Picking up the Pieces

Harry Potter lay on his bed, on top of the covers, fully clothed, and stared at the ceiling. He could feel the rays of the early morning sun streaming in from the window, could feel its warmth penetrate the room. He could hear the birds singing to each other in the tree just outside the window and, if he listened hard enough, he could hear the children playing at the playground just around the block. All these things combined to make him more depressed. Why was the sun still shining, why was everything around him so warm and happy? How could it be, when there was a dark hole so deep inside of him that he felt it would swallow him whole?

Harry's bad mood was affecting those around him. Not that it made much of a difference. His aunt and uncle were more than happy to ignore him as long as his chores were done; his cousin was ecstatic when he decided not to come down for meals because that meant more food for him, even if it was diet food. The only other contact Harry had was with Hedwig, who had grown irritated with him and now only returned every third day to carry his requisite letter off to the Order.

On the top of the desk in the corner of the room was a stack of letters from his friends. Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville. There were even a couple from Dean and Luna, and one from Cho. But Harry had barely glanced at them before tossing them into a pile. If he was allowed to do magic outside of school, he would have cast an "incendio" spell and burned them all as they arrived. He almost felt guilty for not reading and answering Ron and Ginny's letters when he had answered their mother's, but it wasn't like he had a choice. She was an adult, he had to obey her. And she was part of the Order. Besides, he had experienced one of her Howler's in the past and was in no hurry to be on the receiving end of one.

Mrs. Weasley and Professor Lupin (Remus, Harry reminded himself, he said to call him Remus) were the two who wrote to Harry most often, asking how his summer was going and if he was okay and to let them know if he needed anything. Each letter was the same nonsense, and each letter made Harry want to scream. But he didn't. Instead he sat down each time and wrote a brief reply that always said the same thing. "I'm alive. I haven't left the house. I'll see you soon." Though it didn't answer any of the questions that were being asked, it did tell the adults all Harry thought they wanted, or needed, to know. He was still alive, he hadn't forgotten that he was only safe while inside the house and protected by the wards, and he was coming back to Hogwart's in the fall.

Each day, Harry waited until Uncle Vernon left for work, Aunt Petunia left to run errands, and his Dudley left to terrorize the neighborhood. Then he pulled himself out of bed, threw on his Muggle clothing (usually rolling up the sleeves and pant legs several times and securing the pants with a strip of cloth), and headed downstairs to do his chores. He generally started in the kitchen and worked his way around the house from there, leaving the weeding and other outside work for early evening when he could escape outside and still be able to here the evening news but not have to put up with his relatives. Not that he was particularly interested in the news any longer; it just seemed like something else he had to do.

At night, after a long hot day and a shower, he would retire to his room. There were no books there for him to study, but he suspected he would not have opened them even if they hadn't been locked in the cupboard beneath the stairs. The magic world held no appeal for him any longer. All the spells in the world couldn't heal the hole in his heart. What good was magic when it still meant death and grief? He had grown up without his parents, and the pain from that was something he had always known, had lived with forever despite the varying degrees of loneliness he felt and the confusion that often paralleled his loss. He had never really known them, though. But Sirius...Sirius had been his friend, had looked out for him, had cared about him. Had died for him. Although he was not the first, it hurt the most. Thoughts like that led Harry to feeling guilty, because if anything he should hurt more over his parents, who had died to save him when he was only an infant. Perhaps it would have been better if he had never been born.

But then of course there was the prophecy. Someone had to fight the Dark Lord. If it had not been him, would it have been Neville Longbottom? What would it be like if the fate of the wizarding world was in Neville's hands? Harry loved Neville, but the idea of him being responsible for such a large task was daunting. Almost as daunting as the prospect that Harry himself was responsible. He didn't want to be responsible. Didn't want to have to go through life knowing that others would die to protect him because they thought he was the savior of the wizarding world, marked as an equal to the Dark Lord.

Was this why everyone loved him so? Not because he had defeated the Dark Lord the first time, but because they were afraid he would rise again and they would be depending on Harry to save them once again? He knew not many knew of the prophecy, but still, it was hard to figure out if the people he thought actually cared about him really had feelings for him or if they were protecting him out of self-preservation.

One of the only things that Harry had retrieved from his trunk before it had been stowed in the cupboard was the mirror Sirius had given him. In a pique of temper after the incident at the Ministry, Harry had shattered it. After arriving back at Privet Drive, Harry had snuck into the den for a tube of Krazy Glue and painstakingly glued the pieces back together. He knew a simple "reparo" would have been more efficient, but it would have taken the cracks out of the mirror. The cracks were important to Harry, reflecting the patchwork state of his own life. He knew that he could pick up the pieces of his life, put them together in exactly the same way they had been, but he would never be whole again. Of course, even if the mirror had been repaired seamlessly, Harry would know that it had once been broken. And if he could project to the rest of the world that he was still in one piece, he would know that he was still broken inside.

When Harry had first arrived home, he would sit for hours at a time, staring at the mirror, willing Sirius to appear. Sometimes he would talk to Sirius as if he were there, telling him all the things he had wanted to share with him before but had never had the chance, or the nerve, to. Now, he didn't need the mirror to feel Sirius' presence; he talked to him almost constantly despite the whispers of Dudley telling his parents that "Potter's gone nutters, talking to himself all the time."

Some nights he dreamed of Sirius. Sometimes it was happy dreams, dreams of fun times spent at Grimmauld Place the previous summer. Sirius had been depressed to be cooped up, but had seemed genuinely happy to have Harry there with him. There were still far too many nights where the dreams were darker, nightmares that plagued Harry worse than Voldemort had ever done. It was always those last few moments, the sight of Sirius falling through the Veil, the sound of Harry's own voice in his head screaming in protest, the feel of Remus' arms around him, holding Harry back from joining his godfather. It was those nights when Harry woke up screaming for Sirius, waking the rest of the house. And the beatings he got were almost a relief, the physical pain an escape from the ache inside his heart.

This particular morning rose with Harry recovering from a particularly severe beating. He did not want to get out of bed, was not looking forward to dragging himself downstairs to the laundry to try and wash the blood out of his sheets. He had heard the door shut three separate times and knew he was alone in the house. When he heard the chime of the doorbell, he groaned and rolled over to his side, not wanting to face anyone. The chime rang again, insistently, like someone was leaning against it. "Okay, okay, I'm coming," Harry mumbled irritably, rolling off the bed and steadying himself with a hand against the mattress as he hurriedly dragged on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeve t-shirt. He'd be hot but it would cover the bruises.

When Harry finally stumbled down the stairs and opened the door, he gaped in surprise to find Remus Lupin standing there, a serious expression on his face. "Harry," he nodded, his voice soft but steely. "May I come in?"

Harry nodded his assent and stepped back out of the doorway, allowing Remus room to step in. He felt his stomach clench like he was about to be lectured for some infraction, but he hadn't done anything wrong. At least, he was pretty sure he hadn't. Harry led the way to the living room and gestured for Remus to sit. "Can I get you something to drink?" he offered, trying to be polite even though it was taking all his energy to just stand.

Remus shook his head and indicated Harry should sit down across from him. "Harry, you know that the Ministry of Magic has the capabilities to detect underage magic, do you not? You've been disciplined before, if I'm not mistaken?" He waited for Harry's confused nod before continuing. "Last night there was a commotion here in Surrey which occupied the Aurors for quite some time. However, there as also, about that same time, a report of underage magic at the park around the corner. Now, Harry, you know how important it is for you to stay inside the house, especially at night. This is not being looked at as an infraction because apparently it wasn't a very powerful spell, and could have very easily been accidental, but several members of the Order, myself included, are very worried about you. I cannot impress upon you how dangerous it is for you to be wandering outside alone."

"But Profes--I mean, Remus--I wasn't outside last night, I haven't gone farther than the backyard garden all summer!" Harry protested.

Remus gave Harry an indulgent look that said he didn't believe a word of it.

"Honestly! I haven't gone outside, and I surely haven't practiced magic! My wand is in the cupboard with my trunk and everything else! Uncle Vernon wouldn't let me keep it out and I haven't got the key to get into the cupboard!"

"Harry, you are the only wizard in Surrey."

"Fine, whatever. I wasn't outside last night." Harry stood up with a sigh and turned away from Remus. "So is this visit just to remind me that I'm a prisoner here in my aunt and uncle's house?"

"You are not being held prisoner. Besides, it's only another week before school starts, you'll be out of here soon. But you must remain safe until then. There's something you must know, something you probably should have been told before now."

"Oh, great, more secrets. Wonderful, the last ones had such a happy ending." Harry knew he was being rude and spiteful but really didn't care.

"Harry, several weeks ago, there was a disturbance at Azkaban. Several of the Death Eaters that had been imprisoned after the incident at the Ministry escaped. There was a gathering of Death Eaters last night, an attack on a Muggle family here in Surrey that apparently has a witch for a daughter who was accepted at Hogwart's. Snape alerted the order, and Auror managed to capture a few of the Death Eaters. The girl, however, is missing. And her parents are dead." His voice trailed off and he waited for Harry to look at him before continuing. "You are not the only one with secrets in your past, Harry. This girl, this witch the Death Eaters thought was a Mudblood, is actually the daughter of a pure-blooded wizard. Her mother was raped by a Death Eater. She managed to survive the attack, and lived to have the baby, but she died of a Muggle disease several years later. Some form of cancer, I believe. Anyway, the couple raising the girl was not her actual parents, but her aunt and uncle. They did not know of the magical world, but were not surprised when I arrived to speak with them. Their child has always been a little different than the others.

"The important part of this, though, is who we think her father is. I doubt he knew himself before last night, or if he even realizes it now. Even we are not certain, but to see the child, one cannot help but leap to this conclusion. And if he is her father, she may be in more danger than we know. And, therefore, you may be in danger, too, simply from being here in Surrey. As far as the Order can tell, Voldemort and the Death Eaters know you are in Surrey but do not know exactly where. However, if they start spending time here looking for the girl, they will possibly find you instead. You will need to be extremely cautious over the next few days. If you say it wasn't you out last night, I believe you. But I must want you to stay where it is safe until we can take you back to Hogwart's. We have already arranged for your books to be picked up and delivered there; we plan for you to go straight there without going to Grimmauld Place or the Burrow this year."

Harry stared at Remus for a long moment, digesting what he had heard, not sure of what to say. "I have not left the house, as I said before. But if it makes you feel better, I will promise not to do anything foolish. And as good as it was to see you, I have chores to do." Harry felt almost betrayed by Remus. He had thought they were becoming friends. Now he came just to accuse Harry of sneaking out at night and practicing magic, and did not believe Harry's denial of it. And warned Harry about the danger he was in, as if he didn't know already. The story of the girl bothered him, but only because he irrationally saw it as another failure on his part. If he had not played a part in Voldemort's return to power, her family would not have been tortured.

Harry walked Remus to the door, and as he stood on the threshold and watched Remus begin to walk away towards Arabella Figg's house, Harry called his name softly. When he turned, Harry asked, "Who is her father?"

A pained expression crossed Remus' face. "Lucius Malfoy."

Bloody hell! Harry thought as he shut the door and headed towards the kitchen. Lucius Malfoy and a Muggle? Harry thought for a split second that it would almost be worth it just to see the look on Draco Malfoy's face, but immediately felt guilty about the thought. With a sigh, Harry picked up the list of chores from the kitchen counter and almost laughed aloud at the irony of the first one on the list. Go to the market for fresh eggs and spinach. Aunt Petunia must be planning on making quiche for dinner. The first time the Dursleys want him to leave the house for something is on the same day he was practically ordered to stay put. Hmm, Death Eaters or Uncle Vernon's belt? The twinges in his back made Harry think that it was a lose-lose situation. He grabbed the money Aunt Petunia had left beside the note, stuffed it in his pocket, and headed out the door.

Walking back from the market, a grocery sack in his hand, Harry was vaguely disappointed that he had not run into any trouble. He had even bought an extra dozen eggs, figuring that since he didn't have his wand he could at least use them as a weapon to stun his attackers (whether they be Death Eaters or just Dudley and his friends) long enough for him to run. He decided to take a short cut through the park and was walking closely alongside of the bushes when he heard a noise from inside the bush. He knew there was a clearing there because he had hidden there a few times when he was younger, trying to escape Dudley's gang. Harry cautiously peered over the top of the bushes and saw a young girl sleeping soundly, her face turned away from him as she lay with her head in someone else's lap. The someone else, who was talking to himself in low, questioning musing tones, was familiar to Harry. A branch of the bush cracked as Harry tried to angle for a better look and someone else looked up. "Malfoy!" Harry gasped.

Confusion, anger, fear, and relief all flitted through Draco's eyes as they met Harry's. "Potter! Thank Merlin!"