Chapter 1

Harry kept his head low throughout the Welcoming Feast, just as he had since the final battle. Just as he had on the Hogwarts express too, and during the First Years' sorting.

"Come on mate, aren't you a bit excited to be back?" Ron finally asked, nudging Harry gently with his shoulder.

"It's not that, it's just...you know."

Hermione's warm hand covered his from across the table.

"We do know Harry; I see the Great Hall and notice how many people are missing even with the returning Eighth Years added. I can see how few Eighth Years there are, and I'm perfectly aware that it's not all due to choice that they're not returning," her tone softened. "I understand, Ron understands, and I know that different people deal with things differently, but it's been awhile Harry and you're not even beginning to try to get better. It's not healthy to be so closed off all of the time. You've got to start trying to branch out again or you're never going to get back to normal."

"I don't need a full on lecture over dinner, thanks," Harry mumbled, irked by Hermione's 'This is an Intervention' tone.

"'Mione's not trying to, it's just concerning how withdrawn you've become. We've given you space for over three months now and you seem worse off, if anything! We just want to help you mate; you're not in a good place."

"Oh yeah? You think I don't know that I'm not in a good place. Brilliant, you are! Thanks for pointing that out Ron," he spat still taking care to keep his voice low. He didn't want any more attention attracted to himself.

"That was unnecessary Harry," Hermione frowned.

"Great, well can you tell all the crap that's happening in my head it's unnecessary too? Maybe it'll listen to you and stop, but I don't really think telling me my words are unnecessary is too constructive right now."

Hermione sighed, but stayed silent.

"Great intervention guys, but I think I'm going to go off to bed now." Harry stood and strode out of the Great Hall. He could feel the hundreds of pairs of eyes on him and hear the speculative gossip begin. Whatever. He just wanted to wrap himself up inside of his cosy Hogwarts bed and settle in for a long night of staring at the bed hangings. Alone. In silence.

When he reached the portrait of the Fat Lady he realised he had no idea what the password was and heaved a put-upon sigh. He sank down against the wall and sat in wait. Bored seemed to be his default state now anyway, so he didn't much mind waiting anymore. Waiting was just like anything else. Boring.

Perhaps an hour passed before Harry heard the unmistakable sound of a massive crowd of students plodding up the stairs to the seventh floor. He stood reluctantly, and the first prefect came into view.

"Alright at the top of the stairs come gather 'round," the prefect shouted to the First Years still climbing the stairs below.

Harry tapped him on the shoulder and asked for the password, realising only once he had begun asking that it was Dennis Creevey. He swallowed a lump in his throat and tried not to think about how it was his fault that Dennis no longer had an older brother.

"It's, uh, it's Boggart-"

"Great, thanks," Harry said quickly turning toward the portrait, eager to escape.

"Wait, Harry!"

"What?"

"It's nice to see you. I'm sorry things are so difficult for you what with the gawking looks and things. I'll do my best to keep the younger Gryffindors in check."

"Er, thanks Dennis."

He quickly gave the Fat Lady the password and climbed through the portrait hole. Harry didn't stop running until he flopped onto his bed - in the same place, in the same room as it always had been. That part was comforting, but it did little in the face of Harry being surrounded by all of the horrors of last spring.

Ignoring his trunk (it was a mess anyway - he wouldn't bother dealing with it until he had to), he stripped off his robes, closed the curtains on his bed tightly, and cast a silencing charm so he wouldn't need to hear when the other boys came in. Curling up tightly against his pillow, he commenced the staring and thinking for the night, trying to avoid some of the more vicious thoughts in his head. Of course, this did not work. It hadn't yet though, so Harry wasn't surprised.

When Ron poked his head through the curtains in the morning, Harry's vision focused and he wrenched himself out of his thoughts.

"Harry? Did you even sleep?"

"Yeah," he answered glumly and began to get up to get dressed. He had been in a sort of doze-like state for most of the night, so that ought to count for something.

"You've still got your glasses on."

"Yes, I do Ron. Any more clever observations?"

"Right, you're still being a massive prick. Got it. You know me and Hermione just want to help you."

"Okay, sure. Being a social butterfly is going to spontaneously make me happy and forget everything. Nevermind the fact I never liked socialising to begin with."

"You know that isn't what we meant, Harry," he paused in exasperation. "Right, Hermione's going to be the only one trying to help you from now on, because I am giving up! Tell me when you want to stop being a completely crap friend and a miserable person."

"Awesome. You could've just done that from the beginning. It's not like you actually thought any of this would help." Harry walked to the washroom and shut the door firmly.

"Wow. Has he been like this ever since…?" Neville asked from where he was sat on his bed with the curtains wide.

"Whenever either Hermione or I've actually gotten to talk to him, yeah."

Seamus whistled through his teeth.

"I feel terrible because he went through a lot, but he's being a royal prat to you. You don't deserve it, you've always stuck right by him, but he was really laying in."

"Real early too," Dean chimed in, rubbing his face as he finally rolled out of bed.

"It's fine, I just hope he gets himself together soon," Ron sighed.

"Let me know if I can help at all, or if you just want another person to try talking to him," Neville offered.

"Thanks Nev," Ron grinned tiredly.

Harry burst back into the room and looked at all the boys staring at him because of the startling noise.

"What?" Harry asked, knowing full well why they were looking, but spoiling for a fight nonetheless.

"Just startled," Seamus said in a measuring voice.

Harry glowered and made his way over to his trunk, and all the other boys busied themselves.

Internally, Harry felt a bit sorry for being horrible, but he was irritable this morning and hopefully they would continue leaving him alone this way. He just wanted to be alone all the time. Then again when he was alone his mind was left to take over with no obstacles, and things could get ugly. Although at least when he was by himself he wasn't hurting people by pushing them away.

Harry left the room, ignoring anyone who might have been in the common room, and walked down to the Great Hall for breakfast on his own. He was just stepping off of the sixth floor staircase when he felt a hand on his shoulder and whirled around. Hermione stood, panting, apparently having run after him from the common room.

"Hey, Harry! You left without us." She looked saddened by it, even though it was such small thing. Harry supposed that, combined with yesterday's events, it was understandable that she'd be upset, but he still just wanted to be left alone.

"I'm sorry 'Mione…" he paused. He couldn't be mean to her again right now; he just couldn't bring himself to when he knew how much it would upset her. He sighed. "I'm just a little scatterbrained. Let's wait for Ron, yeah?"

"Yes," she replied, giving him an inquisitive once-over. She looked away, ostensibly deciding it could wait until later, or perhaps speculating quietly in her head. The silence filled the space between them awkwardly as several students passed and they waited.

"Oh good! I thought you went ahead without me too," Ron bounded up to Hermione, then noticed Harry and gave him an uncertain smile.

"Let's go eat? I'm starving."

Harry followed them reluctantly, but was also secretly pleased that they still clearly wanted to try with him. If he were in their place, Harry thought he surely would've given up by now. He'd made himself practically unreachable and constantly unavailable all summer, and had been incredibly curt and ungrateful with them whenever they talked - and yet they were still here. Not only were they around, they still sought him out, and even after Ron said he'd given up he had still smiled when Harry was waiting for him.

Acting out of habit, Harry grabbed a slice of buttered toast and commenced staring at the table. Robotically, he began pulling it to pieces and occasionally nibbling on one or the other. He hadn't eaten much at dinner the night before, and his stomach growled, but he ignored it. It wasn't only hunger - he felt quite queasy as well, but was well used to it. At Grimmauld Place he had kept to the same ritual every morning, and it was working fine so far. His stomach had felt off ever since their irregular year traveling. The past few months hadn't really done anything to fix that.

He dropped the mangled toast fragments, deciding he was done, and poured himself a cup of tea. While he waited for it to cool, he pulled out his schedule. He hadn't looked at it when he'd gotten it, and had merely tossed it aside. Now, he supposed, would be a good time to look. The first thing he saw when it was unfolded was that all of the eighth years would be sharing classes. Harry groaned internally. The last thing he wanted was more people around all day - and people that knew him and might want to talk to him, no less.

Well dealing with more people regularly wasn't great, but he could cope with it. He just had to keep his head down and stay quiet. Looking back at the schedule he saw that Transfiguration was first. That shouldn't be so bad, McGonagall was kind but strict, and certainly wouldn't allow gossip or people harping on him. He glanced up at the faculty table and froze. How had he forgotten? Professor McGonagall wouldn't be teaching transfiguration any longer because she was the headmistress, so there was a new professor. He hadn't payed any attention during the welcome address the night before, so he wasn't sure who it would be.

There were several new faces at the faculty table, so he supposed starting out his classes this year would be quite the adventure. Not - of course - that he forgot why there was more than one. His mind snapped to the image of Professor Burbage suspended above the table in Malfoy Manor screaming as she was tortured, and then to Snape's memories leaking out and covering the ground. Harry shook his head to clear it and took a sip of tea to calm himself. It was still quite hot and his tongue smarted at the burning liquid, but he took a few more sips anyway.

In all honesty, some part of him was thrilled to be back here at school because here things were simple: he took classes and did homework. That was it. The other part of him, however, resented the loss of his freedom to determine for himself what he did and when he did it. No longer could he decide to sleep the entire week away, instead he would be stuck writing essays he was out of practice for and that were likely to be useless in the rest of his life.

Several students started to leave for their first classes and Harry gathered his things, glad to at least have something to do. Doing things was nice because then he could pretend to have a purpose and not just sit. That was all he really did if nothing called for him to do otherwise. He would just sit completely still, doing nothing, just sitting. Apparently others thought this was concerning.

"...Transfiguration?" Ron asked, breaking through Harry's reverie.

"Er, yeah. I've got that next- first, whatever."

"Alright."

Ron and Hermione walked off and Harry followed. He didn't mean to push away his friends - it wasn't fun - it's just that it was easier. The same way it was easier to just sit. Alone, of course.

"Welcome, I'm Professor Ludgor, as Headmistress McGonagall has informed you," A voice boomed from the front of the room, with a slight lisp. The man it came from looked quite average and unassuming. Not at all the type that would produce a voice as forceful as that. He had wavy black hair and a face that looked as if you could mould it like clay, although it was currently quite flat.

"I will be teaching you transfiguration and, to be quite honest, I'm glad I've got you lot first," Professor Ludgor continued, "You're adults and therefore less likely to shred me to pieces on my first day."

A couple of students halfheartedly laughed at what was apparently supposed to be a joke.

Hermione raised her hand and Professor Ludgor indicated that she should speak.

"I just wanted to know if we will be learning the same things as the Seventh Years or if our curriculum will differ slightly."

Professor Ludgor seemed to concentrate intensely on her face and then paused for a bit before he replied.

"You will be learning many of the same things as the Seventh Years, but I think the class will be less structured. I will be much more willing to let any of you take the lesson in any particular direction you may be interested in. More independent work will be encouraged and you will have more choice on essay topics. You've still got to be prepared for your N.E.W.T.S. though, that's why you're here after all. Does that answer your question?"

"Yes," Hermione smiled.

Harry thought that sounded fantastic. If he cared at all, that was. It wasn't that he didn't want to care, it was just that he didn't really care about anything anymore. Actual interests seemed ages away, and it was hard for him to believe he had ever been so fully committed to quidditch, and that it had actually been fun. Interest in anything just didn't seem like a reality to Harry anymore.

Professor Ludgor began the lesson and Harry tried to focus his attention on the information rather than his wandering thoughts and oppressive boredom.

This effort quickly went out the window and he began staring at the wall behind Professor Ludgor's head, and letting the sounds blend together into a background lull. Everything around him seemed to melt and became varying shades of red wax bleeding together. He couldn't actually hear the screaming, but he knew it was there. The pain, however, he really could feel. It was dull and manageable, but he knew he was being paid all the pain of those tortured and murdered by Voldemort because of him.

He succumbed almost gratefully, basking in the dull aching pain as he floated, suspended on the tide of molten crimson wax. He embraced it because this way he could at least feel that he was being served what justice and fairness demanded. It didn't matter that he was "the saviour" or whatever; he'd still cost so many people so much. So many lives, so many people's sanity and health. The people closest to him he'd hurt the most. The family he considered his own was missing a son. His godson was missing both of his parents. Teddy would never even remember them, and it was all due to Harry. The wax understood. It didn't treat him differently because of who he was - it gave him his proper dues.

Pfft, pfft, pfft. Tap tap. Scritch. Pfft, pfft, pfft. Tap tap. Scritch.

Harry was wrested from inside his head, where his mind had been mulling around out of focus, as his brain finally processed the repetitive and annoying rhythm behind his head. He looked back in annoyance to get the perpetrator to stop. Malfoy sat behind him, head on hand, eyes drooping, absentmindedly moving his quill against the desk. Harry quickly turned back around. Really, the noise was infuriating, but he didn't want to antagonise Malfoy - it would have been hard enough for the boy to come back to school at all.

He didn't know how he felt about Malfoy honestly. He was stuck between holding onto the old rivalry out of his own stubbornness and bitterness, and feeling actual sympathy for him. Looking back, Malfoy had been horrible to him, Ron, Hermione, and a lot of other underserving people, but he was not only raised by, but also raised to idolise the monster that was Lucius Malfoy. When it came to his part in the war, he didn't have much more choice in matters than Harry had - and while he'd boasted about his Dark Mark at first, his fear and regret became evident fairly quickly. And then he hadn't turned Harry in to the snatchers, and Harry had taken his wand, without which he couldn't have done much.

After that, history was turned on its head and Harry had saved Draco's life, then Narcissa had saved Harry's. It hadn't even seemed like an option not to speak at Draco and Narcissa's trials. Harry wasn't about to let excessive punishments go to the undeserving in the fearful aftermath of the war. Merlin, there were plenty of deserving, guilty scum to be punished without Draco and Narcissa being lumped in with them.

Pfft, pfft, pfft. Tap tap. Scritch. Pfft, pfft, pfft. Tap tap. Scritch.

Harry didn't want to draw attention or argue with Malfoy but the sound needed to stop. Right then.

It did not stop.

Pfft, pfft, pfft. Tap tap. Scritch. Pfft, pfft, pfft. Tap tap. Scritch. Pfft, pfft, pff- thump.

Harry had turned and snapped his hand onto Malfoy's, forcing the quill flat. He put a bit of pressure on the hand for emphasis and then removed his own.

"Thank you," Harry said, and turned back to face the front. He could see both Ron and Hermione giving him questioning looks, but he refused to look at them. The back of his neck prickled, and was sure that he could feel Malfoy staring at him, but he was also sure there was no way he could actually tell unless he looked. Which he refused to do.

Instead of looking at anyone, Harry decided to try and see if he could see what was going on in the lesson. It was quickly apparent that he had no idea what was happening and that he would not be catching up, but that Professor Ludgor would continue talking at them all anyway.