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My Heart Burns

Chapter I: In The Shadows

SsSsS

A dreamer is one who can find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.

SsSsS

A year.

A year has passed swiftly since he had awoken from the sleep that claimed the lives of a muggle family.

Harry Potter remembered nothing of that night, or so he lead them to believe. Albus Dumbledore retrieved the young, broken body himself that very night, as a variety of endless, silver trinkets claimed the wards around Number 4 had fallen. The old headmaster, along with his dark but loyal pet Severus Snape arrived to find nothing but fire.

How the Potter boy had managed to come out unscathed would be a mystery for many more years.

Having no other choice, thanks mostly in part to the Ministry of Magic, Dumbledore took Harry to the safe haven known of Hogwarts. That is where the orphan stayed. He lived in a tower on the seventh floor of the grand castle, the dorms of Gryffindor, since then. The staff arrived in time for the new term to find a young man in a child's body. Harry was quiet in nature, never speaking unless prompted. Never disrespectful, never questioning. Always the same blank personality, save for the startled paranoia and near constant tremble of his left arm.

Upon inspection by the school's mediwitch, Madam Pompfrey, no other injury could be found on Harry, aside from the obvious that was born of starvation and assault.

For now, it was quite known among the adults that young Harry Potter had been abused. There were some who believed, Pompfrey and McGonagall namely, who were outspoken are caring, that the esteemed headmaster had known about the Dursley's treatment of the Boy-Who-Lived. They would not dare to question Albus though, not even for what it would be worth to the small boy.

sSsSs

The castle was alive now with hundreds of souls, students and staff filled the Great Hall, anxious and awaiting the verdict. Where will Harry Potter be sorted? Gryffindor, where the brave dwell? Hufflepuff, who, for all their honorable traits went ignored? Or Ravenclaw, whose wit was a prized quality? Or, perhaps even Slytherin, where live the serpents, the cunning and cold liars, who could find no other friends than with themselves. Every living and non-living entity waited with bated breath for the answer.

"Slytherin!"

So, a serpent? Many sighed together in anguish, for they believed their savior was a lost cause.

sSsSs

So much green. Shades of emerald, forest, and jade found Harry. But this was alright. Green calmed him like no other color could. The Sorting Hat had promised him greatness that night, and Harry felt the long lost spark of hope once again.

He hadn't figured himself to be ambitious, not at first. Freedom was all he'd ever dreamed of, all he'd ever really desired. Love, something Harry had never known, was a distant thing, something to never be sought. For, if he could not be loved, how could he ever love in return? Freedom was solitary, it needed no one else to be fulfilled.

Perhaps then, the want of freedom was truly ambitious.

The other students in Slytherin greeted him all differently. Malfoy offered his hand in what could only be considered an agreement. His bodyguards had said nothing as Harry accepted reluctantly. Other, older Slytherins nodded in congratulations. The rest watched Harry in suspicion, some with hostility. The remaining boys of first year were quiet, and hesitantly sized each other up. Harry kept silent, as he always would, eyeing them all in his own brand of permanent reservation.

sSsSs

Professor Snape could be a problem.

Already he had deemed Harry a celebrity of annoying existence. Harry found most of his teachers acceptable, until he'd met the potions master. He would be an obstacle, and a hateful nuisance at best. But Harry could overcome this slight easily in the face of his past concerns. Snape would never measure up to Vernon. Potions, ultimately, would be worth it.

The other instructors, well, were only just that. McGonagall was quite good, strict, but productive. Flitwick, perhaps too soft, but intelligent. Sprout was a well enough teacher, and Harry greatly enjoyed the gardening. And Quirrell was… different. Special somehow. In some way Harry could not pinpoint. The turban-clad man, with his stutter and nervous disposition, was too real to be real. The pain Harry felt surging through the scar on his head was an obvious sign of something sinister, or perhaps connecting. What the man could be hiding beneath the façade, Harry did not know. And if it did not directly concern him, Harry did not care to know. He wanted only to learn.

sSsSs

"Mister P-P-Potter? Would y-y-you stay behind, p-p-please?"

The fake stutter of his professor made Harry turn around and gaze at the man. What could he want? Harry had done well in his class so far, so it must not be about his marks. He hoped Quirrell would drop the act for him, as it was as annoying as the newly formed tick in his own left limb.

"Of course, sir. Is there anything wrong?"

"Oh, n-n-no, Mister P-P-Potter. P-Please, sit down?"

It was a question, just as all of Quirrell's sentences tended to be when it came to Harry. Finding a chair just in front of the professor's desk, Harry obeyed.

"I'm surprised, Mister P-P-Potter, that you made it into Slytherin." Quirrell continued as he took his own seat behind his desk. "I f-f-figured you for a G-Gryffindor."

"I have gotten that a lot, sir. Everyone believes Slytherin to be evil, and they think someone with my fame should have been in Gryffindor. They think I'm evil just because I am ambitious and cunning."

"And what do you think, Mister P-Potter?"

Taking a moment to watch his teacher, Harry stalled, pretending to think the question over. In reality, Harry had already made his decision.

"Well, sir, I don't really think people are evil. Or good. It's all just perspective. Just an opinion. Humans judge each other by their own circumstances, or by the views they are taught to believe."

It was the most Harry had ever spoken, to anyone. He saw Quirrell give him a brilliant smile, as if Harry's words were exactly what he'd wanted to hear.

"You're very smart, Mister P-Potter, for one so young. That was a very w-wise thing to say."

Harry gave a small smile of his own.

"Thank you, Professor. But I'm sure it would be alright if you just call me Harry."

The man across the desk had the decency to actually blush before he mumbled a nervous affirmative and let Harry go in time to make it to the next class.

As Harry walked the corridors, staying a good distance behind his classmates, he finally took notice of the absence of shaking in his arm. It was calm for the first time in over a year.

sSsSs

Certain looks from certain people were beginning to irk Harry. Dumbledore, for what is was worth, kept eyeing him with sadness that seemed to try to take over the old man's entire body. McGonagall gave him a curt nod of approval. Snape sneered. And Quirrell's smiles were getting larger and more like a smirk everyday.

The attention was very curious.

Harry mostly ignored it. Or, at least attempted to ignore it. He would always look quickly away from the headmaster, as if pretending he'd never seen the old man to start with. He would nod back at the transfiguration teacher and sometimes give her a slight smile. Harry could only look blankly back at Snape.

He would take the same approach with Quirrell as he had the headmaster. Just act as though it didn't matter and that he hadn't even noticed. For Quirrell was starting to worry Harry. It was as if the man were trying to convey some unknown emotion through his expression. As if he knew something about Harry, as if they shared some secret. Harry fretted that his Defense instructor had something planned, something that involved him in some way.

Something of which Harry knew if should not have any part of.

But that seemed all for naught, as Quirrell continued holding Harry back after class, for more of their supposed talks.

"Hello, H-Harry. H-how are you today?"

"I'm just fine, sir. How are you?"

Wishing to get the pleasantries over, Harry took his usual seat before the desk and waited for the interrogation to begin.

"I am well, th-thank you. I was wanting to know about y-you though, H-Harry. You're an awfully q-quiet boy."

"Oh, yes. I usually don't like talking to people much, sir. I don't find I have a lot in common with my peers."

"That's j-just fine, H-Harry. But, why do y-you talk to me? I h-hope I d-don't p-p-pressure y-you because I'm a t-t-teacher?"

"Not at all, sir. I enjoy our discussions."

"W-wonderful!"

Quirrell seemed so pleased. Harry couldn't help but feel nervous.

"Sir? If you don't mind my asking, why do you want to talk to me? It seems a job more suited to a head of house…"

Harry left his question open, so as to let the man interpret it however he would. It could tell Harry a lot about him by his reaction.

"Oh, I-I-I have heard from the nurse that s-s-some terrible things have h-happened to you, H-Harry. I do not know the d-details, as I believe y-you should be the one to tell them, b-but I would like you to be able to c-come to me if you ever n-n-need to."

Shock was Harry's initial emotion. He hid it well, under the blank face he wore constantly, but he was surprised. Maybe he'd just imagined some misdeed out of paranoia?

"Thank you, sir."

sSsSs

Draco Malfoy adored sugar.

That much was apparent as the blond inhaled the desserts that laden the table that night. Halloween had come and the Great Hall filled with loud students abuzz with excitement. Harry was never one for sweets, as he'd never had them before. Malfoy had goaded him into trying some, and Harry found them lacking substance.

Harry sat between the ravenous blond and another, equally aloof boy by the name of Theodore Nott. This Nott had a silent way of going about, all while observing anything and anyone around. Harry found Nott's temperament to his liking, and the two would sit in companionable quiet together many nights in the library, away from nosey housemates.

After watching Malfoy in something akin to disgust, Harry tore his eyes away and looked around. The students were overly rambunctious tonight, no doubt due to the holiday and the sugary treats. Harry turned his sight to the head table then, to the staff. Many of the teachers were making merry along with the students, though two were naturally holding back. Snape, who sat with his normal sneer, glared wholeheartedly at the noisy hall.

Harry then met the eyes of Quirrell, who was staring directly at him.

As his own green eyes met the teacher's, a tinge of electricity ran over his scar, nearly causing Harry's entire body to shiver. A flicker of knowing passed through Quirrell's vision, as he pierced Harry with his eyes. To look away was all Harry wanted, to try to look away even, but he could not. Harry was thoroughly caught. He suddenly found himself prey in the trap of a predator.

This new-found truth filled Harry with dread. The once hidden clues presented themselves to him and he found himself disturbed by what they told him. Quirrell had been watching Harry, observing him from afar. Most likely, he had seen something he liked.

Quirrell had judged him, and had found Harry guilty. And that, to Quirrell, was a good thing.

Quote at the beginning by Oscar Wilde.