In the last chapter: Harry and Philias make an Unbreakable Vow and Harry convinces Phil to deliver the stone to Voldemort after showing Phil he is invulnerable by . . . well, by dying. Phil takes the stone to Voldemort and is accepted into their little band of Death Eaters for the time being. Voldemort now has the Philosopher Stone and Phil is working undercover for Harry.
A week after Harry gave Voldemort the Philosopher Stone, the teen sent a letter to his informant, Philias. According to the letter he received the next day, nothing really definitive had happened yet. Voldemort didn't call on Philias often, but the few fleeting times he had, Philias had caught wind of him sending Barty Crouch Jr. to the Ministry several times while under polyjuice potion as different Ministry employees. The Auror didn't know the details, but he did know that Voldemort was trying to do something that involved their government.
When Philias met with Voldemort, mostly the Dark Lord would have long conversations with him about the state of the Ministry and general public—since the other two Death Eaters had spent their time either in Azkaban or in hiding. He also seemed to be testing Philias to see where his own sympathies lie. Harry was mildly concerned when Green said that he had been relatively honest with the Dark Lord about things less sensitive (unlike blood purity and muggles, which would be big no-no's with a red slash through them on the list of things safe to talk about) but Philias insisted that Voldemort was alright as long as he didn't sound like he'd turned light and nothing suggested that Philias planned on getting in the way of any of his plans.
After that, Harry continued to contact Philias Green weekly to keep updated on his plans. During that time, Harry threw himself back into studying Death's book and learning Necromancy. The spells and rituals grew more complex and Harry had to push through his own limitations many times in order to wield his magic with the accuracy of an adult. Never before had it been so important or dangerous for him to have control over his magic so that he didn't over or under power a spell. And never had it felt so amazing to do magic.
If he had to put it into words, he would describe it as being a flightless bird all his life and then one day suddenly being able to soar above the sky. The magic wasn't addicting or harmful to him, it was more like stepping into a warm bath after a long day or having sore muscles rubbed into utter relaxation—not something he needed to feel, but something he very much wanted to feel.
Harry didn't get as much time to himself to learn, though. That summer, the Malfoys had decided not to go on vacation because Lucius' work had become quite busy in the warming months. This meant that not only was Harry getting visits from Anthony and Hermione, but also Draco, who was quite headstrong in his need to spend time with Harry—which usually meant either flying around on brooms in the wide expanse of grass behind Malfoy Manor, or going from shop to shop so that Draco could satiate his hunger for material things.
Harry enjoyed every moment he spent with his friends, but between his secret life with trying to save Voldemort and his busy public life with his friends and family, things were becoming hectic.
Which only got crazier when, during the third week of July, Harry had a dream that was anything but a dream.
Harry didn't dream often, but when he did it was usually either of the ethereal scenes he'd glimpsed of the afterlife or memories coated in the foggy haze of unconsciousness. So, when Harry emerged from the darkness of slumber to being seated before a kneeling man with shaggy auburn hair, beady dark eyes, and a tick where his tongue darted between his teeth for a brief moment to leave his bottom lip shining with saliva, he knew to be concerned.
His worry and confusion only grew when he realized he could no longer control his body. A passenger behind eyes that weren't his. Before his lethargic mind could piece together where he was—who he was—his mouth was already forming words in a voice that stopped all of his thoughts at once.
"Barty, I trust that you've had success with your task, otherwise you would not come without being called." The dangerous words were only made more terrifying by the sibilant hiss they were spoken with. The man—Barty—paled slightly but didn't flinch or back down.
"Yes, my lord. Britain's relations with several countries across Europe, including France, have been deteriorating over the years and the Ministry was all too eager to approve the tournament. They have already sent liaisons to France, America, Sweden, Spain, and China to get the two competing schools they'll need. I am confident that we will get at least two." Barty answered, a twisted smile tugging at the corners of mouth, making him look almost shark-like.
Harry could feel Voldemort's own smile and approving nod.
"What of the school board? They will need to approve as well for it to take place and I have no doubt that Albus will stand in the way."
"I have already met with most of those on the board and the majority have been swayed towards approving the tournament. There's no need to be concerned, my lord, we will easily outnumber him." Here, Barty paused, looking highly uncomfortable and hesitant with whatever he was about to say. "My lord . . . forgive me for asking, but . . . is this truly necessary? Wouldn't it be easier to simply grab the boy and apparate away?" The fierce glare Barty received made it clear that his lack of faith was not appreciated.
"Yes, Barty, it is! Potter is either constantly in the presence of Albus and his lackeys, his guardians, or at Hogwarts. If we were to just pluck him off the street, it would cause too big of a fight and we would not have enough time to complete the ritual before they found us. We need to get Potter off school grounds without anyone noticing for at least a few hours. Now leave me before I change my mind and see fit to punish you for your insolence!" Voldemort growled and the other man bowed with his nose close to the floor like a house elf would before fleeing the room.
In a bellow of rage, Voldemort wandlessly lashed out with his magic and the destruction around the room was devastating. The force of the malevolent magic cast Harry out and a moment later he jolting into awareness in the darkness of his room. Harry's breathing was erratic and labored as he twisted his finger into the sweaty black locks on his head and fisted his hands over his temples as they pounded something fierce. Harry's whole body shook in pain and second-hand fury as it felt like his head was splitting open and sharp claws were plunging in.
Harry tried to orient and get himself back under control as the pain rocketed through his body and left him trembling. When he'd finally calmed down enough to think and the pain had eased to something bearable, Harry sat up in bed and dropped one hand while the other shifted to his forehead over his scar which was flushed and inflamed and damp with either sweat or blood, perhaps both.
Harry took a deep breath and swiped the errant tears from his cheeks as he cataloged what he remembered from the 'dream.' When he was sure that no details would be lost to his waking mind, Harry turned to his friend who had sensed his distress and waited patiently for Harry to explain what had happened. Harry quickly went through the events of his 'dream.'
'Interesting, you're right, I don't believe that what you had was a dream either. It appears that you've unintentionally visited Tom's mind without him being aware.' Death's voice sounded intrigued if not a little distracted. Harry frowned at the answer that really wasn't much an answer at all.
"What do you mean? How is that possible? I don't know how to do legilimency and even if I did, that certainly was it. Is it because of the gifts you gave me, or perhaps what I've been learning?" Harry asked verbally, not having spoken aloud to his friend in a long time. He knew that the other two in the house were asleep and his frazzled mind made caution difficult anyways.
His companion audibly sighed and Harry's frown deepened. He knew there were very few secrets between him and Death, so it's reasonable that Harry worried over the implications of Death's reluctance to answer.
"If there's something you're not telling me, out with it! You know that I am not one easily shaken, so do not act like I cannot take whatever it is that you have to say—especially if it concerns my 'dream' since that has obviously had some kind of effect on me." Harry interrupted the silence, not having the patience for dishonesty.
'I have never really had need to keep anything from you, Harry, but I will confess that there is something I have been withholding. I thought that telling you too early might complicate things, but since it is just about time to combine the Horcruxes, I suppose it's as good of a time as any.' Harry's confusion mounted and he waited quietly for his friend to continue.
'Voldemort's last Horcrux was unintentional; in fact, he has no knowledge of its existence. The last Horcrux is the one I purposefully left out of our search because it is the smallest and will be useful to maintain in the future. You see, Harry, the night that Voldemort killed you—and consequently, himself—he inadvertently split his soul once more and created another Horcrux. Before your soul entered the veil, the soul fragment latched onto yours because it was not contained in a body that would try to reject the foreign entity. When I returned you to your body, it was with his soul as well. The fragment is so small that it hasn't effected your development or character at all, but it has turned you into a Horcrux and therefore linked you to Voldemort in such a way that non-physical contact is possible.'
Harry's mind whirled at the news and his hand still over his scar absently rubbed at it.
"How-How is that even possible? I never heard of something living becoming a Horcrux."
'That's because, normally, it would be pointless. A Horcrux is a way to avoid dying, but living things are meant to die. However, because you're immortal, the Horcrux is indeed effective for as long as you remain immortal. It is why all the other Horcruxes can be returned to Voldemort, because they are no longer needed.' Death answered, sounding calm and casual about a topic that was anything but casual and calm-inducing.
"So, what you're saying is that, as long as I'm immortal, he will be as well. When I decide to give up my immortality, he will be mortal when I die." Harry reasoned and Death didn't comment on his use of 'when' and not 'if.' Knowing that it was inside him did not suddenly make him aware of the Horcrux as one might think they feel when they find out that there is a fetus or tumor inside them, convinced that they can feel it 'growing.' Harry felt no 'dark' influences growing like a parasite on his soul, infecting it and changing him from the inside out. He felt like . . . Harry, just Harry. Considering the way in which the soul splits with each Horcrux, there was only just over one percent of Voldemort's soul within him, assuming that it hadn't grown or fused with his own by then.
'Correct, and should you ever need to make him fully mortal, all you would actually need to do is die and then ask that I remove the fragment before you return to your body. This way, we know that the last Horcrux is safe and will never fall into the wrong hands.' Which meant that the Horcrux was still removable and probably unchanging over the years.
"It must be the reason for how I react to the other Horcruxes." Harry pondered aloud, not even contemplating that his friend would purposefully tell him anything but the truth. "And what of Voldemort, will we be telling him about any of this?" Harry decided to ask, his mind already working through the possible repercussions of being Voldemort's Horcrux.
'Well, that all depends on circumstance, on how Tom is after the resurrection. Either he will take the easy route and see his actions as justified and not his responsibility, or he will acknowledge what he's done and change his path. The way I see it, you have four viable options with their own different outcomes. You could tell him about the Horcrux and not your immortality, which would probably lead him to protecting you or hiding you away whether or not you want that because he will see you as a vulnerability. You could tell him about the Horcrux and your immortality, which would let him know about his own immortality and may not effectively change that path he decides to take while also allowing him to know of your abilities.
'The last two options are perhaps the riskiest. You could tell him about your immortality and not the Horcrux, it would make him think he's mortal and he'd probably seek out your abilities—either through me or taking them from you, which is not possible, I assure you. Lastly, you could tell him about neither and he would believe his is truly mortal. The last option could go either way—he could accept his mortality and become more cautious and rational, or he could once again seek out immortality through Horcruxes, thinking that by making only a few this time around, he will be fine. In truth, he would still become insane, but more powerful and intelligent than last time around.
'All of these options have both pros and cons, so it truly depends on the circumstances after the resurrection and what you decide to do. Ultimately, it is your decision to make and there is no 'right' answer. After the resurrection, I have no doubts that Tom will not be in a right state. He was not even fully grown when he began halving his soul and meddling in dangerous and self-destructive magics, so it will take time for him to re-find himself and reestablish his own personal view and belief system. He will have more experience with the world than he'd had as a bitter young man in the middle of two devastating wars in both of his worlds. We will not know the outcome of rejoining his soul once again until the time comes, but I am confident that something will change for him.' Death finished.
Harry sat in silence for a long while, trying to contemplate on all of the enormous things he'd learned in such a short amount of time. By then, the young Ravenclaw had summoned a cool damp hand towel to wipe away the drying sweat on his face and back of his neck and to then press it to the still inflamed scar on his forehead. Leaning back against the headboard, he thought.
Suddenly remembering the 'dream' he'd explained to his friend earlier, Harry sat up straight again and asked Death what he thought about it.
'Ah, yes, that's right. Well, considering what they'd said, I would say that they are talking about the Triwizard Tournament.' Death sounded intrigued once again.
"What's that?" The name sounded vaguely familiar, like Harry had skimmed over a page without really reading it and only remembers the image of the word in print rather than what it meant. It was not a feeling he enjoyed.
'It's a tournament that would take place between three competing schools over a century ago. A tournament of dangerous feats in uncontrollable environments led to the death of many students, so it was eventually disbanded. From what they had said, it would seem that they will be using the tournament to capture you for the resurrection. They may use the events as a distraction to take you while the wards are allowing so many non-students to come and go, or they might want you in the events themselves to somehow get to you then.
'However, if my memory serves me right, the last few tournaments had strict age restrictions on who could enter to be a champion and represent the school. They are most likely to use the former, so you would probably do best to avoid the events and stay somewhere safe and unexpected like the room of requirement or the Chamber. Either way, it is good to know what they're planning and relatively how soon the resurrection will take place.' Harry nodded along, suddenly agreeing with Barty in how unnecessary and complicated the plan was, especially if Harry was going along with it and could make it easier for them to just grab him.
But the plan of a madman was unlikely to make sense.
'You should rest, Harry. You will need your strength if we hope to combine the Horcruxes soon and you will probably want to owl Phil in the morning about what you'd learned.' Death was already easing away, deeper into the veil and a bone-deep exhaustion once again claimed Harry as he shuffled back down into his warm covers. Harry fell asleep on his side, the damp towel pressed between the side of his forehead and the pillow as his legs subconsciously curled up close and the thick down duvet was a welcome weight all around him.
Philias was certainly surprised when he found out from Harry about the tournament, if his letter back was anything to go by. A week later was his birthday, which brought the various friends and their families over to celebrate and reconnect. Even Ginny had shown up with Luna and Ginny's parents.
Molly Weasley certainly lived up to her reputation as the over-protective and mothering matriarch of the family. She had pulled Harry into a crushing hug when he offered his hand and had muttered into his ear how grateful they all were for what Harry had done for Ginny her first year and the year following. Harry had been red-faced and highly uncomfortable by the time Mrs. Weasley finally released him—thanks to Ginny coming to his rescue and batting her mother away in embarrassment.
Mr. Weasley made Harry far less uncomfortable and thankfully only shook his hand when it was offered. The two of them got on quite well as Harry politely asked him about his work and listened to the fascinated ramblings of a man who truly loved his job. Eventually, Arthur told Harry about the invitation he and his family received from his work to attend that year's Quidditch World Cup. He asked that Harry join him and his family—Hermione had already been asked by Ginny, who she'd grown closer to recently, and would be joining them—apparently, Ginny wanted to ask Harry as well but was a little shy about it since they usually only wrote once a week over the summer instead of visiting each other. His son, Ron, had been all for Hermione joining them, Mr. Weasley informed Harry of Ronald's 'little crush' on Hermione with a teasing smile and some reminiscent sighing about 'young love.'
Draco had been passing by when Arthur had mentioned the world cup and soon ducked in on the conversation—even though he looked reluctant to be chatting with Arthur—informing them that Draco would be going as well with Lucius. Before Harry could politely decline, Draco jumped in by offering to take Anthony with as his guest so that they could all go together. Harry sighed inwardly, knowing that his friends would never allow him to opt out of a big gathering between them, so he accepted gratefully, cloaking the reluctance in his voice.
Aside from that small encounter, the Weasleys and Malfoys pointedly avoided and ignored each other the entire time to circumvent any nasty fights that might break out. Harry was grateful, not liking it when one or the other would stay away just because of an old family feud that had started with their ancestors. Otherwise the rest of the party went swimmingly.
Sirius and Remus had been incredibly excited about Harry being able to go to the World Cup. Harry had wanted them to come as well, but Sirius had a mind-healer session that day and it was a full moon for Remus. Sirius had yet to miss a single session with his mind-healer and Harry along with Remus couldn't be prouder of him. Every day that Sirius got a little bit better, something tight in Harry's chest became a little bit looser and a little bit easier to breathe. There were still rough days, but they were become less and less frequent and the good days were getting better.
He knew that mind-healers were not the cure-all and Sirius would never be as he was before Azkaban. To completely forget all of the time he'd sacrificed there would be to disregard what he'd survived through and hiding away a part of himself that would never go away. Wounds may heal but the scars were always with you. As cliché as that was, it was true. As Sirius got better, his mind-healer sessions became less frequent, but he still never missed a single one or complained about having to go.
The day after Harry's party, Harry received his slightly belated birthday gift from his companion in the form of a thick piece of parchment laying on his pillow when he awoke. When Harry realized what it was, he nearly had a heart attack and jumped out of bed to get dressed. Thankfully, both of his guardians were preoccupied when he got up. Remus had way too much to drink the night before and had thought that firewhiskey and birthday cake were a perfect mix, so the wolf had locked himself in his room with a bucket beside the bed so that he could alternate between throwing up and passion out. All the while Sirius reverently took care of his partner—since the man had given up alcohol recently since he did not trust himself not to make it a habit, another thing that they were both incredibly proud of him for.
Since they were both busy, it was easy for Harry to collect a few of the items he needed and to disappear upstairs into his 'training room.' They morning was shining bright in golden iridescent beams coming through the windows and cutting out rectangular shapes on the wooden floors. Harry's bright and eager fair face glowed in the reflection of light off the floor boards as he knelt to begin setting up.
His companion had finally given him the spell that could reconnect the Horcruxes. Harry had already skimmed through the book at one point, curiosity making him seek out the spell to study it early, but a page had clearly been ripped out close to the end of the last chapter, much to the young teen's ire. The instructions and incantations were rather simplistic, but it was a dangerous spell to get wrong and required enormous amounts of magic—more than Harry had ever performed before!
Harry could feel the excitedly buzzing magic within the Horcruxes as he set them aside to set everything else up.
With him, Harry had also brought a large ceramic mixing bowl from the kitchen and a few other ingredients. Harry quickly filled the bowl with water and performed a small cleansing spell on both to rid them of any traces of magic that they may have been in contact with so as not to compromise the sensitive spell.
Once that was done, Harry grabbed his first ingredient that had come from his own personal secret stores and had been used in a few other Necromancy rituals—Thestral blood. The blood was dark indigo in color and would serve as a conduit or transference fluid for the soul magic. The water immediately turned nearly black in color before he added the next ingredient. Harry added dried flakes of crumbled mint leaves, several roots from a belladonna plant, seven flight feathers from a raven, and three drops of venom a poisonous snake (his animagus form). When Harry was done, the mixture inside the bowl turned as white and opaque as milk without a single clump floating on the surface.
Next, Harry grabbed his customary charcoal stick for spells and began drawing a large circle around the bowl, making it about five feet in diameter so that there'd be enough room for him to sit with the bowl at the dead center. Along the outside of the circle, Harry drew the necessary ruins with absolute accuracy as he willed all of his focus into getting them right. Along the inside, he wrote the given passage in the language of the dead, coming to an end right where he started. The circle was not only to amplify Harry's powers and aid in the actual spell, but also to protect everything outside of the circle from possible destruction if the spell were to go wrong, which he greatly appreciated.
With everything set up, Harry exhaled sharply and sat down before the bowl with anticipation squeezing his heart extra hard with each pump. One by one, Harry placed the Horcruxes into the bowl. He placed and stacked them in order of when they were made, with the diary at the bottom and Helga's cup at the top. The only one Harry left out was the locket, which would be what Harry was transferring the others into since it would be the easiest to carry on him and conceal. The ring may be smaller, but it would be difficult to explain away the ring if Dumbledore caught him with it, while he had the excuse of just happening upon the locket while exploring his own house.
Taking a deep breath to prepare himself, knowing that he would only get one shot, Harry shook out his limbs, grabbed the locket, held it by the chain directly over the bowl, and began the first incantation.
The swell of magic was immediate and a little alarming, though Harry focused harder so as not to react. The magic collected in his chest until he couldn't feel himself breathing or his heart pumping over the peculiar sensation that came along with Necromancy that was suddenly being amplified, by a lot. Harry moved onto the second incantation and the magic slowly began to descend down the inner curve of his spine until it reach low in his gut below his navel and continued to grow. A warm and pleasant sensation began to bleed out into the rest of Harry's body.
He was thankful that the next incantation was only a few short words, as it would seem his concentration was slipping through his fingers by the moment and soon the spell would come to a point where all he had to do was hold the locket over the bowl and let the spell do its work. It was also the most dangerous point in the spell because if one didn't have enough magical stores, the spell would drain them to the point of magical exhaustion and eventually take their life in an attempt to finish the spell.
Harry's breath became more of a pant and his eyes slid shut as he finished the last word and the magic continued to build inside him like the gathering of a tsunami that would eventually hit his shores and drown him in whatever this was. His spine started to arch and his head tilted back as his breath began to flutter in and out, his mind drowned in something he'd never felt before. Like the intoxicating tingle of honey wine had submerged all of his synapses and he could barely do anything other than sit back, keep his arm aloft, and drift into oblivion.
Harry felt his cheeks flush and his long-sleeved robes suddenly felt too hot and constricting as sweat beaded on his brow and dip of his lower back. Magic clogged his every vein and he wasn't sure how much more he could withstand when there was this sudden overflow of magic and sensation and he sucked in a breath as his eyes flew open and time seemed to stop while his body opened up like a bird pushing out from a too-small shell and for a moment Harry was weightless and mindless and moments dragged on for eternity as he didn't dare breathe and disrupt whatever was happening. It was like everything he was feeling—everything he was seeing —was just too much and yet not enough at the same time. Harry released the breath in his lungs and was too far away from himself to note the strange sound that came out of him when he exhaled. It didn't matter right then.
It was amazing. Amazing. Amazing. . .
He never wanted it to end. His head canted to the side and his toes curled as his empty hand fisted his robes tightly, until his joints ached and forearm began to cramp.
But all too soon, he crested some invisible hill and began his decent back down as all the energy was sapped from Harry's body and he collapsed to the side, breathing heavily like he'd just ran laps around the black lake. Harry curled his legs up close to him and settled on the wooden floors like they were the softest bed he'd ever had the luxury of lying on. The ghost of sensations still drifted through his veins like thick honey and he pressed his flush cheek against the cool wood as he tried to settle his racing heart.
Harry's mind slowly came back to him in little pieces that had to glue themselves together and when he remembered what he'd been doing, he panicked for a moment, worried he had fallen over before the spell had completed, but when he pulled the chain still clutched tightly in his hand up and touched the warm surface of the locket, he felt the surge of magic immediately and pulled his hand away like it had burned him when he felt the magic race up his arm, close to overstimulating his already spent body and mind.
Harry set the locket down a foot away from him and stayed on the floor, feeling pleasantly drained and completely unwilling to move a muscle for the rest of his life. Eventually, though, Harry was settled enough to let his own befuddlement at the back of his mind rush to the forefront. Harry sat back up and when he spoke aloud (thankfully the silencing spells were all up and in place) his voice was higher than he'd expected and his cheeks warmed even more.
"What in the bloody hell was that?!" Harry demanded of his companion and glared at the open air before him when he heard his friend chuckle in response.
''That' would be what I had mentioned before, sometimes this magic—depending on the type of spell and its strength—can be . . . 'rewarding.' As I mentioned, some are more rewarding than others.' The smug teasing in his friend's voice made Harry scoff.
"'Rewarding?' That was more than 'rewarding' and you know it! I have never felt that before in my life!" Harry exclaimed, ignoring the stubbornly insistent burning in his cheeks that was climbing down his neck.
'Well I'd say it was about time! You're well into puberty and most humans your age are already engaging in a healthy amount of self-exploratory behaviors to help with easing the influx of horm-' Harry quickly cut him off.
"Wait a minute, you're telling me that that was-. . . that I- . . . I-?" Harry couldn't choke the words out as realization dawned on him and his eyes went huge and he felt like running back to bed and going to sleep to hide from his own mind.
Death chuckled heartily. 'If I do recall, haven't you been the one who's been quite the advocate for everyone's healthy sexuality?' Death teased and Harry really wished he could throw something at him like a child.
It was true, though. He had always been the one to think about sex with clinical logicality without ever really being able to reflect what he knew onto himself because he didn't think he would experience it with the same ferocity as the other boys in his year who were beginning to notice girls like someone would notice a sledge hammer to the face. Harry knew he was going through puberty, he was having growth spurts and the childish roundness to his face was becoming sharper and more mature in appearance—and how he wished he could forget the way attention from the majority of the other students was morphing into something not so much the innocent fascination that he'd been used to.
But Harry didn't think he was experiencing the other more . . . unsavory bits of puberty like the sudden appearances of acne that seemed to come overnight, the uncontrollable body odor that refused to lose the battle to deodorant and spells alike, the sparse hairs that some boys displayed proudly on their chins or chests as a sign of 'manhood,' the barrage of mood swings and the seemingly random bouts of pink cheeks and hunched postures when a certain 'mood' hit them.
Harry hadn't noticed any of these in himself aside from perhaps a few uninvoked cases of irritability, so he figured he'd either be a late bloomer or one of those lucky few who coasted through the distasteful period in life known as puberty. But now, as he furiously cleaned up the spell supplies and shoved the locket into his pocket so he could make a quick escape, he wasn't so sure and he was terrified of what may come.
{Now leave me alone you fiend!} Harry shouted into the open air and fled from the room as raucous laughter trailed after him and mocked him all the way down to his room where he could finally escape. His friend took mercy and left Harry alone to deal with his strange mix of embarrassment over what had happened and excitement over having successfully combined the Horcruxes into one.
Harry buried his burning face into his soft pillow and groaned, trying hard to forget the noise he'd made earlier that could only be described as a 'moan.' He wished he knew how to obliviate himself and un-realize that perhaps the spelled shut and silenced curtains in his dorm might not have always been just the other boys wishing to have some alone time to study in peace like he had. And then he thought about the weird looks he got all of the many, many times he'd done that to his own curtains for long periods of time, he suddenly longed for his mortality if only to be able to die in that moment.
He had a long year ahead of him. . .
