Harry feels the fuzzy hug of blood loss creep in on him. His hand twitches as her writes. This is his supposed Last Detention -- but of course, he knows better than to hope. This is not a battle, it's a war, and it is never ending. It will not stop until Voldemort is stopped, until the Ministry believes in him, or until they are at the very least somehow paid to believe in him.

Personally, Harry thinks that this world, the wizarding world, is inherently cowardly. Somewhere along the way, the average wizard became afraid of their own shadow. It is no wonder Pureblood supremacists rein as they do; everyone is too terrified to oppose them.

And it is because of fear that Voldemort is once again rising to power. Because people are afraid to admit the truth. Because people are afraid to fight, afraid to lose -- and the better option is apparently just not to try at all.

Well, Harry may not be a Muggleborn, but he was Muggle-raised, and realizes that the people who raised him, for all their hate of magic, are just like wizards. They are scared of what they do not understand. Of what they cannot fathom to face.

And so Harry understands why most wizards, and some Muggles, do not: "Fear defeats more people than any person or thing in the world." Fear controls -- it wields your life in its hands and when you surrender to it, you've already lost.

Lily and James, faced with Voldemort, with the possibility of overwhelming loss, were terrified. But they were not cowards; they fought and they died and they won. Harry aspires every day to be like that -- living with the distinct possibility of death hanging of his head, and with the ability to rage onward anyways.

And yes, Harry is afraid. Of course he's afraid. He's afraid Voldemort will kill him and everyone he knows dear and that's why he pushed the people he loved away -- but that was a mistake. Who is he, to say he can defeat Voldemort all alone? Who is he, without an army or a friend to stand beside him?

No. He may be scared, but he isn't dumb. He is no one all alone, and he welcomes his friends back in his life despite his guilt -- despite a physical manifestation of his guilt.

Cedric sits across from him. Umrbidge is at her desk, just watching him as he carves word after word into his skin. Cedric is grinning at him, a cruel mockery of the friendly face Harry once knew.

Because this Cedric... he may feel real, but he isn't. His face carries the fine caress of death, too pale, too hollowed, the eyes sunken in a little. This is the look of Death, and it is haunting him.

But it isn't real.

It isn't real.

This Death waits. It waits for Harry, and it waits until he can take Harry's soul too. It invites him to dismay, to push people away, to isolate himself. And that is sure as sure can be a road to death. This Cedric wants Harry dead, and the real Cedric would never want that. This thing sitting across from Harry as he suffers, telling him he deserves it, is not real. It is Not. Real.

He thinks of Draco, the Coward Made Man. And it's weird, now, to call him Draco and not "slimy git" or "Malfoy" or something of the like. Weird... but not at all unpleasant. Draco still teases him, but it is playful now, and the days that Harry actually has the energy to respond, he has great fun with him.

Draco is somehow involved in Hermione's Grand Plan, and somehow Harry is okay with it. Somehow, he's absolutely fucking delighted.

Ron is not overjoyed. He is however accepting, and thinks that if Hermione needs Draco in her plan, out of everyone, then things are desperate and desperate times call for desperate measures. Ron is accepting of Draco and Hermione is tolerating out of necessity and Harry is happy. Everything is so strange, Harry's world feels like it is falling apart.

But it isn't. Falling apart, that is. It is rebuilding itself, reconstructing, being remade. This is Harry's new life. No more isolating himself. No more lying. No more outlandish outbursts. Just this -- just them.

And he loves, so deeply it hurts. He loves his friends and is growing to love, he thinks, Draco Malfoy, and he knows he is putting them in danger. He knows it. But he thinks that if anyone can handle themselves against the greatest foe around, it is them. It has to be them.

Harry closes his eyes. He thinks of his mother and father. Of the cowardly and the brave. He thinks of Hermione, and then of Voldemort, and of Umbridge. He will defeat his enemies one day. And he will do it with Hermione and Ron and Draco by his side.

He has everything to lose by trusting people, by not doing this all alone. But the only person he knows with absolutely nothing to lose is Voldemort, and Harry is not Voldemort. He is the Golden Boy, and exists as if to say, as if to proclaim, that Voldemort can be defeated.

Anything that can be done once can be done again.

When he opens his eyes, Cedric is gone. Harry bleeds still.