Chapter 10: You Are You

I do not own Harry Potter and I am not making any money from writing this whatsoever. The Harry Potter franchise is the property of Warner Brother's and J.K Rowling.

"Johnny... why won't you come home?"

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"We're not doing anything new?" Zacharias Smith said, in a disgruntled whisper loud enough to carry through the room. "If I'd known that, I wouldn't have come..."

"We're all really sorry Harry didn't tell you, then," Fred said loudly.

Several people sniggered. Harry saw Cho laughing and felt the familiar swooping sensation in his stomach, as though he had missed a step going downstairs. The last meeting before the holiday's, and Harry had decided to do a review of sorts, as there was no point in starting something new right before a three week break.

"We can practice in pairs," Harry said. "We'll start with the Impediment Jinx, just for ten minutes, then we can get out the cushions and try stunning again."

Partnering up with Neville, as per usual, Harry could not help but be extremely proud of his dormmate. Neville, more than anyone else, had improved the most. Gone was the boy who could barely cast a spell to save his life, replacing him was someone more confident with his abilities now. Though his wand was still a little shoddy, sometimes causing recoil off of spells that should not have been happening, like a pet that still hasn't fully respected their owner yet. Harry had a theory on that, one that he would need to confirm with Hermione first though.

"Brilliant, Neville!" He said, after unfreezing for the third time. "Really good!"

Neville beamed. "Thanks, Harry!"

He then let him group up with Ron and Hermione, while Harry went around the room.

When he passed Cho she beamed at him; he resisted the temptation to walk past her several more times.

Another ten or fifteen minutes passed until they laid out cushions in preparation for stunners. The room was a little too confined for them to all practice it at once. So he had them have one on one matches. The urge to turn it into a tournament was extremely tempting, but he doubted they had the time for that. Maybe another time, at the end of the year or something to show how much they've learned.

Ginny wiped the floor with her boyfriend, Michael Corner, who looked pretty sour about it. Fred beat George, Cho thoroughly trounced Marietta, Neville just managed to beat Dean, and Angelina defeated Alicia. The Creevey brothers, Dennis and Colin, knocked each other out.

It passed more or less like that. Padma Patil quite easily beat Zacharias Smith, to some snickers, but Harry's personal favourite moment was when Ron, looking very cocky, was soundly beaten by Hermione. A lot of the boys looked ashamed, while most of the girls giggled.

Harry felt a little bad for Ron, but he had to admit, his face afterwards was priceless.

At the end of an hour, Harry called a halt.

"You're getting really good," he said, beaming around at them. "When we get back from the holidays we can start doing some of the big stuff - maybe even Patronuses."

There was a murmur of excitement. The room began to clear in the usual twos and threes; most people wished Harry a happy Christmas as they went. Feeling cheerful, he collected up the cushions with Ron and Hermione and stacked them neatly away. Ron and Hermione left before he did; he hung back a little, because Cho was still there and he was hoping to receive a Merry Christmas from her. Harry was a little too excited to be able to fully appreciate how silly his own thought process was.

"No, you go on," he heard her say to her friend Marietta, and his heart gave a jolt that seemed to take it into the region of his Adam's apple.

He pretended to be straightening the cushion pile. He was quite sure they were alone now and waited for her to speak. Instead, he heard a hearty sniff.

He turned and saw Cho standing in the middle of the room, tears pouring down her face.

"Wha - ?"

He didn't know what to do. She was simply standing there, crying silently.

Had he done something? The thought was a scary one, though irrational.

"What's up?" He said feebly.

She shook her head and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "I'm - sorry," she said thickly. "I suppose... it's just... learning all this stuff... It just makes me... wonder whether... if he'd known it all... he'd still be alive..."

Harry's heart sank. It wasn't all that surprising she wanted to talk about Cedric, he couldn't really blame her really. Still, he ought to have known to not get his hopes up.

"He did know this stuff," Harry said heavily. "He wouldn't have been able to get to the end of the maze if he wasn't." This was true, Cedric was a great wizard, and incredibly brave. "But if Voldemort really wants to kill you, you don't stand a chance."

She hiccuped at the sound of Voldemort's name, but stared at Harry without flinching.

"You survived when you were just a baby," she said quietly.

"Yeah, well," Harry said wearily, moving toward the door, "I dunno why, nor does anyone else, so it's nothing to be proud of."

"Oh don't go!" Cho said, sounding tearful again. "I'm really sorry to get all upset like this... I didn't mean to..." She hiccuped again. She was very pretty even when her eyes were red and puffy. "I know it must be horrible for you," she said, mopping her eyes on her sleeve again. "Me mentioning Cedric, when you saw him die... I suppose you just want to forget about it..."

Harry did not say anything to this; it was quite true, but he felt heartless saying it. He'd enough of seeing Cedric's dead eyes in his nightmares.

"You're a r-really good teacher, you know," Cho said, with a watery smile. "I've never been able to Stun anything before."

"Thanks," Harry half-mumbled awkwardly.

They looked at each other for a long moment. Harry felt a burning desire to run from the room and, at the same time, a complete inability to move his feet.

"Mistletoe," Cho said quietly, pointing at the ceiling over his head.

"Yeah," Harry said. His mouth was very dry. "It's probably full of nargles, though."

"What are nargles?"

"No idea," Harry admitted. She had moved closer. His brain seemed to have been Stunned. "You'd have to ask Loony. Luna, I mean."

Cho made a funny noise halfway between a sob and a laugh. She was even closer to him now. He could have counted the freckles on her
nose.

"I really like you, Harry."

He could not think. A tingling sensation was spreading throughout him, paralyzing his arms, legs, and brain.

She was much too close. He could see every tear clinging to her eyelashes...

"Well?" Ron said when Harry finally returned to the common room half an hour later, looking up at Harry. "How was it?"

Harry considered for a moment.

"Wet," he said truthfully.

Ron made a noise that might have indicated jubilation or disgust, it was hard to tell.

"Because she was crying," Harry continued heavily.

"Oh," Ron said, his smile fading slightly. "Are you that bad at kissing?"

"Dunno," Harry said, he hadn't really considered that, and he immediately felt rather worried. "Maybe I am."

"Of course you're not," Hermione said absently, scribbling away at a rather long looking letter.

"How would you know?" Ron said sharply.

"Because Cho spends half her time crying these days," Hermione said vaguely. "She does it at mealtimes, in the loos, all over the place."

"You'd think a bit of kissing would cheer her up," Ron said, grinning.

"Ron," Hermione said in a dignified voice, looking dangerous while dipping the point of her quill into her ink pot, "you are the most insensitive wart I have ever had the misfortune to meet."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron nearly shouted in indignation. "What sort of person cries while someone's kissing them?"

"Yeah," Harry said slightly desperately, "who does?"

Hermione looked at the pair of them with an almost pitying expression on her face.

"Don't you understand how Cho's feeling at the moment?" she asked.

"No," Harry and Ron said together.

Hermione sighed and laid down her quill.

"Well, obviously, she's feeling very sad, because of Cedric dying. Then I expect she's feeling confused because she liked Cedric and now she likes Harry, and she can't work out who she likes best. Then she'll be feeling guilty, thinking it's an insult to Cedric's memory to be kissing Harry at all, and she'll be worrying about what everyone else might say about her if she starts going out with Harry. And she probably can't work out what her feelings toward Harry are anyway, because he was the one who was with Cedric when Cedric died, so that's all very mixed up and painful. Oh, and she's afraid she's going to be thrown off the Ravenclaw Quidditch team because she's been flying so badly."

A slightly stunned silence greeted the end of this speech, then Ron said, "One person can't feel all that at once, they'd explode."

"Just because you've got the emotional range of a teaspoon doesn't mean we all have," Hermione responded nastily, picking up her quill again.

More silence after that. He didn't really know what to think, couldn't get his thoughts in order. "She was the one who started it," he said finally, "I wouldn't've - she just sort of came at me - and next thing she's crying all over me - I didn't know what to do -"

"Don't blame you, mate." Ron said seriously, looking alarmed at the very thought.

"You just had to be nice to her," Hermione said, looking up anxiously. "You were, weren't you?"

"Well," Harry began, wincing a little at how his voice cracked, an unpleasant heat creeping up his face. "I sort of, er, patted her on the back a bit."

Hermione looked so disappointed in him. "Well, I suppose it could have been worse." She said after a little bit. "Are you going to see her again?"

"I'll have to, won't it?" He said. "We've got D.A. meetings, haven't we?"

"You know what I mean." Hermione said impatiently.

He did, and the idea of it scared him. Harry certainly liked her, but so far, nothing was going how he imagined it would. Whenever he did think up a scene involving the two of them it had always featured a Cho who was enjoying herself, as opposed to a Cho who was sobbing uncontrollably into his shoulder. Still, Hogsmeade visits and time alone with her wasn't a bad thing.

"Who're you writing the novel to anyway?" Ron asked Hermione, snapping him out of his thoughts. Ron was trying to read the bit of parchment now trailing on the floor.

Hermione yanked the parchment away from Ron.

"Johnny."

"Blaze?"

"How many other Johnnys do we know?"

There was one that Harry vaguely recalled in his magical creatures class, but Hermione wouldn't like him mentioning that.

Ron said nothing, but looked disgruntled. They sat in silence for another twenty minutes, Ron attempting to finish a transfiguration essay with many snorts of impatience, Hermione writing steadily to the very end of the parchment, rolling it up carefully and sealing it, and Harry staring so intently into the fire, hoping very much for Sirius' head to appear from it and give him some advice about girls. The fire crackled on, no face was formed, and eventually, Hermione stood up from her seat.

"Well, 'night," she said, yawning widely and heading for the girls' staircase.

"What does she see in Johnny?" Ron demanded as he and Harry climbed the boys' staircase.

He didn't necessarily think it was like what Ron was implying, but he answered anyway. "Well," he said, considering the matter, "I s'pose he's older, isn't he? And, he's got that bad boy persona I guess."

"Yeah, but apart from that," Ron said, sounding a little aggravated. "I mean he's a grouchy git sometimes, isn't he?"

Harry chuckled a little bit as they entered their dorm, for once tonight, his mind not on Cho. "Mate, I don't think you've got any room to talk."

The green flames that overtook him were a little startling. It was uncomfortable for him to trust magical travel. He'd not been on a broom yet, thank god, no matter how much Tonks tried to convince him to give it a try.

Johnny entered underneath Moody's spare invisibility cloak. It was after hours, and the security was absolutely abhorrent here. There was the occasional guard, but their eyes roved over him. Soon, he made his way into an elevator, entirely expecting to be caught at any moment. At least elevators was something wizards didn't bother making weird.

It then proceeded to drop to the ninth floor at a stomach churning high speed.

"Fuck," he muttered as the lift came to a sudden stop.

He skulked forward. The walls were all black with no design. No windows or paintings like the main floor had. The ministry, though severely lacking in security, seemed to be much larger than other human government buildings. The urge to investigate further was strong, but he was under strict orders.

He just sort of stood there in the corridor, a black door at the end of it. He finally decided on leaning against the wall, realizing that he couldn't get his jacket dirty thanks to the cloak.

"Ominous, isn't it?"

Johnny jumped, and swore loudly, completely ruining his given objective to be stealthy.

Mephisto stood behind him as he turned, looking as dapper as ever.

"What do you want?"

The devil smiled at him, and Johnny desperately wished he could wipe it off his face. He decided to ignore the fact that Mephisto could see him despite the fact that Johnny was wearing an invisibility cloak.

"This time, nothing." He said.

Johnny scoffed, trying to fight down the urge to yell. The corridor was sweltering now, any moment and he'd break out into a sweat. He took off the cloak in an attempt to cool down.

"Somehow, I don't believe you."

Mephisto's grin grew wider, the kind of shit eating one that said c'mon, take a swing. "You wouldn't, would you? But it's true. I am merely here to thank you."

Thank him?

"For what?" He asked aloud, crossing his arms.

Mephisto flicked off a nonexistent speck of dust from his charcoal suit. "Blackheart. His forces have relented, just a bit, but enough for me to push them out of Veraxus' palace and back to the fields of the damned, which is the most progress I have made in months."

"I didn't do it for you," Johnny said.

"I know," he replied simply, "but still, I felt you should know, I've been trying to be more benevolent-"

"Holding my freedom back behind a deal isn't benevolent," Johnny pointed out sharply.

"Trying was the operative word there, Johnathan." Mephisto countered playfully. "It's fine, I didn't expect you to be very welcoming of it any-"

He cutoff abruptly, looking down the corridor.

"What?" Johnny said, trying to follow his gaze. It was too dark, he couldn't see much. "I swear, if this is some sort of trick, I will fucking-

"Something on the floor," Mephisto cut him off, "hard to tell in this form, could've - LOOK OUT!"

He hadn't seen it, was too busy being mad at Mephisto's very presence. Something slithered towards him, a fucking snake that was easily twenty feet long. It launched up at him before he could even begin to react, its fangs sunk into his neck, pumping poison into his veins. He wrapped his hand around its body, but it was a failing battle to try and tug it off.

Johnny could feel himself dying, his blood flowing harshly and his breaths coming out eratically. His now blurry vision could just make out Mephisto raising a hand at him before disappearing, to where, Johnny didn't think he'd ever find out. He couldn't hear anything other than his own heart beating loudly.

He was dead. Knew it in his very soul. Dead, dead, dead and he'd never see James again and tell him how sorry he was, how much he hated himself for leaving his only family in New York to grieve alone.

His vision went white, and he thought, for the briefest moment, he'd seen his father.

Johnny, why won't you come home?

His scar was pounding, felt like it was splitting in two, and he was trying very hard not to rage at Dumbledore, who still had not looked at him since McGonagall brought him to his office.

"How did you see this?" Dumbledore asked quietly.

"Well... I don't know," Harry said, rather angrily. What did it matter? "Inside my head, I suppose-"

"You misunderstand me," Dumbledore said, in the same calm tone. "I mean, can you remember where you were positioned as you watched this attack happen? Were you perhaps standing beside the victim, or else looking down on the scene from above?"

The questions was so specific, Harry gaped at Dumbledore, it was almost as though he knew...

"I was the snake," he said. "I saw it all from the snake's point of view."

Nobody else spoke for a moment, then Dumbledore, gaze now firmly on Professor McGonagall.

"Is Johnathan seriously injured?"

"Yes," Harry said emphatically, why were they both so slow on the uptake, did they not realize how much a person bled when fangs that long punctured their neck? And why could Dumbledore not do him the courtesy of looking at him?

But Dumbledore stood up so quickly that Harry jumped, and addressed one of the old portraits hanging near the ceiling.

"Everard?" He said sharply.

A sallow-faced wizard with short, black bangs in the frame beside him, who had seemed to be in the deepest of sleep, opened his eyes immediately.

"You were listening?" Dumbledore asked.

The wizard nodded. "Naturally."

"The man has dark brown hair and is wearing a leather jacket," Dumbledore said. "Everard, you will need to raise a false alarm, make sure he is found by the right people and divert everyone else, anyone other than one of us could prove to be dangerous, the ministry will not like a muggle being found nearly dead in their building." He then took out his wand, and cast a Patronus. It was a brilliant phoenix, much like Fawkes, who sat on his perch near the door. "Johnny is badly hurt at the entrance to the department of mysteries. Be quick, I will do everything I can to make sure nobody else finds him." The silver phoenix flew off through the giant window pane behind Dumbledore.

The wizard nodded and left his portrait, leaving only his unique backdrop behind.

"Everard was one of Hogwarts's most celebrated Heads," Dumbledore said, now sweeping around Harry and Professor McGonagall and approaching the magnificent sleeping bird on his perch beside the door. "His renown is such that he has portraits hanging in other important Wizarding institutions. As he is free to move between his own portraits he can tell us what may be happening elsewhere..."

Why was Johnny at the department of mysteries, how had he even gotten in? He was a muggle!

Dumbledore whispered something in Fawkes' ear after waking it gently, it too, like its silver counterpart, took off immediately in a blinding flash of fire. Dumbledore swooped down upon one of the fragile silver instruments whose function Harry had never known, carried it over to his desk, sat down facing them again, and tapped it gently with the tip of his wand.

The instrument tinkled into life at once with rhythmic clinking noises. Tiny puffs of pale green smoke issued from the minuscule silver tube at the top. Dumbledore watched the smoke closely, his brow furrowed, and after a few seconds, the tiny puffs became a steady steam of smoke that thickened and coiled in the air... A serpent's head grew out of the end of it, opening its mouth wide. Harry briefly thought that this device was confirming his story, but when he looked at Dumbledore, the headmaster did not seem surprised.

"Naturally, naturally," he murmured, still observing the stream of smoke. "But in essence divided?"

Harry could make neither head nor tail of this question. The smoke serpent, however, split itself instantly into two snakes, both coiling and undulating in the dark air. But just as soon as it happened, the smoke became a bright red, and the snake looked to be in pain, before it crumbled into black smoke.

This, actually shocked Dumbledore, for his eyes widened in surprise.

"What is it, Albus?" McGonagall asked.

Dumbledore did not answer right away, and even when he did speak, it was to Harry, though he still would not look at him.

"How badly does your scar hurt, Harry?"

For a moment, the question didn't register. "W-worse than it ever has before," he admitted, not understanding. "What does that mean?"

Dumbledore gave the instrument a gentle tap with his wand, and the smoke slowly dissipated.

"I... am not entirely sure."

When he awoke, his head was on fire.

Not the weirdest position he'd ever been in before.

There was a long trail of ash along the floor and his body up to his right hand. Johnny couldn't even get up, not fully understanding how he was still alive.

Where had the snake gone? And how had he transformed? It must have still been after hours, for no ministry workers were in sight. Mephisto was nowhere to be seen as well.

"-he's got to be around this corner."

Johnny knew that voice, though it was hard to hear properly.

He struggled to his feet, trying to regain some sort of clarity. He didn't recall turning into the Rider, but he vaguely remembered grabbing the snake.

Johnny could feel himself revert back, but the burning in his chest stayed, and hurt.

The footsteps and voices got closer.

"Bloody hell," the same voice from before said.

A curtain of bright pink hair clouded his blurry vision, there was hot breath on his face as someone came into view right above him.

"Don't be dead," the voice said louder, a woman, "please don't be dead. Please please please."

His vision cleared a little, and he could just make out the face above him.

"T-Tonks?"

"Dumbledore!"

"What news?" Dumbledore said at once as the wizard came running back into his portrait.

"I saw them run down to him, and when some guards came by, I sent them off into the other direction." He said quickly. "I ran along to Elfrida Cragg's portrait to get a good view as they left, and he looks like he'll live, but he's dead on his feet, muttering nonsense and being dragged along. I don't know whether or not they'll be seen."

"They won't be, and thank you, Everard." Dumbledore said, sounding so sure. He got up, and walked over to a cupboard behind Harry, and began rummaging through it.

He emerged from it carrying a blackened old kettle, which he placed carefully upon his desk. He raised his wand and murmured "Portus"; for a moment the kettle trembled, glowing with an odd blue light, then it quivered to a rest, as solidly black as ever.

Dumbledore marched over to another portrait, this time of a clever looking wizard with a pointed beard, who had been painted wearing the Slytherin colors of green and silver and was apparently sleeping so deeply that he could not hear Dumbledore's voice when he attempted to rouse him.

"Phineas. Phineas."

And now all of the other subjects of the portraits lining the room were no longer pretending to be asleep; they were shifting around in their frames, the better to watch what was happening. When the clever looking wizard continued to feign sleep, some of them shouted his name too.

"Stay with us Johnny, we're almost out of here."

He wanted to believe that, he really did, but he couldn't even see his legs beneath him as a pair of strong arms dragged him along the floor. He couldn't walk, could barely think.

"Remus, get the lift, I'll hold him."

Johnny buckled, and he heard Tonks swear somewhere to his left.

"When we get out of here," she whispered, "I swear I'll kill you myself."

He laughed, and it hurt.

"Did someone call?"

"I need you to visit your other portrait again, Phineas," Dumbledore said. "I've got another message."

"Visit my other portrait?" Phineas said in a reedy voice, giving a long, fake yawn, his eyes traveling around the room and focusing upon Harry. "Oh no, Dumbledore, I am too tired tonight."

The portraits on the surrounding walls broke into a storm of protest.

"Insubordination, sir!" Roared a corpulent, red-nosed wizard, brandishing his fists. "Dereliction of duty!"

"We are honor-bound to give service to the present Headmaster of Hogwarts!" Cried a frail-looking old wizard whom Harry recognized as Dumbledore's predecessor, Armando Dippet. "Shame on you, Phineas!"

"Shall I persuade him, Dumbledore?" Called a gimlet-eyed witch, raising an unusually thick wand that looked not unlike a birch rod.

"Oh, very well," Phineas dragged out, eyeing this wand slightly apprehensively, "though he may well have destroyed my picture by now, he's done most of the family -"

"Sirius knows not to destroy your portrait," Dumbledore said, "You are to give him the message that Johnny Blaze has been gravely injured and that Harry Potter will be arriving at his house shortly. Do you understand?"

"Johnny Blaze, injured, Harry Potter coming to stay," Phineas recited in a bored voice. "Yes, yes, very well." He sloped away into the frame of the portrait and disappeared from view.

"Get him on a bloody bed you idiot!"

Johnny winced violently at the loud voice.

"Tonks," another voice said, Sirius, "calm down, he'll be alright, he's just out of it."

"Alright?! Look at the state of him!"

He grunted as three pairs of hands lifted him up and onto a bed.

"He's still tired after going to Norway, but he's going to be fine, do you see any blood? Any bite marks?"

It was silent after that, and then, a corked popped, and a hand was gently lifting his head up off of the pillow.

A vial was pushed to his mouth, and he was forced to swallow it. He tried to fight it, but was too weak.

"It'll help," a different voice said, Remus, "drink."

After a moment, Johnny started to feel better, and very sleepy.

He passed out a second later.

"Back again, the blood traitor Potter boy, is it true the muggle is dying...?"

"OUT!" Roared Sirius as Harry stood up shakily. Magical travel was still disorienting.

He had arrived in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. The only sources of light were the fire and one guttering candle, which illuminated the remains of a solitary supper. Kreacher was disappearing through the door to the hall, looking back at him malevolently as he hitched up his loincloth; Sirius was hurrying toward him, looking anxious. He was unshaven and still in his day clothes; there was also a slightly Mundungus-like whiff of stale drink about him.

"Do you-" he began before swallowing harshly, "is he here?" Harry asked.

Sirius nodded grimly. "Just got in right before you."

Harry felt relieved, but the guilt quickly overtook it.

"I've got a general idea," Sirius said, looking at him in the eye, "but I'd rather hear what happened properly from you. If that's okay."

Right away, Harry told him what happened. Every detail of the vision he had had, including the fact that he himself had been the snake who had attacked Johnny.

When he paused for breath, Sirius said, "Did you tell Dumbledore this?"

"Yes," Harry said impatiently, "but he didn't tell me what it meant. Well, he doesn't tell me anything anymore, but he admitted that he didn't fully know himself."

"I'm sure he would have told you if it was anything to worry about," Sirius said steadily, though his worried expression betrayed the words.

"But that's not all," Harry said in a voice only a little above a whisper. "Sirius, I... I think I'm going mad. Back in Dumbledore's office, just before we took the Portkey... for a couple of seconds there I thought I was a snake, I felt like one - my scar really hurt when I was looking at Dumbledore - Sirius, I wanted to attack him."

"It must have been the aftermath of the vision, that's all," Sirius said. "You were still thinking of the dream or whatever it was and -"

"It wasn't that," Harry said, shaking his head. "It was like something rose up inside me, like there's a snake inside me -"

Sirius grabbed his shoulders firmly. "Listen to me, Harry. You are you. I don't know why you're feeling this way, I wish I did so I could help, but you are not a snake, you did not attack Johnny. Do you understand? It's okay, everything is okay."

Harry nodded numbly, not fully believing him.

"You're in shock, Harry; you're blaming yourself for something you only witnessed." Sirius said. "In a few days, the Weasley's will be here, and Johnny will likely be back on his feet." A shaky smile was on his face. "We can have our first Christmas together, Harry, hold onto that."

He'd try, but as Sirius returned to Johnny's room, and left him with some premade food and a butterbeer, the rage he felt at Dumbledore still burned painfully inside his scar.

What was happening to him?