My quickest update ever :)

Thank you to Sonara, who is a beautiful person. Thanks for the amazing reviews! :D I wish I could message you, but you're a guest!

IMPORTANT NOTE:I'll be including songs that fit the theme of the chapter in an author's note at the top of new chapters from now on. If I list a song, then please consider listening to it or at least looking up the lyrics - or listening while reading - because I belive that it reflects the emotions of the chapter and the characters/events in the chapter well.

I'd like to say now, I'm not endorsing these songs for money and I don't expect you to buy them. Of course, don't steal them either - they're on youtube. NAd I also don't own the ights to them, or have permission from artists for anything, so I claim nothing except that they enhance the story, and that you should give them a try.

Also, if you've got an account, then please use it to review so that I can reply to you.

Thanks for reading this, and I hope you enjoy :)

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Once Neville had left, Harry Potter lay in bed, eyes closed, trying, as he had so many times before, to slow his breathing. The fingers of his left hand ran repeatedly, unknowingly, over the scarred letters on the back of his right, feeling the difference between his skin and the scar tissue.

I must not tell lies.

It was never going to end, was it? More and more being revealed, either by people talking or Skeeter or his own slip-ups. He had not felt this nauseous in months. His only comfort was that Sirius would be around, that, somehow, he might be able to make things better. If only he were there, beside Harry in his bed, hidden by the red curtains; surely he would know what to say to slow his heart's beating. But Harry had to remind himself that what might be divulged by the memories might be enough to turn him away, to turn them all away.

The thought of how alone he would be when they left made him retch.

I must not tell lies.

Sirius and Hermione and Ron and Ginny and Fred and George and the Weasleys and Neville and Luna and –

Nothing. Voldemort, perhaps, would still be there.

Harry's fingers moved down to his wrist, to his racing pulse.

Scars. Silky and shiny and unreal. Sure to multiply if they left, if he was left alone.

I must not tell lies.

He had never lied. He had merely concealed the truth.

o

Carol was carefully stroking her sister's gray hair, lingering on the long curls and pulling them straight. Ash was asleep, curled against her shoulder, pressed close in the small bed. She had fallen asleep a while ago, Carol didn't know how long. The steady rise and fall of her sister's body was all that kept her from tears.

Neither of them had ever spoken to Harry Potter. She had seen his curious look at the mention of their names; she was glad that the Gryffindor prefect that had read them had pronounced their last name right. Carol didn't understand why she had been mentioned at all; she was left to assume the worst. The two of them must have met Harry Potter in the future, likely under some disastrous circumstance.

She did not want Ash to ever meet Harry Potter. From what little she had learned in her nearly two years in the magical world, association with Harry Potter meant drama, danger, and death. She didn't want either of them to get wrapped up into their new society's conflicts, a couple of mudbloods that were old enough to be pretty but young enough to be weak.

If they were dragged into the war - they wouldn't stand a chance.

So Carol Mallowitz made a decision: she and Ash would not become involved with Harry Potter, would not dare to pick a side; she would keep them both safe through hell and high water, even if it meant the risk of burns and drowning; she would protect her sister no matter the cost.

With that thought, she lay down and pulled her Ashie to her chest. Ash moved closer, nudging her nose against Carol's cheek. She was close enough that she felt when her sister smiled.

o

Theodore Nott woke to Dray's rapping on his bedpost, as awake and perfectly affixed as he was every morning.

As he arose from beneath the blankets the sense of dread that accompanied the wave of vertigo that he always felt after a particularly bad night made his vision nearly go black. He had illustrated a book about Harry Potter's future, and Potter had taken his name on the cover.

Marriage. Potter wasn't exactly repulsive to Theo, nor was the prospect of dating him. The problem was the public acknowledgment that they might be together in the future. He would not be able to stand it, and though there had seemingly been no reaction to the homosexual contest of PotterandNott – perhaps they had thought that harry had simply changed his name, of been adopted, or had simply not noticed it at all – though no one had said anything, he had noticed. And he did not know how he felt about it.

o

Classes had been canceled so that the Hogwarts staff could welcome the people who were to arrive at the castle, and so the day was passed by Gryffindor house with games and speculation. No matter how Ron and Hermione hinted that they wanted to speak with him, Harry refused to leave his bed for anything other than to use the bathroom, which he did under his invisibility cloak. He didn't want to give anyone the chance to see him.

After spending several hours calming himself, he attempted to sort out the questions that were the most prominent in his mind. He had been awake most of the night agonizing over being left alone, and the sickness he felt at the very idea of it had faded into a dull headache. Now what was most on his mind was Nott.

Harry was aware of two Notts, Nott the Death Eater and Nott, Malfoy's friend with curly brown hair and dark eyes. Theodore Nott. Had they been together, gotten married? He tried to imagine how close he would have to be to a person to collaborate on a book together about his life, maybe even their life.

He couldn't. But the small ideas that he came up with sounded lovely, and it was to these fantasies that Harry owed his ability to reply calmly to Hermione when she told him that the first reading would be done at dinner.

He sat between Ron and Hermione at dinner; Hermione coaxed him to eat, and he gave in to her, knowing that protesting would do nothing but stress her more. The guilt Harry felt at having ignored them when they had only been concerned for him did not lessen; the sickness in his stomach seemed simply to move aside to make room for the water and rolls that he forced down.

The school, despite the fact that a time-traveler had killed himself the previous day, Umbridge had disappeared, and Dumbledore had returned, was strangely subdued. Yet everyone in the Great Hall could feel the tension rippling through them, perhaps through the castle itself.

Professor McGonagall have given the box to the Headmaster, who they had agreed would read. Fifteen minutes into the meal, Albus had lifted it onto the table before him, and the students, seeing this, had fallen gradually silent. He waved his wand, and large purple couches appeared at the far end of the Hall.

Then the doors swung open, and everyone turned at the sound in the great, silent hall; and in walked several people. At the very front was Fudge, Percy Faithfully at his side; Following them were the Malfoys, unruffled and tall; after them came Arthur, Molly, George, and Fred Weasley; and at the end was Remus Lupin.

Harry looked around wildly for Sirius, panic setting in now that it was really happening, and Remus twitched his head at the Weasleys; Harry would not have noticed, but there were five shadows trailing behind them; Sirius was encased between the four of them, invisible but truly there. With the unbearable tension coursing through the room combined with anxiety he wanted to cry with relief.

Just then the box jolted and glowed with golden light; the air seemed to chill as everyone held their breath, but Albus simply pulled out the book, the source of the light.

He made to open it; it did.

Then he closed it and spoke. "It appears that this book has discerned that everyone is present, and therefore is allowing us to begin. I shall read the first chapter aloud to you all tonight, and we shall see what happens." He looked up to affirm their agreement, and his eyes seemed to lock with Harry's, with Arthur's, with everyone present.

He opened it again and looked down at the page, glancing back up to address the couches and the four tables. "It appears there is a note from the author that is meant to be presented."

He then began to read, his voice projected by a wandless spell.

"This book is comprised of true events; nothing has been changed. All conversations are either explained if forgotten or recalled to the most precise detail, with the exact words of the speakers. The memories are also made up of real events, from the perspective of real people. None of this is a work of fiction.

"As the events described in the book and memories have or would have happened in the lives of real people, many of the things that are presented in this book are unpleasant, while others are considered obscene.

"Such things are sex, violence, gore, death, suicide, self-destructive behavior, rape, assault, use of drugs and alcohol, adult/minor relationships, incest, polygamous relationships, homosexuality, prostitution, child abuse, war, mental disorders such as depression, religious debate, torture, betrayal, and countless other things. The only things that are censored are sex scenes that might not be appropriate for children, and certain cases of nudity. It will be mentioned when younger students might want to leave the Hall; however, nobody who was lifted can leave at any time, no matter their age or the thoughts of others."

Here Albus paused, rapt eyes fixed upon him.

"Though many people attempt to hide from these things, terrible as some of them are, they are a part of life, which I strongly believe is meant to be viewed in full, with no boundaries or rose-tinted glasses. Though many of the experiences described have caused the destruction of many lives, others have enhanced them beyond belief. Aside from that, I also believe that information is the best way to eradicate ignorance, which is timeless and persistent.

"The purpose of this book is to inform you all, though not only that; it is also to present you with opportunities to make things better, to warn you of your fates so that you can smash tem and rebuild your own future.

"The hope for rebuilding the future is all that I have left. Not only to save lives, but to improve them; not only to follow the government, but to mold it into a group of leaders worth following; not only to win a war, but to leave diplomacy and peace in its place without wrecking the lives of those who fought for it. At the point in my life that I arrived to you all of these possibilities had fallen to dust years before. And the utter hopelessness of it all had crushed me to death long before any of you saw me die.

"But while you are all alive today there is still the potential to make your lives, your world, something beyond any of your imagining. And I truly believe that, with the right decisions made, those lives can continue where before they had fizzled, and that world can become a reality.

"This, however, will require patience, compromise, and, if not forgiveness, then acceptance of actions of the past. This, if it happened, would be the most difficult thing that any of you might ever do.

"But the results could be either worse than before or better than ever."

The whole Hall was alight with something new, something other than tension. Perhaps every person was imagining what could be, what was, what mysterious ideas might take form in their marvelous new future. For each person it was different; but for each person, there was hope.

Albus finished the last line on the page with a sense of finality.

"Whether or not they are is up to you."

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