"Than fly to others"

August 1995

He was on the ramparts, the salt wind whipping through the night's air. The ruins of the castle spread out beneath him through the hills.

They never went inside.

Tom - the Dark Lord, he'd heard them call him, and it fit - was watching him. He never said a word. The Dark Lord's eyes bore into him. Why didn't He say anything? Why wouldn't He say anything?

They were on a different side of the castle this time, he noticed. Why?

But no one ever bothered them. No one else ever came out.

They were alone.

Harry stared out, watching the howling water beat against the jagged rocks. A spray of water flew up, the drops hitting his hand.

He reached out instinctively. The Dark Lord's magic was there. There was a wild air about it, an intoxicating call. But controlled. Dangerous. A danger he hadn't seen before, hadn't recognized as a child. He pulled himself away.

There were others in the castle. But their magic was tamed, muzzled like dogs. He felt sorry for them for a moment.

What did his magic feel like?

The Dark Lord wanted to answer, he could tell. Why wouldn't he?

He had the odd feeling the Dark Lord was waiting. But for what, he didn't know.

Harry stared at the ceiling as he woke, the question still burning in his mind.

Harry threw the pebble across the grass. Above the garden, crows circled; one dived, picking at the pebble as it landed. Something echoed in his mind, but he ignored the tug, just as he'd done all summer.

But he couldn't stop the dreams each night.

He had an odd memory, of standing in a garden just like this one on a hazy summer day. The watchers had been watching them. His mother and Sirius had been talking. What had they said? He couldn't remember.

Tom had been in his head then.

The sun beat down, the cold heat burning his skin.

He'd begun his training again. The guilt from his admittance that he'd forgotten still bit at him.

The Dark Lord had been pleased at that, he could feel it.

He could still taste the wind on his tongue when he woke up that morning.

Stay out of my head, he begged. He didn't know who he was speaking to. Himself? The Dark Lord?

What did he want? Trust. Someone, anyone, he could trust.

His 'd hugged him, the last time she'd seen him. He could still see her dark hair.

His father. He could trust his father, couldn't he?

Where were they?

Who was right? Was it just a question of how many they bodies lined up? Or did each death count differently?

If so, who was responsible for Crouch's death?

Potter had waved it away. But he didn't know what he was saying, did he?

The call echoed again through his mind. He pushed it away halfheartedly.

The patio door slid open behind him. "Harry, we'd better get going." Aunt Petunia paused behind him. "Those crows just won't leave the house alone," she said uneasily.

"They're harmless." Harry got up slowly, wiping the dirt off his jeans. He shook his left leg awake.

"They may be watching your friends' owls." Aunt Petunia turned to go inside with him. "With the - the unrest you mentioned. That happened sometimes, when your mother was in school."

For a second, he considered asking his aunt about his mother. But she didn't know anything, and the subject pained her. Whoever had left him at her house had left him there without a word or a warning.

"Hermione's still in the muggle world."

"Still."

The train ride into London was uneventful. "You really didn't need to come," Harry protested, as they neared the entrance to Diagon Alley. "I didn't mean to make you take the day off -"

"And I told you not to worry about it," his aunt countered. "Besides, I already had the day off from the office, and I don't need to be at the pub until this evening."

Harry held his wand to the stones, repeating the pattern Sirius had taught him.

"Gringotts first?" Aunt Petunia sounded calm, but Harry could tell she was a little overwhelmed by the deafening crowds. He drew closer to her as they made their way down to the grand marble building. " It's a lot... livelier than it used to be."

Harry tensed up as well. He'd expected - well, he didn't expect this. The shops were just as bustling as normal; everywhere, witches and wizards passed by with smiles. Just a few months ago Dumbledore and Charles Potter had stood up and announced the return of the Dark Lord. On the train back to London, mild chaos had ensured at the words - but here, now, there was none of that chaos.

He glanced at one of the bookstores as they walked through. "Charles Potter: Brat Who Lived" screamed the bright cover of a fresh pile of books.

"Huh."

"What?"

"Oh, nothing." Harry followed his aunt into the bank, their footsteps echoing on the hard marble floor.

"I'd like to change some pounds into galleons, please," she asked the teller. "No, Harry, don't worry, I have this." She waved him off.

"Name?"

"Petunia." The goblin raised an eyebrow. Harry glanced up, distracted by a flash of red behind the tellers - was that Ginny? But it wasn't, though the older boy looked like one of her brothers. He could have sworn the boy had been staring at him... By the time he looked back up, his aunt had finished.

Behind them, someone was starting to yell. "Come along," she said, her voice crisp. "Better get going."

"Please sit down, Mr. Potter." The goblin walked over to the door and closed it. He sighed. It'd been nice to have a breeze in the stuffy office.

James Potter smiled sheepishly. "You know, it really just slipped my mind. It's been a while."

"Of course, Lord Potter... but please understand, procedure must be followed."

The petulant child was still standing up. Ignoring him, Bogrod took his space up behind the desk.

"I will not be made to wait around like a - like a - like some nobody," the child sneered. "This is all about those silly -"

"No, the goblin is right, Charles," his father said, trying to calm him down. "It's my fault, I should have remembered. Mister - what was your name again?"

Bogrod just glared at him.

"Isn't there anything we can do?" Potter said with a winning smile, completely unperturbed. "Charles is right, having to wait to complete such a simple ritual is a bit of a hassle -"

"Naming someone as the heir to the lordship is not a simple ritual, Lord Potter," Bogrod said, cutting him off. "It is a lengthy ritual - there are steps that must be followed, and preparations to be made. We are more than willing to take the steps to complete it later today -"

"Where's your manager?" the child demanded imperiously. "This is absurd and insulting. I'm my dad's only son, I should be his heir."

Next to him, Potter shifted uncomfortably.

"Not available."

"Charles -"

Bogrod smiled thinly as the boy stormed out of his office, followed by his father.

"Why were you sitting with the sixth years at the feast last night?" Hermione slid into the seat next to him as the other Slytherins began to file into Defense.

Harry didn't look up from the book. "Came in late. Just took the empty seat."

"I mean, we would have made room." She started to take out her summer homework. "It's really not that big of a deal."

"No," Harry said shortly. "It's not."

"Harry -"

"Funny how you want to talk now." Harry cut her off as he closed the book and put it back in his bag. "I mean, there was all summer, but I'm sure you weren't free to write one measly -"

"I did write you," Hermione protested. "I sent you three letters - didn't you get them?"

Harry snorted. "What are you suggesting, that the letters got lost in the mail?"

"Of course not." Hermione looked at him in surprise. "I sent them by owl. I figured you just didn't want to talk -"

He rolled his eyes. "I did. But whatever."

"Harry - I really did try." She bit her lip. "I'm really sorry, but I seriously did try."

"Whatever."

"Harry -"

"Look," he said, running a hand through his hair. "Let's just move on. It's not a big deal."

"I mean, it kind of clearly is," Hermione said with a frown. "I wasn't ignoring -"

"Oh don't worry," Harry said shortly. "It wasn't just you."

"Harry - oh, for fuck's sake." Harry looked up at his friend in surprise. "Tracey was in China the entire summer for her dad's job, she told us that last spring, remember? And Draco -" her voice dropped to a whisper. "Draco is basically under house arrest with his family, you know that. So quit being an ass. I'm sorry my letters got lost, but it's not like you were sending me any yourself."

Harry bit his lip. "Oh. Right."

"Oh. Right. Yeah." Hermione rolled her eyes, her voice tart.

"... I'm sorry."

Hermione sighed. "I mean, just think things through next time, will you? And remember you have friends. You could talk to us about what's bothering you - not the letters, I mean whatever happened last spring..."

"It's nothing -"

"We'll talk about nothing later than." Hermione opened her book as the door to the new professor's office opened and the bell rang.

In front of them, Daphne turned around, twisting in her seat. "Guys," she said urgently. "Say 'Good morning, Professor Umbridge'."

"What?" Harry hissed in confusion next to her.

"Just say it," Daphne said urgently. "Blaise said Pansy told him that Tracey got some info from the third years. Pass it on."

Delicately, the witch made her way down the spiraling staircase, her hand perched innocently on the railing. But as she came down to her desk, Hermione found a shiver run through her. The new professor was a sight in a horrendous mixture of pinks, her hair carefully done in curls more suited to a five year old. The entire thing reminded Hermione much more of a child than an adult, a combination just so entirely wrong that it nearly made her retch.

"Ahem." Her sickly sweet voice was just altogether worse, but Hermione caught herself before she missed Daphne's advice.

"Good morning, Professor Umbridge," the Slytherins said in unison.

The Gryffindors' half of the room echoed in silence.

Professor Umbridge frowned with a smile.

"In the future, children," she said, walking slowly until she was in front of Lavender Brown's desk, "you will say, 'Good morning, Professor Umbridge'."

Someone - Weasley - whispered something. Potter sniggered loudly.

The room fell quiet. Hermione winced.

"Discipline is the most important skill you will learn in this class," Umbridge said slowly, tracing a desk with her hand. "Second, perhaps, is respect. I understand this is a concept many of you are unfamiliar with."

She came to a stop in front of Potter and Weasley's desk.

"And what are your names?"

Potter looked up at her in shock.

"... Potter?" he said with a sneer. Weasley tried to hold in a laugh, but failed.

"Your names." Professor Umbridge beamed.

Weasley gulped. "Ron - Ronald Weasley."

"Charles." Potter scowled. "Charles Potter."

"Ronald Weasley and Charles Potter. Very good." Professor Umbridge seemed to turn the words over in her mouth. "Detention, I think. 7 pm."

Potter's mouth dropped. "You can't -"

"Tomorrow as well." Umbridge smiled sweetly. "Is that all?"

The Gryffindor shut up, something dark passing over his face.