A/N: I commend myself on this chapter. It's definitely longer... maybe this story is going somewhere? Hehe... took me a good while to figure out what to write, though, so I hope you like it. thanks for all who have reviewed... i hope to get more reviewers though! sends subliminal messages "you will review" enjoy!
"What has happened?" Harry asked curiously, afraid to know exactly what he was about to hear.
The young Gryffindor girl cried, tears filling her eyes, "The fat lady!" With that, she broke into a run, crying.
Ron shot Harry a glance, standing up to go straight to the portrait of the fat lady. They ran inside, breaking through groups, and other flocks of Gryffindors trying to see what was going on. When they arrived at the portrait, they were most shocked at what was before them.
The portrait had not only been mostly ripped to shreds, but was clearly seen the poor lady had been attacked. There was streaks of blood around the portrait, graffiti covering a large majority. Things were written on the torn portrait like, "He is here," or, "He's coming back," and "You'll be next, Potter." Harry couldn't respond, truly terrified of what this meant. Not that he didn't know what it did mean, he surely knew.
Door open, a few of the kids walked in the disastrous common room... only to find fifth year Colin Creevey lying on the floor. Whispers were going on the room, "Is he dead?" "Who do did this?"
Dumbledore stepped into the room, hushing the students. "I assure you, he is not dead. He must be taken to see Madam Promfrey at once, though." One of the students volunteered to carry the little blonde to the hospital room. "Your Dear Fat Lady is being searched for around the school, as we are sure she has tried to run away," he paused... "Now, I want you all to stay in here, any further information will be passed on as soon as possible." The old man strode quickly out of the room, leaving everyone inside to think only the worst of things.
Harry stood frozen, running his hand through his hair,"It can't be..." he said aloud to himself.
"W-what can't be...?" Ron asked, frightened.
"I...Malfoy... he... he wouldn't, but... he had a little friend this year. Mind you, he was only a third year... but, I was walking down the hall one day when his little friend said, 'We'll get you, Potter'... I..." Harry broke off, in disbelief of the situation in front of him.
Ron faced Harry face-to-face, "You-you don't reckon they're... after you... do you, Harry?" the raven-haired boy only nodded. Ron averted his eyes, looking at the frightful, tearful children, as Hermione quickly came over.
She handed Harry a piece of parchment, tears rolling down her smooth cheeks. Scared now, Potter? Harry read. He crumpled up the piece of parchment, throwing his arms around Ron and nestling his head under Ron's chin.
"Oh, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, just as Professor McGonagall walked into the room, waving her hand to silence everyone.
"You all are staying in these rooms for the night. I don't want anyone sneaking out. Food will be served to you in here, so don't fret," she said. As if that was supposed to satisfy them?
"Do you know who did this?!" Dennis cried, Colin's little brother. His face was tear-streaked, and the river of tears hadn't stopped yet.
Professor McGonagall tried to comfort the young child, "No, I don't. We will find out, though, don't you worry. Now, if you don't mind, I need to have a private chat with Mr. Potter." She walked over to Harry, her black, slanted hat quivering just a bit. "Now... Mr. Potter, if you would please join me over here?" she said, walking to a table in the far corner, where the table was only dimly lit by a torch nearby.
Harry slowly let go of his freckled-face boyfriend, leaving a small kiss on the boy's cheek, unaware that Hermione was watching. Walking to the table, he could feel all eyes upon him, glowing with curiosity. "Yes, Professor?" he tried to say calmly, but could not help trembling.
The professor folded her hands in her lap, as she spoke with such a quietness Harry had to lean near to hear her, "Mr. Potter, I am aware of your current situation. I am informed that this is a threat by one of our own Hogwarts students, correct?" he nodded. "Right, then. You are to stay in your dormitory until further notice. Now, do you have the name of who you suspect did this?"
"No," Harry shook his head, "but I know he's a friend of Draco Malfoy's."
"Continue."
"He... he has light brown hair, rather short and stubby, third year... blue eyes..." he said, trying to remember every detail about him from the few times he saw him.
"Sounds a lot like Mr. Chris Diggory..." she shook her head gloomily.
Harry's eyes widened, "Is he...?"
"Yes, Cedric's younger brother. Complete opposites, they are. I'm afraid that he might blame you for Cedric's death, and I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if he already isn't a supporter of You-Know-Who. Probably doesn't help much that he's got Mr. Malfoy as one of his good friends..." Professor McGonagall's eyes darted toward the ground, her sullen face shadowed by the dim lighting.
"I... Do you think he's after me, Professor?" Harry asked apprehensively.
"I would think so, Mr. Potter. You best try to get some sleep tonight. You are further excused from your classes, work will be sent to you to do, though. Good night, Mr. Potter." Allowing herself to be dismissed, she walked out of the dormitory, through the wide-open doorway that was missing.
Harry sat there in disbelief. He couldn't believe this. Just unbelievable. Dammit, he thought to himself. Why do I have to be the bloody boy who lived!? Nobody could understand how this felt. No one knew what it was like to be attacked repeatedly. No one understood the loss of his godfather.
He was so caught up in his thoughts, that he didn't even notice Hermione and Ron sit down at the table. What brought him back to reality was when a freckled hand grabbed his.
"Harry? Are you alright?" Ron asked worriedly.
"What? Oh... yeah... McGonagall just informed me of Malfoy's little sidekick..." and so the story began. He included everything from him having to stay in the Gryffindor dormitory, to Chris Diggory.
"Bloody hell..." Ron said aghast.
Hermione sat there stiffly, still not sure what to make of earlier's incident when she saw Harry kiss Ron. It had been bothering her too much, though, so she had to ask, "Ron? Harry? Can I... er... ask you something?"
"Of course," the two replied in unison.
She took a deep breath, "Right... earlier, I-"
"Ah, that. I guess you've figured it out, then? I'm disappointed you didn't figure this out sooner!" Harry joked, although his and Ron's faces both went a very light shade of pink.
"No, of course I did. That night on the train... I left to go to the bathroom. That wasn't just a coincedence... I just didn't think..." she stumbled on her words, blushing of embarrassment.
"Is something that matter, 'Mione?" Ron asked.
She quickly shook her head, "N-no. Not at all. I... I think it's wonderful that you two... you know, got, er, together..." Truth be told, however, she was taken aback. In all reality, she had a small crush on Ron, never once even taking the time to think about who he might fancy.
"So, then... what are we going to do? I'm supposed to stay in here, but it's not even dinner time yet!"
Ron grinned, "'Ow 'bout a game of wizard chess, then, mate?" he suggested.
"Ok, you're on!" Harry agreed and glanced over at his bushy-haired friend, "Oh... sorry, Hermione..." she walked away with a HMPH, but found someone to talk to immediately.
The two boys walked hand-in-hand up the spiral staircase, sure that this would definitely cause speculation among their fellow peers. Neither of them care, really. In fact, they had been bursting to tell someone about their relationship.
As Ron retrieved the game, and set it up, Harry took a seat on his four-poster bed. He was doing some heavy thinking, causing tears to form at the rims of his eyes. Ron looked up just in time to notice, "Oh... Harry, Sweetie... what's wrong?" he asked as he sat down next to his friend, curling an arm around his shoulders.
Harry wiped away a few tears starting to fall, "I never asked for this, Ron, I never wanted any of this. People think, 'Oh, wonderful Harry Potter, defeated the Dark Lord numerous times!', but it's not like that at all!" he said through sobs. "Ron, I know we've been through this before... I remember in fourth year, we had that argument..."
Ron nodded, remembering what happened quite clearly. He had become jealous of Harry, thinking Harry enjoyed all of the attention he got. "It's not like that any more, though, Harry," he said soothingly.
More tears rolled down Harry's perfectly smooth, rosy cheeks, "I know, Ron. I know. I just... you know... last year, when Dumbledore told me why he had not chosen me as prefect..."
"I was always curious about that..."
"He said he thought that I already had too much responsibility. It's not just that, though... it's everything, Ron. I think about Sirius every night, and how I blame myself... no one understands how much pain I go through about that..."
Ron pulled Harry closer, "I know I don't understand, but I try to..."
"That's not enough, sometimes... though," he said, rolling up his sleeves to reveal numerous cuts he had created on his wrist.
"Oh, Harry... Merlin, Harry..." Ron embraced Harry, who was shaking from the choking tears coming from his emerald eyes.
"I just... I don't know what to do, anymore Ron... when I found out about you, and me and you was created, it made all the difference..." he muffled through Ron's maroon sweater.
Ron's left, freckled hand held Harry's head, "I'll always be here for you, Harry. If you ever need someone to talk to... but please, Harry... you can't control yourself by causing more pain." Ron could now feel a wet spot forming on his sweat from where Harry was crying so hard.
The brunet laid down gently, pulling his boyfriend down with him. "I'm not up for a game of wizard chess anymore... sorry..." he said, trying to stifle a laugh.
Ron turned Harry around so that they were face-to-face. Taking the sleeve of his own sweater, he wiped away the tears on the rosy-complexion, tear-streaked face. "No problem, Harry. I don't think I am either..." he noticed that Harry had closed his eyes and fell fast asleep. He drew the dark brown hair out of Harry's eyes, so his scar was visible. He stroked Harry's face gently, "I love you."
"What has happened?" Harry asked curiously, afraid to know exactly what he was about to hear.
The young Gryffindor girl cried, tears filling her eyes, "The fat lady!" With that, she broke into a run, crying.
Ron shot Harry a glance, standing up to go straight to the portrait of the fat lady. They ran inside, breaking through groups, and other flocks of Gryffindors trying to see what was going on. When they arrived at the portrait, they were most shocked at what was before them.
The portrait had not only been mostly ripped to shreds, but was clearly seen the poor lady had been attacked. There was streaks of blood around the portrait, graffiti covering a large majority. Things were written on the torn portrait like, "He is here," or, "He's coming back," and "You'll be next, Potter." Harry couldn't respond, truly terrified of what this meant. Not that he didn't know what it did mean, he surely knew.
Door open, a few of the kids walked in the disastrous common room... only to find fifth year Colin Creevey lying on the floor. Whispers were going on the room, "Is he dead?" "Who do did this?"
Dumbledore stepped into the room, hushing the students. "I assure you, he is not dead. He must be taken to see Madam Promfrey at once, though." One of the students volunteered to carry the little blonde to the hospital room. "Your Dear Fat Lady is being searched for around the school, as we are sure she has tried to run away," he paused... "Now, I want you all to stay in here, any further information will be passed on as soon as possible." The old man strode quickly out of the room, leaving everyone inside to think only the worst of things.
Harry stood frozen, running his hand through his hair,"It can't be..." he said aloud to himself.
"W-what can't be...?" Ron asked, frightened.
"I...Malfoy... he... he wouldn't, but... he had a little friend this year. Mind you, he was only a third year... but, I was walking down the hall one day when his little friend said, 'We'll get you, Potter'... I..." Harry broke off, in disbelief of the situation in front of him.
Ron faced Harry face-to-face, "You-you don't reckon they're... after you... do you, Harry?" the raven-haired boy only nodded. Ron averted his eyes, looking at the frightful, tearful children, as Hermione quickly came over.
She handed Harry a piece of parchment, tears rolling down her smooth cheeks. Scared now, Potter? Harry read. He crumpled up the piece of parchment, throwing his arms around Ron and nestling his head under Ron's chin.
"Oh, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, just as Professor McGonagall walked into the room, waving her hand to silence everyone.
"You all are staying in these rooms for the night. I don't want anyone sneaking out. Food will be served to you in here, so don't fret," she said. As if that was supposed to satisfy them?
"Do you know who did this?!" Dennis cried, Colin's little brother. His face was tear-streaked, and the river of tears hadn't stopped yet.
Professor McGonagall tried to comfort the young child, "No, I don't. We will find out, though, don't you worry. Now, if you don't mind, I need to have a private chat with Mr. Potter." She walked over to Harry, her black, slanted hat quivering just a bit. "Now... Mr. Potter, if you would please join me over here?" she said, walking to a table in the far corner, where the table was only dimly lit by a torch nearby.
Harry slowly let go of his freckled-face boyfriend, leaving a small kiss on the boy's cheek, unaware that Hermione was watching. Walking to the table, he could feel all eyes upon him, glowing with curiosity. "Yes, Professor?" he tried to say calmly, but could not help trembling.
The professor folded her hands in her lap, as she spoke with such a quietness Harry had to lean near to hear her, "Mr. Potter, I am aware of your current situation. I am informed that this is a threat by one of our own Hogwarts students, correct?" he nodded. "Right, then. You are to stay in your dormitory until further notice. Now, do you have the name of who you suspect did this?"
"No," Harry shook his head, "but I know he's a friend of Draco Malfoy's."
"Continue."
"He... he has light brown hair, rather short and stubby, third year... blue eyes..." he said, trying to remember every detail about him from the few times he saw him.
"Sounds a lot like Mr. Chris Diggory..." she shook her head gloomily.
Harry's eyes widened, "Is he...?"
"Yes, Cedric's younger brother. Complete opposites, they are. I'm afraid that he might blame you for Cedric's death, and I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if he already isn't a supporter of You-Know-Who. Probably doesn't help much that he's got Mr. Malfoy as one of his good friends..." Professor McGonagall's eyes darted toward the ground, her sullen face shadowed by the dim lighting.
"I... Do you think he's after me, Professor?" Harry asked apprehensively.
"I would think so, Mr. Potter. You best try to get some sleep tonight. You are further excused from your classes, work will be sent to you to do, though. Good night, Mr. Potter." Allowing herself to be dismissed, she walked out of the dormitory, through the wide-open doorway that was missing.
Harry sat there in disbelief. He couldn't believe this. Just unbelievable. Dammit, he thought to himself. Why do I have to be the bloody boy who lived!? Nobody could understand how this felt. No one knew what it was like to be attacked repeatedly. No one understood the loss of his godfather.
He was so caught up in his thoughts, that he didn't even notice Hermione and Ron sit down at the table. What brought him back to reality was when a freckled hand grabbed his.
"Harry? Are you alright?" Ron asked worriedly.
"What? Oh... yeah... McGonagall just informed me of Malfoy's little sidekick..." and so the story began. He included everything from him having to stay in the Gryffindor dormitory, to Chris Diggory.
"Bloody hell..." Ron said aghast.
Hermione sat there stiffly, still not sure what to make of earlier's incident when she saw Harry kiss Ron. It had been bothering her too much, though, so she had to ask, "Ron? Harry? Can I... er... ask you something?"
"Of course," the two replied in unison.
She took a deep breath, "Right... earlier, I-"
"Ah, that. I guess you've figured it out, then? I'm disappointed you didn't figure this out sooner!" Harry joked, although his and Ron's faces both went a very light shade of pink.
"No, of course I did. That night on the train... I left to go to the bathroom. That wasn't just a coincedence... I just didn't think..." she stumbled on her words, blushing of embarrassment.
"Is something that matter, 'Mione?" Ron asked.
She quickly shook her head, "N-no. Not at all. I... I think it's wonderful that you two... you know, got, er, together..." Truth be told, however, she was taken aback. In all reality, she had a small crush on Ron, never once even taking the time to think about who he might fancy.
"So, then... what are we going to do? I'm supposed to stay in here, but it's not even dinner time yet!"
Ron grinned, "'Ow 'bout a game of wizard chess, then, mate?" he suggested.
"Ok, you're on!" Harry agreed and glanced over at his bushy-haired friend, "Oh... sorry, Hermione..." she walked away with a HMPH, but found someone to talk to immediately.
The two boys walked hand-in-hand up the spiral staircase, sure that this would definitely cause speculation among their fellow peers. Neither of them care, really. In fact, they had been bursting to tell someone about their relationship.
As Ron retrieved the game, and set it up, Harry took a seat on his four-poster bed. He was doing some heavy thinking, causing tears to form at the rims of his eyes. Ron looked up just in time to notice, "Oh... Harry, Sweetie... what's wrong?" he asked as he sat down next to his friend, curling an arm around his shoulders.
Harry wiped away a few tears starting to fall, "I never asked for this, Ron, I never wanted any of this. People think, 'Oh, wonderful Harry Potter, defeated the Dark Lord numerous times!', but it's not like that at all!" he said through sobs. "Ron, I know we've been through this before... I remember in fourth year, we had that argument..."
Ron nodded, remembering what happened quite clearly. He had become jealous of Harry, thinking Harry enjoyed all of the attention he got. "It's not like that any more, though, Harry," he said soothingly.
More tears rolled down Harry's perfectly smooth, rosy cheeks, "I know, Ron. I know. I just... you know... last year, when Dumbledore told me why he had not chosen me as prefect..."
"I was always curious about that..."
"He said he thought that I already had too much responsibility. It's not just that, though... it's everything, Ron. I think about Sirius every night, and how I blame myself... no one understands how much pain I go through about that..."
Ron pulled Harry closer, "I know I don't understand, but I try to..."
"That's not enough, sometimes... though," he said, rolling up his sleeves to reveal numerous cuts he had created on his wrist.
"Oh, Harry... Merlin, Harry..." Ron embraced Harry, who was shaking from the choking tears coming from his emerald eyes.
"I just... I don't know what to do, anymore Ron... when I found out about you, and me and you was created, it made all the difference..." he muffled through Ron's maroon sweater.
Ron's left, freckled hand held Harry's head, "I'll always be here for you, Harry. If you ever need someone to talk to... but please, Harry... you can't control yourself by causing more pain." Ron could now feel a wet spot forming on his sweat from where Harry was crying so hard.
The brunet laid down gently, pulling his boyfriend down with him. "I'm not up for a game of wizard chess anymore... sorry..." he said, trying to stifle a laugh.
Ron turned Harry around so that they were face-to-face. Taking the sleeve of his own sweater, he wiped away the tears on the rosy-complexion, tear-streaked face. "No problem, Harry. I don't think I am either..." he noticed that Harry had closed his eyes and fell fast asleep. He drew the dark brown hair out of Harry's eyes, so his scar was visible. He stroked Harry's face gently, "I love you."