Authoress' Note: Sorry it's taken me so long to post this chapter. I've been really busy with my other stories, and I'd completely lost the motivation to write this one. But I felt guilty for just abandoning it, so I've written the next chapter. It's not as long as the others, (not that they are really long, themselves) but hopefully the next one will belonger and more better.

Disclaimer: I own none of HP cannon except Gabrielle and the plot. Don't sue, you won't get much.

Chapter Six: Dramas, Horrors, and Happy Endings

He was in a room. He didn't know where it was, only that he wasn't in the catacombs of Azkaban anymore. Instead, he had been brought to a warm room with a blazing fire and soft blankets that heated his chilled flesh. In his hands was a cup of steaming hot Butter Beer. Oh, God, how he missed the buttery taste of this deliciously hot liquid.

Keeping his eyes closed, he opened his ears to the cackling of the fire in the fire place. Just the sound warmed his body, and woke him of the cold reverie he'd been in for the longest time. The grandfather clock on the wall chimed twelve times. It was midnight, and he was here, in some room far away from the stench of guilt and torture that he'd grown so used too in a short amount of time.

"Harry? Harry, are you listening to me?" The woman's voice brought him out of his daze, and he blinked several times to get her into focus.

She was sitting next to him on the couch and looking at him with a puzzled look formed on her features. Harry stared at her for several minutes, studied her eyes, her face, the way she stood up so straight on the couch, the way her delicate hands were clasped together on her lap.

The horrid shadows of that Hell Hole had dimmed her beauty extravagantly to a point that from the moment she'd stepped into the firelight it gave the impression as if she were bathed in a golden glow. Her dark locks had been let out of the tight bun she'd previously had them in, and she'd redone her hair into a loose pony tail that hung low on her back, and glowed a warm and vibrant gold. The colors of her hazel eyes were more green with silver mist, and they were large and open to the soul, but closed off to the world.

"You know that you never did tell me your name." He rasped out, and then winced at the harshness of his voice. A soft chuckle from the young woman persuaded him to look up once again.

"Gabrielle. But you can call me Gabby." She replied nonchalantly as she stared into the fire. Her back was painfully straight and her hands were clasped in her lap. Nibbling on her bottom lip with her eyebrows drawn in together told him that she was in deep thought.

"Gabrielle . . . You're not like . . . Some sort of angel, are you?" His voice was somewhat slurred from mental exhaustion. It was strange that all he would want to do once he left that wretched place was sleep. But it couldn't be helped.

The young woman snorted and rolled her eyes. Pushing herself off the couch, she made her way over to the fireplace and started shifting the logs around with the poker. Brilliant sparks jumped around and comforting warmth filled the room and washed over his haggard body.

"Why didn't you do that with magic?" He asked suddenly. His vision was becoming ever more foggy and he fought to clear it.

"Because, Harry, unlike what most people like believe, magic doesn't solve everything." She paused, thinking a slight moment. "Also, it's good not to become some lazy bum who's dependant on magic. God gave us arms and legs, and hands and feet. Why not use them?"

Harry shrugged, he didn't know. He didn't know anything anymore, and he didn't want to know anymore.

Gabby clicked her tongue disapprovingly, and shook her head. "Now, now, Harry. That's not a good perspective on things. Don't give up just yet." She moved closer to him on the couch, and he opened his mouth to object.

"Harry, please. Don't be such a pompous prat. Life sucks, but guess what, it gets better eventually."

"Yeah, when I'm good and dead." I grumbled, shaking his head swiftly. He heard a deep sigh coming from next to him, and refused to look at her.

"You want things to change Harry. You said so yourself. Yet, here I am trying to help you, and you keep throwing it all back in my face."

"I never said I wanted to change things," He snapped, keeping his eyes painfully focused on the fire.

"Then why are you here?"

Harry turned to look at her, and saw that she'd straightened her back and crossed her arms over her chest. With her chin held high, she observed him with a cool, imperial look. She was becoming quickly annoyed with his bantering, and wasn't afraid to show it.

"I don't know why I'm here!" His blood was beginning to boil at a dangerous temperature, and they both knew it. "I didn't even have time to fully answer you before I was whisked here. How do you know I want to change things? Maybe I was happy back there in that Hell hole! At least when I was in there people got a long better." He was breathing harder.

"Stop trying to save people, Harry! You've done enough of that since you were one year old!" She stood up now, and placed both hands on her hips. He stood up as well, but she wasn't done talking. "People can protect themselves, if given the chance. They could have saved themselves from Voldemort, but they were too scared and too ignorant to do so."

"But the prophesy" She interrupted him with a bitter laugh.

"That prophesy was crap. Anyone can make a prophesy, and anyone can believe it. You had already been chosen to die even before that prophesy was made. The rest of the wizarding world just needed some way to make sure that you would do it. People make their own drama and horrors, Harry. And people make their own happy endings, too." Her voice had grown deathly low, and she didn't blink when she spoke, just merely gazed at him through piercing hazel eyes.