The entire castle seemed to be conspiring against Harry getting back to Gryffindor Tower. It took three false starts, and directions from the Grey Lady before Harry found himself on a landing overlooking the staircase that would normally lead to the portrait hole. All adjoining staircases had swung away, and Harry was stranded for several minutes. Finally, another staircase hooked up, and he headed wearily up the stairs and gave the password to the Fat Lady.

When he got into the common room, he heard Ron and Hermione's voices and started quickly for the dormitory stairs. "Harry, wait." Hermione sounded exasperated. "We've been searching for you all over the castle."

Harry froze where he was, staring downward. He didn't want to turn around and see Hermione with her singed hair. "Bloody hell, Harry!" Ron didn't sound angry, just confused. "This place has turned into a labyrinth. You have to go backwards, forwards, and upside-down to get anywhere. What's going on?"

"I don't know." Harry took a deep breath. "Hermione, I'm…I'm so sorry…I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Harry, it's all right," Hermione said from behind him. "I don't hate you for it, it was an accident! Won't you please look at me?" she pleaded.

Harry sighed and turned around, then winced. Hermione had been forced to cut most of her hair off. It was now curling around her face, only just below her chin. Miserably, he said, "I can't believe I did that to you."

"Oh, Harry, stop feeling guilty and look at her!" Ginny exclaimed, coming to join him. "Don't you think it's cute?"

"What?" Harry blinked, then said hastily, "Uh, yeah, sure—it looks really great, Hermione." Soft snorts from the other girls now gravitating in their direction told him he wasn't convincing. Hermione rolled her eyes. He supposed it looked all right—at least she hadn't had to shave her head or anything—but the knowledge that he'd been the reason for her drastic change in hairstyle made it hard to see it as a good thing.

"Cheer up, mate," said Ron. "No real harm done. You should've seen this lot when we got back," he added, gesturing at Lavender, Parvati, and Ginny. "They pounced all over her with hair potions and styling charms."

Harry smiled weakly. "That's nice. Really, it looks very nice," he told Hermione. "I'm just sorry you…you know…couldn't do it by choice."

Throwing her hands into the air, Hermione exclaimed, "Apologies accepted, Harry, all fifty of them! Now stop feeling bad about it before I hex all your hair right off!"

Harry had to grin.

"Any news from Percy?" he asked Ron later when they were getting ready for bed.

Ron flopped onto his bed and swatted the curtains. "All McGonagall would say is they smuggled him out of the Ministry to bring him here so they can get him to Headquarters."

"He's here now?"

"He was, but Fudge and the Ministry are still searching the school, so we couldn't see him. They just made a Portkey and sent him on."

"Merlin's beard," Harry groaned. "Percy's a fugitive."

Ron pulled a face and nodded. "McGonagall says he's really upset."

"But he'll be okay, right? He'll be safe at least," said Harry.

"That's what Ginny said. We'll all see him when the hols start."

"Well…at least your family'll all be together for Christmas this year," Harry sighed. "So your mum can give everyone their jumpers."

Ron agreed absently, "Yeah, and Hermione's family will be there too, so it will be a wonderful holiday—oh, blimey, I'm sorry, Harry!"

Harry swallowed thickly. "'s all right. I'm glad Percy's come round and…you're all together. Really," he said, seeing Ron's doubtful face. He turned away and walked over to the window, watching the snow beginning to fall.

"Harry…will you be okay?" Ron asked tentatively.

Crawling into bed, Harry said quickly, "Yeah. I'll be there, remember?"

"I know, but will you be okay?"

Harry sighed. "For Christmas, you mean?" Ron nodded solemnly, getting the "Hermione look" as Harry had come to call it. "Not really, but…there's nothing to really…make it better, I guess. I'll just get through it."

"I don't want you to be sad on Christmas, mate."

"I'll try not to be. Really, but…" Harry looked away from his friend's sad gaze. "I can't stop missing him, Ron. Especially at Christmas." He forced a smile. "I'll…I'll try to have fun though."

"He'd want you to," Ron said. "And it might not be so bad with the house full of people. We can distract. I know the twins will."

"Yeah!" Harry said brightly, but only to reassure Ron.

You can't pack that house with enough people to make me not notice who's missing. It'll always feel empty to me.

Just before the end-of-term exams, Harry managed to arrive late at Specialized Defense on the same day that yet another article appeared in the Daily Prophet calling for his removal from Hogwarts.

"Harry Potter is a liability!" Fudge had been quoted as saying. "The life of every child in that school is in danger as long as he is present."

The other students were lined up in front of a row of, what appeared to be, targets. Ron and Hermione watched with obvious trepidation as Professor Smythe-Wellington advanced.

"How good of you to finally join us, Mr. Potter. Take your place at one of the empty targets." She stood up to address the group. "Although these objects appear to be targets, they will, in fact, be targeting you. One of the most crucial defensive skills is the ability to raise a shield with utmost speed to block an unfriendly spell. In fact, it may be the skill that saves your life. You may never have the chance to disarm an opponent before his spell reaches you. By shielding yourself, you get the second chance you need to do just that."

Well, that didn't sound too hard. Harry took his place and continued listening, keeping his face as blank as he could to avoid drawing Smythe-Wellington's attention. She went on, "These targets will attack you with a stinging hex. Nothing serious, just enough to let you know that you've been hit. And, they will hit you from different angles. The object is to block the hex. This exercise requires concentration. Ready? Begin!"

Next to Harry, Neville successfully blocked one hex, only to give a yelp as the target's next shot hit him in the knee. Harry blocked three shots in a row, then the target paused. Harry took a deep breath, trying to think about what he was doing and not the letters he had received by owl post.

You are a selfish child! If you had any decency at all, you would leave that school!

Since when is your life more valuable than my son's! The headmaster is criminally negligent in allowing you to remain at Hogwarts while you are You-Know-Who's target!

Am I a liability? Is Fudge right? Should I be removed from Hogwarts? A burning pain stung his cheek and, as Harry raised his hand to his face, he was stung in the arm. Before he could get his wand into position, the target hit him again, square in the chest.

You're always going to be a target!

Sting!

Harry Potter is a liability!

Ouch!

The life of every child in that school is in danger!

Sting—shield—sting—shield—shield—sting—sting—sting—

Ouch! Liability…

BLOODY ENOUGH!

Something inside him seemed to snap, like a firecracker inside his head—

CRASH! The target exploded into chunks of plaster and cloth, causing the rest of the students to yelp and jump in surprise.

"Cease!" Professor Smythe-Wellington's voice rang out and all the other targets shut down. Harry felt blood draining from his face as it dawned on him what had happened. Smythe-Wellington rounded on him. Her voice was low and furious. "Mr. Potter, your performance is completely unacceptable! The lack of control over your own emotions, most specifically your temper, renders you unable to complete even this most basic exercise. Control, Potter! That's the key word here. Without it, you are a liability..." Harry winced, "to any others working with you. I suggest that you make achieving that control your highest priority...from...now…on! Have I made my point, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, ma'am," Harry mumbled.

Scowling, she restored his target, but held up a hand when he started towards it. "To a seat, Mr. Potter. You will not be participating for the remainder of this class, and you have a zero for today's work."

Not daring to argue, Harry kept his head down and did as she said.

Harry didn't know whether to be grateful or not when term finally ended. On one hand, Ron was right: he needed a holiday. They all did; even Hermione was looking ragged and tense. On the other hand…there would be almost two dozen people at headquarters this Christmas…and Harry still keenly felt the knowledge that he was going back to an empty house.

It might not have been so bad if Remus were going with them, but all he would tell Harry was that he might be detained over Christmas. "I'll join you as soon as I can, but it may not be possible," he had said. "If not, I'll see you when you get back. Remember your promise."

Harry did, but it didn't make the knowledge any easier to bear. He dutifully cleared his mind every night before bed, and he and Snape continued Occlumency—though Harry's tension proved to be yet another emotion that could be exploited, and got him repeatedly scolded.

No, contrary to what Ron and Hermione were clearly hoping, the start of holidays gave Harry no peace, of mind or anything else. Tension was thick in the air as students packed to go home, with everyone painfully aware that they were leaving the relative safety of Hogwarts for the even less certain safety of their unwarded houses. Far more students were staying at school over Christmas than had in the past. As for Harry and the others, they quietly piled into the headmaster's office to Floo to headquarters.

And the knowledge that the Order of the Phoenix was planning some kind of major action was made even worst by Harry's first steps back into Number 12, Grimmauld Place. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny hovered close beside him as they stepped into the parlor from the fire place, each clearly wondering whether they should say something or simply pretend they didn't notice.

Harry stared numbly around him: the house was much cleaner than it had been even last Christmas. It also appeared that a real effort had been made toward making the place a little brighter; lanterns and candles and festive Christmas decorations were everywhere.

But the house, not surprisingly, seemed to resist parting with its traditional dismal atmosphere, and gloom crept into every nook and cranny available. Harry rather agreed with the house: the decorations weren't fooling anyone.

Still, he didn't want to ruin everyone else's holiday, and the others were determined to try and have fun. He forced a smile at his quiet friends and said, "I guess we'd better go settle in."

"Right," said Ron at once. "Come on, we've got the same room as last year."

"Is Percy here?" Ginny asked, opening the parlor door. "Hello? Anyone home?"

Feet came thumping down the hall—lots of feet. "Is that Ginny?" exclaimed someone, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley rushed in, followed by Bill, Charlie, Percy, and the twins, to hug all the new arrivals. "We weren't expecting you for another hour!"

"Dumbledore thought we'd better leave before anyone noticed we weren't on the train," said Hermione. "Are my mum and dad here yet?"

"They're unpacking; I sent Tonks to get them," said Mrs. Weasley. "Well, why don't we get all your trunks to your rooms, then have some lunch, and ring in the holidays properly." She had one arm around Ron, the other around Harry, and he took the hint to wax enthusiastic.

They deserve a good holiday. They're all together again, he thought, looking at Percy.

When Harry got to his room, he found Phineas Nigellus inhabiting his portrait, solemnly watching the scene as they unpacked. "Good day, Mr. Potter," Phineas startled him at last by saying.

"Hullo," Harry muttered. He didn't want to be rude, but even discounting his initial mutual dislike of Sirius's great-great-grandfather, the memories that came with him were enough to keep him from looking at the portrait very long.

"You are well, I trust?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, keeping his attention on his trunk. Oddly enough, Phineas didn't appear offended by his shortness, but simply kept watching them.

Harry and Ron gratefully escaped the room and dodged back down the hall past all the other Order members and assorted children getting settled in. "Ron…ah…is Buckbeak still here?"

"Yeah, upstairs in Mrs. Black's room still. Want to go see him?"

"Er…maybe later," Harry stalled. He did want to, but somehow doubted he'd be able to handle it at the moment. "Let's go have lunch first."

They met Hermione with her parents on the way down the stairs. "Harry, you've met my mum and dad, haven't you?" asked Hermione.

"Er…" Harry had seen Hermione's Muggle parents once or twice, but now that he thought about it, they hadn't really been introduced.

"Apparently not," said Hermione's mother, a tall woman with wavy brown hair and brown eyes, and a face very like Hermione's own. She smiled at Harry and held out a hand, "I'm Moira Granger, Harry. Hermione's told us so much about you."

"And you," said Harry, shaking her hand. He didn't say all he was thinking; namely, how bloody lucky Hermione was.

Hermione's father was shorter than her mother, with a receding hairline and alert blue eyes. He met Harry's eyes, but Harry could almost see the thoughts running through his head, which also reminded him of Hermione. "Hello, Harry. I'm Andrew Granger."

"Pleased to meet you," Harry murmured, dropping his eyes. On the other hand, Mr. Granger, although he had that "thinking" look that Harry identified with Hermione, didn't seem quite as warm toward Harry as Hermione's mother. Something about him seemed, while not outright suspicious or hostile, not entirely happy to meet Harry either.

I've gotten too used to the Weasleys. Why am I surprised? Their daughter's a target anyway because of them, and now she's one of the main targets because of me, he thought dully. On the other hand, it might simply be due to the fact that he'd burned half of Hermione's hair off.

Hermione, for her part, had sensed the sudden tension and shot her father a rather impressive glare before grabbing both Harry and Ron's hands. "Come on, I'm starving. Let's have lunch!"

They obediently trooped back to the stairs. "Harry, you haven't seen the dining room yet, have you?" asked Ginny. When Harry shook his head, she said, "It's a lot bigger than the old kitchen, and rather nice, now that it's cleaned up properly."

It was, Harry found, as they led him in the opposite direction from the stairs that went down to the basement kitchen to a small hall he had never ventured down during his times at Grimmauld Place. At the end of that small entryway was a large, formal dining room, clearly the kind of place a wealthy family would have their dinners.

Harry wondered how Mrs. Black would react to seeing it being used for this. More holly and evergreen garlands and tinsel adorned the room, and the huge, sparkling chandelier over the table was fully lit, its candles throwing dancing light over everything. The long, wooden dining table and chairs shone with polish.

It was different enough from what Harry remembered of the house that it almost made him forget he was at Grimmauld Place—until a small, hunched figure skulked around his feet, carrying additional table settings and muttering, "Filthy half-breed child has returned. Kreacher thought he was gone for good at last, but no, he brings more filth into Mistress' house. My poor Mistress, if she knew…"

Harry stopped in his tracks. Hermione quickly intercepted Kreacher and snatched the plates and silverware from his hands. "That will be all, thank you, Kreacher," she said in a tight voice, glancing quickly at Harry. "Go to your room and don't come in here again until lunch is over."

Kreacher glared at her and shuffled away, muttering, "What would Mistress say if she knew poor Kreacher is receiving orders from filthy Mudbloods—"

Tonks tugged Hermione gently aside and snapped, "Now, Kreacher!"

Kreacher went. The others looked at Harry nervously, so he just turned and headed for the table. I suppose it would upset Hermione if I admitted how much I'd hoped to find his head mounted in the hall, he thought idly. Aloud, he said only, "This place does look nice now."

More than one person sighed in relief. Harry didn't notice Mrs. Weasley quietly straightening some of the dishes—they had begun to vibrate when he had first seen Kreacher.

Lunch was forcibly cheerful. Mrs. Weasley and Mrs. Granger questioned them at length about end-of-term exams, and the twins chattered with Percy about their new line of Wheezes for office parties. Harry plastered a smile on his face and did his best to eat along with the others.

Tonks and Moody left after lunch without explanation. Harry knew he wasn't even supposed to think about it, for obvious reasons, but he couldn't shake the knowledge that Remus was out there somewhere, doing…don't think about it don't think about it!

Harry allowed his friends to drag him into the downstairs drawing room later to see some of the new holiday products the twins had invented. Fred and George had commandeered the whole room to fill Christmas orders—it was a very busy season for them—and shanghaied Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny to help them.

"These crackers in themselves aren't pranks," said Fred, showing them to Harry. "They're ordinary wizard crackers, but full of our stuff."

"Can we try one?" Ginny pleaded as she gift wrapped a box and stuck a label on it.

"Wait till you finish and make sure there's enough to fill the orders," warned Percy from the writing desk, where he was working on the store's books.

The twins had wrangled Percy into taking up the job of official Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes accountant after he'd fled the Ministry, which, Ron confided to Harry, was probably more out of a desire to keep Percy from brooding too much, but so far the arrangement was actually turning out rather useful. "Who'd have thought Percy would wind up in partnership with the twins, of all people?" Ginny had laughed.

At the moment, Harry was helping her box up the last few orders of crackers and attach the labels. "How are you going to ship these? A lot of owls would get noticed," he remarked.

"We're sending them through the Floo back to Hogwarts, and they'll go out with the rest of the school's mail," said George. "Works out fine at this time of year." He pulled a face. "Would've been easier if we'd been able to take our N.E.W.T.s before the holidays."

Fred made a tsk-tsk noise and shook his head. "Ruddy Death Eaters have no respect for our schedule."

Harry wasn't the only one who saw the dark look on George's face at that, and Hermione said quickly, "Okay, that's all of them. And we've got three crackers left. What say we try them?"

George brightened. "Fire away!"

"One of 'em's mine!" Ginny exclaimed, grabbing one at once. "Harry?" She held it out to him.

Grinning, Harry took the other end. "Ready, and…"

BANG! Smoke and sparkles flew into the air as the cracker disgorged two Skiving Snackboxes, an assortment of Ton Tongue Toffees, Canary Creams, and other Weasley sweets, and a pair of Vanishing Hats. The twins followed with one of their own as Ginny turned herself into a headless canary with one of the hats and the creams, making Mr. Weasley and the Grangers laugh.

Ron and Hermione ended up with two golden crowns, trick wands, and a can of coiffure cream, which turned Ron blond and grew Hermione's hair to waist length. The crowns, once tried on, would not come off for three hours. "All you need are some dress robes and jewelry and you'd pass for royalty," Ginny told Hermione, tugging the rather pretty ringlets.

"She's right," said Ron. "Maybe you should let it get longer."

Hermione grinned and ruffled Ron's own golden locks, "My own hair would be a fright at this length! It would never really curl, as much as I like dressing up once in awhile."

Mrs. Weasley came in then and scolded them playfully for making such a mess before clearing away all the glitter and wrappings. "And if anyone plans to do any last-minute owl-order shopping, better fill out the forms now. Tonight's the last night you can order something and get it before Christmas."

Fred held out some forms. "We've got them if we need them," he said.

"Fred, George, can I ask you something?" Ron said suddenly.

"Shoot."

"I mean…alone? It's…holiday advice," said Ron cryptically, glancing at the others.

"Ah. Right. Let's pop down to the parlor and Floo these packages, shall we?" George handed a few forms to Hermione, Harry, Percy, and Ginny, and ushered Ron out the door, arms laden with boxes.

"Hmm," mused Ginny when they'd gone. "I wonder what he's on about?"

"Obviously one of us," said Hermione with a grin.

Harry was finishing up his forms (he had to order a lot since he hadn't been able to go to Hogsmeade like his classmates for presents) and Hermione was helping her parents with theirs when the drawing room door opened. They looked up, expecting to see Ron, or the twins, or one of the Aurors, but it wasn't.

It was Snape.

Everyone in the room sprang to their feet. He was dirty, his robes were torn, and Harry could see dried blood on his neck. "Professor!" exclaimed Hermione. "What happened?"

Snape's eyes darted around the room and came to rest on Harry. Harry felt a terrible chill, as if an icy hand had squeezed his heart. His throat tightened. Whatever Snape had been doing, it looked as if he had returned and immediately sought Harry out. Which could mean only one thing. Harry's voice failed on the first try, and he took a slow breath, trying to remember how to calm down.

"W-Where's Remus?" he asked weakly.

Snape dropped his eyes. He had never done that before. Hermione and Ginny simultaneously sprang toward Harry, each wrapping her arms around him from either side as if afraid he would fall over. He rather thought it was a good idea. "Sir?" whispered Hermione.

"Missing," said Snape quietly. "The mission has gone wrong. We were separated."

There was not a sound in the room but Snape's voice. Harry began to shake.

Snape went on, "There is no news as yet. We may learn more as others begin to return. I was one of the first."

Harry was finding it hard to focus his eyes. He heard Mrs. Weasley ask shakily, "Do you think we should prepare for wounded?"

"I would advise it," said Snape, looking again at Harry. "I must return to Hogwarts; I merely came to inform Mr. Potter of the situation."

Ginny and Hermione's grips tightened on him, and Harry looked up, opening his mouth to thank Snape, but nothing came out. Instead, Ginny spoke for him. "Thank you, Professor."

"Miss Weasley. Potter." Snape quietly turned and left.

Harry was vaguely aware of Hermione and Ginny pressing him onto the sofa. Mr. Weasley quickly got up. "I'll go and see what I can find out," he said. He reached past the girls and gave Harry's shoulder a squeeze before hurrying out of the room.

Mrs. Weasley knelt in front of Harry. "Oh Harry, dear, try to calm down, it's too early to assume the worst!" Harry tried to look at her, but couldn't manage to concentrate, so she said, "Ginny, run and see if we have a Calming Draught downstairs."

As Ginny quickly rose, Mrs. Granger said, "Wait a moment." There was the sound of her rummaging in a bag, then a pop, then an intense, burning stench shot up Harry's nose.

He lurched backwards into the couch cushions, coughing, and tears streamed down his face. "What is that!" he rasped.

"Ammonia," said Mrs. Granger proudly. "Modern Muggle smelling salts."

Harry blinked, wiping his eyes, and smiled weakly. "Something to be said for Muggle methods, I guess." His vision was a little clearer, and his head no longer felt detached from his body. "Thanks, I….I'm okay."

"Try and keep your mind clear," said Hermione. Harry blinked at her, and she explained, "I know it's hard, but until everyone gets back from the…mission, it's best if we don't give Voldemort any tips."

Ginny and Mrs. Weasley were frowning, but Harry nodded. "Right."

He tried to force himself to calm down. They didn't know anything for certain yet. Remus had just been separated from the others doing…whatever they were doing. That was all. He'd either catch up with them or make his own way back from…wherever they'd been. That was all.

He'd be back soon. He'd promised to be careful.

HE PROMISED NOT TO LEAVE ME! HE CAN'T LEAVE ME HERE ALONE!

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed.

Harry was breathing very fast. Ron, Percy, and the twins had come in by then and were crowded silently behind their mother, watching Harry with worried eyes. "Sorry," he muttered. "I'll be okay."

The twins exchanged glances. "Let's go downstairs," suggested George. "Hagrid's just dropped off the Christmas tree. We can decorate it while we…wait."

Harry didn't especially feel merry at the moment, but they were all watching him hopefully, so he nodded. "Right, then."

As they trooped downstairs, Ron (now red-haired once again) put an arm around his shoulders, and Harry forced himself to tease his friend about still wearing that silly crown. "We can't get the bloody things off, remember?" Ron protested.

After obediently hanging tinsel and ornaments on the Christmas Tree for a little while, Harry found himself desperately wanting to escape. His insides were twisting with anxiety, and every time the fireplace crackled or the house creaked, he jumped. The way everyone hovered around him didn't help, but above all else, he couldn't seem to stop staring fixedly at the doorway, praying with all his strength that a familiar shabby figure would come through it.

Remus Remus Remus!

Finally, he simply couldn't take anymore. Shifting out of the crowd of Grangers and Weasleys, he slipped toward the doorway and faked a yawn. "I'm going to go lie down for awhile."

Ron and Hermione immediately started toward him. "We'll go upstairs too."

"You don't have to!" Harry said, more sharply than he'd meant to. They both wavered. "I mean…I'm fine, really, I just…"

Hermione opened her mouth, but Ron nudged her gently. "That's fine, mate. Er…do you want some Dreamless Sleep Potion?"

"There's some here?" he asked in surprise.

Hermione nodded. "In the kitchen cupboard. It's probably a good idea…considering."

"Yeah," said Ron quickly, grabbing her arm. "We'll run and get it." Giving her a warning look when she would have protested, he tugged her away, and Harry headed up the stairs alone.

I owe you, Ron, Harry thought dryly.

Not that he didn't appreciate Hermione's concern—well, that was a lie, more often than not it was downright annoying—but he simply couldn't cope with it just now. Being surrounded by hovering, worried people only made him feel more conscious of the emptiness of Grimmauld Place compared to last year. If Remus had come here with them it wouldn't have been so bad, and now…

Remus, you have to come back! I need you, you promised you'd never leave me alone, you have to come back, I can't stand this place without you, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE I CAN'T STAND IT!

"The filthy little half-blood is distressed, doesn't even see Kreacher."

Harry jumped. He'd nearly stepped on Kreacher. "Sorry," he said curtly, and started past the elf.

As he started to walk down the hall to his room, he heard Kreacher muttering, "The traitors and the filth infest Mistress's house now, but soon they will all be gone again."

Turning slowly, Harry growled, "And what do you mean by that?" Kreacher stopped and grinned coldly at him—the exact same way he had when he had lied to Harry about Sirius and the Department of Mysteries. Harry's stomach lurched. "Cut…it…out."

Neither he nor Kreacher noticed the Christmas decorations rattling softly on the walls, nor the sound of footsteps downstairs. Kreacher sneered, "Kreacher has seen those that have not come back, filthy spawn of Mudbloods. Slowly the numbers dwindle."

His chest felt tight, and he was shaking again—but not for the same reasons as before. "Get back downstairs and don't ever speak to me again, you disgusting little worm! Get away from me!"

"Kreacher need not take orders from the half-breed," the house elf drove on, laughing.

Kreacher told me, laughing fit to burst, where Sirius had gone.

Spots were starting to appear in front of Harry's eyes. If there was anyone or anything in the world he hated more than Bellatrix Lestrange…how dare this murdering little monster stand here and taunt him!

"I'll bloody lock you in that cupboard for the rest of your life," he hissed, advancing on the house elf.

Kreacher kept laughing! "The half-breed would like to hurt Kreacher, Kreacher can see! Because Master is gone, gone in the Department of Mysteries, and now the half-breed's pet werewolf is gone too!"

"SHUT UP!" Harry screamed, and somewhere, glass shattered.

"The Dark Lord will have them all soon, the Master, the werewolf, the traitors, and the Mudbloods, all of them shall fall to the Dark Lord, and soon the half-breed will be alone, all alone—"

Blood roared in Harry's ears as he clenched his fists, fighting the urge to wrap his hands around that nasty little neck and choke its words off. From outside his ears came an incredible howl as wind like a storm gale roared down the hallway, sweeping garlands off the walls and snuffing out candles.

Soon the half-breed will be alone, all alone…now the werewolf is gone too…

"AAAAUUUUGH!" the bony little elf screeched in surprise as the gust—that had once knocked Draco Malfoy clean off his feet—lifted him clean into the air and carried him away from the enraged wizard.

"Harry! Harry, STOP!"

With a gasp, Harry came back to himself. Ron was pressed against the wall at the end of the hall, but the wind had already carried the airborne house elf out of the hallway over the top of the stairs, so that when it died, Kreacher hit the stairs with another screech and went crashing all the way down them, despite Ron's attempt to grab him. "Merlin's beard!" he yelled as Kreacher's shrieks abruptly stopped.

Harry raced to the stairs as Ron dashed down them, hearing yelling below. Everyone was crowding at the bottom of the stairs over Kreacher's crumpled form. "I didn't mean…" he gasped, horrified, but no one could hear him over the ruckus.

Someone was sobbing. Harry blinked in confusion as he realized it was Mrs. Weasley. The twins were tugging her away, saying, "Mum, Mum, calm down, it was an accident! It was…right?" George looked up at Harry worriedly.

"Yeah, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to," Harry babbled, coming down the stairs toward them as Hermione appeared, carrying the quilt she'd made Kreacher the Christmas before. "I didn't mean to hurt…" he trailed off when he saw tears in Hermione's eyes too.

When she draped the quilt over the house elf, something clunked into place in Harry's head. His mouth fell open. What…what…no…no, I couldn't have…I…

As Hermione straightened up, her face unreadable, Ron grabbed her arm. "It was an accident," he said to her, his voice fierce. "Just an accident."

Hermione didn't seem to hear him. She just stared up at Harry, who felt his stomach starting to spin. Oh God…

Now everyone was staring at him. Bill and Charlie pushed past the twins, and Charlie scooped up the quilt-wrapped bundle. "We'll…handle things," said Bill quietly.

Everyone was staring at him! "I…didn't…mean…" Harry choked out, his head swimming. His brain felt as if it had turned to porridge. He couldn't think, couldn't see anything except the body…

Body.

Kreacher was dead. Harry had killed him.

I killed him.

Ron came running up the stairs as Harry sat down on them with a thump, hands over his mouth and fearing he'd be sick. "Calm down, Harry, try to calm down!"

"I didn't mean to…I didn't mean to…"

I killed Kreacher! I killed Kreacher, I killed a house elf, he was old and defenseless even if he was awful and I killed him I killed Kreacher I killedIkilledIkilledI…

Past Ron's shoulders, he could see them all still staring at him.

Murdered…him…murderer…

Harry wrenched away from Ron and staggered to his feet, lurching back up the stairs and breaking into a stumbling run down the hallway. Below, everyone was talking at once. He thought he heard Hermione call after him, but it might have been his imagination. After all, what would she say to him now?

You killed Kreacher.

Murderer…

He had crashed drunkenly through the door of one of the unused bedrooms, and after that he didn't remember much of anything. When his thoughts slowed down to where he could notice his surroundings, he was mildly surprised to find himself in a closet, arms wrapped around his knees so tight that his legs hurt. He was still shaking.

Murderer…

He'd killed Kreacher. He…had…killed. He had killed an old, half-crazy house elf. Completely defenseless…and Harry had killed him. Harry had hated him, but he hadn't meant to…had he!

Horror surged up in Harry so suddenly that he nearly was sick right there. As it was, he had to clap both hands over his mouth. No…no…I couldn't have…even subconsciously, I'd never DELIBERATELY…could I? Would I? Oh no…I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry!

Eventually, his mental hysterics wound down, and he hauled himself up and out of the closet. Then he froze: somehow, in his panicked state, he'd wound up in Sirius's bedroom. How he'd managed that, he had no idea; Sirius's room was up another flight of stairs and down two hallways in the labyrinth that was the Blacks' family home.

Of course, Sirius had spent more time in Buckbeak's room than in here, but it was still unsettling. Harry curled up into a ball on top of the bed and closed his eyes. What would Sirius have said if he had seen what Harry just did?

The door opened.

Harry shot into a sitting position with a gasp, and Hermione jumped in response, wide-eyed. He caught his breath, and she stared nervously at him from the doorway. "Harry…can I come in?"

Swallowing thickly, Harry nodded, pulling his knees up to his chest again. She came and sat down on the bed next to him, pulling her knees up in the same way unconsciously. Harry didn't dare look at her, and had no idea whether she looked at him. They sat there, silent, for a long time.

At length, she said softly, "I know you didn't mean to hurt him, Harry."

Harry's head shot up. "Hurt? He's not—" but she winced and shook her head.

"No. Kreacher's dead." Harry groaned and put his forehead on his knees. "But I know you didn't mean it," Hermione said.

He took a shuddering breath. Long moments passed until he trusted his voice. "You must hate me so much."

"I could never hate you," she whispered.

"Why not?" he murmured. "I'm a monster, Hermione. I killed an old house elf."

"It was an accident. Ron saw it; he told us what happened."

Harry looked miserably at her. "But until he did, you weren't sure, were you?" She looked away and didn't answer. He wasn't surprised. "And even so…the accident was my fault. My temper again."

Hermione sniffled and wiped her eyes furiously. "I still don't hate you. And…I don't want you to hate yourself."

"Why not!" Harry cried. "Look what I've done! I'm…I'm turning into something, Hermione, I don't know what it is, except that it's not good. I'm blasting things with wandless magic, burning you in Potions, killing…"

"It's not YOU!" Hermione burst out, tears streaming down her face as she grabbed his arms and made him look at her. Gulping back sobs, she said, "It's the war, Harry. It's changing everyone. Everything. You're scared…and hurt…and angry…more and more, and you have every right to be. It's…pushing people. Pushing them to do things they'd never do normally. Cornelius Fudge wants you arrested or even dead, and Percy Obliviated him, and Remus was ready to kill him that day when—I could never hate you!" she sobbed, and began punching the pillows. "I just hate…this…bloody….war!"

Harry sat still when she threw her arms around him, and let her cry into his shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said, over and over. "I'm so weak. I can't even control myself. I'm sorry I can't stop it."

"You're just sixteen. It should never be up to someone like you to stop it!" she snapped, sitting up and wiping her face on her sleeve. "I've been thinking so much lately…wondering what the world would be like—what it should be like, if we were normal students, normal wizards, that is." She flopped backward onto the piled pillows. "None of this should be happening. Bloody prophecy. Bloody Voldemort."

Harry slowly said, "Hermione…can someone do wandless magic, because they want to do something…subconsciously?"

Hermione sighed and shook her head. "No, not like that. If that's what you're wondering, magic like what happened at the stairs, that wasn't anything deliberate. Ron said…your eyes were unfocused. It was just your magic responding to your emotions—what'd Kreacher do?"

Taking a deep breath, Harry admitted, "He started…talking about Sirius…and Remus too. He said Voldemort would get all of you, and I'd end up alone."

Hermione cringed and put a hand on his shoulder. "We checked with Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall says it's still too soon to know what's happening. They'll let us know as soon as there's news."

Harry buried his face in his hands. "Hermione…what am I going to do? What'll I do if…"

He heard her sniffle again. "Harry…no matter what happens…you won't be alone! We won't let that happen. We'll be with you, and we'll get you through this, no matter what."

"Until Voldemort murders you too!" Harry said roughly.

She squeezed his arm hard. "He can't get to all of us. And he can't kill our friendship. Don't you see? He can't kill love, Harry."

"I don't want you to die," Harry whispered. "Memories aren't enough, I know that because of Sirius. Everyone talks about how love never really leaves, but it just hurts! I need you. All of you. I need Remus. Alive!"

"I wish I could make it better," Hermione said, resting her head on his shoulder.

Just then, Ron came in. "You okay, mate?"

Harry ruefully beckoned him in. "Come sit down and blubber with us." Hermione chuckled weakly and moved over to make room for Ron, wiping her face. Quietly, Harry asked, "What…what happened with…Kreacher?"

Ron shrugged, avoiding his eyes. "Bill and Charlie took the body away, and that's all. And…nobody's…everybody knows it was an accident."

Harry sighed wearily. "It's lucky I didn't hurt you. I saw you at the top of the stairs."

"You didn't see your face, mate, you were completely out of it. I don't think you even really saw Kreacher once that wind picked up."

"Still…" Harry closed his eyes. "It means I was out of control again."

Hermione rubbed his back. "That you can fix. We know you can. It's hard because of everything that's happening, but…you can. And we'll help."

Harry opened his eyes and smiled wearily at his friends. "Thanks." He chuckled weakly. "For putting up with me."

Both of them swatted him. The knot in his stomach loosened quite a bit. "Want to come downstairs? Mum's fretting that you haven't had dinner," said Ron.

"Honestly, I'm really not hungry," said Harry.

"We didn't think you'd be, but if you change your mind later, eat," Hermione ordered. "Do you want to come down to the library? Now that it's cleaned up, there's lots and lots of interesting-looking books."

"Hermione's dream come true," said Ron, and Harry had to grin. But then Ron said, "If you really want it, though, we'll leave you alone."

Harry said slowly, "I think maybe…I'll just go back to my room and lie down. If that's okay."

Ron and Hermione nodded gravely. "Come on, then."

They piled off the bed, and Harry glanced around the room once as he reached the doorway. It didn't look as if anyone had been in here in the past months since…he sighed. Memories aren't enough. She's right, none of this should be happening. I should still have him. Was it too much for me to even have a godfather?

"Harry?"

Shaking his head, he turned and followed them down the hall. And now they may have taken Remus too.

Now the werewolf is gone too, and soon he shall be alone, all alone…

PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME ALONE!

There were some people…some kinds of people…who just couldn't be replaced by friends or teachers. Ron and Hermione were so lucky to have parents…Sirius and Remus…they were all Harry had left of his.

Please don't let me lose them both!

When he got to the room he shared with Ron, he found that someone had put a bottle of Dreamless Sleep Potion by his bed. "We'll be downstairs, Harry," said Hermione from the doorway.

"'kay," Harry replied, and they left him alone. Not caring that the sun hadn't even set yet, he tossed his glasses onto the nightstand, gulped down the Potion, and fell asleep fully clothed.

There was no light from the window when he woke. At first he wasn't sure what had awakened him, but once his ears connected to his brain, he heard a definite commotion downstairs. What on earth is going on? he wondered drowsily, and started to turn over and go back to sleep.

They'll let us know as soon as they have news.

Harry gasped out loud and sat bolt upright, fumbling for his glasses and scrambling off the bed.

There was definitely something going on downstairs. He heard Tonks and Moody on the landing below, heading down the hall in a hurry. "If Beta Team is back, that must mean somebody got the wards down again!"

"Perhaps if we can catch them on the run from behind, we have a chance of finding out about the rest—"

Their voices faded through a doorway as Harry rushed down the stairs. There were many voices in the parlor, all talking at once.

"I can't bloody believe this!" It was either Fred or George.

"I need—"

"Calm down, everyone—" Mr. Weasley was trying to say.

"I cannot bloody believe this!" said the unidentified Weasley twin again.

"We have to explain some things first—" Mrs. Weasley began.

"Molly, please, where is—" That voice was also familiar.

"Wait a minute, I have to warn you of—" Mrs. Weasley tried.

"Where is he! Molly, will you please get out of my way?" repeated the other voice.

"QUIET! Go on, Mum." That was Ginny.

"You can see Harry in just a moment, but we have to warn you—" Harry could see Mrs. Weasley through the door, apparently blocking someone's path to it. She glanced at the doorway and saw him coming. "HARRY! Oh! Oh, wait a minute, dear, wait, I don't want you to—"

By now, Harry was simply running. Ignoring Mrs. Weasley's protests, he ran past her, straight into the drawing room, about to demand what news they had received and hoping to see some sign…

Harry skidded to a halt.

The thin, bedraggled figure facing Mrs. Weasley looked up as Harry entered, shaking his long, matted black hair from his gaunt, white face. It was like the fleeting memory of a first impression, only…not.

Dark gray eyes in a wasted, once-handsome face betrayed a flicker of apprehension and doubt at the sight of Harry. The man hesitated, then broke into a broad, mischievous smile and said, "Hello there, Harry. Miss me?"

There was the muffled sound of a stifled protest from Mrs. Weasley, but Harry was completely unaware of anyone else in the crowded room. His feet were rooted to the carpet. His mouth opened slowly, and it took every shred of concentration he could pull together from his reeling mind for one whispered word, one plea, one tiny glimmer of hope…

"Sirius?"

Sirius…here…Sirius…here…alive…SIRIUS HERE!

That's it. I've lost it. I really am going mad.

The edges of Harry's vision were closing in. Strange, the hallucination looked so real; he could still see Sirius Black alive, standing in front of him. The phantom of his godfather—how very odd, he doesn't look like he did last time I saw him—stopped grinning and began to frown at Harry's reaction. "Yes, it really is me. Harry, it's all right…Harry?"

Sirius…alive…no, no, it CAN'T be. I've lost my mind…or maybe a trick…

His head was swimming with confused thoughts, but one thing was certain: this couldn't be real.

Sirius's face was growing alarmed, and he stepped hesitantly forward, raising a hand.

But Harry took a reflexive step back.

"Harry?" Someone else was saying something. "Harry, really, it's Sirius—"

All Harry could see as the world began to tilt was the hallucination moving towards him. Then Sirius was running, as someone began shrilly yelling in the background, "Oh, Sirius Black, you STILL do not have a shred of sense!" but the words made no sense to Harry.

The next thing he knew, his knees landed on the carpet, but Sirius had wrapped his arms around him. "Harry! Are you all right?"

Weird…he feels real… Harry thought vaguely. It wasn't such a bad hallucination after all, not that it meant he wasn't nutters.

"Of course, he's not all right—"

"Harry!" Sirius was easing him down, his stricken face inches from Harry's as he shifted Harry's sagging body. "Harry, can you hear me?"

Harry felt his head coming to rest against Sirius's shoulder. Strange, it all seemed so very real, so very nice. His robes smelled clean, though there was another smell that reminded Harry vaguely of a place he didn't like, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. The world was getting dark, though, which annoyed him somewhat because he didn't want to stop seeing Sirius. Still…it wasn't so bad, he mused, as sight and sound faded away, because touch had stayed.

And here, wrapped in his godfather's arms...Harry didn't really care that much whether he ever woke up.