The boy had picked at his food, not sure if any of it had ever actually ventured into his mouth. Pretending to be Potter was proving quite hard, and he wanted nothing more than to finally find out what was going on with everyone.

“Now what?” he asked, Lea and the weasel having led him to an obvious dead end.

“Now we think of the safe, secure place we need.”

“As opposed to… finding one?” he asked her skeptically, wishing they could have just gone to his room in the Slytherin dungeons.

“This way’s faster.” Lea insisted, pulling him into the pacing after tossing Weasley a quick look that seemed to hold a bit too much meaning. “Ah, see?” she asked, just as a door appeared in the previously vacant wall.

“What the-”

“For Merlin’s sake Harry, you’ll see. Do try to remember…”

“Alright, which of you associate safety with snakes and Slytherin?” Weasley huffed half-humorously, to which the raven-haired boy had to fight back a snide remark.

“Oh honestly Ron,” Lea dismissed his comment tiredly, “the room rarely focuses on such specifics.”

“Explain the green, silver, the snake-covered furniture and the huge ‘S’ on the covers!” Weasley countered hotly, “And while we’re on it, explain it providing a bed!”

As he stepped in to see what Weasley was going on about for himself, the boy could not help but smile contently for a moment at the site of his room, even if he knew he wasn’t standing in the real thing.

“Something you’d like to share Harry?”

Think… THINK!

“Erm… it’s just… the irony of the logic, I guess.” he finally answered.

“Huh?”

“Who has more secrets to keep than a Slytherin?” he asked honestly, “Who’s rooms would be most heavily warded against spying?”

“You don’t think think this is an actual Slytherin’s room, do you?” Weasley suddenly grinned, “Think of all the dirt we could find… what if it’s Malfoy’s!”

‘Nope, try the next room over’ didn’t sound like the most prudent response, especially since he didn’t want to give away any more information than absolutely necessary. Lea not recognizing this room sent warning bells off in his mind, which when added to the ones that have been ringing from the first time he had woken up in this Twilights-Zone of a Hogwarts, gave him a hell of a migraine. In all honesty, he couldn’t help but feel as if all this was some ploy to gain information from him. He had almost, at one point, bought into the ‘suppressed memory’ bit, but it had a fundamental problem; they did not remember what he remembered. What if that was in hope that he would fill them in, thus revealing things to his enemy? Some skilled Legillimentists could create a world in which the subject would think he was speaking with friends, or going over battle plans with allies…

“Oh Ron, one would need extensive knowledge for the room to recreate an exact place. If I remember correctly, you were even shocked that they got private rooms, and I doubt Malfoy would let even other Slytherins into his.”

Only you, me, Pansy and Blaise the boy mused, smiling privately. Yes, Draco was quite protective of his privacy.

“I still say we snoop around…” Weasley grumbled, making the other boy thank the deities on high for his extensive locking charms, saluting the anti-Slytherin (and thus, anti-all) safety measures. He wasn’t lying when he noted that Slytherins harbored the most secrets and thus their rooms were warded far more than most other rooms at the school, and he was what most would consider the epitome of Slytherin, after all. “Who knows when we’ll get another shot!”

I do; Never. he vowed, sighing as Weasley went on all fours to peek under the bed. Honestly, why would he have hidden anything there? Still, this gave him the perfect excuse to ‘drown his sorrows’, as it were.

“Anyone thirsty?” he asked, opening what Lea had once dubbed the ‘mini bar’.

“Jackpot!” Weasley squealed, “there any Firewhiskey Harry?” Well, if the weasel got so intoxicated he keeled over… would that count as poisoning the bastard?

“Erm…” he pretended to search, before pulling out a flask, “here’s some!”

After pouring Weasley what Draco, who was practically the only one who drank the stuff, would call ‘a disdainfully large amount’, he pulled a far more slender glass to make Lea’s ever-so-slightly spiked Pumpkin juice.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t think it’s poisoned, do you?”

“Will you stop Ron? Honestly!” Lea sighed once more, taking the drink with a thankful nod, “You ask the stupidest things… even if this was a real room, with a real Slytherin’s stash of liquor, the owner would not be far inclined to poison his own drinks… now would he?” She took a sip, “Merlin Harry, what is this?”

“You’ve never had that before?” he asked, mystified. She’d always ask for what Draco had started to call the ‘Kitten’s Claw’ if the boys were having anything themselves. “It’s Pumpkin juice with a few drops of Vodka… half the alcohol of a good old Butterbeer, really.” Thus the ‘kitten’ jab, not that she had ever disliked the name. “You like it?”

“Yes, actually,” she acknowledged after a moment of silence, “though I’d rather know what I’m drinking before I do so.”

“Sorry.” Oops. Normally, her wanting it was almost taken as a given… Just like Draco’s preference for Merlin’s Mirage (a concoction Lea and he could barely stomach a stronger whiff of, let alone stomach).

“Now, why don’t we all finally get around to what we are supposed to be here for…” Lea stated, waving his apology off as a given as she set her glass down, “what do you remember Harry? Just start at the beginning, it’ll be easier.” she insisted after he had taken a moment too long to answer.

“Beginning of what?” Weasley snipped in,

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Lea rephrased kindly, most likely noting his soured look.

That was the question, wasn’t it? What would he tell them? How far back would he have to go?

“End of fourth year.” he decided after a moment of consideration, remembering Dumbledore asking about the time he had ‘fought’ Voldemort at his resurrection. “After that, there’s a few out of place stuff and that’s it.” he added for good measure.

Weasley nearly choked on his liquor… so close. “Merlin!” he gasped out after a hardy coughing fit, “That’s nearly two years!”

“How will you re-learn all the spells!” Lea quipped,

“I… I think I remember the spells.” He assured her, “It’s the events that are hard to piece together.” Hell, he probably knew seventh year spells, the way the Asps had been drilled… not to mention the Dark Arts floating around up there.

“You remember where Sirius lived?”

Sirius? He put on a questioning look, hadn’t the Ministry confiscated all his assets when he went to Azkaban?

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’ then…” Lea continued, “guess it’s as good a place to start as any. We might miss the stuff you did while you were back with your relatives, but you probably don’t want those memories anyway.”

Yup, got that right.

“You came to Sirius’ house before term started, there’s a real nasty portrait of his mother there… horrid woman. Anyway, that’s where the headquarters are… Sirius was part of the original Order like your parents, Order of the Phoenix that is, it’s a…”

The Order was involved; lovely. That’s how Sirius died too, wasn’t it? Damn Order. One of these days, he’d really give Dumbledore a piece of his-

“…Umbridge.”

Oops, he’d best pay attention.

“Horrid Woman, worse than Sirius’ deranged mom, honestly! Gave the worst detentions, too, you’re lucky that damn quill didn’t leave any permanent scars on you. You can still read the one Dean had to write!”

Read a scar?

“Now this room we’re in, the Room of Requirement, was Dobby’s idea. Didn’t I tell you elves were smarter than they are given credit for? We needed a room for D.A. meetings, defense lessons that is… you were a really great teacher, by the way.”

And so it began, what he could hopefully dub the longest day in his life. Merlin could Lea talk! Not that he understood all of it, but he figured he got the gist at least, and that would do for now. For some reason, according to Lea , McWhirr had not taught defense last year, though he was their present potions teacher. Weasley liked him, though the green-eyed boy figured it was because McWhirr knew less than they did due to the years of having his father teach them potions, so it was an easy grade for the procrastinating redhead. But McWhirr had detested him, more so than the man had any of the other Slytherins… unless…well, if he had not become Horris, that would mean the he wasn’t a Slytherin, right? At least, not on his uniform… once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin. So did that mean that all of a sudden, McWhirr favored him? The thought was disgusting, disturbing and annoying. Whatever this twisted excuse for Hogwarts was, entering it as a snake in cat’s clothing had its advantages.

.∞ . ∞ . ∞.

“Could you leave us Ron? Harry and I need to talk for a bit.”

“Yeah, talk.” Weasley snorted in amusement, though thankfully leaving at Lea’s request.

“What’s he on about?” he asked once the door closed,

“Oh, Merlin. Sorry Harry. A lot of… couples formed at the start of sixth year… he thought… Merlin! Just, don’t worry about it Harry, I really do need to talk to you.” she dismissed the weasel’s behavior as quickly as she could, blushing furiously.

“Coupled up?” he asked, sounding a bit more skeptical than might have been prudent.

“Don’t worry about it, you two always tease each other about it. I’ll tell him to stop.” she assured, composing herself a bit before asking “Now, what’s wrong?”

“Wrong?”

“Ever since you woke you’ve acted… off. First the strange names, than that thing with Ron… you act as if he was Malfoy or something Harry. This isn’t normal.”

He wondered what he should, could, tell her. This was Lea, but she wasn’t. She might even be Ron’s girl from the way the redhead had huffed about leaving the two of them alone…

“Harry, please.”

See? Not Lea. And too many possibilities existed to explain. Way too many possible explanations.

“You’re acting like you did when you saw Dumbledore… remember, you almost attacked him once!”

Huh? Not that the idea hadn’t crossed his mind or anything, but it’s one of those things you savor as a fantasy of your imagination, not do in real life (especially not in an office seemingly full of people)!

“And now when you attacked Ron… I, I thought…”

It wasn’t much of an ‘attack’, really, and he had had to do it… hadn’t he, for her protection if nothing more.

“Oh Harry, what if Voldemort is setting you against us now? First Dumbledore, now Ron, then me… what if he’s hoping you’ll kill us by your own hand, or become so sure you will that you’ll push everyone who can possibly care about you away?”

“Too many ‘what if’s’ Lea.” He sighed, wincing as he realized his damn slip.

“There you go with the ‘Lea’ again!” Lea huffed angrily, the tone that usually sent Draco packing. “Explain Harry, now.”

“I… I wish I could… especially to you, but-”

“But what! Harry James Potter, you tell me-”

That was it though, wasn’t it?

“Too complicated.” he told her, this time with more resolve.

“Simplify it then.” she prompted, calming down a bit, apparently.

“I can’t.”

“Fine.” she growled, the anger flaring once more, “then I’ll simplify it, and you’re telling me if I’m right or wrong.”

And all he could do was nod, knowing full well where anything less would land him. She could be bloody scary at times… perhaps she should have a go at the Dark Lord.

“You called me ‘Lea’ when you first woke up, and when you forget yourself, so you seem more used to calling me that than Hermione…”

“It’s a nickname.” he supplied,

“Yes, one with which you are far too familiar to have just thought it up. You sounded almost, wounded, when I first didn’t answer to it, so you remember me acknowledging it in the past… or at least you think you remember it.” She paused, “Right?”

He could do nothing but watch her, unmoving.

“You poured the spiked juice as if you’d have made it a million times, for me, most likely. You’re terribly closed, emotionless even, though I know you cannot possibly be so cold. You even look different.”

To this he raised a brow, knowing its effect was probably lost on the Potteresq face.

“Not physically, perhaps,” she amended, “but the way you carry yourself. You… you seem to have this royal air about you all of a sudden, something about your manor simply demands respect, you know? As if nothing in the world could hold you back besides yourself.”

“You think me arrogant and overbearing?” he asked in skeptically,

“Oh, not at all!” she insisted, “that’s what’s so enchanting about it all… the reluctant hero.”

Suddenly, he’d have preferred to be called the arrogant prick.

“That I’ve been called all my life.” he groaned,

“That’s just it! You’ve always been passively-hating it till now!”

“And now?” he could not help but ask,

“Now you act as if it’s all personal… as if you wouldn’t allow anyone but you to defeat You-Know-Who.”

“It is personal.” he insisted; very personal. My life, my Asps, my father… I’m responsible for each and every one of them.

“You acted like that before you found out about Sirius’ death, and you certainly didn’t act like this before you got bumped on the head.” she insisted, “What changed?”

“Is there a point to this?” he asked, knowing that, of course, there was. Lea rarely babbled pointlessly.

“Something happened while you were unconscious, something that changed you, and something almost certainly done by Voldemort.”

He let his bushy brow rise again, an honest longing to be back to his true form.

“He implanted memories in you… or more likely, seeds form which your imagination spun memories you would believe. There’s this one spe-”

“No.” he cut her off, not willing to hear her out. Not when she was attempting to disprove… him.

“Do you, or do you not remember events that didn’t happen?” she pressed on,

“They happened.” he told her, pulling away, “this is the illusion.”

“Harry…” she sighed, “Think about this. Even if you’re unwilling to tell me what you remember, I can see you hate Ron now; distrust him at least, you’re weary about speaking with Dumbledore about things and you’re fending off help tooth and nail… wouldn’t Voldemort want that? Wouldn’t he want to make you so desperate and alone that you’d do anything to see which is real? Can’t you tell me what happened Harry? Anything at all?”

“Everything happened.” he finally told her, fully honest for the first time, “The best and worst year in my life.”