of the Phoenix and All Those Concerned-

I am doing what I need to do and what I want to do.

-Harry James Potter

He attached the note to Moody’s owl. The poor bird had waited in the hopes of a response though Harry doubted the Order would like what they received. He also tied Pig’s cage to the bird’s other talon after giving Pig a severe threat against his return.

The bird flew away, and Harry flopped onto his bed.

“Exactly what did I do to deserve this Dad? Did I offend someone in a past life? What? Because at the moment I seem to have double the enemies. It was bad enough with their suspecting Remus of being a traitor. Although you did the same, didn’t you? I bet your reasons were better than ‘he’s a werewolf.’ Gits. They can never manage to think at the right pace. In an emergency they insist on planning and taking their time. When they actually have time to work think things through, like now for instance, they insist on rushing.

“Did you and Mum accidentally offend some sort of powerful wizard who cursed the family and all those near to it? It’s always possible that you pranked the wrong crotchety old hag.

“Of course, probably doesn’t help that I went to Snape for help. I hope you two manage to forgive me for that, but it does make sense. He thoroughly hates me so at least I don’t have to be baby-talked through a war. He doesn’t give a damn if he sent me books that have lost me my best friend, any form of emotional support from the Order, and my lunch several times. If he did, well, he just wouldn’t be Snape would he?”

Harry stopped and sat up in his bed. His aunt could be heard whispering, “…talking to no one. Psychiatric help. He needs…” She walked away and Harry chuckled while laying back down.

“You know Sirius, she’s probably right. I spend far too much time talking to inanimate objects: walls, doors, books, the Dursely’s, the ceiling, my broom… The ceiling is definitely my favorite though. Something nice about it. I particularly like the water stain in the south-west corner over there. It’s very-”

crack.

He cut off and jumped out of the bed, somehow managing to roll to his feet, draw his wand and cast a shield spell before consciously registering what the noise meant.

I guess my reflexes are improving. Good to know.

Rising to the dueling pose, he saw Remus with his wand at his side. Harry cast a disarming charm, quickly followed by a leg-locker curse before he floated the man to the bed and stared down at him harshly. He went to the door, locked it, and began to rifle through the pockets of his coat. Inside one he found his quarry. With an eyedropper he administered three cautious drops of Veritaserum.

He waited a few seconds and then asked, “What is your name?”

“Remus J. Lupin.”

“What is your nickname and why is it that?”

“Moony, because I am a lycanthrope.”

“Do you serve Voldemort or any of his followers?”

“No.”

“Did you come here with any intent to harm me?”

“No.”

“Does your power allow any of my enemies to find me and or harm me?”

“No.”

“Are you a traitor to the Order, wait, scratch that, are you my enemy?”

“No.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief and administered the antidote. The counter curses were cast and Remus wearily said, “Paranoid aren’t you?”

“Naturally, Moony. Why are you here?”

“There has been a full scale attack on the ministry. It is still underway. I am here to make sure that you know what is happening. Officially I am here to make sure you stay put and safe. Unofficially I am going to make sure that you get there.”

“Why?”

“Harry, you are damn powerful, not to mention that your presence scares the hell out of any Death Eater that was there for the duel in your fourth year. According to Snape, and based on what you could do as a third year, not to mention the records of the DA. Besides, the Lestranges should be there. Are you coming or not?”

Smirking, Harry gathered a series of vials Snape had sent, poured them together and drained them. He picked up his wand.

“Of course I’m coming.”

*~~~*~~~*

The potion he had taken was a simple energy draught, but Harry was grateful for it by the time he had finished at the Ministry.

He and Remus had portkeyed into a hallway near the auror department. It was filled with witches and wizards running frantically about, confused, lost and panicking. He ducked a spell from an unknown wand and dragged Remus into an office.

“Exactly what is happening?”

“The main attack seems to be over, but there was a large…explosion. It was something like the killing curse except that it hit several dozen people at once. The Death Eaters arrived after that, and must have retreated recently.”

Harry shifted the grip he had on his wand, “How many Death Eaters were there?”

“I’m not sure, but I heard someone in the hallways say a dozen. They may have been wrong though.”

“Where is the minister?” Remus stopped dead in confusion. “I don’t want to save his life, but I need to speak to him. He can’t deny this proof, even if he is rather terrified of me.”

“Harry, we have no proof that this was Voldemort. It could have been anyone.”

His hand tightened on the wand before he heard a voice shout, “Death Eaters in the Lobby!”

“Is that enough proof, Remus?”

Everyone else was moving with him, so he was either attacking or blindly retreating.

For a few minutes he still wasn’t sure about his decision to follow the crowd, but grinned coldly as he entered the room. The fountain of Magical Brethren had been repaired, likely by Fudge, or more accurately, Fudge’s minions. Harry found himself at the front of the group, though he was unsure whether that had been his choice or not.

Another dozen Death Eaters were standing in their black robes, thoroughly blocking the exit. A few stray guards and visitors were lying on the ground.

“Probably Avada Kedarva.” He muttered.

A woman to his left screamed and he turned instinctively to check on her. She was a muggle, at most a squib, and kept babbling about her dead cousin. She latched onto Harry’s wand arm as he turned to the situation at hand and refused to move.

“As I said before Sirius, what did I do to get stuck with this bloody lovely fate? Personally, I don’t think there’s much worse.” Harry muttered.

The woman still refused to release her death grip.

He was waiting for the Death Eaters to make the first strike. It was the safest method, but none of them were doing anything. Well now, isn’t this odd.

Half dragging, half carrying the woman with him, he walked directly to them. He cautiously lifted his wand, almost certain of his theory now, and terrified of what it meant. His wand slipped through the chest of the image he had approached.

“Shit.” He breathed.

Harry scooped the woman on his arm into his arms and carried her to the Ministry officials who had watched in horror.

He turned to follow their frightened gaze and saw the real Death Eaters sliding out of doorways. The replicas faded away, and all hell broke loose.

A blast of stunning spells were shot by both sides but only the Death Eaters and Harry were smart enough to duck.

Half the aurors were unconscious and the other half were useless.

“Sir, take her and get her out of here.” Harry ordered a young man with blonde hair.

He whipped back to the conscious members of the Ministry and shouted for Remus, but the name died stillborn on his tongue as a voice he would have recognized a mile away cooed, “Ooh, Harry, is this anyway to treat your family?”

The wand in his hand began to hum with unused energy. He bit back the scream that tried to tear from his lips. He had to remain calm. He had to remain focused. He could not violently attack the speaker. At least not yet.

“Hello Bella, how are you? Killed anyone lately?” He said as he turned to look at her.

“No one important. There was one fellow by the name of Black a little while ago, and some hag squib in the city you tricked us into attacking. How does it feel to have innocent blood on your perfect hands? Do you like it?”

Sadistic bitch.

Taking a deep breath, he stood in the dueling pose he had learned in his second year, watched her do the same, and felt the horde behind him surge forward to attack the other Death Eaters. They were in a circle of peace amid the chaos of the room, and circled each other, trying to appraise the others’ abilities. Harry could hear the curses around them, but ignored them all.

Instead he asked, “Polyjuice?”

“Polyjuice.” She replied with a sneer. He waited until she moved again. His reflexes were faster when defending.

She cast Impedimenta, and he calmly dodged it. She expected him to attack, so he waited until she was unsure, and threw a series of spells at her, everything from a stunning spell to the unique Furnuculus curse/ Jelly Legs he had discovered to be so useful at the end of the fourth year.

She brought up a shield spell in time, deflecting the curses into the masses around them.

“Very good for someone so young. Creative, I’m tempted to see what happens with that last pairing of spells. The results could be…fascinating. But are you still too shy and noble to use something real?” She asked in a tone so sickeningly sweet it turned his stomach. “Crucio.” She shouted before he could respond.

His own shield was a breath late, and the curse, though lessened, found its mark. Harry bit through a section of his lip tasting the coppery blood that filled his mouth. Don’t scream. Don’t scream. Don’t scream. He repeated to himself. Blood oozed out of the corner of his mouth and he felt it trail over his cheek, dripping as though he were a vampire. The pain was nothing in comparison to what he had felt at Voldemort’s hand, but was enough to overload his senses, and fog his brain, and at the same time, he managed to resist the need to scream

After an agonizing and immeasurable time, she lifted the spell.

He stood up.

He didn’t know he had fallen down.

“What? Was that too much for the little innocent boy? No? You could be almost as much fun as the Longbottoms to break. First I’ll find their son though. One of your friends isn’t he? I guess there will be even more blood on your-”

Harry snapped and cast the only thing that could find a way through his delusional and vengeance-set mind.

The Unforgivable Killing Curse shot from his mouth and from his wand. Harry felt suddenly detached from his body as Bellatrix raised her wand and cast the last thing Harry expected. The Cheering Charm met Death, but didn’t stop it. Green light flashed and Bellatrix Lestrange collapsed.

Sirius.

All noise in the room had stopped, and every person, no matter the affiliation was staring at him. “My, my, my. Wee little Potter is growing up. I’m so proud.” Lucius voiced cruelly from behind his mask.

Tracing the noise, Harry turned to the Death Eater, and fearlessly walked to him. Aurors and enemies alike fell over each other to get out of his way. “Get out.” He whispered. Lucius waited, and the instinctive glare Harry was using amplified. If Snape had been there, he would have been proud.

Lucius’ gulp was almost audible before the Death Eaters collectively vanished, including the body of Bellatrix.

Harry walked to Remus, feeling remarkably religious as a path opened in the sea of people before him. “Where is-”

“Traitor!”

“-ah, Minister Fudge. Do you consider this to be enough proof?”

“You’ll go to Azkaban for this! I swear it! Used the Killing Curse! Against the law! Azkaban! Life Sentence! Outrageous! Traitorous! Lied! Betrayal! Disgusted! Never again! Wont let it!” In the fluster he had worked himself to, Fudge seemed to have lost the ability to use full sentences. So he used what was one of his most menacing words. “Azkaban!”

Harry rolled his mental eyes. “As I told you previously sir, I’d break out. However, in a few days there won’t be an Azkaban, so you are welcome to put me there. I’d appreciate the vacation time. The Dementors will be leaving soon after all.”

“How dare you threaten me!”

“Sir, that was not a threat. Now, is this enough proof for it to sink into your mind that Voldemort has returned, or should I go ask him to stop by for a visit to prove my point?”

“Regardless of his return, you have just used an Unforgivable. It is an automatic sentence to Azkaban. Avada Kedarva means a life sentence!” One of Fudge’s lackeys shouted.

“Minister, will you be making an announcement about Voldemort’s return?” Harry said, as he ignored the lackey.

“Yes, well, yes of course.” He said grudgingly, “but this does not change the fact that you just killed one of the few surviving members of an ancient pureblood family. You murdered her!”

Abruptly, Harry’s mind, which had detached itself from the moment rushed back, and the full weight of what he had done, what he had repaired and why he had done it crashed over him. He was physically knocked back and staggered several feet before Remus was at his side holding him up. His breath was coming in short gasps between long pauses and his thoughts refused to settle, keeping him under a constant barrage of guilt and panic.

“Be sure to inform the press, Minister, anything else you feel needs to be addressed can be dealt with via owl post.” Remus said cruelly.

Then Remus pulled a second portkey from his pocket and both he and Harry found themselves in the Smallest Bedroom of Number Four Privet Drive once more.

Harry managed to stay upright only long enough to reach the garbage can where he quickly rediscovered exactly what he had eaten for breakfast.

“It is disheartening the amount of my time that has been wasted nursing you back to health, Potter.”

-Professor Severus Snape

Harry lay in his bed, rather perturbed by the fact that the stain he had observed before refused to stay in one place. It shifted across the ceiling, shrinking and growing, and giving him a migraine. Occasionally it would stop, but not often.

Actually, everything was moving. Walls, chairs, his desk, possibly him, but he wasn’t certain. Each time he opened his eyes a fresh wave of exhaustion and nausea would roll over him, causing him to clutch his head and mutter.

He was starving. Remus had tried to feed him before, but Harry could not keep anything down. Then Remus had left.

Harry moaned as the watermark grew to astronomical proportions. He closed his eyes and managed to roll onto his side, curling into a fetal position.

It felt vaguely like his body had been ripped apart, drawn, quartered, beaten, flayed, and then drowned for good measure. His hands shook uncontrollably, and standing for longer than a few minutes was far beyond him., but, aside from his headache, his mind was working well.

He was not sure how long it had been since Moony had apparated in and taken him to the ministry. The place where he had finally found Bellatrix, and where he had killed her.

At least I think I did. Why the hell did she use that damned Cheering Charm?

As he lay there, trying to keep his thoughts coherent long enough to pursue a theory, the newest wards vibrated, and he reacted without the need for thought.

With gradually returning reflexes, Harry threw himself from the bed. He leapt up, stumbled, miraculously managed to get to his feet, pulled his wand out and managed to raise a fragile shield charm.

Two men appeared in front of him.

Remus Lupin.

Severus Snape.

Snape lifted his own wand and Harry strengthened the charm. It held for a few seconds before it, and the weakened boy controlling it, collapsed.

“Dammit, but I’m tired Sirius.” He said quietly. Remus helped him into a chair, and Snape removed a jar from his cloak. “I really hope that you don’t work for Voldemort, because there is nothing I could do to stop you at the moment.”

“Yes, as I noticed,” Snape drawled, “We will discuss your lamentable security measures after I save your life. Drink this. Quickly, if it isn’t too difficult for you. Some potions as I doubt you remember, have a time limit before they are as useless as you.”

At least he’s back to normal.

Harry drank all of it, and shuddered. It was nearly as hideous as the polyjuice of his second year. Not quite, but nearly. It certainly felt like it was rearranging his intestines.

The exhaustion seemed to double, and double again and again as it exponentially increased to a point beyond bearing. Then it vanished.

His vision was bordering on legal blindness when it returned to its previous state. The headache was about to kill him before it too disappeared, leaving a memory of pain but nothing more.

“What was that? What exactly happened at the Ministry? Why was I so weak? Is the Ministry pressing charges? And is Bellatrix really dead? Answer the last one first.” Harry asked; his voice sounded like he was getting over a cold.

“Yes, by all accounts, based on the witnesses reports and the funeral her husband held, she is dead.” Snape said it with a faint grin in his eyes. “The potion was something of my own creation that I had to create for this circumstance. It is a mixture of several potions that you will learn to create before I leave, though I doubt you will be able to do it successfully. As to what happened at the Ministry, I only know what the Death Eaters know.

“They tricked you into a false sense of calm while getting Bellatrix close to you. You and she dueled. You won. The Death Eaters had used the new spell that I had mentioned to you earlier. It was successful. They killed twenty-two witches, wizards and squibs. It has been announced to the public that the Dark Lord has returned. The wizarding world is in a panic. It managed to reached Skeeter that you had so foolishly used an Unforgivable in view of several high ranking officials. It reached the papers this morning. I have brought a copy with me. All rumor has taken this to be your declaration of allegiance to the Dark Lord.” Snape sneered, “Congratulations, even your fool of a father never managed to antagonize the entire world with a single action.”

Harry looked down, coughing hard, and then he managed to coldly respond. “Do not say that about my father again. I just killed one of your enemies. I have likely lost everyone that I ever considered loyal with the possible exception of you two, and I feel like I’ve been dragged through hell behind a team of race horses. Spare me the sarcasm, sir.” Harry paused then asked, “Were you planning on finishing with my questions or not?”

“Harry,” Remus said from his side. “I think you should read the article first.”

He took it from Snape and began to read.

HARRY POTTER: DARK LORD sympathizer?

Harry Potter has returned to the deranged and dangerous boy of his fourth year, writes Rita Skeeter, special correspondent. Only a few days ago, the Boy-Who-Lived, who has been hailed recently as a repeat savior for informing us of the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, used the Unforgivable Killing Curse in a duel with a Death Eater.

The woman he so ruthlessly attacked is now dead and Harry Potter has vanished. The two days immediately following the attack were filled with praise towards the boy. He was named a hero, and over sixteen commemorative copies of different papers, magazines and organizational pamphlets were created. In light of this new information though, this reporter feels that the wizarding community must stop to look at what the boy really is.

Before the arrival of Harry Potter at the Ministry, there was a large blast of what is being named an “Avada Kedarva Blast,” something like a muggle bomb. More than two dozen people were killed in the initial attack, fourteen more in the second attack and over a hundred were wounded. Curiously, Harry Potter appeared after the blast. Ministry officials have announced that the curse would require an ‘uncanny amount of power and emotion.’

Potter is one of very few wizards in the world capable of the spell. The Ministry, when asked if they were investigating the event, responded, “Naturally we are investigating. The suspects are on a very short list.”

Harry Potter’s name was on the list.

The Wizarding world must now ask in the strange boy with the scar deserves the faith that many have placed in him. See also pg 4B (The Minister Speaks Out)

Harry flipped to the editorials and found them in agreement with Skeeter. He folded the paper, sighed, and, let out a string of curses he had been hording over the past few weeks.

“I suppose that you can assume what this information has had on the Order.” Snape said coldly. “Though it has not been announced, they have removed all support from you. In a few days it will likely be official. The Dark Lord is…” he tried to search for an appropriate word.

Harry filled in for him, “Gleeful?”

“Or as close as he has ever been. I believe you were impatient about hearing the answers to your previous questions. I do not know why you responded the way you did. However, it cannot be denied that your life is interesting for anyone who researches magical theory.

“As to the Ministry’s response, at the moment they seem to be too scared of what happened that you did not do, little though those events are, to stop and officially attack you. Don’t worry though, Potter, in a few days you’ll be on the front page as the Boy-Who-Went-to-Azkaban.”

Remus turned abruptly, and shouted, “Shut Up, Severus!”

Harry blinked, and realized what Remus’ reaction meant. “So,” he interrupted, “The odds aren’t in my favor are they?”

“How did you-”

“Remus, you would only be upset with Professor Snape saying that if it was a likely possibility. Therefore, I can assume that the Ministry is planning on making an effort at sending me to prison, but like I told the Minister, the Dementors will be leaving soon, so it wouldn’t be very hard to break out.”

“Harry this isn’t something to joke about, if you go to Azkaban while the Dementors are still there, Voldemort could very easily have you killed or Kissed, and either way, it destroys our hope. You cannot go to Azkaban. It would be bad.”

Despite Harry’s inclination to respond with a snide comment about the obviousness of the statement, he kept quiet. Severus filled in the silence on his behalf.

“Thank you for informing him of that Lupin,” Snape said sarcastically, “but I think that even Potter is able to realize that. More importantly, Potter, how did you know about the Dark Lord’s plans for the Dementors?”

Harry stopped dead in his tracks to stare at his professor. Despite the guarded face, there was obvious panic in the older man’s eyes. “Why? I considered it the next logical step, not to mention the fact that I was there when Dumbledore informed Fudge of it after the Tri-wizard tournament in my fourth year. Now, my question to you, what have you not told me? You said that you would keep me informed, and yet, at the moment you seem to be hiding something. Should I go find the bottle of Veritaserum you so generously provided me with, or are you going to answer willingly?”

The staring match that ensued rivaled the one’s that Harry had seen between Snape and Sirius back at Number Twelve. It took more than a minute before Snape hissed, “A Potter even now.”

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean sir?”

Snape smirked in answer, and said, “I believe you wanted to know about the Dementors, or has your limited memory failed you yet again?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Remus shaking his head. Ignoring the last real Marauder, he gestured for the Professor to continue. “The Dark Lord, is planning to remove the Dementors from Azkaban in slightly less than a week. I had not informed you because first, it has not happened yet, and second, I was attempting to fulfill a favor to Lupin. If you want to know more on that account I would have to recommend speaking to him not me.”

Harry turned to Remus, who was awkwardly petting Cleo. “Remus.” He said sternly.

With a heavy and forlorn sigh, he began, “Harry, I taught you your Patronus, and I know what you hear when you’re around them. Thanks to the Occulemency training you took last year with Severus, he knows as well. Harry, you have some of the worst possible memories to have drudged up and paraded in front of you. When I asked you in your fourth year what the Boggart would have changed into, you said a Dementor, not Voldemort, not death, but fear. Like I told you then, you are afraid of fear, and the last thing you need on your plate is something else for you to stress over.

“It was my decision that you were not told, so if you are upset, it isn’t Severus’ fault; it’s mine.”

Shaking his head, Harry muttered, “Bloody Marauders.”

Severus rose and announced, “I will return in a few moments, do not eat or drink anything as it might react to the potion.”

For a few minutes it was quiet, and then Remus said, “Harry, you and I need to talk.”

“If you are planning on scolding me for using Avada Kedarva, then you can leave now because I am not in any mood to hear it.”

“No, I’m not going to scold you. I wanted to say congratulations. You proved that you can use the Unforgivables, but your reaction here proved that you won’t unless you have to-”

“Or if I’m feeling vengeful.”

“I file that as being necessary. If you’d let her go, it would have taken much longer to bring you back. Regret is harder to cure than guilt. I can’t blame you for what you did. I would have done the same, at least close. I’m a fan specialized severing charms. Used properly you can open individual arteries. I haven’t been able to do what you have, Harry. Ever since Sirius, ever since…”

“Ever since Bellatrix killed him in front of us and neither was able to save him?” He said quietly, emotionlessly.

“Yes. Harry, how are you fighting? How can you even keep living?”

“Because I don’t have a choice. You do though. No one, least of all me, would begrudge you if you wanted to go find the them.” He laughed humorlessly, “I’m supposed to be convincing you the other way aren’t I?”

“Traditionally you would. But, you probably couldn’t manage ‘traditionally’ if you tried. Harry,” he stopped and walked to the window. “I want to just take your advice and find myself a nice cliff, but I have a promise with the Marauders to uphold.”

“What promise?”

He began to tell a story in a dead voice, betraying no emotion, good or bad. “They found out about me partway through our fourth year. Wormtail would never have noticed without the other two. They realized when the moon lined up with an Astronomy class. They formed their guess based on it, and the next month was…unpleasant. When I came back in the morning, I took my shower, and saw a razor sitting there. I was about to do it when they walked in.” Tears welled in his eyes, but his voice did not change.

“Those two should have been on rugby teams. Tackled me across the room. More than fifteen feet. They didn’t even have wands, and did it anyway, knowing full well that I was stronger, faster, and was still partially in a wolven mindset. Later they claimed that they’d forgotten, but I never believed them.”

Harry agreed with him, he had seen how passionately dedicated Sirius had been to Remus, had been told about his father’s unswerving loyalty, and felt both would probably have tackled a dragon to help their friend.

“It took both of them to subdue me,” He continued, “and after getting my whole story, and rather angrily explaining that they didn’t give a damn that I was a lycanthrope, made me promise that I would never try it again.

“They earned the right to ask it of me, and I can never go back on it.” Harry could only stare at the back of the man’s head. Remus was standing at the window, and dried off his face with a quick spell. He shook his head to readjust his attitude, and then said in his normal voice, “Sorry about that. Harry, what I really wanted to say is that I’m proud of you, that Sirius was, and that if James were here he would be too. You always seem to find a way to do what needs to be done, but you never let it take control of who you are. I know that Sirius hit you hard, and I know that you are blocking the emotions for now. You’ll face them eventually, but you recognize that now is not the time.”

“I know, I have to be ready at any cost. You do know that the Order is investigating your loyalties, right?”

Remus smirked sitting back down, “You aren’t the only one that Severus has deemed worthy of his information. Ah, and speaking of him, here he is. Now why did you have to rush off so quickly.”

“There was a disturbance at my home that I needed to check. It was nothing of consequence.”

Harry was about to continue the discussion as an owl flew through the window. It was hard to decide who responded worst.

Remus jumped six inches and yelped, throwing Cleo out of his lap.

Severus leapt backwards, drew his wand and was about to Apparate away.

Harry just blinked.

The bird flew to Harry, dropped a letter in his lap and was gone ten seconds later. After drawing his wand, he looked at the letter more closely, only to recognize handwriting he had rarely seen.

Neville Longbottom’s to be exact. With a complete disregard for the risk or possibility of deception, Harry opened the letter and read.

Dear Harry,

I’m just writing to say thank you. I wish I could have taken you place, but I will certainly settle for what happened. My Mum and Dad seemed to understand when I told them. Some American Witch is trying to work on a cure for them, well, everyone, but we aren’t sure about it.

I’ll see you at Hogwarts, and if it matters to you, none of my family will believe a word that Skeeter is publishing, and we have convinced all of our friends. You aren’t completely alone yet.

Again, thank you.

Neville Longbottom

“And what have you discovered Potter that has left you giddy as a school-girl?” Snape asked condescendingly.

It was odd for him after having spent so long listening to the Wizarding world declare his insanity and distrust of him, to suddenly know that not everyone hated him. Harry smiled slightly, “Nothing Professor. I just helped to settle a bit of that revenge you and I had talked about before.”

“Indeed.”

“Oh, before you two leave: first, thank you-”

“I believe I already mentioned that I would be staying long enough to teach you the potion.”

“Oh, yeah. Then that will just make the second part easier. I realized yesterday, well I think it was yesterday, that I have an Apparition license, but no idea how to Apparate. Since I am not in the mood to be splinched-”

“Very Well, Potter. Without any other option, and since against my instincts I can accept that it is a tactically sound idea, I will teach you to Apparate. Lupin, you need to return to the Order at once. Potter, get your wand, your cauldron, and a sheet of parchment. We will begin with the potion, and try not to blow anything up.”

It was remarkable how a simple action had caused such a series of unfortunate events for Harry Potter. The actions compounded on one another, until it was a fact instead of rumor.

-Johann Kettlerson, ‘Political Tragedies and Blunders of Our Time’

Headmaster Dumbledore-

I am writing to ask you to promptly send the sword I removed from the sorting hat in my Second year. As I was able to remove it, a fact which should be substantial enough proof that I am worthy of it, I expect to see it promptly. For reasons of security. I ask that you send it with Fawkes.

-Harry James Potter

*~~~*~~~*

Mr. Potter-

Unfortunately, at this time I am sorry to say that without better proof of your loyalties, I am not comfortable with turning over a magical sword to yourself. In light of the events which recently occurred at the Ministry of Magic, the response to Alastor Moody’s letter, and the account of young Mr. Weasley, I am at this time withdrawing my support for you. I regret to inform you that the members of the Order of the Phoenix have voted and have removed their support as well. Any of your belongings currently at the Weasley’s or at headquarters will be sent to you immediately.

For the moment it has been decided to let you retain your knowledge of the location of the Order’s Headquarters and we can only hope that you will not abuse the information.

Yours Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore,

Headmaster

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,

Order of Merlin First Class,

Leader of the Order of the Phoenix

*~~~*~~~*

SUPPORT FOR HARRY POTTER REMOVED!

Elusive ‘Order of the Phoenix’ Declares Boy-Who-Lived Loyalties Questionable!

After the declaration of the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named by the Ministry four days ago, and the removal of their support upon the use of and Unforgivable curse by the boy, today the Order of the Phoenix, run by Albus Dumbledore, has officially removed their support as well, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent.

The Order cited drastic changes in personality, violent acts, and demands for dangerous objects as their reasons.

Even though some members of the Wizarding community, most notably the Longbottom family, have announced that they side with the Boy-Who-Lived, the majority is standing firmly against him.

It seems that Harry Potter has earned a new title, the Boy-Who-Betrayed.

*~~~*~~~*

The figure crept through the corridors of Hogwarts for several long minutes before he reached the Headmaster’s office. Cautiously, he climbed onto a chair from which he was able to scale the bookshelf. At the top was a gleaming silver sword, the hilt encrusted with rubies and the engraved name of its first owner just beneath the hilt.

He reached for it, resisting the instincts that were so deep inside him. Finally, after debating with himself for a few moments, his fingers closed around it, and he jumped down to the ground. With a crack like a whip, he disappeared from the office and reappeared inside a small bedroom.

“Here is Sword, Sir.” He said in a small voice.

The young man that accepted it smirked, “Thank you Dobby. I hope you won’t get in trouble.”

“Dobby is not minding. Dobby helps Harry Potter, sir, but Dobby must go back to Hogwarts sir, before he is being caught.”

“Go, Dobby, and thanks again.”

With another crack Dobby disappeared, and Harry Potter smiled at his careful avoidance of the rules. “Well, Sirius, Dad,” He said quietly to the window, “I hope you're proud. That was almost Marauder-esque, a bit Slytherin, but mostly in your style. Except that I won’t get detention for it.” He laughed softly, thinking of the reaction of the aged Headmaster when he found the Sword missing.

Harry went to bed smiling for the first time in weeks.

“His early years at Hogwarts would have been much easier had he just taken the Sorting Hat’s advice. I’m not kidding. He’s already half of each…makes him look a little like a Christmas tree really…”

-Remus Lupin

Harry-

It seems that the Order isn’t feeling particularly trusting lately. I’ll stop by in a few days. I learned through Severus that they have me tracked at all times so I need to find a stealth device or it won’t be safe for me to visit. I’ll be sure to buy one for you as well.

Keep your chin up.

-Moony

*~~~*~~~*

Professor Severus Snape poured the last ingredient into the simmering cauldron and recoiled as it boiled over.

“Dammit.” He growled. Turning, to find his wand, he started and nearly disapparated on instinct. “Why can’t you make noise like a normal human being, Lupin? Oh, yes, I forgot, you aren’t human are you?”

Lupin smirked, and slipped past him to examine the contents of the cauldron. “No,” he said cheerfully, “but at least I can make a decent potion.”

Snape felt his lip curl upward into a tight sneer, he vanished the mess, and asked, “did you have an actual reason for intruding on my home or were you just here testing your poor insults?”

“Actually, yes, I do have a reason…is there somewhere we can sit?”

Severus flicked his wand and the back wall began to melt. At the center it caved inward, and the emerging hole stretched downward. The sides split outward, and when it was at full size, a sculpted border appeared around its edge. Both men walked through and sat down in the large chairs. Everything in the room was black, silver, or emerald. The chairs were deep and soft, and the hardwood floor was perfectly smooth.

It was his favorite room in the house, and was itching for Lupin to spill something as a reason to let the room demonstrate its protective personality.

He floated drinks from the table and gestured for Lupin to continue.

“We need to make sure both of us are following the same plan, and I need to know what you taught him, not to mention how long you were there.”

“Very well then. He succeeded in completing the potion after a day. He could apparate in less than an hour, and by now could likely group-apparate four or five at a time. I was there for approximately 36 hours. He is responding as was predicted, nearly to the letter. Loathe though I am to admit it, you were right. In a few weeks, if we continue, he will be prepared, and will have a chance at surviving the next level.”

“Good.” Lupin paused, “Severus, is this right?” Snape glared at him. “Should we really be doing this? Is it necessary?”

“I thought I was the one who would not mind his young and painful death. You were supposed to convince me, and for that, it is your fault that I am involved in this insane, if ingenious, plan.”

“Yes, I know, but he will kill us when he finds out. If he’s feeling generous he’ll make it fast. Not that we won’t deserve it, but…”

“Shut up Lupin.”

They sat in awkward silence for a few minutes that stretched to almost half an hour, consoling themselves in their drinks. Finally Severus flinched and stood. “Redo the potion and deliver it, the scroll is on the table.” He said quickly, summoned his mask and cloak, and disappeared.

*~~~*~~~*

“Harry?” Petunia said quietly from outside the door of the second bedroom. Harry opened the door with his wand out, but slipped it into his pocket again when he saw how terrified Petunia looked. The woman did not need anything else to scare her.

“Yes?”

“There is someone for you. I had him sit in the lounge, but he’ll need to leave quickly, your uncle has a business meeting here tonight.” She turned to leave, but Harry grabbed her elbow, and made her look back at him.

“Aunt, I need to know exactly what he looked like, and how he behaved.”

Harry listened to her recant the boy’s arrival, and nodded at the perfect description of Neville Longbottom, complete with tripping over an umbrella stand, and the mimbleus mimbletonia he carried.

If it was an imposter they were doing a good job with it.

He sighed, redrew his wand, and brushed past his aunt. By the time he had walked down the stairs, he had removed the bottle of Veritaserum from his pocket, and was wearing an emotionless mask.

“Neville?” He called from the foot of the stairs.

“Hello Harry, um…Prof- I mean, Mr. Lupin said that you would want to use Veritaserum to make sure I was, well me.” Harry nodded. “I’ll just sit here then.”

Harry administered the potion and after a few brief questions, released his year-mate. “How are-”

“Thank you Harry.” Neville interrupted. Harry tensed; Neville was not famous for interrupting someone else’s speech. “I know I already said it in that letter, but I wanted to say it out loud. In the Department of Mysteries, I wanted to do it so bad, but with that curse, I just couldn’t. I’m sorry that your Godfather was killed, and I’m sorry that you had to deal with my problems, but, Harry you know me. I’m the ‘Gryffindor klutz.’ I’m the village idiot, the near squib who can’t even fly a broom.” Neville chuckled, humorlessly, trying to seem lighthearted about his horrible reputation.

“You don’t have to be, Neville.”

“Yes I do. I don’t have any other choice. I am a klutz, and I’m horrible at magic, everything but Herbology, and that barely counts. It isn’t really magic.”

“Neville, I have seen what you can do. I saw it in the DA and I saw it in the Department of Mysteries.” Neville was just shaking his head and muttering about inadequacies and an ‘inherent subordinate nature.’

Anyone that can use that kind of vocabulary in a normal thought obviously is not a part of either group. Dammit Padfoot, but here goes another motivational pep-talk.

“Neville were you ever told that our roles could have been switched?” the blonde looked uncomfortable, and shook his head in shock “Listen, there was a prophecy that I know you haven’t heard all of. It was actually given by Trelawny, but that’s not important. It said this: The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not. And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies. Both of us fit it enough for us to both be targets.”

“Harry, I could never ‘vanquish the Dark Lord.’ I’m me, it’s not like I could ever do anything that you do. And you treat it like it’s nothing. Look at you now. Your Godfather was killed and you are still living. I could never do that. In your first year you defeated You-Know-Who. In your second it was a basilisk. Your third you went after someone you thought was a deranged maniac, and ended up saving his, Lupin’s, Hermionie’s, yours, and probably Ron’s life too. You also saved Buckbeak, fought down dementors, and almost had Sirius Black named innocent. Then you fought You-Know-Who in your fourth year, competed in the Tri-wizard tournament, and brought back Cedric. And then last year, just – everything! Umbridge, your Godfather, standing up against the press and against even our house’s scrutiny.”

“I did it because I had to Neville, not because I enjoy it. It was necessary, I hate it, and if I weren’t the Boy-Who-Fucking-Lived, then I would never have tried to. It’s the same thing for you. You never had a reason to have to try.”

“My Parents-”

“Bull Shit. You were a year old.”

“So were you!”

“That’s different!’

“How? You fight for your parents, any sane person would fight of their parents.”

“Are you actually saying that I’m sane?” He smirked, breaking up his friend’s possible tirade, “haven’t heard that in a while.”

“Harry, your parents are dead, you don’t have to go visit them and see your failure and have it pushed down your throat.” Neville’s voice was quiet and cold, it cracked but he continued talking, “You don’t know my Grandmother, she could make You-Know-Who feel like he was nothing, and like he had failed. I know that I couldn’t save them when I was a kid, but I just feel like I should be doing something, anything, to help them. Did you know that it was really Bellatrix who did most of it? Rodolphous just liked to watch her and occasionally gave suggestions. It was mostly her. But I want him dead too though. I want him dead, and I want it to hurt. I want them dead, and I want my parents back. Did you know that the Longbotom Manor has modified muggle camera’s in it? It has had them for years, and the tapes are indestructible. My Grandmother thought she had hidden them all, but she hadn’t, and I stumbled, quite literally onto one. I watched it, and…” Neville took a breath, clearly fighting away the memories of what he had seen. “Dammit, I want the Lestrange’s dead.” His voice broke entirely, and he looked up. With closed eyes, he whispered, “Merlin, Gods Merlin, I want them back.”

The room fell to silence as Neville wiped off his eyes and tried furtively to regain some composure. He seemed to realize what he had done and said, and hurriedly jumped up. “Um…I’m sorry, I, I’ll leave. Just, Thank you Harry.”

Harry was so deeply enthralled by the emotional breakdown his friend had displayed, that he was unable to stop him as he ran outside and port-keyed, presumably home.

“Well, dad, this is incredible: an easy decision. What a shock. Harry Potter isn’t supposed to have easy decisions. Of course, the universe will certainly balance out later, but for the moment, I think I may enjoy this. Yes, after thought, I do enjoy easy decisions.” He smiled as the Gryffindor side of his mind came into dominance.

He was ruled by the four houses, and at they constantly fought for control. Most wizards did have aspects of multiple houses in them, and only rarely did someone remain under one house at all times. Ron was one of the few in the school. Until the Department of Mysteries, Harry had ruled almost constantly by his Gryffindor side, with a Hufflepuff’s loyalty and a Ravenclaw’s thirst for knowledge occasionally appearing in sparks. He had also seen slight aspects of Slytherin in himself, but had tried to block them.

After Sirius had died, the dominant house had begun to change. Instead of glimpses of green in a scarlet world, it was inverted. The sparks of the other two houses hadn’t left, but Harry Potter had begun to see the advantages in Slytherin planning, cunning and most importantly their ability to close out the pain of the world and continue working.

However, no pure Slytherin would do what Harry was about to.

He summoned a jar from his room and walked to the fireplace, tossing in a small pinch. “Remus Lupin.” He said as he ducked his head into the green flames.

Remus appeared immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m doing someone a favor.” Harry could see the shock of the Werewolf’s face. “Incredible isn’t it?”

“Quite, considering how Slytherin you’ve been lately. Not that that’s a bad thing. It seems to keep you alive, which is a plan that I wholeheartedly support.”

“Have you heard of some American witch working on a cure for those who have been driven insane by Cruciatus?”

“Yes, she’s been working on it for a few years, but nothing has come of it. Not enough funding. Why?”

“What’s her name?”

“Er…let me grab the article.” He vanished for a few seconds, but came back with a Marauder-esque smile. “Her name is Cynaephyra Alstance, she lives in some place called Silverton, Colorado. It doesn’t give an address. What are you planning, Harry?”

“I’m going to ask her to come to St. Mungo’s, and if she agrees I’m going to give her my Gringott’s key.” He said plainly.

“Gryffindor.” Remus said in a mock insult, almost perfectly impersonating the Potion Master’s voice.

“So the hat tells me. Thank you, but I need to go.”

“I understand, oh, before you go, congratulations on getting the sword. I’m not sure how, but Dumbledore had difficultly speaking coherently for hours after. A wonderfully executed prank. Why did you take it, though? You don’t know how to use a sword. Or do you?”

“I needed it,” Harry said mysteriously, “Have a nice day Remus.”

He pulled his head out of the fire, closed the connection, and turned to see his uncle triumphantly holding up the Daily Prophet.

More specifically, the issue with the two inch Headline: SUPPORT FOR HARRY POTTER REMOVED!

Fucking shit and a half.

“I see that your ‘friends’ aren’t so keen on you anymore. Maybe I should just put those bars back on your window. And there will be no more owls in this house. You’re still underage, I asked your aunt, and you can’t even do any of your freak stuff here.” Vernon had turned a rather remarkable plum color in his elation. “And if I want to, I could just-”

“Be quiet Uncle.” Harry said coldly.

“How DARE you speak to me that way!” Vernon took a step forward and raised his hand to hit him. Harry didn’t move. Years of Quidditch had improved his reflexes, but also told him when he wouldn’t need them. He lifted his own hand and flicked his wrist. His wand jumped to place, and he gestured at his uncle. Suddenly neither of them were moving.

Unspoken magic now? I really need to remember to ask about these sorts of things.

“Uncle, do not try that again. I am going back up to my room in a moment, but first I will explain something to you. The wizarding world has removed support from me, but they are too afraid to actually punish me. By law, I am now allowed to use magic here or anywhere else whenever I want. No one will challenge me. Which means that I can do whatever I want to you, and no one, will challenge me. I do not recommend tempting me into doing that, as I have learned quite a few ways to hurt someone in my life.”

He walked away, releasing his uncle only when he had reached the top landing.

Harry smirked again.

His Slytherin side seemed determined to remain in power.

“Considering how uncommon and unpredictable his life was, considering his ability to manage to succeed in the impossible and have the improbable happen to him against all odds, it was not surprising to his allies that Harry managed to get attacked anyways.”

- from The Second Great War by Quentin Trimble and Bathilda Bagshot

Being drunk was nice.

It meant that Dudley Dursley didn’t have to think about school, or boxing, or his damned cousin, or his twice-damned parents, or about the nightmares that had plagued him since the attack last summer.

Therefore, being drunk was nice.

He and his friends all agreed on this point and at least once a week would meet up in an alley with whatever they had managed to scrounge and steal. For the most part it was cheap beer and whiskey, but, as they had learned, cheap did not mean weak, nor were they picky.

It was a little past nine, Dudley and Piers were the only ones of the group left, and in the darkening night, they were sitting in the alley by Piers’ house when a man in an expensive black business suit walked up. He sat down beside them and pulled out a bottle of his own, and took off the lid. He took a drink, and Dudley saw a silver ring flash on his finger in the half light.

“Who are you?” Piers said, miraculously managing to avoid slurred speech.

“It’s not important.” He said silkily. “Who are you?”

“It’s not important.” Dudley mimicked.

“Would you like some? I’m sure that what I have is far better than what you have managed to procure.” The man’s voice was like silk on glass.

Piers reached for the offered bottle, but jumped up as he heard his mother shout for him. “Sorry, Big D.” He said before scampering away.

With only Dudley and the man left, the bottle was quickly passed to the younger boy. “So what do you do? Most people don’t wander around drinking in a nice suit.”

“I’m looking for someone. Perhaps you know them?”

“What’s in it for me if I tell you about whoever this is?”

“Nothing but good I assure you.” Dudley shrugged and gestured for the man to continue. Instead the man, blonde, Dudley noticed, pulled out another bottle and offered it.

“This is even better.”

Dudley tried it, the haze of liquor not letting him see the fact that he was taking food from strangers, and drinking this unknown substance willingly. But even if he hadn’t been inebriated, he would have taken it. After all, he was just Dudley Dursley; it wasn’t like he was Harry Bloody Potter.

The drink was warm as it slid down his throat. The man hadn’t lied: It was better. A calm swept over him as he took another drink, and then the man spoke.

“What is your name?”

There was no reason not to answer anymore.

“Dudley Dursley.”

“Have you ever heard of, or met a boy called Harry James Potter?”

“Yes.” His voice was dripping with contempt.

The man sat up straighter and his eyes widened. “You do?”

“Yes.”

“Describe him.”

“Black hair, always a mess, and always grows back. Has a lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead, green eyes. He’s short and skinny, and he’s a wizard.”

“How do you know him?”

“He’s my cousin. He lives in my house, and stole my second bedroom.”

“Where, good friend, do you live?”

“Number Four Privet drive. Just down the street.”

The blonde man rose lithely, and pulled a wooden stick from inside his jacket. “Obliviate.” He whispered. Dudley, blinked, and blinked again, not sure what was happening, then there was a flash of red light, and it no longer mattered.

=============

Harry James Potter sat on his bed, with Hedwig on one knee, a thick book in his lap and Cleo perched on his head. It was an altogether unusual sight, considering the absurdity of his life. He pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. As he replaced them, he continued to scan the pages of the index for his quarry.

Swordplay, was not, unfortunately, listed.

“Damn.”

Harry banished the book back to the bookshelf, and summoned an even larger book. The Dark Arts and How to Use Them flew from the shelf and into his lap. He flipped idly through it, uncaringly, and stroked Hedwig with his other hand.

Finally, as the tense boredom of the room stretched to an insufferable level, all three creatures jumped. Hedwig shot into the air and then into her cage, Cleo jumped forward to claw at an incoming owl, and Harry slapped his palm over his scar.

Hissing from pain, Harry tried to close his mind as he had been told to, but as suddenly as it had begun, it faded.

“Tom probably just killed someone, that seemed downright happy.” He commented to his pets. As he shook off the pain, he turned to the owl, and frowned. It was clearly from Hogwarts. He took the letter and sent it on its way, then waited for the remainder of his mail. For the most part it arrived at the same time, and holding with tradition, two more owls swept in. They dropped their letters and disappeared into the night. When Harry looked down he understood why: Owls were not particularly fond of Howlers.

With a smirk, Harry blinked, and they disappeared, reappearing suddenly, and about to go off, in the center of the Ministry’s offices.

Pleased with the chaos, and again making the note to ask Moony and Professor Snape about how he was teleporting objects without touching them, he opened the Hogwarts letter.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,

Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been chosen as the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain for the next school year. You must hold tryouts for all positions which are not already filled. If at anytime you are unable to fulfill your duties, a substitute will be located.

We are also pleased to inform you that the Educational Decrees and Decisions made by last year’s High Inquisitor have been completely voided, and your lifetime ban on Quidditch has been rescinded.

Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. You have been enrolled in all classes made available by your OWL scores.

Term begins on September 1, The Hogwarts Express will depart at 11:00 on the First from Platform Nine and Three Quarters at King’s Cross station.

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress

It was August tenth. “Well, won’t that be fun. Multi-hour practices with a group of people that probably hates me more than they hate Voldemort, and games against people who not only feel the same way, but, if they’re in Slytherin, will be putting out every effort to kill me. I’ll be taking probably around six or seven Newt Level classes. I have to deal with Snape in class. I have to deal with Malfoy. The entire school pretty much things I’m a psychotic homicidal maniac. The Ministry is after me, and I still have to find a way to train.” He paused. “You know, I really didn’t think life could get worse than last year, but, clearly, I was mistaken. Lovely. Simply Fucking Lovely.”

Cleo, sensing an oncoming emotional breakdown, jumped onto his shoulder and licked his cheek.

“I wonder why I’m captain. I’m probably the best for it, but I can’t see them letting me willingly do this. Accio book.” It jumped to his hand and he found the Age Spell he was looking for.

He quickly cast it, and laughed. It had been drafted before he had even received his OWL scores, and it was becoming obvious, that the school either couldn’t change their Captain decision, or they had forgotten. In either situation he could torture them with his position.

Harry sat contemplating how to purchase his new supplies, which, as he looked at the list were extensive, and began idly spinning his wand between his fingers. His cloak was out of the question. So was mail order: they had to have a name and a bank account, both of which could be tracked. Moony was almost as suspect as Harry. Snape had to maintain his visage of a greasy bastard. He wasn’t very good with Self-transfiguration, or with Disillusionment charms. Neville was a possibility, but it would put him in even more danger. Still, it was worth asking at least.

His musings cut off as the doorbell was rung. Harry jumped up and held his ear to the door.

Vernon complaining about late-night visitors. Petunia tittering about her Duddy-kins forgetting his keys. Vernon unlocking the door. Vernon opening door. Petunia screaming.

Harry tensed.

Vernon shouting. Vernon bellowing to know who they were.

Harry cracked his door open to hear better and listened with closed eyes and his heart in his throat.

“Who we are doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, Well what do you want?”

“We would just like to speak to Harry Potter. We’ve been told he lives here.”

“There is NO Harry Potter in the HOUSE. Get out! GET OUT or I’ll call the Police! I don’t want anymore of your FREAKINESS here!”

Petunia fainting.

“Exactly what are you speaking of?”

“You know what I mean. Your-” Harry could not hear what was said but knew it would be the dreaded, ‘magic.’ “Are you from that freak school of his? Or are you here to arrest him, maybe that sham Ministry you people have?”

“We are from neither.” Harry could not, for his life identify the voice.

“Then why are you here?”

“May we please come in? Thank you.” Footsteps entering the house. “We merely which to speak to Harry, perhaps take him off your hands?” Harry could hear the gears turning in his Uncle’s head.

His tone became businesslike, an much friendlier. “You want to take him then, eh? Well, who are you.”

“I’ll let he other’s remain anonymous for now, but I will happily introduce myself, that is, if you will agree to our taking the boy.” Vernon and the man must have shook. “It has been a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Dursley. We will collect him immediately, and as to my part of the arrangement: My name: Lucius Malfoy.”

“Bravery is the greatest thing in the world. It will save you through anything, and will allow you to be not only a great and respected man, but also a man who is feared by his enemies. Bravery is going up against all odds, knowing you have almost no chance at survival, and still going of your own volition. It is a beautiful thing. However, it must be tempered with the idea that sometimes the odds are too great, and it is no longer brave to stay, only foolery. At that point I recommend a firm strategic retreat. A fast one.”

-Godric Gryffindor

Severus apparated into the large room as soon as the scar burned on his arm.

The Dark Lord rose from his chair and ordered them to discard their masks. They were instantly gone. Severus looked around and noted who was there.

Rodolphous. Goyle Sr. Goyle Jr. Zabini. Lucius. Macnair. Avery. Nott.

The inner circle.

It was important, whatever it was.

He choked on a gasp as the last person he expected to, appeared amid their ranks. Draco Malfoy looked at his father with a glare that screamed hatred, then turned and knelt before the Dark Lord.

“My Lord,” He said sleekly, “I answer your call.”

As the young blonde kissed the hem of his robe, Voldemort stepped away and the meeting began.

“Moments ago I received a piece of information that all of you have been searching for. You have searched for years, and you never found it. I am displeased with your work.” The Potions Master barely held his face in check as he panicked. It all came to what had been found, and who had found it. “Severus, come here.”

He walked forward, and gave a small bow, “My lord.”

“How long have you searched for the information of where Potter lives?”

Sweet Merlin… “Fourteen months, six days.”

“And in that time, what have you found?” He knew better than to answer, and concentrated on creating the proper lies in his head, arranging them precisely, and forcing his heart out of his throat. “Nothing, Severus. You have found me nothing. I am displeased that you were unsuccessful.” The fabricated memories fell into place a breath before Voldemort began to enter his mind.

Severus met his eyes and by a miracle, did not reveal any emotion.

False images of fruitless tiring searches, heavy warding, and unreadable files. Images of him slaving to find the information, and with only the thought of serving his Lord were pulled to the surface.

After several painful minutes, he was released, and left standing in the center of the room. “Unlike any of most here, one of you has managed to procure what I need. Lucius has found where Potter is.”

A collective shudder slipped through the group, and Snape nearly screamed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a grimace on Draco’s face, but it was gone instantly, so fast it may never have been there at all.

“Number Four,” He continued, “Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. Where he first appeared. Lucius, Zabini, Nott, Avery, Draco, Rodolphous. You will accompany me to the home, where we shall attack.”

Scarlet and Gold flashed in Severus’ mind and he stepped forward before falling to his knees. “My Lord, the wardings I have spoken to you of, they are very strong.”

“The Order has withdrawn support from the wretch.”

“But not the wardings. If I have failed you in locating the information of his whereabouts, please forgive me and believe the word of your most faithful servant. Ihave found record of the protections, I have passed all of it to you. Should you break the ward, both Dumbledore and the Ministry- floundering though it may be- will be alerted, and it would allow for a greater opportunity if-”

A wave of the Lord’s wand, sealed Severus’ mouth. Only a patch of smooth skin covered the lower part of his face.

Sneering icily, The Dark Lord gave orders for the others to retrieve the boy. They Disapparated, and then the other’s were ordered away.

Severus was still kneeling on the ground and remained calm as he was told, “Your loyalty is still in doubt. I must prove that otherwise. And remember, that if they fail, due to your counsel, I will be highly disappointed, I promise you.”

He nodded, and hardened the important secrets away in a distant corner of his mind, and waited for the spell to come.

His mind was again ripped apart, brutalized, and violently raped as knowledge of betrayal or disloyalty was sought out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Lucius Malfoy.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shit.

Harry closed the door quietly, and whispered, “Colloportus.” The door sealed with a squelch, and he knew that Lucius would have heard it.

He began to curse under his breath in a steady stream of obscenities that would have turned a sailor’s hair white.

He repeated the spell Tonks had used as she had packed his thing in the summer before his fifth year. His attempt was more successful. His things were flying into place and he blinked Hedwig and Cleo to the only place he felt was safe. Please let Neville know how to deal with them.

Harry’s heart was pounding heavily, and each beat caught in his throat and threw off his concentration. His mouth was dry, and suddenly every injury, every loss, every doubt he had ever harbored swelled, and tried to drown him. The room was spinning in his mind. Shattered by the introduction of the one thing he had been warned about, Harry could no longer concentrate.

Don’t let him know anything. Don’t let him find anything. Nothing. Don’t give in. Let him find nothing. Don’t let him bring back anything. Don’t give in. Don’t let him take me. Don’t give in. Don’t give in.

He could feel the hum of magic around him. The last of his items flew over his head and into the trunk. It locked itself.

His trunk shrank and flung itself into his pocket, anything of his was inside it, and now hidden.

He tried to apparate, and felt a ward stop him.

Don’t give in. Don’t give up. Don’t.

There was a vibration as his Imperturbable charm failed.

Harry whipped around, wand out, in full dueling pose, and watched Lucius step inside. The blonde who had used to tower over him, was now barely above him. With a mental wrench, he forced the panic into control, and held it in rein. He moistened his lips and hardened his glare. His calm bearing and cold attitude had reasserted themselves.

Don’t give in. The voice whispered, with a desperate conviction.

“Don’t worry, Potter, I have orders to bring you in alive. Rodolphous fancies a chat with you. So do others, actually. Just come along quietly.” The man’s silky voice barely made it across the room, but remained dominant nonetheless.

“Not a chance in hell.”

“Hmm, Accio Glasses.”

Well, I think it is fair to, at this point, say, Double Shit.

He tried to concentrate on where the other man had been, and cast several fast and strong stunners at his best guess.

Unfortunately, Lucius was no longer there.

A faint poof was heard behind him, and then the same silken voice whispered, “Imperio.”

The spell was cast and hit him before Harry could turn. He relaxed as his mind slipped into the fog, and heard a silky voice asking him to hand over his wand.

Well of course he would. Why not. What did a stupid wand matter?

Harry’s mind rolled gaily through the fog, thrilled to be free of his hell, and was walking towards Lucius to surrender his wand.

Don’t give in.

Why not give the wand? It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered! Everything was happy, and it would be so nice to stay in the surreal and peaceful joy of the fog.

Don’t give in.

The voice shook his happiness and he pushed it away, only to feel it come back, more pressing than before. Don’t give in.

He liked the fog, it was quiet, it was peaceful, there were no worries no doubts, no pain.

Don’t give in. The voice – it sounded familiar – cut apart his world. Don’t give up. Don’t give in.

His mind snapped back and he immediately summoned his wand with his left hand while casting an Ice Jinx at his opponent’s feet with his right.

Lucius stumbled, but cast a Heating charm that melted the problem away.

The pause was all Harry needed to step back regather his wits and fall into a full dueling pose. He was using the pose that Snape had in the Dueling Club.

Actually, the same one Voldemort used in my fourth year. He realized as Lucius surveyed him from the same position.

“Dear me, little Potter is starting to become more and more like his father every day. Soon you’ll follow in his footsteps, and end dead at the Dark Lord’s feet.” Lucius sneered. “Do you plan to do this according to etiquette?”

Harry barely moved, and made no response.

“What? Is the Honorable Gryffindor going to-”

“Locomoter Mortis.”

Lucius snapped into position, and Harry took a step towards him, lowering his wand to his side. As he move to take the wand, Malfoy moved, broke the spell with a screech like nails on a chalkboard, and shot him in the stomach with a spell he had never heard of and then with Expelliarmus.

While he was flying backwards he thought, How the hell do you break the full-body bind? Then he hit the bookshelves, and stopped really caring about magical theory. He fell prone to the floor. Then the bookshelf collapsed. First was an avalanche of books, old newspapers and broken toys, then came the shelf itself.

The books woke him up.

The shelf pissed him off.

He rose out of the mess and stood across from the older man, waiting for him to move. “What are you gong to do Potter? I have your wand.”

Harry blinked, and on instinct, so did Lucius. When the blonde opened his eyes again, Harry was directly in front of him, a sword in his hand. Godric’s blade had missed being packed and was humming with barely contained energy.

He raised it, prepared to strike, and felt a vibration.

As the Apparition Wards dropped it let out a small shock wave, enough to distract him for a few seconds. When he looked back Lucius was gone, and Harry’s wand was on the floor.

Four cracks were heard from downstairs.

He opened the door, looked out, and saw all of them gone.

Disturbingly drained from the bout with Lucius, he rested the point of the sword on the ground, and leaned on the hilt.

Looking around the room, he sighed, everything was packed save for the sword in his hand, and his wand – now in his pocket once more.

The bed had even been stripped of the blankets he had collected over the years. Weariness swept over him, and he collapsed onto the bed. “Well Padfoot, I don’t quite consider that a duel, it was far too short, but it was very exhausting. And entertaining. Books falling on my head. Bookshelves falling on my head. Anti-Apparition wards. Lucius breaking a full-body bind; I really need to ask Snape about that. However Dad, there is a serious – no pun intended Padfoot – advantage to being attacked by a homicidal convict slash Death Eater. If they know where I am, then I can leave. Should leave.”

Harry shifted to stand, and failed. “Or I could rest for a bit, that sounds nice too.”

He rested on the bare bed with the sword over his knees as his heartbeat returned to a normal speed. “I wonder what you can really do?” He asked as he fingered the lettering on the blade. “Very good for killing oversized snakes controlled by teenage boys with superiority complexes, yes, but I doubt you were put in the hat for that. What can you really do?”

Hesitatingly, he closed his hand around the hilt, and closed his eyes. Thinking back, he remembered a passage in one of the books.

Magical enhancers, or Asaekas are objects into which pure magic has been infused. They often appear to be sentient because of their abilities to become attached to those who need them most. Once created, it is almost impossible to destroy one. Pure magic is highly dangerous to wield and only the most powerful wizards should attempt to build one. They are oft times made with swords or knives as it is not uncommon to see a wizard carrying a weapon.

The strength of the enhancer is dependent entirely on the strength of the wizard. No matter how much magic is instilled in the Asaeka, it is capable of only as much as the user can draw from it. Therefore, a highly powerful wizard could be capable of drawing more energy than is available.

To control one the user must be in physical contact for at least the start of the spell, and though it is possible to later move away, the strain is usually unbearable. Concentration on the energy is essential, along with the incantation Objicarian. It is cast without a wand. At first the item may have an increase in temperature.

Harry tried to concentrate as he had been instructed. The nagging feeling that Godric’s blade was an Asaeka grew the more he thought on it, and he cautiously whispered, “Objicarian.”Light flared in the room, brilliant white and painful. The sword flared in his hand, and an etched design on the largest of the rubies burned its mark onto the center of his palm.

With a sharp intake of breath he threw the sword out of his hand, onto the floor. His left hand clenched around his right, where a black picture was still smoking softly. A thick Celtic circle no more than half an inch across with five dots surrounding it was sitting in his skin.

The pain was already fading, and he groped in his pocket until he found a vial of healing potion. He poured a few drops onto the injury, and shouted suddenly, dropping the vial, and not caring as it spilled over the floor.

His hand was rapidly becoming the only thing he could think about. The pain was humbling and it felt like steel splinters were moving beneath his skin as the marks grew and moved.

The circle expanded until it filled his palm, but remained perfect. The five dots were dragged around the circle until one was beneath each a finger. Only by a great exertion of will did he avoid screaming. A fine line emerged from each of them and traced the center of each finger, ending, pointed, on the pad of each finger with a thing ring surrounding the tip. At their base, they flared out, and the line was bulbous at the bottom.

The pain receded with the color, and a few seconds later, brilliant white marks were all that was left on his hand. Not even ridges.

His energy, whether thanks to rest, the sword, or adrenaline, rose, and Harry stood up, paused to coolly whisper, “Well that was a hell of a day, wasn’t it? Let’s do it again some time, shall we?”

Then he apparated away, to the only place he felt he had a chance at survival.

Severus knew when Lucius appeared sooner than the others that they had failed. When the remaining four appeared, his thought was confirmed. Potter was not with them.

An emotion bordering on pride filled him, and had he had his mouth he would have taunted the defeated blonde.

But he did not.

The Death Eater’s gathered around in a tight circle to watch their Lord fulfill his vow.

The world was dissolving into a blackened husk of burned torture and tears. He wanted to scream beneath the curse, but had no ability to do so. He dug his nails into his palms and writhed on the ground in a relentless hell.

A Death Eater was given an order, one that he had had expected, and Severus found himself unable to move. He was forced to kneel before his Lord and Master, and take the abuse given. His mind raced, his heart pounded, torture swept through him in waves and as his mind was once more raped, the lies remained solid.

Finally, the body-bind was broken, his mouth was restored, and he was ordered to leave at once.

It was an order he had no qualms about obeying.

"Sometimes your word will draw you to aid someone, and sometimes it pushes you further away."

-Lily Evans Potter

Harry James Potter had Apparated into the English countryside, where he slept for the night, counting on randominity to protect him.

In the morning, after oversleeping the sun, he rose, and apparated directly into Knockturn Alley. More specifically a Knockturn Alley alley. He slipped to the edge of it, looking out into the street, and started. Rapidly, he ran back a few feet, slipped out of his muggle clothes, and clambered into his wizarding robes. He poured water from the tip of his wand and used to alter his hair, giving him slightly more control over the disaster area.

It took a few minutes, but he cleaned his face and arranged his fringe to cover his scar. Concentrating on a different persona, since he was still unable to master the disillusionment charm, he stepped out. Miraculously, no one noticed him. His trunks and sword were still in his pocket, so he walked meaningfully towards the Diagon entrance.

Though he would have given anything to avoid that particular street, he desperately needed to visit Gringott's, and would have to make do. It had been a long time since he had walked down the bustling street with the throng of students and parents hurrying about trying to purchase everything they needed for the upcoming year.

He was not certain why he had ever missed it.

Under his breath he began to converse with his relatives. "Sirius, I think that you may have died just to get a bit of revenge on me. I'm not sure what I did to deserve it, but I am sure that I would have dragged you along to this interminable hell. This has to be revenge of some form." A woman walked by with a child bawling at her side for a second ice cream cone. "Mum, I hope I was never like that. However, if I was I would like to very humbly apologize for it. If I wasn't then I'd like to congratulate you on raising me well."

He wasn't almost to the bank, having exuded a dominant, alpha male presence, when the last voice he wanted to hear rang out.

"Mr. Potter!"

Simpering, he turned to stare directly into giddy eyes the faced him. They were still surrounded by the same bejeweled glasses.

"Ms. Skeeter." He said formally, giving her a small inclination of the head.

A crowd began to gather, and Rita looked thrilled. Somehow her Quick-Quote-Quill was already out. "Would you be willing to answer a few brief questions Mr. Potter?"

"No, I wouldn't." He turned and was met with a veritable wall of shoppers, staring intently at him. Cursing mentally, and hissing physically, he turned back to the reporter. "You may have one question, Skeeter." Harry said icily.

She beamed as though she had counted on it. The Quick-Quotes-Quill was already onto a second piece of parchment.

"How does it feel to betray the whole of the Wizarding world by becoming loyal to your parents' murderer?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. The madly scribbling quill, and the parchment it was on, burst into flame. "Rita," He said politely, ignoring the gasps from the crowd, "I guarantee – I promise you – that the second I 'betray the whole of the Wizarding world by becoming loyal to my parents' murderer,' I will immediately give you an exclusive interview. Unfortunately, you will, as of now, not be receiving the rights for any such interview, since I have done no such crime."

His glare parted the crowd and he walked composedly up the Gringott's steps.

"That was not smart, Harry, not at all." He berated himself. Sirius' happy laugh filled his ears.

The doors opened for him, and he paused at the entrance, but no one inside recognized him. Suddenly hopeful, he walked to the counter, and spoke with the wizened, tired Goblin. "I'd like to make a withdrawal please, sir."

The Goblin kept its head down as it wrote on a long ledger. "Your key." Harry set it on the counter. "Vault number?"

"Three hundred and ten."

"Your name?"

"Harry James Potter."

It caught the Goblin's attention. His head came up rapidly, and his tired eyes were suddenly intent. If Harry had not been clinging to his mask of cool indifference like a lifeline, he would have laughed at the reaction. The small Goblin's face was entirely different than what he had ever seen on anyone or anything.

Wizards revered him. Well, now they blindly hated him, but at first they had revered him.

House elves rarely met their eyes, and when they did it was with an awestruck glazed look.

Centaurs flatly disliked him, and considered him worse than the scum beneath their hooves.

Giants, outside of Hagrid at least, had never had a chance to know him.

The same was true for the Merfolk, since only a few had seen him in the Second Task.

Aragog and his kin, starving as they were, had even held a form of respect for him because he was willing to walk into their lair to help a friend.

But the Goblin in front of him was entirely new. Most Goblins had disregarded him in the past, but this one, and for that, the ones on either side were staring at him with a desperate hope and those he could see seemed ready to jump for joy.

The Goblin swallowed. "I wonder, Mr. Potter, if you might have time to speak with a few of my coworkers while you are here? We can send someone for your gold, if it would be more convenient, but we would greatly appreciate the chance to meet with you."

Harry's world was now tinted emerald again, and the automatic distrust of all others was beginning to set in once more.

"Certainly, Master…" He waited for the Goblin to answer.

"Icefoot."

"Very well then, Master Icefoot, will we be able to do this somewhere more private?"

Nodding, the Goblin led him away, behind the desks and towards what seemed to be a plain wall. A finger was rung along the edge and a door appeared. Walking down the ornate hallway, Harry shouted inside his head.

Very nice. Bloody Wonderful. Now I am stuck trying to…negotiate… with the Goblins, when I know nothing about them, know nothing about what they want, know nothing about negotiation, and am no longer certain as to what the hell it is I am doing at the moment. What the bloody effing hell did I do to deserve this one? Huh? Sirius, are you sure didn't curse me before I left at Christmas? Dad, Mum, were either of you convicts in a past life? Is that why I am being punished like this now?

Icefoot bowed him into a room and Harry tried to compose himself.

It took only a few seconds before the fireplace at one end of the room flared blue, and a procession of Goblins stepped out. Seven exactly. Harry gave a small nod to each of them, while his mind screamed in confused frustration.

"I am terribly sorry to make you wait like that, Mr. Potter, but we unfortunately did not have any warning." The leader of them, a largish, clearly powerful one, said professionally.

"Not a problem. May I ask why you wanted to speak to me?"

The Goblin smiled, which succeeded in both comforting and terrifying the wizard. "I understand that…forgive me, let us sit, and do this as it should be done."

"But there's no…" A table rose from the ground at the press of a button, and Harry lamely finished, "…table."

It was oddly shaped, curved on one side, enough room for seven, and a second side that narrowed to leave room for only him. It was the perfect distance, Harry realized absently, between the addresser and the addressee. Not uncomfortable to either extreme.

As he sat, he said, "I should inform you that the Wizarding world, both the Ministry and that run by Albus Dumbledore, have made public declarations against me. Even meeting with me like this will put your loyalties in question."

"We understand that perfectly, it is in fact, one of the reasons we wished to speak to you." Harry was taken aback, both by the answer by how very formal and polite the creatures were.

These were the beings that had spent hundreds of years as Wizarding scapegoats?

Harry found himself incapable of a coherent answer.

They continued in his stead. "Our own loyalties have been in question far longer than your own, Mr. Potter. In fact, the instant that Ministry hears of any dark activity, the Goblins are treated as the lowest form of scum. We lose those few rights that we do have, and those that we retain are often bent. We Goblins have been involved in nearly every conflict with Dark Wizards since the dawn of the millennia, and it is our hope to aid Wizards in this one. However, the blunderings at the Ministry have left us in a position where it would be nearly impossible to have any impact."

Harry interrupted when the Goblin took a breath to say, "I'm sorry, but I am rather uncomfortable with this meeting—" He did not pause but despair was evident on each of the Goblins' faces before he could finish, "—so long as I do not know your names. I would very much like to be able to properly address you, seeing as you how you are being so well mannered towards me."

The lead Goblin smiled again; this time Harry was less disturbed. "My name is Grapple Stonepick. As to the remainder, Gorn Restfoot, Og Cudgelminded, Lugel the Lucky, Morga Hammerblow, Ergla Plainleg, and I believe you have met Griphook Flatface there." Icefoot had slipped out earlier. "Does that help to ease your mind, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes it does Master Stonepick."

"If it is not a problem to you, would it be possible for us all to be referred to by our given names?"

Harry stopped, confused beyond belief, and suddenly wishing that he had listened in History of Magic. A dull headache was beginning behind his eyes, and not from the present business. "I'm sorry, I don't understand what you mean. Given names?"

The Goblins murmured in their own tongue, but Harry was relieved to identify their tone as amused. "I believe that your History of Magic course is supposed to explain the Goblin society." Griphook said with an almost coy look.

It helped Harry to relax, "There, you see, is the problem; it has been years since I have actually listened to my History of Magic teacher. It is possible that he explained it, but unfortunately I never heard. Would you mind explaining?" Harry was enjoying speaking with them despite his growing headache. They were a wonderful blend of frankness and subtlety, hostility and beauty, patience and impulsiveness.

Og Cudgelminded explained in a voice far higher than Harry had expected. "At birth we are given a name that later becomes the equivalent of a first name. The term is easily derived, it is our literally, 'given name.' Our second name is called our justified name. It is the one we earn through our lives. They are based on are actions. Mine comes from a certain confrontation in which I was unfortunately thinking about a particularly fine cudgel I was considering purchasing. It distracted me enough that I lost the bout. A friend, after hearing the story, gave me my name.

"It is considered, though, a measure of trust, and respect to refer to someone by their given name as it honors one's mother."

Harry smiled, "Then please call me Harry, Og." Smiles broke around the room in response. "However, I believe before I got us sidetracked that we were discussing your hopes to impact this war."

Harry's mind was alternating between a dull confused throb and a rapid, complex network. Flashes of information he half remembered were rising to the surface, and with each new bit that made him a fraction more comfortable in the situations, his headache grew.

"Yes," Grapple said, "Yes, what I had been going to say is that the Goblins have convened and have come to this decision; we will be involved in this War, and we want to now know who is best to side with."

"Well, first, I recommend the side against Voldemort." Harry noted that none of them flinched. "Why did you come to me, though?"

"Harry, that is why we are having this meeting. The Ministry has never treated us fairly, and we doubt that Lord Voldemort would either considering the maniac's ideals, but we have survived a great deal and wish to be on the side we most agree with."

"I don't understand."

"After this war ends, should you succeed and survive, you will hold a great deal of power, and an unprecedented ability to make changes in the world. The whole world."

Harry suddenly smirked in understanding, "And you want to know where I stand."

"Yes."

"What do you want to know?"

Lugel began, "Recently we were contacted by a house elf by the name of Dobby. Normally we…dislike…house elves for their willing enslavement, but after he explained how you had set him free and how he insisted on pay, we began to think, and inquire. You have made a rather large impact in the past few years, Harry. Would we be able to confirm a few of the rumors we have heard?"

Harry nodded as his headache flared, the world was abruptly a sickly gray.

"In your first year at Hogwarts you were attacked by a form of the Dark Lord, correct?" Harry nodded, "I apologize, but we do greatly appreciate you answering these." He paused, "In your second you held regular conversations with a ghost, met an overly large, sentient spider, discovered you were a parseltongue, encountered house elves, dueled, fought an overly large, sentient snake, destroyed the living memory of the man controlling the snake, and rescued a friend's sister?"

It certainly sounds like a lot when it's just listed like that, doesn't it, Padfoot? He nodded, trying to suppress the pounding in his head. It slowly lessened as he mentally fought it down.

"Your third year you were taught by a Werewolf were you not?"

"I was. He was one of my father's best friends, and he taught me the Patronous Charm."

"Did your opinion of him change when you found out about his state as a lycanthrope?"

"No." He said coldly.

"This is where rumor begins, Harry. We have heard that you used an illegal time turner to save the life of a Magical Creature and also to save the life of a murderer."

"No."

"You didn't?"

"Not what I meant. I meant that Sirius was not a murderer."

"Could you please explain that further?"

Harry suppressed the remainder of the pain, and started. "Sirius was originally planned to be the Secret Keeper for my parents, however, at the last moment he convinced them that they would be even safer if they used someone that no one else would suspect. They chose another of their school friends, who unfortunately betrayed them. Sirius would have very much liked to be a murderer and made a good effort at it. He had every intention of killing Peter. Peter decided that it was his best bet to disappear rather than duel, so he transformed into a rat, after cutting off his finger, and after killing the muggles in the street with him. Then my Godfather was sent to Azkaban without a trial. I did help him escape Hogwarts though." Harry added brightly at the end.

"In your fourth year, you were enrolled in the triwizard tournament where you fought a dragon, rescued your friend from the merfolk, communicated illegally with the aforementioned innocent convict, witnessed the murder of your fellow champion, witnessed the return of Voldemort, dueled with Voldemort, escaped with the body of your fallen companion, were harassed by the media, mentally attacked by Voldemort throughout the year, attended the Quidditch World Cup, were nearly killed by Bartimus Crouch Jr, won the Triwizard tournament, and gave the money to friends so that they could start a joke shop?"

Harry nearly blushed, but remained composed enough to respond with a silky, "It was a busy year. Yes, all of it was true."

There were a few seconds of silence, as the Goblins stared, and Harry dreaded the explanation of the fifth year.

"I would really rather not—"

"Don't worry, I am not going to ask about your fifth year. I would merely like to know two simple things. First, our of curiosity did you actually found a Defense Association, and second, how did your OWLS go?"

Harry smirked, "I most certainly did teach the DA, but it was a friend," He used the term only because he could not come up with a better, "who began it. As to my OWLs, I received five. Charms, Transfiguration, Care of Magical Creatures, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Care of Magical Creatures. I am continuing other subjects, but I received Outstanding in each of those."

"Congratulations." Grapple said amusedly. "I believe Harry, that we may have arrived at a decision."

"About?"

"The side that we will take in this War." All the Goblins around him smiled, and Harry knew before it was said; they would fight Voldemort. "We will not however pledge our help to either the Ministry or to Albus Dumbledore." Harry's heart sank as he made a second prediction. "But we will pledge it to you. The Goblins will help you Harry."

"Did I convince you to—"

"No, actually," Morga said, "Most had decided that after the Dobby's testimony. I had never met so vehement an elf. This was merely to confirm a few of the more staunch believers, and to verify a prophecy in our own history."

What Prophecy?

Harry almost asked, but decided that it would be better to not, after all, prophecies could be powerful, and he wanted as little to do with them as possible.

They rose opposite him, and he mimicked them, but as abruptly collapsed back into the chair after a flash of memory. He could not remember when, where or with who, but remembered what was important. They stared at him oddly, but he smiled and acted as though all was well.

A button on the wall was pressed and Icefoot reentered with a small bag in hand.

"I apologize, you were here to make a withdrawal, and we stole your morning, is there anything you need?" Grapple asked formally.

"There were a few things…" Harry removed a small slip of parchment he had charmed to his own eyes. Icefoot stepped forward and gestured for the list.

As Harry relinquished it, he charmed it to the Goblin's eyes as well. A quick scan and the Goblin nodded. "All of this can be done easily. Would you like it sent to you? There would be no charge for delivery since we did rob you of your time."

"Thank you. It sounds wonderful. Can you locate me without my telling you where I will be? I am not sure myself yet."

"Not a problem at all." Icefoot bowed, and Harry returned it, spun, and walked from the room.

>=====<

The eight Goblins waited as chairs rose from the ground once more. They sat, and stared at each other until the silence was painful. Lugoch Icefoot grinned broadly, "Do you believe the rumors now, Og?"

"Yes I do." Og paused uncharacteristically, "The Goblins go to war." His voice was devoid of any breath of question.

"Yes, but not until he does. We go to war." All eight waited a few moments, then Lugoch growled, "If you plan on stepping out Wizard, now would be highly appreciated."

Severus Snape reappeared from the wall. "Do you plan on holding to our arrangement?"

"Unlike some races, Goblins keep their word. Do you plan on holding to our arrangement?"

"I already have Master Icefoot. You have not been targeted yet, and will not for several more years."

"It will hold?"

"Yes."

"Then the Goblins will be going to War on another day. We will not pledge allegiance to Harry."

Severus smirked, "How do you plan to honor your word about 'helping' him?"

"That is exactly what we are doing. Good day Sir."

>=====<

Harry walked out of the bank with only a dull headache remaining, and trying to think of a place where he could hide. So far, he had found nothing. Deep within his musing, he did not notice the blonde step from a door, and ran directly into him.

Both boys sneered viciously. "Malfoy."

"Potter."

"Joined any Dark Lord's lately?"

"I could the same of you, at least according to the papers."

"You have no need. You are the son of a Death Eater, couldn't he answer that?"

"Actually, Gryffindor, I am the son of an escaped convict, and that makes all the difference in the world." Malfoy flung him aside by the shoulder and disappeared into the throng.

Shaking his head, Harry finally cleared it. The only place that Wizards would never look for another wizard had occurred to him.

Proud of himself, he strode towards the Leaky Cauldron and Muggle London.

"The truth is more important than the facts."

-Frank Lloyd Wright

POTTER: A NEW DARK LORD?

Harry Potter, until recently hailed as the boy who lived, is now a deranged, violent young man bent on world domination, writes Rita Skeeter Special Reporter. He adamantly denies working for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but was willing to use an Unforgivable Curse in full view of Ministry officials. Yesterday, in the middle of Diagon Alley, he used wandless magic to destroy this writer’s property.

Though he does deny any involvement with You-Know-Who, he is quoted as saying, “I guarantee you… that the second I ‘betray the whole of the Wizarding world by becoming loyal to my parents’ murderer,’ I will immediately give you an exclusive interview.” This is unstoppable proof of his future plans for the destruction of our world.

As one of the few people left in Potter’s life, Remus Lupin spoke to this reporter to say, “He is often like this, angry, violent. We always had to be very careful we never made him mad. Most of the time he’s fine, but when he isn’t, it can become dangerous. I think James would be ashamed of him, but I also think the Ministry is doing the best possible thing right now.”

James Potter was one of the Ministry’s most respected and powerful Aurors in the first war, and his name remains a measure for all other Aurors to live up to. He faced You-Know-Who a total of four times with his wife, and was killed in the fourth attack. Both Potters were Aurors at the time of their deaths, but it has been found that Lily Potter was being transferred into the Unspeakables, an event that never had the chance to take place.

It is often thought that because of the physical similarity between father and son, their behavior will be similar, but after the events of this summer, the idea is clearly false.

The Ministry is issuing an edict that anyone found helping will immediately be looked upon as a traitor. In a surprising joint announcement the Goblins have finally come forward to take their side in the war. (full story on page 2)

The Longbottoms, a family still supporting Potter, was unwilling to give a statement.

(see page 2, THE GOBLINS SPEAK OUT; page 3, Edict From the Ministry; page 4, WHY WE SHOULD NEVER HAVE TRUSTED THAT BOY)

>=====<

THE GOBLINS SPEAK OUT
The Goblins made a brief statement today, explaining their side in the approaching war. Below is the abbreviated speech.

“Harry Potter, who originally worked for our support has had his record tainted by the testimony of several officials under the power of Veritaserum….Both the Ministry and growing Order of the Phoenix spoke to explain the boy’s actions both at the Ministry this spring, and this summer, also including information on the now infamous meeting between Potter and You-Know-Who at the end of the Tri-Wizard tournament last year. Based on these testimonies…it is the decision of the Goblin High Council to pledge support for the Ministry, and offer our support in their announcement earlier of the Traitor by Association Act.

“At the request of the Ministry, Gringotts will continue to offer Potter only the use of his vault, but will disclose all information on his activities to the Minister.

“All this is done in the hope that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will be defeated and that Potter will not take his place.”

>=====<

Harry very patiently stood up from the edge of the bed in his hotel room. He stepped over to his trunk, and transfigured a paperweight into a block of wood. He then, very calmly, set it in the middle of the floor, picked up the sword and hacked the thing to pieces.

Each cut was attached to a name, and he shouted his way through his enemies. Dumbledore. Fudge. Ron. Weasleys. Tom. Fudge again. Rita. The Order. Death Eaters. The Ministry. The Goblins.

It took almost half an hour before the block could be described as dust, but it had prevented him from strangling every member of the Order. I suppose that is a good thing. Not quite sure though.

He managed to suppress the urge to brutally murder something, and sat down on the bed slowly clenching and relaxing a fist. His stomach growled.

Harry sighed, “Food does sound like a good idea doesn’t it Dad? Let’s see what room service offers, then.” Having never ordered room service, he spent several minutes looking through the menu on the table and being generally appalled by the prices. Eventually he settled on his choice and dialed the phone. “Room service? Yes, this is room 1109, yes bill to the room. I’d like a chocolate milkshake, a slice of apple pie, and a pepperoni pizza. Yes, yes, I know that it’s nine in the morning, I’m paying you aren’t I? Alright, very good, twenty minutes. Thank you.” He hung up. Comfort food. “Padfoot, that should satisfy except that now I have to kill twenty minutes.”

One hand was absently rolling his wand between his fingers, but the other was resting on the Prophet. Considerably calmer than he had been, he reread the cover story and the press announcement. He scanned the editorials, laughing outright at some of the ‘facts’ of his Dark activities. One claimed that he had attempted to sacrifice Ginny in his second year; another claimed that he had bastard children littering Hogwarts. Harry very nearly fell out of his chair as he saw that. “Poor misinformed woman. She implies that I have a love life.”

Finally there was a knock at his door, he flipped the paper closed and tossed it carelessly onto the bed, racing for the door. The man was standing behind a cart and was ready to walk in. “Don’t.”

“Excuse me sir, don’t what?”

“Don’t come in.”

“But sir I—”

“Here, I’ll give you fifty pounds, and you can just leave the cart here. I’ll put it back outside when I’m done. Alright, thank you, bye.” Harry shoved money at the man, dragged the cart inside closed and locked the door. “Must remember to stop leaving my Firebolt out and hovering like that.”

He sat down happily on the edge of the bed, flicked on the TV and ate. He watched the last few minutes of an American talk show involving three couples all of which had accidentally married a relative’s divorcee. At the end half of them were screaming and the other half was crying.

It ended and he flipped through, stopping on the BBC. Apparently the royal family was going on vacation.

He felt a slight ripple and, without turning said, “Hello Professor Snape, how are you?”

“Idiot boy, don’t you even have Anti-Apparition wards up?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then how did I get him?” Snape scowled.

‘They’re set to allow you and Remus in, but no one else.”

“Impossible.”

“No, it’s possible. It was in one of the books you gave me. The Dark Arts and How to Use Them, chapter eighteen, part four, page four ninety-three.” Harry turned from the news and looked at the professor. “Didn’t you read them?” By his face, Harry guessed not.

“Why are they still open to Lupin?”

“Why shouldn’t they be?”

“Potter, I have always known you were blind to events you disliked, but this is appalling. You read the Prophet’s cover story I assume. Reread it.” Harry frowned, but obeyed, having long since learned that Snape did not recommend things unless they needed to be done. As Harry reached the quote, he hissed under his breath.

“‘He is often like this, angry, violent. We always had to be very careful we never made him mad. Most of the time he’s fine, but when he isn’t, it can become dangerous. I think James would be ashamed of him, but I also think the Ministry is doing the best possible thing right now.’ Remus? Remus said this? One moment please.” Harry stepped to a small table and lifted a quill from his trunk. He then scratched Remus’ name from the ledger. “Another traitor.” He muttered darkly.

Severus sneered. “If you can do that, why, I might ask, haven’t you bothered to make yourself unplottable?”

“It only works on places not people.”

“Fool, I found you by tracing an owl path. People can be made unplottable just as easily. Sit still, it needs to be done immediately.” Harry watched as a spell was quickly cast on him, he felt vaguely detached for a few seconds, but the feeling passed. “In your recent letters you have asked several questions I was not comfortable about answering in writing. I can answer them now, but do not waste my time.”

Harry sat down beside his meal and looked directly at the man who had spent five years making his life a living hell, who would attack him if he could, who worked only towards his own benefit, and who was the only person left that Harry could really ask for help. “I will start with the easier ones; why is my parseltongue ability appearing subconsciously?”

“It is the same thing that occurred in your second year. You can think in both languages and so speaking in both is not difficult, even for your puny mind. However, the connection between yourself and the Dark Lord may be strengthening, and so his actions may reflect through you.”

“So if he is speaking in Parseltongue then it may slip out of my mouth?”

“It is possible.”

Harry disliked the idea of being controlled but was already wondering if the connection worked both ways. “How am I doing wandless magic?”

“No one knows. Since, until you controlled wandless magic was considered impossible, there is no information to reference.”

“My wandless magic isn’t controlled, most of the time it’s just a reaction on instinct, and it usually only works when I’m very emotional. What are the Dementors doing?”

“That falls into the scope of Rabastan’s assignments. Something of which I am not a part.”

“Will you continue to teach me Occulemency and Legillemecy?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“My mind contains too much as it is; it would be dangerous to open in at all.”

Harry stared directly at the Potions Master and very quietly, very firmly asked, “Why is everyone betraying me?” His eyes were already watering, but he refused to cry in front of Snape.

“What do you mean?”

“The Order, the Ministry and their Traitor by Association Act, Ron, the Goblins breaking their word to me, the rumors that are flying, Remus’ comment. Why is everyone betraying me?”

Harry could feel the breath of pause before the answer. “Based on your actions.”

“Bull Shit. The evidence against me is not nearly enough to accuse me of anything.”

“You killed Bellatrix.”

“SO WOULD ANYONE ELSE IN MY POSITION!” He didn’t care if the Slytherin-esque style of his countenance was slipping.

“Weasley accused you after seeing the books.”

Harry was tingling was anger. “You gave me those!”

“The Order doesn’t know that.”

“Why do they think I turned?! I’m the bloody Golden Boy of Gryffindor, I’m the damned Boy-Who-Lived, I’ve fought Voldemort and saved people’s lives, why do they think I betrayed them?”

“Because you can say all those things.”

“That makes no damned sense.”

“Yes it does. It makes the perfect reason for them to trust you no matter your actions. You have done a disproportionately large number of good deeds to the point that it seems unusual. They feel you have been playing a part all this time. Think, it makes sense. I am a spy, but I am a very good one, and the first thing to know is that anything out of the ordinary will be questioned at some point. Potter, your entire being is out of the ordinary, it is no small wonder that they doubt you.”

Harry clenched his mouth closed, hissing, “Why do you still trust me?”

“I cannot tell you that. All you need to know is that I still, foolishly, do. Goodbye Potter.”

The Professor stood up to Apparate, and Harry shouted.

“What do you need now Potter?”

“Since I am being youthfully optimistic in the hope that I’ll survive this summer and ever have a chance to reach Voldemort, I will continue with that and assume that you trust me based on my character and truthfulness instead of whatever obscure reason is really driving you. I have not betrayed my family or Sirius. I never have and never will. I will never join Voldemort, no matter what he offers. I will never be able to forgive the Order for what they are doing to me.

“Since I no longer can trust anyone’s actions except my enemies, I have to trust what you have said. This is what you will do for the time: Stop giving any information about my whereabouts or actions to Remus; he is to be completely removed from the knowledge loop, continue to update me on the events inside the Order and with Voldemort, and know that if you betray me too, I will not hesitate in killing you. I will send you an owl if my location changes.” His emerald calm was back, “Goodbye Severus.”

"Success is in the eye of the beholder. It all comes down to what you were fighting for."

-Sirius Black

Severus waited at the back of the ante chamber, praying that the Dark Lord would have no business with him that day. Since visiting Potter two days earlier, meals and sleep had nearly been forgone entirely. Texts, books and scrolls had to be read as he searched for further answers, and further protections for the boy.

Despite his exhaustion though, he was still listening to the orders being given. Few had been changed at all, but as the meeting drew to a close, the Dark Lord stepped to the center and beckoned them around him. Fearfully, they obeyed. The Dark Lord conjured the last three editions of the daily prophet. A barely suppressed rumble of laughter rolled through the assembly. “My Lord,” Lucius asked, “Shouldn’t we move in for a final strike against him?”

Severus’ breath caught in his throat, and he waited, completely forgetting his exhaustion.

The Dark Lord laughed. It was a painful, mocking, cruel sound, that scarred their minds. “He is no longer a threat. I will dispose of him at my leisure. He has no support, he has no way to learn, and he has gone into hiding out of fear. Potter means nothing. The boy cannot even cast a successful Cruciatus. For now we will move against our real threats. Leave.”

The Potions Master barely suppressed his smile. They were winning.

>=====<

“Fool. Damned, damned, thrice-damned fool. Remus, could you have been any stupider?” Lupin slammed his hand against the desk, and winced at the sting. “You could have mentioned anything else, used anyone else as an example, but no, you had to use James, the one sure fire way to win Harry’s eternal enmity. Merlin, Dammit but I’m a fool.” He had chased himself in circles, berating himself for his own idiocy, and wishing he had thought more clearly.

Most of his things were already packed, but the last of his books were still scattered over the floor. With another insult on his dropping IQ, he flung them into a chest, closed it, shrank it, and crammed it into his pocket. He picked up the scrap of paper on the desk and read it one last time.

Lupin-

You have managed to antagonize him. Do not contact him, and do not make any effort to regain his trust, it is gone. He may forgive you once the truth is put before him, but you know that event is far in the future. I have received another report, leave the Order at once.

-Snape

With a grunt of sheer disgust, he destroyed the paper, and walked out of Number Twelve Grimauld Place.

>=====<

“Harry! We can’t do that!”

“Neville, I’m sorry but I have to insist. With the new legislation the Minister—and I use that term loosely—has passed, you and your family are already under scrutiny. Please make a formal announcement against me.”

Harry was visiting the Longbottoms and was currently seated in a large parlor, begging his friend to call him a heartless murderer. Just another day in the life of Harry Potter.

“Harry, my family does support you though.”

“Yes and that’s the problem. If you support me you will be considered a traitor. Come on Nev, if you won’t do it for yourself, do it for your parents. That American witch is making progress, but if you and yours can’t be seen in public then there’s no way for you to get there. Please just do it.”

Neville had brightened at the mention of the American witch. She had received an ‘anonymous’ donation, allowing her to continue her work, and was now moving in leaps and bounds. He sighed and said quietly, “How do you plan to explain your visit today?”

“Simple, I’m going to attack your house.”

“You're going to what?”

“Attack your house. Combined with an announcement from you, it should eliminate all doubt.”

Neville stared blankly, then started and grinned slowly, “Come with me, my Gran is renovating on the other side of the house, and she really wants this one wall taken down.”

“Go tell her what’s happening. I’m going to go have a chat with this wall.”

“Ever had one of those days where you just want to hit something?”

“Occasionally.”

“Well, I’m having one of those months.”

-from a conversation between Harry Potter and Severus Snape.

Hi, Welcome to Hell, your stay will be indefinite.

Harry cursed under his breath and continued walking. He had just passed through the brick wall into Platform 9 and ¾. Out of spite more than anything, he was striding down the platform as though he didn’t have a care in the world. The entire area had gone quiet the instant he entered, but in his wake, hushed frantic murmurs were already beginning.

Crowds parted and he deposited his things on the train. After a few moments he stepped back out again, robes already on; they trailed behind him in a fashion similar to Professor Snape’s, but Harry didn’t realize it.

Cleopatra sat on his shoulder, seemingly doomed to remain tiny, but Hedwig had preferred the comfort of her cage. Both pets had been retrieved from Neville after the ‘retaliatory’ destruction of the guesthouse. They had been thrilled to see him. Harry walked to the wall, sinking in against it, and waiting. He was over an hour early so that he could keep track of who was returning, how they were returning and whether or not he was going to be harassed by them. A group of tightly packed Hufflepuffs scurried onto the train. Half a dozen seventh years were added, laughing over a joke from someone in the center. A smattering of Gryffindors. More Hufflepuffs. Ravenclaws. Hufflepuffs again. He continued to watch, and began to notice the trends.

The people most separated from the war had already arrived. No Slytherins. And most importantly, he had yet to see a single Muggle-born or half-blood. Must be traveling some other way.

He waited, still in the shadows, until the clock read 10:45, and they arrived. First was a wave of Slytherin students, led by none other than Draco Malfoy. Moving as though the war had already been won, the cut the throng in two and entered the train. All of them were working for Voldemort at some level.

The second wave of people was the one he was really dreading though. Nearly the entire Order of the Phoenix slid out of the brick wall. Ron, Ginny, Hermione, and nearly his entire house was clustered in the center of their guards. Harry shook his head, disgusted, and left the shadow. Gasps could be heard while he crossed the platform, and a tense babble broke out as he climbed back aboard.

>=====<

His compartment was empty, and had remained so since the train had departed. Neville had stopped by once. “I know Harry,” he had said, “I can’t stay, but I wanted to say hi, my Gran wants to say thanks for taking down the guest house, and so long as I’m here, have you seen Trevor?” Harry had shaken his head. “Alright, well if anyone asks, I was threatening your life for attacking my home, and you were threatening to do it again. Sound good? Ok, bye Harry.” Then he had left.

Harry shook his head, and leaned back. His eyes, against his will, began to flicker closed, and he slowly succumbed to a few hours rest.

Wormtail shuddered and knelt at the foot of the Dark Lord. “Why is it precisely, Worm, that you are incapable of even the simplest task?”

“Lord, I—”

“Silence. I have asked you to gather information on where the Goblins have moved their new capital. You reported nothing, and you found nothing. Why is that?”

“Sir, lord, I—”

“Crucio.”

The curse ripped through his body, agony searing at his nerves. It was all-absorbing. There was nothing but the pain. The pain and the screams. Agony. He twisted on the floor, trying to escape, though whether from Voldemort, or from the pain, or from himself he wasn’t sure. All that mattered was the pain; the undeniable, inescapable, never ending torture inflicted with such a small word.

His jaw was begging from mercy, but the screams couldn’t be held back. They jumped from his mouth, sapping his energy and his air. Even when there was no oxygen left in his lungs, he continued to howl in pain.

It would never end. Never end. Never. Never—

Harry rolled and flung himself to his feet, drawing his wand a pointing it at his attacker. Malfoy sneered at the wand between his eyes. “What are you doing in here Malfoy?”

The sneer amplified. “Your incessant screaming woke me up, so I decided to return the favor. Would you rather I hadn’t? Oh, I forgot, Gryffindors never needs to be helped, do they?” Harry felt a headache coming. If his guess—based entirely on experience—was right, it would be nasty.

“No, we don’t actually. Not by something like you.”

“And what, am I Potter that can raise such compassion?”

“A Slytherin Death Eater’s Son.”

He scowled, “Somewhat more than that.”

“Don’t give me the poor, pitiful me shit that you're so good at. Your life may be shit, but mine can win.”

“Of course, no one could ever suffer more the Gryffindor’s Golden boy.”

“In case you haven’t noticed Malfoy, I am not exactly anyone’s ‘Golden boy’ anymore. Unless you’ve stopped reading the papers, or even using your hearing for that matter, you know that I have fallen somewhat out of favor with the whole bloody wizarding world.”

“Poor you.”

Harry contorted his face into hate, but mentally he was enjoying the encounter. It was a perfect chance to loose some of the bottled up rage, and since neither boy was really being insulted, since neither really cared, they couldn’t have found a better situation.

“Yes, Poor me. Poor, poor, pitiful me. Betrayed by the wizarding world, on the run, hunted by a homicidal-maniac, and I don’t have any of my itsy-bitsy friends around anymore to back-stab me.” He was starting to use a baby voice, mocking multiple people at once. Boo. Hoo.”

“You have no idea what pain is.” Malfoy’s voice had dropped to a low hiss.

“Oh yes, relieving Voldemort’s torturing games, and feeling the pain of it, waking up in a cold sweat after watching a murder, being the underlying reason for the murders, that isn’t pain at all.”

Harry didn’t think that Malfoy would ever look shocked in public, or that he could pale in something vaguely resembling fear, but he found himself proven wrong. “Potter,” He said slowly, cruelly, “You suffer vicariously. You don’t have to murder, you aren’t there watching it live, and it certainly isn’t your body being ripped apart and tortured. You have no right to say anything to me.”

With that he was gone, out into the corridor, robes flicking behind him.

As he stepped out, another entered, the last person Harry wanted to see. Well, no, the last person I want to see right now is Tom, but this is definitely in the top ten.

Ron had entered the compartment.

Must not break his nose. Must not break his nose. Must not break his nose.

“What was he doing in here?”

Harry glared, “We were plotting the destruction of Hogwarts and planning our next routine meeting with Voldemort. You know? That great man whom I serve so loyally? What, don’t you remember him?”

“You fucking bastard.” That was all the redhead could manage to get out before he was shoved outside with a door slamming in his face.

Harry very calmly cast a silencing charm on the compartment, ignored the pain in his throat, and committed primal scream therapy.

>=====<

Hours passed. Luckily, no one else bothered him, unluckily, he could not go back to sleep. Finally the trained rolled into the station. They unloaded quickly. Harry’s presence had the same effect it had at the platform. Happy babbles ahead of him, silence around him, and frantic whispers following.

He greeted the thestrals, terrified a few second years, and had a carriage to himself. “Prongs, as Quidditch captain this year, I should probably try to come up with plans. I think I have one already. Step one: I fly onto the field. Step two: I look at them. Step Three: They wet themselves. Step Four: They forfeit, and we win. It just might work.”

The carriage deposited him directly outside the front doors, and without waiting, he strode into the Great Hall, seating himself at the first seat he reached, also known as the farthest from the Headmaster as was possible while staying in the same room. His Slytherin side came into dominance as the others entered, and his demeanor changed drastically.

He sat with a ramrod straight back despite the pain it caused. He met his enemies’ eyes. He glared to the best of the ability. Even when his headache reached its potential, he kept his face free of the pain.

Malfoy’s face alone was worth the effort. Clearly Slytherin-Harry was disturbing for the boy.

The most amusing thing in the affair was his own house. They seemed on the edge of either tears or screams. Lavender nearly fainted as she met Harry’s eyes. Gryffindor’s assigned table was remarkably lopsided that evening, and Harry had the sneaking suspicion that they were planning on putting the new first years in the laps of older students if it was necessary to keep them away from Harry.

Hopefully it won’t come to that.

Harry could feel eyes watching him, and scanned the room. Most people were terrified to look at him. Malfoy though was still staring, this time in a more calculating, controlled manner. Bloody spy. Harry thought with a mental snort.

The sorting began, and out of boredom more then interest, Harry listened.

In time of Gloom and Time of Fear,

Throughout this age and past,

A place has lived that you now know,

Where hope will always last.

Hogwarts by name, you call it so,

Has stood for many years,

But in the start, just like now,

An enmity does grow.

Between four houses, strong and proud,

Festers deadly hate,

Together all must bond as one,

Before it is too late.

New Students who have now arrived,

Hearken to my voice,

Of these four great houses,

There no must be your choice.

Will you be fit for Hufflepuff?

It may that is right,

For in this house dwell the true

And loyalty binds tight.

Perhaps it is in Ravenclaw,

That you are bound to stay,

Here are those that seek to learn,

And are given their way.

But now, my friends, comes the rift,

That I spoke of before,

A story has been lost in legend,

But I well know my lore.

Gryffindor and Slytherin, you may know,

Held a gap between,

Since In the pair were two strong minds,

A compromise was never seen.

Over time the gap grew larger,

Over time it grew,

Until at last, they broke apart,

And Slytherin then flew.

Friends, I now must beg of you,

These times may be our bane,

Choices will be laid before you,

But two houses remain.

In Gryffindor you seek to go?

It may or may not be,

Those who fight against all odds,

Will ever meet the fee.

Lastly still you may be Slytherin,

Though chances are yet small,

For few are quick and sly enough,

To reside within their hall.

Listen to me, now I pray, for I am jesting not,

The time of darkness comes apace,

Join as one, and cross the rift of hate,

To meet this terror in the face.

Harry blinked slowly. The hall was in shock. Even the professors were dead in their tracks. The hat just seemed proud of itself.

Finally Professor McGonagall regained enough sanity to call the first name on her scroll. Remarkably, the sorting went smoothly after the initial scare. There were thirty-one new students, seventeen boys and twelve girls.

Harry kept a list of each new student. Eleven went to Hufflepuff—the largest new class. Ravenclaw received seven. Gryffindor took nine. Slytherin had four. The tension at the Slytherin table was tangible in the air, and had already absorbed the Ravenclaws beside them.

“Now,” Dumbledore began, only slightly unsure, “I have a few start of term announcements to make. First, I need to introduce our new Defense Professor. If you would please.” He gestured and a petite woman stood up with a grin. “This is Professor Jen Demival. She comes to us from Australia. Thank you. I remind you that the Forbidden Forest remains that way, that the list of banned items has been expanded, and that the Quidditch Cup will take place this year.” He paused, and Harry knew what was coming. “Despite the removal of the Educational Decrees of last year, Hogwarts will honor the newest piece of legislation passed by the Ministry.” Traitor by Association Act. “A full copy of the law can be found in the library. Thank you again. And now, may the feast begin.”

Harry watched the food appear in front of him, but a tiny voice, one of the few ones that cared anymore, was crying in his mind. The meal looked incredible, and the Gryffindors looked pained by how tightly packed they were. His appetite had vanished. He sighed to himself, unheard by anyone else. Rising, he walked up the length of the table to the others. The first years, several of whom were indeed seated in the laps of older students, quailed. “Move down, and spread out if you want to.”

He began to walk away again, but stopped at the harsh voice behind him. “Where are you going?”

A somewhat sadistic grin curved Harry’s lips. “I’m plotting for the destruction of Hogwarts, what else would a traitor like me do, Weasley? Oh, you might want to be careful though. You are talking to me, and this act may fall under the Ministry’s new law. Be careful. I’d hate for something to happen.”

Harry walked to Professor McGonagall and asked apathetically, “Password?”

“Loyalty.”

He bit back his comment, and walked out, a headache beating in his head, his heart screaming for a chance to cry, and his mind silencing both of them.

Hell, indeed.

“At the shrine of friendship never say die. Let the wine of friendship never run dry.”

-Grantaire, Les Misérables

A week of detention, a burnt book, an ink stain, death threats, one promise of servitude, a broken nose, and a rather disagreeable teaching staff.

Harry had not even gone to class yet.

>=====<

It had started the second he had left his bed. I knew I should have just stayed there.

As he stepped into the bathroom, Ron’s fist had become acquainted with his nose. Shirtless, Harry was, if nothing else saved a cleaning charm, and since one of his books over the summer had covered minor self-healing, the injury was quickly taken care of, much to Ron’s dismay.

“Excuse me, Ronald, but I need to showers.”

“Of course."

He stayed in the shower longer than he usually did, relishing in the soft beat of hot water against his skin, and pretending he wasn’t stuck in a personal hell. When he finally did emerge, it was to discover that the dorm was empty of his roommates, but that their handiwork remained. One of his textbooks was sitting on the center of his remade bed, with a scorching charm placed on it. Harry performed the countercurse, and moved forward to find the rest of their antics.

He had not made his bed before showering, and since it was now neatly made, Harry could only assume that something was waiting for him.

Once the covers were pulled back, revealing an ink stain in the pattern of the Dark Mark, resplendent in green and black. Cleo was sitting dead center in the mess, and was mewing softly when she saw Harry.

The countercurse didn’t work. The sticking charm had to have been Hermione.

I’m sure there is a reason for me not to kill half —hell—the whole school right now; I just wish I knew what it was.

Harry ran a hand backwards through his hair, much the same way his father had, and quietly said, “Merlin, what I wouldn’t give to have a house-elf right now.”

Crack.

Dobby appeared with a desperate happiness. “Master Harry Potter sir? Did you mean what you said? Would you be wanting Dobby to be working for you? Dobby is wanting to be working for Master Harry Potter.”

“You know that half the Wizarding world calls me a traitor, and the other half wants me dead, right?”

“Of course, Master Harry Potter sir, but the wizards is lying.”

Harry managed to keep his expression to a small grin instead of the ear-to-ear smile it wanted to be. “Then I would love for you to help me. Thank you. But you have to promise to keep working here, and make it look like you’re afraid of me, or even better, hate me. Do we have a deal?”

“Yes.”

“Then, would you be able to take care of this?” He gestured at the bed and at his cat helplessly. Dobby nodded happily and with a second crack, elf, blankets and cat vanished.

Luckily, Harry was able to walk unopposed to the Great Hall. Unfortunately, his luck didn’t hold. He was glared at until he sat down—far from the others, like the night before—at which point the Gryffindor table began to hiss at him.

Cannot kill housemates, -I use that term loosely- Cannot kill housemates. Cannot kill housemates. Ugh, but sweet Merlin I want to.

He let it continue for a few seconds longer with a scowl he was certain could have curdled milk, until he found his solution. Well, since I can’t kill them, I can at least shut them up, eh Padfoot? Smirking, he walked back to the other end of the table, crammed full of students, and hissed right back.

His hissing was a bit more potent though. The room fell silent as soon as he started. Parseltongue tended to have that effect. “Since I can only assume that the actions presented this morning were in response to the reports from the Ministry, I feel I have the right to defend myself. I have never betrayed my parents. I have never betrayed Sirius. I have never betrayed the wizarding world. However, I may decide to break that last one if you keep treating me this way.” He turned to Hermione and continued, “Congratulations on that spell. Ron and the guys are too stupid to have modified a sticking charm like that, so I assume it was you. Good job, I’m quite proud.”

When he stopped, he couldn’t prevent his smirk from growing. He turned, ready to find his things, more than ready to leave, and heard his name on McGonagall’s lips. “Professor. What can I do for you on this fine morning?”

“Detention, Mr. Potter, all week, 17:00.”

Harry’s face constricted as he bit back a comment. “May I ask for what, Professor?”

“For breaking article one, section three of the Ministry’s newest law.”

“Do you mean the Traitor by Association tripe that the Minister wheeled out?” Her lips tightened imperceptibly, “Of course you do. Might you, by any chance have a copy of that decree so that I might know what the law is before I flout it?”

“No. I don’t.”

“I thought that might be your answer. Then perhaps you have a copy of my class schedule so that I might go to my classes, and be able to receive further punishments from certain anonymous bigoted teachers?”

“No.”

“My, what a useful character you are Professor. I’ll be leaving then.” He held out his hand, summoned his bag, and walked away. The Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw tables exploded into shouting masses that threatened his life and family. Slytherin merely watched him walk away.

>=====<

Harry was currently pacing in an unused classroom, muttering to himself in a hodgepodge of parseltongue, English, and spells. He was enjoying the look of the burning Hogwarts tapestry when an owl flew through the door.

Severus’ Cyleen.

The bundle it dropped consisted of only a few sheets of paper, but Harry had his hopes high.

Harry-

“When did I become ‘Harry’?” He asked aloud.

I thought you might appreciate this. Your schedule is attached.

If possible, arrive at my class before any others, bring the supplies in the leather case, and make sure that you increase the locking charms on your belongings. Do not stay in the company of Gryffindors for longer than you must. Keep your invisibility cloak with you at all times. Schedule your Quidditch tryouts as soon as possible—the time slots fill quickly. Congratulations on leaving your head of house speechless.

-S. Snape

Harry charmed the letter to his own eyes and then looked at his schedule.

Monday
NEWT level Potions

08:30—11:30

NEWT level Defense Against the Dark Arts

13:30—16:00

Tuesday
Herbology (early morning)

06:30—08:30

NEWT level Transfiguration

09:00—11:00

NEWT level Charms

11:15—13:15

NEWT level Defense Against the Dark Arts

13:30—16:00

Wednesday
NEWT level Potions

08:30—11:30

History of Magic

14:30—16:30

Thursday
Herbology (early morning)

06:30—08:30

NEWT level Transfiguration

09:00—11:00

NEWT level Charms

11:15—13:15

NEWT level Defense Against the Dark Arts

13:30—16:00

Friday
NEWT level Potions

08:30—11:30

NEWT level Care of Magical Creatures

12:30—14:00

History of Magic

14:30—16:30

Astronomy

00:00—02:30

Breakfast is served daily 5:30—8:30

Lunch is served daily 11:00—14:00

Dinner is served daily 17:00—20:00

Cramming the schedule into his bag, he drew his wand and said, “Timlus Estimus.”*. A clock appeared before him, and he groaned. 07:30.

Re-summoning his bag, he threw the strap over his shoulder and took off running. Within ten minutes, he had his cloak and the potion supplies in his bag, and was running back down flights of stairs towards the dungeons.

He ran inside the dank room he had come to loathe so passionately, and was met with a cool, “You’re late.”

Harry looked to the Professor, and muttered, “Timlus Estimus.” The clock reappeared. 08:00. Harry frowned. “Timlus Exactus.” 07:52. “You have my apologies, sir.”

Snape scowled, “Where is the case?”

“Right here sir.” Harry handed over the small black case. His palm was facing upward, and somehow, Snape spotted the design laced across his hand, and tossed the case out of the way.

“What is this?”

“My hand, sir.” He ripped his hand out of the older man’s grip and continued, “The design, however appeared when I touched one of the rubies on Godric’s sword. The pattern was originally black, but I put a drop of the healing potion you sent me on it, it turned white, painfully, and now it is like this. It doesn’t hurt, and it is the least of my worries.”

“You felt that this was beneath your notice?”

“Compared to the rest of my life, yes, I did.”

“Do you know what it is?”

“No, and I don’t care. May we please return to whatever it was that you needed me here for?”

“No. First, this has to be addressed.”

Harry could feel his temper stretching. “For God’s sake Severus, it’s a pretty little tattoo. It isn’t trying to kill me. It doesn’t call me a traitor. It can’t break into my mind. It doesn’t hiss at me in the Great Hall and it doesn’t dye my cat black and green, so, I don’t particularly give a shit what the bloody thing is.”

“I’ll need to research it further, but for now this will have to suffice.” Severus was talking to himself not Harry, but the disillusionment charm was done aloud. “It will stay until I have located a more permanent solution. For now, there is more that needs to be done and little time to do it. We can discuss another time why you felt that being branded the owner of a powerful magical object was too unimportant to mention.”

Harry scowled at the man’s back when he turned. After a few minutes, he turned back with the case in his hands. “Keep this with you at all times.”

“What did you do?”

“I added the final ingredients to the potions inside it; all of them are now active. You will learn what they do later. Did you receive everything that I sent you?”

Harry nodded. Two days before the start of term, Cyleen had flown into the hotel and delivered a small box with an equally small note. “Shrunken.” The package had contained all of his new supplies including robes, books, quills, ink, and potion supplies. Harry couldn’t help but think he might have the proper ingredients for once.

“Good, now get out of my classroom. Arrive five minutes late. Do not forget your essay.”

Harry nodded again and left to wander the halls, muttering in parseltongue again.

>=====<

Well, that was actually less pleasant than I had expected. I hadn’t thought that was possible. Harry stalked out of the Potion’s room, ahead of the others, and went directly towards lunch.

He had managed to lose a record 58 points in one class. His partner—for the full year—was Millicent Bulstrode. Her healing potion had been spilled on his bag. And, as the coup de grâce, he, Hermione, and Seamus Finnegan had managed to move on; Dean sat behind him.

He stayed in the great hall only long enough to walk away with a sandwich before retreating to a back hall to work on the newly assigned potion’s homework. At least I did well on the essay. Professor Snape had discussed what points they needed to have reached, and Harry knew he had hit each one.

>=====<

Defense against the Dark Arts. He stepped into the room. It had seen many inhabitants over the years, but for the first time, it was owned by a non-British citizen. The room was…different. Quite literally.

The desks were missing, replaced with benches against the walls, and anything that could even possibly injure someone had been either taken out or bolted down.

Harry glanced around from the door for a moment, then moved in and took a seat. His classmates filed in slowly, saw him, and sat on another bench. All of the Sixth year DA students had passed their tests; he’d been told earlier in the summer, but not all of them were in the class. Draco Malfoy was in the class, and sat at the far end of Harry’s bench. For that matter, it looked like almost all the Slytherins were enrolled in NEWT Defense too.

Finally, the Professor entered. She was tall. Very tall actually. By Harry’s guess, she was at least six feet, and was built like a toothpick. She was also young. Twenty-five at the most, with blonde hair, blue eyes, pale skin, and a bright smile, almost as freakishly white as Lockhart’s.

“Welcome to NEWT Defense Against the Dark Arts. My name is Professor Jen Demival. I was born in Britain, but my family moved out to Australia when I was four, and I’ve been there ever since. I attended the Elfen Academy in the Outback, and I was working for the Australian Ministry when I heard about the job opening up again. Got an owl from an old mate, and decided to come see what it was. No one else wanted the job, so I took it. Hopefully, I’ll last longer than a year, but I’ve always liked keeping tradition so I can’t promise anything.

“I’ve heard about your previous teachers, especially last year’s, so this week we’ll be reviewing whatever we can. Mostly this class will focus on physical practice, as evident by the set up of the room. Should be a bit of a relief after last year. First we need to go through the roll so I can work out who all of you are. Oh, and I should let you know that there are two groups since so many of you received Outstanding on your OWLs. Let’s start on the roll then shall we?”

Then she took a breath.

Harry was fairly certain that up until that point, she hadn’t bothered to. It was mind-boggling to watch. She wasn’t even red in the face. Titters of conversation moved over the room as her lung capacity sunk in.

“Right. Abbot, Hannah? Hi.” And then it began. Moving slowly down the list, Professor Demival greeting each student, and seemingly memorizing who they were. “Potter, Harry? Hi.” She frowned, “Is that the Harry Potter by any chance? Well, you must be since no one else in the school has your name. Sorry if I’m a bit behind the times, Australia had bit of an isolationist era lately. I heard that you ran a Defense Training Club last year. When we start demonstrations you’ll be helping me.” And then she continued on, as though Harry wasn’t a murdering traitorous bastard, a disgrace to the wizarding world.

Alright, that was odd, He thought. Demival finished the roll, and started running the class through basic spell work, still smiling, and commenting by name.

The three and a half hour class passed quickly, and again Harry tried to slip out first. In the hall though, someone had set off a Weasley Wizarding Wheeze’s Portable Swamp, and traffic was at a standstill while various spells were tried.

In the background, in the classroom, he could hear Ron and Hermione talking to Demival.

“You can’t trust him Professor. He’s a murderer and he’s a traitor. If you let him demonstrate the spells, someone could get hurt, killed even.” Hermione was explaining as though it were common knowledge.

“I’d heard rumors, but nothing substantial. After everything that boy has done at this school—I looked at his records—there is no reason for you not to trust him.”

Ron laughed, and then grunted, Hermione had probably hit him, and she spoke again, “Professor, with all due respect, you don’t understand. He was one our friend for a long time, but I know what he is capable of, and I have to recommend that you use another student for your demonstrations.”

“I thought you said he was your friend?”

“That thing is not my friend. The boy that was my friend died the night that he betrayed us. Our friendship is dead.” Harry could hear the contempt, the hatred in Ron’s voice.

“Are you going to use another student or not Professor?”

“Ms. Granger, I will take into account what you and Mr. Weasley have said, but right now I recommended that you go to your next class.” Harry ducked out of the way. The swamp had cleared and the hall was now empty. They walked a few steps out of the door before Ron found her hand, and they began Harry-bashing again.

Harry himself walked the other direction, towards the library, prepared to find a copy of the Traitor by Association Act. Madame Pince informed him curtly that she had no more copies of the document, and then kicked him out of the library. “This library has no place for traitors.”

>=====<

Harry felt sick. He had lost his appetite hours earlier, and had resorted to leaning against the tree at the edge of the lake, wishing he had anyone he could talk to openly. The sun was setting on the opposite side of the lake, reflecting in gold over the ripples. The sky was stained red at the horizon, fading up through oranges and yellows, leaving the bottom of the clouds pink and the top was a dusky blue.

“I’m not sure how killing a known Death-Eater and training as hard as possible so that I can have a chance at saving the world managed to piss off so many people, but it did work well, Dad. That cannot be denied. Of course, there is something odd about the fact that the only person I trust happens to be the dire enemy of the people I loved the most. This is me we’re talking about though; weird is to be expected then.

“Dammit but I don’t know how I’m going to do this, Sirius. Most of today I just wanted to curl up in a corner and cry myself to sleep, but that isn’t an option. I have to keep fighting, I have to keep training, I don’t ever get to stop. Well, not until either Tom or I is dead. What a lovely fate. And now Remus…I just don’t know what to do, what to think. They’re calling me a traitor, when all I’ve done is work to help them. It’s a bit hypocritical of them don’t you think? Look at what they’ve done, and you’ll see. If I’m a traitor then they certainly are too.

“I just wish they’d stop saying it so much.” He wiped away a tear before it could fall. “I’m sorry I’m not perfect, I’m sorry I’m not doing all this the way it should be done. I’m sorry everyone hates you both. I wish they didn’t hate me. Damn, but why don’t I ever get to be happy?”

The sun was nearly set, the warm glow vanishing from the air, the soft touch vanishing from his skin. He pulled out his wand and closed his eyes, he remember Sirius’ face at Grimauld Place over Christmas, smiling and full of life, Remus behind him. Both of them trusting him. The Order standing up for him. The warm glow inside him knowing that he had something to fight for. Remembering the feeling of that people loved him.

He whispered the incantation, and a pale stag appeared before him. His father’s form knelt at his side, watching him with loving eyes, and letting him feel the calm of a comforting presence. Harry reached out a hand. His fingers brushed against the stag’s nose.

It began to dissipate, dissolving into mist as Harry lost his grip on his happy memories of happiness. The last of the mist whisked away with the last of the sun’s rays. He sat in the darkness, waiting for the stars.

“Why don’t I ever get to be happy?”

“Sometimes it hurts less to just ignore it. Sometimes it’s better to let the pain drift away. All I want is to let myself go, to say what I want, do what I need to, and to be able stand up and not have to pretend anymore. But who ever cared what I wanted.”

-Harry Potter

Tuesday

His eyes rolled back from the pain. His mouth hung open in the endless shriek of silent agony. Gasps and garbled begging slipped between the screams. The red eyes before him, glittered in amusement. Each fiber of his being howled and fought to beat the pain, only to find it was an unsurpassable mountain looming before him and laughing with the scarlet eyes.

Slowly, torturously, his vision slipped out of his own body to look down at the twisting form that curled and tossed over the stone floor. The pain was still with him, even when he’s out of his own body.

He stared at the eyes, begging for release. Then, with a deranged ferocity, the eyes changed. Crimson turned to a pale cerulean and twinkled.

His throat constricted. “Traitor.”, A voice whispered.

The eyes turned gray, “Traitor.”

Brown, feminine. “Traitor.” Emerald Green. “Traitor.” Hazel. “Traitor.” Blue. Black. Gray. Silver. Green. Traitor. Traitor. Traitor. Traitor. Traitor. Traitor. Traitor. Traitor. Traitor.

Traitor.

Scarlet, and serpentine. “Crucio.”

He opened his mouth and screamed while his mind flooded with the overwhelming torture of a simple spell.

Pain. All that was left was the pain of that word. Pain unlike what he had—

“Wake up Harry.”

Harry rolled over and moaned. “Neville?”

“Yes, now get up, it’s almost time for class.”

“What class?”

“Early morning Herbology. I’m an aid for Professor Sprout. Here I brought down your trunk, I couldn’t get it open, so I shrank it down for you to deal with. Stand up and I can do a cleaning charm. Did you sleep outside, Harry?”

Harry managed to stand, and felt his body scrubbed down by a hundred small brushes. “I think so, I’m not sure.” Neville started muttering charms too fast for Harry to recognize them, until the last one hit. It was an anti-inebriation charm. The spell should be used for drunkards and would successfully clear almost anyone’s mind.

Abruptly, Harry registered everything that was happening, and panicked. “Neville, if anyone sees you—”

“Don’t worry, Harry. I cast a disillusionment charm on myself.”

Harry turned and blinked. “When did you—”

“Over the summer. Everyone else sees Professor Snape assigning you detention. By the way, you missed yours with McGonagall last night. She was somewhat less than pleased. Here open up your trunk and get changed. We only have ten minutes. Sorry I couldn’t find you breakfast, but I have to be in the greenhouses before five.”

Neville is far too perky in the early morning.

He got dressed and Neville nodded, “I’ll see you in a few minutes Harry. Greenhouse two.” And then he jogged away.

>=====<

By the time Harry had finished NEWT Defense that afternoon, his own arm was beginning to look strangely appetizing. But then again so was the wall. He had missed last night’s dinner, today’s breakfast and lunch and he would almost certainly miss dinner thanks to detention with McGonagall.

Professor Demival had called Hermione and Ron up to help with the demonstrations after glaring passionately at Harry. His response had been to send Dean Thomas, his dueling partner, to the hospital in a matchbox. The shrinking spell had gotten slightly out of hand. Of course, it had done exactly what Harry had wanted it to do, but that was beside the point. Dean was currently a centimeter tall, and Harry had ‘accidentally’ made him immune to the countercurse.

Harry snuck into the library beneath his invisibility cloak and quietly stole a book on transfiguration. The self-updating book of laws was already checked out though.

He slipped down to the lower levels of the school, not quite to the dungeons, but pushing the limits. A small alcove greeted him, and he decided it was as good a place as any. Leaning against the wall, he shed the cloak and opened the first book, reading the section on transfiguration in the kitchen. Unfortunately, it was useless for his needs. Transfiguring a potato into a tomato was pointless since he didn’t have a potato, changing the size of a pot was moot, and adjusting the type of cheese was difficult without any cheese. Banishing the book back to the library, while enjoying the image of the book hitting Madame Pince’s head, Harry let his mind wander.

The dream that morning still baffled him. It was a dream and a vision at the same time. Pain in Voldemort’s Crucio had been present, but the odd changes of the eyes... He shuddered. It had to be a dream. Nothing else was worth mentioning or remembering.

His stomach growled loudly, but he flatly ignored it. There was nothing he could do. Even if he went to the Great Hall after his detention, Gryffindor house would have courageously removed every bit of food from every table. Hell, the other houses would help. He could hear a group of students heading towards potions so he put his cloak back on, and kept thinking.

>=====<

Thursday

>=====<

Severus Snape watched the Dark Lord’s eyes through the meeting. Whenever he spoke about Potter, they glinted darkly. Death Eaters began to step forward, giving their reports. None of it was important, only information confirming things even the Daily Prophet knew.

He waited calmly for his name, and when it was called, he maintained his character. “Severus, dear spy, what have you ascertained about the boy’s state?”

“He is weakened both physically and emotionally due to his abandonment. He is temperamental, and is antagonizing his own house further. Dumbledore has designed his schedule to be nearly impossible to survive. It is an accepted fact that he will receive punishment for the smallest infractions. Currently they are looking for a way to remove him from the Quidditch team, of which he is currently captain. My Lord, given time, he will be torn apart by his former followers, and your victory will be assured.”

“Have you succeeded in extracting the contents of the prophecy from the boy’s mind?”

“I hope to have by the end of two weeks.”

Red eyes stared into his, and the Dark Lord hissed softly. Nagini wrapped and twisted herself around Severus’ ankles, but stayed upright and met eyes through his mask. “Do not fail me Severus.”

“Never, my Lord.”

“Then would you support my playing with the boy a bit first?”

“Whole-heartedly.”

>=====<

Defense Against the Dark Arts, his best subject, and formerly his favorite had been lovingly renamed Purgatory. He would have liked to name it Hell, but that was reserved for Transfiguration where McGonagall had already extended his detention to two weeks, never telling him more than that he ‘broke the law.’

As Harry was quickly learning, he broke Article one, Section three of the Traitor by Association Act a lot. After careful deduction, he had established that Article one dealt solely with his crimes, the rest had to do with the sins of others. You know Padfoot; I think that this mystery rule I’m breaking has something to do with the fact that I’m alive. So, that’s an easy fix. I kick the bucket and can finally stop receiving detention. If I don’t stop soon I’m going to beat you and Dad’s record. Can’t have that now, can we?

The bell rang and he slipped out.

Since arriving at the school Sunday night, Harry had managed a daily caloric intake approximately equal to a rice cake. Though he was carrying around a water bottle, it was only water. His hands were shaking at a disturbing rate, but the only person to notice so far had been Millicent, and she, Slytherin as she was, had not commented, only asked if she might ‘have more practice cutting the ingredients.”

He couldn’t even step into the Great Hall without receiving death threats and detention. So, no matter how much he wanted to punch Ron, skip detention, run around the school in a kilt screaming and giving people Dark Mark tattoos on their foreheads—in atomic pink and with a permanent sticking charm—he would not risk losing his chance for revenge.

Despite long hours in the library by most of the teaching staff, they had yet to find a way to remove him from the position of Captain. Tryouts were tonight, immediately after his two-hour detention, which was where he was now headed.

The hour between class and detention was devoted to whatever homework he could manage while sitting in his standard unused classroom.

Halfway through his Transfiguration essay, and at a point where his own arm was starting to look strangely appetizing, the door slammed open behind him.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you were having nightmares again?” Snape shouted the second he was inside.

“Hello, Sir. Can this wait a moment, I’d like to finish my thought.”

“To hell with your thought, answer me, Potter.” Ooh, look, I’m ‘Potter’ again.

“I didn’t tell you because my bad dreams are not your concern.”

“They are when the Dark Lord is the one crafting them.”

Harry stopped fully and dropped his quill. “He’s what?”

“The Dark Lord has been breaking into your mind, finding out what hurts you the most and is using it against you in the form of a nightmare. He knows that he is not what scares you or hurts you the most, so he isn’t using it. What is he using?”

Silence. His headache, a persistent one, reemerged.

Harry stood up and stumbled over to his bag by the wall, pulled out his water, and drained half of it. As he stumbled back again, he felt his knees tremble. Blood rushed into his head and the world went temporarily black.

He came back and found himself in a chair, Severus sneering down his long nose at him. “Vision?” Harry shook his head.

I wonder if Snape would mind if I ate his clothing off of him… Eww. Bad mental image.

An odd look replaced the sneer, and Severus asked softly, “When was the last time you ate?”

“I had a few bites of sandwich on Monday.”

“Why is that?”

“I’m can’t manage to get into the great hall, my schedule has me skipping meals two days a week, the house elves don’t like me and food transfiguration has to be done on another piece of food. Basically my only option is cannibalism, but I doubt that killing and eating Ron would help my public appearance.”

“Stay here.” Harry watched him walk out of the room, and waited. If there was any justice in the world, the man would return with a huge platter of food. Steak and eggs, a salad maybe. Pumpkin juice, chocolate frogs, toffee. Coffee. Chicken, a turkey, a loaf of bread. Cake, pie, chips, pizza, soup, stew, casserole, fish, bacon, ham, strudel, pancakes…

Severus reentered.

There is no justice.

He held out a small vial and curtly gestured for him to drink. It stuck as it climbed down his throat, leaving an aftertaste that reminded him of burnt hair. It certainly wasn’t food. He reached for his water.

“Wait, don’t drink that yet.”

“Why? You just gave me something I wouldn’t feed to my dog—well, if I had a dog, and no, Sirius doesn’t count.” Harry’s eyes went wide. The water bottle in his hand wasn’t sloshing. His mind was vaguely clear. He no longer felt like he might blow away on a strong breeze. The shaking was gone, and his energy was back. “What was that?”

“A special form of energy potion of my own invention. It serves as both food and energy. I will see that you receive the appropriate book.”

“Where am I supposed to brew it?”

“That is not my concern. More importantly, have you been sleeping?”

“Oh, yes, wonderfully. A few brief hours comprised of nightmares fashioned by my enemy, and waking up to find my things vandalized. It’s very refreshing.”

“Then don’t sleep there.”

“Where am I supposed to sleep then?”

“That is not my concern.” He repeated.

“Useful aren’t you?”

“Indeed. I will send the book, along with any I can locate regarding the mark on your hand as soon as I find them. Until then you are to practice as you did over the summer. Pack your things, you have to report to detention.”

>=====<

Harry grinned at his reflection and left the changing room. He was finally back on his own terrain. If he had one talent left in the world, one thing that no one could deny, it was Quidditch.

There were two beater positions and three chaser positions to fill. He had no idea who could take them, but had decided not to try and replace Ron as another changed position meant more trouble.

He was about to step out when Neville appeared beside him. “Harry, the teachers found a clause in the school code that they can use to remove you from the team.”

“What?”

“If they can find someone who is clearly better suited to the seeker position, then they have the right to replace you, ‘for the good of the team.’ Every Gryffindor second year and up is out there right now. Even Dennis Creevy.”

“Neville! Where’d you go?”

Both sets of eyes went wide and Neville spun away, but before he could leave, Harry had grabbed his arm. “Nev, they know that I’m in here. If you go out there unscathed, you know what they’ll think.”

“So why can’t I just let them think that? My family wants to help you. There are a thousand little things I could do that could help, none of them are even combat.” Neville stared emphatically. “Please Harry.”

“No. If any one were to find out that you don’t hate me you would be in an even worse situation than I’m in right now.”

“At least they let you eat in Azkaban.” Neville muttered. “Fine, do whatever it is you have planned, but I am going to see you eat. If a meal shows up in your bag, it’ll probably be from me.”

Harry smirked. “Look at that, the Gryffindor Klutz grew up.” He deliberately uses Neville’s self-description. “Sorry ‘bout this mate. Diffindo.” And Neville’s robes shredded.

The blonde stared at the trick, shocked, but resisting a chuckle. “Bonus points for creativity. Seeya later.” He walked out of the hall, and Harry listened the conversation on the pitch.

“-just attacked me for no reason!”

“Of course there was a reason; he’s evil!”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“Evil people do this stuff, but he probably did it because you announced you were against him after supporting him for a bit. I bet that stuck. Good job.” Ron was cheering Neville on, though Harry heard Hermione repair the clothing. “Don’t feel embarrassed, Nev. You took one for the team. Besides, it’s just Potter, he can’t do anything really bad.”

“No, I guess I can’t do anything really bad, can I, Ron?” Harry left the hall and smiled with faux innocence.

“You little—”

Harry brushed passed him with a cocky smile and shouted. “Everyone here for the Chaser positions go to the other end of the field, our current Keeper will join you momentarily. Everyone after a Beater position take a seat for a minute, I’ll be speaking to you soon. Everyone who’s here to challenge the current Seeker, also known as myself, stay where you are.” Half a dozen people went off towards the other side, Nine people sat down and Harry was left with almost thirty people left staring at him. He gave curt instructions to Ron, who scowled, but followed them and then Harry turned to the Seeker-hopefuls.

“Put yourselves in alphabetical order then. If you don’t have a broom, find one, steal one, borrow one, or share with a friend. If you take my position, then congratulations, but if you can’t remember my record to date, I have lost one game of Quidditch that I was present for, and in that one, I was attacked while chasing the snitch.” He waited a few seconds while they moved into order. He counted them quickly, twenty-eight. “Count off by seven. Good, now split up into those groups. Each group will start by doing a quick trial. Whoever catches the snitch in the group will be moved up, and then all of the winners will play against me. After the snitch is released, you lot will wait one minute before having at it. Give a shout if you catch it. Team one, get out there. You lot, have a seat.”

For the next hour as the light disappeared entirely, Harry hovered on his broom, watching the tryouts. He ignored the seekers altogether, only bothering to release the snitch for the next team. Instead, he studied the chasers and beaters, whom he had set up during a particularly long snitch-hunt. It looked like the Beaters were going to be Andrew Kirke again, who had vastly improved, and a second year, Natalie Macdonald who was demonstrating a disturbing amount of strength.

The Chasers though, were going to be a bit of a problem, Ginny was fantastic, and even Harry, who desperately wanted to remove all Weasleys from the team, had to admit it. Unfortunately she was the only one who showed any talent. Ron caught the quaffle every time, and it seemed to have been dropped several times.

Harry shook his head and turned as he heard a shout. Neville was holding up the snitch. Pretending he was angry, but actually shocked and surprised, Harry called all of the successful Seekers together, and told them to take a quick break. He flew to the others and stopped them as well. “We need judges for this round of the Seeker challenges.”

“Who are the others positions going to be?” A daring seventh year shouted.

“I’ll announce that later, after this is done, now move.”

Harry knew that the evil visage he had been projecting over the past several days was a little thinner at the moment, but couldn’t stop it. He was doing something he loved, and the happiness that flooded his mind had to be shown.

Maybe if the school saw him smiling, or happy they might trust him some. He jerked his head and berated himself. No, if the school saw you smiling they would assume that you had just killed someone and a new article would be published. The only way to be safe to make them think that I am evil, that way I won’t be challenged.

He flew to the center with the seven others, and waited for Ron to join them. Neville, a second year girl he didn’t recognize, Seamus, a seventh year boy, Hermione of all people, Parvati Patil, and the greatest shock of all, Colin Creevy. The number of students in his year was a bit disturbing, but, as he recalled, his first year team was comprised of himself, Wood, and five third years. It could be worse.

With a smirk, he nodded for Ron to release the Snitch. A small timer appeared in the center of the circle, and began counting down. The watching crowd started counting down at ten, but the competitors were silent.

Harry’s quietly hissed conversation with his father might have had something to do with it.

The timer hit zero, vanished, and Harry shot upwards. So did everyone else. He glanced around for a few seconds, and then dove. It was a suicidal move, but he was watching the other players, those that had followed his lead. Near the ground he held out a hand for a brief second, then put it back to his broom, pulled out of the dive, and shot skyward again, this time with a flicker of gold resting in his palm.

He waited a few seconds to see if anyone noticed, then smirked. Hermione was lying on the ground, failing to pull out of the dive fast enough. The seventh year had landed next to her and was checking her health, a bit to closely for Ron’s taste actually. Everyone else was still with him, but unaware.

Smirking with a vengeance, Harry thought, Playtime, and took off, others hot in pursuit. He started towards the far goals, first spiraling up the pole, the peeling away, flattening against his broom and slipping through the goal hoop. A quick glance behind saw Colin, Seamus, and Neville following. Parvati had misjudged the size of the hoop, and the second year was sitting on the ground unharmed.

Harry continued the game. Over the pitch, around the pitch, rocketing into the air, diving down, skirting the stadium towers, twists, spins, turning on a dime, upside down, sideways, backwards, racing, and loops. Seamus had given up at the break-neck speed obstacle course of a race beneath the pitch.

Finally, Harry, heart hammering, stopped at the center of the field and held up the snitch. Ron’s shouted invective summed up the general feeling of the watchers. McGonagall stepped down, even though Harry had had no idea she was there, from the stands and walked out to him. “Mr. Potter, when did you catch the snitch?”

“At the bottom of the first dive.”

Her lips tightened so far he thought that they might disappear, and then whispered “Very well, captain.”

Smiling, he turned to the crowd, “Judges, does my talent far surpass any others in the house?” Grudgingly they answered no. He continued, “Then lets move on to the new team members. Weasley if you would be so kind as to join me.” Ron flew to his side. “Come down and join us when I call you. In the Beater positions will be fourth year Andrew Kirke, and second year Natalie MacDonald.” Applause for them echoed for a few moments. “In the Chaser positions will be fifth year Ginny Weasley, sixth year Neville Longbottom, and fifth year Colin Creevy. Colin will also be the back-up Seeker, should I be unable to play.” Which is a high possibility considering my record. “And his back-up Chaser will be Seamus Finnigan. Everyone, else, well done, but not quite. And for everyone who turned out to challenge me, I’m honored that I require so much attention. Team, I’ll post the schedule.”

With that, he summoned his things and returned to the school, still on his Firebolt, and with a bewildered house left behind him.

>=====<

“He did well today.”

“Yes, very well actually.”

“We need to tell him.”

“We can’t and you know it. When he needs to know he will. It was set up that way.”

“But if we—”

There was a knock. Lupin vanished into a side room where he could specially apparate, and Severus opened the door.

Harry Potter waited a moment, then coolly said, “Your note told me you had the book. I’d like to have it now so I can begin on the potion.”

Severus handed him the small book, and nodded at his robes, “What happened?”

“Quidditch Tryouts. I’m still captain.”

“Yes I know. Your Head of House was…displeased with the others. Have you found a secondary location to sleep in?”

“Yes I have, several in fact.”

“Where?”

“That is not your concern.”

The boy becomes more Slytherin every day. We can only hope he keeps some trace of what he was. “Then I will not inquire after it again. Come in, I have things you may wish to know.”

“What?”

“Lucius has fallen out of the Dark Lord’s favor. His son is being tainted by association. There is a great opportunity for you in that regard. There have been nineteen deaths in the last six days, eleven of which were muggles, four were aurors, three were wizards, and one was a death eater, MacNair. The Traitor by Association Act has imprisoned three families, and is questioning two more. The law will be lengthened some time next week. The Longbottoms have not been questioned and have begun a personal mission to “destroy” you. An American witch by the name of Alstance has arrived at St. Mungo’s and released a statement to the press saying that she hopes to have a cure within the year.”

Harry sighed and leaned against a desk. “By any chance, do you know where Lupin disappeared to?”

“The southern part of Ireland.”

“Thank you, but I need to go rest now.”

“Where?”

Harry turned, smirked, and walked way without answering.

For the Boy-Who-Lived, during this part of his life nothing he did was ever forgiven, no crime was ever overlooked, and no matter how many good deeds he did they could not outnumber the few bad. It was during this time that hope seemed to dwindle, and also during this time that it was at its highest.

-from The Boy-Who-Lived, A Biography by George Fiddler

October 1st

Harry shot through the trees of the forest on his Firebolt, taking corners so tightly he felt the bark brush against his skin. He had tried to push the broom faster, but it was at its limit. Finally he found his opening, latched onto the snitch and shot up out of the trees. Breathing heavily, he stopped a dozen feet above the canopy, and looked out at the terrain.

Hogwarts was at his back, and the wild untamed beauty of the world, eerie in the pre-dawn light, left him speechless. The trees beneath him stirred in the wind, the grass beside them swayed. It was Tuesday morning, not even five yet, and Harry had already been flying for more than an hour. It had become usual for him to go flying early since he was in detention almost every night, excused from it only when he had practice. Not that practices ever had a purpose since Ron, Seamus, and Neville refused to practice with him.

He sighed and turned towards the east, waiting for the sun. Despite the fact that it was October, and that he had been at the school for a month, he had yet to locate the Self-updating Book of Laws. The ministry refused to respond to his owls and Severus couldn’t waste the time to find one. Voldemort was holding meetings almost nightly and Harry had begun brewing energy potions around the clock in Myrtle’s bathroom. He still couldn’t get into the Great Hall for meals, and without Severus’ energy potion and the kindness of a certain house-elf, Harry would have collapsed long since. He was thinning though, and had begun to once more resemble the boy who had lived in a cupboard.

Thanks to his obsessed housemates, Harry had not slept in the dorm since the idea was suggested. Instead, he had slept in the Room of Requirement, at least until a late night, impromptu, Gryffindor prefect snog session found him. Lately he had been sleeping in a new location each night, hoping no one found him, and using only his cloak as a bed.

But he had long since stopped sleeping.

Voldemort had become very good at his tortures, and Harry’s only chance for peaceful sleep occurred when the Dark Lord was attacking someone else. Last night, after a dream so bad he woke up with a bleeding scar and self-inflicted cuts on his body, he had quietly stolen the library’s entire section on Occulemency. Out of pity he refused to ask the Potions Professor for help, but knew he would have to eventually.

Another extension of the Traitor by Association Act had been passed, adding stricter punishments for those found guilty. Two days later, the Longbottoms were labeled ‘questionable.’ Subsequently, Harry had broken Neville’s nose in the middle of Herbology, and they were raised back to ‘extremely loyal’ and ‘in need of extra protection.’

Light flashed, and Harry stared forward intently. The gray half-light turned warmer and slowly the tender caresses of the sun’s beams washed over Harry. Pulling his glasses off, he closed his eyes and rested on the broom. “Well Dad, I guess it has to get better eventually. I will one day be lucky, maybe that day will be today, but somehow I doubt that.”

He heard a tiny mew, and unbuttoned his pocket. Cleo scampered out, eventually resting on his shoulder.

When the world was bright, he moved slowly back to the school, shrank his broom and stepped into the greenhouse, waiting for the start of Herbology.

>=====<

TO ALL HOGWART’S STUDENTS ABOVE 4TH YEAR:

Next Saturday, the 19th of October will be this year’s first Hogsmeade weekend. All students who will be visiting the town must register in the Great Hall during meal times before that day. Any name not on the list, and found in Hogsmeade will be placed in detention and questioned under Article 2 section 2 of the Traitor by Association Act.

A list of banned items is located next to the registration sheet, please read it thoroughly.

Deputy-Headmistress Minerva McGonagall

>=====<

October 19th

>=====<

Harry woke up on the top of the Astronomy tower when an owl landed on his arm. He rolled suddenly, wand in hand, and was on his feet before he recognized Cyleen. She dropped a letter and disappeared.

Groaning, he picked it up, checked it for spells and opened it. The handwriting inside was nearly illegible. Cursing in parseltongue, he moved closer to a torch and tried to read it.

HP – I need more potion. Dungeon – SS
“Timlus exactus.” He muttered. 02:19. He pulled his cloak on, scooped Cleo into his pocket, told Hedwig where he was going, and started for the dungeon. Ruddy Git. The one bloody night I’m not screaming, he has to wake me up anyway.

Harry walked into the potions room, headed for the office, and still trying to create an appropriate insult, when he saw Severus. He was standing in the center of the room, seemingly unable to move, one arm cradled against his chest, slowly dripping blood, wearing torn robes, bruised and battered, a cut down the side of his face, with uneven, panting breaths, and shaking from what was clearly mental torture.

Harry failed to think about who the victim was as he helped the man to sit, and began to run through every healing spell he knew. Twenty minutes and half a bottle of energy potion later, Severus woke from his daze and said, “ I need to know the prophecy. All of it. I need to tell it to the Dark Lord.”

“Why?”

“I was given an ultimatum on finding out what the prophecy was. That ultimatum expired yesterday. The Dark Lord was…displeased, shall we say? I need to return before dawn with it.”

“What are the repercussions for failing?”

“Death.”

Harry turned away, and walked to the main desk where he began to write. After a few second he ripped the page messily from a book and handed it to the man. He read it silently, eyebrow’s quirking at the end, then asked, “How did I receive it?”

“I was crying in the hallway, and you levitated my…diary out of my bag. Everything else was drivel, so you replaced it, keeping only that page.”

“What of this ‘power’ you supposedly have?”

Harry shrugged indifferently, feeling a headache begin. Lack of sleep had that effect. “You’re a creative man, come up with something. Maybe my secret power has something to do with chasing the snitch. I doubt Tom was much of a Seeker.” Severus scowled and glared, waiting for a better explanation. “Fine, let me think of something.” He began to comb through his mind, looking for some talent that could be expanded into a power. His headache flared and he collapsed in a chair.

The role of the healer inverted, and Harry felt a spell attempt to calm the throbbing. It only made it worse. “Tell him that I have become an Animagus. I turn into a lion. Also tell him that I am weaker in that form, because the parseltongue fights with the lion in my mind, and that I am not very good at controlling them yet.”

Severus nodded and disappeared, rapidly running out of time. Harry closed his eyes, stroking Cleo absently, and the voices in his head grew louder. He was asked cruelly by Sirius’ tortured tones why he had helped Snivellus. His family members such as he could remember them shouted as well, begging Harry to trust no one. Why? They asked, Why?

Because pathetic as it is, Severus Bloody Snape, man who has made my life hell for years is the only person that I trust, and the only person who hasn’t betrayed me. Voldemort would have found out one way or another and I don’t need another death on my shoulders just because I was scared someone might find out that I’m tougher than they think. So just be quiet Sirius.

Finally he drifted into sleep again.

It would be more than twelve hours before he awoke from his dream-tortured rest. After sixteen years of nightmares and dreamt-horrors, the dreams he saw that night left him scared and shaking more than he had ever thought was possible. His eyes were wide, his breath was short, his mind was lost in fear. What he saw went beyond reckoning, and beyond what he could bear. This time, instead of seeing the Voldemort’s twisted fantasies or scripted agonies, instead of seeing innocents and strangers screaming their distress, he watched a plan, watched the idea, and watched those he knew fill the air with their cries.

Hogsmeade had been attacked.

>=====<

The Slytherin Common room was disturbingly quiet. It was never loud, it was never the rambunctious chaos that the Gryffindor’s were so fond of. The air was stretched tight with the suppressed panic and guilt all of them felt.

A message had been passed that morning by none other than Draco Malfoy. Those who were loyal sat in safety, those who were ignorant were in danger, those who were traitors had been targeted, and those who were trusted were the ones who were causing it all.

Most of the sixth and seventh year students were missing, but they fell into the final category, and were thereby safe.

Tears began to slip down the face of Pansy Parkinson’s youngest sister. The first year’s best friend’s family had been found consorting with Albus Dumbledore and his Order. She was therefore a traitor.

Blaise Zabini had been ordered to stay in the common room with Mandy Broklehurst. Theodore Nott, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle were leading the students—Death Eaters—Blaise reminded himself. Draco Malfoy, despite his father’s slip, and the family’s resulting tainting, was still the leader inside the Slytherin common room. He had given the orders without telling anyone what he would be doing.

Blaise sighed and looked at the clock. 09:36.

In nine minutes it would begin.

Don’t think about her. He hissed inside his mind. “Mandy,” he said aloud, “Do you have anything left from last year’s end of term present?”

She nodded, waved her wand, and handed over a large bottle of Forty Year Napoleon Brandy. Professor Snape had handed them to every rising sixth year student during the post-OWLs party.

The cork came out, and Blaise had no intention of putting it back in.

>=====<

But who did it? Who? Who? WhoWhoWhoWhoWhoWhoWhoWhoWhoWhoWhoWhoWHO?! Someone had to have planned it, but it could only be someone who knew us all, knew how we would react. It had to be someone who knew us.

He knew them. He knew us. He did. He trained us, he would have known. So why didn’t he come himself? Why? WHY? Must have had a reason. Must have. Always a reason. He’s evil, that’s why. He’s evil. Evil. Evil. But we can’t get rid of him yet. We have to wait, and then we can get rid of him. Then, but we have to wait. Evil, evil, evil, evil, evil, evil, evil, evil, evil, evil, evil, evil, evil, evil…

>=====<

“Ron? Are you alright? My God, Neville help me pick him up!” Hermione rushed to her boyfriend’s side and stared helplessly at the large cut on his side. They carried him to an emergency portkey and returned to the school.

He clapped Hermione’s hand in his and said, “I will have him for this.”

She nodded her agreement, and trusted him.

>=====<

Harry fell to the ground as he woke only to jump up wand in hand, and with a desperate ferocity in the tired lines of his face. He stripped his bag off his shoulder, dropping his belongings to the floor and ran. As he broke into the entrance hall, emerging from the narrow dungeon staircase, and collided with a group of first years. Several of them screamed and all of them scattered from his path.

He grabbed one of them, and hissed, “Go to the common room right now and wait for the prefects. Take all of them with you. You’ll be safe there, I promise.” She whimpered slightly, but nodded and as he continued he heard her; she was moving them away.

Nothing mattered though, except for how quickly he could reach Hogsmeade. He was racing over the road, and his mental voices began to argue with him.

His dominant side, currently an extremist Gryffindor, was helping him come up with an attack plan. His Slytherin side though, ask ed a question that elicited a curse. Why was he helping them when they hated him?

He closed his eyes and continued to run, whispering his answer aloud. “Because I don’t care whether they hate me or not, if there is anything that I can do to help them, I will do it. I know I’m turning green, but that doesn’t mean that I’ve lost what I was. Before I was whatever the hell I am now, I was a Gryffindor, and I can’t give that up. My damned idiotic Gryffindor side is what killed Sirius, is what killed Cedric, and is certainly the reason why everyone I know is at risk, but I can’t stop it. I just need to get to Hogsmeade, help who I can, and leave again. I just need to get to Hogsmeade, and I need to get there now.”

A slight uneasy swell moved through him, and he opened his eyes.

He was in Hogsmeade.

No, He thought as he looked at the city before him, I’m in hell.

The main street was littered with bodies, none of which were masked. The air hung heavy with the putrid scent of death and suffering. Pain was dripping from every surface. A young girl was lying against the wall of Zonko’s breathing shallowly.

For the second time that day, Harry moved to help someone without a thought for who they were.

Her Slytherin tie was stained red, her black hair matted and sticky. She was a first year, but he could not remember her name. Her pale skin was hanging limp, and any movement seemed too painful to attempt. He checked her injuries quickly, and found the one that would kill her all too quickly. Had it been physical, he could have helped, but it was magical, and the countercurse more advanced than what he knew. Millia Frine, turned blood into a slow acting poison. It targeted the extremities first, then moved for the heart and brain.

He placed a charm to her numb her senses giving her a painless if early death, and threw her cloak over her legs. No one needed to see their own bones. A soft hand wiped away the blood on her face and healed the cut beneath. She gave him a trembling smile, and lifted her own hand to his face.

“Harry Potter?” She asked in a voice which crackled like torn paper. He took her hand in his own, and tried not to let his fear show when her fingers shattered to ash. She would never feel it.

“Yes?”

“Are you a traitor?”

She stared at him, begging for the truth before she died, and desperate to hear a certain answer. Even if Harry had been a traitor, he would not have told her anything else. “No,” he breathed, “I’m not a traitor, I never will be. I promise.”

A tiny movement, meant to be a smile was all she could show before the poison made its final step. She collapsed, and when her hand fell to her lap in was nothing more than grayed ash. He gently closed her eyes, just before they to became nothing, and stood up, eyes closed once more.

Bile was rising in his throat, and he turned away, looking for anyone else he could help. Instead, behind him, he heard a voice scream his name in anger.

Parvati and Lavender were glaring daggers at him, and he waited for them to continue. By the time he did, he had hardened the walls around his heart and mind, and allowed his Slytherin mask to surface. “Traitorous Bastard! How could you side with them?! You murderous, deceitful, God-be—”

Harry didn’t bother to hear the rest, just apparated away. It was only a few streets, but it was enough. When he had appeared he saw what he had needed; everyone that could be helped had been, and there was nothing else he could do but be the brunt for his fellows’ anger.

He apparated again, and found himself inside the Shrieking Shack. He collapsed on the bed and dropped his head into his hands. For more than an hour he held back tears and screams, listening instead to the crescendo of mob mentality that was taking hold of the Hogsmeade inhabitants. They were screaming for blood, and seemed ready to attack anything that moved when a new voice bellowed for their attention. Silence fell, and Harry used a projected periscope charm to watch as none other than Ronald Weasley stood on a crate and addressed the crowd.

“Are you going to stand here and let this happen to you? Are you going to just let the perpetrator of this crime walk unhindered? Are you going to let a murder walk free?” The crowd screamed again, the angry rage beginning to find a focus. “You know who did this! You saw him here, are you going to let him walk free?”

“No!”

“We’ve seen what he can do! We know him! He attacked his enemies! He attacked me and my friends! You deserve to know what he did to his own class mates!”

The crowd cheered terrifically, and Harry watched two girls replace Ron on the crate. Parvati began. “We saw him talking to a first-year! She was alive, and when we went to help her, she was just a pile of ash, there was nothing left! He killed her!”

Roaring, the crowd was already prepared to kill him, but Lavender fanned the flames higher. “Padma Patil was with us today! Just this morning we walked down these streets, innocently shopping, and just this morning she was cold-heartedly killed! Her twin had to watch her die! We watched and there was nothing we could do! Are you going to let that happen to your friends? To your sisters? To your brothers? To your children?”

The swelling roar washed over him, and he cut off the spell. Limply, he fell back on the bed, and dropped into sleep rather than give in to the tears that threatened to drown him.

>=====<

“HE SAID HE KILLED THEM!”

He was pointing at Black – at Sirius – who shook his head slowly; the sunken eyes were suddenly over bright.

“Harry…I as good as killed them,” he croaked. “I persuaded Lily and James to change to Peter at the last moment, persuaded them to use him as Secret-Keeper instead of me…I’m to blame, I know it…The night they did, I’d arranged to check on Peter, make sure he was still safe, but when I arrived at his hiding place, he’d gone. Yet there was no sign of struggle. It didn’t feel right. I was scared. I set out for your parents’ house straight away. And when I saw their house, destroyed, and their bodies…I realized what Peter must’ve doe…what I’d done…” Harry watched as Sirius’ eyes looked into his and saw the snarl curl his Godfather’s lip, “And when I see what you’ve become, I can’t believe I ever felt sorry for you. Traitor.”

Harry jumped and flung himself sideways, he tripped….

And woke alone on the floor of the Shrieking Shack.

He looked at the shadows and realized it was almost dark. It had now been more than a day since he had eaten anything, and combined with the emotional and physical exhaustion of the day, his body was shaking.

Stumbling, he made his way down the passage to the Whomping Willow. He didn’t bother to freeze it. His reaction speed was always greatest when he was tired, but the tree had come to fear him, ever since an unfortunately directed temper tantrum on Harry’s part.

Harry entered the building and quickly summoned his things from the dungeon. A vial of energy potion was located and drunk.

The shaking subsided, and he was able to carry his chin a little higher.

What he did next ranked highly in the list of stupid things he had done in his life.

He pushed open both doors to the Great Hall and strode between the two center tables. The Ravenclaws were sobbing, the Hufflepuffs were consoling each other, the Slytherins were disturbingly silent, and the Gryffindor’s were screaming for his blood.

If he hadn’t been so tired, he would have remembered to remove the girl’s blood from his hands and cloak. If he hadn’t been so tired he might have relaxed before confronting anyone. Maybe he would have thrown a fit in private, and maybe he would have spoken to Severus first. But he had been that tired, his temper had been that thin, and his mind had been that clouded.

Halfway to the Professor’s table, he shouted his question, “There were two first year girls added to Slytherin house this year, what were their names?”

“And why should we tell you? So you can kill the only one that’s left?” Ron had stood up.

Harry snapped, and Ron was silently pinned to the wall. Sadistically, he tightened the invisible holds pressing against his former friend’s throat, not enough to kill, but enough to terrify the room.

If he hadn’t been so tired, he might have remembered to use a wand.

“What were their names, Professor Dumbledore?”

The brave old man said nothing.

Harry hissed and tried a new source, “Slytherin House, there were two girls added to you this year. What were their names?”

Pansy was the one to answer. One of the laws Harry had identified in life was proven true once more. Always trust a Slytherin to be dramatic. “Lydia Parkinson, my younger sister, who is sitting with us now. And Allison Lane, who is dead.”

Allison Lane.

Harry nodded and spoke again, “Ms Parkinson, do you know the final count?”

“Sixteen.”

“Thank you.” He gestured and a rose bud appeared before her.

Without another word he left, pausing at the doors only long enough to hear the thud and the cursing as Ron was released.

>=====<

Half an hour later, Harry stood in the Chamber of Secrets, quietly hissing a conversation with the stone snakes and leaning against the corpse of the basilisk.

Quiet footsteps could be heard behind him, and he glanced at who it was.

Draco Malfoy stood with his arms away from his wand, clearly in a neutral position, and waiting for Harry to react first.

The boy-who-lived rose, Slytherin side higher than ever and the slightest mocking bow. “And what did I do to be honored with your presence?” The sarcasm oozed in the tone of his voice.

For a few moments, nothing was said. Harry prepared to stun his companion, and repeatedly silenced the voices that recommended a Veritaserum questioning. No good had ever come of Veritaserum in his life.

Finally, with a pained sort of quality, Draco responded, “There is no honor in my presence.”

Well, that was the last possible thing I was expecting.

“Would you like to sit, perhaps? I have the strange feeling we may be here for a time.” Harry conjured two chairs and small table.

“You’ll listen to me?”

“So long as you aren’t threatening my life or insulting my loyalties.”

They sat uncomfortably, until the blonde finally drew a bottle of brandy from his cloak, along with two shot glasses. It was poured, and Harry drained his immediately.

“You aren’t going to check it for poison?”

“First of all Malfoy, if you had wanted to kill me, I would never have heard you walk in, and second, at the moment, death has its appeal.”

“How very…un-Gryffindor of you.”

“Perhaps you haven’t noticed, but Gryffindor house is less than pleased with me for the time being.”

“I had. I also noticed that you have become rather talented.” Harry arched an eyebrow. “Not overly so, but small things. You learn faster than before. Your potion making has greatly improved. You can do wandless magic.”

“I am truly touched by your compliments Malfoy.” He simpered.

“Draco.”

“Yes that would be your name.”

“So why don’t you ever use it?”

“It has something to do with being arch-enemies, although my being the Boy-Who-Lived, and your being a Death-Eater likely have something to do with our enmity.”

“What makes you think I’m a Death Eater?”

“Call it an educated guess.”

“Then allow me to clarify your assumption.”

For a fleeting second Harry thought he had been wrong. Draco was rolling up his sleeve, with no appearance of apprehension on his face, but when it was high enough, Harry saw it.

The dark mark was still black from a recent calling, much like Severus’ had been for the last month.

“I was marked at the end of my fourth year. The day I got home from Hogwarts.”

“Am I supposed to pity you for being a fool?”

“No, but if you will allow me, I would like to tell you my entire story so that you might be able to make a better informed choice about my character.”

Harry hesitated. Well Prongs, Padfoot, I spent years thinking the wrong thing about Severus…and about my friends. I have a chance for more information, and I’m not letting those pass me by anymore.

“Go ahead.”

“For generations the Malfoy family has held themselves in limbo between the two magical forces for the sole reason, of that it is the safest option. From there, we will never be considered truly good wizards, but never considered completely dark. Half of our number follows one group exclusively, and the other faces the other way. Therefore, no matter the outcome of this debacle, the Malfoy family will survive.

“My father has attached himself to the Dark Lord, and I have done so in part, as is evident by my mark. It is impossible to take the mark unwillingly. Death Eaters literally take the mark. All of us did it because we wanted to, and no Imperius curse can change that. That does not mean that we wanted to serve the Dark Lord though. I wanted to survive, the mark was my only option, and so I was close enough to wanting the mark. Since then I have served the Dark Lord’s beck and call, and that is why I am speaking to you now.

“However it may appear, and I cannot deny that I have a slightly sadistic side, I do not want to spend my life the way I have spent the last two years. I don’t want to have to kill innocents and children and friends. I don’t want to spend my nights being tortured and used. I don’t want to be a sexual plaything for those above me. I don’t want to have to spend half my free time wishing I was free, and the other half burying those thoughts so that when my mind was next picked apart, they would never be found. I want to actually be free. I want to wake up in the morning content with my life. I want to wake up with hope however twisted it may be.”

“So why did you come to me?” Harry asked softly.

“Because I want to see you win. And because I think you have a chance.”

“Is this because of the duel with your father?”

“No, no. Its…forgive the poetry for a moment, but, ever since last year. Ever since the Department of Mysteries, there has been something in your eyes, and yes, it does scare most people, but not all. Slytherin house knows what that is. We know that for the first time in your life you understand why you have to fight. You understand the consequences if you don’t. You understand, and you aren’t going to give up. Every line of your body, every beat of your heart screams it to us. We know that you’re going to fight. You spent most of your life naïve and sheltered, but you aren’t going to take it anymore, and when the time comes, you just might win.”

“What about the Ministry? What about my Traitor status?”

“According to them, you work for the Dark Lord. Since I know that I work for the Dark Lord, and since he would have killed you before accepting you, I, along with all the Death-Eaters know that it’s a lie.”

Harry refilled the cups and toasted, “Then here’s to the Death Eaters, for managing to be smarter than the rest of the world.” They drank and Harry continued, “How can you help me, and what do you ask in return?”

“I’ll get to payment in a moment, but first I’d like to answer the questions that I know have been eating at you for weeks.”

“The Traitor by Association Act?” Harry asked calmly even as he wrestled his excitement under control.

“Yes, I could explain it to you, but this will be faster and more reliable.” Draco reached into his cloak again and removed a thick book. THE SELF-UPDATING BOOK OF LAWS: Hogwarts Copy.

“You had it?”

“Of course, the Gryffindor’s might have worked out how to goad you into crimes had Granger ever gotten a hold of it. Besides, I have to keep up to date. Read all of the Traitor Act. I’ll explain what you don’t understand. Now, any other questions for me? That was the one I knew you wanted.”

Harry stared at the blonde for a moment. He was sick of being fooled, and sick to death of being betrayed, but he needed to know. The question had been stabbing at him, straight into his heart, and the only way to stop it would be to answer it.

“Why?” Harry asked. Such a simple word and such a deep question.

Draco knew what he was asking, and looked down, “Because they needed someone to blame. They were angry, they were scared, and they needed someone to blame. There was a pool in Slytherin between you, Dumbledore and Fudge. I won a hundred Galleons. They were terrified of what was happening, and knew it was their fault, but they couldn’t accept that. They needed to push the guilt to someone else and they needed to do it fast. You were just the first available target. In all honesty, had I not been a Death-Eater, I would have believed it.

“You have a bad habit of saving the day. And it starts to look false after a while. You are almost perfect, and that annoys them. You never seem to die. You’ve survived several times over attacks by a wizard who killed hundreds. If you were a traitor, then it would have been the perfect mask. No matter what, they would always forgive you because of how many you’d saved. I identified that at the end of second year. The only oddity is that non-Slytherins shouldn’t have noticed.”

“So a Slytherin gave the Ministry the idea then?”

“I believe so.”

“Do you know who?”

“Not yet.”

Harry sighed softly, and changed the subject, “Have you ever heard of a spell called Frean Coriathal?”

Draco paused, as though flipping through notes in his mind then said, “I’ve heard of it, but I don’t know why.”

“It’s rumored to cure lycanthropes.”

“And you want to help Lupin. How very Gryffindoric of you. He betrays you, insults you, denounces you, and you still try to help him.”

The dark-haired boy smirked and said, “Yes, well, my Gryffindor nobility is the reason I didn’t kill you when you walked in here so, you would do well not to insult it. I want you to research the spell. I would also like to know what it is that you want in return.”

“I need to move back into the Dark Lord’s favor.”

“And how does talking to the boy-who-lived help him in that?” Harry mused.

Draco ignored his comment. “At some point next week, during dinner, I want you to challenge me to a full wizard’s duel. I will name my second, you will state that you do not need one. The duel will be short, only a few spells, at which point you will be defeated.”

“Cocky much?”

He continued as though nothing had been said. “I will report to the Dark Lord that you are a poor duelist, hurting my father’s standing but raising my own, and also helping you.”

“How?”

“If he thinks that you are beneath his trouble, he will spare you little notice save as sport.”

Harry had barely started to think about the Slytherin brilliance of the plan when he was hit with a headache that was reminiscent of being slammed in the face with a frying pan. By now though, they were so common that he ignored it.

Draco’s eyes flickered for a moment, then he continued, “You will know the entirety of the plan, however, you will perform a memory charm on this conversation. A specialized one. Here, read about it before you try, I don’t feel like having my brain melted today.” Harry scanned the page and found the subtle differences between a memory charm and this, the subtefaerian spell, namely the use of a code to unlock the memories.

It was cast successfully, and a code was assigned.

Harry waited while Draco swayed, stunned as he was from the impact of the spell. “Don’t worry, I added something so that when you are in my presence, you automatically remember. I’ll see you in class, for now I need to check the status of a few Gryffindor first-years I terrified earlier. One last thing Draco, how did you get in here?”

“Did you really think that I could work for the heir of Slytherin for two years without picking up a few useful phrases, Harry?”

Harry nodded and walked away.

>=====<

THE SELF-UPDATING BOOK OF LAWS

Chapter Eighty-Nine: The Traitor By Association Act

Article One

Section One: Pertaining to Physical Dark Activities
Section Two: Pertaining to the Possession of Dark Belongings
Section Three: Pertaining to Dark Languages and Intentions

Article Two

Section One: Pertaining to Association with Traitors
Section Two: Pertaining to Sympathy for and Aid Given to Traitors
Section Three: Pertaining to the Pursuit of Heretics
Section Four: Pertaining to the Ranking of Position Towards Known Traitors
Section Five: Pertaining to Prosecution and Seizure

Article Three

Section One: Pertaining to the Report of Traitorous Activities
Section Two: Pertaining to the Containment of Traitorous Ideas
Section Three: Pertaining to Immunity
Section Four: Pertaining to Removal of Crimes from Records

"As it turns out, it wouldn't matter if I just kissed your girl, killed your entire family, and kicked you a couple times for good measure, do something amazing in a sport, and you'll still cheer me."

-Harry Potter

“Idiot!” Severus spun from his own cauldron and began to perform counter curses on Longbottom’s bloody hands. His potion had exploded yet again, finally breaking the all-time school record. He was serving detention for fighting another student, and Severus had jumped on the opportunity to wreak havoc on the boy’s mind once more.

In more ways than one, to be precise.

He strode over and finished his spells. Extending a small vial, he said curtly, “Drink.”

Longbottom, shaking, but less terrified than he should have been, obeyed. The boy’s eyes rolled and he slumped into a chair, utterly controlled by the Veritaserum. Something had changed about the boy, and the Professor’s Slytherin side had been unable to stand ignorance. The Dark Lord would call him that night, but not for several hours more; enough time to suppress his memory of the event.

“Why do you hate Harry Potter?”

“I don’t.”

Severus’ eyes narrowed. “Why do you not hate Harry Potter then?”

“I know him, I trust him, he’s saved my life, and he would never join you-know-who.”

“Why are you listed as ‘in need of protection’ by the Traitor Act?”

“Harry makes me uphold the pretense that I hate him.”

“What happened over the summer to give you a spine?”

“I trained with an old family friend.”

“Why?”

“I was at the Department of Mysteries last year.”

“Do you have any intention to cause any harm to Harry Potter?”

“No.”

“Do you know of any plot to harm Harry Potter that was created by students of your current house?”

“No. They don’t really trust me.”

“Will you die for him in this war?”

“Yes.”

Severus stepped back, and thought. There were only two options. Ask the Longbottoms for help or take the boy out of the equation. He was patriarch of his family, and they would follow him.

With a heavy sigh from exhaustion, he lifted his wand and muttered, “Oblivia Reparas con Subtefaera.” He woke the boy up, shouted for several minutes, docked fifty points, and kicked him out of his dungeons.

=====

Molly Weasley woke up with a scream and rolled out of the bed. Arthur was beside her a split second later. They stared in terror into the shadowed night.

They were staying at a safe house in the south of Wales, and apparated into the Order every day. Now, outside their one window was some twisted creature was waiting for them. It was flanked by half a dozen wizards in black robes and sickly white masks.

One of them lifted his wand, and without a word, the wall separating them vanished.

Arthur began firing curses instantly, but Molly froze for a moment. Her mind was reeling from the waves of memory. Her first fight, in the first war. Spells flying through the air, screams tearing her ears, and the sight of her siblings fighting beside her.

Wand in hand, she turned and uttered a primal scream. The level of the fighting rose, most of it now targeted at her, but she kept screaming curses, kept waving her wand. She separated from her body, and watched. One of the Death Eaters fell, but she kept attacking. A bolt of red light hit Arthur in the stomach and he sunk the ground with his hands covering the wound.

Molly hesitated, and she was hit. The world began to move in slow motion. Another shadow had appeared. The monster was missing. The new shadow fought with the originals, but Molly never saw it.

She slipped into darkness, and woke up the two days later in St. Mungo’s.

=====

Harry Potter took a deep breath as he dipped his fingers into the ointment. It tingled lightly on his fingertips. Carefully locking his jaw, he rubbed it into the nasty cut on his side. He hissed through his teeth as his fingers made contact. The injury was more than a cut.

The left side of his torso was marbled with gray and green lines. Two of his ribs were still broken, and just below his rib cage a half-healed hole with an edge like broke glass carved almost an inch into his flesh. The central wound was the size of his fist, but the entirety of it laced around his entire body.

He wiped the tears out of his eyes, got dressed, and flew onto the Quidditch field. Smirking over the pain, he nodded at his team mates, none of whom were willing to practice at the same time as him, or even share a locker room.

He shook hands with the Ravenclaw Captain briefly, amazed that his mere presence could terrify anyone so much. Hooch kicked open the crate, and the balls zipped out.

Flap, flap, flap.

Arthur and Molly had been attacked two nights before, just two weeks after the Hogsmeade attack. Half their house had been leveled, and both had to go to Mungo’s with severe burns. It had made the cover of the Prophet, and the muggle paper in the town where they had been staying.

Harry waited on his broom while Madam Hooch prepared to start the game.

Flap, flap, flap.

Madam hooch was announcing the rules and threatening about her desire for a fair game. She seemed to be glancing towards certain green-eyed boys more than others. Next to him, Ron was muttering incoherent curses and expletives.

The Weasleys had been left in the emergency ward at Mungos. The doctor had been handed an overly full bag of galleons and told to fix them. Ron had visited immediately with Ginny, and came back angrier than ever, spinning fantastical stories about traitors and murder, all of which revolved around Harry.

Far above them Lee began to announce.

“Today’s match ought to be good. With Gryffindor under new management and back with their winning Seeker again for the first time in a long while, Ravenclaw is in it deep.” Flap, flap, flap. “This new team lineup is interesting though, two Weasleys, just like always—something of a minimum that—the introduction of a second-year female beater,” Harry smirked as Natalie glared at the announcer, “and two Seeker hopefuls in the Chaser positions, we aren’t sure what to expect. As for the Ravenclaws—”

“Jordan, are you ever going to let them actually play?” McGonagall had already lost her temper.

Flap, flap, flap.

“Of course Professor, one last thing. Visit Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes! On that, Madam Hooch, audience,” Flap, flap, flap. “Let the Game Begin!”

Harry gently touched his side. It was leaking again, but wasn’t infected. It needed to remain as motionless as possible though.

Flap, flap, flap.

Harry could have completed the game. He could have ignored the pain. He could even have cheated. All of which would have annoyed Ron into insensibility, which was always a nice activity.

However, it he couldn’t stand, he wouldn’t be able to lose in a duel with Draco, and it was never smart to fail to pay a Malfoy. Well, Dad, after a month and a half of careful thought on tactics and technique, I only have one option. Oh well. Should be fun enough to watch the reactions.

The quaffle was thrown, the chasers raced forward. Harry snapped an arm behind his head without bothering to move the broom, locked his fingers around the snitch, and held his arm straight into the air.

Everyone was silent for approximately two seconds while Harry showed off the catch.
See Dad, I told you.

Then the pitch nearly exploded with sound.

“Sweet MERLIN! POTTER HAS THE SNITCH! HE CAUGHT THE SNITCH! HE CAUGHT THE SNITCH! BLOODY HELL! THIS HAS GOT TO BE A RECORD!” The magical timer had stopped instantly in Lee Jordan’s hand. His eyes went wide as he looked down and saw the number written there. “MERLIN! POTTER BROKE THE RECORD! POTTER BROKE THE RECORD! ONE POINT THREE SECONDS! LADIES AND GENTLEMEN POTTER BROKE THE PLUMPTON RECORD!”

The screams were deafening in the arena. The Wizarding world mocked, feared and generally despised him, but he had just made Quidditch history. Harry glanced at the Snitch, now held before him. Flap, flap, flap, it whispered.

It closed down, he slipped it into his pocket and flew to the changing rooms.

“Pain is something that everyone faces. Sometimes there’s more, sometimes there’s less. Sometimes it lasts longer for one person than it does for another. Everyone has their own pain. Your integrity is measured by your ability to withstand, and keep doing what needs to be done.”

-James Potter upon being released from St. Mungo’s after his capture by Death Eaters

Harry woke up in the girl’s bathroom on the first floor to the feeling of a scratchy tongue on his cheek. Cleo purred and nuzzled at him. He couldn’t force his eyes open yet, but managed to stand, and limp towards the mirror. Cleo had climbed onto his shoulder and mewed just before he ran his hips into the sink. Very carefully, Harry blinked his eyes open, and was instantly repulsed by what he saw in the hazy light.

Half of his face was sticky and black; in the night the blood gathered the dirt from the floor and congealed. The blood came both from his scar and the cuts he inflicted himself. His right eye was swollen shut again, and his lip was broken. There were bruises marbling his forearms, matching perfectly the majority of his torso. The hole in his side was almost healed now, six days after the Quidditch match. Since that blissful moment, his world had corkscrewed into a nightmare.

Severus had gone missing the day of the match, four simultaneous attacks had been launched, and Harry had seen all of them without managing to wake up.

The next night there were four more attacks, and he managed to reach the largest of them.

Each night since there were attacks which he watched in terror before breaking free to go help the victims. It was driving Voldemort insane. Once Harry got there, none of the Death Eaters left, and none could report who he was. The cold sadism he demonstrated would have terrified the world had they ever seen it.

But no one knew.

Harry would just disappear at night, fight, kill, heal, and return for class the next morning.

He was immune to the Energy Potion now, and worse: he was addicted to it. No I’m not. It’s nothing serious. I drink it when I want to.

The tattered frame of his body was too thin for his clothes, and his ribs could be counted with ease.

All he wanted was to fall back to sleep—without dreams this time—and wake up when everything was better. Maybe he would wake up and his friends wouldn’t hate him. And maybe Voldemort will turn into a Hippie. Even Neville had begun to join in on the Gryffindor’s fun. When Harry had tried to ask him for a favor, he had been cursed across the hall.

He washed his face with icy water, then healed it perfectly. Everything else, he left alone. Harry dressed, drained a flask of Energy Potion, picked up his things and hobbled away.

His limp was the only injury he bore that wasn’t from a Death Eater.

Dean had pushed him down a flight of stairs.

Harry had responded by pushing him through a flight of stairs.

=====

“Potter.” The voice came from behind him, low, sinister and angry. Without thinking, Harry spun and fired half a dozen spells at the attacker’s face. The man was pinned quickly to the wall, unconscious, tied up, stripped of his left sleeve, floating two feet up, and intoxicated.

The man was also Draco Malfoy.

Harry wasn’t sure how he felt about beating the crap out of his only remaining ally.

A few seconds later the spells had been reversed, and Harry was facing an extremely upset blonde Death Eater.

“What the Bloody Hell was that?”

Harry shrugged, “Let’s call it six years of comeuppance, shall we?”

Draco scoffed and straightened his hair. “When are you going to come through on your end of our bargain? It has been almost two weeks, we arranged for it to be within one. Would you like me to go back on my end, and give my Lord and Master an early Christmas present?”

“First tell me what happened to Snape.” Harry mentally slapped his near-slip. He had tried to say Severus.

“No. Attack me first.”

“What time is it?”

“Almost six.”

“Go to dinner Malfoy.”

With a smirk to put the Marauders to shame, the blonde nodded and swept away. Harry shook his head, muttering to his father as he went.

“I was just asked to go attack someone. I have two compatriots, both of whom are Slytherins and have tried to kill me before. One of them is missing, and one is a Death Eater. My life has become completely surreal.”

=====

The room was cold and damp. The floor was no longer solid, and made horrid noises as he shifted. There was nothing above him or to any side, just open air, with a several thousand foot fall seducing him to try and fly. His wand had been taken away, his hair shorn off, and he had been tortured.

Gods knew he had been tortured, but no one else ever would. He was going to die here, balanced on this precipice to hell, with his sins laid out before him. No one would ever know, and even if they did, they wouldn’t care.

A long gash opened his side in a sickly jagged line.

Maybe that was why the ground was damp.

He thought that his ankle may have been broken, but could no long differentiate the areas of pain. That was what made them all such good torturers, they knew how to confuse and distort the mind as they warped the body.

Bruises covered his face and torso mottling his skin in purples and greens. His nose was broken, and both his eyes were blackened and swollen.

Far above him though, there was a little cloud that was shifting. Not much, but enough to reveal a tiny star. Maddened, a wheezing chuckle slipped out. He used to be fond of stars. He used to be fond of many things.

Another cloud covered the star, and he was left in darkness once more.

Severus Snape was going to die, and he just couldn’t wait.

“He was strong when he fought. He was strong when faced with danger. He was strong when he had to save the world. But…when it came to surviving the day-to-day onslaught of life’s constant barb, the Boy-Who-Lived was weak. Fortunately, there were some who would not stand for his pouting, or his stupidity.”

-from The Boy-Who-Lived, A Biography by George Fiddler

Harry broke his mind from the ramblings of hatred, and smiled sadistically. He drained the remaining Energy Potion, convulsing slightly at the taste. His flask had been nearly halfway full when he had reached for it. He had taken slightly more than the recommended dose.

Adrenaline surging he left his personal cove, and traversed the school.

In purposeful Parseltongue, he muttered to himself as he entered the Great Hall. “Well, my dear Marauders, you should enjoy this if nothing else. I do have to lose in the end, but first I think I might take my payment for a lifetime in a private hell.” He sighed pensively, “I almost wish Malfoy and I hated each other a bit more than we do. This could have been such fun.” He stopped beside the Slytherin table giving a slight glance as a cue to Draco, then began to speak, louder now, “Malfoy.”

“Potter.”

“Shall we do this then?” Harry asked in Parseltongue. Draco had told him before that he was the only Slytherin to understand any of the elusive language.

Without any other warning, Harry flung Draco into the wall with a slight flick of his wand before dropping his cloak. The whole point of the façade was to convince Voldemort he was nothing more than an egotistical novice, and Harry planned to give a show that would have made Lockheart proud.

His raiment was more fitted to a battle field than a school. Black silk and leather, both completely silent, litheness evident in his form, and a deadly note sang from his stance. He had changed clothing for that reason.

He waited for Draco to stand, and their parts began.

“My second is Millicent Bulstrode.” Draco said softly, much to the surprise of opponent and onlookers. “Yours? Oh, you don’t have anyone to fight for you, do you, Potter?”

“No. I have no need. I do my own fighting. I do it openly and I don’t ever attack those I love, unlike some I could name.”

Ripples of an unidentifiable emotion moved through the hall.

“If you’re sure…” Draco forced Harry to meet his eyes and nodded.

This works, we’re both temperamental, hormonal teenage males caught up in a world of chaos and hidden war, and want to spend a few minutes hitting something. Both of us are extremely talented and have killed before. Both of us also have issues surrendering. Now we are going to attack one another. Merlin, but I enjoy this plan.

“Rictumsempra!” Harry shouted dramatically.

It hit Draco, who backflipped with it, landed and snapped, “Appenaesa.” Harry suppressed an urge to block the spell, allowing it to throw him backwards, into the air, over the Staff table, through a ladder backed chair and onto the hard stone ground.

A long distance whisper spoke softly in Harry ear, unheard by anyone else, “We need to move the students and teachers out of our way. Find a way.” It was Draco. He had taught Harry the spell a week earlier. Harry heard it, but had no ideas of how to rectify the situation. He crawled to a crouch and leapt the table, firing a reducer curse.

Draco stepped to the side and the red bolt blew someone’s breakfast into a cloud of toast, apple slices, and flying forks. One of which flew at Neville’s eye. Half an inch away though, Neville’s hand snapped up and caught it. For an instant, the room was staring at the school’s notorious klutz.

Then Draco shot a second Appenaesa, and Harry found himself splayed over a platter of Hufflepuff tarts—the baked type. Unfortunately he had gone through the Hufflepuff who had been in his way. She was now sporting a broken nose.

“Find a way Potter, we can’t fight like this.” Draco said in the same furtive manner.

Harry rolled off the table, standing tall, and smirked again. “I’m so terribly sorry, but you were in my way. You should be more careful.” He held out his wand and the tables shot to the walls. Students found themselves standing in their meals, unable to move, and the teaching staff was pinned to the wall, feet dangling. Not sure how I did that.

Harry dodged the next few spells, idly throwing responses back. One particularly nasty hex caught him in the side of the head.

It tossed him like a rag doll through the air until he landed on his already injured ankle. His overdose on potion was having two effects: he was numb to almost any pain, and he was beginning to lose his grip on reality. Several times his mind had drifted into thoughts of dancing plums and candied apples, neither of which portended a great mental security.

Harry shook his head fiercely, rolling to dodge three consecutive disarming curses. He missed them all, but was forced to pause as he rose to his feet. A fourth curse hit him in the stomach, and Harry suppressed the instinctive, wandless reaction.

Draco waltzed cruelly to him, two wands carried like war trophies. “Would you like me to attack again Draco, or was that sufficient?” Harry asked in harsh Parseltongue.

“Well, well Potter. That was impressive, wasn’t it?” Draco replied in English. “I’m amazed you’ve survived as long as you have. Lockheart could have done better.” High on potion, Harry stopped listening, but found it dreadfully amusing that they had both thought the same way. Draco returned the wand, and mockingly nodded his head before walking away.

Harry sat on the ground in the middle of the Great Hall, wondering absently why no one was yelling at him. His mind was swimming and very little was making sense. There were four Draco’s walking away. Harry thought it was unfair since there was only one of him. A funny voice told him to let the students on the wall down. It seemed like a good enough idea, and with a tremendous crash, everyone returned to their previous location.

Smiling like a drunken sop, Harry staggered out of the hall, wondering absently where he would be able to find a pink and green acromantuala who could sing and dance.

======

When Harry James Potter, boy-who-lived woke up in the Chamber of Secrets, it was with a resounding headache, reopened injuries and a strong desire to vomit. Repeatedly.

The latter need was quickly satiated, and Harry managed walk a few steps before collapsing. His breath was short and there was no part of his body that was free from pain. He wiped at his mouth, coughing loudly, and wiped his hand on his trousers, only to realize a moment later the futility of the act. He was a mass of filth and muck.

The spells to repair it were simple, but he wanted his wand, and had no idea where it could be found. Even if he had known its exact location, he could never have reached it. His stomach was little more than an aching pit, and his body, in addition to the pain, was hollow and shaky.

Cautiously, he touched the old wound on his side. The lines were still there, but the depression was barely even visible.

He rolled his eyes to the heavens, asking what had happened before he fell back to sleep.

=====

The second time he woke, it was to a voice shouting in his ear.

Professor Snape’s to be precise.

“’fessor?” Harry asked thickly. Eyes still closed, he felt a flask push against his lips and he, too ill to fight, drank what was given. Nothing happened at first, but as seconds passed to minutes, he felt the darkness leave, and he climbed out of the fog. “Where am I?” He asked, voice like torn paper.

“Be quiet and take this.” Harry touched a small bottle, and felt an absolutely unwelcome pull behind his naval. He landed clumsily in Snape’s office, and rolled immediately to vomit.

Except that there was nothing in his stomach.

After a moment of choking up stomach acid, Snape stunned the boy to end the suffering, awakening him a second later.

Draco was lying on a couch, potion soaked bandages over his left eye. “So you aren’t dead. What a pity.”

“Draco, I allowed you to come here only on your promise you would remain silent. Please do so.”

“Professor? You came back? When?”

“I returned this morning after Draco convinced our Master that I still had a few uses left, none of which were of any good if I died. He released me and I returned to find out what you had done. Potter I had always known that you were a fool, but if I had known you were still suicidal I might have kept a closer watch. What possessed you to do that?”

Harry frowned, several questions begging to take precedence. He lifted his hand and found it shaking to the point of a seizure. Snape grabbed the limb and snarled. “Draco, go find something for the idiot to eat, and something for me as well.”

“Where were you?” Harry slurred when his mind managed to find some order.

“I was being held by the Dark Lord. I displeased him, and was punished accordingly.”

“For almost a week?”

“For almost a month actually. His standard punishment is to put us on a roof with nothing but ourselves until we lose our sanity. I was a few days away when Draco persuaded him. Draco has risen quickly since your…demonstration.” Severus continued but Harry had stopped on the word month. The professor had been gone for six days when Harry had attacked Draco; the basic math left his mouth slightly ajar. “Good, you’ve figured it out. I told you not to take too much of that potion, but that was too smart for you. You were essentially in a coma for three weeks. If you weren’t a wizard you’d be dead, although you are close to it.” Draco returned with a house-elf in tow, and Harry was handed a pile of food. “Eat all of it Potter, I don’t feel like having to nurse you to health.”

An hour, three plates of food, and several dozen spells keeping the food down later, Harry was able to stand by himself. His speech had returned to normal but his throat still hurt. Draco sat beside them, eating occasionally, but concentrating on his left arm. He was rubbing it like it was tender.

Finally Draco sat up and said, “Neither of you has been in contact with the world for the past while, and since I have been, Severus you, if not Harry would like to be updated.” Both men nodded and waited. “There have been many on this note, but this one sums them all up rather nicely.” Draco explained as he pulled a copy of the Prophet from his bag.

Traitor Goes Missing

Attacks Grow Worse

Mysterious Hero Gone

Hogwarts Seeks New Potions Master

Both Harry and Serverus stopped reading at that point, looking to Draco for explanations. “That’s from a week ago. You still have your job Severus, no need to worry. Harry however, has quite a few reasons to worry.”

“What now? Has the Ministry decided to remove me from the school? Or has Tom decided to kill my loved ones? Oh, wait, I forgot, I don’t have any loved ones.” Draco looked away, the first time Harry had seen him truly abashed. “Merlin, I’m right aren’t I?” Draco nodded. “What and who?”

“They want you expelled and taken to Azkaban. They feel you would be, quote “safer there, so that he might train” unquote. As to whom: Neville is the only remaining Longbottom. His grandmother and uncle were found dead three days ago. Oliver Wood gave an interview in Witch Weekly when he was awarded Most Charming Smile in which he said that he did not believe you supported the Dark Lord. He was taken in for questioning, and is currently incarcerated at Azkaban Prison.”

Harry saw a brief glimpse of inner anger in Severus’ eyes before responding. “Azkaban has no dementors though, it can’t be so bad.”

Draco hesitated then removed a second paper.

Ministry Develops Spell to Recreate the Feeling of a Dementor; first prisoner use will be O. Wood

Harry shouted an obscenity and in his anger, forgot to control his magic. The paper burst into flame. Draco’s eyebrow raised, “At least you didn’t ruin your magic with your little stunt. Now you understand, there are several men and women being held in Azkaban. Twenty-three as of latest count. One of them is there on charges of conspiring with the Dark Lord. The rest are there thanks to the Traitor Act.”

Harry growled, deep in his throat, and resisted the need to choke. “What about here at Hogwarts?”

“Your former group has created a rather dangerous gang, almost to the par of the Russian Mafia. Naturally Slytherin has retaliated. The halls double as a war zone currently.”

“As if there weren’t enough of those.” The Potions Master muttered, reaching for a flask.

Draco ignored the comment and continued. “Dumbledore looks on it as a way to weed out the unworthy students. Slytherins namely.”

“Why do you say that?” Severus asked.

“I heard him. You didn’t give Slytherin House lessons for nothing Professor. Harry, when you step out of this room the entire school is going to drop into chaos. Used properly you can end the warfare and create a safe haven for yourself. Your personal update: Weasley is running the Gryffindors, and has been in the Hospital wing twice. Granger has created more protection spells than we can identify, and seems to be the tactician. Longbottom is the second hand, and a Miss Cho Chang is running the Ravenclaw branch. MacMillan is grudgingly in charge of the Hufflepuffs.

“Oh, and your team found a clause stating the number of practices you can miss before being removed. You’re off the Quidditch team.”

Harry said nothing, but rose and left. Draco nodded to Severus and followed.

=====

Half an hour later Remus Lupin walked into Severus’ office, haggard and red-eyed. “You found him? Where? How is he? Why didn’t you contact me sooner? Where have you been?”

“Shut up Lupin and take a seat. He was in the Chamber of Secrets, he’s sicker than hell, and I haven’t contacted you because I was being held by the Dark Lord for the last month. Draco Malfoy helped me out and then informed me of what had happened to Potter. He’s angry, and I’m no sure how he would take it if I was forced to kill you. He may have some lingering attachment to you that I will never understand.”

“Why was he sick?”

“He overdosed on an Energy Potion I gave him and went into a coma. We’re lucky, he may not be damaged irreparably.

“I want to talk to him.”

“You can’t and you know it, now stop complaining.”

“I wasn’t complaining.”

“It was preemptive. Get inside, I need to restock my potion supplies, and you are slightly better than a complete imbecile.”

=====

Draco chased Harry down the winding corridors, determined to beat some sense back into the world’s savior. After a few minutes Harry felt the exhaustion he was plagued with, and collapsed on a windowsill. Draco caught up quickly and cast an immediate silencing spell.

“Don’t try to fight it you Gryffindor fool. I want to talk and I don’t want to listen to your inane comments.” Harry’s face darkened, but he sat still. “If you haven’t noticed, I know about Severus position. I don’t understand why he’s helping you, but I know that he is, and as a double agent myself, I can respect him.

“You, though…You make no sense. When this year started you were a rock, a pillar of strength and incapable of being hurt, now look at you: Unable to walk, unable to fight, and apparently unable to think. It takes a certain amount of Energy Potion to cause a dangerous reaction, and you took more than three times that amount. If I thought it would have any point I would just beat you with a large stick, but I don’t think you’d even feel it.

“I know that you’ve had more than your share of pain in life, but I don’t care. You are the Boy-Who-Lived, like it or not, and if you don’t get up off your ass and start fighting again, the world is doomed. I’m not trying to be melodramatic, but it’s true. By our best interpretation of that bloody prophecy you are both immortal until the other one dies. The Dark Lord has ordered the theory be tested, so expect a few attempts on your life in the next few weeks. Maybe even from me.

“You’re a fool for thinking that you can just run away from this. It will find you, and you will fight him one day. If you win, maybe you’ll remember me, if you lose, the Dark Lord will raise my status further. I’m already one of his most exulted servants. Rumors in the papers say that he has found a new weapon. That weapon is me. I leave this school each night to kill people I’ve known since childhood, so I don’t want to hear about you and your sad story. Bugger your sad story. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you train and that you fight and that you kill. You’ve been hurt, and you’ll be hurt again, but there is much worse.

“You were hit in the side with a specialized Reductor curse almost two months ago. It left a whole in your side and hurt like hell. It might be close to healing by now.” Draco paused for the first time. “I apologize for that. If I had known it was you that had repeatedly countered our attacks, I would have used a less visible curse. Yes, I know it was you now. It wasn’t hard to work out. You disappeared and the ‘hero’ disappeared. It’s sickening that no one else has worked that out yet.”

He hesitated. “If you’ll stay quiet I’ll take the spell off.” Harry nodded and the countercurse was performed. “You have to fight Harry.” Draco said imploringly. “You have to. The world may hate you, but you can’t just let them die. There must be someone you want to see alive and well for years. There must be, because if there isn’t then there isn’t any point in Severus or me or the innocent little first years, or even the damned muggles trying to care because we don’t matter. You do. You can save us, no one else.”

“I don’t care if everyone in this world dies Draco. They’ve never done anything but scorn and hate me. Besides, why do you care? You’re practically a dead man as it is.”

Draco ignored the question and said, “If I can find someone who you do care about will you fight?”

“There isn’t anyone.”

“But if there was, would you fight?”

Harry revealed no emotion, but paused, and silently looked past Draco. Eventually Harry spoke softly, “I would fight with every fiber of my being if I knew that there was even one person who cared what happened to me.”

Draco nodded, “Give me a few weeks then. For now, do everyone a favor and make your return flamboyant. I’ll find a house elf and see if we can’t get you back to health.”

“Draco?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you bothering?”

“Well, aside from needing you to kill the Dark Lord and harboring a small need for you to restart your nighttime attacks, I know someone that might appreciate it.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I didn’t think you would.”

He never wanted to be what he was. He would never relish his title. He would fight it to the end. But, there was a reason why he was the Boy-Who-Lived, and on occasion, that fact was obvious.

-from The Boy-Who-Lived, A Biography by George Fiddler

“Lupin you fool, the bicorn isn’t added until the potion is at a boil. Did you ever have a brain or was it a recent loss?” Severus snapped, snatching the ingredient from the hand of his co-conspirator.

The man just shook his head and went into the next room, retrieving an old text.

“Rapidly,” he quoted, “Add the bicorn root, just before the previous mixture boils.” Lupin snapped the book shut once more and smirked. “Did you become senile and not bother to tell me? Pour it in now, and stir, we need to finish this.”

Severus growled under his breath, but completed the potion. With a silver ladle, he filled a vial, walking across his chamber with it at arm’s length. Lupin was waiting beside the stone tablet. The marble was originally white, but now was coated with a rotting layer of blackish brown filth. Remus held a second vial, and they nodded. Simultaneously, they drizzled the two liquids together. Severus’s was perfectly clear and smooth as it left the glass and splattered on the stone. Remus’ flowed crimson, thickly slipping over the lip of the cup.

Potion mixed with blood letting up a cloud of smoky mist that smelt worse than Wolfsbane potion.

“My office will reek for days.” Severus complained.

Lupin was obscured by the haze, but his voice declared his smile. “Ah, but we wouldn’t have to do this if you hadn’t been captured and tortured. We had to reaffirm it. You’ve brought this upon yourself you know.”

“Lupin?”

“Yes?”

“Do you have any reason to still be here?”

“No.”

“Then why are you still here?”

>=====<

Harry James Potter, having recovered from his collapse, and having caught up on a months of newspaper articles, was more than ready to return to class. Draco, however, insisted that he wait until lunch to make his triumphant return.

His school uniform had been replaced with more practical, more comfortable and much more dangerous raiment. His previous outfit had been burned by a frightened house elf; the stains had been permanent.

Without any ado, he walked into the great hall and held up a hand, waiting for silence like a great prince of old. At first the room grew louder while screams echoed against the ceiling. He was cursed and insulted, but gave no response until the mass grew fearful, and dropped one by one into frightened silence. The Slytherins were the first to taper off.

The teachers were the last.

Harry waited calmly with a small sadistic smile on his face. By the time the room was to his satisfaction, his eyes had become feral.

“One month ago, I stood in this room and duel a fellow student. Immediately after, I left, and have not been seen since. I wonder now, why no one attempted to find me? Perhaps is it because you consider me to be a murderer and traitor? I’m not, but I know that you all seem to believe it. It doesn’t matter though. Most of you want to see me behind the bars of Azkaban, Kissed, or dead. Unfortunately you can’t let that happen, because I am Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, and no matter how much you fear and loathe me, you need me to defeat Master Riddle. You need me, so you allow me to continue. Thank you. I greatly appreciate the compliment. Should any of you have cared to notice, I have never done anything but fight to save your lives and your futures, perhaps it isn’t your style to acknowledge that verbally, but remember it the next time you’re looking down the wrong end of a wand, and call for help.

“Have a nice afternoon everyone.” Harry smiled, reminiscent of a crazed flight attendant, and continued down the hall, out the doors and onto the grounds.

>====<

Kingsley Shacklebolt wearily traipsed up the stairs of the Grimauld place, wand already out, and entered his temporary room. Ever since the Werewolf had left the Order, he had been unable to stop the stream of thoughts ripping through his head. The man had betrayed the Order, most likely to serve the Dark Lord. It was terrifyingly simple how quickly his mind connected a lifetime of noticed comments.

He peeled off his damp cloak, tossing it over the edge of a chair, and paused to kneel beside the bed. Reaching beneath it, he withdrew a small wooden box. Magically enlarged inside, it housed some of his most important belongings.

The long days were catching up with him and he yawned before yelping in pain. He grabbed his arm, mumbling to himself, and opened the box.

Without another moment’s hesitation he flung a fresh black cloak about his shoulders and grabbed his mask, barely bothering to set it in place before he dissapparated.

>====<

Harry climbed over the last of the branches and bushes obstructing his path. He tumbled back onto school grounds, thoroughly dirty, and more than a bit damp. Heavy snow was gathering on his back, and he felt nearly ready to collapse. Looking up at the sky, he cursed it passionately, and continued to walk.

It was almost two weeks since he had woken, and somehow, his teachers acted as if he had never missed a day. The students knew had been missing, but his assignments gave no reflection of his absence. Astounded, he had concentrated on healing enough to restart his nighttime jaunts, one of which he was returning from now.

They were less dangerous then they had been, but his leg had gone numb for several minutes earlier in the night.

Sighing, and continuing to trudge across the Hogwarts grounds, Harry saw the Whomping Willow flailing amid the falling flakes. He frowned; normally the tree was fond of the relaxing precipitation. A second shape, dark and large was moving beneath it.

A looming weight settled over his shoulders and mind. The tree was a part of the marauders, and a large mountain troll was now trying to destroy it. After spending his last few hours fighting, he could not help but begin to run. His private, late night wars left him filled with a terrible wrath, and he had spent so long unable to exact his revenge that the thrill of taking it physically from his enemies made his blood race.

The troll was notably larger than the one he had fought in his first year. Harry grinned, Slytherin-esque, and pulled his wand out. With a loud shout he sprinted the last few feet.

It took him little effort to dodge the angry swings of clubs and branches, and caused him great joy to feel the adrenaline in his veins. The troll, while large, was obviously less than intelligent. It was not only attacking a tree, but barely noticed when Harry rolled beneath the troll’s legs. It had trampled the ground until it turned to a wet slop. Thick mud coated his back immediately, and a small part of him felt guilty for dirtying another outfit. One swing graced over his head, and he grew a bit nervous. It was late and he felt his exhaustion abruptly sweep through him.

Two whispered words and the troll dropped to the ground.

Harry stood up, idiotically.

For half a breath, Harry stood in the snow, beside the fallen form, and then he felt a strike to his stomach. Flying into the air, he felt himself carried to the center of the tree and set on an interior branch, one that remained absolutely still. Harry looked from side to side, baffled as he stood. Then, through the flurry, he saw Ron and several others approaching. They ran straight to the tree, which promptly knocked them unconscious, picked them up and threw them away, all the while shielding Harry from the snowfall.

He did not understand. It almost seemed that the antisocial arboreal entity had taken Harry under his wing. Without the energy to rise and return to the school, he removed a cloak from his pocket wrapped it around him, and curled into the surprisingly warm core of the tree.

>====<

Sighing, Draco Malfoy dropped into a chair in the empty Slytherin common room. He had spent the last two weeks investigating every facet of Harry Potter’s fall from glory. It had been an inexplicable affair. He had committed an infinitesimal crime that had been blown out of proportion. Little flaws were used to fan the flame. It had made no sense to any of the Slytherins or Death Eater onlookers. Even the Dark Lord had watched in shocked amusement while the Light’s Golden boy had turned into the hated traitor.

Draco dropped his head into his hands, forcing his mind to concentrate on what needed to be done.

He stared into the fire, heart in his throat.

With his back to the door, he heard it open, and heard soft steps across the floor. Waiting, with full knowledge of what was coming, he let cool hands slide through his hair.

“Hello, love,” he whispered, grabbing her hands, “How are you?”

“I’d be better if you would finally explain yourself. I don’t like it when you have a problem, and you won’t let me help you.”

“I wish I could tell you all of it. I can’t.” He reached up, pulling her arms further around him until she took his hint and climbed up on the chair behind him, wrapping her legs around his waist. She had slipped out of her school robes earlier, but was still wearing the clothing he had come to expect of her. His hand brushed against the fresh, and still painful burn of the Dark Mark. She gasped aloud, the noise nearly a shriek. “Alright love? I know they hurt, the pain will fade, I promise.”

“I know Draco.” She slipped around and kissed his ear. “Draco please, tell me what has been torturing you lately.”

Draco opened his mouth to explain, and then snapped it shut. “I’m sorry, I can’t, not yet.”

She climbed into his lap, kissing him fiercely. “Then I’ll wait. But we have to go. We have a meeting tonight.”

“Yes we do,” They stood up, and Draco kissed her again, “We have extra robes at the manor; we can pick them up there.”

“I love you Draco.”

“I love you Ginny.”

“All students who will be staying at the school over the Holiday will need to sign the list at the front of the school.” Professor Demival’s NEWT level Defense Against the Dark Arts class listened to her announcement, and then spun as a single unit to watch Harry Potter’s reaction. He smirked, and gave no other signal of emotion. For the last few days, particularly since he helped the Whomping Willow, he had felt rejuvenated, in spite of his workload.

It was ridiculous; the world seemed to hate him more than ever, but “La Vie en Rose” had been stuck in Harry’s head, and it was having a drastic effect. The acerbic articles authored by Rita left him in tears of laughter instead of weeping in depression. His nocturnal missions were often speckled with pranks worthy of the Marauders. Several times he had cast tripping charms just to watch the Death Eater land face first in a puddle of muddy muck. He had to hope that none of them recognized his laugh. Draco might, but the others, adults, had never heard him before. Only the night before Harry had announced himself by transfiguring all of their ominous black robes into floral sundresses. His life had been immediately at risk; he was barely able to fight, he was laughing so hard.

Somehow, his lackadaisical approach had kept him out of harm. He had avoided injury ever since La Vie en Rose had been set to repeat.

Class was released, and he practically skipped out of the room, heading for the Great Hall. The ability to clear an entire table with his mere presence was another of his joys.

Tomorrow was Friday, and the last day before Christmas Break. The students were antsy, but Draco and Severus concurred that the Death Eaters were even worse. Harry gathered a few handfuls of easily transportable food, deciding to forgo one pleasure for another. A walk in the snow sounded more entertaining than terrifying his housemates.

The temporary lull in the frigid weather had ended, and Harry was desperately excited. He jogged up to the Gryffindor common room, where he had dramatically reclaimed his bed, and shouted for Cleo. A puffed ball of white fur flew at his face.

“How do you jump so high, girl?” He asked as he placed her on his shoulder. She mewed and licked his cheek. Laughing, he made his way downstairs and outside.

Instantly Cleo bounded into a snowdrift, beginning to play. She practically vanished in the snow. Harry began to walk around the lake, Cleo following along whenever she looked up and realized that Harry was far ahead of her. When he was at the farthest reach of the lake, he heard a soft flapping and looked up.

Hedwig had left the day before to deliver a message to Cynaephyra Alstance, and he had not expected her back so soon. His owl alighted on a nearby branch, hooting fondly.

Harry retrieved the letter and leaned against the tree, accidentally shaking more snow into his hair.

Dear Sir,

I cannot thank you enough for your generous aid, and although I wish you did not desire anonymity, but I can understand, and I will honor your wish. I am now fully situated in St. Mungo’s, where I have wonderful support from their staff. Also they have given me full access to the ward, and I hope to begin initial tests soon.

I have spent the most time with the Longbottoms’ case as you requested. It will be exceedingly difficult, but I feel that there may be hope.

At this time I can tell you little more, but I hope to write with successful results before Christmas. Is there any way for me to contact you apart from returning your owl?

Harry flinched at that. He could not allow her to use any owl but his. Hedwig had been carefully warded against tracking, but he had no faith in any other owl.

If there is no other way sir, please send your owl back to me on Boxing Day so that I may update you. You asked about my theories, and as the reason why I can continue to work, you are entitled to an answer. The foundation of my theory is that the Cruciatius Curse degrades the brain itself. Pain overloads the mind first, which makes it incapable of shutting down. From that point on, chemicals build up, literally dissolving pieces of the mind necessary to action. Since Legilemency has shown that there are no brain functions or thoughts present in the minds of the victims, it is assumed that they are in a persistent vegetative state. However, the usual signs of that condition are not present. This is where my beliefs are founded. I believe that prolonged exposure to Cruciatius puts the mind into stasis which was, previously, irreparable. If my treatment functions the way I believe it will, it may be possible to restart the victims’ minds.

Again, thank you for your generosity, and I will await the return of your owl.

-Cynaephyra Alstance

Harry nodded, folding the letter and placing it in his pocket. He would do more research tonight, but her ideas were sound. If she was right, then there was hope for many of the Lestranges’ victims.

As he was lost in thought, Cleo scampered up his leg, clawing her way over his chest and back to her regular perch. She made a little purr, wrought with fear, and dug her tiny nails into his neck.

Glancing around, and sensing a presence at the same time, he found four of the Weasleys descending on brooms.

Fred and George were both carrying large cloth bags with three Ws stitched on the front. Their robes were gaudy, obnoxious, virulent orange, and perfect for the twins. Charlie had one arm bandaged and bore a small scar on the side of his face next to a grim frown. Bill was wearing leather beneath his black robe, and had black streaks and tips in his long hair.

Mrs. Weasley must have had a fit. Harry chuckled. “Hello Weasleys. Come to attack me? Maybe to avenge the rights of the Wizarding world? Or perhaps you just had a bad day and want to hit me with heavy objects?” They began to protest, but Harry’s mental cd play was still playing, and he continued, “You work for the Ministry and are here to take me to Azkaban? Did your mother send you? Did Ron? Did your girlfriends?”

“No, on all counts, Potter.” Charlie said, still frowning. The Dragon fanatic stuck his hand into his robes, and Harry had his entire entourage surrounded by a shield without a thought. La Vie had paused.

“Then why are you here?”

“We aren’t here to hurt you—”

“—Harry. We just thought that you might—”

“—want to hear what we recently decided.”

“After all—”

“—you are—”

“—our favorite—”

“—investor.”

The twins smiled, then tipped imaginary hats to him. With a flourish, they revealed their wands, tossing them through the shield to Harry. Bill and Charlie copied the action.

“We’ll see you at seven Harry.” Bill said, his face more akin to the twins than to Charlie’s.

“We have—”

“—wonderful rooms at a local—”

“—place, one that you know quite well.”

“It was—”

“—the marauders’—”

“—favorite.”

Harry nodded, and they walked away.

>====<

At seven that night, the Weasley boys found Harry standing in the den of the Shrieking Shack casting charms to keep the place warmer.

“Having a nice time there Harry?” Bill asked. “You’re doing marvelously, but I would recommend…there, that’s better.” He waved his wand casually, and the room’s temperature rose to a comfortable sixty-five. “I hope that you trust us enough to return our wands, apparating without one isn’t something I’d like to do again.”

“Can I?” Harry asked unceremoniously.

“Yes, you can.” All four of them assured.

“Even him?” Harry nodded at Charlie.

The twins began to laugh, then roared. Bill explained. “We were at the twin’s flat this morning, and Charlie, in a moment of idiocy, picked up a piece of candy. Livid Lemons, they’re called. Inspired by the Headmaster’s favorite. He’s been frowning ever since, it should finish soon. Twelve hour time span you see. He ate it at just before eight, so we’re closer at least.”

As Bill had explained, Harry had held a small silver sphere that warmed when lies were told. It was only reliable for a select few, but the Weasleys were on that list. With a chuckle of his own, he gestured to the couch and chairs he had added earlier.

The group sat, and Harry waited for them to explain.

Bill cast a threatening glance to the twins, and started. “Harry, a few days ago the four of us had met up for a late meal at my flat in London. Fleur was visiting her sister, so we were alone. None of us have ever really swallowed all this tripe that Rita and the Ministry turn out, but so long as Dumbledore distrusted you, we had no reason to support you. You’re history is a bit sketchy, Harry. For the last few weeks we had really started to doubt the reports, and had actually gotten together so we could look at what was happening. I expected that by the time the night was over we would have started to agree with Mum and Dad again, but then, suddenly, all of us just stopped talking, which was quite a feat since the twins were both there.

“It was just odd Harry, one minute we were explaining why you were this evil Death Eater, and then next we were wondering why we had ever even considered that you would betray us. Something just snapped. We stayed up all night going over old newspapers and Ministry records. Well, what I’m trying to say is this: We believe you mate.”

Harry sat in silence, meeting their eyes and using his small knowledge of Legilemency to check. They were telling the truth. Blinking, Harry allowed himself a brief inner monologue.

Dad, what am I supposed to do? Last time I trusted someone I got hurt. Everyone betrayed me, and the people that were close to me got hurt. Can I do that again Dad? It’s too easy for them to hurt me if I let them near me. Sirius, Merlin I wish you were here, what do I do now? Never antagonize an ally, I suppose. They’re all highly ranked in the Order, and the twins are two of the brightest wizards in the world. Harry stared at them for a moment. They were about to speak, and he held up a hand to delay them. If I’m careful—if they’re careful—it might work. Someone might care.

Draco’s voice echoed in his mind. “If I can find someone who you do care about will you fight?”

“There isn’t anyone.”

“But if there was, would you fight?”

“I would fight with every fiber of my being if I knew that there was even one person who cared what happened to me.”

Harry smiled slowly, and it transformed into a smirk. “You four best not get yourselves killed. You’ve seen me angry, and I’d hate to make Percy the heir of the Weasley family.” Bill and Charlie shared a look of abject terror at the thought.

“You believe us?” The twins asked together.

“Yes.”

“Good. You get a present for that.”

“A what?” Between La Vie en Rose, his good mood and the declaration of support, Harry had already been having a very interesting day, and was afraid to question the situation too deeply, fearing that the bubble would burst.

“A present. Several presents actually.” Fred opened his bag first. “The first few are a bit sentimental, but you might appreciate them.” He pulled out a long, narrow box. “This is a box.”

“Really? I’d never have guessed.”

“Very funny mate, now let me finish. This is a box we found in the attic at Grimauld place. Mum found out something we wish she hadn’t, and we ended up cleaning the entire house. There were quite a few useful things up there actually, but this is the one you want. Somehow Sirius got a hold of your parents’ wands and put there in here. We stole his and added it too. We aren’t sure, but you should be able to use either of your parents’. Even if you can’t you might like them.” Harry carefully accepted them, setting them in his lap.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it. It was fun for us too, we got to steal things.” Fred said cheerily.

George nodded and said, “My half isn’t as nice. We give to you, our young apprentice, four portable swamps, and three bottles of instant fog. They should allow you to have a bit more fun while you’re trapped here. Also, we—well, Charlie—found a book on alternate forms of magic. This volume is dedicated to wandless and two-wanded magic. It’s quite fun, but you’re powerful enough to make it useful as well as entertaining. Now that you have four wands you could pull some rather spectacular pranks.” George grinned.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Charlie will show you a few things later, once he cheers up.” Bill offered.

“Thank you, Charlie.”

“Don’t speak to me, you worthless excuse for a human being.” Harry jerked back.

Bill laughed, checking his watch, “Good. It’s starting to wear off. That was nothing compared to this morning’s insults, Harry. Be glad that your manliness wasn’t likened to a Hufflepuff first year in a thunderstorm.” Harry raised an eyebrow, confused. “Nothing but magic can make them stand up.” Bill continued.

The four boys laughed while Charlie watched, and they proceeded to waste the evening in old stories, small pranks, food and drink. The twins disappeared for half an hour, returning with carry out, all the way from London. Apparation had many uses.

Since they never started to explain the new wand techniques, Harry and Charlie planned to meet up again on Saturday night.

“It’s rather sad that neither of these upstanding gentlemen have anything better to do than train on a Saturday evening.” Fred said sadly to George.

“Oh yes,” George agreed, “Quite, but not everyone can be as wonderful as we can.”

“No, that would upset that balance of the universe.”

“Too much of a good thing—”

“—is a bad thing, after all.”

Harry threw their own wands at them, and Bill abruptly shouted.

“What?”

“We have to go. Order Meeting.” A chorus of obscenities hovered in the room as they gathered their things. “We’ll talk soon Harry, but we’re already late.”

Four loud cracks sounded, and Harry was alone. He stowed his presents in the Shack, pulled on his father’s cloak, and began the icy trek back to the castle.

>====<

A light snow still drifted in the air that Saturday, whipping around corners silently. It created small drifts at the corners of the school, and tormented the Whomping Willow. The train had rolled away that morning, creating an image capable of inspiring Norman Rockwell. The peace extended over the Forbidden Forest and into Hogsmeade. It even succeeded in covering the Shrieking Shack, where Harry and Charlie were training.

“Bloody Hell, Harry. That hurt!”

“Sorry Charlie.”

“At least you’re learning.”

Harry chuckled. He had decided to avoid the school over the course of break. Friday had been spent torturing the school. He would sign the list of students staying at the school, then scratch it out, then sign, then scratch it out, laughing at the students’ hurried reactions.

Now he was staying comfortably in the Shrieking Shack. He had stashed most of his belongings in the corner of the den, and conjured a new bed beside the old one up the stairs. No matter how hard he tried he could not bring himself to harm anything related to his father and the Marauders.

He helped Charlie back to his feet, and for the first time since his overdose, a blinding pain stabbed at his mind. Emanating from his scar, it moved in a trickle backwards, before settling behind his eyes. With a low moan, Harry’s vision shifted and he fell deeply into a vision.

The muggle house was absolutely pristine behind the neat white curtains. Tiny candles lit the room where a husband and wife were sipping cider before a fire. He was watching from outside the window. He cast his serpentine eyes across the room, and stopped on the photos over the mantle. One part of the former Golden Trio was smiling at her parents. Happiness—no, something akin to it, though—surged through him, and he turned to the men he had brought with him.

Harry flung himself backwards, wrenching from the vision. He was splayed on the dusty floor. “Charlie, is Hermione staying with Ron?”

“Yes. Why? Harry are you—”

“I’m fine. Her family isn’t.” Flinging himself up he shoved Charlie out of the way, flying to grab his cloak. “Go to the Burrow, keep Hermione there.”

Without waiting for a response, Harry disapparated, leaving the snowdrifts, and the Norman Rockwell image behind.

“They hate you, Harry.”

“I know.”

“So why do you keep helping them?”

“Because I’m stupid.”

-From a conversation between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy

Harry walked silently towards the house. It was absolutely destroyed. A stray wall was still standing but was blackened and beginning to crumble. The front step, half missing, was covered in debris. Remnants of books and tables were scattered through the disaster, and the only objects whose identity could be discerned were the bodies of Hermione’s parents.

He stumbled back to the step and sank onto it. One hand dragged through his hair, and the other slowly spun his wand. He knew that he could not have saved them. The vision came too late. It was not his fault; he knew it, but it did not matter.

Whoever was at fault, they were dead. Hermione’s family was dead. She was an orphan like he was. The fact, in any other case, would have created a bond between them, but for him, it would only create a larger rift. Resting for a few moments, Harry collected himself, eliminating sadness, and firming his resolve.

“Happy Christmas, Hermione.” He whispered sarcastically. Walking away from the wreckage and pulling on his invisibility cloak, he heard a faint breath behind him. He drew his wand as he spun, preparing to fight whatever had snuck behind him.

There was nothing.

Harry scanned the area both visually and magically. Hermione’s dead parents were the only others present. He was alone, and he knew it, but he also knew that he had heard something. Turning again, taking a few steps, testing, Harry heard the noise again. “Damn, what the bloody hell is this? As if my life isn’t enough fun, now something I can’t see is following me? Sirius, sometimes I hate my life.”

Once more he heard it. This time though, it was almost a moan, or a failed attempt at a word. Harry’s eye barely saw the movement, but he ran for it instinctively. Hermione’s father had just shifted his hand. The man’s skin was cool beneath Harry’s fingers, but there was fading pulse still present. His body was battered, beaten, bruised, and broken, but he was alive. Harry recognized most of the spells, but three were inexplicable. He pulled the invisibility cloak from his shoulders. It pooled beside him as he concentrated on his sudden patient. Checking Hermione’s mother with one hand, he closed his eyes and returned to the father.

The school had never bothered to teach him healing spells and Severus’ Dark Arts books taught the fine art of survival of the fittest. He knew only what he had gleaned from his time in the Hospital Wing, and the few books he had glanced through. Those spells were quickly exhausted. The spells he needed had only been cast on him while he was firmly unconscious, and he had no recollection of them.

Ashanel. Harry stopped his useless spells. “Ashanel is a healing and restorative draught. It has the ability to save someone on the brink of death. On the brink of death. This certainly counts.” Harry almost left to retrieve it, but he heard Severus’ voice lecturing on its properties instead. Whispering, Harry tried to remember all of them. “Ashanel is instantly addictive. Patients who use it must be hospitalized within a few days for withdrawal symptoms. If they aren’t they won’t survive.” It was an extremely dangerous drug. He shook his head. “It’s better than death.”

He was on his feet, about to Apparate, when everything happened at once.

Behind him, a voice breathed, “Morsmordre.”

Beside him a portkey activated, revealing Hermione, Ron, Arthur and Moody.

Ahead of him, there was a series of cracks, and the Daily Prophet press team appeared.

There were screams, shouts, flashes, threats and a whisper of noise. Harry turned back to the whisper, which had come from the half-conscious man in the wreckage. “Mr. Granger, hold on. Your daughter is here, hold on for her, please,” Harry begged.

Mr. Granger moaned again.

Harry stood, and immediately had to throw up a shield spell; Hermione’s reductor curse ricocheted into the darkness. He gave her no opportunity to cast another. Apparating to Hogsmeade and shouting a summoning charm, Harry waited a few seconds until his bag flew to his hand. Only a moment was spared to check the contents before he disappeared once more.

The scene had descended into chaos. Photographers were trying to capture the entire scene, especially the Dark Mark and the sobbing girl who was huddled over her mother’s fallen form. Arthur Weasley was blocking them as much as he could. Ron was trying to comfort Hermione, and no one was paying any attention to the man who still had a chance at life. As soon as Harry was noticed the flashes doubled, and half a dozen curses flew at him.

With a negligent gesture they were deflected. He waved a hand through the air as he ran and the Dark Mark vanished. Dropping beside Mr. Granger, Harry enclosed them, Ron, Hermione, and Mrs. Granger in a privacy shield. He restrained Ron and Hermione invisibly, and continued to work.

Despite having never been trained, his hands seemed to know what they were doing, and Harry was not arguing. The same horrid guilt that he should have moved faster, that he could have helped the mother began to creep back into his mind, so he silenced it sharply. His former companions were watching him with hatred seeping from their eyes amid the tears.

Mr. Granger stirred again, more definitively than before.

Harry finished his work, summoned his things, and stood. “It was Ashanel. You’ll need to take him to Mungo’s immediately. I’m sorry about your mother. I wasn’t fast enough.”

He vanished.

>=====<

Charlie Weasley barely suppressed his shout. There was a stabbing pain in his side as a mark there burned black. He immediately left the long table at Grimauld and ran for his room. As the door flew open he summoned a vial and his clothing. The potion was quickly drained and the robes quickly donned. The mask was placed even as he disapparated, and he appeared at the meeting place with the others as if nothing was wrong.

He had luckily been alone at Headquarters. It was so much harder for him to get away when there were others he had to make excuses to.

The potion took effect just as the Dark Lord appeared. He bowed low, prostrating himself on the sooty ground. He was immediately approached, and his mind ripped apart by painful legilemency. The Dark Lord found nothing. “How did they react?” he hissed.

“The Mudblood has collapsed entirely, her assignment will not be completed for weeks at the earliest. Dumbledore is in shock. The Order is in chaos. The media is blaming Potter, and has the pictures to go with it. The Prophet is running a picture of Potter leaning over the bodies with the Dark Mark over his head.”

“Did he hear you?”

“Yes, but he didn’t recognize my voice, and he did not follow. He fell perfectly into your plan My Lord. Within a day he will be incapable of moving in the wizarding world without being watched.” Charlie was grinning cruelly beneath his mask, despite what he had to say next. “My Lord, there was one mistake made.” Voldemort turned, his eyes boiling with rage, and Charlie answered quickly. “Potter was able to save the Mudblood’s father. He was not dead when the boy arrived.”

Voldemort gave no sign before he began the Cruciatus curse. Charlie screamed, collapsing, and rolled in his efforts to escape the blinding, consuming pain. His punishments were regular; he had never attended a meeting and escaped unscathed. Finally, the Dark Lord tired of the screams and released the curse.

Charlie remained there, in too much pain to even whimper.

The Dark Lord had already moved on to Malfoy. Charlie recognized Draco’s voice, and forced his mind to listen.

“Potter’s success at saving anyone can only be attributed to luck, My Lord. He is a disgustingly untalented wizard.”

“The Mudblood’s project.” Voldemort did not deign to ask questions of his minions.

“Is delayed long enough for certain texts to be rewritten. We will target what she has done this far in two days with the next attack. She will never complete it once we are done.”

A coin in Charlie’s pocket heated, and he moaned. Voldemort turned to him. “My Lord, I am of no use to you if they know I am here.”

“Get out worm, return when you have information of any use.” After a few seconds under the Cruciatus, Charlie was permitted to Apparate away. His robes were stashed in his room, he drank a different vial of potion, and he popped into the meeting.

“Why are you late boy?” Moody shouted.

“I was in the loo.” Charlie answered, smiling.

“Alastor, we have more important things to address.” Dumbledore interjected. “The Grangers were attacked tonight. Our spies had no warning of it. We need to know why they were attacked, and how they were found. Their house was unplottable and warded. Mr. Granger is currently in Mungo’s, and will remain there for almost a month. Ms. Granger and Ronald are there now. The only reports we have state that Harry Potter attacked them. I am sorry, but I must ask you to work in spite of the holidays. Charlie, you will be in charge of this.”

“Yes sir.”

“Does anyone know anything more?”

Charlie shook his head.

>=====<

The rest of the meeting passed without incident, excluding Charlie’s constant memory pains and effort to maintain his Occulemency blocks. When he was allowed to leave, he stumbled to his room, ignoring his mother’s questions and face-planted into his bed. He was about to drift into peaceful slumber when three faint pops announced the arrival of his brothers.

Fred handed him a restorative draught, which he appreciated more than he could express, and after drinking it, Charlie was able to sit up.

“What did you learn tonight Charlie?”

“That I wish I’d let one of you be the spy.” He groaned as another memory pain hit him. “They’re going to destroy Hermione’s project: all of her research and her ability to do more. He wouldn’t let me help them on it. He wants me to keep reporting on the Order and maintaining that Harry is the bigger threat, which won’t be too hard since the world has gone mad.”

“Harry conjured the Dark Mark?” George asked.

“What?”

“The Prophet has a photo of Harry waving his hand and the Dark Mark appearing. It isn’t their cover, but it’s still there.”

“Bloody hell,” Charlie muttered, “They must have edited the shot. The images would have been close enough together that it would have looked…Dammit.”

“It’s not your fault mate.”

“I know.”

“Did the Legilemency block work?” Fred asked.

“Yeah,” Charlie muttered, “Both of them, not that Voldemort didn’t do his best to test it.”

“Concentrate on what we need to do.” Bill asserted, “Did you learn anything else?”

“One of the Death Eaters’ voices sounded familiar, but I can’t put a name to it yet. Hopefully a few,” he yawned, “a few days, will be enough for me to remember.”

“Try. Recognizing a voice isn’t enough.”

“There’s another attack planned. Two days. They’ll go after Hermione’s work then.” Charlie suppressed the yawn, “We’ll need to,” yawn, “have it all,” yawn, “duplicated by then.”

Bill frowned. “We’ll finish in the morning and then take the report to Harry at noon.”

“No we should finish now.”

Bill shook his head. “I’ll bring Harry the information of the attack, but you need to rest.” Charlie looked to Fred and George for help, and found none.

“Sorry mate—”

“—but you are working —”

“—on three sides, of this—”

“—war, and you need to get—”

“—your—”

“—beauty—”

“—sleep.”

“We’re just glad that in the end you’re on our side.” Bill interrupted. “Now sleep.” Charlie had no qualms about obeying his older brother.

>====<

HARRY POTTER KILLS GRANGERS!

In an appalling event, Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived and traitor attacked the parents of his one-time friend Hermione Granger last night, just two days before Christmas. Mrs. Granger lost her life to this horrendous and despicable man, but Mr. Granger managed to escape with his life despite a final attempt to kill him by Potter. This second attempt was caught on camera when Daily Prophet reporters put their own lives at risk and traveled to the scene of the crime.

Potter illegally Apparated into the area, and hid himself from view along with former companions Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger before vanishing. Soon after, Mr. Granger began to recover, though he is currently recovering at St. Mungo’s.

Neither Ronald Weasley nor Hermione Granger have released statements, but Albus Dumbledore has stated that, “This action will no longer be tolerated. We will not sit blithely by while a traitor is allowed to destroy what little peace we have and interfere with our hope for victory.” Minister Fudge released a concurring statement, and vowed to stop Potter’s actions.

POTTER INFILTRATES MINISTRY AND MUNGO’S!

Harry James Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, and traitor entered the Ministry of Magic early this morning. He traveled to the Hall of Records and took with him innumerable files. Authorities have announced that surveillance never saw him, nor did he harm any Ministry workers. However, he left a note in the Hall of Records, (the contents remain classified) and waved goodbye as he left. Several aurors attempted to capture the traitor, but he managed to escape. The Ministry was luckily nearly uninhabited today, thanks to the hour and that today is Christmas Day.

A few minutes after Potter left the Ministry, St. Mungo’s announced that there had been a break-in. As he had at the Ministry, he was not seen until he was leaving. Officials are not yet sure his reasoning for entering Mungo’s, but have promised not to rest until they know. The Magical world must now ask itself just how safe we really are.

MINISTRY ANNOUNCES AMENDMENT TO TRAITOR ACT

As much of the Wizarding world expected, and hoped, today a new clause was added to the Traitor by Association Act. The amendment adds to Article One, section One, and Article Two, section Five. It expands the definition of a traitorous act to include anything which goes against the Ministry’s goals, and eliminates the laxity in punishment of underage offenders. It opens the possibility of life in Azkaban, and the Dementor’s kiss.

The Amendment has been met with widespread support and it is expected that a second amendment will be announced within the next month.

“It is one thing to read of pain. It is another to remember it. Another to watch it. And another to heal it. However, it is something entirely different to feel pain, and know that it will never go away.”

-Harry Potter as quoted by Cynaephra Alstance

“Miss Alstance?” Harry asked as he entered the dark research room at St. Mungo’s Magical Disease Center. It was musty, shadowed and cluttered, covered with relics, talismans, fetishes and scrolls, and in the corner sat a woman with grayed brown hair who was bent over a table, muttering to herself. Harry stepped closer, repeating himself. She jumped, flustered and jittery.

“Oh s-s-sir, I-I-I-I didn’t he-hear you come i-i-i-i-in.” Her eyes were bright and smiling and her face was that of a young woman despite her aged locks. Her stutter was strong—much stronger than Quirrel’s had been—but she was absolutely unfazed by it. “Wh-who are you? You se-se-se-seem to know m-me.”

Harry paused.

He was disguised already. No one could recognize him here, but he was wary of strangers and more so of inquisitive ones. Eventually he decided to favor the truth.

“I’m your benefactor. I thought it might be well for me to check your progress.” Cynaephra then lost all ability to speak as she bubbled her thanks and appreciation. His hand was repeatedly shaken, and he could do nothing except wait for her to calm herself.

When she finally did, she managed to restrain her stutter and asked, “Are you still an-an-anonymous?”

“Yes, Ms Alstance, I am. It is more for your safety than for mine. However, it is necessary.”

“Your sp-spell work was a b-b-bit sloppy. Your eye-eye-eyelashes are st-still black. M-m-may I?” She inquired, gesturing with his wand. Harry allowed her, and a moment later the feel of a snowflake melting on his eyes sank through his skin, then dissipated. Without looking, he knew the small hole in his disguise had been filled.

He should never have made the mistake; the cost of being caught was too great. Yet, emotionally and physically exhausted, it had slipped his mind. Now that the papers had restarted their onslaught of libel, everywhere Harry turned, he found a new list of his atrocities and at the top of each of them was the murder of his former friend’s family. Anyone there should have repudiated the story, but selective memory had convinced them that he had been at fault and that he had had nothing to do with the near-miraculous survival of Mr. Granger.

Harry shook his head, dispelling his woes. “Ms Alstance, would you terribly mind showing me your progress? I need something to lift my spirits.”

“Of course, j-ju-j-just let m-me take a p-p-p-potion.” The woman lifted a dusty vial from amid the dusty tomes and added a last ingredient before drinking it. “There we go. Now I can explain.” At Harry’s baffled blinking, she continued, “The potion is related to the polyjuice potion. It only lasts for an hour, spoils easily and is more difficult to make than wolfsbane. I think that you might be worth the effort though, young man.

“Come with me, it’s much easier to explain all this if we’re next to a patient instead of trying to go through it theoretically.”

“Actually, I’m not sure that—”

Cynaephra gestured and Harry was silenced—magically. “Not a word out of you sir. Whether you are the reason I can continue my work or not, that potion is too expensive for me to take a second dose, and I have quite a bit to cover.” She stared at him askance. “If you’ll be quiet I’ll take off the spell.” Harry decided not to mention that he could break the spell with ease, and nodded. The spell vanished and Harry followed her across the courtyard to the largest Mungo’s building. Both of the secretaries they passed assumed he was her guest, which he was, and did not bother to ask for his already forged ID. His private researcher had been babbling as they walked, nearly desperate to go through everything before she ran out of time.

“Now following the Bohrstrain model, it can be concluded that the human mind is mutable in every sense. However, because of this flexibility, it is very difficult to cause permanent mental damage. After all, if a mind naturally accepts change then there is no reason to believe that any affect cannot be undone. Sir you….I’m sorry but is there a pseudonym I can use in place of the truth?”

“Oh, certainly…” Harry rapidly recalled the name printed on his falsified ID. “Christopher McCallen. Is that sufficient Ms Alstance?”

“Of course Mr. McCallen, now where was I?”

“Mental flexibility.”

“Oh yes. The mind is changeable in every sense. What I told you in my letter, that the Cruciatus creates an overflow of chemicals and dissolves the brain creating a vegetative state is wrong, and I couldn’t be happier about that. It doesn’t dissolve the brain, it merely locks it down. It brings the mind away from reality and leaves it there. Assuming Bohrstrain was right, then they aren’t lost, merely misplaced. It explains the occasional recognition of former friends and relations; the mind moves closer to reality again.”

“How is it repaired?” Harry asked quietly, hoping he would not receive a tirade for interrupting.

“I’m not entirely certain yet Mr. McCallen. I had been researching memory modifications, but the texts have vanished which is not surprising since the librarian is incompetent and the library is next to the home of a kleptomaniac. What I had found though leads me to suggest that a neural relaxant combined with the work of a strong Legilems could help lead the mind back. Unfortunately it has been established that their minds having gone so long in disuse that they are beginning to atrophy.

“We will have to repair that before we can address the other issues. No one knows how though. Oh, here we are.” Harry followed her into the darkened chamber, and approached the Longbottoms. “I have yet to find a strong enough Legilems to read them. The two who work here regularly are visiting a hospital in France, and I’m still not certain that they would be strong enough for this. It’s no matter though. I’m not certain what I’m looking for yet.” She continued, listing possible Healers with whom she wished to conference and techniques she wished to employ.

Harry listened halfheartedly, concentrating on the risks of the gambit he wished to make. Weighed against the other option, allowing the Longbottoms to continue to wallow in their desolate state, Harry knew he had to help. The risks would have to be considered acceptable.

“Ms. Alstance.”

“Mr. McCallen.”

“Ms. Alstance, I don’t want to interrupt you. This is truly fascinating to me. It is also uplifting to know that there are some good things in the world, but there is something I should tell you.”

“There is no need for you to reveal your identity. If you—”

“Ms. Alstance, if you please. I am not about to compromise my anonymity; however, you mentioned that you lacked a powerful legilems to continue your research. While I am not the most adept in the world, I am far from a tyro in the field. If it would help your research, I can run whatever tests you need. Now.” Harry was certain that the woman would swoon right then. Her mouth bobbed like a fish out of water, and she clutched the back of a chair.

“Sir…if you would…I mean that…let me fetch my notes.” She left with room with an alacrity he had not expected in a woman of her age.

Four hours later, when Harry stumbled back from the control of his connection, he was panting and shaking. His mind was twitching and he collapsed onto a neighboring bed with a pained gasp. Cynaephra folded at his feet.

“Th-th-th-thank you. I’ll n-need a f-f-few days to w-work, but, I-I-I…th-thank y-y-you.”

“Not a problem.” He whispered. “I have to go. I’ll send my owl in a week’s time. I hope you are as successful as I imagine you could be.” He forced himself to his feet, and as soon as he left the room he apparated to the Shrieking Shack where he dropped to the darkness.

>=====<

He woke up the next day, and two days after that three healers volunteered to assist Ms. Alstance. Her anonymous sponsor was hailed as a hero of the Ministry and was begged to come forward. No one answered the call.

>=====<

The Dark Lord hissed a final question to the young man before him. The man acknowledged that he understood his assignment, and began to rise. A harsh spell later he writhed on the ground, promising the world and more.

“If you fail, boy…” The Dark Lord left the threat open, ending the Cruciatus with a spike of pain.

Lucius Malfoy watched his son scrabbling at the floor, and did nothing to interrupt his misery. Draco was left in a heap on the floor, still muttering his vows. The Dark Lord gave a slight gesture to the Weasley girl, and a larger to the rest of the room.

The Weasley had proven to be a useful slave to their cause. Her dedication to Draco was absolute, and her dedication to their Lord even more so. She was ruthless, cruel and capable of destructive spells none of the Death Eater’s had expected. For her willingness to obey the command of her Lord she had grown in his ranks and become nearly as trusted as Bellatrix had been. For that reason she was being permitted to tend to her lover before she had her private meeting. Many of the Death Eater’s whispered about what happened in her increasingly common meetings, but none dared to say a word to her face; the power she wielded was undeniable.

Lucius followed the others to the meeting, secretly proud of what his son had been trusted to do.

>=====<

Harry woke to the sight of the Weasley twins inches above his face, singing Christmas carols. Both of them were unconscious before he could recognize them. As he enneverated them, he noticed Bill and Charlie standing in the corner, laughing at their brothers’ misfortunes.

“What have you learned from this?” Harry asked in a tone identical to Professor McGonagall’s reprimands.

“Never to wake you—”

“—with Christmas—”

“—carols.”

“That’s a start.” Harry grinned half-heartedly. “Has the Order found anything new?”

Charlie shook his head. “They have nothing. They’re so desperate they actually considered contacting you, which is an incredibly bad sign since they also had a discussion on how to capture and hold you until the final battle.” Charlie abruptly silenced his brothers and continued, “I’ve been asked to join the Death Eaters, and I accepted. We need the information. These three will try to kill me as soon as I release them, but I’m hoping you’ll understand where this is coming from Harry. It would be rather unpleasant for you to kill me by accident on one of your attacks. Do you understand why I accepted?”

Harry stared into Charlie’s eyes, using his exhausted legillemency skills to probe the dragon-master’s mind. After a few moments, Harry sighed. “I think you’re completely insane, but I’ll see what I can do to protect you. Be careful.”

“Thank you Harry. Er…could you have a word with these three? I don’t trust them not to bludgeon me for this.”

Nodding, Harry turned to the other Weasleys. “He has my protection on this….mission. He isn’t joining the Death Eater’s; he’s spying on them. If you do anything to him…well…” Harry smiled sadistically and the three boys remembered why Voldemort’s forces had failed in their recent attacks. Without schooling or any training that they could remember, Harry Potter was holding back a force double what it had been in the first war—all by himself.

The boys were released from their silence, but remained in the same state until Harry began to inform them of what he had done since their last meeting. Most of it was already known, but the last piece was what Harry stressed.

“Voldemort has a new fighter.”

“He gets more of those every day.” Bill interrupted with a harsh look at his brother.

“No, he gets more servants every day. This one is a fighter. It isn’t the werewolves yet, but whoever it is has been well trained. They’re rather small, which makes me think he may have found a replacement for Bellatrix. She—I think it’s a woman—is ruthless. I’ve yet to fight her, but I’ve seen her handiwork. It’s…”

“Less than pretty.” Fred offered. “We’ve seen it too.”

“Good. If you get any word on who she is, I need it immediately. She’s too dangerous, too smart.” Harry laughed, “The world is full of idiots and geniuses. Unfortunately, all of the latter are on the other team.”

“How many times have I told you not to mock the Dark Lord?”

“A few dozen.”

“Have you ever listened?”

“Of course, I just didn’t obey.”

-Conversation between Harry Potter and Severus Snape

The screams echoed around the pitch, piercing every ear and leading Harry to wonder if the crowd had been as insufferable when he played. He hovered on his Firebolt, swathed in his father’s cloak a hundred feet higher than he had ever flown during a game. Ginny was far below him, idly searching for the Snitch, and Draco was at the opposite side of the field.

The blonde was the reason Harry was in attendance. Despite being spelled to secrecy, he was able to tell Harry that, “the Quidditch game would be more interesting than normal, perhaps even worth his attention.” So, Harry was here, floating above the game, apathetic and thoroughly bored. He had found the snitch within fifteen minutes and it had floated with him for more than half an hour, yet neither seeker had given any sign of having located the ball.

Classes had resumed a month earlier, but Harry only attended a handful of them; Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Potions and Transfiguration. The rest he only visited long enough to turn in lengthy essays. His teachers were terrified of him. The students were nearly petrified whenever he entered a room. He had read nearly the entire restricted section, and could do almost any spell wandlessly, though they still exhausted him. Each evening a series of owls would deliver a series of notes detailing what had been learned that day. It was often trivial nothings, information which he could not put a purpose to, but his several informants were talented, and they remembered nearly everything they saw each day. He received a copy of all of it, which he sorted into a shrunken cabinet that he kept with him at all times. No one had identified the mysterious new fighter, and she had grown darker in the interim.

Harry dreaded finding her handiwork on his nightly excursions. It was evident that she took a certain joy in her work. The tattered remains screamed her amusement.

Harry shook off the thought of his nightly terror, and concentrated on the game. Whatever was about to happen would be student instigated, and he continued to watch both crowd and players. An ephemeral instinct flashed in his mind and he turned to the Gryffindor goal posts. Ron was high above the goals, shouting an order to the beaters, and paying no attention to anything else.

Soundless and invisible, Harry began to drift closer.

A wisp of magic shot from an unknown member of the crowd, and Harry moved without thought. Still a hundred feet above his former friend, he began his drop as Ron went unconscious and fell from his broom. Even as they had in Harry’s third year, the crowd gasped, and rose to watch the catastrophe.

Harry’s cloak flew off his shoulders, whipping about in the air, but he left it far behind him as he raced to catch the keeper. Screams of terror erupted as Harry’s trademark outfit was recognized. His Firebolt was moving faster than he had known it was capable of when he hit Ron in the stomach. The added weight changed Harry’s balance and he tumbled through the air. One arm caught the handle of his broomstick, and the other remained locked around the unconscious red head. His arm dislocated as his broom abruptly halted. Releasing his grasp, he dropped the last few feet to the pitch, landing beside Ron.

Ginny was shooting towards him, hands out reached as if to strangle him. She pulled up at the last second, snitch in hand; perfectly reminiscent of his most spectacular saves. She landed, dropped the snitch and collapsed at her brother’s side, sobbing loudly.

Harry replaced his shoulder with a grimace, summoned his cloak and broom, nodded to the professors, who were openly gaping, and said, “You really must be more careful at these events. We wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt.”

A moment later he was gone.

>=====<

Two weeks later, five packages appeared with quiet pops beside their intended finders. A moment later five notes followed. The six men who read them shuddered at the anger emanating from the ink, and never considered disobeying the instructions they had been given.

>=====<

Harry walked into the large room he had added to the Shrieking Shack, and nodded to his six guests. They had taken seats and helped themselves to the Firewhiskey. He did not waste time with welcoming them, “Three of you spy on Voldemort on my behalf, five of you spy on Dumbledore, and all of you have been consistent in the details of your reports.”

“Hello to you too, Harry.” Draco said.

Harry continued as if no one had spoken. “So, I must ask how none of you found it pertinent that the Death Eaters know the location of the Order’s Headquarters, or that I am three days from being expelled, or that Remus Lupin hasn’t been seen in a month? I consider all three of those to be quite important. Why don’t you? Did you not know? Are you all that useless to me? You all know how I feel about pointlessness.” The six men recoiled. Harry lit the fire with a flick of his wrist and then removed a wand to casually roll between his fingers. “Answer please gentlemen.”

“The Order’s location is unknown. It’s protected Harry, you know that.” Bill placated.
“Is it?”

“Of course. If it was known we would have been attacked already.”

“You have been attacked already.”

The four Weasley’s jerked, but the two Slytherin’s had still given no reaction.

“Harry—”

“I don’t blame you as much, Charlie. You were in Romania, and you’ve only recently joined the Death Eaters, but the rest of you should know that Remus Lupin was attacked—magically—at Headquarters this summer. Severus, you know this as well. I’m not sure why I had not realized earlier, but if he was attacked by magic in a place that is supposedly hidden with the Fidelius charm, then there is a large problem to be addressed.

“I, you see, only realized this last night. It led to several questions. Who attacked him? How did they find the building? Why has it not been attacked again? And most importantly, why did they attack when only Lupin was there?” He looked at them disdainfully, “…I don’t suppose any of you have answers for those.”

“Harry you have to understand,” Bill began, but was quickly interrupted.

“The Fidelius charm keeps others from finding a place, but those who already know its location are unaffected.” Draco said flatly. Harry turned, motioning for him to continue. “Bellatrix Lestrange was a Black cousin; she had visited the house previously. She could find it again.”

“Why did they attack when they did?”

“We did not know that it was Headquarters. I know now, but still cannot do anything to find it myself. We suspected that the Werewolf would be there. Black had likely left it to him, or at least let him stay there. The team that was sent, Bellatrix, Rodolphous and Rabstaban, knew the location, and were trying to hurt you indirectly, lead you into the open so they could attack you. Lupin was a stepping stone, nothing more.”

Harry nodded, and continued.

“What about Lupin then? Where is he?” His six informants looked at him blankly. “None of you know?” A pang of fear hit Harry. Lupin had betrayed him, but was still his Father’s and Sirius’ friend, and he felt a compulsion to help the lycanthrope. “Find him then. When you do, inform me.”

He opened his mouth to interrogate his spies on the status of his imminent expulsion when a flash in his mind broke his concentration. He convulsed, resisting the need to vomit, and forced himself back to control. “Prevent my expulsion.” He said strangely. He blinked and vanished, leaving six men to their theories and their tasks.

Deep within the Forbidden Forest, he reappeared, dropping to his knees with a shout of pure revulsion. His mind was being flooded with hideous images: scenes of suffering and torture. Muggles running and screaming. Witches and Wizards being forced to kill their families. Hogwarts overrun with pain and tears. Hogwarts, fallen. The carnage of the mysterious Death Eater.

Laughter.

Her magic was so familiar he could not identify it.

Hermione and Ron were dying, and the Burrow was flattened.

Harry was wide-eyed, incapable of ending the pain. A fiery knife ripped through his mind, digging for information. “Oh God, Sirius help me.” He suppressed his scream. “Dad, Sirius, please.”

Lord Voldemort had broken through the Occulemency shields he had built so carefully. He slammed new ones in place, and went unconscious.

He fell to his side, alone and undefended in the Forbidden Forest.

>=====<

Dumbledore looked up from his paperwork. “What do you mean he’s missing?”

“I mean that for the last two weeks Harry James Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, and Traitor, has not entered Hogwarts.” Severus said softly.

Professor McGonagall nodded and concurred. “He has not stayed in our dormitories for months, but he has been attending his classes. Most of them, at least. He turns in his assignments and remains proficient in everything we study. Now he has not attended any class for two weeks.”

“Why did you not feel it important to tell me this when he first went absent?”

“He vanishes from time to time. Often several days, but never more than a week. We had all assumed that it was one of his regular vanishing acts, sir.” Minerva said.

“Clearly not. Severus does Voldemort have him?”

“Not that I have heard, and I would have heard.”

“One blessing then.”

“Blessing? Albus, the traitor has gone missing. We don’t know where he is, and if You-Know-Who does not have him, then we have no leads. He could be anywhere, doing anything. He is dangerous. We have to find him immediately, before he can do more damage.” Minerva began to fume.

“Minerva please. You are right in that we have to find him. Alert the Order, we will have to begin a search. Do not let the Ministry or the papers know. Quickly please Minerva.” She rose and left. He turned to Severus and took a deep breath. “There was something else you needed to tell me.”

“Yes sir. I have been sworn to say nothing, so I will not be able to convey as much as you will wish.”

“I understand.”

“An assignment has been given to a particular Death Eater. His loyalty and strength are being tested. It directly pertains to you. I have also been sworn to complete the mission if the original man fails. It pertains to Trelawny’s favorite subject. I can tell you no more;”

Dumbledore nodded. “Very well then. Whatever it is, do not reveal your loyalties, continue to do as you always have. I have to assist Minerva. Thank you for the information.” Severus rose, nodded and left.

He took half a dozen secret passages, and ended in the Slytherin common room. “Mr. Malfoy, I need to speak with you.”

The blonde stepped into the hallway, and accompanied the Potions Master to his office. “Yes sir?”

“What have you learned?”

“I found Lupin, and I’ve begun the second part of my task. I’ve contacted Potter, but I have not heard back.”

“That’s because he’s gone missing.”

Draco immediately shifted, became more intense, more focused. “What do we know?”

“He was last seen at our meeting with him two weeks ago. At that point he had some kind of attack, and abruptly left. The Dark Lord does not have him. Dumbledore has begun to look for him.”

“We have to find him first.”

“Yes we do.”

“How?”

Severus smiled, acknowledging the irony of what he had planned.

>=====<

Lupin dropped the note as he finished reading it. He retrieved it and tossed it into his fire, watching it burn. Harry was missing. Sirius had begged him to defend his Godson, to protect him if anything should happen. Remus had promised, and had failed. Every effort he had put into their detailed plan had come to nothing. Harry was missing, and would probably be found by Voldemort within a few days.

The world was spiraling in on itself, falling, dropping into the darkness.

He summoned his wand, and vanished.

“The unknown scares the world because they have no way to prepare for what is coming. They know something is coming, but all they can do is wait, and they hate that, and whatever is at fault.”

“They hate me because I’m an unknown.”

“Yes.”

“There’s times I hate my life.”

-A conversation between Harry Potter and Remus Lupin

Harry James Potter, traitor to the wizarding world, is missing, writes Rita Skeeter. He was last seen three weeks ago, on one of his rare appearances to class at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. His constant disappearances have inspired rumors since they began at the start of this year.

Classmates and teachers alike have expressed their concern. As was said by Ronald Weasley, former friend of the Boy, “He’s here when he wants to be, and no one knows what he does when he’s gone. We can’t trust him.”

Mr. Weasley has been one of the of the Ministry staunchest supporters since Potter’s famous betrayal. He claims that he was spelled to remain loyal, and that he was only recently freed.

Neither Albus Dumbledore nor the Ministry has given comment.

Related stories: Attack on Weasley Home pg 6; Traitor by Association Amendment pg 4.

>=====<

Lucius Malfoy set down his tea, summoned his mask and Apparated to his Lord’s current residence. He fell to his knees at once, bowing before power, and held out the article wordlessly. Though he was surprised his son had not informed him earlier, the Dark Lord’s reaction told Lucius that he was the first to bring this news. A small gleam crossed the Lord’s eyes, flaring fiery passion. He set the page at his side and hissed to Naigini, stroking her head.

“Find him, Lucius.” He whispered, “Before they do. I want him.” Lucius bowed even lower, accepting the task. “Take two others. Take your son and Rabstaban. You have three days. Begin tonight, and bring me the girl before you leave.”

Lucius bowed again, and disapparated.

Minutes after arriving home, two owls departed, bearing succinct notices. He lifted an old, shimmering cloak from a chest, and vanished again.

>=====<

Lupin ran through the dense forest as quickly as he could on his swollen ankle.

The ministry had attached a tracking spell to his magic, leaving his unable to do anything to speed his recovery or his journey. There was a muggle city a few miles away where he would be able to find better transportation.

Merciless and harsh, the pain from his ankle stabbed at his mind with each step. He had blacked out twice, but could not stop moving. Promises and vows made him continue to lift his feet just one more time, no matter the pain.

He was in Germany, crossing to a small village.

The moon had been a week previous; he had caught his paw in a tree branch as he roamed, and had nearly broken it. Instead, it was swollen to twice its natural size, and was maintaining a sickly purple cast. When he woke to the pain, he screamed, but managed to find his stash of clothing and supplies where there were certain pain potions; potions that had long since vanished.

Remus was exhausted, emaciated, and terrified for Harry. He was being haunted by the voices of his friends and his dreams were dark.

Finally, with only a mile left, Remus fell to his knees, forced to rest for a few moments.

The sun was gone and the moon was waning, and cast no useful light. Using his arms as much as possible, he moved himself onto a large rock. There were tears in his eyes. His cuts and scratches bled lightly. He had not rested since his transformation, and knew that if he did not soon, his body would fail him.

“There won’t be a bus until morning anyway.” He told himself. “If we stay here for a few hours we will have a better chance at this.” He closed his eyes and leaned into a tree, relaxing his muscles.

“A better chance at what?”

Remus flung himself to his feet, adrenaline defending him from pain, and found his face only inches from yellow eyes and jagged teeth. His hackles raised. “Good evening, Fenrir, I had no idea you were visiting Germany. If I’d known I would have been hunting you.”

“Remus.” Fenrir said, drawing out the s in a low hiss. “You never really understood did you?” Remus, in decades of magical training, working with the Mauraders and the Order, or in watching nature, had never seen anything move as fast as Fenrir Greyback. A clawed hand ripped across his face, opening long gashes and throwing him to the ground.

His back hit the rock he had rested on a moment earlier, and air rushed from his lungs.

“You never realized what we are. What gifts I gave you. You are more than them. You are stronger. But you continue to put yourself below even their standards.” He was hit again, opening the other side of his face. “You make yourself a third class citizen.” A kick to the stomach deprived him of oxygen for a second time. “You aren’t worth the power that we hold. We are more than them, and the Dark Lord will help us take that.”

Fenrir dropped to the ground beside Remus and dragged a claw through the blood drenching his face. “The Dark Lord wants to help all of us. The pack won’t let you ruin that.” His eyes were glowing in the night, fierce and hungry. He rose, and set his foot atop Remus’ injured ankle. Waves of pain swept through his mind. “You are one of us, or you are dead.” He broke the bone, and Remus was swept into darkness.

>=====<

A cloud passed over the moon, blotting out what little light the two men had used. Torches burned in the distance, but they still outside the range of their light. They moved silently, invisibly, unable to even illuminate their path. Their wands were held before them, hoping that they could overwhelm any threat before it reached them.

In darkness, they continued.

Rocks and sand slipped beneath their feet, tripping both men several times. As they rose again, it was with soft curses towards the clouds and silent prayers that the ache in their ankles was nothing more than a minor complaint.

Finally the cloud passed on, returning their light, just as they reached their destination. Both cursed the cloud again.

The door was slowly uncovered as they moved the sand with their bare hands. It was small but heavy. Grateful that it was silent, they pried it open, and slipped inside. It was even darker. They eased the door closed and began to slink along the narrow passage towards the line of light that shone beneath a second door.

They cracked the door open, nodded to each other and left their furtive manner behind.

Confident and proud they sauntered down the hall, smug looks plastered to their faces. They passed a guard, who moved deferentially out of the way. At the front of the building, a man flung himself to his feet to greet them properly. “Sirs, welcome, why…er….sirs….” he babbled, trying to work out how to properly address the two men.

“I assume you know who we are?” The first said. “We need access to the main record. There is an….old friend I need to check in on.”

“Of course Professor Dumbledore. Will Auror Moody accompany you?” The man asked.

“Yes.” Dumbledore said, forcing his eyes to twinkle. “I wouldn’t have brought him otherwise.”

“Of course Professor. Right this way.” They were led to a long room, the walls covered with cabinets, which contained every record of Azkaban Prison. “Do you need anything else, sirs?”

“No. Let us work.” Moody growled. The man hastily retreated.

The two men shared a disgusted sneer. “You start with the honest approach, I’ll find a map of the cells.” Dumbledore ordered.

Moody walked to the cabinet labeled ‘Ph—Pr’ and wrenched it open. It extended nearly five feet from the cabinets, and it took several minutes of flipping through files to find the section he sought. Harry James Potter’s record was thicker than many Azkaban inhabitants’, thanks mainly to the Traitor by Association Act.

Moody knelt with an uncommon nimbleness. He found the main file, and scanned to the bottom. There was no mention of any imprisonment. He was listed as missing, but there was no mention given to any leads. Moody called, “Sir, he isn’t listed, but he may still be here.”

Dumbledore nodded, and brought a map of cells to show. Inhabited cells were labeled with crimes and the date that the prisoner was to be released, if ever. Also listed was the day they were brought in, the person’s birth date, and a small figure in a handful of cells that he could not identify.

The most recently added was above ground, only fifty meters from where they were. It had the unidentified symbol, and no release date.

Dumbledore nodded, pointing, and made an instant copy of the map.

“We’re almost out of time, sir.” Moody said.

They closed the cabinet, and jogged to two others. Two files were removed and shrunk.

Then, they adjusted their cloaks and walked out of the room. Looking rather terrified, the man was waiting for them. Dumbledore smiled and the pair took their leave. The man was about to escort them to the ferry, but a cauldron began to boil, and he was forced to address his failing potion. The men walked out of his sight, then jogged away.

Without the dementors to guard the building, it was a child’s game to move within it. Moody pulled a key from his cloak, properly stolen from the man at the desk, and opened the door.

They stole inside silently, lighting the torch, and shuddering.

A horrid, rank filth hung in the air, causing them to choke. Dumbledore glanced at Moody, and commented, “It’s wearing off, you’ll want to remove that eye.” Moody did so, just in time for his real eye to grow. His hair thickened, growing healthy and pale blonde. The cut in his nose vanished, returning to its aristocratic shape and his eyes—both of them—turned silver. Dumbledore was growing younger, his hair turned black, his eyes lost their ability to twinkle, and his beard slid back into his face.

The two men shuddered again.

“An unpleasant thing, polyjuice potion.”

“I will never do that again, sir.”

Severus smirked. “You will if you are needed to, Draco.”

The Malfoy lifted his nose, but the look in his eye acknowledged the point.

They let the possible argument pass, and turned to the prisoner. He was curled away from them, unwashed, and though he was the correct size, his blonde hair destroyed their hope.

“Damn. It isn’t Potter.” Draco said flatly. He rolled the man to his back using his boot, and commented. “Oliver Wood, sir.”

“He’s labeled a traitor.”

Draco smirked. “Shall I wake him sir?”

Severus gestured, and within a few seconds, Oliver was scrabbling at the ground trying to get away from both light and present company.

“Mister Wood.” Severus said calmly, “Do you wish to stay here?”

To his credit, the Quidditch player did manage to stand, and announced, “I will not work for You-Know-Who.”

“I didn’t ask you to. I asked if you wanted to stay here.”

“Why are you here, Wood?” Draco asked silkily, “You were a Gryffindor last I checked, and Azkaban is more of a Slytherin vacation spot.”

“I support Harry. They couldn’t make me stop, so they put me in here.”

Severus nodded to Draco who said, “Then do you want to come help him?”

Wood , at any other time, in any other place would have laughed at the ridiculous thought of being saved by Death Eaters to help The Boy Who Lived. Presently, all he could do was nod.

The trio was back in the small passage within minutes, and into the dark on the mainland within a quarter of an hour. They were working back to the portkey when Draco shouted, dropping Wood’s arm, and causing the escapee to collapse on Severus. “I have to go, now.” He hissed.

Severus raised an eyebrow, querying. Draco nodded. “Go.” Was all Severus said before Draco had Disapparated, leaving him and Oliver to make the trek alone.

>=====<

Ginevra Weasley looked up through her eyelashes at the man in her doorway. “Lucius.” She purred in greeting before returning to her work. She was making tracking devices that her Lord used to follow his spies when they worked. He had asked that they be finished within the week, so she was trying to finish them within a day.

Lucius remained where he was, waiting for her permission to approach. She was the newest, strangest addition to the Death Eater ranks, but was one of the most heartless killers they had, and was the Dark Lord’s favorite. The Dark Lord seemed fascinated by the relationship between she and Draco, almost amused by it. The pair wielded more power than they knew.

She had quickly gone from his son’s whore, to a self-sufficent woman who had taken Bellatrix’s former position.

The fire had subsided in her hair, leaving it a rich auburn red. Blonde streaks had been replaced by bloody red. She wore sinuous silks in black, silver and green, that revealed and enhanced assets most of the world had never seen.

She was his son’s lover.

She was his Lord’s play thing.

He had been sent for her on his behalf, and despite his famous impatience, he had to wait for her leisure. No Death Eater had that power that did not also hold her position.

“Did you need something, Lucius?” She asked softly.

“No, I need nothing.” He paused. “He has asked for you.”

The surprisingly mature fifth year student rose, and flicked her wand, whispering a simple spell. Her clothing changed again. More flowing, more provocative.

She nodded, and took Lucius’ arm, allowing herself to be brought to the Dark Lord.

“Too much had happened for anyone to think rationally. No one knew what was going to happen next and recent events were too horrible to be rationalized. The world shut down, except for the few groups who knew what had to happen.”

-Severus Snape

“Drink the damned potion Wood.” Draco shouted, holding the bandage over the man’s bleeding arm with one hand, and pushing a vial at his face with the other. If he drank it his blood would clot and he would see another day. If he continued to refuse he would be dead in a few minutes. Finally the obstinate young man relented and drained the liquid. Draco waited a few seconds for it to take effect, then pulled the scarlet cloth away and began to spell the gash closed. Wood glared at him angrily; the spells caused a small amount of pain.Draco snarled and left a scar that could have easily been avoided.

“Now get up, we have to keep going.” He stood and walked to the edge of the alley.

“We’re never going to find him in this Malfoy. He isn’t here.”

Draco swallowed, angry at having his fear pushed in his face. He closed his eyes, paused and turned to his companion. “But we are going to look anyway.”

Cornelius Fudge ran through the halls of the Ministry, flanked by aurors, trying to reach the emergency portkeys. His private one had malfunctioned, an anti-apparition ward surrounded the building, and death eaters were openly walking the streets. He was nearly carried by his guards, and could not have answered what was happening had his life depended on it.The portkeys were kept at stations throughout the building, and after the one in his desk drawer, the nearest was two floors away. Most of the workers had run to the streets—to the fight—but Fudge was running to safety.

It was, after all necessary to protect his life.

They managed to climb over the debris that had been an ornate statue, and halted abruptly before a small door. A auror ripped it open, wand at the ready, and surveyed the room.

He would not be allowed to enter until it had been cleared.

For his safety.

There was a shout a distance down the hall, and the Minister turned towards it. A tall figure, robed and masked watched them. His aurors ran forward, creating magical shields at the same time they made shields of their bodies.

Despite only being one man, he knocked several of the shields apart within a few seconds.

Corneilus Fudge was trembling, and falling backwards with uncertain steps. The world was falling to pieces around him.

A voice shouted his name, a voice that he vaguely recognized, and he turned, seeking salvation from the battle. He caught a glimpse of something coming towards him, and felt a tug behind his naval.

Fred and George Weasley ran a joke shop.They also worked for Harry Potter.

Their famous prank supplies were also scattered with more deadly devices. Their private collection was diverse, powerful and vast.

It was with these inventions that they entered the street a few minutes after the screams began.

Severus Snape and Charlie Weasley were grateful for their masks as they fought.They were fighting old friends, and their only hope at maintaining their positions within the Dark Lord’s ranks was to win, and win violently.

Charlie had already killed one of his classmates.

Severus was fighting a member of the Order who happened to have been shopping.

Children were weeping in huddled groups along the road, and Severus had been glad to see many children running towards Knockturn Alley.

It was, ironically, the safest location.

Its inhabitants had been—for the most part—warned of the attack, and had taken a holiday. The shops were of value to the Dark Lord, and he had ordered that the Death Eaters avoid harming that road. Unfortunately the training of childhood to never enter that street prevented too many from finding safety.

The Dark Lord’s plan was beautiful, no one could deny that sickening fact.

Diagon Alley was always busiest in the morning, security was thin, and, timed properly, the Ministry was full.

They attacked on a clear Monday morning. The four groups struck together. Two went to the Ministry, and two went to Diagon Alley. Every spell was cast at the same moment, and were being supported by entire teams.

No one could move in or out of the hidden streets.

No one on the outside even knew anything was wrong.

No one was coming help.

The Order had been given no warning, because the Dark Lord had told no one what was planned. They had merely been summoned at dawn, given their orders, and then sent to their assignments.

Lord Voldemort wanted to announce that the war had returned.

He wanted it to be loud, unforgettable, violent.

He had ordered a slaughter.

He was receiving one.

Dumbledore was sitting in his office, dozing, and pondering where Potter was hiding when Minerva burst through the door with a scrap of paper in her hand.“Albus this was delivered by owl a few moments ago.” Her voice was shaking.

I have granted your wish. There is no doubt that I have returned.

There was no signature. There was no need. Fifty years later, Albus still recognized his student’s handwriting.

The Order was in Diagon Alley ten minutes later.

I hate you Harry Potter. Draco knew that his hatred was born of the fact that he was cold, exhausted and bleeding from numerous cuts obtained pushing through the forest.

His feet were numb, and he was too tired to cast a warming spell. Most of his exhaustion was born of maintaining a disillusionment charm on Oliver Wood, who was hiding in Weasley Wizarding Wheezes. It had to remain up until the twins returned that night.

Dusk was already falling, but he was no longer certain it would hold even that long.

He and Wood had been exiting Gringotts, a meeting with the dwarves when the fight had begun. Wood’s stay in Azkaban had changed him enough that he could avoid recognition, but Draco had to immediately drain a vial of polyjuice potion Severus had given him.

They had rushed into the fray. It was how Wood had been injured.

They had hoped against hope that Harry would emerge in that fight to help.

He never did.

Now Draco was following the last lead he had in his search. Cleopatra bounded through the trees before him, happier with every step she took. Draco had flown after Hedwig for some time with Cleopatra in his pocket.

Eventually Hedwig had realized she was being followed and veered off course, but she had brought him close enough.

He had landed in a field and set Cleopatra on the ground. The tiny white cat had wandered for a few minutes before perking up, pawing at Draco’s foot in a beckon, and bounding towards the woods.

That was two hours ago, and she had not slowed down since.

He had.

Fenrir Greyback enjoyed hurting people.Especially those who opposed him.

Yes, it was still fun to hurt an innocent, there was pleasure in it, but the screams of the guilty were even better. Lord Voldemort had given him the right to play with his victims. It inspired more fear from the world, he said.

The man he now worked on was to be returned, alive, to Dumbledore as a message.

But a message was only effective if it was properly written.

Fenrir did not expect that his message would be misinterpreted.

Remus Lupin was lying in the dank cell, dreaming.

The Dark Lord had long ago discovered the value of dreams and the effect that they could have. It could shake a man to his roots, and he would never recover from the self-doubt and paranoia it could invoke. It made a man’s tongue loose, and made him weak.

Lupin was muttering about Potter, begging him to stop, to forgive, to help him. Abruptly Fenrir ripped the lycanthrope from his nightmare. He woke to yellow eyes inches from his own.

A few gasping breaths later, Lupin lashed out, trying to catch his jailer’s throat. Instead he hit his chest, lost his strength and collapsed.

The old gnarled wolf looked at the thin line of blood, snarled, and opened a gash across Lupin’s face.

Lord Voldemort sat in his throne like chair with Naigini wrapped around his feet listening to reports from Death Eaters.His plan had worked flawlessly.

Only half a dozen Death Eaters had been injured, one fatally, one superficially, the rest would not be of use for several weeks. The Wizarding world was frozen as rumors spread. He smiled and pet Naigini’s cool brow.

The man who had been reporting bowed as he finished and stepped back into the ranks. The next approached.

“We found difficulties in only a few patches, most of which centered around the Weasley joke shop. It seems that they have a vast arsenal of weaponry and defensive devices that they distributed to everyone they could find. They caused all of the injuries, and it is reported that they succeeded in saving many lives.”

A sneer curved his lips as he replied, “They will be targeted.” Dismissed, the man fell back into the ranks.

The Dark Lord glanced across the mass and found his next target. He gestured to the door, which opened silently, and admitted Ginevra Weasley. “It seems that your brothers have caused us some trouble.”

She parted the Death Eaters smoothly and dropped into a low obeisance at his feet. “I have no brothers, save those in this room.” She answered, waiting.

He smiled again. She had been given a more specific task than the others.

“Report.” He hissed.

“As ordered sir, I entered the Ministry shortly before we began this morning. As Lucius kindly distracted the Aurors, I drew his attention and threw the portkey. I activated mine and followed. I have saved the memory of his screams for you to enjoy at your leisure my Lord. He gave me what little information he had quickly, but was too foolish to die with the same alacrity. After a few hours I grew bored.

“They will find his body before nightfall.” She raised her head slightly. “They will find his head in the morning.”

Then Voldemort laughed, cold and penetrating, and he motioned for her to sit at his right hand. She knelt so easily it seemed she was made of water.

She was a useful asset.

He dismissed the Death Eaters, and grew impatient with their lengthy formalities.

It had been an excellent day.

“Rise.” He hissed in Parseltongue. She was not a natural parselmouth, but had learned much of the language, and obeyed immediately. Naigini was already slithering away.

He reached out a hand to touch her, and stopped.

A tremendous roar was growing in the distance, and moved closer with every breath.

The pair rose, and was ready to follow the sound when it came through the door. Lucius Malfoy entered first, and was followed by those Death Eaters who had just departed. They rushed to take their places, and buzzed with energy.

“What is this Lucius?” The Weasley snapped, intercepting him as he walked.

“My son has brought you a present my Lord.” He said with a bow to the Dark Lord. “I was retrieving him for the evening, and arrived just after he had discovered your gift.”

The room turned to see Draco Malfoy enter the room with an unconscious body floating before him. Draco stopped beside his lover, and allowed the body to continue. It was wrapped in a black cloak—Draco’s.

It was placed where Naigini had lain a few minutes before.

The Dark Lord looked to the pair, an extremely powerful pair, with a question in his face.

Draco Malfoy bowed low and announced, “I have completed the mission that the others could not.” He flicked his wand and the hood of the cloak shot back.

Lord Voldemort looked down at the scarred face of Harry James Potter, the boy-who-lived, and supposed traitor to the wizarding world.

No one spoke.

He raised his hand and gestured for the pair to sit beside him. They moved smoothly, and stayed there as a cheer rose among the ranks.

No one saw the tear balance for a moment in Draco’s eye. It never fell.

“Darkness is beautiful. It is an escape from everything real. It is joy. But I’ve never seen darkness before. I’ve never seen that escape, there has always just been pain.”

-Harry Potter

Draco Malfoy stumbled into the Great Hall. He was shaking, cold, nauseous, and weak. His eyes were bloodshot, his throat was raw. His house was suffering from an outbreak of a violent stomach virus, and, as Slytherins, refused to admit it. Most of the house looked as he did. He had lost everything he had eaten in the past few days, and could barely sleep for his choking cough.If the illness had not been so pervasive in the Slytherins, perhaps one of his housemates would have noticed that he was sick for another reason.

Yes, he was vomiting and coughing, but it was not from a trifling virus.

It was Monday morning and for the last thirty-six hours he had been part of the team assigned to speak with Harry Potter and Remus Lupin. What they had done would leave horrifying physical scars, but not even the Death Eaters who had been ordered to break into Harry’s mind could explain why he would not wake. Speculation abounded, research was rapidly compiled and all of it ended in the same bleak confusion.

As near as Draco could tell from the snippets of conversation overheard in meetings, Harry had been asleep since he had vanished. It was more than enough time to kill him either from dehydration or from exposure, but somehow he looked as he had before his disappearance. It had been decided that there was a spell helping him to live.

But that spell prevented the Death Eaters from having any fun with their newest toy. Lupin would scream and weep, beg for them to stop the agony, but the lack of reaction from the teen aggravated the torturers. Their annoyance had turned to violent outburst after a few hours, and Harry had to be healed several times to prolong their fun.

Finally, as dawn began to break, their Lord had entered the cell and sent them to their other lives.

The Death Eater’s scattered to their various facades, those who were fugitives slipped into the shadows of the lair, awaiting further orders; the spies vanished; Draco and Ginny portkeyed into the Slytherin dormitories.

They had spent several hours hiding the circles under their eyes, and cleaning their robes of blood and filth, but were finally able to separate.

Draco had taken too many potions to risk adding an energy draught—the conflict of which could kill him—so he had to trudge through his day naturally.

Hence his stumbling entrance.

He fell into his seat beside a group of first-years. After fighting so many battles, leading so many, and ordering his housemates or their parents to their possible deaths, Draco could barely meet their eyes. The first years worshipped the ground he walked on, obeyed him, and never spoke to him; it allowed him time to rest and think.

Sitting at the long table, he gazed across the great hall, and noticed an oddity of life. The seat which Harry had always favored was empty. It only made his absence more evident.

A shudder ran up his spine, the result of a cold brush of wind. He saw Severus take his seat at the table and saw a slight nod of acknowledgement. Draco breathed deeply, marginally more relaxed, Severus would be able to help, after breakfast, when no one would notice, he would be able to speak to his mentor and they would find a way. There was still hope.

He began to cough again, hating the horrendous ripping feeling. When the cough subsided he waited a few moments with closed eyes, restraining his emotions.

Then, a scream pierced the air.

It was Ginny.

Draco was over the table, through the first-years, and ready to defend her before he remembered that they could not reveal their connection. He stopped, and found he was standing at the center of the hall, and that a man was lying at his feet.

The portkey that had transported him self-destructed, and Draco sensed Ginny’s magic.

In his mind, Draco had already fallen beside the blood-soaked body and begun to help Remus Lupin find health and comfort. Many of the wounds were borne of his hand, and he knew better than anyone how to heal them. He knew that the werewolf was alive.

He had an obligation to help.

Instead he turned to Dumbledore and announced in a rasp, “It seems that your pet wolf has come back for a visit. I do wonder how the Ministry would look upon a school harboring such a dangerous beast.”

“That is more than enough Mr. Malfoy.” McGonagall snapped. “Fifty points from Slytherin.”

“Minerva, I’m surprised.” Severus said calmly, “I would have expected you to take care of your student before attacking one of mine.” McGonagall shut her mouth quickly and swiftly exited with Lupin. Severus turned from the sight slowly. “My office, now, Mr. Malfoy.”

Severus’ office door flung open and Draco saw his professor. “I’ll need to know everything that was done to him, Draco. The Dark Lord would not allow me near them, I’ve been brewing for the past few days, so I know nothing of his treatment.”Draco listed every act he had committed against the former Defense professor, and then asked, “Did I kill him?”

Severus had already begun to leave, but stopped at the door and answered without turning back.

“You may have.”

Hermione and Ron landed at the bottom of the passage. They stood silently, waiting for Neville. With a gesture they began to jog the dark path, following the light of Hermione’s wand. Two of the trio were plagued by horrible memories of pain and fear. Thoughts of Severus and Lupin were whipping around them. Three days had passed since the return of Remus Lupin, and the tortures he had undergone were enough to convince the world that he was innocent—or, as innocent as a werewolf could be. It was more than that we was on the brink of death, it was the magical signature they had found associated with them.Harry James Potter had tried to kill his parents last surviving friend.

The world was used to these constant reminders of how deep Harry’s betrayal ran, but was shocked to discover that a condemned traitor was innocent. Now they all waited to see if he would live, and be able to tell his tale.

For this, the new Golden Trio of Gryffindor house was trying to find Potter’s belongings. Having already thoroughly searched the Chamber of Secrets and the Room of Requirement, they were now headed to the Shrieking Shack.

If they found his books, his weapons, his potions, or, best of all, him, they would not only be able to save Lupin, but also end the world’s nightmare.

Finally, they found themselves in that haunting place. It had changed.

Without a werewolf to destroy it once a month, it had been renovated, refurnished, repaired and heated. Most important to the trio, in the corner was a small trunk, they all recognized as Potter’s. An hour later they were seated in the Common Room, breaking into it.

At Dawn they finally broke the smallest lock, and opened the trunk to find a sword that Ron instantly recognized. Godric’s sword gleamed at them, enticing them to take it. Hermione moved first, but Ron batted her hand away. “You don’t know if it’s dangerous.” He reached into the trunk, and as his hand touched it, he was flung back, and a gash had opened where the hilt had brushed his palm. “Hermione get it out of there.”

She nodded and cast a levitating charm.

The two boys thought she had found an apt solution.

Instead they flung themselves to the ground as it shot out of control and stuck itself firmly into the tower door.

For a few seconds no one moved.

Then the scream of the Fat Lady woke nearly the entire school.

Harry thought he had suffered in every way the world could contrive. He had never considered being trapped in his own body, assailed by a thousand pains, and unable to respond. Inside his mind he was screaming, weeping, sobbing, begging. He had awoken in this state, in this place, unseeing but cognizant of his location. He could sense Voldemort there with him, and though the blocks in his mind were still strong, his own fears were enough to weaken him.He recognized Draco, and heard Lupin’s screams. He could only wait and suffer as the Death Eaters tortured him with spells and blades and poisons.

He knew when Lupin was taken away.

He knew when Voldemort entered alone.

And more than anything he knew when his private hell began.

Draco sat in the hall across from the portrait of the Fat Lady in the wee hours of the morning next to Oliver Wood.They had been there for hours, hidden under an invisibility cloak, baffled.

The Fat Lady was still crying, with the blade of a sword dividing her ample bosom. It pinned her there. So while she could continue in her task, she could not leave.

The pair was more disturbing than ever as they discussed the situation. Draco looked like a corpse. Oliver looked slightly worse. Their voices were raspy and painful. They could not take more potions for fear of dying, and they desperately needed to know what this sword meant.

“Draco, if I ask her, explain, maybe she’ll open the door.”

“She’s been ordered to safeguard that tower.”

“But we could try.”

“And she could raise the alarm.”

“Yes, or she could let us in.”

“You’ve heard the rumors, Oliver, it shot across the room and imbedded itself in two feet of stone.”

“And it was found in Harry’s things.”

“Yes.”

“Well, we can’t get to Harry’s things now. We can’t get to Harry, and we don’t know where he is. Maybe if we—”

“Get ourselves flung across the room and or skewered with what appears to be an ancient blade, we’ll help Harry Potter? Unlikely.”

“I remember rumors when he was a second year that he found Godric Gryffindor’s sword. It couldn’t be this one, could it, Draco?”

“If it was don’t you think it would be more likely to attack a Slytherin Death Eater and a Fugitive than it would the Gryffindor heroes?”

“No.”

“And why is that Oliver?”

“Because if it is Harry’s, it is probably loyal to Harry, not Gryffindor house.”

“And if that’s true, we could touch it.”

“Yes.”

As they uncovered themselves from the shared cloak, they stunned the Fat Lady, and Draco announced in a whisper, “We think we know how to remove that, but you have to let us in, and you have to stay quiet while we do. If you agree, open the door.”

Nothing happened.

Oliver took over by shoving Draco out of the way. “Lady, I know you remember me. You know I was a Gryffindor. You know I won’t let him do anything, and you know you can trust me. You do want that out, don’t you?”

There was a moment’s pause, and the door creaked open.

A small smile opened on Draco’s face, for the first time in months, something had happened as he wanted.

“Do you want to be flung across the room, or should I, Oliver?”

“You, I need to release the Fat Lady.”

They stepped to opposite sides of the portrait, a spell was released, a hand was raised, and Draco withdrew the blade without any effort or pain.

Except for the Fat Lady.

Her scream once more echoed the halls and the pair moaned before slipping into the cloak and running for Severus’ office.

An avalanche of steel.

A storm of attacks.

A blast of strength.

A clawing of minds.

It seemed that Voldemort had used every weapon in his arsenal to break the shields that safeguarded Harry’s mind.

Somehow, Harry was still safe. Nearly every one of his victims was in his mind, just outside the shields. Everyone he had killed, and caused the death of, was haunting him.

He still could not move. There had to be some spell holding him like this, maintaining him, but he did not know what it was.

The visage of his parents hovered in his eyes, only replaced with Severus when he was about to break. It seemed that the pain would never end. That he would never get to open his eyes, move, defend himself, cry. There was no hope.

After a lifetime of this, he felt Voldemort leave with a final Crucio. He whispered one last thing as he exited. “An old friend is here to see you, Potter.”

For a few moments he could think of no one fit to follow what Voldemort had just put him through. There was no one would could cause more pain. No one alive at least.

He waited, whimpering silently, mentally praying for mercy and death.

As he did he became aware of his wounds, wondering which would be healed, and which would be allowed to fester. He knew there were several scars across his right cheek, that his back was laced with the marks of a thin blade. One of his ankles was marked by Fenrir’s claws, and an idle part of Harry’s mind pondered whether he would soon be doubly cursed. None of his pain could be ended, but it forced his mind to stay in touch with the world, even if it was only enough to keep the shields in place.

At last, introduced by the soft clicking of heels on stone, a woman entered the room. He could not recognize her at first. Not until she spoke.

“Ooh, Harry, you do look poor. Maybe you’d like a cup of tea?”

Bellatrix Lestrange, the woman he though he had killed, laughed sadistically, and unleashed a torrent of curses on him.

Harry felt the first touch of her mental hand against his mind. He felt a wall collapse. He felt something reveal itself.

And, finally, blessedly, Harry Potter remembered.

“Harry Potter was a Gryffindor. Anyone who believes otherwise must look only at what he was willing to do to save his friends and the world. Once you know that, there is no question of it.”

Remus Lupin, as quoted in Harry Potter: A tribute by Elvian Sorren

Harry felt the first touch of her mental hand against his mind. He felt a wall collapse. He felt something reveal itself.

And, finally, blessedly, Harry Potter remembered.

He rolled over of his own volition, snapped open his eyes and stared into the frightened face of Bellatrix Lestrange.

Hogwarts was silent at three hours until dawn. No student was studying. No teacher was prowling.
Filch was hiding. Even the prefects were too defeated to make their rounds. The portraits were softly sleeping in their frames, and the few that opened their eyes to glance about saw nothing.The Department of Mysteries was only a day behind them, and the world was still recoiling. Harry had escaped the clutches of Madame Pomfrey, and was wandering wordlessly through the halls. He had seen no one and heard nothing save the occasional creak of a stair for more than an hour. His steps were slowing as exhaustion permeated his body.

He never stopped.

As he walked, his fingers trailed along the edge of the stones, partly for support, and partly for the comfort that the school offered him. He would have cried as he walked—he wanted to—but he had done almost nothing else for the last few hours, and there was nothing left. So, he walked.
His fingers grazed across tapestries and railings, pattered over picture frames and tables, hesitated over handles and doors. Finally, as he walked through the lowest levels of the school, his fingers danced over the image of a pear.

He had already continued, but the giggle turned his head. Cautiously, he glanced behind him, then stepped inside. Even the houselves were sleeping. Harry filled a glass with cold water from the pitcher and sat at the squat replica table. With unfocused eyes he surveyed the room disinterestedly, and stopped on a glint of silver beneath a dish towel. The small knife was well-sharpened and clean, and fit neatly in his hand; he ran the blunt edge over his fingers and hand. It was an icy relief no matter what part of his skin it touched.

Harry closed his eyes, thinking of Sirius. His hand tightened abruptly, and the point of the blade nicked his ring finger. The blossom of blood grew, then dripped. He laughed softly, drank his water, and changed his grip on the knife’s handle. Then he paused, and stared at it in the candlelight.

Seconds turned into minutes and Harry had not moved. He just stared, thinking.

Then, without prelude or class Professor Severus Snape asked, “Plan on getting on with it? Or are you going to dawdle Potter?” Harry closed his eyes again and braced the blade against his wrist. “If you are planning to go through with it, I assume you’ve considered the consequences. Or are you being your normal, disrespectful self?”

“What does it matter to you?”

“It doesn’t.”

“Then why are you here, sir?” He spun the blade once or twice then placed it next to his wrist again, an ironic grin hinting at the corners of his mouth.

“To watch.” Harry still had not turned around. He still sat at the shrunken table staring at the glow of the blade in the light. He still wanted to press it further. After a few minutes of silence, Severus spoke again, “Well, get on with it then Potter. If you’re such a failure at life, you may as well end it. You won’t have to suffer and we won’t have to listen to you complain all the time. It would be good for everyone.”

Harry jerked slightly, and pressed harder. Any movement would open the skin. He was balancing between tears and hysteria.

“Do it Potter. Do it, Do it now. I won’t stop you anymore, I won’t keep you from doing this. It annoyed you so much your first year, did it not Potter?”

He lifted his head, moved his arm and smiled bitterly. “I’m sorry, Professor. I can’t.” Harry heard a sharp breath drawn, and a moment later he opened his wrist. He closed his eyes, and looked to the expected bloom of crimson spilling over his palm. There was none.

“It isn’t working is it, Potter?”

“No.” He brushed his hand against the gash and flinched. “Why don’t I bleed?”

Snape walked slowly around the kitchen edge and sat opposite him. He tapped Harry’s wrist with his wand. The wound closed. Snape took a breath and answered, “Because of me.”

Bellatrix stumbled back from the broken man lying on the stone floor the second she saw his eyes. In her decades of working for the Dark Lord she had never seen the power—raw and uncontrollable—that she saw in his eyes. He was catatonic, and convulsions wracking his body, which was arched unnaturally.

He moaned and she could feel the wave of power roll from him.

Professor Snape was screaming at he Order, begging them to help him save Harry when three of them froze, closed their eyes and fell out of their chairs.He stopped, taking deep breaths, thinking faster than he ever had before.

Then, without warning, he sprinted from the room.

“What the bloody hell do you mean you knew?”“I knew you would try to kill yourself Potter. I had no choice but to prevent it.”

“You said you wouldn’t stop me! I wanted to Die!” Harry was screaming, throwing his arms about, lost between tears and anger. “What did you do to me?”

“You drank a glass of water. Earlier this evening I added a potion to it. In a few hours these effects will wear off and then you’ll be able to kill yourself if you want Harry. I’m hoping that your incident tonight will have eradicated that urge, however, if you still cannot find the motivation to live you are useless and may as well kill yourself.”

“I can’t keep fighting.”

“Yes you can Harry, and you will.”

“Stop calling me that, you don’t have the right! You hate me! Why can’t you just hate me for everything I’ve done! You Bastard! Just hate me!”

Severus refused to move, he just sat and watched as Harry exhausted his rage and terror. When he had, Severus paused, sneered, and answered him, “No. It isn’t your right to tell me who to hate. At the moment I have no reason to hate you aside from the idea that you’re spineless, a coward and too pathetic to be willing to obey what destiny has declared for you.”

“Then hate me, please, let me have that, I just can’t fight anymore. Please no. Not again. I’ll kill them. I can’t help it. I don’t them to die. It can’t be my fault anymore. It can’t. I can’t stand it.”

“No Potter. You won’t kill them. You will survive. You will defeat him. Others may die, but if so it is necessary and not your fault. Do you know what will happen if you just surrender? Do you know how many countless thousands will be killed, or tortured or driven to insanity? Without you at the front of our battles, our side will have no hope. Yes, it is quite possible that you will die a painful and horrid death. It is more likely that you will be tortured to insanity and paraded around the new order that the Dark Lord will create. He will make this world into a nightmare beyond your comprehension and you will be, for the first time in your life, responsible for the dead. So, Potter, you have to fight. And I don’t particularly care if you don’t want to, but you need to come to grips with that, and there is no time to waste.”

Harry stood up silently and without a reaction or an answer, left.

Professor Snape forced a potion down Remus’ throat and waited. A few minutes later, coughing and choking, Remus woke. He rolled off the bed and gasped, “What—what was—?”“Suffice to know that it was a potion. You are not dead. Now get up, we have work to do.”

“Ashanel?” Remus used the bed to force himself to his feet. He reached for his wand and found nothing. Severus was silent, but helped him remain standing, and helped him from the room as he explained.

“I had not known what was happening until only recently. The Dark Lord has Harry. We have to get him back. He has been incapacitated.”

“Is it over then?”

“Yes.”

Remus nodded, and they continued to walk in silence.

Remus Lupin was sobbing alone in a dark room.The moon was only a few hours away and he knew it. He was always more emotional just before a transformation, and knew it. Sometimes he could control himself. This time he couldn’t.

He had lost the last of his friends and then lost his last connection to them. Sirius was dead. Even if rumors of secret love affairs between them had been false, losing him was too much to bear. Harry was missing. The boy who lived, and who would be called on to save the world again could be dead. According to Severus, it was possible that Harry had killed himself.

If that was true, there was no point anymore. The war was over. Voldemort had won. Remus shuddered at the thought. A few seconds later his sobs resumed. He wished there was any other place for him to shelter during the full moon, but knew there was nothing. He would have to last the night in the Shrieking Shack, drowning in the memories of his blissful youth with his incredible companions.

He closed the locks around his wrists and ankles, preparing for the ordeal ahead when he heard a faint noise in the corner. The door opened and Harry walked inside.

Remus thanked God and tried to reach him, but, restrained as he was, could not. Harry made no effort to move to him.

A few silent moments passed and Remus began to wonder if he was staring at a ghost. But, eventually Harry asked, “How do you do it?”

“Do what?” Remus’ voice was scratchy and hollow, but seemed vivid in comparison with Harry’s.

“How do you keep fighting month after month. Even after you’ve lost everyone, you never stop. How do you keep going with death and suffering laid at your feet? How do you forgive yourself of the little crimes committed in an effort to avert the larger ones? How do you…How do you keep going?” The desperation was evident in his cracked voice. He was trying so hard to be strong that it was torturing him.

“I don’t try. I just know that I have to. I have to do it for my friends.”

“But just by my existing, living, my friends are put in danger. As long as I’m alive, they won’t be safe. My friends won’t be safe. I can’t live with that.”

“If you die, they’ll die.” Remus shouted; the pains were starting early.

“I’m not strong enough.”

“You have to be.” Remus managed one last phrase before the transformation began. “Run Harry.”

So Harry did.

He vanished again, hiding in an unknown sanctuary and thinking. After a few days he went to the Department of Mysteries and stood in front of the Veil. It whispered to him. Softly, sweetly, kindly. It was an old friend beckoning to him. He thought he heard Sirius.

“I don’t have the energy, Professor.” Harry said softly over the edge of his tea. “I don’t. I’m strong, but I’m not strong enough. I need your help, sirs.”“Help with what, Harry?” Remus asked.

“I believe I have a theory, if you don’t mind my interruption, Potter.” Snape said smoothly. Harry gestured in encouragement. “If I have understood your overtones properly, you have succeeded in analyzing your life and future. You have found your greatest weakness, the thing that will put your success at risk. You have also, likely, found a spell that will help you, or you would not have mentioned needing our energy. It is probably some type of continuous drain which you know you cannot support alone. You are asking us to bear the burden for you.”

“Very good sir, but not a complete answer, I will have to deduct points.” Harry said, the edge of his mouth twitching. All three men recognized the glimpse of Harry as he was—and as he would be again. They recognized that since leaving the Shrieking Shack, he had grown up. “Perhaps you would like a try Remus?”

“No thank you Harry. The matter is too pressing to waste time with speculation.” Remus was leaning forward in his chair, his cooling tea forgotten on the table. His eyes were worried and wrinkled.

Harry nodded and began. “Professor, what you said was true. I looked at my life and I found my weakness. I am too dedicated to my friends. I’m too defensive of them. If they are hurt, I will be useless or predictable, both of which Voldemort has tried to exploit. My friends are already being targeted by him. They are in danger as long as they are close to me. I can’t let them get hurt. So, I need to push them away—force them away.”

“They love you too much Harry.” Remus said shortly.

“I know. Underneath their hostility and mistrust and dislike of me these recent months, they are very loyal. Especially my friends. I need to break them of that. At any cost.” He lifter a heavy tome onto his lap and continued, “I found a spell that can do everything I need it to. It is an inverse trust spell. It creates a small seed of doubt and distrust that grows without their knowing it. It will become stronger naturally but the growth is augmented by acts which are completed by the focus: me.”

“How many can it affect Potter? Changing a dozen minds isn’t enough.” Snape asked, both interested and concerned.

Harry averted his eyes, nervous. “It affects everyone who is not part of the spell.”

“Everyone?” Snape said slowly. “It’s impossible. It would kill us to drain that much energy. I know you’re suicidal Potter, but there is no reason to kill us as well.”

“It won’t Dammit!” Harry yelled. “Do you think I’m so stupid to kill myself before I fight Voldemort now? Now that I know what’s at stake and how desperate we are? Did you think I’d forgotten? Yes, I want to die, more than anything, but I can’t and I know that. I researched this spell sir, I know this spell. I’ve been gone almost two weeks, all I’ve done is think and work and learn. It will work, just let me explain.” His anger collapsed again. He had told the truth about doing nothing but work. He had barely eaten, and had barely slept. “The spell doesn’t even have a name that I can find. And it won’t kill us. It is based on my energy, yours only maintains it. The casting of the spell is done in two parts. The first is a potion, which I drink, four days before the second casting. It changes my energy structure so that I will be more resilient to the strain. My energy will create the myth that the world will eventually believe. Yours will perpetuate it. There are a few people who will be naturally resilient, but not enough to matter. There is one problem though, once the spell has been cast it will change my memories to justify the events. I will have no idea what is happening or why. New memories will replace what we are discussing now, and my view of my past, along with the world’s view of my past will be twisted to make it more appropriate to the new reality. Likely, everything since I woke up in the hospital wing will be rewritten. I will be in very great danger of losing myself in the myth, and losing my ability to break the spell when necessary.

“That necessary time will be triggered by something we specify. It can be a date or an event. However, because we cannot predict when an event will occur, the myth will grow stronger and stronger. The longer it continues, the more painful it will be when it finally breaks. I have to forget everything because when I remember, the spell will undo itself. The energy I was supporting will collapse and I will have to retake it. The longer the spell lasts, the more energy there will be. I have decided what the trigger will be already, no, you don’t need to know what it is, yet.

“The initial potion is easy to brew. I began it when I returned to the school this morning, and I’ll be able to drink it tonight. Since everything I will learn over the next four days will be lost from my conscious mind, I will be taking a second potion once it is finished brewing. It will allow me, with your permission, to learn what you can teach me faster than I could without it. That way, I will have latent knowledge which will be able to seep into my actions, so that when I finally remember, I will already be trained. I will be moody, and prone to abrupt switches in attitude, depending on which side—the truth or the myth—is stronger at the time. I will almost seem insane until the spell finishes. I know the plan is dangerous, but it will work.”

The room was silent as the two men stared, disbelieving at the man before them. Harry was mature, rationale, and intelligent as he explained his plan. It was a sign of how much losing Sirius had changed him.
Remus crossed to the wall, retrieving a flask of alcohol. Snape took the spellbook from Harry’s lap and began reading. Harry finished his tea. A part of his mind already knew that they would agree.

Within a few minutes, they had.

Harry took the first potion that night, and blacked out. The school at large assumed he was still mourning, and allowed that belief to spread. He spent his days with the two older men. The first day was spent brewing the Learning potion. It was a vile substance that reeked of rotting meat, and tasted even worse. The final ingredient of the potion was a drop of the blood of the person whose knowledge was to be shared. It only made the taste worse.After taking the three draughts—one for energy, one for Remus, and one for Snape, he was able to begin learning.

The experience was more painful for Harry than for either Order member. They were only lowering Occulemency wards around their knowledge of war magic. Harry had to absorb everything they knew of theoretical magic and in experience. It was a torture learning from both men; Remus’ mind was able to teach him more about resisting pain then he knew existed, he learned how to heal, how to defend, and how to defeat numerous dark creatures. Severus—after prowling through the professor’s mind it was hard to call him Snape—taught him attacks, taught him pain infliction, taught him mental protection.

He blacked out after every stretch of study.

He woke up each time with a growing headache.

Harry paused only long enough to take a few hours to speak with the newly awoken friends. Ron and Hermione were afraid to press him when he was distant and cold towards them. He said all the right words, but had little emotion behind them. They eventually fell back to sleep, and Harry vanished, returning to Severus’s chambers, for more sessions. It was then that he encountered the theoretical explanation of wandless magic. The professor had investigated it working for Voldemort in the first war, and Harry had a larger headache than usual when he was done.

In the last day of learning he encountered only theoretical information, having already learned everything that the pair had done in war.

At dinner, he explained the procedures for the second half of the spell. “Remus, you and Severus will need to cast the spell together. Then the focus is put onto the stone, along with the written cue to break the spell and names of those to receive the strongest magic. I have those pieces already. My blood will seal the casting. I will lose consciousness for a few hours. Do not wake me. You will have to return me to the Hospital Wing without Madame Pomfrey knowing or noticing. When I wake up the world will be…new. I will have no recollection of any of this, but I may have some subliminal tendencies. Severus, I will be more willing to trust you for instance. Every four weeks the spell will have to be renewed. It is done with the incantation in the book, and the addition of more potion to the focus stone. You will also need to prevent me from correcting this. I will want to regain their loyalty. At all costs you must prevent that. I do not know what will happen to change the world’s opinion, so I cannot predict how I will respond. I am certain that there will be unforeseen effects. I can only hope that I will forgive myself for them. Also, names can be added if they begin to slip from the spell’s hold, if you feel they need to be stopped. The spell will begin to deteriorate after four weeks, and will collapse after six, so if you run late it is not fatal, but do not let it fail. The effects would be disastrous.”

“Who will it focus on?” Severus asked.

“Ron. Hermione. Ginny. The Headmaster. Fudge. Skeeter. Madame Bones. McGonagall. They are all loyal to me now, so will need to be firmly against me once this begins. And of course, the two of you will need to be loud proponents of my guilt to avoid suspicion.”

“And the cue?”

“Do you really need to know Severus?”

“We are about to cast the most complex spell I have ever encountered, I believe honesty would be of great assistance.”

Harry nodded. “It will finish when I am in a situation I cannot bear.”

“And what does that mean?”

Harry smiled, “I have no idea. It will work though. And better than if I were to name a specific event. I had contemplated making it a matter of my facing Voldemort, but since I will be incapacitated, I do not want to be facing him when I drop into agony.”

They objected, and spent more than an hour fighting him on his choice, but eventually conceded that any other wording of any other event carried too many flaws. The ambiguity itself would ensure its strength.

Late that night, while the school was silent, the trio stood in a hidden room in Severus’ chambers and cast the spell. It went smoothly, and as they uttered the last words, Harry’s eyes rolled into his head and he fell to the ground. Magic exploded out of him, flying outward, covering the world within seconds, and changing it.

Harry’s entire body was taut, his eyes were wide and his silent scream conveyed the pain he was in. He knew that Bellatrix had run from the room. The spell had fallen, and he was retaking the energy he had been expending for almost a year in creating it.The year’s events were beginning to fall into order. They began to make sense.

Even with his pain, he was relieved to know why the world had turned so suddenly. He was understanding things too fast to focus on them. Neville had slipped from the spell, and been added to the list. Oliver Wood, Draco Malfoy and the older Weasley’s were left off the list, because they were useful and strong enough to warrant the risk. The comments his friends had made were explained. The actions of those who had been most loyal to him were logical. The abrupt willingness of the world to hate him without cause was clear.

His scream became verbal, and it echoed down the halls of Voldemort’s dungeons.

Slowly it faded, and Harry went silent.

And still.

The select group that had remained loyal to Harry throughout the hellish year had come together in the Shrieking Shack to organize a rescue. None of them had any notion of how to front a large scale assault against the most powerful dark wizard in the world, especially since they had no support as of yet. Remus and Severus explained the basics of what Harry had done in a terse, clipped tone. They detailed why the world had abruptly changed, and changed back again. They avoided the reasons why the group had remained free of the spell. Once they were done, and they knew what had to be done, Draco began listing information as fast as he could, hoping to provide something of use. Both he and Severus would have to remain behind during any rescue attempt, they could not risk endangering their positions within the Dark Lord’s ranks.

After less than an hour, Bill, the Weasley twins, Oliver and Remus left to search for Voldemort. Neither Draco nor Severus was capable of telling the team where the keep was located, but was able to give enough information to help.Draco returned to Hogwarts, separate from Severus, to wait. He fell into a chair in the Slytherin Common room, defeated.

He barely understood what Severus and Remus had explained to him. That Harry had done this to himself was beyond his Slytherin mind. The story had been told in haste, and he wanted to ask more of Harry, but doubted whether he would ever have the chance. In the hands of the Dark Lord, incapacitated and in a world that had only hours earlier learned the truth behind their actions, Harry would more than likely be dead in a few hours if he was not already.

Ginny came in eventually, looking calmer than any other student and slipped into his arms. They waited.