“Potter!” Snape roared, storming over to where Harry and Draco Malfoy had their wands drawn. Harry’s wand was raised while Malfoy had dropped his arm when he spotted Snape ahead of time. Harry groaned and let his arm swing down by his side. The strange civility that had been between Harry and Snape the night the Champions were chosen had pretty much disappeared. They were just as angry and hateful to each other as usual. They were constantly fighting again and their weekly meetings had returned to being completely useless.

“Cursing students, Potter?” Snape sneered and Harry glared at him.

“I’d tell you ‘no’ but you won’t believe me anyways,” Harry said angrily, shoving his wand back into his pocket.

“I think twenty points from Gryffindor and detention should suffice,” Snape said and Harry glared again. “Tonight, Potter.”

Harry sighed and shook his head angrily as he watched Snape, Malfoy, and his pack stalk off. The fight had been stupid and, from the last few days, nothing out of the ordinary. Suffice to say, he hadn’t received much support from the Hogwarts population. Rather, the majority of the students were angry at him, believing he stole the attention from Cedric Diggory and Hufflepuff house. Most believed he would not survive, Malfoy being one of them. The Malfoy prince apparently had a bet with his father going on Harry’s survival chances. Apparently Malfoy didn’t think he’d last more than five minutes.

He sighed again and headed to the Quidditch Pitch, climbing into the stands. He wanted to disappear, even worse than in second year. Then everyone was just scared. Now everyone hated him, even most of the Gryffindors. He had a handful of friends left: Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Fred and George, Neville, and Dean. Even Seamus had turned on him, thinking he was seeking attention. He frowned to himself sadly.

Was it really so hard to like him? All these people that called themselves his friends were sure quick to turn on him. That wasn’t friendship. So why was it so hard for anyone to truly like him and care about him? Despite all the care and help he showed the previous year, Lupin clearly didn’t care since he had completely disappeared from Harry’s life.

Biting his lip, Harry realized, painfully, the same could be said for Sirius. His godfather hadn’t made any effort to contact him despite Harry’s numerous letters. Sirius had pretty much got what he wanted. He exposed Pettigrew though the rat had escaped. He got Pettigrew away from Hogwarts, his primary reason for breaking out of Azkaban and into Hogwarts. His main business was done and that business had not included Harry. Harry was not his main focus or concern, was not the primary receiver of his care. It hurt to know even his own godfather wanted nothing to do with him.

Additionally, from his actions the night of the Champion reveals, it was clear Dumbledore did not truly care either. He hadn’t believed Harry when he said he didn’t enter his name. He had actually physically hurt Harry and he hadn’t spoken or even really looked at Harry since that night.

Ron was truly the only one he knew that honestly cared, but one out of so many including his own relatives didn’t completely fill the empty hole he had inside. Oddly and ironically, Snape was the only one from which Harry had felt genuine care even if it had been extremely short lived.

Maybe he wasn’t meant to have a family. He had managed on his own for this long so he really didn’t need anyone anymore. Maybe he was just meant to be alone.

“Hey, Harry!”

He looked up and smiled at Ron who was approaching him.

Well, not completely alone.

Harry glared at the Hufflepuff that shoulder-checked him as he passed. The action had become increasingly common over the days. It had been just over a week and the anger towards him was only getting worse. He sighed and knocked on Snape’s office door.

“Come in,” Snape said, swinging the door open.

Harry did so, blinking in confusion when he saw a small stack of books on the small table in the corner. He looked at Snape who grabbed what appeared to be a roll of parchment.

“You are to rewrite your Potions essay,” Snape said, handing him the parchment. “This was horrific. I refuse to accept it when you have had many opportunities to ask for assistance.”

Harry stared at him in blank surprise. “You…want me to redo an assignment for my detention?”

“Is that a problem?” Snape raised an eyebrow and Harry shook his head. “Follow the notes I have written. The books I have provided will allow for sufficient in depth research. You may leave when you have finished.”

Harry’s head spun as Snape went to his desk, heading to the small desk himself. The professor really knew how to confuse him, always changing his attitude and treatment of Harry. Their relationship seemed so volatile as it was continuously unknown if they would be fighting like usual or newly civil. Harry just sighed and sat down, pulling parchment and a quill from his bag. He unfolded his original essay and was surprised to see actual feedback and tips rather than the usual bright red ‘T’ and derogatory comment at the top.

And so he began to work, looking at and using each comment the Potions master had written. It was all extremely helpful and he found himself writing one of the best essays he ever had. He had never considered asking for Snape’s help on the assignment. Why would he? Snape had never cared before, he had just simply failed Harry and commented on Harry’s stupidity. It was how it had always been. They both knew Harry was horrible at Potions and that he had never put much effort into any of his schoolwork. It wasn’t only Potions. He had never put effort in. He never saw the point. It wasn’t like there was anyone who cared if he did well, if he succeeded. His relatives certainly didn’t care. He also knew that school wouldn’t matter once they were at war and he had to fight Voldemort. Essays wouldn’t help him win a war.

He pushed it all aside for now and continued to rewrite his essay. He wasn’t sure how long it took but he eventually finished and it was at least twice as long as the original. He felt strangely satisfied with the essay, knowing it was actually researched and properly done, and also that Snape would approve.

He frowned at himself. Why would he care if Snape approved? Snape hated him, the feeling was mutual, and he really didn’t care what Snape thought of him. He studiously ignored the small part of him that was saying otherwise as he handed Snape his essay. The professor’s eyes scanned the beginning and he hummed.

“Already much better, Potter,” Snape said. “This is the work I expect to receive from now on. Understood?”

“I-I do, but, sir, the tournament,” Harry said. “I-I might not—“

“Are you worried?” Snape asked casually.

“Yes, sir,” Harry said quietly, finally admitting it to anyone aside from Ron.

“You will be able to do this, Potter,” Snape said, shocking Harry. “You’re capable of more than you think.”

Harry knew he was gaping, but he couldn’t help it.

“You may go,” Snape said dismissively.

Still staring, Harry grabbed his bag and slowly left the office. Staring into space for a moment in the corridor, it was a time before he finally started moving and began the long trek up to Gryffindor Tower. Luckily it was after curfew so he was able to avoid the angry Hogwarts students and he made it to the Tower without issue.

“Ron,” Harry said in surprise when he found Ron sitting in front of the common room fire.

“Hey, Harry,” Ron said, looking up from his Quidditch magazine. “Was starting to think Snape had killed you.”

Harry chuckled, sitting in one of the red armchairs. “Not this time. He had me redo our last essay.”

“Are you serious? That’s it?” Ron said and Harry nodded. “Think there’s something wrong with him? He’s been strange this year.”

“I honestly have no idea what to make of him,” Harry said, shrugging. “He’s giving me whiplash quite frankly.”

They laughed.

“Maybe people can change,” Ron said. “Some people,” he added, obviously thinking of the Dursleys.

“Maybe,” Harry muttered, gazing into the fire. He thought of Dumbledore and Lupin and Sirius, and thought that, while maybe people could change, it wasn’t always necessarily for the better.

The courtyard was swarming as the students of Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang excitedly made their way to Hogsmeade village for the first visit of the year. New friends showed the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students around, encouraging them to buy all kinds of Honeydukes sweets and get closer to the haunted Shrieking Shack. Those of age went into the Three Broomsticks and ordered butterbeers and Firewhiskeys. Those Hogwarts students that weren’t using the tournament as a reason to ignore their schoolwork headed into Scrivenshaft’s to stock up on quills, ink, and parchment.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were wandering the village together, making great attempts to discuss anything except the Triwizard Tournament and the fast approaching First Task. The task was a complete mystery as the Champions had been told nothing except that they were only allowed their wands. The lack of information was not making Harry feel any better about the tournament.

“Want butterbeer?” Ron asked.

“Sounds good,” Harry said, nodding.

“I’ll meet you in a bit,” Hermione said. “I told Ginny I’d help her.”

“With what?” Ron frowned.

“None of your business,” Hermione said and walked away down the crowded street.

“What the hell is that all about?” Ron said, still frowning as Harry pulled him towards the Three Broomsticks.

“Who knows,” Harry said, shivering as they finally got out of the brisk weather. It wasn’t exactly cold yet but the air was still chilled especially if stood in for long periods.

“Probably something to do with Viktor Krum,” Ron grumbled as they found an empty table in the busy pub.

Harry just laughed and gave their order to the young girl that came over.

“So how’re things on the Snape front?” Ron asked.

“Well, I haven’t seen him outside of class since last week so no idea if we’ve had a change,” Harry said. “I see him tonight though. For all I know, we’re back at each other’s throats.”

“He is a bit of a lunatic, isn’t he?” Ron said, chuckling.

“More unpredictable in his temperament,” Harry said. “Lately anyways. He used to be totally predictable since he was just perpetually angry and hated me. Now, I have no idea on a day to day basis. Moody, on the other hand, he’s a lunatic.”

Ron raised his bottle to clink against Harry’s. “Totally agree with you there, mate.”

And then they were falling to the ground in a shower of glass and dust.

Harry gasped audibly as his head spun and his ears rang. He heard screaming, but it was muffled by his already assaulted ears. He gazed around through blurry eyes, trying to figure out what was happening. Slowly his senses began to return and Harry heard Ron’s shouts before he saw his friend.

“Harry! We have to get out of here! It’s Death Eaters!”

Harry barely registered Ron pushing something off his leg before he was pulled to his feet.

“We have to go! Now!” Ron repeated and they rushed over to the gaping hole that had been the door. Harry paused briefly and stared in horror at the sixth year Ravenclaw lying still on the ground, bloody and buried under rubble.

“Harry!”

He tore his eyes from the young girl and continued stumbling over the destroyed building to join Ron at the giant opening. They pulled their wands as they carefully peered around the remaining bits of wall for danger. Other buildings were now crumbling and, across the road, owls were taking flight in fear as the Hogsmeade Post Office burned. Students, shop owners, and villagers were running around in terror, screaming as the black robe and skeletal mask clad Death Eaters chased them and cast various spells within seconds of each other. Harry frowned as he read some of the spells that flew by, not recognizing most of them.

They both ducked as a stray spell from a seventh year Gryffindor headed their way, causing a chair behind them to burn to a crisp.

“We need to go, get back to school,” Ron said and Harry nodded.

However, they apparently waited too long and a red curse hit the ground between them and sent them flying again in opposite directions.

Harry blinked slowly, everything seeming to move in slow motion. His body was heavy and everything was blurry, his ears ringing. Pain was coursing through his body and he groaned, attempting to roll onto his front so he could push himself up. The ringing in his ears was replaced by screams, telling him he hadn’t been unconscious for long. It took some time and effort, but he eventually managed to push himself painfully to his knees. He gasped in pain when he attempted to get to his feet, only to find a large piece of glass in his right side. His eyes closed briefly as his hand came to rest on the blood-soaked shirt beneath the shard. He wasn’t sure if he should take it out or not. It was possible that the glass was the only thing currently keeping him alive.

With a deep breath he chose to leave it in and forced himself to his feet, yelling out in pain as he did so. His head spun with pain and blood loss. He blinked and breathed hard until his vision cleared enough for him to begin walking. One hand remained around the glass and his other grasped his wand as his feet dragged him through what remained of Zonko’s Joke Shop, glancing at the burning Tomes and Scrolls where three dead Durmstrang students lay on the ground.

He stumbled into the street, narrowly missing being run over by a group of crying and screaming Beauxbatons girls.

“Potter!”

He spun around, wincing, at the shout and found himself facing three masked Death Eaters. He tightened his grip on his wand, wishing he could’ve just made it back to the castle.

“Poor little Potter, all alone,” one of them said and then giggled.

Without warning, the Death Eaters began to send curses at him. He responded as quick as he could, attempting to read all the curses coming his way in order to better retaliate. With his wounds, however, he knew he wouldn’t last very long. He was already tiring and getting dizzier with each moment.

Where were any teachers or Dumbledore?

“Bombarda!” he yelled, casting the curse at the ground in front of the Death Eaters, causing a cloud of dust to engulf the Death Eaters and a rain of dirt and cobblestone to fall. As they screeched in anger, Harry did his best to turn and take off running. He wasn’t moving nearly fast enough, though, so, instead, he dove behind a pile of rubble that was from the now crumbling Gladrags. He hissed as the rough movement jostled the shard in his abdomen.

“Potter!”

“Our lord will rise again and this world will be ours!”

“You will perish!”

Harry closed his eyes and leaned against the scorched wood pile behind him. His chest was heaving with pain and fear. With his injury, there was no way he would make it back to the castle. He had no idea where Dumbledore and the Hogwarts staff was. His eyes burned at the thought of how much trouble he was in, how much help he needed. Whenever he needed help there was never anyone there to give it. Except Ron. Ron was always there.

His arm flew up to cover his face as the street beside him exploded and a body flew up. He jumped violently when the body landed at his feet and then felt his heart stop completely when his eyes met the wide, terror-filled blue ones in front of him. His eyes travelled over the familiar face and body, taking in the blood running from the temple and the jaggedly slit throat. Tears filled his eyes and his heart began to pound painfully.

“Ron?” he whispered, pushing himself forward and shakily reaching out to lightly touch his best friend’s pale face. “Ron?” he said a little louder, shaking his friend.

“Harry Potter! I will deliver you to our lord!”

Harry didn’t hear the yell. He couldn’t look away from Ron and the tears were now pouring down his cheeks. He shook Ron more vigorously, sobs rising up in his throat.

“Ron…Ron!” he shouted desperately, feeling his heart shattering. “Ron!”

He looked up when he heard a scream and found Hermione standing there, her eyes wide and her hands over her mouth. He moved his attention back to Ron, meeting the blank blue eyes again and his hand fisting Ron’s shirt. He was so distraught that he failed to hear the Death Eater’s shout or feel the curse approaching him.

“Potter!”

Suddenly black clad legs were beside him and he was protected from the brutal Cutting Curse that would have hit him in the throat. He managed to look away from Ron and found it was Snape standing next to him, found it was Snape that had protected him. He tried to say something, anything, but nothing came out except more tears and sobs. He just watched as Snape knelt down next to him and accepted the Potions master’s hand on his shoulder while the man’s other hand reached out and gently closed Ron’s eyes.

Harry choked on a violent sob and, not possessing the capacity of thought, threw himself at his professor, burying his face in the man’s chest even as one of his hands continued to cling to Ron.

Snape tensed at the initial contact and looked down at his most hated student uncomfortably. He had no idea what to do. How was he supposed to comfort anyone, let alone Harry Potter devastated over his best friend’s death? Still tense and unsure, he brought his arms up and rested one on the boy’s back and the other on the messy head. Potter heaved against him as he sobbed for his friend and it pulled at even Snape’s dead heart.

Potter let out another primal scream of anguish, making Snape jump slightly and then, shockingly, tighten his hold on the child. He found his fingers burying themselves in the black hair and his other hand began to gently rub the boy’s back. He looked over his shoulder when he remembered he was not alone. Dumbledore was standing in front of the other staff members, his eyes pained. Sprout, Sinistra, and even Flitwick had tears streaming down their cheeks. Hagrid was sobbing as well and McGonagall was clearly holding back as she held the crying Granger.

Snape turned his head back, his eyes settling on the dead student and his chest ached. He unconsciously pressed his cheek to the side of Potter’s head, letting his eyes close as he acknowledged his own pain and sadness at the death of Weasley and listening to the heartbroken Potter in his arms.