A/N : I am attempting to incorporate more British slang into this story, seeing as it is supposed to take place in and around Great Britian. Therefore, if you don't recognise a word, please refer to the bottom of the page, where some quick descriptions have been given. I hope I'm using these terms correctly; if you're British and it seems out of place, please let me know! I'll probably screw up once or twice .... :)

Draco Malfoy had never met his half-brother, aside from one short visit to the hospital several years ago -- and he hardly counted that. His mother had prattled on for nearly fourty-five minutes, talking about their lives, about his father and his work with Alberto Michedelli. She hadn't spoken on Mr. Michedelli at length, though she had made sure to say he was a good man; a family man, from an old family. He and Lucius didn't get along well, she had said, hadn't for years. Not since their childhood.

Draco hadn't known that ; his father was nothing but polite whenever the other man came around the house. But he was that way with everyone; a charmer, always working to gain status in their little group. Draco wasn't quite sure what they did, what sort of business it was. But it was well paying, and he had always gotten the impression it had something to do with the government; they were constantly talking about the state of things in the Ministry, after all.

That had been the only time he had met his half-brother, and he hadn't thought much about it at the time. More important things had demanded his attention; his friends, school, football practice. He'd rarely thought about his brother all these years, other than the few fights he had with his friends, were they claimed he was a spoiled only child. And technically he was; an only child, that is.

But now ... Harry was awake. Honestly, he hadn't expected it to happen ever, let alone so soon. He'd often heard his mother and father arguing; mostly about whether or not the other boy was braindead or not. About whether or not they should 'pull the plug'.

Now, of course, those arguments seemed silly. Harry was awake; which meant he had never been brain dead, he had never been the empty shell Lucius had thought him. It made Draco slightly giddy, to see his father proven wrong, taken down a few pegs.

They were going to see Harry tomorrow ; he was even being allowed to skip school, so he could go with his parents. To see his brother. What was he supposed to say? To do?

To wear?!

His hands were shaking violently as Harry pushed hiimself up onto his elbows, the nightmare lurking on the edges of his vision. His glasses lay a short distance away, but he made no move to reach for them, simply lay there for a moment and breathed deeply; in and out, in and out.

Voldemort again. So predictable, the way the man would talk and act; his targets were never predictable, thankfully not many were familiar to Harry's memory. But his actions upon reaching those targets? Very predictable.

He wanted to be back in Hogwarts; at least there he had a chance of doing some good. True, he would probably just be stuck in classes, but at least he had some knowledge of what was going on, what the Order was doing to fight Voldemort. Here .... here, thy wanted him to believe the madman had never even existed!

He couldn't do that. Not after so long, not after so many battles and heartbreaks. The man had taken Cedric, had taken Sirius. Had taken his childhood.

James watched from the doorway as his son sat there, trying to catch his breath. Did he know he had screamed in his sleep? James doubted it.

But he had -- screamed Voldemort, though just who or what that was supposed to be, only his son knew.

Did Lily? Had Harry mentioned these words, these people, before? There was anger there, yes, when he thought about that. That his wife had hidden this from him; it had been a breakthough, he was sure of it! A precursor to Harry's waking. And that was what she had been afraid he would think; afraid that he would be wrong. But he should have been allowed to be wrong!

Taking a deep breath, James slowly eased the door closed most of the way, leaving a thin crack should his son become distressed again. He wanted to be there for his son; he just didn't know how. What did you do, what did you say to a son who didn't even remember his own father? Who didn't seem to want to remember?

"You need to give him some space." James whirled around, eyes slightly wide as he took in the sight of his wife, a deep red robe hanging loose around her small frame, revealing the white cotton nightgown she wore beneath. It was unemroidered, no lace or fancy designs to liven it up. That was one of the things he loved about her; the simpleness of her. No ulterior motives, no grand scheme. Just Lily.

But right now, Lily was glaring at him, and James felt his own anger rising at the sight. "What the bloody hell am I supposed to do, Lil? Just sit back and do nothing?"

Lily simply shook her head, starting to turn away from him. James was having none of that, however; this confrontation had been a long time coming.

Lily gave a sharp gasp, eyes widening slightly in fear as she stared up at her husband. James chose to ignore the look however; normally he would have been appalled he had hurt the woman he loved, but not now. Not when he was this angry. "Listen to me, Lily. I can't -- We can't -- just sit back and do nothing! He was screaming!"

Lily said nothing for a moment, her face hardening for a second before she opened her mouth to speak. Too afraid of her response -- afraid of some kind of technical mumbo-jumbo the doctors had been feeding her (and attempting to feed him) ever since Harry's awakening, James spoke before she had the chance.

"But I guess you wouldn't understand -- you've never had any childeren of your own."

It was a low blow -- James could see it in her eyes in the way her entire body stiffened for a moment before she jerked out of his grasp. He let her go this time, watching impassively as she took a step back, away from him. "I think ... I think I'll go and visit my mother." She said softly, green eyes slightly watery as she inched her chin up, refusing to let him see her crumble.

James simply snorted, turning back to his son's door. "Of course you will." He muttered, but said nothing more as he heard the sound of her footsteps retreating, the door to their bedroom slamming shut.

Harry slept fitfully that night, waking early in the morning to the sound of dishes clanging together, his father's voice drifting down the hall. He seemed to be speaking to somebody, but no voice answered his questions. A fire call .....? No. Of course not. The telephone, then. Or maybe the man was just as insane as he had first thought.

Struggling to a sitting position, Harry breathed a small sigh as his back protested sharply, breathingi deeply to keep from crying out in pain. That was just what he needed; James, or, Merlin forbid, Lily, to come barreling down the hallway to save him from himself.

That seemed to be all people were doing lately -- protecting him, telling him how to move, how to shift his weight just so, lest his body scream in protest. And it didn't matter that they were invariably right; it was still damn annoying. Whatever had been done to him had to have a cure, a fix, a counterspell. Not that he knew that spell; and the chances of finding it were slim to none, until he could make his way back to Hogwarts.

As he made his way down the hall, still clad in his night clothes and with nothing more than a pair of socks upon his feet, however, nobody came out instantly to check on him, as has been the constant state practically since he had woken in the hospital.

At the door to the kitchen; just an arhed doorway, no actual door to open to close, he stopped to watch as James stood before the kitchen sink, telephone pressed between his left ear and shoulder. His hands were wet and covered in soap as he placed a plate to the side, on to a thick towel, presumably to dry. Though his back was to the door, it was obvious that the call was not a pleasant one, from the tenseness of his shoulders as he listened to whoever was on the other end.

His hands he kept busy, however, reaching for another dish as beginning to clean that one as well; a cup, Harry saw now, as he slowly made his way in to the room.

James made no move he had heard the teen, however, simply adjusted the phone against his shoulder. "No, no! Just take her off the account, you hear me? It was mine in the first place--" He paused to listen again, giving a frustrated sigh. "No, I don't need time to think about this, for chrissake. Just do it."

Harry rose one eyebrow, reaching for an orange from the bowl in the center of the kitchen table. Slowly he began peeling it, wincing slightly at the pain it induced in his fingernails. Trying to focus his attention on something other than the pain, he focused once again on the conversation taking place before him, head tilted slightly to the side as he alternated between staring at James and focusing his attention downards, to his task.

"Thank you!" James pulled the phone away from his ear, hitting a button on the cordless phone before slamming it none to gently down on the counter beside him. Harry gave a slight jump at the sudden noise, and James whipped around at the unexpecfted noise, a butter knife raised slightly as if in warning. Harry eyed the knife warily, fingers tightening around he orange before James gave a weak smile, tossing the knife back to splash in to the sink behind him. James made a slight face as some of the soapy water splashed on to the back of his shirt, before forcing a smile on to his lips. "Hey, I didn't hear you come in. Sleep well?"

Harry nodded, watching as the man wiped his hands on a nearby dish towel, moving toward the refrigerator. "These things cost a bomb, you know." James commented as he pulled a small box out and set in on the table. "I was a bit cheesed off, to tell the truth, when Lily came home with them. Thought you might like 'em, though."

Harry peered in to the box, leaning to the left to get a better look. Underneath a wire mesh sat what looked like extremely small oranges, and James gave a small jerk of his head. "Go ahead, try one."

Slowly picking his way past the wire mesh, Harry selected one of the pieces of fruit, surprised at how easily he was able to peel back the skin. The fruit itself came apart into triangles similar to those of an orange, only smaller and sweeter to the taste as he quickly demolished the fruit before reaching for another.

James gave a short laugh, moving away as his son began to eat greedily. They hadn't tried particularly hard to cook anything Harry truly enjoyed; simply going by the foods he had enjoyed nearly half a decade ago. The boy's taste buds had obviously changed; it used to be he couldn't stand oranges. Or apples. Hell, he had seemed to have some kind of a vendetta against fruit in general.

Shaking his head, James returned to the dishes with a sigh.

Tired. That's what he was -- tired, and irritable. And the last thing he wanted, was Lily Potter to come bawling to him about James.

Didn't she generally go to her parents' house for something like this? But no, she had to come here, and when Sirius was out to the grocer's, of all times.

The new nurse hadn't lasted long; he hadn't expected her to. Pretty yes, and well behaved. Impeccable hygeine. He and Sirius had had a bit of a flutter about how long she would last, actually; Sirius had lost. Idiot, thinking a pretty face was all it would take to please him. Not that he didn't appreciate the effort, mind you; it was that, for all the years they had known each other, sometimes Sirius' proved how very little they knew each other after all.

Remus forced himself to focus on what Lily was saying, only to barely hold back a roll of the eyes as he realised she still hadn't finished that particular rant. Really, he couldn't blame her for being upset; James had been blunt, a bit rash. He loved her; of that Remus had no doubt. He was jealous sometimes, if only for a moment. That kind of love was not for him, he knew. But sometimes, he would look at them and wonder ...

And then he would look at Harry, and realise just how much pain they still had in their lives. He had expected, after a couple of years, that they would slow their visits, perhaps even stop them. Narcissa had only gone a couple of times in the beginning, before backing off and calling her cousin for updates. He, alone, had been privy to those updates; once, last year, Sirius had even made him do it, too sick to so much as lift his head, never mind deal with his cousin. Pure evil, he claimed. Remus knew better. She was just ... a bit cold. Out of all of them, he had gotten along with Narcissa the best, even better than James. Perhaps, if he hadn't been so sick ...

But no. Nothing there. Don't think about it.

Remus pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly before gaining his center of balance. Lily had fallen quiet a moment ago, staring off into space, her lips pursed tightly together. "I'm sorry, Remus. I shouldn't have come to you. You have too much on your plate already." Lily rose herself, reachig for her coat as she did, and Remus' hand shot out to grat her elbow -- ended up with her lower arm instead. Damn his eyesight, failing him more and more lately.

"Lily, would you just calm down for one minute? Damnit woman, this is getting completely out of hand. You've seen James get into arguments with me and Siri before; you know he says things he doens't really mean. Tell me again why he can't do that with you?"

"Because he never has before!" Lily's eyes were suspiciously bright once again, her hands shaking as she stared incredulously at him. "This wasn't some tiny little spat, Remus. We've had those before -- you know that. This was different." Lily drew a shaky breath, turning her head to stare to the side, at the large bookshelf that decorated the center of the wall to her right. It was filled with the usual -- fantasy, classics, even a couple of romances. And books on cancer. So many books on cancer.

They belonged to Sirius, of course. Remus himself far preferred to speak with actual people about his condition, leaving the reading to Sirius. Not that Sirius was normally a very big reader; quite the opposite. But this was different. This was Remus' life they were dealing with.

Letting out her breath slowly, Lily wiped at her eyes with her fre hand, finally glancing back at Remus through the haze of her tears. Remus smiled, moving so that he gripped both her upper arms, adopting a similar stance to hers. "Go to your parents' house, Lily. Sleep. Take it easy. Call Harry tomorrow, talk to James. Don't do anything rash."

Lily nodded, moving forward and wrapping her arms around the thinner man.

Harry watched as James continued to wash the dishes, meticulously wiping them clean before stacking them in various cupboards. The kitchen was larger than the one at his aunt and uncles house; to his right sat the door, straight ahead a couple of cupboards, followed by the sink, that curved around the edge of the room. Next came more cupboard space on the right, with hat wall being finished off with the refrigerator. The other wall held only another door, followed by a small stand that held little odds and ends where that wall met the one with the first door; the one he had come in. Plenty of shelf space to prepare food. The table he sat at was right in the middle of the room, rectangular and with four chairs. A bowl of fruit sat in the middle of the table, apples and oranges and the like. His half-peeled orange lay next to the bowl as he dug into another one of the smaller oranges, turning his attention back to James as the man finished with the dishes.

"You feeling up to going out today?" James held a dishtowel in his hands, casually wiping them dry as he leaned back against the sink. His eyes never strayed from his son; never flitted over above his head, or glanced at anything on the walls. Harry had the feeling they would not even glance out the window, if there was one. Other than the one over the sink, showing a view of the street and part of the front yard; a part he hadn't been allowed to view as of yet, only being allowed out back.

"Where would we be going?" Harry asked, quirking one eyebrow and trying to ignore the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was just the way James stared at him; that unerring way of completely focusing on him, never anything else in the room. It was like he was the center of the man's world, at least for these couple of minutes.

"Well, I was thinking about going grocery shopping. We really could use some more food -- and you could tell me what you like, you know? You never used to like mandarin oranges, but we could pick some more up since you seem to like them so much now." James grinned as he said this, eyes finally straying from Harry's face to rest on the box in question with raised eyebrow, glancing back toward his son's face with a grin.

Harry blushed at that, eyeing the small mound of orange skin peelings he had accumulated in the last couple of minutes. James let out a laugh at that, pushing himself away from the sink and tossing the dishtowel on the counter to his left. "Come on, let's get you dressed. We both could use the change of scenery."

James watched as Harry disappeared in to his bedroom, reflecting that, in retrospect, he was lucky that he had the job he did. Nobody had complained when he had asked for the time off; in fact, he had been given a paid vacation of two weeks, after which he would simply be taking his own vacation time -- of which he had quite a bit. Weekends and nights had been for visiting Harry; rarely did he take a day off, and those vacation days had been accumulating ever since Harry had gone into the hospital. It just wasn't the same, taking a vacation with Lily.

But now he had a reason to claim that time off, and most of his coworkers seemed to think he would take all of it now; and none of them seemed to begrudge him that. After all, how often did your son wake from his coma?

Drawing a shaky breath, James took the stairs two at a time, retrieving his wallet and keys from the bedroom before heading back down the stairs. He still had a lot of work to do in his new office, setting things up just the way he liked them; but that could wait. This was his vacation, after all.

Harry was waiting in the doorway of his bedroom when he came back downstairs, a pair of faded blue jeans and a faded, grungy t-shirt his choice today. Despite the sun streaming in through the window, he had also chosen a light jacket, and James winced internally at the sight. The boy was always so cold -- was that normal? Yet another question to pose to the doctor; or even the physical therapist.

Outwardly, however, James grinned at his son, wrapping his left arm around the boy's shoulders as he steered him toward the front door. "So, you liked seeing Sirius last night?"

Harry nodded tentatively, allowing himself to be pulled toward the front door. "Yeah, I mean, I missed him. But .... is there something wrong with ..."

James cut him off before he could continue, shaking his head firmly. "We don't ... we don't like to talk about it. You know, Remus' Cancer. It's been hard on Siri, living with him. Taking care of him. But they've been friends .... well, basically forever. I can't really remember a time when they weren't practically joined at a hip. Ruined quite a few relationships for Sirius, let me tell you. Always chose Remmie over some bird." James shook his head, flashing a grin down at his son. "Always worked out in the end, though. You know, Siri dated Lils 'afore we met? Guess you could say I stole her ... but I don't think Sirius really minded."

Harry pursed his lips tightly together, glancing away from the older man and stepping away from him and into the bright sunshine. The car was just a couple of paces away from the front door, and he took a moment to take in the sight of the front yard, the road, the quiet suburban street he found himself on.

Totally normal. Muggle. Quiet, serene, even peaceful. The kind of street Privet Drive had always strove to be, yet never really succeeded. Mostly his fault, that. Having wizards and witches popping in at random intervals throughout the summer had a tendancy to make a place less than "normal".

The ride to the grocers was spent in silence, Harry leaning against the car door and staring out the window. He recognised nothing, though some things seemed vaguely familar. One town looked just like the other though, right? Nothing special about that.

It was as they were retrieving the cart that Harry was struck with just how out of place he really was; his choice of clothing had been more about what was comfortable than anything else, but around him were children and adults dressed for the summer; shorts and t-shirts, sandals and sneakers. And here he was, dressed as though it was the middle of winter. Well, autumn at the very least.

The sudden stopping of the cart surprised him, sending Harry stumbling forward a couple of steps. James turned to him in alarm, a steadying hand on his upper arm helping Harry to regain his balance. He quickly shrugged the hand off, earning him a look from James -- a look he had seen Mrs. Weasley give Ron enough times to know it meant he was being rude. He ignored the look, however, instead focusing on the reason for their sudden stop.

James leaned across the cart, plucking down a couple of cans seemingly at random. From there James tapped his fingers against the long handlebar of the shopping cart, a penseive look on his face.

"You don't usually do this, do you?" Harry asked, raising one eyebrow at the confused look on the man's face. When James looked down at him in surprise, Harry blushed slightly. "It's just ... you look like you don't really know where anything is, and . . . "

James gave a short laugh, nodding as he glanced away once again. "Yeah, Lils usually does the grocery shopping." He offered no further explanation, however, simply started to push the cart foward once again and Harry was forced to continue moving or be left behind.

Not that losing James wasn't a tempting thought, but the chances of actually getting anywhere feeling like this were slim to none. He was barely keeping himself standing as it was; there was no way he would survive a full-out run.

And so they walked. Harry felt himself relying more and more heavily on the shopping cart as the weakness in his legs grew more pronounced, James glancing his way once in a while, but saying nothing.

His legs felt strange.

Harry glanced at James out of the corner of his eye, wondering if the man would make a fuss if he happened to start rubbing at his legs, which had started to sting almost from the moment he had sat down in the car. It was an odd sensation; not exactly pain, but not comfortable, either. Tight. Yes, that was the best way to describe it. His legs felt tight.

The trip back was as silent as the trip out had been, Harry's fingers twitching every once in a while as he barely stopped himself from rubbing roughly at his legs -- it wouldn't do any good anyway, right? So no reason to give James even more leverage over him.

However, as he moved to step out of the open car door, his legs finally did what they had been threatening to do for the past half hour; they gave out.

And down he went.

It was really a rather spectacular fall, he came to realise later. And it certainly gained the attention of James, who came dashing around from the other side of the car, dropping the shopping bags in his hands as he came. He almost tumbled head over heels himself, as he dropped to the ground beside his son, hands going around Harry's shoulders.

Their eyes met, and James let out a sigh. "Stupid boy. You should have told me you weren't up to this." His words were muttered, no true ire behind them; more like he was upset with himself. Harry couldn't help but wince anyway, rememberingi all the times Vernon had called him stupid and idiotic -- and the punishment he would recieve because of it.

"Come on, up we go," James murmured, wrapping one arm around his shoulders and the other moving around his midsection, helping him to stand. The arms did not move once he was up, however, as he started leading Harry indoors.

"The groceries ..." Harry half-heartedly protested, but James simply shook his head. "They can wait." He said firmly, eyes narrowing every so slightly as he met Harry's eyes. Harry shrugged his shoulders, opting to stare at the ground rather than meet that stare. He heard the sigh of frustration from James -- chose to ignore it.

Even with the added support from James, Harry found himself struggling to stay on his feet, let alone walk the short distance to the front door.

He resented the help -- resented the comfort of the arm placed around his shoulders, resented the way James seemed to take to the task so easily; as if it was right, as if there was nothing wrong with this situation. Everything was wrong with this!

It took them nearly five minutes, working together, to make their way inside the front door. Another two minutes later found Harry settled on to the couch, James tucking a blanket around his middle and arranging it over his legs.

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Some Pronounciations -;-

Michedelli - My-ka-dell-e

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British to American -;-

bomb - really expensive

cheesed off - pissed off

flutter - bet

bird - female

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Author's Note: I haven't the faintest clue how grocery stores work in England, so I am going to assume they are the same as in America; long shelves filled with food, and registers near the front of the store. I have heard, however, that you have to bag your own groceries there -- somebody correct me if I'm wrong?