Harry couldn't decide if the quiet that permeated Grimmauld place was comforting or just depressing. On one hand, he doubted he could handle the always bright, loud and warm company of the Burrow right now, but on the other, he found his own mind and body increasingly feeding off the stillness of his surroundings.

Whilst Order meetings continued to be held on a semi-regular basis, without Sirius around to champion his cause, Harry found himself once again ushered softly out of the way. The silencing charms cast on the doors created an unnatural quiet that made things eerily still from the outside, and other than the occasional screeching of Mrs. Black's portrait, it was so noiseless that Harry had taken to tapping on hard surfaces to assure himself his hearing was still intact.

Dumbledore, in his infinite wisdom, had decided that Harry's summer should be spent here as opposed to at the Dursleys, something that Harry admittedly was rather grateful for, although he suspected Dumbledore's insistence had been more to do with ensuring a group of people were on hand to watch Harry and report back to the headmaster at regular intervals than Harry's own comfort.

Lupin was his main companion, the man having few other places to go and little else to do. Dumbledore himself visited from time to time, though rarely approached Harry beyond brief niceties and polite inquiries as to his health, which Harry batted away with a litany of equally insincere 'I'm fine's. More common were the Weasley order members and several others whom he recognised from the previous summer. He'd spotted Tonks coming and going, rarely without upsetting some furnishing or ornament and once Kingsley Shacklebolt had met him in the hallway by the stairs, nodding and opening his mouth with a sickeningly tender look on his face that had Harry rushing for the stairs before he could be bathed in condolences and concerns. Luckily, he'd not yet been forced to face his friends, a prospect that made him feel like curling up in the foetal position.

In the first few weeks of the summer, he'd been approached fairly regularly, mostly by Lupin but also by Mr. Weasley and others, with offers to talk, gentle questions about his wellbeing and empty reassurances, until he had made it clear to all that he was fine but wanted to be left alone for now. To his relief, they had mostly accepted his request, though Lupin would still occasionally corner him in the kitchen and try for small talk when they were alone.

Unfortunately, he'd had to be a bit firmer with Mrs. Weasley, who, upon seeing him, had immediately swept him into her arms and rocked him softly to murmurs of 'Harry dear, we are so sorry. If you need anything…' Harry had firmly removed himself from her grasp and coldly assured her he was not in need of anything. Her face had crumpled in concern and he had been grateful when Remus has put a hand on her arm and led her away kindly. Since then, she had taken to smiling hopefully at Harry and greeting him warmly when she saw him but surprisingly kept a respectful distance.

On his way past the kitchen one evening, he'd paused at the door when he'd heard her talking tearfully to a softly consoling Lupin.

'There Molly, he'll come around. Let him be for now. He's got more strength than he lets on"

'He seems so unhappy, Remus. If he knew how much-' there was a small sob 'how much we care about him'.

Lupin's voice was gentle.

'He does know, I promise you. It's just going to take a little time. I'm always here if he needs it.'

'And you Remus?'

'I'll be fine too'

When Harry had gotten to his room, he'd laid awake for a while replaying Remus' words.

What strength? He had wondered bitterly. What were they seeing that he couldn't?

The question continued to bother him and finally, he had firmly pushed the thought aside and made an effort to distract himself with exploring the old house in the days following.

So far he had avoided Sirius' room, but now he stood in faded jeans and shirt in the centre of it, eyes scanning the posters on the wall and the iron bed, still unmade. He found himself picturing Sirius's image, interacting with the room as if still here. The picture played like an old film that Harry couldn't bring himself to switch off.

Sirius sitting with his feet up on the bed reading, Sirius sneezing at the dust as he kicked his shoes off, Sirius jumping up in alarm when Snape's alert came that Harry was in danger…

Squeezing his eyes shut, he took a deep breath and then proceeded to step deliberately around the books and paper strewn across the floor. Faint footsteps on the floor below made him freeze and he held his breath until the sound faded away, then, lit a single candle that he found by the bed, sunk to the floor and slid under the large iron bed on his belly. Wrinkling his nose up at the dust that he dislodged, he found two shabby looking boxes pushed far underneath the bedframe. Wincing a bit, he gripped at them with two fingers on each hand and slid back out awkwardly. He pulled them to a dusty corner, settling down and sitting cross-legged to peer at the contents.

The first contained what looked like numerous motorcycling manuals, the pages yellowed with age and use. He lifted one up and flipped through it gently, pausing when he noticed black figures on one of the pages. Sucking in a painful breath, he realised they were where Sirius had doodled absentmindedly in the blank spaces. Running his finger over the grooves the quill had made, he brushed his thumb over the tail of a happy looking dog. A smile split his face even as his eyes stung. He carefully traced the 'Padfoot' written underneath-

'Potter'

Harry jumped violently, shooting to his feet and causing the box and the magazines inside to tumble off his knees and spill across the floor. Cursing under his breath, he rubbed harshly at his face to gather himself and glared across the room to where Snape stood like a shadowy, oversized bat in the doorway. To his extreme annoyance, he noted a smirk on the man's face already.

'Jumpy, are we? I rather hope you're not up to anything unsavoury, though I dare say that's too much to ask.'

Burning with fury and humiliation that he had let Snape of all people see him in this state, let alone shake him up, Harry curled the hand still clutching Sirius' magazine hard into the spine. 'What do you want?' he croaked with as much venom as he could manage.

'Careful Potter' Snape said sharply 'not everyone will lower themselves in order to treat you like a delicate little maiden'. Harry felt his nails dig into the magazine cover as Snape's eyes glittered down at him. There was a slight pause as if Snape was intentionally watching Harry for his reaction, drinking in the uncomfortable atmosphere.

'I am here because Dumbledore feels it necessary to continue with your Occlumency training in light of…recent events. '

Something white hot and bubbling washed over Harry's body at the casual mention of Sirius' death. He forced himself to focus on the other piece of information. Occlumency? With Snape? He couldn't go through that again. Not with him. There was no way in hell Harry was going to be able to get a hold on his emotions when faced with the man who he had watched taunt Sirius into leaving the house. He felt like saying this to Snape, screaming it at him, but instead he stood, frozen in his anger, his stomach churning unpleasantly.

When it looked like Snape was about to sweep out the room, he shook his head minutely. 'No way' he bit out.

Snape raised an eyebrow.

'Excuse me?'

'I don't want to.'

'Frankly Potter, I don't care in the least what you "want". I believe I've already made my own position on teaching snooping little sneaks abundantly clear last year but it is a matter of necessity, the headmaster assures me. I've made my peace with it and so will you. So, I will return Friday evening and you will be ready for me, with your mind cleared, in the downstairs drawing room at 8 pm. '

'I am NOT a –'

'This is not up for discussion Potter!' Snape barked. 'The universe does not revolve around you and your self pity!'

He turned and strode from the doorway before Harry could retort, snapping out a sharp '8 pm!' behind him as he went.

Once the footsteps had once again faded from his ears Harry let out a shaky breath. His insides felt raw and his legs were trembling enough that he slid slowly to the ground to avoid them buckling. Dropping the magazine beside him, he pushed his palms hard into his eyes, until spots danced behind his eyes and he managed to slow his breathing.

He was angry that a single exchange with Snape had bought forth such emotion that it had all but paralysed him. He had to to find a way to access that strength that Lupin had so confidently declared he had. It just…hurt so much. Harry felt like his heart was frozen in sharp ice that cut deeper every day, he just needed to deaden some of the pain somehow so it didn't consume him, else Voldemort would only need to utter Sirius' name and watch Harry fall.

He knew that his unstable emotions would make him easy prey for more mind attacks, but the idea of more Occlumency lessons on top of how he was feeling was almost unbearable. Waves of nausea roiled over him at the thought that Snape would soon be back inside his head, poking around, rifling though all of his thoughts and feelings at his most vulnerable. And Harry knew, he knew that the bastard would be looking for whatever was most painful so that he could use it for ammunition. He bought his hand to his knees to hug them into his chest, when his elbow brushed against the unexplored box.

Still feeling sick, Harry unfurled himself and prised open the lid on autopilot. At first glance it looked like a potions kit but the phials it held were very small and all uniform. He picked one up and held it to the candle light. The liquid inside was thick and dark. It glittered hypnotically, and harry found himself oddly unwilling to look away. Eventually he pulled his eyes to the rest of the box, scanning it for some information about the substance. The bottles were all unlabelled but at the box's base, he found what looked like a handwritten receipt. Scrawled on the scrap of parchment in untidy writing was acknowledgement of payment for 50 doses of something called 'Oblivion'. Harry blinked. That wasn't very…Latin sounding for a potion. He figured it was a street name for something and read the note at the bottom, 'Enjoy!'

Picking up one of the tiny phials again Harry considered the liquid. Sirius had bought…enjoyable potion? Most of the potions Harry had taken in the past were medicinal in nature and almost always unpleasant in taste. Though he supposed that pepper up potions or the effects of pain relief had been nice. If only they worked on non-physical pain too, that would be helpful right now he thought. Or…maybe…

He pulled the tiny cork out of the bottle and sniffed at it. It smelt sharp, like the pear drops a teacher at his primary school once gave the class at Christmas, but with an undertone of something herbal he couldn't quite place. He pushed the rim of the cool glass to his lips and hesitated. Despite the decontaminating efforts of the order, everyone was still careful about touching any potentially dark artefacts in Grimmauld Place. But…this had been under Sirius' bed. Harry doubted Sirius had bought anything dark and it was clearly meant to be enjoyable. He was also pretty sure there were less than 50 phials remaining in the box meaning Sirius had likely drunk some already. The thought steeled his nerves and presented a wonderful opportunity: he could feel exactly how Sirius had felt taking this potion, a shared experience. Making his mind up, he tipped his head back and let the liquid slide into his mouth.

It was cold, bitingly so, and the coldness followed the liquid down his throat. He thought his original assessment of pear drops and something herby was accurate, the flavour of both now overwhelming and joining somehow with the swirling coolness resting in his belly. He stilled then furrowed his brow waiting for something enjoyable to happen. He heaved himself onto Sirius' bed and was about to check the phial for some kind of shelf life date when suddenly, the cold softly swirling inside him exploded. He clung to the bed sheets as his body was flooded with sensation so strong that his vision was blank and ears ringing. The coldness seemed to flood him under his skin and then warm until everything became very slow. Harry felt like his whole being was floating above the bed, weightless, warm to his very bones. He wasn't aware of the phial rolling out of his hand, of falling backwards onto his back on the bed, of his eyes glazing and mouth becoming lax. Nor was he aware of the guilt he was no longer feeling, the pain and worry, the anger. No, as he finally shifted into sleep, Harry was only aware of one thing.

Oblivion.