Summary: Slash, Remus/Harry Despair is a bitter thing and, although the War is over and his duty as hero is done, even Harry Potter can't help but fall prey to the grasping emotion. Unable to shake the depression and the continuing cries of the Wizarding world, Harry needs someone to turn to. Enter Remus Lupin, who just might be able to help Harry in ways no one has ever been able to before.

Author's Note: Thanks go to morriganscrow for the first review on thanks also go to T.A.M and Branwen777 for their lovely comments, and to anyone who has added to the story to their favorites list or update list. :-D I really appreciate it, hehe. :-) I've had over a thousand hits, so I'm glad that you guys keep coming back for more; I'd really love it if you left a review to let me know what you think!

Character(s)/Pairing(s): Harry, Remus, Sirius, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Bill Weasley, Charlie Weasley, Snape, Tonks, Dumbledore, McGonagall, various Order members. Remus/Harry, Ron/Hermione, Charlie/Tonks, brief mentions of past Harry/Draco.

Warning(s)/Story Note(s)/Disclaimer: angst, AU (ignoring several elements of book five and completely ignoring book six), violence, language, alcohol abuse, slash, het, brief mentions of sex. Anything I've forgotten? Please, leave a review and let me know. :-) I do not own Harry Potter, any of the characters within this story, and do not claim to. No profit is being made from this work of fanfiction.

Overall Rating: M, for Mature, just to be safe.

Big hugs go to Claire for reading this chapter over for me:-D

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Heal Over, Someday

IV.

Chapter Three

devastation – verb – to lay waste; destroy

The American Heritage Dictionary

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He was in shock. Harry knew this without questioning it, and, distancing himself from his body's natural reaction to the stress, he realized that he had been in the process of going into shock for quite some time now. Isolated in his bed, in his end of the Hospital Wing, Harry hadn't seen the full spectrum of the damage done during the final battle against Voldemort. He thought he had seen it all, thought he had experienced every part of war already. He had thought he was numb against the horrors; had thought that he would be prepared for whatever met his eyes when he was finally, finally, allowed from his bed.

But…today had changed everything. In a few simple moments, he had gone from being blissfully unawares of the extent of the pain around him to seeing it and feeling it acutely. Staring at the damp, tiled wall before him, Harry had to wonder at how he'd missed the overall atmosphere of despair that had settled into the Hospital Wing. It was thick and heavy, and it was infused into every face, every movement, every voice that carried through the room. People were still dying all around him, and he hadn't noticed. Hadn't noticed until Sirius had taken his elbow as he steadied Harry on the edge of the bed and had walked him down the aisle that separated him from the bathroom, and the shower he had so desperately wanted.

He had thought they were safe, that it was over.

He wished, now, that he could have stayed in bed and avoided meeting those accusing stares, those fading eyes, the sight of blood and pus still oozing from wounds that refused to start healing, days after the battle. Five beds down, there was a man that Harry hadn't recognized to be Neville until Madam Pomfrey had come bustling by him, murmuring, "You'll be fine in time, Longbottom." Harry had stopped, tugging gently on his elbow and the grip Sirius had upon it; his godfather hadn't let him pause for any longer than a moment, and when they had neared the end of the aisle, Sirius had whispered,

"He doesn't have much time. Pomfrey is trying to make him as comfortable as possible for now."

Comfort, it appeared, was something that Neville needed in droves; the bloody bandages covering him like a patchwork quilt were covering deep, flowing wounds and Harry had caught a glimpse of what lay beneath those bandages as they rounded the corner and he turned to look back. Bile rose in his mouth at the sight, and Harry was still having a hard time fighting against the urge to be sick, an hour later.

Starting to shake with effort and shock and awe, Harry had had to lean on Sirius almost completely as the man led him to the showers, and stripping was an effort that took the both of them; Harry had little modesty left. Having been patched up in various places by various people, being shamed of his body was something he didn't have time for. War barely left him the time to sleep and eat. He paid little attention to the array of marks that littered his torso; curse burns, scars, and hex lashes formed an interesting portrait of the war over his flesh. Scrubbing his damaged skin pink, Harry had avoided looking at himself for as long as possible and had shaken his head when Sirius had asked him, from behind the cover of the door, if he was interested in getting out.

The water running over him had been scalding hot when he'd first stepped in, but the spray had long gone cold. Staring at the tile before him, Harry couldn't bring himself to leave the room, to go back out into the ward where the air was stale and the eyes staring at the back of his neck felt like pinpricks. So many accusing glares, so many tired eyes and dying friends. How had he not known? How could he have missed it? Any of it? Dumbledore, he knew, was dying, but he was doing so calmly and quietly, and his words had eased Harry into such a state of comfort, that Harry hadn't imagined the state of horror around him.

Hermione had told him that thirty-four had been killed outright. But how many were dead now? Three days after the battle, that number was ever growing and now that he'd seen it, Harry could feel those people, could feel their fading magic and he could hear their last, whispery breaths…releasing a shuddering breath of his own, Harry eased himself down onto the startlingly cold tile beneath him and lifted a shaking hand to stop the spray of the water. The room went silent, and the sound was as unnerving as the hush in the Hospital Wing just outside.

Harry hated it. Hated the quiet, hated the oppressive feel of those eyes. He had to keep asking himself how he had missed any of that, and when he came up with nothing to answer himself with, he set his head against the wall and drew his knees up to hide his pockmarked stomach, the sharp contrast of the dark scar against his pale hip. He remembered that one with acute clarity, could almost feel the wand tip burning bright and hot against his flesh as he tackled Draco Malfoy to the ground and hissed, 'Just what in the fuck do you think you're doing?'

'Playing the hero,' Draco had sneered back, glancing at the tattered robes beneath his hand; examining the wound he'd created with dispassionate fingers, he looked back up at Harry and grinned, 'That's going to scar, you know.'

Harry, who hadn't felt the pain of whatever it was until Malfoy had pointed it out, looked down at his hip and hissed again, the blood oozing into his jeans uncomfortable and warm. He didn't have time to patch himself up, and glanced over Malfoy's face and hands quickly, checking for wounds, before standing as fast as he possibly could, ignoring the sudden ache in his hip and stomach. Whatever Malfoy had done, Harry knew, without a doubt, that it would scar. It didn't matter, though. Not with time so short and the Death Eaters so close. He had to get Malfoy out of here, before they caught up with them and Draco was exposed as a spy.

'Looks like I've made my mark on you, Potter,' Draco muttered as he stood, too, glancing with wide eyes, unaccustomed to the sudden dark, around the shadowed clearing.

'You made your mark on me a long time ago, Malfoy,' Harry murmured back, hand up, motioning for Draco to be silent.

'Did—

"Harry?"

Jerking harshly at the sudden sound of his voice in the quiet room, Harry's head snapped forward with enough force to make his neck ache; squinting towards the black smudge of the doorway, Harry could make out a pale profile and muttered a soft, "What?" as he brought a hand up to cradle the back of his skull. He didn't recognize this person's voice, and Sirius had his glasses and wand; feeling their loss acutely, Harry drew himself into a tighter ball on the tiled floor and cleared his throat as he asked again, "What?"

The door shut behind whoever it was, and, for the briefest of moments, Harry felt a draft of cool air drift across his feet. The profile lengthened to a pale neck, a torso garbed in what appeared to be dark blue or black, and Harry squinted again, trying his best to find out who was advancing on him in the bathroom. A low wall separated him and whoever it was, and it became apparent that the man couldn't see him sitting on the floor when they paused and asked, again, "Harry?"

Closer now, Harry recognized that voice and relaxed slightly, realizing that it wasn't a professor or healer sent to fetch him in Sirius' stead. It was Remus, and Harry felt the delicate hoarseness of the man's voice wash over him in an entirely welcome, distracting wave. He hadn't seen the man since the battle; he had trusted Sirius when he'd told him that Remus was alive and all right, but actually hearing the man's voice was…relieving.

Clearing his throat again, which was still thick with emotion and fog from the shower, Harry replied softly, "Down here, Remus."

"Down…Harry, are you all right?"

A few quick, muffled footsteps later, and Remus had cleared the entrance to the showers, where he paused; Harry could see the edges of the man's shabby robes settling into the small pools of water still left on the shower floor and he briefly had the time to wonder if the man had noticed this at all before Remus had inhaled sharply; the sound echoed in the bathroom and Harry winced.

"I'm fine, I'm not hurt," he answered after a moment, drawing his limbs closer to himself as another draft blew across his damp skin, a few seconds after Remus' abrupt halt in the doorway. "I'm just…" Harry trailed off, not having a word to describe how he felt and what he was thinking. His few moments out of bed, in the Hospital Wing itself, had been overwhelming. He wanted to, needed, rest now, but he didn't think it'd be possible if he went back to his bed, where pain was sharp and sour in the air around him.

Was it selfish of him, he wondered, to want to avoid that hurt at all costs?

"Are you…sure?" Remus asked him, sounding vaguely surprised, making to step forward and noticing the water beneath his feet, it seemed, as he stopped, pulling something from his pocket. His wand, Harry realized after a second; the man murmured a soft word that Harry couldn't hear, and almost instantaneously, Harry felt the water on the floor and on the tile behind him dry.

His skin was still damp, though, and he was almost curious to see if he would be embarrassed if he stood now; the towels were on a shelf somewhere behind Remus, and he wondered if Sirius had placed his glasses and wand there for him, too. He hadn't asked when the man had backed out of the room, Harry's dirty clothes in hand; asking hadn't been on Harry's mind at that particular point in time. Cleaning himself had been. Scrubbing away the feel of dirt and magic and the blood had been in the forefront of his thoughts; Harry probably would have told Voldemort himself to wait until he was clean if the bastard had sprung up. The thought made Harry shudder again and he shifted slightly, feeling the dry tile stick to the clammy skin of his back and wincing as it tugged at the bandage on his shoulder.

"I…just needed to sit," Harry elaborated after another long moment had passed; it took a few moments for Remus' presence to actually register and when it did, Harry sighed softly, burying his face into his knees and murmuring, "I think I'm going into shock."

Remus didn't answer at first, and Harry heard the man's footsteps recede into the bathroom briefly. He didn't look up from his knees as the man walked away, and was quite startled to feel a sudden swathe of heat envelope him a minute or so after Remus disappeared into the other room. Squinting up, Harry was almost able to see the pale face before him, much closer than he expected the man to be; looking down, he noticed the towel Remus was pressing against him, bright red and fluffy. It was a huge thing, extending from his shoulders to the floor, where it pooled around his feet, and Harry wanted to laugh, because he recognized the towel as one from Grimmauld Place. Sirius must have brought it with him, or conjured it specifically. He felt a rush of affection for his godfather and leaned into the hands against his shoulders briefly, needing the support those hands were offering as the emotion made his head spin.

"A delayed reaction isn't uncommon, Harry, but I doubt, very much, that you're going into shock. Your injuries were extensive, but you're healing. We…" Remus trailed off after a moment, the unspoken 'We didn't expect you to,' hanging in the air suddenly and awkwardly.

His breath fanned over Harry in warm bursts, and Harry shivered again, the difference in temperature between his skin and the man's exhalations almost extreme. He hadn't realized how very cold he was until Remus had pressed the towel against him, and he drew the material against his body with one arm, dislodging the hands on his shoulders; Remus' fingers had been pressing into his wound, which ached from the cold, and the combination of sensations was too much.

"I didn't expect it, either," Harry admitted softly, looking down at Remus' chest, where a row of dully gleaming, out of focus buttons met his gaze. It was a thought that had been plaguing him for a while now; going into battle, he hadn't expected to come out. Admitting it openly hurt in a way that Harry couldn't quite name, and he felt shame and guilt burn in his stomach as he uttered the words, not quite knowing why.

"I…" Remus faltered on a reply, eventually letting the word trail into nothingness as he shifted around, hand reaching into his pocket and drawing out something Harry vaguely recognized as his glasses. He reached for them with his undamaged arm, and made several fumbling attempts at taking them from Remus' outstretched hand; Remus pressed the thin frames into Harry's trembling fingers and curled his own over them. He didn't say anything about Harry's shaking, didn't mention the time it took Harry to stand on his own, and accepted Harry's refusal of help with grace.

Harry was grateful for it; easing himself up from the tiled floor with difficulty, he couldn't meet Remus' eyes and wrapped the towel around his shivering body completely. It must have been charmed to stay warm, because he felt heat wrap around him and he was extremely thankful for it; standing beneath nearly freezing water for the better part of an hour couldn't have been good for him; not that he had minded, then, of course. Detaching himself from reality for a while had been something he'd been very keen on doing, and had been quite successful with.

Coming back to reality seemed to be a bit of a problem. Remus was quiet as Harry stood, slid his glasses on with one hand, and looked away as Harry dressed himself in the fresh clothes Sirius had left for him; things from his room at Grimmauld: his soft jeans, and an old t-shirt, his comfortable boxers and a sweatshirt of Sirius' that had seen better days but was comfortable and loose against the damaged skin of his back and shoulder.

Remus was unobtrusive and kind, and when Harry finished dressing and turned to face him, Harry was barely able to meet his eyes. Instead, he stared down at the man's hands, being held loosely at his sides, fingers long and pale against the dark blue fabric of his robes; his left wrist was bandaged, and when Harry reached for the man's hand, Remus extended it with a small smile.

"I'm quite all right, Harry," he told the younger man, as Harry examined the bandage, the bruise on his forearm, the small nicks and cuts on both of his palms. "I was, ah, unfortunately knocked out somewhere near the start of the battle, and was fortunate enough to not be hit by any stray curses. I twisted my wrist sometime during the evening, but I'm in good health."

Harry laughed ruefully, letting the man's hands fall away from his own and looked up to meet Remus' gaze. "You're pretty lucky. From what Sirius told me, I was hit with a few stray curses myself." He motioned to his shoulder and tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans, feeling his wand, which Remus had handed over after he had dressed, settle reassuringly against his palm.

"So I've heard; and you weren't the only one, either. Several of the patients in the Hospital Wing were hit with several…stray pieces of magic, and I've been in the library with Hermione, trying to help her find out which ones. Madam Pomfrey can't be spared, so she's given us a list of symptoms, and we were left to puzzle them out." Holding the door to the Hospital Wing open for Harry, Remus turned back slightly to look at the young man, who was looking beyond the doorway, at the edge of a bed, with veiled eyes. Frowning, he asked, "Are you all right?"

Harry wasn't quite sure about how he wanted to word this, if he would sound selfish or self-centered if he told the man how, exactly, he felt about going back to the Hospital Wing. Rolling his sore shoulder slowly, Harry attempted to answer as well as he could.

"I, uh…it's too…quiet. It's too quiet in there," he finished, the explanation sounding rather lame to his ears, but when he looked up and met Remus' gaze, he found Remus nodding, holding the door open wider.

"I can take you up to the library, if you'd like. Sirius volunteered to help Hermione and I, and you're more than welcome to come up. He asked me to come down to check on you; I was supposed to see you safely back to bed, but I don't think Sirius would mind some company. Hermione isn't…much of a conversationalist just now; neither am I, I'm afraid."

"You seem to be doing just fine right now," Harry said, crossing in front of the man, going through the opened door. He tried his best to avoid looking to his right, towards the ward and the many patients within it and kept his focus on the imposing door to his left. Hairs rose on the back of his neck, and he wasn't quite sure if it was from the change in temperature, or as a result of people watching him, their eyes following him from their beds like they had before. He winced.

Turning his face and body away from the ward, placing it behind him, Harry glanced over his shoulder to see if Remus was following him, and found the man watching him a rather curious looking smile. Harry didn't remember ever seeing an expression quite like it on the man's face and opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, when Remus shook his head, smile falling away as he replied lightly, "It's brief, I assure you."

He let his hand fall from the doorknob and started after Harry, only pausing long enough to nod at Madam Pomfrey, who was retiring into her dark office; she looked like she could sleep for a week if allowed to, and Harry wondered who was taking care of the patients to allow her some rest. He didn't dare look back, however, and started towards the door into the hall without waiting for Remus to catch up with him; his legs were shaking, and he knew the climb to the library was going to be a difficult one, but he had to get out of here, as soon as his damaged body could carry him away.

If Remus noticed his desperation to get out of the Hospital Wing, he didn't say anything as he joined Harry in the hall, and Harry was immensely grateful for that. Explaining himself would have been impossible.

Remus took him by the elbow, and they made their way slowly up to the library, where Sirius and Hermione where pouring over a stack of books, faces drawn tight with exhaustion. Sirius looked happy to see them and Hermione barely looked up, and as Remus helped him into one of the armchairs they'd conjured, Harry noticed that Remus was looking suddenly distant, gaze focused on the books on the table before him. He wondered what sort of symptoms the people in the Hospital Wing were displaying to warrant this sort of dedication, and suddenly realized that maybe he didn't want to know.

It was bound to be terrible; if Sirius was actually sitting still, in one place, and not complaining as he helped Hermione and Remus look through the grim looking books, it had to be. If Hermione, looking as exhausted as she was, was still plugging along, when her fiancé was down in the Hospital Wing…Harry's stomach turned, before he could finish the thought. Ron. He hadn't been to see Ron yet and only knew that his best friend had been injured extensively.

Was Ron one of the people displaying odd symptoms? Harry wrung his hands in his lap and thought over the question for a moment, debating on whether or not he really wanted to ask, when the desire to know overwhelmed the reservations he had. Clenching his fingers together, Harry swallowed, steeling himself for the answer.

"Is Ron…is he one of them? Did he…" Harry trailed off, stomach lurching. Hermione was looking up at him, palms pressed flat and shaking against the book before her, the bandages bright white against the yellowed pages. And Harry knew, from the set of her jaw, to the tears hanging on her lashes, that Ron was one of them; he moaned softly, pressing a shaking hand to his eyes to blot out the scene before him. This was too much.

How much were they expected to deal with? How much did they have to through before it was finally over?

"Ron is starting to display the symptoms that four other people starting developing the night after the battle," Remus was saying to him, voice steady but tired. Harry hadn't noticed how tired the man had sounded before; he hadn't realized how exhausted Remus looked when he'd come to get him. "We lost two during the course of the night, and three more, including Ron, are showing signs."

"Signs of what?" Harry found himself asking, pulling his fingers away from his eyes and focusing on his godfather, who was worrying his lip between his teeth, determinedly ignoring the conversation around him.

"Signs of…whatever this is. Poppy has given us a list of symptoms, as I've said, and they include things than range from fever to the loss of a person's magical signature, to the actual loss of magic itself. Whether one or more curses were crossed in the process, or whether the Death Eaters developed this one on their own, we don't know yet. But…"

"More symptoms are showing up," Hermione interrupted, voice raspy. "Ron's wounds aren't healing and his bones aren't mending, despite the treatments Madam Pomfrey keeps giving him. He's…failing." The word looked as though it hurt Hermione physically, and Harry didn't doubt that it did.

"It's like something's leeching the strength out of them," Sirius supplied, without looking up from his book. "We've tried looking for an outside source, something Moony thought to be pretty likely, but it didn't pan out."

"I'm still quite worried about that," Remus answered, running his fingers over the edge of the bandage on his wrist and peering thoughtfully down at the book before him. His graying honey colored hair fell into his eyes, and Harry resisted the urge to lean over and push it to the side. He wanted to see Remus' eyes, to know if anything were being held back from him.

"We thought, at first, that the headmaster was experiencing the same thing as the other four patients, but it appears, simply, that his injuries are…too much for his body to handle. He was drained of too much magic during the battle and sustaining the output of energy he managed to keep up, for as long as he did, did great damage to his body itself. His healing has been limited, and he hasn't responded to any of Poppy's treatments," Remus continued, still staring down at the book before him.

"I don't understand it at all," Hermione said, and Harry realized that she was now simply thinking out loud. She wasn't directing the statement towards anyone in particular, and she looked distant, occupied; her thoughts were visibly jumbled and Harry wished that his friend would allow herself the rest she so desperately needed. It looked like the night of the battle was the last time she'd had any time to herself, and that had been after Harry had fended her off, sending her to her bed beside Ron.

"How much time does Professor Dumbledore have?" Harry asked, turning back to Remus, who looked up and frowned, deeply.

"At the rate he's been declining? Three, four days. A week, if we're lucky. He's lending us whatever knowledge he can, for now, but it simply…hasn't been enough. We didn't have much intelligence from the inside; Severus didn't have anything to do with the development of any of the new spells we've seen, and since we…lost Draco, none of our spies have reached the position he held within the Death Eaters' ranks."

"Not like he would have been doing us any good alive," Sirius muttered, closing the large tome in front of him with a loud bang that echoed in Harry's ears and through the library itself. Harry half-expected Madam Pince to come out from the depths of the rows surrounding them to brandish a feather duster at them for the noise.

He was still peering into the row of books behind Sirius, when the man stood suddenly and pushed his chair back with a flourish. "I've had enough of this for now. I'm famished," he announced to the room at large, and Hermione scowled up at him, the dark circles under her eyes more pronounced than ever. "I'm off to the kitchens; anyone care to join me?"

Harry, who was still tired and sore from the effort of climbing the stairs to get here, began to shake his head, when Remus stood as well, gently shutting his book and reaching for Hermione's. She opened her mouth in obvious outrage when Remus interrupted her softly, "You should take a break, Hermione. It's important that you eat, and I'm sure Ronald would enjoy your company for a while." When Hermione began to protest, Remus continued, "You can come back up later; I'll come to fetch you. I promise."

Harry could see what Remus was trying to do and realized that he didn't have much of a choice in getting up to leave. If he wanted Hermione to eat, he would have to see to it that she did. He would also have to send her off to bed again, because he didn't plan on letting up until she agreed to take some time for herself. She had been going full throttle since well before the final battle, helping the Order gather and organize their information, and had been part of the effort to strengthen the wards on Hogwarts and its grounds. Voldemort had still managed to get through the former and onto the latter, but their efforts had paid off.

Voldemort was gone now, and Hermione needed rest. They all did, if he were being honest.

Pushing himself up and off of the chair with some difficulty, Harry accepted the arm that Sirius extended his way and walked slowly over to where Hermione was sitting, staring at Remus with a resigned look on her features that spoke of her reluctance to leave. Her eyes rose to meet his when he stopped in front of her, and when he extended a hand, he asked her softly, "Please?"

"Harry, I…"

"Can come back later. Remus said he'd come to get you, and you really do need to rest. You look like shit," he told her frankly, smiling a little at the broken laugh that spilled from her mouth as he said it.

"That's not a very nice thing to say to a woman, Harry," Hermione told him, accepting his hand and pushing away from her chair with several stiff movements; he saw her wince when she finally stood, and he smiled again, kissing the backs of her knuckles as he let her hand fall away.

"I've never been very good with women, I'm afraid," Harry said, ignoring Sirius' snort of laughter beside him. "But Sirius has the right idea and Remus is right, too. Working yourself into a stupor isn't going to do Ron, or any of the others, any good."

That seemed to be the straw that broke the camel's back, so to speak, and Hermione nodded, reaching up to wipe a few stray tears from her eyes, explaining them away as she mumbled, "I'm so tired."

"First you need to eat, but then you can rest," Remus said as he took Hermione by the elbow, steering her towards the door as Sirius was steering Harry. "And I'll come to get you once I get a few hours of sleep, myself."

"You really don't have to," Hermione began to protest, but Remus shook his head and Harry interrupted him before he could answer the woman.

"I'd…like to come up, as well," Harry murmured, clutching briefly at the hand Sirius had on his arm as he almost stumbled. Although he wanted to avoid the suffering happening in the Hospital Wing at any and all costs, Harry also wanted to be of some help; he felt useless, lying in his bed as people died around him. He was relatively healthy, if not a bit exhausted, and he could be of help. He looked imploringly at Remus, who seemed about ready to tell him no, and smiled humbly. "Please?"

"I…" Remus paused, and sighed. "If it's all right with Sirius, we could use all the help we can get."

Harry looked to his godfather, who was staring back at him, visibly weighing the options and wincing as Harry fixed a look on him. "That's not fair, kiddo. You're still in pretty bad shape, and I don't want Madam Pomfrey on my heels for letting you roam the school."

"Tell her it was my idea. And I don't see what you can do to stop me, anyways. I want to help Hermione and Remus. I need to help Ron," he added, squeezing Sirius' hand again.

"Damn, Harry. I can't stop you, but you're still pretty hurt. You need rest as much as anyone else."

"It doesn't matter!" Harry exclaimed, suddenly feeling angry, hurt. "Defeating Voldemort won't mean anything if Ron dies because of some fucking spell that we couldn't figure out, if everyone else dies because of fucking Death Eaters!" he spat, stopping in the middle of the hall, ignoring the looks Hermione and Remus were giving him. Sirius was looking uncomfortable, and as suddenly as his anger came upon him, it left, leaving him feeling deflated and ashamed. "God, I'm sorry. I'm just…"

"I understand, Harry. Let's just…get you fed. We'll talk about it later; I don't care if you help Moony and Hermione." Sirius sounded wounded, but determined to hide it, and Harry wondered if he'd missed something. He looked to Remus, who shook his head, and Harry resolved to ask the man, later, if he knew what he had said to make Sirius sound that way.

"I…all right. I'm just…"

"I understand," Sirius repeated, taking him by the elbow again, easing him down the stairs one at a time.

Sighing, Harry left the conversation there, regretting his outburst, which had hurt his godfather and had left Remus and Hermione staring at him in…something. He couldn't quite call it pity, but it was close, and Harry wasn't sure if that bothered him or not. Focused entirely on making it down the stairs without tripping both Sirius and himself, Harry mentally stored the exchange for a later date and clung to the hand supporting him as he took the stairs slowly. Hermione was going almost as slowly as he was, both hands steadying her on the railing, and Remus was walking beside her, looking ready to catch her if she fell. It suddenly struck Harry that they must make an interesting sight, indeed, and he laughed softly as Sirius stopped on the step below him, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow.

"It's…nothing. Just…it's not important." Harry explained.

"Are you sure?"

"I…yeah. I guess so." Nodding, Harry followed his godfather down the steps, into the Entrance Hall, where, helping Harry sit down on the steps, Sirius told he and Hermione to wait, while he procured a picnic basket. Remus went with him, and Hermione sat down beside him with a sigh. They exchanged looks, and silently agreed to leave things be for now.

They'd talk, in time.

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