Chapter Six - Temptation

Since Draco had emotionlessly walked straight back out of the hall, McGonagall had been having distinct trouble at calming everyone down again. As a silence finally fell over the hall, she began to speak in slight, yet powerful tones.

'I wish to introduce you now to the new members of staff this year. Without further ado, the new Defence against the Dark Arts teacher will be Professor Percival Weasley.'

Ron seemed to choke on his own tongue as Percy flounced towards the head table in a dignified manner. His eyes searched out Ginny opposite him, who looked equally dumbfounded.

'Do you think Mum or Dad…' she started, the question fading in her disbelief.

'Bloody hell!' Ron said open-mouthed.

Harry and Hermione turned to each other and grinned sadly. They had no idea what had persuaded Percy to change his mind about Hogwarts, but becoming a teacher would possibly bridge the gulf between him and the rest of the Weasley family.

Percy sat down. It seemed that he was deliberately trying not to meet the eyes of his younger siblings.

'Professor Weasley will also be heading Gryffindor House. I, as Headmistress, unfortunately cannot have that distinct pleasure anymore. I thank you, though, Gryffindors, for the many years of happiness I had as your Head of House.'

Ron groaned and put his head in his hands. Ginny followed suit, just as dramatically. Even Harry, who was no relative to Percy, felt distinctly like sighing loudly. Hermione simply frowned, tapping a pen absent-mindedly on the table. Her eyes swept over the subdued mass of Slytherins; there would be no message for them from their Head of House.

'As for the vacancy in Transfiguration, the new Transfiguration teacher will be Professor Jaime Orpheus. He will also be replacing- will be taking over as Head of Slytherin house.'

As everyone else turned around to see Jaime Orpheus, Hermione watched as McGonagall gave Slughorn a significant glance. He shrugged in apology and turned away.

Jaime walked slowly towards the head table with an exaggerated, bored look on his face, and his hands in the pockets of his Muggle jeans. Harry could literally feel Hermione bristling beside him.

'It doesn't mean he can't teach you know,' Harry whispered.

Hermione stopped clapping. 'I didn't say anything!'

'You were thinking it.'

Jaime looked around the hoards of children staring at him and grinned mischievously. Then he turned slowly on the spot, his black hair shaking into his face, and gave a mock salute to everyone. Most people stopped clapping, stunned, unsure entirely how to respond.

'That will do, thank you, Jaime,' Professor McGonagall snapped at him.

Jaime shrugged and waved at the staring tables before jogging smoothly to take his place at the Head Table.

'You think McGonagall actually chose him?' Ron asked disbelievingly.

'My gran knows him!' Neville suddenly piped up a few seats away from him. 'He did some community service in St Mungo's.'

'For what?' Hermione asked sharply.

'I dunno. Snape got him off lightly though, apparently.'

'Snape?' Harry asked scathingly.

'He was in Slytherin at school.' Neville shrugged.

Hermione finally imploded. 'I just know he's going to be an awful teacher and this is our most important year! I can't believe McGonagall is doing this to me!'

'Calm down, I'm sure he's really strict in the classroom,' Ron said reassuringly.

'You really think so?'

'Definitely! He'll set loads of extra work and deal out detentions like anything!'

'Thanks,' Hermione said in a little voice.

As everyone trooped back to their dormitories, Harry felt a prickling in his scar. He grabbed his head automatically, as this usually signified the start of a terrible headache. He wondered why this was happening now; his scar hadn't bothered him for ages. Instead of a headache however, the prickling drew itself out across his forehead and flowed lightly across his brow. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he realised that it felt uncannily like someone lovingly stroking his head.

The hand moved on its feather light journey through the bumpy texture of his scalp, a warm breeze of substance filtering over his skin. Harry stiffened as the hand gently cupped the back of his neck, kneading his twisted muscles and communicating gentleness and love.

He turned around quickly, as though it would erase the hand on his head, but instead the feeling intensified. Now someone was deliberately ruffling a hand through his hair and trying to calm him from his panic. He moved backwards and tripped over a pair of trainers, landing down the side of Seamus' bed. It was now that he realised his entire dorm was looking at him as though he'd gone mad.

'Harry?' Ron asked fearfully.

'I'm fine!' Harry insisted, angered by the stupid hand in his hair. He leapt to his feet and slapped himself in the face to try to get the ghostly touch to leave him.

'What're you doing?' Seamus asked, moving towards him hesitantly.

Harry grabbed his head in both of his hands and ran his own hands through his hair to try to erase the feeling of sickness flooding through his being. He ignored more cries that threatened to take him to the hospital wing and flopped down on his bed. Finally, the hands left him.

'What happened?' Ron asked; possibly the third time he had shouted that particular question.

'I don't know. Go back to sleep,' Harry closed his eyes, groaning, trying to force Ron out.

'I wasn't asleep… whatever mate, tell me when you're ready.'

Harry wished Ron wasn't so self-sacrificing. He really thought that in Ron's shoes, he would have shown a lot more concern. Anger trickled through his veins, heating up his blood, and he clenched his hands as his redheaded friend sat leisurely down on the bed next to his. He couldn't really attribute his sudden anger to anything except how violated he felt. For whatever reason, he felt really annoyed with Ron.

Ignoring the rest of his dorm, Harry changed into his night things and brushed his teeth before climbing into bed. Trying to clear his mind so that he didn't sleep in bursts was impossible, as he still felt so angry at nothing. Falling into a fitful sleep, Harry had the distinct feeling communicated to him that Ron was hiding something.

Harry felt his heart skip slightly and his eyes blinked open. A wave of light washed over him, and he found himself standing in the middle of a field. Apart from the perfect circle that he was standing in, the rest of the grass was covered in the most wondrous yellow flowers. Like a virus, he considered, yet a good one.

He tilted his head up to the sky and felt a nipping breeze caressing his face, not dissimilar to the hand in his waking moments. He didn't feel panicky; he stretched and revelled in it. Bringing his eyes back down from where they were captured in the beautiful cloudless sky, he felt a blurring movement from the outwards of his vision and spreading throughout the entirety of his eyes. Confused, Harry took off his glasses and found that they were the reason for his poor sight. Not only was his vision perfect, but the colours looked even more vivid than before, as though his glasses had been holding him back for years.

Harry dropped them onto the floor, a determined smirk on his face and rammed the heel of his foot into them. He felt an image of Dumbledore flicker across his brain, but it didn't really register consciously.

Looking around the field, he didn't spot any insects, for which he was grateful. The worst thing about flowers was the pollen gatherers that went hand in hand with them. Harry grinned and began to walk carefully though the grass, not wanting to ruin the perfect isolation around him. To his distaste, he stepped on a flower. But as he mentally kicked himself and moved on more carefully, it snapped back to its original position as soon as his foot left it. Harry smiled and playfully began to run mindlessly.

He danced with nature, a dance of colour and light, a dance that he wished would go on for a lifetime. The feeling inside him was something that he had never felt. He felt free. His feet floated slightly above the ground for a second, as physical constraints and duties lifted from him. The gnarled voice that crept up from his feet warned him that now he'd had a taste, it would be more difficult to drop back to reality. Yet, it was so easy to just bask in it, and enjoy the beauty.

With the flowers at his heels and in the road beyond him, he felt like he could do anything. All his problems washed themselves away and happiness nipped at his edges like scissors tear at paper. He had become so accustomed to anxiety, he found it almost painful to watch the birds so carefree, and found it heart-wrenching to truly delight in the unspoilt beauty of the place. Was this what pure happiness was? You felt like your heart was breaking because you couldn't be like this forever?

Harry's left eye suddenly caught view of a spiral of steam, billowing from the horizon lines of the landscape. Kicking his feet into a run, he bounded over to satisfy his curiosity. With every ion of energy, Harry felt that feeling of pureness flow through him like water, replenishing, reviving, and making him believe again. Harry swallowed roughly. Had he really felt that bad before? Had he lost hope before now?

Harry stopped, smiling involuntarily as he found the 'end of the rainbow.' Tom Riddle sat before him, cross-legged and toasting marshmallows over a small campfire. The chains were nowhere to be seen, and the pale ragged look of Tom had been replaced with a sleeker, attractive version of the boy. Harry imagined that this was how he would have looked in his last year at Hogwarts.

'Marshmallow?' Tom asked politely. Harry accepted one, nodding his thanks.

'What is this place?' Harry questioned.

'This… this is the place that we both envision.'

'Don't get me wrong,' Harry began carefully. 'I like it! But I don't know whether I'd ever really plant all these flowers.' Tom stopped him rolling his eyes.

'Try to think a bit less literally. Look at it as a metaphor.'

Harry looked around him and thought of his feeling of freedom. If the flowers represented his past and future, there was no uncertainty, no fear. If he could change one thing about his life, it would be that terror that everything he loved could be torn away from him in one swing of the executioners axe. Since he was ripped away from his parents, his life had been one series of accidents.

'See?' Tom smiled. 'It's nice not to worry.'

'I just wish that life was like that.' Harry roughly kicked off his shoes and wiggled his toes in the grass.

Tom nodded. 'I grew up in an orphanage. Fights led to fights led to fights, ad infinitum. Everything was about survival. Everyone needs time to themselves but there was no chance of that… I had to make my own rules. The other children were so fallible, so easy to manipulate that I didn't even have to try.' He smirked slightly, and Harry felt a grin threatening to take over his face. His conscience pricked him just enough to make him speak out.

'It still didn't give you the right,' Harry said dully, not really believing in his own words.

'What is the right? What about my needs?' Tom laughed a little at the other boy's discomfort. 'How hard do you think it is to grow up where no one understands you? Sometimes you have to make your own dreams come true. We can't all have wonderful lives like yours.' Tom chuckled to himself as Harry practically erupted next to him.

'I grew up with the Dursleys! I hated them! They kept me caged in a cupboard for eleven years! And you're saying you had the bad end of the stick!' Harry looked up at Tom, who narrowed his eyes and was smiling slightly. 'I guess I had to make my own rules too in the end. Dudley was very easy to manipulate I suppose. All I had to do was threaten him with magic and he'd do whatever I wanted,' Harry mused.

'And you, going on about my wrongdoings!' Tom kidded him playfully.

'They aren't the same!'

'They are!'

'Not!' Harry yelled laughing and launched himself towards a startled Tom.

After looking at Harry as though he had gone crazy, Tom soon recovered and light-heartedly tussled with him in the long grass. They moved through the flowers in a frenetic embrace, and struggled against each other for dominance. It was an evenly matched contest with Harry's agility matching Tom's physical strength.

Harry grabbed the arms of the flailing teenager and tried to roll Tom onto his front. But Tom was too quick, wrestling his hands away from the laughing Harry and grabbing his legs as they kicked out at him. He was the bigger of the two boys and soon had pinned Harry's hands down by his sides, straddling him.

'Checkmate,' Tom said slightly evilly.