Relics

He missed Sirius. Or he missed the idea of Sirius. He wasn't certain which and that scared him in a way that nothing had in years. Either way, the feeling was like a fine cut along his wrist. It hurt like hell, and it bled a lot, but it wouldn't kill him. He wasn't so confident that Remus would be all right, however. Remus was quiet. Remus had always been quiet. But now, he was quieter than normal, quieter than Harry had ever seen him. He was quiet in a way that made Harry uneasy, or maybe he was quiet in a way that reminded him of himself; Harry wasn't certain which. At first, he had thought that Remus was grieving in his own way, but as the weeks of summer passed, his to-be-seventeenth summer and the second staying at Remus's, he had started to worry.

It wasn't so much what Remus did as what he didn't. He didn't speak any more, except when Harry asked him a direct question, and he didn't seem to be sleeping with any set pattern. He was eating, which Harry felt was probably a good thing, but it was all so mechanical. It was the unwillingness to lay down and die without any energy or purpose behind it. He wasn't interacting anymore, and it was made Harry's skin crawl just thinking about it.

He finished making dinner, by hand with Muggle utensils, because even though he had fucking defeated Voldemort apparently he couldn't be trusted with a wand outside of Hogwarts until he turned seventeen, and started to set the dinner on the table. Dinner was simple tonight, chicken and broccoli, and he thought he might eat some of the chocolate ice cream in the freezer for dessert. This summer Harry had found himself, for the first time, glad that the Dursleys had forced him to learn how to cook, as Remus wasn't up to doing it with or without a wand.

Harry frowned slightly at the table before him. It was so unrelentingly domestic that it seemed surreal. Everything about this summer was surreal. As if he was viewing his own life from another perspective and he hated what he saw. It made him want to scream just to hear the sound of something real. He wondered if Remus would notice if he started screaming. He wondered if he would be able to stop if he started.

"Remus! Dinner!"

He wondered if he was going to start screaming one of these days for no reason at all and be carted off to St. Mungo's for his own good. End up like Neville's parents. At least if they couldn't remember anything they must be more or less at peace.

Movement in the corner of his vision, blurred where the glasses didn't quite cover his eyes, made his thoughts scatter. It was just Remus, of course. Remus was the only one who even knew where the house was, other than himself. The only one among the living, at least, and dead men can't stop by to visit. Well, if they could they hadn't yet, that was, though sometimes he expected Sirius's ghost to just pop up and say 'Boo!' because that would have amused Sirius greatly.

Remus was pale, paler than normal, and it brought to Harry's mind the event of two nights previous, when the wolf had been locked in the basement, trying to claw its way out of the solid lead doors. The rhythmic bang, bang, bang of paws hitting metal, moving up into thuds of flesh as a body was flung against the hard surface. It had not stopped until one in the morning. And that was when the howling had started. Not the innocuous sounds of howling wolves, but a bone-chilling scream of horror that made Harry's breathing quicken involuntarily and his heart to thud and the hair of his arms and legs and neck stand on end. Thinking about it now made his stomach roll. It was a sound people so often attempted to emulate in horror movies. Except that this horror show was real.

Remus sat down at the table and began to eat. Knife and fork to plate, fork to mouth, chew, knife and fork to plate, fork to mouth, chew, knife and fork to plate, fork to mouth, chew. Remus's eyes focused on the center of the table. Harry looked down at the chair he should be sitting in and decided he wasn't hungry. As he was about to leave, pushing the door open, he heard the clink of metal on plate and Remus's quiet voice. "Harry, aren't you going to eat?"

Harry blinked. That was the first thing he could remember Remus saying without prompting in weeks. The other day he had even put his hand over the page Remus was reading to see if he could get a reaction. That hadn't garnered a word.

"I'm not hungry."

No response. He turned around. Remus was eating again. He wondered if he had imagined Remus saying anything just because he wanted the other man to so much. After all, he hadn't seen him speak. Oh, great, he thought. This was exactly what he needed, to start hearing things. Next thing he knew he was going to be hallucinating as well. He needed to get out of this house before he went mad. Sometimes Harry thought he could feel the walls of sanity cracking around him, though they weren't walls so much as glass panes in his mind. Shattering glass and broken reflections. He was going to go mad in this house, in this fucking silence.

During some point in the last almost month Harry had realized that he couldn't stand silence. Silence reminded him of those nights locked in the cupboard, separated from the Dursleys. Not that he liked being around the Dursleys but they had been... they had represented something, something he had wanted, something he had learned to hate in those nights. Silence was his own hate, because that was what he thought of in silent moments. Silence was making him hate this place that reminded him far too much of Sirius and that held him captive now, on the wish of a dead man.

He wouldn't leave because he couldn't leave Remus alone. Not until he was certain that Remus would be all right. Except that he hadn't a clue on how to help Remus be all right, and making certain he ate, and sometimes putting sleeping potion in the ice cream wasn't cutting it. It was wasting time while he lost it and Remus lost...what ever had made Remus Remus. He needed to do something, to fix it, to make this feeling stop, to make Remus stop staring at the fucking walls and taking twice to hear a question and all this silence. Something had to change. But what, and how, Harry didn't know.

So, instead, he paced the length of the living room. Back and forth, back and forth, but at least it was movement. Action, reaction. Back, forth. One step in front of the other. Movement in an unnaturally still house. At nights, he sometimes sneaked out into the living room and curled up on the couch with a blanket after turning Remus's wizard wireless on just so he could hear the sounds of a voice that wasn't his own and wasn't that awful howling. God, he missed Sirius. Sirius would have known what to do about Remus. Sirius would have been able to fix things.

The door swung open with a whoosh as Remus entered the room. He didn't react to Harry's pacing as he picked up a book from the table and a Biro and sat down in the chair adjacent to the couch. There was the scratch, scratch, scratch of Biro on paper as Remus bent over the journal that was balancing precariously on one leg. Remus was left-handed, and Harry wasn't certain how he had never noticed that before this summer. Probably he had always had distractions from details like that before. Like he had never noticed that Remus used Muggle things like Biros. He had never noticed a lot of things about Remus, actually.

He wasn't certain what to think about everything he had noticed now. It seemed too intimate almost, as if he knew things, just by watching, that he had no right to as a friend. Not even a friend, necessarily, though he considered Remus one of his friends. Not simple things like the fact that Remus was left-handed, but things like he only drank coffee when he woke up after eight in the morning and he slept with only his pants on and that some nights when he couldn't sleep he'd get up and read some history book or another until he dozed off. He imagined that Sirius had made the coffee and checked on Remus at night and made certain he was up in the morning when he fell asleep on the couch last summer because Harry had never noticed any of these things before. Except Sirius wasn't here now. So Harry made the coffee and checked on Remus and put history books away.

"Remus?" he asked quietly.

Nothing. Remus didn't even stop writing.

He sighed and went over to the bookshelves looking for something he hadn't read yet. When he next flooed into the safe house and then into town he'd really have to pick up some more books. Remus didn't have enough to keep him interested after a month. Not that he even liked books in the first place, but he had to have something to do, and reading had been it when he had gotten sick of flying. Flying wasn't half as much fun alone when you were used to doing it with others.

"Remus?"

"Hmm?"

He didn't know what he wanted to say, so he said the first thing that came to mind. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

The writing had never even stopped, nor had Remus looked up.

"I - I'm tired. I'm going to go to bed early tonight."

"All right, Harry."

Harry set the book down on the small table in between the chair and the couch and stood, stretching. He wasn't tired at all, but he couldn't take sitting in the same room with Remus anymore, not when the man didn't even notice he was there. Maybe he would write letters to Hermione and Ron, to send next time he was in town. He'd be going in a few days, on his birthday, to pick up his presents and maybe buy something for himself if he could stand the stares long enough to browse a bookstore or a Quidditch shop.

Dressing for bed automatically, he considered what he could write to Hermione or Ron. Hermione was spending time with her parents, since last summer she had been confined to the very well warded Weasley home and hadn't had a chance to see them. He didn't begrudge her the time with her parents, of course, or with the Weasleys, but a part of him wished the three of them - he, Ron, and Hermione -- were together again. Though even if they had been in the same room, they'd be worlds apart. Ron was with his family, as well, grieving the loss of Ginny. Gryffindor Tower had been the first student location to be breached in the final battle, no doubt by the Death Eaters looking for him, obviously. Of course, he had been down in the dungeons with Snape, preparing, and not in the Tower. And even with McGonagall and a number of the seventh years protecting them, they had been sitting ducks, all lined up for slaughter. Gryffindor had suffered the highest casualties. Harry found it ironic that Slytherin had the least casualties despite having had even numbers on both sides. Even in war, on opposite sides of the battle, Slytherins stuck together. He had found out later, from Snape, that the Slytherins hadn't attacked their own, and that was why there were so few Slytherin deaths.

Maybe he shouldn't write to Ron at all, or Hermione. They were with their families, working out their lives after everything that had happened, and he couldn't touch that, wouldn't want to even if he could. He had enough to deal with just with Remus. He couldn't tell them about Remus either, because they had enough to deal with in their own situations. So, maybe it was better not to say anything if he couldn't think of anything to say. Harry didn't have the energy to lie right now, not even in a letter.

Harry sighed. He'd even finished all his homework and read all his new school books as well. There was literally nothing left unless he wanted to write a letter to Snape to ask about any books Snape might have to suggest. That was ironic as well, that, in the end, not only had Snape been the only teacher Harry was close to - though not really in a positive way - to survive, but he was the only person, at all, that Harry felt he could talk to normally. Severus Snape might adjust to things, like his views of Harry, and having to teach him how to defend himself properly - Merlin knows most of the Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers had been useless - but he didn't really change. He was still a bastard with no patience and a quick temper.

Though now that Dumbledore was dead - the training had been Dumbledore's idea, of course -- and Voldemort as well, Snape might want Harry out of his life as far as possible. After all, Snape didn't so much like him as tolerate him, to help ensure the general survival of the Hogwarts populace. And that, of course, had happened. Harry might try owling him anyway, if only to see if he'd respond. He could ask Snape to send more sleeping potion as well, as he knew that Snape always kept more than was needed in stock. And as long as he was tempting fate and Snape's temper, he might ask for some Wolfsbane potion for Remus. He imagined that with everything that had been going on, Snape hadn't had time to make it the month before, though Harry hadn't even known Remus wasn't taking any until the clawing had started.

Nodding to himself, he decided to do that first thing tomorrow. While he might not be tired, writing to Snape, like talking to him, always took a lot of thought and careful wording to get what you wanted. He didn't have the energy for that tonight, either. In fact, he thought that sleeping might be a good idea after all, as he didn't feel up for much of anything. Crawling into bed, he blew out the candle he had left burning when he went to make dinner, and turned onto his side, wishing he had more of that sleeping potion left.

* * *

Harry woke some time in the night. There wasn't a clock in his room and he didn't own a watch anymore so he didn't know what time it was, other for late. As his stomach growled, he realized what had woken him and wished he had managed to force down some dinner so that he would still be asleep. His stomach growled again and he sighed. He'd never get back to sleep like this and he really didn't want to eat. Harry had the feeling that if he ate at the moment he'd throw everything back up within minutes, and the thought wasn't pleasant.

He sat up and then, after groping for his glasses on the night stand and putting them on, he stood, drawing the comforter around him. If he couldn't sleep then he might as well go into the other room and attempt to write that letter to Snape or, barring the coherency to do that, read one of the three books he hadn't already read from Remus's bookshelves. Harry briefly considered getting dressed in place of wandering around the small house in his underwear but decided against it; it was really too hot to have both clothes and a blanket and the blanket was more comfortable.

Moving quietly, out of habit, though Remus slept like the dead, Harry walked into the living room, surprised to see a candle still alight. Remus was usually pretty good about blowing candles out. He realized why the candle was still burning a moment later, as Remus's sleeping form came into view. Remus had fallen asleep reading, or possibly writing, again, curled up on one end of the couch, an open book in his lap. Harry saw the biro that had fallen to the floor and realized the book was Remus's journal.

Even as he approached the couch, sitting down on the other end from Remus, Harry knew what he was going to do. It's not as if Remus would ever realise what he had done and Harry had to know what was going through Remus's head. Carefully, he slid the book out from under Remus's limp right hand, and pulled it into his lap. Once it was securely in his lap and he was certain Remus wasn't going to wake up and yell at him about invading privacy, though perhaps that would be better than the silence, Harry flipped the journal open to a random page.

June 15th, 1997

9:57 A.M.

Sirius asked me to watch over Harry for him. I suspect he doesn't think he'll survive this war. I don't think I'm the right person to ask to take care of Harry but then again, who else does he have to ask? I'll do it, of course, though not because Sirius asked it of me. If Sirius does die, Harry'll need someone. Especially with Dumbledore dead. Probably even if Dumbledore hadn't died. So, I'll do it because Harry will need someone and I'm one of the few people he has left. Or, at least, I'll do it if I can.

2:12 P.M.

I think Sirius asked Harry to take care of me as well. They disappeared over lunch and Sirius came back looking drained. He's always pale now, his movements taut and his face worried, but he looked nearly dead when he returned today. As if he was making his last regards. He really doesn't expect to live through this. I wonder what he's planning that has him so certain. I think I rather not know, truthfully, and so I don't ask, just like I don't ask if he requested the sort of favour from Harry that's going to obligate him to me. I'm probably being selfish, because I think he did, and I don't want him to revoke that request. If Sirius dies, I'm going to need someone as much as Harry does. I don't think I can go through losing my friend like this again. Not and come out okay.

He knew? Sirius knew he was going to - that couldn't be right. Harry frowned and flipped to the next page and the page after that, both of which were filled with lists of spells and doodles of symbols Harry only vaguely recognized, and then the third page which had another mention of Sirius.

June 18th, 1997

11:42 P.M.

Sirius rewrote his will today. He's leaving half of the Black inheritance to Harry and half to me. He made certain I knew that. I don't want his money but I'm not going to be able to convince him to give it all to Harry. I tried. He said I needed it more. That's such a Sirius thing to do and say. It makes me want to punch him.

No. No fucking way. Sirius would have mentioned it to him. Sirius wouldn't have done that to him! Sirius couldn't have known. It was just a stupid accident. Bad timing. It's not - Sirius meant to be - Sirius didn't realize the battle was coming, he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, he wouldn't have risked himself like that to be there in person if he had known. He couldn't have. He just couldn't have. Sirius would not have done that to him.

Harry realized he was shaking as the book fell out of his grasp and hit the carpet with a dull thud. It was wrong. Remus was wrong. Sirius died by accident. It was an accident! There was a whoosh of falling objects and then an entire shelf of books fell on the floor at once, the sound of them hitting the carpet startling Harry. Wide-eyed, he looked over at Remus, who merely shifted in his sleep. Remus wouldn't lie about something like that. Especially not in a journal that he never expected anyone to see. But why would Sirius do that? Didn't he know how much Harry needed him?

Harry flipped through the pages, trying to find a further explanation, but all the remaining entries said nothing of Sirius's supposed motives. Instead they were a jumble of emotions and concerns, many related to Harry himself, ending with that very evening.

June 26th, 1997

Sirius is dead.

July 4th, 1997

8:23 P.M.

I can't do it. I can't do this. Gods. This week was...horrible, excruciating. Worse even than the week after James and Lily died because I've already been through it once. You think it'd get easier, that it'd be easier the second time, but it isn't. It's not easier and it's not okay and I can't do this. I ... fuck! Fucking universe! Fucking stupid fucking universe. It's, I want to say it's unfair and that seems so fucking childish but it's true. It's unfair. It's stupid and it's pointless and it's unfair and I can't stand it. I want to scream but I don't have the energy. Just sitting through this week has taken every last bit of energy I think I ever had.

I don't have the energy to do anything but sit here now. Even writing seems hard. Eating was, well, I have to eat. I have to eat or I'm going to die and I can't die. Shan't die. Even if that's exactly what I feel like doing right now, I shan't give in to that feeling. I refuse to. Fuck the universe.

July 21st, 1997

4:09 A.M.

Harry's asleep on the couch again, curled up on the end closest to the radio, with it turned on so he can hear it. It's music tonight. Three nights ago it was talking. There doesn't seem to be a pattern to his days. His behaviour around me doesn't betray the nights he will be out here, listening, as far as I can tell. He's no different on these days then the other ones. Maybe he's merely that self-contained. It's odd.

I know I should do something. I keep thinking I'm supposed to do something, to help him, because he needs comfort and I'm the only one he can turn to right now. I keep meaning to help him, because I want to, I really do. Still, every time I try, I stop. I can't bring myself to say or do anything. To breach the chasm of silence between us. When I taught him, back in his third year, it always struck me as how unnaturally silent he seemed, how so very still. But as time passed, he stopped being silent and still, he started being lively and energetic and eager. Now, I seem to be reinstating that. He doesn't even try to start conversations anymore.

I know I need to stop it. I know that I need to fix it, really. I can see how the silence is affecting him. I know I should start a conversation, any conversation at this point; I doubt it would matter what it was about, and I need to truly listen to his answers. I know this but it seems like it'd take too much. Like if I use up that sort of energy I won't have enough to survive on. I'm barely surviving now. If Harry wasn't here I'm not certain I would even remember to eat as I'm never hungry.

I know that as well. That I'm meant to be the adult here, that I should be taking care of him, not the other way around. He's been so good about it, really. He doesn't complain. I'm certain Sirius asked him to take care of me, now. I know he's only honouring Sirius's request, but it still makes me feel just the slightest bit better. It's the illusion of someone giving a damn about me. Though maybe it's a mistake as I don't have to care about myself now. Not that I'll say anything. I can't say anything. The words stick in my throat.

July 26th, 1997

6:54 P.M.

I miss Sirius. He should be here to celebrate Harry's seventeenth birthday. To deliver the present he got months ago in person. Except, he's not here, and I am and life goes on. Harry didn't eat tonight. He's stopped eating breakfast all together. He still makes food for every meal and goes to town to buy groceries, but he's eating less and less. He's using more and more of the sleeping draught, in turn. He drugged the ice cream with it. It took me three separate times to figure it out, but the chocolate ice cream has some sort of sleeping draught in it, I'm certain of that.

If this keeps up, I may have to do something. I'm not certain how I feel about that.

9: 36 P.M.

Ate some ice cream because I can't get to sleep. I suppose I'm not one to talk about Harry's eating and sleeping habits.

Harry winced. Remus knew about the ice cream then and had just never mentioned it. No more adding sleeping draught to the ice cream. In fact, Remus seemed a lot more aware of things than Harry expected from the way he acted. He had been paying attention; he did care at least, even if he couldn't bring himself to act on it. He hadn't completely shut down like Harry had thought, and now Harry had something to do that could make things better. All he had to do was be patient and press a little and Remus should respond. Once Remus responded everything would be better, it had to be. Better for him and better for Remus. Things had to get better. Harry nodded to himself as he stood and walked over to the bookshelves to straighten the fallen books.

He finished placing the books back on the shelf, grabbing a random one from those he had replaced, and went back to the couch, burrowing in the blanket. He'd talk to Remus when Remus woke up, first thing in the morning.

* * *

Harry shifted, moving a hand up from where it was pulled tight to his chest to rub at his eyes, and tried to get comfortable. There was an odd weight against his side and he moved, trying to turn on his stomach. It took him a moment to realize that he was shifting against something warm and moving and he was trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes when the weight on his side disappeared suddenly, leaving the area cold. Harry made a noise of protest and tried to burrow further into the source of the heat.

He groaned as he realized the source was a body. A body of a person who was now awake. Maybe he could feign sleep.

"Harry?" Remus's voice was rough with sleep and confusion.

He sighed. "Oops?"

Remus shifted beneath him and Harry realized he was going to have to move. "Harry, what are you doing on my lap?"

He really was going to have to move, even though he was comfortable now and warm. "Sleeping?"

"Why?"

"Accident." That was true at least. It wasn't as if he meant to fall asleep and then move into Remus's lap. He hadn't been tired, he had thought, and when he had fallen asleep it wasn't his fault what his subconscious did.

"Oh."

Harry had the distinct feeling this was all going to be very embarrassing when he was more than half-awake.

"How do you accidentally fall asleep on someone's lap?"

"I fell asleep on the other end of the couch. You're sleeping in my spot."

He wasn't going to open his eyes quite yet. He didn't particularly want to see the expression on Remus's face, whatever it may be. Remus's arm moved back to his side and now that he knew what the weight was, he could feel fingers resting against his back through the comforter as well.

"I see."

"Sorry." He wasn't, really, but it seemed like the appropriate thing to say.

"Hmm. Doesn't matter."

Harry opened his eyes and looked up. Remus was looking down at him, worrying at his lip, and seemingly trying to decide what to say. Harry yawned, covering his mouth at the last moment, blinked sleepily, and groaned again. He wanted to go back to sleep and possibly pretend this had never happened. Pulling the blankets closer around him, he closed his eyes again, and decided that if Remus wanted him off he could damn well tell him to get up: he was going back to sleep.

He could hear Remus mutter above him. "You've spent too much time with Severus."

"Blame Dumbledore," Harry muttered back.

He could feel Remus shift beneath him again and then movement above him. Remus groaned.

"What's wrong?"

"My neck. Sleeping sitting up is never the best idea."

Harry snickered.

"I suppose you're perfectly comfortable."

Actually, he was. Remus was softer than he looked, not quite so bony, and he had the blanket padding the worst parts. The position he was in was warm, soft, and, well, comforting really, which was really weird because he didn't usually like touching people much. Or maybe he didn't like people touching him.

"Mmhmm." He yawned again. "Nice here."

Remus laughed quietly, more a feel of rumbling from his chest than an actual sound, and it made Harry smile. It was the first time he had heard a really happy sound out of Remus in months. In fact, this was the most sound he'd heard from Remus in weeks. They were holding a conversation. His smile turned into a grin.

"You're talking again."

Remus looked sad for a moment, but then smiled weakly. "I'm - all right, we're not having this conversation with you half-asleep on my lap. So, either we'll talk later or we should both get up now."

Harry sighed. He didn't want to get up but he did want to talk. "I'm getting up."

"Should probably get dressed as well," Remus said as Harry sat up. "Off you go."

"All right." He managed to keep his smile. "See you in a few minutes." He didn't really want to leave Remus alone for that long because what if he came back and Remus wasn't...Remus anymore?

Harry rushed into his room, throwing on some of the Muggle clothing Sirius had insisted on buying for him, and then moved into the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face. It was probably the quickest he had ever gotten ready when he wasn't about to be late for Potions' class.

Harry knocked on Remus's door, waiting for a response.

"Come in." Remus pulled a shirt over his head and looked at Harry questioningly when Harry entered the room. "That was quick."

"Er...yeah." And now he was embarrassed.

Remus didn't say anything as he sat on his bed and Harry stood, shuffling his feet and staring at the ground, in the doorway.

"Um, I'm, er, I'm sorry about falling asleep on you - well, I didn't fall asleep on you, but - yeah." So, so embarrassed. He couldn't believe he had done that, and what if Remus was mad? He didn't seem mad but with Remus you didn't really ever know, and of course he didn't want a kid falling asleep on him, even though Harry hadn't actually fallen asleep *on* him, per se. What if Remus was going to yell at him now? Or, worse, lecture him about inappropriate contact and how -.

"It's all right, Harry. I've been slept on before. Was a bit surprising though."

Harry looked up. "Er - you have?" Oh, he wasn't supposed to ask things like that.

Remus laughed. "Yes, I have. Once -." Remus stopped smiling suddenly, looking down to stare at his hands. "I have."

Harry frowned. "Remus, are you all right?"

He blinked, shaking his head. "Yes, yes, I'm - well, I'm not - I won't disappear on you again."

Harry wondered how Remus knew what he was thinking. "All right." He didn't think he'd be able to take it if Remus did 'disappear' again. "Good." In fact, he was certain he couldn't. "That's good to know."

"I'm sorry for that, by the way. It's always been my way of dealing with things. It used to drive your father mad, actually. It was never so bad before, though. However, I'm back now, and I won't do that again. I promise."

Harry didn't trust promises. Situations changed, priorities changed, you couldn't know that they would be kept.

"It's all right. I'm just glad you're better now," he said quietly.

"Harry, I - do you want to sit down?"

All of a sudden Harry realized that Remus was as uncomfortable with all this as he was, possibly even more so, and nervous. The thought was funnier than it should be. It was after that that he realized Remus meant sit down on the bed, as there wasn't a chair in the room, and he doubted that Remus meant for him to sit on the floor.

"I - uh, yeah."

He sat down on the bed, pulling his legs up under him since he was barefoot and he didn't think Remus would mind, and tried to get comfortable. It occurred to him that he had never been on Remus's bed before. In fact, he hadn't ever really been more than a couple of steps inside the room.

Honestly, he barely knew Remus. Sirius had always been between Remus and him, once Harry had moved in with the two of them, acting as a go-between, the glue that held this makeshift "family" together. Before that, Remus had been a professor, an Adult, an authority of sorts, and that wasn't really conducive to getting to know him. Really, he didn't know Remus at all, and he didn't know what he thought of Remus beyond that, even. If Sirius was here, it would have been easy, it would have been simple. Sirius had a way of just making everything seem simpler.

If the last month had taught Harry anything, it was that Remus wasn't like Sirius. He had known that, of course, he'd have to be blind, deaf, and dumb not to, but it had never really affected him before. Now, well, Remus wasn't his parent, or his godparent, or even a parental figure. Harry couldn't even remember him scolding him to eat, or wear warm clothing, or anything that Sirius used to do, and while that hadn't meant anything at the time, it did now.

It wasn't as if he wanted Remus to be his parent, because he didn't. That would be weird and wrong on levels that he didn't really want to think about. Normal boys weren't attracted to their parental figures. Of course, normal boys probably weren't attracted to men twice their age, but that was another issue entirely and it wasn't as if he wasn't interested in people his own age as well.

"What are you thinking about?"

Harry started. "About how normal boys aren't attracted to people who are effectively their guardian." He blinked. Oh,fuck, had he just said that? Snape was always saying he needed to filter his thoughts between his brain and his mouth. Fuck.

"I -." Remus snickered. He was laughing! He was laughing at Harry's complete mortification. "I'm sorry. It's - the look on your face. You look like - well, like you just accidentally admitted you were attracted to someone. Sorry."

Harry could feel himself blushing and he took the opportunity to stare at the floor.

After a minute Remus calmed down and continued speaking. "I, well, honestly I'm not certain how to react to that. I mean - Merlin, this is awkward."

"Awkward" was well and truly an understatement. He really wished there was a hole nearby that he could crawl into.

"Shit. I'm sorry." Harry was sorry he had said it aloud. Damn. "I didn't mean to say anything. Or think anything. God. Sorry. I'm - I'll go."

"No. Don't. Don't run off, I mean. You know, I'm certain there's a perfectly proper, logical way that one reacts to something like that and I should be doing that right now, but I can't think of it." Remus paused.

Harry was pretty sure the "proper" way to react included lecturing him about misplaced affections and "why don't you find a nice wizard your own age", so he couldn't help but be glad that Remus wasn't thinking of it.

"Can we just pretend I never said anything?"

"Until we deal with other matters, that's likely a good idea. We will be discussing this later, however."

Remus was going to throw him out. He was going to throw him out and then Harry was going to have to explain to Mrs. Weasley why he did and then Mrs. Weasley would lecture him on proper behaviour and --

"I'm not angry."

What?

"What?"

"You look as if you expect me to be angry with you. I'm not. Merely surprised. And possibly not currently capable of processing such surprises and thus, I need to ignore it until such a time as I can process it. But, I'm not angry."

Remus wasn't angry. This was good. He wasn't going to be thrown out or yelled at, probably, or anything. This was definitely good.

"So, er, other matters?"

"Right. Other matters. Um. Merlin, Sirius was so much better at this. I enjoy being self-absorbed. I've gotten quite used to it."

Harry blinked.

"Not that I don't want you here, or I'm only letting you stay out of some sort of obligation. You're welcome here whenever you want. It's just that I was always somewhat of a loner, even when, even back at Hogwarts. Off doing my own thing. I'm used to being self-reliant, even when I shut down like I did -- like I have been doing -- or when I could depend on other people. Actually, you do that as well, I suppose." Remus paused, shaking his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. "But, yes, I'm used to being on my own, and so are you, and then we both had him - Sirius - and I think we both started to depend on him a bit. Or more than a bit."

Harry nodded slowly, a bit confused. "Right."

"What I'm going on about is that, well, we don't have Sirius anymore, but we do, in a way, not in the same way of course, have each other, and that it wasn't all right for me to force you into the position of taking care of me. Honestly, if anything, I should have been taking care of you. I suppose I'm not particularly adept at taking care of others, however, and it was easier to not take care of anything, and so I didn't. That stops now. At the very least I'm going to start pulling my own weight around here. Sharing the work of cooking and cleaning and such."

Uncertain of what else to do Harry nodded again and said, "All right."

"I - how are you doing, Harry? Truthfully."

How was he? "All right." What else was he supposed to say?

Remus didn't respond to that, not even to nod, and after a minute Harry added, "I miss him."

After rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers, Remus sighed and nodded. "So do I."

Harry was fairly certain that Remus was supposed to have offered something comforting there, which would have been a complete lie because there wasn't anything truly comforting to be said, and he was glad Remus hadn't. Now, to get out of this conversation.

"Are you hungry? I could make brunch," he said.

"How about I make it instead?"

Harry was surprised that Remus had let the abrupt change in topic go without mention but happily so. He nodded. "All right. If you want."

"Right. So, what do you want to eat?"

"Whatever you want is fine. There's nothing in the kitchen I don't like right now."

"All right, then. Give me fifteen or twenty minutes. I'll call you when it's ready."

Harry stood when Remus did, and after agreeing, retreated from the room quickly. It was great that Remus was there again, interacting and all, but he really didn't want to talk about Sirius. Anything but Sirius. He wondered how he was going to avoid it.

* * *

That night he was woken by his own screams and the touch of a hand on his arm. The first wasn't rare. He'd woken up screaming or, on the really bad nights, not screaming, often enough over the years. It'd become something he'd adapted to, to the point he generally left silencing charms up around his bed. However, he hadn't done that at Remus's, first because Sirius had refused to do it and Harry couldn't do magic here, and then, this summer, because he didn't feel comfortable asking Remus to do it for him. Of course, now that Remus was staring down at him with a look of concern, Harry wished he had decided to ask.

"Does this happen often?"

He rubbed at the sleep in his eyes and shook his head. "No. I usually have silencing charms up."

Remus frowned. "Don't be purposely obtuse, Harry."

Why couldn't Remus accept his excuses like a normal person?

Harry sighed. "Sometimes."

"How often?" Remus asked softly.

Whenever I run out of sleeping potion?

"I don't know. I don't count. Can I go back to sleep now?" Harry turned away from Remus, unto his side, and buried his face in the pillow, trying to make himself as small as possible as he did so.

A hand came to rest on his back. "Tell me about it."

"I don' wan'a talk 'bout it." The words were muffled by the pillow. He shifted.

"So, instead you're going to lie here, trying not to go back to sleep, until it's time for breakfast, then?"

That was exactly what he intended on doing. Remus standing there, asking questions, made that fairly impossible. He was surprised when he felt the mattress dip behind him.

"How much sleep have you been getting?"

"Enough."

The hand on his back moved to his shoulder, trying to force him to turn without hurting him.

"Harry, look at me."

"Leave me alone," he said quietly.

"How long?"

"Years. It's not like it's going to suddenly cause me problems now."

"That's exactly how these things work. You'll be fine until all of a sudden you're not. You've been using sleeping draughts to sleep at night?" When he didn't respond Remus continued. "Do you have any idea what those do to you in the long run? Did you even think of that? Fuck, Harry." Remus sounded angry. The part of Harry's brain that wasn't wishing to be swallowed whole by the bed noted this with interest -- this was what it took to make Remus mad. "I'm owling Severus in the morning. He must be the one supplying you with it."

"Snape never warned me about any side effects," Harry replied, finally turning so he was looking at Remus.

Remus shook his head. "Of course he didn't. He either assumed you knew before you asked for the potion or, more likely, he thought they weren't worth mentioning, because to him the benefits outweighed the losses, and who cares about everyone else because his opinion is law."

And that was what it took to make Remus sound bitter, though Harry had already known that.

Harry frowned, trying to figure out how to convince Remus not to owl Snape or, if it came to it, how to hide the draughts when Snape sent them. He didn't doubt Snape would send them, if only to spite Remus.

"Completely ignoring the physical ramifications, you can only repress things for so long before you start to go a little mad, Harry. Sleeping draughts will stop you from dreaming, but they can't stop you from feeling what you would be dreaming about were you not taking the draught. Understand?"

He understood. It was a long-winded way of saying you can't ignore your problems. Except that he could, and did, quite successfully.

"I'm good at ignoring things, Remus. For that matter, so are you."

Harry didn't think he was imagining that Remus flinched and Harry almost apologized.

"Well, now I'm not ignoring anything. We'll see how long it takes for you to wish I were," Remus said, flatly.

Harry sighed. "Can we call it even and go back to sleep now?"

"If you go to sleep, I'll let it go for now."

"Are you going to sit there and watch me?"

Remus frowned again. "No." There was a long pause as Remus seemed to be considering what to do. "Move over," he said finally.

"What?"

"As I'm not leaving until you've fallen asleep, I might as well attempt to make myself comfortable. So, scoot over."

Harry glared at him. "I'm perfectly capable of watching myself."

"Then humour me. I rather be here if you wake up screaming again. I shan't be likely to hear you if I'm asleep in my room."

Funny, Ron said his screaming could wake the dead.

"Go back to your own room, Remus. I'll be fine by myself."

"I don't believe I will be leaving, Harry."

Oh, wow. Replace "Harry" with "Mr. Potter" and that would have been a perfect impression of Snape. Harry had the wild urge to giggle at the thought of Snape, of all people, climbing in bed with him.

Harry shook his head. "I could refuse to try to go to sleep. You'd be stuck here all night."

Remus smiled. "I wouldn't suggest you attempt to try your will against my patience. I have far more practice."

"Go away," Harry said, but he moved over in the bed as he said it.

"Not going to happen," Remus replied, moving into the spot Harry had vacated and switching the pillows.

Harry muttered an expletive in response.

And people say that I'm stubborn.

* * *

For the second day in a row, Harry woke up pressed against something warm and moving. This time it took him mere seconds to realize that the thing was Remus and that they must have both fallen asleep and moved towards each other in the night. It took him a bit longer to realize he was trapped. He had curled up in his sleep, as was usual for him, and Remus, who was taller -- and heavier, he noticed suddenly -- had moved around him. It wasn't uncomfortable exactly, being spooned against Remus and effectively unable to move out from under an arm wrapped around his waist and a leg flung over his legs, but it felt foreign. It was hot as well, he realized belatedly. Not unbearably so, but he could feel the heat of Remus's skin against his own and the warm breath on the back of his neck.

Harry didn't have much experience waking up with people, but what he had was totally different. The only time he could remember waking up next to anyone had been last year, when he had forgotten to, or couldn't be arsed to, move back into his own bed in the dark of night. Instead, he had fallen asleep, sated and warm, with Neville lying next to him, half-asleep himself. They had always woken up on different sides of the small bed, both curled up but separately, back to back. Usually Harry had woken first and slipped back to his own bed in the early morning to catch some more sleep, or think about what was happening outside of Hogwarts. Sometimes, when Neville had woken up before him, in the morning he found the bed empty and the curtains drawn.

Outside of the room, the bed, they had never spoken of those nights. They had spoken often, become friends really, instead of merely dormmates. Though Harry had a feeling they'd gone about it backwards by having sex before becoming friends, but they had never referenced the other part of their relationship in those conversations. Not even to decide what nights were good nights and which nights either or both of them wanted to be left alone. It was easy enough to tell what type of night it was going to be without words, even though Harry was certain he wouldn't be able to explain how he could tell. He realized now that he had never really touched Neville without some sort of sexual or comforting intent. Usually both.

Sex with Neville had been a release, as much emotional as physical, of something he couldn't articulate with others and that Neville couldn't articulate at all. More than that, Neville was only the second person he could remember touching purposefully, seeking out comfort from, since he was a very small boy, and had learned that he wasn't allowed to touch people any more than things. The other person had been Sirius, and while that touch had been totally different - for which he was grateful, as he didn't think he would have been able to take being sexually attracted to his godfather - it had been similar as well. Touch was soothing, comforting, accepting. It was something he had craved, sometimes, when he saw people going around with their casual touches and small smiles, but not something that he had not let the absence of it bother him.

Remus touching him was nothing like being touched by either Neville or Sirius. Sirius's touches had always been intense and sudden, a clutched hand or an unexpected hug, bold gestures that had seemed almost overwhelming at first. Neville's had been the opposite, all slow actions and timid movements, as if expecting a rejection at any moment. Even when they had become more comfortable with each other, the touches had been soft and uncertain. Remus's touch was different; it felt different all the way through. The touches themselves were soft, if heavy. An arm resting around his middle, rather than holding him there. But there was almost a purposefully casual feel to it, as if even in Remus's sleep there was a sense of attention that was neither being drawn to the action or ignoring it. It felt natural, Harry thought, as if Remus was completely certain the gesture was acceptable and accepted. As if there wasn't anything intrinsically important about touching, but that it still wasn't something to just be done.

Harry frowned, trying to make sense of his thoughts, before deciding that it wasn't something he could explain. It was just different. And currently, somewhat annoying, as every time he tried to wiggle out of the bed, Remus's arm tightened around him. He sighed and settled back into the sheets. Remus was stronger than he looked and didn't seem likely to let him up any time soon, unless he actually woke Remus up. If Harry woke Remus up, however, then they'd likely have to talk about it, and he rather put that off as long as possible. Maybe if he pretended to be asleep when Remus woke, Remus would go back to his own room without trying to talk to him.

Consciousness gradually returned to Harry the second time, as though he were moving out from beneath water. A sick feeling filled his stomach and he realized the small, whimpering sounds were coming from him. The touches on his forehead and hair registered slowly, but when they did, his eyes shot open and he froze. Remus had turned slightly and his face now loomed above Harry's, concern covering his features. His hand stroked Harry's hair, brushing it back softly.

"Another nightmare?"

Harry laughed bitterly and tried to shift, to bury his face in the pillow beneath his head, but Remus's hand moving to the back of his neck prevented that. Remus looked concerned, which Harry would have been able to deal with easily - after all, who hadn't had concerns for his safety and sanity at one point or another - were it not for the look of determination that accompanied the concern, and how tired he felt.

"I don't want to talk about it, Remus." And please, stop touching me.

He tried to shrug Remus's hand off, but the grip merely tightened; not enough to hurt, but enough to make certain he couldn't slip out of bed and run off, as he felt like doing.

"What happened in your dream?"

"I don't want to talk about it." He could hear how the tone of his voice hardened, in the manner he'd picked up during extra lessons with Snape. The tone that always made Ron or Hermione, or whoever else was bothering him, back off quietly. He was unsurprised to find it didn't work on Remus.

"And I'm sorry for that. However, I cannot allow you to not talk about it, since it's obviously bothering you so much," Remus said quietly.

"You don't make decisions for me. Get off!"

Remus moved immediately, within a blink, releasing Harry's neck and sliding away with an ease that shouldn't have been possible on such an unsteady surface as a bed. "I'm not letting this go, Harry. No more sleeping draughts. Don't try to get Severus to send you some discreetly. I will figure it out."

"You want to know what I dreamed about? Fine! I dreamed about the day Evan Rosier and Begonia Wilkes died." Harry shook his head. "Though dreamed is the wrong word for it. I remembered the day they died because Snape remembers it, because he was there, and he keeps remembering it over and over, even though he knows that if he had done anything that day he'd be dead as well as them." He glared at the ceiling. "I'm having other people's nightmares now."

"How, exactly, are you dreaming about Severus's memories?"

"Remus. Just -- leave me alone, all right?"

"No. I'm afraid it's not all right. I would even venture to say that something is seriously wrong."

Harry turned over, curling up, and pulled the blanket tight to him. "If anything is wrong, it's with me. You don't need to be concerned with it."

"Except that I am concerned. I'm going to be concerned, whether you want me to or not. I'm going to bother you about what's wrong because I'm concerned, whether you like it or not. I suggest you talk about it now, but I can wait you out." A hand brushed his hair softly. "You don't have to deal with this alone, and maybe I can help."

The bed shifted suddenly and Harry heard the muffled padding of feet against carpet, moving first closer, then away from him. From the doorway, Remus spoke again, "I'm going to go make breakfast. Oh, and I wasn't kidding about the sleeping draughts. I realize why you've been using them, but it's still very unhealthy and eventually is going to cause you serious harm. In good conscience, I can't allow that to happen."

"You don't have a choice. It's my decision what I do to my body," Harry replied softly.

"I do have a choice, unless you're willing to fight me. I think you'll find I'm even more stubborn than you are."

Harry glowered at the wall, considering Remus's words. His response came just as Remus was about to leave. "What? Am I your new project? A bid to keep your sanity? Thanks, but no thanks. I don't want your help."

"You have it, even if you don't want it," Remus replied sharply. His voice softened as he continued. "I - I'm not going to let you make yourself sick if there's another option. And I'm certain there's another option here."

After a moment during which Harry didn't reply, Remus left. Harry sighed as he heard the door shut quietly. Part of him couldn't help but feel that this all would have been so much easier if Remus had just stayed practically catatonic.

Harry was still lying in bed, resolutely ignoring the fact he should get up and dressed, trying to figure out how to convince Remus he needed the sleeping draughts, when Remus returned with a tray holding two plates of food.

"I decided since you didn't seem to be coming out, we'd have breakfast in here."

Harry had the petty urge to snap, 'so you're making all the decisions now', but he stifled it.

"Thanks. I'm not really hungry, though."

"Have you been having any trouble concentrating lately?"

That was random, Harry thought. Still, he nodded. He'd been having some trouble, especially in the last few days.

Remus nodded back at him and poked Harry's side. "Sit up, will you?"

Harry moved, sitting up against a pillow between him and the headboard, and Remus set the tray over his legs before walking around to sit on the other side of the bed.

"I'm not hungry."

Remus nodded, frowning slightly, and said, "I know that, and at this point, I wouldn't suspect you to be. Within two weeks you're likely to have next to no appetite at all. However, will you please eat something? A piece of toast or an egg or some bangers would do. It'd make me feel better about this thing."

"What? What do you mean I'm likely not to have an appetite?"

Remus sighed. "Having a lack of appetite is a common sign of overuse of sleeping draughts. As well as a lack of concentration, inability to focus, and general drowsiness. It builds up in your system. At which point, one is likely to start using wit-sharpening drafts to counteract it. The physical side effects, aside from the extreme lack of appetite, are skin becoming sallow, hair becoming limp or greasy, and aching bones. Physiological side-effects are depressive moods, listlessness, inability to function. When combined with Wit-Sharpening Drafts moods become erratic, with extremes highs and lows, and a general edginess, as well as minor paranoia, develops." Remus gave a weak, lop-sided smile. "Explains a lot about Severus, doesn't it?"

"Snape? He...?" Harry trailed off.

Remus nodded. "Dumbledore gave me the impression, when I expressed my concerns, that Severus had been doing as much since we were sixth years, and that any attempt to stop the cycle now, after all these years, would do more harm than good. His body has developed a dependency for these potions, which I'm certain he hates more than anything, but it'd very likely shut down without them."

"Oh. I see." Fuck. This was bad.

"Ironically, it's one of the few things about potions that I do remember from my days at Hogwarts. Madam Pomfrey refused to let me drug myself with sleeping draughts before the transformation, you see, so I researched it in hopes -- oh, well, I never would have gotten away with it, but it'd been a thought."

"That reminds me," Harry said, suddenly remember his earlier concerns. "Why didn't you have the Wolfsbane Potion this month? I mean, I thought Snape was still supplying you with it."

Remus blinked, as if surprised by Harry's question. "I would have had to go in each day last week to retrieve it. I imagine it's there, of course, though it wouldn't be of any use now."

"I could have gotten it. You shouldn't have had to go through that, like that, you know -- I would have gone into town for you, if I'd known."

Remus shrugged. "It didn't even occur to me to ask you." He picked up a fork and began to use the edge to cut the bangers on his plate into fourths. "Now, eat something. And please explain what you meant about dreaming other people's nightmares?"

Harry sighed, wishing that Remus had forgot about what he had said earlier, and started tearing a piece of toast from his plate into little bits. "It's not important."

"It obviously is, if you felt the need to use sleeping draughts to block it." He paused, then looked at Harry's plate. "I think the toast is dead, Harry."

Harry glanced down at his plate before setting it back on the tray and pushing the tray to the end of the bed. "I don't think I can eat right now, Remus. Sorry." Even watching Remus eat was making him feel queasy.

Remus nodded, before setting his own plate on the tray, and looking back at Harry. "Do the dreams have something to do with what happened with Voldemort?" Harry felt himself wince and Remus continued. "I suspected as much. Especially since you mentioned Severus's nightmares in particular."

Harry remained silent, staring sullenly at the comforter.

"Have you even been able to discover what's happening to cause these nightmares?"

"Yes." The word was out of his mouth in a moment of indignation before Harry had a chance to stop it. He sighed. "That wasn't a fair tactic."

Remus smiled slightly. "It was effective, however. What's happening, then, since you know?"

"I - ask Snape. If you want to know so much, ask Snape." Harry took a deep breath. He couldn't do this. He couldn't remember that day and talk about it. He couldn't even *think* about that day properly. Moreover, he didn't *want* to. He didn't want to think about that day, or his actions, or his reasons. He didn't want to think about the look on Snape's face. He didn't want to think about the bloody clothing he had slept in because he was so tired, and then burned the next day. He didn't want to think about the nightmares.

Remus frowned in that disapproving way that always made Harry feel like he should have a tail to put between his legs. "I'm not asking Severus, Harry, I'm asking you."

"Well, screw you. I'm not telling." All right. That was immature.

Remus stood quietly taking the tray of uneaten food and placing it on the dresser, before returning to stand next to Harry's side of the bed. "Stop it."

"What?"

"Stop being a brat. I'm attempting to help you, because you've been doing something that's been causing you harm, and it's something you can't control. Take the help."

Harry frowned and, after a moment, asked quietly, "And what if you can't help?"

"Then we'll figure out who can."

"And if no one can?"

"Someone always can. It's just a matter of finding who, and whether you're willing to pay the price."

"That's the problem. This is the price."

Remus sat down next to him suddenly, feeling all too close, and Harry jumped slightly when a hand came up and brushed the fringe away from his eyes and stopped to rest on the back of his neck. Remus was looking straight at him, in a way that made Harry want to hide behind the nearest large object because he felt like he was being split open and having his insides examined.

"What did you do to Voldemort that came at a price?"

Harry shook his head, not quite shaking off the hand, and said, so quietly he could barely hear himself, "I won."

"And what did that do?"

"It made me him." Harry blinked, then bit his lip before correcting himself. "No, it just made me like him. It made him me."

"What do you mean, Harry?" Remus asked softly.

Harry stopped chewing at his lip when he tasted blood. "I - he did this spell. I'm - I reckon it was Dark Arts of some sort. Snape cursed, not magically, when I was explaining what happened, so I think it was bad." He fidgeted with the blanket bunched in his lap, staring at it even as Remus tried to keep eye contact. "It felt like I was being ripped in two. I knew - I knew if he succeeded with...whatever it was...I'd be dead. I didn't want to die, Remus." He had refused to die. He wasn't going to let that bastard kill him. "I could...sense, I suppose, the magic he was using to pull at me. He bound us to each other. Snape said that he was trying to finish what had started the night he tried to kill me the first time. What *I* had started by surviving. By almost killing him."

"Snape said he was trying to steal my powers like I had almost managed to steal his that night. But I didn't know this until later. At the time...it hurt. It hurt like nothing else, not even the Cruciatus Curse, and I...the pain almost made it easier to focus. Because it was clear, suddenly, as he was trying to tear me in two, what I needed to do to end it. So, I did. As he pulled on my magic, I pulled on his." Harry paused, trying to take a deep breath. His lungs felt empty and shallow. "Except, I was made for that. That was what made me so special, so threatening as a baby, and what made him come after me when even he could tell it was more than a little mad to do so."

He couldn't breathe. It hurt. God, it had hurt. "That was when he started screaming. At first, it was curses, then just gibberish. And then, as I could feel the last of his...power being pulled from him, he stopped. I thought he was dead for a minute, before I realized he was still breathing."

He didn't want to remember. He didn't want to think about it. He tried to pull away, break away from Remus and the bed and his thoughts, but Remus's grip tightened around his neck, holding him still, and maybe if he could just finish, Remus would let him go. "Snape said, later, that this all happened in no time at all. In the space of a breath or something stupid sounding like that. It felt like eternity. I - I remembered the spell to cut something open. I didn't think I'd manage the Killing Curse, even though it was like I was buzzing with power, so I put my wand to his throat and said the cutting spell instead. God, there was so much blood, just gushing from his throat. He was still bleeding when I went over to Snape." He felt sick. He was going to throw up, he was.

Harry smiled bitterly. "I had thought it was over, but the Death Eaters, they hadn't realized their Master was dead. Worse, their master wasn't dead, only Tom Riddle was. Voldemort was dead, but the magic that bound them lived on in me. I knew that, knew it as suddenly and surely as I could see Snape in front of me, and I grabbed his arm, surprising him into looking at me, and asked him what Voldemort had said to cast a spell on all the Death Eaters at once. But it was just confirming what I already knew."

"Then, I did it. I cast a relatively minor debilitating spell. Something to cause pain, but I knew it wouldn't kill them, and that was when the real screaming started. I didn't realize it would be magnified by the number of people it was cast on. I'm glad I managed to protect Snape from it, though." He shuddered. Remembering the screaming and the image of a mass of people freezing at the sound of screams and nearly half of them collapsing in one fell swoop. "When all was said and done, everything sorted, I started having these dreams. It took me a few days to realize that I wasn't just dreaming of Snape, that the Dark Mark had opened a connection, and that I was dreaming what Snape was dreaming. Or would have been dreaming, had he not been drugging himself with sleeping draught. I started on the same potion the next day."

It felt like all the air had gone out of his lungs as he finished speaking, and he tried to draw another breath, but it caught in his throat, choking him. He could feel the beat of his heart in his temples, behind his eyes, in his throat, speeding, and he tried to breathe again, to little success. He was shaking now, and his skin felt like it was crawling, like his muscle were crawling out from underneath his skin, and it hurt. His chest hurt, as well, and he wanted it to stop, wanted it all to stop. Stop, stop, stop. And he couldn't breathe, god, he couldn't breathe -

"Harry. Breathe out." Remus's voice snapped through his senses.

"I can't breathe." He didn't want to breathe out, he wanted to breathe in, he needed to breathe in.

"Breathe out, then back in slowly. You'll feel better if you do."

He shook his head and tried to draw another breath. Didn't Remus realize something was wrong? That Harry couldn't do what he asked?

"You're having a panic attack. Trust me. Breathe out, then back in slowly."

He felt sick, and then he could feel Remus's hand on his back, rubbing circles against his skin, and soft words said to him over and over. "Calm down. It'll be all right. You'll be all right. You're just upset. Once you calm down, everything will be all right." If only he could figure out how to calm down. He couldn't make it stop and how could he calm down when everything just hurt? After a minute, he could feel his muscles relaxing, his hands unclenching and shoulders slouching again, and Remus was right, he breathed out and he could breathe in again.

After a moment, he felt better enough to speak, and said the first thing that came to him. "I'm sorry."

Remus frowned slightly, his hand still moving in warm circles against Harry's now damp skin. "For what?"

"For having such a fit on you. I don't know what happened. I shouldn't have -"

"You couldn't have stopped it. You're certainly not the first person to have a panic attack over something."

Harry looked at Remus questioningly.

"I used to have them - when I was younger." He smiled slightly. "I had one when...they...told me they knew I was a werewolf. Sirius freaked out -- thought they'd given me a heart attack."

Harry smiled at the image of the Sirius he'd seen in photographs panicking like that.

"About gave him a heart attack, that."

Harry stopped smiling suddenly, as did Remus, and Harry knew the other man was remembering the same image as him, the one of Sirius's body in the row of dead.

Remus's other hand, the one not hot against Harry's back, came up to brush the fringe away from Harry's face where it had fallen again while he was panicking. He really needed to have his hair cut.

"Is it only Severus?"

Shaking his head, Harry could feel his face go blank, trying not to remember, trying not to think of it. "No. I dream of demons wrapped in cloaks some nights." Dementors. "I think it's Lucius Malfoy because Malfoy - I mean, Draco Malfoy -- is in those memories a lot."

Malfoy hadn't been cut out to be a Death Eater, but he had been smart enough to recognize that. His father's view of the confrontations that led to Malfoy fleeing from home and seeking refuge at Hogwarts played heavily in the memories brought forth by the dementors around Lucius. Though, in some ways, they paled in comparison to what Harry had seen afterwards, of a very shaken and quiet Malfoy sitting in the corner of the room Snape and Harry used to practice in, watching but not acting on anything. It was as if Malfoy was half a person without his family, as if he was just Draco, and being a Malfoy had been so integral to who he was that he couldn't function properly without the name. The only time Harry had ever seen Snape be gentle was with Malfoy. Even Ron had stopped goading Malfoy after the first month, when he realized that while Malfoy would seethe he wouldn't take the bait. Personally, Harry had thought there was something wrong with the universe when Draco Malfoy wasn't being an arrogant little prick. The only thing that could get a reaction from him, especially in those first months, as far as the Gryffindors were concerned, was when Hermione gave him looks of pity. Malfoy had always had a nasty comment for that.

"So, only Lucius Malfoy and Severus?"

"There might be others." Harry shrugged. It wasn't as if the images came with name tags. "There probably are."

"Are any of them - does anything seem as if it's not from the perspective of someone alive?"

Harry laughed. What a weird question. "What?"

"Are you only connected to living Death Eaters?"

He frowned. "I - why wouldn't I be? I mean, they're dead. You can't be connected to someone dead who isn't a ghost, right?"

Remus shook his head. "You can't survive the Killing Curse, either. Or reverse a connection designed to control and steal magical abilities. Voldemort was right to be confident; you shouldn't have been able to turn the connection back onto him. So it's reasonable that we explore all possibilities."

He didn't want to explore the possibilities. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to -- Harry startled at the sound of smashing. He glanced over; the plates lay in shards on the floor near the dresser. Remus looked at them as well, but after a moment he turned back to Harry, his lips turning up in a sad half-smile.

"Are you still tired?" Remus asked quietly.

Harry bit his lip. He was always tired nowadays. Effects of the potion, according to Remus. Not that he wanted to go to sleep. If he slept he dreamed, if he dreamt he had nightmares. Though he hadn't had nightmares after the first one the night before, after Remus had joined him. He frowned and wondered if Remus was affecting the magic around him, to block out Snape's dreams. After a moment, he nodded.

"All right then." Remus stood, offering his hand to Harry. When Harry took it, he pulled him off the bed and walked him to the head of it. "In you go." Harry crawled into bed obediently, feeling exhausted yet again. So tired all the time. Remus tucked him in, then, as if he were a child, and he snuggled into the still warm blankets as Remus leaned down and kissed his forehead. "We'll figure out something, Harry." He straightened up and Harry, in a quick movement, reached out to grab his hand.

"Uh, Remus, would you, um...," he trailed off. "Never mind."

He was too old to ask someone to stay until he fell asleep. He was much too old to ask someone to sleep with him to keep the nightmares away. He didn't need anyone, anyway.

"What is it, Harry?"

"Nothing." He shook his head. "Never mind."

Remus frowned, drew his wand, and used it to clean up the shattered plates and food, banishing the now fixed items to the kitchen. "Harry, if you need something, you can ask, you know."

"I know," he replied quietly. He did know, but he wouldn't ask.

Remus nodded, brushed the fringe out of Harry's eyes, and plucked his glasses off. "Sleep well, Harry."

Harry nodded as well and turned on his side, curling up, closing his eyes, and hoping he didn't have nightmares again.

* * *

Remus was better after that, as if between the shock of waking up with Harry in his lap, and having a brand new goal, he had been revitalized. Days passed; Harry slowly got worse, and Remus stayed better. Harry, for the first time, really understood what Remus had written in the journal, about wanting to reach out but not having the energy to make the effort. He had the vague feeling that he shouldn't be acting like this, but the nightmares washed all of that away.

Remus made him get up on his birthday, even though he still wanted to curl up and sleep forever instead of getting up and getting dressed and sitting down at the kitchen table for breakfast. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Maybe it was, but Harry wasn't natural, and he didn't want to act natural, and he just wanted to go back to bed. There were packages on the kitchen table when he shuffled in, but he didn't touch them as he sat down.

"They came in last night," Remus commented quietly, setting out two plates on the table. He sighed and went back to the stove. "I would have made a nice birthday breakfast but, as you know, I can't cook." He paused again. "I managed not to butcher the pancakes and bacon. Want some?"

Sirius had made a huge breakfast last year, with the standard eggs and pancakes and bacon as well as some sticky-sweet pastries.

Harry nodded mechanically. "Fine." He wasn't really hungry. He wanted to go back to sleep. "Can I go back to bed afterwards?" he asked hopefully.

Remus grabbed the plate in front of them and put some pancakes and bacon on it before returning it to the table. The plate banged against the wooden table top and Harry jumped.

"Why don't you stay up to open your presents?" Remus asked finally.

Harry sighed but nodded again before bringing a piece of the bacon to his mouth and biting off half of it. He chewed listlessly, not tasting the food. Remus served himself some food as well and went over to the refrigerator to grab the butter and syrup, all but covering his plate with the latter. Harry glanced over at the plate and his stomach turned. He took a bite of dry pancake, forgoing the syrup himself, and it stuck in his throat. He coughed and Remus brought him a glass of juice. Once he managed to get the piece of pancake down he pushed his plate away. "I'm not hungry."

Remus sighed again and nodded. "All right, Harry." He quickly ate a piece of bacon and then wiped his hands off on some napkins he had summoned. Gingerly, Remus picked up the brightly wrapped gift - orange paper, obviously from Ron - and presented it to Harry.

Harry stared at it as if it was a foreign object. When Remus didn't pull away he reached out and grabbed the present, setting it down in front of himself. Finally, he took a deep breath and started to unwrap the gift slowly. It felt like forever before the gaudy orange paper was discarded to the floor and a number of books on Quidditch, and how to make it in the major leagues, were revealed. Innocent enough, Harry thought, a very Ron gift. The note shoved in between the pages of one of the books merely read 'Hope you're doing all right, mate. Have a happy birthday.' Harry discarded the note along with the wrapping paper, dropping it to the floor. Remus was holding out another gift, this one wrapped in a muted red. Hermione's taste, definitely, and about the right size for a book. He unwrapped this present as well, revealing that it was indeed two books: one on magical careers and the other a large Muggle fictional book. He looked at the cover, which read 'Dune', and set the books aside. On the bottom of the pile was a small piece of parchment covered in Hermione's neat scrawl.

Harry, I hope this finds you well. I know you're probably not up to thinking about careers right this moment, but the book is there when you need it. As for the other book, well, maybe it's good to escape into some fantasy some of the time, right? Love, Hermione. PS. Say hello to Professor Lupin for me.

"Hermione says hello," Harry said.

In the rest of the pile, there was a jumper from Mrs. Weasley, sweets from Fred and George, and a plant from Neville that changed colours with your mood when you touched it. Harry was careful not to touch it.

Slowly, Remus handed him another gift slowly. His face was perfectly expressionless. The gift itself was thin and not heavy, wrapped in plain green paper. "This is from Sirius."

Harry didn't reach out to take it, but stared at it instead.

Remus didn't retract his hand and simply held it in front of Harry. "It won't bite."

"What is it?" Harry asked finally. He really didn't think he could handle a surprise at this moment.

Remus shook his head. "Open it and find out."

"Wouldn't it just be easier to tell me?"

Remus raised an eyebrow at Harry. "Wouldn't it defeat the purpose if I told you?"

Harry noticed his hands were shaking and he pressed them flat against the table top to make them stop. After a long silence, in which it became evident that Remus wasn't going to tell him what was inside the wrapping paper, he sighed and took it carefully. With the way his hands wouldn't stop trembling it seemed to take a long time to get the wrapping paper off, revealing a manila folder. He flipped the folder open; inside there were a number of official looking papers.

"I still don't know what this is."

"Adoption papers," Remus said simply, watching Harry's reaction. "You are officially part of the Black family."

Harry dropped the papers instantly. "Little pointless now, don't you think?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. He felt like he was going to throw up.

Remus reached out and gently massaged Harry's neck. "The sentiment isn't, at least."

Harry yanked away from his touch. "Yes, it is. God -- I --" He stood up quickly, accidentally knocking the chair over, tripping himself. As the chair hit the tile floor with a loud clang, he landed on the floor on his hands and arse. "Ow. Fuck." The chair flew away from him and into the wall.

Remus held his hand out to Harry, offering to help him up. Harry could see an expression of sympathy in his down-turned mouth and drawn eyebrows.

Harry didn't take the offered hand, moving backwards on the floor instead, until his back hit up against a wall. The folder had fallen to the ground in the commotion and he could see it, part way under the table. Staring at it, he said, "I know. I know Sirius knew he was going to die. I -- easy to make promises you don't plan to keep." Some distant part of Harry's mind registered that he was shaking and that his eyes stung, but he refused to process it at the moment. Instead, he continued to watch the folder, as if it could get up and attack him.

Remus withdrew his hand and instead sat down on the floor, leaning against the wall, next to Harry. "He meant it, Harry," Remus nodded toward the folder. "He set that in motion months before any information about Voldemort's strike started trickling in. Right after he was cleared. It took too long for him to give it to you in person."

"All that is is another broken promise."

"Yes," Remus said. "Though this is the one he hated to break."

"Fuck him." Harry scrambled up from the floor and out of the room. He was not going to fucking have a breakdown in front of Remus Lupin, he was *not*. He started toward the bedroom he'd been staying in -- his bedroom, the first real bedroom that had been *his* -- but only got about halfway before his legs decided to stop working properly and he ended up sliding down a wall.

Remus followed him and helped Harry up without saying a word, moving him toward the couch, which was closer than the bedroom. "I miss him too." Remus said, sitting down next to Harry.

The tears that had been threatening fell down Harry's face and he pushed them away angrily. "I didn't know him well enough to miss him."

"You knew him enough that you're upset."

Harry shook his head and gave up on explaining it. He wasn't certain he could explain it. He pulled his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them, and curled into a ball, ignoring the tears that he couldn't make go away. He'd told Remus the truth, he didn't really know Sirius at all.

"He was supposed to be like a dad," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. Curled up like this, it was hard to breath but he had stopped shaking, so he didn't move.

Harry felt Remus lay a hand gently on top of his head. "He couldn't, as much as both of you might have wanted it."

"Why not? Why aren't I allowed to have one good thing?" He pushed away the tears again. God, he was losing it, just like a baby. He knew better than this.

"You've got good things, Harry. Your friends for one," Remus pointed out. His hand started stroking Harry's hair. "He's dead. We miss him." Remus's voice was quiet and weary. "Life goes on. And so do we."

As Remus finished speaking, the bookcase fell over. There were a hundred little thuds beneath the large crash of the wood hitting the floor, and Harry's head snapped up to watch the dust settle. He knew that he had caused that, accidentally, but he couldn't bring himself to apologize. Instead he said, "Stop it. That's something Sirius does -- did -- only he's allowed to touch me like that." He pulled himself away but didn't get off of the couch. He didn't quite trust his legs to work.

Remus didn't stop touching Harry. "What do you like better? Ignoring the problem or lashing out and destroying it?" he asked.

Harry sniffed and glared at him. "I don't feel better."

"Of course not. I was asking about which coping mechanism you preferred, now that you've tried both."

Harry curled back up in a ball and set his chin on his knees. "I just want to feel better," he said softly. It was a bit easier to breathe now, at least.

"It's not going to happen immediately, Harry. There's going to be more times like this." Remus sounded as if he was talking from miles - years - away.

"Isn't there a potion to make it better?"

Remus laughed. It wasn't a happy sound. "There's a potion to bring back the dead."

"There is?" He realised, belatedly, that he probably shouldn't sound so hopeful.

"You're welcome to use it, though I hardly think you'll be satisfied with the results. The potion reanimates the flesh but nothing more. So you have living, breathing moving *bodies* and nothing more. Worthless."

"I want *Sirius* back."

"I know," Remus's hand stilled on the top of Harry's head.

Harry moved again, but this time instead of leaning away from Remus's touched, he leaned into it. "I know you're sad too," he said softly. He wiped the last of the tears off of his face and neck and rubbed at his nose. After a moment he gave up and wiped his nose on his shirt.

Remus's hand slid down to Harry's shoulder. "We're both going to be sad for a very long time, Harry."

"I don't think I feel better, but I won't fall apart on you again," Harry said after a long silence. "I sort of feel like going back to bed now. Do you mind?"

"Do you think you'll sleep?"

"Maybe... some?"

Remus stood and pulled out his wand. "Go on, I'll be in after a minute." He waved his wand toward the mess and the bookshelf righted itself.

Harry straightened himself out and stood, before looking at Remus quizzically for a moment, then headed into the bedroom. Quietly, he changed from his clothes to the shirt he had used as pajamas the night before and climbed into bed. He didn't know if he could sleep but he felt exhausted.

After a few minutes of rustling, Remus walked into the bedroom. "Wanted to clean the mess up." He sat on the edge of the bed next to Harry. "Go to sleep. I'll wake you from any dreams."

"You don't have to sit with me," Harry said, turning on his side and curling up. "Though, thanks."

"I told you I would." Remus leaned back against the headboard and pulled his feet up on the bed. He was barefoot.

Harry nodded and scooted forward a bit so that the top of his head was against Remus's thigh. "Thanks, Remus." He shut his eyes, though sleep was a while in coming.

Just before he fell asleep, he heard Remus mutter to himself, "Sirius, you bastard." He didn't dream.