"All Dumbledore told us last year was that Cedric Diggory got killed by You-Know-Who and that you brought Diggory's body back to Hogwarts. He didn't give us details, he didn't tell us exactly how Diggory was murdered. I think we'd all like to know-"

Zachariah Smith

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Page 436

"- what happened in the Third Task? I, for one, don't believe…"

Harry drowned out the irritating boy's voice and observed the other 'few' students Hermione gathered together so Harry could teach them. It was obvious everyone was there to listen him recount the second worst day of his short life. Only a handful of them were interested in what he had to teach.

"How do we know it wasn't you who…"

He chuckled and took a long sip of butterbeer, uncaring of the silence that descended upon his reaction. He drank and drank until from the weight of the bottle, he was sure it was empty. No sense in wasting good beverage.

When the bottle was finally empty, he wasted a few moments inspecting it, finding no groundbreaking information on it, and no solace.

Harry Potter was not and has never been a violent person. Yes, lately, he was on a short fuse. He was louder in his anger, faster to give up on the pretence of civility but never in his life, he threw the first punch.

Or the first beer bottle as the case was at that moment.

The bottle smashed against the blonde idiot's face, breaking at contact and Harry was all over the ponce before the stool Harry was sitting on hit the ground. He fisted the boy's cloak and lifted him up, showing surprising strength.

Looking at the blonde in the eye and ignoring the blood pouring out of the boy's nose, he whispered, "So, you want to hear what happened that night? Whether I killed Cedric? You want to know if I am a sociopath who can kill a boy in cold-blood, then lie my way out?"

Zacharias didn't move, and a small grunt of pain was the only sound he made.

Harry shook the boy a little, eliciting another painful whimper. "Answer me this: if I did indeed kill Cedric, whom the Goblet chose as the best student Hogwarts has to offer, how can you be so disrespectful and look down on me? Aren't you a bit afraid? Like you were when I was the so-called 'Heir of Slytherin'? Do you think it is wise to antagonise a murderer? He might decide that killing you would earn him more attention, don't you think?"

No answer came.

"Fine, boy, I'll tell ya what happened," he whispered, throwing the boy on the ground and calmly walking back to where his stool lay broken. He was all too aware of the tense silence, and shocked and scared looks he was receiving. He fixed the broken stool with a flick of his wand, not aware enough to realise he did it without uttering a word. "How about another beer before I tell you the delightful story of a fellow student's murder?" he yelled to get the attention of the bartender, waving a hand.

He sat down and allowed the tense silence to stretch as he waited for his beer, watching the wide-eyed students with narrowed eyes. He was unwilling to look at Hermione, afraid of what her reaction might be to this new side of him. A side even he didn't know he had.

As the Dumbledore look-alike bartender gave him the beer with a glare, he put his fears out of his mind. He focused on the anger instead. Just a few people, she says! Teach them Defence, she says!

He took a small sip to moisturise his mouth before speaking. "Task started out fine. I faced easy to handle beasts like the skrewts and a boggart, had to figure out a trap or two but nothing taxing or dramatic. Until I heard Fleur's pain-filled scream, that is. You see, who we thought was Moody last year, wasn't. It was a Death Eater with the name of Barty Crouch Jr. polyjuiced to take Moody's place. He was keeping Moody locked in a trunk in his office. He cast Imperius on Victor."

Harry shuddered when he remembered how hurt and weak Fleur looked. "By the time I got there, Fleur was reduced to barely audible whimpers. She couldn't move, she couldn't talk. So, I sent out red sparks like they told us to do in case something bad happens. I assumed this specific situation could be placed on the fucked-up side of bad."

He chuckled at his little joke before continuing his story. "I continued on. No sense in waiting around for nothing, I told myself. After a while, I heard Cedric's yells. He was asking Victor what he was doing. That's when Victor used Cruciatus once again, on Cedric this time. I stunned Victor. Compared to Fleur, Cedric was right as rain, still able to walk and talk and what not. We sent up red sparks, for Victor this time and went on our separate ways."

"We ran into each other again near where the Triwizard Cup was sitting in its golden glory. I was running towards it but Cedric was closer. There was just one glitch. An acromantula. I warned Cedric in time and we dispatched the spider together with relative ease. Just a bite or two."

"Cedric was a foot from the cup but he refused to take it. We decided to take it together. 'A Hogwarts victory', we said."

Harry chuckled darkly again, making couple people jump at the unexpectedly gentle sound. "Cup was a portkey. It transported us to this creepy-ass graveyard. Voldemort and Peter Pettigrew were waiting for us there. Well, they were waiting for me. Cedric was unlucky enough to accompany me. 'Kill the spare.' That's what Voldemort said and Pettigrew did just that."

The more he talked, the more upset and angry he was getting but he ignored the little warnings that come with accidental magic. His clothes were ruffling even though there was no air current in the room and his beer was boiling without burning his hand. "I was in shock at this point. I was tired, I was bitten by an acromantula, injured, burned, I had a fracture on my feet; and just when I thought it was over, I watched Cedric die. So, I didn't even respond when Pettigrew stunned me."

He vaguely knew Cho and a few others were crying but he was unseeing while he was reliving the darkest hour of his memory. "When I woke up, I was tied to a gravestone. Pettigrew used an obscure ritual to create Voldemort a body. Used my blood to do it, the arse."

"What followed was unoriginal. Voldemort called his servants and gave a classic villain monologue, using Cruciatus on me in between just for shits and giggles. Believe me when I say the arsehole's Cruciatus packs a punch. Basilisk venom has nothing on it. It was, by far, the most painful experience of my existence and believe me, I know pain."

"Voldemort insisted we duel. He wanted to prove himself capable of defeating me, of killing me with a wand in my hand. Lucky for me; he failed. In a burst of brilliance, I summoned the cup, hugged the corpse of a friend and came back here."

He let the group, and a few patrons of the dingy little establishment ponder the story.

"It's funny, you know. In my third year, during the Black scare, whenever dementors came near me, I would hear my mother's voice; pleading with Voldemort to spare me, and then dying. This summer, when dementors attacked me in the fucking Muggle world, I heard Cedric's death. So, I thank all of you for pushing me to relive those delightful, dementor worthy moments. And here is my thanks: fuck you. And fuck Umbridge and fuck Fudge. You want to learn how to defend yourselves?"

He ignored the scared looks of everyone watching him, he was far too gone in his pain. Maybe that's why he was unaware he was leaking out magic, for lack of a better word. It was Aunt Marge all over again. He took a deep breath, then screamed, "Well, fuck you!"

The already waning control of his magic broke, causing every glass in the pub to violently break and the doors to blow open with the amount of force.

He didn't know when he stood up and he didn't care as he sat down with a Cheshire smile on his face. "You asked," he explained to fearful faces with a shrug.

It took three minutes for the pub to empty, adding to Abe Dumbledore's ire who stilled had not said anything but glared at anything and everything. One is a respected Chief Warlock and a whacky Headmaster, the other is a sour-faced, angry pub owner, and yet I like this one better at the moment.

They spent another five minutes helping Abe with the cleanup and bargaining with him. A dozen galleons solved all the problems and got Harry and Hermione butterbeers, Ron choosing to go shopping with Dean and Seamus. It was a good thing too. As much as Harry loved Ron like a brother, the redhead was bound to say something insensitive.

As Harry sat on a stool to ponder on the shittiness of his life, he chuckled. "Just a couple of people."

Hermione huffed and said, "Okay, maybe more than a couple of people." She gave Harry a calculating glance. "You shouldn't have attacked Zacharias like that," she admonished gently.

Probably afraid I'll blow up on her. "And what should I have done while that irritant kept insinuating I am a murderer?" he asked her with no inflection on his voice. "Besides, it's your fault. You told me you invited a few trustworthy people. This wasn't few, and they weren't trustworthy. They were here to add insult to my injury. You should've chosen a smaller group and better people."

Hermione, now suitably abashed, sagged on her seat. "Yeah, I know. I thought more people should get a chance to learn from you. It's not fair for only a few people to learn."

Harry smiled at his kind, and ridiculously fair and righteous, friend. "Do you want to know what's unfair, Hermione? It's unfair that a fifteen-year-old boy has a murdering psychopath after him. It's unfair that this fifteen-year-old boy is being prosecuted in public's eye with no thought given to what it does to his psyche. I am tortured by the teachers, insulted by the papers. I am suffering from PTSD. I can't sleep. I can barely eat. I'm dealing with all that with only two children and a wanted man standing by me, supporting me." He shrugged and glanced at his best friend.

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry! You have many people supporting you," Hermione said with fearful eyes.

"Who are these many people, Hermione? McGonagall? 'Keep your head down and go to your detentions, Mr. Potter.' Dumbledore? The man can't even look me in the eye. Remus? I haven't heard from him in months. No. I have three people standing by me. You, who heals me when I'm tortured; Ron, who makes me smile even if it's a fake smile; and Sirius, who risks his life every time he contacts me. The rest are content just sitting back and doing nothing. Fucking Dumbledore."

Hermione, eyes wide like saucers, couldn't help herself. "Language, Harry," she whispered. "I'm sure Professor Dumbledore is doing his best."

Harry looked at his friends incredulously. "Really? You realize until this summer, Dumbledore held three of the most prestigious offices in the magical side of the world, right? If he wanted, Dumbledore could have ousted Fudge from his office in a day." He shook his head in dismay. "No, Dumbledore is content with sitting back and playing his games. He is content with letting me take the brunt of this mess. Because he knows if he ousts Fudge, Fudge will go to Azkaban and Dumbledore doesn't want that. Because he knows if someone competent takes the office, Voldemort's return will be announced and the war will begin in its earnest. Dumbledore doesn't want that."

He let out an explosive breath. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not blaming Dumbledore for wanting to delay this war for a year and get his troops ready or whatever. But I'm blaming for his inability to find a defence teacher which resulted in Umbridge. I'm blaming him for not protecting the students from Umbridge. I'm blaming him for hiring a hateful and bitter man like Snape and not protecting his students from his psychological torture. For making me go back to those hateful family and leaving me uninformed and scared. I blame Dumbledore for not doing the right thing by ousting him when Fudge sent an innocent Hagrid to Azkaban while confessing it was just to look competent."

Harry chuckled. "Dumbledore is not this god-like figure you make him out to be Hermione. Dumbledore is a powerful man who enjoys playing games so much, he doesn't care if his people suffer for it," he explained with a chuckle. "And Dumbledore sure as hell doesn't give a crap about me because if he did, he could solve most of my problems within a week."

Harry took a long sip from his bottle and Hermione opened her mouth to take advantage of the lul. "But," She started but Harry didn't let him finish.

"No, Dumbledore doesn't care that I am hopeless and beaten. Only three people care and those three people are powerless to help me. I made my peace with it. I accepted that there is no end to this pain and torture. I can barely see what's ahead of me and what I see makes me want to go back, not forward." He exhaled a long breath and sagged in his seat. "I am tired, Hermione. I am tired and in pain and I just want to sleep but when I do, I wake up sweating and screaming. There is no solace."

"Please, don't talk like that," Hermione pleaded in a small voice, the fear for him in her eyes breaking Harry's heart.

"This is not called living, Hermione. This is called surviving and I don't see how I can keep at it for long. Something's gotta give at some point and I feel like it will be me who gives up. I am tired of the insults, of the pain, of the expectations. When there is nothing to look forward to, you live in the present. Well, my present is filled with suffering and I don't want to live in it."

Hermione didn't say anything, couldn't find anything to say. They sat in silence, Harry wondering if he was a serial killer in a past life to deserve this one, Hermione racking her brains for something to help her friend.

Harry's bottle was almost empty when his bushy-haired friend spoke in a barely audible whisper, "Live for me?"

It was such a sweet sentiment that Harry couldn't help but smile. He placed a gentle kiss to her friend's forehead and whispered, "Who do you think keeps me going?"