Disclaimer: I'm not JK Rowling and I make no money off of this

Warnings: minor swearing, etc.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

The boy stepped through the portrait door, running his hands intermittently over the rough-hewn stone walls, and exhaling with great heaving breaths. Nausea gushed in the pit of his stomach, slickening his insides with barely contained dread that made his throat expand involuntary.

He was glad to be out of Slytherin territory; out of the dungeons. They were much too green, much too silver, just like... just like that vision. Just like the floo place. And the shadows that lined Dumbledore's wrinkled face. The green from an Avada Kedavra curse that struck Cedric like a bolt of lightning, wrenching the soul from the body, leaving the eyes a vat of lifeless gray tinged with that green.

Yes, he'd be much happier with red and orange. A brilliant, glowing red that-that had no resemblance to blood whatsoever, student's blood... No, no, a good red, not a red that's too dark. And an auspicious orange, and orange one would associate with luck rather than with fire eating tiny local markets and book stores. Eating people.

A good, good, orange. A happy orange. The orange of a half-melted sherbet from Florean Fortescue's that maybe sat out in the sun just a little too long.

And a good, good, red. The red sparks that shot out of his wand the first time he held it, a warm red. Like flannel lining the inside of a wool jacket.

He paused, feeling like he was going to keel over if he thought too hard, and plopped onto the common room couch.

He shut his eyes, bowing his head low to where it almost touched his knees, and startled slightly when he felt a weight on his shoulder. "Fawkes?"

'Child...'

He leaned back, arching his neck over the back of the couch and keeping his eyes shut as Fawkes readjusted himself.

'Has something happened?'

Harry peeked one eye open, vision roaming over the expanse of ceiling that hung low over his head, "Is Dumbledore one of the good guys?"

'He tries his best,' the phoenix answered carefully, bowing his head, 'Yet you know full well I do not like that man.'

"Do you think that he'd..." the boy paused, mouth twitching, "He'd ever intentionally try and hurt me? Indirectly, maybe?"

'If he thought it was for the best,' the bird's plumage puffed into the air much like how a dog's hackles raise, 'That man would do anything, no matter the sacrifice.'

His voice dropped to a whisper, "Am I going to die out there? Is he sending me out to die?"

Fawkes' talons gripped more harshly into his shoulder, 'Don't do this, child, please, don't go to Hogsmeade-'

"We've talked about this," His tone was unsettled like the stirring of heavy silt yet was final like sedimentary rocks hardened over millions of years, "There are some things that have to be done."

The bird ruffled his feathers, 'Sometimes, you sound too much like him,' he paused for a long moment, adding, 'What is it that you are planning?'

"I can stay for breakfast to see my friends," said the boy, grimacing, "But right after I have to get going."

'And at Hogsmeade?'

"I don't know," he admitted, pushing at his forehead with his palms, "I don't even know if I'll be able to stop him, the goal's to get as many people away from Hogsmeade as possible."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

"So everything is going to go as planned, right?" Harry leaned closer into the huddle, every now and again scanning over his shoulder suspiciously.

George and Fred simultaneously straightened up, saluting him, "Yessir."

The boy grappled with his robes, patting his left pocket, "And you're sure you can distract them so as few people as possible get on the train?"

Another salute, "Yessir."

"And you two really don't mind how much trouble you're going to get in?" The boy's stomach tightened; if they turned back now...

"Dear Harrison," began Fred, grinning lopsidedly.

"We've been wanting to get back at Umbridge for a long, long time..." the other twin proceeded.

"Besides, we've got a business to run!"

The boy let out a large sigh, trying to keep the tired look from his face, "Thanks, really, this means more than you'll ever know."

If he weren't so worn down, Harry could've sworn he saw the two exchange meaningful glances to each other- as if they were instantaneously having some sort of private and concerned conversation that he was barging in on.

"What sorts of devious things are you planning down at Hogsmeade yourself?" George clapped a large, burly hand on his shoulder, drawing him in.

"Wouldn't want to ruin the surprise," he smiled weakly, looking far more grim than falsely happy, "Now remember, see the sign, and you immediately start... don't hold back."

The two paused, both eyeing him for a moment, having similar expressions of lingering doubt. It was quiet and tense, and by the way that they looked at him, Harry was expecting that they were about to question him.

Fred opened his mouth, faltering slightly when his brother nudged him, and the two nodded towards each other again-making a silent agreement.

"Yessir!" they said in unison, allowing their excitement to reinvigorate the air and their doubts to dissipate.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

The boy swallowed his meager helping of eggs convulsively when he saw Hermione scuttling into the Great Hall, juggling a large stack of books in her arms, with Ron following closely. He choked, spitting into his napkin.

He didn't feel much like eating anyways.

The girl plopped down next to him, immediately piling cucumber slices and steaming avacado onto his plate, "Not everything you eat should be treacle tarts, honestly."

Ron sat on parallel to him on the other side of the table- eyeing the girl's books with a grimace, "You're right, mom."

She jabbed him with an elbow into his side, ignoring him in favor of putting copious amounts of mashed potatoes onto her own plate.

Harry lifted the sleeve of his robe under the table; thirty minutes.

Thirty minutes until he had to go. Thirty minutes until the Great Hall might become just a memory. If even that.

He rested his arm on the edge of the table, feeling the smooth texture and following the stream of grain that ran down through the wood. The polish, once crisp and gleaming like laminated magazine pages, was dull in some places- the dark red veneer being chipped maybe by, oh, misplaced forks, or busy quills so tightly gripped that they sliced through parchment and dented its surface. From students in another time that had the luxury of worrying about passing transfiguration and getting their three foot essay about potion catalysts done before class started.

He wished he could have that sort of life.

Enough of that.

Hermione was chattering on about something or another, probably lecturing Ron about the Goblin Wars- not that he was listening.

And Ron was likely talking about the Chudley Cannons, or how unfair McGonagall was when grading his essay.

Neville? Something about herbology.

Giving the occassional nod, he was able to go though the motions yet...

A series of words transcended above the white noise in his ears: "We should get an early start- I wanna get to Honeydukes!"

"I can't believe you never got your slip signed until now, I could've taken you there so much earlier. Your first trip is gonna be one to remember forever."

Harry swiveled his head, vision resting on two Hufflepuffs, one older than the other, as they passed through the hall. The young one had a chubbier face with a small nose and tight lips while the older one had an angular, refined jaw that seemed so strong that it could jut out two miles yet still there was still a gentleness about him.

They were probably brothers.

He felt like he was wilting, like flowers that crisped and cracked all throughout Autumn yet absolutely refused to give up until Winter would eventually bury them.

He swallowed to relieve that terrifying tightness in his throat.

The boy patted his left pocket, inhaling, and glanced at his wrist.

Twenty minutes.

In his peripheral vision he was vaguely aware that Snape was watching him.

There was a tug on his shoulder, "Harry?"

"Huh?"

Neville blinked at him, "What're you thinking about?"

His saliva was especially thick this morning, like wet cake batter that slowly sapped from the mixing bowl into the pan; "Nothing."

Hermione leaned forward, eyes narrowed, "You're not still going on about that Hogsmeade thing, right?"

"No- I just had a bad sleep last night," he said, "And my herbology grade is in the toilet."

"Okay then," the girl said curtly, returning to her plate with a cautious glance.

Harry patted his pocket again, sipping on a glass of pumpkin juice.

Orange. Good, good orange. This would be one thing to add to his list of good things that were orange. Not at all like the orange of a Reducto whizzing through the air, barreling through stone, causing screams to pierce his ears-

Enough of that.

It's just the color orange, Harry. It's just orange.

He bit into a piece of crusty bread only to spit it back into his napkin.

There was a soft poke right in the middle of the boy's back, and he turned his head to face a calm Luna, "May I have your bread, Harry?"

He was almost too stunned to reply. Surely she must know what day it is.

"Sure," he proffered it to her, examining it, "It tastes a little odd though."

She took the seat next to him, ignoring his extended hand, "That's because it's leavened, I've never liked it myself. The yeast attracts too many wrackspurts."

Plucking a crisped cracker off from the palate in the center of the table, Luna broke it into half, handing him the other piece, "Eat."

Harry bit into it, chewing, and tensing at the oddly piercing expression that the girl had on her face.

As soon as he had finished it, Luna got up from her seat, "Where are you going?"

"I haven't finished my latest article," she paused, a dreamy half smile appearing on her face so gradually that it seemed to match the languidness of the rising sun, "Bye-bye, Harry."

He didn't reply, turning back to the table.

"Well, that was odd," Ron announced lowly, making Hermione stifle a chuckle.

Ten minutes.

The proverbial clock ticked in his head-

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

He remembered a joke about that once, Vernon had told it over breakfast and it had never really been that funny...

He couldn't remember how it went.

It's odd how things like that just seemed to disappear from him.

The boy glanced at his wrist. Five minutes.

And Hermione was still dicing her sweet potatoes.

Neville, well, he was being Neville.

Ron was grabbing yet another chicken leg.

Harry paled.

He didn't have much time.

Grasping onto Hermione's shoulder and drawing Ron and Neville inwards, he took a deep breath, "Listen closely, okay? Just let me talk for a minute."

The group nodded.

"You're all really important to me, you've all been there for me when I needed you most, and I just want you guys to know that..." he choked, waiting for the trembles in his voice to stop, "That what I'm about about to go, what's about to happen to me; you're not going to be very happy about it."

Hermione tensed, "Harry..."

"But just remember that it isn't your fault and I really care about all of you, and if you don't see me again, you'll miss me, and I'll miss you- wherever I'm at," he inhaled sharply, "And remember that you all have each other, and I want you to be happy."

The boy tried to stifle to welling in his eyes and the insatiable desire to stay. He looked up towards where the professors sat, catching Snape's eyes.

"I'm sorry," he mouthed.

He reached into his pocket, keeping a death grip on the ashy black ball clasped inbetween his fingers, before abruptly stepping out of his seat.

Ron stood, making the table shake under him, "What are you-"

Raising the ball in his hands, he immediately sent the ash streaking and colliding onto the floor, causing a cloud of dark to immediately envelop the whole room.

Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder.

Harry ignored the confusion and yelps that filled the air; students shuffled around and almost bumped into him.

Just as he ducked out of the Great Hall, two figures raced through the air in brooms, entering like bats, and sending fireworks popping into the darkness. A flurry of red and orange and yellow curled, making some laugh, others cry, and leaving his line of sight as he streaked out of the Hall.

Out of one madness and into another.

One mere fireworks, the other lethal spells.