Chapter 22

Harry sat staring into his bowl of porridge, toying with his spoon. Around him everyone was chatting excitedly. Professor McGonagall had announced the Quidditch captain for the new season, starting soon after the Christmas holidays. Alicia Spinnet would be captaining. Although Harry was more than happy with the choice and had joined in the cheering, it was a passing joy. His head was still too preoccupied with the previous evening's events. He'd slipped into the common room and gone straight to bed, avoiding telling either of his friends why he was so late or why he hadn't returned to dinner. Things felt strained this morning. Hermione kept glancing at him surreptiously. He wished she would stop. He had decided not to mention what had happened the night before.

Ron was trying to rope everyone into another pre-season game, spirits high. Harry knew the red head desperately wanted to be part of the team this year, now that a few positions had opened up. Harry agreed automatically, not really listening to the conversation. After all the fuss last night, Snape hadn't given him the vials of potion. Not that he wanted them. It was just the thought that the man would get angry if he didn't take them. He was not going to ask the Potion Master for them. He wasn't going to let the man think he wanted, or needed his help. But, on a deeper level, Harry was dreading their next lesson. He still didn't know what had made him answer the professor's question. Snape had enough power over him already, without him giving him more.

Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. He looked up, finding Snape at the head's table. But the man was talking to Dumbledore, a sour look on his face. Harry turned, searching the sea of faces in the hall. His eyes landed on Malfoy. The blonde was staring malevolently at him. Harry turned back. He did not care about the Slytherin. Malfoy was little more than a spoilt child, whatever he was up to. He was not afraid of him, although he made a mental note to be more careful when he was alone.

"Coming Harry?" Ron asked eagerly, getting up with the others.

"Ya." Harry attempted a smile. He got up and followed, not missing Hermione's frown as they walked away.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

The game had become larger and steadily more ridiculous as a number of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students joined. Playing with twelve people a side had led to hilarity that even Harry couldn't ignore. Spotting Hermione on the ground, they left the others and landed next to her. From there, and in high spirits, they decided to visit Hagrid.

They walked down the grounds, laughing and arguing about the prospects for the upcoming season. Even Hermione, ignorant as she was on the topic, joined in. They arrived at Hagrid's Hut, just as the half giant emerged from the forest, Fang bounding besides him.

"All right, you three?" He boomed, opening the door and gesturing them in.

Seated at his oversized table, the kettle brewing, they chatted about their lessons. None of them had chosen to carry on with Care of Magical Creatures, but they listen to Hagrid telling them about the projects he was setting the younger years, Hermione interjecting alternatives and possibilities.

"Speaking o' which, I meant to ask ye Harry," Hagrid said over his shoulder as be bustled about putting the tea tray together. "I was up in the Owlery earlier, spending an order for Flobberworms. How's Hedwig been holding up? I didn't see her."

Ron and Hermione exchanged looks then looked at him. Harry didn't answer, his hands balling into fists under the table. The vague happiness that had permeated the morning drained instantly. Hagrid turned at the silence, looking at them uncertainly.

"Wha-"

"She went out hunting and never came back, Hagrid." Harry said, trying to hold his voice steady. His nails bit into his skin with the effort. He didn't look at anyone. His guilt and grief was already too much to bear.

"Oh Harry," The man lumbered over and put a large hand and his shoulder. It made Harry feel worse, that he should be comforted for something that was entirely his fault.

"I-I'm going to go for a walk," He managed to get out. "Thanks Hagrid."

He was not going to sit and cry in front of everyone. He wasn't going to sully his memory of Hedwig by letting himself by accepting sympathy he didn't deserve. He stood and walked out. He heard another chair scraping back as he closed the door, and the man's voice saying "Leave him be Hermione, he just needs some time alone."

It was funny how Hagrid, so naïve in a way, understood better than any of the others what he wanted. But the man wouldn't be able to look at him or comfort him if he knew the truth. Of how Harry was like a death magnet to anyone who loved him. He walked, feet pounding the ground furiously. He missed his owl terribly. Hedwig had been his companion through all the frustrating summers, his link to the wizarding world. And although she was just an animal, she had seen what things had really been like and loved him anyway. But look what it had got her. How could Harry let that be a possibility for anyone else? He dashed the tears that were falling down his cheeks. Although the day was mild enough, it held the promise of the winter that would soon be upon them. Dark clouds were amassing in the mountains on the far side of the lake. He sat on the bank, facing them. He wished everyone would just leave him alone. He didn't want this. To be responsible for everyone. He couldn't do it. How many more were going to die before everyone realised? His hopelessness was like a lead weight hanging from him. And, underneath the guilt, the ever aching pain. He bit his lip as Sirius came unbidden to his mind. Why couldn't it have been him instead? Why couldn't Lestrange's curse have been meant for him, as it should have been? He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the hot sting in his eyes and the lump in his throat. He picked a pebble up, rolling it in his hand, then threw it as hard as he could into the lake. Then another, and another, trying to forget.

Without warning, flaming pain blossomed from his scar. Harry lost all sense of where he was or what he was doing. The intense, burning agony left as suddenly as it had come. Harry found himself on his knees, hands clutching at his forehead and glasses askew. He clambered to his feet unsteadily. Glancing around, he saw there was no one to witness to whatever had just happened. Overhead the clouds were beginning to drift menacingly towards the castle.

His head was throbbing, scar twinging unpleasantly although the pain had receded. It didn't feel like it normally did. Usually it only hurt when Voldemort was experiencing an extreme emotion or the pain that accompanied a vision. But he felt neither. His fingers traced over his scar.

The wind had started to blow, bringing with it a chill that spoke of heavy rain. He glanced up. The storm was blowing in much faster than he realised. He would have to go back up to the castle. He just didn't want to be around anyone. He knew he should tell them that his scar had hurt. But he knew what that would result in. No, he wouldn't give them another excuse to watch him. And, above that, Dumbledore would tell Snape. He did not want to have to face the man again.

His stomach growled loudly as he glanced at his watch. It was already well into the afternoon. He must have missed lunch. Perhaps he would visit the kitchens and Dobby. It was a mark of how recovered he was that he was feeling hungry, although he didn't like to admit that Snape's potions had helped. He started to tramp back to the school, his robes whipping around his legs.

...

Harry sat staring at the sky, his invisibility cloak wrapped around him. The astronomy tower was usually deserted this time of night, especially when the chill had started setting in. But it was more than just a barrier to the wind. It provided a comfort that had nothing to do with keeping the wind from snatching at his warmth.

He knew he'd have to get back soon. Ron and Hermione, well more specifically Hermione, would be worrying. It was well after curfew. He'd quietly slipped into the common room during dinner and fetched his map and cloak. He hadn't wanted to be around them. Or anyone else for that matter. He felt fragile. Vulnerable. Like anything, no matter how small or stupid, was going to be the final straw. Around him the wind began to blow with a renewed vigour. It flapped his cloak and whipped his hair around, blustery fingers plucking at him. The storm that had been overhanging ominously was going to break soon, he could feel.

It was probably all the thoughts of Sirius and Hedwig that had sparked his feelings. Just thinking of them made his chest squeeze painfully tight. He missed them. How ironic that he had killed the only person who had had an inkling of how difficult things were. Sirius had done more for Harry than he had ever known. Which made it so much harder when it was taken away. Harry rocked back and forth, trying to take his mind off the pain that returned whenever he thought of his godfather. He didn't bother to check the tears.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Severus was stalking around the castle, bad mooded and silent. He hated Saturday night duty. Time was being taken from him that could be well spent researching potions or anything of the like. And in place he had to catch students misbehaving, usually in highly inappropriate ways. Having just dealt with such an event and two mortified, and now terrified, forth years, he turned and walked up a staircase leading to the towers. The wind was gusting down the hallways, making the suits of arm creak and windows rattle.

Quietly he walked along, moving with the shadows in a way that had long since become second nature. He would check the towers than go back to his rooms. Surely Albus wouldn't mind. The headmaster knew how little free time he had… the thought left his mind almost as he thought it. In a moment he went from peaceful solitude to chaotic emotion and back again. His head snapped round, eyes roving the corridor. It was Potter. It could only be. He was reasonably sure the damned cloak of his was one of the only ways that would be able to hide his emotions so completely. He walked slowly towards the doorway where he had felt it from, waiting for the barest glimmer of feeling that wasn't his own.

Severus would completely have missed the boy if the wind hadn't suddenly snatched the invisibility cloak again, whipping it around the small Gryffindor. Potter has sitting on the roof of the astronomy tower, knees pulled up to his chest, staring out into the sky. The boy moved, catching the offending cloth and wrapping it back around his shoulders, fingers clutching the fluid material tightly. From his angle Severus could only see Potter's head and chest, the rest eerily missing beneath the cloak. He moved back into the shadow of the door immediately, but the teen hadn't noticed. What the hell was Potter doing? Sitting precariously close to the edge of a building several stories high in what was about to become a huge storm. He stayed the angry impulse to drag the boy back in. Potter, of all people, should not be out alone and in what could easily become a fatal position. Especially after what had happened the previous evening.

Yet, now that he was uncovered, Severus could feel again the swirling turmoil of emotion surrounding the boy. A confusing mix of pain, hurt, longing, fear, guilt and other nameless sentiments, endless eddying around Potter. He stood indecisively, watching the teen. Clearly the boy was outside on the top of one of the tallest towers because he wanted to be alone. Severus understood well the desire, and while angry, he couldn't deny that Potter probably got little reprieve. He didn't think the boy was a danger to himself… But the boy made the decision for him as he shifted, swinging his legs over the edge of the roof and jumping down to the parapet below.

Severus moved back further into the corridor away from the door. He didn't want the boy to see him. However if he had that stupid map… Outside Potter was pulling the cloak around himself. He suddenly vanished, which for Severus was from more than just plain sight. The door closed seemingly on its own, and the only clue that the boy was there was the fading whisper as cloth on cloth, barely discernable in the draughty passage. Perhaps Potter had thought it unnecessary to check to see of anyone was around when he was so completely concealed.

He waited for a few moments, giving the boy a chance to get ahead, before heading swiftly back down to the dungeons. Perhaps the night shift had not been a complete waste after all.