Routine was something that was easy to ignore, but hard to avoid. Harry finished the last paragraph to his particularly nasty Potions essay on the components and uses of Veritaserum. He was the only person to receive the essay in the class, but since Professor Snape thought that Harry didn't know enough about a potion he hadn't studied it was worth it to set him the task.

Harry's anger boiled below the surface as he stared blankly out of the window of the common room. It was about ten thirty and dark outside. The common room was uncharacteristically empty, but that was only because one of the Creevy brothers had set fire to a classroom in the Charms corridors, and everyone had gone to look. Harry could feel the rage inside him, subdued but hotter than the slopes of Hell. It was a dull pressure inside him, but he kept it controlled.

There were some days when he felt like walking up to the top of the Astronomy Tower, tipping his head back and screaming for all he was worth. Just to let the pain, the suffering, all the angst loose. To see what it was like to exorcise the demons. Hell, to exercise the demons for all he cared.

It was three days to the Christmas holidays, and he had declined Ron and Mrs Weasley's offer to either stay at the Burrow or at number 12, Grimmauld Place. He wanted a little space to himself, and had told Mrs Weasley so. She had seemed to understand, even if she was a little disappointed. A little while after that, he had come across Moody and Lupin talking to Professor McGonagall. He caught the tail-end of the conversation before Moody spotted him:

"... boy barely talks let alone laughs."

"This could be affecting him a lot more that we thought."

"The boy's lost his parents, his friend and his Godfather, and his worst enemy has risen from the grave. Whatever elastic band propelled Harry along before seems to have gone slack. He's probably wondering what he's got to live for any more."

"Shh, he's coming..."

Yes, Harry had wondered, deep in the night, when the only thought that came to him was that people would come to his funeral only to see if he was dead. It was not a comforting thought after waking from a dream in which his reason for living was swept away in the swish of an old cloak, or blasted away in a jet of green light. Then again, it wasn't a comforting thought full stop.

Harry turned again and looked at the two rolls of parchment, lined with his own crimson handwriting. He had long since accepted the extra work Snape gave him. It meant he was staying up longer, but he also recognised the fact it gave his a head-start in classwork and future coursework.

It was especially satisfying when, a few lessons ago, Snape had offered fifty points to whomever could concoct a Draught of Peace without instruction. Only Harry and Hermione put up their hands. Once again, eager to make a fool of Harry, Snape had chosen him. Within fifteen minutes, there was a vial of clear, deep green potion sat on Snape's desk. Harry had just smiled as he retreated to his place. Snape had snarled that he pitied his friends if he spent more time studying than socialising, and Harry had simply replied that the Draught of Peace was the topic of the essay Snape had set him personally three weeks before, because he could not answer a question about the uses of the potion in question. He then asked politely for his fifty points, knowing Snape could hardly refuse.

Harry smiled grimly as he wrote his name carefully at the top of both rolls of parchment, along with his house and his age. He wasn't falling for 'the other Harry Potter' trick again.

The portrait hole opened up and Harry felt a genuine smile creep onto his face at the sight of his friends. During one of his midnight wonderings, he had decided that it wasn't worth taking his friends for granted any more. Should he lose them...

He busied himself with helping Dennis Creevy, who had badly-singed hair and no eyebrows, through the portrait hole. Hermione, who had her well-known expression of I-told-you-so plastered all over her face, began to work a series of simple charms that reduced the blistering, and gave him a healing potion. Harry laughed as Dennis belched smoke, and then his hair returned to normal. His skin lost its red tinge, and everyone laughed and clapped him on the back. Harry got up from his armchair by the glowing fire and clapped Hermione on the shoulder.

"What would we do without you?" he grinned. Hermione rolled her eyes, but Ron was laughing.

"Y'see, Dennis was cornered by Malfoy, the little git, and Malfoy threatened him, right, but Dennis said the expelliarmus spell wrong, and it set fire to Malfoy's head. He's okay," he added hastily through his laughter, seeing Hermione's face. But even her lips were quirking upwards in a reluctant smile. Ron reached over and tickled her. "Come on, Herm it wasn't all bad. I'm sure Madam Pomfry'll fix his ears in no time."

"Why, what happened to his ears?" asked Harry, trying to control the laughter.

"Well," said Ron, a dreamy expression on his face, "It's never a good idea to attack the younger brother of a) a Gryffindor, b) a DA member, or c) the aforementioned in front of a classroom of said members..." Harry burst out laughing, but he caught the shared look of relief on both his friends' faces. Ron grinned again. "After his ears, don't worry, Madam Pomfrey can cure those antlers, those tentacles and even possibly his nasty demeanour, but there are some things not even St Mungo's can achieve..." Harry smiled.

"Hermione, can you check my essay over?" he called to her. She turned and rolled her eyes. "Harry, the last few you did for Snape were perfect. If you're trying to piss him off you're doing a very good job of it."

Harry grinned as he slipped the parchment into his bag, making a mental not to drop it off before breakfast, just to irritate him even more.

As soon as he walked up the steps to the dormitory, however, his mood evaporated. The gibbous moon stared down at him from the window, and his fingers clenched and unclenched on the windowsill. One more night toward Voldemort becoming stronger, one more night of worrying for him that a house would be in the Prophet tomorrow with the Dark Mark fired above it...

He changed and slipped into bed, but not before he slipped his glasses from his nose and placed them carefully on the table. He watched over a period of twenty minutes as the other boys came up to the dorm and closed their four-poster hangings around them.

Harry preferred not to. He didn't like the feeling of claustrophobia, and besides, no-one could see him anyway.

He pointed his wand at his throat an muttered "Silencio." He put his wand back on his bedside and shut his eyes. His nightly ritual was complete. He allowed himself to sink into sleep in the knowledge that if he screamed, no-one could hear him...