The Rivalry

Waiting for Draco to return was revoltingly excruciating for Harry. That blonde bastard just had to leave right then didn't he? And now Harry could only gaze longingly at the work he wasn't allowed to touch until the Slytherin returned. Releasing a frustrated growl Harry stalked to the opposite desk, upended his book-bag and began rifling through the research. he'd brought with him. Perhaps putting it back in order would keep his mind preoccupied. It was only a small piece of it, he hadn't had the time to stalk up to the fourth year dorm and dig through the pile of belongings he knew would be jumbled carelessly together, strewn across the room in a show of his housemates disapproval. It was only by chance he'd had his book-bag with him from the night before, a set of clothing and his books for the day already within it. He couldn't imagine his partnership with Malfoy would be enough to stymie Snape's rage if Harry came to class without his books.

The unfortunate side effect of Harry's sort of luck was that it was always quickly followed by something much worse than what he was rescued from. Through out the day after the trio left the room Harry was currently thinking of calling home, he'd spent the day, each class, each moment in the hallways casting his eyes about for the impending doom he knew would come. In response Malfoy kicked him in the shins during Transfiguration and threatened to stick his eyes shut and place him in a body bind if he didn't stop behaving like a lunatic.

Nice to know he was cared for.

Even that distraction was momentary though and his two conspirators continued absence only agitated him. He needed them here to keep his mind focused on things other than wondering whether he'd have to form his own house soon.

"Harry?"

His back immediately stiffened.

It was the tone of voice, rather than the use of his first name that caused the messy haired Gryffindor to turn away from the paperwork spread on the table before him awaiting his organization, shoulders hunched, to the boys behind him.

Percy looked very sorry for him. Malfoy didn't look at him at all, staring fixedly at a spot somewhere over Harry's shoulder with a dark calculating gleam to his eyes.

That didn't speak well for Harry.

The taller of the two took a hesitant step forward, bringing an arm from behind his back. "I'm sorry but-"

Harry stared at the book in the ginger's hand, his fellow Gryffindor's words turning to hazy fog in Harry's mind, drowning beneath the muted sound of a radio with no proper station's frequency assigned to it. An ordinary book from the outside. It was the inside, as always, that mattered. Once a collection of experiments combining magicks and science by a half-blood called Stephen Hawking. Signed.

If one had opened the tomb before today they would have found semi-blasphemous notes along every margin in the violet ink Harry owl-ordered second year. It was the ink he'd used with Tom Riddle's diary. Harry had never been able to get rid of it, he sort of felt that by keeping it he was owning and acknowledging his resentment and memories of the time, a time so similar to now, where the world seemed to turn against him simply for being himself. Looking at the torn, stained article of literature before him, Harry felt a little something, that he was certain was once a bigger something, get even littler. Tighter.

Colder.

"Am I right in guessing there is more than this?" His voice was very quiet.

Percy nodded. Malfoy continued his examination of the far wall, his use of Harry's name to get the Gryffindor's attention his only contribution to the conversation it seemed.

"I see."

The boys began to fetch his belongings, his precious books and magical pictures, games and quills and and research, from places like the inside of a jinxed suit of armor or a filled sink of what probably wasn't water in the washroom. Bit by tiny bit he found them all, placing them carefully, though now it hardly mattered, into a small pile. Most of his clothing, the first articles of clothing that were truly his and not resentful cast offs from the Durselys, were ruined beyond even magics ability to repair.

Harry had known, of course, that his treatment at the hands of his house wouldn't suddenly disappear simply because he had removed himself from their presence...but he had hoped. And he had not believed, with Ron knowing what these things meant to him, that any harm would come to his belongings.

Harry had almost nothing left.

"I'm sorry Potter." That was the older Gryffindor.

"Yes, you've said."

It wasn't Percy's fault, and he was only trying to help, but repeating how sorry he felt didn't help anything at all. It only reminded Harry that there was something to be sorry about and that Percy's brother, Harry's closest friend, had done it.

The three of them, a Gryffindor, a scholar and a Slytherin, gathered about a pile of seeming rubbish, not talking, was how Dumbledore found them. The old wizard paused in his steps, his whistle slowing to a less cheery tune. Harry couldn't much blame him, after all they were stood around his ruined possessions like mourners at a funeral. In the middle of the hallways no less. None of them looked up to greet him or even acknowledged him which may have been what cemented his interest in the odd scenario. Without a word of his own the headmaster placed a firm hand on Harry's shoulder and stood beside him, taking it all in and figuring out what might have happened. Harry knew, as did everyone else, that Albus Dumbledore was one of the greatest wizards of all time. His mind was brilliant, his magicks talented in several categories, his deeds numerous, his discoveries renowned. This man knew what was taking place in his school, just as he had known Harry was sneaking a dragon to the top of a tower in first year. So, the question running through Harry's head in time to the slamming of his heart, was not why nothing was being done. Nothing was done in second year. It was why he chose to do nothing. Did he think it would only make things worse if he intervened? Did he think Harry could manage it on his own?

Percy cleared his throat. "I'll fetch McGonagall."

"That won't be necessary."

"Sir?"

The hand on his shoulder squeezed and Harry tilted his head to show his attention to the conversation.

"I believe, Mr Weasley, that I have found a solution that will in the end be best for everyone."

Without explanation he used the hand on Harry to steer him down the hallway. They made their way through the castle, the route was familiar enough that Harry let his feet go on automatic and let his mind wander. Until, as they ascended the spiraling staircase to Dumbledore's office, the man began to speak.

"Human progress," he began, holding the door open for Harry and motioning him within, "is neither automatic nor inevitable. Every step toward the goal of justice requires sacrifice, suffering and struggle, the tireless exertions and passionate concern of dedicated individuals."

Harry slipped from his grip and sat on the lone chair before the headmasters grand desk, scattered as it was with odds and ends and things he couldn't define. It was, perhaps, the most unorganized looking bit of furniture he'd ever seen. Coming from the fourth year boys dorm, that was certainly saying something. But Harry had also seen, on more than one occasion, the sharp glint in the old wizards eyes when flickering through his thoughts for the best course of action. Nothing this man did was spontaneous or a bout of whimsy as he'd have the world believe. The desk was messy on purpose.

And that summed up Dumbledore entirely, to Harry's mind.

"My boy, I understand that things have been difficult for you lately. Your little spat with Ronald has escalated farther than what the student body is used to. Even I hear the murmurings and rumours. Harry. Why have you chosen to instigate negative relations with your friends?"

He didn't know what to say,s o he didn't say anything.

"That speech you gave in class was well researched." Dumbledore tried.

Harry nodded.

"You must know, in the world we live in, we must sometimes do things we would rather not do. We must sometimes hold our tongues and swallow our pride and let the little things go. Was it truly so important for you to act out? You've never been so rebellious in class before, which is quite the achievement according to our Potions Master. You understand, as Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-lived there will be certain expectations of you? Certain requirements? You've done so well so far Harry."

"Yes but, once in a while...I don't know. I feel so close. So close to the edge. Like if I allow myself one small misstep I'll plunge away and never come back. I'll lose myself."

The professor looked very sad then. "You were never yours to begin with Harry. It is hard to deal with, but the truth of the matter is the wizarding world has always and will always see you as an icon. A symbol. A celebrity. A shield. You've never been a real person to them. You are...merely a fourteen year old boy. I know it. You know it. The world does not care, they will allow you no leniency to do things they have not expected you to do. Our roles have been slotted to the appropriate frame for our life's tapestries and the world will suffer no deviations."

He swallowed. The professor was only confirming all of Harry's fears.

"I can't go back to that." He rasped. "I can't go back to pretending all of the time. To walking around like an alien in someone else's body. I can't do it please don't make me sir."

A weathered hand patted his right arm. "I know my boy, I know it is hard. This is why I have chosen to help you."

The tightening sensation around his wrist alerted Harry that something was happening. His eyes snapped up to see a leather wristband clasped about his right wrist. Magic pulsed within it for a moment then faded.

Harry rose to his feet. "What the Hell was that?"

Dumbledore raised both hands. "Now listen Harry. Calm down. I'm trying to help you. This is just going to make things a little easier for you my boy. Easier to do what you must, easier to live the life you've been given." Harry's mind focused. The Come and Go room. He and Malfoy could easily figure out how to remove-

Pain seared through his veins, startling him. His hands grasps the sides of the desk to keep himself upright.

"S-sir?"

"It is a behavior conditioning cuff. It is used to help remove bad habits and instill good thoughts and behavior into the wearer. I think you will find it useful in your current situation. It makes people nervous, when one such as yourself, already so uncommon in your strengths and your birth, does things unexpected. They don't know what to think Harry and they sometimes start to make rash choices that can result in someone getting hurt. I only wish to protect you."

"I hardly think this is necessary. I was handling it on my own, not well granted but I don't want to go back to the way it was."

"There are more important things than the dramas of a single life, Harry. What do our individual petty desires, insecure fears or fleeting feelings really measure against The Greater Good? Sacrifices must be made, by all of us, at difficult junctions in our lives. More so by those of us whom are thrust into the spotlight of the world's favour, however fickle it might sometimes prove to be. We do not get to change who we are, run away or hide. That was not a path woven for us in our fate's tapestry. I would like to tell you that none shall regret these choices more than I, the choices of putting the worlds good before my own, but I know you of all people understand the feeling precisely. And that pains me greatly, my boy. This is a necessary evil, as one might put it. Reinforcement to keep ourselves on our path and the tapestry's design as it is meant to be. After all, we can not allow the darkness to overcome the light."

Harry, face tilted down, fringe covering most of his face, studied the bracelet on his arm. A single finger of the opposite hand tracing it, solidifying it into reality.

Dumbledore's words sinking little teeth into his mind.

"It is good you have done this without waiting for my permission." He said, finally, in a voice the Professor had never heard from him. "I would not have given it."

"Now my boy, I am certain with time, and a change of perspective, you will come to see-"

The younger of the two looked up through his lashes and just made out the form of the old man across from him, smiling, he was sure, in his grandfatherly way, and he nodded, effectively silencing the headmaster. "I believe I am already having that change of perspective sir."

...already so uncommon in your strengths and your birth...

Walking down the spiral staircase outside the headmaster's office, some part of him suddenly believed, assuredly, and miserably, that the wizarding world, and Dumbledore, had sent him away because they were afraid of him. Like some monstrously deformed child who should never have lived beyond infancy, or a conjoined twin whose other half died under the knife. He had -simply by surviving- become a freak of nature.

Freak.