Chapter Summary: Harry goes to the so called 'pub night' and encounters a tad more than he initially bargained for.

AN: Hello! Hope all of you are well. I'm very stressed in real life right now, but coping. There are some darker themes in this chapter, as a heads up. Hope you enjoy it regardless!

With You My Tides will Ebb and Flow
Chapter 3: Memory

Full Moon in Libra: April 2nd, 1988

"His final dose, to be taken before the moon rises," Potioneer Barton said in his signature high nasal tone. He was a long faced man, with strange taste in robes, who Draco greatly disliked the first moment they met. He was strange, in the way he looked around their house as if searching for something to steal. He dragged his words, and hunched slightly inwards, as his mother had always advised Draco not to. He didn't understand why his father held so much faith in him.

"Are you certain this will work?" his father asked, grabbing the vial from Barton's hand before holding it up to the light of his wand. Draco could see the sickly green colour of it. He could smell it too, even from his place within the cell. It was rank, like rotten wood, though the scent of something sweet and floral was there in a poor attempt to mask it.

Barton circled around his parents, casting a surreptitious glance in Draco's direction as he spoke, "Quite. The…alterations I've made to this one in particular should have the desired effect."

Lucius twisted it between his fingers for a moment before raising his chin in satisfaction. "Drink it Draco," he ordered, reaching his hand between the bars to hold out the vial.

Draco had heard of potions that could help with the change. Make him calmer. Even allow him to retain his mental faculties. But they were new. And far from perfected. He eyed the smoking vial in suspicion. It was not the same vivid blue as the others he had taken leading up to the full moon. All of which had made him feel rather ill. He hesitated for a moment too long, and then caught his father's pinched expression, daring him to refuse. Chains dragged across the floor as Draco reached for it, and he took one last look at his mother before drinking it down. It burned as he swallowed it, and he fought against the urge to bring it all back up. He had to do this. For his father, and for his mother.

The familiar nausea he had grown used to in the last week hit him near instantly and he clutched at his stomach and flung his head back against the stone wall behind him. The urge to vomit was strong. Far stronger than ever before, and Draco lurched forward, gagging as his body began to reject the concoction. And then there was pain. Excruciating pain. Blinding, and burning throughout his entire body like hot flames. This was far worse than before. This wasn't…right.

"Draco?" he heard in the distance. It was his mother's worried voice.

He fell forward onto his hands and knees, the chains scraping around him as he scrambled and groaned in agony. He couldn't fight it anymore, and he retched all over the floor. Thick black bile poured from his throat, dripping down his front like oil. He clawed at himself, the wolf coming to the surface before the change had even begun to occur. Merlin. He was going to die.

"What have you done to him!" his father shrieked.

"What I must," Barton sneered. "His kind are a stain upon this world. If I can eliminate even one, then I have done my duty. Is that not what you asked of me? To eliminate the beast inside him?"

"You traitor!"

Draco could hardly make sense of his surroundings. Finally, he felt the pull of the moon upon him, drawing him further towards the beast that haunted him. He threw up again, his throat pained as he strained and coughed and rejected everything within. Draco just barely noticed his mother at the bars, reaching in towards him, when he lost control and lunged towards her with rapidly growing teeth. His father pulled her back just in time.

The manacles about his wrists and ankles strained, and he howled as they dug into his growing limbs. He coughed up blood this time, as his body fought to rearrange his innards. He vaguely heard the door creaking open and only had enough time to hope it wasn't one of his parents before the change took hold completely.

He came to in a pile of what he could only imagine was his own sick. He moaned in agony and rolled on his side, clutching at his stomach weakly. He'd never felt so awful. Draco pushed his body up gingerly and looked down at himself with blurred vision. There was red. Red everywhere. He was covered in blood.

He remembered his mother suddenly, reaching into the cage, and a fear like no other took hold of his heart. Had he hurt her? The chains scraped across the stone as he looked around himself frantically. What he saw had him gasping as he held his hands to his mouth and gagged. There were torn limbs and pieces of body parts strewn about him. Trails of blood across the floor. He followed the gore with wary eyes and found the remnants of a familiar set of peculiar robes. It was Barton.

Draco felt tears come to his eyes as he faced the reality before him. He'd…he'd done that. He'd torn that man to shreds. And while Barton was not a good or kind man, and he had most certainly tried to kill Draco, it was still a horrific fate. And it was all Draco's fault. His gag reflex kicked in once again, and Draco spewed what little was left in his stomach to the floor. He was grateful the bile was no longer black, but questioned what else might be in it. His tears fell to the floor as he hunched in on himself, and he flinched at the sound of heavy feet treading purposefully down the stone corridor. He looked up, saw the shadow of his father looming on the other side of the bars, and winced at the revulsion upon his face.

His father opened the cell door with a loud long creak, and Draco stared up at his emotionless face as he tossed the key for the chains at Draco's feet.

"Clean yourself up," he spat.

"Yes father."

Waxing Gibbous Moon in Virgo: May 18th, 2005

The Blue Moon was always rather busy in the evenings, but true to Cal's word, on Wednesdays it was hopping. It looked as though the entire adult population of the village was present, packed into the place like sardines and rowdy enough to wake the dead. Harry tugged down on his shirt and squeezed in through the door, pressing his body up against the nearest wall. He had hummed and hawed about whether or not to show up, but in the end figured he might as well, seeing as he had to return to the tavern to get to his room that night anyhow. But in that moment, he strongly considered bypassing the crowd and making his way upstairs. He could cast a silencing charm and forget about it entirely. Maybe get a good night's rest for once.

"Harry! You came!" He turned just in time to see Cal's beaming face as she grabbed his arm and yanked him into the crowd, his opportunity to escape lost forever. "This way!" she shouted over the noise, pulling him through the tavern towards a table at the back. Several people were already seated around it. Zel was there, Aster beside her, a man he didn't recognize, and…well, Draco.

"This is Mavis," Cal said, gesturing towards the man with the unfamiliar face. He was a charming looking fellow, with a smile like sunshine, and Harry smiled back and shook his hand quickly. "I know he's dashing, but hands off okay? He's mine," Cal teased, and Harry felt himself flushing lightly as she pulled away and sat down. Unbidden, his gaze shifted towards Draco, who was sitting quietly and watching him with searching eyes. He wore a lightweight sweater that hung over his wide shoulders in a flattering way, and his hair was brushed back so that it hung over his undercut in loose waves. Harry blinked at him for a moment and tore his gaze away. It was too late to head back into the crowd, so he sat in the only free seat beside him, and tried to ignore the way their feet and knees touched beneath the table.

Several bowls sat upon the table, filled with a variety of snacks that Harry picked at while everyone around him chattered away. He found it all a bit overwhelming. The noises and the sheer number of conversations occurring at one time. He spotted Conri chatting cheerily several tables over with a few men Harry recognized from the docks. The group sitting right next to them burst out in laughter, embracing heartily as they slapped each other's shoulders in glee. Harry looked down at the wood grain of the table and tried not to let his attention slip away.

A drink slid across the table towards him, a lemonade of some variety, and he looked up, smiling as Zel offered him a subtle nod. Soon enough the conversation carried on around him, and Harry listened to the others chat about their week so far on the island before they began retelling stories from their past.

He heard of Aster's family, of his overbearing mother who's description reminded Harry somewhat of Mrs. Weasley, though significantly more carefree. Of Mavis, who was surprisingly, from off island. He was born in the wild, to a group of nomads in Northern Ireland. They had lived in the ruins of an old castle on and off, living day to day. It had been a difficult childhood, and he'd made the decision in his early-teens to escape in the hopes of finding something better. He'd lived on his own for a few years before coming across a group of island residents visiting a coastal trading post. Mavis had made the mistake of trying to pick pocket from the wrong person, or the right one, depending how you looked at it. Because it had led him here. His target had been a woman called Nova, who Harry hadn't been officially introduced to but had seen crafting weapons, tools, and the occasional art piece in the smithy. She'd taken Mavis in, made him her apprentice, and he'd never looked back.

"How did you two meet?" Harry asked, gesturing between Mavis and Cal. The two swooned as they looked each other in the eyes.

"It was Beltane," Cal started, reaching out to touch her partner's arm fondly.

Mavis nodded and looked off into the distance as he recalled the memory. "They had set up a maypole in the centre of town," he uttered. "I was still rather new. I was pretty hesitant to introduce myself to others. But I remember she was dancing around it, flowers tangled through her hair. The ribbon got caught about her, and I stepped in to help unwind it."

"Then all of the sudden," she cut in.

"She was right there, in my arms," Mavis finished.

"It was a sure thing from then on," Cal admitted, flushing lightly as Mavis leaned over and kissed her cheek with a loud smack.

Aster snorted and sat back in his chair proudly. "I saw it coming, of course," he insisted with a haughty tilt of his chin.

"If you say so, Elder Spiorad," Mavis chimed in, taking a drink and grinning secretly over the rim of his stein. "You were only what, eight? Nine?" The group laughed as Aster bristled.

"You're one of the elders?" Harry asked in disbelief.

"Oh, you didn't know?"

Harry gaped at him and uttered, "But you're so young!"

"Age has little to do with it," Aster commented. "It has more to do with proficiency in skill than anything else," he added.

"And what is your skill?" Harry asked curiously. Aster eyed him for a moment, glancing towards Draco intently before he looked back in Harry's direction. He opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted as several people walked up on stage with instruments in their hands, and the crowd inside the tavern cheered raucously in response. The room grew silent a few seconds later at the knock of a knife against glass. Harry watched in awe as the entire crowd became enraptured by the musicians, practically buzzing in excitement. The band positioned themselves, fiddles against chins, fingers against lute strings, and the audience waited with baited breath, hands clasped tightly about their drinks. When the first note struck, it was though every last one of them held in their breath in anticipation. Then, a few more followed, and suddenly the entire place was alight with song. Harry watched as everyone around him sang along, slamming their tankards to the tables as they cheered with the band.

He caught sight of Draco, who was bobbing his head slightly along with the tune. He had one arm slung across the back of his chair, his other hand gripped around his drink. He looked relaxed, and casual. He lacked his usual sneer and wore the content expression surprisingly well, and Harry was somewhat enraptured as he watched his rather striking profile from so near. He was completely lost in thought when Aster leaned in next to him and shouted over the music, "Come on Harry! Time to dance!"

"Oh no I don't-," he began, but Aster pulled him from his seat and dragged him into the middle of the room with everyone else. He floundered as he was pulled into an ever moving jig, the steps of which were far beyond him. His previous experience with dancing had been different. Rigid in its structure, and though difficult for Harry, much easier to predict the step ahead. This dance by contrast was almost chaotic in nature, impulsive, and without rule. It lacked all of the precise steps required from his time opening the Yule Ball, and he hadn't the slightest idea what to do. He had never been a good dancer, but at least he had the bare minimum knowledge for the odd Ministry event he was required to attend. But this was completely foreign to him.

"Don't think so much, just let yourself be led along," Aster whispered in his ear, and Harry willed himself to let go. He took several deep breaths as he was twirled from one place to another, and allowed himself to relax at least a little. He was surprised when Aster let go of him and flung him into the crowd. He was caught by Zel, who spun him and dipped him and passed him off to another, one of the men he'd seen speaking to Conri at the start of the evening. The man grinned at him and winked, and Harry flushed deeply before he was passed off once again.

Before long he was fully drawn into the dancing. His steps were clumsy, and he still hadn't the slightest idea what to do, but he'd stopped fighting against the pull of his partners and enjoyed the freedom that came with it. As bad as he was, no one here seemed to particularly care. They circled around and around, and Harry was thrown between partners at every corner. He was laughing, and having a good time, and then he twisted into the body of his next partner and looked straight up into Draco's steely gaze. The two of them faltered, and several people knocked into them from the sides. Harry stumbled forward, pressing his palm against Draco's chest to prevent his fall. At the touch Draco pushed him away and he flew into Zel again, who staggered, and directed a glare beyond him at the blond.

"Draco! You're fucking us up!" Zel hissed. She shoved him right back, and this time Draco caught him as he tripped over his feet into his arms. Draco grimaced, but grabbed hold of Harry's hand, before tugging him into a strange sort of rhythm. Their awkward little dance lasted hardly any time at all before he was yanked out of Draco's grip by another man. He oddly missed the warmth of Draco's palm at his back, and when he was twirled around he spotted Draco for a moment, his eyes steely following him over the shoulder of the woman he was busy leading on the other side of the tavern floor.

The next time they found each other Draco was ready, pulling Harry in immediately to twirl him around the room in a much more intricate dance than before. Harry didn't fight him, focusing on taking Aster's advice to heart, and he let himself be spun until he was dizzy with it. He laughed unbidden, eyes alight with joy as he staggered in Draco's hold. When he glanced back, the other man surprisingly sported a grin of his own.

The music eventually stopped as the band took a short break from their jig, and everyone pulled apart and returned to the tables for drinks.

"Not so bad when you don't have to lead," Draco drawled. "Still came awfully close to crushing my toes though."

"Piss off," Harry blurted, though the words lacked their usual venom. He gripped the glass between his fingers and looked away, back out at the near empty dance floor. "That…was fun," he confessed. He was surprised, because he never much enjoyed dancing before. Though he supposed he hadn't had the best experiences with it. He could admit it was nice to follow for once. He had always felt forced to lead. As though he didn't have a choice in the matter. As though it was simply what was done. What was expected of him. When he looked back at Draco the other man was studiously stuffing nuts into his face as he avoided Harry's probing gaze.

The band took their place once again, this time with an additional member, and though the room was still visibly excited for the upcoming performance, they had settled into their seats quite comfortably, clearly ready to sit and listen. The new person, a woman with greying hair, stood in the centre and twirled loosely in place as a much more jazzy song rang out throughout the room.

"Oh, my poor heart, where has it gone?
It's left me for a spell
But I don't mind, 'cause with you I find
I'm always feeling well..."

Harry's brow rose as he recognized the tune. It wasn't quite the same as the original, performed by this rather bedraggled, though no less talented, group of musicians. It was somewhat slower, a little softer. But he still recognized it immediately as a Celestina Warbeck tune, and his thoughts quickly wandered. He could remember staying at the burrow over the holidays in sixth year. Mrs. Weasley playing it in the evening and singing along, the lot of them huddled around the fireplace sipping on hot cocoa.

"You charmed the heart right out of me
Don't need no broom, I'm flying free
I think by now it's plain to see
I'm nothing without you"

Then again, just two years later, in the wake of the war. In the wake of their loss.

"Your every wish is my command
My fragile heart is in your hand
And now, at last, I understand
The magic about you!"

He remembered sitting in a tent, on a cliff in the wilderness. Cold, lonely, and mourning his missing friend. Hermione had turned on the wireless at some point to put an end to the painful silence, and the song echoed throughout their shared space as they tried to go on. One day at a time. Another name lost to the war with each passing moment.

"I'm losing all control
My chest is one big hole
Inside you'll see my soul
Happy as can be
'Cause, babe, you charmed the heart right out of me!"

At Grimmauld Place. In the darkness of the halls. His friends were over. Trying to get him to socialize after the war. But he just wanted to be left alone. He knocked a music box off the dresser in Sirius's old room in his frantic attempt at an escape. The song trilled away, slowing to a premature stop without enough winding. He huddled in the corner, arms wrapped around his legs as he struggled to keep his breathing under control. His magic was swirling around him, shaking things in the room. He scratched at his arms and willed it to settle. To leave him be.

"You charmed the heart right out of me
To my whole life you hold the key
You cast your spell and suddenly
I cannot forget you!"

In his office at work, hunched over paperwork from a recent raid. They'd failed miserably. Several muggles were slaughtered in the street, and not one person apprehended to show for it. The song floated in through his open office door, accompanying him as he worked late into the night and struggled to forget all of the blood upon his hands.

"This feeling's utter bliss
Yet something seems amiss
Like a Dementor's Kiss
You're consuming me!
And now you've torn it quite apart
I'll thank you to give me back my heart!"

He was somewhere in the basement of the Ministry of Magic, only half aware. The tune came from outside, a man, whistling, happy as can be, while Harry wasted away in the darkness of his isolated room. A room he wanted desperately to leave. He pressed his ear against the door of what might as well have been a prison.

"'Cause, you charmed the heart right out of me!
But I need a heart for loving thee
So give it back, together we
Can love till forever!"

At St. Mungo's, there was a woman in the room next to him, lost in her mind forever after being tortured by still rogue death eaters. She sang under her breath, only the occasional word discernable. A paper was sprawled on the table beside his bed, his face on the front page, gaunt and emotionless. From when his friends had escorted him away from the Ministry's claws. The healers were whispering about him just outside his room, as if he was incapable of hearing them from just a few feet away. They thought him insane. He looked down at his shaking hands. Maybe he was.

"You may have not played fair
But, frankly, I don't care
'Cause without you I despair
Lost in misery!"

His breath caught in his throat, and he felt the magic inside of him swell uncontrollably. He couldn't contain it. Harry stood suddenly, knocking the table to the side. Someone was shouting, but he couldn't properly hear it. It was like an echo from a land far away. His vision greyed, and it felt as though every nerve ending in his body was alight with fire. Gods he wasn't breathing. He couldn't breathe. Why couldn't he-

"Oh, babe, you charmed the heart right out of-
It's the one thing I've no doubt of
Babe, you charmed the heart right out of me!
Right out of me!"

There was a deafening shatter, and shrieks sounded from all around him, followed by searing pain in the palm of his hand. He stumbled in place, choking slightly as his lungs began to work once more. He was trembling as he looked down at his bloodied hand and the deep red liquid falling to the floor. Drip drip drip.

What?

"Potter?" There was a touch at his arm, and Harry flinched away, staring at his surroundings in horror. He turned his head slowly, taking in the splattered drinks and broken glass throughout the entire tavern. There were people still crouched down in an attempt to shield themselves from the explosion. The band had stopped playing, all hiding behind their instruments as they eyed him warily. Not far away Conri eased someone from behind his body, checking over their wounds briefly before standing tall and facing him, and Harry met his probing gaze. He twisted back to face Draco, who stood just a step away. He looked…concerned. No that couldn't be right. He was frowning. Angry perhaps. And of course he was. Just look at the mess.

A fresh cut on Draco's face bled slowly, trailing down over his cheekbone and off the edge of his pointed jawline. Harry swallowed as he watched it drip towards his collar, leaving a red stain on Draco's shirt, and he squeezed his hand shut over the shards of glass poking from his palm. It hurt, but he ignored the pain.

"Potter?" It was Draco again. He spoke tentatively, like he was facing a scared animal. And then he stepped forward and Harry stepped immediately back in response.

"I-I'm sorry," Harry breathed. He took one last glance around and then dashed through the tavern and out the front door.

Glass crunched beneath his shoes as Draco swept up the scattered shrapnel behind the bar. The tavern had cleared out rather quickly after Harry had vacated it, leaving a select few behind to clean up the mess. It was quite extensive, and he frowned down at the pile of broken drink bottles and china angrily.

As for Harry, he had run off to somewhere unknown, and Draco wasn't about to follow him. A quick check had revealed the bulk of his personal items, including his precious invisibility cloak, were still in the room he stayed in, so he obviously hadn't done anything rash like apparate blindly away again. Draco knew there was no way he'd leave something that valuable behind. Or the photos he'd propped up on the bedside table. They must have been fairly precious if he carried them around with him wherever he…travelled.

"Any idea what this was about?" Zel asked disdainfully. She was bent low to the ground, busy scooping up nuts, and bits of crackers, and whatever else had been thrown across the floor in the wake of Harry's explosion.

"No."

He scraped the broom across the old floorboards as she stood and leaned against the side of the bar beside him. "He reminds me a bit of you."

Draco scoffed and muttered, "We're nothing alike," before scooping the mess he'd swept up into a dustpan and dumping it.

"I remember when you came back. After your…war," Zel spoke quietly. Draco paused in his cleaning, standing in place with his hand tightly wrapped around the broom handle. "You were always quiet as a child, always reserved. But you were different when you came back. Angrier. Mad at the world. I remember a few occasions where your magic got away from you as you readjusted to things here." Draco turned away from her as he stared out the windows of the tavern towards the empty streets. "Was he a part of it? Your war?" she asked.

Draco breathed in and out slowly, his shoulders rising and falling steadily. He ran his fingers through his hair before replying, "Yes, he was." He propped his hand on his hip and ducked his head. "Rather…integral to the whole thing, you might say."

She scrutinized him and then scooted behind the bar to pull out two bottles that survived the blast. Simple fizzy drinks, but Draco wasn't feeling picky. He accepted it gratefully when she popped the caps and slid one along the counter in his direction.

"Think he's okay?" That she was showing concern was rather shocking. Zel wasn't the type. But she did care about her friends in her own way. Had Harry already garnered her trust? In the few days he'd been here?

"How should I know?" he spat. But in fact he did know. There was no way Potter was okay. Not if he was apparating across the ocean spontaneously and exploding glassware at the ridiculous lyrics of You Charmed the Heart Right Out of Me. That was the very definition of not okay.

"Aren't you worried about him? That wasn't normal, Draco. His hand…," she trailed off, looking down at the floor where the puddle of blood had yet to get mopped away.

Draco pressed his lips together in a tight line and tried not to think about it too much. That much blood loss wasn't a problem for someone like him, for any of the villagers, but for a human, it was rather concerning. He tried to convince himself that Harry was a fully capable wizard and could probably heal his injuries with a spell or two, but the thought of his gaping wounds, stuffed full of crushed glass, ate at him. "Yes, fine, I'm worried," He admitted. "But I'm not sure what you think I can do about it." Even if he did go out looking, there was no guarantee he'd find Harry any time soon. And even if he did find him, it was unlikely Harry would give him the time of day. They'd hardly spoken since he'd arrived. Draco had done everything in his power to avoid the other man. And it wasn't as if Draco ever presented himself as someone who actually cared about others. What reason would Harry Potter have to trust him in the wake of an emotional breakdown?

"Sometimes the best thing is simply knowing you aren't alone," Zel said cryptically. He knew parts of her story, what she'd been willing to tell late at night, after a fair few drinks and in the absence of guests. Zel's life hadn't been easy. Both her parents, killed in a horrific storm at sea when she was just a child. Her only brother, brutally murdered on a full moon by hunters while manning a trading post ashore. Life had hardened her. Made it difficult for her to connect with others and show emotion. She'd locked it all away so long ago, lest it break her down into nothing. She was okay now, had only just begun to open up, because she had people who cared. Who shared in her grief, and listened when she was ready to talk. And she was right. Knowing you weren't alone in the world…was huge. Draco knew that all too well.

But didn't Harry already have those people? Friends, and family, back home. Ready and waiting to listen to his woes. To provide a shoulder to cry on. If he did he probably wouldn't be here, Draco mused.

"I'll talk to him tomorrow, okay?" Draco sighed. "But I can guarantee I'll only make it worse."

The sand beneath his feet was cool, and Harry dug his toes into it in search of warmth. He had wandered down along the beach until he was so far from the docks he was certain no one would find him. He sat on a half-buried washed up log, using the light of the moon to locate the stray pieces of glass still poking from the skin of his palm. It took him some time, and a fair few tears, to tug them out one by one, and he was left with a shredded bloody mess that made him sick to his stomach. He should have tended to it straight away. But he'd been such a mess. And now the deep cuts were likely to scar.

His wand shook in his grip as he pointed it at the multitude of wounds. He couldn't manage a single spell, and he eventually gave up, dropping the useless piece of wood on the log at his side. It was Hermione who always took care of these things. Healing him and tucking him in when he was at his worst. And then Ron would turn off the lights, whisper into his room that they were just across the hall if he needed anything.

He missed them. But he couldn't go back. Not now. Not yet.

There was no path to healing there. Of that he was certain. But it looked like his torment was destined to follow him no matter where he went.

At least here, he was out of his friends' hair. At least here, he didn't have to worry about being locked away. Though, that might be short-lived as well.

His thoughts returned to the townsfolk and their horrified expressions as they stared at him inside the tavern. There was only so long they'd put up with someone like him, right? One day, maybe even tomorrow, they'd tell him to get on the nearest boat and ship him off somewhere else.

He felt a panic attack coming on, and closed his eyes as he focused on keeping his breathing rhythmic and stable. In and out. In and out. His hands shook as he settled his wrists loosely atop his knees.

He could leave. Go somewhere else. Right then and there. He picked his wand back up hurriedly, and clasped it between his fingers, standing with every intention of doing so. But as he glanced out at the horizon he stopped himself at the last second.

If he apparated like this he'd cause even more harm. He could splinch himself. Perhaps even hurt another in the process of arriving. Apparating without a destination in mind was completely irresponsible. He'd been lucky his last attempt had led him here. And apparating while under great duress was like asking for something to go horrifyingly wrong.

And besides, where would he go if he tried?

Where…could he ever go?

He eyed his abandoned shoes just a few feet away, and then glanced down the beach towards the distant village. Merlin, he didn't even have the rest of his belongings. What was he thinking?

He stood there feeling incredibly lost, tears welling rapidly in his eyes. Maybe…maybe he was losing control. Maybe the Ministry was right to be afraid. Maybe…maybe he should be locked away, if for no other reason than to prevent himself from hurting someone else.

"Damn it," he muttered lowly.

He sat down again, letting his arms fall limply between his legs. He'd go back to the tavern in the morning. Help clean up. Apologize. He could do that much. But for now, he'd do little more than sit and listen to the waves crashing against the shore.

AN: Thanks again for reading! Next chapter will be up in a week! I did not write the song lyrics, they were taken from the HP wiki. :)