CHAPTER 41: United in Grief (Part 4)

Second-Year Slytherin Dormitory

March 20th, 1993

5:15 p.m.

Harry shoved open the door of the second-year Slytherin dormitories, its loud crash reverberating on the walls nearby. The sound passed through him like a gentle breeze, completely ineffective at stopping him as he began plunging into his brown satchel. Carelessly, he began fishing out every item within, launching them across the room as he searched for it. It had been too long. The Charms classroom was in the third-floor and located on the opposite side to the Slytherin Common Room - the trek in between them easily fifteen minutes.

Fifteen minutes without Tom.

It was too much. He needed to see him again. Talk to him again.

Tom was there. Every moment he was surrounded by arseholes giving him side looks and glares, Tom was there. He was his friend - his only friend - talking to him became an addiction. Every waking moment, he was writing to him, and Tom was always there to write back. Classes started blending into each other, not that he ever paid attention to them, they were simply the place he had to be at to talk to Tom without the teachers and students fuzzing about him. Asking where he had been the entire day, acting as if he were somehow being an idiot for skipping classes.

They had mocked him about it, all around the halls he could hear them laughing at him. They had stopped being so direct about it and confronting him directly, but it was still there. And he was still aware of it all. In other cases, he would retaliate, find a way to make them suffer for it until their spirit was too broken to even spare a glance at him. But he didn't need to, he didn't care for their insults. They didn't know what they were talking about, what they considered a diary was so much more than that.

It was a friend, an ally, a confidant. Someone who had the same shitty home life before Hogwarts. Someone who would help him with his homework and his ambitions at learning offensive magic. Someone to help him come to his true potential, who'd constantly support him and never betray him. Tom wasn't Montague, he wasn't like any of the daft Hogwarts students he had to deal with, like the idiotic Dursleys and all the twat Muggles he had to deal with before Hogwarts.

Tom was special. More than that, Tom knew Harry was special. He was the only one who could see that.

His fingers were hit with a jolt of electricity as they brushed up against a small notebook, forcing an unwitting laugh from him. He scrambled the book open and reached for the closest of his tattered quills that had landed on the ground. Dipping it in his ink, he pressed it to the blank page so fast black marks scattered all over the page.

"I'm back." He wrote, the words quickly disappeared into the page, leaving it empty once more.

"Good," came Tom's reply. "In the Great Hall - I presume?"

"God no." Harry made a face. "The last thing I need is Crabbe trying to rip the diary away from me again."

"Well we couldn't have that," Harry could almost feel the smirk that came with the words. "I'd rather not have to be forced into conversation with an obtuse corpulent kid."

"It's not like you're forced to talk to him. Can't you just, like, not answer."

"I mean, obviously, I can. But then I'd get bored, and you know that never ends well."

Harry laughed. "Whole lotta bad that'll do, you can't really do much other than write. No offence."

"None taken," Tom replied, a few ink marks falling on the page as Harry's hand shook with excitement.

"Crabbe and Goyle are just idiots," he continued. "Malfoy is a bigger one, but he has bigger idiots following him. You don't even know the worst type of kid this shit excuse of a school has."

"Are you talking about them?" Tom asked, causing Harry to tense. "You've been vague about the whole situation, why don't you tell me more?"

Harry closed his eyes. He didn't want to, he never wanted to talk about them. Didn't want Tom to know, to think of him as weak or stupid. No. He wouldn't tell him. Not about them, not about that. Scrunching up his eyes, he felt resistance, as if another part of his mind was trying to write it down. Tell Tom everything, detail all about the misery he lived through in his first years at Hogwarts.

He resisted it, forced his own will against it with as much strength as he could muster, but the stronger the force he applied, the more powerful the force felt. It was overwhelming, his head began dizzying, but he kept resisting.

And then, in a moment, it stopped.

Breathing out a sigh, Harry opened his eyes only to find a message already waiting for him.

"I understand. I know what it feels like. I can show you, if you'd like."

Harry's heart stopped. Could he understand? Truly understand? Tom had already shown him his past before Hogwarts, his life at Wool's orphanage. But this was different, it was much more vulnerable, something he very well doubted had happened to anyone before him. Inhumane. And yet, Tom promised he understood - and Harry believed him.

"Okay," he wrote into the diary - his hand almost feeling as if it moved on its own.

Suddenly, the pages in the diary were blown as if a thunderous wind reached the Slytherin dormitories. It abruptly stopped on a page near the first third of the diary, a black scribble marking the seventh of November. The page in the diary began to gradually crumple into itself as before it completely disappeared into a black hole that had formed behind the page in the dead centre of the diary. The sheer force of it began pulling Harry, beginning in a gentle tilt, he began falling into the diary as he fell into an endless pit, assaulted by a whirl of colour and overlapping voices.

Recalling upon his previous experiences, Harry managed to fall on his two feet rather than falling over like he had in his first adventure to Tom's memories. His eyes quickly adapted to his new surroundings quickly, easily recognising the familiar room. The phthalo green couches surrounding the fireplace, both lit up by the underwater view from the large windows on the other side of the room. Over fifty years and still, there wasn't a single noticeable change inside the Slytherin Common Room.

Past the dozen or so people inside the room, in his own bubble of quiet in the midst of incoherent noise, atop a battered stool sat a young Tom Riddle. He couldn't be older than twelve, short tidy hair and an intelligent look as he went over a second-hand book. After witnessing so many of Tom's memories, he had already had time to appreciate just how similar to him, he looked. Their facial features, while not identical, were similar. They shared the same complexion, jaw structure, and even nose. However, Tom's hair was much straighter and tidier - something he had never been able to accomplish, not even after following his advice and applying Sleakeazy's Hair Potion on it. His eyes were ice blue and vibrant, while Harry's emerald eyes had adopted a more dull sense to them, hidden behind the round-frame glasses he was forced to wear.

Walking through the Slytherins, Harry's eyes stayed fixed upon his friend. He could see him focused on the black diary in his hands, dipping his quill in ink before he continued writing the same entry that would transport him into this memory over fifty years later. Knowing better than to talk, Harry quietly gathered his surroundings before waiting for whatever Tom wanted him to see.

Too distracted in his own thoughts, he almost missed the quiet oomph that came from Tom's direction. As he quickly turned back, he heard the crash before he saw Tom falling bum first on the ground, with a three older Slytherins - looking to be sixth or seventh years - cackled at the boy.

"That's my seat, Mudblood." The one in the centre said nastily.

"It wasn't yesterday," the young Tom spat back, his eyes cold with fury. "You were the one who forced me into it, remember?"

"Mudbloods don't deserve to sit down," another boy hissed. "Or talk to their betters with such… bestial attitudes."

"You're lucky we even allow you in here," the third boy followed. "If it was up to us, you'd sleep in the grounds with Professor Wolpert's brutes."

"I'm not the one who looks like a retarded troll," Tom gritted out. "I may be a Mudblood, but at least my parents weren't siblings."

With forceful speed, the boy in the middle raised his wand to the air, performing a quick wand movement as he did so. Two steel chains shot out of the wand, latching themselves into the ceiling before the tail ends of them jumped to Tom's feet, curling around each leg before abruptly pulling upwards.

"Ack!" Tom shouted, before crashing face-first into the ground as the chains swooped him off his feet and began dragging upwards, helplessly hanging upside down as the rest of the common room switched their attention towards the struggle.

Snarling, Tom pulled his wand out of his holster, haphazardly aiming it towards the three boys before a stinging hex hit his hand. The wand tattered against the ground, chanting a dreadful melody as Tom brought the hand to his chest, already red and swelling from the hex.

"It seems the Mudblood still hasn't learned his place," the boy in the middle said, a gleeful craving shining in his smile. "I think it's time we re-educate him in wizarding manners."

Various Slytherins grinned at the announcement, walking towards them, creating a semicircle that quickly crowded him in with Tom. Harry could feel his heart pounding in his chest, he felt trapped, unable to breathe. Unwilling to close his eyes, Harry began panting for air as he fumbled for his wand. But before he could find it, he felt himself being sucked out of the ground and into the ceiling.

Harry screamed, feeling his guts twist into themselves as he waited for the chains to snap around his wrists, before he watched as his surroundings disappeared behind him. Images flashed all around him, too fast to process, as a blood-curdling scream overtook the voices around him before he was pushed out of the hole and thrown to the ground in the centre of six beds.

Unable to hold it in, Harry found himself vomiting into the middle of the ground. Ignoring the ghastly smell from his own bile, Harry laid his back against the base of the bed. The emptiness in his familiar surroundings brought him comfort, but not nearly enough as the one he felt when he seized the diary from its place atop the bed, hugging it to his chest.

It wasn't real. It was just a memory. Tom's memory. They couldn't hurt him. They couldn't touch him.

Giving one last long breath, he turned back to the diary, where there were already words waiting for him.

I understand. I've been where you are. I've lived through what you'll live. It's your turn. Let me help you.

Harry bit his lip, hesitating only for a second before he picked up the quill.

Seventh-Year Slytherin Dormitory

November 28th, 1995

9:25 p.m.

Thunder rang against the ground a few feet above them, the ceiling almost shaking from the intensity of it. A colossal thunderstorm had hit the grounds of Hogwarts near midday, harassing the Slytherin team just as they had begun training for the day - as the pitch had been booked by the Gryffindors for that afternoon, he had decided he couldn't sacrifice the practice and moved it to their lunch hours. It would've been a shorter time that he would have liked, but any practice was worth it given how the game was set to take place later that weekend.

The potent winds they had experienced as they traversed from the castle to the pitch had been a foreboding omen, one he had ignored. Quidditch matches were hardly ever cancelled, the cases in which they were, it was as a result of a fatal injury from one of the teams - learning to play in rain, even a strong storm, was just part of the game. The clouds didn't hesitate as they disregarded any graduality to it and immediately began spouting a forceful barrage of rain and large balls of hail.

He persisted nevertheless, even with most of his team began whining, pleading to reschedule the practice. It wasn't until a flustered, raving Umbridge arrived at the scene and liberated the others from his tyranny that he finally relented. Thankfully, he didn't receive any punishment from the deformed, agitated toad-lady besides a few minutes of angry yelling and the promise of detentions if he continued his Quidditch practices during dangerous weather conditions.

There was no doubt in his mind there would be a new Educational Decree disallowing Quidditch under hail or thunderstorms by tomorrow morning.

Umbridge had become a pain in his arse over the past few weeks. At the beginning of the semester, he had revelled in watching her put the idiots who dared to openly defy her in their place - the fact that there was a higher number of Mudbloods and filthy half-bloods raised in with the Muggles than pure-bloods in her detentions was just dessert after a filling feast. If they didn't care enough to develop a self-preservation instinct within them, why should he cry for them as they subjected themselves to the torture they knew they would earn?

There was something so satisfying about watching morons do moronic things and be punished for it.

Of course, that had all changed after the attack. It had been stupid, Graham had warned them not to attack Potter upfront, that he was not to be harmed - touched. Ares wanted him for something, they hadn't known for what until they saw it. The murderous fire behind Potter's eyes as he took care of them, none of their attempts even causing the slightest of flinches in him. He had never felt fear like that night. He was convinced he was going to die, murdered by Potter over an attack he attempted for losing out on the Quidditch team to the boy.

If it hadn't been for Pomfrey, he would have been dead. And if it hadn't been for those mediwizards Umbridge had brought in from St Mungo's to help with his recovery, he would have never walked again.

It was a long month of recovery, one filled with endless pain and the never-ending hatred he felt. His feelings of hatred for the boy, the rage he felt and desire to leave the infirmary and strangle Potter with his own hands, would have been too large to overcome, if not for the paralysing fear he felt. Because even in his mind, as he began picturing him going after Potter, murdering him in any way he could imagine, the dream always turned to a nightmare. With Potter coming back from death, his body - mutilated, grotesque, monstrous - before he inflicts a slow, sadistic torture on him before ripping off his arms and legs and leaving him for dead.

It was a recurring nightmare that haunted him throughout his long month of recovery, his only companion besides the constant pain he felt from his injuries. Even now, he could still feel it as he stretched his arms a little too much or stayed standing for a long amount of time. Pomfrey and the others told him it would slowly dissipate, but that it would take various months to completely go away.

That dread he felt every time we saw a head of black hair or a boy with glasses, he doubted that would go away so easily. That was the reason why he'd shut down any plans for revenge, any pride he may have left would have been worthless if he went and got himself killed. But then, the day he was leaving the infirmary, the day that was supposed to mark a return to normalcy, Snape came up to him. Explained how his brother in all but blood had been butchered, his legs torn and the immediately recognizable scar of the letter M imprinted upon Graham's face.

His family had been one of the few that had supported the Montagues after the scandal the Potter's had brought upon them. Raised together, Graham had been the older brother he had never had to wish for, sleeping over at his place more often than not. He was his constant companion, his fellow chaser, fellow Slytherin - they went to pubs together, bought their Hogwarts supplies together, even planning to open a business after they left Hogwarts. He was more Graham's brother than Eli himself.

And Potter had murdered him. Mutilated him. Tortured him.

The newspapers, Aurors, and even Professor Snape had assured him it was Tracey Davis who had done this. But he knew better, Potter had sent him a message - him and the others who were there that night. The malformed M, carved right in Graham's face. It was a warning, a promise of what's to come if they dared cross him again.

But he had murdered Graham. That was not a crime he would ever allow to go unpunished. It had worked on Pucey and Rowle, the two cowards wouldn't even dare to look Potter straight in the eye, flinching at every gaze, obeying every order Potter gave out. They didn't understand, would never understand. They were Graham's friends, he was his brother. And there was a difference between the rage you feel when your pride has been wounded and the pure, unadulterated hatred you feeling you gain towards the person who murdered your family.

Harry Potter would suffer.

It had been those words that had pushed him forwards, even after Potter murdered others without suffering any consequences, surviving an ambush meant to kill him. It didn't matter. He knew not the way he would do it, but he would make Potter suffer. The flame of hatred was one that could not be extinguished until it had burnt the one that had sparked it.

However, the Parkinson girl had been right. Potter could easily murder him, get away with it too, as he had proved being capable of doing so before. Potter was not a man he could beat in open battle, couldn't hope to beat in an actual confrontation. And with Umbridge's new rules leaving him unable to fully defend himself if such an event happened, he couldn't risk a confrontation. No. If he was going to make Potter suffer, he couldn't attack his body.

The flames of hatred, while a powerful motivator, could blind one if too close. It had been Parkinson's words that had forced him to take a step back and see the clear picture. If he wanted Potter to suffer, he would have to play his cards right, he would focus on attacking him in ways he wouldn't be blamed for it, in ways Potter couldn't trace it back to him. And he would attack Potter not with duels or physical confrontations, but through other means that could deal much more powerful damage to the boy.

But he couldn't do it alone, which is why he found himself sitting atop his bed, alone in the dormitory, with a piece of parchment sitting on his copy of Practical Defensive Magic and Its Use Against the Dark Arts. How to start a letter had always been a hard thing for him to do, and he'd wasted the past fifteen minutes just staring at the parchment, quill hovering above it, having already dripped ink that had steadily dried on the page.

With so little time before the rest of his year-mates went to bed and the letter he wanted to write being relatively long, Cassius Warrington closed his eyes and dipped his quill onto the parchment.

Dear Elijah,

Quidditch Pitch

December 2nd, 1995

4:45 p.m.

"Harry Potter scores," Lee Jordan said through gritted teeth, not bothering to hide his distaste for the man or the goal, before raising his voice once more. "Gryffindor is still in the lead seven hundred and seventy to six hundred sixty."

Harry scowled, using one hand to steer his broom while the other one wiped the sweat off his forehead. It had been nearly five hours since the game had started, five gruelling hours in which he and the rest of the team had been put through the ringer by the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

The Gryffindors, as much as he hated to admit it, had a solid team. The trio of chasers were incredibly skilled and well-coordinated, sometimes he wondered if they shared a single brain. There were various moves the three girls pulled off that seemed near impossible for someone who wasn't a professional, but after years of playing together, he didn't question it. It also didn't help that each of them was pretty enough to catch the eye of pretty much every guy at Hogwarts, and the girls knew that - played into that during the match. His many sessions inside the Room of Requirement had made him adept at retaining focus during high-stress situations, which is why they didn't affect him much.

Though the same couldn't be said for Pucey - who had taken over Montague as the team's Keeper - Cowley, or Crabbe. He couldn't believe he was thankful Warrington and Rowle were in the team; otherwise they might have been fucked.

The twins were chaotic and unpredictable, and somehow it almost felt as if they imbued any Bludger they battered with that same essence. There had been various close calls that had almost scared him of his broom, thankfully, he hadn't been hit during the whole game - not for lack of trying from the twins as they seemed to have set their sights on him. Rowle and Cowley hadn't been so lucky, both of them had been hit at various points in the game and forced to be switched up by reserve players - Harper and Runcorn respectively. But with how long the game had turned out to be, both had been able to switch back into the game.

Ginny Weasley, who had joined the team this year, was more than a formidable addition to the team. For the first three years, Gryffindor was renowned for having the worst seeker in the cup, with McLaggen doing the absolutely worst possible job that even Malfoy look like a young Krum. Ginny was much more active than McLaggen had been, with quick thinking and speed, she had restored Gryffindors reputation in the Quidditch Cup. Fortunately for the Slytherins, Theo had proved himself to be just as good as her, the two of them were almost the perfect foils of each other, if one found the snitch, the other would make sure they didn't catch it.

It was the reason why the game had gone on for so long, and while a part of him hated Theo for it, he'd rather play for ten weeks straight than to lose. To the Gryffindors, of all people.

"Harry!" A voice brought him out of his head. He turned just in time to watch the Quaffle flying towards him. Speeding in its direction, Harry caught it before Alicia could intercept it and gave Warrington a curt nod.

From the first practice session, Harry had thought the team doomed. He had murdered their captain, and the team had been divided in half, two sides waging a cold war against each other. If that wasn't bad enough, Warrington had decided to be stupid enough to take over Graham's vendetta against him and began targeting him. It was only his Umbridge's rules and his focus on whoever hired Dolohov that kept him from reacting to Warrington's threats.

But then, it was like a flip had been switched. After the weekend, Warrington had become much more agreeable and less confrontation with him. They didn't not hate each other, but at least Warrington stopped trying to outright attack him in front of everyone. If anything, it made the team work much better together, the barriers separating the team in their internal cold war were slowly melting, leaving Harry with a choice.

He could decide to continue acting hostile towards Warrington and his two lackeys, maybe even find a way to make them pay for what they had done to him back in first year. Or he could leave that behind, make some sort of peace between them, train like a team, and focus on catching whoever had set Dolohov loose against him.

There was no choice to him.

Harry ducked under the Bludger one of the twins had launched at him and evaded Katie, who had zoomed towards him, intending on stealing the Quaffle. Seeing Rowle free, Harry put all his strength in his arm as he launched it to his fellow Slytherin. Rowle gave a quick half nod of thanks before speeding off the rest of the way and easily scoring against Ron.

"Benjamin Rowle scores." Lee Jordan said monotonously. "Slytherin raises its score to six hundred and seventy, putting them exactly one hundred points below Gryffindor."

Ron Weasley had been their saviour, their king, as Draco had predicted. It had been them who had composed the song that was ringing across the stadium at every given moment, the one that had turned Weasley into a blubbering mess of rage and humiliation. That song had been a stroke of brilliance from Malfoy himself, he had to give the boy that. If Draco was good at something, it was getting into someone's head and manipulating them to do exactly what he wanted them to do.

At times, he wondered if that had been what had saved him from his fury that night, rather than him following Montague's words. At times, he didn't know which one he'd rather be the truth. Still, Malfoy had proved himself to be a good ally not just as his snitch of everything happening with the other Slytherins but also as a way to gain credence with the other Slytherins. For all his faults, Draco was still a Malfoy, and that name still carried weight inside Slytherin house. They weren't exactly buddies, he couldn't really say that about either Draco, Blaise, or Daphne, but they were now allies - even if it was by force.

Weasley was a shit keeper, plain and simple. It had been his lack of any real skill that had given Slytherin a chance. They were the least prepared team going against a team where most members had five years to perfect their abilities and chemistry with each other. It was the combination of the song and Weasley's lacklustre abilities that saved the Slytherins from being humiliated.

As his peers celebrated together, Harry flew to the Gryffindor section, dashing through the stands only a few feet above the Gryffindors. Immediately turning, it wasn't hard to spot Granger and Longbottom glaring at him all the way from their place in the stands. Harry sneered at them before joining the rest of the Slytherins as Angelina passed the ball to Katie.

For the next fifteen minutes, they weren't allowed to even come close to Ron or the goalposts. Ginny had decided to stop searching for the snitch and focused on helping the rest of the chasers on the offensive. Suddenly outnumbered, and with the Weasley twins being far better beaters than Crabbe and Cowley, the Slytherins were forced into the defensive. Ginny had banked on Theo not catching the snitch before they outscored them enough, and it was a bet that had paid off, for they were currently eight hundred thirty to six hundred seventy.

Suddenly, Theo shot off to the ground, immediately gaining Ginny's attention as she dove towards him. It was the opportunity they needed, luckily having possession of the Quaffle, Harry passed it to Warrington before dashing straightforward, putting as much speed into his broom as he could. He managed to cut off Alicia, who had been on her way towards Warrington, and forced her into a full stop.

Getting into position, Harry felt rather than saw the pass Warrington shot at him, turning right in time to catch the Quaffle. Zigzagging forward, Harry managed to dodge Angelina only to come face-first into Katie, who stole the Quaffle from his grip.

Immediately passing it to Angelina, the Quaffle didn't reach the girl before Warrington pulled off a crazy dive and intercepted it. The roars of the Slytherins in the crowd spiked as Warrington faced Weasley alone, and the impact on Ron was clearly visible even from fifty feet away.

"Slytherin scores," said Jordan, unable to keep the energy from his voice as Ginny and Theo raced for the snitch. "Gryffindor is a hundred and fifty points ahead of Slytherin. Will our lovely chasers manage to score one more goal before Ginny catches the snitch?"

"Jordan!"

"What!?"

But Harry wasn't paying attention to them, his eyes were on the three chasers that were zooming towards them, Quaffle on hand and determined eyes set on the goalposts. They were quickly passing the Quaffle in between each other - the pattern unpredictable - as they moved in circles. Rowle and Harry both shadowed a chaser - Alicia and Katie respectively - and prepared for any interception they could attempt, while Warrington faced off against Angelina. But the girls gradually managed to cover more ground, the speed in which they passed the Quaffle and their agile movements too much for them to intercept.

Angelina finally managed to get past Warrington and immediately took her shot at the left goalpost. But Pucey had been ready, managing to divert the Quaffle right into Rowle's arms. The boy sped off below everyone, with the three chasers in tow. As the three of them cornered him, Rowle threw the ball upwards, where Warrington had been expecting it. He immediately dove through the chasers, the change in directions managing to stop Angelina and Katie to a halt, though Alicia continued her pursuit.

"Warrington!" Harry shouted, zooming into the opposite side of the pitch as Alicia neared him.

The boy hesitated for a second before throwing the ball at him right as Alicia caught up to him. The pass had been poorly done, not enough strength put into it, causing the Quaffle to fall quicker than Harry had expected. He dove for it, dodging a Bludger before extending his arms and grabbing the ball mid-air, using his legs to steer the broom. Shoving the ball to one arm, he directed the broom upwards with the other as he set his sights on Weasley.

Twirling to be on the lower side of the broom, Harry quickly changed his direction to aim for the right goalpost, taking Weasley off-guard. Mustering all his strength, Harry took the shot.

Weasley sprung towards it, managing to touch it with his fingertips as he slightly veered it off its course - however, it wasn't enough as the Quaffle crashed against the edge of the goalpost but still entered.

"Slytherin scores," Jordan whined. "Gryffindor's still leading eight hundred thirty to six hundred ninety. Nott and Weasley are still both on the snitch and - oh-" there was a pregnant pause as the stadium turned quiet. Harry quickly searched for Theo only to find him zooming towards them, a large grin on his face and the snitch in his hand. "Nott has caught the snitch. Slytherins wins eight hundred forty to eight hundred thirty."

Harry stayed stunned as Theo approached him and almost tackled him in a bear hug, the rest of the Slytherins crowding them as the stadium exploded around them.

"We won!" Theo cried out, reverently holding the snitch. "We won!"

Harry didn't respond, couldn't respond. Too stunned for words, Harry stared at the snitch in Theo's hand as a smile began forming in his face. He won. They won.

Slytherin Common Room

10:45 p.m.

"Come on, Harry!" Theo shouted in his ear, voice slurred, as he carelessly hugged him with one arm and shoved his drink with the other. "We won! You gave the winning shot! You deserve this!"

Harry bit his lip. "You were the one who caught the snitch, you're the one who gave us the win."

"Modesty?" Pansy said beside him, eyes sparkling with amusement. "Where'd you tie up and leave the real Harry Potter?"

"Ha. Ha." Harry deadpanned. "I'm not exactly modest, but I'm not taking credit for something I didn't do. Theo's the one who won the game for us, we just… survived."

"Then by my orders you will drink," his grin grew, shoving the cup of Pear Dazzle at him with enough force, some of it spilled on his shirt. "I gave us the win, I deserve to command this party."

"Look, I'm just not in the mood, okay," Harry said, his voice sobering Theo up immediately.

The victory effect hadn't lasted long on him. The first few minutes had been great, he hadn't felt that good in weeks - not since his date with Susan. It had been that connection that had sucked out any euphoria out of him as he pictured him celebrating with Susan, having her in his arms as he kissed her in front of the whole school, her lips sweeter than any victory he may have been a part of.

Harry wanted to scream in rage. Every time. Every fucking time he felt like he wasn't thinking about that day, feeling Susan's bloody drench his shirt as he held her in his arms, she came back to him. Her ghost tormenting him, punishing him for letting her day, being the cause she died in the first place.

Even now, he could feel her breath on the back of his neck, smell the sweet perfume she always wore and taste those cherry lips as her voice reminded him of the true in the nastiest voice that had ever come from her.

You're a monster.

"Mate," Theo's voice brought him out of his thoughts. "You can't keep blaming yourself for what happened. You did everything you could."

"Clearly not enough," Harry said darkly, glaring at Theo.

"It's never going to be enough. No matter what we do, we can't always save everyone." He sighed. "People will die, that's a fact of life, and with what we're trying to do, this won't be the last time this happens, when someone dies, and you couldn't do anything about it. Dolohov killed Susan to get to you, I get it, but if you can't overcome that and keep letting it affect you, it's precisely what Dolohov wants!"

"So what?" Harry snarled. "I should just not feel anymore? Find a way to turn this awful feeling off and forget that it ever happened? Don't you think I don't want that!? I wake up every morning wishing I didn't, I can't still hear her choking in her own blood because someone tried to kill me, don't tell me how I should feel!"

"Harry, calm down," Pansy said firmly, placing one hand on his shoulder and pushing him down to the couch behind them.

"I'm not," Theo said, his voice shaking while looking contrite. "I'm only trying to say is try and have a night without thinking about it. I'm not saying get over it completely, but the more you think about it, the worse you get. Just take some," he said, offering the drink. "Loosen up. It'll help, I promise."

"If I do, you'll stop bothering me about it?"

"Yes."

"Fine." He snatched the drink from Theo's hand and took a big sip of it. It was satisfyingly sweet with a slight bitter aftertaste. It wasn't horrible, there was certainly an appeal to it, but it was foreign. He took another sip of it and felt a familiar taste to it, something he couldn't place but felt oddly nostalgic.

"What is this?"

"Vodka mixed with pear cider, lemonade, and maraschino cherry." Theo said excitedly, presumably happy Harry wasn't going to murder him. "It's really good, but that one's pretty strong, I used too much vodka and cider. I'm gonna get us another one."

"I haven't-"

"You want one Pansy?" Theo cut him off, not giving him the chance to back out of more drinks.

"No," she rolled her eyes. "And how did you guys even manage to sneak these in without Umbridge finding out? How are her portraits not reporting to her either?"

"She's back at the Ministry," Theo shrugged. "She wasn't at the game, didn't you notice?"

"That's not good," Pansy said grimly. "Every time that bitch goes to the Ministry, it means more shit to us."

"Who knows," a voice from behind them caused Harry and Pansy to turn. "Sure, it's annoying, but at least there haven't been any big dramas like the previous years."

"I didn't know you agreed so much with Umbridge, Warrington." Harry said coldly.

"I don't agree with everything she does," Warrington shrugged before smiling. "But I do see some merit to some of the changes she's implementing. Nice job on the game, by the way." He raised his drink in salute.

Harry swallowed the insult that had risen through his throat. "Yeah, you too." He nodded.

"Who knows, playing like that, we might just win the House Cup again for the first time in five years."

The night went on and Theo kept bringing the two of them drinks. The more he drank, the quicker he finished with a cup until he had lost count of how many he'd had. He could feel himself looser, as though a massive weight had been removed from his body and replaced by that nice dizzying sensation he got from Kieran's fags. His vision began turning blurry and the night began going quicker.

He could remember so many faces, his voice shouting incoherent nonsense in between laughs he shared. Theo. Pansy. Draco. Daphne. Warrington. Pucey. Blaise. Rowle. McKinnon. Leach. Gamp. Vane. Sanchez. Edgecome. There was music. When did they start playing music?

Checking his watch, he was shocked as he read it was already one in the morning - or was it two? He squinted into his watch, but couldn't really tell.

Suddenly, he was lost, alone in the middle of everyone else. He turned, feeling the urge to find Theo and Pansy, but the turn itself gave him a nauseating feeling. He found Theo laughing with the rest of the Quidditch team, they were over what looked like a makeshift dance floor. Had that been there since the beginning? He went over with them and laughed as Cowley put his palm to his cup and turned it upside down before drinking from a small gap he'd left - the other chanting for him to chug until he finished the drink and threw the glass down to the ground, eliciting more laughter from the group.

He stayed with them, laughing, dancing, and singing until he noticed Pansy speaking with the seventh-year boy Ravan- Rowan - Rosier! They were standing in front of a long table that had six cups positioned in a pyramid form on each side, with Blaise and the Wilkes girl, the fourth-year - whatever her name was. It was a muggle game, one he'd seen Dudley and his friends play during those nights his aunt and uncle had left and Dudley invited them over.

Curious, Harry began walking towards them, only to be intercepted by a flash of blond hair.

"Nice game, Potter," the girl told him, giving him a saucy smile.

Her blond hair. Her blue eyes. His gaze turned to her lips, and he could practically taste the cherry off them. But they weren't the ones he wanted, the ones he dreamed of every night. Daphne stared at him expectantly, looking just as drunk as he felt. For a second, he got the urge to leave, to go as far away as possible and think of Susan. But the way she was looking at him, the perfect figure unhidden by the tight-fitting school uniform.

Why should he go? Theo told him to have fun, to forget about everything. To loosen up, and that was precisely what he was planning to do.

He leaned in and so did Daphne. There was no need to talk, no desire for it. She was eating him with her mere eyes, and so was he. Their lips touched, not in the soft, tentative way it had been with Susan. It was pure carnal lust, he was kissing her as if he needed it to breathe, immediately groping her bum as she caressed his arms - putting just as much intensity into the kiss.

Her touch felt like life itself, her lips on his giving bringing back a part of himself he had thought died with Susan. He felt good. Better than good. He felt alive. Unburdened by everything that had gone to shit in the past month, all the loses he'd suffered, all the ways he'd life had been shit. His mind became dominated by a singular focus, the girl in his arms he was currently snogging.

He wanted more. He wanted to feel more, to touch, to free himself. This wasn't enough, not nearly enough.

Separating, Daphne looked disoriented for a moment, but Harry didn't give her much of a chance. Grabbing her hand, he began pulling her with him towards the dormitory staircases. Making sure no one was looking at them, he sneaked out of the party and began descending the stairs without letting go of Daphne.

"Shut the door," He instructed her.

"No," she shook his head. "They'll just get suspicious. We'll shut the bed curtains." Taking out her wand, she began casting spells at them, Harry left to watch as he sat on top of the bed.

"You seem very adept at this," he said airily.

"Is that a problem with you?" she raised an eyebrow at him, placing her wand back into her holster.

"I don't give a rat's arse," Harry growled, launching upwards as he captured Daphne into a kiss once more.

The girl closed the bed curtains before he threw the both of them on the bed and began snogging the daylights out of her. She wasn't passive either, her hands undressing him as he groped her tits, revelling in the soft feeling of them without stopping kissing her. Daphne interrupted the kiss as she took off his shirt, leaving Harry to unbutton her shirt and open it, revealing the black bra the girl was using. Harry gave a mix of a groan and a growl before he began kissing her tits.

Daphne's fingers went to his head as Harry unsheathed her boobs before latching his mouth onto one of her nipples.

"They're perfect," Harry breathed out as he switched between boobs, suddenly noticing the bra was gone. "I need more. I need you. Need to be inside of you."

Their hands fiddled with each other's pants before they both managed to undo the button and push them down. Without bothering on fully taking his pants off, Harry rolled down his underwear, revealing his hardened cock. Daphne gave it an appreciative look before she grabbed it with her hand and began stroking it.

"Oh, you're good at that," Harry moaned, still feeling unsatisfied. He needed more. Needed it now.

"Want me to suck it?"

"No!" He answered immediately. "I want to fuck you. I need to fuck you."

Daphne grinned, giving him a breath-stealing kiss before laying down on her back, enticing him forward with her finger as she stared at him like he was the last man in the world. Harry lunged forward, kissing the girl with all the passion and heat he felt as he fiddled with his cock in one hand, blindly fumbling for the entrance.

But as natural as the rest had come, he was stumped as he couldn't find the right spot to enter Daphne. After a couple of moments, he backed out and tried again with his full focus, but even then, it was tricky. Suddenly, he felt a foreign hand around his cock as Daphne also tried to help him, though he could tell she enjoyed the way it was stroking her vagina.

Finally, they managed to find the entrance and Harry didn't bother with taking his time. Entering her fully, both moaned as they adjust to this blissful heave that made Harry smile widely. He began moving, relishing in every contact as he began a quick pace the girl clearly enjoyed. He seared her mouth with his lips, his hands travelling back and forth from her boobs to her waist, feeling everything he could.

She was here. She was now. His only connection to this world as he touched everything he could, anchoring himself to her, to the feeling she brought him. He needed this, needed to fuck her, touch her, kiss her. All the time. Couldn't stop, wouldn't stop. She was life, she was bliss, she was everything he didn't have. Take back everything that had been ripped from him.

"Oh, God," the girl moaned, a beautiful sound that gave him a spark of pride that he was the cause of it. "Fuck me. So good. So fucking good."

And for the first time in weeks, any and all thoughts of Susan quickly left his head.

That's it for this chapter - one I'm sure will be highly controversial. Thank you all for reading!

Next chapter, we'll see the aftermath of Harry's stupid decisions, and you'll get a POV of a character who wasn't gotten one so far.

Next chapter will be posted September 20th on FFN and AO3.

By the time I'm posting this, I'm three chapters ahead and have started the following arc titled The King's Gambit. If you are interested in learning how to get early access to them, join my discord server using the following link: discord . gg / jyPfbGqhJT

I'm also working on two fanfiction related surprises that should be revealed fairly soon! (Maybe?) More info on that on discord as well!

As always, thank you for reading, favouriting, and commenting! I appreciate all of you! :)