A/N: Hello all, this is a new fic set just after OOTP. Those of you who read Marked may view this as a kind of precursor to the story, or a prequel if you prefer. It's just an idea I had that fit in very well within the timeframe.
Summary:
After the Ministry fiasco, everyone now believes Harry's story. But this is of little comfort to him; Harry feels betrayed, lonely and is finding it incredibly hard to deal with Sirius's death. However, after an inevitable run in with the Dark Lord, Harry is revealed an alternative truth, that is both horrifying and startlingly wonderful. A rollercoaster of events begin to unravel as reality and fantasy collide …
Beautiful Insanity
Chapter 1
A Lethargy Complete
A boy of sixteen with black, untidy hair lay on his stomach by a glistening lake. The September sunshine was holding nicely, lulling its worshipers into a false sense of security before the autumnal rains and winds inevitably began to batter the walls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Harry Potter did not wish to rise from this place. It was peaceful here, and calm; nothing like the year he had endured prior to this one. They had all thought him mad, unstable, and unbalanced. And now that the truth had finally come out, every single person wanted to jump on the bandwagon; everyone wanted to reassure him that they knew he had been telling the truth all along …
But the truth had come at a heavy price. Harry found it impossible to not inextricably link the subjects of public opinion, and Sirius's death. True, if he had not gone to the Ministry that night and forced Voldemort to show himself in front of the Minister and his Aurors, then nobody would have believed him, still. But it was also true that Sirius would not have died. It was an unfeasible task to separate the two incidents. Even after Dumbledore's explanation last term, he could not escape the fact that it was his fault.
Harry heard footsteps crunching on the newly fallen leaves behind him and turned to see Hermione Granger walking towards him. She smiled and pushed her thick brown hair from her eyes.
"Ron said you might be out here," she said sitting down next to him. "Have you had any dinner?"
Harry shook his head. "I'm not really hungry," he replied truthfully. Lately, he seemed to have lost his appetite.
"You really should eat something, Harry, keep up your strength."
"What for?" Harry asked, not looking at her and instead fixing his gaze on one of the lazy tentacles of the giant squid in the middle of the lake.
Hermione paused. "Oh, I don't know … Snape's lesson tomorrow for starters, I suppose," she said with a grim smile, but when Harry didn't react, it fell from her face.
"Look, I'm not here to fetch you, I just wanted to see that you were OK."
Harry looked at her sideways.
"Well, alright, not OK. But … you know what I mean."
Harry nodded. "I know. I'm just … I thought that telling you and Ron about the Prophecy would have lifted a weight, but it hasn't."
Harry had told both Ron and Hermione, and no one else, about the Prophecy the day that they had all boarded the Hogwarts express. True enough, he had had time to tell them before this when he had spent some time with them at the Burrow before school began, but he had not been able to find the words: it was a hard feat to tell his closest friends that his life must include, or end in, murder.
"I'm glad you did, Harry. And so is Ron. It means that you trust us … and well, you've always thought to yourself that it would end like that, haven't you? I mean, perhaps not quite so ... specifically, but I mean … you do want to face him, don't you?"
Harry did not answer her. Yes, he wanted Voldemort to be punished for everything that had happened and yes, if he had the chance to do it himself he would take it, but at that moment, Harry wished that he was anyone else in the world. How wonderful it would be to not have to worry about such things; things that no child should ever have to entertain. How wonderful it would be to escape the blight of being someone so … famous.
"I think I might grab some dinner after all," he said swiftly and rose to his feet. "See you in a bit."
And he left her sitting by the lake in the thin sunshine, about to disappear over the hills.
- - - - - -
"Harry … Professor Snape's just told me … Dumbledore wants to see you in his office."
Harry looked up from his uneaten plate of roast chicken and potatoes to see Neville Longbottom standing next to him, a piece of paper in his hand.
Harry nodded and pushed his plate away from him, giving it up.
"Thanks Neville," he replied as a smile passed over Neville's round face.
Harry couldn't imagine why Dumbledore would want to see him so soon, first day back from the summer. Could it have something to do with the prophecy? Harry couldn't muster much sense of curiosity; anything that the Headmaster told him would only be to do with Voldemort and the end of either of their lives, and Harry didn't want to think about that just now.
He sighed deeply and stood up from the bench where he had sat alone. As he walked down past other students, they peered at him curiously, some with open awe. Girls smirked suggestively as he walked, but Harry ignored them as best he could.
The stone gargoyles outside Dumbledore's office did not even ask for the password; it was as though they had known he would be coming and swung aside so that he could enter.
Harry ascended the many steps that it took to reach the office, but paused suddenly as he had just raised his hand to the knocker; he could hear voices, more specifically Dumbledore in deep conversation with Professor McGonagall.
"… absolutely sure about this?"
Harry strained his ears; they were talking quite faintly.
"Unfortunately I am, Minerva. My source is wholly reliable."
Dumbledore sounded sad and tired. What were they talking about? Harry wondered. Had it something to do with whatever Dumbledore had summoned him for?
"Well, what is to be done?"
"Nothing. Well, nothing radical, that is. Harry will simply have to be very careful."
A shiver ran down Harry's spine. So they were talking about him. Of course, people talking about him … it must be Tuesday.
"Careful? I think he needs to be a little more than careful, Albus, his life is at stake –"
"- No more than it ever has been before. This information, while alarming, only means that we will have to take extra precaution."
"But if He Who Must Not Be Named is planning something 'worse than death' – is that what you said?"
"That is what my source informed me. I cannot imagine what Voldemort is up to, but Harry has always been subject to his plots and has come through every time."
"But Albus … he is only a child …"
Harry felt anger hit the pit of his stomach. So he was only a child … but he had been marked with the darkest fate anyone could ever fear and yet they expected him to bear both sides. It was not fair.
In that moment, they stopped talking. Perhaps Dumbledore could sense that there was someone outside the door, and in any case Harry thought it best to knock straight away so they did not think that he had been listening.
"Enter," came Dumbledore's voice, a little more alert than it had been when he had been talking to McGonagall.
Harry pushed the door open.
"Ah. Harry, do sit down."
Harry moved awkwardly past Professor McGonagall, whose brows had knitted together as he had come into the room.
"I shall leave you then, Headmaster," she said, inclining her head slightly towards Harry as she moved towards the door.
Harry looked back at Dumbledore, who was surveying him closely through his half-moon glasses.
"So, Harry. How are you?"
"Fine, thanks," Harry answered uncomfortably. "Professor … is there anything wrong?"
A shadow passed Dumbledore's blue eyes as Harry spoke, but it vanished again almost immediately.
"Wrong? No, Harry. I merely called you here to see how you are coping being back in a … less than private environment. I know how much the school is buzzing with talk of you and your return."
Harry nodded. So this was why Dumbledore wanted to talk to him. Did he think that Harry was just a child too? Unable to cope with everything?
"I will reiterate that no one, except yourself, your two best friends, and I, know anything about the prophecy. This is a situation which I hope you will agree needs to remain the same."
"I haven't told anyone about it, if that's what you mean," Harry said a little defensively. "Sir," he added to keep the tone polite.
"No, Harry I am sure that you haven't. It is only for your own safety and everyone else's. However, I know how hard it must be with people firing questions at you from left, right and centre."
Harry nodded again, feeling that there was nothing much to say on the subject.
"Permit me to say that I also think you are handling Sirius's death admirably," Dumbledore said a little more quietly.
Every time someone mentioned his Godfather's name, Harry felt as though someone was squeezing his heart in an iron vice. He did not think he could stand talking to Dumbledore about Sirius, especially when some anger still partly remained at the older man for what had happened.
"Thank you," Harry said shortly.
"I am sure that you prefer not to talk about it in any depth just yet, but I believe that will change. Indeed, it may do you some good to speak to your friends about it."
"Perhaps," Harry conceded. Either way, he did not wish to pursue the subject any further at this point.
There was an uncomfortable silence as Harry shifted his weight in the chair.
"Please know, Harry, that you may speak to me about anything. I will not snub you, nor keep anything from you. I know that what has happened recently is bound to have affected you deeply, and I wish that I could make it disappear, but alas there are even some magics that I cannot perform."
Harry looked at Dumbledore. "You'd tell me everything, sir?" he asked, the faintest amount of accusation in his tone though it was light and pleasant.
"Yes."
"Is there anything I should know now?"
Dumbledore paused and looked at Harry deeply, who felt as though he were being x-rayed.
"Only what you already know, Harry. That the prophecy means you have many difficult trials ahead and that you, of all people need to exert extreme caution. This aside, I also wish for you to be able to have as normal an education as possible. It is what your parents would have wanted, I am sure."
Harry said nothing. He knew Dumbledore was keeping something from him, but he couldn't tell why. There was a long pause, which neither of them broke for a while. Eventually, Dumbledore spoke.
"Well, Harry, I will let you get off to bed. The purpose of this meeting was merely to reassure you that you may come to me at any time with any questions that you may have, about anything. And also to assure you that you do not have to struggle through this year alone."
Harry tried to give a smile, but it came out as something of a grimace.
"You may go."
Harry rose from his chair and faced Dumbledore for a few seconds.
"Goodnight, sir."
Dumbledore watched him go with a deep sense of foreboding. He could tell that Harry was still angry, that he was definitely more scared than he was letting on, and also that Sirius's death was continuing to plague him. Moreover, with what he had been informed of earlier, none of these factors would help him in the least.
- - - - -
"Permission slips, please!" cried Professor McGonagall.
It was a week later and the first Hogsmead trip was upon the students. The weather had become steadily colder as they moved further into September, but a surprising number of students wanted to go.
Harry hurried forwards with Ron and Hermione, hoping that McGonagall wouldn't see him, but –
"Potter, I said no."
"But I've got my slip here, Professor, look."
Harry waved the signed slip that Sirius had given him before he had died. It was still valid, but McGonagall's lips were dangerously narrowed.
"I know you have a slip, Potter, but the Headmaster has said that you are not to go."
"Why?" Harry said argumentatively. "Come on, Professor, I need a break."
It was true; this last week had felt in comparison like several months with people's eyes following him everywhere he went, renewed mutterings, hypocritical sermons from students who wanted to be his best friends now … he was already sick of it.
"No, Potter. That is my final word. Kindly make yourself useful elsewhere!"
And she turned her back on him. Harry shook his head in frustration and stormed off as Ron and Hermione stared guiltily after him.
"Harry … we won't be there long, I mean there's not much to do –"
"Hey, I want to go to Honeydukes!" Ron said indignantly.
"Ron … shut up."
Hermione grabbed Ron's arm and pulled him angrily away, hissing something about being tactless. Harry watched them go regretfully. It would have been so nice to get away from prying eyes and fake fawning students. They all clearly thought that he couldn't handle something. In frustration, he kicked out at a suit of armour on his way back past the third floor, but the only outcome of this was a throbbing toe.
Harry sat down on the edge of a stone step, foot still sore. There was something that Dumbledore wasn't telling him; he was sure of that. He remembered McGonagall's words … worse than death …Harry snorted in disbelief to himself. Like there's something worse to happen to me than what already has, he thought savagely.
As this thought passed through his mind, Harry turned and realised exactly where he was. Directly behind him was the statue of the one eyed witch. A recklessness passed through him; the corridor was deserted and most of the students were at Hogsmead … all he had to do was stay hidden and he'd get away with it … a whole afternoon with just him and Ron and Hermione, on their own, no one snooping around …
Harry stood up from the step and raced up to the common room, where his invisibility cloak was residing under his pillow.
- - - - -
He had forgotten how long the passageway to Honeydukes was. Within minutes, his back hurt from stopping so low as not to hit his head on the rough ceiling above; he had grown quite a bit over the summer. Eventually, after what seemed like an age, he reached the cellar trap door and pushed it open. There was no one around.
Climbing the stairs up to the main shop, Harry cautiously threw the cloak around his shoulders and went through the door. It was packed with younger Hogwarts students, some of whom had probably not been here before, as the third years had just that week been allowed to come on the trip. Harry spotted Ron and Hermione after a minute's searching, hovering over by the chocolate barrels.
"Can't you just make your mind up?" he heard Hermione say in an exasperated tone.
"You can't rush the picking of good chocolate, Hermione," Ron replied. "Be nice to me and I might give you some."
"And why would I want you to do that?"
"Come on, every girl wants a bit of Ron's chocolate."
Hermione smacked the back of Ron's head with her glove, but there was a smile playing about her lips.
Harry waited for them to pay and followed them out into the colder air.
"Hello," he whispered when he was alongside them.
Hermione gave a little scream.
"Harry! What on earth are you –?"
"Ha! This is brilliant!" Ron exclaimed. "Now you can come to the Shrieking Shack with us!"
"It is not brilliant, Ron, Harry you might be seen! Think how much trouble you'll be in if …"
"Oh, lighten up will you?" Harry muttered. "I won't be seen, I've got my cloak on haven't I? Besides, I need a break."
Hermione did not answer. She clearly thought that Harry was being reckless, but Harry didn't care. He had not been properly outside for what felt like months, even though it was not actually that long. The freedom under the cloak was wonderful; no one was looking at him, no one was whispering excitedly. It really was like being someone else for a few hours.
By the time they reached the Shrieking Shack, there was no one around for a good mile. Apparently Hogsmead held more exciting ventures for younger students not interested in an old shack, that was not haunted at all, as Harry, Ron and Hermione knew only too well.
"I bet you could take that off for a bit, Harry," Ron said, looking at completely the wrong place where he thought that Harry was standing. "There's no one around."
"No, Harry you really mustn't …"
But Harry pulled the cloak off and inhaled deeply. "Don't panic … I can sling it on again if I need to."
"So does it feel good to be out in the open with nobody telling you how much they want you to autograph their underwear?" said Ron with a faint smirk.
"Yes," Harry answered truthfully, though he resented Ron's amusement. How nice it would be to find the whole thing funny and to laugh it off, but he couldn't. Betrayal sat heavy in his chest from all angles, and it was a hard burden to shift.
"I suppose … even though it's a really foolhardy thing to do … I'm glad you're here, Harry," Hermione conceded. "I mean … we haven't really spent much time since …"
Her voice trailed off. Harry knew that she was referring to the night in question when Sirius had died and when the world had been alerted to Harry's persistent truth.
"You can talk to us, you know," she added quietly when Harry did not respond. "I know we can't know what it's like to … well, you know. But we're trying to …"
"It's not that I don't want to," Harry said quickly, not really aware of what was coming out of his mouth. "I just … I don't know what to say."
There was a silence which followed this heavy pronunciation – and Hermione gasped.
"Oh my –"
Harry immediately spun around quickly to where she was pointing a shaking hand and was instantly sent sprawling by a largely built man with his sleeves rolled up, who had just shot out suddenly from the dense thicket of wood behind them.
Harry yelled as all the breath was knocked out of him and lost his wand. Hermione screamed, and Ron got hastily to his feet, his face panicked.
As an arm enclosed around his neck, Harry looked down to see that upon the burly arm that held him fast was the Dark Mark, burned into his attacker's skin. A Death Eater, he thought savagely.
Hermione made to raise her wand but was immobilised by a spell that shot out of nowhere; another Death Eater that none of them recognised was beginning to fire spells at Ron and Hermione …
Harry struggled against the strength of the attacker and started to choke … but the man released him suddenly, as though Harry were too hot to hold onto. An electrical charge seemed to have surged through his body as his head gave a particularly nasty throb. As Harry scrabbled for his wand, his fingers closed uselessly on twigs and leaves; he couldn't find it!
Within moments the Death Eater had him again, and Harry was unable to move against the enormous strength of the man. He watched as his attacker raised his wand and advanced it towards his head … he doesn't even have the guts to do it himself, Harry said to himself, thinking about Voldemort. He could hear Ron shouting as he exchanged blows with the other Death Eater and Hermione shouting for help … but there had been no one around.
The wand tip got closer and closer … after an agonising few seconds it made contact with the side of Harry's neck, and burned.
Harry cried out, feeling as though something was stabbing him through … magic was pulsing through his body … it stung like nothing else had ever done … and then Harry felt as though his brain had turned upside down. He was not even aware that he was being held by the Death Eater … something flashed black and white in front of his eyes, and then –
A white, padded room. He was shrinking in the corner of two of the walls, and there were two men in front of him, advancing towards him with needles. The first man held Harry's arms and tried to subdue him, but Harry struggled violently against them.
"Be careful … you'll hurt yourself!" said the man who was holding his wrists.
"We're going to have to strap him down unless –"
The needle stabbed Harry in the neck and the concoction instantly worked its way through his system, rendering limbs useless and causing muscles to feel like lead. Harry went limp and sank against the wall as the two men, now having to both hold him up, shuffled him to a white sheeted bed with leather restraints clinking ominously down at the sides.
As soon as he was secured, the two men wiped their brows and exited through a padded door with a thick glass window, and locked it firmly behind them. They then exchanged looks of relief and uneasiness, and walked together down a sterile smelling corridor, passing catatonic patients in wheelchairs, protesting that they were not meant to be there.
- - - - -
A/N: "What the hell is going on?" I hear you cry. Well, read and review and I might just elaborate my friends!!!!
Rosie xxx