Monday, September 9, 1996

Harry dragged himself through the portrait hole, cursing Rami under his breath. She had, after regaling him with the tale of the "Alexandria incident," put him through his paces several more times.

He was met with a crowded common room; most Gryffindor students had a free period on Monday afternoons. Harry saw Ron and Hermione sitting at their usual table, heads bent together in conversation. Harry had no desire to speak with Hermione after the events of the morning and chose to edge along the wall opposite them. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton balls after Rami's training session.

"Harry, over here!"

He was so close. With a last, longing look at the stairwell, Harry picked his way across the crowd of students, all while dodging a few stray cats who seemed intent on using his leg as a scratching post, and flopped into the chair beside Ron. Ron, with a vitriolic glare, immediately vacated his seat and disappeared up the stairs, presumably to fume alone. Never let it be said that a Weasley can't hold a grudge.

Harry had not been on the best of terms with either of his friends recently. In the face of his newfound determination, he could not help but dislike Ron's lazy work ethic and Hermione's incessant need to know absolutely everything. Their friendship was strong, they'd been through too much together for it not to be; but it was also as brittle as a glass sculpture, and a few good blows would shatter the whole construct.

"What's going on?" Harry reluctantly asked.

"You've been disappearing on us," said Hermione

Harry frowned and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Disappearing? He was always either in class or studying in the library. He was hardly a difficult man to find.

"You always stay behind after Defense," Hermione added, narrowing her eyes at Harry's confusion.

Realizing just what direction Hermione intended to steer the conversation in, Harry decided that this was the perfect time to test out the Muffliato spell he'd read about in the Half-Blood Prince's book. He'd already practiced a few times behind his curtains in the dorm, and the fact that his shouting hadn't woken up the lightest sleeper, Neville, boded well.

Harry got a momentary flash of satisfaction from Hermione's surprise at him using a spell she didn't know, but it faded away just as fast in the face of her onslaught of questions.

"Why have you been staying after every Defense class? What spell was that? Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to test unknown spells?" Hermione asked immediately, barely taking time to breathe between each question.

Harry was now inordinately grateful that he and Rami had already agreed on an excuse for his extra lessons, "Rami offered to give me extra lessons on fighting, and I accepted. That's all there is to it, Hermione. And that spell isn't unknown, I know exactly what it does." If he squinted, Harry swore he could see Hermione's hair getting bushier the more she worked herself up into a fury.

"But why just you? The rest of us could use some help too!" Hermione protested, viciously jabbing her quill into an ink pot.

"Hermione, you're already a fantastic dueler," Harry said. It wasn't even a lie, Hermione would regularly defeat her opponents whenever they had mock duels in the DA.

"It just feels like favoritism," Hermione muttered bitterly.

Well, Harry couldn't deny that; it was favoritism, but not for the reason that Hermione thought. Regardless, he had enemies and he'd thought that even if Hermione found out the excuse they'd devised for Harry's elemental training sessions, she'd be happy that someone was finally taking the time to help him.

A slight flame of anger started flickering in his chest and Harry took a deep breath. He couldn't lose it completely in the middle of the common room.

"Yeah, maybe it is. But you know what? I'm glad that Professor Ramat is doing this. Merlin knows no one else has tried to teach me how to defend myself. I've directly confronted Voldemort three times now and I only escaped because of sheer dumb luck!" Harry pinned Hermione with his eyes, willing her to understand his logic.

"There are adults who can help you, Harry, you shouldn't do it all alone," Hermione said, meeting his eyes for the first time since he'd sat down.

"It's kind of hard to trust the adults around me when there's a fucking prophecy that says Voldemort will never stop gunning for my head!" Harry bellowed, standing up and knocking his chair over in the process. Unbidden, his hands curled into fists as the embers in his chest ignited and became a roaring blaze.

Hermione's eyes widened at the mention of the prophecy and she shot up, "You said the prophecy got smashed before you could listen to it!" she cried.

Harry opened his mouth, but he could think of nothing to say. He'd utterly, royally screwed up. He'd told Ron and Hermione that the prophecy had shattered before he could listen to it, and that was even true. However, Dumbledore had been the one to tell him the truth of the prophecy after the furor had died down. How could he explain his omission?

Thinking quickly, Harry opened his mouth once more, "The prophecy did break before I could hear what it was," he said quietly, "But after Voldemort left the Ministry and we were all back at Hogwarts, Dumbledore showed me the whole thing. It's…not great."

Hermione's eyebrows flew up, so far that Harry thought they would escape into her hairline if given half the chance.

"And what did it say?" she asked eagerly.

Harry managed to stop himself from scoffing, but just barely. "What makes you think I'd tell you now? I didn't tell you over the summer for a reason. It's my burden to bear, not yours."

"That wasn't your decision to make! A burden shared is a burden halved, Harry," Hermione said. Her eyes glinted oddly, likely at the thought of some new knowledge to gain.

Harry paused, disturbed at the rabid expression on Hermione's face. Had she always been like this and he was just now noticing it? She looked as if she was prepared to sell her soul for the words she expected to fall through Harry's lips any minute now. He shook his head, like he could physically make his distracting thoughts fall out of his ears.

"I'm pretty sure it was my name on the prophecy. Not yours, not Ron's, mine. Professor Ramat offered to train me to make sure that I'll survive what the prophecy says and I'll be damned if I let an opportunity like that pass me by," Harry gritted out, a sliver of satisfaction thrumming through him when Hermione flinched at his words. Hermione, however, wasn't known as the brightest witch of her age for nothing and she pounced on his mention of Rami.

"Professor Ramat? How does she know about the prophecy?" she asked.

"I don't know, and I didn't ask either. She wants me to survive. Isn't it enough that she's trying to help?" Harry demanded. It was certainly enough for him. Even though she'd been sent to him by Death, she seemed to be fond of him and for the first time in his life, Harry thought he'd found an adult that he could trust without reservation.

It was a scandalized Hermione that fired back, "I want you to survive! So does Ron, and Professor Dumbledore, and all of the teachers!"

"They have a funny way of showing it," Harry scoffed, "Ron hasn't said a single word to me since the Quidditch trials, and forgive me if I don't think that Snape is all that concerned about whether I live or die. As for Dumbledore, if he really wanted me to be anything more than bait that he can dangle in front of Voldemort's face, he'd give me useful information and teach me how to leave a battlefield alive."

In his anger, his whole body was trembling and Harry abruptly stalked away, not wanting to do or say anything he'd regret later.

How dare Hermione insinuate that he didn't deserve to fight for his life. Should he be led by the nose to his death instead? Play the good little lamb, the willing sacrifice?

Harry hadn't realized that he was still harboring hopes of his friends returning to him. Hopes of Hermione and Ron waking up and seeing how every dangerous situation they'd been thrown into never needed to happen in the first place. How many opportunities had Dumbledore had to stop the Basilisk? To capture Sirius and interrogate him? To get Harry out of the Triwizard Tournament, binding magical oath be damned?

His hopes died as they had lived: cold and alone.

Harry strode up the stairs to the dorm, each furious footfall ringing out in the silent stairwell. He threw open the door to the sixth year dorm hard enough to hear a rewarding bang as it hit the wall.

He stood in the middle of the room, chest heaving and mind whirling with the need to rage and bring everything around him down in a shower of shrapnel and set the remains ablaze. Destruction for destruction's sake had never seemed so appealing.

"Harry?"

Harry's back stiffened and he whipped around to face the door. Dean was hovering uncertainly in the doorway, nervously twirling his wand in his fingers. Harry had noticed that nervous habit of his during the DA meetings last year. Dean was someone who always had to be in motion, whether that be through drawing, tapping his foot, or fiddling with his wand.

"I saw your argument with Hermione," Dean said haltingly, "It looked pretty rough and I thought I'd offer company if you want any," he finished. Dean leaned against the doorframe and cocked an eyebrow at Harry.

Harry sighed and waved Dean in. He needed something to get his mind off of the all-consuming ire still dancing tantalizingly in every cell of his body.

Dean flopped down on his bed and looked up at Harry, "She was way off base, mate."

"She was, but how would you know that?" Harry asked incredulously. He was confident in his skills with the Muffliato charm, no one should have been able to eavesdrop.

Dean rolled his eyes and gave Harry a look that communicated very clearly what he thought of Harry's intelligence.

"I don't know if you've noticed, but Hermione's not exactly popular around here. She prances around thinking she's Merlin's gift to wizardkind and insults people every other sentence. It's not hard to believe that she started it, you don't fight if you can help it," Dean said, shrugging unrepentantly.

It took a few seconds for Harry to realize that his jaw was hanging open. Sure, he knew that Hermione didn't have many friends outside of himself and Ron. He was also aware that her more bookish tendencies could get annoying. She had indeed been getting on his nerves with her single-minded pursuit of knowledge lately. Why had Dean never said anything? He asked Dean as much, and Dean uncharacteristically took some time to consider his answer before speaking.

"It's true that not many people can stand her, including her roommates, but we also know that you're her best friend. You're a decent guy and no one wants to get on your bad side by insulting her, or Ron for that matter."

As much as Harry was loath to admit it, Dean had a point. His name and Voldemort's would always be inextricably intertwined and after the rumors of Harry defeating Voldemort at the Ministry had spread, those who had spent all of last year ridiculing him were mysteriously silent.

"You have a point," Harry said. He lowered himself to the floor and leaned against his four-poster, eyes on his lap. He drummed his wand against his leg in a staccato rhythm, wondering where to go from here.

Harry looked back up at Dean and gave him a slight smile, grateful for his company. He rarely got pissed off, but when he did, not many people were willing to be near him.

"How are your elemental lessons with Sinistra going?" he asked, if only to change the subject. He did not wish to dwell on things he couldn't change any longer.

Dean lit up, happy to talk about one of his favorite subjects. "They're great! Sinistra really knows her stuff, the things she can do are amazing," he detailed, his hand forming abstract patterns in the air as he talked. "There's not a lot of us, maybe fifteen or so. We've been working on forming air currents localized to a single room. I can't wait until we get to flying," Dean said dreamily.

Harry was genuinely interested in listening to Dean talk about his lessons. The only other air elemental he was on a first name basis with was Cho, and he'd rather strip naked and dance in the Great Hall before he voluntarily approached her for anything.

"Sounds like you're having a blast," said Harry.

"Yeah!" Dean exclaimed, before abruptly scowling. "It would be better if Malfoy weren't prancing around, acting all high and mighty like he's doing us a favor just by being in the same room."

"Malfoy's an air elemental?" Harry asked. He knew Malfoy had a summer birthday, but had been living in bliss imagining the smug ponce wilting in disappointment when he failed to manifest. What an inglorious day that would have been for the Malfoy heir.

"Unfortunately."

Harry thunked his head against his bed a few times. Great, now Malfoy had another thing to lord over Harry till kingdom come.

"Cheer up man, you're not the one who has to deal with him," Dean said, jabbing his index finger at Harry. Suddenly, a burst of wind rushed over Harry and blew his hair back. His tie flapped up and down, dancing in the miniature gale.

Harry laughed, and tension that he didn't even know he had dropped from his shoulders.

Dean smiled too, and Harry saw something flickering in his eyes. It was something he couldn't quite name, but he felt that it was important. Dean closed his hand into a fist and the wind dropped off just as swiftly as it had started up.

Harry was faintly jealous. He vaguely wished he could manipulate the elements in such a showy way, but spirit wasn't a visible element.

Dean moved further back on his bed, drawing his knees up to his chin. "You know, everyone else keeps talking about their ancestors who manifested as air. They're proud to carry on the tradition," Dean mused. He didn't name names, but Harry knew that one of them was undoubtedly Malfoy.

"I think I'd like to figure out who my dad is," Dean said, a tone of resignation in his voice.

Harry was surprised, he hadn't expected Dean to come to terms with the bombshells he'd had dumped on him over the summer for another few weeks. He didn't know how likely it was that Dean would ever get the answers he was looking for without forcing them out of his mum, but Harry was certainly willing to help Dean search.

"Do you want some help with that?" Harry asked quietly.

Dean looked down at Harry and a faint smile played about his lips. "Yeah, reckon I would," he said. "I'd planned to ask Neville and Seamus too."

"We can leave Ron out of it," Harry told him, catching on to what Dean didn't want to say.

"Thank Merlin," Dean said with fervor, "Ron's a decent bloke, but he can't keep a secret to save his life. I didn't want to exclude him if it'd offend you."

Harry spread out his hands in a 'what can you do' gesture. "We're not talking at the moment if you hadn't noticed."

"I'd noticed," Dean said with a wry smile. "Ron instantly leaving whatever room you're in isn't exactly subtle."

Harry held in an ungainly snort and nodded. Ron was a Weasley, and subtle they were not.

"Shall we go see if Granger has calmed down?" Dean offered.

There was a time when Harry would have objected to anyone calling Hermione names, but he couldn't find it in himself to care now.

"Let's."