Disclaimer: I don't own it.

Author's Note: Again I'd like to thank those who have reviewed so far, kisses to all. I firmly believe the more the merrier, so please keep them coming! More, more, more!

And Tears

Chapter Three

Harry Potter sat on a clean area of the Owlery floor with Hedwig perched on his knee, a hand idly caressing her soft feathers. It was already the third week of term and it seemed to have passed without Harry noticing.

The tears at night had continued. It had become routine for Harry to wait until the other seventh-year boys were hidden behind their bed hangings before entering the dormitory and falling into his own bed, placing a Silencing charm around him. Sealed away, he could release the pent up sorrow as loudly as he wanted.

Amongst the tears and breathless gasps, he often found himself scratching feverishly at his arms, as if trying to tear away the flesh to find what lay inside. If there was anything good there then he needed to know, he needed proof. Only proof would cease his growing suspicion (which his mind was steadily converting to fact) that there was only something rotten inside. In his nocturnal moments of scrabbling at his limbs, a voice within screamed at him, 'YOU NEED THIS. LET THE MAGGOTS OUT!' Even so, the feeling of the sore, red raw skin hidden under the sleeves of his school robes always left a residue of guilt in his stomach the following day.

Harry shifted his position slightly, his bottom numb from sitting on the cold, stone floor. Hedwig gave a soft hoot and flew away to settle on a rafter high above her morose owner's head. Harry felt sad at the loss, but understood. His impromptu visit had interrupted the snowy owl's daytime sleep, which usually occurred after her night of gruelling hunting. Harry was just grateful she had spent as long with him as she had.

Now left without the companionship of Hedwig, Harry still felt reluctant to leave the Owlery and rejoin the bustle of the floors below him. He didn't fit there. Yes, he had finally come to realise and accept it. He wasn't like everybody else, and he wasn't altogether sure that he wanted to be.

The rest of Hogwarts and beyond were all happy in their ignorant insignificance, able to converse in terrified, hushed whispers about the war that raged distantly one moment, and then the latest scandalous article in 'Witch Weekly' the next, as if Lord Voldemort and the rumours that Celestina Warbeck's newborn baby was not her husband's were on a par.

Harry growled angrily at his thoughts, angry because none of those idiots really mattered in the constant eternal battle between Light and Dark. None of them even seemed to really care anyway. They were full of sorrow and shock with their gushing, heartfelt condolences when someone's relative was so abruptly removed from any tangible reach. They would temporarily shower that student with unwanted awe, sympathy and fame. But most importantly and most telling, they would all eventually forget until it happened to another colleague, or until it happened to them.

So Harry didn't waste tears wishing to be like the clueless people who he interacted with everyday and called 'friends', and he definitely didn't wish anyone to be like him either. The thought caused a shudder of fear and disgust to trip along his vertebrae.

Harry was now used to the students who inevitably drifted to him, the lost emptiness that could still be observed in his eyes always unavoidably fresh, raw and burning in their own. Always their deep-seated need to mourn, to be angry, to seek revenge, to wallow, offload and release would be placed in Harry. Time after time Harry freed them of their burdens only to add them to the baggage threatening to break his own back. There was nothing else to do. He was to be the end of this, the prophecy said so, and it was his responsibility to take all of this with him. The world's thrashing, confused feelings would either be destroyed with him or he would somehow use them to destroy Voldemort. So he sent those students on their way with stories of his losses that were laced in bile they couldn't detect and sickeningly positive messages to uplift that made his stomach writhe and his palms sweat.

Ron and Hermione seemed oblivious to what was going on within their friend. Harry felt somewhat bitter that they weren't aware of any change in him. They were too concerned with what Harry was destined to do and finding ways he could do it rather than what he was currently doing and what it meant for how he was feeling at present. He knew that he couldn't really blame them. It was only to be expected when he lived every day behind a mask that he never allowed to slip. Why worry about an apparently carefree, happy, omnipotent Harry who could heal anyone who needed it, when there was an approaching showdown with the most terrifying Dark wizard of the century to plan? But still a voice in his head told him that if they were real friends, if they knew Harry at all, they would have noticed something.

He was tired of the fake grin he hitched onto his face each morning. He was tired of having to understand. He was tired of the empty laughter and meaningless conversation. He was tired of having to save. He was tired of all the sadly hopeful faces that lifted to his with tear tracks and hollow eyes like a soulless army. He was tired of having to remember. He was tired of constantly feeling alone and misunderstood. Just tired. Tired of it all.

At the unwelcome thoughts, Harry banged his head back hard into the wall that he sat against so that it hit with a 'crack'. The flash of pain that sliced across the back of his skull set his teeth on edge and made his vision swim with saltwater before eventually dying down to a dull throb. The throb was a rather warm and welcome feeling. Harry repeated the action again and again, teeth grinding as he released the anger into the wall before pausing to let the throbbing replace it, pushing the pain from his eyes.

Finally his tears had seen daylight.


Harry crept along the seventh floor corridor towards the Room of Requirement, his head fuzzy and pulsing heavily. He wasn't too fond of the white noise that had now taken residence in his ears; it was making it hard for him to think clearly of what he wanted. He knew what he didn't want. He didn't want to sit alone in the Owlery with the thoughts that led to white noise, and he didn't want to go back to all those people who proclaimed their love and friendship yet thought nothing of someday sacrificing him to save the souls of all the rest of wizardkind.

When Harry reached the tapestry depicting Barnabas the Barmy, he scrunched up his eyes trying to think of what it was that he needed. Finally he whispered, "Somewhere to hide," with eyes still clenched shut and began pacing back and forth in front of the doorless section of wall. He whispered the words over and over as if to memorise his need. On his third time walking past he opened his eyes and saw that a panel oak door had appeared. Harry hesitated, his eyes sweeping the length of the desolate corridor, before hastily opening the door and entering the room. The door slammed forcefully behind him.

Harry stepped into a dark so thick it felt almost solid, his breath hitching before his lungs realised that its supply of oxygen remained untampered with. Harry waited a while for his eyes to slowly adjust to the gloom but the waiting was in vain, the blackness enveloping him would not melt. He took a few tentative steps forward. Despite being able to feel his limbs move it was as if he had remained stationary, he could neither see nor otherwise detect any alteration in the thick void surrounding him.

Harry fumbled for his wand and muttered, "Lumos." The tip of his wand flickered into life and he focussed on the small silvery ball of white light it emitted gratefully, however the wand light went no further. It did not illuminate the room or even the hand that held the wand or the actual wand itself. Only the minute circle of light seemed to exist, as if someone had hole-punched his blindness.

With a whispered "Nox", Harry dropped to the floor. The empty darkness around him seemed to have invaded him, creeping into ears, whooshing up nostrils, slipping through lips and pressing down heavily on eyes to seep inside. He felt incapable of thought or feeling. Without the wand light there was nothing, and it was hard to believe that he was even there at all. The closest thing that he could think of to this was being invisible, but this was much more intense. It wasn't like he had been erased from sight, but had been erased from existence completely and now no longer even possessed any knowledge of himself. It was nice.


"Harry…"

Is that me?

Silence.

Black.

Nothing.

There is no me.

Stillness.

"Harry, are you there?"

I'm real?

Harry's hand twitched slightly, still loosely gripping his wandThe movement amazed him, as he couldn't understand how movement was possible when he most definitely did not exist.

"Potter, let me out. It's too dark. I can't find the door."

Harry thought he heard a slight sob follow the attempt at a cold, stern command, but instantly forgot, because he was assuring himself that he was not real. Can't hear. Can't forget. Can't have thoughts… because I'm not here. Not here.

"I'm not here… not real… nothing…" The words trailed away from the unseen companion to join the nothingness that filled the rest of the room.

Harry began to feel uneasy. This person was distressed. This person needed him and he was hiding and playing games. He felt ashamed, a cold, guilty shame that invaded his body, driving the nothingness away. How could he believe he was not real when he could feel like this? Granted, he didn't feel like much, but he was something, and that person crying was something too. Someone.

"You're not nothing," Harry whispered.

The words dissolved in the darkness.

"You're not nothing." It was louder and firmer this time. "Lumos."

It would not work. The cloak of darkness remained, refusing to be tossed, not even allowing the small hole of light that had been permitted before. Further attempts were just as futile and Harry gave up.

"Stop this, Potter. I want out. Let me out."

Pause.

"I can't. I don't know how…" Harry's words were drowned out by a low moan. He decided to take a risk, and after taking a deep breath, spoke. "Why do you keep crying, Malfoy?"

"I…" It almost seemed as if Malfoy was mulling this over. "I don't."

Harry almost snorted at the blatant lie. "On the train, in the corridor, now…"

"I am not crying!" Malfoy's startled voice cut through the dark and across Harry's incomplete sentence. "Look, turn on the lights."

"I told you, I can't." Harry heard the sound of panicked, scurrying footsteps followed by what could only be Malfoy falling over. "Are you OK?"

"I have to get out of here…"

Harry remained silent. There was nothing he could do right now and anyway this was the Room of Requirement. If Malfoy really needed to get out then the room would let him out, just as the whistle had appeared in the DA when he needed it. So Harry sat in silence, leaving the room's other occupant to calm down, or need to leave so much he would find his own exit. The silence stretched, and then was abruptly broken.

"I don't know why I cry so much. I never used to cry, up until this summer. I don't think I ever really felt much of anything. Everything's changed now." Malfoy seemed to stop there. Harry opened his mouth to push him further, ask what had changed, but he need not bother, for the other boy continued in a slightly more diminished tone. "At the end of last term I was so busy, and angry about how everything messed up. I was angry with you for helping that process, even if you didn't know that you did. I was so busy being angry and stupid and attempting revenge, I didn't even think of anything else, like what it would be like at home. Well, I had no idea. There was no way I could have."

Lengthy pause.

"Mother was distraught when Father went to Azkaban. I think she was kind of… lost, I guess. Lost as to what to do without him there. Not physically, because he was rarely ever actually at the Manor, he was always off serving the Dark Lord…"

Harry didn't know what to think. Malfoy was not even attempting to conceal his father's allegiance to Voldemort. He could see the possibilities, the information he could try and glean, but felt unsettled about having this conversation with Malfoy so obviously not his usual self.

"Why are you telling me this? You don't have to."

"I saw you come in here. I followed because I wanted to find you." Malfoy said no more after this, as if he had answered Harry's question, but Harry was none the wiser.

Growing wary of the silence, Harry said, "OK". He wasn't sure what he was validating, he just knew it was his turn to speak. 'OK' seemed as good as anything else. Malfoy seemed to accept the feeble offering and take it as an invitation to pick up where he had left off.

"Actually… I guess it was easy coping without him. Just be lost and 'grieve'. We'd had a whole year of practise and had perfected our routine. But then he was back."

Harry sat, rigid. Back? But Lucius Malfoy was in Azkaban, with the others…

"Don't get me wrong, I knew he would be. The Dementors had left Azkaban after all, what was there to keep him? It was just… a whole year, Harry! He'd been in there a whole year without the Dementors keeping him there, so even though I knew he would be back, I forgot.

"Picture this," a mirthless chuckle, "the prodigal father returning, just… just Flooing in as if he had only Flooed out that morning. He looked the same, maybe a little thinner, clothes not quite pristine, eyes darker… but he was holding his head high and his back was straight. Mother was ecstatic; she's always been devoted to him, as much as he is to the Dark Lord. It seemed as if everything was going to go back to how it was before, my mother quickly forgetting me now she had her husband back, my father… I don't know."

"So everything's alright now?" Harry couldn't keep the bitterness out of his question. Fine, the Malfoy brat had been without his father for a year, but hadn't Harry been without both his parents all his life? Lucius was a Death Eater and had gotten what he had deserved; Harry's parents had only ever fought against the Dark. So what if Malfoy was no longer his mother's only concern and she wanted to spend a little more time with her husband. Hadn't he been spoilt enough?

"He was different. At first I reasoned it all away, I mean, why wouldn't he be different after a year in gaol? Of course he'd be more cold and detached. So I thought nothing of it, and Mother was too happy that he was back to notice anything strange about him." Malfoy seemed to struggle with the next sentence, leaving long gaps between his words in which to gasp for more air. "Then… he had periods where he'd break through the… icy exterior and… there was all this fire burning beneath… all this rage…" He made a choking noise.

"It's OK…" Harry muttered, feeling uncomfortable. He wasn't sure he could continue to listen to the undeniable fear that was seeping from the other boy in cold waves, not after the unjustified flash of anger he had experienced towards him not even a minute before.

"He was always angry at Mother and me, but he never told us why, then he'd just go back to being cold and unfeeling. But that stopped eventually. Soon there wasn't any of the coldness left; the anger chased it all away. He'd rage on for hours about us not fetching him, not helping him. What could we have done? He could have left whenever he wanted after the Dementors went back to the Dark Lord… and I said that to him…"

The silence stretched, until Harry couldn't help himself. "What did he do?" he whispered.

"Locked us up, my mother and me. In the smallest dungeon cell, in complete darkness…" Malfoy's words trailed away and were replaced by his breathing, loud and panicked. "Harry, we have to get out. Where are you? Why can't I find you?"

"Calm down, if you need to find me enough then you will. Please calm down; your dad isn't here now. You're not in the dungeon."

"I know I'm not, it just reminds me… I know he's not here. I mean he can't be, not after the Dementors caught up with him…"

"But I thought…" Harry began, puzzled.

"Well, the Dark Lord wasn't too happy with my… dad. It was on His orders."

"Draco, I…"

"My mother kind of lost her mind after that. It's like she took over all of my father's rage and now it's all directed at me. She thinks it's entirely my fault, that I should've gotten him out of Azkaban, that he was right to be angry and lock us up like that because I deserved it. She spent all summer shouting at me, and then at night I'd hear her crying and screaming, begging him to come back… It was like being a child again, with my parents arguing at night when they thought I was asleep and unable to hear." Harry knew that Draco was crying now. "I've never felt so much like a child; now I'm the head of the Malfoy estate."

Harry slowly crawled through the darkness in the direction of the sound of Draco's sobs. He couldn't really relate to what Draco was talking about but he could tell he needed a hug. Harry paused in his movement, ploughing through the thick blackness. He had made no headway and Draco's cries were getting louder, mixed with mutters of 'I'm just a child", "It's too dark" and "I don't want to be alone". Harry desperately tried to think of how he could get to the distressed Slytherin.

If Draco just needed to find me enough, then he would. Or maybe… Harry stopped in his movement and fell back to sit on his heels with eyes tightly shut. I want to find Draco. I want Draco to find me. I need Draco to find me. Harry heard Draco quickly scrambling to his feet and opened his eyes to the now brightly lit room, ready to comfort him.

The room was empty, the door just closing.

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay. Hopefully things will move a little faster now.