When Harry woke, he kept perfectly still, exploring his surroundings by sound and feeling, still instinctively unsure and afraid.

"It's all right, Harry. You're still safe. At Grimmauld Place."

Remus' voice sounded too real to be a trick, and each time he woke, it became easier to calm the wave of panic that overcame him. He opened his eyes.

Remus sat

"How is everyone?" It irked Harry that his voice was still hoarse and mildly painful, though less than it had been.

"Much better now that you're on the mend. Dumbledore's even considering moving you to Hogwarts soon—it'll be empty now that it's summer, and as safe as it is here. And would probably be more welcome surroundings," Remus added with a smile.

Harry felt his spirits lift slightly at that. Returning to the normalcy of Hogwarts would lessen the shadows that kept lurking in the corners of his mind, creeping closer every time he let his guard down.

Remus seemed to sense Harry's train of thought. "Do you want some distraction?"

Harry nodded.

Remus took a moment to compose himself, then began, "In fourth year, I was in the library, studying something or other. A first-year, a muggleborn, was at the next table, reading. And crying. I didn't have the courage to do anything—not even to leave the library, but your mother walked in after about ten minutes, and sat down at the same table with the crying girl. Lily gave the girl a few minutes, then really quietly passed a note to her. Anyways, they started talking, and the girl was crying because she couldn't believe how boring wizard books were—muggle fantasy books were so much better than the actual wizarding world textbooks. She was really just homesick, but Lily burst out immediately with an in-depth discussion of muggle fantasy literature—Eragon, The Chronicles of Narnia, The Lord of the Rings, I think?"

Harry smiled. It struck him for the first time that his mother had grown up as he had—reading the same books, with the same fascination in magic that came from it being so intangible, so elusive and otherworldly, that she hadn't grown up taking it for granted.

Remus continued, "I remember telling James about it, he

Harry let the words wash over him. It felt so strange to hear about his parents' childhoods. They were so normal. The stories made him feel closer to them in a way, but also more detached; he couldn't imagine growing up with the normalcy of homesickness—or without a Dark Lord hunting him at every turn.

Remus paused after he finished another story. He looked at Harry appraisingly. "I didn't ask Dumbledore if I could ask you this, but…I think I need to."

Harry nodded—he thought he knew what was coming.

"Are you ready for Sirius to see you?"

"I really want to, but…" Harry trailed off,

"I can only imagine what Voldemort made you see, Harry. Would it be painful for you to see him?"

"No, I don't think so. I just don't want him to see me like this."

"Harry, the man's been through Azkaban—"

"Exactly. I don't want to hurt him."

"That's not what I meant," said Remus gently. "He knows his mind, the dark and the light—he spent twelve years inside it. It frightens him much more not seeing you, not really knowing how you are, then any sight of you."

Harry hesitated, then asked quietly, "How bad does it look?"

Remus sighed. "Bad. From what Dumbledore has explained, the progress you've made is largely not visible, but you do look better than when Sirius saw you first arrive. And you're awake and talking for some periods of time, which will comfort Sirius greatly, I think. But yes, your body is just beginning to heal, and resisting the process, doesn't help."

Harry remained quiet.

Cautiously, Remus added, "I promise you, Harry, there is no state you could be in that would be worse than what Sirius could imagine while knowing you are hurt but unable to see you. It is only a question of whether it would cause you any discomfort to see him."

Harry knew the answer to that question without hesitation.

The next time Harry awoke, Sirius was at his side.

His godfather's face was stained with hastily wiped-away tears. Harry opened his mouth to speak, but found himself struggling to find the right words. An apology, for keeping Sirius at a distance? For going to the ministry in the first place and getting himself captured?

Sirius spared him the decision by reaching out to brush Harry's hair from his eyes and saying softly, "You, Harry, are the bravest, most foolish, person I've ever had the luck to meet."

"Sirius—"

Sirius cut him off, "I won't give you the telling-off talk. I suspect Dumbledore will have that covered when you're well enough. No, I'm just here to keep you company."

Harry smiled and felt the knot in his stomach he hadn't fully noticed before relax; after all Voldemort had made him see, it took seeing and hearing his godfather in person to make him believe Sirius was really all right.

"How've you been?"

"Worried sick," replied Sirius flatly.

"I'm sorry," said Harry softly.

"No. No apologies. If there's anything I want you to understand it's that you aren't responsible for what was done to you."

Harry tried to turn towards Sirius, but as he moved a shooting pain stabbed his side and through his back and he cried out, his throat protesting as he did so.

Sirius reached out, but then withdrew his hand, afraid to hurt his godson.

Harry saw the gesture. "Sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"No apologies, remember?"

Harry smiled weakly, then replied quietly, forcing himself to meet Sirius' eyes. "I just didn't want you to see me…like this…"

"Harry, you saw me when I'd just escape Azkaban. I was partly-deranged, starved, and fresh from twelve years of solitary confinement surrounded by Dementors. And then you saved me." Sirius continued gently, "We're not a family that can shy away from seeing each other in pain."

"Sirius…" Harry's voice trailed off, his throat constricting.

"Yeah?"

"I…just…" Harry felt tears at the edges of his eyes, but before he could wipe them away, Sirius leaned forward and gently kissed his forehead, understanding what Harry couldn't say.

"I'm here, Harry. I'm okay. You're going to be okay. The pain might be real, but it won't be forever. And what he made you see—it wasn't real."

It wasn't real…those words echoed in Harry's mind, and healing tears, cool and quiet, not the hot, agonized tears of pain, poured down his cheeks.

Sirius moved to the edge of Harry's bed and, with the utmost care, gathered Harry into his arms. Harry felt his godfather's shaking match his own and tears like his own fall onto his head.

Voldemort's visions slowly lost their power as he allowed himself to understand, fully, that Sirius was alive, well, and with him as long as he needed.

Harry didn't know how long he clung to his godfather before he fell asleep and the pain that stubbornly refused to leave his body receded with consciousness.