Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

Sorry about the two week break, I've just been really busy recently and that isn't going to change anytime soon unfortunately, so there may be more small breaks in the future.

"Harry! Where are you going?" Terry tugged on his sleeve.

"Library. Need to check out a book." Harry answered shortly.

"Harry, it's lunch time."

"So?" Harry shrugged. "I'm not hungry anyway... I'll see you later." Harry turned back and resumed his path to the library, leaving a confused and pensive Terry in his wake.

It was hard to find even just a minute of peace and quiet lately. Ever since the goblet had spouted out his name every hallway and corridor had become a hot zone for Harry Potter gossip. He couldn't go give paces without hearing his own name - questions over whether he was alive, whether he'd compete, or who put his name in the goblet of fire.

The Ministry had released a declaration the day after the trophy released the competitors, claiming how they had no involvement, and were unaware that Harry Potter was still alive - and that they were 'hopeful that the Boy-Who-Lived would return to us'.

Harry himself wasn't sure what to believe. There was a long list of people who would want to force Harry Potter into the open, starting with Black and ending with Dumbledore himself. Harry had no one to trust - now more than ever.

On top of that he needed to figure out whether he had to compete, or to what extent he had to compete - what exact involvement would count as obliging the magical contract. Which meant he had to find a copy of the Triwizard Tournament rule books, which was finding easier said than done. He had come to the library as soon as it had opened the day after the Goblet of Fire fiasco, and it had - somehow - already been checked out.

Since then he'd checked on it every day, multiple times too. Which had also meant he had to get used to the Krum fangirls and boys who'd began swarming the library - a known hangout for the Bulgarian seeker. It was frustrating to say the least, and definitely didn't help with Harry's ever increasing bad mood.

He was on edge - and that was understating it.

Harry filtered through the shelves, ravaging for the rule book, but he already knew it wasn't here - again. Not that he was surprised, in fact, quite the opposite. It seemed that he'd used up all his luck having an uneventful third year (well, relatively uneventful) and now fourth year was slamming into him like a freight train. It had started with the Quidditch World Cup, then Vernon Dursley's release, and now the bloody tournament.

"Harry?" A voice called, and Harry rolled his eyes before he could stop himself. He wasn't in the mood to exchange pleasantries and small-talk with somebody right now. He just needed to think, to figure out what the hell he could do, because right now he had no clue.

"Hey," Harry took a deep breath, calming himself down so he wouldn't snap at someone for no reason, before turning around, "the whole gang?" He asked with an amused smile, as the four Slytherins stared back at him - the four Slytherins he could actually tolerate that was. Though, with the amount of time Draco Malfoy was now spending with Pansy Parkinson that was slowly changing into five. Not that he liked the girl in the slightest, she was annoying, obsessed with her appearance and always whining about something or other - normally clamouring for Draco's attention - so no, Harry didn't like her... tolerate her however, well he'd learnt to do that.

Luckily his patience with Pansy wouldn't be called into test today (luckily... right, because this was what Harry needed luck with), the girl clearly off elsewhere. Instead Harry was faced with Draco, Blaise, Tracey and Daphne.

Draco nodded in response, and Harry hid a grin. Apparently even in Draco's opinion the 'whole gang' did not include Pansy Parkinson.

"Alone?" Blaise asked, his eyes peering around corners.

"Yeah. Terry's at lunch." Harry explained, ignoring the tinge of jealousy he felt, and Blaise nodded. He wasn't jealous of Blaise and Terry's friendship, well, not really. He just sometimes wondered who Terry would choose if it came down to it; he had a sinking feeling, with all the lies Harry told Terry, that he might not be his first pick anymore. Harry on the other hand, he'd always pick Terry first. He was his best-friend. Harry hoped (though didn't quite believe) that he would always be his best-friend.

"We were just about to go down to eat too. You coming?" Draco asked, his eyes flicked up to Harry, before returning to the parchment he was neatly filing away into his bag.

"I've already eaten." Harry waved off, lying through his teeth, but he really couldn't be bothered to have a repeat of his earlier conversation with Terry.

Draco nodded, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Later then." He bid farewell.

"Bye Harry." Daphne smiled at him, a rare occasion - or perhaps it only used to be rare. Over the course of the past year and a bit the Slytherin Ice Queen seemed to be... well, melting.

"See you later." He muttered, nodding his head in Blaise and Tracey's direction as if to say 'goodbye', before returning to the shelves, each as void of what Harry really needed as they were two minutes ago. He searched anyway. It was desperation. He knew that, but there wasn't much else he could do anyway. He'd written to his father (trying to beat the Prophet in informing Luke of the news), arranging to meet at the next Hogsmeade weekend. Unfortunately that was still weeks away, in fact it was the week before the First Task that Harry would actually be able to talk to his father in person. In other words, it was too long.

Harry felt like he was a bomb about to go off. Ready to explode with all the chaos rising up within him. Everything had gone wrong so quickly, his plan to be normal - or at least not a hero and a role model - turned on its head. Why were they even having this damn tournament in the first place?

A distraction, Harry answered himself. The thought had been whirring through his head for days, that this tournament had to be a distraction for all the stirrings in the wizarding world. The rise in Death Eater activity, the disappearance of the ministry worker - Bertha? - that had been reported on last week. A distraction from Sirius Black, and the threats he brought with him.

"Damn." Harry hissed, as he finished filtering through the shelves. The book, his golden ticket, was still missing. He had no other options - there were, for some unknown reasons, no rule books on the market. Flourish and Blotts didn't sell them - Harry couldn't blame them, why would they sell the rule book for a tournament that hadn't previously taken place in over a century.

Tomorrow, Harry told himself, the book would be here tomorrow. The universe owed him that much after the bad hand they'd been dealing him so far.

"I'll see you later." Harry said as the corridors reached a cross-road.

"Ok." Terry replied shortly, no longer trying to question Harry's motives, or convince him to come to dinner.

Harry hesitated, hating the way Terry looked right now. He seemed... done. Done with Harry. As though he couldn't be asked to care anymore. The concern of last week had disappeared into boredom and frustration; frustration at Harry and his inability to communicate, or explain to Terry what on earth was going on. "Ok." He murmured, his feet turning towards the library even as his chest ached, insecurities bubbling within him once more.

Unfortunately it wasn't a choice, he had to go. He needed that book and if he didn't look today then somebody else could get it, at some point there'd have to be a window, when the original borrower returned the book. That was why Harry needed to be ready, so somebody else didn't snatch it up and take it away from Harry before he had a choice to look through it. Krum was always hanging around the library recently, that was probably why, Harry reasoned, because the Bulgarian wanted to read up on the rules before he competed.

Harry, on the other hand, needed to read up on the rules to find out whether he had to compete. He hadn't even had time to prepare or train, he was too busy figuring out whether he'd have to train, whether he'd be strung up and forced to compete like a puppet - who was the puppeteer? Dumbledore? Fudge? Black? Harry questioned, his paranoia growing everyday as his stress levels rose exponentially.

His feet paved the familiar way, urgently pushing forwards at a pace which was teetering on the edge of being a run. But when Harry finally did get to those shelves, he received the same result as he had done for the past fortnight. The book was still not there.

"You're skipping lunch again?" Terry asked as they walked out of a particularly gruelling Charms lesson. Harry couldn't quite get his head around the locking spell, which in turn only made him more anxious - if he couldn't do a damn locking spell how on earth was he supposed to compete against sixth and seventh years in this tournament.

"Uh," Harry hesitated, Terry's tone making him wary. He hadn't even told him yet of his plan to go back and scour the library once more, yet Terry had clearly realised those were his intentions.

"Oh god, hide me." Anthony quickly said, saving Harry from the trouble of replying as Terry looked at him disappointedly. Harry didn't have a mum, but if he did, he'd wager that the expression currently on Terry's face would be what his mum would look like when Harry messed up.

"What?" Harry replied, searching the halls for any sign of McGonagall- Harry knew Anthony still hadn't handed in the essay on transforming spells due in last Friday.

"Let's just go this way."

"Why?" Harry questioned.

"François." Anthony replied, his voice full of dread. If Harry wasn't so confused he'd be laughing at how dramatic Anthony was being right now.

"François?" Harry asked, "The boy from the Goblet of Fire sorting?"

"Have you been living under a rock?" Michael retorted, an incredulous expression on his face. Terry snorted. "He's been after Anthony ever since then. Remember Tuesday lunch?"

Harry did not remember Tuesday lunch. Probably because he hadn't been there, he realised with a start. How much had he missed the past week?

"Right." Harry replied quietly, as they all turned around and started going the other way. "What's the problem with this François?" He asked Terry quietly.

"He's obsessed with Anthony. Follows him around everywhere and bombards him with questions about literally anything from traditional English cuisine to our how funny the word 'sickle' is. Any excuse to talk to him, he takes. Haven't you noticed? He's been driving Anthony up the wall... oh wait. Of course you haven't noticed." Terry snarked. "How would you - you haven't been here." Terry stopped abruptly in the hallway, confronting Harry face to face.

"Terry..."

"What? You run away to the library at every possibility, to do what? Skipping meals, and for what? Because it definitely isn't your homework like you said before, because I heard you making up some excuse to Vector about how you didn't have time to do the essay last week. And I know you failed the Potions essay."

"It's Snape." Harry retorted defensively, even though he knew that he hadn't tried at all for that essay. All he'd done was string enough words together to fill the parchment and make sure Snape wouldn't put him in detention. He really didn't care if he failed an essay.

"Sure." Terry replied scornfully, clearly not believing Harry's excuse. "Deflect all you want to Harry, but I know you're hiding something from me, from us, and I'm done. Why should I spend every day being concerned about how you are when you won't even trust me to help you with your problems?"

"I trust you." Harry retorted. It was the truth. He did trust Terry, he just didn't want to burden him, to endanger him with his secrets. Terry had no idea what he was pushing to find out. If he knew... well he didn't want to know. It was easier that way. For everyone... (well, everyone except Harry)

"You clearly don't. And I'm done with being the only person working in this friendship." Terry snapped.

"I guess I'll see you later then."

Harry turned away, his eyes blurring over with tears as he bumped into a familiar blonde boy in a Beauxbaton's uniform. As he walked away to the library he could hear Anthony's exasperated and angry voice ringing through the corridor: "Not now François." But Harry ignored it and powered on. He needed to find the book. That had to be his priority right now. The alternative was almost certain death.

"See you in Potions." Harry said, and this time Terry didn't even bother to reply. His eyes just burned into Harry's angrily, as he gave him a short nod and continued on his own way to the Great Hall.

Harry almost regretted not just going with him to lunch, but this tournament was bigger than their friendship. It was high stakes. His life was on the line here, he had to be willing to make sacrifices. Besides, it's probably for the best anyway, Harry realised bitterly, their entire friendship was formed off lies, and it was better for Terry if he didn't get dragged into Harry's circus of a life - it was at least safer for him.

But the shelves yielded the same answer, and Harry's chest burnt, a familiar and unquestionable feeling bubbling up inside him: regret.

Harry sat in the dorm, bitterly staring at the ceiling. An overwhelming wish of surrender flooded over him. What was the point? Every day, multiple times, going to the library and never finding anything. For all he knew Dumbledore had taken the book to hide it from anyone who might use it to try and help Harry get out of this goddamn tournament.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Terry with a towel in hand, clearly making his way to the showers. Harry wearily watched him make his way to the door, wishing he had already left so that he could just scream into his pillow without being judged. Instead Terry stopped in the doorway, painfully close to giving Harry a moment of alone time to just breakdown in peace. Terry paused, looking at Harry cautiously before opening his mouth to start a conversation. Once more Harry couldn't help but feel like the universe was working against him - a conversation was the last thing he wanted right now.

"Are we going to talk about why you've been so self-destructive recently?" Terry asked.

"You want to?" Harry returned, sitting cautiously on the foot of his own bed.

"Of course. I always want you to tell me when something's bothering you." Terry continued bitterly, before taking in a deep breath and adding: "Isn't that what friends are for?" Terry leant on the side of the door frame with a (slightly forced) grin on his face, a subtle apology in his voice.

Not that Terry should be apologising. He'd only spoken the truth, and he was right, Harry hadn't been a good friend recently. And he hated it. He hated the silences between them. He hated the tension in the room before they went to sleep. He hated not being able to talk to Terry. He was his best-friend. He needed him in his life.

A hint of a smile crept onto Harry's face, before he swallowed it down, nerves starting to reform as he realised what he had to do. What he had to say... What he had to tell Terry. A secret he'd previously only hinted at. The extent of which Terry had no idea.

"Vernon - my uncle - he got released from prison after seven years there." Terry's eyes shot open with surprise, as if he'd been expecting a different response.

"Prison?" Terry asked, moving away from the threshold and closing the door instead, before sitting on his bed.

"Yeah." Harry replied tentatively, knowing where this conversation was going.

"Why was he in prison?"

"Assault."

"Harry?" Terry's voice seemed to fail him, but the question got across.

"I was seven." Harry continued, ignoring the tears building behind his eyes, refusing to let them out.

"He hit you?"

Harry laughed, a hollow sound which reverberated through the room loudly. "To say the least."

"What would be saying the most?" Terry pushed carefully, everything in his tone, his posture, his eyes, making it clear to Harry that he could stop at any time.

"In formal terms," Harry started, knowing that that was the easiest way to start it, to tell Terry the story - because as soon as emotions got involved Harry would break, confronting the time of his life he feared more than anything, and repressed more than anything - "I was emotionally abused, starved and neglected by him and his wife - my mother's sister - since I was put in their care when I was one, after my parents died. The physical abuse started when I was about... five maybe? I'm not sure to be honest." Terry's eyes were full of shock, but Harry ignored him. Instead he fixated his eyes on his shoes, twiddling his fingers anxiously.

"When I was seven he got really angry at me, I don't know why. He just... he snapped. I don't remember it, but my cousin told me what happened a year or so ago. Before that I only knew the aftermath... Dudley told me that he hit me in the head with a baseball bat," Harry forced the words out, trying to remain level and say everything with an air of practicality to keep a border between the emotions and the facts, "I was on the stairs when he hit me, and I fell down them. Then I was in a coma, for two years." Harry took in a deep, shuddered breath.

"That's where I met my dad, Luke. He was my doctor for a while. His wife had died a few years back when he was pregnant. I didn't have anywhere else to go and he took me in. We filled in each other's blank spaces I guess. He'd lost a child and a wife. I'd lost my parents."

"Shit." Terry said, but Harry quickly waved him off. He didn't need nor want compassion or apologies.

"It all worked out in the end." Harry continued, talking over any attempt Terry made at responding to the truckload of information Harry just dumped on him. "Except Vernon was released recently. I guess it just... It brought me back to a time in my life I normally try and repress, and forget about. That, on top of the Quidditch World Cup... You were right. I have self-destructive tendencies. My therapist says its because I was brought up in an environment where I saw myself as worthless, and even though I consciously now know that that's not true, and that I'm worth something, subconsciously that ideology instilled by Vernon is still rooted into me. I dig a hole, and sometimes it goes so deep I don't even want to crawl out of it because it feels like too much work. If that makes any sense..." Harry wiped away at his face angrily as a stray tear escaped down his cheek.

"I don't know what to say." Terry said after the room descended into silence, the brunette still trying to consolidate the information Harry had given him.

"You don't need to say anything." Harry replied. "I- words don't matter. It's in the past, and, other than the occasional... blip... I'm ok. I'm good now, so it's okay. Don't say anything, there's no point." Harry shrugged.

"Ok." Terry nodded, an imperceptible frown on his face, before he stood up and walked over to Harry. "Thank you for telling me."

"If I act like an ass every so often you probably deserve to know why." Harry paused. "Just... don't tell the others. I don't want anyone treating me different." Harry explained.

"Of course." Terry squeezed Harry's shoulder reassuringly. "Are you good?"

"Yeah." Harry replied, surprising himself that that was the truth. That right now, in this moment, he was ok. "Yeah, I'm good."

Terry stood awkwardly. Clearly unsure whether he needed to stay and comfort Harry or whether he could go.

"Go! Shower." Harry ushered. "You need it." He added with a grin, trying to convince Terry he truly was okay.

Terry nodded slowly, before making his way out the door.

Harry took in a deep breath, and let the anxiety flush out of him, if only for a second. It was a relief to tell Terry about Vernon. A weight off his shoulders. Harry only wondered whether it would feel this way if he told Terry about his other secret. But he couldn't. His story with Vernon is in the past. His story with Harry Potter is in the future. A future that was getting dangerously close to being the present, with the First Task looming merely two weeks away. As the fear re-entered Harry's body, previously forgotten in the pain of remembering his life in the Dursley household, he tore his eyes from the doorway, fixing on Terry's bed where he had been sitting just a minute ago.

"Holy shit." Harry muttered, realisation flooding his bones as his eyes caught sight of a familiar object lying on Terry's bed. Maybe his luck had changed after all, he wondered, picking up the Triwizard Tournament rule book, a relieved smile growing on his face.

AN: so as a brief summary of the chapter Harry obsesses over finding the rule book but can't find it anywhere, only to realise Terry has it and has had it the whole time, but Terry was so worried about Harry's behaviour that he didn't have time to read the rule book which was why Harry couldn't find it in the library...

ALSO: my keyboard has broken on my laptop so I have to get that replaced which may take a bit, so there's a chance I won't be able to post next week, but after that it should be all good again. Sorry.