The Pale

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related terms and characters are the property of JK Rowling. The use of copyrighted material is for non-profit entertainment purposes only, and in no way constitutes a challenge to the existing copyright.

A/N: I took up this challenge from Ancient Werewolf, which comprised the following:

***

Sixth or seventh year fic, obviously AU.

Earlier that summer, Ron, Harry, and Hermione lose a bet to Ginny (come up with something creative!) and are forced to take Muggle Studies.

Harry and Ron think it's pointless, but Hermione's studious side takes over and she takes it seriously. Aside from that, she and Harry are becoming more than friends. Ron is jealous (don't jerk!Ron him).

Anyway, the professor of Muggle Studies is new, an old lady who convinces Dumbledore to let her take the students to an old hotel that Muggles think it's haunted. She says "to study about group psychology".

Obviously, she gets what she wants, and they all go to a remote place where an old, huge, and battered hotel stands.

Being all magical and knowing about ghosts and all, students think it's very boring. Until students start going mad, killing each other, appearing dead (dismembered, etc.), and all the gory stuff that happens in good movies.

How are Harry, Hermione, and Ron going to get out of the hotel alive?

You can include any other characters in the class, also a year above or below.

REQUIREMENTS:

* Must include a bet between Ginny and the trio, during summer.

* Ron must be jealous of H/Hr, but given depth and not made into an idiot. Jealousy must last a lot, he can't suddenly be okay with H/Hr.

* At least 30 students must go with the old lady to the hotel, and can be from the same year, or a year above, or a year below from the trio. Can be of all four houses.

* Survivors must be few. I won't get mad if Ron doesn't make it.

* The old lady must be discovered to be evil. lol, I know you saw it coming.

***

Naturally, this story screams 'fun' to me. Not only does it allow for some sappy romance and character building, but I get to slaughter children for no other reason that pure sadistic entertainment! On top of that, I see a very interesting story twist coming out of this. Ah, the joys of being evil.

The setting is AU 6th year. Voldemort's return has been confirmed, attacks on Muggles have increased, and suspicious wizards in dark robes have been spotted with greater and greater frequency. The wizarding community has turned to its leaders for support, and the Ministry is hastily backtracking, solidifying its position behind Dumbledore.

This will be a 5-chapter story, with the intention of leading into a follow-up.

Thanks to Ancient Werewolf for the challenge!

Next in line after this chapter:

1) More Equal than you Know, Chapter 11;

2) The Meaning of Father, Chapter 4;

3) The Sir Harry & Princess Hermione challenge from Artemis Day (long one-shot).

Merry Christmas to everyone who celebrates!

~TOW

The Burrow

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The Nightmare is always the same:

"HARRY!"

Her cry of pain echoes in his head as the curse slices through her, tearing through skin, then muscle, then bone... Her face locks with his as she falls away, her eyes wide and uncomprehending. He valiantly locks his gaze to her face, willing himself not to look at her legs and waist, still standing while her torso falls away. It seems an eternity before the knees buckle, and the rest of her body falls. Blood sprays everywhere; the entire room seems red now.

Damn it. He looked.

She mouths words to him when he again stares at her face. 'I love...' Her voice fails, but he mouths the words back to her. Their eyes relay so much more than the words. The spark in her eyes fades, and his fill with tears. Panic; distress that he'd never known before now assaulted his senses. She can't be gone, don't let her be gone. Anger lends him strength; Rage gives him freedom and his legs begin to move.

He sprints now, after her assailant. They're running, a black, formless wraith ahead of him, running down a black, formless hall. He passes friends as he runs, both aware and unaware of their pain. He passes Ron, whose cries had faded to a gurgling noise as the brain-creature tears chunks away from his arms and chest, gorging itself. He passes Luna sprawled on the floor, her eyes wide and unfocused, her skirt and underwear ripped away, blood running from her mouth and pooling between her thighs. So much blood...

By his will, his speed increases, and the black form looms closer, though it still eludes him. He passes Ginny, pale and struggling; she tries desperately to stem the flow of blood from her left leg, where her foot used to be. The gashes across the rest of her body make such efforts futile; her eyes begin to flutter and close. He passes Neville, quivering and frothing at the mouth; his body bends inwards on itself, crumpled; his heart and lungs failing; his face nearly unidentifiable with the creases and folds. There are no bones in his body to support him; his nerves can feel nothing but pain now.

He is almost upon the wraith now. He throws his hands upon its white, flat face. He tears at it with his fingers, pulling away at the white. No masks; no shields. The white moves, comes away in his hands, and he stares up at the face of his enemy.

Sirius.

His Godfather stares back at him, surprise on his features. Harry pushes him forcefully and he falls backwards, tripping through an archway behind him. The tattered curtains flutter for a moment then fall deathly still...

"Either must die..."

The quiet, hissing voice turns him, and he has time to see a pair of eyes hanging in the blackness, the hateful crimson glow of two stars. Then there is only green; a curse he knows he cannot avoid, a curse he knows will end him.

The light wraps around him, enveloping, and constricting. He feels the scales as they brush across his skin, the enormous snake tightening, squeezing his life away, and cracking his bones as though they were twigs. Pain; absolute, glorious pain.

This is what it feels like to die...

The scream he has fought for so long erupts from his lips, crushed from him as his lungs implode.

He was still screaming, still writhing. His stomach heaved, but nothing would come up. Had he thrown up already? He couldn't see; were his eyes gone?

Slowly, the snake faded into his memories. The blankets, cocooned tightly around him, were stifling and hot, and the bed was soaked in his sweat and vomit. His body ached from his struggles, his chest and arms throbbed.

Heavy hands pulled the blankets away from him, nearly tearing them. Those hands sat him up, and a cold cloth covered his face, wiping sweat and sleep away. Fumbling around, Harry found and put on his glasses, and stared at the person standing above him, his eyes sharpening with comprehension.

"What the hell have those freaks done to you, boy?" his uncle whispered, wrapping the cloth behind Harry's shoulders. Harry bent his head back into the coolness, soaking it in.

"You should have listened when we told you there was no such thing as magic. You should have ignored it, ran away from it. Look at you now, you're barely sane!"

"Uncle Vernon, I can't." Harry's voice was still thick with sleep, he felt drunk from the potency of the nightmare. It had felt so real...

"Nonsense! Look at you! You say I've treated you poorly, but you... you're coming apart!"

"No thanks to you," Harry replied darkly.

Vernon bent over so that his face was right in front of him. "I hated the fact you were left with us, and I still do," he said, his breath hot and smelly. "I have tried the best I could to keep magic away from you, and I failed. Now, look at you; you're in their world, and you haven't slept a night without screaming the whole house awake!"

"And I'm sure you hate me for that, too."

"Damn it all, you ungrateful bastard! If I could do it all over again, somehow change things so that you never found out about that blasted school, I'd do it! Anything!"

"Uncle-"

"YOUR PARENTS DIED IN THEIR STUPID WORLD!" Vernon screamed, cutting Harry off. "I'll be damned if I've wasted almost fifteen years of my life just to see you die, too!"

For just a moment, Harry saw through the anger, saw a flicker of fear in Vernon's eyes; not fear of him, but for him... No words came to him, nothing that could express his shock.

Then the anger returned, and the moment was gone.

"Clean up this room," his uncle ordered. "And take a shower. It smells like you've shit yourself." Two large strides carried him out of the room, and the door slammed shut. Harry stared at the door, disbelieving. In some perverse way, his uncle cared.

The feel of hot water pounding against him made banished all traces of Harry's earlier distress. He was more than happy to clean his room, as he expected to be leaving today. The cheap calendar that hung on his wall read July 12; every time he looked at the date, he couldn't help but smile. When the doorbell rang, his grin nearly split his face, and he quickly gathered his things, including two rather detailed letters from Professor Dumbledore.

"BOY!" his uncle shouted. The sound of several feet pounding up the stairs interrupted his response. The door flew open, and a shaggy mass obscured his world.

"HARRY!"

His heart soared, even as he spat out a lock of wild, brown hair. Hermione was here; she was alive, and she was here. His arms tightened possessively, and he hoisted her up off her feet, holding her against him. She let out a startled yelp, but she tightened her grip on him, as well.

"Should I just close the door, then?" a voice said after a moment. Harry felt the heat rise in Hermione's cheeks and his own, and couldn't help but chuckle. He gently placed Hermione back on the floor, and turned to wrap his other best friend in the same hug. With a grunt of effort, Ron, too, he hoisted off the ground.

"Oi! Put me down, you git!" Ron spouted indignantly. He thumped Harry a couple times on the back, and the two broke away from each other.

Hermione pulled his trunk out of the closet; she seemed quite pleased that Harry had already packed. "Come on, boys, let's get out of here." Harry and Ron picked up the trunk and walked down the stairs, Hermione just ahead of them.

After quickly loading Harry’s trunk, they sat comfortably in the back of the Ministry car, watching the buildings as they passed in a blur. Tonks and Remus were their chaperones, and the two of them carried on an animated discussion of their Hogwarts years in the front seats. Hermione kept Harry's hand between both of hers through the entire trip, and Harry noticed Ron trying desperately to look anywhere but at Hermione's lap. Part of him wanted to chuckle at his friend's predicament, but Harry held his tongue. There would be time enough to sort all this out at the Burrow.

"How are you feeling?" Hermione asked him softly, bringing his attention back to her. Using his free hand, Harry touched his thumb against her brow, rubbing away her concerned frown.

"I'm as good as I can be," he said heavily, squeezing Hermione's hand; Hermione squeezed back. "I still get nightmares about that night; everyone dies, of course."

"Oh, Harry."

"Yeah, well... I'm hoping they go away, soon."

"Are they bad?" Harry quirked an eyebrow incredulously, and Hermione blushed and smiled a bit. "I know that sounds silly, but I meant... well..."

"Do I just wake up and say 'Damn! That was a bad dream!' or do I wake up screaming, fighting and retching?" Hermione nodded, her concern beginning to return. "The latter. There hasn't been a night that I haven't thrown up on myself or nearly committed some clever form of suicide with my blankets; but I'm sure that you wanted to hear all that."

"I always want to hear what's wrong," she said, looking as serious as she could manage. "I want to be there for you as much as I can."

"You are." Harry brushed his hand across her cheek and Hermione closed her eyes, leaning into it. Her eyes snapped open as Ron cleared his throat from behind her, looking at the two of them meaningfully.

Hermione raised her eyebrows, obviously irritated at the interruption. "Yes, Ron?" she asked, the arch her voice making it apparent that she was well aware of the issue.

Ron just stared.

Harry sighed; apparently, they couldn't wait until the Burrow. "Look Ron, I can do this mushy stuff here in front of you, or the two of us will take a walk once we get to your place. Your choice."

The back seat was silent for a moment, before Ron let out a deep breath. "I'd prefer later, if it's all the same to you," he muttered. "I'd rather not be ignored for the entire trip."

Hermione hunched her shoulders a little, slightly embarrassed. Harry shrugged, forcing away his reactions to Ron. Hermione had died enough times in his dreams; he would do this. He adjusted his seating to see Ron and Hermione, though he didn't release Hermione's hands. Ron tried to begin a more neutral conversation, but it was stilted and awkward. After several minutes of uncomfortable silence, Harry decided to pull out the big guns, and discuss Umbridge. The topic caught the attention of Remus and Tonks as well, and the rest of the ride passed with the sharing of their favorite stories about the toad-like Professor.

When they arrived, Harry took a moment to rummage through his trunk, before snapping the lid shut, and turning to Ron. "Here," he said, handing his Firebolt to his surprised friend. "Peace offering; go fly, and we'll see you in a bit." A grin slowly worked its way onto Ron's face, and he nodded, his hands running reverently across the handle of the professional-grade broom.

"Later," he said, mounting the broom and rocketing off, his whoop of joy fading into the wind.

The Ministry car pulled away, creating an enormous cloud of dust as it sped down the gravel road, perfectly content without a driver. Remus carried Harry's trunk under one arm as he walked towards the tall home of the Weasleys, Tonks commenting on his strength as she followed. Harry took Hermione's hand and walked with her towards the tree line, the sprawling chaos that was the Burrow always in sight. Eventually choosing a tree, he leaned against it. Hermione leaned into his side, sighing lightly, and closing her eyes.

"I love you."

Hermione stiffened, and she nearly fell over as she stepped over to look Harry in the face. Harry's arm shot out to steady her, and Hermione's hands latched onto it with surprising strength. "W-What?"

"I love you," Harry repeated, smiling at Hermione's shock. "Surprised that I'd say that? Yeah, I guess I would've been, too." His smile slipped away as he continued; his struggle to keep calm was failing.

"When you fell at the Ministry, I couldn't even begin to think what I would do if you were dead. Now, I've had more than a month solid of watching you die in my dreams." Despite his best efforts to curb his emotions, a tear forced its way down his cheek. "Every time, we manage to say 'I love you,' or most of it, to each other just before you die. I figure that if I could say it then, I should be able to say it now, while you're still alive and smiling, and hope," Harry looked away for a moment, before forcing himself to look back, forcing himself to speak, "... and hope that you would feel the same."

Hermione smiled tremulously, her eyes bright and watery. "Of course I do," she whispered, before reaching forward to hug him. "I do love you, Harry."

"Love me enough to be my girlfriend?" he asked through her hair, wrapping her tightly with his arms and rocking her gently side to side. He felt her nod against his shoulder. "Love me enough to help me fix my mess of a life?"

"Of course."

"I have to kill him," he blurted, the need to tell Hermione overriding his caution. "One of us is going to die."

Hermione nodded against his chest. "The Prophet-"

"-Got it right," Harry finished for her; Hermione's breath hitched. "Dumbledore showed me the full prophecy, the one Neville broke. The exact wording is 'neither can live while the other survives.' I'll tell you the rest later, but I just wanted you to know that I'm in this until the end."

"...Me too," she said, her voice regaining strength. "I'll be right there with you."

"I know, and I love you for it."

A minute passed as they held each other, then another; the sound of birds chirping and leaves rustling provided a welcome completeness to their feelings.

"We should go and tell Ron," Hermione said, pulling away. "He should know about us, and about the prophecy. What about Ginny?"

"Sure," Harry said with a shrug. "She risked her life for it, so it's only fair. Maybe we can find a way to tell Neville and Luna, too."

Hermione smiled, and she leaned forward and kissed him; Harry pulled Hermione to him again, and they deepened the kiss, their first kiss. Blushing and giddy with happiness, they headed back to the Burrow, hand in hand.

It didn’t take long to find Ron, and the redhead fidgeted and squirmed through their explanation, looking extremely uncomfortable.

"S'great, you two," Ron said, giving Harry and Hermione each a one-armed hug. "Hope it works out for the both of you."

"Thanks, mate," replied Harry, appreciative for Ron's show of loyalty. If he was a poor Occlumens, then Ron was useless. Harry could feel the pain radiating from Ron's eyes; Harry's heart was now as whole as he could remember, but Ron's had been shattered. Hermione looked so upset at Ron's expression that she seemed on the verge of apologizing several times, but she had held her tongue. Harry reminded himself to thank her later for staying strong.

Ron began to fidget as he sat on his bed, and he quickly got to his feet. "Look, I know you two probably want to be alone for a bit. Let me go find something else to do."

Harry stood up with him, reaching out for his shoulder. "Hold up, Ron. We've got a couple things to talk about that concern the prophecy." Ron turned, almost all traces of his discomfort gone, replaced by concern. "Go get Ginny," Harry continued, "She deserves to hear this." Ron bounded out the door, shouting for his sister.

"He took that pretty well," Harry said, turning back to Hermione, who was playing with the hem of her shirt.

"He did," she allowed cautiously. "I'm worried, though; he looks so heartbroken..."

Harry reached down and cupped Hermione's face in his hand, raising it until their eyes met. "I can guarantee you that I would have felt the same," he said, looking at her from overtop his glasses. "I think that it was just a matter of time before you'd have to choose one or the other of us... or neither, I suppose, but that would make two brokenhearted blokes." Hermione snorted, and a small smile formed on her lips.

"I don't regret this," Harry said. "This last month, I was gearing up to fight whatever battles I would need to in order to be with you, even if that meant falling out with Ron. You're worth it to me."

"Aww, that's so sweet." Harry turned, startled at the voice from behind him. Ginny leaned against the doorframe, something between and smile and a smirk on her face. "I never thought you to be the strong, romantic type, Harry."

Ginny bounced away from the door and hugged Harry before plopping down on the bed beside Hermione, hugging her as well. Harry noticed Ron ease into the room, staying near the door.

"Alright," Harry said with a sigh, rubbing his face with his hands. "Let's get this over with, while I still feel brave. Ron, shut the door." With all his friends listening attentively, Harry slowly told his story.

Hermione leaned into Harry, offering what comfort she could, while Ginny and Ron sat on the opposite beds, each with a grimace of pain. Harry hastily wiped away his tears, and focused on getting his breathing back under control.

The discussion of the Prophecy had naturally led to talking about Sirius, and the pain was still too raw. Ginny had looked at him, her eyes crinkled in sadness, and Harry had broken like a dam. It was all he could do to keep his crying quiet enough not to bring Molly upstairs.

"S-so, yeah," he stuttered, struggling to continue, "Dumbledore handled it for me. S-Sirius left me pretty much everything. Dobby and Kreacher are cleaning the house."

"Bet that's rubbing Kreacher the wrong way," Ron quipped. Harry managed a small smile at the attempt to lighten the mood, and took in a deep breath, before exhaling slowly.

"I don't know what's going to happen now," Harry said, his voice stronger. "Voldemort's not sitting back, and Dumbledore's warned me that his main target's the Ministry. Enough people under his thumb in there..."

"...and it's pretty much over," Hermione finished, nodding against his shoulder.

"So, what can we do?" Ginny asked, her eyes lit like small fires. "I can't see us just sitting around, moping, while all of this goes on. There's got to be something that we can do!"

"They'll likely just shut us up in our rooms again," said Ron. "S'not like Mum's going to chuck us out and say 'go fight!' or anything."

"Of course not," Hermione scoffed, waving her hand at Ron. "We're just as likely to be used as lookouts for Hogwarts as anything. I mean, we've got two prefects, the map-"

"It won't happen," Harry said forcefully, interrupting her. "Don't any of you get your hopes up. Dumbledore's not going to roll over on this; to him, we're not useful yet. Anything we do, we'll be doing on our own."

"Just as well, then," Ginny said, jumping up and stretching. "If they don't think we're useful, we'll have to show them otherwise."

Several thumps on the door interrupted them. "Hey guys!" said a voice that Harry recognized as one of the twins, "your Hogwarts letters are here! Come down!"

Hermione was off the bed and to the door so fast that Harry fell sideways on the bed; Ginny ran after Hermione, while Ron helped Harry up. He and Ron shared a grin as they heard her muttering to herself all the way down the stairs, while they followed at a slower pace. Ginny and Hermione were talking about the results ahead of them, but Harry couldn't make out the conversation.

Hermione had one hand to her mouth, shifting her weight back and forth on her feet while she held the thick envelope in her other hand, making no move to open it. Deciding that it would be in poor taste to roll his eyes at his new girlfriend, Harry tore his own envelope open and glanced across his results. The events of June and the prophecy severely muted any anxiety he might have felt. He was unsurprised to see the Captain’s badge for the Quidditch team in the envelope; he pocketed that for later, when he could talk to Ron.

What little worry he had faded as he took in his results. He had failed History and Divination, but he had expected no less. He managed an Acceptable in Astronomy, to his relief, and everything else was at least Exceeds Expectations. The one Outstanding on the sheet was in Defense. A hard smile came to his lips as he looked at the 'O' on the sheet. If only the examiners knew exactly how hard-won that particular mark was. No exam could begin to approximate what he'd endured in gaining those skills.

He glanced quickly over at Hermione, and saw her staring at her marks with her shoulders slumped. He moved over to stand behind her, and rested his head over her shoulder, looking down. Ten small 'O's stared back at him, except Defense, which sported an 'E.'

"Well done," he said softly, kissing her cheek. "I'm proud of you." A shuffling sound drew his eyes for an instant, long enough to see Ron turn away from them, fumbling with his own results.

"Thanks," she said, turning her head to kiss him properly. "How did you do?" Harry handed her his marks, and she kissed him again as she read them. "You did so well," she said, turning around to hug him tightly. "I bet your Defense mark beat everyone else's," she said. "I'm so happy for you!"

"Here mate, let's see!" said Ron as he came up beside him, taking their papers and handing them his own, while still managing not to look at them. "Yep, I expected as much!" he said, looking at both sets of marks. "You guys did great!" Ginny moved over to Ron to look at the sheets.

"You did pretty well yourself," Harry said, looking at Ron's grades. Ron had passed the same classes that he had, but the marks were generally a grade lower, a mass of 'A's with an 'E' in Defense, which Harry felt particular pride in. The sound of an evil-sounding cackle from Ginny drew his attention away from the sheet.

"Something going on?" he asked, wary of the way that Ginny was looking at Hermione from around Ron's shoulder, the way a cat might look at its prey.

"Right, then. So, I bet Hermione that my fourth year exams would beat out her OWLs," Ginny said, a smug smile firmly in place, "and what should I see but an 'E' in Defense. Read'em and weep, Granger!" With that, Ginny presented her exam marks, an unblemished row of 'O's. Hermione hung her head, her cheeks slightly pink, and Harry bit his lip to keep from laughing. Ginny had beaten Hermione at her own game.

"So, what does the bet entail?" Harry asked, the amusement in his voice drawing a half-hearted glare from Hermione.

"Hermione's going to take the NEWT Muggle Studies class with me," Ginny explained. "That way, she can correct the professor, and we can actually learn something. In fact..." Ginny trailed off as she regarded Harry and Ron. "I want to bet you two, as well. Since the Ministry's offering the OWLs again to whomever wants to take them over the summer to make up for Umbitch, I'm going to be taking the Muggle Studies OWL to qualify for the NEWT classes. If I pass, you're all going to take the NEWT class with me."

There were three very different reactions to Ginny's statement: Harry snorted, contorting his face into a mask of disdain; Hermione smiled at the possibility of company; and Ron crossed his arms, shook his head, and said "No way."

"Come on, Ron!" Ginny teased. "Don't be such a stick in the mud. I have to pass an OWL exam a whole year early, after all."

"Not good enough," Harry said firmly. "You acing a muggle studies OWL is not enough to make me waste my time on the NEWT, since Ron and I would have to take the OWL, too." Ginny deflated slightly, and Hermione looked slightly disappointed. Ron, however, looked relieved. "I see that my opinion isn't popular with the ladies," Harry panned, nudging Ron with an elbow.

"Harry, come on!" Ginny pleaded. "I know I can do this, and I want the company! Besides, you could help out just as much as Hermione!" Harry studied her for a moment, before smiling as the most brilliant idea came to mind.

"Alright then, I'm in," he said, ignoring the muttered curse from Ron. "But we're upping the ante a little, Gin: I want you to take two OWLs, not just Muggle Studies."

"Two?" she echoed incredulously. "You're barking! What else could I possibly take that I'd have a hope of passing?"

"Defense."

Harry watched as Ginny's face showed surprise, skepticism, and finally, comprehension. "You all took the OWL," she said slowly, and Harry and the others nodded. "You all did this on Harry's tutoring alone," she stated, tilting her head in a silent request for confirmation, and Hermione and Ron both nodded. "I was right there with you..." A smile began to form on her face. "You think I can take the OWL?"

"I expect at least an 'E' on both Muggle Studies and Defense," said Harry, smiling. "If you can do that, I'll help Hermione mind the NEWT Muggle Studies professor for you."

"Harry!"

Harry shrugged, smiling at Hermione's mock scowl. "Sad but true, Hermione."

"Come on, mate!" whined Ron, looking appalled at the situation. "We just ditched Divination! You can't seriously want to take up more of your year with a crap class. You're the bloody captain of the team, we'll need time!"

"Always Quidditch," Hermione muttered. Ginny, however, gained a positively maniacal gleam in her eye. "Quidditch, Ron? Is that what you're worried about? How about if I bet you that I could whip you good in a back yard game, then? Think you can win against ickle Gin-Gin?" Ron's face went beat red, and Harry knew that Ron's brain had just shut off.

"You're on!" he shouted, before Harry could get a word in edgewise. "Hey guys!" he called loudly. "Pickup game in the back!"

"Yes!" Ginny said, pumping her fist. "I get first pick!"

Ron froze at Ginny's words, his thought processes re-engaging. "I just challenged her, not the other way around, didn't I?" he asked quietly. Parsing together what he knew about the convoluted Quidditch code of the Weasleys, Harry nodded, and Ron groaned. "Bugger."

What started as a simple Quidditch game quickly became a serious competition. Ginny and Ron captained opposite teams, each taking turns at choosing players. Harry was first pick, Ginny's trickery assuring her the best Seeker, while Charlie took the Seeker position for Ron. The twins split up, Fred playing Beater for Ginny while George played for Ron. Ron was Keeper, and Hermione, cajoled by Harry, played Keeper for Ginny. Ginny was Chaser, and Bill played Chaser for Ron.

After twenty minutes of play, neither Ron nor Hermione had faced any shots, and Fred and George amused themselves by knocking the Bludgers back and forth between them as fast as they could. Above, below, and around them, two personal duels raged. Ginny and Bill dove, twirled and danced as they stole the Quaffle from each other, neither maintaining possession for more than a few heartbeats.

Above them all, Harry and Charlie waged a war of aerobatics that reminded the other players strongly of the World Cup. Sometimes in complete synchronization, sometimes mirror opposites, Harry and Charlie both strained their brooms to their limit keeping each other from the Snitch while not letting the pesky ball get more than ten feet away.

As though fate had decreed it, both pairs broke apart at the same time: Above, Harry shot upwards while Charlie, only a few degrees too wide to copy the motion, spiraled out of control for a moment and lost height. No longer troubled by his counterpart, Harry put on a burst of speed, reaching out to claim the Snitch and end the game.

At the same time, Ginny found herself ahead of Bill by less than a foot and slightly higher in altitude, just far enough for her to plant her boot on his broom while she plucked the Quaffle from his arms. While Bill descended in a stream of curses, Ginny shot off towards Ron, who tensed, suddenly realizing that Ginny was unopposed. With a fake to the left and a casual underhanded lob under Ron's broom as he moved to intercept, Ginny scored the one goal of the game. Harry's victory shout above secured it, the final score being 160-0.

Mrs. Weasley kept a furious Ron outside while the others went in, telling Harry she needed a few words with her son about the language he had picked up recently. Harry smiled and headed for his room, grabbing several textbooks from his trunk, and then disappeared to Ginny’s room to find Hermione.

"What's with all the books?" Ron asked as he walked into the living room. Harry barely heard the question, immersed in his fifth year notes from several classes. "Divination? History? Mate, what's going on?"

"What?" Hermione's voice caused Harry to look up. She, too, eyed his books with concern. "You should be studying the notes I gave you for Muggle Studies," she said. "What's all of this? Transfiguration? Potions, too? Harry, you did well on that. What are you doing?"

"While we were playing Quidditch, I asked Mr. Weasley to do some poking around for me,” Harry said, going back to his book. “The Ministry's offering re-takes of OWLs, no questions asked. Well, as long as you're willing to pay up for the exams, anyway. What's better is that they're willing to keep whichever mark was higher, so I'm going to take everything except Defense over again." He stopped, suddenly, snapping his fingers. "Oh, that reminds me. Do you have your Arithmancy and Runes work handy, Hermione? I know I don't have a hope in hell of passing the OWLs, but since I’m doing the other OWLs, I want to take a shot at them anyways."

Ron stood gaping; Hermione was shocked, though a smile began to work its way onto her face before she turned and dashed off to her room.

"Did I just hear right?" asked Ginny as she walked up behind Ron. "You're doing all your OWLs over again?"

Harry nodded. "After what happened in June, and the prophecy, I want to stay busy; it helps keep my mind off things. No offense to either of you, but the amount they're charging for the exams is just pocket money for me, so it's worth a shot. If either of you want to give it a go, I'll spot you."

Ron shook his head immediately, but Ginny thought hard for a moment. She, too, shook her head. "I'm a year behind on everything else," she said sadly. "There's no way I could catch up in time."

"Fair enough," Harry conceded, scratching down notes in the margins of his book. "I just wanted to put it out there."

"Here are your notes, Harry," said Hermione as she unloaded several thick books and scrolls in front of him. Harry looked at the size of the pile and closed his eyes, willing away the headache that was beginning to form. “It’s not so bad,” Hermione soothed, seeing Harry’s expression. “Arithmancy builds on itself, so all you really need to know is the fifth-year material for the OWL, you just need to speed through the basics. Runes is all memory-work and a little bit of problem solving; it’s really quite simple.”

“Simple,” Harry repeated under his breath, looking at the notes. “Your idea of simple is my idea of impossible. Still, as long as you help me, I have some small hope of scraping an Acceptable," Harry said. "But I'm going to need a lot of help."

Hermione beamed at him. "No worries," she chirped. "I'll set up a schedule for you."

"How about you?" asked Harry, motioning towards his Divination books. "Care to grab the one OWL you missed, or maybe touch up Defense?"

Hermione hesitated, telling Harry in the plainest language possible how little she cared for Divination. It was a whole ten seconds before she reached for the first book, opened it, and began reading. Harry chuckled to himself and turned back to his own studies, while Ginny dragged Ron away, promising to help him prepare for the Muggle Studies OWL.

Studying, Harry found, was a good way to use his time. After a day spent studying and playing Quidditch, he was too exhausted to dream.

A mind-jarring month and a half later, Harry left the Ministry's examination room for the final time, resolving never to think about school again. Muggle Studies had been his final exam, and he had passed, of that, he was certain; how well was irrelevant to him. Given how flippantly he had written, it was likely an 'E,' but he couldn't rule out the possibility of an 'O.' Ron looked up at him from where he sat on the bench outside the room, and then looked away. Harry received the message loud and clear: Ron thought he had failed. He clapped his friend on the shoulder, and slowly the two of them walked back to the lobby, where Mr. Weasley was waiting.

Harry had not stepped two feet into the Burrow before Hermione descended on him anxiously, and Ron made himself as invisible as possible across from them in the kitchen. "How'd it go? Did you pass? What did you think of the test? Do you think you did well?" Her questions went on and on, and Harry swallowed the urge to cut her off; what once he saw as slightly irritating had overnight become an endearing quality. He thought that perhaps knowing that someone loves you could turn something irritating into an endearing quality. He'd have to think about that.

"It went fine," said Harry once Hermione had gone silent. "Don't know if I managed an Outstanding or anything, but it's done, and more than good enough for Hogwarts standards."

"That's wonderful!" she squealed, wrapping him in a hug. "I knew you could do it!" She released him and turned to Ron. "How about you? Did it go well? Did you remember everything?"

Ron shrugged his shoulders and quickly looked away again, conveying the same message to Hermione that he had to Harry. Not waiting for Hermione to interpret his actions, Ron mumbled an excuse and disappeared upstairs to his room.

"I wouldn't put it past him to pass the OWL," Harry said quietly, "but I wouldn't bank on it."

"So, what's the verdict?" Ginny asked as she walked up. "Do I have classmates next year, or what?"

"Depends on Ron," Harry said. "I'm good for it; the other OWLs worry me more."

"Well, you're a nut-job for taking eleven exams," she said dryly. "Still, you did most of them once already, so I reckon you'll do well."

"Can't do worse than I already have," he said. "That actually made it easier, you know? No pressure at all, except for Arithmancy and Runes."

"Do you think-?" Hermione started, but stopped halfway, seeming to rethink her question.

Harry scoffed. "If I pass them, it'll be a miracle," he said bluntly. "I think I might, might, scrape the barest of 'A's on those, and that's if the examiner takes pity on me."

"Well, we'll know tomorrow," said Hermione, pulling Harry further into the kitchen. For now, let's find some coffee and something to eat. I can't believe that it's the 30th tomorrow. I can't wait to get back, and unpack for the year."

"Me, too," Harry said, visions of the common room and the fireplace in his mind, "me, too."

Dinner evolved into Quidditch, which evolved into hot chocolate before bed, and ‘tomorrow’ became ‘today.’ As Hermione gushed over her two missing ‘O’s, Harry ripped open a new envelope to read his results.

***

ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVELS

HARRY JAMES POTTER, HOGWARTS (GRYFFINDOR)

***

Harry skipped along, ignoring the pointless introduction to his marks. "God, don't they think students know all that already?" he muttered. "We bloody wrote the godforsaken things..." Somewhere behind him, he heard sighs of relief, indicating that Ron had passed his Muggle Studies OWL. Smiling, he perused his own marks...

***

COURSE OF STUDY First Attempt Second Attempt FINAL SCORE

Ancient Runes -- A A

Arithmancy -- A A

Astronomy A E E

Care of Magical Creatures E E E

Charms E O O

Defense against the Dark Arts O -- O

Divination P A A

Herbology E E E

History of Magic D A A

Muggle Studies -- O O

Potions E O O

Transfiguration E O O

***

"How the fuck..." he trailed off as he looked at his marks, his smile vanishing into a look of shock. He registered the reactions of Hermione and Mrs. Weasley to his choice of words, but was in no position to vocalize a response; his brain locked, staring at the two black 'A's at the top of the mark list.

"Harry?" prompted Hermione. "How did you do?"

"I passed," he said numbly, unable to believe the words he was speaking. "Arithmancy and Runes, I passed them. I can't believe I passed them." Happiness was quickly overtaking the shock, and he surged forward to embrace a startled Hermione. "I did it!" he laughed. "Thank you! Thank you! I did it!"

"Damn, Harry, that's impressive," Ron said as he took the mark sheet from the celebrating couple. "Figure I should hand over my Prefect's badge now? It should've been yours, anyways."

"Don't say that, Ron!" Hermione interjected, breaking away from Harry to smack the redhead lightly on the arm. "Being a prefect is an honor! You shouldn't be looking to give it away-"

"But you'd be able to patrol with Harry!" Ron said with a grin. "Wouldn't you like to be with your boyfriend in the evening?" Though it was a playful line, Harry heard the subtle tone of sarcasm veiled beneath it. Harry turned to look at Ron’s eyes, and bit back a sigh. The pain was still there, and it wasn’t going away. Maybe he’s doing this to avoid Hermione, he thought.

"Ron-"

"Tell you what," Harry cut in, needing to change the subject quickly before a fight broke out, "why don't you owl McGonagall and tell her I'll trade you Prefect for Captain. That way you can run the team, I can just coast as a Seeker, and I'll pick up the Prefect duties with Hermione. Katie and I will help you with the team. Sound fair?"

Ron was gone without giving a response, chasing after an excited Pigwidgeon with a scrap of parchment and a quill. Harry and Ginny shared a heartfelt laugh while Hermione shook her head ruefully.

"I don't know if this is such a good idea," she said.

"Sure it is; I'm in a very good mood, and it’s my idea. Besides, the chance to trade in flying time for time with you? No contest."

"Good line, Potter," mumbled a grinning Ginny. Hermione smiled ear to ear and kissed him solidly.

"You're very sweet," she said. "You know that Prefects do have some work to do, though."

"You tell me what needs to be done, and I'll do it," Harry said. "Some of it I understand well enough. Still, though," he said, indicating his marks. "I can't believe this. This is amazing!"

Hermione glanced down at the sheet, and then crushed him into another hug. "These results are wonderful!" she cried. "Oh, why couldn't you have worked like this before? You'd have matched me for marks every year!"

Harry's happiness dimmed slightly as he considered his response. "Do you want the honest answer?" he asked, giving Hermione a meaningful look. Hermione nodded, her expression betraying a hint of confusion at Harry's sudden mood change. "While I've been so busy, I haven't had any nightmares. Now that I'm done... well, hopefully six weeks is long enough to banish them."

"Oh, Harry..."

"Well, we'll see tonight," he said, tabling the conversation. "If all goes well, there will be no more nighttime fatalities."

"You'll be in Hogwarts, soon," Hermione soothed. "The dorm beds are comfortable and familiar. They'll help you sleep."

"I hope so," said Harry wistfully, before shaking his head. "Anyways, the final order of business is at hand. Ginny, let's see your marks."

With a victorious smile, Ginny passed her sheet over to Harry, who immediately saw the two 'O's. "Congratulations," he said warmly. "We'll see you in NEWT Muggle Studies."

"Success!" she cried, throwing her hands in the air. "No more boring classmates! No more idiotic professor!" Laughter echoed through the kitchen, and the three turned to discuss what classes they would take in the coming year.

-----

The Nightmare is always the same:

"I'm sorry," Hermione gurgles, as blood pours from her mouth, spilling across his chest. The sword of Gryffindor gleams crimson, protruding from her back. He holds it firmly in place with his right hand, against her weakening heart, where he had plunged it forcefully only seconds ago. His other hand wraps around her waist, holding her to him. She doesn't resist, and leans against him. With her failing strength, she tilts her head up, and he presses her lips to hers.

Blood; iron. Sweet nectar of life, yet bitter. Her mouth opens, and they taste each other. Blood. He lowers himself so that she leans over him, and blood pours into his mouth from hers. He drinks greedily, relishing the heavy feeling as it reaches his stomach. Hermione's very life is his.

"I love you," she says, though the words are barely recognizable against his lips. So much blood...

"Love you, too," he responds, and he kisses her harder. He can feel her arms fall to the side as her strength gives out. He relishes the feeling as she shudders, and the flow of blood from her mouth slows.

Pull harder. Just one more drop. Just one more... With a final pull, it is his. Her heart stops beating, and his thumps forcefully, triumphantly, against his chest.

Her life is his. Never apart. Never again.

Her body falls away; he is soaked in her blood. Crimson power coats his skin, stains his clothes, and fills his being.

Her life is his.

-----

"HARRY!"

The high-pitched shriek pierced through the dream, and Harry's eyes snapped open. He felt warm and disoriented, and his eyes felt slow and stiff, as though something restrained them.

"Oh my God," Hermione muttered, reaching out a hand but pulling back. Worried at her hesitation, he sat up.

"Hermione? What- No."

Blood was everywhere. The sheets, his pajamas, his hair; everything on his bed was coated. The vivid scene of his nightmare played again and again in his mind. The feelings of power and comfort were gone, replaced by nausea and revulsion, and Harry shot out of bed, tearing out of the room to the washroom, his stomach rebelling against him. He made it to the door of the washroom before he gave in; an explosion of unnatural warmth, and the taste of iron filled his senses as his stomach surged, voiding itself.

"Are you okay?" Hermione asked shakily. "That's... that's not your blood is it? It's just a prank or something, right? I mean... you'd be dead if you'd lost that much. You're okay, aren't you?"

"M'fine," Harry muttered, struggling to control his heaving insides as he knelt in front of the toilet. He absently ran his hands up and down himself, checking for injuries. "Not hurt," he said. "S'not mine." He once again heaved into the toilet, the shock of vomiting temporarily wiping the nightmare from his thoughts. Cries from the hall indicated the Mrs. Weasley had found the room, and would be here soon.

"If it's not your blood," Hermione asked fearfully, "whose is it, then?"

Harry coughed violently, spitting what remained in his mouth into the toilet, before turning to regard Hermione fully. Before he could answer, she gasped and stepped towards the toilet.

"God, Harry. What-?"

Blood pooled in the toilet, mingling with the water; the same blood he had so willingly drank.

"Yours," he said quietly, beginning to shiver as the scene replayed in front of him again. "It's your blood." A fresh bout of nausea and panic forced him to turn away from Hermione, dizzily. Harry again emptied himself into the toilet, spattering the white porcelain with crimson, and swayed on his knees before falling sideways losing himself to the welcoming darkness, Hermione’s voice fading into oblivion as she called his name.

-----

A/N: Please review! Seeing your reactions and talking with you makes this all worthwhile.

~TOW

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related terms and characters are the property of JK Rowling. The use of copyrighted material is for non-profit entertainment purposes only, and in no way constitutes a challenge to the existing copyright.

A/N: There is a reason I rated this story as R. I warned everyone that starting from Chapter 2 things get gruesome. If you consider yourself sensitive to graphic descriptions of violence and general blood and gore, DO NOT READ THE FIRST DREAM! Skip the italicized text, and you’ll be okay.

For this chapter, anyways. Next chapter, the gore is not limited to Harry’s dreams.

In this chapter, I figuratively box everyone into the trap with fear and panic. The field trip – and the slaughter – begins next chapter.

Chapters 3 and 4 of the MEtyK revamp are taking forever, as they’ve presented me with some plot-stumping choices. I’ll have them ready to post with TMF Ch.6.

1) The “Sir Harry” Challenge – my writer’s block has cleared, and this is more and more likely to be chaptered. If I do, then the first section is coming up soon.

2) TMF Chapter 6

3) The Pale Chapter 3

~TOW

Hogwarts

=======

Harry stepped from the shower, his panic joining the last of the blood as it rushed down the drain. All he was now was annoyed. Trust his nightmares to leave him coated in blood. A swift kick against the washroom cupboard was all the comfort he could provide for himself. Heaving a sigh, he dried himself and pulled clean underwear and clothes on.

“Harry, are you alright?”

Hermione's muffled voice came through the door, and a small twinge of happiness fought through his mood. Only Hermione would have the strength to calm him, strip his bloodstained clothes away, and force him into the shower. His admission that it was her blood in hadn't fazed her in the slightest.

“It isn't her blood anyway,” he muttered to himself, “not really. It's just a dream.”

“Harry?” Hermione's voice was far more insistent now.

“I'm just about done!” He dried his hair furiously with the towel, checking around his face and body for any further signs of blood. He was clean. Good. If he never had to wake up caked in his girlfriend’s gore again, he’d consider the possibility of God existing.

He pulled the washroom door open and grabbed Hermione's hand, easing her worried look with a kiss.

“Come on,” he said, “let's grab breakfast.”

Breakfast was a traditional Weasley feast, only slightly strained by the events of the morning. Harry brushed it off as a side effect of Voldemort, and hinted that it was ten times better than outright possession. The comment effectively shifted the sympathy and attention partially to Ginny, and diffused most of the worry. Soon, the mood was once again frantic as everyone dressed and packed for Hogwarts, before the Order arrived to provide escort to King’s Cross. Hermione quickly ushered Harry onto the train, talking a mile a minute about what they should take for classes.

“You're out of your mind!” Harry laughed, while Hermione whined playfully. They sat side by side in the prefects' compartment, waiting for the Head Boy and Girl to begin the meeting. Given the flippancy of his suggestion, it surprised him that McGonagall took him up on his offer to swap Prefect and Captain with Ron; perhaps his new and improved OWL scores won her over, or perhaps it was Dumbledore.

“But you'll like them!” Hermione pleaded, giving Harry a mournful look. “You've just gotten all your OWLs, I'm sure they'd let you in!”

“I am not taking NEWT Arithmancy and Runes,” he reiterated forcefully. “Not only am I absolutely lost in them, but I probably have the lowest passing grades on record. There's no way they'd let me take the classes.”

“They would if they knew you’d got those ‘A’s with only a month of work. Both Babbling and Vector would jump at the chance to see what they could make you do in a year.”

“How many NEWTs do you think I'm taking?” He only just barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Hermione’s greatest flaw was the tendency to mistake his intelligence as equal to her own. “I already have to have Potions, Defense, Transfiguration and Charms, if I have any shot at being an Auror. With Muggle Studies, that's five. With Arithmancy and Runes, that's seven. If I keep Herbology like I wanted to, that's eight. If I take Care, that's nine. Are there any others you'd like me to go for?”

“Why would you take Care? It's hardly a qualification that you could use after school.”

He gave a nod in concession. “I know; I just threw it out there. Hagrid'll be right pissed with us if we all drop his course, though.”

“He survived for our first two years without seeing us daily,” Hermione said dryly. “We'll visit for tea.”

“Can’t argue, I suppose. Fine then, no Care. Herbology's next on the chopping block. If you want me to take Runes and Arithmancy so badly, I need you to drop Herbology so that you have time to help me. I need ‘E’s in those NEWTs, or I'm wasting my time.”

“Done!” Hermione shouted triumphantly. “So, Seven NEWTs for us both, then.”

“Provided the professors bend, yes.” Harry paused as he considered his other friend. “And four for Ron, I think.”

“What? No! He'd have to have at least the other five with us?”

“Potions,” he reminded. “An ‘A’ doesn't get you into Potions.”

Hermione’s expression creased in dismay. “An ‘A’ doesn't get you in much of anywhere,” she muttered. Harry raised his eyebrows, and she stifled a giggle. “You’re different. You managed two impossible ‘A’s’ after only a month of work! He, well… He should have retaken his OWLs like you. Herbology, Care, Defense, Muggle Studies... that's about it. He doesn't have the grades to get in anywhere else.”

“Ugh.” It was worse than he had realized; with Herbology gone, Ron would be in only two of his classes. Considering how little he’d seen Ron over the summer break, it was almost painful to think he’d see so little of him at school too. Thinking of the summer almost made Harry laugh. Ron made appearances at meals and for Quidditch, and then disappeared, invisible once again. It might have been distressing, if Harry hadn’t been far more interested in his newfound relationship with Hermione.

“Harry? You’re zoning out.”

“Sorry.” Knowing she’d ask anyways, Harry gave her a brief explanation of his thoughts.

Hermione gave an angry snort and tossed her great mane of hair. “I really can't believe him. He's had all summer to get used to us being together, and he still just runs away!”

“Once he gets a girl, he'll be better. He still fancies you, is all. I reckon he just doesn't know where else to turn right now.”

“But it's rude!” Hermione protested, throwing her hands in the air. Harry looked around surreptitiously; Hermione had been quite loud, and the other prefects were all paying attention. All but Malfoy avoided his hard gaze as his eyes raked across the group.

Malfoy. It would be so easy to hurt him, to kill him. Just draw his wand, and… No. Not like this, not in front of her. Never.

“Got something to say, Potter?”

“Not really. Your dad out yet?”

Malfoy's expression darkened. “Sooner than you think.”

Harry shrugged. “Not my concern, really. It's not your father I want, it's your aunt.”

“Really?” Malfoy’s face widened with an uneven smirk. “By the look on your face, I'd swear she'd killed your dog.”

Hermione inhaled sharply, and the rest of the compartment tensed. Anger surged and boiled, but Harry fought it down desperately. Not here. Not with her here. “Your aunt gave me a nice lesson in the Unforgivables,” he said quietly. “Said you have to mean them, or they won't work. Tell her,” he said, leaning towards Malfoy, “tell her that I've been practicing.”

No one dared to speak; even Malfoy was speechless from the blatant threat. Hermione squeezed Harry's hand so hard he thought it might break, but he said nothing. As the Heads, Cho and Roger, entered the compartment, Malfoy began to fidget, and then jumped up and left, shutting the door behind him. Harry’s anger eased, almost purring with satisfaction.

“What's with him?” Cho asked, looking around. Everyone was looking at or away from Harry, so it was only a moment before she turned to him.

“Hey Harry. I heard about your position switch. Choosing Prefect over Team Captain, I'd never have guessed.” Harry shrugged, and Cho moved on. “Did you say something to Malfoy?”

“I threatened his aunt with the Unforgivables.” Hermione squeezed his hand even harder.

Cho looked shocked and appalled. “Why? What did she do to you?”

“Malfoy's aunt is Bellatrix Lestrange.”

Almost immediately, the tension eased out of the room. Everyone gave a small gasp of recognition, and a sigh of relief. Threatening someone with the Unforgivables was a horrible thing, but threatening a Death Eater... that they could understand and tolerate. A scathing remark nearly found its way out, but Harry clamped down, chastened by the death grip Hermione kept on his hand. He let his comment and his anger slide back, and settled into his seat, letting Cho and Roger begin the meeting.

“Did you have to call him out in public like that?” Hermione whispered as they exited the compartment. “It doesn't accomplish anything.”

Harry flicked his eyes at her appraisingly. “Sure it does. Now Malfoy's name is associated with Lestrange. That erodes the value of his word to everyone but most of the Slytherins. That story will make it out to the parents, too.”

“That's a little bit cruel, Harry.”

“No, that's sneaky and devious, but I intend to do that a lot this year. The less everyone trusts the obvious Death Eater children, the harder it will be for them to move. The harder it is to move, the more likely they'll have to do something that gets a professor's attention and gets them expelled.”

Hermione kept a firm grip on his hand, shouldering him along the hallway. “You seem to be forgetting that they'll be trying those expulsion-worthy actions against us,” she hissed. “I don't want you to be attacked. With threats like that, you're baiting them to strike at you.”

“Why yes, I am.”

Hermione growled her disapproval, but the presence of other students forced a premature end to the conversation. The rest of the walk was silent until they reached their friends' compartment. Ginny and Luna lounged on one side, while Neville and Ron sat on the other, a chessboard on the seat between them. Ginny happily surrendered her spot, squeezing in behind Ron and sitting hard enough to upset the pieces on the board, making Ron curse loudly.

Harry happily collapsed into the window seat, unconsciously shaking out his crushed hand, trying to restore feeling. Hermione sat close beside him, leaning against him as he leaned against the window. She was still upset; he could feel the tenseness of her muscles against him. He reached an arm around to rub her back gently, and smiled as she slowly relaxed into him.

“So, how'd the meeting go?” Ron asked, trying to set up his chess pieces while failing to keep Ginny from poking and tickling his sides. Not once did he look across at them.

Harry shrugged. “Not bad. Discussed classes with Hermione, sacred Malfoy off, and debated schedules.”

“You scared Malfoy?” Ron looked up to for a moment. Harry allowed himself to smile at the minor victory.

“He threatened Bellatrix Lestrange with the Unforgivables,” Hermione said, her lips pursed in disapproval. “Right in front of all the other Prefects, too.”

“Go, Harry!” Ron hooted, echoed by Ginny's “Yes!” Neville smiled and nodded, and Luna turned her face up from her issue of the Quibbler, scanning Harry intently.

“I don't see why you're all so happy,” Hermione said. “This will just provoke Malfoy to respond. We really don't need the trouble.”

“It'll come whether we need it or not,” growled Harry, his patience beginning to fray. “Look, I'm not sorry I said it, I get that you don't like it, but I really, really don't want to discuss Malfoy anymore. I'll deal with him if I have to.”

Hermione looked slightly put out at his tone, but she relented, again relaxing against him. Ron's attention was back on his game, and Neville tried to pay more attention to the board than to Ginny's antics behind Ron. Luna, however, kept her gaze on Harry.

“Can you use the Unforgivables?” Harry's eyes snapped up to meet Luna's, and he tightened his arm around Hermione reflexively. Luna's eyes had lost their misty quality; they were sharp and focused, like a hawk looking at its prey.

“Yes.” He turned away, ignoring the quiet gasps of surprise, and watched the scenery speed by. Another small twinge of happiness arose inside him: Hermione had not been surprised. Maybe she’d be open to studying more than just Arithmancy and Runes this year.

Long years at the Dursleys had made Harry very sensitive to even the slightest fluctuation in people's moods; it had saved him from punishment several times. Luna was angry, but Luna, being Luna, was atypical even in her anger. Luna stood and kissed him on the cheek, and firmly ordered him to “be nice,” before walking leaving the compartment. If only it were that easy. If only.

The Express soon rolled to a stop in Hogsmeade, and after an uneventful coach ride to the castle, Harry found himself seated in the Great Hall, waiting for the feast to begin.

“Welcome to Hogwarts!” Dumbledore called jovially. Harry tuned the Headmaster out, focusing on his hands. The words ‘I must not tell lies’ still stood out plainly on the back of his right hand, though the scars had long since faded to white. He turned his gaze to stare at the back of Malfoy's head, then Luna's, before glancing at Hermione and then staring again at his hands.

“... New Muggle Studies professor. Please welcome Professor Wattins.” Polite applause sounded for the new professor, and Harry looked up at her quickly. She was an elderly woman, reminding him of Neville's grandmother with fewer wrinkles. Her eyes were large and expressive, and she looked around with a startling intensity. Harry thought of an older Luna Lovegood, with some experience to temper the fantasies.

“I wonder if this one will need as much minding,” whispered Ginny from two seats down. Harry shrugged, not caring. Hermione turned to talk quietly to Ginny, and Harry fell into himself again.

“Finally, given the rather repugnant nature of last year’s Defense against the Dark Arts teacher, I have resolved to teach this year’s Defense class myself.” After an instant of silence, cheers erupted from every table, Harry’s among the loudest. Finally, Defense would be worth learning.

The rest of dinner passed quietly. Ron was sitting closer to Dean and Seamus, rambling about Quidditch and doing his absolute best to avoid talking to Hermione. Occasionally he would turn his head to include Harry while he talked, but it was short-lived, and Ron would never look past him to Hermione. Judging by the tone of Hermione's voice beside him, she didn't much care, which was just as well.

With dinner finished, he had one more stop to make for the night. He leaned over and kissed Hermione on the cheek. “I have to go talk with McGonagall. I'll see you upstairs.”

“Good luck,” said Hermione, turning to kiss him properly. “I hope she'll let you take those classes.”

“One way to find out.” Offering excuses to everyone else, Harry made a beeline for McGonagall, while the other Gryffindor girls descended upon Hermione, wanting to know the details of why she and Harry were kissing. Harry made his case to the professor as they walked to her office, where she pulled out his OWL marks and flipped through them.

“I'll speak with Professors Babbling and Vector,” McGonagall murmured, looking over Harry's course selections while they sat in her office. “Given your remarkable turnaround on your OWL results, and Miss Granger's tutelage, I don't see why they would refuse you entry into their classes.”

Harry let out the breath he was holding. “That's good to know. I didn't want to disappoint Hermione.”

“Not today, I think. Barring acts of God, your class selections will stand. Now back to Gryffindor with you.” McGonagall made a shooing motion with her hand, and Harry left the office in high spirits, heading back to the common room.

He found very few people in the common room when he arrived. Hermione had the other prefects around her, and seemed to be discussing something of importance. She waved him over as soon as she saw him enter.

“...in threes, not pairs,” she continued as he approached. “I'll put the plan to Cho so that it changes officially, but even without it, grab a friend you trust and get them to patrol with you. I'll make sure Professor McGonagall writes notes to keep Filch off people's backs. But anything less than a group of three just isn't safe anymore.”

“If we have to, we can pull multiple patrols,” Harry said, making his presence known to the others.

“It'll be horrid with NEWTs coming up,” said Katie Bell. “I don't think this is worth the extra fuss.” The other Prefects, to Hermione’s frustration, echoed Katie’s sentiments.

Harry placed a hand on Hermione’s shoulder to calm her and turned to look at everyone else. “You can all keep a secret, right?” Everyone's head nodded. “I'm close enough to Dumbledore to have access to some of his methods for monitoring the castle. If you like, Hermione and I can stay on ‘stand-by’ while you're patrolling, and if we see anything bad, then we'll come to back you up.

“And no,” he raised his hand as people's mouths began to open, “I can't show you how I'll do that, so don't ask. Otherwise, you'll find yourselves at the mercy of a very angry Professor Dumbledore.” There were several clicks as mouths snapped shut, and Hermione looked at him with a devious glint in her eyes. They quickly agreed upon Harry's suggestion, and the other Prefects disappeared to their dorms, leaving him alone with Hermione.

“I can't believe you,” she laughed, smacking his arm playfully. “Using Dumbledore's name like that. That was horrid!”

“It'll work, though.” He grabbed for her hands to stop her continued attempts to smack him. “With Dumbledore's name invoked, no one will dare question how I know where everyone is in the castle.”

“It's a good plan,” Hermione agreed, leaning into Harry now that he had caught both of her hands. “We can do our homework and monitor the map, and if anything happens, we can be there faster than most people. I still think three to a patrol is a good idea, though.”

Harry shrugged and nodded. “Pass it by Cho and Roger, then. Worst case is everyone says no.”

Hermione voiced her agreement, before changing the subject. “What did Professor McGonagall say?”

“I'm good for those classes as far as she's concerned.”

“That's wonderful!”

“Yes, wonderful,” he echoed with much less enthusiasm. “How about you try to prepare me for what to expect, then. I'd rather not hit the classrooms blind.”

Hermione had her textbooks out almost immediately, and the remainder of the evening passed with Hermione perched on Harry's lap, lecturing quietly on her favorite classes, while he listened and stroked her hair, occasionally asking questions.

-----

PAIN!

Unbelievable pain! Movement hurts, but he pushes anyways. He must get up, he must. His muscles hang on by threads, so deep are his wounds, but he pushes harder, forcing himself upright. She doesn't have much time. His arm instinctively curls around his stomach, holding his entrails in place. Some escape anyway.

He staggers over to her, falling on top of her immobile form. There's so much blood; he forces himself to look away from her wounds, so many times worse than his are. Far too many things exposed that should never be outside the human body. She can't speak with her tattered neck, but she mouths the words determinedly, repeatedly.

"I love you too," he croaks, his voice barely able to respond, and he kisses her. It's impossible to hold his head up any longer, and he slumps weakly to the ground, his head supported by hers, their lips locked together.

She's already gone, and he can feel the darkness encroaching. Like a thousand tiny hands, it comes, pulling away at his senses, leaving only blackness and peace. He fights with the hands. He must get up. Slowly. One limb at a time. Ignore the blood, there’s plenty more. Just keep moving.

He staggers to his feet, stumbling towards the shrouded figure vanishing into the distance. He shuffles past Neville’s body first, meeting the dead boy’s stare. The head – and the rest of the body – still quivers in its death throws, nailed to the wall in a dozen ragged pieces with each section pinned and labeled.

Stop. Look away.

Ron’s head scuttles past on a set of spidery legs growing from his severed neck. With mechanical efficiency, the head climbs on top of Ginny’s unmoving body to gnaw viciously at an arm.

He forces himself onward, letting the sounds of Ron’s gluttony fade away.

“Hurry, Harry!” Luna stands before him, with an enormous silver knife in her outstretched hands. “Come on, we have to get started!”

He takes the knife and Luna smiles at him, opening her robes. He wraps an arm around her waist to steady her, and lowers the knife to her exposed breasts. A pair of crimson eyes looks on in amusement from behind her.

No!

With surprisingly little effort, he slides the knife smoothly into –

NO!

-----

“No!” Harry swore as he came awake. His stomach lurched violently, and he struggled to breathe as he staggered to the washroom. A dream. Just a dream. The side of the toilet was soothing and cool as he viciously expelled half-digested remnants of last night’s dinner. A small eternity passed as his stomach righted itself, and he walked quickly to the shower, abandoning any notion of returning to sleep.

A quick glance showed him that his bed was clean as he dressed for the day and gathered his books. Four sets of snores from around the room assured him that he had not woken anyone. He closed the door quietly behind him as he left, descending to the common room.

His watch reported 4:15am, far too early for breakfast, but far too late to consider heading back to bed. Perhaps some studying was in order. Maybe if he could immerse himself in his courses this year, he could avoid the nightmares while he was at Hogwarts.

“Harry?” He glanced up to see Hermione sitting by the fire. “What are you doing up?”

“Avoiding your corpse.” He collapsed into the couch beside her, dropping his bag at his feet. “Avoiding everyone’s corpse. Every bloody night...”

“You should see Madam Pomfrey,” Hermione urged. “She must have something to help you…”

He scoffed loudly, making Hermione trail off. “Yeah, more Dreamless Sleep potion. I don't fancy knocking myself out every night, thanks. No, I'll go the 'intense studies and practice' routine like the one I did over the summer. It'll do me better in the long run.”

Hermione made a worried noise, but Harry remained silent. Finally, she sighed and sagged back against the couch. “I just want you to take care of yourself.”

“How about you? I'm surprised to see you up this early.”

Hermione smiled and ducked her head. “I couldn't sleep. I don't sleep much anymore. It's nothing bad, just the way I am.”

“Well, you're likely to get company.” Harry draped an arm across her shoulders, and she smiled, leaning against him.

“Since you’re here, we could keep going with Arithmancy,” she offered, half-reaching for her book bag.

“Sure, why not?” Harry reached down to fish for his own textbook. “Now’s good to start the brain-cram. Tell me where we left off…”

4:30 am slowly became 7:30 am, and Harry followed Hermione and Ron down to the Great Hall. Throughout breakfast, Harry stared at Luna. No amount of Arithmancy could rid him of the horrific feeling of cutting into her with that knife. It was only a dream. He could still feel the cool metal of the knife, and the soft warmth of her skin…

“They’re just dreams,” he muttered quietly into his pumpkin juice. “Just dreams.”

Hermione stayed close to him as they walked to class, offering support. He leaned against her, greedily drinking in her presence, filling the seemingly endless void. As if she could feel his hunger for affection, she pressed closer whenever she could; whenever their eyes met, she gave him a worried smile.

“Come straight in!” Professor Wattins called from inside the classroom. Harry walked in to see that the professor had arranged the classroom with desks in a wide semi-circle around the edge. Harry sat at the seat nearest to the exit; Hermione sat beside him, rolling her eyes. The professor, too, looked at him with a calculating eye as the rest of the class filled in. Ginny plopped herself down beside Hermione, and Ron beside Ginny. Another eight students sat in small groups at various intervals around the room.

“You have told me quite a bit about yourselves.” The professor’s quiet but firm voice carried across the room, commanding their attention. “You have seated yourselves with the people that you trust the most, and you have sat away from those you trust the least. Some of you,” she indicated the group at the back of the class, “are here for what you view as the easiest NEWT grade in the school.” The group of three sitting in the back looked away, all a different shade of red.

“Others are here because they have been forced to attend for political reasons.” Harry instinctively looked across the room. Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson stared back; Draco’s face was one of open contempt, while Pansy’s was more neutral.

“Yet others of you are somewhat aware of the other students in the room, and have arranged yourselves to be well out of the crossfire.” Harry flicked his eyes to the group of three that sat in the farthest corner of the classroom, well away from him and well away from Malfoy.

“And one in particular has seated himself in the most strategically sound position, in case the room proves hostile.” His gaze moved from Malfoy to the cool eyes of the professor. A small twinge of panic lit in his belly; his hand inched toward his wand.

“Tell me, Mr. Potter, why have you chosen to sit there?”

Harry looked at Wattins, scanning her up and down for signs of a threat, or weakness. “Are you familiar with the recent history of new professors for Hogwarts?” he asked eventually. Wattins shook her head and waved, wordlessly asking him to continue.

“Maybe the rest of you aren’t, either. After my first year, where Quirrel carried Voldemort in the back of his head and died after having a go at me, we got stuck with Lockheart. Lockheart had a go at me, too; he’s a permanent resident of St. Mungo’s now. In fourth year, our Defense teacher was a polyjuiced Death Eater that nearly killed me; he got the Dementor’s Kiss. Last year, our Defense teacher took great pleasure in sending Dementors after me and threatening me with the Cruciatus. For some reason, she’s still an Undersecretary.

“So no, I don’t trust new professors at all. I barely trust some of the old ones.”

Wattins’ eyebrows rose as he talked. “Well, that’s a little more than I expected,” she said when he had finished. “Still, it helps to underline the concept that I’d like to discuss with you concerning both muggles and wizards: Psychology.”

Psychology. Right. Harry lowered his eyes to his open textbook and read, page after page after page, while Wattins droned on. She wasn’t the most charismatic teacher he’d ever met, and she stayed seated at her desk, sipping from a coffee mug as she lectured. Only near the end did Harry perk up, drawn by the increased volume of Wattins’ voice.

“The trip will be mandatory, and I have assurances from the Governors that the Ministry will take appropriate precautions while we are outside of the school. While they might forgive small mistakes, take care to remember that you are all underage; just as well, since we’ll be visiting a muggle hotel. Studying muggle reactions to the magical world has always been a… hobby of mine, and it will give us a good idea as to why it is that we have chosen to keep ourselves separate. The trip is an overnight stay at the hotel for Halloween; plan accordingly. The fifth-year students, as well as both NEWT classes, will be attending. If there are any volunteers from your peers, there is room for up to fifty of us.

“Ah, I’ve overstepped my time. We will pick up tomorrow with the basics of psychology. Please have Chapter 1 read, as we will be discussing its contents.”

“Well, that was fun,” Ron spat sarcastically as they left the classroom. “Nothing like being thrown in the deep end; ‘oh, you all know nothing about muggles! Let’s study Psychology.’”

“It’s better than learning rubbish,” Hermione countered. “At least this class will be worth our time now.”

“Whatever.”

Ginny bumped roughly into her brother, warning him off of Hermione, before turning to Harry as while he likewise pulled Hermione a few feet away. “What do you think of her?”

He shrugged, uncertain of his feelings. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “She’s sharp, I’ll give her that, but she sounds… artificial. Even Snape’s a better professor.”

“What do you mean?” Both Hermione and Ginny slowed down to hear his response. Ron, however, sped up, leaving them behind.

“Wanker,” Ginny muttered as Ron rounded the corner and disappeared. Harry shrugged, and turned his attention towards Hermione.

“You know how you pick things up from the textbook right away?” Hermione nodded. “You know how until you’re really comfortable with the knowledge, your answers pretty much sound like the textbook?” Again, Hermione nodded. “Well, that’s what she sounds like. She doesn’t really know her stuff yet, she’s just parroting the books she’s read.”

“It’s better than not knowing a thing,” Hermione offered, and Harry nodded.

“It’s fine; at least she’s making an effort. I just wish that there was a professor that took muggles seriously, rather than just some small side-project that they happen to get paid for.”

“At least we don’t have to worry about the next class,” Hermione said, brightening as she spoke. “Come on; Defense is next.”

Making his way into Defense, Harry sat as far to the back of the class as he could to avoid Dumbledore's gaze. An irrational fear blossomed in his chest every time he approached the headmaster, heightening to near panic whenever Dumbledore was too close. Dumbledore felt fragile, for some reason, and Harry felt especially dangerous to him.

Ron was never one to complain about sitting in the back of a classroom, and he happily dropped into the seat to his right. Hermione looked torn, but only an instant. By the time Harry had turned to look at her properly, she was taking the seat to his left. If Dumbledore noticed Harry's choice of seating, he gave no indication.

“Control and focus,” he said, his voice carrying powerfully across the room, capturing every student's attention.

“Those are the two properties to magic that we depend upon the most, yet develop the least. When you see me perform elaborate charms silently and effortlessly, when you see an accomplished professional perform the routine magic of his trade without resorting to his wand, remember those two words. They are the only difference between all of you as students, and me. Nothing more than control and focus.

“I know you have questions,” he continued, raising his hands to stave off Hermione and a few others whose arms immediately shot into the air. “I ask that you let me finish. I wish to tell you exactly why these two things matter so much, why they are so crucial. Part of the answer is obvious, but part of it will shock you.

“Control is the obvious: With your wand and your incantations and your intent, you guide the magic to its final form. For those spells that we perform often, we can forego the incantation – something you will all be doing this year. For those spells that we have performed thousands of times over the span of years, perhaps intent alone is enough.

“Focus, however, is entirely different. We need focus, because as wizards, and unlike inherently magical creatures, which have their own personal reserves of magical power, we have a weak and indirect connection to the ambient magic of the world.” Harry smirked as the pureblooded in the room reacted to Dumbledore's statement. “Yes, I know,” the headmaster continued, “it's nearly unthinkable to consider that other creatures have a more tangible magic to them. However, it is true. For this reason, we must learn to focus our connection to magic and strengthen it while we are casting. Shall we look at some examples, then?”

Unlike Wattins’ class, Harry paid close attention to Dumbledore’s lecture, and his examples. The more Dumbledore spoke, the more believable his theory became. The purebloods were less than enthusiastic with the idea, but Harry was convinced by the end of the class.

“He always was a little mad,” Ron muttered as they left the classroom. Hermione had taken to Dumbledore's philosophy of control and focus immediately; Ron had a completely opposite opinion about it, and seemed put off. Harry found that he didn't mind – it was more guidance than most other teachers could give. Ron's continued mutterings about Dumbledore drew his attention.

“I don't mean anything by it,” he defended as Harry looked at him, “I just think that wizards are more magical than a lot of creatures out there, so it doesn't sound right.”

“What's wrong with the idea?” asked Hermione. “I mean, it answers any question about magical skill, it allows for wizards to be weaker magically than some creatures but still be functionally stronger. All it takes away is the idea that power is inherent. What's so bad about that?”

“I...” Ron trailed off, his face flushed red.

Look ahead. Don't interfere.

It took an immense amount of willpower to resist snapping at Ron. Hermione had quite the presence around her when she started into a debate, and she had the redhead thoroughly flustered. A flustered Ron would lose his temper, and say some very hurtful things before he regained control.

He changed his mind. It probably was a good idea to interfere.

“Let me play Devil's Advocate,” he said, drawing Hermione's attention to him. “Let's say that what Dumbledore's saying, that wizards don't have natural magical power, is true. Also, let's assume that Dumbledore's got some solid proof for this.” Hermione nodded. “So, if you take away all the training wizards have at Hogwarts and their jobs, there isn't really anything much there, right?

“I mean, it's like being a wizard means nothing more than having freckles, or brown hair: it's like a switch, it's on or it's off.”

“This completely invalidates the claim from purebloods...” If possible, Hermione became even more animated.

“Right, and that’s why Ron's not happy.” Harry swept his hand in Ron's direction; his friend reddened even more, and Hermione gave him a questioning look.

“But why?”

“I'd like to hear this, too,” Professor Wattins said as they passed her in the hallway. “This might be a very good addition to our own discussions.” The glint in Wattins’ eye was skeptical at best. Harry felt uncomfortable under her scrutiny. Again and again, his attention was drawn to the wand held calmly in her hand, so unlike the other professors.

“Err, alright. You have two camps in the pureblooded, based on their views. I like to think of the pro-Pureblood and Death Eaters as hardliners, and everyone else as moderates. The Hardliners base their entire philosophy on being superior culturally and magically to non-purebloods, as well as every other magical creature. If Dumbledore's theory is true, then the hardliners only have culture to cling to, which isn't a strong enough stance." Hermione and Ron both nodded; Wattins gave a small nod, though disapproval shone in her eyes.

“What I was getting at with Ron is that the moderates don't necessarily dismiss the idea that they're superior; they just oppose the hardliners on moral and ethical grounds. In Ron's case – no offense, mate, it doesn't matter – Ron likes the idea that purebloods are superior, and I'll bet the rest of the Weasleys do, too. Purebloods like the Weasleys aren't fighting the hardliners because muggleborn and half bloods are right; they're fighting because the hardliners are wrong. There's a pretty big difference there.”

“So you believe that nearly all purebloods are of the opinion that they are superior,” Wattins summarized, “and the schism is one of ethics, not ideals. Furthermore, if Professor Dumbledore is right, then the shared ideal of magical superiority is patently false, leaving only cultural tradition.”

“Sounds right,” Hermione said, still nearly bouncing in her excitement. “It makes me wonder why there's even a war going on, especially if Dumbledore can prove this.”

“We don't know that he can,” Harry cautioned. “But I can still see the war happening. Try to forget about what we know about muggle rights and think like a pureblood family, like the Malfoys. Your entire way of life is threatened, and you find everything that you thought to be true about yourself challenged by what is quickly becoming the majority population. You're at risk of losing your cultural values completely to the press of muggle-inspired ideas and the notion of nearly complete personal freedom – which probably comes across as a childish lack of responsibility to society. Where you see honor and duty, the muggle-born see bigotry and slavery, and the world seems to be massing against you faster than you can react.

“This gets worse and worse until the 1950’s, and the only hope left is a magical genius who's an unstable homicidal psychopath. As perverse as he is, he's offering a chance to hold onto the world you know, and reclaim the respect you've lost. His plans are almost foolproof, and all he's asking for is a little help in his own pursuits along the way. So little in return for the future of your children, and their children... wouldn't you do whatever it takes to ensure your children's future? Just think of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley; what wouldn't they do to make sure that their children stay alive, in one piece, and happy?”

Three sets of eyes regarded him Harry in a new light. Hermione's shone with admiration, while both Wattins and Ron looked as if they were awake for the very first time. Wattins quickly regained herself, frowning as she considered him, glancing surreptitiously towards the Defense classroom, where another class of students filed in.

“Well, that was a... very thorough analysis,” Wattins allowed. “Good attention to both political and emotional motivators, as well. I think you'll do well in my class, Mr. Potter.”

Harry watched the professor walk away; his face twitched slightly as the feeling of discomfort faded with her receding footsteps. “That was... weird.”

“I think you impressed her.” Harry spared Hermione a smile. ‘Impressed’ is not the word he would have used; ‘irritated’ would fit better, or perhaps ‘angered.’ Ron still had a far-away look on his face, and Harry ticked away the seconds as they resumed walking. Ron wasn't dumb; he'd get there.

“Bugger.”

There he was; Harry smiled.

“I'm... I'm really sorry,” Ron said, aiming the comment more towards Hermione. “I didn't- didn't understand. I'll- I...” He broke off mid-sentence and lengthened his strides, taking off towards Gryffindor tower. Harry nodded to himself, and redirected Hermione towards the library; Hermione offered no resistance.

“Something happened there, and I missed it,” she said, looking at Harry questioningly.

“With Ron? Nah.” Harry waved a hand dismissively. “It's just leftover guilt from the summer; it'll pass.”

“Leftover guilt? You mean because he fancied me. Why?”

“Pride, I reckon. If you had said no when I asked you out, I'd have probably killed myself trying to figure out what I didn't have that you wanted, or where I had gone wrong. Ron's doing the same thing now and he's not quite done yet.”

“But-”

“I know, I know; months, and all that. The biggest problem, I think, is that he didn't have anyone to talk to about this. His family's his family, and you and I are pretty much family, too. All the right things are there, and he can’t find anything to blame for you liking me more. I’ve thought a lot about this; I’ve certainly had the time.”

Hermione frowned. “It's not like that, though. There's nothing wrong, and my feelings are my choice.”

“Yes, but Ron… Can I say something? Without you taking offense?” Harry waited for Hermione to nod, and continued. “If there's one thing about you that I could find fault with, it's the way you think. The problem, Hermione, is that you're so very smart, and adults think you're so very mature, and you know it.”

“Okay? What do you mean?”

“No offense and I love you, okay?” Again, Hermione nodded. “You kind of think that because Ron and I aren’t as smart as you, we’re dumb. No one says that we’re mature, so we’re immature. You see?”

Hermione’s hurt glare made it clear to him that she did not see.

“Look, you don't do that so much with me, probably because I've got enough on my plate and you cut me some slack; but you do belittle Ron quite a bit, and it makes Ron feel like he’s failed at something.

“Could you not look at me like that? I'm not insulting you! I do it to him too, you know. Ron and I started out about the same; he’s had a chance to see me pull away in school and Quidditch, though, so I’m not as big a sore point. Ron started miles behind you in school, and he can't ever discuss things with you without losing or make decisions that you approve of. He never had a chance to compete from an even start.”

“Neither did you, then! I don’t see you acting like a baby!”

Harry looked over his glasses at her; Hermione turned beet red and covered her mouth with her hand. “The difference is that I've never sought anyone's approval for my actions. If you didn't like what I was doing, I didn't much care. Ron needed approval though, and you never gave it.

“It's probably why you fancy me more than Ron, now that I think about it.”

"Because you didn't need my approval?"

“Since Ron was so defensive, you had to be right about him; since I just kept going, there had to be something else going on there.”

Hermione nodded, and the pair lapsed into silence as they entered the library. Harry expected that Hermione would pick it up again, but she said nothing, guiding them to her favorite study corner behind the stacks.

“We're patrolling tonight,” she reminded as they pulled out their Arithmancy books. Harry murmured an agreement, and lost himself in his studies.

“Harry, are you… mad at me?” He looked up to see Hermione worrying her lip, her book still open to the first page.

“No, of course not. Is this about what I said?” Harry walked around the table to sit beside her. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to poke holes. I just wanted to talk about it.”

“But you made it sound like I was-”

“Hermione, stop.” She quieted as his arms slid around her. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. I try-”

“Shh. I’m sorry I said anything. It’s just something I think; it means nothing. This is why I’m going to hate Wattins’ class. Talking about how and why people think the way they do is just a fancy way to point fingers. I should stop doing that. Now, no more out of you. Smile for me.”

Hermione gave a watery smile, and Harry kissed her, long and hard. Her smile was much happier as he pulled her up, and they gathered their books, heading to the Great Hall for dinner. They spent the evening studying, but Harry kept Hermione on his lap while they read, stroking her hair and whispering affectionately in her ear.

-----

Burning eyes.

The irises glow fiercely in shades of yellow and red, pools of molten metal surrounding black voids. Everything else is lost to shadow, but those eyes...

Fear. Panic. Helplessness.

A hand grips his shoulder with incredible strength, talon-like fingers digging holes through his skin and muscle.

“You're mine.”

He screams.

-----

His eyes snapped open to see Hermione jump back. Darkness roiled around her, sticking to her robes and grabbing at her. The room was a sea of black, an impenetrable void. Only the shaft of light from Hermione’s lit wand was free of shadow.

“H-Hermione, what’s-?”

“Harry!” she breathed, lunging toward him. “Harry you have to wake up! None of the others will wake up, and this – this – whatever it is, it’s everywhere!”

“Lumos!” he cried, and his own wand lit up beside him, searing the shadow away from it. He hastily snatched it up, and fumbled for his robes.

“We need more light!” Hermione moaned. “My fires won’t work, they keep guttering out!”

Struck by a morbid curiosity, Harry reached out to touch the shadow. Feelings of helplessness and despair surrounded him just like in his dream, drawing forth painful, unwanted memories, almost like a Dementor. Dementors...

“I have an idea. Expecto Patronum!”

Prongs burst forth, turning to stand protectively in front of Harry and Hermione, radiating both light and warmth. The darkness jerked away from the area like a hand from fire, and the entire room basked in the serene glow from the Patronus, not a shadow in sight. The small fireplace in the centre of the room flickered back to full strength, and Ron, Neville and Seamus began to stir. Hermione sagged against Harry in relief.

“My God... what's going on? What's in the castle?”

“I need to get Dumbledore,” Harry said. “Here, keep an eye on the map for anything strange. Ron, are you up?”

“Y-Yeah. I t-think I know what your d-dreams feel like, mate.”

“Great. We’ll compare notes later. For now, cast your strongest Patronus. Think of winning Quidditch last year, or something. Neville, Dean, you too. Even if it’s mist, it’ll still glow, and it’ll keep the darkness away. I don’t have time to explain, it’s what gave you nightmares. Get everyone up, and down into the common room. Make sure at least one solid Patronus is active at all times. Damn, I wish Fred and George were here.

“Hermione, use your Patronus and get as many of the girls up as you can; start with Ginny so she can help. Same thing, everyone down to the common room, as many Patroni active as we can hold.

Prongs, let's go.”

Hermione dashed towards the girls’ dorms, her otter following at her feet. Ron led the other boys towards the other boys’ dorm rooms, accompanied by a small dog and copious amounts of mist. Harry continuously fed power to prongs, keeping the Patronus active as he ran full tilt out of the tower and towards Dumbledore’s office, the darkness receding before him.

“Potter!” Harry turned to see McGonagall nearby, fighting her way through the darkness with her lit wand.

“Professor, use a Patronus!”

A form too distant for Harry to see burst from McGonagall’s wand and the darkness receded from her immediately. “Thank you!” she called. “Where are you going?”

“Hermione and Ron are rousing the Gryffindors, they’ll be fine! I need to find Dumbledore!”

“I’ll get him,” the professor said, and with a flick of her wand, a second Patronus formed and sped down the hallways at an incredible speed. When Harry and McGonagall reached the gargoyle, they found it already open, and Dumbledore stepped forth. Fawkes was perched on his shoulders, and the darkness seemed to shrink away from the headmaster, as though afraid of him.

“Let’s be away,” he intoned, “there is much work to be done tonight.” Harry followed in Dumbledore’s wake, and the shadows closed in again, swallowing the open gargoyle.

All night, he, McGonagall and Dumbledore had fought their way to the common rooms and dorms of every House, to students caught in the throes of unnatural nightmares. While Prongs and McGonagall’s cat kept the darkness at bay, Dumbledore enchanted each fireplace to burn with Gubraithian Fire. The holy, everburning flames banished the darkness from each room completely, and they moved on, one dorm at a time. Dumbledore seemed visibly weaker with every fire he enchanted, but he waved off Harry’s concern. They finished the dorms, and Dumbledore leaned on Harry as they walked to the fireplace in the Hospital Wing. Then the candles in the Great Hall. Then the various Professors' Quarters.

Dumbledore collapsed after finishing McGonagall's fireplace, and Harry helped the distraught Deputy Headmistress move him to the Hospital Wing. Dumbledore's face was skeletally thin, and his breathing was erratic. Madam Pomfrey looked ashen at the state of the Headmaster, and quickly fell to work over him. Soon, Snape appeared, carrying several potions with him. McGonagall continued to hover tremulously around the bed.

Ignored by the professors, and worried about Hermione, Harry left the Hospital wing, heading back towards Gryffindor tower. He passed the stone gargoyle on his way, noting that the portal was still open. Curious as to why, he ducked up the stairs, and looked inside to see Dumbledore’s office in complete disarray. Someone had ransacked the office, looking for something, and destroying most of Dumbledore’s possessions. The charred remains of books littered the room.

“Son of a bitch,” he whispered. Not knowing what to do, Harry headed down the stairs and back towards the tower. Dumbledore’s office didn’t matter; it only made any difference if the professor recovered. He’d deal with it later.

A dozen anxious looks greeted Harry as he entered the common room. “Dumbledore’s in the Hospital Wing,” he said, sitting in the spot Hermione had saved for him. “He’s not good.” She wrapped his arm around her, burrowing into his armpit. Unshed tears glistened in her eyes, and he could feel her shaking. Ron sat across from them, wide-eyed and devastated, wet trails forming on his cheeks. Ginny gathered Dean, Seamus and the Creevey brothers around her in a sort of group hug. Lavender and Parvati held on to each other for support. The entire Quidditch team huddled together in front of the brilliant white fire, drawing what warmth they could.

Every student was slowly recovering from the harrowing dreamscape the darkness thrust them into, and the news of Dumbledore’s collapse did little to help their recovery. Harry could taste the emotion in the air, the tang of fear and sadness. The flames pulsed, drawing Harry's gaze to them. The very castle seemed to pulse when viewed through the white fire. In and out. In and out. The rhythm set itself against Hermione's shaky breaths and the deep wheezes Ron made as he tried valiantly not to cry. The sniffles and snorts of the other students all added to the cacophony, yet behind them all, the castle breathed. In and out. In and out.

Harry noticed with a growing sense of unease that the breathing was slowing. The fire pulsed heavily, and the castle began to radiate pain. He felt it as a small itch against his head, quickly growing into a burn. He could feel the pain spike with every weakening breath, and the breaths were growing fainter. In and out. In and out.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

“No.” Harry disentangled himself from Hermione and shot to his feet, bolting for the portal.

“Harry, wait!”

He held the portrait open for Hermione and grabbed her hand, pulling her along as he rushed towards the hospital wing.

In.

He was wrong. He prayed that he was wrong. This couldn't happen.

Out.

They passed several professors, including McGonagall and Wattins. Both women turned and followed behind the two Prefects, trailing questions in their wake.

In.

The castle seemed to shudder with the effort it took to breathe, and Harry pumped his legs harder, letting Hermione go as he sped ahead. He wasn't wrong, and he had to hurry.

Out.

Please, no. Not now. Let him live, just a little longer. Breathe, please breathe. He was almost there.

In.

Harry crashed against the doors to the hospital wing, throwing them open, and ran towards the pale form of Dumbledore. The man's head tilted towards Harry, and an emaciated, claw-like hand grabbed Harry with frightening strength.

“Tell him, Harry,” breathed Dumbledore, his eyes wide and bright. “Tell him that I did not fail. Tell him that I fought to the last, that I have made the ultimate sacrifice; that Hogwarts will be forever denied him.”

Out.

Pain wracked Harry's body in time with Dumbledore's spasms. The ancient wizard held on, though, and pulled Harry close to him.

In.

“The school is safe, Harry. Do not focus within; focus without. Be strong...”

“Harry!” Hermione entered the wing, and staggered over to him, panting heavily. The two professors entered quietly behind her.

“Ariana?” called Dumbledore, looking around uncomprehendingly. “Ariana, my dear, is that you? Please, please forgive me. Please, guide your errant brother home.”

“Professor...”

“Harry,” Dumbledore said, snapping back towards Harry's voice. “There is so much for you to do, and so little to help you. Death is not defeat, Harry. Death will empower you more than you will ever know. Love... and death, Harry; love and death... together.” A fresh set of spasms rocked the professor, and Harry leaned over him, embracing the ancient wizard in a futile attempt to stave off the attack.

“Professor-!”

“Proud... of... you... F-forgive...”

“Yes. Whatever it is, yes!”

Out.

Slowly, Dumbledore's death-grip loosened, and his hand slipped away. His luminous blue eyes dimmed, and he fell back to the bed, a small sigh escaping his lips, which sounded remarkably like relief.

The castle was silent, the pulse gone. The white, eternal flames in the hospital wing's fireplace flickered and dimmed for a moment, before flaring full and bright again. In the distance, Harry heard Fawkes begin to sing sadly. A gentle pulse of magic washed over him from the still form of the headmaster, spreading out to encompass the entire castle. One by one, the torches in the hallway burst into white flames.

McGonagall caressed Dumbledore's face, tears falling unchecked down her cheeks. Wattins brushed her own tears away, looking at the wetness in surprise. Hermione turned into Harry, hiding her stricken face in his robes. Harry stared at the bright light from the hallway torches, and listened to Fawkes. The ultimate sacrifice...

Eternal, undying light shone throughout Hogwarts.

Albus Dumbledore was dead.

It was 7:37am, September 3.

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A/N: The setup is complete. Let the evil begin.