Disclaimer: I don't own this. Not even a teensy tiny little bit.

AN: Yes, Harry's odd behaviour is deliberate (namely his progression from unusually self indulgent and careless to...well, you'll see)...as is alluded to in the chapter title. As for other things that seem odd...please do point out any questionable decisions...I was up really late last night and I'm probably not editing this as thoroughly as I should be.

Chapter 10: Ecstasy

"Potter, stay behind."

Harry frowned slightly, eyes not leaving Professor Snape as he packed away his books. He knew it wasn't anything academic – he'd been performing almost flawlessly in Potions thus far (emphasis on the almost...but that was neither here nor there), and the Professor seemed to be acknowledging that for a change. Was the man still concerned about his sleep? The master soul's casual invasions of his mind hadn't left him many restful hours of late, but surely he didn't look that bad. His eyes were probably a bit darker and his skin a bit paler, and maybe his movements had grown a bit sluggish, but it wasn't that noticeable...was it? At the very least, he was quite certain he did not at all resemble an inferius...yet.

Or maybe...was this about his reaction to being entered into the Triwizard Tournament?

He'd apologized. As soon as he'd sorted out things with Draco, he'd written notes to everyone who had been present during his outburst, apologizing profusely for his rudeness and explaining that they had nothing to worry about; he would not be participating in the tournament after all.

Oh, how he loved loopholes. More than treacle tart...more than quidditch...more than -

"Meet you in the library?" he heard Hermione murmur as she passed his desk.

"Sure," he agreed absently, still trying to figure out if there was anything he loved more than loopholes at the moment. He wasn't coming up with anything.

Once the classroom had emptied – which usually didn't take long for Potions, because even the Slytherins tended to be eager to escape Professor Snape's presence – he hefted his book bag over his shoulder and strode up toward the professor's desk, staring him right in the eye.

They continued like that for a few moments – a curious interaction between two Legillimens who were unable to break into each other's minds if only out of sheer principle – before Professor Snape opened his mouth.

"The Headmaster has requested your presence. The password is 'licorice wands'."

Harry blinked, perhaps a little stupidly, before he nodded slowly. "Thank you sir."

And with that he turned on his heel and left, feeling strangely hurried as he strode do the dungeon corridors. Once he reached a staircase with a banister, he pulled his notebook and muggle pen out of his bag to write a note.

'Hermione - library will have to wait – I've been summoned to the Headmaster's office. Most likely won't see you until dinner.'

Sparing a self-satisfied grin at his and Hermione's invention, which, though a pale imitation of the desired end product, was really quite clever (in his opinion, at least...Tom wasn't impressed, but he was rarely ever impressed by anything that didn't involve manipulating other people or casting dark curses, so Harry was actually ok with this), he continued up the stairwell, weaving his way through the cavernous corridors and winding passages of Hogwarts, absently mulling over what might have prompted the Headmaster's request. Oddly, he didn't feel particularly nervous – more curious, and even a little bit eager. Tom likely noticed, because he spoke up before long,

I am not certain as to what you are smiling about, you foolish child, but you had better wipe that grin off your face and readjust your occlumency shields.

Had he been smiling? He hadn't noticed. Nevertheless, he did as Tom said, making sure that everything was in place.

"I wonder what this is about..." Harry mused out loud, phrasing his question to Tom in a way that could be interpreted as him talking to himself by any listening ears.

Tom's reply was dismissive. As wary as I am of any contact Dumbledore instigates between us, it is almost certain that this is related to either the Triwizard Tournament, your selection by the Goblet of Fire, or the letters you wrote.

Harry nodded subtly. That was completely reasonable, if not a little disappointing.

That should not, however, imply that you can by any means lower your guard, Harry, Tom warned sternly, Why you seem eager to meet with the old man once again, I do not know – given your state of disarray after our last meeting – nor do I care, but whatever personal interest you have in the man cannot eclipse the shadow of the danger he poses to us in your mind.

"Mhmm."

Just nod, you foolish child. You know how I despise your undignified, semantically ambiguous mumblings.

It was true – Tom really did hate it when the sounds 'er', 'um', 'uh', 'uhuh', or 'mhmm' came out of his mouth, and they were always followed by a very brief and mild bursts of pain in his head. This was a frequent occurrence, and he really didn't notice anymore, much to Tom's chagrin.

It was then that he arrived in front of a familiar griffin.

"Licorice wands."

As he began the ascent up to the Headmaster's office, Tom put in one last word – because he would certainly not be distracting him for the duration of his meeting.

Any missteps will be dealt with later.

Ominous, but completely predictable. Also a completely idle threat, because it was almost certain in Harry's mind that he or Professor Dumbledore would end up saying something that set Tom off, inciting a vicious rant and unbridled pain once they were in the safety of his dorm room. Tom was so very predictable in some ways.

Suddenly he felt decidedly less optimistic about the impending conversation, and at the same time, much more amused. No matter what he did, pain was inevitable...much like in the rest of life, he considered. Why meaningless suffering made him amused, he didn't quite know; Tom, of course, was amused by meaningless suffering, but he was never the one doing the suffering, so Harry wasn't quite sure where this particular train of thought came from.

"Good afternoon, Professor Dumbledore."

The man smiled brightly, upon looking up from the very thick book upon which his eyes had been trained. "Ah, Harry. How good of you to come. Please, sit."

Harry did as he was told, unable to stifle the wandering of his eyes. The Headmaster's office had an elegant, whimsical sort of clutter to it, and he had no doubt that he could spend hours there just rifling through books and scrolls, playing with trinkets, and chatting with paintings. Perhaps he could do just that, one day - perhaps that might even count as a worthy prank, in Sirius's eyes.

"Lemon drop?"

Harry blinked. "Thank you sir." He reached over and plopped one of the small yellow candies into his mouth.

"Now, you are perhaps wondering why you are here."

Harry was about to innocently declare that he wasn't quite sure of the nature of the meeting, but then an idea struck him; perhaps, if he earned Tom's ire early in the conversation, the whole thing would end up being less stressful as a whole. So his lips twitched, and he shook his head. "Not at all sir."

"Oh?"

"I'm here because I walked here from the dungeons," Harry said, very informatively.

Professor Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Quite right. Perhaps you are wondering why you walked here from the dungeons."

"Oh, definitely not, sir. I walked here because I decided to walk here."

What are you doing? Tom interjected incredulously, and Harry could tell that the older man was having to restrain himself from throwing a fit. This is our most dangerous foe, and you are playing word games.

"Most excellent, Harry. I suppose you know why you decided to walk here?"

Harry nodded. "Well, there's a few reasons, the first one being that you invited me here," he finally relented.

"Indeed. But I must wonder, do you know why I invited you here?"

"No idea, sir." A slight exaggeration, which the man no doubt caught on to, because his eyebrows rose slightly and his lips twitched.

"Well then, I suppose I have the element of surprise after all, then."

"Should I be worried, sir?" Harry asked, somewhat seriously.

Professor Dumbledore smiled benignly, though. "Not at all, Harry. I merely wanted to congratulate you."

"Oh..um...may I ask on what, sir?"

"On not being a Triwizard Champion."

Harry couldn't quite stifle a small grin. "Ah, thank you, sir. I'm quite pleased with the outcome myself."

Professor Dumbledore chuckled softly. "I confess, I was incredibly curious when I read your note, as to how you had managed to find away around such a...shall we say, well established magical contract – indeed, most in your position would simply accept that it was definitive, and leave it at that – and was eager to know exactly what your Slytherin cunning had concocted. Of course, unable to restrain myself, I resolved to skim the contract as well, and encountered a few curiosities, which prompted me to check the Hogwarts student register."

Harry could not resist a small grin.

"Harry Black, is it now? It has a nice ring to it."

"I thought so too," Harry said, a little smugly.

"A name change – so simple and yet so effective. Very clever. Very clever indeed. May I ask how you arrived at this solution?"

"Well," Harry began musingly, "There were a few clues right from the start – such as the fact that if a student dies, they cease to be a champion – the contract actually bothers to state this explicitly, which is...conspicuous, to say the least, implying that if the clause wasn't there, if a student who died in the competition - or outside of it - still came out of it maintaining the most points, they could still win, depending on how it was set up."

The Headmaster nodded. "An astute observation."

"Then there was a section in the contract that explained how the magic of the Goblet is in fact linked to each school's student register – and how a student not in the register cannot compete – which is how you managed to put the age restriction in place, I'm assuming. The 'age line' was a bluff."

The Headmaster's lips twitched, and a small smile spread across them.

Harry's eyes widened. "Or was it a prank? I heard more than a few students ended up with beards and overgrown ears and noses..."

Professor Dumbledore leaned toward him conspiratorially. "Between you and I, Harry, I did have a good laugh at it. I do love to see my students putting their creativity and determination to work...only to be rewarded by something they most certainly did not expect." He winked. "Professor McGonagall was furious, of course."

Harry grinned. "Anyway, if you had simply placed a charm on top of the Goblet or the area around it, someone would have found a way around it...however, no one would think to falsify records in the school registries...except whoever put my name in. I happen to be aware that the Hogwarts student register is linked to an identical document in the Department of Magical Records at the Ministry of Magic, and therefore whoever put my name in was likely able to do so because they falsified my records at the Ministry – Mr. Malfoy confirmed that my birthdate had been changed – implying that it was actually another British witch or wizard, and one with full access to the DMR."

Professor Dumbledore nodded, looking quite pleased with his observations.

"Interestingly enough, I'm guessing that this is also why only Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang can ever compete in the tournament."

"Another astute observation."

Harry grinned again. "Anyhow, these facts imply that erasing a record at the Ministry of Magic also erases a record in the Hogwarts student register, simultaneously nullifying its existence in the eyes of the Goblet. So as far as the Goblet of Fire is concerned, Harry Potter no longer exists, and no longer has to compete."

"Ah, excellent work, Harry, excellent work indeed. Twenty points to Slytherin, I think."

Harry continued to grin, feeling quite accomplished.

"But I must wonder if the name change might prove inconvenient at some point in the future."

Harry shrugged. "I can change it back after the tournament."

Professor Dumbledore didn't look entirely convinced, but settled on, "Fair enough."

Harry nodded, before hesitating. "Is that...all, sir?"

Professor Dumbledore stared at him for a moment. "Not quite. As you noted on Halloween night, it is likely that someone placed your name in the Goblet for nefarious purposes. And as you have just stated, the culprit likely has access to important records at the Ministry of Magic, suggesting that this isn't merely a cruel prank."

Harry nodded slowly. "So...you agree that someone is trying to kill me."

"Perhaps not kill, but as I said, nefarious purposes."

Harry frowned, unsure as to where this was going.

"I confess, I am uneasy, Harry."

Harry's eyebrows rose, a little surprised that Professor Dumbledore was being so frank with him.

"Why are you telling me this?"

Professor Dumbledore seemed to consider the question for a moment. "Many learned men have made statements along the lines of, 'a little knowledge is a dangerous thing' - and I agree entirely. As I said last time we spoke at length, you are but a child, and you deserve to feel safe and comfortable like any child ought to...but you will also recall that I qualified my statement with another that is equally true. It is undeniable that you, despite your age, are remarkably capable...and possess more knowledge than most in your position might have."

Harry frowned slightly, not quite sure if the Professor was being genuine.

"You have shown poor judgment in the past - just as most your age do - but you have also shown evidence of maturity, intelligence, and adaptability. And though poor some of your decisions have been, they exemplified determination, resourcefulness, fierce independence, and deep personal motivation, which, in its own way, is admirable."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, a little baffled.

The professor waved away his gratitude. "What is more relevant to the matter at hand, however, are the implications of my assessment."

Harry frowned.

"I will be frank. I do not trust you, Harry."

Harry stiffened in his seat.

"I do not trust you to leave your safety in the hands of your teachers, and I do not trust you to share any concerns or relevant observations with those who will not trust you with their own. At the same time, I can trust you to be vigilant and insightful, and to deal with any crises that arise in a reasonable manner. So you see, I have something of a dilemma.

"The fact that you have shown yourself to be a capable and reasonable young man, but one who will not trust unless he himself is trusted, has encouraged me to place a heavier burden on your shoulders than I might have otherwise. So I am telling you now, that you are, while beloved by many because of what happened on Halloween night all those years ago, equally despised by others for the very same reason. There are many dangerous witches and wizards that supported Voldemort who still walk free, as I think you are very much aware – and I urge to remember that the walls of this castle may not protect you from them as much as we would like to think. You have many friends, admirers, and protectors here, Harry, but you cannot afford to forget that you walked these halls alongside Quirinius Quirrell and Peter Pettigrew, both of whom would have seen you dead – and might have succeeded, were we less fortunate."

Harry let out a shaky breath, a little overwhelmed.

"And so I am asking you directly to exercise great caution, this year. Your success in excusing yourself from the Triwizard Tournament will necessitate that the culprit will be forced to rethink their plans, and change directions. Your guardian and professors, of course, have been notified, and...subtle inquiries are being made, but I will also ask that you personally keep an eye peeled, and report to Professor Snape or myself any odd behaviour, whether it be from professors, students, or guests. In this way, I am placing the same responsibility that I have placed on your teachers. Do you understand what I am saying to you?"

Harry nodded stiffly. "I do."

The man smiled cheerily. "Most excellent, Harry, most excellent. Now, how have you been finding your term, thus far?"

Harry frowned slightly, caught off guard by the sudden change in subject. "Sorry, sir...what do you mean?"

The man folded his long, slender hands pleasantly on his lap. "Are you enjoying your classes?"

Harry simply stared at him, for a moment. "...why, sir?"

The Headmaster's eyes twinkled. "Must I have an excuse to inquire into the progress of one of my more brilliant students?"

Harry chuckled awkwardly. "I'm enjoying my classes, sir, as always. They're very...educational," he said, rather lamely.

"But apparently not engaging enough to keep you satisfied – Professor Snape has made me aware that you've taken an interest in spell crafting."

Harry's eyebrows rose, and he was suddenly made aware of the uneasy realization that everything he said and did at Professor Snape's house was probably being reported directly to the Headmaster. He felt an irrational stab of betrayal at the thought, but shoved aside those feelings quickly and nodded. "I have, sir – I've been crafting charms related to electromagnetism."

Professor Dumbledore looked absolutely delighted at that. "How very bold of you, Harry."

"Thanks, I think?"

Professor Dumbledore chuckled. "I take it, given your obvious interest in magical contracts, that you are approaching these projects from structural standpoint?"

"Structural, sir?" Harry asked confusedly.

Professor Dumbledore nodded. "There are two main schools of thought, when it comes to the methodology of spell crafting: structural and experimental."

Harry frowned. "I've never come across an alternative method for spell-crafting, sir."

The Headmaster chuckled. "No, you wouldn't have. Methodology isn't always pedagogical, my boy."

Harry pursed his lips. "Are you saying that formal instruction on spell-crafting methodology revolves around theory and justification rather than practical methods themselves?"

"Very good, Harry," the professor said approvingly, "It is a curious thing; while nearly every instructive text will propose a structural method, in practice, very few spell-crafters will stick to it. As you are well aware of at this point, tructural spell crafting involves working with very specific runic patterns, using meticulous arithmantic formulas and algorithms to predict the behaviour of one's magic, and arrays to restrict magical flow, and it is a painstaking process to say the least."

"But sir...how else would you design wand movements and verify incantations and their appropriate substitutions by wand movements?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"Trial and error."

Harry's jaw dropped. "That would take forever."

Professor Dumbledore chuckled again. "One might think so. However, most students of arithmancy and runes use approximation methods and well-worn short cuts quite liberally, and they simplify the theoretical calculations, while allowing for intelligent experimentation, that they will typically weave into an individual style of crafting spells. Note the use of the word 'style' where 'method' might have been."

"Approximation methods?" Harry asked confusedly.

"Yes – I believe they are taught...perhaps in sixth year? I would have to review the syllabus to be sure."

Finally what that man was saying settled in, and Harry stared at him in horror. He had wasted so much time and effort. Suddenly, he felt Tom's amusement, and felt extreme annoyance. He knew. The bastard knew. And so did Professor Snape! Why were all the adults in his life so cruel?

He absently realized that he didn't consider Remus or Sirius to be adults in his life, and that the Headmaster had transcended the concept of adulthood altogether.

Meanwhile, Professor Dumbledore was gracing him with a sympathetic smile. "Your indignation is palpable, Harry."

Embarrassed, Harry stiffened in his seat.

But the professor's smile softened. "An appropriate reaction, I think. Your enthusiasm is admirable."

"...thank you sir," Harry mumbled.

"Not at all. I must caution you against indulging yourself in too many short-cuts, now that you possess this knowledge, however; you've created an advantage for yourself that eludes most spell-crafters."

Harry frowned. "What's that, sir?"

"You have cultivated experience in crafting a spell from nothing; you have not learned to rely on the techniques and tools of others; this experience will serve you well in the event that you indulge in a project of a highly irregular nature."

"What exactly do you mean by highly irregular, sir?"

"Spell deconstruction, for one," the professor offered casually, eyes twinkling.

Harry's eyes widened. Did the Headmaster know about his and Hermione's project? How would he – ah, library records and restricted section passes.

"Yes, I do indeed receive records of every book borrowed from the restriction section," the Headmaster confirmed, causing Harry to panic momentarily and make sure his occlumency shields were still in place, "Miss Granger's selections of Working Backwards: a Generalized Method for Spell Deconstruction and Static and Fluid Spell Analysis were quite telling. What truly caught my eye, however, was Living Magic: Spells that Think."

Harry winced, recalling that particularly disappointing piece of literature.

Professor Dumbledore noticed his expression and chuckled. "I, myself, am rather partial to Uncovering Sentience and A Theory of Magical Emergence. I daresay those are more what you're looking for," he said with a wink.

Harry blinked. "Thank you sir," he said in wonderment. He paused. "Sir, if I may ask..."

"Never be afraid to ask, Harry," the professor said seriously.

Harry smiled slightly. "Why are you taking such an interest in my extracurricular work?"

Professor Dumbledore looked at him contemplatively for a moment, before he smiled sadly. "I could give you many justifications for my interest...but between you and I, Harry, it is somewhat grounded in regret."

Harry frowned, once again thrown off guard by the man's frankness.

"I once knew a boy very much like yourself, Harry – clever, inventive, ambitious, and blessed with immense potential. It is one of my great regrets that I did not play the role in his education that he needed me to, and that I did not offer my hand in guidance when he required it. One can never be sure of these things...but in my old age I have come to find value in learning from mistakes which might not have even been so; and I have come to regret that I did not divert him from the rather tragic path that he took in life. I will live with this regret for the rest of my life; it pains me every day to think of him, to acknowledge that as much as he has disappointed me, I disappointed him first."

Harry shifted uncomfortably, realizing that the Headmaster was likely talking about Tom.

"You must understand, Harry, that I cared very deeply for your parents; they were both valuable allies and loyal and steadfast friends; I will say again that my inexcusable mistakes regarding your well-being have pained me greatly – but one thing that I am sure of is that if you fall to the same fate as the former student whom I did fail, this pain will become unbearable. So I am taking steps to circumvent this."

Harry had to resist promptly gaping falling into a state of near panic; why in Merlin's name would the professor be telling him this? He was practically announcing that his interest in him was of an at least somewhat Machiavellian nature. That's...people don't do that.

Meanwhile, the man went on. "Is this preferential treatment and partiality on my part? Most definitely; however, I daresay that you have a greater capacity to make good use of my literary recommendations than the average Hogwarts student."

Harry felt an inexplicable twinge of guilt at that statement, but he shoved it aside and nodded. "I...thank you, sir."

"I pray I have not made a grave mistake in providing you with information, though."

Harry frowned. "Why would that be a mistake?" Static electricity was pretty benign, wasn't it?

"I am hesitant to provide you with any more distractions from your coursework."

Harry smiled, relieved. "Oh, don't worry, sir. My mind often wanders to spell-crafting anyway."

The professor smiled back with a rather odd smile, that Harry couldn't quite interpret. "You have quite a busy mind, don't you, Harry?"

"You have no idea, sir," Harry said, hoping that he kept the bitterness out of his voice.

"Perhaps so. I do empathize, however. I often find my mind so crowded that I must turn my thoughts to just how crowded my thoughts are. Meta-thinking, if you will."

Harry chuckled uneasily. "And what have you been thinking about lately, sir?" he deflected, to Tom's annoyance.

"Oh, well, I think about a great many things, Harry. Indeed, just before you came, I was thinking about black swallowtails."

Harry blinked. "Black swallowtails, sir?"

"A species of butterfly, native to the Americas."

"Yes, I know...Professor Snape had me stripping hundreds of their wings this summer -"

Professor Dumbledore seemed quite amused by this statement.

"- but I meant to ask – why?"

"Ah, well, I'm really quite fond of butterflies, Harry."

Alright, a bit odd, but not good enough. "But why the black swallowtail?"

Professor Dumbledore smiled wistfully. "The black swallowtail only emerges from its chrysalis in the spring, after having trapped itself inside as the autumn dies away. If the metamorphosis begins too late or ends too early, the butterfly won't survive the harshness of winter. It's really fascinating, isn't it, Harry? How nature plays this balancing act, right under our noses."

"I suppose it is. I hadn't thought about it much."

"Perhaps you should. Though, again, I am loth to introduce more distractions into your already busy mind."

Harry nodded, and was silent for a moment. "But I'm still wondering, sir...why the black swallowtail? Surely there are other butterflies that do the exact same thing."

"Indeed there are, Harry, but I am especially fond of the black swallowtail. They are exceptionally beautiful, and yet, in years long passed, they were feared."

Harry's eyebrows rose. "Why would anyone fear a butterfly?"

"Ah, well, black butterflies are a symbol of death."

Harry nodded slowly with a wry smile. "So...exceptionally beautiful and exceptionally bad luck."

"Exactly so...but only if one fears death."

"And you don't."

"I do not."

"Because death is just the next great adventure."

"Wise words, Harry, wise words."

Harry bit his lip. "But I am curious sir, as to the precise meaning of that phrase," he said musingly, "Reincarnation or a continuation of life after death, in heaven, or hell, or purgatory, or whatever you choose to believe in? I admit, I haven't quite yet figured out what you meant by that."

Professor Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Why do those options need to be mutually exclusive?"

Harry blinked. "Well, I suppose they don't."

"I agree. I have often mused on this myself – the metaphysics of the afterlife, that is. Where and what it is."

"And in your musings sir, have you ever considered that you might be wrong – that there's actually nothing on the other side? Just darkness and...peace?"

The professor smiled softly. "I have indeed, Harry."

"Then sir, why are you so sure that there's some great adventure waiting on the other side for us?"

The man's smile sharpened into something that was almost a grin. "I am not sure if an adventure lies on the other side – and it is this uncertainty that guarantees an adventure."

"Isn't that...an oxymoron?"

"It would be, had I specified where, when, and how said adventure would take place."

Realization dawned on Harry. "So the adventure is...experiencing death?"

"Precisely."

"That's rather...morbid sir."

Professor Dumbledore smiled amusedly. "Do you really think so? I think...that it is exactly what it is; I think it is the very definition of a great adventure. A calling to a mysterious realm beyond all you have ever known, a destiny that will be the culmination of everything you are and everything you could be, a leap forward into the great unknown, where anything is possible. And whatever trials you must overcome to reach it, and no matter what the outcome is – whatever the fate that awaits you is – you will be returning home."

Harry was silent for a moment. "Home," he said slowly, the word slipping from between his lips involuntarily. "I suppose that...yes, that really is fitting. If there's nothing on the other side, you're returning to nothingness – where you came from. If there's an afterlife you're returning to where your loved ones also rest. If you are reincarnated you're given a new home, but a home nonetheless. That really is quite a clever ambiguity, sir."

"I rather thought so, myself. Although, I would argue that it's not an ambiguity. You recall, perhaps, how I qualified my assertion that death is but the next great adventure?"

Harry thought about this for a moment. "You said that...it's an adventure...for the well-organized mind."

"Indeed. You see, Harry, the well-organized mind is a mind capable of understanding the world and acknowledging every possibility without judgment. It is able to separate the effectively objective from the fundamentally subjective. The well-organized mind can consider death in the absence of human egoism and vanity – it can acknowledge death as a natural and meaningful event rather than a threat or a relief. The well-organized mind is the mind that has been trained to forego fixations on the small details that so torment humanity, and see the greater whole as something beautiful to behold. Death, Harry, is just as profound and frightening and beautiful as Life. They give each other meaning, through the glorious mysteries we call Time and Consciousness. And if you still doubt me, consider this question – what would become of a universe where Death held no sway?"

Harry was silent for a moment. "I'm not sure, sir," he said quietly, "But the idea makes me...uneasy."

"As it should."

The were both silent for a few long moments, before the Headmaster spoke up again. "The mind...is a place of it's own. And in itself, can make a heaven of hell, or a hell of heaven. The mind is powerful, Harry, and not just because of the influence it asserts over the physical, but because of how closely it is entwined with the soul. A soul cannot sustain well-being while tied to a withering mind. And because the soul is tied inextricably to magic as well, we are left with this tenuous relationship between mental health and magical stability. The well organized mind is the mind that can control and understand the magic it has access to, and through doing so, can maintain a healthy soul."

Harry smiled grimly, trying very hard not to let the Headmaster's words affect him too deeply. "And how does one organize the mind, sir? Occlumency?"

"A good start. But there is more to the mind than the part we are able to control – the part that an invader can access. There are parts of the mind that even the most skilled legillimens cannot touch, without losing themselves entirely."

"How do I organize it if I can't control it?"

The professor looked at him thoughtfully, before he held his hand in the air. A moment later, a book zoomed across the room into his hand, which he passed to Harry.

Harry frowned as he looked at the cover. "Logos and Pathos."

"A favourite of mine," the man said, eyes twinkling. "I will pose to you a challenge, Harry – read it, study it, understand it...and then see if you can answer your own question."

Harry stared at the man, and then nodded determinedly. "I'll do that sir."

"I await your answer with bated breath."

"Harry? Haaaarry. Harry!"

Harry jolted awake when he felt a sharp pain in his ribs. Blinking blearily, he looked over to find Theo looking at him in concern. He then noticed that several people, including Adina and Krum, were looking at him with apprehension in their eyes.

"What?" he said blankly.

"You almost fell asleep in your soup," Theo said slowly.

It was then that Harry noticed that his nose was wet, and when he reached up to wipe it with a napkin, it was revealed that this wetness was, in fact, tomato soup.

"Thanks," Harry muttered.

"Anytime, mate," Theo replied unconvincingly, "You know, you could probably request a note from Madame Pomfrey, and take the rest of the day off. You look awful."

Harry shook his head. "I'm only tired."

Theo scoffed at him. "You don't say."

Harry shrugged and turned back to his food, ignoring the way his stomach squirmed at the thought of eating.

"You need sleep," Theo continued, "Your grades are starting to slip, don't think I haven't noticed – and you can't even stay awake to eat. It's been weeks since you got a full night's sleep – I don't think I've even seen you lie down in your bed all month -"

"I've been sleeping," Harry said with a scowl.

"Oh yeah? How many hours a night?"

"Four hours or something." Four one hour intervals, at least.

"Or something?" Theo echoed, unimpressed, "What does that even mean?"

"It means that you're overreacting. I'm fine."

"No, you're not! You -"

"I believe I will take it from here, Nott."

Harry's eyes widened and he paled, turning around to see Professor Snape looming behind them.

"Potter, with me."

Harry cast an annoyed glare at Theo, who looked very much the cat who caught the canary, before he rose to his feet to hurry after Professor Snape.

The man didn't say a word until they reached his office, and even when the door had shut behind them, he allowed a couple of minutes for their customary staring contest.

"You lied to me, Potter," the man said lowly.

"Sir, I'd never -"

"Silence."

Harry's mouth snapped shut.

"You very clearly informed me that your sleep had improved."

Well, it had, for a little while. But Voldemort 1.0 had been testy lately, to say the least. It honestly wouldn't have been that bad were it not for his occlumency shields; Tom's counterpart's mind would have slipped in and out of his mind fluidly, and he might not even remember, or even notice, the visions. As it stood, however, Voldemort 1.0's consciousness repeatedly hammered against his occlumency shields whenever he entered a deep enough sleep to allow for 'dreaming', resulting in terrible headaches and 'nightmares' of a disturbing nature. Apparently the mind was most 'pliable' at that point in the sleep cycle, and that combined with the strength of his occlumency shields created the perfect conditions for massive, blinding headaches and terrible nightmares. His most recent solution? Avoid REM sleep.

As it turned out, that wasn't really a great plan. But it was the only on he had, currently.

"It has," Harry said evenly, "I haven't dreamed at all lately."

"Because haven't slept long enough to dream," the potions master hissed, "Your ideas are hardly original, Potter; many an incompetent child has tried to sleep for shorter intervals to try to avoid dreams, and it never works."

Harry figured it was best to keep his mouth shut, at this point.

When he saw that Harry wasn't objecting, Professor Snape composed himself. "You will report to the infirmary immediately, and Madame Pomfrey will supply you with the appropriate potions. You will continue to report to her every day for the next week, and she will in turn report to me. And if you continue with these foolish antics we will have to take more drastic action."

Harry nodded morosely. "Yes, sir."

Great, just great. Why couldn't people just mind their own business?

"You can't tell anyone."

"Not even Theo?"

"Especially not Theo."

Draco looked like he didn't quite know whether to puff out his chest in pride or run the other way. "What exactly do you want me to brew?" he asked.

"A variant of the wiggenweld potion," Harry replied. He handed Draco a slip of paper. "I've outlined the requirements and supplied a potential recipe, but I'm sure you can improve it."

Draco's eyes sparkled in excitement.

"You can't get any ingredients from Professor Snape, so just tell me what you need and I'll get them immediately."

Draco nodded slowly, looking wary again. "How soon do you need this done?"

"I need a batch before tomorrow night."

Draco looked very unsure of himself for a moment, until he nodded determinedly. "It'll be done."

Harry nodded gratefully. "I knew I could count on you, Draco. I'm in a...really tight spot here. You have no idea how much it means to me to know that I can count on you."

Draco looked beyond pleased. "I won't let you down, Harry."

Harry grinned. "Excellent. I'll be in the library if you need me, but I'll be with Hermione and Adina, so be discrete."

"Of course."

Harry's smile slipped from his face as he walked off, and he nearly moaned as he cracked his neck. He had fallen asleep in the library and did something awful to it. The smile was back again, though, as soon as he thought of Draco. At least he could count on one of his friends to do as he asked without asking questions he couldn't answer.

Harry enjoyed being clever. Well, maybe sneaky was a better word - he hadn't felt very clever lately at all. Either way, it meant that despite the rampant levels of inconvenience that his life could reach, he usually got what he wanted. Within reason, of course. Did he want to spend the rest of the first term of his fourth year sleep deprived and playing a dangerous game of imbibing mostly untested (Tom's opinion was the only quality control he had access to) and possibly addictive potions to fool his professors? No, of course not. But he certainly didn't want to get stuck in the infirmary under observation while the master soul unintentionally and yet ruthlessly (because apparently that's just how he did things these days) attacked his occlumency shields.

Either way, it worked. Draco did excellent work, of course, and concocted a potion that brought the colour back into his face and prevented him from slipping into slumber during the daytime; classes continued as always and he went on fooling the entire Hogwarts population into believing that he wasn't slowly dying on the inside.

Which he clearly was.

In the meantime, though, he began to feel worse and worse. He had energy for the hours following his consumption of Draco's potion but even then he just felt...disgusting. He kept on doing his homework assignments, practising spells, duelling, attempting animagus transformations – he was sprouting feathers with ease now – and doing extracurricular research, but he just felt miserable the whole time, and this fact was getting harder and harder to mask. Nothing felt worthwhile or interesting or fun – they were just obligations, to his friends, to Tom, to himself...

Suffice it to say, by the time the first task of the Triwizard Tournament rolled around, he was even less inclined to attend than he had been after his name came out of the Goblet, if that was possible, and resolved to remain in the Slytherin Common Room to read, with the only other person who seemed to be as put off by the tournament as he was: Jordan Avery.

So that was how Harry found himself distracted from his History of Magic textbook, staring at the fire in front of him on November the twenty-fourth, watching it flicker, feeling an uncanny level of tranquility. As he sat there silently, he didn't feel the need to look at Avery – he knew the other boy didn't care either way, and was just as happy to keep his eyes fixated on the shimmering hearth.

"Is this what it's like when everyone goes off to watch the quidditch matches?" Harry asked idly after about a half hour had passed.

"What makes you think I know what it's like in the Common Room during quidditch matches?" Avery returned dully.

Harry smiled at the other boy's skepticism. "You never come to the games. You must have remained in the Common Room at least once."

"You noticed that?"

"I notice lots of things."

"Evidently."

They fell into silence once again, but Harry didn't feel the need to fidget – he was quite content to remain still as he slouched in the green velvet couch they were sitting on...more content than he had felt in weeks, in fact.

He read a few more paragraphs before curiosity got the better of him once again.

"Do you like it here at Hogwarts?"

A pause. "No."

"Is it because you miss your family?"

"No." There was no hesitation that time.

"Then where would you rather be?" Harry asked curiously.

"Nowhere. I don't want to be anywhere."

"Because you don't belong anywhere," Harry tried.

"That's right."

They were silent again.

"You don't have any friends," Harry pointed out suddenly.

"Your observational skills are astounding."

Harry stifled a laugh. "Do you ever get lonely?"

"No."

"I don't like it when people lie to me," Harry said lowly, finding himself oddly...upset by the fact that the other boy so blatantly tried to deceive him.

There was a long pause, and Harry wondered why such a stilted and awkward conversation was holding his attention so thoroughly.

"...yes. I get lonely sometimes."

"Me too," Harry admitted, hoping he sounded sympathetic.

"You have friends," Avery said incredulously. "Lots of them."

"Your observational skills are astounding."

Avery didn't laugh. "People with friends aren't supposed to be lonely. That's why you put up with them in the first place."

Harry nodded slowly. "My friends don't make me less lonely," he admitted, "Sometimes I'm loneliest when I'm with them."

Avery seemed to think this over. "That doesn't make any sense."

"I suppose it wouldn't."

A pause. "Then explain it."

Harry bit his lip, not having expected the request, despite the ambiguity of his statement. "Things...aren't simple for me. They're not easy. They never have been. Some people expect me to do and be certain things, and other people expect other things. Completely different things. I can't be everything I need to be at the same time, so I have to switch, sometimes. I have to tell a truth that's also a lie, and hide behind whatever I have to put between me and them. And it's not until all the people go away that I can bring down the walls, and that's always a relief, because being behind all those walls is lonely, and it makes you wonder if you're even really part of the world at all. If it's just you. Or maybe not...maybe you, whatever you are, doesn't really exist at all."

Avery was silent for a long moment. "That sounds...horrible."

"It can be."

Avery scoffed. "It's easier to just be alone. To not care. To not try." His voice was bitter.

"That's you then?"

"Yeah."

Harry nodded slowly. "I don't have that option, though. I never have."

"Why not? All you have to do is stop talking."

Harry smiled wryly. "I need people, for...things. I can't do what I have to do, be what I have to be, alone. I'm not allowed to give up."

Avery snorted. "Ambition, huh?"

"It's what gets me out of bed in the morning."

"I hate getting out of bed. I wish I could sleep forever."

Had someone else said that, Harry would have laughed at their laziness, but somehow, Avery's declaration was far more morbid...more...familiar. "I've felt like that before," he said reminiscently.

"And it went away?" There was genuine curiosity in Avery's voice.

"It wasn't given a choice."

"Because people won't let you sleep."

"That's right," Harry said quietly.

"It's easier without people. Without friends," Avery repeated.

"Yes...but even if I didn't have any...I'm never alone."

He heard Avery suck in a sharp breath. "Do you hear them too?" he whispered.

Harry frowned. "Hear who?"

"The people...in your head."

For a moment, Harry was overcome by panic, and he was milliseconds away from drawing his wand and cursing the other boy unconscious so he could drag him down to the Chamber and interrogate him...but then he realized that Avery wasn't talking about him. He was talking about himself.

There were people...inside his head.

Was Avery a horcrux? Almost certainly not – no one would willingly make a human horcrux, and the chance that there was another accidental human horcrux out there was incredibly minuscule.

No, Avery was talking about something else. He was talking about other people living inside his head – not real people, not like Tom...

He was talking about insanity.

And wasn't that interesting...Harry'd never met an insane person before. Tom was clearly a psychopath, but he honestly doubted that that was true insanity. Maybe a personality disorder - but not insanity; insanity was something entirely different, something more...invasive, consuming.

"I do," he confirmed, because it wasn't a lie. He did hear a voice inside his head, and right now it wasn't exactly happy with him. He didn't really care, though...there was something very odd and disturbingly inexplicable drawing him to the other boy.

"Oh."

The conversation fell away, and Harry found himself both relieved and disappointed. He wanted to know what Avery's voices told him, who they sounded like, what they wanted from him.

They were silent once again, and this time the silence stretched out sluggishly, minutes turning into an hour before they knew it.

"Do you know why they did it?" Avery asked suddenly.

Harry blinked. "Know why who did what?"

He heard Avery chuckle slightly at the awkward question, but then he fell silent, and hesitated. "The muggles."

Harry froze, finding himself not furious, not uneasy, but bewildered. For some reason the question didn't bother him as much as it should have. It seemed so much more...innocent than it did when others had asked the same thing.

"I could make excuses for them," Harry said slowly, "I could tell you they were afraid -"

"Like you did in the Daily Prophet."

Harry nodded, though he knew Avery didn't see him do it.

"But that's not really it. They did it because they're weak, and ordinary...in the worst kind of way."

"Do you really think that's enough?"

"I think there are three kinds of people who hurt other people. There are people who hurt others because they want something, and there are people who hurt others because they enjoy it. My...muggles didn't want anything from me, and they didn't enjoy hurting me. They fall into the last category."

"And that is...?"

"The weak, ordinary people who can't stand to be what they are. The people who are worthless and looking for worth. The people who lash out without really knowing why. The people who lack power and control, not because they're unfortunate or oppressed, but because it just isn't in them. They're vermin, pests, worthless creatures; they're mistakes, and they should just disappear." His voice was cold, as he spoke, and he wondered if it was him speaking at all. It was devoid of feeling or malice - but surely he felt something. He hated the Dursleys...didn't he?

Avery was silent for a moment. "Do you really believe that?"

"I've seen enough evidence."

"You shouldn't let people hear you talk like that."

"I know...hence the walls."

Avery fell silent.

"It's easier to be less selective in your hatred," he said finally, "Then you don't get labelled as..."

"Like you then?" Harry interjected, not really wanting to hear what Avery thought he should be labelled as.

"I suppose."

"If you hate people so much, why are you tolerating me? You could just tell me to go to the library, and I'd do it."

"I don't hate people. I hate happy people."

"...and?"

"And you're not as happy as you pretend to be."

They exchanged no more words, after that; their eyes remained fixed on the crackling fire, caught up in the silence of the room, barely noticing when it was once again filled to the brim with chatter.

"Good morning!"

Reduce the volume of your voice, Tom demanded irritably.

Everyone at the Slytherin table stared at Harry uneasily, no doubt unnerved by his cheerful greeting.

He'd only just woken up from his meagre forty-five minutes of sleep and he felt positively fantastic. Phenomenal. Awe-inspiringly, astoundingly awesome.

"It's a beautiful day, don't you think?"

No, it is not, you imbecile, look around you.

Everyone glanced up at the swirling ceiling above, which was tumultuous and grey. A crack of thunder sounded.

"It's monstrous," Tracey said flatly.

"I know!" Harry chirped, flopping down into his seat and beginning to shovel strawberries onto his plate.

"Are you...feeling alright, mate?" Theo asked cautiously.

"I'm salubrious!"

"Salu- what?"

"I haven't felt better in...ever!" Harry explained happily, absently noticing how, in the corner of his eye, Draco was starting to look quite concerned.

I can definitively say that that is not true. There is something wrong. We need to retreat to the Room of Requirement or the Chamber immediately.

Harry ignored him.

"So you...slept through the night, last night, I take it?" Theo asked hopefully.

"Nope!" Harry said, popping the 'p'.

A lie would have been prudent, you foolish boy.

"...right."

The day continued in that vein; lots of strange looks, most of them leaning towards bewildered or concerned. Harry couldn't bring himself to care, what with feeling so superbly excellent...except when his friends' behaviour became annoying. Hermione insisted on performing the sobriety-testing spell on him once or twice, and Theo repeatedly tested him for a fever; Draco dragged him aside to ask him if he'd taken any other potions in conjunction with the one he had been making one; he hadn't, in fact – he actually hadn't taken Draco's potion in a couple of days now; concern over possible side-effects had gotten the better of him.

The most irritating, however, was Tom. He kept bothering him about how he was apparently acting like an idiot, and how there was something wrong, and he needed to go isolate himself until they could figure it out. Honestly, if he weren't in such a good mood, he would have been hurt – Tom could feel how excellent he felt (which didn't happen often at all, especially these days) and was actively trying to ruin it for him. Extremely un-friend-like behaviour if Harry had ever seen any.

Still, he didn't let it discourage him – if Tom wanted to be a block of mouldy cheese, as the Weasley twins might say, let him – because felt cleverer, happier, and quicker than he had felt in weeks. He felt alive – better even...though he wasn't exactly sure what better than alive would look like.

Classes passed in the blink of an eye – in all honesty, by the end of the day, Harry barely remembered what had happened in them at all, or whether he'd even attended – and seemingly within minutes of waking up, it was nearly twilight, and he was challenging Viktor Krum to a competition of the quidditch variety.

"I really need to work on my snitch-catching skills," Harry mused as he flipped through Magicks of the Sowle with a big grin on his face. He was reading – he just wasn't remembering any of it.

Or you could spend your apparently bountiful energy on something remotely useful, Tom grouched, apparently still sore over the fact that Harry had pulled off what Viktor had assured him was a frighteningly risky Wronski Feint.

Harry'd never been so proud in his life.

"Snitch catching is very useful," he retorted.

Oh yes, of courses it is, Tom said sourly, How could I have ever mistaken riding a broom around in the air looking for a little golden ball for something useless and futile?

"No idea, but you should probably think more before you say something so thoughtless, next time," Harry said cheekily, laughing when he felt a sharp pain in his forehead.

You are insufferable.

"You can just tell me how much you love me, Tom – I won't see you blush."

The pain didn't go away, and Harry kept laughing.

Once the laughter (and pain) finally subsided, he lay back in his bed, a dreamy look on his face. "I love flying."

Do you? I had no idea, Tom said wryly.

Harry nodded avidly. "Few things make me happier, you know? Being hundreds of feet off the ground, surrounded only by air – free of boundaries and walls." He lifted his hand in front of his face and watched with satisfaction as feathers started to appear. "I wonder...if perhaps when we die, we become birds. If our souls find a home in flight and freedom...in a simple life of surviving and soaring through the air. That might not be so bad, don't you think?"

No, not bad – unbearably dreadful.

"Hmm...perhaps. I think it would be...perfect, though. I guess I have no way of knowing..." He paused. "Except I do." A grin lit Harry's face all of a sudden, and he leapt out of bed, summoning his invisibility cloak to his hands and darting out the door as he threw it over himself.

What are you doing? Tom asked warily.

"I just had a brilliant idea," Harry gasped as he fled through the entrance to the Slytherin common room.

He sped through corridors and up stairways, adrenaline pumping with such ferocity that he didn't bother to mask his footsteps at all.

His breaths were hoarse by the time he reached the top of the Astronomy Tower, and he doubled over gasping for breath.

Why are we here? Tom asked, dread seasoning his voice.

The grin was back on his face. "You can fly, right? Without a broom."

...yes.

"So if you took over my body, we could fly."

I could, but I refuse to expend such massive amounts of energy to indulge your whims.

"What about to save our life?" Harry asked with a smirk. "You should give me a few seconds, first, though."

What are you planning? Tom asked in alarm.

"Do or do not, there is no try," Harry said giddily. "I should have done this weeks ago."

Harry don't you dare -

But Harry barely heard him and the pain in his head seemed to vanish, as he took off across the tower, hurtling the railing in one leap, throwing himself off the edge with a gleeful grin on his face.

For a split second he felt both consuming fear and reckless awe – this was it; this could be the very end. Once, twice, three times his heart pounded and he felt a sickening rush and a flood of panic when he imagined a great, empty blackness before him - but a moment later that dread was replaced by determination. He slipped into a meditative state, drowning out Tom's hysterical voice and the fear and the excitement – and a moment later he was soaring.

Suddenly, the world around him was brighter, the shapes sharper and the colours, while dark, were vivid in front of his eyes. Cold December air enveloped him, and though he was shielded by a layer of something soft and feathery, he could feel ghosts of winter breath leaking through his feathery armour and brushing his skin. He opened his mouth to let out a shout of victory, but instead he heard the unmistakable call of an owl, and that's when it completely set in. He was an owl. He was an owl.

He had finally done it!

He soared higher and higher, dipping in and out of clouds and circling and gliding and diving, letting out the occasional thrilled hoot. He traversed the Black Lake, revelling in his reflection – a dark grey owl, not yet full grown, with bright yellow eyes, flecked with striking emerald green – before he picked up speed again with rapid flaps of his wings, zooming toward the forbidden forest.

Soon, dark green shapes dotted the ground below him, and he dived down closer to the tree tops; before long, however, he found himself growing weary and decided a rest was in order, so he glided down, weaving his way through the canopy, coming to rest on a small mound on the forest floor. A moment later, he had transformed into a human, and collapsed on the forest floor, shaking with mirth.

He could hear Tom again -

- you worthless, brainless imbecile, even at the height of the Astronomy Tower it would have been a mere six seconds before -

- but he couldn't bring himself to care. He couldn't bring himself to care about anything, really – his mind was buzzing, pulsing, and all he could feel was pure...well, it must have been joy. It penetrated his entire being forcing laughter to course through him like a seizure. He couldn't stop it.

The colours were bright around him, and the sounds of the night were pounding in his ears. He couldn't stop it. He couldn't take it all in. It was like his brain was being filled up, until – until -

...

of all the grievously foolish - Harry?

...

Harry?

...

Answer me, you foolish boy.

...

Upon a frost-covered mound of fallen leaves, deep in the Forbidden Forest, a young boy in rumpled Hogwarts robes slowly rose to his feet, an incredibly disgruntled look written very clearly upon his face. He took a moment to glare up at the sky, crimson eyes glinting in the waning moonlight, before he drew his wand and pointed it at his face, muttering, "Pigmentum mutatio."

Pain jolted up his arm and his eyes burned, but sure enough, they transformed to a bright, jewel-like emerald, and he pocketed the wand once more, taking a deep breath and resigning himself to the tedium, exasperation, and physical discomfort the next few days would likely bring.

"If you can hear me, Harry, you should be aware that the longer you sleep, the more likely it is that I will torture and murder everyone you know and love. Just thought you should know."

And with that, he began the long trudge back to Hogwarts castle, cursing under his breath as December frost snapped at his shoeless feet.

Yes, there is something very, very wrong with Harry, poor guy; he needs a bit of a rest. So guess whose POV next chapter is in ;)