Remus was dead.

His lifeless eyes stared up at Harry, accusing even in their emptiness, and Harry could almost hear them asking, “Why? Why didn’t you come? He asked for you…you could have saved me.”

Harry shook his head, tears pooling in his eyes. He opened his mouth and tried to answer Remus, but he couldn’t speak. Words wouldn’t pass his lips.

Neither would breath. He tried to suck air into his lungs, but nothing happened. His lungs wouldn’t expand. He was frozen.

Was he about to die? Was this his punishment? He’d failed both Sirius and Remus, was responsible for both of their deaths. Somewhere beyond the Veil, his own father must hate him for getting his closest childhood friends killed.

Of course, it was also because of Harry that Voldemort had gone after his parents. James Potter would already have good reason to resent him, wouldn’t he?

Harry wished he could talk to him, know whether his father was angry with him, disappointed in him.

But he sure hoped he wouldn’t have to die right now to do so. He finally managed a wheezing breath, and the slightest bit of air trickled into his starved lungs. He couldn’t get more, and he was starting to panic. He tried to take back his thoughts of wanting to talk to James. He didn’t want to die!

He scratched at his neck, his chest, trying to force them to expand, and he found himself suddenly drawn upright, a firm hand pounding him once on the back.

He came to awareness with a jolt, and in his confusion, he sucked in a large gasp of air. Relief filled him as his lungs expanded, and he immediately drew another deep breath. It came too quickly though; he couldn’t release the first one, still couldn’t breathe. He clawed again at his throat, but a strong hand caught both of his hands and held them away from his body.

“Breathe, Potter. It was only a dream. Take one breath, slowly, like this.” It took several seconds for Harry to register that Snape was in front of him, supporting him by the shoulder with one hand, clasping both his hands in the other, and the man was taking exaggeratedly deep, slow breaths.

Harry focused on those dark eyes, tried to match his professor’s slow breathing. It felt like it took forever, but he finally felt the worst of the panic seep from his body as air steadily filled and departed from his lungs.

“I thought Remus was dead,” Harry croaked as soon as he could speak. “He’s not, is he?” Please tell me he’s not, he added silently with pleading eyes.

Snape shook his head. “It is early afternoon. The Order has not yet attempted to retrieve him.”

Harry closed his eyes in relief, then just as quickly opened them again. “What’s happened?” he demanded, his heart still pounding from the nightmare. “Does the Order know? They’re going, then? Is there a plan?”

Snape let go of Harry’s hands and held up his own hand in a clear order for silence. Harry obediently stopped speaking.

“How is your head?” Snape asked.

“Fine,” Harry answered quickly. “You did tell the Order, right?”

“Yes. Are you disoriented? Is there lingering pain?”

“I’m fine,” Harry waved off the questions. “When are they going to find Remus?”

Snape removed his hand from Harry’s shoulder, hovering for a second as if waiting for Harry to fall over. When he didn’t, Snape knelt beside him and said in his I-am-speaking-to-a-dunderhead tone, “Let’s try this again. Are you experiencing any discomfort?”

Harry stared. “Seriously? You’re not going to answer any of my very important questions until I submit to, what, a full medical examination?”

“It appears that way, doesn’t it?” Snape’s face held no hint that he was messing with him. Not that Harry would know what that looked like on Snape’s face. The man wasn’t exactly the kidding type. He also wasn’t the patient type, for he snapped, “Answer my question, Potter, fully and to my satisfaction, and then I shall answer yours. I believe you are familiar with the concept.”

At that, Harry couldn’t help a devilish thought. “Any question?” he asked, trying to keep a smile off his face. There were all sorts of personal questions he’d like to ask Snape now, and if he could get a promise that one would be answered, how could he pass up the opportunity? He’d get answers about the Order and Remus either way.

“About Lupin,” Snape shot back, giving him a knowing look. Not for the first time, Harry wished that Snape weren’t quite so intelligent. But then, without Snape’s intelligence and cunning, both he and Harry might have already died a few times. So there was that.

“Fine,” he grumbled, though he wasn’t quite so put out as he pretended to be. Trying to one-up Snape, even if he hadn’t succeeded, had lightened his mood. “My head still hurts, but it’s more a dull headache now. No stabbing pain like before.”

“Your scar is still red, but it is completely closed,” Snape said, barely brushing Harry’s fringe aside to get a look at it. “Not even a scab,” he added with raised eyebrows. “How extraordinary.”

Harry shrugged. Nothing surprised him about his scar anymore.

“Nausea? Disorientation?” asked Snape.

Harry shook his head.

“Up,” Snape directed, getting to his feet and gesturing for Harry to do the same. “Walk to the door and back without falling over or resembling a drunk, and I’ll answer your questions.”

Easy enough, thought Harry and rose to do just that. He might have wobbled a bit just starting out, but then, he had just woken up. Either way, Snape didn’t point it out when he walked back, just gave him a headache draught and said, “The Order will attempt to retrieve Lupin after dark. No doubt the Dark Lord will expect this, but darkness will provide them with more cover to attempt some measure of surprise.”

“Is that really possible at this point? Surprising them, I mean?” Harry asked before downing the headache draught. He handed the empty vial back to Snape.

Snape gave a barely perceptible shrug as he set the vial on the counter. “It is far from a perfect situation. They will do what they can.”

“What if…” Harry stopped to gather his thoughts, realizing that what he had been about to suggest would probably have Snape locking him up in the potions lab for the rest of vacation. But he saw no way to sugarcoat it, so he asked anyway, “What if the Death Eaters were to see me? If they thought I’d come to turn myself in, maybe that would give the Order time to-”

“What in Merlin’s name is wrong with you?” thundered Snape, throwing up his hands. “Do you sit up at night thinking of ways to sacrifice yourself for the betterment of wizardkind? I’ve never met someone so eager to rush headlong into danger!”

“I’m not eager!” Harry protested. “I’m being practical! I’m the one he wants, and maybe if he thinks he’s got me, he won’t get anybody else!”

“Oh yes, the noble, selfless Gryffindor,” Snape mocked. “Then consider this. The Order - a group of fully capable and trained adult wizards - is willing to take this risk. They are willing to lay down their lives to retrieve one of their own - and also to protect you. To repay their courage by mindlessly forfeiting your own life is to discount the contributions that they willingly make to the war effort. To think you know better than them is an insult to their intelligence and to their sacrifice. It is the opposite of selfless!”

Harry had to think about that for a minute. Was he being selfish by wanting to charge out there? He wasn’t trying to be. He knew the Order was made up of capable adult wizards who knew a thing or two about how Voldemort worked. He wasn’t meaning to insult them…

“You are brave, Potter,” Snape pressed his advantage by surprising Harry with what sounded like a compliment. “But you need not be stupidly brave. Think. I always assumed you to be lacking in intelligence and cunning in part because I saw you acting without them time after time.” He shook his head. “I have since come to see that you have a great capacity for cunning, but you’ve only learned to use it for trifling matters, in situations of no consequence. It is a muscle that must be exercised so that in matters of life and death, you will desist in this impulse of yours to act without thinking!”

Harry fiddled with the hem of his shirt, thinking through Snape’s words. “Well technically,” he couldn’t help pointing out, “I am thinking before acting, by talking it through with you. You don’t see me rushing into You-Know-Who’s lair right this second, do you?”

“Do you have any idea how much effort has gone into ensuring that?” Snape said through gritted teeth.

Harry thought about how long it had taken Snape to get Harry to promise not to interfere with Remus…and even then, he hadn’t promised one hundred percent. And then how Snape had closed him up in his lab while he slept, been here when he woke up… “Okay…yeah,” he conceded with a sheepish shrug, determined not to dwell on the fact that Snape appeared to be babysitting him. He couldn’t let the idea go completely though. “Maybe…Polyjuice? Somebody could go there looking like me, as a distraction or a decoy or something…”

“Such a measure has already been suggested,” Snape admitted in a low grumble. “However, we think it best to keep the subterfuge to a minimum. To send anyone in there as your double would be to endanger their lives unnecessarily.”

Harry could only think to say, “Oh,” ashamed that he hadn’t thought of how dangerous such a plan would be to the Harry impersonator.

“The Order has run through every possible plan and outcome,” Snape said. “As difficult as it may be for you to wait and see, that is precisely what you must do. Now…” he straightened to indicate that their conversation was at an end, “I do believe that Miss Weasley and Miss Granger are in the drawing room. You should join them. Perhaps they can provide you with some measure of distraction.”

Harry shot Snape a look that conveyed his frustration with the situation, and Snape shot him one right back that said don’t you dare test me before shooing him out the door. Harry was halfway down the stairs before he wondered just when he and Snape had begun to communicate so well without words.

“It really is ridiculous that we’re not allowed to sit in on Order meetings,” Ginny pouted that evening. She sat opposite Harry and Hermione at the kitchen table, arms crossed, clearly irritated at being shuffled yet again from one place to another.

To tell the truth, Harry was irritated too. Ever since he’d come downstairs, he’d been left in the dark about the Order’s plans. First the three teens weren’t allowed in the kitchen while the adults were meeting and planning, and now they weren’t allowed in the drawing room while people were coming and going from the floo, no doubt communicating updates and orders while the Order began their attempt to retrieve Remus.

That much they’d gathered was happening, though Harry could have guessed that much from what Snape had told him. But they knew nothing beyond that.

Harry’s leg was bouncing from the nerves of knowing that the Order knew it could be a trap. He could only hope that since they knew that, they would have some tricks up their sleeves. He also hoped Snape knew how difficult it was for him to keep his promise not to do something rash.

“Well, I want to know what’s going on as much as you do,” Hermione said to Ginny, “but we are technically still kids. We’ve still got two full years of school left. Can you really blame them for trying to protect us?”

“Yes,” Ginny answered stubbornly. “Yes, I can.”

Harry grinned despite his nerves, and the room fell silent.

As he’d begun to do whenever he was faced with doing nothing for any length of time, Harry practiced Occluding. He didn’t do it as well as he could have, what with everything going on tonight, but he at least calmed himself enough to keep his leg still.

“Maybe we should play a game,” Hermione spoke up. “Exploding Snap?”

Ginny wrinkled her nose and Harry shrugged halfheartedly.

“We should do something,” Hermione insisted. “This sitting here, waiting for news, is nerve-wracking. We need a distraction.”

“Yeah, we probably do,” conceded Harry, “but I’m not sure I’m up for a game, Hermione.”

“Okay…well, then we could…” Hermione looked around the room as if for inspiration, but there wasn’t much to be had in the kitchen. “Hmm. This house doesn’t seem to have been designed with fun in mind, does it? Even the library is so limited.”

Harry turned his head so only Ginny could see him playfully roll his eyes. Leave it to Hermione to equate fun with books.

Ginny giggled and then snapped her fingers. “I know! We should dig for buried treasure!”

Harry and Hermione both stared at her, not quite sure what to say, but Harry broke the silence first. “Um…buried treasure? In Grimmauld Place?” he asked skeptically.

“Yeah! Okay, no, not really. But now that all the dark magic is taken care of, we can explore the house without worrying about boggarts or doxies or curses.”

“Yeah, but…” Harry couldn’t think how to put it politely. “What is there to explore? Every room is occupied. I doubt your parents or Professor Snape are going to want us poking around in their rooms.”

“Well, of course not. I wasn’t suggesting that. But there are some interesting-looking trunks in the attic. And nobody ever bothers to go to the fourth floor except to pass through it to the attic.”

“Not there,” Harry said automatically, his heart skipping a beat.

Ginny looked taken aback by his abrupt tone. “But why-”

“Sirius’s room is up there, remember?” said Hermione softly. “I don’t think anybody’s been in there since…”

“Oh,” Ginny looked at Harry apologetically. “I’m sorry, I forgot…I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay,” he reassured her, and to deflect attention from the subject of Sirius, he said, “Okay, then. The attic it is. Though if we don’t find anything that meets the criteria of fun, I say we talk Fred and George into demoing their latest product for us.”

Ginny grinned, clearly relieved that Harry didn’t seem too upset. “Agreed.”

He regretted agreeing almost as soon as they stepped into the attic, so dusty were the odds and ends. “Are you positive they cleared out everything dangerous in here?” he asked as he doubtfully surveyed a few dusty trunks and passed by a dark, cobwebbed corner. The dirty, musty surroundings hadn’t bothered him when all he’d needed was a space to study and practice. But now they were getting ready to open things, and he really wasn’t in the mood to face a boggart. Would his greatest fear still be a Dementor? Or would he have to watch everybody he loved fall through the Veil one after another? Neither option sounded very pleasant.

“Certain,” said Ginny. She didn’t show the same hesitation as Harry. She was already reaching for the first trunk. “My mum and dad made sure it was all gone. There was no need to go through everything or to clean the attic as well as the rest of the house, but they ferreted out anything nasty or dark.”

“Hmm,” Hermione cast a wary glance over the attic. She and Harry exchanged a look, and Harry knew he wasn’t alone in not being particularly excited about opening random dirty trunks in a musty attic belonging to a dark wizarding family.

“Ooh, look at this!” Ginny held up a small oddly spiked metal ring. “It’s a Teezler!”

Harry’d barely started to ask what a Teezler was when Hermione squeaked, jumped, and excitedly sat down next to Ginny in front of the trunk. “Ooh, I’ve never seen one in person before! I don’t think they’ve been sold in wizarding shops since the 1960’s. You have to have wizard parents or grandparents to even find one anymore! What else is in there?”

Harry smiled and shook his head. It figured that all Hermione needed was a hint of wizarding history, and she forgot all about her misgivings. He made his way to the next closest trunk, lifting the lid warily in case Ginny was wrong about how thoroughly the room had been sorted. But all that greeted him was a mix of old toys and bits of fabric. He rooted through it, fascinated by a small wooden cauldron and spoon that, when placed on the ground, filled with white steam and stirred itself around and around. He smiled wistfully as he watched it. Had his parents lived, would his childhood have been filled with toys like this? Toy cauldrons and broomsticks, stuffed dragons and hippogriffs?

At the very least, his childhood would have been filled with love.

“Harry, look!” Hermione’s voice interrupted his morose thoughts. “A Gnobblisk!” She waved a shiny football-sized orb with a blunt spike on each end as if Harry should be as excited as she was to see one. As if Harry had any clue what a Gnobblisk was. He nodded and smiled in her direction. She apparently took that as agreement that he was as excited as she was, then went back to rooting through more of the trunk’s contents.

Harry pushed the toy cauldron to one side and pulled out a long bit of lacy fabric. He barely had time to register that it was some sort of baby dress when his scar flared up in pain. He clapped his hand over it with a muffled grunt as a wave of happiness rushed through him. He knew immediately that Voldemort was overjoyed about something. And he was far too happy for it to be about something good. After a moment, the pain subsided enough for him to move.

He was glad that the girls didn’t appear to have noticed. He was even more glad that it appeared to be an accidental connection, not a purposeful invasion of his mind like last time. He wondered if he ought to tell Professor Snape. What would he tell him though? It wasn’t an actual vision. All he knew was that Voldemort was happy. He could have been happy to have been served his favorite dinner, for all Harry knew.

Of course, Harry was pretty sure that wasn’t it…and he desperately tried not to think about what it might mean for the Order or Remus that Voldemort was happy right now. So as he couldn’t be certain what it meant, he went back to unpacking the trunk, bracing himself in case he should feel any more pangs in his scar. He was afraid now to Occlude, knowing that Voldemort was still stronger than he was and that it would only make any mental invasion hurt worse than if he simply gave in and let him into his mind.

He would never tell that to Snape. He’d get an awful tongue-lashing if the professor knew that Harry was inclined to let Voldemort win this round out of fear of physical pain. But…it was a lot of physical pain…

He sighed and halfheartedly looked at toy after toy, baby outfit after baby outfit, before shoving it all haphazardly back into the trunk. Any interest he’d had in this “treasure hunt” was all but gone, and it was only making him miserable, this looking at the evidence of somebody else’s happy childhood.

Hermione was still examining random finds from the first trunk while Ginny had moved on to another. Harry thought about abandoning the hunt and going downstairs for a snack…but the girls looked so happy right then. And they all needed as much happiness as they could get these days. So he moved to an untouched trunk and opened the lid.

Pictures. Album after album of stuffy wizards holding their squirming children still for photographs. There were newspaper clippings and awards too. Most looked like they were older than the first war against Voldemort, but there were some from that time too. From the nature of the clippings, Harry would have guessed that this was a house of dark wizards even had he not already known that fact.

One album seemed newer than the rest, and as soon as he opened it, he wished that he hadn’t. Sirius was waving at him from the page. A young Sirius, perhaps a year or so younger than Harry was now. As much as it hurt to see, Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away. He had no idea how this album had wound up in the attic, but he leaned his back against the trunk and flipped through page after page of Sirius. In some, he was with another young boy - probably his brother. In others, the brothers were with their parents. From Sirius’s scowls and attempts to dart out of the photograph, they obviously didn’t have a good relationship. The ones that interested Harry the most, however, were the photographs of Sirius at Hogwarts, because they mostly included James. He flipped through those slowly, running his finger over the edge of a photograph of James and Sirius decked out in Gryffindor Quidditch robes, students weaving about the Hogwarts grounds behind them. They couldn’t have been older than second or third years, and they looked so happy.

Harry smiled sadly at their joy. They didn’t know then that both their lives would be cut short in violent ways, but at that moment, standing together near the Quidditch field, they were happy. It was nice to see, even if it made him sad at the same time.

On the other side of the room, Ginny crowed in victory as she held up another something that Harry had no idea how to identify. Even Hermione didn’t know this time, which made her even more excited, if that were possible. She immediately peppered Ginny with questions.

Harry grinned at their antics and flipped the page…but as he was doing so, a flash of red hair caught his eye. He flipped back to the Quidditch photograph and looked closer. His heart flipped. In the background, behind the shot of James and Sirius, Lily was sitting on the grass laughing. He recognized her from Snape’s Pensieve memory, though she had to be a couple years younger here. He traced her small face with a finger, wishing he could insert himself into the photograph to know what she was laughing at. He had so few pictures of his parents and none of them as children. He took the photograph out of the album - it’s not like anybody in the Black family was around to mind if he kept it - and carefully put it in his pocket alongside the heart-shaped stone. He’d taken to carrying the stone with him, and he absently rubbed it between two fingers. He would put the photograph with his mum’s letter for now. He’d look for a better hiding place than his trunk when he returned to Hogwarts.

He’d only looked through a few more pages of photographs when his scar flared to life again. But this time he barely registered his shoulder and head hitting the ground and a distant “Harry!” before he was thrust into Voldemort’s mind.

He laughed, his lips stretching into a smile. His Death Eaters responded to his joy, laughing with him.

It had only been a matter of time before he found the boy, before his location was revealed. Harry Potter could only evade him for so long. But soon. Oh, soon, the boy would be his.

He looked at the small group of Death Eaters before him. They would all be rewarded for their efforts. But first…first they would find the boy.

No. This was wrong. He shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be seeing this. He heard a girl’s voice say something about “…getting Snape.” Snape? Was he here? Harry felt his mind reaching out, fighting the hold that Voldemort had over his mind. But it was so strong…

Dumbledore was a fool to hide him in yet another Muggle neighborhood. The old man was becoming predictable. Too soon, he would see the error of his ways.

Fight it. He could fight it! But…it was so, so hard…

“Soon we shall be victorious!” he yelled at his followers, and a cheer reached his ears. His smile grew. “We attack at dawn. We take the fight to them. We take the fight to-”

Musty air. Solid ground. Fruity shampoo. One by one, he felt the threads of the vision snap as he drew his mind away from Voldemort’s. Two more words flitted through his mind as the last thread snapped:

“-Grimmauld Place.”