Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Pairings: Lord Voldemort/Harry Potter;

Warnings: dark; slash; dubious-consent (sexual and otherwise); canon deviations;

Summary: An Occlumency lesson has an unexpected side effect and Harry is the one paying for it.

Author's Notes: So. So, so. This chapter is a bit later than I intended but there really wasn't much I could do about that. A fried computer is a fried computer. Fortunately though, TIKY and all the other fics I'm working on were saved on my flash drive, so I didn't lose any of those files. Yay for small favors.

Any feedback or constructive criticisms would be very appreciated.

Till I've Kept You

Chapter Two

Sunlight streamed through the windows and straight onto his eyelids, burning red afterimages into his brain. He groaned, rolling over as he reached for covers that weren't there. The bed he was laying in was more uncomfortable than it should have been, especially since Harry was at Hogwarts. Frowning, he rolled onto his other side and promptly toppled off the edge.

Harry stared blankly at the vaulted-arch ceiling of what was most definitely not his dorm. Cold stone dug into his back; water trickled steadily from a broken faucet. Somehow, Harry had managed to fall asleep in Myrtle's bathroom of all places. Hermione was going to pitch a fit.

With a heavy sigh, he pushed himself to his feet making sure to carefully stretch out his sore muscles. Depending on what time it was Harry might be able to make it back to Gryffindor before his well-meaning friends staked out the common room to take a hot shower. That was rather unlikely though, so he took his time rubbing out the kinks in his neck and shoulders he could reach before heading over to a sink. He splashed cold water on his face, quickly backing away afterwards to avoid looking at himself in the mirror.

Harry didn't want to see the sorry state that he was in or be reminded of what happened. He didn't want to even think about what caused it. At least, not for a very long while – never if he could help it. That seemed like a great idea.

On his way to the tower, he let his thoughts drift through topics he hadn't really bothered with before. He waved back absently at a pretty blond Ravenclaw he didn't recognize who had smiled whimsically at him. By the time he reached the tower, Harry had realized he had no idea what he wanted to do after Hogwarts. Becoming an Auror sounded interesting but he was sick of being forced into life and death situations. Maybe he should become a shopkeeper or a librarian? Being a librarian sounded rather nice, actually. He would have to remember to ask Madam Pince about what sort of things Wizarding librarians were expected to know.

Harry was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice he had reached the entrance of the Gryffindor common room and was just beginning to walk past it.

"Oh my," said the Fat Lady. "Now where exactly are you going at this hour? Shouldn't you be in bed, deary?"

"Huh?"

He stopped and blinked, glancing over his shoulder at the painting. The Fat Lady gave him a stern look that was ruined by the full wine glass in her hand.

"Um, well…" Harry said sheepishly as he moved to stand in front the entrance way to Gryffindor. "Probably." He spoke the password before she could comment and hurried though the opening. For a moment, he thought that he might actually make it until breakfast before Hermione began her inquisition, but as he stepped onto the bottom of the stairs someone cleared their throat behind him. Harry sighed, gazed longingly in the direction of the showers, and then turned around.

Hermione sat primly in an overstuffed armchair, already dressed for the day and with a thick book opened across her lap. Her mouth was drawn in a tight, flat line and her thick hair seemed to bristle with her disapproval. She stared, waiting. Harry studiously ignored the spark of annoyance in his gut.

"Good morning," he said.

"That's it…? 'Good morning?'" she asked with disbelief. "You wander off without telling anyone, go missing for the night, sneak back in the next morning, and that's all you have to say? I cannot believe this! Do you even realize how worried we were? Do you? My god, you could have been – could have –" She trailed off with a shaking breath.

"Yet here I am, safe and sound." Harry winced at his dark tone. He didn't mean to sound that bitter. "Look," he said softly, "there isn't much I can say. Dumbledore –"

"Dumbledore what, Harry? That excuse doesn't work, especially since you never cared about the opinions of authority figures before."

"It's none of your business, Hermione," he said.

"None of my business? Of course it is! You're my best friend; you can talk to me about anything."

"There's nothing to talk about," he said. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to take a shower." Harry turned sharply and began walking.

He ignored her calls as he ascended the stairway to the fifth year dormitory to grab clean clothes and his toiletries. Dean and Neville were just starting to wake up. They mumbled sleepy greetings and didn't bother to ask where he had been. Soon he was standing under a spray of hot water, trying not to think. Harry was doing well for a while until he ran out of tiles to count and against his will, his mind turned to the events of last night.

Harry wasn't quite sure what to think about the whole thing. On one hand, Dumbledore had asked him to learn whatever it was that Occlumency was supposed to do but at the same time the Headmaster had Snape teaching him. Not to mention that Harry still had no real idea what exactly it was that he was learning beyond the obvious. How was he supposed to get anywhere with a combination like that?

Harry froze at a sudden thought. Dumbledore wouldn't force him to continue after what happened would he? Not after – after…

He scrubbed roughly at his skin as though he could erase the effects the Occlumency lesson had on him if he rubbed hard enough. The dirty feeling never left, even as he scrubbed until his skin was nearly raw. Eventually, he gave up and quickly finished showering. Harry sped through the rest of his daily self-maintenance, grabbed his book bag, and raced through the common room to avoid Hermione.

The hallways were still deserted as he made his way to the Great Hall. The sunlight streaming through the windows warred with the chilled temperature of the stone, creating a strangely gloomy atmosphere that seemed to drain him of energy. Harry didn't meet anyone on his way. Only a small group of students would be up at this hour, and most of those would stay in their common rooms until it was a quarter after to avoid the chill. Harry was glad; he didn't want to deal with people who refused to actually use their brains.

He reached the Great Hall in record time.

It was empty except for the blond girl from earlier, who sat near one of the ends of the Ravenclaw table and was stirring a fairly large cup of black coffee. A cup of tea the same size was next to her, still steaming as it waited for its drinker. Harry lingered at the doors glancing between the girl, the tea and Gryffindor table several times before he made his decision. As if he had done it a hundred of times, Harry strolled down the length of the Ravenclaw table.

"Good morning," he greeted the girl as he sat down. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes I did, thank you for asking. I think you did too, even if where you slept was a little out of the ordinary." She turned to smile at him as she said this. "My name is Luna." Something about her was rather vague, which made it difficult to telling what she was thinking. It was like trying to peer down to one end of a foggy street from the opposite corner. Anything beyond ten paces in front of you was little more than the impression of its silhouette.

"I'm Harry."

He didn't ask how she knew where he had slept. Myrtle's bathroom was well-known among the Hogwarts population, so it wasn't much of a stretch to think that someone might have dropped in after he had fallen asleep. That made him feel rather paranoid, but it wasn't as though he had any way of knowing since he hadn't cast a proximity ward or anything similar. Harry would have to remember to start using those; some privacy sounded wonderful.

"Are you enjoying the, uh, festivities this year?" he asked.

"It's been very noisy," Luna said. "The Queen of Hearts and her Card Army are causing things to come loose, and I haven't seen heads or tails of the Cheshire in a long while."

"Maybe he's waiting for Alice? She might be running late; it must be difficult to find the right rabbit hole, after all." He paused and blinked. "Not to mention it's rather tricky to keep track of a cat that can do whatever, whenever."

"Alice has already stumbled into Wonderland, Harry," she said softly. The solemnity in her voice made him tense. Harry looked at her from the corner of his eye and found that she was staring at him. Her gaze was strangely focused. Slowly, he turned to face her and something in the pit of his stomach froze. As she went on, Harry found it hard to breathe properly. "Alice has been stumbling through Wonderland for a long time but the Cheshire hasn't appeared to help her long." Here she paused. Luna sighed sadly and looked away. "I wonder if he forgot? He has been waiting for her for a long time…"

Harry forced himself to turn back to his tea. He drizzled a small amount of honey into it and was just beginning to stir when the doors opened. Several students from various Houses meandered into the room, each giving the pair odd looks.

Briefly, Harry wondered what that was about before deciding he didn't care. Determined for something to go his way for once, he turned back to Luna and started a long discussion about Muggle literature. They were just starting on the Oz series when hands dropped onto his shoulder and forced him to turn around.

He panicked, thinking it was Snape, and jabbed his elbow into the stomach of the person behind him. The person grunted and let go, and Harry spun around, wand halfway out of his pocket before he realized it was Ron. Harry blushed a bright red.

"What was that for?" Ron exclaimed loudly, drawing stares from nearby students. Next to him, Hermione sighed.

"Er, sorry," Harry said. "I thought – Well, you startled me." He quickly shoved his wand back into his pocket, and waved them to a seat. They remained where they were though Ron shifted as though to accept the invite, but Hermione nudged his elbow and gave the redhead a flat look. Inwardly rolling his eyes, Harry asked, "What is it?"

"This is the Ravenclaw table."

"Yes. Yes, it is. And?"

Two first years sitting nearby giggled. With a huff of annoyance and a growing scowl, Hermione said, "As Gryffindors we can't sit at another House's table."

There was actually a rule about that? Harry gave her a blank stare and then turned to Luna. She shrugged in a vague sort of way. Ah, so there wasn't. This was just Hermione telling him what he could and couldn't do again. Bemused, he turned back to his friends with a wan smile.

"No one has told me to leave yet, so I don't think they mind," he said.

"But mate –" Ron began but Harry carried on as though he couldn't hear him.

"And I don't see why the Sorting Hat would yammer on about inter-House unity if there really was a rule like that." Satisfied that he had gotten his point across, Harry resumed his breakfast and his talk with Luna. He could hear Hermione muttering darkly as she dragged Ron to the Gryffindor table. He was sort of ashamed that he had just brushed off his best friends like that but Harry didn't want to deal with the stares and questions he'd get from his fellow Gryffindors. The Ravenclaws seemed content to leave him alone for now.

And, part of him murmured, he didn't need some pathetic little busybody telling him what to do or how to think.

Harry's day passed by quietly until Defense Against the Dark Arts. Whispers and pointed stares followed him through the halls, but after a week of getting vague answers or a flat stare in response, no one tried to ask him any questions about his take on the events at the end of fourth year. If they didn't believe him than they weren't going to believe him now; so what was the point? Harry had better things to do instead of appeasing the masses. Umbridge was after his head for reasons Harry couldn't quite comprehend, and the OWL exams were definitely not going to pass themselves.

He stood near the edge of the crowd of students waiting to be let into the Defense classroom, pretending he didn't notice Hermione's reproachful gaze. Ron stood between them, chatting nervously about Quidditch tryouts to fill the heavy, awkward silence. They had been like this since the end of breakfast. Hermione had decided that she would accept Harry's apology though he had no idea what the girl wanted him to apologize about; he had told her as much. It had been a while since he had seen her get as flustered as she did then.

Fighting back a yawn, the black haired boy blinked slowly and raised a hand to rub at his eyes, knocking his glasses askew. He readjusted them. The soft din of students talking behind him trailed off as the faint click of heels echoed down the corridor. The small throng of teenagers edged away from the classroom door, parting to give Professor Dolores Umbridge enough room to unlock it. All were silent as she ushered them into the room and everyone quickly hurried to their seats.

Even though it had barely been two weeks there were rumors going around, very unsettling rumors about the sort of things Umbridge thought were acceptable punishments. Harry didn't know much of the details, but apparently they were bad enough that the sixth and seventh year Hufflepuffs were quietly putting together a petition to make it mandatory for third years and below to serve detentions supervised by their Head of House. He didn't want to think about what sort of thing would cause them to do that, especially since the Wizarding World thought it was alright to send first years into the Forbidden Forest for detentions.

Umbridge scurried to her desk and settle primly into her cushioned chair. "Good afternoon," she said, with an oily, simpering smile.

"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," they chorused back to her.

"Today, you will be beginning on chapter two," Umbridge said. "I have assigned questions one through five for today's assignment. If you finish before the period is over, you may read ahead or begin working on this week's essay. Does everyone understand?"

"Yes, Professor Umbridge," the class replied.

"Wonderful. You may begin."

The rustling of cloth and paper, and the scratching of quills filled the room with a weak din of noise. Harry kept his head down, covering his grimaces with his hand as he read through the assigned portion of the text, and tried not to draw attention to himself. This had become his philosophy for every class he had this year. No one – student or staff – seemed willing to leave him alone, or treat him like every other teenager in the castle. Oh no, they all wanted inside the Boy-Who-Lived's head.

Harry gritted his teeth and forced himself to continue reading. He was so focused on being focused that it took him a while to notice that Hermione wasn't reading her textbook or taking notes. In fact, he realized as he turned to give her a questioning glance, she wasn't doing any work at all. Instead, her back was ramrod straight and her hand was raised high in the air as she waited for the professor to acknowledge her.

He turned swiftly to Ron, but the redhead was just as confused. One by one, their classmates slowly stopped working until they were all glancing back and forth between Hermione, Umbridge, and Harry.

This wasn't going to turn out well. For the scant handful of Defense classes this year, Harry's luck had managed to hold and any debate about the Ministry's reaction to his and Dumbledore's statements last year had been dodged. Harry didn't think he would be so lucky this time.

The class waited in tense silence for Umbridge to look up from the papers she was signing. Eventually, she did with a pinched expression on her toad-like face.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" She smiled pleasantly in a thin, condescending manner.

"I want to know why the Ministry is ignoring the growing threat –"

"That is because there is no threat," Umbridge said in a slow drawled tone similar to the one Harry's aunt normally reserved for when he had done something especially freakish. "The Dark Lord is dead, Miss Granger. There is no reason for the Ministry to take action against a dead man."

"But –"

"Please be quiet, Miss Granger." The squat woman stood, carefully adjusting her pale pink and crème cardigan, and gave each student a cold assessing stare as she spoke. "The Ministry is aware that at the end of the last semester, Albus Dumbledore told you that the Dark Lord had returned and one of you had witnessed his resurrection." Umbridge turned to Harry with a nasty gleam in her eyes. "Tell us, Mr. Potter, was the Headmaster telling the truth?"

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and he felt strangely light-headed. "It –" Harry tried to say something, anything but his throat closed around the words. His heartbeat sped up as Harry began panicking. There was something wrong but he couldn't get his body to obey. His eyes blinked, and Harry heard himself meekly say, "I only know what I saw."

That – that wasn't what he had wanted to say. Harry tried to speak again, to take back those words but his mouth refused to respond.

Umbridge looked surprised and rather uncertain before she recovered.

"I see," she said with a horrible smile, and then nodded sharply. "Well, there you have it. It was a terrible, terrible final task for a tournament that should have never been allowed to happen." She nodded again and sat down.

Harry tried to drum up the anger he should have been feeling, but the fuzziness still hadn't left him and instead, he found himself turning back to his textbook. He saw the appalled expression on Hermione and Ron's faces out of the corner of his eyes. His fingers tightened around his quill. The rest of the class was slowly turning back to their books as well, and eventually his friends did the same.

All the while Harry's scar burned.

End Notes: The way Umbridge is portrayed in the series has kind of always bugged me. I mean, she's a career politician. It's a little strange that she would get flustered by a bunch of teenagers. But then, she isn't one of the main baddies, so I guess she doesn't get to be competent. Oh well.