AN: Here begins the OotP! I decided to do something different with this chapter, and it's a little bit shorter. But our regular programming from Penny's perspective will be back the next chapter, which I have almost finished editing.

Thanks for reading! I have final exams so thats why this was late, sorry! Stay say and healthy!

Eyes narrowing, he watched the girl leave the dim muggle house at 5:30 on the dot, just as he was warned. He could not get a clear look at her, but something in her posture and the way she moved in a somewhat robotic manner, as though on autopilot confirmed his suspicions that she had not heeded his warning.

He used magic to remain undetected, though he suspected she would not have noticed him if he walked beside her; she'd made her way so far completely unaware of her surroundings. A few times he wondered if she was suicidal, stepping out into oncoming vehicles, not so much as flinching when they sat on their horns. One of them he'd been sure was committed to just running her down, forcing him to pull out his wand to bring it to a stop as she crossed. Yet, she never relented, just kept on her way for thirty minutes. Of course she was going to make this menial task as tedious as possible, Dumbledore had conveniently made no mention of her current habits. Didn't normal teenagers sleep in until noon during the summer? She never could just be normal, but at least that brother of hers did not accompany her.

She only came to a stop when she reached a small cafe. He lingered near the window to determine if she would be staying or going again, watching as she ordered and then made her way to a table. When the barista brought her drinks, she hovered awkwardly, deciding the best course of action was to set the two drinks in front of the girl. Eye's narrowing, he peered around, was she intending to meet someone here? Who?

He glanced back to the window as the girl did a peculiar thing and slid one of the cups to the other side of the table before the empty space there. After that she remained rigidly motionless as though waiting for someone to suddenly appear before her.

Convinced someone was going to join her, he performed a simple concealment charm, the last thing he needed was some muggles suspicious of his lingering at this cafe and asking questions. He only had patience for one inconvenience today, and the girl was pushing the boundaries of that.

For the next twenty minutes, nothing changed. What was she waiting for? She had not even touched her own drink which was likely cold by now. The staff glanced at her from time to time with odd expressions on their faces, what was it? Her back was to him, preventing him from discerning anything from her.

An irking suspicion pressed on the back of his mind-surely she would have made more progress by now. With an exasperated sigh, he decided to get to the bottom of the situation. The door chimed as he pushed it open, but she did not stir nor look. Her table was toward the back of the cafe, tucked in a corner.

"A black coffee," he said to the barista, he did not have the patience for pleasantries at this moment.

"Sits there like that every morning," the barista said.

He turned to fix her with a harsh stare, realizing that she'd followed his gaze.

"Who is she waiting for?"

"Dunno. No one ever comes. But she's like clockwork, arrives everyday at 6am and sits there for two hours until she gets up abruptly, like she suddenly realizes she's late for something. The odd thing is, she never drinks so much as a sip, just stares at those cups, like she's waiting for sumthin," the barista went on, sliding his coffee across the counter to him.

He nodded, making his way toward the tiny table. He grabbed a chair as he went and dragged it with him. Murmuring under his breath, he performed another concealment charm around the table to repel the unwanted attention of the muggles.

Setting his coffee down, he sat adjacent to the girl, avoiding the empty space where the second coffee sat. The green eyes that were normally vibrant and irritatingly stubborn, turned to him, tired and dazed. They saw him, but nothing in them said they registered what they were looking at. The remnants of glossy streaks across her cheeks told him that she'd been crying.

Her mind lay open to him, woefully unguarded as she tried desperately to escape herself, evidently afraid of the darkness buried deep within her, a feeling he was all too familiar with. She was notably thinner, though only a few weeks had elapsed since he'd seen her last. He remembered seeing her the morning before the task. She was irritatingly cheerful, absorbed in that pretty boy. He found himself unable to stand watching the pair of them, in his opinion the Diggory boy was poor judgement on her part, but even one as her was still a victim to teenage stupidity. However, he could not help but find himself even more irritated by the fact the Diggory boy had left her this way, stolen her spirit and left her to rot in her own despair and emotional incapability.

Something inside of him twinged at the sight of her, disturbing the delicate balance he kept. He wanted to shake her, make her see him, pull her free of the emptiness that was slowly seeping from the cracks of her mind. As much as he hated her infuriatingly arrogant tendencies that reminded him so much of that damned father of hers, he preferred it to this shell of a girl. He had lived to see the misery of many, and remained unaffected, but this girl with the green eyes that he looked to distract him, they were not supposed to be empty. Worse still was that looking at her gave him the distinct feeling she did not want to come back, that she desired to stay tucked away inside herself until she withered away. It was a childish response and expected, she was a perfectionist who avoided anything she did not know how to deal with. She would never confront her grief without. . .prompting.

So this was why Dumbledore had selected him, the old fool knew he could not look upon her without feeling compelled to prod her from her stupor.

"Did I not warn you what would happen if you did not do as instructed?"

She looked back down at her cup and did not respond.

"You will not find Diggory in that cup."

Her jaw clenched. Some emotion-good, he thought.

"As poetic as this all is, he will never know you sit here by yourself. Your suffering is pointless."

"No it's not," she said, a fragment of her normal indignation rising in her tone.

Perhaps she was not as trapped as he'd first suspected.

"Then explain to me why you are here."

"I told him we'd have cappuccinos this summer," she said, her voice betraying her confusion as she registered the empty seat across from her.

He considered her for a moment, taking a sip of his own coffee. Seeing the desperation in her eyes made him reconsider for a moment, perhaps he was being cruel. But then he resolved himself to what was necessary to break her from herself, no matter how much she hated it.

"And yet you have not touched yours."

"I c-can't." she stammered, clenching the table.

"Can't? It seems to me you just don't want to."

He waited for her response, but she'd set her jaw, a sure sign she was going to make things more difficult than was necessary.

"Do you even know what it is you are afraid of?" he sighed, wishing very much this conversation did not require as much coaxing as it did.

He waited for her to respond, resisting the urge to snap at her.

"Seeing those empty grey eyes again. . ." she whispered, clutching at the front of her shirt as though something were trying to claw its way through it.

He watched her struggle against the feelings he was more familiar with than she realized. Feelings, those green eyes of hers often returned to the forefront of his mind. He felt her mind yelling in anger at the unfairness of it all, uncaring who was listening. She wanted it to make sense, but she also refused to allow herself to come to terms with the loss, desperate to escape the reality of it. At the center of it all was her fear-she was afraid of being alone.

"Don't push it down yet," he said, more reproachfully than he intended.

She turned those green eyes on him, the accusation pouring from them.

"You have already awakened the beast within you, now you must feed it," he said, feeling vexed though he did not know why.

Her brows furrowed, irritating him further, must he explain everything multiple times?

"I told you, Potter, one thing. Now, give it up," he snapped.

She turned away from him quickly in an attempt to hide her guilt, but he'd caught sight of it, the hammer of her heart betraying it further. Why she thought that if she just did not meet his gaze he would not know what she was hiding, he had not figured out. But he'd learned her habits early on, and when she turned away he knew to press her.

He took a hold of her jaw and turned her back to face him. Her pupils were dilated unnaturally, stealing away the green from them, leaving a vast expanse of darkness in their wake. They watched each other, her thoughts racing from her in a jumbled mess, skirting across her face like hieroglyphics, containing within them the key to her thoughts. It was what he found intriguing about her, how every emotion of hers crafted the subtle shifts on her, normally, vibrant features.

His greedy nature never wanted to look away, desiring very much to provoke changes in them, trying to anticipate what would appear next, enticed to continue his prodding every time she surprised him. Today, however, he felt compelled to do no such prodding. The ache of her heart etched harsh lines and edges into her round face and her agony was almost palpable. She would have no hope of returning to her previous spirit if he did not do something.

The seconds rolled by, feeling more like minutes, and he was beginning to wonder if she would refuse, but then she took a shaking breath.

"He hated shepherd's pie," she stammered. "He-he had this thing about food not touching on his plate, and shepherd's pie violated it, mixing into a swampy mess and all," she continued, her voice gaining more strength as she went on.

Then those doe-like eyes widened in realization of what she'd done, and she gasped, pulling away from him to gulp down the emotions that were brimming to the surface. He'd gotten her this far, he could not let her recede into herself before the exercise took effect, it was pointless unless she forced herself to feel. So he reached out to her with his mind and felt her cling to it instantaneously. Her presence was like a rush of cold water over his body. She was chaotic and unpredictable, ravaging the delicate order he maintained within himself.

Yet, she settled almost instinctively within him, reminding him almost of a cat curling upon his lap for a nap. For one so distraught before him, she was perfectly relaxed within the foreign terrain of his mind. She did not bother to close parts of herself off to him like he did her. He was instead engulfed in the whirring of her mind. Every twinge of guilt, pain, sorrow and regret, crossing the barrier between them, as though her mind believed him to be a part of her. He would scold her for her poor discipline and unguarded mind, but found himself oddly satisfied with the way she accepted him, no questions asked. She clung to him, believing he brought refuge, unaware his mind was a much darker place than the hole in that loud heart of hers. But he did not tell her this, and instead let her remain where she was, watching her face intently as her features glazed over in the relief of not being trapped within herself.

The two of them remained like this until her breathing slowed, her grip on the table slackening. Slowly, she withdrew herself from his mind, finding her footing within herself. For a moment, he wanted to pull her back, but he pushed away the thought before it could fully form.

This time, when she looked up at him she registered who he was. He noted how her lips parted slightly as she searched his own features, some of the color returning to her pale skin. He did not wait for her to speak, rather, he got to his feet.

"Now go home, Potter. You've loitered long enough for today. I will return tomorrow to ensure that thing inside of you remains fed," he said, turning to go, but her hand stopped him.

The fingers were soft and frail, but they held onto him with more force than he expected of them.

"You'll come back?" she said, sounding uncharacteristically uncertain of herself.

The apprehension was all over her features telling him what she was really asking.

"Yes, Ms. Potter. Since it has become evident that you are incapable of following simple instructions."

For a moment he thought he saw a smile skirt across her lips, but it disappeared before he could be certain. With a nod, she let go of his hand and made her way to the door, her movements still unnaturally robotic.

He could not expect changes so soon.

When she made it through the door, she looked up into the sky, her red hair blowing slightly in the breeze. He felt the familiar pang as he remembered that red hair on another. But then she turned, and though their eyes were the same, he did not see her, he saw a girl who's sadness made him inexplicably angry. Angry because he knew there was nothing that could be done to end the suffering in those eyes.

Unable to look upon them a moment longer, he turned on his heel, feeling his own monster rear its long dormant head.