Author's Note: Updated as of January 2020. Thank you SammyBlueGA for reading and helping to fix this!


Chapter 10 ~ New Barriers

"While I thought that I was learning how to live, I have been learning how to die."
Leonardo da Vinci


The clock ticked.

Harry Potter paced.

The clock ticked again.

Harry clenched his fist around thin air, squeezing the life out of some unseen adversary within the quiet of the hospital wing. The silence was only broken by Kaylens' tranquil breaths, her chest rising and falling, a light breeze fluttering the curtains.

And that clock continued to tick. It was maddening.

He'd been cooped up for days, healing himself from his own injuries, and had been forced to watch Kaylens grow ever stiller. Every time he looked at her guilt rose up, hot and fiery. His stomach churned, a feeling he couldn't name consuming his every waking thought, and all he could do was pace.

Four days later Kaylens was still unconscious, and he was powerless to do a damn thing for her.

He hated it.

She had saved him. He'd ripped out a literal chunk of her hair and she'd saved him anyway. He wasn't dumb; he'd been getting healed in the bed right next to her and had heard everything. She'd nearly died.

And now she lay in this comatose state, and even Madam Pomfrey couldn't rouse her. The mediwitch had given him a sympathetic look and assured him that it would just 'take time.'

He was sick of waiting.

Harry stopped pacing near the window and his eyes shifted to her. Her skin still held a sickly gray pallor, like a recently deceased corpse, but today it seemed just a bit rosier. But hell, perhaps it was his own wishful thinking. After all, if she didn't die then he didn't have anything to feel guilty about.

He dragged his eyes away from her to stare out the window. He wasn't allowed to leave, not yet, and even if he had been he wasn't sure he would. Not only did he have a hole in his shoulder, but even he could admit that his head was fucked up. There was a hole, deep and dark in him, and it had been opening up wider for months. If he were honest with himself it'd started the second he'd seen Cedric's lifeless eyes staring like a glassy doll, and only grew when he'd seen the veil flicker, Sirius' face disappearing as it swallowed his godfather whole.

Four people had died because of him. It didn't matter what anyone said, it didn't matter that he hadn't wanted any of it to happen, and it didn't matter that he hadn't done it himself; what mattered was the solid, firm fact that if he'd never existed then his mother, father, Cedric and Sirius would not be dead.

And now Kaylens had nearly died, and it'd shaken him more than he wanted to admit. It was strange as fuck, given he'd thought she was a potential Death Eater until that very last second.

Harry wasn't doing well, and he could admit it, so he dropped both hands onto the windowsill, leaning on it, and closed his eyes. Then he began the arduous task of sorting through the events of the past few days.

Everyone was still dead. There was nothing he could do about that, but at least Bellatrix Lestrange was dead too. The thing was, the vindication, the satisfaction, and everything he had expected to feel were conspicuously absent.

Bellatrix Lestrange was dead. He should be happy, yet instead he felt hollow and empty, almost robbed.

Why?

The answer was obvious: Tonks had beaten him to the kill. She had killed the one bloody person he'd wanted dead even more than Voldemort. Sirius has disappeared, the shifting veil swallowing him whole, and Bellatrix had laughed.

He'd wanted to kill her even then. He'd wanted to cause her pain, insurmountable pain that would drive her mad, and now he would never get the chance. He'd never avenge Sirius, because Tonks already had.

What made it worse was that Lestrange's body was gone. He had wanted to see it, so he could spit right in her ugly face, then possibly set her on fire. He wasn't entirely cruel though. He wouldn't leave Narcissa Malfoy without a body; he'd have taken a piss to put out the flames eventually. He just would have waited till every last centimeter of Lestrange's mad face was nice and crispy.

But he couldn't because Death Eaters had salvaged the body. That bothered him. Hell, it gnawed at the back of his mind and giant warning flares were sent up. Something wasn't right. But there was no coming back from the killing curse, so why the hell was he worried?

Harry lifted his head, hair a mess, and stared vacantly out the third floor window. Autumn was on the air and a crisp breeze blew in, brushing across his bare chest. It caressed his wound and sent his body shuddering, the air against his open, still healing werewolf wound almost burning.

He'd thrown his shirt somewhere, discarding it haphazardly on Madam Pomfrey's orders. She'd wanted the wound exposed to the air, the shoulder gauze removed, and now claw marks indented his skin. It was so raw and deep he could see the fleshy striations in the muscles, the scar sure to be fucking grand.

But it was necessary. Madam Pomfrey had insisted. If he was to be released soon then she needed to ascertain that it would hold up on its own once he 'got back out and started doing inadvisable things, like flying on a broom.'

His fractured scapula had at least been mended quickly, but the claw marks…

Well werewolf wounds were slow to heal. He'd been told that he'd been fortunate to not be bit.

It hadn't made any sense until Dumbledore came to visit, the Headmaster sitting down, his weathered eyes boring into his as the old wizard recounted the events in full. There'd been an attack in Ireland, aimed at Irish diplomats. It had been meant as part of a carefully coordinated first strike to instigate a war between Muggle nations. While the Order had not succeeded in stopping it, they had succeeded in removing all of the planted evidence that would implicate France and Germany before tensions between those European nations could rise.

Dumbledore had disclosed that he suspected this would not be their last attempt to instigate war. He also feared that there was more to it than just finding a way to 'Muggles eliminate themselves, doing Voldemort's work for him.' He feared it was meant to be a smokescreen, to distract both Muggle and magical authorities from some other far more insidious plot.

The prospect of Voldemort having something worse up his sleeve was terrifying.

There was one other thing they'd learned: not only was Voldemort experimenting with other magical species in an attempt to gain their powers for his own, but he was experimenting with other types of magic, like experimental spells.

And then Dumbledore had looked towards Kaylens' bed with an inscrutable expression, before turning back to him. "I fear Harry I have done both you and Ms. Kaylens a disservice. Rather than explaining that there are reasons for why I cannot explain her situation to you upfront, I should have at least assured you that she poses no threat." He paused almost sadly. "I often forget all that you have been through, Harry, for you bear the burden well. But trusting others…it is not something you do easily, and I suspect had I been just that much more forthcoming that my office may have been spared its redecorating."

It'd been a punch to the gut. Dumbledore had been protecting Kaylens' privacy, so hadn't offered any explanatory word.

He wanted to not believe him. He wanted to hang on to all his suspicions and all the evidence that had been right in front of him.

But in the end he couldn't, and he felt sick.

Dumbledore had parted with a final warning: "The war is coming, Harry. Take heed."

He would.

He had seen what happened to Lupin first hand. Death Eaters had spells that could transform werewolves into raging wolves in the middle of the day. If they had more like that for other things? Well…

Then the light was well and truly fucked, now weren't they?

His claw marks erupted in a swift and short burst of pain, Harry grunting unpleasantly. He grabbed at his shoulder without even thinking about it, half wondering if it'd torn back open, and he gingerly probed the wound with a hiss.

His fingers came back a bloodied mess; so much for the art of air-accelerated healing.

It was doubtful he'd get to leave soon.

"That's disgusting."

He froze, turning from the window. He stared, taking her in as she blinked the sleep from her eyes, squinting in the morning sunlight.

"You're awake," he said, slightly stunned. He had begun to wonder if she ever would.

She smiled weakly. "You're observant."

"You were out for five days."

She paled considerably.

He was slow to recover, and debated getting Madam Pomfrey. His muscles tensed, flexing as he went to go and do just that, only-

He stopped himself. One hand still gripped the windowsill, his body half-twisted towards her as he debated what to do. But Pomfrey would be back soon. She said she'd back shortly to check on how his own wounds were holding up. She could find Kaylens awake then. Besides, he didn't want to leave Kaylens alone for even a second. If something happened to her…if she slipped into unconsciousness again…

So Harry stood there, every line of his face sloped into tense lines, and looked at her. He really looked at her, to see if she was alright, to see if she'd been broken and couldn't be fixed, because he couldn't be responsible for another person being hurt. Not because of him. Not again.

Strangely Kaylens appeared to be studying him right back, sheer exhaustion in her eyes.

He swallowed thickly, a lump in his throat, but managed a rough smile.

It probably looked like a clown killer's face, but she smiled faintly back anyway, and that cold ball of lead in his stomach lightened.

Ultimately she looked away first, wetting her lips and blinking a lot, as if her eyes and mouth were badly dry.

And then those eyes of hers flickered back up, something concerned in them. "How is it?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

He frowned, momentarily confused until he followed her gaze. The fingertips of his free hand were still coated in sticky blood. He'd nearly forgotten.

"Painful," he replied truthfully. "You?"

"Like hell," she murmured.

"You look it."

She graced him with a wry smile, a lock of hair falling into her eyes. Her nose wrinkled, the witch looking almost annoyed.

And then she reached up to brush the lock aside, and several things happened at once. She winced, visibly. She instinctively slowed down her movements, as if too sore to move any faster. But the movement also sent the long sleeves of the oversized shirt she wore slipping down her wrist, revealing her deathly pale skin.

There was a dark bruise encircling it in the exact shape of a hand.

Harry moved without even thinking about it. He crossed to her, catching her wrist gently, and then he looked. He could see the fingers on the underside of her wrist, the marks the exact same size and shape of his, and he knew without a doubt what it was from. He had grabbed her, throwing her behind him and down the stairs, all to keep her out of the way of the wolf. He'd known throwing her down the stairwell would hurt, but…

He hadn't known he'd hurt her like this.

Kaylens had peered up, her hazel eyes narrowed in confusion, but that knot was back in his stomach. "You bruise easily don't you?" he asked, cautiously turning her hand in his. It was so delicate he was afraid it would break more than it already had from the fall. Pomfrey had healed it in a few places once. He wasn't eager to undo that work.

Kaylens gaze traveled to where his fingers lay, barely caressing her skin.

"Apparently." Her voice was faint.

The feel of her skin under his was having a bad effect on his stomach.

He let go, and she let her hand fall back on her pillow, besides her face.

"Pomfrey said she had taken care of this," he said. "Your bones may not have healed properly."

Still laying on her side, her bruised and battered hand centimeters from her nose, she flexed it back and forth, grimacing only slightly. "It's fine."

"Right," he said, not believing a word.

She glanced up at him, that faint smile he'd never seen back. "Honestly, it'll be fine."

He wanted to argue that, but didn't. He gave her a tight lipped smile of his own, then withdrew to the bed across from her and sat on the edge, bunching up the sheets that Dobby had pulled taut with military precision. The house elf had been in and out constantly, from the moment he'd gotten word that Harry Potter had gotten 'hurt'.

His stomach twisted for a whole new reason. He really appreciated Dobby.

Kaylens studied him for only a little while, and he shamelessly studied her right back. Eventually he watched her eyes flicker shut, as if too tired to keep them open.

A stab of panic shot through him, as if she wouldn't wake.

Harry took a deep breath and broke the silence. "Tonks stopped by earlier," he said. "She said Lupin sends his love."

Her eyes opened, hopeful and hesitant, and relief filled him. "So he's..."

"Yeah," he finished, already knowing what she was going to say.

She didn't move, but somehow she seemed to sink further into the mattress. "Thank god."

Silence fell, and she lay there so still for so long he would have sworn she slept. It was part fear that drove him to the admission.

"You saved my life," he said quietly.

She murmured a sound, sleepy and pleasant, as if being awoken when half-asleep. She stretched ever so slightly, the sheets sliding away to reveal her bare toes. Her face relaxed, almost serenely as she finally peered at him, admitting, "You saved mine first."

He wanted to argue, but lacked the heart, watching how her eyes broke from his, dancing away.

"That fall down the stairs you took... I probably wouldn't have held up."

Looking at how fragile she seemed, he knew she was right.

It was then that Pomfrey walked in.

He tore his eyes from her, and allowed Pomfrey to fuss over the enigma that was Kaylens.


ECOTS


Several days later he had been prepped to leave. His left arm hung loose in a sling, preventing unnecessary movement. Lupin's claws had torn into him just beneath his shoulder blade, right where several muscles came together. Apparently re-growing muscles was as tricky as re-growing bones.

He still needed to talk to Kaylens, but she slept. They hadn't shared a single word since she'd first woken up, the two content to sit there in silence. He was debating whether or not to break that silence when a frustrated looking Ron had walked in.

Looking at Ron, he realized there were other things that had to be taken care of first.

He'd been dreading this conversation for days. Ron and Hermione would want answers. Answers about his absence, answers about what had occurred in Dumbledore's office, and answers about Voldemort's intrusions into his mind.

Answers he couldn't give. There was no way to explain that it was all up to him, that every delay was his fault because he was the only one who could kill Voldemort, and that they both weren't getting out of this alive. Not without revealing the contents of the prophecy. He couldn't do it.

And how could he explain what had gone on at Sirius', without revealing all he had seen? How could he explain why Hermione's parents had been taken from her? They would never accept 'because of me' as an answer.

He threw a last glance at Kaylens' sleeping form. They would talk later. He promised himself that. He and Ron stepped into the hall. It was mercifully vacant, making the stone-lined corridor appear longer than usual.

It had been over a week since he and Kaylens had disappeared from the Headmaster's office, and one of the last warm weekends of the year had driven the student body outside.

As for him, during that time, Voldemort had left his mind alone. He had felt the beginnings of an intrusion days earlier, but Riddle had withdrawn, sensing that his decision had not yet been made.

Riddle had given him more time due to his injury, and for that Harry had to give him credit.

As evil as Voldemort was, the creature had some class. In fact, it was almost disturbing.

They walked in silence, Ron's eyes darting towards him. He knew Ron was trying to decide what was safe to say without setting him off. Harry decided to spare him the awkwardness.

"How's Hermione?"

Ron shrugged. "A Muggle killer has her parents. How do you think she's doing?"

Right. That had been a dumb question. "Not good," he acknowledged. The absence of people made the corridor cavernous and his breath, nervous and tense, echoed quietly.

"Mate, what the hell is going on?"

There it was.

Harry closed his eyes and contemplated faking an injury to get back to Pomfrey. His own frustration at this very question had been building inside for days. Dumbledore had told him some, but there was a hell of a lot he didn't know. And from the comforting sound of shit, neither did Dumbledore.

The phrase 'sinking ship' sprung to mind.

And there was still the question of Kaylens. Dumbledore had all but guaranteed she wasn't an enemy, but he still didn't know how she fit into all of this. Did she even? Fuck. The idea that she'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time every time…

Ron cleared his throat, and Harry's attention snapped back. There were more important things right now.

They walked the rest of the way in silence.

Hermione was there, waiting for them in the empty dormitory, sprawled out with a book on Ron's bed. Her eyes were rimmed with dark circles, her normally tan face pale, her hair frizzier than normal.

Her head shot up at the door, his best friend blinking several times as if slow to comprehend what she was seeing.

"Harry," she said, looking like she wanted to say more. But she didn't. She just clutched her book tight between her hands like a security blanket.

He smiled for her benefit. "Hey Hermione."

There was a pause, like a delay in processing, and then, "They wouldn't let us see you."

"I know."

Ron stalked into the room and dropped onto the bed beside Hermione, any trace of their usual ire towards each other gone. "Why the hell now?" Ron asked. "They always let us see you before." He paused, then scowled. "Did Kaylens-"

Harry shook his head no, quickly. "No. No she-she actually got hurt." He wet his lips, heart thumping with nerve. "She just woke up."

Ron frowned and Hermione sniffed. "So why then?" Ron asked.

Harry dropped his bag onto the bed and began removing the few belongings Pomfrey had brought down for him. "Dumbledore's orders." His eyes would not meet theirs.

His best mate was undeterred. "His reason?"

Harry figured the real answer, 'so he could have time to brief us on what we could or could not say to you' probably wouldn't cut it. He released a long breath, staring numbly at his bedsheets. "He didn't want us seen. We weren't in..." He shrugged with one shoulder. "No one should have seen us after it, alright?"

Hermione's eyes roamed, landing on his sling.

He caught the unspoken question and smiled grimly. "Werewolf wounds are a bitch."

They both looked at him as if he were a new species.

Strangely Ron recovered first. "Bloody hell, mate, were you-"

"No," he said quickly, and fought down a wave of irritation. He still remembered Ron and Hermione's reactions to Lupin. It remained the one occasion he'd seen Hermione hold something against another person when she'd shouted that he couldn't be trusted, because he was a werewolf. "No Ron, I didn't get bit." He paused, an image of Kaylens sleeping in that bed, pale and bruised. "Neither of us did."

Hermione had actually looked up, a spark of life entering her rather dull eyes. "Harry, a werewolf couldn't have attacked you. That's utterly impossible."

"Oh yeah," he said forcefully, "why?"

She actually cringed, but sucked in a breath and fixed him with that familiar 'knowing' look. Like he was a toddler trying to stick a fork in an electric outlet. "Because," she said, "the full moon isn't until-"

He snorted, and the sound was unfairly derisive. "This weekend? Yeah, try something I don't already know Hermione."

A small furrow formed between her eyes. "Then you know a werewolf couldn't have transformed, Harry. They can't change out of lunar sequence-"

"Don't be so sure of that," he said bitterly.

"But Harry they're linked-"

He stopped her dead in her tracks. "Yeah, used to be. Then Voldemort started playing with experimental charms and now they're not."

Had he hauled off and slapped her, her expression wouldn't have been much different. Her brown eyes went wide, looking oddly terrified in her dark sockets.

Ron, however, was the one to sum it up.

"Well fuck."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "Reckon that sums it up."

"So when you and Kaylens went to see Lupin…"

"Yeah."

"Fuck," he muttered, unconsciously dropping a hand onto Hermione's back and rubbing it. Hermione actually jerked, looking at Ron as if startled, but the Keeper didn't seem to notice.

Hermione shifted her attention back to him, shoving her book away, its pages flapping lifelessly as it fell to the floor. She spared it not a glance. "Did Dumbledore-"

At this stage in their friendship he could practically predict the line of logical things her mind would go through, before accepting that he was right. "Dumbledore was there, so yeah, believe me, he's aware."

Ron's blue eyes had widened, his freckles standing out against his paling skin, putting two and two together. "So what happened?"

Harry opened his mouth, wanting to tell them. He did, but then everything that he'd decided before all of this shit had happened came flooding back.

Being around him was going to get them killed; it'd already gotten four others directly, and who knew how many indirectly. So he snapped it shut, meeting his best friend's eyes and stating the bare minimum. "Lupin took a hex from Lucius Malfoy. He had this bruise on his chest that started spreading and then he turned." He grimaced like a grim sort of clown. "Then he did what wolves do."

Hermione paled considerably.

He wanted to tell them more. He did. He wanted to tell them how Voldemort had invaded his mind, repeatedly all school year. He wanted to tell them how that snake was dangling Hermione's parents like bait on a hook in front of him in exchange for the prophecy.

Voldemort had infiltrated his mind, claimed that if he gave up the prophecy that her parents would live.

But Harry knew better.

He knew much better.

So instead he said nothing, guilt welling in his stomach. Then he turned to his dresser drawer to put clothing away. His actions, however menial, lent a sense of normality to the otherwise ominous conversation.

He'd never lied to them before, not directly or by omission. He hated this.

He also needed them to distance themselves.

Maybe this was how.

He made his decision.

He closed his eyes, clenching his fingers around a pair of jeans. "Riddle's been invading my dreams, 'Mione. He claimed if I told him the contents of the prophecy he'd release your parents."

Her intake of breath was loud and predicted. He steeled himself for what came next and glanced back, seeing how her expression drooped. "But the prophecy broke. How could you possibly? It-it broke." She sounded uncharacteristically uncertain, and Harry was damn aware that was the grief talking.

He could hardly blame her. Hermione was logical to a fault, and if she couldn't logic out a way to save her parents it would be torturous.

Harry met her gaze and didn't blink. "Yeah Hermione, it broke, but I still know what it said."

The silence that followed occupied years within his mind, yet it lasted no more than 3 seconds.

"What did it say?" she questioned cautiously.

He remained silent, until her voice broke again. "Harry?"

"Hermione," he said, throat oddly tight, "I can't." Her crestfallen look was like an ice pick to the chest. "I just can't."

Hermione's mouth opened and closed wordlessly. Ron just looked dumbfounded. "Why the hell not?"

His eyebrows shot straight and he wondered how someone so good at strategy could be so dense. "Seriously?"

"Hell yes I'm serious." Ron sat up straighter on the bed and leaned forward. "Harry this is all we've been working for! Did it say how we can beat him? Did it-"

He swallowed hard. "No, Ron."

His best mate looked confused. "Then what did it-"

"I said no."

Seconds passed, Hermione looking down at the bedsheets and pulling at her fingers. Ron just stared at him with an oddly calculating look, and when he spoke his voice was hard. "Alright," he said, sounding like it was not alright at all, "then if you won't tell us tell Dumbledore. Maybe you could tell Riddle. Maybe it wouldn't hurt anything. It could save 'Mione's family. If you get him to swear an unbreakable vow or-"

The snort of derision that shot out of his nose was almost too much, even for him. "Do you hear yourself?" he asked, honestly curious. "That's not going to work Ron. I tell him then there's no reason to keep the Grangers alive anymore. It's our biggest bargaining chip."

"Yeah," Ron said, looking grim. "So use it. Bargain. You don't even have to tell him the right prophecy you could-you could make one up like in divination, or-"

Once again Harry flat out snorted. At least this time Ron looked mildly abashed.

Hermione closed her eyes and seemed to be doing deep breathing exercises. "Harry's right, Ron. They're Muggles. If he has what he wants, he'll-" her voice nearly broke. "He'll kill them."

Hermione sounded so small right then that he wanted to find Voldemort there, if only so he could shove his fist down his throat and yank out his intestines that way.

Ron's expression had grown darker, shadowed. "Harry let us help you. I got it, you're not telling us or him the prophecy but what if we-"

"There's no we, Ron." His throat constricted and his chest tightened. "There can't be. Not anymore."

Gryffindor's star Keeper's brows furrowed deep over his eyes. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Hermione shifted on the bed, wiping at her eyes with the backs of her hands and trying to be sneaky about it, as if he wouldn't notice. "Harry please, we can help. We can-"

Harry lost his patience. "Like you both did in the Department of Mysteries?" Of all those that had gone with him, they'd gone down first. Ron had been lost to brains and Hermione to an unknown purple hex. Luna, Neville and Ginny had been the only ones left standing with him in the end.

Ron stared him coldly down. "That's low mate."

"Yeah," he admitted, "but true." He looked between them both and steeled himself. "Don't you guys get it, yet? This is Voldemort we're talking about. This isn't some war game were playing against the Slytherins. This is real life. You mess up, you die, and Voldemort is eviler that either of you can even-"

"Really?" Ron countered. "We were there with you, Harry! We saw what he was capable of at the Ministry!"

Harry shook his head, never more serious. "No Ron, you didn't. You saw what Death Eaters are capable of, but that's nothing compared to him."

"Then tell us! Tell us how-" Hermione started miserably, but he cut across her.

"Because Hermione!" he burst, voice growing louder. "I don't want your help anymore, alright? You've already nearly gotten yourself killed for me more than once, so I don't want it!"

Ron was on his feet, staring in bitter silence for a good thirty seconds, and then…

"There's no need to yell at her mate," he said coolly.

Harry gaped. "I'm just trying to keep you both safe." He was having trouble keeping his voice level. "After everything we've been through you'd think you'd get that!"

Hermione just stared at him with upset eyes. "Don't do this, Harry."

He hated this, he truly did. "Hermione please just…just trust my bloody judgment on this will you?"

"Yeah," Ron scoffed, "because your judgement calls got Sirius pretty far didn't they?"

The words hit him harder than he'd thought possible. Harry felt as if his insides had frozen, his stomach clenching into a dozen horrible configurations, each one more ghastly than the last. That's what they thought of him: that he made bad decisions. That he'd gotten Sirius killed. But the hell of it was…

They were right. There was no arguing it. If he'd just trusted Snape or hell, even waited for Snape to get back. If he'd checked his two-way mirror to talk to Sirius instead of just barreling off half-cocked. If he'd gotten ahold of Mr. Weasley to check the Ministry. If he'd done literally anything different then Sirius would still be alive.

Sirius was dead and it was his fault.

He let that thought settle in. He swam around in it. He let the self-loathing infiltrate his every cell.

Ron decided to help. "Seriously mate, if you'd bloody well listened to Hermione it wouldn't have happened. And now you want to shove us off like we haven't bloody well been there for you every step of the way? Do you think that was easy?"

Hermione had begun tugging on his hand frantically. "Ron, don't."

"No, Hermione, he needs to hear this," he said, shaking her off. "Because it's like he doesn't even trust us-"

"I do trust you!"

Ron's eyebrows raised so far they disappeared beneath his hair. "Really? Then why did you hardly breathe a word to us all summer? Why won't you talk to us now?"

"I am talking."

"No, you're deflecting, Harry. Like in chess." Ron pointed his wand out the door, summoning the chess board from the common room. Levitating it, Ron cleared the board save for the pawns, king, and queen of both sides, his brow furrowed in concentration. He then moved the pawns so they protectively surrounded the white king and queen on one side, leaving the black king and queen unprotected.

"The way I see it Harry, all you have left are pawns." Ron gestured to the protected side of the board. "So instead of risking everything to take my king, you're so busy protecting your key players, scared something will happen to them that you're not willing to actually trust people to help you. Funny thing about that. All you're doing is literally blocking those who could help you and making it so they can't, while your opposition…" Ron gave an order and the black queen shot forward, taking the pawn on the white king's far side out with a violent whack of her chair.

She then stood, posed to take his king on the next move, while the only player capable of taking her out – the white queen – was too far away and blocked by pawns to help.

"The king represents everything you're fucking up, Harry," he continued seriously. "And when your king gets taken because you were too cautious…"

The chess board folded in on itself, slamming to the floor.

The sound of the metaphorical wall falling between them filled his mind, and Ron spoke again.

"Game over Harry. Only you're the only one who knows what game were playing."

Harry felt sick. He got it, he did, but risking them wasn't something he was willing to do. Harry was different than them. They didn't have the same responsibility he did, and he hoped they never would.

"That's all fine and good, Ron," he said evenly, "but until Voldemort makes a hobby out of exterminating anyone you're even remotely close to don't think you can really talk about what I should and shouldn't risk." He looked between him and Hermione, his jaw set, locked into a hard expression. "Because I won't. Alright?"

And he wouldn't. Ron and Hermione could never share his burden, no matter how much they wanted to.

Hermione shook her head almost violently. "Harry please. Let us help. Just talk to us about it. Maybe we can strategize-"

He didn't wait for her to finish; he just walked out of the room and didn't look back.

Now he just needed to figure out how to defeat a dark lord without help.


ECOTS


Harry tromped through the corridor, feeling worse than he had thought possible. He preferred feeling numb, at least then he felt nothing at all. He could still hear Hermione shouting after him, but he couldn't let her help. Not this time. He wasn't going to fill Ron and Hermione's heads with anything that might make them more tempting targets than they already were.

No longer would they be privy to Harry Potter's bad decisions. They wouldn't end up like Sirius.

He knew exactly where he was going, and rounded the corner to the hospital wing. His foul mood only increased when Madam Pomfrey stuck out her head, a forced smile plastered upon it, and asked him to wait.

The door slammed and the sound of argument resumed, and Dumbledore's voice caught his attention like a two by four to the face.

What the fuck was the Headmaster doing in the hospital wing? It wasn't exactly the man's habit, and he would know. Harry'd been there too many times to count, yet he could count Dumbledore's visits there on one hand.

A disturbing thought struck him: what if Kaylens had gotten worse?

Harry didn't think about what he was doing. He just pressed his ear to the door and cast a quick noise enhancing charm, his stomach in a tight damn knot. Kaylens was alright; she had to be.

Madam Pomfrey's reproving tone came out clearly. "...cells need to regenerate before you can even attempt to perform magic again."

There was a vexed sound that was obviously Kaylens, and a twisting wave of relief washed through him. And to think, normally he had trouble resisting the urge to mute her...

Dumbledore spoke now. "Miss Kaylens, I trust you understand the severity of the situation? I don't think Remus would want you over-exerting-"

"He should have told me sooner," she said, voice soft and swift. "One of you should have told me. But you didn't, so I'm not particularly concerned with what he or any of you think at the moment."

The silence was palpable, and his chest twisted sickeningly. There was something in Kaylens' voice, an edge that sent warnings up in the back of his mind. He should stop listening; he should. She was awake and talking, so he'd already confirmed that she was clearly alright. But the thing was…

He didn't.

Something about her tone, about Dumbledore's tone made him shift against the door, keeping his ear pressed tight against it. The Headmaster might be trying to fix things with him, but Harry's faith in the man was still recovering. It had been shattered too skillfully the previous year. And at the end of the day….

Harry didn't trust him. So at the end of the day, if Dumbledore sounded like he was doing something shady then every instinct Harry had to revolt, to investigate reared up, just like they were doing now.

"My dear girl, I am afraid we rather thought that you had enough to worry about, without burdening you with this as well."

It was so eerily similar to words uttered to him the preceding term that he nearly vomited. The corridor was cold and empty, his stomach oddly hollow.

And then Kaylens voice cut through the hospital wing door like a knife to a vein. "Considering I'm the one you can't cure," she practically whispered, "don't you think that should have been my choice?"

His stomach lurched.

"Kalliandra, looking at it as a death sentence will not help matters."

Her voice was strained. "I read about the odds. I'm not stupid."

"The odds," Dumbledore filled in, voice wise and calm, "are only as good as you make them. The human tendency to catastrophize-"

"That's not what I'm doing!"

"-is precisely why we did not want to burden you with this until you were more settled in."

"I'd prefer the burden," she hissed, her voice stronger. "Now is there anything else you're keeping from me? Perhaps my mum and dad are still alive? Maybe my brother? Maybe it was all some twisted joke? Or maybe my sort's prone to spontaneous combustion and I'll just catch fire any minute now and crumple to ash?" Her voice was strained and accusatory. "Because really, I'd like to know before I read about it in some stupid book I nicked from Knockturn."

Silence.

"I thought so."

Cure. Cure. The word echoed around inside his head. Harry's entire body shook unsteadily and he didn't even notice, so much so that the approaching footsteps did not register until the door had swung open in front of him, revealing a pale looking Kalliandra.

He nearly fell in on top of her, stumbling and catching himself. Barely.

And then he stared, words abandoning him as her eyes locked onto him, understanding glittering in her stunned expression.

"Potter?"

There was something broken and upset and hurt in her voice. Her garment bag slipped down her shoulder, her entire form quivering as she stared, just stared, and he knew instantly that she knew he'd been listening in.

"Kaylens," he choked. "I-"

She never heard him.

A second later she was gone, the glistening of her eyes the harshest reproach he had ever seen.


ECOTS


Everything felt undeniably numb.

Kally shoved open the entrance doors and barreled out onto the rapidly cooling grounds, her feet smacking against damp grass and dried leaves. A knot had pulled in her stomach, her nose burned, and she just wanted to get away from all of them as fast as she could.

How could she have been so unfathomably stupid?

"Damn't Potter!" she swore quietly.

The problem was her whisper came out almost choked, as if an invisible hand were strangling her. Her throat was tight, her eyes burning, hurting, and she just wanted it to stop.

And then there was the shaking. Kally was shaking and she wasn't sure why. The words resonated over and over again in her head, the witch who wasn't a sodding witch so, so, so aware that she was on borrowed time. She knew she was sick. She knew she was unwell. She didn't feel alright, okay, or any synonym that might imply she was.

No. She wasn't okay. She was far from it.

So Kally ran outside and her traitorous body trembled against her will, like a leaf in the wind.

The book she'd gotten from Borgins and Burkes had warned her. She shouldn't react like this. Even though the adults hadn't told her, she had already known.

People like her didn't live for very long. They never did. She shouldn't be surprised when they finally talked to her about odds and things she should or shouldn't do if she wanted to stay alive. What did it matter anyway? It wasn't like she had anyone left. They were all dead, just like she'd be.

She wanted to find those people that had done this to her family, to her, and kill them. She sodding did.

A breeze blew past, the crisp air scented like leaves and sending her hair scattering around her face. She ducked her head low and moved past it, her stomach so tight she felt physically sick.

It wasn't just Dumbledore and Remus and Hagrid though. It wasn't just that they'd kept things from her, leaving her to read all about how beings like her died sodding young in a book. No. That wasn't it at all. It was Potter.

The past few days….Merlin they'd been nice. They may have been laid up but it'd been in companionable silence and she'd liked it. She honestly had liked Potter's company. They hadn't even talked after that first time, but the wizard was annoyingly expressive without saying a single, solitary word, throwing her little smirks whenever Pomfrey fussed and making a mime of strangling himself with the bedsheets whenever the mediwitch threatened to keep him there longer.

Kally had enjoyed it, and these days she didn't enjoy much of anything.

She and Potter needed to talk; she knew that. He hadn't pressed her though. Not once. Not the entire time.

And then she'd found him standing outside that hospital wing door with his ear pressed against it.

It hurt.

Sodding hell but it actually hurt.

She kicked the ground, scattering dirt in her wake. Overhead the clouds hung low, the sky rumbling ominously. There were dark storm clouds rolling slowly in over the Scottish countryside, and as other students began picking up their things and making a break for the castle, she didn't.

She'd come out here, outside, specifically for this. Ever since this thing had started, this strange and horrible thing, there'd been a feeling coursing through her, one she couldn't stop even if she wanted to. It was like a low level of tingling, as if static electricity were tickling her very skin, and it had been so, so hard to ignore.

The truth was she didn't want to ignore it. It felt too good.

Being outside when it thundered, stormed increased the intensity. And right now, even though she knew that this thing inside her would inevitably kill her, she wanted to sit outside and not think for a little while, so she could allow herself to simply feel.

The looming clouds pulsated with unstable vibrations, their rhythmic throbbing pulsating within her very blood, and her hair stood on end as if one had just run a balloon through her hair. The storm front rolled in with unstoppable force above her, and the more astute of her peers began to run before it really began to rain. The area surrounding the lake had been the first to get abandoned, and Kally's feet led her there.

She wanted the seclusion.

Potter had been eavesdropping. He'd saved her life, and then he'd eavesdropped.

She didn't understand and wasn't certain she wanted to.

Kally's mind churned, her thin form shivering as she began picking her way down the embankment. She was sore. Her muscles were so unbelievably sore and all she'd done was magic. Once Potter had left the Healer's words had made everything so much more real. She may have read about it in Borgin's book, about what would inevitably happen to her, but somehow hearing it straight from Madame Pomfrey had been entirely different.

It was one thing to read a report that said you were going to die; it was another to have the physician actually tell you that.

Any tiny, miniscule amount of hope left burning within her had extinguished like a flame being snuffed.

She'd already nearly died from her stunt with the werewolf.

Maybe death wouldn't be so bad. She just had things to do before it found her.

When it happened, eventually, she'd see her family again. And Kally, despite every single cell in her screaming that she wanted to live, wanted to see them. She wanted to see them so desperately that nearly every waking moment hurt if she thought of them, so most of the time she simply didn't.

The vibrations high in the sky were back, and she cringed at the electricity. Being a part of such things, feeling such things, was not always pleasant.

It was often painful.

But Merlin…for some reason she actually liked it. Kally rubbed her arms against the chill wind, thankful that universe, god, genetics, evolution, whatever it was had at least some sense of pity. The human brain could only register pain as abnormal for so long, before it accepted it as the constant state of affairs. Then it would just be ignored, usually to the person's detriment. Pain was there for a purpose, to protect you. But chronic and constant pain? It was always there, but also similar to how the fragrant scent of roses would lessen, if one were to stand amongst them, breathing them in for too long.

Still, acclimation could only do so much, and her body ached, protesting constantly.

But that strange tingling traversing its way across her skin? That felt good. So, so good.

Kally had crept down the first embankment, now walking the circumference of the lake, observing it carefully. She took it all in with her normal perceptiveness. There were spots where the grounds ended, dropping off sharply to meet the duckweed-covered surface of the water. In other spots the ground gradually sloped down, kissing the lake's rippling waves. There the dark earth was muddied, imprinted with the footprints of those who had braved the shallows to swim, before the weather had cooled in the wake of the incoming afternoon storm.

She passed by both these areas, heading closer to the Forbidden Forest. Here she kicked off her shoes, allowing them to dangle freely from one hand as she picked her way across the sand and dirt to the far end of the lake. Here small stones formed a natural beach, and she sat down near the edge, letting her fingers trail across the rough pebbled edges beneath her.

She accumulated a small collection of flat bottomed rocks, gathering them within her hands, and she cast the first across the serene water, breaking its glassy surface.

The giant squid lazily reached out a tentacle, swatting at and missing the cast stone.

She smiled ruefully, casting another towards him. This time the tentacle swung and connected, sending the stone flying high above her head.

A low rumble filled the sky, and the altocumulus clouds dipped threateningly lower, wafting the scent of rain upon the breeze towards her. The sky had grown much darker, and she vaguely remembered the afternoons she and Sean had once spent, skipping stones across the pond near their family home.

But there had been no giant squid to play with there.

She skipped another.

A fleshy pink tentacle connected with it, hurtling it back.

To the side of her came an unmistakable grunt.


ECOTS


Harry winced, rubbing his forehead. That was definitely going to leave a mark.

It had taken him all of thirty seconds to decide to follow her. The memory of her watery eyes had been alarming, and he couldn't let her leave like that, not when she didn't understand.

He cast a glare at the giant squid and approached where Kaylens sat cautiously, picking his way down the embankment and making damn sure he didn't slip on the slick rocks. He could imagine how that would go: piss off a witch and then land on his ass in front of her. Yeah, it'd go real well.

Harry treaded as close as he dared and then stopped, hovering uncertainly. Kaylens' shoulders had stiffened, and so far that was the only sign she was aware of his presence.

As far as he could tell, he might as well have been a piece of algae bumping up against the shoreline. There, but not worth noticing.

Harry swallowed hard. From where he stood beside her he could see the drawn line of her lips, how her eyes focused, almost longingly, across the dark surface of the lake. There was an intensity about her, an aura of anticipation, and Harry followed her gaze through the gray Scottish afternoon as he tried to figure out what the hell she was looking at.

He didn't see a damn thing.

And then the sky opened up, the rain drizzling down.

Hogwarts came to life. The Black Lake's once glossy surface moved with a life of its own, each raindrop colliding with the water and sending circular ripples flowing out. Ripples bumped into one another, creating strange patterns as they spread out across the inky black surface.

A tentacle with suckers waved, as if playing with the raindrops, several fish breaking the surface to jump.

The effect was entrancing.

With a hard breath Harry dragged his eyes away from the scene before him, to the girl besides him. She was why he had ventured out here, despite the threatening storm and the wet hair now matted to his head.

"Kaylens," he said, not sure where to start.

The witch just bit down hard on her lip, as if wanting to do anything but talk to him. He tried to say something else, but another rock of thunder shuddered the sky, drowning him out, and the giant squid disappeared abruptly beneath the lake's surface.

He swore for a brief second she looked disappointed. The witch studied the lake's surface for another minute, then let the pebbles she'd held in her hands slip out between her fingers, the rocks falling back to the ground.

Well, at least she hadn't thrown them at him.

His chest thudded unnaturally, the words he'd overheard outside the hospital wing making him sick. "What are you doing?" he asked carefully.

"Enjoying the sunshine." Her hair fluttered lightly around her face, some strands damp and others not. "I thought it would be obvious."

"It's not."

Silence reigned for some time, broken only by the increasing rhythm of rain, pattering around them. The water gradually matted his unruly hair to his forehead, and Kaylens' golden hair darkened with saturation.

She sat with a relaxed air, unbothered by the icy droplets pouring down. Slowly, with evident pain in her movements, she scooted closer to the lake's edge, dipping her feet into the churning water as casually as if it were a mid-summer day, rather than a windy October downpour.

Never once did she look at him.

Harry hated this. He'd hated her, or at least he thought he had, up to a few days ago. Then she'd just had to go and take on a werewolf. So, at a loss for anything better to do, he stood there awkward as fuck and tried to think of something to say.

Instead he just wound up looking at her.

Kaylens shoulders were bare, and her damp hair clung to them. He was close enough to notice the slight goosebumps prickling across her pale skin, the pallor disturbing. When he looked at her it was obvious she hadn't always been pale. It wasn't the kind of creamy color a normal person had. No. It was the kind of pale a tan person had when they were ill with the flu.

The witch shivered, closing her eyes, and the conversation he'd overheard brutally forced its way to the forefront of his mind.

Kaylens was sick.

He felt a stab of panic well up, and he didn't know why.

"Here," he said, shattering their verbal lapse. He picked his way across the pebbly decline to her, shrugging out of his cloak. He felt no awkwardness as he picked up her damp hair, draping it across her shoulders.

He did, however, feel a damn shock against his skin.

Every time he touched her.

Every. Single. Time.

She looked up, turning her questioning gaze towards him, her eyebrows creasing slightly. Those hazel eyes of hers were a bit wet, and Harry was at a loss. He doubted that dampness was from rain water alone.

He drug a hand across his wet head, grimacing. "You'll er...well you're getting soaked."

Her eyes held his, and for a fleeting second that suspicion he was so used to seeing reflected there vanished.

"Thank you," she murmured.

And then, to his surprise, she inclined her head to the spot besides her.

Little rivulets of rain water had already begun to run down the slope, tracing tiny ant-sized rivers between the colorful rocks. One ran directly underneath Kaylens shoe, and she didn't seem to notice.

Harry, for some reason, did.

He sat down and didn't speak. His heart pounded loudly in his chest, Harry feeling oddly like a first year sitting in McGonagall's office, waiting to be reprimanded for sneaking out after hours to take on a three headed dog. His luck might have lasted this far, but hell, even he wouldn't blame her if she started screaming at him.

For once he could admit that he kind of deserved it, so her silent acceptance of his presence was unnerving.

The sky thundered, lighting up as lightning flashed high in the clouds. It struck him as extremely unwise to be sitting there, so close to water.

"We should go in." His voice lacked conviction.

With the back of her wrist she rubbed the water from her eyes.

Several minutes passed, the rain waning somewhat. Now only large, fat droplets splattered intermittently, as if the storm could not decide when or how hard it wanted to hit.

But the thunder remained loud.

"Well?" Kaylens said. Above the rumbling sky he could tell she was speaking louder, though the difference was barely discernible.

"Well what?"

"I doubt you came here out of concern for my wellbeing," she said flatly, staring resolutely across the lake, the question implicit. He opened his mouth to explain that that was exactly why he had come, but she hurried on. "And since there are no conversations going on for you to listen to, I'm wondering what you're doing here."

It may have been his imagination, but her flat tone might have sounded hurt.

A flash of lightning illuminated her soaked features, and he found himself drawn towards her serene expression, confounded by her words.

Despite their content, her tone held no trace of the familiar sarcasm or malice. Instead she sounded curious.

The realization sent an out of place smile across his face.

"Kaylens, you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

"I came to apologize."

To his surprise, she actually laughed. The sound had a haunting quality to it, for it blended artfully with the wind howling around them. The storm had crept up on them fast, even if the rain was holding off.

"You're right," she said, shaking her wet hair out in vain. "I don't."

He seized the opportunity to keep her talking. "Well I am. Kaylens I-"

"How much did you hear?" Her gaze turned pointedly down.

He sighed in frustration. "Enough to know that you shouldn't be out in this downpour."

She nodded, closing her eyes as if pained. "You have no idea how wrong you are."

He frowned. "I would if you just talked to me."

The look she shot him could silence the devil himself. "And why should I? You haven't been the portrait of honesty, Potter."

"You planning to listen long enough to let me explain, or you going to cut me off?" He quirked an eyebrow in pointed challenge, then waited.

Tensely.

She didn't answer. Instead, she tilted her face towards the sky, allowing the light rain to pour over her more freely. Her hair fell away from her shoulders, revealing her long neck. She remained this way for what may have been mere seconds, but to a wizard in trouble with a girl, felt like hours.

"Okay Potter," she finally breathed, "try me."

He was so astonished he didn't hesitate.

And he explained.

He explained how he had followed her that day in Diagon to make sure she didn't get lost, then had caught up to her in Knockturn and hadn't wanted to intrude, so had stayed outside. Issue was he'd gotten worried – damn worried – for good reason. Her reticence on the matter hadn't exactly helped. He also pointed out that her evasive comments surrounding Death Eaters, plus her tendency to show up in the wrong place at the wrong time whenever Death Eaters were around had led him to what Dumbledore had called in one hell of an understatement, "wrong assumptions".

And then he told her how, after days of watching her in a comatose state, that he'd actually been a bit worried that she wouldn't wake up after playing werewolf bait and saving his ass.

He spoke to her, the rain cascading down their bodies as they sat, keeping each other's acquaintance, the storm forgotten. She went to get up once, shaking her head as if it'd be a cold day in hell before she believed him, but his hand had shot out, grasping gently around her arm before she could.

Strangely she hadn't seemed to mind, and for a fucking insane second he'd left his hand there, the muscle in his chest pounding way too hard and loud to be healthy.

By the time he was done, a sad expression had crossed her features, Harry fairly concerned she would stop being so relaxed, revert back to their previous preferred mode of interaction, and hex him.

He studied her, puzzled. "Look, Kaylens I didn't mean to upset you if-"

"No." She shivered noticeably, shaking her sopping hair. "No, it's not that Potter..." she trailed off, showing no intent of finishing.

A ball of lead settled deep in his gut. "Okay," he said, "But Kaylens are you alright? Because this doesn't exactly seem-"

She reacted as if he'd sworn at her.

Her expression darkened and she stood abruptly, her shivering more pronounced. "We should go in," she stated, interrupting him.

Deep lines furrowed his brow and he repressed the temptation to snap back, but eventually he nodded. The storm wasn't going to relent anytime soon, and she was sick. They should get inside. He already felt bad they'd stayed out there so long.

The second he stood she unceremoniously shoved his cloak back in his arms. He looked at it in surprise and was about to argue, noting how far a walk back to the school it still was, when he realized that she had already spun and taken off into the downpour.

"Wait!" he called, utterly confused. He stumbled after her, slipping on the wet rocks, and caught up to her on the grass.

"Kaylens keep it. You'll freeze otherwise." He went to drape it across her shoulders, but she brushed him off.

"I'm fine," she said, and upon seeing his disbelieving look added, "Really."

He matched her stride determinedly, noticing the reemergence of her stubborn streak, and threw it around her anyway. "Kaylens, if you're sick you're wearing this until we're inside. I don't care-"

She wheeled around so fast that water slung from her hair, smacking him in the face and leaving a smear across his glasses. He reached up to wipe it away, finding himself face-to-face with a disturbingly distressed looking witch.

"Look Potter, do yourself a favor okay? Don't worry about me." Kaylens was shaking her head, backpedaling slowly. "You can't do anything."

His head hurt. It really did, and Harry considered shaking her, rain pounding down more intensely. "Kaylens, I'm just trying to help," he said, but there was an edge to his voice.

It was as if she were transforming before him. Icy barriers that he hadn't even noticed were missing before fell back into place, her expression slowly turning unreadable.

What the hell? A few seconds ago they had been on almost civil terms.

She backed away from him. "In fact..." she continued, sounding like a frightened animal, "for your own good Potter, just stay the hell away from me."

He didn't get a chance to say or do anything.

She took off, leaving him standing there, his sopping wet cloak thrown on the muddied ground.


ECOTS


Over the past few days, since Kaylens had left him standing there in the pouring rain, Harry's mood had not improved.

He didn't have the first clue what he had done, and every time he caught a glimpse of her he felt sick.

Every time he had seen her, she had been with either Dean or Draco Malfoy. The fact that he still had a sneaking suspicion that she was clueless as to what a Death Eater was did not help matters. Granted it wasn't like she was being particularly chummy with him, but seeing them bent over class notes for astronomy during class was enough for him to nearly send curses flying.

At Luna's insistence, he had taken to kicking suits of armor instead. Apparently the metallic noise made by kicking something attracted Crumple Horned Snorkacks, or something like that.

The fragile rapport they'd had, for a few exhilarating moments, was shattered. Had he hit it with a freezing charm and then handed an oversized hammer to Grawp to play 'whack a rapport' with it couldn't have been shattered worse.

But he still didn't know what he'd said wrong. All he knew was that she was no longer openly hostile towards him.

No, instead she avoided him like the plague.

He had seen her alone that morning, and it had taken all his patience to avoid hexing her into next week. The instant she'd caught sight of him she'd practically sprinted down the hall to catch up to Dean Thomas.

And then she'd refused to look at him the rest of the walk to Astronomy, but he hadn't failed to notice how her hands shook for the entire class. It had been easy to notice since he had been sitting alone. Ron and Hermione had holed themselves up on the other side of the tower, and unlike Kaylens and Hermione, who contented themselves to avoiding him, Ron had made sport of sending dark, meaningful glares his way.

At least the hostile looks from his roommates were understandable. He had had another violent dream with Voldemort that week, and had woken up in a right state, screaming at every one of them. Even the suits of armor had taken to cursing him when he walked by. Apparently they didn't like attracting Luna's aforementioned snorkacks. Once again he was persona non grata, and the only person actually talking to him now was Luna.

But Luna was easy. She didn't interrogate him, and she didn't demand he share things that he wasn't comfortable with. But she was in the year below him, so he found himself sitting alone in classes, and eating lunch at the Ravenclaw table, in between suppressing a deep-seated desire to hex each and every single person who muttered 'Looney Lovegood' under their breath to within an inch of their life.

In short, the week had passed by in a dizzying haze, and he was growing closer and closer to violence.

Fortunately it would be over soon. Luna had 'informed' him that he needed to get his mind off things, so she was dragging him to Hogsmeade.

He actually didn't mind the idea.

He finally reached the door, and Crusantheus surprisingly opened without complaint, revealing Dumbledore's office. He stepped in for his lessons, removing his wand in preparation.

"That will be unnecessary today, Harry," Dumbledore said, catching sight of him from behind his desk.

Perhaps it was because his thoughts had been elsewhere, but the idea of a wandless Occlumency lesson caught him off guard.

Dumbledore caught the unspoken question. "Tonight, I have something different planned. Besides, I have taught you all I can regarding Occlumency, Harry. The rest is up to you."

Somehow Harry strongly disagreed with this. If he had learned all there was to know about mind arts, he would not still be having violent nightmares. "Professor, in all due respect, if I had actually learned everything wouldn't I be well...good at this then?"

Dumbledore cracked a smile. "Ah, you see Harry, therein lays the difference. You have learned all I have to teach about Occlumency. Mastering the discipline is an entirely different matter."

Harry blinked. "Come again?"

The blue eyed wizard smiled benignly. "It takes years of constant practice to become a true Master of the mind arts, Harry. I do intend to continue our sessions incrementally to see how you are progressing, but it is akin to teaching a child to swim. I can show you the technique and practice alongside you, but whether you move your arms and legs to remain afloat is ultimately up to you."

Harry was stunned, all previous thoughts and irritation at the Professor driven from his mind. Never in his life would he have imagined Dumbledore being unable to teach him something, but what he said made sense.

The man was continuing on. "Occlumency, Harry, is less about erecting mental barriers and more about controlling one's emotions. Keeping your emotions hidden from the enemy is of extreme importance. And frankly, gets easier with age." Dumbledore stood with a rather large feather duster and began to attack a disgruntled portrait with it.

"You have become quite adept at creating barriers already, my boy. Visualizing a brick wall is your barrier of choice is it not?" Harry nodded, but Dumbledore was already pressing on, "But the only way to strengthen that wall at this point is to learn to mask your emotions and to, dare I say, put in the practice."

The previous headmistress had a feather duster shoved in her face, making a rather crude hand gesture, and Harry stared somewhat unabashedly.

"Er... Professor?" he questioned hesitantly. "What exactly do you mean by 'masking' them?"

"Ah, not explaining myself very well am I?"

He valued his education far too much to respond truthfully.

"Well Harry, when one sifts through your mind painful memories can get unearthed. It's natural to recall the emotions these experiences caused you. Such a distraction is all the enemy would need to delve deeper into your mind." Dumbledore was carrying on with all the air of one discussing a weekend outing. "And you have no shortage of painful memories, Harry. It would be quite easy for Voldemort to find one to use against you."

He did not need Dumbledore to tell him that, he had already lived and re-lived the guilt of Sirius' death a hundred times over.

"So are you going to make me relive those memories for practice?" he asked, somewhat apprehensive.

Dumbledore turned to look at him, balancing precariously on the stool he was using to reach ole Phineas' portrait. "Why of course not. Certainly, I could go sifting about through your mind, forcing you to recall bad times in your life, but dredging up old memories and forcing you to deal with them would only help you build up indifference. We don't want that. It would be counterproductive to what we are trying to achieve."

"And what's that?"

"Healing my boy. Healing. A mind at peace is a strong one."

Dumbledore turned back and shoved the feather duster right where Phineas' face had just re-appeared. The former headmaster cringed and jumped out of the frame again.

"Harry, what we do want, is for you to come to terms with the crueler parts of your past. And only you can define what those terms are. But I dare remind you, there is a difference between allowing the past to remind you, and allowing the past to control you."

Dumbledore jumped down from the stool, wiping his dusty hands on his robes. "Well, now that's done. Now I have something to show you." He beckoned him to where he stood, withdrawing a worn, leather bound book from one of his shelves. "You know, I almost lost this after that squabble yourself, Mr. Weasley, and Ms. Kaylens had the other day Harry." He peered down his spectacles at him. "I trust that is now resolved?"

Harry found himself oddly stuttering. "Sort of..."

Dumbledore shrugged. "Well, give it time, give it time. It may take her awhile to open up to anyone, seeing as how matters are."

Harry wanted to ask, no…demand what he meant by that, but the Headmaster was already running his wand up and down the spine of the book in an odd zig-zag pattern, muttering something about mothballs. A loud 'pop' was heard and Harry jumped as the book sprang out of Dumbledore's hands, legs growing straight out of the binding so that it could scuttle open on the table before them.

A pink mist oozed over the pages.

"Now this Harry, is something you will have neither seen nor heard of before."

Harry had to admit that Dumbledore was dead on.

Inside the open book, where the pages should have been, lay a pink layer of fog. There was a sense of depth to the interior, and Harry had the vague sense that another dimension lay just beyond the peaceful swirls.

Dumbledore plunged a hand straight down into it. "It is a rather clever hiding spot for things. Not only is the locking mechanism for it rather tricky, but only a hand with my DNA could reach into this and still find itself attached."

Harry had been unconsciously leaning forward, trying to peer through the fog, but at this pronouncement took a step back. Dumbledore's hand fished around blindly for several seconds, before emerging with a silvery chain. A small vial was attached to the end of it.

The Headmaster held the book and muttered a few charms, the squirming legs sliding back into the binding, the book letting out an honest to goodness whine. "This is something that I have been wanting to give you for quite some time, Harry, but until recently the opportunity had not presented itself. The fact that it has not is entirely my fault, and for that I am sorry."

It was a lot to take in, but Harry didn't need to ask what the man meant. He was well aware that the wizard had avoided him last year and his reasons for doing so. The idea that Albus Dumbledore, that arguably the most powerful wizard alive had been afraid of him, all because he'd seen Voldemort in his eyes…

It disturbed him on more than one level.

But just because he understood, it didn't mean he was feeling particularly forgiving.

The Headmaster pressed on. "Ever since the day the prophecy was made, Harry, I have been working on this. I still feel that it is woefully inadequate, but for now, it is all I can give you." Dumbledore handed the vial over and Harry took it with all the enthusiasm of one being handed a grenade with a lit fuse. But as his fingers closed around it nothing happened. Nothing exploded. He wasn't sucked into another pensieve-like device. The vial, Harry found, was just surprisingly warm

"The vial you now hold is a special form of pensieve, Harry," Dumbledore said by way of explanation. "It is called a kunnskap. It means knowledge, and unlike normal pensieves it does not have an unlimited capacity. It can only contain a select few memories, and I believe that there are fifty seven different lessons contained within this one."

He turned the vial within his hands, noting blue specs darting to and fro within the silvery substance. They collided frequently to emit dark green sparks, and it was like watching the reflection of fireworks in a silvery pond, only on a miniature scale.

A thought occurred to him.

"What do you mean by lessons, Professor?" he asked curiously.

"I was just getting to that," Dumbledore said with a smile. It was almost sad. "But given the danger that you have been in ever since that prophecy was made, I wanted to have a way of preserving, and passing on, knowledge of certain spells to you."

The Headmaster paused, shutting the leather volume. Wisps of curling pink tendrils snuck out around the edges as he placed it back upon the shelf.

"Times were dark," he continued gravely. "I did not know how many of us would survive, but we knew it was essential to pass on our knowledge to the next generation. This was our way of ensuring that at least one good wizard received that, if the worst were to happen."

A whizzing piece of wood shaped like a giraffe flew by, Harry ducking and staring at the Headmaster. Dumbledore had just admitted he was mortal, that he had an expiration date, and despite how deeply and utterly pissed he still was at the man, the prospect of him dying bothered him.

It bothered him a lot.

Despite all the Headmaster had withheld from him over the years, the thought of a mortal Dumbledore shook his concept of a stable universe.

The Headmaster motioned Harry into a plush plum armchair, oblivious to his pupil's dark thoughts.

"Over the years myself and others within the old Order added select pieces of knowledge that we wanted to depart. You'll find some of my old school day lessons there. Things like apparition, curse-breaking, animagus studies...they are all in there." The old man's eyes twinkled. "I may even have deposited a particularly potent recipe for butterbeer. I always did find that libation rather enjoyable."

The conversation had become oddly personal. Harry sank into the chair, almost mechanically, listening intently.

And then a house elf popped into existence, right in front of him, extending a plate of biscuits. He nearly jumped, but seeing the house elf's upset expression he scrambled to take one. The last thing he wanted was to be responsible for a house elf trying to iron its own ears because it'd startled a student.

"When the prophecy was made I naturally thought of you as the likely recipient."

Biscuit in hand, he stared at Dumbledore numbly. This vial was a gift. He got that. Problem was, he was being given it because of the prophecy's heavy burden, and Harry hated that. "You made this to help me figure out how to defeat Voldemort," he said flatly, a thin note of anger vibrating his tone.

"Oh my boy," Dumbledore smiled sadly, "we made it because we still have hope."

He didn't want to be wizarding kind's hope. He didn't want to be the only one capable of defeating Voldemort. He didn't want this.

His hand clenched around the glass and he gritted his teeth. "If you wanted me to be prepared, then why now? Why send me to the god forsaken Dursleys all these years? You knew they wouldn't let me study magic. I'm coming into this, all of this, a step down from everyone else." He hadn't had the amount of time his other classmates had had to become proficient at everything, and with the war brewing he was running out. It was like a teenager being taught a foreign language as opposed to a child; the child would always have the advantage, always.

Dumbledore let out a weary sigh. "I admit that I rather thought it'd be better for you to be safe, that you could perhaps….catch up on your own once you arrived."

A hot breath shot out of his nose. "Yeah," he bit, "we see how that's turning out. What's my kill count again? Four?"

The twinkling blue eyes beheld him from behind wire rim glasses, and never before had he seen the wizard look so sad.

"None of them were your fault, Harry."

"Yeah, well, tell that to their families."

For a long moment Dumbledore stood there, pink wisp curling out of the book's edges, as if he was suddenly too world weary to bear another moment.

And then that disturbing look vanished, replaced with something far more calm. "I believe when it comes to your training, Harry, that the kunnskap will help." He looked down to where Harry clutched it, telling, "You always were excellent at self-study. Perhaps such a course would have suited you better than the rigidity of the classroom."

There were a lot of things Harry could say to that. A lot. Ultimately he just snorted. "Just realizing that now or did you finally take a look at my OWLs?"

"They were not that bad, Harry."

"I almost," he said, "got kicked out of NEWT level potions." Snape hadn't wanted to admit him. McGonagall had fortunately stepped in.

Dumbledore, like always, deigned not to comment on his antipathy towards the pathetic child-hater. "The kunnskap in your hand does not work like a normal pensieve, my boy. Instead of entering a memory, the memory enters you. So once you unearth one, its knowledge will remain permanently yours."

Snape hating and 'Headmaster-issues' aside, this piqued his interest. "So you mean that I can become an animagus just by looking at the memory in it?" he asked, eyes narrowed in blatant suspicion.

"No," Dumbledore said with a rueful smile. "It is not so simplistic as that. This will simply teach you the theory. It is the equivalent of memorizing the steps in a hard-to-brew potion or mastering the academic knowledge surrounding how to cast the perfect earth-moving charm. Think of it as if you were revising for your examinations. You memorize the textbooks pages, you watch your professors perform the spell or brewing dozens of times. But learning those steps and committing them to memory is quite different from actually being able to do it yourself. Spellcasting and brewing both require intent, practice, and this," he nodded towards the small vial, "is simply a swift way to commit the knowledge to memory beyond your ability to forget. But it will be up to you to put in the time. However..." the man's blue eyes twinkled mischievously, "I have it on good word that learning and researching just the theory on animagus transformation can take years. The Ministry so does like to highly regulate each step of the learning process. It would take a rather defiant person to circumvent all those laws, particularly given there are a great many forbidding the depositing of such information into just such a device." That twinkle in the Headmaster's eyes only grew. "I would hope that anyone willing to do such a thing would have at least eight, perhaps nine lives to their names. Do you understand, Harry?"

Harry almost laughed. If he understood Dumbledore correct, then he really needed to start paying attention in transfiguration class. He managed a nod. "Yeah, Professor." He swallowed, an awed sort of respect for his Head of House growing. "I won't tell anyone."

"I'm glad to hear that, Harry. And since no one would ever seek to circumvent a Ministry ruling in the desire to aid an underage student in breaking the law, you would of course have no interest in lesson number thirty seven."

Harry wondered for the thousandth time just how much that the Headmaster knew about his students.

It was just too bad he'd be doing this alone now, without Ron and Hermione.

But he'd find a way to get them that information. He'd make sure of it. And besides….against his better judgment, a small, bitter smile touched his mouth. Even Hermione, with all her convictions against taking shortcuts to learn something, would probably die for a look into this thing.

As if reading his thoughts, Dumbledore smiled. "For the time being Harry, I would keep this to yourself. Because of the Kunnskap's potential for misuse, they are quite rare. We would not want this falling into the wrong hands."

Harry was taken aback. For once, Dumbledore was actually trusting him with something important. "Thanks Professor," he said, at a loss of what else to say. "I'll look after it."

And as pissed as he still was, he'd be damned if he disappointed him.

Dumbledore smiled over his cup, at some point having conjured tea. "I'm sure you will, Harry. I'm sure you will. Do try to use it in private though. When one uses it they tend to appear in a trance, and I would hate to see what your roommates would do if they stumbled upon you in such a state. And I would know, Mrs. Norris once caught me using one and to this day I have not lived down the squirrelfish drool."

Harry nearly choked on his biscuit.

The past fortnight, he realized, had truly been full of surprises, but for the first time in a long time he realized that he might, just might, finally have some help.


ECOTS


Kunnskap is Norwegian for Knowledge