Emerged From Sorrow

by yitaply

Abused, Harry is saved from Privet Drive to be placed in the magical world. Lupin,coaxed by Dumbledore, must confront his own demons in order to help Harry. Weasleys help. No bashings. rated M for language/later chap. AU plot, Canon pairin

14. Twisted Fates

A/N: Please Read and review

"Don't let them hear your breathing, Harry."

Harry pressed himself to the back of the shed, his breathing erratic. "They won't find us, Ron."

"Do you think we can make a run for it?" Ron asked, cheeks flushed from exertion and the dry heat that had yet to abate.

"Not a chance. I don't think they expected us to get this far," Harry said in a worried tone, fanning his face with the stretched collar of his shirt.

"Maybe we should just go back." Ron met his eyes, droplets of sweat forming on his brow as he wiped his dirt-stained hands on his shorts, adding to the streaks of mud that had soiled his clothes throughout the day. Compared to Ron's attire, Harry's jeans appeared spotless.

"Let's stay a while longer, just to be sure," Harry said seriously, keeping his eyes on the fog drifting through the tree tops and blocking out the sun. A chill ran up his spine and the sweat on his forehead felt cool in one single instant. Flashes of pain went up his forearms as Harry fisted his hands and used his thumb to chip away at the hardened ice over a fingernail.

Ron gave him a funny look, rubbing his goose-pimpled arms. "You feel that?" he asked, looking around wildly.

"What?" Harry responded, holding his breath. The slip-ups of control had been happening erratically ever since the time he had, as Bruce put it, tapped into the stupid natural currents. It was absolutely maddening to have no control, to feel that pain, dreading the moment that everyone would discover what he was.

Before the twins had gone off to Hogwarts, Harry had accidentally burned the tip of Scabbers' tail in a complicated incident that had involved Errol and uncooperative fire irons. Needless to say, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had been appropriately befuddled as they had been forced to nearly drown the ancient rat when the fireplace hadn't even been lit and their children had been ensconced within a rather violent game of exploding snap. "The quake caused by your stomach?" he added quickly, nudging Ron in the ribs and feeling relieved that no one had even suspected him, even with the clearly spooked expression he had been unable to shake.

"I'm hungry." The redhead pouted, rubbing the newly sore spot in such a dramatic way that his friend wondered if he had actually swung a bat at him. Ron absolutely loved exaggeration. Sometimes he and Ron would stay awake, up in his tiny attic room, and pretend that their pillows were fierce magical creatures that only strong, able wizards could defeat. His red-headed friend could take anything Harry said, like a quill being a magical wand, and Ron could make it sound like Merlin's staff itself.

"Git."

Before Harry knew what was happening, a grinning Ronald Weasley had flung a fistful of leaves right at his chest.

"I know you didn't just do that." Harry glared, feeling better after seeing Ron's bright grin. The renewed heat beating down their backs once more could have also been a large contributor.

"And if I did?" Ron teased, taking several precautionary steps back. "Is Ickle Harrykins going to do something about it?" The twins, in their unfaltering genius, had come up with most annoying nickname to use for Harry when they wanted to get his attention. Ron, Harry had decided, loved using it far too much for his liking, in an effort to rile him up.

"I don't know," Harry responded, his face holding a peculiar mixture of annoyance and amused pleasure at their friendly bantering. "But I'm about to lose a best friend," he threatened, bending over to collect a stick without taking his eyes off of his friend.

Ron's grin only grew as he found an even larger twig littering the ground and held it in front of him like a sword. The boy opened his mouth for a rebuttal but snapped it shut when they heard someone clearing their throat.

"See, Daddy! I told you. They can't even pick a game and stick to it!" Ginny's indignant voice stopped them before they could bang them together properly.

"Hey! That's not true." Ron shouted at a scowling Ginny, standing next to their father not four feet from the tree Harry and he had just been trying to hide behind.

"Yeah," Harry added, taking offense, "it's not our fault we picked a good hiding place. We were bored waiting."

"Now, all of you cool down," Mr. Weasley admonished, looking weary, a direct result of breaking up the snipping Ron and Ginny had kept up since morning. "I understand that it may be frustrating only being able to play under supervision, but we don't want you children coming across a Dementor, or worse, an escaped murderer. Keep your tempers in check and we'll make the best of this."

Harry scratched the back of his neck and bit his lip uncomfortably, absolutely hating that he had to lie to his friends. Remus had been wrapped up in the dilemma with Sirius and the fuss the Ministry was making. Harry had been forbidden from following the news and hadn't even gotten to see the fearsome visage of the creature that wizards called Dementors. His two friends hadn't stopped talking about it since the Daily Prophet had run seven full pages on the escalating search.

Across from him, Ginny's fierce eyes swiveled towards his before she looked down at the floor. "I don't want to be left out... And, Ron," she glared at her brother, "you promised."

"Alright, alright. I'll count this time." Though he didn't seem happy about it, Ron pressed his head against the rough bark and covered his face. "One…"

The largest smile graced Ginny's face and she ran past Harry.

"Two…"

In his hiding spot, Harry wondered, and not for the first time, whether Mr. Weasley would stop giving him away by those covert glances that he did a terrible job of concealing. Merlin, he was getting a lot of those lately.

"Three…"

"Lucius Malfoy is requesting entry through the Floo, Arthur!" Mrs. Weasley suddenly called through the kitchen window, startling Errol, who plunked down at the ground like a paperweight, talons stretched towards the sky. Ginny, who had been sharing her hiding spot with a particularly irate garden gnome, grabbed the poor owl by the foot and lifted him back up to the ledge.

By the time Harry even tried to locate Mr. Weasley, he found himself unceremoniously hauled up by his arms and pushed right behind the taller wizard.

"Really, I insist you wait for him inside, Mr. Malfoy." Harry could hear the forced quality to Mrs. Weasley's voice as the door opened and the blonde man from Diagon Alley pressed forward.

"I truly must insist, if I am to endanger myself within the questionable safety of that thing." Pristine robes were pat down by ring-clad hands as the long-haired wizard stepped outside, head held up high.

"Care for a spot of tea," Mr. Weasley said with forced politeness, "though you did show up unannounced, not to mention, uninvited, Malfoy."

Harry stumbled backwards when a wand pressed to his forehead and he felt the familiar chill pass through the scar.

It took only seconds for the foreboding wizard to spot him and his eyes kept Harry's as he continued on to speak fluidly.

"Such extensive wards on your-…" he looked around and curled his lip in disgust, "home, Weasley. You would think you were hiding something," he drifted off, his cold eyes leaving the young boy's and looking down his nose at a harmless single daisy at his feet. It crushed pathetically under the pointed tip of his cane. "Unless it is someone?"

Ron and Ginny were herded into the kitchen by the family matriarch while Harry was once again under the intense scrutiny of Lucius Malfoy. The cold eyes made his blood run cold as he listened to Mrs. Weasley quiet his friends in the kitchen, Mr. Weasley tapping his wand continuously against his leg all the while. Feeling slightly woozy at the very idea that the very man he had been warned against had shown up so easily at the doorstep of The Burrow, Harry got up quickly and remained still.

"Ah, you have a guest here?" was the falsely innocent question. "I do believe we've met prior to today, have we not, child?"

Mr. Weasley put a hand on Harry's shoulder and shook his head, making sure the young boy held his tongue. "It isn't your business being here, Malfoy. And I'd be more than happy to show you the way out."

"Child, what is your name?" His persistence seemed unwavering.

"You need not answer to him," Mr. Weasley contradicted. "He is a friend of my children. You have no business with a ten-year-old, do you, Malfoy?"

Malfoy sneered and his fingers twitched, like they were itching to strike. "We are unable to locate Remus Lupin and we at the Ministry are requiring he answer a few questions about the escapee. Your boys were overheard discussing gifts they may have received from him. And, if I recall, this child, of whom I have no business with," he mocked, making the words sound indecent, "was with Remus Lupin on that very day that we met those weeks ago."

"I wasn't aware that interrogating children on the whereabouts of man you claim he may have spent the day with such a long time ago had become ministry protocol," the red-haired patriarch replied coolly.

Narrowed eyes held Harry's before Mr. Weasley shielded him with a single side step. "I think it's time you leave, Malfoy."

"I shall return at a later date," the blonde said, much like a threat. "You are withholding something from the ministry, and by extension, the wizarding world itself," Malfoy said with unbidden scorn. "How will your family survive if they are disgraced even further by your imprisonment?"

"Get out of my home!" Mr. Weasley spat, his eyes holding fierce anger. Harry hadn't seen the man like that since he had blown up his relative's home.

"Gladly," he swiftly turned and Apparated out with a sharp crack.

Mr. Weasley didn't move for several seconds before he turned to Harry, crouching so that they were at eye level. "You need not worry about it, Harry. I know Remus Lupin is innocent, even if some may be suggesting otherwise. Even the eyewitness accounts from the prisoners say that it was a group of masked individuals that worked quickly," he said resolutely, as if it was the most obvious truth in the universe. Harry knew better.

"If me being here is trouble-…"Harry started as the older man shook his head, wearing a soft smile, and Harry muttered the rest of the apology.

"Harry, mate, you okay?" Ron peered out the window, startling Errol again, and Ginny exited the house to pick up the disgruntled family owl off of the ground, rolling her eyes.

"Fine," Harry said quickly.

"Blimey! The big git wouldn't stop staring." Ron dragged him inside, pulling him by his arm.

"Ronald!" his mother reprimanded him.

"Leave him be, Molly. I find the title quite fitting."

She scowled, though half-heartedly, and the corner of her mouth quirked up as she tossed in spices into the stew. "Ginny, dear, set the table."

Ginny made a face and Harry sent her a sympathetic smile, the interrupted play forgotten, only like true friends would. She smiled up at him, her chocolate brown eyes meeting his as she set clinking silverware.

By now he knew better than to offer to help Mrs. Weasley. It was quite annoying to have someone believe that you were so fragile that you couldn't set the table, let alone ride a broom that Ron had so enthusiastically described, but she did have good intentions.

"Let's play exploding snap, Harry. You shuffle."

"S-s-sur-r-e…Ron!" Harry dropped the stack of cards when it became apparent that the twins had been successful in their experiments to make a stuttering stack.

Ron roared with laughter, relieving the coiled tension that had settled over the room since Mrs. Weasley had been made to let Malfoy through or risk further ministry interference inside their home. His stay at The Burrow suddenly seemed brighter, Harry thought, as Ron purposely held the cards in his hand and proceeded to enthusiastically sing the Hogwart's school song in the most off key tune he could muster.

IiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIi

A creak emanated through the room, his sharp hearing picking it up as he turned his head, wincing at the pain in his aching muscles. Just one more day until his spine and bones shattered within his body to connect sewing flesh and blood into a fearsome monster. His blood boiled like poison with the detested curse. Another day in the life of Remus Lupin…

Quitting his perusal of a text he hadn't gotten past the first word in, since its selection two hours ago, he lifted his gaze towards the possible intruder. The door seemed to twist open as the shadows pulled across the frame, candles flickering across the room, illuminating Bruce Lorcan with his heavy violet eyes. Forward he stumbled, catching Remus by surprise, his shoulders collapsing as his fingers dug into the wooden floor.

"Bruce!" The rogue wouldn't open his eyes when Remus kneeled beside him, panicked hands checking for wounds. With great pain and effort, Bruster pulled himself up and roughly pushed Remus aside with knuckles painted red, gashed and bruised to the max.

"Don't fecking touch me," Bruce said hastily, drained voice full of exhaustion. Staggering to a chair, he pressed his fists to his eye sockets, smearing blood across the pale skin, his teeth catching his whitening lip until the skin broke. "If ya don't have some bloody spirits, have mercy on me and knock me clean out," he warned, vocal chords tight, "just ward the room with the best spells ya know."

It wasn't until Bruce had swallowed down the glass of admittedly dusty Tanqueray dry gin that he blinked open his red-rimmed eyes. Remus waited patiently as Bruce took an even, raspy lungful. "Lucius Malfoy found yer apartment, or rather his goons did," his voice broke the silence, teetering in the shocked atmosphere that followed like a ringing bell. "Don't look so shocked, Remus. Galleons can go very far, and it seems like we've caught his curiosity," Bruce confessed absentmindedly, touching his knuckles with childlike wonder.

That broke the strain of fear that had paralyzed Remus and he bit out, "That does not change the fact that they had a target in mind." Panic threatened to swallow him whole. If Harry and he had still been living there… The Malfoy head had already been poking his nose inside the Burrow just that afternoon. Not even wanting to imagine the possibilities, he unconsciously tightened his grip on his wand and watched as Bruce snatched the bottle of gin off a neighboring tabletop and gulped down its contents.

Swirling his thumb against the neck of the bottle, Bruce said softly, "Have ya ever wondered how a bloke can do such terrible things that the public can't even bring themselves ta say his name?" Bruce watched carefully as Remus' eyes widened slightly. "That's one thing they never do discuss, is it, how Voldemort," he pronounced easily, without hesitation, "got to be who he was," he said absentmindedly.

There was something inherently evil and abominable about the creature who had committed such atrocities, Remus knew. "How was -…" Remus couldn't even imagine what the proper terminology was for how such a monster rose to such power.

"Yer guess is as good as me own. People accept tales, even from a torn hat; they accept things as they is in ignorant bliss because they loathe to face their own darkness, the beast within themselves, waiting fer that moment to consume bleak souls and hearts. Maybe it's time that ya question what ya know to be true," he accentuated the last, "about who ya think ya know."

In a warp of doubts, Remus furrowed his brow, stunned about what Bruce was implying, yet fully aware he was being maneuvered.

"I have to go," Bruce said abruptly, shutting his eyes when a baffled Remus grabbed his arm to stop him. Dislodging his arm, he turned his gaze to the crackling embers of the fireplace. "Keep the lad safe, and do everything ya can to make sure he doesn't come across a Dementor, or Malfoy for that matter. It's a quare aul' world, after all," he spat, something very off about his expression.

"What is wrong with you?" Remus questioned, noticing the tell take signs of intoxication under the influence of potent potions. Bruce's eyes were dilated and bloodshot, making his profile quite severe.

"I have an appointment with getting bloody buckled, till-…" Bruce drifted off, staring at an empty corner in the room. "That's the last time I fecking risk this," he seemed to mutter as he shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"The men, at the apartment, what have you done with them?"

Bruce snorted, tipping the gin into his mouth and staring at the floor as if witnessing the most fascinating sight. "I let them feel, I only let them feel," he answered cryptically.

Remus' gut twisted. "Merlin, you didn't murd-…" he drifted off, horrified.

Boldly, the rogue looked Remus in the eye. The pupil expanded so rapidly that Remus looked away, his heart beating rapidly in his chest.

Merlin, he felt breathless. He wanted to weep and laugh hysterically all at once; it was like a desperate need in his chest, suffocating. The pain was palpable even as his stomach was churning with relief. "Don't ever do that again," Remus admonished, overwhelmed.

"It would have been far worse if ya would've touched me." Serving Remus a glass of gin, Bruce's quaking hands spilled the alcohol. The rogue cursed under his breath, looking unconcerned with the blood still coating his hands. "I've overdosed on me potions already, so spirits is the best I can do."

"It was only a second," Remus said breathlessly, caught up with the sensations and the power they seemed to have over him.

"I counteracted it with one of me happy memories, so that ya'd avoid the nasty side effects-- shock, cardiac arrest, madness…" he mentioned offhandedly. Toying with a silver ring on a chain around his neck, Bruce smiled distractedly at a corner, the scars on his face seeming to disappear as his tattoos seemed to shimmer in the light.

"This…this thing, it must have a name. By Merlin, I never expected that, Bruce." At first, Remus had believed the ability to be a form of Legimens, an empathic ability of sorts. But this was not that, it was too harsh, far too willing to entrap, to kill.

"Sick, isn't it?" Bruce chuckled darkly before looking ill at what he'd done. "Me ma before me was an Erhartian. She had the heritable ability to see within the heart, me Da would say, bloody romantic that he was. It has inescapable stages...I'm the final stage," he looked like he wanted to weep and laugh all at once, such a mad contradiction of emotions raging against each other. "A stretch from being that Auror bloke who got inklings about intentions on occasion, I assure ya. That's fate, that cold grip in yer belly, the boiling in the veins that drag us through fire and chain us to destiny." Pain lined his face, his eyes alone vivid with it, burning gems of indescribable depths.

Gods, how could someone live like that? Remus swallowed, realizing the parallels between them both. While the rogue wasn't ostracized, nor was he a creature against his very will, Remus couldn't imagine what it would feel like to carry that disturbing torrent of invading, all consuming, emotions.

Bruce met his eyes after staring at a letter on his desk, looking serious, "She's a good kid, wolf, don't let her be just another statistic." Bruce took another swig of liquor. "I'm very wise, ya know. Just repeat what I've told ya over the years."

"Spewing others' advice against vices can hardly be mistaken as wisdom." Remus couldn't help but smile at his friend's half grin. Perhaps it wouldn't be so hard to see the rogue in the same light.

Reclining back in his chair in a newly empty room, the werewolf smiled to himself. The loon had taken the bottle of gin with him. No, definitely not difficult at all.

IiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIi

The boards creak under his feet, blackened ashes crushed and pulverized with every step. Crushed glass pursues him endlessly, like broken frames destroyed in anger, silent ghost on walls and spaces that remember the broken memories that hadn't been real in the first place. Laughter and fake toothy grins mock the place, it's all in the eyes, alien to the joy, and he feels it. A wave of anger and disgust burdens his chest.

A door swings open, though it wasn't by permissive touch, and a labyrinth of shelves tear through the cracks in the floor and he's surrounded, trapped. Gusts of phantom wind carry a desperate cry and his head snaps around. He pants raggedly as he moves forward, not even the angry heat can keep the relentless chill away. For the first time, he feels real fear at the sound of beating wings coming from the rafters.

Drenched in sweat, Harry woke with a gasp, a soothing trill interrupting his frazzled breathing. He mopped his head with his duvet, seeing gold and red plumage through his thin sheets.

"Since when does Dumbledore let you deliver post?" It was Dumbledore's familiar, Fawkes, who trilled again more forcefully, sending a rush of calming emotions through the young wizard. "He usually sends school owls, you know." Harry smiled when the phoenix nibbled on his hair, doing a pulling motion. "Maybe he likes them better…" Fawkes used his large clawed feet and pushed Harry's alarm clock off the night table. "Hey!" Harry cried in indignation. Fawkes flamed to rest on Harry's bureau, depositing a scroll on Harry's lap as he did so.

Harry,

Fawkes is near a burning day and his behavior has been quite pitiful. To allow myself minutes free of the oppressive air, I sent him towards you. Do take your time in your missive, dear boy.

Harry smirked at Fawkes. "You can't burn here, Fawkes. Remus told me that Dumbledore isn't allowed to visit until the ministry stops coming to Hogwarts. We wouldn't be able to take you back if you're a baby again."

I have been informed that you have been suffering from night terrors. And I do regret your choice of abandoning your Mind Healer appointments, though it is your decision alone to make. As an integral component of the promise I have made to you, I only ask that you trust in me to assist you. Seeing a Boggart can be quite traumatic and I must know if it is what has been causing the terrors. In relation, your show of accidental magic was not your fault; you should not feel any responsibility to the event. I shall endeavor to be at your call if you need further reassurance of the fact. Please respond so that I may assess your needs.

Harry sighed, peering up at Fawkes through his fringe. He hadn't thought Remus would start telling Dumbledore if he heard only one of his many nightmares. That was just so unfair, Remus sending his stupid letters and not even giving him the time of day as he either went to do something for Sirius or locked himself in the boring library all day.

Harry's imprisonment at Potter Manor, because that's what it felt like, was divided between studying, trying to light a stupid candle while Remus perched himself over his shoulder as he failed epically, visiting Ron and Ginny only when a full moon came, and spending the little time he had with Ervy, who was currently the only friend he was being allowed to see on a regular basis. Big stupid house, dumb, ignoring Remus, and an escaped prisoner that Remus didn't 'prefer' he see alone, all topped by idiotic powers that he couldn't even manage. Not to worry, he could just be dangerous to himself or anyone else if he didn't improve soon!

Throwing the covers back, Harry stalked to his desk and wrote up a cheery letter to Dumbledore, every other sentence sounding sarcastic to his own ears as his eagle-feather quill messily scratched across the parchment.

It was going to be a long day.

It was almost mid-morning and Harry hadn't yet seen a hair off his guardian's head. Fawkes had left about an hour ago, and Harry was determined to bring forth at least a modicum of courage. His fingertips grazed the cold brass of the door handle and he took a deep breath before knocking. There was never an answer anyway; Harry didn't know why he bothered. He hadn't gotten past standing outside the door quite yet.

Besides, Remus hadn't exactly said that he couldn't see his godfather

He peered around the crack of the door to find Sirius. "You're awake," he said softly.

Eyes, deep blue, flecked black like the messy residue of an old crayon, finally moved from the empty metal frame on top of the bureau. Hands curled into the sheets, Sirius Black looked every bit as fragile as Remus had predicted. The harsh, heavily encrusted lines disappeared and his face lit up like dawn on morning concrete as they landed directly on Harry.

It made the boy feel a pang of something in his chest.

"It's you." Sirius smiled lazily and Harry wondered if even his face muscles were in a state of severe atrophy. "I thought it was Remus, the bloody git of a healer promised I could get out of bed today, finally…" While raspy, Harry thought Sirius sounded more recuperated than he would have thought.

"I can go get him and leave you alone," Harry offered quickly, not knowing if he wanted to escape or brave out the encounter.

"Don't. Moony treats me like an invalid." Sirius winced as sunlight hit his face from the window.

"Are you still weak, sir?" Harry asked the grumbling man as he sealed the curtains shut.

His godfather sent him a sharp look and Harry flushed, moving back towards the door.

"Right…Sirius, I mean." He peered apologetically at his godfather's gaunt face, the man's skin looking waxy under the bleak morning light, matted hair draped across his decidedly filthy looking pillow. "Sirius, why haven't you talked to Remus before?"

Sirius sighed, averting his haunted blue eyes. "It's complicated."

Harry furrowed his brow. Remus was in and out all day, and Harry occasionally watched him and sneaked a peek inside to see what was happening. Sirius had seemed almost lifeless, his lips never moving once to form the words he was speaking freely now. The ill man hadn't even looked at the werewolf's face, not once.

And Remus, as a testament to his unwavering kindness, had droned on endlessly about what had been happening since the war. "Did you know he thinks you might be a mute?" Harry asked when Sirius was examining the sickly pallor of the skin on his hands.

Grinning toothily and tucking his hands at his side, Sirius looked over at him. "I have wondered why he doesn't ever initiate conversation," he admitted in a raspy voice.

The young boy covered his mouth to stifle his laughter, quickly glancing back at the dark-lacquered door.

"We'll just have to remedy that, then," Sirius announced, groaning as he made to pull his torso up. "Help me up, kiddo."

Shutting the door the rest of the way, Harry hesitated before moving to the slight man's bedside. Discreetly, he pulled his sleeves down, glad that he had worn the shirt with the sleeves that still covered most of his hands.

"Are you gonna bathe?" Harry asked when they had entered the large connecting bathroom. Sirius had only needed Harry's assistance in order to gather his balance.

Sirius glared but his lip quirked, ruining the effect. "I'll clean up as best as I possibly can," Sirius announced as he glowered at his reflection, his lips set in what appeared to be a pout. "And we'll prove to Moony that my fevers have not weakened me, nor made me delirious by any means. In fact, I'm fit to be up and about for the first time since my ordeal."

It was Harry's turn to feel out of place, mostly because he had no idea what to say about the prison. He searched for something to say. "I'll dress your bed in clean sheets; Remus says it's one of my chores anyway."

"They aren't that ripe." Sirius sniffed at his nightshirt and grimaced. "How are you breathing around me?"

"I'm not." Harry grinned; relieved when the older wizard didn't clobber him for his cheek. Sometimes he hated meeting new people, especially the part of finding out how to act around the person without being a bundle of nerves ready to go off.

Sirius stared at him a few seconds before he smiled. Harry felt like he'd just been given a stamp of approval of sorts as he left the bathroom.

"Mix this up, will you?" Sirius called Harry twenty minutes later from the steaming door frame, wearing a black shirt with trousers, looking clean for once.

Diligently, Harry mixed Mrs. Scower's shaving powder with water, trying not to notice his godfather's poorly hidden examination. At one point his fingers just barely touched Harry's scar, causing him to freeze at the haste contact, before Sirius distanced himself once more.

"How many laps can you do now?" Sirius asked him after a long while, distracting Harry, who had been fixated on the trembling blade as it swept across the papery thin skin. At Harry's surprised expression, Sirius confessed. "I watched from the window during your physical lessons."

"Three," Harry announced, face breaking out into a grin to make up for the guilt he felt for letting Sirius see he had noticed his tremors. "Bruce said that most people my age can't do that many." Harry practically glowed as he repeated the praise, causing Sirius to pause mid-stroke as he was sweeping a blade across his chin.

Feeling exposed, Harry fixed his face to a passive expression and chastised himself for being so transparent. "Bruce did seven during my three and he didn't even break a sweat!" Harry said, just as his godfather took a pair of scissors in his hands and gathered the knotted bundle of his hair.

By the end, Sirius was looking relatively healthy, by Harry's opinion. The cut had been swift and successful in lessening the severity of his emaciated look, making his cheeks seem fuller. His expressive eyes remained haunted and sunken, while his hair grazed his weak shoulders.

"Much better, sir-er-Sirius."

"The Muggle queen has yet to knight me, I'm sorry to say that you must drop the 'Sir' title for now. Though I do hold the hope that it will be any day soon," Sirius said seriously. He walked past Harry and winked.

The disparity between Sirius' jovial speech and Harry's usual interaction with Remus was such a surprise that Harry broke out into peels of laughter.

IiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIi

"Promise you won't get mad at me."

Remus turned and a plate must have slipped his hands because it slammed into the sink and shattered. "That depends, Harry, on what you have done," Remus replied, regaining his composure. He'd been startled out of his reverie.

The boy wrung his hands. "I might have accidentally gone to see Sirius."

When he heard the sluggish shuffling of feet by the doorway he knew that someone had joined his ward. It killed him that he couldn't bring himself to even glance in their direction immediately.

"A most fortunate accident… If I had sulked any longer, you would have had to incendio the bed along with the sheets, just for the stench alone," Sirius said, every syllable feeling like a scrape against the animagus' throat.

"Give me a minute, I'm almost done here." The refusal to acknowledge the torrent of emotions battling for dominance within his chest was overwhelming. He wanted nothing more but to not have to face the impending confrontation. He was utterly out of his depth. Remus gathered himself together, washing his dishes, drying his hands, looking for the crushed remnants of his past, trying uselessly to mend them so that the sharp edges would no longer hurt.

"Eat," said Remus quietly, placing a full English breakfast in front of Sirius after battling to get Harry to gulf down a piece of toast before going to complete his assignments out in the dining area.

"Thanks." Sirius stared at the decadent meal and sighed at the fork, his finger itching to eat as quickly as possible before the food got chilled, frozen and cold, chilling him from the inside, adding to the never-ending numbness. Gripping the cool fork in his bony hand, he shut his eyes, aware that Remus was watching him.

"Are you alright, Sirius?"

"Now there's a loaded question." Sirius snorted mirthlessly. "Really, Moony, if you're going to ask me that at any point that I feel uneasy, you'll be interrogating me the whole day." He tried to smile but his eyes strayed around the amount of space in the room, where shadows fell upon the tiled floor. "It was dark for a while…but it's gotten so much better now that my mind isn't all muddled." There it was-- the brutal honesty, a tiny glimmer of the old self.

"I-…" Remus started and then seemed to lose his calm countenance, sitting stiffly into the chair across from the now eating man, looking grave. It all seemed too much. Remus was older, the wolf was fiercer, his emotions so hardened by constant abuse; he wasn't the old Moony. Not even close.

Concentrating on a large morsel of meat, Sirius seemed as lost as Remus felt in how to proceed. "Stop looking at me with pity, Moony. It's already bloody depressing." He cut Remus off when the werewolf opened his mouth, resolved with how he was to handle the situation. "And don't you dare apologize." Warningly pointing his fork at him, he gave Remus a sharp glance. "I know that look."

Remus rolled his eyes, something he hadn't done since his teen years, and rested his elbows on the table, clasping his hands together. Then he remembered how he had used to look, how happy he had once been–they had all been–and it all felt wrong.

"That expression might have worked at thirteen, but no rubbish 'Remus talks', alright?

Remus smiled, though his eyes remained unbearably sad.

"What?" Sirius shoved a banger in his mouth, ravenous, avoiding the other man's gaze entirely.

"Glad to see your speech is back to normal; you always did have a penchant for hearing yourself speak," Remus tried.

"Ah, that's because I'm absolutely brilliant," Sirius said conversationally, suddenly aware that the Sirius Black that he had once been had never used one arm to protect his meals from rodent fiends.

"Merlin, help us, Sirius Black is back," Remus said softly, watching the play of vulnerability and instability in his old friend's jerky movements. It was disheartening.

Sirius smirked, looking a bit smug, though the expression never strayed near his eyes. "My, isn't that what the rest of the blokes used to say when I came through the portrait hole."

"Only because you were notorious for stealing their girls," Remus quipped, fiddling with a serviette lying on the worn table.

Suddenly the light and easy conversation turned heavy with the weight of all that was left unsaid between them.

Remus' face drained of all blood as he dug both of his hands in his pockets. "I apologi-…" he stopped himself, shutting his eyes, unable to go on. The words seemed devastatingly inadequate now.

Sirius met the statement with silence. "Don't-…" Kippers escaped the animagus' prodding fork, which was then set aside next to his plate. "I didn't trust you," he confessed, knowing it was true because he had been forced to relive only the pain in his life for nine years. Every harsh and unbearable moment, endured with certain reality, those in the ancient house of Black calling him a shameful waste of flesh as he clasped icicle-cold hands over his ears and screamed to drown the madness.

"A fact for which I can hardly blame you," Remus said after a long moment, staring intently at his scarred hands. "I'm a deeply private person, a habitual loner, and I drew into myself when we graduated." He smiled fondly at the empty picture frames still hanging on the wall, remembering the people that had once filled them. "With my parents gone, I couldn't hold a job long before they grew suspicious of my frequent monthly illness. And my own friends," he took a deep breath and shrugged, indicating there was no remaining bitterness on the old wound, "you were so excited with all the job opportunities, living the high life, and I could barely pay my rent for my miserable, hardly livable flat and meals."

"You never-…" Sirius started, seeming genuinely surprised and slightly even paler then he had been just minutes before.

"You didn't ask and I wouldn't have told you. Contrary to popular opinion, I try to maintain a modicum of pride," the werewolf replied strongly. It didn't matter that the shards that had once been forcefully pressed into his chest were still there, that it ached endlessly, that it had once driven his own wand to circle around his heart, willing drunk, aching fingers to stop the incessant rhythm. It was in the past and tiny fingers and pleading emerald eyes had assured the earth that he was to be condemned to a hundred more pale moons before his body broke, no longer able to sustain the abomination that others had called his life.

At Order meetings-..."

"Dumbledore sent me to the Grimhouse. There had been talk of a spy among us by then and the headmaster suggested I keep my discretion… It was my decision to wager my friends, who were moving on with their lives, for a chance to put meaning into my existence, for a hope that I may have a cause yet. If I had known that it would lead to… their deaths, I would have confessed it, even if it could have cost me. My friends meant more to me," Remus finished sadly, a smothering ache in his chest because he could suddenly recall moving rubble away from James' tortured body, hazel eyes so blank, void of the strong-willed spirit that had always burned there.

Sirius paled at the mention of Grimhouse alone--a common reaction. Those at eighty-three Grimhouse, the home of outcasts and exiles in the infamous Nocturne Alley sewer system, had lost the battle against the beast. As a child, Remus had looked down upon them with pity at their weakness. As an adult, the pull had grown, the excruciating pain of transformations had worsened, and sheer hatred and discrimination out of the protections of Hogwarts, the Marauders, and his parents had tested his resolve more times than he dared to count.

Sirius stood abruptly, shaking, distraught when Remus looked so helpless, so much so that the werewolf couldn't even bear to say the names of their fallen family, his dilapidated pack. "Don't you understand, Remus," he said harshly, more to himself, "their names were James and Lily, they were twenty-one, had their whole lives ahead of them and I," he jabbed a finger in his bony chest, "wrote their deaths!!"

Sirius' eyes darkened with raw emotion, horrible pain threatening to break free. "My godson, Moony, was only fifteen months old. Harry was too young to lose them, to never have gotten to really know them. I did that; I caused it." His glass of pumpkin juice shattered on the table as Remus remained stock-still in his chair. In a defeated whisper he continued, "It's a wonder you can still look at me in the face…" Sirius made to storm out of the room.

"Kindly return to your seat, Padfoot." said Remus in a thinly veiled command, though his voice was just as even as usual.

Sirius froze but kept his back to his friend, breathing loudly.

The werewolf continued, "I forgive you, Sirius. Did you hear me? How could I blame you for their deaths when you loved them both just as much as I, if not more?"

Without turning, Sirius spoke, the edge absent from his voice, "What if I can't forgive myself? I am a horrible person; dammit, Moony, I can't be anymore ashamed of how many times we fell short with you." He emitted a bitter laugh. "You risked everything to get me out of prison and I can't even begin to formulate an apology grand enough, nor a 'thank you' big enough to absolve me."

"You were always distinctly terrible at apologies," Remus said lightly as he stood, coming around to face Sirius. "Merlin, Sirius, your 'forgive me' face remains completely unchanged." He smiled softly, in an attempt to lighten the rocky atmosphere. "Did you ever manage it?" he asked seriously when it became clear that Sirius wasn't ready to put an end to the conversation just yet.

Immediately, Sirius's shuttered expression gave away that he had understood completely. Being a member of the cleverest at Hogwarts, it was only practical that their communication had been adapted to their circumstance. Or rather, by the end of seventh year, they could coordinate a prank or plan an ambiguously safe moonlight escapade with a single glance.

"I meant to," Sirius growled, slamming his scrawny open palm on the table, the caved sockets of his eyes looking more ominous as he did so, "Peter got the better of me…though the ministry didn't help in the least," he finished lamely.

"Being wrongfully incarcerated for nine years without as much as a trial is hardly just a glitch in the system," the werewolf growled. "They were going to kill you simply because Dumbledore made implications that your imprisonment had been not only hasty but merging on illegal."

"Oh, they stopped feeding me? I would never have bloody guessed," Sirius snapped, trying to grasp on to the deranged anger that could relieve him of the melancholy, poking at his protruding ribcage with a curved digit. "I was under the impression that I was quite a catch," he continued on in self-derision.

Branches scratched against the kitchen window when Remus gazed out, quieting the tirade of his old school mate. "Come off it, Padfoot. You're genetically programmed to clean up better than the lot of us," he said in a poor imitation of James' voice.

He earned a snort for his effort, followed by an undisturbed period of contemplative silence. "I miss him," Sirius admitted softly. "I've no right to."

"Despite the claims of you cleverness, you're an idiot if you believe that. We were all we had and you had no way of knowing that Peter would betray us."

"I can still remedy this; if I could get a wand, I'll find him." The mad expression on his face unsettled the werewolf.

"You most certainly will not. There is no room for perfunctory, hare-brained retribution," Remus said with more confidence then he felt. "You're dead if you're caught; don't tell me you don't know that, Sirius."

"Have you seen the state of me?!" he roared, feeling relieved that Remus had put up a silencing charm as soon as his godson had left. "Can you comprehend the ramifications of what I did? What could I possibly have to offer him?" he voiced ruefully.

Simultaneously, they knew what messy-haired child Sirius was referring to.

"We've paid enough," said Remus evenly, though it seemed as if he was still trying to convince himself. To the day, he himself was unable to answer the question when he couldn't possibly fathom why Dumbledore had placed the sad little boy in his inexperienced custody.

"I hope you're right," Sirius responded, pessimistically imagining all the horrid scenarios in which he could still lose Harry. Life had taught him that good times could sour and twist like strangling vines of misfortune and strife.

"Reparo!" Remus repaired the broken glass of juice with a flick of his wand, turning his back to his friend with it in hand. There were chips on the crystal, all over. It was poor reparation; even he knew that the glass in his hand was an unsuitable substitute of the original. Stowing his wand away, he turned his back on his old friend, who was swinging the door open, and used his hand to wipe away the spilled beverage. A tiny shard bit into his skin and he brusquely pulled his wand out and vanished the whole mess away.

Sirius peeked out of the kitchen and a grin brightened his features as he watched his godson reprimand the enchanted salt and pepper shakers that were moving about the table on spindly metal legs.

It was a genuine expression; it made Remus feel better. James and Lily wouldn't have wanted their son to watch his godfather look so utterly torn. Then again, they wouldn't have wanted the little boy to grow up the way he had either.

Harry lunged for the pepper and it released a cloud of the spice, causing him to sneeze. James had charmed the set himself in third year to send back to his father, who had always had a wicked sense of humor. Now their son was holding it in his own hands and he wasn't even there to see it.

"If you had thought that I'd let my godson hunch over a book all day, you've got addled brains, I assure you," Sirius told Remus in a stage whisper, sounding excessively cheerful once more.

"Come to corrupt my charge?" Remus played along.

"All done?" Harry interrupted them, his piercing emerald orbs searching Remus and Sirius' faces, trying to assess how much they had spoken of him. The tone wasn't insolent but it was a step below annoyed.

To Remus, who had the luxury of months of practice in recognizing Harry's moods, the boy merely looked uncomfortable and insecure with the unfamiliar situation.

Sirius cocked his head, much in the same fashion that his counterpart Padfoot did. In true Sirius fashion, the animagus flashed Harry a grin and told him to wait right there because the most incredible idea had just occurred to him. Bounding up the stairs, he left his godson suitably befuddled. The Black heir had somehow managed to retain just a sliver of the natural charisma that usually left sane people to wonder if he had nothing short of a personality disorder.

"Come here, Harry." When the boy drew close, Remus swung an arm around him and pulled him into a warm one-armed hug.

Harry sighed, shifting his eyes off to the side. "What if he doesn't like me, Remus?" he asked quietly.

Surprised, his guardian frowned. "He's your godfather, Harry, I have no doubts that he lived and breathed for your sake." Bringing a finger to lift Harry's chin, Remus said softly, "You mean the world to us both and there's nothing you can say or do that could ever possibly change that."

The ten-year-old looked hopeful at the admission, it being one of the few times that the werewolf could bring himself to dig deep down to confess such feelings when many times his bonds to friends and family had turned to painful, jagged memories.

Harry pulled away when they heard Sirius return, holding a leather bound journal that Remus instantly identified.

"Had to wrestle it from an overzealous dustpan working on the library," Sirius announced disdainfully, "and then I forgot the tomes next to it were animated. Got licked by a salivating tongue on So You Eat Like A Hoggerpib. I don't know why your Gran ever bought that thing–the recipes were medieval." He grinned good naturedly at Harry. "Not like I'd know, the most I've ever achieved in the culinary department was a surprisingly delicious mud pie I made at the age of five."

"I must say, Sirius, if you recall the unfortunate incident with baby Harry involving you teaching him said technique and your following tantrum about your ruined, flawless locks," Remus supplied.

Harry laughed as Sirius glared at him and bit out, in the most sarcastic voice that the ten-year-old was sure the human species had ever achieved, that he had not in fact thought of said event, thanking Remus very much for reminding him.

IiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIi

By October, the Daily Prophet had written their first inquiry about the Boy-Who-Lived's whereabouts. Thought it lacked any real facts, it obtained a reporter's exaggerated worries that somehow the madman Black would kill the young savior. It further urged the public to come forth with any information that would assist in locating the child, stressing that they themselves were in the process of going through the proper legal channels to obtain the deeply coveted and sealed files on custody.

Harry, of course, only knew this because Ervy had started sneaking him the wizarding newspaper every other week day, when they had lessons together. The seven-year-old, who was absolutely delighted that Harry had gotten a dog that he spent hours--to Sirius' shameless enjoyment--petting and spoiling rotten, had actually gotten the dog a bulging bag of licorice wands.

Said candy was now, to Harry's mild annoyance, being handfed to Padfoot as all three lay out with their backs on the grass.

"Do you want one too, Harry?" Ervy asked innocently, scratching Padfoot behind the ears.

"If you place it on my hand," Harry responded, smiling.

Ervy giggled, his grey eyes glittering warmly as he reached into his rucksack and pulled out a second bundle of sweets straight from only the best selection Honeydukes had to offer. "Happy Halloween!"

"Gratias" Harry quipped cheerfully, swatting away Sirius' paw when he drew close to the bag of Berttie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.

Ervy pouted. "No fair, I don't know Latin yet."

Harry smiled and grabbed the little boy's hand, placing three Chocolate Frog wrappers in his upturned palm. "Pick your winner."

"For what?" Ervy asked curiously.

"We're gonna race them. Hurry it up."

After minutes dragged on in contemplation, which included plenty of poking and useless hand-weighing experimentation, Ervy announced, "You first."

The boy, much in the innocent way that only little kids could achieve, portrayed a perfect picture of charming exuberance. Harry marveled at that at times. Ervin Kippling could walk up to anybody and strike up a conversation within seconds. He was so small, unthreatening, and his face lit up so quickly when he caught sight of anyone at all, making them feel treasured, as if any amount of time spent near them was valued higher than the star that shined bright within him.

Things just didn't add up with Ervy, and Harry hated to admit it. The little boy was so sickly that he barely got out and his first real lessons were being taught to such a bright kid after far too long. Nothing made sense. There was no describing the sheer joy that stole over Ervy's face when he saw Harry, his first real friend in the world. It was this that connected them, drawing them to each other. And, much in the way that Harry lived in relation to his own past: Harry didn't ask and Ervy didn't tell.

Harry sighed and glared at Padfoot, who was sporting what was apparently the closest a dog could ever come to a teasing expression.

After that, an enthused Ervy won all but one race. Harry was sure that it had something to do with the date. After all, the significance of it being 'all hallows eve' was not lost to the child. It had now been exactly one year since the young wizard had destroyed his relative's home at Privet Drive. Bad things just tended to happen on Halloween.

By lunchtime, Remus had insisted that the dog needed a nap, which was closely followed by an entire hour devoted to reading Padfoot a bedtime story, once again upon Ervy's eager insistence and, no doubt, to Remus' rather perverse delight. For some reason, Harry felt that Sirius had not appreciated being treated like a babe in need of a nap.

"This page here says to go that way," Ervy told Harry, scrutinizing the semi-messy scrip of James Potter's handwriting. "Who did you say this belonged to?" Ervy asked curiously, observing the initials 'J.P' that were carved on the cover.

"My dad," Harry responded, taking the book and tracing the name with his fingers so that he wouldn't have to meet his friend's gaze when he continued, "James Pellings." Sirius had explained the prized journal had been full of random fun activities to do at Potter manor. Everyone had added something to the pages, some full of dribbles or puzzles from Harry's grandfather. It was an extraordinary enchantment that made all the pages blank, randomized selection, and wouldn't allow skipping to the next few challenges without completing the ones before it. Harry treasured it and abided by the one rule that Sirius had stressed to him–it could never be removed from the manor grounds.

Harry's heart had swelled to read his dad's real handwriting, his silly jokes, and the cleverness of their current challenge. They were on a treasure hunt.

Ervy giggled after asking for the book back. "Yes, you have to climb the tree, you grumbling gremlin. I promise you there's a treacle tart for your troubles at the end of your trail!" the brunette read out loud. "Oh, wait, it's scratching it off," Ervy said in wonder. There was new handwriting, in what Harry recognized as Sirius', though it looked far more juvenile.

"James, you dolt. There's no telling when the next time someone will read this will be. If there was food, it'd be a part of a nice rock, or else already processed dung piles. Ouch! If you don't stop hitting me with that I'll tell your kin that you're a bloody git."

"Due to my friend's untimely passing, I will continue this on my own…"

"I'm still alive!"

"Not for long!"

"As soon as we get your dad to release the dictation spell, I'm going to put you in the treasure chest and allow your future generations-…"

"Don't be daft, that's not possible at all."

"Hmmm…you're right. I'll just pose as you then. Easy fix. If you're reading this you might actually be my…well, whatever."

Both boys laughed before trying to find a way to climb the tree. The afternoon went much in the same way, the day pleasantly breezing by, until they reached the hedge and, misunderstanding the challenge, were flung back from the garden wall. The book in Harry's hand had disappeared, meaning they had temporarily left the wards of Potter manor and the journal had once more returned to the library.

"That hurt," Ervy grumbled, his eyes wide with bewilderment as he was helped off the ground by Harry

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah…I'm fine. No way!" There was a look of complete rapture on the little boy's face as his delicate fingers plucked at a violet flower. "This is squill, Harry," Ervy exclaimed with ill-concealed excitement.

"What's it do?"

"What's it do?! This can be used to help with stomach aches, vision, parasites, and snake bites. But even better, in the Middle Ages, they used to hang it upside down near their doors to ward off evil."

"And you need it why?" Harry asked, perplexed.

"For a potion, of course! It's actually magical and helps strengthen wards. This crushed and finely ground can be coated onto clothes to protect people from minor spells, too."

"You're really good at this potions thing, aren't you?"

Ervy blushed, shrugging off the comment as he went to reach behind himself to realize he had accidentally abandoned his rucksack outside of the unkempt greenhouse that both boys had seen earlier in the day.

Seeing his crestfallen expression, Harry promptly spoke up, "We can get it now. Seems like we have to give the hunt a rest until next time you're here."

Agreed, they made their way towards the trees once more, Harry trailing behind Ervy.

Sirius and Remus had given them a limited parameter that they could go into the forest before the wards became far too weak. Some magical creatures lived past the protection of Potter manor, though Harry had yet to see anything and Sirius was still getting the hang of his wand, which he was probably currently invested in inside with Remus, his physical state greatly improved, as well as his mental state, if Harry had anything to say about it.

Ervy hurried ahead, worrying his bottom lip, ignorant to when Harry came to an abrupt stop.

Feeling a cold trickle fall upon his unruly hair, Harry felt mounting dread churning at the pit of his stomach. Dream-like giggles rung in his ears, coming from nowhere, from everywhere, another trickle, a twist of his gut, feeding the horror that was causing his heart to beat a frenzied rhythm within his chest.

Look!

Harry's breathing quickened. He hadn't heard the cold, heartless thoughts in so long. He hated them; it made him feel mad with the utter violating he felt with each intrusion, knowing that this was inside him. There was no other way to explain the desperate cold it brought. Slowly, Harry lifted his head and muffled a cry at what he saw.

A snowy hare, hanging from the tree by one distorted leg, wept blood onto the dirt. Its ghastly red eyes gazed emptily at him, yellow blocks of uneven teeth gaped open, flies feeding and buzzing. Harry held his breath, exhausted whimpers clawing their way through his dry throat, scraping inside his chest to find some sense of reality. He snapped his head around when he could feel the weight of someone watching him.

Mouth moving in words that seemed ungraspable, like the mantra of a enchanting spell, Bruce Lorcan stood, back against the door, eyes fixed on Harry's, unmoving in their haunting colored haze.

He thinks you're mad. He's going to curse you and send you off to the asylum…

Pain pierced Harry's scar, flaring fiery hot, and his face contorted. It was excruciating, purely unbearable. Relief rushed through Harry when the pain suddenly stopped, as quickly as the shutting of a tap, his body still rigid with shock. Bruce dropped his gaze to the ground, his face white and pasty before he disappeared back into the house.

Getting a hold of himself and horrified at what had just occurred, Harry didn't hear his friend's calls.

"Harry! You're supposed to be following me," Ervy protested from in front of him.

Turning his head towards the door where Bruce had disappeared, Harry instructed, "Stay here a moment, Ervy. I'll be back." When the ten-year-old threw open the door, it was to see his mentor heaving into the rubbish bin.

"You saw."

Bruce wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and spared him a bleary glance before shaking his head.

He thinks he can kid you! The demanding, churlish voice roared alive in Harry's thoughts.

"My scar-…"

"Lad…don't dwell on it." The rogue's face was shuttered and unsure. "Darkness has many faces… an allure of devastating magnitude."

Old cat's the one who should be in an asylum!

Harry frowned when the older wizard lumbered out of the room. He followed him against his better judgment.

"But what's happening to me?! You have to tell me…" For no reason at all Harry's skin was crawling and he felt a choking mass rise in his chest. His scar was starting to hurt again as his mounting hysteria possessed him.

Let go, fool.

No!

Show 'em all! Make him tell you the truth!

Never!

"Control it or I'll do it for ya!" Harry heard Bruce shout, his tone sharpening, after putting up a silencing charm around the room.

I'd like to see him try!

"No!" Harry gritted out through the frenetic pain bursting his nerve endings.

"This power, lad…ya must understand that if ya don't do yer part, we will be forced ta bind ya," Bruce exclaimed furiously, looking conflicted as he put a palm behind his own ear.

In agony, Harry could barely hear Bruce saying things like 'more time' or 'I can't' in hushed tones before he rounded on Harry again.

No!

Harry's heart skipped as the pain in his body flared and his body felt consumed by fire. Only then did he realize that every torch in the entrance hall was emitting enormous blasts of flame. Pain encompassed the back of his eyes, and when he almost screamed, he caught sight of Bruster swimming into his vision, wearing a panicked expression. The rogue forcefully pressed his shaking wand to Harry's agonizing scar and chanted hurriedly under his breath, his eyes almost an electrifying shade.

Gasping for air, spots of black distorting his eyesight, Harry caught the blurry movement of the rogue and then a glob of black shimmering fabric materialized out of nowhere. A tall old wizard, that vaguely resembled Dumbledore himself, crouched next to Harry, wearing a tender expression. The next thing Harry heard before he lost consciousness was an unrecognizable voice saying 'Obliviate' in a pained whisper.

IiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIi

November brought a breakthrough in Harry's Elemental magic. Harry didn't know what it had been, but he had apparently slipped and hit his head in the entrance hall on Halloween because a frantic Ervy had stumbled over him just minutes after his friend had gone into the house. Ever since that day, Harry had started to anticipate the prickling of his skin as the energy itself and had been able to control the flame of a candle quite easily. By the end of November, Harry could light a futon on fire in the white room and Remus would then smother the angry flames in a swift wand wave.

Sirius, who had discovered his godson's abilities during a particularly vicious nightmare in which he had accidentally burst all the windows in his room, was difficult to discern about what he made of the whole mess.

Remus had likely spoken to the animagus about it afterwards because Sirius had woken up the morning after with smudges of black beneath his eyes and an incessantly chipper attitude, most likely in a misguided attempt to seem like he wasn't unnerved by it.

Remus concerned acceptance made him feel a lot better. Sirius' reaction seemed an awful lot like trying to dress up a dirty mop with ribbons. Needless to say, Harry wasn't convinced that any of them, himself included, could even begin to grasp what it would mean in the long run. Dwelling on it was not an action Harry wanted to take, under any circumstances.

"Merry Christmas!" Sirius cheerfully handed Harry a mug of Holiday mead.

"Certainly not!" Remus chided, grabbing the mug from Harry's hand, seemingly oblivious to his friend's childish pout.

"I'll give you a taste of mine," Sirius said in a conspirational whisper when Remus turned his back in order to watch Bruce set up the small telly that Croxley had tweaked to work within the manor.

"I have exceptional hearing," Remus had the foresight to mention before Sirius could bring the alcohol down for Harry to taste.

"Blast! We've been found out," Sirius said in a stage whisper, slinging an arm around Harry. "Up for another round of chess, kiddo?"

"No thanks, Sirius," Harry declined quickly, tired of losing at chess for one day and self-consciously pulling his sleeves down. By some miracle, or lucky ignorance, his godfather still hadn't seen the terrible scars on his torso. Sirius had asked about his relative's home only once, in which he had thoroughly been brushed off .

Without missing a step, Sirius asked a willing Remus to play against him.

Christmas had passed days ago, uneventful compared to the last since all three males were now permanent fixtures at the manor. The Daily Prophet had written an article in early December stating that the foul creatures that protected Azkaban prison had demanded the ministry check all their magical sensors and logs for tampering. After they had found that data had been corrupted, the minister ordered a sweep of all personnel, which included Mr. Weasley. All employees were being subjected to unannounced home visits, owl tracking, and Floo tapping.

For Harry, it meant that he had been completely forbidden from seeing a hair off any Weasley's head. This meant no presents and no gifting. At all. Then, to add insult to injury, Lucius Malfoy, right snot-faced dolt that he was, had suggested that they were looking for Remus in an interview. Currently, Harry, Remus, and Sirius were holed up together for good, with only Dumbledore and Bruce to see to their outside needs.

They were all slowly going mad.

The only relief came with lessons and training, which both Sirius and Remus had efficiently immersed themselves in. Their duels and fights in the white room were more than exciting to witness. Bruce, however, had said he wasn't even near ready to even entertain the thought of partaking.

But the worse thing of all was that Ervin Kippling had dropped off the face of the earth. He hadn't come to lessons in two weeks, saying he was sick, and Harry was worried something terrible.

"Remus, I set yer flask of Wolfsbane in the kitchen since ya said Dumbledore's supplier couldn't produce any this month."

"I thank you, Bruce," the werewolf said politely while moving his rook.

Bruce averted his eyes when Harry sought his gaze, using the excuse of finding a channel that worked on the small telly. The couch dipped as Harry sat and drew his knees to his chest, the fire crackling as a log shifted.

A Muggle news broadcast came on:

"American scientist and business mogul, Dr. Kevin Denoel, sole-creator of the multi-million dollar Whiz technological corporation, is currently visiting London. He has yet to disclose his agenda; though it is rumored he has been spotted with his wife at a restaurant with trade giant Jasmine Mekanoro and a mysteriously dressed male acquaintance by the name of Mr. Malfoy. This could mean a partnership, and if were accurate, very exciting prospects for the business world."

"Hey! That's Croxley," Harry exclaimed just as Bruce changed the channel, "why was he with Malf-…" The rogue's eyes flashed as he ignored Harry's outburst.

"Bruce…Isn't that-…" Harry snapped his mouth shut and furled his brow. Bruce had never treated him like that before. There were times when the rogue's eyes got dark, when his hands quaked so hard he would excuse himself to the bathroom to return with a grin, but he never got angry or otherwise in front of him. It unnerved Harry and he glanced at his godfather and guardian, wondering if they had caught what had just happened.

The oblivious pair caught his eyes and smiled when Harry nodded his head after he was asked if he was doing alright.

Bruce was once again crouching on the floor and staring at the screen with a peculiar expression that most people wore when they were stuck between a rock and a hard place. After a few moments, Bruce made a sudden movement and flicked his wand at the wireless.

Jurka the Hag was reporting a murder that had occurred in the Muggle village off the outskirts of Hogsmeade station.

"Warning: this breaking news is not for children or those light of heart. Just in: Months ago, nine-year-old Muggle, Timothy Benson, fled to the police station and confessed to brutally murdering his own parents with a brick. The child was hysterical and when they left him in a cell for the night, the next day he was found dead of asphyxiation, apparently by his own pillow. The ministry of magic was alerted to the residence by a single levitation spell that had occurred there. It is now known that the levitation spell was performed in the family shed, where they housed rabbits. All animals were found in a severe state of decomposition and hanging from the rafters."

"This case was labeled confidential until its recent release to the public. Mad-Eye Moody was on record with this: 'As of right now, we've ascertained that this was indeed an act by a deeply disturbed young boy and we feel that the detectors may have malfunctioned. The ministry of magic sees fit to remove themselves from this case, as it is now in full Muggle jurisdiction.'"

"Jurka the Hag will now be taking your calls to get your take on this. Just pick up your wands and cast the transmission charm."

"Yes, this is Syler, and I only have one thing to say, what with this relentless fog: Dementors. They spread their nasty thoughts and were affecting them Muggles. For Merlin's sake, it's the bloody holiday! I'll take that coward Black over those foul-…"

"Again, this is Jurka the Hag, and for legal reasons, I am being informed to stress that the opinions of our callers do not represent the opinions and beliefs of this station."

"Melvin here…I've got a reserve for a herd of Mefflerdins and I can't believe that we as wizards are listening to this Muggle nonsense when we have an unprecedented amount of our own magical creatures falling ill and dying. My fields are fuller of corpses than livestock!! Whose investigating this anomaly?!"

"I'm Jycep and I wanna hear what Albus Dumbledore's got to say about all this. He seems awfully quite while the ministry is running around like chickens with their heads cut off."

"I go by Neddle. They've got that American wizard Denoel using his weirdo techno-magi gadgets and what not to help them point fingers at their employees. I work at a minor department, yet we had Aurors drop by during my daughter's birthday! What's untoward about a five-year-old's birthday? Is the murdering bastard Black going to pop out of the cake?!"

"Bruce, please change the station," Remus told the rogue.

The older wizard complied with the request, though he seemed to be in a sort of daze. Harry got the feeling that they had all momentarily forgotten he was in the room.

"The nerve of that man! What kind of bloody name is Syler anyway? How dare he call me a bloody coward!"

"Sirius, I'm astounded that you've been called a myriad of offensive terms and 'coward' is the one that gets you," Remus said in a voice of exasperated fondness.

"Yes, well 'murdering bastard' at least suggests that there might have been a chance I wasn't really a Black."

Harry concealed a smile as he once more stared into the flames. He felt almost sick to his stomach about what had happened to the poor Muggle family. It seemed like the ministry was covering up whatever had really happened. Was it even possible for an eight-year-old to commit murder, and with a brick?! It seemed unbelievable. Harry now wished that the adults hadn't let him hear the broadcasts at all because it was far too terrible, so twisted.

Then his thoughts shifted to whether he should he tell his guardians about having met Croxley, about the fact he had dined out with someone who was either Lucius Malfoy or had the same name. And what on earth could any of them be doing on Muggle telly. They were wizards! It just didn't make any kind of sense.

"Stop that, lad. Yer giving yer guardian worry lines with yer sulking." The couch dipped as Bruce sat next to him and spoke quietly. Harry could see Remus and Sirius sneaking glances at him from the corner of his eye. "Best ya forget all about it. Won't do ya any wee bit of good."

"It's a secret isn't? Are you angry I know?" Harry asked tentatively, staring intently at his hands.

"Denoel made a mistake by showing his face ta anyone and he placed ya in danger by doing it. I'm not angry with ya, lad, I'm angry with d' situation. No doubt he'll get a skinning from his superiors fer this."

"Oh."

"I made ya something." Bruce produced a leather-thong necklace with a gold pendant from his pocket. It looked much like the one his mind healer had given him on the day of his court appearance. Bruce tied it in a knot behind his neck and instructed, "This has runes and protection on it that will protect ya if ya let them. Never take this off, alright?"

"I won't. Thanks, Bruster." Harry smiled in gratitude and observed the runes, his eyes widening when he saw what symbol was engraved into the gold. It had a sun with rays radiating all over the edge, a crescent moon within, and seven stars harbored within the remaining space of the sun. It was just as Ginny had described from gravestone of her friend's mother.

"Somethin' the matter?" Bruce asked while his body was unnaturally tense.

Should he say something? It wasn't really his business and if maybe that women had been part of Bruce's team of whatever he was than he might make his tutor sad by bringing it up. Harry just didn't see any positives to confronting the man. So, he opened the collar of his shirt and let the cool metal touch his bare chest without another word.

"No. Nothing." Harry really did hope that it wasn't as he looked away from Bruce's hard gaze.

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January of the New Year seemed to merge with February. Lessons continued and Bruce stepped down as his physical trainer, leaving a surprisingly healthy and thrilled godfather to make him stronger. Various new articles began to publish speculation on Harry's whereabouts, even harassing Harry's primary school enough to get them to release a school photograph of him at age six.

Unfortunately, Harry had looked no more than three in the picture and now every editorial was commenting on his adorably sad expression. There had been no mention of his relatives at all, which wasn't a surprise since the case was sealed for Harry's protection.

Sirius had kept the picture and Harry could tell he had wanted to ask about it. His unusually quiet godson had finished his meals very quickly that day, relaying the message that the topic was not on neutral land.

By mid-February, after a destructive lost of control while overhearing a heated discussion between all three men relating to Ervy's lessons, Harry was finally getting out from under the bout of depression and nightmares his seclusion had caused. That a tiny bit of betrayal had taken its place was of no matter.

They had deliberately lied to him just so that his friend wouldn't find out he was Harry Potter. Sirius and Remus had gotten into a tremendous argument with Bruce about their charge's emotional state, ending with a compromise to bring Ervy back only if he agreed to be placed under a powerful jinx that would forbid him from speaking about anything relating to his friend.

Bruce had stormed off, absolutely furious with their decision, though he had returned the next day begrudgingly admitting that he was going to readjust the wards so that Ervy could use the Floo without a danger of something going awry between one of the portals. Afterwards, he had removed himself as a tutor, though he still returned every other week to bring them anything they needed. Sometimes Harry wondered if Bruce was just going to stop coming all together, that Harry wouldn't see him ever again. For some reason, whether it was the new distance he was keeping from Harry or the way his eyes shifted around the room, it seemed like his old tutor was slipping away from them.

In March, Harry and Ervy were reunited. After a hug, which had resulted in both boys wrestling in the aftermath, the seven-year-old had treated Harry no different than he had before. Like many things, they acted as if no time at all had passed. Most mornings were spent in lessons, afternoons were for playing outside and following the endless treasure hunt that Harry hadn't felt up to continuing in his friend's absence, and then Harry's friend would go home. Sirius would then make him swim, run, and climb trees; in short, have fun. The charms that Remus reluctantly placed on him during these specific lessons made sure Sirius didn't see anything Harry didn't want him to see.

Remus had stressed that the longer he kept it hidden, the more Sirius would be hurt. But while a part of Harry trusted that his own godfather would not see him as disgusting, Harry was ashamed of the scars. No amount of counseling could help erase the unease the boy felt when he looked at them directly. The panic that coursed through his veins at just thinking that his past would chain him forever to the bloodied image he would cower from in dreams...it was too much. It was better to only let them see who he was now, so they didn't have to see who he had been. Harry preferred it that way too, even if his nightmares didn't.

In the evening, Remus would provoke him and Harry would have to control himself from using his elemental abilities. Remus hadn't had the heart to let Sirius do it himself, so his godfather was left to smooth out the atmosphere by stressing that it was only an exercise and that Remus really wouldn't treat him so coldly in reality. Harry usually felt worse for Remus, who usually enclosed himself in the library afterwards with a withdrawn expression. It was hurting them both, especially after the closeness they had almost achieved in the last year.

They had discovered soon enough, much to Harry's embarrassment, that he had a very explosive temper. It wouldn't have been so bad if his control of magic didn't flee with his calm reasoning. Harry worried that if he didn't control it sufficiently by the end of the year, he'd never get to see Ron or Ginny again, or even go to Hogwarts. It was too high of a risk that he could really hurt someone, and the thought alone scared him.

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"Harry, can we not play with the book today?" Ervy quietly asked him one spring afternoon, after they had found a memory box under blooming magnolias.

Harry carefully pocketed an old dictation quill and looked up at his friend, "What do want to do?"

Ervy grinned and grabbed his hand, his small one unusually clammy. "Come on!"

There was no stopping Ervy once he got excited; anyone who tried would be inflicted with the most heartbreakingly sad pout. It could make anyone feel like a prat in seconds. The fact of the matter was that the expression was as genuine as Ervy's bright smile. When he was with Ervy, he wouldn't miss the Weasleys to such a terrible degree that he always did.

After setting out a clay pot and several vials and pouches in a clearing behind the cover of several trees, Ervy informed him, "I'm gonna teach you how to make a potion for this." He held up the quidditch glove that had once belonged to Harry's dad. "I didn't have much else to do all these months so I thought of this mixture of belladonna, billywig stingers, fluxweed…" he drifted off with a giggle after he caught sight of Harry's dazed expression.

"I really don't think I'm meant for this," Harry admitted, taking a look at a glass container full of a disgustingly slimy substance that resembled liver. He wrinkled his nose at it.

"I promise it'll be fun." Ervy smiled, his eyes suggesting that he was finding his friend's expression quite amusing. "Besides," Ervy said, dropping two pinches of beetle legs into the clay pot, "it can be our thing, just like your dad had his friend for the journal." He averted his eyes, worrying his body lip. "They were more like brothers than anything. I bet it was hard, whoever he was, when your dad went away forever." The seven-year-old bent over his cauldron and Harry noticed when tears fell over the beetle legs. "Oh, no…I've ruined it. So stupid…I-I can't."

They pot fell over when Ervy stood and turned away from Harry, his body collapsing, thin limbs drawing close.

Harry felt his stomach twist.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Ervy sobbed. "I just wanted someone to miss m-…why should I want that?!"

"Ervy?" Harry touched the little boy's back, speaking softly. He was shaking so bad, his skin much too cold while it was so warm out. Harry buried this, too, because Ervy was all he had right now, because he'd rather be like Sirius. It was all okay, truth was miscellaneous, facts were vicious monsters that left sufferers weak.

Ervy rounded on him, his face blotchy, round eyes searching Harry's face for any revulsion. He deflated before the older boy, finding only desperation. "I'm sorry…" Ervy looked away, hurriedly wiping his face as if he was ashamed, "I don't get like that, not ever." The seven-year-old forced an unsteady smile. "Please forget it. It's pointless to make others sad with tears when you can make them stronger with smiles. I'm so thick I-..."

"Oi!" Harry placed a hand on Ervy's hair and ruffled it in the affectionate way that Remus and Sirius always did, wishing his fingers would stop digging into his palms. "Don't ever speak that way about my little brother again."

Suddenly, Ervy sprung his arms around Harry and held on tight just as the older boy patted his back awkwardly. Wetness on Harry's shoulder signaled silent tears. Harry's throat constricted in a way it never had before.

He wanted so badly to watch out for the small seven-year-old, who smiled so bright on a face so pale, to protect him. Both of them were like two cracked eggs, slipping inside their own shells of normality, retaining what they had gotten from the other.

"How long will it take to make? You're only here for the weekend."

The seven-year-old gently extricated himself from Harry's embrace, wiping his eyes with his oversized shirt sleeve, and smiled coyly. "I've never made it before. But I know how to neutralize the potion for storage before coming back to it."

"What does it do exactly?" Harry rolled his eyes heavenward when Ervy snapped his mouth closed and the corner of his mouth curled upwards. "You're not going to say, are you?"

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"What's wrong, Ervy?" With delicate strokes, Harry mixed in the crushed rose petals to the simmering liquid, giving it three more counter-clockwise strokes for every six. It was April so all the flowers were in full bloom outside.

"It should feel thicker with that; the oil in the petals reacts to the base in the powdered Mefflerdin horn." Ervy's grey eyes watched the movement before flickering for just a second towards the room door. He carefully lowered the temperature of the enchanted Bunsen burner and pulled out a neutralizing perfume he had nicked from his father's stores from out of his rucksack, spraying excessive amounts towards the door.

"Don't avoid the question."

The seven-year-old mussed his hair, careful to not let any loose strands near the Dragon scale extract he was carefully measuring into a porcelain crucible. "It's nothing. There was this stocky man that gave me the creeps when I left home yesterday."

"Really? What'd he look like?" The potion made a bizarre suctioning sound when the extract was added. By his younger friend's pleased expression, Harry gathered that it was a good thing.

"Grubby, pointed nose, small watery eyes…I only saw him for a second because he pulled his robes over himself. Something about him…he was all shifty, it didn't feel right."

"Did you tell anyone?"

"No, but I followed him. He turned into this alley and a black cat hissed at me, I think I disturbed its hunt 'cause he tried to claw under the dumpster afterwards. I got a bit spooked about it all and ran out."

"Maybe you should tell someone," Harry suggested indecisively.

Ervy shrugged. "Well, I just told you, didn't I? Besides, there's nothing anyone can do anyway. I might have just been imagining… Oh, this is a good place to stop." The little boy deliberately put the burner on low heat and grabbed a shimmering white handkerchief from the ground, putting it over the mouth of the clay pot after dusting the surface of the potion with a glittery black powder. The potion stopped all movement and Harry watched in fascination, though he had seen it many times before, as the seven-year-old pressed the fabric right over the brim and sealed them together.

"I love magic,' Harry exclaimed.

Ervy smiled, stowing the items away into his rucksack which had a shrinking charm on the inside. He sprayed some of the perfume on himself, from head to toe, before instructing Harry do the same. "Let's go find your dog, Harry, we'll play with him just a bit before we tuck in for dessert."

"Yeah, we can ask Remus to transfigure outfits to dress him up again." It was a running prank to dress him up when he couldn't transform and have him chase them around the house. Both boys had quickly learned which routes would lead to dead ends.

"Really?! I like the troll costume best." The boy hurried to open the door in order to find Harry's poor godfather. Sirius would not be thrilled. Maybe when Ervy left tomorrow Remus wouldn't foil every one of his agitated godfather's attempts at retaliation like he had all the other times.

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"Hold up the shield, Harry," Remus instructed calmly for the fifteenth time in under hour.

"It's heavy!" Harry protested, arms shaking, as he blocked another low-level stinging hex.

The werewolf raised his wand and flicked three hexes in rapid succession, his face expressionless as the shield trembled and his charge fell to his knees. Once more, just as Harry was struggling to his feet, he shot out three others.

"Stop!" Harry shouted. "I can't anymore." The ten-year-old shuddered at the cold stare he got from Remus, so detached. His ragged breath slowed as he made himself into a ball and hid behind the enchanted metal shield.

"Get up," Remus said, like he was speaking to a stranger.

Harry knew he needed to be angry, his ability went haywire went he was fully submerged in the overpowering emotion. But why couldn't he get a break? He was so tired of it. The boy ducked as Remus began firing spells again, wincing when a stinging hex ripped his shirt at the shoulder. When he saw an opening he tried to make a dash for the door, with every intention of walking out.

Remus Apparated in front of him and sealed the door, casting 'Tarantallegra' on his legs. "I didn't say it was over, Harry."

At the moment, his young charge hated him.

"Take it off!" Harry shouted when his legs worked past exhaustion, his heart beating so fast he thought it would just stop.

Remus' face looked calm still, peering down at Harry as if he was a very small insect. "Why would I do that, Harry?"

In Harry's head, this wasn't Remus. It was like someone would take over his body because, from the time he would step into the room to when he would be dismissed, no amount of pleas, exhausting falls, or successful deterring would get his guardian to show any kindness. And while Harry's brain supplied that this was the same Remus Lupin, that he was trying to help him, the stinging hexes, carelessness, and taunting managed to make him angry to the point that he couldn't even see straight, let alone remember the fact.

Harry fumed when the older wizard released the spell and shot two stinging hexes at the ten-year-old's arm.

"Are you aware that the shield was behind you?" Remus announced calmly.

"No. You said you wouldn't use that spell today, you promised." Harry's anger mounted as Remus continued to keep his face absolutely blank.

"I lied."

Picking up his shield, Harry was now shaking with anger. The shield was a lot lighter than it had been for nearly the whole lesson.

"You might enjoy being informed that I, in fact, cast a charm on that shield to have the mass increase as the lesson progressed."

Power trickled down Harry's spine, heat at his fingertips, the shield's metal turned to liquid in his palm, burning him. With a loud metal crash it fell to the floor, and Harry tried to control his breathing, closing his eyes as Remus' wand pressed into his forehead and sent a hex that made his ears twitch uncontrollably.

"It's warm in here, Harry. Can you recall when I said it should never get to this point? It'll be noticeable to anyone around you that you are the cause and they will devour you and leave you in shreds at the vicious hands of the press," said the man tersely.

"I know that!" Harry shouted, still trying to concentrate. It was so enticing to let go, Harry's body was demanding it. It had been far too long. When his moving ears started to distract him, an ice cold jet of water hit him in the face.

Remus stood there, wand dripping, his arms crossed, watching Harry sputter. "We only have four months left before Hogwarts, Harry. It may have escaped your notice, but we are in the month of May."

It was all his fault! The lesson was too long, he wanted–no, he needed to let go! Yet, he wasn't being allowed to. Anger swelled within him. The other man had no idea what it felt like!

"Return the torches to normal immediately," Remus said in the same cold tone of voice.

The boy glared daggers at him.

The room spun and Harry heard a muffled groan of pain.

"Aguamenti!" Remus said, his voice sounding like his old self. The alarm went off and the younger boy focused on the sensation of Remus blocking the flow of elemental energy, almost effortlessly. Though Harry's attack could cause a lot of damage, a capable adult wizard could easily disrupt the weak points in the immature flow of energy.

Harry had to double his efforts in making his anger go away. After several minutes, he opened his eyes to find the werewolf transfiguring a duvet into a cloak, covering a singed sleeve.

The young wizard gasped in horror when he realized what he had done. "I'm so sorry-…"

"I cast glamours, since your shirt is torn," his guardian interrupted him. "Your old scars should stay hidden for half an hour. I'll come by your room then to heal any wounds you may have obtained." Remus opened the door and without turning back said, "Don't worry too much, Harry," before walking off.

It was so unfair that his guardian could immediately block Harry's lost of control, yet he wouldn't actually do it until the end of the lesson came. The man could at least make sure Harry didn't unintentional harm him, if not for his own benefit, but for his charge's guilt.

However, Harry could voice none of this because his stupid mouth would then go off to shout other hurtful things. Like last Saturday, when the alarm had gone off announcing the end of the lesson, Harry had stumbled to the ground and Remus had tried to catch him. His guardian had recoiled and retreated to his room after Harry had screamed that he hadn't wanted to be touched. It was much too hard to switch off his anger at times.

"Close the door, Sirius." Harry could hear Remus tell his godfather upstairs.

"We need a healer, Moony. It's a bad burn, and by now I think we both have figured out that no spells or remedies will fix it up," Sirius insisted.

"It's not as bad as it appears to be."

"Really? By the looks of it, you're in for one hell of a night."

The next thing the ten-year-old heard were indistinguishable muffled voices. Remus had shut the door again, in an attempt to prevent Harry from hearing the extent of his injuries.

The exhausted ten-year-old mopped the sweat off his forehead, feeling miserable. The white room now smelled of singed flesh and Harry felt even worse. He couldn't even blame it on Remus, who strained himself to go against his nature just for Harry's sake, because he cared. The entire situation was terrible, yet all of them were trapped in its spun web, just like they were being held by the outside world inside Potter manor.

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Remus felt of twinge of discomfort when he moved to sit on the chair next to Harry's bed, feeling the fabric of his shirt rub against the long burn on his arm. It had been a miscalculation on his part that had prevented him from seeing just how close he had been to the far wall.

So small, he wondered, grasping Harry's hand in his and examining the reddened tips for signs of prolonged damage. The boy's magic was already working to heal most of it. Dabbing a generous helping of salve to stave of any infection, he brought his eyes up and sighed when the child's eyes darted away from his. Ah, yes, the guilt. He wouldn't be Harry Potter without feeling the need to take responsibility for any harm anyone associated with him encountered.

"We've discussed this various times before," he told him, speaking softly, damming the Muggles for their atrocious treatment. "Those lessons are unorthodox; I am deliberate in my attempts to get you to lose control. I accept the consequences of my actions. I am an adult, Harry, and as your guardian, I have concluded that this is the best solution for your training regiment. It entails that while in that room I will not penalize you for what you may say. This oversight will never extend beyond that room, and that, I hope, is what you understand."

The child nodded, leaning into Remus' hand as he tenderly brushed the unruly nest of hair away from his face, exposing the lightning-shaped scar. "I get it," Harry said quietly, "even if I'm sorry you're hurt."

"No apologies are necessary, as you well know. It is enough for me that you feel regret in causing harm to another person; some do not possess such decency."

"Remus?"

"What is it?"

"Is Bruce…is there something wrong with him?"

"That…" Remus searched for what to say. "Bruce is a complicated man, he has had a very trying life and he, too, has abilities that he does not desire."

"Really?"

"Yes. But I am not at liberty to discuss it, and you are not at liberty to ask. People deserve some level of privacy, and we must all respect him enough to let him have it."

"Okay," Harry said sleepily.

"Get some rest; I believe Sirius has every intention of waking you up early for practice, now that Ervin is staying over in the evening, due to a business venture in Venice where his parents were needed."

"Isn't a full moon the day after?" The child yawned after asking the question and Remus' hands stilled.

"Unfortunately, my regular supplier is unable to send me my potions, so I may be out a while if I can't get a hold of Bruce tonight."

"He hasn't let us down yet." Harry had a point, even if the rogue was being standoffish most of the time.

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Later the next day, Sirius picked Harry up, hauling him over his shoulder and tickling the boy. Harry roared with laughter, wriggling in place, eyes happy. Sirius stopped, growing quiet, the smile fading from his face.

Harry's rumpled shirt had ridden up, his sleeves coming up to reveal an endless web of pink scars. Some of them looked like burns with a strange pattern, like an imprint of sorts. Sirius' eyes flashed darkly, overcome with a horrible pain in his chest that made him absolutely furious.

"Sirius? Please, let me go." Harry was pleading, looking scared and panicked at the wizard's deranged expression. "Don't…please, don't."

The animagus drew back as if he had been burned; not having realized that he had been holding Harry down. "What are those?" he forced out, his lips tight, eyes wild.

"It doesn't matter," Harry said quickly, backing away, covering all of his hated scars as fast as he could.

"It does to me!" Sirius ejected indignantly. Making an effort to look less mad, Sirius relaxed his features. "Tell me, Harry."

Harry scrambled to his feet and tried to run out before Sirius blocked his way and lifted an arm in an attempt to comfort the distraught boy.

The child flinched violently, not making a sound, and Sirius' stomach dropped. His heart felt like it had been struck with a dark curse. He moved out of the way. That's all he had needed to know. Oh, Gods…please, no. "Go downstairs to your guest, Harry. I need to clarify some things with Remus," the animagus said stiffly.

When his godson was nowhere in sight, Sirius stormed towards the study.

"Why didn't you tell me, Remus?!" he bellowed, face a storm.

Startled, Remus dropped his book and stood, furrowing his brow. "Siriu-…"

"Answer the bloody question! Why in the hell would he flinch away as if he expected to be harmed?!" Sirius ranted. He blew a deep breath, seemingly deflating before his friend. "His body is covered in scars…" he covered his eyes, "he looks like he's been through hell and back," he finished despairingly.

When Remus didn't answer him, Sirius looked up with a glower. Remus had collapsed back into the chair and had his head in his hands.

Hesitating, Sirius idly asked his next question, feeling like a monster because he figured a one-off would have been better than years of torment. "It wasn't…with the moon?"

Remus sad eyes flickered to hurt before he stood angrily. "I'd die before I'd ever let that happen," the werewolf said sharply, livid. His wand was held tightly in his hand and red sparks flew out of the end as he bit out, "You go too far, Sirius."

Sirius had only seen his friend look so close to losing control once, when he had found out that his own friend had led Snape into the Whomping Willow those years ago. It had been another case in which he had let himself act selfishly at the werewolf's expense. Sirius wasn't proud of this. Then again, he had rarely seen fit to voice his boundless insecurities, seeking, more often than not, to act as if they didn't exist at all. "That was uncalled for," he admitted weakly, passing a hand through his hair, the wind on his sails dissipating into nothingness.

"Yes, it was," Remus agreed tersely, body stiff.

"I had thought…you-…" the tremor was just as audible as the wave of regret that washed out the rest of his fumbled speech. The question was tangible, even as it remained unspoken.

"No, not until the last year." A coil of shame burned Remus after saying this so bluntly, watching Sirius' expression crumble.

"You've kept this from me."

"I merely agreed to let Harry decide for himself," Remus said weakly before the overall situation snapped together. "Harry!" He jumped out of his seat, instructing over his shoulder, "Transform! You don't understand…if he misinterpreted your reaction for disgust, he may…he is still very fragile about this."

Minutes later, Remus was turning over every cupboard in the house, a large black dog sniffing a trail behind him. "Harry!" he called again, his gut twisting painfully when no answer came.

"Moony, the Floo, he used it," Sirius said gravely, once more in human form, his eyes darting around the room wildly. "Harry's gone," he whispered as if not understanding the words.

IiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIi

They were both a convoluted mess of emotions, even two days later. Dumbledore was using their Floo, reaching contacts. Tea before them lay cold, untouched, both pairs of eyes drawn to the object on the table.

Found just outside of Hogwart's gate, a sleeve, torn from the shirt Harry had been wearing when he had disappeared. The cloth bore the dark mark, written in what the headmaster had announced was rodent blood. Sacrifices were used in countless dark rituals; which meant it was hardly anything to go by since it was already implied that Death Eaters were involved.

To make matters worse, no one had heard from the Kipplings since they had arrived at the conference in Venice. They had disappeared, just as their son had with Harry. Nothing was coming together at all. It was like they were missing crucial pieces to a jigsaw puzzle.

Sirius stood abruptly. "I can't just sit here and do nothing!" he shouted, pacing the length of the dining room, his hands shaking.

Remus didn't have the strength to say anything. The pair of them hadn't slept in days... How could they? Harry was kidnapped, taken from right under their noses, wards undisturbed. There were no explanations, no telling what he was currently having to endure, if he was already…already dea-… Remus perished the thought by sheer will, his heart wrenching.

Here they were, in the room where the Potters had once sat for happy meals full of laughter, and they seemed just like lost souls trying to rapidly pick up the bread crumb trail home before night fell. It was a mockery, the end result, and it did nothing to quell the drowning inadequacy. An insecure werewolf, a tormented convict, and an abused orphan had inexplicably intertwined their fates to each others

Remus knew, as certain as he knew that the same was true for Sirius, that he wouldn't survive this particular hurdle if the ten-year-old didn't. Life now seemed surreal in its cruelty, and Remus was thankful that the walls continued to be blank from the ghosts already haunting its trod-upon floors.

His musing ended when a loud disturbance suddenly shook the walls of Potter manor. Sirius was right at his heels, wand drawn. Both men were unprepared to see Bruce being thrust against a wall by a man in black garb. A fist connected with the rogue's jaw, and he wasn't even fighting back.

"What is the meaning of this?" Dumbledore asked from the staircase, with admirable calm.

"I merely brought yer spy out to play, headmaster," Bruce said slowly, his eyes crazed, ignoring the wand pressed to his temple and smiling.

"Remus, Sirius, lower your wands." Dumbledore stepped forward and pressed his hand to the wand tip of the fuming Death Eater's, bringing it down. "Relax, Severus," he addressed him.

"Severus," Sirius mouthed, before it dawned on him. "Bloody Death Eater scum!" he thrust his wand forward, ready to fire a spell before Remus, well aware that Dumbledore trusted the potion's master, stopped his advance.

"Black," Severus Snape growled, leaving none guessing about just how much hatred he harbored for the animagus. The man was still all crooked teeth, sallow skin, greasy hair, and hooked nose. His dark eyes flashed with fury as he curled long fingers around his wand and aimed at Sirius' heart. "I should have known that you'd be holed up with the abominable beast."

"If wands are not lowered this instant, I shall be forced to confiscate them," Dumbledore warned, none too lightly. The aged wizard seemed to radiate power as he raised his hand to halt the inevitable protest at the order. Silence instantly fell upon them, with the exclusion of the mad rogue's resulting chuckle.

Bruce turned to them, a coating of blood over his teeth. "There was a Death Eater gathering, as White Beard here very well knows." The violet of his eyes flared as he looked down at the ground, his hands quaking violently. Apparently, opting not to meet any of their eyes, he sagged against the wall. "Remus-..."

"Here you go," Remus handed the rogue some gin he had summoned from the kitchen. It was pitiful to witness such a great wizard's descent.

"There is a sound reason, Mr. Lorcan, that may provide us with a plausible answer to why you have dragged Severus Snape into Potter manor?" Dumbledore prompted when it seemed that the patience that Sirius and Snape had managed to conjure was barely hanging on by threads.

"I would also be delighted," Snape said with an absurd amount of disgust, "to know why I was unceremoniously abducted against my will and taken to this despicable inhabitance." Snape's dry, acerbic tones had been perfected over the years.

Without explanation, Bruce lifted his wand and summoned Harry's bloodied shirt sleeve, all eyes on him. "Let me see the mark." The bags under the bright violet eyes made him look far more deranged than usual, so Remus couldn't blame the professor for the abhorrent glare he sent towards Bruce.

"Severus-…"

"Certainly not, headmaster!" Snape spat, eyebrows drawing together in fury, appearing seconds away from unleashing the wrath of his sharp tongue.

"Harry Potter was living at this residence, with his guardians for the past year. A few days ago, he disappeared. There is much at stake," said the headmaster, obvious disquiet present in his gaze.

There was a flicker of some unrecognizable emotion across Snape's face before it changed to aggressive incredulity. It happened so instantly that Remus figured he must have imagined it. "You left the Boy-Who-Lived at the hands of these incompetent-…" the snarl was cut off by Dumbledore's stern stare.

Remus had to physically restrain Sirius from thrashing the Slytherin.

"Very well," the dour man said with unbidden disdain, looking for all the world as if they had just requested he disembowel himself. The dark mark was almost gray against the pasty skin when all caught sight of it.

Bruce moved forward, the only evidence of Harry being captured in his hand.

It happened in under a minute and left the spy shaking against the wall, blood pouring from his inky black tattoo, lips pressed tightly, the one sign that he was in excruciating pain. The shirt sleeve lay in flames on the floor.

Dumbledore spoke first," Enlighten us to the meaning of this, Mr. Lorcan."

However, it wasn't the ill-looking Bruce that spoke, who was busy downing the bottle of liquor in such a pathetic manner that Remus had to look away. It was Snape. "The Dark Lord," he said in a voice so full of contempt that any sensible child would wet themselves in mere seconds.

"Has, in some fecking sense of the word...returned," Bruce finished, angrily throwing the bottle of gin across the room so that it smashed on the floor. Glass skid across the worn stone and the room's occupants watched as they quivered and stilled.

A/N: Cliffy! Everyone just loves to hate them. Please review! I would also love to hear guesses. And since I practically just took you through an entire year, I'll be happily answering any questions or explaining passages that may have seemed obscure.