September 1st 1996

Arriving at Hogwarts was like coming home.

Harry immediately felt better, even though he was still hurting quite badly from his uncle's beatings.

He had been lucky enough that he had managed to buy medicines, both muggle and wizard ones in Diagon Alley and at King's Cross before boarding the Express. Nothing fancy, but they would help until he was fully healed.

‘I'm at Hogwarts now, they cannot touch me here'

Not that Hogwarts had ever been any safer than Privet Drive, but Harry liked to think otherwise.

Here - at least - he had a chance to try and defend himself -- 'Sure, look at how successful you were last year' -- but no, no, he would not indulge in those kinds of thoughts. It had been his promise to Remus, just before he left on a mission for the Order and Harry wanted to keep his promises.

Dumbledore hat not given him permission to join his friends at the Burrow that summer, after all Voldemort was still on the loose, and even though the Headmaster was sure the Dark Lord was not keen on reliving the experiences of the previous June at the Department of Mysteries, he still wanted to stay on the safe side.

But unless Harry admitted being abused by his relatives -- not that he would ever do that -- there was no way for him to escape, so he had accepted Dumbledore's decision without any outward fussing.

Actually, he was almost relieved that he wasn’t allowed to go. The Burrow would be so full of people, so full of life that it would be too much for him to stand.

He missed Ron and Hermione, of course, but deep down he felt like they could not really understand him this time. Even if they loved him dearly, just like a brother and sister, this was something entirely different from the war between the Light and the Darkness. This was no battle, it was something so personal, something whose roots were buried so deep inside Harry that only someone with a similar background would be able to understand.

How could they comprehend the depth of the hurt and fear that Harry felt?

Ron and Hermione were sympathetic, would do anything for him, this he knew, but they were already doing so much. How could he add to the burden they were carrying?

Moreover, how could he explain his pain, his guilt, his feelings of helplessness to someone who had grown up in a happy family, surrounded by love and by the knowledge that they would always be loved no matter what they did?

It was nothing short of a miracle that they had not given up on him yet, because Harry knew that he was different from them, and that he was as unlovable as they came.

In the end Harry had contented himself with the day he had been allowed to spend with Remus in Diagon Alley, while he did his shopping for the new school year.

At first he had been afraid that Remus would be angry with him for killing Sirius, but Remus had not even let him begin to speak. He had hugged him tightly -- so tight that Harry almost screamed from the pain in his ribs -- shushed him and told him that it was not his fault, it really wasn't.

Harry had not believed him for a second, but he did not want to upset Remus any further: he was already too pale and his appearance was even more haggard than usual. To tell the truth, he looked positively ill and Harry could not help but worry about him, so he had promised everything that Lupin asked of him. He had promised that he would not feel guilty, even promised that he would try and be happy.

FLASHBACK

August 30th 1996

The last night he spent at Privet Drive had been the worst of Harry's life, physically at least.

He was sure that being hit by Avada Kedavra had to hurt a lot less than being hit by Vernon Dursley. And as for Crucio… 'Crucio hurts a lot at the beginning,' he mused 'but the aftermath isn’t too bad… nothing can keep up with Uncle Vernon'.

Before leaving him half-conscious in the cupboard for the upteenth time that summer, Vernon had given him, once again, his personal goodnight wishes:

“Don't you dare come out of that cupboard until you look halfway presentable!”

The problem was, Uncle Vernon wasn’t joking.

He could not even send for help, since his post was being searched by the Dursleys. During the summer he had only been allowed to write to the Order twice a week, but he had been forced to write all the letters in advance, when he could still use his hands properly.

Now he had to find a way out, he knew that he could not wait for the Order to come to the rescue; he would be dead long before that. He had to get back to Hogwarts; he had to get back home.

The next day he was due to meet with Remus in Diagon Alley, there was no way that he was going to miss his only chance at freedom.

In the end Harry Potter - feverish and bloody, not even fully conscious - knew that he only had one possibility to save himself, that he had to appeal to the one thing that he knew would work, the only thing that had saved him in the past, even though it would be like admitting all over again that Uncle Vernon was right, because he knew, from the pain he felt and from the way he could not move his limbs, that he should be dead already, if it were not for the Freak Thing.

And now, before he fell asleep and entered the Land of Nightmares where, like every night, he would once again meet Sirius and Voldemort, he had to hope that his freakiness would work and save him again.

August 31st 1996

Chatting with Remus made him feel better.

After their admittedly emotional encounter at just outside the Leaky Cauldron, Harry and Remus had switched to happier subjects, talking a little, but mostly enjoying the mutual company in silence.

The thought of Sirius was still heavy in their hearts, but Harry really could not talk about it yet, he actually did not think he would ever be ready to, but it seemed that Remus' situation was hardly better: Harry had buried his feelings as deeply as he could at the bottom of his heart and of his mind, while Remus wore them on his face, in his troubled eyes, but they were just two faces of the same coin and neither was ready to share their pain.

Remus had been the best companion Harry could have hoped for. He had followed the younger boy like a shadow, but hadn’t crowded him. He offered his advice whenever asked for, but allowed Harry to choose his own clothes and other items as he preferred. And when they had visited Gringotts, he had waited outside.

Harry could only be grateful for the freedom and privacy he was being granted in the short interim between his prison sentence in Privet Drive and the upcoming school year -- which would probably turn out to be just as stifling -- for this one-day stay in Diagon Alley.

At the beginning, when he spotted Remus waiting for him in front of the pub, Harry had been afraid that the werewolf would notice that something was off with him, but once again his freakiness proved true to tradition and Lupin did not sense anything amiss, he did not even smell his fever.

Or maybe Remus was really a bit off himself, too. Harry could almost feel the pain radiating off the last living Marauder.

Of course Harry felt better than he had in months today, but this time his injuries had been so bad that not even the Freak Thing had been enough to heal him completely.

This was the first time that it had happened and - had the werewolf been as sharp as usual – Remus should have perceived his “condition” immediately.

Losing Sirius had been hard on him, and Harry could not avoid feeling guilty all over again; another sin to add to his already long list of crimes.

At any rate, even though he looked well and he had rosy cheeks ('But maybe that's the fever'), Harry’s left arm and hand were almost no use, and the right hand hurt so bad that he could hardly stand to touch anything. But no bruise was showing, no scar was marring his skin - apart from Voldie's and Um-bitch's that is - and his other wounds did not hurt so much anymore. Harry, once again, deemed himself lucky that Remus was not crowding him and could thus not see how hard it was for him to even touch the softest of materials.

Once at Hogwarts he would be able to eat better and he would heal faster.

Among books, clothes and other school items he had even managed to purchase a few pain and healing potions, Remus being happily distracted by a friendly witch at the counter. He wanted to down one immediately, just to quell the dull pounding in his head, but he had to consider himself lucky that he had ever managed to acquire the potions, so he could manage for another couple of hours, until they were back at the Leaky Cauldron, where they’d spend the night.

In the end it was just before they parted for the night that he found enough courage to ask Remus a question that had been spinning in his head for weeks. Voicing it actually made him queasy, but he needed to know: what had really started the war between the Marauders and Severus Snape? He knew the outcome already, but he needed to comprehend how it began.

Remus had been deeply shocked and unsettled by Harry's question, but he assumed that he did have a right to know, after all, so the werewolf sat heavily on the soft bed Harry was already in and started to tell the story or, at least, the part that he knew.

When Remus went to bed, he left a deeply upset Harry Potter behind.

August 31st 1996

11:45 pm

Dear Professor Snape,

I apologize for invading your privacy and looking into your pensieve. I am sorry. I really am.

I am also sorry for the way I am writing this letter, I know it is not stylish, but I cannot write very well and I just wanted to be sure that you would at least read my message before tearing this parchment into shreds or burn it or whatever else you do with your unwanted mail.

I know I should have apologized before, I know it now. But before… it was too difficult, it would not have been a very sincere apology. There were too many things I needed to understand, to take in.

I wanted to believe that it was your fault that Sirius died, I wanted it so much it hurt, but it is not your fault.

And it is not an excuse for what I did in your office. I know you are not going to forgive me, I certainly do not deserve it, especially since you hated me even before my idiot actions, so I am sure there is little hope for me. But, selfish as it is, I just need to get it off my chest.

I am sorry that I watched your memories, I had no right to, but I did not do it for the reasons you believe, I did not do it because I am an arrogant Gryffindor or out of stupid curiosity.

I did it because not knowing was driving me mad, more than Vol- a scratched word- the Dark Lord ever could.

But what I saw was worse than anything I expected. I cannot tell you why, but it was. And I swear I never told anyone what I saw and never will I tell. I only tried to discuss it with Sirius - in general terms - but now he is d- another scratch on the parchment - no more.

I don't know why they did what they did, but I apologize for it, I apologize for James Potter, because he was my father and for Sirius Black because he was my Godfather.

Yours faithfully

Harry James Potter.