The next day, Harry was lucky enough to be let out of his room for a while so he could have a shower. When he was finished, he dressed in a long sleeved shirt and jeans, and then fell back onto his bed. It was a bit of a chore to leave it, he found, but he had had to take a shower, and when Aunt Petunia had unlocked the door he broke the news that he was going to Hogwarts. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were less than thrilled at the prospect of Remus coming to take Harry there, but Harry quite frankly didn't give a damn if they were giving him the cold shoulder about it. In fact, he was pleased they were ignoring him. His room was therefore unlocked, just for the day, and to celebrate he had stayed precisely where he was - in his room. Funny how once his room was unlocked, and he was able to go wherever he pleased, he didn't want to anymore. He was in one of his dull states anyway. It seemed to him most days that the only emotion he could feel was anger, and when that was gone, there was just nothing. The nothingness was worse, almost.

Better to be angry than to feel nothing at all.

(Nothingness that forever brought

A dull parade of tired thoughts)

I should be a poet.

Hedwig was sleeping soundly, and he watched her for a good hour, lying on his side. When the clock reached elven-fifteen he decided he had better go downstairs, as he knew that Remus was consistently punctual, if not habitually early. Despite the fact he wished to be with the Dursleys about as much as he wished for a stomach ulcer, he went slowly and methodically down the stairs and into the sitting room. Dudley was watching television, and Uncle Vernon was reading the paper. It was a Sunday (No post on Sundays!), so naturally there was not a lot going on. Harry, trying to remain unnoticed, sat down in the armchair farthest from the sofa, which Uncle Vernon and Dudley were sitting upon.

"What are you up to, boy? Sneaking around eh?" said Uncle Vernon, his beady eyes surveying Harry from over the paper.

Trying to avoid you, obviously.

"Just waiting," Harry replied dully, unhappy that his uncle had finally broken the silence that the Dursleys had been keeping around him.

"No sneaking in this house," Uncle Vernon replied, hardly seeming to have heard Harry.

"Yes, Sir." No being a fat arse either, Vernon. Oops, you broke that one already.

"That's better. I see they've been teaching you some respect at that freak school."

Harry looked up sharply. Of course. It was a Sunday after all. He should have clued in sooner. Uncle Vernon did not have to work, so therefore had no chance to bully the people in his office. Naturally, his nephew was the next best thing. Harry slumped down in his chair slightly as he remembered this, thinking in a dull sort of way that this was the last thing he needed.

Uncle Vernon put down his paper, and looked pointedly at Harry as though willing him with his mind to sit up straight.

"What are you looking at?" spat Harry before he could stop himself, his blood boiling all of a sudden. Bubble bubble toil and - you'll cause trouble Harry, if you don't watch it ...

"Watch your tone, boy," warned Uncle Vernon dangerously (See?). "Now sit up properly. Petunia and I did not spend years trying to instill some manners in you just to have you slouch about the place like some sort of vagrant."

Harry didn't move for a few moments, hardly caring and not afraid to show it. Then, tiredly, he sat up a bit more. Unfortunately, Uncle Vernon seemed to be in a ranting mood. Dudley, who had looked up from his television program, watched intently.

"What's wrong with you? Moping around. You won't even eat what your Aunt so graciously gives you! You've been a right brat lately, and you have no right to act the way you do. Why do you think you have to stay in that room of yours? Your dreary attitude is bringing Dudders down. It's pathetic, and I demand you stop it at once."

"Pathetic?" asked Harry in a low voice. He was no longer able to bite his tongue.

"That's what I said boy; are you deaf?" said Vernon, picking up his paper to rifle through it. Harry rose up from his seat, fury pumping through his veins. He looked at the clock. It was only eleven twenty.

Unable to take it any longer, Harry turned on his heel and stormed out of the sitting room and up the stairs. Harry slammed the door of his room shut, not even caring that Uncle Vernon bellowed up the stairs at him for doing it.

"No right! No right? Pathetic?" Harry said furiously to himself, cracking his knuckles and barely restraining from yelling. He felt as though he was filled with poison, and it had its deadly hands on his heart and was pressing his lungs tightly inward so he couldn't breathe. Harry growled with anger as he interrogated the wall, still taking in a hushed voice. "Who is he to tell me what to do? If he only knew!" On the last word he thrust out his fist and punched the wall. His fist met it with a crunch, and with satisfaction he saw that he had chipped the paint, and dented the drywall slightly.

Take that, Vernon, you bastard!

He was too angry to care what he'd done (in fact he got a great deal of satisfaction out of it), and with his chest heaving he threw himself onto his bed, making the frame creak under him. His heartbeat began to slow after a few moments, despite the fact that Uncle Vernon was shouting up the stairs again at him ("QUIT BANGING THINGS AROUND BOY!"). He ignored this, and it was only after a moment or so that he realized that his hand was throbbing something fierce. There was a small cut on one of his knuckles, and with his fingers still curled up in a fist he observed the drop of blood grow, a strange sort of calm indifference washing over him. He flexed his hand, and pain shot through the knuckle again, which looked a little bit sunken in, and possibly broken. Yet he didn't care; in fact, he closed his eyes and let the pain take over, mind blissfully blank. It was only when the doorbell rang that he remembered Remus was coming. Hastily he grabbed a tissue from the tissue box and dabbed it on the small cut, hoping to make it less noticeable. He then pulled his sleeves down a bit and shoved the tissue in the pocket of his jeans. He ran down the stairs, and then skidded to a halt in the hallway below. Lupin was standing on the doorstep, Aunt Petunia at the door. She had a distasteful expression on her face, despite the fact that Remus was dressed (albeit shabbily) as a muggle.

"Ready Harry?"

Harry nodded, trying to catch his breath as his knuckle continued to throb (don't look at my hand don't look at my hand).

"Well, come on, then," said Remus, beckoning for Harry to follow him.

Without a goodbye Harry rushed out the door, and they continued their way down the street. They walked for a ways, Remus chatting with him amicably, and then upon reaching a small alley Remus asked Harry to grab a hold of his arm. Curiously, Harry did so. They landed outside the gates to Hogwarts, Harry feeling as though he had just been put through a wringer.

"Yes, you just apparated," said Remus in response to the look on Harry's face. "The dizziness won't last long."

Speechless and head spinning, Harry just stared at Remus. He let Harry have a moment to catch his breath and then they proceeded through the gates.

"Ah, there you are, Hagrid," said Remus cheerfully as they approached the half-giant, waiting for them a ways down road

"Remus, Harry," said Hagrid. "Thought I'd come to meet yeh."

"Hey, Hagrid," Harry said, grateful to see him.

"Well, I suppose you two can be off then. I'll be up at the castle. I have some business with Albus which will probably take most of the afternoon. I'll be back when it's done."

"Alrigh'," Hagrid replied.

"Oh, and thank you, Hagrid. You two have a good visit."

"You're welcome. I'm sure we'll have a fine time."

Harry watched as Remus continued to walk away.

"I was planning on goin' to feed some thestrals, would ya like to come?" Hagrid inquired hopefully.

"Okay," Harry said, shrugging.

They walked down to Hagrid's hut first because he had to grab a pail of food for them. After that they started their way down a path into the forest. They walked a ways in silence, which Harry liked. After Remus' questions, the silence was very welcome. That was what Harry liked best with Hagrid. He knew when a person wanted a little bit of silence. Just a knack, Harry supposed. They arrived at a small clearing. A kind of contentment had come over Harry, and for the moment it lifted a bit of the numbness. Out in the forest one could almost forget everything, and just exist. Though the throbbing in Harry's fist reminded him of many painful realities.

"It will take a little time to lure ‘em," said Hagrid, uncovering the bucket, which held some raw pieces of meat. He poured a little bit of the blood on the ground.

"Yeah, I know," said Harry, thinking suddenly of the end of last year, how the Thestrals had begun to show up when they were covered in Grawp's blood.

"Draws ‘em like flies. They get judged for it though. Real nice creatures if ya take the time to get to know ‘em."

"Hagrid?" Harry asked after a long time of them sitting and waiting.

"Yes?" Hagrid bestowed a large smile on Harry, beneath his beard.

Harry bit his lip and stole himself to ask what he was wondering, "What did you do after your Dad died?"

"Ya mean how did I deal with it?"

Harry nodded.

"Well, I didn't do much of anything for a while," said Hagrid softly, eyes off in the distance, searching through the trees as though he was trying to find something that was not tangible in the least. "I stayed in bed a long time. It didn't help much. After a while I started to go back to doin' normal things. I came out here a lot. Wasn' supposed to of course, back then being a student an' all. But I'd come visit the thestrals. There was only a few back then, not as friendly either. I got ter know ‘em, and it sorta helped."

"Why?"

"Well, you can only see thestrals if you have seen death Harry, right? You know that. An' somehow, once I learned I could see ‘em an' found out where they lived, I took comfort in them. I don' really know why. I guess they reminded me of meself a bit. People just sorta stayed away from the topic of me dad's death, but then again people don't like to talk about death at all, really. I felt a bit like the thestrals, like people were scared o' me or somethin'. So I came here. Got ter know ‘em."

Harry pondered the idea, but he wasn't given much time to, for something was coming through the trees.

"Look, there's one now," said Hagrid in a hushed voice, pointing off to the edge of the little clearing. "They're quiet things, sorta shy, but I suspect they'll be warmer to you now that you've been out to meet ‘em a few times."

Harry breathed in deeply as one of the thestrals stepped into view. The sunlight that flowed through the leaves of the trees caught the smooth, black skin of the thestral's bat-like wings. It was strange, dark, and yet somehow beautiful. The no longer seemed ugly and grotesque to him, like they had when he had first seen them. Harry found himself drawn to it, and he started to see what Hagrid meant.

Hagrid took a piece of meat in his hand, and held it out for the thestral, which eyed it curiously. It took a hesitant step closer, dark eyes filled with wonder. It leaned forward and gently took the meat from Hagrid's hand. Harry jumped a little at the noisy gulp with which the thestral swallowed it. He relaxed as the thestral took a step closer to Hagrid and began to lick the blood from his fingers.

"You can pet her if ya like," he said to Harry.

Harry hesitated at first, because it had been a little while since he'd been around one, but then lifted his hand and reached out for the thestral. He rested his palm on its neck, and gently stroked the cool, smooth skin. The thestral seemed to like that, and now that it was done with the blood on Hagrid's hands, it turned to look at Harry. In the meantime, another thestral was approaching, and Hagrid took a few steps toward it, leaving Harry with the first one.

"Hello," whispered Harry, softly caressing the skin of the animal. It looked at him with big, doleful eyes, so dark, and yet so kind for such a creature. It let out a soft breath on his face, blowing Harry's hair around. Yet it continued to look at him for a second, as though it was trying to tell him that it understood. Its nostrils widened and narrowed as the breath whooshed in and out of them serenely. After a moment it bent its neck down lower, looking at Harry's other hand. It stuck its long tongue out and started to carefully lick at the cut on Harry's knuckle. Harry flinched, but calmed, and let it continue. He could once again feel that overwhelming pressure build up deep within him, like a sob trying to escape, and his eyes grew damp. For, even though he knew the thestral probably just liked the taste, he was touched by the gesture, and the gentleness that the thestral cleaned away the blood. Harry quickly scrubbed his eyes with the tip of his sleeve, and a few moments later Hagrid turned around to see how Harry was doing.

"Nice, aren' they?" he asked softly. Harry nodded, unable to speak.

***

Silence. Severus didn't say a word as the little cup was held in front of him. He pulled at the wrinkled cuff on his pyjama sleeve and stared into the sunshine yellow liquid (such a sulfurous colour nasty not happy - HAH - never). He didn't say a word, but his thoughts raced even though he tried to make them fall silent too. Familiar thoughts, just like the cup they made him take every morning in the hopes of making him better.

Make me better suppress the thoughts suppress the thoughts. They're trying to drug me confuse me put me in chains control me poison me poison well if its poison I should drink it I should drink it but what if it keeps me alive no matter what I don't want to live don't want to don't want to don't want to don't drink don't drink it -

"Severus," said the healer patiently. "Please take your potion. It will help."

Help! Maybe for a while but do I want it to? Sometimes I don't want it to. Like this I don't have to try and find purpose no not at all because I haven't got one. No hope and I like it that way, what about that you sneaky healer?

No.

No ... no ... resisting is too much work. Poison me if you like. They haven't got the brains to make a potion to keep me alive, but poisons are easy. Poison me then poison me so I don't have to.

"Good," she said with a smile, her lime green robes burning Severus' eyes. He stared at his feet and handed the little cup back with its unbreakable glass - he knew it was, he'd checked. He'd dropped one the other day and spilt it all on the floor to see what they would do with an ex Death Eater who was defiant. The Healer had just smiled and poured him a new one (Drink up, Severus, we'll make you better). Severus grimaced.

It tasted like mint and lemons and familiarity and everything good and benign.

Not poison. Damn. Make it stop make it stop

Make it stop

Stop

***

After they fed the group of thestrals - a total of seven had shown up - Hagrid led the way through the forest and back to his cabin, leaving Harry in silence to meditate upon the encounters. The trip to Hagrid's hut seemed shorter than Harry recalled, and so it was with mild surprise that he saw it coming into view. Fang greeted Harry enthusiastically as he came into the door. In the meantime Hagrid was putting away the empty meat bucket out in his shed, and pouring a little bit of water on some of the rows in his garden. Harry sat down in a chair by the small fire to wait, which had a pot of soup sitting over it. He closed his eyes for a moment. He opened them again, and then glanced at the picture on a small shelf nearby. It was of Hagrid's father. Harry turned his chair so he didn't need to see it, for it only made him hurt more.

He gently ran his finger over his knuckle, which had swollen somewhat. Flexing his hand, he winced slightly. He wondered what his friends would say if they knew about his hand, and the numerous other scratches on his arms and chest. They were not very large, most of them, but were there nonetheless.

Harry let his eyes close, trying to forget the world. The calm crackle of the small fire relaxed him, and the smell of the soup wafted gently over to where Harry was sitting. He did not realize until then just how tired the walk through the forest had made him, for according to his watch, they had been in the forest for a little over an hour and a half. His body tired, feet sore, Harry soon fell asleep before the fire. He awoke with a start sometime later by the sound of the logs settling in the fire. Blearily he looked into the flames, and his heart leaped, for he though he saw a face in the fire.

"Sirius!" Harry exclaimed, still fighting off the folds of sleep. He leaned forward to get a better look, and his heart fell. Nothing but logs. It was just coals.

Still and silent Harry sat there, rigidly staring into the place he was so sure he had seen his godfather. His stomach fell like the sun and a panicky sort of anguish - just like he had been fighting for a long time - filled him. Harry felt Hagrid's hand rest gently on his shoulder. Hagrid did not speak, but then again he didn't need to.

Harry bowed his head and he started to shake silently, but tears would not come now. He was far too deep in depression to be able to cry. There always comes a point for those who have seen too much, where tears run dry, and Harry had reached that point. With a soft thud Hagrid knelt down to sit on his knees next to Harry's chair, though he still towered over Harry. All the while he kept his hand on Harry's shoulder.

"I'm tired of it," Harry croaked after a little while. "I'm just tired of it all."

Hagrid squeezed Harry's shoulder, not knowing what to say. But Harry didn't mind.

"It's just ... everything ... it hurts." His voice had fallen to a whisper. "I just can't stop thinking about what could have been if I just kept my stupid mouth shut!"

"I know it's not easy for you to to believe, but it ain't yer fault," Hagrid assured him. "Ya did it out of love Harry, an' Sirius could never blame ya for doing what ya thought would protect him. That's the most important thing. He doesn't blame ya - I'm sure of it - an' ya shouldn't blame yerself."

"But it is my fault, you just don't understand!" Harry said, voice barely making it out of his throat. "I'm the reason he's gone!"

That same, overwhelming and strangling force rose up in Harry, making him wish to scream, to rage, to yell (Supress it supress it don't think about it don't think). He didn't notice his fingers digging themselves into his arms, which were wrapped tightly around his body. After a second or two, Hagrid gently took a hold of Harry's hands and held them between his own. Harry looked up sharply, shocked at what he had done. That he had given himself away.

But Hagrid was not angry, as Harry had expected, but sad. In fact, the sadness in Hagrid's eyes made him want to disappear. Harry let his hands go limp, and simply let them rest between Hagrid's as he looked away. He flinched when Hagrid let go, and with his enormous hands gently took one of his wrists instead.

"I won't hurt ya," whispered Hagrid, and Harry simply didn't have the strength to try and fight back as Hagrid carefully rolled up one of his sleeves. The angry scratch marks showed up starkly against the paleness of Harry's skin. Hagrid seemed unable to say anything, and all he could do was look at Harry in a way that could tear an already broken heart into a thousand pieces. Harry could only look down at his feet. The next thing he knew Hagrid had pulled him into a hug. Despite the fact that Harry understood that Hagrid would never hurt him, he could not will the tension away in his spine. The fear and sadness and anger within him threatened to tip over once again, but it was quelled momentarily by the tight embrace.

"Harry, I'm sorry, but I gotta tell Albus. I can't just leave this ... I can't. Do you understand?"

A small, choked sort of sob escaped Harry's lips at those words, but he nodded his head.