Mc Gonnagal placed herself between the crumpled forms of Lupin and Luna, trying to give the other teachers enough time to tend to them and get them out, she cast a careful glance at Hermione, who was just beginning to move again, it killed her to have had to do that to a student but she had seen no other option. Her wand remained trained on Dumbledore, for the moment, however, she couldn't get a shot in without accidentally hitting Hagrid.

The giant was a roaring savage mess, blood poured from his eyes and into his beard, his hands were torn and his breath came out sounding like ragged growls. He threw punch after punch at Dumbledore and had the old man not kept blocking him with shielding spells he would have been dead by now. As it was both were at a standstill, the headmaster couldn't cast any offensive curses without leaving himself open to attack, and Hagrid couldn't get past the spells protecting Dumbledore.

Hagrid continued to pound on the transparent shield, roars of anger and hatred, bloodied fists the size of small barrels hitting the magic again and again as he screamed.

"YOU TRIED TO KILL HARRY! YOU TRIED TO KILL HIM!"

The boy with the scar on his forehead opened his eyes... For the first time in forever, he felt warm. For a moment he stared at the ancient wooden beams that held up the ceiling, the creases in them seemed to sooth his frayed mind, what had been before didn't seem to matter, in fact, nothing seemed to matter. His thoughts were simply drifting by, untouchable and distant. Slowly sensations returned, smells, sounds, his own heart beating, his own breathe, the muffled illegible voices from somewhere through the walls. Harry Potter became aware of the hand resting gently in his own. The hand belonged to the man he had spent an eternity in hell with, the only person in his mad world that he cared about and who still somehow cared about him. Sirius Black lay folded half on and half off of a chair that had been pulled over to the side of the bed. His Godfather's long black hair spread out over the sheets, when had it been cut last? This thought bothered Harry and he worried over it, over how someone's hair could grow so long. It was only later, when things began to clear that he would realize his own hair had passed down below his shoulder-blades. For some time the boy just lay there, pushing back the evil memories and observing his insane would-be guardian. Sirius had dark places below his eyelids, his skin was snow white and nearly see-through. Blue veins crisscrossed over his face and neck, the rough hand he held was still bloody from scrabling at the stones and bars of their cage. Harry closed his eyes and stroked the head laying beside him, much as he had Padfoot during those long endless nights and days they had spent together in Azkaban.

"We crashed out Sirius... We made it..."

His voice was a croaking growl, and he became aware of a desperate need for water. Not wanting to wake the man sleeping in the chair, Harry tried to lift himself up, apart from his arms shaking and feeling as though the room was slowly tilting to the left, he felt alright. Better than he had in a long time. Even the hollow feeling in his chest didn't worry him for the time being, at least he wasn't reliving his worst memories. Walking was a hard but do-able feat, and after a time Harry had managed to get himself over to the door, and then into the hall in search of a drink. The house he was in was not one he was familiar with, this fact was realized dimly and apathetically. Harry didn't really care if Voldemort himself was in the next room as long as he would give him a drink. A few years ago the very thought of the dark lord was enough to keep him up at night with worry, he could remember the feeling of protective fondness and determination he would get when he spent time with his friends Ron and Hermione, how he would balk at the thought of either of them hurt, and thinking how evil and heartless Voldemort was to try and kill innocents such as them. Harry remembered those feelings and youthful imaginings with a scoffing smile on his face. The black and white of the world as he had seen it was all a lie. His friends had turned on him, those he loved had betrayed him, those he trusted had lied. Maybe the problem wasn't that Voldemort didn't have a heart, but that he had one that had been hurt one too many times.

This notion had been in his mind for a while now, and if the madman wasn't always trying to kill him, he would have found himself feeling sorry for him. At this point Harry didn't care about right or wrong, light or dark, at this point it didn't matter who attacked him, he would defend himself from all of them, and kill anyone he had to. Azkaban had both numbed and hurt him, it had stolen something from him he could never hope to have back. Now all that mattered was Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, the two men that had known and loved his father, that had known and loved him unconditionally. They were all he had left and all that he needed. Fuck all the rest of them. He would not let them hurt him again. He would never again be weak.

The young shaking boy reached the next room and went inside, on the table next to the bed he found a pitcher of water, and it was only after he had taken his fill that he noticed what exactly was lying on the bed.

With a startled cry Harry fell back, scrambling away from the monster staring at him with familiar sad eyes from its hideous warped face. With a half smile that held no mirth but revealed many long pointed teeth, the creature spoke. His voice though deepened, was still gentle and wise.

"Hello Harry." Remus Lupin said.