Chapter: 20

A/n: END OF HARRY ANGST!

Just wanted to yell that out. There isn’t much of Harry’s angst left- ending at the end of last chapter; but more of arse kicking coming from Harry’s end from now on. It’s funny. I hate reading angst stories with a passion. Why had I written one like this? Granted it’s not as angst as a few stories on this site, but enough for me. At least for now.

Chapter Twenty: We’re All a Little Insane

He had nothing. He was nothing. So pathetic and full of waste.

Shaking fingers rubbed his face, staining the pale skin with red from the harsh treatment. Washed out blue eyes stared at himself in the mirror, grimacing at how ugly he was. There was nothing in his reflection he was proud of. Nothing. Stark red hair clashed horribly with his pasty white skin. There was nothing attractive that he could see. No witch would find him suitable.

That’s why Neville always got the quires about dating. He got all the fame, the glory, the attention.

And what did Ron get? Nothing.

Nothing.

He was nothing. Why should he get anything? He was drowning in the shadows of both his school mates and family. His older brothers were all successful and had their own thing going for them. Ronald was hardly a notice to his family, especially with Ginny around. She got all the attention. If it wasn’t her, then the twins. If it wasn’t the twins, it was Bill and Charlie. And then Percy.

And then him.

Last.

Ron clutched his hair, pulling at it in self-disgust. He was a fool for even thinking things would change. When he was younger, he had been sure things would change. But they only got worse. He had been stupid to continue on like this.

At school, things weren’t any better. Malfoy taunted him because of his lack of money. And what did Ron have to say in defense of that? His robes were hardly anything in comparison to the other students, especially the real purebloods of the wizarding world. Not only were his robes an issue, but being friends with the boy-who-lived was driving him insane. Neville tried to act modest, but Ron could see how big his ego was. Neville craved every moment of his fame.

Ron was sick.

And Hermione. All he wanted was to be on good terms with her, to have her see him. But he was invisible. Completely invisible. She always seemed to be scolding him like a mother. And if those long stares at Neville were anything to go by, Ron was sure Neville and Hermione had something going on.

Leaving him as a third wheel.

He was nothing. He was invisible.

He wouldn’t have it.

He couldn’t.

Ron started breathing heavily as he took the pocket knife and held it up to his eyes. “You’re nothing,” a voice whispered in his head.

“I’m nothing.” Ron mumbled heatedly at himself.

Blue eyes glared into the reflection of the knife before dropping it at his wrists.

A hiss sounded through the bathroom.

And a green eyed wizard rolled in his sleep, a smile on his face.

--SSC--

“Harrison?”

He blinked, a small smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. Green eyes stared forward. “Yes, Blaise?”

“You’re not eating. Again.”

“I would think it’s because I’m not hungry. Again.” Harry sighed, looking down at his plate and then back at the Gryffindor table. “Don’t you think this is such a…wonderful day?” Glancing over at the black wizard, Harry witnessed the boy’s raised eyebrows.

“And why is that, Harrison?”

“My brother is back.” His eyes swept across the Slytherin table at Draco. It had been a good few weeks since the ritual had taken place. Harry had slumped into somewhat of a depression, only going through his classes in a dull sort of matter. He had turned his Prefect badge into Dumbledore, declining the position. Without his Prefect duties, he had more time to throw himself into studying, making himself smarter- more powerful and wiser.

After the ritual, he had driven himself into exhaustion, trying to cast and perform the dark magic he had always struggled with. He had felt imperfect. He had felt used and rejected. His father hadn’t wanted him as the Malfoy Heir and the Dark Lord didn’t see him.

It was ok though.

Everything was fine. Now.

Over his slump, he realized he didn’t want to be in the spotlight. The shadows were his home, something he took comfort in. If he were Malfoy Heir or the Dark Lord’s acknowledged equal, he would be out in the open, vulnerable to rejection and betrayal. In the shadows, he could be powerfully strong and self-sufficient. He was strong enough to rely on only himself.

Studying Draco, his eyes traced over the red and ugly scars on the boy’s pale hands and neck. It looked like patches of burns. Harry knew, without a doubt, that underneath the school robes, those burns extended extensively. Draco would be scared for life. Not even magic could hide those ritual scars. Harry stared at the Malfoy rings that flashed on Draco’s fingers. A subtle frown graced his lips and he looked away before Draco could sense his stare.

His brother had just gotten back that morning. It had taken a long few weeks to recover. In that grace period, Harry had been contacted by both Lucius and Narcissa numerous times. Both of them had desperately tried to get in touch with him.

Harry never owled them back. He ignored every little plea, every apology…

“I don’t see how you can be so happy about that. You’re so happy that you can’t even eat?” Blaise questioned, waving a careless hand to Harry’s full and untouched plate. “Damn it, Harrison. You look like hell. You’ve lost too much weight.”

“Really?” Harry muttered dryly. “I haven’t noticed.” He had. He had to spell his clothes in order to fit his new and adjusting frame.

“You don’t realize that not everyone is like your father and the Dark Lord.” Blaise spoke softly from the side of his mouth. “You should have known the Dark Lord would do something like that. He’s the bloody Dark Lord. And your father is a dumbshit.”

Harry tisked, grinning. “Language.”

“He is.” Blaise sniffed, looking through his lashes at the Slytherins. “When will you realize that you are your own person? You can stand alone. You don’t need a father and Dark Lord at your side. The Slytherin’s are all frightened and unsure what to do with you. Stop moping and put your chin up.”

“I know that, Blaise. I’m over my gloom about the ritual. And I realize now that I should never rely on others…” His fingers caressed the cold silverware, looking up at the enchanted ceiling. “I just haven’t been very hungry.” He suspected it had to do with the strain on his magic. No matter, it was only a minor disadvantage to expanding his knowledge and strength.

Goyle stood up, his hand clutching a cane. Harry watched him with unhidden interest. The boy had a magical foot in replace of the one Harry had cut off during the ritual. Goyle appeared to be unsteady still, not used to the new and alien appendage.

The boy glanced in his direction and then away quickly. Harry dismissed it with an internal shrug. Ever since the ritual, the four children in the ritual always dropped their gazes to him. It was out of fear and submission. Harry supposed it had to do with them witnessing his magic and act of standing up against the Dark Lord. “Look at that,” Blaise snickered. “They’re all uncertain about how to act around you. You can play on that, you know, court others to your side.”

“You didn’t even notice the absence of three key players to my game, Blaise.” Harry threw him a pout, changing the subject. “I’ve been working so hard on them this past month. And you don’t even notice.”

From the corner of his eye, he watched Blaise look over at the Gryffindor table. “The Golden Trio is absent.” White teeth flashed and Blaise leaned in close, his lips caressing Harry’s ear. “Is that your doing, my sweet?”

Harry wasn’t affected by the drop of tone, nor the arousal coming from Blaise. He had no interest in Zabini like that. “What would you say if you knew Ronald Weasley has left us?” Blaise pulled back slightly, a quizzical look on his face. “You know how depressed he looked the past month.” Harry tisked, eyes eerily lightening. “I heard he killed himself.”

He lied.

He didn’t ‘hear’ about it. No. He watched it happen. At least, his visions allowed him to See and observe Ronald Weasley as the boy snuck out late at night at slit his wrists. By the time Longbottom found him in the morning, the red head had lost too much blood.

And so….

His plan to destroy the Golden Trio and Dumbledore was now set into motion.

Along with a few side plots.

Side plots that would show both his father and the Dark Lord how upset he truly was.

--SSC--

Sneering, he flicked the lint off his robes. Honestly. The little bugger didn’t want to get off his robes. Hissing, Harrison narrowed his eyes at the stubborn stain, or flint, whatever it was- it was infuriating.

His finger poked at the lint, searing it with his magic. Smoke rose, and the smell of burning silk and cotton met his nose. Removing his finger, he eyed the hole in his robes. Shrugging, he continued on his way. At least it was gone. Such little things, imperfect things, had started to get on his nerves lately. He wanted everything perfect. Self, his inner Seer, and he had a talk this morning about his change in character.

Things had altered his perspective, his character, ever since the ritual. He felt his nature become darker, more nonchalant and analytical. And he grew up. People and their emotions didn’t affect him as much as it used to. Now when he felt someone’s anger or sadness, he doubled it without a thought. They had nothing to be angry about. Their lives were so… fragile. And it made him realize just how powerful he was. He could make or break them.

Just as he had done Ronald Weasley.

A grin stretched his lips. Ah, it was his first kill. And oddly enough, he was proud of himself. Around him, people gave him odd looks. He refused to acknowledge them. They weren’t worth his time. “Harrison,” a voice stopped him in his path. Looking over his shoulder, he saw his brother stride toward him.

“Draco,” he rolled the name off his tongue. It was foreign to him to actually address his brother. “Is there something you wanted? I was on my way to Professor Zabini’s offices to discuss an important matter.”

Draco came up beside him. His burns were noticeable this close and Harry passed them over with a slight interest. His brother was known to be awfully vain. But ever since his twin had come back, Draco hadn’t seemed as if his ugly marks were anything to be ashamed of. It shocked him how grown up Draco seemed to be now. He supposed the ritual affected more than just him.

“I’d like to speak to you, alone.” Grey eyes, so alike Lucius’, glanced around at the observant students. “Privately and away from ears.”

Harry raised an eyebrow as he turned his shoulder to Draco and led them to an abandoned classroom. “Classy,” Draco drawled at the dust. As long as it didn’t get on him, Harry was fine with the dust covering the floor and abandoned desks.

Clearing a desk wandlessly, Harry sat on top, blinking calmly back at his brother. “What did you want?” He asked impatiently as the blonde looked around in disgust.

Draco stayed silent for a long while. Harry saw his hesitance and he watched as courage flickered and attempted to take over Draco’s mind frame. “I’d like to…” he took a deep breath. Through half lidded eyes, Harry smirked as he watched his twin stutter for words. “I’d like to formally thank you, for saving my life, not only once but twice.” Draco looked up at him, meeting his eyes in sincerity.

Harry stayed silent. Waiting for the rest he knew Draco wanted to say.

“Father told me what happened during the ritual. He told me that you came in and saved both the Dark Lord and I.”

Harry made a sound in his throat. “No, I only saved you. I could care-a-less about the Dark Lord’s life.” And truly, he did only save Draco. He knew if Voldemort would die, he would come back anyway with a damned Horcrux.

Draco seemed unsure what to make of the degrading remark against the Dark Lord. He decided to ignore it. “Father also told me that you are the true firstborn.” Harry leaned back slightly, looking at the ceiling. He didn’t want to go there with Draco. But, he supposed, he had to get this conversation over with.

“Don’t worry your little Heir arse off, Draco. I don’t want to, and I don’t have any desire, to claim my rightful place as the Malfoy Heir.” He made a show of looking at his fingernails. “In fact, I disinherited myself from the Malfoy name. I’ve washed myself of Lucius’ claim.”

Grey eyes widened almost comically. “You…you did?”

Harry smirked. No, he didn’t. Not yet. But when he did, he was going to make sure it was permanent. “I got the idea from Lucius, actually. When he disinherited me in the beginning of this summer, I kind of liked it.” Cocking his head to the side, he stared at his twin. “You will never have any family competition, Draco.” Family was the keyword. Draco of course would always be lower than Harry in everything but Malfoy name.

Draco seemed to understand his underlying message and bowed his head. “Weasley’s dead.”

“I haven’t noticed,” Harry drawled. Whomever didn’t was a complete idiot. The Golden Trio was no more. There was a bloodshot looking Granger with a droopy boy-who-lived by her side. They had buried the body of Ronald Weasley two days after the suicide.

It was so morbid…

A sadistic part of him enjoyed it. After all Ronald Weasley had done to him. One should never make an enemy out of a Seer.

“The Slytherins are all curious about you. The Dark Lord is completely obsessed with you… and I felt your power that day of the ritual.” Draco sounded awed and Harry could clearly see it with his Seer powers. “You’re powerful. And you’re hiding it.”

“Don’t sound so confused, Draco.” Harry whispered passionately. “The power of underestimating your enemy is complete bliss. Especially when you can truly show them the extent to your magic when it comes down to it.” Green eyes looked at his brother.

“You are obsessed with the Dark Lord.” Harry stated. He didn’t know why he brought it up, but if came past his lips anyway. Perhaps it was because of Draco’s remark about the Dark Lord being obsessed with him. Harry didn’t want the man to be obsessed with him. It was a dangerous game to be playing. So he drew his worries over the issue around, pin pointing Draco’s own obsession. His brother didn’t know Voldemort’s true intention with the ritual. It wasn’t a surprise that Draco found the Dark Lord absolutely fascinating. “You can’t deny that. You lust over him and his power. He’s a very beautiful man, isn’t he?” He prodded Draco, seeing the embarrassment and jealousy in his brother.

“Yes,” Draco lifted his chin, finding the courage and latching on to it. “I’ve come to the conclusion that the two of you are a lot of like.” He changed the subject. Draco stepped closer to Harry. “And that you have something up your sleeve for everyone who ever did you wrong; those visits to Dumbledore almost daily… and your distance from father and the Dark Lord…and the Golden Trio. You’re doing something.”

“Hence the reasoning why your thanking me for saving your life.” A smirk twisted Harry’s mouth. “You’re saving your own hide by getting on my good side.”

Draco looked truly like Lucius as he raised his eyebrows in a mocking gesture. “Isn’t that what Slytherin’s do? What Malfoy’s are known for?” Silence spread across them. “I’ve realized a few things during bed rest. I’ve come to realize that you’re a force to be reckoned with, despite your fragile physical appearance. And that you have some sort of hold over the Dark Lord.” Draco stepped closer, his body coming in between Harry’s legs.

The blonde breathed, his burns looking oddly mystical in the dark. Mercury eyes glittered at Harry, intense, almost obsessively. “The Dark Lord came to my bedside a few days into my recover. He apologized over what happened to me. And he talked about you. All about you. He wants me to keep a close eye on you. To see any slips, any sort of depression or crazy behavior, and report it back to him.”

“And what have you been reporting to him?” Harry murmured.

Draco smirked. “You’ve lost a lot of weight. You’ve been visiting Dumbledore a lot. Blaise Zabini and you have been awfully close… and you’ve been rather crabby towards students and everyone in general. And that fact that your magic is growing everyday…” Green eyes flashed. But Draco wasn’t finished. “Among other things, really. But I haven’t told him anything. He has countless of other students watching you. They’ve probably already reported that and much more to him.”

“And why haven’t you?”

The blonde inched closer, his face dangerously close to Harry’s. “Because I’m not stupid. I know something happened during that ritual more than the fact you were the firstborn. The Dark Lord isn’t known for his leniency. He didn’t touch Lucius after that day and he apologized to me over something he supposedly had no power over.” Draco scoffed, blowing minty breath into Harry’s face. “There’s something underhanded going on between the two of you. And you stopped it from happening. Father said you were furious at the Dark Lord.”

Harry was surprisingly taken aback at how mature and smart Draco became. Gone was the snobby child. “All I know is that you aren’t the Dark Lord’s lackey, like all of us are.” Bitter. “You’re something more. You’re power walking with something up your sleeve. That’s dangerous… and because I’m a Slytherin and your brother, I’m offering my services for whatever you have planned.”

Slytherin colors clashed as they stared at one another. “You know I can’t trust you with my plans. Blaise doesn’t even know. Bloody hell, I don’t even think about it myself.”

Draco leaned backward, his body still close to his brother’s. “You don’t need to tell me what you’re planning. But if you need anyone to help you out with a project, I hope you know you can turn to someone other than Zabini.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Draco.”

And Draco did something Harry would have never thought he would do.

He bowed at the waist, a respectful bow. It was a bow a lower wizard would give to a higher society wizard.

“With that being said,” Draco stepped away from Harry, straightening up. “Mother desperately wants to talk to you. As does father. They miss you.”

Harry jumped off the table and made his way toward the door. “I’m afraid that won’t be happening anytime soon.”

“Mother had nothing to do with it, Harrison.” Harry paused near the door. “She’s doesn’t look good, she misses you. She wants you to attend the Christmas Ball.” Egh. More stuck up pureblood parties. “Just think about it before you give me an answer.”

Draco brushed passed Harry and out the door.

Perhaps just for her….

--SSC--

“He was my first ever pupil.” Pythia commented. “And he twisted my teachings into something much bigger than they were meant to be.”

“That’s why Octavio is after you so much.” Harry played with his teacup, frowning at the black porcelain. He had just learned that Robert Farring had been the Seer who had destroyed Octavio’s life as a child. And Robert Farring also happened to be Pythia’s first pupil, student.

Pythia didn’t seem very fazed when Harry told her how dedicated and lustful Octavio was with going after her. She probably knew as much. “He’s always been hunting me and my students. But I knew, deep down, that his insane antics were driven by Robert’s Seer influence.”

“I call them Seeds,” Harry replied innocently.

“Seeds?” Pythia gave a serpent-like grin over her cup. “Like the Seeds you planted in Ronald Weasley?”

“Was it really that obvious?”

“You were watching him for a while, Harrison. Of course it was obvious.” She reprimanded him. “But it was very brilliant work. Nicely done.” Her vivid blue eyes sparkled. “I don’t think I could have done it better myself.”

Harry dipped his head in gratitude. “Thank you, Mistress.” He didn’t call Pythia ‘Mistress’ much. But he was flattered by her compliments. She rarely gave out compliments for his work and when she did, it was worth being degraded by calling someone his master. “I do have a question about Seeing one’s death.” He started hesitantly. Pythia, the cold beauty, cocked her head to the side, showing him she was listening. “Have you ever Seen your death?”

Pythia placed her teacup down, staring intensely at Harry. “I never see my death, Harrison. A Seer never Sees their own death, only others.”

He remembered clearly the way Octavio had sliced Pythia’s neck with a claw. His stomach tied in knots. “But the deaths you See, they don’t necessarily come true...”

Zabini gave a tisk, clicking her tongue against her teeth. “We’ve already discussed this, Harrison. Remember you asked about your brother? He was destined to die, thus, Fate will keep trying, despite how many times you try to save him.”

Harry bit his lip, showing vulnerability. “Have you Seen my death?”

Pythia’s eyes grew in amusement. “Yes, I have.”

Harry frowned. “Is it really that funny?”

“Oh, not really.” Blue eyes seemed to harden. “Everyone dies, Harrison.” She leaned forward, reaching out delicate fingers to run gently down Harry’s cheek. “What has brought this on?” Her frown grew. “Have you Seen your mother’s death?”

Harry winced. “No, why do you ask?”

Pythia sat back in her seat. “Simply because you hold a deep emotional bond with her. I would assume you would get distressed like this over Seeing her death.” Her lips lifted. “You’ve Seen mine, haven’t you?”

Guilt and sorrow swept through him. “You-,”

Pythia shot forward, her finger closing in on Harry’s lips. Her eyes were oddly light and a cat-like smile graced her features. “Death is the next great adventure, Harrison. Don’t spoil it for me, please?”

Harry could only sit there, thinking on her words.

Merlin. He wished she could have a talk with the Dark Lord on death.

--SSC--

“Harrison?” Blaise leaned over the table they were studying at, his dark eyes narrowed. “Are you-,”

“Hush,” Harrison held up his finger to his lips, eyes going distant. A painful thud in his head made him aware of a vision coming. It felt equivalent to an icy web wrapped around his brain, tugging on his mind. Goose bumps rose on his neck and his hair stood on end.

And using the training Pythia put him through, Harry sunk in his vision, keeping a consciousness on his outside body in the meantime.

Ahead of him, there were naked bodies, all full of muscles and shudders of excitement. “Kill him,” they cheered, almost sounding like they were howling animalistically. Harry’s mouth twitched upward as he identified who they were. They were werewolves, of course. Their bodies were racked with hard muscle and hair, leaving no room for modesty as their manhood’s hung free.

One, in particular, stood out among the rest. He was a figure of power, pure supremacy. His body was taller than the other’s, but his muscles weren’t necessarily bigger than any of the other males. Perhaps the same, but he looked far lither. But it was a lithe that Harry knew was dangerous, a lithe that carried such strength and quickness. The werewolf, Harry knew, would probably be an imposing figure and an exceptional fighter. His shoulders were held with authority and a demand for respect.

Messy black hair was highlighted with startling silver and tied to the nape of his neck in a leather thong.

The werewolf approached the crowd in a dangerous swagger. Harry watched him approach the crowd of unruly werewolves in interest. He observed the werewolves as they took notice of the approaching man and fell to their knees in submission or bowed their heads and stepped back.

Seeing the dominance and complete control in those bright amber eyes, Harry knew, without a doubt, that this was the infamous Fenrir Greyback.

And as he stepped closer to the parted crowd, Harry saw what the ruckus was about.

Inside the crowded circle, laid Remus Lupin. His robes were torn, showing more skin than clothing. Harry frowned. Lupin was an fascinating character to him; it was slightly a pity to see him so lowly. “Lupin,” Greyback whispered in a sweet caress. “My Childe,” he cooed.

Long fingernails reached down to run through Remus’ hair. The professor flinched backward with a pained whimper. Greyback’s fingers pulled away, blood coating the appendages. The alpha smiled wolfishly and suckled the blood, eyes alighting. “My dear, Childe,” Greyback tisked. “Do you dare try to crawl your way back to me, your Sire, after all these years?” The werewolf crouched down in front of Lupin, cocking his head to the side, studying his prey. “And to have the courage to come on Dumbledore’s plead? To use us?”

Greyback tipped back his head, giving a barking laugh.

--SSC--

“Come in, Mr. Malfoy,” Professor Lupin greeted, opening the door for him. Harrison stepped through into his office, eyeing Sirius and the suitcases.

“Leaving somewhere, Professor?” Harry already knew the answer. He flashed Sirius a look, seeing the man look downright angry, and then turned his attention to the werewolf across from him. The man caressed the top of his suitcase, looking pensive. Obviously, with the thick tension drowning the room, Harrison knew he had interrupted something.

“Ah…” Remus hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. Of course he would be unsure if he should share the Order’s information. “Actually, yes, I am. Sirius here will be taking over my classes for me-,”

“He’s leaving on Dumbledore’s orders,” Sirius barked, frowning deeply. “The old man wants him to find his old pack, Greyback’s bloody pack, and try to court them on our side for the war.” What side is that, Sirius? Harry thought as he watched Sirius’ facade drop completely. The man’s dark aura easily gave Harry a second glance. The frozen and raw smell of frost came from his cousin, reminding Harry that Sirius wasn’t all just laughs and jokes.

“I hardly think you should be discussing this with Harrison, Sirius. He’s just a boy-,”

“Bullocks,” Sirius snapped. “You and I both know Harry is everything but a child.”

Harry stood stiffly, blinking once. “Actually, your leave is why I came here in the first place, Professor.” The two paused in their arguing, snapping their attention onto Harry. “You see,” Harry shrugged, motioning to the Seer mark on his cheek. Both of their gazes flew toward his gesture. “Considering I’m a Seer, I don’t usually share my visions with another. Fate already despises us because of our choice to interfere and not… but I can’t help to have a soft spot for you, Professor.”

Remus frowned, looking perplexed. Sirius on the other hand, stared openly at Harry, sharp grey eyes studying him. “What-,” Remus cleared his throat. “What do you mean, Harrison?”

Harry leaned against the wall, giving a small smirk. “What I mean, is that Dumbledore is sending you on a suicide mission. You’ll be attacked by the werewolves.”

Sirius leaped from his chair, tipping it backwards. “I knew it, Remus!”

The professor shook his head. “Did you truly See my death, Harrison? Or was it just them attacking me?”

“It doesn’t matter!” Sirius interrupted, growling. Harry watched as his cousin lifted his lip, showing his teeth. At the moment, the human was more wolf than the werewolf. “You can’t go, not when Harry Saw-,”

“He didn’t necessarily See my death-,”

Harry stayed silent, completely content on leaning against the wall and watching the verbal fight break out between the two. Desperation and anger was coming off Sirius in waves, while Remus was unsure, hesitant, and lost. Studying them, Harry contemplated on their relationship. If they were lovers, they hid it relatively well. He couldn’t see any lustful thoughts or feelings… but that could simply be because they were fighting.

Of course, there was love, a strong love. But love didn’t necessarily have to do with a sexual way.

Eventually, Remus took a deep breath, bowing his head in submission to Sirius. “I’ll go have a discussion with Dumbledore.”

His cousin growled, crossing his arms. “Good.”

And without their notice, Harry slipped from their room.

Another nice deed.

Bloody hell.

A/n: Next chapter. Sirius pleading? Hmm. And remember, werewolves and other magical creatures are affected greatly by Seers. Muahah. Next chapter will be rather interesting to write. Thanks for those of you who reviewed last chapter.