Chapter 2

"What a weird letter"

What did the person mean by "involuntarily blinded?" Harry snorted. The person - a guy, Harry was almost certain now - was completely nuts! "Far too good, far too perfect?" What did the guy think? That he was some blushing virgin who would fall for his 'oh so sweet' words? A virgin he may be, but he would never blush like a bloody girl!

Harry frowned though, as he stared at the letter. It wasn't like the rest of the letters he had ever received before. Obviously, others have tried to gain his attention with some sort of conspiracy or random babbling. However, the thing that had Harry somewhat curious was that there was no begging for him to join the person for his safety, where he would be made happy and would live like a king - or in some cases, a queen. Not a single one. Moreover, there was not any mention of Harry meeting him or anything! Like it really was just meant to express what the writer had explained in the letter.

But that was ridiculous! The letter had obvious parts or persuasion towards the 'dark.' As if it was the first. Harry shook his head in bemusement. He'd had his fair share of crazy, greasy, evil men who probably hated him - oh shit!

Harry suddenly looked alarmed as his mental description had him remembering the one greasy git he couldn't seem to get rid of and quickly cast a tempus charm. Seven fifty-one. Oh fucking hell! Harry was going to be late for potions!

Grabbing his bag off the floor, he quickly dropped the letter into the pile with numerous others before dashing like a demon out of hell to the dungeons, not even realizing that the letter didn't have a return address either.

~0~

Harry burst through the door to his potions class room, chest heaving from his run through the castle. Sweat dabbing his forehead and breath labored, Harry quickly took in his surroundings as he stumbled into his seat in haste. Merlin must have been smiling down on him (even though he knew it was more likely that Merlin was taking pity on the boy-who-lived on this day unlike every other) because Snape wasn't present as of yet.

Said boy only had a moment to sigh deeply and collapse in his seat next to Ron before the door banged open once more, this time revealing the meanest, and arguably, the ugliest professor at Hogwarts. If the sneer that exposed yellowed teeth weren't enough to convince you of this fact, the hooked nose and greasy black hair that has never known soap most certainly would.

The man walked into the classroom, his cloak billowing behind him in a now common but no less intimidating fashion as he nonverbally spelled the door shut with a resounding slam.

"After five years with you incompetent brats, you should know by now that I don't tolerate lateness. Ten points from Gryffindor thanks to Mr. Potter's tardiness."

The Slytherins snickered and sent him superior glances before focusing on Snape's lecture. Harry only scowled at his professor in hatred, muttering, "You were late too, you bloody git," before sighing in annoyance.

With a glance to his left, he spotted Hermione partnered with Neville Longbottom. As if feeling his gaze, she turned back and met his eyes, giving him a frustrated huff before turning back to their ingredients.

His scowl didn't go away as he got the ingredients listed on the board and joined Ron in making a sleeping potion. As he set them down, his best friend leaned over and whispered, "Don't worry mate. Hermione will gain them back in Charms."

Harry snickered at his statement knowing it was true and finally relaxed enough to trust himself with the directions. Getting to work, his mind slowly forgot the weird letter from earlier as he started cutting the frog's tongue into squares. 'I can't believe people actually drink this stuff...'

~0~

The-boy-who-lived-to-constantly-be-on-his-guard slumped into the chair in front of the fireplace. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had just made it back to the common room after a tedious day of classes and the onslaught of classmates who wanted to talk to him and give him gifts. Most of his time between classes was spent hiding behind statues or in abandoned classrooms. Give him a horde of Dementors, give him a fifty foot basilisk, hell, give him Voldemort! Just keep away the giggling girls and their fluttering eyelashes and their too sweet greetings.

Harry sighed as he felt his shoulders falling and finally releasing the tension he had carried around all day. He hummed in contentment as the warmth of the roaring fire chased off the chill from the February air.

Harry felt his eyes beginning to fall shut before he heard, "You can't fall asleep Harry! You still have to do the essay Umbridge assigned us. It's do Friday." Said boy's eyes snapped open and he glared at an unimpressed Hermione. Hands on her hips and sporting a stern expression, she mimicked the mother she seemed to keep trying to be to him. Suddenly, he was more than just angry at her.

He was fucking pissed.

Standing up, he walked until he was not three feet from her before saying, "Thanks for the reminder mom. Sorry if I wanted to rest for only a fucking moment after having to avoid the entire female population for the entirety of my day."

The boy glared at her, his anger making it slightly more intimidating than usual and he gave her an annoyed and disgusted look before stepping back. "My mom died when I was one, Hermione. I've lived my life fine without one so I don't need you stepping up to the fucking plate, okay? And as far as Umbridge goes, she can stick her wand and Ministry Status up her bloody fat arse! Got that?"

With a swirl even Snape would envy, Harry turned away and headed up to his bed, grabbing his previously discarded bag on his way. The dorm room was deathly silent as they watched Harry storm up the steps.

His feet met stone surprisingly silently as his anger boiled his blood. 'Just who the hell does she think she is? Always trying to mother me.'

He opened the door and ignored the fact that Dean and Seamus were playing a game of exploding snaps as he dropped his bag on the floor and threw himself on his bed, carelessly sweeping the pile of letters and gifts off his bed and onto the floor.

Sighing as his head hit the pillow, he closed his eyes and tried to shut out the headache he was suddenly sporting.

After a moment, he heard the shuffling of feet and the shutting of the door letting him know that the two boys had left him alone.

Thank Merlin for small favors.

But he should have known that it wouldn't last. Not when destiny was set on pissing him off fifty percent of the time and putting him danger during the other fifty percent of it.

There was a knock on the door.

He ignored it, hoping the person would get the hint and leave him alone.

No such luck. The knocking grew louder.

He groaned and turned his head towards the door so he could properly yell, "Bugger off!"

The knocking stopped and he was about to turn back to his suffocating pillow and its harsh darkness before the person gave up knocking and decided to walk right in.

"God dammit Ron, what?" asked Harry in exasperation. How come no one could understand that he wanted to be by himself?

"Calm down, mate!" said the surprised and slightly irritated redhead who closed the door behind him, apparently intent on staying.

Grumbling under his breath and massaging his temple with the heel of his hand, Harry glared at him through one opened eye as he made to sit up. Back against the headboard, Harry raised his knees up and rested his forehead against them. "What do you want Ron?" he asked after one long sigh, his voice tired.

Said boy frowned. "You alright?"

"Fine. Just a headache is all." Harry didn't have to look at the boy to know that he was wondering if his scar was hurting. His hidden eyes narrowed at the thought.

Why did everyone think that if Harry didn't act nice all the time that there was something wrong with him? Bloody hell, was he not allowed to be a fricken teenager, even once in his life? All because of a fucking scar and the death of his parents.

Harry sneered. Why did they all expect shit from him? His actions and his behavior weren't supposed to be like this. He was the Gryffindor Golden Boy and the Headmaster's favorite. Yeah right. The man hadn't so much as spoken a word to him since September.

Why couldn't he just relax and act the way he might if the people around him would just give him a freakin break?

Harry mentally shook his head and raised his head enough to glance at the redhead. He appeared to be glowering at some thought. Frowning, Harry said, "What?"

The boy was drawn from his musings, but not before Harry followed his gaze to the displaced pile of letters that had seemingly grown from this morning.

'Oh hell. Not this again,' Harry thought, his body tensing again with anger. He was in no way responsible for that shitty pile of letters and he wasn't about to deal with Ron's unbelievable and unwarranted jealousy right now.

"Nothing," the redhead replied, his features scowling before he stood up and walked towards the door. "Ease up on Hermione, will ya mate? She's just worried about your grades." He spoke without turning around. He probably didn't realize that this tone was cold and full of anger and that when he shut the door behind him that it was with more force the necessary.

Harry only sneered at the door. 'Good riddance,' he thought even though he knew that by tomorrow morning he would have apologized to both of his friends for his sour mood. But for now, he was more than happy to wallow in his anger and annoyance at the two.

Suddenly frowning, he was reminded of the letter from earlier and the words his 'secret admirer' had written. Leaning over his bed, he dug through the pile and found it under a letter from a Ravenclaw girl and one from Colin Creevey.

Scanning the paper, he found the sentence that called to his memory. " But you do not see that as you are left involuntarily blinded to the harm those you trust could do." Harry had scoffed at it before, but now it didn't seem so foolish.

Thoughts began churning in his head slowly and almost painfully. All the times Ron was irrationally angry or jealous at Harry and the times Hermione kept bossing him around. His mind was foggy as if he couldn't really remember all the bad times with his friends, but once he got a grip on the basic feelings of betrayal and annoyance, the haze shattered into crystal clear sight and memories flung themselves at him willingly.

Ron was always jealous of Harry, no matter what he did. He was jealous that Harry got fame and money, that he was the one famed for stopping Voldemort during his first year, his ability to speak Parseltongue, that his godfather was an animagus and a famous marauder. All in all, the guy was practically jealous that he wasn't Harry Potter.

Harry couldn't help it; he laughed outright. It was completely insane! Harry was chuckling madly as he came to the conclusion that Ron Weasley was jealous because his parents were alive and healthy and that his own life didn't get put on the line to face the Darkest Lord in wizarding history each and every year.

And Hermione! She was always trying to control him. Telling him what to do and what not to do. Damn. It annoyed the shit out of him as well as pissed him off. She really believed he couldn't live his life on his own. As if he would perish without her.

The mere thought made him sneer.

How dare she think that. Harry spent every year since the age of one going 'home' to be abused, starved, and neglected by his relatives; his 'family.' As if he could even call them that. They were monsters. More so than some Death Eaters.

He came up short at that thought. Wait... What had he just thought? Had he just looked at Death Eaters in a positive light?

Glancing down apprehensively, he stared at the piece of parchment for a moment, holding it as if the smallest pressure could cause it to explode. Feeling suddenly uncomfortable with the thoughts it brought forward, Harry turned to his bedside table and tossed the letter into the practically bare drawer. The only other thing currently occupying it was the rose from earlier. Harry paused, starting at the rose inside for only a moment. He felt the temptation to run his fingers over the soft petals once more before he caught himself and slammed the drawer shut. Keeping them out of sight seemed to help cut off the dark temptation waves that seemed to call to him.

He should his head quickly, refusing to think on the letter anymore. He wasn't sure how to feel about being swayed from mere words and quite frankly, he was far too tired to think much more on the subject.

Setting the unopened pile of letters on fire with a simple Incendio, Harry threw off his robes and snuggled under the covers of his bed after drawing the curtains closed around him.

It might have been extremely early, but Harry felt exhausted. The day had completely worn him out. And the pillows were so soothing to his aching head.

Eyes drooping shut as warmth once more encased him, Harry couldn't help but wonder what else in the letter was true...