Chapter Nineteen: Unpleasant Places

Harry ached. His bones felt brittle, his head pounded in time with the beat of his heart. The bright sunlight was agony to his sensitive eyes. But he forced a smile onto his face, locked his knees so he would stay standing and waved at the happy family riding along in the pasture without him.

He was lucky he was not forced to go with them. The muscles along his jaw were starting to tingle. He opened his mouth and flexed the aching joint. He wanted to rage at them. He wanted to shout. But he snapped his mouth shut when Ginny rode around the circle again, calling out with a wave and a smile.

Of all the ways his homecoming with the Blacks could have gone, this, this was not the way he had imagined it. He had imagined a quiet time before school, where he could sit down and really get to know Sirius. He imagined tales of his parents – more about his mother, he'd hoped – and lots of sweets and games or something.

He had not expected a Healer who criticized his every move. He did not expect his godfather to be nodding along with the man. He did not expect to be chastised for telling the truth. He did not expect to be told one thing and after doing it, be told another and another and another.

It's like nothing I do is enough, the bitter voice spoke in the back of his mind. He swallowed down the rush of saliva in his mouth. He'd been feeling ill all morning. But the first time he'd pushed himself to the point where he had vomited, he'd been told to stop trying for attention. After all Harry, the insidious voice that sounded like his godfather's, You're not sick. So stop making yourself sick. It won't do you any good.

He shook his head with a violent shudder. He wouldn't think that way. He couldn't. They loved him. They had to love him, right? Sirius believed this was for his own good. Sirius was being pressured by the family Healer. Sirius was trying to save him, wasn't he? Fondorn wanted to put him in the mental ward at St. Mungo's. Sirius was saving him from that fate.

Keep on believing that, came a softer voice that sounded like Draco. If it makes you feel better, you stupid Gryffindor. Harry's heart ached whenever he thought of the blond. The subject of the Malfoys was strictly off limits in the Black household. The first time Harry had mentioned them, Sirius had blown up at him, shouting and screaming about the whole family for more than an hour. It was an ordeal that Harry did not want to repeat.

A shadow crossed his face, snapping his smile back into place. He blinked up at Remus, who held a tray of hot drinks in his hands.

"Bit cold out here, isn't it?" The werewolf settled down next to Harry on the stack of hay bales. He passed over a mug of hot chocolate. "Don't know where this wind came from. It was fine weeks ago."

Harry buried his nose in the thick, sweet liquid and tried not to be bitter. Weeks ago he was still at his Aunt's house, working in the yard, the garage, the kitchen…Weeks ago he was bleeding from the eyes as he waited for his godfather to save him from the Dursleys. Weeks ago…He closed his eyes against the rush of pain that flooded his bones. The hot chocolate tasted like mud.

"And how are you doing, Harry? I'm surprised you're not out there with Ginny and Sirius."

Harry went still at the question. He was beginning to dread those types of questions. He never answered them right. If he said he was fine all the time, they called him a liar. If he told them the truth, they said he was "slipping" back into the wrong mindset. He was getting bloody tired of the questions, truth be told.

"My knee felt funny," it was a partial truth, an art he was getting good at. He had taken a nasty fall the night before, trying to get to his rooms. Healer Fondorn had refused to heal the bruised joint, as a reminder to stop being so weak. He was stronger than that! He should be out running around the grounds like a normal wizard his age! If he felt unwell, then he was obviously sliding back into the lies the Malfoys told him! Harry shuddered away from the sound of the Healer's voice in his mind. He had plenty of things he wanted to do to that Healer of his godfather's.

"Ah, that's a shame," Remus patted him on the back just as he tried to take a sip of his drink. The resulting coughing spat brought Sirius over to the wooden fence.

"Wotcha, Harry?" The gleam of the animagus' eyes was bright in the sharp afternoon light.

Harry waved him off with a smile. "Remus is just trying to kill me," he tried for a joke. It fell flat.

"Harry," Sirius' face fell. "We've talked about that. No one is trying to kill you anymore…"

"I was joking! Kidding, funny, ha-ha?" He held up his cup. "I can't drink and breathe at the same time. Remus helped me find that out."

Sirius leaned against the fencepost. "We've also talked about that sarcasm before, Harry."

"Sorry," Harry swallowed back a bitter retort. "I thought it was funny."

"Well, it's not." Sirius frowned. "I thought we were going to have a good time today, Harry. You were doing so well."

"I'm fine!" Harry knew that tone. It was Sirius' "I'm disappointed in you" tone. It was the tone of voice his godfather used when he began talking about calling in Healer Fondorn to "look Harry over" yet again.

"Ginny's got talent, you know?" Harry cast around for anything to babble about. "Have you signed her up for lessons? Has she jumped anything yet?"

"What?"

"You know, like on the telly," Harry curled cold fingers around his mug. "A- Aunt Petunia used to watch it sometimes. Horse jumping. They had huge contests and whatnot. Prizes, wreathes, the whole thing. Beautiful horses too. Ginny would be great at it!"

Sirius' frown had not completely disappeared. "Ginny thinks about more things than prizes and wreathes. She's a good girl," the man closed his mouth with a snap. Harry ducked his head, hearing the words that were unsaid.

Not like me, he finished the unhappy thought.

"Harry, I didn't mean…" Sirius' unhappy sigh was loud in the silence. "Moony, tell him. I didn't mean it like that. You're both good kids. You just have…problems, sometimes, Harry."

"Sorry," it came out by rote. Harry was also getting bloody tried of apologizing for being who he was.

"Remus…" Sirius' tone was full of tight emotion. "Talk to him, would you? I – I just can't do this right now." Harry kept his head down as Sirius stalked away.

"He doesn't mean it, you know." Remus laid a warm hand on Harry's shoulder.

"I know."

"He loves you."

Does he? "I know."

"He wants what's best for you."

"He listens to Healer Fondorn a lot."

"Healer Fondorn has been taking care of Sirius since he was little."

"Was Healer Fondorn on his side when Sirius' family was against him?"

The warm hand went away. "Harry, Fondorn is a trusted, well respected Healer."

"He doesn't listen to me."

"I think he listens to you. You just don't like what he hears."

That's the truth, Harry's mouth twisted in an unhappy frown. "What if what I was saying was the truth?"

"Harry…" The tired sigh in the werewolf's voice was hard to hear. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that. Fondorn told us to report when you tried to manipulate us into your line of thinking."

"But I'm not!"

"Yes, you are. Now come on, Harry. Sirius would never hurt you. You know that."

Harry turned his face away, blinking back stinging tears. "Of course I know that," he said after clearing his throat. "Of course I do, Remus. I'm so happy to be here, really I am. It's – I guess I just need to adjust some more."

"Sirius was right. We never should have let the Malfoys have you. Even for such a short period of time."

Harry said nothing in return. They always tried to get him to agree. But he kept that piece of himself back from them, set aside and aloof from whatever else they wanted him to spout. He was grateful for the small time he'd had with Draco. It had given him enough time to learn how to access the roads that he could walk.

Harry focused on a far point on the horizon and tuned out Remus' words. He had a plan to put together. Pythia was right. No one could keep him where he did not want to stay. It was time his godfather and his new family found that out.

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Draco threw the handful of chalk in his hand at the far wall. The room was bare, save for the granite floor and piles of supplies he had set up along the wall outside of the circle.

He couldn't get it to work. He crouched down, his elbows resting on his knees, hands hanging limp in front of him. He could not call the circle into life. Something was missing. Harry was missing.

The days and then week that had slipped by since Severus had returned to the Manor had been an agony for them all. Draco had never seen the Potions Master look so frail or so weak. He was woken in the night by the Severus' screams down the hall. Whatever had been done to the man had shaken the very foundation of the man's confidence. Lucius had said nothing on the matter, but the dark expression that had been settled onto his face since the whole mess had started told Draco volumes.

Draco had taken to honing his skill with the ancient arts. His years in Ancient Runes had helped enormously with the task. His owls to his classmates had been full of other information, most relating to his current project, some not.

The Slytherin family had not been found. Scrimgeour's sudden courting of the upper middle class muggleborn families was troubling. Unspeakables had been seen combing the whole of England for proof of the ancient gods returns. The Daily Prophet fought its battles in the arena of public commentary. The paper's headquarters were being protested and plastered with eggs and other rotted vegetables daily. The whole of the wizarding world was perched on the edge of the precipice that had one name firmly in its teeth. Harry Potter. They all believed Harry had the answers they needed. They all believed Harry was either their savior or the agent who would bring about the world's demise.

Draco wanted to kill them all. He wanted a way into the Black Manor where he could then rescue Harry and then – and then – And then what, you bloody fool? Take him home? They'd storm the doors and wreck everything even worse. Go into hiding? That would just make the rumors worse. There is nothing you can do!

He slammed a fist into the cold, gray tiles under his feet. His hand bloomed with pain, but he pushed it aside. I need help, he clenched his eyes shut and swallowed down a scream. Please, he didn't know whom he was praying to. Please, let him be all right. Let him know I – we're worried about him. Please… He fell forward, hands spread against the cold ground. Please let him be all right…

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The Dark folded around her, the slice of open sky and strange stars unfolding before her. The Morrigan winged through the quiet courtyard of Gwyn ap Nudd, transforming as she landed. Her boots made no sound on the cobblestones.

The castle was restored to its former brilliance. The high walls of the bailey blocked out the stars. The moon that hung low on the horizon threw her shadow against the dark stone.

There were lights on in many of the rooms. She could hear laughter coming from the main hall. The odors of roasting meat and herbs filled the air. Cold wind swept around her; the stench she had been chasing still lingered in her nose.

The doors banged open at the push of her hands. The bright laughter was cut off. She stood on the threshold to light and warmth, her hair wild about her face.

Gwyn ap Nudd stood with the long scrap of his chair against the stone floor. "Morrigan," his bow was brief.

"I need to speak to you."

The Winter King glanced down at the girl at his side. Erin wrapped one hand around his wrist and turned large eyes up at the god. He touched the side of her face with the back of his hand.

"I am busy."

"Not busy for this, I promise you."

"Then come eat with us and we will discuss this matter after."

"It cannot wait."

"Morrigan," the god let out a short puff of air. "What do you want?"

"Can you not smell it?"

She was answered by a slow blink. "Smell what?"

"Something is wrong, boy. Have you see the Dark? It boils like water over a fire."

"The Dark has receded from our lands, Morrigan. We have been given back out suns and our moons, our stars and our fertile land. There is nothing wrong with the Dark."

"Something has returned."

"Yes, we have."

"Something…else."

Gwyn ap Nudd shook his head, turned his face away from her. "You are restless, we all are. But now is not the time for strife and war, old crow. Blood will flow soon enough; let us enjoy what peace there is."

"You fool," she snarled, startling him. "It's already here. It's everywhere. You are the god of Annwn and yet you turn your face away from what should be your duties!"

"And you are too eager to resume yours!"

"My duties have been to the protection of our people and something is wrong!"

His fist rattled the cutlery on the table. "Your duties? Since when has the great goddess of frenzy and battle taken interest in her other duties? You hunger for war and that is all!"

"And you have gone soft with the arrival of that little brat at your side!"

The thick silence that fell was broken by Erin's shocked gasp.

"You would do well to think wisely about your next words," Gwyn ap Nudd said.

The Morrigan clenched her hands into fists at her side. "We all wish for peace," the word was spat from her mouth. "But I tell you, god of Annwn, there is something rotten moving through the Dark. It is there," she raised a long, tapered finger. "It is there, eating away at everything we think is whole once more. No amount of wishing will make it go away. That which you hold dear will be taken from you, if you do not open your eyes and look."

"You go too far, Morrigan." The god raised himself to his full height. "You have never understood that which drives most of us. All we have wanted was a stable land, our families, our loved ones safe. You are death and despair, nothing more. You see shadows where there are none."

"And you are a fool," she turned her head and spat. Her blood raced through her veins. "You are the one who knows nothing." She turned on her heel and stalked for the door. "Open your eyes, little boy. Stop playing at being the doting father and be one." She transformed before he could speak, letting out a piercing scream into the face of the glowing moon. A door to the Dark opened in front of her and she was gone.

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Harry jolted awake with a choked off cry. He passed one hand across his watering eyes, wincing at the sight of blood on the back of his hand.

His door opened before he could wipe the evidence away. Sirius came into the room, hair mussed from sleep. "Harry?" He stood with his wand in his hand, the lighted tip illuminating the room.

"It was just a bad dream, Sirius." He turned his face away from the older wizard, trying to hide the state of his face.

"You were shouting," the animagus moved closer to the bed. "Are you all right?"

"Just shaken. I'm fine. I'll be asleep in no time."

Sirius flicked his wand at the bedside lamp. The fire roared to life in the hearth. Harry wiped at his face, hoping he got most of the blood off of his skin.

"Harry?" Sirius sat at the edge of the bed. "Would you look at me, please?"

Harry flicked a glance in the man's direction. "It's nothing, Sirius. Really."

"A bad dream isn't nothing, Harry. You want to tell me about it?"

"No, not really."

"Come now," Sirius reached out and patted Harry's shoulder. "James would always tell me his bad dreams and I could always cheer him up. You're just like him, aren't you? I'll have you on your way to a dreamless sleep in no time."

Harry felt a muscle tick in his jaw. "Sirius," he kept his eyes to the wrinkled coverlet. "You…you do realize I'm not my father, right?"

"Of course," the animagus waved it off with a laugh. "But all wizards take after their parents, you see? You look just like him, you act just like him – well, usually," a faint frown passed over his face. "You'll be back to normal in no time, kiddo! Now, tell me about this dream."

Harry hid his bloody hands under the covers. "I…" He really didn't want to talk about the dream. "It's all kind of muddled," he hedged.

"Oh, one of those," Sirius nodded with affected gravity. "They mean nothing, Harry. They're just your mind putting random bits and pieces of memory and imagination together. They do not tell the future," Sirius reached out and gripped Harry's shoulder once more. "No matter what anyone says. True Seers are born from the Families that carry the talent. They don't come out of evil potions or anything else. Right, Harry?"

"…Right. Of course."

"So what was your dream?"

"…It was nothing."

"It was a lie, just imagination. Right?"

"It was a dream."

"Right, exactly." Sirius let out a long breath. "You want a potion to get back to sleep?"

"No, thank you."

"Cookies?"

"No, thank you."

"You're refusing cookies? James never refused cookies." Sirius shook his head with a laugh. "Tandy!" The house elf appeared with a soft pop of displaced air. "A plate of cookies, please."

"No, really, Sirius…"

"And two glasses of milk," the animagus winked at Harry. "We can't have cookies without milk, now can we?"

Harry drew in a long breath through his nose. "I'm really tired, Sirius. Can we have cookies tomorrow?"

"But it's already tomorrow!"

"Tomorrow during the daylight hours, then?"

"Now you sound like your mother!" Sirius ruffled Harry's mussed hair. "Fine, fine, be the voice of reason. But we'll get that seriousness right out of you, you'll see. You're young, Harry! It's time for you to explore and play pranks and live." Sirius stood with a grin. "You're doing great, Harry. Healer Fondorn is really pleased. You'll be back to normal in time for school. Aren't you happy?"

Harry averted his eyes, focusing on the roaring fire in the hearth. "I'm happy he's pleased," he said.

"There's a lad," Tandy reappeared with the requested plate of cookies. Sirius took one and popped it into his mouth. "You sure you don't want one?"

"No, thank you."

"Your loss," the animagus shrugged and took the plate from the bewildered house elf. "See you in the morning, Harry." He turned for the door. Harry watched him go with shadowed eyes. The house elf doused the fire and the lights, leaving him alone in the dark. The door to his room closed with a thump. He was alone.

Harry drew his hands out from under the covers. In the waning light of the moon he could see the streaks of blood that decorated his palms. He closed his eyes against the sight and tried to swallow past the lump in his throat.

The image of a pit of bodies from his dream haunted him for the rest of the night.

End Chapter Nineteen