He helped Toby dress for the occasion (the boy wanted to show his support of Harry by wearing Gryffindor colours, and was thrilled to be able to see the match this time since they had both missed the one against Slytherin), before he passed the boy over to Hermione and Dobby’s capable care.

Harry was supposed to be heading down for breakfast but was unable to move away from the bathroom mirror as he stared angrily at his hair. Its length had been no real issue since he’d let it grow out, other than having to keep an eye on when to trim it and the fact that brushing took a few seconds longer than usual; he’d even come to find comfort in the delusion that if it curtained his face like Snape’s did then he was further shielded from the things around him that he wished to ignore.

Now it was proving to be a hassle as Harry pondered on the elastic band he gripped in his fist and tried to determine if the embarrassment of tying his hair back into a short ponytail was really worth the ability to see during the match.

Feeling he owed his team for his absence in the previous match, Harry grasped his hair and tied it back before he hurried from the Gryffindor tower and headed for the Great Hall.

The looks that followed him were not-so-easily ignored without his hair to make him feel better, especially when it was his hair in which had caused the reactions.

Sighing, Harry sat at the table and hurriedly ate his brief meal of eggs and toast before he was on his feet again. He ventured to the Hospital Wing to check on Ron before he would head down to the pitch for the match, in which he really wished McLaggen had nothing to do with.

The conversation was short as Madam Pomfrey came to fuss over Ron and insist that he could not go down to watch the match, lest it overexcite him, which would do his recovery no good.

By the time Harry shook hands with the Hufflepuff Captain and kicked off from the ground the moment he heard Madam Hooch’s whistle, Harry began to feel rather anxious. Not just because McLaggen was still bossing everyone around and being downright irritating, nor was he lacking confidence in his team or the outcome of the game, but because Toby was down there somewhere in the open, amongst the crowd. He knew Hermione had a potion she intended to use to help the boy blend in and Dobby would be keeping a stern lookout, but still Harry worried.

He had to catch the snitch as soon as possible, to ease the burden of McLaggen and also to make sure Toby was fine.

‘And that’s Smith of Hufflepuff with the Quaffle,’ The female voice that offered commentary of the match was unmistakably Luna.

Harry to chuckled as he listened to her for only a moment.

After shouting at McLaggen at least twice while still trying to search the skies and pitch for the snitch, Harry turned to cast the crowd another anxious scan. He could see the masses of Gryffindors cheering and it was naturally impossible to spot a few particular people amongst them.

Passing by a stand, he saw several teachers seated to watch the match and shared a brief glanced with Snape as he flew by.

‘Seventy-forty to Hufflepuff!’ McGonagall interrupted whatever Luna had previously been saying about Smith, to announce the score.

‘Is it, already?’ Luna glanced towards the actual match. ‘Oh, look! The Gryffindor Keeper’s got hold of one of the Beater’s bats!’

Harry did a second-take and swerved around to glare at McLaggen. Harry, remembering the significant expression Snape had given him a brief moment ago, flew forward and took matters into his own hands. He had tolerated quite enough from McLaggen and wasn’t going to let that idiot ruin the match.

‘Give him back his bat and get back to the goalposts!’ Harry snarled as he moved closer to his Keeper and Beater.

Fixing McLaggen with his best Snape-glare as he cleared his throat to adjust his tone to what Harry hoped would be rather menacing.

‘If you so much of screw one more thing up or tell yet another person what to do then I will call a time out and have you removed without any shred of dignity, do you understand?’ Harry said in a lower, perfectly clear tone. ‘Do your bloody job because so far it’s the only thing this team isn’t getting right!’ He snapped.

‘STOP INTERFERING!’ Harry added in a roaring tone, drowning out the words of Luna thinking his “arguing with the Keeper is unlikely to help him find the snitch”, as well as the cheers coming from the Slytherin and Hufflepuff stands in reaction to her words.

McLaggen, stunned and yet still rather annoyed, watched Harry as he bluntly heard every word. And by some miracle (Harry must have done the expression and tone right), the Keeper turned on his broom and headed back to the goalposts after giving Peakes’s bat back.

‘Thanks.’ The Beater nodded and rushed off to trail a bludger that was aiming for Ginny.

‘No problem.’ Harry muttered as he returned to his post above the pitch and continued his own task of locating the snitch.

--

As the match progressed, Gryffindor caught up in the scores and no one could believe that McLaggen had actually listened to Harry, but then again, no one had seen the look of utter venom on the Gryffindor Captain’s face when he’d spoken those threatening words. Harry wondered just how effective it had really been and made a mental note to check it in the mirror later.

Just as he spotted a streak of gold against blue, the worst possible thing happened and at the most inconvenient time.

Harry heard a voice, a whisper, and then a creak of twig against foot. He was hovering a great deal of height above the ground of the pitch and yet they were clearer then the roaring crowd around him. His mind felt strange as there was a pull and suddenly everything began to cloud around him.

A vision; something Harry had not experienced in a long time and by no means wanted to experience right now…

--

‘Are you sure?’ The voice whispered again as a scene of a dark room formed into view inside Harry’s mind.

‘Yes, that’s what I was told,’ said a woman concealed in the shadows cast by the large walls around them and the lack of actual light.

Suddenly Harry was outside, looking over at the Mansion that loomed above the hedge and forest scenery. He felt pleased and yet oddly at unease about being there, as though he was where he was supposed to be but at the wrong moment.

‘My lord!’ A man clothed in black rushed to his side and bowed. ‘Is it true?’

‘Yes.’ Harry spoke but it was Voldemort’s voice in which he heard.

‘Dumbledore is posing to be a far greater threat then I had anticipated. It seems he is no longer sending the boy to fight his hopeful battles.’

‘Harry Potter?’ The man swallowed nervously. ‘But, My Lord-‘

‘CRUCIO!’

Harry knew he was in a vision and tried to fight his way out of it, with little success. He also couldn’t help but wonder what was going on as this was the first one he’d witnessed in which was difficult to make out. Words and scenes shifted or became blurred, until he was neither there nor here, hearing not a full sentence yet no less than several words.

The next moment he was aware of everything as he stared down at the sight of a girl not much older than himself, crying and pleading to be spared as she’d had no idea that it would be wrong, that Dumbledore would get there first.

And he could not bear to witness the sight of yet another murdered innocence, therefore Harry did the only thing he thought would save him from it – he tried to get away. He had never done it before with the visions because he wanted – needed – to know what Voldemort was doing and often searched for any clues on to how to stop it. But this could not be stopped, no matter how Harry wished he could do something – anything - to save that girl.

‘Think of something else.’ Harry thought to himself although it sounded as a voice inside his own mind that slowly began to alter the vision and sounds once again.

‘Where was I? Who was I with?’ He couldn’t remember, so he tried to focus on something he could never forget and thought of frequently.

‘I miss my parents.’ Harry sighed and concentrated on photos he had memorized of them, only to discover that a single one of his mother laughing mutely to towards him, was powerful; enough to cause the vision to fade like smoke gushing out of a ventilation slot.

--

And suddenly, with a jerking pain in his head, Harry’s eyes snapped open.

He became accustomed to the fact that he was on his back, resting on a warm and comfortable bed in the Hospital Wing.

‘Nice of you to drop in,’ Ron grinned at him when Harry sat upright and glanced over at his friend.

Harry said nothing as he blinked and rubbed the soreness of his scar, though it was beginning to fade in a way he’d never felt it do before; much like a cut quickly sealing itself closed, replacing the stinging with mere numbness.

Gasping with the relief of leaving the vision yet guilty he could not save the girl, Harry laid his head back against the light pillow and stared towards his side, away from Ron.

‘What happened?’ Harry's voice sounded deeper then he was used to, as though a change had overcome him during the past few hours since he had been looking for the snitch and then battling his mind with Voldemort.

‘Not sure.’ Ron replied as Madam Pomfrey rushed over.

‘You fainted.’ She told Harry, who only barely heard her as his mind tried to regain itself from the events that had occurred

‘And fell a hundred or so feet, which would have been worst had your teammates not caught you in time.’ Pomfrey fussed with obvious disapproval.

‘It’s nothing to worry about now, but I’m keeping you in overnight.’ She sounded stern and yet even Ron had noticed the uncertainty in her tone. Pomfrey knew his state was fine now but hadn’t a clue as to what had caused it; someone who had been playing Quidditch as long as Harry had and with his level of talent did not just faint in the middle of a match.

‘You shouldn’t overexert yourself for a few hours.’ The Mediwitch added.

‘I don’t want to stay here overnight,’ Harry told her angrily as he thought about Toby and the reason he had been so distracted in the match.

He sat upright again and threw off his covers as though to prove his point about wanting to leave.

‘I have to find McLaggen and kill him.’ He growled.

‘I’m afraid that would come under the heading of “overexertion”, Potter.’ Pomfrey made a move to push him firmly back to the bed, but he effectively dodged it and headed for the door, which shut just beyond his reach.

He felt himself being magically returned to the bed where no amount of annoyance would enable him to leave it.

‘You WILL stay here until I discharge you, Potter.’ Pomfrey threatened with her wand out while Ron watched on warily. ‘Or I shall call the Headmaster.’

‘Go on, then.’ Harry challenged. ‘Call him. I don’t care. I can’t stay here!’

Staring at him for a moment, Pomfrey saw she had no choice if she wanted to get a moment of peace without having to watch him every minute.

‘Very well,’ she marched into her office to do exactly that.

‘Are you sure-?’ Ron gasped at his friend.

‘Do you know how many points we lost the match by?’ Harry distracted Rom as he spoke through clenched teeth.

‘Well, yeah I do,’ Ron sighed. ‘Final score was two hundred and seventy to one hundred and ninety.’

Harry had no time to comment as Pomfrey returned with an agitated expression and her wand still at grasp. Beside her were Professors Dumbledore and Snape.

‘Why’s he here?’ Harry indicated to Snape in a rather disrespectful tone.

Really, he had nothing against the man these days, but given what had happened to cause his current situation, Harry was not in the mood to hear the man sneer about his poor Occlumency skills. And honestly, whose fault was it that he’d had terrible teaching in the subject? Harry refused to believe otherwise.

‘Potter!’ Pomfrey scowled. ‘I’ve had quite enough of your attitude.’

‘As have I.’ Severus was surprised by the sudden glare that marked the boy’s features.

‘However, I am yet to find an efficient method in which to silence the boy, short of a few select spells, Madam.’ He told the Mediwitch in a sarcastic tone. ‘Rest assured that your lecture shall fall upon deaf ears.’

‘Hmph!’ Pomfrey had already explained the situation to Dumbledore and therefore had no further reason to stay as she stormed off to her office, muttering under her breath as she went.

‘Harry, there is little reason to be angry at Madam Pomfrey.’ Concern etched across Dumbledore’s face as he spoke. ‘She is merely doing her job to ensure that you make a speedy recovery.’

‘But I feel fine.’ Harry insisted.

‘What happened, mate?’ Ron said, earning himself a glare from Snape for his sudden interruption. ‘Some say it was a bludger that did it.’

‘It was bloody Voldemort, that’s what!’ Harry crossed his arms, not sure why he was suddenly so annoyed but somehow it felt justified.

‘A vision?’ Dumbledore guessed.

While Severus seemed calm and calculating, secretly he was praying over and over that none of what he was hearing would eventually involve anything along the lines of further Occlumency lessons. No matter the hold Dumbledore had over him, Severus simply refused to head down that road again.

Not after what happened last time.

‘It was different somehow.’ Harry calmed the more he spoke about it, as though his thoughts were elsewhere; it was not the best impression to give off, given the topic of discussion that was taking place.

‘Different, how?’ Dumbledore encouraged.

‘I dunno; it wasn’t as clear.’ Harry shrugged. ‘It all kept changing and sometimes I could hear what was going on and the others it was sort of…blurred.’ He used the word that had been the best way to describe it.

‘Blurred?’ Severus echoed, bringing the Gryffindors attention to himself, despite it being exactly what he had been trying not to do. ‘How do you mean?’

‘I don’t know!’ Harry frowned and rubbed at his tingling forehead again.

‘I didn’t like what I saw so I…I must’ve done something because it got harder to make everything out and then I woke up.’ He looked over at Ron as though expecting his friend to say he had shaken him awake or something similar.

‘It wasn’t me.’ Ron said. ‘I didn’t do anything; you just sort of groaned a bit and woke up. I wondered if you were having a bad dream or something.’

‘What were you thinking of, before you woke up?’ Dumbledore questioned. ‘If you expressed the desire to leave, how did you attempt to go about it?’

‘I tried to pull away at first.’ Harry remembered, wondering why it was so important.

Isn’t this what they wanted him to do? Stop the visions from happening? Except for the fact that he’d never been able to do it before…something they also knew.

‘I tried to think of something else but I couldn’t remember what I’d been doing before…so I just, well…I focused on a memory instead and then it stopped.’

‘Merlin,’ Breathed Snape in obvious disbelief with an expression that suggested he thought Harry was lying to them.

‘What precisely do you think Occlumency is, Potter?’ He scowled.

‘I don’t know, you didn’t tell me!’ Harry growled back. ‘Clear my mind…yeah, like that’s bloody possible when someone’s poking around in it.’

Unable to control his annoyance towards the boy, Severus turned and left the room as he no longer cared about the boy’s well-being since the brat was obviously fine. And that arrogant, Gryffindor cheek had returned.

Merlin, grant him the courage not to strangle the boy!

Harry leaned back in his sheets and watched as Snape left. He had told the truth, so what if the git didn’t believe him?

After talking with Dumbledore a short while longer, the headmaster also departed the ward with the firm instruction that Harry would be spending the night there.

Not a moment later, a small group of Gryffindors rushed into t ward to visit him and make sure he was okay, once Pomfrey had let them past, of course. Harry lightened up a little as he recognized Ginny, Luna, Hermione, and…actually, he didn’t know who the first year boy was behind them but didn’t have time to think on it as the girls started talking about the match and asking how he was.

Once they had calmed down enough for him to really get a word in, Harry decided it wouldn’t be too risky to question something he had only just realized to be the cause of his foul mood; his concern and anxiety about the youngest resident in the Gryffindor Tower.

‘How’s Toby?’ He asked.

For some reason this seemed to amuse the others. It was then that the first year stepped forward and smiled at him. Harry gasped at the dark hair, obsidian eyes, and general features he was so very used to seeing every day on a much smaller face.

‘T-Toby?’ He stared, unable to believe it.

Ron appeared to be having similar reactions and Hermione had to shush him before he caused a scene.

‘Bloody hell.’ Ron stared.

‘Yeah, it’s me.’ The eleven-year-old nodded with a cheeky smile. ‘Hermione brewed an aging potion, but it’ll wear off soon so we can’t stay long.’

‘It’s mostly in appearance only; he’s still six-years-old at heart and mind.’ Hermione explained with a modest shrug.

‘It was all I could do in short notice. I had to resize his clothes as he grew.’ She added.

‘It’s brilliant.’ Ron said while Harry could do nothing but stare.

It was actually a rather sad sight to see his six-year-old brother suddenly stand before him “five years older” then he should be. He wasn’t sure why, but it made Harry feel quite uncomfortable.

Later that night in the Hospital Wing, Harry couldn’t get to sleep as he rolled over and faced away from Ron, trying to drown out his friend’s snores with the pillow he’d placed over his head.

It had been a weird day.

And seeing Toby older was having a stronger impact on Harry then the vision or McLaggen had, for a reason still undetermined by the teen.

He had imagined once or twice what Toby might look like by the time he could attend Hogwarts, which in his mind usually the boy was just taller. But he hadn’t looked as much like himself, still a mini-Snape, but the cheerful, child-like innocence was replaced with a mischievous expression of someone who had more knowledge then they should.

A boy who was more like Snape than Toby, yet with an odd combination of Harry himself that only formulated confusion; it was the best way Harry could describe it. And of course, the kid’s voice was different too, not by much, but enough for him to not just be Harry's “cute little brother” anymore.

Toby also had certain similarities to Harry at that age. It sent shivers down his spine, yet the fact was still undeniable by the teen.

He was just thankful that the next time he saw Toby, the boy would be six-years-old and full of innocent, joyous child-likeness once again.

Allowing his mind to drift in effort to fall asleep, Harry thought upon the stress he had been under throughout his 6th year so far.

With Toby to care for, he had little time for himself and the things he wanted to do, while lately Harry had tried anyway. It wasn’t working though, as Harry only stressed more and it affected Toby – as judged by the little stunt the boy had pulled when he’d gone to the Astronomy tower on his own, tired of waiting for Harry to keep his promise.

For a boy who the hat thought should go to Slytherin, there was a great deal of Gryffindor in Toby…and yet, that seemed to apply to Harry as well.

Nevertheless, Harry knew he needed another way to handle everything; perhaps if he had a little help with his tasks and such, but who? Dobby, of course, would be perfect and yet he was occupied with Toby almost all of the time-wait!

Harry owned more than one house-elf.

Jerking upright in his bed, Harry felt the shock spread through him as he couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it before.

He would never trust the elf with Toby (Kreacher’s language alone was a terrible influence on the poor kid), but with his own tasks? Sure, Harry felt he could handle the house-elf easily enough now that he had a grip on the whole “being a master” thing because of Dobby.

‘Kreacher?’ Harry whispered into the dimness of the ward.

He half-expected a loud arrival followed by a series of mutterings about mudbloods and blood-traitors, and therefore was rather surprised when the elf simply appeared with nothing more than an expression of deep loathing.

‘Master called me?’ The elf bowed; the tone was in no way kind or respectful.

‘Look,’ Harry sighed as he climbed off his bed and crouched before the elf.

Kreacher backed away and gripped the end of the bed as he watched the teenager warily. The Gryffindor was determined to neither treat the elf as Sirius had nor to receive the same dislike in return.

‘I know you’ve been raised with the Blacks and no doubt they fed you that “pureblood is best” rubbish, but I'm your master now and I won’t put up with it.’ Harry kept his voice low in fear of waking Ron or Madam Pomfrey.

‘I need your help with a few things from time to time and I don’t want to hear a thing about m-mudbloods or anything of the sort, got it?’

‘Kreacher will do whatever Master wants.’ The elf replied. ‘Because Kreacher has no choice, but Kreacher is ashamed to have such a Master, yes-‘

‘I don’t care,’ Harry told him. ‘Because I intend to change that. You’re my only real chance now; I have too much to worry about at once and it would do no good for us to hate each other if we have to work together a lot.’ He nodded.

‘And you can’t tell anyone about this. You are forbidden to tip anyone off, show anyone what we’re up to, or talk to anyone else, write them messages or otherwise contact a single other person besides me or Dobby, in any way. Got it?’

After a long pause in which Kreacher was clearly attempting to find a loophole in his order; Harry stared and waited for the response, which came in the form of a forced bow and further resentful tone.

‘Master thinks of everything and Kreacher must obey him.’ The elf said.

‘That’s settled, then,’ Harry exhaled with relief. ‘I’ll call you when I need you.’ He added and climbed back into bed, feeling much calmer as his second (or first?) house-elf popped away again.

Within minutes, Harry Potter had fallen asleep to dream of brewing a potion with Kreacher and Dobby’s help; and every time he put in an ingredient from Dobby, the cauldron got bigger, whereas the one from Kreacher made it smaller yet less full.

When he woke the following morning, Harry had no recollection of the dream, and still felt calmer that Kreacher was going to decrease his stresses rather than add to them...however unrealistic that notion may actually be.