The heavy weight of exhaustion was upon him, but Harry was afraid to sleep.
He kept trying to convince himself, even while his breathing slowed and his eyes slid closed as he lay there face down on the ragged black comforter, that if Phineas Nigellus' message from Dumbledore was to stay put…it meant the old wizard didn't really believe Harry was a threat to anyone. Harry's body was finally succumbing to his depriving it of sleep, and he stiffened a bit, not wanting to fall into that snake's body again and hurt somebody else…Sirius…Ron…Mrs. Weasley…Ginny…
His mind was so thick with confusing speculations and worry over what could happen that it was giving him a headache. His scar throbbed ominously. He was angry but sad. He was afraid but so, so tired.
He felt as if Hogwarts and the night before weren't just mere miles or hours behind him, but hidden away in some dream land now. It seemed impossible that less than twenty-four hours ago he had been dancing with Angelina, happy and oblivious. Now he was here in the dark, dusty confines of his and Ron's bedroom at Grimmauld Place, wishing that he could be back there in the common room by the warm fire with Angelina at his side. A rolling, diffused image manifested itself in his exhausted mind, showing him Angelina panting his name with her face illuminated by firelight. But the image rolled away again quickly, replaced by the solemn scene he'd only just escaped from—the Weasley children, himself, and Sirius waiting up in the kitchen for any word on Author.
He fell asleep, finally.
Immediately Harry found himself touching down in front of the black door he had been trying for months to reach. He had finally gotten here, at its threshold, and he was staring at it with pinched anticipation. He knew there was something behind this door that he wanted very badly—with all his heart he wanted it, and Harry reached out with a shaky hand to push it open…it wouldn't budge.
He tried again, almost panicked and whispering to himself desperately in his sleep, "Come on…open!" It stayed fast in its stubborn denial of his attempts for entry, and Harry growled under his breath, his scar prickling hotly. He had to open it! He had come so far…only to have it locked? How…? Where…? What could he use to open it? A key? A spell…?
Harry jerked awake at the sound of the bedroom door creaking open and he lifted his head slightly from the bed, feeling drool on his chin.
"Mum says dinner's ready but you don't have to come down now if you wanna sleep some more, Harry…" it was Ron.
Harry tried in vain to turn his tired body over to face his friend, but Ron had closed the door and gone again before he abandoned the effort. Harry knew that Ron was afraid of him, and the others probably were, too. He didn't blame them. He wished for Angelina's soft, warm body next to his…if only to relieve him of his cold stiffness. But he realized with a sinking heart that she would probably be afraid of him too if she were here. He remembered the look on her face when he had screamed at her with Voldemort's voice in the Room of Requirement.
Letting out a long, groggy sigh Harry wiped his chin and curled up into a ball on the bed. He fell asleep again in a matter of minutes, this time dreaming of flying on his Firebolt through a field of tall grass…
Harry—bitterly holding onto the memory of them all staring at him anxiously as they listened to the adults talk about him being possessed by Voldemort at St. Mungo's—imposed a brooding wall of solitude around himself all the next day.
They were all helping Sirius decorate the house for the holidays.
He could hear Sirius singing Christmas carols loudly and with earnest merriment throughout the house, but Harry could not let his godfather's good mood touch him. He sat alone in a cold, unused room for most of the morning until Mrs. Weasley tried to lure him downstairs for lunch. He ignored her and retreated further up into the darkness to Buckbeak's room where he remained the rest of the afternoon until the white cloudless sky grew dim as night fell.
At least Sirius won't be alone for Christmas…he thought cheerlessly as he fed the hippogriff dead rats. But I'm not going down there. I'm going to let them all keep talking about me—let them try and guess if I'm up here channeling Voldemort right now if that's what they think of me…
He thought of many things as the day progressed; mostly of how scared he had been during those terribly long hours as they waited for word from Mrs. Weasley about her husband's condition. He thought of how Dumbledore refused to look at him when they'd been in his office. He remembered, with a particularly strong pang of fear, the way he had felt when he finally caught the old wizard's eyes just before they took the portkey to the house…how he had wanted so much to bite him, hurt him…the hatred he felt…the hatred that he knew was not his own.
Harry thought most of all, though, of how much he missed Angelina. He wondered, as he sat alone in the dark listening to Sirius sing loudly somewhere below him, what she was doing. Hopefully she wasn't too worried about him, and hopefully she hadn't been given too many details about what happened. He didn't think he could handle knowing that the last thing Angelina learned before she went off to Cannes was that her boyfriend had had a vision in which he had been a snake and brutally attacked a man. Mingling with his fear of Voldemort's hold on him, his resentment of the others, and his determination to be alone were Harry's vivid memories of the intimate moments that he and Angelina shared before all this.
He missed her. It had not even been two full days, but he missed her very much and he sat around all day imagining what her hair smelled like…what it felt like brushing against his face as he held her close. Also he sat still for long periods of time with his eyes closed, mentally replaying that time in the Room of Requirement…that time on the couch in the common room…when Harry wasn't sitting in the dark wanting to have sex with something he was fuming over his current situation. This odd combination of thoughts did little to improve his piss-poor mood.
Now Harry tossed Buckbeak another dead rat and sighed forlornly, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling of hunger in his empty stomach.
He heard Mrs. Black screaming bloody murder and knew that someone had arrived, though he dismissed it as Mundungus perhaps, until a minute later he was startled by hard knocking on Buckbeak's door. "Harry, stop feeling sorry for yourself and come out of there." It was Hermione.
Harry hesitated but went and opened the door, the harsh light from the hallway causing him to squint. "I thought you were off skiing for the holidays…"
She shook her head and smiled at him. "No, I came straight here from school. Dumbledore told me what happened. Are you all right?" He gave her a look and she realized that the answer was obvious. "Well I suppose not, but you shouldn't be hiding up here. The others told me what happened at the hospital yesterday."
"I don't want to talk about that." Harry tried to retreat again into the dark, but Hermione clicked her tongue at him.
"Come on, Harry. I came all the way here…"
After explaining how she told her parents that she needed to stay at Hogwarts to study, she grabbed his hand (hers still cold from being out in the snow) and dragged him down to his and Ron's bedroom where he found everyone waiting for him. There was a fire lit in the fireplace by Ron's bed and there were sandwiches that Mrs. Weasley had made. Ron and Ginny were sitting on his bed; Fred and George on the floor with a chess set between them. Harry looked at them all looking at him and found not one single expression of fear or an accusatory glance among them. Still, he could not let go of his deeply rooted resentment of his situation, and he hovered at the door while Hermione took off her coat and hat and gloves.
"You stink, mate…" Fred said nonchalantly, not looking up from his queen, who was busy decapitating George's knight. Harry frowned, thinking that this was some sort of insult, but then he remembered that he had just spent the last two hours feeding Buckbeak dead rats.
He shifted on his feet, feeling hot all of a sudden. The fire was roaring and crackling cheerfully in the fireplace. Hermione coughed and sat down on Ron's bed. "Perhaps you'd like a nice shower?" She suggested, reaching over and taking a sandwich from the platter sitting next to her. "It might make you feel better and then we can all talk."
"Talk about what?" Harry said quickly, latching onto the statement as an opportunity to vent some of the resentment he'd been holding onto all day. "How everyone here thinks I'm a nutter?"
"Oh, please, stop being such a baby," Ginny rolled her eyes at him.
"It's true!" Harry snapped, rounding on her now. "You all think I'm crazy and dangerous. Admit it!"
"I'll do no such thing because that isn't what we think at all, Harry, and if you hadn't been hiding all day we could've told you that!" she answered hotly, glaring right back at him.
Harry opened his mouth and closed it again, wanting to yell some more but not knowing how to articulate himself properly. Instead he turned around and stomped out of the room, heading for the master washroom at the end of the hall. He ran into Sirius, who was coming out of his own bedroom, and the man grasped him happily by the shoulders, preventing him from passing.
"Harry!" he greeted, smiling. "You've decided to join the land of the living. What on earth have you been doing all day?" Sirius sniffed at Harry and barked loudly as he laughed in amusement. "Been feeding Buckbeak, have you? You're spoiling him, you know."
"Sirius, I need to get to the shower," Harry said tersely, avoiding his godfather's eyes.
Sirius' smile slowly shrank and he patted Harry on the shoulder sympathetically. "All right, sure. But I don't want you to disappear on me again. I really want to spend time with you."
Harry allowed himself to soften at these words and he nodded, allowing the shaggy wizard to ruffle his hair affectionately. "Okay Sirius."
"There's a good lad!" And he began to sing again, passing Harry and jogging down the stairs. "God rest ye merry hippogriffs, da, da, da, da dee dum!"
The ebony-haired young man watched his godfather disappear down the stairs and allowed himself to smile a little, shaking his head in wonderment. It was good to see Sirius so jolly, Harry decided. At least one of us should get to enjoy the holiday, he thought tiredly, turning to resume his course to the washroom. Inside, he closed the door and stripped slowly, frowning in thought as he went through the motions of taking off his shoes and socks and jeans and shirt and finally his underwear. Harry looked at himself in the mirror before he reached over to turn on the shower and scowled at his pale, dirty appearance. It was almost laughable, the contrast between himself and Angelina.
He stuck his head under the shower nozzle and let the hot water run over his hair…he closed his eyes and tried to make his head blank.
Of course, this proved unsuccessful, and he thought of that huge snake rearing back and striking…face after face of the people he cared about. It was a bit like when Mrs. Weasley found the boggart hiding in Sirius' cabinet. He forced this thought away and focused on the last thing he and Angelina talked about before he had gone to sleep. She said she didn't think they were ready for sex yet and he had agreed with her. Now he realized that they should have talked more about it—he would have told her exactly how he was feeling. He would have explained that yes he was nervous about it, but the feelings rolling around inside him for her were strong—getting stronger by the day. Especially now…
A part of him was glad she couldn't be there to witness everything that was happening; to speculate with the others on whether or not he was the weapon Voldemort was planning to use against Dumbledore. But a bigger part of him really wished she was with him…he sighed, allowing some of the warm water to sink into his mouth. Spitting it out in a childish squirt, Harry turned off the shower and stepped out, feeling clean but not emotionally any better than before.
When he returned to the bedroom he found only Ginny sitting there, playing with Crookshanks.
"Where is everybody?" he asked before he remembered that he was still mad at her and the rest of them.
"Gone to help Mum set the table for dinner."
Harry hesitated, staring at her. She didn't seem at all perturbed by his being clothed in nothing but a bathrobe and he actually didn't either. He was only thinking of wanting to be alone again. No matter what Hermione said, he knew that they all thought he had Voldemort inside him, waiting to come out.
"Oh…" he muttered, avoiding her gaze as he came into the room and deposited his dirty clothes on the floor next to his bed.
"You know…" she said quietly to his back. "I understand that you probably feel really confused and upset right now Harry, but did it ever occur to you that you actually know someone who has been possessed by You-Know-Who? Someone who could tell you what it's really like?"
Harry stood very still, the water dripping slowly from his hair, thinking about what she was telling him. He realized with a heavy pang of guilt that she was right. He had been acting really stupid—he could have asked Ginny about it all along. Turning around to face her, he sighed and said "I'm sorry, Ginny…" and he really meant it.
"You should be."
Harry wasted no time. "So…" he made his way slowly over to her, where he sat down on Ron's bed at her side and reached over to pet Crookshanks too. The cat purred softly and stretched between them. "So do you think I'm being possessed then?"
"Have you found yourself unable to remember what you'd been doing for hours at a time? Woken up somewhere without remembering how you got there at all?"
"No…"
"Then you're not being possessed."
Harry felt relief wash over him like cool water and he ran a hand through his damp hair. "It was just so real, though. Like I was actually there. I could even…" he hesitated but Ginny was looking at him as though she had prepared herself for whatever he might say. "I could even feel the blood…when I bit him."
"It wasn't you, Harry." She touched him on the arm softly. "No one thinks it was. We're all scared, that's true, but not of you."
He felt so glad to hear that. Okay, so maybe he had overreacted. Maybe it was his guilt that drove him so far into himself, not wanting to allow room for the possibility that they all might actually want to talk to him instead of about him. Maybe Ron wasn't scared of him after all...
"This sucks." Harry clicked his tongue and shook his head at the ratty carpet. Ginny gave him a funny look.
"You're telling me?"
"I just wish things were different, that's all…"
"Like how?"
Harry shrugged languidly. "I wish I were skiing like Hermione is supposed to be or in France with Angelina…"
She smiled, letting her hand drop from his arm. "I wish…I wish we were back at the Burrow. Mum would be making us help her decorate. And Dad would just be arriving, probably, shouting 'hello, Weasley's!' as usual…" he watched her eyes narrow wistfully and felt really guilty again.
All of a sudden, too, he felt like talking. Maybe it was because he had gone so long without voicing any of his thoughts that day or the night before, but he found himself telling her all about the things swimming in his head just then. She passed him the platter of sandwiches and he hungrily shoved a couple of them in his mouth, chewing around his words as he told her about his fears from before when he had been attacked by Voldemort's anger in the showers and after the D.A. meeting. They went over the facts: he could not be being possessed by Voldemort because for one thing there was no way he could get from his bed at Hogwarts to the Ministry and back in such a short period of time. Also Ginny explained that Ron had told them he saw Harry thrashing about during the night—he had been right there in the room the whole time. No matter how real it felt to him, it couldn't have been anything more than one of the strange glimpses into Voldemort's consciousness that he had experienced before.
After a bit of convincing on Ginny's part they finally moved on, and Harry also found himself talking to her about his unrelenting anger towards Malfoy and how confused he was about helping Angelina deal with what happened.
"I'm still mad about that," he confided, biting into another sandwich. "I don't think…I mean I don't think he actually you know, did anything to her. Because-because aren't you supposed to be changed by something like that? Like severely changed, even if you don't remember everything?"
Ginny nodded forlornly. "I've never known anyone who's gone through that, but it seems to me that if somebody actually…hurt me…that way, then I wouldn't want anyone to touch me."
Harry had a fleeting image of the thing that happened on the couch in the common room and swallowed.
They sat trying to wrap their young brains around it, the fire still crackling merrily for them. After a moment of pondering and, at least for now, his terrible fears about Voldemort shifting so they weren't sticking out at the front of his mind, Harry spoke again. He Rolled Crookshanks to and fro by the belly with his hand and uttered, "I think she's hiding how she really feels from me. And I don't know what to do about it. I just keep letting her do…whatever."
"So? What's wrong with that? Harry, there is a reason she didn't tell you everything. If it were me…knowing what you were dealing with at the time, I wouldn't want to add to that. That's probably how Angelina felt."
"You mean she didn't think I could handle it?" Harry asked, feeling a stab of irritation from his conversation with Phineas Nigellus the night before. "Everyone keeps saying I'm too young for this and too young for that. And she doesn't think I'm ready for us to-" he stopped abruptly, not wishing to discuss the subject of losing his virginity with Ginny.
She frowned at him, shaking her head. "Harry you're not going to get angry at her now, for pity's sake."
He sighed again for what felt like the hundredth time. "No…but somehow beating Malfoy's arse just doesn't feel like enough."
"Have you guys ever thought about going to a teacher? Telling them what you know?"
He scoffed. "Umbridge wouldn't take Angelina's story seriously, I'll bet. No matter if Malfoy's on her good side or not."
"So why does it have to be Umbridge?"
Harry thought about this as Crookshanks licked his fingers. He had done a ridiculous amount of work to keep Malfoy's head from under the ax after the duel, but only to keep himself from going down as well. Now they had escaped that noose, there wasn't any reason why he shouldn't turn Malfoy in. But, how could he prove it? There was the playbook—if he couldn't get Malfoy for what he'd done to Angelina he could at least nail him for the playbook. The problem was that it was months later and Angelina had it back in her possession for several weeks now. Would that make a difference? Who cares about a stupid playbook anyway when Voldemort is sending his bloody snake out to attack people? He shook his head to clear it and muttered that he didn't know.
Harry's stomach groaned and he realized that he was still hungry; he could smell dinner cooking bellow and fancied he could use a nice hot meal. Ginny, apparently operating on the same idea, stood up and stretched.
"Don't worry about it, Harry, it'll work itself out. Get dressed and let's eat."
Harry soon found over the next few days that he would much rather spend his time "among the living", as Sirius had put it, than stewing in the dark by himself. He was reminded gently by the ever-growing feeling of cheerfulness that was coming over him that Christmas was near, and he simply could not help letting go of his anger and resentment. Especially when in the company of his godfather. Sirius' good cheer spread easily to everyone he came in contact with. Harry knew it was because he was happy to have visitors, and the two of them tramped through the house decorating and singing carols for hours.
Harry enjoyed hearing his laugh like a bark. With each day went up more decorations. Mrs. Weasley thought the house elves' heads lining the first floor hall looked rather funny (if a bit macabre) wearing Father Christmas hats and white beards. They spread magic snow along the halls and draped tinsel everywhere. They hung gold and silver Christmas baubles along the windows and from some of the elves' long pointy noses. A large white Christmas tree, provided by Mundungus, sat in the main living room, blocking the Black Family Tree. It glimmered warmly at night and Harry enjoyed sitting in there with Hermione, Ginny, and Ron after dinner on a couple of quiet evenings as the snow fell silently outside.
Hermione admitted that despite not liking to have disappointed her parents, she was rather glad to be at the house for Christmas. "Ron and I have had the opportunity to really be alone for the first time," she whispered to Harry as they sat near the tree one night. "And Harry…he's so much sweeter than I thought!"
Harry grinned and out of the corner of his eye he could see Ron blush, even though the ginger-haired boy was pretending not to hear as he played Wizard Chess with Ginny.
With two days till Christmas, they took a trip to Diagon Alley for shopping. Sirius stayed behind but he gave Mrs. Weasley a small list a bit covertly, though Harry caught them talking quietly. He wished his godfather could come with them—walk out in the fresh air and enjoy the snow, pick out the presents he wanted to get on his own, or have hot chocolate with them when they stopped for lunch. They ran into Lupin, Tonks, and Mad Eye Moody and chatted for a while. Harry confided in Remus his thoughts about Sirius being shut in.
"Harry, he understands that he cannot risk exposure," was his soft reply. He patted Harry paternally on the shoulder. "I've had many talks with him. He is restless, yes…but he isn't stupid, either. He's just very happy to have you and the others for the holidays. You have no idea how much it means to him that you're there, despite the circumstances."
"I suppose you're right," Harry agreed half-heartedly.
Remus frowned and pulled him a little away from the others, who were all chatting about which shops they wanted to visit next. "And how are you doing? Still having dreams about You-Know-Who?"
"No…"
The older, exhausted-looking man studied him silently for a moment, as if trying to see traces of Voldemort on his skin. "No. No, that's good news. Dumbledore is worried about you, you know."
"Oh I've certainly got that impression from him. He's been just smothering me with concern lately." Remus raised his eyebrows at Harry's sardonic tone. "Sorry." Harry corrected himself, adverting his gaze.
"Are you upset with Dumbledore, Harry?"
Harry hesitated, thinking of the moment in the Headmaster's office when he wanted to strike at the old man, but shrugged. "Not upset I guess. Just really confused. He hasn't talked to me in months."
"He's got a lot to deal with at the moment." Remus offered, though his tone told Harry that there was more to it than that. "He never does anything without a good reason. You must understand that."
"It just seems like he's hiding something from me."
Remus didn't answer, or it was that he couldn't—Mrs. Weasley was beckoning to Harry to join her and the others as Tonks and Mad Eye were saying their farewells. Giving Harry's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, Lupin stepped away and waved politely to Molly as he rejoined Mad Eye and Tonks.
"See you around, Harry." Tonks called, giving him a casual wave. Harry waved and fell into step with Ron and Hermione, going over his conversation with Lupin in his head. He never does anything without a good reason…well, Harry thought, I hope Lupin is right.
They shopped for most of the day, though it was mainly Hermione and Harry who took up their time. Hermione was buying gifts for her parents and Harry was combing the Alley for a present to buy Angelina. He racked his brain for what girls like her would fancy: jewelry? He saw a nice necklace with a heart charm on it but Ginny made a face at it and he passed on the idea. Clothes? Hermione did not like the cashmere sweater he pointed out—she said it wasn't something Angelina would wear. Ron seemed quite pleased with himself—he had a little smile on his face once he had gotten Hermione a present and walked along behind Harry, annoying him. Harry was beginning to feel hopeless about it. Angelina was the last person he bought for; he had gotten everyone else's presents, including one for Sirius. It was a grooming kit for Buckbeak that came with really nice leather handling gloves-Sirius was always getting nipped on the fingers by the temperamental beast.
They were idling in a book shop when Harry spotted it. He gave an excited "Oh!" and hurried along the aisle he was in with Hermione until he came to it. It was sitting among others like it, but somehow this one stood out to Harry. He knew she would like it the moment he laid eyes on it. "Oh Harry, that is lovely!" Hermione gasped when he took it from the shelf and brought it to her. "Angelina will love it."
It was a leather-bound journal with a small gold clasp. The clasp was magicked so that only a password spoken by its owner would open it, the shopkeeper explained to Harry when he bought it. The leather was smooth and chocolate brown, just like Angelina's skin. He had the shopkeeper engrave it in gold lettering with his wand: Angel.
Hermione squealed with envy and delight. Harry blushed and tucked the now gift-wrapped present under his arm protectively as they left the shop. They made one last stop at a post office next to Olivander's Wands so that Harry and Hermione could send off their gifts. The mean-looking owl he tied his gift for Angelina to seemed aggravated by the fact that it would have to leave its warm cage for the cold journey to France. Harry thought it a shame that the post office employed such disgruntled birds.
When they returned to Grimmauld Place weighed down with parcels Sirius met them at the door, quickly offering to help them with their loads. "Did you get those things I asked for, Molly?" he asked Mrs. Weasley quietly as he juggled some of Hermione's bags.
She smiled at him. "Of course. I've got them right here."
He returned her smile and Harry felt himself grinning, too. Despite Mr. Weasley being in the hospital and the nasty business of Harry feeling he was the reason for it, he fancied this Christmas was going to be pretty nice. Sirius hummed to himself as he stowed their parcels in the den, even though Mrs. Black was screaming again.
That evening Mundungus brought armloads of various items that he had gotten from who-knew-where. Aside from the festive goblets and wreathes of holly by the sack full, he brought them a Muggle record player and a crate of dusty old records. Asked by Mrs. Weasley where he got such a thing he stammered and checked his watch, saying he had to be off and leaving them with it.
Harry, Hermione, and Ron rifled through the old records. Not many of them were Christmas-related. Ron held one up and made a face at the image of a black Muggle with a wide, bright smile. " 'Nat King Cole's Christmas Special.' " he read aloud. "That's a funny name…Who's Nat King Cole?"
Hermione shrugged and took it from him, flipping it over to the back to read the liner notes. "I've heard my dad talking about him, I think. He's a Muggle singer that was famous a long time ago."
"And who's this?" Ron held up one with a lady who had a bandana tied around her neck. She had an even bigger and brighter smile than the man on the other record and her black hair shined.
"Ooh, that's Patsy Cline, I've heard of her. She's got a really beautiful voice…" Hermione put Nat King Cole's record back in the crate and stood up to walk over to where Sirius was trying to figure out how to get the record player to work. He stood frowning at it, tapping his wand against his lips. "Um…here you just put a record on like this…" he stepped aside and watched her take out Patsy Cline's record and place it on the player. "And then you take the needle…" Hermione carefully set the needle on the record as it began to spin softly. Seconds later a slow, old country track began and Patsy's throaty croon filled the den.
-Crazy…
-Crazy for feelin' so lonely…
-I'm crazy…
-Crazy for feelin' so blue…
-I knew…
-You'd love me as long as you wanted…
-And then someday…
-You'd leave me for somebody new…
"Ahh…that's not bad…" Sirius said softly, giving Hermione's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "I've not had one of these that wasn't bewitched to play automatically. Hmm…Mundungus probably stole the records as well…" he added somewhat critically, but then brightened again and gestured that the others gather around the tree. He conjured a platter of hot chocolate with his wand and passed a cup to each of them. Fred and George came down from upstairs.
"What's this we're listening to?" George asked, taking a cup from Sirius. "It's depressing."
"I think it's nice." Ginny said, crossing her legs as she sat next to Harry and sipping gingerly from her steaming cup.
"It's girly," Ron offered but quickly shrugged when Hermione frowned at him. "I mean…it's okay?"
"Hmmm…" Sirius intoned, sitting comfortably in a shabby black arm chair and squinting at the tree. "It's very sad. She's in love, poor girl. And it doesn't sound as if the bloke in question fancies her in return."
Harry watched his godfather thoughtfully, taking in the sight of the lights on the Christmas tree flickering in his dark eyes. There was so much he did not know about this man, yet he knew with certainty that he could grow to love him. It was mostly because he was one of the last remaining people who could connect Harry with his parents, and because Harry knew that Sirius cared for him a great deal in return. It had to do with the fact that somewhere deep inside Harry felt connected to Sirius through years of loneliness and hurt—years of abuse and abandonment. Sirius because of his loathsome family and then his torment in Azkaban; Harry because his mother and father had been murdered in front of him when he was just a baby and he had the unfortunate fate of being raised in a cold, unloving house for fourteen dark years.
When the song was over Sirius winked at Harry and stood up to switch records, this time playing a traditional Christmas carol. Everyone sank into their own thoughts a bit as a choir of children sang "Carol of the Bells."
On the night of Christmas Eve, Harry lay himself down on his bed in his and Ron's bedroom, his arms folded behind his head, and tried to picture the look on Angelina's face when she opened the present he had sent off. He hoped she liked it. If Hermione's reaction to it was any indication, however, she would. Harry smiled to himself. His Angel…it was kind of corny but sweet. He liked it. And he missed her.
Harry heard the floorboards creak and lifted his head a bit to peer over at the door. He thought maybe it would be Hermione coming to drag him into another brainstorming session regarding his visions of Voldemort, but he discovered to his surprise that it was Sirius calling. The older wizard hovered at the door, his handsome but gaunt face a mask of awkward curiosity. "I disturbed you? Sorry, I'll just-"
"No, no…Sirius come in." Harry sat up on his elbows and watched his godfather step into the room, closing the door behind him. He was wearing an old white collared shirt, black slacks and no shoes. His dark hair, which was graying slightly in some places, hung loosely but neatly to his shoulders. He gave Harry a self-conscious smile and sat down tentatively on the edge of the bed. "Hi…"
Sirius chuckled. "Hi, Harry."
There was a beat in which Sirius' eyes swam with firelight from the fireplace and Harry felt like something profound was about to happen, but then the older wizard clapped his hands once and beamed. "So! How are you?"
"Okay. You?"
"Better." He replied honestly. Harry watched him scratch his head. "I'm glad you're here. I mean, I know the circumstances are a little…tough."
"Yeah…" Harry was drawn into dark territory mentally for a moment before Sirius spoke again.
"Did you send your parcel off?"
"Huh?"
"The present for your girlfriend."
"Oh, right. Took care of it." Sirius broke into a lopsided grin all of a sudden and Harry blushed. "What?"
"Nothing…nothing." He gestured to nothing in particular, a bit of a raspy chuckle escaping his smiling lips. "You're growing up, Harry. Girls already, I've missed so much!"
"Oh…yeah. Well, you'd be the only one who thinks I've grown up."
"Nonsense! This girl, she's older, right? I think that's what Ron said."
"She's a seventh year, yeah." Harry watched Sirius get more comfortable, scooting up on the bed and lying down beside him. He lay down again too, and the two of them were side by side staring up at the black canopy, their hands folded behind their heads.
"Hmm…pretty?" Harry wondered what kind of question that was, but Sirius added: "Not that she wouldn't be. I mean what's she look like?"
"Um…she's beautiful to me. Tall…long hair…nice skin."
"Well good for you Harry." Another pause, and Harry could feel Sirius' chest rising and falling next to him. He was emanating body heat. Unbidden Harry had a fleeting thought: how delicate the fabric of time was. The here and now…Sirius was lying next to him, when minutes before he was not. Harry had gone years not knowing this man; not knowing of his existence or that he had been his father's best friend. Now this man was all he had left of his father. And he was here—physically here breathing next to him when his father was not. When he could just as easily be in Azkaban still. Or worse…killed by those Dementors. He shuddered and couldn't figure out where this thought had come from. Sirius turned to him and frowned. "You all right?"
"Uh huh…Sirius?"
"Yeah?"
"Have you ever been in…er…I mean do you know what it's like to be…in-in love?"
His godfather took a deep breath and turned to stare up at the canopy again. Another long pause followed, and Harry waited. After a moment, though he couldn't see it, Sirius smiled slowly. "Sure, I've been in love."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Well it was a long time ago. I was a little older than you when it started, but not much."
"And…how did you know?" Harry licked his lips but refrained from turning his curious gaze on the man. "I mean, did you just know or did you have to really think about it for a while?"
Sirius chuckled again. It came out like a faint snort. "Do you think you're in love, Harry?"
Harry shrugged, replying honestly: "I don't know."
"Well…" and Sirius turned to prop himself up on his side, the lopsided grin still present. "When you look at her-does your heart sort of…" he tapped his chest several times in rapid, uneven succession, that grin of his spreading. "Skip a beat?" Harry nodded. "And when you kiss her-I assumed you've kissed?" Another nod. "When you kiss her what do you feel?"
Harry thought for a moment. "I feel warm. Warm all over."
"Not like the kind of warmth you get from sitting by a fire, or being out in the sun, but warmth inside, right? Rolling…pulsing…feeling."
Harry could not help smiling at his godfather's spirited explanations. "Sure. Like that."
"Your father once told me…" Sirius dropped his hand from his chest and sighed. "…that he knew he loved your mother when she slapped him."
Harry frowned. "Huh?"
A loud, sharp bark of laughter. "Ha! Yes, yes. They had argued, about something silly probably, knowing them, and she gave him a good slap across the face." He nudged Harry's cheek with his knuckles. Harry smiled in wonder. "He said he felt his anger rise to the breaking point, but instead of yelling at her or doing anything rash, he looked into her eyes and thought 'my god I love this crazy woman! She's lost her marbles, hitting me like that, but she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen!' "
Sirius laughed heartily for a little bit, and Harry's awed smile remained as he tried to picture the pretty red-headed woman and the bespectacled man in the picture Hagrid had given him first year arguing, slapping each other, and making up on the spot. He could not picture this, but it did not diminish his gladness to hear Sirius tell the story. He had so little information about his parents that anything new he learned, he treasured.
"Well I don't fancy having Angelina slap me across the face to make me realize how I really feel about her…"
"Angelina…hmmm…pretty name. Little Angel. I'll bet she is beautiful…"
Crookshanks jumped onto the bed and pawed Harry's stomach. He sat up on his elbows again and watched the cat sniff curiously at the tips of Sirius' hair. Petting the round cat, Harry asked: "So because my heart skips a beat and I feel warm inside that means I'm in love?"
"No, Harry…" Sirius answered light-heartedly. "No, you've got to…" he stood up abruptly and began pacing the length of the room. "You've got to think back. Think back to before you got together with her. Before your first kiss, before all of that. Can you picture…" he stopped pacing and knelt down before his godson, his eyes twinkling. Harry was hanging on his every word. "Can you picture one single second without her affection in your life? Do you remember what it felt like not to have her with you—with you as in with you, as in yours?"
Harry was unaware that he was panting slightly as he shook his head. It dawned on him—Sirius was right. His mentality over the days and nights of the past months had been primarily focused on Angelina. Angelina in the morning, the afternoon, and the evening. Before she had told him that she fancied him and he knew he fancied her back there had been…blimey he couldn't remember. Umbridge? Yes, she was there but her enchanted quill did not do much to impress him now. Quidditch…sure. But, then, that led to Angelina again.
Even now…when he was so worried about this Voldemort business, and poor Mr. Weasley was in St. Mungo's…his mind still persisted in presenting him with the image of her beautiful face. And how he missed her. It was like an aching; like when his scar hurt but not in such an ominous fashion. And the time he spent these days imagining being with her; what it would be like to be inside her; how hopeful he was at the prospect of seeing her again when they went back to school…
"No? Right? Yes, you see Harry love isn't something that one can easily define by kisses and…hormones. It's more than just empty words…all boring signposts that most people think mean everything." He scoffed, his eyes narrowing as he looked down to stare at the ratty carpet. He was still on his knees. "I was in love once. But I kept it to myself and I'm afraid to say she didn't love me back. She loved someone…well it wasn't me."
Harry watched him stand up again.
"I want to tell you something Harry, now that we're talking about this…" Sirius turned to the fire and stared into it, his hair hanging in his face. "I was in prison for most of my young life. Azkaban is…it's a bad place to end up for a bloke who was just hitting his prime, like me. Granted I had moved on from school and had been fighting for a good cause for a while, but still I hadn't really done anything truly great, you know? I barely blinked before they were telling me I would spend the rest of my life in that godforsaken place. So Harry if you think you're in love with this girl Angelina…don't hesitate to let her know. Don't even think of not telling her. I made some mistakes…I felt the way I just described to you and I did not speak of my feelings to the girl I loved. I thought I couldn't…but in the end I was a coward and it didn't matter much after that. In a heartbeat all my chances were gone…"
"Did you go to school with her?"
His eyes were still narrowed and he nodded distractedly. "…school? Yes, we were at Hogwarts together."
"What was her name?" Harry asked, studying the far away look in the tormented wizard's eyes.
Sirius was quiet for a long time, seemingly lost in his own, dark thoughts about the past and the love he could never express, before he snapped out of it and smiled sadly. "Her name…? That doesn't matter, Harry. What matters is that you believe me when I tell you—you don't want to make the same mistake I did."
Harry absorbed this advice silently, going over the words in his head as Sirius knelt in front of the fireplace to warm his hands, balancing on his bare feet that sank into the black hearth rug underneath him. His dark, graying hair hung in his face, giving his features a solemn shadow as the firelight danced across them. I hadn't really done anything truly great…
Harry wondered if he would ever get the chance to do something great; if he would one day become as powerful and accomplished as Dumbledore.
Abruptly Sirius shook his head as if to clear it and said out of nowhere: "Have you seen Kreacher?"
Harry blinked but answered: "No…not since we first got here."
"Hmm…" Sirius shrugged and scratched his chin, the resentful shadow from before leaving his face. "With any luck he's crawled into the attic and died, the wretched little mongrel, but I mustn't get my hopes up…"
Harry fought not to laugh at this statement, for he knew Hermione would not approve. He saw that Sirius was thinking of leaving him, so he jumped up and went over to his trunk, where he had been keeping the gift he bought for his godfather. "Here…"
Sirius watched Harry retrieve the gift and took it hesitantly. "What's this? For me, Harry?"
"Yeah. I think you need it. You can open it now if you want. I won't tell Mrs. Weasley." Harry grinned and Sirius ruffled his hair affectionately.
The former prisoner gave a small shudder upon sight of the very simple gift. His breath caught and he blinked back what Harry recognized as tears. "Harry…I don't know what to say…"
Harry didn't either. He could only imagine what his godfather's reaction would be to the shaving kit he had almost gotten instead.
"Well…it's got these leather handling gloves, see? I-I just thought with Buckbeak biting you all the time, you might…"
Sirius nodded quickly. "Right. Right. Good thinking. Aha! And here's a sturdy brush for when his feathers go all funny! He nibbles at the ones that stick out something awful, poor beast. Thank you, Harry…" he drew the boy into a tight, one-armed embrace and grinned crookedly upon releasing him. "I think I'll go and give him a nice grooming right now, as a matter of fact."
"Okay…"
Sirius muttered 'thank you again' and backed away out through the door. Harry thought he distinctly heard him sniff as he shut it behind him.
Christmas morning Harry awoke to a pile of presents at the foot of his bed.
Ron was already halfway through his when the boy sat up and rubbed his eyes. "Happy Christmas, mate, dig in…"
"Happy Christmas, Ron."
Harry reached for his glasses, put them on, and his vision focused almost immediately on the topmost parcel—it was from Angelina.
"Oh that came this morning," Ron explained, making a face at the homework planner Hermione had given him. "Tonks brought us our mail from the Burrow pretty early and she didn't wanna wake you yet."
Harry reached out for the neatly wrapped gift. The wrapping paper had little flying Quidditch players zooming in every direction on its waxy surface; Harry's heart gave an affectionate swoop as he stared at it for a moment. It was rectangular and light. Ron paused in tearing the paper from another of his own gifts, peering over at Harry expectantly. He opened the present carefully.
It was a box made of the same wood as his wand. He ran his fingers along it softly, a slow smile spreading across his lips. Upon opening it Harry saw that it contained a polished, black, leather wand holster. His initials were engraved in silver on one of the straps. He lifted it from it's carved out place in the black velvet casing. "Wow…"
"Blimey that's brilliant!" Ron gasped enviously, his mouth dropping open.
There was a note, Harry noticed, tucked into the holster where his wand would go. He pulled it out and unrolled it.
For future duels…
And to keep your wand, which is an extension of yourself, safe.
-Love your Angel
Harry re-read the note several times before closing it again and tucking it gently back where he found it. He didn't care—whether this was love he was feeling or not, it was strong. As he closed the box and sat it next to him on the bed, he wondered if her present had gotten to France yet. Surely it must have…or else why would she refer to herself as his Angel?
After they got through opening presents they went down to Christmas brunch in the kitchen. Harry had gotten a funny-looking painting from Dobby, an identical homework planner to Ron's from Hermione, and a miniature working model of a Firebolt from Tonks. Kreacher, who was still missing, got a present from Hermione. Ron got that pleased with himself look on his face again when he asked Hermione how she liked her present and she merely told him that the perfume he'd gotten her was strange. When his face fell she kissed him on the lips and added: "I like it. I think I'll wear it out today."
Lupin came by with Tonks and Moody and more present opening ensued. Harry thanked Tonks for hers and Lupin for his encyclopedia of dark magical creatures. Lupin and Sirius had a quiet but jovial conversation in the den, the two of them sipping from hot tea Mrs. Weasley had brewed. Harry couldn't help peaking in at them curiously a few times, and he saw them laugh together, their faces lit by the white light coming through the heavy curtains. He could almost picture his father sitting with them—his absence must've been palpable for the two men.
After they'd all eaten, Sirius played some more of the old records that Mundungus had brought and Harry heard a snippet of an ironic song "I Put a Spell on You" by someone called Nina Simone as they left for St. Mungo's to visit Mr. Weasley.
This second trip did not result in Harry being talked about in hushed conversation, as it had done last time, but they did make some rather interesting (and grim) discoveries. Gilderoy Lockhart, it seemed, was no closer to remembering who he was than the Ministry was to admitting that Harry was telling the truth about Voldemort's return. No one but Harry knew about Neville's parents, and seeing how the other boy handled his grandmother and having both of his parents out of their minds made Harry (only once in his whole life) feel glad that his own mother and father had at least escaped such a fate. Better to have them gone than to have to see them like that…
The others spoke about it the whole way back to the house, and Harry empathized with poor Neville—for he knew what it was like to be whispered about. He had to hand it to the kid, though. He looked them all in the eyes when his mother had given him the chew wrapper, daring any of them to say anything. They would not, of course—how could they? It was one of the most poignant things Harry had ever seen, the simple act of that boy's poor mother slipping a folded chew wrapper into his palm and whispering something she obviously considered a secret. And Neville's stoic "Thanks, Mum…" was enough to break your heart, Hermione had opined sadly as they were taking off their coats in Ron and Harry's bedroom.
"Well let's not go on about it," Harry had told them when they were heading down to dinner. "He's got enough to deal with. We shouldn't say anything at school about it either."
"You're right," Hermione agreed.
Another week passed, and Christmas decorations started undergoing strange attacks.
Harry took the fact that almost every bauble hanging from a dead house elf's nose had been knocked to the ground and smashed to mean that Kreacher had decided to come out of hiding. Sirius didn't seem to mind this; he ordered Kreacher to clean up after himself when he tore things down and as a result the decorations came down quite quickly and the house looked normal again without any of them having to lift a finger. The Master Black seized the record player Mundungus brought and horded it up to Buckbeak's room before Kreacher could get his sneaky little hands on it, along with all the records. Every now and then when Harry was in the halls upstairs he could hear faint, beautifully sad music drifting down to him from the third floor. Sirius really liked Patsy Cline's record, as well as the Nina Simone one. There was another one he played a lot, too, though Harry had to ask Hermione who it was. She snuck up to the second floor landing with him and craned her ears to hear for almost an entire song. It was a melodic voice crooning: "…at last…my love has come along…" accompanied by violins that made Harry's heart do that funny swoop again. After it was over, Hermione turned to him smiling and informed him that it was one of her mother's favorite singers, Etta James. Harry wondered if his own mother would like music like this. Who wouldn't, really? Besides Ron and the twins who maintained, despite the occasions when Harry would catch them humming the melody to themselves quietly, that it was girly music.
Harry heard that one song in particular several times and he could not help thinking of Angelina when the soulful words drifted out to him from Buckbeak's closed room at night: "…oh you smiled…you smiled, and then the spell was cast…and here we are in heaven…for you are mine at last…" He could also not help noticing that as the days progressed, and the last of the Christmas decorations had gone, that Sirius was becoming more and more like his old sullen self, and was retreating to Buckbeak's room with the grooming kit and record player often.
"He's getting sad again now Christmas is over and we're closer and closer to the end of break," Harry confided to Ginny one evening as they were playing wizard chess in the bedroom. She took yet another of his pawns with her bishop. The kill was brutal. Harry winced and brushed away the broken pieces. "I want to talk to him a bit more, but it's hard to know how to approach him."
"Why don't you just ask him what's wrong?"
He thought that it wasn't so easy as that, especially not after he had seen the raw emotion in the man on Christmas Eve. He didn't say this aloud, however.
More days passed, and it seemed as if Harry and Ginny were in the exact same game moment as before, because he watched her bishop take his pawn again like deja vous and then Mrs. Black started screaming her head off downstairs.
They didn't pay much attention, for they had gotten used to her terrible wailing as announcement for members of the Order who swept in and out on a regular basis. Fred and George, who were lounging on Ron's bed reading Muggle comics, immediately went for the Extendable Ears they kept ready in their pockets at all times. Ron came upstairs then and closed the door behind him, an irritated look on his face. "It's Snape," he told them flatly. "Says he's here for you, Harry."
Harry looked up from the chess set and scowled. "Me? He wants to see…why?"
After a second of thinking about it, Harry feared that somehow Malfoy had gotten it in his head that playbook be damned—he was going to turn Harry in for challenging him to a duel. He felt almost certain that he was walking to his doom as he stood up on shaky legs and crossed the room towards Ron and the door.
"You reckon Malfoy opened his mouth?" his best friend asked quietly, his face going pale. "You think Snape's come to expel you?"
Harry could only shrug, feeling white hot chills spread over him at the thought of it. "Go on, Harry," Fred said, discarding his comic book and standing up. He reached in his pocket and dug out the tangle of fleshy colored string he and his brother had dubbed Extendable Ears. "We'll be ready to hex him good if he tries to whip you or anything."
"And get yourselves expelled, too?" Ginny asked sarcastically. The twins shrugged.
Harry swallowed and stepped out into the hall, where he could see as he peered over the banister the tops of Sirius's head and Snape's greasy mop. He steeled himself against his fate and walked downstairs to meet them.