AN: This release is the first chapter of a project I shelved a while ago, and I am not currently considering working on it. I'm releasing it as a special thanks to the Black Luminary Discord server.
To put it bluntly, chances are it will remain abandoned forever.

A beautiful and terrible thing

Everything was pretty much perfect.

'HARRY! HARRY!'

'Harry, will you sign this? Harry! Over here, please!' begged one girl in the crowd, waving a thin black piece of cloth.

'Wait, is that – That can't be …! Are you seriously offering him your … Lavender, are those your knick–'

'Shh! And … maybe? So what if they are?'

'GREAT CATCH, POTTER!'

'Like, you think he actually would?' The second voice hesitated, seemingly reaching a decision. 'Er, wait a second. I just need to … Anyway, be right back.'

'HARRY!'

'Harry! Harry! Harry!'

Harry Potter didn't hear most of this. He was currently busy flailing the Quidditch Cup about and being thrown into the air by the jubilant crowd laughing despite himself. 'Let me down, you idiots! Seriously! I'm getting motion stickness.'

It took another ten minutes and a lot of autographs until the roaring crowd finally allowed their idolised Quidditch captain, who had unfailingly won them every single game since his first year, to touch the ground again.

Harry was feeling distinctly ruffled, and he couldn't help but suspect that some of those hands that had held him up hadn't missed his back quite by accident.

But his grin was the widest of them all as Professor McGonagall struggled to part the sea of Gryffindors and other admirers like the better kind of prophet. 'Potter. Potter!'

'Yes, Professor? Oh, come on, Hannah! Well … all right, but this is the last one.'

'Potter! POTTER!'

'What?' Harry turned around after scribbling his name on whatever it was the furiously blushing Hufflepuff was holding in trembling hands. 'Oh, Professor! Anything to offer?' Harry said with a challenging smirk. 'Like congratulations? Or an apology, perhaps?'

A few of the younger Gryffindors gasped.

The lips of Gryffindor's head of house thinned dangerously as her left eye twitched. But then, to the students' disbelief and incredulity, what was probably the strictest teacher in all of Hogwarts smiled wryly.

'Very well, it seems that I must,' she said, sounding equally exasperated and amused. 'I apologise for insinuating that the illustrious Harry Potter wouldn't be able to do justice to the team and his prefect duties. But I will not let this sway me whatsoever to –'

'Oh, come off it!' said Harry laughingly. 'You're as happy as the rest of this lot, Minerva. Cheer up!'

And – to laughs all around and a few cheeky catcalls from the back – Harry kissed Professor McGonagall on the cheek and dove into the hooting crowd.

'Hey, superstar! Move that cute bum of yours!' yelled Katie over the heads of the manic throng. 'Party in the common room in twenty!'

'But I still need to shower!'

'What – all alone?!'

Harry laughed. 'I'm good, Katie. I'll be there as soon as these guys calm down a bit!'

Eventually, Harry managed to move what felt like the majority of Hogwarts' student population in the direction of the locker rooms.

'Harry, is it true that your gaze killed a Basilisk in your second year?'

'Harry! Harry, please –'

'Harry! Demelza told me you were responsible for those Dementors turning tail two years back. Harry! Is it true you made them flee in terror?!'

Amidst the mass of mild insanity, one person, leaning against the wall of the locker rooms with her arms akimbo, rolled her eyes.

'Go on in, Harry,' sighed Hermione, holding out a towel. 'I'll keep a lookout.'

'Thanks, Mum!'

She hit his back with the towel, scowling. 'Get on with it then!'

Harry grinned at her, dodging another half-hearted swipe with the towel, and yanking it free of Hermione's grip. He let the crowd push him through the door into the locker room, which he barely managed to shut with some much-needed help from someone inside before his excitable entourage could spill in after him. Exhausted, Harry slid down to the floor.

'This is getting ridiculous,' moaned Ron, sinking to the floor next to him. 'Can't you do anything about this, mate?'

From the other side of the door, they could hear sighs of disappointment and muffled voices. 'So … yeah … Hermione. Money must be hard to come by as a Muggle-born, eh?'

Harry winced at that. 'They're just kids,' he said, wiping a sweaty strand of hair out of his eyes.

'Three points from Ravenclaw,' echoed Hermione's bristling voice from the other side.

'Not all of them,' retorted Ron with an obscene grin. 'Some of them are very definitely –' with both of his hands, he made a rather crass gesture he surely would never have dared to perform in his girlfriend's presence '– mature!'

'Oh, no! Merlin help me, I just dropped five Galleons entirely by accident at your feet, Granger,' moaned another voice with rather suspicious glee for someone who'd lost quite a bit of money. 'If only … if only some righteous prefect could pick it up for me while I busy myself with my camera and that window over there.'

'Seven points from Slytherin!' hissed Hermione.

'Best get it over with, mate,' chuckled Ron. He lowered his voice. 'Not that I'm complaining, mind you. Found almost twenty Galleons last time. Bought most of my Christmas presents with that. Only, don't tell Hermione, right?'

Harry threw his head back, shaking with laughter. 'Glad you're getting something out of it.'

Ron grinned at him, stood up, and held out his hand. 'Great game, Harry.'

Harry grinned back, letting his best friend drag him to his feet. 'Great season, Ron! Couldn't have done it without you.'

Beautiful and Terrible

Yes, everything was pretty much perfect.

'Bet you can't do eight, Neville!'

'You're on!'

'Hey, Harry! Great match! No hard feelings, eh?'

Harry turned around, accepting yet another handshake with a face-splitting grin. His face was actually starting to hurt a bit. 'Course not, Ced. Great game! But what are you doing here? Not that I mind but –'

'Well,' said Cedric. 'Shame to waste a perfect opportunity to party, I say. Invited my old man to watch my team wreck some sneaky snakes or recalcitrant claws. Guess the joke's on me. At least we got clobbered by you guys, so that hardly counts anyway. But your parties – I see you've been expanding! There's even a few Slytherins back there, right? See? Over there! Not to mention,' he said, eyeing the crowd, 'most of our girls seem perfectly happy with our loss, I notice. Wouldn't you say so, Hannah?'

'What?!' said a blonde who had been lingering within earshot of their conversation, a huge red and gold scarf dominated by a lion and a picture of Harry's still slung around her neck. 'I … wouldn't have minded if yo– we'd won … I suppose.'

Cedric snorted. 'Hufflepuff pride, here we go! Seriously though, I'm not even mad. How's Sirius?'

'Fine,' replied Harry. 'Sirius is always fine. More than fine! You know how he is. He keeps on bragging how he finally managed to complete the Grand Circuit!'

'Grand Circuit? Never heard of it.'

'It's all pretty childish.'

'Well,' interjected Hermione wearily, 'this is Sirius we're talking about.'

Cedric nodded, deadpan. Everyone knew about Sirius. 'So, the Circuit?'

'Right,' said Harry. 'As I was saying, it's this … thing where they try to hook up with someone from every department in every department.'

'Wait, so … like with an Auror at the Auror Office?' asked Cedric, disbelievingly.

'That's disgusting,' said Hermione matter-of-factly.

'Yup!' concurred Harry happily. 'Anyway, he managed to complete that Circuit thingy last week. Got a leg over with some cougar or whatever from the Law Enforcement brass.'

Behind Harry, there was the sound of glass breaking.

'Something wrong, Susan?'

Happily for Susan Bones, a distraction arrived at this very opportune moment that took everyone's attention.

'Ladies,' cried a voice from the entrance, barely audible over the ruckus of a crowd going wild. 'My dear, would you please– If you'd just allow me– Please, young lady, I–'

The sound of a cannon blast near Gryffindor's not-so-secret entrance made the entire room turn around. Dumbledore towered just in front of the entrance, dressed in a snowy white cotton nightdress and an orange nightcap with yellow stars and a highly decorative lilac pom-pom. 'I understand the elation of youth after spectacles such as Gryffindor's latest stunning victory, but I confess I had thought better of Gryffindor's sense of responsibility. And Hufflepuff's. And, er, Ravenclaw's, I notice. Oh, Miss Greengrass, excuse me. Yes, and – apparently – Slytherin's. Where is Professor McGonagall? The house-elves alerted me that, at this rate, they won't manage to clean up the room in time.'

'We'll help tidy up. A bit,' called Harry, grinning. 'It's no big deal! Only those of age are drinking, and we're all perfectly decent!'

'Harry,' said Albus with his grandfatherly stare over the rim of his glasses, which wasn't helped by the pom-pom bobbling happily on the end of his headdress, 'it is very late indeed, and I rather think –'

'Oh, stuff it, Albus!' called another voice from near the fire. 'We all need to let our hair down every once in a while!'

Albus Dumbledore stared, thunderstruck. 'Minerva?!'

'As you can see, I have everything perfectly under control,' slurred the Transfiguration Mistress, raising a glass of scotch. 'Tomorrow is Sunday! Everything is being taken care of. Miss Stimpson even agreed to escort me safely down the grand staircase later!'

The Head Girl had the good grace to look a bit sheepish at that.

Seeing the headmaster's brow wrinkle, Harry went for broke. 'Come on, Albus! You still owe me from when you dragged me to the ICW to hold that ghastly speech. On my birthday! Even Fawkes looked sheepish when he turned up with the Portkey in the middle of my party!'

That got a few laughs. It was well known that their headmaster was something of a surrogate father figure for Harry whenever his actual guardian was indisposed.

The headmaster's beard twitched a bit, but he nevertheless gave Harry a mildly admonishing look. 'Two o' clock, Harry, and not a single minute past that.' He turned to leave but not before adding, 'And no more scotch for my deputy, Miss Stimpson.'

'Albus!' protested Professor McGonagall as the sniggering broke out. A spot of red coloured her cheeks.

Beautiful and Terrible

It was hard to complain about how things had turned out really. Ever since that cursed night when Voldemort had murdered his parents, everything had gone swimmingly. He'd grown up with Sirius – doted on, treasured, and perhaps slightly spoiled in every sense of the word – with Remus, Albus and many other friends of his parents visiting regularly. They had kept the worst of the public mania about his person from him, but Harry had learned how to deal with that easily enough.

People were just … people. They didn't mean any harm. Sometimes, they just wanted to admire something that shone so much more brilliantly than their own trivial lives.

Of course, Harry's life hadn't gone by without the occasional hiccup – Quirrell, the diary, Pettigrew's escape, the Triwizard Tournament – but he, Hermione, and Ron had made the best of it. More than that! It really was astonishing what you could do if you put your mind to it – especially if you'd been home-schooled since age five by arguably the greatest wizard of modern times and had the greatest friends imaginable always at your back.

And yet, despite it all, despite all that happiness, there was this little … snag.

It wasn't even the far-reaching shadow of Voldemort's unholy resurrection last year.

'Ah, Harry!' boomed Cornelius Fudge happily, dragging him inside Dumbledore's office to wring his hand. 'Splendid! Marvellous! How is our youngest Triwiz champion in seven centuries?!'

'I'm very well, thank you, Minister.'

Fudge laughed, throwing one arm around Harry's shoulder and leading him further into the room. 'Won another Quidditch trophy, ey? Minerva's been bragging the entire afternoon! You're just in time, Harry. We were about to start in fact.'

'I'm sorry if I –'

'Nonsense! I would've insisted we wait, Harry. Insisted! Truth be told, I had my reservations about all this business.' Fudge's jovial smile receded, replaced by a more sombre, haunted look. 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's return, working closely with Dumbledore. Well, let's just say I'm glad you're here with us, Harry.'

'I dare say, we all are,' said Albus Dumbledore with a grateful look at Harry. 'It seems it is this one young man who manages to bring us all together in the face of those who would do us harm.'

'Hear, hear!' called Professor McGonagall to general nodding from most of the portraits.

Professor Snape, standing behind Dumbledore, didn't nod or call out. But he didn't frown or scowl either. He just continued to stand stiffly behind the headmaster, hands behind his back, his dark eyes glued to Harry's.

'You, Harry, are the hope of all of us,' Fudge babbled on, fondly squeezing Harry's shoulder. 'A shining example of all that is good and pure in our world. I jolly well wish we had a few dozen more of you!'

Harry, smiling politely, was doing his best not to freeze.

'Indeed,' murmured Albus, peering with that gentle smile of his over the rim of his glasses. 'It is most extraordinary how one so young manages to bear the burden of an entire society. So much responsibility, and yet I doubt that any of us could have done better than this fine young man.'

As Harry laughed sheepishly at their praise, he felt his left hand in his pocket cramp.

'To Harry Potter!' cheered the Minister for Magic. 'Oh, we don't actually have an occasion to toast, do we? More's the pity.'

Beautiful and Terrible

Yes, everything really was pretty much perfect. He had friends – the best of friends. Smart, stalwart, wonderful people. He was well-liked – scratch that – admired or even outright adored by most of the school. He was respected for doing well in classes. He sometimes had to bodily fight off the girls, especially since this year – what, with all the persistent coverage in the press about that tournament last year.

Harry was sure most blokes in the castle would readily swap their own lives for his.

And yet … there was this snag, this hitch, this one little … pickle.

'Bloody ponces,' muttered Ron as a procession of Slytherins entered the Great Hall.

'Ron! That's really very immature of you,' said Hermione, scowling at her boyfriend. 'Most of them are perfectly decent human beings, you know? You got along fine with those Slytherins at the party, didn't you?'

'Yeah, well …'

Ron wisely refrained from elaborating, and Harry, following his best mate's look, knew why. Ron was a very down-to-earth kind of guy, and he just couldn't stand the way some of the Slytherins pranced about the Great Hall as if it were a ballet class. And even though he'd eventually lost his envious streak, there were some things Ron didn't and probably would never forgive. So while Harry thought it was the miracle of the century that nary a pure-blood had declared their loyalty for Voldemort, Ron had taken it personally that they weren't supporting Harry either. He was fiercely protective of his friends like that.

And as to the reason why Ron had been quite eager about those Slytherins that had attended their celebration, it should be pointed out that with certain traditional backgrounds came a tendency to attach value to appearances. Conservative, somewhat dull – true – but appealing nonetheless. There was no way around the fact that just counting Harry's year Parkinson and that gaggle of girls that kept following her around like lost puppies – their snobbish, arrogant, and thoroughly unpleasant bearing notwithstanding – had developed into some of the most gorgeous girls at Hogwarts.

Not an argument to bring up with your girlfriend, though – Harry could see the wisdom in that. Harry didn't hold a grudge against the Slytherins as such, but he would be hard-pressed to say that he got along well with any of them. Adrian Pucey was all right in his books, and he'd shared the occasional talk with Blaise Zabini or the Carrow twins, but there was something about the way the likes of Parkinson and Malfoy strutted about the castle, their noses so far up that it was a wonder they could walk straight, and that little something made his skin crawl.

Greengrass and Parkinson might, admittedly, have developed into real lookers, but their insides – in Harry's opinion – were easily ugly enough to ruin the effect: shallow, self-centred, superficial.

In Sirius' rather flippant opinion, the first night with a pure-blood heiress was something to die for, whereas every day after that was something you'd inevitably die of.

In any case, Harry had a soft spot for the sporty type, and he really had other things on his mind.

'I just hope I'll do fine with my OWLs,' mumbled Hermione, rocking forward and backwards in her seat.

Like that – or even Voldemort at a clutch.

Not that he was much of a threat now that even most pure-bloods scorned his return. His resurrection in that foul cemetery had been almost humorously lonely. Pettigrew, Voldemort, and two masked Death Eaters who had resembled nothing so much as two schoolboys who'd forgotten school had been cancelled.

One of them had died in the aftermath of the Dark Lord's return, and – with Harry's help – that brute Macnair had swiftly been locked away for good. It really was quite fascinating what one letter, one talk with Fudge, and one short conversation with Madam Bones could mean for the fate of a man. In Fudge's eyes, Harry's word was as good as any trial, and Madam Bones hadn't dared oppose the public's paragon of virtue. The whole process had taken about two hours – of which Fudge had wasted one hour fawning over Harry.

A bit frightening – but undoubtedly useful.

'Come on,' said Ron, rising. 'I don't want to be late for Potions. You know how Snape gets.'

Potions was one of Harry's better subjects, and he'd found out early on that his best results were a direct result of utmost single-mindedness. Far from only ignoring whatever happened in the rest of the class, Harry was famous for remaining completely oblivious to his own partner on collaborative assignments.

Others weren't.

'I don't get how you can stand it,' mumbled Seamus Finnigan from one table further down when the class had ended, scowling over Harry's shoulder.

'Hmm?' Harry looked up from his leftover ingredients. 'What do you mean?'

'The Slytherins!'

'What Slytherins?'

Ron groaned. 'I can't believe it. Can you honestly believe this guy?! Those Slytherins, Harry? Like the one you teamed up with for the entire lesson?'

'Oh. I did?'

'Yes!'

Harry vaguely remembered someone sitting down next to him, occasionally helping him prepare the ingredients with delicate hands, but that was all there was to it.

'Who?' he asked eventually.

'That Davis bint,' said Seamus. 'Lanky, skinny, has that look as if she wants to gut you in your sleep. Total psycho bitch. Typical pure-blood tart.'

'Seamus!' huffed Hermione angrily. 'I don't want to hear such language about fellow students. And for your information, Tracey Davis is a half-blood! She's … not the worst, actually.'

'Like that matters,' grumbled Dean. 'Getting stuck in Slytherin is bound to rub off. Half-blood or not, I wouldn't trust her as far as I can throw her.'

Harry was nice enough not to openly speculate on the connection between Seamus' vitriol and how Davis had brushed him off during the party in Gryffindor's common room.

Ron scratched his cheek, waiting for Hermione and Harry to finish packing up. 'Well, he's got a point. Not about her, er, promiscuity,' he added hastily. 'Just saying, you know, there's some stuff you're better off not meddling with. Dark stuff. It's like Professor Dawlish said – the human soul is … you know … gobbling trophies and … thingy.'

Hermione snorted. 'Inherently nourishing on deeds of valour and kindness and atrophies by way of misery both committed and subjected to,' she quoted effortlessly.

'That's what I said,' continued Ron smoothly. 'I mean, can you imagine Harry still being Harry while secretly eating babies? No, you're either one of the good guys, a baddy, or kidding yourself. What do you say, Harry?'

'Yeah,' said Harry blankly. 'Yeah, I reckon you might be right.'

'That's ridiculous,' said Hermione dismissively. But then, she hesitated. 'Granted, I think there might be some things that'll drive you over the edge. Some things … some things you can't take back.'

'Exactly!' said Ron triumphantly. 'Evil curses, bad magic, and whatever else those double-dealing, backstabbing cissies are –'

'Oh, come off it, Ronald Weasley!' Hermione rolled her eyes, shouldering her bag. 'They're as old as us. Do you actually think they're sneaking off to practise the Unforgivables?' She gave a sharp, derisive laugh. 'Killing a few people in their spare time? Or maybe sacrificing first years to the devil in the name of communism and sugar-free lemonades?'

'What Muggle nonsense are you on about?!'

'Nevermind!'

Beautiful and Terrible

'Hey, Harry! Heading out late?' asked Katie Bell, looking up from behind her pile of books in the common room.

'Er, yeah. Patrols.'

'Oh, really? I thought Hermione just went upstairs.' She groaned, massaging her shoulders and leaning far back. Harry couldn't help admiring the way her lithe neck stretched on and on, seamlessly fading into the teasing neckline of her tank top. 'Shame though,' she continued. 'I'd almost finished with this rubbish …'

Katie's Hufflepuff friend, who sat next to her, suddenly looked rather uncomfortable. 'Should we … should we call it a day or …?'

Katie, still halfway bent backwards, grinned at her friend. 'Did you know Harry's been practising with three Bludgers since last year, Leanne? Maybe he's got a thing for threesomes?'

In a good imitation of Narcissa Malfoy, Harry brought his hand to his mouth in an expression of mock scandalisation. 'Oh, my! Need I fear for my innocence, Miss Bell?'

'What innocence? You've been ogling me in the locker room ever since you turned thirteen!'

Harry shrugged with a guilty laugh. 'Oops?'

'If you're really sorry – you know – my shoulders have been hell from all this cramming!'

'Is that so?' he said neutrally, with just a hint of amusement.

'You bet!' One of her fingers slid over her bare shoulder, pushing the strap of her bra half an inch to the side. 'So … if you want, you could really help me out here! All work and no play makes me a dull girl!'

'Okay.'

'Wait – what? Really?!' asked Katie, perking up and looking both apprehensive and excited.

'Sure,' said Harry good-naturedly. With a flick of his wand, a yellow-purple jet of light hit his best chaser's shoulder. 'Can't afford any risk to your health. Good thing I learned these Hit-Wizard spells. Really handy.'

Katie gave him a very definite look. 'That's not at all what I was talking about,' she grumbled, torn between gratitude and annoyance.

Harry, still grinning, shrugged. 'That so? Anyway, don't work too long! Oh, and Leanne, I'd suggest you ask a prefect to get you downstairs later. Just in case.'

'Oh, I'm ready now!'

'What?!' spluttered Katie. 'But we haven't finished at a–'

'No, er, I'm fine, Katie. So … do you mind escorting me downstairs, Harry?'

Harry could only smile helplessly. 'Not at all. Later, Katie!'

He held the entrance open for Leanne to walk through, ignoring Katie's not-so-subtle accusations of treachery and perfidy.

It bears repeating, Harry's life was almost perfect. If only it weren't for this one little … thing. If only it weren't for this one little snag, this Persian Flaw.

If one could call it that with a straight face.

Having safely delivered Leanne to the Hufflepuff common room and politely excused himself from her lingering stare, Harry made for the older parts of the castle. With the help of the map, he manoeuvred away from every other person or ghost.

Because Harry Potter had a secret, a secret that nobody – no one – neither Albus Dumbledore nor Sirius Black nor even his two loyal friends knew about or even dared to suspect. And nothing terrified Harry more, robbed him of his sleep and wits like the thought of this secret coming undone.

The truth is a beautiful and terrible thing.

It's beautiful, surely, how one young man might bear an entire society on his shoulders, all its dreams and hopes and burdens. It's beautiful, isn't it, the power of community, a common dream shared by thousands. It's beautiful, don't you think, the image of one person, one utterly pure, elevated human soul holding out against a tide of darkness.

Checking for the umpteenth time that he was alone, Harry ducked into the first deserted classroom, slammed it shut, locked it with all the spells he knew, and leant against it, his heart racing.

It's also quite terrible what the pressure of success can drive a person to do.

Loosening his tie knot, Harry lifted his wand and conjured a life-like target dummy.

But what might be the most terrifying thing of them all, is the beauty of ignorance, the terror of insight: knowledge is the liberation of your mind that robs you of your illusions and innocence first.

His insides burning, Harry levelled his wand.

Anxiety, resentment, anger, and rage gushed forth as if the lid of a fizzy and badly manhandled bottle had been violently ripped off. The rest happened almost automatically.

'Crucio!'

Beautiful and Terrible

'I don't think I can do this,' wailed Hermione, tearing at her hair. 'I don't think I ever could! I'm such a silly girl. I should've stayed a Muggle!'

Harry made a gesture towards Ron, meaningfully nodding in Hermione's direction until his best friend got the hint, pulled her close, and patted her back as Hermione cried tears of desperation into his robes.

'You'll do fine. I know you will,' said Ron gently. 'I mean, you've already finished most of your exams! And from what McGonagall let slip, not too badly.'

'B-but prefect duties –'

'Don't worry,' said Harry, smiling at Hermione as she peeked out from within Ron's embrace. 'I got you. I'll tell Minerva that I accidentally hit you with one of the charms I was testing for tomorrow's exam.'

'Your ability to make up some petty excuse with that innocent expression of yours never ceases to amaze me, Harry,' said Ron, grinning.

'But what if she doesn't believe you?!' cried Hermione. 'What if she checks?! And after all, it's my duty to –'

'Why would she?' said Harry soothingly. 'But if you're that worried–' he pulled out his wand, '–I really could hit you with an overpowered Cheering Charm – just to be sure.'

Hermione gave a fragile little laugh, rubbing her eyes. 'No, I'm good. Thanks, Harry …'

Harry nodded, standing up. 'I'll leave you in Ron's capable hands. I'm sure your boyfriend can find some way to cheer you up in earnest.'

Walking through the parting crowd, Harry left the common room. It was already nine o'clock. Breakfast was from seven to nine. Harry usually got up at six. Given his sleeping patterns, that left him about three hours for tonight after he'd finished his patrols.

Clutching his wand, he strode down the corridor, away from the cheerful sanctity of his house, all the while consulting the Marauder's Map. A few people were out there, a few couples even, mostly fifth and seventh years. He had to patrol as part of his duties, but who was Harry to deprive his schoolmates of some relaxation during the examination period? There were a lot of paths through the ancient castle, and Harry made sure that – tonight – his patrol never led him too close to anyone out of bounds.

More than five hours later, Harry finally succumbed to his exhaustion, collapsing on the cold, singed stone floor of this night's hideaway and resting his head on a mound of ash as he felt the sweat trickle down his spine. For a few moments, he stared numbly at the ceiling. When the cold began to creep into his bones, he stood up, grunting with the effort, vanished the piles of ash, repaired most of the masonry, bandaged his bleeding arm as best he could, and restored his robes to their pristine condition.

Wiping his sweaty hair out of his face, his eyes performed the accustomed, fear-driven flick towards the map that lay behind him, safe behind a few protective charms.

His immediate vicinity was clear.

He was about to pack it up when his eyes darted towards a lone person out on the second-to-last floor of the castle in some abandoned classroom. He vaguely remembered the person having been in the exact same spot before he'd started his … whatever it was he was doing.

Brow wrinkled in honest confusion, he hesitated for a second. It wasn't any of his business, true, but …

With a sigh, he rummaged in his bag for his invisibility cloak and made straight for the stairs. Eventually, Harry found himself in front of a door that someone had locked with a plethora of protective charms, compulsions, and some nasty hexes in a mild display of paranoia.

Harry was no curse-breaker, and even though he might eventually get the job done, given enough time, the thought occurred to him that he was a prefect and someone was very definitely hiding away hours and hours after curfew. He dismissed the tiny little voice that, firstly, the very same could be said about him and, secondly, the person in question was a prefect also.

Subtlety had its time and place, but it was so much more fun letting loose. With a playful grin and one last glance at the map, Harry ascertained that the other person wasn't standing on the other side of the door and trained his wand.

'Bombarda Maxima!'

The floor shook with the thunderous roar that blasted the brassbound oak to a fine powder and some lucky splinters. When the sawdust eventually settled, Harry took a careful step through the now rather permanently unlocked door.

No other person stood in the vacated, fusty room that had once been a classroom of some sort but was long since deserted.

But there – cowered in the corner at the far end of the chamber, fine silk robes uncommonly dishevelled, vacant, sickly red eyes staring unblinkingly ahead, drool trailing from puffy lips all over her face and onto her robes, perfectly manicured nails still clutching an empty syringe – there lay Pansy Parkinson.

Even almost one hour later and in the sterile gloam of the infirmary, Harry was still silently staring at the needle in his hands when the girl finally came to. She awoke with a terrible start, drawing a long, rattling breath, her dark, erratic eyes wide with fright and confusion. He followed her gaze, as she – stricken with panic and nearly hyperventilating – hectically tried to take in the entirety of her surroundings in a fraction of a second.

Then, her eyes landed on him and narrowed. Faster than Harry would have thought possible given her state, she reached into her robes.

'Looking for this?' said Harry, holding up her wand. 'No,' he went on, spotting the momentary swirl of anxiety and disgust in her eyes. 'I just picked it up.' Without waiting for a reply, he tossed her the wand. She greedily caught it, pointing it with indecision vaguely in his direction.

Trying to regain her cool, her hard, detached eyes flickered about the room only to inevitably be drawn back to him every other second.

'Infirmary,' she mumbled eventually.

'Yes.'

For a minute or two, they didn't speak as a machine gun fire of unspoken words lashed down at them with relentless fury. Words like heroin, overdose … Muggle drugs.

In the end, Parkinson's eyes lingered on the needle in Harry's hand. She sneered hatefully, leaning back into her pillow as all fight seemed to leave her. 'Where's Pomfrey?'

'Not here.'

'But she was,' she said. It wasn't a question.

'Yes.'

More silence.

'You must think is this amusing, don't you, Potter? Already preparing your jokes? Your little jests? Writing a press statement, maybe?' she demanded bitingly, holding her sleeve over her eyes. She gulped, hard. 'Feeling sorry, perhaps? Want to extend a hand of friendship? To help the silly little girl lead a better life?'

'Not really, no.'

The words went over her head, unheeded.

'Doesn't matter. Whether you play the hero or not, Pomfrey will tell Dumbledore. My family … I'm finished.'

'I don't think so.'

She straightened up, glaring defiantly at him through red eyes. 'Stop spouting bullshit!'

'I'm not–'

'FUCK YOU!' she screamed suddenly. 'Fuck you, Potter! Who do you think you are?! Have the flashes from all those sickening photographs addled with your brains? Do you actually believe the world revolves around you? Think this will all just go away, solve itself with a few pleasant words, with a few of your feather-brained, simpering smiles, with a talk with our bloody headmaster?!' She spat at his feet. 'There's your pity. Pick it up and suck on it! I don't need, I don't want your sympathy – or your help.'

Harry sat in his chair and let her tirade wash over him. Eventually, panting from exhaustion, Parkinson turned away again, cowering underneath her blanket. 'Leave me alone,' she whispered. 'Just … go.'

'Suit yourself,' said Harry, wincing slightly as he got to his feet. His arm burned with pain. A lazy flick of his wand transfigured the syringe into a potted and rather ugly cactus that he put on Parkinson's bedside table. 'You really needn't worry about Pomfrey though.'

'I told you to get lost already. I'm too tired to waste my contempt on you.'

'I'm serious,' said Harry, pointing towards the infirmary office. 'She won't remember.'

'What?!' spat Parkinson, turning around to stare daggers at him again. 'Think you can weaponise your bloody miracle smile?'

'No,' said Harry coolly. 'But my wand already came pre-weaponised. The Confundus will lift tomorrow at noon, which leaves you one hour before the next exam. I suggest you clear off beforehand.'

He hadn't taken more than a few steps when she bellowed after him. 'Why?! Pity? Is that it? Can't stand the sight of a girl doing badly? Does it hurt your precious morals? Shake your view of the world? Expecting gratitude, perhaps? Some sort of a,' her voice took on a sickened, hysteric tone, 'reward?'

'Not really, no,' said Harry, unerringly approaching the far-off reaches of the infirmary that weren't doused in clinical, artificial light. He hated this place. 'I just don't begrudge other people their secrets.'

People with a fatal flaw, at least, were tangible, somehow more real than the rest of this grand mirage, the intoxicating illusion cast upon society, the smothering lie they unknowingly told themselves. Rather a terrible truth, he thought, his guts squirming, than a beautiful lie. Harry distrusted things that shone too brightly.

Beautiful and Terrible