As some of you may have noticed, this chapter came a smidge later than usual, and I should probably take this time to give everyone a heads up that future updates might not be strictly weekly. I will still be posting very regularly. Just perhaps not every Saturday like clockwork, as we're getting into summer which is a busy time of year for me, and I might have to take an extra few days here and there.

Chapter 5: Way Down We Go

The early morning sky was painted a pure light pink. The distant shadows of the mountains surrounding the school marked a jagged edge against the horizon, where the tiniest hint of gold was starting to emerge, and the last of the night's stars were winking out as the darkness faded: the most skilled artist could not have created a better view than this one.

And Harry would have liked to stop to appreciate it, only he had another lap to finish.

His thighs burned, and the growing stitch in his side flared painfully as he rounded the outside wall of the Quidditch stadium, but still he pushed himself harder, his feet beating even faster against the ground, his breath sharp and searing in his chest…he was almost there….

Harry came around another corner and saw, to his relief, the main entrance to the stadium looming ahead. He put on an extra burst of speed, ignoring the white spots bursting in his vision, and concentrated his entire being on making it to the posts that marked the entryway.

He staggered to a stop as he reached them, placing his hand against the wall, supporting himself as he bent over double, gasping for breath, fighting not to pass out.

After a minute or two, he straightened back up cautiously. His head was pounding and the acid in his empty belly churned unpleasantly, but his vision had cleared and he didn't feel quite so dizzy. Sucking in great gulps of air, Harry pressed a hand gingerly to his stomach and limped his way inside the stadium, all the way over to the Gryffindor changing rooms where he'd stashed his bag earlier. Kicking the door shut behind him as he entered the room, Harry stumbled straight over to one of the benches and collapsed onto it gratefully, putting his head between his knees and breathing in deeply through his nose. As the cramping in his stomach subsided, Harry sat up a bit straighter, resting his head in his hands.

These morning runs had turned out to be a good idea in a lot of ways, but hell if they didn't make him feel like he might drop dead.

Harry sighed and scrubbed his hands roughly over his face, shivering slightly as the sweat covering his body cooled in the chilly morning air. Knowing he didn't have much time before he had to be back up at the school, he reluctantly hauled himself to his feet and shuffled over to the showers, stripping off as he went.

He really hadn't meant to develop a whole…exercise regimen, he reflected as he stepped under the hot spray, but he was sort of glad he had. Probably he should have been doing this all along, anyway. Seekers were supposed to be light and speedy, after all.

It had started, rather accidentally, when Harry had woken up exceptionally early one morning and left the dormitory on a whim, sneaking out of the school for a walk around the grounds, thinking vaguely of visiting Buckbeak at Hagrid's. He'd changed course halfway down, however, and had found himself walking, and then running, around the pitch, his feet flying over the ground, pushing himself as fast as he could go….

And he had found that it helped.

Helped to bleed some of the restless anxiety from his body, some of the racing thoughts from his mind…had made him feel like he was getting rid of everything he had eaten the day before, wiping the slate clean.

Because food had begun to sit even more heavily in Harry's stomach. And he did not like the way it felt. Like it was dragging him down, making his body seem sluggish and slow. He felt most like himself, these days, when his belly was empty and he could think – it was like the less he managed to eat, the more that weird parasite inside him starved, and the itch in his arms faded a little, and he felt like maybe he might be okay.

Ron hadn't been happy, that first morning, to wake up and find Harry gone. Evidently, he'd gone off straight into a panic and enlisted Neville and Hermione's help to try and find him, and when Harry had returned, safe and sound, to the common room to change before class, Ron had promptly called Harry a git, and both he and Hermione had been on edge the rest of the morning.

So Harry left notes, now, when he went out in the mornings.

Ron and Hermione had been almost constantly on edge, really. Ever since The Incident, as Harry now referred to it in his mind.

Panicked and blind and bleeding all over himself in a locker room –

Harry often caught them staring at him when they all sat together doing homework, or whispering with their heads bent close when he walked into a room, before breaking apart suddenly, pretending that they hadn't been. Harry knew they were worried. Hermione, who was taking more classes than either him or Ron, was becoming increasingly busy and had backed off a little of nagging Harry about what he was eating, if only due to a lack of time in which to do it. Ron, however, had taken up the mantle for her, spooning extra food silently onto Harry's plate and giving him pointed looks.

But he wasn't sure how to explain to them that they didn't need to be worried.

Harry had tried to think through it all rationally, step by step, what his problem was, after his friends had found him such a mess that day, and he thought he had figured it out.

He had slept with someone. He had slept with someone, and he had reacted badly. Which Harry supposed was only natural. It hadn't been how he had pictured his first time going, and it hadn't been with someone he liked all that much, so it was really no surprise that he hadn't been fond of the experience. He had decided that that wasn't such a big deal, really, and he felt a lot better about the whole thing, only his body was turning out to be a bit slow on the uptake – he kept feeling odd bouts of nausea, that weird, constant chill, and an unnerving thrum of anxiety in his belly, in his chest, in his brain.

This was all helping, Harry thought, now scrubbing himself down with soap in the changing room shower…his new running routine, keeping his stomach empty and clean and void of anything for the nerves to toss around…he was fixing his body, and he was feeling better than ever. He still wasn't doing very well in classes, and the Daily Prophet continued to bring nothing but bad news, but he hadn't thought as much about Romilda Vane, or The Incident, for over a week now, and things felt like they were getting back to some semblance of normal.

Well, Harry supposed, running his hands through his hair, working out the soap bubbles, he hadn't thought about Romilda much when he was awake.

Asleep was another thing entirely.

He was still sleeping poorly, and he'd started having weird dreams. More weird dreams. Besides the one he kept having about the red light.

Dreams in which Ginny was holding his hands gently, healing them, repairing the damage he had accidentally done to himself…but then her tender smile turned feral, and hungry, and her face melted into Romilda's sharp features, the fingers encircling his wrists turning into ropes that bit into his skin, burning him and holding him down while she ran her hands over every inch of him –

Harry had awoken more than once, mortified, to find that certain parts of his body had responded in his sleep. Even worse was the very first time it had happened, and he had rolled over and attempted to go back to sleep, relieved that it had only been a dream, and discovered that his shorts were already wet and sticky.

That had been the morning Harry had first left the castle looking for a distraction, wishing to be anywhere but his bed, and found himself on the Quidditch pitch.

Turning the water off, Harry stepped out of the shower and quickly dried off. He padded over to his locker, retrieving his bag and pulling out the change of clothes he'd grabbed before he left. It was easier that way, he'd found, to bring his clothes and school things with him, so he didn't have to go all the way back up to Gryffindor before class.

Harry pulled on a pair of jeans and fastened his belt, slightly surprised when it slipped past its usual notch and settled on the next one in, but he shrugged it off – that happened to him, sometimes. He dragged his t-shirt over his head and put on a fresh set of robes before going about gathering the clothes he'd shucked on his way to the showers, casting a Freshening Charm on them so they wouldn't stink to high heaven all day, and shoving them into his school bag.

Harry left the changing rooms, pausing briefly to make sure everything was exactly as he had left it, and skirted around the wall of the arena to the main entrance.

The sky was decidedly blue by now, and Harry hoped fervently that the students and staff were firmly ensconced at breakfast; he didn't fancy trying to sneak back in through the front doors with everyone milling about in the entrance hall. Harry shoved his hands in his pockets, dragging his feet and kicking at the occasional rock on the abandoned dirt path.

He had a free period this morning before Potions, but he knew if he wasn't back soon, Ron might organise another search party.

Harry amused himself for a moment with an image of Ron holding a clipboard and megaphone, directing groups of students and house elves into every corner of the school grounds, before he sighed again, hitching his bag more securely over his shoulder, and walked a bit faster.

"Hey."

Harry froze a single step inside the entrance hall, turning his head to see Ron leaning casually against the wall behind the front doors, arms folded over his chest, holding a couple of crumpets in a napkin.

Harry's stomach dropped. Though, of course, he had no reason to feel guilty. He hadn't been doing anything wrong – at least, not according to anyone but a teacher, being out-of-bounds before dawn….

"Hey," he answered back easily as Ron pushed away from the wall.

"Got you these," said Ron lightly, holding the crumpets out to Harry, and the two of them set off across the entrance hall together. "Didn't want you to miss breakfast again."

Harry took them. "Thanks," he said, his heart sinking slightly.

He had planned on skipping breakfast, and he had not counted on Ron going to the trouble of bringing him any. His stomach rumbled quietly as he stared down at the cakes, even as he wracked his brains for a way to dispose of them without Ron noticing. Part of him wanted to wolf them down immediately, but he'd done so well this morning already, he felt clear and alert from his run, and if he ate them, he'd feel so awful, and heavy, and it would ruin everything….

Ron yawned, shaking his head. "I've still got no idea why you're waking up so early, couldn't get you out of bed before half past nine all summer and now you're up at dawn running your arse off," he laughed, but Harry could tell Ron was watching him closely.

Harry shrugged and tore off a small chunk of bread, popping it into his mouth and chewing slowly under Ron's gaze. "Got to train, haven't I? 'M Captain now."

"'Training'," Ron scoffed. "Come on, you're the best Seeker Hogwarts has ever had," he said bracingly.

Harry hummed noncommittally, fiddling with his napkin.

"But if it's so important to you to be fit for the team," Ron continued with a thoughtful look on his freckled face, "maybe I should come with you, and we could both do it."

Harry laughed smoothly, ignoring the small burst of alarm inside him at the suggestion. "Right, you managing to get up at five every morning, that's likely…."

"True," Ron conceded, nodding wisely. "I'd last about a day, if I'm being honest."

They grinned at each other and stopped outside a bathroom so Ron could duck in. Ron glanced quickly back at Harry, and the crumpets in his hand, before going in, and Harry, pretending he hadn't noticed, tore a huge piece from one of them and lifted it to his mouth as Ron disappeared through the door.

As soon as he was sure Ron was gone, Harry tossed the bit of bread to the floor, along with the cake he hadn't yet touched, and quickly Vanished them with a wave of his wand. He kept the crumb-covered napkin, waited for Ron to come out of the bathroom, and then when he knew Ron was looking, crumpled it up as though he'd just finished and stuffed it into his pocket.

A satisfied look stole over Ron's face, and he seemed to relax as he and Harry made their way up the next flight of stairs, chatting enthusiastically about the strategy for their first Quidditch match of the season.

Hermione joined Harry and Ron in the queue outside the Potions classroom an hour later, attempting to cram three giant books into her already straining bag, looking harried and out of breath.

"Arithmancy went over," she explained, swiping several strands of frizzy hair out of her face. "Professor Vector lost track of time, I had to run all the way down here, I'm sure I've only just made it…."

Sure enough, Professor Slughorn threw open the door to the classroom not a second later, his great belly jiggling as he gestured them all inside.

The group entered and Harry, Ron, and Hermione took a table near the front. Harry began pulling out his book and supplies as Ernie Macmillan, who usually shared a table with them now, settled on the other side of Hermione. Harry glanced over at the Slytherin table, eyeing Malfoy, who sat speaking to Nott and Zabini in a low voice. Harry strained his ears, hoping to catch some of what they were saying, but Slughorn clapped his hands to get everyone's attention and Malfoy stopped talking at once.

"Alright, alright, alright, boys and girls," Slughorn boomed genially from the front of the room, rubbing his hands together. "Look sharp, we've quite an interesting lesson in front of us today – "

Harry paused, his hand stilling inside his bag in its search for a usable quill, and sniffed the air cautiously.

The sixth year class had been working their way through brewing the selection of potions Slughorn had showcased in their very first lesson. So far, they had covered Felix Felicis and Veritaserum, and if the smell of treacle tart and broomsticks and that oddly familiar, flowery scent wafting towards Harry was anything to go by, today they were going to be brewing –

"Amortentia!" Professor Slughorn announced merrily to the class, moving aside so they could see the cauldron bubbling away happily behind him.

One of the Ravenclaws gasped, and Hermione let out an "Ooh!" of excitement; Slughorn twirled his moustache and bounced on the balls of his feet, quite plainly pleased at the class's open looks of thrilled anticipation. But Harry felt like a rock had slid down his throat into his stomach as he stared at the wisps of vapor spiraling lazily up from the cauldron.

Sometimes, Harry felt sure his life was just one big cosmic joke.

As much as he had made his peace with the way Romilda Vane had chosen to go about…spending time with him, Harry didn't quite like the idea of passing the entire class period going over the specifics of love potions and how they worked. He was not entirely sure, truthfully, that he wanted to know. And what was Slughorn thinking, anyway, teaching them to brew Amortentia? Didn't he realise it would be easy, so incredibly easy, for anyone to just bottle up a bit of their potion at the end of class, and keep it for their own, and use it on someone…?

Harry slowly lowered his bag back to the ground, debating quickly. He could feel sweat gathering at his temples…he did not want to be here, he did not want to do this –

"Harry, m'boy?" questioned Slughorn, noticing Harry's raised hand.

"Sorry, Professor, I was wondering – could I go to the bathroom, sir?"

Ron and Hermione's faces turned towards him, but Harry did not look at them as he waited for his professor's answer, fighting the impulse to scratch at his arms.

"Of course, my dear boy, if you need to," said Slughorn, an expression of bemusement and slight concern visible above his enormous silvery moustache. "But hurry back, you really can't afford to be missing any instruction time at this point, I'm afraid…."

Malfoy sniggered into his hand, but Harry ignored both him and Ron, who was trying to get Harry's attention as he stood up.

Harry made straight for the door, leaving his things, and stopped, breathing deeply, once he'd made it out into the empty corridor.

He was not sure where to go. He already knew he wouldn't be going back to Potions. But he didn't really need the bathroom, either. He turned and walked slowly up the corridor, thinking possibly of heading back to Gryffindor for a quick kip.

Harry managed to make it all the way up to the third floor without running into anyone; most of the staff and students were in class. He was just thinking, as he glanced over his shoulder, that probably he should don his Invisibility Cloak anyway, when he walked straight into the unyielding form of Severus Snape.

Caught by surprise, Harry lost his balance and toppled over, landing hard on his backside.

Snape narrowed his eyes and stared down at Harry coldly. Pinned momentarily to the floor by shock, Harry watched as Snape stuck his head inside the Defence classroom's open door, barked at his third year students to quiet down and stay in their seats, and then slammed it shut, turning back to glare at Harry.

Harry scrambled to his feet, dusting himself off, and opened his mouth, not quite certain what he was going to say, but Snape beat him to it.

"Well, well, well, what a fortunate day for me," Snape said in a low, dangerous voice. "Running into the Chosen One…tell me, Potter, what impressively important reason could you possibly have for not being in class?"

Harry's mind raced, searching for an excuse that did not sound unbearably flimsy. "I was…."

"Yes?" Snape prompted, moving a step closer to Harry.

Harry stood his ground, holding Snape's gaze.

"On a mission?" Snape suggested, his black eyes boring into Harry's. His voice lowered even further until it was just a whisper. "Off to save someone who doesn't need saving in the first place, perhaps?"

Snape smirked, and an ugly, vicious rage tore at Harry's insides. His hands balled into tight fists at his sides as he fought to keep his expression neutral. He desperately resisted the image threatening to break across his mind, an image of a lifeless body, arching gracefully behind a veil...hate filled Harry so strongly he thought it must be radiating off of him, and he wanted nothing more than to lunge at the man before him, to hit him, to hurt him, to wrap his hands around his filthy neck and break him….

"No," Harry said quietly, and he poured all of his will into keeping his voice even. "I was going to the library, actually. Sir."

Snape's face was closed, inscrutable, and then, finally, he said softly: "Detention, Mr. Potter. Thursday, my office. Get back to class. Now."

Harry glared at him for another second, then wheeled around and stalked away without another word. He knew Snape was watching, and he waited until he had rounded the corner, and heard the door close behind Snape, before he pulled his Cloak from his pocket and threw it over himself. He had mentioned the library on a whim, but it seemed as good a place as any, and Harry was not much in the mood for a nap anymore, he thought sourly.

He had not yet made it to the stairs leading back down to the second floor, however, when he heard somebody else coming, and he crouched down next to a suit of armour. A moment later, Hagrid stumped around the corner in his giant moleskin overcoat. Harry silently watched him pass, wondering what he was doing up at the castle this time of day, and whether he might be going to see Dumbledore…Harry was struck by the sudden desire to call out to him, to let Hagrid know he was here, just to talk to him, but Harry knew that Hagrid, like Snape, would want to know why Harry was wandering about the halls, and the urge passed…Harry's eyes followed Hagrid until he was out of sight, and then he straightened up, adjusting the Cloak, and continued on his way.

The library was empty, save for Madam Pince and two seventh year Hufflepuffs, and Harry made his way directly to the back, putting himself as far away from them as possible. He meandered aimlessly up and down the aisles, stopping every once and a while to peruse an interesting title, before coming to stop, realising he had wandered into the Defence section.

Thinking he might as well make himself useful even if he was skiving off, Harry scanned the shelves, looking for anything that might be generally helpful. His eyes fell upon a familiar spine, and he took the book down, inspecting it. With a pang, he recognised it as a copy of the third volume from the set of Defence books that were sitting upstairs in his trunk. The set of books Sirius and Lupin had got him last year for Christmas. Sinking down to sit cross-legged on the floor, still under his Cloak, Harry opened the book and flipped through it, admiring how the moving illustrations still hadn't lost a bit of their brilliance, even after having studied them for hours….

The bell rang a while later, signaling the next class, and Harry saw the pair of Hufflepuffs leave, but he stayed where he was, pulling down more books to examine.

Lunch came and went, and Harry endured the rumbling emptiness in his belly with an odd sort of vindictive pleasure. But the next section of the day was a free period for the sixth year Gryffindors; he knew Ron and Hermione would be heading back to the common room and if Harry wasn't there, they would come looking for him.

Grudgingly, Harry got to his feet, replaced his books, and headed out of the library at last, careful not to make any sound as he passed Madam Pince's desk.

The common room wasn't crowded; only half a dozen older students occupied the armchairs around the fireplace, and Harry saw at a glance that Ron and Hermione were not among them. Remembering with a small jolt that he had left his bag in the dungeons and therefore could not start on any of his homework, Harry settled at a table in the far corner of the room to wait for his friends, hoping that they had thought to grab his things before they'd left Potions.

He did not have long to wait; the portrait hole opened a minute later, and he looked up to find Ron and Hermione climbing through. He was relieved to see that Ron had Harry's bag slung over one shoulder. Hermione glanced around the room, and when her eyes fell on Harry, she tugged at Ron's sleeve, nodding in Harry's direction, and a look fell across her face that Harry did not much like.

He knew she would be disapproving, exasperated, even angry, that he had skipped class. But her expression, as she and Ron made a beeline for him, was something more along the lines of determined.

Upset, but determined.

"Er," Harry said, as they reached him. "So, what did I miss in Potions – ?"

"We need to talk." Hermione stood with her arms crossed over her chest, staring resolutely down at Harry.

"About what?" asked Harry cautiously, glancing from her to Ron. Ron simply held Harry's bag out to him silently and nodded towards the stairs to the dormitories, his expression serious. Harry took the bag from him and rose to his feet. He gave the two of them a pair of suspicious looks but followed them nevertheless upstairs to the boys' dormitory.

Hermione held the door open pointedly, motioning Harry inside, and when she'd closed it behind the three of them, she turned immediately to Harry, hands planted firmly on her hips.

"What's going on with you?" she asked baldly.

Harry glanced between them again, at their identical sober expressions, and had to fight the bizarre urge to smile as a great swoop of nerves swept through him.

"What are you talking about?"

"You know what we're talking about," Ron said sharply.

Harry licked his lips uneasily, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Look, if this is about what I did in the changing rooms, that was nothing, I shouldn't have – "

"It wasn't nothing, Harry," said Hermione quietly. "It was awful, I've never seen you like that…." Her hands came off her hips, and she started wringing them together as she looked at him. "I'm starting to think we made a mistake, not taking you to Madam Pomfrey, you still haven't told us what happened, what made you – "

"I'm sorry I worried you, alright? I haven't told you because there isn't anything to tell, I'm fine, honestly," said Harry fervently, and Ron snorted. Harry looked at him; he had folded his arms over his chest and the look on his face was one of plain disbelief.

"I don't think you are, Harry, and it's not just what happened after tryouts," Hermione continued, and her voice had taken on a slightly shrill quality. "You aren't eating. You're skipping classes, I know you're not sleeping properly…." she said, glancing at Ron.

Harry sent him a glare, and Ron had the decency to look guilty, but his eyes did not leave Harry's face.

The room felt very hot all of a sudden, and Harry's nails went automatically to his wrist, scratching absently. "I'm sleeping just fine," he said, irritated, choosing deliberately not to address the first part of her accusation. They would not understand if he tried to explain to them why he didn't like to let himself eat.

Hermione moved forward, taking his wrists gently in her hands and pulling them away from each other so he couldn't scratch. His skin crawled where she held him, and he tugged his hands out of her grasp, sinking down onto his bed, unable to meet their eyes. None of them moved, and for a moment there was a strained silence, until Ron unfolded his arms and sat down on the edge of his own bed. Hermione followed suit, perching tentatively next to Harry.

They both stared at him, waiting, but Harry could not bring himself to be the one to break the silence. He felt beleaguered and trapped, and he wished the floor would just open up and swallow him whole. His skin seemed to blister under their combined gaze.

Finally, Hermione said:

"Please talk to us, Harry."

Her voice was trembling slightly.

"There's nothing to talk about, Hermione," Harry said flatly, still staring at the floor.

Hermione made a noise as if to protest, but Ron cut her off.

"You know, the last time you didn't tell us something, Umbridge was making you carve yourself up every night." His tone was hard, and Harry raised his eyes to meet Ron's. "I only found out because I saw your hand. And even then you wouldn't let us tell McGonagall or Dumbledore, you wouldn't let us really help…."

Hermione carefully reached out to touch Harry's hand again, the one Umbridge had forced him to slice up. The damage from Harry's scratches had mostly healed, and the words 'I must not tell lies' were faintly visible once more; Hermione ran her thumb over them lightly, but Harry stiffened and pulled away.

It wasn't like they all hadn't kept secrets from each other.

"You didn't tell me you were trying out for Keeper last year," Harry accused Ron, firing up. He turned to face Hermione. "And you didn't tell Ron and me about that Time-Turner third year!"

"Because I wasn't allowed!" Hermione said indignantly. "And that wasn't the same! This isn't about taking a few extra classes and trying out for Quidditch – you don't seem well, Harry, and, to be honest, I'm getting a little scared…."

"Well, you don't have to be – "

"Is this about Sirius?" Hermione asked abruptly, and Harry felt his intestines turn to ice. "Harry, I wish you would just talk to us, I know it's hard, but you haven't even said his name once since he died, and I think you really need – "

"Don't, Hermione," Harry said dangerously.

He did not like people talking about Sirius.

"Mate – " Ron started, but Harry stood up suddenly and strode around to his trunk.

"Listen, I appreciate what you're trying to do," said Harry tightly, tossing open the lid of his trunk, blocking Ron and Hermione from view as he bent over it, busying himself with searching for the pair of gloves he needed for Herbology next period. "But you don't know what you're talking about, either of you, I'm fine. I'm just tired, that's all..." He shifted his things about in his trunk unnecessarily, waiting for them to take the hint and leave.

There was a long silence, the only sounds the rattle of Harry's belongings and the thump of books against books as he switched out his texts from his bag.

After a minute, Harry heard Hermione let out a low sigh, and she got up from his bed. He did not look up at her, but as she passed him, she brushed her fingers lightly against his shoulder. He heard the door open, and then she was gone.

Ron was still in the room, but Harry had stretched the excuse of readying his bag as far as it could go, and he unwillingly closed the lid of his trunk and stood up. Ron stood, too, but instead of leaving, he looked at Harry.

"You sure there's nothing, mate?"

There was something imploring and slightly challenging about the way he searched Harry's face, and Harry found it was one of those times that he became aware of exactly how tall Ron was.

"Yeah, of course," said Harry. "I'm fine, Ron, really…."

The stared at each other for a long moment, and Harry resisted the urge to look away.

"Okay," said Ron finally. But as Ron turned to go, Harry was sure he saw a look of disappointment flash across his face.

Once Ron had left, Harry sank back down onto his bed, staring out of the sunlit window, a strange hollow emptiness in his chest.

He noticed his hands were shaking slightly, and he clenched them together.

Harry glanced at the door, where Ron and Hermione had just disappeared, and took a deep breath.

He would have to be more careful from now on.

Hermione scratched the final translation for her Ancient Runes essay at the bottom of her third sheet of parchment, just barely squeezing it into the last little line, before rolling it up neatly and tucking it safely away inside her bag. She had always found it was better to go back and edit later, after she'd had a chance to clear her mind a bit.

Instead, she pulled out her copy of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6, and glanced up at Harry for the hundredth time.

He had acted overly cheerful all afternoon, ever since she and Ron had taken him aside, smiling more than usual, and speculating with Ron about the Chudley Cannons' chances for the season as if their talk with him hadn't happened. Whether it was to try to convince them or himself that nothing was wrong, Hermione did not know.

But something was wrong, and of that she was certain.

Unaware that he was being watched, the false cheer had disappeared from Harry's face, and he looked…completely exhausted. Like he did so much of the time these days. There were dark smudges under his eyes that seemed to grow worse every day. The crease between his eyebrows never seemed to disappear, as if every thought he had was troubled. His wrists were starting to look blistered again, like he'd been picking at them….

She couldn't be sure, but she thought he had lost weight, and his eating habits were starting to worry her. He had skipped more than a few meals recently, and her efforts (and Ron's) to ensure he made up for it did not seem to be helping much. She knew Harry sometimes went through odd periods where he became forgetful and had to be reminded to eat, but he had never before seemed quite so…disinterested…in food.

She often caught him, now, staring blankly at nothing, lost inside his head. Harry had started off so well in lessons this year, but he didn't seem to be putting much effort into his schoolwork anymore…she and Ron had waited all Potions class that day, expecting him to return any minute, but he never had. He had looked so pale before he'd left…and he hadn't shown up to their next class, or lunch….

He had been acting oddly, too. Obsessing over Malfoy's whereabouts half the time, waking up at the crack of dawn to sneak down to the Quidditch pitch, seeming even more uncomfortable than usual with people touching him.

It was strange, and Hermione didn't know what to make of it all.

As she watched him, Harry leaned over his homework, squinting at a caption in his textbook, and his glasses slipped down his nose a bit. Harry absently pushed them back up with the tips of his first two fingers, and despite her distressing thoughts, a fond smile touched her lips – the gesture was so very Harry. He straightened his glasses the exact same way every time, ever since she'd known him, and she'd always found it incredibly endearing.

Hermione wondered wryly what Ron would think if he heard her say that, and she looked over at him. He was bent over his own books, but he, too, was staring surreptitiously up at Harry. She briefly caught his eye and they both shared a knowing glance before looking back to Harry, who was now twirling his quill absent-mindedly in his fingers and gazing impassively into the fire.

Hermione knew Ron was going spare.

Harry's episode after the Quidditch tryouts had rattled him, had rattled them both, but Harry was refusing to let them in on what was going on, and neither one of them knew what to do about it.

She suspected at least part of it was to do with Sirius, but she was not convinced that was all of it. Harry's behaviour seemed to have changed rather suddenly after his first lesson with Dumbledore. He still hadn't told either her or Ron much about what the headmaster had shown him about Voldemort, and she wondered if Ron was perhaps correct in thinking something had frightened Harry that night.

Hermione looked down at her own quill, thinking about that unbearable, dreadful prophecy, and about Sirius….

An idea struck her, as thoughts of Harry's godfather turned over in her mind – she knew Lupin and Harry had been exchanging letters, and she suddenly wondered if maybe she shouldn't write one herself.

If Harry wasn't going to talk to them, maybe he would talk to Remus Lupin.

As far as she was aware, Lupin did not know about the prophecy and how it applied to Harry, but he was in the Order, and had known Sirius well, and she knew he cared about Harry very deeply.

And Harry respected him to boot, which made him quite the perfect candidate for the job.

Sitting up a bit straighter, Hermione glanced at Harry one more time, pulled out another piece of parchment, and began to write.

Author's Notes:

A little bit of Hermione POV! :) This fic is going to be mostly from Harry's perspective, but a few other characters will be sharing their view of things as the story progresses.

I'm going to come back and edit in a couple review responses in the next day or two, but it's late and I want to get this chapter up before midnight so I'll just leave this here for now...