oOo .. night-singer -v. 6- this phantom innocence

» Of Insomnia and Revelation «

A sigh floated softly through the air as Harry shifted in his chair. From the open window, a breeze gently played with his hair like a lover might, and moonlight poured through the panes of glass to coolly kiss his tanned skin.
He sighed again. Heavily.

     He swallowed thickly, before slowly lifting up his hand. He paused, and then, licking his lips, knocked on the door twice, very quietly, in hopes that Remus wouldn’t hear and he could just leave.
     No such luck.
     “Is that you, Harry?”
     Swallowing, he managed to croak out a “yeah”.
     “Come on in.”
     Feeling somewhat nauseous, he opened the door and slid in, closing it behind him immediately. The floor was tiled, with a small, round table in the center of the room, a trophy-like object full of flowers and a pair of reading glasses on it. The werewolf’s bed was on the opposite side of the room from the door, a large wooden structure, almost like a canopy except with wood instead of cloth. A rug was placed on the floor at the end of the bed, almost oriental in design, with a rearing unicorn in the older style placed in the center of it. Between the rug and the table, a chandelier hung from the ceiling as lighting, brass with candles. At the end of the rug, there were a few feet of tile before a hearth led to a warm, burning amber fire. The fireplace was marble or granite, with the Gryffindor emblem on the wall above it. Overall it was a very warm, comfortably welcoming room.
     It didn’t feel like it to him.
     For a moment, he simply stood there, feeling his stomach churning. The werewolf turned and lifted an eyebrow at him, before frowning as he took in the look on his face. “Sit down, Harry,” he murmured, brows creased in worry.
     Harry looked around, before choosing a seat close to the fireplace, and slowly sat down, slumping backwards and closing his eyes. Remus said nothing about his choice, but merely moved around to the front of his seat and kneeled on the hearth, frown growing when he noticed Harry’s expression. “Harry, what happened over the summer?” he asked softly.
     He said nothing for a long moment, and the sadness in Remus’ eyes increased.
     “Take your time,” he murmured. “You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to.”
     For a long moment, he was still silent, before he took a deep breath. “I...was having nightmares, a lot,” he whispered. “Cedric, Voldemort, Sirius—” His voice cracked, and he clenched his eyes shut as he felt burning tears brim over. One managed to escape, trickling down his cheek to fall, crystalline, to land on his hand. “I think I used to—scream—a—a lot... I know I woke up screaming—” He stopped, pale and trembling, to lick his lips.
     Remus placed a warm, comforting hand on Harry’s two clenched ones. “Take your time,” he whispered.
     Harry drew in a deep, shuddering breath. “Do you—remember what I—told you, back in third year?” he asked, voice shaky.
     A low growl rumbled from Remus’ lips before he could stop it, and he nodded, eyes narrow.
     He said nothing for a few minutes, and the only sounds were the fire crackling and popping, and Remus’ obviously unconscious growling. The protectiveness of such an action warmed Harry, making this easier to say. Because of it, he knew that Remus really cared for him; he felt something warm, almost forgotten, flutter in his chest. Finally, he drew in another deep breath, biting his lip nervously. “They—Uncle Vernon—They—took it a step further, this summer,” he whispered.
     Unnoticed by him, another tear trickled silently down his cheek to fall diamond-like to Remus’ hand covered his two. The werewolf’s growling increased in volume and intensity. “I’ll kill them,” he hissed, eyes flashing as he stared up at Harry. “I’ll bleeding kill them.”
     Another tear.
     The werewolf calmed down, staring at him, before standing. “Stand up,” he murmured, and when Harry did so, Remus sat down on the chair, and pulled him down. “Come here,” he whispered, cradling him close.
     He tried, he really did, but the next thing he knew he was sobbing uncontrollably into Remus’ warm, brown wool sweater, face buried in his shoulder as he clutched the werewolf like a life line. He poured it all out—all the anger, fear, confusion, self-loathing, and depression; he sobbed hard enough it hurt, until his nose was swollen to the size of an apple and his eyes were red and scratchy. He cried out the pain of seeing Cedric and Sirius die in front of him, his resentment at Voldemort and Dumbledore, and the loneliness the world seemed to unrelentingly inflict on him. He weeped for his loss of a childhood, his lack of a loving family, and his loss of innocence and the last of his self-respect over the summer at the hands of his only living family.
     Through it all, Remus merely held him, chin resting in his black, messy hair, rocking back and forth as he murmured to him. His voice was soft and comforting, the hand stroking circles on his back reassuring and grounding.
     Nearly half an hour later, his tears finally slowed, then stopped. Remus’ sweater was soaked, but since the werewolf obviously didn’t care, he merely sat there in Remus’ comforting embrace, face buried in the man’s shoulder.
     “Have you told Dumbledore?”
     Harry snorted in derision. “Not likely,” he retorted.
     Remus chuckled, still rocking. “I don’t blame you,” he murmured into Harry’s hair.
     Again, he was silent for a moment. “Did you know that he knew he was subjecting me to a long, difficult ten years when he left me there?” he whispered, voice taught with anger. “He actually told me that at the end of school last year, when I returned from the Department of Mysteries. He told me—and these are his exact words, Remus—the he knew he was condemning me to ten dark and difficult years.”
     It was Remus’ turn to be silent for a moment as he mulled over that. “Harry, I don’t think he knew how difficult they would be for you,” he said slowly.
     “Yeah,” he replied into the werewolf’s shoulder. “I know that. It’s just—He told me he left me there because I was in danger from Voldemort’s supporters, and that by staying with my aunt I would be protected by the blood relation to my mother, who died loving me.” Harry paused for a second. “It never occurred to him, though, that I could be in danger from the very people he thought could protect me.”
     “No,” Remus said quietly, “I don’t think it did.”
     The werewolf looked at the clock on the far side of the room, one Harry hadn’t noticed, and sighed. “It’s late. You should be getting back to your dorms.”
     Harry nodded, but didn’t move for a long moment. Finally, he stood with a sigh, and whispered a spell. Instantly, he looked as if he hadn’t been crying for thirty minutes, and he ran a hand through his hair. Remus was frowning slightly.
     “Hold on a moment, would you Harry?” he asked. “I’ll give you a note just in case you bump into Filch in the halls, all right?” He looked up, eyebrows raised. “Unless you somehow managed to bring the Marauders’ Map with you..?”
     He shook his head, and waited for the note. He bit his lip, looking at Remus. Finally, he hugged him. “Thank you,” he whispered.

     The stars were bright as they sparkled in the black pit of the velvet sky. A huge moon hung low over the horizon, bathing the land in pale, silver light, giving it an ethereal appearance. The Forbidden Forest was silhouetted against the night sky, an ominous black shadow with swirls of serpentine mist floating like spirits between the trees and seeming to glow in the pale moonlight. Bats were swooping low, capturing insects in their wide open mouths.
     A chair creaked as the weight on it shifted.
     The milky moonlight poured through the window, enveloping the dark-haired boy staring out the window in a silver halo. Normally emerald green eyes were now a silvery sage, tan skin pale and almost glowing in the moon’s luminescence.
     Harry sighed, drawing his knees up to his chest as he stared out the window, unable to fall asleep.

     Harry was not looking forward to his next Potions class. As such, he was very pale when that day came, and he could barely force himself to eat breakfast that morning in the common room. He was feeling nauseous, and had no doubt he looked rather green, especially considering Hermione and Ron were throwing him worried looks.
     When he reached the Potions classroom, Malfoy was already there, sitting in his chair. Probably here to gloat over anything Snape says to me, he thought bitterly, and he walked with his head bowed to his chair. He said nothing when the blonde smirked at him, or when Snape sent him a vicious glare, and merely sat down, pulling out his books and slumping in his seat, staring silently at his books.
     Once the rest of the class had arrived, Snape stood up. “After our prized celebrity ran out of class last week—” that was said in disgust, and Harry flinched, paling further, “—we began to go over the properties of the Polyjuice Potion. I handed out an assignment; I’d like it passed in at this time.”
     Harry frowned, trying to remember if he’d gotten the assignment from someone, and nearly fainted in relief when he realized he had. Hurriedly, he leaned over and began to rummage through his bag, before triumphantly pulling out the eighteen-inch essay he’d written and placed it on his desk. When Snape reached him, he scowled and glared at the parchment, obviously not wanting to take it, but did, and then took Malfoy’s.
     He stood at the front of the classroom for a moment, sweeping his coal-black eyes over the room, before nodding. “Now, you and your partner are going to brew the Polyjuice Potion,” he informed them. “One person from each group, get up and gather the ingredients you will need, and then begin to make it.”

     A loud sizzling made Harry look up, and he glanced over at Neville and Zabini, the Slytherin of which was growling loudly as he fought to keep their cauldron from overflowing onto the table. Harry sighed, shaking his head and returning to the potion he and Malfoy were brewing.
     Malfoy looked over and snickered, but Harry ignored him, reading through the list of ingredients, and checking the time, put the last one in. After mixing it for the required time, he peered in, Malfoy doing the same, and nodded with satisfaction. It was a thick, goopy, dark-green substance, just like it had been when Hermione had made it back in Second Year.
     He let out a sigh of relief, sitting back in his chair and closing his eyes, a small, barely visible smile on his face. Maybe Potions wouldn’t be so bad, this year.
     Snape came over and stared down at the potion, a scowl on his face; obviously, he’d been hoping it would have been incorrect, so he could blame Harry for it and take points from Gryffindor. However, it was absolutely perfect, so he of course congratulated Malfoy. “Excellent work, Mr. Malfoy,” he said, lifting a black eyebrow. “Five points for Slytherin.”
     “Actually, Professor, Potter did most of the work,” the blonde replied, lifting an eyebrow and smiling slightly. Harry felt his jaw drop, and he turned to stare at Malfoy, startled, blinking wildly. Snape turned and scowled at him, obviously believing he had put Malfoy up to this, but it was clear, even to him, from the startled expression on Harry’s face that he hadn’t.
     For a moment, it almost seemed as if Snape didn’t know what to say, before his face darkened. “Five points for Gryffindor,” he muttered, before moving off to Neville and Zabini. He took five points off of Gryffindor for Neville mixing it up, and gave Slytherin five points because Zabini managed to salvage it. But still, Gryffindor remained the same as it had before, where it normally would have gone down.
     Harry was still looking at Malfoy, confused, as well as half of the class. “Why did you tell him that?” he asked, perplexed.
     The Slytherin shrugged, smirking slightly. “Well, it’s true, isn’t it?”
     He opened his mouth to reply, but closed it, throwing him a bewildered look.
     The door opened, but Harry ignored it, opening his Potions and Elixirs book to continue where he’d left off; he was almost finished with it, and couldn’t wait to move on to The History of Potions. Over the summer, he’d found a growing interest and fascination in Potions, and was determined to do better in this class this year than he ever had.
     “Ah, Lucius, I’ve been expecting you.”
     Startled, Harry looked up, and there stood Lucius Malfoy, smug and smirking. Tall and wide-shouldered, he cut quite the intimidating image as he strode to the front of the classroom, cane clicking as it connected with the floor. “Severus,” he said, nodding to the Potions Master. He turned and looked over the room, lifting an eyebrow when he noticed Malfoy and Harry paired up. “Draco.”
     Draco nodded, murmuring, “Father.”
     “And...Mr. Potter.” There was an amused glint in Lucius’ eye as he cocked his head, lifted an eyebrow, and smirked at Harry. “These are some rather...interesting pairings, Severus,” he mused, turning back to the Slytherin Head of House.
     “The Headmaster chose them,” Snape replied, sneering slightly. “Rather ridiculous, if you ask me, pairing up opposite Houses. Dangerous, too.” He gave Malfoy and Harry an odd look, and Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat, glancing at the clock.
     Dammit. Another half hour.
     A faint smile tilted Lucius’ lips. “I’m sure his intentions were purely for the best.”
     Harry snorted softly, flushing slightly when Snape and both Malfoys looked at him.
     Snape then glared at the class. “This is Lucius Malfoy, and he will be your other Potions teacher for the next two years,” he informed them.
     The blonde smirked at them. “You will, however, call me Professor or Sir in class, or Mr. Malfoy outside of it,” he ordered, before quirking an eyebrow at his son, who nodded in return.
     Silently, Harry returned to his book, and began chewing on the tip of his quill thoughtfully as he read through the passage on healing potions.
     “What are you reading, Mr. Potter?”
     Lucius’ voice was cold.
     Harry jumped nearly a foot in the air, he’d been so distracted. “Merlin,” he muttered under his breath, flushing. Placing his finger at the page he was at, he closed the book to show Professor Malfoy—and Merlin, did that sound weird—the cover of his book. “Potions and Elixirs: How They Work, Professor,” he replied softly, eyes lowered and fixed on the cover of his book.
     “I see.” The man’s voice was dubious. “Show me the page you were reading, Mr. Potter.”
     He did so, swallowing slightly as the man moved around his desk so he could read it, looming behind him. It was rather unnerving. Finally, he straightened, glancing from Harry to the potion, then Draco, and back. “All right. Seeing as how you are finished with your potion, you may continue.”
     The Gryffindor nodded, closing his eyes for a moment. Dammit... Then he continued to read until it was time to go to his next class.
     He didn’t even realize class was over until the younger Malfoy elbowed him sharply, and he looked up to see the rest of the class leaving. Again, he flushed, and gathered up all of his things before leaving for his next class.

     He sat down next to Hermione and Ron, frowning slightly. “Lucius Malfoy is working with Snape to teach Potions,” he informed them, lifting a forkful of rice to his mouth. “For the next two years.”
     The two of them squeaked slightly, Ron paling and Hermione going somewhat green.
     “You can’t be serious!” Hermione exclaimed. “You mean to tell me Professor Dumbledore actually allowed this?!”
     Ron had quickly turned from white to red, grumbling under his breath, “Now I’ve got two Malfoys to deal with...”
     Harry, however, was deep in thought. Something had just occurred to him. Draco Malfoy was a member of the Order, Dumbledore had told him. Now, Lucius Malfoy shows up to teach at school, obviously with Dumbledore’s approval. Was it possible that Lucius Malfoy could be a member of the Order now, too? “Huh,” he muttered.
     Hermione glanced at him, eyebrows drawn. “What, Harry?”
     He looked at his friends, frown deepening. Finally, he sighed. “I can’t tell you,” he replied. “Dumbledore made me promise not to.”
     “What? Why?” Hermione asked, at the same time Ron snorted and said, “That’s never stopped you before.”
     The Boy Who Lived merely looked at them. “I’m sorry, I really am,” he replied, voice soft. “But I can’t.”

He couldn’t sleep. The nightmares kept plaguing him.

     Harry had a free period last that day, and he made good use of it, visiting the library and taking out any book on Potions he could find. Madam Pince gave him an odd look, but didn’t comment, and told him to return them by the end of the month. Mentally, he calculated that gave him two and a half weeks, and frowned slightly as he carried all of them back to the Gryffindor tower.
     When he reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, he muttered the new password—“We’ve changed the password from ‘Apis melliferum’[1] to ‘Gwenhwyfar’[2], Harry.”—and walked up to his room. Idly, he wondered if it was possible to get a password for his own room, and decided to ask someone about it later. McGonagall, maybe?
     He sat down on his bed and took out a notebook and quill, tapping his lip with the quill as he gazed down at the collection of books he’d chosen, debating about which one to start taking notes from first.

     “Harry, you look positively wretched!” Hermione exclaimed.
     Said boy gave her a look, before stifling a yawn and digging into his breakfast of scrambled eggs, two pancakes smothered in syrup, a piece of toast covered with melted butter and cinnamon mixed with sugar, three pieces of bacon, four sausage links, a pile of hash, and a large glass of milk that refilled with orange juice when he finished it. He was starving; it felt like he hadn’t eaten in a week. “Wazp awnide thtudink,” he muttered around a mouth full of hash.
     Hermione gave him a blank look, lifting an eyebrow.
     He swallowed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He heard Parvati Patil say something about that to her sister Padma, who was sitting at their table for some odd reason, obviously disapproving of it, but he ignored them, not caring the least bit what they thought. “I said,” he repeated, “I was up all night studying.”
     Her other eyebrow joined the one that was already up, and they both shot up towards her hairline. “I’m amazed, Harry,” she said, smiling widely. “You’re actually study—” She blinked. “What are you studying, anyway?”
     “Pothings,” he replied, chewing a piece of sausage, and she gave him an exasperated look.
     “I can’t understand you when you talk with your mouth full, Harry,” she chided, seemingly torn between smiling and glaring at him.
     Again, he swallowed, this time using his sleeve to wipe his mouth off; for some reason, he took fierce pleasure from the deprecating whispers of the twin Patils. “Potions,” he repeated.
     “—doesn’t seem like the type that would be gay...”
     He stiffened, emerald eyes narrowing as he glanced discreetly at Lavender Brown and her friend Ebony Woodson.
     “—eah, I know! Who’d’ve thought the Boy Who Lived was gay—?”
     Fuming, he slammed his fork down and stormed out of the hall, completely ignoring the bewildered looks several of the students threw at him. As he stalked through the hallways, livid, a few of the younger students glanced at him and whispered to each other, and he threw them a look so dark they scurried on to keep from getting him angrier.
     After a few minutes, he reached the doors that lead outside, and taking a deep breath of the sweet air, walked slowly to the lake with the giant squid in it. He stood for a moment, a gentle breeze lifting his hair slightly, before sighing and flinging himself to the ground on his back. The sky was a clear, sapphire blue, without a cloud in the sky, so blue it was almost blinding. He could almost see the shape of the atmosphere; close to the horizon, the blue was light, and it slowly grew deeper in shade as it approached the top of the sky. To the side, he could see the looming shadow of the Forbidden Forest, a dark, foreboding presence in the back of his mind. A few birds swooped low over the lake, and a lone owl flew from the Owlery, a letter tied around its lake.
     He didn’t know how long he laid there, but he was half sleep, the comfortingly warm sunlight making him drowsy, when a voice startled him out of his light drowse.
     “You can be surprisingly hard to find when you want to be,” Draco Malfoy said conversationally, plopping down gracefully beside him. “You do remember that we’re supposed to be eating together from now on, right? The Headmaster had to remind nearly all the school of that...”
     He said nothing, simply continuing to stare up at the sky. The blonde lifted a platinum eyebrow at him, smirking slightly, before shrugging and beginning to eat his food.
     “I brought enough for both of us at least twice, so feel free to help yourself when you want,” he continued, not seeming to notice that Harry was completely ignoring him.
     After a moment, Harry asked, “Why are you being so nice to me?” His voice was quiet and almost subdued.
     The Slytherin stopped moving for a moment, smokey eyes studying him. Then he snorted, lip curling slightly. “Don’t read too much into it,” he replied sharply. “I’d rather be in Azkaban than spend time with you.”
     A bitter smile pulled at Harry’s lips as he stared up at the sky. “Yeah,” he whispered. “So would I.”
     Malfoy looked sharply at him, eyes narrowed, not sure exactly what he meant. After a while, he quietly said, “Self-pity doesn’t suit you, Potter.”
     He said nothing.

The sleeping draught hadn’t helped.

     Hermione frowned at him when he walked down into the Gryffindor common room that morning, looking worried. He was a lot paler than he should have been, with dark circles under his eyes signifying an obvious lack of sleep. He was half-staggering down the stairs, and flopped into a chair like a fish on land. A jaw-splitting yawn forced its way from his mouth, and his eyes were heavy-lidded from fatigue.
     “Harry, were you up all night studying again?” she asked slowly. When he didn’t answer, just stared blankly into the amber of flames of the fire, her eyebrows drew together. “Harry... As much as I approve of your new studying habits, you need to get some sleep. Your health is far more important than your grades...”
     Still, he said nothing. Now extremely troubled, she walked over to him and waved her hand in front of his face. He started and looked up at her, wide-eyed and blinking, before shaking his head. “Sorry,” he said. “My mind kind of wandered off...”
     She smiled slightly at him, and he stood and walked out of the common room, Hermione with him chatting along the way. “By the way, Harry, which Slytherin did you get paired with?” she asked curiously.
     He snorted, rolling his eyes. “Who do you think? Malfoy, of course,” he replied, before giving her a sideways glance. “What about you?”
     Hermione smiled wanly. “Millicent Bulstrode.”
     Harry chortled slightly, smirking. “Isn’t she the one you were supposed to turn into when you drank the Polyjuice Potion in Second Year?” His smirk grew when she nodded and flushed slightly. “It would be you, of course, who would grab a cat hair, and not Ron or me. Ironic, hmm?” he teased, eyebrow lifted.
     The girl harrumphed, glaring mildly at him, before stiffening as she looked in front of them. The Slytherins were approaching them, and Malfoy and Bulstrode broke off from the group to join them. The look on Bulstrode’s face when she turned away from Malfoy and nodded at Hermione was almost friendly, and Harry watched with narrowed eyes as they walked off. Malfoy couldn’t see it, but Harry could, when they rounded the corner and began chatting animatedly, yet quietly. He lifted an eyebrow. Well, that was an interesting development...
     The blonde Slytherin was watching him impassively, and with a sigh, Harry nodded to him. “Malfoy,” he said wearily. Said boy didn’t reply, simply turned and walked away. Frowning, and grumbling mentally, he followed the boy, nodding slightly at a few passing Gryffindors. He paused, however, when he realized where they were. “The Slytherin dorms?” he asked, confused.
     Malfoy looked at him sharply, stormy eyes narrow. “How did you know these were the Slytherin dorms?” he demanded, and Harry shifted uncomfortably.
     “Lucky guess?” he hazarded, and the blonde’s suspicious frown deepened, before he apparently decided he really didn’t want to know. As they paused at the doorway, a portrait of a snake started slithering around, hissing at Harry.
     “Hesseth[3], this is Harry Potter. Potter...” He sneered slightly. “This is Hesseth.”
     ‘Harry Potter?’ the snake hissed. ‘What isss he doing here?’
     ‘Eating breakfast,’ Harry snapped back at it, glaring as the snake started.
     ‘Who ssssaid that?’ it hissed, looking around as its forked tongue flittered back and forth in the portrait.
     ‘I did,’ he replied, lifting his chin defiantly. ‘I will, however, be perfectly happy to leave if you want me to.’
     There was a moment of silence as the snake considered him, beady eyes narrow. ‘How isss it that the sssslayer of Lord Voldemort ssspeakssss Parssseltongue?’
     He was silent for a moment. ‘If it makes you feel any better, Voldemort is not dead,’ he finally replied. ‘And when he gave me this scar he transferred some of his powers over to me.’
     ‘Isss that sssssso?’ it asked dubiously, before turning to Malfoy. ‘Passsssword?’
     “She wants the password, Malfoy,” Harry murmured, and watched as Malfoy leaned close and whispered something. The portrait door swung open, and they stepped into the lair of the Slytherins. As it had been the last time he was down here, the Slytherin common room was cold and dark, perfectly fitting the Slytherin’s emblem of a serpent.
     He looked around, waiting for the blonde to sit. After a few seconds, the Slytherin flung himself onto the black leather couch with the boneless grace of a snake, and Harry swallowed slightly. Malfoy looked at him for a moment, before motioning and saying, “Well sit down.”
     With a strong sense of déjà vu, he slowly lowered himself the the black leather couch across from Malfoy’s. Oddly enough, despite how chilly and damp it was down here, he felt more at home than he ever had in the Gryffindor tower. Closing his eyes, he leaned back into the couch, knowing Malfoy was watching him, and felt...content. He sat up suddenly, eyes snapping open, and stood. “I need to talk to Dumbledore,” he said for an explanation, then turned and bolted from the Slytherin common room.
     First, though, he headed towards Remus’ office; he needed to ask him something first. When he reached it, he knocked on the wooden door, waiting impatiently for Remus to tell him to come in.
     “Remus,” he gasped, leaning over and grasping his knees as he panted; he hadn’t run that hard in a while. “I need to ask you something.”
     The werewolf lifted an eyebrow. “I’m listening...”
     “Do you remember when I told you that the Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin, but I asked to be put in Gryffindor?” he asked.
     A cautious nod was accompanied by the eyebrow rising further.
     “If...if I got reSorted into Slytherin, would you be mad at me?” This time, his voice was quiet and insecure, and he licked his lips nervously.
     Remus smiled at that, pulling him close in a hug and patting his back. “Silly boy,” he whispered into his hair. “Of course not. If you think you’d be happier in Slytherin, then feel free. That’s all I want for you, Harry.” There was a pause as he seemed to think over what he’d just said. “I can’t imagine how you could be happier in Slytherin, but to each his own.” He was smiling though as he said that.
     A wide, sun-bright smile pulled at Harry’s lips, and he hugged Remus extremely hard for a moment, before letting go reluctantly. “I can only hope my friends are that understanding,” he said, pausing for a moment to simply smile at Remus. “All right. I need to go see Dumbledore.”
     With that, he left, and took off down the hallway towards the Headmaster’s office. He skidded to a halt in front of it, nearly crashing into a suit of armor in the process, and jumped towards the entrance to Dumbledore’s office. “Cherry Twizzler,” he said hurriedly, stepping onto the stairs as the gargoyle started moving. Once it reached the top, he nearly flew he jumped out of it so quickly, and stepped into the office. Dumbledore wasn’t in.
     Rolling his eyes, as he should have expected that, he flung himself into the nearest chair, smiling at Fawkes. “Hello Fawkes,” he said. The phoenix turned its head upside-down on its long, scarlet neck, chortling slightly as it regarded him, before returning it to its proper position and nodding in response. He couldn’t help but smile; that had to have been one of the most adorable things he’d ever seen.
     He waited there for a long time, watching Fawkes watch him, before Dumbledore finally entered.
     And Lucius Malfoy was following behind him as the two of them discussed something. They both stopped in their tracks when they saw Harry sitting there watching them, and Lucius frowned slightly. Dumbledore looked somewhat nervous for a moment, and the Malfoy seemed to notice that, for his frown deepened.
     After a moment, Dumbledore moved behind his desk and sat down, looking at Harry. “Harry? Would you care to expl—”
     Harry frowned at him, and the man fell silent. After a moment, Harry said, “I want to be reSorted.”

[1] “Apis melliferum” is the scientific name of a bee.
[2] Gwenhwyfar= “She is the White Shadow, dancing by moonlight to the faery piper’s tune, leaving tiny white star flowers to glow where her feet have trod. She dreams that she dances among constellations far beyond our knowing.
Faeries love to dance. Their music is the most haunting music ever heard by human ears, sad and sweet, deeply sensual, tranquil one moment, demented the next. The White Ladies are luminous faery creatures who dance by the light of the moon, beautiful as the music itself, trailing patterns of color and mist in their wake. Faeries often dance in circles, leaving rings of flattened grass to mark the sites of their midnight revels—or circles of toadstools springing up where faery fee have trod.
Faeries dwell in the twilight, between day and night, between spirit and matter, between the conscious and the unconscious...where all things are possible, where our past and future meets, where we meet ourselves coming back. When we dance with the faeries, we dance with the reflections of our true selves and the true inner self of the world.” excerpt from Good Faeries, Bad Faeries by Brian Froud describing the Gwenhwyfar. it’s an excellent book, by the way. I really recommend it. ^.^
[3] the name Hesseth was used in honor of one of my favorite characters from my all time favorite series of books, The Coldfire trilogy by C.S. Friedman. she only appeared for the first two books of the trilogy and ended about 2/3's of the way through the second, and I cried SO hard because I loved her so much.

[Chapter 1] | [Chapter 3]