000Title: Lean On Me

By: Hannah

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, settings, propaganda, movies, the song, and all that jazz. I'm just another Harry Potter obsessed 13-year-old who likes to pretend that I do.

*Lean on me, when you're not strong, and I'll be your friend*

12 Grimmauld Place had not changed for the better since Harry had last seen it. He had thought that it could get no worse, but he had been proven wrong. Sirius' mother still screamed hideously, Kreacher leered happily, and odd noises came from the blank portrait in Harry's room, although they seemed less frequent than before. Once, Harry could have sworn that he even heard a muffled sniff emitting from its painfully white depths. Smiling in a deathly ironic way, the first day he had entered Grimmauld Place flickered briefly in his brain. He recalled the feeling of entering the house of a dying man. He couldn't have been more right.

He lay on the bed, letting the silence seep through him until he was drenched in it. He did this often, because it was easier than talking to people who didn't know what to say. It was easier to wallow in his own grief until he was nearly consumed by it. For a split second Occlumancy came to mind, but he quickly forced it out. Occlumancy reminded him of fifth year, and he didn't need any more reminder of what happened in the Department of Mysteries that night.

Hermione slipped in Harry's room, her eyes glazed with worry as she looked at him. Harry automatically pretended to be sleeping, and she shook her head. It was one of the oldest tricks in the book, and it wouldn't work on her.

"Harry," she whispered quietly. "Don't do this."

*I'll help you carry on*

Harry sat up, knowing the sleeping act wasn't having the effect he'd wanted. Hermione noted the weariness in his eyes, the defeated look of a boy who had seen and known things people twice his age would never have to deal with. She recognized the look well. She saw it every day when she looked in the mirror.

"I could have contacted him," Harry spoke, his voice quavering slightly as he fought to keep his expression neutral.

"Shhh," Hermione whispered. She held his hand and wove her fingers through his, grief bubbling to the surface.

"Don't you want to know how? We had mirrors..."

"I don't care. I don't want to know, Harry. I just want you to stop this."

Ron stepped into the room, and Harry had the feeling that he had been listening the whole time.

*For, it won't be long, 'till I'm gonna need*

"We all do," Ron interrupted quietly, startling Hermione into jumping up.

"Ron, I told you to wait..."

"Sorry, but he's my friend to. Harry, mate, we just need you back. Lupin, Mum, Ginny, the twins—everyone's worried about you. We're not worried because we know we need you if we're ever going to live with You- Know-Volde-Who-Mort. We're worried because we— bloody hell this is cheesy—we're worried because we love you."

Harry stared at them for a second, and the incredible effort Ron used to say Voldemort's name which usually would have made him smile instead sent a rush of emotion tumbling through him. Hermione and Ron's gaze raked him in worried anticipation, and to his surprise he felt a single tear clinging to his eyelash. Casually wiping it away, he turned towards the wall as an unexpected second tear escaped.

*Somebody to lean on*

"It's okay, Harry. You can cry," Hermione whispered. She pulled him into a one-armed hug, and through a haze of tears Harry saw her other arm circle around Ron's neck. Harry wasn't sure how long they sat together, leaning on each other, all he knew was the warm comfort of their touch, the sweet knowledge that he could lean back and fall if he wanted to. And somebody would catch him.

~End~