The Visit

It was very late at night. Harry sat at his windowsill, watching the stars and the moon, absentmindedly twiddling his wand between his fingers and ignoring the pain the movement caused.

A shadow passed over the hazy orange streetlamp, which Harry recognized as Hedwig back from the Weasleys, a mouse clutched in her beak and a package in her talons. Harry quietly drew the rickety window open, and Hedwig swooped in with a soft whoosh. She dropped her burden on the bed and hopped onto Harry's arm. He carried her to her cage, where she nipped his finger affectionately before tucking her head under her wing and dropping off to sleep with a few soft hoots.

Harry ignored the package. It was most likely Hermione or Ron, or Hagrid even, trying to get him to talk. He'd been ignoring all other packages and notes from them - he hadn't even touched Mrs Weasley's delicious pies, and he refused to answer. He's only sent Hedwig back with a short thank you note for the food, but had shoved it under his bed with the pile of unanswered letters, which was steadily growing larger. Harry didn't even check whom the package was from.

He crossed the room to his desk and opened the topmost drawer. He pulled out the long, black quill and a clean sheet of parchment, leaving the bottle of ink inside the drawer. Clearing off his desk, he sat down, picking up the quill. Harry placed the tip of it to the paper, writing in his usual, square-blocked scrawl.

Sirius is not dead.

He felt the familiar sting on the back of his hand as the cuts, identical in shape to what was on the parchment, opened. He ignored it and wrote it again.

Sirius is not dead.

Sirius is not dead.

Sirius is not dead.

He wrote it out sixteen times - one for each year he had been alive. Then he went to the washroom, not turning the light in the hall on, and washed his cuts, watching the red of his blood mixing with the clear water in the sink, swirling as it drained. When his cuts were cleaned, he returned to his room and put his quill and parchment, now covered in sixteen red lines, back in their drawer.

Harry shoved the package off his bed and onto the floor and, though he tried not to, caught a glimpse of the return name on the top. Remus Lupin. Harry kicked it furiously out of sight under his bed, pulled off his clothes, put on his pyjamas and got into bed, seething.

He should have expected it. Sirius and Remus had been inseparable in the short while Sirius had been living in his mother's vacant house and now, of course, as everyone foolishly believed he was dead, Remus would believe it, too. He had said it himself... "He can't come back, Harry. He can't come back, because he's dead."

Harry took off his glasses, turned his light off and pulled the covers up over his head.

*

Harry was unpleasantly awoken by a sharp rapping on his bolted door.

"Boy!" It was Aunt Petunia. "Get up!"

Harry groaned and turned over on his stomach, squinting in the bright morning light. He looked blearily at his alarm clock before shoving his head under the pillow and dropping back off to sleep...

"POTTER!" This time it was Uncle Vernon shouting. "Get your abnormal arse down here NOW!"

Harry sat up as though he'd been electrocuted. He hastily put on his glasses and some clothes and unlocked his door, following Uncle Vernon's retreating footsteps down the stairs to the kitchen.

There he found Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon sitting stiffly at the table, but Uncle Vernon stood up as Harry entered the kitchen.

"Boy," said Uncle Vernon, coming round the table towards Harry, "I thought I warned you properly about owls in our kitchen."

"What?" said Harry stupidly.

"Don't you give me any of your lip, boy," said Uncle Vernon. "I've had enough of those flea-ridden birds in my house."

"Disgusting," sniffed Aunt Petunia behind him. "Unsanitary." Harry ignored her and continued to stare at Uncle Vernon, who continued.

"But when other adults, adults of your -" he paused and sneered down at Harry, "abnormal kind start sending these carrier-pigeons with letters telling me that my care isn't good enough for -"

"You got a letter from a wizard?" Harry interrupted, his eyes darting for the first time to the letter that lay on the table behind Uncle Vernon. "A letter for you?"

Uncle Vernon turned faintly purple at the W word, but overlooked it. "One of those weirdoes who had enough nerve to talk to me when I picked you up last month. Sickly-looking sort of fellow... not much money in his pocket, I'd wager -"

"You got a letter from one of the Order?" Harry blurted. "What did they say? Did they tell you anything? Did they tell you about -" Here Harry stopped short. He had been about to say 'Sirius', but hadn't been able to bring himself to do it.

Uncle Vernon gave Harry and extremely disgusted look. Harry knew it was because Uncle Vernon didn't have any idea of what he was talking about. Uncle Vernon took the letter off the table and unfolded it. He cleared his throat.

"Dear Mr and Mrs Dursley.

My name is Remus Lupin. I was one of Harry's professors in his third year, and am writing to tell you about a very serious matter.

Near the end of Harry's fifth school year, Harry witnessed his godfather, Sirius Black (who was not, as you may think, a dangerous prison escapee) being murdered -"

"He's not dead," said Harry quietly.

"What?" snapped Uncle Vernon.

"He's not dead," Harry repeated louder, staring blankly at the wall. Uncle Vernon just grunted and continued reading.

"As Harry has expressed the feelings that you and your family do not act altogether fondly towards him, (here Uncle Vernon paused to fix Harry with a beady eye) it is the request of Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Harry's school and head of the Order of the Phoenix, that Harry come to stay with me, Remus Lupin, until the start of term.

I understand if you do not wish him to leave, but this is quite a serious matter. Harry was very close to Sirius Black, who was the best friend of James Potter and myself. I'm not sure if Harry has expressed any grief on the matter towards you, but I am sure he would be able to cope with it much more easily if he were amongst people who would understand.

I hope that this owl has reached you before the tenth of July. Enclosed is a small Portkey that will enable Harry to be magically transported to my home at 9:00 PM on the tenth, should you allow him to go. I will be waiting for him. If not, Harry can send the Portkey back with his owl.

I hope that you will allow Harry to join me.

Sincerely, Remus J. Lupin, Order of the Phoenix."

"So," said Uncle Vernon, tucking the letter into his breast pocket and advancing on Harry. "Not taking good enough care of you, is it now? Can't you take care of yourself, boy? You're what, now... sixteen? And they need you to be baby-sat? Still, I admit, it would be nice to get rid of you early," he added, stroking his moustache while he re-read the letter to himself. "They don't think we'd understand, hmm? Anything you'd like to talk about?"

"No, sir," said Harry, who continued to stare blankly at the wall.

"Come now, boy," Uncle Vernon said, his voice sounding falsely sweet. "You can talk to us..."

"I said there's nothing I want to talk about," said Harry loudly, now looking uncle Vernon directly in the eye.

"And what's this Potbley thing this guy is talking about, hmm?" said Uncle Vernon suspiciously. He held out what appeared to be a dusty old teacup at arm's length as though he thought it might attack him. Harry thought this was entirely possible - he still had the Nose-Biting Teacup from when he had visited Hogsmeade illegally.

"It's a Portkey," said Harry testily. "It will transport me to Professor Lupin's house at 9:00 PM on the tenth."

Uncle Vernon looked at the teacup with a look on his face that said plainly he didn't comprehend in the slightest way in which this item could transport Harry to another place at 9:00 PM on the tenth.

"Harry," said Aunt Petunia from the table. Harry started - the Dursleys hardly ever addressed him by his first name. Aunt Petunia looked fairly frightened at the prospect of speaking before Uncle Vernon. "Harry, do you want to go and stay with this man? You know him well?"

Harry gaped at her with his mouth open for a few seconds before speaking.

"I suppose I wouldn't mind," he said slowly. "I know him very well."

"Very well," said Aunt Petunia curtly. "Go and water the garden, and your uncle and I will talk about the matter."

Harry walked dazedly out of the kitchen, passing Dudley who had obviously been eavesdropping on the conversation, and out into the yard. He filled the watering can at the tap on the wall of the house.

Professor Lupin wanted him to come and stay with him for the rest of the holidays. Though Harry couldn't resist the temptation of leaving Privet Drive, he knew what would be waiting for him at the other option. Lupin, the Weasleys, all the Order, perhaps even Dumbledore would constantly be on his heels, asking him if he wanted to talk about anything, whether he felt all right, if he needed anything.

Harry didn't need anything. He didn't need anyone. He knew the truth. He knew Sirius - wasn't - dead. Harry noticed that the watering can was overflowing and hastily shut off the water. He carried the watering can over to the flowers underneath the kitchen window and sprinkled the flowers gently with it, realizing that he hadn't brushed his teeth or washed his face yet that day and was about to put the watering can down to go inside and do it when he heard a snatch of the conversation inside the kitchen.

"Why should I let him go?" It was Uncle Vernon. Harry crept slowly into his old eavesdropping spot underneath the window and listened.

"Vernon, his godfather was killed-"

"But look what these creeps are writing, Petunia," Uncle Vernon interrupted. "As Harry has expressed the feelings that you and your family do not act altogether fondly towards him... He's been telling them things about us. You never know what he'll tell them."

"But Vernon, if we don't let him go - he needs to talk with someone who knows the whole story - he could come back next year even more messed-up than he is now."

These carefully chosen words seemed to have an effect on Uncle Vernon. There was a grunt and a silence.

"Well, when you put it like that - " said Uncle Vernon wildly, and Harry could hear the floor tiles creaking as though he was shifting his weight uneasily or pacing the floor. "Wouldn't want to put any of us in danger - you've seen what he can do..." There was a tense silence in which Harry waited with baited breath. Finally Uncle Vernon spoke. "I suppose if he wants he can go to this Lupin guy's house. Safer for us."

Harry didn't know if the sensation he was feeling was relief or apprehension. He finished watering the garden under the window and put the watering can away. He knew that Aunt Petunia hadn't actually needed the plants watered - she'd simply needed an excuse to get Harry out of the house while she talked to Uncle Vernon.

He didn't know if he wanted to go or not. He didn't want everyone asking him questions, but he had some questions that he needed answered. If going meant that he would finally have some answers...

He would go.