Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, only the plot. Alas, earwax.
A/N: This is my first real attempt at a chaptered fiction, so I'd like to thank my first beta ever, trying_to_say. I really hope to be able to retain my attention span for this, but with school and all, don't expect chapters to be spit out left and right.

He Falls Like Lucifer
Chapter One: Painful Memories, Painful Rest

There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,
More pangs and fears than wars or women have;
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again.

***

“It is time, my Lord,” said a voice low and on the brink of a whisper. “It is time.”

***

It was after two in the morning, but Harry lay awake in the dark staring at the wall. Tomorrow would begin his first day of sixth year, sixth year and all the troublesome things that came with it, magic or not. With a dejected sigh, he turned onto his back and averted his gaze to the ceiling and the odd shadows created by the streetlights that littered its expanse.

What was there to look forward to, he thought, his stomach twisting in response. The new term would only serve to mark the three-month loss of Sirius, a loss that neither his two closest friends could relate to. Not even Neville was someone Harry could turn to. At least he was still able to see his parents, to feel them; but not Harry. All he had were pictures and memories and descriptions bestowed to him from others.

He furrowed his brow in frustration, his hands grappling the sheets, while he thought. And you can forget Dumbledore, a little voice said in the back of his mind that had not forgotten what the old man had told him, or likewise, forgot to tell him. He couldn’t even turn to Dumbledore for reassurance anymore than he could to Malfoy because Dumbledore had failed; failed to tell him the full story and failed in keeping Harry’s trust.

There might have been Lupin to turn to, but why would he want to talk to Harry? It had been Harry’s fault that Lupin’s only remaining true friend had died, trying to protect Harry, which was how it always turned out. The people that he were close to always got hurt because of him. It started with Ron in first year, sacrificing himself so that Harry could get the Philosopher’s Stone. Then it had been Ginny and Hermione in second year, victims of Riddle’s twisted plot. Third year had almost caused Sirius’s death, but fourth year was the true start of it all. Someone had actually died right at his feet, someone he seldom knew at all, giving him, and the rest of Hogwarts whether they wanted to believe it or not, a shot of reality and the death and terror that Voldemort could, and would, inflict.

He thought nothing else could have shocked him after the death of Cedric, but he had been wrong. The casualty, the murder, of his godfather had been what hurt him the most. Sirius had been the last member of his true family and his father’s best friend; he had been willing to take him in and rid him of the Dursleys forever. But that dream had shattered in the Department of Mysteries right along with Sirius.

He felt like a hopeless cause bringing death to everyone’s doorstep. Harry groaned at the thought, tears stinging his eyes. There was nothing he could do but distance himself from those he cherished and hope upon hope that no harm would be bestowed upon them. But that was all he could hope for. He had no hope for anything else because he knew that Voldemort would win in the end. The Dark Lord had already proven that he was more than capable of murder and, without a doubt, how to twist his opponents’ minds into giving him what he wanted.

All Harry knew was that he belonged on neither side, that he was an accepted cast out. He had caused too much pain and suffering to stay with those he loved for fear of bringing more pain, but he had also experienced the evil of Voldemort and could not bear to think of helping the Dark Lord’s cause. Harry was on his own side, with his own pathetic army, and that was the only way it could, would, ever be.

He flung his right arm over his eyes in an effort to ebb the flow of tears, but they only soaked into his sleeve. Exhausted and almost exalted to a catharsis, he sighed and let his heavy eyelids drop closed. What met him on the other side, however, was not sleep.

A dark red light flooded his vision and he felt a pressure against his skull that increased with each passing second. His eyes flew open and he brought his hands to his head, holding it tightly as if to make the pressure cease. He winced as it grew more intense and gasped when he felt the searing pain of his scar shoot across his forehead, biting his lip so hard that he drew blood. When the pain became too unbearable, Harry cried out in agony as he continued to try and fight it. As a result of his defiance, his body writhed and convulsed in anguish, causing the bed sheets to twist around his legs.

And then it stopped. His fingers were still wrapped in his unruly hair, unmoving, but his chest rose and fell with his laboured breathing and he could feel his heartbeat fluttering wildly under his ribcage and at his temples as if he’d just played a game of Quidditch. He had barely brought his hands down from the sides of his head before the Dursleys came bursting through his door, fear etched in their faces.

“What the devil is wrong with you, boy?” hissed Uncle Vernon.

“N-nothing,” Harry stammered back. He stole a glance at Aunt Petunia, who was leaning against the doorframe in her pink nightgown, and Dudley, who was trying to hide behind his mother and peer after Harry at the same time.

“I don’t want that ruffian and his crazed eye to be setting foot on my property,” raged his uncle, “so you better tell me what was really going on,” he threatened. “And I know something happened. Something always happens with you,” he jeered.

“It was just a nightmare,” Harry said quickly, hoping that the age-old excuse would hold true for his uncle. Uncle Vernon merely looked at Harry suspiciously, though, before deciding to take his excuse since he had no evidence to contradict it.

“Well, I don’t want anymore funny business, do you hear me?” Uncle Vernon said gruffly as Harry nodded. “Or you won’t be having a ride to this Platform nine and four thirds.”

He stalked across the room, shooing his wife and son away. Then, he turned to glare at Harry and shut the door.

Letting out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, Harry rolled back onto his side. He briefly considered telling his friends what had just happened, but revoked that thought just as quickly as it came. If he were to be his own army on his own side, he would have to learn how to deal with these things, as unpleasant as they were, on his own because if it came to the end, there would be nobody to help him.

***

A Knight bus drive away in Ottery St. Catchpole, Ginny awoke with a start, her heart beating wildly and her breathing irregular. She couldn’t remember the reason that she had woken up, only that she somehow felt different…that she felt alive.

With a puzzled expression on her face, but the scatterings of sleep forming together again, she lay back down on her bed and closed her eyes, letting sleep take her once again.

***

Harry woke up with a groan and drew the covers over his head to drown out the sunlight in an effort to ease the pain in his aching skull. He felt as if a Bludger had hit his head two minutes into the game. Most likely from an illegal swing by Malfoy, he thought wryly. Rolling over, he stifled another groan and slowly pulled the covers down, exposing his face to the streams of light that peaked through his curtains. He squinted immediately as the bright light hit his eyes, intensifying the dull after throb of the past night’s strange occurrence.

The thought of last night snapped Harry back into focus and he grabbed his glasses, jamming them onto the bridge of his nose. Bloody hell. What did happen last night, he wondered to himself. He’d had experiences like this before, Merlin thank his scar, but it had never been this intense before. The closest thing he could compare it to would have been the night of Cedric’s death when Voldemort had finally been able to touch Harry. He winced unconsciously at the thought as his eyes strayed to the clock.

“Bugger!” Harry swore loudly, and Hedwig gave him an indignant look from inside her cage, but he merely ignored her as she ruffled her feathers.

He gathered as many books as he could and threw them into his trunk, silently thanking Ron and Hermione for purchasing his school year supplies. With a last quick glance around his room, he slammed the trunk lid shut, making all of the books and ingredients fit inside whether they wanted to or not. Making sure he had his wand, Harry trudged across his room, grabbed Hedwig’s cage, and caused a clatter as he pounded down the stairs. He left his effects at the bottom and stormed into the kitchen where his Uncle was nonchalantly crowding his face with sausage and eggs.

“The least you could have done was to wake me up!” Harry yelled at his Uncle. “Then you’d have known you wouldn’t have to suffer through seeing my face everyday,” he continued bitterly.

As fast as his Uncle’s fat fingers could put down his utensils, he growled back at Harry. “Don’t you use that tone of voice with me, boy. After we’ve put a roof ov-”

“Save it for someone who cares,” Harry ground out. “Just drive me to the station. Now.” He paused. “And don’t make me say that word,” he threatened.

“I’d like to see you try and use that word,” Uncle Vernon said, but he rose awkwardly from the table and wobbled to the door, reaching for his jacket. “Well, are you coming, boy?” he snarled.

Without a word, Harry grabbed his things and followed his Uncle out the door and into the car and sulked during a very chilly ride to Kings Cross Station. He was just as silent when they arrived and the only noise he made was the slamming of the car door and trunk. And, as soon as he had shut those, his Uncle drove away without a backward glance; not that Harry expected him to waste an extra glance on him anyhow.

In a very foul mood and with only two minutes until the Hogwarts Express departed, Harry sprinted around the people and through Platform 9 ¾, not caring if any Muggles saw him or not. As soon as he hopped on board the train, it lurched, signifying its leave. Automatically, or rather out of habit, he immediately began to search for the compartment that held Ron and Hermione. On his way, and just as luck would have it, he ran into Malfoy. Ah, I can feel the Bludger coming on now, Harry thought sardonically.

“Late are we, Potter?” Malfoy inquired rhetorically, raising his left eyebrow as he did so. Behind him, Crabbe and Goyle guffawed in habitual support. “Did the Muggles forget to wake you, or did they decide to finally start caring and could not bear to let their precious nephew leave for a whole year?” he leered.

“Stuff it, Malfoy,” Harry replied, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses and his hands tightening reflexively around the handles of the trunk and cage.

“Looks as if we have hit a sore spot. What do you say, Goyle?” Malfoy asked, barely turning his head to the right to hear Goyle’s jumbled response of agreement. He turned back and was about to send more jeers towards Harry’s way when Hermione’s head poked out of a nearby compartment.

“Harry!” she called, bringing a hand out to beckon him over. “Harry! Over here!”

Harry sent Malfoy a final glare before walking in Hermione’s direction and ignoring Draco’s various insults about Mudbloods. He yanked his trunk into the compartment and set Hedwig’s cage on a seat before walking back to slam the door shut. Hard. He ignored the looks that Ron, Hermione, and Ginny gave him and sat down, perfectly content enough to stare stubbornly at his worn, black trainers.

“What was all that about, Harry?” Hermione inquired, her tone serious.

“Nothing,” he replied gruffly. He saw Hermione and Ron exchange worried glances out of the corner of his eye and wished that they would just leave him alone. But Ginny’s gaze was the most irritating out of them all and he couldn’t help but steal a quick glance in her direction as she sat in the corner window seat.

He felt that there was something different about her, and it disconcerted him. Before he could figure it out, however, Ron’s voice penetrated his line of thought and whatever he had been thinking about fled as the new invasion flooded his senses.

“You look absolutely horrible, mate. Did something happen?”

“Jus’ couldn’t get to sleep ‘s all,” Harry mumbled in reply, avoiding his friend’s eyes. “The anticipation of today was getting to me, I guess,” he continued in an attempt to persuade both Ron and Hermione that he was fine.

There was no point in telling them the truth. They would either try to help him and end up getting their lives lopped off or they would run to Dumbledore and Harry would be fed more half-truths for the sake of his protection. He snorted to himself and quickly turned it into a cough when he felt their gazes turn upon him once more. “I’m okay,” he said to no one in particular, and resumed the watch on his shoes.

***

Whilst the spectacle between the Trio transpired, Ginny remained silent, observing Harry. What she didn’t know was that he, too, felt that there was something different going on with the other. Ginny couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something strange about The-Boy-Who-Lived; something familiar that she couldn’t quite place her wand on.

So, she continued to gaze at Harry and was smugly satisfied when she saw him glance briefly in her direction and shift under her unsettling watch. She felt the tug of a grin at the corners of her mouth, but quickly banished it away since it would not do to be found smirking in a situation such as this; she would likely become the next target of her brother’s over-protective gait and Hermione’s over-bearing curiosity if she was not careful.

However, there was no need to worry; at least not now, anyways. She looked up as Hermione spoke to both her and Harry, though mainly Harry.

“Well, while you sit and stew, Ron and I must go on our Prefect rounds.” She shot a look at Ron that clearly ruled argument out of the question and opened the compartment door, holding it open for him. Only after he had left did she step out and shut the door, leaving Harry and Ginny to themselves.

“Keep your eyes to yourself, will you?” he bit out, glaring at Ginny with his arms crossed stubbornly over his chest. He slumped down in the seat, half awaiting a reply from her, and could almost feel the air change temperature as she opened her mouth to reply.

“Someone’s acting like there’s a flobberworm stuck up his arse,” she huffed, eyeing him malignantly. “Apparently they didn’t all die when Hagrid brought them up,” she continued coldly. “And I wasn’t even looking at you.”

“Yes, you were,” Harry instigated. He didn’t know why he continued to bait her on, but it felt oddly satisfying and he wasn’t in the mood to resist giving into his rash actions.

“‘Were’, as in past tense and past tense as in five minutes ago, you speccy git.” It was her turn to cross her arms over her chest, and she did so, her eyes flashing in annoyance.

“But you still were,” he said, “and I am not a ‘speccy git’,” continued Harry sourly, remembering her insult.

They sat there, both regarding the other with a challenging look on their faces and daring each other to say another word. Harry sat with his arms crossed over his chest, slouched down in the seat, and his over-grown fringe falling over his glasses into his eyes, giving him the look of a very spoiled child who had not gotten his way. Ginny, too, sat with her arms over her chest. But her feet were pulled up onto the seat and she leaned against the corner near the window, her hair falling over her shoulders, her right eyebrow raised and reminding Harry strongly of a very ill tempered Mrs. Weasley; or at least a younger one, that is.

Slowly, their tempers began to ebb until they were looking at each other with genuine curiosity. Ginny unfolded her arms hesitantly, as if afraid Harry would burst out again, and settled her hands in her lap to regard them with supreme interest.

“Well, you are a git,” she teased lightly, not looking at him. He merely snorted. “Harry, what’s wrong?” she questioned softly, lifting her gaze to try and meet his straying eyes.

“Nothing,” he replied gruffly. “If I didn’t tell Hermione or Ron, then what makes you think I’m going to tell you?” he challenged.

“So there is something,” she discerned, and wasn’t able to keep the crow out of her voice, which only irritated Harry even more with her displayed sense of smug accomplishment. At that, Harry kept quiet.

Switching tactics, she moved to the other window side of the compartment and sat next to Harry, fully intending to pull out of him what was bothering him. As she did so, he glared at her irately, daring her to pursue the issue any further. And she didn’t.

She didn’t move from where she had seated herself at the look in his eyes, a look that seemed distantly familiar, a look that she still could not place. His eyes were dark with annoyance and the shadows from the rims of his glasses only added to it. There was something terrifying about how he looked just then, and she shivered subconsciously, shrinking away from him. “Don’t” was all he said before the compartment door slid open.

“Harry? Ginny?” said Ron’s voice, and her gaze flickered to his familiar face. “What’s going on?” he asked in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” replied Ginny quickly, and she crossed the compartment once more, back to where she had been sitting before, and glared stonily out the window to watch the scenery as it zoomed by.

“Oi,” said Ron, exasperated as he slid a hand through his hair and sank down next to Harry while Hermione sat by Ginny. “You all have the attitude of Crookshanks,” he grumped, and was rewarded with silence from Harry and Ginny, a glare from Hermione, and a silent rest of the train ride to Hogwarts.

***

By the time they got to Hogwarts and were brought to the castle via carriage, the foursome had cooled down quite a bit, but were still rather involved in their own thoughts. Both Ginny and Hermione were worrying about Harry, though Ginny was more focused on the peculiar change in him, Harry was worrying about his friends’ safety, and Ron was worrying about food.

They sat together and half-listened to Dumbledore give his brief beginning of the year speech (though he had Hermione’s full attention, thank you very much) about how the Forbidden Forest was off limits to everyone and that Filch had added more than several new items on his list of “Things to be Confiscated Among Students.” Then again, there was always something new that Filch never failed to overlook, but the students would always find a way to get around it. And then the Sorting Hat sang its annual song:

A millennium or score ago
Came four companions true,
Who put their heads together
And knew just what to do.
In unadult’rated unison,
They agreed that they would make
A school for magic learning
Of whom they’d choose to take.
Gryffindor, the first of four,
Chose those of valiant deed,
Whose great spirit and lasting valour
Remained in times of need.
Next came witty Ravenclaw
Seeking ingenuity
In those with clear cut wisdom
Of genuine acuity.
Then came righteous Hufflepuff,
Who chose with impartiality
Those of faithful composition,
Unflinching from drudgery.
Last came clever Slytherin,
Who chose with zealous mystery
Those of aspiration
And refined history.
Having accomplished their shared goal,
They reveled in a time of unity
Before the views of Founders four
Disrupted their community.
Split by their own values,
They entered territ’ry uncharted,
But not before Slytherin decided
It’d be best if he departed.
So it was then that the quartet
Became a fam’ly of three;
What once was strong totality,
No more was it to be.
Now looking at the present,
I say my message true:
Unity here is steadily crumbling,
But it’s something you must renew.
With out the comfort of one
Holding us together,
Someone in close presence
Will divide us forever.
And now I resume my task
Of principal sorting
With a heavy-hearted hope
For undivided ring.

It was the second year in a row that the Sorting Hat had emphasized the importance of inter-house relations, but those who had heard it before merely shrugged it off as reinforcement due to the impending war and watched the Sorting Ceremony with mild interest, clapping at appropriate times. When it was over, food appeared on the table and Ron crowed in delight, hungrily reaching for multiple chicken legs as his stomach let out a rather loud growl.

***

At last, the students rose to leave for their dormitories, content now that they were warm and filled with food. Ron and Hermione took to the front of the Gryffindor crowd to lead the first years away, leaving Harry and Ginny on their own. Of course, Harry could have found camaraderie with Neville, Dean, or Seamus, but he wasn’t very much in the mood for their company. Instead, he walked silently alongside Ginny as they made their way behind the first years, each stealing a glance at the other.

After Ron and Hermione (Hermione more than Ron) explained where everything could be located, some students went for their dormitories while others stayed behind in the Common Room. Harry and Ginny were of those who left, leaving Ron and Hermione to talk amongst themselves.

They both went up the stairs and Ginny turned to say “Good night” to Harry, who had the same idea, and ended up saying it at the same time he did. She could feel a slight flush creep along the backs of her ears and looked at him awkwardly before climbing the rest of the stairs to the girls’ dormitories. Harry watched her from behind as she made her way before sighing and continuing onward to his own dormitory.

***

As soon as Ginny made it into her room, she leaned against the door, her head against the hard wood, and closed her eyes in an effort to gather her senses. Opening them, she took in the state of her room, intensely glad that her dorm mates had decided to stay in the Common Room for once. She ran a hand across her forehead, brushing stray tresses away, and walked to her bed before kicking her shoes off and lying back on the plush comforter.

She stared mindlessly upwards at the canopy above her head, trying to make sense of the thoughts going through her head. She didn’t understand. She understood, no, sensed that there was something strangely different about Harry, but she didn’t understand, didn’t know what it was. And as much as she didn’t understand it, she felt she did. She let out a strangled growl from frustration. She thought she had ridded herself of her schoolgirl crush over Harry and began to reprimand herself when another thought floated up.

There was something strangely familiar about this new persona of Harry, something dangerous. And truth be told, she rather liked it, but refused to consciously admit it to herself. The sweetness that smiles belied and the secrets that fear held. It was all a thrill to try to comprehend the endless labyrinth that was danger. But she didn’t understand why she liked it; only that she did.

As these thoughts swirled in Ginny’s mind, she became more and more aware of how good it would feel to fall asleep then and there and succumbed to her heavy lids to be transported to a world where harm had no limits and terror any boundaries. And while she dreamed, Harry did, too.

---

A/N: The five lines at the very beginning of the chapter are from William Shakespeare's Henry VIII in which the character Wolsey delivers a soliloquy in Act III, Scene II. Here it is in its full glory:

So farewell to the little good you bear me.
Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness!
This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hopes; to-morrow blossoms,
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him;
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost,
And, when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root,
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd,
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,
This many summers in a sea of glory,
But far beyond my depth. My high-blown pride
At length broke under me, and now has left me,
Weary and old with service, to the mercy
Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.
Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye!
I feel my heart new open'd. O, how wretched
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours!
There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,
More pangs and fears than wars or women have;
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again.