Hey guys. Happy 2017. Once again, apologies. I post a chapter, thinking a new one will be up in a week or two and...next thing I knew, I'm on an unexpected two month hiatus. To be fair, in my defense, the holidays drained me. Then had to go back to school. Then it was my birthday (now officially 22). I got stuck into the fanfic rabbit hole and now we are again. Another reason for my absence is me figuring out what I should do for 5th year. Some of you, especially you oh-my-fancan, have offered ideas and suggestions. I'm always up to hear more.

Also, I have one more request. As a belated birthday gift, I'd love to hear from you awesome readers. Thought on the chapter, the story, even a belated happy birthday wish.

Chapter 42: Withering the Storm

He was back in the maze again, cloaked in near pitch blackness that surrounded him. With only faint traces of light to see his own hands and his panting breath coming out in hefty clouds, he ran like hell. Not towards glory, not for the trophy. No, he was running for his life.

Creatures came out to meet him. Not the creatures he saw on the pages of the Monster book like sphinxes and hybrid spiders or dementors but images. Images emerging from the blackness, flashing through the darkness, conjured by fear, by memories, or by both.

Sirius surrounded by Dementors, hands grasped onto his head, mouth open to let out wordless screams as he sank to the ground, too week to fight back as the monsters closed in on him.

Ron inaudibly gasping, blood pouring from his gut, bubbling in his mouth, as a snickering Wormtail dug his newly-gifted hand through the boy's abdomen.

Hermione screaming in agony as she was picked apart by Death Eaters dissecting her like a frog, relishing in her cries and screeches.

He tried to save her. He tried to save all of them. But each time he came close, they vanished.

Distressed, he ran, only to come across more images.

His dad appearing out of nowhere, running as frantically as Harry one second, then dropping dead the next.

Cedric toppling backwards as he was stuck by a flash of bright green light, then turning into Mum as she hit the ground, her horrible shrieking crescendo ending on a high note, streams of red as bright as her hair pooled around her.

Severus down on his knees, cradling her limp body, one side of his face buried in her hair, the other coated in sterling silver.

Harry staggered back, and then nearly suffered whiplash when a hand grasped onto him, turning him around. Vivid gray eyes, glinting like starlight, burnt into him.

Draco.

Before Harry could speak, warm lips crashed into him, sending him down a delicious, intoxicating downward spiral. The more he fell, the more the pleasure grew. Draco's hands and lips were everywhere, resisting to let a spot go unmarked: his face, his neck, his shoulders, anywhere he could touch. Hundreds of soft, warm hands touching him, holding him, caressing him. In a blindingly bright pure white color from what Harry could make out in the brief moments he opened his eyes before he was sucked down the rabbit hole. Pure white hands closing around him like a cocoon.

Until it was ripped away.

Horrified, Harry opened his eyes to find Draco standing across from him, held captive by his father who was oblivious to his son's pained cries as he clawed the Dark Mark onto his arm.

Uncle Lucius spared Harry a flat glance, one given to a stranger instead of a ward, as the silver mask formed over his face and he retreated into the shadows, taking Draco with him.

"No!" Harry screamed, shooting up from his bed with a jolt.

It took nearly forever for his heart to slow down from a rapid pace to a normal one. Even longer for his mind to unscramble dream from reality, eyes picking up small details. The heap of clothes spilling his from his closet, hanging from his drawers, packages and letters pilling up on his desk, his stuffed dog Scuffy that must have fallen off the bed during his episode, and the faded blue color of his walls.

He was in Grimmauld Place. He wasn't in the maze anymore. He was safe.

For now, a voice whispered.

A chill flashed through him. Harry took in a deep breath and crawled to the other side of the bed, where a lukewarm glass of water waited for him at his nightstand. He barely grimaced at the distill taste when he gulped it down.

It was when he put down the glass that he heard a scream.

"'A complicated matter, my ass!' Code for, I know how much I screwed up but I don't have the balls to admit it!"

"Sirius, calm down!"

Harry climbed off the bed and crept down the hall, stopping midway on the staircase. He saw their shadows in the parlor room, one pacing around, the other sitting down, just as he left them hours ago after a painfully-awkward, silent dinner.

"Calm down?" Sirius echoed. "Calm down?! After the Ministry and the fucking Daily Prophet make a field day of what happened, turning it into a new edition of the Boy Who Cried Wolf. After finding out the pet to the devil has been at Hogwarts for a year-a whole year-right under Dumbledore's nose! And now Dumbledore is having us run around, saying be patient, be patient. If I have to hear those words one more time-"

"Sirius!" Remus broke down his name into three, frustrated-laced syllables. Harry watched his shadow rise from the chair, stalking over to the pacing figure. "Dumbledore is under just as much fire as the rest of us-"

"Harry is traumatized to the point where we can barely reach him-none of us can. And it's all because of Dumbledore."

"This isn't his fault!" Remus argued.

Harry watched one shadow pushed the other away. A shove so hard that the other one stumbled on his feet.

"Not his fault?" Sirius parroted in disbelief. "Not his fault? How long has he known Moody, Moony? Please humor me. Ten years? Fifteen years? Twenty? I'd say that's long enough for someone to know the difference between an original with a few, unusual ticks and a goddamn imposter!"

"I know. And I'm just as furi-"

" Oh please! Don't make me laugh!" Sirius snapped.

"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Really? Shall I spell it out for you while ironing your Team-Dumbledore shirt?"

A growl thundered in the room, taking Harry back. Sirius, from his stilled shadow and sudden silence, definitely was.

"Don't you dare think for one second that I'm not as furious about all this as you are because I damn well am! Harry's my pup. My pup! Who's been through hell on a continuous loop. And this time…" There was a pause before Remus spoke again, pain heavy on his tone. "This time I fear this trip may have severely strained him."

"You don't think I know that?" Sirius demanded.

"If you did, you would consider my proposal-"

"I'm sorry, you mean your harebrained scheme of wheeling Harry off to some quake who'll magically fix his problems with some potions and breathing techniques?"

Therapy? Harry's brows furrowed. He hadn't heard anything about that.

"He needs to talk to someone, Paddy. He hardly talks to us, to his friends. Even Severus is worried-"

Sirius cut him off with a snort. "Right, our now reformed Death Eater spy. You'll forgive me if I'd sooner believe Mother Dearest is smiling down at me than-"

"You may not understand the limits how far grief can drive a person, but I most certainly do!"

The words stopped Sirius cold just as they did with Harry, grabbing hold of his heart with their icy hands.

"I do," Remus repeated, his voice steel. "And I also know very few who are lucky enough to have someone bring them back before they reach the point of the no return."

Harry shivered as an image of a young Remus popped into his head, so scared and in so much pain, on the Astronomy Tower roof, shaking as he stuck one foot out, prepared to jump.

"I…I know. I know. I just…" Harry pictured Sirius's hands running through his hair as he struggled to unscramble his thoughts. "I don't even know if therapy will help. I don't think anything will. And it scares me. Harry's just-just-dear Merlin, Paddy, the word depressed would be a blessing. He's just gone. Like a zombie. His body's here, but his mind is worlds away. He doesn't talk. He barely eats. He's only been outside three, four times max the entire summer. He does more screaming than sleeping at night and it scares me. I just-I don't know what to do. I'm his godfather and I don't have a single clue as to what I should do."

Harry couldn't bear to hear anymore. He retreated back to his room.

He didn't go back to bed though. He didn't bother. He knew he'd just be plague by memories of pale corpses, silver masks, and crimson eyes. He lounged on his couch and stared up at the ceiling.

Every school year ended with a bang. It happened so often, it must have as well be a Hogwarts tradition. There wasn't a doubt in anyone's mind, least of all Harry's, that fourth year took home first prize as most unforgettable.

Cedric's death left the entire school, even the visiting ones, shook to the core. For most of the students, death was a dark thought often shoved aside, too soon to be given much thought. Some who experienced it firsthand were through funerals they were too young to remember or tight-lipped on the details. But it was different when a classmate, someone you were friends with, someone you passed by in the halls was actually died. Someone so young, so kind, so well-loved.

Harry carried that guilt like a heavy cross strapped onto his back, clinging to him like a shadow, following him into his dreams where he saw flashes of green light and Cedric's still form falling over. That moment played over in his head like a sick movie on repeat when Harry passed out in Sirius's arms after he told him about Voldemort.

Harry hardly remembered what happened after that. It was like he was lost in vast sea of blackness, fading in and out of consciousness, seeing glimmers of faces. Sirius and Remus's tight with anxiety, Hermione's streaked with tears, Ron's hopelessly lost, Severus's nearly stone with cracks of concern chipping the mask, and…his.

Harry brought his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, trying to fight off the chilled shuddering rippling through his body.

Oddly enough it was the same his, the same him who promised Harry the first time he was lost in the despairing sea that he'd never have him go through it alone, who discovered the real spy and traitor hiding in the castle.

Harry hardly stirred from his deep, restless sleep other than to recount to his friends and Dumbledore in a hollow, flat voice almost everything that happened in the cemetery. Most of the time he was floating around the dark depths of bone, mind-numbing exhaustion.

Moody came into the hospital wing when Madame Pomfey had to step out, his wand glowing bright green and aimed right at Harry's head.

"I'll prove the master my loyalty. I'll prove him my worth!" Harry choked on the dark magic thickening the air, pressing down on his neck. Bewildered and trapped, he looked up to see the former Auror's appearance changing. He could see madness starting to break through the usually stoic face. "And I'll do it with your head!"

What neither of them had expected was Draco. Flashing in a blur of white after he came out of the loo, pouncing onto the man like a wild cat, practically tearing him apart with his fists and sharp hands.

Then Sirius burst in, along with Dumbledore and Severus to watch the transformation unfold-or rather reverse. Moody, face marred with nasty bruises, slashed with thick cuts (a good percentage of which came from Draco while Sirius threw in a few of his) turned into Crouch's disgraced, discarded, long-dead son. Bartemius Crouch Jr.

As it turned out, Crouch Jr didn't die after all. He nearly did, due to the torture he went through at Azkaban. He was able to escape thanks to a faithful house-elf. By the time he escaped, his loyalties were pledged to Voldemort. If the world, including his own father, thought he was a traitor, he might as well be one. He caught up with Pettigrew weeks after the man made his own escape and helped him care for their master.

The three spent that time conjuring a plan for Voldemort to be restored to his full strength and get away Harry away from Dumbledore. When word came that Hogwarts was hosting the Triwizard Tournament, it was like fate was working alongside with them. Now all they needed was a spy to plant himself in and ensure the plan went accordingly. Crouch Jr. offered his services as a spy. He spent months stalking Moody to learn the man's personality and mannerisms till his mimicking was down to a T. Once that was done, he kidnapped him, stripping Moody of his wand and keeping him close as his prisoner so he'd never run out of hair fragments for the Polyjuice potion, which explained the missing Potion ingredients.

It also explained Crouch's distress, his strange disappearances. And also explained how Harry's name was added to the cup in the first place. Crouch Jr added a special charm to the entry to ensure that the goblet would chose Harry, knowing could get the boy out of the tournament besides death. The night before the third task, he came down to create the portkey inside the trophy, so that the second Harry touched it, he'd be delivered straight to Pettigrew and the Dark Lord.

"Why?" Dumbledore demanded.

Eyes glazed over from the Veritaserum Severus shoved down his throat, the imposter answered with ease, "The Dark Lord needed the boy, but the boy was always protected. Concealed. The tournament was the only way to draw him out, to bring him to the cemetery."

Silence hung heavily in the room.

Despite the fact he was heavil bounded from the neck down to his knees, the fact he had been stripped of his wand, the bruises marked onto and the secrets he spilled, Bartemus Junior looked unsettlingly pleased. He wore the smirk of a man who already won as he looked over at Dumbledore. "What's the matter, old man? The blame for that Hufflepuff getting to you?" He licked his lips in rapid movement, flicking out his tongue.

"Young Cedric's death is on you, Bartemus," Dumbledore replied. "The portkey you implanted is what led to his death."

"And yet," the man practically sang. "Imagine what could have been if more eyes were of them. The wonders of security truly go a long way, Albus." The way the name rolled off his tongue, was almost a taunting slur. "It's just as much your fault as it is mine. If you had done something, pure better security around the maze, then you wouldn't be one short a student." Another flick of his tongue, droplets of saliva flickering onto his face. "As it is, it was your ego, your silence, your lack of involvement that ruined me, ruined your precious Potter, and most certainly ruined that soft-hearted Hufflepuff."

Harry flinched, the words a hard punch to his gut. Sirius had to be held back from ripping out the man's throat.

Dumbledore called for Hagrid and McGonagall to look over the bound captive while he wrote an urgent letter to Minister Fudge. By the time he arrived, McGonagall and Hagrid were found unconscious, both their heads sporting nasty bumps. Crouch Jr. was free from his bounds; his body slumped on the ground at a crooked angle, streaks of blood dripping from his slit throat, eyes widened in shock and pain.

Harry was fuzzy on the details. He remembered chaos descending: screaming between Dumbledore and Fudge, Remus making a feeble attempt to resuscitate the man, Hagrid beating against Crouch's chest as if he could get answers out of him. But it was too late. He was gone.

Harry let the questions, the voiced concerns, the hugs slide off him and walked back to the Infirmary, slipping into his bed. He ignored the footsteps trailing behind him.

Just as he ignored Dumbledore.

"Harry?"

"Leave." he ordered, eyes focused on the wall.

"My boy-"

"Now!"

A long heartbeat passed before he heard him leave. Even then Harry didn't relax, not when he felt a familiar hand reaching for his shoulder, squeezing it lightly.

"Harry." The touch was meant to be comforting; Harry could tell. Still, he couldn't relax into it like he usually did. Not when memories of white-blonde hair, pale eyes, and a silver mask spun around in his head.

Heart heavy and twisted, Harry pulled away. And the silent, pained gasp that set off behind cut him deeper than any knife.

"I need to be alone," he whispered, his throat tight.

"Harry-"

"Please." He closed his eyes to hold in his tears trying to escape.

Shock tightened Draco's body like an over-tuned violin. Slowly, Draco shifted away inch by inch until he was off the bed. Harry kept his eyes closed as the door softly shut and his tattered heart was spilt in two.

Harry reached over for the Dreamless Draught Madame Pomfey left on the nightstand and chugged the potion down in one swig, falling into a deep sleep where the demons were kept in their cages.

Hours later, Harry woke up to the soft touch of Sirius stroking his hair. Paddy's lips lifted up into a smile, but then disintegrated as he took in Harry's face.

"Tell me what you want to do," Sirius said. "Whatever it is, I'll be right behind you."

"I want to go to Grimmauld Place." Harry said.

Sirius made it happen. There were hardly any buts to stop him. Not from Fudge, who despite everything, thought it was a fine idea. Not from Dumbledore. Not from Aunt Cissa. Unlike last time, Draco didn't put up a fight or refusals, but the look of absolute hurt in his eyes said enough.

Sirius tried to make things fun and light. Remus tried to distract him with books. His friends reached out, wanting to help. But Harry…he just couldn't. Memories of Halloween night, the cemetery, Cedric dying, the blond-haired masked man, and Draco's face twisted in confusion and pain were too heavy to move past, too thick to push aside, stuck to him like shadows. He couldn't shake them. He couldn't lose himself in flying; couldn't lost himself in reading.

Somehow though he eased a bit of the heavy weight by pouring all of the thoughts jumbled up and piled in his head and his conflicted feelings onto the pages of his journals. At first it was only a few sentences here and there, expanding into paragraphs, extending to pages. The next thing he knew, he filled up one journal, then another, and had to ask Remus for more.

They were in the middle of August and Harry was already halfway through journal twelve. Remus and Sirius were good about leaving him alone with his thoughts, happy to see him do something productive. Still he added special privacy charms to the journals, where his fingerprints were required to unlock it and his magical signature was needed for the words to surface on the pages.

Writing was therapy in its own way where he was the patient and the journal was his doctor. No judgement, no expectations. As soon as he turned the book over to a blank page, it listened to every word he said. How Cedric's death was consuming him inside out because of the guilt, his feelings for Draco and he was caught in a tie between telling his boy everything and nothing, his doubts and sympathies regarding Severus, and a question that had been written in every journal, nearly every other page, circling around his mind.

Should have he told everyone about the strange Death-eater? His suspicions on who it could be?

Harry told them as much as he could about. How they were taken to the cemetery, Cedric killed without a care, the ritual Pettigrew performed, the hooded figures who answered Voldemort's call, and the duel that happened between them.

He told them everything-all except the mysterious Death Eater who was given a harsh warning from his master, who kept silent while the rest of them laugh, who studied Harry with his pale eyes while strands of blonde hair escaped from his hood.

It's been weeks but Harry's mind could barely process it. He couldn't stomach the thought.

Uncle Lucius, a Death Eater? A minion to Voldemort's beck and call?

He didn't want to believe it. He didn't even want to picture it. He tried pushing the thought out of his mind, but it was as if fighting gave the thoughts strength to stay. With them came facts, small details his subconscious refused to let go. Like the fact Lucius made it no secret that he thought Muggles and Muggle-born alike were swine. That he thought the increased migration of Muggle-borns were the cause to the declining regard to tradition, which he felt were the backbone of the wizarding world. Most Voldemort's beliefs were too similar to the ones he seemed to favor. And…it would explain other things. Dumbledore's shock when he found out Aunt Cissa was picked as his other legal guardian; both his and Fudge's skepticism over Harry being at the manor; Sirius's hostility towards them.

Was it because they all suspected that Voldemort was always right near Harry?

And what if they were right? What if all along there wasn't one spy but two close by him? But it still didn't add up. Did that mean it was all just an act then, a ploy to get closer to the Potters? If so, why wait? Why not hand Harry over to Voldemort the second Severus took him to the manor? Or after his wife was granted custody over the Boy Who Lived? Or even during the summers, where he was far from Dumbledore's reach? Lucius had so many opportunities to give Voldemort what he wanted. Plenty of opportunities to finish the job himself. And still nothing.

So then what if they was wrong? What if Harry's fear was over nothing? After all, blonde hair wasn't an uncommon hair color. The paleness of his eyes could have been a trick of light. And tying the man's appearance to Lucius's lack-of was too much of a coincidence. Lucius never before that day gave Harry any reason to doubt him. If memory served right, he was quite impressed with his mum; Lily Potter had to be the only other woman besides Aunt Cissa who handled Lucius's "wit" and gave it right back. He treated Harry the same as he treated Draco, never making him feel like an outsider but as an additional member of the family.

Harry, though, couldn't quiet the chirping "What if?" voice in the back of his head.

He tried listening to his gut, but since the third task, it had been twisted and turned into so many knots that he no longer had that guide.

Harry rubbed his temples to stop the wild spinning going on in his head, but it didn't stop his brain from thinking.

That was certainly one reason why he didn't tell them about the Death Eater. The other reason was Draco.

Grief and longing so intense he took in a sharp breath grabbed hold of Harry's heart, ripping it at the seams.

Harry wanted more than anything to see him. He wanted them to go back to their little house in Italy where nothing could get to them. He wanted to apologize for so many weeks of radio silence. He was tempted to use the Floo to get to the Malfoy manor or the Veela camp, throw himself at Draco, and just stay there, in his arms forever. To lost himself in the sweet taste of his lips; the utter bliss that wiped anything unimportant from their minds. When they were alone at the infirmary, he just wanted to close the gap between them.

But the sight of blonde hair framed around a silver Death Eater's mask kept Harry's head and eyes strictly focused on the wall, forming his body into a ball, widening the gap.

The two rarely hid anything from each other. Draco was always the first to know if something was amiss. He knew almost all of Harry's secrets, but this was one secret he didn't dare share.

Draco worshiped his father, the model image of what Draco inspired to be. He spent most of their lives doing everything he could to make Lucius proud. He hexed anyone who dared breath a bad word about Lucius. Every word, every lesson Lucius taught, Draco held in high regard like it was the sacred word.

Draco would think Harry mad if he told him about what he saw at the cemetery. Mediate Harry himself till he started seeing the light. Or worse…turn away from him.

Harry dealt with dark wizards, hexes, dark and shocking secrets, but Draco leaving him, forever shutting him out was the one thing that would destroy him.

Sighing, Harry got up from the chair to walk over to the desk where mountains of letters were so high; a single puff of air could easily cause an avalanche. He grabbed the latest one that came today, postmarked from France.

He stared at the envelope for a second or two before he broke the seal.

My dearest, old friend…

You are so so sooooooooooooo lucky that there's only so much ink and paper for me or Merlin help me, Potter, I'd have fifty full-length pages worth of curses screaming at you.

The words were so Draco-like; a smile almost touched Harry's face until he read on.

I'll skip over to the part where I detest, loathe, and am FURIOUS with the radio silence-and no, not even the birthday gift you sent me makes up for it. You of all people should know that I hate being ignored. But what really irks me more is the fact you refuse to let me in.

And it hurt. When you told me to go away, I think a punch in the face would have been kinder.

However, I am as stubborn as I am quick-tempered. I told you this before, Potter, and I'll say it again. I won't let you go through the darkness alone. You hear me? I WON'T! I refuse. And the more the silence goes on, the more furious I'll be when we see each other.

You're my best friend, Harry. As stubborn (and that is something coming from me), impulsive, and moronic you can be, you're my best friend. My boy, my other half. Nothing can and nothing ever will change that.

-Draco

Harry didn't realize the tears escaped from their cages until drops fell on the paper, smudging the ink.

Nothing could ruin their friendship, he said. Nothing will ever change that. Except maybe a dark secret.

Days later, a surprise arrived at the living room, popping from the fireplace and nearly stumbling on the floor. More than several surprises actually. One, the largest of the surprises, was a group of bright-haired redheads. Another was a tall, dark-skinned man in dark blue tubes accompanied by a younger, smiling young woman who looked like she just graduated from Hogwarts.

All at once, busy light-brown hair obscured his vision, wads of it getting into his mouth. It took awhile to realize that Hermione was holding him, squeezing him so tightly he felt bruises forming on his skin.

"Oh, Harry, I was so worried about!"

"Hermione," he wheezed, patting her back. "Can't-breathe."

"Oh. Sorry."

Harry tried to pass off a smile but it must have come off more as a grimace, given the way everyone flinched or looked away.

"Glad to see you're alright, mate." Ron smiled.

"Me too." Fred grinned.

"Me three." George slung around Ginny and brought her close to him. "Being here, seeing you, means a sweet, beautiful end to Ginny's nonstop whining and moaning over you." His voice went up a high, shrilled octave. "'Oh Merlin, do you think Harry's alright?'"

"'Do you think I should owl him?'" Ron added. "'No, wait, that might be weird.'"

"'No!" Fred said. '"I should see him.'"

"Shut up!" A flustered Ginny pushed her brother away.

"You have to admit, Gin," Ron said, barely holding onto his snickering. "You've been moping around the house the whole summer. You're almost as bad as 'Mione."

Hermione's hand kissed the back of his head.

"Ow!"

"If you all are done," The finality in Mrs. Weasley's called for a seize fire. The twins let out a few more snickers. Ginny whacked Ron in the arm for extra measure.

"I'm so glad to finally meet you." Harry's attention was turned over to the young woman. He was taken back by the brightness of her smile. Or her short hair that changed from chestnut brown to lily pink. "I've been so-ooof!"

The girl was so caught in her excitement that she didn't notice her footing, tripping over her foot, falling flat and hard on her face.

"Tonks!" Mrs. Weasley cried in alarm.

"Down she goes," the man in blue joked.

"Kinglsey!"

"I'm alright, I'm okay." The young woman hopped back onto her feet and dusted herself off. "Safe to say dancing was never my calling. Lack the graceful gene." She blinked. "And the coordination one."

"Well, you certainly have the passion." Remus remarked.

"Mind telling that to my two left feet." She smiled, her cheeks flushed in pink.

Sirius wrapped an arm around Harry, grinning over at the girl. "Harry, I'd like to meet the wacky daughter of the only other family member I have who doesn't have a stick up their arse, Nymphadora Tonks."

"Don't call me Nymphadora! You know I hate that." Catching Harry's eye, she shuddered. 'It's too formal, especially for family. Call me Dora. Or Tonks. Whatever tickles your fancy."

Harry shook her offered hand, but couldn't hide the confusion that was clear on his face. "Family?"

"Yes-well, sort of," Tonks answered. "Sirius and Mum-Andromeda, charming woman, also eager to meet you-are cousins. You're his godson, I'm his niece-kind of. We're practically cousins in our way, which makes us family."

Harry tried to rake his mind on a Tonks, but before he could sink deeper, he was yanked into another tight hug.

"I can't tell you how long I've been wanting to do this!" she squealed.

"It shows," he grunted. She released him with a giggle. Though his ribs bruised a bit from the hug, Harry couldn't stop the smile curling his mouth.

As it turned out, their surprise visit wasn't just for family reunions or for fun, even though both Ron and Hermione told him they've been dying to see him since they separated at Platform 9 ¾. It was part of it, but there was more. Their visit was also for business regarding the Order of the Phoenix.

An organization Dumbledore founded during the early days of Voldemort's empire, consisted of courageous wizards both Auror and non-Auror willing against Death Eaters. Members from Moody, the real Moody who made his fury over his kidnapping loud and clear, Arthur and Molly, Sirius and Remus, his parents and Neville's, even cowardly Pettigrew who unsurprisingly preferred being behind the scenes than on the front line.

Dumbledore reformed the group shortly after fourth year ended. A good but still underwhelming amount of members answered the call. They spent the summer searching for any sign of Voldermort, traces of dark magic, and to clear Harry's name as being the ridiculed Boy Who Cried Wolf the press and even the Ministry were making him out to be. Problem was the Wizarding World was spilt in a high tense division with a portion believing the Dark Lord's return, the other (more than half) believing it was nothing more than a rumor.

Sadly everyday more and more of those in the believing side were crossing over to the other one, thanks to the Ministry's lack of involvement, Skeeter's and the press's ridiculous imagination, and Fudge's fixated, delusional belief that Harry was making it all up. All of which were causing problems not only for Harry but also for the Order who were losing more members because of it.

Which was why Sirius thought it was high time to lower the age requirement Dumbledore enforced, so new members could enter. A proposal he brought up during dinner.

One which Mrs. Weasley immediately shot down.

"Absolutely not!" she declared, face bright red, shooting up from her chair. "Completely out of the question!"

Across the dining table, Sirius drew up a sharp brow. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't you the one who's been bemoaning to anyone and everyone with ears that we need more members? And would you look at that?" He gestured towards Harry and his friends. "We have a table full of possible recruits."

"I," George said. "would just like to take the moment to admire the fact we've spent a month trying to get answers from you and yet nothing."

"'You're too young, you're not in the order,'" said Fred in a high-pitched voice that sounded uncannily like his mother's. He scoffed. "At least someone knows we're capable."

"And should be included." George added.

"This has nothing to do with capability! It has to do with age. There's a time and a place for everything, something you two have yet to grasp. Just as you," She whirled over to Sirius. "have yet to grasp that very same understanding. It isn't up to you to decide what's good for Harry."

"Really?" Sirius arched an brow, his face incredulous. "I'm pretty sure deciding what a kiddo should and shouldn't know is one of the perks to being a legal guardian."

Her normally-kind face looked dangerous; mouth drew to a thin line, eyes hard. "You haven't forgotten what Dumbledore said, have you?"

"Which bit?" Sirius asked politely, but with an chilled air as though he was preparing himself for a fight.

"The bit about not telling Harry more than he needs to know," said Mrs. Weasley, placing a heavy emphasis on the last three words.

Ron, Hermione, Fred and George's heads turned from Sirius to Mrs. Weasley as though following a tennis rally. Ginny was kneeling amid a pile of abandoned butterbeer corks watching the conversation with her mouth slightly open. Remus's eyes were fixed on Sirius.

"I don't intend to tell him more than he needs to know, Molly," said Sirius. "But as he was the one who saw Voldemort come back, he has more right than most to-"

"He's not a member of the Order of the Phoenix!" said Mrs. Weasley. "He's only fifteen and-"

"-and he's dealt with as much as most in the Order," said Sirius. "more than some-"

"No one's denying what's he's done!" said Mrs. Weasley, her voice rising. "But he's still too young. He's just a boy!"

"He's not a child!" It was the first time Sirius managed to get the words out without falter.

"He's not an adult either!" said Mrs. Weasley, color rising in her cheeks. "He's not James, Sirius!"

"I'm perfectly aware he isn't, thank you, Molly." Sirius said coldly.

"I'm not sure you do! Sometimes the way you talk about him, it's as though you've got your best friend back!"

Harry jumped into Sirius's defense, feeling the man's restraint about to snap. "Mrs. Weasley, it's like that at all-"

"May not appear to you that way, dear, but it looks that way from my perspective."

"You may want to see an ophthalmologist about that," Sirius's lips curled into a cool smile. "Or a shrink to help you with the delirium."

Mrs. Weasley looked like she wanted to strangle him. Her eyes darted back to her husband who was fumbling with his tie and over Remus who met her gaze.

"Well," She choked out the word when no one came to her aid. "Well…I can see I'm going to be overruled. I'll say this. Dumbledore must have had his reasons-"

"The fact you still trust and hold his judgment on such a high pedestal-despite all that's been done right under his nose!" Sirius stressed. "Speaks volumes, Molly, and I do mean volumes!"

"Dumbledore is only human," she argued. "And people make mistakes."

"Hilarious how certain people's mistakes are swept under the rug while others have theirs held over their heads."

Mrs. Weasley scowled at him, her flushed face almost as bright as her hair. "I'm simply speaking as someone who has Harry's best interest at heart."

"And that's somehow you?" Sirius demanded. "He's not your son!"

"He's as good as!" Mrs. Weasley said.

"And I'm the goddamn queen of Sheba!" Sirius yelled, banging his hands on the table as he shot up from his chair.

Mrs. Weasley's lip curled. "Can't blame me for questioning your judgment. Or your mentality since you spent-how long again? Six years living the dog's hard life and all?"

"That's it!" Sirius charged forward.

Remus grabbed him by the arm before he made the leap, using all his strength to keep him in place. "Molly," he said sharply, fixing her with a hard stare. "You're not the only one at this table who cares about Harry!" He looked at Sirius, tugging his arm once more. "Sirius. Kitchen. Now."

Sirius shrugged off his hold and surprisingly obliged with little fuss. Remus followed closely behind him. Before Sirius left, he looked his shoulder to deliver a glare to Mrs. Weasley.

"I now see where your son," He jerked a thumb over to Ron. "gets his charm from. And his two-faced, arrogant lack of spine."

Remus yanked him away and practically shoved him out of the room. It was only then everyone else seemed to snap out of their daze, thrust back into reality, their voices loud and clashing over each other.

So engrossed in their arguing, no one noticed Harry who slipped away from the kitchen table, tiptoed quietly over to the kitchen, and pressed his ear against the door.

"He's my godson." Sirius snarled.

"I know." Remus replied.

"No, you don't. You were there for the full ride. I missed six years." Anger cracked into anguish. "He's my godson. Not Dumbledore's! Not Molly's! Not Snape's! Mine…"

Silence rang so loudly in that room like thunder, but Harry could have sworn he caught a lining of choked-up, barely-suppressed crying.

As soon as he caught it, Harry pulled away from the door.