Disclaimer: The characters belong to JKR. The Lyrics also don't belong to me.
You think I don't see you backstabbing me
Like a friend to me
My dear enemy
You're condescending with every word
It makes you happy but what is it worth?
You're like a virus eating my skin
It's a problem
I think its a sin
The exies -- My Dear Enemy
The lighted Potions classroom was anything but pleasant, it was only rivaled by the dark potions classroom. It was cold and dank, the smell of a sewer, lingering above their heads. Harry didn't want to know what happened in here at night, a monster probably lived here.
The doors swung open, and what was moments before, a cheerfully chattering class was now silent. It was an eerie silence. The type that reminded Harry of a morgue. Peaceful. The way his funeral might be.
Professor Snape's greasy hair fell into his face. His eye's scaning the class for his first victim of the day. His eyes fell on Harry, but Harry knew if he acknowledged what would happen next it would be twice as bad. He averted his eyes to the ceiling. There was quite a bit of garbage on up there. Words magically printed on, saying crude thing to the onlookers below.
"Today you will learn to brew an antisepticide potion which should, if made correctly, work as a household cleaner," His eyes travelled over the class "For those of you who show compitence in the art of potion making this shall be an easy grade" His eyes flicked to Malfoy, his lips turning up in an approving smile, or the closest thing to a smile he had ever seen Snape display "For those of you who are barely passing this course" his eyes fell on Neville, who flinched in fear, "This shall be a challenge. The instructions are on the board. Begin."
The class let out its usual volume of groans, some more desperate then others. Snape gave them a warning glare, and the groans ceased to continue.
Harry's eyes moved to the chalk board with its usual lengthy list of ingredients. Harry made his way over to the Student store cupboard. A line already forming in front of him. He waited his turn, in no way in a hurry to begin. When his turn came, he picked out the potion supplies which were needed for the class, and strode back over to his cauldron. Ron and Hermione were already back, Ron complaining once more about Snapes' favoritism to his own house.
"We all know bloody Malfoy is going to get perfect marks on his finals!"
"Honestly, Ron, if you worked a little more-"
"-Worked? Do you think working will help me when Snape already has it out for me? He has had it in for us since 1st year? Since when has work helped us Hermione? When? I dare you to tell me one instance!"
Harry rolled his eyes at how hysterical Ron had become. Snape had always found something wrong with his work, even when it was spotless of flaw. Hermione pursed her lips, but didn't bring up a single moment.
Harry laid down his supplies in the order shown on the board so he wouldn't have to look up anymore. He began peeling the skin off the boomslang slicing from one end to the other, as he would a carrot. He put the skin of the boomslang on the table in long strands. He started to dice the eye of a lamb, with a blunt knife. He couldn't get a grip on the round eyeball, it kept popping out from either side. The blade slipped, slicing open the heel of Harrys palm. Blood surfaced lacing his hand with a ribbon of crimson.
"Jesus Harry!" Seamus said, his face pale from the sight of blood.
"Harrys cut himself!" Hermione shouted across the room. A few Slytherins cheered.
"Way to go Potter!"
"Maybe he hit a vein!"
The only person who wasn't either excited or paniced by his now bloody hand, was Harry. He was staring as red fluid surfaced between the two flaps of flesh with morbid fascination.
"Move out of the way!" Snape shouted at the Gryffindors who had surrounded his table in nervousness. When he lifted Harry's hand his face grew scrunched with irritation. "One would think you all weren't wizards!" He muttered a soft healing charm, Harry's hand grew warm with the spell, before the skin sealed itself over. He moved his fingers, good as new.
"Are you okay now Harry?" Ron questioned. Harry nodded, feeling nausious. He stared down at his palm, the cut hadn't been deep nor could it have hurt him. The blue blob of a vien running up his arm was to far to the left.
"Ten points from Gryffindor, for not paying attention to what you were doing, Potter," Snape drawled, he then turned and stroled up the classroom to help Draco Malfoy.
"You'd think having your hand sliced open would have been punishment enough." Ron muttered.
It took the better part of an hour for the class to settle back down. Slytherins kept shooting him looks as though they didn't want to miss him cut himself again. Hermione kept giving him her worried-mother look. She knew something was wrong; Harry knew she had known. She had a gift for reading his emotions, even when he didn't want her to.
A few cauldrons behind Harry a small explostion of a different sort was taking place, already. Snape, was standing over poor Neville, his eyebrows raised.
"Mr. Longbottom you have already succeeded in getting no marks for the day. The potion is to be aqua blue not yellow!"
A loud bang echoed through the dungeons, something hard hit Harry in the back of the head, and the rest was a blur. He felt himself fall to the floor, but couldn't prevent it.
"Oh look what you've done Neville!" moaned Ron, suddenly very far away.
Darkness consumed Harry. Where moments before had been a lighted classroom was now an empty pool of black. Lights danced in front of his eye lids, colors that weren't really colors. A trick of the mind. Voices murmered his name, but they were too far away to matter, too insignificant. Sounds that weren't really sounds, just as the colors in front of his eyes were only an illusion. Harry knew what they said about him. He knew what they said when they thought he wasn't listening. The moment he turned his eyes away from them, they started. Everyone had two sides, the side Harry saw, and the side hid from Harry. He knew what they whispered too, because it echoed through his mind like an empty corridor, when he lay awake at night.
The murmuring grew louder, a faint buzzing in his ears. He could make out words if he tried, but it took far to much effort. The noises around him were bothersome, a buzzing of flies in his ears. He wanted to swat them, to get them out of there.
Harry Potter the Boy-Who-Lived.
The-Boy-Who-Let-Go-Too-Easily. Who was to weak to shelter the other students from Voldemort's wrath.
The-Boy-Who-Failed-His-School. The one who let them all down. The one-who-shall-not-be-teased-because-he-is-to-fragile-to-handle-it.
Harry Potter The-Boy-Who-Died-Before-Death-Came-For-Him.
Death wasn't such a scary thought for Harry. He imagined it to be dark and warm. A blanket that kept out all the fears that held him tightly during his waking hours. A thoughtless dream. Death was something everyone feared, but not Harry, he called to it like a child calling for his mother. It was his savior and his burden. It reminded him of a game Professor Lupin had once told him about the Whomping Willow, they had ran up to the Whomping Willow and seen how close they dared to go. Death was the same for Harry, he'd see how close he dared to go before running away. It facinated him.
Harry Potter The-Boy-So-Guilt-Ridden-He'd-Do-Anything-To-Get-Out-Of-His-Own-Skin.
Panic crawled under his skin, a sick feverish panic. He had to run, to make it stop. He couldn't move, couldn't even open his eyes. He could feel a hand patting his shoulder. Checking his pulse, soft comforting hands.
The buzzing was dimming and the voices growing louder. He wanted the buzzing back. Make the voices go away. He didn't want the pity. The sympathy.
"Oh Harry wake up!" It was Hermione, she had that motherly voice again. The one that she used when she caught him leaning over the edge of the stairs, looking over, wondering what it would be like to just let go. To fall. Would dying that way be painful? A rush of the stomach?
"Mr. Potter can you hear me?" Snape.
His eyes sprung open and met a silvered icy gaze. Malfoy's pale hand was outstretched on his neck. Draco Malfoy had been checking his pulse!
"He's fine. To bad..." Malfoy's eyes lit up "You'd think you had a death wish or something, Potter."
"Something like that." Harry agreed just low enough for no one to hear. He had the distinct impression Malfoy had heard though, his eyes had narrowed.
Snape was sitting next to Draco Malfoy. He could see him now. his robes billowing out around him, as he kneeled over Harry. His greasy hair falling inches from Harry's face, Harry's first reaction was to swat at Snape like a fly. The second was to sit up. Harry launched himself up, but that gave no time for Snape to react, the result was their heads smacked together, a crack hanging in the air like ice. Snape fell backwards onto his bottom and Harry ended up sprawled out on the cold classroom floor again.
"Please refrain from smacking me against my skull again. Five points from Gryffindor."
Harry Potter The-Boy-Who-Lost-His-House-Points.
The rest of the day did far from improve. A dark cloud seemed to follow over his head, sending down misery and grief. Not one single class passed him that did not hold some form of anguish. Though all his classes were bad, none were as horrid as Divination, with the exception of Potions.
He had climbed the wooden ladder into the circular room, of north tower. It was a hot and sticky day outside, which made the room twice as smelly. It seemed like North Tower was set on the sun, that they were inches from the sun's rays. As always the fire was cracking merrily in the hearth of the stove. Ron seated himself at the table furthest away from the fire, yet near a window. Harry joined him, setting his bag on the floor.
It only took minutes for his robes to be sticking to his back, his hair was drenched in sweat. Divination was just a time to take a nap. To wonder what waited for him outside the school. The inevitable. Death. It was what they were all waiting for. One day they would all die and there was absolutely nothing any of them could do about it. That's how life always ended, a poetic tragedy with coffins and ugly flowers. Harry didn't know what all the fuss was really about. It always came back to death, to the point where all his thoughts circled the one thing. His thoughts were interupted, as was a habit, by Professor Trelawny.
"Oh my dear, your aura is down cast? Do you feel the presence of Death?" She asked him in her usual misty voice.
"Er- no," Harry murmured, caught off guard.
"Well, I suggest you watch your way. Danger follows you."
A low sounding of sniggers distracted Harry from her words. Draco Malfoy was sitting with his back to him, his head cocked around to look at him. He laughed at Harry. He didn't try to hide it, just laughed. That more then anything else, made Harry want to go sit with Malfoy. He was tired of people fretting over him, asking if he was okay. He wanted someone to push around, give him no choice, but to feel something.
"I thought you said Death followed him?" Malfoy asked, laughing even more mirthfully. Professor Trewlawney's head whipped around to eye her rebelious student. Her eyes narrowed at him, as if trying to decide if he was being serious or not.
"Death is not something to 'kid' about," she said and with that and shifted her eyes back to Harry. Challenging him to laugh too. Harry couldn't help it, this whole scenario was so ironic that he fell forward, his head hitting the desk, his hands gripping his stomach, an eerie shrill laugh sounding from his mouth.
She turned away to help Parvati and Lavendar who were eagerly working out of their books.
Harry Potter The-Boy-Who-Laughed-at-Death;
Once the laughter subsided, his eyes focused on Malfoy. He was looking at him as if he was absoulutly mental.
"So much for offending you, Potter," Malfoy muttered, just barely audible for Harry to hear.
Professor Trelawney didn't understand, Harry decided later. Death was something that was always there. It lingered in the air; it stuck in his hair like old gum. Death could be sensed a mile off; it smelled sour.
Harry rolled his eyes to the ceiling. Death was something that consumed his every waking moment. He knew it was morbid, even wrong to think about death, but that made it all the more appealing. It became something that set him away from his status of The-Boy-Who-Lived, and brought him closer to just "Harry". Closer to his parents, as they died when he was only a baby. They died for Harry. The selfishness of wanting to die, when his parents would have loved to live. Harry didn't know that though, he didn't even know his parents so he couldn't know they wanted to live.
The sun filtered in, and if he turned his head, he could see dust rising in the air, like a mini sand storm. Dust filtered on light. It facinated Harry, seduced him. He felt his mind drifting off, his senses closing down... The tree's swayed in the wind, seemingly too tall. They should fall over. The branches should fall. Nothing happens. Everything is covered in a blue haze, Harry is in the woods; he can see the castle from where he is standing. The oaks and pines begin moving on their own accord. Covering the view. He isn't safe. He has to move. Harry is running through the woods, a cold crackling wind shakes him. A high laugh sounds out behind him. He turns around and no one is there. No. Someone is there, but they are hiding. He tries to push the branches aside but there is a solid wall behind them. Panic coils in his stomach, twisting through his intestines. Cold-blooded panic. He runs. Harry doesn't know where he is going but he is running as fast as he can. He tries to turn around-
When the bell rang it jostled him out of his dream. He blinked sleepily. The scar beneath his jet black hair prickled. He rubbed at it furiously.
The class had gone quicker then usual, but at the same time it went at a sluggish pace. Like all the nights this week, when he was supposed to be sleeping, blurs of images consumed him. Everything became a movie he got lost in, until the sun fell through the hangings and woke him up once more. Then he did it all again. Letting the patterns show too easily, if he just moved he wouldn't have to think. Thinking was dangerous, as was alot of things lately.
He picked up his book and followed Ron down the ladder.
The moon hung low in the sky, like a fat chunk of margerine. It was a quiet kind of night, the kind that you believe if you are quiet enough, you'd be able to hear the earth moving.
Night was something Harry loved to hate. There was two sides to his view about the evening; Since no one were around, so he didn't have to put on his happy face and be cheerful Harry. On the other side with no one around the silence was over whelming. His thoughts seemed to dominate his mind, and everything would become a fuzzy blur. That's when the fast, but slow pace began. To escape himself he would often busy himself. This evening, he settled on a walk around Hogwarts.
He had been made prefect at the beginning of sixth year when one of the prefects resigned. So, he had access to the school at such late hour's without the need of his invisibility cloak. He often took the later rounds just as something to do when out at night.
The halls were bare, a blue haze moving off of the stone walls, from the clouds outside. The only sound was his feet on the floor moving down the corridor. He lost track of where he was, and often took so many turns that he got lost. By 7th year he knew the castle like the back of his hand by daylight, but at night everything was different. The world was covered with a thin layer of blue, and the shadows crept at him through the corners.
He passed by a door, one he had noticed in the daylight, but never had a second thought about. There were words printed around the edges of the handle in stone. A snake's head was the door knob in striking resembalense to Number 12 Grimmauld Place's door handles. He held out his arm, twisting the knob. The heavy door fell inward allowing him to walk into the pitch darkness of the room beyound. Harry took out his wand.
"Lumos," A thin beam of wandlight protruded from the tip of Harry's wand. He held up his hand's to look around the room, his eye's adjusting to the darkness.
The room was bare, with only one window, and a tall mirror in one corner. Everything was covered with a thin layer of dust. Harry stepped toward the mirror recognizing it instantly, the Mirror of Erised.
He had stood before it in first year, his parents standing on either side in his reflection. It's job was to show his deepest darkest desires, and at eleven year's old his deepest need was for his parents, as Ron's need was to stand out. Harry had thought that after the Dark Lord Voldemort had attempted to get the Sorcer's stone from within it, it had been desposed of. Harry had been wrong.
He was taller now, and could easily trace the word's around the top edge of the mirror. He stood before it, his dark hair as untidy as always. Harry held onto the edge of the mirror, bracing himself to see his parents, what he got was as far as his parents as he could get. A man materilized beside him in the mirror. One with a pointy face, bleach blonde hair, and cold steel grey eyes. Draco Malfoy. He leaned toward Harry, his platinum blond hair falling onto Harry's shoulder.
Harry turned around his wand in his hand ready to strike, under the interpretation that Draco Malfoy was standing beside him. He was not though, only in the mirror was he beside him, in real life he was alone in the empty, dusty room.
He turned back to the Mirror of Erised. His eyes shifted over Malfoy, disgust coming up within him. The mirror must lie. It must had been broken when Voldemort tried to get the stone from it's depths.
"Out on prefect rounds I presume, Mr. Potter?"
Framed in the doorway was Albus Dumbledore, as he had stood in his first year, and explained how the mirror worked. Harry wasn't as suprised this time to see him standing before him.
"I was about to go, Professor."
Dumbledore looked down his crooked nose, over his half moon glasses at him. His eyes twinkled, seeming to radiate more light then his wand had.
"What did you see in the Mirror, my boy?"
Harry hesitated, his blood running cold as it alway's did when Dumbledore seemed to read his mind.
''I think the mirror is broken."
Dumbledore's features grew thoughtful on his face, tight with a mixture of curiousity and sadness.
"And why is that, Harry?"
"I saw Draco Malfoy. Standing beside me. I used to see my parents."
Dumbleodore did none of the things Harry thought he might. There was no earth quake. Dumbledore didn't scream out or break the mirror. He just stood in front of him, his expression unchanged.
"As I said six years ago, the Mirror of Erised shows thedeepest most desperate desires of our heart."
Harry nodded, but plunged forward to explain to the old man. "But I see Draco Malfoy."
"Then perhaps you desire young Mr. Malfoy in your life, more than you have in the past, hm?."
Harry scoffed.
"I do not! I don't even know him! What I do know is I despise-"
"You don't need to explain to me, Harry. I suggest you talk to Mr. Malfoy, or listen to your own heart."
Harry shook his head.
"It is your decition, Harry."
Harry nodded his head.
Dumbledore gazed at the mirror, his eyes veiled with something like longing. Harry remembered what Dumbledore had once told him he saw in the mirror: himself holding a pair of wollen socks. Harry let a smile linger on his lips, making a note to buy him a new pair of socks.
"If there isn't anything else, I must ask you to go back to bed, my dear boy."
"Yes, Professor," Harry said, still smiling a bit.
As he followed the Professor out of the classroom, he thought about what he must do. He knew what he'd have to do on Saturday. He had to figure out why the Mirror of Erised displayed Malfoy as the thing his heart most desired. Or whether it is possible the mirror lied.
Harry Potter The Investigator.
To Be Continued...