Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling, but I bow to her intellect and offer this humble work of fiction. This is all hers (except for my original characters)---I am just borrowing it. No profit is being made from this story.

Praesentia [presence of mind]

[A/N: This is a sequel to "Alesco." I strongly suggest you read that story first, as this one will make very little sense if you don't.]

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Chapter One---Unhappy Holidays

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Harry felt himself awaken from a deep sleep, and he swallowed happily. In a moment, he would take a shower and get ready to meet Susan outside, on the Quidditch pitch. They'd sit and talk about their previous day, and Susan would tease him with kisses.

Harry stretched, and smiled. He started to push the quilt off his body, and at once realized he wasn't at Hogwarts.

He was at the Burrow.

And Susan was dead.

Grabbing his pair of glasses on Ron's bedside table, Harry pushed them onto his face and looked about Ron's room. The weak sunlight was filtering dimly through Ron's window, and it cast a faint light on Ron's empty bed.

Harry didn't even need to ponder where his friend was. He had a good idea. He figured if he looked inside Ginny's room, Hermione's cot would be empty, too.

He let out a frustrated growl. Harry'd only been at the Burrow for four days, and Ron had been missing from bed two out of the four mornings. The first morning it had happened, Harry saw Ron and Hermione looking at each other with glowing faces.

Harry hated not being able to feel happy for them. In fact...Harry almost despised the fact the Ron still had someone to hold onto. The worst part was how terrible Harry felt thinking that way, and how he continued to berate himself.

Harry let his body fall back onto the cot, and he closed his eyes. He rubbed his forehead....and rubbed it some more.

He had another problem; one that he hadn't told anyone about.

For the first time in approximately seven months, his scar was beginning to burn again. The first time was several days after Voldemort escaped Dumbledore in the Dark Chamber. Harry knew what it meant. It meant that Ron's powers wouldn't be able to protect him from being possessed by Lord Voldemort.

Harry simply didn't have the energy to tell anyone what was happening to him. After all, Harry barely even cared any more. What did it matter if he died? After all, the prophecy made by Trelawney was ridiculous, Harry thought. Why be a prophet if you can't even determine which way things will turn out?

Deep inside, Harry knew he was being an imbecile. But it was much easier to be an imbecile than have everyone worry about him. He was well-and-truly sick of everyone mollycoddling him.

Harry looked at the door when he heard it click open. He could hear whispering outside the door, and finally Ron tiptoed in, shutting the door quietly behind him. Harry didn't even pretend to be asleep. Ron noticed, stopped walking, and stood staring down at Harry.

"Morning." Ron said, in a deadpan voice.

"Screw you." Harry said very softly. He didn't truly intend for Ron to understand what he had just whispered.

Ron scoffed, and shuffled quietly to his bed. He fell onto it, pushing off his slippers with his toes. "That's an awfully kind thing to say to your friend," Ron muttered dryly.

Harry rolled over, facing away from Ron, and pushed his glasses off and let them fall onto his cot. "I don't even know why I came," he said, and let out a sound full of his frustration and anger.

Ron said something obviously foul under his breath, and then uttered rather loudly, "Okay, if you want to be that way, I don't know why I invited you!"

Harry knew he deserved it, so he didn't say anything.

He could hear Ron rustling about on his bed for several moments, and finally Ron spoke.

"Look, Harry, if you would have felt better wallowing in guilt at Hogwarts all Christmas, then fine by me. My mum and dad really wanted you to come, and when I invited you, so did I. But let me tell you something....if you don't stop being a git and ruining everyone's holiday, then I'm going to make you...." Ron stopped at that, and then groaned.

Harry rolled over, and put his glasses back on. He was angry. "You'll get inside my head, right? You'll make me stop being an ass? Why don't you do it right now, huh? I WANT you to." He sat up, and started to point to his forehead. "I want you to tell my brain Susan isn't dead. Tell me it never happened. In fact, why don't you just tell me that she never existed? That would be perfect!"

Harry was no longer speaking out of anger. He was pleading--and he could hear it in his own voice. He stood up, and walked closer to Ron, gesturing frantically to his head.

Ron's mouth was open now, and he was gazing glassy-eyed up at Harry.

"Do it, Ron, do it! Make me forget! Please, I CAN'T TAKE IT ANY MORE!" Harry was screaming now, on his knees in front of Ron.

Something strange was overtaking Harry. His scar was gradually burning hotter, and his head felt like it was going to explode.

Harry reached out, and was about to put his hands around Ron's neck, when Harry heard it. He heard the sound of "Weasley is our King."

And there was peace--and the pain in the scar was dulling.

Had Ron actually done it? Had he...?

No. Susan was still there, still in his mind. He still loved her, and she was still dead.

Harry was crouched in front of Ron, head in his hands, when the door flew open. Hermione was standing there in her pyjamas, along with Ginny and Mrs Weasley.

Ron sat up. "It's okay," he said numbly.

"Are you sure?" Hermione rushed into the room, and knelt beside Harry. She put her hand on his shoulder. "What happened?" She looked to Ron for the answer.

Ron shook his head, and avoided Harry's eyes.

"It was nothing," Harry muttered stoically. He shrugged off Hermione's hand and got up to sit on his cot.

Hermione was giving Harry an odd look, and he saw her look at Ron. Ron's look was full of implication, and Harry saw Hermione nod. At that, Hermione turned to Ginny and Mrs Weasley. She went to the door, and whispered something to Mrs Weasley and Ginny. Mrs Weasley gave Harry a long, pitiful look before moving from the doorway, and Hermione walked out as well.

But Ginny stayed. In fact, she was shooting Harry a rather dirty look. She walked into the room, and right up to Harry.

"I know what's going on. You're feeling sorry for yourself again. I'm getting tired of it. We all know it's been tough, but you've gotta snap out of it. Just think of all the people we've lost...all the people we might lose. You can't give up now! You just can't!" Ginny was speaking very loudly, and shoving her forefinger at him.

Harry stared at her as she shouted at him, and felt himself smile. He liked having someone shouting at him for a change. He was sick of everyone tiptoeing around him, speaking softly to him, giving him looks of pity.

Without realizing why he was thinking it, he decided she was exactly what he needed to lift his spirits. He began to laugh.

Ginny stopped in the middle of her continuing tirade, and glared down at him, hands on hips. "What do you think you're doing? This isn't funny!"

Harry noticed Ron staring at them both, his mouth gaped again.

Before Harry could say anything, Mrs Weasley walked into the room.

"Come along, Ginny." She said rather haughtily, and grabbed the girl's arm. "Leave Harry in peace."

"No, mum." Ginny wrenched out of her mother's grasp, and Harry heard Ron gasp. Harry was quite surprised himself at her boldness. He didn't think he'd ever heard any Weasley child simply say "no" to Molly Weasley before.

Mrs Weasley's response was not what he expected. She wrapped an arm around Ginny's shoulders, and said lovingly, "Please, dear. Please come downstairs and help your mum with breakfast?"

Ginny appeared surprised, as well. She looked up into her mother's face, apparently trying to read her expression. After a long moment, giving one quick glance to Harry, she let her mother lead her out the door. Before it was closed softly behind them, Mrs Weasley said, "Be down for breakfast in thirty minutes, boys."

"Yes, mum," Harry heard Ron say automatically.

Harry avoided Ron's eyes as he readied himself for the busy day. It was Christmas Eve, and it had already begun rather drearily. Harry really couldn't have expected anything less than a terrible Christmas, and it seemed that expectation was coming true.

Harry remembered that he needed to wrap the presents he had bought for everyone--presents he had purchased after Susan was killed. They were presents marred by Harry's grief.

Harry felt the all-too-familiar nausea rise in him when he thought about Susan's death. This time, though, it was accompanied by the dull burning in his scar.

He inwardly groaned, and put his hand to his scar again.

When he looked up, he realized Ron was looking at him, concerned. Pulling his hand from the scar, he grabbed his dressing robe and headed out the door to take a shower.

Under the hot spray of the shower head, Harry looked back on the morning...and a terrible memory came to his mind.

He closed his eyes, and remembered seeing himself reach out to wrap his hands around Ron's neck. Why had he done that? He just wanted Ron to help him.

Maybe that was why Ron hadn't said what had happened to the others.

Harry shook his head, hoping he had an answer to the questions swirling in his mind.

But nothing came. Nothing ever did.