They appeared in the dimly-lit kitchen at Twelve Grimmauld Place, Harry's knees buckling the second he touched down. The only reason he didn't fall right to the floor was through a quick save by Fred, whose strong arm wrapped around his middle. "Easy does it, kid," the tall redhead murmured, keeping Harry upright.
"Harry."
The next thing Harry knew he was bundled against a familiar-smelling chest, large hands pressing at his shoulders. Sirius. He choked back a sob, leaning into his godfather's embrace.
"What happened? Phineas Nigellus said Arthur's been injured." Sirius' question was directed at the Weasley children.
"He had some sort of mad vision, woke up screaming, saying Dad had been attacked by a snake," Ron declared viciously.
When Harry looked up, all eyes were on him.
"Harry, what happened?" Ginny asked gently. Harry sighed.
"I'll make some tea," Sirius announced, depositing Harry on one of the kitchen chairs and hurrying towards the kettle. "You can explain everything then."
Harry didn't wait for the tea to be ready; with his gaze firmly on the wooden tabletop, he relayed the events of his dream.
At some point while he was talking, Bill and Charlie arrived. Harry wasn't sure who sent word to them, but he was glad when they appeared, Bill immediately gathering Ginny in a hug, turning his anxious blue gaze on Harry.
Harry thought about altering his story, about telling them he watched from outside the snake rather than from within; not letting on that he had felt the way the fangs had sunk into warm flesh. But he'd already said it to Dumbledore, and he trusted all of them — except Ron, but at this point Harry couldn't give a fuck about Ron Weasley's opinions.
"Does Mum know?" Charlie asked urgently. Sirius approached the table with a tray covered in cups of tea, and he squeezed Charlie's shoulder gently.
"I expect Dumbledore is warning her now."
Ginny had to be talked down from haring off to St Mungo's, reminded that if even Mrs Weasley hadn't been informed by the hospital yet, it would look mighty suspicious if all her kids showed up with Harry Potter in tow. "Let's all just settle down," Bill said, his low voice calm, and his siblings reluctantly took seats at the table. "Even if we went to St Mungo's, there's nothing we can do to help. Dad's being seen by the healers, they'll be doing everything they can. Better for us to wait here than over there. Hospital tea is shit," he added with a weak laugh, raising his cup towards Sirius. Only Charlie snorted at the joke.
The younger Weasleys didn't seem convinced, but none dared argue with their eldest brother.
Harry sipped at his tea, hands trembling around his cup. Sirius took the seat beside him, leaning close until their shoulders were pressed together. "You alright, pup?"
A jerky nod. Then, smaller, a shake of his head. How could he be alright after seeing something like that?
It was a thousand times worse than the endless corridor running of his usual Department of Mysteries dreams. It was even worse than the occasional time he got a direct line into one of the Death Eater meetings, watching — feeling — Voldemort torture his loyal subjects.
This was a visceral attack on a man Harry had known since he was twelve, a man who had always treated him with kindness. If Mr Weasley died…
Harry clenched his jaw tight. He wouldn't think like that. He couldn't.
Fawkes flashed in with a note from Mrs Weasley, telling them her husband was still alive and she was on her way to the hospital. Far from reassuring them, it just made the Weasley children realise how dire their father's situation was. Harry's stomach roiled, and he jumped to his feet. "I need the loo," he declared, practically sprinting from the kitchen.
He vaguely noticed that Mrs Black's portrait was no longer on the wall, tearing past it and heading for the small toilet just beneath the stairs. He retched into the sink, bringing up the tea he'd just drank, hot tears leaking from his eyes.
"Easy, kid." It was Bill, and for a moment Harry was struck by how similar he and Fred had sounded that he almost laughed. The curse-breaker's hand rubbed soothingly at his back. "Any more coming up?"
Harry shook his head. "Don't think so." He turned, meeting Bill's gaze intently. "Bill. The vision— being inside the snake felt like being inside Voldemort's head. Exactly like it."
The redhead's tanned face was pale and waxy. "I had a feeling you might say that," he sighed. "She's another, then?"
"She's got to be." A fourth horcrux. How many had the man even made??
"Right. Fuck." Bill ran a hand over his face. "At least we know. Bugger all we can do about that one, with how close he keeps her."
That was definitely a problem for a future night. "Do you think he wanted me to see it?" If Voldemort knew he could see into the snake as well as his own head, would he start suspecting the truth?
Bill shrugged. "No way to tell. But if it helps, I don't think so. He might not even know you've seen it. In fact, you'd probably know if he did. Didn't you say you can feel it when he's pissed off?" A ghost of a smile crossed Bill's face. "I'd say raising the alarm in time to get Dad to St Mungo's would probably piss him off, if he knew it was you."
That made sense, and Harry finally felt like he could breathe.
"Come on," Bill urged. "Let's go back to the kitchen. Unless — you didn't actually need the loo, did you?"
Harry snorted, shaking his head, and let Bill gently corral him back to the gathering in the kitchen. Now he was looking properly, he realised Sirius had redecorated in here, too — not massively, but where there had once been dark wallpaper there was now cheery duck-egg blue paint, and he'd replaced the grimy old tiles with fresh white ones. The floor, too, had been cleaned until the dark grey stone gleamed.
Sirius offered him another cup of tea. They all sat in silence for a long, long time.
Harry didn't know what to do. There was nothing he could say to make it better, especially not when anything he might say would likely be of the vein that when he felt his fangs going in, he didn't feel any bones break, so that was probably good.
That wouldn't be reassuring to anyone.
Sirius kept a hand on the back of his neck for a while, a soothing weight, and absently Harry wondered if Remus was around. He didn't ask, though. It didn't seem appropriate.
At around three, Bill got a message from his mother; a request to come to the hospital. Apparently, someone had been sent to his flat, but he obviously wasn't there.
The note didn't say anything about Mr Weasley's status. Bill was grey-faced when he flooed out of the kitchen.
It was ten past five by the time anything else happened; all of them were beginning to doze off around the table, but stubbornly refused to go to bed. Harry didn't feel he could go up, even though he felt like he'd been hit by the Hogwarts Express, not when his friends were worrying. Not when they didn't know if Mr Weasley would make it.
When Mrs Weasley finally strode through the door, Harry was jostled abruptly as his pillow — George's shoulder — moved, the redhead turning to look at his mum.
"He's going to be alright," she announced, exhaustion threading her voice. "Bill's sitting with him now. We can all go see him later."
It was like a plug had been pulled in the room, the tension draining visibly. "Thank Merlin," Charlie said hoarsely. Then he pushed his chair back, eyes a little too wide. "Breakfast, then? I'll get the eggs on." He reached for the frying pan on the stove, fumbling and nearly dropping it. In an instant, Sirius was up beside him, hands on the redhead's shoulders.
"Let me take care of it," the animagus said, voice soft. "Go hug your mum."
Charlie looked back at his mum and siblings, nodding jerkily. "If you're sure."
Harry eagerly approached the stove to help, desperate to have something to do that wasn't sitting in the miasma of grief and relief that surrounded the Weasley family. They might call him their brother, but he was not one of them. And with his feelings still very mixed regarding Mrs Weasley, he didn't want to intrude.
Between the pair of them, he and Sirius managed to cook enough breakfast for everyone. But when Harry went to get plates to dish it all up, he found himself wrapped in a rib-crushing embrace. "Thank you, Harry," Mrs Weasley breathed emphatically. "If not for you, they might not have found Arthur for hours. By then… well, I don't like to think what would've happened."
His stomach squirmed guiltily — even now, he wanted to yell at the woman, to ask if this too was a lie, to demand why she had stolen from his vaults and helped Dumbledore manipulate him and whatever else she might know. But at the same time he wanted to sink into her hug, overjoyed that Mr Weasley was going to be okay, that he'd managed to help.
"I'm just glad he's alright," he said wearily, stepping awkwardly out of her embrace. "I— I need to get the plates."
He wasn't even that hungry, nor was he particularly in the mood to celebrate, but everyone else was so high on relief and lack of sleep that Harry couldn't get away. So he sat there, picking at his eggs, trying to rid himself of the taste of blood in his mouth.
.-.-.
Harry had never been to St Mungo's before.
He had expected the wizarding hospital to be somewhere by Diagon Alley, but instead it was just past Bond Street station. Seeing the bustling crowd of muggles out Christmas shopping was jarring, and Harry stopped for a moment just to stare — until Moody grabbed him firmly by the shoulder and shoved him forward.
He'd managed to sleep, some; with visiting hours not until the afternoon, Sirius had suggested everyone get some rest. Harry hadn't expected to be able to do so after the vision he'd had, but as soon as he was in his bed in his room surrounded by familiar things, he dropped off quite quickly. Luckily, Voldemort had not disturbed him further.
So now he was with the cluster of redheads, as well as Tonks and Moody, headed for St Mungo's. They turned a corner, stopping outside a run-down department store that all the muggles were walking straight past. Harry was only a little surprised when the mannequin beckoned them forward, and he was nudged to step straight through the sheet glass shop front.
Being inside a magical hospital reception was about as chaotic as Harry might have imagined. He hardly knew where to look, seeing people with all sorts of bizarre ailments and injuries. He tried not to stare too hard at any one of them, following Mrs Weasley as she asked the Welcome Witch for directions.
The number of people in lime-green robes was almost blinding, and privately Harry much preferred the muggles with their white coats. Though at least you could find the healers easily, if you needed one. Those robes looked like they would glow in the dark!
An image popped into his head; Draco, older than he was now, wearing one of the vibrant robes and looking down at it as if it was a personal offence to be on his body. His lips twitched with a smile — even the bright green would probably look good on Draco. Attractive bastard.
Harry tried to linger back with Moody and Tonks, but the Weasleys were having none of that, and so he let himself be strong-armed into the ward. Mr Weasley looked to be in good spirits, propped up on several pillows and reading the Daily Prophet. He positively beamed at them all, setting the newspaper aside. "Oh, hello! Bill just left, had to pop into work. Shouldn't you be at work, too, Charlie?"
"Don't be daft, Dad," Charlie said, voice thick with emotion. "Called in sick, didn't I?"
Mr Weasley's gaze was an attempt at being scolding, but he was clearly just happy to see his son. He held his good arm out for a hug. "Go on, I won't break. Just be gentle with me; I'm not one of your dragons, you know!"
Charlie didn't waste any time, hugging his father as tight as he dared. "Merlin, Dad," he sighed, pulling back with a strained smile on his face. "Of everyone in the family, I thought it'd be me ending up in the Creature Injuries ward, one of these days."
"Well, don't take this as a challenge," Mrs Weasley muttered roughly, leaning in to kiss her husband's cheek. "You look peaky, dear."
Harry hung at the back of the group, letting the Weasleys greet their injured family member, listening to Mr Weasley babble on about the ward and his fellow patients and how his wound was healing. He kept insisting he felt fine, but Harry could see the strain around his eyes, the wrinkles that were a little deeper than usual. He had the look of a man hiding how much pain he was in.
Fred and George began to ask questions; what their dad had been doing in the Ministry, how the snake got in, who had sent it. Really, they needn't have bothered — Harry had all those answers, thereabouts, and would be happy to tell them most of it later. But it made Mrs Weasley cross, them asking about Order business, so the kids were soon shoved out and told to send Mad-Eye and Tonks in.
That was not going to stop the twins, who pulled a pair of Extendable Ears from their pockets, and set up to listen.
"Dumbledore seems to have been waiting for Harry to see something like this…"
"…Always been something funny about that Potter lad…"
"—Well, if You-Know-Who's possessing him—"
Harry pulled out his own Extendable Ear, but the damage had been done; the rest of them were looking at him with wary, alarmed gazes.
Harry looked at the twins and Ginny, trying to silently assure them that he knew what was going on. Ron, on the other hand, was staring at Harry like he was Voldemort himself.
They didn't get a chance to talk further — Mr Weasley needed his bandages checked, and Mrs Weasley decided that was enough for one day. Charlie stayed with his dad, but the rest of them were shuffled off back to Grimmauld. Harry was silent for the whole journey, to the point where even Mrs Weasley noticed.
"Why don't you all go up to the small drawing room?" she suggested once they were inside the house. In the light of day, Sirius' renovation efforts were entirely visible; the entrance hall was now a bright, welcoming place, with no screaming portraits or creepy taxidermied house elves in sight. "Or perhaps get a few more hours sleep — especially you, Harry dear, you look like you could use it."
He nodded, but when he went upstairs he didn't go to his room. He went with the others to the small drawing room; now a cosy little living room, with squashy sofas and a landscape painting of a forest on the wall above the mantle.
"So are you going to tell us what the hell that was all about, then?" Ron spat, and Harry should've known he wouldn't be able to hold it in much longer.
"I've already told you what happened," Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. "If Dumbledore knows something about it, that's news to me." But wasn't it telling that the headmaster had apparently been expecting such a thing, even with Harry keeping his previous visions a secret.
"You heard what Moody said," Ron retorted. "What if You-Know-Who really is possessing you? Are we supposed to just get on with things, let him see all our secrets through your eyes?"
"Don't think Old Voldie cares much about your secrets, Ronnikins," Fred remarked wryly.
"Besides, Harry's not possessed." Ginny's voice was sharp. "As the only person in this room who has been possessed by You-Know-Who, I can assure you of that." She turned to Harry, one red eyebrow raised. "You're not missing chunks of time, are you? Finding yourself somewhere with no idea how you got there?"
"No."
"Exactly," Ginny huffed, glaring at Ron. "Whatever it is, it's not that."
"But it is something!" Ron argued. "He wakes up screaming bloody murder about a snake, and a hundred miles away our dad is dying! You heard what he said; he was inside the snake. He bit Dad!"
"That's enough!"
Harry whipped around — Remus was in the doorway, his eyes flashing gold. "Harry is not a danger," he declared. "I understand it's been an emotional twenty-four hours, but yelling about it isn't going to solve everything." He paused, giving the barest of frowns. "The headmaster is aware of things, Ron. If he was worried about Harry or anyone else's safety, he would've said something."
As much as Harry hated it, that was probably the best thing to say to reassure Ron Weasley — Dumbledore was taking care of it. Indeed, it seemed to take the wind out of the redhead's sails. Harry scowled.
"I'm going to bed," he muttered, squeezing past Remus and heading for the stairs. He wasn't surprised to hear the werewolf following him; neither of them spoke until they were in Harry's room, the door warded. Then, Remus opened his arms, and Harry sank into them gratefully.
"It's good to see you, cub," he said, running a hand through Harry's hair. He leaned down, kissing Harry's scar tenderly. "Are you alright?"
Harry scoffed. "Really?"
"Fine, stupid question," Remus agreed, brows drawing together in amusement. He nudged Harry towards the bed, both of them sitting on the edge of the mattress. "What happened? I only got bits and pieces. Arthur is in St Mungo's?"
Harry relayed the events of the night before, going into more detail with the vision than he had with the Weasley children. "I spoke to Bill — I think the snake is another horcrux."
Remus' frown deepened. "That does seem to be the case. I'll need to speak with Severus to confirm it, but…" He didn't need to say the rest; if anyone knew what Voldemort's horcruxes felt like, it was Harry.
"I— there's something else," Harry admitted. Slowly, he confessed what had happened when he'd taken the portkey; when he'd looked Dumbledore in the eye by accident.
"You think he knows what you are?" Remus asked, worried. Harry nodded.
"If he didn't before, he likely does now." Having Voldemort lunge at him through Harry's mind was a bit of a giveaway. "But… I've been thinking. I bet he's known since summer, if not beforehand. He's been avoiding me all term." He'd thought at first that the lack of eye contact was his own doing, keeping himself safe from the man's wandering Legilimency, but the more he thought back on it the more he realised that Dumbledore had been the one not even looking anywhere near Harry. "I think he's worried about what Voldemort can see through me. I think… I think he's worried Voldemort can do Legilimency from within my mind." Remus ran a hand through his hair, letting out a slow breath. "That would explain some of the things Albus has said through Order meetings. Nothing blatant," he added at Harry's alarmed look. "Just cryptic comments about making sure you don't know too much. Sirius and I thought he was just trying to keep you oblivious because he was worried you might piece things together about him, now you've broken free of the compulsions."
"But he's worried Voldemort can get into my mind, properly." A bolt of fear shot through Harry. "He can't, can he?"
"Absolutely not," Remus said firmly. "Severus has checked for himself; your Occlumency shields are good, and the connection doesn't work that way. He can access your dreams, draw you into his own mind, but he can't get at your thoughts or memories." He gave a wry, bitter smile. "If Voldemort knew what you knew, a lot more people would be dead; Severus likely at the top of the list."
That was true. The tension eased from Harry's shoulders. "But the longer he has to research the connection, the higher the chance of him figuring out I'm a horcrux." Suddenly, he wished he'd been able to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas — the three weeks of break would have been a perfect time to scour Salazar's library. "I want it out of me, Moony."
Wiry arms wrapped around him. "I know, cub. Bill's working on it, I promise you. But as awful as it is, it did allow you to save Arthur's life last night." He kissed the crown of Harry's head. "And look on the bright side; at least Albus will keep out of your head, if he thinks you've got company in there."
A weak smile tugged at Harry's cheeks. That was a small victory, all things considered; but he'd take it.
He just worried what Dumbledore might do to try and get Voldemort out.
.-.-.-.
To the delight of mostly just Ron and Mrs Weasley, Hermione showed up at Grimmauld Place the next evening; Hogwarts had finished for Christmas, and apparently she had changed her mind about skiing with her parents.
Harry didn't really care either way; he was keeping to himself for the most part, regardless. The twins and Ginny had mostly accepted his explanation that he knew why he'd seen through the snake's eyes but he couldn't tell them, but no one was really in the mood to do anything.
Sirius tried to keep them all busy with hanging Christmas decorations, saying that now he was done with his refurbishment of the house, it deserved to get dressed up for the occasion. Mostly it seemed a way to keep Ron and Hermione away from Harry, as they were all separated into the same pairs they'd been in for the summer's cleaning efforts.
The animagus had stripped the wallpaper from Harry's room while he was away, but the rest he had waited for Harry to help with. At first, Harry had considered using the same decorating scheme as his room back at Seren Du, but that just made him miss his real home even more. So instead he changed it to a muted red and gold decor, liking the way it made Sirius light up with glee, to see such a Gryffindor room in his family's house.
That evening after dinner, Harry went up to his room to write a letter for Draco, apologising for not being able to say goodbye. He didn't write too much about his vision, just in case, but he wished the blond a good Christmas and promised to write again soon when he could. Signing the letter 'love, Harry' made his stomach flutter. Next time he saw Remus, he would give him the letter to give to Snape; with luck, it would make it to Hogwarts before Christmas Day. Along with it, he passed on the green-wrapped stack of trashy wizarding romance novels he'd had George owl-order for him, wishing he could watch Draco's face when he opened that particular Christmas present.
It took an entire day of hanging around Grimmauld Place, stringing tinsel from every possible surface, before Harry remembered the enormous surprise he had for his godfathers. A devious grin crossed his face. That would cheer them up, for sure!
He managed to get them both to come up to his room without alerting Mrs Weasley, who never liked Harry spending too much time with Sirius. When the door was shut, Sirius eyed him worriedly. "What's the matter, pup? Did you have another vision?"
Harry shook his head, beaming. "No, nothing like that. I need to show you something." Then, without hesitation, he closed his eyes and became a fox.
He'd practiced a lot since the first transformation, and it was much easier now; he still couldn't change mid-stride like Sirius, but it didn't take ten minutes of meditation anymore.
Both men gasped, and Harry cocked his head, sitting on his haunches and watching their faces fill with pride. "Little Red!" Sirius cooed, and Harry hissed at the nickname. They were not calling him that!
Suddenly, Sirius was a huge shaggy dog. Harry's initial fox instinct was to run, but he pushed past it, bounding over to his canine godfather. They bumped noses, sniffing each other, and then Harry was treated to the delight of a big doggy tongue licking right across his muzzle, all the way up to his ear. He glared, feeling the slobber stick to his fur, and swiped out halfheartedly with a paw. Above them, Remus chuckled.
"That's amazing, Harry." Knees cracking with the effort, Remus sank down to sit cross-legged on the floor, holding his arms out expectantly. Harry bounded over, getting right in the man's lap so Remus could study his form. The werewolf smelled different to his keen fox senses, the predator in him obvious — but then he started scratching behind Harry's ear, and Harry melted.
"Gets them every time." Sirius had become human again, and was watching in amusement. "Pretty little thing, aren't you, pup? Let's get a proper look at you."
Remus stopped scratching his head, so Harry shook himself off and hopped between the men, showing off his fluffy tail and needle-sharp teeth. "You've done so well, Harry. I didn't expect you to get it so quickly!"
"It took Jamie and I almost a whole year, and Peter nearly eighteen months." Sirius was awed, stroking gently down Harry's back. "Oh, he's so soft, Moony!" A grin of childlike glee filled his face. "I always wanted a pet fox when I was little, y'know." He swooped down to grab Harry in a cuddle, careful not to squish him. Harry yowled in mock-annoyance.
"Can you change back?" Remus asked. Harry screwed up his nose in concentration, and the next moment he was human-shaped once more, still in Sirius' lap. If anything, Sirius just hugged him harder.
"So proud," he declared, smacking a loud kiss to Harry's cheek. "Our little prodigy, Moons!"
Harry blushed, unused to such blatant praise.
"Very impressive," Remus agreed. "We're incredibly proud."
"Could I— this summer, if we're back home…" Harry bit his lip, hesitant. "Could I run with you on the full moon? I'll be really careful, I promise. I just… I want to be part of it." It was something his father had done, something that felt like the greatest expression of family he could offer. Remus sucked in a quiet breath.
"We'll take precautions," he said eventually, and Harry's heart soared. "If there's even a hint of something going wrong, Sirius will get you out of there. But if, by summer, you still want to… we'll try." Then, he smiled, tears in his eyes. "I'd love to have you out there with us, Harry."
Harry beamed at him.
"We'll have to get you something really special for Christmas," Sirius enthused. "Something to celebrate. Merlin, if Prongs could see you now!" There was a beat of heavy silence, and Harry swallowed thickly.
"I wish he was here. I wish they both were." It still felt entirely selfish of Harry, to be pulling together his family when his parents could no longer be part of it. Especially in moments like now, something that was so wrought with echoes of the past. His father should have been the one teaching him his animagus transformation, the one bursting with pride at his success. He never got that chance.
"They are, pup," Sirius insisted, squeezing him tight, one hand over Harry's heart. "They're right here. Always."
A lump rose in Harry's throat, and he swallowed past it thickly.
It wasn't the same, but it would have to be enough.
.-.-.
He should have known he couldn't successfully avoid Ron and Hermione forever. They ambushed him while he was in the library, doing his Christmas homework, having just sent a letter off to Susan with Hedwig. She was his best bet for finding out if he'd missed anything important in the last couple days of school, and he wanted to know how her aunt was doing with the Dumbledore case.
The pair walked right up to him, and Harry set his quill down, dread building. What did they want now? Was Ron still mad about the snake thing?
"So are you done being mad at us, yet?" Ron asked. Harry blinked.
"Sorry, what?"
"You've been awful to us since the summer," Hermione burst out. "I know it upset you that we didn't write to you, but Dumbledore told us not to say anything about the Order or where we were."
"Even if we had written to you it would've just pissed off your relatives," Ron added mulishly. "You can't be angry at us for that, mate."
"I know you had a bad summer, and we're really sorry, but honestly, Harry, you've been ignoring us all term and it's just not fair! We might have made mistakes, but we don't deserve the cold shoulder from you." Hermione spoke very quickly, like she'd rehearsed what she was going to say and wanted to get it all out before she was interrupted.
Harry stared at them both incredulously. What??
"I'm not ignoring you because you didn't write to me over the summer," he said flatly. They both looked taken-aback. "I'm ignoring you because I don't want to be friends with you anymore."
Ron's face went red with anger. "You just decided that, did you?" he snarled. "What, you're too good for us now?"
"You made it pretty clear how little our friendship meant when you decided to believe I'd put my own name in the Goblet of Fire, and spend half the year talking shit about me behind my back because of it!" Harry retorted sharply.
"Harry, he apologised for that," Hermione huffed, but Harry just rolled his eyes.
"Because you made him. And it didn't stop him saying things when he thought I wouldn't hear them." With Lavender and Parvati as his friends, Harry had heard every awful thing Ron had said about him. There was no way the redhead could come back from that, even if he wasn't spying for Dumbledore.
"But what about all the things we've gone through?" Hermione was tearful now. "The troll, and the stone, and everything with the Heir of Slytherin! Third year when you thought Sirius was trying to kill you. The Triwizard Tournament!"
"Shared trauma doesn't mean I'm obliged to be friends with you, Hermione. Besides; you didn't go through half of those! I was alone when I faced Quirrell, I was alone when I killed the basilisk, and seeing as I hardly spoke to either of you last year, you can't say you were with me for the tournament either?"
"So you're just going to throw it all away?" Hermione sobbed. "Four years of friendship?" She wiped at her eyes, then grew serious. "Harry, if this is about your vision — if you're trying to push us away because you think Voldemort is in your head, that's ridiculous." She reached out to grab his hand, but he pulled back. "We're here for you, Harry."
"Now, when it suits you. When there's things happening to me that you want to know about," Harry shot back. "You always want to know everything, Hermione; where I'm going, what I'm doing — for the longest time I thought that was how friendship was supposed to go! But I know better, now. I've got real friends, now. Honest friends, who let me have my space and my secrets, and don't treat me like I'm incapable of doing my own bloody homework without help."
"Don't talk to her like that," Ron growled.
"I'll talk to her how I want; she does the same to me!" Harry shouted. He got to his feet, grabbing his schoolwork in a haphazard bundle. "I'm sick of you two treating me like a child, and I understand that with things the way they are we'll end up being around each other more often than not, but we're not friends, alright? Friends don't treat each other the way you've treated me. So just leave me alone."
Before they could argue further, Harry stormed from the room — he hated the knot in his chest, hated that there was still a small part of him that wanted to rush back in there and apologise and smooth everything over, until they could all go back to the way things were. But he had seen too much of their true colours by now, and he knew there was no place for them in the life he was building for himself.
That didn't mean it didn't hurt to say it.
.-.-.
Utterly oblivious to his godson's emotional turmoil happening downstairs, Sirius was in one of the little-used upstairs parlours, a Bowie record spinning on the player, enjoying a bit of peace — and avoiding Molly Weasley.
He'd grown used to being mostly alone in the house outside Order meetings. Since the kids had gone to school, pretty much the only visitors he had were Remus, the two Weasley boys, Tonks and Kingsley. He had liked it that way.
Now the house was full again, and while he was delighted to have Harry back… it was a lot. Molly was a lot. While she was grateful he was allowing them to stay for the holidays, given the house's proximity to St Mungo's, she had gone right back into the mindset she'd had in the summer; namely, forgetting it was Sirius' house and not her own. She had more opinions than he cared for about his decorating choices, and had entirely re-arranged his kitchen cupboards to her liking without so much as a by-your-leave. Sirius didn't have it in him to argue, not when he knew it would just end in another disappointed lecture from Albus about doing his part for the cause.
Because obviously letting Molly Weasley run roughshod over his silverware was absolutely vital to the war effort.
At least she couldn't throw out his family heirlooms in the name of cleaning anymore. Indeed, she didn't seem to know what to do with herself, now the house was in decent shape. It gave her less to needle him over in Order meetings, too; he was no longer the ragged escaped convict living in a disgusting, Dark hovel — a terrible role model for poor young Harry. Sirius chuckled to himself. She didn't have much of a leg to stand on, anymore.
So lost in his thoughts, Sirius didn't notice the door creeping open.
"Is this a private party, or can anyone join in?" The smooth, lightly amused voice made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, and Sirius looked up as Charlie Weasley snuck inside, shutting the door in his wake.
"Not just anyone, but I suppose you're alright," Sirius teased, winking. Charlie laughed, the sound tripping over Sirius' quickening pulse. "Thought you were with your dad."
"Just got back. They had to change his bandages again, and he hates us watching that." Charlie grimaced, and Sirius frowned; Arthur was having an awful lot of bandage changes, from the sounds of it. Was the venom still so potent?
Charlie sat down on the sofa beside Sirius, rather than in the armchair opposite. Sirius tried not to tense. "Harry's on the warpath again, by the way," the redhead remarked ruefully. "Heard him yelling at Ron and Hermione in the library on my way up. Sounds like they tried to tell him to get over himself and be friends with them again."
Sirius rolled his eyes. "Bet Harry loved that." He was surprised he hadn't heard the yelling from all the way up here. Harry had Lily's lungs on him when he truly got going.
"Gonna make for an interesting Christmas, that mix," Charlie mused. "Can't say I'm sad we're spending it here, though."
His blue eyes met Sirius' with a pointed kind of heat, and Sirius felt his breath catch, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth.
He hadn't thought Charlie's flirting would go on this long. He'd fully expected the redhead to laugh him off after a while; get bored, switch targets. Instead, he only seemed to get bolder. More serious.
Sirius was beginning to wonder if the flirting had ever been a joke to begin with.
"You won't miss your dragons over Christmas, then?" he asked lightly. A syrup-smooth chuckle spilled from Charlie's lips.
"I'll still see them plenty. But they're not much for the winter; half of them are snuggled up in their nests 'til spring." He gave the full force of that dimpled smile in Sirius' direction, and the animagus felt the urge to press his thumbs into the divots of those cheeks — preferably as he got up close and personal with the inside of Charlie's mouth. He swallowed hard. "That's good, then. The more the merrier, round here."
"All we need is Dad healed up and back home, and it'll be a proper party," Charlie agreed. His eyes sparkled, the sapphire blue catching the light beautifully. "Maybe if I'm a good boy I'll get my Christmas wish early."
"Oh?" Sirius shouldn't, he should get up, walk away— this was wrong, he couldn't, he shouldn't.
And yet as the dragon tamer leaned in, his intentions clear, Sirius could do nothing but tilt his chin up and accept the kiss.
It was short, and relatively chaste, but it rattled Sirius right down to his very bones. He hadn't kissed someone in years — since before Azkaban — and he wasn't sure if the dementors had tarnished his memories or if Charlie was just that good, but it felt incredible.
Charlie didn't push his luck, and pulled back after a few moments. But there was a pleased light in his eyes and a flush across his lightly tanned cheeks. His hand rested on Sirius' knee, palm like a brand through the denim of Sirius' jeans. "That wasn't a good idea," Sirius whispered weakly. Charlie's lips twitched, amused.
"Wasn't it? Felt pretty good to me."
Sirius felt his own cheeks redden. "Charlie, I— I'm flattered. But we can't. We shouldn't. I'm too old for you, for Merlin's sake; I'm an escaped convict. Your mother would kill me."
"None of those reasons are that you don't fancy me back," Charlie said knowingly. Sirius stayed silent; he couldn't argue that. Charlie would know it was a lie.
"We shouldn't," he repeated instead. Charlie darted forward to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, his nose pressing briefly against Sirius' cheek.
"I'm old enough to know what I want, Sirius," he breathed. "And I want you, very much. I think we'd go well together." Then he grinned roguishly, and Sirius' stomach flared with heat. "But if you need a bit of convincing, I'm happy to oblige."
Getting up from the chair with catlike grace, he passed in front of Sirius — giving the animagus an eyeful of those powerful thighs and shapely arse in very tight jeans — and trailed his fingers across the line of Sirius' shoulder. "I'll see you at dinner." A flutter of a smirk. "Great album choice, by the way. I'm more of a Diamond Dogs fan myself. Maybe we can compare collections sometime."
He strode confidently from the room, leaving Sirius alone once more; feeling very much like he might be in over his head.