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Samara was being walked back to her cell. She couldn’t help but smile. For the first time in the entirety of her prison sentence, she didn’t eat alone. When she had gone to sit down at her usual table, she saw that there were other people sitting there. She thought they might be new; new people wouldn’t know anything about her and would have just sat at an empty bench. She sat down and the two women turned toward her. The faces seemed familiar, but she didn’t know the names to go with them.

“Hi.” The women looked a bit startled by the sound of her voice, but they didn’t move. The woman sitting across from her had medium length brown hair with green eyes and looked like she was in her late twenties or early thirties. She was somewhat tan, but looked like it was fading rather quickly. The woman sitting next to her had strawberry blonde hair down to her waist and brown eyes. She appeared to be in her twenties, and was almost as pale as Samara herself.

“Hello. I-I’m Sarah Schneider… a-and that there is E-eva Leighman…” said the strawberry blonde. Samara tried to give her a warm smile, but the fact that Sarah had stuttered caught her attention. Samara observed Sarah for a moment, extremely confused. Sarah was becoming uncomfortable under her scrutinizing gaze, but kept quiet. Samara finally looked away.

Nah… it couldn’t be…

“So, I know you two aren’t new here, so… why exactly are you sitting over here? I mean… I thought that everyone was afraid of me.” She looked to the two women for an answer, knowing that whatever they say will probably not be the truth. Sarah and Eva exchanged glances, and turned back to Samara. Then they both started talking excessively fast and in unison. Samara held up her hand at them and they were silenced instantly.

“Okay, let’s try that again, only this time… slower.”

Eva then spoke up, “We heard that your visitor was Harry Potter…”

“And we wanted to ask you about it…” Sarah finished for her.

Samara almost lost control of her jaw as it fell slightly. She couldn’t believe. Two fully grown women, had crushes on a seventeen-year-old boy. Okay, yeah… he’s famous and all, but still. Samara couldn’t blame them though; she herself was having trouble erasing his gorgeous emerald eyes from her mind when it wandered. She shook her head, clearing it of those tantalizing thoughts and placed her focus on the women at her table.

“Well, the visit wasn’t what I expected, but it was still… interesting…” And for the rest of lunch, they were hooked on Samara’s every word about her encounter with ‘The Boy Who Lived.’



Harry exited the Headmasters office. His face held deep emotion, but you wouldn’t be able to define it. There where no words for how he felt at that exact moment. His footsteps echoing along the ancient halls of the school were his only companion. He had missed lunch, but he wasn’t hungry. He reached his hand in the pocket of his robe and felt the three objects that Dumbledore had given him, two of which were his new prized possessions. He was to play messenger with the third object. As he made his way back to the common room, the past few hours replayed in his head…

He entered the room… Dumbledore was sitting at his desk; tears were visible in his pale blue eyes. Harry had never seen him like this; he was always one step ahead of them all, now he looked like the world was about to end – which in a way, it could.

“Harry… please sit down.” Harry complied. He saw that the Headmaster had several piece of parchment on his desk. Harry was about to ask what they were, but Dumbledore started to speak. “Harry, something… very terrible happened last night…”

Please, not Lupin…

“What happened, Professor?” His voice was trembling terribly, and the muscles in his throat started to constrict. The wise old man stared at the young man sitting before him; the young man who had already gone through so much in his short years. Who didn’t deserve all that had happened to him already, and was going to go through another loss… again.

“Last night… something happened to your Aunt, Uncle and cousin…” Harry’s heart stopped.

What?

“There was a fire… and no one survived… I’m terribly sorry my boy. It was found to be arson, we believe it was the work of one of Lord Voldemort’s Deatheaters.”

Harry couldn’t breathe. He felt his chest tighten and a scream get caught in his throat. If he hadn’t been sitting down, he would have fallen, and in a way he did; he was now at rock bottom, the floor you can’t fall below.

He ran both hands through his messy black hair while placing his elbows on his knees, the conclusion being the cradling of his head in his hands. He closed his bright green eyes, forbidding the tears to fall for his relatives. The people who locked him up with no food for days on end; The people who made him their slave as repayment for taking him in; The people who never accepted him because of ‘what he was’ and ‘who his parents were’, never loved him like family, which is all he ever wanted.

He didn’t want to show any form of sorrow for their lives being ripped from him. He hated them, with the burning passion of a thousand suns. They made his life a living Hell since as far back as he could remember.

Then why do I feel like my world is crumbling around me, and there’s no one around to see it?

But there was. The old man had walked around the ancient desk and crouched before the young savior. He placed an aged hand over the smaller ones covering Harry’s head, and patted them; the tears that had glazed over his eyes were now melting softly down is face; a face full of character and wisdom. A face that now meant nothing, and knew nothing.

“I’m sorry my dear boy. But you must hear me, and hear me well…” He took Harry’s hands in his own and lowered them from his face. The expression on the boys face could only be one thing – determination. Determination to not let the flood-gates in his eyes buckle, to not let his already broken heart shatter once more, to not let anyone know how much he really did care… even though they didn’t.

Dumbledore leaned closer to Harry, and spoke in a voice he didn’t recognize to be his. It had changed drastically so, that Harry had to look into his eyes as he spoke, as if to be sure it was the Headmaster speaking.

It was the voice of a scared man, something he had hoped to never see on the wise Headmaster, but maybe this was just what he needed. He needed to know that Dumbledore was, indeed, human.

“It is okay to cry for them… to mourn over their short lives. Even though they weren’t very good to you, they still were family. They still took you in when your own parents were killed by Lord Voldemort. In a way, they did love you, Harry. They were just too scared to show it, for fear of if they lost you, they would lose James and Lily all over again. So… it
is okay… to feel for them.”

That was all Harry needed. At that, he let out a sob – a sob that pierced the very center of Dumbledore’s heart. He pulled the boy to him in an embrace that Harry accepted without hesitation. He sobbed like a newborn baby, cried tears that he had been ashamed to let flee, and clutched at the old man as if a lifesaver. Dumbledore simply rubbed the boys back, letting him rid himself of the pain that he was feeling, because there would be more to come. Oh boy, there would be more.


As Harry entered the boy’s dormitory, he noticed no one in the common room. They were probably taking advantage of the nice day, like he hand been earlier. He then closed the door and went to sit on his bed. He took the three items out of his robe, three envelopes.

The first one held Sirius’s Last Will and Testament, stating that Harry and Lupin were to receive everything of his, and that they split it up between themselves. The second one held the key to Number 12 Grimmauld Place, his new home; the Headquarters of The Order of The Phoenix. The third one wasn’t for him, he was to deliver it to someone else – someone Dumbledore couldn’t reach.

Guard this with your very life, Harry. If the recipient doesn’t get this… the consequences could be… catastrophic… Dumbledore’s voice spoke in his head. He had made it very clear that what was in the plain muggle envelope was of extreme importance, and that the only person to open and read it was the person it was to be delivered to.

Harry put the three objects in his trunk for safekeeping and went to the bathroom to take a shower. He disrobed and stepped under the waterfall that made his skin tingle in pain. The steam made it hard for him to see anything, but he didn’t care at that moment. He didn’t want to see anything. He didn’t want to feel, he just wanted to escape.

When he stepped out, the water was ice cold and his entire body was red from the burning shower. He dried off and put on some cloths, not wanting to leave the Tower. He went immediately to his bed and turned down the covers. He got under and closed the curtains around him. He laid down, just staring at the ceiling, thinking over his life. He only had one thought running through his head as sleep finally overtook him.

Why me?

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