BEYOND SECRETS AND LIES
By: Chiki Yumeshisa

Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I am up to no good….okay fine, I don't own Harry Potter...all original ideas/characters are mine to claim.

AN: Wow, thanks for the reviews everyone! Thanks to Thee-Unknown-Factor, optimistic girl94, Christofori's Dream, Cole, Anigym, Lightning-Storm222, Ginny M, and Mimiheart for your encouragement. I'm truly happy to see that some people are still liking this fanfiction, and I hope that this next chapter will answer some questions that may arise. Now, onto the story!

>Chiki

Warnings: None. Please enjoy.

Chapter 5
- Invisible -

A day passed.

Two.

On the third day, Harry could not help but wonder why Ron and Hermione had not come to pester at him. In the course of the three days past, they had not spoken to him once, not even when they were near seatmates in some classes together. It was not as if they were giving him the cold shoulder. It was more as though he did not exist to them, as they went about their daily routines.

'Because friends worry about each other.'

Hermione's words echoed sadly in his mind. If anything, he missed her talking to him the most. Unlike the others, she had been accepting without question and friendly despite what she knew and had seen.

Was it really so bad to make friends?

No, he told himself, no. He couldn't bear to put them at risk. He couldn't bear to be laughed at again or distanced. The way he was invisible now, he could deal with but he couldn't help but note that hollow part within himself whenever he saw them.

Once or twice he met their eyes, but it was short, before he looked away. No smile, no nod of the head, no greeting whatsoever; like the moment of shared passing had not taken place at all.

I wanted to be invisible. He could live with it. And so he did, for as the days went by, he lost count of the amount of classes he attended and concentrated on his homework and his studies. Soon, the thought of Ron and Hermione's friendships dwindled.

The other students seemed to let him be as well, with the occasional few that giggled as he walked by or tried small talk with him over his fame in the papers. But even that got to him, and he tried his best to stay away from the throngs of people so as not to have to deal with that.

His studies were neither good nor bad as usual. Defense Against the Dark Arts was his favorite class and it fascinated him. Professor Lupin was a jolly teacher, very easy going and very practical. But he was having a hard time in Potions and Herbology, and did not have the courage to ask someone for help. So he spent hours in the library after dinner, trying to work things out on his own. When the library closed for the night, he went back to the Common Room and there he worked until he fell asleep over his books. It had become a sort of ritual, as the weeks went by. He kept to his schedule rigorously, not missing a meal and dutifully taking his pills when he had to.

His grades began to improve, to his delight, but his nights did not. Sometimes he would wake in a cold sweat, or have a dreamless sleep, void of anything. It was getting better though and soon, his pale thin face began to get some color and start getting plump.

It was the middle of December, a week away from the Christmas holidays, when things started to move again. Everyone was getting ready to go home for the break, and Harry had made up his mind to stay at the school. Hogwarts wasn't a bad place, he realized, though he did miss the dorms of Durmstrang.

Professor Snape had become even more condescending now that the holidays were just around the bend, and had begun to load the students with homework. Harry had had his fill of it, but he wasn't ready to back down. He could practically hear Snape gloating already, and Harry vigorously dipped his quill into his ink.

The paper they had to write was about Bolithin, a plant that prevented boils from breaking out on the skin and was also used to soothe burns and blisters after coming into contact with something hot. The problem was listing the ingredients and the steps and figuring out how to make the potion work.

Past midnight, Harry felt himself starting to get drowsy. The fireplace was warm and cozy as he sat curled up on the love seat, books in hand and cape thrown over him. His glasses had started to slide down his nose as he nodded off into a doze, but he forced himself to wake up, blinking.

His books fell with a clatter to the floor as he sat up abruptly. His hair was a tousled mess and his clothes were rumpled and awry. He quickly bent to pick up his books but was most surprised when a hand other than his picked them up first. He followed the hand up with his eyes and saw that it belonged to Hermione.

She was dressed down in her sleeping garb, a bathrobe closed around her waist, a soft lilac in color. Her hair was bushier than ever, her round face seeming small compared to it. She held the books out to him.

"Uh….thanks…." Harry heard himself say.

Hermione smiled. "You're welcome." She hugged the bathrobe to herself for a moment before smoothing out her hair. Holding it in place with a ribbon behind her head, she sat down on the couch opposite to him. "I couldn't sleep." She announced. "I was going to the bathroom but I heard someone downstairs. I didn't think you were still up."

Harry put the book down gently on the table. "I couldn't sleep either." He mumbled. "I wanted to finish my paper…"

"Do you mind if I sit here?" She asked motioning to the couch across from him. He glanced up at her, who was looking at him expectantly. He realized that she was willing to leave him alone if he wished it. She was giving him the solitude he had asked from her. But….he suddenly didn't want to be alone. A familiar feeling had coursed through him the minute she had spoken. The feeling of longing – he didn't like being invisible.

He shrugged. "Go ahead…"

So she did, stretching herself out. She watched as he began to open his book again, trying his best to ignore her. She found herself looking down at his parchment, reading his notes and his solutions. "That's a good theory." She said after a while. "But it doesn't quite fit. If you put the ox blood in first, it will thicken and it won't let the leeks melt properly." She pushed herself into a sitting position, aware that his eyes were on her again.

"I've finished mine already." Hermione said. "Do you want me to help you with yours?"

He opened his mouth to answer that he did not need the help – he could do it on his own – but he closed it and nodded. "There are some things I don't understand." He admitted, albeit reluctantly.

Hermione practically jumped on the chance. "I'll help you as best as I can. But tonight, you look exhausted. Perhaps we can go through it tomorrow?"

Looking relieved, Harry nodded. "I guess it is rather late." He began to close his books and pile them together. His movements were slow and shaky even though he screamed at himself mentally to hurry up. But he wanted to savor the moment of talking with another person for just a little while. He had not spoken to anyone but the professors in all the time that had passed, but even in that, there had been a very small amount of words used.

Not that he was getting much further now.

"How have you been, Harry?" Her question came unexpected, the soft gentle tone of her voice causing him to blush.

"I'm fine." He said, automatically as was his reply to that question every time it was asked of him. He cringed at the answer, but his mouth seemed to work faster than his brain. It must have been the right thing to say, because Hermione seemed to look relieved.

She pushed a stray lock of hair away from her face. "We were worried about you, but we thought that if you would rather be alone, we'd give you time. It's been close to a month now, but you still haven't made any friends….."

Harry thought that she was sounding all too much like Madam Pomfrey for his liking. That woman always tittered about his social life and how it was healthier for him to mingle instead of set himself apart. He couldn't help it though: mingling to him was like walking through a line of fire. He was intent on his musings when he heard Hermione saying "….but we understand if you would rather not."

Rather not what?

Feeling stupid, he stammered, "I-I'm sorry, I didn't hear what you said…."

"We're inviting you to go with us to Hogsmeade next week." She repeated.

We?

"Since you've never been there before….you might want to take a look around."

It couldn't be so bad. The thought of being somewhere other than school both excited him and scared him at the same time. Having someone to talk to and hang out with….

He would no longer be invisible.

He turned his face from her. "I would be bothering you….."

She laughed. "Don't be silly. We're inviting you. We want you to have a good time." She stood up, her robes swishing as she did so. "Let's get that report finished so you don't have to worry about it anymore." She made arrangements for him to meet with her the following day right after dinner in the library before she bounded up the stairs to go to bed.
Harry followed soon after, feeling like he was in a dream. Had he really agreed to go? Was he actually willing to go with them?

I should stay away. I can't let them get close to me... one part of his mind said. Nonsense, the other part intervened, it's about time you started picking yourself out of the ashes. His heart leaned heavily with the latter voice, and he couldn't help but feel nervous about the whole idea. He hadn't given her an answer yet, and he had plenty of time to think it over.

Climbing into bed, he felt exhaustion hit him in a wave but it was a good feeling, and for the first time in a long while, he went to sleep and had wonderful dreams.

0-0-0-0-0

He spoke with Hermione again during lunch the next day, before he left to go see Madam Pomfrey as his schedule demanded. When he reached her office, she noted that he seemed different.

"Did you sleep well, dear?" She asked. She was like a mother figure to him by now, as he was to report any dealings or occurrences that had happened throughout the day to her. Everything mattered, she had told him, if it might influence his sickness even more.

"Very well thank you." He replied, almost cheerfully. "And my mark in Transfigurations went up by two." He seemed giddy with the way he rubbed his hands together.

She smiled, and when she did so, her eyes wrinkled at the sides. "That's wonderful to hear." She murmured. She instructed him to walk to the weighing scale as she always did, to check and see if he had lost or gained any pounds. She was satisfied to see that he was steadily increasing in weight instead of the other way around.

She made a note of that on her clipboard before running through her checklist quickly on his health, and listened patiently to him tell her if he had had any strange behavior. For the past three weeks he seemed clean of anything, and today was no different. "My pills are running low, though." Harry told her. "I'll need a new pack soon."

The Madam nodded. "We'll get some in for you today."

As he jumped off the weighing scale, he turned to her. "Madam Pomfrey, I have a question…."

She put down the chart she was holding, using her index finger to leaf through the pages absently. "What is it?"

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, hands in his pockets. He knew that leaving the grounds of Hogwarts was not allowed unless he had permission. After all that had happened…he knew that it was the only fair. Maje would be furious if he left without telling anyone. "A couple of….friends….asked me to go with them to Hogsmeade. Is it safe for me to go?"

Madam Pomfrey paused, looking up for a moment before returning to flip the pages. "I don't see why it wouldn't be. You need the change…but most likely Headmaster Dumbledore will assign you a chaperone."

Harry had thought the answer would be no. The idea of a chaperone made him feel a tad bit upset but he knew that if he refused he would not be allowed to leave the school premises. So he enthusiastically agreed to speak with the Headmaster, and left the office.

He had forgotten to ask who would be his chaperone, so he turned around and was making his way back when he hit someone, sending the person sprawling backward and knocking himself back a few paces.

The books the boy had been holding fell and the bottle of ink burst unceremoniously on the floor in shattered shards, the black liquid creeping its way across the floorboards. Harry stared at it for a moment, mesmerized by the way it seemed to have a life of its own, reaching its black fingers toward him. Then he heard the groan. His head snapped up to look at the boy whom he had knocked over.

It was a boy, younger than him and shorter, wearing the robes of house Hufflepuff, the symbol of the badger stitched neatly into the crest at the left-hand side of his robes. The boy seemed to be of Asian descent. He was light-skinned and had a head full of dark hair that fell in straight strands, wisps of it now sticking up in several directions as he had had a rather rough fall. He groped his way to sit up, his fingers reaching toward his books in a confused manner, head turning left and right.

He put his hand forward slowly, carefully, feeling around.

He was blind.

Quickly, Harry stooped to help him, grabbing the boy's outstretched hand and pulling him to his feet. "I'm sorry, I should have watched where I was going." The boy said, dusting off his uniform. Harry thought it weird that he said that, as he would not have been able to see anyway.

"No, it was my fault." Harry said, bending down to pick up the books. "I should have been more careful."

"Harry Potter?" The boy asked, cautiously. "You're Harry Potter, aren't you?"

Curiosity getting the better of him, Harry peered into the boy's face. "Yes…how can you tell…?" Instead of feeling that pit of dread whenever someone asked his name, he was amazed.

"The sound of your voice, of course." The answer was made to sound as if it were obvious and that the question should not have been asked in the first place. "My ink bottle is completely destroyed, isn't it?"

The way he switched the topic left Harry baffled. "Y-yes….I'm sorry….you can have mine. If I hadn't bumped into you, this wouldn't have happened."

The boy shrugged, carefully tucking the books back into the crooks of his arms when Harry returned them to him. "I have plenty more upstairs. Don't worry." He cocked his head to the side, staring straight at Harry with his unseeing eyes. "My name is Cecil Parley. I'm in third year." He stuck out his hand with his introduction of which Harry shook obligingly. "I don't know if you remember me…."He continued, "But when you were in the hospital wing a few weeks' back after falling into a sort of coma, I was there too."

The pit of dread that had been absent before began to curl in Harry's stomach at his words. That was the day he had overdosed on his pills, and he wished that he could see if Cecil knew of his condition, but the blank staring eyes told him nothing. He hesitated, hand lingering in the young Hufflepuff's before pulling away.

"I don't remember you." He managed to say.

"I was in the sick bed opposite you." Cecil told him. "I heard everything that had happened. I hope you're okay now?"

Anxiety turning into alarm, Harry backed away a step. "I'm fine." He whispered, no longer able to keep the tremble from his voice.

"You're not the only one with problems." The sentence made Harry freeze and stare as Cecil rearranged his books in his arms. "I know exactly how you feel."

Harry blurted, "No you don't. No one will understand what I feel or what I have to go through."

Cecil let a ghost of a smile cross his lips. "Physical problems, mental problems, there's really no difference. We're both handicapped in a way, but you have it easier, Harry. You can see – I don't think I'll ever get the chance to again."

Perplexed, Harry faltered. "Y-you used to be able to see?"

"Yes." Cecil nodded. "Before an accident. But then….you had an accident too, didn't you?"

"It was Bryce." Harry heard himself pleading. "It wasn't me…" He didn't want to touch the subject, and he wished Cecil would just shut up. "Please don't tell anyone."

Cecil waved his hand absently. "Secrets are secrets. I won't tell anyone. But perhaps, you and I are a lot more alike than you think. It was nice meeting you." He dipped his head in a sort of acknowledgement before pausing. "Can you please describe the surroundings?"

"Describe?"

"Where we are, please." Cecil said.

So Harry looked around, at the hallway. "Well, the hospital wing is just behind you to your left, and…and there is a statue of a man made of ivory close to my right side…." He trailed off, wondering what else to say and uncertain as to why exactly he was doing it in the first place. His answer came when a smile spread across Cecil's face. "Approximately 547 steps to get to the Owlery from here."

Now Harry was even more curious. "Steps?"

"I count my steps so I can get to places." Cecil explained. "I don't want to have to use a cane or ask for people's help. So I just memorize how many steps I have to take to get from one place to another." His hand went out to touch the wall. "I memorize the cracks in the wall and the feel of the wood around certain places so I know if I'm close or not. Since I bumped into you, I lost track of my count."

"You memorize everything?" Harry repeated, dubiously.

Cecil winked one big brown eye. "People with problems just have to come up with their own solutions instead of living in fear of them for the rest of their lives." With that, he made his way away from Harry slowly, shuffling down the hallway.

Harry could only stare in fascination after him, his words playing and replaying in his mind before he remembered that he had someplace he had to be too: Professor Flitwick would not be happy if he was late for class again.

0-0-0-0-0

Hermione sat close to the back of the library, where she had seen Harry sitting by himself countless numbers of times during the last few weeks. She and Ron were sitting side by side, and Neville sat across from them, having begged Hermione for help too. Snape had snapped at him earlier and he did not want to face that again. So, she complied, and all three waited for Harry to arrive.

"Why all of a sudden, Hermione?" Ron demanded. "The guy's perfectly content by himself – please don't tell me you imposed on his life again."

She shot him a dirty glare. "He asked me to help him, too! And I do not impose on other people's lives!"

Neville hid behind his books as the two of them bickered. Pretty soon, Ron had gotten up to move and sit next to him, neither one wanting to speak to each other. That was when Harry chose to make his appearance.

"Sorry I'm late." He told them, quite breathlessly. "I had to speak with Dumbledore about….well, about going with you Hogsmeade…"

Hermione eagerly leaned forward. "What did he say, Harry?"

He nodded, slowly. "He said I could go on one condition…." He pushed his glasses up his nose, for emphasis. "I am to be back by dinner time and to see to it that I do not get separated from the group I am with." In all truth, Harry had been amazed when Dumbledore had not even suggested a chaperone. The old man had just smiled knowingly and said, 'You've got more than enough people taking care of you. I think you are capable of leaving school grounds for a day.'

"So you're coming?" Hermione asked, excitedly.

"Do you even want to come?" Ron demanded, somewhat coldly.

Harry heard it and cringed. Did Ron hate him that much? He suddenly felt very vulnerable. Maybe tagging along would only cause more tension. "If you would rather I not, let me know." He didn't mean for his own voice to be so hard and harsh.

Hermione looked from one to the other, two pink spots appearing on her cheeks. "Will you guys stop it? Harry, of course we want you to come…."

Ron never answered, he just got up and left, leaving his books and his bag on the table and did not look back. Harry stayed rooted to the spot, feeling his chest heave up and down as he struggled to control the building emotions inside of him. What had he done wrong this time? His mind swirled with his thoughts: only weeks before Ron had tried to befriend him. Suddenly, he felt light headed and sick.

He managed to sit down heavily beside Hermione, who was instantly alarmed. "Are you all right?"

Dazed, Harry nodded. "I-I just remembered….nothing. Never mind." He had to take several breaths to calm himself down. "That didn't go well, did it?"

Hermione looked in the direction that Ron had walked away in before turning back to him. "He's just upset that I invited you to come along without asking him first." She confessed. "He doesn't know how you will act around us. After all, you have been rather unpredictable."

Unpredictable was the perfect word in Harry's opinion.

Neville glanced up from his page of work. "I wish I could go to Hogmeade." He told them, mournfully. "But I haven't been doing well at all, and at this rate, McGonogall says I'm like to stay in sixth year and never finish."

Hermione shook her head as if to clear her thoughts and what had just passed between Harry and Ron. "Well then! We've got to get working – time is ticking!"

Later that night, when Harry was climbing into bed, he caught sight of Ron entering the room before he could close the curtains to his four-poster. Ron looked in his direction too, before looking away abruptly, getting his pajamas out and starting to take off his cloak.

The others in the room were already fast asleep.

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the atmosphere so thick that one could almost taste it. Then, Harry said, "You're in love with her, aren't you?"

Ron froze, and met his eyes slowly. "What do you know?"

"You love her, don't you? Are you jealous of the way she seems to be interested in someone other than you?"

"You're a prat." Ron snarled. "Do you honestly think you're so high and almighty that you can just brush us off at any time you want to?"

Feeling himself get angry, Harry snapped, "You don't know what you're talking about! You have no right to say that to me – you don't know about anything I have to go through."

Ron seemed to sober up, pulling his clothing on, opening the curtain to his bed and burying himself under his covers. For a long while he stayed silent and Harry thought that perhaps he had fallen asleep. But then, his muffled voice could be heard. "I do have feelings for her – I never want her to get hurt. But the way you treat her isn't fair. Hermione can stand it, but I can't. The least you could do is try to be friendly in return. I thought you were someone admirable."

Stunned, Harry peered into the dark room, not knowing what to say. Admirable? What could possibly be so admirable being as messed up as he was? "A truce, then." He said, finally. "I have never had friends before…" He never continued the sentence, afraid to say anything more.

Ron pulled the covers off his face, and sat up. "Deal."

Nothing more was said between them that night, and when Harry managed to fall asleep, he slept soundly once more.

0-0-0-0-0

Snape pushed the paper away, disgusted. The Daily Prophet was written by a bunch of fools. His mind went back to the letter he held in his hands, the latest report from Madam Pomfrey on Harry's condition. Apparently, the boy seemed healthier than before, and the diet they had placed him on seemed to be working, helping him to gain back that much needed weight.

He put the page down, eyeing the vials he had stored on a rack. He called them 'Potter potion'. The vials were filled with red liquid, containing Harry's blood that had been drawn for the experiments.

'Mental problems' Pomfrey had called it.

The Potters were always mental, Snape thought, bitterly. Finding a cure for Harry's sickness was not in his list of priorities, but at Dumbledore's order, he obliged. So far, he was not having much success.

If there was anyone in the school who knew of Harry's condition and what he was capable of, it would be him. He had wanted to wave the paper in front of Albus' face, to prove his point – Harry was a dangerous person.

The story had been dismissed with the story of Harry surviving the Dark Lord's attack playing in more favor with the crowd. But to those who were in Durmstrang could not have forgotten the incident. He certainly hadn't.

THE BOY WHO LIVED HAS LOST CONTROL. The paper was worn and creased, and underneath the huge lettering was a photo of a boy staring blankly up at the camera, unmoving, as people stood around him wailing. Blood was all over the place, and his body had been thrown carelessly on the floor in a mangled mess.

How could one forget?

That was the day Harry had committed murder.

To Be Continued…..


Cecil Parley is my character.

AN: And there you have it, chapter five is done. I'm sorry I haven't been updating this on a regular schedule, but I have been working on several fics this summer so I do hit this one time and again when an idea comes to mind. I am trying not to involve any of the HP books in my stories so it will not really follow any time lines that the story sets, (this is AU after all). That said, just to clarify and I hope that everyone caught it. Neville mentioned that he would not pass sixth year - therefore, Harry and the gang are in sixth year in my story. .

Please tell me what you think was it good? Did new questions arise? Did any questions get answered? Click that button! (I beg you!)