Sorry to all who are still reading this story about the length of time it takes me to update- you get a chapter from me as often as you get a book from the great J.K.R herself.

I want to thank everyone who gave me some support when another 'author' hacked up half my story and used it as hers. And to those who wrote reviews and e-mailed me to see if I was still alive.

At the moment I'm trying to apply to study at Uni next year, so a lot of my energy has been going there. Plus I've been writing a little Lord of the Rings story, which I might turn my attention back to now that year five of this story is done.

There are a few naughty words in this story- I try to avoid using them, but sometimes a character really wants to swear.

Warning for anyone who would like to be in a good mood when they get off the net, either go read a humour fic afterwards or avoid this like the plague, I didn't put it in the angst section for nothing!

I don't own the Harry Potter stories, Ms. Rowling does, I'm just borrowing them for a while- except for book 5, didn't like that.

Take care chaps!

Harry Potter and the Trial of Memories part four

"Absolutely not!" Lupin cried.

"Are you out of your mind, old man?" Sirius seconded.

"My godson is not going to end up a babbling idiot like Gilderoy Lockheart. I forbid it."

"You forbid me?" Harry asked quietly. His tone soft and dangerous, even Fletcher moved away a little. Sirius was too pre-occupied to notice any immediate danger to his person.

"Fletcher I don't care what you think, I will not have Harry risk his mind on some half-arsed magic that has only worked three times perfectly in the five-hundred years since it was invented!"

"It's up ter' Harry yer great twazzoc!"

"Now you listen to me you old codger…"

"QUIET!"

Grown men, even one as old as Fletcher felt a shiver of fear run up their spines in response to the power emanating from fifteen-year old Harry Potter.

Sirius looked on a little awed.

When did he get so strong?

"I'm the one who decided to do this. I know the risks involved and I'm old enough to decide whether or not I should be taking them. The option to do this should have been given to me at the beginning. I don't appreciate people hiding things from me."

Harry levelled a hard glance at his godfather and Lupin.

"Unless of course you want to try and force me not to."

Harry let his will loosen slightly, allowing the crystal in the Staff of Gaia to glow a soft amber, an audible thrum of power coming from the staff within the rebuilt alcove in Dumbledore's office. The men got the general idea. Harry was becoming increasingly proficient in using the staff- when there were no life and death situations getting in the way, Harry had almost mastered using simple spells, the same way he would with a wand. Something about using a large staff with a glowing crystal, when saying 'Wingargium Leviosa', was far more impressive than waggling a small stick around.

Harry was quite amused to see three grown men, and one half-giant tremble before him. Dumbledore on the other hand, merely seemed amused. He winked at Harry from beneath half-moon spectacles, trying quite unsuccessfully to stop himself from laughing.

"Well gentlemen, I believe Mr Potter has made his position quite clear."

The old wizards face turned serious once again.

"But I do wish you would reconsider Harry. Promise me you will at least think about it tonight. There would be no shame in pulling out of the Memorillius curse in the morning. There is a reason that they call it a curse and not a charm."

Harry smiled lightly, the glow in the staff diminished, as he reigned in his powers. Sirius let out a small sigh, absent-mindedly wiping the sheen of sweat from his brow.

"I will Professor, I promise. Though I really don't see any other choice."

~o0o~

"Remus wait up!"

The older man slowed his comparatively fast pace, in order to let Harry catch up.

Harry paled slightly under the weight of Remus's gaze.

"I'm sorry. I should have talked to you about this."

"Yes, you should have." The professor said coldly. He folded his arms over his chest.

Remus realised he felt no gratification in the submissive posture Harry's slender frame assumed. The young wizards shoulders slumped, his head bowed.

"Harry." Remus began, reaching forward to take Harry's arm.

Harry jerked his arm back, the still instinctive desire to protect himself, led him to take a step back as well.

Remus moved his arms in a gesture of surrender, he felt as hurt by Harry's inability to trust adult males, as Harry felt embarrassed by his uncontrollable reactions.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that."

"It's not your fault." Remus replied hoarsely.

"It is."

Harry hadn't meant to say that. In fact he said it so softly that a normal human being wouldn't have heard it. But then Remus had wolfishly good hearing. He strode forward, forgetting Harry's issues with personal space, and ignored the young man's flinch as he grasped his arm.

"Harry, you listen to me. None of this is your fault. Not your Uncle, not the tournament, not Voldemort, and not Cedric. None of it was your fault, do you understand me?"

Harry nodded, sullenly. Remus sighed.

"You know, I once knew someone a lot like you. He blamed himself for everything that ever went wrong. He blamed himself for deaths he couldn't have prevented; he blamed himself for the bad things that happened to his friends. And thought that he brought everything on himself."

"What happened to him?"

"I got over it."

~o0o~

"Of course you're not going to do it! Tell him Ron!"

Ron shrugged. Hermione slugged his arm.

"Ow, what did you do that for?"

"You're supposed to be talking your best friend out of committing suicide!"

"Not much point really."

"Not much point!!! What do you mean, not much point!?" Hermione shrieked.

Ron shrugged again.

"Harry's made up his mind, there's not much point in trying to change it. All I can say is best of luck to him, hope you don't go mad. I ain't gonna argue with the bloke who saved me life."

"Thanks Ron."

"No problem Harry."

Hermione let out a very guttural cry of exasperation.

"Harry you can't do this!"

"What you think I can't handle it?"

"I didn't mean it like that and you know it. The risk on this one is far bigger than even your ego!"

"It is not! I mean my ego isn't that big!"

"You're not even waiting for Fletcher to cross-examine Rita!"

"You heard her, I doubt that even Fletcher could come up with anything to make the jury question her word. She comes across as someone genuinely remorseful for some of the things she'd done. If you hadn't had…" Harry broke off.

"Go on." Hermione said shortly.

"Finish it. If I hadn't forgotten about her, this wouldn't be happening, and you wouldn't feel like you had no other choice. Well I'm sorry, that finding out that you were hurt was more important to me than that woman!"

" 'Mione." Harry said softly.

Calling her by that name, quickly got her attention, as well as Ron's, who'd never heard Harry call her that before.

"You know why I'm doing this. It's nothing to do with an ego trip. It's to do with not having much choice."

Hermione cast her eyes downwards to look at the wooden planks of the bench they sat on.

"Hermione I don't much fancy going off my rocker either. Merlin knows if a pensieve were permissible in court I'd use it, but it isn't. A pensieve is all too much of one person's perspective, and memories change, as you get older. The Memorillius curse…"

"A curse Harry! It's called a curse because it's as likely to kill you, as it is to prove what happened to you. What good is justice if you're not around to see it?"

Harry took a deep breath.

"Hermione, please I need to do this. I don't want my Uncle to get away with it, with what he did to me … if I want to get on with my life, and not spend the rest of it having people doubt my word … and I've got this whole rubbish destiny thingy to think about."

Harry gently put two fingers to her throat, and slid them under her chin, pushing it upwards so that she face him again.

"'Mione, I need your support right now. It's important to me."

"Alright, I suppose I can support you, doesn't mean I have to like it."

Harry smiled and dropped his fingers, sharing a grin with Ron.

"Well personally, I think Hermione's just worried about how you snuffing it or going a bit Moody on us will affect all that nice extra power she's getting. Ow!"

Ron rubbed his arm again.

"That never came into my mind Ronald Weasley!"

"Bet it did!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

Harry raised his eyes and whispered silently to any god who may be listening.

"Why me?"

Draco Malfoy and his usual cronies walked passed. Draco smirked at the increasingly childish insults being thrown by Ron and Hermione at each other.

"Says who? You bucked-toothed, bushy-haired swot!"

"At least I stand a chance of passing my O.W.L's you ginger-haired muppet!"

Draco smirked.

"Another day in paradise eh Potter?"

Harry grunted.

~o0o~

The silence in the courtroom was oppressive. Aside from the odd cough, and hushed whisper, the overwhelming weight of people's expectations pressed heavily on Harry.

The courtroom itself shone with in golden warmth, lit up by the early morning sun. It was a warmth that prickled at the skin, raising hair on bare arms, reminding people of lazy summer days spent reading in the garden, soft smells of freshly mown grass, and the scent of honeysuckle hung in the air. To Harry the warmth seemed a betrayal of what the day was bringing for him. If it had been cold, wet and foggy, it might have been a truer representation of how he felt.

Those in the courtroom who were close to Harry were also aware of a deep cold, of an icy grip around their hearts. The only heat they were aware of was that of their own anger that Harry was subjecting himself to this.

Mr Hayes was good. Four people believed Harry's story, two were unsure, and six others believed Vernon's story, despite Harry showing his scars earlier that week. Mr Hayes pointed out that Harry and the others who'd been there on the night of his return to the Burrow were clearly hiding something, because if his injuries were as bad as they claimed, how had it been that they had been able to heal him at all? Quite simply, Dumbledore had saved his life by using the Staff of Gaia, but they couldn't tell the court that.

Quite appallingly, in Harry's opinion, was the inclusion of the press on this particular day. He'd accepted that they were there before, but this was just too personal. The Memorillius curse used a combination of charms and potions, to show events from a person's past. It wasn't quite like a pensieve; a pensieve would have been much less invasive for one. Because a person's memory was not always a reliable thing, memories changing over time as people looked back with a new perspective, a pensieve was therefore considered unreliable by muggles. But they would accept testimony from memories seen under the Memorillius curse. Why? Because in this curse a form of limited time travelling was involved.

The magic was powerful, almost with a life, or intelligence of its own. Memories were removed from the mind of the person undergoing the curse, and then a more advanced form of Time-Turner used those memories to 'scan' the past, in order to show the event as it really happened. The danger of the spell was that most people, when freed of these memories, didn't want them back, particularly if what they had been through was very traumatic. And without this part of them, the mind would no longer be whole. Most went insane. A few who'd had large amounts of memory removed, simply lapsed into comas, and then died, as so little of their minds were left intact.

It was these little facts about the curse that left Fletcher wishing he'd never suggested it to Harry. Black and the others had been perfectly within their rights to be angry with him, he was angry with himself.

Lupin wasn't only angry with Fletcher, he was angry with Dumbledore for not doing more to talk Harry out of it. He and Sirius might have some sway on Harry's opinions, but Dumbledore had a fantastic amount. If he had really tried, Lupin was pretty certain that the old headmaster would have talked him out of it. But he hadn't. What if, by some miracle, Harry didn't go insane, or fall into a coma, what if his memories about the Staff came to light? How would they explain that? There was so little control over this magic. You could see a dream instead of a memory. Instead of a traumatic event you might see Harry brushing his teeth, or even using the loo. You might see a random daydream, and though Lupin was sure that Harry was a good lad, he knew what kind of daydreams most fifteen year old boys were subject to having, and he thought Hermione might be somewhat embarrassed if Lupin's suspicions about Harry's feelings for her proved to be true.

Most of the press who had been allowed into the courtroom, a Daily Prophet reporter, 'The Quibbler', two other smaller British newspapers also had reporters there, as well as a handful of representatives from international papers. The Daily Prophet reporter had thus far been writing a rather one-sided report on the trial, getting all of his information from a rather unreliable source. It came from a security wizard by the name of Thomas Mistspellt. And most of his information seemed to focus on Harry's immediate carer Remus Lupin. Today was the first time that the reporter had gotten into the trial by legitimate means, and the first day that something alike to the truth might be written.

Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley were also both present. Ron was not looking forward to seeing exactly what Vernon Dursley had done to his best friend. And Hermione was not looking forward to seeing it all again.

And Dumbledore, he had his own reasons for hoping that this went well, and not all of them to do with his increasing attachment and fondness for Harry.

There were others present who didn't want to see Harry do this. Mr and Mrs Weasley, Cornelius Fudge, Hagrid, and Aunt Petunia- she'd only understood that Harry could die. Ms Figg was also there. Bill Weasley had sent his apologies for being there, as he had suddenly been recalled to Gringotts.

Still, there were far too many people there. But at least, from Harry's point of view, he would be free of some unpleasant memories for a while. He would be a blank slate for about an hour, whilst the potions the Phoenix Order wizards were giving him took effect.

The sandy-haired Phoenix wizard grip on his arm was reassuring as Harry was lead to the witness seat within the magical symbol at the front of the room. The wooden seat that was normally there had been swapped for one with a wider, sturdier build, n a soft green leather finish. The arms on the chair were wider too, but this was to accommodate old leather straps with buckle on them.

He was gently guided into his seat, he paid little attention to the Triquatra symbol as it glowed white, and then faded to a soft yellow-orange, though Judge Ravencast took great interest and began scribbling notes straight away. The darker haired Phoenix wizard gave him a reassuring smile as he strapped Harry's arms to the seat. At some point, Harry would have to ask what their names were.

Over the next half an hour, various potions were given to him; spells were cast.

A larger binding spell was cast over the entire courtroom, one that would prevent anyone within the room from ever revealing what they saw in a pensieve later. Of course this wouldn't make the reporters descriptions of what they saw any less graphic.

The fair-haired wizard held a small vial to Harry's lips and prompted Harry to drink. Harry almost gagged; the potion was disgustingly reminiscent of the Skele-Gro he'd taken in his second year. The wizards face was sympathetic, and Harry drank the rest.

Harry finally decided to ask his name, since the room he was in was starting to fade. The response he got made him laugh one last time.

"Well I'm Barry, and the dark-haired one is Larry."

Before long, Harry was completely relaxed, a look of vacuous stupidity on his face. He resembled a victim of the Imperius curse.

As Dumbledore, Lupin and Fletcher quietly conversed at the prosecution desk, the final potion was being mixed. It required three drops of the blood of the person taking it, and had to be used within five minutes.

Murmurs of conversation could be heard throughout the courtroom, and an occasional hacking cough from a nervous Vernon Dursley. A rustle of clothing as Dudley Dursley scratched his enormous backside, and the general hustle and bustle sounds from Diagon Alley.

But Harry heard none of that. All that he could hear was humming. Humming of a soft-voiced young woman. The kind that follows no real tune, the kind that your mind makes up as it goes along.

Warmth and contentedness, the likes of which Harry had not known in a very long time filled him. A long forgotten emotion re-awoken. The feeling of being held, protected, loved. It was such a wonderful feeling.

A feeling that those few who ever survived the curse then spent the rest of their lives trying to achieve again.

When Harry began to hum the same unknown tune, those in the courtroom fell silent, the phoenix wizards clearly surprised.

No conscious thought at all should be present at this stage.

"Lily?" Remus gasped.

"What is it Lupin?" Fletcher asked.

"Lily. She used to hum that. We never had any idea what tune it was though."

"Oh."

Harry continued to hum softly, and at times it seemed as though there were an echo of a woman-humming coming from within the walls of the courtroom itself.

"Do we continue sir?" Larry quietly asked the judge.

Ravencast shared a brief glance with Dumbledore, and then nodded.

The moment that the final potion was administered, the humming sound intensified, until it was almost the only audible sound within the room.

The humming was broken with sobs, and deep wracking breaths. And the sound of a gentle shushing came from the same voice. Harry's mother trying to comfort him, but she was afraid herself. She was crying, that much they could hear in her voice. There was another soft sob.

"James…"

Hermione's hand went to her mouth, she knew what memory this was, she could only hope that the images that occurred alongside those sounds would not played to the audience of hungry reporters.

She got her wish, for the time being.

"Harry. Listen to me. Listen to my voice." The Judge began, he was the only one allowed to ask questions that would directly aid Harry in recalling the correct memories.

The mere sound of the Judges voice conjured within Harry's otherwise blank mind the first time he'd seen Ravencast Snr. And other jumbled images of the judge, all of which emerged in a soft mist. The corners of rooms within Harry's memories, and the walls, gave off a soft shimmer of light, which bent and churned, making solid shapes transparent. Those walls could be seen through, so that anyone who wasn't sat within the rooms as they played from Harry's mind could still see into them. People and objects possessed a ghost-like transparency, but they had colour, unlike the grey hue of Nearly Headless Nick. But the people became more defined; until gradually they were so opaque that one could believe that they truly stood within the courtroom. Though Harry still sat, with his eyes closed within the centre, his image moved around and spoke within the memories too. Currently Harry's past self was stood within the outer lobby of the main court, watching as the Judge and his Phoenix comrades walked past.

"Well this is weird." Ron whispered.

"Harry if you are able, please show us memories of your family."

Perhaps the Judge should have given a little more thought to his question, but then, truly how many people would have thought that Memorillius curse was so strong that it would take them all the way back to Goderic's Hollow?

"There Harry look what Daddy's doing. And remember that if I ever see you do that, you'll be cleaning up without the aid of a wand as well."

"Aww, Lily don't be such a stick-in-the-mud."

The memory was very old. A young black haired baby smiled as he was bounced gently against his mother's hip, her slender arms wrapped about his waist. He couldn't have been more than seven months old. Brilliant green eyes observed everything; the completely smooth forehead was a powerful reminder of what could have been. James Potter and Sirius Black sat on the floor, of what was apparently the Potters kitchen; dark grease and machine parts surrounded them. Black motor-oil spread up their arms, on their cheeks and covering most of their clothes. Both had very cheeky grins on their faces, that contrasted with the half-hearted stern expression on Lily's own.

"Hmm. Looks like Daddy's definitely going to get it tonight." She told Harry in a conspiratorial tone.

James didn't look frightened; in fact he smirked as he got to his feet.

"You promise?"

Sirius laughed. Lily made another attempt to look stern, but then squealed as her husband moved to put one grease-covered arm around her.

"Behave James. There's impressionable youth around."

"I think that Sirius is vastly more corrupted than you or I."

"Hey!" Sirius protested slightly.

James shrugged as if to say 'deny it', and turned back to his wife.

"If you wanted sensible Lily, you should have married Remus."

"Maybe I will."

The real Remus smiled at this exchange, a conversation between his friends that he'd hadn't been around for. But it was like so many others that he could remember, from both before and after Harry's birth. The in-joke being that Lily once confessed (whilst slightly liquored up on Dragon Fire Whiskey) that she had had a crush on the excessively facial-haired one in her younger years at Hogwarts, before another young man had taken her eye.

The overwhelming happiness of such a memory caused Harry to smile in contentment. He possessed so few memories of true happiness, and even fewer of his parents.

The images faded. Harry began humming again. And as clear as a performance by the London Philharmonic Orchestra, Lily's voice hummed back.

But there was a cracking in the young woman's voice, a breathlessness that could have only been caused by fear.

They heard soft sobbing, and a deep grasp for breath.

Images flooded the room again. The faint outlines of walls were etched within the air. Outlines of objects within that room, made it clear it was the Potter's kitchen- almost as untidy as the Weasley's, Lily Potter was not a Master Chef.

The people within the room were far more solid, only a faint blurring of their outline gave the indication they were not really there.

The deep green of James Potter's robes, to the vibrant red-gold of Lily's hair, they were all clear. This time the year old Harry, was held in his father's arms. A storybook lay open on the kitchen table. His father turned the pages as he read quietly to his fascinated son. Lily hummed as she made dinner, her lips raised in a slight curve of contentment. James gaze frequently glanced up in her direction, and a smile lit his face.

They were contented, happy, and very much in love.

And then a shrill siren sound ripped through the air, shattering the happy scene, like shards of a broken mirror.

A cup slipped from Lily's hand, spilling liquid contents, and breaking old porcelain against the kitchen floor.

This was it. The one thing that every wizard and witch within England, and some further a field had wanted to see for the past fifteen years. Only now the terrible truth of it all, made those who would see it far less curious. In fact they would have done anything to stop it.

"It's him! Move Lily, take Harry and go upstairs, quickly."

"No, I'm not leaving you!"

James Potter grabbed his wife; his hands were harsh against her arms.

"Lily, listen to me, we both knew this would happen. We have to protect Harry, nothing else matters, not even us!"

"But I love you!"

James Potter let out a heavy breath, as the sirens grew louder.

"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him. Go! Run! I'll hold him off…"

A loud explosion cracked the air, as one of many protective charms around the Potter household was blown apart like rice paper.

James and Potter looked towards a barrier of peach and amber hued light, one of a handful of charms left, as it began cracking, like glass being held within an ever tightening vice.

James put one hand tenderly to his sons face within his arms, and gave his wife one last passionate kiss. The shrill whining of the magical alarms grew increasingly loud, as the danger drew ever closer.

Those watching were rapt, caught in the emotion, hearts thrumming, mouths dry, all cursed with the foreknowledge of what was to come.

James Potter bundled his son into his wife's arms. Lily sobbed openly, and shook her head. The baby she held reached out for his father, as though understanding that he would never see him again, a plaintive

"Da…" was all he could utter.

"Please James, don't do this."

"It's already decided Lily, you know that."

Lily's face streamed with tears, she took a hesitant step back, just as the shimmering barrier of light finally began to shatter.

"Go." Her husband pleaded one last time.

"I love you." She whispered, and then turned and ran, knowing if she did not have the strength to leave in that moment, that she never would.

The moment in which the young Harry could no longer see his father marked the moment in which the image shifted to a hallway within the Potter household, and then the stairs, the landing, running to the third door on the right. The door had a small moving cartoon picture of a cherubic-looking baby on a broomstick, with 'Harry's Room' written underneath it in large black looping scrawl.

The images jolted into a small room. From what could be seen of the faint outline of the room's walls, they were coloured blue, with moving clouds, around the uppermost part of the walls, which then darkened into a moving star-field on the ceiling. A large cot, with wooden railings lined one side, under the window that overlooked fields was a blue painted set of drawers, and just in front of this stood Lily.

She rocked her son in her arms, humming to him, that now familiar tune, Harry seemed to be on the verge of crying.

An explosion rocked the house from the lower floor; a deep crack wound a path up one of the walls in Harry's room. The sounds of muffled yells could be heard coming up the stairs. Heavy footsteps began a sprint up the staircase.

"Lily, hurry!"

James Potter shouted. In the next instance, muffled words from a cruel-sounding voice uttered a curse. A loud, impersonal thud sounded heavily in Remus's ears, the signal of one of his closest friends being torn from a world he so loved.

Lily stopped humming, and let out one large heaving sob, a shiver wracked her slim frame. She began whispering under her breath, a spell that couldn't be clearly heard. A high, cold cruel laugh came from downstairs.

Lily gripped her son with almost painful intensity, rocking him faster; more it seemed to reassure her than him. Harry began crying softly.

The creak of the old staircase indicated the imminent arrival of the unwelcome visitor. A thudding sound echoed down the stairway, as James Potter's corpse was callously pushed down the steps and out of the way.

Lily's whisperings grew louder, and faster, until a visible pink hued light began to emanate around her body. The mist gathered in rings around her, then they spilt in half and joined to form a coil around her upper torso. The coil then unwound in one long strip as it passed into Harry. A soft pink glow shone underneath Harry's skin, and then dimmed. The spell was cast.

There was an absurdly polite knock at the door.

"Lily, let me in. I won't hurt you." A soft voice called. The voice held no warmth, but was clipped in tone, despite the slightly sibilant hissing lilt. It was the voice of someone who was highly intelligent, and deadly cold.

Lily closed her eyes, and kissed Harry gently on the forehead. He clutched at a strand of her hair.

Lily opened her eyes, and looked into emerald orbs identical to her own, except for innocence that was only ever present in a baby's eyes.

"I'm sorry." She choked.

Then the door blew off its hinges, in a blast of yellow light. The concussive force slammed Lily to the floor, the quick movements of her arms during the fall protected Harry, and he never hit the floor. She sat him down on the floor, and then turned as she stood, pulling out her wand from the pocket in her trousers and holding it in front of her. Her arm shook, but her face was determined, though marred by tears. She held her ground defiantly.

"Hello Lily. Terribly ssorry about the messs, but I couldn't sseem to find a key." You-Know-Who stopped about two metres away from her.

"Your husband's dead Lily. You'll join him if necessary, though I'd rather keep you alive; you're quite beautiful."

"I'd die before I let you put a hand on me." Lily spat out.

Voldemort's thin lips drew inward into an even grimmer line. His slit like eyes narrowed.

"Tell me where it is Lily, and you can go free, I'll even ssspare those muggle relatives of yours, ssince you seem ssso fond of their continued exissstence."

"You'd let us leave, if I told you where it was?"

Within the memory, Lily appeared momentarily hopeful.

"You can go Lily. But I'm afraid Potter junior hass an appointment with hisss father."

"But, he's just a baby. Please take me, kill me instead, have mercy!"

The cloaked man moved forward.

"Get out of my way, you silly girl."

"No!"

"If I let that little bratling live, he'll destroy everything I've worked for. Tell me where the Staff is and I'll make hiss death quick and painless. I will not risk his learning to use it."

Voldemort moved forward then, his intention clear, with a quick flick of his wrist, he caught Lily's own, and gave it a sharp tug and twist within his grasp; there was an audible crack. Lily let out a cry of pain as her wand fell from her grasp.

"Get out of my way woman."

Harry's crying intensified as though he sensed his mother's pain.

Lily stepped back towards her son, turning as though to pick him up. In that moment her mistake became terribly clear.

Voldemort, or at least the small part of him that could still be called human, didn't like looking into the eyes of the people he killed. In turning her back she knew she'd given him the opening he'd been looking for. Her last act was one of vengeance.

His wand lifted, the words were spoken, and Lily Potter stared into Voldemorts eyes, even as she screamed with the pain of her soul being ripped from her body. In that moment Tom Riddle, saw all of her pain, her loss, her love and her hopes and dreams, as they shattered and spread like dust on the wind.

Lily's corpse fell to the floor.

Back in the courtroom, Ron's breath caught in his chest, he noticed several others having the same reaction. You-Know-Who turned his wand on the defenceless baby that was clutching at the hand of his mother's body.

"Don't worry little wizard, you'll be seeing her again soon." His tone betrayed how little the Dark Lord really cared about that fact.

"SIR!!" Larry called out. Judge Ravencast clearly agreed.

"Harry listen to me! Listen to my voice, come back to us, come…"

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

He was too late. A rush of green light filled the courtroom, a screaming sound so terrible it couldn't have been human, ripped at theirs ears. Harry's body jolted, and slammed hard against his seat.

Then everything went dark. As though someone had found the switch that worked all forms of light, torches, candles and the sunlight coming through the courtroom windows, all gone in an instant. There was nothing, just black.

Only by the frightened whisperings of those close to her, meant that Hermione knew that the world had not blinked out of existence. For it certainly felt as though Harry was no longer in the back of her mind.

The panic mounted.

"Everyone stay calm!" Ravencast's voice boomed through the darkness, somehow reassuringly in charge.

Ron's hand found Hermione's and gripped it tightly.

"Ron?"

"Hermione, are you all right?" he whispered.

"I'm scared." She admitted.

"I can't feel him anymore, it's like he's not even there, like he's not even…" she broke off in a stifled sob.

Ron took a deep breath, hoping she was wrong, he wrapped an arm around her, and felt her head lean into his chest. His heart quickened inside of it. Was it wrong to have such feelings during such circumstances?

The whispers coming from near Harry grew louder. Security guards were voicing their concerns, Dumbledore let out faint reassurances that everything was all right, but even he didn't sound so sure.

Then almost five minutes into the darkness, there was a flicker of sound, like a rumble. A stray beam of light caught against a wall. Hermione felt a faint tickle of a mind at the back of her own.

"Harry?" she said questioningly.

It was then that Harry's mind exploded outward, catching every living thing within the courtroom, in it's wake.

No longer were they silent witnesses to images and sounds of another life, now they were a part of it, living it, the expectations, the emotions attached to each memory, and the pain of it.

Within their own minds, they saw a bright white light, a cacophony of colours melted against it, like paints on a canvas. The white always shone through, but the funnels of many colours; ambers and peaches, the pinks and magenta's, the blues and azures, the yellows and okras, spun against it in many ringed wheels, like oil on water. The light split into a million pinpricks against infinite black, the sensation of rushing, of hurtling forward, caught in the wind like flowers in a storm. They heard a scream, male, almost animal like in its agony.

The darkened outlines of rock and rubble were being shifted from their vision. A large and dark form shifted against firelight. And then hands so big they were almost the size of dustbin lids, reached in. Light and the smell of burning assaulted the senses, as Harry Potter was lifted from the remnants of his burning home. No more than a lightening shaped cut on his forehead…

Then as suddenly as it had begun, it ended, everyone found themselves back within their own minds, back in their seats, the sunlight streamed in through the courtroom window, birds sang in the trees, all was as it had been.

Images and memories danced by at a dizzying pace in the centre of the courtroom around Harry. As though there had been a thousand locked doors in Harry's mind, and a few hundred had now been opened all at once.

Memory upon memory flooded out.

His first memory of laughter, giggling deliriously as 'Mooo'ee' spun him around on his shoulders. Being fed bad cake at Mrs Figg's. His first day at school, a locker door that for some reason just wouldn't shut as Dudley and his gang tried to stuff his smaller cousin inside it.

"Yer a wizard Harry."

"I'm a what?"

~

"Harry Potter, you get in here right now and do the dishes!"

~

"It would seem that fame isn't everything, is it Mr. Potter?"

~

"And there's no counter-curse. There's no blocking it. Only one known person has ever survived it, and he's sitting right in front of me."

~

"So Potty, I hear you had to be rescued again. And from muggles at that!"

~

"Today, the twelfth of March, the year two-thousand-two, we call upon the wisdom of our ancestors…"

~

Some of the images seen were entirely unimportant, quiet and meaningless to the observer without access to the thoughts that were running through Harry Potters head at those moments in time.

Like Harry doing his homework. Watering the lawn. Sitting in quiet reflection beside the Great Lake in summer, drinking pumpkin juice, listening to Ron and Hermione goad each other into yet another fight.

Awakening from darkness to see Hermione's head haloed in morning light, resting upon the crook of her arm, sleeping against the bed that Harry lay on, in the hospital wing.

They saw Quidditch matches, and the Dementors. Once again they heard the terrified pleading of his mother to spare his life.

A chess game, Harry's wonder at the moving pieces.

The same bright green light and a cold shiver of fear.

Some memories were little more than dreams. Or nightmares.

The warrior-like Hermione, her hair paler, face more grown, twin blades swinging in graceful arches as they severed the head of a darkened creature before her, in a spray of oil-slick blood. Only now Ron joined her; the planes of his jaw more angular, lines deepening around eyes that were now a steely grey to match the blade of his claymore (A/N: this means a really big two-edge sword b.t.w-think Braveheart) which hung from his back, in a large leather scabbard. His hair was more auburn than ginger; he shot darkened shadows in the corners of the courtrooms, with lightening speed. Silver-tipped arrows brought light to those darkened places, shot from a yew longbow. It was intricately painted with faintly Celtic-looking designs.

Briefly the onslaught of memories abated.

"What the hell was that?" Ron said.

Harry began to shake, his body suffered under the strain of a seizure.

Ravencast leapt forward, to stand beside Harry.

"Harry?"

Mr Hayes had slightly recovered himself.

"Is this normal your honour?"

"By Merlin no it isn't!"

Fletcher moved forward.

"Harry? By all that is blessed, is there nothing we can do to wake him up Markus?"

Dumbledore answered.

"We cannot. If we wake him now, when so many memories are no longer inside of him, he would most likely die. He must see it through to the end, and then accept them back."

"What if he felt that he'd shown us what he needed to, do you think Harry is strong enough to know that? Would he be able to stop this himself?" Ravencast enquired.

Dumbledore seemed to think it over for a moment, and then nodded silently. The Judge turned back to the now limp Harry.

"Harry, if you can hear me try to concentrate on your Uncle Vernon. Show us the Dursleys."

Harry was still a few moments, and then he began to hum again. The walls echoed back with the sweetly soft voice of Lily Potter.

"No Harry, show us Vernon, show us the Dursleys."

As though the name had been a prompt, the courtroom fell back into darkness. But this time it was not all consuming and heavy. It was simply a dark room.

Faint, narrow slats of light, eight in a row, appeared, suspended above the floor. It was light that shone through a metal grill from the outside.

Hermione knew where this was. A moment later Ron had realised, as too did the other Weasleys.

At least those in the courtroom would have the comfort of only witnessing this memory. They wouldn't have to experience it for themselves.

The light coming from the metal slats disappeared with a screeching of rusty metal. And then many sounds.

The sound of a lock being opened.

The sound of thudding outside.

The sound of nervous breathing from a young child.

"Potter get out here now!" Vernon Dursley bellowed.

The door opened, the audience squinted against the light, and a beefy hand reached in, felt around, and then placed a solid grip on a small skinny arm and wrenched upward.

A tiny, black-haired boy, popped out into the hallway. Harry Potter at just six-years old clearly underfed compared to the various picture of Dudley Dursley that lined the walls. The image lurched as the two of them moved into the Dursleys kitchen.

"Look at that floor boy, look at it!" Harry looked down at the shiny kitchen floor.

"When I tell you to clean something, I want it done properly, look at the state of that!"

Vernon pointed to a non-existent spot of dirt on the floor.

"I want it clean enough for Dudley to eat off of, do you understand boy?"

"Yes Uncle Vernon." The young boy replied as he was pushed towards the floor. A dirty cloth was thrust into his hand, the bucket that contained dirty water from his earlier cleaning, was kicked to the floor.

The simple cruelty of this scene did not fail to touch the hearts of most who saw it. Those in the jury who before had doubted Harry and believed Vernon, were now changing their minds once again. The doubts about Vernon solidified as memories shifted to similar incidents that peppered Harry's childhood. It should have come as little surprise to see the first punch thrown. But it did.

There were gasps, and accusing glares levelled at Vernon, who for his part seemed unmoved by the whole thing.

Harry's body crumpled to the floor within the memory, he was by now a weakened and emotionally scarred fifteen year-old boy. They were shocked by the increasingly vile words that spilled from Vernon Dursleys mouth. He had the cheek of all things to call Harry a murderer.

"How could you do that?"

One of the jury muttered.

Vernon Dursley looked anything but smug now. It was a very different thing to see your own actions as cold clinical fact, instead of through the haze of alcohol-drenched memory. To look past the fusion of rage and blind hatred, to see instead the truth of what happened.

He hated his nephew now no less than before. But he realised now that he was not a brave man. Despite all the hate he had for the dark little worm that'd crawled his way into his wife's heart, he knew he never would have let the depth of his emotions show when sober.

Drunk was another matter. He saw himself do to Harry things that he'd only previously threatened, and things he'd only conjured in his darkest dreams. Didn't the little freak deserve it after all? When was anyone going to say anything about that? As Vernon looked at the jury of his own kind, what he aw was a bunch of pathetic little people who had bought the idea that wizards were harmless, and … normal? Vernon was disgusted.

The jury were even more weak-willed than he was. Hadn't he only done what was necessary after all?

"Harry, it's time to come back. Harry, come back to us…please." Dumbledore uttered in a gentle yet firm voice beside Harry's ear.

The memories thankfully ceased to play. The weight of the accusing glares from most of the courtroom began to weigh heavily on Vernon Dursley, who still felt more than justified in his actions. But they were now itching to pass the guilty verdict; he could see it in their eyes. He looked to his lawyer, Mr Hayes, an irritating youth with a big mouth, a few clever ideas and an extortionate fee. What he saw when he looked at the man was a surprise. Hayes hated the magically inclined for his own reasons, Vernon had thought he might see silent praise in the lawyer's eyes concerning his actions with the boy, but instead he saw … repulsion?

Hayes was repulsed by him? Granted he hadn't been entirely honest about everything he'd done to his nephew. Mr Hayes was apparently more squeamish when it came to appropriate punishment for troublesome youth than he originally thought.

His anger got the better of him.

"Is that it?" he snarled.

"Is that all it takes to make you people ready to send me to jail? It's pathetic. If you had any idea of what it's like living with that little freak, you'd know he deserved it!"

A commotion broke out in the audience gallery, a scuffle between Lupin, Fudge and another wizard. Fudge and the other wizard were holding an enraged Lupin back. Had it been Sirius, the other two wizards probably would have been hexed into the next millennium by now.

"Let go of me!" he raged. He screamed at Vernon, every part of him burning with hatred.

"You're pathetic, you can't run your own life, and so you destroy someone else's. You're not a man; you're the freak. You hurt children because you know that they can't fight back. What the hell are you? If we sit in judgement over you, it is not without good reason, you're a fucking animal, and you deserve to be put down!"

His elbow connected with Fudges right eye. Somehow Fudge managed to keep one hand on Lupin's arm, as the other rushed to nurse his injury. The other wizard, a French ambassador tightened his hold too.

"That's enough Remus!" Ravencast bellowed. The Judge turned a cold gaze on Vernon.

"And Mr Dursley, I suggest you keep quiet as well, unless you wish to keep incriminating yourself."

"You freaks have already decided!" Vernon roared, pulling himself up within the barred dock. Vernon then made the mistake of making a few choice comments about the judges parentage, alluding that his maternal line may have been crossed with a goat at some point, before proceeding to tell every wizard present that they were an abomination, that the jury were freak-loving puppets, his wife was under a spell, and that the only one here he could trust was his son. Dudley for his part appeared both flustered and confused, and then had the goods graces to be ashamed when is father boasted about his son's role in pointing out when Harry needed punishing.

He ended his tirade with a few meaningless threats, given at by this point four security guards were dragging him away- no mean feat given Vernon's bulk.

Eventually two of the wizards- with some effort- picked up a leg a piece, and they carried him towards the door.

The double doors slammed shut, and Vernon's continued cursing became a muffled din.

Those in the courtroom began looking at each other as though they couldn't quite believe all that had just happened.

Petunia appeared to be relieved, perhaps because she would no longer face the questions of both the prosecution and the defence. She had known what Vernon had done was wrong, but how could she choose between the man she had spent twenty years of her life with, and the nephew she had begun to realise was all that she could ever have asked for in a son, if she hadn't been to blinded with bitterness to notice.

"Anyone else thinking that Azkaban prison would be too lenient for that man?" Fletcher grumbled loudly. A few ayes were sent back.

Throughout all of this, Harry had remained thankfully unconscious.

But now he stirred.

Eyes blinking against the light, the potentially brain-damaged wizard groaned, and attempted to move a hand to his throbbing head, forgetting that they had been tied to the chair earlier.

Remus threw away Fudge's grasp, and vaulted over the little fence that separated audience gallery from the actual court.

"Harry!" he exclaimed, his hands gripping the young wizards shoulders.

"Harry, are you alright?"

Dumbledore edged forward, the court took a collective breath.

Then in a dry and cracked voice the-boy-who-lived said.

"Course I'm alright Remus. Though I've got a thumping headache, think I could get a couple of paracetamol?"

Dumbledore chuckled; Remus appeared to have gone into shock.

"What?" Harry mumbled.

"Did it work, did you see?"

~o0o~

"Are you quite sure he hasn't gone mad?" Fudge asked Dumbledore.

"Oh quite sure. But then he's always been a little strange." The headmaster responded glibly whilst handing the Minister of Magic an ice pack for his eye.

They looked over to where the miraculously recovered young wizard was laid out on the over-stuffed leather couch in the Ravencast's private chamber, at the insistence of Molly Weasley. She'd also wrapped a warm blanket over his legs –though no-one knew where she'd gotten it from- she'd shoved a large cup –it was practically a basin- of hot chocolate into his hands, and now stood over him like a guard dog, practically growling like a Doberman when anyone got too close.

Though Hermione was allowed close, by virtue of the 'connection', and the fact that Mrs Weasley liked her. And Remus was allowed near, by virtue of the fact he was as likely to bite the hand off anyone who came too near as Molly was.

Harry swatted Hermione's hand away for the eighth time as it snaked its way up to test how warm his forehead was.

The Judge himself was huddled in one corner talking to Larry and Barry –

muggle-born's if ever there were, also incidentally brothers. Harry remarked that their parents must have had a poor sense-of-humour. Larry had asked him what about.

Ron had been sent out with the task of finding some chocolate, and had been told to take Hagrid with him. The half-giant had been blubbering earlier, mumbling something along the lines of

"He 'membered (sniffle) 'memebered it wer' me 'at found 'im."

Harry himself wasn't really sure what was going on, other than the fact that people were treating like he was made of glass or fine bone china. He appreciated their concern, but it was stifling.

It seemed as though he was forever doomed to know less about himself than everyone else. There was possibly only one way of finding out what had happened in the courtroom.

"Professor Dumbledore?"

The headmaster moved forward, coming to a respectful halt a few feet from Mrs Weasley.

"Yes Harry?"

"Would it be alright if I had a word with you?"

He looked around pointedly at the others before adding.

"Alone?"

"Of course Harry." Dumbledore said it wit such a sense of finality that the room began clearing immediately. Hermione made it clear that she would see Harry later; Mrs Weasley levelled Dumbledore with a stern glare as she too shuffled out. Lupin seemed to almost growl when Dumbledore moved a little closer to Harry.

"Remus, please return to Hogwarts."

"Why?" He ground out between his teeth.

"Because it's a full moon tonight, and you need to get somewhere safe."

Lupin blinked, and shook his head clearing away the more animal-like thoughts he was having.

"Of course Professor, I'll let Alastor know I'll be needing his help tonight."

He turned to Harry.

"When I'm back on my feet, you'll have to come to dinner with me and Sirius. I know he's been dying to tell you a few tales recently."

Harry grinned.

"I'll look in on you when I get back."

Remus appeared hesitant about letting Harry seeing him in his wolfish state. But then he thought better of it, and nodded his head.

"I'd appreciate that."

Remus left through the magical wall, leaving Dumbledore and Harry alone.

"So Harry, you want to know what everyone else does?"

Harry swung his legs over the side of the couch, and brought himself into a sitting position, and took the blanket off.

"It would be nice if I knew what memories people had seen, given that I can't remember them anymore myself."

"I'm sure it would be. Harry I'm going to ask you a difficult question, and you don't have to answer if you don't want to."

Harry nodded.

"How much do you remember of the night your parent's died?"

Of all the things to want to talk about…

Dumbledore waited patiently for Harry to begin.

"I remember my parent's talking a little, and green light. But that's it. I guess I was too young to remember anything else."

Dumbledore sat down next to Harry.

"Sometimes Harry, we find we can remember something from early in life, when our memories are jogged by something, like a smell or song."

Harry nodded; his stomach fell through the floor.

"The memories of that night are inside of you. They form a part of who and what you are, as much an arm or leg are a physical part of you. You need these to survive, just as you need your memories and your experiences to survive. Whether you are aware of it or not, they are inside of you, waiting for some trigger or sign that they are needed. The Memorillius curse is an artificial trigger. We have seen those memories that you have yet to recall."

Harry winced.

"I thought as much."

He looked down at the large mug of rapidly cooling hot chocolate in his hands.

"Do you know what will happen now?"

"The jury are deliberating the evidence. I think that we can easily guess the verdict."

"So I won."

Harry turned to look at Dumbledore.

"So why don't I feel good about it?"

Dumbledore's lips drew into a slight smile.

"Because winning isn't everything. What your Uncle did… will remain with you the rest of your life, but for now I believe justice will be served; he will likely go to Azkaban for some years. You should take some comfort in that."

"Azkaban?" Harry said with a shudder. So Vernon would be spending time with the Dementors. He certainly deserved such a fate. When would he awake in the middle of the night feeling the burning of skin where old pains lay? When would he flinch at the touch of a friend? When would he be afraid to be alone in small dark rooms, or to be scared to trust both friends and strangers?

But still it was Azkaban, the only people Harry had ever thought deserved cells in that place were overly fond of black cloaks and masks.

Dumbledore stood up.

"Well Harry, the jury may be some time yet, I think I will see to it that Remus gets home safely, wouldn't want him rampaging down Diagon Alley eating small children or anything."

Dumbledore reached forward one gnarled finger and tapped Harry's mug three times. The hot chocolate steamed, and Harry felt the return of warmth to the liquid through the mug into his hands. His eyebrows shot up almost into the back of his hairline. He looked up at the old wizard open-mouthed.

"How did you…? Your wand's downstairs isn't it?"

Dumbledore's smile reached his eyes.

"Later Harry…one step at a time. You should know that your Aunt has asked if she might speak with you. She's outside, would you like me to send her in?"

Harry nodded.

"Of course."

The magical wall shimmered slightly as Dumbledore walked through it, the image distorted like ripples of water.

Harry looked back at his hot chocolate like it might grow hands and feet and introduce itself as Norris in the next few minutes. When that didn't happen he shrugged and took a deep mouthful, and when nothing untoward happened, he took another.

"Oh my goodness." Aunt Petunia exclaimed as she entered the room, turning and watching what she had previously believed to be a solid wall ripple slightly on her passing through it.

"Aunt Petunia?"

Petunia clutched at her handbag nervously, and looked around the room with a small amount of suspicion. She moved to the leather armchair opposite the settee Harry sat on, she was about to sit down when she appeared to think better of it.

"Don't worry it really is there." He reassured her with a smile

Petunia gave a slightly disapproving look, and sat down with great elegance, arranging her skirt modestly as she did so. Both hands still lay on her handbag, on her knees, she seemed nervous.

"Well I'm just glad something is real around here." She leaned forward and whispered.

"How do you cope with all this 'what is real, and what isn't?'. I'm finding it all very confusing." She confided.

"You sort of get used to it after a while."

She smiled and pulled back.

Harry waited politely for a few minutes for Petunia to say whatever it was she had come to say, when nothing was forthcoming he decided to start the conversation.

"Professor Dumbledore said you wanted to see me? Is everything… well of course everything isn't alright, but is there something I can help you with?"

Petunia looked up at him, warmth shining through her assessing gaze. Her lips curled upwards slightly.

"Do you always do that?"

"Do what?" Harry asked confused.

"Ask other people if they're alright before thinking of yourself first?"

Harry blushed.

Petunia cocked her head to one side.

"How could I have missed the young man you are becoming? How could I have ever allowed myself to hate such a good person?"

"We're all allowed to make mistakes from time to time, it's what makes us human." He answered, without really thinking about it, just knowing it to be true.

"I suppose you're right. You're quite clever for your age aren't you?"

"Ask me again after I've gotten my O.W.L results."

His aunt chuckled a little. Then she appeared to compose herself.

"I'm sorry to ask, perhaps I shouldn't, but I need to know. Do you know what will happen to your Uncle?"

Harry was taken aback briefly, hadn't anybody told her?

"Well I suppose, he'll go to Azkaban if he's found guilty."

"Of course he will be found guilty." She replied sadly.

"Azkaban is some sort of wizards prison isn't it?"

Harry nodded. Petunia winced.

"I've heard a little bit about it since I came here. Ms Figg has mentioned it in passing, your Godfather was sent there for a crime he didn't commit wasn't he?"

Harry nodded again.

"All of the thing's I've heard, they mentioned something called Dementors, and well they don't sound very nice. And it's not an easy place to reach if I want to see him." She stuttered the last part out.

"See him?" Harry cried out a little loudly. How could she want to see him?

She looked as though she had expected the look on Harry's face. He was hurt, and confused, and angry.

"I know that you don't understand, but he's my husband, and I love him."

"How can you, after all he's done? You left him."

"I know, and I would leave him again. But when I look at him, I don't see the monster that did all those things to you. I can still see the man I fell in love with, though that seems like it was a long time ago.

When you're older some day, and you have loved someone too, then you might understand. I may have left him, but I can not forget that I loved… and still love him, I cannot give up on him, not yet."

Her eyes watered with unshed tears. Harry had sometimes dreamt of exacting revenge on his Uncle for all the pain he had caused him, going to Azkaban was ore then Harry could have hoped for. But what was the price of that? For so long Harry had looked upon his family as 'The Dursley's' and thought little more of them. How could he have forgotten that not being magically inclined didn't make their problems any less real? It didn't make the fact that they were human beings too, any less real. It didn't mean that they weren't capable of feeling pride, happiness and love any less real.

"I think I understand."

His Aunt nodded nervously. She seemed hesitant about something else.

"Harry I was wondering… I had thought perhaps… do you want to stay… do you still want to come home during the summer?"

"Oh, erm… I didn't think you'd really want me too." He responded sheepishly.

"Well, I thought as Professor Dumbledore mentioned some kind of magic that you need to come back for at least once a year for that you would be coming anyway. But I… I wanted to ask if you really did want to. I know it's not really a place of fond memories for you, but I had thought we might make a start on changing that. I'd… like to get to know you, I'd like Dudley to do the same? I can get time off work during the summer, their pretty understanding about that sort of thing…"

"Work? You're working?" Harry interrupted, shocked. As far as he was aware, his Aunt had never worked a day in her life.

"Yes, I'm in catering." She beamed proudly.

"It's only part-time really, whilst Dudley's at school, I bake cakes, Mrs Donnelly says I have a real talent for it. We're lucky that the mortgage was paid off early and I only have to worry about the house bi…" she broke off.

"Oh I'm sorry Harry, I'm sure that's of no interest to you whatsoever. It's just I needed to pay the bills somehow, everything else… well Vernon took to pay his lawyer."

"Aunt Petunia?"

"Mmm?"

"I'd be happy to stay with you."

His Aunt's face broke out into the largest and most genuine smile he'd ever seen. He was surprised at how pretty she was. Then again he knew his own other was considered very beautiful, and the two women did share genetics, if not an inclination to practice witchcraft.

They were recalled by the jury in what was one of the shortest deliberation times in the joint wizard-muggle court's history.

Harry wished that Remus could have been there, but with Dumbledore and Fletcher sat either side of him. And with Hermione, Petunia, Ron and his parent's there, he certainly didn't feel alone.

Though the results were obvious some formalities still had to be observed.

Vernon was placed in the centre of the symbol on the floor, several security wizards stood around him showing the promise of great discomfort to his person if he made any trouble. Ravencast and Larry and Barry took their seats at the head of the court.

One member of the jury stood- an elderly woman with a cheery face who smelled faintly of mothballs and cough medicine, and Ravencast asked her directly if the jury had reached their verdict. She answered in affirmative, shooting a very nasty glare at Vernon.

"Would you please tell the court of the jury's verdict?"

"Guilty on all counts."

Ravencast nodded.

Harry heard little whoops of joy from his friends. Fletcher pounded a gnarled fist against their table in approval. Ravencast smiled darkly at Vernon, his lips stretched thin and tight in a calculated expression.

"Well then, it is the judgement of this court that there is no place in civilised society for the likes of you Vernon Dursley. You are to be given the maximum sentence for your crimes, with no chance for parole, and you most certainly won't be getting out early for good behaviour. Vernon Dursley you are to be taken from this court hence with to Azkaban prison there to spend twenty years. Take him."

The judge nodded to the security wizards that included Thomas Mistspellt, who promptly began manhandling Vernon towards the door. Everyone in the court seemed to stand and begin talking at once; strangers threw their congratulations to the young, dark-haired wizard who was currently dumbstruck in his seat at the prosecution table.

The enormity of such a sentencing struck Harry with a blow. Twenty years? What man could survive twenty years in Azkaban? Sirius had survived for thirteen because he knew in his heart he was innocent of his crimes, but Vernon did not have that luxury.

Vernon struggled against the wizards trying to get him out of the court.

"Dad!" Dudley's muffled call came out from the crowd.

Wait… Harry thought.

"Wait." He said with such force it startled Fletcher. The courtroom fell silent once again.

"What's the matter Harry?" the old Scot's man asked.

"Can't we?… Does he have too…?" Harry nodded towards Vernon still struggling by the door.

Fletcher stared at Harry's face for a moment, sighing as he realised what it was the young wizard wanted him to do.

"Your honour, my client invokes his privileges as lain down in wizard law."

Ravencast appeared momentarily dumbstruck but recovered quickly, halting the security wizards moving Vernon with a wave of his hand.

"Go ahead."

Harry was confused.

"What privileges?" he whispered as Fletcher propelled him forward to stand before the judge over the triquatra symbol.

"By wizard law, the victim has the right to ask for leniency in sentencing of their attackers." He whispered quietly.

"You have something to request Mr Potter?" Ravencast did not look amused.

"Yes." He said nervously. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the faces in the crowd that mattered most in that moment. Vernon, Dudley and Petunia. He took a deep breath.

"I'd like to request leniency on my Uncle in this case. Though I do not doubt that he may deserve time in Azkaban, I think that it will do more harm than good with regards to the rest of my family."

"I see."

For some tense minutes, Ravencast conferred with the other Phoenix order wizards.

"Very well. Vernon Dursley, it is now the sentence of this court taking into account your nephew's invocation of his rights, that you be taken to a smaller facility for criminals, where you will have the right to visitors…" he looked pointedly at Petunia and Dudley as he said this. "… there to spend fifteen years, no early leaving and no parole. Be thankful your nephew took mercy on you this day, for I would not have."

Vernon appeared anything but grateful. In fact he was livid.

With a speed that surprised everyone, the huge man shot forward, using his bulk to push past Mistspellt and his fellow security guards, and ploughed straight towards Harry. His face so red, it was almost puce. A vein throbbed on his temple, there was no semblance of conscious thought to be seen within his eyes. Just sheer hatred. He'd almost reached Harry when the others began to gather themselves too, moving forward to protect Harry.

But it was clear they wouldn't reach him before the first blow was struck.

Vernon's right arm drew backwards. His hand became a fist.

Harry's left arm moved upwards, at first sight it appeared to be instinctive protection, but in the blink of an eye something changed.

Vernon's fist flew forward, a startling amount of power was in that punch, as Harry well knew.

But as the others looked on in shock, that balance of power between the two shifted.

Vernon's punch never landed. His fist laid enclosed in Harry's left hand. And Harry's hand began to squeeze. Vernon let out a startled yelp, as his hand was being crushed in the vice-like grip. His short and roughly trimmed nails began to dig into the palm of his hand. They drew blood.

The bones in his hand came under increasing strain, as they reached near breaking point, he let out a gasp and fell to his knees. He tried to muffle the sounds of his pain, but Harry's hand only seemed to grow tighter.

"Harry?"

Vernon heard the Granger girl whisper quietly as everyone else stared. Vernon looked up, and saw dead hollows where his nephew's eyes were. There was no emotion written across his face, no anger, pain nor sadness. Just nothing. No it was not nothing… there was power. As he watched a fire seemed to grow in those eyes, and Vernon became deathly afraid, his hulking body trembled, and his breath was short and shallow, tears began to fall on his cheeks. But all Vernon could think of was the overwhelming pain in his right hand and the power in his nephews eyes.

Quiet slowly Harry leaned forward slightly. His voice was deeper and coarser than Vernon had heard in the young man before.

"You never get to lay a hand on me again. If you ever try, I assure you this time I will hurt you back. It wasn't my fault I know that now. You lose. Do you understand?"

The grinding sensations of the small bones in Vernon's hand became too much to bear. He let out a small sob.

"Yes I understand damn it, let go!"

Harry didn't let go his grip tightened a little more; Vernon winced.

"Please… please let go."

Satisfied, Harry finally let go. Vernon fell back and nursed his injured hand.

A hand gripped Harry's upper arm in a light touch.

"Harry?"

He turned to Hermione's worried face.

"It'll be alright now Herm. It's over, let's get back to school."

~o0o~

"That's it? It's over?" Sirius asked for the third time a few hours later. Harry nodded. Grin wide.

Sirius swept a hand through his hair.

"You're sure?"

"Yes Sirius it's over alright?" Harry's grin widened.

Sirius strode across the wide space between them in a handful of steps of his long legs and enveloped his godson in a crushing hug. He felt Harry tense briefly under the embrace, but held on until his godson finally relaxed into his arms and returned the affection.

"Gods, Remus is gonna be pissed he missed this. I supposed we'll have to throw a small party tomorrow."

"Actually I don't feel much like celebrating. I did just send my Aunt's husband to jail for fifteen years. And I think the Gryffindor's are planning something anyway. Hermione and Ron shot off the minute we got back. They were heading towards the entrance to the kitchens. I think that the house elves are gonna have their work cut out for them with those two on the case."

Sirius grinned.

"I bet they will."

He pulled out of their embrace.

"Whether you feel like celebrating or not, I'm sure Remus would like to see you. If you want to risk life and limb that is."

"Why not. Risking limbs is an every day occurrence for me anyway."

Sirius changed before him into his animagus form. Harry shivered at the sight, no matter how often his godfather did it; it was still a creepy sight.

His godfather bounded out of his private rooms on the teachers wing, and Harry supposed he was meant to follow.

As they had gone several floors down and exited the tower, Sirius led Harry towards the lower floors and Harry groaned. They would be keeping Lupin in the dungeons near Snape's classroom and the Slytherin dorm rooms wouldn't they?

Fortunately the dorm rooms were on the opposite side of the Hogwarts Dungeons, and Harry was a little disturbed to realise how extensive the network of little cells was. He began to realise that Hogwarts hadn't always been a school, or if it had, it certainly hadn't been as benevolent in its punishments.

This had the fortunate side effect of not being led anywhere near the Slytherin's and thus not having to explain why Harry and the school mascot were down there after lesson hours. At some point they walked into a corridor and then walked through a fake wall, like the one to Ravencast's office. Apparently there was also a sound-blocking spell across the fake wall, because the moment they passed through, Harry heard the low animal growls that could only come form an enraged werewolf.

Sirius changed back into his human form, and turned back to his godson.

"Are you sure you want to see him? When he's like this… he doesn't really recognise anything or anyone. He's as likely to tear your hand off as shake it."

Harry took a breath, and nodded.

They walked to the end of a long corridor. Harry hoped to Merlin that they didn't have to find their way out or in again in a hurry. The network of dungeons was like a maze.

Sirius put one hand forward when they reached the last door from behind which they could hear an animal scream of rage. Sirius muttered something under his breath and the door opened.

"How did you…? You don't have a wand."

Sirius grinned.

"Maybe later. Dumbledore taught me a few things. It's not hot chocolate but the principles the same."

Harry's heart missed a couple of beats when they went inside. Remus's werewolf form was far more terrifying close up than Harry had had the misfortune to see during his third year. Saliva dripped from three-inch long fangs. Remus's moderately muscled frame became body-builder sculpted and dark brown, with downy fur covering all exposed skin. His snout stuck out, steam bursting from nostrils, as well as more unpleasant things. His arms and legs were shackled and chained to the floor in the centre of the circular room. Pointed dog-ears twitched, and yellow eyes flicked to the intruders who had just entered the room.

Sirius was right, there was no recognition in those eyes, only pure animal rage.

"I wouldn't get too close if I were you." Moody's voice said calmly from behind.

"He's not eaten yet."

Harry turned to see Moody leaning back on a chair with his feet up on a small table set just beside the door. He was in the process of finishing his dinner. Cutting an apple with a knife. He was eating the chunks and spitting out pips in Lupin's direction.

The werewolf lunged forward with a challenging growl, Harry startled fell to the hard floor and winced as pain lanced up through his posterior.

The werewolf growled, further enraged when the chains prevented him form ripping his prey's head off.

"Why haven't you fed him yet?" Sirius asked in annoyance. He stalked to over to the table, and pulled out a slightly bloody bag from under it.

"I didn't want to get put off my dinner by watching that thing eat." Moody responded.

Sirius pulled out what appeared to be half a pig's carcass and through it to the wolf, who immediately forgot their presence when food was in front of him, and began ripping it into a bloody mess. Bones crunched under a powerful jaw, all sense of dinner table manners that Remus possessed were totally forgotten.

Despite the rather horrific sight that had Harry's stomach clenching with a sudden desire to be sick, he still felt the need to speak up for the werewolf.

"He's not a thing. He's my friend."

Moody snorted.

"You're wrong Mr Potter. He is a thing. When he's like this, he would kill you without a second thought. You'd do as well to remember that, because you might have to kill him one day. When it comes down to it. It's you or him. Look at him."

Harry did, and once again fought back the urge to be sick. Remus, no the werewolf, had pulled the pigs head off, and bent his own down to lick the contents as they spilled to the floor.

"He's not going to grant you a quick and painless death either."

"For Merlin's sake, leave him alone. It's hard enough for any of us to see him like this without you going off on one." Sirius said testily.

"That's why he asked me to stay with him Sirius. He knew I wouldn't hesitate to do what needed to be done if it came down to it."

Harry's head shot up.

"You mean kill him?"

Moody eyes cast downwards, and he didn't meet Harry's gaze when he answered.

"If that's what's needed."

Somehow, Harry got the feeling that the old Auror wouldn't find it as easy to kill the werewolf as he was saying.

Harry glanced back at Remus.

"I just wanted you to know… that we won… we won, Vernon's going to jail… and that, well I couldn't have got through this without you… or Sirius… I just wanted you to know." He said softly.

~o0o~

Harry finally crawled to bed that night a little after two in the morning. The expected party to celebrate his 'triumphant defeat' of his Uncle was far more raucous than anything he'd seen before. Student's seemed to be ecstatically happy on his behalf.

Muggle music blared out loudly over someone's radio, the student's ate and drank, and even danced until about midnight. When Professor McGonnagoll finally turned up and told them to keep the noise down. Their celebration had quietened down after that, and suddenly very weary, and aware of the upcoming exams, Harry had called it a night, he and Ron trudged upstairs, changed and bid each other a good nights sleep.

If only it could have been that simple.

~o0o~

The world was faded, muted blacks and pale greys. The barest idea of torchlight seemed far away. And the overwhelming sense of fear, and sensation of pain so far beyond anything Harry had ever experienced made his head sing loud with ache. He was huddled into himself on a cold floor, and yet it's hard surface and icy temperature did nothing to relieve him of the sharp knife like pains of heat that lanced all over his body. Arms wrapped around his head, trying desperately to bring some sort of relief. His entire head echoed as thought it was being continuously pounded against a wall. In his pain, everything else faded. The walls, the floor, the presences that surrounded him were at the farthest reaches of consciousness. Laughter of those nearby caused ringing inside the pounding head. And Harry's fear began to overwhelm him.

Until he realised that it was somebody else's fear. The pain belonged to someone else.

The sensation changed.

Harry looked down at a bloodied, scalped figure huddled on the floor, rocking and crying in rasping breaths, screams intermittent. And he felt deep pleasure. The feeling of knowing he had caused this pain, that he had power over this being. It was stimulating to the point of being a sensual experience.

Harry gasped, and tried to wrench himself free of the dark horrors of Voldemorts twisted mind. The power he felt flowing through him was stifling, overawing in its depth, equal to his own in many ways. And yet it had been twisted to create this hell. To make the suffering that Harry saw before him.

And felt again, as he was drawn back into the pain filled mind of the man on the floor.

Two little words, brought a relived sigh from what remained of the tattered consciousness that Harry shared.

And then he was cast adrift on a sea of ebony dark. For there was no life raft, no buoy for him to cling to with every last breath. The light was gone; his hope had sunk long ago beneath the dark waves into the endless abyss, the colour of night without star or moon.

He feared that he was again condemned to drift on the waves of midnight dark, tormented by the screaming of a man in unfathomable pain. The man's life was ending he felt it. He was trapped inside of a dying mind. One blinded to all else but the eminent dark stretched out before it.

Harry did something then that he had never thought to do before. He prayed. Prayed for the light to come again; prayed that Voldemorts victim would come too, so that Harry might be able to see where he was and save him.

But the man did not wake.

Harry could not save him.

All was dark, the consciousness fleeting. A great swell of emotions more powerful than any human could ever understand until the moment of their own ending washed over Harry's mind for a brief moment. Emotion so strong that all Harry had ever felt in his short life was muted somehow, small, a flicker of candlelight, when the sun was outside.

The man died.

Harry awoke in the dorm room, screaming in rage and frustration.

Voldemort had done it again.

Voldemort had killed.

~o0o~

Harry's bare feet patted along the cold stone floors of the school corridors, his toes had gone numb long ago and the rest of his feet were starting to follow.

The castle was quiet in the small hours of the morning, as Harry padded towards Dumbledore's office. He did not rush. What need was there? The poor man was dead. But Ron had convinced Harry to speak with Dumbledore now, even if there was nothing they could do, Harry needed to talk to someone, as he wouldn't share the horror of what he'd just witnessed with his best friend.

He hadn't even bothered to take his invisibility cloak with him. If Filch was wandering the castle before dawn, there wasn't much he could do beyond sending Harry to the headmaster's office, now that Snape was 'indisposed'.

A nasty shiver crept up Harry's spine, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

During the dream, and the last half hour he'd been awake, this was the first time that it had occurred to him that the man who's death he'd felt could have been the surly potions professor.

The sudden thought that it could be old beak nose that they found in a ditch somewhere in a couple of weeks filled Harry with anger. A burning knot of acid made cramps in his stomach. He promptly fell to his knees and emptied the remains of the celebratory dinner all over the flagstone floor.

Still numb, but with a small feeling of shame for his inability to keep his food down, Harry used his wand to clean the mess up as best he could. Gingerly he stood up, a gentle hand placed to his sore stomach, he continued on his way to Dumbledore's office.

He was exhausted by the time he reached the great Phoenix-shaped gargoyle that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore's rooms.

The gargoyles unseeing eyes appeared expectant.

Harry shrugged his shoulders.

"Oh just let me in."

The gargoyle complied.

Somewhere in the back of his mind as he got onto the moving spiral staircase, it occurred to Harry that the gargoyle really shouldn't have moved without a password.

The staircase deposited Harry in front of the door to Dumbledore's office. The door was slightly ajar, and a narrow beam of candlelight flickered from inside onto the landing where Harry stood.

Unguarded voices talked inside.

"That's all that you could find out Markus?" The headmasters voice asked in such weariness it startled Harry. Dumbledore suddenly sounded very old.

"I'm afraid so. Severus was our highest placed spy. The others are just runner-men in Voldemort's army. They hear just enough to justify the risk of spying. But information on this one is tight. We know Voldemort was keeping Severus alive, holding him and possibly several others at his headquarters. But as of yet, none of our spies are far enough into the organisation to have been told were this supposed castle is."

"I'd appreciate it if you kept me informed. It's been a while since Severus was taken, but I don't want to give up hope just yet."

"He sort of grows on you doesn't he? Like a fungus."

"Somehow I don't think that the Gryffindor student's would agree."

There was a pause in the conversation, which Harry used to knock on the door to announce his presence before entering.

"Mr Potter." Ravencast greeted with mild surprise.

"What brings you to my office at this hour Harry, still celebrating?"

Dumbledore's voice had taken back on the mask of strength and wisdom that Harry was accustomed too.

The smile on the headmasters face betrayed nothing of the grievousness of his conversation with the Judge. Harry almost couldn't bear to see that smile slip from Dumbledore's face, as he knew it would.

"No. There's something I have to tell you."

The smile did fall, and continued downward into a grimace for the next ten minutes as Harry tried to explain everything he'd seen and felt.

"You don't remember anything more about the place that the man was being held in?" Ravencast asked quietly when Harry had finished.

Harry shook his head. Ravencast sat beside him, and Dumbledore in front. Dumbledore leaned forward and clasped crinkled worn hands over Harry's own, which Harry noticed were trembling. Was he cold? He couldn't tell.

Ravencast scratched at the goatee on his chin and turned to Dumbledore.

"So what now? Do I call off the search for Severus? Is there any hope for him?"

"I don't know Markus. For once I truly don't know."

~o0o~

The answers to questions formed within his mind, and words flowed from mind to paper in such a way as to leave Harry barely aware of it. Much of what consumed his thoughts now was of being trapped within a stone cell, frightened and bleeding. Ron and Hermione had grown afraid for him again. In the past two days Harry had barely spoken a word. He went to each of his exams as they did.

One of the torments of his life was finally over. His Uncle was behind bars, his Aunt finally cared for him. He had a blood relative, something which he'd never really though of her as before.

As quickly as they had approached the exams were over. The week was gone. And all over Hogwarts, students of years five and seven walked around in a daze. Harry slowly pulled himself out of his reverie, and began with some delicacy the process of trying to enjoy life, as it was however briefly, quiet and enjoyable.

The Weasley twins had gone riot. The number of pranks increased three-fold. Hardly a student walked the halls that didn't bear the mark of some joke. A large number of unsuspecting forth years were stuck breathing green fire from their nostrils for about an hour on the day of their final exams.

And over the course of another week, Harry found himself thinking less and less on the man who's died. But he increasingly lost hope that it could have been anyone other than Professor Snape. Though he hated himself for wishing that some other poor soul had died.

The end of term drew closer still. Harry's staff lessons began again, as he prepared to take it back to the Dursley household with him. A few days earlier the courts had informed him that Remus Lupin had been given legal guardianship of him, and that they did celebrate. At first Harry had thought that Sirius was slightly jealous, and his godfather had later admitted as much. But Remus had later invited his old friend to live with him again over the holidays. With the promise of seeing Harry when he came to visit, and that seemed to cheer him up.

All in all, Harry supposed he had a lot to be grateful for. Judge Ravencast in particular had received many thanks from Harry, for his willingness to give Vernon some leniency in sentencing, thus allowing Petunia and Dudley the chance to visit him at the nearby prison. Harry was quite certain that the Judge had also put in the few key words that had allowed Remus the chance to become Harry's legal guardian.

The newspapers reported what they now supposed to be the truth about what had happened that night at Goderic's Hollow. About how mad He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named must be, for everyone KNEW that magical staffs were only a myth. In time, Harry knew the truth about everything would probably come out. But for now he was grateful that some of the mystery surrounding 'The Boy Who Lived' was cleared up. With the credit for his survival going to the heroic actions of his parents. Harry felt a great deal of pride in them, and cared little if it now lessoned people's curiosity in him. No one outside of the school knew the truth about the Staff-of-Gaia, and those within were bound by magic not to reveal its existence.

Life could almost be normal.

~o0o~

If there were one word that could describe Ginny Weasley right now, that word would be tense. Not that you would think she had need to be, for most people's birthday's would be considered a special occasion, one filled with joy and laughter- it was not to say that there wouldn't be some of this later- but right now, Ginny Weasley was tense.

The twins kept glancing over at her, she fidgeted, and they glanced again, identical evil smiles breaking over their faces when they looked away. They were up to something. Ginny just wish she knew what. The twins had a nasty habit of playing practical jokes on her birthday, and she felt that this wouldn't be an exception. They hadn't done anything last year; the result of the Triwizard tournament had been too painfully fresh in everyone's memory. So by Ginny's reckoning, the twins wanted to make up. The jovial spirit of Harry's court victory was still very much alive in the Gryffindor House, now that the truth was out about what the case had been about. The other houses, including those in Slytherin who weren't such a bad lot, had probably been feeling guilty about doubting Harry's word, so in an effort to make up, rivalry between the houses had broken down quite a bit recently, on a whole, the atmosphere at Hogwarts had never been so contented.

But Ginny was still nervous, wondering when the sweets she'd been given by her dorm mates were going to make her tongue grow 4 feet long and turn purple. Or turn her into a giant canary, or make her breathe green smoke for two hours. What was even more nerve racking, was the fact that half the Gryffindor table kept sneaking glances at her, Harry, Ron and Hermione included. How was she ever supposed to enjoy her birthday when she was looking over her shoulder for the entire day?

But still it was only breakfast at the moment, they did have the entire day to play their joke on her ... but why did they keep staring?

A few minutes later, Harry had glanced in Ginny's direction again, getting ready to move quickly if she started breathing green fire- the twins had improved that sweet recently- when Owl post arrived. At least for now, Ginny could relax and open a few well-wishing cards. Harry along with everyone else would just have to wait to see what the twins had cooked up for their little sister. The Weasley Owls, Pig, Errol and Hermes dropped off a heavy pile of cards and parcels in a joint effort. Another strange owl not known to Harry was also perched on the desk, waiting patiently to deliver its mail.

As Ginny tore into her letters and presents, eagerly watched by her dorm mates and brothers, Harry glanced up to the teacher's table. Dumbledore had a gleam in his eye he'd been lacking a little recently; Harry supposed that whatever the twins had in store for Ginny, she could at least be assured of a very fine birthday cake, courtesy of the Hogwart's House-elves.

Ginny's squeal of delight as she opened Charlie's present, a pair of genuine green Norwegian Ridgeback dragon hide earrings with a pendant to match, drove Harry's attention back to the excitable red-head. He smiled as one of Ginny's friends clipped the pendant around Ginny's neck.

"I wish someone would get me stuff like that." He heard Hermione sigh beside him.

Brain please note Hermione wants pretty stuff for her next birthday, not books.

Harry smiled again to himself; hell would freeze over before Hermione would out right ask someone she knew to get her jewellery for a birthday.

Ginny finished with her last parcel from the Weasley consignment, pumpkin pies and chocolate frogs from her parents, along with a pretty pale pink silk covered diary- assurances in her card that the diary was not in any way cursed. She added them to her neat little pile, and stroked an ailing Errol fondly, before he was lifted by the other two Weasley Owls, and flown to the Owlery in Hogwarts tower to recover. That left the unknown Owl. The darkly coloured Owl lifted its wing and Ginny removed a thick bright blue envelope. The Owl took off immediately. Harry wasn't sure why, but he felt a sense of relief when it had gone.

"Hey Ginny's got a Message-head." Said Seamus, suddenly; attracting the attention of most of the Great Hall -who'd been nosily watching Ginny open most of her presents anyway.

"A what?" Harry asked.

"A Message-head. It records the image of the person's head who's sending the message, and any other images they charm into it, while they read their message, you can also use them to post stuff in as well." Ron explained.

"It's from Bill." Ginny said happily as she turned the envelope over in her hand.

"Well open it then." Fred said, eager to see what his brother had to say.

Ginny complied.

Once she'd opened it, the envelope began hovering in mid-air, about a foot above the table. A small plume of grey smoke came out, and within moments, a life size version of Bill Weasley's head and neck was peering out of the rapidly clearing smoke. It wasn't exactly solid, it was somewhat ghost-like in transparency, but possessing Bill's normal colouring, not the grey shimmer you would associate with a ghost.

The Message-head Bill smiled broadly.

"Happy Birthday Ginny." He said. Ginny smiled back.

"Hold out your hands, and you'll get a present." The Bill-head told her. Ginny held out her hands under the envelope, and then screamed.

A knotted mass of bloody red hair fell into her outstretched hands. Long red hair, in it's distinctive pony-tail, still attached to it's scalp, lay in her hands. She dropped it on the table with a startled and paralysing scream, falling out of her seat with a thud to the ground. Some people laughed. So this was the Weasley joke?

The Bill-head smiled. Only now it had changed into a grotesquely brutalised version of Bill Weasley's head.

"Happy Birthday Ginny."

Bruises marred his face; one side bore deep animal-like scratches that dug deep into bone.

"Hold out your hands, and you'll get a present."

His neck was slit open, and not just in a small thin line, but hacked open with something large and heavy, as if they had been trying to cut his head off, but had not gone deep enough. Ginny was still screaming on the floor, holding her blood-covered hands in front of her. People stopped laughing. Ron looked to his brothers. They were in shock. It wasn't a joke.

The Bill-head smiled.

"Happy Birthday Ginny."

A plume of green smoke rose out of the card, and began to form a shape, three feet above Gryffindor table. The first thing that formed was the shape of a snake, it was moving wildly.

Within a mouth.

Within a Skull.

The Dark Mark, it shone like some terrible beacon above the Bill Weasley head. Ginny was still screaming, and began shaking.

"Hold out your hands, and you'll get a present."

Most of the Gryffindor's had screamed and moved sharply away from their table, the rest of the Great Hall soon joined them. Ron tried to put his arms around his crying sister on the ground, but she still held her arms out away from her, blood running in trickles over her robes, and over her legs. She was rocking backwards and forwards, she could barely breathe through anguished cries.

"Happy Birthday Ginny."

Ron didn't know what to do. What could he do? He couldn't touch his sisters' arms, he couldn't touch the blood, how could he touch it? He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, and followed her rocking movements with his own. She was still screaming.

"Hold out your hands, and you'll get a present."

A loud crashing sound, as the door to the side entrance of the Great Hall flew open, Snape shot out of it, bloodied and battered, gasping for breath he ran towards the teacher's table, Deatheater robes swirled around him.

"Dumbledore ... there's ... there's a letter ...a letter coming, you have ...have to ...stop."

"Happy Birthday Ginny."

Snape's head turned slowly, he knew then that he was too late.

"Hold out your hands, and you'll get a present."

Whatever he had been through to get here, whoever he had angered enough to break his arm, and cut him so, whatever it had been, it was not fast enough.

Ginny's head moved into her brothers' chest. Hermione flew into Harry's arms, crying in anguished sobs. The twins held each other; they had been too shocked to move from their seats. The teachers, the teachers and Dumbledore were coming now. The Dark Mark still shone.

"Happy Birthday Ginny."

~o0o~

There was no sound in the Great Hall but for the soft din of food being eaten. Gazes flitted frequently to the many empty seats at the Gryffindor table. Most thought it strange that Potter and Granger were still here, being as close to the Weasley's as they were, but perhaps this truly was a time for the family.

Both of them sat very close together, half-picking at their plates, not bothering to eat, the state of shock many students had found themselves in when confronted with the torn and bloodied image of Bill Weasley's head, followed by the dark mark was more pronounced in these two.

Snape had been rushed to Madam Pomfrey, having all but collapsed in exhaustion and pain. No one knew how he fared yet.

It was a time for sadness and a time for quiet, something that even the Slytherin students appeared to understand. Not since the death of Cedric Diggory had the Great Hall been subdued in this manner, and Harry didn't like it.

He felt… numb. At times his mind raged with anger at the unfairness of it all, question upon question raised as to whether something could have been done to prevent it. But what? He had thought the dead man to be Severus Snape. Was this a way of punishing them twice? To kill one unexpectedly and leave those left behind with the certain knowledge that another may await such a fate?

This was Voldemort's return party, and Harry knew it. The drak wizard would only cope for so long out of the limelight. A year he had been back, a year in which a handful of people had disappeared, and whom Harry knew to be dead. But now that everyone believed him, now that everyone knew He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was back, Voldemort was announcing his presence to the world.

At other times Harry could barely form a single thought, like his mind was wrapped up in cotton wool.

And sometimes that would have been a welcome sensation, for into his mind crept back the sight of the man Voldemort had killed. The man in the dark on a cold stone floor for who Harry now had a face and a voice to match the one that screamed in animal agony.

Hermione pushed her fork through the meticulously cut bite-size piece of pork on her plate. And then she swallowed thickly, the idea of eating meat did not sit well with her at that moment in time.

Bill Weasley was dead. He was… he had been twenty-three. Twenty-three? How could anything justify such a loss? And at any age?

Ron, Ginny and the twins had all been taken up to Dumbledore's office that morning to meet their parents. Everyone else had nothing else to do but sit in the Great Hall, after all lessons had been cancelled. They all made their own entertainment, if they felt like it at all. Most read or played chess, some played with muggle playing cards. There was an unwritten rule at times like this in Hogwarts, no one played 'exploding snap' or used pranks like filibusters fireworks.

Arthur and Molly, along with Percy had arrived, no one had seen them come, but they had been told to stay away from Dumbledore's office for the time being. In fact that entire floor of Hogwarts was avoided at all costs, but some who had walked past on their way to dorms spoke of the echoes of weeping coming down the corridors.

What way was this to end a year? Was the thought on the minds of many students.

"RON!"

A loud thumping noise broke the silence of the Great Hall, and every students head snapped up as Ronald Weasley flung one of the doors at the Hall's entrance to the side with alarming strength. Teary eyed and red-faced Ron stormed into the Hall, with a sobbing Ginny running in a moment behind, it was she who had shouted.

The look on Ron's face spoke of pure anguish, tears forming glistening trails upon both cheeks, he panted slightly, perhaps from exertion, more likely from hyperventilating under the strain.

He strode towards the Gryffindor table, and his friends rose quickly, readying to offer what little comfort they might.

Harry tried to think of something he could say; his mouth opened a little readying to speak.

It came as a shock when he found himself sprawled back on the floor, blood pouring from a split lip, his friends stood above him with fist raised.

A blurred moment of confusion left him disorientated as Ron's face became merged with Vernon Dursley's.

"Ron wait!" Ginny screamed catching up; she tried to pull her brother back. Hermione bent down to look at Harry's swollen jaw, and wondered at how the blow might have loosened teeth. When she stared up at Ron in wonderment she could see in his eyes that Ron was filled with hatred. And she felt fear for her other friend who now cradled his jaw in his hands. He was trembling slightly, and she knew that he was in the grips of many bad memories.

"It's because of you, it's always because of you!" Ron shouted, still panting, face getting redder by the minute. Ginny began wailing; still trying to hold her brother back when the twins arrived and did it for her. But Ron didn't need his fists to attack further.

"Anyone who makes friends with you is gonna die! Everything you touch withers away! How many people do you know are going to die? Do you know?"

"Ron, I…"

"Shut up! Well do you?"

Ron made his raving clearer.

"You're the one with those dreams, you're the one with all that power. You're the one that gets inside Voldemorts head. How could you not know? How could you not know it was Bill?"

There was a gasp from students as Ron said Voldemorts name. The teachers in the Great Hall had begun making their way over, a flurry of movement at the door turned out to be the headmaster and the Weasley parents.

Ron struggled further against his brothers.

"Did you know it was my brother who died that night? My brother, shit! My bloody brother… my brother…" he continued gasping. Harry felt tears falling down his own cheeks, others cried too. There were too many tears, too many of them…

"They made him talk to my parents, left a message beside his body when they left it outside the house this morning. They got him to say he was a present for you!"

The twins could no longer control themselves, they wept, unconcerned as to whether their brother might pound Harry into a new flavour of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Bean, they let go of him, and clung to each other in their grief.

Ron walked slowly towards Harry his entire body shook. Harry got to his feet, brushing Hermione's hand away.

Ron's voice broke, rough from shouting, but still louder than it needed to be.

"My brother is dead. All we ever did was take you in, all we ever did was care about you."

Blood dripped from Harry's lip, onto his robe but he didn't care. What Ron was saying began to make sense.

"Nobody can even know you without something happening to them. How many times is this going to happen? How many people are going to have to die before you do?

All we did was care about you. You were like a brother to me…"

Ron seemed to have realised what he had just said.

Exhausted and sobbing he fell to his knees, murmuring over and over again the words 'a brother'.

Harry stood there, blood trickling down the front of his robe and over the Gryffindor badge, marring the yellow treading and turning it a muddy brown. It would leave a stain that would never wash out, no matter what magic the house elves would use.

Harry's mind tried to come to grips with what he was hearing. The devastation he felt manifested as physical pain in his throat, he was desperate to say something, anything that might be comforting, yet his entire mind could dwell only on fault. Of whom the fault lay for Bill Weasleys death. It was his. It was Harry's fault.

Harry imagined he could see the blame in the eyes of those in front of him. Imagined that he saw accusation in Hermione's gaze when it was not there.

You-Know-Who had killed; he'd done it in Harry's name. Ron was right. How many more would die? How many more would Voldemort kill in Harry's name? How many of his friends and family would be killed before he died?

In that moment something suddenly became terrifyingly clear to Harry.

It wouldn't end.

It would happen again.

And he was powerless to prevent it.

He took a step towards Ron, who was still sobbing on the floor.

"You're right, I know… I… I'm dangerous for you… for all of you to be around. Voldemort will kill anyone that I'm friends wi… no he'll kill anyway, but he'll aim for my friends."

Harry's voice began to break, but he spoke rapidly and softly as though speaking thoughts as he had them.

"He'll go after anyone I care about." He glanced at Hermione's face behind him.

"He'll go after anyone who helps me, until the day I die."

An answer to many problems came to Harry in an instant, and he seemed oddly calm about his conclusion.

Swiftly he bent down to Ron. He found Ron's wand in the pocket of his school robes put in Ron's right hand, and closed his friend's fingers about it. Ron's face grew more confused as Harry directed the tip of the wand at his chest and held Ron's hand tight around it.

Ron's heart hammered inside his chest, blood pounded furiously in his head making it difficult to hear anything, he didn't understand what Harry was doing.

"End it now Ron. You can do it; you're stronger than you think you are. You could do it." Harry said hoarsely.

"Do what?" Ron whispered, suddenly terrified to hear the answer he knew in his heart would follow, but he needed Harry to say it out loud.

"Kill me." Harry said simply.

"Harry." Hermione gasped quietly from behind. Dumbledore walked a little closer, his wand dropped into his hand, and though he held it loosely, it was clear he was ready to use it.

Harry noticed this and grew more desperate.

"Ron I know you could do it. You could stop this all now. You can stop Voldemort killing anyone else for me. I don't want to be inside another of my friend's heads when they die. I don't want to know about the kicks Voldemort gets when he kills someone.

Ron please, please I don't want to be the reason why… I don't want to be the reason anymore… please just end it."

Ron stared in abject horror. Realising then that his anger had been terribly misdirected. He'd aimed it towards the one person he knew was vulnerable.

Hadn't he, only a few moments ago, proclaimed he thought of Harry as a brother? Was not this brother asking him to help him die? How could he have let it come to this?

Slowly Ron pushed himself into a standing position, very much aware of Harry's hands still wrapped tightly over his own, keeping the wand pointing at his chest.

"Ron please…" Harry tried one last time, but already realised the futility of it.

"I'm sorry." Ron whispered.

Harry's grip loosened.

"I'm sorry." He whispered again.

Harry let go, his hands shook and his chest heaved as he took deep breaths of air.

"I'm sorry."

Ron pulled Harry into the hardest, most painfully reassuring hold he had ever given anyone. His mind barely registered when Harry's arms finally wrapped around him too.

Hermione watched silently. She saw Dumbledore discreetly putting his wand back into the pocket of his robes. And wondered if the old wizard would have really used it.

Was this the worst of it? Was this just a glimpse of what was to come? What nightmares lay in store for them all?

Today she had lost a friend, she had witnessed the grief of a family in mourning, and she had looked upon one of the people in her life she cared about most as he'd asked to die. How could it get any worse?

But Harry had not died. Ron had come to his senses. Dumbledore had not harmed one student to save another.

Should she let her hope fade, or should it be renewed?

What end this would all come to, she could not yet predict; but whatever the end held in store she knew she would face beside the two young men in front of her. In her heart and mind her will was now set, she would hold onto hope, even when others could not. Whatever the end, she would fight for it.

To the end.

End of Year Five.

That's it for this school year folks. Harry and co will be back next year, when the staff will be better explained, along with the strange woman in Harry's dreams (ahem not Galadriel- I honestly didn't realise she looked like that when I wrote her!) and Malfoy comes into his own after a horrifying summer.

Toodles!