Too Far from Home

by story2tell

Transported into a parallel universe, Harry finds himself in the shadow of an evil growing force. Amidst old and new faces and the chance for a family that he never had, Harry must come to the terms that although there are two worlds, there can only be one hero. *AU Dimension travel, No slash, Abuse, Contains Angst*

21. It's Not All Darkness

Yes, I know it's been forever. Part of the reason is that I went back through the story and did my best to fix mistakes and add some bits. There's still going to be spelling errors or whatever, but I did my best to find most of them, but alas, I am only human! Nothing's really changed except for the battle scene at the cottage which I tried to add more to since I felt it lacking. After that, I just hit a writer's block. I started a new job as well, so that's been taking up a lot of my time, and between all that, I've just been so exhausted and unmotivated. Anyways, thank you for all the reviews! I love reading them and thank you guys that you keep supporting me, even though I'm such a slow writer.

Beware, angst lies ahead—but there will be happiness waiting around the corner. 😊 hope you guys enoy!

***Canon Sirius, Canon World***

Four days after Harry's violent outburst, Sirius awoke with a startled jerk in the early morning hours. The dawn had just broken in an array of gloomy, iron-gray and low-hanging rain clouds, sucking every ounce of color from Sirius' bedroom. He didn't move for a good minute, staring at the dark ceiling, feeling beyond exhausted—both physically and mentally. He felt so, so heavy.

The past couple nights, Sirius' sleep had been disjointed and restless, and punctuated many, many times by him frantically getting up throughout the night to check to see if Harry was still asleep in his bed. He was terrified that if he allowed himself to fall fully asleep, he would wake to find Harry had run away, as he had attempted to do a few days before.

He wanted more than anything to shut his eyes, and fall into the deepest sleep possible, but the anxiety poking about in his brain and the fast beating of his heart kept him awake. Knowing there was only one thing that would calm his racing heart, he threw back his covers, slipped his house shoes on, and quietly made his way down the stairs to where Ron and Harry were sharing a room. He very quietly eased the door open a crack and peered inside. The gloomy morning light fell in square patterns on the two beds occupying the room. He could see a tuft of red hair sticking out from under the blanket on one bed and on the other, Harry lay fast asleep on his stomach, with one arm hanging over the edge of the bed. He had forgotten to take his glasses off the night before, so the frames were sitting lopsided on his face. He looked like James in that moment—that man was always falling asleep with his glasses on.

Feeling a touch of relief, Sirius silently shut the door and made his way down to the kitchen. Remus had beaten him to the table that morning and he looked up when Sirius shuffled in.

"Still can't sleep?" Remus asked perceptively as he took in Sirius' appearance.

Sirius merely grunted in response, his eyes aching with the lack of rest. Remus gestured to a pot a coffee and spare cup he had set up.

"I thought you'd be up early, again," Remus said in response to Sirius' raised eyebrows.

Sirius dropped unceremoniously into a chair across from the werewolf and poured himself a cup of black coffee. "Thanks," he muttered, inhaling a deep breath of the earthy aroma before taking a drink. He felt as though it had been years since he had had a proper sleep.

"I really don't think Harry will try and run," Remus said quietly after a moment.

Sirius looked at him, feeling unjustly aggravated that Remus was bringing up this conversation again. "He would've left if I hadn't stopped him a few days ago," he reiterated darkly.

Remus nodded slowly and seemed to pick his words carefully, "Yes, but emotions were very high in that moment. I think now that Harry has told us what really happened—"

"Some of what happened." Sirius interrupted flatly.

"Yes, but I think now that he's opening up about it, he beginning to take a step forward, instead of trying to hide and let it eat away at him."

Sirius said nothing. Yes, he agreed that Grimmauld place had been considerably less tense since Harry's explosion. His godson had rejoined the living again, and had even helped with a bit of cleaning until Molly demanded him not to since so much movement was causing his side to bleed again. Harry was physically there—yes—but Sirius could see it in the kid's eyes—his godson had retreated so deeply within himself, Sirius worried he would never reemerge again.

"He needs time," Remus said softly, as though he was reading Sirius' thoughts. "Over in that world…Harry got a taste of what could've been his and then, from what you told me, it seems as they made him feel a part of the family, before James shoved him back over here. He's feeling rejected and abandoned. It's going to take him a while before he can trust again—especially when it seems that time and time again, the adults in his life just do nothing but fail him."

A pinched, guilty sort of look came over Remus' face as he said this last bit and Sirius knew that the werewolf was thinking about how Harry had accused Remus of keeping himself separate from Harry's childhood. It was a hard pill to swallow.

"He doesn't have time," Sirius said darkly. "Term starts in two and half weeks and he's barely functioning. And since I won't be there to keep an eye on him, he could make a split for it."

Remus said nothing. He looked down at his own coffee, deep in contemplation.

Sirius lowered his voice to a harsh whisper, "If I ever see that man—I could kill him—I could kill the lot of them—"

Again, Remus said nothing.

"I've never seen Harry like this—and I don't know what the hell to do—and it's all their fault."

"Most of it, anyway," Remus whispered. He topped off his cup and said, "Just continue to do what you've been doing, Sirius—that's all you can do. Listen if he needs it, provide him distraction, be consistent, and don't let him sink into total isolation—that's a hole that is very hard to climb your way out of."

Sirius sighed, "That the prophet?" he gestured toward the paper by Remus' elbow. The man pushed it towards Sirius and he promptly opened it, effectively communicating he was done talking about the situation. It was good timing, for the rest of the house seemed to be rousing and it was only minutes before Ginny and Hermione appeared, their eyes tiny with sleep.

"Your breakfast is on the stove," Remus told them with a smile. "Molly had to make a trip to the burrow, but she should be back soon enough."

"What for?" asked Ginny.

"She didn't say," said Remus. "Grab a plate or she'll accuse me of letting you lot starve."

While Ginny and Hermione obliged him, Ron entered the kitchen, followed closely by Harry.

"Morning Ron, morning Harry," said Sirius immediately, studying his godson with scrutinizing eyes.

"Morning," said Ron and Harry. "Is that for us?" Ron continued, eyeing the food on Hermione's plate and didn't wait for a response. He went to make a plate of his own.

"All right, Harry?" Sirius asked when Harry sat down a seat down from Remus.

His godson's eyes flickered up briefly before he dropped them once again, "Fine."

Sirius withheld his frustration and spoke as calmly and lightly as he could, "Help yourself to a plate; you can't take your potion on an empty stomach."

Harry's jaw visibly clenched but he complied without argument. Only after he had returned with a plate and had taken a bite did Sirius return to perusing the Daily Prophet, sneaking glances at the kid every so often. He flipped to a new page, pursing his lips at the plain idiocy he was reading. Why do I even bother? He wondered bitterly, turning the page again and folding back the crease.

"Is that my name?" he heard Harry speak suddenly, startling Sirius.

Shit, Sirius let the paper drop down and looked across the table at his godson, whose expression demanded a truthful response. Before Sirius could scramble up something to say that would easily break it to his godson, Harry reached across the table and grabbed the Daily Prophet, wasting no time flipping to the article written on him. Sirius grimaced, watching Harry's eyes move back and forth as he read; his face grew an angry red.

"Quite nasty, isn't it?" said Sirius in a voice of forced calm, bracing himself to whatever reaction Harry might have.

Harry tightened his fists on the paper, crinkling it, and he lowered it back down to the table, "It's like I'm a joke," he said flatly.

"They're just building on Rita's stuff," put in Hermione who was sitting next to Sirius. "She's not writing anymore but she's laid the foundation for what they're trying to do now."

"Which is what?" said Harry impatiently, still holding tightly to the paper.

Hermione looked hesitant, she glanced over at Sirius and then at Remus and then finally at Ron who gave her a slight nod, "Well, you know how she wrote that you were collapsing all over the place and saying your scar was hurting and all that?"

"Yeah," said Harry through gritted teeth. Sirius could tell that that wasn't something the kid was likely to forget in a hurry.

"Well, they're writing about you as though you're this deluded, attention-seeking person who thinks he's a great tragic hero or something," said Hermione very fast, as though it would be less unpleasant for Harry to hear these facts quickly. "They keep slipping in snide comments about you. If some far-fetched story appears, they say something like, 'A tale worthy of Harry Potter', and if anyone has a funny accident or anything it's, 'Let's hope he hasn't got a scar on his forehead or we'll be asked to worship him next'—"

"I don't want anyone to worship—" Harry began hotly.

"We know you don't," said Sirius quickly, cutting in for Hermione who looked frightened at how she thought Harry would react. "I know, Harry. But don't you see what these prats are doing? They want to turn you into someone nobody will believe. Fudge is behind it, I'll bet anything. They want wizards on the street to think you're just some stupid boy who's a bit of a joke, who tells ridiculous stories because he loves being famous and wants to keep it going."

"I didn't ask—I didn't want—Voldemort killed my parents!" Harry spluttered. "I got famous because he murdered my family but he couldn't kill me! Who wants to be famous for that? Don't they think I'd rather it'd never—"

"We know, Harry," said Ginny earnestly.

"The Ministry's attitude has gotten a bit ridiculous," said Remus quietly. "You remember how Fudge was after Voldemort came back, Harry? Well, he hasn't shifted his position at all. He's absolutely refusing to believe it's happened."

"But why?" asked Harry, looking angry and desperate. "Why's he being so stupid? If Dumbledore—"

"Ah, well, you've put your finger on the problem," said Remus with a wry smile. "Dumbledore."

Harry looked as though he was liable to reach across the table and strangle Remus if he didn't elaborate.

"Fudge is frightened of him," Sirius put in with a slight shake of his head.

"Frightened of Dumbledore?" said Harry incredulously.

"Frightened of what he's up to," said Sirius. "Fudge thinks Dumbledore's plotting to overthrow him. He thinks Dumbledore wants to be Minster for Magic."

"But Dumbledore doesn't want—"

"Of course he doesn't," Remus cut in again. "He's never wanted the Minister's job, even though a lot of people wanted him to take it when Millicent Bagnold retired. Fudge came to power instead, but he's never quite forgotten how much popular support Dumbledore had, even though Dumbledore never applied for the job."

Harry, not waiting for Remus to finish, violently crumpled up the Daily Prophet and flung it to the stone floor, "This is just all so bloody brilliant," he said angrily. "How can he think that Dumbledore would just make it all up—that I'd make it all up?"

"Because accepting that Voldemort's back would mean trouble like the Ministry hasn't had to cope with for nearly fourteen years," said Sirius bitterly. "Fudge just can't bring himself to face it. It's so much more comfortable to convince himself that Dumbledore's lying to destabilize him."

"You see the problem," said Remus. "While the Ministry insists there is nothing to fear from Voldemort it's hard to convince people he's back, especially as they really don't want to believe it in the first place. What's more, the Ministry's leaning heavily on the Daily Prophet not to report any of what they're calling Dumbledore's rumor-mongering, so most of the wizarding community are completely unaware anything's happened, and that makes them easy targets for the death eaters if they're using the Imperius Curse."

Sirius watched Harry carefully as his godson processed this information. "They're idiots, Harry," he said after a moment of silence. "The Order is doing everything in its power to convince the people that they can but most of us aren't really in the position to do that."

Harry looked down at his plate, hands clenched into fists, "Well," he said finally, face white. "They'll see how wrong they are when they all wind up dead." With that he shoved his food away, stood from the table, and stormed off.

Remus cleared his throat after a moment of awkward silence, "He took that better than I expected," he said, falsely light, though his face looked uneasy.

"Be glad he didn't start shouting at you," said Ron bleakly. "He really dug into Hermione and me yesterday."

"He's been through a lot," Sirius snapped defensively. He stood without second thought and went after his godson, scared that the kid would attempt to leave again. He wasn't going to let the boy sink into isolation, as Remus had said, and he wasn't going to let Harry think he had to handle this alone.

Sirius stared at the worn wood of the oak door. Dark brown swirls spun across the grain in random patters, sinking into shallow dents from ages of being banged about. Yellow spots of light dotted the walls of the hall, flickering and wavering.

"Harry?"

The rapping of his knuckles loudly on the doorframe echoed down the hall, rupturing the quiet. No answer.

He pushed open the door and carefully leaned his head in. The room was empty. The ragged window drapes stirred gently as a cool breeze ruffled them and scattered into room. If it weren't the rumpled sheets on the two beds and the trunks gaping open in a corner, he never would have suspected that it was occupied, for it possessed the stale air of loneliness. The room stared blankly back at him.

It was just like that kid to go running off to some isolated corner of the house. Sirius knew as well or maybe even more than anyone what type of companion solitude could be—a lousy one. This was not the time for Harry to be alone. Even if they both just sat there and Harry said nothing, it was better than the alternative. He figured Harry would not have gone far. No matter how stubborn the boy was, his side was still providing him a nuisance and he seemed to tire quickly from the pain of it.

Sirius froze suddenly with his hand on the large brass doorknob of the library. No, Harry wasn't a fool, he would not have left the house. He knew better. At least, Sirius hoped the kid did, Sirius reasoned as he glanced briefly around the book ward.

Again, no one.

Sirius shut the door a little harder than necessary and decided to check the small storage area just off the hall. He slowly entered the untouched room and narrowed his eyes, squinting into the shadows. There was a solitary figure sitting motionless on the boxes in the corner by the boarded-up window, forearms rested on his knees, head bowed, and staring at an imaginary point somewhere between his feet. In the slices of yellow light that radiated through jagged cracks between crude shutters, he could see dust motes hanging in the still, stagnant air. It was as if time was holding its breath, waiting for something to kick-start it back into its measured respirations.

Sirius nervously brushed a cobweb from his face and froze, staring completely transfixed. He inhaled a sharp breath. The resemblance was disturbingly uncanny. It was the same profile, the slim build, the same thin face…ever since that day when he had seen Harry on Magnolia, he knew the resemblance was striking and on a number of occasions he had caught himself staring at Harry when the kid wasn't looking and, as always, found himself unwillingly propelled into the past. But it was easy to distinguish them, for Harry had a slightly milder disposition and completely different mannerisms. Although they both had the same sheepish grin and knack for trouble, Harry had Lily's eyes and fierce loyalty, and a laugh that was all his own. But in this one moment, Sirius was staring at James sitting before him in this dusty storage room.

Sirius shook his head. No, this wasn't James. He had to stop thinking like that. This was Harry. He blinked and it was as if the image before him focused suddenly. He felt as if he had stepped out of a dream. No, James had never been this quiet and never would have been caught dead sitting alone in a dark room. James, who had exuded an air of enthusiastic recklessness and had a habit of turning everything into a joke or a challenge, who would have left this dreary house just to see if he could.

This was Harry—Harry with the serious eyes and solemn face. This was the teenage who wasn't like his father at all. This was a teenager who wouldn't leave this house because he understood; he knew what responsibility was.

This made Sirius feel inexplicably sad.

As Sirius stepped into the gray-darkness, Harry's shoulders shifted slightly. Sirius knew the kid was listening to his footsteps, trying to ascertain who was approaching.

"It's me," said Sirius, relieved that Harry wasn't trying to leave again.

"I know," his voice was tired.

Sirius slowly eased down on the box next to Harry and waited for him to direct the conversation—if there was going to be one. Sirius could hardly imagine what thoughts might be twisting around in his head.

"All right, there?"

Harry said nothing. He turned his head away from Sirius and went back to staring into nothing. Sirius sat quietly for several moments, unsure of how to proceed. A voice in his head told him to just leave Harry be, but a quiet urging in his gut told him to stay, to see if his godson would say anything, or do anything or just remain in silence.

Harry seemed intent on that direction and he didn't utter a single word for what seemed like a long time. Sirius sat patiently with his godson, and there was this spot in his chest that hurt for Harry. He wished the boy would say something, anything so that Sirius could figure out how best to help him. Several times, he opened his mouth to speak but closed his lips firmly each time. What words would seem acceptable to say? Would he sound like he was nagging instead of loving? Would it be insensitive if he seemed to assume what Harry was feeling? Would Sirius just come across as just one more adult to fail in Harry's life?

Then suddenly: "I'm sorry."

Sirius was taken aback by the unanticipated apology, "What for?" he implored, baffled.

"For me," Harry answered simply, like it was obvious, "That I keep losing my temper—that I keep acting like-like—" his voice fell away.

"It's not you who should be sorry," Sirius reprimanded, barely managing to not clench his teeth.

Harry sighed, a sound that was like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

For several moments, there was nothing but silence stretching between them. It took a good minute before Sirius realized that Harry wasn't going to continue speaking anytime soon—if at all, so he decided to redirect the conversation.

"Look, Harry, I can't pretend to know what you're feeling, but I want you to understand that you can talk to me about anything—the things that happened over in this other world…or…even about your life with…with the Dursleys..."

Harry said nothing, though he had gone very still and tense.

Sirius drew in a steadying breath, "Your side…was that Voldemort or-or was that Dursley?"

Again, Harry said nothing.

Sirius gave up. He slumped forward onto his elbows, dragging his hands down the side of his face. What was he supposed to do when everything he tried fell short like a faulty fuse? Harry had so many walls up it was impossible to break through. The boy seemed to have carefully built his protection brick by unbreakable brick—while his goal had been to keep people out for his own protection, he also succeeded in keeping his own self locked in, and Sirius simply could not find the key.

"Harry, please—you have to give me something here, mate—I'm drowning here."

"Sirius, just stop," Harry said forcefully, his face in a dark scowl. "Why do you people keep pushing things on me? Why do you keep trying to make me talk about things that I don't want to talk about?" he demanded in a splutter. His voice echoed in the room.

"Harry—"

"No, Sirius!" Harry interrupted, his hands balled into fists. "Why can't you lot just leave me alone! I'm good at being alone! Just—just leave me alone…" as sudden as his burst of temperament was, a strange calmness came over Harry next and he slumped back, his head bowed, as though he had given up.

Sirius twisted his body to fully face his godson, disturbed by Harry's little speech. He grabbed Harry by the shoulder, forcing him to look up, "Don't say that," he said firmly. "You don't have to be alone. You have Hermione and Ron and the rest of the endless Weasley clan. You have Remus. And you have me. I will never, ever leave you alone."

Harry pulled away and looked backed down, studying his hands, black wisps of hair falling over his eyes. He scraped the toe of his trainer over a scratch on the floor.

"The cottage was overrun with death eaters when I left," Harry said quietly. His statement came out of nowhere. Sirius looked at him, automatically going very still. His godson hadn't opened up about anything that had gone on in this parallel universe since his emotional outburst. This was what he had been hoping for, but he was afraid that if he made any sudden movements or made any stupid comments, it would shut Harry down again.

But when Harry offered nothing else to follow up this response, Sirius swallowed hard, "The cottage where your parents—"

"They were not my parents," Harry's voice was like a whip lash. His body immediately tensed up like a wire.

Damn, Sirius mentally kicked himself, sure the kid was making to flee. But to his surprise, Harry just sat there, fists clenched, looking like the anger on his face was only a defense.

Sirius averted his eyes, doing his best to hide how he was feeling as well. What he had garnered from the situation from the one conversation they had had on the subject, Sirius was ready to transport himself to this damned place and give this so called 'James' a good few punches about the jaw—at the very least. The couple years he had known Harry, he had never seen Harry display such raw and unhindered emotion. It had shocked Sirius and even scared him to see Harry so stripped down to the core. It enraged Sirius, knowing that these people in this other world had managed to destroy Harry more completely than Voldemort had managed in the last four years. He could quite literally kill them.

Harry's steam ran out quite fast. He splayed out his fingers, looking exhausted, and as though the world had taken everything he had and now there was nothing left. "We were under attack," Harry said raggedly. "I saw Willow fall—"

"Willow?" Sirius questioned cautiously.

This didn't trigger Harry's emotions. If anything, he just looked more tired, "The sister."

"Ah…" Sirius didn't know how to respond to that.

"She fell from a cliff—we were ambushed by two death eaters—I lost control of my magic—"

Sirius felt Harry shudder beside him. He wanted to put an arm about his godson in a gesture of comfort, but he couldn't make himself move. He was never good with this sort of thing.

"I blasted her off and killed her," Harry dropped his head into his hands as, looking like the words emptied him clean out. "I killed her."

Sirius remained silent and stared unseeing at the rain drops sprinting down the pane of the only window that wasn't boarded. This news rattled him. What magic was Harry talking about? What words could he offer him to somehow ease the palpable guilt rolling off him.

Sirius leaned forward on his elbows; his right knee was bouncing, "I blamed myself for your parents' death," he said after a moment. His heart was beating rather harshly. He wasn't good with this 'baring-of-one's-soul' thing. "To be honest, I still do most days—"

"Was it your magic that killed them?" Harry interrupted harshly, pulling his head from his hands.

"No, but—"

"Then it wasn't your fault," Harry said through clenched teeth. "It was my magic that knocked Willow off that cliff. It was my fault!" Harry's voice came out more strangled with each word he spoke and Sirius didn't know what to think. "I don't-I don't blame James for wanting me gone—I understand—everywhere I go people die….but I hate him. I hate him so much. I want to make him hurt because-because…" Harry was unable to finish that sentence. He suddenly rubbed furiously at his eyes, turning away from Sirius so he could hide his face.

Sirius said nothing, his burrow furrowed as he frantically cast about for something to say. What should one say to that? 'It will work out in the end'? 'Things were supposed to happen this way'? It all sounded like bullshit in Sirius' head so he decided not to even venture towards a comment of that sort. He then thought back to the times he was struggling with his home life and he realized suddenly that it wasn't the words of wisdom that James tried to impart upon him, but his willingness to sit and listen without trying to say anything to make Sirius feel better. James let Sirius rant, he let him spill his guts without saying something stupid in comfort.

Maybe that was what Harry needed from him at this moment. Not tidbits of wisdom or advice but just a nonjudgmental ear. So Sirius sat and waited patiently, hoping he was doing the right thing.

"It's my fault," Harry said. "I let myself believe they wanted me around, and then they tossed me aside like I was nothing, and if I hadn't had let them in in the first place—I wouldn't be like this right now. I'm such an idiot."

Sirius definitely couldn't keep his mouth shut on this, no matter his earlier thought, "You're not an idiot, Harry," he admonished flatly. "Wanting someone that wants you is not some foreign concept. Everyone wants to feel that connection. I promise that there is not a single person on this planet—magical or muggle—that can go through this hell of a thing called life alone. It's not possible. Believe me, I tried. Remus tried, as well. Just ask him."

Harry seemed to think on this. "It scares me to tell you all this," he said after several minutes. His voice quavered and Sirius knew that it was a hard thing for Harry to admit.

"Why?" Sirius said quietly.

Harry flexed his fingers, appearing anxious, "You're just going to leave me someday—like everyone else does."

Harry's struggle with abandonment was suddenly painfully obvious in that moment. He didn't even know that Harry battled with something like that. Sirius didn't respond for a moment. He was hurting for Harry, but was not surprised by this rather blunt statement. "I'm not ever going to leave you, Harry—by choice, at least," he said rather lamely, even while knowing Harry wouldn't accept it.

He was right, for Harry had begun shaking his head before Sirius had even finished his proclamation. Harry leaned over and picked at some loose wood splinters sticking out from the floor. "I should be used to it by now," he muttered. "All my life everyone has treated me like I was this sort of leftover or whatever. I'm an outsider."

Sirius could understand that. He straightened up and stretched his arms above his head until his back cracked. "What about Ron and Hermione?" he asked after he let his arms flop back down. "I'm sure they don't treat you like that. If anything, you three might as well be permanently stuck together as much as you spend time together."

Harry cracked the faintest of smiles. It faded quickly though. He leaned forward suddenly, his eyes fixated on the wall in front of them. "I thought…I thought he wanted me around…" Harry whispered so softly, Sirius had to strain to hear. "I thought he…he lov—what is wrong with me?"

"Nothing's wrong with you, Harry," Sirius said immediately, clenching his hands convulsively. Harry sounded so hollow and lost and Sirius was furious and perplexed. What could he say to his godson that wouldn't sound just stupid and shallow?

Harry looked at Sirius, his eyes glittering like emeralds even in the muted gray of the room, "Then why do these things keep happening to me?"

Sirius grimaced and hesitated, "I don't know, Harry," he admitted quietly. "I wish I had an answer for you—but I don't… Look, Harry, I've always thought that you should never get too attached to anyone unless they also feel the same towards you, because one sided expectations can mentally destroy you."

Harry brow furrowed slightly, his eyes tight, "How do you know if they feel the same as you do, then?" he said after a beat.

"You don't ever. Not really."

Harry looked at Sirius without answer, his jaw clenched very tightly. Sirius watched the emotions play out across his godson's face; first disappointment, then pain, followed quickly by betrayal, and then finally settling on a blank look of impassivity. It was this that look that disturbed Sirius. He second-guessed saying that last bitter bit to Harry. He didn't want the kid to lock himself from the world, though Sirius had been guilty of doing that himself before.

Struck by an idea, Sirius clapped a hand on the boy's shoulder, "I know just the thing that'll cheer you up! Come on, mate," he said with a semi-forced grin. "I was going to wait but screw it—I've got a surprise for you—a few surprises actually."

Harry immediately looked wary. He didn't move when Sirius stood up. "Surprise?" he echoed.

"That's what I said," Sirius held out a hand. "Come now, or I'll throw you over my shoulder."

Harry pressed his lips together, but took Sirius' proffered hand. Sirius didn't miss the grimace of pain that flashed across his godson's face, and Sirius immediately took up Harry's other arm and hauled the boy effortlessly to his feet. "Sorry," Sirius said. "Forgot about your side. All right there? Does the bandage need changed?"

Harry only frowned deeply, a hand pressed to his ribs, "It's fine," he said.

Sirius eyed him, "You've said that words so many times these past few days, it doesn't even sound like a word anymore."

Sirius was granted with the hint of a smile. Feeling slightly lighter, Sirius led Harry up the staircase to the floor his own bedroom was on. He passed by his door, though, and stopped by the one right after it. He hesitated opening it, "This was my brother's room," he started.

Harry was surprised, "You have a brother?"

"Had," corrected Sirius wryly. "But it's no matter. I dumped all his stuff into a spare room."

He could tell Harry was curious to hear more about Regulus, but the kid said nothing to press it, to which Sirius was grateful—he didn't want to ruin this moment for either of them. "Go ahead," he said. "Open the door."

Looking tremendously suspicious, Harry didn't move at first, but when Sirius cleared his throat rather loudly, Harry sighed and twisted the door knob. He nudged the door open with his toe and slowly stepped inside. He turned back to Sirius, looking confused, "What are you trying to show me?"

Sirius grinned and gestured around them, "This is your bedroom."

Harry blinked fast, apparently unable to comprehend this. He stepped deeper into the room and stood rooted in the center as he took in his surroundings. Sirius continued to beam proudly. He had taken out all the Slytherin and pureblood paraphernalia and in its place, he had fitted the high-posted bed with deep red blankets and plump pillows. There was a functional desk in one corner with a bookshelf on either side of it. A beige, braided rug provided warmth in the center of the room and Sirius had hung deep burnt-gold colored drapes over the window. He wasn't sure of the kid's favorite colors, or of the decoration he preferred but Sirius figured that could all be changed and adjusted.

"Well?" Sirius prompted. "What do you think?"

Harry didn't respond.

A tinge of nervousness bubbled up in his gut. Sirius ran a hand though his hair and let out an awkward laugh, "I know it's rather plain and you can change whatever you want. This is just a basis, you know? I wanted you to have your own place—something to call your own whenever you stayed with me—at least until I'm able to finally abandon this hell-hole."

Again, Harry didn't utter a thing.

"Come now, Harry," Sirius urged, scratching the top of his head. "Give your godfather a word or two—let me know I did the right thing."

Harry didn't look at Sirius. He cursorily played with a bit of the drapery. "I don't know," he said finally. "Dumbledore says it's safest with my aunt and uncle."

Sirius was stunned; he gaped at the kid, "If you really think I'd let you go back there—!"

Harry merely shrugged and let the curtains fall from his fingertips, "It's all right, then," he said. "I guess."

"You guess?" asked Sirius, baffled and offended. "I think it's a fair bit of an improvement over that damn cupboards of yours, yeah?"

Sirius immediately regretted saying that last comment, for Harry whirled around with a high flush on his cheeks, his eyes suddenly spitting poison darts, "Who told you about that?" he demanded in a vicious, strangled sort of voice.

Sirius was shocked into silence for a moment and he scrambled for his thoughts. He had no way expected this type of response. Feeling hurt and defensive, he said, "It doesn't matter who told me—I think the real question is, why didn't you?"

"Because it doesn't matter!" Harry said, flinging his hand out in a wild gesture. "None of this matters! Is that why you did this? Because of pity? Because you think I'm some abused little boy?"

"What is going on with you?" Sirius could barely keep his voice level, though it was a real struggle. "I was only trying to make you cheer up!"

Harry let out a harsh laugh, "Is that what you want? For me to be cheerful and happy or whatever?"

Sirius felt anger ripple through him, "You're acting like a bit of arse, you know?"

Harry's green eyes were like razors, "I don't care what you think! I don't care about any of this! I don't want your pity! I just want to be left alone!"

"Well, that's just too bad, then isn't it!?" Sirius said angrily, rising to his full height, "because that's not going to happen anytime soon! I'm not going anywhere!"

Harry balled his fists, looking ready to physically fight. He swelled up with a mighty rage, and his words came in ragged bursts, "You think you know me—you think you have an idea—that I can just—that this is just—YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!"

"THEN MAKE ME UNDERSTAND, HARRY!" Sirius shouted back, unable to hold back his temper any longer.

"DON'T YOU GET IT, SIRIUS!?" Harry bellowed, his face splotched red. "DON'T YOU GET IT!? People—people around me DIE! They all just-die die!" With that, Harry took up a defense book Sirius had set out for him as a gift and hurtled it across the room, where it struck the lamp on the desk with an almighty crash. The candle flickered and then was snuffed out. "You have to stay away from me—I can't—I'm danger—I have too much—I killed four people that day I came back, Sirius—I killed them!"

"Harry—" Sirius stood stock-still, aghast by Harry's shocking words. His anger fell away. "What—what are you—?"

Harry's chest was heaving with great gasps, "My magic—it's out of control—I can't—I don't— I killed four people."

Sirius still hadn't moved, eyes wide, trying to process this. He stared at his godson, waiting for some sort of elaboration.

Harry's eyes flitted all around the room as though looking for anything at all that could offer him an escape. He didn't look at Sirius. His temper seemed to have seeped from him. His entire body had deflated and he stood there, defeated and downcast. When he spoke, his words came out broken, "McNair and Willow were an accident," he said in a faint, strangled voice. Sirius had to take a step forward so he could hear the kid properly. Harry drew in several halting breaths. "I didn't mean to…but Faltener…I…I shoved him off a cliff—he was attacking me and Willow—they were going to do…things to her—it was just reflex—and then…then later this-this man was about to kill James and I don't even know what happened—I just didn't—I couldn't watch—but I raised my wand and this magic came out—and it killed that death eater—it was all such a blur—I didn't even hesitate…I'm-I'm a murderer…"

Harry released a series of great, shuddering gasps that shook his thin frame. He wasn't crying, though, but looking to be doing everything within his power to hold back his emotions, his pain, his fear, his guilt— Sirius stared wide-eyed at his godson, wishing he could reach out and pull the boy into a tight hug and shield him from all the horrible things life seemed to throw at him. He couldn't move, though. What should he say to such a confession? Don't worry about it—they were just death eaters? It'll be all right? You'll get over it? That things always work out for the better? Or that everything happens for a reason? What reason was there for child to be the center of a bloody war? He didn't fault Harry what-so-ever—however Sirius, himself, didn't make his first conscious kill until he was twenty. Harry was fifteen—still way too young to face such a traumatic and life-altering experience. What was the reason for all of this?

But that was the point. There was no reason—just Voldemort's absolute insanity.

"This is war, Harry," Sirius whispered hoarsely after what seemed like forever. "There will be times when it's either kill or be killed. Death eaters aren't known for their mercy—you saved Willow from a horrific fate—and you also saved your own life. And then to top it all off, you saved James' life. And you know what, Harry? There's a difference between murder and defense. You didn't set out to kill those people, did you?"

Harry shook his head minutely, "But-but in the end I lost control of my magic and Willow ended up being killed anyway."

"She died, yes," Sirius said slowly, trying to figure how best to respond to Harry. "But…but from what you just told me, you saved her from something much worse—what those men would've done to that girl…"

Harry looked down at the floor and took a quick swipe at his cheek with the back of his hand.

"I'm sorry that you have to face this at your age, and I'm not going to lie—it's a pretty awful feeling that's going to last a while, but you don't have to face this alone, all right? Pushing people away—being a martyr or whatever you're trying to do—it won't work and is just frustrating for those involved."

Harry kept his eyes away from Sirius', "What do I do, then?"

Sirius drew in a deep breath, "Forgive yourself and let others decided for themselves if they want to stick around or not. That's all you can do. The rest will come with time. You will have days where you feel better, and you will have days where you feel as though you're stuck in some hell of a black hole. Both are okay. There is no magical cure. You just need to trust the waves will pass and soon you'll be able to breathe again."

Harry ran his hands through his hair.

"Look, kid," Sirius scratched his arm. "It all feels like complete shit—I know—but if it didn't feel like that, I think you'd have a bigger problem."

Again, Harry took a vicious rub at his cheeks, letting out a quiet sniff, "I feel so stupid," he muttered.

"Why?"

The kid shrugged weakly, "Dunno. Just do."

"I don't think you're stupid, Harry," Sirius said lamely.

Harry didn't respond, didn't even crack a smile.

"Well, it's got to be something," Sirius prodded after a few long moments, glancing at his godson out of the corner of his eye. "People don't feel stupid for no reason."

Harry picked at the knee of his jeans, "I dunno," he repeated. "Nothing. Everything. I'm just done with it all. I'm just tired."

Sirius looked out the window, watching the faint hints of sun slowly dimming behind more clouds of steel gray. He looked back at Harry to see that the kid had dropped his head

back against a box behind him. Sirius swallowed hard, wishing with everything in the world that he didn't feel so useless. Did Harry feel too pressured? Was Sirius overwhelming his godson with hollow words? Did he feel pestered instead of loved? Sirius felt frustrated that he couldn't be what Harry needed and he ran a hand through his messy hair.

Harry glanced at Sirius then averted his eyes; he flexed his fingers, "I don't know if I can do this anymore," he said in a voice that was barely a whisper.

In front of them, out the window, the faint sunlight seemed too weak to bear the weight of these words and quietly bowed behind swelling storm clouds. Rain once again began to pitter-patter against the window pane.

Sirius watched his godson intently, struggling with the words to say. Harry's anguish was like a living thing, crawling across the space separating them, tearing at Sirius. The man waited, hoping Harry would feel safe enough, cared for enough to speak whatever weight of words that were bearing down upon him. After the silence stretched for what seemed like infinity, Sirius rose from his spot, hesitated for a moment or two, then he took a deep breath and crouched down in front of Harry; he looked up into his godson's face.

"You are not a horrible person," Sirius said quietly. "Trust me when I say this. I spent thirteen years in Azkaban surrounding by people who laugh at the thought of taking another's life. You are nothing like them, you hear me?"

Harry nodded ever so faintly.

"And I know that the adults in your life have been nothing but shit—from those fucking Durselys to…to me, I promise you that things will change, starting right now. You are never going back there. I will be by your side until you are utterly and completely sick of me."

Sirius reached up and, for the first time, Harry reached down to Sirius.

Sirius had never been good at comforting people. It had always been Remus or Lily who was the shoulder to lean on, so it slightly shocked him that Harry accepted the comfort when he had never seen the kid initiate something as affectionate as this. Even when Molly hugged him, he had always stood there without returning the gesture, looking as though he wasn't sure how to respond.

Sirius felt as though had finally punched through one of the bricks making up Harry's defensive wall and was able to peer through the hole and catch of glimpse of Harry's life. Maybe this was the first step—maybe it would only go brick by brick, but Sirius knew for sure that one day Harry might just be all right—not exactly whole, but healed and living instead of just surviving.

At least he hoped.

Harry was the first to pull back. He was embarrassed and his cheeks were red; he muttered, "Thanks."

"Don't thank me," Sirius said. "It's what I get paid to do."

Harry quietly snorted and gave his face one last scrub.

Sirius stood and slowly straightened, his back popping as he did so. He studied his godson for a moment, pondering whether to continue questioning Harry or to leave things as they were for now.

"Why are you staring at me?" Harry said, frowning.

"Thinking," said Sirius.

Harry eyed him, "What about?"

Sirius went for it, "This magic you keep mentioning. Want to tell me more about it?"

Harry instantly made a sour face and gave Sirius a half-shrug, "I don't know what to say, really," he muttered, appearing self-conscious. "I don't say a spell or anything and it only happens randomly."

"How randomly?" asked Sirius, still standing.

Again, Harry shrugged, "Just when I'm feeling stuff, I guess."

"Feeling stuff?" Sirius quirked an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Harry nervously rubbed the back of his head. "Like when I'm angry or scared or something."

"Hm," Sirius frowned, contemplating this. "I'd say it's just an excess of built up magic, but that's usually seen only in young kids who haven't had any training in control, not in someone your age."

"So, what is it, then?" Harry's voice had a hint of an edge to it.

Sirius scrutinized Harry, brows furrowed, unsure of how to proceed. This was definitely something Dumbledore should be brought into, but he didn't want to put more onto Harry's emotional plate than he already had. Frowning, he brushed back his hair, "It was probably just some out of control accidental magic—magic has a way of looking out for it's person during times of high stress."

Harry look unconvinced, "But you just said that's only in kids. I'm not a kid."

"Of course you're not," Sirius placated distantly.

"Yeah, but Harry said that it's just magic that I haven't learned to control yet."

Sirius stared at Harry, instantly concerned that his godson was suddenly talking in third person. "Say again?"

Harry stilled momentarily, as though caught saying something that he hadn't meant to say. Then a resigned look came over him, "Not me," he said with a huff. "The other Harry. The older one."

"Older one?" Sirius echoed, stunned. "There was another one of you there, as well?"

"Yeah…yeah, another one…" Harry's expression had grown stony. "He was four or five years older than me."

This information sent Sirius inwardly reeling. He had a thousand questions burning on the tip of his tongue but the expression on Harry's face halted him. "Huh," he breathed out an uneasy breath, attempting to press back the barrage of thoughts bouncing about in his head. "Sounds barking, if you ask me."

Harry said nothing.

Sirius, buying a moment or two to gather his thoughts, grabbed a random book and flipped through it nervously, "I have another surprise for you, if you recall—I said I had a couple."

Harry looked at Sirius with narrowed eyes, looking disgruntled, "What is it this time?"

Sirius tossed the book back down and decided to just rip off the bandage, so to speak, "Remus, Snape, and I found Peter."

Harry blinked as he processed this information, looking confused for a brief moment. Then it seemed to suddenly strike him, "You mean—Peter Pettigrew—does that mean…?"

"Not quite," Sirius said with a wry smile, feeling significantly lighter now that he had finally divulged this information to Harry. "With a lot of string pulling by Dumbledore, I'm due for a trial next week."

Harry's face went from disbelief, to shock, to excitement, then to horror—all in the matter of a few seconds— "But—but that means—that means that they haven't cleared you yet! They could send you back to Azkaban!"

Sirius sighed, his heart pounding a little harder than normal, but he didn't want Harry to know that he was scared of that same prospect, "That is a risk—but Dumbledore believes it to be minor one, especially now that we have Peter alive and kicking for a bit of solid evidence."

Harry was gaping, his eyes as wide as marbles, "You can't go back, Sirius!" he blurted. "I don't-you can't—I don't know what I'd—"

"Relax, Harry," Sirius interrupted Harry's ragged stream of words. "That's not going to happen—there's overwhelming evidence on my side this time, and if I'm free, Harry, I can get out of this damned house and you could come live with me. We could be a proper family—well, as proper as it could get with a couple misfits like us."

Harry ran both his hands down his face, giving himself a rather ghastly appearance, "If you get sent back—or—or kissed—I'll never forgive you."

Sirius nearly laughed until he realized how dead serious his godson was. He cleared his throat, "All right, then. Deal."

Harry looked away from Sirius and stared out the window.

"Hey, kid," Sirius said after a moment of quiet. "Let's go downstairs and finish our breakfast."

"I'll stay," Harry muttered.

Sirius inwardly sighed and slowly stood to his feet, "Harry, hiding is not going to solve anything."

Harry shrugged.

"Fine, then. Just for a bit, though."

Harry give a slight nod.

Sirius paused at the door and looked around at Harry, "Can I just ask one last question?"

Harry didn't look at him, "Yeah, ok."

"Was there…was there a Sirius over in that other world?"

Harry glanced up, "Yeah," he answered. "But he was a complete arse."

Sirius raised his brows, surprised by this, "What for?"

"He hated me and didn't bother to hid it."

Sirius felt a surge of disbelief and righteous anger, "What the hell for?"

Harry said nothing. He stared at the floor, looking as though he wasn't going to answer.

"Harry?" said Sirius in hesitation.

Harry looked up and he focused for a millisecond. Briefly, his startling eyes seemed to darken and Sirius suddenly felt an odd tingling sensation danced down his spine.

"No reason," he said after a beat, his face expressionless. "The bloke was just an arse."

Sirius wondered if Harry was lying. He stared at his godson for one long moment but Harry turned away and Sirius decided to leave him be. He shut the door and leaned against it for a moment, trying to still his racing mind. There was going to be hell to pay. Someway, somehow, he will make those people pay for what they did. His own personal guilt, however, was like acid within him.

He didn't move, thinking, for the millionth time of that horrid night on Hallow's Eve when he had frantically dug through the rubble of Godric's Hollow, praying, sobbing, begging any sort of god he could think of that at least little, baby Harry had made it out alive. He had seen James' body sprawled, eyes empty, on the staircase, and Lily was only feet away—it seemed impossible that Harry had survived.

The baby had been overseen by providence, it seemed, for the overturned baby bed had provided shelter from the collapsing roof and as Sirius crawled over the broken boards, avoiding looking at Lily's sprawled, lifeless body, he couldn't remember breathing as he reached out to the still body of baby Harry, his hands shaking, his eyes filling with horrified tears when he saw the blood snaking down from between the baby's closed eyes. He was so sure that Voldemort had crushed the little life from the little thing.

But the baby was breathing, the baby was alive, and it's tiny chest heaved laboriously and it's little heart fluttered madly against Sirius' hand. His godfather's touch must have broken the baby boy from his shock. His body, as little as it was, gave a mighty shudder and a heart-piercing cry broke the night's somber silence. Sirius had gathered the child in his arms, protecting him from the elements and from the world, weeping for what he had lost and weeping for what had been spared.

"You're safe, little Harry," he had whispered. "No one will ever hurt you again."

But Sirius had lied, for the moment he had let Hagrid pull the baby out of his arms, Sirius had set himself up for failure as he went to seek revenge from the one who had brought his whole world crashing down at his feet. If he would've fought for baby Harry, it would've prevented so many bad things and Sirius now realized the extent of his errors in glaring hindsight. He realized that Harry might never fully recover from his relatives and from Voldemort. Whoever really does?

I've failed the one thing you asked me to do, James, He thought and he waited, but he heard no answering disagreement. There was only silence.

Harry never did come downstairs that day. Several times, Sirius went upstairs and meant to knock but for some inexplicable reason he didn't. Finally, when dinner passed and the moon had risen, and Remus had given him the fourteenth look of prodding, Sirius went upstairs. He counted to ten before knocking on Harry's new bedroom door.

There was no answer.

He knocked again and again there came no answer.

He turned uneasily away from the door, unsure of what to do, but not wanting Harry to think he was bothering him.

There was an urge within him to turn back around and open Harry's bedroom door. Something within him told him to not leave the kid alone. Not like this. But when he stood there, with Harry ignoring the sound of the reopening door, he found he couldn't speak. He stared at Harry's back, wanting to say something to his charge, to reassure him somehow…but what could he say that would offer hope to this shattered kid. That was just it. No words, no actions that could mend the hurt that had been dealt to Harry. And Sirius felt so helpless against that. He hoped though, that somehow, someway, Harry would find closure.

Then Sirius second guessed his thought. Could there ever be any sort of closure to this kind of hurt. Could Harry ever really heal? Did his wounds go too deep? Sirius suddenly felt as though Harry would spend his entire life trying to healing from the rejection of his 'parents'. Sirius felt his hands close into tight fists and he glared at the wall, teeth clenched so hard his jaw was starting to hurt.

"I don't want to go downstairs, Sirius," Harry's voice suddenly broke through Sirius' dark thoughts.

Sirius' eyes snapped back to Harry, who had turned to face Sirius, his face empty and his eyes distant.

"Well, I don't want you alone so much," Sirius said.

Harry said nothing in response.

"Come on downstairs for bit and at least eat something."

Harry shook his head, adamant.

Sirius sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "That's it—put a jumper on—and I won't let you say no."

Harry looked startled, "Huh? Why?"

"Just do it."

Harry eyed him but stood and opened a knapsack, "We're not going outside of the house, are we?"

"Not technically."

Harry pulled a navy-blue hoodie over his head and Sirius frowned, "Is that new?"

Harry looked down at himself, "Why?"

"Just wondering—I've never seen you wear something that actually fit you besides your school uniform."

A dark expression passed over the kid's face, but he gave no response. Still frowning, Sirius gestured for Harry to follow him and Sirius helped him up two flights of stairs and pointed out a narrow doorway at the end of the hall that led up to the attic.

"In here—quickly, before someone sees us."

And Sirius eased the door open, stepping into the cloud of darkness. Goosebumps tightened his skin. A flood of light tailed their entrance. The door swung open the rest of the way, puffing out a cloud of dust.

"Where're you taking me?" Harry asked in an out of breath voice.

"You'll see," said Sirius. They entered the dusty space and Sirius kept a hand under his godson's arm. "Don't touch anything unless I say it's alright," he warned. "We haven't cleaned out this space yet."

Harry said nothing in response but looked around the small room. The dimly lit place was cluttered with large bureaus, more dusty boxes, and tilting, ancient desks. The dusky light from the doorway barely penetrated the blackness.

Sirius felt a brief tightening in his stomach and took in a deep breath. For a moment, he couldn't move.

"Sirius…?" Harry quietly prompted him.

Sirius cleared his throat and it was as if some invisible force took command of his body and Sirius expertly navigated the room, having taken this path many times these past months. He found the box towards the back of the room, not as dusty as the rest of them.

"What is this room?" asked Harry from behind him.

"It was my mother's room for when 'important' people came over," Sirius answered, bending down to lift the box.

"Ah…" Harry didn't sound very thrilled, which Sirius didn't blame him for, since the kid had 'met' her the first day he had been able to walk about. "What do you mean by…important?"

Sirius grinned, hearing the implication in Harry's voice, "Not that sort—more like when ministry officials visited or pureblood enthusiasts."

"Oh…that's better…I guess…" Harry looked curiously at the box in Sirius' arms. "What's that for?"

"The roof."

"The what?"

"Come on," Sirius gestured with his head, "I blasted a hole in this room's roof months ago so I could get some fresh air—don't worry, it's still within the wards but I've been keeping it a secret to avoid nagging from…certain people. There's a ladder in the corner—just don't fall and break your neck."

Harry gave him a barely tolerable sort of look, his similarity to James suddenly so striking, but humored him. He clambered up the ladder with Sirius not far behind him, levitating the box in his wake.

It was cool and misty but Sirius found it refreshing and mind-clearing after being cooped up for so long. Harry crawled up cautiously over beside Sirius, looking over the edge of roof curiously.

"Try not to fall," said Sirius wryly.

Harry rolled his eyes and pulled back from the edge. "What's in the box?" Harry asked once Sirius had settled next to him.

"Look for yourself," Sirius said with a cheeky grin.

Harry eyed him for a split second before being overcome with curiosity. He pulled open the top and looked in, staring at the contents for a long moment. He finally looked up, "What is this stuff?"

"It belonged to your parents," Sirius said quietly. "Just some stuff I managed to save from Godric's Hollow."

The look on Harry's face said more than Sirius knew Harry ever could speak aloud. Harry didn't appear to be breathing. He reached into the box and removed a tattered, slightly blackened book.

"Your mum's journal," Sirius supplied. "She wrote in it all throughout Hogwarts and beyond that, I suppose—it's a little crispy but readable—just wait until you read the things she wrote about James."

A faint smile appeared on Harry's face. He set the book aside very carefully, and reached back into the box and pulled out a rather ragged stuffed animal. "Was this my mum's too?" he asked.

"No," said Sirius. "That was yours."

Harry looked down at the stuffed puppy and fingered it's plaid bow, "This was mine?"

"Yep," said Sirius. "It was actually a gift from yours truly—hence the dog."

"I guess this was mine, too?" he pulled out a stuffed bunny with a missing eye.

"That was Lily's as kid—she passed it down to you."

Harry stared at it for a second longer than put the bunny next to the dog and reached into the box and pulled out a tiny bracelet, "Potter boy?" he read.

"That was how they identified you in the nursey at St. Mungo's. Lily and James argued what to name you until the last minute," Sirius let out a bit of a laugh. "You were this close to being an Alfred."

"Eugh—" Harry made a face. "It's so tiny."

"Well, you were a baby. You were very tiny—James was terrified he was going to break you the first week—Lily had to force him to hold you—you were definitely tougher than you looked."

Harry continued rummaging through the box, pulling out this and that, and Sirius offered a tidbit for each piece, to which Harry seemed to soak up like a sponge. Finally, he pulled out a framed photograph with cracked glass.

"It's a muggle photo," Harry stated, staring down at Lily and James.

"They would put it up whenever Lily's extended family came for a visit."

"They look so young…"

"They were young…" Sirius felt suddenly hollow. "They were barely twenty when they had you."

"Harry's parents were eighteen when they had him," Harry said indifferently, carefully putting everything back into the box. "The other Harry, I mean."

Sirius had trouble thinking of a response, "I can't imagine being that young and having a kid."

"Yeah, well…" Harry shrugged and shut the box.

Sirius watched his godson closely, "I've been thinking, Harry—I know what James said to you hurt, but do you think…well…that perhaps he said those things, not to hurt you, but to make you leave without debate? The house was under attack, you said—but I'm not saying what he did was right…or whatever…"

Harry didn't look at Sirius; he picked at a flap on the box, "Yeah, I've thought about it," he muttered. "I don't know. It's not what he said—it's just, I'm realizing that those who get between me and Voldemort wind up dead, and James understood that—so did the other Sirius; that's why he hated me. It's more that I don't think I'll ever really have a proper family and a normal life."

Sirius eyed him, "What do you perceive as normal?"

Harry shrugged, "Not this, I guess… I would like to think growing up in cupboard and having a dark lord thirst for your death not to be a normally occurring thing."

"Touche," said Sirius.

"Growing up at the Dursley's, they always called me a freak—and they were right," continued Harry, "Even here—in the magic world—I'm different."

Sirius frowned, "You're not a freak—and I don't want to ever hear you refer that to yourself again or I'll knock you on the head. Some of us are given gifts that set us apart and we don't know why."

"I don't want to be set apart," said Harry with a sigh. "I want to be normal."

Sirius rolled his eyes, "Normal is boring, Harry—why'd you want to be that?"

He glanced over at Harry, who had drawn up his knees and was staring up at the sky. Sirius wished Harry would tell him the thoughts in his head. The man didn't want Harry to marinate in his feelings. Fifteen was too young to be bitter and angry at the world. James had never been like this. He had been carefree and youthful, happy and ready to embrace the world and whatever it had to offer.

Sirius sighed and looked out onto the muggle street and watched as a lone man walked his small dog down the cobblestone. Even the breeze that tugged at his clothes felt lonely. He shivered slightly, but despite the mist and the wind, the night was clearing up of storm clouds and was calm. The two of them silently stared at the inky blackness before them, scattered with diamond like stars, both deep in thought. It was peaceful for just a moment on their secluded piece of earth.

Harry drew in a deep breath and pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head, and stuffed his hands deep in the front pocket, letting out another shuddering sigh.

"If you're cold, we can go in," said Sirius.

"I'm fine," he then hesitated a moment, and looked up at the sky, "Can we just sit here for a bit?"

Sirius was surprised into momentarily silence, "Ok," he said. "But I don't want to hear you complain if your bum freezes to the roof."

Harry gave him a look, his face only lit by crescent silver moonlight, though Sirius saw amusement in his eyes.

"Oi, look—a shooting star."

Harry looked to where Sirius was pointing and they sat for a long time staring up at the night sky, pointing out constellations and flashes of falling stars. The night had gotten very cold and there was a crick in Sirius' neck before Harry drew in a very deep breath.

"Want to go in now?"

They climbed back the ladder and Sirius closed the hatch with a wave of his wand. He walked Harry to his bedroom and placed the box on the wood chest. "This is properly yours," he said.

Harry stared at the box for a moment and then back at him, "Thank you," he said after a moment. "For everything."

"Anytime, kid." He ruffled the kid's hair and that night slept in peace.

***Canon Harry, Canon world***

Though Sirius had no trouble falling asleep, back in his new room Harry couldn't shut his mind down. He mulled over the up and down conversation he had with Sirius, thinking about the things he said, didn't say, and probably should've said. Lying there, he didn't feel as though a darkness was dragging at his insides as he had since his return. Perhaps there was something to this talking thing.

Harry rolled on his back and kicked off the heavy covers, staring out the window and out past the glittering stars, the young faces of his father and mother suddenly in his head. He sat up and crawled across the bed and dug into the box Sirius gave him and pulled out his mum's diary, his heart pounding.

Heading off for Hogwarts tomorrow! I'm so excited but I'm scared too—what if I don't fit in? what if I can't make friends or I find out that I'm terrible at magic? I tried to talking to Tuney about it, but she won't listen. I don't understand why she has been acting so awful—we used to have such fun together… Mum and dad are nearly as excited I am. They think it's marvelous to have a witch in the family!

At least I will have Sev to sit with on the train tomorrow so I won't be all alone. He reckons we'll end up in the same House but I'm not sure. I'd at least like to know how they mean to sort us—I hope I don't have to do any spells in front of everyone; it would be awful to mess up with people watching!

I better go before mum catches me still up and gives me a chewing out.

Harry stared at the small journal entry, heart suddenly pounding. He turned the page and continued reading, savoring this tidbit of his mother and taking his time getting to know her. She spoke of the 'brilliant candy' the trolley lady had and the 'mean boys' she met on the train who teased her and Sev. She spoke of the sorting and her classes—which she preferred, which she didn't—she wrote of new friends she made and of 'that obnoxious Potter'.

She made her "g's" the same way he did: He searched through the paragraphs for every one of them, and each felt like a friendly little wave glimpsed from beyond the In-Between. What Sirius had given him was an incredible treasure, proof that Lily Potter had lived, really lived, that her warm hand had once moved across this parchment, tracing ink into these letters, these words.

Impatiently brushing away the wetness in his eyes, turned another page, eager to learn more. It was like listening to a half-remembered voice. When it hurt to keep his eyes open, he shut the book and placed it on the nightstand, pulling up the covers. Closing his eyes, he tried to grasp onto some sort of solid memory, something happy, that he might have of them that didn't have to do with the In-Between. When he finally fell asleep in his dream, he was flying on a broom stick, tossing around a quaffle with his parents but when he looked up as they called his name, where their faces were supposed to be were only clouds and Harry jerked back in surprise and suddenly he was falling…falling and then he was running through a corridor filled with blue flickering lights towards a locked door, and behind him the inferi versions of his parents were once again chasing him, accompanied this time by Sirius. They were laughing.

Harry jolted awake with a gasp, confused and frustrated, his scar tingling. He stared at the ceiling for a second, trying to push away the last images of the dream. He rolled over and was startled to see that Padfoot was lying curled up by his feet. The overlarge dog had raised his head and was staring at Harry, his ears cocked in question.

"Just a dream," Harry whispered to him. "Just a stupid dream."

Padfoot didn't transform back into Sirius. Instead he slowly crawled forward and scooted closer against Harry. Harry distractedly patted the dog on the head a couple times and laid back against the pillow. He fell back asleep to the steady thrumming of Padfoot's heart.

Ron and Hermione were extremely curious about Harry's new room and wanted to look around it after a long day of cleaning. Hermione immediately set about perusing the filled bookshelf while Ron flopped eagle-spread onto the broad, four-poster bed.

"Loads comfier than ours downstairs," Ron proclaimed to the ceiling.

"Did Sirius get you all these books?" Hermione asked.

"Dunno," said Harry. "I think most of them he already had."

Hermione chose one that piqued her interest and dropped to the floor, the book open before she had completely settled. Harry felt slightly awkward in the following silence. He stroked Hedwig for something to do. The owl fluffed her feathers in response, obviously pleased by the attention. He was more at ease than he had been since his return, and Hermione noticed.

"You're looking better, Harry," she commented, eyeing him over the top of her book.

"Yeah," said Harry after a moment. He sat on the edge of the wooden chest, "Sirius and I talked a bit, I guess."

Hermione looked relieved by Harry's calm response, "Oh Harry, that's great!"

Harry shrugged, "Yeah, I suppose."

Hermione didn't go back to reading after he answered. She stared at him, looking torn and on edge. Harry knew that look; she was desperate to question him and to know more than the little he had told them. Harry felt resigned to this and let out an aggravated sigh.

"Just go ahead, then," he said.

Hermione looked startled, "With what?"

"You know what I mean," said Harry with a wave of his hand. "I know you want to ask questions."

Hermione instantly flushed pink. "I—don't—"

"Come off it, Hermione," Harry shot her an annoyed look. "Just ask whatever you want to ask—before you explode and make a mess."

"You're being silly—I don't—"

"We both want to know what it was like," Ron said from the bed. "Stop lying, Hermione. You told me you were fascinated by the whole thing!"

"Ron!" Hermione spouted, looking scandalized. "Not until—not until Harry's ready—I meant –"

"Just ask," Harry said, exasperated now. "I don't care anymore. It's not like I'm going to see them again."

There was a bit of an awkward silence.

"Well…" Hermione began in a flustered voice. "Well…I was just wondering…what…if..um…"

"What was the weirdest thing you saw over there?" Ron cut her off bluntly.

"Ron!"

"What? It's what you were thinking, wasn't it?"

"'s'ok, Hermione—" said Harry in a flat voice. "The whole bit was weird, actually—"

"Yeah, but there had to have been something that was weirdest."

Harry looked over his shoulder at Ron and gave him a look, "There was another Harry there—that was a little twisted, I guess."

Ron sat up fast, "What? You're talking about another geeky midget with glasses?"

"He wasn't a midget and he didn't wear glasses," responded Harry, tossing a pillow at Ron who managed to dodge it with a laugh. "He was four years older—but still Harry Potter, if that's what you meant."

"Bloody hell. Completely barmy if you ask me," Ron said, flabbergasted. "So…was I there?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "Older too, and better looking."

"Funny, Harry," Ron deadpanned while Hermione laughed.

"And me?"

"Older, too," Harry picked at loose lint on the blanket. "She loved books, like you and but she was different."

"How?"

"I'm not sure; she just seemed like she's seen things," Harry thought about the scars on the woman's arm. He wasn't sure why he didn't say anything about it, but it felt wrong to divulge that information.

"What was it like, mate—interacting with basically another you?"

Harry momentarily gritted his teeth and picked at a loose thread on his bedcovers, "Like talking to a particularly rude mirror."

"Sounds like a nice bloke."

A surge of anger and hurt came over Harry that wasn't due to Ron or Hermione. A pierce of pain stabbed into his forehead and he glared at the floor.

"What's wrong, Harry?" Hermione asked, staring at him.

Harry realized he had suddenly clenched his fists, "It's nothing."

"Was it your scar?"

"Happens all the time, now," he muttered.

"You should tell Dumbledore," Hermione implored.

"No," he said, instantly. "He already knowns—says it's normal."

Hermione pressed her lips together in obvious disagreement but said nothing.

Harry routed about for a change of topic and stood up, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Looking at her brought back a memory of a conversation they had when he had first arrived.

"Ron said you risked your soul trying to get me back?" he said suddenly.

Hermione instantly flushed pink and stared resolutely at her book.

"We couldn't manage the spell," said Ron for Hermione with a smirk. "And Lupin caught us—we had to scrub the kitchen for three days without magic! I've never seen Lupin angry before like that—it was terrifying…" Ron shuddered.

"What were you lot doing?" Harry asked, shocked.

"Using dark magic," Hermione said after a split-second, "I was trying to get in contact with you or save you or anything—I didn't actually think it all through...I just wanted to help…"

Harry stared at her, shocked. "You did that for me?"

"Of course," Hermione scoffed haughtily. "You're our friend."

"Yeah, you idiot," Ron said, giving Harry a punch on the shoulder. "You would've done the same for us, right?"

Harry was touched. "Thanks," was the only thing he could manage to say, blinking fast. He redirected the conversation, "So…er…who's all in the Order here?"

"Quite a few people—"

"We've met about twenty of them," said Ron, "but we think there are more."

Harry scuffed his toe on the floor, "What's been happening here with Voldemort?"—both Ron and Hermione winced— "What's he up to? Where is he? What are we doing to stop him?"

"They don't let us in on their meetings," said Hermione nervously. "So, we don't know the details—but we've got a general idea."

"Fred and George have invented Extendable Ears, see," said Ron. "They're really useful."

"Extendable—?"

"Ears, yeah. Only we've had to stop using them lately because Mum found out and went berserk. Fred and George had to hide them all to stop Mum binning them. But we got a good bit of use out of them before Mum realized what was going on. We know some of the Order are following known Death Eaters, keeping tabs on them, you know—"

"Some of them are working on recruiting more people to the Order—" said Hermione.

"And some are standing guard over something," said Ron. "They're always talking about guard duty."

Harry thought he had a good idea of what they were guarding but said nothing in response to them. Hermione and Ron didn't know about the prophecy and he wasn't sure he was ready to tell them anything about it. He began to walk aimlessly around the room, looking anywhere but at Ron and Hermione. "So, what have you two been doing, if you're not allowed in meetings?"

"Cleaning," said Ron in a traumatized voice.

"More like decontaminating this house," Hermione clarified. "It's been empty for ages and stuff's been breeding in here. We've managed to clean out the kitchen, most of the bedrooms and I think we're doing another bedroom in a b—AARGH!"

With two loud cracks, Fred and George, Ron's elder twin brothers, had materialized out of thin air in the middle of the room. Hedwig gave a screech and flew up to the top of the wardrobe in protest.

"Stop doing that!" Hermione said weakly to the twins, who were as vividly red-haired as Ron, though stockier and slightly shorter.

"Hello, Harry," said George, beaming at him. "We thought we'd check out your fancy new room."

"We helped Sirius decorate," said Fred, also beaming.

"You two passed your Apparition tests, then?" asked Harry.

"With distinction," said Fred, who was holding what looked like a piece of very long, flesh-colored string.

"It would have taken you about thirty seconds longer to walk up the stairs," said Ron.

"Time is Galleons, little brother," said Fred. "We're going downstairs to try and hear what's going on."

"You want to be careful," said Ron, staring at the Ear, "if Mum sees one of them again…"

"It's worth the risk, that's a major meeting they're having," said Fred. "Snape is even here."

Harry instantly stilled, "Wait—you said Snape—?"

But the door opened then, and a long mane of red hair appeared.

"Oh, hello, Harry," said Ron's younger sister, Ginny, brightly, "I like your new room."

Turning to Fred and George, she said, "It's a no-go with the Ears, she's gone and put an Imperturbable Charm on the kitchen door."

Fred heaved a deep sigh and George looked crestfallen. "Dammit."

"Snape is here?" Harry said quickly. "Like, here here?"

"No more here than you can get, I guess," George said. "Haven't seen him in a while—but he's back now—giving a report. Top secret."

"Git," said Fred idly.

"He's on our side now," said Hermione reprovingly.

Ron snorted, "Doesn't stop him from being a git. The way he looks at us when he sees us."

Harry turned away, his heart beating wildly, and his hands suddenly feeling clammy.

"Harry?" he heard Ginny say. "All right there?"

Harry whirled back around, eyes wide, "Snape was over there," he blurted.

"Over where?" said Ron, startled.

"In the other world!"

"You mean a different Snape?"

"No!" Harry snapped harshly. "I mean this world's Snape! He was over in the other world! He came to see me while he was there!"

"What the hell was Snape doing over there?" Fred said, shocked.

"I don't know—I think—I think he said Voldemort made him—or whatever—but this means—this means…" Harry turned away again, unable to say what he was thinking aloud. This means there's gotta be a way to go back and forth.

It's not like they'd want you back, though.

"What is it?" asked Hermione cautiously.

"Nothing," Harry said after a second. "It's nothing."

"Well, we're off," said Fred suddenly, "Things to do, people to overhear…"

"See you at dinner!" George waved and with two cracks, they disappeared. Hermione muttered in disapproval and flipped through several pages of the book she was holding without reading it.

The silence was brief and then Ron looked at him, "What did Snape say to you?"

Harry shrugged, "He said I need to learn Occlu—uh—occlumency-whatever."

"Occlumency?"

"I'm not sure what it is…it was a wild night."

"Snape's a git," said Ron with a frown. "Surprised he didn't take you to Voldemort himself—he probably was just being a jerk."

"You know Dumbledore trusts him!" Hermione repeated with a wag of her finger. "And Occlumency is the art of protecting your mind! Dumbledore must think this will help with your scar!"

Harry subconsciously rubbed his scar, his face sour, "I doubt anything could help my scar." He did not want to think about it more than he had to and the thought of Dumbledore made his insides burn with anger. He cast about for another change of subject, but was saved the necessity of finding one by the sound of footsteps. Mrs. Weasley appeared in the doorway.

"The meeting is over, you can come down and have dinner now. I hope you're enjoying your new room, Harry. And who's left all those Dungbombs outside the kitchen door?"

"Crookshanks," said Ginny unblushingly. "He loves playing with them."

"Oh," said Mrs. Weasley. "Don't forget to keep your voices down in the hall. Ginny, your hands are filthy, what have you been doing? Go and wash them before dinner, please, and Harry here's your potion—please drink it all before you come down."

Ginny grimaced at the others and followed her mother out of the room. Ron and Hermione waited for Harry to shoot the vial down. He coughed at the taste and set the vial aside.

"How long do you have to keep taking that," asked Ron.

"Dunno," said Harry.

"It's strange that they can't heal it with magic," Hermione looked worried.

"It's the whole traveling between universes thing, I think," said Harry. "That's what they said back in the other world, at least. I ended up taking a potion that world's Snape made for me that fixed it straight away. Made me high as a seeker in the clouds, though…"

Ron laughed, but Hermione still looked worried.

"Let's go" said Ron, impatiently. "C'mon, I'm starving."

He led the way down the door and they followed him down the two flights of stairs. On the final landing, however, Ron flung out his arm to stop Harry and Hermione from walking any further.

"Hold it," he breathed. "They're still in the hall, we might be able to hear something."

The three of them looked cautiously over the banisters. The gloomy hallway below was packed with witches and wizards. They were whispering excitedly together. In the very center of the group Harry saw the dark, greasy-haired head and prominent nose of his least favorite professor. Harry leant further over the banisters, heart suddenly pounding. He wanted more than anything to question the man—if only somehow he could get Snape alone without anyone noticing so he could asked if he knew the way to travel between worlds…

In that moment, Snape looked up at the three and locked eyes with Harry and Harry found he couldn't look away, couldn't—

And the moment ended. Snape turned away and moved away towards the front door and out of sight.

"Creepy git," Ron muttered. Hermione was watching Harry carefully and he made sure not to meet her eyes, his heart still beating unnecessarily fast.

Mrs. Weasley kept them all working very hard over the next few days, though she made Harry take very frequent breaks to prevent the wound in his side from bleeding. Harry found the cleaning to be therapeutic or, at the very least, a good distraction from any sort of depressing thought. Keeping busy and focusing on each task given to him kept him from thinking about the other world and of Sirius' impending trial coming ever closer.

It was only when Mrs. Weasley forced him to take a break that the things he had been trying to suppress tried to force itself forward again. To keep it all at bay, he took to wandering the house and nosing his way around for anything interesting. He often found Kreacher moping around, muttering foul things under his breath and Harry wondered vaguely if the house elf was following him.

During one of these breaks, Sirius found Harry in the drawing room, studying the family tapestry. His godfather told the brief story of his ancestors to Harry, pointing out the blackened spots of members who had been considered a disgrace.

"I can't believe you're related to Bellatrix Lestrange," Harry said, alarmed by the idea.

"I didn't choose it," Sirius stated harshly. "All pure bloods are related in some way. I didn't ask to be part of the filth."

"I'm sorry—I didn't mean—"

"No, it's ok," Sirius said immediately, perhaps realizing how he sounded.

Harry stayed quiet, studying Bellatrix's name and thinking about what Dumbledore had told him about Neville's parents being tortured into insanity by the sick woman.

"I don't like being back here," Sirius said after a few minutes of silence, hands deep in his pockets. "I never thought I'd be stuck in this house again."

Harry understood completely. He knew how he would feel, when he was grown up and thought he was free of the place forever, to return and live at number four, Privet Drive.

"It's ideal for headquarters, course," Sirius said. "My father put every security measure known to wizardkind on it when he lived here. It's unplottable, so Muggles could never come and call—as if they'd ever have wanted to—and now Dumbledore has added his protection, you'd be hard put to find a safer house anywhere…" Sirius gave a short, bark-like laugh. "If my parents could see the use their house was being put to now…well, my mother's portrait should give you some idea…

"I'm ready for this trial to be over, so I can be rid of this damned place and be out in the world again, maybe doing something useful—maybe even get a house out in the country…"

Harry felt as though his stomach had sunk through the dusty carpet. He had done his best to not think of the hearing for it made him physically sick to think of Sirius walking into the ministry—especially now with Fudge being a complete idiot. At Sirius' words, that crushing sense of dread returned to him. He stared at Hermione and the Weasleys across the room, all tucking into their sandwiches like everything was all right and normal, and tried not to picture Sirius being kissed by a dementor.

"Don't worry," Sirius said. Harry looked up and realized that Sirius had been watching him. "I'm sure they'll clear me—the evidence is clearly stacked against Peter and in my favor."

"But if they do convict you," said Harry very quietly. "You'll be kissed and then what?" What about me?

Sirius smiled sadly.

"Buck up, Harry. Worrying only means you'll suffer twice—and I have Dumbledore on my side. Don't forget that."

"How can you be so calm? Aren't you nervous or anything?"

Sirius heaved a great sigh, "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't—but I'm ready for this, Harry. I'm done with hiding. I'm ready to live again, you know? Besides, I can't wait to see the looks are their idiotic faces when they realized how stupid they've been."

Harry attempted to smile at his godfather's bit of humor, and it was a failed attempt but Sirius had already turned away and had rejoined the other. So Harry tried his best not to think about the hearing while they emptied the glass-fronted cabinets that afternoon. Fortunately for him, it was a job that required a lot of concentration, as many of the objects in there seemed very reluctant to leave their dusty shelves. Sirius sustained a nasty bite from a sliver snuffbox; within seconds his bitten hand had developed an unpleasant crusty covering like a tough brown glove. He fixed it in seconds with a tap of his wand, however Harry saw Fred sneak the box into his pocket when he thought no one was looking.

During the cleaning, Kreacher sidled into the room a number of times in an attempt to smuggle things away under his dirty loincloth. When Sirius wrested a large golden ring bearing the black crest from his grip, Kreacher actually burst into furious tears and left the room sobbing under his breath and calling Sirius names Harry had never heard before.

Hermione gave Sirius a foul look that he ignored.

Ron snickered and tossed another heavy book from the shelf into the growing trash pile.

"Dust the mantle above the fireplace, would you Harry?" Mrs. Weasley asked when Harry and Sirius had finished the cabinet. "Careful on the stool and don't touch something if you're unsure about it—otherwise just toss it all into the pile."

He grabbed a dusting rag and pulled the stool up to the high mantle, which still had a small number of paraphernalia on it. Tossing odds and ends off into the trash pile, Harry sprayed the marble and scrubbed one side with the rag. He lifted up a small ornate box to toss into the growing mass of object and as his fingers closed around the box, a strange feeling past through him—something he couldn't explain. He paused and studied the outside of the container, thinking it looked rather unremarkable. Overcome by curiosity, Harry dropped the dusty rag onto the mantle. He unlatched the little box and carefully opened it.

The box was lined with peeling red velvet and nestled in it's center was a heavy golden locket, it's chain tangled. His pulse picked up as he stared at it and he wasn't sure why. Was the locket enchanted? Was it full of dark magic?

"Hey Sirius," Harry called to his godfather, who was across the room conversing with Lupin, "Come take a look at this."

Stupidly, he picked it up by the chain so he could display it to Sirius and his breath left him as though he had been punched in the gut. The chain in his hand burned like fire, but he couldn't release it, though it was nothing compared to the pain in his scar. It felt as though his head had been cleaved in two and the noise of those cleaning and chatting around him was extinguished…

He was not in the drawing room anymore but standing in a dark room, lit only by the orange light of a fire and a semicircle of death eaters faced him.

"What did you say to me?" his voice was high and cold, but fury burned within him. He could not see how…

"Say it again!" murmured Harry. "Say it again!"

"M-my Lord," one quavering man spoke up. "We've searched—the Potters are at Hogwarts but our informant says the boy is not—that—that he's been transported back…"

The scream of rage, of denial left him as if it were a stranger's: he was crazed, frenzied, it could not be true, it was impossible…how could have the boy survived the killing curse once more, and then slip through his fingers at the cottage when they were so perfectly surrounded?

His wand slashed through the air and green light erupted through the room; the death eater who had spoken rolled over, dead; the watching wizards scattered before him, terrified: Bellatrix and Lucius threw others behind them in their race for the door, and again and again his wand fell, and those who were left were slain, all of them.

None of this brought him satisfaction. He stormed up and down amongst the dead, uncontrollable rage blazing through him like fire in his veins.

It didn't help that Tom Riddle stood in the corner, a nasty smirk on his face, as though he found the whole situation humorous.

"Seems odd that you keep letting a mere child thwart your plans."

"You do not know of what you speak!" Harry hissed back, his wand clenched very tightly in his hand. "It was your killing curse he managed to thwart this time!"

"Then perhaps we should be recruiting him, not killing him…"

"IDIOT!" Harry screamed, drawing his wand up, wanting more than anything to watch the light of life leave this pompous young man…

Then the room went dark and Harry suddenly found himself hurtling down that familiar hallway filled with flickering blue lights—faster, faster but he got no nearer to that door at the end, no matter how he stretched out his hand, he just couldn't reach the knob…

Harry's flew open as he wrenched himself back to the present; he was flat on his back and Sirius and Lupin were looking down at him. Judging by their worried looks, and by the continued pounding of his scar, his sudden excursion into Voldemort's mind had not passed unnoticed. He struggled up, ignoring their protests, shivering and vaguely surprised to taste blood on his lips.

"He knows." His own voice sounded strange and low after Voldemort's high screams. "He knows I'm not in the other world."

"What?"

Sirius was gaping at him; Lupin sat back, looking worried.

"Does your head hurt, Harry?"

Harry looked at the werewolf and became suddenly aware he had an audience beyond Lupinand Sirius. The Weasleys and Hermione were all watching him, looking alarmed. Embarrassed, Harry made to stand up, but his godfather immediately stopped him.

"Don't move for a minute. That locket must've had some sort of enchantment on it; you fainted the moment you picked that thing up."

Harry raised his stinging hand and saw fiery red lines and dried blood on his palm and fingers.

"We had to use the severing charm on it to get it off you," said Sirius. "Remus healed you straight away but Molly's getting some dittany for the burns—don't think it was poison though, thank Merlin."

Harry let his hand drop down and looked around; he saw the locket across the room, obviously having been thrown out of reach.

"Here," Lupin handed him a clean rag. "Hold it to your nose to help with the bleeding. Where'd you hit your head?"

"I didn't hit my head," Harry said, looking at Sirius. "It was the locket…it must be connected to…" he stopped talking, not wanting to elaborate with the others watching. He knew they wouldn't understand and he didn't want everyone to know how deeply connected he really was to Voldemort.

Sirius looked mildly alarmed, "Connected to what?"

"When I picked it up, my scar hurt and then I saw—" Harry stopped talking again, still very aware of the curious stares he was getting from the Weasleys and Hermione.

"Saw what?"

Harry felt his face turning red, "I don't remember," he lied. "I guess I might've hit my head…"

Sirius saw straight through the lie. He took hold of Harry under the arm and hauled him to his feet, "Let's get you to your room and lay you down—you're bleeding through your shirt."

Up in Harry's bedroom, Harry shook Sirius and Lupin off and turned to face them, "That locket must be connected with Voldemort somehow—it has to be."

"How do you know that?" asked Lupin, raising his eyebrows in bemusement.

"When I picked up the box to toss it, I got a weird feeling—"

"Weird?" repeated Sirius.

"Let me finish—I opened the box and as soon as I touched it, my scar hurt like mad and then—I—well, I was with Voldemort and he was furious because I got transported back here and that I—er—survived. He took it out on his followers!"

Lupin and Sirius were both staring at him with something akin to pity, looking as though they were unsure of what to make of him.

"I'm not lying," Harry said defensively, his temper rising. He looked at Sirius, feeling betrayed, and thinking how James had believed him immediately when Harry told the man about the excursions into the Dark Lord's mind.

"We're not saying you are," said Lupin complacently. "But perhaps you've been overdoing yourself, or you hit your head too hard on the floor when you fell—we should make sure..."

"I know what I saw!" Harry spouted in frustration. "You've got to give that locket to Dumbledore—he'll know what to do! You have to believe me!"

"Okay, okay, take a breath, mate," Sirius said, holding up his hands for calm. "Let's make sure we have this straight-so you touched the locket, which made your scar hurt, and then you saw Voldemort and he was angry that you're not in the other world, and that you survived…what? The cottage invasion?"

"No, the, er, killing curse," said Harry with a grimace.

"From when you were a baby?—Well, we all knew that."

"No," Harry said, feeling suddenly nervous. This wasn't the conversation he wanted to have. "I got hit with it again back in the other world."

Sirius and Lupin's eyes seemed to pop out of their skulls. Harry's godfather's mouth dropped open and he stared at Harry, then at Lupin, then back at Harry again, clearly searching for the punchline of a stupid joke.

"And you survived it again?" Lupin said, finding words first, looking thoroughly shocked.

"Well, sorta—I think I died for a bit, then I came back—but that's not the point! It's the locket I'm talking about!"

"You 'died for a bit'," gaped Sirius. "Is this a joke? Are you completely immune then?"

"I don't know—I don't think so—something to do with my connection to Voldemort…" Harry turned away from them, heart pounding, done with the direction this conversation was heading. His scar was still quite painful. He rubbed at it furiously, wishing he was anyone but himself.

Lupin spoke quietly behind him, "Has your scar been hurting more often?"

Harry pretended he didn't hear, dropping his arm back down, keeping his back turned.

"Harry…"

Harry turned back around, "Are you going to give the locket to Dumbledore?"

"Yeah, mate," said Sirius, brows furrowed. "If that will make you feel better about it all…"

"It's not about making me feel better…! You still don't believe me, do you? Even after what I just told you?!" Harry said angrily. "James believed me when I told him!"

The words seemed to hang in the following silence. Harry wished he could snatch them out of the air and stuff back into his mouth. He felt his face burning but didn't look away from Sirius' stunned face.

His godfather said nothing in reply, apparently speechless. Harry couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt at the hurt he saw in Sirius' face. The man stared back at him, obviously searching for something that wasn't there.

"Harry," Lupin said, being the first to break the tense quiet once again, "Of course we believe you—it's just a lot for us to take in. Please, take a seat and calm down before your side bleeds you dry."

Harry reluctantly dropped onto the edge of the bed, frowning.

"Thank you," said Lupin. "Now, when you saw Voldemort, were you just standing in the room, watching it happen?"

"No," Harry said, heart thudding. It took him a moment to say these next words: "I was him."

Whatever reactions the two men had, they hid it quite well. They exchanged the briefest of glances.

"Do you think…?" Sirius said covertly, face dark with seriousness.

"It has to be," Remus said with a slight nod.

"What's going on?" Harry demanded, not enjoying this bit of word play.

"No, Harry, you weren't him," Sirius said evenly, looking back at Harry. "You just saw things through his mind—it's called legilimency—you must have been doing it unconsciously due to whatever connection you have with the bastard—but believe me, you definitely weren't him. Nor will you ever be capable."

Harry knew it was silly, but he felt a twang of relief to hear those words spoke aloud. A part of him knew that it wasn't him doing these acts—it was the two Voldemorts—it was, however, still nice to hear someone else say it to him, instead of his own thoughts battling with the unbridled fear that believed he really was somehow being transported around to do the horrific deeds.

"We will tell Dumbledore everything you just told us—all right?"

Harry gave a slight nod.

"We'll let him figure out what to do next. As for you, just focus on your coming term and be happy about going back to school in one piece—all right then?"

Harry nodded again.

The two men left Harry after the conversation had finished, telling him to get rest and not to worry about coming down to help clean for the rest of the afternoon. Harry took his evening dose of potion and laid in bed, on top the covers, staring at the ceiling. He felt tired but didn't want to shut his eyes and find himself back in Voldemort's mind.

He wished James were here. The man would understand Harry better than Sirius. Harry couldn't believe he godfather didn't believe him right away—couldn't he see what Harry was saying to be true and not something random or hallucinated. James would've believed him right away. He would've immediately tried to think of a way to fix it, all the while giving Harry the right words to feel better.

A second after he thought that, a surge of strong dislike washed through him and he clenched his teeth, hating these two halves of his feelings constantly clashing together. He just needed to let go of that world all together, the small reasoning part of him whispered. Who cared what that lot were up to now? They belonged there, Harry belonged here with Sirius and Ron and Hermione and the other Weasleys.

It had been destined, before he was even born, that he wasn't meant to grow up with a mother and father, no matter how he wished it differently. He knew Sirius wanted to be that father figure for him, but Harry also felt something lacking at times when Sirius looked at him, as though his godfather was seeing someone else and not Harry, and no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, it kind of bothered him.

But what fairness was that? Harry wanted Sirius to be someone else to, at times and he knew that was just as wrong. It would never work in either of their favor in the end—just more aggravation, painful memories, and sadness.

And Harry suddenly understood in that silent moment that the biggest hurtle of their relationship was that they kept looking at each other, expecting to see James.

And they never did.

Songs that inspired:

"Sit with Me Tonight" by Garrison Star-this song inspired the long conversation between Harry and Sirius.

Until Next time and Happy Literacy!

Maegyn