Disclaimer: Even though it's the season of giving, no one gave me Harry Potter. Or anything in here, in fact.

AN: Thanks for reading peoples!

Chapter 30: Of Consumption and Complications

It was June the sixth, 1993, and exams were finally OVER. Exam week had passed in a blur, full of frantic cramming and last minute self-doubt, but in hindsight, Harry knew he did great. He found the exams quite easy...almost...redundant – but he didn't want to think of what the reason for that might be.

Only a few days were to pass before the students would be sent home, and Harry was quickly trying to whip up a scheme to keep himself away from the Dursleys in the coming months; on the upside, he was well rested (thanks to Madame Pomfrey's lovely potions, of which he only had a few doses left) and able to think, but on the downside, he was without one of his major sources of inspiration and advice – Jean. After the ordeal in the Chamber, though he tried and tried, Harry could not convince himself that that Jean didn't know about the Horcruxes. Jean had been a Seer, the Seer – Harry could only conclude that his older cousin had known something about it, but had chosen to say nothing. How could he not have known, after all? All those times Jean had shrugged and told him he didn't know the answer with only the slightest flinch; the frowns and raised eyebrows when Harry would talk about his headaches and nightmares...

Harry didn't want to think about it; disgruntled, he didn't want to speak to Jean about the matter, either, so after being discharged from the infirmary, he tossed Jean's portrait in his trunk, and hadn't spoken to him since. In other words, Laini was thrilled to have his undivided attention, and Harry was without his advisor of dastardly schemes (i.e., his anti-conscience).

Currently, though, he was sitting at the Ravenclaw table, enjoying his favourite breakfast of marmalade and sausages, mulling over the very pertinent issue of his summer plans in his mind. Surprisingly, it was after no more than two minutes of deliberation that he reached a mental consensus, and turned to the boy sitting beside him.

"Say, Terry," he said, drawing the sandy-haired boy's attention, "Would you mind doing me a favour?"

"Depends on what it is," Terry stated warily.

Harry nodded sagely. "Don't worry, nothing too bad – I just want you to lie for me."

Terry blanched at that. "To whom?" he said with caution.

Harry blinked. "Well, no one, necessarily, just cover for me if necessary. You see, I've found myself in a bit of a conundrum."

"What sort of conundrum?" Terry asked interestedly.

"Well, you know my lovely relatives whom I so dearly hate?"

Terry nodded.

"Well, I've decided I don't want to spend the entire summer with them."

"Understandable."

"Quite. But see, here's the snag – it has recently come to my attention that there are blood wards around my muggle residence," Harry said, remembering the conversation (which, at the time, seemed quite paranoid in nature to him, but now...) he had had with Cassiopeia Black nearly a year ago.

Terry blinked. "Blood wards? Aren't those, you know, undetectable?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, but it was hinted to me a while back that someone was keeping an eye on me – I…I, er, asked Professor Flitwick about it a few days back, and since he likes me a lot, he may have hinted that one Albus Dumbledore managed to construct some blood wards about the Dursley's residence when he left me with them."

Terry's eyebrows rose. "Is that legal?"

"Hell if I know. Anyway, after obsessively researching the subject, I concluded that the wards around my house must be the type based on how my blood relatives keep track of me – basically, they need to know where I am, or who I'm with. If they're unaware for more than…well, probably about 48 hours, the wards react."

"Brilliant!"

"I know, right? It allows me to do my own thing, go to school, visit friends – anything but get lost or kidnapped or something. Here's the thing, though; I don't want to stay in one place all summer, and I definitely don't want to stay with the Dursleys. That means I'll have to let them know who I'm with, so they think they know where I am, tricking the wards."

"Will that even work?"

He shrugged. "It's worth a try."

Terry nodded slowly. "So you'll tell them you're with me."

"Exactly."

The boy frowned. "But then...if...wait, you're going to run away Harry?" he exclaimed.

Harry scowled. "Sh! Keep it down!"

"That's dangerous, Harry!" Terry whispered.

Harry rolled his eyes. "So is crossing the street – never know when you might get run over…"

"Harry..." Terry groaned.

"I'll be fine, Terry."

"Well...do I have to lie?"

"Look, if you don't want to, then I'll find someone else to –"

"No! That's not what I meant – I mean, why don't you actually spend the summer with me?"

Harry blinked.

"It would be awesome!" Terry continued, eyes lit up with excitement, "We're going to Italy, you know – you'd love it there. And I'd bet my parents would be thrilled to meet you too – it'll be great!"

"Like...a family vacation?" Harry asked, stunned.

"Exactly! Well, actually, they're going for work, but...we'll be on vacation..."

"They'd let me come, your parents?" Harry frowned.

"Of course they would! Like I said, they'd be thrilled to meet you! C'mon Harry, it's a great idea, and you know it."

Slowly, a grin morphed onto Harry's face. "Yeah, it really is," he said thoughtfully, "Italy, huh? Thanks Terry, that's a rather brilliant idea."

"Well, it's mutually beneficial after all – I'll have company, and you'll be an ocean away from your dreadful muggle relatives."

Harry smirked. "Couldn't have said it better myself –" But then he stopped, frowning as he cast his eyes about the Great Hall – it was full. All his classmates and housemates had arrived, and the tables were all occupied by their usual residents, with one noticeable exception.

"What is it?" Terry asked curiously.

Harry scowled. "Lockhart's late."

Terry's face scrunched up in confusion. "...and you're...upset about that?"

Harry huffed, beginning to tap his fingers on the table impatiently. "You'll understand in a minute...I hope..." He glared at the door of the Great Hall. "Come on..."

As if on cue, the doors swung open dramatically, and the entire hall was silenced – for there, in the doorway, stood a dishevelled Gilderoy Lockhart; hair sticking up in all directions and dressed in a hideous pink nightgown, the man was sobbing - and down his face, what suspiciously looked like mascara was running. Sniffling, and then bursting out in tears again, he flew past all the stunned students, throwing himself at the staff table and weeping wretchedly.

Immediately, Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet with a concerned frown on his face; but just as he opened his mouth, Lockhart interrupted with a shriek,

"I'm so sorry, mommy!"

Harry's eyebrows rose, as he looked on with interest, rapt attention drawn.

"I didn't mean to, I just had to – I'm sorry I stole your dress!" He smashed his head against the table, "And I'm sorry I obliviated Charlie – I just couldn't have him tell! No, no telling!" He shook his head rapidly, "I know, I know, I shouldn't obliviate them all, but I have to – they've got all the stories, all the fame…and they don't deserve it! I do! I do!" He snarled, twitching violently. "So what if I took your werewolf story! So what if I made you forget you killed it! I'm prettier anyway! No, no, no, no...I don't care if you banished the banshee – so what if you saved my life! I WANT MY STORY! I WANT MY FAME! FORTUNE! IT'S ALL MINE!" He only paused from his barely intelligible rant to glare up at the ceiling. "And you can't take it away!"

Meanwhile, Harry had become quite sure that a great deal of the student body's eyes were about to fall out of their sockets (and even then, they probably wouldn't notice...), and the Hogwarts staff had officially begun to panic.

Ever the collected one, Severus Snape was the first rise to his feet, doing so with a cruel smirk, and beginning in a condescending voice, "Clearly, Lockhart has –"

Wrong move; for as soon as the Potions Master spoke, Lockhart stopped his ranting and turned to him, a look of rapture and tearful admiration erasing the fury on his face. The blonde man, before anyone could react, then leapt over the staff table, pulling Snape into a tight embrace, weeping adoringly,

"Oh, Severus, have I ever told you how beautiful your nose is?" he cried, ignoring the look of fury festering on his victim's face, "And your hair is so shiny too!"

Instantly, Lockhart was thrown into the stone wall by an impressive feat of wandless magic, courtesy of the disgruntled and (however much he would have denied it) highly disturbed Potions Professor. Seeing that Lockhart was out cold, the professors rushed over to attend to him – that is, all except Snape, who was staring at the crumpled figure with undisguised disgust and contempt.

Meanwhile, Harry whistled quietly. "I guess even Professor Snape isn't safe from workplace sexual harassment."

All the second year Ravenclaws turned to him with wide eyes, horror and disbelief shining through.

"You didn't..." Anthony gasped out, clearly at a loss for words..

Harry smirked at him well satisfied with his effort.

Terry looked up at him, horrified, "What was that?"

"That, my friend," Harry said, "Is what is known as a 'bad trip.'" He frowned. "Come to think of it, I might of used a bit too much LSD*..."

"To a successful first year of business for Potter and Weasley Esoterics Incorporated!" Harry said merrily with a slight slur, gulping down some more firewhiskey.

It was the day before all the students were to be sent off on the Hogwarts Express; the night, actually. After the feast in the Great Hall, Fred and George Weasley had effectively kidnapped Harry, dragging him down a series of secret tunnels to a place called the 'Shrieking Shack' – reputed to be the most haunted house in Britain, though Harry couldn't sense any disturbed spirits in it – several bottles of firewhiskey in hand. Apparently, a 'success party' for their new business, which had made them a few hundred galleons, was well warranted.

"Oi, mate you said that alrea'y," Fred was slurring beside him, eyes unfocused yet fixed on his half-empty bottle.

"Five times, tha' is," George continued for him, chugging his own bottle of firewhiskey, "Sure you can really hold yer liquor, 'Arry?"

"Yeah, you sor'a loosin' yer mind, 'ere?"

"Can't be," Harry said with a puzzled frown, "W-wero...no, erm, Wernicke-Korset...no, Korsakoff syndrome occurs after prolonged consumption of alcohol…"

"Wha' the hell is that?" Fred asked, his voice high-pitched with puzzlement.

Harry took another sip, then pursed his lips sloppily. "It's, uh...ah...two disorders...ence-encephalopathy, and, and psychosis."

"Ooh," George said with wide, unfocused eyes. "Tha' sounds fun."

"Indeeeed brother mine, indeed," Fred slurred.

"No' really," Harry said with a slightly confused grimace. "Could result in a coma…"

"Speakin' o' comas..." Fred began with a raised eyebrow.

"You were in one no' so long ago, mate," George mused.

"Mysteriously..."

"Yeah, a mysterious one..."

"It was...was...wasn't mysterious," Harry retorted, rolling his eyes. "I' was...routine-er-ish."

"Wha...? 'ow is 'at routine?" George said.

"I dunno," Harry muttered.

"Tell us," Fred dared.

"No," Harry said, crossing his arms.

"Wha'dyou think, George?" Fred queried, "I think he's chicken."

"Cowardly..."

"Spineless..."

"Lily-livered..."

"Oh, shu' the hell up," Harry sneered, "Fine, fine, I'll tell ya…"

"Ooh, ooh, it's storytime," George sang.

"Once upon a time," Harry said with a flourish.

"…a perfect beginning…" Fred cheered giddily.

"Some erm, uh...stuffy-stuff sor'a happened, and I pissed off this ghos' like psycho..."

"…wow…"

"Yeah, an' I killed his diary…"

"Aww…did dat hur' 'is feewings?"

"Ooooh yes, it certainly d-did," Harry said.

"O' course it did; 'Arry 'ere o'viously got the livin' shit beat out o' him…"

"I did not," Harry sneered, "I ate 'im."

"Woah, woah...ewww," George grimaced.

"I know, righ'?" Harry said, wide-eyed. "But then...then he s...showed up in my head..."

"Creepy," the twins commented simultaneously.

"Mhm...and then we...we uh, had this badass showdown, and I kicked 'im real hard and the black goo ate 'im."

Both the twins were staring at him with identical gobsmacked, dazed expressions.

Slowly, Harry managed to put his finger to his lips in a disoriented manner. "But you can't tell anyone –"

"We won't," Fred assured him, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, jus' like we won't tell anyone wha' yeh did to Lock'art," George said.

Harry's eyes were wide. "You know abou' tha'?"

"Oooh yeah..."

"It has 'Arry bloody Potter written all over it!"

Harry smirked lazily. "It was brilliant..."

The twins nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, finally gave us the, er...opportunietity to raid Lockhart's office..."

George's eyes were wide with shock. "Any idea 'ow many pi'tures o' 'imself tha' man keeps?"

Suddenly, Fred burst out in raucous laughter. "A-a-and the…the p-p-p-p-pink b-b-bonnnett!"

The other two snorted, and joined in his laughter.

Fred was the first to sober, looking at Harry with adoring sincerity. "Seriousously mate, what did yeh dose 'im with?"

Harry frowned thoughtfully. "Weeellll...I's...I, uh, started with your basically basic potions base…and then before I added the villy-uh-valerian sprigs, I soaked 'em in ess…essence o' morning glory seed..."

He blinked, his words suddenly being cut off by a loud, guttural sound, closely followed by another one – a pair of snores.

He sighed tiredly, finishing the last of his bottle, not much sooner than his snores joined the chorus.

"What are you wearing?" Padma asked Harry as the group of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw second years plodded down the path to the Hogwarts express.

Harry only groaned, rubbing his sore head. If only he had learnt to make the hangover-cure potion – unfortunately, he had also taken the last of Madame Pomfrey's potion the previous day, so he had nothing to dull the pain with. Hence the pair of black sunglasses completing his ensemble of grey jeans, sneakers, his Led Zeppelin t-shirt, and Laini draped around his neck.

Meanwhile, Hermione was frowning at him. "Where did you get the sunglasses?"

"Transfigured 'em," Harry murmured.

"You alright, mate?" Terry asked.

Harry nodded slowly. "Just tired..."

Hermione's suspicious glare was growing. "You know, it really isn't all that bright out..."

But Harry ignored her, turning to Terry. "I sent the letter to the Dursleys a couple of days ago, so I should be able to leave the station with you."

Terry beamed. "Great! We'll probably apparate to our house in London, and then Floo to the Ministry, and then Rome, I'd imagine." He glanced over at Michael. "You sure you don't want to come?"

Michael scowled. "Of course I want to – it's not like I choose to stay home the whole summer and work."

Terry nodded disappointedly, before his face brightened again. "Anyone else want to come to Italy with us?"

"Oh, I'd like to!" Lisa said excitedly.

"Sorry," Harry immediately interjected, "Boys only."

All the girls pouted, with the exception of Hermione, who continued to study Harry keenly.

Terry looked over at the other Ravenclaw boys. "You sure you don't want come?"

Stephen shook his head. "Visiting relatives in Australia…"

"Summer camp," Kevin deadpanned from behind the book he was reading.

Anthony looked distastefully between Harry and Terry. "I'd have to be off my rocker to cross the border with you two as company."

"What about you, Neville?" Terry tried.

"Gran barely lets me off the property," Neville mumbled, "She says I'll go off and break my neck or something if she doesn't watch me close. But Italy would be amazing – I've heard the magical botanical gardens are huge..."

"YES! IT SOUNDS AMAZING!"

It was Hermione's voice that had loudly bellowed the phrase, causing everyone to stop short and stare at her in utter bewilderment – except for Harry, who had doubled over in pain.

"What the hell...?" Harry croaked pathetically.

"Aha!" Hermione said, with a triumphant yet disapproving look on her face. "You're hung-over!"

"Are not," Harry moaned, "Your voice is just so grating..."

"Are too!" Hermione retorted, ignoring the last part of his comment.

Meanwhile, Michael looked at him, horrified. "You were drinking without us?"

"Yeah," Terry said, disappointed, "I wanted our first time to be together..."

Harry blanched. "That sounded...wrong..."

"You shouldn't be drinking in the first place!" Hermione exclaimed, "You're twelve years old!"

Harry snorted. "I'll be thirteen in a few months..."

"That's not the point!"

"But mooooom," Harry whined, before he winced, holding his head as they stepped onto the train.

"You alright Harry?" Neville asked concernedly.

Harry didn't respond at first. "I dunno...yeah, I'm fin. Listen – I'm gonna go find somewhere quiet to sleep this one through."

Hermione nodded. "That's probably wise."

Harry grinned stupidly, feigning adulation. "Hermione just called me wise..."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I called your actions wise. They don't mean the same thing."

"Damn," Harry chuckled, waving to the others. "See you in London. And if you see Draco, tell him not to terrorize any first years without me. Or prefects, for that matter..."

It did not take long for Harry to find an empty compartment, and after modifying it with a choice selections of charms and wards, he plopped his bag on the ground and lay down across one of the seats, setting Laini on the other. The headache made it hard to get comfortable, but it was nothing compared to what he had suffered through a few months prior; all it took was the briefest recollection of the agony he had felt to encourage him to ignore the amount of pain he was in. Fortunately, it did not take long for him to drift into an easy slumber.

But his slumber was not peaceful.

Almost as soon as the darkness overtook him, he found himself sucked into a familiar scene; waking into a disorientating mass of swirling black formlessness – dizzying, yet peaceful; cold, yet comfortable. His mind – a frigid, black, empty place...and yet, he could not help but feel that he wasn't alone.

Spinning around, he was shocked to find the formless darkness eroded away, and in its place a small, cozy room, a fire blazing merrily in the hearth at the other end. The room smelt strangely, and looking down at his feet, Harry immediately knew the reason – for enveloping his feet, in a vast puddle painting the floor crimson, was blood...so much of it, a river. Shivering, Harry forced his eyes upward, to observe the picture before him, even more ghastly and terrifying than the one at his feet – a tea party of sorts. A small table sat in the centre of the room, and on it were a porcelain teapot and three teacups filled with a thick red liquid, and a small try, holding a few pastries, garnished with...no...it couldn't be, two...eyeballs?

But what was most disconcerting were the chairs – three high-back black velvet chairs, seated around the table. One sat to the side, and was empty, clearly waiting for him; another had its back toward him, obstructing his vision; and upon the third, facing him, was seated the last person he wanted to see – Tom Marvolo Riddle.

"Why hello, Harry," Tom said with a pleasant smile, dark eyes glimmering furiously in the firelight. "How nice of you to come."

It took every measure of self-control and assurance that Harry had in him not to flinch or reveal the anxiety that was building up inside of him. "Tom."

Tom smirked at him. "Come, sit down, I've been waiting for quite a while."

Before he could analyze exactly what was happening, Harry found himself walking slowly toward the empty chair, barely managing not to cringe under Tom's piercing stare.

"I do wonder what potions they were giving you – to separate you from your unconscious so…" Tom was saying, but Harry ignored him in favour of attentively observing the third chair beside him, whose occupant remained hidden and silent.

"Who's sitting there?" Harry asked suddenly, stopping in his tracks when his heart twisted inside of him, when he caught sight of a wisp of blonde hair.

Tom quirked an amused eyebrow. "Why don't you come and see?"

Involuntarily, Harry closed his eyes as he stepped forward, practically able to feel the foreboding image burn through his eyelids.

"Open your eyes, Harry," Tom prodded softly.

Exhaling shakily, Harry slowly managed to ease his green eyes open; barely able to keep from snapping them shut again as they took in what was before him. Eye sockets empty and weeping crimson, along with nose and ears; hands drenched with and dripping blood; white silk dress painted; and throat slit, no, scratched out, muscle and skin, and veins shredded and ripped into wet, scarlet-oozing strings and ribbons – Luna Lovegood.

Suddenly, Harry felt himself unable to breath, unable to move, desperate nausea and disgust building in his core.

"Harry," Tom's soft, smooth voice suddenly broke the sickening silence.

Wide eyed and terrified, Harry turned to face him, nearly gagging as Tom picked up one of the teacups and sipped the thick crimson fluid.

"Come, sit," Tom continued with a coy smile, "Let's talk about...oh, I don't know - love."

Harry pinched his eyes shut, desperately tensing and wishing, wake up, wake up, wake up, WAKE UP!

Jolting, his eyes snapped open, and he found himself lying on the floor, covered in cold perspiration on the floor of his compartment on the Hogwarts express. Slowly sitting up, Harry cringed as he felt a sharp pain rip through his head, his scar beginning to burn – through his pain he barely managed to sit up and lean back against the door of the compartment. He frowned when he felt a strange wetness on his face, and groaned when he reached up and felt the sticky liquid running down his down it – his scar was bleeding.

Muttering, "Episkey," to clear the bleeding, he reached for his B3, rummaging around inside it until he found what he was looking for – a small wooden box, oak with iron hinges, shackled by a single latch. When he reached for the lock, though, he hesitated – he was so sore, so drowsy, so tired...he needed to sleep. But he knew Tom would be waiting, unless he did something to bury his face, muffle his speech.

I've got no choice, he told himself as he flipped the box lid open, carefully removing one of the small vials inside and holding it up, observing the oily, pearl-coloured liquid swirling inside as he swallowed the sickening trepidation in his stomach. With one quick motion, he downed the vial of homemade sleeping potion, pointedly ignoring the niggling, anxious voice objecting in the back of his mind as he drifted into a hazy oblivion.

"Purple Haze all around,
Don't know if I'm coming up or down.
Am I happy or in misery?"

*Yeah, so, about that last line in the Lockhart scene; Harry wouldn't have been able to find LSD at Hogwarts - he just concocted a powerful hallucinogenic drug out of poignant herbs and various opioid-like substances he stole from Snape's cupboard, no doubt. In my mind, I envisioned him testing it on rats...ooohhh...I smell an outtake...

Well that's it, the end of year two. As I did with year one, I'm going to take a little while to edit what I've written so far, before moving on to year three. To look forward to: a trip to Italy with the Boots, Sirius Black escaping from prison, research into Horcruxes, and some character development. Without the whole chamber of secrets thing, I'm hoping the next year will be much quieter, and I'll have the opportunity to explore what's happening between the various primary and secondary characters...yeah, we'll see how that goes...maybe I'll even strike up some melodrama (for comedy's sake, of course).

Anyway, I humbly thank you all for reading thus far; it is my honour, joy, and pleasure to entertain you all - Happy Christmas!