DISCLAIMER: The following stories are based on situations and characters from the Harry Potter books which are created and owned by J. K. Rowling, and various other publishers, including, but not limited to Warner Bros., Inc., Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Raincoat Books. No use other than entertainment is intended and no financial gain is being made. No trademark or copyright infringement is intended.

Note: I'm really blessed to have gotten such amazing feedback. Thanks again. I really enjoyed reading your thoughts and speculations :)

We're now leaving the "minor" mysteries behind and delving deeper into Harry's psyche, what makes him tick and how others deal with him accordingly. It's more of an interlude. That's what this chapter is mostly about. From now on things will quickly move forward and at some point Harry and Voldemort are going to meet face to face *rubs hands gleefully* ;) But I want to establish certain things before that happens, so please be patient with me :D . Even though you might not hear much from the Dark Lord at this point, he's definitely busy with one thing or another and the chess pieces are moving without Harry's awareness. Not for much longer, though.

A reviewer mentioned something about Eileen and I need to clarify certain things again. She was teaching at Durmstrang, but not attending it as a student. Actually, Eileen's student background is pretty much the same as in canon. She attended Hogwarts somewhere around 1941/1946 (during the war) and was a bit younger than Riddle at that time. Not much is known in canon between 1960 and 1980, which is why I took liberties and designed a background for her. She still married Tobias Snape in this story and they did live in the slums on Spinner's End. She frequently flooed over to Durmstrang to teach, though she never got much money from that and they still lived in poverty. We'll get a bit deeper into that when I bring Snape into the story :) Anyway, just to clarify for the reviewer, who presumed she studied at Durmstrang.

I don't usually do that, since I want to let the story speak for itself rather than using author notes to explain certain details. Sorry for that.

Anyway, enjoy :)

Warning for this chapter: PTSD symptoms

Chapter 6: Repercussions

The putrid smell of murder clung to him like an infestation, a disease with countless arms that dragged him down to the deepest pits of self-hatred. Harry doubted he would ever be able to get rid of that.

He was still a boy; not even a teenager yet. So how was he supposed to deal with murder?

Harry tightened his hold on the wand, not wanting to let his guard down around the professor who was still eyeing him with amusement. It was a disturbing sight, marring the man's handsome features and turning him into something grotesque.

"Let's get away from here, Potter. It's not safe yet," Moline murmured and urged him to move away from the corpse. Harry stood still, refusing to take another look or obey the wizard.

"How did you find me?" he demanded instead.

The Dark Arts professor simply shrugged and pointed his wand at the carcass of the Death Eater. The man's mask slipped off and revealed the pale and scarred face of the person Harry had killed.

Harry stared at the corpse.

"Walden Macnair," Moline murmured and with a quick nonverbal spell the corpse was incinerated. The blueish flames consumed the evidence, leaving nothing behind other than the lingering smell of charred flesh. With a quick scourgify even the remaining blood came off easily.

"Nasty man. But you shouldn't feel bad about that trash, Potter," Julian said, looking at Harry and acting as if they were talking about a minor inconvenience. The vulgarity and offhanded remark didn't make him feel any better. But Harry ignored the statement, focusing on a more pressing issue.

"Anyone could've seen that," he whispered, feeling exhausted.

"True," Moline said.

The professor looked around, inspecting the darkened buildings of the neighborhood. No sounds came from Gregorovitch's shop, which wasn't normal. There should've been more commotion, if someone was after the old man.

"Follow me," Moline insisted. And with a last glance at the abandoned shop Harry turned away and used a spell to remove the blood on his face and robes. They quickly turned the corner, disappearing out of sight.

Harry was acutely aware that the professor didn't answer his initial question.

The silence between them felt unnatural, but there was nothing Harry could do now; Moline didn't bother with small talk and the situation was too drastic to fill it with meaningless drivel.

He followed the man, aimlessly walking behind him. The rational part inside him told him quite clearly that he was probably still in shock.

"If you're worried about any magical traces or witnesses, now is not the time," Moline murmured, voice urgent as he quickened his steps, his grey cloak billowing behind him. Harry was forced to run in order to keep up.

Walden Macnair; the name was a persistent echo inside his mind. In a way, it would've been easier to deal with it, if Harry hadn't known the man's name. But slapping an identity on the body made his act all the more horrifying.

He could turn himself in, but then all those last months would've been for nothing and he'd most likely be called the next, junior Dark Lord by the public, despite getting rid of a Death Eater. It was even more likely that the public wouldn't believe any claims about the Dark Lord's return or that his followers were running rampant again. They would call him an attention-seeker or lunatic.

He could also try to run, but where would he go? His ties to the wizarding world were fickle at best. He had no resources to fall back on, no friends to help him out. Or he would end up in a wizarding prison, most likely Nurmengard or Azkaban.

And it was a thoughtless move on his part to simply follow Julian around when the man was still acting so suspiciously.

"Fuck," Julian swore and Harry nearly ran into him.

Then he felt it.

The energy that coursed through the area was unmistakable. It trapped them rather effectively.

"Anti-Apparition wards," Moline confirmed, examining the cobblestone ground and searching for something. Harry raised his wand in preparation, not caring how much it would drain him to use more offensive spells at this stage.

Someone was looking for them.

"I can't determine how far the wards extend, but I could try breaking through it."

"Do we have the time for that, sir?" Harry asked.

Moline shook his head. Of course not.

They would have to run.

"Stay close to me," the professor said and Harry's instincts kicked in, readying himself for an eventual fight with Death Eaters or something equally dangerous.

Then he noticed it. The faint voices of several people who were rapidly coming closer, heading in their direction. The professor quickly tapped his wand against Harry's shoulder. Immediately, an odd sensation that felt like eggs being cracked on his head travelled through him. He knew that Moline just cast the Disillusionment Charm, which was a smart thing to do. The older wizard continued twirling his wand around himself, getting invisible as well.

Harry couldn't see him anymore, but that didn't mean he didn't feel the sudden, forceful way in which the professor pushed him against the wall. A cold hand grasped his chin, fingers quickly covering Harry's lips so as to prevent him from making a sound.

Harry didn't dare to breathe...

Not a moment too late, because a group of masked men entered the alleyway, pounding footsteps disrupting their silence.

"He can't just disappear like that," someone shouted.

"I don't know, Jugson."

Harry felt Moline's tension, his fingers digging painfully into him.

"The old fool always had some tricks up his sleeve. I just don't think we should go back empty-handed," the man called Jugson said, fear entering his voice.

"We have to. Call the others," the unknown masked man demanded, passing both the professor and Harry without noticing them.

"Where's Macnair?" a third voice joined them, now standing less than ten feet away from them.

"Who cares? We have to report now," a rough voice barked. Harry watched the masked people closely, noticing the way the other two deferred to the unknown man. He could detect a sort of leadership within this small group and concluded that these people were highly skilled in strategic moves, organized in way that benefited them all. Still, it surprised him that they would take so many people with them just to capture Gregorovitch. Evidently, the old wandmaker had dealt with these people before, which made him a viable threat that these criminals took seriously.

"Did you hear that?" Jugson asked, turning around and looking somewhere to the left of Harry and Julian.

"What?" the leader of the group asked, looking around. Silence met them, but Harry was almost certain they'd be able to hear his heartbeat.

"You're paranoid, Gibbon. Let's go!"

All three of them left the alleyway, and the professor immediately let go of him, but didn't cancel the invisibility charm. Instead he simply took Harry's hand in his calloused one, and led him away.

They didn't dare to run yet.

It took half an hour to reach the end of the perimeter and Harry quickly crossed the Anti-Apparition wards, wordlessly tightening his hold on the professor's arm, before being swept away.

The first thing Harry did before entering Durmstrang was to inform his spectre of the situation, which took a couple of minutes and a bit of mental exercising that drained him more than it should. The thing had been hiding from everyone. The Dark Arts professor watched silently as Harry merged with his counterpart, no doubt recognizing the magic behind it. Durmstrang's wards weren't triggered by it, but from now on he would have to depend on Moline's decisions. The professor would probably tell the Headmaster everything, so it really didn't matter anymore.

Eileen had reappeared to watch the proceedings, but no words were exchanged between her and her "friend".

"Go back to your dorm, Potter. I will deal with this," Moline said, taking the stairs leading to the headmaster's office. Harry nodded, surprised that he was being left off the hook so easily. He couldn't quite meet the man's eyes. But he nodded and made his way back, Eileen silently trailing after him. No students were bothering him as everyone was already sleeping. And that was a relief.

The portraits watched the young student carefully as he made his way to the first year dorms, head hanging low.

Harry still had no clue how the professor had found him amongst the chaos. It was simply too convenient to turn up right after...he'd done that thing.

The reaction had been less than surprising, though. Harry had learned early on that behind the facade of rationality the man's casual sadism often became blatant in class. How the handsome wizard could possibly be friends with Eileen Prince was beyond him.

Harry closed the door and ignored the ghost who was still eyeing him with that strange look she sometimes got around him. He made his way over to the bathroom; intending to get rid of the dirt that still clung to him, imaginary as it was. Dolohov wasn't there and Harry guessed the teachers probably have taken his roommate to the infirmary.

Once alone, he started stripping off all layers of clothes, not even looking at the garments. He pulled out his wand and tapped it against the faucet.

Thankfully, the house-elf assigned for him had taken the time to give him a new set of pajamas. Pity. Even clean and dressed properly didn't make the disgusting smell of blood and charred flesh disappear.

He should've taken the warnings seriously.

Wasn't Karkaroff the one who had warned him about the consequences and the many outcomes he would deal with once he got involved in the war? That murder and torture was now part of his life simply because his name was Harry Potter?

He'd listened to the warnings, thinking about future outcomes and shrewdly calculating possible scenarios. But knowing these things and actually experiencing them were two completely different things.

He was trying to make more sense of what he'd done, justifying his actions. In that moment, however, it simply felt right to cast this spell. It was all on him.

Maybe it was easier to claim that his unpredictable wand was responsible for all of it or that it was self-defense and nothing more. But he didn't believe it. Maybe...

Maybe he was just a bad person. The fact that he was capable to take someone's life like that should be enough evidence.

Harry took a look in the mirror, his eyes locked on the spot where his scar was now visibly standing out against the pale complexion of his skin, looking inflamed.

He knew he wasn't morally good, despite his attempts to hide it and be "better". He grew up stealing money from his relatives, sneaking around and destroying properties when his temper got the best of him. At school, he never bothered to apply himself more than necessary in fear of retribution, easily cultivating the image of a loner instead. He held no respect for adults in general, distrusting anyone who claimed to care about him or his education and family situation. He lied frequently.

Many people would sign these things off as typical behavior of boys his age, but deep down Harry knew he could hurt someone if pushed too far. It made socializing especially difficult for him in the past. Deep down however, he always wanted a friend. And now it was so much worse simply because he had more power at his disposal than before. Handling that kind of power and having the urge to punish people who hurt him was not a good combination. Being famous on top of that made it difficult to find people who didn't care for that aspect of his life.

Harry turned away and left the bathroom, intending to get some rest. He wouldn't be able to sleep anyway. Tonight's events would make sure of that.

He crawled into bed under the watchful eyes of Eileen, not bothering to tell her to go away.

Sneaking into the infirmary before breakfast posed no problem for him. Karkaroff would probably hunt him down right after classes, but so far no one had mentioned anything. The few people he met in the corridors stayed away from him, regarding him somewhat suspiciously. Harry didn't care.

The heavy scent of antiseptic and various potions invaded his sense of smell, but Harry resolutely made his way over to the single bed that was occupied, straightening his tie and making himself look somewhat presentable. His bloodshot eyes told another story.

The patient seemed to know who was approaching him, though.

"Potter, are you here to gloat?" Dolohov snarked weakly as Harry lifted the white hangings and drew a chair over to the bedside.

"Do I look like I'm gloating?" he shot back and Filipp's eyes widened at that, probably seeing the disheveled state he was in and drawing all the wrong conclusions.

"You look like you're the one who's been robbed off his magic, not me. But I'm not complaining."

Harry watched somewhat dispassionately as the other boy tried to make himself comfortable, fluffing up his pillow.

"I didn't steal your magic," Harry said.

"Certainly felt like it."

Harry sighed, meeting bright blue eyes that were currently pinning him on the spot, accusation and confusion making themselves clear. Harry just wanted to get it over with.

"Look, whatever happened... happened accidentally. I didn't cast some obscure spell on purpose. What happened to you was because of the issues I've been struggling with lately," Harry explained, circumventing the truth.

"And what did you struggle with, Potter?"

"Can't tell," Harry said and Filipp grew even more resentful.

"See, and this is my problem with you," Dolohov exclaimed, crossing his arms. "You never tell me anything, not even the stuff that affects me. And I think I have the right to know what kind of bullshit you're dealing with. Bloody hell, it's not even a week into the term, and you're already in trouble."

"Oh, I didn't know you cared so much?" Harry's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Care? Potter, I'm fucking living with you. Everything that happens around you will reach me as well, if you haven't noticed."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Again. We aren't friends." He snorted, pointedly looking away from the baby Death Eater. "I don't owe you anything just because you're living with me. I mean, if that bothers you so much, then talk with the headmaster. Ask for another roommate. Maybe then you won't get caught up in my issues."

"Why are you here, Harry?" Dolohov asked quietly and Harry met his eyes again, surprised.

They stared at each other in silence and Harry took note of the way Filipp seemed to bite his lips nervously. He certainly noticed how the boy was gripping his sheets, tension radiating off him. The moment lasted maybe a single second, and it was kind of surreal to see him letting his guard down so much. Though Harry could only respond in kind, shoulders dropping in defeat. A pained look entered his green eyes.

"I simply wanted to apologize. It really wasn't my intention to...hurt you" Harry said stiffly, but he held the boy's look. Dolohov was obviously perspicacious enough to detect Harry's honesty, even if the Boy-Who-Lived wasn't used to saying sorry and actually meaning it.

"I see."

Nothing more was said between them, but Harry didn't appreciate the passivity and casual dismissal. Why was he not asking for more details? His acceptance of Harry's evasive answer was surprising.

The walls were firmly established between them.

Why it bothered Harry so much was another issue he couldn't figure out.

"You have classes, Potter. Maybe you should go," Dolohov remarked, leaning back. He looked just like Harry felt inside. Harry nodded and stood, intending to leave.

Something caught his eye. The other boy was still clenching his fingers around his sheets, as if trying to shield himself.

To protect himself from Harry.

And that was just wrong.

There was nothing of that supercilious attitude that Dolohov usually sported around him. No confidence at all. He looked fragile, which was something Harry had never witnessed before. Not to that degree.

"I-" Harry said, shaking his head slightly. And then he did something which was completely out of character for him.

Harry reached out and grasped the boy's hand, carefully making sure that Dolohov's fingers weren't fisting the white material. Instead his own hand curled around the pureblood's limp one, offering comfort.

It was awkward and Filipp's silence spoke volumes. Harry squeezed his hand once and then let go, regretting the action as soon as he'd initiated it.

He stepped away and didn't catch the look of wonder that was crossing the student's face for a second. Before he could shut the door, Dolohov said something.

"You're a good dueller, Potter. Keep it up," the boy remarked.

The corners of Harry's mouth lifted slightly.

The months grew colder and classes turned out to be more demanding than he initially thought. Harry had received notice that he would attend all advanced classes he sighed up for. Slacking off was therefore not really an option.

Additionally, Karkaroff supervised some of his classes in person and kept an even closer watch on him than ever before.

The whole "incident" in Germany was kept under wraps, and while Harry learned that Moline had never told Karkaroff anything about his murderous streak, the headmaster knew how Harry managed to escape. Even the newspapers told some convoluted story of a robbery in Gregorovitch's shop, leading to the wizard's disappearance. No witnesses had been found, which was another oddity.

After a stern talking and more than a few humiliating insults, Harry hadn't done anything else to displease the vain, old man. Thankfully, Eileen and Krum had been left out of this mess. That didn't mean, however, that the rest of the student body forgot the incident with Dolohov. Rumors floated around, of course. It led to even more isolation, although some people were curious enough to attempt to talk to him. No one was bullying him, though, which was a nice and welcoming effect.

Apparently, all you needed to do in order to be left alone was to display some powerful, mysterious magic. It served Harry just fine.

Halloween came and went without problems, although the pain in Harry's scar seemed to be particularly annoying during that day.

At Durmstrang, people didn't celebrate Halloween in the sense that Muggleborns or Light wizards did. Instead, Samhain ceremonies and festivities were conducted, celebrating the beginning of winter. Bonfires were lit on the open fields surrounding the castle, which was fascinating to witness. Harry especially enjoyed the way students were attempting to jump over the smoke, getting closer and closer to fire without magical protection. Professor Wilkes reprimanded more than a couple of idiots who almost set themselves on fire.

Samhain was a Gaelic festival known to the Muggle world, but wizards of dark ancestry from all over the world seemed to embrace the customs in ways that no Muggle could imagine. Harry had to wear the traditional blood-red Durmstrang robes and he even forced himself to paint intricate runes on his face.

Many people had stared at him that day, more so than usual. Harry rationalized it with the anniversary of the Dark Lord's demise and the death of his parents, although Eileen often shot him knowing smirks that confused the hell out of him.

Dolohov was more subdued, though, treating him cordially. Sometimes he even gave him small, barely perceptible smiles. Harry had often made a point to share some information with him in the last months. Nothing important, but small anecdotes about the type of magic they studied. It led to interesting conversations, although they avoided the more serious topics like loyalties to the Dark or any type of propaganda.

Harry never mentioned the Dark Lord, the prophecy or his encounter with the group of Death Eaters he met in Berlin. They never discussed the headlines in the newspapers, like the never-ending search for Longbottom and the panic in wizarding Britain that increased with every day that passed with no information on Harry's location.

The political ramifications were grave, but Durmstrang's students changed their behavior slowly, no longer treating Harry's presence like a secret they desperately needed to share, but rather enjoying the fact that they were the only ones in Europe who knew about him. Though Harry never doubted that people would sell him out the moment Karkaroff's iron hold on the school loosened.

Harry also enjoyed reading about the different ways in which politicians strove to undermine Dumbledore's influence in the Wizengamot, the high court of law. They used Harry's disappearance to create more internal conflicts, even going so far as to give interviews with the press to publicly denounce Dumbledore, thus swaying the people one way or another. Bribing someone for more information became a common practice.

He often wondered what it would be like to meet Dumbledore face to face, a person who was regarded as the most powerful Light wizard in Europe and known for his many accomplishments in magic and various battles. It would be interesting to observe the old man's reaction to him, considering the way Dumbledore has so far played an important part to influence his life.

The old man would have to wait, for now. Harry still intended to make the best of his current situation, getting stronger to make sure that no one would hold more power over him than necessary. Dark Lords and Light wizards be damned.

Another important observation was his performance in class. Now that he held more knowledge about his wand and the purpose it was originally created for, Harry threw himself into mastering and truly winning the wand's loyalty. Oddly, cold-blooded murder seemed to pave the way for that. Doing magic after the "Berlin disaster" was a much easier affair than before. No magic-stealing accidents happened again.

There was just one thing that Harry regarded as minor inconvenience. Dolohov and Krum seemed to think otherwise.

He slept less and couldn't even stomach proper food, nausea getting a hold of him more often than not. In moments when he was all by himself, he had to take a breath to calm himself down. When students approached him, he often got jumpy or irritated, snapping at them without reason. His temper was always an issue, but it was never that much of problem or something he couldn't manage at all.

It was confusing.

Nightmares were the worst, though.

The name Macnair haunted him to the point where he couldn't even look at himself and not see a twisted being, a monster in his place.

Dolohov usually woke him up, but his remarks weren't helpful at all. And even Krum's insistence on playing Quidditch led to nothing. Harry had discovered earlier that he was a reasonably good flier, at which point Krum had snorted, muttering something unintelligible.

The days got progressively worse.

Harry was currently watching the flames of the bonfire, the light reflected off of his glasses. He was lost in thought.

If he were honest with himself, he would even say that something was definitely wrong with him. To hide his trembling hands, he kept them in his pockets, staring impassively ahead.

Around him people were enjoying themselves, handing out food and initiating various rituals. People were even doing divination, laying out stones around the fire to predict their own demise. Some second year students even asked Harry to join, predicting his death jokingly and making crude references to the Dark Lord.

Harry imagined Voldemort storming the castle and putting these people in their place.

"You're tense," Dolohov said, standing right beside him and staring at the fire.

"Tell me something I don't know," Harry murmured.

Filipp smiled at that.

"Oh, just saying, you're quite good at deceiving yourself," he remarked flippantly.

"Are you my therapist?"

Dolohov's smile grew. He stepped closer to him, blue eyes intently fixed on Harry's face now.

"That would require a more intimate relationship."

Harry's eyebrows rose and he locked eyes with the taller wizard, ignoring the vociferous crowd in the distance, including the teachers.

The tempestuous magic around them was very easy to sense tonight and Harry took a moment to revel at the feeling of sheer power in the air, how it surrounded him, cloaked him like a protective mantle against the outside world. He watched Dolohov's face, noting absently how the boy's pupils dilated. Harry also could see the small dimples that were giving Filipp a certain softness to his features. In turn, Dolohov's hand reached out, swiping a lock of black hair away from Harry's face, before fingers were starting to trace the pattern of his famous scar. Harry didn't flinch, which surprised him. He could barely stand it when people tried to touch him these days.

"What are you-" Harry asked, but the boy's hand didn't withdraw.

"I pity you, Harry Potter," Filipp whispered, drawing closer. Harry stilled, somewhat shocked, before anger overtook his mind. Pity him? What the hell?

Over Dolohov's shoulder Harry suddenly noticed something that disturbed him even more.

Julian Moline was staring in their direction, his eyes darkened with an inscrutable look as he took in the scene.