Do you know what the problem with power is? I don't mean might or strength, but leadership; control. It is as infinitely limited as it is limitless. You sit in your castle upon your throne looking down on everyone and spit out commands like breath. But in truth, it's your subjects and followers who control everything and you have nothing. For without them, you are little more than an egotistical, narcissistic fool with delusions of grandeur. It is the same in every government or position of power. The chosen leader has his say in things but truly it is his inferiors that control it all, do it all. Idly, I wonder if Riddle has figured this out yet. Unlikely, given that he still sits upon a throne built by the blood of fools; Death Eaters.

It's this reasoning that led me to my decision for my future. I will become neither the Minister for Magic, nor a Dark Lord. As for what I will become; I've yet to decide. It's entirely possible that I may follow in Dumbledore's footsteps and become the Headmaster of Hogwarts. Perhaps even Horace has the right idea. But then, maybe he doesn't. Maybe I'll simply craft a religious cult of some kind. Religion seems so nonexistent within the Wizarding World thus far, though that could simply be my ignorance.

Dumbledore, of everyone I've seen, has the best set up. Even if it doesn't appear that way, Dumbledore has his hands in nearly every field of life. After his defeat of Grindelwald, he gained some fame and such, but that isn't all. As the headmaster, and one of the world's most respected wizards, people tend to look towards him in times of trouble. He can, through the teachers he hires and other such trivial things; influence a lot of the world's view. Essentially, he has even more power than the Minister for Magic, since even the Minister defers to him in times of trouble.

But whatever I plan to do, I must first be rid of this blithering, idiotic, pure-hearted fool whose mind I must share. Or perhaps I am too harsh on the lad. He is, at rare times, amusing. I think he has taken a liking to Greengrass and the way she treats us; that absolute faith and devotion. Though, I wonder if he can keep her under our thumb; if he has the mind and the heart to make her feel worthless and unloved. I should think not, but one never knows. The lines between us blur more and more as time passes, as well. So much so I feel concern that he may discover the fact. I may take my pleasure in insulting him, but he is no more a fool than I.

But as amusing as he can be at times, it does little to make up for this. We have to listen to Horace's redundant and trivial question. The same drab and boring thing over and over. The spells were marvelous, don't confuse me. But Horace seemed to think the repetitive format would leave some sort of impression. Over the passing weeks we had been to these lessons many times. According to Horace, we are nearly ready to move on to the meat and potatoes of Occlumency. From basic to advanced. Such a waste of time, this worthless art.

“The mental walls and images,” Horace explains, “serve a similar purpose to that of a wand. They are a focus point. Outside of that, they are completely and utterly useless.” I nearly snort. Occlumency is useless, in any right. Legilimens are a rare thing, as I understand it. Dumbledore, perhaps, wears that title, and the Dark Lord, obviously. Snape and Slughorn are as well. But they are four of how many thousands. Not nearly enough to build a comparison on.

“There is no such thing as an Occlumency shield, or any other such nonsense. There is only Will. The images you create serve as a focus for your will and through them alert you to intruders. Understand?”

“…Sort of,” He responds. “Something on the order of the person that wants it more, gets it?”

“Something on that order, yes,” Horace muses. “But it's far more complex.” The large professor pauses, thinking a moment. “It's a lot more than just 'I wish you out of my head'. It is more using your will in combination with your magic and using it as a sort of giant bat. There is no thought or intention to it, only a great shoving force.”

He was silent, wondering away after Horace's explanation. “Is it necessary to clear your mind and focus on simply forcing them out?”

“In the beginning it may be easier for you to do so to accomplish anything if you did.” Horace begins rubbing his hands together as he questions himself mentally. I've always hated when he does that. “As with anything, though, the more advanced you become the more you can do it as habit rather than conscious thought. You'd become faster and faster and would eventually lose the need to clear your thoughts.”

His hands twitched as he smoothed our robes. I can understand his nervousness, I suppose. Horace seems an accomplished Legilimens and we barely pass for an Occlumens student. Our discovery is no doubt a simple thing to him. “I found some of the readings mention emotions but don't really go into detail about them.” He licks our lips nervously. An interesting concept; one that makes me wonder if he refers to me in some way. “Is it possible to… control… emotions through Occlumency?”

Horace looks generally impressed with the question. I doubt many people ever wonder this far into the possibilities of it. Then again most people would realize what a waste of time Occlumency is. “Not control per say. You'd be able to hide them better, certainly. With Legilimens, you could craft false emotions and memories as well. But the out and out answer is no, you can't control them.”

“Ah,” ever the elegant speaker, he replies.

By the time we leave our lessons, his mind hurts and thus my mind hurts. He; and I agree; feels irritated at our 'weakness.' It is a horrid feeling after all.

“You know,” I say in the general direction of what would be him. “My life would be so much easier without you. Yours would be much better as well!” I muse. “Maybe you should consider giving me complete control for a few years. Maybe would wouldn't be such a laughing stock then!” No response or reaction, pity.

---

“Christmas break starts in three days, you know.” Katie mused. I expected she was musing anyway. She has that look that women seem to have when they muse. Or it's possible she's considering some nefarious way of killing me.

“Hmm…” I've got no real response to that so I settle for a hum.

“Are you staying here for the hols?” I nod. “Why? Don't you want to go and visit your family?” I repress a shudder. No, I don't. I shrug. She hums quietly to herself. It doesn't sound a happy hum. More annoyed. “My parents would love to meet you, you know. Why not come home with me?”

I look up at her quickly. Ouch. I think I sprained something. Yep. She was plotting my death. “..Err... I really don't think… you know… we've been together long enough for that…” I trail off, my quiet voice sounding truly pathetic.

“I know,” She responds a bit too brightly. “I was just wondering if you were actually paying attention to me.”

I wasn't really, but I can't rightly tell her that. Lately I've had difficulty paying attention to anyone. It seemed rather petty to me. In the beginning, even if I didn't know it, I had to worry about facing the Dark Lord. That was a hard enough concept to wrap my mind around, especially when Professor Dumbledore told me about the prophecy. But now I have to deal with myself as well.

Worse, I think some people might be starting to notice. It started off as only Marietta acting strangely around others and myself. That, in its self, may not have been important, Marietta being just one of Cho's faceless associates. Then it was the odd shaped scratches I hadn't had when I fell asleep. I slipped and let Katie find them on my arm. If it was anyone but her, I'm sure Hogwarts would be flooded with rumors about Harry Potter and his maddening sexual escapades.

Or maybe I'm just paranoid.

“I… am,” I reply unenthusiastically. “Really, I am.” She doesn't believe me. I see it. Not that I don't blame her. I don't believe me either. “Or, I am trying to. I just… really don't feel too hot.”

Her eyes soften a hair and fill with concern. “Want to talk about it?”

I fight the snort that approaches. Sure, Katie! I've got an evil second personality that romps around sometimes! A rampaging evil menace, He is. What do you make of it? Wanna snog? “Not really.” I let my head fall to the table in front of us and it rings with a loud thump.

“...Ok,” she looks stumped for a moment. Can't say I blame her for that either. I am entirely too difficult. “Wanna go up to the fourth floor and snog? I found this nifty little out of the way spot.”

I don't manage to contain the snort this time, “Tempting but no.” She looks blankly at me a moment. “I'm…” I'm what? A freak? Tired? Psychotic? “I'm just tired, I think. Taking on too much work and all that. I think I'm just gonna go up and have a nap.” She doesn't resist the light kiss I press into her cheek as I head to my bed.

---

The bright gold and red bed isn't nearly as inviting as I expected. Setting the thin silver frames on the night stand, I kick off my shoes and flop onto the bed. My eyes drift closed much sooner than I expected they would. It is both a comfort and a concern. Restful sleep is something I haven't been blessed with lately. Voldemort's former attempts of entering my mind have stopped, but have left nightmares in their wake. If not the nightmares that plague me, it is Him. And there is the energy supplement potions also. I take them and promise myself the rest later, but later drifts farther and farther away. That's why I've not taken them lately. I think this is the reason for my sluggishness and blowing Katie off earlier. I believe I may have been developing the beginning of an addiction to them. If so, withdrawal is a bitch. But now is later, I promise myself. I will rest now and recuperate. He will simply have to settle for his prison for longer than he may like.

Another thought that scares me. He prowls more often now. I suspect it is due to my weakened mind. Perhaps why he has allowed us to develop so far into addiction? He prowls more often, though lately he hasn't sought out new toys. He has only enjoyed his current. Daphne seems to bore him, I think. Marietta seems far more interesting to him, I think, but still lacking.

Daphne… He likes toying with her mind. He treats her fairly one night, whispering kindly to her; and the next he shouts, reinforces her belief that she is worthless. Daphne behaves as if his approval is all that validates her existence anymore.

Marietta, though, is different. She is … more like a frightened animal. Plain and unimpressive, even if she is highly attractive, I doubt she has any real understanding of how to do away with us. SO she quivers, stutters, and pretends to be the good little toy her “owner” wants.

When had I sunken to his level of depravity? When did I begin to think of them as toys rather than as Daphne and Marietta? It frightens me to see, when I ponder, how often I become like him without noticing. Him. He. That is all I address him as. I've never really thought of giving him a second name. It was probably my childish desire to believe he didn't really exist. That he was just a figment of my imagination. But you couldn't really expect me to have made a mature decision regarding him, really. I was only a child, no older than ten when he first manifested himself in my mind.

It was an odd experience for me. Jordan Fondar, a dull slow witted girl within my year, had decided she was bored during an afternoon recess. It was not the first time she had bullied me, but it was the first time she had outright insulted my mother and father. It had infuriated me beyond belief. I had heard his voice, my voice in my head. Hurt her. Make her sorry she said those horrid things. It was me, but at the same time, it wasn't. His voice, angry as it was, was smooth and calm. It was confident where I was not. Though as ignorant to the ways of the world as I was, he feigned knowledge. Weakness was an abhorrent disease to him, and to display it was as unforgivable as murder.

So angry with Fondar I had been that I never questioned the voice. When she shoved me once more, spitting her foul words, I tumbled to the ground, falling onto a thick but short branch. I quickly drew myself up, newly acquired weapon in hand. Fondar smirked, remarking I was too cowardly to fight back. So with all my weak, ten year old might I swung. And connected. It was the first time I had seen the blood of another person. The branch didn't give as I had suspected it would.

Lawn services are rather slack at the school, and I had thought the wet wood had sat for days, if not weeks, weakening slowly over time. Apparently it had fallen in the storm three days ago and had retained its vitality. No, rather than it giving, all that gave was flesh. It had only been a small cut but its location led to more blood than most areas. Her brow made no attempt to hide the blood that so freely escaped. She had cried more than I had expected, but I felt an odd satisfaction in the back of my mind.

In the end, all I earned was more pain for my effort. I was suspended for three days for the “fight,” which was somehow blamed on me. Vernon wasn't pleased and it showed in that I was only allowed out to eat and bathe. Couldn't let on to our dirty little secret, could we, Vernon? While Jordan herself never bothered me again, it wasn't the end of my torment. Dudley, eager to triumph over someone who had beaten one of the bigger bullies on the playground, no longer hid his bullying me from other kids. Given my current situation, I couldn't rightly defend myself and thus Dudders moved up in the chain of command.

It was only that night, while locked in my closet, that I pondered the voice. It hadn't occurred to me to think of it during the incident, but once I had nothing but time, I couldn't ignore it anymore. Telling someone was my first thought, but it was quickly dismissed. I had heard Petunia talking about people hearing voices and being bat shit crazy. I hadn't known what that meant but it was obviously bad. Then there was the no freakishness rule. Hearing voices, aside from being bat shit crazy, was most assuredly freaky. So I came to the decision I now live with.

Ignore it. Ignore him. Bullies only wanted attention, right? So maybe that was all the voice wanted. Parents always say ignore bullies and they'll go away. So if I ignored it, would the voice go away too? It was childish, but then I was only a child, so how could I have known better?

---

Tonight was a lovely night for mischief and harmless fun. The afternoon brought heavy rain and thunderstorms to the case, but they've cleared recently. The smell it left behind is rather invigorating. The air is cooler than normal as well, drifting lazily about the floor. And, for the first and the last time in more than a month, both of my targets patrol together. A lovely thought, I thought as I adjusted the strap of my bag and nearly skipping to my destination.

“Mr. Potter,” a vaguely eerie and sophisticated voice called.

“Madam,” I greeted the incorporeal form of the Grey Lady. Haughty and proud, she was probably beautiful in an old world sense when alive. Now she floats just off the ground with waist-length hair and a cloak that reached all the way to the floor.

“You're out late,” she mused in a cool voice, “again.” Her ghostly eyes bore into me, a contemplative look on her face. “Some of my fellows wonder why. You spend so much time wandering about the castle. For what purpose, I can't help but wonder.”

My hand clenches tightly in my pocket and I try to keep a cool and straight face. “Ah, Lessons,” I admit. “Professor Slughorn has taken me on as an apprentice of a sort, you see.”

“Hmm,” she hummed, eyes unwavering, “Truly? And you go for these lessons now?”

“No,” I told her reluctantly. Partial truth interspersed with a little lie couldn't hurt. “I was going to the library,” I said, shrugging the shoulder my bag rested on. “I thought I'd nip down and try to get a little extra in between lessons.”

“I see,” suspicion tinted her voice. “Not off to some secret rendezvous with…” a ghostly hand waved hastily in a vaguely dismissive gesture, “…some harlot from another house?”

“No, ma'am,” I assured, “My interest is purely scholastic, though I may wish it otherwise.” She glared half-hearted at my joke while I smiled pleasantly in return.

“Then I will leave you,” she informed me, adding, “for now. But the castle has eyes, boy. Be wary.”

I nodded slightly in a vague bow, “I will, madam. If you will excuse me.” The ghost beauty flicked her hand dismissively and fluttered off down an empty corridor, casting a final glance before disappearing into a wall.

I frowned momentarily, wondering if the Ravenclaw spirit was bluffing or if the ghosts had noticed something off. If they had, I would need to be more careful than usual. Precautions and such had become infinitely harder, as I wasn't sure if they followed the same rules of that magic living, physical matter did.

In an instant, I pulled a large, crinkled bit of parchment from the bag on my shoulder. The Marauder's Map was an ingenious work of magic, no doubt. The whole of Hogwarts was replicated in a minute scale on a sheet of parchment one foot on each side. It had its flaws, of course. Areas like the house common rooms and the great hall were dead zones on the map. There were other classrooms that were dead as well, but most of them were unused and uninteresting. It would be a jumbled mess if they it didn't have such flaws. That would, more than likely, make it impossible to read.

-----

I grunt in frustration as I slip out of the library and back into the fourth floor hall. The restricted section still carries books on the Dark Arts, but nothing truly useful to me. Dumbledore probably went through and took the most complicated books out and disposed of them. It is frustrating, to be honest. I have no connections, outside of Slughorn and Greengrass, to obtain what could be useful. And even if they were willing to assist me in obtaining them, I don't know what could be useful. And finding out what was useful and what wasn't was just as difficult. I may have his ear, but Horace would recognize something was up if I asked those kinds of questions.

And then there was Greengrass… She is an intelligent girl, and she'd help, to be sure. But she suffers the lack of knowledge in the Dark Arts that I do. I doubt the girl would have the information I'd need. And asking her parents to dig it up sends up just as many red flags as if I asked myself. Snape could have the information, but I am as like to ask him as I am to swan dive from the Astronomy Tower.

I sigh, flipping the black cotton and leather bag from one shoulder to the other, pondering how I can get what I need. Voldemort could have what I want, but servility isn't my thing. I suppose there is the possibility of finding a death eater, or one of their children, and gaining their loyalty. It wouldn't really take much to convince them to spy on the dark lord for me. And chances are Voldemort wouldn't turn down the chance to keep an eye on my constantly.

I turn the idea over in my mind as I round a corner. Unfortunately, as I do, I slam into someone and we both crash to the ground.

“Son of a …” I mutter, glancing around. “Sorry,” I apologize. “Wasn't watching where I was going.”

“S' alright,” the feminine voice replies, a slight groan coming from her as she stood. I followed, pushing myself and grabbing my bag. “Shouldn't you be in your common room, Harry?” the girl asked in a slightly cool, but polite voice.

“Probably,” I answered, “I was just on my way back, in fact. If you don't need any help, I'll just be on my way…”

The darker skinned girl smiled a tight little smile, “Why don't I follow, just to make sure.” I blinked at her. “There are a lot of rumors of Death Eaters trying to get into the school. It's safer if the two of us go, then just you alone.”

I frowned a moment before gesturing down the hall. “Certainly, it'd be quite an honor to be escorted by the ever lovely Padma Patil.” She blinked, I think perhaps due to my identifying her from her sister, whom I share houses with. Blandly, I gesture at the dulling badge with the large P, which reads Patil, Padma beneath it. “It's on your prefect's badge,” I offer, “And Pavarti isn't a prefect.”

“No,” Padma replies with a gentle smile, “She is sort of … spacey at times.”

I nod, leading down the hall, Padma just at my right. “She is a good friend, though. Too tied up in that… divination stuff, but good friend no less.”

“True,” Padma's dark chocolate eyes turned toward me, “Didn't you take Divination too, though?”

“Maybe,” I answer vaguely, blushing to some extent. “Ron and I thought it'd be a breeze; an easy grade and somewhere to goof off.” She frowned at the mention of Ron, but I continued onward. “It was, I suppose. Just tell Trelawney you're going to die some hideous death and she'd love you.”

“How fascinating,” Patil answered slightly miffed. “You're not a stupid person though, Harry. Why waste time on things like that?”

I shrugged at her, “I've never been good at math, and arithmancy sounded too much like math. Ancient Runes didn't sound so interesting to me.”

“But still,” she said, stepping up the stairs we had arrived at, “You're pretty smart, you could have done a lot more.”

“I could have,” I agree, “But I procrastinated too long and probably stuffed a lot of my education.” I waved my hand and played at being slightly uncomfortable, “But enough about me. How have you been lately?”

“So-so,” Padma responded, dully. “My parents,” she explained, “want to pull Pavarti and me out of Hogwarts.”

“Why?” I asked genuinely curious, “Don't most people consider Hogwarts the safest place in the Isles?”

“Well, yeah, but my parents are really over protective, you see.”

“Hmm, and its better that you're close, rather than clear across the country, with Merlin knows what happening.”

“Something like that,” she smiled.

I hum vaguely at her. “So how has life been? Any love interests?”

“Not really,” she admitted slightly cool.

“That can't be true, now” I tell her. “You are, without a doubt, one of the prettiest girls in the school.” I stopped to watch the young Indian girl blush prettily, before continuing, “You could have anyone you wanted. There has to be someone you like.”

“Since the Yule Ball a few years ago, people seem to think I am someone colder than I am.”

I stopped in the hall and looked at her evenly “Yeah, sorry about that. I sort of asked Pavarti to ask you for Ron.”

Padma gave a half helpless shrug. “Maybe, but Ron was the prat that ignored me for … well… you know how it is.”

I nodded, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Still, I don't think I set the best example. I sort of ignored Pavarti for pining after Cho, disaster that it was.”

“That's okay,” she responded after a moment, placing her hand on mine. “Pavarti got over it eventually.”

I frowned at her, “Maybe, but I still feel like an arse.”

Padma laughed a pretty little sound. “We can all be, you know.”

“Yeah,” I told her, looking into her dark eyes. “You know, you have a pretty laugh.” I tilted my head slightly. “And very pretty eyes.”

Padma's head fell back slightly as the laugh fell unabashed, “I don't think it's my eyes you're appreciating, Harry.”

“Honestly,” I tell her, though I may agree with her. And just like that, she intertwines her fingers with mine, pulling me off to a shadowy corner.

“I don't mind, Harry,” she tells me, “really.”

“Oh,” I ask, letting my eyes fall on her body. She wasn't really a tall girl, but she wasn't short either. Long brown hair fell down to her back. Her blackish eyes glittered brightly, even in the shadowed night hall. Though they were loose and slightly over sized, the black robes did little to hide the large swell of her breasts. It did hide her softly rounding bottom well though. Dean was right, I suppose. She, and her identical twin, had to be one of the prettiest girls in Hogwarts.

“Oh, indeed,” Padma answered enticingly. “You know, Harry,” she continued, placing a small, delicate hand against my chest, working a finger beneath the folds. “There are rather a lot of young women interested in you. Especially after you bravely stood up to that evil woman, Umbridge,” she exaggerated.

“Yeah,” I asked, wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. She didn't resist me, keeping her dark eyes on mine.

“Hmm,” she hummed, pressing herself against me.