Harry Potter and the Frozen Souls

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns every single thing in this entire story except for Alexander Smith, who is a character of my own creation, and the plot of the story, which she can have if she wants as long as she lets me keep writing this. I have gotten, am getting, and will get no monetary or physical reward for writing this story. I am merely doing this for my own enjoyment, the enjoyment of the readers, and to practice and improve my writing ability.

Prologue: Beginnings

"Look, Albus, this isn't really my business, but…it's about Harry."

Albus Dumbledore finally turned to face his visitor. Molly Weasley's face was giving away her concern for the boy, and it was something out of the ordinary to bring her all the way up to Hogwarts and away from her family in the middle of the summer. He raised an eyebrow. "What about him, Molly?"

"Well, Ron's been writing him letters, and Harry's been somewhat…curt…in his answers. Ron brought this to my attention. His most recent answer was, and I quote, 'I'm fine. See you in Diagon Alley before the start of next year. Harry.' That's not like him. I'm afraid the boy might be more upset about…that night in the Ministry…than we understand. I'm not saying that we shouldn't give him some space, because I think he needs it, but…" She broke off and let that hang in the air.

Dumbledore nodded. That wasn't normal for Harry. It sounded like he'd totally withdrawn after that night in the Ministry, which wasn't healthy. "We'll keep an eye on him surreptitiously, Molly. That's all we can do, and that's all I think we should do. Thank you for bringing this to my attention, though. We can only hope that he's ready to return to society by the end of the summer. We can't lose him."

"No, Albus, we can't. Albus…one more suggestion…have Remus talk to him." With those words, Molly turned and left his office, leaving him alone again. Remus. Why Remus?

Harry Potter sat in his room thinking. Thinking hurt, but so did everything else these days. The pain was minimal. He ignored it. No one cared about him. He didn't really care about them either. He could wall himself away from the world, close himself behind a wall of ice, present a cold exterior. Who needed the world, anyways? He supposed he should go through the motions of living, but he didn't really feel like it.

A graying owl swooped in through the window and left a letter on his desk. It was an official-looking envelope, so he opened it, unlike everything else. Everyone was just pretending to care. How could they like someone who'd pretty much killed his parents, killed his godfather, killed everyone? Everyone he cared about died. He wasn't going to let anyone else in. They'd just die too.

He opened the envelope. It was his O.W.L. results. Defense Against the Dark Arts, Outstanding. Divination, Acceptable. Transfiguration, Outstanding. Charms, Outstanding. Potions, Outstanding. He cracked a half smile at that one. Snape was going to hate him more. His expression returned quickly to the cold emotionless state. Care of Magical Creatures, Exceeds Expectations. Herbology, Exceeds Expectations. Not bad, not bad at all.

Blaise Zabini sat in her room. She'd gotten her O.W.L. results back, and seven Outstandings was nothing to sneer at. Not that she'd sneer, or show any expression at all. Her fellow Slytherins called her the Queen of Frost and other similar stupidities, and not for nothing. No one cared about Blaise Zabini, and she didn't really care about the world. Downstairs, she heard the man who was technically her father arguing with the parent of a fellow Slytherin.

"No, Lucius, I've never thought about joining the Dark Lord. Why on earth would I? I admit I'm not a fan of that fool Dumbledore, but my great-grandfather was a Dark Lord at least as powerful as your Lord Voldemort, and look where he got us. I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy, but you may tell your master that all House Zabini will offer him is a pledge of neutrality and perhaps a business association. If he wants to buy information or rare magical artifacts, we are available for such things. And we will pledge not to join the forces amassing against your Lord. We want no part of a war."

"You may not have that choice, Nergul Zabini. The war may force itself on you. But for now, the Dark Lord will accept what little you have offered him and leave House Zabini to withdraw into itself. If you should reconsider, however…I understand you have a daughter at Hogwarts, in Slytherin, of course. My son Draco may have messages from the Dark Lord to pass on to you, so tell her to do so."

"Of course, Lucius. A good day to you."

"We're doing what?" Alexander Paul Smith was not happy, and it showed in his voice and expression. The tall, black-haired young man was glaring at his mother in total rage.

"Moving to England. I've been promoted to the Division Head for Europe." Well, that made things slightly better. His mother was in the Department of Magical Affairs, which was in charge of the magical community of the United States, although technically the President was still their head of state. In fact, the current President was a Squib, so he governed them pretty fairly. Elizabeth Smith was in the Division of Foreign Relations in the DoMA, and a continental Division Head was pretty prestigious. "Don't worry about your schooling. You're transferring to Hogwarts. They're accepting you as a sixth year, and they've got a system for taking your M.A.T. scores as their O.W.L. tests. You've got seven Outstandings by their system. Now cheer up!"

Alex sighed. "Yes, Mother." It wasn't like he hadn't expected something like this to happen. Life never stayed good for long. That was why he never let himself get attached to anyone. He'd learned the stupidity of shutting himself away from the world a few years ago, but now he just played with the world. Live life, ignore the rules, and it doesn't matter who you do it with or who you wake next to in the morning. That was his philosophy, and it served him well. "I'd better start packing, then, hadn't I?" With that he walked upstairs and left his mother more than a little surprised at his capitulation.