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

//This is Parseltongue.//

Paraselenic

Svengali // someone who controls and manipulates someone else, usually for evil purposes

Harry yanked lethargically at his heavy hair, trying to unpin the mass from under his sweaty back. Tom's silk sheets were cool against his overheated skin, and Harry found himself constantly scooting left to right to reclaim a n unheated section of material.

"Would you stop fidgeting?" Tom asked blearily from his right, voice muffled by the pillow he had rolled onto.

"It's hot."

"Whingeing little…"

Harry blindly waved his arm at the man, managing to strike him across the stomach with a satisfying thwack. The man grunted. Harry rolled to one side and peeked open one eye at the winded Tom, who had yet to lift his head from the pillow. "I need to get back soon."

"Then bloody well go already. Three times? Three times?! I am far too old for this."

"You always say that, but it didn't stop you from bending me over your damned desk."

Harry heard Tom give a snort before the head rolled to the side, crimson eyes peeking out from shorn bangs, "You deserved it."

Harry looked away, staring at a cobweb that clung to the ceiling. "Would you have stopped if I had said no?"

The silence was uncomfortable and stretching, Harry losing himself in staring at the faint sway of the dusty web. He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer, and yet at the same time he knew he needed to. Harry didn't know how long it had been by the time he Tom sighed heavily and pushed himself up on his elbow, cracking his neck. "And if I said I wouldn't have?"

Harry wasn't sure how to answer that, and he slid his eyes towards Tom. "I don't know."

"Then isn't the question negligible?"

Harry pursed his lips. "Maybe."

Again there was silence, heavy and stifling. Harry found himself staring at the newly cut length of Tom's hair, and before he realized it he had reached out and threaded his fingers in it. "Why did you cut it?"

Tom startled just a bit, eyes widening minutely before his usual expression replaced it. "I went several decades without being able to even see myself like this, let alone care for my appearance. I felt it appropriate to have it cut now that it will grow back again."

Harry hummed and decided it would be much to sentimental for him to mention that he had liked it longer. His thoughts went to his own hair, which was currently disheveled and pinned under his shoulder. "I want to cut mine."

"Don't you dare." Harry wasn't sure whether he or Tom was more surprised by that sudden declaration, if Tom's momentarily bewildered expression was anything to go by.

Harry raised an eyebrow in question. "You complain about it constantly, I would think you would want it out of the way."

Tom reached across the small space between them and captured a bit of wayward nearly black hair, letting it fall between his fingers. Harry watched as the two foot strands stretched across the small gap between them before Tom scoffed and dropped it, managing to look graceful as he flopped onto his back. "I am used to it, that's all."

Harry stifled the smile that wanted to stretch across his face, knowing it was foolish to let Tom see it.

"I'm exhausted, Potter." Tom fished his wand from where he always deposited it under his pillow regardless of the circumstances involved in them getting into the bed, silently casting a Nox and turning over. "We'll finish business in the morning."

"I have to get back to Hogwarts, Tom."

The sound that came from Tom's throat, had Harry not known Lord Voldemort could never possibly do so, would have been classified as a whinge. "Take a week off."

Harry snorted and stretched, already reluctantly pulling himself from the soft sheets. "Oh yes, that will go over well. 'Hey Dumbledore, sorry about my unexplained absence, I was busy having hot, sweaty man-sex with Voldemort. No big deal, eh?' That would go over well."

"The time turner has a twenty-four hour limit on it, you can stay through till tomorrow morning at least," Tom said logically, and Harry let himself hold onto the little flutters that Tom's attempt at convincing him produced. It was said in a flat tone as if Tom didn't honestly care one way or another, but Harry liked to think it was just that Tom wanted him there.

"I thought timeturners had a twelve hour grace period?"

In the dark Harry could not see Tom's eyes, but by the sarcastic drawl in his voice, he imagined that he had rolled them. "As if something I own would ever be the standard model. Come now, Potter, give me some credit. Modifications are disgustingly easy on timeturners, though I have yet to discover how they are created, it is only a matter of altering the latent magic, extending it, to increase the device's capabilities…"

Tom went on like this for some time, and Harry found himself sinking back to the bed, silk tempting his bare skin. Would it hurt, really, to stay the night? It had been a couple of weeks since he had slept truly well as he seemed only to be able to when sharing the bed with a warm body. Really, it would be beneficial, wouldn't it?

"I ran into a few problems with placing the blood wards on it; the magic disrupted the usual spell, so I had to alter it to…" Harry snorted silently as he realized Tom was still on about the timeturner.

"Riddle me this, Tom."

The discursive monologue ended abruptly, and Harry wished he could see the expression on Tom's face in the lengthy pause that ensued. After a moment he heard a scoff. "I am going to pretend that you did not just quote a muggle comic book at me."

"Fine by me, Tom," Harry said easily. "While you do that, I'll just pretend you didn't get the reference, hmm?"

A hand found his hair and yanked it, leaving Harry cursing as he found a comfortable position. He would worry about how soft he had become in the morning. For now, he simply rolled towards Tom's warmth and relished in the feeling of contentment provided.

"I would have stopped."

Harry didn't respond to the whispered comment, but he smiled in the darkness and chalked up a win for himself.

Harry was cold. He pulled the blanket tighter around his bare skin and reached blindly for Tom's warmth, hand grasping for what his mind foggily referred to a his personal heater. It took long moments for his sleep fogged brain to comprehend that the faded warmth where a body had once been signaled that Tom was, in fact, not there. Harry cracked an eye and the realization that he was alone in bed set in, causing a frown to curve his lips. He forced himself to ignore the exaggerated disappointment that he would not get to deal with a somnolent Dark Lord.

It wasn't hard to find Tom, as Harry had never had any doubts to where he would be that early in the morning if not in ensconced in his blankets querulously, though the man made no acknowledgment of his presence. Cigarette in hand, Tom had pulled himself up onto the wide sill, staring out at the bleak midwinter sky.

Harry made no attempt to hide his presence, sure Tom had noticed him regardless of his inaction, walking to the sill and propping his elbows on it. The wind that blew in was freezing against his bare torso, and Harry wondered how long Tom had been sitting here when he noticed the cigarette in his hand had long since burned itself out.

"It isn't like you to willingly get out of bed so early without a reason," Harry said blithely. "Did something happen?"

Harry turned his face to his right just a bit to take in Tom's expression, which was forcibly closed. Crimson eyes slowly tracked to him, a finely shaped eyebrow raising imperiously. "Since when do you know my habits so well, Potter?"

"I don't yet, really, but your aversion to the waking world isn't a… riddle, y'know."

"Don't start on that again." Finally the blank face had cracked, showing an exasperated glare.

"Well, then hurry up and start answering me. What happened?"

"Nothing happened. I woke up earlier than usual and came down here."

"You were smoking," Harry said, motioning towards the cigarette in Tom's hand. "I've only caught you at it twice and both times were when you were stressing over something serious."

Tom's face flashed indecipherably for a moment before he looked away, back to the gloomy morning. Something about the situation made Harry pause, and for once he decided that saying nothing might be the best course of action. He sighed and stood, stretching his back.

"Well, I've got to have a piss, then I'm going to go get clothes on. It is cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey in here."

A soft snort. "Potter, there is such a thing as a warming charm."

Harry stopped in the doorway, blinking rapidly. "Well… fuck."

Harry escaped to the low sound of Tom's amusement, smiling to himself.

The mundane paperwork that had needed to be done could not be called exciting, but Harry had been entertained nonetheless. He had convinced Tom to extend his desk a bit and let him move around to the other side, no longer an intrusion but a part of the office. It had not saddened him nearly as much as it had in the past when Tom once again took on his Voldemort guise and met with various Death Eaters, and Harry had found himself amused to watch them trip over themselves to explain their failures or mistakes.

Tom overused the Cruciatus, Harry thought. He had Cruciated no less than a dozen minions for various reasons, and Harry wondered if there ever came a point where the curse became ineffective, where the mind stopped believing the tricks the spell played.

The day had been lackluster at best, tedious at worst. Tom's mood had not improved much as the day went on, often losing himself in thought. Harry had wondered through many of the morning hours about just what had disturbed the man so much, but he hadn't pushed him beyond his usual prodding.

After using the timeturner to take himself back to not long after dinner the day before, Harry hurried back to his dorm. Harry entered to find Neville leaning against what his mind dubbed as 'their' window, silently watching the lights of Hogsmeade in the distance. He and Neville rarely had such an opportune moment to talk. Ron was still with his family and Dean and Seamus were nowhere to be seen, and Harry walked up to watch the view beside the quiet boy.

"Are you going to tell me now?" Harry asked quietly after long minutes of silence, turning his eyes from the glass to Neville.

"What is there to say, really, Harry? I told you in the Room… I follow you. Luna feels the same way."

"So, are you two dating now?" Harry couldn't help but ask the question, a smirk growing on his lips.

"Me and Luna?" Neville squeaked, "No, no, no. Luna…" the brunet grew serious again, sighing. "Until last year, you know how useless I felt. I couldn't do the same things the others could, I didn't have talent for much of anything. So I could grow plants. Who cares, really? I mean, don't get me wrong, I love my plants…"

"Neville, it's alright." Harry chuckled and shook his head. "You don't have to explain what you mean. I get it."

"Yeah, well…" He sighed. "Anyway, last year, the DA really helped me. I felt… like I was a part of something great, like I actually was worthy to be considered your friend. For the first time in my life, I wasn't invisible. I had watched you and Ron and Hermione all those years, seen the horrible things you went through. I wasn't blind like a lot of people. I didn't see the Boy-Who-Lived since Gran was against fairy tales. Said it would rot my brain or something. I didn't grow up like most Wizarding kids did hearing stories of your greatness. I saw a boy who really was a lot like me, whose parents were gone like mine, and who had the whole world sitting on his shoulders and was breaking under the weight."

Harry shifted uncomfortably, looking away. He was a bit perturbed by how accurate and observant Neville was. He knew, of course, that the boy had been growing more confident, but even the year before he wouldn't have imagined this level of honesty from him.

"Anyway, you had enough things going on last year, even though I knew you would be there for me if I needed you. Luna felt the same. She… she really understood me, being an outcast in her own house and laughed at by even her dormmates. You were the first person to not laugh at her like she was an idiot for what she thought, just like you were for me. I used to resent the Sorting Hat for not putting me in Hufflepuff like it considered, because I might have fit in more there… but then, I wouldn't really know you, would I? And I'd still be afraid of my own shadow and of standing up for what was right. When you started being… strange… this year, I talked to Luna and she told me what was happening. And she asked me what I would do if you went Dark. I told her I'd follow you to the end of the earth."

Harry ignored the uncomfortable gratitude swelling in his chest and latched on to a different matter. "How did she know?"

"She said the Wrackspurts had told her."

Harry gave a wry smirk, but decided to leave further questioning on that to Luna herself. "Do you realize what this entails, Neville? Following me means being a Death Eater. It means killing and following Voldemort."

Neville cringed and looked away, and Harry watched him solemnly. He couldn't imagine the boy really going through with this, really fighting so harshly. He was thankful for the sentiment of following him, but he just couldn't see Neville working out with the Death Eaters.

"I know what you're thinking." Harry pulled himself from his reverie and caught hazel eyes which shone gold in the moonlight. "You're thinking I couldn't handle it, right? I don't blame you. I don't know if I could really, and I don't think I want to take life. I want to be a MediWizard, you know."

Harry nodded, personally thinking it would make a fine occupation for Neville.

"And not some crap one, either, that would just leave well enough alone and leave patients to rot. I want to be a good MediWizard who cares about his patients, who won't give up until a solution is found. And I guess because of that, the idea of, umm, k-killing people doesn't sound all that nice. But I don't want to follow the Light only because it is what I was raised on. I don't even know what side I follow. Sure, I don't think blood purity is all that important, but if the Dark is something you follow, Harry, then there must be something about it that is important, right? And wouldn't the Dark need people who know a thing or two about healing and antidotes, anyway?"

"And Bellatrix?"

Neville's face hardened. The effect was muted by his habitually innocent eyes and genial face, but the expression was nearly fierce enough to be called a scowl. "Oh, I'd kill her. Easy. I'd be allowed to, right?"

A smile slowly blossomed across Harry's face and he laughed, quietly but with true emotion. He turned and impulsively hugged the other boy, laughing all the while. Harry didn't know why he was so amused or why his smile wouldn't fade, but he was thankful for this boy beside him. There was a gap between them, as there was between Harry and all his past connections, but just as with Hermione he could see the first hints of a bridge to connect them. And Harry was glad.

Seamus was lying on his bed, a rather foolish grin on his face. "Merlin but that girl has great jabs. Wouldn't mind gettin' me hands on…"

"You're crude," Dean cut in, rolling his eyes.

"Y'only say that because you've got a set of your own."

Dean scowled at his friend, and Harry resisted the urge to sneer at them. Honestly, teenagers were so annoying.

"I'm serious, Dean! Lavender has the best knobs in the school! Angelina Johnson would beat her out hands down, but since she finished up last year Lavender's it. Though I'm willing to take bets on whether her baz matches up with being a natural blonde…"

Harry escaped to the bathroom for a piss and a shower, needing to escape the banalities of teenage males. The hot water did him good, and even if he wasn't in his natural body he took the time to meticulously condition his hair. It was unnecessary, but the luxury was nice nonetheless.

When he returned to the room, he was glad to see that Dean was already shut in his bed and Seamus didn't look ready to attempt conversing with him next. Harry pulled the towel from his hips and absently dried his short, unruly hair, made entirely black by the water. The boys in his dorm had gotten used to his lack of modesty, as incongruent to the old Harry as it was. He fished out the horrid striped pyjamas with a moue of distaste.

Harry had just climbed into bed, not at all tired but needing the pretense, when Ron tumbled in, pale faced and red eyed. Immediately Harry's heart constricted, and guilt gave a bitter taste to his mouth. But once again, though his affection for Ron and his other younger friends was genuine and that he had caused the pain hurt him, he felt no remorse for having taken away the boy's father, even in a indirect way. He wanted something to say, the quick wit he wrapped around himself like armor failing.

But then, in a situation like this, any words would seem contrived.

Ron hardly even seemed to notice that he was not alone, not even sparing a glance for Harry or the other boys in the room before stumbling to his bed and collapsing limply. Harry sighed and wrestled with himself. Did he have a right to comfort his friend, knowing that he had been the one to send his father to his death? Was it overly selfish for him to want to alleviate his guilt by going to Ron and lending support? He supposed it was, really, but he found his legs moving regardless of his turmoil, taking him toward where Ron was sprawled facedown on top of his covers.

Harry sat beside him quietly for a few minutes, waiting for Ron to speak. Seamus opened his mouth several times as if to comment, but a glare from Harry made him turn back to his nighttime ritual. Harry sighed silently and placed a hand on Ron's bicep. "Ron," said Harry. "Come on, Ron. Talk to me."

Harry was ignored.

"Come on, mate, tell me what happened."

When Ron finally spoke, his voice was rough and severely muted by the covers his face was pressed into, but many mornings of dealing with Tom grumbling into his pillow had given Harry a talent for understanding muffled speech. "He's dead. My dad is dead. He was missing all day, but then his body appeared at the ministry. He… he…"

Harry sighed again as a sob broke Ron's explanation, the redhead's shoulders shaking silently. Harry knew the best thing to do was ignore this for the moment, as Ron's pride would not appreciate his tears being commented on. Harry merely let the hand that had been resting on his friend's arm stroke it softly, providing silent comfort. Harry felt rather glad that Lucius had had the courtesy to return the body, giving the Weasleys something to bury. He wondered how bad of shape the body had been in by that point, however.

"Mum's gone round the twist. She keeps acting like nothing's happened." Another sob broke through, but it sounded ironic and depreciating. "Did nothing but load us up with food all day. But her eyes… oh Merlin her eyes…"

"Shh," Harry said softly. "Sleep would do you good, you know? We'll get through this."

"I just wish I knew why." And suddenly Ron turned, bright blue eyes rimmed in agitated red. "What did Dad do to deserve to die?"

Harry withdrew his hand and steepled his fingers together, looking at the bedspread before answering softly. "I don't think it had much to do with deserving death, Ron. Lots of people died last night, the papers said. Your dad was just there, I bet. This is war, and he was stuck in the middle when the forces of one side went against the other."

"When I find out who did this, I will kill them."

Harry didn't think he had ever heard Ron sound more resolute, and he hid the cringe his friend's words provoked. He wondered, for a moment, if that was technically referring to him or to Lucius before noting in his head that despite the soft spot he had for Ron and Hermione, Ron would never get the chance to kill either. Harry was actually quite surprised by the protective vehemence that came over him when he thought of Ron killing Lucius. The man was no longer his toy, and it seemed that Harry had come to regard him as a friend in the last months. Curious, that. Harry chose not to respond to Ron at all, in case his tone or expression gave away the glare that he was smothering.

"Um, guys?" Harry looked up to see Neville shifting nervously from foot to foot, a hesitant smile on his face. "Is it alright if I turn out the light?"

Ron didn't move, eyes now staring at his open bed curtains, but Harry returned Neville's smile. "Yeah, I think sleep is something we all need."

Harry stood and stared at Ron until the boy have a disgruntled sigh and moved himself under the covers, not even bothering to disrobe or take off his shoes. Harry let him be, his friendship not extending to stripping and dressing the redhead. He made his way to his own bed and grimaced at closed his eyes at the wishful thought of returning to Riddle Manor to crawl in bed with Tom. It was a nice thought, but Harry really had no wish to appear as clingy as that would make him seem. Or was it 'make him be'? And then Harry remembered that he technically was in bed with Tom in this moment, the timeturner having allowed him to come back to this night. How disappointing, that even if his pride could be conquered that he could not run to the manor.

Harry snorted and forced himself under the cold blanket, forgoing the even colder sheet. The cheap cotton felt wrong after the brush of silk from what had been for him the night before… but Harry needed to get away from that train of thought.

As it was, sleep was evasive.

Hermione stared blankly at Ron as he stumbled, bleary eyed, down the stairs to the common room. Harry winced behind him, already feeling Hermione's disjointed emotions welling up. It was strange to have a sense of what she was feeling, but it helped him to keep her monitored. Right now, he couldn't answer to why she was struggling with the urge to strike Ron, why she wanted to… well, Harry cut himself off from the imagery and forced calm onto her.

"Hey Ron, breakfast is calling, huh?"

The redhead stared and him before giving a hesitant smile. "Yeah, mate."

Subdued, Harry walked ahead of his two silent friends. This was getting out of hand. Between Ron's reticence and Hermione's potion-induced state of vacuity, Harry felt very, very alone all of the sudden. Hermione, hopefully, would be back to normal by the end of the day; Tom had predicted no more than thirty-six hours of adjustment to the potion, so she should be back to something resembling normal by lunch. He would still have to keep half an eye on her to calm any wrathful spurts, but she would once again be able to function without watchful eyes on her.

"G'morning Harry."

Harry blinked and turned, eyes catching on Parvati. "Hullo there." He paused as he noticed her wan pallor. "Is something wrong?"

"Ah…" she smiled thinly. "Nothing to worry about, Harry." She glanced back at the other two thirds of the golden trio and pitched her voice low. "She was thrashing in her sleep, my lord."

Harry nodded to show he had heard. He had asked her to keep an eye on Hermione in the dorm to be sure nothing happened while he was unable to be there. "It shouldn't happen again tonight. I have assurances the aftereffects should pass by this afternoon. Did you stay up all night watching her or something? You look like death warmed up."

The girl grimaced plainly. "It isn't something I can talk about here. Let's just say… I don't look forward to the twenty-third."

Harry remained in the dark, but nodded nonetheless. "Well, take care of yourself, alright?"

"Thank you, my lord," she whispered, speeding up to get ahead of the bulk of the Gryffindors filing down the many flights of stairs. Harry assumed she was trying to catch up to her sister.

Harry wasn't expecting to be set upon by a rather obese barn owl the second he stepped into the Great Hall, but the narrow, loopy handwriting was all it took to know. Dumbledore wanted to see him after classes.

Hazel eyes trailed after the boy as he left the Great Hall, hand clenched tight around a small square of parchment. From the closed expression and tense posture, along with the way green eyes had flicked to the seat the Headmaster was currently beaming out from, they deduced the old man had called Potter in to see him. This could be nothing, but it could also be very bad, as Dumbledore had been thoughtful throughout the entire day before.

And when Dumbledore was thoughtful, people were sent out to die in the name of his own sense of righteousness.

The watcher decided to risk their cover to see what was to come, because they could not be caught unawares. Too much rode on the skinny shoulders of the boy for them to let this pass.

Age-lined fingers idly traced the surface of cooled tea. Albus's mind was nowhere near his office currently as he awaited an audience with his most famous student. His mind was over a century in the past, writhing impotently in convoluted circles within circles. How could everything go so wrong in such a short period of time? Though he knew it could surely be worse, control seemed to be slipping from his grasp and he was no longer able to predict every turn.

Would history repeat itself? As he had watched the young Malfoy join hands with Harry, his only thought had been that time had a horrible sense of humor. The two had practically been at one another's throats for their entire tenure in Hogwarts, and then suddenly they make mysterious amends and call a truce in front of the entire student body? Albus's stomach wrenched.

Part of Albus thought he was being over-hasty. All of his instincts kept saying that he should do something about his charge's growing freewill, but every time he examined the boy's activities Harry came off as mild and supple as he'd been since he was a first year, if a filled with a bit more teen angst. But that was to be expected after the trials he had been through, so Albus let the discrepancies slide. What good was a mindless saviour, after all?

But the more he let slide, the more willful Harry became. It was nothing jarring, nothing spectacular, but Albus prided himself on the details. And the details told him that his most important chess piece was slipping away, gaining to much of a mind of its own. But how could he curb the obstinate boy without destroying the tragic personality he had cultivated over the years? He needed the boy to be able to deal with the public; he would be no good broken.

Again, Albus was getting ahead of himself. The boy was simply rebelling, surely. Once he had worked through the stage, he would once again be ready to take on his adversary, finally ridding the world of the monster Albus had unintentionally created. A sigh. Tom had been a bad egg from the beginning, it had been foolish of him to think he could change that.

A chime sounded from a small silver plaque on his desk, glowing faintly as 'Harry Potter' was letter by letter etched upon it. Harry had finally answered his summons and had given the password.

"Come in, Mister Potter," Albus said with a benign grin that was audible in his voice, smile only widening as the messy head that was so like young James's had been poked through the door. And those eyes, Lily's eyes for sure, peering with curiosity. But Lily's eyes they were no more, and Albus's smile became strained as he caught a glimpse of true loathing before it flitted away.

"You wanted to see me, Professor?"

"Hello, my boy, I wish we were meeting under better circumstances."

Harry ran a hand through his hair and nodded, seating himself in the chair. Albus kept twinkling eyes on his every movement, trying to analyze every nuance. The boy seemed unwilling to meet his eyes.

"Tea? Sherbet Lemon?"

"No thank you, sir. I just finished dinner."

Albus tried another route. "Are your classes going well?"

A bewildered scrunched expression formed itself, incredulousness rolling off the boy in waves. "Fine, sir."

"The workload isn't too much this year? It is nothing so bad as your NEWT year will be, but from my memory sixth year held quite a lot of changes in the curriculum."

The boy's left eye twitched. "Can we please get to the point, Professor?"

Albus sighed in resignation, seeing the moodiness inherent in teens presenting itself. He tried a different tactic, hoping the loosen the boy's defensive nerves and elicit more candid responses. "How is young Mister Malfoy?"

Harry blinked rapidly. "Umm, Malfoy? I don't know, really. We only just called this truce…"

"Oh Harry, you needn't be shy," Albus said with a wave of his hand, though a tiny niggling doubt surfaced. Was he reading too much into this, seeing too many similarities to his own past and superimposing them? No. The signs were there. "I am aware of your… closeness with Mister Malfoy."

The scrunched expression was back. "Excuse me?"

"Your… relationship with the young Malfoy."

"Rela…" For a moment it looked as though the boy was holding back a laugh, lips quivering, but any thoughts to that end ran from Albus' mind as Harry's face contorted with anger, embarrassment. "You think I'm…" Indignity now, contorting the young face. "I like girls."

"One does not necessarily have to be attracted to a specific sex, you know, Harry my boy…" Albus floundered, watching the boy's face. Those eyes still avoided his, only fueling all the suspicions writhing under the surface. Could he have misinterpreted the situation?

"No. I like girls. Pretty, soft, giggly girls. Girls are great… uhh… And I love boobs. Boobs are just great, aren't they Headmaster?"

Ah. Denial, then. It was common at this age, not to mention his muggle upbringing. Perhaps he was not aware it was acceptable? Well, not to many… but the Wizarding world had held old fashioned beliefs for a very long time, the true old beliefs of the ancient Greeks and Romans, seeing it as common enough but meant to be ignored. There would always be those heavily against the idea, as there would always be those to practice it. It was just the way of things.

"I am afraid I would not know, Mister Potter."

The boy did a double take, finally locking eyes with Albus and staring. Albus was momentarily taken aback by the calculating glint that overtook the vibrant green. He could practically envision the gears whirring behind the boy's eyes, though he wasn't sure what, exactly, had sparked this. He knew, however, that the look was far too cold for the boy he had come to know these years, and an uneasy feeling bloomed.

"Harry?"

The boy snapped out of it and looked away, bangs shielding his eyes. "I'm sorry for being so short, sir. My scar has been hurting these last few days, and it makes me snappish."

The change of subject was abrupt, but a new thought formed in Albus' mind, disrupting his misgivings. "Have you been having visions again, my boy?"

"No," he said quickly, too quickly Albus thought. "Just pain. Last night…"

Albus wished he could see the boy's face, his eyes, to read the feelings currently going through his mind. There was something off and Albus couldn't pinpoint it. His fingers tightened around his teacup. "Are you sure, Harry, that you did not get a vision of the attack on the Ministry?"

A long pause. "I only felt death, sir. No vision."

"You were put into the hospital wing, I was told. I was away rallying the Order, but young Ronald said you awoke screaming."

He saw a tensing of the boy's muscles and the doubt turned into fear. Albus was missing something, something big. Could he have been wrong? Was he losing his chance to end this war? He was but an old man anymore, he could not win this war without his weapon. Questions spiraled through his mind, and Albus forced his breathing to stay steady and his apprehension hidden. If there was something, he couldn't risk the boy knowing he was onto him.

"May I go, sir? I have homework for Defense that needs to be done."

Albus nodded, straining to replace his erased smile. "Of course, my boy. Take care to rest well, won't you? And see that Mister Weasley is coping."

The boy left without another word, leaving Albus staring at where his phoenix sat taciturnly on his perch, not asleep as Albus had assumed so close to his burning day.

"What say you, old friend?"

A quiet, unsure trill was his response.

Albus stopped his fruitless worrying and pulled a book down from a shelf behind his desk, already flipping through it. There was work to be done, and he only hoped he was not too late.

He would know the truth.

Blooper - Draco the Nun/ Empy and Tsurai

(stemming from accidentally typing in 'Sister Malfoy' instead of 'Mister Malfoy')

Draco: I would NEVER be a nun! That cloth hat would severely mess up my perfect hair, and the fashion is so last century! Really, monochrome does nothing for my complexion. I require deep jewel tones to contrast with my fair colouring. Come to think of it, I really need to talk to the Dark Lord about those drab uniforms...
Tom: /twitch/ Avada Kedavra...Oh thank MERLIN.
Lucius: I think I should be upset... but I just can't bring myself to be. Thank you, my lord. /pause/ Though I really must bring up that my son did have a minor point on the quality of the robes standard issue for Death Eaters...
Tom: /shakes wand threateningly/ I don't bloody CARE what you think! I love black satin, so that's what you're staying in!
Bella: What about black lace? I like black lace, and it would go ever so wonderfully with my crazed eye-sparkle and blood-spattered front. /grin/
Harry: /cough/avadakedavra/cough/
Tom: Potter, why did you kill her?
Harry: Uh, I like green?
Tom: /shrug/ Yeah, okay. /stares into Harry's eyes/ I like green, too.

The next day
All death eaters are dressed in a lurid green during the raid.
Aurors: /grin/ This will be SO easy.

Meanwhile
Harry and Tom have mansex.

The END! /dances/

PS. Lucius was happy, right up until an Auror got him.. With a tripping hex. Over a cliff.

Revised: 3/20/09