Sitting around Grimmauld Place for days on end was not particularly pleasant. Most students dreamed of the opportunity to sneak off from school but being holed up in a musty old room that smelt like Doxy droppings, was not his ideal mid-year escape.

He was cleared to return to school this evening by portkey after days of pleading with Madam Pomfrey, and with a little help from Dumbledore he finally managed to convince her his shoulder was stable.

Beneath him, he could hear the low rumble of voices through the floor. It was a fairly large Order meeting today from what Harry could tell, hidden away upstairs. He'd easily recognized Tonks' voice as she bickered with Mad-Eye, and Dedulas Diggle's high-pitched chatter around lunchtime; and there were shouts of greeting and congratulations when Bill had finally arrived with his parents.

A part of Harry wanted to sneak down and listen, but he didn't have his invisibility cloak with him, and it would be far too painful to try and convince Kreacher to spy for him.

Instead, he was left to wander the upper floors of Grimmauld Place, lost in the memories written across its somber walls. It felt a short time ago; only a lifetime, where this place, in all of its repugnance, had almost been his home.

He'd once looked upon its interior with revulsion, but now it was fondness he felt within his heart. Every speck of dust and mold that marked its disrepair was a pair of grey eyes smiling at him.

It was all he had left of Sirius, and he didn't want anything to change.

Somehow, he found himself in the tapestry room, as he'd frequently done over his recent stay. His eyes trailed the gleam of black and gold and silver, magically threaded together from floor to ceiling. It created a web of names, trailing through generations.

He stared at one black spot in particular, a sad smile on his lips.

A family as mad as it was beautiful, Sirius had told him once, pointing at the striking images of the Blacks. But the real beauty was found in those scorched from its existence.

It was then he heard a creak in the floor behind him. Harry turned, expecting the unpleasantness of Kreacher but was surprised to find someone worse.

"Potter," Snape sneered, lurking in the shadows of the doorframe. His black eyes bore into Harry before flickering to the tapestry. He held a roll of parchment in his hand.

Harry chose to ignore Snape and whatever reason he'd sought him out.

"Did you hear me, Potter?" Snape repeated sharply.

"Yes… unfortunately," Harry responded after a pause.

"Unfortunately, sir," Snape grounded out through clenched teeth.

Harry sighed tiredly. "What do you want?"

Harry's disregard appeared to irk him.

"Just like your—"

"Father, yes I know," Harry finished for him, a rush of heat filling his head. "Some people actually take pride in being compared to their father."

"Of course, you would," Snape spat, the first cracks appearing in his restraint. "Arrogant, thick headed, and an inflated sense of self-worth."

"I wonder, was your father as detestable as you are?" Harry asked suddenly.

Snape's face contorted into something grotesque, his eyes burning with a strange emotion.

"We are not here to talk about my father," he said with ice in his voice. Harry could almost feel a chill settle over the room.

"But we're here to talk about mine? I can hardly imagine how difficult it is to be as petty as you are—holding on to twenty-year-old grudges. My father saved your life," Harry shot back and watched Snape flinch, "yet you still cling to your childish hatred of a dead man!"

"Your father got what he deserved!" Snape snapped, veins popping out against his pale skin and spit flying through the air between them.

Something dark twisted in Harry. He could feel his head pound and scar throb, and a haze of red settle over his vision.

There was a thunderous crash as a crack appeared in the middle of a thick oak bookcase across the room, dozens of books falling to the floor in a plume of dust. Harry did not remember drawing his wand, but he could feel the wood thrumming in his hand.

"Did my mum deserve it as well?" he asked dangerously, hatred dripping from his words. "Tell me! Or was she just another filthy mudblood?"

Snape was as pale as a corpse, his eyes lost and haunted.

"They died for each other. They died for me. Not everyone is coward, crawling between masters," Harry finished, nearly drowning under the current of his emotions.

"Don't you dare call me coward," Snape hissed in response, but he wasn't as aggressive as he'd been previously. "You have no idea the things I've done, the things I know…"

The door to the room burst open, and Dumbledore strode in powerfully with his light blue robes swirling behind him. "Severus, leave," he said sternly.

Snape looked between Dumbledore and Harry, before tossing the roll of parchment in his hands in Harry's direction, saying, "Your homework, please do try to get above a dreadful this time, Potter."

Just as Harry thought he was about to leave, Snape stopped at the door and quickly spun around. His curtain of greasy hair obscured his face, but his voice came out clear and cruel, "Just so you know, there's a section on Werewolves and what you can do to make them disappear."

"What have you done…" Harry heard Dumbledore whisper at the now-empty doorframe.

"Why?" Harry said simply

Dumbledore slumped, the lines of his face deepening. "Severus is a tortured soul," he answered weakly.

It was silent in the room, other than the sound of Harry's panting.

"I will speak to Severus—" Dumbledore put up a hand up to stop Harry as he continued "—and I will ensure that the two of you will interact only when strictly necessary. Some things can never be unsaid…"

Harry thought he saw a hint of regret in the dim light of Dumbledore's normally vivacious eyes.

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, moving to pick up the stack of books knocked to the floor. He stepped over them and looked curiously to Dumbledore. "I still don't understand something, professor?"

"What would that be, my boy?" Dumbledore inquired as he repaired the massive crack running down the splintered bookcase.

"I don't see how my mother could have ever been friends with him."

"Friends are found in the unlikeliest of places, Harry," Dumbledore said, without an answer.

"Wherever my mother is now, I'm certain she wouldn't be friends with that man."

Dumbledore paused as he looked out into the darkened hallway. "At times, I find myself thinking the same thing."

It didn't take them long to clean up the mess Harry had made; and brushing the last bit of dust from his robes, Dumbledore reached a gloved hand up his sleeve and extracted a small quill.

"Enjoy the rest of your evening," he said, passing it over. "Simply say the word Portus and the quill will deposit you in my office."

"Sir?" Harry called out as Dumbledore made to leave, a question burning in his mind. "Is what Snape said about Remus true?"

Dumbledore needn't have spoken, and Harry nodded his head, numb.

He didn't notice Dumbledore leave the room, nor did he realize when he had as well.

He felt lost.

Perhaps that was why he found himself climbing the stairs to the last place he shared with Sirius.

Harry entered the small attic where Buckbeak had been kept. He lay on the ground, his elbows resting on the dusty wooden floor, and stared out the small window near the ceiling into the starry sky above.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed when he felt a warmth settle in beside him. He closed his eyes and pretended as if it were Padfoot curled up next to him, tongue drooping and tail wagging carelessly.

But the scent was wrong, he couldn't picture Padfoot with lavender filling his senses.

"Why are you here?" Harry asked.

"Must I 'ave a reason," Fleur's voice was pleasant.

When Harry didn't answer, she continued, "When ze meeting finished, we 'eard quite a commotion from upstairs. Dumbledore said zat eet must 'ave been a boggart. I followed him…"

"Where is Tonks?" Harry said, not caring for his impoliteness. He wanted to talk to Tonks, she would understand what this house did to him.

"Tonks…" Fleur paused, sounding almost disappointed. "She 'as gone home. I zhink she took ze news about Mr. Lupin quite hard."

Harry thought that interesting, but then, many people were fond of Remus.

"You like her?" Fleur spoke suddenly, catching Harry off guard.

"Who?" Harry leaned to his side and peered up into Fleur's pale eyes.

"Tonks," she said.

Harry considered her question. "She understands me."

"Do I not understand you?" Fleur asked in turn. Her gaze bore straight through him with its intensity.

"I think so," Harry said slowly, gathering his thoughts. "But nobody can understand someone else completely."

Fleur reached out and touched him with tender hand. "But zat does not mean we cannot try to do so," she said, her voice lingering in the stillness of the air.

Harry felt himself smile. "No, I guess it doesn't."

A bubble separated them from the rest of reality, as they sat together on the floor of the attic, gazing out into the night. With each passing moment, and beat of his heart, Harry could feel his longing for Padfoot begin to fade.

"Do you want to talk about 'is disappearance?" Fleur asked, breaking the hush which had fallen over the room.

Harry's mind was still on Sirius, and it took several seconds for him to realize she was speaking about Remus. "I don't think it's sunk in yet. What's one more person I care about vanishing from my life," he said darkly.

"You speak as eef he is dead."

"People disappearing under the threat of Voldemort don't usually come back alive. Just go ask Mad Eye, he has quite the depressing photograph of Order members who disappeared in the First War."

"I 'ave already seen it. I think he uses it on every new member to scare zem into realising ze war is not for children. As if I did not understand zat already," she said in a bothered sort of voice.

"I wouldn't worry about it, that's just Moody for you. He will take every opportunity he can to scare you," Harry replied.

"Constant Vigilance," Fleur said, her face wearing a wholly serious expression.

Harry laughed, and watched her carefully, noticing the slightest quiver at the edge of her lips. That quiver turned into a poorly hidden smile, which eventually grew into a fit of lively giggles.

She tumbled to the floor beside him, unable to contain herself. Her body shook and pressed against his as she tried to cover her mouth, which only seemed to make her laugh that much harder.

Harry had never seen this side to Fleur. She was so… silly.

For a moment he wondered if this was what she was like with Bill.

Harry hadn't realized he was staring, until Fleur's prone figure lay still, only inches away, searching him through heavily lidded eyes and with the remnants of a childish smile still playing on her lips.

He felt his breathing match her own, hard and heavy.

He wanted to say something in that moment, but he wasn't sure what.

"I need to go back now," he said instead.

Fleur continued to gaze at him, only giving the barest hint of a nod. "Be safe," she whispered.

He felt a spot of warmth spread across his cheek and watched as she pulled away and disappeared downstairs.

There was a different magic about Hogwarts this early in the morning, where the castle was still, and the ever-present chatter of portraits was absent. Only a scant few were awake at this hour; even the ghosts having floated off to a forgotten corner to sleep.

It was a tranquility that couldn't be found at any other time, which was why Harry was immediately drawn to a soft whining echoing along the stone halls.

He'd heard it immediately upon leaving Dumbledore's office after taking his portkey, thinking it to be Mrs. Norris or a student's loose pet. But as the sound grew in pitch, waxing and waning in a constant stream, he knew it had to be something else.

There was something inhuman about its odd resonance, almost as though it was a melody made of magic.

Harry followed it down a corridor he didn't recognize. Torches lined the barren walls, illuminating blue drapes hung overhead.

The sound came clearer now, and he knew what he was listening to.

Turning a corner, he came upon a figure glowing in the moonlight pouring from the high-arched windows. She stood there, beautiful in her misery, as silvery tears travelled down her winsome face before disappearing from existence.

There was a hollowness to the way she cried, yet it was equally haunting and heart wrenching.

She stilled as he approached, all sound of her misery cut out like a carpet being pulled underfoot. "What do you want?" she demanded, her voice betraying none of her apparent weakness.

"I heard—" Harry started, but was cut off.

"Yes, I imagine you heard something," she said cuttingly.

"I'm sorry… Grey Lady," he said, not knowing what else to call her.

"I am not fond of that name," she said, her eyes far away and vulnerable.

"I can understand that," Harry laughed to himself.

There was an unreadable expression on her transparent face. "Yes… I suppose you would."

Harry rubbed the back of his messy hair. "People like to talk, I just don't particularly care what most of them have to say."

"Perhaps… but listening for the sake of knowledge has its merits as well. There is much a person can learn if they simply open their ears and listen to what is around them," she said. Her gaze was penetrating and went right through him.

"You must know quite a bit then."

She laughed at that, or at least, Harry thought she did. It was difficult to tell with a ghost.

"I know many things, both from my past and the countless years I have roamed these halls. There is not much else to do but listen when you exist as I do. Besides, knowledge was always my family's trait."

There was a wit about her as she spoke, which drew Harry in.

"Who are you?" he asked, suddenly very interested.

"My, isn't that a bit forward?" A teasing smile appeared on her blanched lips. "I will indulge your curiosity: I am Helena Ravenclaw," she said softly.

"As in the daughter of Rowena Ravenclaw, Founder of Hogwarts?"

A spasm of pain spread over her already dead face. "Amongst a number of other honors and acknowledgments, yes," she replied. "Rowena was my mother, and I am her forgotten daughter."

Silver pools brimmed at the bottom of her misty eyes.

"You don't enjoy being a ghost," Harry stated.

The ghost of Ravenclaw eyed him carefully, her nose tilting upwards with a sniff. "Does this appear to be an enjoyable existence?"

"I remember speaking to Sir Nicholas once, it was about ghosts after… after someone important to me died," Harry forced out. "Why did you chose to remain behind?"

A look of icy fury took hold of her, transforming her visage into something frightening, but fragile. "You ask too much," she snapped at him. "I embrace curiosity, but it has its limits."

"I apologize, my lady," Harry said with genuine remorse.

"It matters not anymore," she said dismissively, floating towards him. "There is not much that can be done. I had once hoped, but instead I was played for a fool," she laughed bitterly.

Her eyes took in what felt like every detail of his face, a curious look crossing her own; and for a moment he thought she might say something. Instead, she passed through him without a word.

A shiver ran down his spine as it felt like mist had been sprayed in his face.

"You are an interesting man, Harry Potter," she said finally. "I am certain we will speak again."

He watched as she passed through the wall of the castle and disappeared from sight.

Harry shook his head, trying to organize his thoughts following his latest strange encounter. Something didn't feel right with Helena Ravenclaw, but he was much too tired to put any more thought into her mystery.

Judging by the stack of papers Snape brought him, there was quite a lot of work he needed to catch up on, and he wouldn't accomplish any of it if he didn't find time to sleep.

He hoped Ron and Hermione were up to spending the next few days in the library.

"There you are," a familiar voice called from down the hall.

Harry sighed, running a tired hand down his face knowing that the warm embrace of his four-poster bed would have to wait just a while longer.

Daphne approached him, her hand raised and shielding her eyes from the orb of light at the tip of her wand

Harry felt his eyes widen and his heart pick up at the sight of her.

Daphne was an alluring mixture of tousled beauty. Her midnight hair was strewn messily by sleep, and she wore a sheer nightgown, with only a silvery robe tied loosely over top, the material clinging to her slim body.

Her eyes maintained the same cool detachment they normally did, but he could see something else lurking within their depths.

"What are you doing out here?" she asked.

"Coming back from the Hospital Wing," Harry tried out his practiced lie.

She raised her eyebrow in response, a smile pulling at the corner of her lip. "Pomfrey released you at half-past three in the morning?"

Harry breathed out slowly. "I… kind of snuck out. I couldn't stand another evening in that place."

Too caught up in his story, Harry only just realized how strange this meeting with Daphne was.

"What are you doing out here?" Harry returned the question, wanting to know how and why she found him.

Daphne remained silent, her fingers playing with the delicate fabric her nightdress. She gazed at him with soft blue eyes and didn't answer. Instead, she said, "Where were you?"

Harry furrowed his brow. "I just told you I left—"

"You weren't in the Hospital Wing," she said simply. "I already told you Tracey is helping out Madam Pomfrey this year. When we heard what happened to you…" she paused, and her eyes darted away from his before continuing, "I asked Tracey to check if you were alright. She snuck away when Madam Pomfrey was in the middle of a floo call and saw that you weren't there."

Harry chose to stay nothing.

"Where were you?" she asked again, this time her voice barely above a whisper.

What was he to tell her, that he'd went off with Dumbledore to the orphanage were Voldemort had grown up? That he'd nearly died fighting a horde of Lethifolds? That he'd spent a week recovering at a secret base?

His own best friends and members of the Order didn't even know this.

"You can't know everything Daphne," he responded evenly.

Daphne shifted her weight slightly between her feet, and he could see her body shiver beneath her thin garments. The castle was drafty at night and Harry was tempted to offer her his jumper.

She turned sideways, awkwardly, as if she wasn't sure if she wanted to stay or leave.

"You think Malfoy is up to something," she said suddenly, her voice echoing in the void of the deserted corridor. "I've seen the way you've been staring at him. At first, I thought it was about what happened on the train, but you kept at it for nearly a month. I know you don't fancy him," she said with a smile, "so that's the only other option."

"Is he up to something?" Harry asked.

Daphne nodded.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I just thought you'd like to know," she said, with a teasing lilt to her voice.

Harry stepped forward. "Do you know what he's up to?"

Daphne paused at his question. There was a gleam in her eye as she answered, "Maybe I do, maybe I don't. It's hard to tell… apparently I can't know everything."

She turned quickly and vanished into the darkness.