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Harry Potter and the Nexus of Magic by guardian
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Harry Potter and the Nexus of Magic

guardian

A/N: Ok, this, I think, will be the darkest, angstiest chapter ever. I mean, I'll make a bet you think I'm nuts at some point in the chapter. But I'd like you to continue, For I have found the proof (IMHO, naturally), That here never was a H/G. This, of course, would suggest there's something else. I offer my own ramblings in this chapter. Please have a bucket ready for the waterworks or vomit - I think it's going to be one of them one way or another. And please DO let me tell if you never want to see me post another chapter, ever. Yeah, It's gonna be that dark in this chapter. I promise that when I post the next 2 chapters, they'll be all about humor and romance and flowers - it'll blow your socks off (assuming noone tells me to forget about writing H/Hr fic because of this chapter).

Disclaimer: HP belongs to JKR yadda-yadda-yadda…

Your deepest fears

The next morning Harry woke up to find the bed empty. That made him worry a bit. Then he smelled the smoke of something burning - that made him worry a lot. Had the Death Eaters found the house despite the wards? Had they set it on fire? Had they gotten Hermione?

"HERMIONE!!!" he yelled, panicked. He stormed out of the room without bothering to put more clothes on. You don't start dressing when you wake up in the morning and think the house is on fire.

"Down in the kitchen, Harry!" he heard her voice.

'Thank God! At least she's still alive!' Harry thought as he jumped over the railing of the stairs. Then he heard her curse profoundly. 'What? She's never cursed before! This is serious! AND I HAD TO FORGET MY WAND, DAMN IDIOT!!!' Harry stormed into the kitchen, determined to go out swinging, and found…

Hermione, in front of the oven, cursing like a sailor who had just learned his port leave had been cancelled. There was a frying pan over the fire and on it Harry saw…something. And that something was burned into an unrecognizable mess. Hermione was trying to adjust the fire, mix the stuff on the pan and wave off the stench at the same time. Her hair was clinging to her and beads of sweat were running from her forehead.

"Whoa, whoa, WHOA! What are you doing, girl!" Harry yelled. He waved his hand, trying to get rid of the smell, wishing for the mess on the frying pan to disappear. Hermione must have used the Evanesco spell at the same time, because the next moment the burned goo was gone and the air seemed to approach breathable levels again. Hermione remained standing at the oven with her back to Harry and crossed her arms over her chest. Harry took hold of her waist and lifted her away from the oven, then turned off the fire.

"Well, so much for my brilliant idea of making you breakfast, Harry," Hermione said in an angry tone. "Who would have thought my cooking skills matched my skills in Potions!" She threw the cooking utensils into the sink with a clang.

"There's nothing wrong with your Potions skills, Hermione."

"Hah! Says the new teachers pet!" she gave him an angry glare.

"Well, Slughorn was loads better than Snape. For once I could actually concentrate on my potions instead of doing all I could not to just grab my cauldron and whack Snape on his greasy head with it," he grinned. "When I was preparing the potions I approached it like cooking, you know. It really made it a lot easier for me. Did you know that in all the years when I was made to cook for the Dursleys they never once complained about the food? They always complained about my hair, my clothes - which was funny actually because they used to be Dudley's, and everything else that had the remotest connection to me, but never about the food."

"You know, I wondered why I had such trouble with the potions last year," Hermione said after a pause. "I mean, I blamed Snape's old book for your better results but that never stopped me from brewing the correct potion before, now did it? I wondered why despite following the instructions from the book to the letter I still couldn't get them right - and it had to be my fault, right? Many others had learned from those same books and managed to brew the correct potions, but somehow I couldn't…and you could." She seemed to be in deep thought for a while before continuing. "I thought it was only because of that damn book before but now I'm not so sure about it anymore. Slughorn told us so many times how talented your Mum had been, maybe you did inherit her skills?"

"Well, not according to what Snape said," Harry told in a bitter tone. "Besides, it was you who got an O in Potions OWL. I only got an E, remember?"

"Harry, you managed to get an E despite Snape, and that's saying something. Anyone else would have gone mental long before our fifth year from the treatment Snape gave you," Hermione rolled her eyes. "I always wanted you to do as well as me, just never, well…better, I guess," she finished slightly embarrassed.

"Maybe you're right," Harry consented. "However, now that we are on the subject of OWLs," he looked her in the eye." How come you got an E in your Defense OWL?"

Hermione's face went red and she looked away from his gaze.

"Oh, that," she mumbled. "It was that bloody Boggart again!"

"What?!" Harry exclaimed in surprise. "Not McGonagall again, was it?"

"No, it wasn't Professor McGonagall. It was someone else…" Hermione seemed reluctant to continue on the topic.

"Come on, Hermione! You got to tell me! What if we meet one when we're out there hunting Tommy's soul and run into a boggart? C'mon, tell me! Maybe it will help…" Harry pushed her on.

"Ok," she mumbled. "It was…" It sounded like she had coughed at the end. Twice.

"Say again?"

"I said it was Cho Chang!" Hermione's cheeks flamed up.

"Cho?" Harry asked, stunned. "Why are you afraid of her? What did she say?"

Hermione looked very uncomfortable and began twisting her hands. Seeing no way out of it she took a deep breath and said: "She told me you two were back together - a couple, you know, and that you thought I was ugly and you didn't have any feelings towards me. Any feelings at all. That you only pretended to be my friend so I would help you with your homework. That I had no real friends." A single tear formed in the corner of her eye and ran down her cheek. How much she'd like to do it, she couldn't lift her eyes to look at his expression. "I must have stood there listening to her ramblings for a few minutes at least before I could think again and banish it."

"Hermione!" Harry said in a hollow voice. "Surely you didn't believe a word of that bullshit?"

"I…I don't know, Harry!" she sobbed, more tears falling from her eyes now. "It WAS my deepest fear, you understand? I couldn't help but wonder if it was true! And then when we met at Burrow, I felt like something was missing between us - something that had always been there, but I didn't understand what, and I still don't know what it is! And then you used that bloody book! I though that if you could use a book to get an unfair advantage over other students, then maybe…maybe it WAS true? And then when you faked slipping Ron Felix Felicius before the match - I was almost convinced it was true! That you didn't care!" She seemed to be on the verge of collapsing and Harry quickly stepped to her and crushed her in a hug. Hermione started to cry on his shoulder uncontrollably.

"I swear to God I'll punch her lights out should I ever see her again!" Harry snarled. "And that bloody Boggart's, too!" He heard Hermione snort through the tears. He leaned back a bit and lifted her chin gently so she was looking directly at him. "I would do everything I can to erase that memory from your mind, Hermione," he said softly.

"You would?" she blinked through the tears.

"Even better," Harry answered her. "I will." And he leaned his head forward, looking into her eyes, and kissed her on the lips.

He had kissed Cho - which he had described as wet and would now probably make him throw up if he thought too hard about it. Then he had kissed Ginny - it had been an act of impulse and need. But kissing Hermione…It felt so bloody good and right - the only word to describe the feeling of her soft lips meeting his described in his mind everything she did or was. Perfect. Just bloody perfect. Like flying on a broom, kissing her felt like something he could do perfectly without trying - without conscious thought. He wished Time would take some 'time off' so the kiss could go on forever. Their lips were brushing against each other and their mouths parted to let their tongues get tangled up in a dance that sent electricity through their bodies. And then it grew passionate - six years of a girl and boy knowing each other as best friends was transformed in a deep kiss that was no more a mere tingling electricity but the flame of a dragon's breath. All-consuming. Unfortunately, it consumed air, too.

When the two parted their lips for some desperately needed air there was no regret for what had happened, nor would there ever be. Harry was content to just breathe for a moment. Hermione still looked like she could fall over any moment, but for completely different reasons than before.

"Wow!" she let out with her breath.

"I take the bad memory has been banished forever?" Harry asked her.

"Harry! After a mind-blowing kiss like that I need to be put in the same ward with Lockheart in St.Mungo's!" Hermione replied with a dazed look on her face. "I think it totally wiped out everything else in there!"

"With Lockheart, eh?" Harry feigned jealousy and disappointment. "I knew you still had a crush on him!" he pouted. That finally made her laugh.

"Oh, you're impossible, Harry!" She dried her eyes and looked around. Suddenly her eyes popped wide. "Harry! Your training! You're going to be late if you don't hurry!"

"OH SHIT!" Harry yelled when he looked at the time. Seems Time hadn't been cooperative and moved on while they were lip-locked. He sprinted up to his room, pulled his clothes on and ran out of the house. He was relieved to see Bruce still waiting at the hedge.

"Ah, see you decided to continue after yesterdays lesson. Very brave of you," Bruce grinned. "No sore spots from yesterday?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I think I would be stiff and aching all over but turns out a girl I know is an excellent masseuse," Harry grinned back.

"Excellent! I hope she's available tonight, because you're definitely need a massage after today," Bruce informed him when they walked into the training room.

"So what're you going to teach me today?"

"First I'll check out your falling skills the hard way, then we proceed to disarming techniques. When your hands get too numb I'll show you a few exercises to improve your strength and reaction time. Let's get started."

Harry found that he got the knack of falling, at least, very fast. Bruce threw him hard and fast, but he managed to correctly react to all but one of Bruce's attacks. Bruce had faked a punch to his face and Harry had prepared himself accordingly, but Bruce suddenly crouched down and grabbing his ankles, pulled his legs from beneath him. The fall blasted the air out of his lungs and he hit his head hard on the padding. It took him a while to clear the spots swimming before his eyes and continue with the training. Bruce consoled him saying that this technique always worked the first time it was used on someone. Determined not to get suckered twice in a day Harry paid careful attention to Bruce's teachings for the rest of the lesson.

When they progressed to disarming techniques Harry knew right away that these would be of tremendous help against opponents even with a wand if he got close enough. They used a wooden knife imitation during training and it was close enough to a wand in Harry's mind. Of the many different techniques Bruce showed him two became instantly his favourites. The first one involved using your hands to slap the opponents weapon out of his hand - one hand hitting the inside of the wrist on the hand holding the weapon, with the other hand slapping the armed hand just below the knuckles. As Bruce explained it, it would force the hand open and send the weapon flying out of reach. When Harry asked for a demonstration Bruce slapped Harry's hand so expertly that it felt numb for a good two minutes and sent the wooden knife soaring through the paper wall of the training room. Bruce mentioned that as it needed both hands it was especially effective when performed unexpectedly, like raising your hands like in surrender, then suddenly slapping the opponents weapon away. The second technique was a slightly circular kick to the back of the weapon hand. It knocked the weapon away from the defender, or in case the defender was very luck or very skilled - like Bruce - it was possible to hit the hand in a specific spot that would cause it to open and send the weapon flying. After Harry had mastered both of them the walls of the training room were in serious need for some repair. When Harry asked why hitting a certain spot would have a more effective result Bruce told him of pressure points - specific points on a human body that when pressed - or hit - would cause a strong reaction or sharp pain. Harry asked for a more specific demonstration.

"Ok, Harry, now pay very careful attention to what I'm going to show you. This will be of much use to you in your life when you get older," Bruce was grinning again. Then he suddenly punched Harry in the shoulder. Sharp pain shot through his arm, leaving it numb after it's passing. "Now by some freaky mistake of nature every female of our species seems to have an intimate knowledge of this particular pressure point and the skill to nail it without failure. After countless generations of suffering, luckily for us a subtle counter-technique was invented. You just need to twitch your shoulder just a millimetre for the hit to miss and by faking the pain they'll never know the difference! This way they feel their need of revenge - or whatever caused them to hit you in the first place - satisfied without you feeling any of the pain."

"Thanks a lot, Bruce," Harry managed, rubbing his sore shoulder. Bruce continued with the training after a while.

When the training ended Harry suddenly remembered his conversation with Hermione. Without knowing how or why he was suddenly asking Bruce some strange questions.

"Er, Bruce? Do you know of any ways to help a person deal with their fears?" Harry asked timidly.

"What kind of fears are we talking about, Harry?" Bruce asked, looking Harry straight in the eyes. Harry got the feeling he had sometimes with Dumbledore before - like someone was taking an x-ray of his brain.

"All kinds of fears…Wall to wall, deepest fears and full-blown nightmares." Harry felt very self-conscious asking those questions, but if he could help Hermione deal with her fears, he'd do anything. It was certainly worth asking a few embarrassing questions.

"There are, Harry," Bruce nodded after a while. "Some are simple meditation techniques…Others, the most effective but dangerous ones, are quite tricky."

"Dangerous ones?" Harry asked.

"Yes," his teacher said. "The Orient like the Western world, was quite a violent place in past times. Wars happened, and other things that caused violence more horrible than a human mind can take. To help those minds, a technique was invented - by inhaling the smoke of special herbs the mind was put in a trance where it is confronted with its deepest fears. The mind has to understand and recognize them to heal."

"Ok, I get it so far. What's the dangerous part?"

"It is possible that when confronted with the fears, the mind can snap - break," Bruce told in a deadly serious voice. "In other words, you'd go barking mad." Bruce shook his head as if to chase away unpleasant thoughts. "Human mind is a fragile thing and our knowledge of its workings is still quite limited. Many things can damage it - fear and pain being the most common."

"Yeah," Harry swallowed hard, remembering the spell damage ward in St.Mungo. The Longbottoms. Driven mad by pain.

"In my years working for the DA I have seen it happen a few times - the minds breaking under pressure," Bruce was saying, Harry noticed suddenly.

"The WHAT?" Harry sure was surprised to hear this. 'How the hell could Bruce be connected to the DA? What the hell was he talking about? Had Hermione gone international with the DA behind my back?' were some of the thoughts jumbling through his mind.

"The DA? District attorney - the public prosecutor, you know?" Bruce explained.

"OH!" 'OK, that made sense…' Harry thought to himself. "Er, Bruce, would you be able to teach me how to do it?"

"Why, Harry? You seem sane enough. Why risk your sanity?"

"I've been through a lot," Harry decided to give Bruce a good enough answer while avoiding the truth - that he wanted to be able to help Hermione should her fears overcome her. He planned to go through it himself, anyway before even thinking about suggesting it to her. "My parents were killed by a maniac when I was one year old." He lifted his hair away from the scar. "The bastard carved this on my forehead. Then one of my friends was killed in front of me. I had nightmares for months. And then my godfather, the best friend of my parents and my only link to them, was also killed in front of me. Guess what - almost less than a week ago the headmaster of my school got murdered by one of the teachers. Bingo! You're right! Right in front of my eyes, again!" Harry hadn't planned to get sarcastic or angry or…whatever he was feeling. Harry looked at Bruce. He was scared for a moment at what he saw in his eyes - like endless, terrible rage directed at the whole world for letting something like that happen to anyone. Then Bruce blinked and Harry was left wondering if he was imagining things.

"All right, Harry, I'll help you," He heard Bruce tell him. "It will take some time, however, before I get the necessary components. I have gone through this myself once, so I know you'll be in for a rough ride, just so you know."

"Thanks, Bruce," Harry said quietly. "Can I ask you…why did you use it?" Bruce was considering it hard - to tell him or not - Harry understood. Finally he nodded.

"I'll tell you. It'll be very - emotional, I think, so we better get prepared for it. Come with me." Harry followed Bruce through the house to what must have been the kitchen. He pulled out a bottle of strong alcohol and two glasses. "I might get in trouble for offering you a drink as you're probably not yet 18, but I sure as hell cant go through this story sober. So whenever you feel like you need a drink…" Bruce poured the liquid into both glasses.

"First of all, I'm not really a Muggle as you might have thought, Harry," Bruce dropped the hammer. Harry was just speechless. "I know you're a wizard - I have seen your wand. I'm not a wizard myself, though - and not a Squib either." Bruce took one of the glasses and drank it. "I got enough magic in me to be a wizard, but I gave up magic."

"What?" Harry couldn't help but ask. "Why?" He didn't understand why someone would give up magic. It was the best thing that had happened to him - when he found out he was a wizard.

"Because of the way I learned about magic." Bruce was pouring himself another drink. Pain was beginning to show through his expression of calm.

"What happened, Bruce?"

"What do you know about how magic is performed before the kids with magical talent are thought how to consciously use it?"

Harry thought for a minute. He himself had used magic on several times before being told he was a wizard, be realized. He remembered the times strange things had happened when he tried to escape Dudley and his gang, when Aunt Petunia had cut his hair and so on. He also remembered Neville's comment about his uncle or someone had tried to scare him to make him perform magic - finally succeeding when he accidentally dropped Neville out of the window.

"It happens when the kid is very scared, or angry I guess," he said.

"Exactly, Harry. When the kid is scared or angry. When I was about eleven, something happened that made me very scared and angry - and on that day Hell wrote my name in its Guest book." Bruce emptied his glass for the second time before continuing. "Some kids have remarkable talent for cruelty. They learn to enjoy the pain they cause. There was one like that in the school I attended at the time. He was the big bullying kid who everyone was afraid of - me included. And one day he came after me. I tried to defend myself, but he was bigger, stronger, and meaner. He beat me up badly. I got scared…and I got angry. And I wished to hurt him the worst way possible. And the kids head just snapped back - all the way back."

Harry's shaking hand found the other glass and somehow managed to get it to his lips without spilling it all over. He drained it all in one go. The burning sensation was a momentary distraction his mind needed at that moment rather badly. Bruce filled the glasses and they both drained them again.

"Then those strange looking guys showed up, but there was nothing they could do. The kid was dead. Lesson number one - magic cant bring back the dead." Pain and bitterness were now clear on his face. "So there I was - an eleven year old kid who found out that magic existed by napping another kids neck. They tried to remove the memory of it from my mind. Nothing worked. It was stuck in there," he knocked his finger on his head. "So I heard of this technique and as I was almost mental by that time, anyway, I though what the heck, its worth a try."

"Did it help?" Harry asked in a shaky voice.

"I can't tell you what will happen during the trance, Harry. It's different for everyone. But I can say that it helped." Bruce drained his glass again but didn't pour it full again. "The memory is still there and it still hurts as hell, but I'm able to live with it. I didn't take the step into the wizarding world but I know of its existence - after all, nothing could make me forget. But I decided to dedicate myself to help others make this world a bit better - I've worked with the DAs and different law enforcement agencies all over the world. Bad things still happen and I try to help if I can."

"You helped me, Bruce," Harry said. "I'm on a quest of some sorts to make this world a better place, too, and you've given me a better chance at succeeding at it."

Bruce looked up from his empty glass. Seeing honesty in his green eyes he nodded to him.

"Thanks, Harry. I think it's time for you to get home now. And try to avoid any loud noises in the morning," he grinned.

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The next day arrived bringing both to Harry and Hermione invitations to Bill and Fleur's wedding. The date had been set - 30th of July. As Ron's letter that came with the invitations explained - the male Weasleys, meaning the overwhelming majority, had suggested the date so they could have a non-stop two-day party. First, the wedding - and then Harry's birthday. Ron also apologized for not being able to be with them at the house because he was really busy at the Burrow until the wedding. Harry and Hermione wondered a lot about what was going on there that required Ron's help. Otherwise they continued their routine - for Harry that meant training with Bruce until afternoon and then studying spells with Hermione. His training with Bruce was going remarkably well - even Bruce was impressed. After two weeks of unarmed training they had finally proceeded to start training with the sword. It really meant that in the beginning they were using two wooden poles of the same length as the swords to avoid cutting each other to pieces. Harry's reflexes had improved a great deal and now with daily training and not being forced to feed on Dursleys leftovers was beginning to grow some muscles. Somehow that seemed to make Hermione happier than Harry himself. His spellwork, however, left him disappointed. He learned the spells quickly enough, but for some reason he still had trouble casting them without saying the incantations. He felt like there was a mental block on his abilities to use magic.

One day in the third week of his training Bruce informed him that he'd get the necessary components for the trance technique for the coming weekend. He suggested to use the trance on Saturday and to make plans for a relaxing Sunday with his friends. Hermione suggested taking a day off on Sunday and having a movies night at her parent's house with Ron. They owled Ron and he promised he'd be there.

Harry's swordsmanship had improved alarmingly fast. When he told him about his second year and the basilisk, Bruce had been impressed. Harry and Bruce became good friends - probably because they both could relate to each others suffering in a way few people could, or because they were a couple of good guys, or probably because they were just meant to become good friends - who ever knows why these things happen?

Suddenly Saturday was there and Harry found himself sitting cross-legged in Bruce's training room. Bruce had brought in a low table, a candle and a small metal bowl with thin long legs filled with herbs. Bruce placed the low table in front of Harry, the candle on the table and the bowl over it so the candle would heat it when it was lit.

"Ok, Harry, this is it," Bruce said. "Hope to see you sane and healed on the other side. I only have one more thing to say before we begin - keep your eye on the candle and don't blink, and everything you'll hear will be the truth." With that Bruce lit the candle and left the room, sliding the door closed after him.

Harry gazed into the flickering flame doing his best not to blink. 'Just how long should I keep it up?' he wondered, inhaling the bitter scent of the herbs. 'Bitter memories, bitter scent,' he thought, keeping his eyes on the candle. Suddenly the flame seemed to go dark. He blinked.

'Crap, this is not good,' Harry thought when all light suddenly disappeared. He couldn't see a thing, even his own hand in front of his face. He slowly reached for the candle, thinking it had gone out, but there was nothing in front of him besides the empty floor. 'Do I have to find my way out of darkness? Very deep!' he chuckled to himself. He had never been afraid of darkness as far as he could tell.

He started walking towards where he assumed the door was in the dark room, one hand stretched ahead. He counted his steps. '1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10…Ok, I didn't think I was taking so small steps - must be the effect of the darkness. 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17...This is getting ridiculous! Where's the goddamn door! I can't be walking in circles!' He started running. After running for what he felt like 10 minutes he came to a stop. Nothing but darkness surrounded him.

"Hello?! Anybody here!?" he called.

"There sure is, Harry," came a sudden hiss in a voice he couldn't recognise.

"Who's there?!" Harry shouted.

"Don't you remember, Harry? It's your fear." The hissing was getting on his nerves.

"Where are you!" he shouted again.

"We're before you!" a hiss came in front of him - he jumped a step back.

"We're behind you!" a second hiss came from behind him - he turned around quickly but it was only darkness.

"We're all around you!" came a whole chorus of hissing sounds seemingly from everywhere at once.

Seriously spooked now, Harry tried to remember what he was supposed to do. 'The mind has to recognize them to heal,' he suddenly heard Bruce's words in his head. 'Of course! My deepest fears! I have to recognise them,' Harry thought.

"Ok, my deepest fear is Voldemort!" he said out loudly.

Instead of the darkness lifting or something similarly epic, he somehow got the feeling that the darkness was gloating over him.

"My deepest fear is Voldemort!" the hissing mocked him. "You really have no idea, Harry, do you? We think you'll stay with us for a long time, Harry…until you break, snap, go barking MAD!!!" the last word was like a thunderclap.

Harry was beginning to panic for real now. Bruce had told him what happened to people who had failed. He really didn't want to share a room with Lockheart.

'Ok, think, Harry, think! You can do this! Hermione's not the only one who can solve the puzzles, just look at how you got past the sphinx in the maze at the Tri-Wizard Tournament!' Harry tried to bolster himself. 'Now think! How would you recognize your deepest fear? Think!' And the answer was dead easy, of course. 'A boggart! A boggart takes the shape of what you fear most! My boggart takes the shape of a dementor!' Harry suddenly felt rather pleased with himself.

"Fine! My deepest fear is a dementor!" he shouted out triumphantly.

"Wrong again, Harry!" the darkness hissed, the voice full of wicked pleasure. The darkness seemed to deepen even more with every false answer he gave. "Wrong AGAIN!!!" Now he felt like someone had stuck his head in a cannon and then fired the bloody thing.

'What!? It can't be! A boggart DOES take the shape of what a person fears most! IT'S A BLOODY DEMENTOR FOR ME!!!' Harry was shouting inside his own head.

"Why?" a voice suddenly asked. It wasn't the hiss he associated with the darkness. It was something familiar, something he should have recognized, he thought, but couldn't.

"Why what?" he asked, surprised by another voice besides the hissing, but there was no reply. 'Ok, lets think some more, Harry! Why? Why what? Why a dementor? That's it! Why is my boggart a bloody dementor?! Lupin said that dementors feed on happy memories, and that because of my boggart is taking the shape of a dementor - the thing I fear most is fear itself? Ok, this is nonsense…I feel like I'm going in circles here. Dementors suck away happy memories - let's continue from there…I'm afraid of loosing my happy memories? Great going, Harry! Continue like this and we'll be out of here by the next millennium! Besides, I don't have many happy memories to begin with…only a couple of happy memories about my friends. Friends? Ok, I'm thinking about the same things over and over - fear, friends, memories, Voldemort…Fear, friends, memories, Voldemort, fear, friends, memories, Voldemort…Shit, this isn't helping!' he thought in growing frustration.

'What the hell am I supposed to do?! I can't help my friends while I'm locked up in my own bloody head, moaning about what my greatest fear is! Fuck, I probably couldn't even help them if I wasn't locked up in my own fucking head! What the hell would I do if I was out there?!' Harry was getting angrier as his thoughts turned to the events of last year. 'I thought I was good at DADA, I even got a bloody Outstanding OWL in it, but what was it worth? NOT A DAMN THING! I was lying up there on the luggage rack with my wand at ready when Malfoy jumped up and petrified me. Petrified me! Petrificus totalus! It's a fucking two-word incantation shouted at me, and I'm just lying there and getting hit with it, when a simple Protego would have been all I needed! I was there when Cedric got killed! I was there when Sirius got killed! I WAS THERE WHEN ALBUS FUCKING DUMBLEDORE WAS KILLED AND COULDN'T DO SHIT ABOUT IT!!! JUST HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO KILL VOLDEMORT IF I COULDN'T SAVE ANY OF THEM!' he was now raging in his own mind, living through the pain and suffering of his last years. 'WHERE WAS THAT DAMN POWER THE DARK LORD KNOWS FUCKING NOT WHEN I NEEDED IT MOST?!! DIDN'T DUMBLEDORE HINT THAT IT WAS LOVE?!! WASN'T I FOR FUCK'S SAKE IN LOVE WITH GINNY?!!' he roared.

"Were you?" the quiet voice asked again.

That shut him up. 'Were I?' the question shocked him to the core. 'Of course I was, how couldn't I be? Didn't I notice her smell in Amortentia?'

Suddenly again, words surfaced from his own mind in Professor Slughorn's voice. 'Amortentia doesn't really create love, of course. It is impossible to manufacture or imitate love. No, this will simply cause a powerful infatuation or obsession. It is probably the most dangerous and powerful potion in this room…'

Harry's jaw hit the lowest floor of Hell. It must have. 'How the fuck did I become so stupid? I thought I caught Ginny's perfume in Amortentia, and it being the "love potion", I assumed I was in love with her? SNAPE WAS FUCKING RIGHT!!! I'M A GODDAMN IDIOT WHO DOESN'T KNOW A THING ABOUT POTION-MAKING!!! I'M A GODDAMN IDIOT WHO DOESN'T KNOW A THING ABOUT ANYTHING, LEAST OF ALL ABOUT LOVE!!! HOW COULD I IF THE MOMENT I SMELL A GIRLS SCENT IN A LOVE POTION, I SUDDENLY THINK IM IN LOVE WITH HER!!!' Harry felt like a heavy load had been lifted from his heart despite his conclusion that he was already barking mad. 'Well, nothing to loose now' he thought. 'Might as well find out what else have I screwed up…'

'I wasn't in love with Ginny. Check. So who was I in love with? What is love? What would Hermione say? Probably that my mind is broken enough as it is already and to stop talking to myself,' he sighed. Then he blinked. 'My mind is broken enough already…That's why I'm in this trance…So the real question is…what happened to my mind? What broke it?'

Now it was her voice that surfaced from his mind. 'I…I don't know, Harry! It WAS my deepest fear, you understand? I couldn't help but wonder if it was true! And then when we met at Burrow, I felt like something was missing between us - something that had always been there, but I didn't understand what, and I still don't know what it is!'

Harry realized this was the crucial clue. Something had been missing between them when the year had started. That meant that the damage had been done before that.

'So what was it? Umbridge driving me mad? Sirius falling through the Veil? U-No-Poo possessing me? It could be any of them…'

And then he heard his own panicked voice, begging…

'Don't let her be dead, don't let her be dead, its my fault if she's dead…'

There is a room in the Department of Mysteries that is kept locked at all times. It contains a force that is at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than the forces of nature. To feel it in one moment - and feel like it's been ripped away from you the next is enough to kill anyone, not just break their minds. Human mind is a fragile thing - it is easily broken, but not completely without it's defences. If something threatens it, it will protect itself. Should a feeling as powerful as love be suddenly ripped from it, it would block it off completely until the threat has passed. But what if the mind has already been damaged? It will heal…slowly but surely. It might take about as long as a year.

"I was afraid I had lost her forever and I'm afraid I might loose her again, for real and forever," he said.