Author's Note: Teasers make rabid readers. I think I shall refrain from teasers in the future. The reaction was not pretty. On to the story!

Harry waved good-bye to his aunt one last time and entered St. Jude's with Paul. It was good to be back. Harry told Paul he was going up to his room for a minute and dashed up the stairs. Once there, he quickly put his uniforms away, his books on the shelves, and his good suit in the closet. He stared as what was left in his box. Voldemort had been as good as his word. Harry was now the "proud" owner of a set of Death Eater robes and the accompanying mask.

They looked harmless on his bed. Childish, almost. He shook himself out of his thoughts, folded the robes into a small square, and hid them under his uniform trousers. His mask went under his shirts. He touched the ring now on his right hand, his portkey for his lessons. Voldemort had been rather clever about his password. Lessons – in Parseltongue. No one else could use the portkey but Harry and Voldemort. This meant that Harry would be alone should he need help of any kind.

Harry decided to stop thinking about it. Voldemort's terse little note had said that Harry would know when he was required for lessons. Required for lessons? Harry supposed that his life had always been a part of the strange…the very strange. Why should it change now?

Harry left his room and went back downstairs. It was time for lunch and his floormates were waiting for him. He entered the dining room to cheers of "007!" It was good to be back.

"I'm very proud of you, Harry." Paul said as Harry opened the door to the office. Harry dropped onto the couch and gave Paul a confused look.

"Huh?" Harry asked. Not so eloquent today.

"You did exactly as you promised and let the adults take care of things. I'm very proud of you." Paul explained. He watched as Harry colored at the praise.

"Thanks, Paul." He said as he relaxed back into the sofa. "I still got to have some fun. That fountain will never be the same." Harry grinned at the memory of the wizard's head flying through the air, making a rather irate Moody dodge in an undignified manner.

"So, how are you?" Paul asked as he turned and clicked on the tape recorder.

"I'm alright." Harry answered honestly. "Those two panic attacks yesterday kind of irritated me, though. I'd like to know why I have them. I've fought my way out of life-threatening situations and I decide to have a panic attack thinking about you and Sensei in danger. Worse, a panic attack when Fudge grabbed my arm. I mean, what's wrong with me?" Harry asked as he threw his hands up in frustration.

"There's nothing wrong with you." Paul said after a pause. "Panic attacks are tricky things and not always easy to pin down from case to case." Paul explained. "You might have had them during a time when you were fighting for your life, but didn't realize it because you didn't know what it was. There are several causes, but we're never really sure." Paul checked to make sure Harry was following his explanation. "There are some physical causes, genetic factors. Women are more likely to get panic attacks, but men get them too. We have found that they are often brought on by stressful events." Paul smiled at Harry's reaction.

"No surprise there." Harry muttered and folded his arms.

"What are you thinking about when you are starting to have a panic attack?" Paul asked.

"How much I don't want a panic attack." Harry said with a snort.

"That's a common symptom too. You're completely normal in this." Paul hadn't thought that Harry's face would light up like it did.

"Finally! Normal in something!" Harry threw his pillow into the air in celebration.

"Yes. Normal." Paul agreed.

"How do I get rid of them?" Paul looked up in surprise. The tone Harry had used. "I don't want one at the wrong time."

"Understandable." Paul said in response. "Especially considering what you must face every time you step out into magical public." Paul opened his notebook. "We've already started treatment for those." Paul told Harry. "We have you meditating and doing breathing exercises. There are other techniques we could try. Medication could also be an option."

"Those are the happy pills Bug takes for anxiety, right?" Harry asked.

"Bug told you about his medication?" Paul was surprised. Bug's therapist and Paul had argued for some time over who had the more difficult patient. "Surprising. He must really trust you."

"We were talking backstage and he happened to mention it." Harry explained. "After I told him about my occasional requirement for sleeping pills because of my nightmares." Harry shrugged. "It was no big deal."

"Says the boy who chatted up the magical equivalent of the prime minister." Paul turned and dug into his refrigerator. Harry put in a request for his favorite fruit juice. "Okay, another technique you're already doing is journaling." Paul reached out to hand Harry his juice, but stopped at the look on Harry's face. "What?"

"I kind of forgot." Harry said, amazed that he had forgotten such a thing. "I haven't written in my journal for weeks."

"I wasn't aware that you wanted to start group therapy. That was our deal, right?" Paul looked at Harry.

"I've been busy, alright?" Harry groaned in frustration. "There was a maniac wizard attempting to pry my brain apart. Let's not forget the coma, the school play, and this newest adventure of being pursued by my own government." Harry paused. "Paul, do you think that's why my panic attacks have been increasing?"

Paul looked thoughtful for a second before running a hand through his hair. "It might be." He paused. "And it might not." Paul smirked and shrugged. "Why don't we see what happens once you take it up again?"

"Okay." Harry agreed. It couldn't hurt and it might help.

"I will, of course, be checking to see that you are writing." Paul held up a hand as Harry opened his mouth to protest. "I won't read anything except the date. I'll be happy to see writing and that's all. I won't read it unless you want me to." Paul told him.

"Thanks, Paul." Both Harry and Paul jumped as an obviously peevish hiss came from the tank on the other side of the room.

"That's it! I have been waiting, quite patiently, I might add, to welcome you back from wherever you went and you've ignored me! You didn't even look my way when you came in! I feel so unloved!"

Harry stood up and went over to the tank. "I'm sorry, Zen. I've been very busy. Some people tried to take me back to the wizards." Harry explained to his reptilian friend.

"What? Who are they? Where are they? I'll bite them!" Zen coiled around himself in agitation. "How dare they try to harm the lightning child?"

"Harry, is my snake having a heart attack?" Paul asked in concern. The noises Zen was making could not be considered normal.

"Um, no." Harry answered. "He's just upset." Harry turned back to the ranting snake. "Please, Zen. Calm down. Would you like me to take you out?"

Zen promptly fell into a quiescent coil and looked at Harry. "Yes, please." Harry lifted the top off and allowed Zen to wriggle onto his hand. Harry returned to the couch and settled down once again.

"Cute snake you have there." Paul remarked as Zen attempted a figure eight pattern.

"Yeah. Be careful; he's an attack snake." Harry grinned at Paul and ran a finger down Zen's back.

"Do you know what would make this perfect?" Zen asked conversationally. "A mouse; yes, a mouse would make this perfect, my lightning child."

"What does that mean?" Harry asked, still quite put out that he had yet to receive a straight answer from the snake.

"It means only the meaning you give it." Zen told him. "Now, about this mouse?"

Fours weeks passed quickly for Harry at St. Jude's. His friends hadn't thought too deeply about Harry's face on the news. Bug had summed it up: "We're all weird. You're just a little weirder than most." and that had been the end of the matter. It was as though they honestly didn't care about it. They all thought that Harry should be the same way…as though it didn't matter. No other wizards appeared at St. Jude's and the Minister did not send any messages demanding Harry return to the magical world. Harry's sanctuary was safe…for now.

Harry and Paul discussed bringing in Vernon to the family therapy sessions. Harry had vetoed every suggestion for an entire three weeks before he grudgingly agreed that trying a session would be reasonable. As long as Paul was there the entire time and Harry got to pick where he wanted to sit. The stipulations had surprised Paul and set his antennae quivering. Harry obviously did not like the idea, but was willing to try as long as he was in control and had someone unbiased on his side. Paul had a feeling that there was more to Harry's dislike of his uncle than he was letting on. Harry had hinted at it in the past and now was giving just a bit more evidence, but he wasn't giving it willingly. Every question directed down that venue of inquiry was firmly denied; Harry did not want to talk about his uncle.

"Are they here yet?" Harry asked Paul from his favorite seat on the couch. Paul smiled at Harry and nodded.

"They're on their way up." Paul stopped and looked at Harry. The boy did not look like he had slept last night. Worse, he looked like he was shaking! "Are you sure you're ready for this?" Paul asked, concerned for his charge's mental state. Harry looked like he was one straw away from breaking the camel's back.

"I'm fine." Harry answered. Uh-oh. There was that old answer that meant I'm about to fall to pieces, but thanks for asking.

"We could cover some of this in your regular therapy first, if you want to." Harry was tempted to say 'yes', but knew that he wouldn't be able to talk about it. He never wanted to talk about it, but he could draw. Paul had asked Harry for more pictures of life with the Dursleys and Harry had filled an entire sketch book. Some of them were okay and others were not. All of them had given Paul a better understanding of Harry.

Vernon was always portrayed as 'larger-than-life' in Harry's drawings and loomed in a type of forced perspective over the viewer. Paul could practically hear the ranting he seemed to be doing in a few of the pictures. Petunia was almost hidden in the background and was always occupied in some household task. The boy, Dudley, often appeared in front of the telly or his computer, corpulent and bloated, surrounded with food, drink, and material possessions. Paul almost suspected that Dudley's images had been doctored through sibling rivalry, but Harry's blatant honesty about anything relating to his family (aside from his initial denial of anything being wrong) told Paul that anything Harry drew was the truth about his life.

"Remember to breathe." Paul said in alarm at the rather pale Harry. "You're safe here, Harry."

"I know." Harry said as he patted his right arm. "I just feel safer knowing my wand is right here," he patted his arm again "and my back is to the wall." Harry mumbled the last part, but Paul caught it.

"Harry, you don't have to do this if you're not ready." Paul told the boy. This was another issue Paul thought Harry had left behind: a need to live to other's expectations.

"I know." Harry shrugged. "I think I'll be okay." Harry said. "He can't hurt me here." Harry jerked then, as though he realized that he had just revealed something that should have been kept secret.

Paul's heart leapt into his throat. Was Harry actually talking about his uncle? Paul reached out a hand and locked the door.

"You said 'he'." Paul said as he turned his attention on Harry. "Who's 'he'?" Paul wanted to scream with frustration when Harry shrugged. "Was it your uncle, Harry?" Paul knew that just 'one more question' was all that was needed to get Harry to open up a bit.

Harry seemed to be weighing the various consequences of the question in his mind. Paul noticed that the temperature started to drop in the room as Harry started another breathing exercise. Sensei had mentioned that Harry's magical abilities had manifested several times, mostly unnoticed by Harry himself, in the form of light or breeze. Only once had Sensei noticed the phenomena with which Paul was most familiar. The temperature changes were disconcerting but they did not appear to harm Harry. "Sometimes." Harry's voice whispered. Paul watched the breath cloud in front of Harry. Harry took no notice of it. "He was never nice to me. Well, he was once, but that's all I can remember." Harry admitted as he pulled his legs to his chest. Paul knew it was a bad sign when Harry had skipped over his usual first step of comfort in the shape of his pillow. Harry had now turned into "Ball Harry".

"How did he act towards you?" Paul asked. He watched as Harry's body language changed slightly. The temperature dropped even lower. They would have icicles soon.

Harry shrugged. Paul waited. Harry would answer sooner…"He didn't love me." Ah, there it was. "Or want me." Harry stared another breathing exercise and the temperature rose a few degrees. "He did not…" Harry stopped and shook his head as though to rid himself of some memory or mental image.

"Did not, what?" Paul asked quickly. Harry was talking and Paul knew he might not say much more about this particular topic.

"Aunt Petunia was a little better." Harry said suddenly. "She never really harmed me. Well, she did swing a frying pan at me." Harry looked up and saw Paul watching him. "Once." Harry continued. "I think she was joking though. The swing was kind of half-hearted. It didn't even come close."

"Did Vernon ever joke?" Paul asked. He was trying to steer the conversation back to the cause of Harry's anxiety.

"Only with Dudley." Harry answered. "He was always serious with me." Harry took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

"Would you say that Vernon hurt you, Harry?" Paul asked. Harry's eyes snapped open and he shook his head in denial.

"No." Harry shook his head again. "I was never really hurt. I healed really quickly as a kid. Wish I had some of that now. Less time in the Hospital Wing." He added as explanation. "I could be pretty cheeky when I wanted and he corrected that-"Harry jumped as a heavy hand knocked on the door. A loud voice demanded to know why the door was locked as the same heavy hand rattled the door in its frame.

"Does your aunt know?" Paul demanded. He swore to himself that Petunia Dursley would not get away with this farce of caring aunt if she did.

"No." Harry shook his head. "He ignored me when Aunt Petunia was around." The temperature in the room dropped sharply and Harry shook. "I wasn't to tell." He whispered. "No one else can know." Harry pulled in on himself and nearly transformed into a ball. The door rattled again and Harry pushed himself back into the couch. He was breathing as calmly as he could in his slightly panicked state. How had the child lived this long with this inside of him? Paul now understood how people could fly into a rage and kill someone. Vernon Dursley's neck between his hands would have been very welcome.

Paul stood from his seat and opened the door a crack. "Give us a few minutes, please." Paul shut the door firmly in Vernon's face, holding a little thrill of pleasure to himself. He was almost positive that the door hit Vernon's nose. Paul went over to the couch and sat next to Harry, laying a light hand on Harry's shoulders. Harry jumped, but did not move away. "Harry. It's…" Well, it wasn't okay. "You're safe. I'm here with you." Paul repeated Harry's level of safety several times over before Harry started to relax. Harry un-balled and looked up at Paul with empty eyes. He sat up all the way and leaned against Paul. The therapist wrapped his arms around Harry and waited until the temperature rose and Harry stopped shaking to speak again.

"Harry?" Paul heard a noise that meant Harry was paying attention. "I want you to listen closely. Okay?" The same noise came again. "No matter what he said to you, no matter what reason he gave, what he did to you was not your fault. It was wrong and he had no right to do it." Paul reached out a hand and smoothed Harry's hair back. "Did you know that?"

"Yes." Harry said in response to Paul's question. "Hermione told me that in second year." Harry shrugged. "Don't know how she knew."

"Good. Just remember that. It was not your fault." Paul held Harry until Harry started to pull away. "I'm canceling Vernon's sessions with you for the foreseeable future." Harry was ready to argue, but stopped when Paul held up a hand. "This is something you're going to have to trust me on. Can you do that, Harry?"

"You're the therapist." Harry told him. "I'll trust you." Paul didn't need to hear the unspoken words that usually followed that statement. It seemed that Harry was willing to cede authority to the adults. "Now, art room or the lounge?"

"Huh?" Harry asked. Paul was jumping around from topic to topic.

"You are taking the rest of the day off. No arguments." Harry closed his mouth. How did Paul know he was going to argue? Well, a day off regular classes would enable him to go over that book Voldemort had sent him... "No school books," Well, there went that idea. "No practice, no workout. Just typical teenager stuff." Paul clarified. "So, art room or the lounge?" Harry could read between the lines. Paul didn't want him to be alone right now.

"The lounge." Harry answered. If he couldn't study, maybe he could watch a little television and ignore the rest of the world. Perhaps someone would play a game with him later. Something mindless.

"The lounge it is." Paul said as he pressed a button on his desk. "I want you to have some fun today. You haven't had fun in a long time." Harry decided that any attempt to argue would convince Paul Harry was being stubborn on purpose. He let the statement go. "Think you can do that?"

Harry smiled. "I can do that." Harry said as he pulled his bag towards him. "More pictures." Harry said as he dug out some sheets of paper. "I know you wanted to see them."

"Thank you, Harry." Paul said as he accepted the drawings. "I'm very proud of you." Paul told his charge. "That had to be very difficult to talk about."

A chipper knock on the door surprised Harry. Paul stood and put his head out. "Hi, Jack. Harry, ready to go?" Harry stood and shouldered his bag. "Jack will walk you down." Harry nodded and thanked Paul.

"007!" Jack threw his arm around Harry's shoulders and steered him past his relatives. Harry didn't even notice. "Where we heading?" Jack asked with a smile.

"The lounge." Harry said, already starting to relax at the prospect of a free day.

"The lounge? That's great. Sparky's down there right now and he's looking a little lonely. He mentioned something about watching 'The Return of the Jedi'."

"Really?" Harry asked, almost ready to run. "Let's go!"

Paul sat in his darkened office and stared at the candle he had lit. The candle manufacturers claimed that the candle was a relaxation and calming candle meant to soothe a person after a long day. Paul was not calm. He was furious. His gaze shifted from the candle to his glass. He wished that his glass had something a bit stronger in it than apple juice. Paul was a teetotaler by nature and did not need alcohol as a daily part of his life, but tonight, well, he would welcome a strong drink, if only to remove or mask the foul taste left in his mouth from dealing with Vernon Dursley.

The very name made bile rise in the back of Paul's throat. That pathetic imitation of a man had actually hurt Harry…for his own protection, of course. Vernon Dursley was a man who loved an audience and he willingly parted with details once Paul confronted him. Paul, Joe, and Petunia sat shocked as the narrative explained many aspects of Harry's childhood – his cupboard in early childhood to his hesitancy in seeking out the help of an adult. Paul had a feeling that Vernon Dursley and Albus Dumbledore would get along if Petunia was not there.

Petunia Dursley had sat through the story, completely stoic until Vernon used the phrase "for his own good" in connection with hitting the boy. Petunia's actions would forever log her name on Paul's "Wonderful People" list. She had turned to her husband and slapped him. It was not a polite tap; this slap had her entire body behind it. Vernon's head nearly faced backwards with the force of the blow. A pale outline of Petunia's hand was slowly turning red. It took every ounce of strength in Paul not to cheer. Joe looked to be much the same, though he couldn't quite hide his smile.

"Petunia, what-?" Petunia silenced her husband with a glare. Paul now knew how Dumbledore felt when facing an enraged Petunia. Petunia Dursley in a fury was no one Paul could hope to defeat.

"It would serve you right if I press charges." Petunia hissed at him. "You do not even deserve the comfort of a jail cell. How my nephew managed to not attack you once he knew what he was…" She trailed off to give into a moment of wordless fury. "How dare you?" Paul had never heard that phrase uttered with such loathing. "You will not touch Harry. Ever. Again." Dursley actually had the grace to look cowed under his wife's glare. "You will not speak to him without me in the room. If you do so much as look at him the wrong way, I will take the boys and leave. I will make sure that Dudley knows exactly what kind of a man you are. You will never see your son again. Do I make myself clear?"

Vernon Dursley whimpered. He ducked his head and Paul could almost see a tail tucked between his legs. Vernon looked ready to slink away into a corner like the cur he was. "Go wait for me in the hallway. You are not to go near Harry, or speak to him, if he is out there." Vernon got to his feet and edged out of the room, his wife's firm glare following him the whole way. Paul resisted the urge to give Petunia a standing ovation.

Petunia sank in to the chair beside her. She closed her eyes and sighed. "My mother warned me." She said tiredly. "She said that he wasn't a good man. I didn't believe her." She gave a very unlady-like snort (Paul now knew from whom Harry had inherited that particular trait). "I didn't listen. I was in love." She sighed. "I thought I could change him. It was foolish of me and now someone I promised to protect was hurt."

Joe reached out and quietly counseled Petunia as to her options now. Pressing charges was only one of them. He advised her to think about it. "You have only the future to think about." Petunia slowly regained her air of confidence and was ready to do battle again as she left the office.

"How I wish I had a camera for that." Joe told Paul, surprising his former flat mate. Joe was usually a gentle man. "I bet Harry would have loved to see that."

"Yes." Paul agreed. "He might have." He glanced at the clock. "Let's go see what he's doing." Joe didn't need an explanation. He looked ready to hug the boy himself.

-Mi? Are you there?

-I'm here, Skywalker. What's wrong?

-How did you know that something was wrong?

-Um…I have no idea. There is something wrong, right?

-I saw The Return of the Jedi

-You okay?

-How could Luke do something like that? He just told his sister that they were siblings (which really freaked me out, by the way) and then went off to face his father.

-He did what he had to do.

-Why did that include facing his father?

-Well, Yoda said that he would have to face his father to complete his training as a Jedi, right? That's why he did it.

-He could have died.

-Yes.

-He nearly did. Everyone nearly died. They could have just left and gone to the farthest planet possible to live out their lives.

-They all thought freedom was worth it.

-Oh. Mi?

-Yes?

-Do you agree with what they did?

-They did what they had to do. Freedom from the Empire was worth it. I would have joined the Rebellion, had I been in Luke or Leia's place.

-Yeah. Do you believe in destiny?

-You know what I think about Divination, Harry.

-Destiny's different. Do you believe in it?

-I believe we are destined to make certain choices. Nothing else.

-Choices like whether or not to go to Hogwarts at the age of eleven?

-Exactly.

-Some choices are difficult to make.

-Well, if life were easy, it wouldn't be much fun, would it?

-Guess not. Mi, some choices are really hard to make without support.

-What are you trying to say?

-Mi, I might have to make a really big decision. Really big. This decision could have rather, ah, disturbing consequences.

-I don't like the sound of where this is going.

-Just hear me out, okay?

-Well, I'm reading, but okay.

-You're a riot, Hermione.

-I do try. Now, you were saying?

-If the worst should happen, if I come to this decision, can I trust you to allow me to make it? That you will keep those who would protect me 'for my own good' away from me?

-I know I don't like where this is going. Harry, you don't have to do something heroic here. Voldemort will only last so long. You don't have to turn into Luke Skywalker and I refuse to allow it.

-I think that's too late. I think I'm already there.

-No, you're not.

-I was living with an aunt and uncle who tried to keep me from my heritage. I was contacted by a 'wizard' and taken to a whole new world. I was given tests and little glimpses into my parents' pasts. I saw Voldemort, my Vader, my first year at school, a place where I was supposed to be safe. The challenges continue to grow, Hermione. I'm in training and in a sanctuary like Degobah. When I leave here, when I'm done with all of this training, I'll have no choice left but to face the Dark Lord.

-This is not a story, Harry! You do not have to do anything of the sort!

-I know. Just like Luke didn't have to face his father when he did. This, I choose to do.

-No. Absolutely not.

-Hermione, please. I'm not asking you for help. I'm just asking that you allow me to make the decisions I need to make when the time comes, to go when I need to, and you keep others from following me.

-Harry, please. I don't want to argue with you. You're not some storybook hero forced to meet his enemy again and again without someone there. You have friends who can help you.

-I've been alone most of the time with Voldemort. In fact, I've been alone every time I've faced him.

-That's not true!

-Yes, it is. First year, I left you behind because you said only one of us could go ahead. Second year, Ron was kept back by a rockslide. Fourth year, I wasn't alone in that graveyard, but no one there would help me. Fifth, well, you guys were there, but I faced Voldemort alone until Dumbledore showed up.

-So, what are you saying? That you're destined to meet him alone every time? That your destiny is either you or him?

-Pretty much. I don't wish to kill, Hermione, but if it gives us our freedom, gives me my freedom, I'll do it.

-You don't have to fight in this, Harry. Dumbledore can off Voldemort.

-No. Dumbledore's been training me from day one. He's allowed me to do as I liked for the most part. There were ways to be removed from danger, but he allowed me to continue. I have to question what happened. Three eleven year olds made it through traps designed to keep a cunning wizard, a fully-trained, cunning wizard from the Stone. Had that never occurred to you?

-You think Dumbledore set you up your first year?

-I feel it's true. I just don't know for sure. I don't trust Dumbledore much anymore.

-Oh, trust me. I don't like him much either. What about second year?

-I'm not sure. The thing is, he's not stepped in except to 'save' me. Unless the not-saving served his purposes.

-He protected you during fifth year.

-By keeping information from me. Had I known what I do now, I wouldn't have made half the decisions I did. He does not realize that I was never treated like a child by my relatives (though my aunt is making inroads into that area at an alarming rate…she'll be asking if I want biscuits with my milk any time now…it's frightening) and he was only hurting me by treating me like a child.

-This sounds familiar. You sound like you did before fifth year.

-Without the anger.

-Yes, without the anger. Skywalker, you don't have to become Luke. Destiny, prophecy, it's all useless.

-It's my choices that define me, Hermione. I chose to stand against Voldemort my first year. I do not regret that decision.

-That doesn't mean you have to turn yourself over to him!

-What else would you have me do?

-Be sent to Siberia and have someone sit on you!

-Well, at least that person would keep me warm.

-Be serious, Harry.

-Hermione, I'm not saying that this is going to happen anytime soon. It might be tomorrow. It might be forty years from now. All I'm asking is that when I need to make this decision, that you'll allow me to do what I think is best. If that means facing him, fine. If that means going to Siberia so someone can sit on me, okay. Can I trust you to allow me to make the decision I need to make?

-I'll promise, if you promise me something in return?

-What?

-That you'll stop and think everything through. That you won't make any hasty decisions based on your emotions. That you'll get help if you need it before you go off doing the hero thing. That you'll do everything you can to find another way aside from turning into Luke Skywalker.

-That is a promise I'll give freely and easily.

-Alright. Then I promise to allow you to make your decision when the time comes.

-Thank you, Mi. It means a lot to me.

-Harry, if you die, I will turn to Necromancy and bring you back, just so I can kill you with my bare hands.

-Aw. Thanks, Hermione. I didn't know you cared that much.

-I'll let Mrs. Weasley have you after I'm done.

-Now that's scary.

-And then your aunt.

-Now that's just vicious.

-It's the truth. Promise me you won't die.

-I can't promise something like that.

-No promise, no guarantee that I won't turn you over to your aunt.

-You do not have a merciful bone in your body.

-Nope. Now promise!

-Very well, if only to save my soul from eternal torment known as Petunia Dursley in a temper.

-Good.

Hermione slammed her messenger shut and threw it across the room. She pulled her knees up and buried her face in them to let out a frustrated scream.

Snape lowered his book a fraction of an inch to look at the Gryffindor. Wonderful. She was distressed. This, Snape knew, was the reason he had never attempted any offspring of his own. He had no idea how to be understanding or compassionate when children needed it. He usually left that up to his head girl or one of the prefects. "I will help hold him down if you wish to kill him, Miss Granger." Snape told her cautiously. Potter was being his typical self if Snape was reading the situation correctly.

"No thank you, Professor." Hermione mumbled from her knees.

"I take it Potter is being his usual self?" He commented more than asked.

"That's not it." She said. Oh dear Merlin. Please do not let it be about some of those female things of which I only know the bare mechanics. "He's being stupid."

"That's not surprising." Snape said. "I am quite accustomed to his stupidity." He drawled as he closed his book. "Which aspect of his stupidity has come to light this evening?"

Hermione dropped her feet to the floor and sighed. "I'm not entirely sure." She admitted. "He just asked me to promise that I will allow him to make the decisions he needs to make when 'the time comes'."

"Ah." Snape closed his book and stood up. "Draco, any insights in the adolescent male's mind?" Snape asked.

"You like him, don't you?" Draco asked Hermione. Hermione responded by throwing her glass at him. Snape brought his wand out and caught the glass easily. It had to be a female thing, this throwing of objects when they were upset.

"He's like my brother, Drake!" Hermione said.

"Just asking." Draco said as he returned to his essay. "Sorry, Severus. I can't help you here."

"Traitor." Snape hissed at Draco. How dare the boy leave him to deal with an emotional teenage girl? She had taken leave of all her senses.

"I'm fine." She said in the next second. "Frustrated and upset, but I'll work it out in the end. I'm sorry for throwing the glass at you, Drake." Hermione said as she stood and smoothed out wrinkles in her robe.

"No offense taken. My mother would throw things when she was upset." Draco said from his mound of books. "Just let me know when you need me to sit on him."

"How did you know I was thinking of that?" Hermione asked.

"You had that 'this is for your own good' look on your face." Draco commented. "Are you ready to go back to Gryffindor tower?" He asked as he marked his place.

"Yes, please." Hermione answered.

"Do not worry, Miss Granger. Potter will come back to his senses. He just takes a bit longer than most." Snape said as Hermione packed her books away and summoned her messenger.

"You know, that's the strange thing." Hermione struggled with the clasps on her satchel. "He was completely logical tonight. He countered every argument that I presented as to why he did not need to make the decision he's hinting at."

"Potter is capable of logic?" Snape's face threatened to break into a smile. That idea was just…ludicrous. "What decision was he 'hinting' at?" Damn curiosity.

"He has this strange idea that it's going to be him and the Dark Lord alone at the end." Hermione said as she pulled her satchel onto her shoulder. "That it's either Harry or the Dark Lord." Hermione shrugged and thanked Snape as she and Draco left. Neither child saw Snape sink into a chair and put a shaking hand to his head. Dear Merlin. The prophecy. It was true. Potter was going to fulfill it.

Harry jerked awake and lifted a hand to his scar. Voldemort was calling. Voldemort had called Harry for lessons at least once a week for the past month. He Occluded his mind and got out of bed. He dressed quickly and pulled out his robes and masks. He had run into very few Death Eaters and no one had questioned him yet. He focused on his magic and waved his hand, smiling to himself as an illusion of an oblivious Harry appeared in his bed. He was getting quite good at illusions. This one could roll over and groan when someone spoke to it. Luckily, Voldemort always told him to return before dawn and the portkey deposited him right back in his room. No one would ever know. He lowered his mask and hissed his password. He hated portkeys.

He landed with some semblance of grace and looked around. No one was really around. He picked his way through the graveyard (he gave the tombstone he had spent time tied to wide berth) and let himself into the house. He had learned his way quite well from his past experience here. Voldemort always met him in what Voldemort called the sitting room. Harry didn't sit there. He collapsed there, more often than not, but he did not sit. He was about to knock on the door when a gruff voice stopped him and made his blood run cold. "We're in here." Harry turned. It looked like Voldemort was recruiting again. Harry did not know this person.

How to explain that he was there for lessons? The man would laugh at him. He gestured for Harry to follow him. Well, what choice did he have? Harry stepped across the hallway and entered the room. Voldemort was at the front of the room, petting Nagini and whispering to someone in, what else, Death Eater robes and masks. The Death Eater bowed and left Voldemort's side. "My Death Eaters." Voldemort hissed. "I welcome you all." Harry had to wonder if all maniacs could make such nice speeches. "So many have been lost to Azkaban, but you all rose to the challenge presented to you and joined me to better our world." Harry tried not to smirk. He really did. "I've called you all here tonight to introduce you to someone." Voldemort said as he lowered Nagini to the floor. "My student, call Nagini to you." So, Voldemort did know that Harry was there. Harry had only handled Nagini once and he wasn't too sure he liked her. Zen was much nicer.

"I'm here, Nagini." Harry hissed obediently. The man next to him jumped in surprise and inched away from Harry. Nagini slid through the crowd and made her way to Harry. Harry offered his arm to the snake and she wrapped herself around it.

"My Death Eaters, please allow me to present my student to you." Voldemort said as he motioned Harry forward. Harry had not known that Voldemort was planning on making an announcement. Harry stepped through the crowd (where had these people come from?) and approached Voldemort's side. "His identity shall remain a secret for now, for his protection, of course. I need a few volunteers to instruct him but we can arrange that later." Voldemort waved his wand and another chair appeared next to him, though it was smaller than Voldemort's own. He waved Harry to his seat and then turned back to his Death Eaters. "How did the giants receive our latest offer?" He asked the crowd.

Harry lowered himself to his seat and allowed Nagini to slither back to Voldemort. Was this a bad or a good thing, this announcement of Voldemort's student?

William Zareh climbed the stairs to Dumbledore's office and kicked the door. He continued kicking until the door swung open. "William, my dear boy, what is it? Are you injured?"

"No, Headmaster. I'm fine." Zareh said as he fought for breath. "I've just come from a Death Eater meeting." Zareh told him. "Voldemort introduced someone tonight. He called him his 'student'." Zareh waved away the offers of tea and candy.

"Student?" Dumbledore said, vaguely troubled. "What did you make of him?"

"The student did not say anything that wasn't in Parseltongue." Zareh said.

"What?" Dumbledore demanded. The headmaster only knew of one other Parseltongue and that boy was being extremely stubborn in his insistence to stay in the Muggle world. "Did you see the student's face?"

"No, Headmaster. He was well covered, but his manners screamed 'pure –blood'." Zareh said. "He carried himself like Lucius Malfoy." Zareh admitted.

"Well, it can't be Harry, then." Dumbledore said with a large amount of relief.

"Harry? As in Harry Potter?" Zareh asked.

"Yes. Harry is the only other Parseltongue I know." Dumbledore told Zareh.

"Someone from abroad, then? A new player?" Zareh asked in confusion. Harry Potter turn Dark? Become the Dark Lord's student? Impossible.

"That sounds the most likely possibility. What else happened?" Dumbledore asked.

"The giants have refused Voldemort's proposal. Actually, they picked the messenger up and pitched him a fair distance." Dumbledore smiled at the image of a flying Death Eater. "He has sent a delegation to France to stir up support there. He has also asked for teachers for his student." Zareh saw Dumbledore's face and smiled. "I'm ahead of you. I offered my services in 'any capacity' the Dark Lord may desire. He seemed almost giddy by the idea that his student would be taught by a Hogwarts' professor."

"Get to know this student of his. See if you can get him to talk or confide in you. We cannot dismiss the possibility that this student is not willing. Help him if you can, William." Dumbledore instructed.

"Certainly, Headmaster." Zareh took his leave and Dumbledore returned to his bed. A student? The Dark Lord had a student? The situation had escalated. Harry needed to return to the wizarding world.

Sensei stood in the corner of his student's room and waited. The boy slept in the bed but Sensei knew that something was not right. Deshi slept differently. He knew his student. Dawn was just starting to tinge the sky when Sensei saw someone appear. He was dressed in a heavy black garment and something clattered to the ground as he dropped to his knees. The figure bent over and gasped quietly. He shuddered for a few minutes before he straightened up. A mask dropped to the floor and the hood fell from the face. Deshi. His student stood up slowly, using the bed for support until he gained his balance. The boy's hands shook as he unfastened the cloak and folded it up. He moved to the dresser and shoved the cloak under clothing and the mask in another drawer.

Deshi returned to his bed and toed off his trainers. He had just pulled off his shirt and was inspecting a few new lashes when Sensei revealed himself. The boy's head snapped up and his wand flew from the floor to his hand as he faced the unknown. "Calm, deshi." Sensei said as he stepped out of the shadows.

"Sensei?" Harry had enough time to ask before his body arced in pain and he fell backwards into his bed. It seemed that his body had decided to lose consciousness. Sensei realized then that deshi was keeping many secrets from him. Sensei watched as the illusion faded away. He grabbed the blanket from the bed and wrapped his student in it. The boy would not leave his side until Sensei was satisfied.

Author's Note: Wow. Just over eighteen pages. You have to admit, that was worth the wait!