Disclaimer: It's in chapter one, and it's the only one you're getting.

Warnings: See above. If anything especially horrifying comes up I'll warn you at the beginning of the chapter.

Chapter Two

Harry stared at the letter in front of him, for the eighth time that day, with a hand in his hair, ready to pull. It took all he had to rein in the tears threatening to spill. He wouldn't cry, he wouldn't. Not when he didn't know why he was crying in the first place.

There was relief there, yes, but that wasn't all he felt. Of course, anger was high on his list of feelings, there was more though, and he didn't really want to analyze those. Shame was prominent. And that was where he stopped. He didn't want to dig any deeper than shame. Things only got worse from there down, he was sure.

But he knew he would go. He had to go, if only to see Remus, and Hermione. And if Remus weren't there Dumbledore would pay. He'd decided that hours ago, before the full moon had set, and the letter arrived.

Hermione had also spoken for him. She didn't where he'd been that night either, but she had believed them when he and Ron and claimed ignorant. They didn't know where they'd been. That was the truth. He couldn't wait to talk to her again. And if The Boss tried to kill him for leaving, then so be it. Harry could survive. It was almost what he was born to do, it seemed. Besides that, he certainly wasn't going to stay Evan Jameson for any longer, contract and blackmail be damned. He'd break the contract, and blackmail was officially useless; the best kind of blackmail.

The shame, though; he would have to deal with that eventually, they would make sure of it. Times like this made Harry wish he'd never taken a walk through the park in his life.

Harry laughed cynically and shook his head at the thought. He'd wished the same thing everyday, for the past three years. He wished it so bad it hurt. But more so, he wished he had nothing to be ashamed of. God did he wish that! Hermione would kill him when she found out, and she would find out. You really can't keep the big things from your friends after all (especially not friends like 'Mione…), and being a whore was a pretty fucking big deal.

Sirius was growling when James finally found him. It was a welcome sight. Padfoot did things like that, acted more like a dog than a human when his emotions ran high. Sirius hadn't been acting much like himself lately, and so James was grateful for something so familiar. Everyone had decided the deviances in his character were side effects of falling through The Veil. James didn't really know about that, nor did he care. His friend was different, but so was everything and everyone else. Sirius was a tame change, really.

Remus, for example, had really changed. James still missed his old friend sometimes. He still loved the man like a brother, but there were some things that time couldn't give back. And the old wolf had nearly twenty years on him now.

Sirius emitted a pathetical human-ish snarl and jerked his shoulder from James' hand. When he turned around and saw who was there, however the anger quickly dissipated. There was no reason to be mad at his old friend. James wasn't the cause of this, he reminded himself with a mental whisper.

James opened his mouth, and tried to speak. The words were stuck. He wanted to ask Sirius about his son, who's life he, the boy's father, had missed, but the words wouldn't come.

But people hadn't called Sirius Black and James Potter brothers for no reason. They were close, closer than brothers ever could become. James might not have understood what Sirius went through at his own home, but he had opened his home to the other boy when he had no where to go. No, Sirius thought, he'd always had somewhere to go. There had never been any doubt in his mind, when he'd been kicked out, of where to go. He'd grabbed his things, and flooed straight to the Potter's.

When James' parent had died Sirius had been there to turn to, and to cry with. He'd been there to make meaningless, sometimes obscene jokes that called a smile, he'd been there to plan a new life with, and he'd been there to take over funeral arrangements when it all become too much. He'd never had to ask how James felt. He'd felt it too.

"He lived," he said. That was all he needed to hear, and James' legs gave out underneath him. Numb, he slouched against the side of his friend's armchair and gathered his knees to his chest.

"How's Lily?"

"Asleep," he whispered, eyes unfocused. "She cried herself to sleep, but I couldn't."

They stretched into a silence that was dark with shadows and questions.

No, James hadn't been able to sleep. He didn't know his son, he'd thought, clinging to the thought - the fact. For all he knew, his son was a prime candidate. Maybe he looked the part of an up and coming Dark Lord. Dear God, he had thought, the despair coursing through him, Please, please let him look the part.

Because if Harry Potter, looked and acted like your average teenage boy, he didn't know if he could bring himself to love his friends anymore.

Albus Dumbledore did not like being wrong. Luckily he was very rarely wrong. Unfortunately, when he was wrong, because he played with, and tried to protect, the lives of others so often, it was usually a monumental catastrophe.

The fate of Harry Potter and his friends was certainly his largest mistake to date, and it pained his heart to think so. So many of his mistakes concerned Harry. Life was truly unfair, and Fate a cruel mistress to the poor boy.

The cynical part of the aging man's brain made a rare appearance as he thought the word 'boy' in accordance to Harry Potter. Harry Potter would be a boy no longer - if he ever really was much of one in the first place. The old codger that he was had really screwed up this time hadn't he? Oh, yes he had. He had driven away such a fine young man. A young man he truly cared about.

With a sigh, Albus pushed the thought away (it would do no good now, really), and dug through a desk drawer for his emergency bag of lemon drops. His other two bags were gone already.

Popping the little yellow candies into his mouth, the headmaster found himself wishing that he'd been more forward in taking Remus Lupin's advice. He had, he just hadn't been specific in the letter, and now he was worried that veiled words might do more harm than good.

Hermione Granger (soon to be Conner) was rushing about the apartment frantically packing, and either unaware of, or steadfastly ignoring, her fiancé, Sam. Sam, after having been nearly run over twice, was sitting on a stool in the corner of the dining room, waiting for the young woman to slow down enough to allow for questions. He had plenty of questions.

'Mione had received her newspaper (Sam loved that damned thing. The pictures moved! It was Brilliant!) glanced at the headline, squealed (a very un-Hermione thing to do, that had begun his worries) and begun babbling (a very Hermione thing to do that had him feeling somewhat better) about her brothers Ron and Harry.

Sam only had the barest of information on Ron Weasley and Harry Potter, but he knew they'd been accused of the murder of two of their classmates. A thought that really did have him worried for his frizzy haired love. She had insisted they were innocent with an obsessive air although she had no proof to back up this statement. Hermione Granger didn't usually do that.

She said she knew the two so well that she didn't need proof. She felt it, even though she never went on feelings only. She was a very sensible girl. She said she'd do the same for him, because she felt she knew him just as well. She had seen their faces, she said, when they told the Minister that they didn't know where they'd been that night. They hadn't lied. She knew they hadn't. She'd seen their faces.

The deviation from her normal, sensible, reasonable self concerning her friends, who she knew were innocent, only made him love her more. That didn't mean he wasn't worried.

Not five minutes after the newspaper arrived, so did another owl. Hermione came at him so fast, the poor bird tried to fly away, only to be grabbed roughly by the leg. Prize in hand, she let the bird go, and it was out the window without a second to spare. He didn't blame it for not waiting for a reply.

It took her seconds to scan the letter, squeal again (he was really getting worried about that), and then read through it carefully. Three times.

Apparently satisfied with the contents, she ran into the bedroom, and returned with a suitcase. Now scared as well as worried, Sam tried to ask what was going on, only to be roughly pushed to the side, with nary a "sorry." He followed her and tired again twice, but received the same treatment, and it was with a resigned sigh that he retreated to the stool in the corner to watch her throw what appeared to be her entire wardrobe into the magical suitcase.

He wasn't going to get any answers until she was done, apparently.

Neville looked around his room, and frowned. He'd sent off his reply nearly an hour ago and gone upstairs to explain things to Granny Maggs (as the nice old lady who'd taken him insisted he call her). She'd taken the whole deal in stride, and told him to give everyone at the bloody school a kick in the arse from her, as a Christmas gift, she said.

He had told Dumbledore that he would arrive in two days. Which was good thinking, he thought as he, rather belatedly, observed his things and realized just how much he wanted, and needed, to take with him. He had five potions brewing, and ten different plants in pots upstairs that he wanted Professors Snape and Sprout to look at.

Not to mention, ten notebooks full of notes and loose papers, he'd added.

Well, he thought as he considered what type of trunk he would need to buy, getting their opinions on this stuff is most of the reason for going.

And it was true. Aside from Harry Potter and the gang, there were only two people he wanted to talk to.

Justin was frustrated. In one hand he held an invitation from Albus Dumbledore, inviting him to spend Christmas holidays at the school with his family. In the other hand he held and invitation from his girlfriend, Amy, inviting him to spend Christmas Eve with her wonderful family. Really he could do both. The question was, did he want to use Amy as an excuse to never go home?

Did he want to go back to the wizarding world?

In all honesty he really wasn't sure.

"ARGH!" He slammed both envelopes onto the floor in front of him. He really wasn't sure.

Luna felt happier than she had in ages as she skipped through Diagon Alley, radish earrings swaying, bottle cap necklace bouncing. She was attracting stares, she even saw Rita Skeeter trying to push through a crowd at the ice cream shop to get to her. All she'd managed to do, though, was dump her own ice cream cone down her robe.

Luna smiled at the sight, and waved cheerily. She'd have to tell Harry about that when she saw him next. Yes, she thought. Harry would like that image.

Ron was fuming. Cassie was honestly surprised there wasn't smoke coming out of his ears, and had told him so. He had only scoffed, saying he was angry, not drinking a pepper-up. Cassie hadn't gotten his joke, he hadn't gotten hers. And so they were quiet, but it had been two hours, and Cassie was making tea.

She had every intention of dumping a scalding cup right on the prat's head. He didn't know it yet, but he was going to Hogwarts whether he liked it or not.

Hope you enjoyed chapter two! REVIEW!!