Dead Men Don't Bleed

Chapter 4: Once Upon a Time

Harry didn't want to move.

No matter how many times his friends tried to tell him he should to go inside. He'd rather stay here, his cheek pressed to the cold blades of grass. Hermione's hand continued to stroke his hair; he'd finally realized it was hers when she'd begun speaking in a soft voice, trying to soothe him.

Ron was there as well; Harry had been staring at his best mate's unlaced trainers for a long time now.

He'd heard Mr. Weasley at some point, but if he was still there, he had long since gone silent.

Everything hurt. Every single muscle. Even his eyelids were throbbing. But even worse than all that, it hurt inside--deep down in a way that Harry couldn't have described.

It hurt more than the day he'd realized that his aunt and uncle didn't love him. More than all those times he'd wished he had parents like everyone else. Even more than the thought of Cedric's vacant eyes.

Sirius was gone.

And for all Harry knew, he was already dead. Killed on sight, just like they'd wanted to do to him last year. The thought brought a fresh wave of pain and Harry suddenly couldn't breathe.

"Harry..." Hermione's worried voice was very close to his ear. He closed his eyes, dug his fingers into the soft earth and tried to make it all go away.

"Harry." A low voice, much deeper than Ron's. And a large hand on his shoulder, shaking it a little. "Harry, open your eyes."

I don't want to.

But he did it anyway. Mr. Weasley was gripping his shoulder so tightly it hurt. "He's safe, Harry. Sirius is safe."

Harry struggled to understand that. Mr. Weasley leaned in, his nose nearly touching Harry's. "He's at the Ministry--under guard but he's perfectly safe. Mrs. Longbottom just sent word."

Tears stung Harry's eyes again. Safe? They hadn't killed him.

"It's all right," Mr. Weasley continued in that same quiet voice. "Everything is going to be all right." And then he shifted away and Harry was glad, but only for a second until Mr. Weasley said gruffly, "Ron, give me a hand."

"Harry, I need you to sit up," he said in a firm voice when he was facing Harry again. "And then we need to take you back into the house."

Harry let himself be pulled up. Hermione took his hand as soon as he was standing. Someone else took the other one; he turned his head and found Ginny beside him.

"Come on, mate," Ron said in a strangely soft voice. Ginny tugged him forward, and very slowly, they made their way back to the crooked house. The twins and Mrs. Weasley were waiting. She immediately draped a large quilt around Harry's shoulders, murmuring nonsensical words and ushering Harry inside, where she promptly sat him down on one of the sofas in the parlour and cupped his hands around a giant mug of peppermint tea.

No one spoke for a long time. Not until a raspy voice broke the silence, "How could you have agreed to help him?"

Harry hadn't even noticed Professor Lupin. He was sitting in a chair farthest from them, swathed in shadows, his face in his hands.

"Because," Mr. Weasley said, "Harry needs him."

Lupin looked up. "He won't be able to help Harry if they send him back to Azkaban. Or," he said in a voice threatening to break, "if they hand him over to the Dementors."

Tea sloshed over the side of Harry's mug as his hands began to shake. "You said..." He couldn't finish. Mrs. Weasley curled an arm around Harry's shoulders.

"He hasn't been given to the Dementors," Mr. Weasley said, keeping Harry's eye steadily. "He is going to have a trial."

"And if they find him guilty?" Lupin demanded, turning everyone's attention. Harry could see his hands trembling. Lupin clasped them tightly together. "If Dumbledore had known what Sirius meant to do--"

"Dumbledore allowed Harry to live in a cupboard for ten years!"

Harry flinched at Mrs. Weasley's sharp words.

Lupin closed his eyes. "I know," he said on a ragged breath. The pain in his old professor's voice made his own pain spiral almost out of control. Harry clenched his teeth together as hard as he could.

"Harry, drink your tea," Mrs. Weasley said gently. "You're nearly frozen."

Harry set the mug down with one quick jerky movement. "Can they?" he asked, not caring that his voice was thick with tears. "Set the Dementors on him if he doesn't win?"

The silence was answer enough. Leaning over his knees, his dug his fingertips into his eyes, his head spinning as stars dotted his vision. "Why?" he croaked. "Why would he do this?"

"There was no other way," Mrs. Weasley said as she brushed her hand over and over his hair. "He loves you too much to leave you with those people. All of us do, Harry."

Harry could only shake his head.

Why didn't they understand? He didn't even sleep in the stupid boot cupboard any longer. And he always managed to find himself enough food, hadn't he? And even if Uncle Vernon had tried to strangle him yesterday--and just because they didn't care if Dudley broke every damn bone in his body, it didn't matter.

"He didn't even ask me," he said into his palms. "I would have told him that I was all right with them." His voice broke. "He didn't have to do this."

"You were not all right with them," Hermione finally spoke, her voice quavery as she came to kneel in front of him. Harry stared at her hand as she put it on his knee and tried to blink back the tears that wouldn't be still.

"I was," he breathed as a tear slid down the side of his nose. He swiped it away.

"They don't even feed you," Ron said from somewhere above them.

"Harry, dear, please try to understand--"

But it was all of them that didn't understand. He would have gladly gone without food, would have willingly stuffed himself back into that cupboard to keep Sirius away from Azkaban.

Or worse.

Harry stood abruptly, had to fight with the heavy quilt before it slumped from his shoulders, and then he careened toward the doorway, half-blind from the hot tears he didn't want anyone to see.

Someone caught his shoulder. "Harry..."

"Just please," Harry whispered as he propped a hand on the doorjamb. "Please just leave me alone."

Mr. Weasley's hand fell slowly from his shoulder, and no one else said anything; no one tried to stop him again. Feeling like he was suffocating, Harry stumbled through the kitchen and into the backyard, not stopping until he reached the little stone wall that marked the end of the garden. His backside protested as he dropped heavily and drew his knees up; shivering in the crisp air, no matter how tightly he hugged his legs to him.

He hadn't said goodbye.

He'd stood there, like some stupid three-year old, refusing to speak. Refusing to return his godfather's hug.

He'd just let Sirius go. Without a word.

Harry tried to gulp back the sob, but it wasn't any use. He pressed his forehead to his knees, listening to the wind's howls mingling with the soft hitches of his breath.

It wasn't very long before footsteps approached. Two bodies sat beside him, and he knew without having to look that it was Ron and Hermione. Neither one touched him, neither spoke. They simply sat, waiting with him.

oOoOo

The summons arrived as the sun was painting the horizon orange. Harry knew because he was still awake, sitting in the same place when the large brown owl glided over the shed. Mrs. Weasley had finally coaxed all of them inside--Harry, only when he'd realized his friends were falling asleep where they sat; and that Mrs. Weasley would never go inside if they didn't.

He had stayed in bed for a long time, listening to Ron's rhythmic snores. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw Dementors. And Sirius' sunken eyes. It was easier out here.

And even though he saw the owl, he couldn't muster enough interest in its mission; or the contents of the thick envelope in its beak. He went back to staring at the sunrise.

He heard the back door creak open after awhile, watched Lupin emerge and pause as he met Harry's eyes. But then with a sigh that heaved his entire upper body, Lupin walked over and sat on the low garden wall.

"You should have told someone you were coming out here." When Harry didn't answer, Lupin added in a quiet voice, "You caused a small panic a few minutes ago."

Harry knew he should feel badly for that, but he didn't. There wasn't room enough to feel anything else. So he watched the orange stretch across the sky and said nothing.

Lupin cleared his throat. "An owl arrived a few minutes ago. Did you see it?"

Harry nodded.

"We've been summoned to the ministry," Lupin said in that same odd tone. "Hermione and Ron as well; to testify that we saw Peter Pettigrew last year."

Harry closed his eyes, his chest filling with a painful relief he couldn't allow himself. "Will Sirius be there?" He had to see Sirius, had been formulating a way to ask them to let him go--or a way to get there himself if they refused.

"It won't be a trial in the traditional sense," Lupin answered, in a way that made Harry think someone was squeezing his throat. "Mrs. Longbottom is trying to make a plea for wrongful imprisonment to a group of seven members of the Wizengamot; is essentially accusing them of wrongdoing. Seven is a very important number in wizarding tradition." A slow breath interrupted his rambling and then he said very softy, "I don't know if Sirius will be there."

And as if it had never been there, the relief was torn from Harry's chest, leaving him empty.

"We need to--" Lupin's voice dipped and Harry was very glad he was still watching the gold and pink bleed into orange instead of his face. "We are to be there this early this evening."

Harry nodded.

"Harry, I..." Harry drew his knees farther into his chest, but Lupin continued on anyway, "I'm very sorry if I seemed unsympathetic to your plight--"

"It isn't a plight."

"No," Lupin said after a moment. "I know you could stay with the Dursleys, if you had to. Sirius knows that as well."

Harry mashed his lips together, trying desperately not to let the tears free again. He didn't want to talk about this. Not about the Dursleys and not about Sirius.

"But even though you could, he doesn't want you to, Harry. You have no idea how much he worries about you--"

"He shouldn't," Harry said through his teeth, the only way to still the rising throb in his throat.

"He can't help it."

Harry's head jerked up. "Well, he should have tried," he said, the words not a shout only because he hadn't enough breath. Remus' face was pale, his eyes shadowed and rimmed in red and it did nothing to help the hollow feeling.

"Harry," he said in a tight whisper, "I don't want to lose Sirius--I can't bear to lose him, but I also know that there is nothing in this world that he loves more than you. You are his family, and that means there is no other option. None."

Harry could only shake his head, wanting to both bawl and scream in answer. Lupin's words only made everything worse. Sirius was the only family he had, which meant that now, Harry had nothing.

He turned away from Lupin's haunted eyes.

"Harry... I'm sorry you were alone all those years. All of us... me especially," he said as his voice caught, "should have done something--"

Harry shook his head fervently, his gaze fixed to his hands now. "You don't have to do this, Professor. I'm fine."

"Remus," Lupin said, so softly that Harry barely heard him. And he didn't know how to respond to the invitation.

Lupin took a shaky breath, and Harry braced himself for more. But all he said was, "Mrs. Weasley would like to make you breakfast."

There was no way the tangled knot that had replaced his stomach was going to be cooperative, but Harry uncurled himself anyway. He and Lupin walked back to the house in silence.

Mrs. Weasley looked him over as soon he stepped through the door, her eyes as tired as Lupin's. Mr. Weasley didn't look any better. Knowing he owed them something, he took the seat Mrs. Weasley pulled out for him and said, "I'm sorry I worried you."

"It's all right," Mrs. Weasley said quickly. She smoothed his hair several times.

"We understand that you needed to be alone," Mr. Weasley added as he sat across from Harry. "We are all here to talk, if you need to... I hope you know that."

Harry nodded, not trusting his voice.

"I know you probably don't feel like eating," Mrs. Weasley said as she moved back to the stove, "but you'll need your strength. I'll make you some tea and toast. Remus, you sit down as well. You can talk while you eat."

Talk? Harry eyed both men warily, not wanting another conversation like the one he'd just had outside.

"The Council of Seven," Mr. Weasley said without preamble, "will question you until they are satisfied with your answers. Mrs. Longbottom does not believe that any of them will make allowances for you. They may be quite vicious." He said that part tentatively, but Harry wasn't put off. Even had he not been so immune to vicious people, he didn't care what they did so long as he could help Sirius.

"What about other evidence?" he asked, and then didn't like the way Lupin and Mr. Weasley shared a glance. He slid his fingers over the pitted wood, drawing them into fists. "I need to know."

"There are two Death Eaters who expressed a willingness to offer testimony in exchange for an early release from Azkaban," Mr. Weasley said slowly.

"One of them received Voldemort's Mark on the same night as Peter," Lupin elaborated, nodding his head at Mrs. Weasley as she set a plate of food in front of him. Harry ignored his own plate. "And the other claims to have been there when Peter..." His hands were shaking again, but he went on anyway, "... told Voldemort the location of your parents' house."

Harry couldn't still the hope this time and his muscles protested as his spine jerked. "But then they'll have to realize Sirius isn't guilty!"

But Mr. Weasley was shaking his head. "The Council hasn't agreed to hear their testimony. And the only thing it proves is that Sirius didn't betray your parents. It does not prove that he didn't kill Peter in revenge."

"But... the thirteen Muggles..."

"They could have been innocent victims during a duel between Sirius and Pettigrew."

Harry stared at him.

Mr. Weasley sighed, his face heavily lined as he leaned forward. "This is how the questioning will most likely proceed," he said. "The inquisitors have to examine every detail. I want you to be prepared when they dispute everything you say. Because they will."

Numb all over, Harry faltered, "There has to be... other evidence."

"Mrs. Longbottom is having the ministry building searched for Sirius' wand," Mr. Weasley said while Harry watched him twist his tea cup, like some sort of nervous twitch. "Aurors, when they arrest someone, typically keep a prisoner's possessions."

Harry wished he didn't have to listen to this, wished he could snuff out that tiny spark of hope. "To find out which spell Sirius cast last?" he asked, remembering his conversation with Dumbledore after the graveyard.

"Prior Incantato," Lupin murmured.

"But if they find it--"

"There is no guarantee they will," Mr. Weasley interrupted gently.

No guarantees. No promises.

"What about a Pensieve?" Harry asked flatly, the spark completely tamped out.

Both men's eyebrows rose in surprise, but it was Mr. Weasley who asked, "How do you know of Pensieves?"

Harry flattened his palms on the table, answering impatiently, "I used one in Dumbledore's office." It seemed there was just an ember of hope after all. Stupid, but Harry couldn't help it. "They'll believe that, won't they?"

"Memories can be tampered with, though it is rather difficult to accomplish."

"It's up to the Council to decide if a pensieved memory would be allowed," Lupin added on a heavy sigh.

Harry shoved his plate away as anger suddenly seethed over everything else he was feeling. "So, then there's almost no way for him to win."

It was silent in the kitchen. Even Mrs. Weasley's soft shuffling in the background ceased.

He stared at his knuckles as they stretched his skin taut. "Wormtail was in the graveyard," he said to no one in particular. "I could have tried to bring him with me. But Cedric..." He didn't go on; there was no point.

There was no point to any of this.

A freckled hand settled over one of his fists. "Harry, Mrs. Longbottom will do everything she can."

And if it's not enough? Harry wanted to say it; couldn't bear to say it. "I want to see him..." I have to see him.

Mr. Weasley cleared his throat. "I don't know if they will allow it."

Harry tried to pull his hand away, but Mr. Weasley closed his fingers around Harry's wrist and Harry's brought his sore eyes up. "You don't understand--"

"I do," Mr. Weasley said, and Harry found it difficult to disbelieve him; and even more difficult to look away. "I understand what you want, Harry, but I need you to think before you do or say anything that will make it harder. For Sirius," he emphasized softly. "Or for the Council to find you anything less than the mature young man that I know you to be."

Harry mashed his lips together, swallowed down the strangled noise that wanted to escape and nodded with a tight jerk of his neck. He could do that. For Sirius, he could.

oOoOo

It was after lunch when Harry and the others stepped into the Ministry of Magic together. They were met by a frowning, brown-haired witch who escorted them to an unmarked door on one of the lower levels. She indicated the chairs on either side. "You will be called when you are required," she said, adding nothing before or after.

"Thank you, Calista," Mr. Weasley said anyway. Calista gave a curt nod and then went back down the corridor, her trailing cerulean robes swishing against the marble floor

"Here, Harry," Hermione said, indicating the seat beside hers, but Harry shook his head and jammed his hands into pockets, wanting nothing more than to crash through the sedate wooden door along the opposite wall and demand to see Sirius.

Lupin was the only other one who didn't sit.

"Who do you think they'll take first?" Ron whispered. He was shifting in his chair, finally tucking his hands under his thighs to quiet his anxious movements.

"There is no way to know," Mr. Weasley murmured in a low voice that still echoed off the carved walls. "Try not to fret; if you need to stop, tell Madame Bones and I'll be right here if you need me--any of you," he added with a pointed look in Harry's direction.

"Augusta will be at hand?" Lupin spoke for the first time since they'd begun getting ready at the Burrow.

"Yes."

Lupin nodded and turned away. Harry watched him clip down the corridor; he turned sharply when he reached the next door, came back and then walked the same circuit again. Harry hugged his arms around his middle, unable to watch.

And just when he began a silent chant for the door to open, it obliged. Harry immediately let his arms fall back to his sides, his feet poised to spring.

A wizard who didn't look much older than Harry peered out into the corridor, his blond eyebrows furrowed. But then his eyes found Harry and he smiled very slightly. "Harry Potter?"

It was hard to speak with his throat suddenly dry, but Harry managed a scratchy, "Yeah."

The blond stepped out into the corridor. "Duncan Inglebee," he greeted with a hand stuck out. "We played Quidditch two years ago--Beater for Ravenclaw."

Harry took his hand, nodding though the memory was vague.

"You were quite good," Inglebee said. "And oh, you're first." He waved toward the open door. "After you."

It was more difficult to step forward than it should have been. Feeling like his feet were made of the same stone as the floors, Harry kept his eyes forward, away from the stares he could feel from his companions and went through the doorway.

And into another corridor, this one dark and fairly pulsing with magic. He could see light just ahead, the short corridor spilling into a room, ringed in a high wall.

It was a huge room, with a high ceiling and whispered echoes.

A room for seven people, it was not.

But Harry didn't care how many people were in that room. Adrenaline propelled him as his heart began to a beat a mean staccato against his ribs. Beyond the forbidding wall and into the most bizarrely shaped room he had ever seen. And from inside here, it didn't look big at all.

It was small. With seven chairs behind seven desks , in a strange configuration, all of the desks connected by a white line against the floor. One witch or wizard sat at each desk, all of them watching Harry walk toward them.

Mrs. Longbottom, standing on a raised dais near the opposite wall, had her back to him. One of the two Aurors flanking her said something close to her ear and she turned. A grim smile in Harry's direction and then she stepped to the left.

Harry froze in mid-step.

Sirius.

He was sitting in a wooden chair, his head bowed. But all Harry could focus on were the chains binding his godfather's hands and feet.

"If you'll step into the middle of the heptagram, Harry," Inglebee said from behind. His voice echoed round the cavernous room, loud in the silence and Sirius' head jerked up.

"Harry?" The whisper filled the room as well, but Sirius didn't seem to notice. He struggled briefly, as if he meant to stand, but the Auror to his right kept a hand on his shoulder. Sirius' exhausted grey eyes stayed locked with Harry's. His face was drawn and pale, anxiety etched in every line. He tried to smile, obviously meant to ease Harry's tension, but it didn't work at all.

And Harry wanted to go to him. Tears were already blocking his sinuses and he could hear his own uneven breaths ricocheting off the towering walls.

"Mr. Inglebee," a deep voice broke the trance, "escort Mr. Potter into the heptagram if you would."

Inglebee stepped in front of Harry, blocking his view of Sirius and gesturing for Harry to continue forward.

Torn, Harry followed the path indicated, finding Sirius' eyes again as soon as Inglebee was out of the way. He sucked in a sharp breath as he crossed over the white line connecting two of the desks. It was as if he'd been shocked; his skin tingled and all the hairs up and down his arms prickled.

"It is called a heptagram," the deep voice intoned, which Harry could see now, belonged to a square-jawed witch with grey hair cut close to her head. She adjusted the monocle over one of her eyes and explained, "Each of us sits at one of its seven points. It is an exceptionally powerful magical configuration, which is what you felt as you stepped over its boundary."

"While we remain at its points, the inquisitors share a link which cannot be broken, one which you will not be able to escape until we permit it. We are here," she said, gesturing around the heptagram, "to determine whether Sirius Black was unfairly imprisoned. Do you intend to assist us in our determination?"

Feeling like it was some sort of ritual question, Harry nodded quickly. "Yes ma'am."

She inclined her head. "Then we invite you to sit."

A chair appeared where before there had been only floor. As soon as Harry sat, he felt another nearly overwhelming sting of magic and stiffened. Before he could react to it the chair turned so that he was facing the witch with grey hair. She said formally, "I am Madame Bones. Please state your name."

He could no longer see Sirius. He had to force himself not to twist around as he slid slick palms against his newly pressed trousers--Sirius' trousers. He hadn't wanted to trade them for a pair of Ron's. "Harry James Potter."

"Mr. Potter," another voice said and Harry's chair was swiveling again. To face a wizard this time--a wizard with a short black beard and enormous glasses. Sirius' dais was just behind him. "I am Master Roggins. Do you recognize the man on the dais?" the bespectacled wizard asked.

"He's my godfather," Harry answered quietly, his eyes once again on Sirius. His muscles knotted painfully when Sirius' smiled that tiny smile again.

"Had you ever seen him before today?"

"Yes."

"When?"

Harry turned his eyes back to Roggins, who was simply waiting patiently for Harry to answer. "I met him last year. The same day I met Peter Pettigrew."

There was no surprise rippling around the heptagram. None in Roggins' eyes.

"Where were you when you met Mr. Black?" he asked calmly.

"They were both in the Shrieking Shack," Harry answered, a bit sharply but Roggins didn't seem to notice.

"What were you doing in the Shrieking Shack?" a crackly voice asked. Harry's chair shifted to face a white haired witch who looked even older than Dumbledore.

And on and on the questioning went, with Harry only answering as much as was necessary, leaving out most of the details of that night beneath the full moon.

"And you expect us to believe this fantastical tale?" a tall wizard demanded after he had described Pettigrew's escape, his regal nose lifted in disdain.

"Why would I lie?" Harry snapped, very near an explosion. "If I thought that Sirius was responsible for my parents' deaths, do you really think I would want him to be free?"

The tall wizard raised dark eyebrows. "You make an excellent point, Mr. Potter," he conceded with a nod. "But the more interesting point--" He leaned forward, a sudden gleam in his blue eyes. "--is why do you want Sirius Black to be free?"

Harry stared at him, surprised at both the concession and the question. "Because he's innocent," he said, swallowing as he turned to look at Sirius. Sirius's hands were clasped together on his lap, and Harry could clearly see the muscles straining in his neck and jaw. "And because he's my godfather," he said quietly as he turned back to the inquisitor.

"Are you aware that Sirius Black is named as your guardian in the event of your parents' deaths?"

Harry's chair rotated again. "Yes," he said impatiently to the woman with wild hair and half a finger missing from her right hand. What was the point of that question?

"And you realize that he would be granted custody if he was freed?" she asked primly.

"Yes ma'am."

"Hm."

And then Harry was once again facing Roggins, given no time to figure out the meaning of the delicate grunt. "You were raised by Muggles, were you not?"

Harry squinted at him, couldn't figure out his game. "Yeah..."

"And these Muggles kept you in a cupboard, did they not?"

Harry's lips parted with surprise but Roggins didn't let him answer.

"They starved you, yes? Did they beat you as well?"

"This has nothing to do with me!"

Harry swung his neck around, even more shocked at his godfather's outburst. Sirius was standing now, his guards restraining his arms, but Sirius made no move toward the heptagram. The Aurors pushed him down roughly anyway.

"None of this is relevant," he said hoarsely, directing his words at Mrs. Longbottom. He lifted a shaking hand toward the inquisitors and his chains chinked loudly together. "Harry didn't come here to answer questions about his relatives. And I won't have him--"

"Mr. Black," Roggins said in an imperious voice, "you are in no position to question us."

"Mr. Black is correct though, Master Roggins," Mrs. Longbottom said, holding out a hand to Sirius' shoulder. "Harry's childhood is irrelevant."

"Is it?" Roggins asked in a low tone. "One might hypothesize that Harry Potter, a boy with a tragic past, has become so desperate for a family that he is willing to accept even a known murderer--"

"That isn't true!" Harry sputtered.

"Which part, Mr. Potter?"

"All of it!" He tried to stand, but a crackle of magic burst through the chair's seat and kept him firmly in place. "Sirius didn't kill those people. And I saw Peter Pettigrew with my own eyes! So did Ron and Hermione. And Professor Lupin--"

"A werewolf," the tall wizard with the supercilious nose interjected from the desk closest to Roggins. "And three children."

Harry gripped the arms of his chair. "It doesn't even make any sense! Sirius wouldn't kill Muggles!"

"Revenge rarely makes sense," Roggins said quietly. "Have you ever thought about seeking revenge against your relatives?"

"Augusta," Sirius hissed as Harry gaped at the inquisitor.

"Master Roggins, I really must object--"

"Do you object to the question, Mr. Potter?" Roggins asked.

Harry set his jaw. "No sir," he answered flatly. "I haven't thought about revenge."

Roggins leaned forward. "Not once? Not even after your uncle broke your wrist?"

Harry stared. How could he know about that? How does he know? How could he?

"It was an accident..."

"Was it?"

Harry stared at the patient wizard, his sinuses burning and couldn't speak. He threw me too forcefully into my cupboard.

"Was it an accident when he pushed you into a tableful of glass ornaments?"

Harry's breathing became shallow then, and he felt suddenly very dizzy. "Yes," he breathed. He was just shoving me away from Dudley. He looked surprised when I started bleeding all over the kitchen floor.

"You have a scar from that," Roggins said softly, his voice taking on a gentle cadence. "Don't you, Harry?"

Harry dug his fingers into his palms and said forcefully, "Yes."

"Stop."

Sirius' plea bounced off the walls. Roggins glanced at him, then returned his attention to Harry and said, "Would you mind showing us?"

"No!"

All of the inquisitors turned at the explosive syllable. Sirius was standing again, his chains creating a booming cacophony as he trembled. The Aurors grabbed his arms but he shook them off.

"Leave him," Madame Bones said calmly and the red-swathed arms fell back to their sides. "Mr. Black, if Mr. Potter has no objection, I ask you to be still."

"No," Sirius said again, with less volume, but the same intensity. "You have no right to ask that of him, no right to humiliate him. I object because he won't; not if he thinks it might help me."

Madame Bones studied him. "Isn't that the reason you demanded we convene?" she asked. "To prove your innocence? We cannot do that without Mr. Potter's cooperation."

"We must have a complete understanding of his motivations," the fingerless witch said firmly.

Harry was thwarted as he tried to stand again. "It's all right," he said quickly, cutting off another protest from Sirius.

What did it matter if a roomful of strangers saw the tangled scars on his hip? What did it matter that he had never shown them to anyone? That he was horrified at the thought of showing them now?

"Harry, no," Sirius said, all of his muscles tensing again. "You don't have to do that." He turned back to Madame Bones. "Please... Please don't ask him to."

"It's all right," Harry repeated, the words tumbling over themselves as his face grew hot. "I can't stand though," he pointed out as Madame Bones met his gaze. He ignored the heat spilling down his neck. "If you want me to show you, I'll need to stand."

Her face relaxed, though she didn't quite smile. "That won't be necessary, Mr. Potter," she said. With a glance across the heptagram at Roggins, she nodded, "Thank you for your cooperation. You may go now."

"What? But--" The rest of his sentence was sucked away, the room's dull colors spinning all around them and then Harry was standing in the corridor outside the unmarked door.

"Harry?" Mr. Weasley took his arm gently and turned him around. "Are you all right?"

Harry gazed at him, registering that Mr. Weasley was there but not really making sense of it. He'd failed. He must have failed.

"Hermione Granger?" Inglebee's friendly voice asked.

"Yes..."

"If you will follow me."

Harry pulled away from Mr. Weasley's slack grip as the door shut behind them. They didn't believe me.

"Harry?" Lupin this time. "Are you quite all right?"

They didn't let me talk to Sirius.

They hadn't even given him a chance to ask.

"Yeah," he said on a short breath and turned away, sheltering himself with the wall. He wasn't all right. He couldn't even pretend to himself. He felt like he was cracking.

Shattered like those glass ornaments. Into thousands of useless shards.

And he would never be whole again.