Harry Potter and assorted characters are the property of J.K. Rowling. All situations outside of cannon are of my own design, although no disrespect is intended if any is perceived.

Shattered Core Syndrome

Prologue: Strange Occurrences

Dumbledore sat at his desk, puzzling over his latest problem(one of the many threatening to overwhelm him) in the form of a letter from Harry. He sighed greatly. It had been almost two months since the end of Harry's fourth term at Hogwarts, and the events of the previous year were weighing heavily upon his mind, showing the almost two centuries of life in his visage when a mirror was needed for his brief, and infrequent, bouts of narcissism. Harry's fourth year had been a disaster. That statement could easily and accurately describe the unrepentant hell that was the tri-wizard tournament as a whole, from the beginning to it's unexpected and heart wrenching conclusion.

Harry, from the start, had to endure the alienation of almost the entire school, with the exception of his good, and amazingly loyal friend, Hermione Granger. He endured the dirty, hate-filled looks, scathingly harsh whispered words behind his back, and loud denouncements of his character and integrity to his face, only to then have them do an about face and have the same students praise him, giving him kind smiles, hand shakes and accolades on his skill and tenacity in the face of adversity, seemingly forgetting their previous stance on his participation in the tournament against Mr. Diggory, of whom represented the same school.

None of this, though, affected him in anything but a truly superficial way, or so the boy had told him, with the known exception of the turned-back of one Ronald Weasley. No, the true tests had, in fact, been the tasks themselves. And, as the year progressed, it seemed as though Harry knew nothing but pain.

From the dragon to the Black Lake, and then to the hedge maze, Harry Potter did nothing if not suffer. Pain, whether physical or emotional, was a constant companion, and seemed to cloak the poor boy like a shadow in a dark room. It followed him, drank from his happiness like a vampire, and fed eagerly on his feelings of betrayal and rage at an unfair world; a world he was feeling less and less that he belonged to.

To his credit, Harry was, if nothing else, a good person, his actions in the latter two trials of the tournament showed as such. In the second round, in the Black Lake, he went against the rule of the mer-people and rescued both his intended target, one Ronald Weasley, and also fellow contestant Fleur Delacour's most beloved and cherished, her sister Gabrielle.

In the third and final task, Harry, as a show of good sportsmanship, shared the Cup with Mr. Diggory, failing to realize, through no fault of his own mind you, that the Cup had been turned into a portkey, whisking the two boys into a trap resulting in the death of Mr. Diggory at the hands of Wormtail(whose real name was Peter Pettigrew, the man who betrayed his parents, and all but killed them), and a grievously injured Harry Potter.

And then, as if to put icing on the cake, he was forced to duel his most hated foe, the reincarnated form of Lord Voldemort. After escaping with the body of Cedric Diggory, he was then taken by the DADA professor, one Alastor Moody, who Dumbledore would soon find out was in actuality Bartemius, or rather Barty, Crouch Jr., a man who was believed to be dead in Azkaban. After a short scuffle, Harry was saved, and the real Moody found in a magical trunk. The actions of the fake Moody(Crouch Jr.) resulted in his capture and subsequent demise at the hands of a dementor, by receiving The Kiss.

After the term ended, Albus Dumbledore had come to the conclusion that Harry might need some time to grieve, and all but ordered the Weasley's and Ms. Granger from contacting him, stating that he must be alone. The Weasley family accepted it immediately, while Ms. Granger took considerable time to finally acquiesce to his decree, albeit grudgingly, and with much complaint. The straw that had broken the camel's back had been the discussion about his safety; should the owls be tracked to No. 4 Privet Drive, Harry would be compromised and possibly harmed or killed. With that, Hermione broke down and gave in to his request. Never let it be said that she did not care for Harry.

After that, everything seemed to go back to normal, with the exception of the many letters from Harry asking if he had heard from Ron or Hermione, and why they hadn't replied to any of his messages and why they had been sent back unread. The letters had started off with simple requests to contact his friends and had quickly devolved into rants of why everyone was ignoring him.

Eventually, one month into the summer Hol's, the letters abruptly stopped. Although Albus thought it somewhat strange, he did not believe it to be cause for concern and summarily ignored it. Suddenly, two days ago, something truly peculiar did happen. One of the monitoring devices for Harry, simply out of the blue, exploded. It had been a little circular ball on a cube of strange metal, one that emitted a small amount of mist. The purpose of the device had been to monitor the boy's magical core growth. Although this had both surprised and caught the old headmaster off guard, what had been truly strange was what happened next.

It put itself back together. Perfectly. And then, as if nothing happened at all, it puffed out it's mist, as if trying to say "nothing to see here folks, move along". He had initially wanted to investigate this further, but since the piece had been put back together, and was incapable of being compromised or giving false readings, he didn't give it, specifically, much more consideration. Dumbledore did, after all, have more important things on his mind, key amongst them being how to locate and destroy Tom and his merry band of murderers, although he did give passing glances at the plethora of monitors, just in case it happened again.

Dumbledore sighed once more. He was digressing, and knew it. Just yesterday, he had sent Harry a letter, detailing when he would be picked up to be moved to Grimmauld Place and be with his friends, Godfather, and the Weasley family again, a location that he was incapable of putting to paper at this time. And then, earlier today, he received the letter he was currently trying to understand for the fourth time.

It wasn't that the letter held any real threats of violence or fears of any kind; actually it didn't seem all that irregular in it's own way, but there seemed a strangeness to the contents of the letter that made Dumbledore question its obvious, and potentially hidden, meaning. After careful review, he surmised that it had no hidden meaning (or if it did he was incapable of deciphering what it was) and, for all intents and purposes, it should not have raised a flag of concern within his heart. But it did. Once again, for the fifth time, he read the letter, trying valiantly to find some strange code of distress within the letter's words.

Dear Headmaster,

I thank you for your letter, and the permission to leave Privet Drive and visit with my friends, but it will not be necessary. I will be remaining here for the remainder of the summer Hol's, barring any unusual circumstances beyond my control. Although I do not like it here, I have found an activity that is occupying the majority of my time these days, and one that I cannot currently leave at the moment, as it needs all of my concentration.

It should be of no consequence by the time the term starts, but if so, then no real loss I would say. The Dursleys have been no more pleasant than they normally are, but we have reached an understanding, one that seems to benefit all involved. Once again, I must request that neither you, nor one of your liaisons, come and retrieve me, as there is nothing to be worried about, and I see no reason to leave so late in the summer.

Currently, I do not have anything of consequence to write about, as nothing of importance has happened any time in the recent past. Please give Ron and Hermione my warmest regards, seeing as how they are seeing fit to ignore my correspondence. I am now beginning to question my friendship with them, as they seem to no longer want to associate with me in any discernable way.

Although this saddens me somewhat, I am finding myself more and more indifferent to the prospect of being alone. It seems it is my destiny to live out the remainder of my existence in solitude, filled with the scorn of my peers... such is life, right Headmaster? I look forward to seeing you all upon my return to Hogwarts.

Sincerely,

Harry

Dumbledore sighed once more. There was something wrong. He could feel it, deep within his core, but was unable to identify what it was as of yet, and it was aggravating him to no end. The first half of the letter seemed...suspicious, and roused more questions than answers. Why did he want to remain at No. 4 now, when not more than a month ago he couldn't wait to leave? Why stay in a place he hates, when he could go to a place where his friends and godfather were waiting for him? Why stay someplace you didn't like?

What was this activity? What did it involve? Who else was privy to it? Why was it important? Why could it not wait or be moved, or done elsewhere? What was the common ground between him and the Dursley's? So many questions, but the answers were not forthcoming.

While the first part of the letter was strange and thought provoking, the second half was alarming, if only mildly so(to him at least, no telling how the others would receive it). Mildly, mostly due to the fact that the previous letters had much the same subject of concern: Abandonment, and if not that, betrayal and disgust, although the disgust was not directed at his friends, but at his perception of their apparent disgust at him for whatever reason. Dumbledore held no doubt within himself that the three teenagers would put aside their differences and become friends once more. Of that, he was most certain.

What really surprised him though, was the maturity of the letter, and what it seemed to lack. There were no real feelings to what was written, everything seemed to be cold, indifferent and giving the feeling of being fake, but for the life of him could not give a reason as to why it felt so. It was like Harry was putting on a show of normality on the outside, but on the inside he was apathetic; as if he didn't care, one way or the other.

He looked away from the letter and stared at the ceiling, pondering for a few moments. After almost half an hour of thinking to himself, he once again looked at the letter, this time not at the words, but the letters they were made from, and his eyes opened in surprise. While looking at the first paragraph, he noticed something peculiar. All of the letters looked exactly the same. There were no subtle nuances, no deviations from one "o" or "w" to the next.

After looking at the letter in its entirety once more, he noticed it was all the same. Every letter was perfectly similar to all of its self same counterparts that covered the parchment. It was as if they were made with a printing press, but it was obvious to anyone that they were written by hand, and that the script belonged to Harry. But for all intents and purposes, there was nothing wrong. As it stood, Dumbledore would respect Harry's wishes. Since there was no perceivable threat either way, he saw no reason not to. But, that did not mean he would not investigate the matter.

oOo0oOo

Over the next three weeks, he sent Harry two letters, both of which were nothing more that confirmations to previously stated desires for solitude, and questions pertaining to his "Activity", to which Harry replied affirmative to the former, and next to nothing consequential or informative to the latter. The second letter he sent had subtly bribed Harry with the prospect of being with his godfather, but the boy didn't bite.

Since there was no new news, he let the matter drop. Hogwarts would be opening its doors to learned and learning alike soon, so he would have to put his whole attention on that, as well as search for yet another DADA professor. A sad smile graced his aged features. Such was the life of a headmaster. He could no longer give any attention of note to the mystery of whatever it was that Harry was doing.

Dumbledore decided he would send one more letter as a last ditch effort. He was relatively certain that it would meet the same level of success as its predecessors, but some effort was better than no effort at all. After putting quill to parchment to compose a letter requesting his presence at No 12 Grimmauld Place(sans address of course), he rolled the parchment up and gave it to Fawkes, requesting that it go to Harry.

With a flash of phoenix fire, Fawkes made his departure. Not more than ten minutes later he returned, Harry's reply in beak. After reading it, and realizing it was the same response, simply worded differently, he gave a sigh, disposed of it, and turned his attention to another task; with the first day of term eight days away, he could no longer keep his attention on what seemed to be a lost cause. Besides, Albus Dumbledore thought to himself, he had more pressing matters to attend to after all.

oOo0oOo

Harry sat alone in his room, eyes on the point where Fawkes had flashed away mere moments ago. It was close to five in the afternoon, and normally at this time the sun would be at the right height to shine right into his room, as if focused on that one point specifically. But not today. Not today, yesterday, and not a month and some days ago or the time in between.

For the past 39 days, his room had been in absolute darkness. It wasn't that sunlight, or any light really, was harmful or detrimental to his continued existence... it simply irritated him, his eyes having become somewhat sensitive to light, forcing him to wear the obsidian shades that were perched atop his nose currently. Even though his shades were as opaque as the stone of the same name, he could see perfectly. His vision, once his greatest weakness, seemed to have become one of his greatest assets since "The Event".

Since "The Event", as he refuses to call it anything else, his body had undergone some rather drastic changes. He looked down at his right hand, clenching and unclenching his fingers into a fist rhythmically. As his eyes panned slowly left, he took note of one of the more major changes to occur. Currently he was nude, as he had been for the last three weeks, finding any type of clothing to cause unwanted physical irritation to his surprisingly sensitive skin. He dreaded, returning to Hogwarts, as that meant that he would once again have to don the itchy and uncomfortable fabrics of cotton and wool.

Or rather, he would have dreaded. For whatever reason, after the "The Event", he was incapable of feeling anything even remotely emotional in nature, whether it be fear, hatred, joy or love. He was emotionally dead now, and he knew, although he did not know how, that he should feel saddened by this, but was not able to muster up the appropriate sensation. It seemed it was beyond him. He felt... detached, for lack of a better term, like he was watching himself perform his various actions, instead of actually doing them.

As his eyes came to a stop on his left hand, he brought the appendage to his face and slowly turned it this way and that, spreading his fingers wide, only to collapse them into a fist and back again. He did not know specifically what it was that caused this... anomaly to happen to him; whether it was one big thing, or several small ones that came at him in quick succession, he could not say.

The only thing he could be certain of, however, was that time was running out for him. Fast. He didn't know how much longer his body would sustain its form, but Harry knew it wouldn't be more than a month at the most. At the least... possibly a week if he was lucky, but he was never known for his luck. However, even with his life thread thinning under the razors edge of the blades of the fates, he could not bring himself to be concerned with the knowledge of his impending demise looming over the horizon. There was only one thing on his mind, one final objective left to complete.

Yes... if everything went well, this could all be over. No more Dark Lord. No more Death Eaters. He had a plan to finish what was started oh so long ago. All he needed was for the opportunity to present itself, and then he could take out Voldemort for good.

And, if things went his way perfectly, he wouldn't be too far behind.

oOo0oOo

Recently acquired a spell checker program, and found a lot of misspelled words. Microsoft Word is shot on this computer so that's an out right there. fixed all(or all that I've found anyway) errors. I hate poor spelling, and do everything I can to prevent it. It ruins a story.