AN: Behold, I live!

Um... Apparently I already had this finished. Yeah. And I was saving it for something special. Or something. Realizing I had it finished is pretty special, right? Right? Heh...

Feedback is the food of the gods (and the muse)!

---

Both Harrys were nervous when finally they stopped eating and headed to Snape's office. 'Harry' was worried Snape would yell at him for not practicing over the summer (Harry had to laugh at that); Harry was just worried Snape would break into the room where he was, or see some memory that was missing and know what he'd done.

"You're late," Snape's voice told them when they knocked.

"Sorry, sir," 'Harry' said as he entered. "I came right after dinner, like you said."

"I assume you didn't practice at all over the summer," Snape said, eyes narrowing and a hint of a smug 'I-know-you-better-than-you-do' smirk tugging at one side of his mouth even as annoyance crept into his tone. When 'Harry' looked away and didn't answer, Snape nodded and stood. "Well, we'll see if we can't change that habit." He pulled out his wand as he spoke, in a move that Harry recognized now as completely superfluous.

Nope, Harry thought delightedly. The Golden Boy won't have any chances to practice, and I don't need it. We're all going to get horribly sick of this very quickly.

Snape pointed his wand at 'Harry', not even bothering to give his usual "clear your mind" speech. "Legilimens!" he snapped.

Harry silenced his mental voice as he watched the memories flash past, mixed images from Muggle primary school, summers with the Weasleys, and his years at Hogwarts—all selected because they were so very believable. It was impossible to recognize a mind as fake when the memories had this kind of range.

After a few minutes Snape touched on a particular memory, one from Harry's fourth year. Everyone had thought he was a liar and a cheat at the time, even Ron. Harry watched the memory of himself throw a Potter Stinks badge at the memory of Ron, interested now. The Harry-memory was furious, meaning 'Harry' was being flooded with that same rage. Would that—?

Apparently so, as 'Harry' woke up a moment later on the floor, having successfully thrown Snape out of his 'mind' through sheer anger. Harry felt a smile split his mental face. The properties of emotion and willpower in Occlumency and Legilimency were so very close to those of magecraft that he had to wonder if there was a law against the lesson Snape was currently giving the Gryffindor Golden Boy.

Snape's expression was a strange mixture of amusement, anger, and a hint of wonder. His lectures on ridding oneself of emotion returned in a flash to Harry, and he thought perhaps Snape hadn't seen anger have such an effect before.

"Again," he said after a moment.

'Harry' fought back a groan and stood.

Harry composed himself, silenced his thoughts, and returned to watching, determined to catch (if not fix) any flaws in his Liar's Palace before Snape realized they were there.

---

Bella had been given everything she would need to carry out this mission—command over as many Death Eaters as she deemed necessary being the most valuable asset. Keeping her position behind the scenes, she asked her Lord to get the dates of the next Hogsmeade weekend from Snape. Even Snape, trust him though she didn't, wouldn't give the Dark Lord a false date—or dare to ask why such information was necessary.

Next she chose her fellows. Narcissa was her first and easiest choice. The witch was rich and unfailingly loyal, and even after her idiot husband had gotten himself chucked in Azkaban, no one questioned her presence or intentions in the crowded but blessedly all-wizard streets of Hogsmeade.

The next choice was harder, not because she was undecided, but because she hated working with this individual and avoided it at every chance she got, using whatever excuse she had. Finally, though, she approached Fenrir Greyback. She managed to get through the conversation without gagging, but she didn't think there was any illusion between them that either of them would tolerate the other if Voldemort hadn't ordered it. Bella was a pure-blood and proud of it; Fenrir only followed Voldemort because he wanted to cause maximum damage and Voldemort helped him target higher-profile wizards.

Finally, she found Rookwood and told him to be ready. He wasn't the most ideal for the job, but his experience in espionage meant that his skills at not being seen unless he wanted to be were adequate for the job.

Fellows selected, Bella prepared to kidnap the Boy-Who-Lived.

---

After a few weeks of Occlumency lessons, Harry relaxed. It was clear to him by that point that Snape couldn't hear his thoughts from his observation room, no matter how far into his Liar's palace he managed to wander. The realization left Harry free to think about other things even as he watched for any possible flaws in the Golden Boy's mind.

His favorite topic of thought was Slytherin. He'd never thought about the House before more than it took to suspect its members and beat its team at Quidditch. Now, though, he had a much more immediate connection to the Slytherin house—he'd had his talk with Draco the morning after receiving Sirius' letter.

The approach of the Boy-Who-Lived toward the Slytherin House table had stirred a trail of whispers and rumors, but Harry had ignored them and the people who called his name until he reached Draco.

---

"Draco," he said. The blond turned to see who it was. Immediately a sneer formed on his face, and he began to turn away.

"Draco," Harry repeated. "Could I speak to you?"

Malfoy turned again. "What do you want, Potter?" he demanded.

"Only to speak with you," Harry insisted. His hands were in front of him, right hand clasping his left wrist, so that his ring was visible. He knew Draco knew who he was; everyone in the Black family would have been notified within twenty-four hours of the will-reading. "In private."

Draco glanced down at Harry's left hand, apparently making sure he had to go with Harry, before nodding and standing. "Lead the way."

Harry headed for an unused classroom on the first floor. When he and Draco were both inside and the door was shut against unwelcome listeners, he looked at Draco. "Draco, have you taken the Dark Mark?"

Draco blinked. Whatever he'd been expecting, it certainly hadn't been that. "No," he finally answered. "The Dark Lord won't let an underage wizard so far into his inner circle."

Harry nodded. He'd expected as much. "Then I have a command for you, passed on to me from Sirius Black, former Head of the Black family."

Draco looked uneasy, and Harry had the feeling he knew what was coming. "What?" he finally asked.

"Don't take the Dark Mark." It was simple enough to say, but Harry could see terror starting to stir in Draco's eyes. "If you take the Mark, you will be removed from the Black family, and the magic you inherited from your mother's line will be stripped from you." The threat was ridiculous to a mage, to one who understood that the inheritance was an 'activated' essence rather than any unique substance, but it was sufficient to bring most wizards to heel. "You're not a killer, Draco," he continued, more quietly. "You don't want the Mark. Believe me when I say you wouldn't last with it on your arm."

"I could handle it," Draco said confidently, arrogantly, just as he always answered. For a split second Harry lifted his glasses, letting Draco see past his glamour and seeing, himself, into Draco's soul.

"Ah," he said, replacing his glasses and almost smiling. "You've already been assigned a Death Eater's mission. Draco," he told the boy, "the injunction is not the only thing I have to inform you of. If refusing to take the Mark, or any other action connected to that refusal, would put you in any danger, I will protect you, as Head of the Black family. I will protect your mother, should she need it. Gringotts has set up an account with financial support for you, should the day come when you need that protection; and I always have a safe place for you to stay."

"Are you done yet?" But Harry could that Draco had started to relax again. The promise of safety had evened out the threat of Voldemort's wrath. And even if he didn't know what Harry had learned over the summer, Voldemort wouldn't force him to give up what was at least half his magic.

Harry nodded. "Yes." Opening the door, he motioned for Draco to go first. "Shall we return to the Great—"

---

Harry was snapped out of his own memories by the sound of someone knocking on the door of one of the Golden Boy's.

Harry focused quickly. What had Snape found (besides one of 'Harry's' many locked doors)? What room would he see if he somehow managed to get through the door?

His magic told him to calm down. There was no reason to worry; Snape could never get through a locked door in a Liar's Palace; it was magecraft, and he was a wizard—

His magic hadn't even finished convincing him it was safe when Snape somehow turned the doorknob and entered the room.

He'd entered the Worldview Room, and Harry could see the shock in his eyes. The room he'd entered had four banners, one in each House's colors, displaying what Harry had understood each House's worldview to be. Such a room, empty of all unrelated thoughts, in which Snape had taken on an avatar image of himself, displayed an organization that the Golden Boy could never have managed. Harry started to panic, becoming deaf to the voice of his magic; if Snape got out of this room, he would keep looking, and he would open every locked door, and he would realize the organizing Harry had done, and Harry would be caught—

Harry ran from his shelter, his avatar image's feet pounding down the hallways of his Liar's Palace until he reached Snape and hit him with a wave of magic, throwing him through the wall of the Worldview Room and out of Harry's mind.

Harry's eyes opened wide, vision sharp to every detail in the ceiling above him. His glasses had fallen off.

"What was that, Potter?" he could hear Snape ask. His eyes flicked down, almost making contact with Snape's before he jerked them away, frantically looking for his glasses.

His glamour was in his glasses.

He froze for a split second as that sudden realization came to him.

The glamour over his eyes was in his glasses, and his glasses were gone—Snape had just seen what his eyes really looked like. He'd seen the shifting, flickering colors of his eyes and his magic; he knew exactly what Harry's glamour concealed, and he knew Harry had a glamour, and he would realize that there were other things Harry was hiding—

His glasses were on the floor by the leg of Snape's desk. He flung out his hand and the glasses flew his palm, but then he realized that he'd just shown Snape the cut on his palm that had replaced his scar—

He jammed his glasses on his face, ignoring whatever it was Snape was saying. He turned and ran toward the door, just desperate to get out. He reached the door, but it was locked; he gripped it with his right hand and sent a furious, uncontrolled burst of magic into the door. The knob exploded, the lock with it, and he shoved open the door and ran out of the room, down the hall, up the stairs to the Gryffindor common room—

No. Not the common room. He stopped suddenly. Hermione was in the common room. She knew he'd been practicing with magecraft. She would know what he'd done.

But there were other people in the common room. Hermione had proven that summer that she didn't want to confront him in front of other people. He'd be safe in the common room.

Half a second to decide; Snape would be following him by now. Harry hurtled up the nearest staircase toward the common room, half-snapped-half-shouted the password ("Lionheart") to the Fat Lady, climbed through the portrait hole as fast as he could, ran across the room heedless of the stares he was getting, and fell into an armchair near the fire.

Snape couldn't get in here. He was safe now. Harry closed his eyes and tried to relax, to reconnect with his magic so he could regain his peaceful mage's calm.

"Harry?"

Harry's eyes snapped open, focusing on the speaker. It was Ginny.

"Hi, Ginny," he said, smiling in the way he'd smiled all summer. Ginny smiled back nervously. "What's up?"

"Well, um…" Ginny was pale; her hands were clasped in front of her, but Harry could still see them shaking.

"Please, sit down," Harry said, motioning to the seat next to him. Ginny sat across from him. "What is it?" he asked. His panic had settled slightly. He knew what to do in this situation. This was what his magic had predicted, what he'd planned for. Plans were good. He knew how to follow a plan.

"It's, um…" Ginny finally looked up at him. "I'm flattered, really, Harry, that you've been paying attention to me like you have, but…"

"But what?" Harry watched her, wide-eyed, waiting for her to say it.

Ginny took a deep breath. "I, um… I don't like you that way."

"Right," Harry said. "Of course. I should have thought. Dean—"

"No, it's, it's not him either," Ginny said, staring intently at the space between her feet. "Actually, I broke up with Dean today."

Harry frowned. "Then… is there someone else? Another guy—"

"No, no, there's no other guy." Ginny's hands were shaking so hard she clutched at her robes trying to get them to stop.

"I don't understand, Ginny," Harry said, watching her, letting her know she wasn't getting out of this one without saying it. "I thought you liked me—"

"Oh, I like you a lot," Ginny agreed. "As a friend. But, well, that way…"

"You liked me before," Harry pressed. "What's changed? I mean—"

"I DON'T LIKE GUYS!"

The words burst from Ginny's mouth like they'd been launched from a slingshot, one that had been wound ever tighter by Ginny's years-long denial. As soon as she'd said it, she clapped her hands over her mouth, eyes wide and horrified. Her face was so white she might have died of a heart attack in those moments; her fingers seemed determined to take off the skin of her face before they let her say another word.

Harry looked around the common room. Dean was watching them—Harry got the feeling he'd been watching for a while, getting steadily more jealous—and had dropped the Gobstone he'd just won to the floor. Seamus looked like he wasn't sure whether to comfort Dean or mock him.

And there was Ron, just entering the common room and now looking scandalized. The portrait wasn't fully closed behind him, and Harry was sure that everyone up and down the hall would have heard Ginny's outburst, if they didn't hear the whispered conversations that were now breaking out all around the common room.

And Parvati and Lavender were standing together, watching Ginny and Harry and clearly wondering whether this was a joke or their new gossip material. Harry knew when Ginny's eyes had landed on the two gossips because a choked sob escaped from between her fingers and she ran from the common room, pushing past Ron and out the portrait hole.

Harry watched her, wondering if this had really been such a good idea.

---

Ginny ran, stumbling and half-blind from tears. Finally she dropped her hands from her mouth so she could use them for balance as she ran down stairs, up more stairs, not at all sure where she was going… She was in an unfamiliar part of the castle now, and, lost, she finally stopped and ran into a girl's bathroom on the sixth floor.

Her sobs were quiet now as she sat down under one of the sinks, but tears spilled down her face and soaked her robes. What had she been thinking? Why had she even confronted Harry? She should have known it would end with her saying that. Now by morning the whole school would know, because Parvati and Lavender had heard her; her brothers would know, because Ron would owl home and Mrs. Weasley would owl Bill and Charlie (the twins, having eyes everywhere, didn't need a letter to find out something like this); and the boys she'd dated—oh, Merlin, they'd be humiliated. That was half the reason she'd never wanted to come out (was that the right phrase? Wizards didn't even have a word for it); she'd liked all the boys she'd dated; she just hadn't like liked them.

The door to the bathroom opened, and Ginny heard quiet the sound of footsteps. There were two sets, one catlike and one only a little louder. Wiping her eyes, she saw the little sphinx cub she'd met the first day of classes, and not two steps behind her, Luna.

"Hello, Emu," Ginny said when the sphinx cub sprang into her lap and nuzzled against her face. She almost laughed when Emu started to lick the tears off her face.

"I've heard animals are very comforting," Luna said as she sat beside Ginny. "They're even used in some Muggle therapy. And sphinx cubs, if you can tame them, are extremely empathic."

"I think that goes for any baby magical creature you can tame," Ginny replied, petting the sphinx cub.

Luna gently, almost hesitantly, ran her fingers through Ginny's hair. "What's wrong?"

Ginny swallowed hard, trying not to start crying again. "Harry's been flirting with me since summer," she half-whispered.

Luna's fingers stopped for a moment before resuming their soothing motion. "I think I'm missing something. Why is that a bad thing?"

"I don't like him that way," Ginny explained. "I tried to tell him that, but he kept pressing, and…" She swallowed. "I just came out to my entire House."

"Came out?" Luna's eyes had gotten even bigger than normal.

"As a lesbian," she finished in a whisper.

"Oh." Was it Ginny's imagination, or was there a hint of happiness in that word? "Why does that make you cry?"

Ginny looked at the floor between her shoes, trying to put it into words. "I've dated a lot of boys," she said. "And they'll all be teased…"

"Boys tease other boys just because a girl breaks up with them," Luna said, with a look in her eye that told Ginny she knew Ginny already knew that. "What else?" Her hand had moved to rubbing circles on Ginny's back. It occurred to Ginny that this was the most physical contact she could remember having with the other girl, including the time when Luna had helped her mount a thestral.

"People will make fun of me," she said. "My brothers will make fun of me, and girls will all think I'm hitting on them just by saying 'hi'."

"In my experience, guys are happy to talk about what girls are hot," Luna said with a smile. "I wouldn't worry about guys teasing you. If you like girls, join in those conversations like one of the guys. First they'll be stunned, but then they'll get used to it. And most of the girls who think you're flirting with them by saying 'hi' think way too much of themselves and would completely deserve it if you told them they're not that attractive. What's really bothering you?"

This time, Ginny managed all of two seconds before she started crying again. Luna wrapped her arms around her shoulders, and Ginny leaned into the embrace, finally admitting her worry. "I'm a pure-blood," she choked out through her sobs. "If I was Muggle-born or even half-blood, it wouldn't be an issue, but pure-bloods are supposed to produce more pure-bloods. Every pure-blood who marries someone of the same sex means one less witch or wizard in the next generation. Any other witch or wizard could come out, no problem, but I… the group that doesn't want me to be a lesbian is a lot bigger than just my family or my ex-boyfriends."

"Ah. Yes, that is a slight problem," Luna agreed. "But Ginny, you have to ask yourself: Do you mind not liking guys?"

Ginny weighed it in her mind. She'd fought this for so long the obvious answer was "yes". But the memory of Fleur taking her breath away, and the shocking realization that the boys she dated did feel something, that there was a reason why she hadn't, that she could… And the warm feeling of Luna's fingers running through her hair, Luna's arms around her now…

"No," she finally said. "I would have minded if I didn't like anyone, but I don't mind liking girls."

She could tell Luna was smiling. "Then where's the problem?"

"There isn't one." Ginny hesitated a moment. "But I still don't want to go back to Gryffindor Tower tonight."

"For that, my dear Ginny, there is a simple cure." Luna stood and reached down a hand to help Ginny up. "Follow me."

It was a fairly short walk from where they were to the hallway that housed the Room of Requirement. Luna walked in front of the stretch of wall three times and opened the door that appeared out of nowhere. Ginny followed her in and couldn't help smiling.

The Room had been transformed into an apartment with two queen-sized beds with royal blue satin sheets, bookcases with all the schoolbooks and materials they might possibly need to do their homework, an attached bathroom and dressing room, closets that held every size and style of pajamas imaginable, desks to do work, and even a cushion for Emuishere. Ginny turned to Luna, unsure what to say.

"I thought I'd stay with you tonight," Luna explained hurriedly, "since you were so sad; but never let me be called presumptuous; I said two beds."

Ginny's smile grew. "Thank you, Luna," she said, and hugged the girl tightly.

"You're welcome," Luna said, "but the Room did…"

"For everything, I mean," Ginny interrupted. She carried Emu, who still hadn't let her go, over to the cushion and laid her down.

Luna smiled. (1)

---

Harry slept that night.

By midnight, he still hadn't managed to regain his focus and calm, and hadn't reached his meditative state. Exhausted from his panic and from the questions that had followed Ginny's outburst, he was asleep before he even realized he'd given up on meditation.

But he didn't dream, and he woke up the next morning feeling not at all refreshed. He hadn't slept in so long, his body wasn't sure what to do, and he'd kicked off his covers at least three times only to wake up from the cold and try again to reach his calm before falling asleep an hour later.

When he woke up the next morning, the others began pelting him with questions, questions that were too loud but he was powerless to quiet. Dean's questions were the most frantic, because he'd been dating Ginny and was the most affected by her revelation.

Harry tried his best too ignore them all as he headed downstairs, but the questions didn't stop. A girl from Ginny's year stopped them on their way down to the common room to tell them Ginny hadn't come back to the Tower the night before, which only made Ron panic and start demanding to know what Harry had done with his sister.

Harry's lip started bleeding from how hard he'd been digging his teeth into it.

But when they reached the Great Hall, others approached, new people who hadn't heard exactly what was going on and would settle for hearing from Dean or Ron. Harry was able to escape and sit at the end of the table, where no one bothered him.

In fact, after his House-mates had found other people to talk to and share the story with, no one even spoke to him.

Hermione sat across from him when she came downstairs, but she only watched him suspiciously and said nothing. Harry returned her gaze with a confused one of his own before turning to the food that was laid out on the table.

The taste of the food assaulted him, though he'd been eating for weeks. A single bite of bacon made him gulp a glass of water before he could manage another. The intensity of the taste, even of the toast (which, being made of white bread, had next to no taste for most people) made his eyes water, but no one noticed. It was like wearing his Invisibility Cloak, only a thousand times more uncomfortable.

Finally breakfast vanished, Harry was free of the assault on his senses, and it was time for a free period.

Hermione followed him up to the library, still silent, and sat with him at a table in the back of the room. She took out her books and materials, but Harry found that he couldn't remember what homework they had.

Glancing down, Harry searched through the files in his House of the Mind. It was strange being there without his magic; the room, once so friendly, seemed a daunting maze without the help of his magic to guide him. Finally he found the file that contained his assignments for that weekend, and found that they were done.

Confused, he took out his parchment and looked through until he found his papers. Sure enough, there they were, each one at least half again as long as it needed to be and in writing as small as Hermione's.

Harry sat back in his chair. According to the file in his mind, he'd done each of these papers the night they were assigned, but they were completely unfamiliar to him now. He flipped through more of his papers and saw "O's" and "E's" at the top of his graded papers—but none of them were familiar. According to the dates on the papers, they'd been assigned over a stretch of months, and probably handed back weeks after they'd been handed in. Halloween had come and gone. Christmas break started in a few weeks, after a (second) Hogsmeade weekend.

He'd been absent for months of his life.

"Harry?"

Harry looked up at Hermione. She looked concerned, and he realized with a jolt that he was crying. "What's wrong?" she asked.

He shook his head and closed his eyes. He had to get back to his magic, now.

---

But some part of him refused to return to the calm in which he'd passed the first two-thirds of the term, and the free ended before he'd managed even to meditate for longer than a few minutes at a time. Giving up, he put his books back into his bag and headed to double Defense.

He could feel Snape's eyes on him when he entered the classroom, watching him and waiting to see some change since the revelations of the night before. It occurred to him that he didn't know when he was supposed to go to his next Occlumency lesson. Maybe he wouldn't have any more. That would be a weight off his shoulders; he wasn't sure he could go into his Liar's Palace at this point.

Snape gave a lecture about trigger-effect spells—all Harry got of that was that "trigger-effect" could just as well have been replaced with "land mine"—before splitting them up into pairs. Harry expected Ron to partner with him, but Ron turned to Neville. Hermione walked over to Harry with a determined expression on her face.

Harry could still feel Snape's eyes on him. Had the former Potions master been watching him all year, or was it just because of last night's Occlumency lesson? Would it be paranoid of him to think that the man had been watching him all year? Or would it be safer than thinking that one organized room had put Harry on some permanent 'watch list'?

Soon, though, Harry had to abandon that line of thought to concentrate on his spellwork. He wasn't sure he even remembered what wizardry was, let alone how to work with a wand. Every so often, entirely independent of his control but in time with his heartbeat, a burst of magic would pulse from the doorway in his hand, through the wand, to cast the mage's version of the spell he'd been planning. Every time, Hermione's expression grew warier.

"Harry," she asked at last, "are you all right?"

No, Harry thought, but instead he said, "Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

But it didn't get better through the rest of the day. Lunch without his Liar's Palace was as bad as breakfast, and still no one spoke to him to distract him; he spent every moment expecting Snape or McGonagall or Dumbledore to ask to speak to him and call him out as a mage; another free spent trying to reach his magic was another free wasted; Potions using the clearly flawed text was intolerable, and Slughorn's joviality almost made his ears bleed; he skipped dinner to avoid another meal of overwhelming taste and ostracism; finally, at the end of the day, he was able to go to his dormitory.

Lying on his bed with the hangings drawn around him, eyes closed against the intensity of the scarlet color, Harry started breathing, desperate this time to reach his magic no matter how long it took.

Breathe in, two, three, four, five, six, seven; hold, two, three… The rhythm and simplicity of focusing on his breath was soothing. Slowly, as he breathed, he managed to calm his pounding heart and relax, erasing the panic from the night before. Ginny would be fine; Hermione would learn that there was nothing wrong with what he was doing; Ron would realize he was still Harry and would regain his old ease around him; everything would work out. He was a mage. He could make sure it worked out.

At some point he stopped counting and didn't notice. The rhythm of breathing in, holding, and breathing out was so familiar, so ingrained in his mage's practice, that he didn't need to think about it anymore. He'd reached his old calm, the dark place he reached just before he found his magic.

And then his magic was there. It swept around him, green lightning flickering around his arms, across his face; Harry Potter opened his mental eyes onto a sea of his magic.

Then Mage Potter opened his physical eyes onto the boys' dormitory.

---

With his connection to his magic regained, Hogwarts became easy again. Harry went through the books he'd gotten in Knockturn Alley again, added new memories to his Liar's Palace, perfected his use of the doorway in his hand and imitated use of a wand, and continued to ignore Hermione's continued attempts to get him to open up about what he'd been doing.

Soon enough, it was time for the Christmas Hogsmeade weekend.

---

(1) Yes, this will be Ginny/Luna. (Congrats to those who called it.) No, they're not kissing in the Room. No, they're not having sex in the Room. I just wanted to make that clear.