Harry Potter and the Descent into Darkness

Harry was alone. He'd never felt so lost and alone in his life. Even when at the Dursley's when he was a young child, he hadn't felt this alone. At least then, alone was all he had ever experienced. He didn't have anything to compare it to. Now he had known friendship and knew what it felt like to have friends and confidants with whom he could trust. Having it all ripped away from him, and being submerged back into that abyss of solitude was crushing.

It was now November 3rd, but his problems had really started on October 31st. Terrible things always happened on Halloween. So of course, he had been wary. Experience had taught Harry to dread this day each year, but he had not seen this coming. Not by a long shot.

He was in his 4th year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and things had started out fine enough. Granted, the attack by Death Eaters at the Quidditch World Cup several weeks before the start of term had been a rather terrible experience, and then there were the foreboding dreams Harry had been having... but actual school had been great, so far. Even their Defense teacher was brilliant. Mad. But brilliant.

So when Harry's name had come shooting out of the Goblet of Fire, naming him one of the Tri-Wizard Champions, he had been stunned into a dumbfounded silence.

The entire school was convinced that he had cheated somehow. That he'd managed to find some way around Dumbledore's age line and had entered his name into the cup. More than that, his cheat had somehow screwed things up so badly that there were two champions chosen to represent Hogwarts when there was only supposed to be one.

The day after the champions were chosen, a reporter from the Daily Prophet named Rita Skeeter had come to interview the four of them. Her article was like a nuke of horror and embarrassment upon his life. It was utter rubbish and gossip drivel, of course, but that didn't stop people from believing it.

The entire school was against him. He was the attention seeking, cheating, liar, who still cried about his parents death sometimes at night, and had serious mental stability issues. But all of this would probably be within his ability to cope with – if it weren't for the abandonment of the two people he had trusted he could trust to always believe him.

Ron was angry. He didn't believe Harry for one minute when he told the redhead that he hadn't put his name into that cup. He was convinced that Harry had found a way around the age line and had entered his name without sharing the information with Ron. That Harry didn't want the added competition. That he didn't want to risk giving Ron the chance for glory of his own.

The stupid sodding git was just so jealous of Harry's fame that he was blind to the truth. The fact that he could honestly believe that Harry would want anything to do with 'eternal glory' stung hard. It showed that his friend really didn't know him much at all.

And then there was Hermione. Even she didn't believe him! She was angry at him for cheating. For doing something that had screwed up the tournament to make four champions instead of three, and she was angry at him for being so reckless that he would do something to put his life in danger. She was so angry that she couldn't see past the fury to listen to his insistence that he hadn't done it in the first place.

It was Saturday and he was hiding away in his dormitory. All of his dorm mates had left for breakfast. None of them bothering to 'wake' him, since none of them were speaking to him. Not that he wanted to go to breakfast anyway. He was sick of the stares and the whispers, and the open mocking from every damn Slytherin in the school.

He lay down in his bed, buried deep within the red quilts and shadowed beneath the heavy drawn curtains that surrounded his four-poster bed. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind of all the pain and loneliness he felt. The sense of utter abandonment filled him and he clenched his jaw, taking in sharp breaths through his nose as he tried to push it all away. Turn everything off. Shut everything out.

Nothingness.

He slowed his breathing and it was coming out in even, deep breaths now. He escaped deep into his mind in a way he hadn't done in years. He used to do this when he was shut away in the cupboard and trying not to cry because of something especially hurtful his relatives had said or done to him, but he had stopped doing it at some point.

As he retreated deeper and deeper into his mind he slowly began to recognize the place. It had been so long since he had done this. He'd utterly forgotten about it. The space was vast and formless. A large white expanse that had an ambiguous floor plane, and white walls surrounding an extremely large empty space. To one distant corner he noticed a cold, dark spot that he hadn't paid any attention to in so many years, that he had honestly forgotten that it was there at all. He examined the dark spot curiously for a moment. His memories of it were foggy and faded with time. It had been so long since he'd last paid this place any mind. He had honestly thought he had imagined the whole thing.

Yet as he thought about this isolated dark corner, he realized that it had always been there. It had always been with him, but it had been completely lost to his awareness for many many years. He remembered some long lost memory of being afraid of this cold dark spot inside himself. That he'd had some... reason why he was scared of it. In his youthful naivety he had thought it something horrible that needed to be shunned and hidden away, but he couldn't remember why.

He knew that at some point, a long time ago, he had begun to push it away though. That he had held it off through a great force of will. Like he had built up some great mental barrier around it to keep it away from him. To keep him separate from the scary dark spot in his mind.

Now that he was actually paying attention to it, he realized he was still doing it. It was like some sort of automatic defense mechanism now. It was just there. He just did it. It was always doing it. Surrounding the foggy dark corner was an invisible barrier, and he could feel that a lot of his magical power was going towards keeping it there. He wondered how much of his energy had been dedicated to constantly keeping this tiny thing pushed aside for so long.

He examined the dark spot with a speculative eye now. Wondering if there really was a good reason for him to have feared it, or if it was worth the expenditure of energy to keep pushing against the spot. It seemed rather innocuous to him now. Granted, it was cold over there.

His first experiments with approaching the dark spot were comparable to poking it with a long stick. Mentally prodding at it in short, quick gestures. Curiously watching for any sort of response. There was none.

He continued to examine and mentally 'approach' the darkness for some time after that, and found the closer he allowed himself to get to it, the warmer it felt. It wasn't really cold at all. And it felt oddly... comforting. It felt almost like a foreign presence, and yet it wasn't a presence that he felt any desire to expel.

He brushed up against it and felt warm and comforted. In his mindscape he imagined himself standing in the vast white room, and the dark spot was foggy and blurry, and yet it had substance. He stroked his hand against it hesitantly and he... he liked what he felt. It wasn't just a softness in his 'hand', but a shudder that ran through his whole body. A giddy tingle that made him smile his first real smile since the events of Halloween had come to pass.

He's automatic defenses had still been up this whole time. Caging the dark spot into it's own tiny corner, but he decided to lower them now. The dark thing didn't seem threatening at all. He wasn't afraid of it any longer, and saw no reason to exert any of his magical energy just to keep the thing cornered.

He stopped the constant battle his magic had fought against the dark spot for the last however many years and felt as if an enormous weight was suddenly lifted from his shoulders. He gasped in surprise at the tremendous difference it had made, almost instantly. He couldn't believe how much of his magic had been going towards holding off the dark thing! It was insane!

He wondered suddenly if this was why he'd had such pathetic results in his classwork for the last three years. Had his practical spellwork been impeded by this battle his subconscious had fought with itself all his life?

Harry refocused on the dark thing again now to observe how it reacted to the sudden release of it's prison. It didn't seem to be doing much of anything, really. It was still there, and it still felt... nice to touch it. It hadn't suddenly grown or moved, or lashed out in any way. It still just sat there in his mind's eye, being rather innocuous. Harry wondered why in Merlin's name he had been afraid of the thing in the first place. He realized suddenly that it was probably some childish thing that had no real baring, and he had constructed this subconscious barrier through accidental magic and had held it up through instinct.

It was mind boggling to think that some subconscious accidental magic he'd done when he was only four or five may had been seriously holding him back in his magical education. It was almost disgusting.

He finally emerged out from his inner mind and sighed heavily as he finally acknowledged that he needed to get out of bed. Even if he avoided meals with the rest of the school, he still had homework that needed doing, and he couldn't neglect it any longer.

– –

It was... incredible. His mind was so clear. His magic was so easy to control and manipulate. He could feel it swirling around him, ebbing and flowing with powerful waves, crashing upon the magic that lie ingrained in the castle around him. He'd never felt so in-tune with magic before in his whole life!

He'd never realized just how much of his magic, and his sub-conscious had been dedicated to the task of fighting against the little dark spot, until he had stopped the battle. Now the magic was always right at his fingertips and everything responded so quickly and easily. His mind was so much clearer now too. He just understood what was written in the books, and what the teachers said. It made so much sense, and he was dumbfounded that he had gone so long just not getting it.

It was so obvious! How could he have gone so long without seeing the truth? Without understanding what it was he was doing?

Magical theory had always been just beyond his grasp. He could do the spells with enough practice, but he never really understood the how and why of the magics before. But he did now. He could see the magic. Feel it as it worked it's way around and through him. His magic worked with him so easily and the thrill of having such easy control of it was exhilarating.

The last week of classes had been such an incredible experience that it had actually managed to outweigh the mocking and the angry glares that followed him wherever he went.

Each night before he let sleep claim him, he had regulated his breathing and let his awareness slip deep into his mind so he could examine the dark spot some more. He wanted to keep track of any reaction it might have to no longer being fought against, and so far there had been... none. It remained the same shape and size and in the same spot, resting deep in the back of his mind.

Why on earth had he wasted so much energy and mental concentration, for so long on fighting this small dark spot in the back of his mind!

He wished he could remember what had caused his younger self to be so afraid of this thing.

He had gradually began to approach the dark spot more and more. His classwork and studies had proved to be great distractions, but he still felt horribly alone. Having his two best friends utterly shun him still stung horribly, but when he let himself approach the dark spot, the horrible ache would fade away. The dark spot filled some of the empty void with a foreign warmth and he would sigh with the slightest bit of contentment.

– –

Another few days passed. Hagrid had him come out into the forest under his invisibility cloak and had shown him the dragons. Madam Maxime had been there too, and on his way back to the castle, Harry had run across Igor Karkaroff, so there was no doubt that both Krum and Delacour knew about the dragons as well.

Harry doubted that anyone had bothered to warn Cedric about it.

That night, after seeing the dragons first hand, Harry had had a firecall with Sirius. His godfather warned Harry that Karkaroff was once a Death Eater. He also told Harry that he suspected that whoever put his name into the goblet of fire had done so in the hopes that Harry would end up dead.

People died in this tournament. There was a reason that only wizards of age were allowed to compete. Harry, only at the start of his fourth year, was wholly unprepared for the tasks he would have to face. He simply hadn't been studying magic long enough to have been introduced to even a fraction of the magics that his fellow champions had.

At that point, Harry was still in the process of being utterly horrified by the prospect of having to face off against an enormous dragon. Sirius had told him that he knew of a simple way to tackle one, but had been cut off when Harry heard someone coming down into the common room. They had had to end their firecall early, and Harry felt incredibly disappointed by this.

His disappointment shifted into bitter anger when he discovered that the person who had interrupted his call had been none other than Ron. The jealous, traitorous git who had once claimed to be his best mate.

He's just an attention-seeking glory hound.

All he ever wanted from me was to bask in the cast off light of the 'boy-who-lived'. Once he realized that he was just living in my shadow, he got angry and turned on me.

A little voice inside Harry's head remarked bitterly.

– –

Harry spent every free moment he could find in the next few days, researching dragons. The more he had read about them, the more he realized just how horrifyingly dangerous dragons were. Usually huge teams of wizards were responsible for restraining and subduing the enormous creatures. It took twenty wizards casting simultaneous stunners to actually knock one out.

He set the book he was reading down on his bedside table and lay back in the overstuffed covers and sighed heavily. It was late – probably sometime after midnight – and all of his dorm mates were asleep. He was stressed and quite honestly, really starting to freak out. The task was only a week away and he still had no idea what he was going to do.

He lay back on his pillow, closed his eyes, and escaped into his mindscape. He'd found that spending time near the dark spot calmed his frayed nerves in an oddly pleasant way. He liked being near it. Liked brushing his 'fingers' along it's surface. He'd even begun laying against it. Leaning into it like a giant cushion. It's warmth enveloped him in a wonderful way. It was like it saturated every frayed nerve and calmed them. He could think clearer after being inside his mindscape, and he felt energized and magically rejuvenated after spending time in close proximity to the dark spot.

He escaped to it again, just then, going directly so it and settling himself beside it, feeling it's warmth envelope him. He sighed happily as he relished the feeling of having something there with him. He couldn't quite explain it, but when he was with this small dark spot in his mind, he felt as if he were with someone else. Like he wasn't alone.

He sighed heavily again and without even deciding it do it, he began to speak. He rambled and talked on and on about what had been happening in his life and the stress and worry that filled him as he worried about the task.

He'd never actually done this before. Talking to... well, himself, really. As he thought about what he was doing, he knew, rationally, that it was pretty crazy, and yet he did it anyway. He just... he wanted someone to talk to, and even though he knew it was crazy, he really did feel like this little bit of darkness in his mental world of pure white, was a separate person from himself.

After what felt like a very long session of ranting and raving, Harry fell silent and was able to relax into the comforting presence. He felt cleansed, somehow. It felt good to vent. To let it all out. To finally tell someone, even if he were really just telling himself.

The dark presence that he lay against seemed to... shift suddenly. It was small, but Harry was keenly aware of the dark spot, and noticed any change in it instantly.

He stiffened and all of his senses went on alert as he mentally observed it for any and all changes.

The dark spot didn't change 'shape' or 'size', but the presence seemed to... embrace Harry, as he was leaning beside it. This was all mental, and any physical manifestation was purely imagined on Harry's part. Much of it didn't really have any sort of physical manifestation at all – it was all just impressions and feelings. But if Harry were to put some sort of physical descriptor to what changed, he would almost say that the presence had just pulled him into a hug.

Slowly, he relaxed into the calming sensation. The embrace continued and it soothed him in ways he could not possibly describe. Harry never liked to be touched much. He wasn't accustomed to physical contact. The only contact he ever got from the Dursley's was painful or just fundamentally negative. He had never been held or hugged before coming to Hogwarts. So even when someone tried to make physical contact with him now, he always shied away from it. He didn't know how to react, so he just escaped.

But this was different.

He felt no desire to pull away. No discomfort or uncertainty. He didn't feel awkward. There was no embarrassment or urge to get far away and return to his comfort zone. This was his comfort zone.

He let out a long, slow sigh, and felt a mountain of tension melt away with it. The presence wrapped him tighter and it was as if it were wrapping him up entirely and holding him close. He'd never felt more whole, and accepted in his whole life. He loved it. He never wanted it to end.

He wanted to hold the presence back and he found that he was. He and the dark presence held each other for a very long time while Harry's conscious mind lulled away into unconsciousness as he slid into sleep.

– –

The next morning he awoke with what he could only describe as an epiphany. Harry now knew exactly how to handle the dragon. It wasn't a single 'simple spell' so he knew that it wasn't the same thing that Sirius had been thinking of – nor would Sirius ever think to do what Harry was now planning to do. However, even if it had nothing to do with what his godfather had been about to suggest, he knew that his answer was probably a better one anyway. He was absolutely positive that it would work.

First, he needed to make sure he got either the Chinese Fireball, or the Green Welsh. He knew it would work much better on those two breeds than it would the Horntail or the Short-Snout. The Fireball would be the easiest. It would listen. Being an eastern liondragon, it would be able to understand the best. The trick now was to make sure that he got it.

Harry was so consumed with his eager planning for the task, that it was nearly a whole day later when he first thought to worry about where this sudden inspiration had come from.

He'd read so many texts on dragons over the past few days that the knowledge, and which book it had come from, had all bled together. He told himself that he must have read it from somewhere in all of those books, but the more he thought on it, the more he was sure that he hadn't.

In fact, as he continued his search now, he realized he couldn't find a single reference in any books on dragons, that said that a speaker of... of parseltongue would be able to communicate with one.

Where had the idea come from?

Was it just some idiotic dream, and he was basing all of his plans on something that wouldn't work?

But he was absolutely positive that it would. He just was. So he pressed through the wall of uncertainty and refocused on his current task.

Making sure he got the Fireball.

His job was made easier when he saw Ludo Bagman walking the grounds from the forest that afternoon. He quickly ran after the man and managed to find a quiet, out of the way, spot to talk with him. A voice in the back of Harry's head told him that this was probably 'cheating' but a surprisingly louder voice insisted that his priority was surviving, not winning. He didn't care what he had to do. He just wanted to make it through this alive.

He asked Bagman in as round-about a manner as he could, that if there were multiple things to choose from in the next task, what might be the method used to assign each of those things to a specific champion. Bagman quickly caught on to what Harry was doing, and, thanks to his gambling debts and his stakes in Harry's winning, he eagerly assisted.

It turned out that each contestant would have to reach into a bag and blindly pull out a miniaturized version of the dragon that they would then have to face.

Harry also discovered that, as the youngest of the four champions, he would have to choose last. This greatly complicated his efforts. He wasn't willing to rely on luck of the draw when his chances were only one out of four that he'd get the dragon he wanted.

That night he slipped into his mindscape and recounted his troubles and his concerns to the dark spot while he relaxed back into it's warm, comforting embrace. He could almost swear that it was responding to him from time to time. There weren't words or sounds, but there was the definite impression of feelings. Like it was sympathizing with his woes. Like it understood. It was like a mother, holding and rocking a child when he was scared and alone. And yet it was also like a good friend. Or a companion who understood you better than anyone else ever could. One who you could truly trust would always be there for you.

Harry couldn't explain why he felt the way he did. None of it could really be put into words that would make sense to anyone else. Despite the lack of logic, he had no desire to fight it. He felt better than he ever had before. His magic was stronger, and he felt more at one, and more comfortable with himself than he could ever remember feeling in his whole life.

The dark presence held him and calmed his frazzled nerves. It listened to his worries, and it added in little vibes of feeling here and there in a way that made Harry utterly convinced that it really was listening. If that made any sense at all... which he knew it didn't.

The next morning Harry woke with a wide grin. It spread across his face and he felt giddy. There was a strong urge to giggle... or maybe cackle. But a moment later he squashed it down and frowned slightly as he let his mind really analyze what he was now planning.

One some level, he knew it wasn't right. That it was... unfair, or something equally ridiculous. Stupid reasons for putting one's life on the line, honestly. He pushed these concerns away by reminding himself that there really would be no benefit at all to the other champions as to which dragon they ended up with. Harry was the only parselmouth in the bunch, and the only one who would benefit from getting the Fireball.

In fact, the fireball was one of the more dangerous of the bunch. The Horntail would be really dangerous too, in the physical sense. It was littered with painful, deadly, spikes, and Hagrid had made it sound like it had an exceptionally nasty disposition – but the range of it's fire breath was actually the smallest of the bunch. The Fireball had the widest and longest range and it wasn't 'fire breath' as much as it was a fiery molten liquid spray.

If he made sure that the other contestants didn't get the fireball, he was really doing them a favor. Really.

After lunch that day Harry followed Cedric Diggory out of the great hall after lunch. The popular Hufflepuff boy was always surrounded by other students – students wearing Potter Stinks badges – but Harry forced himself to push back his self-consciousness and approached the older boy.

"Potter? What's up?" Cedric asked, shooting several of his snickering friends looks that told them to shut up.

"We need to talk. It's important."

Cedric gave him a suspicious, hesitant look but finally nodded his head. He told his friends he'd be back in a minute and followed Harry to an empty classroom. Harry sucked in a deep breath, still unsure if he could pull this off. There was a war waging in his mind over the morality of what he was planning to do, and yet, strangely enough, the part of him fighting against it because he knew it was 'wrong' was surprisingly weak in it's protests. It was as if he were fighting against it only because he felt like he should be fighting it – not because he actually believed that it was wrong.

Harry turned to face the older Hufflepuff and put up a rather convincing nervous mask. His real nerves, however, left him almost the instant he committed to really doing it, and instead an excited glee filled the pit of his stomach. He was almost excited to see if he could really do this. If it would really work.

"Cedric, I wanted to warn you."

The older boy narrowed his eyes and the suspicion was back full force.

"I know what the first task is going to be," Harry said, giving the other boy a determined nod and looking directly into his pale gray eyes. He felt the magic swirling around him. It bent to his will effortlessly. He didn't even have to say any words! Not that he had any idea of what spells would allow a person to read someone's mind, anyway. He was doing this entirely on instinct. He really wasn't sure why he knew he could, but he just knew it would work. And it was so easy! Hell, he was barely clutching his wand! He slipped into the other boy's mind with ease and could feel thoughts and emotions swirling around him.

Cedric was eager and excited at the prospect of getting a heads up on what was coming, but he wondered why in Merlin's name, Harry would be telling him any such thing.

"The first task is dragons," Harry continued to say. The older boy was still entirely oblivious to Harry's presence in his mind. Harry had to fight hard against the smirk that tried to spread across his lips. This is too easy!

"Dragons!" Cedric exclaimed and his mind filled with panicked thoughts and images of enormous scaled beasts with sharp fangs and walls of fire.

"Yeah, they've got four of them. A Swedish Short-snout, a Hungarian Horntail, a Green Welsh, and a Chinese Fireball," as Harry spoke the last one he followed the thought in the older boy's mind and encircled it with the strongest sense of dread and loathing he could subtly muster in Cedric's mind. He encased the very thought of it with the strongest desire to avoid it at all costs.

Don't choose the Fireball.

Cedric's expression only showed his utter horror at the idea of fighting a dragon for a moment before he managed to master his face into a committed, if not still rather unnerved, mask. The Hufflepuff's thoughts weren't nearly so ordered or controlled. He was utterly panicking on the inside.

Cedric noted, for a split second, that it was odd that he should be so terrified of the Fireball, but he also knew that the Chinese dragons had insane range with their molten fire breath, and figured that was probably why.

"Why are you telling me this?" Cedric asked suddenly as the suspicion from earlier took hold of his thoughts again.

"When I saw them – the dragon's I mean – I saw Madam Maxime and Karkaroff out there too. If they know, their champions know. It was unfair for you to be the only one of the four of us who didn't know," Harry said with an innocent face and a simple one-shoulder shrug. Cedric looked surprised and mentally commented on how naive Harry was.

Harry had to fight hard against a smug grin.

Naive indeed. He mentally chuckled.

Eventually, Cedric accepted Harry's gesture and thanked him for the information. The two parted ways and Harry finally allowed the sly smirk to cross his face.

Just too easy.

– –

The next day Moody had held Harry after Defense class and it almost seemed as if the man were trying to subtly offer his assistance to Harry. He even went so far as to tell him that cheating was a part of the Tri-Wizard Tournament's historical past time. This mildly soothed some of Harry's conscious, but he was already dedicated enough to his plan that he'd mostly gotten over his moral concerns.

Moody asked Harry if he had a plan for how to tackle the task and actually seemed rather shocked when Harry insisted that he did, and said as much with a surprising amount of confidence.

Moody had looked at him curiously but finally nodded his head and let him go to his next class.

– –

Finding Krum alone was easy enough. The enormous Bulgarian-of-few-words spent a surprisingly large amount of time in the library. The trick was getting to him before his 'fan club' arrived to crowd him.

Harry had easily noted a pattern in what times the Durmstrang student showed up in the library, since Harry himself had been spending so much time in the place lately, and was there waiting for him the next afternoon. He cornered Krum almost instantly because he knew he didn't have any time to waste. He called up the magics around him, loosely gripped his wand in hand at his side and slipped into Krum's mind.

The Durmstrang student was immediately wary and his mind was filled with suspicion. Harry used basically the same story he had with Cedric – with a few necessary modifications. He knew Krum already knew about the dragons, but Krum didn't know that Harry knew that – Harry had been under his invisibility cloak when he saw Karkaroff in the forest. And since Krum didn't want to get his headmaster in trouble, he pretended like he hadn't already known.

After the briefest moment in his mind Krum seemed to notice that something was... off. He didn't know what it was, but he mentally registered that something felt strange. Harry kept his stay in Krum's mind very short, and looked around as little as possible so as not to draw attention to his presence.

Krum already had the desire to aim for the Short-snout or the Green, so Harry subtly pushed for the Short-Snout, while adding in the aversion to the Fireball. He also reduced Krum's aversion to the Horntail, and added in the thought that it wouldn't be so bad since it had the shortest range in it's fire.

He left the older boy none the wiser, and with an even more smug grin plastered across his face.

Getting to Fleur Delacour alone seemed an utterly impossible feat. She was always surrounded by a hoard of giggling French schoolgirls, and the group of them glared angry daggers at any boy who had the balls to approach them. Of course, most boys who approached the half-veela, did so as a heap of babbling incoherent hormonal idiocy, so the girls' irritation was clearly warranted.

The task was only one day away at this point and Harry was beginning to feel slightly desperate. He needed to get o Fleur. His chances in the first task were already drastically improved, but Fleur would still get to draw before him, and with his luck, she'd pick the damn Fireball and screw him over.

He had back-up plans, and was at least mildly confident that he could still survive the task with the other dragons... or at least, he really hoped so... but his chances were far, far better if he got the damn Fireball!

He'd spent every morning and evening inside his mind with the dark presence. It gave him strength and encouraged him. Whenever he was feeling hopeless it would make him feel better. It was as if it were somehow telling him that he was strong and that he could do it, even though it had no words to tell him with. He could feel his confidence growing with each visit, and each morning would wake feeling better and more self-assured than the last.

So that morning with only one day left till the task, after a wonderfully invigorating hour of relaxing inside his own mind, he got up out of bed with an eager skip to his step and made his way quickly out into the grounds. He'd seen the Beauxbatons girls out in this part of the grounds studying a lot, and hoped he'd get lucky and find her out here without having to run half-way around the school searching for her.

He grinned widely as he saw her sitting on the grassy lawn with several other girls in light-blue tailored robes. He strode up to the group of them with a confidence he never would have felt before tearing down the barrier he had used to fight against the dark presence. He had always been so shy and insecure. He was so ruddy happy that he didn't feel that way anymore. He was so sick of that person. That stupid, weak, little boy.

"Mademoiselle Delacour?" He asked with a confident, but calm smile. The girls sitting around Fleur all looked at him with a mixture of surprise, or annoyance. A quick sweep of the girls surface thoughts didn't help with most of them since they were thinking in French, but their emotions and mental imagery told Harry that they were upset at having their study session interrupted by some stupid little boy. But several were surprised at he had managed to come up to Fleur without being a blathering, simpering mess.

"Monsieur Potter?" she asked, raising a single curious eyebrow, but still giving him a rather hesitant and curious look.

"I'm terribly sorry to interrupt your study session, but I have something really important to tell you. It will only take a moment," he said in a sweet, polite tone and an innocent smile.

She narrowed her eyes, and all of her fellow study partners looked suspicious and surprised, but Fleur stood to her feet and joined him about twenty feet away by another tree. Harry was surprised to note how very little her veela aura was effecting him. He easily pushed past the minute effect of irrational desire and slight increase in lustful feelings and urges that her halfblood creature decent caused. He could acknowledge that she was a pretty enough girl, although certainly nothing dramatically greater than any of her friends, or any of the 'pretty' girls at Hogwarts. But he really didn't find himself attracted to her at all. She was just a girl.

He was already wielding his swirling magic with practice ease, and slipped deep into her mind without any effort. She already knew about the dragons, just as he had suspected, although she hadn't been familiar with the specific breeds of dragons they would have to face. Just like Krum, she acted as if she had no idea what the first task would involve, and was quite surprised and impressed with Harry's sense of what was 'right' and 'just'. Krum had simply thought Harry incredibly naive for sharing information, but Fleur thought him noble.

She had no sense of his presence in her mind, and it was an easy matter to plant a strong aversion to the Fireball in her subconscious.

Harry left her quickly and she returned to her school mates, looking back at the younger boy with a curious little grin. Harry couldn't help but look at her over his shoulder and give her a slightly cocky smirk. She rolled her eyes at him and returned to the group of excited, giggling girls.

– –

The task was scheduled for the following afternoon, but only classes from lunch onward were canceled, so Harry sat through charms class that morning in an impatient haze. A huge part of him just wanted to get it over wish. He was anxious and felt impatient. Another part of him was still terrified that his theory on how to tackle the task wouldn't work and that he was going to be fried alive

Despite his strange, inexplicable faith in the parselmagic he planned to use, Harry had also spent quite a bit of time researching fireproofing and shielding charms in the library as a back-up plan.

The class assignment that day in charms was to practice a summoning charm, and Harry had completed it perfectly on his first attempt and saw no point to spend the rest of the class trying to call things from across the room when he already knew he could and instead sat at his desk making every object in his bag fireproof.

The class was clearly struggling with the summoning spell, which Harry found mildly amusing. At the same time, he knew that if he'd tried to perform the spell a month earlier, he probably would have had just as hard a time with it. It truly was amazing how huge a difference it made, now that he wasn't fighting against the dark presence.

Hermione kept shooting him disapproving glares as he sat there silently tapping his wand on the various books, quills, and bound parchment that he'd pulled from his bag. He glanced over at her and glared right back at her.

He made eye contact long enough to discern that she thought he wasn't doing anything at all, and was ignoring the class assignment.

She didn't think he could do it. Thought he was incompetent.

She had no faith in his skills or abilities. Thought he was probably failing epically at all of his homework since she hadn't been there for the last month to do it for him.

Of course, she hadn't thought these things quite so literally, but it was obvious from the general feel and shape of her thoughts and feelings that that was basically what she thought of him. She masked some of her lack of faith in him with concern and the desire to help him better himself, but the fundamental foundation of her opinion of him was clear.

His scowl deepened and anger raged.

Her brow furrowed and it was clear she was confused by the emotions she saw boiling behind his bright emerald eyes.

Their eye contact was broken suddenly by Professor Flitwick coming over and asking Harry about his progress with the summoning spell.

Harry sighed in mild annoyance and turned his focus to one of the apples sitting on the teacher's desk at the front of the room. He pointed his wand and willed the apple to come to him. He didn't even bother to say the accio incantation. He didn't need to. The magic came to him with such ease, that actually bothering to verbalize the spell took more energy than was necessary.

Flitwick squeaked in excitement as he watched the small red fruit fly across the room and directly into Harry's outstretched hand. Harry glanced over at Hermione as he heard her gasp in shock and gave her a smug grin before refocusing on the excited little professor.

– –

Lunch was a subdued affair for him. A tiny, terrified, voice in the back of his head kept wondering if this was the last meal he would ever have, but a larger voice kept telling himself that he was overreacting and that he just needed to calm down and stay focused and he would survive this stupid task.

He forced himself to eat and avoided looking at any of the Gryffindors sitting around him, shooting him looks. Some looked concerned for him. Some annoyed. Harry didn't care. They were all arses as far as he was concerned and they could all go to hell. Their opinion of him didn't matter anyway.

Finally, Professor McGonagall came over to him and led him from the Great Hall, out of the school, across the grounds, and into a tent set up for the champions. The others were already there, and they all looked to be in various states of dread and terror. Fleur looked pale and was pacing back and forth furiously. Cedric looked green. Krum was standing to the side of the tent with his back facing them all and his shoulders hunched and filled with tension.

Harry let out an impatient huff and stood to the side and leaned against a table there.

It felt like ages had passed after that. During the long wait, they could hear all of the students and other spectators arriving and noisily making their way past the tent and entering the stands.

Rita Skeeter even tried to slip into the tent to interview them. Harry had glared at her angrily and was only a second away from hexing her and her photographer into oblivion when Krum yelled at her to get out.

Finally the headmasters and Ludo Bagman entered the tent and the specifics of the task was described to them.

Apparently the dragons were all nesting mothers. Harry wanted to groan at this information. They were going to be brutal and vicious! Each dragon had a nest placed at the far end of the stadium and inside that nest was a golden egg. The champions were to retrieve the golden egg without getting killed.

Great. Sounds easy. Harry thought, sarcastically.

So the task was to get past the dragon, not defeat it. That, at least, was a relief. Harry had doubted that he could actually kill the dragon with what he had come prepared with. Getting past it shouldn't be too hard.

The three headmasters and Crouch would be judges. They would award points to the champions based on how quickly they completed the task, the level and proficiency of spells they used, and several other minor factors, like doing all this without damaging the other eggs in the nest.

Harry worried for a moment how the headmasters would score his magical spell-use since he was going to be using parseltongue, but pushed the concern aside. He didn't give a damn about the blasted score. He was doing this to survive, not win. He had no interest in 'eternal glory' or the stupid prize money.

Finally Bagman pulled out a small pouch that was wriggling slightly, as if something alive was crawling around inside it.

One and a time, he had the four champions reach their hands down into the bag and pull out one of the objects. The objects, of course, were the miniaturized version of the dragons. The four breeds of dragon were easy to identify by touch, and Harry watched with glee as Cedric pulled out the Short-Snout, Fluer the Welsh Green, and then Krum the Horntail. They had all avoided the Fireball just as he had wanted.

He quickly had to muffle his grin and pull on a nervous mask as he reached his hand into the bag and pulled out the long, slender, wingless, serpentine dragon.

The fireball had a number '3' around it's neck, so he would go third. He sat in the tent and waited impatiently while Cedric went first, followed by Fleur. He could hear the commentary, but was trapped inside the tent during the actual events. From what he could discern from the commentary, Cedric had transfigured a large rock into a dog and used it to distract the dragon while he went for the egg. He had ended up getting burned in the process and was taken to the medical tent

Fleur attempted to charm her Welsh Green into something of a trance. The dragon wasn't completely subdued, however, and blasted Fleur with fire, setting her robes alight. It sounded like she hadn't gotten burned badly, but was taken to the medical tent anyway.

Finally it was Harry's turn. His heart was thrumming away madly in his chest. Adrenaline was coursing through his veins and he felt the excitement setting his magic alight around him. It was swirling and dancing and his very skin tingled with magical energy.

His name was called and he made his way out into the rocky stadium.

At first glance, he couldn't see the dragon anywhere, but he could feel it's strong magical presence just around a rocky bend and decided to quickly cast the fireproofing spells on his clothing before the dragon became aware of his presence.

A few intricate wand movements over himself and the silent magics were cast. Next he conjured an invisible magical shield and attached it to his left forearm so he could hold it up and shield his face if necessary. The magic surged through him with such ease that it made him feel giddy and almost lightheaded with eager anticipation. He was almost surprised to find just how excited he felt at that moment to see if he could really pull this off.

Finally, feeling as prepared as he could, he began to climb cautiously around the rocks. He came around the bend and heard a great threatening hissing sound fill the air. It was a strange sound. He understood words within those hisses but they they were distorted slightly. Almost like hearing someone speak English with a thick accent.

MY eggs. Protect. Must defend. Disgusting humans. Taking my eggs from me. They'll pay. Fire. Burning fire. Insolent puny creatures. Defiant. Ignorant.

Harry came into the dragon's sight and it roared in anger. It was a split second from spewing a fountain of molten fiery liquid at him when he yelled out. §STOP!§ he called out in a powerful commanding voice and laced with a surge of persuasion magic.

The beast froze, stunned and pulled back, eying him cautiously.

He began to walk, cautiously along the rocky pass, always facing it and never breaking eye contact with it. It hissed angrily and curled it's body into a defensive position as he inched it's way closer to the nest. It was hissing angry words at him, telling him that the nest was HER'S and that she wouldn't allow anyone to harm her eggs.

§I do not wish to harm your eggs!§ He said in that same, loud, commanding tone that left no room to doubt his words. §One of the eggs within your clutch is an impostor! It is not one of your eggs. It threatens your young! It will hatch first and then smash all of your eggs to destroy it's competition! I am here to aid you. I will take the impostor egg.§

§You will not touch my eggs!§ the beast hissed back.

§I will not. You're eggs will remain untouched!§ Harry called out loudly. He was still making his way closer and closer to the nest. §YOU WILL NOT HARM ME! YOU WILL PULL BACK!§ Harry commanded again, and the magic surged around the words and ensnared the dragon. It hissed loudly in protest and shook it's head, but it began to walk backwards, leaving more and more space between it and Harry.

Harry was distinctly aware of the total and utter silence of the stands around him. Even Bagman's commentary had ceased. His display had clearly stunned the audience, but he wasn't going to care about that. Everyone already hated him, and the students and teachers of Hogwarts were already aware that he was a parselmouth.

Harry made his way to the nest, slowly and steadily, never once turning away from the dragon or breaking eye contact. The beast was clearly struggling against the command and was watching him carefully for any signs that he might harm her eggs.

Harry reached out towards the nest and the dragon arched and crouched menacingly. Harry hissed angrily as the display of aggression and the dragon began to back down again. His hand touched the golden egg and he carefully scooped it up.

Still with the same slow caution that he'd used in approaching the nest, he began to climb back away from it. The dragon was still tensed, but it was able to identify that the golden egg he carried was, in fact, not one of hers, so she did not fight the commands holding her and let him pass. He got a decent enough distance away and hissed that she could return to her nest. She did so quickly, coiling her long curvy body around the nest defensively and snarling angrily at the stands of people elevated above the outside of the stadium.

Finally confident that he was in the clear, he raced away and back to the start and through the exit.

It took a moment, but the stands erupted into cheers and Ludo Bagman finally resumed his commentary, exclaiming over Harry's surprising performance.

– –

Reaction to his performance had been mixed. Dumbledore, apparently, didn't approve of him using parseltongue in such a public setting, but didn't voice his disapproval openly, but rather though those annoying subtle indirect hints he always seemed to use.

He had also given Harry a 9.0 in his score, while Madam Maxime and Karkaroff had both given him perfect 10's. Crouch gave him a 9.5. Harry found it amusing that the two competitors had actually given him a perfect score when his own headmaster had deducted points for publicly using a 'dark' skill – even if it was to keep from being eaten or burned alive.

Nice. Harry scoffed bitterly. Neither Maxime or Karkaroff had ended up giving any of the other competitors, besides their own, perfect 10s, so Harry felt rather pleased with his performance.

After the scores were awarded and the champions were finally allowed to leave the tent and head back to the castle, Moody walked with Harry and questioned him about the performance.

"You mean you didn't know?" Harry responded, rather surprised that the defense teacher had no idea that Harry was a parselmouth.

"How the devil would I have known something like that?" the grizzled old auror asked indignantly.

"Oh... well, I just figured Dumbledore would have told you... I mean, he did tell you about the basilisk in my second year, right?"

"Basilisk!" Moody exclaimed in confused shock.

Harry gaped at the man. "He didn't tell you!" He couldn't believe that Dumbledore hadn't told the defense teacher about it, but perhaps Dumbledore avoided telling his prospective defense teachers about the miserable events that lead to any of the previous teacher's departures from the position.

"Tell me what, Potter?"

"In my second year I discovered the Chamber of Secrets beneath the school. One of the students was being possessed by this evil old artifact and it was controlling her in an attempt to kill the muggleborns. She ended up down in the chamber while the artifact tried to possess her body and drain all of her magic.

"I had realized that year that I'm a parselmouth, and it was because of that, that I was able to get down into the chamber. There was a giant basilisk down there and I... well, I killed it. But all year long I'd heard it hissing as it crawled through the pipes and secret passages of the castle. Always hissing angry things, and I was the only one who could hear and understand it."

Moody was staring at Harry with surprised shock, and the utterly stunned expression was odd to see on the older wizard's scarred features.

It took a few minutes of continued walking towards the castle for Moody to shake himself from his stupor and speak again.

"That was still reckless of you, Potter," he said, finally.

"Huh? What was?"

"Using parseltongue in front of all those people. Reckless, I say!"

"How so?" Harry asked, confused.

"Not many people are going to take kindly to you being a parselmouth."

Harry scowled. "Hell if I care. I already have the whole blasted world hating me. Everyone in the school, third year and up, already knew I'm a parselmouth."

"Maybe, but they had clearly forgotten about it. You just threw a big flashing reminder in their faces. Parseltongue is a dark art, Potter. People won't take too kindly to the idea of their savior practicing something like that."

"Pfft. Like I care. I never volunteered to be their ruddy savior."

Moody narrowed his eyes and gave Harry a speculative look. "It doesn't bother you? That you used something considered dark to win?"

"I did what I had to to survive!" Harry argued defensively. "Besides, I hardly see how it's dark. So I can speak to snakes. Big deal. Magic is about intent and how you use it. Light and dark is relative. If I had to use dark arts to survive, then so be it. It's better than ending up as dragon food, and that magic just comes to me so naturally. It's easy and..." Harry said but froze as soon as the words were out of his mouth and looked over at his defense teacher hesitantly – worried, suddenly, that the man wouldn't approve of what he'd just said.

Oddly enough, the corner's of Moody's mouth were turned up in a wry, approving grin. The old man nodded and quickly changed the subject for Harry's sake. He was grateful.

The rest of the school treated him... oddly after that.

Everyone was still staring at him, but the looks were wary and hesitant. The Slytherins, especially, were all giving him strange looks. They weren't taunting him nearly as much though, and for that he was grateful. The Hufflepuffs still glared angrily at him. He figured it was a mixture of them not trusting someone with such a blatantly dark talent, combined with the fact that his near-perfect performance only put Cedric's performance that much more into the shadows of obscurity.

The fact that every time one of them scowled at him, he responded by smirking smugly at them, probably didn't help much either, but he liked goading a reaction out of them. Anytime one of them actually got the guts to try and say something obnoxious to him, or show off one of those idiotic Potter Stinks badges, he'd hiss at them, and they'd practically wet their pants trying to get away.

Harry laughed at how ridiculously terrified the children at school seemed to be of parseltongue. He also delighted in his new discovery of the parseltongue magics he had access to.

It was a wonder to him that he'd never realized he could do it before. But he acknowledged to himself that before very recently, he had tried to pretend with all his might that he didn't possess the strange dark skill at all. He had wanted so badly to just be normal that he had completely ignored the powerful skill.

But he no longer feared it. It was a dead useful ability. The most remarkable thing he discovered about calling on his magic using parseltongue was that he had no need to use a wand when he did it. A quiet hiss and a little wiggle of his fingers and he could direct the ebb and flow of his magic in dozens of different ways.

Harry realized that his new knowledge and awareness of the parselmagic had undoubtedly come from the dark presence in his mind, and it got him wondering. Was the dark presence the source of his ability to use parseltongue?

If it were, he realized that the prospects were mildly concerning. The headmaster had told him at the end of his second year, that Harry had gained some of Voldemort's powers the night the man had given him his scar. Was the dark presence those powers that he had gotten from Voldemort?

It would certainly explain why he might have been afraid of the power when he was younger. If the dark presence was associated with his parent's murder. But there didn't seem to be anything about it to fear now. It was his power now. He didn't care where it had come from originally. He wasn't going to be afraid of it any longer. He wasn't going to hide from it, or exert all his energy fighting against it when it wasn't even a threat.

Embracing it was so much easier and it made him so much stronger. He felt better. Happier. More confident. His magic came to him with incredible ease, and it was so much more powerful. His mind worked better and he understood things so much faster.

He refused to give that up just because the power might have originally come from Voldemort. So what. It was his power now. It was his and he wasn't going to give it up. He liked it too much. It felt too good.

Still, when Harry went to bed that night and wrapped himself in the presence, he told it of his concerns. His theory on where it had come from. His assumption that the power had once been Voldemort's before it became Harry's. The presence didn't respond much. It seemed hesitant, and Harry almost got the impression that it was worried.

The presence didn't want to be separated from Harry again. It was afraid that Harry would build the walls back up and it would be left alone again. Harry could just sense that this was true and quickly assured the presence that he had no intention of rebuilding the wall.

His assurances seemed to calm the presence's worries because it embraced him with even greater warmth. It almost seemed that the presence was thanking him. It didn't want to be abandoned. It didn't want to be alone again, and neither did Harry.

– –

The next day the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws had joint DADA and Harry trudged out of bed and dragged himself to class, after skipping breakfast. He wasn't really avoiding breakfast because he felt he needed to hide from all the hushed whispering and questioning eyes. All self-conscious hesitancy in him was greatly over-ruled by a powerful irritation and anger at anyone stupid enough to confront him on his use of 'dark' magic, or anyone idiotic enough to publicly mock him. So no - he wasn't avoiding breakfast to hide; he was avoiding it to keep himself from hexing someone and ending up with a detention.

But now he was sitting in Defense class, surrounded by curious, questioning, and even fearful eyes. He sighed in frustration and refocused on Professor Moody's lecture.

"In our world there are three magical affiliations. The light. The dark. And the neutrals. Most magic is neutral, and can be used easily by just about anyone. Most wizards are neutral-focused wizards, but some wizards feel a powerful tug, pulling on their magic and calling them to one of the two outer sides. These wizards will have a natural affinity for the magic of their chosen side and will find performing spells of that nature easier.

"Anyone can cast any type of magic if they're powerful enough and bother to learn it. But a wizard's affinity for certain casts of magic will make it easier or harder for them to learn and perform certain spells.

"A dark wizard finds the casting of dark magic natural to them. It feels right to them, and the spells come to them with great ease. This means that they can cast dark spells faster and without exerting a lot of energy. Their magical energy reserves last the longest when they're casting dark magic.

"A neutral wizard will have a much harder time casting specifically dark or light spells. when a neutral wizard casts dark spells, those spells will cause a much greater drain on that wizard's magical reserves and will take longer to cast.

"So if you're a neutral or a light wizard, dueling against a dark wizard, and he's throwing dark hexes and curses at you, even if you know those same dark spells, he will be much better and faster at casting those spells than you. You're much better off sticking to neutral spells, if you have an affinity for neutral magic, or light spells if you're affinity is for light magic. You'll be able to cast faster, and it won't drain your magic nearly as fast.

"Certain shields and defensive spells are specifically light in nature. If you're natural magic state is neutral, you'll have more trouble with these light spells than neutral shield charms. The Patronus is a prime example. It is a very powerful light affinity spell. It's one of the reasons that it's considered so hard to learn. Some people's magic simply doesn't want to cooperate with the spell." Moody said as he stood at the head of the classroom, leaning slightly against his desk to better support his wooden leg.

"Does that mean that most dark wizards can't defend themselves against dark creatures like dementors?" one Ravenclaw girl asked with a surprised tone.

"Not necessarily. The spell is harder for a dark wizard to learn and perform than a light wizard, but like I said, any wizard can learn any spell if they're powerful enough, and dedicated to mastering it. And having to spend any extended time around dementors is a great incentive to master the spell," Moody said giving them all a rather pointed look.

Another Ravenclaw girl towards the back rose her hand and Moody nodded and called to her.

"How does a person's magic get aligned with light, dark, or neutral?"

"Good question," he said in his gruff voice. "As young as you all are right now, chances are you're all still pretty neutral in your magics. You're magical affinity is developed over time due to a combination of different factors. First is your birth. Everyone is born more likely to go one way or another based on the affinity of their parents, but this can be overpowered by the other factors. One of those factors is the way your raised, and the other is free will. You consciously choose what type of magics you use and practice more often than others, and the more you work on spells that lean towards one side or the other, your affinity for that side will increase."

Hermione raised her hand and Moody nodded towards her.

"So... it's a battle between nature versus nurture?" she said, and the old wizard raised a single eyebrow and motioning for her to continue. "Well... it's like, if a wizard was born to a dark family – everyone in their family before them had always been dark, but say, this wizard was raised differently, or personally chose go light, they still could."

Hermione's comment made Harry instantly think of his godfather Sirius and he sighed. Harry hadn't heard from Sirius since the interrupted firecall several weeks earlier.

"Correct, Miss Granger. Five points to Gryffindor. The truth could be said for someone who comes from a light family, but is raised by someone else. Say, for example, an orphan. It may be in his blood to be light, but if he's raised a certain way, or simply chooses a certain path, he could easily end up with an affinity for dark magic. In any case, at your current stage in your magical education, it's unlikely that many of you have much of an affinity for either light or dark."

"I bet some of the Slytherin's already have an affinity for the dark," Ron muttered quietly to Seamus who was sitting beside him. Harry rolled his eyes at the redhead's comment and sighed. He felt the prickling sensation on the back of his neck that suggested someone was staring at him. He glanced around and saw that there were several sets of eyes looking at him in varying degrees of wary concern. He realized suddenly how they were interpreting Moody's comments as a direct relationship to him and scowled at them.

He didn't exactly appreciate his Defense teacher fueling the already blazing fire of speculation on his potential status as a dark wizard.

However, most odd was the realization that being accused of being dark didn't nearly horrify him as much as it once did. People were just ignorant sheep. Let them think what they wanted. It didn't matter to him. He had survived the first task, and came out of it with the best time and the highest score. What business was it of there's how he chose to do it?

The same Ravenclaw from earlier rose her hand again and Moody jerked his chin towards her.

"Um... is there a way to tell what a person's affinity is? A spell or something?"

"There is, but its difficult to cast. Takes a lot of focus. If cast properly, a colored aura will appear around the person. White for neutral. Blue for light, and red for dark. The color can be a light-blue or pink-ish color if the person's magic is more neutral than not, and the slight coloration will denote the strength with which their magics lean towards one direction or another."

– –

"Harry, we want to talk," Hermione said as she came up behind him just after he came in through the portrait hole that evening after dinner.

Harry scowled but quickly mastered his expression into a blank mask and turned to face Hermione, and Ron behind her.

"What?" Harry asked sharply. Ron and Hermione both flinched at his harsh tone.

"Um, maybe we could talk somewhere more private?" Hermione asked timidly as she glanced around at all of the sets of curious eyes, currently trained on the once-golden-trio. Harry huffed in annoyance but did a quick sweep of the room, spotting Dean, Seamus, and Neville in various spots around them.

"Sure," Harry said with a jerk of his chin towards the stairs. He hurried his way up the stairs, not bothering to look back and make sure they were following. He could tell they were without looking. Their magical auras pushed against his own, telling him exactly where they were in relation to himself.

Harry walked straight towards his bed, but sat down in the desk chair beside it. He casually relaxed back in the chair and crossed his left leg over his right knee, waiting with false patience as the other two scrambled in behind him.

Ron sat down on top of his own bed, which was directly opposite Harry's, while Hermione pulled out Ron's desk chair and sat down in it. Neither of his once-friends could meet his eyes. He wondered if they had finally caught on.

"You wanted something?" Harry asked with an air of annoyed impatience.

Ron and Hermione exchanged looks, and neither seemed to quite know what to say, or which one of them should say it. Finally Ron spoke. Harry was honestly surprised. He had expected Hermione to have to be the one to drag Ron in.

"You didn't really put your name in that cup, did you?" Ron mumbled as he kept his eyes down.

"Finally wised up, have you?" Harry bit out in a harsh voice. "What brought on the change of heart?"

"Well, I just figure, no one in their right mind would really want to go up against a dragon like that," Ron mumbled.

"You wanted to," Harry pointed out instantly, and Ron's ears went pink. "You wanted the fame and glory. You wanted it so bad that you forgot that I didn't want it."

"I know, Harry. I'm sorry!"

"No Ron! No. I'm sorry just isn't enough this time! Your were supposed to be my best mate. You're supposed to know me. How could you possibly believe that I would put fame, glory, and money over our friendship!"

Harry paused then and turned on Hermione. "And you! I know I have an 'unhealthy disregard for the rules' and tend to ignore them and put myself in danger because of it, but when have I ever done that for some sort of 'so-called' personal gain like this stupid tournament?

"Every time I put myself in danger and ignored the rules, it was to save someone else who was in trouble! The fact that either of you could honestly believe that I would put my name in that cup and put my life on the line just for fame" he sneered the word with loathing, "just proves that neither of you know me, or trust me!"

"Harry! I'm so, so, sorry!" Hermione said, jumping to her feet.

"No! You two abandoned me when I needed you more than ever! Do you realize why I probably got entered in this stupid tournament? Someone wants me dead! Someone is hoping that I'll end up getting killed during one of the tasks and they'll be rid of me and it'll look like an accident! Give me one good reason why I should forgive either of you?"

"I'm so sorry, Harry! We weren't thinking!" Hermione said and there were tears coming down her cheeks now.

"Yeah, that much is obvious," Harry said with a hard glare.

Ron and Hermione shared a desperate look before turning back to Harry beseechingly.

"What can we do, Harry?" Hermione said in a small desperate voice. "What can I say to make this up to you?"

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and gave her a long hard look. "I don't know." he said in a cold voice. "I really don't know."

"I'm really, really sorry mate!" Ron said ducking his head and shaking it sadly. "I was a real git and an idiot. I should have believed you when you told me you didn't do it. I was just... I was stupid. I was so angry that you got one more thing to be famous over while..."

"While you just sit in my shadow?" Harry finished for him. His voice was strangely cold. It wasn't something that either Ron or Hermione were used to hearing in Harry's voice. Ron looked up, startled, but eventually he nodded his head.

"You know I don't want my 'fame' right?" Harry bit out rhetorically. His voice was still flat and cold. It was... wrong, somehow. "The only reason I'm famous is because I didn't die. How stupid is that? Every time I hear the phrase 'boy-who-lived' all it does it serve to remind me that I'm alive, and my parents are dead. I'm famous for something I don't even remember, and I despise every minute of it." he ended with a frightfully hard hiss.

He sat back and let his leg lay relaxed, crossed across the other. "If you really knew me like my best friends should, you would have realized that. You should have known that I don't revel in fame. I already have so bloody much of it, and I hate it. Why the hell would I go seeking more of it? No one I care about is in danger because of this tournament. I don't need to save anyone, or protect anything, or stop anyone from doing something. I could have just sat back and had a boring, simple school year for once, but no! No, someone stuck my name in that damned cup, and instead of being there for me, you two DITCHED ME!" he ended with a harsh raised voice that made them both flinch.

Harry closed his eyes and locked his jaw. He let out a slow breath, trying to release the anger that was boiling just under the surface. He could feel his magic swirling menacingly and he suddenly became aware of there being something more to it. It wasn't just his magic that was angry.

His eyes popped open and he felt his heart racing slightly as he became aware of just how familiar the extra presence he felt was. It was the dark presence that existed deep inside his mind. But it wasn't deep inside anything at that moment. It was out on the surface and swirling angrily around him. He got a protective vibe from it. It was defensive and angry.

He was stunned. Had the dark presence come out to try and protect him? Defend him from whatever it was that was making Harry so angry?

Harry started to forcefully calm down and he felt the dark presence retreating immediately. This was something he was going to have to examine in more depth, and soon.

He stood up and the movement was so sudden that both Hermione and Ron jumped slightly.

"Go," Harry said, shortly as he turned away from the pair of them.

"But Harry!" Hermione began to plead but he held his hand up and finally met her eyes. Instinctively, he skimmed through her surface thoughts and found that she truly was repentant. She felt horrible for how she had treated him and truly felt like she had abandoned him. But she was also worried about his recent behavior and wanted to confront him about his use of parseltongue in the tournament. Harry scowled.

"I'll think about it. I need time. Leave me alone for a while, alright?" he said, trying to mask the anger that had flared up at her thoughts.

Sadly, Hermione nodded her head and turned to go. Ron hesitated for a moment before sighing and following behind Hermione.

Once the pair of them were gone Harry walked over to the side of his bed and sat down. He was conflicted. He knew deep down that he would probably never trust the two of them ever again. He just didn't think he could. He couldn't trust that they wouldn't find some other reason to abandon him when he needed them most. He couldn't rely on them. If he did, he would only be disappointed and left high and dry when most desperate. It wasn't a risk he was willing to take.

His mind wandered to the strange flare up of the dark presence's magic. Had he somehow called upon the magic? That thought almost excited him a bit. If it really was a bit of Voldemort's power, deep inside him, and he could control and wield it...

He paused. He shouldn't be excited about that. He knew he shouldn't. It should disturb him. Scare or confuse him. This was something he should be cautious about, not excited! This was a bit of Voldemort's power! Voldemort was evil! He was a psychotic lunatic murderer! Right?

Yes! He murdered Harry's parents. He killed and tortured hundreds, maybe even thousands of people! He started a bloody war for Merlin's sake! Didn't it used to scare Harry when he worried that he might have anything in common with Voldemort? The idea that he and Voldemort might be alike in any way had horrified Harry, and now he was excited at the prospect of being able to wield some of the Dark Lord's power?

Maybe there was something wrong with him.

Had he changed so much? It had only been a month, but Hermione's thoughts showed that she had noticed a difference in his behavior.

Of course he was acting differently! He wasn't nearly as self-conscious or miserable as he used to be, and he had stopped letting what other people thought dictate his actions! A little confidence can go a long way in changing a person's outward behavior. And just because he wasn't afraid of his own shadow, or cowering from his own power didn't mean he was going to end up an evil megalomaniac like Voldemort!

It didn't matter where the power had come from. It was Harry's now. If he could learn to wield it, then he should!

He nodded his head in determination. He wanted to lay down and escape into his mind right then and there to go investigate the dark presence, but held off. It was still early in the evening, and he tended to lose track of time when he went into his mindscape at night, and he usually fell asleep that way. He had homework to do so he sighed heavily and got back up off the bed and grabbed his bag. He'd get his work done and out of the way with plans of doing his investigation as soon as it was all done.

– –

Harry was frustrated by how long it had taken him to finally get to bed that night. Seamus had needed to borrow his notes from Charms, and then Neville had actually asked him for help on his Defense essay. It wasn't very often that Nevile actually asked for help. The quiet boy was obviously stressed that he had been having so much trouble with the spells they were covering and had seen how Harry had performed them with such ease in the class practicals.

Despite the temptation to blow the other boy off, Neville had always been generally kind to Harry and even when the whole school was in the process of shunning him, Neville had still been nice to him, and partnered with him in classes, so he sat down and helped Neville as much as he could.

Finally he escaped all of his dorm mates, drew back the hangings around his bed and sunk down into the mountain of overstuffed pillows and comforters. He closed his eyes, regulated his breathing, and instantly slipped into the depths of his mindscape.

It felt warmer and more welcoming there than it used to. It had been slowly growing more and more comfortable as time had progressed. He liked it there. The small dark mass wasn't quite so formless anymore. It had once been blurry and vague. Now it was more like a mist surrounding something more tangible. Small strands of darkness stretched out from the base of it like vines climbing along the ground.

Harry cocked his head to the side and examined the changes curiously. Some part of him thought he should probably be disturbed by this new development and he was honestly a little unsettled on how very non-disturbed he was. He didn't mind that it had changed. He wasn't even bothered by the very obvious growth it had sustained. Rather, instead he was curious about it. He made his way closer and examined it more in depth.

It still had aspects of the formless 'cushion' that he had relaxed in for the last month, but there was more to it now, and it was larger; more spread out.

He knelt down and reached out, caressing against it in an oddly affectionate gesture. It felt so... nice. Comfortable. It felt like home... whatever that felt like.

Harry used to think that Hogwarts felt like home, but he wasn't so sure anymore. The Dursley's house had certainly never felt like home. He knew that for sure. But here... he felt like he belonged here. Of course, here wasn't really a physical place, so it couldn't really be home, but it felt more like home than anything else ever had.

Harry leaned back into the dark mass and relaxed. He felt all of the tension of the day melt away instantly and he sighed happily. He stretched his hand out along the 'ground' and ran his fingers along one of the dark tendrils that had extended out from the mass and spread across the white, ambiguous, floor plane.

It twitched slightly as he touched it. A surge of warm glee shot through him at the contact. The tendril inched closer to him and he wrapped it around his finger. Bursts of electric tingles shot through him and his breath caught in startled surprise at the pleasing sensation. The presence was pleased as well, and they reveled in the shockingly glorious joint experience. He felt whole with it in that moment. Connecting with it in this more direct way filled him with such a strong and wonderful feeling.

He reached out his other hand and found one of the other tendrils. He wrapped his hand around it and was filled with another powerful jolt of pleasant tingles. He released a slow, shuttering breath as the warmth surged pleasantly through his gut.

Merlin, it feels so good! He mentally gasped.

He sank back into the presence and pulled the tendrils up with his hands, crossing his arms across his chest and wrapping himself up in the dark inky form. He gasped and moaned out at how glorious it felt as he literally wrapped himself with the dark presence.

He never wanted the sensation to end. He never wanted to let go... He melted into the wonderful feeling and slowly slipped into unconsciousness.

– –

"My lord, if we could simply do it without the boy –"

"No!" he hissed angrily. Insolent fools! How dare they question him? "I want the boy! Barty, Report!"

"Yes my lord," the man ran forward and knelt down, bowing his head and then looking up through his eyelashes reverently. "The boy survived the first task and our plans are moving along."

"Good, good. What did you have to do to guarantee the boy's survival? It was dragons, was it not?"

"I did nothing sir. Actually, something quite surprising was revealed during the first task."

His curiosity was peaked. He hadn't expected the boy to make it past the first task without some sort of intervention. But then again, the damned Potter brat did seem to have Felix Felicis running through his veins.

"What, exactly, was revealed?" he sneered curiously.

"The boy... he is a parseltongue."

He blinked in shock and disbelief.

"What!" he hissed.

"He... he made it passed the dragon without so much as a single scratch on him. It was as if he commanded the beast to stand down. He hissed at it in parseltongue, and walked right past it, grabbed the golden egg, and walked right back to the exit."

A parseltongue?

How was that possible? How could the boy, possibly, be a parseltongue? He was positive he knew of all the lines that had retained any trace of old naga blood, and the Potters most certainly weren't one. He had a Black as an ancestor, but the last of the Black line to show any signs of it died over 300 years ago. The boy's mother was a muggleborn, so it wasn't from her...

"Apparently the boy has always had the talent – or at least he has had it as long as he can remember. He even used the skill to gain access to the Chamber of Secrets in his second year."

Stunned shock consumed him. The boy discovered the chamber? And in his second year! He hadn't discovered it until his fifth, and that was after years of dedicated searching. But... surely the boy couldn't have gained control over the basilisk?

"The Chamber! Did you hear any word of a basilisk?" he hissed out angrily.

"Dead. The boy killed it."

"WHAT!" he screamed. Fury raged within him. How could all of this happened and he had heard nothing of it? The Chamber had been discovered? The basilisk, destroyed? "The boy did this in his second year?" he said with stunned disbelief. Surely it wasn't possible. A mere boy of twelve could never hope to defeat Salazar's great basilisk. That creature was more fearsome than...

He growled in frustration and anger.

He was so weak right now! He hated how weak he felt. How helpless he was. How much time he had wasted. He had things to do! Important tasks that only he could accomplish, and instead he had to waste his time and efforts on a child! To make matter worse, was reduced to depending on the likes of Wormtail. It was disgusting!

Barty was better, at least, but he was often gone.

This pathetic vessel he had created contained him, but his connection to his magic was still so weak, and erratic at best. The simplest of spells would leave him exhausted. He needed the boy's blood!

If he could just get the boy he could be restored to his former glory and resume his work.

Harry blinked his eyes and squinted against the bright sunlight pouring in through the small part in his bed hangings. He felt oddly... tingly. Sort of... giddy. It was weird. At first he didn't remember anything odd, but then the images flitted through his mind and he remembered the dream.

He went over the images and frowned. On one hand, he was almost positive he'd had a vision... what he had dreamed about was the same as the visions he had had at the end of the summer. It was in the same house. The same room. And it had Wormtail and that other man who he didn't recognize. What had Voldemort called him?

And yet the feel of the vision was entirely different too.

Harry had never had a vision that he didn't wake from in agonizing pain. His scar would always hurt horribly after a vision. He would always wake up from one with his head on fire and pounding horribly, and he'd feel sick in every way possible.

But right now he felt fine. Great, even. Well rested and energized.

He reached his hand up and brushed his fingers gently over his scar. It tingled pleasantly.

That was... weird.

He couldn't ever remember his scar feeling like that. It had burned and itched and throbbed, but it had never felt good.

The skin around the scar felt warm to the touch, but it didn't feel inflamed like it usually did after a vision.

Perhaps it hadn't been a real vision? Was it just a dream? Just his subconscious putting together familiar things and piecing it into something new?

Harry didn't know.

– –

Another week came and went. Harry had opened the egg that he had gotten from the first task several times, but had no idea what to make of it. It screeched horribly when opened, and the noise was entirely unintelligible.

During the first week after the task he had considered visiting Hagrid at some point, but the half-giant had been a bit skittish around him in class since his performance with the parseltongue. He hid it well and still made friendly conversation with Harry when he approached the large man in class, but Harry could see the change in Hagrid's posture. Harry saw the way Hagrid looked at him out of the corner of his eyes sometimes with concern and worry.

Harry wanted to believe he was just being paranoid and reading too much into things, but he couldn't entirely convince himself of that.

He wasn't getting on any better with Ron or Hermione either. They had both tried to speak with him from time to time, but he just wasn't ready to let either of them back in yet. He wasn't sure if he ever would feel ready. Harry was sure that if he had actually been feeling as alone as he actually was, that he probably would have gone running back to them by now, but he just didn't feel the need. He didn't feel alone. He spent every night wrapped up tight in his shadowy companion. And it's presence in his day to day life was growing. Literally.

The shape and size of the dark presence in his mind had increased slowly in size each passing day. The tendrils reached out for him now when he sunk down into his mindscape each night. They wrapped around him on their own and he felt... he felt wanted. He felt... needed. And being in it's embrace felt so... good.

As the days passed, he began to feel it's presence even when awake. He didn't have to sink into his mind to reach out to it, he could call it it even when conscious. And he did.

It was small at first. Tiny pin pricks of awareness in the back of his mind during classes or meals; but it was enough that he didn't feel alone. He felt like there was always someone there with him, keeping him company in the back of his mind.

In the beginning, he would only get tiny inklings of it's feelings. Impressions of it's thoughts. It's support of him. It's encouragement. The frequency and duration of it's presence grew as the days passed, and so did his perception of it's thoughts and feelings. It's awareness was increasing and he could feel it. By the end of the second week since the first task, it was keeping him company during the majority of his classes.

It gave him hints when he struggled with things in class. It empathized with his anger when his fellow students would confront him or openly mock him. It agreed with his anger. At times, it even stoked it, and it would snicker at his snide mental remarks. He had developed a running commentary of dry sarcasm, fueled by his own bitter resentment that festered inside him, and his companion reveled in his snide sense of humor.

The interactions between Harry and his dark companion had not been verbal in any literal sense. The presence merely communicated through ideas, emotions, and impressions. Or at least, they had been up until this point.

It was now December 9th and Harry had Potions. Harry's performance had improved drastically in all of his classes since he had taken down the barrier that had been holding back his dark companion, but his practical performance in Potions had still been rather abysmal.

A better connection to, and increased understanding of his magic had helped him in most of his other classes, but it did not aid him in brewing potions. His mental clarity and his increased capacity to read, understand, and retain his textbook information had helped with the theory, and at least his written work had been better. But since Harry had continued to avoid Ron, he had been partnering with Neville the last six weeks, and any advantage Harry's improved understanding of potions was destroyed by Neville's nerves.

Because of this, Snape had banished most of their in-class work during the past month, and they'd gotten no credit for it. It was something that Harry found entirely infuriating. He was sick of the greasy git always singling him out.

He arrived to class alone and took the seat beside Neville that he had taken every class for the last 6 weeks. Ron shot him a sad look and sighed before he started to dig into his bag for some of his supplies.

The chimes sounded and Snape strode quickly into the room, black robes billowing behind him and came to stand at the front of the class.

"Exams are just around the corner," he began in a quiet, deadly, voice. "I dare say I doubt many of you dunderheads are even remotely prepared for them."

His hard black eyes trailed across the class, piercing each of them with their icy glare. He sneered disdainfully before taking a few steps forward. "Shall we see just how prepared you are?"

The class sat in utter silence waiting for it to begin. It was never a good thing when Snape spontaneously decided to 'test' them.

"Goyle! What is the antidote to the swelling solution?"

Goyle jumped in his seat and looked utterly lost. Snape sneered in frustration as the large boy sputtered and glanced desperately at Malfoy who was sitting beside him, looking mortified.

"Bulstrode, can you help him?" Snape drawled.

"The deflating draught, sir."

"Correct."

"Finnegan! Name one potion armadillo bile is used in."

Seamus's jaw dropped and floundered. You could see his mind desperately searching for something, anything, but he just sat there stunned. Hermione's hand was in the air, of course, but Snape ignored her.

"Pathetic. Close your mouth, Finnegan. Malfoy, answer the question."

"The wit-sharpening potion, sir," Malfoy said with a smug grin on his face.

"Good. Name two other ingredients used in the potion."

Malfoy's brow furrowed for a moment but he seemed to find an answer in his memories. "Ginger root and ground scarab beetles."

"Good. Ten points to Slytherin," Snape said and Malfoy's smirk widened.

"Potter!" Harry sighed internally but held it in and sat up straighter, trying to prepare for what was to come. "Name one use of ashwinder eggs."

Harry's lips parted as he tried to search his memory for any mention of ashwinder eggs from his text book, but honestly couldn't recall. He was about to sigh and admit that he just didn't know when the presence whispered to him.

At first he wasn't sure what it was. He felt like he heard words in his head, but they were so quiet and soft that he almost instantly convinced himself he had imagined it. But then he heard it again.

Eaten whole... cure ague...

"Um, if they're eaten whole they can cure ague," Harry responded quickly, having already sensed the potion master's impatience.

Snape's brow rose minutely and you could see some surprise grace his features for a moment before it was quickly masked.

"Correct. Name three ingredients in the Befuddlement Draught," Snape said an instant later.

Harry almost scowled. He knew for a fact that the Befuddlement Draught wasn't something they had covered yet that year. He opened his mouth to say something – what, he didn't now yet, and if he had in fact let it come out, it probably would have warranted a detention, but instead the words were cut off by more whispers.

Sneezewort...

….Scurvy-grass...

..lovage...

The voice sent shivers down his spine and he had to hold back a gasp. He quickly collected himself and resumed eye contact with his professor. "Um, sneezewort, scurvy-grass, and lovage?"

"Are you asking me Potter, or telling me?" Snape drawled sarcastically, but Harry could still see the surprise on the man's face.

"Telling, sir."

Snape eyed him for a long moment before nodding his head. "Correct. What are the effects of eating Alihosty leaves and what is the antidote?"

Ah! I know that one! er... well, I know half of it. Harry thought.

"Alihosty leaves cause hysteria when ingested," Harry said but his voice slowed at the end of the sentence since he couldn't quite recall what the antidote for it was. He had read up on Alihosty at the very start of term, and hadn't revisited that chapter of the text book since his mind cleared up.

Glumbumble... causes melancholy...

Harry blinked and bit his lip as the voice slithered through his mind again and he had to hold back another shudder. The words were breathy and brief, but it was enough to trigger his memory. He grinned.

"The fluid secreted by the glumbumble is used to make the antidote. It usually causes melancholy, but it counters the hysteria caused by the alihosty when properly brewed."

Snape was looking at him with narrow suspicious eyes now and Harry quickly pulled on a mask of calm innocence.

"Name two potions that jobberknoll parts are used in." Snape said sharply.

Harry was starting to get irritated that he was still being questioned and considered suggesting to his professor that he ought to let the other students take a turn, but he wasn't stupid or suicidal so he didn't.

Truth serums... Memories...

The corner of Harry's lips turned up a fraction as the sweet breathy voice spoke in his mind.

"Veritaserum, and several memory potions," Harry answered easily. Veritaserum was not on the forth year curriculum. In fact, it wasn't even mentioned until 7th year. Jobberknoll parts were used in a few simpler, weaker truth serums, one of which they had covered earlier that term. Harry knew the ingredients to Veritaserum because he had specifically looked it up.

Snape's suspicious eyes were boring holes into Harry now and he was sneering in obvious annoyance at the fact that Harry had actually answered the damned questions.

His expression suddenly shifted and he smirked rather evilly. Harry frowned slightly, not liking what was likely to come of that expression.

"What is another name for the 'false pennyroyal' plant, and name one potion it is used in," Snape ordered.

Harry wanted to sneer right back at the man. The 'false pennroyal' plant? What the hell is that?

The presence smirked and Harry felt a grin spread across his lips. He may not have had any idea what it was, but his companion did. The whispers came quickly and he repeated the words right back to his teacher.

"Isanthus brachiatus, or fluxweed. It's used in the Polyjuice potion, but it has to be picked when the moon is full," Harry replied easily and grinning rather cockily. He couldn't help it. He was enjoying this far more than he would have expected to.

Snape's eyes flashed with fury for a moment before he squashed the reaction. "Correct," he growled and looked out over the stunned class. "Well, why aren't you taking notes!" he spat angrily and everyone began to quickly scratch away on their parchments.

Harry had to fight to hold back the giggle that tried to bubble up from his chest. It was like his first day of potions class, all over again. Except this time he had the answers.

And Snape was furious.

Harry was stunned he didn't get deducted points for his 'cheek'.

– –

Harry was disappointed that he didn't hear the voice again for the rest of the afternoon. The presence only lingered in his awareness for a few short spans of time during lunch and then later in charms, and it's emotional and imagery commentary had been limited. Harry almost got the impression that it was tired, and he worried about it briefly. Harry was eager to slip into his mindscape that night to check on it so he rushed through his homework and quickly left the common room.

Ron had been looking at him funny every time he ran off to bed early, but he didn't give a damn what Ron thought and ignored it. He raced up the stairs, stowed his bag and supplies in his trunk, quickly disrobed down to his boxers and climbed into bed.

With a flick of his wrist and a hissed §close§ the hangings around his bed were drawn closed. He felt the magic curling around him deliciously and he smiled. He was really beginning to adore parselmagic. It was just so easy and it obeyed him without any effort. He also loved the idea that it gave him such an incredible advantage over those around him. With it, he didn't even have to rely on his wand. He still used his wand for normal magic, of course, but thanks to his parselmagic Harry wouldn't be defenseless without it, like every other simpering weakling in the school was, when disarmed.

He lay back in the mountain of pillows, enjoying the luxurious comfort of them, and the fine quality of the comforter and sheets. He couldn't even fathom going back to the stiff mattress, worn sheets, and thin blanket he was left with at the Dursley's when summer would come. He would have to buy himself some decent bedding and find a way to stop the bloody muggles from stealing it from him. He would have to find some time when he could get to Diagon Alley so he could have some of his wizard gold exchanged for pounds. Maybe he could finally buy himself some decent clothing too...

He didn't want to wait till summer for that though. He was growing more and more disgusted by Dudley's castoffs. He'd transfigured a few of his shirts and pants into something presentable, but he needed to buy some clothing. Perhaps he would do that at the next Hogsmeade weekend...

Harry sighed and cleared his mind. He was wasting time.

With practiced ease, he sunk into his mindscape and went directly to the dark spot where his companion resided in his mind.

Harry came up short when he saw the dark spot he spent so much time in. It had changed form again. The large dark amorphous mist was still there – although it was covering more ground – but that had been happening slowly for a while now. The dark tendrils were still shooting out from it in all directions, crawling further and further outwards, and the white nondescript ground plane was tinged gray and speckled lightly. Again, this change had been happening gradually, so it's growth wasn't much of a surprise. What was a surprise was that there appeared to be a figure sitting in the spot where Harry always rested.

The figure wasn't entirely solid, and it was merely a black silhouette, but it was undeniably a figure.

Harry approached slowly. His heart was racing with excitement. He knew that this should seriously concern him. He really did. There truly was a rational voice in the back of his mind screaming that this was bad, but the part of him that was strangely ecstatic was so much stronger.

Harry came to stand directly before the silhouetted black figure. He was holding his breath in anticipation. He was excited, but he didn't know what to do. The figure's head was ducked, but as Harry came to a stop it raised his head and looked at him. Harry could feel a thrilled sense of eagerness rolling off his companion and he smiled back.

The figure was male, and it was not just a copy of Harry. He could tell that much. His companion was notably taller. Thin and lanky, but with broad shoulders and a powerful stance. The figure was nothing but slightly translucent blackness, but Harry could still tell that he was grinning at him.

Hesitantly, Harry reached out to his companion. His hand came to the figure's shoulder and came against solid mass. Harry's smile spread even wider. Touching the figure sent wonderful tingles through his fingers and hand. His stomach felt like it was full of eager butterflies. He let his whole palm rest upon the figures shoulder and gasped as the figure's opposite hand came up and clasped gently atop Harry's hand.

His stomach did wonderful flip flops and his knees felt weak with the force of the sudden sensation.

He heard an echo of a gasp and looked up to see a faintly surprised expression gracing the dark, translucent features of his companion.

His eyes met the black abyss of his companion. Most of the figure was sort of misty and was lacking solid form, but the irises of his eyes were solid black and shiny. Harry's eyes locked on those black-onyx orbs and he felt as if he could get lost in their depths.

"Beautiful..." Harry breathed out the words, without even meaning to.

The figure smirked, cockily and Harry felt a tinge of embarrassment for a moment before he, himself smiled, and chuckled at his own words.

The figure's free arm rose up slowly. A black shadow trailed the movements, like a time-lapsed echo. Harry watched in wonder as the hand rose up and the knuckles brushed gently over his cheek. He gasped and his head fell back slightly as his eyes closed of their own will.

It was such a surprisingly intimate gesture. It was so small and simple, and yet the feelings it filled him with were so profound. He almost felt like he would cry from the force of it.

He pulled himself back together and opened his eyes once again to find those deep black abysses staring back at him and smiling.

Harry...

The whispered echo of a voice vibrated through the vast open space of his mindscape and it sent chills down Harry's very soul. It was such a beautiful voice. He wanted to hear more. He wanted it to be louder, and more clear.

"You spoke to me today," Harry said in a whisper as if he were afraid if he spoke too loudly, it would break some sort of spell.

The figure nodded and smiled. He could feel it's amusement. Harry grinned.

"Thanks for that, by the way," Harry said with a chuckle. "It looked like Snape was about to have a coronary, he was so offended I was able to answer his questions."

Laughter echoed through the space and filled Harry with glee and made him feel lightheaded.

When it calmed down the pair of them stood there, touching each other and looking into each other's eyes. Harry realized he lost track of time at some point and blinked. He ducked his head, feeling slightly embarrassed at how easily he had let himself be mesmerized by those eyes.

"You... you have a form now. How?" he asked, finally.

...because... you wish it. You... want me.

It was your... desire.

...you power me. Give me strength.

You share yourself with me. ….allow me access to... you.

Access to your magic.

You have such... wonderful magic, Harry. So beautiful. So powerful...

I take just a little bit of it, and it... fuels me... so much. I must adjust... I need time... I will grow... accustomed. You have so much.

...so surprising.

Harry blinked in surprise at his companion while the words echoed through the space around him.

"So..." Harry began hesitantly as he thought over the words. "You've tapped into my magic and it's given you the power? That's how you have form now? And why you can talk?"

Yes...

but only because... you wish it. Only because... you allow it.

The magic is yours... Harry. I cannot touch it... without you.

Without your permission.

Harry nodded his head and looked down, thoughtfully. He hadn't explicitly given permission, since he honestly had no idea any of this was even possible, but he had to admit that he really had wished that his companion was more than an amorphous misty cloud. He had loved having it's tendrils wrapped around him and had wished, on more than one occasion, that they were arms that were wrapped around him.

He had also greatly enjoyed it when his companion had begun to communicate with him, and had wished that he could communicate with more than just ambiguous emotions and images.

Now he could speak to Harry using words.

He.

Harry had to admit that even before this point, he had thought of his dark companion as male, but he had generally avoided labeling him as such in his thoughts. The time he spent wrapped up in his companion sometimes felt exceedingly... intimate, and now that there was no denying the fact that his companion was a man, he was afraid that he might somehow feel awkward.

As if he had read Harry's mind, the figure stepped back, releasing his hand from Harry's, that had remained on his shoulder this entire time, and stretched his arms wide, as if offering himself to Harry.

Harry's breath caught slightly. He felt mildly self-conscious. It was harder to allow himself to do this when there was no denying that it was a person he was with. It wasn't just some portion or representation of himself either. But he had already known that for a long time. He knew that his dark companion wasn't just some other portion of his own psyche. His companion was a foreign presence, inside Harry's mind.

Harry pulled in a deep breath, mustering his courage. He wanted this. He wasn't going to let some stupid, unwarranted embarrassment stop him from doing it. His companion had gained a form because Harry had wanted this so badly.

He stepped forward and slowly wrapped his arms around the figure's waist while it wrapped it's long arms around his shoulder. He held Harry close and their chests pressed together. A startled whimper escaped Harry's lips at the surge of acceptance and need that he felt reverberate through his whole body at the glorious contact.

A long, content moan slipped through his lips and he wrapped his arms around his companions waist, tighter.

He had never hugged someone before. Not really. Hermione had hugged him, but Harry had always stiffened up and simply stood there uncomfortably until she let go. He had worried that he would have no idea how to properly hug someone, but now that he was wrapped up in his companions arms, it was as if everything was alright. Everything was just as it should be.

His companion tiled his head down and rested his chin atop Harry's head. His hands began to slowly rub soothingly along Harry's back and Harry felt himself melting into the gentle touches. It felt so good. He felt so complete and content. One of his companions hands slid up and made it's way into Harry's messy black hair. His long, slender finger's combed through the disheveled locks and massaged Harry's scalp in calming circles.

Harry almost felt as if he would cry, it felt so amazing. His hands fisted in the transparent misty-black robes that wrapped his companion's silhouetted form, and he buried his face into his companion's shoulder, pulling in a deep breath.

He was surprised to find that he could smell the other man. He wondered about that. Considering that everything he was experiencing was all just in his mind, it was a little odd that his external senses registered anything here. But he could feel and hear his companion, so he supposed it made sense that he could smell him too.

The two stood there amongst the black mist that filled the dark spot in the back of Harry's mind, holding each other in quiet contentment for a very long time. The longer they embraced, the further and further the black mist began to spread, and the more mottled and gray the ground became. Eventually, Harry slipped into unconsciousness with a content smile gracing his features.

He leaned back in the plush velvet armchair and sighed with heavy frustration. He fingered the book that lay rested in his lap. His tiny, bony hands were dwarfed by the ancient tome, but this wasn't because the book was especially large – rather, he was frustratingly small.

The homunculus he had crafted for himself had taken the greater part of the last year and a half to complete, and even then, it's completion wouldn't have been possible if he hadn't acquired Wormtail's services. A fact which he was loath to admit.

He was finally in a physical form that was not constantly on the brink of dissolving or dying, and he had access to his own magic once again – although it was unstable, and use of it exhausted him quickly.

He hated existing like this. It was a tease. Granted, it was better than that half-life he had existed in before this – but he was so close, and yet so far away from being returned to a fully functional body and finally being able to focus back on his tasks. Being in this form gave him a taste of what it was like to finally have a body back, but the body itself was so pathetic and weak, it only served to frustrate and anger him.

He needed the boy's blood to properly complete the ritual he had designed. He couldn't afford to allow that ridiculous protection of his to continue, and only the use of the boy's blood would do that. He had to admit that he did not fully understand the nature of the protection gifted to the boy by his mother. That ignorance frustrated and angered him greatly.

He feared that it's existence, and the mystery behind it, were in some way linked to that damned prophecy. He needed to rid himself of that threat so that he could resume his work! It was too important for him to be vanquished by some ignorant child, who was only acting blindly on the orders of that frustratingly mad old man!

But waiting for the right opportunity to act was maddening.

And to compound things, he was bored. Horribly, terribly bored.

He looked back down at the book in his lap and sighed. He had read it decades ago. Rereading it now was only mildly interesting. He wanted to send Wormtail to fetch some more books, but he couldn't risk his servant being seen by the public. It was already risky enough when he sent him into the nearby muggle village to fetch supplies and things. He would have to wait until Barty was able to return to him again.

Ah, Barty... unrelenting loyalty. The man worshiped him, unquestioningly. He had been so fortunate to discover his servant was still alive and well... or as well as one can be after several years in Azkaban and then many more years under the imperius, locked away in his father's home. Despite Barty's mildly questionable sanity, he knew he could rely on Barty's loyalty.

Wormtail, in contrast, stayed entirely out of his own cowardice. The man was terrified of his own shadow. It was pathetic. He wished he could call a more competent servant to his side, but he could not risk it. Not yet. He was still too weak, and his servants were all too power-hungry and ignorant of the bigger picture. If they sensed his weakness they could easily try to take advantage of it, and he would be in no position to stop them. And then he would have to start this entire frustrating process over again like he had after the Brat had destroyed Quirrell.

Stupid, pathetic Quirrell. But he had still made a better servant that Wormtail. He sneered the name with utter disgust in his mind. It was such a sad, pathetic state of affairs that he had been reduced to relying on such a loathsome little rat. Disgusting.

Soon... soon he would be returned to his full glory. He would gather his old followers and retain new blood. He needed to restore power to the dark and dismantle the mountain of damage that the fool, Dumbledore had caused in his blind lunacy.

He could only hope he was not too late. His work was imperative, had he felt the crush of time working against him. He had to complete his tasks and set things back into balance, or they would all be doomed, light and dark together. How Dumbledore could willingly ignore the signs of his own idiotic destruction was beyond him. The man was a fool. His ideals would damn them all.

And he would not go down with the muggles. No. He would fight to return magic to it's rightful place, even if he had to claw his way there, tooth and nail. It was his sworn duty, and he would neglect that duty no longer.

He just needed time... But time was working against him. It had been working against him for so, damn, long.

He sighed in frustration again, wishing he could find a way to speed things up. He dug deep inside himself to touch upon the darkest of his magics. The magic that was his, and his alone. The magics that he was gifted by Magic herself as a part of his task.

This magic had never left him, but without corporeal form, there was little he could do with it. At least it had provided him with the strength to pull his homunculus together.

He pulled the magic out and swirled it around himself, relishing in the knowledge that he could still do this, at least. And he would only grow in strength as time passed.

Ah... there it was again. Time. Always time. Everything took time, and yet he had so little patience left.

He pulled out another surge of the magic and chuckled lightly at the rush it filled him with. This was power. Power that only he could properly wield.

Lovely delicious power. And he would use it to restore the world to the way it was meant to be. He just needed time.

– –

Harry woke with a gasp that instantly shifted into a moan as his back arched off the bed. Magic rushed through him in his startled state and it danced along his skin like little sparks of lightening.

As he regained his focus the surge dissipated like a pleasant breeze and he let out a breathy sigh. He blinked through heavy lids and furrowed his brow as he tried to sift through his memories to make sense of what had just happened.

He was being held by his companion. They had stood there together for... for ages. And it had been wonderful...

And then... and then, he was sitting in that study again. The chair was nice. The fabric had been elegant and soft and there was a fire in the fireplace to the left. He was reading a book.

What a brilliant book... fascinating things... tempting things...

I wonder if there's a place in school where I could try out a few of those spells...

But he had felt bored with it. He had read it before... long ago... and his sense of impatience with having to wait had been too frustrating to allow him to focus on the blasted book. He needed...

Harry sat up.

Bloody hell!

It had felt so real. He remembered it as if it had been he, himself, there. Hell, he had sat here for nearly three solid minutes going over the memories before he even realized he was Voldemort!

Harry shook his head. No! No, he wasn't Voldemort. He had simply been seeing through Voldemort's eyes.

And hearing his thoughts. Thinking his thoughts. As if they were my own. Thoughts and feelings that had felt entirely my own. And the magic! It was... it was incredible!

Harry felt shaken and took in a deep breath. He wished his companion was there. He didn't like the way he felt just then. He wrapped his arms around himself, missing the warmth of being in his companion's embrace.

He wanted that warmth back. He needed it. Needed it so he didn't feel alone. He didn't want to feel alone anymore. Never alone. Never again.

Just as his body was beginning to shake and shiver with his irrational wave of loneliness, the presence appeared in his mind and he sighed in relief.

Harry...?

"You're here," Harry breathed in a whisper as he smiled and let himself fall back against his pillows.

What... happened?

Harry shook his head and laughed weakly at the ridiculousness of his almost-panic attack.

"I'm okay," Harry thought in his mind.

What happened? His companion repeated, his silken voice more steady now.

"I... I had a vision."

You saw... through his eyes...?

Harry nodded his head, even though he was laying in his bed all alone and conversing with a person inside his mind. "Yes."

This... upset you? Did you see something... you didn't like?

Harry shook his head and sighed. "No, nothing like that. He was just sitting in the lounge reading. I think what really upset me was that I didn't even realize it was him and not me. I should be able to tell the difference between his mind and mine... you know?"

Do not dwell on it. Harry.

It is over...

...I am here.

Harry smiled as he felt the warmth of his companion embrace his mind, and a glorious shudder danced through his belly at the silken breathy words.

Finally Harry pushed himself out of bed and pulled back the hangings on his bed. His dorm mates were all still asleep. It was early, but a quickly cast tempus told him that breakfast would be served in an hour. He could take a nice long shower and soak up the hot water without having to share the bathroom with his dorm mates – all of whom tended to sleep till the last possible minute.

Harry collected his toiletries, pulled on a loose robe over his boxers and made his way into the bathroom.

He set his things aside and stripped down. He turned and his eye caught the mirror to the side and for some reason... he stopped. He stood there and looked at himself. He rarely did this. He didn't like looking at himself. Harry had never had a very positive self-image. A decade of malnourishment and neglect had left him scrawny and boney. He was short for his age too, and he knew it was entirely the result of being denied proper food for so long.

He had decent enough muscle tone. Years of manual labor around the Dursley's house and yard, compounded with three years of Quidditch had at least given him that. But he was still disgustingly thin. He could easily see his ribs and his collarbones were too obvious.

He wondered suddenly if there was something he could do about it with magic. He was a wizard, after all!

But a glamor wouldn't be sufficient. He didn't want to hide, or disguise his appearance. He wanted to actually fix it. Correct the damage done by those disgusting muggle pigs.

Potions...

The voice whispered and he blinked in surprise and then blushed lightly. He had forgotten that he wasn't really 'alone' in the bathroom. Here he was, standing totally starkers in front of a mirror...

The presence chuckled at his sudden wave of bashfulness, and Harry managed to recover and quickly turned away from the mirror. He walked over to the shower, started the water and ducked under the spray. It was the perfect temperature. It was always the perfect temperature.

I love magic...

Harry began to lather shampoo into his hair and refocused on what his companion had said.

"So a potion, huh?" He mentally asked.

There are... several. Must be taken... schedule. Over time.

Harry nodded his head. That made sense. If it was going to be a real physical change, it probably wouldn't be instantaneous. It was probably better if it was a gradual change, anyway. If he suddenly changed overnight, people would notice.

I will guide you... to the books. Go to the... library... later.

Harry grinned.

He was looking forward to this. The prospect of being able to fix at least something that the damned muggles had done to him left him with an eager skip to his step. He quickly finished with the bathroom and returned to his dorm. He dressed in his robes and slipped out and headed for breakfast. There were still several hours before Transfiguration. If he ate quickly enough, he could probably do some quick book searching before he had to be to class.

– –

His visit to the library had been partially successful. He had left with two different books on potions but the one that would be the most useful was apparently in the restricted section. He planned to come back that night with his invisibility cloak. He probably could have gotten permission from one of his teachers to search the restricted section for something to aid him prepare for the next task, but he still had absolutely no idea what the next task was, since he still couldn't figure out what to do with the blasted egg.

He needed to figure that out soon too...

Harry rushed through the halls, half-sprinting, towards the Transfiguration classroom. He had lost track of time and class would be starting soon. He bolted in through the door just as the chime rang and he quickly slipped into a seat in the back row, heaving a sigh of relief.

Hermione was turned around in her seat, looking at him with concern and a bit of obvious disapproval at arriving so late. Her glare was broken when McGonagall cleared her throat and called the class to attention.

Instead of heading straight into lecture mode, however, McGonagall announced that the sign-up sheet for those staying in the school over the holidays had just been posted in the common room.

"Now before you all make your decision, I should let you all know of one very important development for this year's holiday festivities. This year, Hogwarts will be playing host to a Yule Ball," McGonagall paused and looked around the room of Gryffindors. The girls' eyes all lit up with excitement, while the boys' faces filled almost instantly with dread.

"The Yule Ball, as the name denotes, is first and foremost, a dance. It will be held on Christmas Eve, and anyone in fourth year and above is welcome to attend. Third years can attend if they have a date from forth or above."

At this point, eager whispering and tittering had filled the room, but a sharp glare from McGonagall brought silence to the room.

A few minutes more passe and McGonagall had concluded her announcements and started the actual transfiguration lesson. Harry wasn't sure exactly what to think of the Yule Ball. He had absolutely no desire to deal with some damned dance and wondered if he could get away with just skipping the thing, even though he would be staying for the holidays. He quickly refocused on the actual classwork, and had almost completely forgotten about the Yule Ball when class drew to a close.

"Mr. Potter, please stay behind," McGonagall said, as Harry began to pack up his book, parchment and quill. Harry frowned but nodded and finished collecting his things and went over to stand by her desk.

"You wanted something, Professor?" Harry asked as soon as the last student had left the room.

"Yes. I wanted to inform you that, as one of the Tri-Wizard champions, you and your date will be expected to partake in the traditional waltz at the start of the ball. Are you going to be in need of assistance preparing for this? I will be holding dancing lessons this weekend for those students who need them."

Harry blinked.

"Wait... do I have to go to the ball?" Harry asked quickly.

McGonagall pursed her lips and frowned. "Yes, Mr. Potter. Of course. You are one of the champions. Your attendance is mandatory."

Harry groaned, and internally grumbled.

Great... just great.

"Oh... alright," he mumbled, trying to push aside some of his bitter irritation. He sighed heavily and looked back up at his professor. "Um... yeah, I guess I'll probably need those... lessons," he said in a flat, grumble.

"Alright, Mr. Potter. The dancing lesson will be held Saturday at 3pm."

Harry gave her a rather fake smile and his thanks and bid her farewell before racing from the room and making his way to Defense.

– – –

"Blimey, mate! Can you believe it? A dance! Ugh!" Ron said as he sat down heavily on the bench beside him that evening at dinner.

Harry looked over at Ron with a raised eyebrow but didn't immediately respond. Ron had tried this tactic several times already; talking to Harry as if nothing had ever happened between them, in hopes that Harry would act the same as before and they could go back to the way things used to be.

Harry sighed heavily, resigning himself to the tedium of a conversation with his ginger dorm mate. He wasn't going to take the boy back as a friend, but even Harry realized that he had been terribly anti-social lately. He barely spoke to anyone outside of mandatory class interactions. Burning every bridge he had was not a wise tactic. He didn't personally care what people thought of him, but he wasn't stupid enough to think that social standing and public opinion didn't matter.

"Yeah... a dance," Harry said unenthusiastically as he stabbed his fork through a pork sausage.

Ron's face lit up slightly with hope at finally having gotten some sort or response out of Harry and he pressed on. "So I guess this means we have to get dates, then."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Dates," he grumbled and frowned. He really didn't like that idea at all. He wasn't even vaguely interested in anyone in the school. Forcing himself to ask some random girl, he didn't even give a damn about, on a date was just annoying.

"Any idea who you want to ask?" Ron asked, desperately trying to prod the conversation forward.

Harry sighed and leaned away from the table slightly. He looked around the great hall, hoping that his eyes would just fall upon a good candidate right then and there and save him the hassle of having to actually think about it.

His brief search wasn't coming up with anything and he sighed, resigned to having to actually put some thought behind this choice when he caught sight of a gaggle of blue robes, lead at the head by Fleur Delacour.

Harry grinned. "Maybe I'll ask Fleur," he snickered before looking back down at his plate and doing another violent ****** of his fork into the poor defenseless sausage.

Ron hiccoughed in shock, choking slightly on his pumpkin juice, and looked at Harry as if he were mad. "You're joking, right?" His voice cracked.

Harry looked up at Ron with a perfectly straight poker-face for almost a whole minute before it broke into a wide grin and he laughed and shook his head.

"Yeah, Ron. Probably," he said with a smirk.

Although, he added, mentally to himself, it would be rather humorous if the one guy in the entire school who honestly didn't give a damn about the half-veela was the one who got to go to the ruddy dance with her.

Maybe he would ask. Just to see what she'd say. If she turned him down – which she probably would... he was only fourteen, after all – then no big deal. It certainly wouldn't break his heart, and then he could just ask some other chit.

But if she actually said yes, maybe during the damned dance he could find out if she had figured out her egg yet. People make eye contact when dancing. It'd be a simple matter to slip into her mind and find any information on the next task.

A wry grin spread across his lips. It wasn't a bad plan.

His companion's presence grew in his mind, and Harry felt his agreement and heard a quiet, chuckle.

Definitely a good plan.

– –

The next day Harry waited at the entrance to the great hall, leaning against the wall with the potions book he had stolen from the restricted section the night before. He was reading it while also keeping an eye out for the gaggle of French girls. They usually arrived pretty early so as to avoid the crowds of drooling, hormone-driven boys who tended to stalk them on a regular basis.

Seeing as how this was the day after the ball was announced, it seemed pretty likely that they would be assaulted.

Hell, Harry was planning the very same damned thing. He just hoped to do it without looking like a total arse.

He had read all the way through the instructions on the first potion he was hoping to brew to start correcting his pathetically undersized body, and was about to start re-reading the steps again just to make sure he caught all the little details he would need to make sure were just right before hand, when he caught the sight of pale-blue out of the corner of his eye.

He pushed off the wall, closed the book and slid it into his bag. He assumed a confident stance and a calm, but self assured grin.

Confidence was key. But not arrogance. It was an exact balance, and he would have to pull it off just right or else he would be just another 'stupid little boy' vying for the veela's attention.

As the girls drew closer several of them eyed him warily, a few of them even looked at him rather angrily. Fleur's face remained mostly passive, with a tinge of curiosity.

"Good morning, Mademoiselle Delacour," Harry said with a slightly cocky grin and a small bow, "I was wondering if I could possibly ask for a moment of your time?" he asked as he stood straight again and grinned rather cheekily.

Fleur's eyebrow rose the smallest fraction, but so did the corner of her lips. She seemed to consider him for a moment before she nodded and sent a quick look to the girls around her that silently told them to wait for her.

Harry waved his hand to the side the two stepped away from the group to a marginally more private spot, about ten feet away.

"You wanted som'sing, Monsieur Potter?" she asked a moment later.

"Yes, I was wondering if you might consider attending the Yule Ball with me," Harry said with easy confidence and a simple, but honest-looking smile. There wasn't the slightest hint of fear or uncertainty in any of his words or actions. He could tell from the look in her eyes that she found this rather surprising. That or she was just stunned that a stupid little 14-year old would have the balls to ask her at all.

"You want me to go to zee ball wis you?" she asked with a mixture of shock, and amused curiosity in her eyes.

"That is the general idea, yes," Harry said with a quick nod and a grin. "Are you interested?"

She eyed him for a long minute, and Harry realized that she was honestly considering it.

"I will take your proposition under consideration," she said finally. "I do have other interested suitors, as I'm sure you are aware."

Harry smiled and chuckled quietly. "Oh, I'm sure there are plenty of others dying to ask you. Older boys. Perhaps even better looking guys, although I find that one hard to imagine," he said airily with his nose slightly in the air, before smiling widely and snickering. "Although I guarantee that none of them will be nearly as entertaining company. Still, I understand completely," Harry said giving her another little bow of his head. She actually laughed lightly and Harry's smirk only grew in response. "Do try not to keep me hanging for too long though."

"Of course. Zhat would be rude. I will let you know as soon as I have made my choice."

Harry grinned again and nodded his head. "Thank you."

She smiled back at him, an amusement twinkling in her eyes. "You seem greatly changed zince zee start of term, Monsieur Potter."

Harry playfully rolled his eyes. "Well, being forced into a deadly tournament does wonders to motivate a person to grow up a bit. I've had some pretty powerful changes in my life over the past two months," he ended with an easy dismissive shrug.

"Your performance wis zee dragons was quite surprising. I was unaware zat you were a parseltongue. Quite a rare talent, zat is."

"Yeah, I get that a lot," Harry said with another dismissive gesture before he leaned in a spoke in a mock conspiratorial whisper, "I used to try and keep it real quiet because all those whispers about me being a dark wizard used to make me idiotically self-conscious, but I've sort of gotten over that," he finished with a chuckle.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Let them believe what they want. It's a talent I possess and I'm not going to shun a perfectly legitimate skill just because some people are a little creeped out by it."

"Hm," she made a small approving noise and grinned at him. He grinned back, a little wider.

She rolled her eyes at him, but her smile only grew.

"I must be going. My friends are waiting and we have breakfast to attend to."

"Of course," Harry bowed and waved his hand out, motioning her back towards the entrance where her friends still stood, whispering furiously. Quite a crowd of other students seemed to have collected there as well.

She laughed at him and shook her head. "You are very amusing, Monsieur Potter."

"Please, call me Harry," he said as he began to walk beside her, back towards her friends.

"Alright, 'arry," she said. "I will let you know when I make my decision.

"Thank you."

The entered the great hall and parted ways – Fleur and the other Beauxbatons girls heading towards the table specially setup for them, and Harry, confidently striding towards the Gryffindor table. Dean was the only one from his year already there, and he was gaping at Harry with his jaw so far open, it was practically resting on the table.

Harry sat down and quickly began loading up his plate, as he pretended to be oblivious of all the jealous pairs of eyes, currently trained on him. The smirk wouldn't leave his lips though.

His encounter with the French girl had been amazingly easy. Harry chuckled as he thought of how utterly impossible that would have been a mere two months prior.

Merlin, he was glad he wasn't that stupid, weak little idiot anymore.

– – –

Each day that passed, his companion was able to stay with him for longer and longer periods of time during the days, and the smoother and easier his words came. By the end of the week, they were almost able to hold a fluid conversation for nearly half an hour before his companion grew tired and had to retreat back into Harry's mind.

Harry asked his companion why he would grow tired so easily after speaking to Harry when he was awake, and he responded by saying that in order to stay in Harry's outer awareness he had to draw from Harry's magic. He explained, in his broken whispery way, that Harry's magic, and his magic were not entirely compatible, and it took a lot of strength for the him to use that energy. But that relaying actual words, instead of emotions, took more strength than he possessed on his own.

However, he told Harry that as each day passed, the two magical sources grew more and more alike, and the easier it became for him to tap into Harry's power core, which was why he was slowing able to stay longer and say more.

Harry wasn't entirely sure what to make of that revelation, and wondered if he should be concerned that his magic type was becoming more like that of his companions... and what the bloody hell that even meant.

He suspected that it was related to how his once-white mindscape was slowly turning gray. But he couldn't quite bring himself to think it was a bad thing. The further the mottled gray area spread, the more comfortable he felt there.

For a while now he had been feeling that the white had been too bright. Whenever he entered his mindscape, he hurriedly retreated to the dark corner and buried his face in his companion's embrace. He hated looking out into the white expanse. It was blinding, and annoying. It had started irritating him with it's brightness, and as more and more of it was shifted to gray, he felt more and more content and comfortable.

He wanted it to change faster. He was sick of the whiteness.

–

Harry owl-ordered the apothecary in Hogsmeade with a list of ingredients that he would need for the three different potions he planned to make. They replied telling him that they could provide all that he needed, except for the Re'em blood, which they didn't carry. They recommended an apothecary in Knockturn Alley called Mr. Mulpepper's Apothecary that specialized in exotic magical animal parts, which Harry was grateful for.

Harry was also in need of some Runespore eggs for the potion he got out of the restricted section book, but he had known better than to ask the Hogsmeade apothecary for that.

Runespores were protected, so it was actually illegal to sell their eggs. They were still traded on the black market, of course, but Harry didn't exactly have any idea how to contact someone like that.

Perhaps this Mr. Mulpepper from Knockturn Alley would be of some help.

Harry penned a response to the Hogsmeade Apothecary confirming the order, and then another one to Gringotts, asking them to transfer the needed funds directly to the proprietor. Once the apothecary had their money, they would send Harry a parcel with the specified ingredients and he could begin his brewing on two of the three potions.

He was thankful that none of the potions he needed to make were as annoying to make as Polyjuice potion had been. No ingredients that had to be picked at the full moon, or had to go through a month long simmering time.

No. All three potions he planned to make could be brewed in a matter of hours, and ready to begin a consumption schedule immediately after.

He couldn't wait.

But of course, he had to wait, since he was still missing two key ingredients to the most important potion of the batch.

He quickly penned a letter to the shop in Knockturn Alley under the alias, Notechus Noir. He went with Noir with regards to his godfather Sirius, since noir meant 'black' in French. His companion suggested Notechus. It was the Latin name for the tiger snake, and his companion said it suited him – although how, Harry really couldn't fathom. His companion also made helpful suggestions on what exactly to say, and how to say it to get what he wanted without garnering excess suspicion. Hopefully it would work, and he would be able to get his Runespore eggs without considerable hassle.

– –

That Saturday brought the dancing lessons, and a surprisingly large number of Gryffindors had shown up for them. Apparently their head of house had been rather insistent. She didn't want her lions all looking like a bunch of uncoordinated buffoons at the ball.

The girls were all eager and giggly, while the boys were awkward and embarrassed. Harry had to fight to hold in his laughter at how idiotic his fellow boys were acting. They were practically oozing terror, and when instructed to place their hand on their partner's waist, most of them looked as if they had just been told to stick their hand in a vat of boiling acid.

Harry had actually been the first guinea pig since, when McGonagall had asked for a volunteer to dance with her to demonstrate to the rest of the class, he had been the only one willing to do it.

The twins whistled and shouted catcalls to him, and he winked at them, and gave his head of house a low bow before taking her hand and placing his hand upon her waist without the slightest hesitation.

Inside he was laughing wildly at the stunned looks of his fellow classmates.

It was just their bleedin' professor! Sure, the woman was old enough to be his grandmother, but it wasn't like she was going to bite.

Harry's movements were rather jerky at first as he tried to remember the steps, and keep in time with the music at the same time, but he caught on quickly enough and McGonagall gave him a small approving smile.

It was shortly after that, that she had forced the rest of the gathered students to partner up and began spouting off instructions to each of them. Harry waited to the side while she walked around the group, giving specific advice to those struggling the most... which was most of them, honestly. Harry observed and made mental notes of what to try and what to specifically avoid, as well as who to avoid on the dance floor, so as not to get knocked down.

Finally McGonagall made her way back over to him and he led her back onto the dance floor with a mild chuckle.

He easily re-found his groove and slipped into a comfortable rhythm.

"I must say, Mr. Potter; I'm quite impressed. You've caught on quickly."

Harry smirked. "Thank you professor. I do try."

She raised an eyebrow, but he could see the corner of her mouth twitching against the urge to smile. "Yes, apparently so," she replied dryly, only making Harry smile wider. "I actually wanted to commend you. Your class performance this last month or so has seen a great improvement. Your written work has taken a dramatic turn for the better as well."

"Yes, well, having to go up against people three years older than me in a tournament practically designed to kill me is great motivation to study harder," Harry said with a mild air of sarcasm.

"I imagine it would be. I'm proud of how you seem to be handling the pressure, although I have also noticed that you don't seem to be on speaking terms with many of your classmates."

"I would say that they are not on speaking terms with me."

"Not even Mr. Weasley or Miss Granger? The three of you always seemed so close, but I never see you with them anymore. I never see you with anyone these days, Mr. Potter. I must admit I'm a bit worried about you."

Harry felt himself tense up and had to fight to keep a scowl from spreading across his face. He wanted to know what she was thinking and realized this was a great opportunity to see if he could pull off the mental scan while dancing. He didn't have his wand in his hand, and wouldn't have it at the ball either. His companion had told him he could do it if he focused enough. He decided to try it.

He tilted his head up and made eye contact. He called his magic to him and slipped into her mind with surprising ease. He only barely brushed the surface of her thoughts. Krum had been able to tell that he was in the Bulgarian's mind, and Harry didn't doubt that a professor as old and experienced as McGonagall might have some more definite sense of a magical invasion into her mind than the students he had tried this on so far had. So he wasn't willing to risk exposure by delving too deep. Just the same, he wanted to know what the professor thought about his recent social behavior so he lingered, picking out bits and pieces as she thought them.

Withdrawn. Anti-social. Brooding. Easily angered. She'd seen him snap at several people over the last week. She had also seen him bite back with some rather nasty retorts when a couple Slytherins tried taunting him about the latest Skeeter article. She was also concerned about his behavior towards some of the Hufflepuffs. Part of her thought that maybe he was depressed, however there was another little voice that thought his 'symptoms' were also reminiscent of other, darker, problems. The phrase dark magic kept flitting through her mind, surrounded by concern. He pulled out and scowled.

"They've been giving you a hard time, haven't they?" she asked in a softer, quieter tone that surprised him a bit with how much it sounded like she actually cared. He blinked at her, not entirely sure how she expected him to respond to that.

"Yeah, well the whole accusation that I cheated to get my name into the cup was pretty bad on it's own – and of course no one believed me when I said I didn't do it. Then there was that ridiculous article from Skeeter that came out, only making things that much worse. And even after I scored the highest in the first task, the fact that I used parseltongue to do it only bred paranoia and a new wave of rumors about me going dark," Harry said with a dramatic roll of his eyes and a chuckle, hoping his blasé approach to the subject would assuage some of her paranoia.

Professor McGonagall gave him a hard look. "Yes... about that..."

"Oh not you too," Harry groaned and stopped waltzing, so he could look at her better. "Do you believe that parseltongue is dark?" he asked, flat out. Several people around them heard and quite a few eyes landed on them.

McGonagall's eyes darted around and she frowned at several people, giving them a look that said 'keep dancing!' and they all instantly dispersed. Of course they still stayed within earshot, and continued to shoot the two of them furtive glances.

"I suppose not, Mr. Potter, although very little is actually known about parseltongue. Those who possessed the skill did not often share information on it," she said finally as she refocused on him. "Still, I don't think that you should be exerting your efforts towards pursuing that branch of magic."

"Why not?" Harry asked, crossing his arms and giving her a fairly indignant glare. He wasn't going to let her get away without giving him an honest answer.

"While it is true that parseltongue might not actually a dark talent, most wizards who possessed the skill were dark wizards."

"So being able to speak and understand parseltongue, instantly makes me dark?" Harry responded, indignantly.

"No, of course not. I simply mean that the spells that were created, specifically with parseltongue in mind, were created by dark wizards, and as such, are dark spells."

"Well I didn't even use any spells in the first task," Harry said, rolling his eyes.

She blinked at him, apparently surprised and confused by this statement. "You didn't?"

"No! Well, I did cast those fireproofing spells on my clothing, and the fire shield that I kept on my forearm before hand, but those were just normal spells. The parseltongue stuff was simply me telling the dragon that the gold egg in it's nest was an imposter's egg and that if it hatched it would eat all of her eggs. I told her I was going to take it away and promised not to harm any of her eggs while I collected it. Dragons are related close enough to serpents that they still speak and understand a variant of parseltongue. I had the added benefit of having gotten the Chinese Fireball. Asian dragons are the closest of the dragon races to serpents and understand parseltongue almost perfectly. All I did was talk to it."

"That's it?" McGonagall responded, surprised.

"Yes. That was it," Harry said in a tone that booked no question of his honesty. Of course he was lying through his teeth. He had used quite a lot of persuasive and confunding magic while sending out those parseltongue commands. But McGonagall didn't need to know that, and neither did the group of people who were currently standing around them eavesdropping.

"Hmf," McGonagall made a small, surprised noise in her throat but then nodded her head. "Very well then. Still, I wouldn't recommend any extensive pursuit in the field of parselmagic."

"How could I? It's not like there are any books on the subject in the library," Harry said, rolling his eyes as he stepped forward and resumed his earlier position and they began to dance again.

She continued to make minor corrections to his form, and timing, but quickly told him he had a very solid foundation and left him so she could make another pass around the room to help the others.

Harry stood off to the side and relaxed against the wall. His companion joined him in his mind and the pair of them had a silent running commentary on how idiotic most of his classmates looked as they bumbled their way around the large dance floor.

Surprisingly enough, Neville was doing the best out of the forth year boys. The twins and Lee Jordan were having a pretty easy time of it too, but they were all confident enough that even when they messed up, they were able laugh it off, recover, and cover it up quickly.

Most of the girls looked frustrated and annoyed with whatever boy they had gotten stuck with as a dance partner, although plenty of them still looked nervous and unsure enough to make plenty of the mistakes themselves.

"What are you doing over here all on your own?" Hermione's voice broke through his internal snickering and he turned his head to see her walking up and lean against the wall beside him.

"McGonagall said I had a good handle on things and she needed to start making rounds to help the others. What about you?"

"Ron got embarrassed and is currently sulking against the wall over that way somewhere," Hermione said, nodding her head towards the opposite side of the room.

Harry snickered. "Yeah, well he looked like he was doing a pretty pathetic job of it. I'm amazed he even showed up to this thing." Harry chuckled and then looked back over at Hermione. She was looking wistfully at the couples still dancing.

"Want to have another go at it?" he asked, motioning towards the dance floor with his hand.

She looked stunned by the offer for a moment before smiling shyly and nodding her head.

He chuckled and shook his head as he pushed off the wall and lead her onto the dance floor.

It was odd dancing with Hermione, but not really as odd as it had been to dance with his head of house, so Harry quickly got over any weirdness he felt in the situation.

Their movements were a bit awkward at first, but Harry quickly found his comfort zone and Hermione caught on quickly enough thanks to his surprisingly impressive skill at leading. Once they had gotten into a comfortable rhythm, Harry figured he'd make some small talk. That was part of the deal, and he needed to be able to dance and talk at the same time if he was going to be Fleur. She would expect it..

"So... you excited for this whole dance thing?" he asked, not really caring about the answer.

She smiled shyly and nodded her head. "Yes, I think I am, actually."

"Anyone asked you yet?" he asked, mildly more curious now. He wondered if Ron might have done it... but instantly dismissed the thought. Ron was far to thick to realize that Hermione was actually a girl.

Hermione blushed slightly and her smile widened a bit. Harry smirked. "Ah, someone has then, huh? Anyone I know?"

She pulled her lip in between her teeth, as if she were seriously debating whether or not to tell him. He couldn't quite imagine why she might be hesitant to tell him and wondered if she was embarrassed about it. He dug into himself and pulled out another hefty collection of his magic, preparing for another wandless attempt at mind-reading. The magic made his stomach do flipflops and he felt a little giddy at the rush. He almost stumbled a bit at the exquisite surge of power, but managed to recover and resume dancing without interrupting the flow too badly.

She looked up with a curious frown, clearly confused by his sudden stumble, and the odd shudder to his breath. As their eyes made contact he slipped into her mind and began to dig through her memories. This was a much deeper intrusion than he had been willing to risk with his head of house, but he was confident that Hermione wouldn't notice a thing. Finally he came across a mental image of Viktor Krum, standing over her, surrounded by the library stacks. He was stumbling over his English a bit, and actually managed to look awkward and nervous – something Harry found rather surprising for the always overbearingly confident Bulgarian. Harry picked out the words Yule Ball in the jumbled memory, and saw Hermione blushing, ducking her head and nodding as a large smile spread across her lips.

He pulled out of her mind and blinked in surprise.

Surely not...? Krum? Really! He almost laughed.

"I think I'm going to keep it a secret, if you don't mind," Hermione was saying as a small, secret, smile spread across her face.

Harry chuckled and shrugged. "Fine with me. Keep your secrets," he said in a joking tone as he continued to recover from his shocking discovery.

Viktor Krum! With Hermione! Hah!

Harry could feel his companion chortling in the back of his mind too.

"What about you? Do you have anyone in mind to ask?" Hermione said, squaring her shoulders and taking on a more confident posture.

"Already asked someone, actually. She's got a lot of potential suitors lined up though, so she said she'd let me know when she picks someone," he ended with a chuckle.

"Oh? Who?"

"Fleur," Harry said with a wide, amused grin. Hermione looked stunned.

"You asked Fleur!" she apparently found this even more shocking than he had found the whole Krum thing.

He nodded his head and laughed lightly. "Yup. Did it the morning after McGonagall told us all about the ball."

Hermione's face instantly shifted to concern. "You didn't make a fool of yourself, did you?" she asked in a hushed whisper.

Harry snorted. "Hardly. Honestly that whole veela-thing doesn't really effect me any. It's kind of funny to watch the other blokes falling down over themselves like blathering idiots though."

Hermione gave him a skeptical look. "If the 'veela-thing' doesn't effect you, why did you ask her?"

"Thought it'd be funny, honestly. I mean, the whole male population of the school is infatuated with her. I thought it'd be humorous if the one guy here who isn't obsessed with her was the one who got to go with her to the dance. Plus, I imagine she would probably enjoy going to the event with someone who could still manage to talk, instead of just drooling over her the whole time."

Hermione looked at him with a rather disbelieving look. "So your not infatuated with her?" she repeated, skeptically.

Harry chuckled and shook his head. "Not even the slightest."

"But... well, why not? I mean, I don't understand the draw behind it, of course, but I'm a girl. I understand that it's a very powerful sort of magic and very few can fight it very well. A veela's aura supposedly calls to men like a moth to flame. It's why all the boys get so dumb around her. Why wouldn't you get all dumb around her too?"

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but stopped for some reason. He paused and for the first time since Hermione and Ron had ditched him after Halloween, he considered confiding in her.

As the words flitted through his mind, he suddenly knew they were true and he almost laughed as he was struck with the powerful realization. He didn't though. Instead he met Hermione's eyes and smiled softly.

"Honestly, Hermione?"

She nodded her head, prodding him to continue.

He sighed but his lips were still graced with a soft, resigned smile. "Honestly... I don't think I fancy girls."

Hermione blinked at him with obvious confusion on her face. "You don't –" she began to say when her lips parted suddenly in surprise and realization dawned in her eyes. "You... you mean you fancy –"

"Blokes? Yeah... yeah, I think so," Harry said with a shrug and an unusual accepting honesty in his eyes.

"Oh... oh, Harry," Hermione said, coming to a stop and looking up into his green eyes. "How long have you known?" she asked in a hushed voice.

He shrugged and ducked his head a bit. "I don't know... not too long really. I think it's only just really starting to hit home. But I think a part of me has known it for more than a month now."

"So recently?" she said, apparently surprised by this.

Harry laughed. "Yeah, well, I hadn't really let myself think too much on relationships before this. I've always been a bit busy trying not to get killed by something or other, or spending my summers with the muggles, locked in my room. Not a lot of opportunities for making profound self realizations when you spend every waking moment performing exhausting manual labor."

Hermione looked as if she were about to keep talking but came up short and made a face at what he had just said. Her mind seemed to be trying to work something out, but she shook her head, as if pushing past it and getting back on topic.

"So... so you figured this out while Ron and I –"

"While the two of you had ditched me? Yeah. When you're left all alone, it gives you a lot of time to think on things."

Hermione ducked her head and had the decency to look terribly ashamed.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through so much alone, Harry," she whispered sadly. "I was such a fool."

"Yeah... you were." Harry said simply.

She looked up and her eyes were filled with sadness and remorse. "Will you ever forgive me, Harry?"

No. Never.

"Of course," he lied effortlessly, giving her a soft, reassuring smile. "It's okay. We're okay, Hermione."

"Really?" She asked with a hopeful gasp and smiled up at him, more brightly than he would have expected. He nodded and she quickly wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a hug.

He stiffened instantly, and had to fight the urge to squirm away from her. He didn't like the feel of her holding him. Not one bit. It was nothing like when his companion held him. There was no comfortable sense of home in this embrace. Only awkward discomfort. But he knew he needed to try and smooth out his public relationship with her and Ron. People would be less suspicious of him if he restored his friendship with them. And it would be so much easier on him if people weren't suspicious of him.

People watched him too closely as it was, and it was annoying. He had heard them whispering about him; the fact that he had so obviously distanced himself from his old friends had only added fuel to the fire of speculation around him turning 'dark'.

She finally released him and stepped away, blushing slightly and ducking her head. She smiled up at him, and her face was glowing with relief and happiness.

"Thank you, Harry," she said with a soft voice.

"What for?"

"For giving me another chance."

"Of course. We're friends, right? I couldn't stay mad at you guys forever."

She smiled again and ducked her head. He heard a small relieved sigh escape her lips.

Simple. Now, of course, he had to deal with the annoyance of actually talking to them regularly again, and he definitely wasn't looking forward to that. Harry only barely managed to refrain from groaning in frustration.