Author's note: thanks so much for all the support, guys! I love it when I get emails at school (thought it's a bit of tease, considering this site is blocked at my school for whatever reason) saying that I've got favourites and follows (and even a review!). So, thanks bunches. By the way, I will explain how third year went, since obviously Sirius would be free and have never been in Azkaban. Also, my apologies for mistakes. I've read the books a lot of times, but I've only read Order of the Phoenix three times, and it was a long time ago.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this and please review! Thanks, guys!

"Cedric . . . no. No! Kill me instead!"

Remus and James stood together, watching Harry toss and turn in his bed as a nightmare took him over.

"It's happening too often," James said in a low voice.

"But what can we do?" Remus asked, looking a bit hopeless. "It doesn't help that he was moved to this house, either. Voldemort's driven him away from his home."

"Voldemort's driven him away from everything," James growled.

"Should we wake him up?"

James watched his son, moaning for somebody to come back to him when they were already gone. It was terrible, what Harry had been fated to. He'd first watched his own mother die, and then he'd been forced to watch a classmate die in the same way. He'd watched the man that had single-handedly destroyed his life rise once again—with the help of Harry's own blood.

"I don't think we would be able to," James admitted.

Harry wasn't even fifteen yet, and his life already lay in shambles. A long time ago, his fate had been determined, but James didn't want to see Harry face off against Voldemort. Not his son. Anybody but his son.

"Should I get Sirius? Sirius is always so good at cheering him up."

James nodded, not really paying attention. Sirius was good at cheering Harry up. James figured it had to do with that the fact that Sirius didn't cave under Harry's explanations of things as James did. For James, it was hard to face the fact that Harry was so miserable. He just never knew what to do. Sirius, on the other hand, had always done well under that pressure. While Sirius had always been anxious when it came to his family (hence why he'd looked so terrible since moving back into number twelve, Grimmauld Place), he seemed to have no difficulties managing the figure that had become something like a son to him,

Remus came back, Sirius coming after him, quite awake. He hadn't fallen asleep yet, with the ghosts of his past swimming around him in this house.

"Poor Harry," Sirius muttered. "I wish we could do something for him."

"We just have to be here for him," James said. "He'll pull through. He always does, doesn't he?"

"He will," Remus agreed. "We'll just have to do our best to be there for him. And I know Molly loves him like her own, too."

"Do you think Molly knows about this?" Sirius murmured.

"I don't see how she couldn't. Harry can't hide when he's sleeping," James said. Then added, a bit sadly, "I wish he didn't hide at all."

"He's expected to be strong. He's the Boy Who Lived, the one who vanquished the Darkest wizard of all time when he was just a year old. People think he's not as human as everyone else, and so he tried not to be."

James thought back to when Harry had told him about his guilt over Lily's death and about his suspected gayness (which had proven to be a hindrance on Harry, so far, as he'd mentioned when McGonagall had insisted he take a girl to the Yule Ball and Harry hadn't wanted to admit that he didn't like girls, but had ultimately made getting a date hard, because he didn't think any of the girls were attractive—only their dates). Or when he'd come out of that maze, Cedric's body in his arms. When he'd refused to let Cedric go, that had been the first time James had seen Harry break down in front of anybody but he, Sirius, and Remus. Since then, it had been like he'd been walking on a tightrope. He'd been so fragile lately, growing angry with everybody for little things. He'd yelled at Ron and Hermione when he'd seen them this summer upon their arrival at Grimmauld Place. For what, James wasn't sure, but he'd heard Harry from downstairs.

Harry shot up, and James made his way inside Harry's room. Without a word, he wrapped his son in a hug and just sat there, holding him, while Remus and Sirius made their way to the two them more slowly.

"Are you okay, Harry?" Remus asked.

"No."

"It's okay," James whispered. "You'll be fine."

"It's my fault," Harry choked out. "He died, and I was right there . . . I didn't do anything."

"You couldn't have," James murmured. "There was nothing you could have done, Harry. You did your best."

"I told him to take it with me," Harry said, his voice quiet and shaky. "I told him to grab the cup with me."

"You didn't know," Sirius told him.

"I still told him to take it with me."

No more words were exchanged between the four of them as James continued to hug Harry and Sirius and Remus looked on, sombre.

And then Harry spoke up:

"It was him, you know."

"Who?" Remus asked gently.

"Pettigrew. He was the one that cut my arm, who killed Cedric. He gave his own hand to Voldemort to bring him back." Harry made a choked noise and buried his head in James's shoulder.

"That bastard," Sirius spat. "He'll pay for what he's done. I swear it."

"Sirius," Remus muttered, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Not here."

"Sorry."

"How do you feel, Harry?" James asked cautiously.

Harry's voice was muffled from James's shirt as he said, "Pretty bad."

Remus smiled shakily. "Do you want something? A glass of water, maybe?"

"I don't know."

"Should I get one anyway?" Remus asked.

"I don't know."

"Harry, listen to Uncle Moony," James said. "He wants to help."

"I don't need help," Harry said, pulling away from James.

"Harry—"

"I don't need help," Harry repeated flatly. "Nor do I really deserve it. I let him die. And Mum died because of me, too. I don't deserve help."

Sirius looked to James, the unspoken question of "Did you know about this?" in his eyes. James gave one small nod before turning back to Harry.

"Harry James Potter," he said warningly, "I know you think that, but we're offering to help you. We love you, and we want to help you. I thought we'd talked about you mother, too. She loves you."

Harry blinked as tears threatened to spill over. "I'm sorry, Uncle Moony," he said quietly. "I don't need anything. I should go back to sleep."

James eyed Harry warily. "Are you sure? We can stay here with you if you don't want to fall asleep."

"I . . . yeah, I'd like that," Harry said. "Please."

"We'll always be here for you, Harry," James assured.

Sirius said, "So, Harry, I'm sorry to ask at such an unfortunate time, but I've been wondering for a while . . . how's you love life?"

"Love life? I don't really have time for one, do I?"

"Nonsense," Remus said with a slight smile. "Surely you fancy somebody."

"Well, yeah, but I don't think . . ." Harry blushed and ducked his head. Thankfully, he seemed to have become less focused on Cedric's death and Voldemort's rise.

"You don't think what?" Sirius prompted. "Don't think we would like him?"

"Well, no, I mean, I don't . . . can we please talk about something else?"

Sirius, Remus, and James laughed.

"Sure, Harry," James said, amused. "How about . . ."

"Ron and Hermione," Sirius suggested. "They seem to have a thing."

Harry grinned a bit. "A thing, I guess. They aren't dating or anything, but they obviously fancy each other. They probably just need a push in the right direction."

"Your mum and dad were like that, too. Except she didn't want to admit she liked him, so they fought a lot."

Harry nodded. "Sounds a lot like Ron and Hermione, actually."

James grimaced. "I don't envy them, then."

"Well," Remus mused, "you've already gone through that, haven't you? Why would you want to go through it again?'

"Don't remind me!" James groaned.

"What in the world is all the noise!"

Molly glowered at them from the doorway, and James shrunk back slightly. He supposed, as a woman with six children, she would have one hell of a glare—especially with those Weasley twins. He'd heard a fair lot of nonsense went on with those boys.

"Sorry, Molly," Remus said smoothly. "It appears none of us were able to sleep, and so we decided to take to each other's company. A night spent alone isn't the best, is it?"

She seemed to understand the hidden meaning in Remus's words, because she glanced at Harry and nodded. "All right. Just keep it down, would you? You're as loud as Fred and George."

James and Sirius shared a look, as they knew that it had been the twins who had found the Marauder's Map, as Harry had told them after his third year. Remus, however, smiled at Molly. "Of course. We'll be quiet."

Harry almost laughed, but he still felt as though there were a weight in his stomach from the nightmare. He figured it would be best to put on a brave face for James, Sirius, and Remus, but at the same time, he couldn't shake the feeling that they were putting themselves in danger by caring for him. Too many people around him had died, and he didn't want his three father figures to be next. Not after what had happened to his mum and Cedric.

"Harry," whispered James as Molly walked away, "are you all right? You look tired."

"I am," Harry admitted. "Exhausted. But I don't want to sleep."

"You can't stay awake forever, Harry," Remus said sadly. "You can beat this, you know. I know you can."

"I don't think I can, Uncle Moony," Harry said in a shaky voice. "I'm really . . . I'm afraid."

"I know, Harry. But we have to face our fears. Do you remember how bravely you faced the Dementors? You need to face this, too, in the same way. The only difference is that this time, there won't be a spell to help you."

"There are potions," Harry pointed out weakly.

"You don't want to become too reliant on potions," Remus warned.

"I won't," Harry said. "I just . . . don't think I want to face this right now."

"I don't have any potions for dreamless sleep, Harry," Sirius said. "If I did, I would give you one, but I'm not a Healer or a potion-maker."

James grabbed Harry's hand tightly. "It's okay, Harry. You don't have to sleep just yet. I'll stay awake with you."

"I can't sleep in this house, anyway," Sirius said. "I'll stay with you, too."

Remus smiled. "Well, I guess that leaves me, doesn't it? I think it's obvious that I'm perfectly willing to stay with you, Harry."

Harry smiled softly. "Thank you," he said.

But within two hours, he was fast asleep, surrounded by people he loved. And no nightmares haunted his mind.

"You'll write, won't you, Harry?" Sirius asked. "We want to know all about your school. From what we've heard, it might not be a fun year."

Harry frowned. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Well," Remus said, "you have a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"So? We have a new one every year."

"Yes, well, I figure you won't like this one. But I may be wrong. Anyway, you'll understand when you meet her. I don't want to give you an opinion of someone you've never met before."

Harry sighed, and James tensed, wondering if this conversation was setting him on edge. A lot of things set Harry on edge these days.

"Come on, Harry!" Hermione called from closer to the train. "We have to go!"

"Bye," Harry said, giving James a hug. Harry was still, thankfully, shorter than James, but he was nearing the same height. Yet Harry had always been short, so maybe he wasn't going to grow any taller than this.

"See you, kiddo," said Sirius, hugging his godson in farewell.

"Write me a letter soon," Remus told Harry as they, too, shared an embrace. "I'd like to know your thoughts on your new teacher."

"All right," Harry said, with a small eye roll.

"Don't forget to break loads of rules." Sirius winked.

"When don't I?"

"Harry!" Hermione called again, this time coming over to him. "Harry, you're going to miss the train if you don't hurry up!"

"Oh, don't worry, Hermione," Sirius said easily. "He's got loads of time."

"I don't, actually," Harry said. "I'll see you at Christmas, then."

And he walked away with Hermione, leaving James, Sirius, and Remus behind again. He would see them soon. He would need to. They were the only people who seemed to understand. Ron and Hermione couldn't understand the weight Cedric's death had put on Harry's shoulder, or the guilt he still felt over his mother. Nobody had ever died for them. Nobody had ever died in front of them. Nobody they'd loved had sacrificed themselves for them.

"Harry, you should sleep," Hermione said worriedly as the train began to move. "You look terrible."

"I don't want to sleep," he persisted. He hadn't slept properly in months. He got five hours a night, but only if he was lucky. Most nights it was more like three.

"I think you need to," Hermione insisted.

"Well, I don't want to!" Harry snapped. "Hermione, how would you feel if every time you closed your eyes all you saw was the worst moment of your life?"

This quieted her, but soon the compartment door slid open and Ginny, Luna, Neville, and Ron stepped inside.

"Hey, mate," Ron said, seating himself beside Harry. "D'you mind if we share with these three? Ginny said all the compartments were taken."

"I don't mind," Harry mumbled.

"Sure, we can share," Hermione said, and Ginny sat down next to her, Luna beside her. Neville settled into the spot beside Ron.

"Harry, you look dreadful," Ginny said. "Are you sick?"

"No, I'm not," Harry said, biting his tongue to refrain from snapping at her the way he had at Hermione (which he was beginning to feel tremendously guilty for).

"Oh, sorry."

Luna gazed curiously at Harry, and Harry shifted under her gaze. He'd met Luna before, if briefly. She was a friend of Ginny's, and he and Ginny actually had a fairly good relationship. They'd began in a rocky manner, with Ginny being bewildered every time she's seen him, but since the end of her first year, she'd stopped that. For a while, she'd been a bit afraid of him, but she was able to move past that. And Neville he'd been friends with for a long time. His dad had insisted he befriend Neville Longbottom, and Harry had not regretted this in any way. Neville, while sometimes a bit odd, was a wonderful person with quite a tragic past, from what Harry knew.

The six of them held idle conversation as they got closer to Hogwarts, and they eventually went separate ways to change, then met up again in the compartment. They rode one of the Thestral-pulled carriages together (which, admittedly, was a bit squishy) up to the castle, and made their way into the Great Hall for the Welcoming Feast.

This was where Harry understood what Remus had meant when he'd said he might not like the new DADA teacher. She was pink, frilly, and had come from the Ministry, who had all pegged Harry as a liar. He didn't need to hear her voice to know she wasn't someone he would like, but when he did, he disliked her all the more.

But he swallowed his obvious dislike and listened as she droned on about "the Ministry this" and "the Ministry that." Dumbledore was looking quite irate, but contained it well enough.

"Very well," he said stiffly, once Umbridge had completed her speech. "That will be all. Good night!" He clapped once, and the students all stood to be lead by the Head Boy and Head Girl, along with the prefects, up to their dormitories. Hermione and Ron had been elected as prefects this year (they'd had patrol aboard the train, but they'd come back to the compartment afterwards, so it hardly seemed worth mentioning). When James had found out, he'd told Harry that he suspected Dumbledore had done that as an extra precaution towards Harry's well-being. It wasn't as if it would change anything, though; often, Ron and Hermione got into trouble with Harry. They just kind of attracted it—Harry often, teasingly, blamed his dad for this, with which he often got a response along the lines of, "But we never got caught!"

As the three of them settled into Gryffindor's common room, Hermione said, "How many of them do you think have been reading the Prophet?"

"Too many," Harry guessed. "I saw some people looking a bit disgusted with me at the feast, but I didn't really think much of it."

"You have no reason to think much of it," Hermione said. "If they think you're lying, that's their problem."

"Except I'm not lying, so I do have a bit of a problem with it!"

"Hey, mate, we believe you," Ron said.

"But what's two people in comparison to the whole school?" Harry scoffed. "That's not much, and sorry to say it, but you have an obligation to believe me, don't you?"

"An obligation? Harry, we're not obligated to do anything!" Hermione responded hotly.

"Well, wouldn't it be a bit rude for you to say I was lying as my friends?"

"If we didn't truly believe you, we probably wouldn't still be your friends! And, quite frankly, you aren't making it seem like you want to keep us around!"

Harry blinked, feeling suddenly stupid. "I'm sorry," he said. "I . . . it's just too much."

"I know," Hermione told him sadly. "We know, Harry."

"You want to know something terrible?" Harry continued. "In the summer, there were a few nights where I wouldn't sleep at all. I would stay awake, and Dad and Uncle Moony and Uncle Padfoot would stay awake with me. When I did sleep, I woke up within small hours of falling asleep." Harry wasn't sure why he was saying it, but neither Ron nor Hermione had interrupted, and so he didn't stop:

"I thought maybe I would be able to pretend it hadn't happened, but then I felt guilty, you know? Like I wasn't honouring Cedric the way I should've been. And I just keep wanting to fall asleep, but it's embarrassing, being afraid of your own dreams, so I didn't. And then I realized it's wrong to my mum, because everyone tells me I should be brave, brave like she was, and I'm not. I don't know how I got into Gryffindor in the first place.

"I know that everybody's worried about me and stuff, but I don't want anybody to worry. I want to be able to get past this myself, and I don't want to have to share this kind of thing with anybody else, and maybe it's stupid, but I really don't want to have anybody trying to help me. It's just not fair, you know?"

"Harry, you're getting a bit . . ."

Hermione was right; he was beginning to babble a bit. He looked down at his feet and muttered, "Sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for, mate," Ron said gently.

"Harry, it's okay to get help," Hermione said. "Even if you don't want it, you probably need it. We're stronger in numbers, Harry, and you can't face this alone."

Harry glanced up at her and shook his head slightly. "But what if you get hurt in the process? What if you get killed, too, so that nobody can stand between us anymore? What if all you are is a spare, like Cedric?"

Hermione grabbed his hand. "Harry, you can't—"

Harry yanked his hand away. "That's what will happen, Hermione! You'll be killed, so that Voldemort can get to me! I'm who he wants, and I don't want you to have to be hurt when it comes down to it!"

"We'd do it for you," Ron said quietly. "You're our best mate, Harry."

Harry put his hands into fists to stop them from shaking so badly, but to no avail. "I don't want you to!" he cried. "I would never forgive myself if you died!"

"We don't plan on it," Hermione assured him. "And, Harry, we wouldn't forgive ourselves if you died. So, we plan to help you through everything. This included." She turned around and blushed a bit. "Besides, your dad asked us to keep an eye on you."

"He did?" Harry wasn't sure if he was angry or pleased to hear this information. Either way, it stirred his stomach oddly.

"Yeah, right before we left for the station," Ron said. "Him and Sirius and Remus."

"We all care about you, Harry," Hermione whispered. "We just want you to be okay."

And Harry was suddenly reminded of the conversation he'd had with his father two years ago. He'd told Harry that his mum would always love him, no matter what. And then, when he'd duelled with Voldemort the year before, and the Prior Incantatem had occurred, he'd seen her. She had been a mere echo, of course, but she'd still praised him, told him he was brave, told him she was proud of what he'd done . . . but he wasn't. He wasn't brave. He wasn't somebody to be proud of. How could he be? He was an abnormality, preferring those of his own gender to the opposite sex and having the stupid scar on his head and thinking that his school enemy had a really nice arse when they were supposed to be enemies. Not to mention being dubbed a liar for saying the truth and breaking down over a boy that he'd actually thought was really attractive (maybe it had been something to tell him he didn't think that Draco Malfoy was sexy, but Cedric had been quite good-looking) after he'd let him die, as if he had that right.

He was a freak. He was weird. Abnormal.

He hated it.

Ron and Hermione didn't understand. Not even his dad or Sirius or Remus did. Nobody could understand. Nobody else was going to be killed by Lord Voldemort and only hadn't so far because they were a lucky, sly person who had somehow been called brave from the things he'd done. He'd never told anybody that the Sorting Hat had wanted him to be in Slytherin. He'd only told his dad, Sirius, and Remus that he was gay. Nobody would know his secrets, either; they were his, weren't they?

And yet he was an open book. He wore his heart on his sleeve and couldn't figure out to put some walls around himself. He was a mess. He cried a lot more than he would care to admit and everybody always knew exactly what he was thinking. At least, everything except for the fact that he thought Draco Malfoy had a nice arse. Somehow, nobody seemed to guess that. For which, of course, he was quite thankful.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione murmured, wrapping him in a warm embrace.

For a moment, he wondered why she was suddenly hugging him, and then he realized, with slight anger at himself, that two tears had slid down his cheek. He hated crying, and yet he seemed to do so much of it. But it was a weakness, and he could not be weak.

"Hermione," Harry mumbled, "I'm fine." He detached her arms from around his shoulders and stood up. "I'm going to bed. Good night."

Ron and Hermione watched him go, then turned to each other with similar looks on their faces: a mixture of dumbstruck and sympathetic.

"D'you think he trusts us?" Ron asked. "It's just weird, isn't it? Harry not talking to us . . ."

"I think he's not told us things for a long time," Hermione said carefully. "He's always been a bit secretive, hasn't he? And I guess he's got good reason, but still. There are a lot of things we don't know about him, like why he hates Halloween so much . . ."

Ron frowned. "I guess. But do you think he doesn't trust us?"

"I think he trusts us, but he doesn't feel like he should share the weight of things with other people."

"So he's going to bottle up all everything?" Ron fumed.

"I'm sure he talks to his dad."

"But his dad isn't here, is he?" Ron took a deep breath. "We should talk to him, get him to open up some more. If he only talks to his dad, then that's an issue, because he doesn't see him again in a few months."

"I know you're worried, but—"

"I'm not just worried, Hermione. I'm afraid for him." Ron frowned more deeply. "He came to Hogwarts a happy kid, don't you remember? He talked about his dad like he was his hero, and he sometimes talked about his mum, too, like he'd known her really well even if he can't remember. And I remember, in our third year, when Lupin talked about Harry, it was always that he was a 'great kid who just happened to have a tragic past.' He said Harry didn't deserve the things that had happened to him."

Hermione nodded. "He changed that year, too. He started to step even farther away. I think he felt guilty. Do you remember how he said he heard a woman screaming on the train when that Dementor came after him? That was his mum."

"How do you know that?"

Hermione blushed. "I . . . I heard him talking to Lupin about it, actually."

Ron gaped. Hermione, eavesdropping? "Hermione," he said, "why didn't you ever say anything?"

"Because it's Harry's business! And I only brought it up now because I think he feels like it's his fault his mum's dead!"

"But he couldn't have done anything," Ron pointed out dumbly.

"He couldn't have done anything about Cedric, either, and he doesn't seem to be taking that overly well."

"I guess."

They lapsed into silence, Hermione's mind moving at a million miles an hour. How could they get Harry back to his old self? Did his old self even exist anymore? Or was it hidden beneath a mask of strength and guilt? Even if they could find the old Harry, though, there was always the chance that he would slip back into the person he was now. But how could they ever get him back? Hermione and Ron were trying their hardest, and Hermione knew that James, Sirius, and Remus had tried to cheer him up a bit, but to no avail. If they couldn't do it, who could?

"Has he ever talked about getting a girlfriend?" Hermione asked, a bit out of nowhere.

Ron blinked. "I dunno. I don't think so. He never seemed that interested in girls, you know?"

Hermione sighed, defeated. "I thought maybe . . ."

"A relationship would help?"

"Yeah. I don't know what else to do."

"I don't think we can do anything, Mione," Ron said. "Just be here for him. That's the best we can do right now, I think."

Hermione looked pained. "I want to do more."

"I know," Ron whispered, grabbing her hand. "I know you do. We both do. And we will. We'll figure something out."

Hermione glanced down at Ron's hand in hers and smiled softly. "We will. We'll make things right. We have to."

And they would. No matter what it took.