It was another one of those nights where Harry was unable to fall asleep. Even though he was incredible tired, he couldn't stop thinking about the mess his life had become in just a few short months. If only the patronus-charm wasn't that difficult. If only Sirius Black hadn't broken out of Azkaban. If only Professor Lupin hadn't taught the third-years about Boggarts...

Christmas was just one and a half weeks away and still Harry had made no headway in regards to fighting off the Dementors. And what was worse, even the few people who had - until recently - treated him relatively normal had by now started to eye him with a mixture of contempt and pity.

The prime example were Fred and George Weasley, who had presented him with a special map a week ago, a map that showed each secret passageway as well as any person in the castle and on the grounds.

But when Harry had refused to use the map to sneak out of the castle to Hogsmeade, where all of the older students had gone that day, the twins had looked at Harry as if he had suddenly grown an extra head.

He could understand that Ron's brothers were hurt that Harry didn't seem to appreciate their gift and he had to concede that it was unusual for him to refuse to break a few school-rules, but he hadn't though that it would be this incident that would drive two of the last people who hadn't yet taken to avoid him to do just that. Not after everything else that had happened this term, like him falling unconscious several times, that weird thing with his Boggart, becoming acquainted with what had to be the craziest witch of the school and the constantly escalating rumours that continued to spread through the castle.

However, Harry had to admit that, for a Gryffindor (and the boy-who-lived to boot), he was acting rather cowardly. But no matter what the twins and everybody else was thinking about him, he couldn't bring himself to go anywhere near the Dementors, no matter whether he was underground or not. He just wanted to forget everything he had seen and heard and felt, and if that meant that he couldn't leave the castle ever again, then he was all right with this.

An the day when everyone from third-year and above except Harry had visited the small village near Hogwarts hadn't turned out bad or boring, not at all.

Harry had, for a change, been able to concentrate on his homework without the constant staring of his class-mates, and the remainder of the day he had spent with Luna Lovegood.

He wasn't sure whether he and Luna could be considered 'friends'. He didn't know all that much about the second-year. And while Harry, too, had told the Ravenclaw next to nothing about himself, the girl nevertheless seemed to know an extraordinary amount of details about the Gryffindor. So much, in fact, that Harry had started to wonder whether Divination was perhaps more than a lot of guesswork.

But friends or not, he enjoyed the companionship of the strange girl. Apart from her unique views about magic, it was liberating to interact, for a change, with someone who considered his 'difficulties' with Dementors - or Eudaimonies, as Luna kept calling them - as entirely natural.

Restlessly, Harry rolled over onto his side and closed his eyes for what had to be the hundredth time this night. If this strange sleeping disorder he seemed to suffer from didn't get better some time soon, he would undoubtedly end up in the hospital wing for yet another time.

Even Snape was giving him weird looks during potion-classes and meals in the Great Hall as well as every time Harry had the misfortune to run into the man in the corridors. As this happened more and more frequently, Harry had started to wonder whether the greasy git was stalking him. Of course, it was entirely possible that he imagined things, had hallucinations. The rumours about him being mentally disturbed hadn't escaped the boy's attention.

The hurried scrambling of small, clawed feet on the wooden floor of the third-year boy's dormitory brought Harry out of his reverie. Quickly, he closed his eyes, knowing that his little visitor would bolt if it discovered that Harry was watching its movements.

A few moments later, a scratching sound that suggested that Ron's pet used his shoes to climb up onto the four-poster bed penetrated Harry's ears. Sure enough, the light weight that suddenly landed next to his left knee confirmed that Scabbers had once again decided that the snoring of its master was too loud to get a proper rest.

The first time Scabbers, Ron's old pet-rat, had made it onto Harry's bed had scared the hell out of the boy.

It had been several weeks ago and for a change, Harry had been deeply asleep. Just as almost every night, a vivid nightmare about Bellatrix Lestrange, Yaxley and other faceless Death Eaters had awoken him, his shirt and pants he slept in drenched with sweat, his voice hoarse, almost as if he had screamed himself raw. Which was probably exactly what had happened, actually, considering the nature of his dream and the fact that Neville, on behalf of all the third-year boys, had requested that Harry cast silencing charms on the curtains of his bed weeks ago.

Harry had gladly obliged. He wasn't particularly keen on his class-mates finding out about the content of his dreams. Not that it would have done much harm, considering how low their opinion of the boy-who-lived already had been at that time.

When the silencing charm had been in place, Harry decided that now that he already was working on his curtains, he could go all the way and spell them so that no light from the inside of the curtained area would we visible from the rest of the dormitory. Then, he wouldn't have to worry about the other boys discovering that the most cowardly Gryffindor the house had ever seen couldn't sleep without his wand lit.

Anyway, when Harry had opened his eyes that night, he had stared right into two tiny orbs of light. Two orbs of light that stared back.

It had taken a few moments until he had comprehended what he was seeing. Once he had realized that someone - or something - was watching him, though, he had given a rather undignified squeak and scrambled to the foot of his bed as quickly as possible.

He had recognized his mistake when he wanted to draw his wand only to discover that he was wearing sleep-pants. His wand was lying on his bedside table, directly next to the- Harry blinked. This was...

"Scabbers!" he groaned, feeling both relieved and embarrassed at the same time. Relieved because it wasn't a dark creature or even Death Eater who had been watching him while he had been asleep, and embarrassed because the way he had reacted to a completely harmless rat.

His heart-rate had already started to slow down and he was about to chase Ron's pet away and lie down again when he became aware of something odd. Despite the ruckus he had made, Scabbers hadn't done so much as blinked. Sure, the rat was used to the boys exuberant behaviour, but Harry had witnessed on more than one occasion that Scabbers was anything but brave.

"Ssssh," Harry made, trying to scare the animal away.

Scabbers, however, didn't give any sign that suggested that it intended to return to its owner's bed any time soon.

It wasn't as if Harry had anything against sharing his bed with animals per se. No, he would welcome Hedwig or even Hermione's cat any time. But this rat...it gave him an uneasy feeling even in the best of circumstances. And now the creature was sitting on his pillow, staring at him in such an unnerving manner... was this even normal for rats? Scabber's look was almost... calculating. As if it was waiting for something. As if it hadn't yet decided what to do, as if was planning something...sinister.

Mentally, Harry had groaned at his own cowardice. It was just a rat, an old rat even. Rats weren't capable of setting up elaborate traps to capture, torture or kill a human being.

Still, the nagging feeling that this wasn't an ordinary rat hadn't left Harry alone ever since that night.

Sometimes - well, most of the time - he was convinced that he was only overreacting. He hadn't particularly liked Ron's rat even before the incident, quite the contrary. Touching it had made his skin crawl and he had had the urge to vomit whenever Ron had deposited his pet with him for one reason or another.

Perhaps now, his nerves already strained thanks to the Dementors, the nightmares and how the whole student's body was treating him, his intense dislike had just increased? It was probably fortunate that the boys he shared a dormitory with had yet to find out that Harry panicked because of a cute little pet-rat. It would only fuel the rumours that the boy-who-lived had lost his marbles.

As if to prove himself that he wasn't controlled by some petty phobia, Harry hadn't put up spells that would prevent any unwanted visitor from coming to his bed during the night. A rat couldn't harm him, his fear was completely irrational. His already injured pride wouldn't allow him to guard his bed against the pets of his dorm-mates.

No matter how often Scabbers visited him, though, his aversion to the rat didn't lessen at all. But after he had woken up that first time with Scabbers eyeing him intently and - as far as he could tell - listening to his mumblings during particularly vivid nightmares on numerous other occasions, Harry now preferred to be awake when the animal made its way onto his bed. Then, at least, Scabbers wouldn't scare the hell out of him when he woke up. This was why he had stopped chasing the rat away whenever he heard how the tiny claws made their way over the floor. It wouldn't do any good anyway, as Scabbers would just make a second or third attempt later.

Scabbers, however, didn't seem to be inclined on joining Harry onto his bed when the boy was still awake, and so Harry had taken to feign sleep as soon as he heard the tell-tale scratching.

This night wasn't any different, and even though the close proximity of the rat unnerved the black-haired Gryffindor, at one point he did fall into a restless, nightmare-filled sleep.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!"

The terrified scream of his (former) best friend had Harry wide-awake in less than a second. Before he had the chance to do so much as to grab his wand or even his glasses, he picked up the sound of hurried footsteps and the clacking of a door.

"Ron? Wha'sse mat'er?" the sleepy voice of Seamus asked from the other side of the room.

The sound of rustling fabric suggested that the other boys were pulling their curtains aside to see what had made Ron scream as if he was being slaughtered. Despite their recent estrangement, Harry still cared about the red-head, and so he followed the other boys' lead.

He hardly noticed that Scabbers had disappeared during all the commotion.

Ron was sitting in his bed, ghostly white, his entire form shaking. He made an attempt to speak, but all that came out of his mouth was a hoarse wailing.

"Ron?" Dean had climbed out of his bed and made his way over to the obviously terrified boy hesitantly. "Did you have a nightmare? Are you ill?"

"Do you need Madame Pomfrey?" Neville contributed.

"Si- Si- Sirius Bla- Black! With a knife!"

What followed was deafening silence.

"Are you sure you didn't have a nightmare?" Dean finally asked.

But Harry had already noticed that the curtains around Ron's bed weren't drawn away like those of the other boys. No, they were torn, and the shreds were scattered across the floor. And there, at the food of the other Gryffindor's bed, lay a long, silver knife.

Minutes later, the Gryffindor tower was swamped with teachers. Aurors from the Ministry of Magic followed a short while later. After an initial search and questioning of the Fat Lady, it was determined that it was unlikely that Sirius Black was still somewhere inside the tower. But since they were dealing with one of the most dangerous criminals of all time, no one was prepared to take any chances. The students had to assemble in their common room, where the headmaster tried to sooth the agitated children who had so unceremoniously been roused from their slumber.

"It appears that Sirius Black has managed to gain entrance to this tower with the intent to cause harm to one or several students," Dumbledore said, for once no hint of cheerfulness in his voice, "The Aurors believe that he had already left the tower when the first teachers arrived, but I'm sure you'll understand that we need to make sure that no harm will befall you within these walls. Therefore, I have to ask you to stay in the common room until further notice."

"Those of you who have friends or siblings in other houses, rest assured that Aurors have already secured the other three towers respective dungeons as well. As we speak, the heads of houses deliver the same message to their students. Once we are sure that the escapee isn't hiding out in one of the houses, the Aurors will move on to search the rest of the school. I'm afraid you won't be able to leave the tower until the entire castle is deemed secure. If that means you have to stay in here when the time for breakfast arrives, the house elves will of course serve you your food here. Classes are likely to be cancelled anyway, as the teachers and I need to determine what to do to prevent such a situation from occurring in the future."

"The third-year boys as well as the prefects and any other student who believes that he or she has noticed anything unusual that might be related to Black forcing his way into the tower please be available to the Aurors for questioning. If you have any further concerns, please speak with your head of house or Professor Lupin, both of whom will be staying here until the Aurors have finished their search."

As soon as Dumbledore had finished his speech, the students started to chatter. It wasn't any day that a mass murdered broke into what was practically your home and tried to kill one of your fellow students. Said student had already been brought to the infirmary where Madame Pomfrey was treating Ron for shock, guarded by several more Aurors, of course.

With shaking knees, Harry sank down on one of the many sofas. Even if he hadn't known in advance that he was the boy Sirius Black was after, the way the teachers and Aurors acted around him would have made it clear that Ron had only been a casualty - or would have been, if he hadn't woken up at exactly the right moment.

Professor McGonagall had cast several different protection spells Harry hadn't even heard about on him as soon as she had come running into the boy's dormitory, summoned by a frantic Percy. When the first Aurors had arrived, they had practically formed a circle around him and only when it became clear that Black had long since left this particular dormitory they had scattered around the entire tower, with only two of them left to protect the boy-who-lived if necessary.

Harry hadn't paid much attention to the man who didn't seem to have an inch of skin not marred by one curse scar or another and the young woman with pink hair who had shielded him for the last five minutes or so. He had been too occupied by the intense guilt he was feeling that once again, Ron had been hurt because of him being friends with the boy-who-lived.

Of course, he had to admit that it was probably a mere coincident that it had been Ron's bed that Black had raided first, but still, this was the third year in a row Ron had been injured by someone who ultimately wanted to kill him, Harry.

Perhaps it would be easier for everyone if one of them - Voldemort, Black, some gigantic spiders or whoever - fulfilled the deed already, Harry thought gloomily.

"So, well, you all right?" the pink-haired Auror asked.

Harry's head snapped up. "Yeah," he muttered, perfectly aware that he was being rude. Still, he wasn't in the mood for small-talk.

"Hmm," the woman hummed, "I'm Tonks, by the way, I'm an Auror in training. Only have started a few months ago, mind you, but Moody - that's the man with all those scars and the scary eye - seems to think that I'm good enough to assist in real missions already. It's nice to be back at Hogwarts, actually, would never have thought that I would miss my old school. I have never been to Gryffindor common room, though, it's quite nice. Not as good as Hufflepuff, of course, but still." She took a few steps forward to have a better look at the flights of stairs that led up to the dormitories, and promptly stumbled over one of the lower tables next to the sofas.

"For Merlin's bloody sake!" she cursed, her face turning a few shades darker when she noticed that some of the other Gryffindors had watched her clumsy movements and were now giggling.

"Hmpf. This is serious business, kids, no reason to laugh. Well, I'll better see what Moody and Dumbledore are discussing," she added, turning around to Harry once more, "otherwise the paranoid git will accuse me of slacking again. You stay put, Potter!"

With that firm order, the young trainee stepped next to her superior, who was indeed in a deep conversation with the headmaster. Every now and then, Moody and Dumbledore looked in Harry's direction, frowning slightly.

As much as Harry strained his ears, he couldn't understand more than a few words from what was likely a discussion about him. He really hated this, adults speaking about him as if he was a toddler that couldn't possibly be allowed to have a say in matters concerning himself.

Words like "too dangerous", "miracle... rash decisions... chasing him down on his own" and finally "Christmas holidays... back home" penetrated his ears.

Great. Now they were planning on sending him back to the Dursleys. What a lovely prospect, spending Christmas in his cupboard.

But at least he would be away from the Dementors. That was something, wasn't it?