Upon exiting Gryffindor Tower the next morning, there were hushed whispers following Harry wherever he went and while the majority of them came from passing Slytherins, the words calling him a murderer made him feel highly uncomfortable.
"I didn't kill him!" Harry shouted at a few passing Slytherins in the entrance hall.
"Ignore them, Harry," said Hermione as if it was nothing, "just ignore them."
"Malfoy's probably told the whole school -- or at least all the Slytherins -- his version of the story by now," said Ron bitterly.
"I'm not ever going to convince him I didn't, am I?" Harry asked.
"No," said Raides, "and I'm not sure I would believe you either if I was him."
"Thanks, Raides," said Harry, glaring at her, "that's just what I needed to hear."
He wasn't feeling very hungry that morning so he gave some bacon to Hedwig and, after being urged to stick something on his plate, stared at the pancakes but just repeatedly poked them with a fork, not feeling that he would be able to swallow.
"You're not going to eat again, are you?" Hermione asked tonelessly.
"No," said Harry simply and tonelessly back. "How would you feel if someone died and everyone's blaming you for it?"
"Just -- just drop it, Hermione, okay?" said Ron. He was feeling a certain nervousness that made him nearly choke on his eggs.
Hermione didn't feel like it but noting that expression on Harry's face, that one saying he'd had enough and didn't want to hear anymore, coupled with the lack of a readable expression in Harry's green eyes behind his round glasses, she didn't bother.
"Toast, anyone?" said Raides.
Harry let out a great big exhale of anxiety while Hermione and Ron gave Raides an angry look.
Upon returning to his dormitory the next day to grab his books and head off towards Divination, Harry found an item folded and lying on his trunk that he didn't expect to see for quite some time to come.
"Er -- my dad's Invisibility Cloak?" he said, staring at it as Ron bumped into him.
"Dumbledore?" said Ron.
"Maybe, but, why? He wasn't happy when he took it from me -- but I'm not going to complain," said Harry quickly, a small smile forming on his face, figuring if he found out why, he wasn't going to like the answer.
He walked hurriedly over to it, picked it up, saw that the damage done to it had been repaired and, very, very happy to have it back, put it inside his trunk and vowed to never find himself in situation where Dumbledore would want to confiscate it again.
Then he remembered the only reason he ever used it was such a thing.
Lots of post owls arrived for Harry over the next few days, a lot of it very nasty, indeed. Hermione had received such hate mail when she was thought to have been the girlfriend of both Harry and Viktor Krum. All it took was an article in the Daily Prophet from Rita Skeeter and one morning, Hermione found bubotuber pus all over her fingers, causing boils to grow on them.
"Don't open that one," said Hermione quickly as Harry picked one up, smelling the undiluted bubotuber pus a mile away inside one of the envelopes. "It's bottom is all yellowish-green which is exactly the color of bubotuber pus."
Harry smiled shortly at her and burned the envelope up with a quick spell from Raides.
"Is everyone starting to think I did it?" said Harry, opening up another letter that Hermione hadn't said anything about yet. "Oh no..." he said miserably as he took the letter out and read the top of it.
"What is it?" said Ron, strangely eagerly.
Harry read it aloud.
Offices of the Ministry of Magic London, England
Dear Harry Potter,
I am very unlucky in having to inform you of a decision of the Committee for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry. You had been sent home with a letter from Albus Dumbledore temporarily relieving you of the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry. While the reason for the Ministry of Magic's nonaction in the previous months shall remain confidential, it is my unfortunate duty to inform you are hereby banned from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry's trip to Paladin Laurence Patrick Hayden's Manhattan School of Wizardry.
"What? Why!" shouted Hermione.
"They can't do that!" shouted Harry indignantly.
"Oh, come on, that's just not fair," Ron grumbled angrily.
Without even finishing reading it, Harry put the letter down, took one last bite of his lunch, pushed the plate away and rested his head on his arms.
"That's not fair," he said. "They didn't care all summer that I was doing magic --"
"You weren't really doing 'necessary' magic, you know," Hermione reminded him.
"-- and now all of a sudden they use that as an excuse to prevent me from going on the trip?" he went on, ignoring her. "It's from Fudge," said Harry, reading the name at the bottom. "He doesn't want me going because he thinks I killed him or it looks bad that I get to go even if I didn't. They need to get him out of there and put Mr. Weasley in his place."
"What's the rest say?" Ron asked, ignoring the fact that Harry just suggested his dad be Minister of Magic.
Harry picked his head up, picked up the envelope and finished reading in a soft, toneless voice.
You will be allowed to either return to your place of permanent residence or stay at Hogwarts along with the students who chose not to go on this school trip.
"I'm really going back to the Dursleys'," said Harry grimly.
Have a wonderful Christmas vacation.
Sincerely,
Cornelius Fudge
Minister of Magic
"I'm going anyway," said Harry defiantly. "I'm not staying here with the two people that aren't."
Harry didn't even know if anyone wasn't going but could guess that most everyone was, given that he had not heard of anyone who wasn't. With something this big, whoever wasn't going was going to get around real quick.
"What? How?" Hermioned asked. "Someone's going to notice you're not here and I don't think they're going to check for you at the Dursleys' house!"
"Unless he makes it look like he ran away or something --" Ron suggested, his voice quiet and conspiring.
"Ron!" shouted Hermione at once, not believing he'd ever take part in such a scandal.
"Oh come on, Hermione," said Ron slightly pleadingly. "Don't tell me you --"
"We're not going either, then," said Hermione flatly. "If Harry can't go, I don't want to go either."
"Hermione --" Harry began.
"No," she said firmly, her face set, her arms folded, though Ron wasn't looking quite the same.
"The both of you are going with or without me," said Harry firmly back. "I payed for Ron so he could go --"
"Maybe Hermione's right," said Ron slowly, feeling uneasy again that Harry had paid for the trip for him -- and now he can't go.
"Harry," said Hermione very seriously, "doing that is only going to make you look more guilty --"
"The guiltier the better," smiled Raides, which made all three of them stare daggers at her and she shut up.
"-- and what is Dumbledore going to --"
"I don't care!" squealed Harry indignantly again, his voice cracking with the unjustness of it all. He was staring at her like she thought he killed Lucius Malfoy, too. He was also aware of the few people staring at him. "I'm not a killer, Hermione!"
"Yeah, yeah," a few people whispered moodily in the background.
Hermione gave Harry an exasperated look while Ron stared at the side of her head. For the few moments Ron considered following Hermione's suggestion that Harry not go, he could easily see things Harry's way.
Hermione now sighed as she put her fork down and folded her arms, not knowing what to say. Far removed from being set that she wasn't going on the trip, Hermione was now unsure of everything; those four words from Harry, "I'm not a killer!" and the desperate fashion in which he said it had an incredible effect.
"I don't like this, Harry," Hermione let him know, her lips almost disappearing as she paused for a brief moment, "I really don't like it but I don't like what Fudge and that Committee stuck in Malfoy's hands did either. I'm starting to wonder how many people in the Ministry actually are Death Eaters. And who the hell picked that name," she added hotly. Then she rested her elbows on the table, propping her head up with her hands and gave a heavy sigh, the bangs of her bushy, brown hair fluttering from the air.
"So," said Ron, hoping someone would say something.
"So," said Hermione, looking at Harry.
"So what," said Harry, wanting to laugh but forgetting how and recalling a scenario in which some similar dialog had happened -- except he didn't want to upset Uncle Vernon any further.
"So is Harry going or not?" Raides asked, breaking their silence.
"I don't know," Harry sighed, resting his arms on the table, his hands dangling off the edge, his head on his wrist and staring at his left elbow with a blank expression. He closed his eyes, hoping to wake up in his four-poster where he would get ready to meet Cho for the Yule Ball again.
"D'you think Dumbledore gave the cloak back because he doesn't like what Fudge did either?" asked Ron.
"We have until the twenty-fourth to decide on something," said Hermione gloomily, shrugging her shoulders.
"I don't know what to do," Harry sighed again.
"If we're using a Gate to get there, can't Harry just sneak behind us?" Ron suggested. "He can use Raides to become invisible, no one will ever know he did it."
Hermione fixed him with a sharp stare like she was going to reprimand him but then thought better of it and just sighed again.
"We have to make sure no one can ever know," Hermione told Harry and Ron, "or we're going to -- wait, why are we even planning this," she hissed, seeing how utterly insane the idea was. "This is insane! We just can't have Harry sneaking out of Europe, someone will know he's missing! Harry," she went on sharply, "you're not going and neither are --"
Ron seemed to break down as he, too, realized how utterly insane the idea was.
"Yes," said Harry forcefully back, "you are going. Don't stay just because of me. You go on, have a great time and I'll sit here and let the whole world blame me for killing Lucius."
They ate silently -- at least for a few minutes -- after that and Harry only ate anything because Hermione, rather like a strict mother, told him to "sit your butt down, Harry, and eat. You think Cho's going to like it that you're not eating?"
"Are you gonna tell her?" asked Ron. Harry didn't respond. "About Fudge's letter?"
Harry, fork halfway between mouth and plate, glanced sidelong and menacingly at him and then stabbed his food with the fork angrily. But then he went soft and said in a small voice, "Yes."
"You're in one of those bad moods again, aren't you?"
Harry didn't answer but both Ron and Hermione knew anyway.
There wasn't much talk between Harry and anyone else the entire rest of the day. Hermione thought Harry would never speak to her again but she couldn't blame him -- all anyone talked about was the trip to the United States and how wonderful Laurence Patrick Hayden's school was. Quite apart from the school itself, even, Dumbledore had made it known that the students would be allowed to explore New York but they would have to disguise themselves as Muggles. A student would have to be approved by a teacher before leaving the school.
To further increase the unpleasantness of it all, Harry would be the one to conjure the Gate to allow everyone to go on the trip. He silently wished Dumbledore would be able to do it without him; he didn't want to have to suffer through watching everyone's excited face as they stepped into the Gate and all their friends cheered them on.
Ron and Hermione did let Harry know before they went to bed that they had both decided on going but only because "you want us to go. We wouldn't go if you didn't want us to." By now, Harry didn't know if he wanted them to go or not and so he didn't answer when they asked him, "You do still want us to go, don't you?" He continued to sit there on a chair as far away from the comfortable fire as possible so he could be as miserable as he wanted to, recalling a time two years ago feeling just as miserable. But at least most of the school would be leaving in a few days' time and then no one would be able to glare at him and walk hurriedly past him in the corridors as though he might kill them, too.
That was the time he'd been having the mood swings brought on by the Mark of Ancients and had driven off Ron and Hermione (the rest of the school was already against him). Life hadn't been pleasant and laying there, staring up at the blackness that was the canopy of his four-poster, he had to ask himself, "Is it really back?" He took one look at the scarlet Explicatrix with the golden mist inside it on his bedside table then wrenched the curtains shut and fell asleep, thinking about something half-pleasant: the birthday he had last year where people kept pulling him over to tell him a story about one or both of his parents.
Scar hurting the next morning after having just had the dream that night, the first thing he did was hold the plaque on his Order of Merlin necklace all the way down to breakfast. While Ron, Neville, Dean and Seamus did wake up at Harry's shriek and Ron was staring oddly at him again in the middle of the night, they didn't make a big deal out of it and hastily went back to sleep after Harry ordered them to.
"Take that thing out of your hand," Hermione ordered him.
"No," said Harry shortly.
"Yes."
"Pull it out of my hand."
She tried but Harry had a sick feeling he had casted the Strength Charm without realizing it because she couldn't even move his arm. He sat idly, dully sipping his porridge while Ron and Hermione were again talking in terse mutters though apparently they didn't want Harry to hear them. Every now and then one of them glanced shortly at Harry partly expecting him to hit them with his spoon. While he felt like it, the plaque in his free hand stopped him. He was sure they were plotting ways of cheering him up but he didn't think anything would work. After finishing eating, he resigned to go back to the Explicatrix in his dormitory. The very least he could do was to prevent a repeat experience from the second task of the last Triwizard Tournament and fall asleep in the library only to wake up and, at the last second, have someone tell him exactly what to do.
But an hour later, staring nonplussed at the scarlet crystal ball in his hands, the mist was still golden, his mind was still blank and Raides was still waiting for him to ask her --
"You don't know, do you?" Harry asked hotly.
"If I knew, I'd have told you the second I saw it," she replied, putting her head on her paws, lying in the middle of the circular room.
"And you don't know what these runes on it mean, either?"
"No."
"I was never good at this," Harry complained. "I lied to the teacher for the exam we had on crystal balls. That was when she told me Voldemort's servant was going back to him."
"So what are you gonna do while everyone's in New York?"
"Try to figure out what this thing does," said Harry through gritted teeth.
He tried squeezing it but that did nothing but vent some of his anger and turn his hands the color of the crystal. Thoroughly angry, Harry then threw the Explicatrix as hard as he could at the window in front of him. It hit the glass with a great pinging noise, bouncing right back at Harry's head and put a dent on the wall before just falling down. He merely waved his hand at it to make the wall all right again.
The dreary morning of Hogwarts' departure to the United States finally came. Hermione and Ron, half excited and half feeling worse than terrible that their best friend couldn't go, woke Harry up which was good because Voldemort had just said impatiently, "Move aside, fool."
"I can't believe Dumbledore's still going to make me open the Gate," Harry yawned as he stretched, finally laying his arms over each side of his four-poster. He looked outside. Flurries of snow were falling from the sky and the grass was glazed white.
Hermione tore the covers off him and barked, "Up! And he's not going to make you do anything. We already had breakfast and Dumbledore told us to tell you that he can manage it without you. Professors Snape and Figg are helping him," she said casually, her voice trailing off.
Harry felt slightly better, though he still wanted to go. At first, he didn't want to exit Gryffindor Tower but Hermione forced him to by threatening to not write him up a study sheet for their N.E.W.T.s which Harry dreaded.
Hermione put a napkin holding two pieces of toast on Harry's bedside cabinet, conveniently covering the Order of Merlin necklace and muttered something that sounded like "eat." Holding Ron's hand, she and him exited the dormitory dressed as Muggles. Harry, not really caring for his appearance at the moment, put on the first thing he could find, which was a pair of blue jeans and a white undershirt. He put on his glasses, picked up the napkin, stuffed the necklace in his pocket (it didn't do anything), the bracelet in his other, tucked his shirt in, put on a belt and put on his golden watch. Then Harry stuffed one entire piece of toast in his mouth, choked on it, chewed, swallowed and threw the other piece in the garbage along with the thought of having a cheerful morning. He pictured himself chopping Voldemort's head off with a sword before exiting out of the portrait hole.
People were still skirting him in the corridors and walking quickly when he was near just about anyone. Even Craig Stone and James Griffith, who normally got on very well with Harry, were moving more quickly in his presence -- he had seen them going downstairs. Not knowing where else to go, he followed them (to their dismay) and saw that a throng of people were collecting in the vast, echoing entrance hall. While the entrance hall was big, it seemed to be holding the entirety of Hogwarts, all of them dressed as Muggles to the best of their -- or their friends' -- ability.
Malfoy was surrounded by a band of Slytherin girls, Pansy Parkinson at his side and Crabbe and Goyle on the other. He spotted Harry walking in behind Craig and shouted, "Hey, look! It's Potter the murderer!"
Harry stopped dead while Craig and James walked even faster over to the crowd which, all at once, drew a breath and turned to Harry, whose face was already becoming warm. Malfoy, though he shouted determinedly, had a hard time keeping the fear off his face.
"I didn't kill anyone," said Harry, standing there and feeling stupid while everyone stared at him. He felt Raides brush past him, the crowd splitting to let her pass.
"Sure you didn't!" Malfoy shouted, his voice now shaking slightly. "You killed Dudley! Everyone knows you hate those Muggles you live with! It's no mystery by the Howler you got from them!"
"The only reason you let him follow you around, Dudley being Muggle-born, is because you know he hates me as much as you do," Harry retorted. "AND I DIDN'T MEAN TO KILL DUDLEY!" he bellowed.
"On accident, slip of the finger, was it?" said Parkinson, her voice shaking more than Malfoy's. "And you killed Draco's father, too! Where's it gonna end, Potter, huh? Where?"
Harry stook a step forward and the front row of the crowd took a step back. "I didn't kill anyone!" Harry shouted.
"Oh come on!" said Malfoy in a pleading sort of voice. "You hated my father! You were there when he died and you were the ONLY one!"
Harry wished Dumbledore would have lied but knew Dumbledore to do no such thing... Well, he did once and Harry really couldn't see why he wouldn't do it again except to avoid terrible consequences he couldn't foresee at the moment.
"And you had that -- that evil lion with you," said Malfoy with a half glance at that seven foot lion which was so close to him that Harry could see Malfoy shaking.
"I am not evil," Raides assured him coolly, "but your father insulted me and I do have ten thousand years of pride to hold up. I encourage my master's needs, whether they be to save a life or to end it."
Harry wished Raides hadn't spoken because Malfoy looked like his worst nightmares had come true.
"SEE?" he bellowed, his voice shaking more than Neville when Professor Snape had been breathing down his neck in Potions classes. "She wanted him dead, too! You killed him, Potter, and you can't convince me otherwise!" stated Malfoy (a little more bravely than he felt, thought Harry).
This was Harry's breaking point. He pulled out his wand which he distinctly remembered not putting inside his pocket.
"AVADA KEDAVARA IMMORTALA!" he bellowed, not knowing where the last word came from.
As a shock from his wand made him drop it, a jet of green light erupted from its tip on its way down and halted halfway between himself and Malfoy. The entire crowd of students drew a gasp of breath, Malfoy staring through the green light at Harry's face which had a new coat of hate freshly painted on it. Harry felt dearly like having the spell continue onward, striking Malfoy right between the eyes. Standing there, his nerve failing him as each second that he hadn't done it passed by, he finally heard a voice calling, "Harry!" The green light bursted in the air and Malfoy fainted in Pansy Parkinson's arms.
Harry, who was expecting expulsion or at the very least another term long study in the Dark arts, couldn't believe it when Dumbledore simply ordered him to return to Gryffindor Tower and to leave Raides downstairs and make sure she listened to himself and Professor McGonagall. Before he turned to go, he caught sight of Ron and Hermione, both of whom, after what he just did he wasn't surprised to see, looked to be glad to get away from him. He picked up his wand and left, his heart finally sinking back into his chest as he rounded on the portrait of the Fat Lady.
He hadn't been clutching the plaque tightly in his hand, sitting on a squashy armchair by the fire for more than five minutes when someone with a long, silver beard entered the common room. Harry didn't want to look at Dumbledore as he was far too ashamed of himself at the moment. He recalled a time two years ago where a similar scene had happened -- except, at the time...
"I do not know, Harry," said Dumbledore gravely, "what has come over you lately but this behavior cannot continue." Harry suddenly felt like asking why he returned his father's Invisibility Cloak but, given that look on Dumbledore's face, the one that cleanly said the situation was only going to get worse, he didn't think it was the time or place. "Maybe it is best that you do not go on the trip to the United States and take some time alone to -- think things over?"
"I don't need time to think thing's over," said Harry quietly, "I just need to find a way to convince everyone that I didn't KILL ANYONE!"
"And I have confidence that you will find a way," said Dumbledore calmly. He took a seat on an armchair across from Harry.
"How?" said Harry angrily.
"Whenever your mother was upset at something, she would take a time out," Dumbledore told Harry, who was suddenly listening better. Dumbledore, noticing this, smiled briefly and continued. "Perhaps open a book and read for a few minutes to get her mind off it and when she was good and ready -- and she wasn't thinking irrationally anymore, as that is what anger does to us, it makes us think irrational thoughts -- she would have at it again. Lily had a good melon between her shoulders that she used wisely. She would have told you how she deals with such a thing and I think, right about now, she would have sent you to your room, confiscated your wand, given you all your school books and ordered you to study."
"I don't care what she would have done," Harry lied, knowing Dumbledore would see right through it, "I want to go on that stupid trip."
"Your father might have pleaded with her for a minute or two to let you watch television for fifteen minutes before doing so or at the very least, help you with your studies," Dumbledore continued as if Harry never spoke.
"Why'd Fudge do that?" said Harry. "I didn't do anything wrong!"
"I will never understand Muggle television," said Dumbledore, lost in thought. "How do they put all that stuff in that tiny little wire?"
Then, Harry, who couldn't see where this conversation was going considering Dumbledore wasn't listening to him, voiced this.
"The point is, Harry," said Dumbledore, coming out of it, "that you are going through something --"
"Again," said Harry in a soft tone of anger.
"-- and I know it must be hard --"
"You're right it's hard!" said Harry a bit more loudly than he intended.
"-- and I know how you must feel --"
"No, you don't," said Harry more loudly still.
"-- but if things don't change, things won't improve," Dumbledore finished. "I realize that you had two very near fatal accidents this past summer, one of them Miss Chang herself and that to save her life, you had to expose yourself to one Miss Marjorie Dursley. The situation had since been cleared by Arthur Weasley and the decision to not put a Memory Charm on her actually fell in your hands. The Committee, Arthur tells me, honored your decision, however questionable, to leave her be. In the years that you have been at Hogwarts, you have grown up far more than you had your eleven years under the Dursleys' care --"
"Forget this," Harry mumbled under his breath, though the look on his face told Dumbledore what he'd muttered.
He couldn't exactly answer himself when he asked why he wanted to walk out in the middle of Dumbledore's speech. He heard Dumbledore saying "Harry, please take a time out of your own to collect your thoughts and think rationally again," but didn't care much for the advice.
"Raides," he called sharply and firmly in his head, "come up here."
"As you wish," she replied, "though Hagrid is starting to drive me nuts with his suggestions to change my dinner menu."
"And don't listen to them anymore for now, either," Harry told her.
He turned around to see if Dumbledore had gone and hoped he was because he couldn't look at him anymore for the day, feeling too angry at himself for his actions so far. Dumbledore, thankfully, was gone and within a minute, a muffled banging signaled Raides' arrival at the Fat Lady's portrait. Harry let her in and he stomped up the spiral stairs, Raides trotting merrily behind him, disappearing atop Gryffindor Tower and doing anything but taking a time out.
The future wasn't looking so bright and Dumbledore's word, that he could convince everyone that he hadn't done anything wrong wasn't looking so doable. What Harry needed right now as he collected his books to head to the library to work on that stupid Dark arts study was someone to spill himself to. He stuffed three books in his bag along with parchment, all the while his mouth half open, a dull twinkle in his eye. Two people, of course, came to mind immediately. Harry just hoped that, after the near-perfect night he had with Cho during the Yule Ball she wouldn't mind some more of his babbling. Sirius, on the other hand, Harry was sure would want to hear what was bothering him.
Knowing that he had driven off Ron and Hermione -- again -- uneased him a great deal. Pushing open the portrait hole, he couldn't be more grateful for them, though, than for what they did last year. As hopeless as it looked, at least one of them pushed the other to never stop looking for clues to find the Staff of Cybele. Recalling the feeling of knowing Sirius was as good as dead, he didn't know what'd he do if he hadn't found Raides.
But there was no denying it, he had to explain to someone -- especially those two -- what he was feeling. But, running back to Gryffindor Tower because he had forgotten to take something to write with in all his thoughts, what was there to explain? Harry wasn't quite sure anyone would understand... and he didn't even understand it... He sincerely hoped Sirius and Cho's reply would at least not make him feel any worse and that Cho wouldn't coldly walk out on him again... A certain guilt twanged inside of him. Why should he think that? But, anyway...
Hello, he saw himself writing as he grabbed that familiar pen on his desk and headed back to the library, I don't know why I blew up on Malfoy and nearly killed him. I was just angry I guess -- really angry. Thanks, Harry.
And then he didn't think of anything for a good minute because it sounded dumb.
As for Ron and Hermione, taking his books out in the library and sitting in Hermione's usual seat, staring at an empty piece of parchment with a blank expression, his mouth still hanging open, he wasn't quite sure Hedwig would make it to New York...
And then he headed off to the Owlery because he simply couldn't work. A small voice in the back of Harry's head kept telling him to keep it to himself if you want to be sure no one will get upset. It was a slightly louder voice that kept saying, "tell someone something, anything, because if you don't, you're going to regret it."