Okay... so you all must be hating me at this point. *Hands over a really long chapter... appeased?

Welcome back to Dark Deity. I'd like to take a moment to celebrate it's 1st year anniversary. In July 2014 I never knew I'd still keep this story around or pushing out chapters, but low and behold it's survived. Thank you everyone who loves this fanfic and I hope to see another year go by with this story still under way. I never want it to end.

bwineylion is an artist who did a great drawing for this story! The link can be reached on my profile. Thank you so much bwineylion! If anyone else has drawings they'd like to contribute please send me the link or allow me to post it on my website (which can also be found in my profile).

Hunting for proof-readers for my other stories! Sometimes I can't catch all the spelling errors! I edit a lot, but things slip through the cracks. This story is far too late to get anyone, but how about Revival or the Rift Wars?

Anyways... enjoy.

Chapter Warnings: time fractures...

Deosil

It lingers at the edge of thought and reason. Cloying and playful in its nature. A fading memory, a simple taste...

But oh, he would give anything for the explosion of those flavors to come back. To coat his tongue with the thick substance and smack his lips in satisfaction. Even now he can't exactly remember the full extent to that tastes' complexities. With each passing second it continues to drift from him. Deep down inside, that hollowness he has known for so long begins to ache and twist in longing for more. What can he do? Where to find the bliss again? The sensation of euphoria is lost.

Once again he is empty.

Once again he is hungry.

"-arry?"

The young brunette blinks several times as the room rights itself once more. Colors swirl and lights brighten as he falls back into himself. Harry can't help the frown tugging down at the sides of his mouth when he faces the man sitting across from him.

Doctor Surmon has been the boy's personal healer since he was a toddler. A man with many questionable awards and magical discoveries in the studies of Anatomy and Hybronomy*. With all his decorations, the intrusive man is considered the best in his field of work. The Lineage of Potter procured him with a healthy sum to tackle Harry's illness. In the beginning everyone had been hopeful as the child endured a grueling process of potion and charm testing -it all proved for naught. Surmon had brought in many groups of physicians and colleagues over the years for assistance, debate, and even analysis. Harry found out the hard way, sitting on a cold metal table at the age of nine, that he became nothing more than a case study. A rarity. No one in the history of magical medicine had come across his situation before. That gave them the chance to exploit their family. His own father allowed Surmon to do it, even if the elder tries to justify it for helping him.

Not only that, but it was during the experimental phase that Harry found the sickening realization that he didn't experience pain. He tested many vials that brought everything heaving back outward in horrible convulsions. Sometimes there was blood and stomach lining. Other moments his mouth had been burned through from too much use of a particular acid. These were just some of the tame things that he endured so far as the treatments got stranger and more unorthodox over the years. The nurses that took post under Surmon were always frightened and never stayed in service for long no matter how much the Potter's paid them.

Harry grew smart quickly and never revealed that pain takes him to a heightened pleasurable state. If he could have any sort of control from adults, then being able to hide his reactions serves as a power itself. Although, that doesn't mean he hasn't taken mental and emotion damage.

Horrid illusions stalk his wraith-like form. Shadows of unrecognizable forms dance at his peripheral and chase him throughout the halls of Hogwarts. The soft babbling voices that make no sense whisper in his ears. Heaps of seemingly inviting food at the tables turn to burning ashes or spoiling rot in his hands. Sometimes, he swears the serpent forms littering the castle would also hiss cruel secrets and cooing advice to him.

When he tries to explain himself, or even point out the utter wrongness -no one believes him. Or at least, no one tries to understand. They all just think he suffers these illusions brought about by the dark curse from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Sometimes the haunted Potter wishes that that man was still alive so he could ask; why? What has he ever done to deserve this? Why?!

"This is quite exciting news, Harry." Doctor Surmon pushes oval glasses back into place. A quill scratches fervently over a scroll's parchment. "Your health is finally taken a turn about!"

Still silent, the Slytherin tries not to let his eyes linger on the lanky wizard and that ridiculous mustache wiggling in time with each pronounced word. He keeps a blank mask on his own face, using it as a shield to put distance between himself and the other. The anger is starting to bleed through regardless of the attempts to stay calm. His knuckles are white as they dig into black robes, and color rises along the curve of his neck.

"Truly a miracle!" A shrewd look passes over the man's face as he eyes the boy up. "It must of course be the new changes in the nutrient potions. I must plan to make more tests!"

Small fingers spasm, he drops his head to hide the nasty sneer and wild eyes that morph onto his features. 'I hate him! I hate him! I hate him!'

"Tell me," Leaning back in a chair, the elder waves his hand about the spare classroom. "Has your magic come back?"

A gasp. Harry shakes his head violently as he rests a hand atop a transfigured ring. He can't remember all the details, but his Holly and Phoenix wand had been ruined the night before. Earlier that morning after the release from the Infirmary, the Headmaster told him that he and his godfather can take a trip over the weekend to see Ollivander. The bearded male had also asked him not to tell Doctor Surmon about the disappearance of Gemma Farley. He doesn't know what's happened, and even though he might want to find out, he also believes in keeping his head down for the whole thing to blow over.

"Ah, that's too bad. I understand how disappointed you must be."

'Liar.'

"Hopefully in time it will begin to develop."

Hope. That single word disgusts the youth. His attention deviates as his healer goes on about connections between chained charms and rare ingredients that might enhance the potions he's taking now. Green orbs shift over the stone floor and lock on to something in the back of the classroom.

Tiny hairs stand on end as he gazes at the humanoid shade stationed in the corner. Their own shadows are cast against the opposite wall, so this particular phenomenon can't possibly be natural. Somehow, the Potter heir feels as if it's staring back, watching the discussion with interest.

A distant noise echoes into the shell of his ear. It sounds as if someone is sobbing...

His hackles rise, yet he refuses to look away from the shade. His uneasiness grows along with panic. What would happen if he did look away? The sobbing grows louder and louder to an unbearable height, until-

"Potter!"

Harry jerks violently in his seat, knocking over his potions book from the table.

"Are you going to hurry up and get your ingredients for class or sit there drooling away?"

A few Gryffindors start snickering in giggles, the students passing from their assigned seats to the supply cupboard. Those Slytherins who aren't actively ignoring his presence scoff openly in disdain.

He gapes at Professor Snape towering over him. "I... s-sorry, sir!"

Harry's secret role-model frowns in distaste. "Do not stutter, Potter. We have quite enough of that from Longbottom here." If the man could burn a hole with his eyes alone, the other cowering boy would be a dark smudge on the ground. The Professor almost felt bad with pairing Lily's son with the useless Gryffindor, but Harry needs punishment for dazing off. What better way to force one of his serpents to work harder than putting them with another student horrible at potions? "Get to it."

"Yes, sir!" When the gloomy man stomps away, Harry glances at the shivering kid. He lets out a terribly mournful sigh at having being partnered with a Gryffindor... and the worst one in class at that. 'This is grossly unfair!'

Standing quickly, he scrambles to the cupboard as the last few students grab up items. Glaring at two girls snickering at him, Harry stumbles in shock when the brute Goyle shoulderchecks him. The act of it makes the boy cringe in annoyance. He sends a heated snarl back at the grinning idiot. The sudden attack brings a slight blurriness to his vision. He reaches up to adjust his glasses, only to find that he isn't wearing any. His heart picks up with a shudder for some odd reason. Something foreboding shifts in the back of his mind.

"Harry..."

A pale hand rests on the snakling's arm then and green irises are bewildered as they catch mercury. Malfoy is smiling at him. Not the usual friendly grin or mischievous smirk. It's a sad sort of smile. A pitying one. Harry rips his limb back and pointedly turns away to grab the last few things he'll need. He slips back to his seat without making eye-contact again and sets to the task of laying down ground rules for Longbottom to follow.

"Just don't touch anything!" He whispers harshly at the end of his rant. The plump child ducks in shame, but Harry has no pity for him. He doesn't have pity for anyone -including himself. Which is probably why his silent fury is enough to burn the image of a kind Draco Malfoy from his mind. How infuriating. The Potter heir knew the moment he took that Slytherin oath of the consequences. He failed. Failed! He should be completely ostracized and take his time to find something to impress his House at a later date. Already he's scheming and plotting on what to do. If the Slytherin Prince is going to bypass all the rules and show him sympathy, Harry's going to tear out more than just that blond hair. He has standards! Tradition! Legacy! Those things are important to him.

"Uh... um. P-Potter?"

Sweet Morgana no wonder Snape looked as if he wished to smack him earlier. 'Stuttering is such a nuisance.' "What?"

"Your, er..."

"What?" Harry glowers at the other.

Neville Longbottom, too scared and shy, can only point to the object that his partner is chewing on absently.

A low grunt of surprise and Harry lowers what's left of the dried carcass of a mummified lizard. He drops it on the table as if burned. The raven-haired youth can't decide if his revulsion is centered on the fact that he was actually eating a poisonous potion ingredient like it was a snack, or the knowledge that it actually doesn't taste all that bad. He spits the dried pieces onto the floor, the husk-like flesh speckles the table leg and he wipes away the spittle from his mouth with a sleeve.

At the front of the class, Professor Snape seems agitated for a completely different reason. Wand tapping rapidly, his arms are crossed and onyx orbs watching the door. As if he's a viper, strung tight and ready, he waits eagerly for more information. He needs time in dealing with Professor Quirrell and getting updates from Auror Black. To continue teaching class, without being proactive in the dark events surrounding Hogwarts, is scrapping away his last patience. There are so many more important things he can be doing at the moment. Trying to calm himself, he takes stalk in the students. Lily's child takes charge over the potion, which interests the man somewhat as last night is still fresh in his memory.

When he had walked into the Common Room, he'd been very peeved to find half of Slytherin House huddled in chairs and sleeping on the sofas. The ceremonial fires of flickering green mounted the walls, cued the Head of House in that there was an initiation under way. It wasn't too hard to guess that it belonged to Harry Potter. Severus had gone hunting through the castle to check on the boy's progress and maybe instill a healthy amount of fear into the other, when he came upon the most peculiar sight. He had been completely thrown for a loop upon finding said male bare as the day he was born, lying on the tiles of the seventh floor. Being the pessimistic individual that he is, Snape immediately believed the worst of possible occurrences. Taking the boy straight to Madame Pomfrey, he demanded the youth to be checked thoroughly. Besides being unbearably cold and some mind magicks tinkering with Harry's memory, no one had raped Lily's child -thank Mabb for that. He would have burned the school to ashes to find the perpetrator and blown them to bits. Now, he'll stalk his target and take his time. For even if the Slytherin hadn't been molested, he had been Imperio'd... or something close to it.

As it is, more mysteries on the quiet snakling have only multiplied further since then, such as Harry's sudden good health.

Head swinging to the left enough to see the boy without the usual thick glasses, Snape dissects the smooth skin and flushed coloring. Much better than the shallow cheeks and sickly parlor. Harry's movement even appear more fluid and confident. He spends a moment speculating impossible reasons.

Just then, the door slams open revealing a man of Pureblood stature; blond hair pulled back and cane in hand. The hasty intrusion startles a red-headed boy who drops far too many Hag's fingernail clippings into a cauldron. It's effect is immediate as the blue potion changes sickly green and froths over onto the table. The Potions Professor is already making a beeline to the classroom doors as he casually punishes the student with a bored droll. "Weasley, ten points from Gryffindor."

The snakes jeer over the groaning lions, instead of Draco Malfoy who whirls around in his seat with a pinched expression. "Father?"

Holding one of the school's Board of Director positions, Lucius Malfoy makes it his business to appear when things aren't going so smoothly. One might say that the man plays messenger simply to snoop around in hopes of finding blackmail to force the Headmaster to resign. With a cold glance, the Malfoy Lord nods to his son.

"Is this about Gemma Farley?" Mullicent Bulstrode pipes up, demanding to know more about the disappearance of their female Prefect. Parkinson too seems deeply interested.

"What? A Prefect is missing?" A Gryffindor in the back exclaims. Whispers begin in conversation at each station, children glancing at others for confirmation. The Slytherin's go completely quiet with deadly glares at their inquiries.

"Get back to work. All of you. I will return shortly."

Harry is frowning too. 'Where has she gone anyway?' Just then he spies Parkinson's studying him like a lab experiment, he bares his teeth at her and goes back to his potion. It's a nice calm blue and if Longbottom doesn't try to help they'll get a passing grade for it.

A hissing sound draws the sullen student from his thoughts to search the shadows of the dark classroom. Determining that the cauldron must simply be simmering, he is somewhat taken aback when he hears the soft crying of a girl. Bewildered, Harry peeks over at Parkinson and Bulstrode who seem fine. Confusion crosses the youth's face as he scans all the females in the class, none of them actually crying. For a moment he believes that Parkinson is messing with him... then he spots the shadow behind the Professor's desk.

Automatically Harry swallows and looks away. 'It doesn't exist! It's just another illusion!'

The shade becomes more solidified. The sobs grow in volume. He does his best to ignore it, but there's a taste in his mouth that he can't identify. Delicious and... uh he's so hungry.

Bluish-grey dots form near the top of the shadow. It watches him. Nervously or subconsciously, the first year doesn't realize that he's picked up a potion ingredient at some point. There's just this single craving that he's trying to fulfill. Harry gnaws on the dead lizard.

"Hungry?"

It's such an odd question that Harry snorts and comes face to face with Malfoy... sitting beside him in the Great Hall.

"What?" Perplexed, the male swivels in his seat to make sure he really is in the large room or if it's just his imagination.

"I said, 'are you hungry?'" The blond pauses while lifting a silver fork to his mouth.

"Er..." He peers down at the dishes of British fare. A waft of decomposed meat and sourness invades his nostrils. Harry gags. "No! No, I'm fine."

A sculptured brow quivers in place and Draco sets down the utensil. From watching his childhood hero since the beginning of the school year, he's come to realize how little the other boy actually eats. At first he believed that it's the reason for Potter's skeletal form and fidgeting, but then he remembered the rumors which passed his parent's lips on the hushed information that only few ministry workers actually know. The Boy-Who-Lived may have survived the killing curse, yet the Dark Lord's power gave the child a horrid parting gift. -"If the boy lives, then he shall suffer."- Those are the very words that the Malfoy Patriarch claims that his former Lord thought at the end. Lucius Malfoy cannot prove it of course. His once Death Eater father can only feel justified with Harry Potter's sickly demeanor. When the man was in one of 'those' moods, Draco would never dare speak his mind. He'd keep his own thoughts and feelings on Harry Potter hidden behind closed doors. Call him stubborn, selfish, or even in denial... the blond refuses for Potter's illness to worsen to the point of his peer's death. He only just got on speaking terms with the brunette. "You should try to eat something. Some sweets maybe?"

Harry levels the Slytherin Prince with a look. Several Slytherins hiss at the blatant disrespect, making him blush with embarrassment and lower his head. The fuming Potter misses Malfoy sneer aimed at the others. He flinches when the boy leans closer to whisper lowly.

"I don't know what happened last night... but I can guess there must have been some outside interference."

Trying to ignore his peer's breath ghosting across his neck, Harry pushes boiled cabbage and potatoes around the embroidered plate as he listens. At the mention of 'interference', the male checks three seats down to where Parkinson preens with the other first year females. A flash of the night before; the conniving bint shook his hand, the tasks' final note reading -Meow-.

Harry snarls as he stabs a harmless potato. A burst of his darker emotions lash out like every time before his temper gets the better of him... but this time a physical wave sweeps through limbs and strikes outward. The fork goes straight into the plate and breaks the china clean in half. Melted butter and cabbage grease leaks onto the table below where the fork's tongs are embedded to the hilt. There's a smidgen of awe as a rush of vindictive accomplishment soothes his anger. A wicked smile of parted lips. A faint glow of green irises.

Beside him, the Pureblood falls silent so suddenly that he finally returns the gaze with a tamed smirk. "Are you okay, Malfoy?"

"I... yes. That was just... unexpected."

His grin turns sly. "Well we are wizards aren't we?"

"Yes. Yes we are."

Harry's smug look falters. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

A fevered pink crawls up Draco's face. "Nothing..." The blond takes another bite of brisket to make the moment less awkward. He chews mechanically, profiling Potter without being too obvious. Dark silkier hair curling around the rosy cheeks. Impossibly green irises unhindered by frames. The youth is finding it harder and harder not to openly stare or even touch the other.

"What is it?" Harry says in exasperation.

"You look good. I mean!" Draco sputters, wishing to be anywhere else then sitting there making a fool of himself. "You look better than before..." His voice trails off as those emerald eyes stare back.

"Draco darling." Another voice breaks the odd tension between the two males, and Parkinson shifts in her seat. She pretends to look around in confusion, overlooking Potter on purpose. "Who are you talking to?"

It's a stab at his situation and Harry hunches in on himself, miserable with failing the 'test'. He was so close to getting the last ribbon too! Ignoring everything else when Malfoy tries to rise in his defense, the boy lets out a sigh. Can't the brat see that it's just getting worse? The rest of the table is starting to give him threatening glares as if he's somehow bewitched the Pureblood into standing up for Harry.

There are steps along the wall behind him and Harry stiffens in place. The sensation of someone entering his personal space makes the boy turn ever so slightly. Whoever it is though, walks in the opposite direction, causing him to only catch a shadow that disperses into nothing. His orbs linger and heart pounds. Are the illusions acting up again?

"What is Auror Black doing here?"

Blaise's question jerks Harry around to look at the Head Table. Sure enough, Sirius Black sits grinning between the Headmaster and Hagrid, garnering bellows of laughter from the half-giant. On the other end, furthest away from Dumbledore sits Lord Malfoy with a displeased sneer on his regal face. His godfather catches him staring in open shock and sends Harry a wink.

Thoroughly confused, the Potter heir allows his eyebrows to furrow. What is his godfather doing here? He heard that Sirius came to check up on him in the Infirmary, but he hadn't been told that the man is staying in the castle. It isn't even near the end of the week yet... Harry curses under his breath a second later. How stupid is he? Gemma Farley is missing. His godfather is an Auror. That's the reason the man is here. The Slytherin pointedly refuses to glance back up at the shaggy haired male again. Too jumbled in hurt thoughts and childish emotions.

"-heard she got a letter from some French boy."

"No, he's Austrian I swear."

"I smell a scandal-"

"Was he a muggleborn?"

"Did she get pregnant?"

"Makes sense if she took off..."

Doing his best to ignore the gossip around him, Harry rolls a potato into the crack and smashes it down in boredom. He awaits patiently for someone else to leave lunch first so he doesn't draw too much attention to himself.

There's a few second years making rude gestures at one another. A male trying to memorize class notes. The usual bickering and rumors from several nosy individuals. Then of course that awful sobbing in the background...

Just then that same lurking feeling from earlier grows into existence. Searching for the odd shadow apparition, Potter's jaw drops when he sees the back of a naked boy. No one in the enormous hall spots the figure walking towards a group of Hufflepuff upper years that are moving towards the doors. He feels like he recognizes the nude individual even with their back to him... The blurry form worsens until he has to squint and as he rubs both eyes -a second later the person disappears.

Harry stands up from his seat, startling a few students. Hair tossing from left to right, he can't find the naked male again. Is it just his imagination? And bloody Mordred, if that girl doesn't shut the hell up -he'll give her something to really cry about!

Harry stumbles and runs into a closed door. The raven-haired child is able to catch himself before planting his face in the wood thankfully. Yet, when did he get here? He's sure that he was in the Great Hall... Where is he?

Craning his head, the Potter youth notices the Infirmary sign above the white-wash door. 'Oh yeah, I need to get my potions after every meal.' Conflicted, he pushes into the large sterile space. Windows arched high with light filtering in from the afternoon sun. Harry blinks at the brightness and everything suddenly becomes slightly more fuzzy. Once again he tries rearranging his glasses, but finds that he isn't wearing any... There's a heavy sense of deja-vu.

He slows to a stop.

"Mr. Potter! A bit late are we not?" Madame Pomfrey is sitting at the desk on the back wall. A series of bulbous containers resting on the tabletop.

Wobbling on his feet, Harry moves forward cautiously as a wave of tiredness seeps into him. He can feel the usual suctioning of his strength being sapped away. A spike of fear stabs through him as he realizes that he's becoming weaker. 'I should have come sooner. If the potions are actually helping, I need to make sure I take them on schedule!'

A moment later he reaches her and soundlessly downs the first two bottles. Another one catches his eye and he frowns disheartened. The nurse follows his orbs to the cylinder shape and tinted glass of the phial. The etching on the side reads T#J00 with the initials P.T.S underneath it. A chill runs through the boy.

"Yes, this must be Doctor Surmon's newest potion." She looks to him worriedly. "He says that he wishes he were here to watch you take it, but there were other things he needed to tend to..."

The youth chooses not to comment on the woman's sour face. Harry knows she abhors the man as much as he does.

"Take a seat... he's requested that I take notes of any changes."

Sinking into the uncomfortable chair, the eleven year old grinds his teeth together as he picks it up. Inside, the contents shift, a phosphorus purple. Popping open the top cork, he downs it in one swallow. A rich flavor stings across his taste buds and Harry sucks in a breath of surprise. 'This... this is similar... not the same no... but similar! What is this?!'

Pleasure blossoms in his chest. That doesn't always mean a good thing. In fact, being Harry -that means something very wrong is happening. Green orbs widen in realization. He slaps a hand at his abdomen and looks up.

"Mr. Potter?"

He opens his mouth, but purple foam comes out startling both of them. The room spins and a wonderful feeling of arousal intensifies shooting down from his lungs. The Slytherin falls to the floor, legs kicking and arms flailing. He can't breathe.

"Mr. Potter!" Madame Pomfrey's voice is shrill as she stands quickly and scurries into the office to grab one of the emergency potions.

Harry spasms on the floor. Dots fill his vision as darkness creeps in. He's blanketed by overpowering bliss and a blackened void of nothingness... 'No. No. No. No. I don't want to die! I don't want to DIE!'

Strong arms envelope the boy, picking the child from the ground.

A tasteless liquid enters his mouth and soon he's heaving the contents of the last potion into a summoned bucket. Long minutes stretch by. Someone holds him tightly as he empties his system. A washcloth wipes the sweat from his face. His robes are removed. Harry rests with his chilled cheek against a hot collarbone. Once he gathers his bearings, the youth comes to find that he knows the scent from the older man. Several emotion wage inside of him. He chokes aloud, "Father..."

"Hadrian. I'm sorry... I'm so sorry."

He hates it. Being coddled by Lord Potter. Being held like a frail thing... like a dying thing that the man just can't let go. Mostly, he hates his father's words; 'I'm sorry' or 'it's going to be okay' and 'let's hope for the best'...

With all his might, the Slytherin pushes away to sit on the bed closeby. "Why are you here?"

The nurse is standing by. Empty vial and worry lines deepened. Slowly she moves away for the two males to speak to each other. She will certainly write a parcel to Doctor Surmon and tell him to keep his horrifying creations off school property!

When the woman leaves, James Potter, still dressed in his Auror robes turns to his son. The bespectacled man shares close features with his son. Unruly hair, sloped noses, and weary expressions... "I... I came to see how you're doing."

Harry doesn't quite believe it. Sure, he knows his father loves him. The man lavishes him with everything a child can ever hope for. Although, when it comes to spending time with the boy. He can see the pain it causes the elder Potter. The youth can practically hear dreary thoughts revolving around him. Deep down, Harry can tell that his own father thinks he'll die soon. Not yet, but soon. His pitiful parent suffers because he is suffering. He absolutely hates it!

"Then why didn't you come last night? Sirius did..."

"Hadrian. I had things to do. You know how hard it is with my position as Head Auror."

'Liar! You mean how hard it is to see me!' Harry turns away, looking at anything else besides the man fidgeting across from him. He glowers at the far wall that's hard to see. The youth scrubs at each eye carefully in hopes that it'll right itself. It doesn't. Flinching when James leans forward, Harry drops his attention to a case being pushed into his lap.

"I was told you were found without your glasses. Here's your second pair from home..."

"Thanks..."

There's an awkward pause. Harry tries to busy himself by opening the black box and pulling out circular frames. He places the neat silver on his nose and shoves it into place. He knows that he looks even more like his father now. That thought irritates him for different reasons.

"Hadrain-"

"It's Harry... just Harry."

"Harry." James sighs lowly, running a hand through short locks that spike out in random directions. "I need to ask you some things."

A murderous glare is pointed at sleek shoes as the Potter child keeps his head down. He already knows where the conversation is leading. It angers him. "About what?"

"It's about Gemma Farley, it's about her disappearance."

"I don't know anything!"

"Hadr-Harry! Calm down... please if you could just remember anything."

Eyes screwed shut, Harry does his best to block everything out. He doesn't want to deal with this. Not Doctor Surmon. Not Draco Malfoy. Certainly not even his father!

"There's a girl missing. Probably kidnapped and scared, Hadrian. Please."

A twisted sneer. He doesn't remember Prefect Farley being scared. In fact, with his eyes tightly closed he can see her oval face... in an awkward dreamy quality. That's odd... very odd... especially with the sound of sobbing.

"Can you remember?"

Harry lifts his chin to retort at the man, but instead he stares at the intruder stationed behind his father. The snakeling can see the other male standing near the doors. A very petite and dangerous looking boy with dark hair, slate grey eyes, and a bloody wound trickling down a naked body.

"Wait up!"

With a yelp, Harry staggers on both feet. Arms out at the sides and large eyes taking in everything around him, he turns in time to see Malfoy bounding towards him. It seems as if he's about to step into the Slytherin Common Room. "What?"

The blond joins him with an accusing look. "You were walking too fast. What's wrong?"

"Er... how did I get here?"

Snorting in amusement, the Pureblood smirks at the ridiculous question. "We walked here from the Infirmary of course."

He blinks in confusion. "Madame Pomfrey let me go?"

"Potter... she's the one that told me to take you. You're father didn't like it," There's a smug grin as he continues, "but he said he was busy. Don't you remember?"

Worry begins to gather at the back of his thoughts. "No... not at all."

Draco's smile drops. "Are you-" He's jumps in shock as the small hands latch onto his arms. "P-P-Potter!"

"Hush. Listen." There's a frantic gleam in the raven-haired boy's eyes. "There's something wrong."

Malfoy's tone also descends into a whisper. "What?"

"My memory."

"What?"

"Just listen!" The panic spreads through him. "I think. I think there's something wrong with my memory."

"What do you mean?"

"I-I'm about to do something... or remember something. Then everything changes. I'm somewhere different than I was before. I'm doing something different than I was doing before... I think someone's messing with my memory!"

At this point, the Slytherin Prince too is bewildered and fearful. "What? That's impossible! I mean... I've never heard of that. Do you think it's a curse of some kind?"

Harry shakes his head. "I don't know. I... don't know what to do."

"Do you want to go back to the Infirmary? Your father might still be there."

"No! No..."

Draco considers the other with thinned lips. The Potter's relationship between father and son is rocky, he can certainly relate to that sometimes. "We can wait for Snape. He said he'll need to speak to all of us tonight..."

"Okay." He removes his palms.

As if remembering something, the more popular boy shoves an appendage into fine robes and pulls out an apple. He offers it to the friend he'll hopefully have one day. "Here... I noticed you didn't eat anything at lunch."

"Ugh... thanks."

The passage opens as a few upper years are coming out. The two nod to each other and Harry takes a step towards the stone wall -when almost immediately his surroundings change.

Not like before, where he feels out of place and has forgotten how he got there. This time it's sort of like a full blown illusion draping over his eyes. Everything's surreal like a dream. He stands staring into a round entrance with runes glowing from above...

In the abysmal room, strange shapes are littered across the floor. There's a slight draft and the atmosphere is haunting. Inward, Harry hears his own subconscious give a horrible jabbering noise of useless phrases that he can't understand. 'What's going on?'

Slowly, so unbearably slowly, the boy moves his head as a figure steps from his side. He registers shock. "Farley?"

Indeed. The Prefect stands right there next to him. Wand slack in her hand and shoulders relaxed. There's a stupid grin on her face.

"Where have you been?" His voice makes a weird echoing sound. Muffled and far away. "Everyone's been looking for you! Farley?"

She can't hear you.

Something cold brushes his shoulder and Harry glances to his other side. There's another person standing close. Bluish orbs luminous and calculating. Body bare and bleeding. He feels like he should know this boy. That they've met before... where? Who?

Gemma steps forward, disappearing into the darkness.

"Wait!" He reaches out-

Fire crackles. Harry jerks his hand back from the open flames of the Slytherin Hearth. He whips around so fast that the low murmurs of talking halt as suddenly as his gaze lands on the students sitting on chairs and sofas in a half-circle around him. Mostly first and second years with varying degrees of bored expressions. Malfoy is there too, standing at the helm. The blond once had their attention, but it deviated to himself in that moment.

Nott raises an eyebrow in semi-amusement at Potter's 'lost look'.

They continue their discussion.

"Why should he get another chance so soon? The rules says he has to wait at least a full year!" Blaise tries to keep a neutral expression, but there's a glint of disgust in his dark orbs.

"Things have changed." Draco says, remaining stubborn.

"What's changed? It hasn't even been twenty-four hours yet." One of the second years speak up with a droll.

"Look at him!" The Malfoy gives a frustrated gesture. "Just look at him closely!"

His ears burn red in embarrassment as all eyes zero in on him.

"Huh... he looks different."

"Better." A female purrs.

Nott smirks, eyeing the brunette. "A lot better, I'd say."

Blaise lets out a grunt of displeasure. "So you're riding on his sudden looks now?"

Rounding on the tanned male, Draco scoffs. "Oh please. What are the basics that we pride ourselves in Slytherin?"

"Money." Someone pipes up.

"Power." The same girl from before simpers.

"Beauty." Nott winks.

Harry has the sudden urge to slap the boy. Yet there's this absolutely horrid taste in his mouth. He cringes as he looks down to see the apple in his hand with a bite taken out of it. Tiny maggots wiggle in his mouth and the youth turns to spite it out into the fire. Why in blazes did he try to eat it?!

He doesn't realize he said that last thought out loud, until a snort originates from Nott. "Still a bit of a wacko though, huh?"

Anger seethes out from his core. Harry can feel the tingling of darkness that he felt at lunch time build inside him. "How did I get here?"

More snickers. "You walked through the door with Malfoy!"

"But I... I saw Farley and a boy. A naked boy who-"

By now the snickering turns into full blown laughter.

"He's off his rocker for sure."

"Daydreaming about boys-"

"What a ponce!"

Red swarms his sight, but something pale and blond stomps right up to him. A harsh whisper draws the male out of rage. "What in the blazes are you doing, Potter?! Don't you see I'm trying to help you?"

He snaps back, equally irate. "Why? Why help me at all?! What do you get out of this Malfoy? What sense is there to help the useless sick kid, huh?"

"I..." Draco's silvery eyes widen. "Because I want to help you, you prat! Because maybe I think of you as a friend!"

"When have you ever told me that? Huh? Never! You may stand up for me, but only when it's convenient for you! I must be such a disappointing friend!" The male feels delight in seeing Malfoy gape like a suffocating fish.

"Potter!" A shriek signifies Pansy Parkinson's arrival. The girl advances past the occupants in their group and shoves the boy with glasses back from her secret crush. "Where's Farley?!"

The others groan. This same conversation had been circulating all day and it seems it's already boring gossip.

"She's gone Parkinson."

"Ran off with that Swedish bloke."

"Got herself knocked up!"

There's a purple tint to the female's face. "I know Farley personally! A friend of the family. Not once did I meet this supposed boyfriend -and she certainly wasn't pregnant!"

"Well it's said he was a muggleborn."

"Or possibly a muggle." Someone adds in, unhelpfully.

"Shut up!" Parkinson whirls to snarl at Potter. "Farley wouldn't just run off! You've done something to her!"

"I didn't-" Harry's hands are up in defense. If he can use his wand, but no, it's just a transfigured ring.

"What did you do Potter? Did you curse her and stuff her body in a closet somewhere?! Did you-"

There's a loud thud as the apple falls to the floor and rolls away.

"Potter?"

"Harry?!"

But he doesn't hear Parkinson or Malfoy. He only hears the sobbing...

There's a flash as something intangible snaps within him. Memories begin to flood his mind and Harry is screaming.

Spitting and howling, ripping and tearing.

The door.

The cave.

The painting, and beyond that... Farley's back to him. A ballroom littered in bones. Shameless naked gods eating small bodies and fornicating with one another.

The gore.

The man.

The hunger.

Finally.

He lowers his hands mechanically. Glasses shift to the edge of his nose as Harry gazes blankly at the slick rocky ground. A deep grinding noise shifts and morphs and warmth seeps onto him. His shadow stretches away as the brilliant light cradles his form. The male blinks and straightens up, finding himself in the last place that he'd ever think to tread again. The ancient door is open and this time the room inside isn't dilapidated with broken furniture or covered in dust from centuries of disuse.

This time, the wooden floor is polished. The furniture is reupholstered. Bookshelves are immaculate. Oil lamps are glimmering. And standing by the painting...

"Voldemort..." The name slips from between his lips.

Where is the horror? The pain? The madness of monsters in shadows and disfigured demons howling for flesh?

Instead of these terrifying things, a soothing voice, holding a husky melody calls out to him from within. Light amusement. A secretive fondness... "I was wondering when you would come to visit me again, Harry."

Pupils dilate and yearning unravels in his chest.

Without hesitation, without thought, without fear...

Harry steps through the portal.

End Chapter.

Hybronomy: an umberlla term for all studies dealing with human hybrids, werefolk, halfbloods, undead, and every documented being of human orgin.

Give me some feedback, it's been awhile. Does everyone still adore this story?