A Jail Can Have Many Walls – chapter 4

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Harry stood off to one side of the group of mourners that had gathered on this miserable July morning.  He didn't think that he could deal with the faux sympathy he knew would be on offer; they would claim to feel sorry for him, sorry that they hadn't been able to prevent Sirius's death but that just didn't wash with him.  He knew they couldn't really care because if they did they wouldn't have abandoned him with his Aunt and Uncle for the last three weeks.  It wouldn't have mattered to them if he had been taken out of the 'protective wards' afforded to him by his blood relatives, because what he had suffered in the dark lonely nights had been close to equal to what he knew the Dark Lord would do to him given the chance.  At least you could fight the likes of Voldemort with sword and wand; your own mind was often a more challenging enemy.  The previous day Remus Lupin had turned up at the front door on Privet Drive and informed him that he was finally going to be allowed to return to the world he belonged to, he was going to Grimmauld Place.  At first he had been overwhelmed with joy at the thought of returning to the world where he truly felt at home, but that had soon worn off.  He had enjoyed seeing Ron, and in the Weasley's warm embrace he had almost allowed him to forget for a moment what had happened.  But it was never quite enough; the bitter taste of the events in the ministry would come back to haunt him.  He barely slept and when he did he often wished that he hadn't.  In a fashion he had hoped that today's events would help to put his feelings to rest, but the inadequacy of it all only made his anger grow.  They had flown here, wherever 'here' was, by a most circuitous route, and now there were groups of people standing all over the…well…what was for lack of a better word, a field.  Remus had described it as the Order's memorial to their own, and though he could not really see very far given the weather, Harry was fairly certain that nothing hidden by the mist was going to make him think any better.  Hell, the service today wasn't even for Sirius!  He could just hear it now,  'Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to commemorate the tragically short life our dog Padfoot…'.  It was a complete farce but there really wasn't much he could do to avoid it.  He scanned the assembling masses once more.  He noticed for the first time that Dumbledore had arrived and was once again flooded with mixed emotions.  He wished with all his heart that something would be simple; that he would meet at last one person who didn't induce such confusion in him that he couldn't discern what was right and wrong.  He tried to draw his attention away from the introspection he knew from experience would do him no good and looked once again turned to his headmaster.  The older man seemed distracted somehow, and although he responded to the quiet greetings of the others as they arrived, his eyes seemed to be constantly searching the distance beyond Harry's head.   Harry couldn't quite quantify what it was that he was seeing in the Headmaster's face, whether it was pity or concern or just nervousness, but he found it unsettling all the same.  After a few minutes, he observed a change though and automatically turned to see what it was that had caught the other man's attention.  He was just in time to see a tall figure swathed in black appearing out of the mist.  The hood of their heavy cloak was up and shoulders hunched, but the twisting in his stomach made Harry certain that it was Professor Snape who was heading in their direction.  But as the figure neared him, on the most direct path towards where Dumbledore was standing, they slowed and lifted their head high enough so that their face became visible from deep within the shadows of the hood, and Harry realised that he really couldn't have been more wrong.

            The figure that was now nearing him wasn't his Potions Master at all but his own Head of House.  It appalled him momentarily that he hadn't been able to recognise her but after he allowed himself a moment, and a cursory, if subtle inspection of the woman in front of him, it dawned on him that it should hardly come as such a surprise.  Her skin was chalky and cheeks sunken and so sallow in appearance that they would have rendered Snape looking tanned and healthy.  The only colour in her face was in the form of the deep charcoal smudges beneath her eyes.  Her eyes themselves though, they automatically reminded him of Sirius's haunted look.  It was as if he could see a torrent of storm clouds beneath their grey depths.  But his Godfather had been incarcerated for years - almost fifteen - when his Professor had been there for no more than a fortnight.  He knew that she had been released some two weeks ago now as Ron had wrote to tell him about that.  He had also mentioned at some stage since his arrival that she was due to be released from St Mungo's after what the other boy had seemed to find an incomprehensible long stay.  He supposed that this was another of the differences between them.  If one of the pupils at Hogwarts broke a wrist, it was considered a big deal if they had to wear a bandage for the first twenty-four hours never mind a cast for six weeks; they just weren't used to these things taking time.  Harry's train of thought however, was interrupted when she actually stopped beside him and spoke.

"I'm sorry."  Those two words seemed to convey such a huge meaning that he couldn't quite comprehend.  The soft Scottish accent with which she spoke was far more gentle and submissive even, than he was used to.  He smiled a little, his vocabulary failing him miserably when he sought a response.  She returned the gesture, but the result was so sorrowful that it made his heart ache, and he couldn't help but watch her back as she carried on away from him.

It wasn't long before the others began to congregate around the giant dog print embedded in the ground.  The ground must have been sealed somehow, as the print acted as a pool that reminded Harry of a strangely shaped fishpond.  The water contained in it continually changed colour though, and every once in a while would spurt upwards like a fountain – as if trying to hit the people around.  If nothing else it was different, and he supposed it did seem to catch Sirius' personality in the joker and prankster department. Remus spoke and Harry was surprised that he managed not to become riled at anything that the older man said.  It did dawn on him that Remus too had lost the last of his group of friends.  He was certain that he still had family though so he supposed he wasn't really all alone.  Not like him.  The service wasn't long, but all the way through he could feel his gaze wondering over to the three figures who stood on the other side of the group.  They were an odd group: the Headmaster who was standing head bowed, but with a firm arm around his Deputy as if he half expected her to run away, or perhaps it was more likely that she would not be able to keep herself upright.  On her other side was Professor Snape, who having arrived momentarily before they had all gathered together, had gone to her and though he kept his hands to himself, stood a fraction behind her as if ready to catch her should she fall.  At one stage, just as they were concluding the formal part of the afternoon, the Potions Master looked up and caught his eye.  Though he said nothing and his face was as unreadable as ever, he dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement that left Harry with a sense of well being, the origins of which were totally foreign to him. 

Despite his relative calm at the end of proceedings he new well enough that it would not last if he stayed to be sociable when the crowd began to mingle.  This being the case, he slipped away quietly and once he was sure that the heavy mist would obscure the others' sight of him, he began to wonder around the other memorials that were scattered all over the space.  He came across all shapes and size of sculptures, some with names he recognised - many he did not.  All of them had dates inscribed on them somewhere, dates of service rather than of birth and death, though the date of the end of their work for the Order more often than not coincided with that of their demise.  He only saw one kinetic sculpture though, its smooth movements cutting gently through the thick chill air.  He ventured close enough to read the inscription on the base and couldn't help but take a second look.

Frank And Alice: Who Continue To Live In The Way They Served – With Bravery To Astound All. 

It seemed so appropriate really.  They weren't stationary, they hadn't died, yet their lives were filled with aimless motion.  They lacked purpose.  Though the tribute fitted them perfectly, Harry certainly wasn't sure how he would feel if it had been built in honour of his parents.  For the first time it dawned on him that there was likely a memorial to them somewhere nearby and had a sudden urge to find it.  After a few minutes of wandering around futilely, he decided that he was going to require some form of system if he was to find anything.  This in mind he walked as straight as he could until he reached the periphery of the plot before walking as far left as he could.  When he reached the corner farthest away from where the others were still mingling, he took a moment to just look around him.  Though the moisture in the air still hid most of the view from sight, he got a calm feeling from what he could see.  He headed out on the first thing approximating a path that he had seen thus far and hadn't gotten far before he saw what he assumed to be the first memorial to have been erected.  It was certainly the simplest he had yet seen, a simple white stone resembling what he had come to expect to see at muggle graves.  Its age was only highlighted by the foliage that swept the ground around it, and in the case of the ivy that climbed up the back.  Even though, he could tell that the vines had recently been pushed apart on the front of the headstone, revealing a simple phrase that seemed so very poignant and yet not entirely sensical.

To Three Little Girls Who Never Had A Chance And

Their Father Who Was A Man.

He was intrigued by what it meant but didn't think to ponder on it long as the cold seemed to seep into his bones signalling he had surely been stationary too long.

            He walked quickly following the worn patches in the grass showing so clearly where many feet had trod before, and it did cross his mind that he would have thought that they might have come up with a way to stop the turf from wearing away.  His brisk pace ensured that he covered the ground quickly, and having soon realised that the tributes were in fact in chronological order, he halted only briefly to check the dates.  In the end it was pointless though for he managed to identify his parents marker with ease.  It was one of the newest which he supposed should hardly have been surprising, and as such he could clearly hear the subdued chattering of those individuals who were still present even if they were hidden from sight.  Two pieces of metal, one bronze and the other silver shot from the earth twisting into a kind of conical helix and merging together perfectly at the top.  But what struck him most was the red stone that was suspended between them.  It wasn't large but seemed to pulse steadily with a warm light irradiating the cool moist air around him. 

"That's supposed to symbolise you."  The quiet voice from behind him startled him out of his observations.  Though he recognised the voice immediately he turned to look at the speaker in any case.  Remus Lupin with his charcoal grey cloak wrapped close around his figure, seemed to fit in perfectly with the sombre atmosphere of the place.  They both stood in silence, simply observing the sculpture and as time passed Harry felt more and more mesmerised by the stone glowing at its center.  It took him a while to realise that the pulsing of the light matched the thrum of his own blood running through his veins.  It was an odd sensation but not an altogether unpleasant one.

"I think it's time we were heading back."  The quiet suggestion from the older man broke him once again from his thoughts, but this time he nodded a little and offered his former Professor the best smile he could muster.  "Wouldn't do if we were to both catch pneumonia now would it?"  He continued, a little lighter, and as they made their way back towards where they had stored their brooms earlier, Harry felt far more content than he had in a considerable time.

            It was almost a week later when Harry, having woken once again in a tangle of sheets and trembling all over and finding that it was, yet again barely three am, decided that getting up was going to be better than tossing and turning until dawn.  He stood and walked across the room quietly, even though he knew that Ron slept like the dead, and pulling on a t-shirt over the baggy sweatpants that he had cut the bottoms off and generally wore to bed, slipped through the door.  He crept down the corridor hoping not to wake anyone else, though he was fairly certain that all the adults were being housed on the floor above.  It was strange, compared to the year before, that many of the adults he had seen visiting were staying longer than they had previously.  There were now allocated guest rooms that were there for any of the order who needed them, and along with the regulars of Mr and Mrs Weasley and Remus, Alistor Moody had been making frequent visits and the Headmaster had been at breakfast on more than one occasion.  Harry suspected this had to do with the presence of the Transfigurations Professor, which was in itself something of a mystery.  Though Ron, Ginny and he had seen her briefly after they had all returned from The Garden, there had been neither sight nor sound of her since then.  Mrs Weasley had made mention of it only on one instance, when she had given them a lecture about keeping the noise down when they had been involved in a particularly loud game of exploding snap.  He managed to avoid the creaky step and padded softly along the front hall trying to ensure that he didn't wake the inhabitants of the portraits up.  Shivering a little, he wished he had thought to put more clothes on and was glad to see, as he pushed the kitchen door open that there was already a fire burning in the grate.

"Take a seat Mr Potter, before you catch a chill." Came the familiar Highland lilt from a figure pretty much hidden in the depths of a high-backed easy chair next to the hearth.  He crossed the floor quickly trying not to think about how strange this really was.

"Hot chocolate?"  She offered conversationally, lifting her own mug to her lips.  Harry noted that although she still looked far from healthy, there was a definite improvement in her looks since the day of the service.

"Thank you. Please."  He replied a little awkwardly and watched as she retrieved a pot and a mug that had been sitting close to the warmth of the flames before pouring his drink.  It took him a minute to realise why the action seemed so unnatural; he had expected her to just magic it into existence.  But she hadn't.  He did realise however that it was likely she had been warned off, if not entirely banned from, performing magic unless it was strictly necessary.  "Thanks."  He said again, taking the proffered vessel and wrapping his hands around the warmth.  This was certainly one of the strangest experiences he had managed to get himself into he decided, as he watched her from under lowered lashes and over the top of his mug.  As the chocolate slid down his throat he couldn't help but remember the restorative powers of the substance that he had encountered when dealing with dementors.  He wondered if that additional warmth was why she was drinking it now.  It was an effort for him to equate this woman curled up like a cat before a fire, with his Head of House.  Her legendary bun had been replaced with a simple braid that hung over her shoulder and the emerald robes replaced with what looked to be black satin pyjamas.  She wore a long cardigan over the top of these though, and she wrapped it around her in a very protective fashion as her gaze returned once more to the fire.  He was glad of the easy silence they slipped into, that she didn't question him as to why he was up and about in the middle of the night.  The fragile peace that they had established was broken though when the Professor spoke again.

"He didn't ever mean to hurt you Harry."  The words that may have sounded like a riddle to anyone else were as clear as ice to him.  The lack of pre-amble caught him off guard and his retort was ought before he thought.

"But he did."

"Very few people live their lives without regret."  She paused and ensured that she caught his eye before continuing.  "We all make mistakes Harry, whether it's because we're young and foolish, because we're mislead or misinformed, or simply because we do not have the benefit of hindsight.  But surely you can understand why he didn't tell you earlier?  He, we, only wanted to try and let you have something approaching a normal childhood.  We had no way of knowing that the events that have occurred since you began attending Hogwarts were going to come to pass, however sorry I am for that.  And…"  She seemed to hitch there for a second. "…every time something did happen, we discussed telling you, but you already had such a heavy load to bear."  She was leaning forward, towards him now, and the intensity in her eyes for a moment overpowered the shadows that had been there since he had arrived.  " I suppose Albus, the Headmaster, came to the conclusion that there was never going to be a good time to tell you, and that finally the pros outweighed the cons. 

            "I would never pretend to understand how you feel right now Harry, because nobody except you will ever know for sure what's going on inside of you.  I do know that you must be missing Sirius terribly though, and I suspect you probably feel incredibly let down by us all right now, and you have every right to feel that way.  Just remember…"  She paused again.  "Please try not to blame him for what happened or for acting the way he did – he did the only thing he felt he justly could."  They both sat in silence for another moment.  Harry felt like he ought to say something.  He wanted to say something but just couldn't find the words.

"I don't really blame him."  He wasn't sure where that had come from.  "I….I wish he'd told me earlier.  I wish I hadn't had to find out most of the things about my parents and well… me, the way I have.  It hurts that you didn't think I could deal with it and yet at the same time…."  He was the one to take a deep breath this time.  "I know you were right.  What Professor Dumbledore said that night was probably true… I would have withdrawn from everyone."  He leaned forward, deposited his mug back on the hearth and ran his hands though his hair.  "But just because I understand why he did what he did it doesn't mean that I'm not…..I don't know."

"You're perfectly entitled to be confused and upset.  All I'm asking is that you give him a chance to make it up to you.  Merlin knows Albus is doing a good enough job of beating himself up over this than to need anybody else's help."  She finished rolling her eyes and Harry couldn't help but smile at this hint of the Professor McGonagall they all knew and loved.  "In any case, it's time both of us were in our beds.  I do believe that I'm due a visit from Madame Pomfrey tomorrow and I don't know about you but I don't fancy still being here when Molly arrives down to start on breakfast."  This was said with the hint of a smile which Harry returned full force.  He returned to his room and fell quickly asleep.  When he next woke up, the sun was high in the sky and for the first time since the events in the ministry he had slept solidly for eight hours.  He made his way down stairs after he had washed and dressed, to find several of the house's inhabitants sitting companionably in the kitchen.  Mrs Weasley immediately pounced on him and sat him down in front of a bowl of porridge, which he stuck into with gusto – he hadn't realised how hungry he was.  A few minuets later a set of footsteps could be heard descending the stairs.

"Molly, Poppy was looking to have a word with you."  Said the Headmaster as he entered the room.  Harry looked up and straight at the older man.  There was a shift in the atmosphere, then he put down his spoon and, waiting until the older man looked up to him, smiled softly and said.

"Morning Headmaster."  It was a start.  It didn't by any means change everything, when the older-man suggested a few days later that it would be a good idea for him to recommence his training with Professor Snape, he had protested somewhat.  But, he had conceded when the Slytherin himself had approached him and things did begin to return to something approximating normality over the next few weeks.