Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, duh. Also, there's a small quote at the end made by Luna - even though it's technically public domain, I'll make a note that it comes from John Milton's Paradise Lost - one of my favourite books of all time :)

AN: First and foremost - thank you, all my wonderful, faithful readers, for sticking around and waiting for this wretched, overworked author to get her affairs in order and actually start authoring things again!
Anyway, this chapter basically ties all the climactic things together, resolves some tensions, blah blah blah. I like next chapter better - it involves several instances of imbibing dubious mind altering toxins. I guess that's just something else to look forward to :D

Chapter 29: Of Worries and Waking

"Ugh…"

When Harry awoke, he found himself in a strange place…again. It was dark, cold, dry, and utterly, completely empty – a void. Was he dead? He had no way of knowing; he certainly wasn't in heaven, but at least it didn't seem as though he was in hell. Endless, formless blackness stretched on without definition around him; and though nothing about it was solid, Harry found himself able to stand, his feet resting on the sturdiness of nothing. It was odd, he thought, that he didn't feel afraid – in fact, he didn't feel anything; no fear, no pain, no anxiety. He simply felt…comfortable; the place was stunningly familiar, and for reasons unbeknownst to him, he felt at home, and it was almost as though he never wanted to leave.

"You know, it's no wonder you fancy Hogwarts as your own little dollhouse – your mind is rather...bleak."

Harry jumped, spinning about frantically to find none other than a 16-year-old Tom Marvolo Riddle standing behind him, his form defined even in the stark darkness, the coy smile on his face barely keeping the simmering fury beneath contained.

"W-what the hell are you doing here?" Harry cried hoarsely, an odd, vulnerable anger creeping into his voice, as he struggled to keep the inexplicable feeling of violation from creeping over him. Either way, the prospect of being in hell just became all the more likely.

Meanwhile, Tom sighed melodramatically. "It was very clever, I'll admit – the sacrificial dagger. Blessed by magics not of this world, designed to draw out and disperse the life within an object..."

"How do you know that…?" Harry really didn't even know why he was asking, and yet he couldn't keep the defensive, demanding tone out of his voice.

"Why, I saw it, in your memories, of course."

"My, my memories!" Harry exclaimed, outraged.

"Yes…" Tom drawled, "My favourite part was when you lit your uncle on fire – brilliant, that. Classic comedy."

Harry exhaled shakily. "Then we're really…really in my…"

"Your mind? Yes."

"Well, then get out!"

For the first time since Harry had met him, Tom allowed an undisguised, genuine glare to break through his mask. "I'm afraid I can't do that."

"Well why the bloody hell not?" Harry snarled.

Tom looked at him with a ravenously fascinated look on his face. "Well, that's actually quite an interesting story. Your knife - it released me from the diary...it would have forced me to pass on...if it weren't for you."

"What?"

"Well Harry, you see when I told you, before, that I'm a memory, I wasn't exactly telling the truth – not all of it, anyway."

"What are you talking about?"

"The soul," Tom began, "Is a very curious thing, a curious thing indeed. It can be stretched, thinned, expanded, ripped out, and even split into pieces – but the odd thing is that no matter how cleanly the pieces are cut, how tightly they're shackled down and stowed away, they'll always yearn for each other, and always strive to reunite."

The words meant something, something important, Harry knew, but he couldn't quite make the deduction; he couldn't quite register the only logical conclusion – he wasn't sure he wanted to either. "More drivel –"

"Imagine," Tom continued, ignoring Harry, "What would happen if a soul piece was loosened from its bonds – with powerful magic, such as the magic of the gods, for instance – it would try to reattach itself to one of its other pieces, wouldn't it? If the other piece was too far away, the freed soul piece would just pass on, like it was supposed to – but if there was another piece nearby, it would latch on tightly, and never let go…"

"But there isn't," Harry insisted, "Just me, you, and Luna. You – you're dead, and this, this is just my mind playing tricks on me –"

"Really? You think so?"

"Yeah, you bloody deaf?"

Tom chuckled amusedly. "You've always known, Harry Potter...that we're connected; that you're...special..."

"Oh, will you just shut up?"

Tom looked at him with a condescending leer. "Did you really think that what happened that night was without consequence? That nothing changed, that the killing curse reflected right off you and left naught more than a cut?" He traced a slender finger down Harry's frozen, pale face. "No..." his voice was soft, hissing, "Cracked...that's what your soul is – not quite broken, yet not quite healthy; it absorbed part of the curse. But the rest – it attacked my older self, and there was just enough power left in the curse to split him in two. The part of the soul housing my older self's spirit fled, but the other half – it was still strong enough to latch onto a body that was not its own, one with room for it to fit, one with a broken soul; I wonder where it went? "

"No," Harry whispered hoarsely, trying desperately to level his ever quickening ragged breathing. "Impossible – I…I can't be – I'm…I'm me, Harry Potter – I'm not him!"

"Hush…" Tom said softly, "Of course you're not." His eyes flickered to the side. "But that is."

With trepidation, Harry's eyes followed Tom's, widening in horror when they came to rest on an atrocious, enormous shape – a towering form that could only be described as a oozing blob of black goo. It climbed high up into the blackness, bubbling furiously, and yet seemingly restrained to a corner.

"It's called a horcrux," Tom whispered in Harry's ear, "I'm one too – but much better looking, if I do say so myself. We're pieces of Tom Riddle's soul – who knows, on the other hand...maybe you are too..."

Harry took a feeble step back. "W-what's it doing? Why's it just sitting there?"

Tom sighed. "I can't quite seem to figure that out either – it seems to be restrained, somehow."

Momentarily relieved, Harry mustered up the courage to look Tom in the eye. "You're stuck here then, too, in my mind?"

Tom hummed softly, belying the flickering torrent of anger sparking in his ruby-red eyes. "So it would seem – I explored this wretched dump a bit, while you were asleep; I didn't find anything, though. Sometimes, I thought I saw something that looked like a door – but then I'd run over, and it would disappear. It almost as though...something's trying to keep us here, lost, in the darkness..."

Harry's eyes narrowed.

"It was the same with your memories, of course – I managed to find and sift through a few of them, but others; they were just blurs, or dark spots...under normal circumstances, I'd never say this, but your mind is a rather frightening place, Harry Potter."

Harry didn't respond, his mind was too busy furiously piecing things together, ignoring the mental anguish that threatened him through the recent direction of the conversation, before he nodded slowly in understanding. "It's a failsafe..." he mused.

"A failsafe?" Tom echoed incredulously, "Your mind has a failsafe?"

"I have natural mental shields," Harry said quietly, "I – apparently, some higher power doesn't want anyone but the owner of this body to have full access."

Tom's eyes flashed with understanding. "And only one person can have uncontested ownership of a body."

Harry nodded. "Only one of us will make it out of here…"

"And the other will be imprisoned, locked down just like that," Tom concluded, gesturing toward the oozing blob in the corner.

"Yeah," Harry replied quietly, the cogs in his brain already turning with impressive speed.

"Well, you might as well just give up now," Tom said condescendingly, "We've already established that I'm the stronger –"

He never completed his sentence, though, as he doubled over in pain, shielding his recently attacked groin as he gasped for air.

"You little cretin –"

"You forget, Tom," Harry sneered, "That there's no wands, no magic in here – just fists and feet. And while you may know hundreds more spells than me, I – well, let's just say I was around when Dudley when through his Bruce Lee phase."

With that, he didn't hesitate to sprint forward and drop-kick Tom in the chin; but Tom was prepared this time, and while he took the kick, he also caught Harry's leg, and dragged him down to the ground. Harry panicked when the larger boy tackled him, beginning immediately to pound Harry in the face – but Harry managed to roll to the side and sharply elbow his opponent in the jugular, scurrying out of his reach.

As Harry managed to catch his breath, spitting out a bloody tooth (it's only imaginary, only in my mind, he reminded himself), Tom stumbled to his feet, wiping some blood off his chin as a furious scowl formed on his face. When Tom caught his breath first, and rushed him, Harry panicked a moment, but then darted to the side; Tom's legs were longer, so he would catch up eventually, but Harry could not help but hope that that would come after he had thought up some brilliant plan.

Such as...bingo.

Harry leapt to the side, changing directions erratically to disguise his purpose, as looked over his shoulder to ascertain that Tom was following.

"You going to run forever, Harry?"

Harry barked out a laugh, firmly planting his feet on the ground. "As if! Bring it!"

With a nasty sneer, Tom lunged forward – Harry didn't block, nor did he run; he ducked, slipping under Tom's arm, and, for once, thanking the gods for his diminutive height. Spinning sharply around, Tom was sent stumbling backward with the well-timed kick Harry planted in his core – but instead of catching his footing or tumbling to the ground, he froze, or rather, was frozen.

Harry watched with satisfaction Tom fell backward; as the oozing black mass of Voldemort-horcrux began to swallow Tom up, eating at his arms and legs.

Meanwhile, Tom's pale face twisted into an ugly, wretched scowl, as his breathing became laboured with panic, and then fury. "You'll regret this, Harry Potter, I swear! You're mistaken if you think I'll just sit here, quietly – I'll be back, you'll see!" He snarled, trying desperately to free his arms and legs, failing. "You won this time, but that doesn't mean you've defeated me – I'll still be here; I'll always be here, waiting for you to grow weak, for you to falter – for you to realize what you really are! Don't think this is the end – I won't let you forget, ever! I'll be here to remind you; in your dreams, in your fantasies, in your nightmares – every time you close your eyes! I –"

Finally, the black ooze engulfed him, and his screams morphed into muffled gurgles. However, Harry was given no chance to relish in his victory or consider Tom's frenzied threats, as a sudden wave of dizziness hit him, and within a moment, sleep took him.

He was running, as the void closed in on him, waiting to swallow him up. Suddenly, nothingness seemed so frightening…

It seemed, Harry thought to himself blearily as he blinked his eyes open, immediately shutting them again at the bright light he woke to, that he had gotten himself into the nasty habit of not knowing where he would wake up next.

How disconcertingly Jean-like, Harry mentally groaned as he sat up, immediately regretting it as a wave of nausea and vertigo overtook him, and he nearly fell out of bed, only to be caught by two strong, but bony arms.

"Mr. Potter! You shouldn't be up yet!"

Harry squinted, then frowned. "M-Madame Pomfrey? I'm...I'm in the infirmary?"

"That's right, dear," the nurse said, helping him back onto his bed.

"I…how long have I been asleep?" he asked.

"Four weeks now," the old woman said as she tucked the covers back over him.

"Four weeks?" Harry cried incredulously, "Are you serious?"

She quirked an eyebrow. "Do I look like I'm joking?"

Harry groaned, and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "no sense of humour…"

"Of course," the elderly matron said, walking off and fetching some potions from a cabinet.

Meanwhile, Harry cast his slowly adjusting eyes around the infirmary surprised to find it completely empty. "Where is everyone?"

"The anti-petrification potion was brewed three weeks ago," the matron said, smiling at him, "You've had my undivided attention."

Harry smirked. "I'm flattered. Then – everyone's alright?"

"Everyone except you," Madame Pomfrey pointed out.

Harry nodded, before he started, a frown overcoming his face. "Luna Lovegood," he said urgently, "What about her?"

"Miss Lovegood was the one that found you; she managed to levitate you halfway down the hall before a prefect found you both, and brought you here. Miss Lovegood was only suffering from acute magical exhaustion, and was discharged a day later."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. Did...did she say anything?"

Madame Pomfrey stared piercingly at him for a moment. "No. In fact, she's barely said a word to anyone since – she spends all her time outside of class here." She nodded to the bed next to Harry's. "That's been her bed. She's the only one I've allowed in here – come to think of it, I'm not quite sure why...there's something terribly convincing about that stare of hers."

Harry chuckled, nodding, eyes flickering into the pile of gifts beside his bed, most of which were boxes of chocolate frogs. "Who are those from?"

She cocked an eyebrow.

"Right, stupid question."

The woman smiled briefly. "Most of the chocolate frogs are from Mr. Longbottom; the books are from Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy; the assorted sweets are from your dormmates. Messrs. Fred and George Weasley tried to sneak in a bottle of fire whiskey – they're officially not allowed within fifty metres of the infirmary."

Harry snorted, before sobering. "Umm...so, not that I don't love being here with you Madame Pomfrey, but how long am I going to be stuck here?"

She sighed, handing him a small potion bottle filled with a dreadful looking black substance. "When you were brought in, Mr. Potter, you were suffering from post-cruciatus neuropathic pain, magical exhaustion, evidence of suffocation, and several other symptoms I can say in all honesty that I have never seen before in my very long career – in addition, during your stay here, you suffered from regular seizures and night terrors – truth be told, I'd very much like to keep you here indefinitely."

"I feel fine," Harry insisted.

"Of course you do; as I said, you've had my undivided attention."

Harry put on a pout, but then glanced down at the potion in his hand, sniffing it, and then grimacing. "What is this?"

"My own original recipe, an antipsychotic which dually serves as a sleeping draft."

Harry gaped. "An antipsychotic?"

"For the night terrors and violent seizures," Madame Pomfrey said, "Now that you're awake, I'll most likely be forced to release you in less than 72 hours in order to preserve my own mental health – though due to the nature of the potion, you'll have to keep taking it even after you are released – "

"It's highly addictive," Harry interjected.

She nodded. "Such things need to be handled with caution."

"So...if I promise to be cautious, can I leave?" Harry begged with his best charming smile.

The elderly woman rolled her eyes at him. "If you show no signs of relapsing over the next day, I can release you – however, I will expect you to come in every other day as you wean off the potions."

"How long will it take?"

"You should be off of the potions completely by the end of exam period." At Harry's widened eyes, she added, "It's a very unique potion; taking you off it quickly would do more harm than good. In the meantime, you should sleep quite well."

Harry sighed, then frowned as she sat down on his bed. "What?"

"Mr. Potter," she began, "There is the matter of why I had to put you on it in the first place – along with the post-cruciatus, analgesic, and muscle relaxant potions."

"I...how many people know – about my condition, I mean?"

"I've kept it quiet, for now – all anyone knows is that it was serious. Healer-patient confidentiality."

Harry nodded gratefully. "I...if it's alright Madame Pomfrey, I'd prefer not to talk about it. It's over – there won't be any more attacks."

"Yours was the last?" she asked softly.

"Yeah, mine was the last."

Harry was quite sure it wasn't right that he took such pleasure in listening to Madame Pomfrey tear the newly reinstated Headmaster a new one – he enjoyed it anyway. Madame Pomfrey was due to release him in an hour, and the Headmaster, along with the Minister for Magic and Lucius Malfoy on behalf of the Hogwarts Board of Governors, were insisting that upon his release, he meet with them, much to Madame Pomfrey's displeasure. Thus, Harry spent the next hour attempting to come up with a very clever lie about the subject that he had been mentally avoided for the last twenty-three hours – what had happened in the Chamber of Secrets. He only hoped that neither Luna nor Hermione had let anything pertinent slip, or else his plan would be shot to hell.

Thus, an hour later – after being discharged by Madame Pomfrey, box of antipsychotics in hand – he found himself sitting awkwardly in a chair in the Headmaster's office, surrounded by an eerily smiling Headmaster, a practically quivering Cornelius Fudge, and a Lucius Malfoy who wouldn't stop looking at him strangely, making him feel very much like a suspect being questioned on one of those unrealistic crime dramas.

"Harry," Professor Dumbledore began in a gentle voice, "If you're not yet well, we can wait until –"

Harry shook his head. "I'm fine. Let's just get this over with – you want to know what happened in the Chamber of Secrets, right?"

Cornelius Fudge looked like he was about to faint, as he whispered, "So it's true? There really is a Chamber of Secrets?"

Harry shook his head, trying very hard to ignoring the piercing quality of the Headmaster's stare and the dual hungriness and apprehension of Lucius Malfoy's. "No, not really. Just a dusty old cellar in the dungeons. If there is a real Chamber of Secrets, it had nothing to do with what's happened. Anyway, I suppose you'd want to know if I've any idea what caused the attacks, and why they've stopped."

"If you'd please, Harry," Dumbledore prodded softly. "None of those who were attacked have been able to tell us much. One of the unfortunate side-effects of petrification-treatment potions."

There are three tricks to telling a good lie: 1. Making most of it the truth, 2. Believing it yourself, and 3. Showing a little emotion. Harry had mastered all three, and telling himself that nothing could possibly go wrong (well, except if anyone decided to snitch...but hopefully any counter-stories could be chalked up to groundless rumours), he took a deep breath, and began; "It was a cursed object."

All three pairs of eyes widened in surprise; but while Fudge's were tempered with the expected dosage of paling shock, the Headmaster's did not seem all that surprised, while Lucius Malfoy's were tinted with nervousness.

"And as you used the past tense, Harry, I suppose that it is no more?" the Headmaster said with grave eagerness in his voice.

Of course the Headmaster picked up on that. Showtime. "Before you ask, I've no idea how it got into the castle – whoever had it at first probably didn't even realize what it was; it was just a notebook. To the best of my knowledge, it's circulated among the student body quite a bit – it seems that it takes control of the victim's body, causing erratic behaviour and delusions, and then it petrifies them; I would think that the victims' memories would be a little off afterward. That's what I gathered, anyway." Harry bit back a smirk as he saw Lucius Malfoy stifle a sigh of relief.

Meanwhile, the Headmaster was nodding slowly, a contemplative, though almost disappointed look on his face. "And how did you come across this information, Harry?"

Harry wore an impressively troubled face. "Luna Lovegood – a week before...well, you know, she started talking about a notebook; pretty soon, she started acting strange, writing in something obsessively. I followed her one night, and watched her...I figured out what was going on, so I stunned her and stole it – I...I tried to destroy the notebook. Apparently that didn't work out too well," Harry said somberly, eyes flickering down to his hands, which he had folded on his lap, before they darted up to the Headmaster. "The notebook, did you..."

The headmaster shook his head, smiling merrily. "We found no trace of anything in the dungeons, and Miss Lovegood, while she didn't say much, told us that 'it is over.' I do believe, Harry, that you have nothing to worry about."

Harry heaved a deep sigh of relief. "Excellent. Do you have any more questions, or may…may I go now?"

The Headmaster chuckled. "I'd hate to keep you from your studying."

"Studying...right...there's that..."

The Headmaster shook his head with a raised eyebrow. "Happy studying, Harry."

Harry quirked a small smile as he rose, nodding to all three men, before exiting the office as quickly as he could. Never, ever again, he told himself as he jogged down the stairs, was he going to let himself be interrogated - all things considered, it wasn't that bad, but it was awkward.

When Harry reached the bottom of the stairs, however, he was instantly surprised by the presence of Hermione, Neville, Terry, and Michael, who seemed to be waiting for him with varying degrees of impatience.

Immediately, Hermione flew over to him, enclosing him in a tight embrace. "You stupid, stupid boy!" she cried into his shoulder, whilst he instantly stiffened and grimaced.

"Er…Hermione…" Neville said, "He did just get out of the infirmary."

Hermione rounded on him. "Exactly! He's been in the infirmary for four weeks!" She turned back to Harry. "How could you be so careless?"

Harry scowled at her. "In case you didn't notice, you were in the infirmary too, for a bloody long time, might I add."

Instantly, her face turned bright red. "Well, well...that..."

"Hey, mate," Terry interjected, awkwardly pulling Harry into a one-armed embrace, "All she means to say is, we were all really worried – Luna wouldn't talk, and Madame Pomfrey kept everyone but her away, and then the attacks stopped..."

"What did happen?" Michael asked, right down to business as usual.

"I'm fine, Michael, thanks for asking," Harry deadpanned, shrugging Terry's arm off and continuing down the corridor with the others plodding along at his side.

Michael rolled his eyes. "I already knew the answer – you're always fine, even when you're not."

Harry smirked. "Point."

"So…?"

"So what?"

Michael huffed. "What happened? What caused the attacks and put you in the infirmary for four weeks?"

Harry opened his mouth, hoping that a boastful tale like last year's would come out – and then he realized; there was nothing to say. "I…I don't want to talk about it."

Through the stark silence, Harry could practically hear their gaping.

"You…don't want to talk about it?" Terry said incredulously.

"You're not going to give us anything?" Michael put in, "After four weeks not even knowing if you'll live to the next day, we don't even get to know why?"

Harry really didn't know what to say to that – it really didn't seem all that fair, after all.

But then Neville spoke up. "C'mon, guys – if he doesn't want to talk about it, he doesn't have to."

Harry let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "Thanks, Neville."

The boy smiled shyly. "Don't worry, I've got your back."

"We all do," Terry interjected, "Don't mind us, Harry – we're just excited to see you. Oi, I bet you're hungry, right?"

Harry chuckled – trust Terry to skip straight to dinner. "Now that you mention it, yeah – I think I could go for about...oh, twenty treacle tarts."

"No you won't," Hermione said suddenly, crossing her arms with a huff. "You've been in a coma for nearly a month – you need your vitamins; lots of greens, and starches, too – look at you, you're all skin and bones!"

"Yes mum," Harry groused, grinning as the others laughed at Hermione's expense. But then he sobered, stopping short.

The others halted as well, staring at him expectantly.

"You guys go on, if that's alright...I...I have to talk to Hermione about something, privately."

The other three boys glanced at each other, and then back at Harry, before nodding and slipping away down one of the corridors.

Harry then turned his eyes to Hermione, who was staring at him expectantly. "You covered for me."

She only blinked.

"About the basilisk," he clarified, "You didn't tell anyone I was looking, about my suspicions."

She blushed slightly, looking at her feet in hesitation, before her eyes returned to Harry's, a renewed fire in them. "You can be a real git sometimes, Harry."

He blinked, taken slightly aback – he was not expecting that.

"You never care what anyone thinks, you disregard the rules, you completely lack common sense and decency, and if you weren't in Hogwarts, you'd probably be in a muggle prison by now."

Okay, so she had a point, but still...

"But – you're brilliant," she said, her voice softer this time, "You're insane, but you're utterly brilliant. But not just that...you're completely awful to people you don't like – but you're loyal, too. And you're a good friend...in a sort of screwed up way." She huffed. "I guess, what I'm trying to say, is – I can be awful to you, sometimes, picking at everything you do. And I'm not sorry for it – your behaviour's completely unacceptable…but still, I can't call you a bad person. For some reason, I actually think of you as a really good person...with a lot of bad qualities. I just...I wanted you to know that I've got your back – that...that you can trust me. I wanted you to know that your friendship means a lot to me."

Harry just stared at her blankly, as the moments ticked by – he barely registered the meaning of her words. They didn't make any sense; but still, a feeling of warmth welled up in his chest that he couldn't ignore, and he smiled, taking her hand. "Thanks, 'Mione."

"Don't call me 'Mione!" she snapped, glaring has he began to laugh, dragging her toward the Great Hall.

The Epicureans thought that pleasure was the absence of pain; that the happy life was one free of troubles. Harry didn't know if they were right – all he knew was that having Hermione's hand in his, having someone by his side, was far better than the pain that loneliness threatened. The only problem was that he just didn't know if it was enough.

Harry's entire House, in traditional Ravenclaw fashion, threw an exam-studying party for him the day after his return – complete with party games revolving around exam questions, mini-quizzes, unauthorized experiments, and, as the night wore on, spiked drinks.

Harry had been thrilled; it was his two favourite things combined – mayhem and books. Yes, life was good; exams were starting in a week, giving him just enough time to catch up, if he worked really hard, and he was sleeping well, thanks to the potions Madame Pomfrey was slowly weaning him off of. In addition, the whole school now saw him as a hero – even though things were being kept quiet, it was the general consensus that it was Harry who had somehow gotten rid of the Heir of Slytherin – and though his friends were quite unhappy that he wouldn't tell them what really happened, their happiness that he was alright outweighed all grievances. His friends – whenever he considered the word now, his stomach twisted, and disconcerting insecurity swept over him. Tom's words affected him more than he would have liked – did he actually have friends? Was he just using them? Did all the secrets he kept from them mean that they couldn't truly care about him? Is it possible to care about someone without understanding them? It didn't make any sense, any of it. He hated questions with no right answers...

Luckily, though, he had distractions – lots of them. Not only was he desperately cramming for exams, he was also preparing to execute his final plot of the year: the 'Get Rid of Lockhart for Good' plot. During his time in the infirmary, Myrtle had been kind enough to make sure that no one went near his unfinished veritaserum-like concoction, which he was determined to finish before the night was up.

Thus, one lovely late May night, a couple of days after his release from the infirmary, he was sitting in Myrtle's bathroom, putting the finishing touches on his improvisational potion masterpiece. It had taken nearly a year for him to complete, but finally, it was almost finished; a small batch of veritaserum, seasoned with hallucinogenic herbs and mild neurotoxins.

Yes, he thought to himself smugly, I'm an evil genius.

"Hello Harry Potter."

Startled, he spun around, nearly spilling his potion, eyes widening when he caught sight of the source of the soft, dreamy voice.

Standing behind him, bare-footed and in only a nightgown, was Luna Lovegood, looking perfectly like herself again.

"Luna! Why are you awake?"

She tilted her head to the side, walking over to him and sitting down across from his cauldron. "Because I'm not asleep."

"I should say so," Harry mumbled, gingerly bottling his potion as he stared at her curiously.

"You saved my life," Luna commented abruptly, face blank.

Harry blinked, eyebrows disappearing into his messy fringe. "Yeah, I suppose I did."

"Thank you."

"No problem...'s what any decent person would do."

"But you're not decent."

Harry blinked.

"You're extraordinary," Luna said matter-of-factly, "Like a nargle-ish heliopath."

Harry chuckled. "You too, Luna, you too."

"I am sorry about the headaches. I was trying to warn you, but Tom kept making it come out funny."

Harry instantly sobered, paling slightly. "Yeah – a real bastard, he is."

"But don't tell him that – he's rather sensitive about the subject, I think."

"He would be," Harry said darkly, before grinning, "But it doesn't matter, he's dead now."

But Luna frowned at that. "Why would you think a thing like that?" She pointed to his scar. "He's only sleeping."

Harry's face fell, as he instinctively reached up to rub his scar. "Then…what he said was true…" He let out a shaky breath. "It's true…"

Luna smiled at him obliviously. "But the truth's a funny thing, Harry, you've said so yourself – I wouldn't take it to heart."

Harry looked at her, eyes bleary and glassy, looking almost...shattered. "How can I not, Luna? What he said...you...you don't understand..."

"No, I don't, but that's okay."

"No, it isn't!" he snapped, "I – if anything he said is true...I don't know who I am, what I am! Voldemort's been inside me since I was a baby! And now more of him is inside me...how much of me is him? I've got no idea who I am..."

"The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a hell of heaven, a heaven of hell. But in the end, it's just the mind."

Harry blinked, freezing. "What?"

"You're Harry Potter, Harry Potter."

Harry sighed despairingly. "But who's Harry Potter?"

Luna smiled. "You, silly."

Harry let out a half choke, half laugh. "You make it all sound so simple, Luna."

"Only because it is."

Harry shook his head with a fond, yet bitter smile. "And yet there's still so much I don't understand."

"Well you're only twelve years old, you can't be expected to know everything...only the Gobbledroofs do," Luna said, rising to her feet. "And you've still got a wrackspurt infestation."

Harry blanched. "Yeah, I've got to do something about."

Luna shook her head, smiling dreamily. "They'll leave when they've done their job."

Harry's lips twitched into a lopsided smirk, eyes wearily drifting off. "Yeah...well, g'night Luna –"

But he stopped short, as the oddest sensation of tremulous warmth came over him, coursing through his body from a single focal point – where soft, warm lips touched his forehead. It was only a split second, but it seemed to last much longer, as something flickered and began to burn in his chest – but it was over all too soon, as Luna's touch vanished, as she skipped off, leaving a wide eyed, crimson faced Harry Potter behind.

Well, well, well...

Anyway, reviews are welcome :)