Harry stirred in his bed, trying his hardest to fall asleep. Nights were the worst for him, especially nights in the Dursley household. Every time his eyes shut, Sirius’s face haunted his vision, the mistakes he had made haunting his thoughts. He should have never assumed Sirius would go to the Mysteries office when he knew how dangerous it was. He never should have provoked Snape and caused him to quit the Occulmency lessons. He should have tried harder, practiced more often, listened to everyone around him instead of thinking he knew what was going on, instead of wanting to know more.

The sound of Dudley’s snoring penetrated the walls, and Harry’s eyes narrowed, he hated being with the Dursley’s, especially right now when he knew everyone else was at Headquarters. He knew it was for the best that he spent the summer with his Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and his cousin Dudley, that their home would keep him safe, but he longed to be with Ron and Hermione, the entire Weasley clan, Lupin, with people from his own world.

Somewhere around dawn he fell into an uneasy sleep, only to be awakened shortly past nine by Uncle Vernon pounding on his door, “Get up! You have a phone call!”

Harry stirred, rubbing his eyes and muttering a few words that would have Hermione in a tizzy if she heard them being used. His body ached from fatigue and sadness, he hadn’t had a decent night’s rest since he had been back on Privet drive, which was over a month ago. He stifled a yawn, padding his way downstairs where Vernon slammed the phone into his hand, “Hello?”

Harry knew that Uncle Vernon was upset that he, Harry, the outcast of the household, was getting a phone call, and he could tell that once the call was complete, Harry would hear an ear full. He could hear his uncle muttering something to Aunt Petunia, probably asking why Harry couldn’t have spent the summer at Hogwarts, or how Harry was spending their hard earned money, or something to that effect, but nothing could bring him down as he immediately recognized the familiar voice.

“Harry!” Hermione squealed, “Harry, has your post been by yet?”

Harry smiled, hoping this meant Hermione had sent him a letter, “No, should I be expecting something?”

“Ron and I got our O.W.L.s today!” Hermione squeaked, “I got O’s in everything! We sent you a letter with Pig, telling you our scores, and wishing you well on yours.” Hermione babbled quickly, obviously ecstatic, “Ron got 10, Mrs. Weasley’s beaming. And you’ll never believe all that’s been happening, it’s just so much to tell you, of course, I can’t tell you now, but I can tell you that we’ll be seeing each other soon, before Hogwarts probably. Prof--I mean, Mooney, is planning to fetch you before term starts to go and get your supplies at Diagon Alley, he’ll be writing to you soon, I suppose, oh, you’ll have to send Hedwig as soon as you get your O.W.L.’s back. I’ve just got to know how you did. My parents were so proud! I thought I had messed up my Arithmancy, but I suppose I managed to do better than I had thought. Oh Harry.” Hermione breathed, “I can’t wait to see you, I just can’t wait to tell you all that’s been going on.”

“Any news on you-know-what?” Harry asked, knowing Hermione couldn’t tell him any of the Order’s knowledge or speculations over the telephone, but hoping she could give him something to look forward to, “Anything at all? Yes or No?”

“Yes.” Hermione said, and Harry could hear a hint of worry in her voice, “But we’ll talk about that later, of course. Ron wants to speak to you, hold on.”

Harry could hear the phone being passed, and Hermione reminding Ron to keep his voice down, and after a few seconds, Ron’s unsure voice said, “Hello?”

“Ron!” Harry breathed excitedly, “I heard you got 10 O.W.L.’s, congratulations!”

“It’s really you!” Ron said excitedly, “I can’t wait to see you again, I’m looking forward to it. And wait until I show you what Fred and George sent me from their shop, it’s a new and improved skiving snackbox. It’s got a load of stuff, it’s going to make this year so much easier, compared to O.W.L. year. They sent me one for you too....Hermione’s got one as well, but of course, you know that’s never going to even get opened. They also bought all of my and Ginny’s textbooks for this year, I guess to give Mum and Dad a break, they’re still trying to make up for leaving school like they did. Mum and Dad nearly blew their tops.”

“I bet they did. How are things going with....” his voice dropped slightly, “Percy?”

“After the Ministry admitted you-know-who was still alive, Percy came crawling back to Mum and Dad, and of course, after awhile they forgave him. Things are still very tense, but they’re at least on speaking terms. I think they forgave him more easily than they did Fred and George...shows who their favorite is, right?”

“Is the ministry pursuing Voldemort? Anything new?” Harry asked, ducking as Uncle Vernon went to grab the phone, bellowing, “There will be no talk of m--m--magic in this house!”

Ron, hearing Vernon’s loud roar, said quickly, “I’ll explain it all when we see each other, don’t let those muggles do you wrong now, it won’t be too much longer.”

Harry barely had enough time to say goodbye before Vernon ripped the phone from the wall, chucking it at Harry and missing him by only centimeters, “How many times do I have to tell you, boy, that there will be no talk of that in my house?! Phone calls, talking to-to--your people! I won’t tolerate it! And that ruddy bird has been keeping me up at night again, it’s about to fly its last flight.”

“I never said anything about magic!” Harry said, dodging the blow that came when he said the “m word”, “And Hedwig does not keep you up at night, you and Dudley both snore loud enough to raise the roof. There’s nothing I want more than to leave and go back to “my world” with “my people”, but I’m stuck here until school starts again, now aren’t I?”

Uncle Vernon stormed out of the room and Aunt Petunia, who was deathly pale at the mention of Voldemort’s name, nodded, “You will stay, but I don’t want any more phone calls, and keep the bird from making too much noise, is that understood?”

Harry went to walk away, surprised to see Aunt Petunia being civil for a change. She grabbed him by the arm and asked softly, “Have you seen him?”

“I’ve seen him several times since I’ve been to Hogwarts.” Harry said plainly, “He’s just getting stronger now. But you don’t have to worry; the best wizard ever is coming up with a plan to stop him.”

“You have your mother’s eyes.” Petunia said softly, letting her hand touch his face very briefly, almost human, “Try not to upset your Uncle, honestly, he’s very frightened about the whole m...magic world.”

Harry, once again, turned to walk away, but an owl swooped in the open window instead. Seeing that is wasn’t Hedwig or Pig, he took the letter from the owl’s leg and opened it, his face breaking into a wide grin. He had achieved 11 O.W.L.S He raced upstairs and scribbled a note to Ron and Hermione, tying it to Hedwig’s leg and sending her off.

He laid on his bed, sadness filling his body once more. Although he enjoyed talking with Ron and Hermione, it just made him ache longingly for a chance to see them. He hated knowing they were together, having fun and enjoying each other while he was stuck with the Dursley’s, without friends, for weeks upon weeks. If there was anything he hated more than staying on Privet drive, it was doing it under these surreal circumstances. Aunt Petunia hadn’t been the same since he returned, he was able to see more and more as time passed that she knew more about his world than she let on to his Uncle Vernon.

He rolled over onto his stomach, starting on his summer reading assignment for his History of Magic class, and after several hours, he fell into a bored sleep.

Some time later, the door opened, and his aunt walked in, “Keep quiet, your Uncle is asleep. I want to show you something.”

Harry’s eyes were wide with surprise as his Aunt sat next to him on the bed, placing a box the size of a cereal box between them. “I retrieved this from my parents’ estate when they passed on.”

He watched as she opened the box, pulling out several photographs (none of which moved, he noted disappointingly, although not surprised, his maternal grandparents were muggles, after all). Some were really old, yellowing around the edges. He picked up one of the older ones, which showed two children playing. “Is this my mother?”

Aunt Petunia nodded silently, pointing to the younger red-haired child, “This was your mother.” she motioned to the older child, “And that was me. This was taken just a few weeks before Lily got her Hog--her letter from school.” She sifted through the other pictures, finally getting to the most recent ones.

“This is from your parents wedding.” Aunt Petunia said softly, “And this one is of the three of you, not long before Lily and James died.”

The box contained probably near 50 pictures, and Harry’s eyes lit up at the opportunity to see his parents, see into their past. Aunt Petunia’s voice was soft as she continued, “Your headmaster has informed me that this will most likely be the last summer you will stay with us.”

This, in fact, was news to Harry. He gasped, half surprised, since he knew he was being sent back to his relatives annually for his own safety, half concealing excitement, and waited for his Aunt to continue.

“I find it only fitting that I give these photographs to you.” Her eyes were slightly misty as she looked fondly at the older pictures of her and Lily. “Before we knew what she was....we were extremely close. She would have been proud of you for handling what you’ve had to handle. I’m sure you believe we are unaware of what goes on at your school, but your headmaster does send us progress reports several times a year. Luckily, your Uncle is not aware of this.”

Harry opened his mouth to question her, but she cut him off, “I know last summer you had a lot of questions for me, about my knowledge of your world. I’m sure you understand how it would be nearly impossible for me not to pick anything up from your parents. Your headmaster-” [She couldn’t bring herself to say Dumbledore] “He has sent a letter to inform me that several of his colleagues will be sent to pick you up later this week. A Remus Lupin and Alastor Moody. I just wanted to say before you leave...”

She trailed off, as if it was paining her to say what she was saying. Harry continued to stare at her, opened mouthed in shock, unable to remember any other time she was this forward, civilized, and well, caring towards him. She spoke again, softly, “I know we don’t get along. I know you will probably be so much happier away from here. Just be careful. Voldemort killed my sister, my brother-in-law.” [She spat out the last part, a look of hatred briefly crossing her face], “And even though I’m not in contact with your people, I know he’s dangerous. Just watch yourself.”

She stood, obviously feeling as uncomfortable as Harry felt, and walked to the door, stopping in the doorway and turning back to him, her normal scowl back on her face, “We wouldn’t want the time and energy we’ve spent over the last 16 years to be wasted now, would we?”

She shut the door behind her, and Harry looked back down at the photographs, anxiety in his chest. His mother’s childhood was at his fingertips. He had just been given the best gift the Dursleys had ever given him. He looked at the doorway, almost wishing the moment he had shared with Aunt Petunia had lasted longer. Even though it was the most awkward feeling he had ever felt around her, it felt sort of nice to know she had an inkling of concern about him.

He flipped through photographs until nearly dawn, before shutting his heavy eyes at last and falling into a deep sleep. The was the easiest way to sleep these days, when his mind was so exhausted that it was impossible to stay awake, when his sleep was so deep that visions and dreams couldn’t plague him, disturb him, control him. He had fallen into the pattern right before term had ended in June, once he was back from the Department of Mysteries. He knew Voldemort could get inside of his mind, he knew he was helpless because he hadn’t finished Occulmency, so he tried as hard as he could to focus on what Snape had tried to teach him. After all, if he had tried harder, Sirius would still be alive.

When he awoke the next morning, the Dursleys were bustling busily downstairs. He heard Vernon’s booming voice telling his wife and son goodbye, his car leaving shortly after. Deciding it was too early to get up, his head aching from fatigue, he fell back asleep, taking several calming, cleansing breaths to make his mind blank before succumbing to sleep once more.

The next time he awoke, the alarm clock beside his bed read 3:45 p.m. The house was quiet. His cousin, Dudley, was most likely out with the neighborhood kids, while his Aunt Petunia was certainly in front of the television watching talk shows or soap operas, whichever was keeping her interest these days. He turned away from his alarm clock, suddenly very aware of the stabbing pain in his head. The dull throb that he had gotten used to had intensified greatly over the short period of time, and it now felt as if his head were going to break into two.

He pressed a hand to his forehead, trying to determine if the pain was coming from his scar or not. Concentrating became too unbearable very quickly, and before he realized what was happening, he found himself in the bathroom, violently ill.

He sat on the floor, now able to tell that it was indeed his scar searing with pain. Forcing himself not to vomit again, he shakily stood, staring at himself in the mirror, his face a pale grey. What did this mean? Was Voldemort near? Was he planning something? For a split second, he wished he had been able to see what was going on, through Voldemort’s eyes, but quickly shook that thought away. Look where that had gotten him last time, Sirius’s death. Another wave of sickness passed through him, and he knelt down by the toilet once more, wishing this would all end, but he knew it wouldn’t.

The only way Voldemort would go away for good was for Harry to kill him, and as much as he loathed Voldemort, he didn’t know enough, he didn’t have it in him, to kill someone. ‘Even if that someone murdered your parents? Your Godfather?’ a nagging voice rang in his ears. “Yes.” he muttered softly.

Another stabbing pain jolted through his head, but he brushed it aside, forcing himself to rise and stumble back into his darkened bedroom, falling onto his bed and falling back asleep. His dreams were plagued with snakes, Voldemort, Dumbledore, and Sirius, all mingled into a bizarre situation, one he couldn’t even remember when he finally fluttered back to consciousness.

“Harry. Harry!”

A voice was calling to him, but he couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes, the pain in his head still very intense. He felt himself being shaken, and suddenly realized that the voice didn’t belong to his Aunt, Uncle, or Cousin.

“P--Professor Lupin?” Harry asked groggily, opening his eyes, the pain in his head making his vision blurry. “What--what are you doing here?”

Remus Lupin was looking down on him with concern, “Your Aunt called for you, I suppose you didn’t hear her. What are you doing, sleeping at nearly 6 PM? You look dreadful Harry.”

“Headache.” Harry replied, sitting up in bed, “What’s going on?”

“I’ve come to take you.” Lupin said gently, “Are you okay to travel?”

Harry nodded, shoving things into his trunk. The pain was slowly starting to fade, and he was starting to become fully alert of his surroundings. “Aunt Petunia said that Moody would be with you.”

“He’s downstairs.” Lupin replied, “We’re traveling by knight bus, you’re still too young to apparate. By the way, congratulations on your O.W.L.S Ron and Hermione told me. They’re very anxious to see you.”

Harry noticed that Professor Lupin looked even thinner than the last time he had seen him, his eyes showing his progressing age. It was then that Harry was able to appreciate that while he lost a dear friend himself, someone else was going through the same pain as he was.

“How are you doing?” Harry asked, as he snapped his trunk closed, gathering Hedwig’s cage and slipping on his shoes.

“Better.” Lupin responded, “You?”

Harry shrugged, helping Lupin bring the trunk downstairs, where Mad Eye Moody was standing in the foyer, his Aunt Petunia watching disapprovingly from the entrance to the kitchen.

“Goodbye Harry.” She said as they made their way out of the door.

Harry turned around, stunned, “Yeah, Goodbye. Take care.”

The door shut behind him, and he couldn’t help but wonder what sort of bizarre universe he had stepped into. Things were completely different from normal. He just hoped someone would be able to answer his questions once they got to headquarters.

As they climbed onto the knight bus, Stan pointing out loudly that Harry Potter was their new passenger, Harry’s mind wandered to a new question. Now that Sirius was...dead...[the thought of that word still made him shudder] where would the headquarters be? As if Lupin was reading his mind, he said quietly, “We’re still at the same place. When we set up headquarters, Sirius made it known to everyone that if something happened to him, the estate was to go to you.”

Harry looked down, uncomfortable with the situation. He didn’t know if he could be around that house once more. It was one thing to be around the people that reminded him of Sirius, to be the one who was responsible for Sirius’s death, but to be in the house of his godfather, after all that had happened...it may just be too difficult, there would be too many reminders of Sirius. He felt tears prickle his eyes, and refused to let them fall, sitting down next to Lupin.

The knight bus started up, and Harry’s stomach gave a lurch. He found himself very glad he hadn’t eaten all day; he had almost forgotten how awful the knight bus was. Shortly, they were arriving at Number 12, Grimmauld Place. He helped Lupin with his trunk again, and braced himself for the emotion he knew was coming.

The moment the door opened, Mrs. Weasley enveloped him in a tight embrace, “How are you doing? You look so pale and thin, have those awful muggles been starving you?”

“No Mam.” Harry said quietly, looking down. He couldn’t believe he was in this house without Sirius. His heart ached to change the past, and as sadness engulfed him, he wished he could excuse himself for bed.

“Harry!” Exclaimed Ron and Hermione’s voices in unison, as they bombarded him with hugs, “You look awful.” Ron said bluntly, “What have those muggles been doing to you?”

“Are you still beating yourself up about Sirius?” Hermione asked sternly, “Ron’s right, you look miserable.”

“Gee, thanks.” Harry said sarcastically, allowing Mrs. Weasley to put a mug of butterbeer in his hands, “I’m fine.”

“Come on now, dear.” Mrs. Weasley said softly, “Professor Dumbledore is waiting in the kitchen to have a word with you.” She turned to Ron and Hermione, “Go wait upstairs, he’ll join you shortly.”

“See you then.” Ron said brightly, he and Hermione disappearing upstairs.

Lupin turned to Harry, giving him a soft smile, “Would you like me to come with you?”

“No thanks.” Harry said softly, giving him an apologetic smile, “I’ve put you through enough today.”

“Nonsense.” Lupin replied, “I’ll get this upstairs for you.” With that, he tapped his wand on the trunk and it disappeared.

Harry took a deep breath, walking into the kitchen, where Dumbledore stood, waiting for him, “Yes Professor?”

“Have a seat Harry.” Dumbledore said in his soft voice, “I’m afraid we’re going to have some changes this school year, not all for the better. I’m sure you realize security will be a lot tighter now, with Voldemort’s return being public.”

Harry nodded, and Dumbledore continued, “Quidditch practices will be affected; we will not permit unsupervised practices, and also roaming of the grounds. I know that you and your friends enjoy making visits to Hagrid, but this year we simply cannot permit it. That means no invisibility cloaks, no sneaking around. We don’t want any unfortunate accidents this term.”

“You came all the way here just to tell me these new rules?” Harry asked, his voice skeptical. “I don’t mean to be rude, but that’s unusual.”

“Not just to tell you these new policies.” Dumbledore said with a smile, “I’m here to make a proposition to you. I’m pretty sure that staying here isn’t high on your list of things you wanted to do this summer, I’m sure this house brings back a lot of memories you probably aren’t ready to face yet. I have spoken with Arthur and Molly Weasley, they are in agreement with me that you, Ronald and Ginny Weasley, and Hermione Granger shouldn’t be cooped up in this house all summer long. After getting your school supplies, the four of you will be staying at Hogwarts for the remainder of the summer.”

Harry’s eyes lit up, “Honestly? That’s great!”

“I thought you would enjoy the fresh air, maybe some Quidditch practice. We’ll have plenty of staff to watch over you, without actually watching you, and hopefully you’ll even manage to find some time to get some summer homework completed.” He winked at Harry, “With N.E.W.T. level Potions, you’ll need to study hard.”

Harry stood, feeling happier and more at ease than he had in months, and was halfway to the door when Dumbledore stopped him, “Harry, wait.”

Harry turned, and Dumbledore spoke softly, yet firmly, “Before term starts, we are going to continue with your Occulmency lessons, both Professor Snape and I will be giving them to you accordingly, as our schedules permit.” He paused for a moment, studying Harry’s face intently, “Is there something troubling you?”

Harry shook his head, blinking back tears. He hated to lie to Professor Dumbledore, he wished he could blurt out everything he was feeling, the guilt, the pain in his scar, the aching to have Sirius back, the sleepless nights, the agony he felt, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit these things, because that would make it real.

He spoke quietly and quickly, trying to change the subject, “I’ve been practicing Occulmency, I haven’t had any dreams or visions since summer began. I’ve been going on what Professor Snape had taught me, but it seems to be helping a bit.” He hesitated, but decided to go ahead and ask what had been on his mind all summer, “What’s happening with Voldemort?”

Dumbledore nodded, as if he had been waiting for Harry to ask this, “There have been several murders, and they have arrested some of the death eaters who had escaped the night of the Department of Mysteries. No one knows where he is at, but the Order is growing rapidly, and hopefully we’ll find something out soon.”

“Thanks for being straightforward with me.” Harry said appreciatively before turning towards the door. He had several more questions to ask, but his head was starting to ache terribly again and he knew they could wait. Perhaps even Ron or Hermione would be able to help him answer them.

He silently walked upstairs, his scar aching. ‘I don’t want to know what he’s doing.’ Harry repeated silently to himself over and over, forcing himself to keep his mind blank. He wasn’t going to tap into Voldemort’s thoughts, it was too risky. He entered the room, ignoring Ron and Hermione’s questions as he sat on the bed, his hand pressed against his scar, forcing himself not to throw up; his head felt like it had been beaten by a bludger.

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked, concerned, “Are you alright?”

Harry shook his head, groaning as he pressed his other hand to his head, “My scar.”

“Are you still seeing you-know-who’s thoughts?” Ron asked anxiously, “Do you want me to fetch someone? Professor Lupin? Mum? Professor Dumbledore?”

Harry shook his head again, “It will pass.”

“Are you sure?” Hermione asked, pausing for confirmation before continuing, “Did Professor Dumbledore tell you that we’re going to be staying at Hogwarts until term starts?”

Harry nodded, his vision starting to blur, the pain in his head intensifying. “It’s great.”

“Harry, you look awful, are you sure you’re okay?” Ron asked, his face showing the concern his voice held, “Can we do something for you?”

Harry shook his head, running his hands over his forehead, “I should be used to it by now...I just hate having to fight this. And I hate being in this house again. We shouldn’t be here, it’s my fault he’s gone, and it’s wrong to be in his home, acting like nothing has ever changed.”

“It’s not like that Harry.” Hermione said softly, “It wasn’t your fault.”

Harry nodded, “It was. I was being the hero, I’m always being the hero. But not anymore, mark my words, I’m done with that. If I wasn’t so keen to save people all of the time, to fix everything, I would have been sensible enough to go to someone and trust them to handle things. If I wouldn’t have jumped the gun, Sirius might still be alive.”

“But now the Ministry is on to Voldemort’s return, people know you were telling the truth, they’ll start trying to stop him now.” Hermione said gently, “You mustn’t beat yourself up over something that you can’t take back now.”

“The truth came out at Sirius’s expense.” Harry muttered, “You just don’t know what it’s like.”

“You can’t blame yourself for this.” Hermione insisted, “It will make you go mad.”

Harry ignored her, rummaging through his trunk until he found the pictures his Aunt had given him. He spread them over his bed, a small smile creeping over his lips, even though the memory of his mother made him sad. She was so happy in the pictures, her long hair flowing over her shoulders as she smiled at the camera, her arms wrapped around his Aunt Petunia’s neck. In another picture, she was riding her bicycle, showing off for the camera, with no hands on the handle bars. And in another, surrounded by family in front of a birthday cake, his Aunt sitting right next to her, a broad smile on her face.

“What have you got?” Ron asked, “Is that your mother? Where did you get those?”

“My Aunt Petunia gave them to me.” Harry said, his voice soft. If he thought hard enough, he could almost imagine her, laughing and cutting up with the people she loved. He longed to hear her voice again, to see her, to remember something from his very, very early childhood, anything to hold on to his mother, or his father.

Ron went to ask another question, but Hermione cut him off with a glare, “Harry, you should get some rest.”

“Nah.” Harry said, holding up one taken at his parent’s wedding, “Look at this one.”

The still shot contained his parents, Sirius, Lupin, and some others he assumed were his grandparents, all containing smiles, Aunt Petunia on the very edge of the photograph, a scowl on her face. “Look how happy everyone was.”

“Look how young everyone was.” Ron added, a grin on his face, “Professor Lupin looks so much different now.”

Harry nodded, rising to his feet when Mrs. Weasley called up the stairs for everyone to come down for dessert and tea, which, Ron informed him, meant that they were going to get a talking to about eavesdropping on the Order meeting that was to take place later that night.

“Turns out Fred and George taught Ginny a number of things.” Ron was telling Harry as they walked down the stairs, “And she’s smart as a whip, she’s picking up where they left off as the prankster of the house.”

“It’s a shame she’s not using her intelligence to get a head start on her studying.” Hermione informed them, “She’s got O.W.L.’s this term.”

Harry rolled his eyes, “Aw, let her have her fun, its summer, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Harry, great to see you again!” Tonks greeted him as they reached the landing, her hair a flaming orange, “I was wondering when they’d bring you back here.”

“I can’t complain, I just completed my last summer with the muggles.” Harry said happily, as the statement his Aunt had made fully registered. “All those years of patience paid off, finally.”

“Patience? Blowing up your Aunt?” Hermione reminded him, “Running away? Sure, that’s patience Harry.”

“It could have been so much worse.” Harry said as they walked into the kitchen, “You’ve never had to spend any time with them.”

“Far be it for Mr. Potter to show self-restraint on any given occasion.” Snape sneered, making his presence known to the teenagers, “Everyone knows subtlety is not his forte.”

Harry felt the small improvement of his mood since his arrival quickly melt away, dread sinking like lead in his stomach. The last thing he wanted to do was have a row with his potions professor right now. The last thing he needed was to have the blame for all of his misdoings thrown back into his face to further drive the pain in his heart.

Silence fell over the room as Harry stared into his professor’s black eyes, both in a silent battle of wills to see who would break the stare first. After a few moments, Harry succumbed and gave an apologetic smile to Molly Weasley, “I’m not that hungry, I think I will turn in early.”

As he fled upstairs, he heard his best friend’s mother give an exasperated sigh, muttering “Is it really necessary to provoke the boy at every turn?”

Harry could clearly picture the redhead’s piercing stare and he almost smiled. Once in his room, however, the silence grew deafening and the familiar feeling of dread and misery started to tug on his insides, extinguishing even the mere memory of the warm feelings he had been feeling moments earlier in the company of his friends. As tears threatened to break through the walls he had constructed, he buried his face into his pillow, wishing once more that he had fallen through the veil instead of Sirius, that he had been granted the luxury to die instead of being forced to live his nightmare of a life.

As he lay on his bed, his fists clenched, he couldn’t help but wonder what his problem was. It felt like his moods were being controlled by a light switch, flipping off and on by mere chance, the smallest thing setting him off. Since when did he care what the professor had to stay to and about him? His opinion had never mattered before, and it certainly shouldn’t matter now.

Maybe he was too far gone to even let logic take precedence in his mental struggle between what he felt and what he should be feeling. He forcefully raked his hands through his hair, the emotional pain suddenly becoming too much to bear without some sort of physical outlet. This was Sirius’s house; he should be sitting next to Harry, helping rationality in its plight against guilt. He should be giving some sort of anecdote to make the situation easier, distracting Harry from the swirling emotions threatening to drown him.

Of course, if Sirius had been sitting beside Harry, Harry wouldn’t be in nearly as much pain as he currently felt. A sob burst through the barricades that Harry had constructed as the reality of how truly alone he was began to sink in. Things could only get worse from here.

Harry walked into the kitchen, running his hand through his messy hair, relieved that he appeared to be alone in the house. He wasn’t sure where the Weasley clan had disappeared to, and at the moment he didn’t really care. While he loved his friends dearly, they were the closest to family that he had, he had felt nothing but smothered by their overwhelming presence. He had been at Grimmauld Place for three days, during which he had been questioned repeatedly about his eating and sleeping habits, as well as forced to talk about things he wished to never speak of out loud again; namely, his role in Sirus’s death.

He knew they meant well, but he hated the constant attention they cast his way, he would much rather dwell on his failures in private, in case the façade of sanity began to crumble. Ron had caught him crying on his first night back, and he wasn’t about to let it happen again. The awkwardness that followed was nearly intolerable and he didn’t want anyone, especially those who thought him so strong, to know that inside he was falling fast. Thankfully he had no visions since his arrival, but the nightmares plagued him constantly. He knew Ron had to be aware of them, they were sharing a room after all, but thankfully Ron hadn’t brought them up in conversation, and Harry surely didn’t plan on doing it.

When he made it back to the dining room, he was surprised to see his solitude had been interrupted, and with a scowl he placed his glass of juice on the table, wondering what the greasy git wanted this time. He wouldn’t be surprised if his professor had made a special trip to Grimmauld Place just to torment him without witnesses.

“Trust me, the feeling is mutual.” Snape sneered, opening his copy of the Daily Prophet, “The Weasleys had to tend to a family emergency and they felt you and Miss Granger should not be left alone.”

“Where’s Remus? Why you?”

“It’s a full moon tonight; I’m not surprised you were unaware though, it’s unlike you to notice anything not directly affecting you.”

An expletive was on the tip of Harry’s tongue, and he barely managed to hold it back as he scoffed, “I’ve had more important thing on my mind than lunar cycles…Voldemort, perhaps?”

“Do not speak his name.” Snape hissed, “You insolent brat, how dare you—“

“What, are you defending that murderer? Why should his name be so special that it is rendered unable to be spoken? I am not afraid of him, I’m not afraid of his name.” Harry pushed his chair back, leaving his glass on the table as he walked to the doorway, glaring at his professor, “You are a coward.”

His heart was racing by the time he returned to his room, collapsing on his bed. He was nearly certain that his professor would charge after him; throttle him for his attitude and rude behavior. Part of him wished for it, to feel the stinging pain of his words, to hear the hatred in his voice. He felt more alive than he had in ages, anger running through his veins at just the mere thought of the professor who had tormented him for the last 5 years, making his breath sharp and his heart race. The professor’s snide remarks and loosely veiled insults were nothing new to Harry, it was a game he and the professor had been playing for years, and this, this was familiar ground, something he could rely on, something he knew would never change.

He waited with baited breath for the door to fly open and his professor to barge in, nostrils flaring as he named ways to torture the teenage boy. Seconds grew to minutes, and Harry’s breathing slowed as he realized the professor was indeed not coming, uncharacteristic as it may be. While relieved that Snape wouldn’t be exerting some sort of punishment, a slow of power no doubt, over him, Harry couldn’t help but feel disappointed that the professor hadn’t risen to the challenge and reacted like Harry had been nearly certain he would. He’d have to chalk it up to another misjudgment…another misjudgment added to a long list of indiscretions that had taken place in the recent past.

A knock on the door brought him from his thoughts, and for a moment his breath caught in his throat. Was this it? The spark he needed to light the flames of fury brewing inside of him?

“Harry, are you in here?”

It was just Hermione. Harry slowly exhaled, feeling let down once more. He should have known better, Snape would have never taken the time to knock, he would have burst through the door in his own self-righteous, dramatic way and demand that Harry change his tone and apologize.

“Harry, Professor Snape would like to see you in the dining room.” Hermione spoke quietly, pushing the door open, “He seemed angry.”

Harry remained silent for a moment, debating on his next move. On one hand, he could storm downstairs and finish his fight, finally releasing the anger weighing heavily on his chest onto someone who at least partially deserved it. While Snape hadn’t played a significant role in Sirus’s death, he had spent the previous years making Harry’s life hell and he had been the one to terminate Occlumency classes, which ultimately led to the vision of Sirius at the Ministry of Magic. On the other hand, it would be significantly easier to just ignore Hermione and continue his day in solitude, knowing the professor wouldn’t disrupt his mental trial, where he found himself undeniably guilty in all counts of stupidy, recklessness, and ultimately, murder.

He heard footsteps moving away from his room and let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding, the decision was made. He’d wallow in guilt, pity and whatever else may surface in his room until the Weasley clan returned, and then he’d force his fake smile back onto his face and pretend like life was perfect, or at least tolerable, once more.

Harry hadn’t realized he had fallen asleep until he awoke to find himself on the receiving end of a stern glare from his most loathed professor.

“Mr. Potter, are you ill?”

Harry shook his head, pushing himself up on his elbows.

“Are you experiencing any trouble with your extremities?”

“No.”

“No sir.” Snape corrected, “Are you disoriented in any way and rendered unable to find your way around?”

“No sir.”

“Then why did you decide to ignore my instructions and remain hidden away in your room? Do I need to speak with Miss Granger about her interpretation of my request?”

Harry looked down, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at his professor’s theatrics, “Her message was perfectly clear, sir.”

“So you decided to blatantly ignore my summons?”

“I’m not your house elf; you can’t just summon me and expect me to comply.” Harry snapped, the familiar fury bubbling up once more as he looked up at Snape.

The room was silent for a moment, and Harry could have sworn he felt the temperature drop at least 10 degrees as his professor processed his response.

“You insolent little brat!” Snape seethed, “Just because we are not at Hogwarts does not mean I cannot discipline you as I see fit! I will not tolerate your impertinence any longer. Get out of bed and come into the dining room immediately to finish this conversation.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“I believe you heard me the first time, professor.” Harry said quietly, his voice clearly edged with anger. What were Mr. and Mrs. Weasley thinking anyway, when they decided to leave Snape in charge? It was no secret that he hated everything about Harry, from the way he looked to the way he breathed. And now here he was, making orders and demands as if he had any position of authority whatsoever. Just because he was left in charge did not mean Harry had taken an oath of obedience.

The small voice in the back of Harry’s mind, which slightly resembled Hermione, warned him not to push his professor too hard, since he was the only adult present and therefore could react in whatever manner he deemed appropriate, consequences be damned. And there was the still the issue of Snape serving two masters; if Harry pushed too hard, he may find himself thrust before Voldemort by his potions professor before he even knew what was happening.

Still, the anger he was radiating and the absolute fury Snape was reciprocating made Harry feel more alive than he had all summer, thoughts of his failures and losses pushed aside as his temper exploded, and he found himself unable to stop purposely baiting his professor.

As Snape began to unleash his own anger on the boy in front of him, Harry rose to his feet, glaring at the older man in front of him, knowing just what buttons to push, “You’re dismissed.”

“I think you are mistaken, Mr. Potter.” Snape drawled, “We will be finished when I deem us finished. Now you will go downstairs, leave the attitude behind and treat me with the respect I deserve.”

“What respect?” Harry snorted, waiting for the explosion of anger to occur. Snape had never waited so long to start berating and belittling him before, even when he hadn’t been half as obnoxious as he currently was behaving.

“You arrogant little-“

The professor’s wrath was cut short, however, by the searing pain in his arm and the howls of agony emanating from Harry.

Harry’s eyes slowly opened, his head throbbing painfully and his throat dry and painful. Raising a hand to his forehead, he pressed his palm against his scar, hoping to quench the blinding pain shooting through his skull. His other hand fell to his midsection, his queasy stomach nearly as troubling as the pain in his head. His muscles ached as if he had participated in a marathon, and he found it hard to catch his breath.

The vision had been remarkably more intense than the previous one, and Harry noted with a scowl that this was a reoccurring theme. Either Voldemort was getting stronger or Harry was getting weaker, neither of which provided Harry with a firm sense of security.

Movement from his doorway caught his attention and he looked up to see Hermione staring at him, her face pale and streaked with tears. “What’s wrong?” Harry asked, his voice hoarse, “Are you alright?”

“Am I alright?” Hermione asked incredulously, “Of course I am! I’m worried about you, though.”

“Did I disturb you?”

Harry felt his cheeks begin to burn and he suddenly felt highly self-conscious. He hated being seen like this. It was bad enough that his roommates in Gryffindor had seen his reaction after his vision of Arthur Weasley being attacked the previous year, but for his friends to know he was still having visions—and suffering from them—was nearly too much for his pride to bear.

“You were screaming.” Hermione said softly, sitting next to him, “I couldn’t wake you up. I had no idea that your visions were so bad…that’s what it was, a vision? Can I get you anything?”

Harry shook his head, letting his eyes close in a weak attempt to end the pounding in his head, “I’d like to be alone.”

“But—“

“Please, Hermione, I just want to be alone.”

With a heavy sigh, Hermione turned away, lingering in the doorway for a few moments as she watched Harry roll over onto his side, facing the wall.

His head continued to throb as Harry bit his lip, fighting tears. He absolutely hated these blasted visions. He loathed feeling so helpless, having to watch such cruel acts of violence without being able to help at all. More than anything, he wanted a chance to face Voldemort again and put an end to this madness once and for all, before anyone else was hurt. Especially the ones he loved. He had lost too many people to that bastard and he wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

The Death Eater meeting had not been one of the worst Harry had experienced, but it was definitely bad enough to leave a bitter taste in Harry’s mouth and he doubted he’d be able to close his eyes without hearing the haunted, tormented screams of those who had been tortured.

He heard a commotion downstairs, but decided he wasn’t concerned enough to investigate. Only he and Hermione were occupying the house and he knew his friend well enough to know she’d come to him if she needed assistance. He’d have to rectify that, the sooner the better. As much as he loved his friends, they were in serious danger as long as he held them close. That had to be rectified.  Immediately.

Voices drifted up the stairs, stopping outside of Harry’s room. He could make out Hermione’s worried tones, but wasn’t able to hear who she was speaking to. He didn’t think Snape would be back from his meeting yet, judging by what he had seen of the activities taking place in Voldemort’s presence, and if it had been the Weasleys returning, Ron would have already barged into the room, regardless of anything Hermione had to say.

“I’ll get my things.”

Harry pulled the pillow over his face, this couldn’t be good. If Hermione was preparing to leave, it was likely Harry would be making a journey as well, and he felt entirely too tired to even consider it. If Hermione was leaving alone, he’d be left alone with Snape until Ron and his family returned. Either way, he was certain to be miserable.

The door burst open, but Harry refused to give the person interrupting his miserable lamentations the courtesy of acknowledgment. What part of “I want to be left alone” did no one in this house understand?

“Get up Potter, we need to leave immediately.” The voice of Severus Snape hissed from above him, “Gather whatever you need as quickly as possible, we’re going to apparate out in exactly two minutes.”

“What?” Harry asked as he shot up, the pillow falling carelessly to the floor, “Why?”

Shooting Harry a cold glare, Snape growled, “I do not have the time nor the patience for an interrogation, Mr. Potter. Rise and gather your belongings!”

“Where are we going?”

“That is none of your concern.” Snape replied, “If you are not downstairs in exactly 90 seconds, we will leave without you.”

Grudgingly, Harry began to toss the few items strewn around his room into his trunk, lugging it behind him down the stairs. When he reached the bottom, he saw Hermione was already waiting alongside Snape. With a flick of his wand, the professor shrunk the trunk and placed it within his robes. "Grab my arm."

Hermione grasped the professor's right arm, Harry his left, and almost immediately there was a crack and he shut his eyes, opening them to find he was in a rundown, dusty old house. Coughing slightly as he inhaled the musty air, Harry released Snape's arm, taking a step away, "Where are we?"

"We are at an old family home, it is under the Fidelus charm, unplottable and unquestionably the most secure location for us at the moment."

"What about Grimmauld Place? Professor Dumbledore is the secret keeper, isn't he? How could it possibly not be safe?" Harry paused, a flutter of panic in his stomach, "has something happened to Dumbledore?"

"Professor Dumbledore." Snape corrected, "No, he is fine. Voldemort is aware of the location, however, I am not certain how at this point. Luckily, he does not expect you to be residing there at this particular moment, certainly if he had, the two of you would presently be in dire circumstances."

"But Professor," Hermione asked hesitantly, "How could he know unless Professor Dumbledore told him or one of the Death Eaters?"

"How he came to know does not concern me right now," Snape sneered, "I am much more concerned with what to do with the two of you until another location has been secured."

Snape took the shrunken trunks from his pocket, placing them on the floor and muttering an incantation to return them to their normal size, "I will show you to your rooms. You will remain there until dinner, and will return immediately following the meal. At that time, I will discuss the rules I expect the two of you to follow. You are not to touch anything, nor bother me with any inane nonsense. If you do disturb me, and it is not for a lethal emergency, you will find yourself transformed into potions ingredients to, no doubt, be wasted by your peers when the term starts."

Not waiting for a response, he stalked out of the room, his robes billowing behind him. The first room they came to was Hermione's, and she gave Harry a sympathetic smile as Snape jerked Harry's arm and led him to another room, "Try not to get into trouble."

The door slammed shut behind him and Harry let his trunk loudly fall to the floor, the thud echoing slightly throughout the room. In his opinion, the room was more of a dungeon cell than an actual habitable room, and Harry couldn't help but wonder if this was an "old family home" or a prison. A thick layer of dust covered every surface of the barren room, from the windows to the old bed that sat in the middle of the stone walls and floor. The room lacked pictures, furniture and any sort of indication that it had ever been occupied by anyone. He walked to the window, using his sleeve to wipe away at the dust and grime, and frowned to see is view was of a stone wall. Lovely. He wouldn't put it past the greasy git to give him the worst possible room in the entire house, or even to transfigure a decent room into this cell. Of course, by what he had already seen of the rest of the house, the most likely scenario was that the whole house was similar in fashion. 

He would never admit it to anyone, but he found himself preoccupied and worried about the upcoming meal he'd have to share with his professor. Aside from the 5 minutes they had been in each other's company after the death eater meeting, their previous encounter had been a nightmare, and there was no doubt in his mind that he would be held accountable for the rude, obnoxious behavior he had exhibited earlier. He shuddered as he imagined the possibilities of his punishments...had they been in school, he'd be writing lines or scrubbing cauldrons, neither of which caused him a great deal of concern, but away from the structured and uniform discipline matrix, the possibilities were endless. Would he have to write 10,000 lines? Scrub the stone floors with a toothbrush? His toothbrush? Would Snape wash his mouth out with soap? Strike him? Would he even have the authority to do such actions?

Harry listlessly flopped onto the bed, his head aching. He was so sick of feel this way, torn into two, full of anger and despair. He wanted, more than anything, to confide in his friends and lean on them for support as he continued to be consumed with grief and guilt for Sirius's death. He wanted to hear that everything would be okay, to be soothed by their unwavering loyalty to the cause of the light, to believe that they were going to win this war and escape unscathed. But he knew this wasn't the truth. There would be more casualties, more bloodshed, more loss. Loss not only of life, but innocence, as a new generation of fighters would turn into murders. And if he continued to be seen in the presence of his best friends, if everyone knew how important they were to him, they may as well walk around with targets painted on their faces. More people, people that he loved, would die because of him and who he was. He couldn't let that happen...he had to protect them, he had to distance himself from them. It was the only way, he had to do this alone.

His eyes grew heavy and he covered his eyes with his arm, wishing he could figure out a way to become accustomed to the constant dull throb in his temple. Maybe his outlook on life, and death, would be improved if he could endure a full night of pain-free rest. The ache intensified as he found himself thrust once again into a vision, and as he was pulled from his own consciousness, the last thought on his mind was a mixture of surprise at the close proximity of this vision to the previous and irritation that Voldemort was once again up to no good. 

--

Severus Snape sat in the library, a glass of brandy in one hand as he reflected on the day's events. If someone would have told him that morning that he would be housing two Gryffindors in his childhood home, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter at that!, he would have sent them directly to St. Mungos for psychological evaluation. Yet here he was, an hour before dinner, playing nanny to the insufferable brats. 

He was not looking forward to dinner, where he'd undoubtedly be pressured into making small talk with the teenagers, or worse, listening to them carry on as most of the students did during meals while school was in session. To be completely honest, he didn't want to spend any amount of time with the arrogant, disrespectful imp Potter after the way the obnoxious brat had spoken to him earlier. He didn't imagine their next meeting would proceed any calmer, nor did he expect Dumbledore would condone hexing the child's mouth shut.

Although he'd never admit to being anything other than flawless, he was at a loss on how to proceed with punishment for the boy's blatant disrespect. It was much easier at school, the students had to follow whatever punishment he dictated; failure to do so would ultimately result in expulsion, but he didn't have the threat of expulsion behind him during the summer. Oh, how he wished he did! He would love nothing more than to be free of Harry-blasted-Potter. He imagined that if he tried to assign some sort of disciplinary action towards the brat, Potter would be openly defiant, and then he'd lose his temper and curse the boy and then he would find himself unemployed. While he often said he'd do anything to get rid of the boy, he didn't want to do it in that fashion. And even if Potter did decide to obey him, which he sincerely doubted, what sort of punishment is suitable for a sixteen year old boy outside of school grounds? It wasn't as if he could give the child lines, make him scrub cauldrons, sort through potions ingredients or some similar menial task to pass time. 

Looking around the filthy room, he contemplated the idea of using housework as a punishment for the boy, as least then he'd be getting two things accomplished at once--punishment and a habitable living area. A smirk crossed his lips, that would be suitable, there was nothing more a sixteen year old child hated more than cleaning. 

He was interrupted from his thoughts by a blood curdling scream. Wand-in-hand, he sprinted into the hallway, fully expecting to see fully robed death eaters, or perhaps the Dark Lord himself, but was met only by darkness. He reached the small bedroom at the end of the hall, surprised to see he wasn't the person person who had arrived to fight off whatever attack was taking place in Potter's room. 

"Harry! Harry! Wake up!" Hermione's pleading voice echoed into the hallway.

Severus could hear she was close to tears, and he hesitated outside the doorway. Emotional, angsty teens weren't necessarily his forte, and this situation just oozed with drama. Another guttural howl from Harry snapped him to his senses and he barged into the room, his voice sharp, "What is going on?"

"A vision...or maybe a nightmare...I don't know." Hermione said urgently, holding Harry's wrists down onto the bed as he continued to thrash about, "We've got to wake him up, he's clearly in pain."

Although Severus had never experienced one of Harry's visions before, he had heard of them, but had no idea that they were this intense. He shoved Hermione out of the way, grabbing the boy by his forearms and shaking him roughly, "Potter! Potter! Stop this right now!" 

The screaming and struggling ceased almost instantaneously, the boy going limp under his grip. Looking from the pale, unconscious boy in front of him to the crying, slightly panicked girl beside him, Severus had the distinct feeling that he was in over his head.