If Harry had had any inclination that his and Draco's meddling with time would in some way impact the meteorological outlook for the United Kingdom, he was sorely dissuaded of the notion less than a week into the holidays. The sun was early to rise and late to set, slowly roasting Little Whinging under its oppressive heat until the grass was yellow and brittle, small ponds had all but boiled away, and the population of Surrey had reached a new consensus as to what they deemed an acceptable level of public nudity.
Not for the first time that summer, Harry was resentful of the trace that prevented him from using a cooling charm to try and make himself more comfortable. Instead, he had resorted to staying out of the house, and out of the Dursley's way.
Still waking up at six am out of habit, he would shuffle downstairs, past the scrutinising gaze of his aunt and uncle, snatch a slice of toast for breakfast, and leave as soon as his shoes were on - returning as late as he possibly could, usually just as the sun disappeared completely behind the horizon. He thought he and his aunt had come to some kind of silent agreement - if he stayed away as much as possible, she would save a large portion of dinner for him to reheat when he got home. He was never particularly hungry though recently. Loneliness and despair often gnawed at his stomach, making the idea of eating unappealing at best, and an insurmountable challenge at worst.
The only reprieve from his isolation arrived in the form of owls laden with letters from Ron, Hermione, and more significantly, Draco. It became clear to Harry pretty quickly that Draco had been sequestered at Grimmauld Place with the Order - not because Draco had explicitly said so, but rather because whenever Ron or Hermione wrote to him, a letter from Draco would always accompany theirs, making it so that Draco wrote to him twice as often as the other two. His letters were also consistently more entertaining - while Ron and Hermione had clearly interpreted Dumbledore's instruction not to tell him anything, as not to tell him anything, Draco's interpretation had been significantly more liberal.
'I cannot possibly understand what strategic benefit it would be for the Dark Lord to learn of the many trivial thoughts that occur to me on a day to day basis. For example: it is my firm belief that the attractiveness of the Weasley spawn corresponds directly to their birth order. This is with the exception of the only daughter of course, as she is obviously superior to her brothers. Honestly, she's kind of terrifying even as a fourteen year old - how did you ever find the courage to propose?'
And:
'I hope you are enjoying the summer heat, for I am not. I am well aware that I have lived a privileged life, but I do not believe it is unreasonable for me to be sick and tired of dusting, and cleaning, and tidying, when it is nearly thirty one degrees outside, and nearly thirty three degrees inside. I am permanently filthy, and have found dust in places I will not describe in detail here. If I had known in advance what my future would hold, I'd have left my nice shampoo at Hogwarts because, honestly, why bother at this point.'
And:
'Potter, if they do not retrieve you soon, I shall scream and then impale myself on the nearest sharp object. The lack of boundaries that exist in this household is astonishing. I have been disturbed in my room, without the door being knocked, no less than ten times. I have yet to shower even once without someone demanding conversation from me through the door, and if someone steals food from my plate one more time, I shall have an apoplectic fit. If this is what it is to have siblings, I am grateful to my parents to be an only child. '
Despite the disdainful tone of many of his letters, Harry got the distinct impression that Draco was reluctantly having a good time, and Harry couldn't help but be jealous. Which brought him to his current predicament.
He had been at the Dursley's for four weeks now, and if things had not been changed too significantly, today was the day he and Dudley would be attacked by dementors and, reclined in the Dursley's flower bed, hidden by an enormous hydrangea bush, listening to the news as he did every day, Harry couldn't decide what to do. His options, as he saw it, where thus:
One - proceed as he had before - storm away from number four when he heard Mundungus Fletcher disapparating, find Dudley, stalk about the local area until they were attacked, defend them from the dementors, then deal with the consequences. However, he was acutely aware that there was no guarantee he would be able to defend them against the dementors - how could he possibly conjure a patronus in his current state? The memories that had once brought him such pleasure and joy were now tainted by heartbreak and sadness. He woke, more mornings than not, gasping and holding a sob in the back of his throat. And then there was the ministry to consider - Draco had made it abundantly clear that there were no guarantees in this new life - he could end up getting expelled for real, and then where would they be?
And option two: do nothing. Stay exactly where he was, supine in the flower beds beneath the living room window until the sun was set, then scramble out and take himself to bed. Two things were holding him back from this option however: what if he ended up at the Dursley's right up until September first that way? And more importantly, he admitted, what if Dudley was still attacked in his absence? Dudley would never be his favourite person, but he didn't deserve to have his soul sucked out.
Harry had not written to Draco about his conundrum - there was no point in them both losing sleep over it. And so, Harry found himself here, lying in the flowers, listening to the news, and hoping for a flash of inspiration to hit before Mundungus disapparated and forced his hand one way or the other.
The news was just drawing to an end, another thoroughly riveting report about the weather and the hosepipe ban, and absolutely no news about anything that sounded even slightly magical in nature. Harry didn't bother standing up - if he could avoid Vernon attempting to strangle him through the window he would. He tensed instinctively against the loud crack he knew would startle him - eyes closed, breath held, and muscles taut.
Except it never came. Huh. He hadn't planned for this.
Gingerly, careful not to suddenly pop into the view of the Dursley's living room, Harry slid himself out from under the window and the flower bed, and scrambled to his feet. For a moment, he stood and simply looked about, as if some solution to this unexpected change would jump out at him. It made him more than a little nervous that Draco's statement about them being unable to predict events was already becoming a reality. Which made his question about what to do next even more anxiety inducing. He placed his hands on his hips and let his lips smack together as he released a huge breath.
Well. Onwards it was then.
Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he crossed the Dursley's lawn and made for Magnolia Road, and then the park. It was the most intense de ja vu when Harry leapt over the gate and seated himself on the only swing that wasn't broken. He didn't know how long it would take for Dudley to appear ( if he did appear , a nervous voice in Harry's head said), but judging by the position of the setting sun, it would be at least another hour. And so, Harry settled in for a long one, swinging himself gently back and forth, and sinking into his own mind again.
This time, he thought of Sirius. His godfather had been writing to him nearly as often as Draco, but Harry couldn't honestly say he found his letters as amusing or comforting, and replying to them was a challenge.
He was never sure what voice to write back with - the voice of the traumatised teenager who had witnessed a school friend murdered? Or perhaps the teenager who was furious at being abandoned by his parental figure with people who hated the sight of him, and at his moment of greatest need? Or maybe, the thirty-five-year-old who loved the godfather he had lost too soon, but was now finding himself disappointed by their relationship. He'd been happy with the scraps of paternal affection he'd been able to eek out of Sirius, because it was the most anyone had ever offered him. And that wasn't to say he didn't think Sirius loved him, or didn't love him enough - but rather, that twelve years in Azkaban, then being on the run, and then being confined like a prisoner once more, had left the other ill-equipped to meet the emotional needs of his teenaged godson.
Mostly, Harry just felt sad - for them both.
In the end, he usually settled for an unsatisfying mix of all three voices, and he was sure he often came across as both angry and emotionally distant. It would perhaps do him good to see Sirius in person again.
Finally, he heard voices. Teenaged boys laughing and whooping and hollering amongst themselves and coming towards the fence surrounding the playground. Harry could see Dudley at the head of his little gang - he was in his champion boxer phase, and it showed - though still a little thick around the middle, Harry could see from here the rippling muscles in his arms and shoulders. If Harry remembered correctly, these were his peak 'beating up small children' years.
Reluctantly, Harry freed himself from the swing seat and began to follow his cousin, hanging back to ensure he stayed out of view. One by one, Dudley's chums peeled away from the group until Dudley was left on his own, strolling home with a little swagger in his step.
"Alright Dudley," Harry called, having marched a little to catch up.
Dudley turned and peered curiously over his shoulder, but his face fell when he saw it was Harry, "Oh," he said glumly, "It's you,"
"Yup," Harry said with a pop of his lips, "Little old me," he had vivid memories of this moment - of tormenting Dudley until he was ready to pop, "How's the boxing going?" He asked instead, not particularly interested in antagonising the other right now; he needed to be on his guard.
"Not bad," Dudley grunted, looking faintly confused as to why Harry was asking, "I'm regional champion now," Harry gave a low whistle, "Gonna' be going up to the national level soon," he added, sounding faintly proud of himself.
"Not bad Dud, maybe stop beating up ten year olds though, if that's your plan," Dudley looked at him sharply, sneering and ready for a fight, "Can't see it going over well if you end up in trouble with the police for assault,"
He seemed to lose the wind in his sails, pausing to consider what Harry had said - as if the prospect of repercussions for beating up children had never occurred to him, "Huh, maybe," they trudged along in silence for a bit, but Harry could see out of the corner of his eye that Dudley kept glancing over at him.
"What?" He said, finally losing patience.
Dudley hesitated, before saying gruffly, "What happened to your neck?"
Harry twitched as he suppressed the impulse to lift his fingers to his throat. Vernon and Petunia had been horrified by the sight of the scar, recoiling and hissing at him to hide it from the neighbours. He wasn't sure how he was meant to achieve that - it started so high up that he doubted even a turtle neck would hide it, and he certainly wasn't wearing a scarf in this heat. Its appearance had barely improved over the last month, still raised and red and angry. The heat wasn't doing him any favours either; the constant thin layer of sweat on his skin was only making it sore and itchy.
"One of my teachers tried to murder me,"
Dudley scoffed and looked ready to argue, before seeing Harry's face. He looked away, and looked back again, "You're not joking?"
"Not even a little bit," Harry smiled to himself, suddenly wishing Draco was there.
"What kind of school do you go to? Bloody madhouse?" Dudley said gruffly, "Shouldn't it be looking better or something? It's all red and stuff round the edge - been that way since you came back,"
"The knife was cursed," he said shrugging, "Nearly died so I'll accept a bit of scarring I think,"
Dudley fell silent for a moment, before saying quietly, "Is that why you cry sometimes? At night. I hear you,"
Harry swallowed, and could only answer hoarsely, "Yeah, something like that," but he said nothing more. He was slightly bemused, if he was honest, at how differently this interaction had gone when they weren't baiting one another.
Finally, they came to the alleyway Harry had been dreading, and he felt sick to his stomach. This could go so badly wrong. He flinched in anticipation at every sound or shimmer in the light, waiting for the moment the stars were turned out and cold pierced the humid night air. His feeling of doom only served to feedback onto itself, as he struggled to differentiate between whether or not his fear was occurring organically, or being placed upon him by external means, making him panic further. He was strangely relieved when his fears turned out to be well founded; the lights at the end of the alley went out, and his breath started to come as a great misty plume from his lips.
"Wh-what's happening?" Dudley squeaked, his voice a little way behind where Harry expected him to be, having come to a sudden stop, "Are you doing this?" He said, accusatory, his voice trembling, "I- I can't see, I've gone blind, what's happening?!"
"Be quiet Dudley - it's not me, it's something else," Harry whispered, pulling his wand free from his pocket, "You need to stay still okay?" The hairs on the back of Harry's neck began to stand on end, "Stay still unless I tell you to run,"
"What's going on Harry? Whatever you're doing st-stop it - I'll tell dad, I swear I will! STOP IT!"
"I'm not doing anything! Stop shouting!" Harry hissed, wand raised and held aloft in front of him, trying desperately to see through the impenetrable blanket of darkness that had been laid upon them.
Then, ahead of them, he heard it - the rasping rattling breath of a dementor approaching. He swallowed against his nerves, preparing to cast, scrambling to draw on the happiest memory he could - but they all turned to ash in his mouth as misery and despair threatened to suffocate him. There was screaming in his ears - screaming mixed with high pitched laughter as always; except now there were new sounds. Different laughter. Harry realised with a jolt he was hearing the happy laughter of James, Albus, and Lily swirling about his skull. Misery clawed at his throat, but for the first time he almost welcomed it. He felt a sudden sharp pain in his knee and realised that his legs had given way beneath him.
Gritting his teeth, he steadied himself, and prayed, and opened his mouth to draw in a deep breath and shout:
"EXPECTO PATRONUM!!"
Except, he hadn't made a sound.
A silver shape went darting past him, sprinting down the alley and throwing back the darkness in its path. There was a split second when the dementor truly came into view, before it cast itself up and away into the air, disappearing amongst the clouds and stars. The shape turned, and began to sprint back towards Harry, and he could finally see that the patronus was in fact an enormous shaggy wolf, its lips curled back in a furious snarl as it charged towards the second dementor that had been approaching from behind. It too fled at the wolf's approach, flying high and melting into the night sky.
All at once, the humid air returned, pressing against him on all sides, and the lights and the sound of traffic followed soon after. He was aware of a new sound though. The sound of loose bits of stone and gravel crunching under the heel of approaching shoes. In an instant, he was on his feet again, swinging around with his wand stretched out in front of him, a curse sitting on the tip of his tongue when -.
"It's me Harry," he froze, eyes taking a moment to truly recognise the man who'd approached him. Remus Lupin had his arms held out in front of him peaceably, the tip of his wand directed demurely to the ground, and he approached with hesitant shuffling steps, "It's just me," he repeated softly.
Harry's arm trembled where he held it aloft, "Moony?" He said incredulously, but he didn't get much else out before his legs were buckling again, and he was back to sitting on the floor with his legs sprawled awkwardly, "The fuck are you doing here?" he muttered, but he couldn't be sure Remus had heard - he had paused on his journey to Harry to check on Dudley, who was also sat on the ground, and trembling with fright.
Remus was crouching next to the boy, snapping off a chunk of Honeydukes chocolate, and offering it to him with a kind smile, "It's okay, they're gone now," he said. Dudley's eyes flicked between Remus's reassuring face, Harrys, and the chocolate.
"It's fine Dud - it's just chocolate, it'll make you feel better," Harry was surprised when Dudley reluctantly accepted the chocolate from Remus and took a small bite, having expected some level of hysteria from his cousin. He didn't particularly have the capacity to examine Dudley's response, as his attention was occupied by his own slow recovery. Though he had always been vulnerable to the influence of dementors, he hadn't been this severely effected in a long time. He could feel cold sweat on the back of his neck and hear his blood whooshing through his ears - a retch was sitting somewhere in the middle of his chest.
He watched Remus passing Dudley more chocolate out of the corner of his eye, trying to disguise what he was actually doing, which was staring at Remus's face and absorbing all he saw like a drowning man in an oasis. He wondered how many days he would walk the earth before he stopped crossing paths with ghosts.
Remus glanced over his shoulder at Harry, frowning in concern, "Are you okay, Harry?" Harry could only hum his assent - nodding sounded like a terrible idea, and if he opened his mouth he really might be sick - Remus's frown only deepened, but he turned back to Dudley, "Are you feeling better?" Dudley nodded like a terrified rabbit, "Right then, up you get," Dudley accepted the hand that was offered by Remus to help pull him to his feet, but otherwise remained in a terrified silence, his eyes darting about and most frequently bouncing between Remus and Harry, "Wait here."
Harry realised with a jolt, that something was dripping onto his hand. He felt at his neck, and found his wound was oozing blood once more. Huh, he didn't remember injuring himself. He flinched when Lupin's hand closed over his, pulling his fingers away to take a look for himself.
Remus winced and hissed under his breath, "Padfoot mentioned what Crouch had done to your neck," he muttered, raising his wand and casting lumos, "but surely it should be more healed than this by now. Did you catch it?" Harry hummed the negative this time - Lupin's eyes flicked to his, and he released Harry's hand to pull some more chocolate out of his pocket, "How're you feeling?"
Harry spoke through gritted teeth, "If you make me talk Remus, I will be sick," the nauseated feeling that had been slowly abating bubbled up again, until Harry clamped his mouth shut; Remus gave him a small, bemused look at the casual use of his first name but didn't comment. Harry couldn't truly remember when he'd stopped referring to the man as Professor Lupin - oh well, no turning back now.
"I promise, just a bit of chocolate will go a long way," Remus waggled a small square in the air. Reluctantly, and moving extremely gingerly, Harry took the square and shoved it into his mouth before he could think too hard about it. His mouth immediately began to water, and he had a moment of panic that he was about to vomit, when the chocolate began to work its magic, and the feeling receded. He sighed in relief, and accepted the next square with no complaints, "There we go, one more and we'll try and see about standing up," he offered up another chunk, but glanced at Harry in confusion when he didn't immediately take it.
"What are you doing here Moony?" Harry asked quietly - knowing the answer but wanting to hear anyway.
"Keeping an eye on you," Remus answered honestly, "Making sure you're safe, and not getting into trouble. Well," he glanced up and down the alley way, "It looks like I failed on that front. It's a good job I was here - wasn't even meant to be my shift,"
"There are shifts?" Harry said dully, finally accepting the chocolate, though it wasn't really making any difference at this point.
Remus hesitated, noticing the edge in Harry's voice, "Yes - it was meant to be Mundungus tonight, but I think Sirius has scared the man half to death with not so subtle threats about taking your safety seriously," his smile was self-deprecating, "Hopefully he wont actually cast the curse of the bogey's on me every day for the next ten years though,"
"So, you've been guarding me,"
Remus turned incredulous, "You didn't really think Dumbledore would leave you out in the muggle world all alone, did you?"
"Is that not what he did?" Harry said sharply, and Remus had no answer, glancing back over his shoulder to check on Dudley (who was shivering slightly, but who had otherwise come off much better for this dementor encounter than the last), and then back to Harry. Harry had more to say, so much more to say, but he felt like he was trying to rehash old wounds long healed, even though the hurt had been newly inflicted. His anger at this summer had had two decades to heal, but two decades to fester too.
"Do you think you can stand?" Remus said finally. Harry nodded, not too proud to take Remus's proffered hand. Finally on his feet, he swayed slightly, and was grateful to Moony for coming to his aid - a hand settled at his back, "Come on you two," he said, a false lightness in his voice, "Let's get you back home."
Harry was infinitely grateful that he wasn't having to half carry Dudley back home this time, but not grateful enough that it lightened his mood any. He and Remus didn't speak to one another again until they were on the doorstep of number four Privet Drive. The only one who spoke strangely, was Dudley, who was surprisingly (or perhaps, not surprisingly) curious about the chocolate Remus had given him. It was only Dudley's influence as well, that prevented Vernon from immediately phoning the police upon seeing Moony on his doorstep. Harry was starting to think he'd underestimated his cousin.
"Go upstairs Harry, I'll come and say goodbye before I leave," Remus had said softly, looking like he'd swallowed a lemon as he herded a shouting and raving Vernon into the kitchen after his wife and son.
Harry eyed the stairs dubiously, before ascending slowly, gripping the banister. He shut his bedroom door behind him, but he could still hear the shouting. Gingerly, he lowered himself down to sit on his bed to wait for Moony. He ended up sat opposite the mirror on his wardrobe, and quickly averted his gaze, but not before catching sight of the blood smeared on his front. It took nearly an hour for the shouting to stop, and another before there was a gentle knock on his door. Remus peered into the room.
"Can I come in Harry?" at his nod, Moony came to sit on his bed next to him - he looked about his room curiously, eyes lingering on the cat flap at the bottom of Harry's door, but choosing not to ask, "Well I think I've managed to finally calm your aunt and uncle down," he smiled tightly, "with the assistance of your cousin I might add," Harry said nothing, "May I?" he gestured to the blood on Harry's front.
"Thanks," Harry muttered, when Remus banished the blood with a swish of his wand.
Silence reigned once more, and Remus shifted uncomfortably, "I'll speak to Dumbledore," he started, "I think, in light of what happened here tonight, he'll likely accept the necessity of taking you somewhere you can be kept safe - there's a place, not the Burrow, somewhere more secure with more protection. Ron and Hermione are there, and Sirius," it was with an edge of quiet desperation that he added, "and Draco," seeing that that had finally gotten some kind of reaction, he continued, "I didn't realise you and Mister Malfoy were friends now,"
Harry shrugged, "He's different," he said quietly.
"He is indeed, I was very surprised at the polite young man he has become since I saw him last. How did that happen I wonder," Remus nudged Harry meaningfully, "I imagine you had something to do with it,"
"He's still a pointy git, he's not changed that much," Harry said dryly, and Lupin chuckled.
"So, you say. Anyway," he produced what remained of the bar of Honeydukes chocolate from his pocket and considered it for a moment, "I have to get going now Harry. We'll come for you in a few days' time, okay? In the meantime, stay in the house where it's safe," he held out the bar of chocolate for Harry to take, which he did listlessly, "and eat the rest of that before you go to bed, okay?" Harry held the bar aloft as if to lazily salute with it; Remus was silent for a moment, before working a hesitant arm around Harry's back, unsure of its reception, and pulling him firmly into his side once it was clear the touch was welcome. Harry couldn't help but to lean in, resting his head on the others shoulder, "Everything will seem brighter in the morning."
When Remus left, Harry felt more alone then he had all summer.
Everything did not seem brighter in the morning. If anything, everything felt that little bit worse.
Hedwig had returned from hunting some time around midnight, and it was with regret that Harry had sent her back into the night to Grimmauld Place. He didn't bother sending her with any letters. He didn't have anything to say.
At around seven the next morning, Vernon had stood at the threshold of his room, his moustache quivering above his lip, "That… that freak ," he'd whispered, as if Remus were listening from within the walls, "said you're not to leave the house," the scowl on Vernon's face told Harry all he needed to know about how he felt about that - an aggressive finger was raised to point at him, "You shall not cause trouble for your aunt while I'm gone - you're only to leave this room to use the facilities. Do you understand me?" and that was the last Harry heard from any of the Dursley's for three whole days, except for the three meals a day Petunia pushed through the cat flap in his door, and a moment where someone (he was sure it was Dudley) lingered silently outside his door, before hurrying away.
The stalemate was broken by Uncle Vernon pushing his door open on the fourth evening. As Harry had expected, he was dressed in his best suit and looking especially smug.
"We're going out,"
"Okay," Harry answered listlessly from his position sat by his window, elbows resting on the sill and staring forlornly out into Privet Drive.
"You are not to leave your room until we return,"
"Fine,"
"You are not to touch our things, or steal food from the fridge,"
"Yup,"
"I'm going to lock your door!" this last part was shouted triumphantly, as if Vernon was sure this would be the point on which Harry would argue.
When Harry only said, "Sounds great," he visibly deflated, seething, and slammed Harry's door shut.
Harry took no notice, too busy gazing intently about the street below, hoping desperately to pick up on any sign of an approaching accompaniment of witches and wizards coming to take him away. He observed passively as the Dursley's climbed into their car (Dudley offering him a slight wave) and until they drove away and were no longer visible. Then, he resumed his watch. However, as a wise man once said, a watched pot never boils, and eventually Harry threw in the towel, opting instead to lie prone on his bed and cuddle his pillow to his chest with his eyes closed. They'd arrive when they arrived.
He jolted, eyes flying open at the sound of a distant crash from downstairs. Disoriented and confused, Harry pushed up drowsily from the mattress, eyes squinting in protest at having been forced suddenly open. Judging by the light, Harry had unintentionally fallen asleep. He nearly fell onto the floor in his scramble to sit up, but saved himself at the last minute.
He was slamming the lid of his trunk shut, broomstick already out and ready, when his door gave a loud click, and unlocked itself. He glanced over his shoulder in disinterest from where he had been bent over securing his trunk, when he nearly had a heart attack at the unexpected eyes staring back at him.
"Ah, sorry Harry," Remus said sheepishly, stepping fully into the room, "I didn't mean to startle you,"
"S'fine," Harry muttered, tucking Hedwig's cage under his arm and shuffling closer, "I presume you're here to take me away?"
Remus nodded with a tight smile, "Yes, pretty much immediately - are you all packed? Good - don't worry, I'll take your trunk," with a swish of his wand, Harry's trunk was hovering obediently in the air at his side, "Grab your broom - we're going to have to fly there I'm afraid. Come on then, everyone's downstairs waiting to meet you," and Harry followed him obediently out of his room.
Harry was beginning to realise, to his surprise, that rehashing these moments of his life made him distinctly uncomfortable. Though they initially induced a whoosh of familiarity and confidence - this inevitably fell apart as the picture he had in his head was not reflected in reality. It all started to feel a bit like a fever dream, with the rug being pulled from under him inch by inch, again and again. Much like he had in the graveyard, he found himself blocking much of these unsettling repetitions out. And so, he didn't particularly listen to Remus's introduction of his bodyguard - he knew them all anyway. His attention was caught however, when Remus turned a concerned look in his direction.
"Are you okay Harry?"
"Yeah," he answered - he was saved from having to extrapolate by Moody, approaching with his eyeball spinning madly in a glass of water, his regular eye fixed on Harry - on the angry scar on his throat. He found himself longing for the days when people just stared at the scar on his forehead.
"I'd heard what happened with that swine," he said gruffly, "I also heard you got him just as good in return though," Moody added with a gruff smirk, "Saw the scorch marks in the grass - that was one hell of an exploding charm," his face fell into a light scowl, "Shame I can't take credit for having taught you it," this new turn of events was like the turning of a tap in Harry's brain, and he felt his personality begin to spill back into himself.
Remus placed a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder, saying with pride, "I heard from Minerva that Professor Flitwick was very impressed - he's trying to talk Dumbledore into cutting that bit of the lawn out and keeping it in his classroom - talking about trying to persuade you to apprentice under him as a charms master as well," he added with a wink.
"You could be a damn good Auror if you kept up that kind of spell work," Moody barked, as if personally offended that Harry might choose to do anything else.
"Not sure I want to turn 'being attacked by dark wizards' into a profession - considering how frequently it already happens in my personal life," Harry said dryly.
Shaklebolt nodded sagely, while Moody looked like he wanted to argue, but Tonks threw him off his game with a hearty slap on his shoulder, "Come on Mad-Eye - they're not paying you to recruit people anymore,"
Moody gave her a dark look, before fishing his eye out of the glass of water. Harry considered washing it, before deciding not to: what the Dursley's didn't know, couldn't hurt them.
The journey to Grimmauld Place was as Harry remembered it, in so much as he didn't remember it at all. The only difference he was certain of, was that this time around, Moody hadn't been dissuaded from making them fly through clouds for extra cover, and by the time they landed on the square outside Grimmauld Place, he was soaked, and physically frozen to his broom. While Moody set about dimming the surrounding lights with Dumbledore's deluminator, an apologetic and exasperated Remus freed him from his broom and dried him off as best as he could in a short amount of time. The end result was that Harry felt vaguely damp all over.
"I'm gonna' have wet pants for the whole meeting now Mad Eye," Tonks grumbled, using her wand to blast hot air at herself like a hair dryer - he wasn't listening though, thrusting a piece of paper with a particular address written on it under Harry's nose.
Harry read it: Moody snatched the paper back from him and immediately set it on fire. But Harry took no notice, his eyes fixed on the house that was emerging from between number eleven and number thirteen. A sort of sick excitement blended with anxious dread in his stomach - all in regards as to what would be waiting for him behind the door of number twelve.
"Be very quiet when we get inside Harry," Remus warned him, "We don't want to wake anything up - best to whisper."
He shuffled inside behind Remus and didn't bother examining the décor too closely - it had taken him years to renovate the place, and seeing all his hard work undone was depressing. He expected to see Molly Weasley at the far end of the corridor upon their arrival, but whatever domino effect they had started, meant she was not there to greet them.
Instead, he saw Draco swinging himself around the banister that lead to the first floor landing, and down the stairs into the hallway. For a moment, Harry was struck by the sight of his soft grey eyes looking back at him. Then, Draco seemed to register what he was seeing, and his expression visibly lifted, and he began to rapidly approach. He looked different again - taller, his strong jaw truly making its appearance now. Harry realised with a small jolt that he was the only person Harry could look at and not feel immediately disorientated by. The small smile that had been on his face faded as he approached; his eyes flicked up and down Harry, scrutinising.
"You've gotten skinnier," he whispered as soon as he had come to a stop, snatching Harry's wrist in his hand and wrapping his fingers around its circumference as if to demonstrate; he wasn't wrong, but Harry wasn't admitting to anything, "and your neck doesn't look any better either,"
"I got taller," he whispered back, tugging his arm back determinedly, and not addressing Draco's second comment.
Draco let him go with rolled eyes, "Have you now," Draco said doubtfully, peering at the hand that had released Harry.
"Told you he was still a git," Harry muttered to Remus, expecting perhaps a silent chuckle. Instead, Remus was looking at him closely, as if finally realising the truth of Draco's statement.
"Why are you damp?" Draco asked, patting his own hand dry on his shirt, eyeing Harry and the others with distaste now.
"Yes, what an interesting question," Tonks hissed from by the door, "Why are we damp Mad-Eye?"
Moody grumbled lowly, likely some gruff comment about evasion techniques, but Harry couldn't quite hear him. He appeared to lose patience though, pushing through the crowded narrow corridor, nudging Harry and Draco to one side, and making his way to the door at the far end of the corridor, "Come on, meetings starting soon," he said reproachfully, eyeing the closed curtains around the portrait of Mrs Black as he shuffled past it. The rest of Harry's guard filed out after him, offering him cheery waves (Hestia Jones ruffled his hair with a wink), all except Remus and Tonks.
"Hello Dora," said Draco politely, still whispering.
Tonks grinned at him, "Hello little cousin," she turned to Harry, "Did you know our mothers are sisters Harry?" he shook his head no, though of course that was a lie, "Not that they've spoken since before I was born - oh well, guess its up to us to bridge the familial gap, eh?"
"We're both disowned Dora - your mother and I - its a bit late for that," he reminded her.
She shrugged with a small smile, finally shuffling off to join the others, "Guess we'll have to start a new family then," and she was gone, giving the umbrella stand a wide birth as she disappeared into the other room.
Now, only Remus remained. He placed a warm hand on Harry's back, "Why don't you two head upstairs - I'm sure Ron and Hermione have missed you, Harry. I'll see you both at dinner, okay?" he left with one last gentle touch to the back of Harry's neck; he didn't need Dumbledore's legilimency talents to know that Remus was worried about him.
Draco didn't wait for Remus to disappear before grabbing Harry's wrist firmly and dragging him along behind him. They were ascending the stairs when Draco whispered urgently:
"How the hell did you get that stupid fucking portrait off the wall?" he looked both desperate and furious, and Harry realised he was whispering now not to avoid waking the aforementioned portrait, but to avoid them being overheard.
He couldn't help the small smile that spread across his face, his first in weeks, "Had to get the whole bloody wall taken down," Harry admitted lowly, "Permanent sticking charms are no joke - the ministry was considering reclassifying them as a malicious enchantment when I left the Aurors. Not sure the Order is going to prioritise getting rid of Sirius's dear old mum right now though, I'm afraid,"
"Do you think anyone would complain if I took a chisel and hammer to her myself?" Draco grumbled, finally releasing Harry's wrist and speaking at a normal level, "I wonder if she was this insane in real life,"
Harry imagined she had not been, but didn't actually know,
"How have things been anyway?" Harry asked as they arrived at the first landing, and Draco shrugged, continuing up the stairs.
"Boring mostly - just been trying to make this stupid old house habitable again. How about you?" he knocked their shoulders together lightly, adding with scowl, "I tried to write as much as I could - they wouldn't let me send owls of my own though, so I could only send letters when Granger or Weasley did,"
"It was shit," Harry said honestly, "just as bad as I expected - possibly worse. Your letters helped though - they were funny," Draco glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, "I think I understand what you meant before," he continued lowly, "about not being totally able to predict events. Not even been two months and so much has changed,"
Draco sighed as they stopped on the second landing, "It's only going to get worse," he warned, "we can't take anything for granted," Harry nodded, jumping slightly when Draco suddenly gripped his arm firmly, "I have something to show you - but it'll have to wait till after dinner," he murmured under his breath, eyes staring at the bedroom behind Harry, "Don't want to risk anything with Moody's stupid magical eye floating about," he said darkly, "He's annoyingly suspicious of me - which, I mean, I guess I am technically being deceptive, but he doesn't actually bloody know that! I'm meant to be here seeking safe haven for Merlin's sake - it's Slytherin discrimination, I tell you," he grumbled, reaching a hand out for the door knob, before hesitating, and saying as if he were reluctant to admit it, "I really did miss you, you know," his gaze lingered on Harry's face, darting about his features intensely, before he somewhat ruined the effect by adding: "At least I can have a mildly intelligent conversation with you - though I suppose Granger isn't too bad either,"
Harry rolled his eyes and shoved him forwards, encouraging him to open the door. Draco scowled and turned the handle, admitting them. There was an excited squeal, and Harry suddenly had an armful of Hermione, and a face full of bushy brown hair.
"Harry! Ron! Harry's here!!" she squeezed tightly around his neck, until Harry had to urgently tap her back to encourage her to release him, "Oh Harry it's so wonderful to see you!" she dragged him further into the room by his hand, "We've missed you terribly - we're so sorry about our letters, they were so useless to you, I know. You must be so angry with us, I know I would be, but Dumbledore insisted we didn't tell you anything, he made us swear to it Harry!
"Oh you have so much to tell us - we heard about the dementor attack. It's so lucky that Professor Lupin was there! Imagine if you'd been alone - you could have been killed! Or been forced to use magic to defend yourself, oh it could have all gone so terribly wrong," she said this all very quickly and, quite amazingly to Harry, in one breath.
"Blimey Hermione, take a breath and give the man a moment! He's only just arrived," Ron's smile had an anxious edge, "Hi Harry, its good to see you mate."
Harry could remember vividly how angry he'd once been in this moment - finding his friends together after having been completely alone and excluded for a month. But now, he found he wasn't particularly angry at them. Could he really be angry with teenagers who had just done as they were told, following the instruction of a trusted mentor in a time of new turmoil and fear? Perhaps not. No, Harry wasn't angry with them - but he was furious with Dumbledore.
"So, Dumbledore told you not to tell me anything then?" was all he said, brushing past the rest of what had been said, and driving to the heart of what had his blood boiling. Hermione and Ron exchanged anxious looks.
"Yes," Hermione said hesitantly, "He said the letters could be intercepted - he didn't want us to tell you anything - anything at all,"
"A bit excessive in my opinion," Draco said dryly, seating himself on one of the beds, "Can't see how knowing we've been elbow deep in dust, doxies, and damp is going to help the Dark Lord,"
Hermione twisted her hands anxiously, "I know, I didn't really understand it either. It's not as if we know anything important! We're not exactly allowed into the meetings," she said with a huff, sitting herself down next to Draco and crossing her arms across her chest.
Gingerly, Harry lowered himself onto the other bed to sit opposite them, and Ron joined him, "What is this place anyway?" Harry said, feigning ignorance.
"The headquarters to the Order of the Phoenix," Hermione answered, finally seeming to relax into her seat when it became apparent Harry wasn't as angry as she'd expected, "It's kind of a secret spy organisation working against You-Know-Who - Dumbledore's in charge of it, since the Ministry are clearly burying their heads in the sand," she said in disgust.
"Bill and Charlie have joined up," Ron carried on, "Bill's taken a job back in England, but Charlie's still in Romania, focussing on recruiting foreign wizards to the cause. We've been trying to listen in with these extendable-ears that Fred and George have invented - but Mum caught on and went ballistic, tried to throw them all in the bin - she would have too, if we hadn't hidden some," as if summoned, a loud crack interrupted anything else Ron had to say.
While Fred appeared on the bed next to Ron, George apparated directly in Draco's lap.
Hermione jumped, while Draco slapped the twin's back furiously, "Will you get off me Weasley! I am not a chair! Honestly, apparating downstairs is just excessive," he snapped, attempting to shove George to the floor, but only managing to tip him half onto the bed - while Draco was of a height with Ron and therefore taller than the twins, Fred and George were definitely heavier, no doubt partially responsible for why they made such good beaters.
"So sorry Malfoy," George said cheerfully, not sounding apologetic at all, "Didn't see you there, you don't mind though do you? Course you don't, there's a good lad," George tried to sling an arm around Draco's shoulder - but Draco hissed like a cat and shoved harder, and would have pushed George into Hermione's lap if she hadn't had the foresight to move herself further along to the end of the bed, "I'm wounded Malfoy! I thought we were friends!"
"Hiya Harry! We thought we heard you arrive," Fred reached an arm round Ron to ruffle Harry's hair affectionately, "Oh - why're you all damp Harry? You really must dry off properly when you get out the shower,"
"Moody made us fly through clouds," Harry said darkly, "We got absolutely soaked through,"
"Why didn't you say Harry?" Fred cried genially, pointing his wand at Harry and saying, "Calidum aerem!" a jet of hot air blasted Harry in the face, nearly throwing his glasses across the room, and kicking any dust in its path up into the air (which, considering the house's overall disrepair and neglect, was a lot).
Though the spell did its job, and when Fred was done Harry was bone dry with steam gently rising above his head, it also nearly choked them all with the swirling dust. It also disturbed the two owls at the back of the room above the wardrobe, that Harry hadn't noticed till now - Hedwig and Pigwidgeon squawked in alarm, flapping their wings to scramble out of the way of the gust of wind. They settled on the other side of the room to watch proceedings reproachfully.
"What on earth happened here?" they hadn't noticed Ginny opening the bedroom door, and she now stood watching in confusion as they all coughed and hacked.
"Yet another unwise use of magic from your brothers," Draco sneered, tears streaming down his face as he blinked furiously to get the debris out of his eyes.
"Oh, hello Harry!" Ginny said brightly, finally noticing his presence, "Budge up Ron," she didn't actually wait for her brother to move before elbowing her way between them, "It's a no go with the ears you two," she said regretfully "Mum's cast an Imperturbable charm on the kitchen door - there's no way you'll get them past that,"
"Are you sure?" George said dubiously.
"Yup - I've been bouncing dungbombs off the door like Tonks suggested, but they've just been soaring away,"
"How disappointing - I recon it's a major meeting they're having down there. I saw Snape skulking about, and Dumbledore too. Not every day they both turn up," Fred added wisely, "Oh well I guess, back to the drawing board, we'll come up with something,"
"I don't know why you're all so keen," Draco drawled, "With the Dark Lord keeping such a low profile, I can't see any of these reports being particularly interesting,"
"You're just annoyed its delaying dinner," Ginny accused him.
He sniffed defensively, "Well, excuse me if I enjoy your mother's cooking,"
"Does Snape not come often then?" Harry asked curiously. Even if Draco wasn't interested, he was, if only to observe how the timeline had changed.
"Maybe only every third meeting," Hermione hedged, "He always stays for dinner after though,"
Harry's eyebrows shot up in surprise - he definitely hadn't done that before, "What?"
"I think it's for my benefit, but I really wish he wouldn't," Draco shifted uncomfortably, "It just makes dinner awkward when him and your godfather won't stop making digs at each other,"
"He's a git," grumbled Ron.
"He's on our side, Ron," Hermione said disapprovingly, "and if he's playing spy like he did before, he's taking on a lot of personal risk!"
"So? He's on our side," Ron inclined his head to Draco, who scowled back, "and I still think he's a git,"
"The feeling is mutual Weasley," Draco said icily, straightening his rumpled shirt.
"Out of curiosity - what are the sleeping arrangements? We obviously aren't all in this room," what Harry really wanted to know, was where Draco was sleeping.
"Me and you are in here Harry - Malfoy's across the hall, Ginny and Hermione are on the third floor, and Fred and George are on the fourth. It's bloody massive this old house - we've been going for four weeks solid and we're no closer to cleaning it up," Ron bemoaned.
"It's Sirius's family home Harry," Hermione explained, "It's been abandoned longer than he was in Azkaban and you can tell - its filthy and infested by all kinds of nasty things. Draco wasn't joking when he said we've been up to our ears in doxies,"
"There's all kinds of dark things around here too," George almost sounded excited, "Illegal stuff that's been hanging round for years,"
"Mums confiscated more than a few things off us," Fred confessed.
"Not super bad stuff," George added defensively.
"Yeah no, nothing actually dangerous,"
"Those massive swords looked pretty dangerous," Draco reminded them, "What were you going to do with them anyway?"
Fred shot him a look like he thought Draco had lost his mind, "Sword fight obviously - what did you think we were going to do?"
"I mean, you've got me there," Draco said sarcastically.
Any further conversation was interrupted by the sound of feet on the stairs - Fred and George exchanged a look.
"Uh oh," and both disapperated with a crack, just before Molly Weasley was knocking on the bedroom door, and entering.
"Oh, Harry dear!" she exclaimed; Harry stood and welcomed her warm hug, "Oh, how wonderful to see you! You're looking a bit peaky dear," she said, inspecting his face, "And much too thin - come on it's time for dinner, we need to get some meat back on your bones! There are dungbombs all along the hallway," she added, turning to the others, "what's all that about?"
"Crookshanks," Ginny explained innocently, "He loves playing with them,"
"Oh well, I suppose so - Ginny why are your hands so filthy? Make sure you wash them before dinner," Mrs Weasley said firmly, "And remember to be very quiet in the hallway," she added, before disappearing back onto the landing. Ginny only scowled after her mother.
Approaching the ground floor hallway, Harry caught sight of Tonks walking back from the front door towards the kitchen. Suddenly remembering what was likely to happen next, Harry rushed ahead, getting a confused look from Draco. It made no difference: with a surprised cry, Tonks tripped over the umbrella stand, and all hell broke loose.
"Oh Merlin," he slapped his hands over his ears when the curtains covering Mrs Black were thrown open, and she opened her mouth in a piercing mad wail - which prompted all the other portraits to wake up and start screaming and moaning as well.
Unlike Harry, Draco was taking furious action, grabbing the curtains and pulling with all his might to try and shut them again, "Will you shut up!!" he cried desperately, wrenching at the fabric until he was leaning against it with his entire body weight. Remus suddenly appeared, taking up the other curtain and fighting against the drapes as well. Finally, just as Mrs Weasley had finished stunning all the other portraits, they succeeded, and the portrait fell silent once more, "Can we not just set fire to her," Draco growled under his breath in the now silent hallway, "be doing us all a favour, including her,"
"If you work out a way to do it without burning the whole house down, I'll help," Harry looked round too quickly, and his neck cracked in protest; his godfather stood in the doorway, scowling at the portrait of his mother, "though burning the whole house down wouldn't be a bad idea either,"
"Sirius!" Harry cried out in excitement, stepping closer, a whooping feeling of elation in his chest at seeing the other. His mind travelled back to the difficulty he'd had writing to Sirius, and the conflicting feelings he'd had surrounding his godfather - it had been as he thought, he just needed to see him in person.
"Hello Harry, I see you've met my dear old mum," Sirius said grimly, and Harry's heart sank just a little - he had hoped for a slightly warmer welcome.
"Uh, yeah - Hermione mentioned this was your old family home,"
Sirius beckoned to the kitchen, and Harry and the others followed, "Yes, I'm the only Black left now though, so when she died, this place went to me. She'd be turning in her grave if she knew," he said bitterly, "Disowned me when I about your age - ended up moving in with your dad," Harry stepped down the stone steps into the kitchen, and grimaced slightly at its sorry state; he nearly tripped when he spotted Snape sat stiffly at the kitchen table, his back straight and rigid and his eyes glaring holes into each person as they filed in, "offered it to Dumbledore as headquarters - it's got all kinds of enchantments on it to keep it safe and concealed. It's about all I could do I suppose," Sirius sneered when Snape's eyes met his, "Severus, " he greeted sarcastically. Snape practically snarled in his seat, before his eyes fell on Harry, and then dropped to the scar on Harry's neck. He froze for a split second, before an expression of intense contemplation settled on his brow.
"Professor," Harry said warily.
"Potter," Snape answered after a beat, clearly distracted.
Harry turned his attention to the far end of the table, where Bill and Mr Weasley had just finished tidying away rolls of parchment.
Bill offered him a small smile and a little wave, "Hey Harry, how was the journey here? Did Mad-Eye take you through Greenland in the end?"
"No," Tonks grumbled before Harry could answer, nearly tripping over a chair leg as she shuffled down the length of the table - she managed to knock over a candle, which she scrambled to straighten before the whole table went up in smoke, "just had us doing detours through dirty great clouds instead!"
"That sounds like Alastor," Mr Weasley chuckled, "Hello Harry - lovely to see you,"
"I'm going to need help with dinner you lot! If you want to eat much before midnight that is," Mrs Weasley looked pointedly about the room, "Come on, up you get - not you Harry dear, you have a seat, you've had a long enough day as it is. Draco, would you mind peeling the potatoes?"
"I think that's all she trusts me with," Draco whispered as he shuffled past Harry to do as he had been bid, sounding more amused though than anything else.
"I'll help Molly!" said Tonks eagerly, "What can I do?" it was with great reluctance that Mrs Weasley handed her a knife and a carrot to peel.
While Draco settled at the kitchen counter with everyone else, Harry sat himself next to Sirius - Snape watched them with obvious disdain from the other end of the table. Soon the room was full of movement, people cutting up vegetables and meat, plates and cups and food being carried to and fro from the pantry, and an enormous cauldron on the fire bubbled away.
"So, how's your summer been so far?" Sirius asked casually.
"Pretty terrible," Harry answered honestly, not even attempting to keep his tone light.
"Don't know what you're complaining about personally - could have been worse," Harry peered at his godfather in disbelief, "I'd probably welcome a dementor attack right about now - would be a nice change of pace. At least you've been able to wander about outside and stretch your legs - I've been stuck in this old death trap of a house for months!" for a moment Harry couldn't quite believe his ears - had Sirius said something like this last time? He must have done.
"You're joking," Harry said slowly.
"Not even slightly," Sirius continued, a truly bitter edge to his words now, "a nice little struggle for my immortal soul would certainly throw off the monotony of life right now. Would probably make me feel a bit more useful than the glorified landlord and house keeper I've become, playing host to this lot," he inclined his head towards the team of people currently making their dinner, "I've never felt so impotent in my entire life!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms up in frustration, "At least you've been able to see the bloody sun! Dumbledore wouldn't even let me twitch the curtains to look outside if he had his way," he finished darkly with a scowl.
"Are you actually comparing me being forced to return to my abusive aunt and uncle's house again, and being cut off almost completely from the wizarding world, all after watching someone be murdered, and nearly being murdered myself, with you not being able to leave the house?" though Harry had started at a normal speaking level, by the time he was finished he was nearly shouting, and the kitchen was suddenly silent except for the sound of the bubbling cauldron, and a neglected knife that continued to chop mindlessly by itself.
Sirius gaped, "I uh, no uh I - well that is to say, ah -," he stuttered, shuffling his hands awkwardly.
Harry flushed at the eyes turned in his direction, and pushed himself back from the table, "Never mind," he muttered, "Can I help with dinner please, Mrs Weasley?"
"Oh, ah, of course you can dear," her voice sounded strained, and she sent Sirius a nasty look - Harry was sure it was purely because he had upset him, rather than because she had actually heard what was said, "Why don't you help Draco?"
Draco shuffled along slightly, and silently offered him a potato and a sharp knife. The look he gave Harry when he snatched the knife from him very much resembled the one Hedwig and Pigwidgeon had given Fred earlier that evening.
"Sorry," Harry muttered, turning instead to take his temper out on the potato in his other hand.
"What was that about?" Draco murmured under his breath.
"Just my godfather being a self-involved fucking child," Harry all but growled back, chopping the potato aggressively, and earning a reproachful 'Careful Harry,' from Hermione when he nicked the countertop. The awkward silence persisted up until they were all sitting down to eat. Draco reluctantly seated himself beside Snape, and Harry picked the seat next to him, with Remus on his other side as a buffer between him and Sirius.
"Here," Draco said quietly when Harry's bowl was scraped clean, swapping their bowls so Harry could have his leftovers. Harry was grateful, but still embarrassed, when Molly noticed, and discreetly pushed a thick crust of bread towards him as well, her eyes scrutinising his frame as she did so. He had a feeling his comment about the Dursley's hadn't gone unheard, and a lifetime of downplaying their treatment of him was itching to break free under his skin.
Harry was just picking his way steadily through a second helping of desert (pushed upon him by an ambitious Molly), when Sirius finally spoke to him again.
"I'm surprised by you, you know - I thought you'd be full of questions about The Order and what's going on," he said, his tone affected with a false lightness.
"Sirius," Molly said sharply, her previously relaxed slouch gone in an instant, "Don't."
"I thought Dumbledore said I shouldn't know anything," Harry said stiffly, his spoon nudging at the peak of crumble in the middle of his bowl until it fell over, "What's the point in asking questions you won't answer?"
"There's nothing wrong with asking questions," Sirius reasoned.
"The headmaster was very clear," Snape said suddenly, speaking for the first time all evening, his eyes fixed on Sirius, frowning, apparently disgusted at having to engage in conversation, "Potter is to know nothing,"
"Shut up Snivellus - I wasn't talking to you," Sirius sneered, "It would be understandable if Harry wanted answers,"
"No Sirius," Molly snapped firmly, leaning forward now, "I agree with Severus. He's too young - they're all too young,"
"How is it we've been asking questions for weeks, and now Harry turns up and you're here offering up all the answers!" Fred said, outraged, "Sorry Harry," he added, but Harry shrugged to indicate no offence had been taken.
"Yeah! And we're of age too! How's that fair?" George followed up, crossing his arms across his chest with a huff.
"You're not in the Order - you're too young! You're still at school! No, absolutely not!"
"What you know is up to your mother, not me," Sirius said mildly, "Harry though -,"
"Who says you get to decide what's best for him?" Molly was starting to turn an odd puce colour, fury in her every word, "and Harry's right - Dumbledore did say we shouldn't tell him more than he needs to know,"
"He's not your son," Sirius said quietly, and up until this point, Harry had been watching the discussion like a friendly Quidditch match - with interest, but no real skin in the game. Now though, Harry felt something hot settle in his stomach.
"He's as good as!" Mrs Weasley declared passionately.
"Thank you, Mrs Weasley," Harry interrupted Sirius before he could snap back at her, "I love you too," Mrs Weasley's eyes immediately began to fill with tears at his soft declaration, and she practically collapsed back into her chair with a hand on her heart.
"Oh, of course I love you Harry, we all do," her voice was full of emotion, and she worked a tissue out from her sleeve to dab at her eyes, "I just want to keep you safe,"
Harry felt like he was seeing Sirius with new eyes, and it hurt.
It wasn't difficult to imagine Albus in his shoes, they did look so much alike, but he found it nearly impossible to put himself in Sirius's. He would have done everything within his power to keep Albus from the Dursley's - anything and everything, from kidnapping him and stealing him out of the country, to bewitching the Dursley's and controlling their every move, to murdering in cold blood any witch or wizard who tried to keep him from his son. Rolling over and allowing Dumbledore to put him back with his relatives, and then not seeming to appreciate the significance of that, was something Harry could not identify with. Part of Harry pitied Sirius; he seemed frozen almost, stuck on the day he was first sentenced to Azkaban and never moving forward since. Harry felt as if two Sirius's were alive simultaneously: the one he idolised as a child, and the reality in front of him. It was with a heavy heart that he accepted he would need to find a way to reconcile the two.
"I'm not asking questions, because I could probably guess the answers - the answers you'd be willing to give me that is," Harry clarified. He felt Draco stiffen next to him, and he gave the other the slightest shake of his head; he wasn't about to do something stupid.
"Oh really," Sirius said in disbelief, folding his arms across his chest, and Harry felt the low simmering anger that had been sparked by his godfather minimising the role Mrs Weasley played in his life, begin to come to a boil.
"Yes, really," Harry snapped, finally giving up on his second serving of desert and pushing the bowl away.
"Perhaps we should all calm down," Remus pleaded, resting a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder, "let's not any of us say something in anger we later regret," he eyed Sirius in particular when he said this, but he was waved aside by the other.
"No, no - let's see what Harry can guess," if anything, Sirius's patient and reasonable tone only served to irritate him further, "Alright then: what do think we're doing here? The Order that is,"
"Trying to undermine Voldemort," Harry ignored the small gasps at the name, "The Ministry doesn't believe he's back, so you can't go all wands blazing otherwise Fudge will probably start making arrests. But you've got to be careful about it - cause' Fudge is terrified of Dumbledore now, scared he wants Fudge's job. So, he's watching anyone he thinks is friendly with him," he pointed briefly at Arthur, "so you need new faces - new people with no association with the headmaster," his finger turned to Tonks, "so you know what Fudge is thinking and can keep an eye on him. And you've got spies in the Death Eaters too," he tilted his head at the surprisingly silent Snape behind him, "so you know Voldemort's every move too,"
Sirius posture was getting less and less casual as he spoke, "Fine," he said tightly, "what are your insights into what Voldemort is doing?"
Remus's grip on Harry's shoulder tightened.
"This has gone far enough Sirius," Mrs Weasley snapped, "This is not a game!!"
Sirius waved away her concerns, "I'm not telling him anything am I? No. He's just guessing. Now then - Voldemort?"
"Laying low," Harry said immediately, "and recruiting those sympathetic to his cause - blood purists - and blackmailing those who aren't. A little circle of fear and terror. Plus other marginalised groups - werewolves and goblins and giants," without seeming to move a muscle, Draco's hand was suddenly gripping his knee tightly, and he was eyeing him intensely - it occurred to Harry abruptly that he almost certainly wouldn't have used the word 'marginalised' when he was fifteen - he continued anyway, "and he's probably trying to learn - to understand what happened when he killed my parents so it never happens again," something dawned on Harry, and it was like finding a treasured family heirloom you'd forgotten you'd lost in the first place: the prophesy, "he's searching for information," he finished quietly, running out of steam abruptly - how could he have forgotten about the prophesy?
"ENOUGH!!" Mrs Weasley shouted, leaping to her feet, "That is ENOUGH Sirius - he is just a boy! I won't hear any more of this! Dumbledore was clear in his instructions, was he not? No more! At this rate you may as well sign him up!!" she finished with a shriek, slamming an open palm on the kitchen table.
There was a long moment of tense silence before Sirius said anything to either Mrs Weasley or Harry.
Finally, he said, "Any other pearls of wisdom?" and Harry had had enough, and he was on his feet too, shaking Remus's hand loose from his shoulder.
"Yeah actually - out of the two of us, only one is a teenager, and it isn't you!"
Harry had forgotten how satisfying it could be to slam a door shut, having put such things away when he had become a father. Now though, he indulged himself, throwing the door to the room he shared with Ron shut, and cutting himself off from the world. He could still hear Mrs Black screaming blue murder from downstairs, however. He couldn't help but maliciously hope they wouldn't be able to shut her up for at least half an hour - he knew it was possible. He was disappointed therefore, when she fell silent relatively quickly.
He sat himself in his bed, back to the door, and began stripping his socks off and throwing them somewhere into the corner of the room. Finding his trunk at the end of the bed, he pulled it open and started shoving things to one side in his attempt to find himself pyjamas to wear.
He heard footsteps on the landing, and the sound of the bedroom door clicking open quietly. He stood and turned, fully prepared to start shouting at whoever had followed him when he'd stormed out, when he froze upon seeing that it was in fact Snape who was stood at the threshold of the room, watching him passively through his tunnel like, black eyes. They stood in silence for a moment, just looking at one another. Harry was on the verge of telling the potions professor to get the fuck out of his room, when he finally spoke.
"Lupin asked me to take a look at your throat," he said coldly, before adding, looking as if it pained him, "May I come in?"
Harry felt nearly startled into an answer, "Uh yeah, sure, if you want,"
Snape took a sweeping step forward, his robes billowing a little in his wake, and gestured to Harry's bed. "Sit down Potter," Harry did as he was told, and Snape sat too, perched on the other bed so they were sat opposite one another. He smoothly removed his wand from within the folds of his robes and pointed it at Harry's neck.
They did not speak as Snape worked, flicking his wand this way and that and murmuring spells under his breath. At one point, a feeling like ice being rubbed against Harry's skin made him jump, but otherwise he felt and saw nothing to indicate what Snape might have been doing. Finally, Snape sat back slightly and produced a pot of salve from his pocket and held it out for Harry to take.
"Apply that ointment generously," he instructed, "unless you need me to do it for you," he added threateningly when Harry hesitated, "I thought not,"
For the first time since Snape had sat down opposite it him, Harry actually looked into his eyes, and for a moment all he could see was Snape clutching at his neck, bleeding out in the boat house. Snape froze, and Harry realised with a flash of panic that he had unintentionally broadcast that image to the other. He averted his eyes quickly and rebuilt his occlumency shields frantically to ensure nothing else peeked out. He risked a glance at the other out of the corner of his eye, and saw that the potions master had recovered quickly, looking as if nothing had happened. Harry risked speaking.
"So, what's up with it?" Harry muttered.
Snape took a long-suffering breath in and released it in an enormous sigh, "It would appear that the curse upon the blade that injured you is reactivated by exposure to especially dark branches of magic - in this case, your exposure to the influence of dementors," Harry offered the pot back, his neck now thoroughly smothered in a thick tar like substance, "Keep it," Snape raised his wand and pointed it at Harry again, "Fascia," white bandages were suddenly streaming out of the Professor's wand and winding themselves snuggly around Harry's throat, finishing with an intensely uncomfortable squeeze around his neck before they settled.
"Why did Madam Pomfrey do that by hand, when it's so much easier by magic?" Harry pondered out-loud.
"Likely because she cares about her patient's comfort," Snape said tartly, the implication clear that he, in fact, did not, "Those bandages are impervious to outside contaminants Potter - I will return in a week to remove them and reassess the situation," Snape stood to leave, but stopped when Harry spoke.
"Do you know why it hasn't healed any? Cause' it was pretty bad still, even before the dementors attacked me," if he was honest, Harry knew exactly why it hadn't healed in light of what Snape had already said, and he was sure it wouldn't fully until he and Draco had dealt with their horcrux problem: still though, he was interested in what Snape had to say.
"I am unsure," he admitted reluctantly, "it is likely though that exposure to environments that are saturated with magic will help the healing process - it will do you good to return to school," he turned to leave again, saying over his shoulder, "Regardless, so long as you avoid any direct exposure to the darkest magics, you shall recover in time,"
"How dark?"
Snape paused with his hand on the rooms handle, "I would avoid exposure to any unforgivable curses for example," he said, sounding impatient to leave.
"What would happen?" Harry asked anyway.
Snape very obviously rolled his eyes, "Let's just say that, should you have the good fortune to survive the killing curse again, you would not survive for long, as you would very quickly exsanguinate," and with that, he was gone, closing the door with a snap behind him.
Harry's brain was silent for a second, but then he could summon only one thought:
'Fuck. '
Notes