Harry Potter and the Moment of Silence

"IT IS IN TRUTH IN WHICH WE FIND THE DIFFICULTY TO TRUST." Sherri Lyn CarMikel

Chapter Six: Imprisoned in Many Arms

Harry Potter and the Moment of Silence

Once again, Harry awoke in the middle of the night into silence. That was something he was used to by now. In fact, it had been a recurring episode since he'd returned to his own world, time, and place. Of course, at Hogwarts he hadn't felt as insecure and vulnerable, but now, living in Malfoy Manor...It just wasn't his typical idea of a secure safe house.

Laughing slightly at himself, he silently jumped down the last three stone steps. He hit the floor soundlessly, the old, cotton black socks he'd stolen from Mal's own collection covering up any sound he might have made. He wasn't a bit tired. Actually, he was feeling a little too needy and anxious to see Hallyanka again.

Lucius Malfoy's old office was where the drinks were. Almost unerringly, and out of habit of course, Harry opened the door to there instead of choosing the lobby, kitchen, or the dozens of sitting room that Malfoy Manor seemed littered with. The one thing that made it different than Hogwarts and Pour Deign was that it was large and almost deserted. There were a million rooms you could hide out in to simply be alone, or to make out, or to watch the younger habitants playing Quidditch at midday when Order business was hours away.

It had been a good week for him, or as good as anything got. Hally had simply bloomed under the careful care and hawk eyes of Hermione and Mrs. Weasley. It had been nice to see her and Hermione giggling as Hally tempted her new best friend into jumping on the Queen sized bed they shared together. Harry had found his rare joy and amusement in watching Hermione bloom even more than his Geyesh lover under the carelessness of another woman her own age. Ginny, however, seemed to avoid Hally like a plague.

There was brandy, Irish whiskey, wine, and, Harry's personal favorite, Firewhiskey. Mal managed to keep the cabinet fully loaded even though Harry raided it nightly and occasionally even during the day. He grabbed two bottles and moved to let himself collapse onto the black leathered couch. It was a nice study.

For a Death Eater.

The stone walls gave it a rugged, old-fashioned look that was slightly off-kilter with the worn leather furniture and the wooden Louis the XIV desk. There was no personal effects -no pictures of Draco and the late Narcissa, no figurines or paperweights. Although the Ministry of Magic hadn't been able to get inside the wards, Draco had stormed the entire castle, doing a Sirius and dumping everything into a pile that he sent off with a mass of owls to every shop in Diagon and Knockturn Alley and, at Harry's whispered suggestion, Albany Route. Mal would get a hefty price from those Knut snitchers.

He lifted his hand to snap off the seal and guzzled straight from the bottle. Mal usually insisted on using the Waterford snifters when he accompanied Harry, but he imagined his blonde friend sleeping soundly in his bed, or reading. The teenager was almost as good as Harry was at waking up at the slightest noise. Sometimes he followed Harry down for his nightly drink, and other times he sat up, turned on the gas lamp next to his bed, and read one of his potion books.

Ron slept through that and more.

Tonks and Kingsley and a few other Order members had moved into the mansion, but a lot of them, like the Aurors, were rarely home during the day.

Harry guzzled at the thought of them relaxing because of Voldemort being conquered. His body tensed unconsciously and he finished off the bottle in hopes of the buzz that he sporadically allowed himself to feel. It wouldn't do if Mrs. Weasley found him having a hangover every morning, especially since he was trying to get Tonks to convince Dumbledore to let him in on one of the Order meetings.

"Harry."

At the disapproving, timid voice, he looked up at Remus warily. He made no attempt to hide the empty whiskey bottle on the table and the newly opened bottle in his hand. In fact, he made a show of taking another generous gulp.

"What are you doing up, Remus?"

The werewolf shut the door quietly and took a seat in the leather loveseat angled against the one Harry was on. He reached forward, snagged the bottle, and took a lengthy sip of his own. To Harry's surprise, he gave it back.

"Can't sleep. You?"

Harry shrugged. "Nightmares."

Remus grinned. "I'd believe that if I hadn't seen you and Hally nearly crying when Mrs. Weasley made you separate."

That made him scowl. "Mrs. Weasley's being stupid," he mumbled, drinking again. "It's not like Hally and I haven't already...I mean, come on. Hally isn't the least bit shy."

"No. That she definitely isn't. Wasn't she talking to Tonks about," he cleared his throat, "your performance?"

Harry's face flushed beat red. "Well, I can't really yell at her. One, she'd probably attack me. She's taken very well to woman-man equality. And two, back where she came from sex was one of the few things women were permitted to talk about."

He went to sip again, then stared through the hollow glass grimly. "I'm getting another." He looked at Remus, expecting a challenge. Instead, the werewolf shrugged and said, "It isn't my body you're filling with poisons."

"They happen to be very delicious poisons." He plopped on his back, propped his head against the armrest. He broke the seal. "And it isn't like it'll kill me. I'm starting to think I'm invincible."

Remus's heart was withering with misery as he watched his best friend's son guzzling whiskey with a panache that sort of scared him.

"You're not invincible, Harry." He said it quietly because he didn't want to wake up the ghosts that haunted him whenever he closed his eyes. "And you can't blame Mrs. Weasley for worrying. She's scared of Hally getting pregnant or something towards such matters."

Harry gestured with the steadily draining bottle. "I don't blame her, technically, but she knows Hally drinks contraceptive potions from the Gray Dimension. It doesn't make the wanting any better. Merlin, Remus, I'd give anything just to sleep next to her. I wouldn't do anything. I'd just..." He shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. Of course, the drink made it easier to let his feelings slide of his tongue, but he could vaguely sense that this topic made him uneasy. To block it, he took another sip and let it sit in his mouth for a moment before swallowing. "I'd just hold her." He coughed, then looked at Remus oddly. "Remus..."he said slowly, "what are you doing here? I thought you and Tonks were at that-that school of yours. Hermione said it was going good?"

Remus couldn't quite work up a sturdy smile. "The school's great. They make it easy for me and Tonks to adapt, but it's a miserable place to work at the moment. They're still grieving for Miss Hanson, they're last owner, and several of them suffer severe cases of depression and self-punishment. It's tiring. I wanted to come here for a few days. I'll have to go in for the mornings, but the afternoons are all yours."

A frown flitted across his face. Remus knew it wasn't appropriate, but it was sort of funny the way Harry's brows puckered and formed a line between them. It looked like he was so sad he was close to pouting.

Harry Potter pouting was a sight to behold, indeed. A drunken, pouting Harry Potter was even more of a rarity. One that was he was sure was going to get him walloped by Molly, but he couldn't help but understand that the boy wanted a few minutes of bubbles on the brain. He was aware that Harry did this nightly. Tonks did sleep here and was an observant Auror. When you spent the day with the talkative magpie, she spilled everything, including Harry's ever-growing affection for the bottle.

The main reason he was here was to help Harry stop, but Remus just couldn't. He would eventually, but not tonight when the teenager was actually talking to him.

"You didn't have to do that." Harry threw a hand through his hair, mussing it back. "I don't need a babysitter. And Mrs. Weasley watches me as if I'm going to simply go 'poof' the moment she blinks her eyes."

Remus opened his mouth to say that Harry was strong enough to simply 'poof', but didn't think it would be good to remind him of that.

"No, Harry, you don't need a babysitter, but with the time you spend down here drinking your whiskey, Dumbledore and everybody else think you need someone to watch after you."

"I know when to stop drinking. I'm not stupid."

Remus' eyebrows went up, but he didn't argue. "You're going to have to stop drinking so much, or Mrs. Weasley will confiscate it all."

"Mal'll just get me more." Harry laughed, but stopped when he forgot what he was laughing about.

"Not if he values his life."

"Hey." He struggled to sit up. "Don't threaten him. He's a pretty swell mate nowadays. Not at all the git he used to be. Mighty resourceful too."

Alarm bells wrung in Remus' head. "Resourceful?" he repeated.

"Oh, yeah." Harry relaxed and finished his whiskey, then stumbled his way across the room for another. The bottles were just so small. "He's looking up all sorts of things for me on how I can possible beat Olean. He'd helped with Voldemort, you know. The spell was in French." He grinned as if it was ingenious. "Brilliant, he is, when he wants to be. Who would think I'd be smart enough to make a spell in French? After all, I'm the stupid hero who gets everyone killed."

"Harry," Remus scolded.

He shook his head frantically. "It's true, Moony." He laughed and hummed a little. "Moony. Did my Dad make up that name for you? Or Sirius? I bet it was Sirius. Moony sounds like something he'd think up." His eyes drooped closed. Remus was tense, alert, and was just starting to stand to cart Harry up to his room when the boy opened his eyes again. "I bet if Mal had been at the Ministry he wouldn't have died."

"Who wouldn't have died? Sirius? Mal wouldn't have been able to do anything, Harry. It was just meant to happen."

"No, it wasn't. I killed him." He nodded. "First I killed my parents, Cedric, Sirius, the Dursleys, Hagrid, Bellatrix -the little bitch- and the Lucius and Percy and those villagers. Those villagers shouldn't have died."

"What about Voldemort, Harry?" Guilt wasn't enough to stop him from asking. "Did you kill him?"

Harry laughed and squashed his head into the cushion of the couch, then pulled it back enough to finish his drink. When he laughed again, the bottle slipped from his fingers and spilled the remaining inch or so of liquid onto his shirt.

"Merlin, Remus, I kill'd him an' a half." He didn't stop laughing until he realized he was crying. It didn't matter, though. He could barely see anywhere through his drooping, exhausted eyes. "Stupid idiot. It was Percy who whipped me last. They should have realized that I was moving so much. It hurt." He winced, as if he could still feel it, and Remus felt bile rise in his throat. "Mer'in, Moonay, nuttin' ever hurt more than those wires slappin' against your flesh. The wires scraped, I think, an inch of my skin off. I had to wear bandages because it had ripped the top layer of skin almost off. My hand 'ave so many scars." He lifted his hands to study them. "Look like spider webs to me."

"What spell did you use on Voldemort, Harry?"

"Oh, it was a nasty one." Harry laughed, but in reality it was a large, bone-racking sob. "Mal and I, we made it ourselves behind Dumbledore's back. We couldn't use a textbook one. It wasn't safe."

"You and Draco Malfoy made up the spell that killed the Dark Lord."

"Yup." He was too drunk to understand the disbelief, but he heard and understood the fear. He sat up, hiccupped. "Don' worry, Moony. I took care of him. Shattered his organs, made him drown in his own blood and fluids. It sounded like a suction cup, when'e died. I closed my fists and forced his body to iddy biddy ashes. Then I scattered 'um with a blast of wind. Nobody will ever even know how to collect the ashes unless I tell them the password." He almost giggled. "I won'd. Nope, I won'd. I woudn't 'ave had any a'tall, but Mal said it was bloody necessary for the spell to work. I dunno. I guess he was right. I was too stupid to know that." He frowned, as if in consideration. "I'm stupid like that a lot."

Remus felt his own eyes blur with tears. My God, he mused to himself, how could any boy have this much hate for himself, so much anger inside, and hide most of it from them all so well?

"You are not stupid, Harry." Remus stood and went to the couch, slipped an arm around the boy's limp, narrow waist. "You're one of the cleverest, bravest men I know."

"All I am," Harry murmured, than yelped when a wall collided with his temple. He heard Remus curse and leaned forward to give him a smacking kiss. "Iz awright, Moony. Pain don'd bodder me that much anymore. Where we goin'?"

He was so dizzy. His stomach hurt. "I'm gonna' be sick, Moony." The tears started again, and he wept so loudly a couple of the doors burst open.

"What's wrong with Harry?" Hermione asked instantly.

Malfoy stepped forward to help Remus balance out. Neither of them answered. Instead, they led Harry into the room he shared with Mal and Ron, then into the foolishly large and extravagant bathroom. Harry collapsed at the toilet and would have simply dunked his head if Mal hadn't grabbed a handful of hair.

"What is wrong with him?" Hally shoved Mal away and put one arm around Harry's waist herself. She glared at Malfoy as if he'd poisoned him. "What did you do?"

Harry barely heard them. He ducked his head and wretched.

"Remus?" Hermione was standing with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Tonks, Ginny, and Kingsley in the main room. Ron, blearily, blundered past them to stumble into the bathroom. "Is he...drunk?"

"Sick and drunk, more like," Kingsley said in his deep, gravely voice. "Were you with him, Remus?"

"Yeah." He sent Molly an apologetic look. "He was hurting so badly, Molly; I didn't have the heart. I'm sorry."

"Will he be okay?" Ginny said worriedly. She was clutching Hermione's hand hard enough to have Hermione hissing at her.

Mrs. Weasley said, "I don't know. Most likely once he gets up all that poison he'll be fine. I'll have Dumbledore send Mack over tomorrow morning."

Tonks groaned. "Not a Snape, Molly. Harry doesn't want to see her."

"He'll be sick as a dog tomorrow, Tonks. I don't think he'll even realize she was even here. That Firewhiskey gives lethal hangovers, and with his immune system...With his luck, he'll probably go into a coma."

Hermione made a sound. "Don't say that, please," she asked desperately, then went to see if she and Ginny could do anything.

The adults, meanwhile, closed ranks.

"I don't think Mackenzie should be the only doctor here tomorrow." Remus met Arthur's eyes. "I think you should send for Nelly Simmons and Dumbledore. If I'm not exaggerating, I think Harry might need to be hospitalized for a while."

"Hospitalized?" Tonks spat it out. "Why in the world does he need to be hospitalized?"

"He thinks he killed his parents and Sirius and that boy, Diggory, and Percy. He's- I-" He blew out a heavy breath. "I hate to say it, but I think he may be breaking down. Some of the stuff he said, it went the wrong way with me. He needs help. If you need a second opinion, get Simmons and Dumbledore."

* * * * * *

They didn't just get a second opinion. They got a third, from Mackenzie, a fourth, from Nelly Simmons, and a fifth from Albus Dumbledore. It was agreed from the four of his unofficial guardians (Remus, Dumbledore, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley) and his counselor that it would be better if he was removed and placed back at St. Mungos as soon as they could get him there. They thought that twenty-four hour supervision was not exactly what Harry needed right now, but it wouldn't hurt.

Lycander, who had gone back to the Gray Dimension until September, was sent for.

They all knew what to expect when they told Harry he was going back to the hospital, but they didn't know how he was going to react.

* * * * * *

A hangover was a very, very bad thing. Harry had known it before he'd gotten drunk, and he knew it now, after he was drunk. His head pounded furiously in his head like a rock band in the throes of their last and final show. He'd refused to drink the potion Mack had wanted to shove down his throat because he was not going to become any less alert than he already was, which was exactly what that potion would have done, he was sure of it.

Merlin, a guy couldn't even get through his own first, official drunk without having his friends send him to St. Mungos. He pinched his eyes shut and leaned his forehead against the window. He was seated on the window alcove, his knees drawn up with his wrists lazily resting on them. He hadn't even been back for a week and they wanted to send him back.

They didn't want him here.

He didn't turn when the door opened and shut. He'd known it was Hally the moment she'd left her own room and walked down the hall. There was just something about the Mage powers that warned him when one of his own was coming near.

Harry didn't think that was all bad.

Hally slid an arm around his shoulder and kissed him. He pulled away to stare back out the window.

Sighing, she sat down on the opposite side of the window alcove.

"They're sending me away," he said quietly. "Again."

"No, they are not sending you away. Rom-" She bit her lip, rolled her eyes at her constant mistake. "Harry, they are not sending you away. They are just worried that you are going to hurt yourself."

"They left me alone in your world." Bitterly, he pulled his hand back when she tried to entwine their fingers. He wasn't in the mood for comfort. "I lived on my own there and I did just fine."

"You slammed your fist into a stone wall, Harry."

Now he shot her a glare. "Am I not allowed to be emotional? Am I not allowed to vent off some frustration when they toss me into another dimension that I know nothing about? My God, they just don't quit. Whenever I'm around them, Hally, I can breath." That was the truth. "I know they are only looking out for me, but, bloody hell! Sending me away, as if they care at all the way people treat me there. They just don't want the trouble of having a teenager who likes to drink and study Dark Magic. They don't care that people stare at me, that some are scared to even look at me. What does it matter to them that I have no clue what to do with all the money in my bank account? They don't know what it's like to have no parents of your own, but your best friend's parents. It hurts because every time Mrs. Weasley says something to me I imagine her only saying it because she doesn't want me to be a bad example on her Ron and Ginny."

She opened her mouth to say something, but the words floated off her tongue and left her speechless and near tears. "Harry, I- They are not sending you away because you cause trouble. They are sending you away because they feel you need that Simmons guy and supervision. They think you will hurt yourself even more than you already have."

"I haven't done anything to myself!" Harry shouted. "I haven't hit any walls in the last...three weeks or so. I have not done a damn thing except drink a little whiskey every night just so I can go to sleep without seeing my hands dripping with blood. It happens every night, Hallyanka, every bloody night that I have been back in this world. In the Souriom de Solfiace, I was fine. There were hardly any nightmares, there was no blood on my hands; I barely ever woke up in the middle of the night, sweaty and cold and numb and thinking I am still out there in the rain, bleeding and staring at absolutely nothing but the place where the man I killed with Dark Magic died!" He sucked in a deep breath, struggled to relax when the gas lamp across the room shattered.

Hally snatched his left hand and clutched it at her own to stable his magic.

The door burst open. Remus' let out a relieved breath when he saw the gas lamp, but Harry and Hally across the room. He walked over.

"You okay, Harry?"

"I am fine."

Their eyes met, the older man's searching, his own deliberately blank. "Did you need something, Remus?"

Painfully, he remembered the way Harry had hugged him before he'd left for the Gray Dimension. He cleared his throat. "We're having a meeting to discuss a few things as soon as Lycander settles in. Dumbledore wants you in the library in ten minutes, alone, and Hally, would you mind warning the others that they are not to use any eavesdropping devices at all?"

Hally stood, leaned down to kiss Harry's non-responsive lips. "If I do not see you before you leave, Romane, be good."

"I am not a dog!" he shouted after her.

Hally only threw a smile over her shoulder.

"You can go now," he added to Remus when the werewolf didn't budge.

Instead of leaving, Remus took Hallyanka's seat and met Harry's eyes again. "We need to talk."

"You know, Lupin, I think we talked enough last night. Now I'd like to be alone."

"I don't care what you'd like," Remus retorted. "You are going to listen to me, Harry. I am sorry about prying last night. No matter what I thought was right, it was wrong of me to question you when you were unaware of what you were saying."

"Agreed. Now leave."

"Will you stop that? I am tired of you looking at me like I betrayed your confidence. What I was told last night stayed in my own mind. In fact, what I learned will be removed as soon as the meeting ends. I'm going to be put under a specific sort of Obliviate."

"Why?"

"Because Malfoy talked to Dumbledore and they both agreed that it was dangerous for anyone but you to know what happened. Originally, they'd wanted to Obliviate you as well, but Arthur brought up the point that if, by any cursed miracle, Voldemort is brought back, we'd have to know that spell to see the side effects."

Numbly, Harry turned back to look outside the window. "He won't come back," he whispered. "I can guarantee it."

"Yes, well, things that have been guaranteed before have happened."

"Those people aren't me."

"Harry, I'm not Sirius," Remus admitted suddenly.

His face screwed up in confusion; Harry turned slightly to stare at him. "Well, duh, Remus. I knew that."

"I'm not Sirius," he repeated again, "and I'm not James and I'm not Lily. My name is Remus J. Lupin. Not too long ago, we were friends. Not too long ago, you gave Sirius Black a chance. Now I'm asking you for one. I know I am not your official godfather, but you're James and Lily's boy. I knew you as a baby. I changed your diapers whenever I babysat you. Then, when you were gone, that little boy vanished. When you were thirteen, you were different than you are now. You weren't as bitter and alone. You had friends; you considered the Weasleys and Hermione a type of substitute family. I'm not the Weasleys and I'm not Hermione. I want to be your friend, Harry, but your well fare comes before to affection. Molly, Arthur, Mack, Albus, me; we all want you to care about us, but if doing what we think is best for you, than we'll do that. Even if it means having you hate us."

"I don't hate you!" Harry covered his face with his hands, scrubbing repeatedly. "I don't want to go to St. Mungos. Remus, I'll stop drinking the Firewhiskey. I'll stop staying up at night. I won't touch Hally at all if you'd just let me stay here. Please."

Remus eyed the bed and chairs that were levitating a foot above the ground.

"Harry, we think spending some time with Nelly Simmons would do you good. He cares about you and I think he'd understand what you're feeling if you were to tell him someday. I don't like how the hospital will treat you, especially since you're going to have Aurors stationed outside of your room."

"Aurors? Why will I have Aurors stationed-Oh." His face blared with understanding, and he cursed. "Dumbledore's going to have me go to the hospital when the Ministry has a writ out for my arrest?"

"It's something we're going to risk."

"I don't need to stay at the hospital. I'm not mental." Or at least he didn't think he was. Well, obviously everyone must have thought he was, or else he wouldn't have been in this predicament. "I'm not going to kill myself. Why would I now when I didn't when Olean was pressuring me to inside my head?"

"We won't change our mind on this." To gentle the words, he placed a hand on Harry's knee. "We should go to the library now. I'm sure Lycander is here."

Grimly, they stood. "He's going to go ballistic when he finds out about me drinking. He thinks it's stupid and weak and self-serving, or so he said to one of the other Qaiuls in the Souriom de Solfiace."

Remus gave a short, steady laugh and put an arm around Harry's shoulders. "Our little eavesdropper. It is stupid and weak and self-serving, but I think you've earned yourself more than a little foolishness."

Harry hissed. "It's not stupid. I just like the taste."

Remus laughed again.

* * * * * *

When Harry walked in, Lycander pretty much yanked him away from Remus and dragged him out of hearing distance. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Nelly, Dumbledore, and Mack all sat at the rectangle table that could easily have fit twenty or thirty across the room.

"What have you done?" his Qaiul hissed.

Harry winced and struggled to pull his arm back. Lycander simply tightened his grip, his magic touching Harry's and shocking him painfully, and yanked his face closer.

"I haven't done anything," he cried, breathing hard. "Lycander, you're hurting me."

"Good. Maybe the pain will finally knock some sense into you. Do you know what you have done?"

"Lycander, you're hurting me!"

"Lycander!" Dumbledore's voice was loud, firm, and furious, even though it came from across the room. Although he didn't make a move towards them, his eyes threatened violence. His Qaiul tightened his grip for a moment, and then released him to storm to the table. Harry swore under his breath, rubbing hard where Lycander's fingers had left burn marks on his elbows. He hid them from view when he sat down, making sure he was between Remus and Mr. Weasley, a decent way from Lycander. At least Remus and Mr. Weasley wouldn't be tempted to bruise him or throw things at him.

"You okay?" Mr. Weasley asked as Lycander gave a halfhearted apology to Dumbledore and bid him to continue.

Harry continued to rub at the marks. "Yeah," he lied. "I'm fine. So, when are you sending me away?" The question was directed at Dumbledore

"They're not sending you away, Harry." This from Nelly Simmons. "They're simply-"

"You know, I see enough of you as it is, Nelly. So I think it's time for you to shut up or leave."

"Harry." Scandalized, Mrs. Weasley addressed Nelly. "I apologize for Harry's rudeness, Mr. Simmons. He's not usually so rude."

Harry threw up his hands. "Oh, no, Mrs. Weasley, there's no reason for you to lie. I am very rude, Nelly. And I don't even see the point of you even being here so I have no clue why I'm explaining that to you."

"Harry, stop it," Mrs. Weasley hissed.

"Stop what, Mrs. Weasley, I'm simply being honest."

Remus put a hand on his wrist. "Calm down. We're not here to discuss this. We need to figure out what we're going to do since Fudge wants Harry arrested."

Mack discreetly wiped her damp cheeks before speaking up. "St. Mungos won't hand Harry over unless they're sure he's healthy. He'll be strung up with Aurors up to his teeth, but they won't technically take him to a cell until his healer releases him."

"Will they take me to Azkaban?" Harry asked suddenly, frowning. He hadn't thought about that at all. "Or is there another prison?"

Dumbledore, instead of answering right away, sent Kingsley a look. The black man tapped his fingers on the table. "I talked to Fudge and he demands nothing less than Azkaban. Full supervision, twenty-four seven, or at least whenever he's not in interrogation. They want to know how Voldemort was killed to the last detail."

"I won't tell them," Harry told Dumbledore. "You know what I said. And if they try to give me Veritaserum, I'll be put into a coma because that's how the spell reacts to physical or mental force."

The silence in the room made Harry's heart beat even faster. Dumbledore was staring at him. "What do you mean by that, Harry?" his voice was low and grim, but most of all surprised.

He didn't look up. "I mean that if they try to force what happened out of me, if I'm not willing to give the information freely, my body will shut down until it feels like it's safe to wake up. It's part of the spell."

Nelly Simmons slumped back in his chair. Harry looked up at him, watched as the psychologist looked up at the ceiling and rubbed his face. A small smile flitted across Harry's lips. "You sure you don't want out now, Nelly?"

"I'm fine." He didn't sound it, but Harry let it go.

"So what do we do?" Remus asked. His hand stayed over Harry's wrist. Vaguely, he wondered if the werewolf did it on purpose or had just forgotten it was there. Slowly, he forced his shoulders to relax. It was a soothing gesture either way.

"Harry, are you listening?"

"No," he admitted honestly, and tuned in to the conversation.

Mrs. Weasley sighed in exasperation. "This is important, Harry. This is your life we're talking about. Pay attention."

"This isn't my life! If it were mine, I'd be the one making the decisions instead of a stupid counsel in another dimension and my best friends parents! This isn't my life," Harry repeated angrily, than got to his feet. He was surprised -stunned, really- when Remus grabbed a handful of his shirt and yanked him back down with an abnormal amount of strength.

"Sit down and be quiet," he hissed in a dangerous voice that Harry had never heard before. "Albus, why don't you go over what's going to happen again for Harry?"

The Headmaster nodded and Harry resented the hint of approval in his eyes.

This was his life, he mused angrily, tapping his fingers impatiently against the table. He was seventeen; he stilled, blinked at Dumbledore although his mind was elsewhere. They couldn't keep him here. Technically, they couldn't force him to do anything anymore. He was seventeen, an adult in the Wizarding World.

He licked his dry, chapped lips, lowering his head to stare at the table as the full realization of that hit. He wasn't a ward of the ministry anymore. Why hadn't he realized that before? Of course, Hermione and Ron had told him happy belated birthday when they'd returned from the Gray Dimension, but...Bloody hell, why hadn't he seen the pure genius of it?

When Dumbledore went silent, he looked up, whet his lips again.

"So I go to St. Mungos, stay until they claim I'm stable -mentally and physically- and it doesn't matter that I might miss weeks of school since everyone here knows I'm completely insane-" his voice was calm and serious- "and then, once my Healer releases me, I'm under Fudge's mercy. Then, if Fudge wants to, you want to send me to the place where Sirius nearly went insane?"

Beside him, Remus stiffened as if preparing for a blow.

"Not to mention that if Fudge charges me with withholding information from him, whatever happens to me will be even worse since I'm seventeen."

"He has a point, Albus," Tonks admitted quietly. "Withholding information on a matter this important and public could possibly result in a decade of jail time, if Fudge pushed it. And we all know the Minister is not fond of Harry."

"But you don't have a choice," Nelly spoke loudly. "It doesn't matter because Fudge won't do that. In this case, being an orphan and a hero, the public wouldn't want that and Fudge has to stay in their graces. The upcoming elections are making him nervous. He'd do anything to get voted in again, Dumbledore. And we can't keep Harry here, as a common criminal. It would ruin his life."

"I don't have a life," Harry said monotonously, but more to himself than the group of surrounding people.

"I agree with Mr. Simmons." Mrs. Weasley entwined her hand with her husband. Harry noticed it. In fact, he stared. What kind of love was it that lasted through so many years and mistakes and grief?

You would, he wanted to scream at her, feeling both betrayed and hurt and confused. He braced his face in his upturned hands, scrubbed, and simply let them stay there.

"They'd take it into account that he had a year left of Hogwarts, wouldn't they?"

"Of course they would! He's a student and he just turned seventeen. In the eyes of the public, he's still a boy."

"I don't want him to go to Azkaban. It would kill him."

The voices and words blurred together for Harry. Sickly, he could hear his heart beat in his chest; slow, thickly, heavy, pounding, it reverberated in his head, bouncing off walls and echoing. He felt like he was drowning. Spots suddenly danced in front of his closed eyelids.

"Harry, are you okay?"

He pressured his hands to his eyes. The voice sounded like Remus', but he wasn't sure. He nodded. Some of the voices went silent. Remus placed a hand at Harry's back, than grabbed his arm gently.

"Come on, Harry, let's go for a walk."

He was so dizzy he barely saw where his father's old friend took him, but once the cool, breezy air reached his face, he could finally breathe again. Remus nudged him down.

"You okay? It looked like you were ready to pass out in there."

"I don't feel so good, Remus."

Remus lifted Harry's chin slightly, studied his face, the pallor in his cheeks, than placed a hand to his forehead. "You're a little warm, but it might just be from stress and anxiety. Stomach hurt? Headache?"

"My head aches a little bit, but my stomach's on fire."

They were sitting on the majestic stone steps leading to the front door. It was narrower where they sat, and spooned out on both sides to give a fuller view of the lush, extravagant lawn. There was a fountain in the middle of the flower and rock garden, willow trees in the distance by the pond that was slightly smaller than Hogwarts'. There was a large, Gothic gate spearing towards the sky. It gradually went out of sight as you looked at the smattering of pines that fell to the right, than got thicker and thicker until you hit the heart of the forest.

To Harry, it was gorgeous. To Harry, it was a prison with a view.

"This place is pretty," he said to cover the painful silence between them.

"Yeah. Reminds me of your father, sort of."

Harry's head swiveled around almost fast enough for it to fall off. Remus smiled. It didn't hurt that much -anymore at least- to talk about the better times. It was the misery and the grief and the bad times that he had trouble speaking off. He leaned back, rested his elbows on the step situated behind them.

"Your family was a very influential, pureblooded family that lived around here. Actually, I think it was within a few hours walk. To the north, probably."

"They lived in a mansion?" Harry wasn't sure how he felt about that.

"Sort of. It was homier than this. Instead of gray stone, they used a type variety rock and cement. It isn't as old as Malfoy Manor, but it isn't lagging far behind it. Anyways, it was beautiful. I spent the summer there once, when I was twelve and my mother was ill. She couldn't take care of me and my brother, so I stayed with your father and grandparents. They were great people, proud of their heritage, but not like the Malfoys. They had no grudge against Muggle-borns. Granted, James took a couple years to follow that. As you know, both James and Sirius had a time in their lives where they weren't exactly the ideal models of respectability and honor." He frowned, glanced at Harry. "But they were men bound by honor. They would never have hurt anybody -really hurt anybody- deliberately. They were typical, mischievous boys. We all were."

Since his eyes had teared, Harry looked away out of respect. Remus didn't, as Harry would have done, wipe at them.

"Tears aren't a weakness, Harry. I admit, they aren't exactly a strength, but there's nothing wrong with crying every once in a while. Trust me, your parents were worth crying over."

"But are they still?" Harry burst out. "Are they still worth crying over for me? Bloody hell, Remus, they aren't real to me. They're like a figment of my imagination. I don't know the sound of their voices, what they look like. All I know is that when I'm alone, I wonder what it would be like if they were still alive. I wonder if I've ever really cried for them. For them, instead of just plain me. I wish I'd know them -Merlin, I do- but I miss Sirius more. I miss him, dammit, because I actually knew him a little bit. He died because of me and his pride. He wanted Bellatrix dead, but he was the one who ended up dying. It wasn't fair, but I remember him dying. I can remember him; what he said, what he did, how he reacted to certain things. I remember his eyes and his hair, his voice from back in third year when he was screaming at Wormtail. It's been better nowadays. When I was in the Souriom de Solfiace, I was...happy, I guess." Harry swore. "Not happy, but... There wasn't as much pressure and things that made me remember. The people there looked at me with hatred and distrust; they didn't know me. They didn't know I was an orphan or had fought off Voldemort; they didn't know my real name or that this bloody scar on my head meant anything. I wasn't exactly normal, considering I was the boy who'd been chosen to be changed into a Mage, but I wasn't me. I'm making no sense, am I?"

Remus put a hand on his shoulder, squeezed. "You are, but that might just be because we're both insane."

He felt a tickle of laughter climb up his throat, and let it out in a rolling laugh. He laid his head back on the corner of the step and rubbed his face again sleepily.

"I don't want to go to the hospital," he whined, laughing again, but this time it was purely self-deprecating. "I hate it there. And not to mention the chance of me going to Azkaban."

Remus' smile wiped off to be returned with a glare so fierce it was almost feral in the style. "I'll do anything to keep you out of there. If you end up there, I'll put a fire under Dumbledore's arse until he figures a way to get you back to us."

Ponderingly, Harry sat up, hesitated. "I can get out of Azkaban, Remus. I won't," he said hurriedly as Remus went from flushed to pasty-colored in an instant, "but I can. It won't matter who put the wards there, I could dequer. Their wards don't respect the Majestic powers. Why would they, when no one in this world is a Mage. I could break out, like Sirius did -well, excluding the animagus part."

"Just try to hold on, Harry. We'll get you to Hogwarts soon enough. That reminds me, what do you plan on pursuing after you graduate?"

He whooshed out a breath and blew his bangs up, then sent Remus an amused glance. "Assuming I'm still alive?"

Remus' eyes twinkled. "Assuming you're still alive," he agreed readily.

"I don't know. I think I've given up Quidditch interminably, so professional Quidditch is out of the question. I guess an Auror, if Fudge is out of the ministry. I don't know, maybe I'll run away and start a self-defense class for kids in France."

"That's not funny, Harry!" But they both laughed at the thought. "If you ran away, we'd have to kill you again once we found you. It would probably kill Molly if one more thing happened to you."

"She dies every time Hally and me are in the same room."

"Hally and I," Remus corrected automatically, "and she has good reason to worry about that, being as neither of you have any willpower when it comes to that. Now, come on, we have to get up and see what they've decided of your future."

Harry grumbled and excepted the hand up. "We might as well call it the Board of Harry Potter's Governors and Governesses."

"That's a mouthful, but apt enough, I guess."

When they entered the library, Harry was surprised to see Malfoy sitting at the table, between Tonks and Nelly, debating at the top of his voice, unlike the rest of them who were still speaking in low, soothing voices.

"Mal? What are you doing in here?"

"They're going to let you go to Azkaban!"

The concern and anger in the blonde's normally bored, usually omnipotent, voice surprised Harry. "They don't really have a choice, Mal. It's either that or I live life as a criminal and never graduate, shall I last that long."

"How can you act like this? It isn't right! So what if you used Dark Magic on the Dark Lord! For Merlin's sake, what is wrong with Fudge? Does he want everyone to know what spell he died by so some other Death Eater can resurrect him or what?"

"Calm down, Malfoy."

"No! Harry," he said, using his real name in a move of supreme uncharacteristic distress, "what keeps them from charging me for Dark Magic activities if they fry their own Golden Boy? I don't see the point of any of this."

Harry shrugged, baffled. "I don't, either, Mal. I'd suggest drinking, but I think Mrs. Weasley might whap me upside the head if I mentioned it."

She sent him a fierce glare. "You can be sure I would, Harry James Potter!"

Harry sat down in his seat again. "So, has the Harry Potter Board of Governors and Governesses decided what's in the next chapter of the Harry Potter saga yet?"

Remus chuckled.

* * * * * *

Packing was something Harry was getting used to. He'd been in Malfoy Manor barely a week, and yet he found himself taking his clothes out of the mahogany drawers. He did it slowly, since Remus and Dumbledore were waiting to escort him to St. Mungos. Harry had had the feeling that they were trying to keep Lycander from reaching him alone.

He glanced down at the third degree burns on his elbow and felt a rush of gratitude to them even as a watered down substitute of hatred and resentment flowed through his veins.

Hally rubbed at her cheeks and tightened her arms around the pillow she hugged to her chest. She was on Harry's bed, sitting straight, clutching the pillow as if it would keep Harry there, with her, where she could watch and care for him. In a pair of Hermione's jeans and shirt -both were a little loose in places, and in others too tight- she managed to exude an air of royalty. Hermione sat next to her, both of them looking miserable and near tears, with her arm around Hally's shoulders. They both watched Harry pack. Ron sat on his bed, his face blank and slightly flushed with anger. Much as Mal had, he didn't see where his parents had the right to do what they were doing, and he was angry with them for it. Malfoy, on the other hand, lay on his bed, his face emotionless with his arms bent under his head as a cushion.

In silence, he shut the drawer, not wanting to disturb the miserable silence that resonated from every body in the room. Harry didn't have to worry about it, though, as Ginny burst into the room, bringing along with her a wind of fury and righteousness.

"Harry, why are you letting them do this to you? Why aren't you down there screaming at them, knocking sense into them, doing something?"

His hand shook a little, but otherwise his face, his body, his voice, was calm.

"What would you like me to do, Ginny?"

She sat down next to Mal's hips, missing the look of distrust and mild anger on Ron's face, and gestured wildly about the room as if trying to catch a fly with her hand.

"I don't know, but you shouldn't be packing! You're not insane; you're not that grief-stricken. Yeah, you're a little cold nowadays, and you keep everything in. You're bitter and angry at the world, but you have a right to be, for Merlin's sake! They can't just expect you to be right as rain after killing Voldemort. I mean, come on!"

"If I'm everything you just said I am, then maybe I should go. I won't change, and I won't tell Nelly much of anything -I can promise that- but I'd have to turn myself in sooner or later."

"You did nothing wrong!"

"I killed more than forty man and women that night, including your brother and Malfoy's father," Harry said succinctly. "If they think I did something wrong, than dammit, I did. I went on emotional overload and drowned a village of innocent people, Ginny. I used Dark Magic. I understand what they want from me. I understand what answers they want, and I know how to satisfy those answers without telling the complete truth. I understand what everybody wants."

"I don't." Ginny lunged to her feet and threw her arms wide out in an emphatic gesture that Harry had no clue what it meant. "I don't understand it at all, Harry, why they just can't leave you alone."

Harry studiously folded a shirt. "Then I guess we all have reason to be grateful it wasn't you orphaned seventeen years ago, don't we?"

He finally looked up at her. Their eyes met, a spark of something flew, his intense and hers blurry with tears. The room was silent, echoing with their angry words, so that they all reviewed what was said. Harry closed a drawer and opened another, and then simply clutched at the thin line of wood when his hands shook. He felt ill and faint, but kept it to himself. It was probably just the flu or something; or stress and anxiety, as Remus had suggested earlier that day.

He thought he understood now why everything bad and everything that mattered happened to him. He'd been born to be the world's tool to safety and security. In every sense of the word, he'd been shaped into a tool for the world to order, reshape, and use whenever the hell they wanted.

And when he left that night, his hand reached up to the necklace around his neck, and he wondered if he'd ever be happy or normal again. When Olean died, there would be no Voldemort, no Dark Lord or crazy maniacs with extreme amounts of power that he alone had to kill.

What was going to happen to him then?

* * * * * *