"See how the brain plays around

And you fall inside a whole you couldn't see.

And you fall inside a hole inside a--

[Someone help me]

--Understand what's going on

Inside my mind

Doctor,

I can't tell if I'm not me."

-- The Mind Electric, Miracle Musical.

.XoX.

Winter break passes quickly. Harry sends a letter to Luna Lovegood. In part because they are pen pals and in part because Harry knows the poorly kept secret of the tournament and likes sharing. And if there is any person who deserves to know, it is her.

He also tells Julian. "You helped me figure it out in the first place," says Harry, shrugging. "It's only fair."

Julian smiles and tells him thank you. Harry resists rolling his eyes and making a snide comment. It's uncalled for. No good.

What is not uncalled for is Harry questions about Mouton. "She talked like she knew you," Harry tells him. "And -- and implied that you knew about the dress code, and purposefully didn't tell me."

Julian makes a face. "Well, everyone knows her, don't they?"

But that is not the point. Julian looks uncomfortable and says, awkwardly, not to take war criminals at their word before scurrying off quickly -- and though he's right, it's not the point. The point is that Harry is good at this stuff, telling when people are lying. The point is that even if he wasn't... Julian doesn't lie solely because he's bad at it and Harry can tell.

Every time after that that Harry tries to get answers out of him, or even briefly mention the Butterflies or the Chrysalis Club, Julian tells him brightly he has somewhere to be.

He is a terrible liar. Harry just wishes he had a more exact idea of what it was he was lying about.

Most worryingly is Tom. Harry waits a few days and Tom is not back. He writes a letter to Marvolo, who is home for the break -- wherever Dark Lords like himself call home -- and gets no response. When a week has gone by and worry is spawned Harry writes another. It is angrier, more demanding, and again left with no response.

(He wonders, absently, if this is how Luna felt for all those years.)

The day before winter break ends, Harry sends a howler.

He tries not to think too hard about Tom and Tom's absence apart from that. If he does, he will get too wrapped up in that familiar blanket of guilt and will not be able to pull himself out of it. He had let Tom leave him. Had sent him off himself, didn't he? If Tom is in danger, and the certainty of this rises by the day... then Harry is complicit. He had his doubts and his doubts didn't matter because he sent him anyway.

It is his fault.

He is unable to provide backup if he doesn't know where he is, if he has confined himself yet again to the castle, if Marvolo opts to ignore him.

His friend -- his first real one, the first one he'd ever let himself have -- might be dead or wounded or worse and Harry cannot help but think this is why he's never had friends before: Harry's the fucking worst at it. ( Badperson, badperson. )

He cannot settle on his guilt because feeling guilty and doing nothing is only worth the latter. He cannot settle on his guilt because it will eat him alive if he does.

The next time he's to see Marvolo is when winter break is over and everyone is crowded into the makeshift arena for the Triwizard Tournament; ready, none more so than Harry, for the First Task.

It's a waiting game. Harry's spent so much of life playing it. Waiting for the fat to melt off his body. Waiting for it to come back. And, always, waiting for summer vacation to finally end.

A waiting game. Harry's good at those. So Harry gets to playing.

.xox.

Harry peeks out of the side of the tent. There are his classmates, cheering and loud. It seems they've carried over students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, too, to watch the proceedings. There's Ministry officials. Reporters, photographers, people who are allowed for one reason or another to watch the First Task go down.

Harry sinks back into the tent, closing the flap shut. He's dressed in the best outfit he's got, but he's not so confident to proclaim he looks better than any of the other contestants. Vixen wears robes so professional he looks like he's a pro-Quidditch player... and now that Harry thinks about it, he might be. Harry's not all that up on his celebrities. It would explain a populaties status that carries over from Durmstrang.

From Beauxbatons, Sally -- if Harry remembers her name right -- does not look as fancy. Still, her style fits her well. She grins like she's a sure winner and dresses like it, too. Her hair is up in dreads and thick leather gloves don her hands.

Even Luna Lovegood's normal school robes stand out; fully embroidered and in great detail.

Julian is the only one not dressed up in the slightest. He wears a gabby t-shirt and jeans. "I'm not even supposed to be here," says Julian, standing beside Harry in the tent, shrugging. "So I'm not seeing the point."

"It makes the rest of us look better in comparison," jokes Harry. "A thank you, from the rest of us.

Julian smiles softly. "Be careful out there," he says, quietly. He just got a new friend. It would be terrible to lose him so soon. (To lose his favorite author before his prime.)

Harry's heart aches. "You, too."

"How much longer?" Sally asks to no one in particular.

"They're setting up outside right now," says a voice and it is oh so familiar. It is daunting and Harry can feel his blood pressure raise just listening to it. "I'd say another five minutes, give or take."

Sally shifts uncomfortably on her feet. "Got it, Riddle."

Marvolo raises an eyebrow. "Riddle? My schoolmate, I wasn't aware we weren't on a first name basis."

Harry soaks up the information and stores it away for later. What do you know, Sally, thinks Harry, if anything ? He saves the poor girl from answering. He grabs Marvolo by his sleeve and pulls him to the side.

Marvolo is dressed like Malfoy is dressed; a rich man who is not interested in acting like anything else. A rich man who wears good robes to what might be a messy task because he can afford to get them dirty, to replace them.

He takes to the Snakes well.

"Where is Tom?" hisses Harry.

Marvolo detaches his hand from his sleeve and holds it gently, kissing the top of it. "You won't have to worry about him right now, my love," says Marvolo. "We've a task to focus on, hm?"

" Where is he ?"

"Not here," says Marvolo. "It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me." More than you or I even know.

"Well," says Marvolo, grinning slyly. Harry's gut churns. "It is opt time for it to stop."

If Cedric was here, it'd be a different story. It'd be a battle of tongues, or wits, until someone gave and from the track record, it'd be Marvolo.

But Cedric is not here. It is just Harry and while it is just Harry, he understands Marvolo's innuendo without further details.

It matters to me. Well, it is opt time for it to stop.

You didn't.

You wouldn't.

But he would, wouldn't he?

Harry hears his heart in his ears and pushes through a dry mouth to ask, feather light, "Did you kill him?"

Marvolo grins. (An answer. It's an answer to Harry even if it wouldn't be to anyone else. It's an answer even if Marvolo does not intend it to be.) "I don't know if he's dead quite yet. But I'll tell you all about it soon, okay? After you make it through the First Task, I'll tell you everything. "

But Harry doesn't want that. What he wants is Tom alive, in his hands, beside him, supporting him.

Alive. He wants Tom alive.

It is Harry's fault. And like with Katherine triggering people... it's Harry's fault and it's someone else's.

"I'll kill you," says Harry, firmly. He knows the words are true as soon as they leave his mouth. "I'll beat you at this stupid Tournament and then I will kill you." He will pick up where Tom left off.

"Oh, Harry," coos Marvolo, cupping Harry's face in his hands. "I sincerely doubt that. You will come to like me, Harry. I'm better than him. And what a pair we will make, Harry."

"I'll never like you." A promise.

"We'll see." A kiss on his forehead. A challenge.

Then the horns blow and an announcer calls their names one at a time, having them file out of the tent.

It's time for the First Task. Most everyone is there to win. An outcast from his peers as long as he's had them, Harry is glad to, for once, be included.

.xox.

There is a forest in front of them that was not there before. The trees reach to the sky; clouds pooling around them at places. Their leaves are in thick bundles and that with the fog that surrounds the ground makes it hard to see; something very intentional. It's to force them to rely on audio cues for efficiency.

Clever. (Clever and cruel and Harry knows deeply why this was outlawed once.)

Harry can hear birds chirping faintly. Jabber Jays.

"There are six golden eggs in the arena," says the announcer. Is it the Headmaster from Durmstrang? Harry can't tell. "You will complete the Task by finding one and the order in which they are discovered will determine the amount of points awarded to each champion. You have 90 minutes. Begin! "

The horns sound once more. Then there is radio silence. Dimly, Harry can make out the crowd's cheers. How are they seeing this? Harry wonders. Must be some special, x-ray magic, able to see them through the trees--

Harry's train of thought is interrupted by Luna saying Help me! Why are you abandoning me? Helpmehelpmehelp-- Harry whips his head around to see--

Luna. Luna Lovegood, looking fine, not yelling for help at all, making her way past the ticket of trees, lumos lit in front of her.

She's... Fine. Luna Lovegood is fine.

Harry takes a deep breath and reminds himself it is not real. It's not real and Harry is not the strongest mentally but he's going to have to act like it because it is not real.

Sally is making good time. She's trying to scale a tree, seeing, likely, if it will give her a vantage point. She's noticed the noise made by the birds... and made it so she couldn't hear it. Foolish. But useful, for Harry.

Harry quiets his breathing. He hears the voices of the birds, surrounding in the faux screams and pleas of help from his friends. Accusations of abandonment.

He hears his parents.

But he ignores those (because they are not real) and tries to sort through them in his mind.

There is Luna. And Julian and Cedric and his mother -- and then there's the golden ticket to his golden egg.

Two thousand feet forward, thickest tree... seven hundred feet up... two thousand feet forward, thickest tree.

The instructions. Harry's got it.

He makes his way forward, trying to make it look inconspicuous, like he hasn't just found what will be surely a secure place in first, looking around at his opponents while he moves.

Marvolo is waving his wand, whispering incantations. He's onto something, probably. Voldemort is never ill prepared. Harry hates him for it. The problem is Harry's onto something, too.

Sally is descending from her spot on the tree, a scowl on her face.

Harry can't see Vixen. Vaguely up ahead is Luna Lovegood.

Julian...

Has not moved from the finish.

Harry almost laughs. Of course he hasn't. Of course he's not even bothering to try -- everyone but he and Luna are here via their own free will. Julian does not want to win. He never did. He will wait this one out. From the bored and not distressed look on his face, he's utilizing a silencing charm, too.

Harry is glad. Julian... might not take what these birds are saying well and when disorder people are upset, the way they deal with it is hardly ever healthy.

Harry continues onward. The birds are more rowdy now, some ten minutes in. Harry can see them, flying from tree to tree. They're... dully noted, moving closer. But not toward Harry directly.

More toward Luna. Luna Lovegood.

And Luna seems to be alright. She eyes the birds moving closer with a careful eye and there are a few scratches on her hands, a few patches of her careful embroidery sadly ripped in places, but she looks fine. She listens to the birds and does not melt. She does not wilt or wither.

Luna, Harry realizes, is so much stronger than him, than Julian. Even with the assertion that what he is hearing is not real, that no one around him is begging for help, Harry knows this place is the stuff of nightmares. It will join the sequence of terror that awaits him in bed at night.

But Luna is fine. She is confident in herself, armed with the knowledge thrust upon her, and is trying hard to win. She had not entered and did not start this but she will end it.

It is marvelous. She is marvelous. Harry wonders why he ever had it in his heart to insult her.

He's arrived at the tree he's to climb. Seven hundred feet is a lot and a fall from the height is more than fatal.

Harry breaks off a branch and gathers vines and begins crafting a long and thick sliver of wood to settle himself on. It'd be better than going at it full throttle. He's never been a climber.

What is odd, though, is that pieces of wood are breaking themselves off trees all on their own, all moving toward the same direction. (The same direction Luna Lovegood is in.) Harry cannot make out even a muted version of the birds anymore.

They're making something. Branches are moving all on their own. Is this what Marvolo was doing earlier? But what use would it be? What even is it ?

By the time Harry is finished with his plank, the shape of it is clear.

It's... a spike. A long, large spike with a thin, pointy tip. No more branches align themselves with it and Harry is given an impression of finality. Whatever is being made here is finished.

Overkill would be an understatement if it was aiming to kill.

If it was aiming to kill...

Is it? And then Harry notices it moving. It's creeping slowly at first and it is picking up speed at an alarming rate.

Harry trusts his instincts and his instincts tell him that that is overkill if it is aiming to kill and it might be. It's moving the very direct Luna wandered off to and for some reason, Harry is to his feet and moving before he even thinks to.

This is rigged, remembers saying, he remembers Luna saying. It's rigged because Julian is here when he's not supposed to be here and it's rigged because Luna is here when she's not supposed to be here.

It's rigged. Everything about it. His presence in the Tournament -- why, that might be rigged, too. And why wouldn't it? Nothing here is genuine. Not Marvolo and not Mouton and not Dumbledore. The Snake pit does not start nor end with Slytherins.

It's rigged. He knows this. Luna knows this, Tom knows this, and sure as shit those who rigged it do, too.

But -- and he hasn't allowed himself to think about this; hasn't had the time or the energy or the resources -- why ?

Someone has something to gain by putting them in the Tournament. What is it? Why was this rigged?

And Harry sees, moving closer, Luna Lovegood fighting off a swarm of Jabber Jays. They go for her hair and clothes and eyes, pulling with their beaks roughly. She is holding her own well but that's the thing: She shouldn't have to.The Jabber Jays were never supposed to attack them. That's what Mouton said, what she implied. And she was under oath.

This was not supposed to happen. It was not even a possibility.

It is rigged. And it's rigged against her. The spike is fast now, too fast. Harry is barely outrunning it, propelling himself every few seconds with magic forward. It's aiming for her.

Do you know why the Tournament was abolished in the first place?

"The body count."

It's still there, the factors that made it risky.

Someone entered Luna in the Tournament to kill her. And someone here now is getting the job done.

Harry yells out to her. If she hears him, she doesn't look like it. She's probably hearing a lot of voices right now. His... is none special. His is not enough.

He yells louder and runs faster. They are pen pals and almost but not quite friends and Harry thinks of the Jabber Jays mocking impression of her. Why are you abandoning me?

No, thinks Harry fiercely. He runs. His legs hurt but he pushes them harder, straining by the effort. He has to. I am not abandoning you.

Not again.

It happens in a moment. In one, consecutive moment. Luna's eyes widen. Both by the sight of Harry and the spike, rushing toward her.

Harry does not think. (He is in Ravenclaw for reasons unbeknownst to him. If it was Luna saving him, things would've turned out much different. But it is not. And so things didn't.) He has no time to whip out his wand or to stop himself, to stop the momentum he's built up, so he does what he can do.

He pushes Luna Lovegood out of the way.

And.

And by doing so, pushes himself in the way.

The spike stabs through his skull.

The last thing he sees is Luna Lovegood's pale grey eyes looking back at him.

.XoX.

"My anger is relentless and consuming

It does not dissipate nor disappoint;

A magic resting ever under my skin.

I take my deep breath and do my yoga

Go to therapy and say my lines

And it is still there

A wild force and uncontrolled

It lashes out and it hurts me and you and those I hate but mostly the ones I love

It is the poison of all poisons

(I am the poison of all poisons;

I am my anger incarnate.)

Everyone has it and I do not understand how theirs is so tame

How they can exist in their day to day without the ebb of their heart getting in the way.

And if I cannot kill it,

I must control it.

But I have only ever been big on that

When the stupidest things are concerned."

-- Harry Potter, "The Hanged Man."