Harry trudged down to the dungeons the following Monday with a certain lightness in his step that hadn't been there for as long as he could remember. He may not be seen in Severus's eyes the same way he saw the man, but he resolved to put it out of his mind. He was doing training for the upcoming war—not that they weren't in a war now—and that had to be the main priority, with the rest of his education being a close second. So what if the object of his innermost desires didn't want him back? He had dealt with rejection before, and it wasn't as if this would be the last time he encountered it.

Harry gave Severus a neutral expression as he was let into the potions classroom, and made his way over to the customary location where the lessons were given. No cheeky lip or barbs that day, for Harry had truly taken Sirius's advice to heart. By contrast, Severus had kept to his word, and had remained polite towards Harry. It was as if he preferred this attitude of him, which was decidedly unlike him, which hurt Harry, although he made no moves to voice his opinion to the man, for what good would that do, really?

"Have you prepared your mind, Potter?" the man asked.

Harry turned around then, his face a mask, a technique he had perfected from the potions master standing before him. "Yes, sir," he replied.

"Prepare yourself," Severus stated, lifting his wand.

Harry stood as a soldier would before the man—back straight, feet planted, legs not wobbly—and waited for the spell which would potentially invade his mind.

"Legilimens!" Severus said, and Harry immediately felt the attempt at invasion.

Harry concentrated as best he could, recalling a recent conversation he had had with Hermione, about literally imagining blocks—or walls—in his mind, which had the capability of surrounding the memories which he didn't want Severus to see. Of course, now that he had all these complex feelings for the man, he would've rathered him not see them at all. He planted the walls around the memories, locking them away like a steel trap, and felt as if Severus was immediately retreating from his mind.

"Potter..."

Harry slowly opened his eyes then, worrying that the man would scold him. "Sir?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Potter, it seems as if these lessons aren't a lost cause after all."

Harry's eyes widened then. "What is it you're saying?"

Severus looked slightly annoyed then that Harry had neglected to address him properly, but decided to ignore it. "You've resisted."

Harry shook his head. "I... I don't understand..."

"No, you wouldn't, would you?" the man asked with a sneer, presumably out of habit, and almost immediately shook his head. "I apologize, Potter. That was rude."

Harry gave a stiff nod. "That's all right."

"Anyhow, it appears as if my attempted penetration of your mind was unsuccessful."

Harry's jaw dropped then, gasps forming and falling from his lips. "I... I was successful in resisting your attempts to penetrate my mind?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," Severus said.

Harry found himself grinning at the man. "There is no need to call me 'sir', professor," he said, and the man before him knew him to be joking.

"Yes, well," he said, allowing the cheek to slide, "your assumption is indeed correct. You resisted my allowance into your mind." He pondered the situation for a moment before he allowed himself to speak again. "If I may, how did you do it?"

"I... Hermione suggested that I imagine walls from within my mind, closing and locking like steel traps around the particularly sensitive memories—or, in this case, all of them," he said, hoping that his clarification was enough.

"Smart girl, Miss Granger."

Harry nodded. "She is. I'm lucky to have her."

"You two seem to be quite close."

Harry felt he could detect something from behind the tone, but found he didn't want to attempt to analyze it further. "She is my best friend, and I consider her my sister."

"And Miss Weasley?"

"You know very well she is very committed and in love with Draco," Harry said, quickly managing to grow impatient.

"And Miss Lovegood?"

"In love with Neville and quite happy with him," Harry went on.

"Then, this only leaves Miss Chang," Severus put in. "I noticed a memory of the pair of you kissing before the holidays last term."

"Yes, we kissed," Harry replied with a shrug. "She was upset about Cedric, since I was the last person with him, and all. She wanted to know once and for all what happened, so I told her about it, even though I hate talking about it, she really deserved to know. He was her boyfriend, and they loved each other..."

"But, you kissed..."

"I think she was grateful, if anything," Harry said. "I mean, she was crying the entire time. Plus, I didn't recognize the signs. Not as if I'd kissed anyone before that..."

"Surely there have been some witches that have caught your eye, Potter. And, if not witches, you must have seen some Muggle girls or women in Little Whinging."

Harry shook his head, his forehead puckering with discomfort. "No, sir. And they wouldn't. I'm gay," he stated, crossing his arms.

"How can you possibly be wholly sure of such a thing?"

"It's a matter of response, sir," Harry stated plainly. "Women—Muggle or witch—have never elicited that kind of response from me."

"Miss Chang is quite pretty," Severus put in.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, of course she's pretty," he said impatiently, "anyone with eyes would readily come to that conclusion. However, it is a common misconception to believe finding someone attractive and being attracted to them are one in the same. That is not the case, and I've found many women attractive, but it doesn't mean I want to tear their knickers off and hop into bed with them."

Severus considered that for a moment. "Many girls and women in the Wizarding World would want you to do just that, Potter."

"Why? Because it is expected of me?" Harry demanded with a scoff. "I may not even live to see the end of this war, sir." He hesitated. "Part of this half-life I've been given is the fact that I've been pre-conditioned to accept rules laid out before me, of what I can and can't do, who I can see and speak to, where I can go and were I can't. And I'm tired of it, I'm so bloody tired of it! All I want, right now, is to take what I want with both hands and keep it!"

Severus blinked. "What's stopping you?"

"What's stopping—?!" Harry cut himself off then with a bitter laugh. "You've got a lot of nerve, Snape, to act so blasé about all this..."

"What are you talking about, Potter?" the man demanded.

"I'm talking about the fact that I cannot merely take what I want and keep it!" Harry shouted at him, his voice wobbling slightly from emotion. "It wouldn't matter!"

"Potter..."

"No!" Harry yelled. "I cannot have what I want, because what I want, who I want, would never look at me that way! He has made it abundantly clear..."

"Potter, don't distress yourself..."

Harry peered up at him through a veil of tears, shaking his head. "You really haven't got a clue, do you, of how deep these feelings are?" he whispered.

"Potter?"

"Harry," Harry said firmly then, before crossing the classroom and closing the distance between them, and wrapping his arms around the man's neck. "My name is Harry, and this is what I want so badly," he declared, before anchoring his lips to the man's.

"Potter," Severus said softly, "I thought we'd discussed..."

Harry sighed then, barely having the opportunity to taste Severus before he let himself down. "I know, sir," he said softly, suddenly proper and humble again. "I... You're right." He straightened himself up then, and scrubbed the tears out of his eyes. "Momentary lapse of judgment on my part, is all." He gazed at the man through his mask once more. "It appears as if my lessons have been successful, so much so that I will not be needing them anymore. We need no prolong our mutual suffering, sir. Good night," he said, and moved towards the door.

"Potter..."

"Don't, it doesn't matter," Harry said, succeeding in keeping the emotions from his voice. "I mean, who was I kidding, right? You wanted my mum, after all," he said, and moved to step through the door.

"Potter, it wasn't like—"

"Please, don't tell me what it was like or not like," Harry replied, not bothering to turn back to look at the man. "I saw quite plainly what it was like, and we need not discuss it further," he said, rather pointedly, before he walked through the door, leaving a very confused potions master behind.

~*~

It was a surprise when Draco came into the Gryffindor common room with Ginny the following Wednesday, especially when Ginny had forgotten about a studying session she had with Hermione in the library that night. Ron, meanwhile, was going to do flying around the pitch that evening, and was unavailable as well. Since Harry was plenty caught up on his assignments, he agreed to spend the evening with Draco.

"Something on your mind?" Draco asked tentatively, as the pair left the common room and went downstairs to the Great Hall for dinner.

Harry felt his shoulders hunching automatically. "Yes and no," he replied, matching his pace to Draco's as they reached the proper floor.

Draco cocked his head to one side, slightly resembling a high-class dog, although Harry would never tell the fifth-year Slytherin what kind. "Oh?" he asked, allowing Harry to step first into the Great Hall, before moving to join him at the Gryffindor table.

"Yes, there's something on my mind," Harry said shortly, knowing that he shouldn't have been taking out the situation on Draco, but it was difficult not to do so.

Draco mulled over the statement for a moment, slipping beside Harry upon the bench-like seat, and proceeded to serve himself a generous portion of shepherd's pie. "I know that something has to have gone on, Harry," he said quietly, picking at the generous slices of carrot, buried just beneath the layer of mashed potatoes.

"How do you figure?" Harry asked, putting a few slices of roast, plus a fair few boiled potatoes, as well as a good helping of roasted veg, onto his plate.

"It's quite obvious, if you ask me," Draco continued, helping himself to some Gillywater, "that something has happened to upset you."

Harry bit the inside of his cheek in an effort to keep himself from lashing out at Draco further, and proceeded to drown both his roast and potatoes in gravy, careful not to get any upon his roasted veg. "Plenty can upset me, Draco."

Draco blinked, turning to look over at Harry. "Plenty?" he queried.

"Of course," Harry said, letting go of his knife and fork and settling them on either side of his plate presently. "My parents are dead. I'm forced to live in squalor with my aunt and uncle, who treat me like a glorified house-elf, dress me up in my cousin's cast-off clothes which are several sizes too big for me, I can only eat when they say so and even then it's hardly anything. I have a godfather who loves me but, because of some bloody blood wards and his Azkaban record, I'm not allowed to live with him, no matter how much I may want to. Not to mention that there's a woman working for Fudge—who doesn't believe that Riddle has returned, after all this time—and likes to use medieval torture methods for her detentions. Plus, there's the notion that there's a madman after me, considering that he marked me for death at fifteen-months-old, and has tried on many occasions since then to attempt to kill me. I may have a fortune, but it's locked away until I turn seventeen, and there's no way to tell if I'll live that long..."

"Do you think you will?" Draco asked.

Harry sighed. "I don't know," he said with a shrug. "I don't even know what the bloody hell I'll do once I'm out of here, and Riddle's taken down. Say I do live," he went on, staring off into space as he thought it over, "I think I'd want..."

"What?"

Harry sighed a second time, before lowering his eyes back down onto the surface of the Gryffindor table. "It's stupid..."

"I doubt that," Draco said, pushing his plate away. "Tell me."

Harry turned and looked at Draco, emerald meeting silver, and decided, in that moment, that it would do him well to trust the blond, as he had given all of the information on the Death Eater camp he knew to Dumbledore, and the headmaster, true to his word, was making sure that Draco would never have to go back to Wiltshire by force again. "I have feelings for someone."

It was only five words, but these five words were crucial ones, as Harry hadn't dared to open his mouth on the matter to anyone. Of course, he had considered doing so with Ron and Hermione, and even Ginny once or twice, but Draco certainly hadn't been his first choice. The notion of the information potentially getting into the wrong hands scared Harry more than anything else ever had before, for, this time, he had something to lose. Severus. At the end of things, Severus was proving to be an essential key to getting up-to-date information on Riddle, due to his status as a spy, and Harry wasn't about to jeopardize the mission, despite the fact that he hated it that the man risked his neck, day and night, night and day, for the safety of the Wizarding World, no matter if it was up to him or not.

"Who for?"

Harry blinked, temporarily lost in his own thoughts. "What?"

"Who do you have feelings for?" Draco said, slower this time.

Harry swallowed; he couldn't give out the second part of the information, not yet. Despite the fact that they were on the same side, and that he was slowly but surely beginning to trust Draco, Harry could hardly tell him that the man he was lusting after was Draco's own godfather. "I would rather not say."

"Is it a witch?" Draco asked.

Harry smiled. "If you're worried that it's Ginny, please don't. I told you upon discovering the knowledge of your coupling that she's like my sister, and I meant it."

Draco readily breathed a sigh of relief. "Not that I didn't believe you, but..."

Harry blinked. "But...? What?"

"You're the Boy Who Lived, Harry," Draco said, without any form of patronization in his tone, and Harry found he was still slightly surprised by that fact. "And I know that you told me that she's like your sister, but you and I both know she had a bit of a crush on you a while back, and one word from you, and..."

"No word from me," Harry assured him with a small smile. "I've snogged one witch in my entire life, and that was Cho Chang."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "She's pretty," he said with an approving nod. "Is she the one you have feelings for?"

"Merlin, no!" he said, immediately shaking his head at Draco. "She's with Michael Corner now, remember?"

"Right, yeah," Draco said, and Harry wouldn't have been surprised if he'd forgotten. "Why did you snog her if you weren't interested?"

"She snogged me," Harry clarified. "She was upset about Cedric. I talked to her about it before the Christmas hols, hoping that we could finally put the subject to rest. She ended up kissing me out of gratitude, I think, now that she finally has that chapter of her life resolved. She needed closure above all things, and I was thankful to have been the one to give that to her."

"So, no feelings, then?"

"None of that nature, no," Harry told him. "For... For any witches, really..."

Draco raised his eyebrows ever so slightly at that. "Oh."

Harry turned over and looked at him, another sigh escaping his lips. "It's a stereotype that a lot of Purebloods hate gay people..."

Draco nodded at him. "That's true, a lot of them do," he told him. "I, however, do not fall into that category, no matter how much Lucius attempted to beat it into my head how wrong it was, in his eyes, at the very least..."

"And your mother?"

Draco shrugged. "I personally don't think she had anything against it, but what can I say? She has chosen Lucius over me..."

Harry shook his head. "I'd never do that."

"What?" Draco asked.

"Choose my significant other over my own child, no matter how much I loved the former," he said softly, passionately.

"So, that's what you want after the war, then?"

Harry blinked, shaking his head. "What? Want what?"

"A family," Draco said. "Children."

Harry smiled slowly then, picturing a houseful of raven-haired children—some with eyes the color of onyx, and some with his striking emerald—laughing, loving, with a certain pair of strong arms wrapped around his, as they watched the children play in an expansive garden somewhere at a beautiful house in the country... "Yes," he whispered, becoming more and more lost in the fantasy. "That's what I want. What I've always wanted, really..."

"I take it you know who you want it with, then."

Harry nodded at the blond. "Yes, I do. However, it's impossible..."

"Why?"

"He likes witches," Harry said, and putting voice to that very fact succeeded in shattering his heart into a thousand pieces. "Plus, there's a hefty age difference to consider, not to mention the controversy it would likely bring..."

"Do you love him?"

Harry's eyes widened at that and immediately shook his head. "Love?" he cried out then, feeling himself flushing. "No! No, of course not."

Draco's brows knit together. "You're afraid."

Harry's clenched his fists. "Don't tell me I'm afraid! I'm not afraid. Being afraid is a weakness, Draco, and I'm not weak!"

Draco looked startled at the sudden outburst then, and immediately shook his head. "No one is saying that, Harry, let along implying it."

Harry gritted his teeth, promptly turning to stare downwards at the complex patterns upon the surface of the table. "Whatever..."

"Harry..."

"What?" he barked.

"I want you to understand that loving, or falling in love, isn't a sign of weakness," Draco told him quietly, obviously not wanting to upset him.

Harry shook his head. "No, it... It isn't because of that..."

"Well, what is it, then?" Draco wanted to know.

"It's because people die," Harry whispered, his voice shaking. "People die, the ones that I choose to love, anyway. They die. They all die..."

"You don't want to lose this person," Draco whispered.

It was not a guess.

"No," Harry whispered, scrubbing the tears out of his eyes. "No, I don't. No matter what he feels for me, I don't want to lose him. I can't...can't lose him," he said, forcing himself to pull his plate and utensils back towards him, and cut into his dinner, while Draco raised his eyes upwards then, catching Severus's eye at the head table, and noticed that his godfather had witnessed the little display from Harry, and, looking between the two of them, the blond slowly but surely began to put two and two together.

~*~

Despite his protests to both Dumbledore, McGonagall, and to Sirius, Harry was told he would have to see Severus one final time for Occlumency. Dragging his feet, he went downstairs to the dungeons a week after his conversation with Draco in the Great Hall. He thought he could have been wrong, but he detected that the potions master's eyes had been lingering upon him just a little too much, and the thought both unnerved and elicited delight from him.

He knew he shouldn't get his hopes up, and constantly reminded himself of Severus's apparent feelings for his mother. The way he'd looked at her, even through his anger, within the memory he had seen... There was clearly something lingering behind those haunting onyx eyes. And while Harry found he couldn't quite put a finger on what that feeling was, he was quite positive it had to be attraction.

Harry knocked upon the door at the appointed time, and Severus promptly opened it, ushering him inside without comment on the hour. Harry moved across the room and awaited to be spoken to, not wanting to step on the man's toes. He hung back, as he had been doing the last several weeks of term, unknowing what to do, or what to say, let alone where would be a good place to put his hands.

He was well-rested, if that was anything remotely positive, due to the fact that he had gone to Grimmauld Place with everyone, including Draco, the weekend before, for the Easter holidays, much to Draco's relief. To Harry contentment, Draco had been accepted readily into the fold of the Weasleys, who were overjoyed to see Ginny with someone, at long last, who claimed to love her so well. Harry, meanwhile, had spent most of his time sleeping, studying in the library, or having quiet moments with Witherwings, who he would still call Buckbeak in private. He even wondered if it would be a good idea to introduce him to Draco.

"Good holiday, Potter?" Severus asked.

Harry gave a stiff nod. "Yes. Thank you, sir." He hesitated for a moment. "Could you possibly tell me why I'm here? I thought I made it quite clear that I believed our lessons to be finished last week..."

Severus nodded. "Yes, well, it seems there could be a more permanent arrangement, one that will mean ultimate protection, and will ensure your safety."

Harry inclined his head. "Very well, then. Let's hear it."

"Permanent blocks," Severus stated.

Harry cocked his head to one side. "Pardon?" he asked.

"Permanent blocks, Potter. Mind blocks."

Harry shook his head. "Sorry, sir. I don't understand."

"I will enter your mind, as usual, and you must let me in," Severus explained. "Except, during this entrance, I will not seek to view your memories. I will seek to put up permanent Warding Spells within your mind."

Harry gasped. "So, I wouldn't have to do anything?"

Severus shook his head. "No. Just allow me within your mind to erect the spells, and then I will be on my way, so to speak. It shan't take long, however, it could pose to be a draining process upon you, so I suggest we go into my quarters."

Harry's mouth went dry at the suggestion. "Sir?" he whispered.

"There is a couch in the living room, Potter," Severus said, quickly growing impatient, clearly knowing where Harry's mind had drifted to. "Well, come along," he stated, turning around and moving towards a door on the other side of the classroom. "Haven't got all night."

Harry stumbled slightly as he moved to follow the man, his face heating readily at his incompetence when it came to basic walking, and walked into the man's rooms when invited, doing his best not to look up at him. He followed the gesturing of Severus Snape's had as it motioned for him to go over to the couch. Not surprisingly, it was black leather, placed atop a stylish Persian rug, and facing directly opposite a black marble mantel, which had a roaring fire just beneath. There was a rather beautiful oil painting just above the shelf of the mantel, and Harry took in the delicate brush strokes with impressive color palette. The painting showcased a young woman with milk-white skin and raven hair in a kneeling position, looking to be in a forest somewhere, and was opening the lid of an impressive-looking golden box.

"Sir..."

Severus looked over at Harry then, and followed his gaze, to where it was resting upon the painting above the mantel. "Ah, yes," he said fondly. "Pandora, by John William Waterhouse, 1896," he informed him.

"How did you come by it? It's lovely..."

"The Prince family, my mother's family, were among the Pureblood elite," Severus explained, his tone somewhere far away. "However, my mother was disinherited when she married my father, Tobias Snape. They never saw her again, let alone spoke to her."

"But, the painting..."

"My mother always told me of a secret hiding place she kept at Prince Manor," Severus informed him. "Well, my mother had a sister, Ilona, who in turn had a daughter, Alya, who I am in correspondence with. She attended Hogwarts, and was about three years behind me—a Ravenclaw," he said to Harry's unanswered question. "When we grew up, we became close after both our mothers died. I informed her of the hiding place," he went on. "Normally, the direct heir went to the male side, but the Princes changed it, making Ayla the ultimate heir. Since I agreed not to contest the will, she gave me the painting," Severus finished softly.

"Where is Ayla now?" Harry queried.

"Ah," Severus whispered. "She moved on to Holland some time ago. I don't know what befell the manor, or my dear cousin. We haven't spoken in... Well, quite some time."

"You sound like you miss her," Harry said before he could stop himself.

Severus immediately whipped around at the proclamation, or perhaps it was merely from the suggestion of it, and his eyes blazed. "That is none of your concern, Potter," he said, his own mask firmly in place again. "We are here to ensure your protection from the Dark Lord," he went on, moving to stand in a combative stance, before him, "and nothing else."

Harry lowered his eyes, doing his best to ignore the developing lump in his throat. "Right, sir, of course not," he said softly.

"Very well, then," Severus continued, and Harry was vaguely aware of him raising his wand. "I will now be using a spell of my own creation to enter your mind. Prepare yourself."

Harry straightened up on the couch then, and raised his eyes to meet that of the potions professor, knowing that, since all the philosophers said that the eyes were the windows of your soul, Severus would, therefore, have to see inside of him, so as to navigate himself accordingly and appropriately. "I am ready," he said, opening his mind.

"Animus apertus," Severus intoned then, a white light flowing out of the tip of his wand, and Harry felt it nudging at his forehead for a moment, before he calmed his senses and allowed it entrance. "Very good, Potter," Severus said, never losing focus. "Now for the second part of the work for the evening... Muri erecti animi," he said, and a bright yellow light came forth then, and Harry shut his eyes the moment it flowed inside his mind, so as he could watch the man's progress from within.

The walls that Harry had erected beforehand, he realized, were clearly smoke and mirrors, and watched, breathless, as brick upon brick of reinforced steel built itself from the ground up, all within his mind. They moved deftly, from one memory to the next, going through the timeline, of sorts, to build what they needed to. Finally, the final block was added into place, and Harry felt the man's presence beginning to leave, now that the job was done.

Harry slowly opened his eyes then, knowing that his knees would've been weak, had he been standing up, and he would have likely crumpled to the floor. He looked up then, and saw that Severus was retrieving something from a cabinet, only to return a moment later with a bar of chocolate, which he handed over to him, while chewing on one himself.

"Come on, Potter. It's hardly poisoned," he snapped, slightly impatient. "It's just Honeydukes Best Chocolate. I'm sure your wolf has given you plenty since third-year."

Harry ignored the barb towards Remus, knowing now where it had come from, and took the offered bar. "Thank you, sir," he replied, slowly beginning to peel back the wrapping.

"Endorphins," Severus muttered.

Harry looked up at him. "Pardon?" he asked, before nibbling at the chocolate.

"You need endorphins," the man explained. "They prolong happiness, and the sugar that the chocolate contains will give you energy."

"Like after a Dementor attack," Harry said, slowly chewing the bar.

Severus nodded. "Yes," he allowed, "precisely."

Harry mulled over the conversation for a few moments, chewing his chocolate bar slowly. Due to the prolonged periods of starvation he had suffered from over the years—years where he needed food on a regular basis, due to his growing, or, given the starvation, lack thereof—he could not eat quickly. By the same token, he could not eat a lot either, for such activities made him sick. He got used to watching Ron eat a lot, and, in the beginning of their friendship, he was slightly jealous of this fact. Ron's family, while poor, were surrounded by love and plenty of food, while the Dursleys, who were middle-class, had plenty of food, had not been willing to share it overmuch with a magical freak like him.

"Sir..."

"Yes, Potter?"

Harry slowly dragged his eyes towards Severus's, meeting them, as he folded up the rest of his chocolate bar to be saved for later. "Why?"

"Why what, Potter?"

"Why does all of this matter?"

"'This' being?"

"The mind walls, these lessons," he said quietly. "I know it's for Riddle, I'm not stupid. But I'm sure there's a deeper meaning to it all..."

Severus sighed, sinking into one of the chairs directly next to his fireplace. "Yes, Potter, there is indeed a deeper meaning to all of this."

"Please," Harry said softly, and the onyx eyes met his, "don't keep me in the dark. Professor Dumbledore kept me in the dark all through first-term, but I need to know what is happening. I am the war, sir—were it not for me, well, the headmaster wouldn't have his precious little weapon at his beck and call," he said, his tone slightly bitter, as he scuffed his trainer a bit along the fine wool hairs of the Persian rug. "Just...tell me."

"Tell you what, Potter?"

"Why all of this matters," Harry repeated, his shoulders slacking ever so slightly, suddenly feeling like an old man, who, despite having his entire life mapped out for him, felt so old and tired that giving up seemed like the logical conclusion.

"You're the hope, Potter."

Harry blinked, looking up again. "Sorry?"

"The hope, Potter. Hope for the Wizarding World, the hope to end Riddle, the hope to make the side of the Light rise again... The hope for all of us, really."

"I am a commodity," he whispered, shaking his head. "A mere puppet on a string. I belong to the Wizarding World, not as a soldier in arms, but as the ultimate warrior. And I am sick of it," he said, slowly getting to his feet. "I never wanted this, any of it. All I've ever wanted was to be just Harry, but it seems as if that fact is impossible."

"Potter..."

"No, don't pity me," Harry said firmly, raising his eyes to his professors', but hating that the tears had come, unbidden, from his eyes. "That's even worse that being martyred and fawned over—pitied. I cannot stand all the pity." He spat the word, as if it was acid in his throat, before he pocketed the chocolate bar and left the room, making his way towards Gryffindor Tower, the walk more lonely than it had ever been before.