A/N: Would you look at that, still groping blindly for a plot, but here we are. Thanks to all that reviewed! I think I saw them all, also cheers for picking up a mistake or two I made. Too late to fix so I ended up writing it in, and to be honest I prefer it how I wrote it. Snape was a curses man, it wouldn't be too much of a leap to say that he recorded spells he overhead. In my canon, Lily created Muffliato as she was gifted at charms. Not Beta, so I'm writing by the seat of my pants, I doubt I caught everything so beware.

Still J.K.R's sandbox, and I've got sand in my socks.

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Contemplation & Condemnation

Come to think of it. He probably should have asked how long Madame Pomfrey would keep her comatose for before deciding to stay awake himself. Of course, he didn't argue his reasoning with the decision. The whole point of him staying awake was to be able to talk to Hermione when she, herself woke. His plan was scuppered by not asking about her treatment to begin with. Good one, idiot.

Sure, she'd woken in front of her parents, as the Healer had said. But the screens that hid her, also hid her from him, and it wasn't terribly ideal for him and his plans. After a while he'd eventually come to the idea that Pomfrey left them in place out of spite for his bursting in on her when he arrived. There was nothing he wouldn't put past the women, but at least he was thankful for her return to normality with the reduction of patients. She had grown on him over the years, and he was closer to her than any member of the staff. Even Remus, who had been fickle, apart from his year teaching Defence.

At first, he'd been sad that one of his 'Uncles' never wrote to him, but over time, he'd slowly come to the realisation that Remus suffered similarly to himself. Where he was known as a freak in the Muggle world, the older man was a freak in the Magical world. Maybe he was uncomfortable with being close to people, still guilty? If so, Harry understood it. He was a brilliant teacher though, despite his limitations, not-to-mention that he'd turned up at the Ministry to rescue him. He would be there when needed, and that was fine. He preferred independence to a faux parent, and nothing would fill the hole he'd had since he'd first understood why his parents weren't around any longer.

That didn't stop him from covering the hole with planks of wood and piling earth on top. His friends, his Godfather, the D.A., and select members of the Hogwarts staff provided enough. The fact that they would risk themselves for him was an idea that was now unacceptable in the days following the event. The answer was obvious, he had to get better. It was the reason for his feverish research over the days of his invalidity, he spent almost all of his time scouring the most advanced books he could find for anything he could use.

A few nights ago, he'd decided to practise the ones he'd read about. And with the huge doors to the Infirmary hardened against magic, (no doubt due to history that Hermione could tell him of) he tested each new spell on them when Poppy had gone to bed. Some he saved for when he could practise them elsewhere, like 'Aqua Eructo' which probably would have flooded the place if he tried it. Though he'd tried 'Duro' on various waste items he could get his hands on. But he had to vanish them afterwards though, as a pile of stony vials and feathers would have drawn the Matron's ire. The fact that he was sneaking out of bed and exerting himself wouldn't help in that regard. But his drive overcame the shooting sparks of pain whenever he took a step, he was done being useless.

He'd gotten through a couple new spells in the few nights he'd had so far. 'Sagitta Infixa' left visible injuries in the wood of the doors thanks to the Arrows the spell conjured. Thankfully, the Reparo Charm kept the Matron none the wiser though. After reading about 'Fianto Duri, he'd worked for hours each night to strengthen his 'Protego'. After three nights of work, he felt like it would work against most stronger spells. Of course it would need some testing though.

Maybe I'll get Neville to help with that. He pondered. With Neville breaking his father's wand in the battle, his transformation once getting a new wand had been shocking to say the least. After using an uncooperative wand for so long, it was like night and day... If the day had five suns instead of one. Most of Neville's spells were overpowered these days and it left Harry wondering if he could figure out a way to do the same. His 'Diffindo' in the Ministry was far weaker than he'd intended, so he jotted it down on his list for future training. A list that filled the parchment with far more ease than any of his essays had.

He'd even wondered if he could cast an overpowered 'Muffliato', causing pain to those around him. Sadly his mother, who created the charm wasn't on hand to ask. And he doubted Sirius, as the person he showed him how to do it over the summer, knew either. He'd settle for its intended use for now, it was handy enough, especially in a house full of Weasley's and their Extendable Ears.

But a gaggle of rambunctious Weasley's was not his current problem.

Said problem came in the form of an irate Healer, whose hands currently reside upon her hips. Even more scary was the fact that one hand held a wand, and her eyes were narrowed at him. Oh shit.

"Imagine my surprise when I noticed you didn't drink the entire vial. Which leads me to find a patient who is awake, at two in the morning, instead of resting." Her tone put the fear of god into him. And when her wand hand suddenly twitched, he flinched. "Do you realise how much longer the pain will last if You. Do. Not. Rest?"

"I… No-Yes. I just... feel useless right now."

Her eyebrow twitched. "And pray tell, what is more important than your recovery?"

He clutched the collection of notes and the single book he'd been reading closer to his chest. Desperately, he tried for a diversion. "How long until she wakes up?"

Her arms folded in the face of his seemingly erratic behaviour. "Until the muscle is fully healed, you know this."

"And how long will that be?" He asked. Up to this point, she hadn't given him a definitive timeline, and it frustrated him to no end.

Her response was sharp. "Not as long as it will take to repair the nerve damage. If. You. Do. Not. Rest."

For a moment, he wondered why Dumbledore even turned up in the Atrium to face Voldemort, when all he had to do was call Pomfrey to face him. She was sharp and determined, not-to-mention infinitely scary. In the end he had to give in. "Alright, alright. Put me under." He grumbled and she nodded curtly, disappearing into her office and returning with a darker coloured potion.

As he put his research aside, he gave the screens behind which his friend lay one last look before taking the offered vial. Pomfrey's voice lowered consolingly. "I know you want to be awake when she wakes up, but you needn't suffer so much for it."

He looked up into the now caring visage of his part-part-time carer, and drank the contents with practised ease. "I deserve it." He muttered in reply before his world faded to black.

-A Week Later-

He awoke to a blinding light, he blinked and shifted to find that the light from the midday sun had been refracted through a glass on his bedside table. "Madame, he's waking up!" Called a familiar voice. He wanted to verify the voice that spoke from the chair beside him, but he wasn't wearing his glasses.

After a moment of drunkenly groping for his glasses, somebody helpfully placed them gently upon his nose. He then saw his benevolent benefactor, her hair was tamed by a knitted hat/beanie, she also wore a robe like he did. "Hermione."

"How're you feeling?" She asked, clutching a book to her chest as she peered concernedly at him.

"Feeling like I'd like for you to wake up to me, instead of this every time." He grumbled. It was wearing, having others constantly wondering about your health. It supposed it was fair, considering events past. But for once he would like to come through fine, maybe getting better would lead to him getting hurt less? Deciding to tackle that hypothesis later, he concentrated on the now.

And the fact that she had just giggled at his grumble.

"You're charming when you've just woken up." She taunted, grinning.

"Sounds like a quote from Witch Weekly." He retorted, grinning in spite of himself.

"You're in high spirits Mister Potter." Called Madame Pomfrey as she walked to his bed.

"I feel better."

"Indeed." Normal people would have said 'I told you so', but she said it a different way. "Will you just do as I say next time?" She intoned as her wand danced over his body.

"It's not that I don't trust-" A slap of his exposed arm cut him short, causing him to hiss as sparks and tingles emanated from the area that was hit.

Hermione cut him off. "You idiot, If you'd just get better I wouldn't have to worry."

The Healer delivered the final blow verbally rather than physically like Hermione had. "And you wouldn't be still feeling what you just felt. You'll both be pronounced fit enough to leave tomorrow but with a few stipulations."

"I'm surprised you're letting us go so easily Madame." Said Harry in both jest and curiosity.

The Healer huffed. "I've been overruled. By both parents and de-facto carers." She then finished her frantic wand-waving. "You'll survive Mister Potter. And as loath as I am to allow you to leave this room, Albus has asked to see you before you go."

The mention of the Headmasters name summoned a ball of lead that sank in his stomach. The fleeting minutes after he'd woken up were devoid of the burden that now settled upon his shoulders. And it had felt glorious.

"Harry?" Hermione asked leaning closer.

Her question served to remind him of what he had to do, and the long lonely road ahead. Ignoring her, he looked ahead. "Dobby!"

A crack heralded to elf's appearance at the foot of his bed. "Harry Potter called Dobby?"

"Could you get me a change of clothes please? Something comfortable."

The tiny elf beamed, squeaking; "Of course sir!" Before disappearing again.

Madame Pomfrey tutted and returned to her office. When she did, he turned to Hermione. "Have you been looking over my notes?"

"Of course." She smirked. "This is the closest you've come to doing proper schoolwork ever."

The joke fell flat. To him, it highlighted more of what he could have been doing in the years he'd wasted. So he said nothing. Only when Dobby returned with clothes (That he knew weren't his), did he speak to thank him properly.

Hermione, of course, decided to comment on his 'Homework'. "I'm a little bit worried about some of these Harry, you could easily kill using them."

She'd said it just after he'd put on his jeans, his modesty intact as her focus was purely upon the parchment. But he couldn't ignore such a comment, it spat in the face of what had happened, and what he now had to do. "And?" He continued before she could articulate her next sentence. "I was TORTURED Hermione, you think that because it doesn't leave scars that it's not worse than death in some cases!? You saw Neville's parents, that could have easily happened to me. You weren't there... yo-Because you were nearly cut in half! You didn't see what happened when the order turned up! Sirius nearly died! And I… Had to resort to using that fucking spell myself because I didn't know any better spells!"

"How could you use an Unforgivable Harry!?" She replied, her voice a higher pitch and usual.

He was fully dressed now, arguing through mundane tasks that would have looked odd in any other setting. "And that. Is why I have to do this myself!" He spat before striding towards the oaken exit, storming away towards the Headmaster's office.

The Gargoyles, perhaps in fear of being blasted into smithereens jumped aside the instant he reached them. At least that was the reason he preferred over them being instructed to let him in if he ever turned up. His anger simmered through his journey through the empty castle, but as soon as he saw the ancient looking door to his office. The old man's explanation at his bedside came to mind, it stoked the fire of his fury and brought it just under the boil.

He didn't bother to knock.

The Headmaster, infuriatingly, seemed to expect him and was leaning against his desk. "I'm glad to see you've recovered Harry."

"Apparently I haven't yet." He spat in reply.

The wizened face before him hardened for a moment, before relenting. "Then we should both take a seat." When they were both seated, facing each other, did the old man sigh and look at him with pity in his eye. "I know how you feel."

Harry replied flatly. "Do you?"

Dumbledore remained silent for a long time, his gaze darting about. It slowly burnt at the little of the patience Harry had reserved for this discussion. "Please understand that there are only two other's alive that know this tale." Harry nodded. "I was young, impetuous, and hungry for power. But just as I was about to journey abroad with a man just as brilliant as myself, my mother died. And with my father in Azkaban, I became the sole carer of my younger brother and even younger sister. Despite my frustration, I stayed, leaving my brilliant... friend to journey alone. His stubborn streak wouldn't allow it and I finally saw what hid behind the mask. My brother jumped to my aid, and like that, the three of us dueled in the living room of my very own home."

Harry was rooted to his chair in spite of himself, it was an incredible tale so far. Even if it seemed like it was a heavily edited version of event's. The old man gave a sigh and continued. "My sister was not well. When her magical talents revealed themselves, she was set upon by three muggle boys. It changed her, she developed an extremely rare condition due to her repressing her own magic. She had killed her own mother by accident, and my father killed the three boys that hurt her so. Yet still, she tried to help her brothers, and to this day, the identity of who cast the curse that killed her eludes us. But the blame still rests with myself, and my brother agreed vehemently." Dumbledore looked away, a tear running down his crooked nose.

Even he had to admit it, the man in front of him understood. And despite his hormones screaming otherwise, he relented. But that didn't mean he'd forgotten the other things the old man had done. Not on your life. "Why wasn't Sirius in Grimmauld place if he wasn't at the Ministry?"

"He was."

"But then-..." He trailed off, the answer was one he didn't want to utter.

"Kreacher lied to you, for you are not his master. He served masters that were infinitely more kind to him. I did tell Sirius to treat him with more respect but-."

Harry overrode him, nearly yelling. "But Kreacher hated him since he was a child! Don't sit there and blame someone for how they were raised! I should know!" The last three words washed over him breaking him all over again, and silence reigned once more.

"You believe that I do not care about Sirius, or yourself?"

Harry blinked, it had been exactly what he'd been thinking at that time. He realised, in his state, that his poultry Occlumency shields had fallen. But he didn't really care, in fact, he wanted the old man to see the depths of his mind. "Why didn't you tell me he could use the connection?" Even as he asked the question, he realised something he'd forgotten. Snape had warned him of that very event occurring, only his delivery led him to brush it aside as part of the overgrown Bat's intimidating nature.

"I may not have explained the reason in its entirety."

"You said you cared." He said with a certain amount of derision.

Dumbledore surveyed him once again, before elaborating. "When you arrived at Hogwarts, I saw a boy who had suffered. Suffered in a way that would permanently alter your character, yet you made friends with a family I've known for a long time. I was simply happy you were whole, battered maybe, but whole. Then you intercept a Mountain Troll, and survive, showing a side of your temperament I hadn't anticipated. Then you slay a Basilisk the very next year, in a chamber no one has found in millenia. Then you save your own godfather from a terrible fate by going back in time. You are then forced into a deadly tournament, and survive to face your parents killer again, and lose a friend in the process. This year need not be mentioned."

He sighed. "The fact is you shoulder the responsibility and contain the courage of ten wizards at the least. I am equal parts guilty and incredibly proud of the man you have become. Despite my countless mistakes, and the similarity of your upbringings, you are the antithesis of Voldemort. That is why I care. For I could not expect that I would have such a person on my hands."

His previous anger burnt out after hearing what was said, and a sadness overcame him. "I'm not the opposite of him." He croaked. "I kill people. And I see how normal people are… They... They hug their friends without being scared. They trust adults without question, they go on dates in Hogsmeade."

Dumbledore followed this tangent without question. "I believe you yourself, spent some time in the Village with a Miss Chang."

His anger returned instantly. "And it was ruined! Because of what I am! Because Cedric died! Because I don't know what to do when others are upset! Nobody else wants to be alone like I do! And Voldemort's been making me so angry all year, I've been hurting the few friends I do have! The ones that aren't dead already... Will be because of me." He finished with barely a croak, struggling to hold tears at bay. For someone that had learnt not to cry, he was sure doing it a lot in such a few days.

He hated being different, being awkward, cynical, soulless, being Harry fucking Potter, the hero the… idiot who'd gotten his best friend killed.

The silence stretched uncomfortably as he wrestled with his rapidly darkening thoughts.

Finally Dumbledore broke it. "I'm at a loss of how to placate you."

The words sparked his fury yet again. "Then don't! Help me! Teach me!"

"I have plans to start our training at the start of the next school term."

"So you're going to waste a whole summer!? Am I meant to die!? Why make this all so hard! I just want to win, to finish with all of this shit and go back to trying to learn how to be human!" His tentative plans for the summer cemented themselves in that moment, if the old man wouldn't help him, he would help himself.

His mentor remained silent.

And an idea sprang into being in his mind, one so terrible that he almost shied away from it. Almost. He hoped against hope it wasn't true, for his life goal was as vague as it could be. But he wanted it, god did he want it. To have a family, one that didn't beat their children, and he would give them anything they desired. And with the old man's silence stretching, and the non-denying of his assertion that he was meant to die gained credence to the idea. To be disposable, to be a weapon, one that would somehow bring Voldemort to his knees, but not live to see the end.

Only his own end.

He almost couldn't believe it, but it was par for the course of his experiences with adults throughout his whole life.

And still Dumbledore didn't say anything.

His steadily building fury broke.

His hands curled into balls at the same instant, all of the glass in the office cracked and shattered. The many odd machines and ornaments that filled the office shook themselves apart. The power he felt through the fury was intoxicating, it washed away the lingering pain of the Cruciatus Curse and coalesced around his body. The old man still didn't move or make a sound.

If I'm only meant to be a weapon. I'll be a fucking weapon. That's my purpose. Finally.

He longed to draw his wand and fire whatever his heart desired at the man in front of him. But that wouldn't do him any favours in the long run, he still needed information only Dumbledore could impart. For everything else though. Fuck him.

"Was there anything else? Sir… He voice, dripping with sarcasm. The corrosive hatred he felt wouldn't allow him to address him any other way. Not that he cared.

"No, Harry."

The name didn't sound right anymore, not from his tongue at least. "It's Potter. To you."

And with that, he turned and exited. He had some spells to practise.

...

-The Next Day-

There was an awkward air between the pair as they walked to the Deputy Headmistresses office. In a time reminiscent of 'Broomstick Episode' in third year, they didn't speak to each other. After his return from Dumbledore's office, she'd tried talking him round again. She made no headway against the stony facade that the subject of discussion between protege and master had wrought. Despite the elder's warning, Harry was now fully committed to his plans. His closest remaining friend still clung to her ideals, and it made her vulnerable.

Distancing himself would keep her safe, especially with the understanding of his new purpose.

And he needed to maximise the amount of time he had to work on the spells he'd looked up while at Grimmauld Place. Hopefully he could convince Sirius to not take him back to Privet Drive. There was no way he was going to entrust his safety to a guess that the wards still held. Even if it was only Voldemort that could now enter the wards, it was all that was needed against a mediocre teenage wizard.

Stupid old man.

His thoughts were interrupted by a stern voice. "Ah Mister Potter, Miss Granger. Enjoy your holidays." Minerva McGonagall said, gesturing towards her fireplace.

Hermione smiled at her favorite teacher and, with Harry remaining still and quiet. She used the Floo first, calling Grimmauld Place as planned. Her parents were scheduled to pick her up from the house later in the day.

He watched her disappear, before turning to Minerva. She looked over her spectacles at him, noticing that he hadn't moved. "Professor, would I be able to contact you over the summer? I need some help with Transfiguration, Conjuration and the like." He waved his hand awkwardly. Some of the spells he'd read about were beyond his comprehension, but looked really useful. He'd decided to ask her as he really wasn't happy with the old man currently.

"Taking interest in your studies after five years now?" She asked sternly.

"I don't think they're in the curriculum." He replied nervously.

She studied him for some time before nodding, "You may. Though I'm not sure how much help I can be through owl, or even if I'll approve of what you wish to study."

He nodded at that, it was as much as he expected to be honest. He was more surprised that she was willing to help, but he would cross that bridge when he got to it. "Thank you Professor, Err, goodbye." He said awkwardly before following Hermione into the emerald flames.

He'd forgotten how bad he was at using the Floo Network.

It was surprising he'd managed to remain standing when exiting in the Infirmary. However, this time he'd returned to form, sliding out mostly on his arse, hissing in pain as his body erupted with sparks at the contact with the wooden floor. He was roughly hauled to his feet, then hugged just as roughly. With the dearth of hugs in his life, he immediately recognised this one. "Good you see you pup." His godfather's eyes shifted to concern. "Are you still in pain?"

He shook his head, relishing talking to someone that wouldn't judge him. "I'm fine Sirius, How's the free life?"

While comatose, he'd missed another important moment. Sirius had been freed, legally as the evidence against him had been insufficient for his incarceration. Without Peter though, the Ministry was still suspicious, but Hermione's and Remus's memories of the events in third year had played a part. There would be no pardoning until Peter was found and interrogated of course but it was enough for his godfather to be able to leave Grimmauld Place on two feet instead of four paws.

"I'll miss defying the Ministry, but it's alright." He grinned. "Want some tea? Hermione?" He asked his friend, who was standing awkwardly near the door. She nodded and they followed Sirius, Acolyte-like, into the familiar kitchen.

"Where's Kreacher?" Hermione asked, seating herself opposite Harry at the long gnarled wooden table.

Sirius, who was flicking his wand this way and that, replying stiffly: "No clue, I've had a chat with him after leading you to the Ministry."

"What do you mean?" Asked Hermione. Harry saw her eyes become attentive, gleaming with… something.

"As Head of the Family, I've given him some orders I should have a year ago. I don't really trust him with food and drink, he's not like Dobby is to Harry."

Hermione looked confused. "Like Dobby is to Harry? But he's a free elf."

Sirius, who was setting three sets of mugs on the table and filling them with steaming tea with another few flicks of his wand, snorted at Hermione's question, drawing Harry curiosity. "If Dobby was a free elf, he'd already be dead."

Hermione remained silent for time. Harry didn't bother interrupting, she would understand well before he would. "What are you saying?"

Sirius blew on his tea before taking a sip. "I'm saying that they need a magical bond to survive. It's not well known outside of Pureblood families, so I doubt it would come up in Care of Magical Creatures."

He could connect these dots easily enough. "So Dobby is bonded to me?"

Sirius smirked at a thunderstruck Hermione before turning to him. "Call him and ask."

"Dobby!"

The crack of an appearing elf nearly made him spill his tea, but led to his friend appearing next to him. "Harry Potter called Dobby?"

After some explanation, and then some clarifying questions. It was decided that the elf would become a fixture in Grimmauld Place in the future, which led to an elf-cooked lunch. A lunch Hermione had remained quiet through, Giving him the chance to tell Sirius about his year. Which was an oddly new experience in itself, but one he relished. All of his most mundane stories had a counterpart that his godfather would mention, just a part in a grand play that was the Marauders at Hogwarts.

With the tea done Sirius and Hermione went upstairs to change, he remained at the table instead. The clothes Dobby had gotten for him were well and above what he normally wore for casual wear. Hermione always managed to look well and truly fetching in her casual muggle attire, and even Ron's misguided attempt at the same attire was leagues above the hand-me-downs he wore. He always felt slightly ridiculous whenever they went to Hogsmeade.

Despite the pang the memory of Ron caused him, his own thought about Hermione stuck with him. Of course he'd realised she was a girl long before Ron's famed outburst in fourth year. But he wasn't about to do anything about it, the whole dating thing was something he was clueless about. Not-to-mention the whole kissing thing threw him even further for a loop. He'd heard some girls coin the term 'Boyfriend Material', and he was definitely not it. His jealousy for Cedric had only half been about Cho, the other half was the way he carried himself, he could get any girl to swoon in an instant, and he was actually a pretty good bloke.

He was the opposite, Years of running from Dudley's gang had left him awkward, defensive and uncaring. His time at Hogwarts may have helped him, but he'd simply adapted to his new surroundings, rather than work on himself. And it showed when he dared to look. Hermione had been normal, reacting poorly to his 'Homework' and its applications. He could tell she didn't aim to take a life, whereas he didn't care. But his normally detached and efficient mentality had slipped, and this had cost him Ron.

He blinked, looking around the dismal kitchen and cursed his erratic thought processes. He couldn't think about his laughable attempts at attaining what his parents had, or his failures.

He had to get better.

Mind made, he trudged up the stairs to the Library. When he reached it, he stepped carefully through the archway making sure to not stray from the path that was not laden with dust. Once he was sure nothing would jump out at him, he browsed for an ideal book. Those he opened he did with great care, the screaming book in the Restricted Section years previous made him wary.

After settling upon a book titled: 'Wand Waving for Wizards; Discretionary Duelling' he rummaged about in the cupboards under each bookshelf for parchment. Finding some, he placed it upon a small nearby table next to an armchair and summoned his quill and ink with a flick of his wand. His rudimentary study area set up, he turned around to close the cupboards he'd opened in his search.

And found Hermione, not breathing, sprawled upon the dusty carpet.

All rational thought evaporated.

"'Mione?" With her non-response, He dropped to his knees beside her, his breathing shallow and his heart racing. "Hermione!?" She lay in the same position she had in the Department of Mysteries, and flashes of the event blurred the distinction between what he saw, and what he had seen. No, not again. He thought and desperately grasped her shoulder to prove himself wrong. "Hermione!"

There was no response, her skin had gained the pallor that Ron's body had in the Infirmary. His fury and sorrow intermingled as he hunched over her body. A lone tear ran the length of his nose and fell upon the carpet, a second joined it, then a third, as he began to cry in earnest. His body shook in ways unfamiliar to him, he felt himself grow weaker, his eyelids grew heavy and he closed his eyes.

He heard footsteps, then the breeze of something rush past him, then. "Riddikulus!"

He opened his eyes, finding there to be a lack of body underneath his. In his shock, he scrambled away towards the wall. In looking up he saw his godfather, crouched before him. "Sorry Harry! I had no clue there was another one in here." Sirius's long wavy hair parted to reveal eyes that were clouded with shame and worry.

It was a just fucking Boggart.

"Sorry Sirius." He stammered, struggling mightily to control himself. Embarrassment flooded through his body and he was thankful Hermione hadn't seen him like this.

Sirius gave a grunt and sat heavily against the wall beside him. "That won't happen."

"It will." He snapped tiredly in reply. "She won't do what's necessary, if she follows me she'll die."

"So that's what you two are fighting about."

"I'm not fighting with her about anything, she just won't accept it."

Silence stretched between the pair, and he used it to further collect himself, taking slower and calmer breaths with each few seconds.

"Harry, humour me for a moment."

"I thought you were always serious." The old joke brought the smallest of smiles to his face.

Sirius gave a bark of laughter. "I'm always serious. But Harry, take a step back and look at the bigger picture." He puzzled at it but couldn't get what his godfather was getting at, so he remained silent. "Six teens, who haven't finished taking their owls, broke into the most secretive department the Ministry has. They were then outnumbered by men and women who have been practising Dark Arts for most of their adult lives. These teens then evaded capture, taking some of their attackers out as well, until help could arrive. They saved your life, and you theirs."

"But Ron died." Even saying the name gave him the shivers and weighted his stomach.

"And that's terrible. But think of who you were fighting, those… things had killed so many before that night, and five teens survived. You gave so much of yourself to teach your peers something they should have already known. And it helped them survive! And I'm so incredibly proud of my pup. I can see James puffing out his chest right now in pride."

Harry swallowed in an attempt to stem the flood of emotions that coursed through him. He'd heard his parents say that they loved him, and that had been an experience unto itself. Dumbledore had thanked him for his loyalty. Remus had told him he was proud of what he'd learnt.

No one he cared about had ever told him they were proud of who he was, of what he'd done.

It was something he didn't know he even needed to hear.

He couldn't keep it in any longer, and he choked out a sob. Sirius pulled him into a one-armed hug and he let him. If there was one person who he would let see him weak, it was Sirius Orion Black, the man who his parents had entrusted him to. The man who offered him a home, then had thrown himself at a werewolf to protect him. Maybe it was because he was related to the man, but he could feel the kinship between them. And they had their fair share of similarities, be it good or bad.

Time became immeasurable as he vented into his godfather's shoulder. Once he finished, he filled him in on the other part of his plans for the summer. It took a while to explain the full details of why, and once he had. He had a new ally, and ally that knew first-hand of the occasional incompetence of Albus Dumbledore.

-Later that day-

In reality, it was the same sort of goodbye of the last four years previous.

But to him, it was different. He had a goal in mind, and he would change in the summer. If he was going to lose the protection of multiple wands, then he had to get as good as multiple wands. And if Mr. Granger's inquisition had been anything to go by, they valued her safety as much as he did. Probably more, but he didn't have his own parents to compare against. It had torn at his heart to see her parents in the Infirmary, desperate for news, to find those responsible.

But she made up quite a large chunk of his world, and he hadn't fully realised it until now.

Per his plan, Sirius would escort Hermione outside at the time her parents were due to pick her up. He, himself couldn't step outside and reveal where he was staying for the summer, to anyone. So his goodbye would be conducted inside.

But said goodbye wouldn't happen as he'd envisioned. His tongue was tied in knots that rivaled the one in his stomach. Their disagreement had made things awkward and so very unfamiliar between the two. With five minutes before she had to be outside, he had no idea what to say. She stood closest to the door, wringing her hands. He knew she knew something was up. Or maybe that she felt awkward. Or maybe he made her uncomfortable now. Fuck.

"Have you taken your potion?" He asked and instantly wanted to slap himself in the face for such an inane question.

"Yes."

He tried again. "Say hi to your parents for me, and, err, sorry."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously at him. "Stop shouldering the blame-"

In a moment of complete impulsivity, he quickly took the three steps that separated them and hugged her as tightly as he could. The notion of just what he was giving up had just hit him, and as a result, his feet had moved of their own accord. She gave a little "Oh" of surprise before gripping him back. He clung on, desperate for a memory to hang on to while he started along the path he'd set for himself.

They only separated when they heard a cough from behind them. Sirius leant against the hallway wall, smirking. "It's time."

Harry nodded and stepped back further from her than was strictly necessary. He looked back at her as Sirius joined her by the door, to find her scrutinising him. "You're actually doing it aren't you." She said with a mix of incredulity and sternness.

The shock of her accusation/statement almost knocked him further back. He didn't reply though, he couldn't. There was so much more to say, and yet nothing to say. She gave a huff and fairly dragged Sirius outside, and the dark front door closed with a finality that tugged at his chest.

With the hardest part of his plan not completed. He turned and slouched his way towards the dank cellar.

It was time he got started after all.

...

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A/N: Yes, Hermione was eavesdropping of Harry's conversation with Sirius. But he doesn't know that, and this is from his POV ;)