(July 24, 1995)

A man whimpered as the echoing pains of a Tormenta curse rippled through his body.

“You are fortunate, Pet-terrr. I would have killed you for your little missstake, but it hasss led to ssssome rattthhher enjoyable momentsss.” The voice hissed from the darkness. The body on the floor remained in a huddled ball, cowering in the shadows. “Hold out your arm, Pet-terrr,” he demanded.

The trembling man extended his arm only to scream in renewed pain as a hand of red and twisted flesh grasped it. In a matter of moments, popping noise could be heard as dark robed and silver masked individuals began to appear.

“Welcome, my Deatthh Eat-ttersss,” he called before approaching one of the taller men, “Ahhhhhh, my loyal Ssseverrrrusss. You did well. Passssed your test. I am pleassssed with you.” He laughed under his breath, “Yesss, quite pleasssed.”

He walked around the men in the circle, “I have a misssion for you, my faithful. I wisssh to make Har-rry Pot-terrr sssuf-ferr. I wish to sstrip him of everyone he caresss about, I want him to beg for hisss own death.” He laughed; it was a rough, cold sound that stopped abruptly and was followed by a very low harsh hiss. “Kill hisss family, break hisss friendsss. Be CAREFUL how you do it. I don’t want the Minissstry believing that missserable brat or that meddleding old man just yet. I have my plansss for them. Do not harm the Pot-tter himsself. You will leave HIM to me.”

There was a rustle of robes and another hooded figured entered the room. He dropped to his knees before the dark lord, “Forgive my tardiness, my lord. I had trouble escaping Fudge.”

The Dark Lord stepped back, his eyes narrowed, “I will forgive you, my dear Luciussss. But firssst, a sssuitable punishment, I think.”

Harry bolted into a sitting position, breathing heavily in his nightmare-induced, panicked state. He placed the palm of his hand to his scar, immediately pressing down against the pain. He felt the tears welling up in his eyes as he fought against the anger, fear, frustration, and lingering pain his nightmare vision had induced. It took several minutes before the intense desire to cry and scream melted away leaving behind a familiar aching sadness. As he had done every morning for the past two weeks, he threw his legs over the side of the bed and navigated the dark but familiar room that had been assigned to him in the caverns deep beneath Hogwarts. Not wanting to trigger the lights and alert anyone, he groped around in the blackness until he found a pair of jeans, t-shirt and sweatshirt and quickly dressed. On his hands and knees, he found his sneakers, put them on and walked in the direction of his desk. He found his wand and the port key the Headmaster had given him.

He activated the portkey to find himself in the apartments that had been assigned to Arabella in one of the towers of Hogwarts. Glad for the faint light that drifted in through the windows, Harry quickly maneuvered around the boxes and covered furniture, grabbed his broom from where he had left it leaning against a wall and quickly made his way out of the rooms. He practically ran through the halls and out of the castle. He flew around the outskirts of the school, ultimately landing atop one of the outcroppings that overlooked the lake. Dropping his broom beside him, he sat down and pulled his legs into his chest and stared out over the water.

It wasn’t long before he felt the telltale stinging in his eyes and the tightening of his chest. Squeezing his eyes shut and biting down on his lip, Harry tried to breathe deeply, refusing to cry. It had been less than a month since his identity had been ripped from him. It had been two weeks since Professor Snape had shown up at Arabella’s and brought him back to Hogwart’s. Two weeks since he caused the death of his friend’s parents by simply being her friend. Two weeks since anyone seemed to pay him anything more than a passing bit of attention. He wished Dumbledore hadn’t sent away Sirius and Remus. At least then he’d have someone to talk to. He tried talking to Arabella or Professor Snape, but they always seemed too busy or too tired to talk with him; Hermione or Dr. Granger always seemed to need their attention more than he did.

The thought of Hermione hurt most. He watched her sitting by her father’s side, putting on a brave face as she talked to him or just listened while Arabella instructed her in simple tasks. Every time their eyes had met, he had seen her despair, her fear and known that she blamed him. She hadn’t spoken to him once since waking up. When she wasn’t with Arabella and her father, Harry knew she would be with Professor Snape working quietly on some potion or another for her father. He had found them working together in the small lab on the fourth day after their arrival at the Order’s Headquarters. He had wanted to speak to his father and try to get to know him but it was obvious he would have been intruding, not to mention that there was simply no room for him in the small alcove that housed the lab.

Dr. Granger died two days ago. Last night, Snape, Bella and Hermione had placed Hermione’s parents in the Figg family crypt in the Hogsmeade cemetery. It was close to Hogwarts and it was also the safest place, given that Arabella has a specially targeted portkey to transport them direct to the crypt so as not to be seen. Harry had wanted to go with them, but even if Hermione had wanted him there, it just wasn’t a possibility. Due to the small space available in the crypt and the two coffins they were taking with them, there hadn’t been room, so he had been left behind.

Harry had never been more relieved than when an hour or two after Snape, Arabella and Hermione had left, Dumbledore had appeared with Ron in tow. He finally had someone to talk to. As luck would have it though, when Hermione, Snape and Arabella had returned a few minutes later, Ron had jumped to his feet, going straight to Hermione. Harry watched the awkward greeting followed by the stoic façade Hermione wore begin to crumble. It didn’t take long for Ron to close the distance and gather her in his arms, quietly comforting her. Harry just watched, caught between his relief that Ron had somehow managed to know what Hermione needed and act on it and feeling all the more isolated, knowing he wasn’t wanted there. Professor Snape had already taken Arabella back to her chambers to rest, so her company was out of the question. He felt a painful sinking feeling, though, when he realized just how much she really needed her rest then. He had spent a lot of time reading about Healers and how the gift works since there wasn’t really anything else to do, so he knew that she needed to sleep for quite a while to fully recoup her strength. With one last glance toward Ron and Hermione, he had retreated to his room. As hard as he tried though, he couldn’t get the image of a sobbing Hermione sitting on the sofa as a slightly uncomfortable Ron tried to comfort her.

Harry tried to postpone going back to the underground Headquarters of the Order, better known as Haven, but as the sun grew brighter in the sky, he knew he had to return. Mounting his broomstick, he flew back to the castle and quickly headed towards Arabella’s rooms. Leaning his broom against the wall by the entrance, he grabbed his portkey and let it transport him down to the dark tunnels under Hogwarts. He walked quickly but quietly through the darkened and musty tunnels toward the dim light of Haven’s common room. He cursed under his breath as the sound of conversation drifted to him. The last thing he wanted to do right now was talk to anybody; he didn’t want to explain where he’d been or justify his actions. He just wanted to go back to his room and slip into a deep, oblivious sleep and forget the rest of the world and life in general. He let out a soft but bitter laugh at the idea; his sleep was anything but oblivious. More often, it was like a trip to his own personal hell.

As he grew closer to the common room, he could make out the voices well enough to recognize their owners and slowed his approach. Arabella and Remus were talking in quiet tones and even from a distance, Harry could easily make out the worry in her voice.

“Bella, you should get some sleep.”

Remus’ said in a patient and soothing tone. The only sound that met the statement, however, was the even pacing sound Harry guessed was Arabella.

“Bella, please.” Remus pleaded.

“No,” she replied, and from the sound of it, never stopped pacing. “Not until they are both back here safe and happy.” There was silence for a moment and Harry guessed that Remus must have given her one of his looks because she sounded resigned when she continued, “Fine, I will settle for safe and here where I can take care of them.”

“They are both pretty good at taking care of themselves, Bella. They need you to take of yourself. You can’t be any good to them if you’re exhausted and burnt-out.” Remus paused for a moment then sighed, “Fine. At least come sit down?”

It was quiet for a moment as Harry drew closer to the opening into the common room. Taking cover in one of the outcroppings from the wall, he slid to the ground and continued listening to Remus and Arabella. While part of him felt guilty for eavesdropping, he had a greater desire to sit and listen and maybe find out just where he fit in the larger picture.

“What am I going to do, Remi? How am I supposed to fix this?” Her voice sounded so weary and sad; some of Harry’s anger toward her started to melt away. He didn’t like hearing that amount of pain in anyone’s voice, much less Bella’s. “You know he’s been crying in his sleep. Even when the nightmares leave him alone, he doesn’t get to sleep peacefully.”

He could hear the depth of despair in her voice, like it was breaking her heart to know that Snape was in so much emotional pain. Harry smiled slightly; knowing that, at least, it meant the man felt some distress. A small part of him hoped it meant the Professor cared about him.

“You know I have only actually seen Sev cry four times, three of them including last night, were for Harry. He’s picked up his old habit of watching Harry sleep and he noticed last night that Harry was crying in his sleep. It broke Sev’s heart, he felt like such a bastard for not doing something to help Harry earlier. He told me about all the crap he’s put Harry through.” She paused only to say in a quiet, sad tone, “He’s so angry at Dumbledore; almost as angry as he is with himself, but he doesn’t know how to express it and it hurts him so much.”

Harry barely noticed the tightness of Arabella’s voice, as if she was putting a great deal of effort into restraining her emotions. He felt a small sense of gratification to know that the Professor was suffering over all times he had hurt him. The fact that Snape felt guilty enough to check up on him at night did little to remove the sting of not being worthy of his time during the day.

“All you can do is be there for them as they work it out for themselves, you know that.” Remus replied in a soft, soothing voice. “Now, I want you to get some sleep.” Harry could hear Arabella protest, but Remus cut her off, “You are too tired to even think straight. I’ll go look for Harry.”

There was a long silence before Arabella responded, “He’s alone, Remus. He has distanced himself from all of us, the situation with Hermione hasn’t helped; she’s been directing her fear and pain at him. Harry took it and isolated himself.”

“I’ll talk to him, I promise. Now, please go get some sleep. I will wake you in a few hours.” Remus said.

“You promise?” Arabella asked. She sounded very tired yet hopeful. “If he needs me, you’ll come get me?”

Harry didn’t hear Remus respond but he did hear someone open and shut a door.

“You can come in now, Harry.”

Remus called so softly that Harry almost missed it. Taking a deep breath, he pushed off the wall he was leaning against and slowly walked into the Haven Common Room. He walked into the room, his eyes narrowed as he glanced about the room and avoided looking in Remus’ direction. Moving over to the sitting area, he dropped himself sullenly down onto the sofa, his arms crossed over his chest. He fixed his eyes on the clock that sat on the mantle above the fireplace; it read 7:37. If he was lucky, Remus would get on with his “talk” and he would still have enough time to grab breakfast before Hermione and Ron woke up. He wasn’t sure he could deal with any more of Hermione’s cold stares or any more of Ron’s “poor Hermione, what can I do” dribbling.

He felt awful about the death of her parents; he couldn’t fathom the grief she must be feeling at their loss. It was painful enough knowing he would never know his parents, never see or hear them except in his nightmares. The very thought of something happening to Sirius, who was the closest thing he had to a parent for a long time, left an aching tightness in his chest that nearly choked him.

Then there was the other “father” that belonged to the discordant memories he had floating around in his head. It was so hard sometimes to fit those memories into the life he lived outside of those brief times; they were like a nice dream and he kept expecting to wake up and find those memories were not real. Yet they were; he had a father that the boy he had been loved, even if he despised the same man in his other memories. It was just so confusing, but what was more frightening was the terror that had forced him from his vision this morning, fear inspired by the danger to his father.

He snorted and chuckled bitterly at the thought. Father! Really! Severus Snape was less of a father to him than, well, Professor Snape had ever been to him. Harry had allowed himself to entertain the idea briefly that Snape actually cared for him, that Bella and the others might have been right. At the most, Snape saw him as an obligation. That much was clear by the way he disappeared in the past week, always there for Bella or even Poor Hermione, but never for him. The worst part was he probably wouldn’t have even noticed if Dumbledore hadn’t sent Sirius and Remus away, leaving him to fend for himself.

And that was another thing – Dumbledore. He hadn’t seen the man since he brought Ron down, and then only briefly. He had come down several times before that, but each time he had gone straight in to see Arabella and Hermione. He never had time to sit and talk to Harry, even when Harry sought him out. He would just make up some excuse about being busy and off he’d go.

“Finished stewing yet?” Remus asked.

Harry didn’t acknowledge him.

“I know you are upset, Harry. You’ve had a miserable month and more than your fair share of life altering events, but I promise it will help to talk about it.”

Remus voice was soft and there was an element of understanding to his tone that was genuine and not just in his caring to know but in the empathy it carried. It was like he truly could understand him. It didn’t make Harry feel any better. If anything it made him feel worse, angry.

Jumping to his feet, Harry spun around to face Remus, “Tell me, how is talking about being responsible for not only the death of an innocent person but the fact that Voldemort is now a living, breathing person again; how is it supposed to fix the fact that my whole life was a big lie; that I am not the son of a good man like James Potter, but the unwanted son of slimy git of a Death Eater who raped my mother? How will talking about the fact that Arabella was forced to sacrifice her life to look out for her husband’s bastard instead of having the life she really wanted? If anything, this past week has proved she doesn’t really want to be around me, she certainly hasn’t made much of an effort, has she? And how will it make me feel better that one of my best friend’s blames me for the death of her parents?”

His outburst had started in a harsh but even tone and ended in full-blown yell. Turning on his heels, he stormed from the common room, barely registering the shocked and sad expression on Remus’ face. When he reached his room, he shoved the door open then slammed it shut behind him. He paced back and forth for a long time, waiting for Remus or Arabella to come barging through the door and give him what-for; on some level he knew his behavior towards Remus was uncalled for, that what he said was not true, especially the part about Snape raping his Mum. Arabella, Sirius and Remus had explained quite a bit about what happened to him, he knew the general story behind it all. At the moment, however, he was just too angry to think clearly.

Eventually it became obvious that no one was coming. Dropping down on his bed, he stared at the ground for a few moments, trying to force his mind to clear, to stop thinking about everything and anything. It just hurt too damn much. He wished he could just go to sleep, wake up and realize it was all just another bad dream. With a sigh, he began stripping down to his briefs and climbed under the covers, not caring that his dirty clothes were strewn on the floor beside the bed. He triggered the old spell that controlled the lights and let the blackness encompass the room. Punching his pillow a few times, he curled up and closed his eyes, praying for the blissfulness of undisturbed sleep.