Sleep.  Sleep was brilliant. 

Thoughts of sleep swamped Harry’s brain when he wasn’t floating between dreams and nightmares.  For the most part he enjoyed his weekend – as much as anyone can enjoy two days of ‘relaxation’ with an insane, egomaniacal dark wizard out for their blood... well, more of their blood. 

Harry was so exhausted on Friday night after his admittedly – thankfully – short and uneventful detention with Snape that he fell into bed and sank into the blessedly soft pillows and sheets that swallowed him whole and refused to let go.  Until a few short hours later when he was thankful again, this time for silencing charms to muffle the screams and tears and dry retching. 

The weekend passed in this way, much like any other; sleeping sporadically through the night and morning, having breakfast for lunch and wasting time that may or may not have been better spent getting ahead with homework.  The bruise-like shadows beneath Harry’s eyes lightened as they did this time every week, ready to darken by the following Friday as sleeplessness took its toll once more.

For the most part the two days of freedom were peacefully boring and allowed Harry and Ron to enjoy lamenting their surplus of time to squander while Hermione sat at the table nearby and studiously ignored their games of chess and Exploding Snap, periodically tutting them – Harry supposed for her own enjoyment as the two boys certainly never heeded the noises.  It wasn’t until Sunday night that the fire sparked and crackled particularly loudly and Harry jumped when, glancing up as his queen blew to pieces before him, he momentarily spotted his godfather in the fire.

He had stop himself from making any noise until he’d checked surreptitiously to ensure they were alone in the common room – possibly not quite as surreptitiously as he would have liked as Hermione saw him looking from side to side and rolled her eyes even as her lips quirked and she hurried to kneel before the fire. 

Harry threw himself in front of it rather less gracefully beside her, knees thudding painfully before the hearth, though he ignored it, and it took Ron a moment longer as he thought at first it was simply a ploy of Harry’s so as not to admit he had failed miserably – again – in his quest to beat the chess champion.

Moments later the face of Sirius Black flashed in the flames once more and at the quick glimpse of three fifteen year olds he grinned.  “Hey kids!” 

Hermione shushed him quickly despite her huge smile mirrored by the two boys beside her. “We can’t be too loud, those last few third years only left a few minutes ago and they’ll still be awake.”

“How’ve you been?” Harry was so eager he nearly spoke over Hermione’s warning in his haste but it only caused Sirius’s grin to grow and Hermione didn’t seem to mind.

“Fine, fine,” Sirius rushed out and Harry saw his expression shift slightly with a flick of flames but Sirius rushed on before he could question it, “How have you been?  How have your first few weeks of lessons been going?”

“The homework’s ridiculous!”

“That’s only because you don’t do it Ronald!”

Ron made a face but Harry was distracted by the same thoughts that had been haunting him for awhile now.

“Sirius, what do you know about Delores Umbridge?  She’s our new DADA ‘professor’.”

“Yes we’ve heard.  Nasty piece of work apparently, I don’t know all that much about her but you should hear Remus when her name comes up.”  Hermione nodded and Harry shot a glance at her.

“Yeah, she hates anything ‘not human’,” Sirius seemed to pick up on where she left off with a growl.

“And two years ago she drafted some anti-werewolf legislation that makes it pretty much impossible for him to get a job.” 

Harry reasoned that that would be about right.  And he thought he’d hated her before...  he shuddered a little as he wondered if she’d deal with Lupin using the same approach she seemed to think favourable with him... rehabilitation.  The word wouldn’t leave his head; it clung to him and tainted everything, even this visit with Sirius he hadn’t thought he’d be lucky enough to get.  Still that word wouldn’t leave him alone, filling him with dread.  Tomorrow night...

“So how is she in class?” Sirius continued manically, seeming a little too curious and excited.  Harry knew he had to be going stir-crazy but if this was really the honest extent of Sirius’s fascination then he fervently hoped someone in the Order did something to help before his godfather cracked completely and decided Hogwarts needed its own resident doggy mascot.  

“Crap.  Really, she’s a right bit-” Ron answered immediately, ignoring Hermione until her hand hit him in the back of the head with a thwack and cut him off mid-word.  He threw a wounded look over Harry’s head at Hermione on the other side of him as he rubbed at where she’d hit him, which in all honesty didn’t actually hurt.  Nevertheless, he whined, “’Mione!”

“Ron’s right though,” Harry picked up, as much to distract himself as to be a part of the conversation. “She’s terrible, won’t even let us use magic...”  He trailed off, unable to keep up the thread of his own argument and Sirius grew concerned.

“And how are you doing, have you had any more nightmares?  Your scar been hurting?”

Harry looked into his godfather’s eyes and knew instantly that he couldn’t tell him about Umbridge, just as he couldn’t tell his friends.  More so.  He wouldn’t tell Ron and Hermione because of how little he knew they could do about it and because it would be so much harder to face it all if he knew he’d told.  Not to mention their worried words and the many mentions of the injustice of it all would be too much to stand.  For all that they were his best friends – and the best best friends in the world as far as Harry was concerned – neither of them quite grasped that life really wasn’t fair and he couldn’t – wouldn’t – be the one to ruin that illusion for them.  He didn’t want them to be... well, like him.

Sirius was in an even worse position to do anything about Harry’s situation and he couldn’t stand to worry his godfather over something he could do nothing about.  It would drive Sirius over the edge if nothing else – an edge Harry could tell Sirius was skirting already – so resolutely he shook his head and tried to sound like he wasn’t lying.

“No more than usual, lessons are just doing my head in.”

“You’re not alone,” Ron grumbled and shot a furtive glance at Hermione as he ducked a little, trying to avoid any possible smacks upside the head that may be coming his way.

“Well maybe you guys just need a break?” Sirius said clearly trying to force some brightness back into their conversation.  “Snuffles worked pretty well last time, when’s your next Hogsmeade weekend?  I’ll come for a visit.”

“NO!” Harry and Hermione burst out simultaneously.

“What?  It’s not like a dog is suspicious-”

“But it was Sirius,” Harry insisted.  He couldn’t shake the sudden fear – possibly irrational – that Sirius would be caught and taken away again... or worse.  No, he couldn’t lose him, not over a visit, no matter how stir-crazy he might be or how much Harry desperately wanted to see his godfather.  Especially at the moment.  “Something Malfoy said on the train... I know his dad noticed you at the station and it’s just too risky, if anyone saw you-”

“All right, all right, I’ve got the point,” Sirius grumbled, though it sounded far less good-natured than Ron’s grumbling had only moments ago.  “Just an idea.  I thought you might like to catch up.”

“I would!  Of course I would, I just don’t want you chucked back in Azkaban!”

There was a long moment of silence and an anxious Harry grew uncomfortable as Sirius studied him, a small crease between his eyes.  Harry suspected it was his own insecurities causing it but he couldn’t help but feel like he was being judged and was inevitably being found unworthy... something less than enough.  Years of conditioning by the Dursleys had done a better job than they’d realised he thought grimly; they’d be thrilled.  Would Sirius really be so upset when Harry was just worried for his freedom?

“You’re less like your father than I thought,” Sirius finally said quietly, as though to himself, and Harry’s stomach dropped at the coolness in his voice.  He had been right?  Was that really what Sirius had been doing?  Judging him and finding him not as good as his father?  Sure, he’d thought that was what Sirius had been doing but he was still shocked to be right in this of all things.  Did that mean he wanted nothing more to do with him?  He wasn’t good enough?  He felt like he’d been sucker punched.

Harry hadn’t really considered it in the time he’d had with Sirius, having had barely more than a year all together to be his godson, but was that a... requirement?  A requirement for Sirius to care was that Harry had to be like James?  Harry was all the man had of his best friend after all.  Maybe... maybe it wasn’t so unreasonable a demand.  The thoughts flickered through his head at light-speed and there was the smallest, blackest part of himself that pulsed and twisted and coiled, feeding on his insecurity and uncertainty and agreeing with the judgement.  Not enough.  Harry was never enough.

After all, he wasn’t anywhere near as smart or talented as his father, his best achievements were lauded as being ‘as good as’ or ‘because of’ James.  None of it was ever based on his own merit, it was genes or reputation or luck.  And when he failed he was suddenly less like James than anyone thought.  Would James have defeated Voldemort by now?  The thought was disconcerting.  And disappointing.  If Sirius felt that way how would his father have felt?  They were best friends.  In their time they would have agreed on so many things and saw things the same way.  Would James have looked at him the way Sirius was now?

The Dursleys, Umbridge and Snape would all be absolutely thrilled.  They all hated wasting their time.  They’d be gratified to know they hadn’t; that Harry didn’t doubt their judgements anywhere near as much now.  That they’d been right all along.  Funnily enough, that thought did nothing to make him feel any better and it was with his stomach lower than his feet and through a haze of pain he’d known since he was that child in the cupboard that he heard Sirius continue, though he paid no attention to the words anymore.  

“The risk would have been what made it fun for James.”

Ron had seen first-hand Harry’s upbringing while rescuing him in second year.  He knew the treatment – well, some of it – that Harry had endured for years at the hands of his only relatives and he knew his friend well enough to know he was not unaffected.  He also knew a little more than Hermione did about their friend’s insecurities, having spent many more nights in the same room – whether at The Burrow or in their dorm – as Harry screamed and thrashed and whimpered and cried, lost in his many fears and memories, and Ron found that he couldn’t not break the brief but suffocating silence. 

“Look-”

But that’s as far as he got because Sirius made a show of turning his head to the side before a rushed and insincere, “I better get going, I think Kreacher’s coming.  I’ll write to tell you a time I can make it back into the fire, then, shall I?  If you can stand to risk it?”  And with that he was gone.

Hermione was silently staring into the flames with a tiny crease between her own eyes telegraphing her disapproval of the way Sirius had behaved and Ron looked down at Harry with concern but Harry quickly adopted a blank look and said as neutrally as he could, “yeah, I might go to bed too.” 

He stood before either of them could say anything and, ignoring the gazes he could feel boring into his back from where his friends still sat on the floor, he walked resolutely to the dorm currently occupied by a sleeping Seamus, Neville and Dean, none of whom stirred as he padded into the room, bee-lining for his bed and sprawling across it, thoroughly deflated and defeated.

He heard Ron enter the room a few minutes later and quietly walk to the side of Harry’s bed before sitting beside him on the edge, his eyes trained again on Harry’s back; he swore he could feel the intensity of it between his shoulder blades.  When Harry felt the bed dip he moved his head slightly so his words wouldn’t be muffled beyond recognition.

“What?” he muttered flatly.

“Sirius-” Harry made a sharp movement and Ron shot a glance over his shoulder to make sure none of the others had heard but three distinct snore patterns reassured him after a moment and he turned back to find Harry sitting up.  His friend’s face was still resolutely composed in its blank mask from what Ron could see by the shafts of moonlight illuminating patches of the room.  “Snuffles,” Ron began again falteringly, “you know him, he’s going nuts locked in that house and he’s just a bit...”

“Right.”

“No mate, you know he’s not.”  At Harry’s silence Ron’s quiet voice grew more intense, “he’s not.  You’re not your dad and you shouldn’t have to be; you’re your own person.  It wasn’t fair of him to suggest-”

“I get it, the only thing he suggested was that my dad was... better.”

“But he’s not.  I mean, he was great... I’m sure... but...”

“I know what you mean but to Sir- Snuffles I’m... I’m not... I’m not him.  I think it means I...”  Harry hesitated, not sure if he was ready to admit so openly to such a large insecurity, but looking at where the sparse light glittered and reflected a powerful compassion in the eyes staring back at him, that compassion there for him, such emotion not usually seen on his best friend’s face at all; he couldn’t not finish, “it means I’m not good enough.”

“Then that’s his problem, not yours.”  Ron said without a moment’s hesitation, unwavering, so quietly it was almost a whisper in his firmest voice, not quietly enough to cover the slight heatedness of his words, and though Harry found that he couldn’t barricade such a large chink in his armour so quickly, he was too grateful for his friend’s palpable concern and the sheer heartfelt care he spoke with not to smile.

“Thanks Ron,” he said, his voice very slightly hoarse.  It was the most emotion they’d shown with each other in quite a while and Ron rose quickly to his feet and crossed to his own bed, although Harry couldn’t fail to notice the last look Ron gave him; judging.  Like Sirius had done earlier, but for vastly different reasons.  Harry’s chest warmed to know that tonight, not everyone who judged him found him wanting. 

Ron knew the ‘thanks’ for what it was.  Harry was thankful for their friendship, for Ron’s presence, for his words and the reassurance they provided.  The ‘thanks’ was by no means acceptance of his words though, and Ron and Harry both knew it and both knew enough about the other to realise it was as much as either could hope for tonight. 

Both of them got comfortable and sent a quiet ‘G’night’ across the distance between beds before dropping into the lazy haze of a late night.  Harry heard Ron’s snores add to the symphony coming from across the room long before he finally felt part of his mind turn off and another part wake up with its own cacophony of screams and whimpers to break the too-brief silence.