Disclaimer: And after all this time… Harry Potter. Still not mine.
Author's Note: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! My muse hid for several weeks, refusing to acknowledge that this was in fact the second to last chapter. She's still in a state of denial, but I coaxed her out with promises of chocolate and tea. Be gentle with her. She's feeling a bit vulnerable *sniff*. 8-) As always, please read and review! Enjoy!
Chapter 40
Harry dreamt he was being rocked to sleep. He was cold and exhausted and the voice that whispered his lullaby seemed oddly sibilant, but he nestled nonetheless within the folds of its robes, letting the breath carry him further and further away. Breath?
Harry frowned and opened his eyes. The face before him was rotted with fleshy gristle, its jaws stretching wider and wider as it moved forward to Kiss him. A Dementor. Inside of its mouth, Harry could see Sirius' gaunt face, looking just as Harry had seen him that first time in the Shrieking Shack, peering out. Sirius was reaching for him with grasping hands and desperately calling his name.
Harry screamed in horror as he tried to reach inside the creature's mouth and pull his godfather free. As he did so, a thousand voices echoed with his own, reverberating within his head to the point it felt as if his eardrums had shattered, deafening him as he frantically tried to save Sirius and avoid the promise of soulless peace.
"Merlin, Harry, wake up!" Sirius' rough voice broke through Harry's dream. Harry shot up in bed, chest heaving and sweating as if he'd run a race. Sirius grabbed his shoulders and pulled Harry close as he struggled to orient himself.
Not in Azkaban? Yes. Safe at home? Yes. Sirius is safe? Harry let his arms snake around his godfather's waist as Sirius continued to hold Harry, muttering that he was safe, he was home, no one could harm him, and that it was just a dream. Yes. It was a checklist Harry had taken to using when he woke up from the nightmares. It was a way to remind himself that things were getting better.
"We've got to find a way to give you a break from these dreams," Sirius growled in frustration as Harry began to relax. As the initial adrenaline rush faded fatigue set in, causing Harry to yawn loudly.
"What do you mean?" Harry asked sleepily as the last vestiges of the dream drifted away, bringing him back to the present and Sirius' tired, bleary face.
"Your nightmares," Sirius pulled back and looked at Harry with a frown.
"They've already got me back on the Dreamless Sleep potion every alternate Wednesday," Harry joked lightly.
Truly, the schedule Snape had concocted for Harry's taking the sleeping potion was mind boggling in its randomness. A large calendar on the wall of the kitchen showed what days he could take it and what days he couldn't. Constant tests caused the schedule to magically update as Madam Pomfrey carried blood samples back and Snape revised the results.
"It's not enough," Sirius stated in frustration.
"Of course it is," Harry scolded tiredly, blinking to moisten his dry eyes. It felt like the inside of his lids were coated with sandpaper. Blegh.
"You're exhausted. Listen to me. Here I am rambling on about your troubles, and you're nearly nodding off on me. Sorry, Harry," Sirius rumbled as he pushed Harry back onto the pillows and pulled the blankets around him.
"S'okay, Sirius. It's not so bad… Really," he tried to placate. Sirius snorted.
"Quit trying to reassure me. *I* am the one supposed to be comforting *you* here," he objected.
"You're doing fine," Harry mumbled encouragingly, letting his eyes close. Sirius snorted again, and Harry opened one eye to peer at his godfather sternly. "You don't get it, do you? I don't *feel* the curses anymore. I may still hear their cries, but I'm not *feeling* them die. Not like I used to." Sirius paled, and Harry wondered if he'd said too much.
He never talked about the memories… The people who died. He still couldn't bear to. It was too overwhelming. He'd been oddly relieved when he first learned that Sirius and Remus had read his journal. It allowed them to understand what he had faced each night without actually having to describe it. Unfortunately, though, it also left them looking at him a bit lost, as if unsure what to say or do, afraid they'd end up hurting him rather than helping.
"With the scream you let loose just now, you could have fooled me," Sirius scowled, breaking Harry's train of thought.
"But Sirius, you don't understand… When I wake up, I'm okay. My friends are okay. You and Remus are safe. Yes, I hate to sleep, but there's no saying the nightmares won't eventually go away," Harry said, knowing full well they probably wouldn't. But Sirius didn't have to know that.
"In the meantime, I do get *some* rest, since the Dreamless Potion is actually working for me, and if you'd quit badgering me, I'd probably fall back asleep right now," Harry lightly scolded, his voice warbling around a suppressed yawn.
It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live1, Headmaster Dumbledore once told him. Harry had decided nearly a month ago that that statement applied just as much in these circumstances as it did then. He hated the nightmares, but when he compared them to when Voldemort was alive, there simply *was* no comparison.
"You're right. Sorry, Harry," Sirius said contritely, and with a pop Snuffles was beside him, snuggling up and effectively pinning Harry's legs underneath the covers. With effort, Harry turned on his side and let his arm drape over Snuffles' ribs, his hand burrowing within Sirius' fur. The Animagus generated heat at an amazing rate, and as it seeped into Harry, he let himself relax. His shivering slowly began to ease and he drifted back to sleep.
He only had two more nightmares that night. He woke up to find Snuffles sprawled across the majority of the bed, legs akimbo, snoring wetly. Harry tried not to disturb his godfather as he scooted out from underneath the covers, his bladder dictating that it was indeed time to get up. He was loath to disturb his godfather's sleep, for despite Sirius' protests, the fatigue weighed heavily on him.
As he padded softly to the bathroom, though, he could hear Sirius stirring. The tile floor had been charmed to remain warm at all times, so Harry had to resort to splashing cold water on his face to try to wake up. Blinking a couple of times, Harry let the water wash into his dry eyes to soothe the constant burn of exhaustion. After patting his face with a towel, Harry slipped on his glasses that he'd grabbed from the nightstand and inspected himself closely.
"Sweet pea, you've got a long way to go, but you're sure looking better," the mirror informed Harry encouragingly.
Harry smiled wearily in response. He knew he still looked awful. He was still flesh and bones, but at least his skin didn't have a yellowish tint to it anymore. In fact, he was starting to get the faintest hint of a tan from all the afternoons in the sunroom.
"Harry?" Sirius pounded on the door, causing Harry to leap into the air and yelp with surprise.
"Sirius, you nearly gave me a heart attack!" Harry exclaimed weakly, hand on his chest, before opening the door.
"Sorry. How are you doing?" he asked, inspecting Harry closely.
"I'm hungry. How about you?" Harry asked and was rewarded by a big smile in response.
Harry found he could only walk at a snail's pace. It was nice at first when he had Remus to keep him company, as they both had walked at about the same rate, but Remus' recovery quickly surpassed his own, leaving Sirius as the more likely walking companion.
Slow walks were simply not in his godfather's nature, Harry discovered. He bounded, or prowled. Sometimes he pounced. Whatever he did, Sirius did it with enthusiasm. He simply wasn't built for meandering. Harry could practically see the tics and twitches in Sirius' body as he forced himself to shuffle forward, keeping pace with his godson. It was actually quite fun for Harry to watch Sirius try to contain himself, to slow down and enjoy the scenery, so to speak.
"Look at it this way. Perhaps I need to learn to slow down as much as you need to speed up," Sirius jokingly speculated one afternoon after Harry pointed out with amusement that Sirius was practically tap dancing in place, hopping from one foot to the other and making noises with his slippers on the tile as he shuffled alongside his godson.
Harry enjoyed reminding him of that statement from time to time, when Sirius was practically shivering in his skin with poorly disguised restlessness. Not that his godfather wasn't solicitous. Harry found that Sirius' sharp eyes noted Harry's pain and discomfort far better than he would have preferred.
Sirius was *very* perceptive to Harry's ever shifting moods, and intuitively seemed to know when Harry began to feel as if *this* were the dream and he was still really back in Azkaban. That's when his godfather would show up with hot cocoa and blankets, swooping in to bundle Harry off to one of the sunrooms where he could read and absorb the sun.
Harry tired easily, and embarrassingly his muscles gave out long before his will did. This insured that neither Remus nor Sirius let him walk unaccompanied for even short distances, and as yet he hadn't made it up more than five stairs unaided. Of course, any walk in his new home was a major endeavor.
As they slowly traveled to the informal dining room that served well for most meals, Sirius cheerfully whistled a tune that sounded vaguely familiar, but was nothing Harry could put a name to. It was going to be stuck in his head all day, he already knew. The tune reverberated merrily through the wood paneled halls, and Harry suppressed the urge to shake his head in amazement as he marveled yet again at his new home.
The 'house' Remus bought was more of a mansion than anything else. Harry couldn't imagine a home needing more than one kitchen, but evidently this one did. The main one had been commandeered by Dobby completely, and Remus had wryly reported that the house-elf appeared to be completely in his element. At any time, one could walk in to find a feast ready to be served.
The smaller kitchen had been converted into an impromptu casual dining area where everyone seemed to feel the most comfortable taking their meals, especially considering the 'formal' dining room could easily seat the entirety of the Weasley clan, plus all of the Gryffindors in Harry's year.
The home had at least fifteen different bedrooms that Harry was aware of, each with their own bathroom. It had several libraries and studies, and two basements, which Harry was puzzled by but had yet to ask about. It had a greenhouse that Remus disappeared to for hours at a time, and multiple sitting and sunrooms. One converted sunroom in particular contained an indoor pool that Harry spent a part of every afternoon in as part of Madam Pomfrey's physical rehabilitation plan. Never unattended, of course.
Harry was also surprised at how innocent their home looked from the outside. It was clearly enchanted because it didn't show its size at all. Instead it looked more like a quaint little cottage, with a sloped wood shingle roof and charming shuttered windows that reflected the autumn sunsets perfectly, as he'd seen one of the few times he'd actually spent a little time outside. It was nestled back into a woodsy area just a short distance from Hogsmeade, and if Harry were required to describe it with one word, it would be: cozy.
Sighing, Harry let himself plop bonelessly into a dining chair as Remus and Sirius settled across from him. Instantly, food began to appear. Fruits and pastries, bangers and mash, bacon, pancakes, French toast, as well as oatmeal and a wide array of juices and teas all instantly materialized, smelling delicious. Dobby spent a great deal of effort trying to appeal to Harry's taste buds, and although Harry still found he couldn't eat a great deal, the variety had definitely begun to whet his appetite.
Harry's increased enthusiasm for food also spurred Dobby to insure that fresh plates of food and drinks were in every room Harry visited. Sirius complained loudly about this as he ate up everything in sight and playfully threw food at Remus, forcing him to join in. Harry enjoyed watching Remus grumble even as he managed to finish everything Sirius gave him. The skinny former werewolf could put away even more than Sirius, much to Harry's surprise.
"So, Harry, I've been thinking…" Sirius began, startling Harry enough that he almost coughed on the bacon he'd been nibbling on.
"Yes?" Harry asked, forcing his voice not to sound suspicious. Sentences started like *that* generally weren't promising.
"About your nightmares last night," Sirius continued, studying his plate intently. Harry stilled his hands, the bacon suddenly feeling burnt and dry in his throat. Weakly, Harry washed it all down with some tea, no longer hungry. Uh oh.
"What about them?" Harry asked, and noted Remus set his own fork down to give Sirius his undivided attention.
"Would you tell me about one?" Sirius asked tentatively, looking up and into Harry's eyes searchingly, the hesitancy in his voice showing he understood just what he was asking.
"Why?" Harry asked simply.
"Because you never talk about them. Sometimes it's good to talk about these things," Sirius said firmly after a pause, and Harry understood it was costing his godfather a lot to put himself out on a limb like this. After all, to ask such things of Harry invited them to be asked of himself, and his godfather, it turned out, was the king of evasion. Remus appeared gobsmacked for a moment, perhaps by the irony of Sirius' own reluctance to discuss *his* nightmares, but quickly recovered his expression.
"Perhaps we may even be able to interpret them, if you'd like," Remus prompted softly, smiling gently at Harry.
Harry held his breath while he thought about it. Why don't I want to tell them? Because he didn't want to talk about it. Why don't I want to talk about it? Because he wanted to forget. But I can't, can I? I've already tried.
Remus and Sirius both waited tensely, trying to appear unconcerned, as Harry tumbled the various reasons around in his mind about why he did not want to talk about things like this. First, he *certainly* wasn't used to talking about his feelings and fears. Second, he felt kind of silly. When he talked about it aloud, a lot of his fears sounded small and pitiful to his own ears, making him feel like a child and sometimes even petty.
However, Harry realized, they are my family, aren't they? Anne's voice still echoed in his head, and Harry realized that Sirius and Remus were indeed far more significant to him than his own blood relatives had ever been. The place Remus, Sirius, Ron and Hermione held, as well as all the Weasleys, was far more important than the Dursleys could *ever* be, even *with* personality transplants.
Let them in. That's what he's asking for, a burst of insight whispered. Remus remained perfectly still, eyes watchful, as if any sudden movement might scare Harry away. Harry then looked at his godfather closely. As the seconds dragged on, Sirius appeared more and more anxious, but still determined, biting the inside of his lip absently. The rat-a-tat-tat of his slippers against the floor increased in tempo with each second that passed.
That, more than anything else, spurred Harry on. Sirius had made himself just as vulnerable with what he'd asked of Harry, and Harry wanted to make it perfectly clear that he would *not* reject his godfather in any way.
With a deep breath, Harry plunged headlong into describing the nightmare he'd had the night before that held Sirius in the mouth of a Dementor and the screams that had echoed with his own. By the time he was done recalling every detail he could remember, Sirius' eyes were wide and he had noticeably paled. Remus, after wiping the concern from his expression to a more tolerable (to Harry at least) academic interest, appeared deep in thought.
"That's a good dream, Harry," Remus said after clearing his throat. Sirius' head whipped to stare at him in shock, eyes incredulous.
"That's a good dream?" Sirius repeated. Remus nodded encouragingly at Harry, then shot a look at Sirius discretely as if to silence him, taking a sip of tea before continuing. Sirius flinched, and Harry suspected Remus had just kicked him under the table.
"Well, yes. Of course, there's always two ways to look at everything, but in essence… yes," Remus replied.
"Please do go on," Harry prompted with faint sarcasm, struggling between a frown and a smirk at Remus' response. Sirius shot him a strange look.
Remus pursed his lips thoughtfully, frowning into his tea. "Think of it this way…" he said, and his voice trailed off for a moment. "You ended up in Azkaban because you wanted to help free Sirius, right?" he finally asked, nearly, but not quite, blurting it. Sirius started in his chair, looking as if he were about to be sick.
"Yes," Harry replied reluctantly, trying to keep a covert eye on Sirius even while paying attention to Remus. He never talked about that, and was surprised at how open and candid Remus was being. It couldn't be good for Sirius to hear, even though it was a truth they all knew.
"So *that* could be the tie in. However, it could also be that when you think of the Dementors, you also know you can turn to Sirius for help," Remus explained in his best professorial tones, warming up to the topic, his own discomfort beginning to fade a little in light of his interpretation.
"But I was trying to save him," Harry disagreed.
"Many times dreams are literal. Sirius was *inside* the Dementor, right?" Remus prompted, and Harry caught Remus shooting a concerned look of his own at Sirius. His godfather was staring at his plate again, perfectly still, but he appeared to be listening. Harry nodded.
"Then you could say he, above *anyone* else, knows what goes on inside one. He's got the best vantage to see its inner workings," Remus said, more to Sirius than Harry, and proceeded to quietly refill Sirius' teacup.
Sirius slowly raised his eyes to look at Remus, and in that silent form of communication they seemed so adept at using, frowned for a moment then slowly began to nod. Harry could practically hear Remus willing Sirius to see his point. He can turn to you for help. You understand what he's going through. Sirius began to get a little color back in his face as he turned to look at Harry intently, the beginnings of the faintest smile around his eyes. Hope.
"What about my scream?" Harry asked, directing them back to the dream, hating the lump that was beginning to form in his throat. He still felt raw, and while he appreciated Remus' clinical analysis, Harry was still having a hard time keeping his emotions in check. As Remus was so bent on putting a positive spin on his dream, Harry was somewhat cynically intrigued what his former professor would make of *that*.
"You said your scream echoed with others you've seen in your visions?" Remus prompted gently, reluctance showing in every movement he made even as he continued to plow gamely forward. Sirius' knuckles were stark white as he clenched his teacup, but he didn't say anything.
"Yes. It was deafening," Harry replied numbly. He wished he didn't remember that as clearly as he did.
One of the hardest things he'd had to come to terms with once he'd woken up was that there always seemed to be a chorus waiting in the back of his mind, triggered by the slightest thing. It sounded the same as the voices in his dream, and although he didn't tell Remus or Sirius that, he suspected Sirius knew anyway.
"That's a bit easier," Remus said, interrupting Harry's train of thought. Harry had to suppress a coughed laugh as Sirius raised a skeptical, haughty eyebrow. Easy, huh? His expression humorously mocked, trying to lighten things.
"Your mind is pointing out that you're a victim, too," Remus stated solemly, and the stark pronouncement lay on the table between the three of them, embarrassingly truthful, as Harry tried to gather his thoughts.
"But I'm still alive. I won… sort of," Harry pointed out tentatively. Technically, he'd won, although he certainly didn't feel like a victor. The quickest flash of a grimace crossed Remus' face before he schooled it once again into academic neutrality, sipping his tea once more before answering. He was a lot like Dumbledore in that way, Harry realized. No one could rush his opinion, and it was understood that whatever he said would be carefully thought over first.
"Yes, but that doesn't lessen your suffering. You're haunted by their voices, and yours was drowned out by theirs," Remus pointed out, eyes warm and sympathetic. He watched Harry closely as he processed the former professor's words. It was as if Remus were trying to silently communicate something to Harry as well, but he couldn't quite tell what it was, and Remus wasn't about to say it aloud.
"So what does that mean?" Harry asked anxiously after a moment, the whole conversation making him feel like squirming in his chair. While Remus' interpretation made sense, he couldn't help the tiniest skepticism that burbled up around anything that smacked even faintly of Trelawney. Or do you not want to believe him?
"Perhaps it means that you carry their voices with you, giving more weight to theirs than to your own," Remus speculated, his tone rich with sympathy. Ouch.
"Maybe it's time to let go of their voices and search for your own," Sirius announced solemnly. Both Remus and Harry stared at him in slack jawed surprise.
"What?" Sirius asked vacantly as he looked from one face to another, breaking the tension of the moment. Harry was beginning to learn that the comedic fool was very much an act that Sirius wielded strategically when he so chose.
"Either way, it's a positive dream," Remus said with a warm smile, making him look younger than his years and effectively closing the topic for discussion.
Thankfully, the rest of breakfast passed with much lighter conversation. Harry had never lived in a home where there wasn't someone screaming at him or cloying voices wheedling to get their own way at his expense. It was shockingly restful to have a room all his own that he was encouraged to sleep late in, without any chores to do. Certainly, there were still obligations, such as getting caught up with the rest of his class, but he wasn't expected to cook or clean.
It left Harry with a lot of free time on the weekends, time Harry wasn't used to having. He read a great deal now. Hermione was bursting with pride, convinced she'd finally begun to rub off on him. She showed up for tutoring with bags of books now that she just *knew* he'd like. Harry would never disillusion her.
It was hard finding things that weren't too physically demanding to do. He wandered the house quite a bit, and spent as much time as he could outdoors as well (which wasn't much). The closest thing to being outside when he went to the overgrown nursery nestled behind the house, which Remus had eagerly claimed as his own.
Harry found he enjoyed watching as his former professor jumped enthusiastically into trying to tame the rambling, congested greenhouse. Years of neglect had allowed the overcrowded garden to turn practically into a jungle, but Remus remained undaunted. With quiet confidence he separated specimens Harry couldn't tell apart, replanting and repotting tirelessly. He worked hard to get the more temperamental magical plants to allow him to prune them, winning them over with gentle words and the ability to keep them from realizing what he was doing until it was already done.
Sirius, on the other hand, made for a terrific digger in his Animagus form when Remus could find him, but was just as likely to be found joking with Harry or nibbling ceaselessly from the wild berry bushes that had taken over a corner.
Harry tried to help where he could, but as he still didn't have much stamina he ended up being 'moral support', as Sirius liked to put it. Remus would just smile and shake his head, undoubtedly amused at the irony that Sirius was about as 'supportive' as Harry was.
Harry had never encountered a relationship like the one between Remus and Sirius. They spent hours bantering back and forth. They insulted each other with amazing alacrity, and were ruthless with the pranks they pulled (especially Sirius). Evidently, this sort of thing was all a contest, or sport, to see who could insult or hex the other the most effectively, and had been going on for more years than Harry had been alive.
No matter what pranks were done, though, there were never seemed to be any hurt feelings and both men took equal turns with charmed hair and burping bubbles in good humor. If anything, the prospect of revenge always seemed even *more* entertaining than the original prank had been.
Unfortunately, Sirius and Remus' history also made for an easy, unspoken communication that Harry couldn't quite discern. It meant whole conversations could occur in the space of a few chosen words, leaving Harry totally in the dark. It also meant that in the blink of an eye, if Harry let something slip that he hadn't intended, both men would unite against him, a combined, persistent barrage of inquiries that were difficult to deflect and ended up forcing him to reveal far more than he'd intended.
"Harry?" Hermione's voice called softly, startling him from a doze. When did I fall asleep? She was kneeling beside the couch and pushing on his shoulder gently to wake him up. He noted the blanket on him hadn't been there when he'd sat down. Sirius strikes again, he thought warmly, and realized a fire was also going in the library fireplace.
"Hey," Harry said sleepily as he uncurled and slowly sat up, looking around for his glasses, which had been on his face earlier. Hands pushed his glasses into his palm, and Harry smiled as he saw Ron standing a few feet away.
"How are you feeling?" Ron asked with a frown. Harry realized it had disconcerted him finding Harry asleep. Normally, they met in a parlor next to the library to study.
"Fine. I think I ate too much breakfast," Harry replied quickly, and like a light switch Ron's face lit up with a big smile.
"Good. Don't go scaring me like that!" he said and flipped the blanket over Harry's head as he plopped beside him. "Are they around?" he asked Hermione, suddenly serious again. Hermione quickly strode to the door, peeking outside to see if Harry's two guardians were nearby, before pulling it softly closed behind her.
"No. I think I hear Sirius harassing Remus in the study," she replied in a hushed voice with the faintest twitch of her lips. Harry was surprised at how solemnly conspiratorial they looked. Hermione crossed the room and settled on the chair across from them, looking rather worried as she distractedly chewed on her lower lip.
"What?" Harry asked, frowning as he watched his two friends closely, instinctively wrapping his hands in the blanket on his lap.
"Have you been reading the Daily Prophet?" Ron asked. Harry shook his head and smiled wryly.
"Are you kidding? They won't let me near one," Harry replied, referring to his two guardians. There had been a time he would have been outraged at being withheld information, but in this instance he found he didn't really care all that much. He wondered why.
Perhaps because you're so good at eavesdropping, his conscience helpfully supplied. Not that Harry did it on purpose… most of the time. He simply always seemed to be in the right place at the right time, or the wrong time, depending on how one looked at it.
"There are a couple of things we want to talk to you about," Hermione said after a moment. She looks different, Harry realized. More contained. A flash of disapproval crossed her face, but quickly vanished. What's this about?
"Like?" Harry prompted. His friends had worked hard to keep things light since Harry had first woken up. He was surprised by the intensity and seriousness in both their faces. It was a painful reminder of what they'd gone through as well.
Harry hated to see the forced maturity in their eyes, yet in its way it was also oddly reassuring. Sometimes he just assumed they would never understand the things he felt and faced. Even if they don't, that doesn't mean you shouldn't try. Harry silenced the unsolicited opinion his mind supplied. He never said he wouldn't.
"'Mione and I talked about this, and didn't think you'd heard," Ron said as he watched his friend closely.
"Has anyone told you about Fudge?" Hermione asked, her eyes intent. After the initial flash of panic, Harry shook his head. There's no reason to get freaky about this. They arrested him. No one's coming for me.
"One of the Unspeakables under suspicion paid him a visit where he was being held. Apparently they gave him a vial of poison, which he took a day later. He's dead, Harry," Hermione said, watching him intently.
"Dad was furious. No one was supposed to see him, but evidently Imperius was used on the guards," Ron added, his face dark with anger as well. "Fudge should have gotten the Kiss," he spat. Harry forced himself not to shudder.
A few Dementors who had not been present in Azkaban at the time Voldemort attacked remained, although if the rumours Remus had spoken to Sirius about were true, those remaining were beginning to disappear, and so far the Ministry had been unable to track them.
"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, horrified, and Ron flinched, a surprised look on his face. "What's wrong with you? I can't believe you just said that!" she practically hissed, and even Harry was a bit taken aback by her anger. Harry bit his lip in frustration as he felt the familiar tremors begin to increase within his own body. Perfect. Just the thing to panic Hermione.
"What? He deserves it!" Ron said, thankfully focusing completely on Hermione.
Discretely trying to take deep breaths, Harry watched the byplay between his two friends, praying they wouldn't notice his discomfort. It was one of the byproducts of continuously trying to push the memories out of his mind. When something tripped it, they could all come crashing down at once and overwhelm him. Thankfully, this time it hadn't.
"We agreed to tell him about Fudge. What part of 'don't talk about Azkaban' didn't you get?" she scolded, but Harry was too preoccupied with getting control of his own emotions to interrupt her tirade.
This is pathetic. I shouldn't be falling to pieces at the mere mention of what happened. Merlin, even *Sirius* doesn't, and Azkaban did far more to him than anything done to me, he knew, but still refused to think any further on it. After all, it wasn't Azkaban that made his breath hitch in panic, but all he'd seen that chilled his soul.
He had shots of white now peppered throughout his hair. Sirius had been appalled when he'd first seen them, and had looked ready to rupture blood vessels. Harry held on to that image, even though he knew he probably shouldn't see it as funny. Personally, he didn't care. It wasn't as if he was good looking anyway.
"What? I didn't… Oh. Bloody hell, Harry, I'm sorry," Ron thwapped himself soundly on the forehead before turning to smile apologetically at Harry. "We figured you didn't know about Fudge, and we needed to talk to you about something…."
"It's okay. I overheard Sirius talking to Remus about it. Apparently, someone at the Ministry has been trying to push for me to be there if they decided to administer the Kiss to Fudge… which nearly gave Sirius a coronary," Harry said wryly. Remus was*definitely* a little slow with the silencing spells that time.
Harry had been appalled at the idea. As much as he loathed Fudge, he had no wish to see him Kissed. He'd seen entirely too much death already. Hermione's eyes widened. She hadn't known about that.
"I'd have gone," Ron promised darkly, and winced as Hermione punched him soundly on the arm. He glared at her for a second, looking completely unrepentant. Harry felt the hairs rise on the nape of his neck at the tone in his friend's voice, and nearly jumped as a log popped in the fireplace.
"Way to go," Hermione glared at him. Ron shrugged. He had obviously meant it.
"So what's going on? What is it that you need to talk to me about?" Harry asked, forcing the conversation forward. At the rate they were going, Hermione was about to bludgeon Ron with a book. Obviously *something* had prompted his friends to talk about current events, considering they'd been dancing around anything even remotely serious now for weeks.
"With the testimonies taken already, Percy's back at home with Dad, helping him out. He found out everyone's coming over here for dinner, and wanted to know if he could talk with you," Ron said.
"We told him 'no', but Mr. Weasley said it was *your* choice," Hermione said, her eyes still glittering with anger, and shook her head as if she couldn't believe Percy's nerve. "You don't have to see him if you don't want to," she said, leaning forward earnestly.
"Of course I'll see him," Harry answered, frowning. Two jaws simultaneously fell open in shock.
"Are you nuts? He handed you over to Fudge!" Ron nearly yelled. Hermione cast a quick silencing spell and glanced at the door nervously.
"Harry, no one expects you to forgive him," she said, her face hard. Harry shook his head and looked at his two friends.
"It looks like I'm not the one who needs to forgive," Harry replied. Ron's lip curled in anger. Perhaps honesty isn't the best course of action here. Oh well. Too late.
"Why should we? He handed us all over to Fudge, and he's lucky we didn't get killed. And you… How can you not hate him for what he did to you?" Ron was standing now, pointing angrily at Harry.
"Percy didn't do it. Fudge did. Percy never saw it coming, Ron. I could see it in his eyes. He tried to stop them…" Harry explained, fighting the memory of that awful chair, and the Veritaserum as it burned through his veins while Fudge looked on with manic glee. He could still see Percy as he desperately struggled to get free, to make a noise… anything to stop or distract them.
"Ron…" Hermione reprimanded sharply, and Harry suspected he'd turned a little pale.
"Ron, I don't hate your brother. I think he's a prat for not believing me. It's not like I ever lied to him. But I think it was as much a matter of him not wanting to believe Voldemort had risen as it was believing I had lied, if that makes any sense," Harry tried to articulate.
"He had them arrest you! At our house!" Ron was clearly struggling to keep from yelling, and still towered over Harry in his frustration. The expression on his face gave Harry the distinct impression he felt like he was trying to reason with a lunatic. Although the thought nearly made Harry smile, he knew he'd have to cut this conversation short before it got truly ugly. Time for a little brutal honesty. Cheers.
"If your brother hadn't been thick with Fudge, how do you think the assault on the Burrow would have gone? Who took Fudge out? Your dad. Fudge has been trying to discredit your dad for ages. Don't you think the assault to arrest me would have been the perfect opportunity to take him *and his family* out at the same time?" Harry demanded, surging forward in his chair but knowing he dare not stand. He was trembling too badly to keep a solid footing. Ron and Hermione were both stunned. Am I the only person that thinks of this stuff?
"He wouldn't…" Hermione protested weakly, obviously stunned.
"What? Throw a fifteen year old in Azkaban? Give a teenager an adult dose of Veritaserum even though it might fry his brains? Sell Dark Magic items to Muggles? Lie to *everyone* about Voldemort, even though it meant he was leaving an unsuspecting public completely unprepared for Death Eater attacks? Hire out Unspeakables to the highest bidder? What, Hermione? Tell me what Fudge wouldn't do," Harry said, hating to be so forceful with his friends but knowing it was necessary.
Harry shook his head wearily.
"As long as Fudge had a Weasley in his pocket, your dad, Ron, was less of a threat," Harry said, forcing eye contact. Ron was the first to look away. "Percy did more to keep your family out of danger than I did, however inadvertently, and for that I'm grateful. Realistically, the moment I realized they might come for me, I should have gone somewhere else…"
"You were in no condition to go anywhere, Harry Potter!" Hermione protested angrily. "I don't see how you can take a thing like Percy's betrayal and *thank* him for it."
"He did what he thought was right. He was narrow minded, stubborn, and thought I was a liar, but he did what he did because he genuinely thought it was the right thing to do. You didn't see him, Hermione. You didn't see how horrified he was when…" Harry paused, pursing his lips together.
"He betrayed his family and put them at risk for his own gains. George and mum were *hurt* because of my brother," Ron said, his voice hard. "You may be nutters enough to forgive him for turning you over to Fudge, but I never will," he promised, turned on his heel and stormed out of the room.
"Where's he going?" Harry asked, not even bothering to call him back. He knew better.
"To tell Mr. Weasley Percy can come," Hermione said, then sighed heavily and came over to sit beside Harry on the couch. She smiled a bit wryly and absently tucked the blanket around him before settling beside him, shaking her head at thoughts she apparently chose not to share.
"I'm sorry if I upset you," Harry apologized gently. Hermione shrugged.
"You're right. It's not my place to tell you that you have to be angry with Percy. But don't expect me to forgive him just because you have," Hermione said resolutely. Harry nodded.
"Fair enough. Is it bad?" Harry asked, referring to the obvious tension between Percy and the rest of the Weasleys.
"Fred's still furious, but George is trying to get him to make peace. Of course Mr. and Mrs. Weasley forgave Percy. I think Ginny is impressed by all he's done to try to get you free, even though she's still angry, so she's probably going to forgive him pretty soon," Hermione guessed, ticking off Weasleys on her fingertips. "It's hard to tell with Charlie and Bill, though. I think it's going to take a while to get back in their good graces," she said thoughtfully. There was no need to interpret Ron's feelings.
"Sirius wouldn't have let you go, you know," Hermione said gently, ending the comfortable silence that had settled between them. "I mean," she paused and took a deep breath before continuing, "If they gave Fudge the Kiss." Harry shrugged.
"There's only so much Sirius can do," he replied, and the truth of that statement hung between them for a while as they both gazed into the fireplace thoughtfully.
"Can I ask you a question?" Hermione asked after another long pause.
"Uh oh," Harry joked.
"You don't have to answer if you don't want to," she said earnestly.
"That's not a good start," he observed.
"Stop it. I'm trying to be serious here," A smile tugged at her lips as she softly swatted his arm.
"I know," Harry replied solemnly. Hermione rolled her eyes.
"How do you feel about Fudge now that he's dead? Are you glad? Because I am," she stated softly.
"Truthfully, I am, too. But I understand what Ron was saying. He *did* get off too easy. After all the damage he's done to so many people, he should have suffered more. But I wanted no part of watching him get the Kiss," he stated flatly.
"I agree. But I guess I can also understand why Ron's so fixated on it," she shuddered, then a small smile played at the corner of her mouth. "Although… the Dementors might not have had anything to take," she observed dryly.
Good point, Harry realized with the faintest snort, then sobered. He realized that his teeth were chattering as the memory of cold insidiously began to overwhelm his senses. Hermione sat quietly next to him, watching and waiting as Harry slowly got himself back under control, taking deep, slow breaths. I'm home. I'm safe. Relax, already!
"I'm sorry. We didn't mean to upset you," Hermione apologized, and leaned against Harry's shoulder, rubbing his forearm gently until Harry's tremors began to ease.
"Nothing to be sorry about," Harry replied, and stared into the burning embers thoughtfully.
Truthfully, it was shocking to find that someone who'd made him miserable for so long was suddenly gone. It seemed so… simple. Easier than Harry had expected. After all, he was well aware of his luck.
"Are you alright?" Hermione asked intently, looking at Harry searchingly. Abruptly, she stood up and headed over to a table in the corner that Dobby had stocked with foods and drink. I guess not, Harry thought wryly. Hermione poured a cup of hot chocolate and forced it into his hands before settling beside him once more. Harry shrugged.
"I suppose that's relative," Harry replied absently, blowing on his drink before taking a sip, then realized Hermione had taken him literally, standing up as if to call for Sirius or Remus. "No! Hermione, I'm fine. Really. I was joking," he said, but Hermione's expression was skeptical.
"You don't look too good," she said critically.
"I'll be fine. Hot chocolate seems to help, oddly enough," Harry replied candidly, and closed his eyes as the warm drink slid down his throat. "How are you and Ron? Honestly?" he asked. They always smiled and said they were 'fine' when he asked, but Harry knew that they were reluctant to upset him, so if they *weren't* fine, they most certainly wouldn't tell him.
"We're doing better. It's been hard staying with Ron. The Weasleys are wonderful people, but I'm not used to all that arguing. I miss my parents, but Dumbledore thought I should stay at the Burrow until the Ministry has taken my testimony about when they kidnapped you," Hermione replied.
"I didn't know they were doing that," Harry said in surprise.
"There's no way Fudge would have skated through this. He was counting on you dying to cover things up," Hermione stated bluntly.
"*That* I am aware of," Harry replied.
"I hate to see the Weasleys so polarized. And truthfully, I feel the same way. I think Percy has no business hanging about, helping his father. Why doesn't he just go skulk off and lick his wounds in private, if he feels so bad?" she asked brutally. Harry's eyebrows raised.
"Because I made him promise that they'd find out the truth," Harry said simply.
"What?" Hermione asked, staring at him in surprise.
"In the Interrogation Room. I made him promise. And he's keeping it," Harry replied, his eyes beginning to drift closed.
"Well, that certainly explains a lot," Hermione said softly. "Get some rest. You've got a few hours before the rest of the Weasleys get here, and Sirius will kill us when he sees how pale you are."
"I'll be fine," Harry mumbled sleepily, the soft crackle of the fireplace soothing as the warmth of the hot cocoa began to seep into his veins. His head began to nod.
"I know, Harry. I know," Hermione replied soothingly, and he missed the look of tenderness mixed with determination she gave him as she pushed him back onto the cushions of the couch. He barely remembered her tucking the blanket firmly around him, or the murmured whispers of Ron's voice as he returned. He slept peacefully, without nightmares, for several hours.
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