"Asleep," Sirius said, nodding at Harry. Dumbledore didn't look surprised, but he looked shaken. "Where did Kreacher take you - any idea where it was?"
Dumbledore nodded, but had to swallow before he spoke:
"His old nursery," he said. Sirius felt a chill, though the Hospital Wing was perfectly warm.
"At- in Godric's Hollow?" Dumbledore inclined his head and sat down rather heavily. Kreacher caught Sirius' eye and Sirius shook his head to say he didn't need anything else. Kreacher patted his hand and popped away.
For several long minutes, Sirius and Dumbledore watched Harry sleep.
"You look troubled," Dumbledore said eventually. "Beyond the obvious."
"I am," Sirius admitted. "I..." He shook his head, eyes shifting to Harry's wand on the bedside table, beside James' broken one. "...still have questions," he said lamely.
"As do I." Dumbledore frowned. "Namely, why Tom let Cedric go. It is… unlike him."
"Yeah," Sirius said. "Some sort of mind game, maybe? Give Harry hope? Harry mentioned him trying to prove a point."
"Perhaps," Dumbledore said, but seemed unconvinced. Then he said, "Harry was gone a long time. Another half an hour after Cedric returned, at least." Sirius' eyes slid off Harry and over to Dumbledore. "Tom will have talked to his followers, boasted about his power and cleverness, but Harry said little about it, and gained little information from it, which makes me think he was brief. The Mark does not take long to place-" Dumbledore would know that from Snape, Sirius supposed. "-and Harry cannot have lingered at Godric's Hollow long, else he'd have died there."
"They duelled," Sirius reminded him, more out of obligation than anything else; it was niggling at him too. "Harry and Voldemort. And there was the Priori Incantatem."
"There was," Dumbledore agreed. "I- Harry will forgive me for saying so, I'm sure, since he said as much himself earlier; he is no match for Voldemort in a duel. If Voldemort wished to kill him - and I'm certain he did - and with Harry already injured, then I doubt their exchange lasted more than a minute before Harry triggered the Reverse Spell effect." Harry had said just that earlier. "And I do not think that could have lasted long either."
"Do you think they were real?" Sirius asked.
"Certainly they were real," Dumbledore said. "Priori Incantatem does not create hallucinations, and Harry made it clear they were able to speak, and aid him. Whether or not it was them… Who can say? Death is a mystery to all of us still living."
They sat in silence for a few moments longer.
"What are your questions?" Dumbledore asked eventually. Sirius sighed and glanced at Harry, feeling a bit like he was betraying him.
"The wands," he said, eyes sliding back to the bedside table. "Cedric and Harry both said they were Disarmed and bound, but for the Priori Incantatem to have triggered, Harry would have had to have his own. So maybe Voldemort gave it back, wanted to make a bit of a show of it, but that doesn't explain what happened to James'."
"Perhaps it was damaged in the maze," Dumbledore said, but he was frowning too.
"But it had been moved from its holster," Sirius said. "It was in his pocket, so he must have used it. But he didn't mention it, and Voldemort wouldn't have given him his actual wand if Harry already had one, and I doubt Harry could have retrieved his own on his own with a broken wand."
"May I?" Dumbledore asked, flicking his own. James' wand rose from the table, and at Sirius' nod, zipped into Dumbledore's hand. He examined it gently, then tapped it with his own wand and the two halves sprang back together with a flourish of red and gold ribbons. Dumbledore made a soft, satisfied sound.
"I didn't think it was possible to fix wands like that," Sirius said.
"There are benefits to being me," Dumbledore said, with a small smile, though his scent was cautious. "And now for a little reverse spell effect of our own…" He tapped the wand and it released a weak, unhealthy looking spray of sparks. Dumbledore hummed, thoughtful.
"Harry tried to cast something with it after it had broken," he said.
"So he did use it," Sirius murmured. "Do you know what the spell was?" Dumbledore traced his wand over James', then shook his head.
"The wand could not perform the spell," Dumbledore said. "And so there is no effect for it to show us."
"What about a wand movement? An incantation?" Dumbledore shook his head again. Sirius opened his mouth, but before he could speak, there was a crash as the Hospital Wing door flew open, and then noisy footsteps entered… then stopped.
"Dumbledore!" Sirius recognised the Minister's voice, and exchanged a look with Dumbledore, who stood, frowning.
Sirius heard another door fly open, but there was no crash, and then lighter but no less purposeful footsteps became audible.
"What in Merlin's name," Madam Pomfrey hissed, "do you think you're doing?!" Sirius glanced at Dumbledore, who was smoothing his robes and beard, apparently in no particular rush. Sirius could have sworn he was smiling a little.
"I'd watch your tone with the Minister, Madam," came a woman's reply, sickly sweet, and yet sharp. Sirius felt his hackles rise, and he stood as well, following Dumbledore out of the curtain.
Fudge was there not looking at all chastened despite being in the presence of a red-faced, furious Madam Pomfrey. Dolores Umbridge stood beside Fudge, likewise unaffected.
"Ah," Fudge said, when he spotted Dumbledore. "Headmaster. Minerva told me you were down here-"
"I cannot imagine Minerva would have sent you to me," Dumbledore said, arching an eyebrow, and this time Fudge did wilt, if only a little:
"Not precisely," he said. "She was fairly insistent that I stay with the others in your office, but I'm not sure she understands the seriousness of the situation…" Something like irritation flickered over Dumbledore's face.
"By seriousness…?"
"We've just prematurely ended the fourth Triwizard task at your insistence! The entire wizarding world is going to be out for my head!"
"Cornelius," Dumbledore said, "Lord Voldemort-" Fudge and Umbridge flinched. "-returned to power tonight-"
"He's not back," Fudge said. "He can't be."
"He is," Sirius said.
"And you can't know that!" Fudge continued.
"Severus Snape told me," Dumbledore said, "when his Dark Mark burned tonight. I'm sure Igor Karkaroff would too, though I doubt you'll be able to find him to ask. I believe he's gone to ground." Sirius gave Dumbledore a sharp look. "Igor burned too many bridges when he gave his testimony at the end of the war to have any hope of being welcomed back."
"He- but- He can't be."
"He is," Sirius said again.
"And I'm supposed to take you at your word?!" Fudge snapped.
"I'd recommend it," Sirius said. "You've already embarrassed yourself and the Ministry by not believing me once in recent history…" Fudge went red, and Dumbledore gave Sirius a warning look:
"The evidence was pointing against everything you said-"
"Maybe it was," Sirius said. "But it isn't now."
"Isn't it?" Umbridge asked. "Because I'm yet to see any kind of evidence-"
"The Cup was a portkey that could breach Hogwarts wards," Dumbledore said. "It took Harry and Cedric to a graveyard, where Voldemort was resurrected. You saw Cedric's return yourself."
"And if something was wrong, he'd have said so."
"He was Imperiused by Crouch - Pemberley - as soon as he arrived back on the grounds," Sirius said.
"Says who?" Fudge said.
"Says me," Sirius said, folding his arms. "Seeing as I'm the one that found him and freed him from it. I'll be filling out an official Auror's report about the incident that you'll be welcome to read."
Fudge struggled with himself for a moment, obviously torn between wanting to dismiss Sirius' word as valid, but unwilling to badmouth the credibility of official Ministry reports.
"And Potter?" Umbridge asked.
"Harry managed to escape Voldemort-" Sirius heard a sharp intake of breath from behind Cedric's curtain, and cocked his head. Dumbledore's eyes flicked briefly to him, then away. "-and the graveyard and returned to the school with the help of a house elf," Dumbledore said. "He has given us his account tonight, and is now resting-"
"I'd like his account too," Fudge said immediately, attempting to crane his neck past Sirius and Dumbledore.
"That won't be possible tonight," Dumbledore said, with steel in his voice this time.
"You can have mine." Sirius heard covers shift, bare feet on the Hospital Wing's stone floor, and then Cedric tugged back his curtains. He faltered a little when they all turned to look at him, but then seemed to compose himself and raised his chin. Sirius offered him a small smile. "The Cup was a portkey," he said. "And V-Vol-demort." Cedric shuddered a little, as if the name tasted bad. "He's back, Minister. I don't want to believe it either, but I know what I saw."
"And what is that?" Umbridge asked.
And Cedric began to speak, of the sphinx and the maze, of taking the Cup and victory at Harry's insistence, of Harry grabbing his ankle when the portkey activated, of the graveyard, and Peter, the cauldron and Voldemort's return. Cedric went paler and paler the longer he talked, his eyes faraway. Once or twice he had to visibly compose himself and swallow or clear his throat before he was able to continue, but he did, all the way through to Harry begging for Cedric to be freed, and Voldemort somehow agreeing.
"How imaginative," Umbridge said, when Cedric was done.
"You don't believe me," Cedric said, blinking. He sounded shocked, hurt, angry, and incredulous all at once. "Why don't you believe me? Harry and I almost died!"
"Because Cornelius does not think he can afford to," Dumbledore said. Fudge and Umbridge shot him angry looks, but Dumbledore continued before either could interrupt: "Voldemort has returned. If you accept that here, tonight, and we take the necessary measures, we may be able to retain control of the situation."
"What measures?" Fudge asked stiffly.
"Remove the dementors from Azkaban," Dumbledore said.
"You can't be serious," Umbridge snapped. "Cornelius would be kicked from office for suggesting it! Azkaban houses all sorts of criminals and monsters, and the only thing between them and us is the dementors-"
"Who will flock to Voldemort the moment he asks them to," Dumbledore replied. "Thus enabling those criminals and monsters - some of Voldemort's most loyal and powerful supporters - to return to his side as well."
"The dementors are loyal to the Ministry," Fudge said.
"The dementors are aligned with the Ministry while it suits them," Dumbledore said. "And when it does not… when they were here at the school they came within the boundaries to try to prey on students."
"A once off," Fudge said.
"It happened several times, Cornelius."
"And I spent enough time in Azkaban to know they're happy enough to ignore the guards and Kiss people if they get the chance," Sirius said. "And I'm sure you remember the time they raided the Ministry holding cells before my trial and Kissed an Auror before trying to Kiss not only me, but Harry." Cedric looked at him, wide-eyed. Fudge looked sulky.
"And then," Dumbledore pressed, "once you have dealt with the Dementors, you must send envoys to the giants, and to the werewolves." Umbridge's lip curled in disgust.
"Giants?" Fudge asked faintly. "This is- Dumbledore, this is madness-"
"If you do not extend the hand of friendship, Voldemort will, as he has before. I know he has already reached out to the werewolves-"
"But people hate the giants and the werewolves!" Fudge said. "If people heard I was talking to them… It would be the end of my career, Dumbledore-"
"Would you put your love for the office you hold over the wellbeing of the people you are supposed to lead and protect?" Dumbledore asked. "Will that be your legacy, Cornelius - standing aside to give Voldemort a second chance at destroying the wizarding world? Or will you be remembered as the Minister who acted, who made brave choices-"
"Dumbledore-"
"You have written to me weekly since you took office," Dumbledore said, "asking for my advice. I am giving it now. And, for the first time in all these years, I am asking something back of you: that you take it."
"And who's to say this isn't just an elaborate ruse?" Fudge said, but Sirius thought he was wavering. "What if I do take your advice, and I become a laughing stock? What if they kick me out of office and it turns out that was your plan all along? What if you're just doing this to get me out of the way so that you can step up as Minister?"
"Cornelius, if I wanted your role, I would have it already," Dumbledore said. Fudge flushed and a long look passed between him and Dumbledore, before Fudge dropped his gaze. Umbridge bristled and Sirius hid a smirk. Cedric looked equal parts uncomfortable and fascinated. "I am trying to help you keep it, if for no other reason than that I do not want Lord Voldemort to be your successor."
"So you say," Umbridge sniffed. "I confess, I'm still struggling with all of this. You Know Who died and we're now supposed to believe that he's back out of nowhere-"
"It has been building for some time," Dumbledore said. "The opening of the Chamber of Secrets, Peter Pettigrew's presence at the school last year, the attack at the World Cup, and even Ludo Bagman's death..."
"Activity by his old followers," Umbridge insisted. "Or an impersonator. Regardless, madmen stirring up chaos for chaos' sake."
"Voldemort is himself. And his followers are active at his instruction," Dumbledore corrected.
"So you say," Umbridge said. "Because he says so." She nodded at Cedric, gave him a sickly smile that Cedric didn't seem to know how to respond to. "It's nothing personal, dear, just… surely you can't expect us to spark the entire Ministry into action based solely on the word of two boys."
"Cedric's of age," Sirius reminded her. Umbridge pursed her lips. "And a Prefect. And the Hogwarts Champion, picked from a crowd of however many others by an ancient magical artifact because he was the best fit. You've been watching him all year - he's not a liar, or an attention seeker." Fudge nodded slowly.
"And Potter?" Umbridge asked sweetly. "Somewhat less trustworthy… Always caught up in something or other." Fudge pursed his lips and nodded again. "No offence, Black," she added, rather insincerely, and with a wide smile that didn't warm her eyes at all.
Sirius opened his mouth, but Dumbledore spoke first:
"I see you have still not forgiven Harry for thwarting your attempt to dose him with Veritaserum as a boy." Umbridge pinkened. "For what it is worth, I trust Harry implicitly," Dumbledore said, speaking more to Fudge now.
"He's a Champion," Fudge said, somewhat begrudgingly.
"And the Boy Who Lived," Dumbledore prompted. Fudge made a small noise of agreement, though his mouth had turned down.
"You're sure?" Fudge asked at last, turning to Cedric. "You have no doubt that you saw… what you saw?"
"None," Cedric said firmly. He'd been a good competitor in the Tournament, a worthy Champion, but Sirius didn't think he'd ever embodied it so much as he did now; barefoot, in hospital pyjamas, eyes blazing and head held high as he faced down the Minister of Magic and told him something he didn't want to hear. Sirius smelled something like pride in Dumbledore's scent, and felt a little of his own, mixing in with relief.
Fudge gave an awkward, reluctant little nod, and looked to Dumbledore.
"We should… talk, then, Dumbledore," he said.
Padfoot had left about an hour ago after intercepting an early morning attempt by Harry's friends to visit him properly, and it was a bit of a relief; Harry hadn't been sure he'd been ready to see them just yet, and it was also nice to have Padfoot gone, even if only for a little while. Harry didn't want him gone for long, or gone far, felt like he needed him close, but Padfoot was treating Harry with caution, and being overly gentle both with how he handled and spoke to him.
The problem wasn't that Harry had a problem with being treated like he might break, it was more that Harry felt like he would, and having it acknowledged by Padfoot of all people made him feel even more so.
Not that Padfoot had left him alone; Moony was there despite the early hour, and had been since Harry woke. Given he'd been at the end of updating Padfoot on what Dumbledore, the Order, and the Ministry had been up to overnight, Harry suspected he'd been there for some time before that, too.
They'd stopped talking when they realised Harry was awake, and he was sure they'd have continued if he'd asked them to, but he hadn't:
Last night he'd condemned them all to fight this war, but he was feeling fragile enough about it all that he wasn't sure he was ready to hear the hows just yet, hear the risks they'd all be taking.
Moony yawned enormously and rubbed his eyes.
"You don't have to stay," Harry muttered, though he didn't want to be alone. "I know you can't have slept much-"
"I didn't sleep at all," Moony said, with a small smile. It was still a bit streaky, but for the most part, Harry's vision had come back while he slept. "Fortunately, between being a father to a not-quite-one year old, and a werewolf, I'm not unused to that." Gratitude welled in Harry, pricking his eyes, and though Moony must have been able to smell it, he didn't comment on it or otherwise react to it, though his small smile remained. Harry wondered if he'd still be happy to sit there with him if he knew what had happened the night before; would Moony be more horrified by the fact that Harry had used an Unforgivable - the worst of them - or that he'd failed to use it? And what about Harry's Dark Mark? His stomach churned just thinking about it. Had Padfoot told Moony that?
Or maybe Moony would be more horrified to hear that while Harry hadn't considered accepting Voldemort's offer to join him, Voldemort had not only expected him to, but wanted him to… and it'd been easy to argue with Voldemort last night but now, after, Harry couldn't help but think about what he'd said. Wrong, all of it, and twisted, maybe but not a lie.
Moony's nostrils flared and his mouth turned down ever so slightly. After a moment of hesitation - Harry could smell it - he said, "Have you thought about what you want to do when Ron, Hermione, Draco, and Ginny inevitably come back?"
"What do you mean?" Harry asked, pressing his bandaged stump into his good hand. It didn't hurt, exactly, but it twinged every now and then, and it felt- odd. Empty. But also not, as if his body and his brain hadn't quite realised he was missing something yet, which made it even stranger every time he touched it or looked at it and realised all over again that it was gone.
"If you're not ready to see them, Sirius and I will keep them at bay," Remus said. "In the short term, hearing what happened last night should sate some of their curiosity, but if they're anything like Sirius and James were - and there are certainly similarities - even that won't keep them for long." He smiled, fond, but Harry couldn't smile back through the lump in his throat and knot in his stomach.
"Yeah," he said. "If they're Dad and Padfoot… does that mean I'm you?"
"You are stuck in a hospital bed recovering from a horrendous night, and keeping the extent of your condition-" He nodded at Harry's bandages. "-a secret, aren't you?" Moony asked. Harry smiled weakly.
"It won't be a secret once Padfoot tells them," he said.
"He won't," Moony said, with certainty. "He and I discussed it, whether it would be a good idea to let them know in advance, but ultimately decided against it - that part of the story is yours to tell, if and when you're ready. Or we can tell them for you, if that's what you'd prefer, but we weren't going to without your permission."
"I- I don't know," Harry said.
"That's all right," Moony said calmly. "As I said, Sirius and I will keep them at bay for as long as you need us to."
"I don't- I want to see them, I just- Not like this." His voice cracked and he wiped his eyes impatiently on the back of his hand. Moony reached out to rub his back.
"I… This is going to sound like an awfully callous thing to say, let alone so soon," Moony said, scent hesitant, "but this is the way you are now. And- people will look at you differently. They'll ask questions, and they'll pity you, or be uncomfortable around you. But the ones that matter won't, and in my own experience, it's that that makes the rest of it tolerable."
"He- Voldemort, he- he was able to fix Wormtail's hand," Harry said, unable to look at Moony. "He made him a silver one." He swallowed. "Do you think…?"
"I don't know," Moony said. "I know severed limbs can be reattached, if you... have them." It went without saying that Harry didn't. He didn't think Voldemort had it - Voldemort would have found a way to taunt him, or some way to hurt him through it if he did. So had it been destroyed in the wards, perhaps? Or had it just not been found after Harry apparated? "And there are potions that can restore fingers or toes, but a whole hand… If it were that easy - or, rather, if it was possible - then I think Snape would have fixed his leg by now."
"But it is possible," Harry said. Alastor Moody walks around on a lump of wood because Dumbledore cannot heal him the way I healed Wormtail tonight, Voldemort had said.
For the first time, Moony looked at him with something like pity.
"Certainly if Voldemort managed it," he said. "But what's the cost? The catch? In my - admittedly, predominantly secondhand - experience, there usually is one. With Voldemort and with magic that complex."
"Yeah," Harry said, still not able to look at him. Of course there'd be a cost, a catch. It was Voldemort. His eyes were burning again, with shame mostly, but there was a tiny bit of resentment too and that made the shame all the stronger.
"I- you're probably sick of hearing the words in my experience from me this morning," Moony said, "but not having a cure doesn't mean there's no treatment." He gestured to himself. "I have Wolfsbane potion, good company on full moons, and things like Anti-Aches, Pepper-Up, and dittany to get me through the days after. There'll be spells you can use to compensate, and perhaps even a prosthetic… Muggles manage without hands or feet and they do it all without magic. And, of course, you'll have us around you - me, and Sirius, and Dora, and your friends. Knowing them all as I do, I imagine they'll come up with their own ways to support you, as Sirius and James did for me…"
At that, Harry pictured his friends' reactions. He had before, when he'd heard Padfoot intercept them but this time it was different. Instead of Ron's discomfort, he imagined Ron's steady support. Instead of Draco's pity, he imagined Draco's help - brusque and with some sort of remark designed to keep Harry from feeling too sorry for himself. Instead of Ginny's horror, he imagined her acceptance, knew that she wouldn't treat him any differently. And instead of Hermione's distress, he imagined her help, the spells she'd help him find and learn, the information about how muggles coped when they lost hands.
Harry's vision blurred and he suddenly wished they were there, all of them.
And then they were - not right there, but in the corridor outside the Hospital Wing.
Moony sighed and he glanced at Harry.
"What was that about you and Padfoot keeping them at bay?" Harry asked, with no real anger. He did tuck his bandaged wrist beneath the covers, though, just in case.
"Padfoot always has been of the opinion that friends belong at bedsides," Moony said, in a tone that was both long-suffering and fond. "That, or they're not willing to take no for an answer unless it comes from you." Moony rose and straightened his crumpled robes, scent growing determined. "Regardless-"
"Can I see them?" Harry asked as he heard the door open and five sets of footsteps enter. He heard Padfoot and Hermione shushing the others; presumably Cedric was still asleep.
"Of course you can," Moony said, blinking. His scent turned warm, and he smiled. "I'm personally also of the opinion that friends belong at the bedside, as long as you're willing and able to receive them." He paused, eyes going to Harry's covered arm. "Will you tell them, or keep it hidden for now?"
"Dunno yet," Harry said, but tucked his wrist beneath his thigh so he wouldn't forget and bring it out without thinking. It twinged a little, but he ignored it. Moony nodded and reached for the curtains. "Hey, Moony." Moony raised an eyebrow. "Thanks for-" Harry swallowed. "Thanks."
Moony smiled and pulled back the curtains, which shimmered as the Silencing Charm on them broke.
And though she'd been the one cautioning everyone else to be quiet, when she saw him, Hermione gasped, "Harry!" Then she clapped her hands to her mouth, while Ron and Draco sniggered. Ginny watched him, gaze assessing and troubled, and then in unison, they hurried forward.
Padfoot caught Harry's eye and cocked his head, eyes flicking over each of Harry's friends and Harry nodded.
"Gentle with him," Padfoot said, "he's still healing." He wasn't, but Harry appreciated the lie; it would keep them (Hermione) from hugging him, which in turn would mean Harry didn't look strange for keeping his hand hidden.
Hermione took the seat closest to Harry - the one that had been Padfoot's earlier - and Ron took the one that Moony had just vacated. Draco remained standing beside Ron, but Ginny - after pulling the curtains shut and reactivating the Silencing Charm - sat carefully and slowly on the very end of Harry's bed.
For several long moments, they all stared at him, but no one spoke.
"Hi," Harry said, at a bit of a loss. He shifted, taking his weight off his stump, which had twinged again, but left it pressed right beside his leg, and still under the covers.
"Gave us a right scare with this one, mate," Ron said at last.
"Sorry," Harry muttered. Draco snorted.
"Sirius told us everything," Hermione said. Harry didn't correct her; Padfoot hadn't told them about his hand, and there were quite a few other things Padfoot hadn't told them… mainly because Harry hadn't told Padfoot and so Padfoot didn't know. "Harry…" She reached out - for his hand, he realised too late, as her fingers closed over what remained of his wrist through his blankets. She frowned a little, and he could feel her fingers moving slightly, searching…
He knew as soon as understanding struck, saw it on her face. Her eyes widened and she twitched as if to pull away, but didn't, though the weight of her hand lessened. Was it revulsion, Harry wondered, or was she afraid of hurting him?
He waited for Hermione to launch with any of the million questions he could see all over her face, or announce her discovery to the others, but she didn't; instead, she gave his wrist a soft, very tentative squeeze. Harry reached over to put his remaining hand on top of hers, and squeezed back, tight.
"Thanks, Hermione," he said. She nodded back, eyes bright with tears now, but he knew she wouldn't say a word, not until he was ready for her to, or until he had himself. And just like that, it felt easier. It wasn't easy, not by a long way, but Moony had been right; the ones who mattered wouldn't treat him any differently.
"All right, Potter?" Draco asked, a little uneasily, glancing between him and Hermione.
"I- not really," Harry said, clearing his throat. He gave Hermione's hand a little pat to get her to move it, and then lifted his left arm out from under the covers.
Ron swore, loudly, scent shocked. Draco blinked and then his expression smoothed into something impassive, though his scent was upset.
Ginny looked dangerous:
"Did He do-"
"No," Harry said. "I Splinched myself." She relaxed a little, but not much.
"Did you know?" Draco asked Hermione. "You were-"
"No," she said. "I felt it, just before." She turned to Harry, forehead creasing. "Does it... hurt?"
"Not really," he said. "Feels a bit funny, though."
"A bit funny," Ron repeated faintly, shaking his head.
"Master of the understatement there, Potter," Draco said, snorting, then, more quietly, "Can Pomfrey do anything?"
Harry gave a short shake of his head, touching the bandages self-consciously.
They were taking it better than he'd thought - much better. But as nice as it was to be near his friends, it was also rather overwhelming, having them there, and his hand not, and-
Harry jumped as the curtains were pulled back, and he didn't realise how on edge he'd been until he saw Padfoot and something in him eased.
"Come on," he said gently, and the others stood without argument. Ron put a light hand on Harry's shoulder and squeezed, Hermione kissed his cheek, and Ginny patted his feet as she climbed off the bed. Draco held his eyes for a moment, then gave a small, sad smile.
Harry didn't argue with Padfoot on their behalf, to try to let them stay. He wanted to but he also… didn't. Not right then.
"I'm sorry," Harry croaked.
"Don't be silly," Hermione said briskly.
"We'll be back later?" Ron said, and it sounded equal parts like reassurance and a question.
"Yeah," Harry said desperately. "If- if you want?"
"If we want," Draco scoffed. He looked at the others. "Does he think we might not want to, do you think? Do you think he has a head injury too? Surely that's the only reason he could be deluded enough to think-"
"Draco," Hermione said, but Harry laughed weakly. Draco looked pleased.
Ginny was the last to step through the curtains:
"You're alive," she said, quietly, understandingly. "That's a good start." She'd been alive too, after the Chamber. "Okay and good can come later." Her mouth quirked up into something that wasn't quite a smile but that made something in him feel a little lighter all the same.
