It was late when Harry awoke; the moon was shining through his window, illuminating his small room and causing the shadows to look oddly distorted as he sat up in bed. He could hear both Dudley's and Uncle Vernon's loud snores from the other rooms, meaning that the entire house was sound asleep. He looked over at the clock on his desk; it was two thirty. His head was hurting slightly, and his stomach was aching from the lack of food.

He stood up, feeling worse than before he went to sleep. Though his sleep had been mercifully nightmare-free, he had awoken recalling more vividly than ever Sirius' face as Bellatrix had hit him with the lethal curse and screamed with pleasure as he fell through the veil. If only he hadn't-

Harry shuddered, as a depression such as he had never known the likes of came over him. He sat down on his bed again, clutching his head and rocking back and forth. It was like something was tearing his heart out of his chest, and it hurt worse than anything he had ever experienced; the cruciatus curse didn't even come close.

He couldn't stand it anymore, and as a feeling of utter recklessness came over him, he got down on his knees on the floor, wrenched open the loose floorboard, got out the bottle of whiskey which was almost half-full, and drained the entire contents, letting the empty bottle drop to the floor beside him.

He regretted it the moment after he had done it as he sat on his knees on his bedroom floor, breathing heavily. Why was he always so stupid? Why was he always so damn careless? He stood up quickly and the world spun dangerously. He quickly grabbed hold of something to keep himself from falling as he swayed ominously on the spot.

After trying to collect himself for a minute or two, he slumped down on his bed and uttered a low moan. As opposed to making him feel better, the alcohol was now making him feel ten times worse. His head was swimming, his throat was burning, and the mere thought of what he had just done sickened him. It was like he was the lead role of a particularly lousy soap opera.

He heard Uncle Vernon stir in the next room, and his stomach flipped unpleasantly. Wouldn't it just be typical if he decided to wake up and come check on him right now, Harry thought bitterly. As his uncle gave a particularly loud snore however, that thought was pushed from his mind.

He didn't know what to do anymore –the pain was overwhelming him. If mere pain could kill, he would certainly be dead by now. It wasn't just a mental pain now either –his whole body was literally aching, and it was truly the most horrible thing he had ever felt.

He had to do something –he couldn't just stay put in his room any longer. He thought for a moment of going outside, but then remembered suddenly the letter he had received from Dumbledore at the start of his vacation stating clearly that he should not leave the safety of the house after dark. Harry knew that people had been set to watch him, just like last year, but he supposed it was harder for them to keep track of everything that was going on after it had turned dark.

He thought about it quickly. He respected Dumbledore, he really did, and especially after the way he had handled Harry's behavior at the end of last term. At the moment however, his anger towards him for not having told him about the prophecy sooner was all he could think about. What did it matter, he thought savagely, if Voldemort caught him tonight? No one cared about him anyway; they cared about the damn "boy who lived". And the boy who lived was currently having a pretty crappy life. He didn't want to be the savior of the wizarding world –he hadn't asked for it. Right now he didn't even care, and he wasn't going to sacrifice his needs for the "greater good" anymore. And right now he needed to go outside. Maybe the fresh air would be good for his head.

He grabbed a firm hold of his desk again and stood up. At the moment, he didn't quite know how he was going to walk without holding on to something, but he staggered to the bedroom door all the same, wrenching it open without thinking about being quiet about it.

Ignoring Uncle Vernon's loud grunt, he walked unsteadily out of his room and stumbled down the stairs. He walked across the landing and had just grabbed hold of the doorknob when he heard heavy steps upstairs and saw the light in the hall switch on.

"Damn," he said quietly, turning the lock quickly and opening the door without bothering to worry about the noise he was making anymore; he knew he was exposed anyway. He heard a load roar from upstairs as he stepped hurriedly out into the cool night air, turned left, and started running.

Harry didn't have any plan as to where he wanted to go. Everything was spinning, and he realized he was probably running in stupid little zigzags as he turned right down one street and left down another. By the sounds of it, Uncle Vernon had seen the empty bottle Harry so carelessly had left on his floor, and Harry realized that it was quite a nice little spot he had gotten himself into as his uncle would now be positively livid on top of everything else Harry had on his plate.

As he passed the playground where, just last summer, he had sat on a swing thinking about where Voldemort might be and why his friends were being so secretive, he slowed down to a walk, breathing heavily. To think that last summer he had actually cared, Harry thought, walking over to the swing he had been sitting on at that time. He sat down. To think that last summer Sirius had been alive, and now he wasn't, and it was only his, Harry's, fault. It was unbearable.

He started swinging back and forth, all the while trying to fight back the tears that were starting to press their way out, regardless of his efforts to keep them from coming. He lifted his head up slowly as the light night breeze swept soothingly across his face.

"Help me…" he whispered, as he stopped fighting and his eyes welled with warm, sorrowful tears, not knowing quite whom he thought he was talking to.

He put his head in his hands and let go of his self-restraint as he quietly sobbed into them. He wanted so badly to take back everything that had happened at the end of last year, or at least to forget it, but the dreadful pain he felt inside him every day assured him that he was going to have to live with the merciless truth of having caused the death of his godfather for the rest of his life.

He lifted his head from his hands and angrily wiped away the tears that were streaming down his face, vowing to himself that he would never again take any notice whatsoever of his strange dreams, no matter how much his scar hurt afterwards. He wasn't going to let Voldemort trick him again; he wasn't going to fall into any more traps, and if he did, he was going to make sure that it was he, and only he, who suffered from it.

He got up resolutely and started walking away from the playground, his speed picking up to a slow jog as he rounded the first corner. He heard footsteps behind him and stopped dead in his tracks, spinning around to see where they were coming from, but he couldn't see anyone. He turned back around and continued jogging, a little faster now; every now and then looking over his shoulder to check that no one was following him.

He started running, and again heard footsteps behind him, which seemed to be running at the exact same pace that he was. He sped up, and so did they. He stuck his hand in his pocket, desperately hoping that he hadn't left his wand back at four, Privet Drive; as much as his existence sucked at the moment, he found he wasn't ready to be killed just yet.

He sighed with relief as he felt something hard under his fingertips and soon his hand was clutched tightly around the small piece of wood. He turned a corner and continued picking up speed, but whatever was following him wasn't going to be distracted that easily and kept close on his tail. He made up his mind quickly and, frightened, unsteady, and out of breath, he spun around on the spot just as his persecutor launched a spell at him. Harry threw himself at the ground, the spell missing him by a mere inch; he could feel his hair being blown backwards as it soared over his head.

He got up as quickly as he could and yelled "Expelliarmus!" though his aim was so pathetic that it missed the target by several feet, and whoever was following him actually laughed. Harry recognised that laugh, that haughty drawl of a laugh…

The person moved closer, and Harry could soon see the outline of a fairly tall man with long hair, his wand pointed straight at him. The man moved even closer, but as he did so he disapparated and Harry looked wildly around him, thinking, hoping, that there was an auror about, but he couldn't see anyone. Why would he just disapparate? Harry thought curiously, his heart thudding so hard and fast he was surprised he hadn't woken the whole neighbourhood by now.

He didn't have to ponder his persecutor's sudden disappearance for long however, as he suddenly felt a rush of wind behind him and a strong hand on his shoulder. Harry didn't even have time to turn around before the world around him started spinning, more so than it already was, and he was moved from the sidewalk where he had stood just a moment before.

He landed with a hard thud on a cold stone floor in the middle of a large square room, lit up with a few candles that were scattered about it haphazardly. There wasn't a single window in the room, and Harry also noticed, with a jolt of dread, that there were no doors.

The hand that had been grasping his shoulder let go of its grip and Harry spun around, confirming his suspicions as he found himself face to face with Lucius Malfoy.

"You," Harry snarled, clutching his wand and trying to keep Lucius Malfoy in focus. Lucius gave him a nasty grin.

"Why Potter, what a delightfully original remark," he sneered, and pointed his wand at Harry. "Expelliarmus." Harry's wand flew out of his own hand and into Malfoy's as he was knocked backwards onto the floor. He got up angrily just as someone made a faint noise in the corner.

Harry spun around and found himself face to face with a much younger Malfoy; his blond hair was shorter than his father's was and he hadn't grown quite as tall yet. But the resemblance between Lucius and Draco was still striking, the most prominent likeness in their cold, grey eyes.

Harry gave the boy as ugly a look as he could muster, and was just about to say something equally unpleasant when Lucius whispered a soft "Crucio" behind his back and Harry, caught off guard, fell to the floor, screaming and writhing in pain.

Oddly, Draco had flinched and turned away when Lucius had cursed Harry and Lucius himself seemed to have noticed too, because he soon lifted the curse from Harry, who lay panting on the floor, and went over to Draco, talking to him in a harsh, low whisper. Harry watched, with a feeling of mingled curiosity and fear, as Lucius gestured furiously at his son, and Draco cringed under his father's towering figure. The whole thing ended with Draco getting a sharp slap across the face, and Lucius came back to Harry seething.

"So, Potter," he drawled nastily. "We meet yet again. I suppose it is no shock to you that I am out of Azkaban…"

He paused, seemingly trying to read Harry's expression. Harry, who was once again trying to get him into focus, wondered briefly if Lucius was a legilimens and quickly tried to use the few occlumency skills he had learned from Snape last year.

"However," Lucius continued, still surveying Harry closely. "What surprises me is that even you would be foolish enough to leave your house after dark." He smiled haughtily.

Harry didn't know how to answer that. Truth be told, he didn't really know why he had left the house himself. It had been an extremely stupid thing to do, he thought bitterly. Something like this was just bound to happen, wasn't it? Dumbledore wouldn't tell him to stay inside his house for no reason… And now he had basically handed himself over to Voldemort and failed the entire wizarding world. Great.

"What's the matter, Potter?" Lucius said viciously. "Cat got your tongue?"

Harry looked down as Lucius came over to him, his wand pointed at his head.

"Or have you become a mute over the summer?" he continued in a slow, soporific drawl. "And by the way," he said suddenly, as if just remembering something. "That disarming spell you tried to hit me with earlier was absolutely pathetic. Has your aim gone completely awry over the summer as well?" He gave Harry a very superior look.

Harry said nothing again. Seeing double didn't exactly work wonders for your aim, he thought, now so annoyed with his own carelessness he was strongly tempted to inflict great pain on himself with one of Dobby's many self-punishment methods.

Harry's silence was apparently too much for Mr. Malfoy, as he grabbed a fistful of Harry's shirt and lifted him to an upright position, putting his face dangerously close to Harry's. Harry was forcibly reminded of Uncle Vernon's reaction earlier that afternoon.

"Answer me, boy!" Lucius yelled furiously, pushing Harry forcibly from him.

Harry very nearly lost his balance completely, but managed to stay upright, though swaying very noticeably on the spot.

Mr. Malfoy merely stared at him for a moment, seemingly putting two and two together in his head, then his face broke into a horrible grin. Harry saw Draco move over to his father, looking confused.

"Well, well, well," Lucius said in a horrible, soft voice. "Now we see what has become of the famous Harry Potter."

Harry breathed heavily, willing himself not to speak, as he knew whatever came out of his mouth was just going to sound stupid anyway.

"Would you like to –um- walk a straight line, Mr. Potter? Isn't that what those muggle… ah, well, those muggles to when one is drunk?"

A horrible silence followed this. Harry clenched his fists, wanting to jump at Lucius and hurt every part of him he could get to; wipe the smile of that slick face of his. Then he realised something; silence. Silence had followed Mr. Malfoy's statement. Harry would have expected Draco to burst out laughing, but he hadn't.

Harry looked at the boy, who looked back at him with a strange expression on his face –was it pity- before quickly averting his eyes.

This was apparently also too much for Mr. Malfoy, who had clearly expected more support from his son. He went over to Draco again, gesturing frantically and whispering so that Harry couldn't hear what he was saying. After a moment, he saw Lucius whip out his wand, and to Harry's utter shock, point it at his son, muttering "Crucio."

Draco's shrieks filled the small room, and Harry stood there, perplexed, not knowing what to do. Draco fell to the floor, screaming, and before Harry had had a chance to think about what he was doing, he had hurried over and lunged himself at Mr. Malfoy.

Draco's screaming stopped immediately as Lucius, caught off his guard, was thrown off his feet onto the cold floor, Harry on top of him.

He quickly threw Harry off, and Harry barely had time to recover before Lucius shrieked "Avada Kedavra!" and he was forced to do a strange little somersault to avoid being hit by the killing curse.

Draco, who had definitely looked better, got up off the floor and walked over to the far right corner of the room, where he sat down. He looked slightly dazed, and when he looked at his father, it definitely wasn't with an adoring expression, though he kept his mouth shut.

Harry however, was tired of being quiet, and decided it was about time he gave Lucius Malfoy a piece of his mind.

"Going to kill me, are you?" he started, feeling a bit reckless, but plunging on just the same. "Well, your dear old master Voldemort couldn't seem to figure out how to go about that, so I wouldn't bother trying if I were you."

Mr. Malfoy fixed him with a look of utter loathing, and he had shuddered very violently when Voldemort's name had been mentioned. Draco, Harry noticed, had not, and he was now staring resolutely at Harry, as if wanting to hear what else he had to say.

"Do-not-speak-the-Dark-Lord's-name," Mr. Malfoy said through gritted teeth, pointing his wand at Harry, who pretended not to notice.

"Yes, afraid of saying your master's name, huh?" Harry continued in a slow drawl. "Afraid to say –" he paused dramatically. "– VOLDEMORT?"

He said the name loudly and clearly, causing Mr. Malfoy to flinch so exaggeratedly that he almost dropped his wand. Harry just continued.

"It's pretty pathetic, you know," he said quietly, never taking his eyes away from Mr. Malfoy's. "Fearing your own leader's name… But you are a pathetic lot of people, so I shouldn't be surprised I guess. –Would it make you feel better if I called him Tom, then?"

At this, Mr. Malfoy had had enough, and, wand still pointed directly at Harry, screamed "CRUCIO!" and Harry fell to his knees as the pain absorbed him.

It seemed to Harry that it lasted for hours, but at long last, Mr. Malfoy lowered his wand, a mad glint in his eye. Harry was shaking uncontrollably, and when he tried to get to his feet, his knees shuddered so violently that he was forced to sit right back down again. Panting, he looked up into the sneering face of Lucius Malfoy, who had moved right up to him, his wand still pointed directly at his chest.

"Now, do you think you've had enough, Potter?" Mr. Malfoy said threateningly. "Or do you have something else you would like to say before my master arrives?"

Harry narrowed his eyes, and though the mention of Voldemort's coming there had sent a chill down his spine, he pretended not to care, and kept staring determinedly at Mr. Malfoy.

"Yeah, there is something I would like to say, actually," he said defiantly. "Fuck you."

Lucius smiled –that nasty, superficial grin he always pasted on his face– and turned his back on him.

"Such nasty language," he drawled, a hint of a smirk in his cool, calm voice. "Is it really a form of speaking worthy of the great Harry Potter? Or perhaps the great and famous Harry Potter is falling to pieces? He is, perhaps, still mourning the loss of that good-for-nothing godfather of his?"

Mr. Malfoy turned towards Harry with a vicious grin. Harry felt a hot surge of anger, and clenched his fists furiously. Mr. Malfoy seemed to thoroughly enjoy this display of temper, and proceeded to test just how long Harry's fuse really was.

"Black died because he was foolish enough not to accept the inevitable," he said fiercely. "Because he was an idiot and a fool. As were your meddling, brainless parents (Harry gritted his teeth forcefully). They all failed to recognise that the Dark Lord will prevail. No one can change that. –And to think that some people think a virtually powerless little boy like yourself could take him out…"

Mr. Malfoy laughed, and Harry felt anger welling up inside him such as he had never felt before. –Or maybe once; the night he had attempted the Cruciatus curse on Bellatrix Lestrange. The night Sirius had died. The night it all went to hell.

This time however, he didn't have a wand.

Harry thought for a moment of lunging himself at Malfoy again, but decided, as Malfoy was turned towards him this time, that would only serve to ridicule him further.

Mr. Malfoy, still laughing, lifted his wand to point directly at Harry's chest.

"Ready for another round of torture, Mr. Potter?" he said, seemingly taking an almost sadistic pleasure in the prospect of seeing Harry writhing on the floor.

He took a step towards Harry, and Harry stood up, confidently this time. Mr. Malfoy smiled.

"Always the Gryffindor, aren't we?" he sneered, and Harry, not thinking, held out his hand. Mr. Malfoy looked at him with raised eyebrows and Draco got up from his corner and walked over, looking curious. Harry didn't know exactly what he planned to do, it just sort of happened. He had no idea it would work, he didn't know why he was even trying, and he definitely didn't even begin to fathom how much hope would come from that one, simple word;

"Wand."

At Harry's command, that lovely, thin piece of wood came flying out of Malfoy's robes and right into his outstretched hand. He merely stared at it for a moment, as did both the Malfoys, then, before either of the two could register what was happening, Harry had sent a swift "Expelliarmus" Mr. Malfoy's way, and he was knocked off his feet, while his wand flew in a neat arch into Harry's other hand, which was soon grasping it tightly.

Draco was still staring at Harry with a look of utter incredulity, and when Harry went over to Mr. Malfoy, stunned him, and then put him in a complete body-bind, he didn't move a finger to assist his father.

Harry had been so delighted with what had just happened that it was only when he started walking away from the now rigid and lifeless form of Lucius Malfoy he realised that he had nowhere to go. There were no doors, there were no windows, and he couldn't apparate yet.

"Damn!" he exclaimed angrily. Why did there always have to be an obstacle? Why couldn't something be easy for once? He could always try apparating of course, but he had heard so many stories about how wrong these things could go, that he didn't really feel that that was an option.

Extremely frustrated, he went over to the wall and slid down to a sitting position, his elbows rested on his knees. He felt very tired all of a sudden, and for once he wanted nothing more than to get to his bed and have a good night's sleep.

He heard shuffling steps coming towards him, and looked up a second later to see Draco standing there, just looking at him.

"What?" Harry said, annoyed. Draco looked uncomfortable, as if he were trying to make up his mind about something. Then he looked determinedly at Harry.

"I can apparate," he said quietly. Harry raised his eyebrows at him.

"Good for you," he said sarcastically, but as Draco offered him his hand, his expression turned mild. Taking it, he frowned slightly, wondering why on earth Draco would want to help him.

"You mean you would seriously-" he started, but Draco cut him off with a wave of his hand, grabbed a tight hold of Harry's shoulder with the other, and they both disappeared from the room in a rush of wind and colour.