The Bolt of Sirkins

Six years later…

The grounds of Sirkins Juvenile Delinquents' Correction Facility were bustling with activity. Youths argued, tousled, fought, played cards, and traded goods that they had received from their families or the state during the last post delivery.

Harry Potter sat away from it all. He wanted to be alone for some time to think about the French Revolution. It was a strange subject that he had come across in the book he was reading: A Tale of Two Cities. He remembered hearing about the revolution somewhere in the meetings that government called school. When I went to school.

Lost in his thoughts on the slaughtered aristocracy, a shadow slowly loomed towards him. He looked up as a fresh inmate came up to him. The boy was positively shaking. Harry did not know if he should laugh or sigh. The boy was afraid of him. As they all usually are.

Each newbie was tasked by older inmates to approach Harry at some point. It was a test of courage, of manliness - their rite of passage. Harry's bloody experiences as a child and his foreboding presence were usually told to the newbies, and they began to fear his very name. To the kids approaching Harry, it was like approaching the devil himself. Harry used to care, but it soon took up too much of his mental strength, and he gave up caring.

"Potter, y-you got anot-." Harry raised an eyebrow. He's too afraid of me to talk!

The boy backed away slightly. "I-I don't want any t-tr-."

"So you won't get any. What do you want? What did they tell you to get?" Harry said blowing a puff of smoke in the opposite direction.

"A f-fag." The boy said going red.

Harry tilted his head slightly as he openly observed the guy.

He was somewhat older than Harry. He was a thin, scrawny little thing. Definitely a newbie, Harry decided as he sized the guy up. He probably arrived within the last week or so. He doesn't have enough bruises to have been here more than ten days. He's probably learning his way around, trying to find people to socialize with and cling to.

Harry nodded slowly in agreement with himself. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his carton of cigarettes. He selected one and held it out. The boy's eyes lit up. His hands shook at he reached out to take the stick offered to him. Harry suddenly pulled the cigarette back a bit.

The boy sighed. He looked away. "What do you want for it? I don't have anything of value with me." Suddenly, the boy grew angry. "Do I have to suck your fucking cock for a-."

Harry stood up suddenly, and the boy jumped back a foot or two.

Harry advanced on the boy slowly. The guy looked absolutely terrified. He backed up into the security fence. He had a deer stuck in headlights look, like he knew his end was coming.

Harry spoke to him in his low, raspy voice. "Unlike the sick bastards who you've come across here, I never ask for favors, especially not sexual ones, in return. If I wanted it, I would have taken it." He grabbed the boy's belt, immensely enjoying the shiver that went through the guy before letting him go. "I ask for much bigger and better." He stuck the end of his cigarette against that of the one he had for the guy and ignited it. "I ask that you smoke it right here, right now."

The boy took the lit cigarette with trembling fingers. "W-Why?"

Harry turned away from him and leaned against the fence next to the boy. "You don't know? Many guys here would break your arms just to get one of these. Why do think they are so rare here."

The fence was rattling as the shaking boy leaned against them, too afraid to move way. Or too astounded that I'm speaking to him.

Harry looked at the boy out of the corner of his eye. The boy inhaled and exhaled with a single breath in between. "Don't get greedy, go slower. My cigs are stronger than what you might be used to; you might end up seeing your grits if you keep that pace up." The boy followed his orders. "And stop shaking, you're attracting eyes."

The boy shook himself slightly. "Sorry.

"Never, never say 'sorry' here. Unless you're speaking to a counselor or administrator, it classifies you as 'Beating-Material'."

The boy nodded. "So, how long have you been h-."

Harry replied like before. "Didn't you ever learn, 'Never ask strangers for a lolly'?" The boy nodded, confused. "Here, lollies are questions. Never ask an inmate questions, unless you are really acquainted with them." The boy nodded, drinking his words.

Harry drifted away mentally, ignoring the guy's presence. He flexed his muscles above him, giving him the ability to look around without being too obvious. He noticed several eyes look away quickly. So they did set this one up.

Harry was well aware why they did, because of what happened to the last one. He shouldn't have tried to steal from me. The boy was sent to the hospital as Harry broke both of his arms and fractured his skull. I let him off lightly.

A disgustingly familiar red-haired guy approaching them on the fence drew Harry out of his thoughts. Harry barely resisted the urge to throw up.

The guy called himself Stallion. Probably because he sucks so many guys off in the bathroom stalls. The guy was a walking, worn-out mattress. Harry was sure he could see the semen stains on his shirt. And those are probably just from today. He walked with an all-telling limp and a slight switch in his hips.

Some guys appreciated his services, with him being their only option for the sexual release that didn't include quality time with Rosy Palm. Luckily, Harry had been very close to a young, female nurse, who he went to see whenever he had sexual urges or just to stop by for a quick checkup.

"Danny-boy, I hope you didn't forget my offer. I'll be in the bathroom stall when you're ready." The redhead practically moaned at the guy next to Harry. The newbie leaned further into the fence to get away from him. As the "Stallion" turned to leave, he caught Harry's eye, who had only acknowledged the guy's presence with a slight curling of his upper lip.

Harry's aversion towards the guy had little to do with his open sexual orientation or his dangerous promiscuousness. He was one of a handful of admittedly gay boys at Sirkin who was not raped or beaten constantly. Harry had even done his best to help another guy a few years back, when the boy had been cornered in the bathroom by some homophobes. No, Harry hated the Patterson for his unending attempts to "taste" Harry.

Harry shuddered slightly at the disgusting thought.

Patterson smiled and placed one of his hands on the fence next to Harry's arm. The guy leaned forward and Harry could smell things on the guy's breath that he never wanted to make a mental picture of. "Bolt, you c-."

Harry growled menacingly and blew a heavy puff of smoke at him. The redhead leaped back and scampered away from Harry, as if Harry had physically burned him. He had sent his pulse at the guy along with the smoke. Harry narrowed his eyes at the boy's back. "Wow, y-."

Harry had had enough disturbances for one day. He turned to the newbie. He could feel his tongue preparing to dice the naïve guy.

"Look, I'm going to give you a bit of advice, and I want you to write it on paper, read it 'til ya need glasses, eat it, shit it out, and repeat. I'm not yer friend, and I'm not ya enemy. Take that however you want. I'll never be yer friend or companion, and I probably won't try t' kill ya..."

He took a calming breath and continued. "We have cliques here. I am a clique with one member, and I like it that way. I suggest you join a one-member clique as well. Until you have a few years under your belt, where can tell bullshiters from cowshiters, stay alone. You're going to get stomped on, robbed, or raped trying to fit in."

The boy paled. He threw his finished cigarette on the ground and stomped on it. "I just thought-."

Harry sighed. Why do I have to be both the nice guy and bad guy at the same time. "And, I'll send you away with this last bit of advice: don't give out blow-jobs as a payment. I don't care if you're gay or not. You'll end up with so many diseases that you will have to keep a log-book just to remember them all like Paterson there." The boy nodded and Harry gestured that the boy should go with a movement of his eyes. "Wait, before you meet with Patterson - and no I'm not blind, I know he was one of the guys who sent you over here - be careful with that one. He is a breeding site for some rare and life threatening diseases."

It wasn't blank speculation. Harry's pulse allowed Harry to practically feel the viruses roaming through the redhead.

Harry turned away without seeing the guy's reaction, but having seen the boy's type many times in the past, he knew the boy was looking at him, weighing his statement. Harry predicted that the boy - whose name he didn't know even after sharing a fag with him - would probably end up with one of the more reclusive, outsiders' cliques by the end of the week.

Harry finished his fag, took off his shirt, and headed towards the training area, which was a new, slightly cushioned area consisting of two benches, three elevated bars, and a chained weigh set. Which used to be unchained before I lost control last year and threw it at an idiot guard, Harry reminisced fondly.

Despite the fact that Sirkins was deemed a correction institution for adolescent boys, little attention was paid to education. Whatever level of education they entered with was about the same they left with, if not less. Without actual school, though they were forced to listen to lectures or watch movies every now and then, they were left with little else to do the whole day.

Harry took to exercising whenever he was allowed out. He ran laps around the grounds, usually under strict supervision, worked out, and even had willingly participated in the sporadic illegal boxing that some of the guards put together in the nearby town. He rarely fought anymore; it had been a release from his banal life and pubescent irritation. He had earned a good reputation for fighting, and a bit of pocket change.

It had also been the time that his pulse had been the most active.

Puberty had been something he could handle, but the constant strain of his pulse seeking a release of some sorts led to Harry worked himself physically. The pulse seemed to find its release with an orgasm or physical exhaustion.

"Bolt," acknowledged the only individual who did not immediately vacate the training area once Harry arrived. He was a tall, bald Irish guy, who was one of the few people Harry actually exchanged words with and had fought at one of the illegal matches. Harry heard that the fight had made legends of them both in the area despite ending in a bloody draw. Over 300 people attended the match, bringing in loads of money from bets and revenue.

Out of habit, Harry acknowledged the guy with a nod and a raised eyebrow. He smiled at the boy's familiar use of the nickname he had given Harry, based on his vivid, lightening bolt scar.

Their relationship was a bittersweet but close one. They both had killed someone, which in Sirkins was rarely the case. Fin, as Harry heard him called (his actually last name was Finnegan, Harry assumed), killed his father for some reason whereas Harry killed his whole extended family. Harry saved Fin from a serious beating when he first arrived, and Fin repaid the debt by warning Harry of a planned bang in the bathrooms.

Later on, they trained and fought together. Fin still bore some of the scars while Harry's pulse had long since healed many of his.

They spent the next thirty minutes breaking a sweat. Harry, feeling slightly underworked lately, pushed himself to extremes on the bars and benched a bit more than his own weight. Fin did much of the same things, though not as hard.

Harry felt his pulse beating happily through his veins, not at all feeling the strain on his muscles.

He and Fin worked around each other, rarely touching but always working in unison and helping each other out if needed.

Harry finished his last sit-up as Fin finished his last pull up on the bars. They shared a brief look and moved onto the non-cushioned ground, made with dirt and some hard, cheap turf. Harry stretched briefly and took up a defensive pose and waited for Fin to make the first move so that their faux boxing match could begin.

Harry could feel the other inmates' eyes on them. He smiled inwardly as the guards merely watched and most likely took bets as they do every time we practice fight. Chances were generally 50/50 on who would win the match as they were equally capable and deadly.

After a moment of still silence, Fin launched his foot as Harry's face, and the fight began. Harry enjoyed the feeling of his pulse and his body working automatically in unison. He knew what Fin was going to do moments before he finished his last move. It was an enhanced perception of his surroundings and the movement of his opponent that had allowed Harry to win almost all of his other boxing matches, whether they were pretend or the real thing.

Harry didn't tire. He wasn't sure how long they exchanged blows this time, but it normally didn't last more than five minutes. Fin was the only person who fought Harry willingly and one-on-one, mostly due to his training in the martial arts before he came to Sirkins three years ago.

He was two years younger than Harry, from what Harry heard through listening in on the others. Most likely, when Harry left, he would take Harry's position as untouchable.

The match ended when Fin let down his guard for a brief moment due to Harry's fake throw of his arm. He planted one foot in the ground and threw his body in a spin. His other foot connected with the side of Fin's head, and he went sprawling.

Harry inhaled deeply, victory and adrenaline flowing through his veins. His pulse cooled his body down gradually. His took out two cigarettes, lit them both and handed one to Fin, who was picking himself up off the ground.

He didn't give the guy a second look as he walked away. His body tingled from the exercise.

He headed back over to his spot on the bench far away from everything and everyone but from which he could see everything. Life slowly ebbed back into the grounds. The guards resumed making their rounds, after collecting money or paying up, inmates reentered the training area, some talking to Fin and others on the bars, and Harry sighed lightly his pulse returned, agitated at the rapid approach of an unfamiliar guard.

Harry decided against sitting down, not wanting to give the guard any semblance of superiority over him and leaned against the fence crossing his arms.

"You there! Put out that fag!" Harry growled slightly underneath his breath. Two times in one day! Not one moment of peace, bloody fucking hell.

Harry recognized the man after a moment. He was the new officer assigned to Sirkins, and Harry was sure that he knew what the officer was going to do. He was going to do what every new officer at Sirkins did. He was going to play 'Break Bolt'.

Harry found the game hilarious, yet particularly annoying.

When a new guard was stationed there, they were immediately informed of the "special cases" that were housed at Sirkins. Harry was one of the most overrated due to his fighting and the incidents that he was usually a part of. Usually, the officer believed that he could bring Harry done a peg or two. I don't even have pegs!

They would usually try to pick a fight with Harry and 'put him in his place'. They usually failed, and Harry made sure they were humiliated before the entire establishment. That usually ends in me getting into deeper shit and making another officer-enemy.

But, thankfully, Harry had not seen a new officer in nearly two years. Why now!

"I said put out that fag!" He emphasized his point by banging his baton on the fence beside him.

"Bugger off." Harry said lowly but clearly. His voice was usually enough to tell the other inmates to give Harry a bit of personal space. However, those now stood just a few feet away from him merely formed a small but growing crowd around the two.

"Just who the hell do you think you are kid!" Harry did not respond. He felt his pulse increase. He inhaled slowly and exhaled the smoke as though the man before him did not exist.

That was obviously the last straw for the officer-guard. The new guard grabbed Harry's chin and attempted to pull the fag from between his lips.

The grounds of Sirkins Juvenile Delinquency Facility went abnormally still, again. The guards posted around the grounds showed their batons threateningly and began moving towards the disturbance. The older inmates all knew the act. The officers had their batons only for show. They could not really use them except for in extenuating circumstances. But nevertheless, the inmates allowed the officers to pass through the crowd without causing them any problems - they had nothing to gain from getting in the way.

Just as the guards reached the two, Harry head-butted the officer with such force and such a crack that it was guaranteed one of them would be carried away with a cracked skull. The officer sunk to the ground like a dropped doll. Harry inhaled deeply on his cigarette and then spit the still lit cigarette out on the unconscious officer.

"There, happy?" He said drily.

He saw the officers approaching him redden with anger. He sighed and automatically putting his hands in the air, turned to the fence, and stayed in that position. He knew the drill by now.

"Potter, you're going to dearly pay for that." A terribly familiar, tall officer said roughly putting the usual bindings around Harry's waiting, outstretched wrists.

"We've been through this before, Marner, old boy." He said while getting roughly pulled away from the scene. Marner was the only officer that he allowed to actually discipline him or even touch him. He was Harry's personal guard. I'm such a special boy; the court gave me my own guard!

Harry knew that the tall officer favored him. They had even developed a bond of sorts. They talked so much with one another, away from prying eyes of course. Over refreshments in the basement of the officer's building, Harry would chat with the only friend he had made in that damned place.

Harry knew almost everything that went on in the man's life, and he knew everything about Harry's.

He found Harry's pulse to be extraordinary and supernatural, though he had been in disbelief initially. The first time Harry had told him about the powers, he did not believe Harry until Harry summoned the powers and turned him upside down. They even went about testing Harry's abilities in Harry's room after than small show.

He shook his head at the thought as Marner pulled him through a door in the grey militaristic building that housed the other inmates.

He smiled slightly. He was considered special. He was housed him in an isolated, highly secured room in the basement of the officers' building. That way, they could "keep an extra eye on him".

They barely acknowledge my presence. He rarely saw the outside of his cell, except some secret excursions. The other officers, unwillingly, escorted him out four times a day two toilet visits, and two mandatory meals. Two meals that Harry was sure, if they were not required by law to supply to every inmate, he would never receive from the other officers.

He and Marner had snacks and drinks twice or three times a week. Harry always enjoyed it. He knew the only reason that none of the officers were suspicious over Marner going down there, was because Marner was homosexual. They thought he was raping Harry and putting him in his place.

Harry laughed at their ignorance. Harry knew that Marner saw him as a lost child worth redeeming.

And he did not mind the isolation treatment from the other inmates at all. He enjoyed being his bare room, alone. Without monitoring, he was allowed to do a lot of things that the others were not. The security cameras that were newly placed in the other inmates' rooms, were not put in his. They found out soon after his arrival that he was not a danger to himself, only to others. He was allowed to secretly practice those powers of his, just like he would with Marner, without anyone knowing.

He had always known he was special. He knew he could make things happen that others could not. It was his only secret defense to life's many obstacles in store for him.

In the darkness of his lamp-less room, he made light just by thinking about it. A small spinning globe of light would spin in his hands until he banished it to the other side of the room. In the winter, when the air was dangerously cold to breathe, he made his room pleasantly warm. When it was nighttime and the officers, knowing that he wanted to sleep, would make as much noise as possible, he made his room soundproof to the outside world.

They assumed that he just roughed it, which only made the officers angrier and Harry more of a living legend at Sirkins.

Despite the cool things he did, one of the most important things he used his powers for was to study. Reading and learning was his passion.

In the cover of the night, for the past four or five years, Harry would leave his room invisible and go to the meager library of the establishment. He remembered the first time he had turned himself invisible very vividly.

It had been pure accident. He had been running away from a gang of older boys and managed to run into a dead-end corridor. The fear that had been running through him was unimaginable. One second they were looking in the corridor for him, the next they were confused and shouting taunts and his name to draw him out. Harry wisely stayed in the corner until they departed.

Afterwards, he began practicing in his room. It was difficult to perform without being in the situation he had been in, and it had taken so much power when he achieved invisibility that he blacked out while invisible. That had caused a big search and a mighty stir in the facility, only for the officers to find him before dinner in his room waking up. After a few months of practicing, he had been able to go five minutes without changing back. And now after five years, I can go a full two hours without changing back.

He had known how to utilize his invisibility when he had heard from a few boys who later tried and failed to break out of Sirkins that the library was the only place not guarded at night. It was not high on the guards' priority list. Few of the boys went there, and there was no way of breaking out of there. It was built on the highest level of the Residents' Building with high windows and a small metal dome at the top.

Because of the low visitation, it was a fairly neat and quiet place. The books stored there were rather old and outdated, but Harry enjoyed the books nonetheless. It was the library from when the facility had been used as a school for boys fifteen or so years before Harry's arrival.

Nowadays, the library was basically used by the facility to say that the boys needed learning material in order to gain money from the government. After years of this embezzlement, an inquiry was launched, a director fired, and the government was finally smart enough not to send money as was requested, instead chose to send the books instead.

Almost every night, Harry would study the old and new books until his eyes grew tired. Then he would turn invisible and go back to his room without a problem. It was his nighttime occupation. With his pulse making four hours of sleep more than enough for him, he managed to spend hours there. The knowledge he received from using his power was absolutely incredible. He had definitely become one of the brightest blokes in the facility.

His powers were his crutch and his only means of survival. Things that life threw at him, he could almost always counter with those powers. Tricks that were made for him were usually avoided and avenged. Whenever he fell into harm's way, he was usually able to weasel his way out.

Yet, it was still difficult for him. His powers could not always help him or protect him from everything. He could never banish the nightmares that plagued him. He could never banish the lightening bolt on his forehead or the slashed scar across his face, no matter how hard he tried. He could never make himself feel happy, knowing that he was rather alone in the world. Well except for Marner.

He shook his head to clear it. A different officer came up to the two of them as they made their way into the building.

"I'll take him; they need you back at the yard." The blond guard said to Marner in a clearly commanding tone. "The boys are getting a little rowdy."

Marner gave Harry a quick glance. Harry knew that to mean that something was amiss.

Marner slowly handed the security bindings over to the other guard and left without saying a word.

The officer looked at Harry with a tiny bit of fear mixed with much disdain.

He has no hold on these bindings what so ever. I could tug them away easily. Harry walked slower than the man, and when the chain that connected to his handcuffs grew tight, Harry would yank it back, out of the man's hands, and then wait for the angry officer to pick the chain up.

It was a bit of fun, but he grew tired of it after the fourth time.

The officer led him away from the inmates' building and to the main building that held the offices of the head director, the directors, psychologists, nurses, and the wardens. Harry was the only boy in the entire center who had seen the inside of the building more than a hundred times. It was notorious, and Harry was sure some idiot named Ralph was keeping count.

He did not like fighting, which was usually the reason they brought him to the main building. He found that he had to do it. The boys and the officers seemed to always want to challenge him. While Harry was not one want to pick a fight, he knew that the day he walked away from one, he would get stabbed in the back.

Or hit by an officer.

He gave a small laugh as the officer led him down the pale blue hall to the door of a warden. 'Henry Pilman, Warden O-U'

The officer gave Harry a hard look, knocked briskly on the door, and walked in without waiting for a response. Harry was left outside the door unattended.

It was a test. They used to do it to him often. They would leave him unattended and observe if he would run away, destroy something, or hurt himself. Harry saw the camera in the far corner of the hall spin to focus on him. Harry never fell for the trick. He usually just stayed there and waited patiently. They gave up on the test after a year or so after starting it. He had no passion for the childish mind games that they played with the inmates. Quite a few of the inmates had taken the bait and ended shipped to more strict centers northwards where the boys were said to be beaten daily.

He sat himself down on the ground and played with his messily cut, shoulder length hair. It was a nervous habit he picked up. He was truly nervous. He wondered what they were going to do to him now.

He had never attacked an officer so directly before. Well, I've never knocked one unconscious!

His punishments for fighting with the other boys had always been manual labor. Cutting firewood, cleaning the kitchens, and picking up the trash around the facility were the usual assignments. They were not terrible, and he actually found them to be wonderful ways to pass time. It wasn't as good as practicing his with his pulse, but it was okay.

Sometimes to be snarky, he asked to do it during recess. The officers never let him.

But the times that he had fought with an officer, he had been severely punished. It happened regardless of how little aggression he showed or what the guard he done to him. He shivered at some of the punishments he had received in the past.

Once he had to clean the other inmates' showers and bedrooms, all 214 rooms! Granted, he had fourteen days to do it, but when the other inmates heard that he had to do it, many of them went out of their way to make it as nasty for him as possible.

Those nasty little fuckers!

In the five showers on the second floor, the boys masturbated and pissed everywhere they could. The rooms were not much better. And he could not even use his powers to help, there was always a guard there to watch him.

And one time, he had to clean the bird dropping off of the roofs of all five buildings on the property. The worst part was he had to do it while the birds were migrating.

Harry hated to think what they would do to him now. Maybe they'll make me clean the officers' bathrooms. He shivered at the mere thought. When it came down to it, the officers were downright dirty. Dirtier than the inmates!

A man in a dark green suit slowly walked past Harry, eyes on a stack of papers in his hands. Harry resisted the urge to trip the idiot. He hated that specific director. He was the one who convinced the magistrate to use Harry as an example at Sirkins. While Harry did not like the prison that had held him for a week, it was bloody better than this place.

He was lucky enough to make a friend at both facilities.

After the death of the officer at the prison, people were practically begging for him to be hanged. They were also pretty sure that he had a hand in the large breakout just a day before the death. The nurse came forth and said that she murdered the man out of self-defense. Her quote, "I wanted to get him off of me, I did not plan on killing him!" was the headline of papers the next day.

While the articles had bore little to no mention or acknowledgment of Harry, as the magistrate's decree had been still in effect, it had been well-known around the prison that he played a big part in the man's death. It just so happened that the inmate in the cell next to his heard the whole thing. The officer who had been posted on the floor was fired as he told his part in the attempted rape of Nurse Barbara. He told everything that he heard as well, in an attempt to weasel out of jail time.

Days after the story had hit the papers, a tall, platinum blond-haired guy had approached Harry while he was in the yard.

"Potter." He had acknowledged as he had taken the seat across from Harry.

Harry had just looked at him. That had been the first time anyone other than an officer or a guard spoke to him directly.

The guy had extended his hand. Harry continued to look at him. "Marcius Malfoy. You can take my hand; it's not jinxed!"

"I'm not supposed to talk to strangers." Harry had said flatly.

The guy man had just blinked. "Good show, Potter. Your parents were just as provoking."

That had gotten Harry's attention. "You knew my parents?" He remembered his voice being a bit shaky. He remembered thinking that it was impossible that the man knew his parents.

"No, I was ten when they were murdered." Harry remembered his heart dropping.He had thought then, why would my parents be murdered?

The question must have been written across his face. "They were murdered on Halloween. I remember that night well. It was well-publicized."

Harry remembered thinking, so they didn't die in a car crash! Harry had not been sure whether or not he should trust the guy's word, but curiosity had gotten a hold on him.

"But…"

"Didn't you know?" The guy had been clearly astounded.

"I was told that they died in a car crash. That my parents were drunk and that I was lucky to be alive."

The man's face had dropped. "So you don't know abo- you survived- who would tell you a lie like that!"

Harry had suddenly wished that his family was still living, so he could killed them again. "My relatives." He said had coldly. He remembered the steady pulse beating through him then.

Then the man's eyes had widened in understanding. He had suddenly leaned in closer. Harry remembered tensing up immediately. "There's so much about yourself that you don't know. Harry, you're a wiz-."

"Malfoy! MALFOY! Your time is up!" The afternoon guard yelled, and signaled the end of the Malfoy's recess.

"I will tell you later." Malfoy said to him before grabbing Harry's hand and shaking it. He had been then roughly led away by the guard.

Harry never found out what else the guy knew about him. He had been transferred that very day to Sirkins.

Where I am still waiting for that sodding idiot to come back!

Thirty-six minutes had passed. His butt and back were beginning to ache from sitting on the floor. He played with the band on his leg, the one thing that only I am privileged enough to have.

He pressed his head and ear against the door. After waiting a few moments, and not hearing anything, he gave up on that.

Ten minutes later, a door opened, but not the one he was hoping for. A sturdy looking woman came out of the door across from Harry. She took one look at Harry and frowned.

"What are you doing here?"

He found no reason to be disrespectful to her, so he answered her question politely. "I was brought here, ma'am."

She shook her head. "What have you done this time, Potter?"

He smiled sadly. "Is it always what I do? Why is it never what others do to me? Ma'am."

The woman gave him a look that he was not familiar with. Harry could tell immediately that she was either a psychologist or a director. They were the only ones who bothered talking to him, and listening to him.

She looked over her glasses at him. "You do know that your record-."

"Excuse me, ma'am. I know what my record says as I was there for most of it. But if you looked closely, each time I've gotten into trouble it was after I was beat up or provoked." She slowly nodded.

"As true as that might be, the court does not seem to care."

Harry was puzzled. "The court? What does the court have to do with me now? They already gave their ruling."

She looked down both sides of the hall quickly. Harry noticed that she specifically looked in the direction of the camera, which was no longer stationed in Harry's direction. She gestured for Harry to come with her and opened her office door.

Unsure, Harry slowly got up and followed her. He looked back at the door to the office that the officer entered before closing the woman's officer door.

It was by far the oddest office that he had ever seen. The decor was a mix between professional and an explosion of flowers. The wallpaper, the carpet, the ceiling, even the vase that held flowers, everything was decorated with flowers - printed, pressed, freshly cut and a few potted plants. Harry shuddered. It reminded him of one of his nightmares where he was attacked by biting lilies. They always screamed motherly admonishments while trying to bite him. He never understood it, but he definitely hadn't liked flowers since.

"Take a seat, quickly!" She said walking around her desk and pulling a file from a large file cabinet in the corner.

It was a large folder, bursting with papers and articles. Harry recognized it as a version of his record. It held more information than the file his Warden had. She must be my director.

She slipped easily into her chair and opened the file quickly. "Here. A court report from two years ago." She slid a packet of papers across the table.

Harry skipped through the papers. He gasped and he read the statement on the third page a second time to make sure he had read correctly.

Petition to have the defendant, Harry James Potter, detained for life.

"What the fuck is this!" He yelled. He read the name of the petitioner. "Who is this Boone asshole!"

The director had the nerve to smile. "He's the representation for your deranged aunt."

His mouth moved before he could control it. "That's impossible, I killed her! She's not deranged, she's dead!"

The face of the director went cold. "That is to say, the aunt that you did not murder in cold-blood."

Marge! That overgrown elephant bitch! I thought she had chocked to death on the grease flowing through her obese veins! The eyebrows of the director flew to her hairline. He did not realize that he had mumbled his thoughts out loud.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. But this is outrageous! For life! I was defending myself!" It sounded feeble the moment it left his lips. "Well, it was revenge as we-."

"Exactly! And that's the card he was playing. He put it out there, plain and simple, that you are unstable when someone does something to harm you or threaten you." She reached across the table and flipped through the papers until she reached page 13.

There, in plain black ink, was a description of every altercation and aggressive maneuver that he had made over the past few years up until about two years ago. Each one, Harry noticed, was cleverly exaggerated in certain areas, where they could not be called false accusations but were not completely true.

Harry read through a few more and then sat back in his chair with a bit of resignation. "Oh, he's good."

"That, I know." She said smiling. "He's my husband."

Harry's eyes flickered briefly to the nameplate on her desk. 'Mariah Boone' was engraved in silver.

He looked directly her in the eye. "Why did you tell me all of this? Why are you telling me what your husband is doing?"

She reclined in her chair and touched her fingers together, observing him gently. "I see something. Whenever I see you, I see something."

Harry waited patiently for her to clarify. He knew that she was trying to get to him on an emotional level, but he did not push her away. He had learned a lot about people and how they could be beneficial to him from his years of confinement. Friends and alliances could end up saving your arse sometimes.

She stood up suddenly. She crossed the length of her large office and stood before a large window, that Harry was sure based on the angle of the wall, showed the grounds of institute.

"When you saw a kid being beat up three weeks ago, what did you do?"

Harry was lost by the sudden change of topic. It took him a moment to remember the event. "I helped him out, I think. He was young, twelve I thi-."

"You turned sixteen a week ago. You are also young." She said looking back at him for a moment.

"He was defenseless!" Harry persisted.

"Against eight guys with weapons, you were defenseless as well."

Harry was silent. What is she getting at?

After a few moments of futile contemplation, his tongue could not hold itself back anymore. "Oh, just spit it out!" He shut his mouth with an audible 'click', he had been trying to speak with her in a respectful way.

She clicked her tongue. "I expected someone as wise as you to catch my meaning a lot quicker."

Harry remembered the fight well now. It had been unfair from the beginning. There had been eight inmates against one kid. The boy could not have been more than thirteen. They had been all gang members and he was a kid who rarely spoke to anyone. His family had been killed; he had fought the murderer and killed him.

Harry's eye twitched slightly as he believed he understood. Perhaps she means something else. "He was a 'Loner'."

"You are too." Harry bit his tongue. He did not want to say this, but he knew she wanted him to. The things I do for other people...

He sighed. "He had no one. He fought to stay alive and found himself here. He was-."

"An alternate version of you." She said softly.

While he did not kill his family, he maimed the man that killed his family, and now his life is ruined.

A silence settled in the room. Harry felt uneasy, disgusted, and angry at the same time.

"There is good in you." She said suddenly. Harry looked up from his fingernails to see her staring directly at him.

"I know that!"

"You've shown it many times." She continued on as though he had not spoken. "The nurse at Mason prison, who you protected from the utmost violation of her dignity." Harry visibly jumped, so taken aback was he. "Not everyone believes what they read, you must remember that."

"The nurse's situation was special, and I was reacting from instincts."

"And the countless kids here who you protected, what about them? The ones you protected because they have no one else to-."

The conversation began to irritate Harry tremendously. "Don't make me out to be some sort of sai-."

"I'm not. You are no saint, but you are human. You are not some animal who fights to survive. You are not some insane wild beast that needs to be locked up. You are not a menace to society. You are someone who punches back when the world sends one flying. You… are… human!"

Her words pierced straight through the air and him.

"And that is what my husband did not see."

"That is what the world does not see." Harry added.

She gave a quick sigh and left her place at the window. As she took a seat, she gestured to the packet. "Read the last paragraph on the last page."

Harry began flipping through the pages automatically. He skimmed over the page until he reached that last paragraph.

…the court rules in favor of Attorney Boone. However, due to the special circumstances of the defendant, the court will grant him a final opportunity of limited detainment. The defendant is to be held at Sirkins Juvenile Delinquency Facility until the age of 18. If it should occur that he is held responsible for one more act of violence, he will be returned to the Mason Institute of Correction, where he will carry out a full life sentence without opportunity of bail and under the …

The seriousness of the situation hit him. He felt as though the very world had stopped, and he was the only thing spinning.

"Bloody fucking hell," Was the only thing he could say. LIFE?

"That is right." She said reaching across and taking the packet of papers. "And the episode today…"

Harry felt everything crash around him. This is fucking unbelievable! I could have been free. I fucked up big time. I shouldn't have head-butted him. I should've just put the damned fag out. And the other fights over the past two years, some of those could have been ignored too! As well as-. He felt as if an egg had been smashed on top of his head. Wait one moment!

He looked at the papers again. "Those papers are dated two years ago. Why would they mean anything now? Over the past two years, I had a bunch of fights, why would the one from today be different?"

"Oh, it isn't." She said simply. She took the file to the cabinet.

"It isn't?" Harry was completely mystified.

"No, your attorney managed to get the petition nullified before the magistrate could sign it."

Harry lost control of his tongue again, this time in anger. "Then why the bloody hell did you bring me here and get me all piped up over something that has been nullified!"

She took her seat again and put her fingers back together. "Are you riled up?"

What kind of fucking question is that! "Hell, bloody, yeah!" He yelled.

She did not look a bit disturbed by his anger. "Do you regret any of the things you have done in your past?" She asked calmly.

"YES!" He yelled. His snapped his mouth shut. All of his anger evaporated instantly, it was replaced by a horrifying realization and numbness.

She said nothing, but her knowing and satisfied eyes said more than words could have. They bore into his without mercy. He wished nothing more than to leave her sight at the moment. He felt so naked. Damn, for a director, she's one hell of a psychologist!

"You may leave." She said softly. "I don't you want to feel intimidated or uncomfortable."

Harry's hands shook slightly as he pushed himself out of the chair.

He heard the echo of his rapidly beating heart as he held and turned the doorknob.

"Good-bye, Potter." She said softly as he exited the room. He hesitated a moment. "It's Harry, ma'am," he said in an unsure tone.

He slowly closed the door not noticing her writing a report on their interaction with a slight smile on her face.

.

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