Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Other Notes: Please note that this story ignores parts of PoA. It is set in Harry's third year.

II

Harry was relieved that Madam Pomfrey seemed to be satisfied that the chocolate that the new Defense teacher had given him had the desirable effects and released him without any further questions to join his friends at the Welcoming Feast and perhaps catch the last bit of sorting.

When Harry had finally managed to make it back to his friends' side, studiously ignoring the looks, whispers, and taunts that were mostly directed from the Slytherin tables, Harry turned his attention to Professor Dumbledore and his somewhat confusing beginning of the year announcements. He kind of regretted missing the sorting for the second year in a row, but he doubted that it had varied much if any from the one he had been a part of two years prior. A quick scan up and down the long table showed that Gryffindor had picked up a few more students.

It seemed that within minutes of the announcements starting, the Headmaster was encouraging them to eat their fill, and like in the prior years, all sorts of food suddenly adorned the tables as students young and old alike and their professors began eating and being merry.

Harry was no exception as he forgot all about his miserable home life, dementors, and the abuse he received at the hands of the Slytherins in favor of laughing alongside the rest of his housemates at some of Fred and George's antics.

From there, the night passed quickly and before anyone really knew it, they were stumbling to their dormitories in order to catch a good night's sleep before heading off to their first classes in the morning. Harry lingered behind a bit, choosing to just stay in the common room for a bit with Hermione who was talking about some of the new classes they were going to be taking as well as speculating what types of spells, potions, and charms they would be expected to learn this year based off of the textbooks.

Harry listened with half an ear, too tired from the day's events to give any real input. When it became obvious that they were both putting off the inevitable, (though Harry couldn't fathom why Hermione had chosen to sit with him while the others got ready for bed) they both went their separate ways.

"Night, 'Mione," Harry said as he made his way up to the dorms reserved for the third-year students. Ron had already gone ahead in order to write to his parents, likely wanting to fill them in on what had happened on the train and to tell them that they had arrived.

"Night Harry." Came the simple reply as they both went their separate ways to get ready for the night.

Harry made his way to the showers praying to whatever higher power existed that his other dorm mates had finished their showers and getting ready for bed so that he could tend to his wounds in privacy. The last thing he wanted was for the others to see his scarred and torn-up back and the questions that were attached.

Sure they had seen his scars on his back but they always had assumed that he had had an active childhood, though Harry wasn't sure how active or what kinds of activities they must have thought his life was to have so many scars and not be concerned.

Of course, he had always brushed them off, with only Ron knowing the true extent of the abuse thanks to his impromptu visit last year.

Seeing that the bathroom was empty and that the others were in various stages of getting ready for bed with Seamus already in bed, Harry slipped in and washed himself off as best as he could before getting ready for bed himself.

It felt like he had barely closed his eyes before Ron was shoving him awake.

The weeks passed by in a blur as everyone fell into an easy routine of classes, school work, socializing, and relaxing. Some of the classes like Division and History of Magic seemed practically useless, even Hermione complained about the necessity of them. While others, like Dark Arts, seemed to quickly become a favorite among most of the students. Harry was relieved that Professor Lupin seemed to be a competent professor who had neither a stuttering problem nor an over-inflated ego. Perhaps it was under the steady and constant instruction that actually focused on Defense rather than the Professor trying to be a show-off and boost his own ego that Harry seemed to be excelling in the class. Which was good, because Merlin knew he was probably tying with Neville for the lowest marks in Potions- already and they were barely a month into their third year. It wasn't that he wasn't trying, it was just hard to make good marks when his most hated professor kept making his life difficult by insulting him and his potion-making skills. Harry was beginning to believe that Snape was grading him according to his personal feelings, which according to Hermione, was not an appropriate way to mark work. But Harry couldn't help the way he felt.

It had gotten so bad that Ron and Hermione had noticed and were urging Harry to go talk to Professor McGonagall at the blatant disparity in the way he was being treated. But Harry was hesitant, he knew that even by going to his head of house, the abuse wouldn't stop. Snape would still find some reason to pick on him. That's just how it was, and how it always would be.

And if it wasn't his potions professor then it would surely be Malfoy and his cronies. Malfoy seemed out to get him this year, and it did not help that Harry's unfortunate run-in with the Dementors on the train seemed to be the perfect leverage.

They would sneak up on him in the corridors and taunt him, in typical Slytherin fashion. It had long since grown old, and Harry wondered when they would get bored of these childish taunts and give up. It was clear that he was only affected by the actual presence of Dementors, so why Malfoy and the others thought that their taunts would elicit a reaction from him was unknown to Ron, Hermione, and him.

It was with curiosity when Professor Lupin ushered them from their usual classroom to a staffroom where he told them their class was going to take place.

The students chatted excitedly amongst themselves, Harry was no exception as he whispered to Ron and Hermione as they speculated why the cupboard in the room kept shaking violently.

When Harry learned the true nature of what had been locked into the closet, his excitement dwindled rapidly. Professor Lupin was going to have them practice fending off a Boggart, which basically personified a phobia of the person who was in closest proximity to the shadowy thing.

Harry only listened with half-an-ear as his professor attempted to teach them the basic spell incantation followed by the wand movements and then finally, the mindset, or types of thoughts they would need in order to successfully defeat their Boggart.

What if his Boggart was a Dementor, would he faint and make another fool of himself, or would he be able to say "Riddikulus" the Boggart-Banishing Spell and turn it into something that was indeed ridiculous? If he fainted then surely his professor would step in and take care of his Boggart for him, though would he fail the lesson if he did? Even so, Harry was not in the mood for more chocolate, as it had quickly lost any pleasurable association now that it was deemed to be the "cure" for those mildly exposed to Dementors.

Or what if the thing took the form of Voldemort, would it startle his classmates enough into believing that You-Know-Who had returned- assuming that they knew what he looked like. A Voldemort returning to full power was a truly scary thought. Best not think of thoughts like that. But what-if Harry wasn't strong enough to take on the Dark Lord? A shudder ran through his body, that was definitely something he was afraid of. Taking a look around, he saw some of the students looking fearful and a bit nervous at the thoughts of what shape their Boggarts might take.

Harry had hoped that his Professor would not call on him today, as he had said that they may not get to everyone this class period and that they could always begin next class with finishing up those who hadn't gone today if they needed to. Of course, as his luck would have it Professor Lupin had to call on him once the class settled down after seeing Padma Patil's snake turn into a Jack-in-the-Box. Harry wasn't sure what humorous thought he could conjure to "defeat" the Boggart, particularly when he was not sure what form it would take. Though seeing Snape dressed in Neville's Gran's clothes was pretty funny, it wasn't exactly so funny that he could use it as his memory.

"Now remember, Mr. Potter, happy thoughts!" Lupin said for what had to be the fiftieth time as he looked at Harry in anticipation. "Remember class it's okay to laugh, laughter is one of the best ways to confuse a boggart, but please allow Mr. Potter to conquer his fear himself."

As Harry tried his best to prepare himself for whatever form the Boggart might take, his classmates started speculating what it was that most scared the Boy-Who-Lived. Many thought it was Voldemort (not that they called him that), while the Slytherins were taking bets that it would be a Dementor.

"Ready, Mr. Potter?" Lupin called out as he checked to see that Harry had his wand pointed towards the cupboard. Without allowing Harry the chance to validate or deny his readiness only a quick flick of his professor's and the cupboard doors flew open and the boggart flew out and assumed a shape of Harry's greatest fear. It hadn't been the one he had expected as he had tried very hard not to think about it. Although his fear was in no way a subconscious one, the boggart must have picked up on his deepest darkest fear even though he hadn't actively been thinking of it.

"Boy! How dare you point that- that thing at me!" His uncle barked out immediately upon seeing Harry's wand pointed at him in preparation to spell "Riddikulus" in his Boggart Uncle's form. Instinctively, as the rotund shape of his uncle stalked forward towards him, belt in hand, Harry almost dropped his wand as he cowered back.

"I-"
"You know you can't perform magic outside of that freaky school of yours! If you do you will get expelled." The boggart version of his uncle gave a shark-like smile as if Christmas had come early at the thought. Harry continued to slowly back away, not aware of the heavy silence that had descended upon his classmates or the urgent whispering of Hermione who was trying to instruct him on what he needed to do but Harry paid her no heed as his world narrowed down to just himself and his uncle.

Next to Hermione, Ron had taken a pasty color and ended up shouting to Harry that it wasn't real and to say Riddikulus.

"Mr. Weasley," their professor scolded "let Mr. Potter handle this." Though Lupin looked intense and ready to jump in as he raised his wand in the likely event that Harry couldn't face his boggart alone. "Think of something happy, Harry, and use the spell "Riddikulus." You have got this!" His professor called and for a moment it seemed to fall on deafened ears.

"Ri-" Harry stuttered out as his Uncle had him cornered. "I will teach you about pointing that thing and using magic outside of school you freak!" His uncle continued to rant while popping his belt for emphasis, as the rest of the students were stunned to a stupor.

"Riddikulus." Harry squeaked out, though it did not have the desired result.

"No food for a week and you are going back into your cupboard un-"

If there was one thing he did not want anyone to know was how weak and defenseless he was in the face of his uncle. Mustering the only happy or comforting thought Harry could ever remember happening, he summoned every last ounce of strength and Gryffindor courage he possessed and bellowed "RIDDIKULUS!" It was an act of pure desperation, and fortunately, Harry either put enough happiness or some other emotion into the spell that the effect was instantaneous.

Immediately the belt shifted into Harry's ratty blanket that his parents had given him and wrapped itself tightly around the boggart. Making it almost literally a security blanket, somehow restraining his uncle within its ratty confined similar to how Harry had used it over the years to bring him comfort. Harry knew it was his blanket because in the left-hand corner was the word "CORVUS" written in a silver script. He wasn't sure of the meaning behind the word Corvus. It obviously wasn't his name, but he knew that his aunt wouldn't have bothered giving him a blanket like this when he was younger. Interestingly enough, she had never tried to take it away from him. Or maybe she had, but it had always come back to him. It had always been Harry's as it was present in some of Harry's earliest memories, which he assumed that his mum and dad had given it to him when he had been a baby.

From what Harry could remember, it was the only thing he had left of his parents barring the pictures Hagrid had given him during his first year. He wasn't sure why they had chosen such Slytherin colors (having only made the connection once he had started Hogwarts) since they had been Gryffindors, but maybe they had wanted the blanket to match his eyes.

Another thing he had pondered over for years was the name on the blanket. He only knew that parents sometimes had their child's name embroidered into their baby blanket, because his Aunt had had a similar one made for his cousin. Was Corvus going to be his nickname? It meant crow or raven after all, and he did have soot-black hair, but how had his parents gotten Corvus out of Harry, or even James? He supposed that was just one more secret they had taken to their grave.

Breathing a shaky and shallow sigh of relief Harry felt a residue of comfort from the mere sight of the blanket. He always had thought that there was something about that blanket that had some magical powers to it, despite his relatives' insistence that there was no such thing. It provided him comfort when nothing else did.

Feeling the last bit of adrenaline leave him, he slid down the wall and buried his head into his arms as the world around him faded to black.