Chapter 2: The Battle of Privet Drive

For a moment, Harry was frozen, too shocked to do anything but stare at his Aunt in horror.

The Blood Wards had fallen.

They were unprotected.

He needed to tell the Order, he needed help, he needed to move before the Death Eaters arrived.

Harry glanced wildly around his room, looking for something to help him. He had no method of communication. The two-way mirror was in his trunk, locked away in the cupboard under the stairs. The ring was also out of reach, confiscated by his Uncle in the first week of summer (Uncle Vernon would never allow a boy to wear jewelry in his house).

Harry had only one option: he had to go outside and inform his guards directly.

Forcing himself into action, Harry raced down the stairs, ignoring Aunt Petunia's shrill screeching. He ran by Uncle Vernon and Dudley, tuning out their shouts and questions.

"Stay inside!" he yelled over his shoulder, flinging the door open, searching the street for his guard.

"Hello?" he called, desperate for a sign.

"We need help! The Blood Wards…"

It was already too late.

Cracks of apparition filled the air, Death Eaters materializing on the lawn, black robes billowing in the afternoon sunlight. There were too many of them.

Harry counted 15, adrenaline thrumming through his blood as he realized just how outnumbered he was.

Harry drew his wand, backing toward the door. He'd just reached it, hoping to take refuge inside, when it slammed hard, locking deftly. He could see Uncle Vernon through the glass at the top of the door, gazing in horror at the Death Eaters on his lawn.

He was stranded.

Spells began to bombard the house, flashes of light hitting all around him, flickering on the edges of his vision. Even in his panic, Harry noticed that none of the Spells were green. The Death Eaters weren't trying to kill him.

It seemed that Voldemort hadn't been lying. He no longer wanted Harry dead.

Harry raised his universal shield, gritting his teeth as jolts of energy raced down his arm, sending stabs of pain through his bruised body.

The Death Eaters weren't trying to hurt Harry, but they had no such compunctions about the house, sending Blasting Curses at the windows and walls, trying to drive Harry off the porch and into their clutches.

He tried to extend the shield, hoping to encase the house, hoping to protect the Dursleys.

He couldn't do it.

He just wasn't strong enough.

Spells were battering the house, wood splintering, glass windows shattering.

Harry could hear his Aunt screaming, yelling for help that wasn't coming, shrill voice piercing the air.

Harry stood his ground, unwilling to leave his relatives alone, unwilling to abandon them to death. If he moved, the Death Eaters would stop pulling their punches.

Harry searched the street, desperate.

Where were his guards?

At last, Harry spotted them: Snape, Mad-Eye, Bill Weasley, and Remus.

They were circling around the Death Eaters, taking advantage of their focus on Harry, using their distraction to take them out one at a time, stunning the ones at the back while the others continued firing Spells at Harry.

They managed to take out six Death Eaters before they were discovered, losing their advantage and beginning to duel frantically.

Harry hoped they'd called for reinforcements.

There were too many Death Eaters.

There were simply too many.

Harry's shield began to crumple, strength leaving him as he tried to withstand the deluge of Spells still coming at him. The house was creaking behind him, structurally damaged from the onslaught of magic.

Harry didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to help. His relatives were trapped in the house. If they left, even through the back door, they would be spotted and killed.

If Harry dropped his shield, he would be stunned. He couldn't cast anything to help them.

He was trapped.

They were trapped.

Harry's shield faltered, flickering out of existence.

He was unprotected.

Harry threw himself away from the house, rolling onto the grass as he tried to avoid being hit by a Stunner.

He took cover behind a shrub, peeking over the top to fire Stunning Spells at the Death Eaters. He managed to take out two of them, sending them sprawling to the ground.

He needed to keep their attention away from the house. He needed to make sure that his relatives made it out of this. He couldn't be responsible for any more death. He just couldn't.

His distraction didn't work.

A Spell hit the house, fire erupting immediately, flames engulfing number 4 in a single second, consuming it.

Harry felt his heart stop.

This wasn't normal fire. It was Fiendfyre.

He had to help the Dursleys.

He rushed toward the house, oblivious to the Death Eaters, oblivious to the Order members yelling after him, oblivious to everything except the terrified screams he could hear emanating from the burning building.

They were inhuman shrieks, animalistic and terrible. He could hear the pain in their voices. It was the sound of death, the sound of being burned alive.

Harry reached the house, hands shaking, nausea threatening to overcome him.

"Aguamenti!" he cried, channeling all his remaining strength into the Spell.

It did nothing.

They were still screaming.

Everything was burning. THEY were burning.

"Aguamenti," Harry tried again, heart in his throat.

Nothing.

They had stopped screaming.

Why had they stopped screaming?

"Potter!"

Snape was suddenly beside him, reaching out for his arm.

"We have to go."

"No," Harry said, shaking his head wildly, ghostly screams echoing in his ears.

"We have to help them…we have to..."

Snape didn't let him finish, grasping his arm before Harry could stop him.

They twisted away, reality bending around them. When the world righted itself, they were standing in front of Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

"We have to go back," Harry pleaded, trying to tug his arm out of Snape's grip.

Snape ignored him, dragging him inside the house, closing the door behind them.

"We have to help them…"

"There's no one left to help, Potter."

Harry stared at Snape, not understanding.

"What do you mean?"

Snape turned toward him, pale face twisting into some strange expression.

"They are dead, Potter. Fiendfyre kills faster than one can imagine. They are dead."

Harry shook his head.

"You're lying," he croaked.

"They're not dead. They can't be dead."

The door opened again, the rest of the guard stumbling inside. They appeared dirty and bruised but otherwise unhurt.

"The Aurors arrived. Dumbledore is working with them to handle things. They're sorting out the Stunned Death Eaters and the Muggles."

"What about the Dursleys?" Harry asked, turning his eyes to Remus.

"Are they going somewhere safe?"

Remus' eyes clouded over.

"Harry, they're gone..."

"THEY'RE NOT DEAD!" Harry yelled, startling even himself with his raised voice.

Why did people think the Dursleys were dead? They couldn't possibly be dead.

"What's going on?"

Mr. Weasley stuck his head into the hallway, taking in the scene.

"What's happened?"

"The Blood Wards fell on Privet Drive, Dad," Bill said, glancing warily at Harry.

"A force of Death Eaters attacked. Dumbledore and the Ministry are there now, dealing with the aftermath."

"Oh," Mr. Weasley said, concern clear on his kind face.

"Why don't you all come into the kitchen. We're baking a cake for Sirius, but I think there are some Healing Potions in there somewhere."

Healing Potions? For whom? Everyone looked fine.

"Come on, Harry," Remus said, nudging him toward the dining room.

"Let's get you healed up."

Oh. He'd forgotten about the beating he'd taken. He must look awful.

He let himself be led toward the kitchen, feeling very strange, reality twisting in his mind.

"They can't be dead," Harry whispered, looking into Remus' face.

"They can't."

Before Remus could reply, they reached the kitchen, Mr. Weasley holding the door open for them.

All the Weasley siblings (except Bill and Charlie) were sitting at the long dining table, a massive cake displayed before them, different colored icing resting in bowls on the wooden surface.

They looked up, happy faces turning to confusion and horror as they took in the group's battered appearance.

"Harry?" Mrs. Weasley asked, dropping the sponge she'd been holding.

"What happened?"

"The Blood Wards fell, Molly," Mr. Weasley said softly, glancing nervously at Harry.

"Oh," she said, face falling.

"Is everyone alright?"

An awkward silence descended. No one seemed to know what to say.

"Harry's relatives…" Bill started, trailing off as he looked at Harry's face.

"They're not dead," Harry said again, not knowing why this was so hard for people to understand.

"They're not."

"They are, Potter."

Snape spoke slowly and clearly, staring hard into Harry's face.

"They are."

"I don't believe you."

He didn't. He couldn't.

It couldn't be true.

Harry was aware of everyone staring at him. He didn't care. He was right. They weren't dead.

"Let's just sit down," Remus said, pulling Harry over to the empty chair beside Ron.

"Arthur, do you know where those Healing Potions are?"

"Of course," Mr. Weasley said, beginning to rummage in a cabinet.

He set a few vials on the table in front of Harry, heading off to help Mrs. Weasley with the dishes, glancing worriedly at Harry as he went.

"I'm just going to cast a quick Spell to see if you have any broken bones, alright?"

Harry nodded dumbly, staring at the wooden table.

He could feel eyes burning into him, but he didn't dare look up. He couldn't bear to see anyone right now, let alone the entire Weasley clan plus Mad-Eye and Snape.

He just needed to wait for Dumbledore to get here. The Headmaster would tell everyone that the Dursleys were still alive. Then they would stop looking at him like he was crazy.

"You've got three cracked ribs and a hairline fracture in your jaw," Remus said softly, jolting Harry from his thoughts.

"Skele-Gro should clear it right up. Here…"

Remus pressed a vial into Harry's hands, watching him closely as he took the Potion in a single mouthful, barely tasting it.

Harry didn't know how long he sat there staring at the table, hearing nothing, feeling nothing. It could have been hours. It could have been seconds.

Harry couldn't tell.

He didn't care.

"What happened?"

Ginny's voice was quiet, timid, so unlike her normal self.

"Why did the Wards fall?"

Harry refused to look at her. He wouldn't answer this question. He couldn't tell them the truth.

He couldn't admit that he'd ruined everything.

Before anyone could answer Ginny, the kitchen door swung open, revealing Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall.

"Everything alright?" Mad-Eye growled, staring hard at Dumbledore.

Dumbledore nodded slowly, eyes somber.

"The Muggles have been Obliviated. They think it was just a gas explosion. As for Harry, I was able to convince Madam Bones to grant temporary guardianship to me. Fudge wanted him to become a Ward of the Ministry, but…"

"What about the Dursleys?" Harry asked, refusing to believe this was true.

It couldn't be true.

"They were killed, Harry," Dumbledore said bluntly, looking right into Harry's eyes.

"Everything was destroyed in the fire. Everything except this."

Dumbledore held up the invisibility cloak, silvery fabric gleaming in the light. He moved closer to Harry, pressing the cloak into his hands.

Harry took it, silky fabric nearly slipping from his lax grip.

"They are dead, Harry."

Harry stared up at Dumbledore, looking for any sign of deception.

He found none.

It was true, then.

The Dursleys were dead.

For a moment it was completely silent, quiet and tense.

Then, Harry laughed.

It rang loudly in the silent kitchen: harsh, strangled laughter, deranged and broken.

He could feel everyone staring at him again, but he just couldn't stop laughing.

"She was right," Harry said, giggling madly.

"She always said I was a curse. Merlin, she was right. Do you think she was a seer?"

Harry choked on his laughter, breath catching in his chest, a sob forcing its way from his throat.

Remus put a hand on his shoulder, eyes full of worry.

"Let's go put the cloak away, Harry."

Remus took his arm, pulling him up from his chair and out of the room.

Harry let himself be led from the kitchen, barely aware of his surroundings. He felt very strange, simultaneously empty and overwhelmed.

Remus pulled him gently up the steps, leading him to his bedroom. When they arrived, Harry sat down on his bed, disconnected and robotic.

"Harry," Remus started, voice calm and clear.

"I need you to do something for me. I need you to get cleaned up and change clothes. Can you do that?"

Harry nodded, numb.

"I'm going to go make us some tea, but I need to know that you're going to be okay up here. Can you promise me that?"

Harry nodded again.

"I promise."

Remus watched him closely, clearly deciding whether to believe him. He seemed to come to a conclusion, nodding slightly.

"Alright. I'll be back in a few minutes, okay?"

"Okay."

Remus closed the door gently behind him, leaving Harry alone.

Harry stood, making his way to his wardrobe. Remus had said to change. That was what he would do.

He didn't know what else to do.

He looked down at his clothes, understanding now why Remus wanted him to take them off. They were ripped, stained with blood and ash.

He changed quickly, barely aware of what he put on, barely aware of anything.

He folded his old clothes detachedly, placing them on the floor at the foot of his bed. He didn't know where else to put them. He didn't have a trunk anymore. He didn't have a family anymore…

Harry shook his head wildly. He would not think about that. He would not think about the fire, or the screams, or the smell…

Harry retched, racing to the bathroom. He made it just in time, emptying his already nearly empty stomach.

He leaned against the wall, closing his eyes tightly, pressing his shaking hands against his head, trying to suppress the tide of memory.

He had to get up, had to keep moving.

He couldn't think about this.

He'd promised Remus that he'd be alright.

He flushed away the evidence of his illness, washing his hands and rinsing out his mouth.

He raised his eyes to the mirror, taking in his bruised and bloody face. He washed away the blood, watching as the water turned pink, watching as it ran clear again.

He dragged himself back to his bedroom, flopping onto his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.

He focused hard on the white expanse above him, refusing to let any other thoughts in, refusing to think about what had just happened.

He couldn't think about it.

He wouldn't think about it.

He couldn't...

How could they be dead?

How?

And why was he so upset about it?

Why did it feel like his chest was full of broken glass, shards piercing at his organs, pain radiating outward?

Why was he grieving for them? Why was he sorry they were dead?

Except for Dudley's efforts in the past month, they'd never loved him, never cared, never even tried.

Why was he so broken by this?

Why did it feel like he was drowning?

"Harry?"

Remus had returned, a tray balanced on his arm.

Harry sat up slowly, wincing slightly as his bruised ribs protested the movement.

"Here," Remus said, pressing a cup of tea into Harry's hands.

"I put a Calming Draught in it. You don't have to drink it, but…"

Harry didn't wait for him to finish, chugging the scalding liquid, not caring as it burned his throat. He needed the feelings to stop, needed his mind to quiet.

The Potion took effect quickly, a protective layer of numbness settling over his memories, keeping them back, keeping him safe.

"Harry…" Remus said gently, taking the empty cup from his trembling fingers.

"I don't want to talk about it," Harry whispered, not looking at Remus.

"Please."

Remus sighed, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"We don't have to talk about it today, but we do need to talk about it. You can't keep these things bottled up, Harry."

Harry knew he was right, but he couldn't fathom trying to put words to what had just happened. Even thinking about it felt like standing at the edge of a cliff, wind forcing him over the edge.

"I know. But…"

"You need time. That's alright."

Remus fell silent, drinking his own tea, watching Harry closely.

"I think we should go join the others."

Harry turned to look at him, negative emotions fighting to overcome the Calming Draught, panic battering at the paralyzed edges of his mind.

"No…"

"You shouldn't be alone right now. You don't have to talk to anyone, you don't have to do anything. You just can't be alone. I'm not going to let you isolate yourself."

Remus wouldn't take no for an answer, leading Harry back downstairs, back into the kitchen.

Everyone had left except the permanent residents of Grimmauld Place.

Snape was sitting in a corner, glaring at the Weasleys over the top of his book as they loudly went about icing the cake.

The scene seemed so normal, so domestic. Harry felt completely disconnected from these happy people, like a ghost, like a shadow.

He sat down beside Ron, trying to feel something.

He watched as they finished decorating the cake, making it as outrageous as Sirius himself: bright colors and strange shapes.

He watched as Mrs. Weasley cast a Preservation Charm, watched a glimmer of magic settle over the cake, felt the Spell take hold.

Mrs. Weasley went to start washing the icing bowls, but Harry stopped her, rising to his feet, moving to cut her off.

He needed to do something.

Anything.

"I'll do it," he said, carrying the bowls to the sink.

He scrubbed them by hand, gripping the soapy sponge tightly in his fist. He needed this, needed to be useful, needed to do something other than stare at nothing.

Mrs. Weasley seemed to understand, asking him to help with dinner. Harry agreed readily, chopping the vegetables she put before him, realizing that she would normally use magic for this.

Harry felt a twinge of warmth at the gesture. This is what cooking should be like: collaborative and comforting.

It was so different from how Aunt Petunia….

No.

He wasn't going to think about her, wasn't going to think about how she'd burned...

Mrs. Weasley put a gentle hand on his shoulder, taking the knife from his shaking fingers.

"Why don't you take a break for a while, Dear? I think the others are playing Exploding Snap in the sitting room. Would you like to join them?"

Harry nodded, knowing it was what she wanted. He walked to the sitting room, taking in the scene before him. Bill, Percy, Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny were engaged in a brutal game of Exploding Snap, cards flying everywhere, smoke rising gently into the air.

Smoke…

Harry looked away.

"Hi, Harry."

Bill had noticed his presence, looking up from the game, shaking his singed fingers.

"Do you want to join us?"

Harry nodded, moving forward to sit beside George on the carpeted floor.

They dealt him into the game, acting as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. He played on auto-pilot, trying not to look too hard at the smoke, trying not to see the ash on his fingertips.

When Mrs. Weasley called them all for dinner, Harry let himself be shepherded back into the kitchen, taking the empty seat next to Remus.

He ate the food put in front of him, tasting nothing.

A week ago, Harry would have done anything for this food. He would have done anything to be here with the Weasleys and Remus. He would have loved it.

Now, he felt nothing.

After dinner, Harry found himself back in the sitting room, Remus reading next to him, George on his other side.

Harry just sat there, staring at the firelight dancing on the ceiling, wondering if he would ever be able to look at fire the same way again, wondering if he'd ever be able to forget how loud those screams had been, how desperate, how futile…

Hours passed that way, night settling gently over the house.

Harry was only slightly aware of everyone going to bed, only slightly aware of Remus guiding him back to his room, only slightly aware of the Dreamless Sleep Potion he'd been given.

Harry let consciousness drift away, grateful for the chance to sleep without dreams, grateful for the darkness.

…

Harry woke slowly, reluctantly opening his eyes.

The Calming Draught had worn off.

He was no longer numb.

He could feel everything: guilt, despair, hatred, anger, grief, horror, loss.

It was a terrible cyclone of emotion, jumbled and confused.

He wanted the numbness back.

He shook off the desire to hide, shoving the emotions back, locking them tightly behind hastily constructed walls of indifference.

He needed to be okay.

Sirius' trial was tomorrow, and Harry couldn't be another cause of worry for Remus or anyone else.

He needed to be okay.

He got ready for the day, washing away the grief, brushing on a smile.

He could do this.

For Sirius.

Harry walked downstairs, smiling at Mrs. Weasley, offering to help her with breakfast. They cooked together, synchronized and efficient.

Harry sat with the others, eating, talking, even laughing.

He was fine.

"What time are we leaving for the Ministry tomorrow?" Harry asked, wondering when he would get to see Sirius.

Remus paused, putting down his fork.

"Well…"

"You're not going, Potter."

Snape cut Remus off, providing the blunt answer the other man had been unwilling to give.

"What? Why?"

Remus sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Sirius doesn't want you to be there."

Harry's heart stopped.

"Why?"

Why would Sirius not want to see him? Had he done something wrong?

"He just doesn't want you there in case anything goes wrong."

Harry's facade was threatening to crumble, panic flickering at the edge of his mind, pressuring him to feel.

"Nothing will go wrong, Harry," Remus reassured.

"He's just being cautious."

Nothing will go wrong.

He'd heard that phrase too many times to believe it.

"It should be a short trial. Amelia is expediting everything. It'll be as simple as Veritaserum and a vote. Fudge won't be able to complicate things too much. He simply doesn't have enough political capital. Sirius could be home by lunch."

Harry nodded, wishing he could believe Remus, wishing he could trust the system that had let Sirius down so many times.

After breakfast, Harry headed to the library, hoping to reconstruct some of the work he'd done on the improved Stunning Spell.

George joined him, sitting in a chair nearby, throwing subtle glances at Harry, watching him.

Fred had gone to work on the shop, leaving George behind.

Harry wished that George had gone with him.

It wasn't that he didn't want to see George. It was rather the opposite, actually.

George made him feel too much. He didn't want to feel anything, didn't want to think about anything, didn't want to talk about anything.

He turned to a blank piece of parchment, trying to remember where he'd left off in his other notebook.

A notebook that was nothing but ash now.

Everything had been lost in the fire: his notes, his parents' books, the Marauder's Map, his Firebolt, his family…

Harry dropped the quill, pressing his hands against his eyes.

He needed to stop thinking about this.

"Harry?"

George had come to sit next to him, closing the distance Harry had purposefully put between them.

"I'm fine."

"Okay."

George said it easily, indulging Harry's need to pretend, allowing him this one victory.

"Do you want to hear about the shop?"

Harry nodded, leaning into George, losing his resolve to stay away.

He didn't want to be alone.

George wrapped an arm around him, pulling him closer.

"Well, we're on track to open in time for the Hogwarts rush. We were originally going to live above the shop, but it's a lot safer under the Fidelius. I don't know if you've noticed, but this house has become a bit of a refuge. Even Snape is here!"

George laughed, clearly amused by the fact that he was now living with Snape.

"We've been working on the shop every day, mostly just decorating and all that nonsense. We've had most of the products done for weeks now. Fred spends almost all day there, but I'm only there in the mornings. I've been spending afternoons with our favorite Potions Master. He's actually taking this apprentice thing pretty seriously. Go figure."

George kept talking, words drowning out Harry's thoughts, voice driving the darkness away.

…

As the day wore on, Sirius' trial loomed larger, nervous energy replacing Harry's numb detachment.

He didn't know what to do with himself.

He didn't even have summer homework (6th years weren't assigned summer essays until after OWL results came out in early August).

He wanted to go outside.

He wanted to run.

He wanted to fly.

Instead, he was trapped in this house, reminders of Sirius all around him.

George refused to leave his side, even canceling his scheduled time with Snape. His mere presence helped drive away the panic that kept flickering in Harry's chest, flashes of fear threatening to break through the barrier he'd built.

Remus was lingering as well, watching Harry closely, making sure he was eating, making sure he was present.

Time stretched and rushed, hours flowing like minutes, minutes passing like days.

As night fell, Harry took to pacing up and down the long kitchen, desperate to release some of his energy.

Remus stopped him just after midnight, urging him to get some sleep.

Harry had never been more grateful for the existence of the Dreamless Sleep Potion.

…

Harry was pacing again.

It was 11 O'clock.

Sirius' trial had begun almost 2 hours ago.

Remus had promised it would be quick.

Where were they?

"Harry, I'm sure he's fine."

Harry ignored Mrs. Weasley, continuing to pace.

The Weasleys were waiting with him, filling the tense air with calming chatter. He appreciated the company, but their words couldn't offer him any relief.

He was terribly afraid for Sirius.

"Yeah, mate," Ron cut in, looking up from the game of chess he was playing with Percy.

"There's no way they're going to convict him. Absolutely no…"

Ron trailed off, silenced by the noise of the front door opening.

Harry felt his every muscle tense, heart beating far too fast, breath stalling in his throat.

The kitchen door opened.

Remus walked in, grinning broadly.

Sirius was right behind him.

Harry couldn't breathe.

He couldn't believe it.

Sirius walked straight to him, pulling him into a tight hug.

"I'm free, Harry. Everything is going to be okay."

In that moment, Harry believed him.

A/N: Sirius is a free man! He's going to help Harry (our boy is in desperate need of help right now).

See y'all on Saturday!