Note: Got my first truly negative review. To my lack of surprise the reviewer was a guest. People, if you don't like my story, that's fair. Go ahead and tell me why. But have the courage to tell me who you are. I was only mostly joking about the assassins.

Apart from that, you lot continue to make my day. So thanks for that.

Let's move on to why you're actually here: the story.

CHAPTER SIX: GHOSTS OF MEN

Harry sat squirming on the expensive leather sofa. He was doing his best to avoid the other occupant of the tastefully decorated office; a well dressed woman with a notepad balanced on her knee. Why had he agreed to come here again?

"Harry, you were going to tell me about your nightmares."

Oh yes. That was why. After he'd collapsed the Chamber in on itself and destroyed Slytherin's legacy at Hogwarts forever, a familiar and entirely unwelcome occurrence had returned. He'd started dreaming of the Chamber, specifically of a smaller room in it. With four dead girls bled dry inside, and a blonde haired madman with a knife. In his dreams he wasn't fast enough. He was so paralyzed that he could only watch as Luna bled to death in front of him.

This time talking it out with Petunia wasn't enough. And so, two weeks into summer vacation, his parents had scheduled him an appointment with a counselor. One who was, to use Dudley's phrase, "in the know."

Which was how he found himself here, in the office of Sarah Thompson, psychologist. She was a distant relative of Professor Sprout and well aware of the nature of Hogwarts. Even so, Harry could tell she was surprised. Also somewhat skeptical. He didn't blame her. It was somewhat difficult to believe.

"Harry?" she gently prompted him, drawing him from his thoughts.

He started and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, what?"

"Your nightmares. You were going to tell me about them."

"Oh. Right. Um...I don't know where to start."

"Wherever you want."

Good advice. Trouble was, he didn't know that either. He bit his lip and thought. The seconds stretched into minutes before he made his decision. "Well, I guess it really started before I can remember. When I was a baby I had nightmares about watching my mum-my birth mum, not Petunia- getting killed..."

Sarah listened attentively, nodding whenever appropriate and asking prompting questions whenever it seemed Harry would stop talking. He left her office feeling not exactly better, but it was a start. Before he left she'd told him that the nightmares were okay. They were his mind's way of dealing with the trauma.

It made sense, but he wasn't sure if she was right. It was nice to think so, though.

Albus Dumbledore looked a the repair estimates for Hogwarts, freshly delivered by the castle's head elf. The figure at the bottom, while not insignificant, wouldn't strain the school budget. By itself, at any rate. Coupled with the costs for the reconstruction of the southern tower and there wasn't enough left for him to hire the Defense professor he wanted. He sighed and rubbed his eyes.

He'd have to contact an old friend and see if he was interested. It had been some years since they'd last spoken. He hoped the years had treated the old wolf well, but he doubted it. The condition didn't lend itself to good health or long life. It was one of his many regrets that he hadn't done more to help in the days following the end of the war.

Albus couldn't have, though. There had been so much to do. Holding three positions, important ones, was easy if you didn't care about doing them well. He was. It was easier when he was younger. He'd had more energy then. Now he was feeling the strain. If only there was someone he trusted enough to take over one for him. Maybe he'd talk to Augusta Longbottom.

The sound of the fireplace roaring into life drew him out of his ruminations. The flames swirled green and a voice he'd come to hate said, "Albus, are you there?"

He swallowed the dislike he'd built up for the man and put on a pleasant face as he knelt on the cushion in front of the flames. "Cornelius, what news from the Ministry today? Good things, I hope."

The Minister of Magic's face looked grim. It didn't quite fit. As if the man weren't used to bearing the expression. "I'm afraid not. May I come through?"

"Please." Albus rose and stepped back. Moments later the flames began to spin, and soon dispensed a portly man onto the Headmaster's floor. Cornelius stood, brushed off his robes, and offered Albus his hand.

"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Albus. I wish I could have given you more warning, but it's all hands on deck trying to stay ahead of the press."

Albus shook the Minister's hand and directed him into the seat across from his desk, in front of which he then sat. The old wizards steepled his fingers and looked over them at a fidgeting Cornelius. "What's happened, Cornelius?"

"There's been a breakout from Azkaban. More than a dozen prisoners. Sirius Black was one of them."

This was a problem. Albus directed his full attention on the somewhat pale Minister. "Tell me everything." he said. Cornelius sighed and began to talk.

There was something peaceful about a garden. Maybe it was the barely restrained chaos of the flowers straining at the edges of their planters. Or it was the earthy smell of fertilizer baking in the sun. Harry's favorite, though, was the feeling of a cool breeze on the back of his neck.

Or maybe it was because it was so crammed full of life that it made death harder to fathom. Either way, Petunia's garden had quickly become one of his favorite places to be at Privet Drive. Working in it, caring for it, had become a sort of therapy for him. Sarah had suggested he try something completely unrelated to magic.

The trouble was, Harry had a bit of a brown thumb. Most everything he planted withered within days.

So he cheated.

"Grow." he whispered to a failing rosebush, watching the browning leaves flush with new green and the drooping flower petals blush a pale pink. The earth beneath it wriggled as the roots strengthened its hold on the ground. The rosebush nearly glowed, drinking in the sun. He grinned, proud, happy, and sweaty. Also thirsty.

So he went to get a drink from the kitchen. He sighed in relief as the cool air washed over him when he walked through the back door. "I'm back!" he shouted.

"Great! Nobody cares!" Dudley's reply came from the sitting room. Harry could hear muted gun blasts and assumed his brother was introducing aliens or zombies or Nazis to the business end of a digital machine gun.

"Thanks, Dud!" Harry yelled cheerily, trotting into the kitchen. An owl was perched on the sink, looking around with owlish interest. A letter was tied to its leg. The sight made him slide to a sock-footed halt in front of the table Petunia sometimes had a late night cup at. "What are you doing here during the day?"

The owl replied by sticking out its leg.

"Fine," he grumbled. "don't answer." he took the letter, expecting either the plain envelope of his friends or the official Hogwarts letterhead. What he got instead was something he'd never seen before outside of textbooks; the seal of the Ministry of Magic. Filled with a sudden apprehension, he set the letter on the table. Then he let the owl free and went into the sitting room.

"What's up, Harry?" Dudley didn't look away from the television.

"Nothing." Harry replied. "I'm in my room if mum or dad ask, okay?"

"Sure thing." the invisible Marine as controlled by Dudley let out a guttering cry and the screen went black. "What? No! I was so close! What killed me?"

Harry went upstairs, followed by his brother's protests the entire way. He flopped onto his bed and looked at the ceiling. Hedwig hooted softly from her perch on his closet door.

"No, I don't know why." he confessed.

Hoot.

"Yes, I'll open it later."

Bark.

"Why would I lie?"

Hoot.

"Yeah, but this isn't homework. It could be important."

Silence.

"I guess I don't want to open it alone. I'll wait for mum or dad to get home."

Hoot.

"Thanks for listening, Hedwig."

Hedwig preened.

About an hour later there was a knock at the door. Harry looked up from trying to stuff all of his dirty clothes in his hamper. "Who is it?"

"It's me." Petunia stuck her head through the door. The rest of her followed, and he focused on the envelope in her hand. She followed his eyes. "It's addressed to you." she offered it to him.

"I know." he took it and turned it over in his hands. "I was just kind of hoping you'd stay with me while I open it."

"Of course." she sat on his bed and looked patiently at him. He took a deep breath and broke the seal. Inside was a folded piece of parchment, which he opened and then read aloud.

Dear Mr. Potter, Harry J.

The Ministry of Magic issued at 10:45 this morning a Warning to the State. Two days previously a mass breakout occurred at the prison facility known as Azkaban. The public is well aware of the nature of people held there, and extreme caution is advised. If any of the following individuals are spotted, report them to an Auror or law enforcement officer immediately. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO APPROACH OR ENGAGE THESE PEOPLE. They are highly dangerous and fully capable and guilty of murder.

For wizards and witches living in predominantly Muggle areas, any sightings should be reported to Muggle law enforcement. The Minister has warned the Muggle Prime Minister about the dangerous nature and an All Posts Bulletin has been issued.

Be on the lookout for the following people:

Bellatrix Lestrange

Oskar Travers

Evard Nott

Alecto Carrow

John Finch

Rodolphus Lestrange

Rabastan Lestrange

Bartemius Crouch, Jr.

Bartemius Crouch, Sr.

Sirius Black

To repeat, do not attempt to engage or subdue these individuals.

Yours Sincerely,

Amelia Bones

Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement

There was a long silence before either of them spoke. Harry took an extra long time returning the letter to its envelope. It was a measure of the depth of their thoughts that neither of them seemed surprised that the missive then vanished in a flash of light.

Harry broke the silence. "I knew it was bad news. I just knew it." then he sighed. "I'm never going to have a normal year at Hogwarts, am I?"

He stood and went to sit next to Petunia. She wrapped him in a one-armed hug and said nothing. Then, "I don't think Hogwarts is capable of having a normal year."

He laughed. "Good point. Hey, is dad downstairs?"

Petunia frowned at the sudden change in subject. "Yes, he's making dinner. Why?"

After he gulped at the idea of braving one of his dad's dinners, he answered. "I just wanted to ask him something. I'll do it after dinner."

She gave him a searching, mum like look. "Are you sure? He won't mind, you know."

He nodded. "I do. It's not really important."

She nodded. "Fair enough."

He got the feeling she didn't believe him, but was willing to let it go for now. If the talk with Vernon went the way he hoped it would, she'd know soon enough.

Hopefully, she'd let him do it.

"Hey, dad?"

"What is it, son?"

"I...wanted to ask you something."

Vernon laughed. "No time like the present."

"Do you think you can teach me how to box?"

"Yeah, I could. But why?"

"I want to learn."

"Obviously," Vernon snorted. "what I meant was why do you want to learn."

"Oh. Um...I just do?"

"Nice try. The real reason."

Harry waited long and thought hard about his response. "I'm a wizard."

Vernon rolled his hand, a gesture to elaborate.

"All I do is magic. It's like my entire life revolves around this thing, and it's so far been more bad than good. I just...I want something that doesn't have to do with magic."

"Oh. Well, it's about time."

"What?"

"Son, you've been all wizard, all the time, for two years. It'd be enough for anyone. I've been waiting for something like this. Although, I was sort of hoping it would be a sport or musical instrument, but...I'll call my old coach, see if he knows anyone who teaches nearby."

Harry's grin lit the room, somewhat literally, as he tackled his dad in a hug. "Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you!"

He relished the feeling of being hugged by his dad.

"Have you asked your mother?"

Harry blanched. "I was hoping you would."

Vernon shook his head, grinning. "Not a chance."

"Damn."

"That'll be a pound."

"Sorry, dad!"

It took a good hour of arguing, but eventually Petunia caved. Which was how Harry found himself in Adam Jones' Gym one week later, wearing loose clothing and wondering if this was maybe the best idea. The center of the one room former warehouse was a boxing ring. Seven foot mirrors lined the walls, and exercise equipment scattered about.

The causes of his doubt were circling each other in the ring, fists wrapped in some kind of gauze, bouncing on the balls of their feet and swiping at each other. Then they'd blur together and separate, and each one would be sporting a new bruise or cut. The sight was intriguing, and he wanted to try it, but it also scared him.

"You must be Vernon's kid."

The voice made him turn and look up, but not as far as he was expecting to. Harry was small for his age, and wiry, so most adults were much taller than him. Adam, for it could be no one else, wasn't much taller than him. In fact, change the hair and eye color and add thirty years, and he could be Harry.

"Yeah." Harry offered his hand. "I'm Harry."

"Adam." Adam shook, and he felt the strength in the man's grip. "So Vernon says you want to train."

Harry nodded.

Adam gestured to the ring, where the fighters within had closed in on each other and were now using elbows and knees to batter each other into oblivion. "You sure?"

Harry nodded again, decisively. "Positive."

Adam's grin was near-feral. "Then let's get started!"

So Harry spent the next two months bruised, sore, and tired. It was weeks before he saw any improvement in himself. It was only when Dudley knocked the salt shaker off the dinner table that he noticed any difference in himself. Before anyone could register that it had happened, Harry's hand had blurred and he'd snatched it out of the air.

"Whoa." his brother had been suitably impressed. Then he'd turned to Vernon. "Dad, can I do boxing, too?"

Vernon had groaned at the look on his wife's face. Harry laughed.

Two weeks before the end of summer he got a visitor. One that, in a million years, he'd never have guessed. It was the Tuesday before he left for King's Cross, and he was out in the garden cheating some gardenias into life when Petunia stuck her head out the back door and yelled, "Harry! Someone's here to see you!"

"Okay!" he shouted back. Then he stuffed his gloves into his back pocket, put the tools he hadn't used(all of them) back in the shed, and went to the back door. Just in time he remembered to take his dirty shoes off and set them by the door. Once inside he tossed the gloves into the wash. "Mum, who's here?"

She didn't answer. Harry headed for the sitting room. Sitting in the easy chair, with a grin on her face, was Petunia. She had a lot of grins. He didn't like this one. This one said, I know something you don't, and it drove him mad on birthdays and early mornings. Then he entered the sitting room proper and saw why.

Sitting on his sitting room sofa, thoroughly engrossed in one of Dudley's comic books, wearing his usual garish attire, was Albus Dumbledore.

Harry goggled. Then he grinned. "It's a good one, sir."

"Harry!" Dumbledore smiled, placing the torn index card bookmark on his page and closing the book. "Have a seat! I quite agree. I've always enjoyed comic books."

He decided not to think about why his Headmaster, the man he respected more than anyone but his parents, enjoyed comic books and sat across the couch from him. "Not that I'm not glad to see you, sir, but..."

"You want to know why I'm here." Dumbledore finished for him.

"I'm curious as well." Petunia said.

"Well," Dumbledore settled back in the couch and folded his hands in a manner Harry was very familiar with. "my visit today has two purposes. The first of which is to check on you, Harry."

"Me, sir?"

"Yes. You've had, to understate in the extreme, an interesting two years at Hogwarts. I thought I'd come by and see how you're handling it."

Harry sighed through his nose and pulled his legs underneath him. He looked at Petunia, who nodded at him. She wanted him to do this. Great. "At first, not great. I was having a lot of nightmares and I didn't sleep much. Then..."

"You saw Sarah, dear."

"Sarah?" Dumbledore had a look of interest on his face.

"My therapist." Harry supplied.

"Sarah Thompson."

"Yes, sir."

"Ah, one of Pomona's relatives. Excellent! And has she helped?"

"Yes, loads, sir." Harry had to smile. "She helped me work through everything."

"I see." Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "Your mother says you've taken up boxing?"

He nodded. "I did."

"Well, what's that like?"

Harry got the feeling that Dumbledore during the summer was an entirely different person to the one at school. He liked this Dumbledore, but was more curious about why else the old wizard was here.

"Albus," Petunia stopped him before could interrogate her son on what her husband called 'the noble art'. "do you think we could table talking about boxing and move on to why else you're here?"

"Ah, yes. Unfortunately, the other reason for my visit is not as pleasant." Dumbledore managed to look both grave and irritated. "Harry, how aware are you of our legal system?"

"Um..." Harry cast his thoughts back. "I got a letter from someone named Amelia Bones last month. Something about escaped prisoners?"

"Yes." All traces of irritation had faded from Dumbledore's lined face. "My news has direct correlation to that, I'm afraid. You see, the Minister for Magic has reason to believe that you are at risk from one or more of the escapees."

"More?" He was having trouble with the idea that just one was after him, but all? "How many more?"

The old wizard waved the question away. "Never mind that, Harry. As a result of this, and the breakout in general, the Minister has decided to protect Hogwarts by placing," and here Dumbledore's face twisted with disdain. "Dementors at the school."

"Okay," Out of the corner of his eye he saw Petunia stiffen and pale. "what's a Dementor, then?"

Harry was up in his room. The blank piece of parchment in front of him was waiting for him put words to it. His friends had written him at least a week ago, but he hadn't gotten around to replying to them. Now that he had the time and inclination to do so, he found he couldn't make the words come.

He couldn't stop thinking about Dementors. Dumbledore had explained what they were, why they existed, and pretty much anything anyone could eve want to know about them. When he was done Harry wished he hadn't asked. They sounded, in a word, terrifying.

"Dementors, Harry," Dumbledore polished his glasses on his sleeves and returned them to his crooked nose. "are constructs of magic. Our magic. They are the creation of one wizard, long since dead, to guard his island fortress from invaders. Their creation is a process I won't tell you, for I wish I didn't know and have no desire to pass on, but their characteristics are clear:

"They look like wolves made of shadows. Their eyes glow red and their teeth are massive and venomous. There is no cure for their bite. They exude an aura of utter dread, and anyone caught in it has no choice but to relive their worst memories. The Dementors of Azkaban are creations of pure evil, but the Minister has seen fit to convert the island to a prison, and uses them as his guards.

"They are why I came to warn you, Harry. You have seen far worse things than most. The Dementors will affect you stronger than anyone else. I will not allow them onto the grounds, but they are notoriously violent and prone to action. Be careful. Be watchful. They will seek you out, for your dark past as well as your power."

Not for the first time he regretted ever having this...gift. Harry put the letters aside for the moment and went to wash up for dinner. He made sure to use the hottest water he could stand. Condensation fogged up the mirror, which he was fine with. He didn't want to see what it would show him.

Golden eyes, surrounded by runes. They spread out to his temples, over his ears, and down the back of his neck. They were also creeping down his cheeks towards his jawbones and up towards his forehead. He wiped the fog from the mirror and ran a damp hand over the indents in his skin.

Harry sighed. As if he needed something else to make him stand out.

"Oy! Dinner!" Dudley bellowed up the stairs. Harry laughed at the muted scolding Petunia gave him as he came down the stair, wiping his hands on his jeans. He sat at the table with his family and enjoyed one of his last meals with them. In three days he went back to Hogwarts. He was both dreading and anticipating it.

At least this year he knew for sure someone was trying to kill him.

Kind of scary how that didn't bother him as much as it used to.

"Harry!"

A familiar blur slammed into him and did its level best to crush his ribs into dust. They overbalanced and smacked into his trolley, almost sending all three to the ground. Hedwig squawked indignantly at the commotion.

"Her-Hermione...air..." he gasped.

"Let him breathe, Hermione." Neville grinned at them, coming up to help Harry pry her arms off him.

He gasped as air returned to his lungs. Hermione gave him a reproachful look. "Honestly, my hugs aren't that bad."

"They're lethal." he assured her, leading them through the barrier.

"They are not! Neville, tell him they're not bad!"

"Sorry," though he didn't sound it. "but your hugs should be outlawed. They're dangerous. I thought I cracked a rib last week."

"You're just being dramatic." she told them both. Harry filed away that they'd met up a week earlier without him. He half listened to their cheerful banter as he took in the platform. From what he saw, their scene was the exception, not the rule. People were looking-for lack of a better word- grim. Parents held kids close, and moved almost fearfully between the fireplaces and the train. Some of them even looked at the shadows like they expected Dementors to leap out at any second.

"What's happened?" Hermione asked.

"You mean you didn't get the letter?" Neville looked askance at her.

"What letter? We spent the summer in France, remember?"

"Oh," he rubbed his chin. "right."

"You went to France? You didn't tell me that." Harry said.

"I did. I told you when I wrote you last."

"Ah." Harry scratched his arm. "I forgot."

She grinned. "Figured as much. Now, let's find an empty compartment, shall we? I don't want to end up by the engine again. Could barely hear myself think, it was so loud."

"You never stop thinking, though." Neville informed her as Harry led them onto the train.

"Man's got a point." he tossed over his shoulder. "You never seem to switch off."

"I'll have you know that..." she worried her lip for a minute before conceding. "you might have a point."

Neville and Harry laughed.

The whistle blew and the Express started chugging out of the station. To Hermione's pleasure, they hadn't been forced into a compartment by the engine. Instead they ended up towards the back, looking into doors to find one empty or mostly so.

"Here's one." Harry pointed. Inside there was a familiar head of dirty blonde hair. She had a folded newspaper on her lap and was nibbling on the end of a pen. A look of intense concentration was on her face. He budged open the door and stuck his head through. "Hey, Luna, mind if we join you?"

She blinked and looked up at him. His stomach tightened when he saw the fine scar on her throat. Her happy smile loosened it up. "Not at all! I was just solving this week's puzzle. I'd love some company."

"Brilliant."

And so the three of them hustled their trunks into the compartment and fussed about trying to find a seat. Neville and Hermione did, that is. Harry sat next to Luna and watched with a wide grin as they faffed around trying to sit next to each other without making it look purposeful.

"Good summer?" he asked Luna.

"Yes! I went to Sweden with my Dad. He loves it up there, says the cold air keeps him honest. I don't like it so much, the cold," she shivered. "but the skiing is fun."

"Oh, you ski?" Hermione asked, picking up the conversation's tail end.

Luna nodded.

"I've been at it for a few years now. Do you do alpine or nordic?"

The two girls then commenced talking about skiing. The conversation quickly surpassed Harry's knowledge of the sport; not much, so he paid them half a mind while turning to Neville.

"So."

"So."

"Good summer?"

"Pretty good."

"Any new plants to name?"

"Not this time."

Harry grinned again. "So, why'd you go see Hermione?"

Neville turned bright red and started stammering. Harry laughed. The red faced boy slugged his shoulder.

"You prat." he rubbed his knuckles. "Ow. When did punching you start hurting?"

Luna blinked into their conversation. "It didn't always?"

Neville shrugged. "Well, yeah. But, have you been working out?"

Harry rubbed the back of his head. "Yeah. Took some boxing lessons over the summer."

"Boxing? That's a barbaric sport, Harry. Why would you want to do that?"

Harry shrugged at Hermione, who had an outraged look on her face. "Fun? I dunno. My dad boxed his way through college. So I thought I'd give it a go."

"Yeah, but you could have been seriously hurt. I've read all about Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy and other head injuries that..."

Luna leaned in close and muttered, "Did you have fun?"

Harry blinked at her. "Yeah."

She shrugged and, for some reason, leaned her head against his shoulder. "Good enough for me."

Across from them, a passionate Hermione was explaining all about the different horrors of traumatic brain wounds to Neville, who was nodding and making agreeable noises when she paused for breath. Harry watched them for a few minutes before Luna asked, "Do you think she realizes he's not really listening?"

"Probably not. She may not care."

"I see."

Then she wouldn't tell him what she meant by that. No matter how many different ways he asked. It irritated him to no end.

All was going well until the train jerked to a halt far before they were due at Hogwarts. That, coupled with the complete and total failure of the onboard lights, served to make Harry's hackles rise.

"What's going on?" Hermione looked up from Neville's essay.

"We haven't broken down." Neville looked out the window. "We can't. Something's going on."

"Of course." Harry laughed humorlessly. "How it could be anything else?"

The train shook, and Luna clamped her hand onto his. He gave hers a squeeze and tried a reassuring smile. Before he could find out if he was successful, he noticed something.

Something he didn't like, but was well familiar with.

Dread.

Cold, ruthless dread curling around his heart. His mind flashed back to the conversation he'd had last week and the runes on his face took up a glow. Mist escaped from his eyes and curled around his hands. Luna stopped shivering, but he barely noticed.

"Harry?" Hermione asked, tentative. "What's wrong?"

Harry's answer came in a low hiss. His breath misted in the air. "Dementor."

Neville paled, hissed urgently in Hermione's ear. She paled. Luna's grip on his hand became almost painful, and she huddled close to him. In her other hand she clenched her wand. The other occupants of the car, sans Harry, soon did the same.

"What do we do?" Neville whispered. The air grew colder, the shadows longer. "Harry, what do we do?"

"Light." Harry replied, and a small sun bloomed in the center of the compartment. The feeling of dread lessened somewhat, and the merrily dancing flames warmed them. He shook his hand free and went to the door, placing his palm flat against the glass. Harry pushed his magic into it, imagining the glass and wood a brick wall that nothing could get through. The door shimmered momentarily.

Panting, he sat and wiped sweat from his brow. He waved his hand and the sun shrunk, lessening the light and the heat.

"Are you okay?" A soft question, a hand on his shoulder. He looked to see Hermione's concerned face. He looked from her to Neville to Luna. They all looked worried. Scared and worried.

"Yeah." he rasped. Then he swallowed and tried again. "I'm fine. Just took more out of me than I was expecting. We should uh, we should stay in here until the train starts moving again."

Nobody argued. They sat, watching the glass window slowly freeze over, huddled together for comfort more than warmth. Outside he could see shapes, vague outlines that darted between shadows. Dumbledore was right, he thought vaguely, they do look like wolves.

It was a tense half hour before the lights returned and the train started moving. When it did Harry wanted to weep with relief. Every muscle in his jaw ached. He didn't even know he'd been clenching it.

The rest of the ride passed without incident.

Of course, the peace didn't last.

In fact, he made it to the Entrance Hall before it started.

"Potter!"

Harry tensed. He knew that voice. He'd been dreading this since the day in the Chamber. He stopped just outside the Great Hall. The feast had just ended and they were on the way up to bed when someone had shouted at him.

"Harry?" Hermione looked over his shoulder, paled, and looked back to him. He waved her on.

"I'll be okay. Go on." he told her. She gave him a searching look, then grabbed Neville and pulled him away. Harry watched them go before turning to face Draco Malfoy.

He looked terrible. He'd always been pale, but now there was no color in his face. Shadows hung under his red eyes and his hair hung lank and oily. It looked like months since he'd slept. Guilt wrenched at Harry's chest.

He'd done this. He'd killed Malfoy's father. If someone had done to Vernon what he'd done to Lucius...he couldn't imagine looking any better. "Draco." he said.

Malfoy scoffed. "What? We're on a first name basis now?" then he did something very surprising. He grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him into an alcove.

"What are you doing?" He jerked his arm free. "What do you want?"

"Look, Potter, I...wanted to talk to you."

Harry blinked. "You did."

Malfoy growled. "Yes. So shut up and listen. You killed my dad. I loved my father, and you took him from me. Do you know what my summer was like? Every day I woke up and went to the kitchen and saw my mother crying over a cup of tea. Every. Day. She wasn't sleeping, she barely ate. You killed my father, and now my mother is dying.

"I want to hate you. God, I want to hate you so much. Then I remember what kind of man he was like." he ran his hand through his hair and sighed. "My father was...not a good man, Potter. Nor was he a good father. But he was my dad. I loved him. But I'm glad he's dead. So thanks, Potter, and go fuck yourself."

Then he left Harry in the dark alcove, wondering what had just happened. After a minute, he shook himself and went back to the common room. That had been the weirdest conversation he'd ever had, hands down.

He got to the portrait hole and stopped outside, realizing he didn't know the password. The Fat Lady looked down at him with a superior grin.

"No chance you can just let me in?" he asked hopefully.

She shook her head, then pouted as the painting swung open from inside. An impatient looking Hermione stuck her head out.

"Harry, I've been checking for every five minutes." She grabbed his arm and pulled him through the portrait hole. "Where were you?"

"I was talking to someone." he said.

"Luna?"

"No, why would you think that?"

She grinned a similar grin to the one the Fat Lady had worn. "No reason."

"Come on, Hermione! Answer me?"

"Nope. Not gonna."

"Please?"

"Go to bed, Harry."

END CHAPTER SIX

Note: Yep. It's an AU. Things are different. People are different. If you think Malfoy's going to be all sunshine and kittens, think twice. Yeah, his dad was an ass, but he was still his dad. He's going to pissed at Harry for a long time. Although I don't think he'll be bugging Harry anymore.

Next time on Funny thing, Magic: the plot thickens.