Chapter Eight

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On Monday, Harry had the joy of NEWT Potions first thing in the morning. He'd spent the rest of the weekend in his dormitory, either Ron or Neville always watching him. It irked him, but they didn't seem to care how much he screamed at them.

Harry followed submissively behind Hermione to the dungeon classroom. Lucia was already there, waiting outside. Harry hadn't seen her since lunch on Saturday, captive as he had been in his room.

"Hello," she said. She looked nervous, probably because Draco was due any minute.

"Hello, Lucia," Hermione returned. Harry muttered a greeting.

They stood in silence. Draco arrived with Pansy Parkinson, but he and Lucia determinedly ignored each other.

At nine o'clock exactly, Snape came swooping down the corridor and opened the door to the classroom.

"Sit," he said, sweeping past the students and stopping at the front of the classroom. The class silently obeyed, Draco and Pansy taking a table in the front row, Ernie MacMillan and Padma Patil a little apart from each other in the middle, and Harry, Hermione, and Lucia sitting together in the back.

Harry had forgotten how angry he was with Snape, but now upon seeing the Potionsmaster he recalled the taunts that in Harry's mind had driven Sirius to leave Headquarters.

"Welcome," said Snape with a sneer that belied any cordiality his word might have inadvertently suggested, "to NEWT Potions. In this class I shall be introducing you to the intricacies of advanced Potion making. It is a demanding subject, and I have no doubt that some of you will not be able to handle it." Snape's black eyes settled on Harry. "However, I expect each of you to give me your best work. This is also an area of study which requires upmost seriousness. We shall be working with highly dangerous substances, and while I would hardly mind if one of you were to be injured by your own foolishness, there are certain messes I do not wish to have to clean up. Therefore there will be no fooling around or joking while you are in this classroom. Is that understood?" Silence greeted him, which he always took for assent. "Very well, then," he continued. "As we are now a class behind, we must get started. I suggest you pay attention." He waved his wand to make appear on the board the steps to an especially powerful calming elixir.

The class was different from Harry's previous experience with Potions. For one thing, Snape continued to ignore Harry, though this time Harry was trying to pick a fight. He dropped things and apoligised annoyingly, hoping Snape would snap, but the Potionsmaster didn't so much as look at him. Also, there was an odd tension between Snape and Draco Malfoy. In fact, by the end of the lesson (which was twice as long as usual to make up for the missed class), Slytherin was down twenty house points. Then there was the surprising fact that Lucia was amazing at Potions, even outshining Hermione in the speed and accuracy with which she produced each perfect concoction.

At the end of the period, the students were putting their supplies back in the cupboard. As Harry reached up to replace his cauldron in its designated shelf (of course Snape had assigned Harry the highest one), his sleeves fell down to his elbows. When he turned around, Lucia was staring at him.

"What's with the bandage?" she asked.

"Nothing you need to worry about," Harry snapped.

"Suicide?" she asked, "or just plain old masochism?"

Harry looked around. Hermione was waiting for him at the door and Snape was sorting through papers on his desk. Everyone else had gone already.

"Go on, Hermione," said Harry through gritted teeth. "I'll catch up with you later, ok?"

Hermione hesitated, but Harry knew she would be rushing to make Arithmancy. She gave him a concerned look, and hurried away.

"If I wanted to kill myself," said Harry, turning back to Lucia, "I'd have found a much more effective way of doing it."

"Would you like me to recommend a good poison, Potter?" Snape said from his desk.

Harry jumped, not realizing the teacher could hear them so easily. "No," he said, "That's alright, I'm good, thanks."

"Are you sure? It would make things so much easier for the both of us."

Harry turned around to face Snape. "Yeah, until Voldemort comes and I'm not there to stop him."

Snape calmly placed his elbows on his desk and rested his chin on his tented fingers. "So now we're resorting to suicide threats are we, Mr. Potter? Give a boy with an already swollen head some idea of his own power and-"

"It's not a threat," said Harry, his voice rising along with the heat in his face, "It's the truth."

"As if you would have the guts to-"

"DON'T YOU THINK I WOULDN'T!" shouted Harry, "DON'T YOU THINK I'D KEEP MYSELF ALIVE FOR ANOTHER INSTANT IF IT WEREN'T FOR YOU LOT--"

Harry was ready to start wreaking havoc as he had done in Dumbledore's office only a few months ago after Sirius' death. But Lucia took hold of his arm.

"LET GO OF ME!" Harry screamed.

She wouldn't however, and as Harry fought her he was suddenly very aware of how his neglect of food had affected his strength. He was weak, weaker than this thin girl who'd just come out of a mental hospital for anorexia and suicide. Soon she had him tackled on the floor.

It was Harry's lowest moment yet. There was silence.

I can't fight like this.

Harry was aware only of thinking it, but he must have said it out loud because Snape said, "That, Potter, is precisely the point. Malfoy, please get off of your classmate. I'll have no funny business while I'm around."

Lucia let Harry up, but retained her grip on his wrists.

"So I guess it doesn't matter anyways," said Harry. "I'm going to lose."

"You will if you continue in this manner," said Snape, as though he didn't really care.

Harry stayed where he was, on his knees before Lucia, shaking all over.

"Now," said Snape, "If you are quite finished, Potter, I would appreciate if you left me alone. I'm sure you can find someone else you can scream at who is far more interested than I am."

Lucia pulled Harry to his feet, whispering, "Come on, Harry."

Harry followed her out of the room, feeling utterly empty.

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"I don't know what's happening to me," said Harry, trying to light a cigarette he had stolen from Hermione's bag.

He and Lucia were in the boys' dormitory, Lucia sitting patiently on Harry's bed and Harry pacing back and forth in front of her.

"I just..." he said, "I just feel so... It's like I don't have control over myself anymore."

"I know exactly what you mean," said Lucia. "Then again, I'm bipolar, so that's probably not good news for you."

"But I can't..." Harry's voice cracked. "I don't know what to do." He stopped in his pacing and turned to face her imploringly.

She didn't know what help she could give. She held out her hands.

"Come here," she said.

He hesitated, then moved forward.

She knelt on the bed, so that her face was level with his, and placed her hands on either side of his neck. "Harry, tell me."

His eyes darkened with distrust. "I don't know that I can," he said.

"Alright then, so don't tell me. But please, stand still for a moment."

He didn't move. He hardly seemed to breathe.

Then, abruptly, he tore away and started up again at pacing and flicking Hermione's cigarette, trying to get it to light. When it didn't, he pulled out his wand and tried to get the fag to catch from the flame he summoned there. This didn't work either, so Harry threw aside both wand and cigarette in disgust, and resumed his pacing.

A moment after this, he halted and said, "I have nightmares, you know."

"Yes."

"They... In them, I'm always.... I get angry for some reason or another, or maybe I start out angry, and I...."

Lucia waited as Harry ran his hands through his hair several times and looked nervously about the room.

"I always end up killing people," Harry finished. He didn't look at her.

"Who?" asked Lucia.

"Everyone." His voice was harsh and strained. "I end up killing everyone I care about."

Lucia waited a minute before saying, "and now you think that will come true."

"I don't know, Lucia." He turned to face her again, "I'm scared." And she saw the tears glistening on his face.

There was nothing else to do- she stood up and embraced him.

He stiffened at first, but then relaxed. She felt his face dampen her shoulder. As he gave in to her, she gently tugged him backwards until they were both lying on Harry's bed.

Harry sniffed a few times, and after a while he said, almost playfully, "So what are you going to do now?"

"Nothing," she said, settling in at his side and running a hand through his hair. "Nothing at all."

(A/N: Just in case some of you are jumping to conclusions- NO, they did not just have sex. When and if anyone ever does, I shall make it clear.)

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After dinner, Ron, tired of Harry sulking in the dormitory, dragged the dark-haired boy down to the common room.

The two came and sat at the table where Ginny was doing her homework, Hermione joining them a few minutes later. Ginny watched quietly as all three of her companions pretended to work.

Harry kept scratching at his bandaged arm, which made Hermione glance at him out of the corner of her eye each time he did. He was supposed to be writing a Transfiguration essay, due the next day, but he'd only gotten down a few words, which weren't even legible. Ron was muddling through the same essay, though he was almost finished. Hermione, for her part, was looking through a stack of books from the library, having finished all her work that afternoon. Ginny noticed the titles suggested Hermione was more than a little worried over Harry. (The volume she was currently scanning was called "Dream Draughts and Sleeping Serums.")

When Harry seemed to have had enough of the silence, he threw down his quill and drew a crumpled cigarette from his pocket. He waved it around, but nothing happened.

"Dammit, Hermione," he said, "How d'you get these bloody things to light?"

"They're charmed, Harry," said Hermione, slamming the cover of her book shut. "So that buggers like you who steal them can't use them."

Ron looked up and watched his friends fearfully.

Harry scowled at her. "What did you call me?"

"Nothing, Harry." When he continued to glare at her, she burst out, "Well, you did take my last fag!"

"So? I thought you only had one a week anyway," said Harry.

"Yeah, well, certain people have been raising my stress level lately. Certain dirty selfish people with no respect for their friends."

Harry stood up.

"Oh my God," said Ron, "Can't you two just shut up? Don't kill each other, alright?"

Harry walked away.

Ginny caught up with him out in the corridor. He was walking quickly and shaking.

"Harry..." she said, as she drew level with him.

"What's she playing at, anyway?" Harry burst out, stopping suddenly. "I already hate myself, I don't need her help!"

"She's just upset, Harry. Everyone makes mistakes. Can't you let her have her faults for now? You'll forgive her later."

"She's impossible," said Harry.

"She's your friend," Ginny reminded him.

Harry laughed.

Ginny took his hand in hers. "You guys'll work it out," she said, "when you've both had a chance to cool down."

Harry looked away. They stood there for some minutes.

"I..." Ginny started, then paused before beginning again. "I won't say I know what you're going through, because I don't. But I want you to know..." Ah, hell, she thought, and finished with, "Look-"

She pulled up the hem of her robes and showed him the deep scars on her legs. "There are more on my stomach," she said.

"You did that?" he asked, his face impassive.

"Well, yeah," she said. "I wasn't so happy after You-Know-Who almost made me kill my mates."

"I didn't know," said Harry. "Why didn't I know?"

"No one knew," said Ginny. "I mean, my mum found out and made me stop. But even Ron didn't know until I told him and Hermione a few weeks ago."

"But you didn't tell me."

"Well, no. I didn't want to give you ideas."

Harry ran a hand through his hair.

"Harry..." Ginny found her voice choked with emotion, and she couldn't go on. Not that she knew what she wanted to say, anyhow.

There was another long pause, in which Harry examined her, his face still apparently devoid of emotion. She was trying very hard not to run away under the intensity of his gaze.

"Ginny," he said finally. "Why are you nice to me?"

"Because," she said. "You're Harry."

"Because I'm Harry Potter? Is that what you mean?"

"No. Just Harry."

Again he ran his hand through his hair. "Ginny, do you want to be my girlfriend?"

Ginny caught her breath. "Are you asking me to be?" she inquired tentatively.

"Yes," he said. "Yes, I suppose I am."

Ginny searched his face. She saw no softness or romance, but affection showed in his eyes. "Then of course I do," she said.

He broke away from her gaze. "Right, then. That's settled."

"Yes," Ginny said lamely. "I suppose it is."

Just as she was beginning to feel a bit cheated and confused, Harry leaned in, as if suddenly coming to a decision, and kissed her on the lips.

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Harry lay in his bed that night (Ron had told Neville not to let him out of the dormitory) wondering why on earth he had asked Ginny out. It was stupid, really, and he hadn't meant to do it. But she had seemed so sad, and he had wanted to cheer her up... But he had to admit to himself that he'd also done it to take his mind off of Ron. He was probably trying to use Ginny to replace Ron, actually. Not that they looked much alike beyond the Weasley hair and freckles, but Harry needed someone to snog, didn't he?

Harry groaned silently, and rolled over onto his stomach, cursing himself for being such a terrible person. Ginny was his friend, and she deserved much better than this. Hell, no one deserved to be used the way he was using her.

But if he broke up with her, what would she think then? He could make something up about Ron not wanting his best friend hooking up with his little sister, but that wasn't likely to fly, as it was pretty clear Ron thought Harry and Ginny were meant for each other. She would be hurt, and they certainly wouldn't be friends anymore.

Harry swore to the dark. He kept digging himself into deeper and deeper messes.

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"Well," Ron grinned when Ginny told him at breakfast. "I'm not surprised. It's about time he got the nerve up to ask you."

"Yeah," Ginny beamed.

Ron glanced at Hermione, wondering if this meant they could tell Harry about their own relationship.

"Congratulations, Ginny," Hermione said, but Ron could tell she wasn't as happy as she sounded.

"You still sore at Harry?" he asked.

Hermione shrugged. "I'm just sort of sick of his whole angsty Hamlet thing."

"What's Hamlet?"

"Never mind. Here he comes."

Sure enough, Harry and Lucia came and sat beside Ginny.

"Hello, Lucia," said Hermione.

Harry ignored her slight and greeted the others. Ron saw Ginny put her arm through Harry's and smiled inwardly. He'd always suspected that Ginny hadn't really gotten over her crush on Harry. And Harry- Harry must have gotten over Hermione. Hopefully he wasn't just dating Ginny to spite her. He must realize Hermione wouldn't care... But wait, Ron caught himself. Hermione did seem to care. Ron felt his stomach turn. He didn't want to think that Hermione could like Harry, but after all he was Harry Potter.

Ron refilled his glass of orange juice, suddenly wishing, not for the first time, that he had chosen to be friends with someone a little less famous.

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The week passed without incident, Harry still spending almost all his time with Lucia, chatting nervously with Ginny in the evenings, keeping up pretenses with Ron, and hardly speaking to Hermione.

On Friday it was time for another session with Professor Moon. As Harry stepped into her office, he felt an eternity had passed since he was there only the week before.

"Professor McGonagall," began Moon, as she dug a pack of cigarettes from her drawer exactly as she had last time, "has informed me of your trip to the hospital wing last week, Mr. Potter."

Harry burned with anger, but said nothing.

Moon lit her fag and inhaled as she walked around to the front of the desk, leaning her back against it. "This changes things."

"How so?" Harry growled.

She ignored his tone. "I've been thinking of your training in the context of a healthy adult. I see now that was a mistake. I haven't taken into account your age, and the trauma in your past.

"Now, anger can create very powerful magic. No doubt you found this last year after your Godfather was killed."

"How do you know about that?"

"You'll find I know a lot of things, Mr. Potter."

"But anyways," said Harry, "it didn't work."

"What didn't work?"

Harry met her eyes. "The Cruciatus curse. I tried to use it on Bellatrix Lestrange. I wanted her to suffer for killing Sirius. It didn't work, though. She threw it off and laughed at me."

Moon took a drag on her cigarette and let the smoke out slowly.

"Yes, anger will only get you so far. It provides the force behind some powerful magic, but without focus it burns out and you end up hurting yourself."

"But doesn't Voldemort cast with anger?"

Moon started pacing the room. "Yes, and no. He doesn't use anger, per se, but her does use desire. All emotions fuel magic, Harry. Desire and ambition are what feed Voldemort, so they feed his magic..." She stopped and turned around.

"No," she said, "Let's back up. Has anyone ever told you the guiding principle behind magic? Why it works?"

"Er," said Harry, "Not really."

"Well, as I said, it's fueled by emotion. The feelings we are experiencing determine what sort of magic we will produce at any given time. Simple spells are relatively unaffected by these sort of changes, but anything with a lot of power behind it will also have a lot of emotion behind it. Does that make sense?"

Harry nodded.

"So, with more advanced spells, such as the Patronus, which you already have experience with I believe, the effect varies from person to person. Here-"

She turned abruptly to the chalkboard, picked up a bit of chalk, and wrote squeakily: Faith, Emotion, Concentration, Visualization, Willpower.

"These," she said, "Are the five components of advanced magic. They're needed for any magic really, but in simple spells you need so little that you don't even have to think about it. And you'll notice," she added with a small smile, "that there is no wand up here."

She turned back to him. "Do you need your wand?" she barked, sounding suddenly like a drill sergeant (or like Professor Moody).

"No," said Harry, feeling stupid.

"You still don't believe it yet," she said. "But you will."

"Um," Harry interrupted, "Can you get back to what you were explaining before?"

"Oh! Yes, what was I saying? Voldemort uses his lust for power. His ambition is strong, so his spells are strong, you see? Now, you are going to defeat him with love."

There it was again. The same thing Dumbledore had said last year.

Moon must have read the look on his face, because she said quietly, "It will work, Mr. Potter. Voldemort's desire and greed can only go so far. You, however, have the capacity for boundless love."

"So, what, I've got to love Voldemort or something?" Harry was reminded of a book he'd read in primary school- 'I love you, Charles Wallace!' flashed through his mind briefly.

"In a way, but I shouldn't worry about it. You will, after all, be destroying him."

There was a pause, in which Moon sucked on her cigarette, and Harry stood silently, staring at the floor.

"The point is, Harry, that you can't fight him if you don't love yourself."

Harry looked up quickly and stared at her. "How the hell am I supposed to do that?"

"I don't know," she snapped, "But you'd better find a way or your friends won't live to see another summer."