The Mind of the Lost

Thank you for checking out my story.

Straight up disclaimer, only doing one: I do not own Harry Potter. That belongs to J.K. Rowling. The only thing that is mine are the words in this story, which is pretty much AU.

I'm not a writer by any means, so just a heads up, I know if it's not the best. Let me know on what I can do to improve, but please refrain from straight flaming me.

Mostly posting to see if this looks to be something people would be interested in. I'll keep writing anyway; it's something that's been in my head for a while.

Cries of agony tore through the solemn atmosphere of the graveyard that serenaded with vicious cracks like lightning strikes of thin leather on skin. Pants and gritted grunts originated from the source, getting ever heavier and heavier as more lashes struck every part of the body that they could find.

In the background of all of that was a mass of malicious, maniacal cackling.

Moody - or as Harry found to be Barty Crouch Jr in disguise - stood in front of Harry with a wicked smile plastered on his face, whip readily in hand. "You like that, Potter?" He vehemently spat, his face twisted into an ugly rage that Harry thought suited his personality. "It's been an hour and you're still conscious, eh? Looks like you can take quite a beating…"

Behind him, a crowd of Death Eaters 'whooped' at the trash talk. Voldemort was amongst them, grinning in his new body, sitting on a pedestal that sat higher than the heads of all his followers. As if Harry expected anything else from the Dark Lord.

Harry used his taunting as a break, and reflected on his situation for a moment. With the knowledge he had now, he was vehemently relieved that Cedric - nor the other Champions whom he had become close friends with - had not beaten him to the trophy; Harry was happy that he had won the tournament. Harry was happy that he could take this torture for them. He wasn't sure if he could live with himself knowing someone else was experiencing this.

He couldn't help the shiver of thought that haunted the back of his mind: What else did they plan to do to him, now that they had him?

Barty reared back and let loose another crack at the boy. Blood flowed freely well past this point, dripping and conjoining into a small puddle at his feet, and it was the work of a healer that eventually closed his wound that kept Harry alive and conscious. He was practically naked, and the only thing that dressed him was his boxers (which were tattered because of that blasted whip, anyway, so it didn't really hide much).

Harry Potter, surging with newfound anger, spat blood in the face of Barty and inwardly smirked at the fiery reaction he caused out of the man. "M-my muggle guardians used to beat me worse than this," he snarled the best he could. That comment earned him a few more whips, one particularly nasty one that left his left cheek absolutely stinging, but it was worth it.

If Harry were to die tonight, then he wouldn't go down like a coward.

"Enough," Voldemort said finally, jumping down from his levitated throne. He wore a bit of a smile as he bore down on the gasping boy that was tied up, giddy like a child at Boxing Day. "Physical punishment seems to be ineffective…" Harry gulped, audibly, having a guess at where this was going to go, and Voldemort laughed heartily as he flourished a wand from beneath his robes, obviously making a point to show it off. "Let's see how well he can handle the Cruciatus Curse, then."

Harry's eyes widened and he barely had enough time to register what the Dark Lord just proclaimed before a hot coal ember seared through his skull, probing mercilessly at his brain with abandon. It felt as though his mind were about to burst. He screamed, and screamed, but he just couldn't hear himself, and it made him try to scream even louder. Did he break his vocal chords, by now? The burning in his throat almost confirmed it, but he couldn't dawdle on that information for any longer as Voldemort tightened his hold and increased the invisible ember to become even bigger than it was at the start. The screams were hysterical, too loud, burning too much, way too much, but his mouth would not close, not for a second.

Harry arched his back at the amount of pain he was experiencing, trying everything, anything, to put as much distance from the searing pain as he could, to replace the aching pain with duller, less excruciating pain. The rope dug into his wrists and ankles, rubbing the already raw skin while he wildly thrashed about, trying desperately to rid himself of this... torture. "Scream for me, potter!" Voldemort laughed, heartily, along with the chorus of Death Eaters behind him, and Harry couldn't help but oblige.

Harry squeezed his eyes tight enough to see stars amidst the darkness and let out a hoarse, grinding wail as Voldemort exploded his mind into a fit of pain, egging the curse on more and more as the minutes ticked by. He couldn't even count, like he was doing with the lashings; it was impossible to feel anything except for the searing pain coursing like lava through his brain.

There were no words that could describe the longing he felt for the sweet release of Death, despite the shame it brought to him. Every nerve in his body was screaming for him to beg, plead, do anything to stop, please fucking stop, but Harry instead took to screaming and grunting as his form of pleading; there was no way he would give Tom Riddle the satisfaction to plead for Death.

Harry's previous sentiment still stood, even through the Hell he was enduring; if he were to die, it will be with dignity.

A second later, the ache in his head, his body lessened, and he felt a cooling breeze where his binds were once grinding against his flesh.

He felt his body fall, first. Screaming, tortured, brink of deal screaming was faintly heard in the background, and Harry immediately wished they would stop. That someone would shut them up. Was it he that was making that sound? He wished it to stop. His body was numb and slippery with the blood and sweat he had accumulated during the duration of his torture.

"...r..y…"

His ears rang with a high pitch frequency, beating in time with his racing heart that felt like it was going to explode out of his chest. He felt hands groping his body and manhandling him, and on instinct he thrashed and punched and elbowed and moved away to the best of his weakened ability that he could give. It wasn't much, he knew that, but it didn't stop him from trying. Why wouldn't they just get away? He just wanted the pain to end, whether it be from him passing out at some point or him dying through the Cruciatus Curse, he didn't care, it was too much, way too much-

His brain throbbed in time with his labored breaths, and the screaming in the background finally ceased. He found his mouth open, but no noise came out. Oh. Was that screaming from him? At least it bloody stopped.

"..arry…" came the voice again, frantic, scared, clearer than the first. He suddenly felt a familiar warmth swimming through the lashes he got, and he found it similar to when he went to the nurse after Quidditch games. It felt… pleasant… mending...

It was at this time Harry opened his eyes, confusion setting in with unease. Wide, green pupils darted around him, trying to catch his bearings. He saw silhouettes surrounding him, and his instinct was to thrash around to try to dislodge himself from his captors, but his body didn't move. It couldn't move.

With each passing second, his vision became clearer and clearer, and eventually found himself staring in the worried eyes of the Headmaster. His body was literally hexed, frozen, in place, likely due to his thrashing, and he wanted nothing more than to bang his head off the ground to be rid of the dull ache that throbbed in his head, behind his eyes.

Behind the Headmaster, besides Madame Pomfrey staring at every inch of his exposed body, were rows upon rows of students, likely the entire student body of each school that came out to support the final task of the TriWizard Tournament, sitting pale with horrored expressions etched on their features. Cedric was in the front, eyes wide with worry as he struggled against the arms of Viktor Krum, who was holding him in place with hard eyes. Fleur was behind them, watching him with water streaking down her own.

His hearing came back after his vision, and he could hear frantic murmurs of spells and charms that were being worked through his system. He groaned, but what came out was a mixture of cracking and croaking. "Shh, Harry," he heard Dumbledore say, and after a flash of a light, Harry saw nothing but darkness as it swallowed him whole.

"'Arry," he heard, and in his peripheral vision he saw the blue uniform of the part-Veela girl making her way to the Champion table that the contenders of the TriWizard Tournament were to sit. He nodded in her direction as she sat down next to him, with some other girls from her school following suite. In her thick French accent she asked, "Why are you not with your friends?"

It took him all of his willpower not to scoff and turn away, but he swallowed the bit of food he had been chewing and shrugged. "Don't think I have any friends, now," he replied with a dull voice.

"What?" Came her reply, slightly confused.

Again, Harry shrugged, and found himself staring intently at his plate rather than the pretty girl sitting beside him. "Nobody believes me when I say that I didn't put my name in the cup. Even my so-called 'best friends." This earned her a gasp, and he snorted. "Have you noticed the glares in my direction?" He gestured around him. Students were, in fact, looking their way and whispering.

"I am used to that, so I did not notice," she replied.

"Right, you're part Veela, after all…" He had truly forgotten. Her illustrious charms did not work on him, for whatever reason, only feeling a slight pull rather than the giant tug most guys experienced.

"Yeah, well, almost everyone here are idiots," came a voice from behind him. Harry barely had the time to turn his head toward the newcomer before he, too, sat down next to him. Cedric smiled warmly at the boy. "I believe you, Harry, don't you worry. I tried talking to my house to take those bloody pins off, but I don't believe anyone listened." He shrugged. "Too proud, I guess."

The pins he was talking about were buttons, clasped to majority of the shirts in the Great Hall, saying proudly 'Support Cedric Diggory - The REAL Hogwarts Champion', and Harry's favorite, 'POTTER STINKS'.

Harry waved him off, his mood slightly lifted. "Don't worry about it, Cedric. I'm used to that kind of thing." He sighed. "I've gotten unwanted attention since I came to this school."

"You do not like your fame, Potter?" Another chimed in, this time taking the space across from the young wizard. Harry sat, mouth slightly agape, as Quidditch celebrity Viktor Krum sat and nodded slightly in his direction.

Shaking himself out of his daze, Harry allowed out a hallow laugh. "As if. I'd rather have a normal bloody life than this… shite," he finished, not quite finding the correct word he was looking for.

"Well, you 'ave friends in us, ezpezially after 'elping us with learning what ze first task was," Fleur said with her rich accent, smiling warmly.

Cedric reached around and pat Harry's back jovially. "Yeah mate, and there are those who don't wear the badge. I hear things, you have some supporters, though they quite keep to themselves…"

Harry shrugged. "Guess I don't see it. Gryffindor's are the one I hear the most, and believe me, I'm the most shunned person in the common room. Minus a few, like the Weasley twins and Neville."

Viktor barked something, loudly, but Harry didn't quite catch it. At the confused looks around him, he raised an eyebrow and said, "It is a… how you say… expletive, in my language?" He shrugged. "Fuck them."

Cedric chuckled and Fleur allowed the tiniest of smiles before they resumed their meal. For the first time since the TriWizard Tournament Champions were announced, Harry felt… better.

A sweeping feeling of nausea peaked in his chest as Harry woke, choking the feeling down despite the dizziness he felt. Bright lights raced in his vision, blurry and confusing, only adding to the feeling that rapidly found itself trying to escape.

Harry sat up abruptly and leaned off the hospital bed, gagging as he attempted to throw out something. Anything, out of his system. The only thing he managed to do was dry heave for several minutes, and only when he settled down did he see the audience watching with grim expressions. Madame Pomfrey was at his side, casting spells on his person as she tried to gauge his health.

To his left sat Albus, the twinkle in his eyes gone and replaced with that of concern. Minerva sat next to him, lips pursed with worry. Cedric, Viktor, and Fleur were all sitting on a bed to his right, watching expectantly.

"How do you feel, Harry?" It was lame to say, and Dumbledore inwardly cringed at the lack of politeness in his welcoming.

"...water," he croaked hoarsely, and winced at the burning that simply whispering caused him. His body ached everywhere, and he barely noticed Pomfrey being gone for a second before she returned with a glass.

She tipped the glass into his mouth slightly, allowing the water to coat his throat that relieved a lot of the burning for the moment.

Albus decided to continue, allowing for this time to have Harry catch his bearing a little. "I did my best to ease the pain in your mind, as the Cruciatus Curse, as you know, sometimes breaks it. You have a strong mind, Harry, as there was not much I had to fix. For that, I believe we all," he gestured to the occupants in the room, "are eternally grateful. What you went through could break adults much older than yourself. You are extremely lucky. I must ask, as much as I wish not to, what exactly transpired when you disappeared?" He paused and allowed his words to sink in.

The other members in the room exploded in rage.

"'Ow dare you ask 'im that! 'Ezpecizzally right now!" Fleur gasped, glaring in the elder wizard's direction.

"Did you see what we saw, Professor? He screamed himself hoarse the second he arrived! We had to silence him! And you want to ask him NOW, as soon as he comes to?" Cedric hotly agreed.

Poppy pursed her lips and glared. "I'm afraid I would have to agree with the students, Albus. I simply cannot let you interrogate Harry like that. He is still... fragile-" at this Harry very visibly grimaced, "-and will have plenty of time to answer any questions once he feels a little better."

"As much as I would like to wait, I must insist. I have wolves at my door, and I need the information as soon as possible, and as fresh in your mind as it can be." The twinkle was lost in his eyes, and Dumbledore frowned at their expressions. "If you'd like to have the others leave-"

"No!" Harry said, loud and rather quick, causing him to start coughing. "They-they can stay. Basically the only people deserving to know the truth, anyway…" He trailed his eyes to meet each of the champion's own. "...this could have happened to any one of you."

With emerald eyes that showed a hollow boy years older than his actual age, Harry recounted the events as he remembered them.

Harry recounted his immediate capture upon his arrival via the trophy portkey. How Pettigrew - and he stressed that he was indeed alive and well - tied him up like a slave and proceeded with a ritual of sorts to bring Voldemort a body, albeit skeleton in nature.

He recounted Barty Crouch Jr admitting capturing Mad-eye Moody and impersonating him throughout the year.

He recounted the countless lashes said man gave him, and he felt them stare at the white mark adorning his face (one that Poppy stressed would be gone within a few weeks time). Harry flinched at their stares, and barely felt his own fingers trace the dead skin idly, thinking back to spitting blood in Barty's face and goading him on by telling him his muggle relatives bested him in regards to torture.

He never said how he got that particular lash, and he wouldn't dare. It was his… most heavily guarded secret, after all.

He recounted, lastly, the Crucio's Voldemort gave him, one after the other. His throat tightened and his eyes stung at remembering the pain, but refused to look into the eyes of his friends to see pity, and pressed forward.

"After a while, the pain got too intense… and I felt myself falling, or something... I heard screaming… they were my screams, apparently," he glanced at Cedric as he had confirmed his fears that he had screamed his throat hoarse earlier. "That's all. I don't know how I got back." He finished, his tone defeated.

Albus nodded solemnly, looking very much defeated himself. He had no clue, either, but he was glad that he returned nonetheless.

The Great Hall the morning following the incident at the maze was quiet. Students talked in murmurs only, the shock of what happened still fresh in their minds. The Gryffindor table was in hysterics; Hermione Granger sat, silently bawling into the shoulder of Ginny, who looked nearly as upset as Granger was. "He needed us, and we ignored him! We didn't believe him!"

Ron was visibly frowning, and picked at the food in front of him with barely any interest, which shocked the table around him as he was usually stuffing mouthfuls of food into his maw. He struggled, himself, remembering the sounds that were coming from Harry when he appeared. How his body was glistening crimson in the moonlight thanks to copious amount of lubricant of blood and sweat.

It haunted him last night, and he couldn't even begin to imagine how Harry was feeling right now.

The other tables weren't faring any better; Cedric returned to the Hufflepuff table with bags under his eyes. He wore a grim expression, and glared at anyone who he remembered wearing the pins that went around the school. It was a miracle he didn't snap at anyone prodding him with questions.

The only table that was somewhat normal were the Slytherins, much to the surprise of no one. Draco was laughing at the way Potter looked and screamed, though he looked a bit paler than his normal self as he talked about it. Crabb and Goyle, his two cronies, smirked, but even then they didn't really egg him on like they usually did.

"I wish he would shut the fuck up," a voice complained at the end of the table, closest to the double door entrance. Shoulder length brown hair whipped around as she shook her head and nibbled on some buttered toast.

Her friend, a dirty blond with eyes resembling icicles, shrugged, not really feeling her appetite either if the half-eaten muffin was anything to go by. "You aren't used to it by now, Tracey?"

"Of course I'm used to it!" She napped, obviously irritated. "It's obvious how shit the situation is since yesterday. I mean, did you see what I saw, Daphne?"

Said girl rolled her eyes. "Of course I did. Potter came back looking… a lot worse for wear. That's what supposed to happen in something like this. It IS the TriWizard Tournament, after all."

"I'd have to agree with Tracey on this one," a dark-skinned boy drawled across from her. "That didn't happen because of the tournament. Those marks on his body were straight, and came from different directions." He shrugged. "Looked like a whipping to me."

"Because you've seen torture, Zabini," the Ice Queen scoffed.

Zabini merely raised his eyebrows at this, but didn't disagree with her.

"Whatever happened, it definitely didn't look like it came from the third challenge… none of the other challenges were THAT bad," Tracey said with a crease in her brow.

"Who would have done that to him, then?" Daphne inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"Who knows?" Zabini shrugged. "Death eaters, maybe? I mean, it's pretty obvious he didn't put his name in the cup like we all thought. There's a lot of people who don't like the Golden Boy enough to want him off'd."

Tracey snorted, but her worried voice betrayed her false humor. "Could be anyone in this bloody school. You notice that he's been alone since his name was picked, minus the other Champions?"

Daphne stared ahead for a moment, trying to confirm her friend's observation. "Now that you mention it… I don't recall Granger or Weasley being around him at all."

"That's why it's been so quiet," Tracey muttered, his distaste for Weasley evident. Her tone returned to concern. "You think he's been alone this whole time?"

Zabini put a finger under his chin as he thought. "Considering pretty much everyone was wearing those badges Malfoy and company made… yeah, I'd say that's a pretty good assumption."

Silence engulfed the group as they ate. There wasn't much to be said, and they listened with blank expressions as Malfoy droned on about Harry Potter coming back wailing like a madman, mimicking his outcry, to which his cronies merely snickered and allowed him to continue on.

"I know you all probably don't want to think about it, or care, really…" Zabini drawled, staring at the plate in front of him. "But besides the screaming Potter did, and the obvious lashing marks he had, did you notice the way he reacted to the Headmaster and Professors when they went up to him?"

"I'd rather not think about it," Tracey said quickly, but Zabini shrugged and let the topic die down.

Daphne, however, thought about it for a moment and picked up what her friend was hinting at. "He flinched away from them immediately, didn't he? Not in the confused way, either, like, genuine fear. He was shaking, I think, as well."

"My thoughts exactly," he replied evenly. "Definitely think he was tortured, no doubt in my mind now that I think about it."

"How do you know anything about torture?" Tracey asked, shaking her head, trying to be rid of the thoughts from the previous night.

"My family had a history with Death Eaters," Zabini shrugged, and they left it at that.

A few days went by and Harry found himself detesting the solitude the infirmary offered. His friends tried to visit him, namely Hermione and Ron, but he couldn't see them. No, rather, he didn't want to see them.

After they turned their backs on him when he needed them most, he certainly wasn't going to try and 'make peace'. Sirius was right when he said he would find out who his true friends were when he was brought into this mess, and it hurt Harry to find out that they didn't file into that category.

Hermione and Ron, no matter how bad they felt, were no longer his true friends.

Harry didn't think they could go back to the 'golden trio' they once were, and he didn't really want to. The more he thought about it, the more flaws he saw in each of their character; Ron was a git who saw only his perspective and hated anything that went against his opinion, and never bothered to hear or even consider the opposing side.

He figured out, with a bitter amused smile, that he and Malfoy weren't so different, what with their bigoted opinions and their unfiltered mouths.

Hermione, though meaning well, constantly barked down on both him and Ron and became obviously angry whenever one of them did something better than her. She had a know-it-all attitude that was frustrating to listen to, and rarely made situations better.

He couldn't help but reflect on the first night he arrived at Hogwarts, his first year. Ron was the first person he met, and even then the first question out of the Weasley's mouth was 'Bloody Hell, you're Harry Potter!' He suspected had Ron met him without trying to get on his good side, Harry wouldn't have befriended him, as he reminded Harry of his cousin Dudley way too much for his liking.

He couldn't help but wonder what could have happened had he picked a different house. The sorting hat offered profusely to put him in Slytherin, but Harry allowed his friends to cloud his own judgment and picked Gryffindor, mostly because that's where they were, and that's where Malfoy wasn't.

Those thoughts quickly went away as Madame Pomfrey came back into the room with several vials of potions scooped in her arms. "Mr. Potter," she said sternly, "how are you feeling?" She sat the bottles on the stand at his bedside.

Harry eyes the potions warily before answering honestly, "Better. My migraine finally went away, and my hands stopped shaking, at least."

She pursed her lips and offered the bottles one by one until he took them each. "These will help keep those headaches gone, and help fade the rest of those scars you have. The one on your face will take longer than the others, considering how deep of a gash it left. The Unforgivable you were subjected to... has a tendency to cause headaches to creep for a while afterwards. You are to come back once a week for the rest of the term to keep taking them until your scars are completely gone, are we clear?"

Harry nodded and allowed a small smile to form his lips. "Yes. I know just how much you love having me around, Madame Pomfrey."

She snorted and once he finished, grabbed the potion bottles and nodded toward the door. "You are free to go, Harry. Please take it easy for the rest of the year. Oh!" She squealed, nearly dropping the flasks. "Professor Dumbledore asked me to have you attend the Great Hall for dinner tonight. Unfortunately, he is obligated to announce you as the winner still, and since it's a magical contact you are bound to, he - and you - must oblige."

Harry groaned and put his head in his hands. On one hand, he really didn't want to garner any more attention, considering how much of a fool he was sure he made himself when he came back, but on the other he understood the need to fulfill the magical contract. "Alright," he replied, and smiled slightly at her as he made his way to the door.

Once he stepped out, he didn't really know where he should be going. He knew the other Champions and their respective schools had already left, and the last thing he wanted to do was go back to the common room to face anyone at this time.

And so he decided to head out to the lake, where the second task was held. He enjoyed the area, despite the bad memories it gave him. He felt the current of wind gently blow on his exposed skin, and couldn't help the goosebumps that formed because of it. He found a large rock on the far edge of the lake and made himself comfortable.

He sighed and closed his eyes, enjoying the sounds of lapping waves as they crashed lightly on the rocky shore. Splashes from various animals echoed from different areas, and it relaxed him slightly.

Harry couldn't help but finally feel alone, truly alone. He felt like an outcast in this school, which was nothing normal, he was at all honest. He had known about the whispers of the previous years and had felt the cold stares at his back everywhere he went. When he defeated the Basilisk and saved Ginny, those whispers and glares subsided slightly, but they never really went away.

New whispers, thanks to magazines and tabloids, surfaced, accusing him of things like it was HE who brought the large snake into the school, with his ability to speak in Parseltongue, or that he was the 'Heir of Slytherin' and had the makings of being the next 'Dark Lord'.

He didn't mind those that much; he knew they would come no matter how hard he tried to stop them. He was used to it by now.

What he wasn't used to, though, was having no one at his side to help him through everything. Sirius tries, but with him being still a wanted criminal, his Godfather had no choice but to lay low, no matter how much he wanted to see and visit his Godson.

Harry sat there for a while, shivering as the afternoon turned into evening. He brought his wand to his wrist and whispered 'Tempest,' showing the time to be close to dinner time. With an audible groan he forced himself to his feet, and began walking toward the Great Hall, one foot in front of the other.

When he opened the doors to the dining hall, everything became quiet, and time seemed to slow.

One or two pairs of eyes that fell on him rapidly doubled and tripled as they whispered his appearance. There were very few angry faces in the crowd, from what he was able to discern from his peripheral vision. The majority of the stares, he realized, were those of pity and fright.

Harry barely held in his angry chuckle at the irony of it all. He'd much rather those looks of loathing to those of pity and 'concern'. Where was that when he entered the damn competition in the first place?

Emerald eyes hardened, dead like husks, and he felt his face form an impassive mask. He was not going to let emotions show through, not if he had anything to do with it.

He soon realized, as he walked in the center of the room toward the rapidly rising Dumbledore and company, that they were staring at the lash on his face. It took an enormous amount of willpower to not stroke the ever-fading scar of whiplash, something he found himself doing quite some time.

It was taking way too much time to leave, he thought at that moment, and he hated how it served everyone as a reminder of what happened those few days ago.

"Harry," Dumbledore greeted him, arms outstretched with the trademark twinkle in his eye. The student population watched in hushed whispers, and Harry felt their stares burning holes in his back.

"Professor," he nodded back. "No offense to you, sir… but can we get this over with?"

Harry noticed the elderly man frown for a moment before nodding in understanding. Harry blew out a quiet sigh of relief he didn't know he was holding, and turned around at the Headmaster's request.

"Harry!" Harry inwardly groaned at the person yelling his name, yet refusing to look at the Gryffindor table in its entirety. He didn't want to deal with this, deal with her, especially in front of a large crowd.

Hermione was standing, wearing a watery frown when he didn't even so much as glance in her direction. She continued to stand for a few moments before sitting back down with a choked back sob.

"That was cold," Tracey had muttered at their end of the Slytherin table, watching everything with a bated breath.

"And awkward," Daphne scoffed. "Typical Gryffindor behavior."

Blaise leaned back in his seat and watched Harry with a curious gaze. "Look at his expression," he drawled lowly. "Putting up a mask in front of the whole school, now. Remind you guys of someone?"

His last comment ended with eyes glancing in Daphne's direction, to her dismay. She frowned at him, trying to kick him from under the table. "Don't go comparing me to the likes of Potter," she growled, obviously less than pleased at his jib.

Zabini didn't back down, however, and leaned forward to his original sitting position. "It's not that different from what you do to everyone," he replied evenly. A cruel smirk found its way slithering on his lips as he added, "Ice Queen."

Said Ice Queen glared daggers at her friend but remained quiet. She allowed a moment to recollect her emotions and compose herself, much to the amusement of Zabini, and returned her focus on Dumbledore and his Golden Boy.

"Attention, everyone!" Dumbledore announced finally. "This may be a few days overdue, and half of the champions are back at their respective schools, but I bring Mr. Harry Potter forward this day," he gestured to the stoic boy at his side, "to congratulate him on being the victor of the TriWizard Tournament, and bringing glory and honor to the noble school of Hogwarts."

There was no applause, and seeing the awkward tension of the stares and glares in their direction, Albus continued onward. "I have already done this for the other champions from Beauxbaton and Durmstrang, respectively. It is at this time I complete the requirements for the Magical Contract set forth by the Goblet for Mr. Cedric Diggory," he bowed, "and the Champion, Mr. Harry Potter, so mote it be."

A white light lit up and swirled hotly around Harry, Dumbledore, and Cedric, who was still sitting down. It vanished as quickly as it came.

The silence was deafening, and Harry couldn't help but feel self-conscious at that very moment. Judgmental stares came from every direction, even from the staff's table behind them. At least no one's wearing the pins anymore, Harry thought wryly.

He turned to Dumbledore and murmured quietly, "May I be dismissed, Headmaster?" The lack of noise in the Great Hall was astounding, and Harry knew that his murmur was heard throughout the large room, as quiet as it was.

Dumbledore, for his own part, merely looked sadly at the boy before nodding an affirmative. Without a second glance, Harry walked toward the double doors, eyes forward and hard as he could make them. He ignored any sputtering from his left as his 'friends' tried to get his attention.

He tried to make it as clear as he could that he was having none of it.

"Ouch, awkward again," Tracey sniffed, hiding her amusement. "Not that they don't deserve it."

Zabini grunted in agreement. "Rightful twits, they are."

"Still, you gotta feel for Potter. I couldn't imagine being alone at a time like this." Tracey shuddered. "He's gotta be in a bad place, and I'm sure his head is his own worst enemy."

Her friends said nothing in response to that, and finished their dinner in mostly silence.

Harry Potter found himself on a bridge outside the school, suspended over what looked to be nothing but empty air that fell to an endless void. It was narrow, and from Harry could tell it was hardly used by students. This time of year, it was an unorthodox route to get to any destination, much less a classroom or common room.

The sun was setting, now. Orange hues blended with pink, mingling into a color that lit up the sky in a spectacular fashion. There was a trace amount of a breeze, enough to chill the exposed skin of the TriWizard Champion, but Harry payed it no heed.

He was… lost in himself. And Harry wasn't sure that was exactly a good thing.

"Nice view." He almost missed the low voice beside him, and caught himself when his initial reaction was to jump at the unexpected noise.

Curiosity overwhelmed him and he peered over to his side to find a boy, about his age, leaning on the railing on both of his crossed arms, staring forward. Harry had seen him before, but knew not of his name. His house, though, was evident. Green and silver adorned his robes and clothing, much like red and gold adorned his.

"I guess." Harry replied lamely, turning his head back to the sunset in front of him. The thought most evident in the foreground of his mind was that it was a Slytherin, a foreign one at that, talking to him. His guard should have been up, but honestly? Harry couldn't bring himself to care.

He didn't know how desperately he wanted conversation, no matter how guarded it was.

The boy snorted in an answer. "You can drop the mask, Potter," he said, and shot the Gryffindor boy an amused look. His statement made Harry's stomach sink. Was it that obvious?

"No, thanks," Harry replied quickly. "I rather like it on."

"I don't blame you," he replied. The Slytherin boy stood, finally, and held out a hand. Harry didn't miss that he kept his other hand in view, laying gently on the railing. "Blaise Zabini."

His movements were calculated, saying 'Both my hands are visible, and no trickery is happening'.

Harry almost snorted at this and stared at the hand offered for a moment. Truth be told, the Slytherin boy probably had some sort of plan in mind from this conversation, something he wanted to take from associating himself with Harry Potter, but Harry for the life of him couldn't figure out that he could take away from this conversation. Knowledge of his current attitude and emotional state, maybe? His story on what happened that night?

He shook his hand. "What do you want from me?" His tone wasn't cold or calloused, just confused.

Zabini shrugged. "Been watching you since… you know. Figure since Granger and Weasley were shitty human beings, you'd like some company." He smirked. "Unless you can't stand talking to a Slytherin?"

This time, Harry did snort. "That doesn't answer my question."

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't it, though?"

"Answering my question with a question won't get you anywhere."

Blaise was about to reply before he heard voices from where Blaise surely entered from. He groaned, quickly giving Harry a pitiful look. "Where the hell did you go, Zabini?" It was a girl, two girls actually, who found themselves stopping at the edge of the bridge and staring hesitantly at the sight in front of them.

"Caught me," Zabini said, raising his hands in mock surrender.

The frontmost Slytherin girl, the one who spoke, took the lead, with the other hot on her heels. The front girl had dirty blonde hair, falling just to the small of her back and swaying in time with her pace. Her face was gorgeous, he realized, beauty befitting of a pure-blood of her stature. Her eyes, though, were the most mesmerizing part of her features, which were pretty much unreadable.

They were hard and calculating, and Harry almost couldn't look away.

The other girl was pretty, with short dark-brown hair that fell to her shoulders. She was hugging books to her chest, while the blond had them under her armpits with her arms folded under her rather large bust (that Harry may have looked for a fraction of a second).

They all stopped and stared. Harry was the first to speak, finally able to find his voice. "I, uh, can leave if you want."

Blaise held up a hand. "Please. You were here first. Didn't know my friends would come looking for me."

The brown haired girl piped up. "What are you doing over here anyway?" Harry caught the unspoken question of "What are you doing with Harry bloody Potter?"

"Talking," Blaise replied smoothly.

Harry frowned in confusion. The two girls were genuinely confused and curious, and that made Harry ever more confused himself. If his friends didn't even know why he was over here, then what was the Slytherin's purpose for talking to him?

He was a snake; surely it couldn't be just for idle chat?

The thought that three members of the Slytherin house were in front of him, talking, secluded and away from everyone while being on a bridge suspended over nothing completely out of the way should have made him on painfully on guard.

But… Harry didn't feel that. Once again, he couldn't bring himself to care.

If they wanted to off him, then so be it. Wouldn't be the worst thing to happen to me, anyway.

But he didn't feel any hostility toward him, quite the opposite. Blaise and the blond girl were quite difficult to read, but the brown haired girl seemed quite nervous. She continued to glance at him with a look, but Harry was having a difficult time trying to pinpoint what exactly it was. Pity? Sympathy?

"Why are you talking to him, then?" The brunette pointed at Harry.

"Can't two straight guys just enjoy the beautiful sunset together, Tracey?" The blond gestured to the sunset, which was growing darker and darker with each passing minute, very obviously dripping sarcasm and insinuating something inappropriate.

"Daphne, stop being a bitch," Blaise drawled, and Daphne shrugged, like she didn't do anything wrong.

"What, then? Surely you aren't batting for the other team, now, Blaise."

Zabini sniggered. "Please. Still got my sights on a certain girl from Hufflepuff, thank you very much." He held up a hand, stopping the next question, looking at Harry this time. "I came to talk to him, because… I can sympathise. What he went through. And it's tough."

The two girls looked taken aback. Daphne broke out of her mask with wide eyes, and Tracey let out a frightened squeal and brought her hands up to her mouth. How could they not have known this about their friend?

Harry, though, clenched the railings with white knuckles. He set his jaw, hard, and forced himself to look ahead. His rage was boiling, and he could feel the stares from the Slytherin burning holes in him. "You don't know anything what I went through," he replied through clenched teeth.

Zabini shrugged, and replied with a calmness that surprised even Harry. "You were whipped, from the looks of it, and then judging from the way you reacted when you popped up out of nowhere, it looked to be the after-effects of prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus Curse."

Harry shook, ignoring the startled gasps of the girls who suddenly stared at him, unable to stop the flooding memories of that night that swam through his head. Red light filled his already blackened vision, he could almost feel the pain from the curse swelling in his brain, in his nerves, everywhere. Tears he didn't know he held swelled to the corner of his eyes and were trying to force their way through like a dam about to be ruptured. "I take it I'm not wrong?" Zabini said, which earned him a hard smack, but from who, Harry didn't know.

"Zabini, you insensitive-"

"Y-you're right," Harry finally replied, and fell to his knees that suddenly found themselves unable to support his weight. His legs were shaking, he was shaking, jerky movements that threatened to rack his entire body with shivered tremors. The tears that were threatening to pour out were finally released, silent but unrelenting. They rolled down his cheeks in a steady stream, making the tops of his robes soaked in tears.

A hand was placed on his shoulder, and Harry's head was immediately flooded with the sound of a loud 'crack' of a whip and felt himself tensing and writhing away from the touch, wanting anything to get away, distance himself from it. A solid grip prevented him from going anywhere, and Harry finally opened his eyes in panic.

Blaise was at his side, arms holding his shoulders to prevent anything dangerous from happening should he continue to freak out. Blue eyes and blond wisps of hair were inches from his own emerald green, wide and concerned, and he fought the urge to push her away.

He tried to calm himself down, and he took several deep breaths before attempting to stand, avoiding eye contact as much as he could. His legs were wobbly, still, but better than they were before. "S-sorry," he muttered shamefully, attempting to dab away the wetness on his cheeks and in his eyes.

Before the trio of Slytherins could say anything, he rushed past them and into the castle, ignoring the worried looks following his retreating form.

"Harry!" He heard Zabini running after him. He wanted nothing more than to run away from that embarrassing situation, those eyes that gave him pity, the false-esque worry etched on each of their faces.

Blaise finally caught up and stopped Harry with a steady grip on his shoulder. Harry spun around and looked at the dark-skinned boy with an angry, defensive expression. "What, Blaise?" He heard himself snap. "What do you want? To make fun of the TriWizard Champion kid because he broke down like a pansy? You think I want this attention? The Boy-Who-Lived can't handle a fucking beating, can he? What do you want?!"

The corridor he found himself in was empty, along with most of the wing they were in. Torches blazed against the walls in an ominous fashion, and Harry's voice echoed through the marble halls, sounding like a broken boy who felt trapped in a corner.

By this point, Daphne and Tracey showed up, panting. They watched Harry shout at Zabini, and they could tell Harry was frightened and angry.

But Harry continued to vent. His eyes were getting wetter, but he didn't care. "I bet Malfoy put you lot up to this-"

"As if, Potter," Blaise interrupted with a snap in his voice. "We hate Malfoy just about as much as you do."

"Then why do you care?" He snapped back.

"Because I know I can relate to you, Potter!" The dark-skinned boy yelled back, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "I already told you! I know what you're going through, it fucking sucks! And I don't wish what happened to you or me on my worst enemies! The fact that The Daily Prophet wrote about this shit like it's gossip is beyond fucked up, and you don't deserve it."

Harry stared, puzzled. "You-you were-?"

"Tortured, yeah. Death Eaters, when I was ten. Crucio'd until I couldn't think straight."

Harry frowned and suddenly found the marble floor oddly fascinating. "I-I'm sorry."

"Me too," came the reply, and the male Slytherin stuffed his hands into the depths of his pockets. "So… you wanna talk about it?"

"No," was his immediate response. Harry stood there, though, body still shivering slightly from the adrenaline the flashbacks gave him. "Yes - I don't know…"

"Being alone after something like this isn't a good idea," Tracey said from the sidelines. Harry had forgotten they were even there, and his head snapped in their direction. They both looked concerned, judging from their reaction when they learned their friend was tortured. Daphne hid it better, behind those icicles she called eyes, but his probably weren't any brighter.

Doubt plagued his mind, hissing at him to ignore these people. The more he thought about it, the more it didn't make sense - any of it.

It was after thinking long and hard that Harry decided to bring the mask back, hardening his eyes and thinning his lips into a fine line. "How do I know I can trust you - any of you?" He asked quickly. "I can't even trust my friends, and here comes along three Slytherins who suddenly care about my feelings, and what happened to me?"

Harry turned around and walked away, ignoring the words that were hanging on their lips and leaving the three of them standing there, watching. "Sorry, but I can't," he said over his shoulder, and disappeared around the corner.

The days after that engagement were tiring, for both parties. Harry was emotionally exhausted, though he did feel better at releasing the tears that welled up for so long within him. He wouldn't admit it, but talking to people his age felt… good.

Even if he thought they had their own agenda, he missed the simple things, like conversation. Blue eyes, wide and glossy, immediately popped into his mind, but he shook the image away, literally.

The far corner of the library was his home for the next few days. After learning the 'Notice-Me-Not' charm and privacy spells, Harry immediately put them to use and dig a bit of studying.

Since Champions of the TriWizard tournament were not required to go to class, Harry had thought it be beneficial to everyone to catch up and learn as much as he could at his own pace.

Progress was slow moving at first, but the further he got into a subject, the more he grasped it and the better he became, eventually flying through medium-level books in just about every subject that mattered.

Harry decided right then to drop Divinitation; it was useless to him, and he (along with Ron) had decided it to be an easy grade. Instead he took up Runes, something that he could definitely find himself going deeper with, and something that became somewhat of a hobby at this point. His nose was almost always stuck in a Runes book, eagerly soaking all the knowledge he could.

Harry sat in the Great Hall one morning, significantly earlier to avoid a crowd staring his direction, breaking a muffin apart and eating the pieces. He was at the Gryffindor table, and he half-wished the Champion's table was still present so he could eat there without any trouble.

"Harry!" Harry frowned. Speaking of trouble…

Hermione ran forward, followed closely by Ron, and enveloped him in a stiff hug. "Where were you - we've been looking everywhere for you?"

Inwardly, Harry groaned. He had sat there for too long; more and more people were coming into the Great Hall for breakfast, and majority had eyes in their direction as Hermione held Harry at an arms length, waiting for a response.

"Around," He replied cooly.

"Mate," Ron finally said, stepping forward, sporting a frown of his own, "surely you can't still be mad at-"

Harry felt a growl escape his throat and shoved Hermione's hands away from his body. "Yes, Ron, surely I can. It's surely justified when you lot turned your backs on me when I bloody needed you the most."

"H-Harry," Hermione said sadly, but he cut her off again before she had a chance to say anything.

"Stuff it, Hermione. I don't need your excuses. I see where you both stand, only having my backs when it's convenient to you." Harry stood up at this, putting distance between them and him. His heart wrenched at the pitiful cries Hermione was producing. Ron was turning red, his anger probably at a boiling point by now, but he pressed on.

"Don't talk to Hermione like that," Ron snarled. "How the bloody hell were we supposed to know you didn't put your name in the cup?"

"Do you even know me Ron? I thought we were friends? When have I EVER wanted to be the center of attention? Why the hell would I want to be a part of that tournament to begin with?"

"Oh come off it, mate," Ron laughed, and Harry grimaced when he noticed it sounded exactly like Malfoy's. "How do you know what friends are supposed to be like? You never had any before you met us! We all know you like to leave people in the dust behind you, don't try and hide it. It's just like you, always making this about you!"

"Do you think I like this, Ron? Do you think I like having no fucking parents, living with the Dursleys, having no family? Do you think I like almost dying every year?"

"Harry, I don't think that's what Ron-" Hermione tried, sensing Ron about to explode off.

"Honestly Hermione?" Harry laughed, but it felt hollow. Empty. "I don't care. I'm done with you, Ron. Not worth my time. And Hermione?" She frowned when he shook his head, chuckling. "Keep sticking up for this git. It'll get you places."

And after a few calming breaths, Harry left, letting that last statement hang in the air.

Thankfully, like a breath of fresh air, Harry caught sight of the Weasley twins on his way out, who had finally entered the dining hall. He made a Bee-line towards them, infinitely thankful to see their faces for once.

They looked frightened, considering the tense aura the seemed to originate from the Boy-Who-Lived himself, but eased at the small smile Harry allowed on his face. "Here, you lot," he said a little forcefully, shoving a bag full of Galleons in their direction. "Tournament winnings. Received it this morning. Put it toward your joke shop, yeah?"

They look stunned, and Fred was the first to catch his bearings. "Our ickle Harrikins is giving us his winnings?"

George piped up, now, equally shocked. "Surely, mate, we can't accept this-"

"As much as we want to. We don't feel that we-"

"Deserve this. Any of it."

"Especially after ickle little Ronnikins being a righteous twat."

They spoke in turns, something Harry was very much used to, and grinned at them, this time genuine. "If anyone here deserves it, it's you guys. Make sure your shop is a roaring success, and I'll consider it even."

That alone earned him a smile from both, and Harry left before they could utter another word.

There was quite the buzz at the Slytherin table, with Malfoy obviously being the most prominent.

At the end of the table, though, another private discussion was taking place.

"Finally told them off," Tracey said, sounding quite pleased.

Zabini hummed in agreement. "About time."

"Wish they didn't have to do it for all of us to hear. You'd think Granger and Weasley would learn to keep it in the common room," Daphne supplied, biting the egg sandwich in her hands.

"What, and miss this juicy gossip?" Tracey snorted. "Pfft. As if. Bring it on, Gryffindorks."

The trio laughed, and continued eating their breakfast. "Still, I feel bad about Harry through all this," the brunette added as an afterthought.

"I'm sure the last thing Potter wants is pity," Daphne countered.

Zabini grunted in agreement. "You really think Weasley and Granger were his first friends?"

"You caught that too?" Daphne said, dabbing her lips with a napkin.

"Wouldn't surprise me," piped up an arrogant, pompous voice from beside them.

In unison, the trio looked up to see Malfoy, beaming like the ferret he is. "You know what I heard?" He asked, plopping himself down right next to Zabini, "that Potter was living with muggles before he came here."

"The Dursleys, he called them, yeah?" Blaise responded, keeping his voice even. The girls knew he hated Draco, but it was hard to pass up an exchange of information like this. The dark-skinned boy was simply egging Draco on in hopes of getting some more information about Potter, for whatever reason he wanted.

"Right," Draco said between mouthfuls. Daphne and Tracey rolled their eyes, but said nothing at his eating etiquette. "Heard father talking about them once. Heard they were right monsters. You know, for being muggles."

"That bad?" Daphne supplied, playing along.

Draco shrugged. "Don't know for sure, heard a little of this and a little of that. Bit of a bitch for letting it happen to him, he is. They're only muggles. He's worse than a Mudblood if he can't handle simple muggles, if you ask me."

He finished his sandwich and stood, leaving them without another word, which suited the three of them just fine.

"Now that I think about it, it might explain why he wears such awful clothes all the time," Tracey commented, her frown returning.

"What, you think he was abused at home or something?" Daphne rolled her eyes at her.

"Tracey might be onto something," Zabini said, running a finger under his chin. "Think about it. Our first year the kid was skinnier than a toothpick. Even now, he's still pretty skinny. Definite sign of malnutrition."

"That doesn't explain his baggy clothes," the blond frowned.

"Maybe he never had clothes of his own," Blaise shrugged. "Could be used hand-me-downs, or stuff he found in the bin. Rubbish clothes."

"He could still buy his own clothes, couldn't he? I mean, he's Harry Potter, he's surely loaded." Daphne shot back.

"Could be his mentality," Zabini shrugged, finally admitting defeat. "Why don't you ask him if you're so curious?"

She snorted. "And what, get at him under a beautiful sunset like you did? Please. I doubt he wants to see us ever again after he freaked out the last time."

Blaise frowned. "Do you blame him? That curse is no joke."

Daphne huffed, remembering the emotional conversation that followed that little argument. "Suppose you're right. Still, acted like a bit of a prat, if you ask me."

"I don't think he means it, Daph," he replied. "I've been thinking about it a lot lately. That guy doesn't add up. He's an anomaly… everyone thinks he's some hero who slayed You-Know-Who, but did he seem like that to you?" He nodded his head toward Malfoy. "Does what Malfoy just said make him seem like that? It sounded like the kid was abused."

The girls sat quietly, drinking in the information, but Zabini pressed on.

"And with that tidbit of knowledge from the ferret, along with what Weasley was saying, I'm assuming he was sheltered as well. Them being his first friends, period? Not even muggle friends?" Zabini ran a hand through his hair.

His friends said nothing, brows furrowed in thought. Tracey was the first to speak, her tone soft. "He doesn't deserve that, then, if that's the case."

"Why do you care so much, Zabini?" Daphne asked immediately after. "Why spend all this time thinking about Potter if you aren't batting for the other team?"

Blaise shrugged. "Imagine it was you in his shoes. Wouldn't you want someone to help you?"

"What about the Headmaster, then? Surely with the amount of time they're together, Dumbledore would have stepped in to protect his Golden Boy," Daphne countered. Tracey nodded in agreement.

"Unless he does know, and just doesn't do anything about it," Blaise said.

"But why would he do that? What does he have to gain from any of this?" Tracey replied, folding her arms.

Blaise pursed his lips and shrugged. "Keeping Potter in such a place like that for so long? Surely he should have known. He's Harry bloody Potter."

"It doesn't add up," Daphne agreed finally. "So there's something more going on, you think, behind the scenes?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying," the boy replied. "Think he has a magical guardian?"

The girls shrugged. "We know his muggle guardians are his primary guardians, but there has to be a magical guardian who takes care of finances and trivial business that muggles aren't privy to," Daphne explained. Tracey rolled her eyes. Trust in Daphne to know the ins-and-outs of Wizarding Law.

"Then, do you think Harry has any family left who would fit the bill?" Tracey asked.

"If he did, do you think he would be staying with that muggle family?" Blaise countered immediately. "Still, we could do a bit of research to find out."

"Remind me again why we should even bother?" Daphne asked, raising an eyebrow.

Blaise laughed at that. "Because we're Slytherin. And if I didn't know any better, something is definitely going on when it comes to Potter. Something fishy. And I can't believe no one's asked about it before."

"Fine. Library after dinner, then?" Daphne offered. Her two friends readily agreed at their meeting place and time and left the breakfast hall for their respective classes.

Wet ripples lapped at wet stone, riding the breeze that originated from it. The sound was loud, crescendoing down the circumference of the lake. Sand and mud were abysmal around it, with rocks and stones scattered literally everywhere. Harry liked to think it was the reason the lake was so clear.

"Expecto Patronum," Harry murmured, pointing his wand in front of him. White mist escaped his wand like a powerful hose, shooting out into a directed area until the white mist took the shape of a stag.

The corporel creature lunged forward and on top of the water, where it stood and sniffed the air. Harry watched in amusement. He'd been doing this for a while, casting the spell over and over again until the effort was all but naught.

The days blended together, it seemed. While he didn't have to worry about classes for the remainder of the year, he focused instead on improving parts of himself. Early morning he exercised, basic training like running, curls, and pushups. His muscles felt like they were on fire, half the time, but he endured through it and now found each task a little easier to perform.

Besides the physical aspects of himself, Harry was pouring through books any chance he could get. The library, though he was loathe to admit it, was a wondrous thing, and he found himself enjoying the amount of knowledge he was soaking up.

Runes was by far the easiest subject to him, though he knew it shouldn't be. He remembered Hermione constantly complaining that the subject was ridiculously hard to grasp. Then there was Harry, but when had he ever been normal?

The books he read explained that the courses were strictly theoretical, but Harry saw potential. Theory was important, especially the history behind such a tricky subject, but it wasn't completely useless; it was in the manner that one used them that determined how useful it could be.

Runic scriptures, he realized early, were symbols that held significant magical power. Each symbol represented something different, ranging from protection to obliteration. Powering each rune with magic in different orders could come up with something completely original that each can have it's own task, if set up perfectly, and went hand-in-hand with wards, in a sense.

In another sense, it was also 'technically' wandless magic, since the magic was originating from the rune and not the wand.

Harry's interest peaked at the mention of wandless magic; he had read about it several hours ago when he finished one of the many books about runes. In theory, only witches and wizards that had an exceptional grasp on magic and the control of their magic could perform such a task. Eventually, the older a wizard gets and the more 'in tune' they get with their magic, simple spells like 'lumos' or 'accio' can be performed without a wand, sometimes like second nature.

Harry tried to think of a time he had seen that from any adult he knew, but couldn't think of a single example.

The only example he could think of was with brooms; in their first year, they were told to hover their hands over their brooms and 'command' their broom upward. Harry and Draco, he remembered, were the only ones who were able to do it on their first go.

Feeling bored and daring, Harry got down from the perch he had been sitting on and grabbed a rock. Gingerly, he placed the rock on a boulder that previously housed his bottom and stood over it, hand hovering over the smaller stone.

"Up," he commanded, and almost fell off his feet at the force that the rock shot upward at.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, dropping the rock like it had been on fire. Harry noticed the stag trotting over at the sign of distress from it's creator, and protectively stood close by.

Grabbing his wand and placing it on the stone, Harry took a few paces backwards before bringing his hand up in the direction of his wand. "Lumos," he said tentatively, and was a little put back when nothing happened.

"Lumos," he said a little louder, and watched as a spark erupted from the tip of the wood. "Lumos!" He said forcefully, and gasped loudly when light illuminated from his wand.

For a few minutes Harry stared unbelievably at his hand, and back at his wand. He reached out toward his wand, and again commanded forcefully, "Accio wand!"

The stick of wood flew in his direction and Harry caught it in anticipation. "What the hell is going on," he muttered, watching his wand with an incredulous expression.

He suddenly ran forward and grabbed all his belongings. Without a word he rushed toward the castle, his intended location being the library.

The stag watched on, and if Harry had been more keen to notice, it looked on with a sense of pride before fading into nothingness.

It was well past curfew when Harry arrived under his invisible cloak. Various Professors and prefects were roaming the halls for stragglers, but Harry was nimble enough to ease past them.

This wasn't his first rodeo, after all.

A simple muttering of 'alohamora' unlocked the library door and Harry eased himself inside, finding the darkness much to his liking.

Harry didn't take the cloak off just yet, since he heard hushed voices the deeper he went inside. Harry quickly darkened his wand and quietly casted a Silenco charm on his feet to make as minimal noise as possible.

"-anything!" he finally heard through the hushed whispering. The voices were deep in the library, in a darkened corner near the restricted section. Harry barely noticed through the Notice-Me-Not spell and admittedly almost ran right through them, but stopped himself just in time. "I can't believe it. Not one person?"

"Besides his Godfather, nothing," came the whispered reply. "He couldn't be the magical guardian, because he's been a prisoner for years! No one from the Potter name or the Black name is even close to being considered."

Harry stiffened at this; what in Merlin's name were they talking about? Surely-

"Then Potter doesn't have a magical guardian," someone said softly. "Or, rather, since he has no family that is alive or able, one was appointed for him."

"Think it's Dumbledore?"

Harry stood, stunned. The darkness concealed their identities, but he heard three distinctive whispers conversing with one another. His brain didn't have to ponder for long to guess who those three students were.

What information could they be looking for? Why were they talking about a magical guardian? Frankly, why do they even care? What significance does that prove? Irrational anger was boiling inside him, but he listened onwards, trying to cool his tempered thoughts.

"I'd guess so," one said back. "Daph, legally, how does one get appointed to being a magical guardian?"

Harry heard nothing, and he was immediately worried that he had been caught, but the blond's whispers broke the deafening silence. "Through his parents' will, is the most likely option. Harry must know who his magical guardian is, then. Unless you think Dumbledore withheld the will from him, too. That would be..." She let her sentence trail off.

Shock overtook his body, with rage trailing just by a hair. How could he have been so ignorant? Of course his parents had a will. They were dead; most of the dead carried wills to gift their possessions to those they want instead of having the government dictate who gets what.

If he wasn't even privy to his parents' will, what other information had he been withheld from?

"Did Malfoy mention Hagrid being quite chummy with Harry and his friends?" Tracey whispered to them after a pause.

"He can't be Potter's guardian; he's half giant. They must be pure human, unless they're related by blood," Daphne corrected.

"Then the only other alternative is Dumbledore, which is what we thought originally," Blaise said.

"Then we're back at square one," Daphne sighed, leaning back in her chair. Harry was finally accumulating himself to the darkness, and could see their silhouettes blending in with black. "Potter's life is being controlled by someone, and we know nothing still. Unless we ask Potter himself, of course."

Tracey snorted. "What, Ice Queen, you gonna go up to him and ask if he knows who his magical guardian is?"

"I don't know who it is," Harry found himself saying. The trio stiffened and felt three pairs of wands pointed in the direction he was standing.

"Who's there?" Blaise ordered in a normal voice, but still quiet.

Damning everything to Hell, Harry took off his cloak and illuminated his wand a smidge; his face was visible, and he was frowning, but he didn't care. "I don't know who it is. I don't… I haven't even seen my parent's will. I didn't know they had one."

They all stared at him and Harry saw Blaise's body lean back, deflated. "Merlin," he muttered. Daphne and Tracey lowered their wands, finally, eyeing the Gryffindor with a suspicious gaze.

"What are you doing here, Potter?" The former asked, a bit heated.

"Came to the library to look up some… stuff," he muttered, "overheard you guys talking. Why are you looking up my family history? Looking to dig up some dirt on Harry Potter, are you?"

"Please," Daphne scoffed, rolling her icicle eyes. "Your life is an enigma, and we're trying to figure out why."

"Why do you care?" He shot back, just as fierce.

"Because nothing about you makes sense, Potter," Blaise finally chimed in, sensing the agitation. "You know nothing about anything, and we're all wondering why you were left in the dark. Do you honestly think you know nothing about your family because your parents are dead?"

"Well yeah, what else am I supposed to think? I didn't even know I could do magic until I was eleven," Harry said, finally calming down some.

"Seriously?" Tracey whispered, brows furrowing. "You didn't get any mail owl'd to you or anything?"

Harry shook his head, "No. The only letter I ever received was from Hogwarts, but even then I almost didn't get it, unless my muggle relatives stopped anything from being delivered. I wouldn't put it past them."

"Impossible," Daphne said, shaking her head. "Owls sent from Gringotts and other governmental places will only deliver to the intended recipient. Magical guardians are allowed to receive them until the recipient is ten, but after that they aren't allowed to handle it."

"Potter," Zabini said slowly, "You do know you are related to two pretty well-known families, right?"

"Two? What?"

Zabini blew air out of his mouth in exasperation. "You really don't know?" Harry shook his head. "We literally did, what, couple hours of research? And found that the Potter bloodline goes way back, and is a pretty wealthy family. The House of Black, which you are also related to, is the same. Each hold a spot in the Wizengamot, so they're pretty famous."

"I… am?" He whispered in response. He sunk into a chair that was unoccupied and put his head in his hands.

Daphne gave Blaise and Tracey a look and mouthed 'unbelievable'.

"How… why… why was I left in the dark about all of this?" Harry whispered. He noticed the trio of eyes staring in his direction and quickly wiped his face. "How-how can I find out for sure? What can I do?"

Blaise and Tracey looked in Daphne's direction, and felt compelled to speak, given it being her area of expertise. "Well… you can go to Gringotts and ask to verify your heritage. That could be a start. The fact that you never received any mail from them is pretty ridiculous, and illegal. Whoever your magical guardian is… could be in a lot of trouble."

"Can we ask them to find out who it is?" Harry asked quickly, hope in his throat.

Daphne shrugged. "I don't see why it should be a secret. Like I said, what they did is pretty illegal, so they'll probably want justice anyway. Goblins are prideful like that."

Harry nodded, brows creasing in thought. "Probably have to wait until school's out to do that. Only a week and a half left. What do I ask them, then, exactly?"

Zabini thought for a moment. "It would probably be better to have someone go with you, Potter. Besides the will, I'm sure there are more questions you can ask about your finances and things. If you're the last of the Potter family, it will inevitably fall into your hands to determine how the family will carry out finances and treaties."

Harry groaned. "Great, more shite on my plate…"

Blaise and Daphne shared a look, and after a moment of an intense staredown, Daphne sighed and conceded. "Alright, alright, Potter, I'll go with you. Just don't expect me to hold your hand through it."

Harry's head shot up and gave her a look. "You'd do that? Why?"

She gave him a pointed look and shrugged. "Consider it taming my curiosity. I'd like to know who's pulling the strings, plain and simple."

"You and me both."

She paused for a minute, thinking. "How will we meet there?"

"The sooner, the better," Harry said quickly. "I… really want to know. About my parents… about everything."

"You don't know anything about your parents?" Blaise said incredulously. "This is getting ridiculous."

"Besides their names and the fact that they died trying to protect me, not really."

"Alright, you want soon?" Daphne said, finally. "Right after getting off the train, at the station, we'll floo to the Leaky Cauldron and walk from there."

Harry nodded earnestly. "Okay. I want to glamour myself as well. I don't want anyone to know I'm going. If I'm going to do this, I don't want any interferences."

Tracey looked at him impressed. "Very Slytherin of you, Harry."

Harry snorted at that. "You'd be surprised. Sorting hat almost put me in Slytherin, but I convinced it to say Gryffindor instead. Only wanted that bloody house because I knew people in it."

"Harry Potter? A closet Slytherin?" Tracey started to laugh but stopped when Zabini elbowed her rather hard. "Right, sorry, curfew..."

"What were you going to look up so late, anyway, Potter?" Daphne asked.

A sheepish grin appeared on his face. "Well, suppose since you're helping me out… I was looking for books on wandless magic."

Tracey laughed. "Like you can do wandless… magic…"

Harry raised both his hands in the air and pointed one of them at the book sitting in her lap. With a whisper of 'Accio book' the book leaped forward and into his hands.

He tried really hard not to laugh, but it just came out; the looks on their faces were priceless.

"Fucking hell, Potter, when-" Zabini started, but Harry cut him off.

"Like, thirty minutes ago. Long story. Know any books about it?"

"In the restricted section, probably," he said finally. Harry cursed and sat up.

"I better be off. I have a lot to think about. Thanks for you help. I… really can't repay you."

"You probably can," Tracey pointed out, "the Potter family is ridiculously rich."

"Yeah, guess they are," Harry smiled, but they knew there was no merit to it. It looked fake, polite if anything.

Without another word Harry put the cloak back over his shoulders and casted the silencing spell on his feet again before leaving the library.

"Did… that just happen?" Tracey said after a few moments.

"What did I get us into?" Zabini agreed.