World So Cold, 12 Stones

It starts with pain
Followed by hate
Fueled by the endless questions
No one can answer
A stain covers your heart
And tears you apart
Just like a sleeping cancer

No, I don't believe men are born to be killers
I don't believe that the world can't be saved
How did you get there and when did it start?
An innocent child with a thorn in his heart

Slytherin had won the match against Gryffindor, Ginny had told him at breakfast the next day. Ron sulked into his toast, not eating it. He had flunked pretty hard and missed several of the Slytherin's throws. In the end, it hadn't mattered, as the Slytherin Seeker caught the snitch. Ginny had replaced the Boy Who Lived as Seeker, Seamus replacing her. It hadn't gone well.

Harry looked up at Dumbledore and Snape at the staff table several times. They both ignored him. He avoided looking over at the Slytherins, nervous now when it came to Malfoy. He would continue to try and understand what the blonde was doing, but he'd vowed to himself that he'd be more careful. Hermione hadn't joined them for the meal, and he wondered when she'd give in. He thought about telling her what he'd heard about Snape, then decided she would probably explain that away as well. Even though he felt in his bones something was wrong, she would disassemble what he'd heard and find that in reality, he hadn't heard enough.

Harry had been invited to Slughorn's Christmas party, as had Hermione and Ginny. Harry was undecided on whether he would go. He didn't feel much like a party. The youngest Weasley told him over her eggs that he would need a date. He still had a few weeks to decide if he was even going.

Harry found that he had been accepted at Hogwarts in a way he'd never experienced. His fellow housemates shared his interests, and they quickly bonded over strictly 'theoretical' discussion.

He was barely halfway through his first year when he found a rather large snake at the edge of the castle. He had sat down to speak with it without hesitation, thrilled to find that this particular species was magical in nature, its scales iridescent, like oil on black water.

A fourth-year Gryffindor had witnessed this, he learned later. He quickly discovered just how far Wizarding hospitality extended. He was shunned by all but his fellow Slytherins, most of the Hogwarts student body gave him frightened looks as he passed. For a superstition, he'd been told.

Harry sat up and dug his fists into his eyes. Groaning. He'd managed to go without the dreams for several weeks. He'd almost allowed himself to think that they were gone, the strange hunger pain with it.

As though summoned, the gnawing ache rattled through him. He sucked in a breath and tucked himself into a ball, hissing. Face down on the bed, he dug his hands into his hair and pulled. This was his fault. He'd done this, in the Ministry, when Voldemort had pushed him to curse Bellatrix. When he'd obliged, he'd broken something inside himself. The Dark Lord had been pleased.

Now he saw Voldemort's childhood in his dreams. A childhood that was eerily similar to his own.

Another insistent wave passed through him and he blanched at the thought of what satisfied it. Surely now that he knew, the only task would be to avoid dark magic. He had done that every day of his life before that night at the Ministry. He could do it over. Everything he had learned only served to cement his desire to never speak a word of it. Again, the Boy Who Lived convinced himself that the dreams he was having were some kind of trick, a ploy to distract him from Malfoy, maybe.

Whatever the case, he strengthened his resolve for the sake of his sanity. When the pain slowly subsided, he got out of bed and descended the stairs to the Common Room. As he came close to the bottom of the stairwell, he heard the muffled sound of Ginny Weasley, crying into her knees. Harry was behind her but could see her shoulders heaving. He hesitated, unsure if he should announce himself. He decided to give her what she had given him. Space.

The Slug Club Christmas party was approaching quickly. Hermione had returned to sitting with them but was pointedly ignoring the Boy Who Lived, which he allowed. He had let Ginny talk him into attending the party, and she chattered to him through lunch about who he would invite. Harry didn't think there was anyone in the school he really felt like being around, present company excluded.

Ginny hadn't given any signs that she was upset about something, but Harry watched her carefully. It had crossed his mind that she had fought with her boyfriend, and that had been why he'd found her crying in the Common Room. But the Chosen One was familiar with real, sharp grief, and he had recognized it in the way her shoulders shook. In the way she was alone, and silent. He noted that she had been spending less time with Dean and more time with Harry, Hermione, and Ron as the days ticked by, but she made no indication that it, or anything else, was bothering her.

When he'd asked her how things were going with her boyfriend, she'd said, "Oh, things aren't that serious between us."

In the end, a few days later, he'd bumped into Luna in the corridor outside Gryffindor Tower and decided on impulse to invite her to Slughorn's gathering. She had accepted in her whimsical manner, after asking if he was sure he didn't want to take someone else.

The night of the party, Harry and Ron got ready in their dormitory, while the girls got prepared in theirs. Hermione had invited Ron, and Ginny had invited Dean. He and his best mate got ready in silence. Harry realized that the Weasley teen had barely made any attempt to talk to him over the last few months, instead opting to only speak to him in reply. Harry had frowned at this revelation, deciding to talk to him later. Maybe after the get-together.

The group made their way to Slughorn's office later that evening. Ginny made light conversation with Luna and Hermione while Harry watched Ron from the corner of his eye.

Hermione quickly pulled the red-haired teen away from the group when they reached their destination, and Ginny gave the Boy Who Lived a small, apologetic smile as she slipped away with Dean Thomas. Harry avoided making eye contact with Snape, pretending that he wasn't in attendance. Luna smiled at him serenely as they sat off to the side, accepting a handful of hors d'oeuvres and butterbeer from the house elves making their way around the party. Slughorn's office had been magically extended to accommodate the large group of people it held.

"You look different, Harry," The blonde girl stated, matter-of-factly. He looked at her, eyebrows raised in question.

He knew he didn't look the picture of vitality, such was his struggle with his thoughts, every damn night. Most often he chose to entirely forgo rest and the dreamless sleep potion.

She didn't answer his silent question, instead saying, "I think you'll be alright."

She smiled to herself. Harry shrugged it off, scanning the room. Ron and Hermione stood awkwardly by the punchbowl. The bushy-haired girl looked flustered. He couldn't spot Ginny or her date. Sometime later, around the time that Harry was thinking to himself that he should make excuses and take his leave, Filch dragged Malfoy and Zabini into the office by their ears.

"I found these two lurkin' about in the corridor," Filch grinned, licking his blackened teeth while he nodded along to himself.

"Alright, fine, we were gate-crashing," Zabini said, holding his arms up in surrender. Slughorn pushed his way through the gathering crowd as Harry locked eyes with Malfoy. The Slytherin looked down at the carpet.

"Oh, all in good fun, Argus." Professor Slughorn said, mirth in his features as he spread his arms wide. "It is Christmas after all."

Snape broke through the gaggle of people and snatched the two Slytherins from Filch by the back of their robes, dragging them from the room in silence. The Boy Who Lived searched the crowd for Ginny, and when he found her, gave her a pointed look. He didn't bother looking for Hermione among the faces, confident he knew what he'd find in her expression.

Harry discarded the thought of following the suspicious trio from the party. His desire to understand what exactly they had planned was strong, but there was something stronger brewing in him. If he allowed himself to consider it honestly, if he followed them, if he heard something that triggered him, he was at risk of doing something… Frowned upon. He couldn't risk it. He gnawed his lip, pushing down the thought of the growing want he now felt most days, sporadically.

He waited what felt like an appropriate amount of time for them to escape, then excused himself, heading to the Gryffindor Common Room to wait for Ginny.

He had gone upstairs to collect the Marauder's map, when he found a box of chocolates in a love heart-shaped box on his bed, addressed to him. He prodded the card open with the tip of his wand.

Love, Romilda Vane.

Harry levitated the box into the trash.

He returned to the Common Room and watched the map while he'd waited, eyes firmly locked on the footprints that said 'Draco Malfoy' and 'Severus Snape', in the Defence Professor's Office. Neither one of them had moved when Ginny, Ron, and Hermione came through the portrait hole.

The bushy-haired teen looked on the verge of tears as she entered. She glanced at the map in Harry's hands and rolled her eyes. She scoffed and shook her head at the room at large, then stomped up the stairs to her dormitory. Ginny watched her go, her expression regretful. Ron bounded up to the boy's quarters without a word to either of them.

"What's going on there?" Harry asked when Ginny finally came to sit and look at him.

She frowned for a moment, then said, "I don't really know. I think they had a fight."

Harry decided that she looked particularly bashful for someone who hadn't been involved in the fight. She gave him a look that said 'don't', and so he didn't. He couldn't help but wonder what he was missing. She didn't stay up with him that night, seemingly lost in her thoughts as she wandered up her staircase after Hermione. Harry had let her go and returned his attention to the map.

Both Snape and Malfoy had retired for the night.

The angry, dark hunger rose in his stomach and spread through his chest until it swam in his head. He groaned, knowing that he didn't have much time before he couldn't control the noises he'd be making. He staggered up the stairs, collapsed into his bed, drew the curtains, and cast the silencing charm in time to cover the guttural retching.

Harry had opted to spend the Christmas break with the Weasleys, such was his desperation to leave the presence of Malfoy and Snape. He was hopeful it would serve as a better distraction, and reduce his risk of doing something he'd regret. Hermione had decided to spend it with her parents. He didn't find out what she and Ron had fought about. Each time he'd asked the Weasley, he'd gotten a bitter 'just leave it alone, mate,' in response. Harry had realized, with a pang of regret, that he was glad Hermione had decided not to spend the holiday with them. Whatever the reason for her absence, Harry couldn't bear her scrutiny.

The ache had gripped him constantly, from the night of the party onward. A pain not unlike true hunger haunted him throughout his waking hours, making him irritable. This was interspersed with regular, more intense waves, sometimes twice a day. Each time, he'd squashed the small desire he had to tell someone about it. The only one he could consider telling at that moment was Ginny. And he wasn't sure what she would do if he did. Wasn't sure if she would help him or out him. The thought of making a mistake stayed his hand, his fear that he would make another rash error. Get someone else killed.

Instead, he'd tried to strengthen his resistance on his own. He would struggle free, each time with more effort required, as he fought what he had inflicted on himself.

Harry sat with the Weasleys and several Order members at the Burrow on Christmas Day, after they had finished breakfast and exchanged gifts. They had assumed that Harry's sour mood was because they still had not received word on Trelawney. She had been presumed dead. This had been interspersed with more regular kidnappings -one being the wand-maker, Ollivander- along with an increasing number of murders, some of them within the Ministry itself.

The Chosen One had certainly been bothered by Trelawney. The knowledge that Voldemort had not succeeded in seeing the complete prophecy had been his only consolation in the face of the fact that it had been a trap and he had fallen for it. He had paid with his godfather's life. But it wasn't the source of his vaguely disgusted expression.

As he watched his loved ones chatter happily, the mood lifted by a decent Christmas morning and no further bad news, he could feel the true reason for his discomfort rising in his gut. He felt like he was falling as he sat there, stomach somersaulting in sick anticipation. He excused himself from the sitting room. No one followed him.

Harry watched, from a vantage point strangely low to the ground, as Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Hagrid stared down at him. He couldn't move his arms or legs, but he was comfortable. Tired.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Albus? They're the worst sort of Muggles imaginable. I've watched them all day. They're dreadful." Minerva said, her eyes wide and sad.

The Headmaster ignored her, turning his attention to Hagrid, who was blubbering, wiping his tears with an enormous handkerchief.

"There now, Rubeus. It is not goodbye forever."

The three of them watched the Boy Who Lived fight sleep on the doorstep of number four Privet Drive, Little Whinging.

Harry jerked awake, jamming his glasses on his face reflexively. It was still dark, so he could see barely more than the outline of Ron's room.

The dream had been his memory, not the Dark Lord's. That much was obvious, but it was impossible that he should remember that night. He'd been barely one. He decided that it was some new deception, but it brought with it an uneasiness.

He played Quidditch with Ron, Ginny, Fred and George that morning after they had eaten. Anything to distract from the unrelenting pain in his middle. The youngest Weasley seemed distracted, and so she, Harry and Ron lost to the twins.

"Don't tell us you've gone soft!" They had called after Harry as he admitted the third defeat, and he and Ginny had called it off.

Despite the precarious mood at the Burrow, Ron and Ginny both seemed relieved to be free of Hermione. Harry had wondered again what had happened the night of the party. The Boy Who Lived felt shut out by Ron and had given up asking what had happened between his best friends. He had wondered if he could still call them that over dinner that night. Pangs of fear, guilt, and grief robbed him of his appetite for food. He found he no longer wanted to ask Ron why he'd been acting strangely toward him. He was afraid of the answer.

He glanced up at Ginny and she was already looking at him. She looked horribly sad for the barest of seconds -until he met her eyes- before she looked over at her mother and thanked her for the meal.

"It's delicious Mum," She said, smiling. Harry raised his eyebrows in question, but she avoided his gaze.

"Yeah, it's really good. Thanks Mum." Ron agreed. Harry nodded along with them, tearing his eyes away from the youngest Weasley.

"-It's called, as I understand it, Professor, a Horcrux," Harry watched Slughorn's reaction to this carefully.

He had spun on his heel with his eyebrows chasing his receding hairline.

"Now why would you be looking into something like that?" He asked, and Harry feigned nonchalance.

"It just got me wondering. I thought about asking my Head of House, but I thought you might understand," Harry gave a small smile, "Because you're different."

"This is all purely theoretical, right, Tom?"

"Of course, Professor, I merely wondered."

"A Horcrux is a dark piece of magic. It allows a person to be brought back from certain death, at the cost of splitting off a piece of their soul and placing it in an object." Slughorn said as he watched Harry carefully, while the Chosen One roamed the office appearing casually interested.

"An object?"

"It could be any object. A necklace or an old boot."

"And how does one… Split the soul, Sir? Out of curiosity."

"I think you already know the answer to that Tom." Slughorn looked deeply troubled now: he was gazing at Harry as though he had never seen him plainly before, the Professor was regretting entering into the conversation at all.

The Boy Who Lived pushed past this. "And could someone, in theory, create seven?"

"Seven! Isn't it bad enough to think of killing one person? And in any case, bad enough to divide the soul once! But to rip it into seven pieces ..." Horace trailed off, but Harry had what he needed. He could tell by the Potion professor's demeanour that it was possible.