Delicious...
No!
Work... Master...
The delicious tasting redhead stirred and stood up.
"Harry!"
Attack... Master...
No!
Important work...
"Harry!"
The snake reared back and struck once, twice, three times. Its teeth sinking into the redheaded creature, pumping venom.
Delicious...
No!
"Harry! Wake up, mate! Harry!"
Harry's eyes flew open and he jumped out of bed, his arms raised to defend himself. It took him a long while to process where he was and who he was seeing.
"You were having a nightmare, mate," Ron told him, his eyes full of worry as he looked down at Harry.
Harry shook his head to get his bearings, the searing pain in his scar making things... thoughts blurry. "No... Not a nightmare..." Harry shook his head vehemently as he remembered what he saw. "Your dad... Vision..."
"You are not making any sense," Ron informed him gently, holding out a glass. "Have some water. Take deep breaths."
Harry complied, unable to formulate his own thoughts so trusting Ron to do his thinking. The cold water was a balm to his inflamed body, clearing his head little by little, and Ron's calm voice helped. He drank calmly until he was aware of the comprehend full impact of the vision. His eyes shot up, wide and full of fear as he looked around the room. "We need to get to Dumbledore. Your dad was attacked by Nagini."
"What?" Ron asked, uncomprehending for a moment.
Harry wanted to explain further, but time was of the essence and they needed to get to Dumbledore, no matter how much he hated needing his help. "Neville, wake Hermione up," he told the chubby boy who was watching him from his bed with wide eyes. "Ron, we need to go to Dumbledore's office, now! Dean, Seamus. One of you, go tell McGonagall to get her arse there."
He didn't wait for anyone to acknowledge his orders; he grabbed Ron by the arm and tried to drag him to their destination. Tried being the operative word.
His legs had other ideas and they refused to obey his orders, causing him to falter and almost fall. Ron caught him before he could headbutt the floor, confusion still all over his freckled face. "Okay, mate. I got you. I'll get you to Dumbledore's office."
Harry nodded dumbly as the redhead took the lead, half-carrying him out of the dormitory, down the stairs and out of the tower.
It took them a long time to reach the office while Harry counted every second, cursing his weak body for failing him at such a time. When they reached the gargoyle, another problem presented itself. "Fucking idiot!" Harry screamed as his tenth attempt at guessing the password failed.
"That's ten points and a week's worth of detention, Mr Potter," he heard McGonagall say in a pronounced Scottish accent. "Now, why did you have your classmate wake me up at this ungodly hour and send me here?"
"I need to talk to Dumbledore right now," Harry answered, impatient and far too much in pain to put up with McGonagall's crap.
"Why do you need to talk to Headmaster Dumbledore, Mr Potter?" the professor asked, her tone pinched, making it obvious she would drag things out.
Harry glared at the woman. "Because Arthur Weasley is dying right now!"
McGonagall looked unsure for a moment but decided to drag her feet, as she was wont to do whenever something important happened. "And how did you come by this information?"
Harry staggered back, unable to believe her blasé attitude before his eyes narrowed and filled with venom. "None of your business. Now, tell me the password."
McGonagall crossed her arms, looking down at Harry. "I cannot give the password to such an important figure's office to a student — an unruly one at that — without a good reason."
Harry didn't bother saying anything; he turned around and started listing the names of every candy he knew, an uncomfortable Ron assisting him. They succeeded after what felt like hours, running up the revolving stairs as fast as he could, his legs obeying him once again. He didn't bother knocking; he barged in to find Dumbledore sitting on his desk with a pile of parchments on his desk, rubbing his forehead. Dumbledore looked up at the intrusion but when as soon as he saw Harry, he looked away.
Arsehole.
"Dumbledore, Nagini attacked Mr Weasley while he was guarding... something, I don't know what. He needs help right away!" Harry said breathlessly, hoping against hope that Dumbledore would act.
The old man looked up at Harry in surprise before what he said registered and he jumped out of his seat, far more agile than Harry would have thought. "Everard?" he said, confusing the two young boys. "And you too, Dilys."
Two of the portraits of past headmasters — and mistresses — lifted their heads from their pretend-sleep. "The man has red hair and glasses," Dumbledore informed the portraits. "Everard, you will need to raise the alarm; make sure he is found by the right people."
The two magical portraits nodded and left their frame.
"Everard and Dilys are amongst Hogwarts' most celebrated heads," the aged headmaster informed them needlessly, giving Harry the impression that he was uncomfortable with waiting silently. He continued blabbing about them, but Harry ignored him, his eyes finding the black pearls of Fawkes who was studying him intently.
Harry cocked his head to a side; Fawkes cocked his head to a side. Of all the times Harry had been in the room with the phoenix, including the time the bird had a burning day and the time it saved Harry's life, the boy had never felt this uncomfortable.
I never noticed how judgemental its eyes are. And this slight... fear? apprehension? Whatever it is I feel, I don't like it, especially about such a creature.
A part of Harry wanted to rave at the scarlet immortal for making him feel this way, while the other part yearned for even the slightest sign of approval from it.
I hate having fucking emotions.
"Tell me about the vision," Dumbledore ordered him, disrupting the boy's concentration.
"What about it?" Harry asked without feeling the need to look away from his one-time saviour.
"What was your perspective? Were you watching from a third-person view or were you in the scene?"
At that, Harry turned to his headmaster and chuckled when he saw the old man was still refusing to look at him. "Why do you ask?"
"Humour me," Dumbledore answered in a toneless voice.
A shake of his head and roll of his eyes were the boy's answer. "I don't think now is the time for jokes, Professor."
Dumbledore gazed disappointedly at a point above Harry's shoulder, making the green-eyed wizard wonder about the man's sanity if he thought that would work. He glared at the man, pushing all his anger to his burning eyes. "Don't mistake this for a plea for you to psycho-analyse me, Dumbledore. I'm here because Mr Weasley's well-being is more important to me than my disgust at your actions — or lack thereof — this year."
The whitened wizard said nothing as he locked his fingers, his eyes losing focus even more.
Harry turned his gaze at the bird of fire to find the creature still observing him. Something in his green eyes must have changed as the bird took one look at it and disappeared in a ball of fire.
Et Tu, Fawkes. Well, fu-
The bird appeared above a glass case holding the Sword of Gryffindor. The creature gently landed on the case and sang an encouraging tune that... encouraged Harry to pick up the sword.
Harry took a step towards the case and cocked his head. "I don't think it's a good idea for me to arm myself with a sword while I'm in the same room as your... wrinkly friend over there," Harry said, waving a careless and disrespectful hand to the said wrinkly friend.
The tune coming from the bird changed to a more upbeat melody, causing Harry to crack a genuine smile.
"I'm a funny guy like that," Harry answered the bird with no clue as to what Fawkes was trying to tell him if anything. "Do you want me to take the sword?"
The immortal bobbed his head; an action that reminded Harry of Hedwig, causing the boy's smile to turn softer. Harry bobbed his head back and closed the distance to the case.
In an odd twist of things, as the distance closed between Harry and the legendary sword, the green-eyed wizard felt familiar tingles run up and down on his arms and spine.
He raised his right arm and glanced between it and the sword. When he stopped, the tingles turned static like a ghost of a touch. When he moved his arms or torso, the tingles fluctuated, travelling once again.
What the... This is odd, he thought unnecessarily as he walked the last feet.
"I'm afraid I can't let you take the sword, Mr Potter," Headmaster informed him from his throne-like seat behind his antique oak desk. "The sword is school property."
"Is it though? If Godric Gryffindor wanted the school to have the sword, he wouldn't have hidden it so only 'a worthy Gryffindor, a real Gryffindor' could find it." He turned around and gave both Dumbledore and McGonagall a look of contempt. "Your words, not mine. Besides, it's your bird's idea."
Dumbledore, still avoiding eye contact, smiled kindly. "Fawkes is an eccentric bird who often has childish ideas."
"Hm. Then again, he saved my life. What have you done for me to trust your counsel?"
The old man tensed in his seat. "I can't allow a child to have such a dangerous weapon."
Harry rolled his eyes at the twitchy, obscene man. "Right. A child can save lives, fight monsters, save your job, compete in a famously deadly tournament and get tortured, but a sword? Merlin, no! That's just fucking crazy."
Most people would miss the tiny grimace of Dumbledore but Harry wasn't most people "You may have faced some... unpleasant situations, but I can't trust you with a weapon a small cut by which could kill a man in minutes, if not seconds."
"You are so full of shit," Harry chuckled and ignored the admonishment that followed from an indignant McGonagall. "You act like a reluctant leader, like this perfect representation of a humble force for good but you are nothing of the sort. You, Dumbledore, are a scheming, cruel and cowardly old man who has lost sight of reality. You sit on your throne in your ivory tower, twiddle your thumbs and suck candy while your students, children entrusted into your care are tortured."
Harry shook his head in disappointment as he raised his arms, palms looking to the sky. "You are one of those bigger picture types. Those who don't give a damn who gets fucked so long as their goals are met. You will gladly let people get tortured and killed if it fits, or at least doesn't hurt, your agenda - whatever that is. You don't give a shit about the people. God, I pity the poor bastards who follow you in this war."
Dumbledore, in a move that shocked everyone, except a grinning Harry, slammed his fists down on the table and made eye contact with Harry for the first time. "How dare you accuse me of being such a heartless man?" the old man hissed, anger and hurt fighting for domination on his face. He took a deep breath, presumably to centre himself before he sat back down with a sigh, giving Harry a profoundly saddened look. "I know things look grim from your small perspective, dear boy. I understand your frustration, but we all must make sacrifices if we are to defeat this evil plaguing our world. I am sorry I cannot do more to help you with all the injustices you face. But our world sits on a delicate balance, and I must do all in my power to keep that balance, lest we lose more than we already have."
The elder man petted his beard in frustration even as he kept his ice-blue eyes on Harry's, no sign of twinkle in them. "Do not think I am unsympathetic to your plight, but I must choose between your good and the good of all."
Harry's grin turned feral. "Of course, sir," he spat. "As I said, people don't matter." He whirled and broke the glass case with a punch.
Shit; shit; shit! That hurt!
He grabbed the sword by the pommel and lifted it out of its spotless iron holder. "Well, this boy doesn't care about what you think or say," he informed the wide-eyed old man, the sword pointing right at his white beard with blood dripping down its side.
Before either could say anything else, Fawkes flew off from his now-broken perch and landed on Harry's arms, its head tilted. Harry was surprised to find the bird oddly weightless, but his surprise took a backstage to the sweet release of the tears for the second time in his life as the cuts on his bloody hand healed.
As soon as Harry's hand returned to health, Fawkes flew off again, leaving the office with a warbled melody following in his wake.
Again, before either Harry or Dumbledore could say anything else, an interruption occurred, this time in the form of a knock by Hermione. "I'm sorry. Neville couldn't climb the girls' stairs, so he had to yell for someone to come down," Hermione explained after Dumbledore bid her to enter.
No one said anything, the tension in the room not allowing anyone to comment on such a trivial matter.
"What happened?" Hermione asked Harry in a whisper when she neared him, looking pointedly at his freshly healed, bloody hand.
So very near.
"Nagini, Voldemort's monstrous snake, attacked Mr Weasley while he was guarding whatever weapon it is Voldemort wants," Harry explained, chancing a glance at Dumbledore to find out if his theory is correct. The aged headmaster's groan of frustration confirmed it, though Harry felt pity for the talking to he was sure to receive.
Hermione's hand went to her mouth and she turned towards a silent and distracted Ron. "Is he okay?"
"They have taken him to St. Mungo's," a returning portrait answered. "Dumbledore, he looked bad. He was covered in blood and-"
"Thank you," Dumbledore cut the portrait off before turning to his deputy, and Harry had to respect his desire to keep them from the gruesome details. "Minerva, I need you to wake the rest of the Weasley children."
"Of course," the woman said and hurried to the door before stopping. "Albus, what about Molly?"
Harry blocked out what Dumbledore was saying and turned to his redheaded friend to console him, only to find him in Hermione's desperate embrace.
The green-eyed wizard's mouth twisted in an awkward mixture of a gentle smile and an envious frown. A mixture of jealousy and fondness fighting for domination. He felt cut off but ignored it. He glanced around him and found everyone occupied. Most of Dumbledore's torso was in a drawer of his desk, giving Harry the urge to snort at the ridiculous things magic could achieve.
The boy shrugged and left the room with his new, bloody sword in his hand. Weasleys will descend upon there soon. No need to be underfoot.
Harry spent the next two days in an anxious state, wondering if his friend's father was okay, obsessing over the door the man was guarding and worrying about the inconsistent behaviour of his own magic.
After finishing the books Irma bought for him, he still had no concrete theories on why his magic was so fucked up. He had leads though.
The writer of Trauma and Magic claimed traumatic events could have unpredictable effects on a child's magic; that it could change the behavioural patterns of the said magic. It could have such an immense effect on a child's psyche, and as a result, they might refuse, instinctively, to use the magic of certain type associated with the trauma. Or it could create a fascination in the child that resulted in a prodigy.
Harry thought that sounded likely, that he might be that broken.
In Obscure Facts on Obscuruses, the writer talks about an… alignment. A sickness. After a traumatic event, generally associated with a negative connotation on magic, a child could begin to see their magic as a problem, rejecting it. Magic does not like that. No, sir. If the said child represses his magic to a certain point, the magic could react in dangerous ways, attacking both the child and the whatever dangers it perceives in the environment.
The thing about Obscuruses was no one became one after they were eleven-year-old, and no one survived to reach eleven. So, while Harry certainly suffered a trauma, hell his whole life was a series of trauma's with brief respites, he couldn't be on the process of becoming an obscurus.
And all in all, it didn't make sense to him.
None of that explained what he was going through. Harry didn't hate magic. Or at least, he didn't think he did. And yes, while he saw the awful side of it, he also saw the wonders of it.
But in either case, he understood his problem was mostly psychological. That's why he decided to make a list — the list. A list of all the important events in his life, from the rare times Vernon got physical, to his greatest triumphs. He wrote everything down on the list, analysing their effects on him as objectively as possible.
And he reached the conclusion that… he was so messed up that he didn't know where to begin sorting himself out.
As he was getting ready to leave the school for Christmas, another mystery resurfaced. As soon as he had returned from Dumbledore's office the night of the attack on Mr Weasley, Harry had hidden the Sword of Gryffindor and forgotten about it until now.
Now, looking at the work of art and the tool of war, he wondered why Fawkes would want him to have it. What the majestic bird wanted him to do with it.
I don't think he wants me to use it. That'd make no sense in a world with wands and shit.
He wrapped sword in one of his old — Dudley tested — clothes and put it in his trunk. If worst comes to worst and Sirius makes another stupid joke about why I should lose my virginity to combat my anger issues, I can carve him out a new arsehole.
He shouldered his trunk; his magic having behaved long enough for him to cast a semi-successful weight-reducing charm. Before leaving the castle, he visited the library to say goodbye to his newest… friend, for lack of a better word. After a short chat and a few semi-funny quips about the woman's mouldy library and his inability to bring any beautiful witches there, he trekked to the train, Hermione and Neville joining him on the way.
The train hadn't been on the move for an hour yet when Malfoy came for his traditional visit. "I see your friends have abandoned you, Scarhead. They must've realised what a disappointment you are, even if the ginger-heads are disappointment all by themselves."
Harry felt Hermione put a restraining hand on his arm but ignored it. "Could be. Or it could be that your little bastard of a master attacked their father."
Malfoy didn't even have the decency to look surprised, smirking cruelly. "Maybe he should've thought about that before he became involved with the likes of you, the mudblood and Dumbledore."
Harry's eyes narrowed and hands twitched towards his wand reflexively, Hermione's hand preventing him from drawing it. Not that he thought he could do anything more with it than poke the blonde's eyes out.
Hmm. A blind ferret? Me likey.
"I saw that," the blonde announced triumphantly, his smirk turning into a satisfied grin. "You can't even cast a Lumos. What could you hope to do with a wand?"
Harry's cheek flushed but he restrained himself from showing how much the boy's words affected him. "I could shove it up your arse to add flavour to your shitty life. How is the life of servitude treating you? Has Voldemort demanded you prostrate yourself yet? Or for your mother to take the knee for the team? I hear his special club is mainly a boy's club, and that must get tiring after a while and your mother is a beautiful woman, sure to add… certain enjoyment to their meetings."
Harry couldn't help but smile in satisfaction as he watched the pale boy's face got redder and redder as he talked.
"Don't talk about my mother that way, Potter!"
"Aw. Draco, do you suffer from Oedipus complex? Is that why you are all worked up?" he asked in a sweet voice. "Don't worry if you are having naughty dreams about your own mother. I do too. Sadly, I'm not a necrophiliac, and your mother is colder than a corpse."
This time, it was the blonde's hand that went to his wand, though he restrained from drawing it. "You better watch your back, Potter. Dark Lord will come for you. Just like that good for nothing ginger blood-traitor."
Harry shrugged. "He tried many times already. Do you want to know why I'm not scared?" Harry waited a moment to add to the drama. "Because I'm still here." The green-eyed boy smiled uncaringly. "And I don't plan on dying just yet."
The blonde did have a comeback ready. "You know, I do wonder how is it you survived sometimes? Was it a freak incident? Or did your mother sacrifice her body for you before she died? It wouldn't surprise me. I've seen what she looks like and I can't blame the Dark Lord for wanting to have a go at that slut."
Harry jumped up at that, unable to let an insult to his mother go but unwilling to attack the boy for doing the same thing he did not so long ago. He took a step to the door of the compartment closer to the blonde. "You want to leave now." He could feel something in him, something dangerous and wild, rise to the surface, pushing out of his skin like smoke.
The Slytherin boy's eyes went wide in surprise. "Is that all you have to say? Do you have no honour left in you that you would allow an insult to your mother?" He shook his head and raised his arms, hands looking up. "Then again, you like to surround yourself with dirt. The Weasleys, the mudblood, the squib." The familiar smirk returned to his face. "I should warn you, with the way Weasleys seem to find themselves in dangerous situations, you should ready yourself for a lonely existence, however long you may last against your betters."
That did it, Harry thought and promptly lost his mind as he let his fist fly, hitting the other boy in his jaw. His other fist followed right after, snapping the boy's head around and causing him to fall. Harry felt hands on him, trying to drag him back but he shrugged out of them and kneeled on top of the boy to continue his work.
He didn't have time for more than two weak punches before Malfoy's two stooges descended on Harry, lifting him up and throwing him to the ground. He didn't let the pain on the left side of his chest keep him down and jumped up again, squaring off against the overly large boys. He growled and drew himself up to his full, short height and glared at the stupid humanoids.
He badly wanted to let loose on three Slytherins, his skin prickling with barely restrained energy, his vision blurring around the edges of the boys. But the ghostly image of Zacharias writhing on bloody tiles was still etched onto his eyelids, and it was that image that stayed his hand.
"You really should've left, Malfoy," Harry whispered tiredly once he was sure the two troll-like boys wouldn't attack and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"Yo- You won't get away with this," was the blonde's stuttering response.
"Are you sure?" he asked with a whisper and looked around him conspiratorially. "I'm pretty sure I will. Apparently, I can get away with Cedric's murder. I wonder if I should double-down on my murderous instincts by throwing you off this train and forget all about you right after."
"Nah. Too much work." The dark-haired boy smiled innocently. "Instead, I'll do this," he said as he palmed the wide-eyed boy's wand from the floor where it had fallen. He took each end between his fingers and broke the instrument of magic in half. "Now you can't do magic either."
Malfoy looked somewhere between shock, fear, indignation and hatred as he sat on the floor, and Harry enjoyed it immensely, which in turn gave him a sickening feeling.
It was as if he was losing more of himself every second and it became so bad, he was enjoying other people's misery. "Get out of here," he ordered Malfoy with a sigh. "And take your two plus-sized morons with you."
He sat on the bench heavily as soon as the irritants left and bit into his lips as he tried to make sense of himself. "I'm losing my mind," he whispered as he looked up at Hermione's judgemental yet kind eyes. "They come at me from everywhere and I… I can't keep fighting."
Hermione jumped to her feet from where she was sitting next to Neville and kneeled in front of him. "It's going to be okay, Harry."
Harry threw his hands in the air. "I know you want to believe that but… how can I when every day this world turns darker and turns me darker. I could have killed that fool if his friends hadn't gotten in the way. And the worst thing is, I enjoyed it. I enjoyed hurting him, and I loved the fear in his eyes." He turned his head to the ceiling, not wanting to see Hermione's expression, and closed his eyes to fight the tears.
Manly tears, not emotional crisis tears.
Oh, who are you kidding?
He felt Hermione took his right hand in hers, cleaning the blonde piece of shit's blood gently with a piece of cloth. "We'll fix you, Harry, no matter what you think on the matter."
Harry sagged on his seat and leaned back, hitting his head on the wall. "I'm not sure if I should come back to Hogwarts after the break. I'm not even sure if I want to," he confessed with a whisper, purposefully not looking at Neville, afraid of his reaction to things he did and say.
Hermione put her chin on his leg and looked up at him with pleading eyes. "You know you have to, Harry."
"Why do I have to?"
"You have to finish your education," was her immediate answer.
Harry looked down at his friend like she was crazy. "And what good will it do when I and a wand together spells catastrophe?"
The bushy haired girl rocked her head from side to side. "There is that," she agreed with a nod. "But I don't believe for one second that this is permanent. And neither should you. You will get better Harry Potter. You will return to Hogwarts, and you will become one of the most powerful wizards to walk on this planet."
There was so much conviction in her voice that Harry believed her, even if only for a second. "How? Why?"
"How? With my help, of course," she said with a smile. "Why? Because you can't leave me alone at Hogwarts. Who will get me into trouble if you aren't there?"
Harry smiled, and it felt good to know he was still capable of it. "What happened to that sweet girl who thought expulsion was a fate worse than death?"
Hermione gave him a brilliant smile, that reminded Harry of who kept him going. "She grew up."
"Shame. I liked her better when she was just an annoying know-it-all that kept following me everywhere," the raven-haired boy joked and caressed her cheek. He felt the inexplicable urge to kiss Hermione when she stuck out her tongue. "You put that back, young lady!" he admonished in faux-irritation instead and flicked the offending organ.
Hermione did so and smiled as she sat next to him and put her head on his shoulder. "We are going to be okay. We'll figure everything out."
"Damn right, we will," Harry agreed with more certainty than he felt. "Voldemort, Dumbledore, Malfoy, Fudge. They have no idea who they are messing with. They each may be powerful in their own way, but I've got something much better."
"Oh? And what's that?"
"You."
It was a sweet sentiment, but it was true all the same. At least to Harry. Hermione looked doubtful but the boy-hero knew in his heart of hearts, she would prove her doubts wrong.
The rest of the trip went by more peacefully with each child in their own world, watching out the passing world around them. The trip to the Grimmauld place in the company of Moody, Lupin and Tonks was spent in silence as well, the tension in the group was obvious for all to see.
As soon as Harry stepped foot in the dusty old house, he was swept up in a hug by the exuberant owner. "Prodigal godson returns!"
"And dies due to asphyxiation," Harry wheezed out. "Good to see you, Sirius," he added as his godfather let up the hug but kept a hand on his shoulder, a truly excited grin on his face. Harry tried but he lost the fight to the urge to smile, infected by his godfather.
Godfather.
"Good to see you as well, Harry. Come, come. Molly cooked a feast for your arrival." The thin and sickly looking but healing man directed the boy to the kitchen where the most Weasley folk were sitting. "Look who's here."
"Oh, is that Harry Potter? What a surprise! I never thought I'd see him here on the day Hogwarts let out," Ginny said, sarcasm thick as ever in her voice. "Can I please get your autograph?"
Harry Potter gave her his best Lockhart impression. "I bet you'd love that, wouldn't you, Miss elbow-in-her-food?"
The redheaded blushed and glared at Harry. "That was once! Once! And years ago."
"But it's still funny," the twins said at the same time, then turned to each other. "Jinx! Hey! You can't talk!" they continued as a few people laughed.
Harry ignored the goofs and turned to Ron whose freckles looked out of place on his paler-than-usual face. "How is your father?"
"He's good," Ron answered with a nod. "They got him to the hospital just in time. He'll have a few scars, but the healers say he'll recover fully."
"Good." Harry sat down across from his friend as seats on his both sides were filled by Hermione and Sirius. He put his head on the table and closed his eyes.
"What's gotten into you? You look all tense," Ron said bluntly. "Well, tenser than usual."
Hermione put her hand in Harry's as Harry gave a one-word answer, "Malfoy."
Harry felt Hermione move around on her seat but didn't have the enthusiasm to check it out. "That explains it. What did the ferret do now?"
"Later," Hermione ordered harshly to the redhead, and Harry was sure she was glaring. "So, Sirius, how are things going? Have you managed to clean the house yet?"
Harry tuned out the pleasant talk as he rested, though unable to relax thanks to the oppressive aura of the house and the many unfamiliar people around. It was while he was thinking back to the events of the last few months, he came to a decision.
He had to share his theories with Hermione, Ron and Sirius. Like he had said on the train, he had Hermione and that girl could solve anything when she put her scary mind to it. Ron, while not the most academically inclined, was often a great help in pointing out the obvious, and Sirius was… He was Harry's godfather and that was good enough reason.
Can they fix you as well? Can Hermione fix you?
Of course, she can.
Do you want to be fixed?
Of course, I do.
Are you sure? Think about how much you enjoyed hurting Malfoy.
He's a Malfoy. Anyone would enjoy hurting him.
You know she's going to want to lock you up, or worse, tell Dumbledore.
She won't. Not Hermione.
How sure are you about that? Are you willing to bet your freedom on it? On her? She will take away the sky from you.
"She won't!" It took Harry a few moments to realise he said the last part out loud, and he had jumped out of his seat. The shocked and concerned faces around him made the situation worse and he felt a wave of irrational anger well up inside him. "Where am I staying?" he asked Sirius quietly, fighting the tears.
"Come, I'll show you."
Before Harry could leave the kitchen, Mrs Weasley planted herself in front of him. "Harry, dear, dinner is just about ready."
"I'm not feeling hungry, but thank you, Mrs Weasley," Harry answered as kindly as he could.
The motherly woman looked as if she wanted to say more but a warning glance from Sirius changed her mind. "I'll save you a plate in case you get hungry later."
"Don't risk losing your hand to Ron's stomach on my account," Harry joked weakly and walked past the woman. He followed Sirius up the stairs to the third floor.
"This was my brother's room, so pardon the decor," Sirius explained as they entered a room with obvious Slytherin vibes, greens and silvers everywhere.
"It's better than any other room I've slept in," Harry said with a careless shrug and threw himself on the bed.
"Are you okay, kid?" Harry opened a single eye to give Sirius the 'what do you think?' look, causing him to snort. "What am I asking? Of course, you're not."
"You think?"
Sirius raised his hands in defence. "Don't bite my head off, now." He walked to the bed and sat next to Harry. "Talk to me, kid. Tell god-daddy your problems."
Harry snorted at the ridiculous man. "That sounded like a bad porn name."
"Oh, and pray tell, what do you know about porn?"
Harry shrugged horizontally, still looking at Sirius with one eye. "I didn't have a lot to do last summer, and Dudley has quite the collection of erotic magazines. You do the math."
"You know, your dad and I once snuck out of the Potter mansion to see one of those movies."
Harry sat up at that, never finding stories about his parents anything less than fascinating even if they were obviously not for his ears. "Do tell."
Sirius gave a shrug and an embarrassed smile. "That was it, actually. We saw an adult movie, returned home and went to separate showers."
"That sounds exciting," Harry deadpanned. "Well, at least you didn't shower together."
His late father's best friend threw a gentle punch at Harry's shoulder. "I know I said I loved your dad but chill out. Ours was brotherly love."
Harry grinned. "You never know with you, purebloods. How could I know you didn't embrace your family values in a slightly different way?"
Sirius looked at Harry with surprise before barking out a laugh. "I never pegged you for a smartarse."
"See, you say brotherly love then make comments about my arse. No offence, mate, but I'm not looking for a — what was it you called it? — a god-daddy."
Sirius' laughter turned up a notch. "That was good," he said once he calmed. "It's good to see you in a good mood, Harry. I was afraid when Dumbledore said…"
Harry tensed and sat up. "What did he say?"
The older man shook his head. "It's nothing. Never mind."
"Tell me."
Sirius sighed and turned his body to face Harry completely. "He said you weren't doing well. That you were always angry and disrespectful, always sulking."
Harry's first instinct was to dismiss the unasked commentary, but he honestly knew some of them were true. Still, the bastard has a lot of guts, telling half-truths like that. "I'd like to see how he reacts to constant torture, belittlement and disrespect."
Sirius' worry turned into confused shock. "What torture?"
"Oh, didn't he tell you? What a surprise. I wouldn't tell anyone if I sat back and watched as a teacher tortured her students while another teacher constantly insulted them. If I were him, I'd be mighty ashamed of myself for doing nothing while a student of mine was losing his mind."
"Umbridge?" Sirius asked but didn't wait for an answer. "But Dumbledore said he had her under control."
"He doesn't have scars on the back of his hand to prove what a vindictive bitch she is," Harry answered and rolled up his sleeve to show Sirius what's written there. "Blood quill," he explained when Sirius didn't say anything.
It will be a fun holiday, Harry thought as he watched Sirius march out of the room without a word. Oh, yes. It'll be all fun and games.