Harry trudged dolefully down the stairs from the boy's dormitories to the Gryffindor common room. His brilliant green eyes were focused intensely on the burgundy carpet that he dragged his feet upon. His fragile-looking skin was pale and sickly, a drastic difference from its usual healthy glow. Harry's eyes were sunken, purple bags forming beneath them. His hair stuck out in different directions, his black fringe falling lightly over his eyes.

As the despondent-looking teen marched dutifully down the staircase, the changes in his appearance from the year before were evident to the pair of students that waited patiently on the couches that were positioned the bottom of the stairs. One of the students, Hermione Granger, was indulging in a thick leather-bound book with small print. Her eyes darted up towards her morose friend as Harry reached the sitting area. She had soft features, curly brown hair that was always frizzed up in the mornings. Her eyes were a gentle brown, caring and concern to mask her resolute, quick-tempered spirit.

The other student, Ronald Weasley, was running a fretful hand through his mass of tangly ginger hair. His brown eyes were also concentrated on Harry as the bespectacled boy slumped down in one of the three plush maroon chairs. Ron had warm umber eyes that glimmered with concern and a round freckled face, his fiery hair was by far the most prominent attribute to the gangly and otherwise unnoticeable boy.

"Harry," Hermione greeted him warmly, offering him a hesitant smile. The boy moved his solemn gaze from the carpet to meet the girls eyes, running a tired hand across his forehead. He responded with a small but reluctant turn upwards with his lips, so slight that it might have gone unnoticed if it had been directed towards any other person.

"Good morning, Harry." Ron beamed, noticing the quiet exchange between his two friends. He decided to take advantage of Harry's rare and brief display of emotions by standing up and slinging an arm around his shoulder. Harry flinched at the contact but welcomed his friend by putting an awkward hand on his shoulder. Hermione grinned and held onto Ron's hand, dragging them both out through the portrait hole.

"Let's go, guys! We're already late for breakfast." Hermione tugged uselessly at Ron's hand, but the redhead was busy focusing on Harry. The black haired teen had lapsed back into a gloomy silence and was staring at the walls.

"'Mione, go on ahead to the Great Hall, I need to talk to Harry for a minute." Ron said. Harry didn't even look up when he heard his name mentioned. Hermione was about to protest, but she saw the urgency and desperation in Ron's eyes.

"Oh, alright." She mumbled reluctantly, throwing one quick glance at Harry before continuing her way down to breakfast. Harry finally raised his head once they were alone.

"What's going on with you, mate?" Ron asked softly, putting a gentle hand on his best friend's shoulder. "I hate seeing you like this."

"Nothing's wrong, Ron." Harry tried miserably. His voice quivered and sounded as frail as he looked. It was the first time he had spoken that week, and Ron was secretly thrilled. He showed no emotions, though, as he pulled Harry into a tight hug.

"You're practically my brother, Harry, you know that I worry about you. Please don't do this to yourself," The redhead fought back tears, he had to be strong for Harry. There was a long pause. Harry seemed to be searching for the right words, his eyes staring intensely at the wall behind Ron.

"I deserve it." He murmured finally, his green eyes meeting Ron's for a split second before flickering away again. Harry pulled himself out of the hug. "I deserve to suffer, I deserve pain for all of those that have sacrificed themselves for me. I- I..." Harry broke down crying, falling to his knees. He sobbed hopelessly for those that had died during the war and for those that had survived the loss and struggle that Harry believed he had put them through.

Ron knelt beside him on the chilled stone floor, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. The smaller boy's frame wracked with each whimper he emitted, but Ron just held him tightly. After a few minutes, Harry scrubbed away the tears that rolled down his cheeks. His eyes were an angry red and tear tracks ran down his face, salty droplets dripping from his chin.

"I'm gay, Ron." Harry admitted suddenly, sniffling pitifully. He expected Ron to flinch or at least remove the protective freckled arm that hung around Harry's neck, but Ron just grinned and bumped his fist playfully against Harry's shoulder.

"I know, mate."

o-:-o

February 13th, 1861

"I told you father, I don't want to join your damn graybacks. President Lincoln knows what he's doin', and I'm fit to be tied with you and your beliefs." Robert Whitlock slammed his fist down on the dining room table. Jasper's eyes widened as his brother glared at his father, William, with such loathing that even his father closed his eyes.

"Robert, you are not telling me that you would leave your home, your family, to go join some mindless parlor soldiers that'll just end up dying. Now I've been through the mill to put this roof over your head,and don't you throw it away just because a some uppity Union man who's all talk." The balding man stood up and Robert stood as well.

"Father, I am 24 years old and I think I have the right to follow what I believe in. I'm going and there's nothing you can do to stop me."

They had fought before, but Jasper had never heard his brother speak with such finality that it sounded as if he could walk right out the door any second. The Whitlocks were a very wealthy family, never in discomfort from being cold or hungry. They were a confederate family through and through, at least that's what Jasper thought until his brother came home from work at the local hospital where he was a surgeon.

"I won't lie, Robert. You make a fine sawbone, but I just don't understand how you coulda turned so quickly against this family and the Confederate States." William said wearily, looking older and worn out as he rubbed his wrinkled forehead.

"I never believed in the confederacy, I was just too afraid to tell you before. Now there's a war comin' and I'm makin' my own path. I'll be leavin' tomorrow at dawn; General Beauregard's recruitin' for a battle that'll be over in South Carolina and I'm gonna be there." That was it, the conversation was over.

Robert turned to his younger brother, surprised, as if he just realized Jasper was there. Guilt flashed through his fierce blue eyes, making Robert pause. Jasper could feel his heart breaking. He felt his brother's pain at having betrayed his family, felt his father's shame at having a traitor for a son, and he felt his own agony at his family being torn apart before his eyes.

"Don't leave, Rob. Please don't leave me," Jasper begged, grabbing hold of his brother's wrist. Robert looked away, tears forming in his eyes. "I promise I'll be better, just don't go." he said frantically.

"Jasper," William said sharply. "Let him go."

"How could you say that? He's your son, he's as much your son as I am. Why do you want him to leave?" Robert looked from his brother to his father, his forlorn eyes betraying the calm expression on his face.

"That boy ain't my son. Not anymore."

~o~

The sky was a dingy blue-grey, stars twinkled dully and the moon was only a faint curved sliver of light. Fireflies bobbed and floated about in the heated breeze of the warm Texas night. Jasper sat alone on his front porch, stars speckling his tear-filled blue eyes. He was curled up on the chair that was positioned to face the brook that flowed past the Whitlock house. His eyes blinked away his tears.

The sun peaked above the southern houses that ran up and down the dusty road, lighting up the early morning sky. Jasper rubbed his forehead as he heard the front door creak open, a habit he had inherited from his father. His brother stood in the doorway, his hair ruffled and his shirt buttoned up wrong. His boots were untied and his hair was hardly combed, but Jasper knew it was not the time to laugh at his brother's state of dress.

"Jasper, you know I have to do this-"

"Don't." Jasper said, his voice wavering. He had practiced the whole thing in his head dozens of times while sitting in the chair since the nighttime, but the words refused to come. The 16-year-old stood and was about to go into the house but he paused. Without looking at his brother, he spoke.

"I always knew you were gonna leave. I knew you thought you were too good for the rest of us, but I never thought you would actually do it." Finally he faced his brother. "I hate you, Rob. I hate you and I hope you go an' die in that war 'cause I'm not gonna care for a second when you do. You're not meant to be a soldier. You-" Jasper looked at his brother through his tears and saw that he was crying also. Suddenly he felt numb. He turned and ran as hard as he could into the forest, never stopping until he reached the town.

"Hello, I'm Jasper Whitlock and I'm 20 years old. I'm here to sign up for the draft..."