Murmurs from the Dying Sun

Murmurs from the Dying Sun

Chapter Two: Eating You Alive

Yeah, I feel your anger

Can't you realize it's eating you alive?

~Pink Cream 69

Saturday morning dawned slowly and quietly. The oppressing heat of the week had worn off and with this Harry's mood had improved, if only enough that he didn't think he would start a fire again. Unless perhaps Uncle Vernon were to mention Sirius's name, but Harry didn't think that was likely, especially since he was avoiding his uncle at all costs. In fact, the only time Harry had actually spoken to his relatives was to inform them he would be leaving and that there would be wizards coming to get him on Saturday morning. He had been informed by Uncle Vernon that they were taking Dudley and a friend to the beach on Saturday, and that he was lucky they'd already made plans. He'd meant to sound intimidating, but there was a quaver in his voice that belied a newly found fear of his nephew. Harry, just relieved that he would be leaving without a hassle, didn't notice anything different, and disappeared back upstairs to haunt Dudley's second bedroom, as he still often thought of it.

The Dursleys left home around eight o'clock on Saturday, which gave Harry plenty of time to clean up and pack before he had to be ready. He scurried around his room, trying to make sure he remembered all of his clothes and books. Luckily, he hadn't felt like reading much so most of his books were still packed away in his trunk, along with all of his Hogwarts robes and equipment, except his wand, which never left his person, not even when he was sleeping. Especially not when he was sleeping. Most nights found him with the wand clenched tightly in his hand, held just beneath the covers so that an intruder would not know he had it so readily accessible. Paranoid, perhaps, but it paid to be safe. Constant vigilance, as Moody would say.

Harry finally dragged his trunk downstairs with a little time to spare and waited in the living room for Lupin and the others to arrive. But ten o'clock arrived and passed, bringing no sign of any Order members. Harry stared out the window at the sky. Gray clouds were beginning to hide the sun, giving the day a dreary look and a nice rain was sure to come. Where were they? It wasn't like his old professor to be late, and Harry could only imagine what the Dursleys would say if they showed up to find him still there when they thought he'd be gone until the next summer. Worse, he imagined how he would feel if he had to see them again before escaping.

When eleven o'clock came, Harry retreated back to the kitchen. He hadn't been hungry when he woke up the morning, but he was beginning to feel an empty gnawing in his stomach, and though he wasn't entirely sure that it wasn't just from feeling nervous about why no one had arrived yet, he thought it was a good idea to eat something. Goodness knew he'd already lost a bit of weight in the few weeks since he'd been back in Surrey, and he knew that Mrs. Weasley would try to "put some meat on his bones" the instant she saw him. He lazily made a cheese sandwich and ate most of it before the doorbell rang suddenly around half past the hour.

Having assumed that his rescuers would Apparate in, Harry wondered who it could be at the door and whether or not he should answer it, but curiosity got the better of him and he found himself wandering towards the door. He was beyond shocked to see Professor Lupin standing on the stoop along with Bill Weasley and a woman he vaguely remembered as Emmeline Vance. They were all dressed in muggle attire, which Harry found quite amusing, especially on Lupin. He stood back from the doorway to let them enter.

Lupin stepped in first, his eyes carefully studying Harry in a way that screamed out his concern for the boy. "I apologize for the delay, Harry," he said as Bill and Emmeline joined him inside.

"Yes, sorry we kept you waiting," Bill added. "We ran into a few ... problems ... on the way over."

The three of them all looked amused if not a little embarrassed. "Meaning ...?" Harry asked.

Lupin chuckled. "Dumbledore decided it was best if we picked you up using muggle methods, but as it stands, none of us are exactly schooled in the art of driving."

"Driving a car isn't in itself exactly difficult," Bill protested.

Harry glanced out the window nervously to see a bright purple sedan sitting in the Dursleys driveway, unsure of whether to laugh at the thought that it was in clear view of all the neighbors, or worry at the fact that he was actually expected to trust his life with Bill driving the car. It wasn't that he didn't think Bill knew how to work the car itself, on the contrary, he and Ron had figured it out when they were twelve, but "driving" through the air was very different from driving on a system of roads that even made little sense to the muggles who used them every day.

"No, it's just the roadways that cause a few problems," Vance put in, a twinkle in her eye. "Honestly, where do muggles come up with some of these things? Those things they hang above intersections, that light up in different colors ...?" Harry nodded to confirm that he knew what she was talking about. "Honestly," she said again, shaking her head.

He swallowed. "Well, I mean, I'm not old enough to have a driver's license yet, but I can sit in the front and help you navigate, I think I remember a few things."

"Perfect," Lupin agreed cheerfully. "Are you all ready to go, then, Harry? Best be off, we're running late as it is."

Harry was about to agree when suddenly noticed that his professor's grin was slightly forced, and felt a well of guilt deep inside. He simply nodded, and followed his protectors out to the car as Bill hefted his trunk out, and then began off, carrying Harry away from the home of his aunt and uncle, the home of his childhood.

**********

An eventful car ride later, Harry found himself approaching Grimmauld Place from down the street, a Disillusionment charm covering him until he was in the safe haven of the house. It was just beginning to drizzle when Lupin pushed open the door to the home - without knocking, Harry noticed, realizing Sirius's mother must be as repulsive as ever. Of course, that made him think of Sirius, not that he could have avoided it when entering his deceased godfather's home, and that put a bit of a damper on his mood, which had risen slightly since in the company of other wizards.

A hush fell over the group as they entered the house, as though they were all expecting Harry to have a breakdown or something. Truthfully, he had to swallow back his emotions to keep from having a visible reaction, but his stomach continued to churn. He wasn't ready for this, but he had no other options, besides staying with the Dursleys, which, in Harry's mind, wasn't an option at all. He could taste bile in the back of his throat and was now fighting the impulse to turn around and run back outside. This house, everything about it, brought back emotions that tugged at his senses and threatened to throw his world even more deeply into the chaos he felt inside. He was surprised at a sudden feeling of warmth before he realized that it must have been Lupin, taking off the spell. He was about to thank him when a voice interrupting the somewhat eerie silence.

"Where have you been?" Harry would have recognized the shrill voice of an angry Mrs. Weasley anywhere. He was reminded immediately of the Howler Ron had received at the beginning of second year, and might have looked around for another if not for the demanding presence of the redheaded woman. "You're over an hour late! I knew we should have sent someone older, more experienced!"

Bill looked offended, Vance looked indifferent, and Lupin just chuckled. "Now, Molly, clearly, I'm old enough to be Harry's father. I'm very sorry if you worried, but you needn't have. Harry was in good hands, there were just a few extenuating circumstances that held us up," he explained kindly.

Mrs. Weasley looked like she might explode, as her face took on a shade of red that Harry recognized from Ron's own angry or embarrassed moments. "You, you, and you," she said, pointing in turn to Lupin, Vance, and Bill, "in the sitting room, now! I'll be in as soon as I get Harry here a nice cup of tea. You'd like a cup of tea, wouldn't you, Harry dear?" she asked kindly, turning to him.

Harry had just opened his mouth to reply when the echo of a familiar female voice came wafting down the stairs, followed by a second, equally familiar male voice. Ron appeared at the top of the stairs a moment later and raced down the steps with Hermione at his heels.

"Harry, mate! It's good to see you here," he said, sounding distinctly more serious than was usual for him.

Harry gave his friend the best smile he could manage and turned to Hermione, who simply looked back at him for a moment before throwing her arms around him, holding him tightly. With little other choice, Harry hugged her back, completely aware that his cheeks were burning but unaware as to why he was so embarrassed about it.

"I'm so glad you're safe," Hermione told him quietly as she finally let him go.

Suspiciously, Harry looked from one friend to the other, then over to Mrs. Weasley. Her eyes were filled with a worry and concern he hadn't noticed before.

"All right, what's going on?" he asked, looking at her almost accusingly. He glanced over at Remus, assuming his old professor was in on it as well, but he was surprised to find confusion in the man's eyes matching Harry's own. "What is it that you're not telling me?"

Mrs. Weasley sent a stern look at Ron and Hermione, as though they had disobeyed her simply by greeting Harry enthusiastically, then sighed. "Oh, I suppose it won't stay a secret, anyway." She shook her head with what Harry would almost call disappointment. "Last night, Voldemort persuaded the rest of the Dementors from Azkaban. They're now all out of Ministry control, and with their departure, the Death Eaters caught back in June have all escaped."

Harry suddenly understood why Mrs. Weasley had been so upset when they had arrived so late. She hadn't been truly angry with them, but rather worried instead. And though Harry knew that she had every right to be worried, as did Hermione and Ron, he couldn't help feeling angry. He wasn't a helpless child, and he'd been with three mature, adult wizards. How would he ever be able to fulfill the prophecy if everyone was always treating him like a delicate piece of china that might break under the smallest amount of pressure. He scowled at the thought, but everyone else seemed to think that his reaction was a response to the news he'd just been given.

"I know, dear, I feel the same way," Mrs. Weasley told him. "How about that cup of tea?"

Harry studied her concerned face and suddenly, he wanted to be anywhere but with his best friend's mother, the woman he'd often wished was his aunt instead of the horrible Petunia. He glanced over to Remus again. The man was studying Harry with a pained look on his face, but when he realized Harry's gaze had moved in his direction, he lowered his eyes to the ground.

"I'm not really thirsty," Harry replied lightly. His eyes were still focused on Remus, but when he had finished speaking he looked back over at the plump, red-headed woman guiltily.

Mrs. Weasley didn't know exactly how to respond to that. She looked a bit affronted that Harry didn't want any of her comforting tea, but bit back any remarks suggesting her feelings. "Well, then, perhaps something to eat, dear? A sandwich or some biscuits?"

Harry shook his head quickly. "I'm sorry, I think ... I'd rather be alone," he replied.

In the background, Remus sighed while Mrs. Weasley frowned at him. "Well, Harry dear, if you're sure ..." She was the one who sounded unsure. "I suppose it would be fine for you to go upstairs and unpack. But if you need anything at all, you come find me. There's going to be an Order meeting a bit later, but come down any time before that and I'll get you something."

Harry nodded his reply, knowing he most likely wouldn't be down to ask her for anything. In fact, he probably wouldn't go down at all. He didn't want to face all of the Order members who would be arriving. He didn't want any looks of pity from those who knew how close he'd been to Sirius. He didn't want to have to ask Tonks how she was doing, and he especially didn't want to come face to face with his most hated professor. If he wasn't allowed to be present at the meeting, then he wanted no part in the whole affair. He would hide away upstairs until everyone else was gone.

"Come on, Harry, we'll help you get your things upstairs," Ron offered.

He turned to face his friends and found Hermione in agreement. Clearly they hadn't realized that he had been including them in his wish to be alone, but he had neither the will nor the energy to correct them. Instead, he looked back to the adults. Mrs. Weasley continued to look worried and Remus continued to look pained, but neither protested. Instead, Remus stepped forward and laid a hand softly on Harry's shoulder.

"It'll be alright," he said slowly, and Harry realized that he was not referring to the situation with the Dementors and Azkaban. "I'll talk to you later, ok? We'll talk later."

"Fine," Harry replied, and turned away.

He picked up Hedwig's cage and, without another word, ascended the stairs just behind Ron and Hermione, who had his trunk in tow. He followed them into the same room he and Ron had stayed in the previous summer. It seemed different now. Perhaps it was simply because this was now Sirius's house without Sirius in it, or perhaps it was because the room felt cleaner and had a couple of Ron's favorite Chudley Cannon's posters on the walls. Whatever the case was, Harry set Hedwig's cage down on the floor beside his bed and collapsed onto it, staring at the ceiling and ignoring the expectant looks from Ron and Hermione.

"Well, don't you want to hear the details, mate?" Ron asked.

Harry gave a little groan as he rolled onto his side to face his friends. "You have details?" he asked skeptically, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

"Only a few," Hermione said.

"And something else to tell you," Ron told him. "About the ..."

He was cut off by a sharp knock at the door. Both he and Harry simply stared at it until Hermione stood and went to see who it was, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "lazy boys, can't do anything for themselves."

It turned out that Ginny was the one who had knocked, not one of the adults. Hermione allowed her entrance and shut the door quickly. Ginny bounded over to the bed and plopped down beside Ron where Hermione had been sitting.

"Have you guys told him?" she asked quickly.

"He knows," Ron replied.

"And about ...?"

"No," Ron replied.

"What's going on Ron?" Harry asked. There was a sadness in his friend's eyes that he wasn't accustomed to see, and for the moment, it made him forget that the Dementors had revolted and that Voldemort had his inner circle back fully intact.

"Ginny and I have something else we think you should know."

"It's about the Burrow," Ginny explained.

Ron leaned forward off the bed, resting his elbows on his knees and looking down into his hands instead of speaking directly to Harry's face. "See ... we're not just staying here because it's Order headquarters, or because it's not safe for you at the Burrow, but because we don't think it's safe for any of us."

Harry kneaded his eyebrows. "What do you mean, it's not safe for you?"

Ron looked up from his hands to look at Harry, who was surprised to see a worried look in his friend's eyes. "I guess I should start out with last summer. Right after the tournament, after ... You-Know-Who returned, my parents decided the Burrow needed stronger wards. Dumbledore helped them, but they set it up so that the only way the wards could be changed was by a family member. So we put up the wards and sort of forget about them."

He sighed and shifted positions, studying Harry before he spoke again. "After school ended, because of the whole thing in the Ministry and everything, Mum and Dad decided to make sure the wards were still strong and everything, but when they tried to check them, they were gone. Not just down, or not working, but simply not there. Nonexistent. The only way that could have happened is if ... well, if a family member removed them."

Harry didn't know what to say or think. He was having trouble processing most of what Ron had said besides the fact that Ron and his family were no longer safe in their own home, and were just as much refugees at Grimmauld Place as Harry was himself. But as Ron's words began to sink in, he realized that the situation was even worse that he'd originally took it to be. He looked desperately over at Ginny, hoping she would tell him that Ron was only joking.

Instead, she spoke only one word. "Percy."

It was exactly what Harry had been expecting, but somehow it was different when spoken aloud. It made the possibility too real.

"But, he wouldn't, would he?" Harry asked, looking back at Ron. "Percy wouldn't; he couldn't."

Ron chuckled bitterly. "Unfortunately, he probably could. And who knows whether or not he would. We haven't spoken to him in almost a year, except for that stupid letter he sent me about you, Harry. Who knows what kind of a crowd he hangs around these days."

Harry's eyes widened. "But surely ... you can't mean that. You really think he's ...?"

He stared at Ron, waiting for his friend's response, but all he got back was an equally stricken look. It was bad enough for Harry to know that a boy he'd once considered something of a friend might have turned to Voldemort, but for Ron, it was the knowledge that one of his older brothers, the older brothers he'd always idolized, might have taken a drastically wrong turn in life.

"He could be, Harry," Hermione said softly. "He's always been ambitious. If this was the only way he thought he could get the power he wanted ... and Voldemort might consider it an accomplishment, getting a follower from a pure-blooded family that works so hard against him."

Harry didn't want to believe what he was hearing, but unfortunately, he could. Everything Hermione said made sense, and although that wasn't unusual, it was disconcerting in such a context. He wished there were no convincing pieces of evidence, no logical explanations for why a Weasley would take the Dark Mark. But they were staring him in the face.

Was nothing sacred any longer? Was brother plotted against brother an inevitability of war that could not be avoided? Harry was horrified at the thought that Ron and Percy might meet in battle some day. What if Ron had to kill Percy to save his own life, or, worse, to save Harry's? Would Ron ever forgive Harry for that? Even if Percy had turned away from all the things Ron believed in, they would still always be brothers. But he was being presumptuous, he knew. The wards at the Burrow were gone, and suddenly they all had Percy pinned as a Death Eater. Surely there was another explanation.

But an image formed in Harry's mind, as vivid as the day it had happened. He couldn't forget it because he was forced to remember it every night in his dreams, Sirius and Bellatrix dueling, Sirius's cockiness, and then his shock as he had fallen through the archway. Another family, torn between sides of a battle. Bellatrix had won the battle between Blacks. Would Percy win the battle between Weasleys?

"Harry? Are you all right?"

Harry broke through his memory of Sirius and looked over at Hermione. She was studying him with what amounted to little more than worry, and he had to fight back the rude comments that popped into his mind, telling her just what she could do with her concern.

"Fine. I'm fine," he replied.

He glanced over at Ron and Ginny sitting together on the bed with familiar heads of flaming hair and sad blue eyes, then looked away again. He couldn't look at them, because he didn't know what to say to them.

"Well, there's something else I think you should know ... something that I think could be important." She looked at him sideways. "About Snape."

Harry narrowed his eyes. He didn't want to hear anything about Snape. He wasn't looking forward to knowing that come time for the Order meeting, he was going to be under the same roof as the man, and the only thing consoling him was the fact that he wouldn't have to leave the bedroom until the meeting was over and everyone, especially Snape, had left.

"What about Snape?" he asked sullenly.

Hermione frowned, but held back any chastising comments she might have made. "Snape came here this morning, he arrived just after Remus and the others had left to get you. He'd meant to stop them from going, because of what happened."

"You mean something was supposed to happen? To me?" Harry's mouth went dry and he forgot about Snape for a moment.

"Well, no. I mean, we don't really know. That is, Snape didn't know. He didn't know anything that was supposedly to happen after last night's escape." She paused, wondering if Harry knew what she was trying to say. "Voldemort sent him back to Hogwarts to make Veritaserum."

Harry stared at her for a moment. "So? Why did he assume we were in danger because of that? He's apparently so good at Potions, why wouldn't Voldemort ask him to make potions for him?"

Hermione sighed deeply, remembering about how she'd had to explain it to Ron after Snape had left in a hurry. "He's a Potions master, Harry. And doesn't it seem at all odd to you that right now, when he finally has his followers back, he's sending Snape off to make Veritaserum?"

Harry kneaded his eyebrows for one brief moment, but enlightenment was not to be found. He shook his head.

"First of all, Veritaserum doesn't seem like something that Voldemort would need urgently ... he would keep it around in case he ever needed it, not send Snape off to make it at the last minute. And anyway, Voldemort's a skilled Legilimens. He can search a person's mind without the help of any potion."

Harry repeated Hermione's words in his mind, but the realization was quick in dawning. "You mean ... you think ... Voldemort knows?" he asked.

"It seems that either Voldemort knows that Snape is a spy for Dumbledore, or we're all being unreasonably paranoid," she replied.

Harry was silent, considering this, but Ron was quick to break the silence. "There's a third option, you know." Both Harry and Hermione looked up at him sharply, while Ginny's gaze rose to her brother slowly. "He could be lying to us. Maybe he knows something's supposed to happen but he's trying to distract us all. Maybe he's been a Death Eater this whole time, playing off of Dumbledore."

"I don't know, Ron ..." Ginny said, hoping her brother wouldn't murder her for disagreeing over something about Snape, a very touchy subject with him.

"I do," Harry said. "Of course. Wouldn't that just top it all? It makes sense though, doesn't it? Playing off of Dumbledore's trust, doing just enough to help that no one suspects him. And last year, weakening my mind so Voldemort could come right in while making it seem like a side effect of Occlumency."

Hermione could no longer hold back. "When are you two going to stop being so immature and asinine? Snape is a member of the Order of the Phoenix, he's a spy for Dumbledore, and he's never done anything but his best to help us without giving his cover away."

"Exactly, Hermione! He's always managed to keep his cover, hasn't he?" Ron exclaimed accusingly.

Hermione groaned so fiercely it almost sounded as though she were growling. "Why am I friends with such idiots? Snape may truly not like any of us, but he's on our side in this war. And for either of you to suggest otherwise in such a blatant matter is simply disrespectful! I really ought to tell your mother, Ron. She won't like it that either of you are speaking like that about a professor."

Ron's face immediately became heated as he realized that Hermione was exactly right. Not about, of course, her presumption that Snape was so innocent or not, but that his mother would have his hide for saying those things about Snape. He promptly shut his mouth and vowed not to speak of such things again ... in front of Hermione, anyway.

Harry remained silent for another reason. He remained silent as ire built up at Hermione's words and Ron's own silence. How could she trust Snape so blindly. It was common knowledge to them that he had once willing taken the Dark Mark with the intention of serving Voldemort. Why was it now so inconceivable for him to be doing so? And he had to be the most unpleasant person Harry had ever met. Even that was a gross understatement. Snape's words, attitude, and actions, amassed together, made him much more revolting than "unpleasant" could ever imply.

Yet in Harry's mind, there was one thing that made Snape worse than any other individual thing could have: his deep hatred for the one person who had ever been like a parent to Harry, a hatred so deep that Snape preferred to see an innocent man dead for his childhood sins. An innocent man who was needed more than Snape ever could have known. Harry couldn't even explain his connection to Sirius past the fact that he simply felt unnatural now that Sirius was gone. It was as though his godfather had fallen through the veil so shocked to have taken a fatal hit that he had latched onto Harry and managed to strip away the layers of good and leave only his bare, open weaknesses for the world to see.

"How can you defend him to me?" His voice was quiet, but none of them could have mistaken it for soft. It was hard and cold with a sharpness that cut through the remaining bonds of civility between friends. "How can you look past the fact that from the moment he saw me he has done nothing but hurt me? He ridicules me without even trying to look past my messy hair and glasses to see that who I am inside is not James Potter. He hates everyone and everything that I love. Sure, he's kept me alive; he's saved my life so that I'll still have to be here to watch everyone around me die simply because they once dared to care about Harry Potter. He wants to make sure I know that I don't deserve to live when I've cause so many others to die!

"Oh, fuck Merlin, Hermione, he practically killed Sirius himself!" He was shouting by this time and as red in the face as Ron, though it wasn't quite as impressive against his black hair as against Ron's. "He knew what I was saying in Umbridge's office and he didn't even try to do a thing about it. Oh, sure, when he realized we might go get ourselves killed he called in for help, can't let the Boy Who Bloody Lived die, now could he? But he sure as hell had no qualms about sending Sirius off to battle so he could die trying to save me!"

He stopped then, realizing that both Ron and Hermione were pale and staring at him through wide eyes. They were both as surprised by his sudden outburst as he himself was. Only Ginny seemed unaffected, still sitting on Ron's bed with her knees pulled up to her chin. She was not looking at Harry but simply studying the wall, deep in thought as though she were simply waiting for Harry to finish. He swung his eyes back to Ron and Hermione, who still hadn't said a word and the anger which had never really left him came back in a wave.

"How can you sit there and yell at me for stating the very real possibility that Snape has played us all, after everything he's done? You have no right, Hermione! ... He's not coming back. Fuck! Sirius can't ever come back! Do you think you want to rub it in my face a little more? Screw it, no one has any right to tell me about Snape, especially not a little know it all like you!" he spat at her. "You think you're the next bloody Merlin because you've got your head in a book all the time? Well, guess what, genius, you don't really know anything! You and Snape can both just go to bloody hell together for all I care!"

His eyes had not left Hermione during the entire rant, and so he saw her lean back as though she had been slapped when he spoke his last words. He stood rooted to the spot, fire pulsing through his veins as he stared at her, hardly comprehending exactly what had happened. Hermione's face was now white and she studied him with something akin to horror in her eyes. Yet the worst part, by far, was the fact that Harry felt no remorse for what he'd said. She was wrong for what she had said, and Harry knew it was not just pride stopping him from asking for her forgiveness, but the knowledge that he had meant what he said.

The silence hung lightly over them, threatening to revolt at any time, Hermione's jaw moving up and down lightly as though she had temporarily forgotten how to form words. Harry stole a glance over at Ron and found his friend looking almost as horror-struck as Hermione and equally unable to speak. Yet his eyes pled with Harry in a way that Hermione's did not, begging him to understand that they weren't trying to hurt him, that they actually wanted to be there for him. As much as Harry wanted to break the gaze, he found he couldn't look away, Ron's eyes boring into him, demanding an admission of his own guilt. Demanding Harry to realize that sitting in front of him were not two enemies but two friends who ultimately would condemn Snape if it was the only way to make him truly happy.

"Ron, Hermione, I ..."

He didn't know what to say, and was thankfully saved by a loud rapping on the door. It swung open before any of them had a chance to answer it or even to call out to the person, or, as it was, people, on the other side, and two identical redheads leapt into the room. They looked good, wearing the same dragonhide coats they'd been wearing in Diagon Alley and impressive looking boots that Harry was sure must be newer. Matching mischievous smiles adorned their faces, but they faded quickly as the Weasley twins surveyed the scene before them, looking back and forth between their two youngest siblings, Hermione, and Harry.

"All right," George spoke up.

"Who's got the bee in their bonnet?" Fred asked.

Everyone was still and silent for a long moment, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny looking around at each other and not knowing what to do, while Harry chose to stare at the floor. Ron was the first to recover. He jumped up from his seat on the bed, color returning to his face remarkably quickly as he approached the brothers he had idolized even more than usual ever since they'd busted out of Hogwarts on restricted broomsticks, leaving a swamp as a reminder of the legacy they had created at school.

"Fred! George! How are you guys?" Ron asked enthusiastically. "How's the shop?"

"Business is good, Ronniekins, business is good," George replied, turning up the collar on his coat and strutting father into the room.

Ron wrinkled up his nose at the nickname. "How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that," he whined under his breath.

Hermione could see a family argument coming on and decided to head it off. "You guys are here for the Order meeting, then?" she asked, dutifully changing the subject. "Dumbledore finally agreed to let you join?"

"'Course he did," George told her. "Though ..."

"It was more like getting Mum to agree to let us join," Fred finished. "That woman ... I swear she could scare You-Know-Who himself if she had time to get started before he began with Unforgivables."

Ginny nodded her head and muttered in agreement while Ron simply paled a bit more. Harry was guessing that he'd had some sort of run-in with Mrs. Weasley since arriving home from Hogwarts. If Harry was correct, and he was pretty sure that he was, he would say it would have something to do not only with Ron's participation in a DADA group she had expressly forbidden him to join and his defiance to a certain professor, albeit a terrible one working for the Ministry as indiscreetly as possible, but also with the fact that he had gone into the Forbidden Forest to fly to London on restricted creatures, broken into a private wing of the Ministry, and helped Harry essentially steal something, while almost getting killed in the process. Yes, Harry could see that Mrs. Weasley surely would have a few choice words to say to her youngest son. And, of course, it was all Harry's fault. It was he who'd been too stupid to see that Voldemort was trying to trick him, he who had been so reckless as to lead his closest friends into a dangerous situation that might have gotten them killed, which, in all likelihood, should have gotten them killed. Once again, Harry's sheer dumb luck had managed to save him, and thankfully, it had deigned to include his friends as well.

Sighing, Harry looked back over at Fred and George. "So, what's going on now? What do you know?"

George laughed so that Fred was left to answer. "No more than you, my friend."

A realization dawned upon Ron, who always did catch onto things a bit more slowly. "But you will, right? You'll know what's going on after the meeting?"

"Of course we will, you dope," George teased.

"Unless we decide to take a nap," Fred continued. "But somehow I really don't think we'd like Mum's reaction to that."

"So you'll tell us then," Ginny concluded. Even as the youngest child, she still hadn't gotten used to being left out of things, and it didn't seem to matter to her that she wasn't the only one, nor was she the only one upset by it.

"Alas, no can do, little sis," Fred replied with a shrug. "We cannot."

"What do you mean, of course you can!" Ron protested with a scowl. "Stop being prats and just do it."

"Ron, you can't demand something like that," Hermione chastised. "They're probably not allowed to tell anyone who isn't in the Order, and they'd get into trouble if anyone found out."

"And knowing Mum, she would," Ginny grumbling, admitting defeat as she folded her arms and pouted on the bed.

"Actually, it's a bit more complicated than that," George put in. "We literally can't."

"See, Mum figured that we'd run to tell you guys everything as soon as we found out, so she made Dumbledore put a charm on us," Fred explained.

"Anything told to us officially by an Order member can only be repeated to another Order member unless explicitly stated otherwise," George finished. "So you see, it's out of our control. We can't tell you."

Hermione frowned at this news, remaining silent as she contemplated what it might mean. While it was clear enough that they still didn't trust Harry, Ron, and her with information, it was also clear that they didn't really trust Fred and George either, which Hermione thought was odd. Why would they let the twins join the Order if they felt uncertain enough to actually place charms on them? Was the Order really so desperate for members in the fight against Voldemort, or was it only with the twins' little brother and his friends that their intentions were being questioned? Hermione hoped for the sake of the Order that they weren't admitting members they couldn't fully depend on, while on the other hand noting that, despite their impish natures, when it truly came down to it, she would trust them with her life. They were truly Weasleys, and Gryffindors, to the core.

Meanwhile, Ron slouched on the bed opposite her, looking quite depressed that his genius idea had been shot down so quickly. Harry was the only one who seemed to be getting angry over the news. He sat on the edge of the bed, his back rigid and his knuckles whit from gripping the bed post so tightly. His lips were one thin, straight line and a rage clouded his normally clear, bright eyes, eerily bring the dark, dangerous green of the Forbidden Forest to Hermione's mind. For one fearful moment, she was afraid that Harry was going to target Fred and George as he had done to her only minutes before, but she quickly realized that this time, his ire was directed at someone very distinct from the red-headed twins.

"It's not fair," he stated through clenched teeth. "No. Let me rephrase that. Dumbledore is a bloody arse!"

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, shocked. She knew she probably shouldn't have been, but she'd honestly had no knowledge of the great extent of Harry's colorful vocabulary.

Harry quickly spun on her. "Would you stop?" he hissed. "I'm sick of everyone thinking that just because he's powerful means he's perfect. I'm sick of thinking that myself. It's not true! Who does he think he's helping by not telling us anything that's going on? If anything he's just helping Voldemort by forcing me to be some innocent, stupid boy who doesn't even know what's going on around him! Doesn't he realize that he's only causing more problems?" Harry yelled desperately to his friends.

Hermione looked at him sadly. Anything she had been feeling before was now replaced with sadness and pity. All his life, Harry had been looking for someone he could truly trust and depend on, and one by one everyone who might have filled that role had disappointed him. Everyone, she realized, except for her and Ron, who were as helpless as Harry when it came to Voldemort, with as little information as Harry and probably less skill in fighting. Yet she couldn't help but wonder whether he was overreacting to all this. In the end, he was still an underage wizard, and knowing what Voldemort was planning would just as likely lure Harry into danger as not knowing anything. Her best friend simply had a knack for trouble.

Harry saw the look in her eyes and this only made him angrier. "Merlin!" He bit his lip roughly. "Sirius would still be alive if it weren't for him! If Dumbledore had told me what was going on earlier, I would have known it was a trap and I wouldn't have gone. And Sirius never would have had to come and save us, and he'd be here right now telling Dumbledore how stupid and harmful all this is! How many people are going to have to die before he realizes that he's wrong?" He paused and looked over at Hermione. And even though he registered that what he was saying was cruel, he couldn't seem to stop himself. "What if it was you, Hermione? We all know how they love to target muggle-borns." He stopped and looked over at Ron, unsurprised at the horror on his friend's face. Even the twins were paler than usual. "How about you guys? What would you do if it was your little sister?" Ginny let out a noise like a squeak. "How would you feel about Dumbledore then?"

"Stop it, Harry!" Ron yelled suddenly, interrupting Harry's increasingly long-winded speech. Harry went immediately silent and now everyone in the room was staring at Ron. "Just stop, please! We're your friends. We're on your side, remember?"

But Harry didn't remember. He buried his face in his hands, and when he looked back up, his dark eyes were shining. "What would you do if it was me? What would you do? Then Dumbledore would really be in trouble, wouldn't he? You all would!"

His breathing was labored now and he couldn't stand to look at his friends, partially because he knew he'd hurt them, and partially because he simply wanted to yell more. Suddenly, he didn't want to have to face them with who he really was, and so he turned and ran towards the door, bumping solidly into George's shoulder on the way, but not stopping until he was safely at the door. He swung it open quickly, stepped out, and slammed it shut behind him.

Four redheads and a brunette were left wondering what on earth had come over Harry. Hermione and Ron looked despairing, Ginny looked almost angry, and the twins simply looked confused. They had never experienced the brunt of one of Harry's rages before, and they seemed at a loss of what they should do next. Hermione noticed, and decided to at least smooth over the situation for them.

"He's just going through a hard time," she said, breaking the silence. "And I know he hasn't been sleeping well. It'll be fine."

"Yeah, it'll be fine," George repeated.

Ron nodded, not about to refute a statement of which none of them were sure about to begin with.

"Well, we should probably head back downstairs. The meeting will be starting soon," Fred added.

"Yes, you shouldn't be late," Hermione agreed.

They looked to the door and were about to begin moving, but then they seemed to remember something. "Oh, and one more thing," George said, reaching into his pockets. "A new formulation of Extendable Ears. Much harder to block."

He crossed the room in a few long strides and laid a pile on Ron's bed. "You guys can split them up."

"But don't use them today," Fred added. "I don't think we really know much, anyway, and Mum's knows we're up here. She's going to be suspicious and she might find out about them."

With that, the two red-headed twins waltzed out the door and headed down for the foyer, where Ron, Hermione, and Ginny could faintly hear a group of Order members beginning together, all speaking quietly and apparently not forgetting that there was a group of children upstairs who weren't supposed to hear what was being said.

**********

Meanwhile, Harry was camping out in the solitude of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's bedroom. He would have felt bad intruding on their space if it weren't for the lack of any other place to go. At least here, he knew no one would be bothering him for at least an hour, until the meeting was over. He would slip out quietly as the Order members were leaving. By that time, the others would probably be downstairs, trying to prod out the information they could and overhear the rest from unsuspecting members like Mundungus.

Sighing inaudibly, he leaned his head over into his hands and fought back the waves of anger that were still coursing through his body. He hated himself for the way he was acting, the way he was treating his friends. The world was slowly falling apart around him, and rather than trying to fix it, he was only helping it along. He wasn't supposed to be the destructive one, yet the more time that passed, the more he help completely unable to find anything good about his life.

Harry stretched and stood up, pacing lightly about the room. It was completely unrecognizable from the previous summer, as was most of the house. Mrs. Weasley had changed the wall color to a warm taupe, and the quilt that covered the bed was done mostly in rich, dark reds and whispering golds. It was the epitome of Gryffindor, and Harry felt his heart ache at the thought of his school. Back when he was eleven years old, it had been so amazing, so ... magical, for want of a better term. His life with the Dursleys had never been overly terrible, but at the same time, it was far from happy. Then suddenly there was a giant telling him that he was a wizard and whisking him off to a school where he finally found people who truly cared for him, and not just because he was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, but because he was skinny, messy-haired Harry who was kind, and somewhat quiet, and average at school but great at Quidditch.

As he continued to pace the room, his rage morphing into anxiety and shame more with every passing moment, something caught his eye; a glint of glass and movement on the table beside the bed. Harry took a few sweeping steps over and reach for the picture frame. It was a wizarding photograph of the entire Weasley family, except for a spot very near the middle that had quite obviously been vacated by Percy. Although Fred and George were fooling around, trying to prank Ron, although Ginny sat near Bill and Charlie, trying to look angelic, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley kept glances to Percy's empty place with nervous, sad expressions on their faces. Immediately, any remaining anger in Harry dissipated and he just felt sick.

He was intruding here, he suddenly realized. This was Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's bedroom! They weren't his parents; this wasn't his family! This had been Sirius's house, and at that time, despite all the dark objects, despite the portrait of Mrs. Black and the burned tapestry, despite Kreacher even, Harry had somehow felt it was his home as well. Not Ron's, not Hermione's, but his. His first real home. Sure, he often called Hogwarts his home, and admittedly the castle felt more like home than the Dursleys' ever had. But when it came down to it, he had no more right to call Hogwarts home than any other student. Two more years, and he might not ever see it again in his life, if he made it that long. But Grimmauld Place, as much as Sirius had hated it and as much as most of his time here had been shadowed by unpleasant events, had been the house where his godfather lived, a house where he was welcome any time. It was the house he would have lived in had he ended up being expelled from Hogwarts the previous summer. But it wasn't Sirius's house any longer, and it couldn't be Harry's. Even though it may not belong to them, it was the Weasleys' home now. And Harry was somehow intruding.

Leaning again the wall, Harry slumped down to the floor, pulling his knees up to his chest and burying his face deeply in his hands. There was nothing he could do now. He was here at Grimmauld Place, and there was nowhere left to go. But it didn't mean he had to intrude on their family. He could keep his distance, try to give them time alone as a family. Hermione, well, she could do whatever she thought was best. Maybe she was more a part of their family, anyway. She had spent more time with them, time when Harry was tuck at the Dursleys', all because of those stupid wards. Damn those useless wards! Damn his mother for dying for him in the first place! If she hadn't he never would have had to go to the Dursleys' to begin with, because Aunt Petunia's blood would have been worthless. Then again, he never would have had to go if he was already dead. Maybe his other just should have let him die.

His self-deprecating thoughts were interrupted by a sharp rap at the door. He buried his face more deeply in his hands, trying to ignore the summons, hoping it would all just go away, but the knock became louder, more forceful.

"Harry? Are you in there?"

He thought about not replying, but he knew the light was shining under the crack beneath the door.

"No!" he yelled. "Leave me alone!"

But the words were muffled, and he doubted that anyone could actually understand what he was saying. They probably thought he was inviting them in.

Whoever it was didn't knock again, nor did they wait for an answer they could understand. The door opened and closed again quickly. Harry was frozen for a moment, afraid to see who it was, knowing how pathetic he must look curled up against the wall. But slowly he looked up anyway, and there stood Ginny, taking in his prone form, his glistening eyes, his cheeks flushed with anger and embarrassment and shame.

"Oh, Harry."

Ginny's voice was soft with concern and, somehow, relief. Their eyes linked, green and blue, and for a moment, they just stared at each other. Then Harry lowered his head again and Ginny crossed the room, her steps loud and heavy on the creaky wood floors. She took a seat next to him against the wall and sighed heavily. She sat far enough away not to invade his space, and did not try to comfort him, but ended up doing so just by her presence.

"And here I thought you were going to yell at me," she said. "I thought I was going to have to get into a screaming match with you. And trust me, you don't want to get into a screaming match with a Weasley woman ..."

Harry didn't even crack a smile, and Ginny realized that a joke wasn't going to make it better, wasn't going to bring him out of his mood, and so she sighed again. "Harry, I don't know what to do," she said quietly. "I don't know how to help you."

"It's all right, Ginny," he supplied.

"No, it's not all right!" she protested. "You're not all right. Look at you! And what you did back there ... it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair to any of us."

"I know." Harry ran a hand over his scar, even though it hadn't so much as twinged in ages, since that night. "I'm sorry, Ginny."

"I'm not the only one you should be apologizing to, Harry," she replied.

"All right. I'll apologize to Ron and Hermione as well. And Fred and George."

"Yes," she agreed. "And what about yourself, Harry?" He looked over at her. "You think this is fair, to do this to yourself?"

"I ..." he paused. "Sometimes I think I deserve it."

"You don't. You shouldn't ever think that."

"If not me, then who?" he asked.

"No one," Ginny answered. "No one, ever."

"Someone," he said, so quietly it was almost inaudible.

Both were silent for what seemed an eternal moment. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, but for a moment, it seemed as though neither would say anything again, ever, as thought they were frozen right there, forever.

But Ginny broke through. "Sometimes I think you need someone to love, someone to love you back."

"But I do," Harry protested. "There are people I love, and ..." He gave her an odd look. "Well, I thought ..."

"Oh, Harry!" Ginny exclaimed, realizing what he'd thought she just said. "I didn't mean it like that. Honest. Just ... someone to love in a way you don't love anyone else, who will love you back in that same way. Someone ..."

"A girl," he said. "You mean a girl. You mean that kind of love." Harry looked at her, and she nodded. "I'm no good at that kind of love, Ginny."

"How would you know, Harry? Who have you dated before? Cho?" She snorted.

Harry was contemplative. "Maybe there's no one out there for me."

"Of course there is," Ginny told him. "But ... I don't know. I just think that you've never had someone who was entirely yours. I think maybe it would help."

Harry was about to protest. He'd had Sirius, hadn't he? He'd been Harry's godfather and Harry's godfather alone. No children of his own, no other godchildren. But Harry knew that somehow this wasn't what Ginny meant. He'd had Sirius for the last couple years of Sirius's life. He'd had a godfather with a past he still couldn't even imagine. A godfather who, despite how hard he tried, could never quite separate Harry from his father, even though they were two very different people. Even if Sirius had held a special place in Harry's life, Harry had never been quite so much to Sirius. He'd been too worn out from life to care that much.

"I don't know," he finally said. "I don't know anything."

"Well, I don't suppose that's true," Ginny replied. "I think you know more than you give yourself credit for."

"I don't know enough when to keep my mouth shut, do I?" he asked, trying not to feel cross again. "Ron and Hermione probably hate me by now, all the things I say to them, and the way I treat them."

"They don't hate you, Harry. They're angry with you, I'm sure, and they have a right to be. And they're also concerned about you," Ginny informed him. "As am I. I know I'm not as close to you as they are, but I still think of you as my friend. And yes, it does hurt when you act like you did back there, but more than that, I think about the person I know you are, and I wonder why he would be doing something like that."

Maybe I'm not the person you think I am, Harry thought, but he didn't dare say it aloud. Or maybe the person he was had burrowed deep inside, beneath his cold exterior, to a place where it couldn't be hurt any further by the things that went on around him, by the people who had died and left him behind. Maybe he had forced it down, so that he could act like other people even though he was infinitely different. Harry looked up at Ginny, but found that he could not speak. His entire body felt frozen. She looked back at him, and seemed to realize that perhaps it didn't matter if she didn't know how to help him. Perhaps there was nothing that could help him. Instead, she reached out and softly took one of his hands in hers, and just held it. And somehow, that helped more than Harry could explain.