Thank you to my beta Laughableblackstorm for her amazing work as always. Enjoy.

Chapter V: Grimmauld Place

The numb state which Harry had been in throughout the journey from Little Whinging to London seemed to melt away like a sugar cube dissolving in hot water, as soon as he stepped through the creaky oak door of number twelve. The monster of angry, bubbling, swirling emotions inside of him reared its head furiously. A fresh wave of grief washed over him, making him suddenly lightheaded. He swayed briefly, his hand coming to rest on his spinning head as his vision blurred. Moody steadied him with a grunt and led him over to the dusty sofa in the living room, where he stood with his head bowed and arms outstretched on the backboard, leaning heavily on it. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, and felt the worst of the dizziness disappear, only to be replaced with nausea. He felt sick, sicker than he had ever felt in his life. Gathering what little strength he had left, he pushed himself into an upright position and quickly made his way to the bathroom, where he proceeded to empty his stomach. Utterly spent, he rested his forehead on the cool porcelain of the toilet bowl, seeking solace in its lack of warmth. He did not know how long he sat there, trying to regain some semblance of dignity, when he was startled by a knock on the door.

"Harry?" came Tonks' voice, timidly.

"Yeah," he croaked through his raw throat.

"Are you alright in there?"

"Yeah, I'll be out in a minute."

He pushed himself slowly up from the floor and, feeling unsteady on his feet, leaned onto the tiled wall for support. He took several deep breaths, washed his face and rinsed out his mouth thoroughly before running a critical eye over his reflection in the grubby mirror hanging over the sink. His hair was limp and lying flat for once, his cheeks were hollow and he had heavy bags under his eyes. He supposed he did look sick; maybe he was coming down with something. He gave his reflection a scathing look and left the bathroom, going straight upstairs to his room.

He collapsed tiredly onto the bed without sparing a thought to nightclothes, and pulled the covers over his head. His stomach was still churning unpleasantly and he felt powerless to stop the shivering that had taken hold of his limbs. He curled into a fetal position and hoped that he would fall asleep soon, if only for the temporary relief he would get from his complaining body.

*~*~*~*

Even the best of us dislike being woken up in the morning, especially if the sleep you are being woken from is the best you've had in a while. Being woken by your crazy best friend jumping on your bed and grinning like a loon, well…the reaction may vary depending on how cranky you are, but the sheer ridiculousness of Ron's freckly face bobbing up and down and his flailing limbs brought a ghost of a smile to Harry's face after he had gotten past his initial irritation. Ron, finally noticing that Harry was awake, jumped one last time and continued the downward motion so that he ended up in a seated position close to Harry's feet.

"Morning, sleepy head," he said with a goofy grin on his face. "Good to see ya, mate."

"Hi, Ron," he replied smiling tiredly.

"When did you get here?"

"Here? Oh, last night, quite late."

"Why didn't you wake me?"

Harry looked at him blankly. "Wake you?"

"Yeah, you know, to tell me you were here."

Harry blinked uncomprehending. Ron watched him, a hurt look coming across his features. "You didn't even notice I was here, did you?"

Harry looked over at the bed on the other side of the room; it had obviously been slept in, the covers were rumpled and looked like they had been thrown off in a hurry. "Er… Well, it was dark and late and –"

"It's okay, Harry, you don't have to make excuses. I know you have a lot on your mind."

Harry stared at the bed covers. He twisted the sheets in his fingers to give him something to do and avoid looking at Ron. He didn't want to hide things from him, but he didn't want to hurt his feelings either. Ron was terribly insecure and telling him that he hadn't been noticed wouldn't be the best idea. Not only that he, himself, felt terribly stupid for not even noticing anyone else in the room. Although he supposed that he could be excused, what with this being his house and the last time he had been here was through the floo on that god-awful day. He grit his teeth to stop himself going down that train of thought and glanced back up at Ron, quickly looking down again and feeling incredibly awkward.

Ron watched him for a moment longer and seemed to decide not no press the issue, to which he was extremely thankful. "Come on, let's go down for breakfast."

Glad for the excuse, he hurriedly jumped off the bed and followed Ron out the door.

*~*~*~*

The smell of bacon and eggs coming from the kitchen, as he descended the stairs, would have normally made his mouth water. Instead, with his recent loss of appetite, it turned his stomach, and unless he wanted to puke his guts out or turn tail and run the other way, he had to concentrate on breathing shallowly and calming his stomach until he became accustomed to the strong smell.

Ron pushed the door open, and greeted everyone with a cheery, "Morning." He strode in with big purposeful steps and took his place at the table next to Ginny. Harry stood awkwardly by the door, unwilling to announce himself in quite the same manner Ron had. The kitchen was a busy place—Mr Weasley was halfway to the door, a piece of toast crammed in his mouth as he used his arms to pull on his jacket; Tonks, Ginny and Hermione sat at one end of the table, laughing at the stories Fred and George told, in alternating sentences, of the success of their joke shop in Diagon Alley; Moody stood in the corner of the kitchen, his back to the wall, magical eye spinning crazily, sniffing each forkful of food before eating it; Remus looked to be brooding on a stool in another corner, nursing a cup of coffee moodily; and Mrs Weasley, in the middle of it all, bustled about the kitchen, flipping the bacon, taking the eggs off the stove and attending to everyone's demands without neglecting to peck her husband on his cheek with a muttered "Be safe" as he left for work.

Harry smiled awkwardly and slunk in with a muttered, "Good morning," and sat opposite Ron, next to one of the twins.

"Harry!" shrieked Hermione in surprise, drawing everyone's attention to him. "When did you get here?" she asked, a bright smile adorning her face. It seemed to him like everyone in the kitchen was holding their breath while waiting for his answer.

"Hi, Hermione," he replied, smiling. "Last night."

The kitchen suddenly came to life again, with everyone struggling to make themselves heard over the cacophony of voices that greeted Harry. It seemed like everyone was trying to get their own greeting in and hear him respond to their version of the same question, namely, 'How are you?' to which he responded with 'Fine.' Mrs Weasley, not one to ignore a guest—especially not one as favoured as Harry, whom she regarded as one of her own—came around the table and grabbed him in one of her bone crushing hugs, and then proceeded to hold him at arms length to study him critically.

"You're looking much too thin, dear. Don't those Muggles feed you anything? Not to worry, we'll fatten you up, get some good food into you," she said and he stared wide-eyed as she proceeded to fill up his plate with rashers of bacon and fried eggs and a generous helping of baked beans, wondering how on earth he was going to be able to refuse all that. "Now come on, eat all of that up, and you can have seconds when you're finished."

Harry looked around the table wide eyed. With that mountain of food, she expects me to have seconds? His eyes darted around the kitchen, desperately looking for an escape from the mountain of food lying on his plate, taunting him, and the watchful eyes of Mrs Weasley.

"Lay off the poor boy, Mrs Weasley," said Tonks with a sly grin.

Thank goodness she took pity on me and came to my rescue, he thought –

"Look at him; he looks like someone's just threatened to cut off his balls."

– Or not.

Harry spluttered and turned red in embarrassment as the table erupted with laughter. Mrs Weasley looked disapproving and Tonks was grinning openly at his reaction. Even Hermione looked amused.

Once the laughter had died down, she looked at him more closely and in genuine concern. "How are you feeling, Harry, after last night?"

"I'm alright."

Ginny's eyes narrowed. "Last night? Why? What happened last night?"

"Nothing. Nothing happened. I was just a bit…er…carsick yesterday," he replied, avoiding Tonks' eyes. "Anyway, no big deal. So, what have you lot been up to? How's the joke shop going?" he asked, steering the conversation to safer waters.

The twins, always eager for an audience, launched into a long explanation into the joke shop's success—"All thanks to you of course, mate."—and the numerous pranks they had played on the merchants of Diagon Alley. It sounded like the shop was doing well. When he left the kitchen, he realised that Remus wasn't among those who had greeted him and had left the kitchen shortly after he had entered it.

*~*~*~*

"Yeah? Well, fuck you too!" He screamed, anger clouding his vision.

Presently, Harry and Hermione, both red in the face—one from anger and the other from embarrassment—were standing facing each other. Ron was standing to Hermione's left and had taken a slightly protective stance in front of her. Ginny was to her right and slightly behind. They were in one of the empty rooms that they had been tasked to clean. There was a bucket full of Mrs Troben's Household Disinfectant near the window ledge and three soggy cloths hanging off the side of the bucket. The tension in the room was palpable. The temperature had risen to an almost unbearable degree. Ron ignored the sweat beading on his forehead.

"What the hell do you know about anything? I don't need to talk about my feelings, thank–you–very–much," he said, taking a step towards her.

Hermione's eyes filled with tears. She flinched as the water in the bucked sloshed. Ron also took a step forward.

"You think you can just read about anything in a book? Wake up, Hermione, this is real life, you're not going to find everything in a book, and certainly not anything about me," he said scathingly.

"Shut up, Harry," Ron said fiercely as Hermione fled the room. He glanced over at the doorway Hermione had left through. "What was that for? You know she was only trying to help."

Harry glared back "I don't need any help."

Ron's eyes narrowed. "You're an arse, you know that? You're an arse."

Harry's jaw clenched in response and he glared at Ron's back as he stomped out of the room angrily.

The bed creaked and Harry whirled around to face it. Ginny had just sat down; he had forgotten that she was still in the room. She was looking up at him, disapproval written all over her face.

"What?" he asked gruffly.

She raised a delicate eyebrow in response. He did not need this right now. She had no right – no right to judge him.

He turned around, abashed, but the adrenaline running through his veins refused to give way to rationality and allow him to admit that he may have overreacted. He was still angry and annoyed. How dare she come in and start telling him what he needed to do? What he needed was to be left alone. He glanced at Ginny and turned on his heel, leaving the room, unwilling to listen to self-righteous chatter. What did she know, anyway?

*~*~*~*

Later on in the day, Harry was sitting in the drawing room, gazing blankly at the Black family tree that hung in the corner of the room. He didn't need to talk about his feelings. It was no one's business how he felt. He sighed deeply and closed his eyes briefly against the memories that threatened to assault him. The restless feeling of last summer was long gone. He picked idly at a loose thread on the chair. He was so tired, oh so very tired. His bones ached with the memory of Sirius' shocked eyes as he fell through that god-forsaken veil. His eyelids drooped and the effort of forcing them open again was too much. Sirius would never open his eyes again. His head lolled to the side. He would just rest his eyes a bit. Just for a little while. Maybe, one day, he'd be lucky enough to rest his eyes and never open them again. Maybe he could have a reprieve from this pain. Maybe he could close his eyes for one last blink and never open them again. Maybe he would find peace. Was that too much to hope for?


A/N: Thank you for sticking with me for all this time. I do apologise for the delay. Please review to keep my wheels greased and keep me going! Reviews really are a great form of motivation.