All I Know Is I Won't Go Speechless: A Harry Potter Fanfiction

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its associated characters: all rights belong to JK Rowling. I do not own Speechless or any of its associated characters: all rights belong to Walt Disney Records and the original creators. I do not own any other crossover references used in the story: all rights belong to their original creators. I do own any OC spells explained at the end of a chapter.

Plot: First, there were Dementors, then dictating advice and the Order. Now, they expect him to sit there, smile and wag his tail, his voice drowned out in the thunder? No, Harry will not be silent anymore: he has a voice and it's time they remember that.

Author's Note: So, this weird, but fun take on fifth year and beyond was actually inspired by something a good friend and loyal fan suggested about another piece of work. At the same time, listening to the song – Speechless from Aladdin's live-action remake – made me think of how appropriate and perfect it is for Harry, especially in OOTP. So, now we have a story and, hopefully, a fun adventure.

Anyway, as always, if you don't like it, don't read it.

Dedication: I'd like to dedicate this story to my good friend Winged Seer Wolf for helping to inspire me: my recommended reads are Reclaiming the House of Black by Fairywm, Aspirations by megamatt09, Harry Potter and The Power He Knows Not Book 1 The Reluctant Champion by ACI100, Dark Prince Rises by Ronin2106, Who Dares Wins by OlegGunnarsson, Dark Lord Potter Part 1 by The Santi, Breaking Point by Darth Wartriarr, Harry Potter And The Summer Of Change by lorddwar, His Loyal Pet and To Date a Metamorph by Just a Lonely Lorekeeper, Behind Blue Eyes by elmembrila, Harry Potter and the Daft Morons by Sinyk, Partners? By ReluctantSidekick and Harry Potter and the Grim Heritage by shinobikarasu

Key Pairing: Harry/Tonks; Neville/Ginny; Ron/Luna

Other Pairings: To be determined

Normal Speech

'Thoughts'

/Parseltongue/

Chapter 1: Don't Underestimate Me

Don't leave the house…

Don't do any more magic…

Be a good boy…

We can't say more…

Let Dumbledore handle it…

Stay where you are…

No matter what…do as we command and you'll be free to dance on our strings when we want you to soon enough

In Harry's mind, this might as well have been what the advice of his friends and those who claimed to be there to look out for him had to say following the unexpected, horrifying, almost-fatal Dementor attack that had happened in Little Whinging. Only, instead of praise or compliments for saving his cousin's soul and defending himself against a very unexpected enemy, he was expelled, punished, dictated and talked down to.

Not even the Dursleys said thank you, not that Harry expected them to.

However, add in the fact that his friends' only responses involved dictating messages of advice and not so much as a whisper of worry, fear or even curiosity, Harry didn't know whether to be angry or just plain annoyed.

What he did know was that he couldn't heed their advice.

After all, they might not be asking the question, but he was definitely going to;

'What in Merlin's name were Dementors doing in Little Whinging?'

As the thought and the question crossed his mind, Harry crumpled up the letters and advice of his friends and tossed them into a nearby wastepaper basket before he threw himself onto his bed and buried his head in his pillows.

Gods, he was annoyed.

So annoyed, in fact that, unbeknownst to Harry, even as they hit his basket, the letters he scrunched up in fury and annoyance suddenly began smoking and slowly, but surely, burning away to nothing, leaving no trace they'd been there.

Speechless

A soft thud, followed by a smashing sound.

This was what roused Harry from his sleep as he found his unexpected bout of unconsciousness broken by a jolt across his senses, warning him of something that definitely wasn't the normal, even for the nauseatingly dull and way-too-normal surroundings of Privet Drive.

Of course, what nobody else knew was that this instinct that tore Harry out of his sleep was actually honed and born of four years' worth, if not longer, of life-and-death encounters, unexpected adventures and dangers that no child, least of all a fifteen-year-old boy like Harry, should have ever had to deal with.

Whether it was really born from the years of having to deal with Dudley and his pack of jackals playing their game of Harry Hunting with him, or from telling him to avoid his Uncle whenever he was in a mood – which only happened on days ending in the letter y – or the four years' worth of trials, tests, tribulations and terrors at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Harry didn't know.

All he knew was that he had to be prepared.

Rolling off of his bed, as silently as he could manage, Harry snatched his wand from the table next to his bed as he slowly, cautiously, rose up from the ground, keeping his eyes, and his wand, trained on the door. Outside his door, he could hear muffled steps coming up the stairs, each of which sounded like more than just the three pairs of feet belonging to the Dursleys.

One of them even sounded much heavier than his Uncle Vernon, which, were it not for the likes of Hagrid, Madame Maxime, Fluffy and fully-grown dragons, Harry might have said was impossible, but Harry still kept his wariness on high, even as he heard the steps stop outside his door.

For a moment, as he tightened his hold on his wand, Harry thought he heard someone gasp with alarm and disbelief while another sound revealed a low, warning growl of a noise that was silenced by someone else.

'Definitely not the Dursleys,' thought Harry, remembering how, just after he'd retreated to his room after the Dementor attack, Uncle Vernon had made sure Harry couldn't get away again by fixing and locking the locks and padlocks from three summers back to his bedroom door. This meant that whoever was on the other side could see the locks, as well as the bolted-down cat-flap, which used to be used for passing meagre offerings of food to Harry, but now, to teach the freak a lesson, Vernon had bolted it down and left Harry to starve.

As he heard a string of unintelligible arguments, as well as what sounded like cussing, Harry smirked to himself as, for the first time in his life, he actually hoped that Tom Riddle, or even Lucius Malfoy or, better yet, Severus Snape was standing on the other side of the door.

After all, the latter had spent years believing Harry was a pampered prince while the middleman of the three had believed he could intimidate Harry like Voldemort himself, but, thanks to the Muggles, Harry hadn't even blinked going up against Lucius Malfoy.

And as for Tom…

Who knows?

Maybe they were more-alike than they thought.

As Harry savoured the thought of what his biggest enemies might do if and when they saw this, he heard a string of unlocking sounds coming from the latches, padlocks and bolts on the outside of his door before, to his curiosity, the bedroom door flew open with a flash of white light, revealing naught but darkness beyond.

For a moment, Harry wondered what sort of Death Eaters might be so morbidly-subtle, but, as the thought crossed his mind, he heard a female voice whisper through the darkness, "Very clean, aren't they, these Muggles? It's unnatural!"

"Tonks, keep your voice down, for God's sake!" growled another voice, the sound of which only put Harry even more on the defensive, even as a small burst of light filled his eyes, revealing a lit wand, which revealed the two owners of the voices he'd heard.

One was someone whom he'd been learning from over the past year…or rather, someone who'd been impersonated by a Death Eater who'd taught Harry and his friends over the past year, but there was no mistaking that magical eye, the grizzled, scarred features, the large coat and, of course, the wooden staff and prosthetic metal leg – which Harry realised had to be the source of the heaviness on the stairs.

Alastor Moody – Ex-Auror, Ministry malcontent and the prisoner of the fake Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor from the year before – was standing in the doorway of Harry's bedroom, his magical eye spinning while his real one was fixed on Harry.

Next to him, Harry also saw a young, attractive-looking young woman who could have been described as a girl in her late teens, if not early twenties, with oak-brown hair and narrow, but dark-coloured eyes that seemed to be the same colour as her hair; she was dressed in a suit of robes that looked like they'd seen some action, judging by the scorch marks and faded areas, indicating excessive force used to clean them up while it was her wand that was raised, looking around Harry's room.

"Oh, this is much better, Mad-Eye," laughed the young woman, her voice low, but soft and, to Harry's amusement, slightly-juvenile in the way she talked, which, for some odd reason, made him think of his godfather.

This impression was only increased when the woman winked at him, though her wink could have been described as flirtatious, as well as supportive and warm-natured, as she added, "Wotcher Harry; I have to say: the thought of how anyone can live with such clean rooms is so wrong, it's insane, wouldn't you agree, Harry?"

"Uh…" Harry began.

"Tonks, I told you…" growled Moody, but before he could finish, the ex-Auror heard Harry clear his throat.

"Hey, hi, sorry to interrupt, but I've just got to ask: who the fuck are you and what are you doing in Privet Drive?"

"You know who I am, Potter!" insisted Moody, earning a nod from Harry, though his look was sarcastic even as he addressed the man again.

"Oh, I do know who you are; but it's a nice try, Moody, but the last guy who confronted me wearing your face tried to kill me and set me up to die in the Triwizard Tournament, so, if you want me to be sure that you are who you say you are, prove it!"

"Revelio."

To Harry's surprise, it was the brunette with Moody who answered his demand, casting a spell that covered Alastor in a large veil of magic, but, when the spell dissipated and Moody still stood there, the brunette smiled at Harry as she asked, "There; if this wasn't my mentor and your Dad's scariest teacher, Alastor Mad-Eye Moody, my spell would have revealed his true identity; does this satisfy you, Harry?"

The revelation that his Dad had been trained by Moody was definitely something Harry didn't know, but the fact that magic had been used to prove it too, it made him ease up just a little, even as he looked to the woman next to Moody, "All right, fine, but I still don't know you, Miss?"

"Tonks," said the woman.

"Nymphadora Tonks, if you must know, Potter," added Moody, earning a scowl from the Tonks woman while, to Harry's surprise, as she scowled and gave Moody a deathly new meaning to the phrase if looks could kill, the Tonks woman's eyes flashed dangerously while her hair turned a fiery, angry shade of red.

"Don't…call me…Nymphadora!" insisted the now-redhead, earning a slightly-worried look from Harry while, at the same time, he felt a modicum of pity and mutual agreement with the reason for the young woman's anger.

After all, what sane person would name their daughter Nymphadora?

As Harry looked from Tonks to Moody and back again, he kept his wand trained on them even as he asked, "I heard more than two pairs of feet coming up the stairs: who else is with you, Moody?"

"Before we tell you that," argued Moody, his magical eye now fixed on Harry himself as he asked, "Why don't you prove that you are who you say you are, Potter? After all…"

"I swear, if you scream this place down with that catchphrase of yours, I'll hex your lips shut, Mad-Eye!" snarled Tonks, earning a smirk from Harry before he watched as she turned her attention to the hall as she asked, "Anyone got any ideas for something that will confirm his identity?"

"What's your Patronus form, Harry?"

As soon as he heard that voice, Harry's eyes lit up while a look of delight and warmth crossed his face, even as a familiar green-eyed, scar-faced, copper-brown head of hair appeared behind Tonks, though this newcomer also revealed a wand that was trained on Harry, even as the young boy answered him. "It's a stag, which is the same form of the unregistered Animagus that belonged to my Father, James Prongs Potter, and is also a spell you taught me in my third year, Moony, which is the name that Dad and my godfather gave you because of your lycanthropy."

"It's him," said Remus, lowering his wand before, to Harry's delight, the elder man stepped past Moody and Tonks before he embraced his young cub fondly, earning a sigh of relief from Harry as Remus added, "Of course, you could have just asked me to confirm it for you, Alastor: even a glamour or Polyjuice-changed wizard couldn't fool my sense of smell!"

"Constant Vigilance, Remus," growled Tonks, earning a laugh from Harry at the way she made her voice sound all growly and gruff, just like Moody.

How she did that, he didn't know, but at that precise moment, he didn't care.

Not when he knew he had one of his most-trusted friends and allies right there to help him out.

Speechless

The Order of the Phoenix.

That was the name told to Harry by Remus even shortly after they'd landed on the other side of a weird, but enjoyable flight from Little Whinging, each one of the flyers having been guided by Moody and other members of something called The Advanced Guard, consisting of a dark-skinned man named Kingsley Shacklebolt – whom Harry felt like he'd met before, but he couldn't remember where – as well as Moody, Tonks, Remus and an excitable man by the name of Daedalus Diggle, who Harry remembered seeing bow to him in a shop once.

Of course, the only other reason Harry learned of the name was because of an enchanted parchment Moody thrust into his hands, encouraging him to remember it before the Gryffindor boy had watched as a house appeared out of nowhere in between two others in front of him.

And this, as he was about to find out, was just the beginning.

Speechless

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.

A house that reeked of unease and even dark magic, which made Harry wonder why anyone would have any sort of group meetings in such a place, especially with such Light-sided witches and wizards. Even as he wondered about the truth of their destination, however, Harry also felt a sense of calm fill him as he remembered Remus' presence, as well as the sense of friendly, if not odd, familiarity he felt with Tonks, who winked at him in her flirtatious manner as she walked past him, heading for the kitchen of the house.

It was only when Harry followed her path, however, that his eyes widened with awed disbelief and slightly-tearful wonder when he caught a flash of yet another face he knew.

But this one was one he'd wanted to see for well over a year now and now, right there, barely three feet in front of him, was that face and the owner.

Sirius Black, Harry's godfather, who looked up when Remus whispered something in his ear; as the grey eyes of the former prisoner of Azkaban met those of the Golden Prince of Gryffindor, Sirius smiled at his godson as he saw him standing there.

However, as soon as Sirius opened his mouth to address his pup, Harry's look of awe turned into one that could have been described as a mixture of alarm, disbelief, rage, annoyance and pure disdain when Molly Weasley stepped between the two, as though she was guarding Sirius and keeping him and Harry apart.

"Harry!"

Even as she moved towards him, Harry's ire only grew when Molly slammed the door behind her, before she advanced on him and hugged him, missing the flinch, as she usually did, when she nearly crushed Harry as she forced herself on him, "Good to see you…hmm…you're a bit peaky, but I'm afraid you'll have to wait for dinner. Now, straight up the stairs; everyone's waiting for you."

Even as Harry opened his mouth to argue, Molly all-but clamped her hand over his mouth as she cut him off, "No, there's no time; now, straight up the stairs. First door on the left…and do try and keep your voice down, dear; we don't want to wake anything."

Then, without so much as a word of explanation or the once-proud comforts of home and welcome Harry dimly recalled from his time in the Burrow, Molly more or less pushed Harry up the stairs, leaving him to make his way up towards the upper floors while she turned and moved back into the kitchen, again closing the door with an audible slam.

As Harry climbed the stairs, however, a dark, ominous feeling crept into his mind, whispering its words through him as he growled, "Who the hell does she think she is keeping me from my godfather and Remus? And what's with shoving me away like I'm not even meant to be here? And then there's that damn crush of a hug; hasn't she remembered I don't like to be touched by anyone I don't fully-trust?"

Speechless

With his mind lost in the ire that he felt swarming through him, Harry missed the presence of a House Elf on the first landing he walked onto, who seemed to be tending to a large, moth-eaten curtain while muttering under his breath.

However, when the elf saw Harry, he snapped to attention when a weak, elderly voice whispered to him from behind the curtain;

"Keep an eye on that one, Kreacher…he has power…true power…he is not to be given your usual treatments of unwelcome filth to my house."

Even as he pulled the curtain straighter and made sure it was perfectly-preserved, the elf nodded once as he watched Harry walk past him, clearly unaware of the privilege he had just been given by the elf's unseen mistress.

"Kreacher understands, Mistress; Kreacher will let Mistress' Great Champion, Harry Potter, make himself at home."

Speechless

To his disbelief, Harry barely managed to step through the door indicated by Mrs Weasley before he was attacked by something that could only be described as a brown-haired missile, accompanied by a familiar – though, at that moment, unwelcome – female voice that launched into one of her well-known and, again, right now, unnecessary tirades.

"Harry! Oh my god, we were so worried! We heard all about the Ministry: I've been reading up on exceptions to the law. They can't expel you for defending yourself; it's so terribly unfair!"

"Let the man breathe, Hermione," argued another familiar voice, this one male, but, as Harry heard it, he felt a smile touch his lips as he saw Hermione move aside, revealing Ronald Weasley, who looked as though he'd grown a few inches over the summer. He also seemed to be worried about something – Harry could only guess it was him – and, as he saw his best friend and honorary brother smile at him, Ron returned the smile before, walking over to Harry, he embraced him, first with a strong, brotherly handshake and then a firm, just as brotherly hug.

Unlike Hermione, and even his own Mother, Harry welcomed Ron's hug because it was one he knew was one that had his best interests at heart.

True, Ron had suffered a blip last year because of the Tournament, but ever since his apology – as nobody but Harry and Ron knew the redhead had apologised, but only to Harry in the secrecy of their dorm – the redhead had returned to the brave, honourable spirit of magic whom Harry felt was someone he could trust to stand proudly at his side and be there for him.

As the two friends parted, Harry sniffed once before he looked around as he asked, "So, this is what you couldn't tell me about, was it?"

Even as Hermione opened her mouth to reply, however, Harry's head snapped back to his brother-in-all-but-blood when Ron frowned in confusion.

"What on earth are you talking about, mate? Both me and the Twins have sent you letters telling you everything we knew you'd want to know: are you saying you didn't get them or something? That's not possible, especially since we sent them with Hedwig…hey!"

Then, Ron's eyes widened as he spun around, frowning in renewed confusion as he saw something even Harry had only just noticed;

"Where is Hedwig? I would have thought she'd be here waiting for you as she always is whenever you're leaving those Muggles?"

As Harry silently agreed with his friend's remarks, especially the part about wondering where Hedwig could be, he also noticed something else that was off with the picture.

And that something was the smug, if not proud look that was plastered all over the face of Hermione Granger.

Before Ron could say anything or do anything to stop him, Harry knocked his best friend aside, his wand already in hand as he pointed it at Hermione, his green eyes flashing dangerously as he looked at her, "What have you done?"

"What are you talking about, Harry?" asked Hermione, the smug look Harry had noticed now replaced by one of confusion and alarm, "I know you're angry about us keeping you out of the way, but you have to understand: it was all on Professor Dumbledore's advice and…"

"Where is my owl, Hermione?" asked Harry, his voice growing steadily louder as he growled, "Ron might not have noticed it, but I saw that smug smirk on your face: you know something, and I'd bet it's not just about Ron's missing letters. Now, I'll ask you one more time: where is Hedwig?"

"I don't know!" exclaimed Hermione, looking to Ron as she asked, "Are you just going to stand there and let him attack me, Ronald? For Merlin's sake: can't you see this is all clearly because of the Dementors and because you never sent him any messages? Harry's gone mad with PTSD and now he sees me as an enemy; stop him!"

"You never sent one?"

Suddenly, Hermione's eyes widened as Ron turned to her, his eyes darkening even as he stood next to his best friend, glaring daggers at Hermione, who fumed, "What?"

"You said you never sent him one, meaning me," said Ron, slowly shaking his head as he asked, "How would you know I never sent him one, Hermione? The Twins and I always made sure we knew what we were doing: I mean, they even had Sirius' help keeping it from Mum, Dumbledore and, especially, you! We were even going to use another owl before Sirius assured us that Hedwig was the best choice…but we've only ever seen her, not you, so how can you know I never sent him one, which I did?"

Hermione opened and closed her mouth like a goldfish, trying and failing to make heads or tails of what she was hearing.

However, before the brunette could utter as much as a syllable, Harry's wand was aimed at her face again, his eyes shining like the Killing Curse while his expression was one that looked like thunder and lightning made flesh, both of them battling their eternal war in the glare he sent her as he snarled like a sleeping dragon tickled.

"What have you done to my owl, Hermione Granger?"

"Harry, I…you…it's not what it looks like…Dumbledore, he…he said it was for the best…I did what was right…you need to understand the risks…"

"Says the girl who held the power to travel through time just for lessons?" asked Harry hotly, his voice again growing steadily louder as he asked her, "You know, I thought you'd actually lost that insufferable know-it-all-ness in you, but…but you never changed, did you? What was the promised reward for harming my owl? Keeping my true friends from me? Tell me, Granger: what blood money was promised to you for betraying everything I've done for you?"

"What? Causing me to lose out on lessons and drop my grades because I'm busy trying to save you from death again?"

"You HYPOCRITE!" Thundered Harry; as he did so, even Ron gasped when a white burst of magic flew out of Harry's wand, striking Hermione in a manner that made Ron realise his friend had, somehow, just cast a non-verbal Knockback Jinx.

At the same time, Harry's proverbial dam of emotional restraint proved it was now was well-and-truly broken as he snarled, "YOU WANT TO TALK ABOUT SAVING SOMEONE? HOW ABOUT THE TROLL? WHO RISKED HIS NECK, HIS HEALTH AND EVEN HIS LIFE FOR THAT? WHO CONVINCED RON TO HELP HIM SAVE YOU BECAUSE YOU WENT RUNNING LIKE A SILLY LITTLE GIRL BECAUSE THE BIG KIDS WERE MAKING JOKES LIKE KIDS DO?"

"Bullying is bullying!"

"Oh, trust me, I know a thing or two about bullies, Granger, and what we did wasn't even the tip of the iceberg of bullying, let alone the first snowflake to settle on that tip," growled Harry, clenching his fists tightly as he asked, "So what else shall we talk about? How about how you ran off, without help or support, to your home in the library just because you had to be right about the Basilisk? Tell me, you nightmare: where was that brightest witch of her age-ness then?"

"At least I figured it out: you were just being an idiot, as you always were without me! I can't believe I ever thought you could be a great wizard; not when you're being a stupid prat who clearly wants to die, but not before he has me to pull him out of it!"

Even as she said it, Hermione's hands flew to her mouth as Harry stood there, stock-still, his hands still clenched into fists while his eyes were less-glowing and more cold, hard and flint-like, the emerald in them now like a blend of the Basilisk's stare and the emerald colour of the Killing Curse.

"So," said Harry, his gaze meeting Hermione's as he asked, "After everything I risk for you, all the sacred rules I risk breaking, all the sagely advice of that senile old bastard, Albus Dumbledore I ignore, just to save you and the other ignorant twats out there!"

"Harry, watch your language!"

"Oh, why don't you just go and stitch up that hole in your habit, Sister Granger?" growled Harry, throwing his hand towards the door, which, to Ron's surprise, flew open, as though obeying Harry's whims, even as the green-eyed Gryffindor snapped at Hermione. "Go on: do us all a favour and get out of my sight! But, before you go, just know this: I will find my owl and I will learn the truth about why you saw fit to betray everything that I thought our friendship meant, all on the words of that old fool who couldn't even protect you, let alone his school, without a boy there to do the work for him. And, if I find you've done anything to harm my first and real best friend, your pathetic books won't save you from what I do to you!"

To Ron's outrage, Hermione actually lifted her head high, as though she thought she held the high ground.

Once the brunette was gone, Harry turned to Ron before he asked in a very low, if not ice-cold tone of voice, "This is your one and only chance, Ronald: I forgave you before because you promised me you would never let anything come between our friendship again. So this is the one and only time I ask it…"

To Ron's fear, Harry lifted his wand again, so that it was now aimed between Ron's eyes, as he asked, "Who are you, really? A true friend and a brother-in-all-but-blood or just someone else here at the whims of a fool who, clearly, thinks he can make people keep me at arm's length?"

Ron didn't even hesitate.

"I am, and always will be, your friend, Harry James Potter," said the redhead, drawing his own wand from his pocket before, to Harry's surprise, he turned it around so that he offered the hilt to Harry as he added, "And if you want me to prove it to you, then, here: you take my wand and keep hold of it until you know you can trust me to be armed around you. I failed our friendship once and, you're right, I did promise you, on the graves of your parents, no less, I swore that I would never let it happen again, so that's my answer."

To Ron's surprise, Harry's wand hand trembled before he dropped his wand to the ground, though not before Harry fell to his knees.

Doing the only thing he could think of doing, Ron ran to Harry's side, crouching down so that he could help console his best friend, letting him tremble in fear and pain, as well as rage, at the betrayal that had come to light.

"Let it go, mate," Ron whispered, holding onto Harry as though he was there to be the only life-preserver Harry had left, though Ron knew, and silently vowed, he would always be more than that.

He was a friend, a brother, an ally and a sword – and even shield – to the unofficial Prince of Gryffindor and the greatest wizard in Hogwarts, bar none, first and foremost.

Everything else, even his place as a Weasley or someone who was meant to believe in the greatness of false idols like Albus Dumbledore and even the Ministry of Magic, came second.

Harry was first for Ron.

Harry's wellbeing, his friendship, his strength and even his sense of knowing he could be Harry whenever he wanted to be.

All these things were first for Ron, which was why, for now, he just held onto his trembling friend as he comforted him in his hour of need;

"Let it go…and don't worry, because we'll find out what happened to Hedwig, and the truth, and, whatever happens, I'll be here by your side…to the very end; you have my word."

So, a bit of an emotional – over-emotional? Maybe; do I care? Nah – beginning and it looks like more than just the truth is starting to come to light, but can Harry really recover from this betrayal at a time when he needs friends and allies most?

Also, what could have happened to Hedwig and if Ron and the Twins tried sending real information, who or what was responsible for the dictating, crack-the-whip scribbles Harry received?

Keep Reading to Find Out

Next Chapter: Harry might have let his sleeping dragon be tickled, but if they think they can lull it back to sleep, they're in for a nasty surprise, especially that overbearing matriarch who thinks she can ever replace the bravest person in Harry's life;

Please Read and Review

AN: Inspiration

So, a lot of you might find this unnecessary, but that's why I thought I'd put it here at the end of the chapter; anyway, here are the lyrics to the song referenced in the disclaimer and AN at the top of this story: see if you agree they're perfect for Harry, no matter what might happen next;

Here comes a wave
Meant to wash me away
A tide that is taking me under
Swallowing sand
Left with nothing to say
My voice drowned out in the thunder

But I won't cry
And I won't start to crumble
Whenever they try
To shut me or cut me down

I won't be silenced
You can't keep me quiet
Won't tremble when you try it
All I know is I won't go speechless

'Cause I'll breathe
When they try to suffocate me
Don't you underestimate me
'Cause I know that I won't go speechless

Written in stone
Every rule, every word
Centuries old and unbending
Stay in your place
Better seen and not heard
But now that story is ending

'Cause I

I cannot start to crumble
So come on and try
Try to shut me and cut me down

I won't be silenced
You can't keep me quiet
Won't tremble when you try it
All I know is I won't go speechless
Speechless

Let the storm in
I cannot be broken
No, I won't live unspoken
'Cause I know that I won't go speechless

Try to lock me in this cage
I won't just lay me down and die
I will take these broken wings
And watch me burn across the sky
Hear the echoes saying I

Won't be silenced
Though you want to see me tremble when you try it
All I know is I won't go speechless
Speechless

'Cause I'll breathe
When they try to suffocate me
Don't you underestimate me
'Cause I know that I won't go speechless

All I know is I won't go speechless

Speechless

So, what do you think? Appropriate? I certainly think so; anyway, let's see how else the words of this song helped inspire this story.

And you know how to do that, right?

Keep reading to find out…