HA! Betcha didn't think I was ever going to update again, did you? Me neither. To be completely honest with you all, I really don't know if I'm going to keep going with this story… but I had the sudden, strange impulse to write the second half of this chapter (which has been sitting quietly amidst my computer files for at least three years now) and so I did. So here it is:


"Romeo, away, be gone!

The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain.

Stand not amazed. The Prince will doom thee death

If thou art taken. Hence, be gone, away!"

"Oh, I am fortune's fool!"

"Why dost thou stay?"

- Romeo and Juliet, by William Shakespeare


I don't own Harry Potter. Or Shakespeare.

Fortune's Fool

Ribhinn Maraiche

The Weasley house took quite a beating over the next week. While the wizarding world was oblivious of Harry's release from Azkaban, the Muggles of Ottery St. Catchpole were quite aware of his presence – frequent explosions aside, the shouting could be heard from a mile off. They were told the blasts were the result of a faulty gas line (something that caused some doubt from the more knowledgeable Muggles), but as for the raised voices – well, they were left to their imaginations.

Meanwhile, the inside of the house had become a war zone. The Weasleys and Hermione had been moved into the garage – for their own safety. Dumbledore made daily attempts to assuage Harry's anger, but Harry was certainly in no mood to be mollified. Dumbledore seemed to think that a straightforward approach would do the trick. After a week of failure, he acquiesced to Hermione's urging and tried sending an owl through the window.

With a puff of feathers, the carcass and the singed letter took a three-story tumble to the brick walkway of the garden. Hermione, upset by the sudden violence of the action, shouted through her tears at her former best friend until McGonagall had to lead her away, sobbing all the while.


Harry was very, very angry. Had he enough strength, and the knowledge to do it, he would have Apparated out of the house at the first opportunity. After he splinched himself trying (an extremely unpleasant experience), an anti-Apparition ward was erected around the house, making further attempts impossible.

What right have they to cage me here, in this house, he raged. After all they had done, they endeavored to torture him further by closeting him with those who had hurt him most. No, a little voice in his head corrected him. These – these creatures weren't able to hurt him. They couldn't hurt him. He wouldn't let them. They had only angered him. And he was very angry indeed.

But inside he felt cold, empty. Inside, a small part of him cried out desperately for someone he could trust. Someone who hadn't hurt him. They didn't hurt me, the voice stubbornly protested. Someone who cared.

Ginny.

But no, his fury reared back and plowed over this thought. He couldn't be sure that she wouldn't have hurt him eventually. But we're not hurt, came a plaintive thought. We, who? he thought, startled. Oh, well. He continued his mental rampage. Ginny was a good memory, one of the last left to him, and she would remain that way. He had killed her. Oh, he might not have meant to cast that final spell, but as surely as he was Harry Potter, savior and scourge of the wizarding world, he had been the cause of her death.

Although he wasn't exactly sure who he was these days. Harry Potter had receded into a memory as well, one that didn't merit a place next to Ginny.

Harry let out a sigh of frustration and threw himself heavily into a chair.

But this argument hadn't helped his case. Fudge had practically giggled with gleeful anticipation as Malfoy had poured out his damning testimony./ font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1: 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-1610611985 1107304683 0 0 159 0;} /* Style Definitions */ , , {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} .MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-size:10.0pt; mso-ansi-font-size:10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt;} page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.0in 1.0in 1.0in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} 1 {page:Section1;} - And Dumbledore – the floor gave a warning rumble, and he struggled to hold back the flash of power that inevitably followed thoughts of the real scourge. He blinked, momentarily pleased. He'd only managed to crack the wood under his feet – nothing permanent.

These bursts of destructive energy scared him. They were erratic, except when he deliberately thought of Dumbl- of that wizard, or his one-time friends. As furious as he was with those who wronged him, he really didn't want to hurt anyone innocent. While there weren't any of that sort at the Burrow – except maybe Tonks, the small, yearning part asserted – he would eventually be among Muggles, all of whom were innocent of this particular crime.

But holding onto the raw power was difficult. Once the surge had quit itself, Harry slumped in the chair and pulled off his glasses, resting his forehead in his cool palm.

"Well, well, Potter the Snot. Feeling sorry for yourself as usual, I presume?"

"You certainly do, Severus." Harry said without looking up, his thoughts coming together. "No, I'm not pitying myself, for once. Not in the way you think." Silence followed his words. A quick glance revealed Snape's surprise at the amity in his tone.

Now Harry's voice held a trace of amusement. "What, you think I'm going to hold it against you that you didn't speak up in my defense? We weren't friends. You didn't betray me. On the contrary – you're probably the only person I can trust to be completely and brutally honest with me; you never tried to disguise your feelings toward me. Call it a mutual dislike, but we understand each other quite well now, I think."

Snape sneered. "Oh do we, Potter?"

Harry leveled a long, measuring gaze on the Potions professor's face. When he finally spoke, an eerie note laced his words.

"I've been in his mind, Severus. I know his thoughts. I know everything he's done in the last two years. Everything." Snape shuddered and paled even further than normal.

"You saw-" He croaked. Harry nodded.

"Worse. I was there. He knew I was there. He cast-" Harry lost his careful composure for a moment. What he said then was Snape's worst nightmare.

"He used me to test curses, Severus – he cast Flagella on me. And the Inimicus Serra, and Ruadjini, an ancient, almost prehistoric hex from the area that is now Iran. Because I wasn't there… physically, my body wasn't harmed, but he raped my mind. It's a good thing I never learned the prophecy – yes, I know about it now, don't look so surprised. Did you think I wouldn't glean a little knowledge from his thoughts? Otherwise he'd know, and I'd be dead and the wizarding world would have lost its precious only hope," he finished bitterly.

"Merlin," Severus moaned, feeling an unexpected sympathy for the boy he'd learned to hate. "What did we do? There's no way you're entirely sane now, after all of that… and having to live it all over again… over and over… Merlin, Harry, what did we do to you?"

"Don't you pity me," Harry snapped. "You, most of all. I've had quite enough of being pitied. First for losing my parents, and then for my encounters with Voldemort – the Stone, the Chamber, Pettigrew, the Tournament, and now Azkaban… I've been pitied by that wizard, and the Weasley bastards, and Granger, and Tonks, and the rest of the wizarding world… even Voldemort pitied me for a moment, there – I don't need your pity! Not you, of all people!"

Severus suddenly realized how very close to losing everything Harry was. And then, quite clearly, he realized that somehow he, he, had become Harry's lifeline. For all that he still disliked this Potter whelp, he had to find a way to help him, or all would be lost.


Tonks was only inches from calling off her engagement and cursing them all into oblivion.

"What right do you have to keep something like this from him?" She shouted.

Severus inwardly winced and cast Muffliato so that Harry couldn't hear. To be honest, he had some doubts himself about the wisdom of this plan, but he knew for sure that they wouldn't listen to him. Most of them still didn't trust him, despite learning of his role as a spy… or perhaps because of it.

Dumbledore exchanged glances with a teary-eyed Molly Weasley, who was, of course, in cahoots with the old man. Wracked with guilt, she couldn't bear the thought of causing Harry undue torment… and that was, she was sure, exactly what this news would do.

"Nymphadora," Albus tried to placate her, "Can you imagine how Harry would feel? He already hates us, and of course he has good reason. But that part of his life is over, and I rather think he would not thank us for bringing it up again."

"Yes, as if assuming you know how he thinks wasn't what got us into this mess in the first place," Tonks said nastily, her spiked hair flaring violently from a dark, stormy blue-gray to furious red and back again.

Molly gasped. Dumbledore's face turned very white and crackling energy fizzed about his long beard before he controlled himself. It had been a very long time since anyone had been able to rattle him so. Bill gaped soundlessly at his fiancé.

"Perhaps," Albus tried to lend his voice a reasonable air, with some effort. "If you would only consider, Nymphadora -"

"Don't call me that," she hissed. "You're wrong, all of you, if you think keeping this particular secret is going to help anything." Her voice dropped to a sorrowful whisper. "Telling him may be the only way to save us all."


Of all the terrible memories that had plagued Harry over the past two years, it was his alleged crime which hurt the most. Now, shut in Weasley's abominable bedroom, that was the memory which struck at him again and again.

The Triwizard Tournament had taken a dark and horrible turn, that night. Harry vividly recalled the unexpected tug at his navel as the Portkey was activated. Cedric's elbow had struck his eyeglasses and knocked them askew as they were transported, so when they arrived with a thump he had taken a moment to right them.

When he was able to see clearly, he had looked around at the cemetery and felt a strange sense of recognition. Surely he had seen this place before.

He remembered the sickening knowledge that came to him, the realization that they stood in front of the grave of Tom Riddle's father, and worse, that Voldemort had drawn him there as surely as if he wore a collar and Voldemort held the leash.

A flash of light was all the warning they had, and for Cedric, it had been the last moment of his life. Pettigrew had held Harry captive while he performed the ancient dark ritual to restore He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to his corporeal form.

The Dark Lord had called his Death Eaters to him, and they had willingly come, with the notable exception of Severus Snape. Harry had found this curious, as he'd been sure Snape was still one of their number, but he'd been occupied with more pressing matters at the time.

He'd dueled Voldemort, and the twin cores had reacted in a glorious explosion of color. It was unthinkable, that he had not only survived the attempt, he'd escaped with Cedric's body, as well. The ghosts of his parents had been a thin wisp of protection from the dementors, at first, but their presence in his mind had waned quickly.

The Triwizard Cup had returned them to where they'd started, before the stands of waiting witches and wizards. It had been only short moments before the screaming began.

How Harry had stumbled to his feet and away from the transformed Quidditch pitch, he didn't know. He recalled that Professor Moody had moved toward him but was delayed by the thronging students. Harry had later learned that the man he knew as Alastor Moody was an imposter, a Dark wizard Polyjuiced to look like the famous Auror.

Harry had stopped when he reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest, having no desire to enter those woods that night.

"Harry?" Ginny's tentative voice had spoken out of the dark – she had come for him, knowing instinctively that he didn't want to be alone.

Harry had turned around to face her, tears swimming in his eyes. "I don't understand. How did this happen? He's dead, Ginny. Cedric's dead, and Voldemort's back. Everything is going to change."

Stealthy movement behind her caught his eye. No! His mind cried as Malfoy raised his wand, and suddenly everything that had plagued him throughout that long year, all the fear and uncertainty and hatred he had experienced that night, it all filled his skin and almost unthinkingly he had channeled it through his wand at the blonde wizard just as the familiar jet of deadly green light left Malfoy's. It missed Ginny by inches.

His had not.

He'd thought his heart had stopped. In a way it had, and he'd spent the last two years waiting for that next thump.

He had cursed Malfoy well and truly into the next century, stopped only when Aurors had taken him into custody. Voldemort had taken full advantage of the situation and sent Lucius Malfoy to modify the memories of his son so that when he had recovered enough to testify, he'd given a very convincing account under the influence of Veritaserum, telling the Wizengamot how Harry had exalted the Dark Lord's return and Diggory's death, attacked Ginny, and then turned on Draco, who had conveniently severed all ties with his Death Eater relatives.

Harry had not known it was possible to hurt so much. He had attributed it to his guilt, and to his friends' betrayal and their thorough repudiation of him, but there was another reason he was not aware of. There is a bond in the wizarding world, one that is found only rarely in the pages of history. It is a connection linking the hearts and souls of two magical people in the most intimate way.

It because of this that Harry felt so torn apart when he watched the young, redheaded witch crumple to the ground, because even though they were little more than children at the time, Harry Potter had found such a lifebond – with Ginny Weasley, his best friend's sister.

Remembering her death, Harry felt a fresh wave of pain burrow into his hollow being. He listened carefully, as he had listened for two years of torment and imprisonment, for the sound of a heartbeat, the sound of freedom, of forgiveness, of life itself… but as usual, he heard nothing.


Far away, across mountains and cities and the cold waters of the English Channel, a girl woke. She did not know what had awakened her, but had no intention of getting up before it was absolutely necessary. She closed warm, chocolate-brown eyes and laid her head down on a fluffy pillow, brushing the silky strands of her red hair out of her face before drifting back to sleep.

Thump.


Please, please, please tell me you have ideas as to where this can go. I don't know, myself, so the more inspiration you can give me, the more likely it is that I will post again. But I do love this chapter.

Much love (for reviewers),

Ribhinn

Formerly known as

Shpadana Zizais