Author's Notes: I know, I know, I should be working on my other Inuyasha sory, 'Rippling Changes' right now, but this idea hit me like a load of bricks and I just had to write it. It won't be more than two or three chapter, though, and I have no idea when I will update this again. Anyway, read and REVIEW! I love you guys!

They didn't understand anything.

Nothing I said in my defense penetrated their miniscule brains. And even if—if—I told them, poured out my heart and soul, presented it to them on a silver platter, they would still mutter, blink, scratch their heads, and shake from side to side at me. Their lives wouldn't stop, like mine did on that one horrible morning in Dumbledore's office. Their hearts wouldn't be ripped into a thousand pieces, like mine was that one terrible night in the Department of Mysteries when Lupin hoarsely whispered the words that killed me: Sirius is dead. Their shoulders would not slump, as mine did, burdened with the fate of the world. They wouldn't spend every moment of the day regretting, mourning, dieing on the inside; they wouldn't spend every night fighting off nightmares of faceless figures that pointed, laughed, and condemned. Why the hell would they want to know anything?

My hand fisted; my jaw clenched tightly. I stared out the window, determined to keep my mouth shut, and my already blazing temper in check. 'They don't need to know,' I kept telling myself. 'Don't burden them with your mess. Don't talk. Don't look. And most of all don't think. Don't think that, if you fail, the fate of the world is sealed. That if you fail millions will be killd and tortured. Don't think. Breath, in and out, in and out.'

But they would not be put off.

They had obviously noticed the changes occurring in me—hell, even I did, so whatever chances that they were subtle and unnoticeable went flying out of the window. They saw that I ate less, talked less, smiled less; they saw that every day, I would spend three or four hours scrutinizing the books Lupin and Sirius had given to me last year or talking with Moody, Lupin or Tonks; they saw that I took daily lessons in Occlumency from Snape (who had been convinced by Dumbledore to take me back) with little or no complaint; and, whenever the Headmaster, himself, would stop by, the long looks of understanding and wisdom that passed between us. They couldn't help but see, and now they couldn't help but wheedle and weep for me tell them what was wrong. At first, they believed that my newly solitary mien was because of Siruis'—going, but, as time progressed this summer, they came to realize that it had to much more. It was much more. They continued asking and begging for me to tell everything.

And I would not. I would not tell them that they all could very well be killed if they stayed near me. I would not tell them that the whole reason behind my sorry and sad excuse for a life was an idiotic prophesy made by my Divination professor (who was a total whack job, by the way) that I would win in a duel with Lord Voldemort. I would not tell them that my fate was 'kill or be killed—and drag the entire planet along with you.'

If I did, the carefully built stone wall stationed between my emotions and the rest of my being would crack, and shatter. Everything would blend inside my mind, the truth, the lies, the regret, the grief, and the overwhelming responsibility; the screaming jumble of feelings I had spent the month at the Dursleys' trying desperately to suppress would mix, surge, rush around my psyche, push my to the edge, drive me to tears.

And a person with a horrifying burden like mine couldn't afford to cry. Still, they persisted, and one day, it all came tumbling out with the intensity of a tidal wave striking the shore, with the help of a certain Mr. Neville Longbottom—whom I will probably will be grateful all my life to for prodding it all out of me.

Here's to you, Neville.

88888888

It wasn't long after I had gotten back to number twelve, Grimmauld Place that the admission happened.

I was sitting on a window seat, glaring off into the distance with stormy eyes—wondering what might had happened if I had just stopped for a moment to consider what Hermione had been trying to say—that I loved playing the hero—if I hadn't let my hideously gargantuan ego in the way, that if I had just remembered the gift Siruis had given me for Christmas, and if I'd just stopped my ridiculous dread of the upcoming term cloud my vision, if I'd just voiced my suspicions of Kreacher—then Sirius would be alive right now. I sent a sour glance at the cold expanse of cushion next to me. He would be sitting next to me, maybe, putting and arm around my shoulders, maybe, then whispering gruffly in my ear that everything would be okay, that when the moment came, he would be there to help….

The grief welled inside my throat, blinding me, choking me. My sight blurred. I began blinking rapidly, willing the tears away, wishing the pain way, wishing that whatever had happened to me, hadn't happened to me, just anybody else...anybody….

I leaned back and the mantra began.

Don't talk. Don't look. Don't think. Breathe. Just breathe. Don't talk. Don't look. Don't think. Breathe. Just breathe. Don't talk. Don't look. Don't think. Breathe. Just breathe. Don't talk. Don't look. Don't think. Breathe. Just breathe.

My mind cleared, my breathing slowed down, my heart stopped hammering. I sank into a state of semi-consciousness. Occlumency can be incredibly useful stuff when the time came. I basked in the tranquility, happy for even a moment of it. I moment of calm meant a moment away from the demons that haunted me, be it day or night. I hated the ones at night. Although I cleared my mind dutifully, the dreams still came. I could fight my thoughts during the day; I was powerless against the nightmares.

That was when they bombarded me.

"Harry…" Ron said, settling beside me. I purposefully ignored him and the others who came in with him. Perhaps if they thought I was asleep, they would leave me alone.

I was wrong. "Hey, Harry," Ron muttered, shaking my shoulder gently. I grunted.

They wouldn't give up. I heard rustling, and Hermione's hand was on my knee. She shook it a bit. "Come on Harry. I know you're not asleep. Open your eyes."

No. If I opened my eyes, then they would be looking at me with expressions of worry, caring and endearment etched across their faces. The shocked looks of pity and the avoidance of me that would come after would be inevitable—and just as unbearable. Perhaps that was why I refused to answer them. I wanted them to care about me as long as long as fate would allow.

I heeded a loud sigh, and with no warning, a cushion hit me right in the face. That got me to open my eyes.

I glared around and my eyes met Ginny's. I scowled.

She stared back at me defiantly. "What?" she snapped. "You were being a prat, acting like you were sleeping."

"You didn't have to throw a pillow at me," I retorted icily.

Her eyes narrowed.

Hermione cut in. "Whatever. Harry, listen to me. You can't just go on and mourn like that anymore—if that's even what you're doing. I have a feeling it's something else."

I glared at her. "And?"

Ron sighed, running his large hands through his hair. He turned to stare at me incredulously. "We what to know what the hell is wrong with you! Everyone else seems to know!"

I felt my eyes narrow, my rage ignite. "And what does 'everyone else' say?"

Hermione put up a hand, signaling to Ron that he stop "That you're mourning for Sirius—but we know that that's not it. It's something else. You wouldn't be so isolated otherwise. You'd atleast make an effort."

I should have known Hermione would figure it out. Her eyes were filled with so much fret, so much pleading. My insides froze, and I came so close to telling her that she had hit the nail on head. Instead, I averted my gaze and stared stubbornly out the window.

I started again. Don't talk. Don't look. Don't think. Don't talk. Don't look. Don't think. Don't talk. Don't look. Don't think. It calmed me down.

"Leave me alone," said coldly, still refusing to meet their eyes. I saw Ron run his hands through his hair again. Ginny took aim and let another pillow fly at my head. I caught it without looking and threw it back at her. She didn't expect it. She dived, yelping.

I couldn't help it. I turned to her, smirked and said, "That's why you don't throw random things at people."

Hints of smiles drifted across their faces. Ginny's eyes narrowed and she said severely, "You are so going down."

My own grin faltered. "Not today. Go away."

Everyone else's faces fell. Hermione sighed, closed her eyes, and opened then again. "Okay, I think we should stop pestering Harry so much. I mean if he really values us as friends, then he would tell us."

"Right," Ginny said, "I mean, if he thinks were total idiots who won't keep his secrets, then forget it."

"Fine with me," Ron agreed. "If Harry believes we don't care about him, then we should just leave him alone. Show him then who cares."

I felt the cold fist of anger grip my heart.

Don't talk. Don't look. Don't think. Don't talk. Don't look. Don't think. Don't talk. Don't look. Don't think DON'T TALK DON'T LOOK DON'T THINK

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I would not blurt anything out. I would calm down and be rational. I would.

I had myself just about under control when the deciding factor of the battle of wills came strolling through the door.

Neville Longbottom.

Don't look. Don't think DON'T TALK DON'T LOOK DON'T THINK!

I screamed the words inside my head, yelling and shouting at my self, yearning for control and yet enamored with the debacle of losing any semblance to it. Freedom seemed very appealing now, after my self-imprisonment: my vow of silence in all matters concerning what was wrong with me.

I quickly clamped down on my wild desires and said coldly, "Hello Neville."

The other three in the room spun around and greeted him with warm smiles. Hermione hugged him and pointed him to a chair. Ginny sat next to him.

Neville looked at me, his gaze hard. I met it with equal obstinacy.

"I heard everything you all were saying Harry. I think you really should tell everyone what's going on." Neville's voice was even, sure.

Of course it would be!

Every muscle in my body stiffened at his words, lashed with anger, boiling, steaming, and blistering—! Every particle of my mind screamed injustice, unfairness that I am subject to this devastating burden that I carry the weight of the world on my shoulders, that my fate be sealed. What was the difference between me and Neville? What was the bloody difference?!

Don't look. Don't think DON'T TALK DON'T LOOK DON'T THINK! DON'T THINK! DON'T THINK!

I couldn't stand it anymore. I surge to my feet and leapt at the door.

DON'T TALK DON'T LOOK DON'T THINK! DON'T THINK! DON'T THINK! DON'T TALK DON'T LOOK DON'T THINK! DON'T THINK! DON'T THINK!

I made it to the door, gripped the handle with a vice-like grip. One twist and I would be free—

Neville spoke again, "You're being a coward, Harry. Stop it, mate. Face your fear."

His tone was light, his comment a joke. In any other situation, I would have retorted with "As soon as you stop being afraid of the darkness in your shoes. Never know what lurks in there."

But this was not any other situation.

Once again, every muscle in my body hardened, coiled, waiting for just the signal to pounce and tear Neville to shreds.

Inside, I seethed. How dare he have the right to say that? How dare he have the right to sit there as if nothing was wrong? He should be grateful—so grateful that sobs should have been coming from his mouth that very moment. He was just as eligible as I was back then for Voldemort to pick. He got lucky. Neville needed to be taught a lesson.

Slowly, deliberately, I turned around, and faced Neville. The fire burning inside me was now as icy. I made sure that nothing of it showed on my face, but my eyes must have been lashed with fire because Neville paled and shrank back in his chair. I approached him, gradually, making each step a little longer than the last. Fury tore at my throat.

"Do you want to know why I'm so scared, Neville?" I asked, my tone dangerously soft, laced with venom. I screamed on the inside that he was an imbecile, a moron. How dare he say that I should face my fears when he has no idea what he narrowly escaped? It hit me that the reason Neville had no idea was because I'd never told him. Urges inside of me ordered me to leap at Neville, tear him apart, but I kept my body under control.

However, my mind was a completely different story. All rational thought flew out the window, and all I saw was red. Anger burned inside me—hurt, betrayal, regret and a burning inferno of rage were all I could see.

It was time for a bit of enlightenment.

Author's Notes: ah, well, here you go. Uh, yeah...It's a little shoddy, but I dunno. Hope you like.