Disclaimer: If I had a penny for every time I have to say I don't own Harry Potter, I wouldn't need to own it to be rich.

A Life Alone
Chapter Thirty-Five
By Loony

The rest of the Christmas holidays passed relatively peacefully for Harry. Sir had not spoken to him since his punishment had been administered, most likely because he was in a bad mood with him, and the Weasley twins had still not been let out of the Hospital Wing. For this reason, the Gryffindor tower was usually very quiet as Ron and Percy spent most of their time foisting their enjoyable company upon the two. This did leave Harry with very little to do, however, and ended up spending most of his time reading books in the library on anything that came to mind. Occasionally he took trips into the forest despite the risk of not coming out and the fact that it was forbidden. It called to him as alluringly as it had his first time in the Hospital Wing and if it were up to him, he would probably spend more of his time there but Dumbledore would probably stick his meddling nose in it if he realised what Harry had been doing.

On Christmas day, he had been surprised, though not unpleasantly so, to find that Nymph had somehow sent him a present. He had sent her one too, of course; a holder for a dagger that he had transfigured that wouldn't let anyone but her remove the knife. Nymph had gotten him a pair of black lace-up boots (she had noticed that his were becoming increasingly worn and old). At the foot of Ron's bed, there was a small, though marginally bigger than Harry's, pile of his own wrapped presents. When the other boy awoke, he immediately delved into the pile and began tearing off paper, sending it flying left, right and centre, only pausing for a moment to glance at Harry who was sitting on the floor beside his bed reading his book on potions. For a moment it had looked like Ron was going to make some snide remark about his lack of presents (not that Harry minded it) but when he saw Harry's knife lying beside him, he shut his mouth with a snap and continued to ignore him.

The rest of the day had passed pretty much like any other for Harry. Ron and Percy spent the day celebrating with Fred and George who had finally awoken and so he was not disturbed by them. The great hall had been garishly decorated with twelve huge trees, tinsel and baubles. He had sneered up at Dumbledore and the few remaining teachers before eating his meagre dinner and leaving with another sneer. There was no need to be polite now, he reasoned. Sir was not talking to him and thus could not threaten to not teach him and Harry felt that if he didn't express his dislike for the school and its inhabitants, he might explode.

All too soon the holidays were over and the rest of the castles inhabitants were returning. It was on this day that the twins were being released from the hospital wing too, so Harry did not doubt that the whole school would soon enough know what he had done to them, as he had "ordered". Harry conveniently made himself scarce in the hidden room where he normally would have been learning spells.

xXxXxX

Fred and George sank into two stuffy armchairs in the common room with identical sighs. Percy and Ron were perched on the edges of their seats, tense, as if fearing that any moment they would collapse. An irritated look was all that it took for their brothers to slink back into their own armchairs.

"Where's White?" George asked, when no one spoke.

"Oh, you needn't worry about him," Percy replied, pompous as usual. "He never comes here during the day. Too right, if you ask me. Besides, I hardly think he will try attacking anyone again any time soon; Dumbledore would have him expelled."

Fred shared a glance with George. They knew this wasn't so. If they didn't tell the student body what had occurred down by the lake, they were sure White - no, Harry Potter - wouldn't hesitate to pull his wand on them. It was all a bit confusing for them, after all, why would Harry Potter want the whole school to know that he attacked them? Why would he want to remain disguised, for that matter? The way he had looked at them, spoke to them, it had been so cold, so evil. He was the saviour of the wizarding world but then, how could he have done that to them? It was almost as if he wanted you-know-who's position for himself.

"What did Dumbledore do to punish him?" asked Fred.

"Dunno, but it can't have been light. He hasn't pulled his wand on anyone since," Ron said, shrugging dismissively. "What exactly happened down there, anyway? I mean, why'd he do it?"

To be perfectly honest, the entire affair was a tad blurry to the twins. They recalled the spells he had cast perfectly; the pain in their feet whenever they walked reminded the twins of them. Afterwards, however, when they had flickered into consciousness at the sound of Potter's howler, was all a bit vague. They recalled hearing Ron's voice; that had been why they screamed. They had been sure Ron would get help and he did. Vaguely they remembered Dumbledore, being angrier than they had ever seen him, throwing him against a tree after he had kicked them for calling him Harry Potter, in a strange accent that they had never heard from him before even when he had been trying to curse them into oblivion. Apparently he wished his true identity to remain hidden.

"We'll tell you later," Fred answered before George took over.

"We don't want to have to tell it too many times."

Right on cue, the portrait guarding the entrance to the tower swung open and admitted the rest of the Gryffindor pupils. It would seem that the Hogwarts Express had been early and they were returning to spend some time in the common room before going to the welcome back feast. The students poured in, clambering for the best seats, and were talking animatedly. It was only when the last pupil, their friend Lee Jordan, entered did anyone notice the bandages that the twins still wore.

"What happened to you?" he asked in surprise.

"White did," Ron growled. Immediately the entire common room fell silent and all attention swung to them.

Without further ado, they told their tale of what had happened. How they had followed White to find out where he always went (they did not think that he would appreciate it if they told the entire common room that they had been trying to prove that he was Harry Potter), how he had confronted them through their disillusionment charms right up to hearing his howler (though they claimed they could not hear any definite details) and Dumbledore being incredibly angry with him.

At the end of their tale, the common room erupted into angry mutters about him. Most were fearful though. Obviously they had thought that the incident when Ron had been dunked in the lake was the worst he could do. How wrong they were.

Fred and George were not really sure what to do about Potter now. Sure they were intimidated by him, maybe even a little scared, but they could not find themselves hating the boy that had defeated the Dark Lord. Who could? Sure everyone around them hated him, but they didn't know who he truly was. They would not run scared at the sight of him (and not just because they were currently incapable of running), no, if he was on the path to being a dark lord himself, they would try and stop him. As crazy as it sounded, even to them, they wanted to befriend the boy who had almost killed them.

xXxXxX

Harry had lost track of time in his reading and thus was slightly late going down to the great hall for the welcome back feast. He arrived just as the last few students were taking their places at their house tables and at his appearance in the doorway, a great hush fell over the hall and every eye turned to look at him, some in fear, some in hatred, some passive but most glaring. He returned their looks in kind with a glare of his own. "What're you lookin' at?"

He took a seat at the very end of the Gryffindor table, closest to the door and furthest away from the teachers' table and the pupils sitting nearest him scuttled away as much as they could. Murmurs replaced the hush, no doubt about him. Vaguely he wondered how the Weasley twins had managed to tell everyone so quickly. Harry knew that he was slipping, and that a little of his real accent was sliding through his facade but, though he tried to hide it, he found that he couldn't really be bothered doing too great a job of it. What difference did it really make now, anyway? The people who might have guessed who he was from it already knew. He doubted any of the teachers other than the four who knew would be able to even guess at who he really was.

The low murmurs circulating about him quietened again when Dumbledore rose gracefully to his feet. "Welcome back to a new term at Hogwarts!" he announced as if this were the most important thing in the world. "I hope you all had a very merry Christmas; I know we at Hogwarts did." Harry snorted and, at the other end of the table, he thought the Weasley twins did the same. "I am sure many of you have noticed that two of our members have injured themselves and I ask you not to pester them about it if they do now wish to answer questions."

This time he sneered; it was a bit late now to tell them not to ask questions after they all knew. Apparently they thought so too as they were rolling their eyes. Someone at one of the other tables even went as far as to shout, "We have a right to know if we might be attacked!" And of course this set off other similar shouts. Dumbledore didn't appear to be doing anything to stop them either, as mob mentality took over.

"Say tha' to my face!" Somehow he found himself on his feet, the goblet he had been calmly drinking out of thrust to the ground in anger. Somewhere amid the throng of shouts he had heard one that had stated that he had only attacked the Weasley twins for pleasure and for some reason it had struck a nerve. He really was getting rather testy these days. When Harry realized that the hall had fallen silent again and that no one knew to which shout he was referring to, he decided to give up on the hopes of eating his dinner, no matter how little he ate, in peace. Since he was unable to tell who exactly had shouted the particular comment, he settled for merely voicing his thoughts in general. "Ye're all pathetic, you know that? Can't even say something to me face. Cowards, every last one of ye. I hate you people. I hate this school an' I hate you," The very last comment directed at Dumbledore and Harry was sure that he knew it even if no one else did.

Muttering angrily to himself, Harry stormed out of the great hall, paying no heed to the chatter that immediately sprung up in his wake or the small fire that appeared to have begun burning spontaneously at the Gryffindor table. He swept through the long corridors of the castle paying no real mind to where he was headed. Why hadn't Dumbledore tried to stop the murmurs or shouts? Much as he hated the man, Harry knew that he did have a certain sway over the students and that if he had asked for quiet they would have been tripping over each other to obey. So why hadn't he? The crazy old man probably thought that he would become ashamed by the shouts and amend his ways. Crazy was definitely the best word to describe him.

Sometimes Harry found himself wondering why he had ever come to the prison that was Hogwarts. He didn't like the school, the students or the teachers and no one certainly liked him. He needed to learn magic, he knew that. How would he take revenge on Dumbledore for all that he had done if he couldn't even cast a simple spell? Still, perhaps there was another school he could go to. Not in Britain certainly; he'd have heard if there were another school besides Hogwarts but there had to be schools abroad. Where else would all the foreign witches and wizards be educated in magic? There were none at Hogwarts. No, he wouldn't be able to go to one of them. There would be a language barrier for one and Dumbledore would be sure to hunt him down and no doubt wreak havoc on wherever he decided to inhabit. Harry would not put more people in danger than was necessary. And there was that horse-guy, Jacques, and that infernal debt Harry owed him.

His wandering halted when he realized where he was. The corridor was dusty and particularly old looking. None of the torches were lit casting a deep shadow over every suit of armor and stone statue. There were no windows or portraits in this corridor. It was the forbidden one on the third floor.

Annoyed with himself, Harry turned on heel and strode away from the corridor. There was no point in being there now. Perhaps if he still had his wand he might have considered just going for it and getting the Philosopher's Stone, but now that his wand had been confiscated and he was defenseless, it didn't really seem that sensible to walk in on a three-headed dog. Absent mindedly, he wondered how he would get the stone now. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice the dark figure walking around the same corner as he until he had walked right into him.

"Oomph!" Harry glanced up at the figure and saw, to his surprise, that it was Snape.

"Well, well, Potter, not breaking rules again? Ten points from Gryffindor." Snape was looming over him now with contempt plainly written on his face.

"Ah'm sorry; I didn' realize walkin' in the corridors was a crime. Well ah'll be sure not tae do that again," replied Harry with equal contempt, sarcasm oozing off his tongue. Snape always annoyed him to no end.

Snape's hand twitched as if wishing it could go for his wand. "After that, courageous, scene you pulled at the feast, I find it hard to believe you would loiter so close to the forbidden corridor without a reason. Five points from Gryffindor for your cheek. You are just as arrogant as your pathetic father."

"At leas' ah''m not a greasy, snot nosed, overgrown bat of a professor who has tae pick on children tae make himself feel big jus' because – argh!" Harry's tirade, which in his opinion was pleasant considering some of the things he was thinking at that moment about his "professor", was cut short when the overgrown bat in question drew his wand and sent him flying into the wall behind him. Black dots swam before his eyes as pain shot through his body.

"Learn to pick your battles, Potter. Like I said, just like your good-for-nothing father. As for me, you know nothing of me." Now he was livid it appeared. Interesting.

Struggling not to pass out, Harry, being the stubborn person that he was, replied, "Ah'll get ye for tha' one, Snivellus."

"Oh really," Snapes condescending tone cut through his pounding head like a knife. "And how would you be doing that? I highly doubt that you will go to Dumbledore given your great relationship with the headmaster."

"Ye'll see." The greasy haired potions"master" took that as his cue and left Harry, in pain, still slumped against the wall. And he would get him back, too. The only question was how. Obviously he would need his wand. It was increasingly difficult to take revenge without the aid of his wand.

"If you put these stupid notions of right and wrong aside, boy, I will teach you wandless magic. That would aid you greatly, would it not? Besides, you cannot carry on as defenseless as you are. Think carefully. Remember though, the enemy of your enemy is your ally."

Harry thought over that. Sir did have a point, much as he loath to admit it. Sooner or later word would get out that he did not have access to his wand and when that time came he was sure that there were many students who would not mind taking advantage of the situation and attacking him. Sure Sir might be just as bad as Dumbledore in some ways, but maybe Harry could tolerate him. At least until he had fulfilled his purpose. His mind made up, he replied with a simple, "Okay," and that left him with only one question in his mind.

Why was Snape at the third floor corridor when everyone else was at the feast?

xXxXxX

AN: Once again I find myself writing something completely unintentional. Who keeps putting these crazy things in my story? Other than that managed to put (nearly) everything I wanted to in this chapter.

Thanks for reading and review if you have time. Loonz.