Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything associated with it.

A/N: Read. Review. Not much else to say. I'm just belting out chapters one after the other right now. If you want them, you have to tell me so.

0000000000000000 Chapter 6: Not-So-Sweet Sixteen 0000000000000

Harry went to sleep on the thirtieth of July rather reluctantly. He hadn't had any major nightmares since the one the night that he was 'rescued' from the Dursleys, but he'd had regular, non-painful-in-the-morning nightmares. Bad ones, that always end up with Remus holding him steady while he tried to stop shaking.

Remus was a lifeline for him. It only took him a day and a bit to realize why.

Remus didn't judge him, didn't measure him against his dead father. While he had loved Sirius and had looked up to him, he'd been bothered and upset the times that Sirius had commented on how much he was not like his father. Sirius had been affected by Azkaban rather badly, and could not escape the past.

Remus wasn't incredibly better, really, but was definitely different. He was content to offer advice when it was asked for, was always there to comfort him when he woke up screaming, and was at ease most of the time. He was like a father, a real father, which worried about their kid but wanted them to have some independence.

And it felt good to be worried about. It felt good at night to wake up and find that he was not alone, that his screaming had not brought his relatives in to beat him into silence, but rather had brought a friend, a father, to make sure that he was all right. He'd never had that before.

When he was little, sleeping in the cupboard under the stairs, he'd had nightmares about spiders that turned out to be alarmingly real. He'd always woken up alone and had had to fight off the darkness and the monsters alone, crying and wondering if there would ever be anyone that cared if he were scared or not.

Now Remus did that for him. Harry had felt awkward at first, being sixteen and still getting held and comforted after nightmares…but Remus had stated matter-of-factly that everyone was entitled to a little comfort, and Harry had a lot of time to make up in that department.

And then he had added teasingly that he could always tell Tonks she could come when he woke up from nightmares. Harry had refused that faster than Remus could finish the sentence. That would be the last thing he'd need. An accident-prone witch less than ten years his senior playing mum to him. That would be too weird to ever mention to anyone.

And now it was finally the night before his birthday. He stayed up as usual, on his own in his bed, and watched the time change, finally becoming midnight. He was sixteen. Sixteen. He'd never really imagined being sixteen when he was younger, sitting in his cupboard and just waiting for the day he'd be old enough to go to secondary school.

He was hesitant to go to sleep after that. He felt unsettled, uneasy. Voldemort's comments about a test in that last vision had bothered him, and he just had a cold feeling in his stomach…but in the end exhaustion won out. He was still slowly getting used to eating more, and although his injuries were all fairly healed, from Pomfrey's care when he was unconscious, he was still weak and a little faint at times.

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He didn't dream at first. It was just black.

That was not good. That meant he would not dream at all. There would be a vision, and it would be ten times worse, because in the morning he would have to decide whether it had been real or not. Whether those people really had died like that…it was never anything good.

The vision began slowly, just a blurry, slightly titled room.

Usually, he saw things from Voldemort's point of view, but this time…he was lying on the floor already. He was a third party to this, it seemed. He felt real, but no one made any movement making him believe that they could see him.

The tilt of the floor was because he was lying on his side, head against the floor. He felt tired, but unhurt. He stood up, feeling awkward. This was one of the most realistic visions he'd ever had.

"So," came Voldemort's cold voice. "Finally, it works."

Everything was still blurry around him. He could not see Voldemort, nor anyone else, nor really anything but the patch of floor by his feet. He tried to look around, but it didn't work. It was like trying to turn in molasses, and he moved too slowly to see anything different. Everything was too blurry to be seen.

"What do you want?" a man shouted. Everything snapped into focus with those words.

Harry saw them now. Three men. One older, two younger. It looked like a father and his sons…or a master and his apprentices. "We've done nothing!"

"Every single witch and wizard has told me that before they died," Voldemort said with a humorous note. "They insist upon this rather vehemently, actually. And do you know what?" he asked, stepping closer, raising his wand. "It is true. Almost every single time."

The two younger men blocked the elder from Voldemort, who just laughed at their stupid bravery. Their pointless bravery. There would be no mercy, no escape this night. They would all die…

But then Harry, who was now standing sort of between the three men and the death eaters, saw something. One of the young men passed the elder a dagger. An instant later, the old man had plunged it into his heart. Voldemort shouted in rage as he realized one of his targets was dead… "CRUCIO!"

The man on the left screamed, and Harry screamed with him, caught unprepared for the sudden agony that shot through his body. He thrashed and twisted on the ground, screaming, screaming…he couldn't stop himself…it was burning through him, burning through his mi—

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"HARRY!"

The shout jerked him free. That, and the sharp sting on his face that somehow registered through his torment. "Harry!" another voice shouted. He blinked, moaning and groaning and rolling and thrashing.

He had to throw up. He knew he would in another few seconds, and he struggled with whomever it was that held him until they let him push his head over the edge of the bed, chest resting across their knees. He was just in time to throw up the remains of his dinner all over the floor.

The dry heaves that followed left him too weak to do more than collapse, stomach-down, onto whoever's knees were under him. There was a hand on his back, and he recognized it as Remus's.

He was lying on Remus's knees, head hanging over one side. He was too weak to hold his head up at all, and he stared downwards, eyes unfocused without his glasses. "Harry?" Remus said softly.

"Vision," he garbled. "Tom."

"Scourgify," Tonks said. She was in the room too, it seemed. Harry tried to push himself up, off Remus's probably dirtied knees, but Remus wouldn't let him up.

"Just lie still, Harry, and try to calm down," Remus asked. "You're shaking like a leaf."

"He—something, last time, I felt it—he did something so I feel it…I'm not him anymore," he tried to explain. His mind was too hazy to make coherent sentences. It was too hard to stick words together to make sense.

But Remus still seemed to get it. "I'll talk to Albus immediately," he said. "He'll know if there's something we can do to stop this."

"There were two men…three, the third, he…knife…the other two…he cursed…angry that lost one…" he rambled. If Remus hadn't pulled him out of the vision…he was very afraid that the Cruciatus would have driven him insane. Like the Longbottoms. Neville's parents…he could easily understand how they were driven insane by the pain. Just a few minutes of it was too much…it was always too much…he could almost feel his mind fogging over…

"I'll talk with Albus," Remus said again.

"What should I do?" Tonks asked worriedly.

"Stay with Harry," Remus said. Harry relaxed onto Remus's legs, feeling oddly disoriented. Remus must have noticed his suddenly relaxation, because he shifted abruptly. "You can't go back to sleep, Harry," Remus said. "Not until we know how to stop this. It's too dangerous."

"Yes," he agreed tiredly. His mind felt like it had been wrapped in blankets. It didn't want to do any work.

Remus's hand was rubbing his back, comforting circles on top of flannel pajamas that had been shrunk down for him from Sirius's old clothes.

"Birthday," he added, trying to sound better. Too bad he'd meant to say more than that. His mouth seemed to disagree with moving more than necessary.

"Hmm," Remus said. "I may have to leave for a bit, Harry. This is serious."

"Okay," he agreed. One-word sentences seemed to be about the best his mind could accomplish at the moment. "Potion?" he asked, hopeful. He really wanted something to take away the aching pains in his body. They would probably go away on their own after a while, but he liked the potions. They made the pain go away in seconds.

"I don't have anything, but a bath would help," Remus said softly. "It's four now. Take a bath and have some breakfast, Harry. I'll be back before you know it."

"Leaving?" Harry asked, alarmed. He didn't want Remus to go.

"This has to be taken care of right now, Harry. It's much more serious than I could have imagined…" Remus trailed off, lost in thought. The hand on Harry's back stopped moving for a bit, and then lifted off. Harry pulled himself off Remus's legs slowly, reluctant to leave that comfort and warmth, and slowly rocked back so he was kneeling in bed. Remus was facing him, and Tonks was standing near the doorway, looking frightened.

"Bath. Breakfast," he echoed, mind still feeling slow. Remus nodded, watching him rather carefully.

"That's right," Remus agreed. "Do that. Tonks'll have something nice and hot ready for you when you get out, all right?"

"Yeah," he said. "Thanks Tonks," he said. His mouth felt foreign, tired and hard to move. "Bye, Remus," he added for good measure. Remus looked a little worried now, but stood up, waving his wand at his soiled pant-legs to clean them.

"Harry, I'll be back, all right? Be careful, and I'll see you later. Merry Birthday, too," Remus told him. He nodded and smiled. He didn't really feel too happy, but smiling just seemed like a good idea at the moment.

He stayed kneeling on the bed while Remus whispered something to Tonks, gave him one last glance, and then swept out of the room. Tonks smiled at him weakly. "Well how about that bath, Harry?" she asked.

He nodded. "Yeah. Bath," he echoed. He got his legs out from underneath himself and managed to stand up, though he tottered badly. He tried to take a few steps, but the crippling ghost pains in his legs made it impossible to take more than a few steps.

He ended up collapsing at the door to the bathroom, falling straight down in a pile. He felt hands lifting him back up, and held on to Tonks as she pulled him back to his feet. "Upsy-daisy there, Harry," she said. "Don't want to pitch into the tub just yet," she told him. He nodded.

"Yeah," he said. His mind was still foggy. He felt dazed, like he'd been hit on the head. Right after he'd woken up, everything had felt clear. Painful, but clear. And then the fog had settled in…now it was hard to make the right words come out…it was too difficult to remember the right…

He was shaking. Trembling violently, so much so that Tonks had to ease him back down onto the floor next to the tub. This was shock, he realized. Remus hadn't seen it coming, but Tonks couldn't possibly miss it. "Harry, try to stay still and stay awake," she told him. "I'm going to get help for you."

He nodded, teeth clattering together. His back and limbs were the worst, the already pain-wracked muscles spasming and twitching so much that it was hard to breathe. His eyelids drooped, but then a stinging pain was in his face. "Sorry, Harry, but you gotta stay awake," Tonks said. Harry hadn't realized she was back. "Help's coming, but you're not going to like it," she warned him.

He groaned. "Sn—" he got out. Tonks nodded and gave him a weak smile.

"Better than lyin' here going into shock," she said sagely. Harry wished very much that he could hit her, or at least tell her what he thought. Neither seemed to be a viable option, though.

He'd get her later, he decided, but his exact plans for her were interrupted with a violent shiver that shook his body so much that he knew he had just left a few new bruises along his back and shoulders.

He didn't know how much longer it was before he heard the sour voice. It felt like seconds, like days, years, or perhaps just mere moments. His mind was too fogged over to care anymore.

"Out of my way," Snape snapped. Harry thought he saw Tonks moving away from him, but he did not have his glasses on and his eyes refused to cooperate completely. "Potter, you idiot."

There was a light in his left eye. He blinked his eyes and tried to turn away. Instead, the stupid light just went into his right eye. He groaned angrily and tried to turn away again. He couldn't close his eyes. He had to stay awa—a shuddering spasm cut off his thoughts. Seconds later, a cool vial pressed against his lips and he swallowed down something bitter and icy cold…but it stopped the shivers. He could now lie still on the ground, breathing hard and trying to focus his eyes and count all his fingers and toes.

"How many fingers, Potter?" Snape asked.

"Ten," he breathed, wiggling them all as best he could. He heard Tonks snort and Snape snarl with exasperation.

"Yes, Potter, you do have ten fingers. Very good. You can go to muggle kindergarten now. How many fingers am I showing you, you infernal idiot?" Snape demanded. Harry blinked. What fingers, he thought?

"Glasses," he said. "Can't without glasses."

His mind was trying to work again. He'd meant to tell Snape in a rather snotty tone that he couldn't very well tell him how many fingers he saw if he could not even see the fingers to begin with. What had come out was close enough, though it was delivered in a rather gaspy voice.

By the time he'd thought all that through, his glasses were being slipped onto his face. The fingers appeared, this time in focus. "F-two," he said. For a moment, he'd thought there were four, but then his vision had slid from double to single.

Snape scowled at him and pushed another vial to his mouth. He drank it down, not really caring if he were being poisoned or not, and his vision began to clear. The aches were calming, too, only the most serious ones in his back, shoulders, and thighs remaining. He watched from the flat of his back as Snape turned away from him, still scowling.

"I want a cold rag, and a bowl with chilled mint and dragonscale in it," Snape directed.

"Sure thing, sir," Tonks said quickly, her voice a little sharp. She was angry, Harry realized vaguely. Harry thought he could see her leave, but then Snape was glaring down at him again.

"I'm getting tired of coming to your rescue, Mr. Potter," Snape said. "If you had learned any of what I attempted to teach you, we would not be in this position." Snape sneered down at him. "None of us would be in our present positions."

That hurt. Harry had tried, but it didn't help knowing Snape was raking through his mind for the very worst of his memories, the most humiliating things he could find. Knowing that Snape would probably remember them all, recall them all and smile, happy to know his enemy's sufferings. "Git," he growled. "Go away," he said.

Snape just lifted an eyebrow. "Really? And leave you quaking and whining on this lovely floor?" Snape queried. "I would love to, but I do fear that Albus would not like it."

"Hate…you…my mother," he got out between breathing. "…go…through…tearing…mind."

"A little melodramatic, aren't we, Potter?" Snape asked. Harry glared, angry now. But he didn't let it grow. This was when he was vulnerable. If he let the hate go…he didn't think he could hold it off this time. All he wanted was to be away from Snape.

Harry hit the water with a loud and awkward splash. He hadn't meant to fall in, but he hadn't realized that he was at the very edge of the tub. He only had meant to roll away from Snape, away from those dark, mocking eyes and try to recover just a little. It was hard to think up arguments and insults while lying flat on his back waiting for everything to stop spinning.

The warm water enveloped him instantly, closing in over his head. It felt good. Warm. Safe. He opened his mouth to breathe in, but then hands grabbed his hair and jerked him upwards, out of the water. He breathed in a few droplets and coughed hard. "Stupid brat!" Snape shouted, jerking him completely clear of the water and onto the floor again by his hair alone. Harry's hand flew upwards to try to pull himself free, but he only managed to hit ineffectually at Snape's hand.

The water seemed to have been the shock he needed, though. "LET ME GO!" he shouted. "GET OFF ME YOU GREASY GIT!"

There was clattering, then the sound of something crashing to the floor and shattering. "What's going on?" It was Tonks. She'd undoubtedly just dropped whatever it was she had been supposed to bring.

The hand tightened in Harry's hair for a moment, pulling painfully, and then released him. He fell back against the tiles with a crack, glaring up at Snape with as much anger as he could muster. "Professor Snape is not welcome in my home," Harry said sharply.

"Harry! You're all right!" Tonks cried, completely ignoring what he'd said. "You're not brain-damaged?"

"What?" he cried.

"That's up for debate," Snape snapped.

"Shut up!" Harry shot back. "No, I don't think I'm any more brain damaged than I've ever been, Tonks. And thank you very much for bringing me help, and thank you very much Professor Snape for administering help, but now GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"

Tonks looked taken aback, but Snape just smiled and stood. "As you wish, Potter," he said. "Don't expect me to come running the next time you suffer a little attack."

"Of course you will!" Harry shouted, still enraged. He'd managed to push himself up to a sitting position, so that he could at least look at Snape from something other than the flat of his back. "You wouldn't pass up a chance to see me suffering, now would you?"

"I suppose not," Snape said mildly, with an evil smile. "Do not expect any helpful treatments, Potter," Snape threatened, and then whirled around, swept past Tonks, and left. Harry breathed hard for a few more minutes, trying to regain control of his emotions.

"Tonks," he said softly.

"Yeah, Harry?" she asked. She sounded a little shell-shocked now.

"Don't ever ask him to help me, please," he asked. "Even if I'm dying or something. I don't ever want to see him in this house again."

"Er, Harry, he comes for Order meetings," Tonks reminded him awkwardly. He sighed.

"I"ll stay up here on those days. Just someone lock the door to the downstairs or something so I'm warned. If I see him again and I'm in a better condition…I can't promise that I won't take a few swings at him," he said. Slowly, he got his feet under himself and tottered over to the wall, leaning heavily against it.

Tonks was laughing. "Ol' Snape wouldn't know what hit him."

"Sure he would," Harry said with a grin. "I'd make sure he knew it was me." He sighed, staring at the water. "So you really thought I was brain damaged?" he asked. Tonks blushed a little.

"Well, you did seem to be having trouble speaking. And Remus was worried when you started saying single words and forgetting normal grammar," she admitted. "Mostly it was the eyes, though. You were looking pretty glazed over."

"I think I was going into shock then," he said. "When I woke up everything was clear but I was too muddled to say what I wanted…but then all of a sudden everything started getting foggy. I think falling in the tub is what broke me out of it. And whatever those potions were," he conceded. He did not want to give Snape any credit, but he didn't think the water alone had knocked him out of shock.

"Remus'll be relieved when he comes back," Tonks said, sounding happier. Harry laughed.

"I'd say he was going to go gray over me, but he already is," Harry commented. Tonks stretched closer to hit his arm.

"He is not graying!" she told him. He laughed again. Tonks really had it for Remus.

"Okay, mildly silver at the temples," he said. Tonks glared at him but didn't say anything. "Look—I'm going to take that bath now," he told her. "I'll be down to eat breakfast as soon as I'm done."

"I'm going to hold you to that, Harry," Tonks said warningly. "And don't drown yourself, all right?"

"Yeah, Snape won't be here to jerk me out by my hair," he grumbled. Tonks frowned.

"I don't like him either—I had him at Hogwarts, and he was a right sot. But he's important to the Order, and Dumbledore trusts him. So we're stuck with him," she said. Harry sighed.

"I know," he admitted. He glanced at Tonks. "Now go away so I can take my bath!"

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When he made it down to breakfast, there were several steaming plates ready for him. He'd gotten so that he could eat about a normal-sized breakfast before he felt too full, and Tonks had been slowly upping the amounts.

She wasn't around, it seemed, so he sat down and picked up his fork.

And stopped. The food had been left out…perhaps Tonks hadn't made it. He didn't trust Kreacher at all to leave food he hadn't prepared alone. He checked with his left hand that his wand was tucked safely into his pocket in his pants, and then got up again, heading over to the living room.

"Tonks?" he called. "You around?"

There wasn't any response. He told himself sternly that she was probably lying unconscious somewhere, having tripped down a staircase, and went back into the kitchen. He spotted a piece of parchment on the countertop that he hadn't noticed before and picked it up.

'Took a long bath, I think? Well, the food's okay. Kreacher, last I saw, was holed up in the attic and isn't coming out. Said he'd not come out until you were dead, or something like that…anyway, I wouldn't go near any open bodies of water while I'm gone, or crawl in the fireplace or anything. So eat up, and I'll be back in a bit. Don't worry, everything's fine.

--Tonks.'

Harry sighed. So the food was okay to eat. That was all the reassurance he needed before he started in on the pancakes and sausage and eggs, wolfing down the food until he felt slightly less hungry. Then, he slowed down a little in order to skim the Daily Prophet lying on the table and drink a glass of milk.

He didn't feel sick and nothing tasted gritty, so he was pretty sure that Kreacher was still hiding out somewhere and not coming down. That was perfectly fine with him, he told himself happily. He was sixteen today, on his way to learning to apparate, becoming an animagi, and starting his sixth year at the coolest school in the whole of Britain.

Although he had had a rather bad morning…

He heard a sound. "Tonks? That you?" he called.

There was no response. Worried, he got up. What if someone was trying to break in? What if there were Death Eaters? What if they'd killed Tonks, and he'd just been sitting here eating while she lay dead?

Really worried now, he pulled his wand out of his pocket and held it tightly in his hand, creeping towards the door of the living room. It was empty. Dark and silent…too silent, he thought, then laughed at himself. He sounded like an idiot. Of course the stupid house was silent.

The next door led to the large dining room, he remembered. It was closed. He didn't remember it being closed before. He thought of turning on the living room lights before opening the next door, but he didn't want to make himself a larger target.

He turned the knob slowly with his left hand, his right holding his wand right next to the door. So he could fire off at least one good curse before they attacked him. He pushed the door open a little farther. The room was pitch black. If there had been anyone in the room, they would have seen his silhouette by now.

Sighing, he stood up.

And then the lights flickered on and there was a shout.

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A/N: Bwah ha ha! Don't worry, the mystery will be solved in a day, when I post again. Something like the next twenty chapters are all planned out, and they just have to be typed. As I write this, I'm munching on bagel and listening to music. I think the combination makes me want to make chapters end in terrible, horrible places. Well, at least for you. I know who it is in the room (I read ahead in the story :o) ). –Miss Laine