Chapter 1
Harry squirmed, attempting to find some semblance of comfortableness on the weathered seats on the Hogwarts Express.
He supposed his struggling was naught. His body was so thin that he doubted any position would be comfortable for his bony arse. Vernon and Petunia had been particularly harsh with their treatment of him over the summer.
Dumbledore had sent them a letter. A small shred of paper which had acted as the catalyst for Harry's world turning in on itself.
After the... incident at the end of fifth year, Dumbledore believed it would be an utterly genius idea to inform his relatives that Harry was 'grieving'.
Maybe the headmaster had hoped they would be nicer to Harry. Maybe Dumbledore was simply a foolish old man who was far too faithful in those who didn't deserve it.
Of course, this information was a source of joy to the Dursely's. No longer did they have to worry about a murderous godfather coming after them. Harry had no leverage, nothing to threaten them with. Instead, they were free to hurt every hair on Harry's head, consequences be damned.
This resulted in likely the worst summer Harry had ever had.
He surely was a sight to see in his compartment on the train. Robes loosely hanging off of his body, shirt beneath appearing two sizes too big. His pants barely fit around his waist. This was the first time Harry had to punch an extra hole in his belt since first year.
His skin was stretched thinly over his bones. Harry was almost irrationally worried that if it was pulled more it would snap. An almost transparent film, covering weary muscles and frazzled nerves.
Unable to help himself, Harry sighed quietly in frustration. He did not want his body to be like this. Ron barely spared him a glance. Hermione wasn't even here-she was in the prefects compartment.
It seemed as though Ron and Hermione had something of a falling out over the summer. Harry had been aware that the two were romantically interested in each other, but to his knowledge, they were still only friends. Hermione seemed frustrated with Ron's inability to acknowledge his feelings for her, while Ron was simply irritated at her cross demeanor when interacting with him.
Regardless, neither of them were much interested in Harry at the moment. Ron had spent barely a second looking at Harry before launching into a rant about Hermoine, and said girl had avoided the both of them the moment she boarded the train.
And now that Ron had finished his long-winded tangent, the compartment was silent. Harry was almost thankful for the silence.
It gave Harry time to think about the upcoming year.
He was different. He knew he was different. Not in the outright ways in which people had reminded him of since he was eleven. No, he was already aware of his differences in that regard. He knew he was a figurehead, a prop for people to look at and examine. This difference was much more subtle, much more jagged.
Harry had grieved almost nightly during the summer. He had silently sobbed, had trashed his poor excuse for a room, and even broke the bathroom mirror at one point.
(The Dursley's hadn't been happy about that one.)
The conclusion Harry had come to was that Sirius's death was his fault. No matter how others attempted to sugar coat it, Harry knew.
His recklessness, his foolishness. The very things Gryffindor's were praised for had gotten his closest chance at family killed. In what world did bravery hold a candle to the natural comity that came with the company of family?
Despite what people may think, Harry was no fool.
War was on its way. To Harry, that was an inevitable reality always occupying the forefront of his mind. No one else seemed to notice - their biggest concern was passing classes and preparing for NEWTS next year. Harry’s biggest concern was preventing those close to him from getting murdered.
He had a madman after his head after all, and a very persistent one at that.
James. Lily. Quirrel. Cedric. Sirius.
How many more people would die because of him? How many more lives would be taken due to his own weakness? His ignorance?
Harry couldn’t let that happen again. He had to be better - stronger, smarter, everything no one expected him to ever be.
He supposed it was beneficial to be constantly underestimated. People would not be suspicious if he was simply a...bad student attempting to improve. In fact, some may be thrilled the Boy-Who-Lived is taking his schooling more seriously. Regardless, it was the perfect cover to allow him to learn more unsavory things that some may not want children to be exposed to.
Good thing Harry was not a child, then.
His lips twitched up to form a wry, humorless smile. He had already started attempting to improve his magic over the summer - not that the Ministry would ever know anything about that, mind you.
Every wizard knew their wand was able to be tracked by the Ministry. It was how they were able to identify underage wizards who performed magic in the muggle world.
Ergo: no wand, no trace.
Wandless magic wasn’t too hard - in fact, it came pretty instinctively. Harry learned through hours of trial and error that magic was all about intention. It wasn't difficult to draw up the raw want, the unfiltered emotion that lay stored deep in his psyche.
The only downside, Harry found, was that it made him utterly exhausted. Bigger spells that took little effort with his wand felt arduous when done without it. Although that could have also been due to his lack of proper nutrients. Still though, he felt a particular strain when doing such raw magic.
He figured that aspect of fatigue could be done away with, as long as he practiced more. Harry remembered how in first year, even spells like lumos were tiring. Now, though, it was as easy as breathing.
Hopefully as his magic continued to develop the consequences of wandless magic would lessen. It would be really helpful in a fight, especially since Harry planned not to tell anyone about his new skill. Most wizards that Harry had observed seemed to rely far too much on their wands. That kind of trust in anything was dangerous.
Wandless magic was as good a starting point as any, Harry supposed. But it wasn’t everything. Strength is good, but only if one knows how to use it.
Harry knew he wasn’t he smartest. At least, academically. That title went to Hermione and likely multiple Ravenclaws.
One thing he was good at, though, is strategy. After years of life-or-death situations and forbidden escapades, Harry was more than used to coming up with plans on the spot.
There’s definitely a certain thrill that accompanies a half-assed plan. The danger, the adrenaline, the fight or flight instinct. It almost feels addicting.
Harry would be the first one to admit that. He knew that adrenaline better than most.
He also knew that half-assed plans weren’t worth the consequence of someone’s life. That adrenaline was exactly why Sirius died, and Harry wasn’t going to risk anyone else he loved.
Despite the fact that the Wizarding World expected him to defeat a powerful Dark Lord, they hadn’t given him any extra training.
They fully expected a sixteen year old child to defeat a fully grown wizard. Harry scowled a little.
If the adults weren’t going to train him, then he was sure as hell going to train himself. He would be his own teacher. Harry wasn’t under any illusions-it would be hard. A lot of the spells and concepts he wanted to learn were things that they barely covered at Hogwarts.
It would be worth it, though. And Harry would learn. He fucking swore he would. It wasn’t just his life on the line, not anymore. Everyone needed him to be strong.
Harry’s hands trembled minutely. Knowing everyone was relying on him - it was terrifying. He tried to block out the weight of his responsibility most of the time, but it was always lingering in the back of his mind.
It always weighed on his shoulders. Always. Harry couldn’t remember the last time he felt like he was able to relax.
There was always danger, always death.
Wow, quite pessimistic today, innit? Maybe I should dress up in a black cape and call myself Snape.
The thought popped up in Harry's mind before immediately being pushed away. Harry fought a shudder. The day he started to emulate Snape was the day he would ask Voldemort to kill him.
Exhaling, Harry leaned his head back against the glass window of the train. His thoughts swirled around in a whirpool, incomprehensible and chaotic. No wonder he couldn’t learn occlumency, considering how fucked up his mind was.
Man, Harry was really on a roll with the self-deprecation. He wondered if they could make low self-esteem into a class. It would be his best subject by far.
Thoughts wandering, Harry let himself zone out. He kept his hand near his back pocket. It was where he stored his wand, purely because if he was caught by surprise it was easy to access.
A little ball of spite made itself known in Harry’s chest. Why the fuck should a child have to worry about a surprise attack? Scratch that - why should a child have to worry about surviving when that should be the adults responsibility?
It wasn’t fair. Harry knew he was being selfish-knew his anger was likely a product of teenage angst-but still. He deserved a little bit of anger every once in a while.
He wished he could be like everyone else. Glancing over at Ron, Harry allowed longing to fill his eyes. Ron was sorting through his trading cards, body relaxed and peaceful.
Harry just felt...out of place. Everywhere.
If he acted like a child, he would be berated for being immature. People would get angry that he wasn’t taking his role as the ‘Wizarding World’s Savior’ seriously.
And yet, if he acted like an adult, he would be scolded for trying to involve himself in ‘complicated matters’. He would be told he was too young, told he should enjoy his childhood for as long as he could.
What an infuriating contradiction he found himself living. It was exhausting and frustrating all at the same time. And he couldn’t do a single fucking thing about it.
Harry was pulled out of his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder. He couldn’t contain his flinch, immediately pulling his wand out of his back pocket in a loose grip.
Catching a flash of ginger hair, Harry exhaled. He tried to slow his racing heartbeat down. It was just Ron. Ron was okay. Ron was good.
Said boy had his hands up in a gesture of peace, watching as Harry regained his composure with wide eyes.
“Hey mate, just wanted to tell you the trolley is here. I...are you okay? I mean, obviously not, considering all the shit that happened last summer, but like-”
Harry fixed a smile onto his face. It felt fake.
“Thanks for letting me know about the trolley. And seriously, I’m fine. I promise. I was just startled a little. Haven’t gotten much sleep recently, you know?”
The other boy’s face melted into a relieved expression. Harry almost felt guilty.
Almost.
“Oh, okay. Well you know I’m always here if you want to talk or whatever, okay?”
Harry nodded, watching as Ron fished out a small handful of knuts and sickles. He wasn’t really feeling too hungry himself, but he figured it would look suspicious if he didn’t buy anything.
Trying to ignore the nausea welling up in his stomach, Harry pulled a messenger bag from the top shelf of their compartment. His trunk was tucked away, with multiple locking spells firmly in place. His messenger bag was unprotected though, which was something Harry resolved to fix within his first few days at Hogwarts.
After searching the bag for a few seconds, Harry finally pulled out one galleon. The gold coin was a sharp contrast to his pale skin. Almost as soon as Harry had pulled out the coin, there was a knock on the door.
It slid open to reveal the trolley lady. Harry let Ron go first, witnessing the ginger buy his body weight in sweets. Harry went up once Ron sat back down.
He willed his hands not to shake. It didn’t work.
“One chocolate frog, please.” He murmured quietly, thanking the woman as she handed him the packaged candy. By the time Harry sat himself back onto the uncomfortable cushion, the lady was already onto the next compartment.
Gently, Harry unwrapped the chocolate. The feeling of the weight in his palm gave Harry a detached sense of reality. The frog was real. Harry was real. The grass was real. The train was real. Everything was real.
Tangibility had never felt more terrifying than that moment.
Harry tightened his grip on the piece of chocolate. He had been allowing his mind to wander far too much, and his thoughts were travelling in all different directions. He needed to pull himself together.
“What card did you get?” Ron asked, words mumbled by a mouthful of candy. Harry blinked, almost flinching at the sound of the other boys voice. Tilting his head, Harry gently pulled out the piece of paper from underneath the chocolate.
Dumbledore. Of-fucking-course. It was the most common card, but the timing was just absolute shit. The universe was probably laughing at him right now.
“Dumbledore.” The words were murmured weakly. Harry didn’t even hear Ron’s response, too enraptured in the card. Looking at Dumbledore was...hard, even though it was just a piece of paper.
The older man had been one of Harry’s first parental figures, in a way. He had guided Harry, had slowly shaped him with gentle words and soft gestures. And yet, he had willingly sent Harry back to the Dursley's every summer.
It was hard to contrast the two versions of Dumbledore. One man was kind, looking out for Harry and his well-being. One man was shaping a child for war, willingly sending him back to his abusers for years on end.
Harry’s lips twitched up into a small, bitter smile. The leader of the light sending a child to an abusive home for no good reason.
What fucking bullshit.
He remembered seeing Dumbledore for the very first time, standing in front of the Great Hall all those years ago. He had felt such awe back then, such admiration. He had seen a powerful man, and yet one who seemed to also be thoughtful and caring. The only authority figure Harry had to compare Dumbledore to at the time had been Uncle Vernon.
Compared to Uncle Vernon, Dumbledore had been an angel in Harry's eyes. And yet, as he got older, as he gained more understanding of how adults were meant to act, Dumbledore's kind nature slowly devolved.
Harry understood now, that kindness did not come for free. Favors did not come without reason, without intention. Every word, every interaction, intricately planned out with a single outcome in mind. Dumbledore wanted something out of Harry, and he knew all of the strings to pull to gain it.
And despite the fact that he was aware of what Dumbledore was doing, he couldn't even defy the man. He knew Dumbledore was not afraid to use the vast expanse of power at his fingertips. Harry was simply a pawn, forever trapped on the board.
Slumped uncomfortably against the window, Harry shut his eyes.
He was too tired to be angry.
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Harry wished he had been able to fully fall asleep on the train. A glance out the window told him they were minutes away from Hogwarts.
Sighing, he brought a hand up to rub away at the film of fatigue covering his eyes. It seemed as though sleep was an ever-escaping idea to him. The closest he had gotten was the odd in between, in which he could hear and feel, but was not necessarily awake.
Ron was snoring away, a peaceful expression on his face. A bit of drool had stained the boy's undershirt, and Harry was certain Ron would go mental about the stain. He was quite peculiar about dirtying his clothes, unless it came to food. Harry had seen firsthand that Ron was about as neat as a wild animal when it came to eating.
Harry stared at Ron a little longer, nothing but utter and complete fondness in his gaze.
This was what he was protecting. This was who he had to fight for. He had to fight so that Ron could sleep peacefully, so that Ron's family could sleep peacefully.
He couldn't say with certainty that he gave a damn about the Wizarding World as a whole.
The Ministry was corrupt, the pubic had made themselves clear in their stance on Harry-which was, of course, entirely dependent on the Prophet's article that morning-and frankly, if the Dark Lord was such a formidable enemy, perhaps a sixteen year old should not be tasked with his defeat.
Then again, Harry would openly admit that he had little knowledge of the history of this world, despite the fact that he went to Hogwarts. But nothing was stopping him from learning on his own.
He planned to make use of the vast library available in the castle. Hermione would be quite proud of him. Even though Ron and Hermione were having a row, Harry was relatively confident they would make up soon.
It just meant that, for the time being, he had to be careful about mentioning who he was hanging out with. He certainly didn't want to sit through another tangent from Hermione about how frustratingly oblivious Ron was.
Suddenly, Harry lurched forward. The train had made an abrupt stop, as it did every year. Wincing quietly at the jostling of his multiple bruises, Harry regained his composure.
Standing up slowly, he walked over to Ron and gently poked his friend in the shoulder. Ron blinked a couple times before his eyes shot open in awareness, immediately glanced around for any sort of enemy or attacker.
Giving his friend a tight smile, Harry gave a little wave. It frustrated him that his friends had been exposed to so many injustices and dangers that they, too, were always vigilant.
It was his fault. Which was why he wasn't going to involve his friends. He was going to do his best to ensure they had a normal, non-deadly school year, through whatever means needed.
"It's just me, mate. We just got to Hogwarts, and I figured you might want to tidy up your shirt before we need to get off."
Ron stared at Harry, still waking up. Once he had processed Harry's words, he glanced down at his shirt, seeing the stain of drool on it.
"Oh fuckin-d'you reckon scourgify would work?"
Harry just shrugged. He wasn't sure why it wouldn't work. Magic seemed to be able to do everything, although it likely followed certain laws of science that had some limitations.
God, he was turning into a Ravenclaw. Luna would be thrilled, but Harry knew he would get a world of teasing from the twins.
Turning away from Ron, who was still fussing with his shirt, Harry grabbed his own trunk from the overhead compartment. He haphazardly shoved his messenger bag into his robe pocket, hoping no one would question the slight lump there.
The trunk weighed down his arms, and Harry couldn't help a frown at the strain. It was likely he would regain a certain amount during the first few weeks of Hogwarts, but he hoped it would happen sooner rather then later.
Ron had managed to clear the stain off of his shirt, smiling gratefully at Harry. The other teen had also grabbed his trunk-it looked new, and Harry vaguely wondered if Arthur had gotten a raise.
Holding his arm out, Ron raised his eyebrows at Harry. Harry just stared at the offered arm, before slowly shaking his head. He knew Ron didn't have any ill intent, he just wanted to walk with Harry to Hogwarts, but Harry wasn't sure he could handle being that close to another person.
Ron just shrugged at the refusal, barging on forwards out of the train compartment. Harry followed, lagging a little behind. As they walked off of the train, Harry allowed his eyes to dart around the surrounding area.
The outside of Hogwarts looked as grand as ever. The trees cast a nice shade that shielded the students from the slight heat of the ever retreating summer, and the ground was lush with grass and flowers.
It was a joyful contrast to the corners of darkness that lived within the castle.
Harry was lucky to be so small, at a time like this. He easily blended in with the hordes of fifth and sixth year students, most not even noticing his presence at all. Ron had surged ahead in the crowd, probably trying to find Seamus and Dean.
Dean was a prefect this year, along with Hermione. Harry was a little surprised at the choice of Dean for prefect, but the boy got decent enough grades, and was much less of a trouble-maker than some other Gryffindors.
Ducking under the arms of a group of fifth years, Harry brute-forced his way into the castle.
The Great Hall looked the same as it did every year. The constellations on the ceiling shined brightly, and the first years gaped in awe as they soaked up every possible sight in the room.
An ache made itself present in Harry's chest. He wished he could feel that awe again, the utter wonder that came with discovering the grandiose, breathtaking beauty of Hogwarts.
Rather than appreciate the Great Hall, Harry immediately looked at the staff table. Of course, there were the teachers that Harry expected to see. Snape, McGonagall, Flitwick, Hagrid, Sprout, and Pomfrey.
Harry's eyes passed them quickly. He wasn't particularly interested in them-no. What he was interesting in was the new face at the table. At the end of the table sat a corpulent man, with not a single hair on his head. A comical mustache covered his upper lip, and his clothing was similar to a suave news reporter that was going to a gathering.
Despite the man's appearance, something about his aura made Harry feel unsettled. Tearing his eyes away from the staff table, Harry saw that most people were starting to take their seats at their respective house tables.
Deciding not to dawdle any longer, Harry tried to make his way to the Gryffindor table as inconspicuously as he possibly could. Ron was sitting next to Neville and Seamus, and Hermione was sitting across the table next to Ginny.
As Harry shoved himself in between Ron and Neville, he resolutely ignored the angry look Hermione sent him. It wasn't anything against her, it was just that Harry knew Hermione was much more logical than Ron. If Harry sat with Hermione, Ron would be whining and whinging for days about how Harry had betrayed him. But Harry had full confidence that Hermione would understand why, in public, he had to keep Ron company.
He appreciated Ron, but the boy was certainly much more easily influenced by his emotions. He was definitely smart-Harry would personally fight anyone who insulted Ron's intelligence-but he cared deeply about his relationships and could sometimes allow his emotion to overtake logic.
Said boy smiled gratefully at Harry when he sat next to him, and Harry just gently nudged him with his shoulder. Ron had sat with Harry during the train ride, the least Harry could do was return the favor.
Harry barely paid any attention to the sorting. There was some scattered cheering every few seconds, but other than that most were speaking quietly with their friends. The sorting hat did look a little more worn than normal, and Harry felt a little bad for the creature.
The sorting passed quickly, and the hall was now filled with a loud conglomerate of voices. Harry cringed in on himself a little. The noise was not doing any favors for his head, and he already wasn't feeling the best from his lack of sleep.
The chatter in the Great Hall slowly started to lessen as Dumbledore stood up. Harry looked anywhere but the man himself, shoving down the well of confused emotions that had been making itself known.
"Welcome to Hogwarts, the school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. To our returning students, welcome back. To our new students, my name is Albus Dumbledore, and I am the Headmaster. Behind me is the staff table, with multiple of our wonderful teachers returning year after year to help keep Hogwarts alive. As some may have noticed, we have a new face. Horace Slughorn, a past professor and head of house, has come back and will now be responsible for teaching Potions. The previous Potions professor, Severus Snape, will be in the DADA post this year. That is all. Thank you for your time, and I hope you enjoy the feast!"
Once Dumbledore finished his speech, he raised his arms in an exaggerated motion.
Almost immediately after, heaps of food appeared on all of the tables. Harry flushed as he felt his stomach rumble, but he knew he shouldn't start out eating much. He had to ease his way into normal portions.
Forcefully ignoring the food, Harry pondered the contents of Dumbledore's speech. The fact that Snape was the DADA professor this year was...off, to say the least. Snape was known in the Wizarding World for his reputation as a potions master, and while Harry didn't have any doubt the man could teach defense, it didn't make much sense for Dumbledore to put Snape in that position.
The sudden reappearance of Slughorn was also confusing. He wondered why Slughorn had left Hogwarts in the first place, and why the man had chosen to come back to the school. Why this year, instead of coming back before now?
He resolved to ponder it further later, when his head wasn't slowly attempting to form it's own drum band. Genuinely, the noise of the Great Hall was exhausting. Shutting his eyes, Harry exhaled. He needed to eat, and then he could get away with retiring to bed.
Reaching a hand out, Harry slowly and meticulously loaded food onto his plate. He stared longingly at the piles of rich soups, meats, and pastries, before sighing and turning his sights back to his own, somewhat depressing plate.
A sausage, a bread roll with butter, and a small serving of roast potatoes. The meat pies at Hogwarts were always amazing, but Harry knew that would be a little too much for him right now. It certainly contained the high calorie content Harry's body needed, but it was much too rich for a teen who had spent the summer living on scraps of plain bread and unseasoned chicken.
Harry ate in little bites, trying not to overwhelm his stomach. No one had engaged in conversation with him, likely due to Ron and Hermione's interference. Even though the two were preoccupied with fighting, they still had an unspoken agreement to keep people from prevent Harry from eating.
They hadn't right out confronted him about the Dursley's, but they were aware Harry wasn't treated well there. At the start of each year, they helped Harry recover from their torment, but in ways that prevented others from being suspicious. The last thing any of them wanted was people finding out Harry was abused and turning it into a news headline.
Finishing the mash and potatoes, Harry started on the sausage. He got about halfway through before nausea reared it's ugly head. Setting his fork down, Harry wiped his lips with a cloth napkin. It had been long enough that he figured he could go to the dorms without it becoming a fuss.
"Hermione." Harry murmured quietly. He was trying to get the prefects attention without simultaneously drawing the interest of everyone else. Luckily, Hermione had heard him speak.
She leaned across the table, concern painting her face.
"Could you let McGonagall know I head to bed early, and that Ron accompanied me up to the sixth year dorms. I haven't been sleeping well recently, and I figured it would be best for me to try and get a good rest so I can pay attention during classes."
Smiling, Hermione nodded.
" Professor McGonagall, Harry. And of course I can. It makes me happy to see you putting your health and studies first, unlike Ronald over here. I hope you can get some rest."
Ron scowled, glaring at Hermione before turning to Harry.
"Oi, c'mon. Lets leave before miss perfect decides to insult me some more. All that power's gone to her head, innit."
Harry didn't get a chance to hear Hermione's rebuttal, because Ron had stood up, pulling Harry up with him. Their arguing was a little funny, if Harry was honest. Though he would never say that out loud.
He enjoyed having reproductive organs, thank you very much.
Ron essentially acted as a bodyguard, shielding the view of Harry from everyone else in the Great Hall. Most were engrossed in eating anyways. Harry just walked alongside Ron as they went up to the Gryffindor common room, nodding every once in a while at his ranting.
If Harry didn't know any better, he would assume Ron and Hermione were a married couple. Although Harry wanted them to make up with each other, a shameful part of him was grateful that the two were fighting.
It meant they paid much less attention to Harry. The fact that the two were caught up with each other meant he could easily slip off during certain times of the day and neither of them would really notice.
Ron came to a stop in front of the Fat Lady, and Harry stumbled a little, almost colliding with the other boy. The Fat Lady was looking at the two of them with a somewhat supercilious expression, poised as elegantly as always.
"Now, you boys know I cannot let you in without a password."
Her high-pitched floaty voice only served to increase the aching in Harry's head. He fought the urge to collapse at the pain coursing through his temple.
Ron must have gotten the password from Hermione at one point during dinner, because he didn't look distressed in the slightest.
"Panthera leo." He stated. The Fat Lady harrumphed before allowing them passage.
With that, the door to the common room swung open. Harry bumbled in after Ron, trying desperately to hold control over his limbs during the short walk from the common room to the dormitories. The sixth year boys dorm looked the exact same as all the years prior.
Thankfully, Hogwarts transported each students trunk to their respective dorm room. It saved a lot of time and effort on everyone's part.
Harry grabbed his trunk from the middle of the room and shoved it under the bed closest to the exit. This way, if anyone attacked, Harry would be able to shield everyone else and give them time to think. Plus, he could leave at night with little noise.
Ron, as tradition was, chose the bed right next to Harry's. The room was silent, at least until Ron's stomach rumbled quietly. The boy flushed, glancing at Harry with embarrassment on his face.
"Sorry about that, it's just we left before dessert was set out..." Ron muttered, glancing around and diligently avoiding looking at Harry.
Eyes wide, guilt wrapped Harry's being. Dessert was always Ron's favorite part of the first feast of the year, and Harry had pulled him away from that all because he couldn't handle some noise. Fucking pathetic. What a good friend he was.
"Go, Ron. I'll be alright up here. Bring me back some treacle tart, yeah?" Harry proffered a weak smile towards Ron's direction. Still looking a little unsure, Ron nodded, making to leave the room.
"If you're sure..."
Rolling his eyes, Harry shooed Ron away. The other teen looked significantly more reassured at the motion, grinning at Harry.
"Alright, alright, I'm going. Get some rest mate. I'll ask McGonagall to hand me your class schedule."
Harry nodded in appreciation, patiently waiting for Ron to make his way out. Once Ron left, Harry allowed himself to relax a little, truly feeling the full effects of the probably-migraine he had. Putting up a facade in front of his closest friend was hard, but a reality Harry was used to.
Before he fully decided to sleep though, Harry quickly set a silencing spell up around his bed. Uncle Vernon had screamed at him enough times for Harry to know his nightmares were not quiet. The last thing he wanted to do was prevent other people from getting sleep because of his stupid dreams.
Finally, he collapsed onto his bed. He was fucking exhausted, limbs straining and black dots lining his vision. The dorm bed was heavenly compared to the lumpy mattress he had at the Dursley's. It was easy for him to feel drowsy.
Not even bothering to get under the covers, Harry haphazardly shoved his shoes off and set them on the floor before letting his head hit the pillow.
His body must have been so lethargic that his mind didn't even have time to protest getting some rest, because not even minutes later Harry felt himself drifting to unconsciousness.
Finally, he could rest.
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Harry looked around at his surroundings, confused. He felt like he was floating, surrounded by white. Where was he?
Two distant figures approached, and as they got closer, Harry's breath caught. His parents walked towards him. But rather than the kind expressions they had on during Harry's duel with Voldemort, they were wearing dual expressions of disappointment.
"I am so ashamed to call you my son." James scathingly spat the words at Harry. Lily nodded in agreement with the statement.
Harry wanted to cry, right then. He wanted to melt away into nothingness.
"I never should have fought for you, that night. You should have died instead of me." Lily glared at Harry while she spoke, and Harry never thought he would see an expression like that on his mothers face.
Her words hit him like a truck. She was right, wasn't she? In that moment, Harry felt like he truly believed every word she said.
Harry barely had any time to react to seeing his parents, because his surroundings were slowly changing. The white emptiness surrounding him was peeling away, with James and Lily disappearing as though they had been dust.
The whiteness had fully gone away, revealing a setting that was entirely new and familiar all in the same. Harry was now back in the Department of Mysteries. Dumbledore and Voldemort dueling once again, just like that night. Heart beating quick, Harry flailed his arms around, trying get someone's attention.
The shadowy doorway of the veil appeared right next to Harry. Even in a dream, the mass was still unsettling to look at. Once his eyes registered the doorway, he couldn't move. His body wouldn't allow him to look away. His lungs constricted as Sirius stepped out.
Barely registering the tears trailing down his face, Harry reached out a trembling hand. There his godfather was, right in front of him. God, just the sight of Sirius made Harry's heart twinge. He yearned for a hug from the man, to feel his scruffy neck itchy Harry's cheek as he pulled Harry in close against his chest.
"Sirius..." Harry murmured. His voice broke, but he couldn't bring himself to care. The edges of his vision were blurry, but Harry barely noticed. All of his attention was on the man in front of him.
Sirius just stared at Harry, stone faced, before his expression morphed into one of contempt. Recoiling back, Harry stared at Sirius in horror.
“It’s your fault, Harry.”
Harry tried to shut his eyes. He couldn't. Breathing felt harder and harder the longer he stared at Sirius' angry face.
"You killed me. You're parents would be so disappointed in you. Murderer. All you do is hurt everyone around you. You're like bad luck, Harry. It's your fault I died."
The words were true, but that didn’t seem to lessen the pain of them. Fully gasping for air, tears blocked Harry's vision. He thrashed around, trying to somehow get away from the guilt personified in front of him. The dream would not allow him to stretch his reality, his own subconscious forcing him to face his sins head on.
He felt trapped. The feeling of being helplessly stuck was nauseating. He could not move. There were weights on his every muscle, the sky itself pushing down on his shoulders. It was painful. It was heavy. It was familiar. It was his responsibility to carry.
Finally able to at least move his eyes, Harry frantically looked around as Sirius, Voldemort, and Dumbledore slowly melted away. They were replaced with the graveyard from the Triwizard Tournament.
The feeling of cold stone digging into Harry's back was just as uncomfortable as it had been in real life. Rope imprinted into his skin, scratching and burning despite Harry's lack of movement. The portkey was laying on the ground, along with Cedric’s limp body, which was just out of reach.
It all felt so real.
A man materialized in front of him. Harry waited with berated breath for Voldemort's nasally voice to fill the air. Instead, Sirius was still in front of him, taking Voldemort's place. It was odd, almost as though Sirius's head had been fixed into Voldemort's body.
A sneer was fixed onto his godfather’s face, the expression twisted and corrupt on a face that should have been kind and caring.
“Trying to get away? Too cowardly to face the truth, huh? Fucking weak. Couldn’t even save me or Cedric. Pathetic. I thought you were meant to be a hero, Harry.”
Harry's chest *hurt*. The words twisted around Harry’s heart, piercing into it with a sharpness akin to a blade. It’s not as though these words were new. Harry had been having these thoughts ever since Cedric died.
And yet, they hurt so much more when they came from someone other than himself.
Sirius got closer and closer, now holding a wand in his hand. It was pointed right at Harry's head.
Harry just stayed still, paralyzed with all of the guilt and fear he felt one human being could possibly carry in a lifetime. Sirius's face slowly started to peel away, the signature red eyes and pale skin of Voldemort replacing his godfathers features.
A wand pressed against Harry's temple. Shutting his eyes, Harry relaxed. This was what he deserved. This was his fault. His punishment.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Everything went blank.
--------
Harry awoke with a gasping breath, panting as his chest seized from lack of air. His heart was still pounding, and his wrists still felt like they were tied up.
His mind whirred as he recalled the contents of his nightmare. It hadn't happened, but that certainly didn't mean the dream wasn't real. The nightmare further convinced Harry that he had to become better.
He wouldn't let anyone else die for him. He refused to be responsible for another person he loved leaving him.
Shutting his eyes, Harry tried to slow down his breathing. He counted each inhale and exhale, the burning in his chest receding after a few minutes. Bringing two fingers to his wrist, Harry held them there. His heart rate had slowed down to a normal level too.
Finally calm, Harry slumped back against the crumpled pillow, glancing around the room. All of the other boys were fast asleep, something Harry was grateful for. Even just Ron witnessing Harry's nightmares was embarrassing enough, much less a whole group of people.
A slice of treacle tart sat at Harry's bedside table, and he sent a grateful glance over to Ron, who was drooling as he slept. He resolved to eat it in the morning. Tart for breakfast was very healthy, if Harry had anything to say about it. It was better than skipping breakfast, at the least. Taking one last deep breath didn't help Harry feel any less unsettled. He couldn't fall back asleep like this.
Harry slowly pushed himself out of the bed. He was still shaky from the dream, the words of his family echoing over and over again in his mind.
As quietly as he possibly could, Harry walked down the hall to the bathroom. He doubted he would get scolded for being out of bed past curfew-some people did have to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, after all.
Entering the one-stall restroom, Harry gently shut the door behind him. He almost winced as he caught sight of himself in the mirror.
He was certainly...something to see. Leaning forward, Harry further examined his face. His eye bags had increased due to his interrupted rest, and if possible, his skin looked like it had further sunken into his bones. His hair was even messier than normal, sticking up in all sorts of directions.
Hands trembling, Harry turned on the tap. He splashed some cold water into his face. It felt refreshing, if not a little shocking to the system.
At least he felt a little more like himself now. That was something, right?
Drying his hands off with a towel, Harry left the bathroom. He knew deep in his mind that trying to fall asleep again was a fruitless task, but there was no harm in trying anyways.
Harry walked back into the room. Seamus shifted around on his bed, and Harry froze like a deer in headlights. Luckily, the boy was just turning over, before going right back to sleep. Harry relaxed as the movement ceased.
He slid back onto his bed, this time crawling under the covers. The warmth was nice. He hadn't realized how cold he had truly been until he was surrounded by the heavy, comforting heat of a comforter.
Shimmying further under the blanket, Harry laid his head on the pillow, staring up at the ceiling. He wished he felt tired. He wished he could go back to bed.
Focusing, Harry cast a wandless tempus. He had about an hour and a half before everyone else would start waking up, which meant that he at least didn't have to wait too long. The question was what he would to for the next hour and a half.
Since he had the decency to cast a silencing spell around his bed before he fell asleep, Harry figured he could open his trunk up with little noise, since it was right under his bed.
Leaning over, Harry unlocked the latches on the side of his trunk. It was pulled out from under the bed with just enough space for Harry to partly open it. At the forefront of the trunk was a textbook, which Harry slowly pulled out.
He set the textbook in front of him, closing up his trunk once again. Now sitting up, Harry took the book into his hands.
It was one of the many books Harry from Grimmauld Place that had made it's way into his bag before he had been sent back to the Dursley's. Just thinking of Sirius's previous house had Harry's chest aching again, so he pushed away any thought of the books origin.
The front cover was charmed to look like a normal book. If Harry remembered correctly, it was one of those popular teen fiction novels that Ginny had been obsessed with when she was younger.
The true contents of the book were a little less cheerful than that, though. The name of the real book was "Umbram Alchimiae: Periculis et Auxiliis." Even though the title was in Latin, the text within the book was in English.
When Harry had looked up the Latin translation in a dictionary, he had found out that Umbram Alchimiae literally translated to Dark Alchemy. When Harry had first received the book and found out what was within it, he refused to read it.
Sirius had seen the book in his bag, once. Harry had explained bashfully that he didn't even put it there, the library just...decided. Sirius had laughed, and told Harry that the library in Grimmauld Place had a mind of it's own. It somehow knew what you needed, even if you yourself didn't have that knowledge quite yet.
The fact that was a book about Dark magic had instilled fear in Harry. He had always been taught Dark magic was bad magic. That it would corrupt you. It was evil.
But then Sirius died, and Harry was sent to live with the Dursley's for the summer, and Voldemort came back. So frankly, Harry figured whatever was in this book was significantly less evil than Uncle Vernon after an hour of drinking.
He had started reading the book the night before he went back to Hogwarts. He briefly knew what alchemy was from Binns, when he actually listened to the ghost instead of napping, but he had never made an effort of learning about it in depth.
Alchemy was surprisingly interesting. The preface to the book had been very helpful in understanding the historical context. It mentioned that, following the philosophy of the time, the word Dark in the title simply referred to the human category placed on magic, not the magic itself.
Harry had put a little star next to that the first time he read it. The idea that Dark and Light magic was not referring to the magic itself was something Harry had never considered, and the first time he read it his worldview had been shaken a little.
Opening up the textbook, Harry flipped it open to the page he had started. The section he was on was about the ways in which Dark alchemy could be used in every day household tasks. It was, of course, a little dated, but still interesting nonetheless.
The main idea of the section was almost similar to muggle electricity. It focused around the idea that magic was sentient energy, and that wizards had the ability to direct the energy into certain things. For example, the paragraph Harry was reading was about how you could feel the magic, and direct it to say, a pot of water. In theory, the energy of the magic would warm up the water.
It was all very theoretical, and certainly something that required a lot more research.
Engrossed in reading, Harry didn't pay attention to how much time was passing. It was nice to read undisturbed, without having to worry about Aunt Petunia banging on his door.
Of course, he couldn't stay undisturbed forever.
"How long have you been up?"
Harry jumped at the sound of Ron's voice, instinctively flinching. The book fell off of his lap, closing with a somewhat loud thud. Ron held his hands up in defense, looking a little concerned at Harry's reaction.
"Sorry."
Harry murmured, a little embarrassed at his startling. Everyone else was also starting to wake up now, only adding to Harry's humiliation.
"I've just been up for fifteen minutes or so."
The lie tasted bitter in his mouth. But he knew if he was honest about how much sleep he had actually gotten, Ron would be concerned. He didn't want to cause his friend to needlessly worry about him, especially when he was *fine*.
Ron yawned, stretching.
"Glad you got some rest. M'gonna shower."
Harry watched his friend get up to go to the bathroom, a fake half smile stretching his lips. It was better this way, if Ron didn't know. It was better if *no one* knew. Harry was strong enough to handle his lack of rest on his own.
Help was a weakness he could not afford. Not when helping him could put someone at risk.
Following Ron's lead, Harry got out of bed. He glanced down at his clothes. He was wearing the same shirt and pants from yesterday, but they were relatively clean. He figured he could get away with throwing on a tie and a robe.
He didn't particularly feel like going through the effort of going all the way to the bathroom to change, especially when most of the boys were lined up to get in the shower. And there was no way in hell he would change in the room.
Opening up his trunk once again, Harry dug around for clothes that weren't wrinkled or two sizes too big. It was definitely a struggle, but after a few minutes Harry found a robe that fit him relatively well.
Once he was dressed, Harry glanced around. Everyone else was still in various stages of getting ready for the day. Seamus, Dean, and Ron were all drying their hair off and getting dressed, while Neville looked ready to go.
Harry locked eyes with Neville, who stared back nervously.
"Hey Neville, do you want to walk to the common room with me?"
Neville shrugged, an anxious smile on his face.
"Sure."
Walking forwards, Harry locked arms with the boy, who squeaked a little at the sudden contact. The two left the dorm room, making their way to the common room.
They walked in comfortable silence. Neville was one of Harry's closest friends, even though they didn't get the chance to talk often. The boy was extremely smart and strong, although not in the most obvious way. He was anxious often-which reminded Harry that he had brought a Muggle book on anxiety disorder just for Neville-but Harry knew he had courage in him.
Once they made it to the common room, the both of them were met with a face full of Hermione Granger.
"Morning Harry, morning Neville! I hope you both got loads of rest last night. Today is the first day of classes, and I'm just so excited, you know? I do hope the sixth year curriculum has improved from past years. I'm most looking forwards to Transfiguration-did you know we get to learn in depth about animagus forms? I'm so thrilled."
Hermione had a wistful look on her face. It was so familiar it made warmth bloom in Harry's chest. He had missed his friends.
"Mione, I'm as excited as you are, but I don't think I can mentally handle speaking about classes until I've had at least two cups of coffee."
Coffee was one of the few luxuries Aunt Petunia had allowed Harry during his stay this summer. When he was younger, he used to burn his hands constantly making coffee and tea for dinner parties, but this year Aunt Petunia had allowed him to drink coffee.
Well, not allowed per say. When Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were out for the day, Harry drank coffee. Aunt Petunia had noticed his dirty mug on the counter once, screaming at him asking him what exactly this was.
He had explained that coffee was the only thing keeping him awake, and that he could barely sleep because he had nightmares of his mothers scream the night she was killed. Harry had said it as a little dig at Petunia, but the woman went cold-faced and didn't berate Harry further for drinking the coffee.
Small miracles.
Now that Harry was at Hogwarts, he simply knew coffee was a must. It was going to be his savior-helping keep him awake during regular classes as well as his self-teaching sessions.
Hermione scowled at Harry, straightening up. Harry mentally prepared himself for one of her famous lectures.
"You know coffee isn't good for you, right? The caffeine increases catecholamines, and the stress response elicits cortisol and increases insulin. Insulin increases inflammation, which will make you feel lousy."
Harry raised an eyebrow at her. He did not understand half of those words, although he had no doubt her information was accurate.
"Well, a Dark Lord trying to murder me also makes me feel lousy, but at least coffee tastes good. C'mon, let's go down to the Great Hall. I didn't get a chance to say hi to Luna yesterday."
Somehow, despite the fact that she was across the room, Ginny had heard Harry say Luna's name. The girl bounded over enthusiastically. Hermione sent Harry a knowing look, which he returned. He might be oblivious when it came to romance involving himself, but it was impossible to miss Ginny's crush on the Ravenclaw.
Seriously, she waxed poetry about Luna whenever possible. It was quite romantic, if a little annoying. Neville pulled away from where he had been entwined with Harry.
"You guys go ahead. Pavrati wanted to ask me about the uses of the Moon Flower in perfume."
Harry perked up at the mention of Pavrati's name.
He had found out from a combination of Remus and Sirius that his father was Indian. Harry hadn't inherited his father's dark skin, taking more after his mother, although he was a little darker than the average Brit. Aunt Petunia had never mentioned anything about his father's heritage, and it just felt like another part of his family taken away from him.
And apparently, his mother had been Jewish! Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon went to Church every sunday for about as long as Harry could remember, so it was obvious the religion hadn't kept in the family.
The fact that Harry knew so little about *his* culture, *his* ethnicity, was something he resolved to fix. He knew Parvati and Padma were from Bangalore, and that they stayed with their parents and extended family in India every summer.
The two girls were nice enough, although talking with them was always a little awkward because of the Yule Ball from fourth year. Harry hoped they would be willing to take time to educate him on all of the cultural things he had missed out on.
Maybe he could owl Remus and see if the man had any more information about his parents. It would be nice to learn.
"Can you let her know I want to talk with her at one point?"
At this, Hermione, Neville, and Ginny all looked at Harry, somewhat confused. Neville slowly nodded, although it was obvious he didn't understand why.
"Of course, Harry. Can I ask why?"
Smiling encouragingly at Neville, Harry nodded. Neville had become a little more outspoken after the...fight at the end of last year.
"I found out my dad was Indian from Remus-er, Lupin, I mean, and I want to learn more about the culture and stuff."
Hermione beamed. She looked genuinely happy for Harry, and her joy was a little infectious if Harry was honest with himself.
"That's lovely Harry! Let me know if you would like any books on the history of magic in Southern Asia-my uncle is from Pakistan, and he's muggle, but if you want I can give you his address. He grew up in India and then moved to Pakistan for work, but he's always happy to share his experiences."
A genuine smile overtook Harry's face. He really was lucky to have friends who were so knowledgeable and willing to help.
"That would be great, Mione. Now let's go down to breakfast."
Right as Harry got ready to walk down with Hermione and Ginny, Ron made his appearance known. He stumbled into Harry, and Harry felt his breath leave him for a moment. The welts on his side were still healing, and Ron had smacked right into them.
Pushing the pain down, Harry managed a weak smile. Ron had recovered from his stumble, straightening up and glaring at Hermione.
"Oi, Harry, what are you doing walking with her?"
Sighing, Harry rolled his eyes. He locked arms with both Ron and Hermione, despite both of them protesting having to walk near each other.
"I know you two are having a row right now, but can we at least walk down to breakfast in peace? It's much too early to be arguing. You two can have your spat after we eat some toast. Ginny, lead the way."
The youngest Weasley giggled at the sight of Ron and Hermione harrumphing at each other, turning and surging forwards outside of the Gryffindor common room and down the hall. Luckily, as Harry had requested, Ron and Hermione were able to keep from arguing the whole walk down to the Great Hall.
Of course, they were glaring at each other the whole time. Still, baby steps. Harry had mercy on them once they walked into the Great Hall, unlocking his arms and allowing the two to separate as far away from each other as possible.
About as soon as Harry sat down next to Ron, him and Hermione started arguing. Harry wasn't even sure what exactly the argument was about, but they both seemed to be very engaged with each other.
There was no room for Harry to be included. It was almost a familiar comfort to see the two of them arguing, but it also made Harry feel just a little lonely.
Sighing softly, Harry reached for the pot of coffee near him. Hogwarts coffee was very different from muggle coffee. He was used to drinking black coffee with no milk or sugar (Petunia didn't allow it) but the coffee at Hogwarts was choc full of different additions.
As Harry sipped at the coffee in his mug, he made a bit of a face. He definitely preferred coffee with less stuff, not more. Still, if this was the best he could get, he certainly wouldn't complain.
A few minutes after Harry started eating, Neville joined him and Ron. The boy slid onto the bench, offering Harry a quick, small, smile before reaching for a sausage roll. Did wizards have Tesco's? The thought of not having Tesco's was a little bizarre to Harry.
He didn't know what he would do without Tesco's meal deals. Starve, probably. Three pound for a sandwich, a drink, *and* crisps? That was a deal if Harry had ever heard one.
Casting away the thought of Tesco's for the time being, Harry poked Ron in the shoulder, interrupting whatever the boy was saying. Ron continued speaking heatedly to Hermione, and Harry poked him once again.
Finally, Ron turned to look at Harry.
"Erm, can you hand me my schedule? If you have it, I mean. If not that's okay!" Ron's eyes widened, and he dug his hand through his robe pocket frantically. He pulled out a slip of parchment, handing it over to Harry.
"Thanks. I owe you." Ron just shook his head, shoving a bread roll into his mouth. Harry turned away from Ron, letting the boy eat in peace.
Harry gently unrolled the parchment. He almost winced as he saw what his first class of the day was. Defense Against the Dark Arts. He had gotten an EE in his OWL for DADA, and was initially excited. At least, until he learned Snape was going to be teaching the class.
Snape was still a right git, but Harry had other things to worry about than the man's provoking comments. Following Defense was Divination, which was just *lovely*. Harry regret not choosing to take Ancient Runes in third year.
The next two blocks before lunch were Potions. Harry had been no less than shocked when he had found out he was being allowed into the class despite the fact that his OWL score was unsatisfactory for the subject.
It also was a little uncomfortable, because the class was a Slytherin-Gryffindor combination class. Harry wondered what unique insults Malfoy had come up with this year. He hoped the blonde-haired prat was at least a little more original with his bullying this time.
Seriously, the same insults over and over? It got boring after a while. If Malfoy was going to be a prat, Harry hoped he would at least be a creative one.
Rolling his shoulders back, Harry set his schedule into his robe pocket. He was feeling less fatigued than yesterday, but the weight on his shoulders had yet to leave. If Harry allowed his mind to stay still for too long, it would take him back to his nightmare.
Harry's hands trembled a little bit. He couldn't help but wonder if his father really was ashamed of him. If his mother watched his life from beyond the veil, regretting her sacrifice. The thought made Harry's stomach turn.
Dropping his head down to look at his lap, Harry shut his eyes. He would be better. He would be stronger.
He figured he could handle the weight of the world just a little longer, if it meant his friends shoulders stayed light.
If it meant his friends stayed alive, Harry would do just about anything.
What Harry didn't account for was the fact that he was quite an intriguing person, and despite only having been at Hogwarts for one day, had already piqued the interest of someone.
Someone who was wholly and utterly enthralled with solving the mystery of Harry Potter.