“Burn it.”

Harry James Potter was never just Harry James Potter; he was always the Saviour of the Wizarding world, the Golden Boy of Albus Dumbledore and the Boy Who Lived, among other inane titles. What he was right now was too old; too old to be able to think, too old to be able to shout and much too old to be able to care.

“Harry, be reasonable,” Dumbledore’s soft voice was gradually losing its calming effect on Harry, he brought to mind the times when he was sure that everything would be fine once the Headmaster was there. Now, however, he knew that nothing would be fine anymore.

It was a few weeks after Sirius’ death. Dumbledore usually came to visit Harry at the Dursley’s but they agreed to come to Hogwarts to formally discuss the issue of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Harry decided to wear worn-out jeans that he didn’t bother to replace and the jumper Mrs. Weasley gave him in his 4th year, the green one with the dragon motif. It was very short and ill-fitting but that was the first thing that he had grabbed from the pile on the floor of his room. All throughout the summer holidays, Harry remembered with a lights smile, Dumbledore would wear the same set of traditional midnight-blue robes with little stars hopping about.

They were in Dumbledore’s office now; the auburn sky outside gently illuminating the deep ruby curtains. Resting on the windowsill was Hedwig. He’d wondered why she was there; Dumbledore must’ve summoned her earlier.

Was he planning to ask me to send a letter to the Dursleys? Maybe he’s finally allowing me to stay in Hogwarts for the rest of the summer, he thought, his mood lightened briefly.

He shifted a bit in his favourite chair, feeling as if a Dementor was perching on his shoulders, he knew that was wishful thinking.

Of course he wouldn’t ask me to write them, that would go against wanting me to stay miserable and alone, he considered darkly.

Harry spotted some unfamiliar trinkets and charms scattered about the shelves. The memory of his last time here still brought shame even after Dumbledore accepted his awkward apology. Had he been that reckless? To risk angering the Headmaster wasn’t one of his well thought of plans. He didn’t notice Dumbledore watching him through his half-mooned spectacles, cautiously calculating his next words.

“Harry, number twelve Grimmauld Place and all that is left of Sirius’ possessions are yours, my boy. Not the Order’s and most certainly-”

“I... I don’t want it, Professor,” Harry begged, voice breaking after an hour of this discussion; the topics just going around in circles. He knew Dumbledore was trying to manipulate him once again, tiring him until he gives his consent.

He stood up, desperation flooding his thoughts with suggestions. Pacing the length of the room, he cried, “I keep on telling you to use it as Order Headquarters. All of it would be yours! Hell, I’ll give it to anyone who offers! I know Mundungus would love to have it. Not to mention the gold he’d get for anything in it...” He mumbled that last bit but he knew from prior experience that Dumbledore heard it anyway.

His eyes wandered the room hoping to find something, anything, to look at. Not looking Dumbledore in the eye was all that was preventing Harry from making a fool of himself and frankly, he could live without the added embarrassment. Settling his gaze onto the multiple silver instruments on the table beside him, he sighed deeply.

“Thinking of destroying my office once again, Harry?” Dumbledore replied softly with a shade of amusement, “Don’t worry; I’ve made sure that these replacements are easier to throw across the room.”

His urge to throw a fit subsided, he felt embarrassed to be thinking of doing that again. “Reading my mind doesn’t make me feel any better, Professor,” said Harry in what was meant to be a sharp tone but instead came out weary.

Harry couldn’t face Dumbledore anymore, he abruptly walked over to the east window, seeing that the night sky didn’t hold any stars that night; a promise of rain. He patted Hedwig’s snow-white feathers and she hooted warmly, looking even more beautiful than usual. Eyes shining with the reflection of moonlight, she looked as if she was trying to assure him that everything would be just fine.

Feeling defeated, he let go of Hedwig and turned to sit down again, failing to grasp the words he so wanted to voice out. His hands seemed to have a life of its own, his right hand trailing the edges of the Headmaster’s table while the other grasping the edges of his jumper.

Harry noticed that tiny little wands and wizard hats were dancing about the edges; the ornate carvings on the oak desk matched the ones on the doors. He knew that magic was used to carve all the intricate designs, they were practically miniscule!

Dumbledore glanced upon the single candlelight on his desk. It was charmed to illuminate only half of his office; he found out early on in his days as Headmaster that too much light makes him slightly dozy.

He smiled faintly, his weary eyes revealing the age that no one has noticed so far. “Harry, you must be aware that it would be unwise to continue using Grimmauld Place for headquarters. Fidelius alone won’t thoroughly secure Grimmauld Place from Voldemort and his Death Eaters; you know that they won’t stop at trying to kill everyone on the side of the Light, Harry. Severus-”

“I told you that I never want to talk about that – that – no good, overgrown –” his breath knotted though the vehemence in his tone clearly visible.

“My boy,” Dumbledore clasped Harry’s hands, shaking with the urge to strangle Snape until all the grease in his hair dried out; he carried on, “blaming Professor Snape hardly gives you more closure. We’ve talked about this for innumerable times, my boy. You should feel –”

Opting instead to wrench his hands from Dumbledore’s grasp, he bashed his fist on the Headmaster’s desk. Harry exclaimed, “Don’t you dare tell me how to feel! You’ve been pushing me to do everything else so don’t even think I’ll let you manipulate me this time.”

Harry could feel his composure vanishing entirely. “I thought you understood! I’m too damn tired of blaming myself for everything horrible that happens in the Wizarding World! I don’t want to spend every single night in my life, twisting and turning, trying to figure out where I’ve gone wrong! Now, when I finally realize that I am nowhere near the one to blame, you try and make me feel at fault!” he shoved his hands in his pockets.

Dumbledore stood up so quickly that Harry almost jumped. The urge to beat Snape into a bloody pulp subsided a bit when the Headmaster lightly held Harry’s shoulders to face him. His eyes twinkling with an emotion that resembled impatience, he said, “Harry, let us not refrain from the matter at hand. What shall we do with number twelve, Grimmauld Place?”

Regaining his composure, Harry thought quickly of a solution that would make both he and Dumbledore satisfied. A few moments later, he answered, smiling brightly, “A compromise; I give Professor Lupin the ownership of Grimmauld Place while I get Sirius’ possessions.”

Dumbledore seemed unfazed; it was as if he was just waiting for Harry to realize what to do on his own.

Harry continued, “See, Professor Lupin needs a large space for his…” remembering his father’s words, he smiled, “‘furry little problem’ right? When I give him Grimmauld Place, he could go about the rooms when he transforms without fear of getting caught or damaging anyone!”

The Headmaster smiled genuinely, “That would be doable, Harry. I would like to tell you that I am very pleased that you would take ownership of Sirius’ possessions. You of all people should have them.” Dumbledore walked over to Harry and clapped his shoulders happily.

Harry, however, had other plans. The easier it is to chuck everything into Gringotts, the happier I’ll be. He stood up, walking around the Headmaster’s office, glancing at everything and nothing at the same time.

After what seemed like hours, he heard Dumbledore whisper, “Harry, it’s time.”

“Fine,” he admitted. He strolled over to the Headmaster’s fireplace, bracing himself for the trip to the one place he’s been avoiding more so than the Dursleys.

Just before Dumbledore threw in the Floo Powder, he suddenly realized a fact that made him roar with laughter.

For the love of Merlin, Dumbledore’s done it again.

Number 12 Grimmauld Place never felt like home; not when he was with Sirius, not that fateful visit when Arthur Weasley was confined in St. Mungo’s and most certainly not the last time he saw Sirius there; the moment when he handed over the mirror for Harry to use.

It pained Harry to even step out of the fireplace and into the kitchens. He peered around hoping that somehow, Dumbledore made a mistake and they ended up somewhere, anywhere except here.

Dumbledore tapped on the piles of parchment on the kitchen table and it moved to reveal someone sleeping. There were still a lot of parchments so he couldn’t see who it was but when he glanced upon a shabby set of wizards’ robes, he smiled.

This won’t be as bad as I thought.

“Professor Lupin!” said Harry, moving in to shake Remus Lupin’s shoulders.

Remus’ eyes opened immediately, he looked to be on the alert, as if he wasn’t just sleeping. He had on the same robes he wore last summer and his hair looked like it was competing with Harry’s.

He turned to his left and smiled, “Harry, how are you?”

Remus stood up to stretch, yawning loudly in the process.

“A bit tired; what’re all these?” said Harry, pointing at the piles of parchment.

“Nothing important, just some research for the Order,” said Remus, smiling broadly.

Remus was about to sit down again when Dumbledore suddenly spoke.

“Have you seen Arthur, Remus?” said Dumbledore softly.

Remus jumped, he didn’t see Dumbledore at first, and he was hidden behind the parchment in front of him.

“In one of the bedrooms, I think,” said Remus, surprised that Dumbledore had been there all along, “He brought something that was called a letty fone, or other. He was in there all day, raising this bent wand shaped object to his mouth and shouting.”

Harry struggled not to laugh; he was a bit amused that Mr. Weasley still shouted on the telephone even after that incident with the Dursleys.

“Don’t worry sir, I’ll go get him,” said Harry, grateful to be able to talk with Mr. Weasley again and be out of Dumbledore’s reach for a little while.

“Go ahead, Harry,” said Remus.

Harry was about to exit the kitchen when he heard Dumbledore speak again.

“Severus will arrive shortly to relieve you, Remus.”

Harry turned around, walking back to stare at Dumbledore.

“You didn’t tell me Snape’ll be here!” snapped Harry, aggravated that Dumbledore conveniently forgot to tell him details again.

“Professor Snape, Harry. I might have allowed you that time in my office but I most certainly do not condone disrespect,” said Dumbledore in a tone that made Harry’s annoyance subside just a bit.

“Yes sir,” Harry mumbled grudgingly, “I’ll go get Mr. Weasley then.”

He turned around and stomped out of the kitchens, pausing to make sure he wouldn’t slam the door.

Acting childish around Dumbledore is one thing, but I don’t want Mr. Weasley and Professor Lupin to see me like this.

*****

He found Mr. Weasley pacing in the first floor bedroom, the one where he and Ron slept in when they were there for the summer.

“Hello? Hello! Hello? This is Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office for the Ministry of Magic. Hello? Brilliant contraption this is, but how in Merlin’s name do they make it work alone?”

Mr. Weasley was holding the telephone base to his ears, the handset was flopping about in the air, it’s cord knotted in so many ways that it looked like a giant ball.

“Hullo Mr. Weasley,” said Harry in a cheerful tone, lingering in the doorway.

Mr. Weasley dropped the telephone in surprise. He was moving to grab his wand when he saw that it was Harry talking to him. Sighing in relief, he smiled broadly and moved to hug Harry.

“Harry, my boy, how are you?” clapping Harry’s shoulders, Mr. Weasley looked thinner than ever, rivalling Harry’s frame.

Why does everyone look like me nowadays? Must be pretty tense in the Order.

He once again felt jealous of not being in the Order, telling himself that he simply wasn’t ready and should deal with it, he struggled to return Mr. Weasley’s smile.

“I’m fine, Mr. Weasley. How’s everyone?”

“Just smashing, Harry, everyone’s missed you. We hope you decide to visit the Burrow this summer,” said Mr. Weasley, sounding very happy.

“Hope so, Mr. Weasley, I’m not sure if Professor Dumbledore would allow me though,” said Harry, making sure that Mr. Weasley heard the regret in his voice.

“I’ll try to talk to him Harry, if you want to that is,” said Mr. Weasley, his fatherly tone made Harry feel a twinge of jealousy but he let it pass.

“That’d be great Mr. Weasley,” Harry smiled genuinely. He couldn’t imagine living the rest of his summer with the Dursleys again; not when he feels so weary. “By the way, Professor Dumbledore was looking for you.”

“He was? Goodness, I’ve got to go see him then. Mustn’t keep Dumbledore waiting, you know.”

Oh, I know.

“Yeah, I’ll follow you out. I’ll just sit around for a bit.”

“Alright Harry, it was nice to see you again.”

“Same here, Mr. Weasley,” said Harry. He was hoping to sleep for a while; his early discussion with Dumbledore drained him too much. Lying down on the bed, he looked up at the ceiling, trying to force himself to sleep.

Honestly, what do we need Dementors for? We could just pass around talking portraits of Dumbledore if you needed to be shamed to tears. Not that I was reduced to tears, it just felt so –

“Harry?”

Harry looked up from the bed; it was Professor Dumbledore standing in the doorway. Remus was right behind him, smiling at Harry.

He sat up straight, playing with the edges of his jumper, “Yes, Professor?”

“I have to accompany Arthur for a while, I’ll be back soon.”

“Sure, Professor,” Harry felt glad that he wasn’t being asked to start sorting through Sirius’ things already. He was just too tired.

Dumbledore left the room, midnight-blue robes swirling as dramatically as Snape’s usually did.

Snape.

His features darkened when he remembered that Snape would be arriving later.

Sensing Harry’s tension, Remus sat down on one of the chairs near the bed.

“Harry, why don’t you sit here and we’ll talk,” Remus patted the chair next to him.

Wordlessly, Harry stood up from the bed then crossed over to the chair where he sat down, running a hand through his hair, doing nothing to make it look remotely presentable.

Searching around for a topic, Harry grinned when he asked, “Do you know who got the DADA post?”

Lupin laughed, looking relieved at the subject.

“Don’t get your hopes up, Harry” Remus uncharacteristically waggled his eyebrows at this.

Harry scoffed, “When did I ever? I mean,” he realized his gaffe when he remembered Remus was the one he was talking to, “that was before I had you for Defence and obviously, you were the best –”

“Harry,” Remus sounded amused, “go ahead, I’m pretty thick skinned – or rather, ‘furred’ may be the proper word.”

Smiling, Harry went on, “It’s just that,” he counted off his left hand, “I get Voldemort on the back of a stuttering head, an obliviating fraud that ended up in St. Mungo’s permanently –”

“I heard that Professor Lockhart was doing considerably well,” interrupted Remus quietly.

“If you could call trying to sign autographs every second of the day ‘well’ then, yeah, he is very well, really.” Harry remembered last year’s winter holidays, shaking his head at the memory of Lockhart trying to force upon them his autograph.

“Anyway,” said Harry, “don’t interrupt me; then I got an impostor with a magical eye who tried to hand me off to Voldemort and just lately, a crackpot ministry hag who wants to carve in some stupid lines on the back of my hand!” he waved around his hand for emphasis.

Remus’ eyebrows shot up and stared at Harry’s left hand. “Did she really?” he whispered.

Harry felt ashamed of brandishing his hand around, he hated having people pity him yet here he is, practically begging for attention.

“Don’t mind that, it’s just a scratch anyway…” He searched around for anything else to say.

“You forgot something.”

“Professor?”

“You forgot to mention an extremely rabid werewolf that almost ripped you and your friends to shreds, unintentionally, of course,” said Remus, smiling slightly.

“Well, to tell you the truth, Professor,” said Harry, happy for the change in subject, “it’s a bit easier to make adjustments when he just so happens to be a chocolate sharing werewolf who was best friends are my dad and Sirius…”

Remus grinned slightly, playfully shoving Harry’s shoulders.

“Hey, that hurt!” Harry laughed, trying to push Remus but he wouldn’t budge.

“I didn’t do anything!” chuckled Remus, shoving Harry to the side.

“Oof!” Harry fell off the chair, rubbing his shoulders, he tried to shove Remus with all his might, “You bully! You’re a grown man who has the strength of a werewolf and you’re picking on a soon-to-be 16 year old!”

Remus held off Harry’s arms then stood abruptly, causing Harry to fall into the chair.

“That’s tomorrow, right?” Remus tried to ask, he was laughing so hard that Harry couldn’t understand what he was saying.

“What was that?”

“Your birthday, tomorrow, right?” asked Remus; he was still shaking with mirth but he managed to say it clearly.

“Yeah…” Harry sat down properly.

“Any plans?”

“Not really, I’m staying with the Dursleys.”

Someone knocked on the doorway, it was Dumbledore.

“Harry, I’ve returned.”

“That was quick, sir. How was it?”

“Perfectly fine, Harry. I just wanted to remind you of some matters.”

“Sure, Professor.”

““My boy, the Black Family has been known to apply all sorts of protective magic on even the simplest of objects.”

“I know that sir,” said Harry plainly.

“We,” Harry knew that Dumbledore referred to the Order, “have tried our best to put aside those that we felt wary of but Sirius’ personal possessions were left untouched for you to sort through.”

Harry stared but Dumbledore was obviously waiting for an answer of some kind. “Ok…” he whispered.

“Harry, you of all people should know not to meddle with charmed objects which do not reveal their purpose at once.”

“Always, sir.”

“You should be responsible for your actions and refrain from touch things which seem, in any way, dangerous.”

“Of course sir.”

“Never identify yourself or offer information to anything”

“Yes sir.”

“Lastly, Harry, if ever you need any help, Professor Lupin will stay here to assist you.”

“Ok sir but, not to be rude or anything…” Harry tried to his best to keep his voice calm, his anger was slowly building up again, “I know better than to toy around with anything I’m suspicious of. After everything that happened in the Chamber of Secrets, I’m pretty sure I learned that lesson quickly.”

Dumbledore looked at Harry, looking like he was calculating if Harry’s reply would suffice.

“Sir is there anything I should know?” said Harry a little too sharply.

“Nothing, Harry.”

Harry dropped his gaze to the floor. The thought that Dumbledore was once again keeping secrets from him made him feel, if that was possible, even more apprehensive.

Dumbledore glanced at Harry once more then bid farewell to him and Remus as he entered the Floo.

A few seconds had passed when Harry realized that he had been holding his breath the whole time Dumbledore was leaving.

“He’s a bit careful, nowadays,” said Remus, clearly amused.

Harry felt vaguely grateful that Remus spoke up first; he thought he might Floo out of Grimmauld Place if his nerves didn’t settle down.

“A bit? He’s like Mad-Eye Moody with a beard!”

Remus smiled as he motioned to the door at the end of the kitchen.

“So, Harry,” said Remus, “is it time to go down to the cellar?”

*****

The cellar was a dark and musty room as big as the kitchen. There were no windows or openings of any kind save for the door where they came in, the feeling that the walls were taunting him, as if wanting to confine him, grew considerably, making Harry want to forget anything that Dumbledore wanted him to do.

A single crate stood in the centre of the room. It was roughly the same size as his school trunk though he could see that generations of use turned it to a state where Harry could reduce it to sand if he so much as breathes on it.

Harry walked to it, stopping when he was an arms length away from touching it. He looked back at Professor Lupin, who was standing at the doorway, watching Harry.

“Professor, are you sure that it’s alright to touch that crate?” he said, apprehension getting the best of him.

“Yes, Harry,” Remus looked at Harry seriously, “we’ve checked it for hexes and curses; it’s safe.”

Harry looked at the crate, still wary about touching it.

“Professor – um – is this it?” asked Harry, pointing at the crate, “it just seems a bit – er – small.”

Remus smiled, “It’s charmed with the Foramena spell. You use it if you need more space then what’s allowed. It’s a bit complicated though so you’d be better off if you just bring the things you want. I can’t do it myself but in my position, I don’t really need to.”

Harry’s face burned, he knew that Remus wasn’t rich but hearing it from him… “Oh yeah, just like Crouch’s trunk…” Harry remembered seeing the real Moody inside a deep room when he remembered something he wanted to ask Lupin last year, “Where were you in my fourth year, professor?”

Harry saw Remus stiffen and he immediately regretted asking; Harry knew that it was the year after he got sacked from Hogwarts and Harry never even bothered to write him.

“I’m sorry, Professor. It’s just that – um – sorry if I didn’t get to write you much, you know, with the Triwizard Tournament and stuff... I mean – er – the Tournament was a stupid excuse anyway, I still should have wrote you, I’m really –”

“You sound like you’ve been drinking some Babbling Beverage, Harry,” said Remus, trying to lighten the mood. It was very depressing down in the cellar so his attempt made Harry smile.

“It’s true that I did mean to write you though,” Harry knew it was a lie. He didn’t even think of Remus, much less the thought of writing him.

“I know, Harry.”

With that, Harry stepped toward the crate and tried to pry it open with his hands.

“Oof… Did Dumbledore leave us a crowbar or something to open it with?”

Remus gave Harry an incredulous look then said a quick spell.

The crate’s flap opened with a pop and settled itself next to Harry.

“Are you alright, Harry? Do you feel dizzy or nauseated? Maybe you should –”

“I’m not going to sick up! I just… forgot,” said Harry, wondering why he didn’t think of using his wand in the first place.

Harry sat down in front of the crate, sifting through the piles of objects inside. They looked ordinary enough, nothing that looked even remotely dangerous. Still, he placed them on the floor very gently; an explosion in the cellar wasn’t what Dumbledore would classify as “responsible actions”.

Sorting them into two piles (one to chuck into Gringotts and another to shove in the rubbish bin) took hours; Harry didn’t realize that the Foramena spell worked this impressively. He really should have Dumbledore teach him how to do it.

After a while, Harry felt completely bored. He honestly thought that going through Sirius’ things would be interesting but so far, all he found were old books he was sure Sirius had never read and some articles of clothing.

“Professor,” Harry called out to Remus in the kitchen, “are you sure these are all Sirius’ stuff?”

“We found those in his bedroom,” said Remus, sticking his head out quickly then vanishing back into the kitchen.

Harry frowned; he couldn’t see why Sirius would keep those things.

The last item inside the crate was a diary; at least, it looked like a diary. It was a black, tatty old thing with its spine mangled and torn. It didn’t hold a lock so Harry flipped through it.

This must’ve belonged to Sirius’ mum.

The diary itself was blank; as he was flicking over the pages, a piece of parchment fell out and fluttered to the ground.

Harry picked it up delicately with his wand. It looked much older than the diary, the edges were frayed and deep brown with age yet the centre of the parchment was a startlingly clear silver colour.

“Lumos,” said Harry, wanting to examine the parchment. Nothing was written on it except a single tiny sentence at the bottom-right portion; Noli Me Tangere. Harry guessed it was Latin but he wasn’t sure. He wouldn’t have seen the sentence if he wasn’t squinting so hard anyway, it was barely readable.

It didn’t look like it was safe yet Harry couldn’t seem to put it back in the diary. A feeling in his gut told him that there was more to this parchment than that sentence.

He struggled to remember what spells Hermione used for Riddle’s diary. The thought of the diary made Harry pause and think about what he was about to do.

Dumbledore told you more than 5 times to be careful, said a distant voice in his head.

I am being careful, what’s dangerous with using a few simple revealing spell, this time it was his normal voice that he heard.

He inhaled sharply and for a split-second, he thought he saw something appear on the parchment.

Must be my imagination.

Shaking his head, Harry picked up the parchment. He didn’t feel any different so he doubted that the parchment was hexed.

Remembering the incantations, he tried his luck.

“Aparecium,” nothing happened.

“Specialis revelio,” still nothing, Harry felt disappointed. It was nothing but a piece of parchment after all.

I really need to work on my spells this summer.

Harry sighed loudly, he was about to pocket it again when an image suddenly emerged into the parchment.

In the parchment was Voldemort, lying face down on the ground, dead, and Harry was standing over him, wand out and pointed at a body next to him.

Harry couldn’t breathe.

Harry’s lungs felt petrified; forgetting his need to breathe, he forced his mind to memorize every single detail he could see on the – dare he call it prophecy?

I’ll think about that later, now look at it!

No trees.

No houses.

No Dumbledore.

It was difficult to figure out anything specific, the only light accompanying Harry was that of the moon. There was a bundle of blankets to his right but he didn’t pay any mind to it.

The vision Harry was standing straight, his wand hand pointing straight down. He could barely see Voldemort’s face, but he observed that he was chalk white, with red cat-like eyes and the slits for nostrils.

Oh it’s Voldemort, all right. No one else deserves to be that ugly.

Voldemort wasn’t moving so Harry was convinced that he was, in fact, dead.

Harry looked over to the pile of blankets again and noticed that it covered a body; he felt his heartbeat thunder and his hands shake with anxiety, who was it?

Wait a minute. Oh bloody hell… It’s moving!

In his haste to prove that it was indeed Voldemort on the ground, Harry didn’t notice that his cloak was fiercely fluttering in the wind and that his body was shaking with rage.

Straining to see what was happening, he became aware of his mouth moving. He seemed like he was incanting a very long spell but he wasn’t sure because his wand did nothing, no sparks, no jets of light.

It looked like it was around midnight. Nothing else was moving. Harry couldn’t see if they were in a village of some sort but it was very unlikely.

How could no one else be there?

Harry was moving towards the body slowly, kneeling at its side. He was grasping the edges of the blanket, wrenching it open –

It was as the second task all over again but this time he was drowning in the Black Lake, the glacial waters clinging on to him while he could feel invisible arms stretching out to strangle every inch of him, passing him around further and further, tumbling down into the chasm below.

“Harry!”

He wasn’t struggling; he was welcoming the feeling of nothingness. No more worries, no more obligations.

“Harry, answer me!”

Hands were on his face, slapping him hard but Harry wouldn’t flinch.

“Harry, you’re in a state of shock. Breathe!”

A jolt of pain shot up his lungs, the fantasy shattering all over him and leaving him cold and in pain.

He didn’t breathe for so long that every time he inhaled, a hundred needles were piercing his nerves all at once.

Grasping his neck, Harry crouched down to the floor. Remus was standing near the crate, his was stance one of a calm man though his face betrayed him.

Burying his face in his hands, Harry clung on to the memory of the image.

The parchment makes it seem so real.

His eyes shot up.

The parchment… Where is it?

His gaze scanned the floor while he used his hands to pat for its crumpled shape. Harry’s vision was blurred for his glasses weren’t anywhere in sight.

He saw the vague outline of the parchment near Remus’ feet, he threw himself to reach it but Remus was nearer and far less exhausted than Harry.

Snatching it up, Remus then sat down next to Harry.

“Where did you find this, Harry?”

Crate

Remus’ expression remained bewildered; Harry realized that he couldn’t voice it out. He was just too tired.

He couldn’t bring himself to speak so he settled for pointing numbly at the direction of the crate. That wasn’t any use too for as he stretched his left hand, his knees gave in and he fell forward to the floor.

Thank Merlin for Remus’ reflexes.

Remus struggled with putting Harry into a sitting position.

“Harry, I can carry you upstairs but knowing you, I doubt you’ll agree to that.”

If Harry wasn’t so weak that a word would make him faint he would’ve barked with laughter at that last admission, so instead he settled for a faint smile.

“Being your father’s best mate does have its perks, don’t you think?” smiled Remus. “Mind if I mobilicorpus you?”

Harry used all his strength in him to put on a fierce glare.

“Alright then, carry you it is!” Remus placed his hands on Harry’s legs and back as if to cradle him.

Harry’s eyes widened, he tried to fight off Remus but he might as well have been trying to teach Grawp how to curtsy.

Slumping, Harry gave in and did his best to convince himself that he’ll still be able to look Remus in the eye after this ordeal.

Harry woke up in the drawing room, lying down on the couch next to the fire place. It was morning at last but the sunlight didn’t help to decrease the gloomy ambience of Grimmauld Place but at least Harry could see everything clearly.

His glasses were back with him though he couldn’t recall how he got it back. He also couldn’t remember how he got there, in fact, he forgot everything that happened after the watching the image in the parchment.

“How’re you feeling?”

Remus was sitting down on a shabby wooden chair; it looked very out of place in the regal drawing room.

Harry tried to sit up, his every bone ached but he forced himself to bear it.

You got through Cruciatus at Voldemort’s hands. Get a grip, Harry.

“I don’t understand why I felt so weak down in the cellar, Professor.” Harry was confused and embarrassed at the same time. The sight of Remus made him remember how he was brought to the drawing room.

“Well, I suppose that the lack of air poses a slight problem to your almighty Dark Lord repelling powers,” said Remus, grinning slightly.

Harry rolled his eyes. “What I mean is that I don’t usually panic like that. It’s like that thing was… cursed…”

Remus raised his eyebrow to say ‘you think?’

“Damn it, I swear Dumbledore’ll kill me before I even try to off Voldemort,” groaned Harry.

Remus laughed. “If this was a different person, I would’ve called up St. Mungo’s in a second. But seeing that it’s you, Harry, nothing is too extreme.”

“Where’s the parchment?” asked Harry.

“It’s with me. Why Harry? What did you see?”

Mentally sighing, he prepared to tell Remus everything he could remember.

“Urk... Ah, erm,” stuttered Harry.

“Em… Er… It’s…” said Harry, trying his best to force his mouth to form the words.

“Harry?” Remus frowned, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have forced you to tell me immediately. You go to sleep, you need more rest.”

“No, Professor!” Harry exclaimed, “I can’t say it!”

Remus’ brow furrowed.

“You can’t –”

“– say it, yeah! It’s like every time I try to, my throat closes up or something.”

After whispering all sorts of incantations, Dumbledore stared listlessly at it for minutes.

“It won’t reveal anything, Harry.” Dumbledore’s strong voice made Harry visibly jump.

Harry felt shocked, ashamed to meet anyone’s eyes; he looked down and tried to recollect what he’d done to make it work.

What’s wrong with me? Hah, Malfoy’d kill to hear me say that.

Shaking his head as if to clear it of Malfoy’s presence, he began to speak.

“I… I tried a few revealing spells that Hermione taught – er – used before… I think it was aparecium and specialis something, I forgot…”

Revealing Spells.

Summer.

Merlin’s balls.

Dumbledore nodded, waiting for Harry’s reply, “Go on, Harry.”

“Professor, I used magic! I – I – it was an accident! Really! It’s just – it was dark so I did a lumos, then I – ”

“Harry, I’ll take care of it,” said Dumbledore in a business-like manner.

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “So, this means I won’t need to go to another hearing?”

Dumbledore nodded.

Harry sighed in relief. “Wonderful, that’s simply wonderful.”

“Harry, the parchment, please,” Dumbledore urged impatiently.

“Oh yeah, um – I guess that’s it then,” shrugged Harry.

Dumbledore stared blankly. “That is all? Are you sure?”

“That’s all I did, I swear! The spells didn’t work – I don’t know why – so I got frustrated and almost pocketed it when it –”

“You felt frustrated,” Dumbledore didn’t say it in a questioning tone but Harry was too confused to notice it.

“Of course I felt frustrated! I finally found something that might be worth keeping and then it just blew up in my face.”

“What did you do after?”

“I don’t know I sighed and cursed a lot. Mentally, of course. I’m not that stupid to do it when Professor Lupin could hear me from the kitchens.”

Remus glared, “I wouldn’t have cared if you cursed my ears out; you should’ve told me that you found something dubious.”

“You sighed…” Dumbledore looked at Remus to interrupt him, his calculating gaze revealing nothing yet conveying full understanding.

“Permutatiano,” declared Dumbledore as he sat down on the chair next to Remus. Dumbledore looked ancient, his eyes fell shut as he clasped his hands carefully.

“Oh Merlin,” murmured Remus, “Harry, that’s really Dark magic. Pre-Hogwarts, even.”

“I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten to brush up on my Latin,” barked Harry, “now could anyone tell me what shite I’ve gotten myself into again?”

“Harry,” Dumbledore’s eyes showed his disappointment, “be careful.”

“Sorry, Professor Dumbledore,” muttered Harry.

Dumbledore swiftly rose to pace around the drawing room. “It is the darkest of exchange spells. You must sacrifice the most important requirement a man needs for the use of this object.”

That explains why I could only see it when I held my breath. Bloody obvious, Harry!

“Does it explain why I can’t tell anyone what I saw?” asked Harry.

“Yes, it’s similar to the Fidelius charm yet...”

Harry waited.

“The truth of your visions could only be revealed after it is fulfilled.”

They stayed silent for a few minutes when Remus spoke up.

“Could I borrow it, Headmaster?”

Dumbledore wordlessly handed it over to Remus as if it was just an ordinary piece of parchment.

Remus was silent for a few minutes. Harry was wondering if anything was wrong but when he listened really closely he could hear something very startling.

Remus J. Lupin was crying. He was sobbing silently yet tears were flowing freely down both of his cheeks. Choking back on more tears, Remus willed himself to close his eyes and shut himself out from the rest of the world.

“Professor Lupin? Er…” whispered Harry, he was unsure on how to go about trying to talk to Remus. He wasn’t very good with anyone crying, experience alone proved him that, yet, this was Remus. He should know what to say.

But I don’t.

As Harry was about to stand, Remus beat him to it. “Excuse me for a moment; I think I hear someone at the door.” Remus sprinted to the door, leaving behind the parchment on his now empty chair.

There wasn’t anyone at the door of course, but Harry knew better than to point that out.

“Um, Professor Dumbledore,” said Harry, eager to relieve the awkward feeling in the room, “er… do you know anything else about this Permutano - whatsit spell?”

“Permutatiano,” corrected Dumbledore.

“Er – yeah, that.” Harry shuffled his feet; everything just seems to go wrong when he’s in the room.

“No, Harry, unfortunately that is all I know. In exchange for the one thing that keeps you alive, it shows you a future event that you desire to see, happen.”

“So that means,” Harry’s heart was suddenly racing with excitement, “whatever I saw will come true? Everything I saw?”

“Most likely, Harry, however,” said Dumbledore in a grim voice, “it will be even more likely that it will ask for more than a few seconds of your time.”

“What does that mean, sir?”

“You will be required to sacrifice more than what you think, Harry, but what you will give up is, unfortunately, a matter which I have no knowledge about.”

Harry tensed.

Knowing my luck, it’ll be something really horrible.

They stayed in the drawing room for about a half-hour more when Dumbledore decided to get up and clutch Harry’s right shoulder.

“My boy, you’re needed at the Dursleys.”

Harry snorted; he knew that Dumbledore didn’t mean it that way but still, it was very laughable.

“Yeah, sure… Could I at least say goodbye to Remus?”

“You won’t need to, Harry.”

Harry’s expression turned curious, what was Dumbledore planning this time?

“I am allowing you to stay here in Grimmauld Place for the rest of the summer.”

It wasn’t really much better than the Dursley’s but at least he’ll be able to walk around and eat properly here. Not to mention, have someone decent to talk to.

“Thanks Professor,” said Harry, smiling genuinely.

He threw all of his important school things in his trunk. He rarely cared if it was well sorted and today wasn’t any different. All he could think about was the parchment. If it was real, and Dumbledore did say it was very likely, then he would be able to rid the world of Voldemort, for good.

Suddenly, he felt the urge to jump around and scream his lungs out. He didn’t; of course, he would’ve preferred to have his Uncle alive when he becomes of age. Having the wizard who defeated Grindelwald curse someone like his Uncle Vernon is highly damaging to ones reputation.

Harry heard the doorbell ring, Dumbledore never used the Floo to go and get Harry. It was the polite thing to do, Dumbledore always said.

Polite. As if the Dursley’s knew what that even meant!

Harry waited for Dumbledore to knock on his door and remove the locks with his wand. Uncle Vernon never bothered with helping him and that wasn’t at all surprising.

A few minutes (and obligatory glares) later, they were back in Grimmauld Place.

The afternoon brought about Hedwig with letters from Ron and Hermione. Ron was practicing his Quidditch techniques at the Burrow with Ginny. Fred and George were too busy with their new joke shop to play.

He missed Quidditch, of course. But playing alone was never interesting. He could get Remus to play with him but he felt too embarrassed to ask him.

Remus is too busy with the Order to play Quidditch. I shouldn’t bother him with things like this.

Harry resorted to daydreaming whenever he felt really bored. He could imagine what he would feel after finally having Voldemort gone and done with.

He was in the kitchen that night; he fancied a bit of hot cocoa but couldn’t be bothered to make some. Using magic to make it made it seem too sweet for his tastes.

Who needs hot cocoa if Voldemort’ll be dead? Dead!

Harry decided to pursue his second favourite hobby, making fun of Snape.

“Well, well, Mr. Potter, I see your stupidity truly knows no bounds. You’ve managed to rid the world of all its darkness. Now I won’t be able to live because I’m an overgrown bat who transforms into an oily-faced vampire when I wash my hair,” Harry snorted.

“Good evening, Mr. Potter.”

Holy shite. How’d he get here so fast?

“Professor Snape,” said Harry coldly, “I didn’t notice you lurking over my shoulder.”

Snape looked as if he ignored the last comment. “Having fun, are we?” smirked Snape.

“Yes sir, I am,” retorted Harry, he wasn’t in the mood to just grit his teeth as Snape insults him.

“A very typical use of your time, Mr. Potter; Merlin forbid that you decide to use your spare time to study something worthwhile.”

“It’s two in the afternoon, Professor,” said Harry, unsurprised at Snape’s chosen insult.

“Why, so it is. That might be highly irregular since I seem to have the recollection that you identify me as a vampire.”

“No, no... That would be wrong, Professor Snape,” said Harry, smiling as innocently as he can.

“Quite right, don’t you dare attempt to make -”

“Vampires don’t bite in the morning,” whispered Harry, as if trying to hide it from Snape.

His extraordinarily large ears make sure that he hears it though.

Harry almost snorted out loud though he forced it down with the thought that he doesn’t fancy offing Voldemort while having his ears taped to his face.

Snape glared. “Very funny, Mr. Potter; I dare say you and Lupin find the time to resort yourselves to this Gryffindor humor that you find so amusing.”

“Yes sir,” said Harry, “we laugh around a lot.”

With one last glare, Snape turned around sharply, robes catching in the wind for a dramatic effect.

Striding out of the kitchen, he left Harry alone as he originally was.

Harry put his chin on the table, smiling widely.

I can’t wait to tell Remus.

After finally making a cup of cocoa, Harry bounded upstairs to look for Remus.

Harry heard voices in the drawing room and decided to take a peek.

“Haven’t you bothered to consider the fact that Potter has a history for spinning tales deemed worthy of The Quibbler?” scoffed Snape, “I, however, am unsurprised at your stand on this. Gryffindors aren’t anything else but gullible.”

“Haven’t you considered that I might be telling the truth, Professor?” Harry strode in, grinding his teeth, the desire to call Snape names that might result in Harry going to wrack and ruin was welling up considerably.

“Have you heard of it Potter?” spat Snape, “it’s called ‘speculation’ for a reason! No doubt your shriveled excuse for a brain was severely addled when you tried to comprehend a simple thing as a Permutatiano spell.”

“Well have you heard of something called ‘shampoo’, Professor? It’s called that for a reason too, if you don’t know. It’s to wash the poo–”

“Harry!” exclaimed Remus, eyes overly innocent enough to suggest that he said that before, in a much calmer situation, no doubt.

It was all lost on Harry. Nothing could stop him now; not even a vicious Potions Master who can turn Harry to a pile of owl droppings in a second.

“So, Snape,” mocked Harry, “glad to see you out of your potions dungeon. Are you having it repainted? Maybe you’d want it to be black to match your eyes – or maybe your heart; or lack of it for that matter, I really don’t know which.”

Snape looked like he was seriously contemplating the thought of brewing Harry into the school’s supply of pumpkin juice.

Grinning broadly, Harry braced himself for the outburst of insults he was expecting to hear next.

“As intrigued as I am to hear the rest of your witty monologue, Potter,” said Snape disdainfully, “I have important Order business to tend to. Something, I’m deathly certain, the both of you have neither experience nor any knowledge of.” At that, he stalked away, nose high up in the air and slammed the door closed.

Typical, Snape’s a bit slow with the insults today; wonder if he really is having his cave repainted.

Harry snorted. Shaking his head, he sat down on the chair opposite Professor Lupin.

“By the way, Professor, I was supposed to tell you this first thing I came here so, sorry if it took long but I’m giving you Grimmauld Place,” he said, smiling broadly.

Remus’ brows furrowed as if he was waiting for a punch line.

“Professor, I’m serious.”

“No, you’re Harry,” said Remus.

“Professor Lupin,” said Harry impatiently, “I’m not kidding you. I really want to give you –”

“Harry,” Remus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “you don’t need to –”

“What if I want to, Professor?” said Harry, hoping that Remus wouldn’t get too mad about what he was about to say.

“I know you wouldn’t want to disappoint me, not to mention my dad and Sirius, by not living here,” a pang of guilt was twisting Harry’s insides.

Remus frowned; he stood up and walked slowly over to the fireplace.

The whole room was charmed to just the right temperature but Harry could never hold back a slight shiver every time he stayed there for more than a few minutes. No amount of dust-free spells or self shining charms could convince anyone that this room could be anything but dark.

Harry saw Remus clutch the auburn cookie tin which held the Floo powder.

“Professor Lupin?” asked Harry, hoping his voice masked his feeling of slight trepidation. He knew that Remus wouldn’t leave him in a fit of anger; that would be so unlike him, wasn’t it?

I haven’t offended him, have I? I shouldn’t have mentioned dad and Sirius like that…

“I’m sorry, Professor, I just wanted to – I’m sorry if I’ve offended you but –”

“Harry?” Remus turned to face him, grasping a huge slab of Honeydukes chocolate.

“Where’d you get that?” asked Harry.

“The cookie tin,” said Remus, handing over half of the chocolate bar. It was still huge by his standards, as big as his palm, but he knew better than to refuse it.

“Ishernt thart weroo kipa foopadah?” managed Harry in between his chewing.

“What’s that?”

Harry gulped down the chocolate in his mouth before continuing. “Isn’t that where you keep the Floo powder?”

“No, we keep the powder in there,” said Remus, pointing at the small glass jar next to the tin. Finishing his piece, he sat down on his usual chair. “Why do you ask?”

“Nothing important, really…” Seeing the look on Remus’ face, he continued. “I just thought you were angry and wanted to leave for a bit. Not that I mind, I don’t, really,” he added hastily. He didn’t want anyone forced upon him against their will; it wasn’t their fault that Dumbledore wouldn’t trust him.

Remus stared perplexedly at Harry. “I’m not angry, Harry. Have I given you the impression that I’d leave you here over a silly matter like that?” Remus wasn’t asking Harry in a sarcastic manner, he really wanted to know if that was what Harry thought of him.

“No, of course not – I never figured you to be like that,” he said awkwardly, running his hand over his hair. He stood up and walked over to the window nearest him.

He couldn’t see much even if it was only about three in the afternoon. A thick fog surrounded all of the houses nearby. It wasn’t a great loss; the neighboring houses weren’t of interest to Harry anyway.

He lightly placed his palm on the window, observing that the cleaning charms have overlooked it. He placed both his hands on the glass, wondering if it would break if he put all his strength on it. Harry felt colder than usual; he could feel an invisible breeze coursing around his body. His eyes briskly shut, hoping that he would never have to open them again. It felt like hours had passed when Harry heard Remus speak up.

“Harry?”

“Yeah, Professor?” Harry didn’t bother opening his eyes, Remus wouldn’t see him anyway.

“Harry, you should really call me Remus, of all people,” said Remus, smiling.

“Er – to be honest – I’d really have to work on that, Professor,” Harry turned to face him, eyes wide open.

Remus laughed, shaking his head. He stood up and made to brush off some dust on his clothes.

“I’ll be upstairs, Harry,” said Remus, “Albus wanted me to finish some paperwork.”

“Sure, sir,” said Harry, as Remus turned to walk out the door.

Paperwork, really…

Finally having the privacy he wanted, Harry decided to write a few letters to Ron, Hermione and even Neville to ease his boredom.

Harry strode over to the writing desk where he found a few pieces of new parchment bought from Scribbulus Everchanging Inks in Diagon Alley. His impatience rose steadily; the desire to be able to roam around in Diagon Alley with his friends made him want to write even longer letters.

Three letters, which Harry felt was about 2 feet long each, were quickly signed and rolled up. Hedwig was probably up in Harry’s room but he didn’t feel like going up there right away.

He settled for taking a nap on the chair he previously occupied. It was still early and he knew he wouldn’t miss supper if he nodded off for a while.

A few minutes later, Harry Potter was dead to the world.

The wind’s howl made Harry’s hair stand on end. Everything was pitch-black. He couldn’t see nor hear anyone around him. He felt like he was in a world where his eyes were permanently sealed shut; the surroundings making Harry instinctively grab his wand.

It’s not here.

Thrashing against him, the wind felt like a multitude of blades flailing against his skin. His robes doing nothing to protect him, Harry knelt down to the firm earth to relieve the pain.

Gasping in pain, realization struck him as soon as his arms met the ground.

This is the place.

Slowly, inching his eyes up, he could see Voldemort’s frame in front of him; lying down rigidly. Everything was clearer now; moon light spreading out to Harry. The only movement of his robes was caused by the intense roaring of the wind.

He forced himself to crawl to the body; step by step, inch by inch. Finally, he was right next to it. The smell of blood and death ripped up Harry’s senses. It was as if all of Voldemort’s past murders were infesting the air, snatching Harry of everything, air, happiness and thought. Voldemort’s face was fully covered by his cloak now, easing Harry’s wave of nausea.

Harry willed himself to stand up; almost falling down in the process. He couldn’t bring himself to even try to kick the body. It was no use. He was dead.

He was about to sit down again when he caught sight of the bundle of blankets near Voldemort.

The body.

Harry took one step towards the blankets and tripped. His robes tangling with his cloak, the wind was whispering in his ears, mocking him.

As he was struggling to undo the knots of his clothes, his right hand made contact with the body. He withdrew his hand instantly, feeling ice-cold flesh a second ago. He sat up, catching his breath.

Inching his hands towards the edge of the blanket, he used all his strength to tear it off.

It was Harry, lying down, eyes wide open, hands and feet stuck to his sides. His scar was gone; all that was left was a gap in his head the size of his hand. Blood was trickling down his face, onto his mouth turned into a twisted smile.

Harry woke with a start. Struggling for his breath, he jumped out of his chair. Instantly, his knees gave in and he fell to floor. Cold sweat dripping all over his body, he strained to grab onto the arms of his chair.

A few minutes passed when he regained a trickle of composure. He stood up, knees wobbly but he forced himself to stand. His whole body ached with having to sleep in an awkward position and his heart throbbed due to his adrenaline rush.

It was just a dream. Just a dream. Just a dream.

He limped over to the door and called out. “Professor Lupin?”

No one answered him, and to make things worse, there weren’t any lights on to guide Harry.

I’ll strangle Remus if he’s doing this on purpose!

“Professor Lupin! Where are you?” Harry called out; he felt his way out to the landing.

He’s not here.

Remus couldn’t have left him alone, at least, not without telling him first.

You’re scared, aren’t you? mocked a little voice in his head.

“No, I’m not scared,” growled Harry. He knew he wasn’t talking to anyone but he knew he had to reassure himself.

A small thud made Harry snap his head in the direction of the stairs.

Who else could be here?

“Professor Snape,” he snarled, “I don’t care if you give me detention ‘till the day my nose hairs grow silver. Show yourself! This isn’t funny!”

Nothing greeted him; not even a slight snicker of amusement. He couldn’t hear anything except the sound of his heart beat thundering wildly and his irregular breathing. He wiped his brow with his sleeve, grabbing for his wand. He knew that he couldn’t use it but he’d rather risk getting Dumbledore angry then tumbling down the stairs into a Death Eater get-together.

“Lumos.”

Feeling slightly better, he decided to go downstairs. He walked around the length of the hall. No one was on the ground floor. All he could hear was the slight tapping noise his shoes made whenever he walked.

He felt stupid walking around with his wand out. Harry was incensed that all the time he’s been here; he didn’t even bother to ask where the light switches were.

As if the Black family would use light switches…But still, I should’ve asked Dumbledore how to turn these damn lights on!

Harry sighed loudly, turning around again.

I should check the upstairs bedroom, Remus told me he’d be there.

Harry went up to the second floor, no one was there. Not even in the succeeding floors, did Harry hear a sound other than the ones he made.

Feeling more lonely than apprehensive, Harry decided to go to the last room he didn’t check.

Opening the door to the kitchens, Harry slowly crept down, wand in hand yet barely making a sound.

As soon as he alighted from the last step, he almost ran back up in shock. There were faint shadows of people in the kitchen but he couldn’t see who they were. Heart beating erratically, he moved closer.

“Happy birthday, Harry!”

The kitchen light burst open; covering his eyes to shield himself, he backed up until he hit the door where he came through.

The strong light was blinding Harry but he could recognize a few people in between his rapid blinking.

He could see Ron and Hermione and a lot of other people but everything felt like a blur.

Squinting around, Harry felt immensely frustrated. “Why’d you all go and do that for? No one even bothered to tell me that the lot of you’ll be here!” shouted Harry, his fear being instantly replaced by intense annoyance.

“That’s why it’s called a ‘surprise’ party, Harry,” said Hermione matter-of-factly, who was in the front of the pack holding a red and gold balloon.

Harry didn’t answer her. All he could think of at the moment was to walk up to each of them and give them an all-mighty kick.

Breathing deeply to calm himself down, he looked around to see who else was in the kitchen.

All of the Weasleys, except for Charlie and of course, Percy, were there by Hermione. Mrs. Weasley was smiling brightly even though Harry looked as if he’d soon bite the heads off the lot of them; Mr. Weasley looked a bit shook up by Harry’s outburst yet he managed a small smile nonetheless. He could see Fred and George beaming at him, clearly amused. Ginny, however, was frowning at Harry; she looked as if she was irritated by what he just said. Bill was having a whispered conversation with Tonks, who was the only non-Weasley present.

“Look, I’m sorry. It’s just that,” Harry’s brows shot up, confused, “Ron, why are you hitting yourself with a balloon?”

“I’m not doing it on purpose!” said Ron, holding the balloons at arm’s length to show Harry, “it’s these blasted Bobbling Balloons that Fred and George made. They move around on their own but don’t fly away to the ceiling if you let go. It’s really cool to have one that doesn’t hit you repeatedly.” Ron glared at the twins, who were looking at him with wide-eyed innocence.

“Why don’t you let it go then?” said Harry.

“I tried, Harry. It just goes bonkers and tries to hit me harder,” said Ron, irritation spreading on his face, “it tried to strangle me when we were waiting for you to come down but everyone decided to go and laugh at me instead!” Ron glared at everyone around him, cheeks red with embarrassment.

“We’re sorry, Ron,” said Fred, his eyes held a mischievous glint.

“Yeah, Ron, we really are,” said George, shaking his head in mock regret “we forgot how dangerous a ball of air could be. How could we live with the shame?”

The room erupted in laughter; Ron glared at everyone, cheeks almost as red as his hair. Mrs. Weasley was just smiling faintly; she obviously didn’t want to laugh out loud at Ron but her pained expression made her look even more amused.

“What took you so bloody long, anyway?” said Ron, trying to hand off the balloon to Ginny, who was doing her best to ignore her brother’s incessant poking.

“I fell asleep.”

“No you weren’t, we heard you get up,” said Ron, this time he let go of the balloon entirely. The balloon wouldn’t give up though, so it settled for attacking Ron in the face.

Harry raised his left brow. He was about to ask how they heard him when Fred and George motioned to their ears and pulled on them.

“Oh – um – I got a bit nervous and decided to check the house to make sure nothing was wrong,” said Harry. He felt his cheeks go red; he shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions so easily; it made him feel spineless.

Mrs. Weasley didn’t change much since their last meeting but he could see that she was straining herself to look perfectly normal for Harry. Harry frowned inwardly. He didn’t want people to pretend that there wasn’t anything wrong when he perfectly knew that he was the only one who could end it.

“Are you alright now, Harry dear? Come over here and give me hug,” said Mrs. Weasley, oblivious to the uncomfortable look on Harry’s face.

Before Harry could walk over, she charged right up and squeezed Harry’s breath out of him. “You feel thin Harry, have you been eating at all?” Mrs. Weasley held Harry’s shoulders and looked him over. “You look like you haven’t slept in days! What have you been doing up here, Harry? I’ll have a word with Remus on your bed time – ”

“ – um, where’s Professor Lupin anyway?” said Harry, looking around, he realized that his former Defence professor was nowhere to be seen.

“Albus sent him on an errand,” said Mrs. Weasley, who didn’t stop picking at all the lint on Harry’s jumper.

“Oh okay – um – Mrs. Weasley – I’m fine, really. I pretty much get along better when I’m by myself.”

“I know that dear but –”

“Molly, Tonks accidentally stepped on the cake and she wants me to tell you that she’s really sorry but she’s a bit – er – inexperienced with baking spells.”

Mrs. Weasley put her hands on her hips, frowning slightly. “That’s the third time today. No matter where I place it, if she doesn’t shove it off, it’s stepping on it or transfiguring it into a tap-dancing porcupine,” she said irately. She walked over to Tonks who was scratching her head while carrying the remains of what looked like a simple cake with emerald green frosting.

“You alright, Harry?” Mr Weasley was asking out of plain curiosity, that much he can tell by his relaxed manner. He looked better than the way he was yesterday but the grim, tired expression was still there.

“Perfectly fine, Mr. Weasley.”

“I hope so, Harry.”

In a split-second, Harry saw the Floo blaze with life. He was surprised to see Snape stepped out of the fire, a fierce, determined gaze set on his face.

He marched on over to Harry, not a single word spoken to anyone else.

If Harry thought this was highly peculiar, none of the other people in the room seemed to think so. They were all staring at Harry, their eyes harsh and menacing.

“What’s going on?” his fear from earlier was back with intensity. He felt something terrible was going on but he couldn’t figure it out.

He looked at Snape, who was standing a few feet in front of him. “Professor?”

Snape didn’t say anything. He was just standing there, his eyes staring fixedly at Harry.

“Professor Snape, what are you doing here?” he said forcefully, he couldn’t understand anything in the least.

“To do something I should’ve done sixteen years ago,” whispered Snape, malevolence dripping in his voice.

Harry’s eyes widened, his hand reaching to grab his wand. Everything was moving as if he was watching the scene with omnioculars. Moving to jump out of the way, he was outraged to see Fred, George and Mr. Weasley grab hold of him while Ron snatched his wand away. He twisted and turned with all his might, screaming with all the intensity he could muster. They held him tighter and with that alone, he knew he couldn’t be dreaming. The pain was too real.

It was all too late. The incantation which Harry was most familiar with was forming in Snape’s mouth.

He closed his eyes and screamed even more. Hoping that the roof would fall in, anything, to make this all go away.

“Avada Kedavra!”

The sea of green never came. All that Harry could see was a blanket of darkness enclosing him, hiding him from the world.

So this is what death felt like.

Harry thought it felt unusually comforting; like a warm hug to ease the pain. But it couldn’t be that, it just couldn’t be.

What about the parchment?

Was anything that Dumbledore said true?

Would he wake up inside the cupboard in Privet Drive and realize that the Wizarding world was just a dream and nothing but?

Maybe he’d realize that the last sixteen years were all a figment of his imagination; that he would wake up to find himself together with his parents, no parchment, no dead Sirius, no Voldemort.

An argument between two people awoke Harry Potter from his sleep. His eyes burst open, sending in another round of throbbing pain to his head.

With the limited vision he had, he could see that it was barely morning and he was in his first floor bedroom but that wasn’t possible.

You get migraines even if you’re dead? Talk about twisted justice…

He groaned loudly. His head felt like it was being whacked repeatedly by a team of rogue bludgers. He looked around to convince himself that he was still in Grimmauld Place and not, though his senses tell him otherwise, among the deceased.

Ron and Hermione were at the far end of the room, fast asleep. They were sitting on two ancient looking stools which Harry felt could only seat the likes of Dobby.

Ron’s snores took over the whole room, it being the only sound Harry could hear. Normally, it would wind Harry up but in his present condition, it offered a slight reassurance.

He felt highly confused with the events before his blackout. His abrupt awakening scrambling his memory for a while, all of it was now slowly seeping back to his thoughts. A look of raw horror grazed Harry’s face as everything came back to him.

“Snape!” screamed Harry, his raspy voice resulting in a lot of stumbling towards his bed.

“Harry! Thank goodness, we thought you were—” Hermione sat down next to him, reaching out to hold his hands.

“He—he—Avada—murder—Snape—you—hold—” All of Harry’s memories were bellowing in his ear. He had to tell them; to let them know that Snape was a murderer.

Something else caused Harry to scream even louder, his hands leaping over to the table next to him, grabbing his glasses and wand.

“You!” he screamed, running over to the other side of the room, pointing his wand intensely towards Ron, “you—you—Fred—Mr.—betrayed—held me down—helped Snape!” Harry’s rage reached a point where he didn’t care who heard him, in fact, all the better that they’d run to him.

“TRAITOR! YOU MISERABLE LITTLE EXCUSE FOR A FRIEND! I CAN’T BELIEVE WHAT A PIECE OF SHITE YOU TURNED OUT TO BE! AND TO USE SNAPE AS YOUR—”

Ron and Hermione’s faces went limp with shock. A few seconds into Harry’s barrage of insults, Hermione ran out into the corridors to run smack into a flustered Albus Dumbledore.

“Headmaster, help him, he’s gone delusional,” said Hermione restlessly.

“I AM NOT DELUSIONAL!” roared Harry, eyes bulging menacingly. His right arm was trembling viciously, confused as to whom to point his wand at.

“That’s a pretty poor way of showing it, Harry,” said Hermione.

The Headmaster quickly stepped over to Harry, his robes unusually messy, tangling over his arms.

“Harry, calm down,” he said, taking hold of Harry’s shoulders, clutching it painfully. “What you saw wasn’t real, Harry. None of it ever happened.”

Harry fell silent but the rage in his eyes didn’t dwindle an inch. He didn’t lower his wand for fear that it might all be a trick. Nothing made sense. How could all of it be a dream when he could still feel the pain from where the Weasleys held him down?

He bit his tongue hard, the strong metallic taste pacifying Harry to try to form a coherent sentence.

“Brilliant,” croaked Harry, both his hands balled tight into fists, “bloody brilliant. So you’re telling me that I’ve managed to find a way to dream standing up and with my eyes wide open. Really, Headmaster—”

“Harry,”

“I wasn’t asleep, Professor! I’m absolutely sure that I was wide awake because it felt so real. I saw all of them. I could smell the food that Mrs. Weasley made. I could hear—”

“Harry,”

“What?” said Harry harshly, “Professor?”

“You weren’t dreaming, Harry.” Dumbledore frowned slightly, telling Harry that what he was about to say was far from good news.

Harry stood up, hands deep in his pockets. Everything felt so out-of-place now; like they were all circular jigsaw pieces trying to fit in a square shaped puzzle.

“But you just told me that –”

“What you saw wasn’t real, Harry,” interrupted Dumbledore, “though it was far from a dream either, it was a delusion, a fantasy, if I may.” Dumbledore reached for his spectacles, wiping off a layer of invisible dirt.

Harry felt bewildered at the least. He pinched himself, hard, causing him to flinch. That wasn’t a very well thought of move because the pain in his arm didn’t sit well with the throbbing soreness of his head.

“It wasn’t real?”

“The Headmaster said it about a hundred times, Harry,” said Hermione, sighing at the question with her hands on her hips.

“I wasn’t asking him, Hermione,” said Harry through gritted teeth. Hermione could get so exasperating at the most inconvenient moments.

“D’you think that You-Know-Who could’ve cursed Harry?” asked Ron. Harry felt a tiny pang of guilt about all those insults he threw at Ron but he wasn’t about to apologize until he knew exactly what happened.

Dumbledore looked Harry in the eye, an expression of guilt and unease ghosting beneath his features. “No, I doubt Voldemort had anything to do with it.”

Ron and Hermione jumped at the brisk manner in which Dumbledore said the name.

The parchment.

Harry blanched at the thought. He wanted to smack himself for forgetting that everything in this house was bound to be more than an innocent decoration.

He could feel his throat drying up. How could he be so stupid? What if it made everyone who looked at the parchment have these hallucinations too?

“I knew it,” snarled Ron, “it’s that evil scumbag Snape! He must’ve slipped in–”

“I think it more likely that I cursed Harry than Professor Snape, Mr. Weasley,” said Dumbledore icily.

Ron looked down but Harry knew it wasn’t because he felt ashamed at calling Snape an ‘evil scumbag’.

Dumbledore looked Harry in the eye. “I have to go to the kitchens for a moment, Harry. Will you be alright?”

“Yes, Professor,” said Harry, seriously doubting if he would ever be alright.

As soon as Dumbledore was out in the hallway, Harry made to sit down on the bed. He turned to face the two people left in the room, looking wary of Harry, as if they were expecting another outburst.

“What – what really happened last night?”

“We’re the ones who should be asking you, Harry! We were all right there in the kitchens, then you just started screaming bloody murder that Snape was about to – well – murder you!” Ron was waving his arms around, making Harry close his eyes.

“Ronald here was biting my head off that Professor Snape poisoned you earlier,” said Hermione, glaring at Ron.

“Well, who wouldn’t put it past him? Then that blasted hag of a portrait had to go and start a screaming contest with Harry, no one knew what to do!”

“Honestly Ron, you and your dramatics,” said Hermione, shaking her head, “anyway, Harry, Professor Snape wasn’t even in the room! He left before Mrs. Weasley came to prepare the decorations.”

Harry remembered the onslaught of insults he set on Snape before his nightmare. “Oh yeah… I remember that… But I saw him Floo in and –”

“No one flooed in, Harry,” stressed Hermione, her eyes filled with concern and pity that Harry hated to see.

“But I swear…” Harry was twisting the sheets with both of his hands, he couldn’t understand anything.

“After that, you were thrashing about everywhere! It had to take me, Fred, George, dad and Bill to hold you down. Blimey, Harry. Not one of your better birthdays, eh mate?” murmured Ron.

Harry moved ‘til his back met the headboard, he leaned his head on the wall and closed his eyes. He didn’t feel like sleeping but the sight of Ron and Hermione staring at him so anxiously made him feel sick.

What the bloody hell is happening to me?

“Hey Ron,” whispered Harry, “sorry ‘bout those—things—I said earlier… I didn’t mean it, really, it was just—”

“Don’t bother, mate,” said Ron, shaking his head, “I know you weren’t, er, yourself… At least we got something good out of last night.”

Harry looked pointedly at Ron.

“That portrait of Sirius’ mum went mad every single day we came here. We didn’t need to do anything to set it off it just went on and on and on after Sirius…” Ron broke off the sentence, looking at Harry hesitatingly.

“Well, the good news is that it shut up, permanently, I reckon. Tonks had to go and trip over the rug again while we were carrying you upstairs but the thing never blasted out anything, not a single screech or anything.”

Harry was saved from replying by Dumbledore entering the room.

“Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger, could you grant me the time to have a little talk with Harry?”

They wordlessly walked out, Hermione casting worried glances over her shoulder as they passed.

Dumbledore didn’t bother to sit down, he flicked his wrist and the curtains instantly drew back, making Harry slap his palm to his eyes.

“Close the curtains,” he murmured, “it’s too early…”

Dumbledore ignored Harry’s grumbling and started softly, “Harry, the Order is working full force to get to the bottom of your condition. Sadly, we don’t have anything concrete except that it would be most likely that you will continue to have these visions daily.”

What else is new? When’d I ever get problems that only last overnight?

“So now I get to have someone watch me everyday?” moaned Harry, the prospect of having anyone follow him around everywhere didn’t look very good.

“Everyone has been graciously lending their time to find a solution, Harry. We’ve also come to the conclusion that you would most likely have these occurrences only after sundown.”

“Don’t tell me,” said Harry, a miserable smile on his face, “they’ll have to tie me to the bedposts or something like that just to restrain me, right?”

“We won’t do any of the sorts, Harry. We will just be there to protect you.” Dumbledore looked troubled, a gleam of distraction twinkling in his eyes.

“From myself, you mean? Have I been scratching my eyes out or biting my tongue till it falls off?” said Harry, “Don’t spare me any details, Professor Dumbledore; I’m going to go through all of it anyway.” Harry stood up and stomped towards the curtains, fiercely pulling them closed.

He glared squarely at Dumbledore. Harry knew that everything was far from the Headmaster’s fault but he was just too tired to blame himself anymore.

“No, Harry. You simply tend to,” said Dumbledore, smiling, “raise your voice a tad.”

Harry stared. How could Dumbledore find the humor in this?

“Is there anything else, Professor? I want to doze off for a bit,” he lied, Harry didn’t feel the least bit sleepy but he really didn’t want to lengthen their conversation.

“One more thing, Harry,” this time, Dumbledore’s eyes hardened, he almost looked frightening. “The only fact you should never forget during these nights is that none of it is real.”

“Yes, sir,” he said softly, his heart feeling as heavy as an anvil. “I’ll try…”

Supper passed without much incident. Remus came through the Floo at about an hour before sundown so Harry had the time to go over last night’s events. Halfway through, a blood-red feather fluttered onto Remus’ lap, making him jump up and mutter apologies to Harry. He had to go away for a while, Remus said. Harry didn’t mind being alone yet he couldn’t deny that the thought of staying in Grimmauld Place alone made him a bit wary.

Fortunately, he remembered to ask Remus how to operate the lights in every room. At least, it wouldn’t seem as dark as usual.

He spent a lot of time in his room, talking to Hedwig, mostly. He jumped at every little noise; irritated at his lack of composure, he strode over to his bed and sat down.

The door burst open; Harry grabbed his wand on the bedside table and jumped to the edge of the bed. His heart thundered when no one came through the door way instantly. He edged over to the door, ready to start blasting hexes at anyone when suddenly; Severus Snape banged it open, causing the door to crash into Harry’s nose.

He jumped back, seeing stars and lights bobbing up and down. “Shite! That hurt!” said Harry, rubbing his nose gently. It was bleeding slightly but Harry’s nose had gone through worse.

Ignoring Harry’s nose, Snape strode in and turned to face him. Wand in hand, Snape conjured a vial of blood-red potion but didn’t give it to Harry.

“The Headmaster has given me the utmost pleasure of being your nanny, Potter,” he snarled, looking ready to bite anything that could cross him. “He has also been kind enough to tell me the reason why you need one. The ‘Hero of the Wizarding World’, fainting at birthday parties, I daresay we might need someone with a lot more backbone than—”

“I fought it, didn’t I?” said Harry, hand still clasping his bleeding nose, “I didn’t sit down and cry while I thought you were about to murder me!”

“Oh yes, it was a most estimable gesture... Of course, passing out after five minutes of earsplitting shrieking scarcely helps your feral reputation but it was noble nonetheless…”

Harry rolled his eyes; he wasn’t in the mood to start an insult match with Snape, he was too nervous about the visions he’s going to have.

“By the way, Professor Snape, I might have a broken nose. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I think it might need a bit healing.”

At least healing can fix my nose, what about yours?

Of course, he didn't actually say that last thought but Snape still looked like he swallowed one of Hagrid’s rock cakes. After a few seconds though; Harry felt his airway begin to clear and the bleeding slow to a trickle.

“Thanks,” he mumbled softly. He sat down on the bed, it had new covers and it smelt like the Dursley’s flower patch, he’d wondered who did the housekeeping since there weren’t any house-elves in Grimmauld Place. Dumbledore told Harry about making Kreacher work in the Hogwarts kitchens and he really couldn’t care less. At least, he didn’t have to deal with muttering and cursing all day long.

Harry almost forgot that Snape was still there when his professor slammed down the potion onto the desk. “Drink this before you choose to rest your overworked mouth, Potter.”

Snape’s mouth turned to a firm line before continuing. “Don’t you expect me to extend my expertise to your cause when term starts, I don’t care for the kind of blatant favoritism the Headmaster has been partial to,” he spat out, eyeing Harry’s scar in disgust.

I’d rather take the hallucinations then sudden death, please.

Harry stared at the potion. “Sleeping Draught, sir?”

“Have you gone and got yourself Confunded as well, Potter?” mocked Snape, a twisted smile on his face irking Harry.

“Idiot boy, the sopophorous beans contained in the Sleeping Draught will only cause the drinker to stay in a deep sleep yet the incidence of their dreams will still occur,” said Snape, “causing you to be unable to wake up to end it. Though I do believe this would be just treatment, the Headmaster tells me otherwise.”

Before Harry could snap back, Snape strode over to the door and walked out.

It was hours when Harry began to feel drowsy; nothing was happening yet and a flicker of hope burst to life inside of him.

Maybe it really is a one time thing…

He was lying down on the bed, his eyes staring at the ceiling. The room was pitch-black but a soft light from the doorway helped Harry see faint outlines of the objects around him. Sometimes, he could hear the soft hoot Hedwig always made when she slept but that was it.

“Harry,”

It was nothing but a whisper yet terror was too much of a mild word to describe what Harry felt. He had heard this voice only once or twice before but he knew it by heart. It was once a voice Harry clung upon, a voice of reason and guidance. None of that was evident tonight; he could hear disappointment, anger and shame. He knew it was so because they were the first and only emotions he was choked by for his whole life.

“You aren’t real,” cried Harry, he shoved his brow towards his sleeves, layers of sweat marking itself on the fabric.

“Harry please…”

“YOU AREN’T REAL!” Harry roared. He twisted to lie on his stomach, burying his face onto the nearest pillow, biting into the fabric to keep himself from screaming. It wasn’t long until his rapid breathing made him gasp out for air.

“Have you forgotten, Harry? That night… We helped you, didn’t we? We love you, Harry…”

“No—No, you don’t! Please… Go away… Just—” Harry willed himself to focus.

Think, Harry! It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real!

“Harry, why do you turn away? Harry…”

“I know you aren’t real! Go away!” he screamed, wishing that the roof would cave in; the only way to stop all of this.

“You have disappointed me, Harry. Our sacrifice has been for nothing. You can’t even—”

“No, no—you’re not—I don’t know you!” Harry propped himself on his elbows, it was the only way that he could breathe while forcing himself not to look towards the door. He was shaking mildly now, his every breath making the bed shiver.

“You don’t know your own father, Harry?”

Dumbledore’s lecture flew out of Harry’s mind. This was too much.

“I DON’T HAVE A FATHER! THEY’RE DEAD! HIM AND MUM! YOU’RE NOTHING BUT A DAMN CURSE! YOU’RE NOT REAL! YOU’RE NOT—”

“Look at me, Harry.”

Harry didn’t budge. His gaze was settled onto the pillow beneath him. He forced himself to stare at the damp fabric, a mixture of sweat and tears enveloping it.

“Look at me.”

Go on. Keep doing this. At least I won’t need to look at you!

“I’m disappointed in you, Harry. You’re just like Snivellus, haven’t you noticed?”

Harry’s eyes shot up. The fake James’ disdainful manner shattered Harry’s defenses. He jumped off the bed instantly, the blood rushing to his head making him want to sick up, he fell to the floor as his vision doubled.

“You’re Dark, Harry. There’s no need to believe in fake assurances from Dumbledore, you know he’s just twisting you around,” he snarled out, his hazel eyes looked like it was lit by torches. “You’re Dark; like Snivellus killed your godfather, you were the reason we were murdered, don’t you know that? We were nothing. Cedric was nothing. Sirius was nothing. It was all supposed to be you. I thought you were intelligent, Harry, another disappointment.”

His throat closed up entirely. Harry couldn’t feel an inch of himself try to scream back a reply. His eyes felt like it wanted to roll out of his head. Hadn’t he been thinking that all along? That he really was Dark and that everyone who died because of Voldemort was his fault? It was the truth and Harry knew it. He felt ashamed to believe otherwise. It was the truth.

“My only son, the next Dark Lord…” Harry heard a loud ‘tsk’-ing noise. “If I had known that you would turn out like this, I would’ve strangled you in your sleep.”

“No…” It was nothing more than a ghost of a word. Harry didn’t have the strength to truly fight back. He felt too exposed; too violated.

Snape’s potion, a tiny voice of sanity called out to him.

Snatching his gaze towards the table, Harry saw where Snape set the small vial. It wasn’t there anymore; all he could see was Sirius’ broken mirror. It was grimy and smeared with blood everywhere, a pale shadow of itself.

Harry clenched the edges of the bed, forcing himself to stand up.

It isn’t real!

His hands were trembling, he forced himself to grab the mirror but it didn’t change its form. A horrible chill surrounded Harry, enclosing him, robbing him of his breath. The broken shards were shaking, growing back into place slowly. Harry couldn’t tear his eyes off the sight, as if his head was petrified to stay in one direction. Millions of colours swirled onto its surface, resembling a twisted kaleidoscope, and formed into the image of the last person he wanted to see.

“Sirius,” he murmured. His vision blurring as tears began to seep yet again.

It was the same Sirius that he saw at the Department of Mysteries, just before he fell into the veil. His fathomless face stared blankly into Harry’s eyes, a face devoid of emotion, of love.

“I trusted you.”

An enormous wave of nausea crashed into Harry’s senses. Those three words felt worse than all those times he had seen a Dementor, than the time when he was tortured by Voldemort and even when he saw Sirius fall through the veil.

The one person Sirius trusted.

He let go of the mirror, forgetting everything that he was. He was nothing. His hands stung excruciatingly, he turned it over. His palm was cut in deep and uneven angles, the number of which was too many to count. Grabbing his foul looking sleeve, he wiped the blood free flowing from the cuts. He didn’t care about the pain. All he could see were the words etched onto his skin.

Murderer.

A herd of Thestrals were gnawing at Harry’s insides; grabbing hold of them and tearing it apart piece by piece until he could feel nothing; no pain, no emotions. He couldn’t breathe. He didn’t want to.

Harry had had enough. He used all the energy he had left to race towards the door, the blurred outline of light from its edges being Harry’s refuge.

The door burst open, causing Harry to kneel down at the burst of light. He squinted slightly to see his father grabbing hold of his robes.

“NO! LET GO OF ME!” he screamed, he tried desperately to wriggle free of his father’s grasp but he was too strong.

“LET GO! GET OFF ME! GO AWAY!” Harry went on and on, fervently hoping that his father would give up and let him be.

Harry could see him grabbing his face, forcing him to look at him. His touch scalded Harry, feeling himself burn with hate and anger. It made Harry burn up inside, hating the way that the touch made him feel miserable, instead of loved like he had imagined.

This last thought served as the final blow to end it all. It was all that Harry could take. He slumped to the floor, his mind telling him to fight yet his body leaving him in the dust.

Everything whirled around him, his father, the door, the whole room seemed to change. He could faintly see Severus Snape kneeling down next to him, talking to him but his mind couldn’t comprehend a single word. It was as if the only thing that could make him happy now was a long and quiet sleep.

The last thing he saw was Snape kneeling next to him, wand over Harry’s heart. Everything went black.

“Potter, wake up! Ennervate! Ennervate!”

This was what a gnome must feel like after ten de-gnoming sessions with Hagrid.

He couldn’t raise his head to see who was talking but he didn’t need to. The spiteful, condescending tone gave it all away. He was just wondering who was being insulted to the floor by Snape. Every sound felt magnified to the point where he can hear his own heart beat very clearly.

“I seem to have underestimated you Lupin,” spat Snape, “I wouldn’t have believed you would have the gall to attempt this in front of the Headmaster.”

Harry strained to recognize the object Snape was shoving so near to Remus’ face, it almost looked like he was swatting his nose. His vision was too blurred though, all he could see was a distorted shape.

“What are you talking about Severus? I haven’t been here all day, you know that.”

Uncharacteristically, Snape didn’t reply. Harry could make out the fuzzy figure of him staring at Remus in the same piercing way that he did to Harry so many times in the last year. Harry shook his head in reflex, causing shots of pain to attack his neck. He almost grunted out loud when someone suddenly spoke up.

Harry never saw Remus shed his calm demeanor at even the most difficult times, so to hear him raise his voice at someone, especially a person like Snape, was surprising. He knew that Remus wasn’t afraid of the git but it still raised Harry’s perception of him, nonetheless.

“A simple question would suffice, Severus. You knew I had orders from Albus, of course you did. You know everything that goes on in the Order, don’t you? With those humongous bat-like monstrosities you call ears of yours—”

Without a word in reply, Snape walked out of the room and slammed the door in response, forgetting entirely that Harry was supposed to be asleep.

Harry instantly shut his eyes, knowing that Remus would be checking if he woke up from the sound of the door. He didn’t feel like talking to Remus immediately, he felt drained from listening to their conversation. He did, however, swear to himself that he would congratulate him first thing when he woke up.

“What are you doing here?” he growled.

"Your flair for the dramatic irritates me, Potter."

"You're the one to talk," he said. His head didn’t feel an inch better. He slammed his palm on the desk to find his glasses, sending a jet of pain through his arms.

He used his left hand to shove his glasses on.

“Bloody hell.”

Inspecting his right palm, he could see deep gashes and, due to the impact of his palm on the table, it was bleeding freely. He didn’t want to look like a coward in front of Snape so he sucked his breath in, saying to himself that it’ll stop eventually.

He took in a shaky breath. “Professor Lupin wasn’t lying you know.”

Snape scoffed, “Eavesdropping, Potter? Why does that cease to surprise me?”

“How could I not? You were practically shrieking in his ear, Professor.”

He could see Snape spitting out a hundred insults per second but nothing happened. Harry didn’t know if he should feel happy that Snape wasn’t shrouding him with evil or to feel terrified that he might snap and curse him to a pile of pink neon feathers.

“I’ll be in the basement, Potter,” said Snape, clearly refraining from snapping out any thing else. “If you can survive a few hours without fainting, screaming or dying, it would benefit me and the whole wizarding world greatly.”

Snape walked out of the door, leaving Harry to the blaring silence.

His body felt like it aged twenty years; bones felt weak, muscles were under-used and his feet weighed like metal. Pocketing his wand, he wobbled over to the door. Stretching his arms, he groaned loudly. How long was he asleep?

Moving in a snail’s pace, he finally reached the drawing room. It was the only place he could be far from Snape yet near enough if he suddenly gets those hallucinations again.

He sank down on the comfy chair near the fireplace. This was the hard part; remembering everything that happened as if it just occurred a few seconds ago. The images, voices… The voice of his dad.

He turned his palm over, glancing at the remnants of last night’s incident. The bleeding was already slowing to a trickle, numbness overcoming any pain he felt.

This summer wasn’t any worse than the ones he had with the Dursley’s, it wasn’t by a mile. Yet he couldn’t escape the truth that he truly felt worthless. He was a liability, nothing more.

He sighed out loud, the house brought out his worst and darkest thoughts. He was foolish to think he could live here with Sirius. Now he felt guilty to give it to Remus, he wouldn’t want to torture him by feeling depressed every day.

Standing up, he moved over to the fireplace. Was it just a few days ago when he and Dumbledore were arguing over the ownership of this place? He shook his head. Glimpsing at the multiple jars on the mantle, he halted at the sight of the cookie tin.

He remembered his conversation with Remus about the Floo powder.

Where did he say it was?

Harry saw the glass jar next to the auburn tin. It was of average size, smooth yet very inconspicuous. Someone in a hurry would never find where it was.

Go on, use it.

He wasn’t startled at the voice; it was, after all, himself speaking. However, what surprised him was how rational the whole idea sounded. No one would know he’d gone away for an hour or two. Snape said he was brewing some potions and Harry knew he’ll be stuck there the whole day.

You’ll only be gone for an hour.

He tore off the lid of the jar. A mad grin on his face, he grabbed a good handful. Stumbling over to the centre, he said clearly, “The Leaky Cauldron!”

He eagerly brushed off the ash on his clothes, striding out proudly for the whole bar to see.

“Mr. Potter! What a pleasant surprise, how are—” Tom the bar man came to an abrupt stop. He was clutching the rag he was holding very tightly, twisting it repeatedly. “Where are the rest of you, Mr. Potter?”

“What?”

The whole bar erupted into whispers. He could swear that someone choked on his drink.

Harry looked down; he was missing his entire lower body! He patted himself, his legs were still there but it was like he was wearing a partial invisibility cloak.

“What the hell—”

“This is certainly the most amusing part of my day, Potter. I give you my gratitude for providing it.”

Harry turned around quickly. How could it not be him? Snape was fresh out of the fireplace; his breathing was erratic though, like he had just searched the whole Floo Network for him.

Walking over to him, he smiled as he saw Snape was sweating. He must’ve gotten into a fit when he saw that Harry wasn’t anywhere. “Humour doesn’t suit you, Professor.”

Snape smiled—Harry thought it looked like a smile—eerily.

“How densely primitive are you to think that we wouldn’t apply wizarding signals to ensure your stay at that horrid place? Tut-tut, Mr. Potter,” sneered Snape.

Cocking his head, clearly enjoying the humiliation Harry was getting, he went on. “The Disillusionment Charm on the lower extremities, however, was my proposition.”

Harry sighed. Even if Snape hadn’t come, he’d be plunging into a sword if he thought he could get away with walking around Diagon Alley with no legs! What was he thinking anyway? Flooing to the Leaky Cauldron was the most idiotic idea he’d ever thought of. Shaking his head, he wondered if temporary lapses of insanity were something else he got from being stuck there too long.

Several laughs were heard from the crowd, they were obviously enjoying the scene. Harry, of course, was far from amused.

“I’m going home then.”

Harry moved over to the fireplace but as soon as he was near, Snape grabbed hold of his right arm.

“Oy, that hurts!”

Snape just clinched it even harder, causing Harry to mumble words which suspiciously rhymed with ‘might’ and ‘bung’.

“If you’re thinking of escaping to Merlin-knows-where, I swear by Salazar that I will find you and hang you upside down until your brain goes back to where it belongs.”

“Yeah, sure, fine,” he muttered. Honestly, threats were as normal as owl post to him now.

Snape glowered fiercely before declaring, “Albus Dumbledore’s office!”