Madness, Ruelle

I see that look in your eyes
It makes me go blind
Cut me deep, these secrets and lies
Storm in the quiet

Feel the fury closing in
All resistance wearing thin
Nowhere to run from all of this havoc
Nowhere to hide
From all of this madness, madness, madness
Madness, madness, madness

He awoke with thoughts of the Ministry on his mind, the dream momentarily forgotten as he grappled once again with the memory of Bellatrix, and what he had done. A frustration came with it, forcefully needling his mind and draining his focus. He had curled into the foetal position, every muscle tense. He bit down on his knuckles harder with each wave of nausea and incomprehensible hunger that rocked him. He noticed that he was sobbing and forced his fist deeper into his teeth, quieting the sound.

The instant the spell hit; Harry was removed from himself. He fell into the deepest recesses of his mind, replaced with foreign emotions. His rage was still blurring his vision, grinding his teeth in his jaw, but there was part of him that had rejoiced. The purest bliss had blossomed in his chest, knocking him to his knees as he watched Sirius' murderer writhe under his curse. A wave of contentment washed through him. Satisfaction, he'd realized. He could feel his throat laughing.

Harry did not remember what happened after that moment, but he could recall all that came before it with vivid clarity. He rolled from the bed and hit the floor, caught momentarily in his curtains. He noticed he had blood on his hands but wasn't sure of the source, numb as he was.

Closer inspection showed that he had broken the skin of his knuckles with his teeth. He cleaned the wound and healed it, glad for the ability to fix his self-inflicted wounds now that he had returned to Hogwarts. Small mercies. The sun was not yet rising, and he hadn't made enough noise to wake his sleeping dorm mates. He decided against climbing back into bed, sick to his stomach at the thought of it, so he crept down the stairs to the Common Room, forcing the memory back before it choked him. He was only slightly surprised to find Ginny already there, reading by candlelight. She smiled at him and didn't ask why he was up so early.

Snape's plan to derail Harry's sixth-year Potions class had been foiled by Slughorn, who insisted that an exceeds expectations was perfectly acceptable. Harry knew this was purely due to his fame, but he took the win. He hadn't shopped for Potions at all, and as a result, was using a spare copy of the textbook. The notes in the margins had been spectacularly helpful, earning him a vial of Felix Felicis and the ire of Hermione Granger. He kept the potions textbook to himself.

Horace teaching Potions meant that Snape had gotten his wish and was teaching Defense. Harry hadn't been thrilled, but he didn't have the energy to truly put up a fight. Snape himself had noticed this in his first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, where the Boy Who Lived made no attempt to take any bait that the Professor laid at his feet, in the form of docking house points, snarky comments, or outright attacks on his character. A different kind of exhaustion had begun to seep into him, borne of the intense effort required to keep his mind in check.

Hermione seemed to be growing tired as well and had decided to ignore Harry's request to leave it alone, apparently very keen to get the Boy Who Lived to discuss how he was feeling and to discuss what would happen now, after the attack at the Ministry. On this occasion, Harry, Ron and Hermione sat with him in the Common Room after dinner, and the bushy-haired girl had resumed her needling. She got more aggressive as the hour wore on, no longer making comments in passing, but firing questions one after the other.

"If you're having nightmares, Harry, maybe you should discuss it with the Headmaster?"

"What did Dumbledore speak to you about, after the Ministry? What about the Prophecy?"

"What will we do now?"

"Did the Headmaster tell you what happened to his hand?"

"What happened with Bellatrix? And Voldemort?"

Harry's head had snapped up at this question, though he had tried to stop it. He saw a spark in Hermione's eyes, and he knew he had just given a dog a bone. A heat had begun to spread through his limbs, making him sweat despite the cool air outside. His heart rate spiked, and he was hit with the urge to flee. He knew that Hermione would let none of it go, and so he decided to answer a question that might distract her from what he couldn't even allow himself to think about.

"Dumbledore told me the prophecy. That night, after the Ministry." He waited for that to sink in before he continued.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches," He began, aware of his hands shaking in his lap.

"Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies, and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not, and either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives, the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..." He watched as they took the information in, realization forming on their faces. Ron slowly became slack-jawed, but Hermione's eyes shot side to side as she digested the prophecy. Harry could see the gears moving in her head from the outside.

"Harry…" Ron said, his tone mournful.

"Either must die at the hand of the other?" Hermione asked, over the top of Ron. Harry nodded, his earlier spike of adrenaline at the mention of Bellatrix had subsided, leaving him bone-tired in its wake.

Discussing the prophecy with them now was all well and good, he knew. He also knew that later; he would need to fight that much harder to extinguish the thoughts.

"What does that mean?" Hermione pressed, and Harry gave a one-shouldered shrug.

"I suppose it means only I can end this." He muttered. As though triggered by the thought, the unidentifiable hunger rose in his gut. He shifted, uncomfortable.

Hermione seemed to be waiting for something more, and when he gave no further details, she leaned forward in her seat.

"What happened with Bellatrix?" Her eyes flashed again, and Harry thought he should have known better than to think she would let it go. The Boy Who Lived shook his head, partly in warning, partly in answer.

"Do you not remember?"

"I don't know what you want me to say." He bit out. "I chased her. She didn't curse me first."

Hermione nodded, taking his tone as a cue to let the matter drop. Her keen eyes told Harry that it wouldn't be forever.

Harry had received word from Dumbledore that his private lessons would start on the following Saturday. The Boy Who Lived realized that it had completely slipped his mind.

Come eight PM on the Saturday in question, Harry gave the password to the statue that guarded the Headmaster's office. He had taken a seat across from the man and given him a weak smile in greeting. Dumbledore had gently prodded at his mood, trying to get a gauge on how he had been faring. Harry put more effort than he usually did into appearing fine.

"So, Harry. You have been wondering, I am sure, what I have planned for you during these — for want of a better word, lessons? Well, I have decided that it is time, now that you know what prompted Lord Voldemort to try and kill you fifteen years ago, for you to be given certain information."

Harry had not been wondering, distracted as he was, but he kept that to himself. He drew closer to the Headmaster as he explained that they would be using a pensive to view memories.

Through these memories, he was shown the Gaunt family, a dishevelled, angry, deformed group of people, through the eyes of a ministry worker sent to investigate an attack carried out on a Muggle man by Morfin Gaunt, the son of Marvolo Gaunt.

Afterwards, Dumbledore discussed Morfin's sister, Merope, and how she had brewed a love potion to ensnare the same man that Morfin had attacked. Tom Riddle. She eloped with him and quickly became pregnant. However, before the birth of their child, the Muggle had realized her deception and left her alone. An hour after giving birth to her son Tom Marvolo Riddle in an orphanage, Merope died.

Harry left Dumbledore's office with a heavy unease.

He had told Ron and Hermione about the nature of his meeting with Dumbledore, and they had discussed at length what the purpose might be for showing Harry the Dark Lord's family history.

After that, he had taken to avoiding Hermione. Her insistence on constantly deconstructing the happenings of the last few months had worn down his defences and frayed his already raw nerves. By proxy he had avoided Ron and Ginny, choosing instead to steal away to any empty part of the castle and force his mind onto his schoolwork in silence. Ginny still joined him after hours when he found himself haunted.

He had considered, many times, telling his friends or his Headmaster what had happened that night with Bellatrix Lestrange. The way he'd felt. He had dismissed it from every angle, too ashamed to admit to himself, or them, what he had done to his mind. He knew they would react as they had when he was revealed as a Parselmouth. Disgusted. Alarmed. Instead, he willed it away, convincing himself that with time, it would fade. And so a rift gradually formed.

Quidditch tryouts were approaching, and as the team captain, it was Harry's responsibility to pick out the new team members. He distracted himself with thoughts of this but was displeased to find that, like so many other things in his life, it could not hold his attention for very long. As though on cue, he was reminded of the insistent and unnamed need deep in the core of himself. Growing, he noticed, with each passing day. He stood from the spot he occupied in the grass that afternoon, books forgotten, and stripped his outer robe. He dropped it as he sprinted across the grounds as fast as his legs could carry him.

He found himself at the edge of the Forbidden Forest and doubled over as he caught his breath. He noticed that a group of Slytherins had been watching him from some distance away. Malfoy, he realized, with Parkinson and Zabini. They passed him after a moment. Harry locked eyes with the blonde as they went, still bent at the middle and panting. Malfoy did not comment, and neither did the pair he walked with.

The Boy Who Lived felt no better.

He was at the seaside again, this time not alone. The other children ran through the sand, kicking and laughing as he watched. Amy and Dennis, two of the children who had chased him to the cliff's edge, had sniggered and looked in his direction from their seats at the edge of the beach.

He remembered meeting Dennis, how they had smiled at each other, both deciding upon looking at the other that they were friends.

His anger quickly became a rage as he looked at them. He saw the mouth of the cave some distance behind, and an idea came to him. Maybe there was no need to wait and find out what the other boy might do if he caught Harry. Maybe he would show Dennis what would happen if he were the one trapped.

With that thought in mind, he stood, plastering his most convincing smile on his features as he moved toward the pair.

The morning of Quidditch tryouts, Harry had snuck out of the dormitory before first light. He crossed the grounds and came to sit at the edge of the lake, watching the water ripple. He'd dropped his robe next to him, letting the crisp air serve as a distraction. He shivered but ignored it. He knew he should have joined his friends for breakfast. Ron had seemed anxious about the tryouts, but Harry didn't have the energy to bolster him. He threw a rock into the water, then another, then another.

When the time came, he made his way to the Quidditch pitch, bypassing the castle.

In the end, Ron had made the team as Keeper by a hair, beating McLaggen who had inexplicably flown in the wrong direction, missing his final catch. It was later revealed that Hermione had cast a Confundus charm on Ron's opponent. Harry had half smiled at this.

After the tryouts, his friends were content to happily chatter amongst themselves in the Common Room, and so Harry had been comfortable enough to sit back and watch them. His potions textbook was on his lap as he idly flipped through it.

Sectumsempra - For enemies.

He briefly debated asking Hermione if she knew the spell but decided against it. Her disdain at his success in Potions stayed the question. He ran his fingers over the words and noted that the book hadn't steered him wrong yet.

"What happened after- After Dumbledore found me? In the Ministry?" The question had spilled from his mouth without permission that night, while he and Ginny sat quietly in the Common Room. Harry hadn't gone to bed yet, and neither had she.

She glanced up at him and bit her lip, hesitating.

"Are you sure, Harry?" She looked, inexplicably, deeply sad.

He'd nodded despite himself, needing to know, his anxiety finally outweighed by curiosity. He found he could only bear the news from Ginny.

"Well, Dumbledore found you with… You-Know-Who. Bellatrix escaped when the Headmaster got there, and the Minister arrived just in time to see- well. That he's back. Then he was gone. He didn't even fight Dumbledore. The Headmaster pulled you into the Floo straight away because you were… We figured You-Know-Who cursed you. Did he? Curse you?"

Harry didn't know and told her so. He had barely noticed the Dark Lord's presence.

"What was I like?" He'd whispered it because his voice was unreliable. All he knew was that he had been completely outside his mind.

She hesitated, briefly, and closed the book she'd been ignoring. "You were laughing. It was so loud. You were screaming too, and… you fought. Everyone. Not with magic, but we couldn't get near you."

She looked apologetic but didn't make a move to placate him. For that he was glad. It was clear they didn't know what he'd done to Bellatrix, but there was a very real possibility that Voldemort did.

His fear that the dreams he'd been having were the Dark Lord's memories was confirmed during his next 'lesson' with Dumbledore. The pensive took them to halls that he'd realized he recognized, and a vile nausea ran through him as he watched his Headmaster talk to the Matron, a woman he'd seen at the beach.

"On the summer outing — we take them out, you know, once a year, to the countryside or to the seaside — well, Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop were never quite right afterwards, and all we ever got out of them was that they'd gone into a cave with Tom Riddle. He swore they'd just gone exploring, but something happened in there, I'm sure of it. And, well, there have been a lot of things, funny things..." She told a younger Dumbledore. Harry knew who she was talking about. Dennis and Amy, the children who'd chased him in his sleep.

She brought the three of them to a barren room within the orphanage, where a distrusting young Dark Lord watched Dumbledore. He took a seat across from Tom and proceeded to tell him that he was a wizard.

"I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to." Tom told him. The man looked taken aback but hid it well.

As the future Headmaster took his leave, Tom Riddle called after him, "I can speak to snakes. I found out when we've been to the country on trips. They find me, they whisper to me. Is that normal for a wizard?"

As Harry wordlessly watched this interaction, his head swam. He had been seeing Voldemort's childhood through his eyes. He glanced at Dumbledore, watching the memory alongside him. If he told the man, there was a good chance that he would be, once again, subjected to Severus' Legilimency. And then Snape might see the night in the Ministry, what he'd done and how he felt. Then the people he loved would push him away and pull him into a death grip, forcing him to fight while making him feel responsible and unclean. So, as he watched Tom Riddle size up Albus Dumbledore, he resolved to solve the issue himself.

He knew that the visions he'd had before were unreliable and that he would not act on them. If he pushed it away, it would be of no consequence.

After the pensive memory, Dumbledore tried to initiate a conversation about the recollection, but Harry struggled free and claimed that he needed to think about what he'd seen.

He sought solace where he could, where he so often did, after the strange man left. In the small, wooded area beyond the orphanage, in the company of a grass snake.

"He told me I'm a wizard. That there are people like me." He whispered to the small creature curled at his feet.

"I'm going to go to a school," He continued, the snake watching him intently. The palpable excitement had grown to the point where his hands were shaking, a grin stuck permanently to his face. There was a place he belonged.

"Will you take me with you?" It asked after a pause. The snake was small enough to fit in his pocket, and he told it so. Of course, he'd bring his friend.

"Look! He thinks he can talk to snakes!" The oldest boy, Richard, called to Amy and Dennis, but the pair were not as close as the older boy was, unsure.

In the same instant he finished his sentence, Richard stomped on the snake. Harry hadn't had time to react. Molten rage brought him to his feet. Amy and Dennis had the sense to run as though their lives depended on it. Richard just sneered.

"What are you gunna do about it, freak boy? Huh?" He shoved Harry back and he stumbled. He glanced at the snake on the ground, his only friend in this godforsaken place, smeared into the grass. Reduced to incomprehensible gore. He howled, locking eyes with the murderer.

Richard fell as a scream was torn from his chest. He writhed in the grass in front of him and his dead friend, begging, sobbing, screaming. Harry felt a rush of exquisite satisfaction.

He watched the boy contort until he stopped moving.