Secrets

Chapter 1: Non-Stop Rain.

Harry was sitting alone in the dark. He was in front of the huge bay window of the eighth-year common room and deep in thought, barely conscious of the rain streaming against the leaded windows in the darkness outside. It had been raining non-stop for two weeks, oscillating between dreary unending drizzle and tremendous storms before dropping away to a constant stream of heavy rain. It seemed impossible that the sky could hold that much water. Tonight, another storm raged and thunder crashed and lightning cracked in bright jagged bolts across the vast, black canvas in front of him.

There were fears of flooding across Britain, particularly as the winter snow had been particularly harsh during late December and throughout January; the rain was melting away the snow and the water was pouring down off the hills in frightening torrents. The lightning briefly highlighted the Whomping Willow being whipped up into a frenzy far below Harry. He didn't mind the storms, despite the Quidditch pitch becoming a lake, the changing rooms flooded, and Quidditch being cancelled for the foreseeable future. The storms made him feel like he was holding his breath in anticipation, as if waiting for the wind to blow away the nightmares of the past few years and for the rain to drown away the grief. He wanted to believe that when it all ended the world would be a newer, fresher place. It would be a new beginning.

There was a loud creaking, followed by a tremendous rustling crash in the grounds. It brought Harry back to the present. The lightning fleetingly showed that one of the ancient oaks near the Black Lake had been uprooted. That momentarily excited him; like he wanted to be out there, amongst the chaos, pitting himself against nature, testing himself. He briefly wondered about one of his many ludicrous titles and its meaning and snorted softly to himself.

Master of Death...

He wondered if even the Master of Death could survive being struck by lightning. Perhaps, he thought briefly, he could master it, direct it, wreak havoc on the world like some kind of Thor-God-of-Thunder-figure. He snorted softly again, dismissing the idea as ridiculous because he couldn't imagine to what end, what purpose would such actions cause? He didn't want to own that sort of power so he remained where he was, focusing on the rain running in rivulets down the small panes of glass where they collected in the bottom of the leaded diamonds before, in a trailing silver waterfall, cascaded down the next pane of glass.

He didn't tell anyone about such thoughts and to where his mind occasionally wandered as he tried to grasp the reality of who he was after the war. He didn't tell Hermione or Ron, or Minerva, or even his Mind Healer. He might share it one day but such thoughts were dangerous and he knew where thoughts like that led and he faced enough problems as it was. Anyway, he didn't want to build an empire, he had no desires to rule, to have others serve him, he just wanted to live and behave like an ordinary eighteen-year-old boy... man... he was on that cusp. He was a man really, even though he was still at school. But then again, he felt like he didn't belong at Hogwarts anymore... everything had changed too much... everything was too... uncertain... unsafe, not that he was sure it would be any better out in the real world.

He tried to reign his thoughts back, aware they were running amok and that it wasn't healthy and not all of it was true anyway. For a start, he did want to stay at Hogwarts and see the year out – some changes were good. The thing was it was so often the case these days that his thoughts were short-lived and random, sometimes too dark to be comfortable. Maybe he should talk to his Healer about them... it was just... well... new trust issues had arisen and certain things about him were secret... classified information. And people always wanted to know more about him, even nine months after the war and after the many press interviews he'd given.

Secrets... he thought. So much of his life had been shrouded in secrets. Dark secrets too, not fun, exciting ones. The war had started, and ended, with the Prophecy; a secret prediction, half-overheard, half-told, half-understood. And there were so many other secrets throughout his life. The Dursleys; trying to hide the existence of magic and the true reasoning behind his parents' deaths and Harry's own ability, to the point that they were ashamed to be related to him, to have taken him in, to let people know he existed. And there were his own secrets from that time; the beatings and the abuse and the starvation that he'd only ever told one person about... even now, Ron and Mione still didn't know the full truth of the matter, only what they guessed and alluded to cautiously in half-sentences before their voices trailed off in embarrassment. Then there were all the happenings at Hogwarts during the first six years of his schooling. Although everyone in the school seemed to know about his 'adventures' with Ron and Mione, the world was never told them in full. Dumbledore and Snape had deemed it sensible that certain matters didn't get out into the public realm. More secrets: Snape, the secret agent, so in love with his mother until the very end and hiding that truth from everyone. Dumbledore... who knew where to begin with Dumbledore? That man had more secrets than he'd had hot dinners.