This is the start of a longer story (probably about four chapters), about what would happen if Harry had told someone else about the scar. The characters would be maybe less stubborn if they were mine.

"The dreams make my scar hurt. I told Snuffles. I was thinking about telling Ron's dad, but didn't think he knew much about cursed scars."

It was the summer holidays before their fourth year, and Hermione was sitting there listening to Harry's tales of strange dreams. Well, she had been listening, and was now staring at him like he'd made some hugely stupid comment. Gratifyingly, so was Ron. Don't get her wrong, the dreams sounded horrific, but his logical fallacies were far, far worse to her organised mind.

" Harry, did you just say, out of all the adults available to you, you told Sirius Black? The man, who, no offence, has been shut off in Azkaban, is currently a fugitive somewhere nice, warm and sunny (not that she was jealous of course), and, to be honest, was not really known to be the most talented students at school?" she asked incredulously.

"Hey, Its not like that was his fault," Harry belligerently replied.

With a sigh at her friend's defensiveness, she gave a glare to Ron, as if to say: back me up. Ron spluttered out: "Um, we aren't blaming him mate. It's, just that, well, actually in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts division, my dad does actually deal with cursed things quite a lot. You wouldn't believe what weird things wizards do to muggle toilet seats…"

Whilst Harry stared at Ron in confusion, Hermione carried on: "Exactly, Ron. And, while I grant you toilet seats, could you find a cruder example Ron, are not quite the same as cursed scars, I'm sure he could find someone who knows about them. He probably deals with Healers all the time when some toilet seat gets too vicious. In addition, Ron has this amazing thing known as an enormous family, who will help him and by extension, and certainly for your own merits, you too. One member of this family is Bill, the curse breaker, who plays around in tombs. I bet some weird Egyptian curse has very similar properties. It wouldn't do any harm to ask, now would it?"

Ron was nodding vigorously at this point. "Sure Hermione. I bet dad would love to help, and Bill would treat it as an interesting challenge, if nothing else. In fact, you need to talk about this. I can go grab them now. If I'm really careful, I can do it without alerting Mum, or she'll be mothering you to death in no time!" He jumped up, and ran downstairs, leaving Hermione to deal with a slightly stunned looking Harry:

"But Hermione, I don't want them to be bothered. It's my head. And the headmaster knows about it and hasn't tried anything!"

"Harry, the headmaster is neither a cursebreaker nor someone with a lot of free time, nor does he have a great track record when it comes to being totally honest about things when it does not suit him. Let's just let them have a look at you. If nothing else, they can give you some nice, tasty potions to stop the headaches."

At this point Harry subsided mutinously, and Hermione decided to stay, watch him and let him sulk until Ron came back with his family. Which, knowing Ron and the bustling nature of the burrow, could be quite a while.

In fact, they were called to dinner before Ron returned. Harry was quiet, twitchy, and looked like he was about to run, which the twins noticed immediately. After a lot of mildly off colour jokes in an attempt to cheer him up, which merely resulted in joint clips round the ear from whatever their mother was wielding at the time, they made the remains of the trifle explode. Something to do with extra ingredients in the Sherry, as far as Hermione could make out .

Fortunately, whilst Mrs. Weasley was occupied with chastising the twins, Ron nodded to Hermione, who noticed the two oldest Weasley men had left. Grabbing a startled Harry from either side, she and Ron pulled him outside to Mr. Weasley's shed.

Inside, Mr. Weasley was sat looking nearly as affable as usual, whilst Bill was his normal grinning self. There was an edge of hardness to both, however, that suggested to Hermione that they were intending to take this seriously. Next to her, Harry gulped, and glared at Ron, so they manhandled him onto the sofa, then sat on both sides to him. Hermione was sure Harry thought of them as Jailors at this point, but she thought any strength she and Ron could provide through contact was probably going to be useful.

"Now, Harry, whats this about nightmares?" said Mr. Weasley. "Ron tells me that your scar hurts?"

Harry shrunk back on himself a bit, still not used to relying on adults to help. Hermione simultaneously elbowed him in the ribs and mentally cursed his relatives. He made a grunting noise, as her and Ron had elbowed him at the same time, but finally started to talk.

He haltingly told the story of the dream he'd had. And then, with prompting, spoke of all the other times his scar had hurt, with occasional injections and hints from his best friends. Bill seemed to lean forward in shock when he mentioned the incident with the Basilisk, and asked: "So Riddle's soul was tied to the diary, and became solid? And you killed it with basilisk venom?" At Harry's confused nod, he went white beneath his freckles, and sat down with a thump.

"What's the problem, Bill?" enquired Arthur.

"I, I'm not sure. If this is what I think it is, it explains so much. But, there is no way Dumbledore won't know of it, and I have no clue what effect it would have on a living person. Harry, this could be breakable, but the method is likely to be highly unpleasant. Please, let me speak in confidence to my bosses. They don't need your name or anything, just your symptoms? Please, they are all sworn to client confidentiality anyway."

Harry twitched next to Hermione, and as one she and Ron flung their arms around his too thin shoulders. Seeing he wasn't speaking, she asked for him: "Can you tell us anything? Is it going to hurt him further?"

"I would rather not speak of it till I have a confirmation from my bosses. Its quite dark magic, but won't come until activated as far as I'm aware. I promise you, I will do nothing to hurt Harry. I may also need to speak to Albus, but not for a while I my suspicions are true I'm going to need backup. Harry, may I put one gentle charm on you? It's a diagnostic spell, or rather two, testing for curses, but carefully designed not to trip protections…"

By this point, Bill had moved forward, till he was crouched in front of Harry, looking like he was trying to tame some kind of wounded animal. This, Hermione reflected, was probably one of the more accurate descriptions of Harry she had heard in a while. Harry slowly raised his head beside her when she tightened her arm in a half hug, and then nodded, a shaky nod that made her heart break for him. Only the hope that bill could help stopped her trying to drag her vulnerable friend somewhere else, and she could see Ron wanted to do the same.

"Thank you Harry. Could you stand in the middle of the floor for me please?" asked Bill. With a gentle push, Hermione guided Harry to the centre and stepped back. Bill intoned: "Dilligenter, malediction interogata. Ostendoe animae"

With the first half of the spell, which Hermione recognised as a basic curse seeker, Harry's left arm, probably where the basilisk had struck, and forehead glowed a gentle blue, his forehead much more obviously so. It was with the second spell, something she thought was to do with souls, (why, oh why, didn't Hogwarts offer a class in latin, was running through her head), that things got interesting. Harry himself glowed a beautiful white colour, but a black mass coagulated above his scar, seeking as if it was alive. The magic lashed towards her, and she, for the first time in her life, fainted.

When she came to, it was to a sight not in the burrow: a pure whitewashed ceiling, partially obscured by the very worried freckled face of Ron Weasley.