Ingenio ab Artifex (Formerly: Flowers for Your Grave)

by JaimeJabs

There have been many rumours surrounding me and my life—especially my love life. So, after due consideration—and a few well-aimed words from our resident bookworm—I have decided to publish my autobiography. For any questions and questionable charms placed on your copy of my self-updating autobiography, feel free to owl my publisher, Jaime.

8. Episode VII

Chapter 1: Ring!

January 29, 1995

Today is a great day. Honestly, good is the word to describe the last few days. Because of my injuries, I had to put training on hold, which meant I could catch up on my other studies, especially Runes and Arithmancy, and paint more often.

Oh boy, do I need that!

It's been such a chaotic year with all that happened and still happening that I didn't have much time to take up a paintbrush. Don't get me wrong, I painted, but I had to use magical means most of the time which doesn't allow for the same satisfaction.

Using magic for something I can accomplish without makes it feel cheaper and… all around less somehow.

That's why I am in a great mood as I stroll to Hogsmeade, alone for once. Ron is still sleeping and Hermione said she wanted to stop by the library before coming with Ron. That sounded like a date but...

Neville and Ginny have a date. That boy is coming out of his shell and, boy, oh boy, he will cause waves if his self-confidence continues to grow the way it has been this year. It's like watching a colourful butterfly come out of its cocoon.

Yeah, that left a bitter taste in my mouth after the way Snape used the butterfly memory to play me like a fiddle.

Anyway, I'm not sure what I will do alone in Hogsmeade. I would meet with Sirius and Remus and get drinks but they are using the free time they have to go to France for a while and handle a few things. This year has been tough on them too with constant travel between two countries. The store has been suffering because of their shifted attention and they haven't seen the few friends they made in France at all.

Oh, and I think Sirius has a lady he's not telling me about. He seemed awfully shifty and far too excited to be away for a week or two. I don't know why he thinks he needs to date on eggshells.

Get it? Date on eggshells?

Meh, I didn't like that joke much myself. Not every joke can be a winner, I guess.

Still, even alone, today is a great day and I want to feel the winter sun on my face. Staff in my hand, I walk towards the Shrieking Shack to have a late breakfast while watching the scenery. I even brought a canvas and a charmed transmitter that will relay the music playing on my record player.

What a morning. The scenery, some delicious food prepared by Dobby, timeless music, winter sun. There are only a few things that could make this morning better but I refuse to contemplate what could have been instead of enjoying what is.

I sit down on a bench looking over the Shack and Hogwarts. First order of business, I conjure a simple table and lay out the food. Today's breakfast is pancakes, melted chocolate and many types of fruits, a kettle of tea and a pitcher of orange juice. Today's music is Jazz and Blues, courtesy of Frank Sinatra and Nina Simone.

For the next hour, I munch on my food lazily and enjoy myself and the abnormally balmy weather. I even dance a little where I sit. That's how Aimee and Samantha find me. Singing and rocking on the bench. They're laughing which embarrasses me but they saw my monkey dance so this is far from my lowest.

"What are you doing?" Aimee asks when she stops laughing after a few minutes.

"Can't a guy enjoy himself?"

She raises an eyebrow with a smile. "I thought men did that in the shower."

I wave my hand without a care. "I did that before I came here."

Samantha walks to the table with a smile and sits down next to me. "What do we have here?"

"I am rewarding myself with some delicious food."

"What are you rewarding yourself for?"

I shrug. "No clue. Being awesome and handsome perhaps?"

Aimee joins us on the bench. "Can we get a reward too?"

"Sure, visit me in my room tonight and I'll see what I can do." I finish with a wink.

She slaps my shoulders in response. "I have a girlfriend, honey."

"The more the merrier," I say with a large, unashamed grin.

She shakes her head and pops a strawberry into her mouth. "You are happy."

I lean back and nod. "I am. It's been a good week."

"I guess you are over Fleur then," Samantha says and there goes my cheerful smile.

I ignore Aimee's glare to Samantha and shrug. "I don't know. At least I have closure now. She made her choice."

The brunette reddens a little under Aimee's pointed glare. "A stupid choice," she mumbles.

"Everyone deserves to make their own stupid choices. You are her friend. You should support her, not gossip about her, especially with me."

She lowers her head sheepishly.

Aimee stops glaring and eyes me. "So you aren't angry with her?"

My careless shrug is not completely honest. "Angry is not the right word. Disappointed and hurt, maybe but I can't be angry with her for choosing what she assumes will make her happy." I grin and add, "'fuck you but have a nice day' sums it up well."

Both girls laugh hard at that.

We spend the next hour chatting and laughing. Both girls offer a good company. Especially Aimee. She reminds me of Katie. Both are easy to talk to and easy to laugh with. Samantha is fun too though she exhibits a small foot in the mouth problem occasionally and has a slightly more sombre outlook in life.

I convince them to pose for me so I can paint them which lasts for two hours at which point they rebel on me and drag me to the Three Broomsticks for lunch. But not before making me promise to finish the drawing sometime and give them as a gift to remember me by when they leave.

Three Broomsticks is as crowded as ever like all Hogsmeade weekends but luckily, we find an empty table and order lunch and real beers.

When I say 'real' beer, I mean Muggle beer because let's be honest, Wizards have no appreciation of a good drink and are far too eager to add weird shit to them. I mean who in their right mind would prefer fire coming out of their mouth?

Anyway, Madam Rosmerta isn't keen on the idea but I convince her it's for the international cooperation purposes. Some bronze changing hands has nothing to do with it, I assure you.

We finish lunch around two in the afternoon which makes me realise Ron and Hermione are still not here. Just as I wonder that the door to the pub opens so I turn around to see Fleur and Bill walk in.

Fuck.

Today is an awful day. Honestly, awful is the word to describe this last few weeks.

I turn back and focus on my beer, tearing off the paper on it. I can feel Aimee and Samantha's sympathetic gazes on me but I ignore them, choosing to nurse my drink instead.

Luck would have it, the only empty table in the pub is right across from me which doesn't seem to faze Fleur as she sits next to her date as if I don't exist.

Oh, joy.

When five minutes pass by in silence, Aimee can't take it anymore. "Are you okay?"

I consider choosing the path of denial but it seems pointless. "I need a stronger drink."

Getting up, I walk to the bar and convince Rosmerta to sell me 'real' whiskey after five minutes of heated discussion and transfer of some silver.

Hey! Bribery is the backbone of a strong economy. Or was it productivity?

Whatever. I'll advocate for morality tomorrow and donate money to a charity or something.

I even get two glasses of quality wine for the girls accompanying me. I turn around to see Fleur sitting in the seat next to mine, arguing with Aimee. So I sit on a stool and sip my drink, waiting for her to return to her date.

Isn't it funny there is no fire-wine or something equally eccentric? Though if I had to guess, I'd say someone attempted it but French were quick to put a stop to that idea.

Am I being racist?

Am I acting a bit crazy?

Bill's plain boredom continues for ten minutes by which point I am on my second glass.

I guess I'll see if alcohol solves problems, eh?

I wait another minute before going back to the table and giving the girls their wines with an awkward smile. Two minutes of silence is all I can take before my curiosity gets the better of me. "What was that all about?"

Aimee huffs while Samantha answers my question. "Fleur seems to think us sitting with you is betraying her somehow."

I don't know why but I chuckle. "Why?"

"She said you insulted her," Aimee says with a questioning undertone.

"Did I, now? I can see how she would see it that way."

"Did you?"

I put an elbow at the table and rest my chin in my palm. "I believe my exact words were 'I like my woman with a backbone' and then explained when pride becomes arrogance."

Aimee crosses her arms. "So you hit her where it hurts?"

"Not really. She asked if I wanted her to crawl. I said 'no' and told her the backbone bit. I thought she would have told you all about it."

"She didn't. I understand why now."

"Let me recap then before you judge me. She, her father and sister came in. After the usual 'thank you for saving my daughter' bit, her father left with Gabriel. Then the whole business with Bill came up. I told her I would not chase after her and that if she wanted anything else to happen between us, she would be the one to ask me. She asked if I wanted her to crawl. I said no; that I liked a woman who wasn't afraid to go after what she wants with pride. She left without saying anything else after that."

"What did you expect?" Aimee asks me in a tone that is upset yet understanding.

I raise my arms in a complaint. "What was I supposed to do? Declare my undying love for her?"

"Why not? That's what she wanted from you."

"Yes, because it makes so much sense to tell her I love her when the girl doesn't even want to be seen in public with me. She who walked out on me twice and changed directions any time she saw me for two weeks."

She looks sheepish at that. "Yeah, you have a point there. But this is Fleur. It's always boys who ask her out, who go after her."

"I did go after her. Twice."

"You should talk to her. Without attacking her pride this time."

"I can't. She has Bill's tongue in her mouth at the moment." I nod towards the couple who are devouring each other with a passion. I finish my drink and realise the girls have finished theirs. "Refill?"

I wave to Rosmerta and order us another round of drinks after both girls nod.

Samantha takes a sip of her wine. "I thought you would want to leave."

"Nah. I drink here, I drink somewhere else. It doesn't matter. Besides, I want to memorise this scene for when the whole thing goes up in flames."

"What makes you think it will?"

"I know her. I know Bill. I bet when they have sex, I'll hear about it before you do and with greater detail."

Aimee raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

My answer follows a careless shrug. "I spent this summer listening to, in vivid and obnoxious detail, his 'conquests.' They weren't as cool as he hoped but who am I to judge? To each their own."

The girls exchange a look that speaks volumes. "Please don't tell her about this conversation. She will assume I am trying to... well, eliminate the competition or something and I really don't want that. I understand you care about her but you should let her make her own mistakes and learn from them."

After a minute of silent contemplation, Aimee's shoulders fall. "Fine."

Hermione and Ron choose that moment to walk in. They make a beeline to our table and sit down.

Ron's first words aren't what I consider thoughtful. "Ouch. That's got to hurt."

"Thank you for the sympathy but, still, fuck you."

Ron reddens. "Sorry. Do you want me to beat him for you?"

That earns a chuckle from me. "He's your older brother. If anything, he'd kick your ass. Besides, I can't blame the guy for dating a girl he finds beautiful out."

"Yeah, but mate, this is Bill we are talking about. He will talk, a lot."

I give Aimee a pointed look and elbow Ron in the ribs. "I learned how not to hear things when he did that this summer."

"Sorry."

Hermione shakes her head in exasperation. "That's the second time you said that in the last five minutes. We need to find a cure for your foot in the mouth syndrome."

"What's a syndrome?"

Hermione's head hits the table with a thud. "Sometimes, I curse the day I joined the magical world."

"What did I say this time?"

I clap him on the shoulder sympathetically. "Don't worry, buddy. You'll learn how to use your brain someday."

"Hey! I know how to use my... Wait, what was it called?"

That makes everyone at the table laugh.

Ron sure has his moments.

-HP-

February 6, 1995

I can feel it coming. The signs are all there. My sleeping is erratic and Ron's table manners have nothing to do with why my diet has been suffering for the past few weeks. Urge to paint is becoming oppressive. I talk less. I smile less but feel more. My mind wanders at ill opportune times and more often. Even my hands are shaking which is new among the list of symptoms.

I hate this. I hate not being in control. I hate when my cracks are there for the entire world to see.

The worst part is the looks Hermione throws me and the way Sirius is walking on eggshells around me. Albus has been observing me more closely. Even Minerva is acting odd. They all see the signs and know what's coming.

I hate that I can see them prepare to catch me when I fall, to nurse me back to sanity.

I have this... habit- I guess you could say- of losing my mind from time to time. It started when I was five. At least, that was when it took the form it is today.

Even back then, I loved painting. I'd spend most of my time painting. Then one day, on the anniversary of my parents' death, I went batshit crazy. I painted every flat surface of the house without a stop for fifteen straight hours.

It used to happen more often, every two months. Since starting Hogwarts, I've been doing better. The first year, I only had three breakdowns. My second and third years passed with two breaks each.

This year has been better. I suffered no break down yet which is surprising considering the amount of stress I am constantly under. Think about it. The year started with my vision of Voldemort planning to kidnap me, continued with the death eater attack after the World Cup and peaked with the Champion Selection Fiasco. My identity, my biggest secret, came out, and since then, I have been interchangeably hailed as a hero and vilified as a cheater. I almost died, again, and do I need to even mention the rollercoaster ride Fleur gave me?

What a fucking year! You can't blame me for cracking under pressure, and boy, will it be magnificent.

Maybe I should invite Rita to watch. I'm sure she'll love to write about it. Hell, she may risk my ire and catch a certain death for it.

Okay, that was way too dramatic.

I wouldn't actually kill her.

Much.

I don't think I would.

Now, I am sitting on my favourite spot near the lake with my back against my favourite tree, watching the lake and letting my mind do its thing in a vain effort to empty it and delay the inevitable.

Hermione is watching me from afar, pretending to give me my space. It's irritating yet it speaks volumes about how much she cares about me and I don't have the heart to tell her she's getting on my nerves. I love her too much to do that.

"Well, well. Look who it is. Hiding from your fans, Potter?"

I can't help respect how Malfoy can express the amount of contempt he has for me by saying my name. The way he says it, you'd expect Potter to be the world's most insulting curse word. The only other person capable of such a thing is Snape. Maybe he teaches a class on it?

I don't look up and I can perceive how much it offends him. "I was and yet, you found me."

"Shut up, Potter! I'm not a puffer!"

"If you say so."

I can't believe I will say this but I think I respect Draco Malfoy.

Agh! I feel sick.

Well, sicker than before.

You know what I always wondered? When someone says something disgusting, people tell them it's sick. How so? Isn't the person saying the disgusting thing is the one who's sick?

Words are funny.

"Why are you laughing about?" the blonde ponce asks when my crazy escapes me.

"I realised something. You know, since the first day we met, you hated me and you never changed. You will hear this from me only once, so savour the moment. I respect you. This whole school is a fucking insane asylum. People change opinions in a biweekly schedule yet you always hated me, not changing your opinion once. That takes guts. It's stupid. But brave still."

He stands there gaping like a fish for a long, long moment. Understandable. It's not every day your school nemesis says something nice about you.

"What?"

I shake my head in exasperation. "And there it goes."

"You respect me?"

"More than I respect ninety percent of the students in this school. They are a bunch of sheep, incapable of personal opinions. Even though I don't care about your opinion, you at least stand by it instead of rolling with the flow."

He gives me a 'right' nod, a rare moment of understanding passing between us.

Yikes! That's a worrying thought right there. '"You can go now. I'd like to be alone."

He does so without another word.

The entire world must be going crazy.

Half an hour after the blonde leaves, another blonde appears. This one, I like.

"Hello there, Aimee."

"Hi, Harry. What are you doing?"

"Sitting."

She cocks her head to the side and sits next to me. "Just sitting?"

"Yep. I am trying to empty my mind by letting it run free."

"What?"

"You know how sometimes your mind goes to overdrive and you constantly jump from one thought to another?" She nods. "I am having one of those times. So, I am letting every thought run its course to see if it will help me focus better."

She gives me a worried look, and I just want to scream. "Huh. That's a weird thing to do."

"I'm a weird guy I guess. Hey, do you know the joke that starts with the French witch and a goblin?"

"No, is it funny?"

"No idea. I can't remember. It's been driving me crazy."

"Huh."

"Do you ever wonder if there are aliens in the universe and whether they have magic? I mean, wouldn't it be cool if star wars had magic? Though, I guess 'the force' can be magic considering it enhances certain aspects of a person and helps them do things like move objects and shoot lightning bolts out of their hands. Did you know I can do that too? Shoot lightning bolts out of my hands. Well, not my hands per se, but I can make it look as if it's coming from my hands. My trick isn't powerful like Emperor Palpatine's but it's something I guess. I mean think about it. Palpatine is basically a dark lord and Yoda is Dumbledore if Albus was small and green and had an Object-Subject-Verb speech pattern. They even have the same 'must talk in riddles' nonsense going on. Well, do you?"

Aimee's eyes get bigger and bigger as I speak. "Okay, stop. What's going on with you?"

"What? What do you mean? Do you mean like what I was up to lately? Or right now? Like what I am doing at this moment? Because if it is the second, I already told you. But if it's the first, it would take a far too long time to answer. I have time though. Which is it?"

"Harry, are you okay?"

I shut up. Am I okay? What a ridiculous question. No, I am not. I am losing my grip. "I... I'm not sure." I turn my attention back to the lake. "I forgot to ask when I woke up from my three-day coma. What happened to the siren that almost killed me?"

She looks at me with worry. "I was still in the water when that happened but word around is you killed her."

"I was firing cutting curses blindly to keep her away. One of them must've done it."

"Do you feel bad about it?"

"I am not sure."

"What do you mean?"

I shrug. I can't explain what I am going through to myself, let alone her. I feel sad, glad, surprised, disappointed and many more things about having killed an intelligent being.

Do you hear that? The clock is ticking.

'Tick-tock.'

-HP-

February 9, 1995

The Marauders' map is a wonderful thing. It shows where everyone in the Hogwarts castle is at any given moment. I found out I liked to follow random dots of people recently. It is therapeutic and helps calm me down somehow.

Ron, Hermione and Neville are sitting in front of the fireplace in the common room with Ginny and a couple other people I don't know all that well. Malfoy is in Slytherin headquarters, surrounded by his usual goons, coming up with a nefarious plan to make someone, probably me, look like a fool.

Albus is in his office with Barty Crouch. Boring.

Flitwick and Sprout are visiting McGonagall's office. My guess is these gatherings happen often to gossip and complain about students. I mean, it's not like professors can have a life, right? Right?

Snape is in his office, doing god knows what. Holding a council meeting with bats, maybe?

Barty Crouch is in Moody's office, pacing while Moody is stationary.

Sinistra is in her office with a wom-

Wait, what?

How did Crouch get there so quickly? Wasn't he with Albus and the others just now? Oh, wait. He is there too.

How can there be two Crouch- Crouches? Crouchs? Whatever. Polyjuice? No. It doesn't fool the map. The only thing capable of fooling the map is my Cloak of Invisibility.

How is this possible?

Does he have a son? If he does, is he actually narcissistic enough to name his son after himself? I mean talk about a big ego!

A visit to Moody's office is inevitable, I guess.

I get up from the desk and don my invisibility cloak before making my way out of my room and towards the second floor where DADA classroom and Moody's office is.

You can understand how big Hogwarts is by this walk alone. It takes me fifteen minutes to get there.

I crouch- hehehe- next to the office door and put my ear to it to hear what's going on inside after checking the map once again to ensure my target is in there. Someone's walking, probably Crouch or whoever he really is.

Options. Should I knock on the door and act like I have an important question for the professor or should I barge in and surprise them?

Why consider the second option? Because there is a foul play here. Only a handful of people knows about the map which means it is near impossible to fool it. And among those who know the making of the map is one Peter Pettigrew. Whoever it is inside, he may be Voldemort's spy in Hogwarts.

Why do I think this Crouch is my target but not the one in the Headmaster's office? No idea. Gut feeling? I trust Albus. Whoever this man is, he wouldn't want to be near Albus more than necessary. Though I wonder if Moody is actually a safer choice with his paranoia.

Okay, I don't want to hurt someone innocent because of my paranoia so I choose the first option. I knock.

Two minutes later, the door opens to reveal the disfigured Professor. "What is it, Potter?"

I glance up at him with no telling expression on my face, not an easy feat with my mental state. "I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about duelling techniques, Professor."

He scrutinises me suspiciously. "Filius tells me you did great in the duelling tournament."

My smile is innocent to the point of extreme but the man doesn't suspect a thing. "It never hurts to learn more, professor. 'Constant Vigilance' and all that."

He opens the door wider and waves me in. "Get in."

That's worrying.

First thing I do as I walk in is examining every inch of the office. It's filled with whirling objects, similar to the Albus', but these creep me out while Albus' seem benign and even funny. Once I make sure there is no one else visible inside, I sit down at a chair and wait for him to settle. He takes off his wooden leg before doing so which adds a further tension to the situation.

"Go ahead and ask me your questions instead of looking around like a curious toddler, Potter."

"Okay. I was wondering if there is a spell to break someone's shield. In my duel with Professor Flitwick, I had to hide behind a shield because of how fast he is and while it worked for the short while I used it, I am not sure if it is a viable strategy in general."

He smiles, and it is scary. A man with his features should not smile, especially near young, impressionable children. "Well, there are charms to weaken shields but they are not efficient. An average wizard would tire out fast if he uses any of these against a powerful opponent. More often, duellers attack with a variety of spells to bend and tire out the shield."

While he is talking, I try to come up with an inconspicuous way of revealing whoever is with us. There is none.

"So it could be an effective strategy against a much weaker opponent? What about an opponent who can dodge my spells without tiring? Like I guess Krum would be. What strategy would you suggest against him?"

He hums as he thinks. "There are multiple options. Turning the environment against him and pinning him down is one. You can transfigure animals. You can try curses and hexes that affect an area instead of just a person. You can use the elements against him."

"I tried some of those on Flitwick but he overcame them easily."

He straightens in his chair and puts back his wooden leg before getting up. "Flitwick is an experienced dueller, Potter. You should be proud you lasted as long as you did against him. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to score essays."

I walk to the door but before I leave; I turn back. "I have one last question for you, Professor. Who is here with you?"

He tenses and his hand move to his wand. "What are you talking about, Potter? No one else is here."

He's lying. Why would he lie? Two possibilities He either knows the person and is hiding him, or he is the person. Either option means he is hiding something and my paranoia tells me both possibilities are to my detriment.

I move fast. Too fast for him to react even with his prepared stand. He causes no problems before he is disarmed and bound on the chair I was just sitting. Next, I cast the Human-Revealing charm. Wouldn't you guess? There is someone inside his trunk.

Inside his trunk? I mean, I know enlargement charms can turn a trunk into a zoo so it isn't hard to imagine a person hiding in there but still, what the fuck?!

Five minutes of rummaging the trunk later, I find the right compartment in his seven compartment trunk. Why would he need seven compartments, I have no idea.

A balding man who looks like Moody is lying in a prone position. What an odd thing.

What to do? What to do?

I guess this is a good time to involve Albus. A parrot leaves my wand to deliver Albus a message. 'Moody's office. Quick. Bring Crouch and Snape, and a vial of Veritaserum.' It's a good thing the door is already open.

I made just one mistake. I didn't check the Moody I disarmed for a spare wand. Which he has and I find out the hard way when I become a victim of the Torture curse second time this year. As I writhe on the ground, he talks but for the life of me, I can't hear a word he says. Pain is my entire world at the moment.

After what feels like an hour, he disarms me and sits back down, his shoulders slumped. "What am I going to do with you, Potter? You weren't supposed to know about me."

Hey, that means he doesn't know the purpose of the parrot which must have reached Albus' office by now. Rescue is on the way. Buy time. "Congratulations are in order, I guess. You got the better of Moody. That's impressive."

"It wasn't hard."

"Oh, yes. I imagine Voldemort would be more than capable of dealing with even someone as paranoid and experienced as Mad-Eye."

He looks at me searchingly. Good. Waste time.

"You dare say his name?" He's not angry, he is puzzled.

I laugh. "Please, if I wanted to say his name, I'd call him Tom Riddle. Not Voldemort."

Now, he is angry, but he doesn't lose his calm yet. "I would be more respectful if I were you, boy. Dark Lord has many plans for you. Not all of them leaves you breathing. And of those that allow you to breathe, most end up like Longbottoms."

That's surprising. Voldemort doesn't necessarily want to kill me? "He wants me to join him, doesn't he? That moron."

Yep. I said it and I meant it. And yes, he is mad. That's funny. Mad-Eye is mad.

My good mood doesn't last thanks to another bout of Cruciatus. Whoever came up with that curse deserves to be kept under it for hours on end. That shit hurts!

Torture doesn't last long though, probably because whatever Voldemort's plan is, it involves keeping me alive and healthy. I can't go through that again. It is far too painful. That means waiting for Albus is no longer a possibility unless I disarm him again.

He's speaking but, again, the irritating ringing is all I can hear.

I have to use my last resort; my second wand. Otherwise, I may not survive this or worse. An obliviation with my state of mind might destroy it completely.

So he wouldn't understand my goal, I clutch my chest as if it hurts, which isn't hard to fake because it fucking hurts, as I turn my upper body to hide my movements. My right hand moves inch by inch to my necklace. I know he can't see the necklace but I don't want to take any chances.

Every object in my necklace is shrunk to keep the size manageable. When I touch one of them and give a mental command, the object detaches from the necklace and returns to its original size.

Albus is a genius.

I touch a small metal-looking charm that looks like a wand, and a moment later, I have my phoenix wand in my hand.

"... pe that teaches you respect, boy. Otherwise-"

"Arget Oro!" That's an arrow throwing curse. It's the first idea that comes to my mind and I am in no position to be picky.

The problem is, it hits him in the throat and kills him in a manner of seconds as it destroys his spinal cord.

"Da- Dammit."

It takes another five minutes for the cavalry to arrive while I lay on the ground, unable to consider even the idea of moving. Albus barges in like an avenging angel and stops short in shock when he sees the scene.

His shock is understandable. He is supposed to be friends with Moody. Though that begs the question of how he failed to realise the man wearing Moody's face wasn't who he says he was.

The century-old man kneels near me with a fearful expression on his face. "Are you okay, Harry?"

"Just pea- peachy. I lo- love laying on dirty floors."

"What happened?"

I don't get up yet. The way I am spasming, the idea doesn't seem sensible. My back wounds are also hurting which can't be a good sign.

Dammit. I stopped needing the staff only two days ago.

"My name. Cup. Two Bart-y Crouch in t- the map. Came to figure out. Imposter. Dis- disarmed him. Didn't che- check for a spare. F- found real Moody. Cruciatus. Didn't check for a spare -e. Killed him." Yeah, that's the most I am capable of for now.

Albus exchanges a look with Crouch but says nothing. He knows something. Both does. And is it me or does Crouch look awful? His clothes are in shreds, there are bags under his eyes and he's white as a sheet.

"I should have known you would be involved in whatever this is, Potter," Snape drawls when he enters with a vial in hand, giving me what passes for a concerned look for him.

I nod, well try to. "Yep. Love the torture curse. Can't get enough." I turn to the headmaster once again. "The map never lies, Albus."

"I think we should get you and Alastor to Poppy. She will be furious with you as it is. We will discuss this in extent when you are better."

"Shit."

Shit covers it pretty good. Turns out, while I was writhing under Cruciatus, I re-injured my muscles and reopened the wounds in my back. It wasn't until Poppy came and put me on a stretcher, we first realised the pool of blood on the floor where I was laying.

She is vocal about her displeasure. My ears are ringing.

Another fun night in the hospital wing is what I get for helping keep Hogwarts safe once again.

'Tick-tock. Tick-tock.'

-HP-

February 11, 1994

Last few days were filled with revelations. First was the uncovering of the imposter. That imposter turned out to be Barty Crouch Jr., Barty Crouch's son. Barty Jr. was a death eater who was broken out of Azkaban by his father, then kept under Imperius until he overcame the unforgivable.

According to the real Moody, with the help of someone else, probably Voldemort and Wormtail, Junior got the best of the paranoid man and used his identity to infiltrate the school.

We are almost certain he was the one to put my name in the goblet. He also has been keeping Crouch Sr. under Imperius curse until the father accomplished the same feat his son did. That's why Crouch Sr. was looking awful the day I killed Junior. He got free the same day and ran to Dumbledore to inform him of the situation as soon as possible.

What a series of fuck-ups.

I killed a man again. It's been bugging me ever since I woke up the next day, yesterday. Even with my tremors, as soon as Poppy let me go, I left the school to get two new tattoos. One for each of my kills since the summer. A trident and the Goblet of Fire.

It was a bitch, laying on the chair at the tattoo parlour without moving when the pain from the tattoo machine added to the considerable pain I was already in. I kept running over what I did wrong, how I could have handled the situation better.

The answer is obvious in hindsight: I should have gone to Dumbledore right away when I saw the map. In my defence, I wasn't in the best mindset and all I wanted was to figure out the puzzle.

Oh, and Albus apologised for failing to protect me. Again. Honestly, he should have suspected Moody. He's been friends with the paranoid man for decades but he had enough on his plate and Moody is a loner who avoids crowds as much as possible.

Is it paranoia if they are out to get you? Because Moody's paranoia was apparently well-founded.

Another potential, and more than a little worrying, result is the potential changes Voldemort will make to his plan. Until now, we knew his game and that he had an inside man even if we lacked details. Now, we are clueless about what his next move will be. He won't give up, that's out of the question, but will he stick to the plan by finding a new agent or involving new players? Or will he give up on kidnapping me and order someone to kill me?

Questions and questions with no answers in sight.

Hermione went nuts on me, yelling at me for being an irresponsible, danger loving, lucky-to-be-alive idiot. Katie cried a little more. Ron and Neville patted me on the back and dropped the subject as I wasn't very talkative.

"Harry. Harry. Harry!"

"Hm?" I turn to the bushy-haired girl.

"Will you, please, eat something?" That resigned attitude doesn't go well with Hermione's voice. She should be happy or mad or bored, not resigned.

"Sure."

I focus on the food in front of me and continue eating without enthusiasm. My diet has been suffering since the start of my fall. How long have I been falling now? Over two weeks? Damn. Half a month is a long time to keep falling.

Usually, I show the 'symptoms' a week or less before my breakdowns. This is a record and from the looks of it, the bottom is still far.

I should celebrate this record. Maybe a bottle of champagne? I wonder what champagne tastes like. Strawberry champagne must taste like strawberries but what does regular old champagne taste like? Did you know the only difference between champagne and sparkling wine is the region? Champagne is sparkling wine produced in the Champagne region of France.

Merlin, French people can be obsessive and pretentious.

Speaking of French people, Fleur is still dating Bill. At least I wasn't forced to listen to Bill's bragging yet. I count that as a win.

Okay, I realise I make it sound like Bill is an asshole with no likable qualities. He is not. Well, he is an asshole about anything related to the opposite sex but he's not unlikable. He is charming and fun. I guess I'm not as okay with this situation as I force myself to pretend.

Fuckity fuck, fuck!

"Harry. Harry. Harry!"

"Hm?" I turn to the bushy-haired girl.

Oh, I just had a déjà vu. I like déjà vu. It makes you think. Hermione gave me this article about parallel universes once. Those sound fascinating. One theory about déjà vu is that our counterparts in other go through a similar experience and somehow, the knowledge of that bleeds through. I wonder if every version of me in every parallel universe is going through this shitty breakdown I am going through? Or are they happy, well-adjusted people?

"Please eat. Starving yourself will do you no good."

My smile to her is half genuine. "Ron is eating enough for the two of us, I imagine."

Like the teenager she is, she rolls her eyes. "What he eats won't do you any good. You must eat."

Ron looks up from his worship of his plate. "Huh?"

I grin. "Hermione was just telling me how she thinks rooting for the cannons is stupid and how they have no chance of winning the league. Ever."

Ron rolls his eyes at me, seeing through my trick but winks and turns to Hermione with a look of outrage. Nice. That ought to keep Hermione busy for a while. From the grin Neville throws me, I can see he understands my little diversion while Ron explains Hermione just why the Cannons is the greatest team ever and how they will win the cup when they sign a good seeker next summer.

"How have you and Ginny been doing?"

Neville's embarrassed flush makes me smile. "We are doing well. I think she's happy with me."

"Good. You are a good man. She's lucky. If you want a little privacy but don't want to risk getting caught after curfew, my door is always open. I won't mind being displaced if it means my friend has a good time."

His flush goes off to roof. "Thanks," he stammers. He leans in to whisper. "We haven't kissed much yet. I don't want to pressure her or anything."

"I understand you don't. You are an honourable man, Neville, and you shouldn't hurry. Privacy doesn't have to be about that. You can surprise her with a nice dinner with music or something similar. Don't be afraid to be a little creative."

He nods at me like a good boy.

Merlin, did I compare one of my best friends to a dog? I am so fucked up.

Hermione turns with a furrowed brow and a frown for a reason. "We have to get to the class..."

"Go. Enjoy your classes."

Her hesitation is visible. "Will you be okay?"

That's why. "Don't worry about me. I'll take a little walk then head to my room to paint a little. I still need to finish the painting for Aimee and Samantha."

She searches my face for a confirmation but doesn't find it. She still has to go.

I don't move for a long time after they leave. I have nowhere to be and this is a good spot as any to let my mind do its thing.

'Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.'

-HP-

February 14, 1995

Yay! It's Valentine's day. Lucky for all couples in the school, the weather is fucking great.

It's such an obnoxious day that I want to bash every couple I see in the head with my staff which I am forced to use once again because I had to, I just 'had to', solve the puzzle.

I am walking down to Great Hall with Ron and Hermione, who are bickering as they always do. When Ron gets his ass out of his head and asks Hermione out, their relationship either will be legendary or they will crash and burn spectacularly. In either case, I will want a front-row seat.

I love these two.

Yes, I realise I said 'gets his ass out of his head' because that damn moron's head is so empty his ass could fit in there.

Not that Hermione is any better with people skills and romance. Those two are practically made and retarded for each other.

We walk past another couple, Cedric and Cho, who are too fucking lazy to go down to the hall for food so they are devouring each other. Morons.

You may have missed it but I am not having a good day. Oh, don't be so surprised, I am a great actor. Though Hermione doesn't think so if the constant glances she's trying to throw at me even as she continues her bickering is a sign. Multi-tasker, that one.

Every time she does that, I get the urge to rip her throat out but for the life of me, I can't get mad at her. She cares about me far too much and I have no desire to hurt someone who has been there, who is still there for me every step of my... adventurous and dramatic Hogwarts career.

But, boy, oh boy, how much I hate everything right now.

"Harry?"

"Yes, Hermione?"

"Please stop glaring at everything."

"Everything should stop being in my line of sight."

That brings her up short. "What? How?"

"Sometimes, World should not exist, yeah?"

She tilts her head. "If the world wouldn't exist, how would you?"

"I wouldn't mind not existing at the moment. We should just fast-forward to next week. I doubt we will enjoy this week very much. Do you know if it's possible to use a time-turner to travel to the future?"

She shakes her head in a Dobby imitation and looks at me with wide eyes. "You are going to do something stupid, aren't you? You look like you are about to do something stupid."

Hm. Will I? "Probably. I am feeling particularly prone to stupidity at the moment. Depends on what the day holds, I will either do something stupid or I will break."

Ron nods. "I vote breakdown."

Hermione slaps him on the shoulder. "Ronald! Don't say that."

"He's got a point, Hermione. If I break, I will get better sooner. If I do something stupid, the breakdown will still happen."

"Still. He shouldn't say 'get on with it' like that."

"Whatever."

We continue our walk in silence as I keep glaring at the sappy couples, who are hunting for privacy, and horny males who are waiting near mistletoes for a girl, any girl, to pass them by. Fucking teenagers and their gooey romance and pink love.

I have no idea what's wrong with me. I am not this angry. Ever. And I don't like feeling this way. True, I snap at people time to time like any hormonal teenager worth their salt but my anger is never this general, more momentary and more focused. Even for a breakdown, this is far too much anger for a happy-go-lucky guy like me.

As soon as we reach the hall and the Gryffindor table, I throw myself down on an empty bench and continue my glaring. My two best friends eat and chat, trying to involve me in the conversation, and eating in Hermione's case, but I do a little of either.

Just when I think the level of irritation can't get any higher, half an hour into the lunch, Bill Weasley joins us and makes me want to facepalm using the table.

I must have a seer blood in me.

"Hello there, children," he chirps with a wide smile. Would he headbutt the table if I asked him to or would table-butting him the head be easier?

Ron and Hermione mumble their greetings while I continue glaring at my food. I hate food. Food is the worst.

"How are you this lovely day?"

I continue coming up with creative ways of killing someone, namely the irritating redhead, while Ron talks to his big brother. "You are cheerful today. What's up?"

Bill sits down next to me before he brags, "I have a date with the lovely and, just between us, sexy Fleur Delacour, the Veela queen." He says that in a loud voice, making me think his so-called call for discretion was a lie.

I've always wondered what would drive someone to murder another in cold blood, as in premeditated murder. Well, now I understand. People this irritating should be murdered to death and then murdered more so they don't defile the hell because that's definitely where they are headed. Lucifer, the Devil, has my sympathy because irritating people are very... irritating.

Oh, Sympathy for the Devil. That's a nice song. Yes, Harry, play the song in your head. You don't need to listen to this.

Unfortunately, my inner concert fails because I can feel Hermione's sympathetic gaze boring holes to my skull and it brings me out of my thoughts.

"Today is the day, little brother. The day I finally nail a veela."

Head, meet the Gryffindor table. Thud.

"It will be great. I already booked us a private room in the Three Broomsticks, and I suggest you don't go near Hogsmeade today because it may get loud."

Table, this is my head. Thud.

The redheaded man-whore turns to me. "Are you okay, Harry?"

"Just peachy," I mumble from my headrest on the table. "What a lovely fucking day we are having, right? The sun and the breeze and all that unnecessary bullshit."

"Yeah, a great day for feeding the basilisk, if you know what I mean."

"No, I don't. Do you mean like the basilisk I killed that was about to eat your little sister? You remember Ginny, don't you? Redhead, brown eyes, five feet two inches, a hundred pounds, wants to be a chaser for the Gryffindor."

He looks at me suspiciously. "Are you dating Ginny, Harry?"

That gets a laugh out of all three of us, me, Ron and Hermione. "Oh, Bill. I needed a good laugh. Thank you."

"What?"

I shake my head in amusement and he lets go of the subject.

Once he stops laughing, Ron turns to his brother, giving me an apologetic look. "So, why are you here if you have a date? Did she stood you up?"

"No, she will meet me here. She's probably getting ready. Like I said, I got a good feeling about today. This is will be a historic day, little brother, and it will be the best broom ride she ever had and ever will."

Okay, that's it. I am a patient guy but even I have a limit and I had it with Bill and his not-so-clever euphemisms. "Merlin, you are a moron."

Silence greets my comment. Hermione is looking at me with wide eyes while Ron is holding back his laughter because he knows what's coming and Bill, well, he's not the brightest candle in the castle. "What?"

"Did I stutter? Oh, it must be the moron part. I said you are a moron. Moron is someone who is exceptionally stupid. Like you. In comparison, a moron's brain functions are similar to that of a giant's. Well, a stupid giant's, but the comparison still holds. I'll make it easier for you. Let's go with garden-gnome so it will be easier for you to understand. You do understand what a garden-gnome is, don't you? Because if you don't, I'd understand. I won't judge I promise. Being upset with you for not understanding would be like getting angry at a baby for shitting in his pants. Ineffectual. It's just nature taking its course. Now, before you think I am comparing you to shit, I am not. I am comparing your brain capacity to that of a garden-gnome's. Though even gnomes exhibit a wider range of emotions than you. I wonder what would be a good comparison? Hermione, I am shooting blanks here. Do you know of any animal, magical or otherwise, that is as stupid and emotionally stunted as Bill? If you don't, I'm sure we can find a nice fit in literature. Oh, I got it. Orcs. You know, the ones in the Lord of the Rings."

I take a break because even I have to breathe, though with the length of the rant, I am sure Hermione is proud.

Bill is getting angry. "What's your problem, mate?" I don't know what's preventing him from being outright angry but I guess it is the curse of having slower brain functions.

"I am not your mate, buddy. I am just your acquaintance or someone you are friendly with but even that is far-fetched considering I think ignoring you be a better pastime activity than listening to you."

"What?"

"That's it? I insult you with material Severus fucking Snape would be proud of and all you have to say are 'what's your problem' and 'what'? Seriously? How did you finish Hogwarts? Honestly, do they give diplomas to any moron these days? I always wondered why Crabbe and Goyle's parents waste so much money on Hogwarts when it's obvious neither of them will earn any N.E. but I guess I was wrong. Even morons can graduate. Do Gringotts always hire morons or are you a charity case for them? I mean, I met Terrak, and he's a quick-witted guy so I assumed goblins have excellent intellectual capacity but maybe he's the brightest of his kind or an abnormality."

"What the fuck is your problem?!"

"My problem? Well, for starters, I am sick of hearing you talk about girls you fucked or girls you will fuck or girls you imagine yourself fucking. I mean, by Merlin, how can you talk about 'fucking' with such a great enthusiasm and detail without ever stopping, I will never understand and frankly, I pity any girl stupid enough to come ten feet of you let alone fuck you. We get it, you hope to fuck Fleur today. Have fun but do shut up."

I stand up and turn around to leave but am stopped by a smack across my face. My mind catches up with reality seconds later and I can't help it, I laugh. Fleur fucking Delacour just slapped me.

Wow. What a great fucking day.

When I finally stop laughing, I smile sweetly at Fleur while she's glaring at me, her cheeks red. "There goes the house of cards."

"What?" she hisses back and my smile falls, a kind but reserved expression in its place.

"Have a nice life, Fleur, and may you have everything you deserve."

I walk past the blonde goddess who looks as beautiful as ever even with the thunderous expression on her face, and there are only two thoughts in my mind. 'There it is' and 'this would be a lot more awesome if I could walk without a fucking staff.'

As soon as I am out of the great hall and the loud silence that envelops it, I lean on a wall and take a deep breath. It has been a long month and it will be a long couple of days but there is nowhere to go but up now.

Ring!

-Flowers for Your Grave-

Chapter 2: Perspective

February 14, 1995

"What are you and Bill planning for your date today?"

"There are limited options, 'ime. We'll start by having lunch in that quaint little pub, the Three Broomsticks, followed by a nice, long stroll. After that, we'll see if this is the luckiest day of his life."

Aimee hates it when I call her 'ime' which is why I try to do so whenever we are in private. Though this time, she ignores it. "I don't get what do you see in that guy, Fleur."

"He's sweet, fun, charming, exciting," I answer easily, my annoyance about the many times she said so is easy to identify in the shake of my head. "And I don't understand why you dislike him so."

Aimee opens her mouth to say something and closes it, then opens it again. She continues to imitate a fish for almost two minutes.

"What?"

I'm not sure whether her determined nod is for my sake or hers. "You are right. I shouldn't act this way even if I think you are making a mistake. It is your mistake to make and you have my support no matter what."

That is suspicious. "You know something I don't?"

"No," she drawls, a blush making its way to her face, which is all I need to be sure.

I turn away from my wardrobe and my efforts of finding the right outfit for my date, and stalk towards her. "What do you know?"

She shakes her head and pretends to zip her mouth while looking at me with wide eyes.

"Why aren't you telling me?"

"Fleur, like I said, you should make your own mistakes so you can learn from them."

"Why aren't you telling me?"

"Fleur..."

"Why aren't you telling me?"

That does it, she jumps up from the bed, stalking across the room in agitation. "Because I promised Harry I wouldn't."

I look at her with narrowed eyes. What does Harry has to do with Bill and what is Aimee not telling me? Yes, my old bed warmer and my new boyfriend know one another but why would the former make Aimee promise not to tell me something? Something that causes Aimee to think dating Bill is a mistake? "And what did he make you to promise not to tell?"

"Do you really want to know?" I answer with a nod so she continues, "fine! According to Harry and Ron, Bill is a shallow guy who loves to brag about the women he has sex with and doesn't care much for commitments, more into the hump and dump kind relationships. If my memory serves me right, shallowness is one thing you hate most in a man."

That brings me up short. Is he? No, he can't be, he doesn't seem like the type. But why would Harry and Bill's brother, of all people, say that about him?

"Yes, I understand what's going on. Harry is trying to make me break up with Bill so he has me all to himself, he hopes, and Ronald is helping him."

Aimee shakes her head rapidly this time. "That's why he didn't want me to tell you. He said you'd assume he's trying to eliminate the competition. He also said instead of gossiping about you, we should support you even if we think you are making a mistake."

I ponder that for a full minute, perhaps even more. It sounds like Harry was genuine about what he said and I never heard him lie. But... I like Bill. He's one of the rare men who can actually act normal around me and hasn't tried to pressure me into sex, something completely opposite of what Harry claims.

No, the boy must be lying, too envious of the charismatic Bill and too egoist to apologise for his words and beg for me to take him to bed.

Well, he can dream on because there is no way I will forgive him.

Okay, maybe I would. Hell, if I was brave enough to be honest with myself, I would go so far as to say I yearned for an apology so we can return to how we were.

I choke the pang the finality of whatever I had with Harry leaves in my heart and focus on my best friend. "What else did he say?"

"About Bill? Nothing much, just that he was sick of hearing him talk about women and sex all the time and how he learned not to hear things past summer thanks him."

My eyes snap at the girl. "What do you mean about Bill? What else did you talk about that concerns me?"

She realises she let on more than she wanted to and flushes. "Nothing."

"Aimee..."

"He told us about what happened when you visited him in the hospital wing with your father."

That's interesting. Why would he talk about that with my friends, considering he insulted me? "What did he say?"

"He just told us what happened."

"Tell me what he told you exactly."

She does as she's told and after ten minutes of recap; I am fuming. "That... That bastard thinks I will crawl back to him, does he?! He thinks he knows me, does he?!"

Aimee watches me while I pace around my room and consider how I can make him regret what he said. "Fleur, don't do anything stupid please. Harry hasn't been himself lately, especially since..."

She knows! She knows why the normally cheerful and lively boy has been looking so broken lately. "Since what?"

She plays with the sleeve of her shirt. "It doesn't matter. It's not my place to tell."

"Aimee, tell me what you meant by that."

She squares her shoulders and looks up at me with a determined expression. "It doesn't concern you directly, and it's not my place to say."

I sigh. "Okay, fine, don't tell me. Your best friend since we were babies."

I've known Aimee since I was a baby and we've been friends ever since, through thick and thin, as they say. This is the first time there is an awkward silence between us and it's all because of that boy.

That boy who told me to ask him out and then insulted me. That boy who sat with my friends and talked about me. That boy who I miss.

No, I don't miss him. On the contrary, right now, I pretty much hate him.

I continue dressing in the tense silence. I choose a pink, tight sweater and skinny jeans. All in all, my clothes shows just how sexy I am. We'll see what he will think when he realises what he lost.

Aimee accompanies me on my way to Great Hall to meet Bill. The grounds are not covered in snow anymore, which is a good thing, but now, we are forced to walk on mud once again. I don't think saying I hate Britain is enough. I fucking hate Britain.

I look around when we reach the hall and find the now familiar red ponytail of Bill in Gryffindor table next to the certain messy-haired boy. The redhead is jumping on his seat, which is endearing, while the other boy seems to have a disagreement with the table.

We walk towards the table to catch the end of Bill's sentence. "... brother, and it will be the best broom ride she ever had and ever will."

I stop mid-step when I hear that. Did he actually say that? I must've heard wrong. Or maybe he's planning on taking me on a surprise broom ride.

"Merlin, you are a moron," Harry says with a shake of his head and a strange edge to his tone.

"What?"

"Did I stutter? Oh, it must be the moron part. I said you are a moron. Moron is someone who is exceptionally stupid. Like you. In comparison, a moron's brain functions are like that of a giant's. Well, a stupid giant's but the comparison still holds. I'll make it easier for you. Let's go with garden-gnome so it will be easier to understand. You do know what a garden-gnome is, don't you? Because if you don't, I'd understand. I won't judge, I promise. Being upset with you for not understanding would be like getting angry at a baby for shitting in his pants. Ineffectual. It's just nature taking its course. Now, before you think I'm comparing you to shit, I am not. I am comparing your brain capacity to that of a garden-gnome's. Though even gnomes exhibit a wider range of emotions than you. I wonder what would be a good comparison? Hermione, I am shooting blanks here. Do you know of any animal, magical or otherwise, that is as stupid and emotionally stunted as Bill? If you don't, I'm sure we can find a nice fit in literature. Oh, I got it: orcs. You know, the ones in the Lord of the Rings."

Wow. That was just... wow. I don't know whether to laugh, clap or get angry on Bill's behalf because that was some rant.

What is stopping me from doing either is, how out of character it was for Harry. From what I've seen of him so far, he's not the type to lose his cool, even in most stressful situations. He proved that when he calmly walked past a dragon.

What could Bill have said to drive him so mad?

"What's your problem, mate?"

"I am not your mate, buddy. I am just your acquaintance or someone you are friendly with but even that is far-fetched considering I think ignoring you is a better pastime activity than listening to you."

"What?"

By d'Arc!

"That's it? I insult you with material Severus fucking Snape would be proud of and all you have to say are 'what's your problem' and 'what'? Seriously? How did you finish Hogwarts? Honestly, do they give diplomas to any moron these days? I have always wondered why Crabbe and Goyle's parents waste so much money on Hogwarts when it's obvious neither of them can get any N.E. but I guess I was wrong. Even morons can graduate. Do Gringotts always hire morons or are you a charity case for them? I mean, I met Terrak, and he's a quick-witted gut so I assumed goblins have good intellectual capacity but maybe he's the brightest of his kind or an abnormality."

Yes, Harry knows how to insult someone when he gets mad and that was two rants in a row. Definitely commendable.

Bill is finally angry. "What the fuck is your problem?!"

"My problem? Well, for starters, I am sick of hearing you talk about girls you fucked or girls you will fuck or girls you imagine yourself fucking. I mean, by Merlin, how can you talk about 'fucking' with such a great enthusiasm and detail without ever stopping, I will never understand and frankly, I pity any girl stupid enough to come within ten feet of you let alone fuck you. We get it, you hope to fuck Fleur today. Have fun but do shut up."

I see red. How dare he?!

Harry gets up and turns around and before I know it, I slap him hard across his face, shaking with red, hot rage.

He laughs.

That wasn't what I imagined he would do. That's the last thing I thought anyone would do when they are slapped. What the fuck is wrong with him?

I can feel myself flush with anger and embarrassment, and he just laughs.

Until he stops and the look that takes the manic laughter's place cuts through me like a knife. "There goes the house of cards," I hear him whisper.

What's that supposed to mean? "What?"

The moment I ask, the answer hits me like a ton of bricks. 'Pride built on an empty foundation falls apart like a house of cards.' Fuck.

"Have a nice life, Fleur, and may you have everything you deserve," he whispers in a cold voice and with a neutral expression instead of answering. That neutrality creates a stark contrast with the red of my hand on his cheek and I can feel my tears building.

No, I won't add to my embarrassment by crying like a silly girl. I can feel everyone's eyes on me, judging me and waiting for my next scandalous move. I won't give them the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

'May you have everything you deserve.' That sentence keeps echoing through my mind as he stumbles out of the hall, leaning on his cane.

Bill jumps up a moment after Harry leaves as if he only now realises what happened and who I am. "Fleur, are you ready to go?"

If you asked me a moment before he asked that if I could laugh anytime soon, I'd say no way but, god, he is a moron. How did I not see that before now?

"I am not going anywhere with you. You want to fuck someone? Go fuck yourself."

While Bill looks at me with... my best guess is incomprehension, that bushy-haired friend of Harry gets up to leave but stops next to me and looks at me up and down with narrowed eyes and wrinkled nose. "I don't know what Harry sees in you. All I see is a stuck-up bitch who doesn't deserve a single strand of his hair, let alone his adoration."

She leaves before I can answer, though even if she stayed, I am shooting blanks on what I could say to that without adding to the day's drama.

"Fleur..."

"Don't even talk to me, Bill, ever."

Aimee walks past me swiftly, and without a glance, and sits down in front of Ron, where Harry was sitting a moment ago. "Is he going to be okay?"

Ron shakes his head. "Nope. He was already on the verge of crazy after what happened with the fake Moody. I reckon you won't see him for the next few days if not more. Even I probably won't see much of him for a while."

Fake Moody? Wasn't Moody that creepy guy with an artificial eye? His lessons has been cancelled for the past week though no explanation was given. Other Hogwarts teachers have been attending the lessons instead.

I lose the war to my curiosity so I sit down next to Aimee who still doesn't spare me a glance. I don't blame her. I'm just grateful there are no mirrors around. "What do you mean fake Moody, and what happened?"

Ron gives me a disinterested look but answers, no sign of his previous weakness to my allure. "Our defence teacher turned out to be an imposter. Harry figured it out and there was a fight. Fake Moody used Cruciatus on him so Harry had to kill the bastard. Good riddance, I say, but Harry obviously has conflicting feelings on it." My eyes widen in shock to which Ron nods. "Yes, you slapped someone who went through a traumatic ordeal five days ago. Someone who almost died a month ago to save your sister and because of that, still can't walk without a staff. That was a nice move."

Shit. I can't believe I forgot about him saving my sister. Does that make me a horrible person?

I slapped him! And for what? For getting mad at someone for talking about fucking me like I'm a piece of meat. For being right about what would happen. For not trying to win my affections.

I am a horrible person.

'Have a nice life, Fleur, and may you have everything you deserve.' I don't want to think about what I deserve.

My anguish must be clear in my face because Ron nods at me knowingly. "Yes, you have been acting like a crazy bitch."

"But..."

Before I can finish, Harry' date for the Yule Ball sits down next to Ron with a thud. What was her name? Katherine? It started with a 'ka', that I am sure of. "Where is Harry? And why are you all looking like someone died? Oh, god. Please don't tell me he was attacked again. I can't take it anymore."

Her honesty is obvious for everyone to see; she looks on the verge of a breakdown.

Ron looks like he wants to say yes, because technically, Harry was attacked. "Nah. He had a little fight Bill and Fleur here and left."

Katie looks at me like I offended her somehow which is close to the truth. "What did you do?" she hisses.

"I..."

Ron comes to my rescue. "It doesn't matter. I wouldn't expect to see much of him for the next two or three days if I were you though."

"Is he going to shut himself in his room again?"

"Yep."

They continue talking but I don't listen a word they say as I keep running over what happened, everything that happened since I met Harry. One thing is glaringly obvious: Harry has always treated me with adoration and respect, apart from his indirect insult and even that was mostly my pride taking offense. All the while I went between acting like a bitch to him and opening myself up to him in random order, confusing him.

Is it any wonder the bushy-haired girl hates me or Aimee doesn't want to look at me right now?

I have no clue how long I sit still, lost in a world of my own. It isn't until Samantha throws herself on to the seat next to me that I wake up. "Fleur, what are you doing here? I thought you had a date with Bill."

Aimee is far too happy to answer in my stead. "Fleur dumped his ass."

"Why?"

"Remember how Harry said he'd know before us when Bill fucks Fleur?"

Samantha looks at me crossly for not divulging that bit of misunderstood gossip. "I thought you didn't have sex with him yet."

Aimee doesn't give me a chance to answer. "They haven't, Bill was talking about how he would fuck Fleur later today."

Samantha's chuckling turns to coughing when I glare at her but she holds nothing back. "Like I said, you should've dropped Bill and asked Harry out."

This time, it is Aimee who chuckles and I glare at but she continues to ignore me. "I don't think Harry will want anything to do with Fleur anymore thanks to the slap he received for getting angry at Bill because he was talking about fucking Fleur."

I consider slamming my head on the table, multiple times, but decide against it. I fucked up well and good, and now, I have to live with it.

Why did I have to act so arrogant?

'May you have everything you deserve.'

-FD-

February 18, 1995

"Okay, I can't take this anymore, I need to apologise." I stand and move towards the door of my small room but Aimee steps in front of me before I can leave.

"Fleur, I think it's great of you to wish to apologise, but do you think now is the best time? You heard what Ron said, even he thinks you shouldn't go near him yet."

"This is the boy Harry described as emotionally constipated we are talking about. Even he himself admits it to be correct so why should I take his advice?"

Aimee's hesitation doesn't last long. "Perhaps because he has known Harry for, I don't know, four years and has been best friends with him for the same?"

"And yet it was the bushy-haired girl who went after Harry, not him," I point out as I walk past Aimee who doesn't stop me this time and out of the Beauxbatons carriage. I hustle through the mud-covered grounds of Hogwarts in the dark and make my way to Harry' room.

Last three days have been hellish and not because of the glares I receive from every Hogwarts student. That was actually funny, how they think they have a right to judge me when a few months ago, they were wearing badges to insult a national hero.

No, what eats me apart is looking at the drawings he lovingly created and memories in which he loved me. Then I remember the look he gave me after I slapped him, the apathy there.

I am surprised to discover I memorised the route to a room I've been to only two times in this labyrinth of a school. What sort of school has moving staircases and corridors that can't decide whether to exist? This magnificent castle is one masterpiece of an insane asylum.

Maybe that's why I've been acting crazy all year? The castle is messing with my brains?

Oh, how I wish that were true so I could once again enjoy my mirror.

'Have a nice life, Fleur.' That actually hurts more than anything because it certainly sounded like a final goodbye and I don't want that. I don't want that at all.

Twenty minutes later, I give the password Harry shared with me more than a month ago and walk up the stairs to his room, glad to learn the password is still the same. The loud music coming from his room makes me feel like I'm walking into a war zone but I square my shoulders and knock on the door. I am ready to fight for I want.

A few minutes pass and I receive no answer so I knock once again. When he still doesn't open the door, I screw up my courage and open the door myself, thinking he didn't hear because of the music.

War zone, indeed.

The scene I walk into is hard to describe to say the least but war zone is an apt description. The room is in disarray; every piece of furniture is thrown away from their original places with no aesthetical sense, there are bits and pieces of broken canvases, woods, glasses and haphazardly thrown clothes everywhere. Even a few broken bottles. The music is so loud, my brain has a hard time functioning and I have to wonder how Harry can endure it.

Puck is prowling around, letting out small bolts at random intervals as if he shares his friend's pain and troubles, which I don't doubt he does. Their relationship has qualities I'm envious of.

The worst part of it all is Harry. He's painting in a delirious state, moving one canvas to another with no discernable pattern, giving brush strokes to each or waving his wand with no sense to his actions. He has bags under his bloodshot eyes and body thinner than usual which isn't hard to notice when I can count his ribs through the open robe he's wearing. And I know that body intimately and know it isn't supposed to look like that.

His movements are erratic and out of balance, and he keeps mumbling to himself though I can't pick up what he says thanks to the music.

My heart breaks at this sight of him, and it may sound arrogant but I can't help think this is all my fault. Harry, who can always crack a joke and smile, who can keep a cool head even in the most stressful situations, looks broken. I can't comprehend how one slap can do this to him. He can't be in love with me so much, can he?

No, he can't and even if he loves me, the Harry I know wouldn't be this broken up about just me.

As I stand there, processing what I see and having a mental fight with myself, he continues painting. If he knows of my presence, he doesn't show it one bit.

I give a wave with my wand to stop the music and stammer, "Harry, I..."

He hesitates for only a second before continuing his frantic fight with the canvases. "Please leave."

Those two words hit me like a slap, and part of me knows I deserve that metaphorical slap. "Please, I want to apologise."

"Please, Fleur, leave."

I hesitate but make to close the distance between us but before I can get close enough to... I have no idea why I move towards him when he doesn't want even to be in my presence. It doesn't matter as before I can move close enough, he turns, faster than I've ever seen him move, and the canvas he was working on flies past my head, inches away from hitting me and breaks apart upon hitting the wall.

The unexpected aggressiveness stops me in my tracks though I am almost certain his aim was true.

He looks at me with a crazy, red gleam in his eye before turning back to his paintings. He doesn't continue his work. Instead, he shakes his head repeatedly and mumbles, "no, no. This is all wrong. They aren't supposed to look like this. No. The siren is supposed to go there but it won't fit. None if it fits."

He gets crazier by the second and at the end of his drivel, he takes each of the canvases and throws them away across the room.

That explains the broken canvases lying around the room.

I stand stock still, afraid to move a muscle. It's not that I'm afraid of getting hurt. Even in his state, Harry wouldn't hurt me.

I think.

I hope so.

I don't move because from the way he pants and looks around in the room, I get the impression he would go even crazier if I do.

He puts his hands on his knees and continues panting for a long time as I watch him breathless before he conjures new canvases and starts again. "Please leave."

This time, I listen to the desperation and edge in his voice and leave. As soon as I am out of the door, I fall on my back and let my tears fall like they've been begging to since I entered the room. Since I slapped him.

I sit there, crying for I don't know how long but only when I have no more tears to give, I realise I don't recognise where I am.

Harry's room has two entrances, the one I used and the one that opens to the Gryffindor common room. In my hasty retreat, I must have used the wrong door and now, I have to walk past dozens of people.

This is all because of my arrogance and I guess it's a fitting punishment; doing the walk of shame under a different connotation. A much more shameful one.

I square my shoulders before walking down the stairs to face the music as the saying goes. The moment I am in their sight, everyone in the room turns towards me. It reminds me of those old western movie saloons when as soon as a stranger walks in, everyone turns to him.

I ignore the stares and make my way through but am stopped by the bushy-haired one. "What were you doing up there?"

"I... I wanted to apologise to Harry but..."

Her narrowed eyes widen before her expression turns hateful all together. She grabs my arm in a tight grip and drags me to where Ron is sitting. "You couldn't stay away, could you? You sleep with him, then ignore him, slap him and follow it up by another room visit. Do you enjoy playing with all men or is he your favourite plaything?"

I guess I left my pride when I left the carriage because I don't get mad; I am just embarrassed.

Ron must realise how awful I am feeling. "Hermione, that's enough." He looks at me. "How is he and what happened?"

I gulp down my embarrassment to answer. "He- I don't know how to describe it. He looks crazy... and like he hasn't slept for days. He was painting but destroyed the painting, saying it wasn't right." I take a deep breath to calm myself before continuing, "I tried to apologise but all he would say was 'leave'."

Ron and Hermione exchange a look that speaks of a longtime friendship and says many things I can't understand.

Hermione gets up and whispers to Ron, "we need Dumbledore. It has been four days, and he's showing no signs of slowing."

Ron nods and follows Hermione out, leaving me to scramble behind them.

I follow them through corridors until we reach a gargoyle. "Tears of Phoenix," Hermione tells the Griffin and the magnificent statue swirls around, opening the way to a revolving staircase.

We dash up the stairs and Hermione knocks on the door firm enough for the sound to reverberate. "Come in."

Dumbledore welcomes us with a worried expression which clashes with his usual kind and all-knowing persona, and his voice conveys the same worry when he speaks. "How is he?"

"It's been four days, Headmaster, and he's getting worse and worse. You must talk to him. You are the only one he would listen."

The broken looking old man nods but doesn't move or speak for ten whole minutes. I want to shake him out of his reprieve but I have done enough damage already and am the outsider in this situation. A situation I have helped create if not outright created myself.

Dumbledore surprises me by suddenly standing and leaving the office in a pace I struggle to match. Five minutes later, we stand in front of the 'old man in a wig' painting.

While Harry' mentor talks to him in his room, I lean to a wall, watch Hermione and Ron pace, and relive what I saw today.

Harry is comfortable in his skin, a boy who knows what he is capable of and shies away from neither a confrontation, nor a challenge. Even when I acted aloof towards him or underestimated him, he has always impressed me with his cool-headedness and self confidence. It is unreal, seeing him like this, like I am in an absurd dream.

And I hate this absurd dream. No matter how repulsive he acted towards me when I visited him in the hospital wing, Harry was right in his recap of what I've been going through. I like him, a lot, and it is scary for me to fall for him so fast and so hard.

Was he right in his predictions? Will I crawl back to him? Would it be terrible if I do? Because I miss him and all that he makes me feel. I miss him more than I ever missed anyone except Gabrielle and with how fast he made me like him enough to miss him so much, he's looking to dethrone my beloved sister.

So why did I let my arrogance, because that was arrogance, not pride, fuck it all up? No, it wasn't my pride that resulted in my actions. It was my fear. Fear of what would mother say. Of what it would do to my reputation. Of what it would do to my heart if it went any further.

But what's more important is, why did I let my arrogance and my fear hurt this proud boy? Oh, how he would irritate me by telling me to call him 'man' if he heard me call him a boy. And I want that boyish charm back, not for selfish reasons, but because the broken shell I witnessed is not him. And for selfish reasons.

I want him back.

Hermione continues her furious pace while Ron had enough and is leaning against a wall with his arms crossed.

"You were right."

Hermione and Ron look at me with searching looks.

"I've been acting like a crazy stuck-up bitch."

Hermione stops her pacing. "Drop the words 'acting like' and you would be correct."

"It's just... The way he spoke with me in the infirmary was so infuriating, like I was beneath him and he was magnanimous enough to teach me a lesson."

Ron chuckles. "Yeah, he can be that way when he wants to be an arsehole or when you annoy him. The worst part is he always knows where to hit and still turn out to be right."

While Ron enjoys my predicament, Hermione doesn't. "It still didn't give you any right to play with him and slap him."

"I know. That's why I came here tonight, to apologise but he was so... Does this happen often, this breakdown or whatever you call it?"

I can see distrust and hesitation on Hermione's face while Ron steps a few feet away, letting the brunette take the lead. "Yes, that's main reason I am against you and Harry. He needs someone who will stand by him no matter what, someone who will be there to pick up the pieces when this happens. Not someone who leaves him at every opportunity, ignoring what it does to him."

Okay, I may deserve her anger for the way I behaved, but I did nothing to make her think I wouldn't stand by Harry. Did I?

Yes, I did. So, I say nothing in response. Hermione can think whatever she wants, what I care about is Harry' opinion of me.

It's time I am honest with myself. I want to be with Harry, to go back to kissing him when I wake up and to laughing with him when he acts cocky.

I am falling in love with him and I am more than ready to help him through whatever this is.

Fuck. I am crawling back to him.

He will be unbearable when he regains his sanity, and I can already sense my cheeks warm up in response to his smart-ass remarks.

But first, he needs to heal and I will stand by him until he does.

And second, I need him to forgive me and I will do what I must to earn that forgiveness.

-FD-

Half an hour is how long we wait while Headmaster Dumbledore talks to Harry in his room. Still, it is an enlightening half hour. First, Hermione informed me Harry has these kinds of 'episodes', that's what I will call this, roughly every six months. Second, Ron, while emotionally constipated as Harry makes him out to be, knows his best friend and I should listen to him about Harry related things. Indeed, he's good at reading people I realise when I consider all the times he stepped in to spare me embarrassment. Third, and most important, I want to be with Harry.

I know, what a shocker.

I wish to be the one to nurse him back to health and it has nothing to do with Hermione's words. Brunette's not-veiled implication I wouldn't stand by him through one of his episodes is ringing in my ears but this isn't my pride talking. I want Harry go back to his usual charming and cocky self, and I want to help him get there and stand by him because even the thought of a final in our rocky relationship hurts me.

You may call this my crawling but I have stopped caring about my pride or what people, including my mother, would think.

The 'the old man in a wig' painting swings open and Dumbledore walks out with Harry who leans on his staff like a lifeline. Puck trails after them, a sentry protecting his moving post. Three of us look at the elderly man inquiringly but he says nothing, telling us to follow him with a gesture of his head.

Say what you will about the wise wizard, he knows how to command attention and make people follow. One gesture has me walking behind the mentor and student without even considering disobeying or asking about where we are going.

We follow the two through the maze that is Hogwarts and down on moving staircases. Neville and Ginny stumble onto us when we are in the third floor staircase. Neville understands the essentials of what's going on with no words while Ginny looks at her feet. It is impressive how red she can get.

We continue on our way without a word, and after sending Ginny away with a whisper, Neville too follows.

I wonder how Harry would react. Would it upset him to know we are watching him as if he is a freak show, or please him to know we are here for him?

When I say we, I mean Hermione, Ron and Neville. People he likes and considers friends. I don't fall in the either category at the moment, considering I am at least partially responsible for his current state.

What can I do to reconcile with him, to apologise? Harry is not a materialistic person if the fact that he handmade almost everything in his room and temple is any sign, so buying him something with no sentimental value wouldn't earn me anything. Whatever I do or give, it must have a personal touch.

While I ponder viable ways of apologising, we exit the castle and struggle our way through the muddy grounds, towards the forbidden forest.

I've picked up enough of Harry' adventures to the forest to question whether this is a good idea but this is Albus Dumbledore we are following. If somewhere is not safe with him, it should not exist.

Fifteen minutes and mud-covered clothes later, we reach the Harry's favourite spot on the grounds. The clearing where he asked me out.

Odd, I know so much, yet, so little about him. I recognise his favourite spot on the grounds, yet I know so little about his 'inner demons' as they call it. I heard some, if not most, of his adventures yet I am clueless what effects these adventures had on him.

He killed a 'being', as both British and French ministries classify sirens, to save my sister, and yet, I haven't asked him how it made him feel. He took a life- no four lives- this year and never once I the question of how that would affect him crossed my mind.

Does that make me a horrible person, or another face in the crowd? Thanking him for his service and forgetting about the consequences it has on him?

Dumbledore lets go of Harry' shoulder and waves his wand to conjure one giant canvas. The canvas is at least sixteen feet wide and equally long. "Would this work, Harry?"

Harry mumbles under his breath for some time, inspecting the canvas and planning. When he is satisfied, he nods distractedly and draws his wand while Dumbledore direct us a little away from him to let him focus. Puck stays close to his friend, pacing around Harry, still the loyal guard and the sympathetic friend.

Harry looks at his wand and judges it before shaking his head. His gaze falls on his staff, the one he used for the show he put on when we arrived, and nods his acceptance.

He lifts the staff four feet in the air and slams it down, whispering an incantation I can't hear thanks to Puck's cries.

The result is magnificent. Colours of every kind flies out of the staff and hits the canvas, leaving behind a baseline for whatever he is trying to paint.

Faces with no distinguishing features appear at both ends of the canvas, judging whatever will end up in the focus of the painting. Trees of every kind appear, some looming menacingly over the landscape, some sturdy and life-giving, all surrounding a hill. Two lakes appear, a small river flowing out of each.

Five of us watch in silence and awe as Harry works on the canvas, his staff on the ground, smoking while his wand a blur that spits colourful oils, creating small depictions of events and people.

My throat dries in anticipation.

The first bit of composition he creates is a young, attractive couple, a beautiful, redhead woman with Harry' eyes and an older Harry with hazel eyes. The couple is at the top of the canvas and the hill Harry created with his staff, holding hands and watching the rest of the painting.

"Lily and James Potter. Harry's parents," Dumbledore informs us, his voice sadder than ever. Harry' state must affect him more than he lets on. "Do you know why dementors affect Harry more than they do any of you?" Three friends shake their heads at once while I realise just how little I know the boy I'm falling for. "Sirius probably mentioned this to you but I'll reiterate. Dementors bring one's worst memories and biggest fears to the forefront. For Harry, that memory is her mother's death."

That's terrible, probably the first thing Hermione and I agree on if her reaction is anything to go by. "But how can he remember? He was an infant," the girl asks, her voice breaking.

"He always did. Perhaps not consciously but he used to, and probably still does, dream about his parents' murder. He first mentioned it when he was five, on the morning of the anniversary of his parents' death. His first breakdown happened the very same day. He didn't realise it was a memory, but he kept having the same nightmare." He half turns and peers over his half-moon glasses. "Can you imagine living such a horrible memory, again and again; hearing your mother beg for not her own, but your life; hearing those three accursed words three times per nightmare."

My gaze falls on the stumbling form of Harry and his work once again. While Dumbledore was talking, he finished another piece. This one has the silhouette of a man with blood-red eyes, holding a bone white wand that hits a lightning bolt, like his scar, with a green light.

"That's how he received his cursed scar, and why he has these breakdowns."

We all wait for him to explain but he doesn't. Ron's patience runs out. "Sir, what do you mean?"

Dumbledore takes a deep, shaky breath. "Since he was a child, Harry has been an unbalanced boy. He could go from happy to angry, and vice versa, in a manner of seconds. Initially, we thought he was lashing out because of what he witnessed. We were partially wrong. It resulted from the tragedy but he wasn't lashing out. A normal person enjoys or suffers a finite variety of emotions at any moment. You can be sad and lonely or happy and excited or nervous and afraid. Harry goes through all those and many more emotions at any and every moment."

"You must have observed the way he can alter your moods; how good a liar he can be; how he can act fine after a traumatic event.' I believe, somehow, he feels several emotions at any given time and can draw from them to establish a behavioural pattern for himself and control his environment. He has a hard time focusing his mind because of that talent, or a curse depending on how you look at it."

"So he depicts his thoughts and inner world in paintings or through music. They are outlets for the chaos of his mind and how he can function even though he suffers from Muggle psychiatrists would call a 'bipolar disorder'. It's all a result of the killing curse he survived as a baby. At least, that's my theory though my theories tend to be right."

I have a difficulty processing what was said.

How is that possible? How can he be happy while also being sad? I have observed what Dumbledore mentioned though, how he can cycle through emotions and how well he can act. Can he really carry everything with him at all times?

The two Death Eaters he killed this summer, his name coming out of the goblet, the stress of suddenly finding himself in the public eye. He's been carrying all that and who knows what else, and he still smiled and made me smile. He still had it in him to make me fall for him. And I'm not even counting how I must've confused him with my indecision.

It's no wonder he had a breakdown. Hell, I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner.

Puck's gives a loud cry, drawing my attention back to the ongoing painting and the part Harry just finished. A blood-red stone surrounded by a dark shadow that leaves a purple cloth thing, I'm not sure what.

Lucky for me, Dumbledore explains it with a whisper, as if talking to himself, "the Philosopher's Stone."

I speak for the first time since we exited Hogwarts, "what?"

I, of course, heard of the legendary Philosopher's Stone. What I am curious about is the reason Harry would draw it.

The elder man is surprised to hear my voice, but he recovers quickly. "One night when I was out of school for a ministry business three years ago, there was an attempt to steal the Philosopher's Stone which was safeguarded here, in Hogwarts. Would-be thief kidnapped Harry and dragged the boy to the last protection with him, knowing he couldn't solve the puzzle himself."

"Harry had to kill the thief in self-defence. Can you imagine what that must have done to him? Killing someone at eleven?"

I can't. The closest experience I had happened when I was thirteen. My mother had taken me shopping in Paris. I saw four cute kittens in the sidewalk across the street and called out to them. They must have thought I had food because they ran across the street without a pause. It was a busy street. A big black car ran over them and continued on its way without even slowing down.

I cried for a week.

I can't imagine how he must have suffered, killing a man at eleven, then killing three more men at fourteen.

Good god.

The tears I thought I ran out of come back with a vengeance and it is through a lot of effort I keep them from making a noise even as they travel across my cheeks.

"And yet, he is still good," Dumbledore whispers, admiration clear in his tone and face. "He is still pure and he can still laugh like a boy his age should." He looks at me like I may have the answer to how that's possible. I have no answers to offer.

As Harry continues to paint and Puck continues to prowl and cry, Dumbledore explains what he is painting and tells Harry' tragic life.

Yet not all the painting is dirtied by bad experiences.

Harry draws the bearded half-giant Professor, Hagrid. The man is one giant ball of hair and awkwardness, and a little uncultured. Yet, Harry's portrayal of him looks like an overly large teddy bear.

Sirius and Remus, adventurous older brother/father figures whose wide and mischievous smiles create a stark contrast with the bloody parts of the painting, yet both still carry scars with them.

Hermione, a library hanging over her shoulder; Ron, who is practically wearing food; and Neville whose shy smile hides talent; all three walking shoulder to shoulder, their friendship challenging Time to draw them apart.

Dumbledore, sitting on the throne-like chair I saw in his office two hours ago, playing with his beard with a thoughtful expression and a kind smile. The Phoenix perched on his shoulder looks on with pride and mischief.

I don't understand how he painted a phoenix with a mischievous expression but he did.

He draws Katie, feet dangling from a tree, a big smile on her face, yet the jealousy I would have expected to feel is not there. She is beautiful yet there is a childishness to her, a purity that prevents me from feeling any negative emotions towards her.

There is no discernable order to the way he paints, no symmetry. No hive of good or bad. Good is next to bad, both fighting for the dominance of the canvas yet neither winning.

A troll is slamming his club at a small tree. A basilisk's mouth is wide open to swallow anything in his path, yellow eyes glaring. Dementors are gliding through the forest, leaving icy trail.

My examination of his work cut abruptly when Harry falls down on his knees with a cry, his hand pressing on his scar. None of us moves for a moment, frozen in shock at the unexpectedness of his cry and fall.

No one moves for a moment as Harry's eyes freeze while his body spasms, his scar bleeding. Dumbledore is the first to gather his senses. He kneels next to the boy and draws him up to his chest but does nothing else as the spasms continue and Harry mumbles unintelligently.

Then, after five torturous and confusing minutes, his eyes refocus and he throws himself away from Dumbledore and empties his stomach. He must have missed more than a few meals because nothing comes out of his mouth after a few pieces but his dry heaves are even worse.

He continues to kneel for a few more minutes, blood drying on his face, eyes more bloodshot than before and his clothes muddy. Slowly, the pain leaves his face, replaced by the craziness of before and he stands back up to continue his work on the painting after giving Dumbledore a meaningful and resigned look.

He returns to unleashing chaos on the canvas while Dumbledore walks back to us on shaky feet.

Neville speaks for the first time tonight. "What just happened, Sir?"

Dumbledore nods his head in my direction. "A discussion for another time."

He shared many things about Harry tonight but what happened was something bigger, and while I am curious and worried, I can understand why he wants to keep me in the dark. Trust has to be earned, and I have done nothing to earn it yet, unlike the other three who stood by Harry for years.

On the contrary, I acted untrustworthy, hurting the boy when I should have stood by him, because of the debt I owe him if nothing else.

As we stand, tenser than before, watching Harry work wonders, minutes go by to become hours and sky lights up with the dawn.

A blonde man with a treacherous sneer appears on the canvas, holding a cane in one hand and a mask in other, lurking behind a tree. A younger version of the man stands behind to him, a similar sneer hides fearful eyes.

The potions professor's form comes next, his robes flailing behind him like bat wings, his eyes dispassionate and suffering.

The transfiguration Mistress stands tall, a barely there smile grazing her lips, ready to defend her children.

Professor Flitwick is in mid-jump with a big smile on his excited face.

Two death eaters lay on ground, broken and beaten.

Two faced man, one of the defence professor, the other a young man, bleeding out from his pierced throat as he looks on with unseeing eyes.

Centaurs standing proud and noble, yet menacing.

A dragon, standing guard of her nest, annoyed, menacing and fearful.

A siren without an honour.

Balzac with a huge grin on his face, one hand holding a girl's hand, the other on the shoulder of a younger boy whose hand holds another girls'. All four, I've seen in passing in the halls of Beauxbatons.

Aimee, sprawled over snow with a childish grin on her face while Samantha watches her with amusement and exasperation.

He paints everyone and everything that left a mark on him, and there are many marks I haven't heard about.

Except me. Harry continues to paint and paint yet I see no sign of me.

The canvas gets fuller and fuller, and the last bit to be added is Harry himself. His self representation in the painting is a masterpiece all on its own.

One side of his face is bloodied and scarred, my hand print clear for everyone to see. His clothes are in tatters, blood dripping from his hand and wand as if he slaughtered an army.

A boyish smile grazes the left side of his face, his eyes shining brightly. The clothes that show signs of war on the other side, is covered in paint. Same paint is on the brush he's holding.

He looks handsome and vicious, playful and happy.

Harry steps back, takes one look at his work, nods his satisfaction and passes out, hitting the muddy ground with a splash. It would've been funny if it wasn't for the... you know, the obsessiveness and craziness he was exhibiting just before.

Dumbledore shrinks the canvas and pockets it, Harry's wand and staff before levitating Harry to the castle. I stand still as Harry' friends and familiar follow in his wake. Only one thought running through my mind, making me fear the odds of earning forgiveness.

He didn't paint me.

-Flowers for Your Grave-

Chapter 3: Unbreak My Heart

February 21, 1995

I am standing still in front of the doors of Hogwarts infirmary. Why still? I am nervous, more nervous than I was in the tent before facing a dragon.

Why am I nervous?

Two days. That's how long Harry has been sleeping and how long I've been waiting to apologise to him. Actually, I've been waiting for a week. Today is the day I will succeed and the day I will ask out a boy for the first time.

It is hard to believe a week ago around his time, I was getting ready for my date with Bill. It felt more like a month and an abysmal one.

Doubt is clouding my mind with questions I am afraid to answer. What if he yells at me, or what if he rejects me? Worst, what if he says nothing, not even acknowledges me as I did to him for two weeks?

Doesn't matter. I will do this and no amount of fear will stand in my way. I will go after what I want and I will get what I want, and fear can go fuck itself.

With a lifted nose, this one of determination instead of pride, I push the doors and walk inside. Harry is awake, eating fruits and playing with his familiar with a huge smile and without a care in the world, showing no signs of his recent breakdown.

It warms my heart like nothing else could. This is the Harry I fell for, the one who could make me laugh with no effort and who would wink playfully before a difficult duel or facing a dragon.

The enormous canvas he spent hours painting is in display, resting against another bed. It is even more breathtaking than I remember.

Harry must see my stutter step without even looking in my direction because his smile takes on a teasing quality. "Hello, Fleur."

I make my way to the foot of his bed, my heart thundering against my chest. "You seem cheerful."

"I am." He waves his unoccupied hand around in the air. "How can I not be cheerful when it is such a beautiful day?"

He looks at me with guarded yet bright eyes, and my throat goes dry in anticipation and nervousness of what's coming.

When I stay silent for a long time, his patience runs out. "Why are you here, if you don't mind me asking?" His tone has no anger, only a polite curiosity.

Honestly, I would prefer anger.

Holding out the bag I brought with me, I say nothing. If he is surprised, he doesn't show it. He takes the bag and opens it without a word. He looks inside and looks back at me with a raised eyebrow. "A gift?"

A shake of my head is the only answer he gets. Instead, I take my violin and bow from the bag, and place the violin between my cheek and shoulder.

I thought long and hard about how I could apologise. This is the best idea I could come up with. He likes watching me play so I will play my apology and give him a performance he won't forget.

I hold the bow limply, close my eyes and play.

For the next thirty minutes, I play for him as he watches me with a crooked smile, playing with purring Puck's fur.

When I stop playing and look up at him to see his reaction, his smile is nowhere, a critical expression in its place. "You missed a couple notes there but not a bad performance."

I gape in response, my mouth opening and closing without a sound. Then it hits me. "You can't help act like an asshole, can you?"

He grins. "It's my default setting."

I smile and give a soft tap on his shoulder with my bow before turning serious again. "I am sorry."

"For?"

"For ignoring you, for slapping you, for being scared." He cocks his head to a side, telling me to continue nonverbally. "I missed you," I confess in a small voice.

He moves his head side to side, considering my words. "What changed? Other than seeing me at my lowest?"

"I realised going after what I want is better than being miserable."

"And that's me?"

Gulping my pride down, I answer honestly, "yes."

"Even after my breakdown?"

"Yes, and I want to be there for you, to help you, when you fall. I just wanna be yours."

Aimee would be proud of me for opening myself up like this while my mother would disown me and my dad would never believe it. Gabriel would just mock me nonstop. I am acting way out of character but this is the only way of getting myself out of the mess I created, of fixing what I broke. Honesty.

"You realise this will mean you are mine, not just during the night but always? No more going on dates with other people. No more running off when it gets too real for you to handle."

I sit down next to him with my hands gathered on my lap. "I know I shouldn't have said yes to Bill, but you were so rude when I visited you here."

He wraps his arms around my waist. "I know, but you have to understand, you came here expecting me to beg you. It was insulting and demeaning, and I wanted you to feel the same way because I so wanted to beg."

I turn to him with my eyebrows near my hairline. My tone is hopelessly hopeful when I ask, "you did?"

He nods, looking me in the eye. That's so sweet, my heart melts as I realise how much he wants me. I close the distance between us, intending to kiss him but he stops me with a finger on my lips. "This was a good start but you still have crawling to do."

My eyes widen in shock and I gulp. He will make me do it. Damn him! I am wearing white pants for god's sake! How can he be so cruel? I hate his guts.

Nodding, I move off the bed but his arms tighten around my waist. "Ask me out on a date so my ego can heal and soar to new heights."

"Harry, will you go out on a date with me?"

"Merlin, that sounded so lame but whatever. I will consider it before giving you an answer."

"Shut up and kiss me," I order him with a smile and he does.

We make out for ten minutes before taking a break. "You will still do the crawling, in my room, naked and without moving as I enjoy the view."

I told you he knows how to make me laugh. He even makes me get certain urges unsuitable for a hospital bed with a single sentence. "Will you play for me afterwards?"

"That's my line, you witch!"

My careless shrug is stopped by his mouth on mine. Without realising, I move on top of him and take his head in my hands while his arms find my hip.

Hospital wing is so not the place for this.

I push myself off of him with a hand on his chest, rest my forehead on his and look in his bright eyes.

His wide, carefree and happy smile melts my heart even more, and I curse myself for the nearly two months I cost us. His next words do even more things unsuitable for polite company, "Are you mine?"

-FD-

"Poppy, can't you do something about my back? If I fly while still injured, it will mess up my performance and my injuries may even get worse depending on what the sadistic organisers come up with."

The healer gives Harry a mean stare, her lips quivering with a restrained smile. "You should have thought about that before you re-injured yourself, Mister."

"Oh, come on. It's not like I asked the guy to use Cruciatus on me! Just do your job, woman, before I take you to my knee and give you a spanking I know you would enjoy."

Their relationship is amusing and far too close. Not that it disturbs me or anything. What's troubling is how they came to be so close. It is another reminder how often Harry spends time in this part of the castle.

I had a long talk with Madam Pomfrey while Harry was still sleeping, or in a coma, as he calls it. She complained about how every few months, Harry would wind up in the infirmary and how every time she saw him injured and broken, it would break her heart.

She's a lovely lady underneath her stern exterior and a favoured aunt to Harry.

"Mind your tone, boy, or when you hurt yourself again, you will need another healer."

"That will be in a week if I can't balance the broom because of my back muscles or lack thereof."

The matron huffs her displeasure before giving in. "There is a salve that may speed up your recovery. If you come before breakfast and after dinner every day, I will apply it."

Harry smiles and looks at her with puppy-eyes. "Or you could give me the salve and I'll convince Fleur to rub it on my back. Help a boy out, Poppy."

"Would you like me to give you some contraceptive potions as well while we are at it?" The healers indignation is clear in her tone.

Harry ignores it. "You know what, that's an excellent idea. Give me a lot of those."

My cheeks redden and I get the urge to cover my face with my hands and groan.

The middle-aged woman splutters and looks at me, then him with a calculating glance before sighing. "You do realise strenuous activities will only make your back worse, right?"

"Poppy, I never thought I would need to teach you about sex. You realise there are ways I can partake in sweet love making while lying on my back," Harry answers cheekily, his wide grin infectious.

The woman huffs and walks to the cabinet to get salve and potions. "I hate you."

"You love me."

"Having your muscles get better on their own schedule would be better but considering the task next week, I will give you the salve." She gives me a look that warns against disappointing her. Considering she's the one who checks the champions out after a task, I have no intention of doing so. "Before breakfast and after dinner for a week, apply it on his back, let the muscles absorb it for half an hour before cleaning it and redressing. I assume no explanations are necessary for how the potions work."

I nod mutely and wait to leave the infirmary before commenting with a groan, "that was humiliating."

Harry raises his eyebrow at me. "Sleeping with me is humiliating?"

"No, I... She's like your family and the look she gave me when you asked for contraceptive potions..."

My stuttering is amusing for him if his chuckling is any sign. "Relax, I'm messing with you. Just be glad McGonagall doesn't get too involved in my personal life."

Yeah, that would be a nightmare. That woman scares the crap out of me.

We enter Harry' room to find it in its regular state, no broken canvases, no moved furniture.

"Dobby," is Harry's one-word answer to my shock.

Dobby appears with a pop. "What can Dobby dos for you, Harry James?"

Harry is as surprised as I am at the hyperactive the house-elf's sudden appearance before we realise what happened. Harry's second littlest friend must have been impatient to talk to him. "I didn't mean to call you, buddy, but now that you are here, can you bring us some snacks?"

Little elf snaps his fingers and a small feast appears, but he doesn't leave. He stands there, jumping from one leg to the other with nervous energy. Harry watches the elf in amusement, saying nothing while elf gathers his courage to say what he wants to. "Dobby is glad you are better."

The elf pops away before Harry could thank him or say anything else but Harry does, anyway. "Thank you, Dobby."

Harry moves to the table and sits while I place the basket madam Pomfrey gave me on a nightstand. I turn around to find him watching my back side which makes me smile. "This trouser does wonders, wouldn't you agree?"

His head becomes a blur as he nods. "Still, I'd prefer it if you didn't wear them."

I walk to the cooler, swaying my hips. "Maybe you should take them off then."

The mischievous gleam in his eyes tells me he has an idea I may not like very much. "Ah, but you forget, Poppy said I should avoid strenuous activities."

I enjoy myself, knowing his eyes follow me as I bend over the cooler to get wine. "So, what would you suggest then?" I ask as I move to the table, smiling at his dilated pupils.

He clears his throat before speaking. "Well, you like dancing. I like it when you take your clothes off. I'm sure we can find a combination of the two we will both enjoy."

He wants me to striptease? I should feel indignant or something for being asked to put on a show but I find the idea... enticing. Still, never let a boy assume he can just ask whatever he wants of me. "We eat now, play later."

"Is that a yes?"

The hope and desire in his eyes makes my ego swell. "You'll never know if you don't eat your food."

He smiles widely, judging it a yes, and pours us wine.

I missed this, the easy conversation, joking around and just being myself with him. So, I curse myself for obsessing over a painting. A painting that has everyone but me. "Can I ask you something?"

He takes a bite of sandwich and nods at me.

"The painting you made three days ago. You painted nearly everyone in this school and many people who aren't. Why am I not in it when Aimee and Samantha are?"

He swallows the food on his mouth and takes a large sip of wine before giving me a cocky smile. "Who says you aren't?"

I frown and ponder every part of the painting yet I come up empty.

He takes the shrunk painting out of his pocket and enlarges it so it's the same size as a regular canvas before holding it out for me to take. "Tell me what you see."

I turn the canvas around so I can look at the painting again and my eyes widen in shock. This is a whole new painting. The hill in the drawing becomes my face, two lakes turn into my eyes, the rivers to tears. Trees on either side of the hill turn to blonde hair a couple shades darker than mine but still a close match.

The large painting depicting Harry' life becomes a portrait of me in its smaller form. It is not perfect, there are blemishes over my face, giving me a dirtied appearance, like I fought my way through muddy grounds. Yet it is as perfect as a painting with so many layers can get.

A portrait of me, looking angry, hateful and hurt, crying and sneering, hiding pain and regret. Hundreds of empty faces judging me from both sides. It reminds me how it felt having everyone's eyes on me when I slapped Harry.

The reminder brings back the humiliation I went through, brings back the anger and the tears I didn't let go. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why didn't you draw me like you drew everyone else but made me the focus of your painting?" I know I sound like a spoiled child, first asking why he didn't show me any attention, then complaining about how much attention he showed me but… A girl wonders.

He takes a large sip of wine and leans back with a thoughtful hum. "Now, I remember little of my thought process during my downtime so I can't say for sure but I assume it's because you were the focus of my breakdown, the trigger. I was going down already, but the slap was the spark igniting the fire." He points to the canvas. "That's you after the slap, except the tears. Practically the last thing I saw before snapping."

I let out a shaky breath. "I'm not sure whether I should be happy, knowing you made me the focus of yet another painting, or angry at myself for being the one to break you."

"You didn't break me, I was already broken. I've been broken since I was a baby. Yes, you played a part in my latest episode but you are not the reason for it."

"I still feel guilty."

He says nothing for half a minute. "You should take off your clothes."

I peek over the painting at him in confusion. "How would that help?"

"Help what? What were we talking about?" The fake confusion on his face and the ridiculousness of the non sequitur make me laugh. "Come on, take off your clothes. It's been two months since I last saw you naked." His whining tone adds to my laugh.

He definitely knows how to turn someone's moods. "Eat your meal. You look like a corpse with how thin you got."

He sticks out his tongue at me, then stays frozen.

"What is it? You froze?"

"We are a couple now. Boyfriend and girlfriend style."

I cock my head to the side. "I thought you wanted to be a couple."

"The realisation just hit me. Until now, even during our get away from Hogwarts, I always expected you to leave. Now, I have to get used to you not leaving, of waking up next to you in the mornings."

"At least until the school year is over, you'll wake up next to me often."

He furrows his eyebrows and I hate the look in his eyes, the suspicion and fear, knowing I deserve it. "What do you mean?"

"I can't stay in Hogwarts next year now, can I?" I point out.

"Albus gives me a lot of leeway. I'm sure we'll figure something out." He smiles widely. "Good to know you are planning so far ahead. Would you like to pick a wedding dress as well?"

I spew the wine I was drinking, laughing. "I would need to see the ring before deciding on a dress."

He chuckles. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves or this conversation will end on children names, and at fourteen, I don't think I am ready for those conversations, even if the idea has me smiling like a fool."

"I am dating a fourteen-year-old boy," I drawl as the realisation hits me this time.

"Yep, and I'm dating a seventeen-year-old with the body of a supermodel," he sniggers. "I think we both know who is the winner here."

"You are a hero," I point out, disagreeing though I enjoy the compliment.

He shakes his head and says, "Body of a supermodel."

"You saved at least three lives so far, probably more."

"Body of a supermodel."

"You are an amazing painter."

"Body of a supermodel."

"You are winning the Triwizard tournament."

"Have you seen yourself naked? I'm telling you, the body of a supermodel," he says, putting a lot of emphasis on the last part.

"I'm not sure how to feel about it. Is losing good or bad?"

"I don't know but it doesn't matter. I win."