Darkest Part (Of Me)

by Slytherette97

On the night that Tom orders him to relieve his family of his burden, through the power of his highly persuasive ability, Harry doesn't just survive the ordeal. He's saved by the most unlikeliest of people, and in turn, becomes the savior of him as well. (Book One of the Series 'Running') Fenrir Greyback/Harry Potter.

3. Chapter 3

WARNINGS: Rape, Non-Consensual Sex, Explicit Sex Scene, Biting, Blood Play.

Chapter Three
Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time

When Harry awoke, it was to the sensation of being slowly withdrawn from a bed of mud – his lungs stretching to take in the air as if they hadn't in years. His limbs shifted and stretched, and without really knowing why, his lips curled upward in a dazzling smile. It was as if his senses were finally awakening after many years of being buried deep within. But when he blinked, something else echoed the motion, and although he should have been wary, he felt nothing but a lazy acceptance uncharacteristic of him.

It's the abilities I told you about,the voice echoed hazily in his mind, which seemed even louder the longer Harry seemed to focus on him, like a light bulb slowly flickering to life and growing stronger in the darkness. His once closed mind seemed to stretch for longer and farther than he'd ever imagined, a long, winding blanket of darkness that shifted and rippled in a nonexistent wind.It'll take you a little while to get a hang of them, but my habits and routine from the box should be well enough to take care of that for you. Just breathe and relax – take in the feeling of freedom once more. Everything is taken care of.

I dreamed last night,Harry whispered reverently, wide awake and dewy eyed in the fantastic feeling of being alive once more.I – I remember seeing bright lights, and hearing Mum and Dad's voices. They were whispering about me, but I can't remember what they said...

That'll be me taking effect, then,his voice murmured pensively, to his lazy bemusement. There was an annoyed sigh.We've become one once more, and before our split Mum and Dad were finalizing their divorce and Riddle had only recently emerged in the picture. We'll have to pick up where we left off if we want to continue on like this,they explained, somewhat cautiously, picking over the words thoughtfully.

It didn't even hurt,Harry said abruptly, amazed, as if the thought hadn't occurred to him until just that moment. He felt a pang of what could only be the happiness that hadn't been in years, a burst of such fantastic pleasantness - it was very much like welcoming an old friend home. I didn't feel a thing – I only dreamed. This is – this is bloody amazing!

Calm down, you're making the damn lights flicker on and off - someone will notice! The voice snapped, but despite the irritation, it only heightened Harry's happiness even more. He could influence things now! The ceiling light seemed to flare up like a teakettle, but he couldn't give a bloody damn about it. The oppressing, crushing weight he'd resigned himself to for so long was gone, he was free. He could feel again.

I don't care if I light up the whole house right now,Harry professed honestly, staring baldly up at the ceiling with a beaming grin. The voice tittered an annoyed sound and seemed to - toturn around in his head. Well, you can't tell me you aren't happy! I can feel stuff again! I feel relieved - happy, weightless,free. Ifeel.

As long as you don't get overzealous with feeling,we can blend in seamlessly to the stupid norm you set,the voice muttered irritably, and Harry felt the first spark of pure, whole, undiluted annoyance. Don't even bother trying to shut me out, either.We're assimilating back together again, rather like Humpty Dumpty, and if you ignore me - the most vital piece of this fucked up puzzle, everything will crumble again. And it'd be a lot worse that time round.

But you've already put us together again,Harry said, if a little bit uncertainly. Haven't you? I mean, I feel a lot better than I did yesterday, and I can feel a whole lot more now...

Don't be stupid!The voice snapped angrily. Harry bristled almost immediately - faltering only when the anger rushed at him so quickly he hadn't been able to translate it properly. All I've managed to do so far is connect the base of your personality to - you. Your emotions. As soon as that's been properly stuck down again, I'll continue putting in the memories, but so far, we're not nearly done. Don't be so fucking impatient - the Great Wall wasn't built overnight.

Oh, God... Will this make me do any crazy things? Should I expect to blow up from nothing?Harry begged to know. He startled when he felt a small nudge of approval he had absolutely no connection with.

Whoever they were in his head snickered for a moment, seeming to enjoy his fright, before it seemed to realize just how very annoyed he was getting. It was like holding a hammer over the head of a nail – ominous and threatening. He could still boot whomever it was back up into the box.

I don't know,they answered truthfully, if a bit grimly. This is the first time I'm attempting this with you conscious and agreeable. When you slept, your guard and the walls were down the most, and I attempted to do these things then, but I was... unsuccessful, to say the least. I'm not going to lie to you, I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing. I'm stumbling round in the dark here - well, there isn't exactly aManualfor your mind, you know! I'm doing all I can with the limited knowledge I have, so don't even try it with me! I can feel what you feel remember? I can - andam sensing the doubt growing right this bloody second!

I'm not doubting you, Harry said very quickly, cautiously avoiding the huge clump of anxiety he'd felt sneaking up on him from the deep, dark, endless abyss of his mind. Just as long as you don't fry a circuit up there or drive me raving mad, I'm fine to go along with you. But, just so you know, I can feel every twitch or move you make, so I know what you're doing when you're doing it. I'm watching you.

That'd be really creepy if applied to another scenario, y'know,the voice told him conversationally.Might need to lay off the horror movies for a while. Or avoid Riddle until his crazy stage is over.

What do I call you, for the time being?Harry asked, albeit not quite as politelyas his Mum should have strictly liked. When speaking to irritable voices in one's mind, politeness he deemed, wasn't necessary.

Call me Harry.

I'mHarry, thank you very much,Harry told them very tensely, and they huffed in reply. You'll have to come up with something else.

Well I'm not going along with what you've been calling me, that's for damn sure, the voice sneered, and Harry had half a mind to feel offended. Just call me James, then, since I'm technically you and that's an attached part of your name, anyway.

But you're not actually -

"I knew you'd be awake."

Harry didn't jump, but the sudden arrival of Tom did startle him from his internal argument. The voice became dreadfully quiet in his head, a blessing in another circumstance, and emotions suddenly cluttered his mind like a dirty old attic, dredging up old feelings like the dead cobwebs they were.

"I didn't know you were there, Tom," Harry whispered, glancing to his old alarm clock warily. It was merely half an hour before sunrise, far too early for his Mum and brother to be awake. "It's incredibly early for you to be up. Don't you have work?"

It was far too early for him to be up and about – it was almost as if the man had set a ward or an alarm for when he'd be awake. It was far too convenient. If James had been here, even the slightest creak of the floor out in the hallway would have had him up and about. It was almost like a one fingered salute to the missing man.

"I wanted a good morning kiss before I left," said Tom in that low, husky drawl that Harry'd learned long ago to hate, slinking across the room with bare, silent feet. The door snicked shut with a very light push, as Tom had had the practice of doing. "And you're always so good at making me feel my best for the day, aren't you, Harry?"

Harry said nothing, instead choosing to employ the numbing blanket to his mind before any churnings of rage could have the chance to evaporate it. He nearly startled when his bed suddenly dipped under the weight of a much taller, heavier body, which soon bracketed him in his duvet and blankets, and spooned up around him.

A cold, rough hand ghosted oh-so tenderly over the slender, hot curve of his throat, prompting the glands in his mouth to malfunction and suck out all the moisture originally there. He swallowed thickly, and grimaced very lightly at the cotton clinging to his tongue and throat stubbornly. It almost made him gag from that sensation alone. But there were other problems he needed to put first.

Such as the fact that Tom wasn't wearing any bedclothes, and the faint scent of sex and his Mum's perfume lingered on his slightly cooled skin. The one part that remained as hot as lava was pressed up against his rear.

Harry felt sick to his stomach.

"Why don't you respond as readily to my advances anymore, Harry?" That voice purred into his ear, the hot tongue skirting his ear so luridly. Harry fought the urge to jerk his head back - to feel cartilage and delicate cheek bones break under his scalp. But he couldn't, even if everything in him told him to do it anyway. "Your Mother does. She loves my touch nearly as much as you, however she seems to show much more appreciation for it, far more enthusiastically than you. I believe you ought to follow her example and make it up to me. Touch me."

Don't you dare,the voice spat, muffled only slightly by the blanket holding the fire back. Don't you fucking dare do it, Harry Me Potter. You have power - power he hasn't got and can't counter, so use it!Kill him now!

I can't, Harry whispered.

Mechanically, Harry removed his arm from the warm, safe cocoon of his bedding, and reached back and down, skirting his fingers down the twitching muscles of Tom's belly and to the hot, straining erection caught between the sheets and his rear. Tom's hiss of pleasure was embellished by the happy jerk of his turgid flesh in Harry's velvety hand.

Harry entertained the thought of ripping it off.

"You handle me so well, Harry," Tom purred into his scalp, nuzzling the sleep knotted hair affectionately - possessively. Harry barely blinked at the sensation. "I know how much you love the feel of me, hard and aching in your capable hands. It almost makes me dread the moment we end -" his breath stuttered and hitched for a moment, sounding very close to climaxing as Harry's fingers unconsciously tightened around the tumescence, "- as separate entities, and join together, forever. I'll never - fuck, yesss, Boy - be able to leave you. You'll always be by my side. Under my desk at work, between my legs sucking me off even as I earn us money, and in my bed. Mine forever," he growled, and the sound almost confused Harry for rage, if he hadn't suddenly grabbed Harry round the waist and thrust against his blanket clad rump with a sharp, shuddering hiss.

Harry never stopped his ministrations, even with the difficult, nigh on impossible angle he'd been forced into. The punishment for stopping would probably be as bad as if he'd refused, and as he was still smarting from the last beating he'd been given, he really didn't feel all that up to another session. But the rage bucking and battering at the blanket in his mind was beginning to crash through, like a battering ram on a rampage. He could hear the voice screaming obscenities in his head, the words echoing in his ears like the thing was right beside him.

The light above flickered on and off, but Tom didn't notice, for all the world focused entirely on humping into Harry's rear as if he owned it. But Harry noticed, and if it weren't for the steel-like control snapping even more into play, he would've fried the fucker dead.

"You are mine, Harry James Potter," Tom whispered breathlessly into his ear, voice intense despite its breathless qualities, passionate even as he grappled roughly with a handful of Harry's thick, stubborn raven hair and yanked his head back to his expose his vulnerable, delectable throat. He wasted nought time to lave at the incredibly soft, smooth skin with his tongue, and Harry just knew what he was about to do. He had but a moment to tense and brace himself for it and the intense pain, before Tom inevitably sunk his sharp teeth into his neck and suckled perversely at the resulting wound as if it were the finest of sweets. There was much more blood than usual – Harry could feel it pooling and running thickly across his clavicle. "And you always will be," he moaned gutturally.

Jaw clenched incredibly tight against the horrible pain lacing the blood in his veins, Harry forced himself to keep his head in the same uncomfortably stretched position, despite Tom's slackening, distracted grip in his hair. He kept his hand in the same shape and movement, moving in a motion so firmly ingrained it was as if he'd never forget it; His hand squeezing tighter and tighter andtwistingto the right just when it reached the tip, fingers absently playing at the frenulum. Tom was a silently moaning mess behind him.

We can end it now.

What? Harry queried tonelessly, almost completely submerged in the icy water of nothingness in his mind.

We are stronger than him. We can kill him now and save Dad the trouble of having to lock him up. No one deserves to see him, he doesn'tdeserveto live.

Who are we to judge whom is to live and die? Harry countered blandly, and compelled himself to ignore the tugging and forceful shiftings of his duvet and bedclothes, as Tom wriggled his way by habit between the sheets. He may use my body as his own, and as a stress-reliever but that doesn't give me the right to end him. If he tried anything with Henry or anyone else, then... Perhaps that is another story.

So you'd let him fuck us -damage us, fuck our Mum around like a love-sick puppy and take hold of the family house, just so Mum can get laid? Since when did you start putting money and their happiness above of our life? James was snarling, but Harry only heard him through one ear. His pants were around his knees, and his right knee was angled up and bent. But it was the slippery, pulsing, meaty helmet that was rubbing at his exposed hole that had his attention. For fuck's sake, Harry! Just fucking kill him already!

Harry gurgled low in his throat when the head pressed insistently inside, hardly finding any resistance in the moist cavern from last night's go of it. It was too hot and uncomfortable, not entirely slick enough inside for a smooth entry, and he could feel the almost boiling precum searing at his insides like liquid fire. He was all too aware of the juddery movements Tom's hips made, where they found small pockets of resistance from where the lubrication had thinned up too much, or hadn't initially reached.

It didn't feel good at all, and the stinging pain in his neck was drying up any sensations of pleasure he might've found anyway.

No fucking shit,James sneered contemptuously, a tangle of seething rage behind the ragged curtain. Of course it doesn't feel bloody good, you don't want this - and we're practically bleeding to death!

Harry stared hard at his old alarm clock, watching the flashing numbers pass by as Tom got into more of a groove and worked his long, pulsing shaft even further into his arse. The bed didn't creak at all anymore, as Harry had had to tighten the screws every once in a while to silence it, and Tom didn't thrust fast enough to make the headboard knock into the wall. It was long, painful and too far drawn out to be enjoyable for anyone other than Tom.

And despite the lengthy fuck, they hadn't ever gotten caught. Not once. Even if Harry or Tom made any noise, they either weren't heard, or were ignored in favor of something else. Almost as if they knew what was happening, but refused to put an end to it.

Not even the sudden spark of pleasure that flushed up his spine made Harry want to keen and shudder back, even as it returned once more as Tom withdrew and bypassed his prostate again. He had no passion or lust for Tom, despite his the man's claims that he did. It was purely business – to keep the remaining two Potters and Evans afloat in a happy home.

Tom didn't understand it, for all Harry's half-arsed hints.

The discomfiture leveled up another notch as Tom's hips began darting almost mechanically against his cheeks, as if sawing his cock into his arse to imprint the way it slid in and was enshrouded by Harry's winking hole. Hot precum pooled in his channel, and suddenly, Tom stiffened and slammed in one last time, muffling a groan into the back of Harry's head and dipping his face to the weeping wound on his throat.

"Perfect, as always," Tom murmured, nuzzling the overheated flesh of Harry's elegant, long neck. His tongue interrupted the easy flow of the blood wandering aimlessly across Harry's clavicle, and he smacked his lips together is deliberating the tastiness of a fine wine. He seemed to love it, for he continued lapping at the stream in wonder. "And so delicious to boot. How do you stay so delectable, dearest one? You seem to be getting better the more you age – you even taste better than you did last night."

Magic has a way of strengthening blood, pathetic worm,James seethed darkly. That'd be why your blood is so fucking thin and flimsy. You're nothing but a fleshy bag of dog shit and cat vomit.

"I don't know," Harry murmured blankly, ignoring the sickening tongue that lapped at his neck as if gleaning the secrets to life. "I don't really do anything to change the taste of my blood. I don't do anything to doll myself up at all."

"You would look highly disgusting if you were to wear cosmetics," Tom absently agreed, still tonguing the wound with relish. "It'd ruin your unique – features. I'd have to punish you if you were to so much as attempt to touch your Mother's collection. I can hardly stomach the sight of her when she wears that chemical filth. Not even when her lips are painted red and stretched around my enormous cock. You will not wear cosmetics, for any reasons."

Harry steeled himself against an adverse reaction, belatedly recognizing the sharp prickle at the back of his neck for something of an - a manipulation of sorts. He could feel James's smug satisfaction, and just hear the quietly murmured 'Not this time, Arsehole' in the back of his mind. Belatedly, he hummed, as he always did when Tom spoke in that commanding, silky voice, and allowed Tom to slowly slide his still partially hard cock from his entrance, and wipe the sticky mess on the back of his shirt.

It wouldn't do to anger him when he'd so recently cum.

-oOoOoOo-

"Did anything happen last night?" Draco whispered into his ear, rather tensely, when Harry sat down beside him at their conjoined desk. Apparently unwilling to waste any time with 'Hello's or a 'How are you?'

Harry glanced at him with a rather bitchy scowl. "When does nothing happen when he's around?" He countered bitterly.

Apart from being taken aback by the snark, Draco merely scowled in return and huffed, ruffled enough to give his ice head a shake. "Well, what happened this time?" He asked impatiently. "What did he do to make you wear -" he gestured vaguely at Harry's black turtleneck sweatshirt, looking none too pleased by it, "- that disgraceful thing? You wear black, but that thing is horrendous!"

"Good to know you're concerned for my mental health, Draco," Harry remarked sarcastically, concentrating more than he had to on emptying his bag of the notebook and pencil case for class. Snape was an arsehole to him, for some incredibly obscure reason, and he'd rather not give the man any more ammunition. The blonde pouted, and followed his lead in pulling his own things out. "Really, you're a good friend to be looking out for me in such a way. I almost thought it beyond you."

"I help people," Draco told him stiffly, sniffing somewhat pompously. "Just not when you're around. Now stop evading my questions!"

Harry scoffed, far louder than he'd wanted it to be, he realized, as a few of the surrounding students turned round to peer at them curiously. Harry pointedly ignored them. "Please. You'd drink the last glass of water available even if someone were on fire and standing right in front of you," he said, snorting indelicately.

"I would if I needed to quench my thirst," Draco drawled, to Harry's disgusted amazement. "If only because there would be someone with dominion over water standing conveniently nearby. There always is when something is burning."

"I have no words for that," Harry said, quite blandly for the emotion he could feel welling up inside. There was just too much to feel to properly word a retort. And to think he actually might have thought Draco capable of empathy – especially when talking about his little dealings with Tom. Did he really feel like he could help Harry, or was he involved only for the drama going on in his life? Was the blonde just trying to live vicariously through him, even if it was something no one in their right mind would want to experience?

Draco had said he would help put Tom away, but what could he contribute to do that? He could only put the journal forward and say it was Harry's official accounts of what had happened over the years; A witness of sorts, in other words. He couldn't do much else, and they were in agreement that he wouldn't confront Tom on any circumstances, whatsoever. Tom was dangerous, and Draco was vulnerable - never having been attacked by anyone older than Harry himself.

But if Draco was scared enough, would he go through with handing the journal over?

He was very luckily drawn out of his dark thoughts by Draco's voice. "You don't need to," said the blonde impatiently, waving his hand as if to bat the previous topic away. "Anyway, now tell me what happened yesterday and last night. Something bad must have gone on if you're avoiding my questions like this. You hadn't so far."

Oh, nothing at all, idiotic blonde one,said James with false cheerfulness. We only needed to change our sheets and trash one of our only sets of jammies because too much blood had soaked into it – and too much spunk to get out. Oh! And the best part is, we only have to wear a turtleneck shirt for the next three weeks until the bite and bruising on our neck heals up! Isn't that just lovely? My, it makes me wonder just what you think could have gone on? Oh, and lets not forget the severe pain of having to sit on these stiff wooden chairs with an arse like a bloody fire-bed. Would it kill someone to put a cushion on one of these things? Or at least make these things more bloody comfortable? We're bloody teenagers - more than enough blokes take it up the arse here than not.

Harry didn't even blink, though he had to say he was startled, when the chair suddenly lost its patent stiff seat and seemed to hug his sore rear like a cotton mattress. He glanced down, and frowned when the normal sight and grain of the familiar classroom chair greeted him between his thighs. It felt like his tush was sitting on a downy pillow, but it looked like he was sitting on the usual torture devices.

Abilites,James chimed from a distance.

"Right," Harry mumbled.

"So, what was it?" Draco demanded to know. "You're making me a little nervous with your evasions."

Harry glanced around them warily, at the students that were talking to their desk-mates and seemingly sufficiently distracted. It wasn't like they'd believe him if they listened, anyway. Anyone would just think he was making stories up to attract attention. Even if he were the only person within the entire school known not to have any powers at all, and was a general magnet for attention anyway.

But still.

"I put everything in my journal this morning when he left," he muttered, to the blonde's reluctant disappointed acceptance. "I don't wanna talk about it aloud. Not here, anyway."

Any and all chances of continuing their conversation flew out the window when the classroom door slammed open, and every child's nightmare personified stormed in, his long legs eating up the floor. Silence descended, and anyone caught without their books and stationary out was given an acid worthy glare, and stared at until they had the brilliant idea to get said items out.

There was a small flutter about the room, as said unprepared students prepared themselves. When – and only when everyone was ready, he spoke in his low, silky drawl that only he could affect.

"You have all studied at this institution for many years, and most will soon be progressing to your final and Senior years. And yet, there are those that still find it difficult to grasp the concept of preparedness," Snape mused in that chilling voice, almost sounding ponderous in the large lecture room. Harry knew first-hand the wrath that would befall anyone stupid enough to question him; he was the professor's favorite target, after all. "I hardly think they would be ready to proceed, as they have yet to understand the dimwit level of the First year," he sneered cruelly, his thin, sallow lips stretched back in a shark-like snarl that had a hum of unease passing through his students.

A low murmur swept round the room, but Harry was smart enough to remain silent and watchful. The tall dower man looked ready to pounce on some unsuspecting student, and with his rotten luck, it'd be him that'd be taken down the unneeded notches. The fact that he was always ready and prepared for Snape's class didn't earn him any brownie points, but it did seem to annoy the man, as he'd have to think up reasons to call on him in class and give him 'Much needed' detentions. Harry, Ron and Hermione had lost count of how many detentions Harry had had with the man.

And sure enough, Snape's dark, tunnelling eyes set upon him with a stony determination. "I believe I should like to be begin this lesson with one of Potter's measly little displays," he said silkily, a malignant smirk touching those narrow lips. "As an example of how laziness and insipidity affects the mind and the ability to influence. A manifestation of any kind should suffice, as it would prove to be evidence of his trulyexceptional skills."

Ooh, this is gonna be gooood,said James in a darkly mischievous whisper, an insufferable smirk in his voice.Too long has he bullied us for our unfortunate situation, and cowed us into silence. Now, it's time to get some pay-back!

What are you going to do?Harry hedged out suspiciously, just that little bit concerned for the arrogant bastard standing expectantly in front of them all. Bullying and biased he may be, but Harry really didn't want to antagonize one of the more vicious of his professors. He was bad enough already.

Weare going to show that stupid, sallow, arse-faced pillock just how powerful we are,James told him determinedly, simmering in the wings with anticipation and a darkly veiled glimmer of excitement. No longer will we suffer under his biased teachings and blatant favoritism of the Active elements. He thinks he knows power, but he knows nothing - and that's just what we're going to teach him.

"Are you merely slow-witted, or are you deaf, Boy?" Snape sneered, an altogether ugly expression curling his sallow-skinned face. It was almost too easy to see Tom in that look - especially the curling, languid way he said 'Boy.' "I said,come here."

Well?James drawled, almost casually.We should do as we're told. He wants us down there with him, so let's go down.

We're not hurting anybody,Harry told him severely. If you even try to make a snap at Snape, I'm locking you away - consequences be damned.

Unwilling to listen to the snickers and low taunts some of the more volatile students sneered at him, and the heavy silence that came from Draco, Harry rose from his seat and strode as determinedly as he could down the aisle, hands fisted at his sides and face set in stony silence. Snape's scowling, pitch black eyes watched him closely, but it was all too evident that he was clearly unimpressed with what he was seeing. Not that Harry liked looking at Snape, either. In fact, the former very much hated looking at the greasy haired git. And the dislike was certainly mutual on both ends, as it was all too evident when they caught sight of the other.

Not even the Headmaster tried to intervene when they went head to head with each other, although, the number of times Harry had merely stood there and allowed Snape to spear him with his barbs was well over one hundred. But, Harry hadn't his personality then.

He did now, and he was furious enough to feel tingly in his toes and fingertips.

Harry stopped walking merely feet from the tall figure of Snape, but even that was too close for either of them to stand. Snape's upper lip curled in what Harry thought was disgust, and Harry's emerald orbs darkened with emotion too great to really conceal – Snape's nostrils flared. They were at a stalemate, neither wanting to break or give in for one reason or another. And God, the hate flowing between them was almost tangible in the air between them. It stank up the room with tension, flooding the few students brave enough to sit at the front of the room with trepidation.

And then the tension snapped as suddenly as it'd come.

"Well, Potter? What are you waiting for?" Snape asked darkly, an edge in the sharp, dull tones that Harry really didn't like. Harry's shoulders tensed, and the already flimsy, brittle control separating his emotions from the surface became yet even more flimsy. One little push from James's little toe, and it'd be gone. "Manifest something. If it is not too much trouble to ask of your already limited mind, of course," he said silkily.

Harry didn't even have to try, in the end. He simply.. lowered the floodgates between his mind and the link of abilities that clinked and rattled excitedly.

One moment, the large wing-backed chair Snape usually sat in was seated near the front desk, and the very next moment, an array of splinters and chunks of dark cherry wood were flying in an explosive shower of debris from the far wall. The sound was horrendously loud in the still, quiet room, which not even a church mouse could hide in.

No one had actually expected him to be able to do anything. It made him feel at least the smallest bit happy that he'd done what was deemed impossible – he'd done something they thought was impossible.

Snape stared at him intently, a well disguised twitch of shock widening those dark eyes for merely a second, before it was gone and the sneering man was sneering down at him once more. "A pathetic first attempt at manipulation, Potter," he said acerbically. "Perhaps if you put that feeble mind to work, you would learn some control. Detention at four o'clock this afternoon, Potter. My office."

Oh, I'll show you control, Snape,James hissed murderously, to Harry's belated alarm.

Every pencil or pen left unguarded on every filled desk was lifted into the air, mere meters above the heads of their gawping, fish-like owners. Harry didn't even blink as some began spinning on their sides on the spot, and others merely bobbed up and down - a feat many couldn't perform in the physical rendition of rubbing one's belly, whilst patting the top of their head. It was an odd sensation for someone who hadn't had powers before - or at least had had no experience manipulating anything. He could feel the pull on his emotions and body, a curious sensation not unlike someone gently tugging at his arm hairs, but he didn't feel any bit of the drainage many usually felt at using their powers.

In fact, he felt incredibly exhilarated and giddy, which blended in rather well with James's own smugness and euphoria, which decorated the long, winding blanket of his mind like wild flowers in bloom.

He glanced at Snape, and paused at finding that he was already being watched by the man. He was unsure of what those onyx eyes were telling him, but they were intense, and bore into him a lot deeper than even Tom's could. Only the Headmaster had such a unique ability, an ability that judged Harry worthy of attending Hogwarts, and Harry never expected it to be replicated by another person – let alone the dower, sneering Severus Snape. It surprised him enough to allow the slip of the pulling sensation to gradually cease, and vaguely, he could hear the stationary return to their owners with a clatter.

"Perhaps," Snape began, quite venomously for even him. "With time you will come to see that arrogance has no place within our society. If you cease using your ability like it is a toy, then mayhaps you will finally advance past that of a child's level. Go back to your seat, Potter."

Harry turned and walked back to his seat without a word, compelling himself to focus on Draco's gobsmacked expression out of the small swamp of stunned, staring students. He sat down gingerly, but nothing but the gentle comfort of a downy pillow met his stinging behind. Relief swelled up, thick and fast, and he slowly relaxed down into his seat enough to slump.

"Just when were you going to tell me that you identified with an element, Harry?" Draco finally squawked out, his jaw and mouth still uncharacteristically working as if he were still speaking. There looked to be a thousand words in those grey eyes, but Harry could make out only one; Betrayal.

Harry frowned at it. "Later," he said shortly, and turned in his seat just in time to catch Snape glaring up at the both of them, quite severely. He'd written on the board in his thin, spidery scrawl, and the other students were busy at work copying it down - aside from the both of them, of course. Although Harry could see a few boys glance back at him every once in a while. They were still watching him.

Draco obviously noticed as well, as he simultaneously stiffened and turned rigidly in his seat. "I'm holding you to that, Potter," he muttered coolly, and began writing the coursework down with a flourish of his feathered and bejeweled pen. "And do try to be on your best behavior in Professor Snape's office, I won't be subjecting myself to your rantings and ramblings when I arrive at your home for too long."

Harry bit back the retort that almost jumped free from his lips, and ducked his head in an effort to not notice the intense, bordering on constant stares coming his way from all around the room. But it was getting increasingly hard to do so when he realized that the main culprit lie not within the rows of students, but stood in the place of the man at the very front of the classroom.

Mum's not going to like this, he thought grimly.

Like you're going to tell her about Snape giving you all these detentions. You know as well as I do that she gets weird whenever he's mentioned,James mused disinterestedly. Harry pictured a smaller version of himself using Draco's method of innocence; Feigning boredom and investigating the length and bluntness of his nails.In fact, I think you're not gonna tell her anything about this at all. We hate seeing dear old Mum upset, don't we?

I'm still telling her,Harry told him firmly, regardless of the vicious jab.

We'll see.

-oOoOoOo-

Harry, in fact, didn't mention anything of Snape to his Mum at all. When he'd gotten home, with an uncharacteristically quiet Henry in tow, he'd found her scurrying about the kitchen with a sea of shopping bags strewn about the various flat surfaces. She'd looked more tired than he'd ever seen her – her normally perfectly coiffed hair falling from its bindings and fraying out messily, clothes spotted and dotted with fluids unknown but suspected to be blood, and a rather harried expression on her face.

He hadn't the heart to drag her down even more with his news, even whilst James snickered and laughed meanly in his head, so he'd merely sent Henry packing upstairs - and James to a darker corner of his mind, and spent the next two hours putting away grocery bags and preparing dinner; A mean and very succulent lamb stew he'd perfected and down pat since he was young enough to make spaghetti bolognese.

It was something of a specialty he made for company, or at least, that's what Lily often said when she asked him to make it. And since she wasn't nearly as much of a chef in the kitchen, she couldn't replicate it to save her life. So Harry ended up making most of the meals in the house, except for the occasional burnt, overly floury pancake, and the odd burnt to a cinder rashers of bacon she made them on the weekend. Other than that, it was cereal and canned soup that no one in their right or messed up minds could make a blunder of. Even if it tasted like minced tomatoes and squished chicken at times.

Harry had made it a point in the past to make Henry mention nothing of the horrible state of food to their mother, who really was trying too hard to support them all in the stead of their missing father. And the little blighter hadn't. Yet.

In the stead of the music he listened to whilst cooking, and mostly out of concern, Harry had ended up listening intently for the past half an hour as Lily raced about the house like a blue-arsed fly, and finally ended up tracking her steps running up and down the basement staircase in the occasional interval. She had obviously prepared the theatre room for them to use later, probably setting up blankets or some such for them in case they slept there.

Although, a girl sleeping in the same room as three boys was putting a hefty amount of trust in them. Lily probably thought Hermione could handle herself if one of them 'came onto' her. And the bossy, know-it-all, all-knowing girl probably could. Her power was to know the history of all the things she touches, after all, and to absorb knowledge from the littlest of things; Such as books and photographs.

How the girl hadn't known about what Tom did to him, had always been a bit of a mystery to him. It had even caused a spectacular fight between them in which nothing was spoken to the other, and they'd avoided each other like the plague. Ron had of course, landed himself in rather hot water whenever he associated with one of them and not the other, at least until Harry had finally ruled out Hermione ever possibly knowing about the abuse. As, for one, the girl wasn't likely to let him go on living under something so cruel, and for another, she wasn't plagued by any nightmares that he knew of.

James's explanation was rather short with him and cantankerous, but was more precious than he could ever say.We're what I call a power sponge; We can absorb from all, use, and repel the original vessel if they tried to use their ability against us again. The girl would have used her gift on us once to let us suck it into our repertoire, and then when you wished to hide all your dealings with Tom, she couldn't consciously do it anymore. She tried at lunch the other day when she tried to grab our hand, but she couldn't get anything from us. We'd effectively taken in her ability and developed strategies to block her off. That's why she's suspicious of our sudden change, because she's never had something or someone do that to her. She's used to being powerful and all-knowing, and it threw her off when we, the useless, pathetic person we're known as, stopped her from sucking out our brains. She wants to know how we do it.

Harry hadn't said anything to that to show he'd heard what was said, though it was quite impossible not to have heard when it was said in his head, but James had obviously understood, as he'd quickly disappeared and not spoken a word since. He'd already thrown Harry off with his prompt and surprisingly viable answer, and anything else was just pushing him further and further off course. It was lucky his Mum hadn't arrived until the half hour hit the forty minute mark, for if she'd seen him, she'd have thought he was going to pass out from the look of how ghostly pale he was.

"Are your friends joining us for supper, Harry?" Lily queried tirelessly, even as her bloodshot eyes sagged and drooped in exhaustion. The black smudges that were usually mostly hidden by her bright smile were even more prominent than ever, almost looking as if she'd rubbed charcoal under her eyes, and she looked as if a stiff wind would topple her over. "I'm not sure if it'll be enough to fill everyone, but I bought enough sweets and snacks to tide you all over if there isn't. They and a sea of blankets and pillows are down in the basement, ready for if you lot end up sleeping down there. Do you think I've forgotten anything else?"

Harry shook his head minutely, watching from the corner of his eye as Lily tottered around the kitchen dizzily, touching here and there as if reassuring herself where the bowls and utensils were sitting ready for the stew that Harry had made from scratch. "There's plenty here, Mum," he said quietly. "We could probably invite the entire neighborhood, actually, and there'd still be loads left over."

"Yes, maybe we could invite the neighbors in for a lovely dinner..." Lily mumbled nonsensically to herself, blinking dully at one of Henry's more newer stick-figure drawings on the refrigerator. "Plenty of stew to go around, and there is that sick child down the road.. Stew is good for a cold."

Harry looked at her closely, eyebrows furrowed up. "Why don't you go and lie down for a bit," he suggested, hooking the dripping wooden spoon onto a conveniently conjured rack above the bubbling stew and facing the woman square on. Lily looked at him strangely, blinking blearily. "You look like you could drop where you stand, Mum - and anyway, supper won't be ready for ages yet. I'll wake you when it's done, I promise."

"But your friends, I need to invite them in," Lily said uncomprehendingly, voice trailing off into confusion. "It's bad manners for the host to be asleep when their guests arrive."

"Technically, they'll be my guests, seeing as I'll be the one with them all night," Harry told her gently, and she frowned. Harry sighed. "For once, can you not put someone else ahead of you and just look after yourself instead? You need to rest, or else you'll get sick and burn out again, and you know how Henry and I feel about you being sick like that."

"I suppose I do need to sleep, just for a little bit," Lily mumbled dreamily, almost cracking her jaw when a terribly indelicate yawn escaped her. Finally, she sighed and nodded wearily. "OK, I see your point. I'll go and put my feet up for a bit – unless you need help with supper. Do you need help with anything?" She asked quietly.

Harry smiled indulgently. "I'm quite fine, I've been doing this for ages now, you know," he told her, amused. "You go and 'put your feet up', and I'll take care of things down here. Go on, before you fall flat on the floor and sleep there."

"Yes, Dad," Lily wearily teased, before giving her eyes a rub and shaking her head to no doubt wake herself up a bit more. She had some stairs to navigate, of course. "Wake me up in half an hour, would you, Love?"

"When supper's ready, I'll come wake you," Harry very subtly corrected her, smiling when she merely gave him another strange look.

"Alright," she reluctantly agreed, and very slowly drifted out of the kitchen, as if waiting for the inevitable moment when the stove exploded in a shower of lamb stew and all chaos ensued. But when nothing else happened bar Harry turning the hob down a little, she resigned herself to what she thought would a half-hour nap.

Harry wouldn't wake her up for anything but dinner, and then he'd send her straight back to bed with orders of a long, restful sleep undisturbed by anyone. It often paid to have a Mum who worked as a doctor, as his logic was something derived of her own, and she couldn't refute that sleep was a necessity. That, and he didn't need to go to the Hospital every time he fell ill, unlike Henry, who didn't get sick with the little things, but was bedridden for the big stuff. Such as the time he broke his left arm in two places by jumping from a high ledge and trying fly the rest of the way down in the Superman pose. Not only did he not manage to do it, but he was also grounded for the six weeks and unable to personalize his fibreglass cast.

As he was just stirring the food once last time, he heard an energetic knock sound from the front door. By the sound of it, it was either Ron or Hermione, although Hermione seemed to like to keep her knocking evenly spaced and proficient sounding. Ron just didn't care, a knock was a knock. It was obviously not Draco.

And it wasn't.

It was actually Amanda Pettlecorn, looking quite nervous and unsure of herself, but standing somewhat determinedly on his front doorstep as if she was about to face some great danger. She positively beamed when she realized it was him who'd opened the door, and waved rather stupidly at him. She stopped that quite quickly when she realized how idiotic she seemed, waving at someone when she was right in front of them.

"Hello?" Harry uncertainly said.

"Oh, hello there, Harry!" She very awkwardly greeted him, her smile wavering some. "I was just, er, walking by your house when I noticed this sitting on your lawn," she said, pulling out a rather plain, if a bit roughly handled envelope from her coat pocket and holding it out to him with a smile that bordered on uncomfortable. "I didn't know whether you'd noticed it or not, so I kind of just - uhm, picked it up..? For you? Uh, well here it is then, your - letter thingy," she finally spat out, and flushed a vicious red when he slowly stretched out a hand and gently grabbed it from her, uncertainly waiting for the moment she snatched it back or dropped it out of sheer nerves.

Was he really that scary?

"I'll just go now," she said lamely, if a bit dumbly, and practically sprinted back down the snow-ridden path and round the huge hedge bordering the neighbor's front yard, and out of his sight. And despite her no longer being there, her overly sweet, candy smelling perfume coiled in the cold air behind her as if her very presence was still in front of him.

Was it just him, or was that actually one of the most weirdest and scariest encounters he'd ever had?

Someone's a bit extra nutty in their fruitcake, snickered James, obviously amused for all of Harry's paranoia. Oh,go on already, Harry! Open it! I can't wait to see what she's written!

She wouldn't have done it... Would she? I mean, she played Henry around for a fool, why would she try and do it to me when she knows I'm annoyed?Harry asked bemusedly, staring down at the envelope as if it was danger in disguise.

Obviously it must have been practice for the real thing,said James dryly, before Harry felt a flurry like motion in his mind that reminded him of someone waving their hands impatiently. It was rather odd to have someone do it in his mind.Well? Go on!

Maybe later, Harry said grimly, looking the envelope over in sheer reluctance and distaste.I don't much appreciate a person that doesn't say anything to my face.

James was uncharacteristically silent, a time in which Harry had closed the door against the bone chilling cold, and retreated back to stir the stew still bubbling away cheerily on the hob. He was almost a bit worried for it, even if the voice wasn't supposed to be there at all, but he could do nothing to prod it into speaking, so he ended up putting some loaves of garlic bread in the oven and putting a few potatoes on to boil in their skins - something Lily and Henry liked to eat with cheese, sour cream and butter.

When James still hadn't answered, he ended up checking out the basement. But only when he'd stirred the food, set a timer on the oven, and checked on the quickly heating up water and the potatoes, and only out of sheer boredom and an unwillingness to worry about yet another thing.

Well, Lily had certainly been right about there being a sea of blankets and pillows in here. The floor was practically covered in them, and there were snacks strewn about galore. It was almost like playing Easter egg hunt, only with bags of chocolates and chips and such instead of the little egg-shaped candies. The stacks of movies were pulled out from the cupboard, a bit hastily and clumsily dusted from being locked away so long, and the reasonably sized television removed of any dust and debris very thoroughly.

Well, whoever said the Evans were people of patience, anyway?

"Why was Amanda here?"

Years of being surprised by something malicious taught Harry not to show his fear in any way, but every time he couldn't stop the blink of startlement. He glanced back to see Henry standing on the landing, arms crossed stubbornly across his chest and a mean look on his face.

"I don't know why she was here," he carefully stated, to the narrowing of Henry's hazel eyes and the annoyance in response of that. "Only that she'd apparently seen a letter laying on the lawn, and wished to give it to me. She was gone soon after."

"Give me it," Henry demanded, unscrewing his arms and jumping down to level with his older brother.

Harry glared at him thunderously, but he worked very hard to control the sudden urge to go into a spectacular rage. "No," he said tersely instead. "It could be from one of my friends, and stuff like that's very personal."Or it's from Tom.

Yeah, can't have that finding its way into stupid hands like his, James muttered quietly, but no less angrily. Harry was almost relieved to hear his voice echo in his mind again, if it weren't for the even greater anger he found coming from its direction. He was already angry enough to fly into a frenzy, and that waswithoutJames adding anything to it!

"Or it's from Amanda to me!" Henry bellowed, throwing his hands out to give Harry a rather harsh shove in the chest. He didn't push him far, but it was enough to make Harry stiffen in outrage. "Give me the fucking thing right now, or I'm telling Mum!"

"Don't you dare wake her up, you little halfwit!" Harry hissed in fury. Henry stopped moving altogether then, as if held in place by some invisible force that stopped all other motion but the movement of the boy's wide eyes, which stared up at him like luminous orbs of tumbling soil and earth. The doe-eyed look didn't work, however, and Harry found himself at war with what he should do. A rant seemed an easy enough option, Henry hadn't been chastised by anyone but their Mum as of late - and their Dad had often been the one to yell at them endlessly if they did something wrong.

Well, it seemed as if that particular job fell to him now that the man wasn't here. It was time to live up to his namesake.

Straightening his spine and squaring his shoulders, Harry took in a deep breath and gave Henry the most scolding, stern and disappointed look he could manage in his young, but wise life. He knotted his arms on his chest, and thinned his lips until he appeared every bit as commanding he could remember James Potter being. He hoped he looked the part of disapproving Dad or older brother enough.

"You are thirteen years old, Henry," he said severely, and a thrill of satisfaction and surprise sparked through him when Henry actually ducked his head in shame. "You shouldn't be threatening to run away from your problems – to go to Mum of all people. You should be facing them head-on like a man, and using your manners before brute force and verbally abusing someone to get what you want. Mum doesn't need us running her about anymore than Tom already does, she desperately needs some sleep and by God, if you even try to wake her up before supper's served, I will not hesitate to slam your head into the door until you look like the knob you are. Got it?"

Henry remained blessedly silent, staring down at the blanket under his shoe-less feet despondently.

"Good," Harry growled, relaxing only enough to let his arms fall to his sides. "Now leave me alone while I finish supper, and don't even think about asking me about that thrice damned letter. If it was meant for you, I'll bloody well give it to you, but don't bother me about it if it actually was meant for me. You should know what manners are by now, privacy happens to be a pretty big bloody part of it."

"I- I'm sorry, Harry," Henry mumbled sheepishly, looking very thoroughly chastised for Harry being the one to scold him. "I just really like Amanda Pettlecorn."

"And obsessing over her will you get you where, exactly?" Harry demanded, and Henry tucked his head even further with a grimace, conspicuously silent. Harry nodded. "Precisely. It really isn't as hard as you and your little buddies make it out to be. If you really like her, go up to her in the hall and talk to her. Don't bother her if she doesn't want to talk to you though, if she says no, it means no more. God, you're old enough to wank now, how the bloody hell haven't you figured out a strategy to talk to all the girls yet?" He exclaimed, rather bluntly, ever so slightly exasperated with the little boy he called his younger brother.

Even if Tom had dominated the largest portion of his sex life, it hadn't stopped the steamy, sticky fumblings in abandoned classrooms and cleaning cubbies with a small number of girls and guys – the rebellious stage of his perverse relationship with Tom, one could call it. A sort of one fingered salute to the man every time he'd so much as kissed someone else.

He'd long established a strategy earlier on in getting into the pants of anyone he'd wanted, even if it was mostly based off of the times he had with Tom and the people he was intimate with were of the more undisclosed, secretive kind. It was probably due to the knowledge that Harry could reveal just how quick they were to come when touched by him, and the subsequent blow to their reputation that would make that they kept quiet.

Nearly every guy he'd wanked or sucked off had loved the twist he gave their knobs, right at the spongy helmet, or the way his tongue dabbled delicately at their frenulum. They never lasted very long in his highly capable hands.

Or our mouth, muttered James.

The girls, he'd learned as he'd gone along, as Tom didn't exactly have any girl parts for him to practice on. He was proud to admit that he'd made his fair share of girls orgasm from just using his fingers, although it was his tongue that most prized. Friends of friends had often requested he use his tongue instead, and who had Harry been to deny them?

Lucky we're getting back together, Dumpty, sneered James, though it sounded more sultry than anything else. All that emotionless thinking made us into a slut. I'd like to think we'll be even more accomplished with emotions.

We're not touching anyone else for a quite a long while, thank you very much, Harry told himself firmly. I think we're done being fucked for now.

Right bloke comes along... James sang coyly. We won't be in my pants for long...

That is one of the most dimwitted things you've ever said to me, Harry remarked flatly. And it's my body you're talking about someone fucking, don't forget. Anyone that tries to fuck me without permission will be dead before they know it.

Good boy, James sneered in annoyance. Now if you'd only apply that reasonably thought out logic to our current situation, life would be so much better. Tom-free and us able to fuck anything we like.

Shut up.

Henry blushed viciously from the neck up, his cheeks reddening to the point of being considered tomatoes. Harry almost worried the boy might blow a blood vessel. "W- wank! I- I don't wank!" He stammered, self-consciously shifting about and playing with his hair. "That's disgusting, Harry! Don't ever say that to me again!"

Harry marveled at just how red Henry's skin could become, whilst grinning in amusement at the hastily denied 'accusation'. He was just beginning to experiment, then. "It's alright to do it, you know," he told him laughingly, to Henry's horrified embarrassment. "It's natural. I do it on the odd occasion, and I'm sure your friends do it non-stop. It's OK to do it."

"R- really?" Henry haltingly said, attempting and very obviously failing to sound casual. "I mean – well, isn't it bad? I always thought Mum'd beat the shite out of me if she caught me doing it. It's always so sticky and hard to clean up when I - and I really don't want Mum to catch me – er, in the act."

"She hasn't caught me so far, and I've been doing it for ages," Harry pointed out logically, if a bit stonily. For being so observant, she hadn't caught him with Tom on the many occasions the man had improvised and 'taught him his place'."And all you need are some conveniently placed tissues. Unless you save it for the shower..."

Henry gave a shoddy nod in understanding, before his lips suddenly tipped down in a frown. "I've been having these, well, er, special kind of dreams lately and I keep waking up covered in ..." he trailed off uncertainly, grimacing. "And I know you shouldn't be the one to tell me all this, and that Dad should be - or Tom, at least, but I kind of trust you the most right now and I can't exactly tell Mum, and ..."

"And I've already gone through all that?" Harry offered kindly, to Henry's stark relief. "You're just having wet dreams, Henry, everyone gets them at this age," he said reassuringly. "If you wake up sticky, just give your boxers a rinse off in the shower and sneak them into the wash when you're done. Mum won't notice, that way."

"And if she catches me?"

"Stop, and pray she didn't see anything," Harry simply said, shrugging.

"That's it?" Henry asked blandly.

"That's it," Harry agreed cheerfully, before giving the savory scented air a quick sniff and blinking in remembrance of the food still cooking. He darted round Henry and began climbing the stairs at a fast pace. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to get back to dinner before it all burns. Stew, y'know, it gets a bit temperamental when you don't pay it any attention..."

"Hope your friends don't expect to get any!" Henry called to his retreating back. "I'm awfully hungry tonight, and I feel in the mood for thirds!"

"Plenty to go around, dear brother!" Harry called back absently. He was in a somewhat good mood now, having his younger brother look to him for guidance – to trust him. "And don't touch any of that food down there, or you'll ruin your appetite!"

"Yes, Dad," echoed quietly up the stairs, and even though if turned the contents in his stomach to bubbles, Harry didn't stop his target destination.

That was the second time someone had joked about him being his Dad.

-oOoOoOo-

"Supper was delicious, Harry," said Hermione kindly, smiling that soft, affectionate smile of hers that always made Harry feel warm inside. She may have been one to eat healthy, and to abhor sweets, but she was certainly doing her best to tuck every morsel of food in a much more graceful image of Ron. "I still can't believe how good you can cook, for having only two years of Hogwarts cooking classes under your belt! You could become a culinary genius in your time when you graduate. I can just see thousands lining up to eat in any restaurant you decide to cook in, all begging for one scrap of your recipes."

"Yes, it was quite satisfactory, wasn't it?" Draco drawled, to the annoyed, resigned amusement of Hermione. Ron merely grunted and continued munching on one of the treats the blonde had brought. It was one of the most expensive sweets in their part of the country, and was most likely something Ron would never be able to taste for a very long time. "I don't know about a culinary genius, per se, but he certainly could become a gourmet chef of sorts. I know my mother would rather enjoy his food, if it is truly anything like it was tonight. Father would suggest something of a more plainer leaning. Like soup."

"Your Dad doesn't like steak?" Ron abruptly blustered, almost spraying the melted treat all over the elegant platter Draco had brought.

An angular blonde eyebrow crawled upward, as Draco stared at Ron blandly, clearly unimpressed. "My Father has a tolerance for meat that can easily be exceeded if too rich or too chewy. In other words, no. He prefers the lighter, more graceful, smoother dishes. such as soups. Mother, on the other hand, rather enjoys a hearty steak, or some sort of meat with every meal she has. I hardly ever see her order anything devoid of meat – the more, the better, as she so often says."

"Well, if you'd like, she could come round for supper somewhen," Harry offered, though it was more out of obligation than anything else. He felt quite awkward about the praise.

Draco tipped his silvery blonde head in an acknowledging nod. "I shall inform her of your invitation at a later date," he stated formally. Ron snorted in disgust.

"Er, thanks, Draco," Harry muttered, shifting a scolding glare Ron's way when the blonde wasn't looking. Ron didn't even have the decency to feel ashamed, for he merely offered a shrug in response and picked up another sweet.

"So, I think we should get on with what you've been hiding, Harry," Hermione suddenly declared, looking as if she'd been wanting to say those words for a long time. She ignored Harry's spluttering, nervous cough. "We've been wasting enough time anyway. It's almost ten-thirty and we're all getting quite tired. Besides, we still have school in the morning, and we'll all have to be up incredibly early if we each want to grab a shower."

"We might have to share," Ron leered, curling his upper lip at a disgusted, sneering Draco.

"I'd rather share with Harry if it's a choice out of all you three," sniffed Draco primly. "At least I know where he's been and what he's done."

"And that's the crux of the situation," said Hermione hurriedly, before Ron could make another of his quips. "You obviously know what's made Harry change so drastically from his formerly happy-go-lucky self, and we deserve – want to know as well."

"Like we should," grunted Ron.

"So it's out of a sense of entitlement that you pry into Harry's vulnerable problems," drawled Draco, almost casually, for the flash of steel in his eyes. "Lovely lot you two are. I'm sure if he hadn't changed quite so much, you'd have both been so stuck in your ways that you wouldn't have suspected a thing had happened. Disgusting, the both of you. Harry doesn't deserve either of you."

"We care about him, more than any of your brainless lackeys care for you!" spat Hermione fiercely. "I'm worried because he's never been like this before, so whatever has got his back up like this has to be incredibly serious. Anything less, and we'd already know about it. Now you can either tell me, or I can take what I need to know forcefully."

Harry grimaced at the thunderous look on Draco's face, and hurried to interrupt before an all out brawl began. "It's nothing pleasant, you have to realize?" He said. "It's guaranteed to give you nightmares for weeks, months even - years if you don't try to distance yourself from it. I'm not exaggerating anything or embellishing things to make it out to be worse than it is, I'm telling you that what you want to know isn't for the faint-hearted. At least, before you dive head first into something you can't handle, you'll understand."

"It can't possibly be that bad," said Hermione, if a little uncertainly. She looked to Draco plaintively. "Surely even if you can cope with it, it's not so bad.. Right?"

Draco merely looked at her.

Ron's azure eyes batted between all three with a suspicious frown, visibly unsure if he should add his thought to the tension riddled air or not. Harry seemed fine enough, considering it was his life they were talking about, but the redhead could sense the unease and anxiety wreaking havoc in his mind. It was his duty as bestmate to cheer him up, or at least to get the worse for wear parts of life done and dusted.

"Well, do you mind actually telling us what's going on, or are we supposed to guess?" The redhead barked impatiently.

Draco eyed him distastefully for a moment, before turning a shrewd gaze on Harry. "Did you bring it with you?"

Harry nodded, looking somewhat lost to how he should proceed. But eventually, he pealed back his blanket just enough to retrieve his bulging black journal, clenching it between his fingers to keep one of the photos from slipping free from somewhere in the middle. He shoved it back in hurriedly. It was a messy, jumbled and unorganized thing in legibility, but it was in the correct order of dates and it was accurate in the way of evidence. How messy and screwdriver-like his writing was didn't matter, so much as what the words meant and the pictures showed.

At least he hoped so, he didn't exactly want to go back and rewrite the damn thing.

It made him feel that age old dread to think of handing it all over to his two innocent, ignorant best mates. He'd been trying so hard to keep his misery from bothering them for years, especially with Tom breathing down his neck all the time. And it tasted like a mouthful of coal and lead on his tongue at the thought of revealing everything, after years of suffering in silence. He couldn't bear the thought of bringing Him and all His shit down on them.

If Hermione or Ron said something out of ignorance to anyone, Tom would find out. The man was paranoid enough to have eyes and ears everywhere around him.

"I think Hermione should go last," Harry blurted out, and flushed a dull pink from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears when he received sharp looks from all three of his friends. Even Draco frowned at him uncomprehendingly.

Hermione herself looked betrayed and particularly hurt by that, but he didn't say it to spite any of them, least of all Hermione – but she wouldn't take long enough to absorb what was in there. Unlike Ron, whom took the average amount of time to read through something and understand it. Hermione would take in every scrap of knowledge from that journal in one single punch, and she was an incredibly soft, maternal person who sometimes cared too much for people who didn't rightly deserve it. What was in there was absolutely horrific, and he couldn't stand it to think of how it could change her.

How it'd change him.

"No, really," he insisted. "It won't take Ron all that long, and it'll give Hermione more time to understand what she'll be seeing. She'll be taking it all in, in one go, remember?" He said stiffly, mostly to Draco than to Ron or Hermione. Neither would understand it until they'd read the journal each respectably.

"I'll be fine to read it first," said Hermione, rather affronted.

"Oh, no you won't," said Draco silkily, eyebrows hanging heavy over intense grey eyes. "Knowing you and your pathetic little morals, you'll take this as a direct hit to your... heart," he sneered the very word as if it was one of the most disgusting things in the world, and Hermione's lips thinned, "as well as your mind. The Weasel shall read it first, as Harry has said."

"Is there something wrong with having a heart, Malfoy?" asked Hermione, quite levelly for the murderous expression on her face. "I'm certain, seeing as you'd never acknowledged the existence of your own pitiful excuse of one, that reading whatever secrets lay within that diary hit you quite hard. I'd imagine you cried tears of blood."

"It's a journal!" exclaimed Draco and Harry both, although Draco's lips were curved in a sarcastic little grin, and Harry was near palming his face in frustration.

Hermione merely shrugged indifferently, still intent on Draco's answer.

Draco sighed, as if put upon. "I may have cried, as you said, tears of blood, oh Tender-hearted one," mocked the blonde in a voice like silk. "But I'd like you to read all of that and remain dry-eyed. It's practically impossible to do so, knowing it's all true and has happened to one of your very own best friends. And I may not have a heart open like a book for just anyone's perusal, Granger, but I do have one. It's just hidden from those I deem unworthy of knowing it."

"What do you have in there that could make Malfoy cry?" Ron asked Harry, frowning deeply in consternation. "Did you hit him with it? Did you nail his hand to the desk? What did you do?"

What did I do?

You didn't kill the bloody bastard, James readily supplied, if a bit subdued. If you had, all this would've been deemed an unnecessary idea and you'd be enjoying the sunny days, shirtless and fucking guys and girls with reckless abandon. You should've followed your instincts instead of ignore them.

I don't want to be a murderer, like you seem to want to be, Harry hissed.

No, you want to be a martyr. I just want to survive, James said plainly.

"I didn't do anything," Harry muttered, to Ron's steadily increasing bemusement. His fingers played with the stressed leather cover, toying at the ripped corner delicately. He'd have to get a new journal soon. "It's what was done to me. It'll mess with your head."

"Pass it here then," Ron said, and held his hand aloft with a trusting but concerned smile on his pale, freckled face. His grin faltered slightly at Harry's obvious reluctance, but he kept his hand no less outstretched. "Come on, Harry, it'll take me years to finish it if you wait any longer. As Hermione said, we have school in the morning, and all that."

Harry inhaled deeply, feeling his throat constrict in a deep-seated bed of panic, but he nonetheless slowly slid the journal into Ron's hand. It felt like he'd just passed a vial of the world's deadliest poison into the hand's of his clumsiest best friend.

And in some ways, he had.

"You'll be fine," Draco said quietly. It didn't surprise Harry to find the blonde sitting a lot closer to him than before, almost hugging his side. "Just breathe and – and think of happy thoughts. It will all be fine."

Harry looked down at him strangely. "You read a book about comforting people, didn't you?" He muttered lowly, amused.

The blonde grimaced at that, left eye twitching oddly. "I shall never live down having to buy one of those horrid self-help books from Twillis and Bonds, Potter," he said loftily. "And the blame lay at your feet for pushing me to do so. When I next feel like reading an explicit magazine from some low-life drugstore, I shall have you fetch me one – as repayment for my own shameful errand, of course. Then I shall have you read it at Hogwarts, in the Great Hall."

"That's a bit harsh," Harry mused. "Maybe I can buy two magazines, and we can both read them there?"

"Not on your life," said Draco flatly.

"What on earth are you two nattering on about?" Hermione exclaimed, astounded – if a bit bemused. "Dirty magazines? Self-help books? What have you two been getting up to when Ron and I aren't here?"

"Oh, nothing to mind your abnormally large head about, m'dear," drawled Draco. "Just a little inside joke between two best friends, is all."

Hermione wisely chose not to reply, though she gave Harry a very tense look that spoke a thousand angry volumes.

"I – I think I'm done now," Ron abruptly said, and Harry turned in time to see Ron slowly shut the journal, looking ghostly and world-weary, his freckles standing out like never before. Thick, fat tears rolled down pale freckled cheeks unchecked, and if Harry himself weren't so worried about Hermione's possible adverse reaction, he'd have thrown himself at his best mate and hugged him for all his worth. But Ron rarely liked hugging at the best of times, let alone another of his own gender.

Hermione was looking at him as if she'd never seen him before.

"See what I mean?" Draco asked the redhead, though not unkindly, to Hermione's continuing amazement. "I myself reacted in a similar way; Crying like I'd never cried before, and even going so far as to throw myself at Harry. He gives the best hugs," he said, by way of explanation when Hermione, Harry and even Ron stared at him.

Ron sniffled loudly, lifting a hand to wipe blearily at his reddened eyes. "I don't like hugs," he admitted awkwardly. "But.. I could go one after reading – that."

An amazing smile lit up Harry's face, and before even Harry knew what he was doing, he was shuffling to Ron's side and pulling the teary redhead into a big hug. Ron held tight to him much in the same way Draco had, stuffing his face into the crook of the uninjured side of Harry's neck and wrapping his arms tight around Harry's shoulders. It made something in Harry's chest unwind and relax.

"You don't have to ask for a hug if you want one," Harry whispered into the redhead's hair, and smiled when Ron's grip tightened for just a second.

"You know, you're quite paternal for being so young," Harry heard Draco muse, and frowned at the way Ron tensed in the circle of his arms. "Perhaps I should like a hug as well."

Ron suddenly reared back from Harry in dismay, dislodging the raven-haired teen so violently, he was flung forward with the red-head's motions and they both went tumbling into a mound of blankets and pillows, fortuitously plastic bowls of chocolate flying in their wake and raining down a chocolate delight on the upright gaping teenagers. Hermione was absolutely astounded.

Draco snickered wildly, the most uncouth display of the night yet. "That was wonderful!" He cried. "Bravissimo! Encore, encore!"

"Oh, do shut up, Malfoy. They could have been seriously hurt!" Hermione shrilled, watching in avid concern as Ron tenderly moved a grimacing Harry upright once more. "I think Harry's hurt enough as it is. He looks a bit banged up."

"That's from the old bastard, Tom," Ron sneered at them.

"Ron, don't say such a thing!" Hermione exclaimed, shocked. "Mr Riddle wouldn't harm Harry, he's going to be his Step-father soon!"

"It's fucking true!" Ron seethed, jabbing a finger at the black journal that had taken a tumble in Draco's direction. "That monster's been molesting, raping and abusing Harry ever since he was twelve! It's all in there, in black and white – and in fucking photographs, too!"

Tears filled Hermione's eyes unbidden, but Harry couldn't look at her for the life of him. He was too ashamed. Even as pain smacked him from all sides of his body, especially his bottom, which was ever more grateful for the cushy padding on the floor, it was the pain inside the made it all the worse. He couldn't bear to witness the affection in Hermione's eyes be crushed by the weight of such horrible things.

"Pick up the journal, Granger," Harry heard Draco say calmly, and he felt a flicker of alarm deep in the pit of his gut. "But be wary. Those pages aren't filled with daffodils and daisies, they're filled with the most horrible experiences I've ever had the misfortune of reading."

Harry heard Hermione hesitantly pick the journal up, and cringed when he felt the blankets jerk sharply – a consequence of her body stiffening rapidly. It took mere seconds for her to begin outright sobbing, and a full minute before Harry forced his body to move and wrap around her securely, tucking her face into his neck and crooning into her ear. Another set of arms wound around him and bracketed Hermione in, and a chin dropped down on his shoulder. He could see Ron's teary face in his peripheral vision; the owner of those long, gangly arms.

"Oh, bugger," Harry heard Draco snark to himself, and before Harry could so much as warn Ron of the blonde's intentions, yet another set of arms snaked around them, and Draco's pointed chin settled on the side of his injured neck.

The tightening of Ron's arms was the only sign he'd noticed Draco's new position, and Harry had to appreciate the mature gesture for what it was. Hermione was still sobbing in his arms, a terrible sound that he never wanted to hear ever again in his life, and her tears had yet to slow. She clutched onto him like her life depended on it, patting his chest as if reassuring herself he was still there and whole, and even pressing a kiss or two to his clavicle in apology. She hadn't yet noticed that one of Draco's and Ron's hands were settled on her arm – or perhaps she had, and that was why she wasn't completely breaking down.

There were too many words to describe the woeful situation – sad, desperately heart-breaking, upsetting, distressful. Yet Harry had one word that summed up the entire night for himself; Perfect. For this proved, without a shadow of a doubt, that Ron and Hermione would stick with him through the worst and the best. Even if the worst was his rapist and abuser, soon to be Step-father, moving in with him and having twenty-four hour access to him and his bedroom.

It astounded him that he really actually needn't have worried all these years about Ron and Hermione finding him disgusting and repugnant, they accepted him, knowing that he'd been defiled and touched in such a way since he was but a boy by someone he should have deemed a Father. It had been a challenge he'd issued without proper cause other than paranoia.

Although, now that it had been blown to bits by their strong loyalty, the real challenge would begin in the morrow when they returned to school; whether Ron or Hermione would tell someone about his troubles.

"Not a word, Potter, Weasel," muttered the blonde sulkily, but no less kindly for the benefit of Hermione. "Not, a, word."