Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe is the property of J.K. Rowlings. I have merely borrowed it for the entertainment of myself and you. (I hope!)

A/N: I am attempting to get this done before the release of Half Blood Prince. If I do not, I will still attempt to finish it.

Chapter 7:

Harry sat studying, instead of his usual procrastinating, after Quidditch practice, uncomfortably aware of the looks he was getting from several younger Gryffindors. Hermione was writing another novel to Viktor Krum, Ron casting frowning looks at her bent back, supposedly covertly. Harry, however, was working on his DADA essay about wandless magic. It had taken Hermione prodding him and Ron to get the two boys to start them.

Now that he had started, however, he was kind of fascinated by it. He wondered, almost with a sick sort of dread, if Voldemort knew it. He didn't know and had to let it lie at that.

Hermione was still writing her novel (the parchment was rolling onto the floor again) when he finally put his quill down almost an hour later. Ron had barely written anything at all, still looking a bit peeved at the still writing Hermione. "Why do you have to write so much?" He finally asked her.

Hermione didn't look up from the parchment, still writing and shrugged. "I don't write him very often. When I do, I have a lot to say don't I?"

Harry could see a fight brewing between the two and sighed. For some reason, Ron took exception to the duck-footed Quidditch player. Harry didn't understand it and was pretty sure he didn't want to. "Leave her be, Ron." He said wearily. Harry really wasn't in the mood to deal with Ron being angry about a simple letter. He was still curious about the possibility of their Professor being pregnant.

Tempted as he was to drag out the Invisibility Cloak, he left it hidden in his trunk. Everytime he'd dragged it out, hoping to help, to stop what was going on around him, it had always created more problems. Now, he would leave it be.

Hermione finally stopped writing. Ron had begun an essay for Herbology, that Harry was studiously ignoring. She rolled up the parchment, sealing it with a tap of her wand and came over to sit next to Harry on the couch. She frowned at Ron, who was now bent over his Herbology essay and picked up her Arithimancy book. Harry sighed and gathered up his things. He wasn't going to watch the two glower at each other, instead, he was going to go see what he could figure out about Professor Stone.

Murmuring his good nights, he trudged up the stairs and, after changing , fell into bed. He had wanted to sit up and think, his body, tired from Quidditch practice, and his mind, tired from homework, dragged him down into sleep.

He was once again in that graveyard, where Cedric had died. Looking around, he could see the tombstones shadowed and ominous in the non-light of the stars. There were no Death-Eaters, no Lord Voldemort this time. Instead he was alone.

A chill wind ripped through him, drawing a shiver as he pulled his school robes around him. He looked everywhere, wondering why he had come back here after all this time. He trudged, in the direction of the house, slipping by the tombstones, unwilling to look at them.

A fog settled deep onto the ground, concealing his moving legs. Fallen tombstones were hidden behind the molasses-thick mist. It swirled and eddied around his legs as he kept walking, hoping this was nothing more than a dream, an odd scene played out within his own mind and not that of the Dark Lord.

The last thing Harry wanted to do was fall for the mind tricks as he had just a few months before. His mistakes, his impetuousness had cost Sirius Black his life. Conjured out of the mists, brought to the fore by Harry's own mind, a loud bark echoed hollowly around him. Harry stiffened, stopping where he was.

Another wind swirled, bringing the sound to Harry and then sending it away, a teasing dance choreographed to entice him, to bother, to give him grief. He stiffened further, unwilling to believe what his ears were telling him. Another bark, closer but still carried upon the wind, again enticed him to look around, to try to find where it was coming from.

Sirius Black was dead. He knew that. Nothing would change it. He had seen Sirius fall through that archway, disappearing. Yet the bark teased at him once more, swirling around him. Harry still refused to look. He closed his eyes, willing the nightmare images of that horrible night at the Ministry away. He opened his eyes but the images weren't any better.

Here, Cedric had died. Here, the Dark Lord had risen once more. He had gotten his new body just over there. They had dueled, wand to wand, just there. He still remembered seeing his mother and father, whisps upon the wind, insubstantial, standing before him. His mother had told him to hold on, his father was coming. He had held on. For far longer than he thought he could.

Over there, Cedric's body had laid, lifeless. He had crawled to it, taking them both back to the center of that maze, back to Hogwarts. Harry couldn't have left Cedric behind. Still, that death had been his fault in a way as well. If he hadn't insisted that they both take the Cup together, Cedric would have still been alive.

He sighed heavily. The bark came again, closer, but he ignored it again. He didn't believe what he was hearing. He kept trying to walk, but now the fog was growing thicker. It was almost syrup thick now. He could hardly move. It dragged at him, making it difficult to walk. Small sucking noises came from under his feet as he kept trying to move forward. The bark came closer now,

With a heavy sigh, Harry looked up from the fog swirling around his knees, hoping to see something, anything, that would get him out of here. Through the shadows, a darker shape bounded toward him, one he knew well.

Harry gulped, closing his eyes against the tears that threatened to fall. The grief crashed over him, fresh and new. He didn't want to see that shape. He knew it all to well. When he opened his eyes again, another shape, large and graceful had joined the other. There was a smaller shadow on its back. Harry squinted, trying to make them out as they came closer.

Finally, they came close enough for him to make them out. A large stag, a dog, and a woman. He squinted through the dim light, trying to make them out. Finally, the stag and the dog glowed. The forms seemed to flow around and in on themselves until both stood upon two legs instead of four.

Before him, shrouded by mists and the night, stood the three people Harry loved beyond anything. One, so recently dead, struck him hard. Tears once again fell, dripping from his face to be buried in the mists surrounding him. He stared at the three figures as they stood watching silently. He tried to move closer to them but some invisible force, or the mists, held him back.

Then a wind whipped up from nowhere as James put his arm around Lily and Sirius and they faded from his view, lost once again, to the veil of death and the mists beyond which he could not touch. Harry fell to his knees, sobs finally breaking free, unfettered and finally, cleansing.

Harry woke the next morning, his throat raw, tear tracks, crusted and dried, still on his cheeks. He crawled from his bed, glad to see none of the others were awake yet and hied himself off to a shower, content to soak in the heat and let it wash some of his grief away.

At breakfast, he was silent, listening to Ginny and Hermione talking about something they had seen in The Daily Prophet that morning. Hedwig, winged in and settled next to his plate, chirping slightly to get his attention. He blinked, slightly, coming out of his thoughts and took the message from her leg. The snowy-white owl nibbled his fingers in affection and took off back to the owlery.

He glanced at the letter and opened it slowly, until a motion out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Professor Stone, only the second or third time since they'd arrived, slipped into her spot, murmuring softly to Professors Flitwick and Dumbledore. Harry watched her pick at her plate, before she looked up and caught him watching her. She arched a cool eyebrow upwards but turned to talk to Professor Flitwick a gentle smile playing about her lips.

Harry turned to his letter and read it quickly. It was simply a note from Lupin, asking how he was. Harry felt a quick flash of guilt for not writing his former teacher sooner. Resolving to do it that night, he stood with the other three as they disappeared to their next class.

Harry still hadn't heard a word Hermione had been saying until she spoke sharply to him in an exasperated tone. He blinked looking over at her, drawn out of whatever paths his mind has been stalking. He looked at her as she rolled her eyes in frustration. "Harry, have you forgotten our Herbology test today?" She asked. From the tone of her voice, she had asked a question several times.

He looked at her blankly. There hadn't been any test on the schedule that he was aware of. When he said so, Hermione humphed. "Well at least I have your attention now. Haven't you heard anything I said?"

Harry sighed. "Sorry Hermione. I was thinking about something."

Hermione eyed him but didn't say anything to that. Imstead she continued on what she was saying. "There was an attack two days ago. Apparently, one of the people who now openly supports the Order was attacked at home. They got away but barely. No one is quite sure just who was behind it but there was a Dark Mark on the wall of the house."

Harry blinked and sighed. It seemed that the war was truly beginning. If he'd had any doubt before, it was gone now. With a heavy heart he sat with them and tried to pay attention to Professor Binns as History of Magic began.