"Your father's in trouble," Harry states. He pushes Ron until he's awake and grumbling things under his breath. "Your dad, Ron, just got attacked by a giant snake. I'm going to go wake your siblings, you need to go tell the Headmaster--"

"What?" barks Ron, sitting up. "Dad's in trouble? Who are -- Harry? How -- how would you know--"

"I had a vision," says Harry. He curses himself when flexing his hand too hard, blood still staining his sleeve in large clumps. He'll have a week's more worth of tension for leaving early, but he knows this is for it. For the Weasleys. "That's all you need to know. And that he's in trouble. Go tell the Headmaster he's needed."

"You go tell the Headmaster," says Ron, throwing the blanket off of him. In this moment, all past friendships and new anonymity is behind him. There is just this moment. "It's your vision, innit? I'll go wake Fred and George -- Ginny'll have to wait, sorry sis--" He gets up and starts walking toward where his siblings must be, but Harry grabs his arm. Perhaps a bit too harshly.

"I can't do that," he says, pained. "Please. Just let me do things my way."

Ron looks at him, confused, tearing his arm out of Harry's grasp. "What the Hell's wrong with you?"

Harry winces. "Ron, I--"

"No. My dad's in trouble, and you're forcing me to tell about your vision secondhand, while I get doubted until you show up, wasting precious, valuable time--"

"I'm not going to tell the Headmaster about my vision," Harry blurts. He flushes red, suddenly overcome by the insanity of such a statement, but holds his ground nonetheless.

"What?" says Ron. "Are -- are you serious?" Harry resists the urge to respond No, I'm Harry, and instead keeps his mouth shut. "Why?"

"I don't trust him!" shouts Harry, uncaring if he wakes the other boys. Some of them need to be awakened anyway. "And he doesn't trust me," he adds, softer.

Ron stares a thim, incredulous. "Because you blasted a hole into some lady's head, dude!"

"Oh, come on!" Harry hadn't talked to Ron or Hermione since before the incident, so of course he's bought into all the rumors. "It was a tiny scratch! And she deserved it!"

"Is now really the right time for this?" hisses Ron, and Harry pauses. "You're telling me my dad's dying and you're more concerned with yourself than anything!"

And although a part of him wants to be kind -- wants to act with the knowledge that Tom and Potter are not real friends and he really is so lonely, and this is a gateway back into Ron and Hermione's friendship -- the other part of him knows that he will not be saving a life if he comes with him; he'd be condemning it.

Why would Dumbledore trust a potentially delusional vision, when he had refused to trust him enough to even look in his eyes before? Why wouldn't he be turned away, forced back to bed?

"Actually, now that you mention it," says Harry, "say that someone else had the vision -- do we have anyone in our House that's a good Seer? Use them instead of me, that'll work better. I don't want you to get turned away for even mentioning my name."

Ron stares at him. "You're insane," he whispers. "I can't believe you'd..." But he trails off and raises a finger to point. Harry follows his gaze.

Shit. His bleeding hand. Harry hides it behind his back, knowing how useless it is. "It's not self inflicted," he says quickly, before Ron can accuse him of that.

Ron's eyes have gone wide. "I wasn't worried about that before, but now I sure as hell am. What happened?"

"Umbridge happened," mutters Harry, uncomfortably.

Ron sighs deeply, rubbing his temple. "Once this is all over, we're going to talk about this, all of this, but I'm going to knock you out, and when you wake, you're telling Dumbledore exactly what you told me." He grunts and then, swings his fist at Harry's face.

But Harry is cunning.

And expecting of this to happen, so he steps back, barely missing the punch, and retreats quickly and quietly out of the common room, schoolbag still swinging around his shoulder, throwing on his Invisibility Cloak and disappearing into the night.

Harry sits at the spot Tom was resurrected, on the grass and under the moonlight. Tom's diary is out and open, and Tom sits across from Harry, legs crossed in front of him. Potter is up on his feet, pacing.

Harry follows the back and forth movement with his eyes as he sits, curled up into a ball, arms wrapped around his legs.

"So you had a nightmare?" suggests Tom, after listening to Harry tell what happened.

Harry shakes his head, trying to control his temper. "It wasn't a dream! It was a vision!"

"A vision, right..."

Harry stops himself from pouting. "My scar hurt. It was like my dreams with Voldemort. I was the same snake from before, in my other dreams."

Tom hums, considering what he's said. "I've got some people to contact," mutters Tom. "Some things to research, if what you said was true..." Harry smiles a real, genuine smile.

"Perhaps you shouldn't," says Potter.

Tom looks up at him, surprised to hear him talking. Potter has stopped pacing. "What now?" says Tom.

"Perhaps you should be careful who you contact, and what you research," says Potter. He shrugs, lightly. "We wouldn't want the wrong people knowing the wrong pieces of information now, would we? We don't want to endanger anybody."

Tom and Potter stare at each other for a long while, not breaking eye contact, and Harry sits before them, confused as ever. "I'm tired of this," says Harry.

Tom finally looks at him. "Of what, dear?"

"Of you all treating me horrible, and now not telling me things. I'm sick and tired of it."

"We're all you have," reminds Potter. It is not the reassurance Harry wanted, or needed. He wanted to hear No, Harry, we're not keeping anything from you. We love you. We want the best for you. But instead he gets: We are terrible for you, and we know this, and what are you going to do about it?

Well. Harry knows what he's going to do about it. He's going to leave.

Harry stands and wipes the dirt of his pants. "Then maybe I'd rather be alone."

He grabs his things and walks back up to the castle, invisible. He leaves the diary open and on the floor, abandoned.