Disclaimer: Chances are if you missed the disclaimer in the first chapter, you’re skimming this fic and probably missing more of the story than you think.

A/N: A special thanks and consideration for this chapter goes to VotN, T3t, Lindsey, and Silens Cursor for their insight and commentary. A shout-out also goes to Garden and Sesc for giving me a hand in the editing process. Thank you, thank you, thank you 13thadaption for going over the multitude of tiny mistakes I usually read over without noticing and thank you for helping me sort out the craziness of this chapter.

And as always, thanks Andro; your help is invaluable. I can always count on you to make me actually think about what I'm writing instead of just blindly following my plot-lines.

Chapter Nineteen

Skeleton Hunt IV

People do stupid things when they panic.

It doesn't matter how well-trained you are or even how experienced you are in the field. Once you've hit that moment of panic, that moment where thought devolves into an incoherent blur of terror, all bets are off. Fear is running the show now, not you, not rationality, and certainly not anything above base instinct.

When life rips the rug from under your feet, humanity tends to react off of an inbuilt biological mechanism designed purely for survival: fight or flight. Rational thought? You don't need no stinkin' rational thought. The brain may be a complicated bit of lights and clockwork, but strip away that veneer of civilization and truthfully? Mankind is little better than animals: If you can't fuck it, you'll fight it. And for all that humans are both furless and fangless against the cold, dark of night and the things that live within – they'll usually win.

Ten thousand years of warfare has ingrained into the homo sapiens sapiens a flair for violence found in no other animal. Man will run, man will attack, man will rack up a body count in staggering numbers. Human instinct might be fight or flight, but sometimes... when your wires are well and truly crossed?

Sometimes, you do a little of both.  

It was hard to think when every bone in his body was screaming at him to flee. Harry knew it wouldn’t fix things, but… just for a moment? He wanted to run, run from his own name and the cascading piles of shit associated with it. The Winter Queen herself had just waltzed into the one place Harry believed to be a haven against the hungry things knocking at his door and destroyed any illusion of safety or shelter.

What scared him the most wasn't the anger running hot and bright in his blood. Harry could deal with anger, knew it's name and face and how to leash it back where it belonged. Something else scrabbled at the walls of his brain and it smelled a lot like fear.

His hands shook, his breath turning into short gulping gasps as his stride lengthened into a runner's fleet-footed lope away from Lupin's classroom.

He had to get out.

His skin itched, the sensation of tiny legs crawling up and down his back and Harry knew that if he stopped to scratch, he'd finish freaking the fuck out – might dig his nails in under his flesh and peel up great bloody scraps of himself.

And God, was it just him or was it getting dark in there?

Harry damn near flew over the stairs.

The group of seventh years didn’t look like much more than a fuzzy blear of people, someone trying to grab hold of his arm as he passed.

Not fucking happening, asshole, Harry thought as he snarled into the face of a startled Marcus Flint.

The mirror passageway beckoned to him from the fourth floor as his pulse beat a heavy tattoo in his throat: freedomfreedomfreedom...

Stone steps disappeared under his feet as the staircase changed and Harry hurtled over the yawning chasm between stairs and stairwell. His feet touched ground on the fifth-floor landing. Flying past a gaggle of gobsmacked faces, Harry vanished into another secret passageway hidden as part of a stone wall and warded it closed behind him.  

Dust swirled up in eddies around his feet in the dim lighting as the passage wound its way downward. It spat him back out just in time to run pell-mell into a startled group of Slytherins.

Harry took a shoulder to the chest and for a moment, it felt as if someone had driven a lorry into his breastbone with the intention of crushing his lungs against his spine.

Stumbling back from the tangle of bodies, Harry bumped into the wall he'd just darted out of, stone biting at the sharp points of his shoulder blades. His thighs trembled, muscles too loose and rubbery like his knees might give in and dump him on the floor. The mirror passage sat at the end of the wide corridor, half-hidden in a small alcove.

Pushing himself off the wall – one-way passages were a bitch to get around – Harry sidestepped the clump of people picking themselves up from the floor and –

Impact knocked the breath from his lungs.

He spat the taste of blood from his mouth. Little red droplets sizzled as they hit the floor under his hands, the magnesium flare of magic sparking against his fingertips and pitting the stone with tiny pockmarks.

How the fuck had he gotten down here?

Harry made to stand up from his slack-limbed sprawl and something tightened its grip on his ankle. He glanced over his shoulder.

A large, dark-eyed boy, whose shoulders strained against the lines of his robes, grinned at him. “Going somewhere?” he asked as the smell of dark magic rose in the air.

Scrap metal gleams in the snow beyond the circle of Death Eaters around him.

He can't feel his legs.

Not long now.

Harry starts to laugh, wet and thick, blood slicking his chin with warm dampness. He'll drag them all into Hell with him and he'll do it with a smile on his face and a song in his heart. “Die,” he says, voice raspy and scraped raw as the sound of dark water gurgles hungrily in his ears. “Die screaming.”

Red-orange streaks of light leave spots in his vision as the spheres shoot off in different directions.

A fission of unrest shudders through the circle of Death Eaters. One bright soul hastily conjures a shield, white mask hanging loose around his neck, dark eyes fixed warily upon Harry.

And just before the worlds explodes in a lightning-strike blast of heat and light, he gets a good look at the guy: Broad and conventionally handsome, the dark-eyed man is tall and built as if in a different world where they weren't all on the knife's edge of starvation, he'd be heavy-set, soft in the belly from lush appetites and too little exercise.

Harry's knuckles stung, a trickle of blood dripping down one of his fingers where the skin split.

There was a stunned group of faces surrounding him. “What did you do that for?” one them asked, a weedy blond boy with a patchy scruff of stubble on his chin. “He was just gonna thrash you around a bit – nothing more than you deserve for running into us like that.”

The Death Eater picked himself up off the floor, nose broken and leaking blood, the skin of his face gone an angry, mottled red.

You were there, Harry thought. You were there at the end. Why did you survive when so many others died who deserved life more than a fucking leech like you?

Harry shook off the green and black clad arms that were restraining him and then the Death Eater was picking himself up off the floor again.

Deja fucking vu.

Ozone burned the inside of Harry's nose and he sidestepped a hex that singed the air behind it a harsh red-orange.

Walk away, Potter, whispered the last line of reason inside himself. Walk away before you do something you regret.

Harry made the mistake of glancing at the mirror again.

The hair rose on the back of his neck. Harry turned, banishing the low-level pain curse back at its caster. The Death Eater bit off a choked cry, rage burning in his eyes as he raised his wand again.

Whatever awareness that had momentarily surfaced sank back under the hot tide of anger in Harry's blood.

Thin tendrils of stone grew out of the floor, winding their way up the Slytherin's legs, growing long, needle-sharp thorns that dug into his skin beneath his heavy robes. Damp flowers of blood darkened the boy's robes where the thorns bit in.

The Death Eater drew back his arm, an ugly light blooming on the end of his wand. Riding the wave of the Death Eater's – Bletchley's – anger, Harry slipped into the soft, meaty flesh of his mind.

Bletchley's thoughts were tinged the rusty colour of dried blood and the cold, waxy-pale shades of an Inferi's skin. There were dead girls, chest split open between their breasts, heart spilling out onto the come-stripped sheets under them. Harry watched as thirteen-year-old Miles Bletchley climbed onto his uncle's corpse and rubbed himself to completion. The twisted little fucker squirmed in his chair throughout the funeral afterwards against the chilly slide of come on the inside of his robes, a little thrill of excitement running through him at the memory of stuffing his wet underwear under the satin pillow of his uncle's coffin.

Bone clicked and clacked as seven-year-old Miles Bletchley dismembered the family cat, one mewling piece at a time. Sinking deeper into the mire, Harry followed the thick chain of lust and psychosis to its anchor. It was a pulsing thing, somehow living and breathing independent of Bletchley's mind, a dual heartbeat thumping in time with its owner's. Muscle grew over a mechanical heart dotted with iron spikes, all red and wet and flayed of its protective layer of epidermis.

Harry reached out, thought-hands clad in sleek black dragonhide, and sank his fingers into the throbbing bundle of raw, miserable flesh and mechanics, shattering the iron spikes, wickedly curved hooks, chain lengths and willing them all into dust. But before he could untangle the angry mass of flesh from Bletchley's metal heart, Harry found himself forcefully ejected.

Refocusing his sight on the physical world, Harry stared eye to eye with Severus Snape's furious black gaze.

“What do you think you're doing?” the potion's master hissed, shaking Harry by his shoulder like a rag-doll. “Foolish boy! You could have killed him!”

Harry glanced down at Bletchley's disoriented form crumpled on the floor, surrounded by broken stone that used to be thorny vines, blood dribbling out of his nose and from his tear ducts. It dripped off his chin and from his ears, staining the collar of the crisp white button-down he wore under his school robes. The teenager was a wolf pup in a box full of floppy-eared puppies. They all had sharp little baby teeth – felt like fucking needles if they got in a nip at your skin – but only one of the pack was a bred-to-the-bone predator. Only one was going rabid.

No big loss, he thought and it must have showed on his face because Snape shook him again.

“You stupid child – do you ever think before you act?” Snape snarled in his ear.

“I wonder if his girlfriend ever thought something was wrong when he asked her to hold real still under a bunch of cooling charms when he fucked her,” Harry replied without any real inflection. “Or did you think she has her own kinks when it comes to cadavers? No pun intended of course.”

Snape recoiled, pinching grip loosening from Harry's shoulder.

Bletchley's face whitened into a moue of horror. “I don't-”

“Know what I'm talking about?” Harry smiled, glancing at Severus Snape's carefully shuttered expression out of the corner of his eye. “Don't worry. I do,” he purred to Bletchley as one of his buddies helped him up from his sprawl on the floor. “It wasn't the sensation of dead flesh that got you off when you bounced on your uncle's prick like it was a pony. It was that little-” Harry drew the word out. “Tiny trickle of blood that welled up from his mouth as you rode his insides to mush. And the memory alone still makes you cream your shorts three years later.”

“That's enough, Potter,” Snape murmured.

Harry bared his teeth. “You don't even have to touch yourself to get off. All you have to think about is good old Uncle Fester's stiff dick and even stiffer corpse-”

One of Bletchley's friends made an involuntary retching noise, a lanky teen with frizzy brown hair that wanted to be long, but somehow only managed to be wide instead.

“His name wasn't Fester!” Bletchley yelled, turning an unpleasant shade of purple as his buddies shuffled in place, most looking as if they'd like to be as far away from him as possible.

Harry didn't bother to hide the triumph on his face. Oldest trick in the book and it still worked with undeniable flair.

“Enough!” Snape roared at both of them, his hand clamping down on the thick muscle of Harry's upper arm as he shook him. For such a skinny man, Snape was startlingly strong.

Must be all of that cauldron stirring, Harry thought as the potion's master dismissed Bletchley and his crew of budding young thugs. Bunch of fucking morons that didn't know what the bullshit they upheld really meant or who the wild-eyed teenager they idolized really was – ignorance wasn't bliss, it was abject stupidity.

Don't eat the propaganda, Alice, Harry mused as he swayed in Snape's grasp. It'll make you quite big, then it'll make you quite small, and then it will chew on you until you're nothing at all.

“I will handle it,” Snape repeated himself over the Slytherins' protests. “And I will see you in my office later. Seven sharp,” Snape barked when Bletchley opened his mouth again, a cold black stare pinning the boy where he stood.

The two of them watched the group of students clear out of the hallway, a few throwing unreadable looks at Harry over their shoulders as they crowded around Bletchley. Snape's grip on his arm remained unrelenting. Disgust sat thick and cloying in Harry's throat and it was only by a bare semblance of control over his temper that kept him from lashing out at Snape, an unnatural stillness hovering in the air between them.

You should have let me finish, Harry thought, watching the potion's master from under heavy lids. You knew exactly what he was capable of. Oh sure, you didn't know all of the dirty details, but you knew. You knew Bletchley was a sick fuck and you didn't need me to tell you that.

Snape released his arm, whirling away from Harry in swirl of black, potion-stained robes. Dark eyes glittered with something that might have been rage, but it was tempered with a good deal of wariness.

“Follow me,” he said, stalking down the hall.

Harry's feet felt glued to the floor. “What about your classes?”

The potion's master seemed on the verge of saying something unkind when realization dawned on the irritable angles of his face. “Flint will take care of them,” he said, brusquely pushing aside Harry's simple curiosity.

The trek to the Headmaster's office was made in silence. A couple of curious students gawked at them as they passed and Harry knew with a sinking surety that news of his fuck-up in Lupin's classroom was well on its way around the school.

Head still spinning from the adrenaline rush and not a little bit from Dumbledore's whirl-a-twirl staircase, Harry dropped into the stiff-backed chair in the small antechamber outside the headmaster's office. Snape tapped twice on the door, disappearing behind it after throwing Harry a warning look over his shoulder.  

But before the door swung to, Harry caught a glimpse of Lupin sitting in front of Dumbledore's desk, amber eyes catching his own as the werewolf turned in his chair. The headmaster lifted his wand, disappointment turning his usually amicable face into stern, implacable lines as he watched Harry from beyond the confines of the doorway. Then the crisp, tooth-buzzing crackle of wards dropped over the antechamber and the door sealed itself shut.

Harry's fists clenched on the worn denim of his thighs. They hadn't warded off the office.

They'd caged him in.

---

This wasn't the same Harry he’d known before the summer holidays, even if Albus couldn’t put his finger on the exact reason why. The boy had been replaced by a silver-tongued chameleon, who could change faces faster than a skilled Thespian and held no connection at all to his friends save by the old edge of grief and past-memory. It was evident in the words he spoke and the way he acted, something like wistful longing shining on his visage.

“The woman,” said Remus, unable to keep the bewildered surprise from his voice. “Her interaction with him was… intimate.”

Albus' brows climbed his forehead. “Intimate? I'm afraid I don't understand you.”

Remus moistened his lips before replying. “I was uncomfortable watching them. If I didn't know better, I'd say it was the prelude to relations much less wholesome for a thirteen-year-old boy. I think she represents someone who has hurt Harry.”

Albus Dumbledore liked the implications of what had occurred in Remus' classroom less and less the more he heard of them. A dangerous sort of rage curled within him at the idea of someone hurting young Harry in such repulsive ways and it surprised him how hot his anger burned. Albus carefully folded away his fury before it could permeate his better senses. There was a time and place for anger and this was not it.

Severus' dark form slipped into the room, an abundance of silencing charms and wards preventing the sounds of their conversation from leaving his office. Albus caught a glimpse of Harry perched on the edge of a chair in the antechamber, so still and glassy-eyed despite the turbulent dark magic thrumming in the air around him.

The door sealed itself shut. Remus turned back around in his seat. “Do you see now why I'm concerned? That's not normal behaviour for a boy of any age.”

“You have much bigger problems to worry about,” Severus announced flatly, coming to a halt in front of Albus' desk. “I just found Potter on the fourth floor in the process of separating Miles Bletchley's mind into its subsequent components.”

Alarm skittered over Albus' nerves. “He attacked another student?”

Severus barred yellow teeth in an ugly grin. “Even better. I'd say he intended to kill him.”

A muscle ticked in Remus' jaw.

Something brushed over the wards and Albus realized that Harry had been steadily dismembering them since the door shut. A shudder ran up his spine as the slippery sensation of dark magic began to eat its way through the sturdy ward-lines guarding the doorway.

“Where is Mr. Bletchley?” demanded Albus, not bothering to hide the command in his voice.

“I remanded him into the care of his fan club,” replied Severus. Disdain and not a small amount of venom coated his words. “Potter was gracious enough to begin removing Bletchley's more twisted desires and I have half a mind to shake the brat's hand for it.”

“So Mr Bletchley is not in as dire straits as you would have me believe?”

“He is.” A dark note glittered in Severus' eyes. “If I had not come along when I had, I am certain that Potter would not have stopped until Bletchley was nothing more than a drooling shell on the floor.”

Unable to completely smother his expression of shocked horror, Albus pressed a hand over his mouth under the guise of brushing off his beard.

“It appears that Potter was only attacking the parts of the boy's mind he will be better off without,” Severus amended. “But I have no doubt that we will be hearing from his parents before the day is over with. Miles Bletchley is not the sort to let an insult slide without prompt retaliation.”

“Why? Why would Harry do something like that?” asked Remus, his confusion and worry turning the words sharper than he'd probably intended.

There was something deeply wrong with Harry Potter. There was something deeply wrong with Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore didn’t know where to start pointing fingers and assigning blame.

There was a very good chance that Albus’ own name sat at the top of that list.   

“At what point in your class did Harry's behaviour change?” asked Albus, looking Remus in the eye.

“I...” Remus rubbed a hand over his nose. Then he blinked and sat up ramrod straight. “It was after the boggart focused its attention on him and changed. Harry was initially shocked by what it turned into – I'm sure of it. But he did not turn aggressive until the boggart approached him and... I was sure that he had destroyed it.”

“But,” Albus prompted Remus to finish his half-formed recollection.

“When the woman appeared, she spoke of such strange things...” Remus trailed off. “Honestly, taken out of context...” The young werewolf shook his head, a mirthless huff of air escaping him. “It's almost as if she was threatening him.”

Propping his chin up on a single half-curled fist, Albus studied the light outside the window as he sifted through the muddle of fragmented information in his mind. “You say...that Harry had already destroyed the boggart by the time she appeared?” asked Albus, returning to the heart of what was bothering him.

Severus jerked his head from where he'd been studying the titles of Albus' bookshelves.

“I thought he had, barring how improbable it is that he's able to cast such magic,” Remus replied. “The... thing that appeared after his display of anger was so different than what the other children dreamed up. I've never seen a boggart talk before, let alone interact with its chosen victim.”

“It talked?” Severus asked, his tone clipped short and sharp with something Albus couldn't quite call apprehension. “As in actual interaction with Potter?”

Remus blinked. “Yes?”

“Then it was not a boggart,” said Severus. “Boggarts can mimic human sounds, but they are incapable of holding intelligent conversations. They are thoughts and dream fragments; they have no distinct mind of their own.” The even you should have known that, you blithering moron went unsaid, but it was clearly understood by everyone in the room.

“I'd hoped otherwise,” Remus said with a grimace. “I should have known better when I realized how odd she smelled, though it was hard to tell her apart from Harry's own scent.”  

Surprisingly enough, Severus said nothing in response to Remus' commentary on his extraordinary senses.

“Harry carries a strong undercurrent of ozone and a hard, almost metallic tang under his normal smells of soap and sweat,” Remus explained, his expression a bit distant as he recalled the details of his encounter with James' son. “Not unpleasant, but it's noticeable. What struck me the most, aside from the frost on the classroom windows, they shared a certain brittle sort of scent, almost... cold, if such a thing is possible.

“It was the strongest,” Remus continued. “After she cursed both myself and the Finnegan boy.”

Dear God, no. Albus rarely doubted his hunches, but for once he wished he had been wrong. “Did she have a rather distinctive perfume?” he asked, the taste of fear as strong as bile in the back of his mouth. “Like orchids perhaps?”

Remus Lupin stared, startled and a bit nervous at that. “Yes, just like. How did you know?”

“This woman, she would be quite striking in appearance: tall, pale with white hair and green eyes? She might also have worn opals or maybe diamonds?” asked Severus, picking up on Albus' train of thought.

“Should I know this person?” Remus asked, blinking in confusion.

“Her name is Mab.” There was a hoarse note in Severus' voice, like it had been scraped from the rocky bottom of a well. “And do not repeat it because like as not, she'll take that as an invitation to show up.”

“Somebody masquerading as Mab showed up in my classroom?” said Remus.

Severus' lip curled. “Say her name again and you may just get to meet her face to face.”

“I assure you, that was no masquerade, Remus,” said Albus. “I sincerely doubt that anything less than the Winter Queen in the living flesh would be able to make it through the castle wards.”

“Again, why? Why would she be interested in Harry?” asked Remus, bewildered.

“More than that,” Severus muttered. “Why the hell would she show up here?”

“I would like an answer to that question as well,” agreed Albus. “I think it's safe to say that today is not the first time they've met.”

The Winter Queen had a habit of recruiting, or better yet, collecting powerful young witches and wizards into her cortege. Many of the individuals that made up her court were once human or almost human hundreds of years ago – Harry would not be the first Sharr progeny to become entangled in Mab's claws.

“My knowledge of the Winter Queen is limited to myth and somewhat circumspect historical references,” said Albus, spreading his hands. “But I am certain that if Mab has not already twisted Harry into one of her creatures, she will soon. What will emerge from her clutches will bear little resemblance to anything human, not in thought, not in desire, and certainly not in power.”

“But Harry is just a boy – he hasn't even begun to scratch the surface of his magical education,” replied Remus. “What good is he to her?”

“The younger, the better,” Severus muttered.

“The minds and hearts of children are more malleable than men,” agreed Albus. “And Harry, being so desperate for acceptance, I'm afraid she would find him easy prey.”

Albus rarely felt panic, but this? This made his hands shake and his mind to race in endless circles of what-ifs. Not this boy, please no, not Harry. He'd already been through enough. A troubled childhood and an equally troubled inheritance, an uncle that was most likely mad and violent, a dark lord with Harry's name at the top of his hit list and now Mab, a creature who had been a herald of darkness and death since the conception of time – Albus could not have conceived a more potent recipe for disaster.

It was no wonder that the boy was lashing out at those who should have been his peers.

“Headmaster.” Severus' dark eyes were hard and unflinchingly honest. “You cannot blame his actions purely on outside forces. I can accept that Potter was provoked. But the way he assaulted Bletchley smacks of experience. He's done this before – successfully. No matter how much you might wish to believe otherwise, he still chose to do harm through his own free will.”

Albus dipped his head in agreement. Fact remained that if the boy knew these spells, there was a good chance he knew others that were far less destructive: a shield charm or a banishing hex, and there were at least twenty different varieties of each. Even if he had been defending himself, there was no reason why utter annihilation should be the first thing he reached for.

“You cannot be thinking to allow the boy to stay here,” Severus continued lowly. “Not in good conscience can you allow him around children who are incapable of defending themselves against him should he go off the rails. Bletchley is sixteen years old and what he lacks in experience, he makes up in skill and raw talent. He should have been more than a match for Potter. Instead, the boy swatted him down like a bug. Think of what he could do to somebody else, somebody even less prepared to deal with the fallout of Potter's rages.”

“Where else would you have me put him? I lack an easy solution,” Albus replied, understanding the exact nuances of Severus' concerns, but also aware of how limited his options truly were. “I could expel him, but that would leave him vulnerable to the machinations of Lucius and his ilk. I could suspend him and sequester him away in the unused parts of the castle, but I can only punish him if he consents to be constrained.”

At Severus' incredulous look, Albus clarified his point further. “What is to keep him from simply disappearing from Hogwarts one day? As easily as he vanished from his home this summer, what would prevent him from doing the same here? I cannot remand him into the care of his relatives for that same reason. And I cannot allow him to fall back under the influence of Hadrian Sharr, who is very likely the true root of Harry's new-found thirst for violence.”

“Who? A Sharr?” asked Remus, perplexed. “But they're dead.”

Severus' lips whitened. “I refuse to believe that man is of any relation to Lily Evans.”

“Relation?” Remus gasped. “What the hell is going on here? Who is Hadrian Sharr?”

Albus did not like keeping secrets from someone as deeply involved with the Potter family as Remus Lupin, but he desperately needed an unbiased point of view regarding Harry's actions, both past and present.

“Be that as it may,” said Albus in reply to Severus' staunch denial. “You cannot deny the fact that Harry disappeared with him after an assault on Privet Drive that left eight dead.”

“Knowing what you do now, how can you say for sure that Potter didn't have a hand in that as well?” Severus bit out in return.

Remus whirled around in his chair, lips twisted into a snarl. “My God, Severus. He's thirteen. Not the devil reborn.”

“You'd be surprised at what some thirteen-year-olds are capable of,” Severus replied, his voice gone acerbic with a grim sort of humour. “The boy who would become the Dark Lord was even younger when he got his first taste of dark magic. And there are students here at Hogwarts who have perversions that would make your skin crawl.”

“Perhaps I have a bit more faith in them than you,” Remus snapped. “Do you ever stop to think of what these children might be able to do with a bit of encouragement instead of mistrust and wariness?”

The young man could not have been more obvious that he was referring to himself and his own treatment at the hands of the wizarding world – however circumspect he may have been about his lycanthropy, suspicions were suspicions and Remus Lupin was a registered werewolf. Jobs were not easy to come by. The ignorance of Hogwarts' students of his condition shielded Remus to a degree, but it was only a matter of time before his secret was found out.

“Every day,” replied Severus flatly and Albus wasn't sure if he was alluding to Remus, or to his own Slytherin charges.

“Gentlemen,” Albus intoned, a warning in his voice. “We have a very narrow window of opportunity to help Harry while he is still free from the grasp of outside parties. Do not squander this chance on petty squabbles.”

“Headmaster, he was going to kill Bletchley. Not maim, not injure, not humiliate – he was going to kill him. Your insistence on second chances will not behove you here. If you can't rein the boy in, he should not be around the other students,” stated Severus. “Potter doesn't need a wand to be a danger to those around him and what's more, you cannot predict what he's going to do next.”

Remus stood suddenly, knocking his squat, heavy armchair off-kilter on two legs before it thumped back down. “Is this your concern speaking? Or is this left over from your damned feud with his father?”

“How much more proof do you need, Lupin?” Severus snarled in reply. “How far does he have to go before you begin to understand what he is capable of? Kill a few dementors? Possibly even murder a few people in cold blood? How about an Unseelie Queen wandering through your classroom? Better yet, how about an assault on another student?”

“I'm not ignoring what he's done!” Red spots of anger bloomed high on Remus' cheeks. “I'm just not willing to condemn him over what he might have done.”

Severus' voice was whisper soft, but no less vehement. “Black was sixteen when he first tried to murder another person. Look where he is now. Potter is only thirteen. Where do you think he will end up? What good will it do to coddle him? Especially when he's tasted blood and it's obvious he's craving more.”

“Perhaps we should let Harry weigh in on things before we get ahead of ourselves,” said Albus, nodding to the person standing behind the quarrelling duo.

A dispassionate green gaze flicked over the tableau and dismissed it. Harry stared back at Albus from the doorway, broken wards bleeding sparks of electricity in the air around him. He raised a hand, made a pinching motion with his fingers, and drew his hand down slowly, dragging the rest of the temporary wards over the antechamber down with it.

The lambent sparks of magic vanished.

Albus watched Harry Potter sit down in front of him for the second time that day, the encroaching afternoon storms replacing bright mid-morning skies. But this Harry, this version of Harry bore little resemblance to the self-effacing young man of this morning. And would this Harry be anymore truthful than the last? Would the presence of more people somehow trip him up in his half-truths and misleading statements? It was as if the boy who had returned to Hogwarts was not Harry at all, but a changeling sent to take his place.

An elf clad in a purple tea towel popped into Albus' office bearing a silver platter of finger sandwiches and fresh fruit. “Here you go, sirs! Can Ada be bringing you anything else?” “No Miss Ada. This will be to our satisfaction,” Albus replied. More than anything, it was Harry's small smile and “thank you” to the house elf that convinced Albus it was still Harry who sat before him and not a trickster of Mab's court. The way he’d attacked the dementors spoke of a distinct lack of empathy toward another living creature – however despicable the dementors’ existence was aside. This small kindness though, this left Albus hope that there was still something inside the boy that could actually feel human emotion and not just mimic some sham thereof. Harry had changed so much Albus despaired of ever learning the real reason why. For one, how on earth had Harry learned Legilimency? He wasn't even aware that the boy knew of the obscure art  – to say nothing of the fact that one needed to have a half-way decent grasp of Occlumency in order to prepare their mind for offensive psyche-based attacks. And how had he done this in less than three months? It was a silly question, because that was impossible. Simply put, Harry hadn't learned these things over the summer. There was a very good chance that between Hadrian Sharr and Mab of the Unseelie, the boy had spent some time in the Otherlands under the care of the Winter Court. Which would explain the presence of Winter in the boy's scent and also why he was so much larger than most of his peers – time moved in odd disparities between the Courts and the mortal world. Legend spoke of how days could slip by in a blink and at other moments, time would drift by with all the languorous somnolence of deep, slow-moving river in January. The boy might be thirteen in mortal years, but... No wonder he struggled to connect with his friends. They might very well be strangers to him. Put all together, this information meant that the majority of Harry's changes had come from outside forces – one of whom had already presented her face, and another who lurked in the shadows under the mysterious claim of 'blood relation'. But how many more were involved? There were too many ephemeral maybes and could bes and mights. Albus Dumbledore had never been a fan of high-stake guessing games, which was why he avoided politics if at all possible.

“Harry,” Albus said quietly as oblique green eyes met his own without fear. “I think you and I need to have a serious discussion about what actually happened this summer.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, glancing in question to Severus and Remus who remained silent observers of the conversation.

“And this time,” Albus continued. “Calls for a bit of honesty on your part.”

“I didn't lie to you,” Harry replied, a curt note coming into his voice.

“Omitting and distorting the truth for the sake of deception is the same as lying, Harry.”

“I'm curious, Professor,” said Harry in that oddly deep baritone that had been bothering Albus ever since he'd first heard the boy speak. “Why would you ever think I'd talk freely about the private details of my life in front of two people I neither know nor trust?”

“When a student of mine endangers others, I have to take actions that I don't necessarily feel comfortable with or enjoy,” Albus replied. “It was your choices and your actions that brought you here, for you found it all too easy to lie to me in a more casual setting.”

“It was not my intention to lie to you.”  His words emerged lower, shakier than before, almost vibrating with emotion – Harry did not like being accused of lying. Nobody did, but for some reason it struck deeper here.

“Yet you did,” Albus replied without accusation. “And to my dismay, I found it all too easy to let you lie to me.” He felt of low pang of disappointment at how manipulative Harry's behaviour had become. And how easily the young man had found it to take advantage of his concern. It was a sort of callousness that reeked of psychopathy.

Remus leaned toward Harry. “Please, let us help you. We may be able to lighten your load, but you'll have to be honest with us.”

The boy's behaviour made an abrupt turnabout and it was as if something with teeth and claws had been startled from its nap in the sun. “I'm sorry, who the hell are you and why are you here?” said Harry, irritation and confusion vying for dominance in his expression.

Severus snorted with amusement.

“My apologies for interrupting your lesson today, Professor Lupin,” said Harry. “I didn't mean to derail things so horribly. But that doesn't change the fact that you are a complete and total stranger to me. I know why he cares –” Harry gestured to Albus. “It's his job. Professor Snape is here because he wants to be the first person to dance on my grave and I'll happily consign the honour to him. But I don't know you. Why are you here?”

“Your father – ”

“Was an utter asshole,” Harry replied.

“He finally sees the light,” Severus muttered.

Remus shot the dour man a dirty look. “– Was one of my best friends and – ”

“A ringing endorsement of your character, no doubt,” said Harry, picking up one of the small sandwiches and eating half of it in one bite.

It was an alarming indicator of much Harry had changed that when the boy felt cornered, he lashed out at others, turning from polite artifice to belligerence and antagonism.

Yet, interesting how it was Remus Lupin that roused Harry's anger and not Severus, who had a history of ill relations with him. Where did such fury come from? And why, of all places, did it spring up here? Albus was under the impression Harry had not known of Remus' connection to his parents.

Remus gritted his teeth, his expression becoming pained. “Your father trusted me with looking after you - ”

Harry interrupted him again, bitter anger slipping through the cracks in his nonchalant façade. “Which was a duty you've readily shirked for twelve years now. At least Sirius had an excuse for not being there. What's yours?”

Ah, thought Albus. You feel like you were abandoned into the care of the Dursleys. No wonder you disappeared with Hadrian Sharr – he might well have been the first person to show interest in your well-being for years.

Naked grief flashed across Remus' face. “Part of the blame for James' death lies on my shoulders -”

“And part of it also lies on the shoulders of Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape, and Tom fucking Riddle, Jr,” Harry snapped. “You could also go so far as to say that part of the blame also lies on my parents for defying Voldemort in the first place. So why don't you cut the bullshit?”

Severus Snape. My parents defying Voldemort.

'He knows,' Albus thought. 'Somehow, he knows.'

The angry young man sitting before him knew damn well who and what Remus Lupin was. He knew the prophecy and he knew who had heard it. He knew Albus had convinced his parents to go into hiding and he knew of the Fidelius charm.

And Albus had a sinking feeling he knew exactly who had told Harry of these things.

But how? How had Hadrian Sharr known? For that matter, who had told him?

“The real reason why you didn't show your face for over a decade isn't just grief,” Harry purred, eyes agleam with something Albus didn't want to name. It looked too much like satisfaction. “It's fear and guilt and self-loathing. And you've wallowed in it.”

Remus lost it, Harry being just as skilled as Severus at finding the young werewolf's buttons and wailing on them with the psychological equivalent of a steel mallet. “You're not the only one who's suffered because of their loss! Don't you ever accuse me of wallowing in self-pity!”

“I lost a hell of a lot more that night than you ever did!” Harry bellowed back, the rooms ringing with the strength of his voice. Even the mutter of the portraits had gone silent. Remus' jaw clicked shut.

“I lost my mother,” Harry murmured, the sound low and hard. “I lost my father. I lost my godfather. I lost my home. I lost any chance I might have had at growing up with people who loved me. And I lost you to selfish self-pity. So yeah, Lupin, you wallowed. As far as I'm concerned?”

Harry leaned forward into Remus' face, his words so forceful they were almost hissed. “Anything you do now is too little, too late. The only bearing you have on this situation is as a professor who was injured as a result of my actions in class. Don't pretend to be concerned when the only thing you're after is absolution for your absent sense of responsibility.”

“Then by your own words, wouldn't I also be remiss in my responsibilities if I allowed you to attack another student without penalty?” Albus replied into the cloying hush of the room.

Harry's hands tightened on the armrests of his chair as he silently turned to face Albus.

“Why would you feel it necessary to injure Mr. Bletchley?” Albus tipped his head and met Harry's cool stare over the rims of his spectacles. “You are facing a serious enquiry for your actions. Be very careful where you go from here.”

“There were more of them than there was of me,” was Harry's short reply.

“Yet you did not assail his companions,” said Albus, willing to match wits with the boy if that was what it took to extract the truth from him. “You focused your attack solely on Miles Bletchley.”

“He attacked me first.”  

“And why exactly did he warrant such retaliation from you? Self-defence is one thing Harry. Aggravated assault is another.”

“Considering the kind of curses he threw at me, why am I in here and he's not?” There was a distinct lack of petulance in the chill aplomb of Harry's voice.

“I will be interviewing Mr. Bletchley later once Professor Snape has determined whether or not he needs medical assistance,” said Albus. “However, it is your actions that have given me the most cause for concern. I know where Miles Bletchley learned his dogma. Yet I have no similar explanation for why or where you were taught that such behaviour is acceptable.”

Harry was silent.

Albus suppressed the sigh rising in his chest. “We are all responsible for what we do – whatever feelings you have towards Mr. Bletchley do not give you licence to maim. There is something you're not telling me. I'm asking you again, why would you feel it necessary – ”

“To put down Bletchley like the rabid dog he is? Trust me, professor, the world will be much better off without him.”

Remus Lupin jerked back in his chair away from the boy.

A pair of white-knuckled hands yanked Harry's chair around to confront Severus' furious, pinch-lipped stare. “Who are you to cast such judgement?” Severus snarled into the boy's face.

Harry's mouth curved into something that could almost be called a smile. “Because you lack the balls to do it yourself even though you know that his life means the death of a lot of good people. He doesn't deserve a second chance.”

Harry's words were said with the same cool calm as before, but they were heavy with the sort of undeniable gravity that said, this was what Harry believed to be true, that Miles Bletchley deserved to die based on personal politics and unfortunate psychosis.

“There are those who would say the same about you,” murmured Severus.

The young man didn't even flinch. “So be it.”

“What will you do, I wonder,” mused Severus in a low, mock-thoughtful tone. “With everyone else who disagrees with your way of thinking?”

“Nothing,” Harry replied as if the question hadn't even bothered him. “If they don't hurt me, I don't hurt them.”

Severus' response was desert-dry and sardonic. “How reasonable.”

“I can be,” said Harry with an almost pleasant manner, a small and clearly artificial smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Harry,” said Albus, redirecting the conversation back to its original goal. “I am very aware that the conflicts in Hogwarts and the lines dividing them are a reflection of the conflicts and party lines in the wizarding world at large.”

Harry tipped his head to the side, that indulgent little curl of the lip not leaving his face.

Albus frowned. “Yet I am beholden to this school to protect its students – even if it is from each other – and I will not in good conscience allow someone of your calibre, and your obvious willingness to injure others, free run of Hogwarts. I must have a place where all of my students are safe amongst their own peers.”

“Professor,” Harry began, his defiant expression replaced with worry and something that could almost be termed 'compassion'. “I hold no malice towards the students of this school. Bletchley was an exception to the rule. I know that you feel my actions are in the wrong – ”

Severus opened his mouth and Harry cut him off, raising a hand sharply in dismissal.

“... and maybe they were,” Harry continued, his manner focused and dead serious. “But the fact remains that it is easier for someone like me to take decisive action than for you to eliminate a threat to your students like Bletchley. Say what you will about what I've done. But Bletchley? He actively preys on people. His tastes run towards young Muggle women between the ages of fifteen and twenty-one. And let me tell you, sir – he's worked his way through more than a few.”

“Do you have any proof of your accusations?” asked Albus, not sure which unsettled him more: the idea that one of his students was a potential serial killer or that he had pair of budding young psychopaths on his hands.

Harry's jaw tightened. “At the moment? No. I've only just found out about it. But I bet if I went and took a look at missing persons reports in London, I'd find that a large number of young women have gone missing from there over the last seven months and nobody will have any good leads as to who or what happened to them. Bletchley's a smart fucker – he's been using the city as his hunting grounds 'cause who's going to question someone disappearing in London?”

Leaning forward, Harry gripped the edges of the desk as he was keeping himself from launching himself off the chair after Miles Bletchley. “I also have a hunch that he's been feeding the remains to the family pets – the Bletchleys being the leading griffon breeders of northern Europe – and that you will probably find an abundance of human bone fragments in the feeding pens.”

Albus smoothed the flyaway hairs of his moustache from his mouth as he mused over his options. The chiming of his clock seemed exceptionally loud in the silence of the room, three pairs of expectant eyes pinned on his form.

“Severus,” Albus said into heavy hush of the office. “I am reluctant to ask such a thing of you, but when you question Miles Bletchley – ”

Could he ask such a thing of Severus?

No. It was a cowardly to assign him a task Albus did not want himself – no matter how repugnant the idea of invading Miles Bletchley's mind was to him, it remained Albus’ responsibility to investigate Harry's accusations.

“I will look into the veracity of Potter's claims,” replied Severus.

Albus shook his head. “No. I will be there myself. I cannot disregard an accusation of this nature, despite the manner in which such information was acquired.”

Harry's lips thinned with frustration. “I refuse to feel guilty for bringing to light a danger you had no idea even existed until five minutes ago. How long do you think it would be before Bletchley started to go after the younger students here if I hadn't told you that he's a sick son of a bitch?”

“And that is why I am unable to trust you or your judgement any longer.” The sharp, thunderstorm smell of dark magic had thickened to the point where Albus felt his eyes begin to water. Albus folded his hands on his desk to keep from grasping his wand as he remembered how easily Harry shattered the wards that should have contained him. “Harry, you lack remorse, for what could have been the death of a student and on top of that, you also lack remorse for violating him in one of the worse ways imaginable.”

“Are you – ” said Harry, his expression showing the beginnings of shell-shock. “Are you accusing me of rape?”

Rain pattered against the windowsill, the brewing storm settling in for the afternoon.

Albus stared over the rims of his glasses at the young man before him. “I am telling you that what you did should be abhorrent to you.”

Knowing that if he cornered Harry, the young Sharr would dissemble a great quantity of absolute malarkey and disappear as readily as he had appeared on Platform 9 ¾, Albus proceeded with caution. “I know that you are battling the sort of internal demons that most do not face until much later in life. I know that you fear your demons a great deal and that on occasion, these urges will over-rule better judgement despite how hard you try to keep them locked away. I also know that I can't make you tell me why or how they came to exist,” said Albus, watching a flurry of emotions cross Harry's face.

The amount of dark magic coming off of Harry warped the shadows of the room, inky wisps of darkness writhing where they shouldn't have been like an inverted heat haze, the multitude of candles about his office dimming to an odd ashy hue. A musical series of cracks formed in the windowpanes, water beginning to seep through the places where glass rubbed against glass as the brittle material became unsettlingly flexible in nature. Albus got the disconcerting impression that the walls of his office were shivering in place, too subtle to see, but strong enough to make the whimsical knick-knacks on his bookshelves vibrate with a metallic chime.

“I know that you are just as capable of leaving this office as you were breaking in to it,” Albus continued, undaunted by Harry's impending loss of control. “I know that magically you are so far above the level of training offered in Hogwarts' curriculum that it's a wonder you even showed up for school this year. I know that physically you have developed far beyond your peers and I know that mentally you have matured in such leaps and bounds ahead most of the school that you struggle to connect with others here – let alone respect them.”

One of the arms of his dark magic detectors whirred in place fast enough that its metal joints glowed red-hot, scorching the top of his desk. Severus' wand was out and pointed at Harry, the ex-Death Eater well aware that it would only take a fraction of a second for the young sorcerer to bring the room down around them.

Albus did not drop Harry's furious green stare. “I know that you have been abused and neglected by your family, enough so that it has damaged your ability to trust others. I know that you fight to stay afloat of the anger this has caused. I also know that because of all these things you are almost completely isolated from the world around you.”

There was a grinding screech of metal as the dark magic detector began to melt, its arms grinding against each other as the base dissolved underneath it. The stench of burnt carpet filled the office as molten silver dripped off the edge of the desk and puddled on the floor, leaving behind a blackened trail of singed wood.

A sooty film formed over the windowpanes and from the corner of Albus' eye, it looked as if the rainwater was flowing up the glass. The armrests of Remus' chair creaked under his grip, his eyes the colour of polished brass as the wolf surfaced in response to Harry's threat.

“And I know that because of this,” said Albus, voice low and compassionate. “You are a very lonely young man.”

The room went still.

It was as if they'd all seen the bright flare of lightning and were waiting for the roar of thunder behind it.

Though the frantic undercurrent of motion had settled, his office still bore damage to the windows and walls, the candles still burning with a pale dusty flame. Water continued to seep through the cracked windowpanes as rain crawled up its surface. Harry stared at the destruction from under heavy lids and the light reflected in his irises held a strange, almost slick, iridescence, like the slow swirl of sugar-water in a cup of absinthe.

“But I am powerless to help you if you continue sabotaging your place here at Hogwarts,” Albus continued. “My hands are tied, Harry. I cannot allow you to keep lashing out at the students and teachers of this school and I cannot shield you from the consequences of your actions.”

“Meaning?” said Harry, an eyebrow arched in question.

“You assaulted another student with the intent to permanently maim him at the least, someone who could not protect himself from you and it is very likely that Mr. Bletchley and his family will choose to press charges for his injuries,” replied Albus, wondering how far he'd have to go in order for Harry to understand the seriousness of the situation.

Harry's lip curled with derision. “He'd have a hard time proving that he was the victim if he did so,” he said, tone flat and unamused. “Not only did he cast the first curse, he also outnumbered me. In a court of law, anything I did in retaliation would be ruled as self-defence.”

“That may be so,” said Albus, signalling for Severus to put away his wand. “But you will have a hard time convincing those of us gathered here that it was self defence and not something of a more sinister nature.”

“I'm being punished?” asked Harry, an incredulous note slipping into his voice as if the idea was so foreign that he was having a hard time wrapping his mind around the concept.

Albus' reply was unflinching. “Yes.”

Harry slapped a hand down on the heavy wood of Albus' desk and stood, running his hands through his hair as he paced. The end of Severus' wand peeked out of his sleeve and even Remus had made an aborted motion towards his pocket.

“What are my options?” Harry asked finally.

“It depends entirely on you, Harry. Truthfully, I am not even sure if it would be wise for you to continue at Hogwarts.”

“What if I left?”

Remus made a startled noise.

Albus tilted his head to better study the tall young man whose presence managed to fill his office without much effort at all. “Do you want to leave?”

“Yes.” The word emerged as more of a hiss than any sound made by a human throat, half-garbled like Harry wasn't aware it'd been waiting to escape.

Albus felt distraught at how emphatically Harry wished to be away from the one place he knew the boy had once regarded as a sanctuary. What had happened to change him so much? In hindsight, his behaviour almost made sense; Harry probably felt confined by the repetition of breakfast-classes he was too advanced for-lunch- more classes-dinner-sleep-wake up-do it all over again. For someone used to living independently with the freedom to do as he wished, such a routine would become monotonous and stifling.  

Harry was exhibiting destructive behaviour not just because he felt threatened, but also because the boy was crawling out of his skin with boredom.

“And into who's care would I be consigning you?” asked Albus, putting away his lingering sense of distress at Harry's answer. He'd asked for the truth. He'd gotten it in spades. “I cannot condone giving you back into the care of a dark wizard. Especially not when this – ” Albus gestured to the room around them. “...is what comes of it. Which is also why I will not allow you to return to your Aunt's home. I can't expel you either because as a minor, you would be remanded into the legal care of your closest magical relations.”

A muscle jumped in Harry's jaw, but he nodded in agreement. “Which on my father's side of the family would be through my grandfather's marriage to Dorea Black, and since Sirius is not an option, I'd be given to the Malfoy's.” Harry let out a soft huff of mocking laughter. “You'd be better off tying a bow around my neck and hand-delivering me to Voldemort himself.”

Albus' brows climbed his forehead. “Indeed. I also cannot let you off with a slap on the wrist and the loss of points as I'm certain neither would be an effect deterrent towards further misconduct.”  

“So, the truth is, I have no real options,” said Harry, his voice gone a flat, monotonic drone of sound. The young sorcerer's expression settled into chill, remote lines, like he was so removed from the situation at hand that there was all the personality of a stone shard behind those features.

“Not quite,” replied Albus, summoning the tea set sitting on a low table beside his bookshelves. Tapping the teapot with his wand, steam began to rise out of the spout as the porcelain warmed under his hands. Severus waved off Albus' offer as Harry sank down into his seat, the sorcerer's restless energy replaced with suspicion.

“Two sugars,” murmured Remus, wrapping a scarred hand around the delicate china.

Albus gestured to the cup before Harry with the teapot. The young man shook his head, choosing instead to tap his saucer twice, a violet light flaring over the bone china before the strong aroma of coffee mixed with the ozone tang of Harry's magic filled the air.   

Conjuration. Using dark magic. Was Harry even capable of non-tainted spells any more? Just how far had he delved into the dark arts? Harry bled off dark energy in such great amounts that Albus wondered if he was even aware of what he was doing.

Simply put, the young sorcerer had to attain a better level of control over himself and though disturbed as Albus was by Harry’s willingness to kill, Hogwarts was the only place safe enough for Harry to learn such discipline. There were rooms that had not been used for centuries, places with enough wards to ensure that Harry could cut loose without harming the other students. Under Albus’ watchful eye, the sorcerer could relearn his boundaries. And hopefully, Harry could do this without hurting himself either.

Albus was no fool, however much he may have played the dotty old jester on occasion. Chain him down and Harry would flee. Provoke him and Harry would attack. Any further probing would be met with extreme hostility and Harry would be delighted to lead them around and around in as many circles as it took to exhaust the subject.

But what could he offer that Harry would take seriously?

“Harry,” Albus intoned, catching the young sorcerer’s attention.

Green eyes flicked up to meet his own as Harry drank from his cup.

Albus did not like how quickly Harry cycled through his emotional spectrum back to nonchalance. “What can I do in this situation to restrain you? I acknowledge that it is not possible to do so without your consent.” Spreading his hands, Albus continued, “You've put me in a real quandary. My first loyalty is to the students of this school and while you are still a student, you are also only one of many. And you are out of control. You are a loose cannon on my campus.”

A part of Albus wondered if the young sorcerer should be allowed to live, if he would be better off removing Harry as a threat before he became a new Dark Lord. It was obvious that between Hadrian Sharr and Mab –

No.

Harry was not that far gone and Albus refused to even entertain the notion. The young man before him could still feel compassion towards those weaker than himself and that was something Tom Riddle had never been capable of.

“Which is why I have decided to remove you from Gryffindor House.”

Remus sucked in a startled breath of air and promptly choked on his tea.

“You can't be serious,” Severus stated flatly, disbelief taking over his neutral expression. “Where will you put him?”

Harry's face went eerily blank.

Albus pulled out a sheet of parchment crawling with tiny runic sequences. It shivered in his hands as he placed it in front of Harry alongside a short white quill taken from a dove's wing.

“You may stay at Hogwarts, but only if you swear an oath not to harm the students within these walls. Outside of this school, many of your peers will end up on opposing sides and I cannot keep you from choosing your own. But on these grounds, you will not raise a hand against them. Do you consent to this?”