The atmosphere fractured under the weight of his rage. Violence dripped from his livid viridian eyes and petrichor burned on his tongue. He felt the phantom shifting of scales against his skin and the ache of fangs in his gums. In his mind's eye he was a beast of nightmarish proportions, his anger turning him into a wild thing. The compressed burning star at his core melted the surrounding snow in licks of magic and fury as he approached the unassuming cottage home. Harry knew that the former headmaster was well aware of his arrival and could apparate away in a blink, but the man stayed put. Even as his front door burst open and was nearly torn off its hinges.

Harry found him in his living room, sat in a plush armchair with only the light of the fireplace to bathe him in a soft glow. Said flames burned higher as he neared and took on a tint of acid green, unbeknownst to the younger man.

"How dare you!" Harry bellowed and finally, finally the old man met his gaze.

"I know you're upset, dear boy, but I did what I thought best in order to save you children from any more pain under that woman. This way she can't hide." Dumbledore tried to placate him with a soft gentle voice, but it was a mere raindrop on a forest fire.

"'Save us'? You have ruined our plans and violated the privacy and consent of every child plastered across those accursed pages. They trusted me! And now because I'd convinced them to give testimonies that they never wanted anyone to hear, they will forever be chained to such violence and pity. You think the Ministry won't retaliate? Do you really believe that Fudge will allow his undersecretary to be convicted of such atrocities when He was the one to vouch for her in the first place? No. No he'll pull all the strings he has and make this all disappear. And then the victims will be slandered and torn apart in the papers." He held the old man's gaze fiercely, daring him to look away. "You've singlehandedly ruined their—our lives and taken away any chance we may have had for justice, for recompence."

A muddy wash of understanding and regret seeped into his wizened face as Harry spoke. Dumbledore looked down and away, not saying anything as the young man's eyes burned a hole through him. He probably realized that his belated apologies would only make things worse, make Harry angrier. Harry spun around and dragged his fingers through his hair, his erratic emotions breaking his control and turning his magic into fireworks, popping a bottle of whiskey on the coffee table, throwing the overhead light in swinging arches, cracking the glass in picture frames and setting a dry houseplant on fire in the corner.

"Harry . . ." Dumbledore tried warily, standing from his chair as the old floorboards under them trembled. Harry whirled around with a glare that could split marble.

"Don't." his chest heaved and he pointed at the older man to emphasize every word he would speak. "You've done enough damage as it is. Just stay out of this. Stay away from Hogwarts and the Ministry. If I see your face again, if I so much as read your name in another paper, I'll come back and put an end to you. Matter of fact, you'd be wise to pack your things and quietly disappear before I change my mind in letting you go." Harry was barely hanging onto himself as it was, he didn't know if his threats were empty, but he truly never wanted to see the man before him again. At least not for a very long time. Dumbledore's mouth closed as whatever he was going to say was cut down by Harry's fearsome words.

"Perhaps that would be for the best. . ." Dumbledore quietly acquiesced. "I'm sorry my boy, truly. It's time for this ignorant old man to stop meddling where he shouldn't." A ghost of a smile twitched at the corner of his thin mouth but it was gone just as fast.

Harry turned on the spot and apparated without really thinking of where his distressed mind would take him. The moment a gust of winter air hit his flushed angry cheeks, his legs buckled and he dropped onto frozen forest floor at the edge of the tree line. He could see the shadowed manor through the trees, the yellow glow of a single window watched him like a great golden eye, beckoning. He gripped the rough bark of the tree beside as an ache bloomed in his chest. The whispers in his mind urging him to pass the wards before him and seek the support of his Tom. He felt lost and out of control, falling and flying, whirling in endless circles as the crutch of control he had held onto so fiercely crumbled under his hands. He had never realized how unstable his hold had been on his life until one little gust of air had sent his house of cards cascading down.

Tom was right.

He needed to tear down and rebuild himself back up properly this time. No more hiding, no more avoiding the weak and scarred parts of himself. Which is why he refused to give in and seek the other man just beyond the wards. So, he took what comfort he could from knowing Tom was close, and allowed the walls inside his head to come tumbling down.

Between one breath and the next his flushed cheeks stung with the hot then cold wetness of tears. His throat tightened up and a few tender kisses of pain brushed the backs of his eyes. The wailing wind picked up as his breath stuttered out, swallowing the first sob like it was hungry for his pain. Harry broke apart in the winter storm, letting his scales patter the snow like paint chips and the venom on his tongue bled into tears as they stained his face and dripped from his chin.

When he felt like his insides had been thoroughly scooped out and all of his years had been stripped from his flesh, when he felt like he had nothing left to feed the ravenous wind, he felt a large skeletal hand settle gently on his shoulder. It felt like a line slowly reeling him back from the void and endless black. At first, Harry couldn't even form thoughts and sat on numb legs, face still wet as he stared unseeingly into the flurries. When had it begun to snow? After a long while, Harry regained control of his tongue and croaked the one question that formed in the vacuum of his mind.

"What do I do now?" he hadn't really expected an answer.

'You've done so well for so very long. I am infinitely proud of you, Harry. Now, I believe it is time for you to allow me to help you with this one. Just follow what I say, let me shoulder your burden while you heal. I promise you this, lean on me and I will not let you fall. Can you do that?' the burning behind his eyes reignited but no one else was there to see it and judge his fragile state of emotions.

Harry reached across his chest to grab ahold of a bony finger resting on his shoulder, squeezing it with a trembling hand like a child with hands too small to fully grasp the hand of his protector, and nodding jerkily. He could do that. For once, he could relinquish control into the hands of someone else and trust that he would land on his feet in the end.

Things changed after that night. Harry returned home to his worried parents' eager embraces and quietly broke down in their arms for a second time that night. To the shock and utter relief of Sirius and Remus, Harry had been the one to first approach the topic of seeing a mind healer. He explained that there were many unresolved events and feelings from his past that were bubbling back up because of recent events and that he finally felt like he was ready. Sirius had even suggested that Harry take the spring term off of school, both to let things blow over with Umbridge and Fudge, and also to give him plenty of time and space to heal. However, he gently turned the offer down. He wouldn't hide from the aftermath of Dumbledore's mistake. Death had kept his word and had many plans for the following school term and Harry trusted his companion to guide him through it without letting him fall.

As soon as Tom had seen the news, he'd written Harry asking if he was okay and if he wanted to meet. Harry had smiled fondly at the note despite the ache in his chest and wrote back that it was alright, he was alright. It wasn't entirely true, but Harry knew that he couldn't see Tom yet. Without the thick barrier between Harry and his emotions surrounding his past, he wasn't quite sure how to feel about Tom just yet. He still cared deeply for him and knew that those feelings wouldn't change no matter what he went through or who he became at the end of this journey. However, he felt like he couldn't confidently face the other man again until he sorted through his mess properly and knew with certainty that he could care for Tom without a shadow of doubt or contempt in his mind. He owed that to Tom, and he owed it to himself.

As expected, the new year back at Hogwarts was stained by fear, anger, and confusion. It seemed that the eyes that followed him on the platform and the train didn't know whether to be angry or pitying. Death breathed words of comfort and assurances that filled his ears with cotton and kept him from picking up any of the whispers as he passed. He shrouded Harry in a protective aura that kept anyone from getting too close until he was safely delivered to the compartment of his fretting and dotting friends.

In the Great Hall they were greeted by an unfamiliar face. A bland Ministry official meant to temporarily take the place as Headmaster with Dolores being investigated and Fudge not trusting Minerva to do her duty as Deputy Headmistress—though everyone knew it was because of her friendship with Dumbledore. The absence of the pink tyrant did little to sooth anyone, since Fudge had immediately snatched up the job of heading the investigation along with only his most trusted lackies. Just as he'd predicted. It was all for show. He knew that she'd find a way to slip out of the accusations. Fudge would never allow such a huge scandal to tarnish his career; he would throw everything he had at covering up what had happened.

And that was why a third of the student body had failed to return for the spring term. Most of those listed in the article hadn't shown up, along with a good chunk of the younger years as parents no longer trusted the safety of their children in the hands of the school. And as for those that actually dared to return to the school, Harry saw the student body divide before his very eyes in the first few weeks back.

There was a very vocal minority group of students who were the children of Ministry officials that would swear up and down that the testimonies were falsely fabricated in order to incite chaos in the Ministry. On the opposite side, there was a larger and equally vocal group of students—mostly fifth-seventh years—that knew the accusations to be true and were enraged that the Ministry was trying to cover it up and on top of that had even dared to place yet another Ministry-appointed personnel in a position of power at the school. In between the two groups were all those that either didn't know what to believe or didn't want to get involved and kept their heads down as arguments in hallways, classrooms, and common rooms became more and more regular.

Harry didn't participate in any of the arguments, but everyone seemed to know instinctively which side he believed in. None of Death's plans involved him cutting down any disillusioned student who spouted off the recycled arguments of their parents who were desperate to keep their jobs. So, Harry stayed out of the arguments and only stepped in when wands or fists were drawn, as was his duty as a prefect.

With the Ministry still imposing the theoretical-only DADA lessons, the study groups they had established before break continued and it was only at that first meeting Harry had with the heads of those study groups that he finally addressed recent events. Considering just how many study groups there were, nearly the entire fifth-seventh year classes were in attendance, crowded into the room of requirement and watching Harry with intense and cautious eyes.

"-Now, does anyone have any questions about this term's lesson plans?" Harry addressed the room with a calm demeaner, knowing what was on everyone's minds but not wanting to speak on it if he didn't have to.

"What about Umbridge?" He didn't see who had spoken, but it didn't really matter when it was at the tip of everyone's tongues. Harry sighed, feeling the unspoken support of Death just on the fringes of his awareness, his friend always there to catch him if his shaky foundations of calm began to crumble.

"That was never how I intended for things to play out. Whether or not you believe what was written in that paper, please understand that the majority of those testimonies were from those who didn't want anything to do with any trials or Umbridge's arrest. And no one had given consent for them to be published in the Profit like last week's gossip. Look, I'm not going to tell you how to feel or what to think. I won't stand here and try to convince you all without a shadow of a doubt that Umbridge didn't hurt the children under her care, that's for you to decide with the information you have. Her case is in the hands of the Ministry now and there isn't much we can do about that. What you need to remember, is that Hogwarts and its curriculum is still under the control of the Ministry and right now it's more important than ever that we keep up our studies and pass our exams in a few short months.

"I know that many of you are angry, frustrated, or even afraid of what's been going on. It's hard to want to study when it feels like adults you were supposed to rely on fail you and the government meant to protect you can't even seem to keep itself running. But that's why we have to succeed. You may feel powerless and helpless now, but one day soon you may find yourself in a position to change the system and fix its flaws. Become the teacher that protects and nurtures the minds of your students no matter what. Become the Auror who upholds justice, not break it. Become someone who can rid our society of outdated laws riddled with holes." Harry paused to chew on his words, not wanting to impose his own beliefs onto his peers, but trying to give them a bit of hope in the brewing storm of political unrest knocking at their doors.

"While it's frustrating how little it feels we can control at times like this, it's important that we not forget what we can control." It didn't feel like those words were enough. Harry wanted to be able to tell them what was right and wrong, to make the situation black and white for them. But he couldn't. Harry wasn't very sure himself how to proceed, so what could he say?

A spark of injustice could set their whole world aflame. Harry knew that he couldn't stop what was to come with a few pretty words, but he didn't want to see his classmates drown in the flames either.

In the end, his words did have an effect on his peers, just not one he could have easily predicted. The group of students that had been stonewall in their belief that the testimonies were false and would verbally spar anyone who said otherwise, became rather quiet and more introspective in their beliefs. Meanwhile, those who had took to their anger at Umbridge and the Ministry like fire to kerosene, became less explosive and more . . . organized.

He had actually stumbled upon one of their meetings completely by accident.

He had forgotten his potions textbook in the room of requirement from an independent study session earlier that day and had jogged back up to the seventh floor after lunch to grab it. However, he hadn't been expecting the room to be occupied, much less by at least twenty older students whose heads all snapped up the moment he opened the door. Any shock he felt in that moment tripled when his eyes locked on an all too familiar face amongst the crowd.

"Hermione?"

"Harry!" The other Ravenclaw girl jumped up from the couch and rushed over to pull Harry into the room and shut the door behind him. "What are you doing here?" Her voice had gone high and a little panicked but seemed to even out once the door was closed and they were shut off from the rest of the school. Harry's brow twitched in confusion.

"I left my potions book here. What are you doing here?" he asked pointedly, glancing around the room again and catching peeks at what looked to be various school robes and other uniform garments sporting a wide array of house colors. Hermione sighed and pulled him over to the corner of the room, furthest from everyone else.

"I-Well . . . you see—" Hermione tumbled over her words in a way the intelligent young witch rarely did, wringing her hands together nervously.

"Hermione," Harry interrupted, catching her gaze and giving the girl a small reassuring smile, "It's just me, you can tell me. You know you can." Hermione's shoulders dropped like their strings had been cut and she nodded as the breath popped from her lungs in a sharp exhale.

"We both know that if he has his way, Fudge will sweep this all under the rug. We—we can't just do nothing!" Hermione declared passionately, gesturing to the rest of the room. "At this rate our entire educational system will be turned into sugar-coated propaganda and generations to come will be magically and intellectually crippled by the Ministry. So . . . we're organizing a few petitions, peaceful public protests, and demonstrations of solidarity for those assaulted and harassed by Umbridge and shut down by the Ministry."

"Hermione-" Harry started, immediately feeling concern for his friend but was cut off by Hermione's determined glare.

"I don't want to hear it Harry. All of our protests will be peaceful. We just want our voices to be heard. A lot of us are still very angry about what's going on and I figure it's better to direct all that energy into something that could actually make a difference instead of tearing each other apart. There's nothing illegal about voicing our opinions and gathering peacefully." Hermione argued, looking very much like a young fiery activist ready to take on the world's evils.

"It doesn't matter if it's legal or not, Fudge isn't above playing dirty. You saw how viciously he went after me for even being associated with someone who quietly opposed him. Imagine what he'll do when you publicly oppose him. Hermione, you're playing with fire here!" Harry warned. Maybe it was because every significant move he made always happened behind the curtain, but he felt incredibly uneasy about Hermione putting herself out there and becoming a target like that. Hermione took his larger hands in hers and smiled.

"I'll be fine Harry. We're not bombing the Ministry for Morgana's sake! We're signing a few papers, sending a few letters, and changing the house colors on our uniforms to lilac in solidarity." The way she said it made Harry's protectiveness seem silly and overbearing, but Hermione was his friend and he absolutely hated the idea of any of his friends putting themselves in harm's way. Hermione's smile faded as she looked Harry right in the eye to convey her sincerity, squeezing his hands once. "You've always been the strong one, Harry. You've always shielded us like we were made of glass and defended us like it was always a given. You're strong, Harry . . . but so am I. For once, let me protect you. Let me fight for something I believe in. And if I make a mistake, let me make it." Her smile reappeared then, slightly crooked and entirely genuine in a way that slipped passed any of his reservations. Hermione lifted her hand and brushed her knuckle under his chin affectionately before releasing his other hand.

Harry felt himself give in with a defeated sigh as he looked back over at the rest of the group who were indeed flicking their wands and changing the red, gold, blue, and green accent in their uniforms to a delicate but eye-catching pale lilac color.

"Why purple?" Harry suddenly asked and Hermione snorted.

"Jewel tones would blend in with the house colors too much, pink was out of the question, and this seemed to be the only non-affiliated color everyone could agree on." Hermione rolled her eyes but the straightening of her shoulders belied her underlying pride. Harry pursed his lips as if in thought.

"Hmm. . . The color would greatly compliment my skin tone." Harry said dismissively before tapping the tip of his wand against his silver prefect badge, turning it the same lilac with small silver detailing.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed and Harry held up his hands with an amused smile.

"I know, I know, this is your thing. I can't say I'll join your protests—I have too many sensitive plans in the works to risk the attention—but I can surely show support for a friend." That, he knew, was all the support he could dare show.

"Oh! I heard you had your first meeting over the weekend, how did it go?" Hermione asked excitedly. None of his friends had pried and questioned why he would be starting to visit a mind healer twice a week going forward, they had just supported him and did their best to not let him feel ashamed for seeking out help. Both Hermione and Draco had even openly shared that they had both been to a therapist and mind healer respectively in the past for various reasons. It actually helped to know that going to a mind healer didn't automatically mean he was broken; he just needed a little help on a journey he'd started himself the night he'd relinquished his barriers.

"Good, actually. Not much happened, since it was only our first meeting. We just talked, got to know each other a little bit and set up a schedule for our sessions. Edith was pretty funny and charismatic for a witch well over a century in age. And perhaps best of all, she didn't treat me like a child." Harry answered honestly thankful that he wouldn't have to cycle through several different mind healers in order to find one he liked.

"That's great! Just don't charm the lady too much or she's going to start trying to match you with all of her eligible grandchildren." Hermione nudged his side playfully and Harry chuckled.

"Projecting, are we? Say, how is that list of suitors going?" Harry teased and his friend was quick to strike back.

"Ever-growing. I fear I may just leave an entire generation of men brokenhearted when I finally find my match." She sighed whimsically while studying her bare, uniformly trimmed nails. Harry clicked his tongue and shook his head.

"Our society may never recover." He stated gravely, only to receive a light jab to his ribs as Hermione broke out into fits of giggles.