I Got Troubled Thoughts and a Self-Esteem to Match, What a Catch—What a Catch Donnie by Fall Out Boy
The headlines in the newspapers got worse by the day—Cornelius Fudge missed no opportunity to discredit both Dumbledore and Harry.
"It's funny, you know," Sirius laughed bitterly one evening in July. "Harry is lauded all his life for being the boy who lived, and the minute he does something to actually try and protect us all, the papers drag him through the Hippogriff shit." He tossed The Evening Prophet down on the table in disgust.
"People don't want to believe. Fear does horrible things to people." Remus responded quietly from across the table.
Sirius nodded. "Surely Dumbledore will let us bring him home now. He's got a subscription to the Prophet—he'll be reading all of this by himself."
"Hopefully." Remus said, and Adria nodded from her spot beside her uncle.
Remus continued, "I heard Dumbledore's instructions to Ron and Hermione—they aren't supposed to tell him anything in their letters."
"It's probably safest—Gods know what they heard through Fred and George's extendable ears before Molly confiscated them." Adria sighed. "It wouldn't do for Harry to get garbled information before the Order has had a chance to explain everything to him. He'll just get more upset than he is already."
She got up, taking her mug of tea with her. "I have a few letters to write—Sirius, do you mind if I use the library?"
"Of course not," Sirius replied, pulled out of his melancholy for a moment. "Just don't open the second drawer down. Dear old Dad had that one cursed to bite anybody who tried to get at his Will."
She stared at him for three full seconds. "…Your family had issues. I promise not to open the drawer."
She left, but what little vampire hearing she possessed caught Remus saying, "She doesn't need the bite; she's lost enough blood already."
Adria felt her ears flushing red—it was true, though having it be common knowledge was surely only going to make things more difficult for her. She was a grown woman; she didn't need the other Order members keeping tabs on her feeding habits.
The musty silence of the library allowed her to release the deep breath she seemed to always hold while in company—she made her way over to the desk and sat down. There were no letters: that was a lie. She just needed to get away. Spending too much time with Remus, pretending not to notice every little shift in his body language, his mood—it was exhausting.
The sound of sobbing roused her from the old leather chair. Following the sound, she came across Hermione sitting at the foot of a bookshelf, tears rolling down her cheeks.
"Hermione?" Adria asked gently, lowering herself to kneel back on her haunches close to the girl.
"Oh, Professor Malus, I'm sorry…" Hermione sniffed, trying to hide her face. "Am I disturbing you?"
"Not at all—are you all right?"
"Y-Yes. I'm just… I'm just worried. Harry's last letters to me and Ron were so despondent. I think he's starting to think that we'll never come to get him. I know Sirius is telling him not to do anything rash, but he must be getting frustrated…"
"And he's a fifteen year old boy," Adria finished. "I hope he'll be able to come here soon."
"It's his birthday next week," Hermione explained. "He's spent enough of them alone. We've been through so much together—we've fought You-Know-Who, we've been hurt and sad and angry, last year I helped him work through the TriWizard Tournament! But now all he needs us to be is his friends. And I'm afraid I'm failing him." She dissolved into tears again, hiding her face in her hands.
"Hermione, you are a wonderful friend. I know this is hard to hear, but if Harry knew the whole truth, knew things even I don't, would that help him in the Muggle world? Would he sit idly by and wait for us to come and get him?"
Hermione shook her head. "No, he'd go off alone without telling anyone."
"And probably get himself killed. No one here doubts him like the papers do—we can all be here for him, if he'll let us. But you and Ron are the ones he'll need most. I know you feel guilty, but you're doing this to protect him. You need to be strong—especially when he does finally come to live here."
"He's going to be angry." She whispered.
"Probably a little. But it won't last forever. Just try and wait it out, Hermione—I know we have no right to ask it of fifteen year old children, but you're going to be needed in this war. You all are."
"I know," the girl replied sadly. "I just hope we'll be able to get through this with our friendship intact." Adria watched as the young witch physically put herself back together; she drew in a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and wiped her tears with the back of her hand. "Thank you, Professor."
"I'm not your teacher anymore, Hermione—you can call me Adria."
Hermione blushed. "All right. Thank you, Adria."
"I'm glad I could help. Maybe you should lay down for a little while, dear. You look tired."
"Haven't been sleeping well." With that she got up, offered a watery smile, and headed for the stairs. Adria sat where she was, watching with admiration as The Brightest Witch of Her Age kept calm and carried on.
0oOo0
On Harry's birthday, those that knew him best were cast into a grey pall—especially Ron and Hermione. The others watched as they sent their birthday gifts off with the owls that morning, faces grim.
At noon, Remus was sent to tell his best friend to come for lunch. After looking in the parlour and finding the whiskey missing, he mounted the stairs and climbed up to Sirius' room.
"Padfoot?" he knocked before opening the door.
The room was in darkness; dust motes floated in the thin stripe of grey light that filtered from between the ratty velvet curtains. Sirius lay slumped against the headboard, whiskey bottle clutched loosely in his left hand. His eyes were hooded and bleary, and he still wore the clothes he had on yesterday.
"Sirius, it's time for lunch."
"Not hungry."
"Come on, padfoot—you'll need something to soak up all the alcohol."
"Maybe I want to be drunk."
"I'm sure you do, but there are other things we can do today—"
"Like what, Remus?" Sirius asked. He had no emotion in his voice or in his face. "I'm confined to the house I swore I'd never set foot in again, I'm a fugitive on house arrest, The bastard who killed James and Lily is back—with a little help from a rat of our acquaintance—and I can't do one damned thing to help my godson, the only thing close to a child of our own either of us is going to get, when he's miserable and alone. On his birthday. So tell me, Moony, what precisely should we do today?"
Remus watched his friend collapse back onto his pillows, bottle still in his hand, and run a hand over his face. With a sigh, he pulled the armchair from before the fire to the bed, so he could sit and rest his feet on the mattress.
"Give us that." He said quietly, holding his hand out for the bottle. With a miserable little smirk, Sirius did as he was bid.