Disclaimer: Nope.

Author's Note: Hello there, and thank you so much for the amazing reviews. Last chapter was certainly a very difficult one to write, but I'm glad you liked it all the same. Yes, at least Moody went out as a hero. I agree with what you said about how he'd rather be crucio'd than actually believe he'd gone soft in any way. But I do think that Harry went a very long way in helping him regain parts of himself that he thought long lost.

That's true about the fighting as well. In a war, you want to use all the tactics available to you, even if they're dirty. Obviously, I despise the Death Eaters' tactics, and think they're nothing more than disgusting cowards.

Okay, here's the next chapter. This was difficult to write as well, but I hope you enjoy it.

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There were many unpleasant experiences that Harry had had in his life, many things that had happened to him that he didn't want to repeat. There had been anger, sadness, depression, loss - all brought on by the same monster, a demon who had affected his life even before he was born.

But Harry realized, as he and Sirius sat in Grimmauld Place's drawing room waiting for news about the attack on Diagon Alley, that what he was feeling now was even worse than all those other messy, negative emotions.

He was terrified.

It wasn't the same kind of terror that he had felt as he faced down Voldemort in the graveyard. At that moment, he had thought with certainty that his life was seconds away from ending, that Voldemort would strike him down and he'd lie crumpled on the ground, lifeless, just like Cedric. Maybe no one would ever find them, and their bodies would rot in that graveyard, just as Tom Riddle had once taunted that Ginny's skeleton would lie in the chamber forever.

Yet, he had survived. Survived to feel guilt over being the one to live when Cedric didn't. Survived to feel the love of those who would tell him over and over again that they were so grateful he was alive to still feel anything. Survived to tell the world of Voldemort's return, and to do what he needed to to make sure people were prepared for what was to come.

And now, he could feel his heart pumping wildly within him, the blood rushing through his veins as minutes passed. The terror he was feeling now was unlike the terror he felt then - because this fear, this fright, was due to the fact that he was just sitting, not doing anything, not fighting, not taking action.

He was just waiting.

Logically, he understood why things needed to be this way. Rationally, he knew why he couldn't go and fight like the others. People like Mad-Eye and Emmeline and Bill and Remus and Tonks and ...

He took a deep breath, trying to focus on the fact that he wasn't alone - he wasn't the only one who hadn't gone to fight. He wasn't alone, because Sirius was holding him close, and Harry could feel his godfather's heart beating against him, experiencing the same fear and uncertainty as Harry.

Guilt suffused his being - surely Sirius was feeling worse than him? If Harry wasn't here, Sirius could go and fight. He wouldn't have to babysit his godson. He could be in the thick of the action, battling the scum that had taken so much from him.

But Harry also knew that Sirius would never think of what he was doing as "babysitting". How many times had he told Harry that he was his first priority now? Hadn't he endlessly told him that after all the mistakes he'd made, he wasn't about to make any more when it came to Harry?

And although Harry knew that Sirius didn't, in any way, resent him for the fact that Sirius had to stay behind, it didn't take away the fact that he was scared, that he was worried. His friends, his comrades, were all out there fighting, and he and Harry were sitting here, waiting to find out if anyone had ...

It was unbearable. Harry felt as though Sirius was the only thing that was stopping him from collapsing in despair. He felt like he had to be strong for Sirius - it would be completely unfair and selfish of him to be otherwise.

He reckoned he could still feel the imprint of Moody's hand as it patted his shoulder, and he would never forget the way his expression softened marginally as both his magical and normal eye met his emerald green ones. "It will be okay, boy."

At that moment, Harry wanted nothing more than to tell him not to go. Moody was about to walk into battle against Death Eaters. What if ...

Moody seemed to understand Harry's expression. "Do not concern yourself with my well-being," he'd said bluntly. "I've done this before."

Harry hadn't quite known what to say. His face must have conveyed his feelings, because Moody patted his shoulder again. "It will be okay, Potter," he reiterated. Turning to Sirius, he implored, "Take care of him."

"You know I will." Sirius's voice was quiet. "Good luck."

Moody simply nodded, and before either Harry or Sirius could say anything else, Moody had grabbed a pinch of Floo powder and disappeared into the green flames.

Harry didn't know how many minutes he and Sirius had been sitting in silence. Neither of them tried to reassure the other that everything would be okay. No amount of words was going to take away the fear that they were feeling. To try and minimize it just wouldn't be right.

Eventually, Sirius removed his arm from around Harry and stood, his face still lined with worry. "I need a distraction," he said quietly. "How about you?"

Harry nodded without speaking. He had a sudden flashback to the day that he and Sirius had been waiting to find out what had happened at Fudge's trial. They had still been in hiding at the time, as the murder accusations against both Harry and Sirius hadn't yet been dropped.

This time, though, it felt worse, because people they loved were in immediate danger. Harry had become very comfortable and familiar with many of the Order members, since he and Sirius attended so many of Sturgis's evening gatherings. The bond between the Order was so strong now.

And then, there were Harry's tutors. It was obvious why Harry loved being taught by Sturgis. He was warm, friendly, kind, and an incredibly fascinating person. Harry's duelling skills, especially his ability to defend himself without magic, had flourished under Sturgis's tutelage. And the evening gatherings never failed to lighten his spirits, and the smiles, warmth, and camaraderie from all of the other Order members made him truly feel like the war could be won.

It had taken him longer to warm up to Emmeline, but it had indeed happened. She was strict and no-nonsense, and wouldn't accept anything less than a full effort. But Harry had come to appreciate her strictness, and the two of them had partaken in some very interesting discussions. Harry's heart hurt for her - finding out that her entire family had been victims of the Death Eaters and she had been the only survivor was horrific. In unguarded moments, Harry could see something in her eyes that was exceedingly dangerous. There was nothing she wouldn't do in order to destroy the scum who had ripped out her heart.

Bill was a joy to work with. As he and Harry studied Divination together, they shared many laughs. Harry had admitted that he and Ron had made up many doom-and-gloom predictions in order to satisfy Professor Trelawney. Bill's response had been to roar with laughter. "I can't blame you for not taking it seriously," he'd said between guffaws. "Sybill Trelawney is ... er ..."

"Yeah," Harry had agreed, not needing Bill to finish the sentence. "She is."

Still, it had been Trelawney who had made the prophecy that had affected Harry's life so much. The thing was, it honestly seemed like she'd had no idea of it, if her reaction to the one concerning Peter and Voldemort was any indication. She had seemed to be completely unaware she'd done it.

Working with Remus on both Care of Magical Creatures and Astronomy was truly wonderful. It was like third year all over again - he was patient, understanding, and very pleasant to work with. The only things that bothered Harry were the comments he made about his condition - the way in which he spoke about it, like he didn't think he was worth much, broke Harry's heart.

And Moody ... something about him drew Harry to him. Here was a man who had lost all of his innocence, who had seen so much cruelty and bloodshed, who had once admitted to Harry that he was in fight mode more than anything. "I don't know the definition of peace, boy." His magical eye whizzed around, something that Harry had become used to.

"I don't think that's true," Harry had disagreed softly. "You're just ... used to war, but that doesn't mean you don't know what peace is."

Moody hadn't said anything to that, but the expression on his grizzled face had made it all too clear that he thought Harry was naive. Still, they had gone on with the lesson, and Harry had vowed to himself that he was going to help Moody get through this war, as he was helping Harry.

The boy watched silently as Sirius put one of their favorite tapes inside the stereo, and began to play it. The music filled the drawing room, and Sirius sat back on the couch, putting his arm around Harry again.

The music was indeed a good distraction for both of them, but it didn't take the worry away completely - nothing could. Harry's mind kept wandering back to what must be happening in Diagon Alley, and his heart ached. The place was so magical, and should never be touched by war.

But Death Eaters didn't care about anything like that. They wished to destroy everything they touched. They were all about chaos and destruction and harm. Harry thought about Ollivander's, about Gringotts, about the Leaky Cauldron, about Madam Malkin's. He thought of the first time he had ever set foot in those shops, and the pure magic that seemed to radiate from all of them. The thought of Death Eaters, with their black robes and skull masks, their manic eyes and their cackles of laughter, marching past those establishments like they meant nothing ... it made him feel sick.

When the fireplace finally, finally roared to life, Sirius literally jumped off the couch, practically running to the stereo and turning the tape off. Now that the moment had arrived, Harry felt renewed fear thrumming through him, the feeling so strong that he started to feel very faint. He took a deep breath, attempting to slow his heartrate down.

It was Bill Weasley who spun out of the fireplace. Harry's fear only grew in intensity when he saw how pale Bill was. The normally cheerful man's face was lined with exhaustion and sorrow, and Harry knew his own face was draining of color. Sirius was turning pale as well.

By the grace of Merlin, Bill didn't look as though he had been injured. There was pain on his face, but it was purely emotional. "Harry. Sirius." He spoke quietly.

"What ... what's happened?" Sirius croaked at the same time as Harry said, "Who ..."

Bill looked at them sadly. "Mad-Eye."

Harry felt like an enormous chasm had opened up inside him, and it sucked all the air out of him. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe.

"Merlin, no!" Sirius's voice seemed very far away, and it sounded as though he, too, had been winded. "But that's ... but that's ... he was just ... he was just here."

Harry felt strangely numb as Moody's words came back to him, words that had been spoken such a short time ago. "It will be okay, Potter."

Merlin, Harry hadn't wanted Moody to go through that fireplace. He couldn't explain it, but he'd had a weird sixth sense about Moody leaving. He should have never ... should have never ...

Harry's entire body began to shake. He felt dazed, incapable of moving properly. He wasn't aware of when it happened, but the next thing he knew, he was on his knees on the floor.

Strong arms gathered him close, and Harry felt Sirius's body shaking, too, as his godfather pulled him against his chest. Harry felt his breathing quicken as Moody's words - "It will be okay, Potter," - echoed over and over again in his head.

"I should have stopped him."

Harry didn't realize he had spoken the words out loud until he heard Bill answer him. He was very dimly aware of the eldest Weasley son's hand on his shoulder

"You know you couldn't have stopped him, Harry," Bill said gently. "Nothing you could have said or done would have stopped him."

"I know," Harry whispered, feeling stupid for having said those words. How could he be so egotistical, to think that anything he said would have made him stay?

"How ... how did it ..." Sirius's voice was still hoarse from shock.

"Killing Curse," Bill murmured, his hand still on Harry's shoulder. "It was very quick."

Neither Harry nor Sirius said anything. Harry shuddered as he imagined Moody falling, all life leaving him. Just like Cedric. Just like that old Muggle man from his dream the summer before his fourth year. Just like some of the Muggles and wizards that he had had visions about just this year. Just ... just like his parents. ...

"Did anyone else get hurt?" Sirius whispered. "Sturgis?"

"Others had minor injuries, but they will make a full recovery. Sturgis is ..." Bill stopped, his expression unbearably sad. "Physically, he's fine," he murmured. "But ... he wants to be left alone tonight, although I suspect he isn't actually alone."

Harry understood immediately - he had no doubt that Kingsley wouldn't leave him. His heart filled with pain as he remembered how excited Sturgis had been for tonight's evening gathering with Philand.

"Give him some time," Bill said gently. "I'm sure he will be in touch with us soon."

Sirius and Harry both nodded. "I ... I ..." Sirius stuttered, his gray eyes agonized. "I can't imagine what he's going through right now. Is there ..." He swallowed convulsively. "Is there anything ..."

"You know how strong he is, Sirius. He'll get through this." Bill spoke reassuringly. "He just ... needs to be left alone, for now." Seeing Sirius's tortured expression, he added quietly, "You can write to him in your communication book. He may not look at it tonight ... but the message will be there waiting for him."

Harry agreed with Sirius; he honestly couldn't imagine what this was doing to Sturgis, who cared so much for each and every one of his comrades. He was one of those people who felt things so deeply and so intensely, and took everything to heart. This would go soul deep for him, and hit him hard. "None of this is his fault," he blurted out, thinking back to how many times others had told him the same.

"Of course it's not," Bill agreed. "But he feels responsible for all of us. You know him, though ... he's going to be okay."

Sirius gathered Harry closer, the enormity of all of this sinking into both him and Harry. The boy couldn't help but think about everything Moody had told him, all the lessons he had learned from him. Echoes of Moody's words filtered through his head, and Harry felt sick with the realization - he would never hear Moody's voice again. It would only ever be in his memories.

He heard him, loud and clear in his mind - "You know how important Occlumency is." He jolted, the images of the fake vision coming back to him - Merlin, that seemed like a lifetime ago.

"I ... I have information," Harry said. "I ... I know not to bother Sturgis right now, so ..."

"You can tell me," Bill said at once. "I'll make sure it gets to him."

Harry nodded; he trusted Bill. Closing his eyes, he slowly revealed what had happened that afternoon, and why Moody had been here before he'd been called away to Diagon Alley. Bill's face went pale again as Harry explained, and Harry shuddered again as he remembered the bloodlust and hatred pounding through his veins as Voldemort's spidery hand had held that wand. Merlin ...

"I need you to remember, Harry, that it wasn't you who felt those things," Bill said seriously as soon as Harry was finished. "And ... Mad-Eye would have wanted you to remember, too."

Harry's heart spasmed in pain, but he knew Bill was right. "I know," he whispered. "Occlumency is now more important than ever. Voldemort ... he was trying to test the Order, to see if they would go to Headquarters, and not be quick enough to realize where the real attack was all along."

"Exactly," Bill said, nodding. "Thankfully, Mad-Eye knew instantly what was going on. He knew that Kingsley's loyalties were without question."

There was a moment of silence, all three of them lost in the vast ocean of grief that seemed to submerge them. Finally, Harry looked up, his eyes meeting Bill's. "I'm going to work on Occlumency harder than ever now," he vowed quietly.

"I know you will," Bill replied, sounding sure of it. "And your training will continue. There are others in the Order who are also equipped to teach - I'm just not sure who will have that duty yet."

Harry understood. Currently, he couldn't even think about someone else taking over that position. It seemed wrong, somehow, to ponder such a thing so quickly.

"I must go now," Bill said regretfully. "I ... I have to get back to Mum and Dad."

Harry gasped, having been so wrapped up in his grief for Moody that he hadn't recalled that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would have been at the battle as well. "Are they ... are they okay?"

"Yes, they're fine. Shaken up, obviously, but they're okay," Bill said reassuringly. "I just need to get back to them." He looked at Harry and Sirius meaningfully. "Please take care of yourselves," he implored gently. "I'm sure I'll be seeing you soon."

"You take care, too," Sirius replied, shaking Bill's hand. "Thank you for telling us what happened."

Harry nodded, knowing that being the bearer of bad news was horrible. "Yeah," he murmured. "Thanks, Bill."

Bill nodded back, his expression full of sadness. "No problem," he said as he stepped towards the Floo. In the next moment, Harry heard him say clearly, "The Burrow." In the moment after that, he was gone.

Harry continued to sit on the floor as Sirius held him. Neither of them seemed to have the energy to move as the horror of what had just happened truly began to sink in. Harry could feel himself start to shake again as Moody's voice seemed to get louder and louder in his mind.

"Harry?" Sirius's voice was full of love and concern. "Harry, kiddo?"

The numbness was starting to wear off. Harry felt his throat close up, and his eyes stung. "He ... he let me call him Alastor," he said softly.

Why that had sprung into his mind, he didn't know, but he suddenly couldn't stop thinking about it. He remembered how Moody had been so enraged on his behalf when he'd discovered how Harry had been treated by the Dursleys. He had seen that look in his eyes - the look of someone who was hungry for revenge. And he remembered how Moody had listened to Harry's pleas that the Dursleys be left alone, and how he had reassured him that those members of the Order who had confronted Petunia, including Moody, had listened to him and not touched her. "Call me Alastor," he had said, and it had felt like such an honor.

It was these memories that opened the floodgates, and Harry, feeling safe in Sirius's arms, let go of all restraint and began to sob. Tears streamed down his face as he mourned for a man who didn't realize how much he meant to the world, and it didn't matter how hardened and embittered he had become.

He felt Sirius shaking against him, and knew that his godfather was shedding tears, too. Harry clung to him even more tightly, the grief choking him. Moody had done so much for him ... Merlin, it was so unfair, why couldn't he have done something in return? He had been sitting here uselessly while Moody went to die. It was Harry who needed to destroy Voldemort, yet he was still too young and inexperienced to be out there fighting. ...

It was so hard, at moments like this, to push these kinds of thoughts away. He knew what Moody would have told him if he'd said such a thing within his hearing range. As would Sturgis. As would Emmeline. As would anyone else who fought in the Order.

Perhaps he was just arrogant, thinking he could do something. Snape had always snarled and sneered that he was nothing more than a conceited, selfish, arrogant brat who wanted to play hero. Well, Snape was wrong - he didn't want to play hero. He just didn't want to see people get hurt.

But maybe Snape was right as well - maybe Harry was arrogant. What could he possibly have done? Did he really think he could have stopped that Death Eater from pointing his wand at Moody and taking him out? After all, he couldn't save Cedric, could he? He had already been given proof that his best wasn't enough.

"You can't save everyone, Potter." It had been Moody himself who had said that, hadn't it? Harry knew that if the man was standing in front of him now, he'd give him a good, long lecture about feeling responsible for things that weren't his fault. He imagined the man's gnarled hand on his shoulder, and this only made him feel worse. He was doing Moody a disservice by blaming himself.

Harry finally lifted his tearstained face from Sirius's shoulder. He looked into his godfather's face, which was also wet, and it made his heart ache.

"Harry." Sirius's croaky voice reached his ears. His warm, loving gray eyes met Harry's heartbroken, devastated green ones.

"I'm ... not okay, Sirius," Harry said truthfully. "I ... I'm blaming myself, but I know I shouldn't."

He opened up to Sirius completely, telling him of the thoughts he'd been having. He spoke of how he was afraid he was overconfident and arrogant, thinking he alone could have saved the day. He spoke of all Moody had taught him, and how he had told Harry in no uncertain terms that he couldn't save everyone. He spoke of the helplessness he felt, knowing that others were out there fighting and he was still training. He spoke of how his heart was breaking for Sturgis, because he knew how he must be feeling. And he also spoke of how sorry he was that Sirius had to worry about him, when he knew the man was grieving himself.

At this last statement, Sirius almost crushed Harry in his embrace. "Do not ever be sorry for that, kiddo," he said emotionally, his voice raw. He lifted Harry's chin, his gray eyes meeting Harry's green ones again. "It helps me, to be helping you," he said softly. "Do you know how much it means, that you now feel comfortable opening up to me like this?"

Harry sniffled, giving Sirius a watery smile. "You've shown me that it's okay to do so," he murmured quietly.

"Of course it is," Sirius replied gently, ruffling Harry's soft hair. After a moment, he continued, "You're not arrogant, Harry. In fact, you're far from it. It's the opposite of arrogance - you've spent four years with expectations heaped on you, with people thinking it's your duty to always save the day. You grew up with people who treated you worse than dirt, who blamed you for everything that went wrong. You grew up believing that your life was less important than those lives around you, and the way the wizarding world relies on you to beat the villain only reinforced that belief. Is it any surprise that you think the way you do? It's not arrogance, Harry." Sirius sounded both heartbroken and angry. "Snape doesn't have a stinking clue," he snarled.

Harry hadn't told him that Snape had said such a thing, but in hindsight, it was obvious that Sirius would jump to that conclusion - but he wasn't wrong.

"It's disgusting," Sirius continued, still carting his hand through Harry's hair as he took a deep breath to rein in his anger. "He's using his prejudices about your father against you. It's completely unacceptable."

"It's okay, Sirius." Harry whispered. "I ... thanks."

Sirius's explanation of his childhood and how he'd been raised to think made a lot of sense to Harry. It was true that he'd been taught to think that his life was worthless and to believe otherwise was selfish. Selfish. It had always been a word that was flung at him with complete contempt. Selfish. He didn't care about others at all. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were kind, loving people who took him in out of the goodness of their hearts. His parents were selfish to die in a car accident. Harry was selfish to think he deserved anything at all. Dudley never asked for anything, and Harry was always asking for too much. He was nothing more than a burden.

This summer, Sirius had taught him that everything the Dursleys had ever said was a lie, and most of the time, he believed it. But in moments like this, he couldn't deny that everything that had been drilled into him throughout his childhood - that same old refrain - came back to him.

"Harry." Sirius's gentle voice broke him out of his thoughts.

"I know I couldn't have saved him, even if I'd been fighting." Harry spoke quietly. "I know that. It's just ..."

"I know, pup." Sirius held Harry against him. "I know."

There was nothing more that needed to be said. Harry and Sirius just held each other, both lost in their thoughts.

He didn't know how long he had been lying in Sirius's arms, but when the fireplace suddenly roared to life again, he jerked upright, his heart beginning to race. Merlin ... there couldn't be more bad news - could there?

There were a few agonizing seconds while Harry and Sirius waited for whoever it was to complete their journey through the Floo network. When the person finally materialized, however, and a second person spun through only seconds later, Harry's fear transformed into shock - and then into amazement.

Ron and Hermione landed on the floor of the drawing room, both standing and brushing soot off their clothes. A heartbeat later, both ran to Harry as he met them, holding him in a soft, comforting embrace. "Harry, mate," Ron said, his blue eyes filled with an incredible sympathy.

"Harry." Hermione sounded choked up as she blinked back tears. "Harry, we are so sorry."

Harry felt overwhelmed as Hermione continued to hug him, and Ron went over to Sirius, who looked exceedingly touched that they had come. "How ... how are you here?" Harry choked.

"Professor McGonagall told us what happened," Hermione explained softly. "And ... obviously, we knew that meant you'd be here tonight, and not at Sturgis's."

"We had to come and see you," Ron murmured. "But ... we don't have to stay, if you'd rather ... just be with Sirius."

Harry felt tears of gratitude spring to his eyes. He truly did have amazing friends, and he wasn't about to reject them.

Yes, people grieved in different ways, and there was no wrong or right about it. Some people needed to process it and work through it alone, while others needed company. Yet others only wanted certain people around them during the worst of it.

And Harry realized, in that instant, that he needed Ron and Hermione. He wasn't going to turn them away. A huge surge of gratitude welled up within him at the thoughtfulness of Professor McGonagall as well.

"Please stay," Harry told his friends, his voice shaky. "Thank ... thank you for coming."

"There's no need to thank us, mate," Ron said quietly. "We knew how hard this would hit you."

Sirius spoke up, his face still full of gratitude. "Come and sit down," he told them. "Make yourselves comfortable. Did you want anything to eat or drink?"

Ron looked uncomfortable. "Uh ... no, it's okay. We'll go to the kitchens when we get back to Hogwarts."

Harry realized then that it would be dinnertime at the castle now, and Ron and Hermione were missing it in order to be with him. "No," he told them firmly. "Kreacher will make dinner."

Hermione opened her mouth, but Harry held up a hand. "It's the least we can do," he said quietly, while Sirius called for Kreacher.

In the next moment, Harry was sitting with Sirius and his two best friends. Kreacher had prepared fish and chips for them, but instead of sitting at the table, Sirius had allowed them to sit on the couch, with the fish and chips wrapped up in newspaper. There was something infinitely comforting about it. Harry's appetite had been nonexistent before, but suddenly, he was ravenous. There was something about grief and loss that would either make you want to eat huge portions of food, or eat nothing at all.

None of them spoke as they ate, but that was okay. Harry felt like he was wrapped in a cocoon of comfort and support, surrounded by the three people he loved most in the world. Only the sound of chewing permeated the room.

It wasn't long into their meal that the fireplace roared to life yet again. All four occupants of the room glanced at each other, wondering who it would be.

And when Remus Lupin stepped out of the fireplace, his face lined with sorrow, Harry couldn't say he was surprised to see him. After all, he and Sirius were best friends, brothers. And the two of them had been through this plenty of times before, when their comrades had fallen in the First War.

There were soft greetings from all of them, and then it was the five of them sitting on the couch eating fish and chips, as Kreacher had prepared more for Remus. They all exchanged glances with each other as the fire crackled in the hearth, and the sound of chewing filled the room again. Harry still felt the grief just as acutely as he had before, but there was also love and warmth there, too.

Because the people who cared the most for Harry and Sirius were here with them tonight, and despite the heavy weight both of them were carrying, they knew they weren't alone.

And that was what made all the difference.