By the middle of the afternoon Harry was in a better mood, but not a great one and he was reading a Quidditch magazine, because he couldn't concentrate on anything else. It probably wasn't the wisest choice given the fact that the article he was reading was putting down one of his favourite players with all sorts of incorrect facts and it was pissing him off even more, but at least it was distracting him.

He was, however, just about ready to rip the thing in half when something dragged his attention away from it. It was a strange feeling and he wasn't sure what had startled him out of reading, so he sat there, looking around the room to see if he could see anything.

He was alone, totally and completely alone; Jeremy was not even in his frame, but something had definitely disturbed him. Anger stirred in the pit of his belly, but it felt remote, not really real somehow. He was very familiar with how angry he could become in a very short space of time and this was not the same sensation at all. For some reason his mind had him thinking of Draco, only it wasn't distracting him from what was catching his attention. It took him a little while to put the two things together and then it suddenly began to make sense; the anger was coming from Draco.

It was new and he did not understand how he knew, but he did and he stood up, throwing the magazine down and marching towards the entrance.

"Let me out," he demanded as soon as he reached the portrait.

For a while there was no response and then Jeremy stepped into his frame.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Jeremy said in his usual polite tones, "but I can't do that."

"Let me out," he literally growled at the painting.

His perception of the room changed, growing brighter and he felt several of his less human traits rise to the surface.

"I am not permitted to do that," Jeremy replied simply.

Harry's patience snapped and he swiped at the portrait, vicious claws ripping through the canvas as Jeremy darted out of the way.

"I need to get out," he snarled, claws just bouncing off the magically reinforced wood as he moved on to the door.

Something was making Draco angry, very angry, with just a touch of fear as well, and Harry wanted to get to his lover. The fact that letting him out of the Room of Requirements to run free through Hogwarts would be dangerous to the other students was about the farthest thing from his mind—he wanted out and that was that.

Acting on instinct rather than thought, he pushed at the door, trying to go through it as he had done at the manor, but the wards forced him back. His prison would not let him out and that made him angry. He hit the door hard, making it shake in its frame, but it was not just wood in his way and it did not budge. The dark oak stayed firmly in place even as he threw all of his weight against it, using demonic strength and dark magic to try and get through.

The more he tried, the more it repelled him and the angrier he became until he all but screamed his fury at it, finally turning away and picking up the first thing within reach. It was one of the chairs and he lifted it above his head, hurling it at the door. He threw it with such force it splintered and folded in on itself, crumpling and falling to the floor. There wasn't even a scratch on the door where it had hit and in that moment Harry hated his prison, hated being kept in and he set about destroying everything he could find.

The furniture didn't stand a chance and, after he had finished wrecking it, he used bits of it to destroy the fake windows. The only things he couldn't rend to pieces were the books; when he tried to take them off the shelves his hands passed straight through them and it was only that which began to bring him back to reality. He was breathing hard and swiped at the books several times, but they refused to come into being as they usually did and, eventually, it finally dawned on him that they weren't going to, not while he intended to destroy them.

It was enough to make him drag back just a little of his self-control and he surveyed the devastation around him. Nothing had been spared, not the bed, not the small coffee table, not a single one of the windows and he was reminded of the room in Malfoy Manor. Slowly he sat down on the floor.

He was still angry, but the feeling from Draco was gone and with it went his impetus. That was when he felt the first stirrings of guilt and he probably would have wallowed if he hadn't seen the two-seater sofa he had ripped apart putting itself back together. The room was repairing itself and he barely managed to stop himself rising to his feet to fight the inevitable. Only later did he realise how ridiculous it was to resent the room for not staying broken longer.

~*~

The way the purple and red of Dumbledore's robe pulled the eye from anything else in the room immediately grated on Harry's nerves. It had been a very long day, what with Snape's visit in the morning to try another potion, and Draco being in detention all afternoon for fighting, so Harry was tired and irritable.

It turned out Draco had been confronted by some nameless Gryffindors and there had been a small fight, at least that's what Dobby had told him after Draco had somehow managed to send the house elf with a message. Harry didn't know the details, but then that was probably better for all concerned.

The snit fit he had thrown when he realised something was going on with Draco, not that he understood how he had known, hadn't helped in the slightest and the room was still repairing the windows, since it seemed to consider those the least important. The magic in the room was not infinite as it sometimes seemed and Harry was pretty sure that there had been a lot flowing around to keep him in.

"Good evening, Harry," Dumbledore greeted with a smile.

The headmaster's eyes flicked around the room, taking in the obvious damage, before shifting back to Harry as the old wizard walked towards him as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

"I assume you are aware that there was a regrettable incident with Mr Malfoy this afternoon," the headmaster said, conjuring himself a chair as usual.

Harry just growled a response, since he had no doubts that the magical reverberations of what he had done would have been obvious to Dumbledore. Hogwarts communicated with the headmaster on a level Harry did not quite understand and he was sure the Room of Requirements would have reported what was going on inside. Dumbledore gave him a pleasant smile for his efforts.

"I believe the sooner the relationship between you and he is revealed to the school population the better it will be for everyone," the headmaster chatted cheerfully, "although I do not believe you are in any mood to discuss that at this moment."

The old man patted the chair next to him which had just appeared out of thin air.

"Come and sit down, My Boy," Dumbledore invited agreeably; "I need to have a small discussion with you about returning to your lessons tomorrow."

The statement so shocked Harry that he forgot completely how annoyed his was and actually did as he was bidden. If the way he had reacted this afternoon was anything to go by he was definitely not safe to enter the general school population yet.

"Now I don't believe the stress of being among the other pupils will be good for you just yet," the headmaster continued, which in Harry's opinion was a nice way of saying that it would be better to avoid him killing any of his classmates, "so other arrangements will be made. I apologise that it has taken so long, but it took longer than I anticipated to set up the network of surveillance globes and communication mirrors."

Harry had no idea what Dumbledore was talking about. Sometimes the headmaster spoke as if he was living in a different universe from the rest of mankind.

"Surveillance globes?" he asked.

Dumbledore smiled and patted him on the hand.

"So you can see what is occurring in the classroom," the headmaster explained patiently. "Each classroom where your lessons take place has been fitted out with a small globe that will allow a communication mirror to show an image of what is occurring in that location; the mirror will be installed in here later this evening if you are agreeable."

Harry nodded; it was not as if he was returning to normal, but it was a good step.

"The mirror is full length, but there are matching smaller mirrors on each teacher's desk as well," Dumbledore continued his explanation. "This will allow them to see you and for you to interact with the class should you wish to ask questions or answer any of the Professors' enquiries."

This revelation brought a frown to Harry's face; he was not sure he liked the idea that someone would be able to see into his room when they felt like it.

"Do not worry, Harry," the headmaster said as if he knew exactly what he was thinking, "the mirror will only be active for the class in session, and you will have ultimate control over it. I do, however, think it would be a good idea to start easing you back into the school routine. There are only a few weeks left of term, but this is a very important year for you, and the fewer lessons you miss the better."

Harry nodded again, since it wasn't as if he had anything useful to say. Dumbledore was right and a routine might be just what he needed.

"How will I do things like potions?" he asked as the logistics of the situations began to form in his mind.

He hoped that he would not be expected to just do theory, because there was nothing more deadly.

"Good point, Harry," the headmaster said with a smile. "I have arranged for the house elves to deliver any supplies you will require for a day's lessons on the morning of that lesson. The room can provide a desk and most equipment you will need, but potions' ingredients and items for your transfigurations practicals will need to be brought to you."

It sounded as if Dumbledore had everything worked out, but then Harry had expected no less. If Albus Dumbledore was ever not a step ahead of the rest of the universe the world would stop spinning.

"Would you like tea?" Harry said, suddenly remembering his manners and feeling much better than he had when the headmaster had walked in.

"That would be lovely, My Boy," Dumbledore replied cheerfully, "thank you."

Pulling out his wand, Harry tapped it on the side of the chair and muttered a quick spell. Dobby appeared with a small pop almost instantly.

"Harry Potter," the house elf greeted brightly, "what can Dobby be doing for you this evening?"

"Tea please, Dobby," Harry requested politely, "for two."

"Right away, Harry Potter, Sir," Dobby said in a delighted manner and disappeared again.

When he turned back, the headmaster was looking at him appraisingly.

"I was not aware you knew that spell, Harry," Dumbledore said with a slight nod of his head, "we do not usually teach it to students."

Harry could not help the slightly smug smile that graced his features then.

"No," he said, "I can imagine not. It would be chaos if everyone could just summon a house elf when they felt like it; nothing would ever get done."

The curiosity was there plainly in the headmaster's eyes and Harry enjoyed being one up for just a few moments.

"Draco taught it to me," he explained with a grin. "He was fed up of me yelling for Dobby whenever I needed something. His exacts words were 'here, do it the civilised way'."

That caused Dumbledore to smile broadly.

"Ah, yes, I should have realised," was the headmaster's conclusion. "Speaking of Mr Malfoy, I believe his detention will be ending shortly, so I shall not keep you too much longer."

Dobby reappeared with two tea cups, a large teapot and a plate full of biscuits. Almost without thinking about it, Harry caused a small table to appear in front of the laden elf.

"Thank you, Dobby," he said politely, as the house elf placed his burden on the table.

"Anything for Harry Potter, Sir," Dobby said with a toothy grin and vanished again.

Harry poured to cover the fact that the images that had popped into his head the moment Professor Dumbledore mentioned Draco finishing his detention were rather less than innocent. After which he passed the first cup to the headmaster. The twinkle in the old man's eyes was more evident than ever and as usual Harry felt as if he was an open book.

"Now, My Boy," Dumbledore said, as Harry picked up his own cup, "back to the subject at hand. During lessons you will be expected to behave as any other student: be at your desk on time; wear your uniform; refrain from disrupting the class."

Harry nodded automatically, but he could not help a glance as the slowly repairing destruction he had caused earlier that day.

"Of course," the headmaster continued, "with your unique condition we cannot expect you to be entirely even tempered. You will be subject to the normal house point system, however, should you feel the need to express your anger it is requested that you withdraw from the lesson. All members of staff have been prepared for such an occurrence and should you disappear suddenly from a lesson you will not be penalised. I am trusting that you will not abuse the privilege."

Another nod; he was not about to argue with that. Harry had no intention of using the way out unless he really had to, but he could not say that he would never need it. The sooner he learned to control his temper the better, but it wasn't going to happen overnight.

"I'm sorry you've had to go to all this trouble," he said, feeling guilty about all the fuss he was causing.

"Nonsense, Harry," Dumbledore told him with a warm smile; "it is no more than you deserve. I do not believe you quite understand the service you have done for all of us. Without you darkness would be spreading across our world."

Praise was never something Harry had been particularly comfortable with, it always embarrassed him and he bowed his head, feeling awkward. Thinking about Voldemort was also not good for his equilibrium and it reminded him of something the edition of the Prophet had skimmed over.

"What happened to Pettigrew?" he asked, deciding that he would rather focus on that than Voldemort.

Dumbledore appeared somewhat surprised by his question, but did not skirt around it.

"Peter has been taken to St Mungo's," the headmaster told him openly; "he is not in his right mind at the moment and is suffering from some form of magical damage. They believe he might in fact be a squib now."

That alarmed Harry somewhat, because there was only one place he could see where Wormtail's magic could have gone.

"Did I?" he asked, needing to know, but not quite able to ask the whole question.

"Render him safe?" Dumbledore replied, which had not been quite the way Harry would have put it. "Yes, I believe that may be a reasonable analysis of the situation, but the point is moot; Peter will never again be allowed a wand. Once he has recovered sufficiently he will be tried and placed in Azkaban. Given his crimes, he may very well be given the Dementor's kiss, after all he did singlehandedly engineer the return of Voldemort."

It was ironic that the Magical world would do to Wormtail what Fudge had tried to condemn him for, but it gave Harry a small sense of satisfaction. He didn't like to think of himself as vindictive, but Wormtail had effectively taken everything from him: his parents; Sirius; and now his humanity by returning Voldemort to his full power. If anyone deserved to be punished it was him.

"I hope he rots," he said simply, not even trying to hide what he was feeling.

Dumbledore smiled a little sadly at that.

"Although it pains me to see the loss of any wizard to the Light," the headmaster said with a nod, "I cannot find it in my heart to forgive Peter for what he has done. He has caused our whole world, and especially you, My Boy, far too much pain and suffering."

Given Dumbledore's penchant for saving everyone, that meant a lot to Harry.

"Will I be able to make up the work I've missed?" he asked, deciding to change the subject completely; he no longer wanted to think about Pettigrew.