I'm starting to wish it were possible for people to actually learn Occlumency. I have too many ideas and thoughts floating around, and they won't let me go! Here's just one more example of what happens when I spend too much time on one particular genre of fanfiction.
This story is somewhat AU, but not really; takes place when Harry shows up at headquarters in the beginning of OOTP; this is what I wish would have happened. Harry with a little bit of a backbone, who's fed up with letting other people control his life.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter
Harry Potter, age fifteen, barely managed to stop his jaw from dropping as the house, now known as number twelve, Grimmauld Place, sprung up between numbers eleven and thirteen. He glanced down at his hands, which moments before, had held a piece of paper informing him of the location of the headquarters of the group known as the Order of the Phoenix, before fixing his attention once more on the elusive building.
"Fidelius?" he queried quietly, more to himself than anyone else. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lupin glance at him sharply, but on Moody's sharp rebuff, the group made its way hastily inside before the werewolf could say anything.
The dark interior of the house did nothing to endear the place to Harry, but he held his tongue for now, and simply observed.
Mrs. Weasley was her usual tornado self, whirling through and sending his guards down to the kitchen as she caught him up in a typical bone crushing hug. Harry had to force himself not to flinch as he felt every one of his still healing bruises. The Weasley matriarch let him go, and in a hushed whisper, pointed him up the stairs to his waiting best friends.
XXX
The blowout with Ron and Hermione certainly made him feel better, but it didn't do much to alleviate any of his anger over being left in the dark for over a month. He had had a lot of time to think over those weeks, and he had come to the realization that his last four years at Hogwarts, he had been something of a pushover. He was always content to let go of any issues he may have had, convinced as he was that Dumbledore knew what he was doing, and not wanting to cause any waves. But no more. As powerful as Albus Dumbledore was, he wasn't all knowing. And Harry was sick of people trying to control his life.
Dinner that night was a boisterous affair – as it always seemed to be when more than two Weasleys were involved. Tonks spent most of the evening entertaining the crowd with her metamorphic talents, while the younger generation watched, laughing. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were caught up in a conversation with several older members of the order who had stuck around, unable to resist Mrs. Weasley's enticing offer of a meal. Not many could resist her cooking.
Sirius and Remus had one eye on Tonks, while the other focused on the child of two of their best friends. Both could see a difference from the last time they saw him and the boy who sat across from them that night, though neither could really pinpoint what it was. Suddenly, Harry turned his head, and both men caught a glimpse of dark purple around his neck.
Sirius stiffened, eyes narrowing as he focused in on what he could clearly tell were finger-shaped bruises. He could feel Remus' similar action beside him, though he couldn't force himself to tear his gaze away from his godson's neck. Those were definitely bruises. And judging from their placement… it looked like he had been strangled.
Harry glanced over at his godfather and ex-professor, feeling the eyes on him. Both looked startled, angry, and shocked. The boy wizard looked away quickly, as his hand subconsciously moved to pull his shirt up, to make sure the bruises were hidden. He didn't like the looks his father's best friends were giving him.
As the meal drew to a close, and Mrs. Weasley began to order the children up to bed, under the guise of a suggestion, Sirius interrupted, leaning forward as he drew Harry's attention to him.
"I'm surprised, Harry. I thought the first thing you would do would be to ask what was going on with Voldemort."
Most of the table flinched at the name, as Fred and George began to protest them sharing information with Harry, while they were left in the dark. Mrs. Weasley immediately drowned them out with protests about how they were all just children, but Sirius raised a hand, effectively halting all conversation.
"Well?" he asked his godson, who had yet to say a word.
Harry simply gazed at Sirius, his eyes bright and expression calm. When he spoke, he had an air of thinking about every word before he delivered it, something that was noted as a startling change by everyone in the room who had known Harry before that evening. "You mean you're actually going to tell me something?" he asked evenly. Sirius and Remus blinked, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and the twins stared, and Mrs. Weasley's jaw made an audible sound as it snapped shut.
But Harry wasn't quite finished. Oh yes, he was through being a pushover. It was time for him to show his newly developed backbone. "I would have thought you would do your best to keep everything from me. After all, I'm just a child, right?" His eyes flicked over to Molly, who seemed to be overcoming her shock enough to nod vigorously, before focusing back on Sirius. "Never mind the fact that I haven't been a child since my parents were murdered," here, most of the room flinched, "or that I've already faced Voldemort –" more flinches, "more times than anyone else in this room, and survived. Never mind the fact that it's my life you're all trying to control."
The room descended into silence, as all the adults were completely unsure how to answer that statement. If Harry had looked over at his friends, he would have seen the unsure looks on Ron and Hermione's faces, and the pride that shone clearly from Fred, George, and Ginny. Sirius and Remus' expressions most closely resembled those three Weasleys. They had tried to get Dumbledore to see that very fact, but the old man just refused to listen.
"You're right, Harry –" Sirius started to say, but was cut off quickly by Mrs. Weasley.
"Stop it, Sirius," she scolded, "Harry dear, I understand your frustration, but you're too young –"
And here, the Weasley matriarch was cut off herself, as Harry stood up from the table. His eyes glowed with intensity, and Molly unconsciously shifted back in her seat slightly. The boy positively radiated power. His next words were said in almost a whisper, and yet they were picked up by everyone in the room.
"If Voldemort deems me old enough to die, I think I'm old enough to know why."
More silence, as the shocked looks changed to horror.
"Harry," Hermione spoke up hesitantly, almost fearfully, but with a hint of reproach that showed her distaste of the disrespect of authority he was showing.
Harry just shook his head. "I've asked," he said curtly, gaze straying over towards his friend. He had thought a lot about it over the last few weeks, and he thought he knew why Dumbledore insisted on keeping it from him. But there was one major flaw in the old man's plan: you couldn't protect something you never had. Dumbledore's idea to preserve Harry's childhood would never work, because Harry had never been a child. It was more important for him to be informed, so that he could adequately prepare, than for Dumbledore to allow the illusion of youth.
"I've asked, and no one has ever seen fit to share anything with me. Lack of information does nothing except get people killed." Gasps were heard throughout the kitchen yet again at his crass way of speaking and harsh words, but he didn't care. Harry was a realist, and he was through sugarcoating things. "We are at war, whether or not the majority of the Wizarding World realizes it. Eventually, Voldemort is going to come after me again, and quite frankly, every time he attempts it, my odds go down. If I don't know how to fight him, one of these times, my 'sheer dumb luck', as Professor McGonagall once put it, is going to run out."
"Harry, you shouldn't be worrying about that, it's our job to protect you –"
Mrs. Weasley attempted to placate the young man, but apparently she had said the wrong thing. Harry's eyes were gleaming with power and passion as he turned his gaze on her. "It's not your job to protect me, Mrs. Weasley. You won't always be there, and if you think I'm going to let anyone else throw themselves in front of a killing curse for me, then you must be seriously deluded." There were a few winces, mostly from the last two Marauders, who both vowed to have a serious discussion with Harry at some point – that shouldn't be how he remembered his mother's sacrifice.
Several people seemed to take offense to the veiled insult, but Harry didn't give them time to speak up. He plowed on, letting every negative feeling come out as he tried to get these people to understand. "All you're doing is crippling us. Twenty years ago, this was your war. You fought, hard, and there were heavy casualties, to both sides. You needed a one-year-old to save you, and then you had thirteen years of relative peace." His eyes flicked between the older generation, seeming to ignore the younger crowd, though he was in no way unaware of the almost awe-filled looks they were giving him. Where had this Harry come from?
"You had a chance to cure the disease. You had thirteen years to fix things. Voldemort never could have gained so much power if there hadn't already been a crowd willing to follow him. When he was gone, you had the opportunity weed out the infection, make the world a better place. You didn't. And now he's back. But it's not just your war anymore." Here, he indicated his friends, still not taking his gaze off of Mrs. Weasley, where it had settled by that point. "It's ours as well. It's our future Voldemort is trying to kill. And I, for one, will not just stand by and let him take it."
As Harry finished, he turned around and exited the kitchen, very aware of the multitude of gazes locked on his retreating back.
After several minutes of silence, Mrs. Weasley took control again, and forcefully ordered the remaining children up to bed. Once they were gone, she collapsed back at the table, as the conversation started up.
Sirius and Remus were hard pressed to keep their pride in Harry from being too obvious, but it was very clear that they agreed with him.
Tonks also seemed to be on the soon-to-be fifth year's side, as were Kingsley and Bill, though neither man said much; a few subtle nods and slight smiles proved their position. Arthur and Molly didn't say much as the others talked about the pros and cons of sharing information, and what Dumbledore might say: Arthur didn't want to say something that might alienate his wife, though if pressed to admit it, he truly did agree with the boy. Molly, on the other hand, was trying to process the evening. She felt she was doing the right thing by shielding her children – and she definitely considered Harry one of her children – but she couldn't just set aside everything Harry had said. His words were not those of a child. What she had just seen was every bit a man as Bill and Charlie, maybe even more so. She couldn't deny that he knew what he was talking about; he knew what he wanted, and she had a nagging suspicion that one way or another, he was going to get it.
At a lull in the conversation, she pulled herself up and looked at Sirius. He was, after all, the boy's godfather, and as much as she thought him a reckless man who had no business taking care of anyone, he would probably be the one to ask about the validity of Harry's resolve to know everything. "Do you really think not knowing would be as dangerous as he thinks?" she fretted.
Sirius met her worried gaze with his calm one. "Yes," he replied succinctly.
Beside him, Remus nodded his agreement. "Molly, you know what's happened his last four years. What do you think could have been changed if they had been given more information?"
All eyes were fixed on him, now, most showing open curiosity. Remus saw confusion in Molly's gaze, so he continued. "First year, those three figured out the secret of the Philosopher's stone all on their own; they went to an authority figure for help, and were written off as too young to know what they were talking about, and what happened? They went after Quirrel themselves. Harry almost died. Second year, no one was telling them anything, and I'm sure they could all see how worried the professors were. In the end, it was Harry and Ron who saved the day." Molly and Arthur flinched at the reminder of what their daughter had gone through that year. "His third year," Remus continued, glancing at Sirius out of the corner of his eye, "do you know how Harry found out that Voldemort's supposed 'right hand man' was after him?" Several people shook their heads, and Sirius was the one to flinch this time. "An overheard conversation. No one saw fit to tell him that he had a mass-murderer after him. Let alone that the killer was his own Godfather. I don't doubt that it didn't do much to endear him to authority figures. No matter what else was going on, Harry deserved to be told the whole story; he deserved to know how his parents really died. And last year. All Harry heard all year was not to worry about who was trying to kill him, the adults were working on it. The problem with that is that Harry doesn't trust adults, and quite frankly, I don't blame him. They all threw him to the wolves and basically offered him up as bait to figure out who was trying to kill him and what their plan was. Like it or not, Harry is not a child anymore, and you can't protect him from everything."
With that, the werewolf stood up and left the kitchen. Sirius watched his friend leave, before following a few seconds later.
That seemed to be a cue, as the kitchen emptied out quickly after that; nothing had really been resolved, but the evening had definitely given them food for thought.
XXX
Harry looked up as the door opened, and sighed internally as he watched his father's two best friends enter the room. Neither one made any move to sit down, instead focusing on the young man who looked so much like Prongs. But he had the best of both of his parents inside, and if either one had to vocalize it, what they had seen down in the kitchen was all Lily.
Harry turned his gaze back to the book in his lap for another minute; once he finished the page, he carefully marked his place and set the book aside before he sat up slightly. "I'm not in trouble, am I?" he asked, only slightly joking.
Remus shook his head, a small smile gracing his worn out face. "Not at all," he assured Harry, "We just wanted to talk to you."
Sirius glanced at his friend briefly, but it was enough for Harry to tell that whatever this conversation was going to entail was the werewolf's idea, not his.
Harry nodded slowly, expression guarded, and carefully blank. Werewolf and dog animagus sat down, both focused on the young man in front of them. Both were aware of the bruises that were once more visible on the boy's neck, and Sirius suddenly realized what it was his friend wanted to talk about. He almost winced, but knew that the issue needed to be brought up, so that it could be resolved.
Remus sighed, his shoulders drooping slightly as he took in the cautious look his pseudo nephew was wearing. No one spoke for several minutes, Sirius and Remus observing Harry, and Harry observing right back. He thought he might know what they wanted, and he really didn't see the point. He was sure they had caught a glimpse of the bruises on his neck during dinner, and was hoping for a way to avoid this confrontation. It wasn't like anything would come of it. Dumbledore wouldn't let them do anything. He would go back to the Dursley's next summer, and the summer after that. It was just a couple more years, and then he'd be free.
Finally, Remus leaned forward, resting one elbow on his knee. "Harry, what happened to your neck?"
Even though he knew it was coming, Harry froze at the question. His eyes darted between the two men and the door, as if debating the merits of making a break for it.
Both men saw the look, and wondered if they would have to stop him from running – or if they even would, if it came to that.
Fortunately, Harry appeared to decide it wasn't worth it, for the next moment, he slumped, the fight apparently going out of him. "It doesn't matter," he replied, defeated.
Sirius and Remus bristled at the implication that Harry really didn't care what happened to him.
The ex-professor, the calmer of the two, was the one to ask the question, as Sirius appeared to be struggling with himself not to lose control. "Why not?"
Harry shrugged. "Because I'm going to have to go back anyway," he said, gaze falling to the floor, and subsequently missing the angry looks Sirius and Remus exchanged.
"Your uncle?" Remus asked, forcing his voice to remain neutral.
Harry hesitated for a moment, and then nodded, just once.
Both Marauders winced and swallowed at the confirmation.
Harry shifted under their gazes, and grimaced slightly as he felt his ribs twinge. He had thought they were just bruised, but that sharp stabbing couldn't be a good thing. He moved again, trying to alleviate the pain, and had to stifle a gasp, gritting his teeth together and keeping his expression blank. At least one rib was cracked.
Remus tried to stamp down the haze of red that was threatening to overtake his vision. It was less than a week until the full moon, and the wolf was more alive within him than ever. So caught up with controlling his urge to go murder the Dursley's with his bare hands, that he missed the subtle signs of pain the young man in front of him was displaying.
Sirius, though no less upset, did not have to battle a dark creature within him, and was thus much more aware of his surroundings. He also knew how abused children reacted; he should, considering his own horror-filled past.
Thus, when he saw the suppressed wince and grimace, he leaned forward slightly. "Are you all right, Harry?" he asked quietly.
Harry looked up, meeting his Godfather's gaze, noting somewhere in the back of his mind just how much the blue-gray color reminded him of the sea during a storm. He thought he could even see the storm in Sirius' eyes at the moment. But what truly warmed his heart was that there was no pity. Only understanding. It was that that caused Harry to pause before spouting off the typical 'I'm fine' lie that he had used so often he had actually almost started to believe it.
He exhaled the breath he had been holding for several seconds, before he looked down slightly, focusing on the ground in front of Sirius' feet. Biting his lip, he slowly shook his head.
Sirius didn't even have time to feel elated that his godson was being honest with him – that he trusted him enough to tell the truth – because Harry kept speaking. "It hurts a little," he admitted, almost whispering as if ashamed of having to confess to being in pain. He suddenly looked up, meeting Sirius' steady gaze once more. "But it's not that bad, really. There's no need to freak out."
Sirius took a deep breath, held it, and then let it out when he was sure he wouldn't explode. The last thing Harry needed right now was people yelling around him. When he was sure that wouldn't happen, he stood up slowly, and then, under Harry's watchful eyes, made his way over to the couch, to sit next to his godson. A section of his mind seemed to register the fact that Remus was coming out of his wolf-induced silence; it seemed that, for now, the man had won. Sirius wasn't sure whether or not he should feel happy about that. Although, he was all for taking Mooney to Privet Drive next week and then blocking off all the exits.
Sirius sat down and turned slightly so that he could face Harry head-on. "I'm not going to freak out, Harry," he promised. "But the fact that you don't think it's a big deal worries me. He's hurting you, and you need to realize how wrong that is."
"I do!" Harry broke in, staring beseechingly at his godfather. "I know it's not right, and I know not to believe all that stuff he says. I just don't think this is something to get worked up over." Harry made a vague gesture to his stomach, lifting his hand up slightly so that it included his bruised neck as well.
Remus leaned forward. "Why not?" he asked, keeping his voice light and curious. It would not do to lose control. Especially not now.
Harry shrugged, an action that initiated yet another wince. "It's just a few bruises and a cracked rib," he replied, staring at the floor. "It's not like he broke anything."
The unspoken 'this time' was heard clearly by both Mauraders, and the truths that the silent statement held were harsh and cruel, and forced both men to pause.
It was several minutes later when Remus forced himself to ask the question he had been wondering since entering the room. "Harry, why didn't you ever say anything?"
Apparently, the werewolf should have kept his snout shut. Harry's eyes blazed as he stared at one of the last links to his father. "Say something?" he asked incredulously. "I didn't think I needed to. Or do you think the bars on my window that Fred, George, and Ron had to break off in order to rescue me summer before second year were a symbol of how much the Dursley's loved me? Or how about the four locks the twins had to pick in order to get out of my room and get my trunk? What were they supposed to be, a gesture of affection? Hell, my acceptance letter to Hogwarts was addressed to the 'Cupboard Under the Stairs'. If that wasn't enough of a clue that something wasn't right, what is? The fact that I practically begged Dumbledore not to make me go back every year? Hagrid having to chase us to some hut on a rock in the middle of the sea in order to deliver my acceptance letter, after the first five hundred or so failed? Mrs. Weasley's always complaining about how I'm too skinny. Did it really never cross anyone's mind that there might be a reason for that?"
With each statement and question, Sirius and Remus felt as if shards of ice had pierced their hearts, and just kept getting driven deeper and deeper. The only thing they could think about was how much they had failed. Though, when they were alone later that night, they would welcome the thought that Albus Dumbledore had a lot to answer for.
And apparently, Harry wasn't finished yet. It was his last statement that truly drove the misery and guilt home. The boy wizard stood up and turned slightly, facing Sirius head on as he spoke in a quiet and expressionless tone. "Sirius, I'd known you for less than an hour when you offered me a home, and yet I jumped at the chance to live with you. Didn't you ever ask yourself why?"
And with that final blow, he exited the room, leaving the two men sitting there, wallowing in their grief.
After at least five minutes of silence, Sirius stood up, pulling Remus out of his thoughts. The werewolf watched as the escaped convict walked over to the wall, stopping just to the left of the fireplace. He rested his hands on the wall, closing his eyes tightly as he tried to stop the myriad of images that were assaulting his mind.
Suddenly, his eyes flew open, curiously blank for a moment, before his face contracted in fury and he punched the wall. Letting out a short breath that almost betrayed how close he was to losing control, he turned around and slid down the wall, collapsing onto the threadbare carpet, knees pulled up to his chest as he lost himself to the tears, just this once.
Remus watched his best friend lose control, heart breaking even more as he was unable to do or say anything that might help. It was all he could do himself not to start crying, or ripping the furniture to shreds.
When Sirius slid to the floor, Remus finally managed to unfreeze himself enough to go over to him. He sat down next to the animagus, close enough to comfort, but not too close as to be stifling.
The two men stayed there in silence for several more minutes, both contemplating on the young man they thought of as family, before their reflection was interrupted by the three eldest Weasleys.
Molly, Arthur, and Bill had been up late talking about Harry, and the change they had all noticed. It was Bill who suggested they include Sirius and Remus in their discussion: as childish as his mother may think the escaped felon, Bill truly respected the man, and had no doubts that his first and foremost priority would always be his Godson's safety and happiness. He agreed that keeping the children in the dark would not help anything, and could very well be detrimental to the war effort. He knew what his youngest brother and his brother's friends had accomplished over the last few years. And quite frankly, if it had been up to him, he would have brought Harry in long ago. That boy had proved himself time and again, ever since he was eleven years old. That he had saved the life of his younger and only sister meant that Bill would forever be in the boy hero's debt.
All three redheads were brought up short by the sight of the two men sitting on the floor, tear tracks on their cheeks, eyes haunted.
"What's wrong?" Bill asked bluntly, voicing the question that his parents were too polite to.
The Mauraders looked up, startled at the intrusion. Both simultaneously looked away, wiping away the tears before standing up and making for the couch. Both looked up at the newcomers with exhaustion written clearly on their faces.
"Is everyone else in bed?" Remus asked, voice hoarse, ignoring the question posed to him as he focused on the cursebreaker.
Bill nodded, once, furrowing his brow as he took in the pair. Beside him, his parents were less inconspicuous; their confusion showed clearly in their expressions.
Remus sighed and returned the nod in thanks, rubbing a hand tiredly over his face, feeling much older than his thirty-six years.
After several moments of awkward silence, the three Weasleys sat down as well, attention still focused on the two friends.
Finally, Sirius spoke. "What happened three years ago?"
All three redheads looked at him in confusion. "What do you mean?" Arthur asked, tilting his head to the side.
Sirius looked at him, and the father of seven was taken aback by the emptiness in the younger man's gaze. He had always been slightly unnerved by the escaped felon's eyes – there were times when he actually looked like he had been Kissed by a Dementor, they seemed so empty – but this was different. There was pain, and suffering, and underneath it all, a current of anger that had the older man reeling.
It was the werewolf that spoke up, answering the query since his friend seemed unable to do so. "Summer before his second year, Harry showed up at your house. Did your sons really have to break the bars off his window in order to get him out?"
Molly blinked. They had mentioned something like that at the time, but she had written it off as them trying to get out of trouble. "Did Harry say something?" she asked, glancing towards the door briefly, as if she would be able to make sure the boy was in his bed safe and sound through the walls and floors that separated them.
Remus sighed and rubbed a hand wearily over his face again. He had a feeling that Harry wouldn't want anything they had just talked about known to anyone else, but he had mentioned the Weasleys. They had to have seen something, and if they were to reason with Dumbledore at all, they needed as many people as possible on their side. Bringing his hand down, he spared a glance for his best friend, who still looked haunted by the truths his godson had revealed. It reminded Remus eerily of the night they had confronted him about his own home life. After the yelling and throwing things ended, Sirius had just sat down on the floor, exhausted, and stared through them. Even when looking them in the eye, it hadn't seemed like he was looking at them. His eyes were empty, haunted, much like they were right now. Remus suspected Sirius was remembering that night as well. He was probably thinking about the things his parents had done to him, and wondering how Harry's experiences compared. The werewolf had to suppress a shudder. "Did you notice anything… strange… about Harry at dinner? I mean, before his whole speech," he clarified, before Molly could say anything.
While the Weasley matriarch and patriarch shook their heads, Bill stopped to consider the question. Clearly, the two men were searching for something specific. And Bill was a cursebreaker. He had to be good at noticing small details, or he'd have died a long time ago. Going back over his memories of dinner, he narrowed his eyes in concentration, as his mind's eye brought up an image of the boy hero they were discussing. After a few moments, his eyes widened slightly as he focused on the last two Mauraders. "The bruises," he stated evenly, observing the wince those two words drew from them.
Arthur looked over at his eldest son. "What bruises?" he asked sharply. His tone was so unlike what they were all used to hearing from the easygoing man.
Bill hurried to answer, knowing that when his father used that tone, he wasn't in the mood for playing around. "Harry had several bruises on his neck. He was trying to hide it, but whenever he turned his head, his shirt collar shifted and they were visible." The cursebreaker paused here, considering how to phrase what he was about to say, knowing that there was no easy way to break it to his parents; he knew how much they loved Harry. He was like their seventh son. Glancing from his mother to his father, he swallowed harshly. "They looked to be several days old, and shaped like fingers… If I didn't know any better, I'd say it looked like…"
"Like someone tried to strangle him," Sirius finished, voice hollow, eyes glazed over.
Molly and Arthur turned quickly to the escaped criminal. Surely not! And yet… there had been a reason the two men had asked about the bars, and their sons' rescue of Harry.
"Did he say who?" Arthur asked quietly, almost dreading the answer. His hand unconsciously sought his wife's, and she gripped back just as tightly, needing the comfort as much as he did.
Remus nodded absentmindedly. "His uncle," he confirmed, voice just as soft.
The reaction was instantaneous. Arthur and Bill stiffened, while Molly slumped further down, unable to hold the tears back any more.
Seeing his parents close to losing it, Bill took the next question, knowing it needed to be asked, but dreading the answer. "Did he mention any other injuries, or how long it had been going on?"
Sirius clenched his hand into a fist, jaw tightening as he nodded, glaring at the floor, his eyes showing more life in his anger. "He's got more bruises than the ones on his neck, though he didn't say where. And…" here, he trailed off, swallowing harshly as the anger sharpened to fury. "And a cracked rib."
Remus could see just how close his friend was to losing it, and for all their sakes, he knew he had to try and stop the impending explosion. "Sirius, calm down," he pleaded, knowing it wasn't likely to do anything.
And he was right. The next moment, Sirius was on his feet, facing his friend as he yelled. "He said that he wasn't all right, but that it was OK, because nothing was broken!" Sirius practically shouted. He ignored the gasps from the Weasleys. "What kind of life has he had, that he can be all right with being hit, as long as nothing breaks? And furthermore, what kind of fifteen year old automatically knows the difference between bruised, cracked, and broken ribs? What kind of fifteen year old can brush it off like it's nothing?"
Remus waited until Sirius stopped, watching the other man breathe heavily for a moment, before he stood up as well. He said nothing, just hesitantly reached out to grasp his friend's shoulder. When the animagus did nothing to throw him off, he gently drew him into a hug, holding on tightly. After a momentary stiffening, he felt Sirius relax into his embrace, his own arms circling around the werewolf's waist as he returned the hug; his face burrowed into Remus' shoulder, and the graying man felt more than heard the tears falling from the convict's eyes. He muttered vague condolences, something about making it better, being there for Harry, and not letting him go back, though if asked later, he wouldn't have been able to repeat what he had said. He wasn't paying attention to the words, just trying to be there for one of the best friends he had ever had. He had abandoned the man for twelve years, and now that they were together again, he wouldn't lose him again.
The Weasleys watched in silence, not one of them able to keep their heart from breaking at the sight. No matter what their personal opinions of the men might be, what was clear was that both of them hurt for Harry, and wanted to help him. And all three Weasleys could relate to that.
And silently, they all made a vow to themselves that Harry Potter would never spend another minute under the roof of Number Four, Privet Drive.
I'm in total denial about Sirius' death, so this was my little change of events; Harry convinces the adults that he needs to be better informed, which results in learning the prophecy earlier, which means no trip to the DoM, which means Sirius never dies.
This was just planned as a one shot, and I'm not really convinced it ends when it does, so if I get enough of a response, I'll probably put up a second chapter. I think I have an idea of where I wanted to lead it, so I could probably add another chapter, to resolve a few things. It most likely won't turn into a full length story – I could be convinced to turn it into a two shot, but no more than that. I just don't think I have enough steam on this fic to keep it going for multiple chapters.
Please review and let me know what you think! This is my first Harry Potter fic, so I'm hoping I did the wonderfully fabulous universe some justice.
