Harry Potter and the Year he Broke Free

Chapter Twenty-eight: Questions

"Mr Potter?" a voice asked, pulling him out of his recount of his nightmare the previous night, making him realise he'd been staring at the floor for the past two minutes. Harry looked up abruptly, the faces of his concerned professors coming into view.

"Are you alright, Harry?" said Dumbledore. His blue eyes twinkled, and Harry frowned slightly.

"Yes- yes, I'm fine," he said, but they didn't seem convinced. McGonagall was looking at him uncertainly, and Snape looked deeply suspicious of him. Harry felt his nails digging into his palm as he clenched his fists tightly, trying to get the image of bodies splattered up and down the Great Hall out of his mind, hundreds of vacant pairs of eyes pointed toward the starry sky.

"Right, well, what were you saying about He Who Not Must Be Named?" McGonagall asked, quill poised over the parchment.

"Voldemort," Harry repeated firmly, shaking his head at her flinch. "And.. he killed everyone."

She knocked over the ink bottle, dark liquid spilling out all over the parchment. Muttering an incantation, she pulled out her wand and siphoned the ink off. Then, McGonagall looked up at him, alarmed. "Really? How?" She seemed almost afraid to ask.

Harry grimaced. "I'd rather not go into details."

"Try," said Snape, dark eyebrows knitted together as he looked at Harry directly in the eyes.

"Are you trying to read my mind again?" he said bluntly, throwing him a withered look and then breaking eye contact.

"Well, if you are too sensitive to explain it, then-"

"Now, now, Severus." said Dumbledore softly. He shut up at once from the look the headmaster gave him. Albus turned his gaze onto Harry.

"However, if it is too... unpleasant, did you put it?" Harry nodded, not liking where the conversation was heading one bit. "Perhaps it would be wise to use other methods."

He glowered at them. "You're not going inside my head," he said tersely, McGonagall's face falling.

Dumbledore gave him a grim look. "Unless you can explain it, my boy, that is what we must resort to." he said.

A few moments passed, Harry's mind racing as he debated what to do. No fucking way anyone would be going inside his head, but how in the hell was he supposed to explain that? They would think he was insane! Oh, screw it, they already did.

"Fine," he burst angrily, taking them all by surprise. "I'll tell you what I dreamt."

"Go ahead," Dumbledore said quietly.

"It was completely horrible, in short. Not- not good at all. A lot of blood, bodies being pulled apart and piled up in the Great Hall... I tried to help, but I couldn't move. There was just blood everywhere." he winced at the thought. "Then, when he'd done with everyone else he turned his wand on me. I tried to run, but soon I didn't have a clue where I was. I was in this weird corridor I've never seen before - well, not in real life. Anyway, I stopped and he caught up to me..." he trailed off. "And- and then I woke up."

Nobody said anything. Snape looked quite taken-aback, Dumbledore was staring vacantly at the floor, and you could almost hear the cogs turning in his head. McGonagall was staring at him wide-eyed.

Harry took in a deep breath. "And when I woke up, my scar was burning. I ended up being sick from the pain. It was a lot worse than usual, almost like my head was being sliced in half. But it always hurts more after nightmares."

The transfiguration professor sat there, completely dumbfounded. Finally she seemed to find her tongue. "I have a lot of questions," she said.

"As do I," Snape added."I'll third that," said Dumbledore distractedly.

All of them fell silent again, until Dumbledore spoke. "Can you describe the corridor to us?"

"Erm..." he thought back. "It has cobbled stone walls, candles in their brackets every few feet or so, and the floor is also cobbled. The door I'm always seeing is, well, an ordinary door really, like the classroom ones. There's a door knocker with some sort of symbol on it, but I can't define it."

The headmaster nodded, and suddenly grabbed a piece of parchment from a nearby shelf and scribbled down something. It looked like two wands crossing, with... sparks round it? Maybe. Harry thought he could make out crystal balls and time-turners behind it too, but he couldn't be sure.

"Is this it?" said Dumbledore urgently, thrusting the parchment in front of him.

Harry turned his head slightly, freezing when he realised its familiarity. "Yes," he replied at once. "How did you know?"

"Just a hunch," he said, voice thickening oddly and exchanging worried glances with the other two professors.

"What?" said Harry. They knew something he didn't, and he wanted in. "What's that symbol?

McGonagall whispered something to Albus, and then looked at him again. "It doesn't matter. Harry, you said about your scar hurting? Does it do that often?"

"Yeah, it's always bloody twinging nowadays. But what is that symbol?" he repeated, this time more loudly.

McGonagall nodded, noting something down. Snape looked at him strangely. "You seem to know that corridor well. How long have you been dreaming of it? And... is this the first time you've dreamt of massacre?"

Harry swallowed. "I've been running down that damn corridor since the beginning of the summer. And no, many of my dreams have a lot of bloodshed in them."

Snape's expression remained , and he murmured something close to the headmaster. Dumbledore whispered something back.

Bloody hell, they were doing it again. Leaving him out. Oh poor Harry, his teenage mind can't take the truth. They were treating him like a child.

"Hello?" he said hotly, shaking his head after nobody said anything. Was he just a source of information for them? If they weren't going to tell him anything, he wouldn't either. The piece of parchment with the symbol on it was partially crumpled in his clenched fist, and Harry tucked it into his pocket. Surely he could find someone who knew what it meant - it was probably in a book somewhere. Maybe he could ask Sirius? Hang on, where was he? Usually his godfather would be there anytime they wanted to speak with him.

"Where's Sirius?" he said warily. Had anything happened to him? No, don't be stupid, he told himself. He was probably sleeping in or something. Still, nobody anwered. Rage bubbled up inside him, the need to let it out growing. Harry focused on a hideous vase on a nearby shelf; trying to direct his anger through his magic.

It worked, the awful flowery-patterned piece of pottery imploding and sending shards flying everywhere. Sure, it was reckless, but at least it got everyone's attention. Harry sighed and waved his arm, the vase being repaired effortlessly.

"Shame, it looked better when it was broken," he said nonchalantly, facing the professors again. "Now, can you tell me what's going on?"

Dumbledore was absolutely fuming. "Harry, that is a completely inappropriate way to use your magic-"

"Thing is, I don't care." And he didn't. After all they preached about trust and care, they were yet again keeping things from him.

"If you do it again, I will be forced to restrain you. Can you even control it?"

Was he patronising him? Well, it was partially true, but Harry was getting better at keeping a lid on his temper, and that vase had basically done what he wanted. Exploded and then repaired itself, all without a wand. He shrugged. "Does it matter? I'm probably going to end up in Azkaban by graduation anyway. Now, where is Sirius, and what is that symbol?"

McGonagall exchanged a glance with Dumbledore that Harry couldn't read. She sighed. "Professor Umbridge has tightened security over the weekend. It's too risky for your godfather to come here anymore."

Harry's insides surged with anger. After all that woman had taken from him, now he couldn't see Sirius? Harry was leaving. He was past caring. Azkaban, exile, death... he didn't give a shit what they threatened him with. There was nothing to keep him here anymore. But first, he wanted answers.

"And the symbol?" he repeated firmly, looking pointedly at each of them. Dumbledore finally lifted his gaze to meet Harry's, blue eyes blazing. Was he reading his mind? Oh well, who gives a fuck? They would see how absolutely pissed he was at all of them.

Dumbledore stood up. "No," he said, raising up a hand. "I'm afraid I can't permit you to leave these grounds."

Harry laughed at him coldly. "How are you going to stop me?"

"I've been lenient with you in the past, Harry. I assure you there are ways I can prevent you from leaving." Harry wasn't too fond of the severe look in his eyes.

Harry took a step backwards, and all three professors took a step towards him, Snape drawing his wand discreetly. But he caught the movement, saw the gleam of the polished wood against his side. Oh dear, this wasn't going very well. Harry wasn't stupid enough to believe he could escape one of the greatest sorcerers of all time, Albus Dumbledore, or the formidable Minerva McGonagall and slippery Severus Snape. How was he going to play this?

His mind desperately trying to craft an escape plan, he assessed the room critically, glancing around the room for any wards or extra enchantments. He had a knack for spotting those, a talent he had shown off when he picked up the gleam on the lemon drop. But no, it seemed the room was free of any magic, strange considering it was the Deputy Head's office.

Any other ways of escape? No broom, can't apparate in Hogwarts... or could he? It was worth a shot, considering all of the other crazy things he could do. But what if he splinched himself? Harry had never even tried to apparate, since he didn't have a clue how to do it. The theory was simple enough; think of where you want to go, and then imagine yourself there.

The door was on the opposite side of the room, and after sneaking a glance that way realised a privacy charm had been cast on the door, as well as a permanent-locking spell. Only the person who had cast it could undo it, and since it was probably McGonagall there was no way he could lift it. So, apparition it is. But only as a last resort. First, though, he wanted information.

McGonagall locked eyes with him. "It would be unwise to leave, Potter. What if the nightmares got worse?"

"They already have. Now, what is that damn symbol?" he was positively seething with anger now, trying to funnel it into his magic and attempt at apparition. This was probably the stupidest thing he'd ever tried to do.

"That is irrelevant. Now, sit down," Snape hissed.

"No, it's not irrelevant. I want to know. I think I deserve to, since I've been dreaming about it all bloody summer."

McGonagall huffed. "Language, Pot-"

"What does it matter?" he cut her off quickly. "Are you going to tell me what that symbol means, or not?"

Dumbledore hesistated for a second, eyes narrowed behind his half-moon glasses. "No."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"You're too young. A teenager shouldn't be concerning themself with these things."

He scoffed. "Right," he rolled his eyes, and took another few steps toward the door, noticing the professors all panicking and frantically shooting Dumbledore hurried looks, awaiting instruction. Harry glanced at Dumbledore, grinning slightly and going even further. He had turned the tables on them; now they didn't know what to do, well, how to deal with him. Should they restrain him? Or let him go?

It seemed like Dumbledore chose the first, because he drew his own wand and was halfway through an enchantment before Harry got cracking. Right - the Room of Requirement. He thought of the familar musty smell, of books and firewood. He thought of the enormous window in the centre of the room, where brightness flooded through constantly, whether it be moonlight or the blinding rays of the sun. He thought about his desk groaning under his stupendous amount of clutter, the chest of drawers, the mirror. His bed, where many a nightmare had taken place. The small adjoining bathroom and its often metallic odour from the blood shed in there by his own hand. He remembered it all, living and breathing in the memories. A loud crack like a whip, and Harry could feel himself being thrown into a tornado, the office vanishing in front of him.

For a second, he couldn't see, smell, or sense anything. Throughout it all he tried his best to focus on the room, pure determination thumping in his veins. Harry wanted to be there, and so he would be. Simple as.

Another loud crack, and he found his feet planted on solid ground. The warm light of the sun pooling on his face. Harry opened his eyes and found himself exactly where he wanted to be. Not in McGonagall's office, where difficult questions were thrust onto him and none of his own answered... not in the potions classroom, under the watchful, beady eyes of Snape and beside the person making him doubt his entire identity. No, he was in the Room of Requirement.

Harry beamed to himself, and hopped and skipped around his room as he quickly packed. He was going! Finally, after a week of putting up with everyone else's crap, he was leaving.

Of course he would be returning to the Shrieking Shack - after all, it had worked excellently last time. He would need a new disguise, but that's easy enough to sort out. Hopefully, things would return to normal, or whatever semblance of normal he had before. He would stop being so shaky all the time, his temper would settle down, the nightmares would... well, they wouldn't stop, but downsize in severity. And his stupid scar would stop twinging for once.

It burned again, making him clap a hand to his head and groan in pain. He nearly always had a splitting headache, which was bordering on not being able to be solved by magic anymore. It frightened him more than it should do.

It wasn't just the headache draughts that were starting to fail. Pepper-up wasn't giving him the energy he needed, and the fiery steam that powered through his insides and kept him going was just... not there anymore. It was just another thing on the list at this point really. Well, you couldn't really live off potions, can you?

But none of it mattered anymore. Harry was going back to the Shack, where nobody cared if he was a little off today. There was no-one around to notice the dark circles underneath his eyes becoming more pronounced, his appetite vanishing from constant bouts of nausea. Nobody to worry about the light filtering from underneath his door at all hours of the night. It was exhausting trying to keep it all up.

Sweeping one last look around the room, eyes grazing the empty shelves and spotless floor, Harry sighed and turned the door handle. He was going to miss this place. Although it had only been a week, he would always keep the Room of Requirement close to his heart. The slivery haze of the invisibility cloak misted before his eyes as he made his way down to the front doors. Sure, he could just apparate right to the Shack, but that last one had left him feeling a little drained. Plus, it was loud, and the previous time he'd done it could've been beginner's luck. Harry didn't want to take any chances.

Since it was third lesson, nobody was about. It was just him and the portraits. And his trusty bag, of course, full to the brim with all of his shrunken possessions. It reminded him of the previous summer when he left the Dursleys' with nothing but his things and a tenner in his pocket that he'd nicked from Aunt Petunia. It was amazing she actually had any, because in Uncle Vernon's opinion women shouldn't be allowed to handle their own money. She had to ask him anytime she wanted anything for herself.

Harry would feel sorry for her, but the sharp slap of her hand across his cheek chased those feelings away. And he couldn't forget that she had brought this on herself - Petunia had chosen to marry a man almost as unpleaseant as her. Petunia had chosen to stand by when he was locked in the cupboard and forgotten about. He didn't want to dwell on those things, though, so turned his mind back to his escape.

Checking that no-one was looking, Harry pressed his arm onto a nearby tapestry until it gave in. This secret passage should take him down to the upper dungeons, where there was a set of stairs that would take him to the front doors. He would slip out and make a run for the Whomping Willow. Dumbledore would probably expect him to choose a less obvious route of escape, or think he'd apparated right out of the school. But Harry had needed to collect his things first.

After walking into a cobweb (and emitting a very masculine shriek) then going down some steps, he was there. Behind a portrait there was a candle that if you lit would create a crevice large enough for someone to get through. Harry removed the cloak, since he didn't want to set himself on fire, and blew on the wick. It erupted into flame at once, oily flecks of candle wax soon dripping down and gumming onto the candelabra. A cavity hollowed out amongst the cobbled stone, granting him access through to the dungeons. Harry ducked down and went through.


Did Draco get sent out? Perhaps. Was he now wandering the dungeons with no sense of purpose? Most definitely. It wasn't his fault that Professor Vector didn't want to hear about the expansive family vaults. Draco was simply pointing out the uses of Arithmancy in the real world.

But maybe he shouldn't have told Travis Tenton that he wouldn't need it because he had no money to count up...

Oh well. Father wouldn't reprimand him, in fact Draco would probably be praised for it, because Tenton was a muggle-born. Or mudblood. Whichever you used. But he didn't know that when he was insulting Travis, and Draco only did that because he was bad-mouthing Potter. It's just not decent to talk about someone when they're not there, especially when you're spouting utter bullshit about them. Harry wasn't insane - he was just trying to keep everyone safe. They were all idiots for not believing him.

Draco knew that Voldemort was back, and that Potter wasn't some attention-seeking maniac, but only because his father had told him about the encounter in the Graveyard.

"Some day, Draco, you'll be there with us. What an honour, to be one of the Dark Lord's inner circle..." said Lucius, gazing off into the distance.

Draco shivered. "Yes father, of course," he lied. He didn't want to join that bastard!

The only insane one was... oh, he didn't like saying it. Draco honestly had no clue how Potter managed to let You-Know-Who's name roll off his tongue so easily. Well, after the madman slaughtered your family and then hunted you for years it would make things easier. Draco almost felt sorry for him; what with everyone thinking Harry was completely mental. But Draco didn't, not after the frankly enjoyable conversation they'd had in potions.

If Lucius ever discovered that Draco felt anything more than hatred toward the Boy-Who-Lived, he didn't know what he would do. It was funny considering he was instructed to befriend him as soon as he arrived at Hogwarts. Sometimes, Draco wondered what would have happened if Potter took his hand that fateful day, or maybe if he hadn't been such a stuck-up prick. Eleven-year-old him didn't really know any better, not after he'd been told his entire life that people should worship the ground he walked on.

Did he still feel like that? No. Finally being around children around his own age rather than blood-obsessed senile relatives had been quite the shock to Draco. It wasn't until a few years later that he started to doubt the ideals that were practically bred into him. Not that anyone else would ever know his true feelings. He had perfected his mask years ago. Draco was expected to act a certain way, and so he did.

When he went back to the manor for the holidays, he would have to keep a tight grip on his facade. It would undoubtedly be tested by Bellatrix, who had threatened to test his occlumency barriers thoroughly in the last letter he received from his mother. It was common in pure-blood families for occlumency to be taught to their children at a young age, especially slippery ones like the Malfoys. Draco had studied on his own (especially after discovering his interest in guys) and was quite proud of how far he'd gotten. But he didn't know how they'd hold up against a skilled death eater.

Speaking of Potter... was that him? Draco squinted and turned his head... and yes, that was Potter! Draco would reognise that crop of raven hair anywhere. What in the bloody hell was he doing in the dungeons? He debated inside his head a little. C'mon, he wasn't supposed to talk to him, Draco should just turn around and go back to the classroom, where he was supposed to be. But... his curiosity got the better of him.

"Oi! What're you doing here, Potter?" sneered Malfoy, nose in the air as he came closer to him. Potter froze, and that was when he noticed the heavy-looking bag in his hand. "Going somewhere?"

Oh, bloody hell. Just the person he didn't want to run in to. But he was in the dungeons, Harry reminded himself, where slimy Slytherins hung out. And Malfoy was just about the slimiest of them all, even if he did have a pretty face.

He sighed. "Shouldn't you be in lessons?"

"Shouldn't you?" he shot back. Was Potter running away again? Draco looked at his bag sceptically and then back up at him. "Are you running away?"

Harry was surprised at the tone. It sounded almost genuine... sincere. "What does it matter to you?" No point lying. What was a git like Malfoy going to do about it? He'd probably encourage him to go.

It was almost like being at a crossroads. He could tell Potter to sod off and never show his ugly scar back on this place again, but... he didn't really want to. "Why?"

He did a double-take. Why was he so interested? "Again, why does it matter?"

Draco thought for a second. "Who knows? Anyway, why are you leaving?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

Draco laughed. "Oh, how could I forget? Umbridge. And the whole thing with everyone calling you a lunatic." He smiled, and then forced it off his face when he realised he was grinning at Harry fucking Potter. Draco placed a flimsy scowl upon his face instead.

There he goes again. That stupid smile was confusing him again; waking up butterflies in his stomach, and he could feel his face heating slightly. Shit - quick, do something! Harry frowned at the platinum-blonde, who was doing the same. They were both so surprised that the scowls were wiped off just as fast as the smiles were moments later.

"Yes," he said quickly to divert Draco's attention. "Umbridge. I just can't be bothered to be here anymore."

"It's not just you she's horrible to. Most muggle-borns, from what I've observed."

Harry gaped at him. "You- you just said muggle-born. Not... well, you know what I mean."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "I am still perfectly capable of using the word 'mudblood'. I could do so to describe that know-it-all hag you hang around with."

"Don't call Hermione that!" Harry burst out hotly. "And I don't hang around her anymore, just so you know!"

"Oh, I already knew that. All of the disgusting, muggle-loving freaks you usually hang around with have deserted you. Who'd want to hang around with someone who clearly belongs on the mental ward at St Mungo's?"

"Shut up!"

"Bit on edge today I see." he said. Draco relished getting him riled-up, making Harry pay for how he felt towards him. What gave him a right to be so attractive?

Harry gritted his teeth, and pushed past, shoving Malfoy hard. The Slytherin stumbled, cursing under his breath as he tried to stay on his feet.

Malfoy groaned as he watched Potter disappearing down the corridor. Oh, he was so going to regret this later. Draco ran down the corridor after him.

"Wait!" he yelled at the retreating figure. It was only on the third time that he stopped.

"What do you want?" said Harry. He was regretting taking off the invisibility cloak deeply. If only Malfoy could shove off - then he could put it on again and go.

He came to a stop, panting slightly. Damn he walked fast. "I- um.." Harry looked at him suspiciously. "Don't go."

Harry just folded his arms, looking at the other boy expectantly. Malfoy blanched. "Well?" he said.

"Don't go," was all that he could think to say.

"Why?" Harry demanded. Was this some sort of joke? That stupid ferret...

Draco searched his mind frantically. "It won't change anything."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, she's still going to be a bitch. But it'll be only you that doesn't have to deal with her anymore. Bit selfish, if you ask me," he said. Oh, what was he saying?

"I've been threatened with fucking Azkaban, Malfoy. Azkaban." he hissed, moving closer.

He stood his ground. "So what? Nothing ever stopped you before."

They were a few inches apart now, and Harry could see every fleck of silver in those steel-grey eyes. It reminded him of the potion's classroom that afternoon, and brought back some of those feelings. He squashed them impatiently - Malfoy was a complete twat. Anyone could see that. It made no sense for him to want to snog him.

Draco and Harry glowered at each other, until Malfoy sighed. "Just don't go," he said.

It felt like an eternity had passed; just Draco staring into his emerald-green eyes and Harry in his. Finally, Potter whirled round, scooping up his bag from where it had thudded to the ground a few minutes ago, and left, only uttering "fine," before turning on his heel and disappearing down the corridor.

Draco collapsed against the wall, heart thumping out of his chest. His throat was dry, and he swallowed to try and get rid of it. Had he really just convinced Harry Potter to stay at Hogwarts? It looked like it. But bloody hell... for a second, Draco thought he might murder him from the dangerous look in his eye. And their faces got so close by the end... Draco could have counted the freckles on his nose. Thirteen, if anyone was interested. It was quite a light dusting over his nose, going up onto his forehead a little.

But why had he listened to him? Draco's argument wasn't too compelling. Just pointing out that it was cowardly to keep running away, to break under Umbridge's new enforcements. That wasn't usual for the stubborn git. But then Potter didn't usually take his advice either...

Oh, sod it, this was too confusing. Draco kept going down the corridor, back to Arithmancy, and back to reality.


Harry went back up to his room (through yet another passageway). Then, he remembered that because of the new rules, he was supposed to go and live in Gryffindor tower again. He was already beginning to regret staying.

Harry didn't even want to think about that confrontation with Malfoy. Somehow, he had managed to persuade him to stay.

But that absolute git did bring up some good points... running away would do nothing. Umbridge would just pick another target, have someone else to terrorise. And above all he didn't want people to suffer, not when he could help, or in this case take the brunt of the fall. Hermione often called it his 'saving people thing'. Like last year in the lake - if he hadn't wasted time saving Gabrielle, then Harry would probably have made first placein the Second Task. But he just couldn't help himself.

Harry would wait, and prepare. Make a plan to get rid of Umbridge one way or another, and help lessen the effects of her brutality and incompetence upon the school and its students. That was more long-term, though. Right now he had to get to class.


"Fred?"

"Yeah, George?" Both of them were just lazing about in the common room, making good use of the free period. They had snatched the two best chairs in front of the fire, and were just brainstorming more ideas for the snackboxes.

"I- oh, I don't know." Fred stared at him, intrigued.

"Is it a girl?"

"What? No."

"A boy?"

"Shut up, Fred. I'm just not sure about something." George was frowning at the paper in front of him, hand tapping the other side of the armchair restlessly.

"Well, go on, shoot." It wasn't like his twin to be so serious about something. Fred was starting to get worried, anxiety worming its way into his head.

George sighed. "Right - Harry."

"What about him?"

He did a double-take. "What d'you mean, 'what about him'? Almost everything's about him nowadays."

Fred frowned at him. "I don't care what the rumours are saying-"

"Neither do I, you know that. I'm just worried."

"If you don't start being more specific I'm going to make you try out the stinging solution next."

George winced. "He's just a bit... off. I mean, did you see what he did to Ron?"

"He kind of had it coming."

"Yeah, but does being a prick to someone mean you can go and try and kill them?"

Fred's eyebrows knitted together in thought. "I don't think he meant to do that. Doesn't seem like something he'd do."

"Harry's not exactly been himself though lately, has he?"

"No... he's not the same, but then he is... sort-of."

"I s'pose. He looked like he was having a good time at the party, but he seemed a lot more withdrawn when we talked to him the other day. Really keeps to himself. Well, more than he usually does."

George nodded. "My thoughts exactly."

"But after seeing You-Know-Who return and all that, and then disappearing after six months I think it would've been weird if he was the same person."

"We should ask him about that."

Fred laughed. "Oh yeah, that'll be a fun conversation - so, Harry, how was it having Cedric Diggory murdered in front of you and then barely escaping the Dark Lord?"

"Nah, more discreetly than that."

"How is it possible to be discreet about that?"

George threw some paper into the fire, making it spit and hiss as the scrunched up ball was swallowed and engulfed by the flames. "But what with everyone saying stuff about him, and Ron and Hermione and him having fallen out... that's gotta be pretty lonely. Who does he hang out with?"

"I did see him walking with Neville the other day. But most of the time he's just alone or not there."

"Probably in his room. He's almost as bad as Percy was."

Fred groaned. "Oh, that's going to be so awkward at Christmas. Percy won't turn up, and Harry, Ron and Hermione'll be fighting all the time. Or they just won't talk."

"Merlin, don't even remind me."

Fred smiled. "At least we still get presents - there's that that to look forward to."

"Yeah..." George replied. He was really worried about Harry, and the holidays would be a good opportunity to check in on him. He seemed like he needed it.


*I don't own any characters, all rights to J.K. Rowling.

**Hey. Quarantine's been pretty okay so far. How has it been for all of you? Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! The Christmas holidays are gonna be pretty fun. Thank you all so much for the favourites, follows, and reviews!

-Tea33 xx.