Chapter 5: Questions and Reunions

The interior of Number 12 Grimmauld Place was just as foreboding as the outside.

Peeling wallpaper and moth-eaten tapestries gave the place a decidedly creepy air, sending shivers up Harry's spine. Worst of all was the line of House-elf heads hung decoratively on the wall, blank eyes staring down at him.

Harry shuddered, disturbed by the profound darkness of this house.

"Admiring the House-elves, Harry?"

Harry started at the voice, turning to see Sirius standing in the doorway. His godfather looked much better than the last time Harry had seen him: face fuller, skin brighter, gray eyes sparkling.

Sirius strode forward and pulled Harry into a tight hug, resting his head on top of Harry's for just a moment. Harry melted into the embrace, suddenly realizing just how much he'd missed being around people who actually liked him. Just this small amount of human contact left Harry feeling far better than he had in months.

Sirius pulled back, taking in Harry's appearance for the first time, eyes tracking over the bruise on his face and the dark circles under his eyes. He exchanged a meaningful glance with Remus, eyes going stormy.

Before Sirius could say anything, Mrs. Weasley bustled into the room, quickly engulfing Harry in one of her famous hugs.

She pulled back from him, cupping his cheek with her hand. "You're looking terribly pale, dear," she observed, tilting his face gently from side to side. "And thin." She frowned. "I'm afraid dinner won't be for a while yet though, the meeting's just about to start."

"What meeting?" Harry asked, knowing he very likely wouldn't receive an answer.

"Don't worry about all that," she said, shaking her head. "Just head on upstairs. Ron and Hermione have been just dying to see you. They're only one flight up. First door on your left. Go on, dear."

Recognizing a dismissal when he heard one, Harry trudged up the stairs, feeling a bit dejected.

He didn't really understand why no one would tell him anything. He knew he was young, but that hadn't stopped him from ending up in that graveyard. Being young hadn't protected Cedric at all.

Maybe Ron and Hermione would be able to tell him something more about this house and about whatever the Order of the Phoenix was. Then again, Ron and Hermione had been here without him for weeks, and they hadn't seen fit to tell him anything either. He wasn't really angry with them. Not anymore. The rage he'd initially felt at the lack of news had faded quickly, blotted out by the panic and loneliness that came from a month spent locked in his tiny bedroom.

He wasn't angry with his friends. He didn't need answers or explanations, didn't need apologies. He just needed them to be there.

Harry knew it was pathetic, but he was desperate for companionship, desperate for the friendship Ron and Hermione had always provided. He just hoped they were still willing to be there for him. He didn't think he could survive without them.

As Harry reached the top of the stairs and turned left, he steeled himself, hoping that Ron and Hermione were still willing to put up with him. He slowly pushed open the door, barely setting foot over the threshold before he was attacked by a bushy-haired blur, pulled into the tightest hug he'd ever experienced.

"-ermione," he choked out. "Can't breathe…"

"Oh!" she exclaimed, releasing him. "Oh, Harry, you look just awful."

"You can't say stuff like that to a bloke, Hermione," Ron complained. Then, he took a long look at Harry, brow furrowing slightly. "Actually," he said, looking vaguely apologetic. "You do look pretty terrible."

Harry felt his cheeks heat with embarrassment, keeping his eyes firmly on the floor. He knew he looked terrible, hating the frail figure that confronted him every time he saw his reflection. He didn't want to look like this, but being practically starved for six weeks didn't exactly leave one looking healthy.

"Did something happen?" Hermione asked suddenly. "With your relatives? Is that how you got that bruise?"

Harry shook his head firmly. "No."

"Harry," she started, disbelief obvious in her voice. "You can't..."

Before she could finish speaking, the Weasley twins appeared in the middle of the room, matching lime green shirts nearly glowing in the dim light. Fred, upon spotting Harry, began to fake sob, crossing the room and scooping Harry into his arms.

"Harrikins, it has been far too long," he wailed. "I haven't smiled since the last time I saw you! I've been practically wasting away in my grief!"

Harry grinned at Fred's antics, glancing over at George, startled to find the boy staring at him, something like panic flickering in his brown eyes. Harry tried to smile at him, but his expression faltered, the smile falling away.

"Hi, Harry," George said quietly, locking eyes with him for just a second before quickly glancing away.

Harry stared at him for a moment, something strange twisting in his chest.

"Well," Fred said, finally releasing Harry. "How do you like this place, Harry? Did you enjoy the House-elf heads? They're my favorite."

"Shut up, Fred," George said, glaring at his twin. "This isn't the time for jokes. I'm sure Harry has questions."

Harry sent a grateful look George's way, glad that someone was finally going to listen to him.

"Ask anything you like," George prompted.

That was all it took, the invitation opening the floodgates, questions spilling from his lips. "I want to know where we are," he said quickly. "What is this place? What is the Order of the Phoenix? Why won't anyone tell me anything? Why didn't you all tell me you were together? Why have you kept things from me?"

Harry couldn't stop his voice from breaking slightly as he asked that final question, desperation creeping into his words.

Before anyone could answer his questions, Hermione burst into tears, moving over to hug him again, wrapping her arms tightly around him. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, voice muffled by tears. "We d-didn't mean to k-keep anything from you. It's just that D-dumbledore made us swear n-not to tell you anything."

Harry let that sink in. Dumbledore again. Why did Dumbledore not want him informed? What had he done to deserve this?

Ron, who appeared very unsure of how to react to Hermione's tears, spoke up. "As for this place," he explained. "It's Sirius' old house. It's also serving as Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix which is a secret society working to stop You-Know-Who. Dumbledore founded it during the last war. Beyond that, we don't know much of anything. We're really sorry we couldn't tell you anything, mate," he said, eyes sincere. "You haven't missed much though," he added quickly. "We've been cleaning mostly. At first, we tried to spy on the meetings, but they caught onto us right quick."

After he finished speaking, Ron gave Harry such an earnest look of regret that all of Harry's fears disappeared. Ron was truly sorry that he hadn't been able to tell Harry anything. Hermione was in tears because she thought she'd hurt him. Harry's friends still cared about him. They still wanted him around.

"It's okay," Harry said. "I understand."

He did understand. It was Dumbledore who no longer trusted him, not his friends. He needed to work harder. He needed to show Dumbledore that he could be trusted.

"Enough of this serious nonsense," Fred said, pulling a bright pink handkerchief from his pocket and handing it to Hermione. "Brother Dear, why don't you tell them about the prank we pulled on Percy last week."

"Oh yes," George said, grinning. "Everyone gather around."

All five teenagers ended up sitting cross-legged on the floor, huddled together in the small space. Hermione looked exasperated at the prospect of rehashing a prank but seemed willing to listen for Harry's sake. She knew how much he loved listening to the twins' prank stories.

Once they were all settled, George began his tale. "Well," he started, voice gleeful. "Last week we sent him a cursed quill. It was addressed to him from Cornelius Fudge himself. Every time he writes his name, it spells traitor instead. I bet he's sent loads of letters out like that. Serves him right, the git."

"I don't understand," Harry interjected. "What did he do?"

An awkward silence descended on the room.

"You see, Harry," George said hesitantly. "He doesn't believe that You-Know-Who is back. He agrees with the Ministry's official position which is that you are an unbalanced liar, and Dumbledore's using you in an attempt to cause a panic and get the Minister's job."

George said the words incredibly quickly, almost as if he was trying to run away from the truth.

Harry felt his heart stop. He hadn't been reading the Daily Prophet this summer.

"They really think that?" Harry croaked.

"Not everyone," Ron said hurriedly. "There are loads of people who believe you and Dumbledore. It's just that with the Prophet printing lies about you all the time, it's hard for people to know what to believe."

"So, people think that I'm lying about Voldemort returning?" Harry asked, feeling the familiar panic beginning to rise. "For what? Attention?"

"I think that's exactly what they think, Harry," Hermione said quietly.

"And they think that Cedric just dropped dead of his own accord? They think he just...that he wasn't...that…"

Harry felt his heart speed up, hands starting to shake under the threatening assault of memory.

He couldn't talk about this.

Not now.

Not yet.

"It's okay, Harry," Hermione said quietly, moving to wrap her arms around him. "It'll be okay."

In that moment, surrounded by his friends, Harry almost believed her.