I got a review from HpDeVoTeE asking how come Harry didn't have a bigger reaction to being back at Grimmauld place so I'm putting in that part -HpDeVoTeE, this is just for you! so please review it!

My thinking had been that Harry is about to go into his 7th year here so he would've had a year and then some to get over Sirius' death, and I assumed that in that time he would've gone to the house again. But HpDeVoTeE's comment gave me the idea to do a flashback. So there we are. ENJOY.

LAST LINE OF PART 7

He lay awake for hours... listening to Malfoy...calling out for the girls whose deaths he felt were all his fault.
PART 8 OF 'FLYING THE NEST'

flashback to Harry at the end of his fifth year, upon first re-entering 12 Grimmauld place after the death of Sirius

Harry stood immobile on the doorstep, waiting. His hands were clammy and the top of his head felt strangely cool and wet, as if an invisible flannel was mopping his brow. It was extremely uncomfortable, but he didn't want to wipe his brow because the door might open and he'd be caught looking vulnerable. Harry was sick of people feeling sorry for him. He knew that everyone meant well, but tragic little boy who's lost his parents and now a godfather he was only just getting to know properly, isn't the image any teenage boy wants following him around. 'not LOST,' he reminded himself sternly. Dead. Murdered. And no amount of tears and moping would bring any of them back. The best thing a hero can do is to put the past on a shelf, and try to only take out the happy memories. And to beat the shit out of the bastard responsible. Harry gave a great sniff because his nose had been running as he had been thinking about not crying. Snot cascaded down the back of his throat in a rush and he coughed. He wiped his sticky hands on the backs of his trouser legs and swallowed. The door gave a sudden bang, and dust fell onto his shoulders from the underside of the porch. He knew Mrs Weasley was wrestling with the large inner bolts. He raised his chin and blanked his face. He could stand this. But he didn't want a hug. Or her beaming smile. If he saw that he wasn't sure if his resolve would hold.

"Oh, Harry," said Mrs Weasley when she finally got the door open. She did smile but this one was sad and weary. He blinked at her. Thank God. She didn't seem to be giving him a pity smile too. This strengthened him. He hated t when people pitied him. Mrs Weasley didn't hug Harry. She gave him a brief, motherly peck on the top of the head and beckoned to his suitcase, which sailed past her and up the stairs. "Ron's not here and I wanted to give your last room a clean, so I've put you up in one of the singles that Bill was using," whispered Mrs Weasley as they tiptoed past the sleeping portrait of Sirius' mother.

Sirius.

Did that name have to pop into Harry's head just then? He followed Mrs Weasley's red head, but he felt like he was drowning in memories. Sirius was everywhere. Over there was where he had shouted at his mother...and there, there he'd become a dog to take Harry to the train station at the beginning of last year...now they were descending into the kitchen, where Harry had so often seen him slouch against that very doorframe, staring moodily at them...they sat at the table where he and Sirius had talked and talked, just getting to know each other...over there by the range Sirius had berated Kreacher for...for... Harry didn't want to think any more.

"Hello, Harry." Distracted, Harry snapped his attention to Remus Lupin, who was sitting at one end of the table. Harry had been so wrapped up in the torrent of memories that he had failed to notice him. Lupin's hair was slightly silvery in the moonlight. His chin was lightly dusted with stubble, and there was a large, newly healed thin tear across part of his neck, which suggested that despite the Wolfsbane, the Moony side of Lupin was dealing with the loss of Padfoot with violence rather than the rational calm that he always attributed to the man. His smile was genuine enough but it only just reached his eyes, whose usual entrancing amber lights were dull, almost extinguished.

The air became heavy between them. Harry could feel it pressing, and sagged his shoulders. "Hello Professor," he returned. They all paused. Harry could feel Mrs Weasley standing behind him. Lupin's forehead creased. Harry was overwhelmed with sadness for him. Because Lupin could almost be in the same boat as him. Both his best friends dead, the other...a traitor who could have no memory anymore. Lupin rubbed his right hand over the lower part of his face, scratching the stubble. "It's alright, isn't it, for me to be here?" said Harry, groping for a new topic, trying to quell the silent conversation they'd been having. He didn't want to have to talk about Sirius. Anything but that. Everyone wanted him to open up. Well he didn't, and he was sure as hell that Lupin didn't feel like it much either. "Dumbledore wants me to go back to the Dursleys' next week. He thinks we all love each other 'deep down'." Harry babbled on.

Lupin latched onto the subject immediately, and in the course of the evening their conversation, sometimes with a little input from Mrs Weasley, managed to cover the Dursleys, Muggles in general, the rules of that religion of 'football', Quidditch, the Quidditch League (of which Puddlemere united were currently at the top of), training, Hogwarts, Snape's teaching methods, and Occlumency. Not once did they mention Sirius or Voldemort. someone would change the topic just in time. It was tiring, but surprisingly fulfilling for Harry.

He slept in a room that was small and bare but strangely comfortable. It was one of the few rooms that didn't seem to have any obviously creepy elements about it, and in the House of Black this was rare. There was a desk with a high-backed chair, and a single bed with fresh lemony bedding on it. he didn't dream, but when he woke up in the morning he had a strange sensation that he was fallen into the bed from a height, which happens to many people but particularly unnerved Harry, so he got up.

He dressed and had a nose in the desk. It was a new desk relative to the other antiques crowding the house. The two top drawers contained notes and files that were dated as recent. They were all folders relating to Gringotts, with Bill's signature on little white labels. Harry flicked through some of these. Clearly Bill still came back to the house now and then because it was still being used for the Order, and had left things for work in 'his' room. The papers were all covered in numbers and codes that meant nothing to Harry, so he closed those drawers.

The bottom drawer was stuck because it was crammed with a lot of paper. Harry tugged at it. He thought maybe it was locked, in which case he couldn't open it because he didn't have a key, and couldn't use magic because he was underage. He kicked it in frustration and without warning the drawer shot out of place and landed painfully on his left foot. "fuckinmerlinbollocks," groaned Harry, freeing his foot and massaging his toes. Then he dropped to his knees. Staring up at him was a photograph of Sirius. Harry hesitated, and picked it up gingerly, smoothing it out on his knees. It was definitely Sirius, but he was young, handsome, an arm slung around the shoulders of his companion who was Lupin. A Lupin without grey hair, without that tired look, and not even with that quiet, calm, studious look. Both of them were holding a large bottle of Firewhisky. Harry choked, he wanted to cry but tears wouldn't come. He wasn't overwhelmed with sadness, even though every part of him was thinking about Sirius, and he'd been trying to avoid anything of the sort. The friends were laughing at something that would have been just behind Harry if he had been there. He assumed it was the photographer. Sirius turned his head and started laughing at Lupin, who was laughing so hard at whatever the joke had been that he had fallen into a hedge in a drunken mess. Harry started at it for a moment as the occupants kept laughing and laughing. It was the happiest photo he had ever seen, including the one of his parents holding him as a baby. It made him smile properly.

He sifted through the rest of the box. It contained photos, old Hogwarts timetables, incredible first plans for what appeared to be the marauder's map... It was like a little mine of memorabilia.

He found other photographs. Sirius kissing a girl with shiny auburn hair, giving the camera a look over her shoulder that definitely read 'I've pulled'. Sirius and his father, James, transforming into a proud stag, and a big black dog. And at the very bottom, Lupin without Sirius, favouring instead the company of a girl with long, impossibly blonde-white hair. Harry couldn't see her face at all, because her curtain of hair was covering her face, but just before he shoved the photo back into the box with the others, he saw Lupin lean in and kiss her. Harry studied the photo against the last one with Lupin in it, and realised that this last photo, seemed to be the most recent. Of course, Lupin was only a young man still, but he crammed everything back into the drawer anyway and picked the whole thing up, and sought out his ex-professor. Lupin was in the study with his back to the door, gazing unseeing out of the large window. Harry coughed, and set the drawer down on the desk.

Lupin turned and smiled tiredly. "What's that you're got there, Harry?" He sauntered over to the desk and picked the first photograph of the top, registered it and promptly dropped it before collapsing into the chair. His breathing hitched. Harry watched him cautiously. Then, as if commanded, Lupin began to frantically pick up and scan every little scrap of paper, recalling every memory. He burst out laughing at some of the images. I cannot describe to you the feelings that he felt because they were so enormous, no, colossal, that they overwhelmed every inch of him, and even attacked watching Harry. Lupin began crying freely while he gasped with laughter. Harry supposed he should probably turn away and give him some privacy, but he didn't because he was too engrossed in Lupin's reactions to everything that was flooding back to him, shaking him, grabbing for attention. For ten minutes, Harry didn't speak, and Lupin was incapable of speech.

"Firewhiskey," said Lupin, suddenly. He was gripping the crumpled photo of himself and Sirius, drunk as parrots, laughing and laughing. He raised his face to Harry's. It was streaked with salt. But it was all happy salt, so that was okay. "Sit down Harry." Harry sat in one of the armchairs while Lupin conjured a fire in the grate and thrust a glass of Firewhiskey into his hand. "But professor, I'm not of age-" said Harry, dubiously. Lupin flapped his hand and poured himself a double before plonking himself into the armchair opposite. They drank. Lupin poured seconds, which Harry didn't object to, and then they drank again.

And half way through Harry's third measure, they talked about Sirius. They talked about all of it.

End of flashback

Harry woke up in a strange bed. He put his glasses on and was confronted with the creepy-looking wardrobe. This made him remember exactly where he was, why he was there, and also that he had yet to check under his bed for any...organisms. "Lumos," he muttered, and directed his wand light into the gloom beneath the bed. He took a dose of courage and tilted his head over the side. Bare. he heaved a sigh of relief. Mrs Weasley had cleaned the room out. Thank God. He checked his watch. It was just after nine, which for him was late, so he swung himself out of bed and pulled random garments out of his trunk. In three minutes he was dressed hap-hazardly in baggy jeans, one of Dudley's old shirts which looked like a tent, and a threadbare jumper that Mrs Weasley had knitted him two Christmases ago. He opened his bedroom door. The corridor was deserted but he thought he heard movement in the study opposite that Mrs Weasley had said he and Malfoy could use for their homework. He hesitated, his hand on the knob.

Harry entered and stopped short. The study had enormous high windows which were currently open. Malfoy was sitting on the window sill, smoking. Harry leaned against the doorframe. Malfoy took a drag and inhaled slowly.

"You sleep late for a servant," he remarked sourly, and exhaled, tilting his chin up so that he blew a column of smoke up above his head. Harry gritted his teeth.

"Is professor Lupin still here?" he said, civilly. Malfoy shrugged unhelpfully and flicked some ash over the window ledge. Harry studied him. The skin below his eyes was pink and blotchy. Malfoy had been crying. "It wasn't your fault, you know," began Harry, because he felt it was important that someone said this to Malfoy, "you know, that Heidi and Cassy-"

"Shut up Potter." said Malfoy cuttingly, not looking at him. Harry silenced. Malfoy chucked his fag out of the window and immediately scrabbled in his pack for another one. He paused, then offered them to Harry. "One's not going to kill you, Potter," he drawled. Harry scratched his cheek, then wandered over, pretending to be unconcerned, and took one. Malfoy smirked and passed him the lighter. Harry took a drag. And choked. "Don't inhale if you're not used to it," said Malfoy, releasing another column of smoke into Harry's face.

" 's disgusting. Tastes 'orrible," said Harry, taking another experimental puff and finding it equally horrible. Malfoy considered him, then stuck Harry's cigarette in his mouth as well. "You like them?"

"No Potter. You stupid muggle-lover, if I didn't like it I wouldn't do it. Anyway. I don't do it very often. Just...sometimes." Malfoy frowned and stared out of the window again. Harry had been about to protest about the phrase 'muggle-lover', when Malfoy said, "imagine falling out from all the way up here..." he leaned further to the edge. Harry, on instinct, grasped his arm. Malfoy yanked away from him and came back into the main part of the room. He rubbed his arm fervently. Harry realised that he had inadvertently grasped the unfinished Mark. Malfoy was staring at him oddly. "No wonder Snape never touches you," he said.

And that remark brought them to some kind of understanding.

Three days later, Lupin was still at Grimmauld Place. A shadow had fallen over the foursome. Mrs Weasley had been engrossed with files and plans concerning the Order, which she had been attending to in the main study, where Harry remembered drinking Firewhisky with Lupin and getting hammered. As a result, the room was covered with so many shields and enchantments to prevent to two boys entering, that the door seemed to vibrate whenever they approached it.

Harry and Malfoy had dutifully got down to some work, or else raided the various ancient bookshelves, which was not always a good idea, as some of the tomes there tended to snap a little.

And for Lupin, the full moon had rolled round again.

So three days after the morning Harry had tried smoking for the first time, the four sat at the long kitchen table. Harry was picking at his sprouts. Malfoy was fuming because Lupin had flooed to see Snape for the wolfsbane, but he had as yet been unable to see him. Mrs Weasley was watching Lupin uneasily. Lupin was staring at the smoking goblets in front of him. Snape had insisted on a double dose for a werewolf in the same house as two sleeping boys and a middle-aged woman. He had downed one. The other stood before him, smoking. They were all interrupted by the doorbell, and the screams it provoked from Mrs Black's portrait. Mrs Weasley went. Harry took the opportunity to tip his sprouts into the bin. They waited. If it was Order business, Mrs Weasley would return alone. If not...

Mrs Black's screams died down. The silence was loud. Lupin was half getting up to investigate, when there were footsteps on the stairs. Two sets. Lupin's countenance changed swiftly. Harry spun in his seat.

"Hey kid," said Hortense, (this directed to Malfoy, who had stood up very quickly), "hi Harry." she smiled at them both, but especially at Malfoy. It was a proper smile, with twinkling eyes and wrinkled lines. Her gaze moved... and her smile dropped as if it had fallen off her face. She looked first astonished, and then oddly closed. Harry and Malfoy both stared at Lupin because he appeared to be frozen. Harry saw her glance at the goblet and comprehension sneak into her eyes. Then all in a moment these signs vanished. Lupin sat and continued to stare at the goblet, and Hortense gave Malfoy a bone-cracking hug. Harry heard her whisper "I was so worried, I was so worried..." they broke away. Malfoy glared at Harry. Mrs Weasley noted it.

"We should go to bed," she said, firmly. "Remus-"

"I'll be fine." said Lupin, in a flat voice. Malfoy took off up the stairs. He didn't need Potter to take the piss out of him and Hortense. And Lupin had started to unnerve him. Werewolves...

Harry pretended to wash his plate. He heard Mrs Weasley say "I'll stay with you Remus..."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lupin down the second goblet of wolfsbane and shudder.

"No Molly, you go to bed. I'll stay," said Hortense.

And Harry was ushered off to bed.
Ok on my computer thats 6 pages long so I hope you liked it! It took ages to write -I'm so bad at writing feelings, feel free to flame me on that, lol. I know it's turning slowly into a bit of a darkfic too, but I'm considering having the Weasley clan come and lighten things up a little. Also I will be developing Hortense muchly because she is the only creation in here that is Mine so I want her to be important! . BUT SOME SCARY THINGS HAVE TO HAPPEN IN THIS BECAUSE DON'T FORGET THEY'RE STILL BEING SEARCHED FOR BY VOLDIE.

please all Rn R -even if you hate the fic because then, as this chapter testifies, I just try to make it all a bit better.

Love Skinny xxxx