The first thing he noticed was the smell. It was sharp, inorganic, the crisp odour of disinfectants and potions. He wrinkled his nose in distaste – he knew that smell anywhere.

He was in the Hospital Wing – again.

He coughed twice, and the first thing he noticed was that he was back in his original body – and that his head was killing him. A brutal, stabbing pain that felt like someone had driven a pick-axe into his skull –

"Good morning, Harry."

That got his eyes open. He blinked quickly as he tried to adjust to the sunlight cascading across the high white walls of the room. He reached for his glasses on the bedside table, and everything came into focus – including the smiling face of Luna Lovegood, sitting next to him on the next bed.

"What the... Luna? What are you doing here?" he whispered, rubbing his head unsteadily as he sat up against his pillow. "How... how did I get here?"

Luna fiddled absentmindedly with a hole in her pajamas, but her eyes didn't leave Harry. "Well, Isabelle, it was actually a bit strange. I was wandering around the fourth floor, when there were these crashing noises, and it sounded like the fireplace in one of the classrooms was exploding, and I thought that a Heliopath might have come through the Floo Network."

"A what?" Harry put his hand to his head, trying to rebuild his scattered memories. "And why are you calling me Isabelle again –"

"So I went into the classroom," Luna continued with a serious nod, "and I saw both Fred and George Weasley on the floor – apparently came through the fireplace on their brooms. A second later, something came out of the fire and I wake up a few days later in here. Apparently a Heliopath went through the fireplace and punctured one of my lungs in its flight before being subdued by Professor McGonagall." She nodded with an air of grave seriousness. "I'm very grateful for her help."

Harry frowned as he tried to parse together the parts of Luna's story. That must have been me flying through the fireplace – but wait a minute; I was in my simulacrum then! Why am I back here, with injuries onmybody? And where is my simulacrum?He looked hastily around the room and squinted carefully. As he expected, he could see the nearly transparent leylines in the air – both of them. The golden one that he knew connected him to 'Clarissa Desdame', and the silvery one to his... other form.

He frowned. Was it just him, or did it seem like the silvery leyline was flickering and moving on its own, even though he wasn't moving?

"Something must have been scrambled," he murmured, rubbing his head as he traced the leyline with his eyes. "Something must have gone wrong..."

And then it hit him – all of it.

He could see the fires roaring around him, burning everything in sight. He could hear the muted screams through the crackling of unfamiliar spells.

He could see his magic ripping through obstacles with horrifying, gory, efficiency.

And he could see a figure with a single arm slump in mid-air at the touch of green light, slide off his broom and tumble into the fires...

Harry felt sick. He couldn't see a bucket, so he leaned over onto the other side of the bed and vomited. After a few blurry seconds, it seemed like it had passed and Harry's throat and mouth were burning, but it wasn't over.

A second later, the rest of the contents in his stomach were on the floor.

He could feel Luna's hand on his back – she had moved closer – but Harry pulled himself away. He felt dirty, he felt unclean, he felt wrong. His heart was pounding heavily in his chest as he remembered the screaming in his mind, the voices...

"Harry..."

He heard a rapid shuffle of footsteps, and he vaguely noticed Madam Pomfrey's hand firmly guiding him back towards the bed as she Vanished the vomit and blood on the floor.

"No, he still hasn't recovered –"

"Yes, I have," Harry said abruptly, shoving away from Madam Pomfrey and reaching for his neatly folded school robes in the corner. "I'm not staying here another second, it's not safe."

"Mr. Potter, this is the Hospital Wing," Madam Pomfrey said reprovingly, hurrying to try and stop Harry, but Harry wasn't stopping. Luna had turned away while Harry had changed his pants, but now she was watching with wide eyes as Harry shoved the Healer away from him.

"I'm leaving."

"Mr. Potter, I insist you stay! Nothing here will hurt you!" she said angrily, picking up Harry's robes only to have Harry Summon them right out of her hands. "What is the matter with you?"

He couldn't say – he didn't dare say, not here. He only shook his head tightly, keeping the bile inside his mouth and swallowing back frantically as he pulled on his robes. He pulled on his shoes, and without tying them, he ran out of the room, his mind in another place...

"Mr. Potter, stop!"

But he ignored them. He just kept running. He didn't know where he was running, but he ran. His vision was a blur, his nose ached as his glasses bounced on it, his head was pounding with his every step as the vomit scalded his throat...

Then he saw it – a large, pinkish blob that was slowly opening to let a group of black-robed figures inside –

"Whoa –"

"Harry, slow –"

Harry didn't slow down. He just kept moving as fast as he could. Up the stairs, his feet pounding on the stone. The door flying open at his touch. He could see his four-poster bed, but that wasn't what he was looking for.

He tore the clasp of his trunk open as he rooted around. After a few seconds, his hands touched a new, yet instantly recognizable shape – a key. Yanking the key free and sending his books tumbling in his trunk, he reached under the bed and yanked the small, flat wooden case free. He fumbled with the lock for a few seconds, but then it clicked, and as he prised back the lid, he breathed a sigh of relief.

The Pensieve sparkled with silvery memories floating along the very bottom, but Harry had no desire to view those. Scrabbling for his wand, he brought the horrifying images of the Ministry to the front of his mind... and all over again, he could hear the screaming, the blood...

Without hesitation, he slapped the tip of his wand to his temple and pulled. A few moments later, a long silvery string of memory slid out of his mind – and was batted into the Pensieve. His temple stung when he shoved his wand against it again, but he wasn't going to stop until everything was out. He pulled the next memory out... and then the next... and then the next.

The screams grew muted, and when Harry tried to remember the Ministry fight, it all became a blur the second after he said the last words to that reporter within. He breathed a short sigh of relief – one that caught in his throat. I had attacked a man in the morgue... and who knows if he survived –

He didn't think this time. The wand was at his temple, and he yanked the memory free, shoving into the silvery morass in the bowl. Now it was just a blur... he couldn't hear the screams...

He closed the Pensieve's case and locked it, shoving the key deep into his pocket. Then, after a few seconds, he rose to his feet.

The wave of tiredness hit him like an avalanche. His eyes felt excruciatingly heavy, his brain felt fuzzy...

Harry felt his face hit the warm softness of his pillows, and he thought no more.

"Hermione, I still don't see why you brought me up here," Neville said nervously.

"Just be quiet, okay?" Hermione interrupted, cautiously unlocking the door with a way of her wand. "I couldn't find Ron, and you're the next best person."

Neville didn't have the slightest clue how Hermione had leapt to that conclusion, but he capitulated and crept into the tiny circular room. Neville immediately felt repulsed – the entire room stank of blood with a very heavy tinge of something that made Hermione go bright red...

"Hermione, do you know that smell?" he asked nervously, stepping around the room to where Hermione was looking out the dirty window, her nose wrinkled.

"Yes, I do," she said uncomfortably, "and you really don't want to know what it is..."

"Why?" Neville was bewildered. "And why does this room smell so bad?"

"This is where the first attack was," Hermione whispered, looking back around the room and carefully scanning every inch of it. "Where those Ravenclaw girls got... hurt. That smell... Neville, how much do you know about teenage girls?"

"Uh... what, uh, exactly do you mean?" Neville asked.

"Do you know... God, this is awkward... Neville, do you know what a girl does every month?" Hermione asked, her hair bushier than ever as she went beet-red with embarrassment.

Neville clapped his hand to his nose. "Eww...that's gross, Hermione Granger, why did you tell me that? I could have gone the rest of my life without knowing that..."

"And... Neville, I'm only telling you this part because my mother gave me a book on sexual education when I was younger, but the other smell... well, do you know what happens when a man and a woman –"

"Oh God, Hermione!" Neville exclaimed, going red himself. "That... that's what a... what a girl... when she gets... gross!"

"Wet, I think, is the term..." Hermione looked quite sick. "Can we change the subject?"

"Can we leave the room? Please?" Neville was already moving towards the door, trying not to touch anything as he held his hand over his nose and mouth.

After the two of them were out of the room, Neville let out a gasp as he leaned against the wall, trying to pull fresh air into his lungs.

"Really, Hermione, was that necessary? Why did you have to bring me along?"

"Because I need your opinion on something," Hermione said intently, pulling a scrap of paper from her bag and a snub-nosed Muggle pencil. "No time for ink right now, I'm trying to get this all copied down –"

"I still don't think you needed me on that," Neville said resentfully, still holding his nose.

"Sorry, Neville, but without Ron... I didn't know who else to talk to," Hermione said in a rush. "I'm trying to come up with a theory behind these attacks, getting any help I can, and I need someone to listen to my ideas, see if I'm not making up lunacy."

"And you really can't go to Harry, after what happened in the locker rooms," Neville finished heavily. "All right, give me what you have here."

"I... I think the past two attacks – that on the girls, and on those Gryffindor boys – I think they're linked somehow," Hermione said in a rush, picking up her bag and starting down the corridor. "I don't know what's causing the attacks yet, but powerful magic creates patterns, and I think I'm starting to see one."

"What kind of pattern could there be with... with that?" Neville asked, trying to think through the confusion.

"The smell in that room suggests that some of the blood... well, it implies some sort of sexual activity," Hermione began, looking a little disgusted, as if she was implying something extremely vulgar. "And what happens when people have sex?"

"You're asking me?" Neville replied with horror. "Hermione, I was raised by my grandmother – I didn't get that sort of education –"

"Babies, Neville," Hermione said with irritation. "For heaven's sake, the wizarding world can be so backwards sometimes – anyways, it implies conception of children... or maybe birth, I'm not sure. The second attack was against Dennis and those Gryffindor boys – all of whom were smaller than average. You know what that means?"

Neville thought hard for a few seconds. "They... they represented children – the next stage of life, if you're thinking of that..."

"I am," Hermione said, her voice getting faster and faster as she began striding fervently down the hallway. "If my Arithmancy classes are to be believed, magic tends to work better when it's based upon patterns, sometimes in natures, but most of the time in symbols. So, following that logic, if we want to find the instigator of everything, we just have to..."

"Find the place where everything began?" Neville guessed. "Uh, Hermione..."

"Right! All we need to do is find the place where everything started and –"

"Hermione, what's before conception?"

Hermione froze for a couple of seconds, and Neville could tell that some of her confidence had leaked away. "We'll figure it out – right now we need to go to the Library –"

"Wait, wait, wait, Hermione!" Neville frantically shouted as he said, picking up his pace to catch up and overtake Hermione. "Wouldn't it make sense to... oh, I dunno, go talk to Professor Moody about this? Just to give him the details?"

Hermione swallowed hard, but a second later, she had pulled him into a corner next to one of the stone columns, her voice tight and urgent. "Neville, I don't think it's safe to tell the teachers about this."

Neville's eyebrows shot into his hair. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Neville, I haven't told anyone about this," she whispered tensely, "but a few days ago, Ernie, Ron, and I ran into Malfoy, and a couple of the other Slytherins. I think they might have been involved in this mess at some point, so I've been spying on them. Anyways, I tried calling Malfoy out on this, and Ernie said he was going to tell the staff and..." Her voice trailed off, and the silence said more to Neville about the horror of the situation than anything Hermione had said. He felt a rush of panic.

"Hermione, what's going on?"

"Ernie didn't have a chance to tell the staff," Hermione whispered. "He hasn't been seen for three days. There's been no messages, no notes or anything. I'm starting to think he might have been possessed and something has happened to him..."

"And nobody's told Sprout about this?" Neville asked incredulously. "I mean, students go missing at Hogwarts all the time, but I don't think she'd want to see another student die in one year –"

"Don't say that!" Hermione exclaimed fearfully, her eyes darting around as she shoved Neville away and began walking even faster.

"Hermione, stop!"

"Neville, I can't afford to be wrong about this!" Hermione cried, and Neville was struck by the unexpected quaver in her voice. "This is worse than the Chamber of Secrets – and we're on our own this time! I need every clue I can possibly find, every pattern needs to be realized... and I can't take any risks that could... that could..."

She couldn't continue, and Neville was lost for words. He hadn't seen Hermione like this since she had encountered Harry in the locker room. Everything's spiralling out of control for her... and she doesn't know how to deal with it...

He shook his head and continued down the stairs, lost in his own thoughts, completely unaware that someone under an Invisibility Cloak not thirty paces away had seen and heard everything that had been said.

The sleep had done wonders for clearing his head, and when Harry finally awoke, it was evening. He wasn't sure what day it was, but he guessed, since Dean Thomas was sitting on his bed scribbling absently, it was likely a weekend.

"I'm surprised you've been able to sleep," Dean spoke without looking up as he readjusted his lamp and paper. "None of the rest of us have been able to catch more than a few hours every night."

"Guess I just get lucky sometimes," Harry replied carefully as he shrugged on his robes. "You know what day it is?"

"Sunday, Harry," Dean replied, finally looking up and fixing Harry with a steady expression. "I haven't seen you a lot this term, you know. People are starting to notice it."

"Notice what?" Harry asked irritably.

"In between not sleeping and missing classes like you are, you're falling behind pretty badly," Dean replied. It wasn't an accusation – just a fair, reasoned observation. "I dunno if you're handed a single piece of homework in the past few weeks, 'cause I haven't seen it – and that's mighty strange, considering this is O.W.L. year. And I've got no idea what you're doing with Quidditch, or what Angelina's got planned for the team, but you haven't been to any practices as far as I've seen."

"Thanks, but I can take care of myself," Harry replied after a few seconds, bending to feel under his bed. He felt his fingers brush against the wooden box, and he breathed a little easier – it hadn't been disturbed.

Dean raised his hands. "Hey, you're able to catch some sleep – puts you ahead of everyone else in this castle – but I've got to wonder what the famous – or infamous – Harry Potter's been doing different. You're off the map, Harry, and people are starting to notice."

"I've been busy," Harry retorted, picking up his bag a little more quickly than usual and slinging it hard over his shoulder. "Some things are more important than O.W.L.s."

"Hey, I told you, I'm not judging," Dean said innocently. "All I'm saying is that... well, whenever something goes wrong, you're there, and whenever it goes right, you're there too. No happy medium, Harry – there's no balance. All that bouncing from one side to another... sooner or later, you're going to be off the wagon entirely."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing too deep, Harry," Dean replied, turning back to his paper with another shrug. "As I said, I'm just someone who watches from the side – you've got more going on, I guess. Luck to you on that."

Harry paused – what was that in Dean's tone? It wasn't resentment, but it wasn't encouragement either...

He shook his head – he was over-thinking this, and he couldn't even remember the last time he ate. "Do you know where Ron is?"

"Well, it's after dinner, so I'm guessing up the Owlery," Dean replied smoothly, dipping his quill in his precariously-placed ink bottle with a practiced motion. "He's been up there the past few days, whenever he doesn't have classes."

"Thanks," Harry said, his mind wandering as he left the dormitory – ignoring the fact that Seamus Finnigan had been watching the entire conversation from his own bed with suspicious eyes.

Draco Malfoy's hands were shaking as he reread the letter. It was impossible, he couldn't believe what he was reading. No, this isn't happening. Not to us... not to the Malfoys...

"Guess there is a reason the Prophet hasn't been coming as regularly as we'd like," Zabini said with a low whistle as he stepped away from Malfoy's shoulder, where he had scanned the brief letter that Malfoy's mother had written. "If the rest of the wizarding world got wind of this... well, there'd be hell to pay –"

"This country's going to the fucking dogs!" Malfoy snarled, ripping the letter in half as righteous fury surged through him. "How dare the Ministry do this to us? How dare they? After everything we've done –"

"They're probably happy to get rid of you," Nott remarked smugly, leaning back in his armchair that he had magically augmented in his favourite library corner. Malfoy knew, in a remote and secure part of his mind, that the chair had been enchanted to recline and warm to its owner's every comfort, but he also knew, in that same rational mindset, that given the pervert Nott was, he'd never sit in that chair. Probably touches himself there when he's reading from the Restricted Section...

"Malfoy... Draco, get a grip."

He felt Zabini's hard grip on his shoulder, and in that second, he realized that he'd been panting, his face contorted with fury, and that the letter was now torn fragments in his hand.

"They're throwing my family to the dogs –"

"Malfoy, not here," Zabini growled.

"No, worse than dogs, to the bloody fucking goblins just to appease them –"

"In all due fairness, if the letter's to be believed, your father did start it," Zabini said coldly. "He probably doesn't want you to know about all this – he knows it would be an unnecessary distraction to the plan."

"This is the reason," Malfoy growled through tightly clenched teeth, "that we need someone like the Dark Lord in office – so that loyal, pureblood families are not cast as scapegoats to appease those subhumanfucks–"

"Quit swearing, Malfoy, it's unbecoming of your station," Nott said lazily, reclining backwards farther in his chair. "In any case, it's irrelevant. So your parents have to flee because the evil goblins have firebombed Malfoy Manor into oblivion – what does it matter? Your parents were tipped off by the Ministry and able to flee with their lives, shouldn't that be good enough?"

"Considering your family doesn't own anything more valuable than horse piss, I can see why the obvious insult to the Malfoys would go over your head," Malfoy snapped. Nott bristled at the comment, but Zabini cut him off before he was able to say anything more.

"Any word about Snape?"

"You were reading the letter over my shoulder!"

"You tore it to shreds before I was done reading it," Zabini said exasperatedly, glaring at Malfoy as he sat back down opposite Nott, leaving the blond standing. "So what did it say about Snape?"

"Still gone," Malfoy muttered. "Mother doesn't know where – and according to Father, the Dark Lord has successfully managed to remove Dumbledore from the equation as well."

"Only helps us a bit, so sit back down, Nott," Zabini snapped, as Nott had leaned forward with obvious hungry interest. "So Dumbledore's gone to who-knows-where – he's not dead, though. And Snape's gone too – he was our shield against bastards like Moody and McGonagall. We'll have to tread carefully – particularly now that Granger and Weasley are onto things."

"The Weasleys have other things to worry about," Malfoy said, a hint of a vindictive expression creeping onto his face, a slight respite against his own fury. His hands were still shaking a bit, but he was able to sit back down with relative grace. "Second oldest blood traitor brother was killed in the Ministry. One down, six to go."

"Fine, Granger then," Zabini said tersely. "She needs to be silenced."

"She doesn't have the balls to stop us now, or the information she needs," Nott said with an idle wave of his hand as he leaned back. An eerily dreamy expression appeared on his face as he looked at the ceiling. "Only I have that now..."

"Nott, stop doing that, it's creepy as hell," Zabini snapped. "And what about Potter? Apparently, he's back at Hogwarts now."

Malfoy's face hardened. "We watch him – and we move very carefully."

He found Ron in the Owlery.

His friend was standing by a cracked window, the pale glimmer of moonlight tracing strange lines across the aerie, cutting strange shapes as it shot across the high twisted beams covered with owl nests and droppings. It was very quiet – the owls had gone out hunting for the night, and only a few remained, rustling near the highest rafters.

Harry had taken an involuntary deep breath before he stepped into the room – it didn't smell the greatest – and he saw Ron turn when he breathed out. Even in the dim light, Ron looked terrible. His eyes were shadowed, and red from tears. His robes were dirty, and it looked like Ron had slept in them a few nights in a row, or at least tried to sleep. But worst of all, Harry could see that some of the confidence, even if it was somewhat superficial, that had Ron had clung to had been snatched away. His posture was slumped, and somehow he didn't seem nearly as tall as he usually did.

"Dean told me where to find you," Harry began carefully, cross the room to reach his friend.

"It was either him or Neville, but it's nice to see you," Ron replied emotionlessly, not meeting Harry's eyes. "Are you feeling..."

"I'm better," Harry replied quickly, a lump forming in his throat. "Are you... did the twins tell you?"

Ron gave him a wordless nod. Harry swallowed hard.

"I saw him fall. He... he went like a champion – and he went when he was flying. Best way to go, in my opinion." Harry let out a hesitant laugh, but when Ron didn't respond, he swallowed hard again. The lump in his throat was growing bigger.

Ron took a shuddering breath, and Harry waited in anticipation for Ron's words – anything that Ron would say, that he could help somehow...

"Fred and George told me and Ginny at the same time," Ron said, his voice breaking badly as he struggled to hold his composure. "Ginny's been crying the past few days – sobbing her eyes out. The girls have been trying to help her, but she needs Mum now. I d-don't even know if she or Dad even knows yet... and Fred and George... Merlin, I don't know what to think about them."

"Where are they?" Harry whispered.

"Quidditch pitch," Ron replied, his voice shaking again as he gripped the window ledge tightly. "They keep flying around the pitch for hours and hours – smacking the Bludgers at each other, blowing them up with spells when they lose control, and repairing them a second later to do it all again. It's crazy... Harry, they want revenge. I've never seen them like this. It's more than... it's more than a little scary."

Harry couldn't say anything – the lump in his throat was too big. He couldn't tell Ron the truth – not now, it would break them both to hear it aloud –

"They won't tell me what h-happened," Ron continued, his voice shaking now, his breath coming in tight gasps. "They knew you were there, but that you couldn't do anything to save him... they'd had nearly beaten you..."

He could hear Ron's words ringing in his ears, and his mind flashed back to that sudden flash of green light... the flash from his wand...

" – And I keep thinking, 'If my best friend, the fucking Boy-Who-Lived who's faced You-Know-Who three times and lived, can't save my brother... then I'm not ready for this." Ron's voice broke badly, and without warning, he grabbed Harry's arm, finally turning to face him. "If even you couldn't have saved him, what hope in hell do I have?"

The tears were coming freely now, and Harry forced back his own emotion. He wasn't going to cry now, not because of this. A perverse part of his mind hissed that he didn't deserve to cry – that emotion was reserved for those who lost, not for the one who took it away...

He met Ron's eyes. "I'm sorry, Ron. I... I wish..."

He couldn't say any more. He looked away, the horrible feeling of guilt surging up inside of him. Even with the memory dulled and blurred in his mind, the feeling he had been forcing back was still there. He wasn't going to say anything – he couldn't say anything more... it would be wrong if he did...

"I'm not blaming you, Harry."

Harry's eyes snapped up. "You should," he blurted, without even thinking.

"No, damn it! You fought like a fucking hero, Harry," Ron said fiercely, his other hand grabbing Harry's shoulder and shaking it roughly. "The fact you were able to get though that hell and live... damn it, no other wizard apart from bloody Dumbledore could have done that! You did everything, there was nothing you could have done... no, I can already see it, and don't you fucking dare blame yourself for this! You did all youcould!"

The torrent of raw emotion in Ron's voice was nearly too much. Harry could feel his eyes moistening, but he blinked furiously. He tried to steady his breathing, regain his control...

"It's hard not to," he whispered finally. "Blame yourself, I mean."

Ron let go of Harry's shoulder, and looked back out the window. Harry could see a tear running unchecked down Ron's cheek, tracing a long thin line.

"If I ever find that bitch," Ron whispered, his eyes fixed on the moon, "the one that killed my brother, I'm going to kill her. I don't give a damn who she is, or where she's from, or whatever else she might have done – I'm going to kill her. No mercy, no second chances."

He turned to Harry. "And I want you to teach me how to do it."

Now it was too much. He had just heard Ron, though his friend didn't know it, pronounce his death sentence.

And he wanted Harry to teach him to carry out the deed.

He doesn't have to know the truth.

Harry finally met Ron's haunted eyes – eyes that he had seen before, in the mirror. Filled with complete grim resolve, knowing that there was nothing left to lose, Harry felt a rush of horror as he saw those eyes.

He doesn't have to know the truth.

And he wouldn't – that, Harry would ensure. It would break Ron – and me – to finally realize that truth. He doesn't have to know.

"I'll help you," Harry whispered, his voice devoid of emotion.

Ron threw his arms around Harry, forcing back a choking sob, and the inherent wrongness of the entire scene screamed at Harry louder than the deafening silence.

"I'll teach you how to kill."

Harry swore under his breath as he stormed out of the Charms classroom, cramming books into his hands while he walked. He could hear Ron shouting after him, but he ignored the voice – he was seething.

He should have expected it, really. The curriculum didn't stop just because he had been in the Hospital Wing or outside of Hogwarts – and it only took Charms a few minutes to prove that to him. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make the spell work – a spell that most of the class managed to master after a few tries. His face burned with anger – it had been a long time since he had felt that humiliated...

He felt a hand grab his shoulder, and he spun quickly, his hand darting to his wand.

"What?"

"Merlin, Harry, get a bloody grip!" Ron exclaimed, giving his friend a shake for good measure. "This was going to happen, you know! You've missed a lot of school!"

"I can see that," Harry growled, shrugging out of Ron's grip. "Come on, we've got Potions."

"Look, I understand how you feel," Ron began as they descended the stairs towards the dungeons. "Trust me, I do. It happens, Harry, remember how long it took for you to get Summoning Charms last year – and look, the class already worked on this charm for a couple of days before today, so don't feel bad you couldn't get it –"

"It's funny," Harry snarled, ignoring Ron completely as he picked up his pace, "that I've got an arsenal of killing spells that rivals most Death Eaters and I can't even make a bubble of water hover in mid-air with a spell –"

"Keep your voice down!"

"And you've got to wonder why the hell such a bloody useless charm even exists – can't see much of a point of –"

"Just because it's not a battle spell – oh, for heaven's sake, Harry, I didn't design the damned curriculum," Ron replied heatedly. "I don't know why Flitwick's teaching us this – frankly, it's the least of your worries, considering the O.W.L's are coming up..."

"Fucking useless magic," Harry muttered as they entered the Entrance Hall and crossed through the crowd of milling students as they headed towards the Dungeons. "Probably still in the curriculum 'cause some imbecile thought it would be artistic or some garbage –"

"It's probably used for cleaning or something," Ron reasoned, his voice lightening as Harry's temper dampened. "I dunno, with some other charm that makes it scrub dishes or something –"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, like that's relevant to me right now," he grumbled as they reached the door to the Potions classroom. "It doesn't matter anyways, I'll get Tonks to teach me the useful spells later..."

"Just make sure you teach me those killing curses you mentioned," Ron muttered, his voice barely audible as they slipped into the room. "At least before you... ah, hell."

Harry cocked an eyebrow as he surveyed the Potions classroom. Instead of the usual rows of desks, someone had taken the liberty of setting up a series of massive leaded glass cauldrons around the room, all filled with a strange opaque liquid. The room was stifling hot, and Harry tugged at his collar as he moved towards where he usually sat at the back of the classroom.

"Let me guess," he began tonelessly as he sat down at the tiny side-table that was propped precariously against the side of his cauldron, "this was a project you were all working on while I was gone."

"Hey, we all get fresh samples at the beginning of class if ours are bungled," Ron replied with a shrug. "Professor Redland thought it would be a good idea – and this is only our second class with her –"

Harry snapped up. "I'm sorry, who? Where's the piece of shit that normally teaches this class?"

Ron winced at Harry's language, and Hermione, who had just arrived in the classroom and sat on the other side of Ron, threw Harry a sharply disapproving look. Harry met her glare in kind – he didn't have the patience to deal with her right now.

"Snape," Ron said bracingly, "hasn't been seen here since you got brought into the Hospital Wing, so Professor McGonagall got the Head Girl – Sarah Redland – to teach the class to us."

"She any good?" Harry asked coolly, eyeing the curvy brunette with some interest as she walked into the room. She seemed pretty, but an abundance of freckles and a very nervous expression gave her the look of a much younger girl, and certainly not one taking over for Snape, of all people.

"She's a Hufflepuff who wrote her N.E.W.T. in Potions a year early, and got an 'Outstanding'," Ron replied with a hint of a grin as he pulled out his very battered Potions textbook.

"Still don't know how she managed to skip ahead," Hermione muttered, bent over her notes as she scribbled frantically. "Else I would have done it in some courses ages ago..."

The Head Girl cleared her throat, and Harry looked up as 'Professor' Redland began writing on the board hurriedly. Harry ignored her, instead looking around the classroom –

Malfoy.

The blond Slytherin was sitting with Blaise Zabini (who looked supremely haughty and unimpressed with the new teacher), and a strange-looking weedy boy that Harry remembered as Theodore Nott. The three of them looked disgustingly pleased with themselves.

But it was Malfoy Harry focused on. He was looking better than before – the shadows under his eyes were faded somewhat – but there was something about his expression that made Harry clench his fist with rising rage. That bastard's Death Eater father took every bit of gold I ever had, and he still has the gall to look me in the eye –

He felt Ron grab his shoulder again.

"Keep your cool, mate, this isn't the time –"

"He has the nerve to sit there and–"

"Believe me, I know," Ron growled. They could both hear the Professor hurriedly speaking in the background, but neither of them cared much now. "And you don't even know the half of it, 'cause Hermione thinks –"

"I've got more reasons to hate Malfoy than anything Hermione's come up with," Harry said through gritted teeth, tearing his eyes away from the Slytherin and forcibly bringing them to the blackboard. He couldn't focus on it, but at that moment, he didn't really care. It's his fault... if his father hadn't taken my gold and pissed off the goblins, the Aurors wouldn't have been gathering for Fudge's double announcement in the Ministry... and I wouldn't have fought Scrimgeour... and Charlie would still be alive...

He knew it was irrational, he knew it didn't make much sense, but at least now he could give his rage a target – and from the look of Ron's face, it was a perfectly valid target.

"...your potions need to be kept at a boil until approximately a third of the potion has been boiled away," Redland finished with a clap of her hands that caused most of the class to jump. "By the end of the class, your potions should be a fine milky turquoise matching the shade in your text. Now start!"

And with that, the Head Girl returned to her desk – Snape's old desk, from the look of it – and opened a book. Harry blinked a few times – Redland was hardly showing any interest in the class at all, and even though she seemed dwarfed behind Snape's massive desk, her disinterest was surprising.

"Come on," Ron said with a grunt, "we need to slice up the ginger roots and turn up the fire – from the looks of this, this Potion's going to take a bit of time to get right."

"What is it, anyways?" Harry replied as he began carefully shredding his roots, his imagining of Malfoy as the root doing wonders for his precision and enthusiasm.

"Some kind of stone-etching acid," Ron said as he fiddled with his fire with a few prods of his wand. "Nasty stuff, apparently. Use your dragonhide gloves, this stuff can apparently sear through a lot of things, that's why we're using glass cauldrons –"

"The Etching Solution can be used for more than just stone, Ron," Hermione replied irritably as she tipped her roots into her cauldron and began stirring. "It can also cut through metal, most dragonhides, and even some types of glass..."

Harry stopped paying attention – Malfoy was whispering something to Nott, and for once, Harry was actually curious what the two were saying. From the outraged expression on Nott's face, Harry guessed it wasn't good.

He let a cool smile slide onto his face as he began working avidly on his potion. In a strange way, it was relaxing, and without Snape pestering him, he was making surprisingly good time.

He chanced another glance at Malfoy as he poured a small measure of beetles' eyes into the cauldron. The steam got significantly thicker, but Harry could still see Nott whisper something to Malfoy – and for Malfoy's expression to grow from collected to outright furious. Strangely, he could see a very pleased expression on Nott's face – what the hell was going on?

He stirred his potion a little more roughly, and the steam grew a little thicker, but he didn't keep his attention off of Malfoy. Something was going on. Looks like Ron was right all those weeks ago, thereissomething going on with Malfoy...

The class was passing without incident – and then there was a hiss and a shout of painful surprise. Harry snapped his glance over to where Neville was scrambling back onto his stool and tearing at his smoking gloves, as his cauldron began to overflow...

Redland's wand was out in a second, and with a muttered word, Neville's potion vanished into nothingness. But his gloves were still smoking, and Harry could see with shock that the potion was burning its way through...

Redland's expression was a mixture of sympathy and annoyance. "Only Longbottom would be able to find a way to hurt himself in a class with glass cauldrons. Come on, Neville, let's get you up to the Hospital Wing before the acid gets on your hands and Madam Pomfrey yells at me again..."

And with surprising alacrity, she had left the class with Neville – leaving the entire room unsupervised.

Uh oh.

The students turned back to tend to their dangerously boiling potions or to clean up, breaking into a hubbub of conversation, but Malfoy was fingering his badge – his prefect badge – on his chest, his jaw clenched with the air of someone doing something he really didn't want to do.

"Oy, Potter!"

Harry didn't respond. Malfoy didn't deserve a response. He continued stirring his potion – it was actually coming along quite well, the potion was becoming a very nice aqua colour...

"Potter!"

"Malfoy, shut up."

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" Malfoy drawled, carefully siphoning a bit of potion into a crystalline glass flask. Harry was reminded, for a second, of when one of those very vials had been hurled at him in Diagon Alley. And filled with that acid, they'd be a hell of a lot more dangerous indeed...

"Yeah, I'd like that," Harry replied shortly. "So would the rest of the class, and most of the wizarding world in general, so please oblige us."

There was a smattering of laughter, and Ron gave him a quick thumbs-up. Malfoy, however, only narrowed his eyebrows.

"I've got a warning for you, Potter, one you'd do well to hear," he growled, rising to his feet and setting his full vial down with an audible thunk as he circled the cauldron, moving towards Harry.

"The warning's only as good as the source," Harry replied, shoving away his anger as he kept a steady eye on his cauldron. Flame's getting a little low... should probably give it a boost –

A shadow fell over him, and he saw Malfoy standing on the other side of the cauldron, a deadly expression on his face.

"You're blocking my light, Malfoy."

"You should reallyhear this warning, Potter," Malfoy hissed through gritted teeth, "if you don't want your closest friends dead – or in your case, worse. I think you know what that means."

He did know what it meant, and suddenly, he could hear every word Malfoy was saying, without any distractions. His potion frothed beneath him, but he had stopped caring – blood was pounding in his ears, and met Malfoy's stare with every ounce of hatred he could muster.

"Is that a threat?" Harry said quietly, rising to his own feet. Ron was struggling with his own potion, but Harry knew Hermione was watching avidly. Surprisingly, the rest of the class didn't even seem to notice. He kept his posture natural, his hands away from his wand – it would be suicidal to duel in here, with the dangerously unstable potions around them. "I don't take kindly to threats – ask your father about that."

Malfoy's eyes flashed, and his hand began creeping to his pocket. "You're dealing with bigger stakes than you know, Potter – and we both know what happens when someone plays out of their league."

"You don't stand a chance against me, Malfoy, if that's what this is about," Harry growled. "Once again, ask your father – or rather, ask him why you'll never have a baby brother."

"A toothless threat from a Knut-less imbecile," Malfoy spat. "Although I heard your parents had some money. Merlin, wonder what happened to it – do you think the Potter Vaults are sealed because they might beempty, your father pissing it away on Firewhiskey and whores while your Mudblood mother watched –"

He was barely holding back his rage now – only his common sense and caution was preventing him from hitting Malfoy, cursing him, ripping him to pieces like he did in the Ministry –

"Stop talking, Malfoy, and I won't –"

"But you have nothing now," Malfoy finished, his face twisting into a smile. "Just like the Weasleys – or whatever's left of them –"

He snapped.

It seemed like he was moving in slow motion, his hands tearing towards Malfoy. His vision seemed to darken, and he was back in the Ministry, the world only lit by flames and curses in a red haze –

His right hand seized Malfoy's throat and squeezed, but the grip was not firm. He sidestepped around the cauldron, his right hand twisting its grip on Malfoy's neck as his left hand grabbed a fistful of blond hair –

And it was one motion, even as he could see Hermione's mouth open to scream, grabbing Malfoy's head and forcing it down towards the frothing potion below –

He could feel Malfoy begin to thrash, but a second later, the thrashing stopped as the Slytherin's face hit the acid, and the sizzling filled the air with more steam –

Steam... steam and the familiar smell of burning flesh –

He could see Ron yelling, Hermione going for her wand, but the noises were muted by his rage. All he could hear was the sizzling... that satisfying sizzle,as he boiled his enemy into nothingness –

-and he deserves it too... five years of merciless taunting... how do you like this NOW, Malfoy -

-HARRY, WHAT ARE YOU -

He pulled up on the hair, and he could see potion running in rivulets down Malfoy's face - no, that wasn't right, it was carving the rivulets in his face, tiny bubbles springing up across the smoking lines that were spreading as Malfoy open his mouth to scream -

-he'll look like Voldemort when I'm done... apt, considering Voldemort will be next - yes, you bastard,broilin the open air -

- HE'S KILLING HIM - HARRY, STOP -

The scent of burning flesh was raw on Harry's nostrils, so he did the natural thing when one encounters an unpleasant burning object - he plunged Malfoy's face back in the liquid.

The sizzling was ear-splitting now, the turquoise potion frothing madly to white as Harry forced it deeper, submerging it further, the potion hot on his dragonskin gloves -

-and this head will match his father'sother head... balance has been restored -

"STUPEFY!"

There was a sudden flash of scarlet, and everything went black.

"Get up, Potter."

Harry groaned and rubbed his head, keeping his eyes tightly clenched shut as his hand went to his pocket –

His wand wasn't there.

In a second, he was awake, his nerves singing with raw panic. He looked around wildly for the source of the voice in the dark room as his blood pumped furiously, sending his nerves aflame. He scrabbled to a sitting position, moving to jump to his feet –

"Stay down, Potter."

His eyes snapped to the source of the voice, and he started – two wands were being pointed at his face, and one of them was his own.

Professor Mad-Eye Moody grunted and kept his stare fixed on Harry as he gave his own wand an experimental twirl. "Glad you're not that stupid, Potter," he said grimly, sending a jet of red hot sparks from the tip of his wand. Harry recoiled, but he didn't dare move – Moody was one of the best.

"Although," the ex-Auror continued, his mismatched eyes narrowing, "your behaviour with Malfoy in the classroom suggests otherwise."

And the memories began rushing back, and Harry gritted his teeth. "Is Malfoy dead?"

"No, though I think he wishes he was."

"Damn," Harry muttered. "Should have –"

"Should have done what, Potter?" Moody snarled, sending an avalanche of sparks into Harry's face before kicking him with the clawed wooden foot. "I thought you were smarter, Potter! I thought you had discretion. I thought you had a few brain cells bouncing around in that thick skull!"

"I was provoked –"

"That means nothing!" Moody roared, kicking Harry square in the kidneys this time. "Do you have any bloody idea what you've done? Despite the obvious catharsis you salvaged from your little outburst, you failed to realize that you attacked him in plain bloody sight! They didn't hear what that stupid little boy had to say – they just saw you ram his head into a full cauldron of Etching Solution!" He let out a snort of disgust and disappointment. "If they didn't think you were a sociopath before from the Prophet, they'll believe it now!"

"He deserved it!" Harry yelled, very real anger surging through him. "What he said, what his family's done to me –"

His voice was cut off a second later, because Moody had hit Harry again, this time with a spell that sent him sprawling on the floor. He felt his nose crunch painfully, and a torrent of blood spill across his face...

"The father's not the son, Potter!" Moody spat. "Merlin, what happened to the conniving and intelligent Potter that Dumbledore actually trusted to be an asset for our cause? That Potter at least had the intelligence to control his temper and not react to the utterly meaningless insults given by the pathetic and otherwise inconsequential spawn of a Death Eater!"

"The best of us lose control sometimes –" Harry began furiously, wiping blood from his nose.

"And you think you're the best of us, Potter?" Moody snarled, his electric-blue eye spinning wildly as his dark eye burned with disappointed fury. "Just because you got a few lessons from my apprentice and beat Voldemort's Death Eaters a few times, that you got out of the Ministry alive and relatively unscarred –"

"Not unscarred –"

"You think you're ready to take on a pile of the most vile and detestable wizards and witches to walk this bloody planet?" Moody roared. "A wizard capable of that doesn't fall for cheap insults and lose control, particularly when the last shreds of his credibility are in danger! A wizard that Dumbledore and I support doesn't try to murder an 'innocent' in front of dozens of bystanders! Why should I believe or support a damn thing you say or do after this?"

Harry was breathing fast, as his mind reeled. He knew he had screwed up – big time. Though he didn't feel a bit of remorse for attacking Malfoy, he realized with a pang of horror his fatal error. Everyone had seen... and I don't have an excuse...

"McGonagall wants to expel you, and despite any sympathies I might have towards your feelings against Malfoy, I won't argue with her sentiment," Moody continued grimly. "Fortunately for us, and unfortunately for you, that option's not available – yet. Throwing you out of Hogwarts would be the stupidest thing our side could possibly do at this time – Voldemort would kill you in a second. But that does not mean there won't be reciprocity for your asinine behaviour, and we're resorting to other options."

"What are you –"

"Since you can't be trusted to hold your temper among your fellow students, and since house solidarity means precisely nothing to you," Moody spat, his voice heavy with disgust, "you won't be with Gryffindor anymore. Your dormitory has been emptied – you'll be staying in my office from now on. You will not be permitted to attend classes with your peers, or eat with them. All of your studying will be done in my office, under my unerring supervision. You will only be permitted out of my office for a few hours at night – and don't think I won't find you if you don't come back on time – or when you're working on the one project Dumbledore trusted you and I with – the attacks."

"That's not the only thing I'm working on –"

"When you've earned the luxury of that independence, you'll get it," Moody retorted, tossing Harry's wand back to him with a flick of his wrist. "And keep in mind I can see through Invisibility Cloaks."

But not through simulamancy, Harry thought savagely as he caught his wand and shoved it in his pocket as he got to his feet. "So I'm a prisoner, then?"

"You're a student," Moody snapped, "and like Tonks did before you, you're going to learn from me. Dumbledore may have been comfortable with you doing your own thing, but I have a different set of priorities. Consider it a learning opportunity, and you might get out of this a better man than when you were dropped in here. You've already completed your first lesson, Potter."

"What?"

"You didn't curse me when I gave you back your wand," Moody growled, slowly beginning to circle Harry. "That shows you know you made a mistake. What was that mistake, Potter?"

"Attacking Malfoy while the other students were still in the room –"

The curse was blindingly fast, and Harry found himself flat on his back. There was a scorch mark on the center of his chest, and Moody was looming over him.

"Wrong answer," Moody grated, as Harry scrambled back up to his feet. "You said you attacked that puerile little bit of filth because it insulted you, touched a nerve. Besides the fact that was unbelievably stupid, what else did he say?"

Harry racked his brain for a few seconds, and then –

"He threatened me... as if he was behind the attacks –"

"NOW do you see your stupidity?" Moody roared suddenly, his eyes both going wide. "If he was bluffing, he was able to goad you and that makes you weak, but if he was telling even an iota of the truth, you've ensured that he's going to target students again. Once again, innocents are going to get hurt – students at THIS school, under MY protection! Do you see your mistake now, Potter?"

He nodded and swallowed hard – he hadn't even thought of that...

"Look, I'm sure it felt damn good to finally shove that blond bastard into the Etching Solution," Moody said after a few seconds as he leaned against one of the desks shoved against the wall. "I've been wanting to do that to his father for over twenty-five years. But there is a time and place for that sort of vengeance, and more care is required if you wish to continue along that road. Dementors are a hell of a lot more effective than acid, Potter, don't ever forget that."

"But not nearly as satisfying," Harry muttered.

"That's what you think," Moody retorted, slamming his fist down on the desk. "In any case, it's time for you to start exercising the analytical and intelligent mind you've been developing over the past few months, or so Tonks tells me. Part of this is adjusting to the new reality that this war has taken. Dumbledore gave you a Pensieve?"

"Yes."

"It's either Professor Moody or 'sir', while you're here," Moody growled, levelling his wand at Harry. "I trust you don't need to be told twice regarding this."

"Yes," Harry replied through clenched teeth. "Sir."

"You've been using that Pensieve, I'm assuming?" Moody continued, his eyes beady as they both fixed on Harry. "Getting rid of the unsavoury memories? The ones in the Ministry?"

"Yes, sir."

"I want you to experience those memories in your Pensieve," Moody said coolly as he began walking around the room, heading towards the massive oaken desk covered with papers. "Don't just get rid of them – I want you to experience them. Pulling them out of your mind isn't enough, because the emotion behind the memories is still there. So I want you to go into each memory in turn, and watch them. I want to desensitize you thoroughly to any brutality or horrors you might see. You obviously haven't been able to cope with the most recent additions," he added, his scarred lip curling.

"Not many people could cope with that, Professor," Harry replied, trying to maintain his composure as he approached Moody's desk.

"Damn right, and that's why everyone's not an Auror," Moody retorted. "But I'm not talking about everyone, I'm talking about you. Once you can watch them without flinching, analyze them. Note what you're doing, and what you're doing wrong. Not only will this help you when the Death Eaters come calling again, you'll also be able to control yourself regardless of what is said. Constant vigilance means more than keeping your eyes open, Potter."

"And then –"

"I'm not done," Moody snapped, his eyes flashing. "Then, after you can clearly state every error that you made in your fights, you're going to learn to never repeat those errors, and that's where I come in. And unlike all the would-be Aurors that come into my program, there's no failing out for you."

"And then...?"

"Then you can go," Moody replied, finally turning away from Harry. "Most humane people would consider that punishment enough. I wouldn't, but your discipline is not entirely up to me. In the mean time, you and I are going to find the instigator of these attacks before they strike again."

"Malfoy knows something," Harry spat.

"And you don't have an iota of proof to back it up," Moody shot back. "And it's already a case that's under advisement – as are the rest of them."

Harry looked up, and suddenly noticed it. Moody's Dark Detectors lined the walls as usual – there were a few bizarre additions – but on the single wall behind Moody's desk were hundreds of papers and wizard photographs, all magically secured to the wall in a bewildering collage. Below them were four massive stacks of books, and Harry could see the blades rustling beneath the covers of a few. And across Moody's desk were even more papers, most strewn with incomprehensible calculations and scribbling in Moody's angular handwriting.

"This wall and desk indicates every possible case that I've hypothesized regarding these attacks," Moody said tersely, his eyes scanning the wall. "And there are a lot of possibilities. Furthermore, and much to our advantage, you've already narrowed down the weapons of attack – the ghosts of Hogwarts, released or driven mad by something within the school. What is evading me is the patterns, the instigator, and how we might stop him."

"And Malfoy was one of your potential threats?" Harry asked, a little surprise creeping into his voice as he stepped closer.

"Sons of Death Eaters often become Death Eaters," Moody growled. "He's not ruled out by any stretch of the mind, and from what I've gathered from the surreptitious little spying missions I've embarked on – Invisibility Cloaks come in handy for those – he's got some interesting discrepancies lined up against him. And he fits into some extremely interesting patterns rather well."

"What about what might be causing or regulating these attacks?" Harry asked, moving closer to read one of the scribbled sheets on the wall. "If we can... wait a second, this has Hermione's name on it!"

"'Course it does," Moody replied with a snort. "I'm not going to ignore the possibility that a pattern she might have discerned is valid. And she's one of the few people investigating this actively – I'm not going to disregard any advancement that she makes. Sure, she could be wrong, but I'd be a bloody fool to ignore her ideas if they're right."

"And are they right?" Harry asked sceptically.

Moody grunted. "Depending on what your idiotic little outburst brings about, we'll see."

He snapped awake violently – to pain.

It was as if someone had taken a whip of flame to every contour of his face and set fire to the rest. He could barely see out of his eyes, but as he tried to blink, his tear ducts starting leaking – and soon he couldn't stop screaming as the tears burned against his face...

"Merlin, Malfoy, shut up!"

He knew that voice. He hated that voice.

"Nott, get Madam Pomfrey now!"

"You're in the Hospital Wing, relax!" Zabini said curtly, stepping into Malfoy's field of vision. "And Pomfrey's done all she can do – you're lucky she saved your eyes –"

Malfoy looked around wildly for a second before grabbing the hand mirror from the bedside table. The image that greeted him nearly caused him to drop the mirror with shock.

Twisted and enflamed scars crossed every contour of his face, etched into his skin like a grotesque tattoo. His hairline had been brutally seared back, and had been regrown in patches. His eyes were enflamed and puffy, the tears sizzling when they dripped into the charred scars surrounding his eyes –

"God... my god, I'm a... I..."

"The scars will get a bit better," Zabini said crisply, crossing his arms over his chest, "but you'll still have those white lines all over your face for the rest of your life. And don't touch them – there some residual Etching Solution along the scars, but that should go away."

"Much like any hope of you finding a woman," Nott finished viciously. "It's a good look for –"

Nott didn't get out another word – Malfoy had tackled him and driven him off his chair onto the floor. It was an easy thing to get a grip on his throat and squeeze –

A second later, he felt himself tearing free of Nott, and then being unceremoniously dropped on the bed. He rounded on Zabini, only to meet the tip of the Slytherin's wand.

"Throttling Nott will do nothing for this," Zabini said calmly, "and I need him alive."

"Potter."

Zabini's lips curled into a smirk. "Go on."

"Potter." The word savagely escaped his desiccated lips and burned his throat – apparently, some of the solution had gotten in his mouth. It hurt even to speak. At least I can speak... Pomfrey must have saved my tongue and teeth. "Make him suffer."

"Very eloquent –"

"Shut up, Zabini!" Malfoy snarled, forcing back a violent cough. "Nott, I've got a job for you that coincides with the mission."

"I don't take orders from –" Nott began furiously, but Zabini raised a finger to cut him off and let Malfoy speak.

"I want you to watch Potter," Malfoy began, every breath through his ravaged throat sending a fresh wave of pain through his body. "I want to take someone from him like he took someone from me. So, the next time you see that ass with a woman... she's your target. I don't care who she is, what house she's from, and I don't give a damn about any patterns – just make it work."

Nott gritted his teeth. "Guess I owe you this, considering my little 'plan' might just be the reasons why –"

"Don't fucking mince words, Nott, it was the reason I was attacked," Malfoy snarled. "I played your decoy, and I lost most of my face so that the target could be on my head instead of yours. Neither of us expected this from Potter. We screwed up, but the Dark Lord will be pleased, and he has ways of fixing... fixing things like..."

"I don't think any of us could have expected that sort of brutality," Zabini said icily.

"But now we know – and Potter is going to pay."

Harry rubbed his eyes tiredly as he walked down one of the seventh floor corridors, the torches casting long shadows in his path. The hall almost appeared surreal – almost.

After what I've seen this year – hell, after what I've seen today - I don't think anything can seem that surreal anymore.

"Don't get down on yourself, Harry, you'll be fine."

His wand was out in a flash, as he looked around wildly for the sudden voice – only to see her leaning against a windowsill, gazing dreamily out into the sky. Her wand was also in her hand, but she was slowly winding a few strands of dirty blonde hair around it absent-mindedly. However, it wasn't any of those things that caused Harry's eyes to widen with astonishment, but rather something a bit more mortifying.

"What the... Luna, what are you doing –"

Luna was not wearing shoes – or socks. Or pants for that matter. As far as Harry could tell, all she was wearing was a very large, very baggy nightshirt that looked like it belonged to a man forty years her senior and four times her weight. For a second, Harry wondered if the strange girl was wearing anything underneath that, and he immediately flushed. This is awkward...

He coughed slightly, trying to find a way to avoid the question of Luna's attire without embarrassing her. "Uh...why are you out of bed?"

"Can't sleep," Luna said simply. "Just not tired anymore. It's been all year, you know."

"I've heard," Harry said warily, taking a step closer. Something was off about that girl – and it wasn't just most of her clothes – and he didn't relax his guard. He remember, with a pang, the Ravenclaw girls from the first attack, and he held back his shudder. She could be possessed, and I wouldn't know it until it's too late... "But what are you doing out of your dormitory?"

"I could ask you the same question, Isabelle, and you know, I think we'd both get the same answer," Luna replied cheerfully, still not meeting Harry's eyes. Her attention seemed fixed on whatever was outside. Harry frowned and stepped a little closer, trying to catch a glimpse at what Luna might be watching –

"Hmm... I don't think it's going to rain," Luna said with a little nod of certainty.

One of Harry's eyebrows shot into his fringe. "Uh... hate to break it to you, Luna, but it's been raining for the past few days all around the castle –"

"That's around, Harry, not here," Luna said, finally turning giving Harry a small, secret smile. "After all, just because Wrackspurts might be flying around your head doesn't mean there's one inside you. Of course, when everything catches up, it might make you a little fuzzy, but if you're quick, you'll have time to get back into the cloud."

Harry didn't have the faintest idea what a Wrackspurt was – he thought Luna had mentioned them before, but her strange attire was driving any other thoughts clean out of his head. No wonder people call her Loony Lovegood sometimes...

"I think," Luna said with a pleased nod, "that we should go outside."

Harry sputtered for a second. "What? But Luna... you're... uh, well, you're not..."

"See, you let the Wrackspurt get into your head, Isabelle," Luna said, shaking her head. "I told Professor Flitwick that we need to get somebody from the Department of Mysteries to get these things out of here –"

"Luna, you're hardly wearing anything!"

"Oh, I know," Luna said simply, straightening the nightshirt on her shoulders and pulling her wand free of her hair. "It's night-time, and this is what I wear to bed. Belonged to my grandfather, you know."

"Uh, Luna... you're not in bed," Harry said bracingly, taking a hesitant step closer to the girl. Maybe she's sleepwalking or something... either that or clinically insane...

"I know – the bed didn't want to follow me," Luna replied matter-of-factly as she began walking down the hallway, Harry by her side. "The floor's a little cold, you know."

"You're not wearing shoes, Luna."

"Isabelle, I told you, it's night-time," Luna said patiently. "You don't wear shoes at night – it would be uncomfortable when you're sleeping."

"But you – look, never mind, but why do you keep calling me –"

"Ah, here we are!" Luna said cheerfully, reaching a section of completely blank wall. It was very dark, and Harry lit his wand with a muttered word, watching as Luna touched the wall thoughtfully and appeared to thoughtfully stroke one of the stones as she whistled under her breath.

"Come on, door, stop pretending..."

Harry shook his head with amazement. He knew there were doors in Hogwarts that were just walls pretending – it was magic, he guessed, thought he couldn't imagine why – but he hadn't heard of many of the opposite – and he had never heard of talking to one before. Maybe it's a secret passage...

A second later, his eyes widened with amazement as roughly a dozen stones became abruptly translucent before vanishing entirely, leaving an irregularly sized hole in the wall of Hogwarts. Then, without warning, Luna hopped through the hole... onto the narrow battlements below.

"Come on, Harry!"

"Aren't you cold?" Harry called, moving to the entry with concern as Luna began walking across the narrow stone walkway. The wind was chilly, and blowing with considerable intensity – not to mention it was quite dark.

Luna waved away Harry's concern and kept walking, her eyes tracing the night skyline with an expression of wonder across her face. Harry paused for a few seconds to think – he had never been up on the battlements of Hogwarts before, and the stone walkway didn't appear to be reinforced by much of anything...

"Oh, fuck it," he muttered, before dropping onto the walkway and hurrying after Luna, who had finally stopped at the center of the walkway, gazing out across the Hogwarts grounds with a contented smile on her face.

"It's bright out," Luna said as Harry caught up with her. "Lot of stars tonight."

"Don't know how you can tell through those clouds," Harry muttered, shivering. "Look, Luna, we should get back inside, at least so you can get a cloak or something –"

"You know that it's raining, Harry?" Luna asked suddenly, her gaze snapping to Harry as she leaned against the crenellations, her dreamy expression returning as she raised her wand.

"Luna... god, Luna, it's not raining –"

"Yes, it is," Luna interrupted, pointing at the sky, her smile widening. "See that arc? Just behind it, it's raining. And there... and there... all around us."

Harry was about to say something, but he looked... and paused. Even though it was dark - not very dark, as he noted with a jolt of surprise, there was still plenty of light to see the horizon line – he could see the curtains of rain falling across the sky all across the sky, all around them. Everywhere... except Hogwarts.

"Why isn't it raining here?" Harry whispered. "And the clouds don't look like they're the same colour..."

"We aren't there yet," Luna said lightly, absent-mindedly toying with the hem of her nightshirt. "Or at least I don't think we are... we could be past there, but I don't think so – otherwise everything would be a lot wetter. It rained a bit this evening, but not like that."

"The rain's not touching Hogwarts," Harry whispered. "What the hell is going on... and why is it so bright outside? It's like the sun's going to rise..."

His voice trailed off as he looked at the sky. It was a deep royal purple, but he could see the flickering of pink in the east... the sun could be rising, but it was much too early for that... something wasn't making sense...

"The clouds are darker than the sky."

Luna raised her wand, and with a muttered word, a bright ball of light soared from its tip, straight up towards the sky. It was like the lantern of a Hinkypunk, and Harry couldn't help but watch it as it soared higher and higher... and then vanished.

"Hmm..." Luna said to herself. "It's going away faster."

"Luna, what was that?" Harry asked, the first tremors of fear filling his gut. "Where did your light go?"

"Away," Luna said simply."It's interesting how that happens. I don't think it's now anymore, though."

Harry frowned again, trying to piece his way through Luna's sentence. "That... Luna, that sentence makes no sense."

Luna shook her head sadly. "I wish it didn't make sense, but it does. It should be now, but it's not... and I don't know why. I don't think the Freyanwisp took it... I wish it did."

"Okay, Luna, you're not making any sense at all," Harry said, his patience beginning to strain. More than ever, he wished that Tonks or Sirius were here – at least they talked sensibly. "What's a 'Freyanwisp, and what do you know about why everything outside Hogwarts seems to be moving faster –"

"Don't be silly, Isabelle, Freyanwisps don't exist, or at least not in this view of the world," Luna said patiently. Her expression suddenly grew wistful, and Harry suddenly felt Luna's hand slip into his. "I wish they did exist – I really do. It would make things a bit better."

The sadness in Luna's voice hit Harry like a sledgehammer, and he swallowed hard, shoving back his emotion as he tightened his grip on Luna's small hand. "I... yeah, I wish I could find something to make things... better."

There was silence for a long few seconds, and for a moment, Harry thought he could see the sparkle of a star, lost behind the bulwark of clouds...

"Isabelle, will you stay with me until the clouds come back?" Luna whispered. "Not those ones – the big dark ones, that make everyone think it'll be okay."

"Will they?" Harry asked quietly. "Make... everyone think it'll be okay?" He didn't know where the words were coming from, but it seemed like Luna was scared of something – something that she couldn't even put to words, as if words couldn't really describe what she was thinking. As if it was beyond even her imagining. The tremor of fear was back, but this fear was different. This wasn't something in his face, something that he could fight or kill. This was different – it was unknown, and downright terrifying.

Luna looked up at Harry. "It's worked so far... at least I hope it has. If the sun shone all the clearer, it would begin skipping, and people wouldn't understand, and they'd get scared. Isabelle, can you stay with me?"

"I... I guess I can," Harry said hesitantly, following Luna to the edge of the battlements. Carefully, the two of them got onto one of the thicker crenellations, wide and stable enough that it made a surprisingly good – if a bit vertigo-inducing – seat. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yes?"

"Why do you keep calling me Isabelle?"

Luna laughed lightly, and in an instant, the tension and fear in Harry's heart lightened. As long as he could hear Luna's laugh – that carefree innocence, the antithesis of everything Voldemort proclaimed and fought for, everything Harry wanted to fight for...

I think I made a friend... and I didn't even realize it.

He couldn't help it. He laughed too – the first time he had truly laughed in a long time - and for a few seconds, they both laughed together on the top of the wall of Hogwarts Castle. It was quiet, it was simple – and it was beautiful.

"So, why do you keep calling me Isabelle?" Harry asked as he held Luna's hand lightly and stared out at the majestic open sky, now tinged mauve from the flickers of pink on the horizon.

Luna smiled. "You're being silly, Harry."