Disclaimer: Our dearest Jo has it all. I'd love to claim ownership, but I want HBP to come out soon, so I won't start any legal squabbles. Don't you either! I own nothing.

A/N: Sorry it has taken so long to update! There has been much vacationing on my behalf, but I'm home now for good. Thanks for all the reviews; I did know that prefects hold their title all three years (do they fill in for Head students?) but Ron's comment was based on the fact that sixth years have different duties than fifth and seventh years. Thanks for pointing that out, though! Harry's deal with Voldemort will be explained further in about two chapters. I'm really sorry about the whole of Chapter 4; each time I read it, I dislike it more. Major apologies for that last line especially. I don't know what I was thinking.

A/N: This chapter is mostly dialogue so that you can get a better feel for the emotional status of the characters. The last two sentences may sound really lame, but they are the core of the next chapter. So, that said, read, review, and enjoy... you'll get another chapter this week, I promise! Rock on!

Bickers and Babbles

Harry spent the next few days trying to adjust to life at Grimmauld Place. Really, it wasn't the life he was trying to adjust to; it was more the collective attitude of the household that seemed so foreign and unwelcome.

With the Dursleys, Harry was free to mope, sulk, or brood as much as he wanted or needed, and he found himself missing that freedom. Here, if he lapsed into silence for even five minutes, someone would ask if he was hungry or wanted to place chess or, worst of all, if he wanted to talk. Harry thought his thoughts on conversation painstakingly clear on his third conscious day in the house when Hermione had made the grave error of attempting a discussion about Sirius.

"Just try talking about him, Harry. You can't just keep everything inside!"

"I have so far."

"And look where it's gotten you!"

Smash. "Shut up, Hermione."

"Sirius is dead, Harry, and you have got to move on!"

Smash. "Leave me alone."

"You can't hide forever! I'm sick of watching you just—just mope around for no good reason!"

Smash, smash, smash. "I can think of several good reasons, and none of them involve you."

After that incident, Harry had taken up sulking with Buckbeak. He was comforted in knowing that Sirius had used it as an escape, too, and found that it actually served as decent therapy.

On Thursday evening, when Harry went to lurk with the Hippogriff as usual, he was surprised to find Remus Lupin already there.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to--" began Harry, but Lupin cut him off and motioned for Harry to join him. Tentatively, the boy did so, hoping desperately that he hadn't just walked into another conversation about his late godfather.

"So, how are you holding up?" attempted Lupin, sounding strained.

Harry simply stared at his former professor. Wasn't it obvious?

"Right, stupid question," amended Remus awkwardly, fingering the fringed edge of his tattered black robes. "Well, if you ever need to talk," he continued quietly, allowing the statement to trail off as an open-ended invitation.

The boy-who-lived gaped openly in disbelief. Was this all anyone could offer? Talking? Did no one understand?

Lupin sighed. "You realize this is every bit as difficult for me as it is for you."

"Yeah," said Harry almost inaudibly, responding without thinking, "But you didn't kill him."

A pronounced silence followed this statement, leaving Lupin looking supremely stunned. For so long, everyone had been desperate for Harry to vocalize his thoughts, but now that he had done so... well, it was impossible to even fathom a response to a statement like that. They sat for several minutes without speaking, and when Remus did so, he chose his words carefully and deliberately.

"Harry, you and I both know what happened. I am not about to try and change your mind; you have to do that yourself. However, you need to come to terms with what has happened. I know it's hard—don't give me that look, I'm probably the only person who can come close to understanding—but Hermione's right, you know. They're all worried about you. Don't do anything you might regret."

The scowl on Harry's face deepened. He already had a long list of things he regretted, so that advice was years too late.

"Sirius would want you to remember--"

"Maybe I don't want to remember," interrupted Harry thickly, his gaze steady on the floor.

Lupin nodded and slowly stood, brushing the dirt off of his robes briskly. "Maybe you need to anyway," he offered before sliding quietly out of the room.

Harry cursed under his breath. Everyone seemed so determined to give him advice, as though that would make everything better. He'd stopped trusting people's guidance at the end of his fifth year, when it became clear that even Dumbledore's suggestions weren't always for the best.

"Lunch!" called Molly from downstairs. Sighing, Harry rose obediently, knowing that if he didn't show up for the meal, Mrs. Weasley would fuss over him even more, and he didn't think he could handle any more attention.

As he walked down the hall towards the staircase, Harry noticed Ginny standing outside of a closed door with a piece of flesh colored string trailing from her ear. He looked at her questioningly, but she placed her finger across her lips to hush him and pulled another extendable ear out of her pocket. Harry accepted it with a grim grin, thinking of the last time he'd used one, but stuck it in his ear and concentrated on the conversation between two people whose voices he recognized instantly.

"Ron, we have absolutely no clue what happened last year."

"I know, but its not like he's going to tell us! You saw what happened when you brought up Sirius; I don't want him to hate me!"

"Harry avoids us, won't talk to anyone, spends all day up with Buckbeak--"

"Maybe that's because any time he gets within ten feet of you, he's forced into discussions he doesn't want to be in!"

"Well, someone's got to try! What have you done to help him?"

"I've left him alone, Hermione, why don't you try it!"

"He's keeping secrets from us, Ron! Secrets! We're supposed to be his best friends, and he won't even talk to us!"

"Oh, like we don't have our own secrets?"

"This is different, Ronald Weasley, and you know it. He knows something about that prophecy, I'm sure of it, he--"

"Doesn't want to talk about it if he does. Honestly, Hermione, prying won't do you any good. If he feels like talking, he will! Oh, come on, why are you crying?"

"I--its stupid... but its like... we're fighting, and he avoids us, and its just feels like we're all f-f-falling apart."

"Shhh, we're not falling apart, its okay, I promise. We just have to be careful, alright? Come on, Mum's bound to have lunch ready now, they're probably all waiting--"

Harry didn't wait to hear Ron finish; he and Ginny both yanked the earpieces out and sprinted down the staircase before Hermione or Ron could catch them. Molly eyed the pair suspiciously, but said nothing as they hastily filled their plates. It wasn't long before Harry withdrew into his own mind, trying to figure out what his friends' conversation had meant. Hermione had realized he was lying about the prophecy, but at least Ron had stuck up for him. Harry felt bad that they were so worried about him, and he felt slightly guilty for avoiding them so much. They had meant well, really.

"Is there any food left? I'm starving," declared Ron as he sat down, followed quickly by a red-eyed Hermione.

Mrs. Weasley pushed a plate of sandwiches towards the pair but chided in a motherly fashion, "Next time, come when I call."

The group ate and chatted idly for a while, discussing Quidditch and school and other meaningless topics, and Ginny eventually brought up the subject of Diagon Alley once again.

"Are we going soon? We need our books, plus I want to see Fred and George again."

Ron snorted into his plate. "Books? Yeah right. You just want to go snog your boyfriend."

Ginny responded with a sharp glare. "Yes, books. Normal people use them to study."

"Then why do you need them?" retorted Ron easily.

A piece of bread from Ginny's plate found itself suddenly bouncing off her brother's forehead. "Unlike you, I do study. After all, I am a prefect."

"Hey, I'm a prefect too!" exclaimed Ron indignantly.

"Well, maybe I'd rather follow Hermione's lead than yours," returned Ginny.

A comeback was hot on Ron's tongue, but Mrs. Weasley cut off the bickering duo before he could spit out his retort. "Both of you, stop it. We're going to Diagon Alley in the morning to get books, there will be NO snogging of any sort, and you best be ready early. I don't want any of you making us late."

"Mr. Longbottom and Miss Lovegood will join you here, and we'll all floo over," clarified Lupin as he rose to leave.

"Will we all have to stay together?" asked Ginny with the slightest whine. Apparently, snogging her boyfriend was exactly what she had been hoping for.

Mrs. Weasley answered instantly and with a little too much enthusiasm. "Of course, dear, I'd hate for any of you lot to get lost!"

Harry stared at her with suspicion, but Molly left hastily to straighten up the kitchen. With a sigh, the boy-who-lived followed Ron, Hermione, and a rather disgruntled Ginny back upstairs, where he watched them play several games of chess (Ron emerged triumphant, unsurprisingly). By the time nightfall hit, everyone was in considerably better moods, although Harry was still rather withdrawn. His usual guilt and blame had taken a backseat to worries about Diagon Alley. Voldemort was attacking all over the wizarding world, and it was surprising that Lupin and Mrs. Weasley would agree to let the group of them out for something so trivial as a shopping trip. Still, he supposed they had their reasons, and leaving Grimmauld Place would be a welcome change. He just hoped no one got hurt because of him.

As he lay down for what was sure to be another nightmare-filled sleep, Harry allowed his thoughts to stray into the dangerous territory of the prophecy. It was only a matter of time before Hermione would insist to know its terms, and Harry didn't want to deal with her and Ron's reactions. He knew what it would take. There was no choice. Kill or be killed, that was what it said.

Sometimes he wished he could disappear.

Other times, he was terrified that would happen.