After the week surrounding the excitement of Halloween, November passed by quickly. Midterm exams forced the older years to rearrange their schedules, spending yet more time studying in quiet corners in the school.

Harry was extremely busy – a sixth year named Cormac McLaggan had become the new keeper and, while better than Ron, still required far much more practice time than the team could afford. In addition to studying for his eight OWL midterms and quidditch, Harry had begun an experimental business venture with the Weasly twins and Blaise Zabini.

That particular proposition was working out far better than Harry had hoped. He had given the twins thirty galleons to buy a basic inventory of Hogsmead's sweets and novelty items. After paying them a small commission for their work, he had given the supplies to Zabini, who then turned them loose on the student body for a profit. Zabini was proving to be quite a capable business man, and Harry was pleased that what had started off as an excuse to cover his ass was turning into a profitable venture.

Of course, Harry had not entirely sacrificed his more…luxurious lifestyle either. He still met with both Lavender and Daphne privately though much to his chagrin, not once yet at the same time. His run in with Zabini had turned out to have had a silver lining, but Harry had recognized the foolishness in meeting too often and too openly, and thus had been forced to cut back on his more extracurricular activities.

He had however, begun to duel properly with Daphne, and the girl's fierce spirit and rather large spell vocabulary had done much to improve Harry's practical fighting skills.

In the midst of all these goings on, it was a surprise for Harry when at the end of November, just before the Hogsmead Christmas excursion, Harry was cornered by Angelina in a dank corner of the library where he sat studyingVegetable or Animal: Flesh-eating herbs and fungi.

"Hey Harry, do you have a minute?" She seemed nervous, though Harry didn't question it – she often sounded this way when she feared he had reason to be angry with her. He smiled, "No problem, how are things?"

She didn't answer immediately, instead looking down and playing with her hands. "Harry…I really like you and you've been so sweet. But…we've been growing apart you know? You're always off and I'm always studying and we can't exactly chat during practice…" she was babbling now, and Harry began to feel of anger well up inside him – after all his patience, all his forgiveness, she was going to drop him like a hot quaffle.

"…and I'm trying so hard for my Newt's – you know I want to be a Spell Creator and even Os in the required subjects aren't a guarantee…I'm sorry Harry." Harry saw red, the audacity of this girl… and she hadn't even said the bloody words 'we're through'. No, just bloody like her – ramble on and force him to say what was actually being said.

Pushing the anger down, Harry took a second to compose himself. It would not do to blow up at the girl right now; he needed to be in control. Here even with no other students currently nearby, Madam Pince would likely hear a commotion, and Harry would be damned through hell and high water if he was ever going to put her under his control.

"Angelina…I get it. I can't say I'm really happy about it, but I understand. And hey…if after Christmas exams you realize just how clever you are and you'll do fine, maybe we can try it again."

Angelina's face collapsed in relief. Shakily, she smiled back. "Thanks Harry…you really are the sweetest guy. Friends?"

Inwardly, Harry cringed, but continued to smile and repeated. "Yeh, friends." Angelina stayed for another minute making halted chatter, before excusing herself, leaving Harry to reflect on his new situation.

Said situation was dealt with the next day, the last quidditch practice of the term. Leaving the showers, Harry was pleasantly surprised to see Alicia and Katie walking together back towards the school. Angelina, it seemed, had stayed behind.

Smirking, Harry walked the familiar path to the girl's shower room. /Full circle, Harry chuckled to himself. Opening the door, Harry could hear a shower still running. Logically, it could be no one but her, but her call of "Alicia…Katie?" ringing through the water vanished any lingering doubt. With a cold grin, Harry turned the corner into the communal shower, revealing himself to his former girlfriend.

"Harry! W-what are you…what are you doing here? Angelina shrieked, moving to cover her nudity with her arms and shifting her body away from him, presenting Harry with as small a profile as possible.

Harry laughed coldly, "Didn't mind so much last time I was here, did you? All boo-hooing." Harry leered, and his voice turned mocking. "Oh Harry, I got your robes wet." Angelina shuddered, wondering what had happened to the boy she had thought she knew.

She was pulled into Harry's voice yet again, as he spoke softly, yet somehow his tone just as hard, "It could have been so good for us. But then, you had to put yourself in charge, do what you thought was best for yourself… Shame on you Angelina, that sort of behavior isn't becoming of a Gryff. Twenty Points."

Angelina clenched her fists, determined not to cry in front of this apparent monster. "Course, it'll still be good for you…. After all, you won't know any better." With that, he grabbed her, forcing her back under the shower. Her scream became a spluttering as she coughed out water, and before she could scream again, she was lost in the depths of his cold green eyes…

Harry flung the girl back into the shower. There was nothing for it now, he would make her his. He had enjoyed the games, even if she had played them unknowingly. No matter, he would find a new toy to test his twisted entertainments – this one would simply become part of his permanent collection. And if she turned out to be Spell Creation material…well so much the better.

Again, the magic welled up inside him, and he felt her slacken, pulled in by the forming bonds. The previous two, he had marked before fully conquering. He would not do so this time – he wasn't sure she would ever be truly worthy of his mark, but he certainly was going to taste her fully – he had waited far too long now to do otherwise.

Angelina felt like crying, though the sudden and overwhelming happiness of her situation silently forbade her to do so. She had dated this man before her, and He had treated her like an equal. How foolish she had been to assume such politeness meant that she had any right to dictate his decisions.

As his eyes bore into her, she turned towards Him, revealing her dark body to his appreciative eyes. He told her she was not worthy of Him, and she realized it was true.

Even so, He did not hesitate to embrace her, to remove the physical barrier before them. As He entered her, she moaned in pleasure, thanking magic itself that she had been given a second chance.

As he violently ravaged her body, bruising and scraping her back against the harsh shower wall, she could think of nothing but the fortune that despite her own stupidity, He was so willing to give her such pleasure – always so noble and sacrificing.Harry, she mused, /truly is the highest image of a Gryffindor.

The next day was a Hogsmeade weekend, and Harry had decided to forego it, citing exams. Hermione had commended him, and to his dismay had elected to stay behind with him. Both her and Ginny were looking decidingly smug, his breakup naturally the gossip of the school.

He had handled that particular situation well, all things considered. Angelina had not dumped him out of malice, and her close friends knew that they were still on amiable terms. Even so, after he had laid claim to her, Harry had reinforced her loyalty, making sure that nothing unpleasant would be said about him, not anything that wasn't best kept private.

Nonetheless, rumors abounded, and evenThe Prophethad reported a front page story on "The boy-who-loved." Thus, while the rest of his peers enjoyed a liberating day from studies outside of the school grounds, Harry was again cooped up in the library, listening to Hermione prattle on about transmuting base compositions.

They were interrupted when Katie Bell walked into the library and with a loud sigh and an equally loudthwumplanded in a chair across from Harry. "Afternoon Harry…Hermione… read the paper?" Harry matched her exasperated smile with his own.

"Always Bell, you know how much I crave the attention." The girl let out a short giggle. "Yeh well, Angelina says you're still friends, so I don't have to kill you for shagging someone on the side." Her tone was light, though Harry wasn't sure if she wasn't entirely joking.Best, he thought, /to play this one through.

"Nah…you're too loyal Bell – and otherwise who do I have to chase after?" She giggled again, and Harry stole a glance at Hermione, noticing that she seemed to have shoved herself further into her book, though curiously he had yet to hear the page turn…

"Anyway Bell, why are you talking to your best mate's ex and not comforting her with chocolate or whatever it is you lot do when big bad men are mean and nasty?" She smiled, truly this time. "Not really big and bad are you Harry, so it doesn't really apply." Harry grumbled good naturedly, "I'm big and bad where I need to be…" Hermione turned a bright red beneath her book, and Katie pretended to look suitably corrected.

"Anyway…she's gone to Hogsmeade – her and Alicia wanted to get pissed before exams, and I can't hold anything stronger than a half-pint of Butterbeer." The two bantered for a few more minutes, until Madam Pince shooed her out, leaving Harry and Hermione alone once again. Hermione remained silent, and Harry used the peace to continue his plotting, all while burying himself in a pile of Transfiguration notes.

The next two weeks passed quickly, as the entire school worked itself into a silent frenzy, students staying up late into the night cramming for the exams that suddenly loomed in the forefront of all else. As the final weekend arrived before the exams were to be administered, Harry decided that enough time had passed, and it was safe enough to retrieve whatever goodies Ophelia had been able to gain from Filch.

No one had noticed that the irritable squib was no longer acting on his own free will, and Harry chalked this up to both an avoidance of all things Filch by students and professors alike, as well as the fact that except for those precious minutes when the operation was undertaken, Filch had not been given any direct orders, tempting though it may be.

Thus, as his fellow students occupied with their studies, Harry send Ophelia a note via one of the school owls, reading simplySame place as before, same time.It was for that reason Harry found himself waiting in a classroom across from where Runes was taught on a rainy Saturday afternoon.

Hearing a creak, he looked up and saw Ophelia sneak into the room, glancing behind her to make sure she had not been seen. "Ah…Hello Flint, I see you've learnt a thing or two about stealth."

Ophelia nodded – her face decidedly neutral. "You have everything?" Again, a curt nod. "Wonderful…you did well, Ophelia." The girl's heart jumped as for the first time, Harry did not refer to her by her surname, but again she did not speak.

"This evening, you will carry everything you took out behind Hagrid's hut – beyond the wards of the school. I am placing great faith in your abilities – you mustn't fail in your task. Once beyond the wards summon Kreacher, and give him this envelope. It is addressed to him, from Master. Is everything clear?"

No change – the girl simply nodded, not once meeting Harry's eyes –good, she's learning her place.When nothing further was said, Ophelia took his silence as dismissal, and was proved correct when he did not call to her as she walked out the door.

Heading back to the dungeons, her face blossomed into a rare smile. Her Master didn't love her – He had never shown any signs of feeling – even so much as mild concern for her continued existence. But today, He had said He had faith in her, that He trusted her abilities. For now, forever, that would be enough.

While Flint was sneaking around the grounds, partaking in activities which could very well get her a lifetime sentence to Azkaban, Harry used the evening to partake in more...pleasurable pursuits. Recognizing the two week sabbatical he was going to have thrust upon him, /unless I can find the time to seduce Tonks, Harry abandoned caution for the evening, summoning Daphne once more to their hidden room before the more harshly enforced examination week curfew took effect.

"Hello Daphne" Harry smirked as Daphne entered the room. Daphne smiled coyly, "pain before pleasure?" she giggled – though it rang with a melody of nastiness. Harry's grin was just as cold – "and I here I thought you loved my games." It had become a common ritual among them, fueling their violent lovemaking with just as violent games and foreplay.

The games however, were often practical. Tonight, Harry intended to hone his dueling skills, and it was for this reason the room was such an unorthodox shape, pillars rising at random and multiple corners lending the combatants the possibilities of cover and ambush.

Harry had been thrilled to learn that wizards had developed a very specific spell for non-lethal dueling, /Sanctus/. Short of an Unforgivable, the spell would guarantee that any spell use would only grant the overall effect of the curse on the victim, and not the physical result. Granted, a bone banishing curse was never a pleasant experience, but at least the effect was only temporary, and would cause no permanent damage – or perhaps worse, notice.

And so, the two began, and after the agreed upon minute in which to hide, Harry began pacing through the maze, determined to find his target.

Casting a rather simple 'voice throwing' charm, Harry exclaimed mockingly, "Come out, come out where ever you are." It proved futile of course, but part of the exercise was to enjoy himself, and the 'big bad man' routine gave him a foolish gratification.

A minute later, Harry cursed as a light blue beam bounced off the corner ahead of him and nearly caught him in the stomach. Sprawling across the floor, Harry rolled to the side, jumping up as quick as he could while firing off a handful of minor hexes as soon as his line of sight was clear.

"/Netrezav!/" Daphne shouted in sadistic glee. Harry, unable to dodge, covered his wand hand with the other, and barely managed to defend his most important limb when the orange bubble burst against his left arm.

Immediately, Harry felt a burning pain spreading throughout the hand, as if someone had forcefully ripped out his fingernails. He hissed, "/Concussa/", the bright red bolt of the bludgeoning hex just missed the graceful girl as she threw herself behind a pseudo-stone pillar.

Harry used the temporary lull to cast a quick healing charm, the pain residing to a dell throb. Though he would not be able to us the hand without causing himself extreme pain, his current situation was now bearable.

Harry dodged as aStupefycame flying towards him. "/Reducto! Reducto!/" Harry launched a full assault against the pillar, forcing Daphne into the open. He did not find his mark, but the debris of his attack caused her to stumble and she fell with an oof.

"/Lamleggen./" A useful spell he had taken from Flint's book, the pale purple curse gave Harry his first truly successful casting, and Daphne found she was unable to move any muscles in her left leg. Dragging herself towards the rubble pile, she succeeded in providing herself as much cover as possible, and cursing her current predicament, let loose an angry "/Accio/ Statue!"

Stunned, Harry fell to the floor, as a four foot tall statue hurled through the air where his head had once been. He felt anger inside him battle with pride at his vicious toy. While the spells were harmless, he was not immune to physical injury, and a blow to the head on that scale would have been very painful for a very long time.

Harry smiled, though like so often these day, no happiness came from it. With a grunt, he ran – closing the distance between himself and Daphne. He flanked her temporary fortress, correctly guessing that it would only defend her against a frontal assault.

As soon as her side was exposed, Harry exclaimed "/Caecus/", his voice hard with lingering fury. Daphne's eyes widened, and she attempted to drag herself away, but the spell hit home – a black orb that sizzled against Daphne's chest.

Daphne's eyes took on a cloudy appearance, and Harry knew the spell had been a success – Daphne was now blind.

"Looks like I win." Harry crooned. "First time I've managed to do it all official-like too." It was true – despite his natural talent for the art, Daphne's practical experience and more extensive spell knowledge had up until now proven decisive. Now, Harry could gloat – and he still had the issue of that statue to take care of.

Daphne did not acknowledge his victory formally, but rather picked up her wand, chantingFinite Incantatumto end her current torment. However, halfway through /Finite, Harry shouted /Expelliarmus, propelling her wand to him. Catching it in his wounded hand, Harry winced, but did not drop his prize.

With a drawl, Harry cast /Finite Incantatum, relieving himself from the curse. "Now now Daph, not going to spoil my victory are you? And to think I was going to let you help me celebrate…"

Daphne growled, frustrated at her current state of impotence. Harry chuckled, "Nice try with the statue Daph, but trying only gets you so far. Now, time to claim and ravish my prize."

Daphne seemed to brighten at that, though when it became obvious that Harry was not going to relieve her of her situation she growled again, her face petulant. He scowl deepened when he did in fact remove the paralysis hex from her leg, leaving only her eyes non-functioning.

"What prize…what prize… Tell me Daph, do you remember Lavender?" Daphne nodded, and though her eyes were unfocused, hate seem to focus them into angry beams aimed in Harry's direction – so much so that for a moment he would have sworn she caught his eye.

"Oh no reason to glare Daph, you enjoyed that evening as much as I did." Daphne turned a soft pink, though at this point Harry assumed embarrassment had taken a back seat to anger. "Harry…" she gritted, obviously trying to control her words. "I enjoy everything that makes you hap—"

She stopped with a gasp. Harry's hands had quickly worked their way under her robes, savagely working to remove them from her body. She had not been lying earlier, though she had found it hard to say – his pleasurewashers. This pleasure however, was better.

Harry kissed her fiercely, and Daphne inwardly swore that she could not see him. At the same time, the lack of sight seemed to add a depth to other sensations she had not noticed, and the taste of him was more vivid, his whispered gasps more intense. Her anger mollified as she returned his attack with equal passion.

"It would seem" Harry smirked as he pulled apart for air, "that you are not entirely defeated." Daphne smiled, hearing the wicked teasing in his voice, and she began to delve into this new game.

"You'll have to try harder then, wouldn't do to grasp defeat from the jaws of victory." Harry chuckled, "I'll show you just what I can grasp." With that, Harry attacked her mouth again, nibbling on her bottom lip before reestablishing a battle of tongues.

Harry engorged himself on the soft taste of Daphne. With a well rehearsed brutality, Harry began to attack the last vestiges of clothing that graced Daphne's body before moving onto his own. Daphne's current situation meant she was no use for this particular task if he wished to end it quickly, and had he not had his mind set on this little punishment he may very well have released her from the enchantment to speed things along.

Nonetheless, Harry was soon undressed, and turned his entire attention back to Daphne, her golden body calling to him, his mark thrust forward as she arched her breasts, acting subconsciously to promote this badge of honor.

Quickly, but without the haste of earlier times, Harry pressed Daphne's body against his, enjoying the softness and warmth that came out of this otherwise cold and hard angel who so often shared his bed. Sweeping his hand across the mark, a motion that had become a ritual in and of itself, Harry pulled Daphne into another kiss, his hands busy with her hardening breasts.

Soon, too soon, both Harry and Daphne felt the need to close the remaining distance, to claim one another as their partner for this next dance of aggression. There was no love between them – only lust and desire, an admiration for all the other contained. There was no need for soft words and tender touches – those would be administered later, and only if such motions were found wanting. Even then, Harry more often than not used such kindness to contrast with the blistering cold that was a permanent resident these days in his heart.

None of this however, had any effect whatsoever on the actions that were currently taking place. Harry thrust himself into Daphne, not missing a beat as he began to thrust into her, repeating the motion at an angry tempo as Daphne's tight vaginal walls surrounded him, accepting of both his size and assault. She wriggled, wrapping her legs tightly around his waist, forcing him deeper into her.

Harry felt a shiver run through him as Daphne traced his body with her handa, a frantic need to touch what she could not see. Then, for the first time, despite her handicap, Daphne rolled the pair over, pinning Harry underneath her, even as they maintained their rhythm.

Gradually, Daphne took control of the dance, leading Harry to thrust upwards as she rode him, both of them relishing the new sensations and leverage this new position gave them. Harry watched mesmerized as Daphne's mouth formed a small 'o' as she gasped and panted, impaling herself time and time again. Her breasts bounced at the same wild pace the two had set, and her soft hands roamed across his body.

Harry brought his hand up to her waist, holding her soft golden skin and tracing the sides of her stomach, all while his body moved on its own accord. Moaning aloud at the pleasure of this new contact, Daphne took them to a gallop, determined to cross the threshold the two were quickly approaching.

Harry half mumbled, half roared as he came, Daphne following moments later as she shuddered, every bone in her body turning to rubber as she fell atop of Harry's body.

Harry had no true love for this girl, no unconditional need to protect and cherish her. But for now, he would hold her, allow her to rest upon him, bask in the afterglow of their sex. He garbled out Finite, allowing Daphne to see – though whether as a reward to her or to enjoy the look in her eyes personally he could not say. No, he did not love her – but in that moment, he allowed himself to feel the closest he dared to affection…it would suffice.

The two left the room soon after, and Harry could not find the energy to part with a putting remark. His thoughts were far from fidelity however, and he fell asleep with a smile, deciding that the new year would bring a number of new sexual experiences, the first of which would have to be officially bringing Angelina into his growing harem, and perhaps trying our her and Daphne simultaneously.

So much to do, and so little time with which to do it.

The following week was spent taking examination. Harry felt pleased – Charms and Potions had been no trouble, and Transfiguration – while difficult, had posed no unexpected problems.

Harry was satisfied with his other classes, he was sure he had done well, and ultimately, Midterm exams were nothing more than an indicator for the end of year examinations. He would of course, fail defense, but again – Harry had no doubts as to where he truly stood.

Slughorn of course, had managed to worm a Christmas Slugclub gathering despite the fervor that filled the castle. Harry went along, alone this time. It proved to be an even greater unbearable bore than Halloween, necessity being the only motivating factor for attendance.

Even so, Harry could only bear so many of Ernie or Cormac's rather dull and pompous story-telling, and so wishing the Potions professor a Merry Christmas, Harry left, determined to have at least one more night's rest before returning to the monkey house that was Grimmauld Place.

Ron awoke to the sound of retching. Jumping up, he looked across to the bed next to him. Harry was hunched over, heaving wildly, the convulsion wracking his body. Ron's face scrunched in disgust at the mix of vomit and drool that hung from Harry's mouth. The initial repulsion was quickly replaced with concern.

Ron and Harry's friendship had been forced apart by an ever growing rift. Even so, Ron could acknowledge this was not the first time this had happened – indeed, perhaps the beginning of term last year had threatened any hope of reconciliation more than simple avoidance.

Ron had been angry at Harry over quidditch, but slowly had admitted to himself at least that perhaps it was notentirelyHarry's fault – Angelina also carried some blame. Damned if he was going to admit it though…

However, the sight of Harry in such obvious pain and sickness could only come from a particular horrid nightmare. "Harry…mate…Harry what's wrong?" Ron's voice was tinged with worry and at least temporarily, genuine concern.

Harry looked up, and Ron's stomach dropped. His eyes were wide, as if frozen in a look of horror. His skin was obviously clammy, sweat running down his face. He was shivering, and seemed unable to properly speak.

"Ron…Dumbledore…We have to…your father." Harry stopped talking, taking jolting steps towards the door, not bothering to change out of his night clothes. Ron looked at him in horror as those last words sunk in, and he jumped up – all past fights forgotten.

Ron threw Harry's arm over his own shoulder, earning a grateful look from the still shivering boy. Together, they stumbled down the stairs into the common room. Harry, now able to walk, stood on his own, and the two ran frantically out the portrait hole, ignoring the shrieking coming from the Fat Lady.

Arriving at the Gargoyle, Harry wheezed "Please…Emergency…Headmaster." The gargoyle shifted, revealing the entrance to the Headmaster's office. With a final burst of energy, the reunited pair dashed up the stairs and tumbled into the office, where they were met by a rather confused Dumbledore. Seeing their faces, his expression turned to one of great concern.

"Harry had a vision!" Ron screamed, his voice frantic. "My…my dad – something happened, I don't know what."

Dumbledore tried to hide a look of shock before turning to Harry. "Harry, is this the case?" Harry nodded, speaking as quickly as he could, though still barely coherent. "Mr. Weasly…big snake in the corridor…reminded me of the ministry."

Dumbledore turned whiter, but did not miss a moment, turning to Fawkes and saying one word, "Alastor". Fawkes trilled and fire-flashed, and Dumbledore immediately turned around, taking a pinch of floo powder from the hearth and throwing it into the fire, calling out "Poppy". Madam Pomphrey's face appeared in the fire just as a very disgruntled Moody appeared in the room, cursing at /that ruddy bird/.

"Alastor, Poppy…we have reason to believe Arthur has been attacked. Poppy, please go to Headquarters, he may require emergency treatment before we can send him to St. Mungo's. Alastor, I trust you to verify Arthur's current state.

With a nod, Moody scowled at the phoenix. Fawkes trilled once more, and the two were gone again, in a flash of fire.

Albus turned back to the two boys, who had stood silently throughout this exchange. "I'm sorry you had to wait. Please – do sit down, I must call Minerva. Everything will be sorted out." The two nodded, worry etched in every line across their faces, but sat down in the chintz chairs that decorated the Headmaster's office.

Ten minutes later, Professor McGonagall entered the room, leading three white-faced Weaslys. They had obviously been just awoken, looks of sleepiness lurking just under the fear that radiated from them.

No one spoke, and it was another half hour before Albus Dumbledore walked back into the room.

Immediately, the four Weasly's assaulted the headmaster with questions, before falling into silence at the ashen look upon his face. "I am so sorry children…your father…you are to return to Headquarters now, I offer you my sincerest condolences."

A high-pitched shriek filled the room as Ginny broke down, followed by Ron who broke into heart broken sobs. The twins obviously were attempting to mask their grief, though their efforts seemed to be on the verge of collapse.

They were led to the fireplace, and one at a time were led by a comforting McGonagall into the hearth, returning to headquarters so they might say a final farewell to their dying father. Harry was told that he would be able to return first thing tomorrow morning.

He nodded, the Weasly's needed their family right now, it would be the last time they would ever be whole.

Led back to the tower by a tearful McGonagall, Harry fought his way through the haze that filled his mind. Mr. Weasly had always been honest to him and on more than one occasion had informed him of situations others had thought it best he not be privy to. He was not the brightest man, but he loved his job and his children, and had endured Molly for longer than Harry could imagine possible.

But Voldemort had attacked him, killed him simply because he had been there. Hardly an obstacle, simply a man attempting to do what he thought as right, however small his part may be.

Harry entered the common room, and as McGonagall closed the portrait behind her, Harry walked towards the stairs. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small piece of green paper – the wrapping of a Puking Pastille. He tossed it into a dark corner – a house elf would remove it long before morning. Without looking back, Harry trudged up the stairs, and fell back against his pillow, succeeding if only for the few hours before dawn to achieve a dreamless sleep.