Harry is right. The tension in the air only increases as time goes on. Groups are arranging and rearranging themselves according to some social order only they know about. They stick viciously together and regard anyone outside their group with suspicion. Nowhere is safe from them. Not the common room, not the Great Hall, not the classrooms. Everywhere the students are, so are their groups and the tension.

It is enough to choke a person. To make them drown in it.

Harry had already felt like that before. Like he was drowning in the crowd and no one cared. But now it is even worse. Of course he isn't included in a group. Why would he be? No one ever liked him before so why would that change now? It hasn't and it isn't likely going to. Not with the way everyone is making assumptions at him.

He is the Boy-Who-Lived, he was suppose to be the Wizarding World's darling. He was suppose to be their Saviour. But he is neither. Instead he is a disappointment and a failure and a Slytherin. Everything he is not suppose to be, according to them. He didn't do his job – killing Voldemort. That is enough for some people to turn their backs on him. But neither did he support the Dark Lord. That makes another group turn their noses up at him. The remaining groups just don't care about him. They have no reason to.

And if that wasn't bad enough, House rivalries seem to be at their top peak. Especially between Slytherin and Gryffindor. It has always been bad before of course. The destined enemies – good vs evil. It is only natural some say. It is all a bunch of rubbish, but it is also rubbish that everyone listens to. Before it was names and pranks. Now curses and hexes and everything else is being thrown in between them. It is as if it is another war. One between the students instead of the adults who started it. It is already to the point where they are being sent to the Hospital Wing. Not to St Mungo's, not yet. But with the way things are going, it only seems to be a matter of time.

Yet another war Harry seems to be stuck in the middle of. He doesn't want to fight. All he wants is a chance to live his life in peace. But since when does he ever get what he wishes for? Never, that's when.

The lines seem to have been drawn when he wasn't looking and once again, he is excluded. It is a good thing he knew better than to hope now. This might have hurt otherwise. Made his chest ache and his heart bleed. As if, he feels strangely numb to it all. A resigned acceptance that of course he is still an outsider. He has been one all his life. Why would that change now?

And if that thought sometimes make him gasp for breath. If it makes his heart beat too fast and his vision blur. Well. He is use to it by now. He is far too use to being unwanted.

Draco still insists on trying to talk to him. He hasn't made the mistake of asking him on another date or bringing up Quidditch – yet – but he seems determined to stick close. He is sure that if someone were to ask him, he would say that Harry is a part of their group. As if he could ever fit in with Draco, Nott and Zabini. As if he could ever be accepted.

But that is the world according to Draco. Harry sees the group differently. Nott only comes around when it seems to suit him. Otherwise he is off by himself somewhere. Still a lone wolf and still unbothered by it. Zabini is friendly with Draco, but sometimes it seems as if he is only humoring him. Other times he does seem, if not happy then relaxed, with him.

Zabini is another problem in and of himself. He is another one who is talking to Harry as well. But unlike Draco, he has no idea why. He knows Draco feels some obligation now that he thinks they are soulmates. But Zabini? Why is he doing this? What does he want? Everyone wants something. What is it?

It doesn't help that Draco always turns back into a prat when he sees them talking. Like it matters who he can talk to. Like he has some say in it or anything. Like Harry is actually enjoying himself or some sort of rot. No. No he isn't. He tolerates it, just like he tolerates Draco, most of the time. Only there is more tension in him when Zabini is around. His muscles ache and his legs twitch to be away. Still, he stays and listens. It's not as if he hasn't been through worse after all.

Still, he doesn't like it when Draco acts like a prat. It brings back all the memories he is trying to avoid. All the things that make it so hard to be around him when he is being nice. Maybe he shouldn't forget. Maybe the reminder is a good thing. But Severus says you can't dwell on the sadness all the time. You really will drown then. From the look on his face, he knows exactly what he is talking about. Harry wonders, but he doesn't ask.

The only good thing about the school year thus far are his friends. His friends who could care less about all the social reordering. His friends who stick by him no matter what everyone else says. Sometimes he wonders why. There is nothing special about him. In fact, he is the opposite of it. But still they stand by him.

It is the only relief he gets anymore. The only time he doesn't feel as if he is going to itch right out of his skin from everything. The only time he feels somewhat at peace. Never wholly. Never that. But still, he has it in some measure.

And then the Professors decide that they have had enough and take matters into their own hands.

Professor McGonagall is the one who starts it. She announces that for the next project, she will be pairing up one Slytherin and one Gryffindor to work together. She has already chosen the pairs. And it is a term long project that will count for half of their grade. Chaos reigns for a brief moment before she calls them all back into order again.

Harry waits in dread. Nothing good can come of this. No matter who he gets paired with, it is sure to be a disaster. If it is anyone like Weasley – the twin's younger brother – he is going to end up in the Hospital Wing himself. If it is anyone else, well, he is still a Slytherin. That is enough to outweigh any of the positives they might see in him. Not that there is may to see to begin with.

"Granger and Potter," Professor McGonagall calls.

Harry's heart sinks. No, he won't end up cursed, but this isn't going to be much better. There isn't anything wrong with Granger per se, but she is still so aggressive with her knowledge. So eager to prove that she belongs here, that she has a right to this as well, that she has a habit of isolating herself. She is too strong for most of the students. He thinks she might be too strong for some of the Professors as well. And now they have to work together.

There is a scramble when everyone rearranges themselves. And grumbling. There is quite a bit of that. He stays right where he is. Granger marches right over to him and puts her bag down with a thud. "I am not going to fail this assignment just because I now have to work with someone else. Honestly, of all the years, our OWL year! I cannot afford to fail this year and I won't let you or anyone else drag me down. You are going to do your share of the work and do it well. Understand?"

Harry blinks up at her and nods.

She sighs as she sits down. "At least I didn't get stuck with a bigot," she says, taking her books out of her bag, "Now do you have any ideas for the project. Because I was thinking, I have a few that could work out well. What about," She then proceeds to tell Harry about the 'few ideas' she has. A few being ten. Off the top of her head.

Harry listens and nods when appropriate. She might not have gotten stuck with a bigot, but Harry got stuck with a whirlwind. Part of him is expecting to be picked up and thrown out of the room with her determined enthusiasm. And this is just the beginning. How is he going to survive an entire term of this? She is going to eat him alive.

Frankly Harry doesn't care what subject they pick. Transfiguration isn't his favorite subject, so he doesn't have much of an opinion. Plus Granger is likely to be happier if she is the one in charge. A happy Granger is only a good thing at this point.

"I assume everything is going well then?" Professor McGonagall asks as she comes up to their table.

Granger nods. "Oh yes Professor, I was just telling Potter here what I think are some good options to pick from." She is practically bouncing in her seat. Obviously she has already forgotten it is a Slytherin she is being forced to work with.

"I see. And does Mr Potter have any opinions of his own? Or have you forgotten to breathe in between sentences again?" she chides gently.

"Oh," Granger gasps, "I'm sorry. Do you have any ideas?"

Harry shrugs as he looks down at the desk.

"Mr Potter?" Professor McGonagall asks, "Remember, this is for the both of you." She sounds gentler now, less stern. Almost as if she pities him.

He despises pity. It never does a person any good, does it? He shrugs again, "Animangi?" he offers, thinking of Black and some of the stories he has been told.

Grangers eyes light up. "Oh animangi! That is a good one. So much better than the comparative properties of conjuring vs transformation. Oh, how about animangi vs metamorphmagi? Or animagni vs animal transformation?"

Harry looks up and yes, Professor McGonagall is most definitely amused. "I see you have been listening to your godfather then. He and your Father were quite spectacular indeed, even if they did give me one too many of my grey hairs. Please do remember not to follow in his footsteps too well. Now carry on. And please remember to breathe every once and a while Ms Granger." She walks away, onto the next pair.

Harry could almost hate her for that. For assuming he would be anything like Black. For assuming that he has that big of an influence on him. For always mentioning his Dad and never his Mum. For thinking his parents – or godparents – have any kind of effect on him.

"What did she mean? Does that mean they were good at transfiguration? Wait, does that mean they were animangi?"

And most of all, he could almost hate his Professor for saying that in front of Granger.

Unfortunately, Professor McGonagall is only the first to begin the trend. Professor Flitwick has them working in groups every other class period. Fortunately the groups change and there is no added pressure as in Transfiguration. Severus flat out refuses to try it, saying it is a disaster waiting to happen. Harry has never been more thankful for him than right in that moment. Nor does Regulus or Professor Sprout. Not that their subjects have much to do with working together. So at least there is that.

But then their newest DADA Professor, Auror Graham, announces that he is going to do the same. They have a project of their choice, worth a third of their grade. Only this one is going to stretch out the entire year. And it has to be of practical use.

"Remember, I'm not grading on how successful you are. It could be a complete failure and you could still get full credit. What I am looking for here is creativity, drive and a logical reason behind everything you do."

The class groans. Up until now, Professor Graham had been the favorite Professor. He was interesting, he taught them practical things that they could use in the real world, he didn't drone on and on about obscure theory before ever letting them pick up their wands. Best of all, to the others, he was an Auror, so he was positively brill.

Best of all for Harry is the fact that he never signals him out. He never treats him specially, whether that be positively or negatively. He is just another student to him. He doesn't have Voldemort in the back of his head. He isn't oddly obsessed with Harry for being the Boy-Who-Lived. He isn't a long lost friend of his parents. And he isn't a Death Eater in league with Voldemort. Auror Graham is just another Professor.

Although he might lose that favorite title now that he has done this. No one is very happy about what is being done. They may think it's helping tensions, but it isn't. Maybe in time, but for now it isn't. In fact there are cases where this is making it worse.

"Come now," he calls, smiling slightly, "think of this as an exercise for the real world. Eventually you are going to have to work with someone that you do not like. It is a fact of life. Best get use to it now when the consequences are rather low."

That doesn't help.

"I'll even let you choose your own partners," he adds, "but remember, they must be from another House. If you get yourselves sorted then I won't assign them. Go."

Well, that helps a little bit.

There is a mad scramble to find someone they can at least tolerate for the rest of the year. Oh Merlin, the rest of the year. This is going to be a nightmare. He refuses to get stuck with Granger again. With his luck, she will want to since they are already partners. That way they can work on both projects at the same time. No. Merlin no. She is already driving him nuts as is. He sees her glance his way consideringly. That is enough to get him moving.

Harry gets out of his seat and marches determinedly to where Longbottom is sitting. If he is going to be stuck with a Gryffindor, then he is going to be stuck with the most tolerable one. He glares at any of the others that come near him. Oh no. He has chosen and he is not giving up. Not for anything right now. Surprisingly the glare seems to be effective. Certainly there are those that jump when they see it. Huh.

"You look like Professor Snape when you glare like that," Longbottom says softly.

He does? Well that makes sense, he supposes. He has spent enough time with Severus after all. He feels oddly... proud that he does. Proud that he is able to look like Hogwarts most hated Professor. Not that that is the way Harry thinks of him of course. But that doesn't make it any less true. No, Severus is... not good. He could never be that. He is still too cranky and sharp, even at home. But there is also more to him there. His edges are less sharp. Not good, but... neutral. Safe. Or as safe as any adult can be. Which isn't much, but it could be so much worse.

"Everyone have someone?" Professor Graham asks, "Yes? Good. Take this class period to hash things out. Next class will be as per scheduled. Remember, we still have material to cover for your OWLs."

Another round of groans fill the air, but then the rumble of discussion begins.

"Do you really want to be my partner that badly?" Longbottom asks curiously, frowning, "The Squib?"

Harry scowls at that. "You are the only tolerable Gryffindor there is. Power isn't the only thing that matters." Not when he has always been powerless. When he is trapped in situations where magic never seems to help. When the only power Harry has is the terrible one.

Longbottom's frown deepens. "That sounds odd coming from a Slytherin."

Harry shrugs. "According to my House I don't belong there anyways, so it hardly matters what else I do, does it?"

A look of understanding passes over Longbottom's face. Not pity. Not sympathy, but understanding. As if he knows exactly what Harry is talking about. From what Harry has seen over the years, he probably does. He nods.

Longbottom nods back. That out of the way, he asks, "Any ideas on what to do?"

Harry hesitates. He doesn't want to sound like Granger, taking over the conversation. Nor does he want to sound too ambitious in this. Choosing something useful is one thing. Choosing something that will likely be over their heads is another. And really, how useful would it truly be? How many people actually have a run in with Dementors? But he can't help consider it. Still. "You?" he asks.

But Longbottom shakes his head.

Still he hesitates. What if? What if? 'What if's are one of the many banes of his life.

"How about it boys, you seem rather quiet over here," Professor Graham says as he approaches them, "Any ideas yet?"

Harry glances up at him, with his messy blonde hair and smiling green eyes, before looking down again. But he obviously didn't do it fast enough.

"Yes Potter, you have something? Come now," he says when Harry doesn't answer right away, "there is no such thing as a stupid question."

Harry can't help the disdainful look he gives his Professor then. No such thing as a stupid question? Ha!That is one of the top lies adults like to tell their children. It is right after 'words can never hurt you' and 'you can tell me anything'. Lies. It is always a lie.

That makes Professor Graham just laugh however. "Well there is certainly no question about who your Head of House is then. I believe he just gave me that same look yesterday."

Something inside of Harry flares.

"I will leave you to it then, but I am asking every pair for either a topic or a top three list when you leave." He walks away.

Longbottom looks at him. "I promise not to laugh. It can't be any worse than what I would come up with. DADA isn't my strong suit."

Well, there was a reason he wanted to work with Longbottom after all. He's not only the most tolerable, he's the nicest. The softest. That will kill you in the real world, but it will help Harry here. He takes the plunge. "Dementors," he says, "I want to find another way to chase off Dementors than the Patronus Charm."

Longbottom doesn't laugh, like he promised, but he also doesn't look enthused. In fact, he might look at Harry as if he is crazy. Maybe he is. "That sounds... advanced," he says slowly, "How? Do you know something about spell crafting then?"

Harry shakes his head. "I was thinking a potion," he admits.

Longbottom gives a bitter snort. "Potions is my worst subject. Surely you haven't missed my regularly melted cauldrons?"

"But you are best at Herbology. Top of our year. And I'm decent at Potions." Severus seemed moderately satisfied with him after all, during his summer sessions, "And if we ask, maybe Professor Snape and Professor Sprout will give us credit for this as well."

"But how?" Longbottom asks.

Harry shrugs, feeling like an idiot now. He never should have said anything. He knew it was a dumb idea. Idiot. Why is he always so much of a damn idiot? "I'm not sure. It's a stupid idea anyways. What is your idea?"

Longbottom must have read something in his expression because he shakes his head. Or maybe he read the blankness somehow. Fred has always told him that he gets blank and remote when he is too hard on himself. Like he is shutting himself away. Luna mentions that he is trying too hard to hide from the Hook Tailed Goobers. They are the things that get in your head and gunk all of your thoughts up. Shutting down like that only makes them worse. Apparently.

"No," he says, rather insistently, "no tell me more about it."

Harry looks at him.

"Tell me," Longbottom repeats.

"It has to be something that produces strong happiness and is able to convert that happiness into power. That's what a Patronus Charm does. It takes your strong happiness and channels it into the spell. But not everyone can make one. So if there were a... something like cheering potion that can harness the cheer it gives you and drive them off. Or surround you like an aurora, so that it can't get to you."

"But isn't the cheer that potion make artificial? Would that still work?"

"Maybe, I don't know." Harry shrugs again. "Like I said, it's just some stupid idea."

"I can't produce a Patronus," Longbottom says, as if he is admitting a secret. "Power isn't always the problem with magic."

Oh. Oh maybe he is admitting a secret. But why? Why tell him something like that? To a Slytherin of all people. That seems even more foolish than Harry's idea is. Then again, maybe he is telling Harry that this is more self serving than he realized. He can't cast a Patronus, so he needs some way to protect himself against Dementors. Not that a person is likely to run into them, but you never know. Just look at his third year after all.

Then again, maybe it's neither of those things. Gryffindors have a different way of thinking after all. He remembers how appalled Fred and George were, when he faced the Basilisk to pay his debt of companionship to them. How they didn't understand until they asked Regulus. So maybe it is that. A Gryffindor way of reassuring him instead of a Slytherin way.

"How are we going to practice though? We aren't going to have class time to do it."

"I can ask Sev- Professor Snape if we can practice in one of the classrooms." He blushes horribly at the mistake he just made. He can't believe he almost said that. Yes, Severus said to call him by his first name, but only in private. And certainly not in school. He seems to be determined to be a true idiot today it would seem.

Fortunately Longbottom doesn't comment. "He would let us? Let me?"

He hums at that. It's a fair question after all. But Harry can't help but smirk. Just a little bit. "I was going to ask Professor Black first." There, no slip up this time. Good. Keep his tongue in his head.

Longbottom blinks in wonder. "Is that how it works in Slytherin?"

No, actually it isn't. In fact, they go out of their way to show that you cannot manipulate them like that, just because they are partners. Retribution when they find out is always ugly. But Harry had found out that it is possible, if done right, over the summer. He hadn't even been trying to. He had made some small comment to Regulus about wanting to try a different potion. The next time Severus dragged him down to the lab, that was the potion they did.

He never took advantage of it of course. He's stupid, but he isn't that stupid after all. And what he is going to do now is only going to do that a little bit. He is supposed to talk to Regulus that night and he always asks about his classes. If he so casually mentions it then – and he would likely anyways – and then ask Severus the next class period. Well. That's not really manipulation, is it? There is nothing to say he has to agree. And it isn't as if he is asking Regulus to ask for him. But maybe. Maybe. You never know.

Frankly he isn't sure why it worked the first time. Maybe it was only a fluke. Maybe it was a one time thing. He doesn't know. But maybe if Severus hears it from Regulus first, he will be less likely to blow up on Harry when he does ask. Maybe. Or maybe he will yell more at Harry being so dumb as to even think about asking.

Maybe.

But then he has had adults mad at him his entire life. Angry, dismissing, uncaring. His Uncle loves to scream in his face when he is in the mood. His face always gets too red and spit starts to fly. Severus, while cutting and cruel, isn't as bad as his Uncle. Not to Harry, anyways. He is sure other people would disagree.

Still it's his life isn't it? It is what he is use to.

.

.

The joys of new experiences in life. Or that's what they always say anyways. Sometimes they are good, sometimes they are not. It all depends. New isn't always better. But, more to the point, just who is 'everyone' and how do they supposedly know all of this anyhow?

.

.

The next Potion class, Severus calls for Harry and Longbottom to stay after before Harry gets a chance to ask to talk to him when class ends. A quick look at Longbottom tells him the he is a bundle of nerves over this. Harry isn't much better, but he knows not to show it. Never show weakness to the enemy. That only shows them that they have hurt you.

"Come," Severus motions to the front of the room when the rest of the students have gone. "Now," he pulls out a piece of parchment. Their proposal. "Professor Graham has given me a copy of a very interesting project. It says here that the two of you want to try to create a potion that defends against Dementors. Correct?"

"Yes Sir," Harry answers. Longbottom looks too green to do it himself. That's fine, Harry is use to this. He's not afraid. Well, not of what Longbottom is anyways.

"Very well then," he nods, "If the two of you succeed, I will personally see that both of you pass your OWL with an O. More than that, I would be prepared to receive quite a bit from attention of this, especially from the Aurors."

Harry looks up at him in astonishment. What? He can see Longbottom doing the same. A passing grade and recognition from the Aurors? All for a stupid idea? But Severus obviously doesn't think it is stupid. Nor does Professor Graham. Not if they are talking like this.

"I will allow you to brew with supervision," he stresses, "when you have reached that stage of your work. Understand?"

They both nod.

"Good. Now leave before you are late to your next class."

They run.

The Professors must be really serious about this because the next Herbology class, they have a similar conversation with Professor Sprout.

"It sounds like a wonderful idea boys. Tricky of course, very tricky, but it would showcase some amazing skill if you are able to. Even if you are not, I can still give partial credit for it." She smiles that them. "Any one who can do this will show that they really know their plants. Herbology is a big part of Potions after all. Maybe even enough to help secure an apprenticeship."

Longbottom beams at that. It is clear that that was added just for him. Huh. Harry knew that Longbottom loved Herbology, but he didn't realize he loved it that much. Anyone who cares to look can see that. But to be a Herbology Master? He would be good at it though. It fits when Harry thinks about it. Like he was made for it.

Not like Harry, who wasn't made for anything. He is dreading the career talk they are suppose to get this year. What does he see his future job as? Ha! Some days he can barely see his future at all. And it isn't as if he is good at anything either. It is going to be a nightmare.

All of the usual jobs always sound so flashy or so boring. Harry does not want something like the former. For one thing, he doubts he would be good at it. For another, the last thing he wants is to bring more attention to himself. As for the latter, well, he shouldn't complain if he ends up getting something that doesn't have any excitement to it. When it happens, he should likely be happy that someone wants to hire him at all. He has no real skills and his name is more of a hindrance than anything.

Future? What future can he possibly have?

It is thoughts like this that make Severus' face go pinched if Harry ever mentions them out loud. He has been encouraging Harry to find his skills – he insists that even the most dense of dunderheads have them – and to imagine a future for himself. It doesn't have to be anything elaborate. But it has to be something. Picture it as it will really happen. What would he want it to include? Who would it include? Where is he living? Where does he work? Any pets? Hobbies? Stuff like that.

Harry always hates to tell him that he can't see himself anywhere. He vaguely imagines that the twins and Luna might be there. If they don't forget about him when they graduate. If she doesn't find someone better to be friends with. A real person, not a Freak. Maybe even Regulus and Severus, if they don't tire of him.

Pets? What use is a pet to him? Sure, people use them for companionship as well as other useful things, like delivering mail or such. But with Harry's luck any pet he would have would hate him. Hobbies? Things he likes to do? Well he supposes he likes to fly. He can add that to the list, which is progress from the nothing he had before. But anything else? What use are hobbies when you are trying to survive? Does reading count if you are doing so because you are desperate?

Where would he live? He has no idea. Maybe if he ever lived in the city, he could lose himself in the crowd. But if he lived out in the country, he could find some peace somehow. Then again, in a city there are people. And people as a general rule don't forget him. They use him and mock him and blatantly shun him. And in the country, it will likely become apparent just how alone he is. Who would want to visit him there?

His blank stare always makes Severus sigh in frustration. Even when he hands Harry a list of things he might want, he can't decide. Can't imagine. He's never been able to choose anything for himself thus far. Not really. Will that change when he graduates? Will he be abandoned then? Or will someone else continue to rule his life, whether he likes it or not?

So no, he isn't looking forward to the career talk. Not at all.

.

.

The future can look bleak at times. Lonely and pointless. Why bother to try at all when all you will get is failure? Why waste the effort?

.

.

Harry is back in the graveyard, tied to the stone. He struggles to move, but he can't. The ropes are too tight. He is having a hard time feeling his hands, which is a bad sign. Once again Pettigrew cuts his arm. Once again the creepy Babymort is put in the cauldron to be resurrected. Once again there is a bright light. But instead of Voldemort rising again, out steps Tom Riddle.

What? No. Harry begins to struggle even more. But it is no use. He is trapped.

"Hello Harry Potter," he greets. He stalks forward, like a cat intent on its prey.

And that is just what Harry feels like too. Prey. Isn't he always the prey, in one way or another? Why should this be any different? He shakes his head. He doesn't want to be here. He doesn't want to be here. He would wish he were home instead, but he has no home. So he just wishes himself away instead. Of course it doesn't work.

"Aren't you going to greet your soulmate Harry?" Riddle asks as he stops in front of him.

"You are not my soulmate," Harry protests, but it sounds weak, even to his own ears.

"Who else then? You bare my name, do you not?" He caresses his name on Harry's wrists. It is then he realizes that his bands are gone. The names are visible for the world to see.

He shivers at the touch. Somehow, although his hands are mostly numb now, he can feel it. It burns, as if fire is being traced over it.

"Yes, that's right Harry. Feel it," Riddle says, leaning in so their bodies are mere centimeters apart now, "Feel my touch. Know that it is right. That I am the one who is destined for you. Are you not marked by my hand?" The other hand, the one not on his name, comes up and strokes Harry's scar.

Harry cries out, feeling that fire on his forehead now as well. It burns. It burns so much. He gasps a sob, but no tears come. He isn't aloud to cry.

"Do we not share my soul through this? Do not fight it Harry. You are mine." Riddle sounds possessively delighted by this. His voice is like dark chocolate – enough to melt on your tongue, but still bitter.

Harry shakes his head, both to deny it and to try and get that hand off of him.

"Shh, my one. Relax. Besides, who else could it be? The little brat? The one who has tormented you for years?" Even Riddle's laugh is strangely seductive. As if everything about him is meant to tempt.

Well Harry isn't tempted. He is in pain and he is afraid and all he wants is to be anywhere but here right now. Even the Dursleys would be better, which is something Harry would never think he would say. It is trading one hell for another, but at least they are known. They are a lesser evil, compared to the boy in front of him.

"No, that's right. Not him. Not Draco Malfoy. It is Tom Riddle instead. It is me. Face it Harry, I am your past, present and future. I am your soulmate. You belong to me. The sooner you accept that, the happier you will be. Isn't that what you want? To be happy?"

Harry shakes his head. No. No it isn't true. It isn't. Except the part where it is.

"You are mine Harry Potter. I know it. You know it. And soon, the whole world will know it too. Accept me and I will give you everything you ever wanted."

No!

Harry jerks awake, the taste of blood in his mouth. He has bitten his hand again, to keep quiet. Not that it matters here, in his dorm with the silencing spells layered around him. Still. He takes his hand from his mouth and looks at it. Not so bad. He casts a quick cleaning spell on it, then on his mouth. The taste fades until it is just an echo.

A faint feel of satisfaction fills him as he looks at the bite. Good. He did good, keeping quiet. No matter what Regulus and Severus say, he has to keep quiet. No one wants a burden waking them up. No one wants a Freak.

But a violent shudder runs through him then. The strength of it is about enough to knock him over. The chill that follows seems to be set into his very bones. Not even a warming charm helps. Nor do the blankets. Riddle's words are in too deep for anything to help.

'You are mine,' he had said. As if he was stating a fact. As if he were coming to claim Harry.

'You are mine. And soon the whole world will know it too.'

Harry shivers, the feeling of dread and certainty sinking into him. Chilling him to his core. That smooth, dark voice echoes in his ear. Claiming him. Possessing him. Promising him everything he has ever wished for. Lighting his skin on fire.

He doesn't sleep for the rest of the night.

.

.

The fears and doubts that plague that day are the nightmares that plague the night.

.

.

"Hello Neville Longbottom," Luna greets as she comes over and sits down at the table where he and Harry are working in the library. Harry is at his usual table in the far back where no one bothers him. This far away, they don't have to worry about any soft conversation they might need to have. They are up to their eyes in research and this is only the beginning. Harry is beginning to regret that he said anything. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if this was the only thing they had to work on, but it isn't. All their Professors are burying them in work to get them ready for their OWLs.

But Longbottom is now fully invested and determined to do this. Something seems to have ignited inside of him after their Professors talked to them. Well, good for him. Harry is too busy reading. And regretting his dumb idea for that.

Longbottom blinks up at her. "Hello?" he asks more than says.

Which is generally how most people react when they first meet her. "Longbottom, Luna. Luna, Longbottom," he says without looking up from his book. "Have a good day?" he asks then.

"Oh yes," she says happily, "I almost got to see a Four Winged Flipper today. It was most exciting. Although the Nargles seem particularly feisty this week. I believe something agitated them. Oh, maybe someone accidentally kicked their nest. That always makes them angry." She nods. "How was your day?"

"Busy," is all Harry says. That's all he wants to say. The last thing he wants to do is describe every little detail of what went wrong today. There has been... quite a bit of it actually. At this point, all he wants to do is curl up in his bed and sleep forever. How unfortunate that he can't.

Luna just nods at that. "And you?" she asks Longbottom.

"Oh, ah, fine," he says in surprise. Obviously he wasn't expecting her to talk to him. How foolish. She greeted him first didn't she?

Harry can tell by her tone of voice that she is up to something, he just doesn't know what. He is too tired to figure it out. It is always a riddle with Luna. Usually it doesn't bother him. She has such an interesting way of seeing the world and he likes hearing about. But now, on top of everything else, his head is pounding and he is beyond nauseous. Food is definitely out. He'd likely just sick it up again anyways if he tried.

Which is right when Granger decides to join them. "Oh good, you are already here," she says as she sits down next to them, "I have been thinking about how to complete everything thoroughly enough. What if we each did some in depth studied for a couple of weeks and then combined the knowledge together. That way we can have a good solid basis before we go on. I could take metamorphmagi and you could take animangi since your godfather is one. And I thought maybe you could write him and get his take on it. That would add such an interesting perspective to it. And I was thinking about contacting a metamorphmagus myself. Apparently there had been one that graduated not too long ago. So, what do you think?"

Harry thinks that his head is going to explode. But he just nods. Fine. Maybe he'll get a couple weeks of peace then before she starts again. Talking with Granger is akin to being hit with an encyclopedia most of the time.

"Great. What are you studying now? Oh, mood altering potions. What are you doing that for, we don't have a potion assignment do we?"

Harry just shakes his head.

"It's for our DADA project," Longbottom answers.

"Oh, hello Neville, I didn't see you sitting there. What topic did you pick then? Because I got stuck with Parkinson and she isn't very enthusiastic about much when it comes to classwork. Can you believe it, she wanted to do something on jinxes. Jinxes of all things. How positively first year. And she didn't sound at all enthused when I mentioned the usefulness of charms in unusual ways. It wasn't as if that is even that complicated." She huffs in annoyance, finally breathing again. "But what are you doing then?"

As Longbottom explains, Harry goes back to reading with any luck she will get her answer and then leave. Not likely though. Granger has never met a learning opportunity that she doesn't like. Not that he's seen anyways. And he's right.

"Oh goodness, that does sound amazingly interesting. Have you thought about-"

"Hermione," Longbottom interrupts her, "thanks, but if you don't mind, I'd like to do this without any of your help. This is suppose to be our project after all." He motions to Harry.

She blushes. "Oh, right, sorry about that. You know how it is."

Longbottom smiles and nods. "I know. And maybe if we need another perspective, we could ask you. But for now, we're good."

Harry hopes that he is just saying that to appease her. Or that he is just talking for himself. Because Harry sure isn't asking for any of her help. He doesn't think he could take it. His head pounds even more viciously just listening to her now. It seems worse than usual today. Normally he has at least a little more tolerance for her.

"Well I'll leave you to it then. See you at supper," she says as she leaves.

"Goodbye Hermione," Longbottom says.

Harry says nothing at all. He grimaces at the thought of food. Yeah, no. No food for him right now. Maybe he can get some tea or something. Severus and Regulus always get picky when he doesn't at least have something at meal time.

"Bookworms and whirl flies," Luna mutters to herself.

Harry snorts at that. Well that's definitely one way to describe Granger. Rather accurate too, all things considered.

Luna nods. "Whirl flies look harmless, but can be vicious if provoked," she continues, "It is always best to tread carefully around them."

Longbottom looks at her oddly. Not a bad odd. Not as if he wants to mock her, but as if he only understands half of what she is saying. Again, it's a normal look people have when dealing with her. Although they don't even get to the half bit. They flat out dismiss her as crazy. Her nickname is Loony Luna for a reason after all.

Harry thinks that they are all fools. Luna has a bit of an infestation of whirl flies herself, even if she doesn't always show it. Vicious she can be.

Supper is about as much fun as Harry suspected it would be. He sits there, reading, and listens as Draco complains about his Transfiguration project. He got stuck with Weasley of all people. He has to wonder if Professor McGonagall doesn't secretly want to eliminate some of her students to make the class size more manageable. Or if perhaps she is secretly a sadist. Either seems likely at this point.

He grimaces as he catches another smell of the chicken and sips some more on his tea. It is helping, some, but not enough. Not enough to battle the noise that echoes off every surface in the Hall. Even if he wasn't so nauseous, he wouldn't be able to eat for the pain the noise is giving him.

"Not feeling well then?" Zabini asks over Draco's complaints.

He instantly stops and stares at Harry instead.

Harry wishes that he would keep on talking. And that Zabini wouldn't. He shakes his head gingerly in answer and has some more tea.

"Shouldn't you go to the Hospital Wing then?" Draco asks, "I could walk you there if you wanted," he offers, as if he thinks that will help.

But Harry shakes his head once again. Hospital Wing? Why would he go to the Hospital Wing for something so small as this? It's nothing serious and Madam Pomfrey has better things to do then listen to him whine about a little headache. No one wants to hear the Freak complaining either.

"Or I could," Zabini offers.

Draco glares.

Harry just rolls his eyes so that both of them can see it. Honestly, both of them are ridiculous. And unnerving. Why take so much interest in him now? What is suppose to be the end game here? He doesn't know and he hates not knowing. Not knowing always means trouble. It means he doesn't know the rules. And not knowing the rules means punishment, one way or another.

It's not as if anything about him has changed. And it can't be something like Zabini just now noticing him or some such shite. For one thing, that sounds like something out of one of those witch's romance novels. Or another, there is nothing about him to notice anyways. So this means that this has to be some kind of game. And Harry is always the loser in those.

Nott snorts in disgust. "Shall I tie a bow around him so that the winner may unwrap him?" he draws. Why he has decided that he is going to sit with them after all is a mystery. He still doesn't interact with the others. Even when he does, he doesn't seem all there. He is too busy watching everything else with those sharp eyes of his.

Still, Harry is thankful. He can sometimes prove a distraction when the other two get to be too much. And he just answered exactly what Harry was wondering. So they are fighting over him for some reason. Great, just what he needs. As if he doesn't have troubles enough. He goes back to his book.

Draco glares briefly at Nott, but then seems to drop the subject. For now. "And don't even get me started on having to work with Finnigan in DADA. He has an absolute fixation with explosions and fire. Which is all well and good for those of common blood, but not when I am the one about singed."

This was why Harry was so intent on working with Longbottom. No explosions. No other unfortunate habits. And his cauldron melting is something that can be worked around, he is sure. A small price to pay for a peaceful partner.

Nothing else in his life is after all. Best get it where he can.

.

.

In life there are all kinds of people, big and small. Some are out to help, others are out to harm. Some are just trying to live their own lives. And then there are those that really need a good punch to the face to make them tolerable.

.

.

Harry has fled to the West Tower to study. Unlike the Astronomy Tower, where students always seem to be for one reason or another, the West Tower is all but empty all the time. He is trying to get away from the noise of everything. Lately his headache never seems to be going away. It either ebbs or flows, like the tide, but never fully vanishes. It makes dealing with the others even more trying than usual.

Normally he has a certain kind of resigned patience when dealing with people. He has to, to deal with it all. As much as he would like to, he can't hide from everything. Unfortunately. But now it seems even worse than before, And it's not as if there is even a real reason for it, like in second or fourth year. They are back to hating him as usual.

Sure, the tension is still there, school wide. It hasn't gone away yet. Maybe less people are being injured, but that is about it. There are still duels to break up in the halls. Still tight knit groups that welcome no outsiders. Still a changing hierarchy. The Professors plan still doesn't seem to be working over much. It doesn't help that with the first Quidditch game of the season coming up – Slytherin vs Gryffindor of course – there is now another reason to fight. Another level of tension to deal with. It is beyond frustrating.

So Harry has fled to get some quiet and get some work done. He desperately needs to. His regular homework alone is enough to drown a person without adding the projects to the list. He and Longbottom are working like mad to get a working theory going. And Granger keeps adding and revising and picking at what she wants done.

Nor does it help that he has to write to Black more than usual for the information she wants. He seems amused by this. And excited. He mentioned that maybe Harry can become an animagus too. Follow in the family footsteps. Both he and James were fifteen when they first transformed after all. Wouldn't that be something. Maybe, if he does than they could play together the next time he sees Harry.

It makes something in the pit of his stomach sink. Even if he wanted to – which he doesn't, not really – he would never have the time. And you have to be really good at Transfiguration as well. Apparently that was James and Black's best subject in school. It isn't Harry's. Harry's best, if you can call it that, is DADA. But that is more for sheer desperation than love of the subject. Potions, surprisingly, is his second best. He has no idea how that happened. He thought he was terrible at it.

He also keeps making jokes about his other project with Longbottom, saying what an overachiever he is being. And what a swot he is turning into. All in good nature of course. It always is. He never means any harm, no matter how much he might cause. A lovable idiot, he heard Lupin call him one time. He can fully understand why.

But he adds that Longbottom is a good person.

...A bit weak, or so I've heard, but that doesn't matter. Mother was always on about how Magic is Might and power is all that matters. Seeing as how I make a habit of believing the opposite of everything she did, I don't care about that. His Father was a top Auror in the first War before he and his wife were attacked. Actually Alice, Frank's wife, was your godmother, come to think of it. It is a shame how they ended up. My crazy bitch cousin Bellatrix cursed them into insanity. But they were good people.

You should stick with him. A good solid Gryffindor can only be good for you. Like those Weasley twins of yours. Another good, strong Light family. Plus, with an instinct for pranks, what isn't to like? You did a good job, befriending them. Course, yeah I know, all Slytherins aren't bad. You're in the House right? But a Gryffindor is a rock in the storm when you need one.

Let me know if you need anything else. That Granger you are working with sounds like a real firecracker. Kind of like Lily. Boy did your Mother ever have a temper on her. Came with the red hair I guess. But did she ever whip James into shape once she finally gave him a chance. Romance of the century, that's what it was.

You must have gotten your Potions skill from her because James was sure arse at it. I wasn't much better. She and Remus helped us through so we could become Aurors. Now there is a fun job. Have you had your career talk yet? Decided on anything? Because if you haven't, I definitely recommend the Aurors. DADA is your best subject isn't it? And maybe, if you did, I could pull some strings for you. I might not be one anymore, but I still know people.

Have fun kiddo and work hard. But not too hard. I know the OWLs year can be rough, but don't let it get you down.

Love,

Padfoot

The letter is a crumpled ball at the bottom of his trunk. He wrote down the information Granger needed and tossed it in there with maybe a bit more force than was necessary. He had been shocked, reading it. That was the first time that Black had ever mentioned his Mother. Not that it lasted for long. Soon it was all about James this and James that again.

Become an Auror? He shudders at the mere thought of it. Being an Auror is a job for the heroes. For the believers and the fighters. Harry isn't any of those things. He is a survivor. And if a survivor is a kind of fighter, than a different kind. One that fights to live, not to protect others. And one that doesn't mind being in the limelight sometimes, if not frequently.

Harry isn't a hero. He never was.

And all that talk about Gryffindor and Slytherin and 'good, Light families' just makes his stomach clench. Black might not think he is bad or Dark or anything like that. But he still acts as if Slytherins are the enemy somehow. As if they are destined to be bad.

What would he say if he knew that Harry once had part of Voldemort inside of him? The ultimate evil of their age, inside of his head. Would he still think the same of him then? Or would he then think that he belonged in Slytherin? That he was destined to go Dark, like everyone else in the House supposedly is. It's not a comforting thought. So he ignores it, just like he ignores everything else Black makes him feel. Or he tries to, in any case.

He sighs and continues on his Charm work. They are, ironically enough, working on elemental charms. More specifically at the moment, fire charms. Finnigan is ecstatic. Everyone else who has to sit by him, not so much. Even Professor Flitwick got slightly singed the other day. Fortunately Harry is on the other side of the room, in the back, so he doesn't have to deal with it.

He looks over the grounds with a sigh. So much to do and so little time to do it. It's even harder when he doesn't have any real desire either. It all seems so pointless. Why should he put all of this effort into studying when he likely doesn't have a future. It doesn't help that he isn't sleeping well lately. It's getting to be a real problem.

Either he can't fall asleep, tossing and turning until he gives up or nightmares wake him up and he can't go back to sleep. So he drags onward, reading and working by wandlight until he can go to the common room to work before breakfast.

He knows that both of these things are the kind of things Severus would want to know about. Would want Harry to come talk to him on. Both the lack of sleep and the lack of motivation. He would likely think they are problems he needs to deal with. He hasn't been having their biweekly talks because of how busy Harry's schedule is. How busy both of them are. But he stressed that Harry can still come talk to him if he needs anything.

But there is no need to make a big deal out of this. This is something he has always dealt with on his own. Just because the nightmares might be a little worse now than usual doesn't mean anything. Doesn't mean he should go running to his Professors like a cry baby. They come and they go. Yes, sometimes they get bad. But eventually they even out again. It is all a matter of waiting them out.

As for the lack of motivation, well. That is something that will only make Severus frustrated with him. Just like he gets frustrated when they talk about his future plans. And he doesn't want that. He... may be considering his options regarding the adoption. He knows he should just choose to have them be his legal guardians and be done with it.

But, for some strange reason, he hasn't. Even though he knows it would be the right thing to do, he hasn't said anything yet. He doesn't want to force himself on them. And eventually they will get tired of him. Won't they?

No, not for some strange reason. Harry knows exactly why. Hope. Hope has gotten under his skin again, lighting something inside it has no business lighting. He is so tired of getting burned by it. But still it seems to keep coming back and back again. It is almost as if he likes the pain. Maybe he is a masochist and just hasn't realized it yet.

That would certainly explain why he thought the DADA project he suggested was acceptable to be spoken out loud. And why he is still dealing with Draco and Zabini the way he is.

They are another reason he has fled to where he has. Neither of them seem to be getting the hint. Harry never talks to them, never answers anything they ask in depth, never seems enthusiastic about it. But still they hound him. He feels like a bone that two dogs want. He is being pulled in two different directions and he doesn't like it.

At least Draco has a bit more courtesy some days. Mostly. When Zabini isn't seemingly egging him on, making him cranky and extra pratty. Then he is better. He knows when to back off and when to change the subject. Again, mostly, but still. It is clear that he is trying. And he is less of a hassle to deal him on his own. But add Zabini to the mix and all of that goes out the window. Add Zabini at all and things get uncomfortable for Harry. He has all of the charm and none of the courtesy that Draco has. It is almost as if this is a game for him.

He doesn't understand. Is he that fun to toy with? Is his pain that entertaining? It must be because he keeps poking at it, every chance he gets. Zabini is a drain of energy that Harry doesn't have right now. Exhausting.

What he desperately wishes for is his music. He had gotten too use to listening to it over the summer that now everything sounds too silent now. He misses the way the words would move through him. The way it made him feel. Maybe not always happy, but alive. Oh so alive. Now, some days, he feels as if he is dead. His body is still moving, but it shouldn't be. It just hasn't gotten the message yet. A dead man walking.

He wonders if there is some way he could have it back. He doubts he could listen to it in the dorms. Or the common room for that matter. And there isn't anywhere else. Maybe Severus and Regulus' room, but he would never dare mention that. That would be far too much. Crossing some unspoken line. They have already gone to enough trouble for him. Are willing to go through more. Best not make himself anymore tiresome than he already is. They will only make them abandon him quicker. No need to push his already bad luck.

He already drove Severus mad with it. He is likely glad to be rid of it now. It definitely would not be a good thing to bring it up again. Freaks aren't supposed to be burdens. Freaks are suppose to earn their keep. He hasn't exactly figured out how to do that for his two Professors. He tries to do what they tell him to, but that is just basic. Surely there has to be more to it than that. But what? Asking them won't help either. More like the opposite. So he has to figure it out for himself. Too bad he is so bad at it.

With the Dursleys it was easy. Even when they tried to trick him and mess him up, Harry could still figure it out. Follow the orders they meant, not the words they said. Now? Now it is so much harder. They are more difficult to read for one. And for another, it is almost as if they mean what they say – that he doesn't need to repay them. But surely that is wrong.

Everyone wants something after all. Everything has a price. So what is theirs?

"Ah, here is our baby Lord,"

"Hiding safe and sound from the masses."

Fred and George appear, seemingly out of nowhere and take a seat beside him. George nudges him so that he is using him as a backrest. He circles his arms around Harry's waist, engulfing him. It is still odd that this feels... nice, not confining. Not as if he is trapped. But as if he is being guarded. Which he is. He so clearly is. The twins aren't the most subtle of people when they don't try to be.

Fred takes a look at the essay he is writing. "So this is what our Lordship is doing then. Interesting."

Harry snorts at that. No. No it really isn't. He flexes his back and tilts his head so it is against George's shoulder. It's odd, how tactile they get with him. They aren't that way with anyone else that he has ever seen.

George moves his hands so that he is massaging Harry's shoulders instead. His touch is just the right amount of gentle, yet firm.

He can't help the slight moan he makes. Merlin does that feel good. He knew he had been tense lately, but he didn't realize how much until it began to be rubbed away. It gets even better when George partially shrugs off his robe and shirt. His hands are rough from the callouses on them. But still they move to help, not to hurt. "So tense my Lord,"

"Is there anything we can do to help?"

Harry snorts. "Do my homework for me?" he jokingly asks.

"We could," Fred offers, "we already know the answers after all."

"We could tell you and then you could put it in your own words."

"Or we could simply write it in general."

Harry... he isn't sure if they are serious or not. They sound like they are. And they have never taken school all that seriously for them to consider cheating a huge deal. But still, would they really? Why? Isn't this something that goes beyond being a good friend? Or is this being a bad friend instead? He doesn't know. He closes his eyes in exhaustion.

"Sleep," George murmurs in his ear.

"We'll take care of everything."

Harry shakes his head in denial, but doesn't reply verbally.

"Sleep," George repeats, "a quick nap will help."

"We'll be here the entire time. We won't let anything happen to you."

"Our word as your faithful minions."

Harry wants to say something to that. Wants to roll his eyes at their joke. Wants to think about what all of this could mean. But he can't. He is already asleep.

.

.

Oh how thoughtlessly cruel some people can be. How sharp they are in their misunderstanding of you. They mean so well, but cut so deep. But oh, how good other people can be. Always there just when you need them the most.

.

.

When Harry wakes up, it is later than he was expecting. He actually does feel refreshed, which is shocking. What is even more shocking is that he did not have a single nightmare. Not even a hint of one. His headache has faded into the background of his head so that it is almost unnoticeable.

Of course the twins are there, just like they promised. They are still close together, talking quietly. The mutter of their voices washes over him as he slowly comes awake. It is comforting. He turns and they both smile at him.

"Our Lord has awakened!"

"Now we shall feast with him."

Harry rolls his eyes at the both of them. Then again, they aren't wrong about the feast part. They have obviously called a house elf to bring them some food because there really is quite a bit of it in front of them. More than they are going to be able to eat in one sitting. When he turns, he is embarrassed to see that he has drooled all over George. He can feel his face heat up at that.

"Don't worry about it,"

"We have five other siblings remember?"

"Drool is the least of the things we have had to deal with,"

"Believe us."

Still Harry ducks his head out of the way. Childish. Is he some kind of baby, to be falling asleep on people like this?

"Eat."

"You don't want this to go wasted do you?"

"A certain elf was more than happy to help us out,"

"Especially once he knew it was you."

"The Great Harry Potter Sir himself."

Oh. Dobby. He can feel himself blush again. Dobby still likes to help him out, even after all these years. Still insists that they are friends. And still insists on calling him that. It is rather embarrassing, but he won't stop.

So he eats. He finds that once he does, he is actually hungry. That is another change for him. Lately food just hasn't been very appealing. Now though, it tastes good. It seems as if he eats more than the last two days put together. Who knows, maybe he did.

They shoo him off once they are all finished and tell him to sleep again. It is only when he gets to his dorm that he realizes that they fulfilled another promise. All of his homework is done.

.

.

Always keep someone around you trust, to lean on when you need to. A true friend will carry you when you can't move yourself.

.

.

For the first Quidditch game, Harry doesn't go. Instead he is visiting the Thestral herd with Luna. It is more fun than he expected it to be. Certainly more fun than watching the match would have been. As it got closer and closer, it felt like that was all anyone could talk about. And Draco had started looking speculatively at him again. He had enough sense not to say anything, but Harry could tell he was thinking it.

Plus it likely would have turned out that Zabini would have insisted on sitting with him. And talking to him. Maybe even getting too close for comfort. He does that sometimes. Not often, but sometimes. It would have made things even more uncomfortable than they already were. So he solved the problem by not watching at all. Fred and George will tell him all the interesting bits after the game anyways, if he wants.

He is glad he made the decision he did. He had been hesitant about the whole thing at first. Was this really a good idea? It was called the Forbidden Forest for a reason. Who knew what else was all in here besides Luna's Thestrals? He know Centaurs for sure, And other things that can – and will – eat you. But they hadn't run into anything like that.

As it turns out, Thestrals are rather playful creatures, once they are comfortable with you. And that didn't take long. When they first arrived, Cecil had trotted over and greeted Harry like an old friend. Some others had crowded around Luna, clearly use to her. More than that, they clearly adored her. It is pretty sweet to watch actually. She just as clearly adores them back.

So they end up playing with the younger ones while the adults watch one. They guard them from any danger they might encounter. They run and they jump and they laugh. Harry is breathless from laughter. And he can't remember the last time he laughed so much.

A quick glance tells him that once again, Luna is running around shoeless.

"The Nargles took them," she says innocently.

Harry snorts at that. Nargles. Right. The girl just really hates wearing shoes for some reason, Harry suspects. True, they are always missing, but Harry doesn't think the Nargles aren't behind that little problem. Homework? Yes. School books? Sure. Other missing belongings? Definitely. But shoes? He has his doubts.

Not that she'll ever confirm this of course. But it happens just a little too often for Harry to think otherwise. He wonders how she can stand it, walking on the ground like this. Then again, magic is usually the answer to most things. And he has learned that she is nothing if not creative when she wants to be. But he doesn't dwell on it. It is her choice after all.

They lose themselves in the games they play. It is well past lunch time when they finally leave. Harry is sad to have to and promises to be back. There is something strangely innocent about playing with animals everyone associates with death. Ironic. But something he would definitely like to do again.

To lose himself, if only for a day. That sounds pretty good actually. It's not as if he is worth keeping. Or finding, if he loses himself too much. Depressing maybe, but that's just the way it is.

.

.

Some times it is the simple things in life that bring us the most joy.

.

.

Harry stares at the stacks of books in front of his and pushes down a sigh of despair. This... this is not what he had in mind when Granger suggested they spend their Saturday doing a little bit of work on their project. Really, he should have known better. This probably is a little bit, for her.

"I found some more books that I thought might be useful for us," she says cheerfully, "I think this will really help us make a good start on everything."

A good start? Merlin take him now.

"And if we make enough headway with this today, we should be right on schedule. We're running a little behind as his. God, with everything else we have to do, this is going to take some arranging. I knew this year was going to be busy, but I didn't anticipate these side projects as well. Especially with the OWLs. It's a good thing I started my planner as soon as the year started. Time management is even more important than ever. Oh," she perks up, "I could make one for you too, if you wanted."

A planner. She wants to make a planner for him. He shakes his head. He is not giving her that kind of power over him. If she knows when he is free then she'll know right when to pounce on him. He can manage on his own.

"If you're sure then," She huffs. "But really, this is all so ridiculous. This isn't even taking into the fact that everyone seems to have lost their minds this year. Honestly, it's a disgrace. Did you know I'm suddenly more popular just for being a Muggleborn? And they expect me to be happy about it too! As if it isn't the same thing as looking down on me because of the same reason. Blood purity is so stupid."

Harry nods, both in agreement with her and to keep her moving.

She almost seems surprised by this. "Oh? I thought all Slytherins agreed with it."

Now it is Harry that huffs. "Not all Slytherins are evil you know. Just because some of them are right gits and bastards, doesn't mean the entire House is. The way people go on about it, you would think it is the ultimate sign of the Dark. That we all go bad. Well if you think so, why not just kill us all and be done with it? After all, we're all evil. Surely we deserve it." And wow, more of that came of then he was expecting. And much more bitterly as well.

Then again, this has been building inside of him for a long time. Ever since he was Sorted, practically. Ever since he was ostracized by the other three Houses for being in the wrong House. For being Slytherin. For clearly being evil when he was suppose to be the hero. Since first year, when they mocked and cursed him. Since second year, when they decided he was the one setting the monster on them. Since third year, when they shunned him. Since fourth year, when they accused him of being something he isn't. Again. And now this year, when he once again doesn't fit into their expectations. Their standards for him.

Granger looks horrified at the thought though. "How can you say that, they're children," she hisses, "You want to kill a bunch of eleven year olds just for being Sorted in Slytherin?"

"No, but I'm surprised you don't," he says simply.

"Of course not!" she sounds positively outraged now, "I'm not a murderer. I don't condone that. And I especially don't condone genocide. That is disgusting." She sneers at him as if she thinks that he is a bug on her shoe. A gooey one that she just stepped on and now there is a mess. "You know, I thought you were one of the better Slytherins, but obviously I was wrong."

Harry feels tired all of a sudden. As if he just took a big sip of Dreamless Sleep. He doesn't know why he tries anymore. No matter what he does, no matter what he says, it never seems to work out. No one ever understands. No one ever gets it. Hell, he hadn't even been trying this time. His temper had flared and it had come out. Just like with Draco. Only not as extreme thank Merlin. The last thing he wants is for Granger to know anything personal about him.

He has nothing to say after that. What is the point? She'd likely misunderstand anything else he has to say as well. Why waste the time? He has learned at a young age when someone doesn't want to listen to him. When they are determined to punish him, no matter what. Coming to Hogwarts hasn't changed that.

So he keeps his mouth shut and opens the first book he picks up. Best to get this over with then.

Granger doesn't say anything either. She opens her own book and begins to read. Her quill scratches across the parchment as she makes furious notes. Whether that is because she is reading so quickly or because she is so mad at him, he doesn't know.

The silence is heavy and charged between them. As if a single spark will light the fire. Have the whole thing burst into flames. He wonders, will it burn him alive if it does? Or will he be stuck, choking on smoke, feeling the flames consume him, but still live? Fire wouldn't be his preferred way to go, but it is a way.

Harry will give her this though, Granger's determination is as strong as her will to learn. Even as disgusted as she is with him, they still spend the entire day in the library. She leaves to eat lunch. Harry doesn't. The mere thought of food is enough to make him gag. It wouldn't be worth it to try.

Besides when she is gone, he is able to untense his muscles some. He can feel the strain in them already and it hasn't even been half a day yet. It is easier to work without waiting for the next blow it come. It always has been. Not that he isn't use to working under that kind of pressure. He is. But that doesn't mean he likes it.

Part of the problem is how bloody irritated he is with her. She took what he said and twisted it the completely opposite direction. How did she manage that? If she is supposed to be so smart, how could she not see that he was agreeing with her. That he is just as – if not more so, most definitely more so – frustrated then she is. He was being bloody sarcastic! Doesn't she know sarcasm? Obviously not.

No he doesn't want to kill an entire House. Even if he just might hate them, he doesn't want to kill them. He's not a monster. He's not like that. He's not!

Then again, maybe he is. Maybe she is reacting to something he can't see in himself. He has this terrible power inside of him. He had Voldemort's soul inside of him. He is potentially his soulmate.

Tom Riddle

Draco Malfoy

One is an enemy. One is someone to love him. Only no one loves him. He doubts Voldemort was capable of it. And Draco only seems to like him now because he thinks that he is suppose to. What happens when he gets to know the real Harry? He won't like him then, that's for bloody sure. So he is unlovable, even to his soulmate.

Maybe Granger is right. Maybe he is the monster she thinks he is after all.

When she comes back, she still doesn't say a word to him. She still blatantly ignores him,as if he isn't worth her time. As if he is scum. And isn't he? Isn't he a monster? It sure feels like it some days. Enough people have tried to tell him that. Just how dense is he, that he is only realizing this now? That it has taken this many years for him to learn.

No. No, that's not quite true. He knew before this. He always knew. And he especially knew after he killed Quirrell. But he had allowed himself to forget. He had let Severus and Regulus help him forget. He had let Luna and the twins make him doubt, if only a little bit. They are the reason this feels as if it is a new revelation. As if it is some kind of surprise when it shouldn't be.

They mean well, he knows. They seem to care about him, for some strange reason. But they are telling him that he is something that he isn't. That he is just a boy. That he deserves good things. That he isn't a failure and a Freak and a monster. That he is just Harry. They mean well, but they are lying to him. Or he has somehow fooled them into seeing something that isn't there.

It shouldn't be possible to fool Severus and Regulus. They are so much smarter and so much more powerful than he is. It shouldn't be possible. But what if it is? What if his terrible power has been clouding their minds all these years. If it crept up on them slowly, if it slowly changed their perception of him, would they have noticed?

And wouldn't that mean it would be even easier to do the same to the twins and Luna? They aren't nearly as powerful. They don't nearly have the same experience to know how to fend him off. If two grown wizards can't, what chance do they have? The idea makes him sick.

It makes sense. It makes so much sense now that he thinks about it. Why else would they take an interest in him? Why else would they waste so much time and resources on him? Why else would Severus want to adopt him? There is no other reason than this. This, this, is the explanation he has been waiting for. The final answer. It is because he is a monster. He is so bad that he doesn't even realize that he is doing it.

His core is acting out, without him even having to think about it. He is corrupting those he spends too much time with. The idea makes him sick. What about his classmates? What about Longbottom? What is he doing to them?

Slowly he takes a breath to calm himself down. He can't get himself worked up over this. Not here. Not now. Not when he isn't safe. Not in front of Granger. Besides, there must be a way for them to protect themselves. Just look at how she is reacting now. So it must be possible. This must be the way to do it. The way to block his powers off is to block Harry himself off.

All those times when he wondered by everyone was turning on him. When they mocked and cursed and completely rejected him. That wasn't them simply being cruel. That was them protecting themselves from him. From his terrible powers taking over their minds. Influencing them so that they would like him. Befriend him. Hasn't his greatest wish always been to have someone to love him? Just one? Well his power has obviously taken that wish and corrupted it. It is trying to make everyone love him. No wonder they treat him so.

It makes so much sense now. Of course that is the answer. Of course that is the only reason anyone would voluntarily spend time with him. He has corrupted them.

Now all he has to do is stop. Stop spending time with them. Stop talking to them. Stop wanting to be friends with them. If he avoids them long enough then surely their minds will clear. They will see him for what he really is. Then they can happily hate him, just like everyone else.

And maybe this will hurt him, but this is the right thing to do. The only thing to do. And doesn't he deserve this, for controlling them all these years? Doesn't he deserve the pain? It is his terrible powers that did this to them. It was his selfish wish, his damning hope, that made this possible. If only he had learned sooner how unlovable he is. If only he had never let hope in. Then they would be able to live their own lives. They would be free of him.

This is what is best for them. Best for everyone. He shouldn't even be alive. That he is is an act of pure evil. It wasn't his Mother's sacrifice that saved him, like that Headmaster said, it was Voldemort himself. Voldemort's power going into him and keeping him alive. Doesn't that explanation fit better? After all, how could his Mum love him? He had only been a year old then. He never did anything to earn that love. This makes much more sense.

He is evil. He has always been evil. He will likely always be evil. He wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for that. He always knew there was something wrong with him. It is only his own fault that he forgot this. That he let hope in.

Disgusting. Pathetic. Freak.

Freak.

He needs to let go. He needs to stop himself somehow. And if the only way to do that is by permanently stopping himself, well then. It is what is necessary. For the Greater Good, as the Headmaster would say. It is for the best. No one mourns the wicked after all.

It will take some planning. And the right timing. He can't have anyone interrupting. His power might take a hold of them and make them stop him. He is sure this power wants to keep on living after all. Why else hasn't he done the right thing before now?

But this is not his first option. Not yet. First he needs to somehow break his hold on people. He needs a chance for his powers to fade. Because what if even death doesn't stop it? What if they do mourn him because his control hasn't faded yet. They don't deserve that. They don't deserve to be forced to mourn something that is controlling them like this. They deserve to be free of him first.

If Harry believed in an afterlife, he might be scared of this idea. If he listened to other people's faith, then surely he knows that he is going to hell. That is where all the evil things go. To hell to be tortured and punished for the rest of eternity. And that is the only faith he has ever heard about. His aunt and Uncle attended Church each Sunday, taking Dudley with them. To keep up appearances of course. Not because they really believed. Have to always appear normal after all.

But even so, he did pick up something from them. Heaven or hell. Those are his only two choices. And he certainly isn't anywhere good enough to go to Heaven. Maybe if he had died as a baby, then he would have a chance. But now? Now he has been far too corrupted for that. Hell is the only place for someone like him.

That is, if he believes that it is real. He doesn't, not really. He's never believed in any of it. Not the Devil, not some almighty Creator looking down on them from above. None of it. Maybe he should. Maybe it is real, like the same way magic is real. You only know about it once you are introduced to it. You only find out for sure once you die. Is an afterlife such a hard thing to consider when he lives in a world of magic?

Still, he doesn't. He has no reason to. What good has faith ever done him? Nothing, that's what. It serves no purpose, in his world. Just like he serves no purpose in this one. Only to destroy.

.

.

When revelation hit, there is no stopping it. It tears through everything, leaving nothing in its path untouched. Whether it is right or not has no bearing on the matter. What is thought cannot be unthought. It burrows into the mind, making a new home for itself among all the other thoughts and beliefs already there.

.

.

Try as he might, Harry can't escape the inevitable – his career conference with Severus. Not that he actually tried to. That would be pure stupidity. For one thing, it would never work, so why even try? For another thing, it would tell Severus that something is wrong. He doesn't want that. He will probably try to tell Harry all the reasons he is wrong, when he only thinks that because he is under Harry's influence.

Should he even call him by his first name now? Wouldn't that strengthen his hold on his Professor? On both of them? The more he wants to hold onto them, the deeper this power of his will sink into them. That will have to be the first step in pulling himself away. In breaking his hold. Distance.

But, still, he has to go so he arrives at Professor Snape's office right on time and knocks.

"Come in Potter," he calls.

Harry does and nods to him as he carefully sits down.

Professor Snape folds his hands and looks at him. "Dare I hope that you have the slightest idea of what you would like to do after you graduate?"

Harry shakes his head. No. For one, he now knows there is no point. For another thing, he still isn't good at anything. He has no talent to harness or develop into something useful.

Professor Snape sighs a long sigh. Resigned, as if he were expecting just this. "I thought as much. So let us start from the beginning. Tell me what you like to do."

Harry shrugs, staring at the desk instead of his Professor. It is covered with essays, books, quills and ink. All laid out in an orderly fashion. It isn't surprising. He is always neat, in everything he does.

"I require a verbal answer Potter," Professor Snape says.

"Flying?" Harry suggests. Because he does like it.

"Flying yes, but considering I know that you would not want to turn that into a career, I am afraid you are going to have to list more than that. Now what else?"

"Reading?" Harry tries next. Because it is almost true. It may not be his favorite thing, but he does enjoy it. Sometimes. Other times he needs the knowledge so he can learn the rules. Either way, he does enough of it.

"And is that a question or an answer?" Professor Snape's voice rumbles as he talks. It has always reminded Harry of thunder during a storm. It can be low and continuous. It can be loud and sharp. It can come out of nowhere and scare you. Or, if you are use to it, if you like the sound of it, it can help relax you.

"Both," he says.

Professor Snape sighs again. "Come now Potter, why is this so hard today? Because it is official? Or is today a bad day for you?"

Practically every day is a bad day for Harry, but he can hardly say that. "I didn't sleep well last night," he offers because he knows that Professor Snape will accept that. And he's not even lying about it either. His nightmares seem to be running rampant lately.

He hums in thought. "I see. Just last night or have they been a reoccurring problem lately?"

"They haven't gotten any worse then they were over the summer," he lies, eyes still focused on the desk. This should be enough. Both of them are well aware of how much peace he had in his sleep during the summer. It's not exactly a reassuring statement. But it is enough to not give away that they are even worse now. He is so tired of having Riddle in his head.

"I will be giving you some Dreamless Sleep potion and I expect you to use it." He looks sternly at Harry.

Even he can tell that without looking at him. He nods in answer.

"Very good then. Now, I will be giving you a stack of pamphlets to look through. I expect you to read them and make notes and questions you have on at least five of them. We will be discussing them in a week. As well, Regulus would like to talk to you. You may join us after supper in our rooms to talk. Yes?"

"Yes Sir," Harry says.

Professor Snape sighs. "Child, I know life is hard, but even the darkness cannot last forever."

Harry has nothing to say to that. It sounds like one of those things adults say to make kids feel better about themselves. A waste of words. A lie wrapped in bright colors.

"Now here," he hands Harry the pamphlets, "You may leave, but remember what I said."

"Yes Sir," Harry repeats and talks to the door.

"And Potter," Professor Snape says, "Professor Graham has let me review your latest write up on your project. It is well reasoned."

Harry almost starts at that. A compliment? Professor Snape is giving him a compliment? A real one. Those are rarer than a unicorn sighting. It makes something in him glow even as something in him wilts. A compliment. But it can't be real. Not if he is talking to Harry of all people. Still, if there is one thing Professor Snape hates – besides dunderheads – is rudeness. "Thank you Sir," he says and walks out the door.

He lets his feet wander. Since this was supposed to take much longer, he now has some unexpected free time. He should use it to do some studying. Or work on his Transfiguration project. The sooner he gets that done, the better. Hell, he should even use it to complete the assignment he just received. But he doesn't do any of that. He is far too restless. So he wanders the halls instead, sticking to the more deserted paths.

Some days Hogwarts seems too small to fit all of its students in one place. Sometimes it seems too big. As if it is impossible to fill all of the rooms. His footsteps echo as he walks, completely alone and undisturbed. Good. This is the way it should be. Others shouldn't have to be forced to endure his presence.

Almost without realizing it, he begins to hum Dream On. It seems appropriate here. Right now, it feels as if he is the only person in this castle. On Earth. Totally and completely alone, with not a soul to interact with him. It is an odd head space to have. Especially when he knows it isn't true. Still, nothing really seems real at the moment.

He stares at everything as if it is new. As if he has never seen it before. The walls, the carpet, the portraits. Even his hands, when they catch his attention. Everything is new and yet nothing is real. Definitely odd to be sure. But strangely peaceful as well. Right now, he isn't worried about his school work or his powers or his future. He can simply walk and be.

He doesn't know how long he walks like this. Time loses all of its meaning, along with everything else. It is only when he passes a window and sees how far the sun has sunk does he realize just how much time has passed. It is suppertime now. He makes no move to go to the Great Hall. He isn't hungry. Again. Lately food hasn't sounded good at all.

He is use to going without at the Dursleys, so it is fine. It doesn't bother him much. He knows how long he can go without eating before he gets too weak. Besides, why waste the food on him? He is a Freak. He has terrible powers. He doesn't deserve to eat.

He likely wouldn't be able to keep it down in any case. Aunt Petunia always said he didn't deserve food if he was just going to sick it right back up again. He was already a drain on their resources. Already a burden. They weren't going to waste anything on him if he was going to be ungrateful about it. Dudley deserved it more anyways. He always did.

So going without food isn't a problem. He should probably go to stop people from noticing his absence. Draco will. And Professor Snape and Professor Black will. Maybe Luna and the twins. No one else though. Or if they do, they won't care.

But he can't make his feet move from the window. The mere thought of going to the Great Hall makes him cringe. It sounds bad. It sounds like too much effort. Too much noise and too many people and too many expectations he has to disappoint. The thought of Draco or Zabini talking to him makes him shudder. Or his Professors and their too watching, too knowing eyes. Too much. It all feels like too much.

So he stays where he is, watching the sunset, until it is time to go to his Professors' rooms. He makes his way steadily down to the dungeons and waits at the portrait he knows is theirs. As always, the boomslang in it greets Harry. Harry greets him back before it opens.

Professor Black smiles as he walks in. "Harry, come in. You weren't at meal tonight, did you eat elsewhere?"

Harry nods. Easier to do that then to explain he had been wandering the halls these past hours. He might get worried. And there is no reason to worry about him.

"Good then. Come, sit. Severus is brewing so it's just going to be the two of us tonight."

Harry curls up in the corner of the couch, trying to make himself as small as possible. Always present the smallest possible target that you can. Don't take up room that other people might need. Don't contaminate things you shouldn't be.

"Severus mentioned that you had a little trouble with your career talk today. And I realized that I completely forgot to mention that you have another option, should you decide to agree to the adoption."

The adoption. Something twists in Harry's stomach. The adoption is the last thing he should be thinking about right now. He can't accept. He knows he can't accept. He hadn't even known if he was going to before. But now he definitely can't. It's funny, in a grim sort of way, that now that he knows he can't, it hurts. It hurts to know that he can never have it. Before, when it was possible, he was cautious, leery about it. But now that he can't have it, it feels like another strike against him.

"If you agree, you would become my heir. I am Lord Black because Sirius was disinherited when he was sixteen. That meant the title fell to me. I will pass it on to any children I have. And if I don't have children, I will need to pass it on to another family member."

Lord Black? Harry? What a joke this is. Not that he thinks Professor Black isn't serious. It is just the thought of Harry as a Lord is ridiculous. He can't even imagine. In the first place, he is not cut out to be a Lord. He is so far opposite of anything a Lord should be, he can't even see the other end of the road. In the second place, he can't be Lord Black. That is too much power for him. Too many people who would be exposed to him. This is their government they are talking about. With his powers, he could potentially corrupt the entire thing. Well, more than it already is anyways.

"Now this doesn't mean you have to be in the Wizengamot if you do not want to. You can give someone else the right to use your proxy vote instead. Someone that you can trust to vote in ways you agree with, mind you. It defeats the purpose otherwise."

Harry nods to show that he understands.

"I was not active in my youth. Certain circumstances prevented me from doing what I wished to do. That meant that I chose a proxy for myself. Now that I no longer have to worry about that, I am slowly picking up more of my duties again."

Harry knows that he means that now that Voldemort is dead. Before he had to act like a Death Eater. Like he was faithful when really he and Professor Snape were working to kill him. And now that he is gone, Professor Black can do as he likes.

"If you were to become my heir, I would teach you all that you needed to know. When I died then, it would be your choice whether you are active or not. But you would still hold the title and there are still certain responsibilities that you would have, regardless of how active you were in politics."

Harry nods again, but he can't wrap his mind around it. The entire idea doesn't seem real. It is like he is staring at it from the other side of a stained glass window. He can see it, a bit, but it is distorted from the glass. It is like earlier, when nothing seemed real. This doesn't either. Not really.

"And separate from that, but still important, if you became my heir then you would not have to worry about getting a job if you did not want to. Technically speaking, the Blacks are drowning in money. None of us need to work if we don't wish to. That is the path Sirius is taking. Oh he is gleefully spending the Ministry's money right now, but he can access the Black fortune anytime he wants. I reinstated him into the family," he adds, to clarify. "As my heir, you would be more than entitled to doing just that. Do I personally recommend it? No because it would drive me mad. But it is an option nonetheless."

Harry can feel his eyes widen at that. Money. It wouldn't just be a title and power he would get, it would be money as well? Enough that he would never have to work if he didn't want to. Bloody hell. Not that he would ever be able to do it. Professor Black is right on that. He isn't the only one who would be driven mad by that. But the mere thought of that alone. Just how much money they must have...

His parents left him a vault of course. It has been enough to get him through school so far. It will last through graduation as well. If he is really careful, he can stretch it out farther than that. He might need to. Then again, maybe not. But the idea of not having to worry about money, when for the first eleven years he had nothing. And now he has some, but still more than he ever dreamed possible. To add even more to that... Merlin.

"The Blacks are part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight of course. That means we have no muggle blood in the family tree. It also means we're as mad as a bloody hatter, most of us. Even the most sane have some strange ticks that we shouldn't. Others just hide it better than others. Inbreeding," Professor Black shakes his head, "terrible thing. But at least we aren't deluding the blood with muggles." He rolls his eyes at that. "Honestly. But in any case, there is no pressure of course, but I wanted to discuss this with you. Do you have any questions?"

Harry shakes his head.

Professor Black frowns at that. "You are having a bad day, aren't you. Normally you're more verbal than this. Well then, as long as you are listening that's fine. I can check in later."

Harry burrows farther into the couch at the thought. At the negative he is going to have to give. His nails dig into his arms too sharply, coming close to breaking skin. The pinpoints of pain help center him. Remind him where he is now.

"As well, I thought I'd add some more suggestions than what you will see in those pamphlets of yours. One that I know won't be there are options for parselmouths.

Harry can't help but look up at that. What? Options of parselmouths? But how? Everyone is convinced that parseltongue is evil. Just another thing that is wrong with Harry.

"Oh yes," Professor Black says, "just because the Wizarding UK has turned its back on the skill doesn't mean that it isn't useful. Or that you can't make a comfortable living off of it. It is a rare gift here, so that means that any job that calls for it is in high demand. Doing without generally means complicated spells and more danger. But elsewhere it is more common, you would have a better chance not just to work, but to learn as well. Nor would you have the stigma you would have here.

"Depending on where you would want to live, you have a wide area open to you. There is the desert area, the Amazons, countries in South America, South Asia is an especially good one. Anywhere there is a large snake population is going to draw more parselmouths. There are even parts of the world where snakes are worshiped. There a parselmouth is practically nobility all on his or her own. Ever respected and you would have a comfortable living there."

Respected? Worshiped? Harry can't even imagine it. Especially not with the reaction everyone had when it was discovered he could talk to snakes. That was one of his worse years. And Professor Black is here telling him that there is a place where it is the exact opposite? Where he would have respect for being a parselmouth? Insanity.

Professor Black chuckles at the expression that is on Harry's face. He must look as shocked as he feels about the idea. But he can't help it. The idea... well. He ducks his head. It doesn't matter anyways. It's not as if he is going to have a future, is he?

"Just something to think about," Professor Black says lightly, "but I can see that is enough for today. Off you go, give everything time to sink in. And remember, I will answer any questions you have."

Harry nods and leaves, thoughts spinning. He lets his feet carry him where they want again. He doesn't want to go back to the common room this early, nor does he want to go to the library. He needs to move. He can't sit still now, not with the way his thoughts are spinning.

He walks and walks and walks until he finds an abandoned classroom to hide in. Dust covers everything he sees as he goes to the front corner and curls up. He can't stop thinking about it – the adoption, parseltongue, his future, his lack of future and skill and everything. Just, everything all at once. It is one thing right after another, with no pause and no break. It is too much. His head is too loud and too much and too dark all at the same time. All of the darkness in him rises up and threatens to swallow him.

Isn't that all what is in him? All the darkness and all the evil. Any good in him has long been choked out. Destroyed. His Aunt and Uncle were the first to see it. No wonder they never loved him. Never wanted him. They saw him for what he was. How bad he was. How bad he was destined to be. Who could love someone like that?

Worthless. Burden. Freak.

He curls in on himself, wrapping his arms around him. The voices close in on him, all talking at once. All poking and prodding and burning. Bleeding from the inside out as they speak. How much can one person bleed before they run out of blood?

He shivers, chilled to the bone. He almost wishes for someone next to him. Someone to chase this cold away. But no. No, it is better this way. Better that he is alone. He tugs at his hair in a vain attempt to get him mind to silence itself. It doesn't work of course. It is still moving too fast. Everything still feels like too much.

He is drowning in his own head and he doesn't know how to swim.

Hands fly to his hair, burying them in it, tugging and pulling harshly at it. It doesn't help.

He hears a whine and doesn't realize at first that he is the one making it. It barely registers among everything else going through his mind.

He is drowning.

Drowning.

...Drowning.

Just when he thinks he is going to sink to the bottom, never to return, he hears a voice. No. Not a voice. Two voices. Two voices talking to him.

"It's alright baby Lord."

"It's alright little brother."

"We won't let anything happen to you."

"We won't."

"We're here now."

"We have you."

Harry gasps and opens his eyes to see that George and Fred are on either side of him. They are leaning against him, boxing him in. Trapping him. Protecting him. They have their arms slung around him, offering him an anchor to the real world. He grasps it with both hands.

Making a small noise, he turns so that he is completely in one of their arms. Straddling his hips, he buries himself into a strong chest. Sitting like this, he couldn't get any closer if he tried. He doesn't even know which twin it is right now. He doesn't care. All he cares about is that they are real. They are here. They won't let him drown, no matter how much he might deserve it.

He clings as if his very life depends on it. Against his back, he can feel the warm weight of the other twin. A violent chill shakes him and they tighten their hold on him. The voices mock him for this weakness. They jeer as they remind him that, if it were not for him, they would not be here at all. They would be able to live their lives as they wanted. Without him. Without the burden. Without the Freak.

But the voices alone do not have Harry's attention. Fred and George do. And they clearly plan on keeping it. If there is one thing Harry has learned at Hogwarts, it is how obstinately stubborn Gryffindors can be. Especially these two. They begin talking and they don't stop. They talk of classes – apparently NEWTs are just as much fun as the OWLs are, pranks to be had – quite a few of course, stories of their classmates, of their family, of anything they can think of. They switch back and forth, each story more ridiculous than the last.

Soon the voices in his head are drowned out by the voices of the twins. Harry knows that they will be back. But for now, they are gone. For now, they are here instead.

He blushes hotly when he realizes just how he is sitting in Fred's lap. He squirms to get away, but Fred just laughs and tightens his hold briefly. "Hush my Lord, it's fine. Always glad to know I'm your favorite." He smiles cheekily at Harry.

Behind him, George squawks in disgust. "You? Want makes you think that you are the favorite one? You cheated, sitting on his right side like that."

"Because I'm the handsomer one of course."

"What mirror have you been looking at? Clearly I am the better looking one."

"Have you by chance finally gone blind by looking at old Dumbledore's robes?"

"I could ask you the same thing brother dear."

They bicker like that, Harry in between them, with no care that he is. Or that the position is rather suggestive. They carry on as if they do not have a care in the world. As if everything is right with it.

Harry burrows back into Fred's side to listen. He can admit it is pretty entertaining when the two of them get like this. He suspects that they play it up, just for him. For anyone really. They seem to have a policy that if anyone thinks they are anything but ridiculous, they are doing something wrong. They aren't though. Harry has seen how serious, how vicious and how smart they can be. Just because they don't show it, doesn't mean that they aren't. They just prefer to be underestimated instead.

But it always seems different when they are doing it for Harry. As if this is just for him. Just to make him smile. Just to cheer him up. They have no problem putting on a show if there is the slightest chance he might get a laugh out of it.

They are so good to him. It makes something in him scream that they are only doing this because he is making them somehow. That, if not, he would just be another face in the crowd. Another Slytherin to hate and be wary of. That this isn't their choice at all.

For a second, just a moment, he has a moment of doubt. This just feels so real. So... right. Maybe he really is wrong. Maybe he can have this after all.

But no. No it can't be. That is the hope talking. And since when has his hope ever been right? Never, that's when. His life has been a series of disappointments, one after another, after another, after another. His is not the story of happy endings. Not of heroes and friends and family. He is forever destined to play the villain in his own life.

"So what has our baby Lord been doing on this fine day?" George asks.

Harry shrugs, not really wanting to talk about it, but knowing he should give them something at least. "Career talk."

"Oh, yes. The fun talk of future,"

"And what you are going to do for the rest of your life."

"No pressure though,"

"It's only forever. Can you believe that Minnie didn't appear impressed by our plan at all?"

"It was most disheartening, really. I thought she was suppose to lift bright minds up."

"Not tear them down. It's a fine plan after all."

"Nothing wrong with running our own joke shop."

"Although she did admit that it fit us perfectly."

"Yes, there is that. She looked like she swallowed one too many of Dumbledore's lemon drops,"

"But she did admit it, in the end."

"So what brilliant advice did you get then?"

"Pamphlets mostly. And some surprising news about how useful parselmouths can be," Harry says lowly. He doesn't mention the possibility of him becoming the future Lord Black. He never told them about the adoption offer after all. That they were willing to become his legal guardians, yes, but not about the adoption. It had just seemed too big at the time for words. Now he's glad he didn't.

"Well honestly, if you're so worried about it,"

"We can tell you exactly what you can do for your career."

He blinks at them. "What?" he asks. What can they possibly know that he doesn't?

"Why join us of course."

"You are more then welcome to become a full partner in our joke shop."

"You're the reason we are going to be able to open it after all."

"And with that wickedly smart head of yours,"

"You are sure to be a good addition."

They nod together, both grinning at him.

But he can't help but frown. There are so many things wrong with that. First of all, "I'm not smart," he protests.

George snorts. "Of course you are. Or have you already forgotten all of those spells we taught you last year."

"Spells that were most definitely above your age level. And how well you mastered them?"

"You're smart baby Lord. You just insist on hiding it for some reason."

"Which is fine if you want to. Merlin knows we do it enough."

"School has never really been our thing after all," George nods in agreement, "But never let yourself forget how smart you are."

Harry goes to protest, but they don't let him.

"No," Fred says firmly, "you never would have survived this long if you weren't."

"Book smart isn't everything you know. It's how well you survive."

"And you, little snake, are the best survivor there is."

"Never forget that."

Both of them are serious now, looking at Harry with grave eyes.

Harry nods, because that is the only thing he can do at this point. There is never talking them out of anything once they get serious like this. Obstinate Gryffindors.

They spend of the rest of time until curfew talking and then insist on walking him to the common room. As if he is going to get lost. Or something will happen to him along the way. Maybe they just want to see where the entrance is, but he doubts it. He is sure they know. Especially with their copy of the Marauders Map.

He waves them good night and enters. Clearly it is going to be harder than he thought to avoid them.

Gryffindors.

.

.

Some times planning on having no future at all is just as exhausting as planning on having one.

.

.

But, suddenly, it appeared it wasn't just the twins' Gryffindorness that was a problem. There is Luna, who has taken to joining him and Granger in the library to study. She had come up to their table that first time and smiled brightly at Harry.

"Hello. Do you mind if I join you. I'm hiding from the Snapper Dues," she said, as if she was telling them a secret.

Granger had frowned at being interrupted, but didn't say anything. She never talked anymore unless she had to.

Harry had shrugged. He didn't care. He knew Luna wouldn't bother them. "Snapper Dues?" he had asked.

"Yes," she nods both very seriously and very wisely, "they are related to the Nargles, you know. Nasty things, Snapper Dues."

"I suppose I don't get a name for the Snapper Dues bothering you anymore than the Nargles then, do I?" he raised an eyebrow, something he had definitely picked up from Professor Snape and had not been able to stop since.

Luna had shook her head, giggling slightly. "Don't be silly, I don't name then."

That's what he had thought then. As soon as he knows, he is going to get the twins and they are going to show their... appreciation... for the certain species of wild life living at Hogwarts. It is sure to be most educational.

Granger is frowning at them, but Harry doesn't care. He nods his agreement.

"Oh goody," she said and pulled out her wand. She then proceeded to transfigure the chair he had been sitting in to something like a chair in the common rooms and plopped herself right in his lap. Automatically he moved the book he had been reading and she made herself comfortable. "There," she said in satisfaction, "Much better." She grins at him.

He stares blankly at her. What in the world? Luna has never been especially tactile. Not that he's ever seen anyways. Sure, the twins are with him, but not Luna? So why now? Is it because something happened and she doesn't want to talk about it? Or is Luna just being Luna right now? She did transfigure a comfortable chair though either way. "It looks like the Jackalburs are back inside your head again," she commented lightly.

Harry felt himself blush at that. Damn it, how does she always know? He was well aware, the thoughts being rather hard to miss, but he didn't want other people knowing. He didn't want them making a big deal about it. It's not important after all. It's just him.

"The what?" Granger finally asks, frowning severely at both of them.

"The Three Eyed Jackalburs," Luna said obviously, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "They are very dangerous you know. Tricky. You have to watch out for them." She nodded seriously.

"And you have to do that from his lap?" she had snapped back irritably.

If she thought Luna was going to take the hint from that, she was sadly mistaken. Luna doesn't do hints. "Oh yes, have to keep a close eye on them. Like I said – they're very tricky. All it takes is an instant and they can have you in their grasp."

Granger seemed to give up after that and went back to her book, muttering irritably to herself.

Harry shrugged and went back to his. Luna entertained herself, never moving the entire time. Somehow it became a habit. She always showed up and she always joined Harry. Not always in his lap, but always touching him in some ways. As if she could hold onto him by just doing this. As if she could save him.

Longbottom took her presence much better. He may not have understood any more, but he accepted it. And Luna seemed to like him much more as well. She talked to him when they took a break and smiled sweetly at him.

That had Harry narrowing his eyes in suspicion. He didn't ask her, because that seemed rude, but he had a suspicion that it had something to do with the name on her covered wrist. That was not her normal smile. It had a different edge to it. One he had never seen before, but can well guess the meaning. He can only hope, that if he is right, that she is careful. He of all people know what trouble those names can bring.

Still, he'll support her in whatever she decides. Just because he doesn't have a soulmate that is capable of loving him doesn't mean that it is all fake. Luna deserves any happiness she can get. Especially after dealing with the Nargles and the Snapper Dues for so long.

And speaking of soulmates, Draco is driving him mad. He has clearly decided that the best way to get to know Harry is to shadow him every chance he gets. Every time he turns around, there he is. Waiting. Still trying, for some reason. Anytime he is not studying or with his friends – or his friends are with him, more like – he is there. It is maddening.

It doesn't help that this development seems to amuse Zabini to no end. His eyes are always laughing at him, even if his mouth isn't. He takes delight in talking to Harry, getting into his space, making Draco glare and growl. It is all a game to him. Harry hates it.

He has taken to hiding in the corner with Nott, just to get some peace from them. Strangely they never go after him when he goes there. He would rather be alone instead, but this is the best he is going to get. And Nott has no real interest in him, so he should be safe.

"Why don't you tell them both to piss off?" he asks one day, when once again he retreats from them.

"Do you really expect them to listen when I say that?" he asks in return, dryly.

"That's when you make them listen to you," he says simply.

Harry looks at him, considering. "Is that why they don't bother you? Because you made them?"

The smile Nott flashes is both brilliant and chilling at the same time. "I simply made it clear when we first arrived that I wanted no part in their power games. When at first they doubted me, I reinforced my words. They understood after that."

Harry doesn't know whether to be worried or impressed by that. Nott is rather intense without even trying to be. Maybe that was the real reason he was always alone. The bright burning in his eyes scared everyone away. He never seemed to mind Harry joining him though. Likely because Harry was just another shadow in the corner when he did.

And then there are his Professors. Professor Snape is determined to help Harry plan a future he can be happy with – whether he wants to or not. He had flipped through the pamphlets, struggling to think of something to ask about them. Struggling to picture himself doing them. Quite a few of those questions were simply 'why?' He wasn't very impressed by that.

Nor did he seemed terribly impressed when he mentioned that the twins had already offered him a position in their joke shop. At the same time, he almost seemed relieved that he had something to think on. But he did warn "Not to accept their offer because you think you have no other option. Nor because they are your friends. Take a chance to find your own place in the world first. Then see if you still wish to do so."

But then Harry decided to bring up the question of jobs for parselmouths. Because it is an interesting idea. They talked at length about everything from snake charming to snake breeding to collecting venom and skin for potion ingredients. And that is only the beginning. Apparently there is an entire branch of magic open to those who speak parseltongue – predictably called parselmagic.

It is fascinating and Harry can't help but be interested. He gets caught up in it then, forgetting that he doesn't have a future. Forgetting that he can't have this. But then, maybe that is better. Because now Professor Snape has something to work with. He doesn't have to fret unnecessarily about the Freak.

Still, he doesn't pull back after that. He insists, suddenly, on talking to Harry once a week again. He asks all kinds of questions – about how well he is sleeping, how his stomach feels that he hasn't been eating much or anything heavy, if school is becoming too stressful or not, if he is taking time to relax with his friends. Harry tries to avoid the questions as well as he can. Make everything sound better than it is. He's not sure he does as well as he should.

He also insists that Harry take his nutrient potion and stomach soothers again. He says that will help him. He still needs to gain weight, not lose it. They help, somewhat. Harry is able to handle a little more than toast and tea and potatoes, the bland food he had been sticking too. But they don't help when his headaches hit. Then all he can handle is tea. And he won't complain about those. Professor Snape is already spending enough time making those two potions for him. No need to make a third.

Professor Black is no better. He is always smiling at Harry and asking him how he is doing. When they are alone, he has been pulling him into a side hug briefly before releasing him again. He slings his arm around him, encasing him. Harry can hear his heartbeat from where his head rests against his chest. That is... that is nice. Harry takes the time to memorize the sound so he can remember it when he no longer has this.

None of them will leave him alone. Just when he wants to be alone the most – when he needs to be alone – they all surround him. Someone always seems to be there. How can he break his hold when they are always there?

Maybe that is the problem. His powers have sensed what he wants to do. They are digging in more to the others as a result. Pulling them more to him when they should be fleeing from him instead. It is the only way he can make sense of it. The only way they are still here. If not, they should have seen him for what he was a long time ago. Seen the monster he has growing inside of him.

Granger can certainly see it. She glares fiercely at him whenever she has to look at him. She is fully professional now, focusing on their work and nothing else. At this point, her goal is to pass this assignment with flying colors. She isn't about to let a distasteful partner stop her. That's what she told him. She won't ruin her academic success because of one boy, no matter how bigoted he may be.

Sometimes he wonders what she actually heard him say that day. If she really thinks that he assumes that she is just as prejudiced as Slytherins and Purebloods as they are about her. If she heard that he is pro murder. If he endorsed mass killings. Either way, it doesn't matter. She heard and she saw him for what he really is. A monster and a Freak.

One thing she does not seem to be able to ignore is Luna. It is as if her mere presence makes her twitchy. Harry isn't sure if it is the way she is always touching him or what. It can't be because she is a distraction. She isn't. She doesn't talk. She doesn't fidget. The most she will do is sometimes hold his book or parchment for him if she is in the way. Other than that, she might as well not even be there.

Granger even took her complaints to Professor McGonagall.

"Potter," she calls after class, "stay for a moment will you."

Dread fills him as he waits for everyone to leave. They glance at him as they do, as if they can guess the reason just by looking at him. They can't. His face is blank as he waits. Soon he is alone, although he can see Granger lingering by the doorway, as if waiting to see what happens. No question about what this is about then.

"Ms Granger has lodged a complaint about you," she says, "She has told me that you always have one of your friends with you when the two of you are working. I had hoped that I has stressed the importance of this project before, but obviously I need to be more clear for you to understand. Mr Potter, if you do not pass this than you do not pass this class. And loath though I am to do it, this will affect Ms Granger as well. Do you want that?"

Harry shakes his head. He keeps his eyes glued to the floor. He can't look at his Professor right now. Whether that is because he will scream or he will cry if he does, he doesn't know. All he knows is that his skin itches, feels too tight around him. Trapping him. He wants to be anywhere but here right at this moment. He wants to scream that it isn't fair, but when is it ever?

Always his fault. Always to blame. He is the mistake, not other people. All the proof of innocence is up to him to prove. Until then, he is always guilty. Always wrong. It doesn't matter how much he fights it, he never wins.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?" Professor McGonagall asks.

Harry looks up at her then. He doesn't know what makes him ask. It's not courage and it's not stupidity. Maybe it's a combination of the two. Maybe it's curiosity, pure and simple. Maybe it's because it doesn't matter. Nothing does. It never has. "Would you listen, even if I did?" he asks.

She reacts to that, rather unexpectedly. She stares at him, shock clear on her face. "Of course I would Mr Potter," she sounds highly offended now, "I listen to all of my students who need to talk to me."

He tilts his head, still staring at her. He feels almost detached as he considers. "Adults always say that you know. But they never really do, do they? They only hear what they want to hear."

"Mr Potter," Professor McGonagall says sternly.

But Harry interrupts her, feeling both bold and uncaring, "Tell me Professor, what do you see the most when you look at me? My dead parents? My slightly insane godfather? Or the color on my tie?" Because he wants to know. Just might need to know. What do people actually see what they look at him? "The failure of a hero? Or a slimy snake?"

"What I see before me is an insolent student. How dare you speak to me like this young man. Just what would your relatives say if they heard you talking like this?"

A spark flares in him and he knows that he shouldn't say whatever it is that is about to come out. He does so anyways. "They'd ask you why you haven't shut me up yet. And then offered suggestions on how to do it. My Uncle prefers a belt, but my Aunt has a pan. Both are especially fond of my cupboard."

And here is the look of shock again. And anger. But the funny thing is, it doesn't seem to be at him. How odd. "Is that so?" she sounds calm as she speaks, but she isn't. He can tell.

Harry can always tell when an adult is angry at him, whether they are showing it or not. It is pure instinct at this point. "Don't worry Professor, it's less than two months now. Then your Gryffindor will no longer have to put up with the Freak." He calmly walks out of the room. Neither his Professor nor Granger stop him.

He heads to the library where he is suppose to meet Longbottom. Already he can tell that he is in that particular mood again. It is like when he yelled at Draco. His temper flares and he gets bluntly honest even when he shouldn't. They don't need to know. Most of them wouldn't care in any case. Some might even congratulate them on a job well done. A Freak needs to be kept in line after all.

Still, he doesn't want anything personal about him spread around. Anything that can be used against him is a danger. And what he just said most definitely qualifies as such. He hopes the fall out won't be too bad. Maybe he should hope for none at all, but that is so unlikely that he doesn't even imagine it. He doesn't have that kind of luck.

As he rounds a corner, he about runs into Longbottom. "Oh Harry, er Potter, hi. I was just on my way to the library too," he says awkwardly, not looking at him.

Harry sighs. Over these last few months he has learned that Longbottom is many things, but subtle is not one of them. "How much did you hear?" he asks. His voice sounds flat, almost dead, to his own ears.

Longbottom, to his credit, blushes, but doesn't deny it. "I only heard the last bit. I didn't mean to. I was coming to meet you because I was going to ask if you wanted to study in the green houses today. I, ah, didn't leave soon enough to hear what I did. Are... are you alright?" he asks hesitatly.

The laugh Harry gives at that is one full of a lifetime of bitterness. "When am I ever Longbottom? If I went crying over every little thing that went wrong, the whole of the country would be flooded."

Longbottom is silent for a moment as they walk. He is clearly thinking of something, but doesn't quite know how to say it.

Harry lets him be. Without discussing it, they both are headed outside. Getting out of the castle sounds like a good thing right now.

"I don't think it's fair – to compare you to your parents," he finally says.

Harry shrugs. "It happens less now that everyone is aware of what a disappointment I am. The son of the Gryffindor war heroes – a Slytherin." Another bitter laugh escapes him. Merlin does he need to stop talking. He can't seem to though. It is as if something broke back there and he can't fix it. Not yet. So everything comes rushing out instead.

"My parents are permanent residents in St Mungo's," Longbottom starts, "Bellatrix Lestrange cursed them into insanity the same night that Vold- Voldemort killed your parents. Their bodies may be alive, but their minds will never recover."

Harry stays silent, not saying that he already knew this. That Black gave away his secrets for him.

"My Grandmother raised me. I got... compared to my Dad weekly, if not daily. About how strong he was. About how brave and how powerful he was. How much better at everything he was when he was a kid. My family thought I was a Squib for a long time. My Great-Uncle was determined to scare the magic out of me. One time he pushed me off a pier and I almost drown. Another time he hung me from a window by my ankle," he grimaces, "Then he accidentally dropped me. I ended up bouncing so they knew I had magic. They were all ecstatic. Grandmother actually cried when she heard, she was so happy."

Longbottom sighs. "Sometimes I think that was the last time she was proud of me. I've been pretty much a disappointment ever since. I'm not powerful and I'm not a fighter. I'm a Gryffindor, but I've never been terribly brave. You aren't the only one who doesn't live up to expectations."

Harry frowns. Why does Longbottom insist on telling him things like this? Giving away his secrets so freely? Doesn't he know how dangerous that is? Or is this because he accidentally heard Harry? A secret for a secret. That would make sense, if he were. However, he isn't sure. Is that really it? Or is this another Gryffindor thing he doesn't understand?

When they enter the green house, it is empty. Longbottom obviously knows what he is doing, absentmindedly checking the plants as they walk by. Once again, it is clear just how much he loves his plants. None are neglected as he moves. Even the smallest one matters to him.

For some strange reason, it makes Harry's throat burn. To see that even the most insignificant are given attention. Obviously there is something more wrong with him then he realized. Crying over plants. Honestly, what a baby. Pathetic.

He offers Harry a warm smile. "Plants don't have any expectations of you. If you care for them properly, then they will grow for you, no matter who you are. I think that's why I loved them so much when I was younger."

"You're being rather open today. And with a Slytherin of all people." Why? Why is he doing this? What can possibly make him think this is a good idea? Is it Harry himself again that is making him spill his secrets?

Longbottom shrugs. "You seem like you need it today. Luna, ah, has been talking to me more lately. Sometimes you come up. Nothing bad," he hurries on, "just, you know, you're one of her only friends, of course she mentions you. And she might have mentioned you only really talk to strangers when you're upset about something. And that, according to you, basically everyone is a stranger." He says this nervously, as if he thinks Harry will be angry.

Harry thinks about it. Is he angry? True, this isn't something he ever would have said himself. And it's not something he would especially want known. But this is Luna who said it. Luna, for all she is mocked, is an excellent judge in character when it comes to everyone who isn't Harry. If she told Longbottom, she must have a reason. Besides, it would likely be best for him to know, since they still have months of the two of them working together. "I'm surprised she said that as clearly as she did."

Now Longbottom gets a fond smile on his face. "Well, she didn't say it exactly like that. I had to figure it out for myself. It's not so hard, once you know how to listen."

That is true. It is only so many people don't know how to. Or they don't take the time to learn. And it looks like those feelings might be going both ways. Good. He doesn't say anything about it. He'll let Luna be the one to bring it up. Then he'll remind Longbottom just who her other two friends are. And how protective they can be.

"Besides, sometimes I think we put too much stock into our Houses. I've been told often enough that I should have been a Hufflepuff instead. Slytherin doesn't automatically mean blackmail any more than it does evil."

That... that is something to hear, right there. It seems as if the Sorting is the only thing the Wizarding World cares about. Nothing else matters except for the House you are in. To hear someone disagree is a rare thing. Harry can't help but see his point though. When has he ever been accepted because of his House? His fellow Housemates don't think he belongs. The other three Houses automatically judge him before they even know his name. As if the colors on his tie is the only thing that matters.

What rubbish.

He nods his agreement.

Longbottom smiles again and then they get to work.

That night Harry gets out his list of assignments to update it. He crosses one off and adds five more. He should review it and choose what to do next. But all he can do is stare at it instead. It is overwhelming. It never seems to shrink, only grow. What is the point of all of it? It is a sisyphean task, so why even bother trying? It is never going to end. No matter how hard he tries, how much he finishes, there is always going to be more.

The longer he stares, the longer it seems to get. It almost seems to take on a laugh of its own. It laughs at him and dares him to try and finish everything. He won't, not ever, but he can try. It will be amusing to watch.

He digs his nails into his thighs to try and snap himself out of it. His list isn't actually laughing at him. It isn't actually alive for it to do so. But it feels like it. And, just for a moment, he swears it actually is. The words rearrange into a face. It's mouth is filled with word sharp teeth as it smirks at him. A dark laugh fills his ears. But then he blinks and it is gone again. It is back to the way it should be.

Harry shakes his head and sighs. It doesn't look any better now than it did five minutes ago. It still looks impossible to do. Still he should. He needs to. But he can't seem to bring himself to lift quill or book. It is as if he is frozen. Glued to the spot. He doesn't have the energy to fight it. To move again. Too much effort.

Everything just feels like too much effort anymore. What is the point of it all?

.

.

Good friends are like burs. This stick to you and are impossible to shake off, no matter what you do. No matter what, they will stick by your side. Funny how bad situations can follow the same comparison. You can't get rid of them easily either.

.

.

"Hello Harry Potter," Riddle says.

Harry is back in the Chamber again. All around them water drips, gathering into puddles on the floor. There is a chill to the air. Harry can see his breath when he breathes. Has it always been this cold here? Or is it his mind, making this place more sinister than it is?

Riddle is standing in front of him smiling charmingly. Possessively. "Are you ready Harry?" he asks as he approaches.

"Ready for what?" Harry asks warily.

Riddle stops right in front of him. Slowly he reaches up and caresses his cheek. His skin is warm. Too warm for someone who isn't alive. Does that mean that here, now, he is? That some part of Riddle still lives on? "Why love, haven't you been listening to me? I'm hurt," he smiles sharply. It looks sharp enough to make Harry bleed.

Harry takes a half step back from him. The hand feels good against his skin. It shouldn't feel good, should it? That in and of itself is enough to make him wary. Nothing good ever stays that way for long. Especially not coming from someone like Riddle. "I'm so sure," he says dryly.

Riddle gives a pleasant laugh at that, taking another step forward. "Oh Harry. And you claim that we are not suited for each other. We are. I keep telling you that we are. When are you going to listen?"

"About the time you learn the concept of personal boundaries," Harry snaps, eyes never leaving him.

Riddle's smile widens as he drapes his arms around Harry's shoulders. He leans down to whisper in his ear, "I am your past, your present and your future little one. My soulmate. My Harry Potter. We both know it, no matter how you deny it. And soon everyone else will as well. Are you ready?"

Harry jerks away, but doesn't get far. Can't. He is trapped in Riddle's arms. He shakes his head in denial. No. No it isn't true. No he isn't ready. No to all of this. Just no. Riddle's body radiates heat around him, warming him from the chill in the air.

"Oh Harry, you'll see," Riddle says gently. Almost lovingly, if it were not for the crazed glint in his eyes, "I will take such good care of you. I care for what is mine. I protect and guard. Once I have you, you will never want for anything again."

Harry jerks away again, this time managing to escape. "I thought you didn't believe in soulmates. In love," he said. Because didn't he said that before, didn't he? Or was that Voldemort? Or did he say it at all?

"Love has no true purpose in life, that is true. But haven't I promised you everything you would ever want? You want love, do you not? Just one person to love you? Well little one," Riddle captures his chin, "I am here for you. I will always be here for you." Gently he kisses Harry.

His lips are warmer than Harry is expecting softer. This isn't a claiming. This is a gift. Something to treasure. His first kiss. Part of him can't help but lean into it, while the other part leans away in disgust. When they part, he is panting hard.

Riddle smiles again, a softer edge to it now. "Soon little one. Soon," he promises.

Harry jerks awake, chilled to the bone. He touches his lips, to see if he can feel the echo of the kiss on them. Riddle's words echo in his ear.

Soon everyone will know.

Soon.

He shivers, feeling the forbearing in those words. Soon.

.

.

Sometimes the nightmares that haunt our sleep are able to follow us out into the light of day.

.

.

Everything goes from bad to worse on a Tuesday morning. It comes with the fury of a hundred wings descending on the Great Hall with the delivery of the mail. At first Harry isn't paying any attention to it. Today he aches all over, from his head to his toes. No matter how much he stretches, it still isn't enough. It is as if he has been working non stop for a week at the Dursleys. Nothing helps.

He sips his tea and nibbles on he toast, focusing on nothing at all. All around him he can hear the other students talking, laughing, reading their mail. He doesn't look up. What is the point? He never gets any mail. He doesn't even own an owl. Why would he? Who would write him? But slowly he is aware of eyes on him. They seem to grow with each passing moment. Some glancing at him Some blatantly staring. But he is the focus of all of them. Without a word Draco hands him this morning's copy of the Daily Prophet.

The Next Dark Lord Already Among Us?

Harry Potter, our supposed Hero, destined to be the next You-Know-Who?

By Rita Skeeter

A shocking development has just reached the ears of this reporter. One that might have dire consequences for all of us. As we all know, the reign of You-Know-Who has just ended due to heroics of the two least expected people possible – Lord Regulus Black and his partner Potion Master Severus Snape. Both Marked Death Eaters, but both men turned their backs on their former Master to end the next age of terror before it can begin. It is over. We can all rest easy. But I have just learned that this may not be so. It is almost too shocking for words.

I have just been told, from a protected source, that our own Boy-Who-Lived might not be the hero we all thought him to be. Many of you will remember the shock we had five years ago when Potter was Sorted into Slytherin. We were all worried what this meant for our country and for our beloved hero. But as time went on, it seemed we had nothing to fear.

That may not be so! My source, who is very confident of their facts, has told me that they know the names that Potter has written on his wrist – Draco Malfoy and Tom Riddle. This all sounds innocent enough, does it not? But what you may not know is that originally, You-Know-Who's name was Tom Riddle. That's right ladies and gentlemen, Harry Potter bares the name of You-Know-Who on his wrist.

It may not be for innocent reasons either! While we may want to assume that the two are naturally enemies, that may not be the case. Sources report to me that Potter and Malfoy cannot possibly be soulmates. All who attend school with them know that they do not associate. There even seems to be hostilities on Malfoy's end. It is only this year that they have been seen talking together.

What does this mean? We all know that the deceased Malfoy Sr was a follower of You-Know-Who. Is his son now following in his footsteps? Becoming closer to his new Master? Shall we look at the supposed heroes that killed You-Know-Who? Both are reported to be close to Potter. There is even talk of adoption. Getting rid of the competition for their new Lord?

Nor did Potter ever battle You-Know-Who as we all assumed he would. He was not the one to end the War. What does all of this mean? Is Potter You-Know-Who's soulmate, raising up to complete his partners work? Can we really trust this supposed hero? What has he ever done for us?

I have even talked to his relatives, who paint a very different picture from the boy we know. He was raised by his Aunt and Uncle, of his Mother's side. While unusual for a young wizard to be raised by Muggles not his parents, this is exactly what happened. Both told me what a horror he was to raise. That he was always lying and stealing and slacking off. He needed a heavy hand to control him and delighted in disturbing their otherwise peaceful family.

They have confirmed the names, saying they have always known he was bad because of them. And isn't that telling that Muggles, who know nothing of You-Know-Who, are even able to tell this. That they can tell something is wrong just by looking at them. They have expressed their disgust and disappointment in him. About how poorly he turned out, despite their best efforts. Is this who Potter really is when no one is looking? A liar? A thief? Something worse?

Is there another reign of terror on the horizon? Students say that although in previous years, Potter has mostly been a loner, he now has the beginnings of a new group of followers. Others have reported that some even call him 'my Lord', which he answers to. Are we really as safe as we think we are? Or is this just the beginning?

This determined reporter is going to find out. Watch out for more news as I dig to uncover the facts.

Harry refuses to react. He refuses to give them the show they so obviously want. But inside he can feel himself turn to ice at the thought. They know. Riddle in his dreams was right. Now everyone knows. And if he was right about this, what else was he right about? Does this mean that they are soulmates? Does this mean, that somehow, someway, Riddle really is coming for him? The idea makes him sick.

Still, he refuses to show his weakness. He won't. It will only make things worse. Predators only get more vicious once they know they have drawn blood. Once they know that their prey is down and weak. No matter how he wants to, he refuses to run from the room. Flee from all the eyes watching him. Waiting. That will only give them what they want.

Calmly he gives the paper back to Draco with a nod and refocuses on his tea. Food is now a lost cause. He isn't even going to try. It won't end well. Just as nothing ever ends well for him. He feels sick just thinking about it. That they think him capable of becoming the next Dark Lord is enough to make him tremble. Are they right? Have they seen him for what he truly is and are now calling him out on it?

And the twins. Even if they were not mentioned, the twins have now been dragged into this. They have taken their joke seriously. They think they are his followers. That they serve him. He feels disgusting inside. Dirty. As if he is poisoning them by mere association. Isn't he? Their names have been left out for now. That might not be the case next time.

And Draco. The world now knows he has Draco's name on his wrist. Surely he will not want to be around him now. Now that everyone will assume that he is in the next generation of Death Eaters. That he is just like Lord Malfoy Sr. Surely this will put a stop to his insistence that they are soulmates. That he wants to get to know Harry. If he continues, it will ruin any social standing he has left for sure.

And the adoption? How did she find out about the adoption? It was only mentioned to Harry. It wasn't as if they filled out any paperwork or anything. Well, if it wasn't closed to him before, it certainly is now. Not only does he have his terrible power to worry about, their reputation is at stake. Not that either of them seem to care much about it, but still. This is their second chance to live their lives as they want to. Surely they don't need him dragging them down.

This entire thing is a disaster. He wonders how someone found out at all. It isn't as if he has ever told anyone about his names. Not even the twins or Luna. Only Draco. He pointedly doesn't look at him, because that would only add fuel to the fire, but he wonders. Who else would know? It isn't something he ever talked about.

Skeeter said his Aunt and Uncle only confirmed the names, not told her them. So she knew already then. Oh why did she have to find out where he lived? Why did she have to talk to them? Most wizards are content on ignoring Muggles, even if they don't have anything against them personally. So why did she have to be an exception? Now that is another thing everyone knows. His relatives have officially found a way to spread their lies about him even here.

He should have known, that as bad as things seemed, they can always get worse. And that, if they can, they will. They always do. No matter what, it is always the same. He doesn't matter. It is always about the other people around him instead. Always. No one wants a burden. No one wants a Freak. He is destined to be ridiculed and alone for the rest of his life. This is just the latest blow to it all.

Finishing his tea, he holds his head high as he goes to class. Even as he feels everyone staring at him. Even as his skin crawls with all of the attention. He ignores them all, looking straight ahead. He continues to ignore them as he hears the whispers in class. As they speculate in the halls. As everything grows, taking on a life of its own. As they decide that it is true and take matters into their own hands – jeering and cursing him. He pretends they do not exist.

But they do. Oh how they do. Already by the end of that first day he is ready to flee out of his skin. Escape from his own head as it remembers and plays all the taunts and all of the pain back at him. Over and over, on a continuous loop. He can feel the pressure build and build until he thinks he will scream. Until he cries and shakes apart at the seams. He barely resists the urge to claw his way right out of his skin. It won't work. You can't run from your own mind after all.

Once classes are done, he escapes. Out of view from everyone, he runs. Forget not looking like he feels the pressure. Forget never show your weakness. He runs. He goes to the only place he knows is truly safe – Myrtle's loo. He doesn't even care that has work that needs to be done. That he and Granger are suppose to meet up at the library today. She's smart enough to realize why he won't show today.

He doesn't want to know if she agrees or not. Nor if Longbottom does. Or the twins or Luna or, well. If any of those he talks to regularly agrees with Skeeter or not. He hasn't heard them say anything negative, but neither has he heard anything positive either. From those he has seen today so far. Which is Granger and Longbottom. He can admit that he doesn't want to see Luna or George and Fred. He doesn't think he can bare to see their hate.

It would be only right if they did now. If they hated him because of this. If they didn't want anything to do with him anymore. That is their decision. And it would be the right one to make. But he doesn't think he can bare seeing it right now. Not yet. Give him time, just a little bit of time to try and recover from this. Then he can face them.

Or at least time to be able to pretend that he is recovering from this. There is no going back after this. Not now. No way to unsay what has already been said. The knowledge is out there for the world to know. Of course they are going to use it. Of course it is going to be another strike against him. Another weapon to make him bleed.

"Oh hello," Myrtle greets, "have you come to share my stall finally?"

Harry shakes his head. "Not yet. You're loo though is still a safe spot to hide." A part of him is surprised he sounds as calm as he does. Like he isn't about to fall apart right here, right now. He curls up under one of the sinks. He can feel himself begin to tremble. Shivers wreck through his entire body as everything that has happened today sinks in. His teeth chatter and he bites down, hard, to stop the noise. Wrapping his arms around himself as tightly as he can, he lets it all go.

She flies over to him. "Are people bothering you again?"

He snorts through another chill, making him jerk violently. "When aren't they?" Only when they are too busy ignoring him, that's when. Any other time he is fair game. Clenching his eyes shut only makes things worse. He can see them then, their judging and hateful eyes. He opens them again, staring at nothing.

She floats in front of him. "Is this about your bad blood?" she asks, "Because I still say those people deserve it."

"Tom Riddle killed you, didn't he?" He already knows the answer, but still asks the question out loud anyways. He bites his lip harshly as he waits for her answer. It doesn't help the chattering of his teeth anymore. It might even make it worse. He doesn't stop.

Myrtle nods. "Yes he did. He set the monster on poor little Myrtle. He had such cold eyes, did I tell you that? Beautiful, but you could tell that he was dead inside. So many people loved him. They vowed to follow him anywhere. But they didn't know he had no heart inside his chest. They didn't want to."

Just as he thought. His nails dig into skin, drawing blood now as he shakes. "I have his name on my wrist."

"Oh! No wonder you killed his monster then. He is your enemy, isn't he?" She leans forward, eyes bright with interest.

If only it were that simple. If only. Harry shakes his head, looking down at the stone beneath him. The coldness of them seep up into his body. "No. People found out today. They are saying he is my soulmate," he looks up at her then, "I think they might be right." This is the first time he has ever said it out loud. It feels both good and terrible to do so.

"People often say stupid things," Myrtle says, "You can't be Riddle's soulmate."

"Why not?" Harry frowns at her, even as he dismisses the words. Not to be cruel, but because she doesn't know. She can't. Everyone else believes it. It makes sense. A horrible kind of sense it is true, but still. What does she know that everyone else doesn't?

"I told you, he was dead inside. You aren't. There's too much sadness and hurt in you for you to be dead."

"Sometimes I wish I was." It would be easier that way. Better for everyone. He isn't worth all the trouble to keep him alive and healthy. Not happy. Can he ever remember a time he was happy? Content maybe. Satisfied well enough. But happy? He doesn't think so.

He wouldn't have to deal with this anymore. Not his dangerous power. Not the mocking and the curses. Not the dreams that haunt his night and the nightmares that haunt his day. None of that. Wouldn't it be better for everyone involved? Especially given what they know? Who could want him now? Better to die and save them all the trouble.

"I thought that too when I was alive. Now I wish I could have seen the world. Just a little bit of it," she sighs. "Still, being a ghost can be interesting. You just have to make sure it is what you want. There are no take backs in death."

That doesn't sound so bad. The death part, not the ghost part. The whole point of death is to go away to somewhere different. Somewhere the living can't go. Or just go away, period. He can feel the blood run down his limbs from where his nails cut into him. Gone. What a wonderful thing that sounds like. To just go away and never have to return. "Why did you become a ghost?" he asks, "If no one liked you, if you had nothing here, then why?"

Myrtle tilts her head at him. "You know, that is the first time anyone has ever asked me that. No one wants Moaning Myrtle around, even now. They laugh and tease the same as they did then. Nothing changed. Maybe I thought it would. But really, it all happened so quickly, I'm not sure I decided at all."

"And now you're stuck here?" That... that sounds horrifying to Harry. Maybe if it was just Hogwarts. Maybe if he didn't have to deal with the other students. But still, to be trapped in this hell. Because make no mistake, Hogwarts, as much as Harry might find her beautiful, is another kind of hell to him. Trading one cage for another.

"You make it sound so tragic. I'm sure there is a way to move on if I wanted to, but part of me doesn't. That's why I'm still here."

Harry's shaking has slowed down now. It still hasn't fully stopped, but it is much better than it was. The itching under his skin isn't threatening to consume him anymore. Is it a bad sign that this conversation helped? That the thought of death helped? Somehow he thinks that it probably is. He doesn't care.

Why would he? He doesn't want to be here anymore.

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No light in your bright eyes. They are dead from the inside out. My, but isn't life dangerous?

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Harry continues to ignore the whispers and the curses. He continues pretending that they do not exist. That he does not feel them. That they do not touch him. On the outside, it looks as if he is made of stone. He keeps his head down and his thoughts to himself. He doesn't talk, he stops eating in the Great Hall, he avoids people whenever possible.

On the inside, he continues to bleed. He continues to shake. He sinks into himself and hopes that if he goes down far enough, he won't have to come back up again. He will be done with this all. Permanently. If his thighs and arms were visible, the scratches and nail marks where he makes himself bleed would be visible. It's not as if he means to do it. Not really. But it keeps him from screaming. It keeps him contained within himself. He had a similar technique when he was at the Dursleys. But now he is out of practice, so he has to start again. Start new habits. New ways to conform. No one wants to hear the Freak after all. No one cares.

It also helps him focus when he drifts off. It seems to be happening more and more lately. It is hard to concentrate on what is being said in class. What is Professors are trying to teach him. It is as if they are talking through a wall of water. He can hear, but it takes so much effort to understand them.

It doesn't help that his headaches are becoming more frequent now. Nor does it help that his nightmares are even worse than ever now. Riddle haunts his nights, promising to come for him soon. That they were made for each other. Promising to give Harry everything he ever wanted. Touching him gently. Sometimes he swears he can even hear Riddle's voice when he is awake. He'll look around, thinking that he will be right behind him, but no one is there. It is eerie and it wears on his nerves.

Food is all but a loss cause at this point. He continues to take Professor Snape's nutrient potions, but that is about it. He can't handle much else.

But life goes on, no matter what is happening in Harry's life. Work piles up. Granger becomes even more snappish as the term end approaches, worried about her grades. And her projects. And the progress. And their details. And organization. And everything. He really does believe that Luna's whirl flies have taken over her brain by now. She certainly acts like it.

End of the term assignments are introduced and assigned. Reminders of the OWLs happen almost daily. It is always stressed about how their future is riding on these tests and they better pass them if they want one. Harry doesn't think he will ever see the end of his homework list. If he thought it had come alive before, now it is spawning babies. They snarl and laugh at him whenever he looks at it.

It feels as if he is drowning, every time he looks at it. Every time he updates it. Every time he scratches something off. It doesn't matter. It still feels as if it is mocking him along with everything else. What is the point of it all? It's not as if Harry has a future. Why bother?

He thinks that the worst part of this isn't the pain or the whispers or the hate that is being thrown at him. No. The worst part is how he is not allowed to fade away like he wants to. Not become a living ghost, silent and unseen. He is not allowed to disappear. His friends won't let him.

It is true that he is spending quite a bit of time with Myrtle now. But, eventually, the twins always find him. And they always pull him into their current. Harry feels almost helpless as they pull him along, trailing between them like a puppy. Try as he might, he can't escape them. Can't pull away. They won't let him. They are protective and vicious and determined not to let him fade the way they should.

Luna is the one who follows him around, talking about this creature and that creature. About trips her and her Father have taken over her summers. About her classes and her classmates and anything else she wants to. Most of it sounds like nonsense, of course, but there is always a certain reason to it if you listen closely enough. She is at any and all of his studies sessions with Granger and Longbottom that she can be. He suspects that she would be at more, if she didn't have classes at those times.

She has also dragged him out to see the Thestral herd a few more times. It is never as relaxing and carefree as that first time, but it is still fun. It is almost as if they can sense what Harry is thinking because they stick close to him. They crowd him and rub up against him. The mothers of the herd are especially watchful of him. Luna says it's because he needs some mothering. He blushes at that.

Draco has practically turned into both a mother hen and a dragon. He has taken to huffing over Harry any time he sees him. He always sits next to him in class and raises his chin, as if daring someone to say something. They learn quickly just why they shouldn't. Draco may get a detention, but they get something much worse. He no longer even seems to care about the little game Zabini is playing. He doesn't react the way he should. Instead he watches and waits for a cue if he should intervene or not.

Even Longbottom seems to be protective of him. Slowly but surely it appears as if he is becoming one of their group. Mainly because of Luna of course. She is the one to pull him in and make him smile shyly. But he still smiles at Harry as well. And never treats him differently, no matter what the paper writes about him that day. He is the same as always. Harry thinks that, in a different world, they might have been good friends. As is, he is now one more person he has to worry about influencing. And he has to be. Longbottom even pulled his wand on a fellow Gryffindor one time.

And that is to say nothing to what Professor Black and Professor Snape are like. They are fussing, for lack of a better term. Especially Professor Snape. It is most concerning. He is determined to make sure that Harry is healthy and whole during this time. He keeps making excuses for the two of them to meet after classes are over. He is still too grumpy and too sharp, but he is fussing and it is disturbing. He isn't supposed to be the open one. Not that he technically is, but still. Harry can tell.

Even when they don't talk about anything, Professor Snape will have him do his homework in their quarters. As if he wants to keep an eye on him. He never offers any help, but he does offer his books as resources. Harry now has a new stack to read for his DADA project. He and Longbottom plan on starting their brewing at the start of next term. They need to finish all the research they can.

Professor Black, on the other hand, takes a different approach to his fussing. He foists tea and biscuits and fruit onto Harry whenever they talk. He tells him stories about the past. Ones that will make him laugh. About the stupid things that happen when he went to Hogwarts. About some of the ridiculous things Black did as a child. Anything to cheer him up. He is the one who brings the gramophone to Hogwarts for him, along with the entire music collection.

"I know Severus can complain about it sometimes, but don't mind him. His taste in music is ridiculous," he says with far too fond a smile for anyone to take him seriously.

Harry is almost tempted to ask just what Professor Snape listens to then, but doesn't dare. And now he has music back in his life again.

It all feels so overwhelming and so pointless all at once. Why bother with him? He isn't worth it. He has never been worth it. He certainly isn't worth it now. Not with all the rumors and all the hate and everything else surrounding him. They should be running from him as fast as they can, not staying. Not purposefully sticking close to him. Sometimes it is almost as if they are flaunting it. As if they want people to know they are with him. Why?

Why can't they just leave him alone? It is inevitable that this is what will happen. One way or another, Harry is destined to end up alone. It doesn't matter what else he does or what they seem to think, this is true. It is one of the universal truths of his life. Something that can not, and will not, change.

He will always be abandoned. He is not worth the effort. He is a burden. He is a monster. He is a Freak.

Those are the things Harry knows will always be the same. Why fight the tide? You never win. It will continue on its way, no matter what you do to stop it.

He desperately wishes that he knew how to control this terrible power of his. Then he could free them. Then they would see him for what he really is. A monster. A Freak. Someone so unlovable that not even his soulmate could want him. Then they could live their lives the way they wanted. Away from him. Free to hate him as they pleased.

Freedom. Isn't it such an odd thing. People long for it their whole lives. Free to do whatever they wish. Free to be how they really are. Free to eat and read and go where you wish, with nothing holding you down. But is anyone ever really free? Aren't there always expectations and limitations and things holding you back? Friends, family, love, fear, lack of resources. Aren't all of those things capable of limiting your freedom?

How can you do what you want, be how you are, if you are too afraid to offend people? If you are weighed down by what they think. If you meet their expectations of you, whether by choice or by force. Doesn't that stop you? As long as you have people in your life that you care for, can you ever really be free?

Harry has never known true freedom in his life. He hasn't even known partial freedom, not really. There is always something holding him back. Something that stops him. Sometimes it is other people. Sometimes it is the voices in his head. He is capable of trapping himself just as well as anyone else. Maybe even better. He is the one who knows what it is like in his head after all.

All this wish for freedom, as if it is the ideal. But is it really? Can Harry ever achieve it? Even death is just another limit, it seems. How can he be free if it doesn't exist, not really? Everything has a price. It is an inescapable fact of life. Everything has a price and everyone wants something.

It makes him feel even more hopeless. All he wants to do is sink into himself and never return. To not have to deal with this anymore. To never have been born. Never have existed. That is what he wishes for right now. Wouldn't it be better? It sounds like the ultimate goal. Something perfect and perfectly unachievable. He can't. Not only will people not let him, he already exists. Unless there is some way to time travel back into the past and stop him from being born, from being conceived, than his wish is impossible. He will continue existing here, until one day he does not anymore.

What a daunting thought. When everything is becoming too much. When it all threatens to drown him. When even breathing feels like too much effort sometimes. What a daunting thought to know that he will continuing on existing.

How do other people do it? How do they continue on, day after day as if each step does not drain a little more life out of them? It is impossible to imagine. Maybe it helps that they are normal. They aren't Freaks or monsters. They are just... people. Unlike him.

He just doesn't have the energy for it.

It all comes to a head one day when he wakes from his fitful sleep and can't be arsed to get out of bed. Even the mere thought of it makes him curl further into his blankets. He just. He just can't today. Why today of all days he doesn't know. All he knows is that he is tired and sore and so very drained of all ambition to move.

He should get up. Get dressed. Go to the kitchen to eat with the twins. There are about a hundred things he has to do today alone and he can't fall behind or he really will drown in all of it. But he can't. So he lays there and listens to the others get ready for class.

"Harry?" Draco asks from the other side of the curtain, "are you ready yet." He can't open them of course. No one but Harry himself can. He's made sure of that.

Harry makes a noise resembling a groan. That is all he feels like making. Even words feel like too much.

"Are you going to get up today? Or are you sick?"

Harry groans again.

"Do you want me to help you to the Hospital Wing?"

He grunts.

Clearly Draco takes that for the negative it is, because he sighs and says, "Fine, but I'll be back to check on you later in case you change your mind. I'll tell the Professors you are sick for you."

He doesn't bother replying to that.

"I hope you feel better soon," Draco says and then walks away.

Harry listens to them fade and then silence. There is no one else in their dorms but him now. He soaks it in. He soaks in the peace, even if it is a false one. It always is. Harry doesn't know what real peace feels like. Does it even exist? Or is another one of those myths people believe in, like freedom?

He feels boneless, but too tense at the same time. As if he can't move a muscle, but he is still waiting for the blow to come. It is an accurate description he thinks. Precise. Isn't that what he is always doing? Not to this extend true. But to some? Yes.

He listens to the silence and cherishes it. But then the voices start creeping in. Whispering poison in his ear. Clouding his vision until all he can see is black. They turn a relatively content moment sour. They whisper and prod and poke until he cannot block them out any longer. Until they are all he can hear. Until they threaten to consume him. Pull him down to their depths were they will keep him forever.

Now the relative safety of his bed doesn't feel safe at all. It feels like a trap. As if the curtains themselves are surrounding him. Blocking his escape. Claustrophobia engulfs all of his other senses until he thinks he will suffocate if he stays here a moment longer.

He rips open the curtains and flees. He doesn't even stop to put on shoes or a cloak. He just goes. Out the dorm, out the common room and into the halls. They are empty right now, everyone in class. But it still isn't enough. He keeps going. Faster and faster until he is sprinting out the doors and into the bright morning air. There is a bite to it, this being late autumn, but he doesn't care. He keeps going.

He doesn't realize where he is headed until he gets there. The Forbidden Forest. Somehow, during those visits with Luna, his brain had labeled this a safe place to be. A happy place. So that is where he goes. Rocks and branches cut his feet, but onward he goes. Only he quickly realizes that he doesn't know where he is going. He entered in such a rush he doesn't know how to find the Thestral herd. He doesn't let that stop him though. He keeps going.

On and on his feet urge him forward. Away from the voices in his head. Away from the things that would trap him and keep him forever in hell. It is obvious that he is now hopelessly lost. He doesn't even have his wand with him if something were to go wrong. The best he can hope for is that it will be quick. Seeing as that is what he has always hoped for, that isn't so different from the usual. He pays it no mind.

Eventually he finds a small pond in the middle of a clearing and collapses in front of it. His breath is heavy in his chest, which aches with all the running he has done. His sides heave. His vision blurs. The only thing that is holding him up are his shaky arms. The water looks tempting in front of him. It is clean looking, so he takes a chance. It is cool and pure on his tongue. He drinks with his hands, going slowly. He knows better than to gulp too much water too quickly.

It is as he is bending down to take another handful that he sees it. The reflection of a unicorn. Quickly he looks up and sees that there is an actual unicorn, not a meter from him. Harry stops breathing practically. It is magnificent. The most beautiful thing that he has ever seen in his life. Pure. Untainted and untouched by the evils of this world. And it is staring right at him.

Quickly he lowers his gaze. Unicorns are not known to be violent, but it is better to be safe in his case. He is the opposite of pure, isn't he? He has had the definition of evil living in his head for years. He gained its terrible power. He's killed people, no matter how much he didn't want to. He carries Riddle's name on his wrist. He is a monster and a Freak. The unicorn should be fleeing at the very sight of him.

Instead he watches from the water as it walks closer to him. A soft nose nudges at his face, startling him. He looks up to see the unicorn continue nudging his face affectionately it seems like. But what would it be doing that? He knows that unicorns are suppose to be sensitive to nature and the people they associate with. Why would it be doing this to him?

A closer look tells him that it is a female. Younger – not a baby, but not old enough to have foals of her own yet. Is it because she doesn't know better than? But babies can be even more sensitive than adults to this sort of thing. It makes no sense.

At her urging, he stands up. He has to hold onto her so that his feet do not fold underneath him again. He is unsteady, as if he is the one who doesn't know how to walk here. His muscles feel like water, unable to support himself. Only the unicorn keeps him up.

Slowly she leads him deeper into the forest. He doesn't know where they are going until she leads him straight to her herd. His breath catches again. If he thought that she was magnificent by herself, then it is nothing compared to a herd of them. So much brilliant beauty and purity all in one place.

Uneasy, he follows her to the middle of the herd. What now? What is going to happen to him? Is this... is this it? Unicorns are not violent, but can he be the exception to the rule?

But all the others do is nudge at him as he passes. As if this is their version of a hug. His unicorn lays down and Harry follows in surprise. Tentatively he gets up, but that is not an option, obviously. That is clear when his path is blocked. So even more tentatively he lays down, using her as a pillow. All around him the other unicorns join him. They all, well snuggle is the only word that describes it, up against him. A unicorn version of a puppy pile.

It is incredibly relaxing and incredibly comfortable. Here, here, is what true peace feels like. As it turns out, it is a real thing. You just might have to go to great lengths to find it. Like in the middle of a unicorn pile. He yawns, shocked. Now that his head is quiet, tiredness is rushing back at him. But he isn't worried this time. Not here. Not now.

Closing his eyes, feeling the first true peace he has ever felt, he sleeps.

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They say that the the brightest light casts the darkest shadow. Well, going by that, it also means that the opposite is true. The darkest of shadows are made by the brightest of lights. You just have to look for them.

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It is Hagrid that finds him.

Harry wakes slowly for once, feeling well rested. He can't remember the last time he felt like that. Has he ever? As he focuses, he hears a voice talking.

"It's alright now, I don't want to hurt em. He's just a foal too ye know and his, er, parents want em back safe ye see."

Harry blinks awake and stares at the sight in front of him. Half the herd is still laying down, surrounding him. The other half are guarding him. Above their heads he can see Hagrid trying to reason with them. It doesn't look as if it is going very well on his part.

"'Arry," Hagrid greets happily once he sees that he is awake, "good to see ye safe and sound. We've been looking for ye all day now. Had us worried, ye did."

Harry looks down. Worried? Part of him feels bad because he didn't mean to cause any trouble. The other part is disbelieving that anyone could be worried about him. They were likely glad to get rid of him instead. They are probably only looking because they have to.

A snort and a threatening huff brings his attention back to the herd. Obviously they didn't like something about this because they are staring at Hagrid threateningly.

He holds up his hands. "I didn't mean anything by it," he promises, "Just tellin the lad how happy I am to see he is safe, is all. No need to get all defensive at me."

Harry watches in wonder as none of the unicorns back down. Is this... is this all for him?Are they really protecting him? Why?

Hagrid looks at him and smiles. "Looks like ye been adopted. No greater honor than being adopted by a unicorn, specially an entire herd like this. Excellent judge of character ye know. Says much that they are protecting ye like this."

Harry feels as if he has just entered an alternate universe. One where nothing makes sense. Adoption? Good judgment? Him? That doesn't make any sense in the slightest. At all. Or maybe it is one where the language is different. Logically, the words make sense. They are pronounce correctly and are said in the right order. But there is still something wrong with them. They can't mean what Harry thinks they mean. That is... impossible. Right?

"Would ye mind coming to me then, seeing as how that is the only way to get through? These fellows ain't letting you go any other way." He smiles at him.

Harry looks at him warily. Leave? He knows he has to. That he can't stay here forever, but a part of him wants to. A part of him never wants to leave. When is he ever going to feel like this again? But he has to – because when does he ever get what he wants? – so he nods and stands.

The unicorn he had been leaning on, the one that led him here, stands with him. As he walks through the crowd, she stays by his side. It is abundantly clear that she is not going to leave him. Two others – males – join her. It is almost an honor guard, walking beside him as he leaves. As he goes, he cannot help a lingering glance back at them. He wants to remember this forever.

Harry accidentally trips over a rock and hisses. His feet, now that he has noticed, are a mass of cuts and bruises. This is going to make walking back fun. He grits his teeth and goes on. But he is stopped by his guard.

"What?" he asks them?

One of the males kneels down in front of him.

"Oh no, I couldn't," he protests. That would be too much. This is already too much as is. He can't expect more.

But obviously you can't argue with unicorns. With their noses they guide him onto the thirds back. He stands up gracefully and begins to walk again.

Harry holds onto his mane gently, but finds he doesn't really need to. It is a much smoother ride then he had been expecting. More comfortable as well.

Hagrid doesn't say anything, although he does glance at Harry from time to time. There is a particular look in his eyes that Harry can't quite figure out. Part wonder, part worry and part... something else. He doesn't know.

When they exit the forest, he can already see a number of the Professors are waiting for them. Professor McGonagall looks stern as always, but there is a spark of – relief? – when she sees him. Professor Flitwick looks positively intrigued by this odd sight. The Headmaster is smiling, eyes twinkling like mad. He is clearly enjoying this.

And then there are Professor Snape and Professor Black. Oh boy. Professor Black looks torn between awe, exasperation and anger. Professor Snape just looks pissed. More so than usual.

He hangs his head. So, they were one of the ones looking for him. As always. Always trouble. Always a burden. How could they ever want him? How could anyone?

Looking at them, he flinches at their expression. Yes, this is bad. He wonders just how badly they are going to punish him for this. He has been such a burden after all. A nuisance and a bother. Everything his relatives had taught him not to be. Is this finally going to be when they see that he is too much trouble after all? He swallows nervously.

Which is exactly when everything catches up with him and the darkness comes rushing in on him. He faints.

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What wonders this world can bring. There has to be, to balance all the bad in it.