There isn't any reason

You look at the pathetic wreck before you crying but not making any sound, hurting and showing every pain. He looked so wretched, that a surge of pity washes over you accompanied by an unexplained feeling of deep regret. You walk over to him as your mind is undergoing a battle, your rational-sided brain (which unusually only spoke out in times of great emotional overload) is telling you that if you went over there now, it would mean you forgive him for the incident in your first year, though, in all honesty, you should never have gotten mad at the first place and the compassionate-sided brain (the one you only show for people you really truly love) is screaming for you to get your stubborn arse over there and help him, and the last and most annoying part of your intellect, the apathetic-yet-spiteful-Malfoy-like-sided part is cavalierly reminding you that Harry Potter is a Slytherin and for all it's worth you should milk every moment of glory that you have now. You are slightly bemused nevertheless you manage to overrule your "Slytherin-self" and you walk over to him and once again place your hand on his shoulder though he falls on your lap and you stumble together on the floor, you don't flinch away this time.

"There isn't any reason to cry, Harry." Your voice is firm and now he is the one who recoils from you, staring at you as if you were a lunatic. It somehow hurts you but you know you're right.

"Why?" he asks again, digging his unreasonably long nails into your arm and even though it stings and a small amount of blood trickles down its length. Neither one of you pulls away, you both simply stare at the ruby liquid.

Funny.

The pain doesn't even seem real.

You take a deep breath and brace yourself as you prepare to answer.

"Because this is how it's supposed to be." He stares at you blankly for a moment, as though he's looking for the hint of a joke in your eyes. He looks horrible already, dishevelled robes, unnaturally untidy dark hair, red green eyes utterly contrasting his stark white skin.

He looks even worse as he clutches his head and starts to scream. You look at him and you are not sure what to do. Had you been a girl this would have come naturally but you're far from being a woman and you know that. Although, you know that when it came to situations like these it was best to have adult supervision which Harry undoubtedly did not want seeing as he throws a hex at Hagrid, who now lies unconscious on the floor.

If he's this good at throwing curses in a state of madness like this it'd be brilliant to see him duel at top form, you muse, but it's not what really goes through your mind, it's somewhere in a far corner, waiting for the opportune moment to come out. In reality you're scared he'll come for you next, but you stand your ground praying he doesn't throw another curse and end up getting himself into bigger trouble.

"LET ME OUT OF HERE!" he screams, his head at the mercy of his hands. "STOP IT! I WANT TO GET OUT! I DON'T WANT TO BE HERE! I DON'T WANT TO BE HUMAN! LET—ME—GO!!!!"

"I won't let you," you say directly to him. You don't understand, you can't understand, why he wants to get out, why he doesn't want to be human, why he's even here in the first place, crying his eyes out. Nevertheless you place yourself in front of the door and look him in the eye. He is obviously caught unguarded, the surprised look in his eyes. He gawks at you but you are undaunted even as he heads for you in a headlong dash. His hands are around your neck, nails digging deep in your skin.

"Let me out," he hisses at you. You know that both of you are acting entirely out of character, but this had to be done. Though you are not an expert psychotherapist and not the most perceptive person when it comes to emotions, but even you can tell when someone's gone off the deep end.

"No." Harry throws you against the wall, rage filling him clearly and he was throwing it at you, not to you, just at you. His breathing is uneven and ragged, you look in his eyes but instead of seeing rage you see pain scattered across sundry shades of green.

"Why not?!" he demands, pressing against you, tears he doesn't notice splash on your face as he tries to push you further into the dust-white wall. The smallest hint shows the pain that dominated him moments ago.

"Because there's something you have to do."

That did it.

All self-control Harry managed to salvage in the Headmaster's office and when he cursed Hagrid is gone now. He slams you to the wall and blindly begins to throw punches here and there. At first, you let him vent it out, but by some means your "Slytherin-self" surfaces and you block a blow to your gut and shove him away from you. You both try to hit each other with as much force as you can muster. You, being used to childish brawls such as these, you pin him on the ground. But just as you are about to strangle him the door opens and your best friend walks in.

"Ron, what's taking you so long? —RON! GET OFF OF HIM!!!" She rushes toward you and Harry and futilely strives to pull you away. You shrug her hand off and don't say a word. Harry has stooped moving to and looks down at the floor. In a swift gesture, so unlike you, you get off him and proceed to gaze out the window.

Hermione examines Harry's bruised face, in contrast to you; she doesn't care about house differences (except if it was Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson). He looks worse for wear, and the fact that he was crying did not help Ron's case at all. After making sure that Harry was all right on you livid with rage. Another angry person to deal with, you think.

"What do you think you're doing?" she demands, looking at you with that familiar cross scowl. "You could have hurt him badly. He hasn't done anything to you and in spite of that you attack him." Apparently, she's blind to the sketches of blood on your neck and arm. "I know you're daft, Ron. But I never dreamed you could be so insensitive."

That hurt.

"I did not start this, Hermione. He did." This only gets her even more provoked and she walks over and slaps you, something she's only done to Malfoy in third year.

"You were on top of him and hitting him!" she exclaims. You sigh. She doesn't understand that Harry needs this, and all the more so you need this.

"This is none of your business, Hermione."

"It's none of your business what Harry does in Hagrid's house!" she retorted.

"He made it made it my business." She throws her hands up in the air and walks out of the room. You look at the Slytherin and he looks back at you, his eyes are calm again and you relax a little.

"He's dead." He tells you looking out to the same place you had been looking at only moments ago.

He was looking at The Shrieking Shack.

"I was told. He's your godfather, right? Sirius Black...the one who showed me who

Pettigrew really was."

"Yeah." He looks at you again and smiles a little. "Thanks, by the way," he says softly and you're somewhat taken aback.

"For what?"

"For giving up your only pet..." He pauses. "And for being the only one who's tried to stop me from getting my way."

"Huh?" Confusion is now your primary emotion as he sits down on the floor, resting his head in his blood stained hands.

"During the summer, I wasn't myself. I said things I didn't mean. I hurt Remus...I almost broke all of his possessions...I was so angry."