“A love potion?” Hermione repeated. “How awful!”

“So, what happened?” Ron asked.

“I don’t know. Dumbledore said we’d talk about it another time,” Harry said.

“Surprised You-Know-Who’s father was a Muggle,” Ron said.

“A coerced Muggle!” Hermione interjected as though offended the love potion wasn’t being discussed. “Tom Riddle was magically manipulated by Merope. It’s a terrible violation.”

“Maybe it explains You-Know-Who’s hatred of Muggles,” Ron said and Harry looked at him curiously. “You said Tom Riddle went back home alone after a few months, right?”

Harry nodded.

“Maybe the potion wore off and he left Merope while she was pregnant. Merope might’ve told him all about how his Muggle father abandoned them,” Ron said with a shrug.

Harry nodded slowly, thinking. Ron had a pretty good theory. It made a lot of sense.

“Poor Merope though,” Hermione said. “While using a love potion is terrible, her life seemed to be nothing but pain. I can’t even imagine the kinds of things she went through and at the hands of her father of all people.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably, thinking about all his experiences living with the Dursleys. They were meant to take care of him yet they were the ones to hurt him the most. He hid a flinch as the worst of his injuries on his back that had yet to fully heal pulled and stung.

“At least Dumbledore is finally telling you all of this,” Ron said. “It’s about time you knew how all of this happened.”

Harry didn’t get a chance to respond as a low but loud groaning sound echoed throughout the school. The three of them stopped to look around as did everyone else around them. Harry’s eyes travelled all over and he turned around to look at all the paintings. It took a moment, but then he noticed and frowned.

“Harry?” Hermione said.

“Look,” Harry said, pointing to a painting of a knight on a horse. Ron and Hermione stepped up beside him to also see the painting.

“It’s…it’s not moving,” Hermione said, clearly confused.

Harry looked at the other students, seeing their confusion. He moved his eyes to Ron and Hermione. They also looked confused, but there was also concern. Gazing at Ron, he knew they were both thinking about the cracked landing they had seen before.

The castle was breaking down, but how and why?

Harry’s eyes snapped open and he sat up. He looked around to make sure the other boys were still asleep. Confirming they were, he slipped out of bed and snuck down to the common room. He sat heavily on one end of the sofa in front of the roaring fire, tucking his legs under him. He wrapped his arms around himself and stared into the fire, willing it to burn away all the painful memories.

Seeing the treatment of Merope Gaunt and discussing it with Ron and Hermione had brought back all his memories of the Dursleys to the front of his mind. Not that they weren’t always just under the surface, but, the longer he was at Hogwarts, the easier it became to just not think about the Dursleys.

He reached up to absently but carefully scratch a healing, but now itchy cut on his shoulder. The nightmare—the memory—flashed in his mind and he shifted, hugging himself tighter.

While he had no intention of ever letting anyone know the truth about the Dursleys, he couldn’t help but sometimes wish he had someone. Someone to go to when he felt alone, like now. Someone that wouldn’t force him to talk or try solve anything, but would just be there. He wasn’t sure what he wanted, if it was a friend or a parent, but just someone, someone he’d never had.

His mind instantly went to Sirius. Sirius hadn’t been the type of person he wanted, but he had been someone for him. Sirius had been the closest thing to family, the closest thing to a steady, helpful, caring adult he’d ever had. Sirius hadn’t been the best in many situations, but he’d still been there. If he’d had more time to recover from Azkaban and be free, he probably would’ve been better. But that was over. Sirius was gone.

He swiped at the tears that had begun to fall. He didn’t have a right to keep crying over Sirius, not when he was the reason his godfather was killed in the first place. He didn’t deserve to be sad and he definitely didn’t deserve to have someone take care of him or help him. He’d just get them killed and that wasn’t fair. He could wish he wasn’t alone, but it’s how it was meant to be. Being alone was what he deserved.

He rubbed his eyes, feeling tired and frustrated. He shifted to sit sideways on the sofa, leaning into the corner of the arm and back. He pulled his knees to his chest, tucking his arms in between. He let his head rest against the back while keeping his eyes on the fire, the dancing flames lulling him back to sleep.

Harry glared hatefully at Draco Malfoy as the blonde sauntered over to him. They had been paired up to practice non-verbal shields by Snape, the new Defense professor. It had been over two months and he still couldn’t believe Dumbledore had actually given Snape the job. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought Dumbledore actually wanted him dead or brought to Voldemort. He didn’t believe the memory he saw in fourth year or anything Dumbledore said about Snape being a spy for the Light; once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater. And, as he stared at Malfoy, he knew the blonde had become one as well, he just knew it. Malfoy was essentially the poster child for Death Eater recruitment.

He gripped his wand so tightly it hurt. The amount of rage and hatred he felt as he stared at Malfoy consumed him.

“Take turns and if I hear any whispering, you will immediately fail,” Snape spat. “Only Tickling Charms. Anything else will also result in a failing grade. Begin.”

Harry glanced at Snape and felt the same white-hot rage and anger. A part of him truly wished both Slytherins dead and another part truly wanted to be the one to kill them.

“Let’s get this over with, Potter,” Malfoy snapped. “We know you can’t do it anyway.”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry ground out, trying to ignore the jab. They had started non-verbal magic almost a month ago and he’d been completely incapable of doing anything without speaking. It had been the main source of the year’s conflict between him and Snape. He kept whispering spells, Snape kept catching him, and then Snape would yell and rant about Harry’s idiocy and uselessness.

“Prove me wrong,” Malfoy sneered, raising his wand.

Harry automatically stiffened at having an enemy wand pointed at him. He raised his own wand and did his best to focus on what they had been learning about non-verbal magic, as little as that was coming from Snape. He pictured the outcome he wanted and began to repeat the incantation in his head. He kept it up while gazing at Malfoy, waiting.

“Diffindo,” Malfoy said, catching Harry off guard.

He performed the wand movement, but, as expected, no shield was produced. He gasped quietly as the curse hit, leaving a small cut on his bicep. He glowered at Malfoy who smirked, his grey eyes glittering with malice. Harry glanced at Snape who had been circulating, but was currently chewing out Seamus Finnigan for whispering. Looking back at Malfoy, he read the dare in the Slytherin’s face. Malfoy was daring him to say something about the use of the Cutting Curse instead of the Tickling Charm, knowing Snape would do absolutely nothing to support Harry.

He gripped his wand tighter. He wouldn’t give Malfoy the satisfaction.

With an evil grin, Malfoy raised his wand again. “Diffindo,” he said quietly again.

Harry screamed the incantation in his mind and waved his wand, but, once again, he failed. He hissed as the cut opened up on his cheek. He could feel himself trembling with the fury he felt at Malfoy’s smug face. He readied himself again.

Malfoy didn’t wait long this time. “Diffindo.” 

Harry waved his wand, but he knew nothing would happen without the time to prepare. His hand flew to his neck as it received a thin, shallow slice.

“Diffindo!” 

Harry felt his anger explode in the face of Malfoy clearly wanting to hurt him by not giving him a chance to prepare. There was a pressure in his chest that he had never felt before and, as the curse hit his throat again, it released outward. There was a bright light and suddenly Malfoy was on the floor, his hands over a fairly deep cut on the side of his neck. It wasn’t deep enough to kill, but it was bleeding severely.

“Potter!” Snape roared, racing over with wild eyes. Harry instinctively took a step back. “I knew you were moronic, but thank you for proving that you do not possess even a single brain cell! Do you not understand what a Shielding Charm is?”

“I…I…” Harry stuttered, unable to form words as he tried to understand what had just happened.

“Detention, Potter,” Snape growled. “With me for two weeks, starting tonight.”

“Sir!” Harry protested, feeling his rage rebuild instantly.

“Get out!” Snape yelled. Every other student scurried from the room as fast as possible. When he realized Harry was still there, Snape screamed, “Out!” 

Harry glared, grabbed his bag, and stormed out, his entire body shaking with anger and as a result of whatever he had done. He hurried away from the dungeons, his head pounding and his mind racing with confusion and a bit of fear at what he’d done.

“Harry.”

He jumped as he turned a corner, nearly running into Ron and Hermione. She was about to say something when some of the Slytherins from Potions class walked by, shooting Harry glares filled with hate and even a little bit of fear.

“C’mon,” Harry said quietly and they left the dungeons. They walked into the Great Hall, ignoring the stares and murmurs. Word of what had happened had clearly travelled around already. They sat at an empty space at Gryffindor table. Harry sighed and rubbed his face vigorously. He looked at his hands and found they were still shaking. He clenched them tightly, trying to stop the tremors.

“You okay, mate?” Ron asked, piling food on his plate and shrugging at Hermione’s look of disgust.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Harry said, staring intently at his hands.

“Harry,” Hermione said and he looked up at her. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said. “I was just so mad and there was this pressure. When he got me with the last curse, some…power just…exploded. I couldn’t control it and I didn’t mean to do it.”

Or did you? You had been thinking how you wished he was dead and that you could kill him yourself, a voice said in his mind.

Harry frowned at himself. He knew he had thought those things, but had he actually meant them? Besides Voldemort, he’d never wished anyone dead and he certainly never wished to kill anyone. He knew he was angry, angrier than ever, and he felt a hatred towards anyone he considered an enemy greater than he’d ever felt, but surely it was all normal given all of the circumstances. Or was there something else going on? He wasn’t the only angry one inside Hogwarts. Anger and hate filled the school. So, if it wasn’t just him, what was going on? Where had that power come from? Who would want him to kill, or at least try to kill, Malfoy?

Harry suddenly became aware of eyes on him. His gaze was instantly pulled to the head table and connected with the blue eyes of Dumbledore. His eyebrows furrowed slightly at the headmaster’s intense stare and the strange chill that ran through his body.

Harry took a deep breath and knocked on the door to the Potions classroom, absently confused why Snape was having him do detention there when it was no longer his subject. He only had to wait a moment before being permitted entrance.

“Enter.”

He pushed the door open and stood just inside, letting the door close and waiting. Snape was sitting at the desk, illuminated by candles as he completed some grading. Harry twisted his hands together, glad his shaking had stopped but still anxious about all the strange things that had occurred the last few days.

“Professor Slughorn has requested some help so you will clean, Potter,” Snape said without looking up. “Get started.”

Harry sighed and walked into the storeroom where the wash basins were. They were wide and deep to accommodate all sizes of cauldrons. Beside the basins was a small stack of about five cauldrons, clearly used, along with a few stirrers and ladles. He was honestly surprised there wasn’t more, that Snape hadn’t provided an impossible amount to clean within the hour he’d be there. His uncle would have and usually did, having a list of ‘chores’ longer than him that he was expected to finish in only a few, impossible hours. He never finished in time; that was the point. It was just another reason to hurt him. Taking the mild detention for what it was, he rolled up his sleeves and got to work. While the work did remind him of the Dursleys, it was also relaxing in a way. It took some of his focus so he was not overwhelmed with everything on his mind for once.

Before he knew it, the hour was up. He had cleaned everything except one cauldron. He put the clean tools and cauldrons away just as Snape called for him.

“Get out here, Potter.”

Harry left the storeroom and stood silently in front of Snape. He shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from fidgeting in the tense silence. After a few long minutes, Snape finally looked up and their eyes met.

Harry had to take a physical step back at the jolt that ran through him at their eye contact. It was similar to dinner when he met Dumbledore’s eyes. Except this felt…better in some way whereas it had been like a chill with Dumbledore.

“Are you an imbecile, Potter?”

And, just like that, whatever he had been feeling was gone and replace, once again, with rage.

“You must be considering that was a very simple question,” Snape said and Harry clenched his fists. “Now, tell me, was it your intention to kill Mr. Malfoy?”

“No, sir,” Harry said through gritted teeth. “I don’t know what happened.”

“So, you are an infant that cannot control himself,” Snape sneered and Harry glowered. “If you ever harm Mr. Malfoy like that again, mark my words, you will not enjoy what I do to you.”

Harry did his best not to react as his stomach lurched slightly at the threat. He couldn’t help but think of his uncle and all his ‘punishments’. Was Snape truly capable of doing things like that, especially to students? Would Dumbledore even allow something like that?

“Potter!”

Harry jumped at the shout.

“Do you understand me?” Snape said.

“Yes, sir,” Harry ground out.

“Same time tomorrow,” Snape said. “Now, get out.” He lowered his head back over his work.

Harry cast one last glare at Snape’s head before turning and stalking out of the room back to Gryffindor Tower. Once inside the common room, he unclenched his hands and released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His mind and emotions were a swirling mess.

What the hell was going on?