Prayer, Disturbed

Another truth you can never believe
Has crippled you completely
All the cries you're beginning to hear
Trapped in your mind, and the sound is deafening

Let me enlighten you
This is the way I pray

Living just isn't hard enough
Burn me alive inside
Living my life's not hard enough
Take everything away

Another nightmare about to come true
Will manifest tomorrow
Another love that I've taken from you
Lost in time on the edge of suffering

"It has come to my attention Bellatrix that you took it upon yourself," Harry began, his tone warm, "To disregard a direct order."

The woman was on her knees, bowed so low her nose was grazing the ground. "Please, my Lord. He cursed me first- when we attacked the Ministry. It was fair." She flinched as she spoke.

"I know. Were you stunned? Wandless? Tell me, did you misunderstand me when I spoke plainly? When I told you that Harry Potter was not to be harmed?" He flicked his hand and Bellatrix was writhing, back arched, bleeding from the mouth before she could answer.

Harry had chanced sleep. He groaned, sitting up. Dreamless Sleep. He scoffed and climbed out of his four-poster bed, rummaged through his trunk for the small number of Dreamless Sleep potions he had remaining, and took them to the Common Room, where he dumped them in the fire.

"Harry?" Ginny. He hadn't noticed her sitting in an armchair, blanket on her lap.

"I figured you'd be asleep," Harry said, sitting down across from her as she sniffed the air.

"Is that Dreamless Sleep?" She asked.

"Yeah."

"Why are you burning it?"

"It's not working."

She frowned and fell silent.

The Slytherins seemed more relaxed the next day. Harry still caught them looking at him, but with far more confusion than fear. Obviously, someone had heard something from someone.

Luna had chased him down in the corridor after Charms, telling him once again that things looked beautiful. Harry hadn't responded, feeling sick about it. Ginny, who'd been the only one walking with him, had given him a strange look, but he ignored that, too.

Despite attempting to appear as fine as possible, he'd noticed Hermione in the headmaster's office twice since he'd been returned to the castle. Why, he didn't know. She hadn't mentioned it, and made sure she said she was elsewhere doing else-things when asked. He could feel the thing in his head was alert at his train of thought, but he didn't know why that was either. He didn't want to ask it. He didn't want to hear it speak.

He was avoiding, uneasily, the thought of what he'd done to his arm. He'd stormed away from himself when the voice had said that his magic wasn't his. Returned to bed and dreamed of Bellatrix and Voldemort. Some part of him was glad that she was punished for cursing him, though the question of why was lingering.

"Ginny… Have you ever heard of a Maledictus?" Harry asked as he and the youngest Weasley headed to lunch.

"A what?"

"I just saw the term somewhere. Something about a curse."

"I mean, we could check the library?"

Harry had shrugged, not wanting to appear that invested. He was curious though, and decided he would find out on his own time.

'A Maledictus curse is passed down through blood. Mother to daughter. Like Animagi at first, they can transform into a beast at will. What kind is dictated by the curse itself. However, over her lifetime the transformation becomes permanent, locking her in her animal form, her human mind lost to it.'

'No one asked you.' Harry thought back, then, 'So, Nagini was human?'

'Yes. I was able to learn after I found her that she is from Indonesia. Non-Magical, in the… typical sense. She was with a Circus, but attacked in her snake form and escaped. That was before her curse became permanent. I could find little else.'

'You said she would lose her human mind… Does she remember ever being human?'

'Not… Last I saw her.'

Harry felt a bubble of grief, not his, and realized that the thing missed the Maledictus. Then he realized that he was talking to it, and stopped.

"It's just… a bit unappetizing, don't you think?" Harry asked, digging his heel into the soft earth near the edge of the forest.

"Ha! Coming from you? Unappetizing? Do you think it's gruesome, too, Riddle?" The young woman beside him asked wiggling her fingers and saying 'ooo'. Her sleek black hair collected grass, sweeping the dirt underneath her as she spoke, "You do immortality your way, I'll do it mine."

Harry had laughed, shaking his head. He pushed himself up from the ground and offered her a hand.

"Are we going to talk or are we going to fight?" He asked as he pulled her to her feet. She grinned like a Cheshire cat.

"Ready when you are, snake boy," She said, her stance low to the ground, hands up.

"Always ready, Bearstrom," Harry said casually as he tackled her to the ground and swung at her face. His fist bounced off her nonverbal, wandless shield and she kicked him off with both her legs, winding him.

"So I can see," she cackled before she went for his eyes.

Harry sat up, realizing that he'd fallen asleep in the Common Room. He was alone. Ginny had been with him, but she must have headed to bed and let him sleep. He didn't recognize the woman in the dream. She'd been in Ravenclaw robes, and she appeared to be in her final year. She wasn't a current Death Eater, that he knew of. Maybe she'd died.

'No. She didn't die.' It had snapped this, sounding more like a command than something it knew for certain.

Harry ignored it for a moment before he searched the dream for significance. There was always something, the thing in his head wouldn't be showing them to him otherwise.

'The memories… Are involuntary.'

The Chosen One frowned. Involuntary?

'Her name is Cassiopeia. She-'

The voice stopped there, and Harry could feel a deep regret, along with sadness. Whoever she was, it seemed like she had been someone whom the Dark Lord trusted enough to talk to about his Horcruxes. Or at the very least, that he had plans for immortality. Harry posed this question silently but was met with quiet.

It had been six days since he'd been returned to the castle. He felt like he was waiting for the inevitable. Whatever that was. He was sure that whatever form it took, it wouldn't be pleasant. He kept pushing it away, trying to console himself with the fact that so far, he'd shown an incredible aptitude for escaping by the skin of his teeth, for pulling an ace at the very last second. He could do it again. He could work this out, Vow or not.

The headmaster had requested him for the following day, and he was carrying around that particular dread with the knowledge that he'd have to cast Liquida Tenebris before then. He didn't know what the meeting was about but judging by the way he'd spotted Hermione several more times on the map in Dumbledore's office, it might have had something to do with his withdrawn behaviour, despite his best efforts.

The thing in his head hadn't spoken much since he'd dreamed of the Ravenclaw girl. Harry still felt it, it was strong, but seemed to be lost in itself. The Boy Who Lived could sometimes feel what it was feeling. He'd noted that it seldom felt anything positive and that alone was enough to sour his mood regularly. There was also the thought that he wouldn't acknowledge. The thought that he could relate. He was familiar with that blend of grief, regret, and rejection. His own often intertwined with it, until he felt like he might choke.

He'd been feeling particularly morose that afternoon, in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Snape was enforcing further nonverbal practice, as were most of the professors. Nonverbal casting would be expected of them in their seventh year, to be used exclusively. Most of his classmates still struggled, except Zabini, Malfoy, Harry, and Hermione. He'd noticed, though, that his connection to his magic was sluggish. The thing in his head noticed too.

'Today.' It said, and Harry agreed.

He hadn't stopped carrying the invisibility cloak in his bag, even though the Slytherins were no longer a real concern. Secrecy had suddenly become a higher priority, most especially when he planned to be using dark magic. The thought made him simultaneously ill and wanting. He squirmed in his seat while Snape berated Neville for his failure to summon a nonverbal shield.

Defence was thankfully his last class for the day. He walked with Ron and Hermione towards the Common Room when it was over, then at the halfway point claimed he'd left a book in the classroom. Hermione let him go, the thought of a lost book clearly moving her. Once he was out of their line of sight, he took out the cloak and disappeared, making his way to the empty room he'd claimed.

Without the hunger driving him rabid, he was able to witness and influence the spell with far more clarity. He stood in the centre of it as it poured from his hands, circling his feet, and rising steadily higher. He was able to control the flow of it, watching, fascinated, as it brewed above his head, closing him in a dome of black storm clouds. Despite him not being as starved as he usually was, the spell felt far more potent as it bled from his fingertips. He held his breath and brought the inky, smoke-like spell back into himself with a flick of his wrists.

Gormlaith.

Rionach.

Corvinus.

Noctua.

Ominis.

Marvolo.

Morfin.

Merope.

His breath hitched as he reached the final name in the Gaunt family tree, as it always did. All of them, dead. All of them, disappointing.

A shift, and he was running down Privet Drive as fast as his legs could take him. He was sprinting from Dudley and his friends, who had taken to the activity over the summer break. He was slow that day. he was hungry, on day three of an enforced food break. And he was tired, the hunger didn't let him sleep.

So, they'd caught him, not too far from the house. They'd taken turns kicking him in the gut, back, and ribs while he curled into a ball on the sidewalk.

Harry pressed his glasses onto his face automatically as he got up. It was light in the dormitory, though everyone was still asleep. The dreams had put both Harry and the thing in his head in a bad mood. The spell had taken some of the edge off, with regard to his poor emotional state, but not as much as usual. He'd guessed it had something to do with the short period between casting, but it wasn't like he could ask an expert.

'The Dursleys.' It stated, drawing his attention away from collecting his robes.

'Tell me, what would you do? To them. If there were no consequences?'

Harry's lip curled in response. He disregarded it, returning to his clothes and throwing them on the bed.

'Oh, go on, Harry. Lie to me and tell me you've never wanted to make them hurt.'

He ground his teeth together as he got changed, forcefully ignoring its needling. Dumbledore expected him before classes. The thing gathered up his memories, thoughts, and emotions with slightly more force than usual as he made his way out of Gryffindor Tower.

"Ah, there you are. Take a seat. Liquorice?" Dumbledore shook the bowl as he entered Harry's mind. The Boy Who Lived declined the candy.

"It's come to my attention, Harry, that you're still having a hard time after the death of Sirius, and the events that took place in the Ministry," the headmaster said, as he scanned Harry's thoughts.

The thing in his head very easily transmuted the pain Harry and it had been feeling into grief for Sirius and slammed it with ferocity into Dumbledore's thread, making the man visibly flinch.

Harry pursed his lips in response, "It was my fault," he repeated what he knew to be true—not fabricated. Though he still felt a raw ache at the thought of Sirius, what he had represented, it wasn't the source of most of his discomfort.

"The things that transpired that night were terrible, but they were not your fault."

Harry felt the reassurance might have landed better if Dumbledore wasn't actively invading his head. He seemed to be searching for something, pulling on the tail end of memories.

"So I've been told," Harry muttered.

"While I have you here, Harry, I'd like to invite you along with me, to collect the next Horcrux."

"You've found one?" The Chosen One leaned forward in his seat, the thing in his head squirming.

"I think I am close. A matter of weeks, I should hope. If what I believe is true, of course. I will let you know as I do."

Bubbles of nervousness, both his and not, were keeping the thing on its toes as it swept them into the centre of his head. Dumbledore continued his active search, as close as he could get to aggressive without, he believed, alerting Harry.

"Okay, professor, I'll go with you." His voice felt mechanical, "Is there any news? From the Order?"

"Well, no. There has been a strange hush, Harry. There has been little word on Death Eater activity. Which is not to say, that they are not moving."

"What do you think it means?" He pressed.

"If I were made to guess, I would say that Voldemort is up to something," Dumbledore said, half smiling. The thread retreated from his head, seemingly satisfied after another extensive search.

'He thinks he's funny.' The voice hissed.

Harry was bid a good day and was allowed to go to breakfast.

The meeting ran through his head on repeat into the next day. He'd seen Hermione's name in the headmaster's office on six separate occasions. If he asked, she would lie, presumably hoping he wasn't checking the map.

So, she had gone to the headmaster and lied to Harry about it. He assumed it was to do with his recent behaviour, but if he were honest, he felt better than he had before he was taken to the Dark Lord. Not feeling the soul-destroying pain constantly had improved his ability to play pretend. He felt he was doing a more convincing job of looking and acting regular.

The Vow and his mental state weren't as obvious on his face as the hunger had been.

So why then, was she going to Dumbledore?

'You think defence is enough. You have so many questions, but you won't empower yourself to find answers,' the voice told him.

'What does that even mean?' Harry asked it.

'Legilimency. Look for yourself.'

Harry balked at the idea and looked up at Ginny, who'd been avoiding sleep with him.

"If I… Tell you something, Ginny, will you keep it to yourself?" He asked.

"Of course, Harry." She said without hesitation, leaning forward.

"Hermione's been… Going to the headmaster. About me, I think. Then she lies about it," Harry scanned her face for any evidence that she knew this already but couldn't find any. She looked slightly appalled.

"Why?" She asked.

"I was going to ask if you knew," Harry said, deflated. She shook her head.

"She hasn't said anything to me about it. To be honest she's been a bit weird since Christmas." Ginny said.

The Chosen One thought the same could absolutely be said for her, but that, whatever it was, felt much larger than Hermione's lasting grudge.

'Look for yourself.' The voice insisted, 'Let me show you how,'

Harry bit down on his tongue.

"Do you think I should ask her?" Ginny asked.

"No. Don't. Don't tell her we know," he told her, and she nodded.

She went quiet, and a slow, hot rage began to bubble in Harry's chest.

"-And when you've clawed your way to the top of the world, Tom-" She paused to slap him, "Marvolo." Another slap, "Riddle." Another, "I hope you think of me. I hope you think about how I'll SPIT on your grave, you half-blood piece of fucking shi-"

Harry snapped awake, heart thundering in his chest. He'd dreamed about the black-haired woman again. She'd been older, maybe twenty, spitting fury and trying to gouge his eyes out with her hands and her magic. The thing in his head was crackling, shooting random bolts of pain into his head.

'Don't.' It hissed when he'd barely thought about questioning it.

He drank a Calming Draught, hoping the effects would transfer. The pain slowly subsided, and the thing stopped writhing, so Harry assumed it did.

Harry got dressed and wandered the halls under the invisibility cloak until breakfast. Once he was sitting with his friends -Hermione arguing with Ron about something completely innocuous- he noticed Malfoy staring at him from the Slytherin table. It was a very pointed, purposeful look, but Harry couldn't figure out what exactly the blonde was trying to convey. So, he raised an eyebrow, shook his head, and returned to his eggs.

"Are you coming to Hogsmeade tomorrow, Harry?" Ginny asked from beside him.

"Sure, yeah," he replied.

He didn't need to go, but he did want to get out of the castle. Each time he thought about the headmaster or Hermione's repeated visits to him, a white-hot anger crawled up his throat. He couldn't look either of them in the eye. Worse, the thing in his head shared the resentment, perfectly happy to let him feel both his and its distaste and rage, mingled.

He and Ginny were the first to leave breakfast, Ron and Hermione still locked in a heated debate that Ron had seemingly started just to anger her. Which was fine with the Chosen One. Before they were even three metres out of the Great Hall doors, Malfoy shoulder barged Harry from behind, pushing through the middle of them. He felt the Slytherin shove something into his hand as he went past.

"Watch it, Potter," the Slytherin spat as he hurried away.

"He's such a git," Ginny scowled, righting herself and glaring after the blonde.

"Yeah, he is." Harry agreed, holding what felt like a note tight in his hand.

He'd opened it during his first class as soon as Hermione's attention was on Professor Flitwick.

Need to see you. Privately.

He crumpled the note and frowned.