Summary: The power of the prophecy had deprived him of the chance to rest a single moment. The stress of the war and relationships clouds Harry's judgement, and one mistake leads him to an adventure even more complicated than his own life. HPDM, AU, challenge response, multiple eras, Harry goes to Azkaban, parents alive, temporary Female!Harry, abusive Dursleys, Severitus, Independant!Harry, MultiAnimagus!Harry, plus many more.
Set during OotP, not after.

a/n: The fic will be rated R (M on here) because of serious harm and the disturbing thoughts that come with the part about Dumbledore's illegitimate daughter. ;-) The requirements for the challenge are listed in the HP forums -->Topic Count--> Writing Challenges. There's around 37 cliches to fulfill in the challenge. We started the fic off with Harry's attempted suicide, with a splash of Harry/Hermione. Overall, this is a Harry/Draco piece, from the next chapter, on.

Challenge Response: The Challenge to End All Challenges
Challenge By: Eine Kleine Katze


Symbiosis
By Naycit and Tilly

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HP-DM-HP-DM
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A leaf fell from the oak tree under which Harry was seated and landed on his lap. He eyed it before taking it in his left hand and throwing it away. At that precise moment, a soft breeze began to blow and the leaf never touched the ground. It began to fly away haphazardly, with no direction in which to go, lost, dragged into doing whatever the wind felt like making it do.

Harry snorted at the irony of the case. Whether he wanted it or not, whether it was his choice or not, as Dumbledore had put it, the truth was that Harry shared the same fate as that leaf. He was bound by his destiny, to that accursed prophecy that Sibyll Trelawney had been kind enough to make for him. He had no choice but to follow the path that had already been created for his sole use. The power of the prophecy had deprived him of the chance to rest a single moment. From the day he learned that he was a wizard, that fateful day in late July when he had turned eleven, he had never had a moment of peace… not a single one.

The closest he had felt to being at peace was that night, a few weeks ago. He remembered it well. He and Hermione, on the top of the Astronomy Tower, stargazing, oblivious to the sounds of the other couples that frequented said tower.

He was delightfully listening to her melodic voice as she told him the story of each star. He hadn't caught a single word, nor seen which star she was talking about at which time. All his senses were focused on the fact that her body was warming his.

"And that over there, that's Cygnus, the North Cross as some put it. It's a swan, can you see its shape?" Hermione pointed one delicate finger upwards at the simmering sky.

He had nodded nonchalantly, his eyes never leaving her lips as she talked and gestured.

"Are you even listening to me, Harry?" she had asked, and he had ignored that question entirely, sealing his lips with hers.

"No, I can't say that I have," he had told her as they broke the kiss. She had given him a nervous smile and turned her eyes to the sky again. It had felt so magical, so joyous. It was as if life had finally decided to give him a break.

Indeed, it had for a while, but it turned out to be a heartbreak in the end… and he had discovered it just the next day. What wouldn't he have given to remain kept in the dark? It wasn't that he liked to be blind, so to speak, but it gave his heart a reason to continue beating. He had been so happy believing that she really loved him back.

Why did Peeves have to block the way, forcing him to use the shortcut on his left? Why hadn't he just complied with the poltergeist and set his pants on fire? Why did he have to pull the curtain aside? Why?

A lonely tear fled from his eye, and Harry hastily wiped it away as the image that tormented his sleep came to the forefront of his mind once again.

Hermione… his beloved Hermione, looking more beautiful and happier than ever. And his best friend (yeah right, his best friend), Ron, kissing her fiercely.

The sound of their deep bond didn't let them hear when Harry stepped into the dark corridor. Their eyes closed in ecstasy didn't let them see when he approached. But then he sniffed, tears prickling in his emerald-green eyes already. At that, the pair had broken apart hastily. Ron had locked eyes with him, terrified and guilty. But she, oh she… she hadn't even looked up from the floor. She hadn't had enough courage to face him, to confront the sadness in his eyes… in his heart.

No, she had ignored him and let him walk away, cursing the poltergeist all the way. He had expected, hoped, that she would run after him, begging him to let her explain, to forgive her, that she loved him. And knowing himself, he would have listened, he would have blindly forgiven. He loved her so. But she hadn't run after him. He had reached the Gryffindor Common Room, the boys' dormitory, his bed… and she hadn't come.

Ron had tried to apologize, but Harry found that he couldn't bear to look him in the face. They had fought heatedly, even resorting to Muggle dueling at one point. Only Dean and Seamus had prevented him from ripping his best friend to pieces. He had stormed out of the dormitory with a bleeding lip and a sore rib.

And now he was here… alone… watching the sun set on the horizon. The warmth of the day left him, just as any warm feeling had left Harry's life when the sun of his eyes had deserted him.

His eyes were aching from the effort he was making not to cry. It wouldn't do, the Wizarding World's hero, to cry like a five-year old. No, he had to be strong. Weakness would only destroy him. He was determined to face the life he hadn't chosen with determination, with courage. He was a Gryffindor, wasn't he? Yes, he had to get over it. He had to go on.

But his determination quivered as he turned his red eyes to the Hogwarts front doors. His heart skipped a beat, or maybe two. Maybe it had stopped beating altogether.

There, crossing the lawn, walking towards him, was the fragile figure of Hermione Granger, her bushy, brown hair flying loose behind her.

As she approached, the last of the sun's rays gave her a sort of divine glow. Harry turned his eyes to the sunset again before she noticed him staring. He could only just bear it. He wouldn't be able to contain his crazy necessity to take her in his arms and hold onto her for dear life, though, if she stayed long.

Hermione sat down beside him and cleared her throat to call his attention to her, but he still refused to turn.

"Harry?" she softly called. He made no movement, nor any sign that acknowledged her presence whatsoever. "Harry, will you look at me? Please?"

Her soft voice proved too much for him, and he relented somewhat. Grudgingly, he turned to face her. "What?" he snapped, a bit louder than he'd meant to.

Hermione sighed sadly.

"We need to talk, Harry," she prompted.

Yeah, like that's going to solve anything, Harry thought to himself as he refused to respond aloud.

"I'm sorry," she continued. "I should have been honest with you, Harry, I really should have."

Harry mentally sneered, Yeah, great, she's figuring this out now, is she?

"Harry, please, say something," Hermione begged, but he ignored her pleading.

He just didn't get it. He couldn't understand any of it, but he desperately wanted to, and his only hope of ever being able to was about to walk away. She shook her head at his mute response, and stood to leave, when he suddenly recovered his speech.

"Why?" Harry whispered brokenly. He shifted his glistening gaze to stare up at hers as he spoke. "Why, Hermione?"

Hermione bit her lip, tears beginning to fall from her beautiful, honey-brown eyes, which she lowered to study the grass.

"I- I don't know," she uncharacteristically stuttered. Hermione was looking anywhere but at Harry. "It's just that—"

"What does he have, Hermione?" Harry cut her off. Pushing up off the ground hard with his hands, Harry rose to Hermione's eye level. "Why is he better than me?"

He watched as Hermione took a steadying breath and hesitantly met his gaze. She was quiet a moment, silently staring at him. When she did speak, her voice was practically oozing certainty. It was the same tone she used when quoting answers from a textbook. "Harry, it's not a matter of who is better than the other. It's a matter of love."

"A matter of love," Harry repeated incredulously. "You think you love him, Hermione?" he retorted, his voice rising considerably.

Hermione shook her head. "I know that I love him, and I can't, and won't, do anything about it." Though her words were firm, her expression was cautious. Harry had not raised his voice at her very often; it was a last resort for him. Realizing just how upset he was, Hermione began backing away from him slowly. "I'm sorry, Harry, I know I should have told you, but—"

"Oh, you should have told me?" Harry bellowed angrily. He moved forward to counter her steps, shouting. "Good you found out, congratulations! Another fact to add to that massive brain of yours!"

"Harry, please." The old, blunt Hermione was back. "I love Ron and that's all that matters. I should have told you before you began to have expectations. It's just that…" Hermione faltered for a moment before continuing her explanations in a whisper. "You looked so… miserable… and… and I…" She gulped a little, gazing at him warily. "What was I supposed to do? I just behaved like the friend I am…. You came to your own conclusions…" Hermione trailed off, fearful of the dark glint in Harry's eyes that had appeared at her last sentence.

Oh, so now I am the one to blame, am I?

At that moment, Harry wanted nothing more than to go find Ron, hex him into a million pieces, and send the remains to Hermione for a mid-breakfast surprise the next morning. Somehow, though, he doubted that a boxed-up Ron would solve his problem with Hermione.

"So, I'm the stupid one here, right?" he spat instead. He switched his tone to mocking, discussed. "You took pity on my poor, lonely self, did you? You, Saint Granger, sacrificed her true love to take care of poor, miserable Harry. Oh, but that didn't stop you from snogging Ron behind my back!"

"Harry, stop it!" she demanded in her perfected Prefect voice. "I came here to apologize, and I already did that," she stated coldly, her hands on her hips. She looked positively McGonnagallesque. "There's no point on me arguing any longer! Goodbye!" And with that last shout, she turned on her heel and walked briskly back toward the castle.

Harry glared at her back for a moment, nearly boiling with fury. He attempted to rail her up with screaming, "FINE! GO SNOG THAT FOOL OF A BOYFRIEND YOU'VE GOT! FIND SOMEONE WHO CARES!" But, she ignored him entirely.

Harry turned and kicked the oak tree, only earning one more pain to add to his hurt body, mind, and soul. That was it, the weight that broke the camel's back; he just couldn't take it anymore.

He whirled around, his back facing the stone castle, and began to run, and run. He ran as if there was no tomorrow, which actually was what it felt like.

As he reached the village of Hogsmeade, Harry began to shake. The shaking had nothing to do with the chilled temperatures of autumn, however. He was beginning to fall apart and trying desperately not to. His eyes watered of their own accord, and he pressed the palms of his hands over them, willing the salty tears away.

The sky rumbled overhead with the promise of a fierce storm. Dark clouds were rapidly moving toward Hogsmeade.

Harry breathed deeply, opening his burning eyes to stare at the darkness his hands provided. He needed release, someway to forget, to escape from his cruel reality… his cruel life.

And that's how his mind landed on the Hog's Head. Harry let his hands fall back down to his sides, and blinked at the sudden light, little of it that there was. Shaking from coldness, anger, and pain, he directed his steps towards the gloomiest inn of all Great Britain.

Harry absently noticed a hooded wizard sitting on a bench across from the Hog's Head. The stranger looked over at him, but Harry's sight was so blurred from unshed tears that he couldn't make out a face.

He entered the pub and went directly to the barman. The old man didn't even look up at him. He just grunted, "What'll it be?"

"Firewhiskey," Harry replied firmly, smacking the top of the bar for emphasis. "The strongest you've got, and if it has poison in it, even better."

He had said the last bit sarcastically, but deep inside he knew he meant it. The old man slid a glass of Firewhiskey down from the other end of the bar, and Harry just barely caught it. Not stopping to think about what he was doing, Harry downed it all in one single gulp. He coughed and gasped alternately as the whiskey burned his throat all the way down.

"Another," Harry demanded of the barman. The man frowned but refilled the glass. Harry slowly sipped half of it this time, then put the glass down, thinking.

"What is it boy?" a grisly voice came from behind.

Harry spun around, surprised. A hunched-over old witch was standing behind him, and saying that she was ugly would be euphemistic. Harry had the sudden urge to bring this lady to his Aunt Petunia so that she could iron the overlapping skin that covered her face.

There were bags under her eyes, and her overlarge ears stuck out through matted gray hair. Harry stared at the pointed hat that the lady wore upon her head; it was several sizes too small and resembled the ones from his Hogwarts First Year's uniform.

"Heartache?" she rudely inquired, apparently used to the stares she was receiving all around.

"Who are you?" Harry asked, ignoring her question. He forced himself to blink and end his open staring.

"You may call me Yaga," she suggested as she took the empty seat beside Harry. The witch waved the bartender over with a distinctly impatient air about her. Harry shifted his gaze between the witch and the barman, wondering who looked more disgusted with the other. They were both pretty fierce with the glares.

The barman of the Hog's Head set a rather large mug of green slop down in front of the so-called Yaga witch. Familiar blue eyes glanced from the witch to Harry and back again with a slightly suspicious expression. Heaving a great sigh, the barman leaned over the bar to stare directly into the witch's face. "Don't do this, Yaga," he quietly bid.

Taking a large gulp of her green slop, and ignoring the barman completely, she flippantly asked Harry, "What's troubling that heart of yours?"

Harry glanced at the barman, but he just stood stiffly and glowered at the dirty old witch. "Nothing," he muttered, looking back down at his drink.

The Yaga witch didn't seem surprised by his answer, and Harry got the feeling that she'd probably done this— whatever she was doing— before. The barman obviously recognized her.

"Oh, nothing? Are you sure?" she pressed, leaning in a little bit. "Who's the girl?"

Harry raised his slowly fogging head and glared at her. She was a complete stranger, and he wasn't about to reveal the love he professed to Hermione, least of all with Voldemort still at large. This dusty old witch could be a Death Eater for all he knew!

Harry shook his head a little to clear his thoughts. The alcohol was definitely working its magic.

"Well, have it your way, then." She shrugged, finishing off her glass of slop. After a quick check to make sure the barman wasn't watching, the witch reached into her robe and pulled a tiny vial from an inside pocket. Harry could see that it contained some lilac-colored liquid.

The witch Yaga continued on nonchalantly, tinkering with the vial absently. "But... if you feel like you've had enough of it, you can take this." She paused. "It's good for these times, trust me."

And with that, the old witch left her seat and got lost in the darkness of the pub. Glancing down, Harry noticed that she'd left behind the vial on the bar top.

Taking a quick look around the room, Harry saw that no one was paying him any mind, and that the barman was tending to a rowdy man on the other side of the room. Harry snatched up the vial and pocketed it.

His thoughts were becoming more muddled with every minute, and he struggled to remember what he'd been thinking about before being so rudely interrupted. With a tiny 'Oh' of remembrance, he went to take another sip of his drink.

Realizing that he'd finished his second glass of Firewhiskey, Harry waved at the barman for more and drank it in one shot, not caring much about the obliteration of his throat.

He stood up and, after he managed to steady himself, tossed ten galleons onto the bar top and left the pub, walking with difficulty.

The barman watched with both astonishment at the carelessness of the boy and disappointment at the loss of another child. He was unable to keep the grin from his face, though, when he noticed the heap of gold the young wizard had left behind. He'd left at least eight extra galleons. Oh, the alcohol's good deeds for those who work it.

Harry stumbled out into the cold night. He shivered at the chilled breeze that blew through the little town. The hooded stranger was still on the bench where he had last seen him. The mysterious wizard's concealed eyes followed Harry all the way down Hogsmeade Main Street. Harry was unaware that the stranger had stood up and was following him at a short distance.

Harry absently noted that he had left the town and was wandering toward the Forbidden Forest. Well, who cared, he needed to hide anyway, his foggy mind reasoned.

Breathing heavily due to the effort of climbing a small mount, he groped in his pocket for the vial, finally ceasing his stroll into the forest.

What was there to lose? This was what he'd wanted, after all. Release from all the stress, the worry, and as the old witch had said, heartache.

Harry uncorked the vial and smelled its contents. No odor came in the end. Maybe he'd had too much Firewhiskey than was good for him. "Nah," he whispered in contradiction to that last thought.

"For my best friends," he muttered and raised the vial in a bitter toast.

Taking a huge breath, he brought the rim of the vial to his lips and tipped it up.

Only a few drops of fluid made it to his tongue before his hand and the vial were shoved violently away from his mouth and to the side. The vial and its despicable potion were wrenched from his fingers and thrown into the dirt. As it fell, the contents spilled around it and evaporated into the air.

Harry was attempting to muster the strength to yell and shout his protestations, but could not do so for the horrible stinging sensation in his throat. His blurring vision only added to his troubles.

His knees weakened underneath him, and he groped around for support. Strong hands caught hold of his shoulders and held him upright. Harry felt as if his brain were pouring out through his ears, as if everything in his head was disappearing.

Shuddering gasps were all he could manage for breathing at the moment. Harry leaned his head forward in an attempt to make sure he actually had a head, and he was almost thrilled to feel the firm body in front of him. Harry reached up weakly and grabbed the front of the robes of the person holding onto him.

There had barely been any light in the sky when he'd left the pub, the dark rain clouds overriding the sun's rays. Harry could make out some blurred shapes on the ground, and struggled to get his spine to straighten and lift his head.

Harry saw a glint of silver before him as everything else was beginning to darken. With a ragged gasp for air, he collapsed into the strong arms of the stranger. Then everything became pitch-black and he knew no more.

HP-DM-HP-DM-HP-DM


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Next chapter: Blind! Deaf! or Mute!Harry.
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