The rest of the holiday break slogged by in debilitating quiet. Harry read ahead in all of his subjects, even doing as Hermione did, outlining the chapters on parchments to use for note-taking during class. He wrote back and forth to Ron twice before his friend returned. Ron seemed to think that because Goyle and Crabbe were dead, everything was okay again. Harry could not find the words to explain otherwise and kind of wished Ron just understood.

The first Monday of school term, Harry seriously dreaded Potions. Considering how prepared he was for class, having reread the chapter again the night before, the trepidation felt very strange.

As Snape strode into the classroom, Harry kept his head down over his notes. He stayed that way until the lecture was almost over, when Snape finally called on him to answer a question Dean had failed to. Fortunately, Harry had just been staring at his notes from the reading, the next day’s reading, and knew the answer. 

“Correct…Mr. Potter,” Snape drawled with a hint of surprise.

Malfoy caught Harry’s eye. His look was darker than Harry had ever seen it, utterly malevolent. Harry held the other boy’s gaze for a long time, steady in his own anger. Unexpectedly, Snape stepped down the aisle, blocking Harry’s view of the Slytherin table. Harry raised his gaze to the teacher and Snape gave him a warning look before returning to the front. Harry, insides squirming under that black gaze, returned to bending over his notes.

Students gathered early for D.A. in the Room of Requirement and exchanged rumors about He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. Susan Bones stood in a cluster with Cho and a few Fifth Years. Harry wandered over to them while he waited for Hermione and Neville to arrive so that they could work out dividing up the demonstrations. Susan, in surreptitious tones, said, “The D.E. have been quiet lately, according to my aunt. The Ministry is taking credit for scaring them into hiding.” Susan noticed Harry had joined them. “What do you think?” she asked him.

“I usually assume the Ministry has it wrong, which would mean there is another reason for them lying low,” Harry replied.

The other students shuffled nervously. Susan’s news had been the first good news in a long time.

Cho cleared her throat. “Susan, you said you heard the end of a battle had to be cleaned up near Hogwarts over break. But no one’s really said what happened. Did you hear anything more?” When there was no reply she turned to Harry in question, who remembered liking her, but wished she didn’t assume he would know anything.

Ron and Dean came in at that moment, sparing Harry from making an excuse for not answering. He stepped over to them and said hello.

Someone else said, “The Order had a big scheme going over break, I do know that. I didn't think that had anything to do with the school though.”

Ron and Dean gravitated toward the other group, forcing Harry to do the same or walk off on his own. “But something went wrong, I heard,” Cho went on. “Not going to enlighten us, Harry? You were here all break.” When Harry shook his head, she added, “You’ve become as bad as the teachers for keeping things to yourself.”

“Leave him alone,” Ron said.

“I was only kidding him,” Cho said. 

“Don’t kid him about that.”

“It’s all right, Ron.” Harry touched his friend’s arm to calm him down.

“What are we doing today?” Susan asked, cleanly changing the subject.

“Defensive Transfiguration,” Harry said. “Which is hard stuff and we’ll probably spend the rest of the term on it, unless people really don’t like doing it.”

“Like what kinds of transfigurations?” Dean asked.

“Like turning a stone floor into a sheet of ice, for example.” The students made noises of approval at that. Harry went on from the list in his head, “Turning chairs into attack dogs. Ants into tarantulas.”

“Ugh, why would you do that?” Ron exclaimed, grimacing.

“Imagine, Ron,” Harry said, “If you were being chased by a dark wizard with the same phobia as you. Ant hills are everywhere. You could send thousands of tarantulas behind you to slow your pursuer.” Ron shuddered as Harry added, “I admit, that one is a bit of a stretch. We have to look up or work out some that are more useful.”

“Do we also have a charm to turn our shoes into ice boots? That would make the ice one much more useful,” Dean suggested.

“You can work on that,” Harry said. “Teach us that one and any other pairings.”

Neville and Hermione came in with a large group of students. Harry went over to them to discuss the session, grateful to get on with something that felt useful.

Malfoy stalked down the corridor, trailing behind Nott and Parkinson, who formed a kind of honor guard for him. At the top of the grand staircase, the blonde boy spun around on Harry and his friends, his jaw clenched in fury. 

“If you have something to say, Malfoy, get it over with,” Harry challenged, when Malfoy’s mouth worked silently.

Before Malfoy could respond, someone grabbed Harry from behind by the back of his robe. “If you are on your way to lunch, Potter, keep moving,” Snape ordered harshly, releasing Harry immediately with a shove away from Malfoy.

Harry couldn’t stop the wounded look from reaching his eyes as he glanced up at his teacher. Snape raised his chin and turned to his student. “What did I tell you, Mr. Malfoy?”

With hurt pride Malfoy retorted, “I didn’t say anything to him.”

“No invitation to a confrontation,” Snape said, as though repeating himself.

“What?” Malfoy asked him sarcastically. “Don’t want him killing anyone else?”

Every student in the crowded hallway stopped and turned to them. Ron and Hermione shifted in front of Harry. Dean, Ginny and Cho moved in closer as well from the other side of the corridor. Harry stepped sideways to stand behind Hermione so he could see. From Snape’s flat expression, Harry could tell that Malfoy had crossed the line. 

“They got what they deserved,” Ron muttered quietly. Harry poked him hard under his ribs to make him shut up. No one but Harry and Hermione seemed to have heard him.

“My office, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape stated in an eerily level voice. Harry never imagined such a normal tone could sound so menacing. Snape’s eyes narrowed at his student, then he spun on his heel and stalked off with a glance at Harry as he passed. Harry’s heart raced a little, wondering if he were in trouble as well. As soon as the Slytherins had followed Malfoy away, Harry chastised himself for his concern—he shouldn’t care if he were in trouble with the Head of Slytherin House.

The other students in the corridor still mingled as Dean and Ginny offered Harry a few words of support. 

“Who’d he kill?” Justin Finch-Fletchley asked suddenly, loud enough to carry up and down the corridor. The other general murmuring stopped. 

Ron stepped over to the other boy. They were almost the same taller-than-average height. “Two Death Eaters who had abducted him over holiday.”

“What’s the problem with that?” Justin asked.

“Crabbe’s and Goyle’s fathers,” Hermione explained softly.

“That’s why they’re gone, I suppose,” Justin said. “Good riddance to them, really.” He looked at Harry, who wished he felt more defiant—Harry felt raw only, exposed. “Be careful, Harry,” Justin said grimly and stepped away. The other students took this cue and moved along as well.

The new term rolled on. Harry studied quietly during most of his free time. With Quidditch cancelled for security reasons, there wasn’t much else to do. Ron and especially Hermione didn’t interrupt him with games or much conversation—they simply joined him when they found him in either the library or the house common room. Even a month into the new term, Harry found himself obsessing over Potions. He completed his assignments with nearly obsessive care. He found he could not bear the thought of being unable to answer any question that might be sent his way during class.

“Can you quiz me on Potions?” Harry asked Hermione as they sat studying in the common room on a Sunday night. Ron played Wizard chess with Dean as he and Hermione sat before the fire.

“Sure, Harry.” She took out her notes and flipped through them. Quietly, she said, “Harry, are you all right?”

Harry chewed his lip a moment. “Don’t I seem all right?” He really had been working hard to act normally.

She lifted a shoulder in lieu of a shrug. “You are much quieter, and you act differently around Professor Snape.”

Harry hadn’t told them precisely what had happened, just an overview—an almost misleading one, in fact. “He makes me uneasy.”

“He’s always done that. You’ve been downright obedient lately. You do all your assignments. All the readings. You haven’t had detention since Easter. Not once. It’s really odd.” Now that the topic was open, Hermione looked to be going for the truth.

Harry re-stacked his textbooks more neatly beside him. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he stated evenly. He didn’t want to think about how undone he felt. How vulnerable. How if Snape wanted to destroy him, as he had seemed to try to do before, how easy it would be now.

Hermione watched him as he fell silent. Very quietly, she asked, “Did he hurt you, Harry?”

“Who?” When she huffed like a laugh and rolled her eyes, Harry quickly answered, “No.” He felt his face heating up and that bothered him too. 

“You just seem frightened of him, is all. Cowed,” she added as she went back to her notes. “And you are working really hard in his class,” she added as though that were the strangest part of it.

Harry fidgeted with his empty hands before taking up a quill to make it stop. He didn’t reply. She waited a long time, as though to give him a chance to speak, before she started quizzing him on the next few Potions readings.

Sleep became more elusive for Harry. Some nights shadowy dreams where he was being chased woke him. Other nights his parents called to him as he searched the Forbidden Forest for them. Some nights he didn’t remember dreaming, just found himself awake and far too alert and wired to sleep, despite his exhaustion. Eventually, Harry would simply get up, collect his books, and head down to the common room.

One such evening after turning up the lamps, Harry settled into the chair in the corner and pulled out his Transfiguration essay, which was due the following afternoon. He read it over, then read over the chapters and his notes. Then read over the essay again, fixing a few minor things that he now noticed. He considered copying it out again, just to have something to do, even though it didn’t have that many cross-outs.

“Still working on something?” Ron’s voice came from the stairway to the boy’s dormitory.

“Not really,” Harry replied. “I can’t sleep.”

Ron pulled his dressing gown around himself tighter and tied it as he came down the steps. “Having nightmares?”

Harry put his essay and books away and sat back in the worn, overstuffed chair. “Sometimes. Sometimes, I just wake up in the middle of the night and there isn’t a chance of going back to sleep.”

With a groan Ron sat in the chair beside Harry’s. “You never told me what really happened over break,” Ron said. “That have anything to do with it?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You looked a mess when they finally let me see you. Couldn’t believe that you’d been to St. Mungo’s already.”

“They tortured me for hours,” Harry said.

“I wanted to stay,” Ron said in an frustrated tone. “I didn’t talk to Dad all break I was so angry with him for making me leave.” Ron fidgeted with his fingers. “Is that why you’ve been so cowed since then.”

“You think so, too? Hermione said that the other day.”

“You killed them in the end, doesn’t that make it all right again?”

“No.”

Ron leaned back and stared at the ceiling. “Then nothing will.” Harry frowned at that and pulled out his Herbology textbook. “You’ve turned into Hermione, you know,” Ron said.

Harry scoffed at that.

“No, it’s true. She said yesterday you are getting almost the same marks as she is now. You haven’t done anything against the rules. Not one thing. You aren’t as much fun, anymore, you know,” Ron ended lightly, teasing but not.

Harry frowned. “I’m not here to have fun anymore. I’m here to survive.”

“Merlin, Harry,” Ron breathed.  He leaned forward in his chair.  “Come on, let’s go wander around the castle, see what we can stir up.” At Harry’s dubious look, he amended, “We’ll just go down to the library then. Anything, Harry. You aren’t going to sleep anyway.”

“Don’t you need to sleep?” Harry pointed out.

“I sleep every night. I’ll make up for it tomorrow.”

“I envy you, Ron. I really do,” Harry murmured.

“I didn’t say that to rub it in,” Ron said quickly. He stood up and put Harry’s book away in his bag and flipped it closed. “Come on.” He tugged at Harry’s arm. “Just a walk around the fourth floor. I’m a prefect, we’ll just say I felt like taking a look around and brought you along.”

“Then we won’t be breaking any rules,” Harry pointed out.

Ron sighed. “You’re worrying me, Harry. Come on. Late night snack then. Dobby will be thrilled to see you.”

That got Harry moving. In their pyjamas and robes, they stepped through the portrait hole and into the silent corridor. “I really love it when it is quiet like this,” Ron said, “like we have the whole, huge place to ourselves.”

They didn’t encounter anyone on the way down to the kitchens. Only a few portraits paid them any heed and none of them tried to talk to them. In the kitchen, the house-elf sitting before the fire went and fetched Dobby for them. 

“Harry Potter is visiting Dobby!” the elf said in greeting, eyes wide and blinking in the bright firelight.

“How are you doing, Dobby?” Harry asked.

“Dobby is very well, Master Harry. Would Master like a seat?” he asked, gesturing at the very low bench and table. Food began arriving as they settled in. Ron gave Harry a look of victory as a plate of cold chicken wings was set before them.

“Have some mashed potatoes,” Ron said, serving Harry a huge pile. “Mum swears they make you sleep better.”

Harry watched Ron eat, trying to suppress his tired jealousy at the notion of a caring mum and the luxury of ignoring one’s father for an entire week. Dobby distracted him as he slid onto the bench beside Harry and leaned close. Conspiratorially, the house-elf said, “Bad things is happening, Master Harry.”

“I know, Dobby,” Harry said as he pushed his potatoes around with his fork.

“Worse things,” Dobby insisted in his squeaky whisper. “There is talking that He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named means to kill Master Harry. Soon.” 

Harry frowned. Ron breathed out loudly. “Guess this wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever had,” he said, glaring at Dobby.

Dobby tugged frantically on Harry’s sleeve. “They says He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named has found out a secret.”

Harry froze. “How?” he asked sharply. He turned to the house-elf and grabbed the front of his tea-towel, just around the Hogwarts seal. “How did he learn it?”

“He is capturing a wizard who knows.”

“Does Dumbledore know this?” Harry demanded.

“Yes, Master.”

Harry tossed down his fork with loud clang against his plate. The other elves who were hovering nearby, in case anything else was needed, backed up a few steps. “Wouldn’t bother telling me, would he?” Harry spat bitterly.

“What are you on about?” Ron asked, sounding wary of the answer.

Harry stared into the fire for a long time. He felt betrayed all over again. With a loud scrap of the bench on the floor, Harry stood up. “Let’s go.”

“You do keep as many secrets as they do, you know,” Ron said. “You never told them you were hearing the Basilisk. You never tell them when you are having visions or dreams. You haven’t told me what happened over break or about this thing Dobby is on about.”

“You want to hear all of it?” Harry shouted. “You want to be as sleepless as I am?”

Ron dejectedly dropped the wing he was gnawing on back onto his plate and stood up. “I want to help,” he said firmly. “So does Hermione, but neither of us have any idea what we can do.”

After a long moment Harry turned to the elf. “Dobby, can you leave us alone, please? Take the others with you?”

“Yes, Master. Dobby is sorry, Master.”

“Don’t be, Dobby. I needed to know what you told me, even if no one else thinks I do.”

When they were alone, Harry sat again and drank down his pumpkin juice. His stomach felt like it had filled with acid and the juice helped a lot. “The prophecy is the secret Dobby is referring to,” Harry said.

“It was lost. Neville broke it,” Ron said.

“No. The person who recorded it still remembered it. That was Dumbledore. Other wizards were there when it was first spoken, but Dumbledore didn’t tell me who they were.” 

Harry related the whole thing for him. 

“Blimey. The Dark Lord—”

“You sound like Snape when you use that name.”

“It just sounds better than—”

“His name is Voldemort,” Harry said harshly.

Ron breathed in deeply a few times. “Voldemort,” he whispered, then shuddered. “…is going to kill you the first chance he gets.”

“He’s tried several times already,” Harry pointed out tiredly.

“It is more critical now,” Ron said slowly. “The most important thing he has to do.”

“Thanks, Ron,” Harry retorted sarcastically.

“Sorry,” Ron said. “Let’s get out of here. I’m full.”

Harry, who hadn’t really eaten anything, stood up willingly. They walked out and down the corridor, then up the steps to the Entrance Hall. In continued silence, they climbed the seven staircases up. One moved after they had started up it, forcing them to walk around the fourth floor corridor to get back to the next one. They were both so deep in their own thoughts that, when a throat cleared loudly behind them, they both jumped.

Sharp footsteps and a billowing cloak caught up to them where they stood. Snape, arms crossed, said snidely, “Is it even worth asking what you are doing out of your dormitory at this hour?”

“Taking a walk,” Ron replied, annoyed. “I’m a prefect. If I feel like looking around, I can,” he added, sounding less certain now than when he had said it to Harry earlier.

“Potter, go up to your tower. I want a word with Mr. Weasley.” Snape said this slowly, making Harry hesitate. “Potter,” Snape said more sharply. Harry frowned and stalked off. He glanced back to see Ron and his teacher facing off.

After Harry had gone, Snape circled Ron once with a predatory gleam in his eyes. “Mr. Weasley, the prefects were issued very specific instructions regarding Mr. Potter.”

“We didn’t leave the castle,” Ron insisted. “We went down for a snack.”

“He is not to be out of the tower after ten. We were very clear on that point,” Snape said angrily.

Ron sighed. “I thought a walk and some food would help him sleep,” he said in a bit of a whine. “He hasn’t had a full night’s sleep in a week,” he added, half to himself. Ron waited to be berated more, finally raising his eyes when nothing was forthcoming. Snape’s expression surprised him—he almost looked…concerned. The look vanished as Snape’s eyes narrowed.

“Weasley, if you violate any of the rules surrounding Mr. Potter again, you will deeply regret it.”

“I won’t, sir,” Ron said honestly. “I’m sorry, sir,” he added in a pained voice. Harry’s explanation of the prophecy had already made him regret his suggesting this foray.

“Go,” Snape ordered him. 

Ron ran off to catch up to his friend.

Harry was learning to like Herbology for a very unlikely reason—there were no chairs, which made it very hard to fall asleep during class. On the other hand, the gloves made it hard to rub his aching eyes. 

With a gentle touch born of a need to focus on something outside himself, he finished repotting a weeping wrenfern. It looked good in its new pot, almost as good as Neville’s.  Even Hermione’s looked like it had suffered in its move. Ron’s looked half-dead.

“Good job, Harry,” Neville said. 

“Yes, Mr. Potter,” Professor Sprout said as she circled the table. “Five points for Gryffindor for each of you and Mr. Longbottom for the two happiest newly transplanted wrenferns.”

Neville looked joyous at this. Malfoy across the table glared at them and spat into his plant, which drooped farther.

Harry was dreaming. He was crossing a swamp, leaping from one tuft of tall reeds to another. This path died out as well as the others had, the next clump of vegetation too far to reach. He was tired of backtracking in a futile effort at finding a way over the inky, oily water. But he had been warned repeatedly not to wade in it, that he would surely sink and be drawn fatally into its murky depths. He measured the distance between his feet and the distant clump surrounding a leaning old dead tree. How deep could it be, anyway?

“Mr. Potter!” 

Harry jumped awake. Snape glared at him from across the Potions bench. “If you cannot stay awake, perhaps you should not be in class,” Snape suggested with a sneer. 

A week ago, that would have angered Harry. Now it sounded very reasonable. With clumsy motions he bent to pick up his book bag and put his things away.

“Harry?” Hermione asked in surprise. 

With a flick of his cloak, Snape spun back around and stalked off. 

From deep in the fog of his exhaustion, Harry whispered, “I do need to sleep.”

“Do you want me to take you up?” she asked in concern.

Snape stalked back over and set a corked bottle on the bench. “A sip of that before you try to sleep, Mr. Potter.”

Harry picked it up and looked at the dark red liquid a moment before putting it in his bag on top of his books. “You’ll tell me the assignment?” Harry confirmed with Hermione after Snape had stalked back to the front again.

“Of course.”

With the potion Harry slept soundly until dinner. Until Ron woke him, worried. 

“Pomfrey is about to come up and check on you,” his friend explained. “I thought I’d head her off.”

“Thanks,” Harry said. He swung his legs off the bed and pressed his hair down. 

“Hermione said Snape gave you a potion.”

Harry pointed at the bottle on the night stand. “It works, apparently. Next time I should take it at night, clearly.”

It took until three in the morning for Harry to copy Hermione’s notes and finish his assignments. Uncertain if it was all right to take the potion twice in one day, Harry dozed lightly without it until morning, the dream about the swamp dogging him still.

It was finally Saturday. Harry, relieved that he didn’t have to struggle through classes, dragged himself down to breakfast with his friends after a short night’s sleep. He had taken a small sip of potion the night before, alarmed at how much of it he had been using over the last week. The tiny dose had given him a few hours of slumber, which would have to do—he didn’t fancy asking Snape for more of it.

Most of the staff were missing at breakfast, which happened more often lately on the weekends. Snape, Sprout, Hagrid, and Trelawney were clumped in the middle of the long head table. Harry tried to gauge what was going on by reading their mannerisms. When he made it down the line that far, he got a very challenging look from Snape, so Harry ducked quickly back to his breakfast.

The school grounds, not to mention Hogsmeade, were off-limits, so the students clustered in the bailey off the ground floor in the warm spring weather. The sunlight felt wonderful as he and his friends sat on a stone bench beside the fountain, but the warmth made Harry sleepy. He scrubbed his face hard to rouse himself.

“Didn’t you take that potion last night?” Hermione asked.

“Not enough. I’m almost out,” Harry admitted.

“I’ll ask for more, if you don’t want to,” she offered.

Harry huffed in frustration. “I guess I should have you do that. I can’t get by without it.” With a yawn, he said, “Maybe I should take a nap, since I can do that today without missing class.” As he stood up, Ron and Hermione did as well. Had Harry not been too foggy-brained, he would have noticed the meaningful look that passed between his friends. He also would have noticed the other students that followed right behind them, all D.A. members. He would have noticed that non-Gryffindors like Cho were suddenly deciding to hang out in the Gryffindor common room on a sunny Saturday. 

Harry, blissfully unaware of anything other than the prospect of his pillow, bid goodbye at the bottom of the boy’s dormitory stairs and headed up. He eyed the remaining potion on the side table before deciding that he was tired enough to sleep without it. Fully clothed, minus his shoes, Harry fell back onto his bed and drifted off.

An hour later, with a horrified gasp, Harry jerked awake. He had starkly dreamed that Voldemort was standing beside his bed, waiting with patient malevolence for him to wake up. Breathing heavily, Harry sat up and grabbed his wand off the side table. He hadn’t bothered to close the bed drapes, and sunlight poured through the room and across his bed. Out the window he could see that the mountains around the school were verdant with new leaves. Rubbing his tingling scar, Harry stood up and went to the window.  The lawn was deserted, and the wind blew pleasing waves across the undisturbed expanse of green. 

Harry gasped as the tingle in his scar heated to a burn. The stark contrast between the beautiful day and the pain in his scar confused his tired brain. He stumbled backward to sit on the bed, his palm pressed hard against his forehead. With his eyes clenched shut, Harry tried to Occlude his mind, hoping that would cut off the agony. It gave him a vision instead, a vision of Voldemort standing in the castle Entrance Hall, beckoning him.