Chapter 3: The Things that Haunt Us
It was nearing midnight, moonlight streaming through the windows.
The Order was still downstairs, still working, still planning.
They'd been at it for nearly 12 hours.
Sirius' trial had marked the end of Fudge's term as Minister. Even his allies couldn't justify supporting him anymore. He'd proclaimed Sirius' guilt far too loudly, far too confidently.
Sirius' innocence had sealed his fate. The Wizengamot had moved right from the trial into a Vote of No Confidence.
Fudge was out.
The Order had expected it, ready with a candidate to put forward: Kingsley Shaklebolt. Dumbledore had endorsed him, ensuring his victory. Now that Fudge was gone, the Order could begin working in the open.
Their vigilante days were over. It was time to partner with the Ministry, pool their resources, and get actual work done. Amelia Bones had been inducted into the Order that very afternoon, cementing an essential partnership between the Order of the Phoenix and the DMLE.
With Kingsley in office, allies in the Auror Department, and sympathizers in nearly every part of the Ministry, things were looking up for the Order.
Harry wished he could be in the meeting, wished he could know what was going on. He knew he couldn't. It wasn't safe while he still had Voldemort in his head.
The new Potion preserved his autonomy, but it didn't sever the connection. It was still there, a foreign strain of magic tangling with his own.
Since the Blood Wards had fallen, Harry had been able to feel it again: pulsing evil radiating from his scar into his brain. Voldemort was stronger than ever, his magic a constant thrum in the back of Harry's mind. Harry needed to master Occlumency, needed to contain the darkness in his head. Only then would he be able to join the Order.
Over the course of that day, Grimmauld Place had transformed from a home into a true headquarters. The kitchen had been turned into a war room of sorts, full to the brim with veteran Order members and newly-inducted Ministry officials.
Everyone was in the meeting except Harry, Ron, and Ginny.
Tension radiated off the walls, unnatural silence floating up the stairs. Harry felt cut off, distant, marooned.
It was terribly lonely.
He'd spent most of the day in the library, working to reconstruct his Spell-Crafting notes. He'd lost himself in the process, trying desperately to tune out his thoughts and worries.
He knew that the Order was doing important work, but he wished that Sirius could be with him. He'd barely gotten to see the man since he'd gotten back to the house, and it was difficult to be away from him after being separated for so long.
Harry knew he was being selfish. Sirius had more important things to do than babysit him. He needed to be stronger, more independent.
The others had more important things to do than worry about his emotional well-being (or lack thereof).
The war had begun.
Harry couldn't afford to be weak.
He couldn't afford to be a liability.
He'd cost the Dursleys their lives with his incompetence. If he'd been able to hold his shield for longer, they would still be alive.
That was his fault.
He needed to resume his dueling training, he needed to master Occlumency, he needed to get physically healthy again.
Those were the important things.
He could deal with everything else on his own. He didn't need help. He didn't need to be coddled.
He didn't deserve comfort for the tragedies he'd caused.
The meeting finally let out, voices drifting up the stairs and into the library.
Harry stood quickly, hoping to catch Dumbledore before he left. He raced down the stairs, happy to find Dumbledore in the kitchen, deep in conversation with Snape.
The man noticed Harry, blue eyes meeting his. He moved away from Snape, understanding what Harry wanted.
"Severus, please excuse me. I must speak to Harry for a moment."
The other occupants of the kitchen noticed the interaction, turning to stare at Harry and Dumbledore as they made their way into the sitting room.
"What is troubling you, Harry?"
Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair, worsening its already rumpled state.
"I need to do something, Sir. I'm so unprepared…"
Dumbledore raised a hand, cutting off Harry's scrambled words.
"I understand, Harry. I assumed you would have this concern. We've made arrangements with Amelia so that you can use magic in this house without it registering as underage magic. You can resume dueling tomorrow if you wish. Mad-Eye is rather eager to get his hands on you. He quite enjoys crafting excellent duelers."
Harry nodded, grateful for Dumbledore's forethought.
"There is one more thing we must discuss, Harry," Dumbledore said, gesturing for him to sit.
"I have been granted temporary guardianship over you. It is customary when a Muggle-raised student loses their guardian for the Headmaster of Hogwarts to take over their care. Sirius has petitioned the Ministry for guardianship. I believe he will succeed. I myself have recommended that it be granted to him. Unfortunately, it may take a few weeks for everything to be finalized."
Harry nodded, hardly surprised. Something always seemed to stand between him and Sirius.
Dumbledore stood up, smiling kindly at him.
"Get some sleep, Harry. The worries of tomorrow are tomorrow's to bear."
He swept from the room, leaving Harry to mull over his cryptic words.
"Harry?"
Sirius was standing in the doorway, looking worriedly at him.
"Everything okay?"
Harry nodded, rising to his feet.
"Yeah. Dumbledore was just telling me about the guardianship stuff."
Sirius sighed.
"I'm really sorry about all that. I wish it could just be done already."
Sirius stepped closer, laying a hand on his shoulder.
"It will be done though. We're finally going to be a family. I promise."
A family.
He'd had one of those before.
It hadn't ended well for them.
"Harry?"
Damn.
He'd zoned out again.
"Sorry, Sirius. I'm just tired. I think I'll go to bed now."
"Alright…" Sirius said, concern clear in his voice.
Harry trudged up the stairs, cursing himself for making Sirius worry.
Why couldn't he get this right?
He got to his bedroom, staring at his bed in dread.
He didn't want to sleep.
He couldn't take the Dreamless Sleep Potion anymore. It was highly addictive. Taking it for the last two nights had already been pushing it.
He lay in bed for over three hours, staring at the ceiling, too anxious to close his eyes.
He knew that if he fell asleep, he would see the fire again, hear the desperate screaming...
He didn't want that.
Maybe he could just not sleep at all. Just for tonight. Just until he was feeling better.
He got up, threw on his invisibility cloak, and headed to the library. The house was eerily quiet, moon-lit shadows dancing across his feet, lighting his path.
He extended his magic toward the house, drinking in the sound of it. He wrapped it around himself like a second cloak, drawing it close. It buzzed through his fingers, thrummed in his blood, dulled his emotions.
He settled himself in an isolated corner of the library, magic glittering around him, darkness cloaking him. He worked through the night, filling pages of his Spell-Crafting notebook with rambling ideas and strange equations.
When the warm orange glow of sunrise broke across his scrawled pages, he went back to his room, getting ready for the day like he normally would.
Everything was fine.
He dressed slowly, hesitating as he pulled on a short-sleeved shirt. He hadn't worn one since his detentions with Umbridge, not wanting anyone to see the marks. They had faded to white, but the words still stood out harshly, clearly.
He wasn't going to hide the scars today.
They were a testament to the months of torture he'd endured, a testament to his ability to withstand pain. Seeing them on his arm was a reminder. A reminder that he could suffer in silence, a reminder that he could handle far more than anyone thought he could.
He attempted to comb his hair, failing miserably. It seemed to be growing more rebellious with age, springing immediately into whatever position it'd been in when he woke.
He raised a skeptical eyebrow at it, wondering if it was time to stop trying.
"You might want to stay in bed today, Dear," the mirror said kindly, startling Harry from his hair-related thoughts.
At the mirror's prompting, Harry took a second to closely examine his reflection, taking in the deep circles under his eyes and the sickly tinge to his pale skin.
"I'm okay," he told the mirror, moving out of the room.
"Whatever you say, Deary."
What idiot had decided that talking mirrors were a good idea? And why were they always so snarky?
Harry's petulant thoughts about talking mirrors carried him downstairs. He made his way into the kitchen, wand clutched tightly in his hand. He was glad that he could use magic again. It made him feel safer, more at ease.
The kitchen was empty but for Bill Weasley. He was sitting at the far end of the table, poring over a large stack of parchments, quill gripped tightly in his hand. He looked up as Harry entered, offering him a warm smile.
"Good Morning, Harry."
"Hi, Bill," Harry said, sitting across from the older man.
"What are you working on?"
Bill tucked a strand of red hair behind his ear, frowning slightly.
"A Ward. We've been trying to lock down public spaces like Diagon Alley. We've managed to create a Ward that prevents those with the Dark Mark from entering the area, but we can't figure out how to make something that will stop the Imperius Curse."
Harry was stunned. He hadn't known Wards could protect against certain kinds of people.
"How were you able to target the Dark Mark? Wouldn't that require a new sort of Rune? Or would it just be a modification Spell applied to an existing Rune?"
Bill smiled at him, clearly amused by his interest.
"George said you were a bit of an academic."
Harry blushed.
"He talks about me?"
Bill rolled his eyes.
"All the time. It gets a bit annoying."
Harry smiled his first genuine smile in ages, warmed by the knowledge that George liked to talk about him.
Bill spent the next 45 minutes attempting to explain how the Wards had been designed to specifically target the Dark Mark. A lot of it went right over Harry's head. He didn't have nearly the same affinity for Wards as he did for Spell-Crafting.
The others trickled in slowly, filling the kitchen with chatter.
With sunlight streaming through the windows and the comfort of family around him, Harry almost forgot what was troubling him.
Almost.
He ate as much as he could, knowing he would need strength for whatever Moody had planned for him.
He was itching to duel.
He needed to do something useful.
"Did you sleep well, Harry?"
Remus broke Harry out of his thoughts, amber eyes scanning over his exhausted face.
"Fine," Harry said curtly, trying not to wince as the scars on his left arm gave a strange twinge.
Remus frowned, clearly unconvinced.
"Dumbledore mentioned something about Moody coming today," Sirius interjected.
"He said you wanted training."
Harry nodded.
"Harry, Moody is really harsh…"
"Good," Harry retorted.
"I need that."
Sirius narrowed his eyes at Harry.
"You don't need to train right now, Harry…"
Harry bristled.
"There are several dead people who would disagree with you."
He was suddenly aware that the entire kitchen was listening to their conversation, staring at them with wide eyes.
"Harry," Sirius whispered.
"That wasn't your fault."
Harry glared at him, feeling strangely angry.
"You weren't there. None of you actually know what happened. None of you know why the Blood Wards went down. Don't pretend you understand whose fault it was."
He stared into Sirius' eyes, daring him to disagree.
Sirius looked upset, eyes stormy.
Harry felt a twinge of guilt, a tightening in his chest.
Why was he being so terrible to Sirius? His godfather didn't deserve that. He never could.
"Sorry," he whispered, lowering his eyes.
"It's okay," Sirius whispered back.
"Don't worry about it."
Harry spent the rest of the meal trying to pull himself together, trying to dismiss the growing guilt. It was gnawing at him, chewing through his resolve to be okay.
He'd gotten the Dursleys killed.
He'd ended the relationship between Vanessa and Dudley before it had even truly begun. He'd killed another person's boyfriend. He'd destroyed another family.
He pushed the thoughts away, stuffing them back down, willing them to leave him be.
When Moody arrived just after 9, Harry was more than ready to work with him, more than ready to forget.
Forgetting proved easy.
Moody was a brutal taskmaster, barely giving Harry enough time to breathe let alone think.
The gruff ex-Auror put Harry through his paces for nearly four hours, pushing him to the limits of his physical and magical endurance.
When it was over, Harry was so tired he feared he might collapse.
"Good work, Lad," Moody said, clapping Harry roughly on the shoulder.
"I'll see you tomorrow."
Harry nodded, struggling to catch his breath.
He made his way down the stairs on shaky legs, using the railing to hold himself up.
They'd transformed the attic into a make-shift dueling room, warding it to be impervious to Spell damage. It made for a good training space but not for an enjoyable journey back to his room. The stairs were quite hard to manage on legs that felt like jelly.
Harry cleaned up quickly before heading down to lunch. He was starving.
He sat down beside George, lacing their fingers together under the table. George turned to him, raising an eyebrow as he took in his ruffled and drained appearance.
"You look like you just fought a Mountain Troll," he said, mouth twitching in amusement.
"He didn't look nearly this bad when we fought that Troll," Ron cut in, grinning madly.
"What Troll?" Sirius asked, brow furrowed in confusion.
Ron launched into the story of the Halloween Troll, quickly drawing the attention of everyone in the room.
"You stuck your wand up its nose?" Remus asked incredulously.
"What did you think that was going to accomplish?"
"I don't know!" Harry exclaimed.
"I wasn't thinking!"
"That was obvious to all of us, Potter," Snape sneered, glaring at him.
"First Years going after a Mountain Troll. Ridiculous."
"Says the man who got mauled by a dog who falls asleep if you sing to it," muttered Ron, glaring back at Snape.
Harry snorted, trying to disguise it as a cough as Snape turned to stare at Ron.
"What was that, Weasley?"
"What?" George asked, grinning wickedly.
"I didn't say anything."
"Not you. The other Weasley."
"Me?" Fred interjected, smirking.
"Or me?" Ginny asked, joining in on the fun.
"Because I was just telling Mum that Viktor Krum is far more attractive than Gilderoy Lockhart. Do you agree with that assessment, Professor?"
Harry choked on his laughter, watching as Snape's face turned red with fury.
Across from him, Remus was trying to keep Sirius in line, clapping a hand over his mouth when Sirius moved to reply to Snape.
His godfather may have matured quite a lot, but he wasn't one to pass up an opportunity to tease someone. Especially not when that someone was Snape.
Lunch ended too quickly.
Before he knew it, Harry found himself in the sitting room with Snape, steeling himself for an Occlumency lesson.
He was dreading the lesson, hands already beginning to shake. He'd been trying all day to push away his memories. Now, he was inviting them in with open arms. He just hoped Snape would stay away from anything related to Privet Drive. He couldn't bear to live through that again. Not now. Probably not ever.
"Prepare yourself, Potter."
Harry pushed his magic out into the room, memorizing the sound of it, trying to create a barrier between him and Snape.
"Legilimens."
At first, his strategy worked.
Harry was able to drown out Snape's attack, focusing on his own magic.
Snape retaliated, pressing harder against Harry's defenses, trying to break them down.
Harry struggled for a moment, straining to maintain the barrier of music.
He lasted for barely a minute, Snape's magic overcoming his in a rush of power.
He was back in front of Number 4, fire blazing from the windows.
Screams were echoing in his ears, loud and terrified.
The air was dense with smoke, the scent of burning flesh filling his nostrils.
Harry jerked away from the memory, horrified.
Merlin, he felt sick.
"Potter…"
Snape's voice sounded from worlds away, muffled and distant. Harry was underwater, sound muted, air absent. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't…
He stood up, world spinning around him. The image of Privet Drive on fire was still flashing before his eyes, splitting his vision with dual realities. He could still smell the smoke, still hear the screaming...
He needed to get out of here.
He ran up the stairs, racing toward his bedroom, needing something familiar.
He shut the door behind him, hands shaking too badly to turn the lock. His heart was hammering too hard, too fast. He sank to the floor, vision going gray. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to block out the inferno in his head.
There wasn't enough oxygen in this room. Where was all the oxygen? He could still smell the smoke. It was filling his lungs, cutting off his air...
"Harry, you need to breathe."
His hand was placed against someone's chest, skin echoing with their heartbeat, fingers rising and falling with their breath.
"Feel that?"
Harry nodded, still gasping for air.
"Match the rhythm of my breathing, okay?"
Harry tried, but he couldn't do it.
"T-there's too much smoke," he gasped, trying to make the person understand.
"There's no smoke, Harry. You're in your bedroom at Grimmauld Place. Open your eyes, and you'll see."
Harry shook his head. He didn't want to see the fire.
"It's okay, Harry. I promise. It's just your bedroom. You're at Grimmauld Place."
Harry inched one eye open, scanning for the flames he knew must be there.
All he saw was his bedroom, red duvet and yellow carpet. He turned toward the person who'd been helping him, locking eyes with Sirius. He took in a deep breath, bunching his fingers into his godfather's shirt.
They sat like that for several minutes, just breathing.
"Better?" Sirius finally asked, voice gentle.
Harry nodded, drawing in another shaky breath.
"Sorry," he whispered.
"I'm so…"
"Stop."
Harry cut himself off, startling at the hard edge in Sirius' voice.
"You don't have to apologize for reacting normally to something incredibly traumatic."
"But it was my fault," Harry said, suddenly needing to explain it to someone, needing Sirius to understand.
"It wasn't…"
"It was. I was...I did something stupid, Sirius. I let the Blood Wards break."
Sirius frowned.
"What exactly did you do?"
"I-I wasn't careful enough. I let Uncle Vernon find out…"
"Find out what?" Sirius asked gently.
"I let him find out about George," Harry whispered, voice breaking on the words.
Understanding filled Sirius' eyes in an instant.
"The Wards fell because they found out about you and George," Sirius repeated, anger clear in his voice.
"Those bastards."
He turned to Harry, looking right into his eyes.
"That's not your fault."
"But…"
"Nope. You don't get to blame yourself for their intolerance. That's not going to fly with me."
Harry pulled away from Sirius, resting his head in his hands.
"She said I was disgusting," he bit out, choking on the words.
"That she couldn't possibly be related to someone like me."
Sirius was silent for a moment, words seeming to evade him.
"You aren't disgusting, Harry. Never think that. SHE didn't deserve to be related to YOU. Not the other way around."
Sirius pulled Harry's hands away from his face, looking him in the eye.
"Family isn't all about blood. You're like a son to me, Harry. Blood could never change that. You're not disgusting, and you're not to blame for any of this. Understand?"
Harry nodded, a rebellious tear streaking its way down his cheek. Sirius brushed it away, unfazed.
"I think we need to hold off on Occlumency for a little bit."
Harry shook his head wildly. He couldn't afford to waste time.
"No…"
"Yes."
Sirius sighed, running a hand through his dark hair.
"I know that you've never had a proper guardian before, but I intend to do this right. That means your health comes first even when you don't like it. Occlumency is literally a kind of forced flashback. That is not what you need right now. In fact, I'd wager that it's the exact opposite of what you need."
Harry knew Sirius was right. He could pretend he was fine all he wanted, but he wasn't. He hadn't been for a while.
"What do I need?" Harry asked, knowing that Sirius would have the answer. He always had the answer.
"You need to be a kid for a little bit," Sirius said, smiling at him.
"You need to relax. You need to spend some time with your lovely godfather."
Harry grinned up at Sirius.
"Aren't I already doing that?"
Sirius glared at him.
"Don't sass me, Potter."
Harry laughed, feeling the knot of anxiety in his chest loosen.
"I was going to wait until your birthday to tell you this, but I might as well do it now."
Harry turned to look at him, confused.
"The Blacks were a very wealthy family, Harry. I mean, ridiculously wealthy. Now that I'm not a wanted man, I've regained a lot of my inheritance. Including a lovely property in France."
Sirius smiled, clearly lost in memory.
"It's a beautiful place. It's secluded and right by the water. We've put it and quite a bit of the land under a Fidelius. We're going to spend the first two weeks of August there."
Harry stared at him, shocked.
"We are?"
Sirius laughed, clearly amused by his surprised expression.
"Yes. I've invited the Weasleys as well. We need some time away from this madhouse. I don't want you spending your entire summer in the middle of a warzone. Not when I can avoid it."
"I've never been to the sea…" Harry said wistfully.
He didn't count the time Uncle Vernon had dragged them to a shack in the middle of a storm.
"Well, we're going to change that."
Sirius pulled him to his feet, opening the door.
"Because we're leaving soon, I'm trying to get all this guardianship nonsense out of the way in the next few days. I have to show proof of financial security and all that junk. I'm actually headed off to Gringotts now. I have to bully the goblins into giving me an account statement. I need to show the Ministry just how rich I am."
Sirius guided him toward the library.
"I don't want you to be alone while I'm gone. I think I saw George in here…"
George was there, stretched out on one of the sofas, book open in his hand. He looked up as they entered, eyes tracking worriedly over Harry's face.
"What's up?" he asked.
"I'm off to the bank," Sirius said brightly.
"And I thought Harry might want to stay with you. He could use the company."
Sirius nudged Harry into the room.
"I'll be back in a few hours," he whispered gently, turning on his heel and setting off down the stairs.
"Don't just stand there," George called, beckoning Harry forward.
"Come join me."
Harry walked over, hesitating for just a second before settling in beside George. The other boy wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close so they could fit comfortably on the sofa, side by side. Harry lay his head on George's chest, the exhaustion of his sleepless night catching up with him.
"Are you okay?" George whispered, resting his head on top of Harry's.
Harry had no answers for him. He had nothing but a jumbled mind, terrors lurking at the edges, darkness threatening to submerge him.
There were no words left to say.
Words couldn't capture this feeling, couldn't pin it down.
George didn't press him, understanding the meaning behind his silence, understanding that words couldn't fix this.
He simply held on tighter.
George's heartbeat echoed in Harry's ears, steady as the tide, endless as the turning of time.
He felt his eyes drooping, waves of fatigue crashing over him. Sleep didn't feel so terrifying anymore. Not with George beside him.
He drifted off, sleep coming easily.
When wakefulness returned, it came abruptly and violently, panic dragging him back to awareness with a sickening lurch.
The nightmare was already fading, but the fear was still there, waves of terror flowing over him, drowning him.
"Hey, it's alright."
George's voice echoed through the silent library, strong and reassuring.
"It was just a dream."
Harry pushed himself into a sitting position, still gasping for breath.
When was this going to stop?
George sat up as well, wrapping him in a hug.
"It was just a dream."
"I'm tired of dreaming," Harry whispered.
"I know."
They sat there for a long time, saying nothing.
"This will all be over someday, Harry," George said softly.
"Someday, we won't have to be afraid anymore. Someday..."
George trailed off, voice fading into the peace of the afternoon.
He knew why George didn't dare finish that sentence. They weren't guaranteed someday. They weren't even guaranteed tomorrow. George was an Order member now. Harry was Voldemort's number 1 target. They could lose each other at any moment, death parting them with a single Spell.
Harry held on tighter, refusing to give up on their future.
"Someday…" he agreed, turning to look into George's face, gazing into his eyes.
George stared back, fear gone.
"Someday."
Chapter 4 is coming on WEDNESDAY!