Chapter 2

Several days after the incident, Dumbledore was pacing his expansive office at Hogwarts castle. Professor McGonagle followed his almost erratic movements from where she was standing beside his desk.

The professor, and long time friend of the headmaster, had a knack for vocalizing what he couldn't and somehow centering his thoughts when he could not. However, at the moment she found herself speechless

She'd hoped that they would not be faced with these kinds of situations after Voldemort. The fact that they were again worrying about Harry's safety and well-being saddened her. She didn't want to think that Harry might never be free to live his life as he pleased, without worry of attack or protecting those close to him.

McGonagle repressed a sigh as Dumbledore circled the room for the 78th time. The professor was nothing if not precise.

"I don't get it," Dumbledore said out of the blue.

McGonagle nodded sympathetically and remained silent.

"What do they gain from this- encounter?" he stumbled on the word, knowing it was just a weak substitute for "rape."

He again gave up on words and continued pacing. This attack left him bewildered and as a result frustrated beyond belief.

Dumbledore has almost always been able to determine what others looked to gain and thusly how to counter them. However, for once he was stumped. It didn't help that he'd been struggling to piece things together from Hermione, Ron and Sirius. Several days later and Harry still would not speak about what had happened. He was beginning to think that Harry may never open up and feared that if he didn't think up something soon that he'd have to watch Harry withdraw further within himself.

Dumbledore looked to McGonagle and saw the sadness he felt echoed in her eyes. She sighed and left the headmaster to his thoughts, a slight slouch in her usually graceful posture.

--

A flash of green enveloped the room followed by a puff of smoke. Lupin sighed and shook his head at the source of the small explosion.

Under other circumstances he would be trying to repress a hearty belly laugh. The sight was quite hilarious. Sirius Black covered in a green gelatin, scorched clothes and an indignant look upon his face.

As he drank in the sight a smile slowly crept onto his face. Leave it to Sirius to inadvertently lighten a foul mood.

"You know if you don't know how to make a potion you could just use one of the text books instead of trying to wing it," Lupin said in a joking voice.

Sirius glared at him while retrieving a towel from across the room. He slowly toweled off his face and hair. Lupin's good mood was short lived and he was thrown back into overwhelming stress.

"I know it's hard to concentrate on anything but catching those bastards but we have to be able to accomplish minor tasks with a minimal amount damage."

Sirius ignored his friend as he removed the scorched shirt. Lupin was at a loss. Everything he'd tried to get Sirius to respond with his usual wit got little to no response.

"Sirius," he addressed softly and waited for the other to look at him, "talk to me."

They held each other's gaze for a moment before Sirius looked away. He wrapped the dirty towel around his neck and stood in front of Lupin's desk, fiddling with some of the objects on it as he thought.

"I don't know what to do," he spoke quietly, "I want to hunt them down; chase them to the ends of the earth and make them pay for what they've done."

Lupin nodded as Sirius paused, looking up momentarily from the desk before letting his eyes drop again and continuing, "but something's holding me back."

"Harry," Lupin added and Sirius nodded.

"In a way," he said thoughtfully as he sat down on the desk, "but I don't know what I accomplish from being here. He won't speak to me. He'll barely look at me. I doubt my presence brings him much comfort if at all."

A small smile played on Lupin's lips, "it does."

Sirius shrugged and fidgeted, "what should I do?"

Lupin leaned back in his chair, "I know what you want to hear. You want me to tell you that there are plenty of people here who care about Harry and will be able to take care of him while you're out looking for vengeance."

Sirius shook his head and Lupin held up his hand.

"But I'm going to tell you what you need to hear," he continued earnestly, "yes, there are plenty of people here who can look out for Harry, but no one can do for him what you can."

Sirius was unconvinced, "and what's that?"

"Make him open up. If you go he'll continue this downward spiral and by the time you've accomplished what you set out to do it won't matter anyway because he'll be lost to us."

Sirius stood up, his movement betraying his frustration, "and how am I suppose to do that? He won't talk to me."

"You'll find a way."

"And why is it that only I can figure out how to do this?" he continued to rant, "What about Ron and Hermione?"

"His first instinct is to protect them, he'll never talk about something this traumatic with them."

"What about you?"

"I'll admit I have a better shot than Hermione and Ron but he'd never open up completely to me."

"What about Dumbledore?"

"Now you're fishing," Lupin shook his head and Sirius' shoulders dropped lower, as if under a heavy weight.

"What's so special about me then?"

"You don't know?" Lupin asked, searching Sirius' eyes.

Sirius shook his head awaiting Lupin's response.

"He loves you."

Sirius stared for what felt like a moment too long, then nodded.

"Makes sense," he said in a calm tone, "I'm the closest thing he's had to family all his life… Which isn't saying much."

Lupin smiled and stood up. He walked to the table Sirius had previously been sitting at and began cleaning up the forgotten mess.

"I still don't know what to do," Sirius admitted as he watched Lupin work.

"Just be there for him," Lupin answered and threw the damaged pot into a garbage can, "and know that I'll be here for you."

Sirius nodded, a determined look on his face.

--

Harry stood under the showerhead, soapy suds running down his body as he moved under the spray. His breath hitched as the hot water ran along his back and down between his cheeks. He looked down at his red skin and tried to reassure himself that he was clean, that the soap was strong enough and the water hot enough that no bacteria could survive on his person.

Harry scratched at his stomach and knew that it was pointless. He turned the water off and stepped out into the cool air, coughing in response to the temperature change. He picked up the last of the clean towels and wrapped it around his waist, vowing not to shower again for at least 2 hours. Well maybe that's too ambitious, an hour and a half… Or maybe an hour at least.

He vowed not to shower until 25 minutes had past, that's 5 minutes more than he'd been waiting between showers all day.

Harry gently toweled himself off, careful not to scrape against the burn blisters forming on his shoulders. He put on a new set of clothing, putting the previous one to wash; aside from the underwear, which he placed in the garbage. He sighed at the full bin and thought about removing the garments, knowing that it's foolish to throw out perfectly good underwear. He raised his arm towards the bin but lowered it just as quickly and exited the room.

He stood in the middle of his room at Hogwarts, feeling lost and confused. He didn't want to sit down. He didn't feel like standing. He didn't want to be pent up in his room, but he couldn't face leaving it.

He looked at his desk and the mountain of letters piled on top, many of which were from Hermione and Ron.

After the "incident" Dumbledore felt that it was in their best interest to cut their visit short. They only agreed after some convincing from Harry.

So far they had kept up their promise to write everyday, and sometimes twice a day. Harry was glad that he didn't promise to respond to them all. Truth be told, he hadn't bothered to read even one of their letters.

He shifted his weight from one foot to another and tried to ignore the irritating feeling of having a shirt on his abused shoulders and back. His fingers twitched as his thoughts moved lower and he felt a burning pain deep within his bowels.

Harry grabbed the chair from his desk and set it in the middle of the room. He kneeled in front of it, resting his elbows on the seat and leaning his head forward. He tried desperately to clear his mind and close his eyes so that he could begin meditation.

He wasn't sure why he felt compelled to do so. He hadn't done it in years. Not since Remus helped guide him in meditation when he couldn't sleep after Sirius' near death.

No wait, Harry had to remind himself that Sirius was dead, and thanks to his, Lupin and Dumbledore's efforts that was no longer the case.

Harry's eyes drifted closed as he thought back to Lupin's teachings. He felt himself begin to drift into nothingness but was quickly pulled back by another twitch in his arm.

"Damn it all," he muttered under his breath as he readjusted his position.

Harry put his hands on his knees and let his forehead rest on the seat of the chair. He momentarily thought that it would be more comfortable to do this on his bed but he'd taken a distinct disliking to beds of any kind. He also knew that it was another irrational behavior but that didn't ease his discomfort with that certain piece of furniture.

Harry thought back to before Sirius came back, when he thought they'd never see each other again and that he'd lost the last thread of family he had. Through so many dark patches in his life he'd say that was the darkest. Nothing could console him during that period. He became reclusive and destructive.

He found himself grinning at the memory of nearly killing Draco Malfoy during a particularly intense game of quittage. A part of him felt bad for what happened, then again, it was Malfoy. No one thought twice about what happened, aside from Dumbledore and Lupin.

Harry tried to clear his mind again, his hand running up and down his thigh.

He began thinking about his shower. He sighed as the urge hit him in the pit of his stomach.

"No, it won't do anything. I won't feel any better so there's no point," he tried to remind himself, his hand gripping his pant leg as he forced himself not to get up.

His legs twitched and strained to get up, but he kept his head firmly placed to the seat of the chair. He knew as soon as he lifted his head it'd be over and he wouldn't be able to stop himself. His hand moved up to his crotch alternating between rubbing and grabbing.

His actions bewildered him. He had no idea why at odd times he'd find himself masturbating. He was lucky that he hadn't started doing it in front of other people, yet.

He grunted in frustration and thought that he was losing control of his body and his mind wasn't far behind. He lifted his head from the chair and moaned under his breath as he handled himself.

He wanted to stop. He wanted to go outside for a walk, or ride his broom to some secluded place where he could collect his thoughts.

"That's what I'm gonna do," he said to himself, "I'm not going to lose control."

Shortly thereafter his stomach muscles clenched and whimpered into his other hand.

His arms fell to his sides as he looked down at his lap with disgust. He looked back up to a clock on the wall. 19 minutes had passed since his last shower.

"Right on time."

--

A/N: Yes I know this is short and almost none of your questions have been answered. evil But it is important to get the story going in the right direction. Stay tuned for the next installment in which a little more light is shed onto the situation and the identity of the person behind the attack.

Thank you to everyone who's put me on their story alerts/favorites and an extra special shout out to Siriusly Megara, semper paratis and lilsteves for their reviews, the topless Sirius Black scene is dedicated to you. ;)