Hey guys! As you can probably tell, I'm no good at making an update schedule. Also, Writer's Block has been killing me lately. .-.

As always, I don't own Harry Potter or any of these characters. I only own this plot (which is my own) and any OCs.

I'm not going to be writing any quidditch chapters. I'm just not good at those. Just assume that one match-Hufflepuff V. Ravenclaw-has happened already Harry (seeker) and Draco (Chaser) have practices weekly.

Please comment and review!! Keeps

me motivated to write. Also, My PMs are always open!!

Warnings: TW CW warning for this chapter.

There is a few cutting scenes later within this chapter.

Without further ado, please enjoy!

As Halloween ended, so did the month of October.

November took its place, and with that came deadend trees, leaves turning all different shades of red, brown, and yellow, and an ominous roaring wind. The sudden chill which graced the autumn air reminded all the students that they should wear their cloaks if they would rather not freeze to death when adventuring outside. That's the only good thing about not being allowed to go to Hogsmeade-it meant that the students got to stay inside the castle's warmth. The only time they ever had any problems was when the Slytherins were headed to Herbology, (the greenhouses were even colder than it was outside; Professor Sprout said it helped the plants) Care of Magical Creatures (because the class was outdoors), or were in the Potions classroom (Snape liked to keep that room in particular below freezing).

Ron Weasley donned his black cloak on that Sunday afternoon which meant that he was headed outside into the colder weather. Normally, he wouldn't venture out into the biting wind and cold breeze that graces the castle with its presence this time of year, but today, he was on a mission.

On the night of the fights he'd had with Hermionie and Harry, Blasiè and his gang had followed him to the dorm and almost immediately crowded around him.

At first, he had rejected their proposal, not wanting to collaborate with known Death Eaters. But after giving the matter some thought, and knowing that he had no further plans of being friends with Harry or Hermione, he'd sent Blasiè a letter-being too much of a coward to approach the bloke or his cronies directly before the matter was settled-only mentioning that he had thought again about the boy's proposal and decided to accept. Though they were in the same House, Ron asked if they could meet at the well-known tree by the lake and the crew he was writing to had responded accordingly. Meeting outside meant that no one could overhear their plans and the redhead felt that the colder weather represented who he was becoming.

Most would say that he was behaving in a very backwards manner, choosing to associate with Blasiè and his crowd, who most would consider to be worse than Malfoy. But Blasiè had a certain distaste of muggleborns that Ron could respect and he took his pureblood stadus seriously, whereas Malfoy didn't seem to care what his blood status was, unlike his father.

"Weasley, welcome."

"I trust you read my letter, Zabini?"

Blasiè stood, approaching Ron. The others who had come with the boy sat calmly by the tree, watching their conversation calmly.

"We wouldn't have come otherwise, as you probably realize. So, you have come to learn for yourself that Mudbloods only serve to cause trouble?"

"Something of the sort, yes."

"Come, let's cook up some trouble for the Mudbloods and muggle lovers that they won't be expecting."

Blasiè sat by the tree again, and Ron, with no hesitation, sat next to him.

-

On Monday morning at breakfast, Harry received a bit of good news from an announcement the Headmaster made. Though it was a small bit of news that required no real effort on his part-other than writing his name on a piece of paper-it cheered him up immensely. It was a good thing too, because that had been the only good thing to happen for him that week.

"As you all very well know, the Christmas Holiday is only one month away. On the office door of your Head of House is a paper on which you will write your name if you are staying at Hogwarts for the Holidays."

Growing up, he'd always hated the Christmas holiday because it only served to remind him of the fact that he didn't have a family that truly loved him. But Harry had his friends now, and they were his family.

A momentary bitterness settled on Harry as Ron slid through his mind. He missed Ron being his best friend, but he had a feeling that the redhead had completely changed and that he wouldn't recognize him if he were to approach the Weasley boy and strike up a conversation.

He always thought that Ron would leave him eventually-people always did at one time or another. He was saddened though, at the prospect that he likely wouldn't be included in the Weasley family gatherings anymore. He wondered if he would still get a Weasley sweater. Smiling to himself as he ate, he remembered in First Year when he unwrapped his first gift, which happened to be a maroon sweater with a gold Snitch on the front, from the woman who had only ever treated him like a son.

Every year Ron and Harry would go to the Burrow for Christmas, and Hermione would go home to her parents. Harry doubted that would be the case anymore. If it weren't for Draco-Harry remembered what he read in the blonde's letter-he'd probably be spending Christmas by himself at Hogwarts, for the school was typically pretty scarce with only few students staying for Christmas.

After breakfast, he rose from the table to write his name down to stay at Hogwarts. Unsurprisingly, Draco stood up too, though Hermione did not.

Draco and Harry made their way out of the Great Hall, ignoring jeering shouts from Blasiè, Pansy, and-Harry was startled to notice-Ron.

He curled his lip disgustedly. "When did he begin to associate with them?"

Draco snorted. "Apparently, Zabini has the mark of a, as my father so kindly put it in his letter, "true pureblood". It's probably because he doesn't associate with, as they say, "blood traitors".

"And you do?"

"I'm friends with Granger now, aren't I? Also, I don't think my father would appreciate that i'm friends with the great "Boy-Who-Lived". And after all, I refused to take the bloody Dark Mark." Harry watched as Draco counted each fact off his fingers, as if it were a checklist. He knew this was only a part of his friend's sarcasm.

True, I guess. Speaking of your father, do you think you're going to hear anything from him or your mum as Christmas comes closer?"

"No. I don't think I'm going to be hearing from my parents at all anymore. At first, I was upset and hurt when I realized that, but honestly? I don't care anymore." Draco shrugged, shoulders a bit tense.

His voice sounded a bit forced and his eyes looked far away, making Harry think that a part of him, at least, actually did wish to hear from his parents. Harry could also sense that he didn't want to talk about his parents, and so he let the subject fall.

Draco reached the door to Snape's office just before Harry did. Each boy wrote their name down on the parchment tacked to the door and then went to the classroom and took their seats.

-

On Tuesday, during Defense Against The Dark Arts, he received another Detention from Umbrige, who had declared during class that it was because of Cedric's own stupidity in a Quidditch practice the previous year that he had died. This had made Harry incredibly angry for more than one reason: First of all, he'd always felt as though it was his, Harry's, own fault, Second, no one, especially not Cedric, could have known that the trophy had been turned into a Portkey, and lastly, Cedric Diggory had been too fantastic of a player to die from a measly quidditch accident.

But Harry wasn't about to tell the vile old toad that he believed himself responsible for Cedric's death. So, he told her the truth (for what felt like the millionth time): that the Hufflepuff had been murdered by Voldmemort. This led to her shouting that You-Know-Who was not back and then giving Harry that detention. She then made him stay after class and informed him that his detention would be that Thursday.

Later that night, after finishing his mountain of homework, he'd had a nightmare that this time involved only Cedric. It repeatedly went from a quidditch match to the graveyard, and then the ghost of Cedric saying, "Why'd you kill me, Harry?" He was finally released from that hellish nightmare when he woke up in tears the following morning, though Ron and Blasiè had seen the tears and teased him, saying, "What's wrong, didn't get to kiss that girl you wanted?" which Harry promptly ignored.

-

Three (mostly) uneventful days had passed since the meeting with Blasiè and the others.

The beginning of that week, leading up the current Wednesday morning, had been uneventful so far-except for Defense the previous day, watching his ex-friend get in trouble had been a bit on the entertaining side-for the Plan had not begun yet, though that morning was about to change that.

Ron didn't truly know where his views actually lay concerning the whole mudblood-pureblood thing. His family, for example, were purebloods but loved muggles so much so that it would seem as if they were all Mudbloods themselves. Because of this, he'd gotten a lot of unfair treatment, to say the least, from people who seemed to think that he was indeed a muggleborn child. Between this and always being outshone by his siblings, it was no wonder he was upset.

No, he wasn't upset. He was ANGRY.

The Malfoys, Greengrass's, and all the others who he knew were pureblood got "special treatment" because of it. He just wanted to feel like the pureblood he was. He wasn't a stupid Mudblood who knew nothing. Magic's in his DNA. He still didn't know why he joined forces with Blasiè...maybe it's because he still needed to fit in somewhere.

Just then, hundreds of owls soared into the Great Hall, pulling Ron out of his musings. Errol, the family owl, dropped almost dead into his porridge, causing the envelope of the letter he'd received to be covered in the food.

Ron grimanced. Perhaps this was another reason why he was bullied. He came from a muggle-loving family who also happened to be dirt-poor. They couldn't even afford a proper owl!

Through it all, though, he still loved his family, all things aside.

Wiping the oatmeal off the envelope, he saw that both his mum and dad had written on the letter. Ron frowned.

"I hope Charlie's okay..." the redhead thought.

But he wasn't. According to both of his parents, Charlie was only getting sicker and they decided that it would be best for them to be with the family for a little while.

He turned to look for his brothers and Ginny, who happened to see Ron at the exact same moment that he found them.

"Do you understand your part of The Plan?" Blasiè asked, pulling Ron away from his siblings' wide eyes displaying that they had also gotten letters.

"Of course I do. It's not like it's the millionth time you've asked me that or anything." Ron scoffed sarcastically.

"Okay, okay, just making sure. What've you got there, mate?"

"Just a letter from my parents." He answered, frowning.

"Those Mudblood-loving weirdos? If it weren't for the bright red hair, I'd say you weren't related to them! You're so different!"

"Yeah," He mumbled, unsure of what to say to that.

He had always felt different and like an outcast in his family. The fact that he sat here with Blasie Zabini, someone he never thought he'd even come close to agreeing with, proved it, for his brothers (or Ginny) wouldn't dare do something so outlandish, as his mum would say.

"So anyway," Blasiè continued. "What'd they want?"

"I'm going home for a few days to be with them."

The boy he had just responded to looked up from the eggs he'd been piling onto his plate, looking appalled.

"But you can't leave! You're supposed to conduct your part of the plan at the end of the week!"

"Relax, a date hasn't been set for us to go yet." he paused, then sighed. "My brother is really sick. They expect me to go. "

"Do you want to go?"

"Yes...and no. Muggle-loving weirdos or not, they're still my family."

"So?"

"So I still think it's a good idea for me to see my older brother..."

Blasiè cocked an eyebrow. "I'm sensing there's a but."

"But I feel like such a loser...an outcast when all of us are together. They believe Muggleborns deserve to be as high a rank as Purebloods. Equality, or some rubbish like that. I don't agree and they don't know that. I'd rather not tell them yet. If I decide not to go at all, they'll pester me with so many questions..."

"If you really want to go just to see your brother, go there for a short period, like a day, or a day and a half. Leave earlier than everyone else. If they ask, say you have important studies to get back to or whatever. Or even let them know beforehand that you don't expect to be there for long. Then, be back in time to play your role in The Plan."

"Yeah, maybe…" Ron trailed off. Thanks for the advice, I guess."

"I know, I'm a genius." Blasiè smirked.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Didn't you have something planned for today?"

"Of course," he answered smoothly, looking around the room. "Should be any minute now..."

Suddenly, a loud scream filled the Great Hall.

"And there we go."

Ron turned his head to search for the source of the scream. Finally, he saw Angelina Johnson-a seventh year who was Chaser on the Gryffindor quidditch team-kneeling over the unconscious form of a black haired first year.

Professor Mcgonagall, the Lion's head of house, rushed over, sending a Corporeal Patronus to Madam Pomfrey as she went.

Angelina picked up a grey goblet that the girl had been drinking out of.

"She was drinking from this when she immediately fell to the ground." Ron heard her say.

The Transfiguration Professor conjured a stretcher, moving quickly to the hospital wing.

"What'd you put in there?" Ron whispered, quickly turning back to Blasiè.

"A bit of poison disguised as a Sleeping Draught."

"Don't worry," He said, chuckling at Ron's alarmed look. "It's more Sleeping Drought than it is poison. Not as heavy or strong as the Drought of Living Death, even. Once Pomfrey checks her over, she'll be fine, though she will just be out for a little bit and thoroughly disoriented when she wakes up."

"Not a bad start, Blasiè. Certainly went off with a bang." Ron replied after a moment in a surprised, as well as slightly relieved, voice.

"Of course." he answered matter of factly as students around them rose to signify that Potions would be starting soon.

Blasiè, Ron, and a few others who had recently joined them all got up from the table and headed to their retrospective class.

-

It was Wednesday, and his friends still hadn't brought up his "meltdown" or panic/anxiety attack (or whatever you would like to call it) from last week, to which Harry was grateful. They knew that talking about that would lead him to feeling fragile and vulnerable, and all three of them knew that he did not need that right now.

He'd only spiraled down even more since that saturday night, staying quiet and only talking when he felt like he truly needed and/or wanted to.

A loud scream pulled Harry from his thoughts, and he learned two things as he looked down at the table: One, he had not actually eaten any of his breakfast so far, and two, instead of looking scandalized by that terror-filled scream, Blasiè and Ron had been talking and looking at the direction of the noise expectantly. Almost as if they knew it was coming.

He turned his head towards the Gryffindor table after watching the two for a second.

Angelina Johnson of the Gryffindor quidditch team was kneeling beside a first-year girl who lay on the ground, unconscious. Professor Mcgonagall ran over upon learning that one of her lions was in trouble. Harry witnessed a Corporeal Patronus being sent and knew that she had called Madame Pomfrey, who was most likely in the hospital wing.

He watched as Angelina picked up a goblet that lay on the ground next to her and the unconscious girl. Harry and Hermione looked at each other with wide eyes. It didn't take much to know that poison might have been involved.

He pushed his uneaten breakfast away, unable to eat any more after what had just transpired and instead chose to head to class.

Other than that, nothing else too unusual happened that day, for which Harry was grateful.

In the afternoon, Harry had had a rather frustrating Transfiguration period where he failed to turn his chair into a cat. Draco had not been able to do it either though, so Harry didn't feel too bad. In fact, Hermione was the only one of the class to successfully complete the day's task.

The next class, double potions, wasn't too bad that day either. The only thing to happen was Neville Longbottom's cauldron exploding. Harry couldn't say he was surprised. He looked up, relieved, as he thought that the boy hadn't gotten seriously hurt or fallen unconscious when he'd been splattered with that day's brew like he had in the past.

At the same time, he heard Ron snicker.

Harry looked back to his potion as Snape yelled at Neville, but then snapped his head up again as Snape called his name.

"Potter! Escort Longbottom to the hospital wing!"

Apparently Longbottom did get injured? "Yes, sir,"

He turned to see him limping towards the door. Harry held it open and followed him out.

"Neville? What happened?"

"T-the Shrinking Solution completely covered my foot and shrunk it."

If this had happened to anyone else, it would be downright hilarious. But the fifth year sounded really scared and nervous. Instead, Harry winced sympathetically.

"Ouch, I'm sorry."

"Do you think Madame Pomfrey will be able to fix it?"

Harry looked down at the boy's foot. He'd taken his shoe off and began to hop on his only good foot, a shrunken foot with too-large bones sticking up into the air as he went.

"Yeah, she's able to fix anything. Remember when she regrew an entire arm of bones my second year because that idiot Lockhart evaporated them all away?" A lopsided grin formed on Neville's face in amusement.

"It looks like she might have to have you take an overnight potion just like I did. Harry continued after a moment, and Neville grimanced. "If Fixer-Bones tastes just as horrible and smells as bad as Skele-Gro did, I promise I'll bring you something to make up for it."

"But it wasn't your fault! You don't have to do that."

"No, it wasn't, but I've been through enough horrible experiences at the infirmary to know what the worst is."

Neville smiled, and they walked the rest of the way in companionable silence.

It turned out that he did have to take Fixer-Bones. Madame Pomfrey wouldn't let Harry come back up to bring his friend anything so he told her to promise Neville that he'd be back the next morning with a treat. Thankfully, she did.

-

As usual, Defense was a battle. But today, Harry resolved not to give the vile woman any ammunition if he could help it. Heaven knows that she didn't need any more help hating him.

He walked in, choosing to keep his head down and do his work in silence.

"Good afternoon, class!"

"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," The two combined Houses chanted.

"Today, we will be going over..."

Harry felt his mind begin to wander and felt more than saw his eyes land on Ron and Zabini.

He didn't understand what Ron was on. Where was this hatred against muggleborns business coming from? He didn't remember Ron being like this in the past...

When Malfoy had called Hermione a Mudblood back in second year, absolutely no one had been angrier than Ron...and now Ron had called her one.

And then he yelled at Harry for being friends with Draco. Now that, Harry could understand, just a little bit. If you had told him when the year first began that he would soon become friends with Draco Malfoy, he would've laughed outright and said that whoever believed that was crazy.

But then, he wasn't friends with Ron anymore, either.

Was it possible that the redhead was being Imperiused? No..there were a few outstanding red flags you'd quickly notice and Ron hadn't had any of them. Harry had seen enough Imperiused people to know.

He'd ask Hermione her thoughts on the matter just to be sure when class was over.

He knew that Ron always felt hidden beneath everybody else, between being the second youngest in his large family, Harry being the Boy-Who-Lived, and Hermione being the smartest student in their year. Maybe that played a significant role in his recent erratic behavior.

He thought back to that morning's event at breakfast about the first year and the goblet, then on when he saw the reaction of Ron and Zabini, which was really no reaction at all. Did they plan it? Was there going to be more of...whatever that was? Who was next?

If he was honest with himself, he was more scared for Hermione than himself.

He didn't know that if this was the first in a long line of attacks or if it was going to hit anyone specifically. After all, what had happened could have been an accident.

His vision then wandered over to Hermione and her long, curly brown locks. He saw that she was paying rapt attention, though the slouching in her chair indicated that she was regretting doing so.

He wasn't surprised. In the words of Hermione, "Learning from a book wasn't practical," and Harry knew that she was right.

Everyone hated Umbridge and what she was doing.

Just then, he realized with a defeated breath of air that they wouldn't be able to have their own Defense lesson tomorrow because of his detention with Umbridge. He sighed. Why did he have to let her get under his skin?

"Mr. Potter!" The pink toad called, pulling Harry out of his musings as chairs were pushed back and people began to leave.

"We'll wait for you!" Hermione whispered as her and Draco left the room.

"Don't forget about your detention tomorrow night!"

"Of course I wouldn't, Professor." Harry said icily. "No need to remind me."

"Ten points from Slytherin for your cheek, Mr. Potter. Dismissed." she reminded Harry again.

Dismayed, he walked out of the room to find Draco and Hermione waiting for him by the doorway.

"What's that old toad want?"

"To remind me of my detention with her tomorrow night. I swear, she's out to get me. It's like she's trying to psych me out or something."

"Something's really off about that Umbridge woman. I can't put my finger on it." Hermione remarked.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, contemplating that.

-

Full from lunch, the three of them entered the History of Magic classroom, bumping into Ron on the way in.

"Ferret." the redhead sneered.

"Weasel." Draco retorted.

Wishing they could skip Professor Binn's boring lecture, the three of them took their seats and sighed wistfully as the sun peaked through the autumn clouds.

His voice alone made them all-even Hermione at times-want to fall asleep, not to mention that most found the subject a bit boring.

"Welcome, everyone." He said in a boring, neutral tone. Today I'm going to teach you about the Goblin Rebellion..."

The Goblin Rebellion? That sounded familiar. But why?

Evidently Hermione thought the same thing, for Harry saw her looking over the notes from past years that she kept, nodding in satisfaction when she found what she was looking for.

"We already covered this last year!" Hermione whispered at Harry's curious glance.

She raised her hand into the air. Some looked at her in surprise, for no one really ever raised their hand in Binn's class-except for when Hermione did it in second year to learn about the Chamber of Secrets. Harry marvelled at her bravery to interrupt-a thing that no one dared ever do.

Binns, too, looked surprised and said, "Yes, Miss Granger?"

"We already covered the Goblin Rebellion Professor."

First, he looked surprised and then frustrated. "You are in your Fourth Year, and Fourth Years learn about the Troll Wars. Now..."

"But sir!" She interrupted. We aren't fourth years..."

Everyone else, including Harry, nodded, supplying truth to Hermione's statement.

"Well, if you insist that you're right...let me check..."

He floated over to his desk and pulled out a few different rolls of parchment.

He looked surprised again, and then said, "Well, it appears you're right. What...what year are you? You don't look like Seventh years..."

"His death must be finally catching up to him!" Draco said in a normal voice, and a few of those around him who had heard, including Harry, sniggered.

"We-we're Fifth years, Professor." Hermione forced out, trying unsuccessfully to stop laughing.

At that, the Ghost pulled out a specific roll of parchment and put the rest away.

Fifth year...Ah yes. The Giant wars."

Harry was very confused. What was going on? Didn't he know that he had already been teaching them about the Giant Wars since September? Granted, Binns' History of Magic curriculums cover one topic the entire year. But the old ghost seemed to think that the year had just begun.

All of the students went back to wearing blank looks or falling back asleep as Professor Binns droned on.

-

Dear Mum Dad,

Ginny here. Thanks for your letters. I know it must be hard to keep us informed about what's going on, but we all appreciate the information nonetheless.

When do you want us all to come down? I hope soon...you know I hate waiting.

Classes are going well. Professor Binns seems to finally be going off his rocker-he mistook our fourth year class for Sixth years! I wish we'd get a new History of Magic Professor, though I doubt it's possible for a staff change in the middle of the year. Has that ever happened before, to your knowledge? Anyway, I hope he eventually goes, though that seems unlikely.

As for the new Defense teacher-Professor Umbridge-everyone hates her. She's awful. The Headmaster says the Ministry sent her to Hogwarts because no one had applied for the position. -Gin

Fred and George here.

We thought you should know that Ron's turned into a real prat-

"George!"

"You know it's true, Gin. You've seen it and heard all about it."

She shrugged and they continued.

"-over the past couple of weeks. Not even just with us siblings-in fact, he hasn't really talked to us or Ginny at all. Even though he's not in Gryffindor, word travels fast around here. We heard that he got into some kind of wild blowout with Harry-and one with Hermione as well-and we've seen that they don't sit together at meals anymore.

The first altercation was with Hermione in a hallway. Gin says she saw that one and that Ron made her too angry to say anything. According to Ginny, Ron called Hermione a Mudblood and then started yelling a bunch of stuff about blood status. And now he sits with a bunch of Death Eater kids…

Apparently, the other fight-really it was just Ron yelling at Harry according to Hermione-was because Harry became friends with Draco Malfoy. You know our dearest brother and your youngest son-he doesn't give anyone time to explain. You can never get in a word edgewise with him. He asked Harry why he's chosen to associate with a "Pureblood Bully" and when he said that Malfoy's changed, Ron started screaming about blood status again. Our dear brother also brought up Malfoy's father and accused Draco of being a Death Eater "just like his dad", to which Harry said that he's not his father. Ron also called Draco a Muggle lover. It really sounds like Harry believes Draco's changed, though, and we're choosing to trust him.

It's starting to sound like Ron might not even come to see Charlie. Don't worry-we'll convince him to. Ginny says she'll even threaten him with a good Bat-Bogey hex if he doesn't go.

Anyway, we were talking to Harry and he said it doesn't seem like it's a good idea for him to go to the Burrow for Christmas since Ron doesn't like him. What a git. Ron, we mean, not Harry.

We can tell that saying this made Harry very sad. He may not feel like family to Ron, but he's family to the rest of us. We've just got to let the poor bloke know that.

A first year Gryffindor fell unconscious at breakfast today. A lot of people seemed to think she was poisoned, or something close to it anyway. Ginny socialized with the first year-a muggleborn who's name is Phoebe Bowman-a good bit and so she's pretty distraught.

All three of us-we're here together-send our love to you two and Charlie. We hope to hear from you soon!

-Fred and George

Classes had ended that day, so the three siblings had chosen to write their parents back. They walked up to the owlery in silence and tied the letter to the leg of one of the school owls. At first, they'd debated on using Pigwidgeon even though Ron would undoubtedly hate them for it, but then decided not to. As big a git as Ron had been, they didn't need another possible reason for him to hate them.

The three of them ambled down to the dungeons, hoping to find Ron down there. They couldn't get into the Slytherin's Common Room, but they could go everywhere else.

"So what will we say once we find him?" Ginny asked nervously.

"We'll ask him why he's been such a prat lately." Fred said simply, and George snickered.

"Language!"

"Or we could just ask right away if he's still going to come with us to see Charlie." George offered.

"Or why he called Hermione a Mudblood."

"Or why he doesn't seem to trust Harry."

"Or-" George began, but he was interrupted by his sister.

"Okay, I get it! You guys, I trust Harry too. But Ron's also our brother. I'm not saying he's right-in fact, I don't agree with anything he's said or done at the moment-but we can't just ignore him..."

Fred raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that why we're looking for him right now? To talk to him?"

"Well, yeah, but I just...you shouldn't give up on him. And I don't think we should try to convince him that he's wrong, either."

"Why not?"

"Because once Ron decides something, he normally won't listen to anyone else's point of view unless they agree with him." Ginny reasoned. "So I don't think it's likely that we'll "convince" him of anything. I don't think that's really the best way to go about it anyway since the underlying belief will always be there."

George looked confused. "Explain that, Gin."

"Well, take an Atheist and a Christian for example. The christian could tell the Atheist that he or she believes in a God. The Atheist could either mention that s/he doesn't believe in God, and then they would part ways, or he or she could ask for evidence. Either way, there's not much likelihood that you'll convince one of the other's belief.

"Wow, now I know how you convinced mom to give you things that we never got as kids."

"Yeah-you'd be a very good Wizard lawyer," Fred agred.

Ginny blushed. "Come on, let's go see if we can find Ron."

They walked the dungeon hallways in companionable silence. Their plan was to just wait outside the Slytherin's common room door, but they bumped into the youngest redhead boy halfway there.

"Brother," George began neutrally.

"What are you three doing here?!" the young redhead hissed.

"Do we really need to explain that? We saw earlier today that you got a letter too-"

"Yes, I did. And?" Ron said rudely.

"-And we want to know whether you'll be coming with us to visit Charlie."

"I don't know yet!"

"What do you mean you don't know, Ron?! He's our-your-brother!" Ginny exclaimed.

"Maybe I have more important things to do."

"What exactly could be more important? Charlie could be dying!"

"And what if he's not?" The boy said indifferently.

"Oh, stop being so apathetic, Ron. I know you care. And even if he's not dying per se, he's still very, very sick." Ginny paused. "Mum and dad would love to see us too, you know."

Ron paused, seemingly taking off his mask for just a moment.

"I'll think about it. Now please, leave me alone."

And Ginny, Fred, and George did leave then like their brother requested, though someone reluctantly, to go back to the Gryffindor Common room.

-

The next morning, Harry woke up with a groan. "I have Umbridge's detention tonight..." he thought, as he pulled himself out of bed and got dressed. He saw that Draco was still asleep. It wasn't even seven yet, so he decided to let his friend sleep in and head to breakfast on his own.

When he got down there, Hermione was there already, and so were a few others of different houses who sat at their respective tables.

"Morning." he greeted her when he approached.

"Hi!" She answered brightly, looking up from a small plate of eggs and a book.

"Is that from your reading list?"

"Yes! Oh, it's wonderful! It's about a bunch of Wizard kids who existed a long time ago..."

As she launched into the story, Harry couldn't help admiring her enthusiasm. He listened attentively, nodding at all the right parts. It was only when she finished that they fell into a companionable silence for a time.

Ron, Blasie, and Pansy came in then and sat down at the other end of the table, ignoring Harry and Hermione. He watched them for a few minutes.

"Hermione," he said, turning to her. "I forgot to ask you yesterday-do you think it's possible that Ron's been Imperiused?

"Maybe, but I doubt it." She looked up from her book. "I mean, I haven't noticed any of the signs, have you? Caring this much about Blood Status didn't used to be like him, though he did start getting really quiet at the end of last year…"

"He seems pretty in control of his own thoughts." Harry agreed and then paused in uncertainty. "We'd know him well enough to know, wouldn't we?"

"I think it's very much like Ron to hate that we're friends with Draco now, for example. And you can usually tell in their face when someone is under another's spell. That night, Ron was very full of expression,"

"Yeah, I think you're right. I just wanted your opinion."

Just then, multiple loud noises and screams of horror filled the hall. He looked to the Gryffindor table-only to see that this time that wasn't where the shouts were coming from. He raked his eyes over the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff table, where three students in all collapsed on the floor. Two hufflepuffs-a boy in Harry's year who he respected, Terry Boot, a third year girl that he did not know, and one Ravenclaw...Cho Chang.

Harry forgot to breathe for a moment. They briefly dated last year, though he no longer had feelings for her, and she was dating someone else now. But they were still friends, so this catastrophic event still hit him pretty hard.

The two heads of Houses levitated the unconscious students out of the Hall and presumably to the Hospital Wing. Meanwhile, worried mutterings made their way throughout the room. Frowning, he turned back to Hermione and Draco.

"Looks like Hogwarts is being attacked."

-

It's safe to say that all who had classes that day were very restless as well as afraid. Everyone, that is, except for Dolores Umbridge. The old Toad's thoughts on the recent events spread like wildfire throughout the school: that no one had been attacked and that there is no reason to freak out over a few accidents. But she was the only one to think so. Students were seen walking in clumps to each class. No one, it seemed, was taking any chances.

Back in the common room after their last class, Hermione echoed what most others were thinking.

"What if it's coming from the Chamber of Secrets?"

Harry shrugged. "Maybe, but I doubt it. I killed the Basilisk, if you remember, and last time I checked, Basilisks can't come back to life. Besides, everyone is together in the Great Hall when something happens. So far, anyway."

"Well, what else could it be? You don't think students are harming other students, do you?"

"Maybe." Draco interjected. "Not everyone likes each other."

A moody silence covered the three of them for a moment, only to be broken by Harry.

"What if Umbridge is right? What if what happened yesterday and this morning were just accidents?"

"Three people in one day?" Hermione raised an eyebrow. "It's more likely that whatever is happening is intentional."

"...So, you're thinking that yesterday and today were attacks?"

"No one knows for sure yet, Draco. All I know is, I saw those students drop their Goblets. And I know you saw it too, Harry." She said, turning to each boy in turn. "Don't deny it, you also think that poison is somehow involved."

"You're right, I did. And I think it was. But who would do that, and why? The Boy-Who-Lived paused as he stood up, putting the homework he'd been working on back in his bag. "Anyway, I'll see you guys later. I have detention with the Toad."

-

The long walk to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom gave Harry time to think.

The cuts from his previous detentions have mostly healed, though not completely. He had long suspected Umbrige's quill to be dark magic,-meaning that the cuts from said quill would never fully go away.

Before the night was over he knew that the white scar would once again become a painful, bloody hand. Thankfully, he knew that Hermione would already have a jar of Essence of Murtlap prepared.

Hermione. Draco.

Harry stopped mid stride in realization.

Hermione knew, but Draco didn't. What would the blonde say? Draco wouldn't stop being his friend because of this, would he?

Harry continued forward, then, shaking his head. How utterly ridiculous for him to think that! Whatever he would end up saying, Draco wouldn't do that. As long as, Harry mused, he didn't send him to their Head of House.

Or he could just not tell him.

But wouldn't that be wrong? Especially since Hermione already knows.

But even having her find out was a complete accident. If it was up to him, she would have never found out. And Draco wouldn't have to try sending him to Professor Snape if he didn't know.

Snape.

Harry didn't know if it was because last week's Occlumancy lesson was cancelled, but something seemed to have changed since that first lesson. When his Head of House first saw the memories of Harry's home life, he seemed to have...cared. But within the last week and a half, the man had become indifferent and even cold to him again, not speaking to him unless it was about his Potion. Not that anything had ever changed in the classroom atmosphere anyway.

Harry frowned at himself as he finally reached the Defense door.

It was wrong for him to start to think that somebody might start to care about his life at the Dursleys, or that someone might start to show any sort of concern. Especially Snape.

He took a deep breath and knocked three times.

"Come in!" Called the falsely cheery voice of Dolores Umbridge.

Harry walked in.

"Well! It's good to see that you've remembered about this evening's detention. You know why you're here, I presume?"

Deciding to play dumb, he said, "No." Even though he knew exactly why he had received this detention.

"Well, Mr. Potter, you believe that instead of dying of a quidditch accident, as I have so kindly shared with everyone, you think he was murdered by You-Know-Who. And that, by extension, would mean that the Dark Lord has returned, which he has not. Simply put, you are spreading lies. And that can't do. You know what to do, yes?"

Spying the quill and a leaf of parchment, Harry nodded, walking over to the desk.

There was no use in asking how long. She would just say the same thing as always.

"Til the message, ah, sinks in."

"I must not tell lies."

Even the first line of the evening hurt. But he was determind not to show any weakness to the old toad.

The marks on his hand went from a faint white to a solid red, and eventually, became a dark liquid, dripping onto the desk and spattering his robes with flecks of red.

Finally, at five minutes to curfew, she said, "Show me your hand, Mr. Potter."

He complied.

"So," she began. "Do you believe that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is truly back, or is that just a figment of your imagination like I say it is?"

"He has risen again!" Harry declared firmly. "He murdered Cedric Diggory in cold blood last year and attempted to kill me last year as well!"

Umbridge frowned and clicked her tongue. "Well, well...seems as if the message hasn't sunk in yet at all. You'll be serving detention again tomorrow night."

"Professor-tomorrow's Friday, and Dumbledore said-"

"Oh, very well..Saturday evening then, I suppose."

"Fine." Harry said. Wow, she was really being a force to be reckoned with this time, though he was surprised she didn't fight about friday.

"See you saturday. Good night."

And before she could respond, he ran all the way back to the Dungeons.

-

Back in the common room, Hermione was seated by the fire.

"Hi Harry, I have some Essance of-"

"Hi. I don't need any tonight; I'm going to go straight to bed."

His hand burned like fire, but he didn't want to talk to anyone tonight. All he wanted was to ignore the world and go to bed. But it seemed that hours had passed him before he was able to fall asleep.

-

The next morning, Harry woke up late and not in a very good mood, thanks to the nightmare he'd had the night before. He'd dreamed of his detention with Umbrige, mixed in with Cedric asking, "why'd you kill me, Harry?" and Vernon whipping Harry's back with his belt, and Umbrige looking on in pleasure.

He cast a wandless Tempus and saw that if he wanted, he could make the last ten minutes of breakfast. But he didn't particularly want to see anyone.

He wandered over to his trunk and pulled out the switchblade from Sirius.

Not even hesitating, he slit his wrist angrily.

"It's my fault that Cedric's dead." he muttered. "It's my fault the Dursleys hate me."

He sank to his knees after a few moments, eyes burning with tears.

Nearly ten minutes later, he heard someone rushing up the stairs, causing him to hastily stuff the blade back in his trunk and shut it.

"Harry!"

He turned to see Draco standing on the top stair.

"Hi, Draco."

He wished that he could skip the day's classes and hole himself up here, but he couldn't afford to miss any classwork or homework.

"Hey Harry, we didn't see you at breakfast-are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." That was a lie. I must not tell lies.

"Are you coming to History of Magic?"

"Yeah." Harry said, voice devoid of any emotion. "Although, it's not like I learn anything when I'm actually there. I could just copy off Hermione's notes."

"And what if I refused to lend you my notes?"

Both boys looked up at the girl who had spoken as they reached the Common room.

"Then our grades would suffer, Hermione. That would be on your conscious, knowing you could have done something to keep them from dropping, and you would feel guilty." Harry answered playfully as they climbed through the Portrait hole.

"You know me too well." She grumbled, and the boys next to her laughed.

They were the last to enter the History of Magic classroom. The last, that is, except for their ghost Professor. Meanwhile, the Gryffindors in the room muttered anxiously to each other.

"Guys..." Harry said suddenly as they sat down. "Were there...any more attacks this morning?"

"Yeah. Two from Gryffindor. A Sixth year and a Fourth year."

-

Other than getting sprayed on by a plant (thankfully Professor Sprout had the antidote) and being bitten by one of Hagrid's weird creatures in Care of Magical Creatures (He had to spend the rest of that class and Divination in the infirmary), the rest of the day passed uneventfully. After spending some time on homework in the common room once he got back from the Hospital Wing, Harry found himself making his way to his head of house's Potions room for Occlunamacy.

Thanks to Professor Snape cancelling last week's lesson and as a whole ignoring him, Harry felt very anxious. What was to come? Would the Potions Master be, as he had been since the end of the last lesson they'd had, cold and indifferent towards him instead of treating him as he treated all his other Slytherins?

If anyone thought Harry sometimes got special treatment with the man (as the other Houses sometimes did) they were wrong.

He wondered why Snape's attitude towards him had changed so drastically since the first Occlumancy lesson. The greasy-haired Slytherin forced him to go to the hospital Wing twice to get checked over, for crying out loud! Now the man seemed not to care. If Harry was being honest with himself though, that suited him just fine.

All too soon, he found himself in front of the Potion's classroom door. "Come in," came the neutral voice of the professor after Harry had knocked three times.

"Good evening, Mr. Potter." Snape greeted.

"Why'd you cancel last week's lesson?" Harry blurted out curiously in response.

The old Slytherin raised an eyebrow. "That is none of your concern." He said coldly. "Come over here so we can get started."

"I am the student who got cancelled on, so I think it very much concerns me." Harry retorted as he walked over and sat at a desk across from Snape's.

"Well, if you must know, there was a horrendous explosion in my last class that led me to have to brew most of my potions stack again."

"Oh." Harry said, unsure of what to say to that.

"Have you been practicing Occluding your mind before bed?"

He paused, feeling guilty. "No."

"I guess practice is too good for "The Chosen One." the Professor sneered.

Harry bit back his surprise. "The Chosen one"? Snape hadn't used that one in a while.

"Now, be prepared for me to enter your mind in 3...2...1...LEGILIMENS!"

Harry was out of practice, since he hadn't, well, practiced. His walls weren't formed. Soon enough, he felt Snape pulling up memories.

It was Harry's first year, the Slytherin's first Flying lesson with the Gryffindors.

"...Dear, dear." Madam Hooch clicked her tongue. "I'm taking Mr. Longbottom to the hospital Wing. if any of you attempt to fly, you'll be expelled before you can say Quidditch!" She called, and then she and Neville strode away."

"How lame is he?" Sneered Draco Malfoy, walking over to where Neville had been standing before the broom pushed him off the ground. "Oh look at this! It's Longbottom's stupid remembrall! With that, the blonde hopped onto his broom and floated an inch from the ground, moving backwards as Harry strode over.

"Give it here, Malfoy." Memory Harry said.

"Why don't you come get it, Potter?" Malfoy cackled, rising into the air at an alarming speed.

Harry grimanced, knowing what he had to do. He mounted his broom. Before he could kick off, however, Hermione ran over in front of him.

"Oh, Harry no! You heard what Madam Hooch said! You'll be expelled, or you could break a bone, like Neville-"

Harry frowned. He wanted to listen to her, he really did. But he knew how it felt to be bullied, and especially to have no one defending him. Ignoring Hermione, he kicked off the ground.

"What. An. Idiot." Real Harry heard Hermione mutter. He frowned. First time he heard her say that.

"Come get it, Potter!" The blonde taunted, flying still higher.

But memory Harry gave him a good chase. He flew so fast that he was directly behind the boy.

Draco seemed shocked, though he recovered quickly-so much so that he threw the Remembrall far behind Harry. Directly towards Mcgonagall's office windows, where real Harry noticed, for the first time, Snape standing there, talking to Mcgonagall. But the Transfiguration professor, noticing what was flying towards them, pointed behind the man at the window, and Snape whirled around.

Harry turned back on his broom, flying so fast that everything around him was a blur. Everything but the object he was chasing after.

Just before the ball crashed into Mcgonagall's office windows, Harry caught the Remembrall that had, only a moment before, been flying through the air.

Memory Harry floated to the ground slowly, and Ron, Hermione, and the Gryffindors cheered, while most of his fellow slytherins folded their arms, looking sullen.

Real Harry, however, watched as Mcgonagall and Snape stood at the window, momentarily shocked, and then he turned and left her office.

The memory went black, then, but Harry knew what would happen next.

This was how he'd made it onto the Slytherin quidditch team.

The next memory was on one random Spring day their second year. It was midafternoon, and he had just finished quidditch practice. He was standing at the edge of the quidditch pitch with Ron.

"Ah, it's Potty and the Weasel! DId somebody get injured during practice?" second year Draco said in a baby voice.

"Get lost, Malfoy." He spat in response.

"Yeah! What are you doing here anyway, you evil Snake?"

"What, Weasel, a fellow Slytherin can't say hello to his housemates?"

"What's going on?" Hermione said, running up from where she'd been doing homework in the stands. Then she spotted Malfoy, and her eyes narrowed. "Oh, it's Malfoy. She said, as if that explained everything-which to her, it probably did.

"Oh look, it's the Mudblood-"

"How DARE you!" Hermione screeched, and Ron took out his wand, attempting to curse Malfoy.

"Eat Slugs, Malfoy!" the redhead howled.

But his broken wand backfired on him, and soon Malfoy was roaring with Laughter as Ron was blasted back, vomiting slugs.

That memory too went black, and this time a 6 year old Harry appeared, standing in the Dursley's pristine kitchen. It was obviously Christmas time, and Harry was decorating for Christmas, if the half hung decorations were anything to go by.

Uncle Vernon stomped into the kitchen then, shouting, "BOY!" and real Harry realized what memory this was.

"No," he muttered. "You can't see this one!"

His most hated Professor had already seen Harry whipped with his Uncle's belt, pummeled by his cousin, and verbally abused by his horrid aunt. He couldn't see this one, too.

Somehow-and just like all the other times before, he didn't know how-he blasted the memory to pieces, finding himself back in the Potions classroom and Snape blasted back on the floor, his face white.

"Potter, what was that last memory? That was the third time you've blasted me from that exact memory. Let me see it, I can help-"

""I-I don't need your help, Professor." Harry growled, voice shaking nonetheless. "I've handled everything on my own well so far. I definitely don't need to let someone "help".. Especially you."

"Especially me?! He questioned in a dark, angry tone. "Oh, I see. The great "Boy-Who-Lived" is too great for anyone else to help him. I bet you still haven't told your "friends"!

"So what if I haven't? Things are fine the way they are! They were even better before Occlumancy!"

Snape's eyes flashed dangerously. "You suppose you don't need Occlumancy? So I take it you're fine with the Dark Lord infiltrating your mind? Fine. Consider the rest of these lessons cancelled. Now, GET OUT!"

Harry widened his eyes at that pronouncement, but instead of saying anything, he ran from the room, putting as much distance between him and his Head of House as possible.

-

"Harry!" Hermione said in surprise, and Draco looked up from his homework as she said this.

"You're back early-"

"Lessons with Professor Snape ended early tonight. I don't want to talk about it right now. And actually, I'm going to bed.

-

"Wow, you're so good at handling everything alone. You don't need me!" Snape said darkly.

"BOY! Uncle Vernon growled, brandishing his belt and stomping into the kitchen, where a 6 year old Harry was putting something in the oven.

"You can't seem to do anything right!" Aunt Petunia complained as she grabbed Harry's hands and pushed them into the pot of pasta sauce on the stove. "Freak!"

"Why'd you let me die, Harry?" Cedric said from somewhere on his left.

"HEY FREAK!" Dudley yelled, running into the kitchen with his gang at his side.

So much seemed to be happening at once. Harry felt overwhelmed by it all as he stood there with his hands in the sauce.

Suddenly, Wormtail and a few of the other Death Eaters blasted the door down and ran into the house. Aunt Petunia took Harry's hands-which were now covered in sauce and had burn marks on them-out of the sauce and screamed.

Wormtail grabbed Harry and they apparated to a graveyard, where he tied Harry to a stone.

Right as Wormtail finished tying him to the stone, he found himself once again in the Dursley's kitchen, placing chicken patties on a stove, not knowing the calming silence of the kitchen would soon be interrupted.

That's how the dream went, over and over again, until Harry woke up at midnight, tears streaming down his face and feeling oddly overwhelmed.

He climbed out of bed, knowing full well that after a nightmare like that he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. Harry knelt by his trunk, opening it and pulling out the blade, stowing it in a pajama pocket and running down to the common room. Once there, he looked around cautiously. Good. No one was here.

Slowly, he sank into a seat by the fire. Harry didn't know why he felt the need to do this, but he felt strangely overwhelmed from his nightmare and hoped that this would calm him.

From the moment the cool blade hit his warm skin, he was put strangely at ease.

After a while, the detached numbness returned, and he stared at the fire.

He only pulled out of his stupor when Hermione found him the next morning. Thankfully, he was able to hide his weapon before she saw it.

"Harry? Are you okay?"

-

Harry, something's obviously wrong. What's going on? We can't ignore it anymore." Hermione said at breakfast.

"Yean mate. You know you can open up to us, right?"

"Guys, it's okay. It was just a nightmare last night."

He didn't want them to know yet. He didn't know if he'd ever want to tell them.

His friends studied him for a moment. "We realize that you don't want to tell us…"

"But we're your friend, Harry. We're here for you." Finished Draco.

"I'm FINE, guys. He said a bit harshly.

The two across from him widened their eyes at his tone.

"Sorry." Harry apologized. "I promise I'll let you know if it's something really bad.

"Okay…" Hermione conceded after a moment. "But-"

Whatever she'd been about to say got interrupted by two screams that filled the Hall.

"Another attack?" Harry hissed angrily. "Why?!"

He swung his head around and this time both screams came from the Gryffindor table. Two people with shocking red hair lay sprawled out on the ground, George hovering over the unconscious form of his brother, Colin Creevey sitting next to his girlfriend, crying softly.

"Ginny!" Harry cried out in alarm.

-

That night, Harry stood up suddenly, alarming Draco and Hermione.

"I'm supposed to go to Umbridge's detention now." He said in an awkward farewell.

"You want us to wait up for you?

"Nah, that's alright, Draco. I'm sure you'd rather have your sleep."

Hermione surveyed him for a moment. "Okay, if you're sure. The jar for your hand will be on your bed."

"Thanks, guys."

-

Umbridge's detention didn't seem so bad this time around compared to all of the other hand carvings he'd suffered at her hand. For one thing, he was used to the pain the quill brought by now-and anyway, he'd suffered much worse because of both the Dursleys and Voldemort. For another, she seemed to forget about checking his hand or the possibility of giving him another detention at the end of the night.

As soon as she'd said he could go, he had uttered a quick "good night" and ran back to the common room-where curfew had already passed.

True to his best friend's word, the Essence of Murtlap was on his bed, waiting. Thankfully, none of his dorm mates-not even Draco, who still didn't know exactly what he did at these detentions-was awake to ask why he needed it.

Harry plucked the jar off his bed and wandered back out to the Common room, sitting in a green armchair by the warm fire. He balanced the jar on one of the arms of the chair and placed his sliced up, aching hand into it, sighing in relief as the screaming pain seemed to flow out of his hand.