This is set in Harry's eighth year. In this universe, no main characters (including Dumbledore) were killed in the Battle, and Harry and his year group are back at Hogwarts to complete his NEWTS.

Chapter One- Gilded Ribcage

'Christ.' Harry mumbled, rolling over. He hadn't had such a bad night's sleep since he'd been in the cupboard below the stairs at Privet Drive. It had been three weeks since the Battle of Hogwarts, and he hadn't been quite himself, since. The previous week, the return to Hogwarts had helped him forget that he was feeling unwell, caught up in the relief that this year, he could finally enjoy the place he called home without the fear of Voldemort creeping into any happy times.

His head felt like it was being thumped with a sledgehammer. He sat up, grimacing, and felt for his glasses on the nightstand. There was a glass of water next to it, which he emptied in two mouthfuls, gratefully. It was only Tuesday. He didn't want to get out of bed, get dressed, go to the noisy hall for breakfast, and drag himself through his glasses. Potions, DADA and transfiguration. Four pm, and he could get back into his bed and shut his eyes.

'Harry?' Ron called, from the other side of the room. 'You getting up, mate?'

'Yeah. You go down to breakfast.'

'You sure?'

'Yeah. I might skip it and go to potions straight from here,' Harry rubbed his eyes. He felt sick.

'Harry? Can I come in?'

He sighed, irritably. Leave me alone, he thought. Forcing a smile, he called back to his best friend.

'Yeah.'

'You don't look too clever this morning, if you don't mind me saying so, mate.' Ron glanced at Harry, clearly concerned. 'Go and see Pomfrey. You need a day off.'

'I'm fine. Felt worse,' Harry flicked his wand, summoning his robes. He felt a twinge up his arm, and felt frustrated at himself. Why was he so pathetic? He'd killed Voldemort weeks back. Why was he being such a wimp about going to school?

'Honestly, Harry, take a break. I'll get notes for you.'

'I'm fine, Ron!' his voice was a little sharp, and he surprised both of them. Forcing another smile, he tried to look reassuring. 'Sorry. Bad night's sleep. You go and get breakfast. Anyway, I'm not getting changed with you watching.'

Ron nodded, still looking unconvinced. Harry felt his heart beating as his friend shut the curtains around the four-poster. He hadn't exactly lied to Ron, but he still felt guilty. Sighing, he sat up fully, and began to get dressed. The trio of friends knew each other far too well by this point, and Harry knew that to avoid an interrogation by Hermione, he'd have to show himself at breakfast.

The great hall was always much noisier at the start of the year. During it, there were inevitable absences as students overslept or simply skipped breakfast altogether. But in September, it was crammed. First years were still energetic, and he had to dodge a few jumping in and out of their seats as he searched the Gryffindor table for Hermione and Ron. Given the returning students that year, it was difficult to locate them given the number of Gryffindors occupying the seats. Eventually, he spotted Ron waving at him frantically from the very other end of it, and joined his friends. Hermione, as usual, had a book in front of her. She'd poured his tea already.

'Cheers,' he said, running a hand through his hair. She looked up at him, almost scanning him.

'Goodness, Harry. Ron, you were right. Go back to bed. I'll let Professor McGonagall know you'll be absent.'

'Don't be silly,' he gingerly selected a piece of toast, and took a bite out of the corner, more to convince his friends he was alright than for any other reason. He still had to force it down. 'I'm fine. Slept badly, that's all.'

'Bad dream?' Ron offered. Gratefully, Harry nodded.

Both his friends looked sympathetic, and Harry's stomach turned again at the thought of lying to Ron and Hermione. Still, they seemed to accept his excuses. This year, he just wanted to get on with things. Nobody giving him special treatment, nobody fussing over him. Just any other student.

'I'll cover for you in potions, mate.' Ron told him, as they stood up, ready for their first lesson. 'Snape's been quite reasonable, lately.'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'Professor Snape, Ronald.'

It was a slow, tedious morning. Harry's potion was by far the worst in the entire classroom. For once, his cauldron hadn't exploded or gone up in flames or done anything else that would draw attention to him. But it just wasn't working. He scratched his knife against the chopping board, adding the last few scales to his mixture, and rewarded himself by letting his eyes close for a split second. He heard footsteps behind him, and turned, sharply.

'Potter? Let me see it. I can see you've chopped the scales well. Have you added everything?'

'Yes.' Harry flinched, anticipating one of Snape's usual silky criticisms.

'You look tired, Potter. If you'd like to brew it again, I'll be in my office this evening. Your choice, of course.'

Harry blinked in surprise. It was his fourth Potions lesson back in the laboratory since he'd been back at Hogwarts, and Snape's behaviour still felt completely strange. He didn't think he'd ever get used to the old dungeon bat being anything less than unpleasant. Even Neville seemed to be less on edge than he'd ever been before while studying under the professor.

'Two feet long essay on basilisk scales, please,' Snake said, as the bell went, and the students began to gather up their books and stuff their bags ready to leave. 'You've got a week. Good- good work today, class.'

In the corridor, Ron pulled on Harry's sleeve. 'Did you hear that? Good work! When has Snivellus ever said that?'

Harry just shrugged. He was just grateful that they had a week. It certainly wouldn't be on his agenda for that evening.

Hermione was distinctly less impressed by Ron. 'Grow up, Ronald. He's been a lot more reasonable lately. And we did do well.' She pursed her lips. 'Even you.'

They bickered amicably as they traipsed up the staircases to Lupin's classroom. Harry usually loved DADA, but today, he'd have rather been sleeping than just about anywhere. He hoped that it was at least a theory lesson.

No such luck. 'We're going to be working on our Patronuses,' Lupin announced, bouncing on the front of his feet in front of the board. 'Lots of you-' he looked at the left of the classroom in particular, 'Have got a solid grasp on this already. I want you to pair up today. Those of you who can summon your patronus already can mentor your peers. Harry and the DA can attest to how valuable that is as a way of learning. I'll be going around and helping those of you who are struggling.'

Getting to his feet, Harry wanted to burst into tears. His hands were stinging from the basilisk scales, and he was tired. He gritted his teeth, and paired with one of the Hufflepuff girls. He wasn't much of a teacher. By the time Lupin came around to them, she was getting annoyed with him, and he just wanted to sit down. Lupin stopped them.

'Harry? Are you alright?'

He nodded, biting his lip. 'Can I go to the bathroom, please, sir?'

Lupin looked suspicious, but didn't push it any further. Harry walked to the bathroom as quickly as he could, filling his hands with cold water from the tap and glugging it down. It felt cool and good in his stomach. He leant against the mirror, closing his eyes. Maybe Ron was right. Maybe he did need to see Madame Pomfrey.

The bell went as he was leaving the bathroom, and he didn't have any more opportunity to think as the corridors began to fill with the chatter of excitable students. Harry walked back to Lupin's classroom to grab his bag.

'Are you alright?' Lupin asked, as Harry picked it up. Ron and Hermione were waiting at the door.

'Fine.' Harry gritted his teeth, swinging the bookbag onto his back with a grunt. 'Bad night's sleep.'

'Are you sure?' Lupin pressed. 'You look a bit green around the gills, Harry.'

'I'm fine. Honestly. I've got transfiguration next, and then I'm done for the day. I'm just tired.'

Lupin didn't look certain, but nodded. 'Look after yourself, Harry.'

The walk to transfiguration wasn't one of his more pleasant experiences at Hogwarts, to say the least. He felt shivery when he had arrived, and if the walk to Madame Pomfrey wasn't so far, he'd have happily followed Ron's advice. He slid down next to Hermione, making the decision there and then to get through the lesson with the least trouble possible. McGonagall was sat on the desk, flicking her tail. She jumped down deftly as Susan Bones walked through the door, transforming into the tall, stern woman that Harry knew all too well wouldn't be particularly happy for him to take a back-seat during her lesson.

A collection of various objects sat on each desk, carefully laid out.

'Your task today is the expoximise spell,' McGonagall explained, demonstrating with a practiced flick of her wand. A quill and a small paper bird instantly bonded, her magic producing a thick and fast-setting glue. Hermione looked delighted. She'd used it dozens of times already. Harry's glasses had benefited greatly.

'You may begin,' she announced, quickly untransfiguring the two objects and setting them down on Terry Boot's desk. 'Longbottom! The objects, please.'

Twenty minutes later, even Ron, his hands plastered with glue, had managed to successfully attach a silver rose to a china plate. Harry's face was contorted, his breathing becoming a little shallow, as he fought to bind two small paper cranes together. McGonagall was watching. He could sense her.

'Mr Potter,' his head of house said, quietly, as he repeated "expoximise" again and again. She laid a hand on his shoulder, and he turned around, clumsily. His eyes looked dull, his face both slightly greyer than usual and yet flushed. 'Put your wand down, please. You may go and see Madame Pomfrey.'

He gritted his teeth again, feeling his jaw begin to ache from trying to keep himself together. 'I'm fine, Professor, really. I just can't get the spell to work.'

'Potter,' his voice chilled him, suddenly, and he held the edge of the desk to stop himself falling. 'Mr Potter!'

The desk wasn't enough. He gasped, as he felt his legs buckle and give way. McGonagall half-caught him as he toppled to the floor, a little startled at how light he felt, Ron catching him as well. 'Mr Weasley, go and get Madame Pomfrey,' McGonagall called. 'Everyone else! Into the corridor.'

Hermione stayed, kneeling next to Harry. His whole body was trembling, his eyes rolled back into his head. Hermione was struck dumb. McGonagall was far more quick. 'Harry? Harry? Can you hear me?'

'He didn't look himself this morning, in Potions or Defence. He hasn't had breakfast, really.' Hermione garbled. McGonagall nodded, but she wasn't really listening.

Harry's eyes half-opened as he began to come around. He coughed, uncomfortably feeling the wooden floorboards beneath him vibrate slightly at the movement. He coughed again, and felt bile rise in his throat. Slamming a hand by his side, he managed to push himself up onto one elbow, and violently emptied the (albeit, minimal) contents of his stomach into Hermione's lap, before everything swam again.

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