Disclaimer: I do not own any of this.
Chapter 2
Voices. There were voices where there should not be any voices. This he knew, although he could not remember the reason why he knew. He was on a soft surface. His body felt heavy. His eyes refused to open.
He was faintly surprised. He realized that he should be feeling something more than that. But he wasn't. Why? To no avail. The memories continued to slip out of the feeble grasp his mind had on them. His eyes remained shut, and darkness claimed him once again.
------
"Are you hungry?" Remus voice came dimly from the kitchen as Harry entered the cottage after yet another afternoon of flying.
"Not particularly," Harry shouted in reply, then stormed up the stairs to his room where he carefully put his Firebolt away in his closet and sat down listlessly on the bed. At first, he had been glad to be out of the Hospital Wing, but now he thought that he had simply traded one cage for another. He had done his homework and read his schoolbooks, he had even reread his old schoolbooks and started on a few of Remus' DADA books, until he had realized that he had put the DA out of a job himself and that there would be preciously little need for extracurricular DADA knowledge during the next year.
He had tried to go to Diagon Alley a few days after they had arrived at the cottage, but he had been recognized at once, and every quill thrust at him for him to sign something and every hand extended towards him for him to shake it had reminded him of what had been lost over those two years after the resurrection of Voldemort, and he had to turn around and walk back to the pub and stagger to the chimney in order to escape to his sanctuary because although he had defeated Voldemort he still had not been of age and he could not even bloody well apparate.
Since then, he had never expressed any desire to leave the cottage again. Every day, he spent at least an hour on his broomstick, zooming upwards and downwards, practising Quidditch moves, and these were the only times when his heart felt not weighed down, when he thought about nothing but the subtle shifts of weight that would command his broomstick. There had been more than one snitch among the gifts sent to him by various grateful witches and wizards, and he was grateful for the practice he got.
He had written letters to his friends at first, but they invariably ended up being short because he could not bring himself to write what he really felt because he had no explanation for his feelings, and finally he stopped, much to Hedwig's chagrin.
Physically, Madame Pomfrey had pronounced him fully recovered. And he did feel completely restored, apart from the nightmares that made it impossible for him to sleep without the aid of potions. He had tried to do without for one night and had ended up swallowing a whole vial at four o'clock in the morning because he had feared that his screams would have even have managed to wake Snape up eventually. He had found little consolation in the fact that the harrowing, Voldemort-induced visions were gone, given that they had been replaced by dreams of death and torture that were just as realistic and vivid.
Harry pushed himself off the bed, left the room and turned to go down the stairs and join Remus in the kitchen. Then he stopped, turned, walked back and opened the door of the room adjacent to his, taking just a peek inside.
The sight that greeted him was unchanged. Under the white sheets, Snape lay as lifeless as ever.
For some reason, it disturbed Harry greatly to see his Potions Master like this. Snape was supposed to sneer at people, to deduct points, to scowl during breakfast. Snape had been a continuous source of grief to Harry to the point that he had hated Snape after his fifth year, after... after Sirius. It had almost been enough to make him drop Potions altogether, which would have been a shame after the miracle of getting an O on the O.W.L.s. Harry still suspected Dumbledore guilty of manipulation in this. But over the sixth year, whatever feelings he might have harboured against Snape had dwindled to nothing against the pure and simple loathing he felt for Voldemort. After nights and nights of horrible visions Snape's Potions lessons had been comparatively harmless, and Harry had even had the impression that Snape had let up a bit on deducting points and ridiculing Gryffindors over the last months.
Remus had asked him not to tell his friends about the reason for Snape's presence in the cottage, but even without this admonition Harry could never have brought himself to talk to anyone else about what Snape had tried to do because... because Snape was not weak. Mrs. Weasley had broken down and cried more than once, even Mad-Eye Moody of all people had been guilty of a tear or two, but Snape had always been... seemed... so unaffected by whatever Voldemort had thrown in their way. He was never overcome by grief, he was never hurt, Voldemort and his Death Eaters had no power over him. But this had been an illusion, hadn't it?
It was very confusing, to say the least, and his thoughts had been drawn to the issue regularly those last few days.
"Harry! Get down here at once and eat!"
Harry groaned inwardly, took a step back, closed the door softly and turned back to the stairway. He had been delighted to spend more time with Remus, but Remus tried to be more of a parent and less of a friend. He did not exactly order Harry around, but he was less inclined to let Harry do what he wanted than Sirius might have been. Remus had been away for a few days during the full moon, and during that time Tonks had been around and had mostly left him alone, but Remus had been back for a few days now.
Harry entered the living room where Dobby had set up dinner. The house elf had requested to join the two in their cottage, and not even Hermione could find any fault with the arrangement since Dobby still got paid. Harry was rather comfortable with the arrangement as he really appreciated Dobby's cooking, and although he had not been feeling particularly hungry those last weeks, the sight and the smell of that roasted chicken, the size just the right shade of brown, throning on the dinner table, still made his mouth water.
They enjoyed the meal in silence, and after swallowing the last bit of his chocolate pudding, Remus lay down his spoon audibly and made Harry look up from his second helping of dessert.
"I wanted to arrange a surprise party for your birthday next week, but I somehow have the feeling this would not have been such a good idea. So I'll simply ask you instead. What kind of birthday party would you like to have?"
His birthday. This had always been such an unremarkable event at the Dursleys' that the question actually took Harry by surprise, and his spoon made erratic grooves in the pudding as he pondered the question. He did not really feel like celebrating anything, but the way Remus had looked at him lately, this would probably not be a good answer.
"Something small? Could I invite the Weasleys, Hermione and Neville?"
"Yes, of course. Something small, then. Dobby has volunteered to whip up something for dinner, and the Hogwarts house elves would be more than willing to help."
"Yeah, that sounds great."
"So... that leaves the question of whether there is something you would really like to have for your birthday."
Sirius. Never to have known the Dursleys. Never to have had a lunatic Dark Lord intent on stripping off his skin. Harry gulped from the intensity of his feelings that accompanied his rebellious thoughts, the onslaught of emotions took him a little bit by surprise, but it abated quickly.
"I don't know, I seem to have pretty much everything I need. A book perhaps?"
"Harry."
Harry flinched under Remus' gaze.
"Moony?"
"I don't know how to put this... I've tried to leave you alone those last two weeks because I thought that you needed some time to yourself. Now I wonder if this has been such a wise decision. I am a little bit worried about you."
The answer came by reflex, without any conscious action of his brain Harry said what he had been repeating over and over to Madam Pomfrey, his visitors, anyone who had cared to hear it.
"Don't worry, Moony, I'm fine."
Remus refused to nod, smile and let it drop.
"Have you written to Ron and Hermione? Have you answered their letters?"
"No, not yet."
"That's what you have been saying for the last week. What is wrong with you, Harry?"
"I..."
Harry paused. He was not fine, he supposed. Fine was different. Harry knew for certain that he did not want to disappoint Remus. For some reason, this was important to him, and for a moment he tried to search for an answer to that inside of himself. But he could no more voice his thoughts to Remus than to his friends in the letters, so he shrugged.
"I don't know, Moony."
Chapter 2
Voices. There were voices where there should not be any voices. This he knew, although he could not remember the reason why he knew. He was on a soft surface. His body felt heavy. His eyes refused to open.
He was faintly surprised. He realized that he should be feeling something more than that. But he wasn't. Why? To no avail. The memories continued to slip out of the feeble grasp his mind had on them. His eyes remained shut, and darkness claimed him once again.
------
"Are you hungry?" Remus voice came dimly from the kitchen as Harry entered the cottage after yet another afternoon of flying.
"Not particularly," Harry shouted in reply, then stormed up the stairs to his room where he carefully put his Firebolt away in his closet and sat down listlessly on the bed. At first, he had been glad to be out of the Hospital Wing, but now he thought that he had simply traded one cage for another. He had done his homework and read his schoolbooks, he had even reread his old schoolbooks and started on a few of Remus' DADA books, until he had realized that he had put the DA out of a job himself and that there would be preciously little need for extracurricular DADA knowledge during the next year.
He had tried to go to Diagon Alley a few days after they had arrived at the cottage, but he had been recognized at once, and every quill thrust at him for him to sign something and every hand extended towards him for him to shake it had reminded him of what had been lost over those two years after the resurrection of Voldemort, and he had to turn around and walk back to the pub and stagger to the chimney in order to escape to his sanctuary because although he had defeated Voldemort he still had not been of age and he could not even bloody well apparate.
Since then, he had never expressed any desire to leave the cottage again. Every day, he spent at least an hour on his broomstick, zooming upwards and downwards, practising Quidditch moves, and these were the only times when his heart felt not weighed down, when he thought about nothing but the subtle shifts of weight that would command his broomstick. There had been more than one snitch among the gifts sent to him by various grateful witches and wizards, and he was grateful for the practice he got.
He had written letters to his friends at first, but they invariably ended up being short because he could not bring himself to write what he really felt because he had no explanation for his feelings, and finally he stopped, much to Hedwig's chagrin.
Physically, Madame Pomfrey had pronounced him fully recovered. And he did feel completely restored, apart from the nightmares that made it impossible for him to sleep without the aid of potions. He had tried to do without for one night and had ended up swallowing a whole vial at four o'clock in the morning because he had feared that his screams would have even have managed to wake Snape up eventually. He had found little consolation in the fact that the harrowing, Voldemort-induced visions were gone, given that they had been replaced by dreams of death and torture that were just as realistic and vivid.
Harry pushed himself off the bed, left the room and turned to go down the stairs and join Remus in the kitchen. Then he stopped, turned, walked back and opened the door of the room adjacent to his, taking just a peek inside.
The sight that greeted him was unchanged. Under the white sheets, Snape lay as lifeless as ever.
For some reason, it disturbed Harry greatly to see his Potions Master like this. Snape was supposed to sneer at people, to deduct points, to scowl during breakfast. Snape had been a continuous source of grief to Harry to the point that he had hated Snape after his fifth year, after... after Sirius. It had almost been enough to make him drop Potions altogether, which would have been a shame after the miracle of getting an O on the O.W.L.s. Harry still suspected Dumbledore guilty of manipulation in this. But over the sixth year, whatever feelings he might have harboured against Snape had dwindled to nothing against the pure and simple loathing he felt for Voldemort. After nights and nights of horrible visions Snape's Potions lessons had been comparatively harmless, and Harry had even had the impression that Snape had let up a bit on deducting points and ridiculing Gryffindors over the last months.
Remus had asked him not to tell his friends about the reason for Snape's presence in the cottage, but even without this admonition Harry could never have brought himself to talk to anyone else about what Snape had tried to do because... because Snape was not weak. Mrs. Weasley had broken down and cried more than once, even Mad-Eye Moody of all people had been guilty of a tear or two, but Snape had always been... seemed... so unaffected by whatever Voldemort had thrown in their way. He was never overcome by grief, he was never hurt, Voldemort and his Death Eaters had no power over him. But this had been an illusion, hadn't it?
It was very confusing, to say the least, and his thoughts had been drawn to the issue regularly those last few days.
"Harry! Get down here at once and eat!"
Harry groaned inwardly, took a step back, closed the door softly and turned back to the stairway. He had been delighted to spend more time with Remus, but Remus tried to be more of a parent and less of a friend. He did not exactly order Harry around, but he was less inclined to let Harry do what he wanted than Sirius might have been. Remus had been away for a few days during the full moon, and during that time Tonks had been around and had mostly left him alone, but Remus had been back for a few days now.
Harry entered the living room where Dobby had set up dinner. The house elf had requested to join the two in their cottage, and not even Hermione could find any fault with the arrangement since Dobby still got paid. Harry was rather comfortable with the arrangement as he really appreciated Dobby's cooking, and although he had not been feeling particularly hungry those last weeks, the sight and the smell of that roasted chicken, the size just the right shade of brown, throning on the dinner table, still made his mouth water.
They enjoyed the meal in silence, and after swallowing the last bit of his chocolate pudding, Remus lay down his spoon audibly and made Harry look up from his second helping of dessert.
"I wanted to arrange a surprise party for your birthday next week, but I somehow have the feeling this would not have been such a good idea. So I'll simply ask you instead. What kind of birthday party would you like to have?"
His birthday. This had always been such an unremarkable event at the Dursleys' that the question actually took Harry by surprise, and his spoon made erratic grooves in the pudding as he pondered the question. He did not really feel like celebrating anything, but the way Remus had looked at him lately, this would probably not be a good answer.
"Something small? Could I invite the Weasleys, Hermione and Neville?"
"Yes, of course. Something small, then. Dobby has volunteered to whip up something for dinner, and the Hogwarts house elves would be more than willing to help."
"Yeah, that sounds great."
"So... that leaves the question of whether there is something you would really like to have for your birthday."
Sirius. Never to have known the Dursleys. Never to have had a lunatic Dark Lord intent on stripping off his skin. Harry gulped from the intensity of his feelings that accompanied his rebellious thoughts, the onslaught of emotions took him a little bit by surprise, but it abated quickly.
"I don't know, I seem to have pretty much everything I need. A book perhaps?"
"Harry."
Harry flinched under Remus' gaze.
"Moony?"
"I don't know how to put this... I've tried to leave you alone those last two weeks because I thought that you needed some time to yourself. Now I wonder if this has been such a wise decision. I am a little bit worried about you."
The answer came by reflex, without any conscious action of his brain Harry said what he had been repeating over and over to Madam Pomfrey, his visitors, anyone who had cared to hear it.
"Don't worry, Moony, I'm fine."
Remus refused to nod, smile and let it drop.
"Have you written to Ron and Hermione? Have you answered their letters?"
"No, not yet."
"That's what you have been saying for the last week. What is wrong with you, Harry?"
"I..."
Harry paused. He was not fine, he supposed. Fine was different. Harry knew for certain that he did not want to disappoint Remus. For some reason, this was important to him, and for a moment he tried to search for an answer to that inside of himself. But he could no more voice his thoughts to Remus than to his friends in the letters, so he shrugged.
"I don't know, Moony."