Mirror Tricks

01/? - Self-Trial

Harry stood outside number 12 Grimmauld Place, looking up as numbers 11 and 13 away from each other to reveal the glossy black front door at the top of the steps. Harry turned slightly as he felt a hand gently rest upon his shoulder and looked around into the prematurely lined face of Remus Lupin, whose kind eyes were open in inquiry. Harry looked back at the door, not sure if he wanted to enter. He sighed almost imperceptibly.

"Harry, they'll be waiting," Lupin reminded him gently.

Harry nodded, grateful for the older man's presence. They had travelled from Surrey in a hired car, loaned by a friend of Mundungus, so Tonks had said as she wove in and out of stagnant traffic on the M25. Harry had found the animated chatter of the young witch rather relaxing compared to the forced silence he had had to endure for the last four weeks at Number Four, Privet Drive. Tonks, her hair a short spiky blue today, followed Harry slowly up the steps with Lupin, her liveliness dimmed as she perceived Harry's reticence.

Harry was very glad to be away from Little Whinging. It had been the hottest summer he could remember; stifling. He had spent most of it wandering the streets and parks, the back of his neck burned brown from his staring at his feet as he scuffed his trainers along the pavement. Occasionally he'd look up and see Mrs Figg. He'd nod briefly, trying not to wince at her overly bright smile as she waddled by with her carpetbag full of tinned cat food.

The house had been no less oppressive. Aunt Petunia appeared to take his very presence as a personal insult. Uncle Vernon would go puce if Harry so much as passed him on the way to the bathroom. And Dudley. Well, after the little talk delivered at Kings Cross by various members of the Order of the Phoenix, Dudley would not come within ten feet of Harry. Aunt Petunia gave him his meals in his room, and Harry couldn't have been happier about that.

But a deep gloom had settled over him as soon as he had unpacked his trunk after stepping off the train. Down in the bottom right corner of his brimming battered trunk he had pulled out the fragments of the mirror Sirius had given him for Christmas. The last time he had pulled it from his trunk, he had flung it back with a flare of anger, that he had had a way of contacting Sirius all along and had never realised it. It had shattered on impact, fine mirror glass peppering his belongings. It had taken a week before the anger turned to guilt.

Harry spent three hours one hot afternoon collecting every fragment of the glass and sticking it together with Spellotape, before re-wrapping it in the torn brown paper. He wanted desperately to fix it, but would have to wait until he was back at Hogwarts, since he wasn't about to risk another disciplinary hearing for the underage use of magic. He had turned it over in his hands, playing absently with the string with which it was tied, but never gaining enough courage to open it again. Harry had done the same thing countless times since, turning it over and over until he knew every fold and ruffle in the thick paper.

Harry reached the top of the steps and raised his hand to knock on the door. Before he could touch it, it swung open, and there stood Mrs Weasley, her tousled red hair touched with grey at the temples.

"Oh, Harry!" she said, and pulled him into a fierce hug, escorting him through the door. Lupin raised a pale eyebrow at Tonks, who grinned widely. "Come in, come in. Everyone's here. Let me get you all a nice cup of tea."

Mrs. Weasley took them quickly through the hallway, where Harry noticed the black-cloth shrouded portrait of Mrs. Black still hung. It rattled softly on the wall, and Harry thought he could hear a muffled grumbling. "We managed to gag her," he heard Tonks whisper in response to an inquiry from Lupin.

Once down in the bare dining room, Harry looked around. He knew he was here to talk to Professor Dumbledore, but he hadn't expected this many people. Around the dining room table sat most of the Weasley family; Ron and Ginny were engrossed in a raucous game of Exploding Snap with Fred and George. Bill and Charlie sat talking quietly with Professor Dumbledore. Mr. Weasley was probably still at work, Harry thought as Mundungus Fletcher raised a hand amid the cheerful chatter. In the farthest corner of the room, silently nursing a mug of tea, sat Professor Severus Snape. Harry stiffened, but Snape didn't even raise his head, keen to continue ignoring Harry as he had been since the end of the failed Occlumency lessons.

"Sit down, Harry dear," Mrs. Weasley instructed, and bustled into the kitchen. Harry sat in a seat between Ron and Ginny, amid the carnage of exploded playing cards and scorch marks on the table.

"Thanks for the Cannons album," Harry said to Ginny in reference to the birthday present she had sent him. She had never sent him one before.

"It was partly from Luna, as well," the red-haired girl grinned, slipping a cheeky glance past Harry at her youngest brother. "She met us in Diagon Alley at the beginning of the holidays when Ron was looking for something for you. Insisted on coming along." Her impish smile drew Harry in and he let himself relax, just a little.

"How's it with the Muggles?" Ron asked, as his mum placed steaming tea in front of them in mugs of varying colours and sizes. Harry smiled lopsidedly.

"They've barely said a word to me since July," he said.

"That can't be too bad, surely?"

Harry shrugged noncommittally

"Well," Ron bravely continued. "It could be worse-" he ended in a yelp as Ginny kicked him under the table, apparently her broken ankle had had no lasting effects.

"Hey!" Ron yelled indignantly.

"Fancy a game, Harry?" George asked from across the table.

"Sure, why not?" Harry turned towards the twins, and noticed for the first time that they were dressed not in Muggle clothes like he and Ron usually wore during the holidays, but wore matching business-robe jackets, but in contrasting colours. "How's it going?" he asked them, sneaking a look towards where Mrs. Weasley was still handing out multi-coloured cups of tea.

"Really well," Fred said.

"Custom's really picking up," said George.

"Yeah, and we have some new stock that needs testing if you're interested, Harry?"

"Um, think I'll pass, thanks." The game commenced in earnest, with sly feints towards the pile eventually winning the game for Ginny. The final explosion was so violent that it drew cries of protest from Mrs. Weasley. However he tried, Harry could not quite get into the game. He caught Dumbledore watching them whilst still in conversation with Bill and Charlie and thought he saw the old man wink discreetly.

"Where's Hermione?" Harry asked, to break the silence while Ginny collected the charred cards together again for another game.

"On holiday with her parents again," Harry tried not to smile at the unconsciously resigned tone to Ron's voice. "She'll be coming here in a week or so, before we get our O.W.L results."

Harry nodded; he had forgotten about their results. He watched Ron's sleeve fall back as he picked up his mug of tea to reveal livid sucker marks, scars from the attack at the Ministry last term. They all bore scars now, not all of them physical. Harry shuddered as he remembered. He prayed for anything to help him forget. He reached into the centre of the table to pick up the cards Ginny had just dealt him, when Dumbledore put a hand on his arm.

"Harry, if you will? A moment of your time."

Harry nodded silently and gave his cards to Ron before following the Headmaster out of the dining room and up the stairs, Lupin and Tonks leaving as well. A scrape of a chair made those left in the room turn around as Snape stalked out after them.

Ron, Ginny and the twins watched until the door closed soundlessly.

"What's all that about?" Ron asked.

"Dunno, mate." George shook his head. Fred shrugged and turned his attention back to the game.

~*~

"Harry, sit down please," Dumbledore said, gesturing to a low chair in the lounge room upstairs. The other members of the Order filed in and took mismatched chairs around the room. Harry sat silently, and looked expectantly around him, waiting for someone to begin. Mrs. Weasley entered, smiling briefly, and sat down.

"Arthur will be late, I'm afraid," she said as she settled herself. "Something about a message from St Mungo's. Harry," she turned to him. "How has your summer been so far?"

"Fine," Harry shrugged. "Really," he insisted, upon seeing several glances cross the low room. "The Dursleys barely acknowledged my existence. I know you were still keeping an eye on me. I saw Mrs. Figg a couple of times." He smiled briefly again. "I was worried-" he stopped, reluctant to give voice to what had been bothering him all summer, what he had wanted to talk about but without being able to have contact with anyone from the wizarding world, had been unable to until now. Despite having to contact the Order every few days, of course. But that was through a regulated Ministry owl that would take no other messages.

"Go on, Harry," the Headmaster urged gently.

"I thought I would have seen more people on guard for me." He shrugged apologetically, only voicing the half of his fears. "I thought the Death Eaters would have come straight after me as soon as I got back to Surrey. Especially Bellatrix Lestrange." He couldn't stop the shudder that oozed its way down between his shoulder blades.

"Although this may shock you, Mr. Potter," Snape drawled from his stiff backed chair in the corner. "You are not the only problem the Order faces, and I am sure the Dark Lord has more pressing concerns."

Harry flushed slightly.

"Severus," Lupin admonished. Snape's gimlet gaze snapped around to glare at Remus, but the werewolf only smiled tiredly, holding the potion teacher's eyes.

Harry shook his head slightly. He would not admit it to many, but he had been in a state of almost constant fear over the few weeks he had spent this summer with the Dursleys. He had missed his friends, and the castle and its grounds. He missed Sirius. Not long now, though, he consoled himself, until he could fix the mirror and make it work. This time.

"Harry, other than that, is there anything that is worrying you? Anything at all?" Lupin's eyes were wide and sincere in his pale, drawn face. Harry knew that Remus mourned the loss of Sirius as much as he, if not more. Harry tried to imagine what he would be like if it had been Ron or Hermione who had died, his mind spinning back to that terrible night. Well, they both very nearly had. He shook his head again, trying desperately not to think about his godfather, but saw again in his head the look of shock on Sirius' face as he slipped irrevocably through the veiled archway.

"I'm fine," he lied quietly, trying desperately to subdue the fear and the guilt.

He had found it difficult at first to contain the helpless rage that boiled within him, but it had dulled now, to a constant irritating ache. He still could not forgive them all, those here in this room, the secrets kept from him, but could at last understand a little better why. The thing that had been bothering him most, ever since he had learned about the prophecy, he could not voice.

"Is there anything I should be worried about?" He tried to smile, but the uniformly grim faces made him falter. Even Tonks, whose usual exuberance could not generally be checked, was sitting in silence.

"We have asked you here, Harry," Dumbledore began. "To inform you of Sirius' will."

Harry mouthed silently. He had never thought that his godfather might have had a will, or that it would in any way involve him. He sat rigid for a moment, then surged to his feet.

"I don't-" he didn't know what he wanted to say, but knew that he suddenly he felt unbearably claustrophobic. He had to get out of the low-ceilinged room. Now.

"Harry, please," Mrs. Weasley's soft tones drew him back from his panic. "I know how you must be feeling, but this is something you have to see through."

"You don't know!" Harry bit out before he could stop himself, and immediately felt guilty. Mrs. Weasley had always been so kind to him; he knew she didn't deserve it. He could feel Snape's unsurprised, but no less malevolent, glare on his neck. "I'm sorry," he said, sitting down abruptly.

After a short silence where Harry refused to meet anyone's eyes, Dumbledore continued. "Harry." He took a breath and waited until the young man raised his eyes. "I am the executor of your godfather's will. It is therefore my duty to make sure his will is made available to all those who appear in it. All those are here," He gestured around the room. "And so it is time." He looked expectantly at Harry, who eventually nodded, taking a deep breath, not knowing what to expect.

Dumbledore stood and moved to the centre of the room. He took his wand out of the voluminous purple robes he wore and placed a small wooden circle on he floor. He touched the tip of his wand to the centre of the circle and stood back, returning to his seat.

Harry watched in silent anguish as his godfather's lithe form slowly unwound from the centre of the wooden circle, to stand in the room, as bold and solid as if he were really there.

~*~

"I am Sirius Black, and this is my last will and testament. I state that I am of sound mind and, that in the event of my death, let my executor, Albus Dumbledore, assemble my friends that my last wishes be carried out. You will find all the necessary documentation in the care of the Head Goblin at Gringotts Wizarding Bank."

The familiar sombre, pale face framed by long dark hair broke into a wan smile.

"I must admit that making a will is not something I had expected to find myself doing whilst on the run, but given recent events it seemed appropriate. If you are watching this it means I have died. It's not something I can really imagine, although some may have thought it inevitable."

The simulacrum of Sirius Black sighed and walked slowly away from the wooden circle, seeming to consider each of the assembled in turn. Harry suddenly found it difficult to breathe.

"I don't have many things to pass on to the few people I care about," Harry was sure he saw Snape flinch. What was he doing here? Harry didn't have time to think about it, as the voice of his godfather, recorded who knew when, continued. "But I hope each of you will accept what I have to give in the spirit in which it is meant." A smile quirked the corners of his mouth. Sirius turned first to Tonks.

"Tonks, you have been a friend to me, although very briefly, through this last year and I want to thank you for that. Being cooped up in this old dungeon doesn't do much for your sanity, I'll admit." He smiled widely, and Tonks smiled back, a small tear in the corner of her eye. "I'd like you to have these shoes. I know it sounds strange, but I was going through my things whilst in the attic with Buckbeak and found them and couldn't help but think of you." He waved his arm and a pair of nondescript black shoes fell into Tonks' lap. "They'll shrink to fit you, and should help with even your balance. I got them when I completed my Auror training; no full agent should be without a pair!"

He winked at her, and she stifled a half sob half laugh with the back of her hand. The simulacrum moved on, looking down as if checking a script.

"Moony, old friend. The Marauders are down by another one; you are the only honest one left, though to be honest you were always the only honest one. I know you have forgiven me for doubting you, but I could not forgive myself so easily. You made us Marauders into proper friends, God, the arguments you broke up! Your temperance saved us from ourselves and James and I are forever in your debt because of it. I would like you to have these memories of our school days. Hogwarts was more my home than anywhere, and you helped make it so."

Remus had watched in silence, a sad smile twitching his lips. A black trinket box appeared on his lap. It must have had some significance, because Harry saw Lupin's mouth open slightly as he saw it, and laid a hand on it gently.

"Thank you, old friend," he said, his voice husky, although he knew Sirius could not hear him.

"I also bequeath to you one third of the contents of my Gringotts vault. You'll not need to worry about finding employment again, Mooney. Goodbye, Remus Lupin. It has been an honour to have known you, and to have counted you my friend," Sirius saluted his friend jauntily and moved on.

Sirius turned to the dark figure who sat farthest away from the wooden circle. "Severus," he said, and Harry noted the slight change in the tone of his voice; it was flatter somehow. "I know we haven't seen eye to eye since, well, ever." He paused as if considering what he was about to say. Harry nearly choked on a bitter laugh. Sirius couldn't. He was dead.

"I just wanted to tell you that I'm aware of the work you have done for the Order. In a mad moment a few days ago I realised how much I had wronged you. It's not much of a legacy," he shrugged. "And I could never say this to you face to face. There are things that I can never forgive you for, as I am sure you are aware, and there are some things for which I am sure you can't forgive me. But don't go blaming others for our past disagreements, please." It sounded as though the last request had almost choked Sirius, yet Snape sat stiff without changing expression. "What I did want you to have can be found in my library at Grimmauld Place. All the books that you believe to be of a sensitive nature I would have you remove, and place in the restricted section at Hogwarts. I trust your judgement, but I would request that Hermione Granger be allowed access to them under the supervision of yourself and Albus. The rest are to remain at Grimmauld Place." Snape remained immoveable and as Sirius quickly turned away he didn't so much as blink.

Harry's gaze followed his godfather's form across the room until it stopped in front of Dumbledore and Mrs. Weasley.

"Albus," he said. "I want, first of all, to thank you. You must hear this often from your prodigal students, but you have been more of a father to me than my...well let's just say I appreciate all you have done for me, despite our past and, I'm sure future, disagreements. I also appreciate the trust you have placed in me. First I would ask of you that you look after Buckbeak for me. I know you will see him well cared for," Dumbledore inclined his head in grave acquiescence.

Sirius turned to Mrs. Weasley.

"Molly," he said. "Again I have an apology to give, another one that I don't have the courage to give face to face. I am sorry. You know what I mean," the smile on Mrs. Weasley's face as she loudly blew her nose said that she did. "I bequeath to you and Arthur one third of my vault at Gringotts, to be used to provide all that Ron and Ginny should need for the rest of their schooling. I wish you to enjoy what remains for yourselves as a family.

"My greatest request however, is to be shared between you both and Albus. I know you have already done a better job than I have," this was said with a touch of bitterness. "But I formally give my legal wizarding guardianship of Harry over to you both, and Arthur of course, holding all I bequeath to him in trust until he reaches his majority under British law at eighteen. I know this can't be formally recognised until my name is cleared, but I have faith that you will do so all too soon."

Harry had started at the mention of his name, the breath catching in the back of his throat to hear that well-loved voice pronounce his syllables.

"I know you will continue to, well, you know, look after him,"

Both Molly and Albus nodded slowly. Harry could see the tears welling in Mrs. Weasley's eyes again.

"Of course, Sirius," she sniffed.

Sirius smiled sadly and turned at last to his godson. Harry pushed himself as far back in the chair as he could, not wanting to hear Sirius speak his name.

"Harry."

Harry squeezed his eyes closed, hot tears spilling out from beneath his lids.

"Snuffles," he choked in a half whisper.

"This is going to be harder on you than anyone. I had hoped our time knowing each other wasn't going to be short, that you would be able to live with me while you finished Hogwarts, once my name was cleared. I wanted to watch you grow up. I had hoped for many things." He shook his head, smiling slightly. "It's impossible to know which tense to talk in." The smile faded abruptly. "You should never have had to live without a proper family, Harry. And I know, beyond a doubt, that James and Lily would have been so proud of you. I am proud of you. More than you can know."

Tears flowed freely down Harry's face now. This was almost too much to bear, and yet he wanted Sirius to go on speaking forever.

"Grimmauld Place and the rest of my assets as the heir of the House of Black are yours. Have Gringotts go over it all with you if you're worried about anything, although I'm sure Albus will be on hand to assist; I'm not quite sure of the details myself. This house was never much of a home to me, but I want you to make it yours.

"Now, a bit of godfatherly advice. Don't ever take what you have for granted; you truly don't know what you have 'til it's gone. I can only regret that I will never know the man you will become, the man you so very nearly are. I was looking forward to all the future events in your life, you becoming an Auror, perhaps your wedding day, your children..." He sighed. "Harry, I know you may not believe this, but you have already brought me so much happiness. I never got to say this to you when you were younger, but be good." He winked, half-heartedly, as if this were very difficult for him. "I love you."

Sirius reached out a hand towards Harry, eyes brimming but a self-mocking smile twitching the corners of his mouth. Harry did not realise that this was just Sirius reaching out to finish the recording spell. Before he knew what he was doing, Harry had seized it and grasped the simulacrum of his godfather around the waist, desperate for him not to go, to stay here, alive, for Harry, forever. But Sirius had finished his wishes, and his figure that Harry clung to slowly faded. Harry was left sobbing on his knees in the centre of the room, not caring who saw him. Sirius was dead and gone, and it was all Harry's fault.

"Come on, Harry dear," Mrs. Weasley's tentative voice came to him through his silent tears and he felt her trembling hands on his shoulders. He let her raise up his face and hug him where he crouched and he cried. He clung to her, time dissolving slowly. Harry became aware that the room was now empty save for him and Mrs. Weasley. He felt dazed and numb all over. The desperate moment of grief had passed, but he felt it still, an aching void within him and he was suspended above it, teetering on the edge, ready and almost willing to fall.

Mrs Weasley, without saying anything, encouraged him to stand and escorted him upstairs to the room he had shared with Ron last summer. She hustled him into the bathroom with his pyjamas and once he was changed, tucked him into his bed, taking off his glasses for him and laying them on the bedside table.

"Ron can share with his brothers for tonight," she said, and sat on the side of his bed, wiping her eyes on her apron. Harry's eyes drooped, red and sore from his tears. "Sleep well, my love," Mrs. Weasley continued, and kissed him tenderly on the forehead.

Harry drifted quickly off into a troubled sleep, where strangers' faces leered and lurched at him, full of hate and anger. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but blundered through them, trying to get to the silhouette of a tall man who stood still and silent just ahead of him, always beyond his reach.

~*~

When Harry woke it was dark. He was alone in his room at Grimmauld Place, the curtains drawn and the house silent in these last hours before morning. He could hear muffled steady breathing from the picture on the wall opposite, and wondered if Phineas had been set to watch him. He still felt tired, his muscles aching, his eyes raw. Harry reached across to his bedside table for his glasses and slipped them quickly onto his nose. His trunk had been placed at the foot of his bed, so he rifled through it until he found a jumper, knitted for him by Mrs. Weasley last year, and pulled it quickly over his head. He noted how his wrists stuck out from the sleeves, and irritated, tried to pull them down.

Harry left his room quietly and padded bare-foot down the stairs to the kitchen, his stomach growling. He tiptoed past the painting of Mrs. Black that snored softly through her gag and pushed open the door to the dining room. A soft light glowed within, and Harry saw Dumbledore sat at the large wooden table, reading a curled manuscript. Fawkes was perched on the back of a chair nearby, preening his glorious red-gold plumage. Dumbledore looked up as Harry stepped down into the room.

"Ah, Harry. I wondered how long it would be before you came looking for food. You missed an excellent supper last night. Molly excelled herself."

Harry frowned and was about to reply to the contrary when his stomach growled loudly. Dumbledore smiled and picked up his wand from the table. He waved it briefly and a plate of sandwiches and chocolate biscuits appeared on the table. Harry smiled briefly and sat, taking a sandwich and biting into it gratefully, but almost choking in surprise on the Headmaster's interesting choice of filling.

"Thank you, sir," he said, his mouth full.

"I think, Harry, that out of school at least, you can call me Albus," The Headmaster said. "Especially since Sirius has entrusted me with your care,"

Harry nodded, knowing full well that he could never call him anything but 'professor' or 'sir'. He finished his first sandwich and started on another, and washed it down with a glass of pumpkin juice, which had appeared at his elbow.

"Professor," Harry began.

"Yes, Harry?" the Headmaster said blandly, looking up at the dark haired young man over his half-moon spectacles.

"I was wondering what's been happening with the Order over the last few weeks? You asked me if anything had been worrying me, and I would like to know what I should be worried about. Is the Ministry going to back the Order now? Is there anything else concerning the prophesy-?"

Dumbledore held up a hand to forestall any more questions.

"Harry," he said. "There are only a few things I can tell you, and I know you feel you have a right to know everything, which indeed you do," the Headmaster continued as Harry opened his mouth to speak. "We have seen in the past, have we not, that half truths do us no favours, and I am not the least guilty in that respect, especially where you have been concerned."

The pale blue eyes still sparkled, but Harry beheld a deep sorrow within them, something he remembered seeing before. "As you know, I only sought to protect you, keep you young and happy for as long as I could. Alas those days are coming rapidly to an end."

"I was angry before, sir," Harry said softly as Dumbledore paused. "But now, I'm not sure what to think or do..." he trailed off lamely.

"I would be greatly surprised, Harry, if you knew exactly what to think or do. It is astounding what you have been through and are expected to deal with. I want to assure you that you do not have to bear it alone. A Gryffindor trait, I believe, that prevents some from seeking help." Dumbledore smiled slowly.

The corner of Harry's mouth twitched. He waited for the professor to continue.

"As to your questions, Harry. The Order has been very busy during the weeks since the end of term. You are still, as it were, under close surveillance. You are right that there has been more activity concerning you and the followers of Voldemort. I know that you are not aware just how close things have come. Bellatrix Lestrange is someone of whom you should be especially aware. However, we have things in hand at this point in time. Now that the Minister has openly acknowledged Voldemort's return, we have more resources at our disposal. People have been made aware of precautions they can take to keep themselves and their families safe: staying in large groups, warding homes and not staying out after dark. Simple things, but effective nonetheless."

"But, professor," Harry said. "If Voldemort wants something bad enough, how is that going to stop him?"

A smile quirked the Headmaster's lips. "I seem to remember that when Voldemort wants something badly enough, he has always been ultimately prevented from reaching his goal. By a certain tenacious young wizard. Harry," Dumbledore leaned forward, clasping his hands on the table, his face serious. "I will not lie to you. These precautions will not stop an attack, but they will limit its effectiveness. The danger is rising. Voldemort is aware that his return is widely acknowledged; he will no longer feel the need to be covert. The wizarding world needs to feel that they can do something to help, they did in the past, and even if many refuse to believe still, they will soon be convinced." The Headmaster's voice was ominous and Harry had to suppress a shudder.

"We can beat him, though, can't we, sir?" Harry asked, his voice quiet. "It would all have been a waste if..." he trailed off, not wanting the anger and the pain to rise again.

"Listen to me now, Harry," Dumbledore grasped one of Harry's hands. Harry gripped the old man's dry palm as if it were a lifeline. "Sirius died doing what he believed in, doing what he wanted. His death was not pointless. His life not a waste. He was a brave, courageous man, fiercely loyal to those he loved. He worked hard for the Order while we have centred here, however frustrated he became at his voluntary confinement."

A tear spilled from beneath Harry's glasses. He didn't move to wipe it away. He wanted Dumbledore to know how much he mourned his godfather.

"He should never had been trapped here! He couldn't cope not being able to get out. You can't breathe when your every move is monitored and you're confined every hour of every day! We're not animals! It's my f-" he faltered and stopped. "I miss him so much," he finished simply, his sudden anger evaporating rapidly in the fresh flush of his own guilt. Dumbledore sighed heavily, squeezing Harry's hand once more then letting go.

"So do I," he said quietly. "So do I. But you must remember Harry, that absent loved ones remain close to us."

Harry looked down at his hands in front of them; they spasmed into fists as a wave of anger returned, Dumbledore's words failing to soothe him. It was so unfair. Everything he loved was taken from him. Was he allowed to keep anything he cared for? Was he not allowed to be happy? Why was it that he was always grieving for something, and why could he not stop grieving for Sirius?

"There is something I would ask you, Harry," Dumbledore said into Harry's tense silence. He looked up into the Headmaster's pale blue eyes.

"Yes sir? What is it?" He fought to keep his voice level. Hadn't enough been asked of him already?

"Harry, would you mind if the Order continued to use Grimmauld Place as their headquarters?"

Harry wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but it hadn't been that. He blinked in surprise. "Yes, of course. I mean, no, I don't mind, I'd like you to." He let go of his anger as suddenly as it had come, and a small smile lifted his face and eyes. "It'd feel right. I think it's what Sirius would have wanted."

Dumbledore nodded his head slowly. "I think you may well be right, Harry. And I thank you." He looked up at the morning light creeping into the ground floor window. He rose to his feet, eliciting a light chirrup of inquiry from Fawkes. "I am afraid I must leave you now. Headmasters do not stop, not even for the summer." He looked down at Harry, smiling sadly. "Now is the time to heal, before we must face the future. Remember him well."

Harry nodded, jerkily. He didn't think he could ever forget.