Midwinter Sun

Laughter is the sun that drives winter from the human face. – Victor Hugo

A leader is a dealer in hope. – Napoleon Bonaparte

That end of autumn and beginning of winter in 1996 was a strange time. I shrank away from many of my acquaintances and old habits. It was not a conscious choice on my part, I admit, but it happened none the less.

I had declined position as Quidditch Captain for Gryffindor House, something that angered most of the House. They lost their star seeker. When I announced that I would not be playing Quidditch in my seventh year, either, Seamus stopped speaking to me for a week, even when we bumped into each other in the showers. Malfoy taunted me endlessly, making it out that I had refused the position out of fear rather than choice. I would always point out that I was still banned from Quidditch, but no one ever seemed to really listen to what I said.

I had never realized how active Gryffindors were until I had to limit my own activity. It was awkward during the first major snowfall of the year when Dean and Neville told me to go with them for a Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw snowball fight. I was forced to decline and was quite embarrassed by the whole situation. That morning I had participated in a Transfiguration practical with Professor McGonagall and had fought in the Duelling Club the previous night. I was exhausted and ready for bed during lunch. The thought of going outside into cold, wet snow was a miserable one indeed. But my peers did not understand. They figured that I would want to get outside since the Quidditch ban had so limited my activities. It was not until Ron quickly lied and asked me if I had seen Madame Pomfrey about a fever that the boys stopped nagging me. They quietly slipped outside, letting me "sleep off my fever." It was very hard, though, to sit at the window of the dorm room and watch my friends below, rolling in the wet snow like overexcited puppies, and know that I could not join them. It was bad enough that I had a Destiny and visions to set me apart from my peers; I did not need a disability to permanently separate us.

The other major problem that year was our Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, Professor Darius Alexander. As far as I could tell, he was not trying to kill me or betray me to my enemies, both of which were very good things and improvements upon my former professors, other than Remus. A little voice in the back of my head cautioned that I had thought the same of Barty Crouch, Jr., but I ignored that bit of paranoia as best I could. I had enough people out for my lifeblood; I did not need to make them up in my head. No, it was the man himself who was the problem. More accurately, it was my reaction to him that was the problem. Professor Alexander was handsome. He was probably in his early thirties, younger than Remus, and kind. He had ragged dark hair that often fell into his hazel eyes and a winning smile. He would often tell us anecdotes in class about his experiences in the field as an international Auror. His teeth were quite straight and white against his tanned skin. The problem was that I noticed this. And I noticed this as much as I had noticed Cho, though not as much as Ron had noticed Fleur. It was confusing, being attracted to my male teacher and having been attracted to a female classmate.

I did not tell anyone. And this little secret, my little crush on Professor Alexander, drove me to work harder on my Occlumency. The last thing I needed was to give more fuel to Snape's hateful fire. I did not want my desire for another man to be known because I botched a simple healing potion. I spent my Defence classes trying not to watch the professor too closely and nearly receiving detentions for not paying attention. Luckily, I do not blush easily. I was also devoted to the subject, considering that my life literally depended upon it, and therefore my grades for the class did not drop. Had he been a professor in any other subject, I have no doubt that I would have been so unduly distracted by him that my grades would have suffered. But it was still my secret and it often troubled me that year.

Ron and Hermione tried to help me as best they could, in their own way. Hermione received a pass from Dumbledore to research the Restricted Section for me. I won't say that we did not abuse the privilege of the pass, trying to learn any defence tactics that we could find, but sometimes I wanted to march up to Dumbledore's office and demand that he take the pass away from my friend. For all that she wanted to help, she was frustrating. She did not understand that I did not want to talk about "my problems" or discuss them in the Common Room.

I also knew that she and Ron talked about me late at night. I was not so observant as to notice it on my own, but after Neville came to me one night in October, asking what was wrong that Hermione and Ron were talking about it in whispers and would not tell him, despite his membership in the DA, I listened. Late at night, when I buried myself in books on the Darkest spells and Buddhist meditation, and early in the morning, when I practiced the meditation or went to search out the Room of Requirement to cast the spells, times when they knew I would not join the conversation, that was when they talked.

They thought that I did not realize and, now that I have a few years distance, I admit that I would not have picked up on the tension and worry had Neville not asked me questions about it. I understood that they were only trying to be helpful, no matter how annoying it was. I also knew that they were my only peers I had trusted with my secret and there was a reason for that. But I did have a more than passing desire to yell at them to shut their mouths, that it was not any of their business.

One morning, particularly frustrated by my life in general and Snape in particular, I woke before anyone else in the dorm, my legs aching. I took a small sip from a vial containing a mixture of a Draught of Peace and a mild pain killing potion. The potions I kept in the drawer nearest my bed, always locked with some of the most complicated charms I could perform and then cast over with a spell similar to the Disillusionment Charm so no one would noticed all of the magic on it, were delicate jewel colours. I knew them by feel by the time winter began decorating the grounds with the grey hoarfrost. They were all dangerous, even my daily Hellebore Tonic could be fatal if I took too large a dose. The calming serums and Draughts of Peace were both addictive and potential poisons. I freely admit that I was paranoid about them when I kept them in my dorm. Even now, as an adult with my own quarters in the castle, I am nervous about them. They make me nervous and I don't like to take them, even when I need them.

I grabbed a cushion off of one of the armchairs and sat in front of the cheery Common Room fire, trying to meditation away my woes. As I concentrated on regulating my breathing and finding a centre, I heard Ron come down the stairs behind me. He sat on the crimson sofa behind me.

After about five minutes, I realised that I would never be able to centre myself with Ron's eyes boring into my back. I sighed and spun around on the cushion so I could look at my best friend. "What is it?"

Ron frowned at me, biting his lower lip as he tried to think of the right words to say. "How do you do it?"

"How do I do what?"

"This," Ron said, waving his arm in my general direction. "I saw you take those potions when you woke up. How do you do this every day? I've seen you slip off to the bathroom to take them during the day and then take more to sleep at night. It's insane that you have to do this. I mean, it's bad that you have to go out there and kill You-Know-Who – but then you have all of this to deal with! I mean, I have trouble doing the day-to-day and I'm just your average wizard."

I shrugged. "I don't really have any other options, Ron."

"But–" My friend seemed to flounder helplessly for a moment, lost in what was happening. "Hermione –"

I shifted on my cushion, trying to find a comfortable position but realizing, at the same time, that it was impossible. A bit nervously, I began to play with the tassels. "Hermione what, Ron?"

He sighed. "She found these books in the Restricted Section, ones on… your problem."

Ron did not like to call my dystonia by its true name, much as he feared saying Voldemort's name. In the Wizarding world, the only world he knew, it had an invariable connection to the Dark, much as Healer Vance had told me over in August. Hermione was desperately trying to break Ron's little affectation, but I didn't. I didn't really want to talk about it in the first place, so it didn't matter if my friend was willing to talk about it or not. Hermione, on the other hand, wanted to discuss it to death, at least twice a week.

"I know," I told him heavily "I've read them. She's been pitching them at me since September, if you can't remember. Even Dean thinks I'm odd at this point, hiding books under my bed."

"Not those books." Ron's voice dropped to a near whisper, as though he were embarrassed, or, perhaps, scared. "Other ones."

"Other books?"

He nodded slowly. "She nearly made me promise not to tell you... But I don't know… I mean, your life is hard enough at this point. You don't need us keeping secrets from you now."

Realising that Ron was being deadly serious, something fairly unusual for my red haired friend, I pulled my knees to my chest. "What sort of books?"

"Mostly Dark Arts books; she's been reading them only in the library so Madame Pince doesn't think she's going Dark. You know how some people are getting a little fanatical… She doesn't want to get caught in the crossfire if the public turns on us again."

I noted his use of the word "us" rather than "you" and it cheered me a bit. With Ron's Quidditch schedule, my "detentions" with Snape, and Hermione's apparent desire to read the entire Hogwarts library before seventh year, we had not had as much time together in our sixth year as we had had in previous years. It lifted my spirits that Ron still thought of the three of us as a trio of friends. "And?"

"Well, it isn't good. You might not want to tell anyone you have it."

I snorted, as if I were about to announce everything to the Great Hall at breakfast that morning. "Why would I – Wait. What do you mean by that?"

Ron chewed his lower lip for a moment. "You know how Vance told you that it's Dark?" He waited for my nod. "That really isn't the half of it… I… There's history with it, with wizards. Hermione's been doing everything she can to find information. It's not only Dark wizards who get it… But most Light wizards who get it, they go Dark. Fast."

"Are you saying that you think I'm going to be the next Voldemort?"

He flinched at the name. "I don't. But do you remember how everyone thought you were crazy after fourth year? And how you were harassed when people thought you were dating Hermione? Or how everyone thought you were the Heir of Slytherin because you're a Parselmouth?"

"Yeah," I replied noncommittally.

"This could be worse. We know that the Daily Prophet can make you look bad. I don't want to imagine what it would do if they thought you might be going Dark."

My heart beat picked up at bit and I could feel it in my chest. "But… I have to defeat Voldemort." That might have been one of the stupidest things I have ever said, and a very stupid reason for the Wizarding public not to turn on me, but it was the first thing that came to my head. I had been brooding on the topic of the prophecy since Dumbledore told me the previous year.

"That makes you powerful," Ron told me solemnly. "And it also makes you dangerous. If you can do what Dumbledore can't and they think you might go Dark, there's no telling what you might do."

"And Hermione's books say all of this?"

Ron shook his head and tried to scowl at me, clearly upset that I was not taking his cautions terribly seriously. "Harry, I can connect the dots. Almost everyone in my family has worked in the Ministry at one point or another, even Bill and Charlie when they were right out of school. I like to think that I know a bit about how all of this works. If the Ministry honestly thinks you're dangerous, they're going to do a bit more than just call you crazy in the papers."

"What would they do, Ron? Are the going to throw me into Azkaban for being sick? Are they going to confine me to a ward in St. Mungo's? Are they going to exile me from the country? I've done plenty of stupid, reckless, illegal things already: I killed Quirrel, you and I were caught with an Obliviated professor, we illegally took your dad's car, I blew up my aunt, I attacked people in the Ministry! They haven't done anything yet."

"This is why I wanted to tell you even though Hermione doesn't!" I had the feeling that if it were not for our classmates blissfully sleeping nearby, Ron would have been shouting at me. "We aren't kids anymore. I realised that last spring… We could have died in the ministry, Harry. This isn't about saving the school or proving that Snape is the bad guy or even making sure that you don't die in Defence Against the Dark Arts. This is bigger. I mean, you've got the prophecy and all… But if we do something wrong, it might not be Voldemort that dies."

Hearing my own private fears voiced by someone else was almost too much to take. I was afraid of the same things Ron was, but I had not wanted to admit it. I knew that there were more dangers for me now, that it was not as simple as I thought it was when we were still little first years. Half of me was angry that I had to deal with all of this at sixteen, but I forced myself to bite my lip. It was not Ron's fault that I was a child of prophecy, anymore than it had been Remus' fault that he both cared about me and wanted Voldemort to die. Most of the time I wished I had never even heard of the prophecy, that my life was the same as it had been for the past five years. But that was not to be.

"You think I don't know that, Ron?" I snapped. "Do you think that I don't wonder if something will go wrong on the battlefield? I wouldn't tell anyone, anyway, whether they'd lock me up in St. Mungo's or not. I'm supposed to lead people into battle! Me, Harry Potter! It's bad enough that their leader is a scrawny teenager; the last thing they need is to know that I might not be able to lead them at all. I can't even fly a broom anymore! But if they don't follow me, Voldemort might win. And if he can win our country, who's to say that he can't take other ones, too? This isn't even as simple as 'if I tell them, they'll lock me up.' This is about more than that."

Ron looked slightly shocked and more than a little upset on my behalf, but I did not let him say anything.

"And I probably need to defeat him before we leave Hogwarts. There's no way they'll let me be an Auror, not when I can't be depended upon in the field. And if I can't be an Auror, people won't look to me for fighting the Dark. At this point, I don't know what I'll be, but I can't professionally attack Dark wizards." At this, Ron nodded, understanding my point. "And do you think that people would follow me if they knew? That Voldemort wouldn't take every advantage he could if he knew? What about the students and families who are on the fence, not knowing whether I'm trustworthy? What do you think Seamus' mother would say if she knew I had a Dark disease? What would the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs do? Or, Merlin help us, the Slytherins?"

"Calm down, Harry. You don't want to wake up the whole dorm. I wasn't saying this to bother you, or to tell you that you don't think about this enough. I just – I wanted you to know what could happen if things go wrong. If you can hide it for as long as you can, I think you should. Hermione thinks this should all be out in the open, but, and I hate to say this, she's thinking like a Muggle. She doesn't always understand our world and this is one of those little Wizarding things that you can't find in a book."

I nodded and sighed. Any hope for some peaceful meditation that morning was gone. I knew I would end up slipping away from my classmates during the day to take my potions and that Snape would be questioning me at our next meeting. He kept careful track of how many potions I took and was always suspicious if I took more than he thought necessary. When Ron and I went to the Great Hall a few minutes later, two of the first students to breakfast that day, we didn't mention our conversation. We never talked about it again. I'm still not sure whether or not he ever told Hermione about it, but it was enough to let him know that I was thinking, or trying to think, about every facet of my life and how to deal with everything. I knew that life would never be simple again, and I needed all of the friends I could I have if I wanted to face Voldemort and win.

Author's Note: Finally finished! As more and more things (like delayed flights, hospital visits, class work, and general life obligations) crowed my time, the chapters will be coming further and further apart.

Reviewers:

Starangel2106: Thank you. It is amazing what you can do when you're faced with a challenge. You can sometimes face things you never thought you could.

Elli: Thank you. Less than half of this fiction (I think) will be flashbacks. I just need to give background information before we return to the present.

Nocturnallupine: I made you laugh? I made someone laugh! I usually make people cry, so thank you for letting me know. Some parts of this fiction will be a comedy of errors; the encounter with Blaise is only the first.

Pris: Fixed.

Juliedecarson: Thank you.

Padawan Jan-AQ: Thank you. I cannot imagine Draco not taking advantage of an opportunity to make Harry look bad, especially when he has circumstantial evidence.