Disclaimer: I does not own. I does not want to. Would be shite if I owned. XD

//This is Parseltongue.//

Paraselenic

Dysregulation // impairment of a physiological regulatory mechanism

Draco Malfoy felt like he was going to throw up.

All around him screams resonated and blood was spilt, and Draco could do nothing but stare as the bodies piled up around him. There, to his left, the mother of a Hufflepuff girl in his year, glassy eyes staring unseeing at the ceiling. The screams of a boy who had graduated from Gryffindor a few years prior echoed as the Dark Lord held him under a curse. His Aunt Bellatrix's high-pitched cackle as she fired rapid Killing Curses around her without pause.

Draco badly wanted to be sick. Bile burnt the back of his throat, but somehow he was unable to react. He stared, morbidly fascinated as a curse Potter fired opened dozens of long lashes across a middle-aged man's body, blood oozing out even as the man's eyes rolled back into his head and he fell limply to the ground. He didn't even notice that one of the Death Eaters had fired the sickly yellow Cruciatus and had missed their mark until he was already on the ground writing in pain.

It hurt. Oh, how it hurt. He had heard descriptions of the pain of the Cruciatus before, but nothing could possibly hope to describe the pain. He felt as if his skin was being ripped from his body. He screamed so loudly that he was sure he was ripping vocal chords, but as the silencing spell was still over him not a sound was heard, even to his own ears. Draco could hardly see as the curse went on, back bowed off the ground and he wished so badly that the invisibility cloak revealed him only so he could be freed from the pain.

And suddenly his mental pleas were answered; Draco could only assume that whomever's curse it had been had fired off a new one and cancelled the one they hadn't been aware had found a mark. Draco became aware of tears streaming down his cheeks as he forced himself up, looking for an escape route. He didn't need to see anymore, he wanted out. This was too much to take in, too much to bear.

He watched as Potter seized a girl -- a Ravenclaw who had graduated only the year before -- and whispered in her ear, her eyes wide in terror. When Potter sunk glistening fangs into the girl's throat, Draco finally gave into the urge to vomit, collapsing weakly again to his knees. He couldn't take his eyes away as his schoolyard rival took the life of the girl he had known, known… she had been a childhood friend of Pansy's, though a halfblood, with a sarcastic wit he had found amusing despite her tainted lineage. And then her eyes dulled and Potter tossed her aside without a care and began firing curses to take the lives of the Aurors remaining once more.

This was the honorable cause his father had lauded? This was what Death Eaters were? Draco had little care for the actual lives that were lost… but how could they stomach it? The dying wails, the screams of pain, the blood that was splashed even over his father's expensive robes. Entrails and excrement, the smell of burning flesh overriding even the thick metallic scent of blood. Vomiting had done little to settle his stomach; he wanted out now.

He ran for the door, legs shaking so badly that he had to grip the wall for support as he stepped over the bodies of the fallen Aurors. He didn't care, he wanted… no, needed out. The door was only feet away when he hit the ward, the invisible barrier sealing all the room's inhabitants in. Draco screamed under the silencing charm and pounded at it with his fists, willing it to let him through.

He turned to whip off the invisibility cloak and demand he be let free when his eyes caught his father, hair splayed around his shoulders and a few specks of blood on one cheek. Usually grey eyes were as bright as Draco's own as he towered over the prone form of some random Auror, lips moving in spell after spell. Draco had never seen his father look more alive than he was in that moment.

Draco hardly noticed that his queasiness was fading as he took a few absent steps forward, entranced. His father was filthy, his hair falling out of its tie chaotically, and he was smiling - smiling! He was currently exhibiting everything Draco had been taught that Malfoys did not do… and enjoying it. What was he missing in this equation? What wonders wasn't he seeing that could cause his stiff father to become this man?

And so Draco forced his erratic breathing to even out and he watched the remaining minutes of the battle with new eyes.

"Play with the bodies however you feel the need, Antonin," Voldemort hissed, out, his eyes not leaving Harry. "Make sure there are no survivors then come to my office. All of you."

A chorus of affirmation rose up around the room, and Harry let Voldemort grip his uninjured arm before Apparating them directly into Riddle Manor, as he was the only one to be able to get them anywhere but the meeting room and the entrance. He stepped away from Voldemort as they arrived, and Harry looked over at the prone form of Hermione. He sighed, running a hand over his face. "Bloody night isn't over yet."

He wasn't expected to be spun around hard crimson eyes narrowed to slits in anger. "What in the hell was that back there? You just stood there and let the wolf hit you! What if it had been something more serious than a Body-bind?! Foolish idiot, don't tell me your damned Gryffindor nobility is showing through again--"

Harry cut him off by glaring back, ripping his arm from the other man's grip. "Being a Gryffindor had nothing to do with it, Tom. I was distracted, and it was stupid. Now don't lecture me like a child!"

"If you're going to act like a child, I'm going to treat you like one!"

"Careful, Tom, or one might begin to think you care."

"I don't care about anything but winning this war!"

"The lady doth protest too much, methinks," Harry retorted with a nasty sneer.

Voldemort was eternally Harry's weak point, no matter what point in his life you looked at it. He didn't even have time to react before spindly fingers wrapped around his throat and bodily slammed him into the wall, snarling mouth inches from his own. Harry was certainly the more powerful of the two physically, but the shock of the Dark Lord manhandling him caught Harry off guard. "Now listen here, Potter," Voldemort sneered. "I am not in the mood for your shit. If you're too soft to deal with the werewolf just say so, but keep your damned delusions to yourself."

Harry smiled ruefully, ignoring the tightening hand on his throat and letting out a chuckle. "How I wish I had your powers of denial."

"Wha--?" Harry shut him up the best way he know how: he kissed him.

Harry felt the instant the man lost his hold on his transformation, proving Harry's theory at least in part. He had become suspicious after their last fight when Voldemort had become Tom, knowing the man didn't usually choose to be in his natural form unless he was quite alone and wanted to enjoy a luxurious shower. Harry didn't know what it was, exactly, that triggered it, but it seemed to him that Voldemort was unable to remain in control of his Metamorphmagus abilities when dealing with Harry.

The hand on Harry's throat slackened and Harry took advantage by yanking Tom closer, hands rising to thread through dark hair. The surprisingly tender kiss quickly gained in intensity with Tom pressing Harry into the wall, his hands sliding down Harry's back and gripping his backside. Harry moaned and tightened his hold on the man's head, arching towards him desperately.

Harry wanted to deny it. He wished more than anything that it wasn't true, that he could pretend he felt nothing. He wrapped his legs around slim hips and let Tom's leverage against him keep him pinned to the wall, trailing his lips over the strong jaw to nip at his ear. No matter the denial he wished he could manage, no matter the feelings of despondency the knowledge provoked, Harry couldn't lie to himself.

He was in love with Tom.

No matter the form he was in, no matter the name he called himself, Harry was hopelessly enamored with the man whose quiet moans were currently sounding in his ear, whose heat was radiating through his clothing. The pain in his bloodied arm faded behind the haze of passion growing between the two men, hips involuntarily arching forward in search of more. More contact, more sensation, more heat… Harry groaned as Tom darted forward and captured his lips again, pressing so close to him that Harry wondered if they could melt into one another, fade into a singular being as breathing became negligible.

A rather choked gasp pulled both of their attention, breaking the intensity of their moment and making both of their heads whip towards the noise. Harry merely raised an eyebrow while Tom stiffened, the sight of Voldemort's entire Inner Circle plus the now visible Draco standing in the opened double-doorway either pissing him off or mortifying him. Harry wasn't sure.

He stared nonplussed at the slack-jawed minions, not bothering to lower his legs or release the slightly graying hair. "Yes?" he said, drawing out the s with an arch look.

Lucius was the first to break the stupor, his eyes darting quickly between the two of them before he bowed low. "We have completed our task, my lords," he paused and turned his eyes specifically to Voldemort. "And may I congratulate you, my lord, on reclaiming your youthful appearance?"

Tom smacked Harry's thigh in an obvious signal to lower his legs, which Harry did regretfully. He also pulled his hands out of the Dark Lords hair, making sure to subtly comb it down with his fingers into a semblance of its usual tidy style. No need to piss Tom any more than usual, after all. The man subtly adjusted his robes across his front before turning to face his minions.

"You may, Lucius," Tom said with a cold smirk, not bothering to transform once more into his alternative persona. "I would like a report on my desk by tomorrow evening detailing any problems that arose tonight. Any information pulled from the Aurors before their death is to be noted."

"My lord," Macnair said hesitantly, "what of the trivial babblings…"

"I think I will decide what is trivial, Walden," Tom hissed, taking a step forward.

Harry heard the heart rates of the Death Eaters speed up and used a hand to cover his amused smile. It seemed that seeing their lord appear human for the first time in decades had made them assume that he would be less than dangerous.

"Anything to say, Potter?"

Harry blinked at Tom, realizing the question hadn't been a sarcastic jab but an actual question. He shrugged, "Hum… actually, I'd like for Pretty to stay behind, if he would. Little Pretty as well, obviously. And… perhaps Rodolphus?"

Tom raised an eyebrow but nodded, turning a glare on the unmoving Death Eaters. "You heard him, didn't you? Are you as deaf as you are useless? Go!" he barked.

Immediately the group began dispersing, perfunctory bows given before they left the doorway. A nervous looking Rabastan pulled at the arm of his brother's wife, who was torn between looking appreciatively Tom and glaring death at Harry. Severus paused before walking back to Harry, fishing in the pocket of his robes and thrusting a potions vial forward with a blank look.

Harry cocked his head. "What's this for?"

"Your arm, my lord."

Harry started and glanced down, finally remembering the gash Arthur Weasley had made down the length of his left arm. Though the material was ripped, much of the damage was hidden by the dark material. Harry shrugged off the robe and noticed how much blood was staining the white shirt under, still not feeling any real pain from the wound despite the fact that wet blood still slowly seeped from the long cut.

Harry took the potion with a small smile to Severus, who only nodded and swept from the room, and Tom strode towards him with a fierce look. "Did the wolf do that to you?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "No, Tom. It was actually Arthur Weasley."

Lucius looked very excited and actually began leaning forward a bit, eyes expectant. "Weasley, my lord?"

"Yes, Lucius, I kept you behind to give you the good news. You have free reign over him; he should be in one of the dungeon cells now. Don't damage him too much until you've gotten the proper information from him, though, he is a higher ranking Order member after all."

Lucius bared his teeth in a feral grin and nodded, glancing at his silent son before sweeping from the room.

Harry ignored the younger Malfoy for a minute and turned to Rodolphus. "I don't know you well, but you seem to be the sanest of the lot." Tom snorted and Harry gave a smirk. "So I need you to do me a favor. Get to Rita Skeeter and give her a summation of our raid. Let her twist it however she pleases, but she's a bloodthirsty bint and will grab onto any scrap you give her. I want to be sure this isn't going to be brushed over."

Rodolphus inclined his head. "As you wish, my lord. I am honored to have been chosen."

"Be sure to include how disgustingly easy it was, and that the Dark Lords have no opposition," Tom hissed, a wicked smirk on his handsome face. "She will suitably dramatize it."

Rodolphus left after some profuse bowing, leaving Harry, Tom, and Draco in the room. Harry was pleased with how silent and respectful the younger Malfoy was being, though hit could easily be attributed to the presence of Voldemort. Harry looked at him for a long moment before speaking, hand on hip. "Was your experience eye opening?"

The blond's throat convulsed in a swallow before he spoke. "Y-Yes my lord."

Harry nodded, satisfied that something had gotten through to Draco. He waved a hand. "Give me my cloak then Floo yourself home. Hug your mother or something and then use that Floo connection you were on about months ago to get back to Hogwarts. Rest and see me tomorrow; we'll be holding our public truce then."

Draco bowed respectfully and held out Harry's cloak with slightly trembling hands. Harry's nose wrinkled at the smell of it; apparently the blond had gotten sick. It was a natural reaction, but it was no less unpleasant because of it. He shot a quick Scorgify at the cloak before shrinking and pocketing it, looking back up to see only Tom and Hermione's inert form left in the room.

Tom was staring at him, a strange contemplative look in his eyes, seeming puzzled by his own thoughts. Harry understood that, and suddenly his mental admittance came back to him. He was in love with Voldemort, the previous bane of his existence, murderer of his parents, and harbinger of death and destruction. But none of that mattered. To Harry, Tom was just an often ill-tempered man with a penchant for driving Harry round the twist… who listened when he ranted about meaningless things and confided in him things Harry knew he had never talked with anyone about. He was the man who didn't like getting up in the mornings and knew what Harry's facial expressions meant, who ran hot and cold like a tap but always left Harry coming back for more.

And for the first time, Harry understood just what he had gotten himself into and didn't care. He still had no concept of the why or the how or even the what of it all… but he did see that he was hopelessly in love with the man still observing him with dark crimson eyes. Dante would be pleased with him, he thought dryly, and wondered if this revelation and enduring the taunts about it would be enough of an apology for his abysmal attitude two weeks prior.

Harry eyes wandered to Hermione and he sighed mentally. He needed to see what was wrong with her and how to fix it quickly, because her absence would be noted soon. As it was he was treading a dangerous line, and Ron would have noticed they had been gone. He suddenly wished he had a time-turner to erase the last couple of hours. He would probably have to Obliviate Ron come morning to save his secret, and he only prayed that the redhead hadn't told anyone of their absence.

"Tom?" Harry said, moving his eyes back to his… lover? Perhaps. "Could you take a look at her for me? I just don't have the spell repertoire you do."

Tom blinked rapidly and lost the thoughtful look, eyes cutting over to where Hermione's bushy head was cushioned on her school cloak. Harry could see the disdain plainly and knew Tom was thinking him terribly sentimental. And Harry knew he was as well. He may no longer have a friendship with those he had left behind those years ago, but the fondness he had had for them back then had left a permanent imprint on him.

Perhaps Hermione was bossy and annoying, but she was also understanding and had accepted him when few others would have. Perhaps Ron was hotheaded and jealous, but he was also fiercely loyal and caring. He couldn't turn off the emotions he still held for his first two friends. Even when they ended up against him, he wouldn't let them be killed. Locked away, perhaps, but killed? He couldn't fathom it. Even if he would never see them again, it would hurt far too much to know they were gone. And, though it was horribly selfish, Harry didn't care.

"You want me to tend to a Mudblood?"

Harry rolled his eyes emphatically. "Tom, shut up. She is one of the smartest and more magically powerful witches in Hogwarts right now. If even she would be discounted for her blood, where would that leave the Purebloods? Deformed squib children are not preferable."

"Fine," Tom said with a wave of his hand. "I'll look into what could be wrong with your Mudblood. Now, are you going to deal with your wolf now or later?"

Harry clenched his jaw and looked away, sighing. "I'll go now."

"Fine. By the time you get back I should be able to tell you what to do with her."

Harry didn't bother answering and swept from the room casting a few charms on his shirt to remove the blood and fix the long rip along the sleeve. The wound had only scabbed over and still stung a bit, but it was hardly a problem. It was nearly midnight and the Manor was quite empty, and Harry met no one on his trek to the dungeons.

It was dark there, but a whispered Lumos corrected the problem. Harry could hear no screams, but as each cell was silenced it wasn't a surprise. Somewhere down there, he knew Lucius was toying with Arthur, but he couldn't bring himself to care. The man had been kind to him, but meant very little in the scope of things. He would give them information and die, simple as that.

Harry stopped in front of the iron door that his senses told him a werewolf was behind, keeping his wand out as he chanted the password spell that only a few were privy to. His wand out, Harry entered, face blanked.

Remus looked up from the corner he was curled in, a violent snarl fading as he saw who was entering. Remus didn't move or speak, merely watched as Harry entered and sealed the door once more before leaning back against it.

The silence stretched between them, Harry watching his former professor for any sudden movements. He had few qualms against harming Lupin despite his connection to his parents should he attempt to harm him.

It was Remus who broke the silence, in a quiet tone Harry supposed was meant to induce guilt. "What have you done?"

"Exactly what circumstances dictated, Professor."

There was a shuffling, and Harry watched through the darkness as Remus pulled himself up to sit. "This is what you've become? I wondered after your letter, but I never imagined…"

"What," Harry asked coolly, "that I might wake up someday? That I might rebel against my place in this war?"

"Voldemort, Harry? He killed your parents!"

"Your point being? Do you think I'm an idiot? I assure you that I'm not. I know what Voldemort has done and what kind of a man he is. Deaths are a part of war."

"But Harry--"

"Do you think I should weep and cry and bemoan the loss of people I never knew? Do you think I should fall in line like a good boy and fight a war for a bunch of ungrateful sods too cowardly to do anything themselves?"

"No… no, Harry I don't. But surely you understand how important it is for Voldemort to be defeated..."

"If I agreed with that do you think I would be working with him?" Harry said dryly, raising an eyebrow. At the man's hurt look, Harry sighed and ran his free hand over his face. "Either you're with me or you're against me, Moony. I won't apologize for who I am now, especially to someone I hardly know. You're a good man but honestly? You're very little other than a friend of my parents and my old professor."

Remus flinched and looked away, quiet for long minutes. Harry let him think. He didn't honestly want to hurt the werewolf, but he would. He wanted information and Remus probably had quite a bit on Dumbledore's plans for magical creatures. He wouldn't have much use, otherwise. Harry admitted it was mawkish of him to have used one of his portkeys on the man in the first place, but it had been worth a shot.

When the werewolf finally spoke, he didn't look at Harry, instead staring at his hands as he clasped nd unclasped them in turn. "What would Sirius think of you now, Harry?"

Harry sucked in a breath and snarled, raising his wand. "Crucio."

As Remus screamed, Harry smiled vindictively. That had been a low blow even to him, and he held the curse probably a bit longer than was safe to do so. But as he released it and watched Remus gasp for air, he relaxed entirely and chuckled, catching the werewolf off guard. The quick shock of anger that had run through him was gone, and Harry smiled a bit nostalgically down at Remus. "He's dead, Moony. He is dead and not coming back… so why does it matter what he'd think?"

"H-Harry--"

"Is saying my name so often comforting to you? Or is it to remind you of who I am? Yes, I am Harry James Potter, but I am also Lord Mylläkkä. You will not change that, and even if my mother, father, and Sirius all walked through that door this instant it would not change. They are dead, Remus. Can you understand that? I am not James, I never even knew James, and I certainly don't want to be a bullying bigoted arse like him. And Sirius? Sirius was a thirty-six year old man perpetually stuck in the mentality of a teenager. Azkaban ruined his growth and his mind. I loved him, surely, but I loved the idea of him much more. And now he is gone, and his opinion of me with him."

Remus stared straight into his eyes as Harry spoke, his look quickly disintegrating from foolish hope to grief. Harry just watched him silently before turning to the door.

"You have chosen your path. May you rest easily with my parents. I will order your death to be swift once you've given the information we need."

Without looking back, Harry left the cell, sealing the door again with hard eyes. It was better this way, anyway.

Harry had taken a walk around the decrepit manor before going back to Tom's study, feeling much more clear-headed. He felt no remorse for effectively signing Remus's death warrant. This was war, and though the man had been kind to him, he felt much about him the way he did about Arthur Weasley. He would remember them vaguely, but they had little meaning otherwise. Remus was too soft to have been a Death Eater anyway; he was the man, after all, who had sacrificed his own morals and kept silent just to keep his friends. He was nearly as much of a coward as Pettigrew had been, though much more loyal.

Harry entered Tom's study to find the man leaning over Hermione with a fascinated look, a quill and parchment hovering beside him taking notes. Harry knew the look he bore; it was the same one he got when an interesting book was in front of him or he saw someone use a spell he hadn't seen before. Harry sighed and knew suddenly that the situation was much more complicated than a botched possession.

"Harry! Come look at this, it's really quite intriguing!" Harry jolted at the use of his first name, staring dumbfounded at the back of Tom's dark head. Did the man even realize he'd done it? It was confirmed that the man hadn't when he turned impatiently. "Come on, Potter!"

Harry shook himself and walked forward, glancing at the paper.

-- Minor but irreparable damage to the Hippocampus

-- Focal bilateral damage to the ventromedial prefrontal cortex

-- Immoderate left amygdala activity… possible Emotional dysregulation

-- Abnormalities in the temporal lobes, thalamus, and hypothalamus

-- Disparity in memory sequences, possibly correlated with dysregulation

Harry stared blankly at the paper. He liked to consider himself an intelligent man but… he only understood half of those words. Even the words he did understand gave him little knowledge more than the rough translation of 'broken brain-things', which was embarrassingly like the words going through his mind.

He turned his blank look at Tom who huffed and crossed his arms. "There is so much minor damage there, but I think she would have been fine. Some might have been preexisting damage, other occurring sometime recently, but nothing was overly serious. But combined, it points towards extravagant spurts of violence and temper. The excessive amygdala activity is associated with an emotional response that is poorly modulated, making the person have reactions that do not fall within the conventionally accepted range of emotive response. All in all, you have an emotionally unstable witch with overly aggressive tendencies who is still capable of learning and retaining knowledge!"

Harry thought he understood some of that. Apparently, Hermione was unhinged and violent, yet still smart. Check. He nodded. "But what caused it? And how do I fix it?"

Tom shifted his weight, eyes far-off. "Cause? From the gaps in her memory, I'd have to blame her being Obliviated. The solution? There's no way that I know of even with magic to correct such extensive damage. There's a potion to help ease issues with memory loss, though that's usually for natural causes, but it might help her be more stable. Other than that, I don't see any remedy. It really is fascinating, though, I've never seen a functioning mind so utterly ravaged. There's cases like the Longbottoms in which less damage made the victim unable to perform, but I've never…"

Tom continued, Harry thought, but he had stopped listening some time ago. An Obliviate had ruined her mind… and it was incurable.

He had broken Hermione.

A/N: BROKEN BRAIN THING! Me has that. Me readed neurobiology for too many times and brain is brokie. Oww.

So, Hermione's nuts. XD -dances- I love her nuts personality, and I plan to play with her excessively. Love and credit for sparking this idea and helping me in the early stages of her development goes to BladesoftheValkyrie. Brilliance!

Revised: 3/20/09