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Chapter Text

He felt himself slam into the ground, his breath forced from his lungs. All at once, a wall of noise collided with him. It was hard to make out what was going on around him. Nondescript shapes and colors swam before his eyes. He had made it back

There was a cacophony of murmurs, excited shouts, drumming and music, and one ear-piercing scream that rent the night, causing a moment of confusion that hung in the air around the crowd.

Harry wanted to live in that moment of suspended silence… before everything changed for the rest of the world. As long as time stopped here, none of this had to be real… right?

But moments like that aren’t meant to last forever.

The sounds of the crowd became deafening and Harry became aware of many footsteps thundering closer and closer to him.

He breathed in and let out a shuddering breath. He let go of the cup and his other hand grasped tighter to Cedric’s shirt. He worried that if he let go, he’d lose his grip on reality and as much as he wanted to succumb to his exhaustion, he knew he needed to hang on a bit longer. It was the only way they’d know.

His throat ached and a sob escaped his lips, releasing the pressure and shattering what little resolve he had left. Hot tears flowed down his cheeks and he pressed his face into Cedric’s side. His head felt so heavy…

Cold… thought Harry. He’s cold already… Dumbledore… where is… Dumbledore…? Even his thoughts were having trouble keeping up with the chaos.

A pair of hands grabbed him roughly by the back of his robes and turned him over. The night sky hung above him, shifting in and out of focus. He closed his eyes in an attempt to block out the rising nausea, but not before Dumbledore came into his field of vision.

“Harry! Harry !”

Harry had never heard Dumbledore sound so shaken before. He felt warm hands grasp his shoulders, gently touch his face as though to comfort… someone was clutching at his hands, trying to free his grip on Cedric.

“No… please…” Harry whimpered, his fingers tightening.

“My God-- Diggory! Dumbledore-- he’s dead!”

Harry opened his eyes and saw Dumbledore looking back at him. 

“Sir… he’s back…” said Harry, trying to raise his voice somewhat, but hearing it crack in his throat. “He’s back. Voldemort…”

Dumbledore’s eyes widened.

The crowd around them got exponentially louder around Harry and he curled slightly into himself against the sound.

Someone raised Harry up to sitting and he swayed. He moved his hands to rest on top of the ones that pulled him up. They were warm. He focused on how they felt on his shoulders as they steadied him where he rested. All at once, Harry became aware of how much pain he was in. His head was pounding-- he winced against the body aches that seemed to cover him and again when he felt himself being pulled to his feet. He let out a low hiss in response.

“...Harry… I’ll take him--”

“No, I would prefer--”

“Dumbledore… Diggory… think you should tell…?”

More screaming. Loud sobbing and clipped, fearful conversations melded together. Harry couldn’t make out any of it.

“I’ve got you… come on… hospital wing…” Harry heard in his ear. 

Harry weakly resisted, but the hands were too strong and Harry was too tired.

“Please… no… Dumbledore…” he muttered weakly.

Whoever was half-carrying, half-dragging Harry had their arm around his chest. Harry clutched at their arm for dear life, willing them to either let him go or let him sleep, he wasn’t sure which would be better. He felt a sharp pain in his leg every few steps.

Harry wasn’t sure how long they were walking. It felt like time was bending and twisting in two different directions and speeds all at once. Harry could hear the echoes of footsteps on stone as they entered the great hall and climbed the stairs. He heard a lock slide home and felt a burst of heat as a fire burst to life in the fireplace. Pressure on his shoulders as he was pushed into a seat. He let out a deep breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“Drink this… What happened, Potter?”

Moody.

Harry felt a cup at his lips and without a second thought, he let the contents tip down his throat. He coughed and suddenly his senses seemed more alive than they did moments ago. Moody’s face loomed close to his, causing Harry to startle as his vision cleared. His magical eye was swinging from somewhere in his head to facing Harry while his good eye was set, unblinking on him.

“It was him… Voldemort…”

Harry closed his eyes and slowly, slowly recounted with all of the words he could muster what had happened that night in the graveyard. He saw everything flash across his eyelids as if a movie of the past couple of hours was playing just for him. A torturous reminder of his own stupidity… his own weakness… his own failure to stop… any of it… 

He saw himself grabbing the cup with Cedric, insisting they win the tournament together… Felt sharp pain in his head that made him feel cleaved open and left for dead… The ropes cutting into his skin through his clothes after being forced against the headstone… The flash of silver and spurts of red, wanting so desperately to be sick but his body betraying him… Iciness… wrongness … touching his face… The feeling of being ripped apart under the Cruciatus… The golden dome that formed from the connection of his and Voldemort’s wands… His parents with set determination on their faces and lovesickness in their pale eyes and features… he couldn’t bring himself to say half of this to Moody now, but his story came out in spurts. Moody’s eyes never left Harry’s face once.

“Voldemort’s back, Harry? You’re sure he’s back?”

His words ran out and his throat clenched against the tears that threatened to spill over again. He closed his eyes and nodded, slowly, exhaustion seeping into every layer of his skin.

Moody glanced down at Harry’s injured arm, proof of Harry’s ordeal and Lord Voldemort’s triumph. Harry winced slightly at Moody’s touch.

“And the Death Eaters? They returned? How did he treat them? Did he forgive them?” asked Moody, the questions falling from him seemingly all at once.

Harry didn’t know which to answer first… or how… Then Harry remembered… he should have told Dumbledore before… 

“Sir, there’s a Death Eater at Hogwarts! They put my name in the Goblet of Fire, they made sure I got through to the end--”

He stood up and his injured leg shook beneath him. Catching him by surprise, Moody placed a hand on his shoulder and roughly pushed him down again. His hand didn’t leave Harry and gripped him hard.

“I know, Potter, I know,” said Moody, his voice low.

“You’ve found them then?” asked Harry. “Is it Karkaroff? Where is he?”

“What?!” said Moody loudly. “No, never Karkaroff… he fled tonight when he felt the burn of the Dark Mark, the coward… He betrayed too many other Death Eaters to want to see them face to face… but I doubt he’ll get far. The Dark Lord has his ways of finding the people who try to run…”

“So… he didn’t…?”

“No, he didn’t. I did,” said Moody.

Harry and Moody locked eyes. Harry felt his heart rate pick up and he gripped the edge of the stool where he sat. Without thinking, he shook his head.

“But… you couldn’t… you didn’t… I don’t--” his voice quaked. Too many thoughts swirled in his head. Everything felt important to say and yet… what could he possibly say to vanish all of this or change it?

“I assure you, I did,” said Moody. In a flash, he pulled his wand out of its holster and pointed it at Harry’s face, lining up with his scar. Harry pushed himself up from the stool as quickly as he could, leaning on his good leg and striking as much of a fighting stance as he could manage in his state. An increasingly crazed smile crossed Moody’s face in a way that Harry could only describe as deranged. His brow furrowed slightly as he tried to mask his feelings of betrayal and he tried edging backwards, away from Moody.

How could Dumbledore trust him? Why is this happening?

Moody slowly circled Harry.

“Did he forgive them?” demanded Moody.

“What?” said Harry, trying to recenter himself. He backed into the large iron chest that stood in the middle of the professor’s office.

“The Dark Lord, did he forgive the scum who failed to return to him in his time of need?” Moody said, urgency in his voice. “They deserve every ounce of punishment coming to them… Did he tell them that I alone remain faithful to him?”

Harry slowly angled his arm towards his pocket where his wand was stowed beneath his robes. 

“Don’t move, Potter!”

His hand froze, hovering just over his hidden wand, his chest heaving. Moody’s deranged smile returned to him.

“I alone am faithful to him. He may not have finished you off, but I can certainly do the honors. Imagine how he’ll reward me… though killing you will be a reward in and of itself. Do you know how difficult it was at times to get you to this point?” said Moody, slightly exasperated.

He lowered his wand slightly so that the tip was leveled with Harry’s heart. Harry followed it with his eyes.

Moody ranted about all the ways he had to intervene with Harry that year-- the subtle hints, getting the right people to take the right actions at the right time, the manipulations, the curses cast… all to deliver Harry to that graveyard. All the while, he circled Harry and Harry turned his own body so his back was never to Moody. If he had learned anything from growing up with his cousin, it was that. He glanced towards the door of Moody’s office and remembered that the door was locked. Would he be able to get to the door and open it in time to escape? What if he yelled? Would anyone hear him? Would he be able to whip his wand out in time to cast a shield or an offensive spell? Maybe send a patronus for help?

He had to try.

He reached into his robes and grabbed hold of his wand. He pointed it at Moody and opened his mouth to say an incantation when in the same instant Moody yelled, “ Incarcerous !”

Ropes shot out from the end of Moody’s wand and wrapped themselves tightly around Harry, who was caught off-balance and fell to the ground with a yelp and a grunt, hitting his head on the stone floor. He grit his teeth against the pain and tasted iron on his tongue. His arms were bound behind him and no amount of pulling could break the cords around his wrists.

“You’re mad,” seethed Harry, his words coming out weaker and a little more breathless than he hoped they would. Fear and anger coursed through his veins, causing him to shake against the floor.

“Mad, am I?!” shouted Moody, his eyes locked on Harry, helpless on the floor. Harry struggled slightly against his bonds. “We’ll see! We’ll see who’s mad…”

I’m going to die here… thought Harry, not for the first time that night. He had made it through the worst of the evening only for it all to end here-- betrayed in the office of a professor he thought he could trust but had instead orchestrated his demise.

Moody walked over to him and with his foot, pushed Harry so he was facing the ceiling, his arms pinned beneath him. Moody leaned over and took Harry’s jaw in his hand, forcing Harry to look at him, despite his best efforts to pull away from Moody’s grasp.

“There will be no silly duels between you and I. You’re right where I want you and this time, you won’t be able to get out of this mess,” said Moody, gripping Harry’s face tighter still. “The Dark Lord will be so pleased with me…”

He raised his wand and pointed it inches from Harry’s chest. Harry let out an involuntary whimper.

“ Crucio! ”

His mind was gone. Every nerve in his body was suddenly on fire. He was aware of his head hitting the floor as his body thrashed and strained against the ropes binding him. He felt like his fingers were being severed from his hands. Screams clawed their way out of his throat

And just as suddenly it stopped, but the full body ache remained, phantom pains causing his limbs to spasm. A whine escaped him and he curled in on himself protectively.

Moody stepped closer again and grabbed a fistful of Harry’s hair, forcing his head up. A gasp escaped Harry’s lips and he squeezed his eyes closed against the pain.

“Pathetic…” muttered Moody. “And to think, the world considers you the Dark Lord’s greatest adversary.”

Moody dropped Harry and kicked him in the side. He cried out.

“I will truly relish the moment your soul leaves your body.”

He pointed his wand once again at Harry who eyed him angrily, warily from where he lay.

There’s no way out now…

“ Avada-- ”

“ STUPEFY! ”

The door to Moody’s office blasted off its hinges, the lock cracking and blowing apart-- all of which happened in slow motion to Harry as he looked on, eyes darting from Moody to the door. His head is spinning. 

Moody’s body was thrown across the room, landing in a chair. Dumbledore, Snape, and McGonagall hurried through the hole in the wall. McGonagall made eye contact with him and made her way to him, crouching over him and working at the knots in his bonds. Dumbledore and Snape moved closer to Moody, dazed where he sat, wands trained on him. 

The ropes around Harry came undone.

“Are you alright, Potter?” asked McGonagall, gently taking his elbow.

Harry sat up, wincing against the pain in his side. His hands were still shaking. McGonagall took his hands in hers. Her eyes softened just looking at him

“I’m fine.”

“Come along… hospital wing…”

“ No ,” said Dumbledore threateningly.

“Dumbledore, look at him! Just look at him! He’s been through too much tonight!” exclaimed McGonagall.

She may be strict and he may have multiplied her gray hairs in the nearly four years he had been at Hogwarts, but in that moment, Harry was so grateful to his Head of House for trying to stand up for him. He wanted nothing better than to be in a dark, quiet room and to fall into a dreamless sleep…

“Minerva, he needs to understand…” said Dumbledore emphatically. “It’s only through understanding that Harry can have acceptance and recovery after his ordeal tonight.”

“Surely all of this can wait until he’s had some rest,” she replied.

“I must insist,” said Dumbledore.

McGonagall turned to Harry and met his eyes. 

I don’t know if I can take it… I’m so tired… 

“Sir, I don’t understand…” said Harry. “How could Moody--”

“This is not Alastor Moody,” said Dumbledore, shaking his head. 

Polyjuice-- dozens and dozens of bottles of the stuff. Veritaserum-- a small, now-empty vial. Barty Crouch Jr., in the flesh. Harry heard the conversation but had barely processed the words that reached his ears. It was like he was part of the conversation from the bottom of the Black Lake. The room seemed to spin underneath him. He drew his knees to his chest and rested his head on top of them, hoping to still the room.

Someone tugged on his upper arm and pulled him up. It was unexpected, but he followed their lead.

“--arry?”

“Wha…?”

“Harry, can you hear me?”

Dumbledore .

“Yessir.”

“Good. We’re going to go to my office and then to the hospital wing. Can you walk?”

Harry nodded, not thinking, and attempted to move forward, only to fall onto Dumbledore’s arm. Surprisingly, Dumbledore didn’t even flinch and took Harry’s weight on him with no hesitation.

Harry was a ghost as they walked upstairs and then later back down a floor to the hospital wing. He barely registered when his friends nearly swarmed him only to be shooed away by Madam Pomfrey. She drew up a partition around the bed at the far end of the room and pressed a folded set of pajamas into his hands. He couldn’t remember putting them on himself, but somehow they were on his body and he was in bed.

The partition was moved back and his family drew closer to him. Hermione and Ron settled into chairs on either side of him and Mrs. Weasley and Bill perched at the bottom of his bed, just shy of his feet.

He felt gentle hands. They were warm. Hermione caught his gaze. Her eyes looked sad, concerned. Her mouth opened, closed, opened again. 

She doesn’t know what to say to me.

He turned to Ron and his face was nearly identical to Hermione’s.

“I’m all right,” he said quietly. “Just tired.”

“Of course, Harry,” said Hermione. “I can’t imagine how you’re feeling right now…”

Harry shrugged. How could he even begin to tell them?

Will this come between us? Harry worried to himself. Why do they look so afraid?

Madam Pomfrey brought his a drought of Dreamless Sleep and he quickly swallowed a mouthful of the stuff. The effects took hold almost immediately. He swayed where he sat in his bed. Mrs. Weasley steadied him by his shoulders and encouraged him to lie down. Harry gratefully sunk into the pillows behind him.

But the looks on Ron and Hermione’s faces… that caused a small spike in his anxiety. What were they afraid of? He felt a burning in his throat that he couldn’t swallow back.

“‘Mione?” mumbled Harry.

“What is it, Harry?” asked Hermione.

He couldn’t hold it back anymore. He let out a shuddering breath and felt the tears flood his eyes, warm and threatening to spill over at any moment. 

“‘Mione… why are you…?”

Harry couldn’t finish. Sleep was too heavy in his mind. He felt something streak down his face and something warm swipe almost hesitantly across his cheek. He settled into the blackness of his mind and Harry knew no more.

Chapter Text

Barty Crouch Jr., despite Dumbledore’s best efforts, had his soul sucked out of his body that same night. He was worse than dead. And what a waste… his testimony was only heard by the people who found him and Harry in his office that night. It was all for nothing.

Harry leaned his head against the cool glass of their train compartment, watching the Scottish countryside whizz by on their way back to London. Even while staring out the window, he could feel Hermione’s worried looks boring into him-- studying him… willing him to say something or to snap back into his old self. Ron broke out his set of Wizard’s chess and tried to draw him into a game, eventually leaving Harry to his thoughts after he refused for the third game in a row.

“We’re just worried about you, Harry,” said Hermione, after an awkward silence hung in the air, making the atmosphere of the compartment feel suffocating.

“Sorry…” said Harry.

“Don’t be,” she said.

“Yeah, mate,” said Ron. “We’re ready to listen whenever you’re ready.”

Harry nodded absently, fixing his eyes on the upholstery of the compartment seat between Ron and Hermione’s knees.

All too quickly, the train pulled into King’s Cross Station. 

If only I didn’t have to go back to the Dursleys… that would at least take the edge off, he thought to himself as he grabbed his rucksack and slung it over his shoulder. The trio disembarked and grabbed their belongings. They left through the barrier into the main station, where their families were gathered.

“You’ll write this summer?” asked Hermione, grasping Harry by his shoulders and looking him dead in the eye. She phrased it like a question but Harry knew she was giving him a direction.

“Yeah, of course,” he replied.

He exchanged hugs with the Weasleys, greeted Hermione’s parents, and received reassurances from Ron and Mrs. Weasley that they would come to get him as soon as Dumbledore allowed.

“ Hurry up , boy, we haven’t got all day!”

Harry flinched. He hadn’t even noticed his Uncle standing there, let alone his Aunt and cousin.

“I guess that’s me then.”

“Take care, Harry,” said Hermione, wrapping him in another tight hug. 

Ron clapped him on the shoulder and nodded to Harry who returned the gesture. He steered the trolley with his trunk and Hedwig’s cage towards the Dursleys who looked to be seething from halfway across the atrium as Mrs. Weasley gave them what seemed to be a warning look and a scolding, though Harry couldn’t hear what she said. As soon as he was within a few feet of them, Uncle Vernon turned on his heel, putting his arm around his wife’s bony shoulders and leading her toward the door nearest to where they parked, Dudley trailing not far behind them. 

It was a tense, hour-long drive back to Surrey. Dudley complained that he was bored and hungry. Uncle Vernon complained about the traffic in the city. Aunt Petunia chirped in agreement with her husband and clucked condolences to her son. Harry tuned all of it out and tried to be as invisible as possible.

They arrived home and walked inside, leaving Harry to bring his things in on his own. He dragged everything up the stairs to his room, awkwardly trying to balance everything at once. Leaving things at the bottom of the stairs ran the risk of them being locked up in the cupboard under the stairs, out of reach until September. Shortly after setting things down in his sparse room, he heard the door slam shut and the many locks sliding home on the other side. His eyes remained on the same spot on the floor as the solitude settled in like an unwelcome roommate.

Harry kicked his trunk underneath his bed, set Hedwig on the dresser, and climbed onto his bed, pulling his knees up to his chest, resting his chin on top. 

It was in this moment that the past ten months hit him. 

Dumbledore’s shouting of “ Harry Potter! ” the night the goblet revealed the champions.

Dragons in the Forbidden Forest.

The songs of the Merpeople.

The darkness and unpredictability of the maze.

The graveyard.

Cedric . Eyes empty and staring.

Voldemort rising out of that oversized cauldron.

Moody… no, not Moody, Crouch . A dead man walking.

The one year he had not actively sought out trouble, did not look to solve any mysteries or get into places he shouldn’t… why was it that trouble seemed to have a way of finding him? He hadn’t asked for this. Harry was tired . He could feel it in his bones. Aches lay under many layers of skin and refused to leave him. His eyes felt heavy… the room seemed to spin around him… he was adrift in space and time…

He opened his eyes and realized he was facedown in the grass. His head felt heavy. He tried raising himself off the ground, but when he did, the pain was excruciating. His eyes watered in a steady stream and he felt a drawn-out scream tear its way out of his throat. He clutched at his forehead, wishing desperately that he could claw his way in and remove the source of his torture with his bare hands.

When he opened his eyes, he saw red staring back at him-- Voldemort, crouching to get a better look at him, a sadistic smile spreading across his face.

“Hello, Harry. We finally meet again, face-to-face,” he drawled.

Harry could say nothing, only moan against the pain in his head as it reached an agonizing pitch.

In a split second, Voldemort’s hand seized Harry’s jaw, forcing him up to his knees. He couldn’t help but look at Voldemort. The pain lessened to a low burning sensation.

“There’s no one here to help you, Harry,” said Voldemort. “How does it feel to be so far out of Dumbledore’s reach? How does it feel to be so… isolated? No one knows you’re here. No one can help you now.”

Harry tried to yank his head away from Voldemort’s grasp, grimacing against the bite of Voldemort’s long nails digging into his skin, but the monster was too strong.

Voldemort glanced over Harry’s shoulder at something.

“Oh, what a shame…” said Voldemort dreamily.

He released Harry’s jaw only to grab him by the hair at the back of his head, forcing him to his feet. He walked several feet behind where Harry had been crouching and forced him again to his knees, Harry’s eyes squeezed shut and teeth grit against the sharp pain in his hair. When his eyes opened again, he was suddenly confronted with the sight of Cedric, lying dead near the headstone of Thomas Riddle Sr. Harry screamed.

“Look at what you did to the poor boy, Harry,” said Voldemort, pushing Harry’s head closer to the dead boy.

“Stop it!” Harry pleaded, trying to push his head back.

“He didn’t need to be here, Harry. He didn’t need to die,” said Voldemort. “A waste of magical blood…”

“I didn’t mean to-- I didn’t know!” cried Harry.

“It’s all your fault,” said Voldemort.

Harry looked into the eyes of the dead boy. Eyes that would never leave his memory for as long as he lived, he was sure.

“I’m so sorry…” he sobbed, as if Cedric could say something back. As if he would ever respond to anyone again.

Harry could hear Voldemort’s low laugh in his ear.

“Get up, boy!”

The words came out of Voldemort’s mouth, but it didn’t sound like him.

“Wha--?”

“Potter, wake up!” the other voice said.

Harry’s eyes snapped open. Uncle Vernon was standing over him, his hand fiercely grasping Harry’s upper arm, his face turning from red to purple as Harry watched him.

“Stop that bloody screaming!” Uncle Vernon demanded. “Sounds like someone is being murdered in here. We don’t want the neighbors talking.”

“Sorry… I’m so sorry…” breathed Harry, still coming out of the dream.

“Another damn summer of this nonsense…” muttered Uncle Vernon, releasing Harry and heading towards the hallway. 

He slammed the door and Harry heard the locks again. He sat up on his bed and realized just how drenched he was. His shirt was nearly soaked through and stuck to his skin; his hair was damp and limp, dripping down his right temple. He removed his glasses and used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe away the sweat on his forehead and away from his eyes. He took several deep breaths to calm himself, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes. The pressure wasn’t as comforting as he hoped it would be. Cedric’s eyes kept resurfacing in his memory. Harry’s heart thudded faster in his chest and his breathing quickened. 

He sat up, drawing his knees to his chest again. His eyes bored into the post of his bed in an almost desperate attempt to focus on something-- anything -- else that wasn’t memories of Cedric’s body in the grass. But nothing helped. It felt like the room was getting smaller around him.

It’s not real… it was just a dream… he thought to himself. He’s not trying to get in your head… you’re just thinking too much…

But there he was, living in his mind’s eye: the young man who would never get to embrace his father after emerging from the maze. He would never complete his time at Hogwarts. He would never go off to get a job, get married, have children, spoil his grandchildren… grow old… nothing. He had no future anymore.

It’s all your fault , thought Harry. He told you to take the cup. You didn’t have to be so honorable. He didn’t have to be in the graveyard that night… How could you be so stupid?

Harry, as quietly as he could, hyperventilated at the foot of his bed, leaning against the wall. He sobbed into his knees, finding it hard to catch his breath.

Cedric should still be alive. You killed him.

“It’s all my fault…” murmured Harry through his tears and ragged breaths. “It’s all my fault…”

“Shut up in there!” yelled Dudley on the other side of the door, pounding on the wood for good measure. “I can hear you down the hall!”

Harry screwed up his determination. He surely wouldn’t be given any more chances to silence himself.

He remembered an evening in the Gryffindor common room during third year where he had woken up in the early hours of morning. He couldn’t recall what he had been dreaming about at the time, but it had shaken him up so badly that he couldn’t calm himself down. He left his bed and went to go sit by the fire when he saw Hermione sitting on one of the comfy chairs, reading a book that had no business being as enormous as it was. Her eyes met his as he came down the stairs, leaning against the wall, and she hurried to his side.

“Harry, what’s wrong?” she asked, eyes wide with concern.

“Bad dream,” he breathed. Why couldn’t he control himself? He sounded like he had just sprinted the length of the Quidditch pitch at full speed, not just awakened from a deep sleep.

“Come here, sit,” said Hermione. She eased him down to the floor. Harry drew his knees up, running his fingers through his damp hair and gripping the sides of his head. His fingers trembled horribly…

I’m dying … His chest was tight and he couldn’t catch his breath.

“What’s happening to me?” asked Harry in a shaky voice.

“You’re panicking,” said Hermione. “Harry, breathe with me…”

Hermione positioned herself to sit in front of Harry, meeting his eyes. She gently took his hands from his face and held them in hers. She exaggerated an inhale through her nose and Harry followed a second after her. She held her breath for a few more seconds and then let it out through her mouth, allowing her body to visibly relax. Harry followed her, his body retaining most of the tension it held. Hermione showed Harry what to do until in time, his breathing returned to normal. He rested his forehead on his knees.

“Thank you…” muttered Harry, his relief palpable.

“Has that ever happened before?” asked Hermione. “Panic attacks?”

“I’ve woken up that way before, but I’ve always been able to stop it,” said Harry. “I’ve never felt so out of control…”

“I know the feeling…” said Hermione quietly.

Harry looked up at her. The question hung in the air, but Harry wasn’t sure if he should ask it.

“Did I ever tell you about school before Hogwarts?” asked Hermione.

“No, can’t say you have,” said Harry.

Hermione nodded, contemplation clearly crossing her face.

“You know that I love learning. I love books and I like the challenge of figuring something out and using the knowledge I’ve gained. But I can’t say that I loved school growing up. Not until I was a bit older before coming here,” said Hermione. “Growing up I… was made fun of a lot. People liked to pick up on me because of my hair, my teeth, because they didn’t like that I did well in school… among other things. 

“I had to change schools a couple of times because things got so bad. When I was nine, things were at their worst. There was a group of girls who were horrible to me. Their harassment became daily and became physically violent. Suddenly I was afraid of going to school. I had nightmares every night before going to school. Most nights I would wake up in the middle of a panic attack and… my dad had to help me through those times, in much the same way I just showed you.

“That was kind of a turning point for me. My parents knew I was struggling, but they had no idea it was so bad… I changed schools after that and got into therapy. It was a better fit-- I actually made friends who still keep in touch with me,” said Hermione. “I don’t know if this is your turning point, Harry, but I know that this doesn’t have to be forever. It’s possible…”

Harry nodded.

He took the deepest breath he’d taken in a long time. He felt dizzy, but much calmer. He slowly lifted his head and wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt. He felt better. He’d have to write Hermione later and tell her thank you again. She’d at least be safe to tell about this.

When Harry got the chance to use the bathroom before the end of the night, he grabbed the glass that stood guard next to his bed and the towel that hung on the back of his door. He entered the bathroom and locked it. He turned the shower on to let the water heat up and filled his glass while he waited, drinking the whole thing in a few gulps. He peeled off his clothes, shivering against the cold of the bathroom before stepping in. He stood underneath the stream of water and imagined his disrupted sleep, hurt, and anxiety melting off of him from the top of his head to his toes. He felt relief like he hadn’t felt in some time… odd that he was experiencing it at the Dursleys, of all places.

Suddenly, there was a sharp knock on the door.

“ Hurry up! You’re wasting all the hot water!” shouted Aunt Petunia.

His relief was short-lived.

He scrubbed shampoo through his hair and rinsed as quickly as he could before turning off the water. He wrapped himself in a towel, filled his glass again, and crossed the hallway to his bedroom where his Aunt promptly locked the door behind him. He slipped into clean, dry pajamas and sat at his desk near Hedwig. 

Reluctant to go to sleep again after his ordeal, he pulled out a piece of parchment and his quill. Hedwig gave a soft hoot of excitement, knowing what was coming and knowing that she would get to stretch her wings very soon. He started penning a letter to Hermione:

Dear Hermione,

I hope you’re settling in back home. I’m sure your parents are happy to see you again. Did you say they have any special plans for you during the summer hols? I can’t remember if you were traveling or not this year…

It’s been a rough first night back here. The Dursleys have been… fine, I guess. No worse than usual. But I had my first panic attack in a while tonight-- another bad dream. I’m on the other side of it now and I have you to thank for that. I did the breathing you showed me that one night in third year. I was relieved that it still worked and that I could do it on my own.

Don’t worry about me-- I’m fine. But I just wanted to tell you thank you.

Love,

Harry

Chapter Text

Hey mate,

Hope your summer is off to a decent start and that the muggles aren’t being too hard on you. I don’t know how you do it. Hopefully you won’t have to deal with it much longer and you can spend the rest of the summer at the Burrow.

Things are fine here-- plenty of de-gnoming to do, dad is always tinkering with something… really just trying to get into anything that’ll let me avoid starting the summer homework. Why do they bother with that any way?

Ginny has a boyfriend now. Michael something. We haven’t met him, but she seems very taken with him. She’s holed herself up in her room a lot writing letters with him. Bloody annoying that she’s hogging Pig to talk to him. I’m sending Pig with this note, so feel free to keep him for a few extra days. It’ll do her some good.

I’ll sign off here. Fred, George, and I are going to practice Quidditch this afternoon.

Your Friend,

Ron

***

Ron,

Thanks for your last letter and for the visit from Pig! Hopefully he finds his way back as well as you last saw him. I know Hedwig, on the rare occasions when I’ve been able to send letters with her, has taken a while to deliver and return. Do you know what that’s about? Besides that, I’ve sent Hedwig out to fly and hunt a lot of the time this summer. I miss her. But I don’t want her to be miserable because she’s stuck in her cage so much. I couldn’t do that to her. Trust that Pig has been safe during his visit though.

That’s exciting for Ginny. I’m sure she’s very happy-- I hope you can be for her too.

I’ve been managing this summer.. It’s been a little bit easier, somehow, with the Dursleys this time around. They’re kind of keeping their distance. I don’t mind that-- better than the alternative. Mostly they just hand me a list of chores and then I’m left to my own devices. But who knows, it’s still early on.

What news is there? I’ve been getting the Daily Prophet, but there isn’t anything useful in there lately. Am I missing something? I hate that feeling…

Any word from Dumbledore when I might be able to come to the Burrow?

Talk soon.

Harry

***

Dear Harry,

I’m sorry to hear that you had a panic attack-- I know how awful they are. But I’m really glad you found the breathing exercise useful. I’m happy to say I haven’t had one of my own since shortly after arriving at Hogwarts first year, so I haven’t really needed those techniques myself. But I’m always happy to pass on what I know!

How have you been feeling lately? I worry about you so much since we left Platform 9 ¾. I’m sure there’s so much on your mind and I haven’t a clue how you even begin to make sense of all that has occurred even in the last few weeks or so. Are you getting enough sleep? Have you been able to think on anything else or do things you enjoy this summer? If needed, I believe you can owl order a draught of dreamless sleep from the apothecary in Diagon Alley. If you’re having trouble resting, that might not be a bad idea. Just remember, they can be addictive, so be careful.

Mum, dad, and I are planning on traveling to France in a couple of weeks to visit family. I’m rather looking forward to it. It’ll be good to get out of the UK for a while. I think we’re visiting Bretagne this time, so we’ll get some sun at the beaches there too. My younger cousins live there and my aunt says they like to pick up starfish and shells that wash up on shore, so I suppose a little beach-combing is in order.

Have you started on summer homework yet? I finished my History of Magic essay and have begun my first draft for the potions essay. The topic is complicated. I hope I have all of the needed books to write it properly.

Do you know when you’ll be joining the Weasleys this summer? I haven’t asked Ron about it in our letters yet, but I want to make sure I tell my parents when they can expect I’ll leave home again.

Write again soon. I want to know that you’re alright. Be safe.

Love,

Hermione

***

Hey Hermione,

I’ve been feeling fine. I’ve still been having nightmares, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. A dream can’t hurt me, right? No panic attacks since I last wrote you. I’ll keep that in my, owl ordering dreamless sleep. That’s a good idea. 

You asked if I’ve been able to think on other things besides last school year. I have. Mainly I’m worried that I’m too cut-off from the Wizarding World. I get the Daily Prophet, but I haven’t seen any news stories that seem particularly important. That seems really weird, considering all that’s happened. Have you heard anything that I haven’t? Just curious… I asked Ron the same thing but haven’t heard back from him yet. I think it’s a long flight for his pygmy owl. It’s a determined little thing, though. 

I’ve glanced at the summer homework. I’ll start it tonight after my relatives go to bed. They hate the sound of quill on parchment. They keep me quite busy during the day too, so I don’t really have an opportunity to do any work during the day.

No word on when I’m allowed to go to the Weasley’s. I’ll let you know though. Hopefully soon, but who knows.

Don’t worry, I won’t do anything you wouldn’t do.

Love,

Harry

***

Dear Harry,

It’s been a while since I’ve gotten to talk to you. How are you doing? Have you been sleeping?

Moony has come to stay here for a while. It’s nearing That Time of the Month, so he’s not looking well these days, but he’ll never admit it. He’ll be alright, of course. Snivellus makes his potion now, so unfortunately we see him on a regular basis.

Listen pup, I can only imagine that you’re wondering what is going on and what’s being done away from the Muggles. I can’t share much as owls can be (and have been) intercepted. All I can tell you is things aren’t safe out there-- be safe and don’t go doing anything rash. Understood?

Looking forward to seeing you later this summer. Don’t let the muggles get you down!

Love,

Padfoot

***

Padfoot,

I’m sleeping some. I’ve been waking up almost every night. Sometimes I’m able to go back to sleep. It’s always because of nightmares. I don’t know how to stop them. It seems that no matter how much I try to relax before bed or clear my head, they keep returning. Lots of repeats. But… I’m sure it’ll resolve itself, right? They’ll just go away eventually, yeah?

How are you holding up? I know it’s not your favorite thing to be in the house day after day. How are you coping?

Please Padfoot, if there’s any news to share, I want to hear about it. Don’t leave me in the dark. I want to help. I promise I won’t go out looking for trouble-- I just want to know.

When can I see you this summer?

Love,

Harry

***

Hi Harry,

Sorry, mate, you’re not going to like this, but there’s nothing that I’m allowed to share in a letter. It’s too dangerous… you understand, right?

I think the plan right now is to come get you during the last half of August. Hopefully having a rough time will help keep you sane until then. Are the muggles keeping away from you still? What do you mean by a list of chores?

Mum made me start my potions essay… two rolls of parchment on the magical benefits of Tonic for Trace Detection? What a bloody racket… so far I’ve just scribbled something down to shut mum up about it. Can’t wait until we don’t have to take potions anymore.

Fred and George have started creating things for the joke shop they’d like to open up. I don’t know how they’re affording it or how they’re figuring out these different spell combinations and ingredients, but it’s good to see them do what they’ve been clearly always been meant to do. Maybe they’ll show you some when we see you later this summer.

Keep your head up and be safe out there.

--Ron

***

Dear Harry,

Did you end up getting Dreamless Sleep? I’d hate to think that you weren’t getting a single night of decent rest, after all you’ve been through. Please reassure me that you’ve gotten some.

I’m sorry, Harry, I know it’s frustrating, but it’s not safe to send sensitive information through the owl post right now. If I remember right, you get the Daily Prophet. If there’s anything big going on, you’ll surely know about it from the front page. Until then, it’s safest just to talk in person. Or perhaps Dumbledore would be better to ask-- he’s surely got more secure means of communication that any of us do.

Ron told me you’ll be with him at the end of August. I’ll be there too. I’m so looking forward to seeing you!

I’m glad to hear you’ve started on your summer homework. Ron is being a right git about getting his done, which is rather annoying. He’s just wasting parchment when he could be getting his work done properly the first time. So far the books we have seem to be enough to complete the work. I haven’t had to send away for any other books this time. Although I might do so for Transfiguration.

Have you heard from Padfoot and Remus this summer? I know they both miss you-- Remus has said as much in my letters to him. If you haven’t written him, you definitely should. He would appreciate that.

I have to finish packing for France. Keep sending letters though-- they’ll surely find me.

Be safe.

Hugs,

Hermione

***

Hermione,

Why does everyone keep telling me to be safe? I’m not going anywhere. Nothing has happened to me. Things rarely happen outside of this house. What does everyone else seem to know that I don’t? How am I supposed to remain safe if I don’t know what’s happening? 

I’ll do what you suggest and send an owl to Dumbledore. And to Remus. I just learned he’s staying with Padfoot for a while.

I haven’t gotten Dreamless Sleep through owl post. I haven’t felt the need. But I promise if things get really bad, I’ll get some. Things have been tolerable. I’ve been outside a lot this summer, so it’s been easy to get to sleep.

Safe travels with your family.

--Harry

***

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

I hope you’re well and having a nice summer. Things have been okay here. I’m worried though-- I get the Daily Prophet, but there is a suspicious lack of news being printed, considering all that has happened since last school year ended. Please, is there anything that you know that I should know? I promise I won’t do anything dangerous or stupid. I’m just feeling rather cut-off is all.

Sincerely,

Harry

***

Dear Harry,

I hope you are well and are enjoying your holidays.

There’s nothing going on that you need to concern yourself with. Trust that when there is something you need to know, you will be the first to find out.

Be safe, my boy.

Sincerely,

Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

***

Dear Remus,

Padfoot told me you’re staying with him for a while. I’m sorry you’re not feeling well. I hope that the feeling will pass and that your potion is making things tolerable for you. I can’t imagine what that’s like.

There’s not a lot happening around here. I’ve been trying to listen to the news as much as I can. Since the Prophet isn’t exactly being helpful, I’ve been listening to the muggle news in the hopes that if anything is happening that I don’t know about, it’ll trickle its way into their news. There are some strange happenings, but mostly it’s fluff. A celebrity break-up, birds discovering muggle hobbies… nothing that really matters or indicates any movement of interest. It’s very frustrating. Have you heard anything? And please don’t tell me that it’s not safe to send that kind of thing through the owl post. I know owls have been intercepted and I know things aren’t nearly as safe as they once were, but please… I have to know. It feels like everyone is keeping something from me. I don’t understand why.

I hope to see you soon. Supposedly I’m going to the Weasleys in August, but I’m not sure when yet and if that means I get to see you and Padfoot too.

Sincerely,

Harry

***

Dear Harry,

It’s very good to hear from you. Padfoot told me that he received a letter from you the other day and I’ll admit, I was a little jealous. It’s been some time since we last spoke. Padfoot told me that you’ve been plagued with nightmares lately-- I’m sorry to hear that. What are your dreams about, if I may ask? Have you thought about studying Occlumency? It’s not exactly an easy skill to learn, but when mastered, it can help you contain your thoughts and keep your mind safe. If you’d like, I can send along a resource that might help you in my next letter. I’ll have to track it down first…

Unfortunately there’s not any news that I’m able to send along in a letter. I’m sorry. You’ll understand soon enough.

Hope to hear from you very soon,

Remus

***

Remus--

I was afraid you’d say something like that… is it genuinely not safe at all out there or is it something I said or did? Whatever is happening, I can handle hearing about it. I won’t do anything irresponsible.

Please send along what you know about Occlumency. I’ll see if I can make heads or tails of it. I’ve nearly finished with my summer homework, so that’ll give me something to do at the very least.

My dreams have revolved around a door of some kind… I’m not sure what’s behind it, where it is, or if the door is even real. I have a lot of questions but not nearly enough answers. The only reason it feels important is because it keeps coming back to me. Otherwise I don’t think I’d think much of it. I dream about the graveyard too… Hermione has suggested I owl order a draught of Dreamless Sleep. Maybe I’ll follow her advice.

Hope you’re well,

Harry

***

Dear Harry,

Dumbledore would likely be interested in hearing about the nightmares you’ve been having. I’d suggest sending him an owl.

I’m enclosing a textbook on the Mind Arts as well as your birthday present. I hope they are useful and enjoyable, respectively.

If anything changes, please let Padfoot or myself know. We care about you dearly.

Sincerely,

Remus

***

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

I’ve been writing Remus this summer and he suggested that I let you know that I’ve been having nightmares again. I don’t know they’ll be helpful at all…

Almost nightly I’ve been revisiting the graveyard in my nightmares. It’s mostly replaying what happened. I guess that makes sense that I’d be seeing this, even though I wish they would stop. But the other dream I’ve been having regularly is of a door. It’s at the end of a hallway of some kind. I’m not sure where it is or if the place is even real… sorry, I know that’s not helpful. It seems like every time I dream of the door, I get a little bit closer. So far it doesn’t open. But the fact that this dream is repeating itself leaves me with a lot of questions. And kind of an uneasy feeling…

Sincerely,

Harry

***

Dear Harry,

Thank you for telling me about your dreams. I’ll bear these in mind and let you know if I need more information.

Sincerely,

Professor Dumbledore

***

Professor,

Do you have any ideas for what these dreams could mean? Remus sent me a book about Occlumency that I’ve been reading through and I’ve been trying some techniques. But I must not be doing something correctly. They’re not stopping the dreams or even delaying them. I guess I’d feel better if they were at least leading somewhere…

Sincerely,

Harry

***

Hey Ron,

It’s been a while since I’ve heard from you. You alright?

Thank you for the chocolate frogs. I really appreciate them.

Sincerely,

Harry

***

Dear Padfoot,

It’s been a few weeks since I’ve heard from you. Is everything okay over there? I’m guessing that since I haven’t heard anything that things are fine… no news is good news and all of that… but still, I can’t help but worry. Just let me know that you’re still alright.

Love,

Harry

***

Dear Professor,

I don’t know if Hedwig made it to you or not, so I’m sending this again… do you have any idea what the dreams I’ve been having might mean? Is there something different I can do to stop them?

On an unrelated note, do you know when I can go to the Weasleys? Or to see Padfoot?

Sincerely,

Harry

***

Hermione,

Have you been having trouble with the owl post lately? It’s been so hard to tell if anyone is getting my letters. Ever since my birthday, I haven’t really gotten any replies to letters I send. Even brief ones. I don’t know if the owl post changed or if I did something wrong or if something is going on out in the world… What do I do?

Love,

Harry

***

Remus,

Is Padfoot alright? I’ve not heard from him in quite some time… he hasn’t been arrested, has he? That’s what I’m most worried about…

Sincerely,

Harry

***

Professor,

I think my owls are dropping my letters en route to their destinations. Have you received any of my messages? Please, I just want to know what’s going on…

Sincerely,

Harry

Chapter Text

The next time Hedwig came home, she carried a small pile of letters, all containing Harry’s messy scrawl across the front of the envelopes. All were meant for Dumbledore. But why? Harry couldn’t think of a time when Hedwig had returned mail before. She’s taken a long time, yes, indicating that it took a while to find the recipient, but she’s never returned with mail that was several weeks old. 

This was intentional. This was a message. 

Harry tore the envelopes in half in frustration, chucking the pieces in the bin under his desk with more force than necessary.

His anger was a palpable thing. It burned and felt like something living and twisting in his stomach, threatening to break loose and scorch the place if he didn’t keep it in check. It had been growing this summer into a small inferno. Every letter he got that told him to be safe, that told him to not do anything rash, that told him it wasn’t a good idea to leave Voldemort-related news in a letter when owl post can be so vulnerable… 

He needed some air. His small bedroom was too hot. Deep breaths weren’t feeling as deep as they used to and his hair was feeling too long and it stuck to the back of his neck with sweat. 

Uncle Vernon had left for work and he had heard the lock on his bedroom door unlatch. He knew that meant Aunt Petunia expected him downstairs to eat something and more importantly get his list of chores for the day. He pulled on his cleanest pair of jeans and a clean t-shirt and headed downstairs as quietly as he could, avoiding the squeaky stairs he had long ago memorized the location of.

He entered the kitchen and on the counter, he saw an apple with two brown spots forming, a piece of bread, and a glass of water on a plate. A long list of chores sat next to his meager breakfast. Gardening tasks, deep-cleaning the kitchen, vacuuming all of the carpet in the house (aside from the bedrooms, which he wasn’t allowed to enter), making lunch, laundry, cooking dinner… He normally resented the long lists he was given, but today it felt like a welcome distraction. He wolfed down his breakfast and went out to the back garden to begin weeding the flower beds before the day got even hotter.

It seemed like the dandelions and creeping charlie had multiplied just to spite him, even though he had done a thorough job of pulling them out of the garden just a few days ago. He grabbed at a rogue piece of crab grass and pulled it up by its roots.

Why is Dumbledore pulling away from me?

He wouldn’t just leave me to figure things out on my own… right?

Harry pulled at a small tree hiding beneath the hydrangeas. It took a bit of digging and some muscle to get it fully out of the ground.

But… maybe I am being punished…

He pulled at a few dandelions that were giving him some trouble.

Voldemort was resurrected… and I didn’t stop it from happening… 

Harry slowed his pace as he hung onto that thought.

Could I have stopped it? I didn’t feel like I could control anything, but maybe I could have… Is that why he’s avoiding me? Is he angry?

He stopped, wiping his hands on the knees of his jeans.

I should have stopped it… there’s always a way to get out of things… I’ve gotten out of closer scrapes before, why didn’t I get out of that situation sooner?

A cool breeze drifted through the back garden and at the same time, the cloud cover started to move, revealing the sun. He started pulling weeds a little faster, still careful to pull them up by the root to the best of his ability.

He is angry. He’s never sent letters back before.

A sinking feeling settled in his gut. Dumbledore sent back curt replies and then none at all because he figured Harry knew what he did. He was supposed to be the savior of the wizarding world and he had utterly failed them all.

Shame.

Humiliation.

The impulse to make up for it all, work for forgiveness… but how?

Harry followed the shade around the house as much as he could, working the entire way. He cleared the garden of any unsightly plants and watered everything in after he was finished. The roses looked stately, the peonies were preparing to bloom, and the lawn was edged to perfection, just as Petunia preferred it, though she would never say so in as many words to Harry.

There was a small ornamental tree-- a cherry blossom-- surrounded by decorative stones and mulch a short ways from the driveway. The area was straighted up, and branches that were becoming a bit unsightly were trimmed. Harry remembered planting it last summer-- he was pleasantly surprised that the tree had lived at all, despite not knowing the first thing about tree care. They certainly hadn’t covered that in Herbology… the tree was surely going to be the envy of the neighbors.

“Are you still out here working?” Petunia scoffed behind him.

“Yes, Aunt Petunia. I’m nearly finished,” said Harry, annoyance flaring in his chest. Harry pushed down the impulse to snap something snarky at her.

You gave me these chores… surely you know how much work is involved?

“Well hurry up. It’s nearly time for afternoon tea,” she snapped. “It’s not going to steep itself!”

“No, certainly not,” said Harry under his breath, mildly losing the battle with himself.

“And do something about your awful hair. Today . It’s unsightly. More than usual,” hissed Petunia across the yard, so as not to attract the attention of the neighbors. “If you don’t, I will.”

Harry became acutely aware of his messy black hair sticking to the back of his neck and plastered to his forehead. His face became flushed angrily at the memory of when he was much younger and Aunt Petunia had roughly chopped his hair off until there was nearly nothing left on his head. 

The door slammed as Petunia went back inside. Harry’s gaze remained fixed on the front door.

“The garden is looking as beautiful as ever, Harry,” called a distant voice.

Harry startled and looked up, pushing his sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes. It was Mrs. Figg, standing on her front step looking at him.

“Thanks, Mrs. Figg,” he replied, forcing a small smile. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in.

She had been the Dursley’s neighbor for as long as he could remember. She had always been friendly to him, even when he was less receptive, and looked after him when the Dursleys didn’t want to. She knew him well enough to know that the Dursley’s garden was so well-kept because of Harry’s efforts, not Petunia’s, and she made a point of making sure he knew that.

“How is your summer so far?” she asked.

“It’s… um… I’m fine,” he said, his thoughts tumbling over themselves. “Keeping busy.”

Not ideal in the least , he thought. I’m stuck here and my letters are going unanswered and it’s all my fault because I messed up horrifically…

“Are you due for a trim again, dear?” asked Mrs. Figg.

His aunt’s desires aside, perhaps it was time for a trim. Maybe he could shear off the past year just as he could trim the extra inches on his head. 

For the past five or six years, whenever his locks became too unruly, Mrs. Figg had been the one to help Harry. Every few months, he would go to her house and sit on a stool in her kitchen, feeling her many cats rub against his legs while she talked his ear off about this and that. Perhaps she had been a hairdresser in her earlier life. Harry had never asked.

“Yeah, I think so,” nodded Harry.

“Just ring the bell when you’re ready. I’ll be up for a while this evening,” said Mrs. Figg.

“Alright.”

Mrs. Figg dipped her head and disappeared back inside her house.

***

Several chores and many hours later, Harry walked up to Mrs. Figg’s front door as night was falling, feeling tired to his very bones. He gently knocked on the door. The front light flicked on.

“Harry! Come in,” said Mrs. Figg, standing aside.

“Thank you,” said Harry softly.

“Are you hungry at all?”

“It’s alright, I just made dinner,” he said.

“I’ll make you something,” she replied.

Mrs. Figg strode to the kitchen, carefully avoiding stepping on the cats that gathered around her feet looking for a handout. Harry followed her through the house.

“Have a seat,” said Mrs. Figg, patting the back of the stool she had stood in the middle of her kitchen floor. She herself went to the counter and opened the bread box while Harry took  up his usual post.

“How was school this year?” asked Mrs. Figg.

“It was… eventful,” said Harry, hesitating. “I learned a lot.”

Harry had never told Mrs. Figg where he went to school and knew he needed to keep his mouth shut about it to his muggle neighbors. No matter how friendly they were with him. He knew that Uncle Vernon had spread around that he had gone to St. Brutus’s Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys and he was expected to play into that tall tale. Harry cringed, remembering the name and his wholly unearned reputation with their more unpleasant neighbors.

“Oh?” asked Mrs. Figg, clearly hoping Harry would elaborate.

He merely nodded. She handed him a turkey sandwich with a tomato and lettuce.

“Thank you,” he said softly. He took a small bite.

How is it that she always knows just what I need? Harry wondered fleetingly. He didn’t let himself linger on the thought for too long though, not wanting to seem ungrateful or suspicious, even in the confines of his own mind.

“How much should I trim off, do you think?” asked Mrs. Figg. She combed through his nearly shoulder-length hair with her fingers, changing his part this way and that, gently tugging at some sections as she experimented with length. “Have you liked it long? I can always just clean things up a bit.”

“No… I want to get rid of it,” said Harry. “Cut it all off. I don’t want it…”

“Harry, you don’t mean… a shaved head, do you?” asked Mrs. Figg nervously.

“No, no, nothing like that. Just… something I don’t have to think about for a while. Or that doesn’t get in my face,” said Harry. “I don’t know why I said it that way.”

I just want something that will help me forget.

“I have an idea. Do you trust me?” said Mrs. Figg.

Harry nodded. She had never steered him wrong before. Mrs. Figg draped a towel over his shoulders and used a spray bottle to wet his hair. 

She combed through his hair. Harry once more remembered his last haircut from his aunt. She tried to do the exact same thing and ended up stripping two combs and breaking a brush as she harshly yanked at his hair, causing him to cry out. She had been furious with him… but Mrs. Figg never had the same issue.

“Your aunt has had you out in the garden a lot this summer,” said Mrs. Figg tugging at a lock of hair. The soft snip of scissors whispered in the air.

“Yeah…” he responded. “Honestly, I haven’t minded it too much lately.”

“Kind of gets your mind off things?” ventured Mrs. Figg.

“You could say that,” he said.

“I suppose after what happened in June… that would be rather welcome,” said Mrs. Figg.

“S-sorry?”

Harry turned to look at her. Mrs. Figg stood with her arms at her sides, the scissors hanging by her hip. Her face carried a look of pain and concern.

“You… you already know,” said Harry, stating a fact.

She nodded.

“Dumbledore told me in a letter at the beginning of the summer what happened.”

“You know Dumbledore?” asked Harry, a note of surprise in his voice.

“Shall I keep working?” asked Mrs. Figg. “I can explain at the same time.”

Harry paused a moment and then nodded, turning to face away from her again.

“How do you know him?” asked Harry.

“My family has known him for years. Two of my siblings went to Hogwarts as kids and my parents were in touch with him, especially when I started nearing the age of eleven and didn’t show the same signs of magic as they had,” she explained.

“So then… you’re a squib?” asked Harry.

He felt her hands go still at the nape of his neck.

“I wish there was a different name for it… but yes,” she said.

“Sorry…” said Harry. “But… why would Dumbledore tell you?”

“He’s asked me to keep an eye on you as you were growing up, especially before you went off to Hogwarts. He thought I should know in case I noticed anything strange in light of… all that happened,” she explained.

“And… what did you tell him?” asked Harry.

“That you’ve seemed distant. Busier… Quieter, if that’s possible,” said Mrs. Figg. “Before this past school year, I started seeing you stand up for yourself a bit more. A quick quip to your aunt and uncle, a word to your cousin, finding ways to hide away from your family when you could get away… But suddenly that stopped.”

“What did Dumbledore say to that?” asked Harry.

“He hasn’t said much, but he admitted that he is worried for you,” said Mrs. Figg. 

“He has a funny way of showing it…” muttered Harry. “He’s returned my letters that I”ve tried to send him.

“I’m worried about you, too.”

He shrugged his shoulders. Guilt swelled in his chest as the conversation was redirected to them. 

I don’t deserve this. Dumbledore was right to avoid me .

“Shall I leave some length at the front?” asked Mrs. Figg.

“Yes please,” said Harry.

She worked her way around the stool and Harry watched as inches of hair fell to the kitchen floor.

“Have you talked to anyone about what you went through? Your friends or… someone else?” asked Mrs. Figg.

“No,” said Harry. “Well… not really… I haven’t had a lot of contact with anyone since the beginning of the summer.”

He heard the sound of scissors being set on a counter and the low, constant buzz of the electric clippers.

“I’m sorry about your friend, Harry,” said Mrs. Figg. “I can’t imagine what it was like to see him in that state…”

Harry’s breath caught in his throat.

“Please don’t…” he breathed.

“But Harry,” started Mrs. Figg, choosing to ignore his pleas. “You understand that you don’t have to be strong when it comes to this, right? You don’t have to carry this alone.”

“Mrs. Figg, please stop…” said Harry, a little louder.

“You went through something truly terrifying,” said Mrs. Figg. “I hardly understand how you made it through… you’re fourteen-years-old. I can scarcely imagine an adult would be able to handle any of that better than you did.”

Harry’s shoulders shook and she could see tears threatening to spill over. Harry’s whole body seemed to tremble.

“I should have been able to save him…” he said even louder than before, vibrating in his seat. “I wasn’t strong enough… I’ve never felt so… weak… in my entire life…”

The dam broke and tears streaked down his face. A sob escaped him and he clamped a hand over his mouth as if he could reabsorb the sound back into his chest.

“May I?” asked Mrs. Figg, holding her arms open to him.

Harry looked into her eyes but was unable to stop himself for long enough to choke out an answer. Taking that as consent, Mrs. Figg wrapped her arms around the poor boy.

They sat like this for a long time. Harry hid his face in his hands and cried. The elder woman grounded him in her arms and with a gentle touch of her hands on his shoulders and head. 

“The weight of the world doesn’t have to fall on only you, Harry,” she muttered into his hair. “It’s okay to let others share the burden sometimes.

“It’s okay if you were afraid. Anyone would be. You did not fail anyone… you can’t blame yourself for not being able to stop a grown man dead-set on spreading death and evil. That’s too much for one person. It’s too much…”

“I was so scared… and Cedric… I… I killed him…”

“Harry. You did not,” said Mrs. Figg, sounding stern for the first time that evening. “You are not responsible for anything that transpired that night. You did not have a choice.”

They stayed this way for a long time.  Finally, Mrs. Figg touched his cheek and he looked up into her face.

“I’ll wash and rinse your hair,” she said, directing him over to the kitchen sink.

Harry nodded and followed her. His tear ducts continued to have a mind of their own, but he grounded himself in the citrus smell of the shampoo and conditioner she used, in the streams flowing down the drain, and in the darkness of the towel as she dried his hair. He felt much calmer. She ran a comb one last time through the remaining length at the front of his head, put it in place, and gave him a smile.

“There. You’re ready,” she said. Harry had the feeling that she wasn’t just talking about his hair or having to walk back across the street to the Dursleys.

“Thank you,” said Harry. 

“Do you want tea before you go?”

“Okay.”

They sat in her living room with cats all around them. An orange one settled itself on Harry’s lap and he pet its soft fur absently between sips of chamomile.

Suddenly, there were several loud bangs on the door.

Mrs. Figg went to answer the door and came face to face with Vernon Dursley.

“What the devil are you doing here, boy?!” he demanded. He tried to keep his voice low, but was unsuccessful.

“He just came for a haircut, Vernon,” said Mrs. Figg. “No harm done.”

“I’ll not be up for half of the night waiting on you,” said Vernon, looking Harry dead in the eyes.

“Alright. I’m coming,” said Harry. He glanced around, trying to decide where to leave his teacup.

“I’ll take it, dear. Go on now.”

He nodded to her, handed her the cup, and started for the door after his uncle.

“Thank you, Mrs. Figg… for everything.”

She smiled and closed the door behind him. She felt the house grow quiet and a heaviness set in around her. She worried for that boy… she would write a letter to Dumbledore before she tucked in for the night. How absurd that he would refuse letters despite knowing how small his support system was…

Chapter Text

It came to him in flashes.  

Lots of green. The broken sound of his own cries cutting through the air like shards of glass. Cedric’s face. Screams from a crowd. A wand pointed straight at him. Dark tiles covering the walls and floor. A door made of dark wood nestled at the end of a corridor, growing in his vision but then immediately cutting away. A glowing ball of light. A whisper that sent a chill down his spine. Then intense pain emanated from his scar…

Harry woke with a scream, sweat drenching his shirt and hair. His eyes were squeezed shut against the piercing sensation in his temples, the sensation rippling through the rest of him. Tears slid down his face and he tried desperately to slow his ragged breathing to a pace resembling normal, to no avail. He groaned, pressing his forehead into his knees. He vaguely heard the locks to his door click over the ringing in his ears. The wood slammed against the wall behind it.

“Dammit, that’s the third time this week!! ” It was his Uncle. “What is it this time?!”

“I heard him screaming about his boyfriend, dad,” said Dudley, a smirk crossing his face. Even at this early hour, his eyes seemed to be dancing with mirth. It didn’t matter that Harry’s clock on the nightstand read 2:48am, Dudley was ready to harass and ridicule him at all hours.

Harry willed his lungs to cooperate and realize that he wasn’t in that graveyard anymore. He had left that maze weeks ago-- it was no longer a danger to him. It was in the past. Slowly, though with his head swimming, he could feel his body calm somewhat. Feeling returned to his fingers and toes. He let out an involuntary whimper.

“Stop that infernal crying ,” demanded Vernon.

“Dear, what is it? What’s wrong?” yawned Petunia, appearing in the doorway.

“The boy has woken the entire bloody house again! I’ve just about had it!” Vernon yelled. “We can’t get a moment’s peace around here!”

“You think I’m getting any peace?!” snapped Harry before he could stop himself. Something curled in his stomach.

“What was that, boy?” asked uncle Vernon, straightening up to his full height.

“Do you think I enjoy waking up every night this way? Do you think I want to be assaulted by nightmares every fucking night and to see the things I have to see?!” said Harry, his voice rising.

“Watch your damn mouth!” yelled Vernon.

“No! I’m sick of this! Why do I have to break down in order for anyone to realize there’s something wrong with me?! And even then, why isn’t anyone moving a finger to even try to help me?” shouted Harry. “I’m just standing here, shouting at people who couldn’t care any less about me and just wish I were dead so I wouldn’t bother them. Do you know how that makes people feel? Small. Angry . Invisible…” Harry’s voice broke.

“You ungrateful little bastard!” said Vernon.

“Vernon, he’s always been like this. We shouldn’t be surprised,” said Petunia, looking earnestly at her husband. “Always wanting more than he deserves…”

“ SHUT UP! ” Harry shouted. “You don’t know anything about me!”

Vernon reached out and slapped him hard across the face. Harry fell to the floor of the smallest bedroom and hit his head on the lower bedpost, letting out a small yelp.

“Don’t you dare speak to my wife that way,” glowered Vernon, approaching Harry’s cowering form on the floor. He delivered a swift kick to Harry’s side and Harry let out a scream and he groaned in pain. “You wake up my family one more time and you’ll see what happens… I’ve had it, you hear?”

“Yes, Uncle Vernon…” said Harry, his voice weak and shaking. He pressed his hand to his side and tried to push himself up, giving a low hiss in response to the pain. He settled back to the ground.

With a nod, the Dursleys retreated from the room. The overhead light was flicked off and the locks turned as the door was slammed shut. 

Harry lay on the thin carpet, alone, in the dark. He listened to their footsteps retreat back down the hallway and heard their doors click shut. He tried to take a deep breath but his ribs protested painfully. He managed to bring himself to standing any way, swaying dangerously in the middle of the floor. He made his way over to his desk chair and sunk down into it. 

The flashbacks were nothing new. He had had those regularly since June. He had accepted the fact that he was afraid and decided after weeks of reliving one of the worst nights of his life that he couldn’t bring himself to be angry about being afraid that night. It made sense. His fear was not a failure. What was new was the glowing ball of light and the room with the dark tiles… the door at the end of the corridor that refused to open to him… that voice… he knew that voice…

Voldemort . 

Harry shivered at the memory of that dark wizard’s voice in his ears, like he was perched just over his shoulder sharing a secret with him.

The door started appearing to him about a week and a half prior. He hadn’t thought anything of it the first couple of nights, but on the third night, he started to wonder… had he seen this door before? Why was his mind fixating on it?

He twisted the knob on his lamp and pulled out a clean piece of parchment and his quill from his desk drawer. He hadn’t received any substantial letters in a while-- just the weekly short notes from Hermione checking in on him, but none bearing any news of consequence or anything terribly personal. But every few days, he tried writing one in the hopes he’d receive something… anything to keep him connected. Anything to remind himself that he wasn’t alone… because he wasn’t alone, right?

Sirius would want to know about the nightmares, even if he didn’t send many responses back, surely. He had asked about his sleep and his dreams before.

***

Dear Padfoot,

I hope you’re doing alright-- please let me know as soon as you can that everything is fine. I just worry.

I’m writing this in the early hours of the morning. I’ve been having nightmares. It’s a lot of the same thing over and over-- the graveyard, yes, but also this door that keeps appearing. I have no idea if I’ve seen this door before in real life or if it’s my imagination. I’ve never been asleep for long enough to go through the door, so I’ve no idea what might be behind it or why it’s appearing to me. I usually wake up to whispers in my ear that startle me awake. 

Do you think these dreams could mean anything? Should I be worried? Or is it just my overactive imagination?

I hope you’re well and that I can hear from you soon. If there’s any news, I’d like to hear that too. The Prophet continues to be unhelpful. Does the rest of the world even know ? You know what about…

Love,

Harry

***

Harry folded up his letter, stuffed it in an envelope, and set it off to the side of his desk. Hedwig would return in a day or two and then she could bring it to Sirius. 

He leaned back in his chair, looking up at some of the art on his wall… rough sketches of Hedwig, a poster from the Quidditch World Cup, a postcard with a picture of Hogwarts that he had found while exploring Hogsmeade… it wasn’t much, but even these few things showed a tremendous part of his life. He could add the picture of his parents that sat on the nightstand and any of the photos in his photo album too. Harry couldn’t think of a time where he had truly considered Number 4 Privet Drive to be his home, but here in these few images, Harry felt as close to home as he could be.

At the corner of his vision, he could see his stack of school books with a small parcel wrapped in paper perched on top of it. He must have forgotten to open it when Hedwig brought it to him. He reached for it now and pulled the string keeping it sealed. When the paper fell away, Harry saw a small bottle with a dark purple liquid inside. Dreamless sleep-- of course! It held several doses in the one bottle.

There were still several hours to go until morning. Harry had a gut feeling that if he tried to fall asleep on his own, the nightmares would return again. Maybe it was better to just take some-- not even a full dose-- and finish the night undisturbed. He uncorked the bottle and took half a swallow. The taste of lavender coated his tongue and he swallowed it down. He crossed the room and sank down onto his mattress. Sleep found him soon after.

***

Dear Harry,

I’m fine-- I’m still here, though I’ve needed to space out my owls and change birds to avoid unwanted attention. These are mad times we live in, and that’s not taking my own extenuating circumstances into account. I hope you’re making good decisions and keeping out of harm’s way. I think you’re like me and being in one place for too long is hard, but it’s what must be done. If I can do it, so can you, right? It’s not forever… just until I’m cleared. Then we’ll be a proper family. We can at least leave the house a bit more then.

Those nightmares are definitely concerning. Especially if they’re bothering you every night. Are they bothering you every night? Have you tried taking anything to help you sleep? You know you can send away for potions from the apothecary in Diagon Alley. Perhaps a Dreamless Sleep would help in your case. That’s what I would try first.

I’m not sure what to say about the door, but it is strange that you keep seeing it. Try not to think too much of it. Not all of our dreams make sense.

Stay safe, Harry. I hope I’ll get to see you very soon.

Love,

Padfoot

***

Harry took Dreamless Sleep for the next several nights, never once waking up in the middle of the night. Hermione and Sirius were right-- it did help. He did desperately need the rest… The label on the bottle written in the apothecary’s curlecue handwriting warned that Dreamless Sleep had the potential to be addictive and was not recommended for every day use, but… Harry was exhausted… he knew nothing would keep the nightmares away. He couldn’t keep facing the same demons, the same doorways over and over again. He was tired of living in a near-constant state of anxiety.

Harry read over Sirius’ letter once again. He noticed Sirius hadn’t even bothered to mention that there was news this time, whether he could talk about it or not. He hadn’t said anything about the whispers he heard as well. Maybe it was all just a memory replaying in his head. Maybe it wasn’t something to worry about beyond how much he was already worrying about it. Maybe it was better to just put it out of his mind.

Once more he found himself in the back garden, pulling weeds in Petunia’s flowerbeds and planting new flats of flowers in the empty areas of the yard. It was his last task of the day and then he could lie low and away from the Dursleys. They were tolerating him less than usual lately given the early wake-ups. It was better if he could get away from the house and disappear for a while.

“ Potter !” Harry heard behind him as he covered the roots of some freshly planted low-maintenance grasses around the back shed. He flinched.

“Piers,” Harry returned.

“Watch your tone,” snapped Dudley.

“What do you want?” asked Harry. “I’m a little busy at the moment.”

“Dudley tells me you have a new boyfriend,” said Piers.

Harry froze. He didn’t like where this was going. He stood up to face the two, wiping his hands on his pants.

“Why haven’t you introduced us?” asked Piers, a smirk spreading across his face.

“He wasn’t my boyfriend,” said Harry.

“That’s not what it sounded like to me. You moan about him in your sleep practically every night,” said Dudley. “‘ No! Cedric!’ ”

“Shut up.” Harry grit his teeth.

“Well that’s not very polite now. We’re just trying to congratulate you,” said Piers. “Wait, ‘He wasn’t my boyfriend’ he says. Not together anymore, are you?”

They were getting uncomfortably close. Harry took a step back.

“You must have liked him a lot to be crying over him every night,” said Piers. “Sounds like not everything is all sunshine and… rainbows .”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” spat Harry. His back hit the wall of the shed. He glanced from left to right and back to Dudley and Piers again.

“Was he the one to break up with you?” asked Dudley taking a step closer, never breaking eye contact with Harry. “Is it ‘cause you wouldn’t put out?”

“It wasn’t like that…” said Harry pathetically. Why was he bothering trying to explain himself? They weren’t going to listen…

“Is it ‘cause he thought you were too scrawny for him?” said Piers

“Stop it,” said Harry. They know how I feel about that… Dudley’s brought it up before…

“Too skinny and disgusting even for a f** like him,” snickered Piers.

“It’s too bad no one loves you, Potter,” said Dudley. “I hope he fucked you good because it’s the best you can expect.”

Harry blinked against the stinging in his eyes. He hated himself just then… he hated that he let these two idiots hurt him and get under his skin.

“Get away from me,” he said in his steadiest voice. He could feel his resolve wavering.

“Make us, Potter,” said Piers, taking yet another step forward. There was challenge in his voice. And amusement.

Before he could think twice, Harry bolted left and took a running jump at the fence between Number 4 and Number 3 Privet Drive. His feet scrabbled to find purchase on the wood and a second before he could find it, he felt himself being pulled away, his hands scraping the rough edge of the slats in the fence. Rough hands grabbed him and threw him into the flowerbed where he had been working. Dudley fisted into the front of Harry’s shirt and pulled him up only to punch him in the nose and send him sprawling once again. Harry grunted, grasping at his face. His fingers were red when he pulled them away. He tried to pick himself back up but Piers pushed him into the shed wall and grabbed him by the throat, holding him in place, struggling for breath.

“Always trying to run away… it seems like they never learn,” drawled Piers, glancing over at Dudley who chuckled to himself. “Listen, Potter. Real men stand up for themselves. They fight back, they never run away, and they certainly don’t become poofs like you and your ex-boyfriend.”

He shoved Harry painfully into the wall one last time before letting go and heading back into the house. Harry could hear the lock turn behind them and he knew he had no hope of getting back in the house until after his aunt and uncle returned home for the evening. 

He wiped away the blood with the back of his hand and rinsed off with the hose. He swallowed against the pressure building up in his throat, took a deep breath, and he felt a stillness within himself that he hadn’t felt in a long time. Not quite peace… more like a settling. Despite everything, he was calm.

Harry finished in the garden as fast as he could and took off through the gate near the house, cutting through the perfectly manicured front lawn and down the street. Without thinking about it, he found his way to the neighborhood playlot. There was a swing set sitting mostly empty and a couple of kids with their mothers climbing up the slides and spinning on the merry-go-round. Things were quiet here. Thoughts were pounding the inside of his skull, trying desperately to get his attention, but he did everything in his power to ignore them. Still, some seeped through…

How had his life reached this point? In what previous life had he messed up so badly that he deserved any of what this life was handing to him? Dead parents, family who hated his guts, people who wanted to beat him senseless, dark lords who were trying to kill him anytime they had the chance, friends and mentors who ignored him and left him in the dark… Even he could not have guessed a year ago the things that would become fixtures in his life of perpetual struggle. And he had seen a lot in his nearly fifteen years of life.

As the sun started to set and the heat of the day started to break, Harry walked back to Privet Drive. He knocked on the front door, earning him a look of confusion from his aunt when she answered the door and saw her filthy, sweaty nephew. 

“Get up to the shower and try not to touch anything,” she said, wrinkling her nose and barely looking at him. Harry nodded and walked up the stairs as quietly as he could, avoiding the creaky steps. He showered, changed, and walked back to his room. There was half a sandwich resting on his desk. The door locked behind him when he wasn’t looking.

He let out a sigh. He didn’t want to keep thinking anymore. He just wanted to sleep for days. Maybe he could sleep through the rest of the summer and wake up on September first and still catch the train in time. A month of dreamless sleep didn’t sound half-bad to him…

He reached up to the top of his school book pile and grabbed the bottle of Dreamless Sleep. There wasn’t much left in there-- he should have ordered more than one flash of the stuff. There was maybe half a swallow left. It was better than nothing, he supposed.

Before he could uncork the bottle, there was a flutter to his right and a sweet trill he instantly recognized as Hedwig. She flew in, landing across the room on top of his wardrobe. He could see she had a letter attached to her leg and she extended it to him as soon as he came close enough. He handed her an owl treat from his desk drawer and she nibbled gently at his ear, bringing out a small smile that had scarcely seen the light of day all summer long. Harry opened the letter-- it was from Remus.

***

Dear Harry,

I apologize for not writing more this summer. I know it’s been frustrating that letters haven’t been as long or as detailed as they usually are this summer. A necessary evil, I’m afraid. Even when I’m not writing, rest assured, you are always on my mind.

I recently came back into contact with an old school friend I had lost touch with. I won’t say her name here in case this letter is intercepted-- I want to protect her as much as possible. But I found out that she is a mind healer. She’s attended post-Hogwarts training in both magical healing and through muggle university in psychology and has become one of the first few witches-- or really magical folk in general-- in this growing field. She’s worked a lot with people I know who survived the first war.

Any way, I mentioned you without truly mentioning you-- just told her about how you’ve been experiencing disturbing dreams and had a rough time in the last year or so. She doesn’t know specifics. She asked that I send her contact information along to you should you ever need it. She is firm but kind. I think it might be worth considering and even trying once or twice. You might sleep better and have an easier time making sense of all that has happened to you in the last year. You wouldn’t have to continue going through that alone.

Let me know what you think and I’ll send her information along.

Please reach out to Sirius-- he continues to worry but I think is hesitant to push. 

We’ll see you very soon.

Love,

Remus

***

Maybe talking to whoever this witch was would be a good idea. It couldn’t hurt to have her contact information any way. Harry hastily scribbled a reply to Remus. He hesitated as he came near Hedwig. Should he send the two letters to Grimmauld Place or should he take this opportunity to write the apothecary in Diagon Alley? Sleep or connection, sleep or connection…

He gave Hedwig both of his letters to Sirius and Remus and she once more flew off into the night. He took what remained of the bottle of Dreamless Sleep and downed it. He turned off the light and went to sleep.

***

The evening started off peacefully enough-- he took the rest of his potion and it delivered the uneventful sleep he had grown accustomed to over the last several nights. It was bliss… until it wasn’t.

The dreams returned. It had started as a hazy dream that fought to surface and then quickly turned into his usual debilitating nightmare. This time, the memories were more vivid-- like he had stepped back in time and everything was happening to him all over again. They had never been this bad before. He screamed himself awake, gripping his head as the pain slowly faded and he felt more grounded, reminding himself where he was, little comfort though it was.

He didn’t remember his dreams or the pain being as palpable before as they were just down. That was different.

The door to his bedroom slammed open and Vernon thundered over to him.

“I warned you, boy…” he glowered.

He grabbed Harry by the front of his shirt and pulled him out of bed before Harry could process anything. 

“Hey! What--?” he cried out in surprise, unable to stifle his reaction.

Whatever sleepiness remained in Harry quickly vanished and was replaced by panic that rose up in his chest. Vernon shoved him into the hallway where Harry’s shoulder crashed into the wall opposite his bedroom.

“ What are you doing? ” Harry asked quickly, trying to cover up the trembling in his voice. Whatever was to happen next wouldn’t be good…

“Something I should have done a long time ago,” said Vernon. “Petunia, go back to bed. I’ll be there in a moment.”

“Dad, can I come with?”

“This doesn’t concern you, son,” growled Uncle Vernon before turning his attention back to Harry. “Move.”

Uncle Vernon shoved Harry towards the stairs and he stumbled down, clutching the railing so he wouldn’t go flying. One last push sent him into the wall at the bottom of the stairs. Harry caught himself before he his his head, his palms flat against the wall.

“Hold still,” said Vernon.

Before Harry could think or turn around or doing anything, he felt a sting on his back. Vernon had somehow quickly and silently taken his belt and brought it down hard on Harry. He felt blow after blow and Harry grunted in pain every time it landed against him. His shirt did almost nothing to dampen the sharpness.

“Please, stop!” yelled Harry. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!”

“Shut up,” grumbled Vernon.

Harry tried sinking to the floor, but Vernon continued his onslaught. Harry covered his head and moaned, trying with everything in him to shut out the pain. After what felt like hours, it stopped and he could feel Vernon’s meaty hand grabbing him by his upper arm. Harry wondered if he’d leave a bruise, he was grabbing so hard.

Suddenly, everything came into sharp focus. Vernon threw the small deadbolt open and the cupboard under the stairs was opened for the first time in years that Harry was aware.

“No, please--!”

“Shut up,” yelled Vernon. “If you can’t keep quiet in that room, then you’ll have to be down here until you can manage.”

“Please, I don’t want-- you can’t do this…” Vernon tried to push Harry who resisted with an inhuman strength he didn’t know he possessed. 

“Watch me,” said Vernon. 

“No!”

He wasn’t strong enough. Harry was pushed into the cupboard under the stairs, grazing his head against the ceiling of the too small cupboard and hitting the back wall. Before he knew it, the door was slammed shut, the lock sliding home and the grate shutting, leaving him in the cramped darkness.

“NO!” yelled Harry, pounding on the door. “You can’t leave me here!”

Vernon didn’t say anything. He just started walking back upstairs, causing dust to land on Harry. 

“Let me OUT! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” shouted Harry, hitting the door as hard as he could.

There was once a time in his life when his cupboard had been a comfort to him, but that hadn’t been for a long, long time. He hadn’t properly seen the inside of the cupboard since he was ten and had moved to the smallest bedroom upstairs following his first Hogwarts letter. Since he was around eight or nine, besides sleeping, the cupboard was used only as punishment.

“ Please! I didn’t mean to! Let me out!!” Harry yelled. 

Panic welled up inside him like rising water from a flood. No one was coming for him. There was no indication how long his Uncle intended to keep the door locked. Whenever Harry moved, he’d hit another boundary of the cupboard under the stairs. He was far to big for the space any more. He couldn’t stand or stretch out far enough to let himself take a full breath.

“Please don’t leave me here…”

Harry sobbed and shook the door thinking maybe he could loose the deadbolt somehow. He hated the sound of his own desperate voice as it echoed back at him. He tucked his knees to his chest and started rocking forward and back in an attempt to calm himself. Normally Harry could bring himself down from this elevated state, but this time it wasn’t working. If anything, the feeling was getting worse. It felt like his chest was being squeezed and someone was sitting on top of him. He felt dizzy, he felt out of control, he felt like he was sucking every last bit of oxygen out of the room and soon there wouldn’t be any left for him or anyone else. His heart was about to pound out of his chest.

“Help me…” he wheezed.

He tried to rest a hand on the wall to steady himself, but he couldn’t get a grip. The cupboard was moving around him. If he could just find his way down, maybe things would be steadier… maybe he could breathe…

He laid in the darkness of the tiny, spinning room, gasping and crying and feeling a desperation he had so rarely felt in his life. Just when it felt like his vision couldn’t get darker, it did and an uncomfortable silence settled in his ears.

Chapter Text

“Harry? Are you with me?”

Her voice was soft and warm… kind. Harry couldn’t think of another way to describe it.

“Harry, could you look at me?”

Somehow he hadn’t realized that his eyes were closed. He opened his eyes, green meeting hazel. He studied the face of the witch in front of him. She certainly wasn’t elderly, but he could tell that she wouldn’t be considered a young woman anymore. She wore a dark gray dress that was covered in a black lace or veil material. Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy, loose bun that rested at the back of her head. Her eyes were wide and somehow looked like she was on the verge of tears, but her countenance was quite calm.

“Do you remember where you are?” she asked him.

He glanced around. He was in a shabby room with the dusty, old-fashioned curtains drawn. The room itself was made up of shades of dark wood. Parts were painted nearly black. They seemed to be in a sitting room. The witch was sitting on a dark green chaise lounge and Harry was in a dark leather armchair. The furniture was antique, almost like it had come with the house centuries before his time.

“I’m not in… some kind of mental hospital, am I?” asked Harry.

“No, no. Not a hospital,” said the witch.

“Foster home?” His aunt and uncle sometimes threatened to send him into foster care where he would be forgotten and lost in the system. Somehow that seemed scarier than staying with the Dursleys.

“No.”

“I… I don’t think I’ve been here before then,” said Harry.

“You’re at Number 12 Grimmauld Place. This is your godfather’s home,” said Marie. She scribbled something down on a pad of paper she held in her hands. 

“Do you remember who I am?” she asked.

“Marie Gerard,” said Harry, after a pause. “You’re a mind healer.” Remus had told him. He remembered their conversation earlier that morning when Remus introduced her. Well… actually re- introduced her. This was not their first meeting.

She gave him a small smile.

“Do you remember how you came to be here?” asked Marie.

Harry searched his memory, but diving for anything specific was fruitless.

“I imagine someone came to get me,” he said.

Marie nodded slowly.

“There’s more to it though, isn’t there?”

“Yes,” said Marie. “You’ve been here for about a week now. Mad-Eye, Tonks, Kingsley, and a few others came for you after Mrs. Figg failed to see you around Privet Drive for a few days both before and after the dementor attack.”

Harry vaguely remembered being let out of the cupboard for the first time that summer and walking as far away from Privet Drive as he reasonably could. It was a hot day outside-- the hottest Harry could ever remember. But it was good to see the sun.

The attack was still foggy…

“There were two of them,” said Harry, after a time.

“Right, Harry,” said Marie. “You saved your cousin from The Kiss and warded off the dementors before bringing him home.”

“I’m expelled…” said Harry.

“Well, not quite, as it turns out. That’s a fairly recent development. Dumbledore has managed to get you a hearing so you can plead your case. It’s in two days,” said Marie. 

“What happened then?”

“Once you arrived home, we’ve been able to deduce that your aunt and uncle were extremely upset about the state of their son. You were found locked in a cupboard under the stairs. There were bruises all over your body. It’s not clear how long you were in there. They were able to wake you, but you were incoherent. They apparated you just outside of here as fast as they could.”

“I’ll have to thank them for that,” said Harry. “Hang on though… do-- do my aunt and uncle believe me dead? Have they bothered to check the cupboard?”

“We sent communication alerting them that you were with us,” said Marie.

“I’m sure they loved that…”

“I can’t imagine they’d want you dead, Harry,” said Marie.

“Sometimes I’m not so sure…” he said softly.

“Do you want to unpack that?” asked Marie.

“Not particularly, no,” said Harry.

Marie nodded, her lips thin. Harry had a feeling that there was an implied “now or later?” to Marie’s question. He would have to think about his relationship with his relatives eventually. Just not today.

“We’re about half an hour into our session for today, Harry. We’ve been having a conversation and you seemed to drift away for a little while. Do you recall where you went a little while ago, mentally?”

He could remember being in the dark and feeling pain radiating through his hands. He could remember a sharp pang of hunger in his stomach. He could remember the nightmares…

“I was in my cupboard,” said Harry.

“Say more about that,” said Marie.

“There’s a cupboard under the stairs near the front door at my aunt and uncle’s house,” explained Harry.

“What were you doing in the cupboard?” asked Marie.

“I was… trying to get out,” said Harry. “It’s very small… I don’t remember when it got that way.”

“How did you get in the cupboard in the first place?” asked Marie.

Harry knew the answer, but hesitated. He had been expressly forbidden from talking about the Dursleys and happenings in the house by Vernon himself. What if he found out? He’d just end up on the receiving end of another beating. Or what if they locked him back up again? He couldn’t go back to that cramped space…

He must have been silent for too long.

“What are you thinking about?” asked Marie.

“Nothing,” said Harry, quickly.

“Harry, remember I’m here to help you. I’m on your side. But I can’t do that if I don’t have the right information,” said Marie. “You’re in a safe place, I promise you.”

“I won’t always be here though,” said Harry. “Dumbledore has always sent me back. Even when I asked him if I could go somewhere else. He’ll never change his mind.”

“If Privet Drive is no longer safe for you, you have others who will push for you to go somewhere safe. Myself included. Let us figure that out for you. You don’t have to take that on,” said Marie. “It’s always better if you tell us, even if it’s hard to do in the moment.”

Harry nodded slowly. He knew she was right. He took a deep breath and forced himself forward.

“My uncle put me there,” said Harry evenly. “I woke up the entire house with my nightmares… again… he was angry…”

Both Harry and Marie were still where they sat. The room around them was quiet. Harry heard the sound of a car driving by outside. He wished Marie would say something… anything . But she just looked at him, breathing evenly. Her expression didn’t betray her inner thoughts.

“I mean, I’ve had worse. It wasn’t so bad. But the cupboard is small now. I’ve grown,” said Harry.

“Harry, did you say ‘my cupboard’ before?” asked Marie.

“... I don’t--”

“A small cupboard isn’t a suitable place for a child to sleep. At any age,” said Marie. “Do you know that?”

“I mean, I got along just fine… it wasn’t so bad… it was one of a few safe places for a while,” said Harry.

“How… how long did you sleep there?” asked Marie.

“Until I was… until just before I turned eleven,” said Harry. “My first Hogwarts letter was addressed to my cupboard and after that, I moved up to Dudley’s second bedroom.”

Silence fell on the room again and Marie watched Harry’s face.

“I don’t want you to pity me,” said Harry. “I can see you thinking about it.”

Harry looked down at his hands again, noticing that his nails were getting a bit long. 

“You don’t want people to just feel bad for you,” said Marie.

“Obviously,” said Harry. “Sorry… I mean, yes.”

“Can you tell me why?” she asked.

Harry took a breath.

“I don’t want anyone to treat me like I’m going to fall apart any minute. And in my experience, the couple of times I have managed to tell someone, it doesn’t change anything. It’s just creating an open wound. So… there’s really no point…” said Harry. “Like, I’ve made it this far with everything going on, you know?”

“You have. You’re incredibly brave, Harry,” said Marie. “I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that though.”

Harry shrugged. It felt weird to be called brave for living with the Durseleys. 

“Do you want to keep talking about this today?” asked Marie.

“Not particularly,” said Harry.

Marie nodded.

“Do you remember our last meeting? The one that happened a few days ago?” asked Marie. “What we talked about?”

“I don’t. I’m sorry,” said Harry. “It feels like there’s so much that I can’t remember… why? I feel like I should know the answers to all of these questions you’re asking me. You’re asking me what happened. You’re not asking me to… I don’t know, explain the finer details of the goblin wars or anything like that…”

“Sometimes when we have been through a particularly traumatic time in our lives, our minds try to protect us by sealing off parts of itself,” explained Marie. 

“But… I’ve been through plenty of other difficult and… scary… things before. But I’ve been able to remember them afterward,” said Harry.

“One person can only handle so much. You have been through an awful lot for… well, certainly for someone your age, but really for anyone of any age , Harry. It’s likely you just met your limit,” said Marie.

Harry nodded. The floor could use a good sweeping.

“We were talking about the nightmares you’ve been having. And your experiences during your fourth year,” said Marie.

“Oh… how much did I tell you?” asked Harry.

“Not much, admittedly. Only that it was the reason you asked Remus to contact me. And I know the things that have been published in the Prophet, of course. But that’s not something that came from your mind,” said Marie.

“Yeah, the Prophet seems to be less and less reliable these days… if it ever was,” said Harry.

“What happened after you entered the maze?” asked Marie.

It took Harry a long time-- many false starts, some pauses to breathe when what he told Marie sunk in after the fact… it had been a while since he had had to recount the events of that night. Distance didn’t make it easier. He told her about grabbing the Triwizard cup at the same time as Cedric, thinking it would be a dual victory for Hogwarts and he could finally be done with this event that he had never consented to doing. He described the confusion of landing in the graveyard that had appeared in his dreams nearly every night since the summer between his third and fourth year. The fear that was watching his friend die in front of him, from being in excruciating pain, unlike anything he had ever experienced in his scar before, from being cut with a knife by the man who had been the cause of his parents’ untimely deaths. How helpless he felt against that headstone. How it had all happened so fast and there was nothing he could do… he’d never been in a position before where he couldn’t at least try to do something when he was in a dire situation.

“You see this as a great failure,” said Marie.

“Yeah…” said Harry quietly. “Logically, I know that it was out of my hands and that I shouldn’t carry the blame for it, but… I do any way. I can’t let it go. I can’t forgive myself…”

“Do you think Cedric would blame you?” asked Marie.

“Well… I mean… no, I don’t think so…” said Harry. “I could have made different choices. He told me to take the cup. I’d gotten there first. And if I had, he’d still be alive. He never would have ended up in that graveyard that night.”

“Did you know that you would be transported to the graveyard?” asked Marie.

“No,” said Harry. “I don’t know what I thought would happen when one of us touched the cup. I don’t even know what was supposed to happen.”

“If you had known, would you have asked him take the cup with you?” asked Marie.

“Of course not,” said Harry.

“Right,” said Marie. “Because you’re not someone who tries to put people in danger on purpose, Harry. That’s not who you are. That’s never been your intention.”

Harry played with his fingers. 

“You can’t hold yourself responsible for the information you didn’t have when you had to make a decision. You were tricked by dark wizards. They withheld information from you on purpose and put you in a vulnerable position,” said Marie. 

She leaned forward, still looking at Harry. His eyes darted between her and the floor and back again.

“You are not responsible for this, Harry. Any of this. Not Cedric’s death. Not being taken to the graveyard. Not even for the return of Voldemort,” said Marie. “Do you understand?”

“I--” Harry just looked at her, willing himself to keep his breath even.

“Say it back to me,” said Marie.

“Say what?” asked Harry, still processing.

“‘I’m not responsible for information I didn’t have,’” said Marie, measuredly.

“I’m not responsible for information I didn’t have,” repeated Harry.

“Say it again,” said Marie calmly.

“I’m not responsible for information I didn’t have.”

“You’re not to blame for what others did to you,” said Marie. “You didn’t deserve what happened to you.”

Harry’s breath hitched and his eyes shifted to the floor again. His face grew hot and silent tears streaked down his cheeks. Maybe he hadn’t accepted this truth the way he originally thought he had… Marie had somehow known.

***

Harry exited the room several minutes later with an agreement to see Marie again in a few days. He had one small vial of Dreamless Sleep in his pocket. They had just scratched the surface of his growing dependency on the potion. Instead of taking it away entirely and forcing Harry to deal with whatever nightmares assaulted his psyche, he had a proper dose that he could take one night between now and their next session. No more randomly guessing doses and no more taking the potion every single night.

Chapter Text

Harry wasn’t exactly sure where things were in Grimmauld Place. His memories of where he slept and where anyone else might be were hazy still. But he figured going downstairs was a good bet. Sure enough, with each floor he descended, he heard voices get louder and louder. There was a door standing wide open opposite the stairs. Inside was a long table with a stack of plates and utensils laid out in the middle of it. Around the table were several Weasleys, Remus, Sirius, Ron, and Hermione.

There was a moment that hung in the air where Harry stared at everyone and everyone stared back at him, holding their breath. Hermione broke the spell.

“Harry!” she exclaimed, followed by several others in the room. She came up and wrapped her arms around his neck and he returned the hug. Harry couldn’t help the huge smile that spread across his face. He’d missed this… he idly wondered if Hermione had greeted him this way every morning for the past several mornings that he had been at Grimmauld Place or if something seemed different about him this morning.

“Morning,” said a warm voice to his right. Harry glanced over and saw Sirius with a small smile on his lips. Harry closed the gap and threw his arms around his godfather who held him in a tight embrace. 

“How was it this morning?” murmured Sirius.

“Good… good…” said Harry, trailing off.

“Say, Remus and I would like to talk to you later. Perhaps this afternoon?”

Harry nodded in agreement.

“Breakfast is ready!” said Mrs. Weasley. “Harry, here’s a plate for you-- you’re looking rather peaky. There’s more where that came from!”

Everyone grabbed a plate and loaded up with eggs, bacon, toast, and fruit. Harry walked over and sat between Ron and Hermione. Everyone around him chatted quietly to each other and Harry just took it all in, not contributing more than a few words to any conversation. 

“We’re going upstairs after breakfast,” Hermione muttered to Harry. “Care to join us?”

Harry gave her a look, trying to silently ask her if everything was alright. He nodded.

Breakfast seemed to go by in a blur. Mrs. Weasley had given him more than he could stomach at once, but that wasn’t unusual. The trio excused themselves and climbed the stairs as fast as they could. They went into the bedroom where Harry had been sleeping. His trunk was sitting at the end of the bed. His bed was neatly made, though he didn’t remember making it up when he rose that morning. Ron’s bed, by contrast, was in complete disarray, like he had gotten into a fight in the middle of the night.

“Honestly, Ronald…” muttered Hermione sharply, pulling Ron’s sheets and blankets closed. She plopped down on his bed, her legs dangling over the side, Ron next to her, and Harry sat cross-legged on his own bed. The room was quiet.

“How are you feeling, Harry?” asked Hermione.

“I’m fine…” said Harry, looking down at his fingers clasped together in his lap. “I missed you both.”

Hermione gave a soft smile.

“Don’t get all soft on us, mate,” said Ron.

Hermione kicked him and sent a glare his way, like he had crossed a boundary Harry didn’t know about.

“What?!” exclaimed Ron.

“There’s nothing wrong with Harry sharing his feelings with us,” said Hermione. “It’s quite good, actually. We haven’t really been able to be open in our correspondence this summer…”

“Yeah, your letters were pretty vague…” said Harry. “That didn’t seem like you.”

“Well… it wasn’t entirely our choice…” said Ron.

“What do you mean?” asked Harry.

Ron and Hermione cast sidelong glances at each other at the exact same moment.

“What?!” asked Harry, his anxiety rising slightly.

“Ron’s right. Dumbledore told us not to talk about anything too important in our letters to you,” said Hermione. “He told us to wait until we came together this summer… and even then, to be careful with what we shared with you.”

That wasn’t what Harry expected to hear. Why would Dumbledore want to keep information from him like that? 

“I don’t think it was to keep things from you specifically. The owls really are in danger of being intercepted nowadays. Dad said it’s happening more and more every day,” said Ron.

“Were you told to keep things quiet in your letters to other people?” asked Harry.

“I… well…” started Hermione.

“I mean…” stumbled Ron. “Dumbledore only specifically mentioned you…”

“But… why?”

“Dumbledore wouldn’t really explain it to us,” said Hermione. “We did ask, both of us. But Dumbledore just said it was for ‘reasons he couldn’t discuss’ and that we needed to just trust him that keeping that information out of our letters was in your best interest.”

“‘Course we both thought that was complete rubbish,” said Ron. “But we couldn’t say that to Dumbledore…”

Even in the hardest moments away from his friends, he had understood why Ron and Hermione couldn’t share information in a letter. It was practical in these dangerous times to censor letters until you could be sure the intended receiver was actually welcoming your owl.

“No, I suppose not…” said Harry. “But I don’t understand… he still wants you to be careful of what you say to me in person?”

“That’s what he said,” said Hermione. “But surely if something isn’t safe for you to know, we wouldn’t know about it either. Right?”

Harry loved Hermione as if she was a sister to him. She cared for him so deeply and she had saved his and Ron’s backsides countless times just by being as clever as she was. He owed her a lot. That being said, it drove him mad to hear how she still had this innate trust in authority figures, even after all she had experienced just by being his friend.

“Well… we’re not writing letters now…,” sighed Harry. “What’s been going on? What news is there?”

“Did anyone tell you why we’re here?” asked Hermione.

“D’you mean… in an existential way, or…?”

“No, no, I mean, why we’re here in Grimmauld Place,” said Hermione.

“It’s Sirius’ house,” said Harry.

“Right. But now, it’s also headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix,” said Hermione.

“The what?” asked Harry.

“Dumbledore started the Order back in the 70s when You-Know-- er, Voldemort -- first came to power. It’s a resistance group,” said Ron. “Sirus was part of it. And my parents. Loads others.”

“Dumbledore reinstated it so we could start a defense against… him again,” said Hermione. “Sooner rather than later.”

“Has the word spread that he’s back?” asked Harry. “It didn’t seem like it, judging by The Prophet .”

“It’s very limited, from what we can tell,” said Hermione. “But um… Harry, there’s more to it…”

“What is it?”

Hermione opened her mouth and just as quickly closed it in indecision. Then she pushed herself off the bed, her sock feet making a soft thud on the ground and she left the room, returning a minute later with a copy of The Prophet in her hand. 

“They… haven’t been the kindest…” she said, handing Harry the newspaper.

Harry flipped it over to look at the front page and there was a picture of him with the Triwizard cup. To formally end the tournament, the ministry had to officially name him the winner in front of all three schools. It was humiliating. He remembered they had tried to turn the entire affair into a ceremony and had balked at him when he had rushed things just to get away from everyone as fast as he could. He didn’t want to be named the winner of the tournament any more than anyone at Hogwarts wanted to watch him-- or anyone, for that matter-- receive this award. A champion was dead. Cedric was murdered.

“‘He Who Must Not Be Named… Returned?’ What’s with the question mark?” asked Harry.

“Read it,” said Ron.

***

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was a whirl of activity on the evening of 24 June as the third task of the Triwizard Tournament came to a close. Hogwarts’ Triwizard Champion, Harry Potter, also known as The Boy Who Lived, was transported to the beginning of the maze along with the body of a 17-year-old Hogwarts student, Cedric Diggory. Diggory died during the tournament under mysterious circumstances. Potter was heard upon his return claiming “He’s back. Voldemort’s back.” Experts suspect that Potter was not entirely in possession of his full faculties as the third task was grueling and meant to test its champions not just physically but mentally and emotionally as well. Evidence has not been uncovered confirming Potter’s claims. At best this is attention-seeking behavior on the part of the young wizard. At worst, Potter is delusional and suffering from his encounters during the third task and should seek a mind healer. To read a full interview from the investigative team at The Prophet on this matter, see page 6.

***

“I was in ‘possession of my full faculties,’ thank you,” said Harry bitterly, under his breath.

“We know, Harry. We don’t doubt you,” said Hermione. “I’m sorry… they’re saying similar things about Dumbledore, too.”

“Yeah, they’re saying Dumbeldore has gone a bit crazy…”

Harry was at a loss. If they couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth, what would make them believe? They had to know that Voldemort was back so the Ministry could go on the defense, for the sake of the whole Wizarding World…

“Does anyone believe me?” asked Harry weakly. “I saw it all… I wouldn’t make up something like this…”

“The entire Order believes you, Harry,” said Hermione. “That’s why they’re gathered here. They know how serious this is.”

“We’ll back you up at school, too, if anyone says anything,” said Ron.

Hermione nodded. 

“We’re in this together, Harry,” she said.

Harry felt something catch in his throat. In the next moment, Hermione’s arms were around his neck and Ron’s came around and clapped him on the back. Harry was enveloped by the two best friends in the entire world and he longed to be nowhere else for as long as he lived.

***

The kitchen door opened and several Order members filed out. Tonks glanced over her shoulder and whispered something to Sirius who smiled and nodded back to her. Soon, the only people remaining in the front hallway were Lupin and Sirius.

“Harry, are you there?” called Sirius.

No answer. Lupin and Sirius exchanged a look and a small smile.

“We know you lot like to listen in on the meetings,” sighed Sirius. “You can come out now.”

Slowly, six heads appeared over the side of the banister from two floors up, looking sheepish yet amused. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, George, and Fred looked down at the two men.

“You know, there’s a reason we keep these meetings closed,” said Lupin. “It’s for your own good.”

“There is such a thing as a silencing charm,” said Fred.

“We highly recommend them if you’d like to keep meddling kids out of top secret business,” said George.

“Of course if you actually want us to know what’s going on…” started Fred.

“... you could just invite us into the meeting,” finished George.

“Much simpler for everyone, really,” said Fred.

Lupin’s shoulder shook in silent laughter.

“Harry, can we have a word?” asked Sirius.

“Yeah, alright,” he said, his head drawing away from the upper floor banister. 

Sirius and Lupin climbed the stairs to meet Harry and together they went to one of the more secluded sitting rooms in Grimmauld Place.

“I feel like we’ve hardly seen you,” said Sirius.

Harry nodded and watched a corner of the rug. He’d felt that way about Sirius too, but he knew it was due to his recovery.

A silence hung between the young man and his mentors.

“How are you feeling?” asked Lupin. “You look like you went into your head a bit there.”

“I just… I mean…” Harry breathed for a moment. “After everything that happened last year, after all of the short, empty letters… I don’t really know what to say.”

“You can say what you’re really thinking, Harry,” said Sirius.

“Maybe I shouldn’t…” said Harry.

“I think I know any way… can I guess?” asked Sirius.

Harry nodded.

“You felt alone. Maybe even abandoned. Lost. Afraid…”

Harry nodded slowly, his eyes returning to the carpet.

“I was afraid of that,” said Sirius. “You too, Lupin. You’ve said as much to me in private.”

“I’m sorry, I--”

“Harry, no,” said Lupin. “You have every right to feel that way.”

“We wanted to answer all of your questions, give you every detail we were learning. We knew you’d want to know. But Dumbledore…” said Sirius.

“Yeah, I’ve heard what Dumbledore said…” said Harry. There was an edge to his voice. “Hermione and Ron said the same thing…”

“... but that doesn’t change how you feel about it,” finished Sirius. “And… I get it. I do. I’d be upset with me too, if I was in your place.”

“You would?” asked Harry.

Both Lupin and Sirius nodded.

“It’s just… after everything I’ve been through, I want to help. I want to fight. But I’m being pushed away like I can’t handle this… but I thought I’ve proven otherwise,” said Harry. “Why do I have to prove anything at all?”

“I think we’d be hard-pressed to say that you’re a helpless child, Harry,” said Lupin. “I think the worry is that we don’t want you to have to grow up faster than you need to.”

“Bit late for that, isn’t it?” said Harry quietly and bitterly. He shoved away memories of the Triwizard tournament, the Chamber of Secrets, going after the Sorcerer’s Stone and facing Voldemort each of those school years. How could he not grow up when he was faced with danger and dark lords on a semi-regular basis? And why was now the time these other adults in his life decided that now was the time to parent him and shield him from the world, harsh as it was becoming?

Sirius reached over and put both of his hands on Harry’s shoulders. Harry looked up into his godfather’s face.

“I wish that wasn’t the case,” said Sirius. “Life hasn’t been fair to you. You don’t need to prove anything, Harry.”

Harry glanced down at the floor, returning to the corner of the rug.

“Would you mind telling Dumbledore that?” he said softly. “He seems to feel otherwise…”

“We’ll do our best to work on Dumbledore,” said Lupin. “That man can be stubborn at the best of times though… he’s always several steps ahead of us all, it seems.”

“Then why leave us in the dark?” asked Harry. “Why leave me to wonder what’s happening? Wouldn’t it be easier to follow his lead if we understood how everything connected?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have a good answer for that… the truth is, even members of the Order don’t always understand the rationale behind what Dumbledore does,” said Lupin. “Still, Dumbledore has done so much for me. Even if I don’t fully understand his reasons for everything, I know that he has thought about it and wouldn’t intentionally mislead me or any of us.”

Harry nodded and let the moment pass, though it still didn’t sit well with him.

“I’m worried about the coming school year,” said Harry. “If I’m being honest…”

“Oh?” asked Sirius.

“How… how is everything going to change?” asked Harry. “Ron and Hermione showed me what The Prophet has been publishing. Or… rather, not publishing. I don’t know what to expect. What do people actually believe is happening?”

“We don’t either, Harry,” said Sirius. “It could really go either way. It’ll probably depend on the person too. You kind of just have to get ready for anything.”

“You’ll likely have some supporters-- people who believe that what happened after you were whisked away from the maze actually happened. But there will also be a group who don’t want to believe,” said Lupin.

“In that case, they could leave you alone or they could be hostile. They’ll parrot whatever The Prophet is saying about you,” said Sirius. “You just… have to be on your guard… there’s not much else to do.”

Harry sighed.

“I think this is the first year I have been less than completely excited to go back to school,” said Harry.

Sirius and Lupin nodded. They had no words-- they couldn’t begrudge Harry that.

“We’re here for you, Harry. No matter what shit everyone throws your way,” said Sirius, wrapping his arms around Harry’s shoulders and bringing him closer. “Moony, get over here.”

Lupin joined the group hug, Harry sandwiched in the middle of the two.

“You’ve put dark wizards in their place, faced a giant snake, and handled a horde of dementors. You can handle the words of an ignorant classmate,” said Lupin. 

“And maybe see if you can talk to Dumbledore. He knows things we don’t. And it seems a lot of your problems come back to him,” said Sirius.

While Harry was still so conflicted about how he felt about Lupin and Sirius’ correspondance and how they sort of blindly followed Dumbledore’s instructions, he decided to lean into the knowledge that here and now, he was surrounded by so many who loved him. And that counted for a lot.

And he would talk to Dumbledore. The man couldn’t avoid him forever.

Chapter Text

Harry sat across from Marie in the dusty sitting room a few weeks later. It was the day before they were to leave for Hogwarts.

“How are you feeling today, Harry?” asked Marie.

“I’m fine,” said Harry.

“And what does that mean for you today?” asked Marie. “Are you sleeping well? Any nightmares or memories? Any thoughts troubling you lately?” 

Harry had to pause. He was frustrated. He thought he’d be better by now, after seeing Marie for a handful of weeks twice a week. He and Marie had talked through a lot of things in that time. They’d talked a bit through his childhood. They talked about the graveyard a little. They talked about his friends and lack of summer correspondence. They talked somewhat about the circumstances around how he came to Grimmauld Place so suddenly. They briefly touched on how Harry felt about how Dumbledore was handling things with him. Harry had done the work . So… why did he still wake up nearly every night from nightmares? Why did he still feel so… low?

Harry said as much to Marie.

“Harry, with all that you’ve experienced just this summer, let alone in all of your fifteen years… you can’t just erase that kind of damage in a few weeks,” said Marie.

“Then… what am I doing wrong?” asked Harry. “We’ve talked about everything… I don’t understand…”

“ Have we fully talked about everything?” asked Marie.

“Yes!” said Harry exasperatedly.

Marie looked at him, her face not changing, just holding his gaze.

“No…” he resigned.

She nodded. “That’s what I was thinking.”

She flipped through the notes in her lap. It seemed like she had filled half of a notebook with notes on him in the short time she had known him.

“We have talked about a lot of things, but from what I recall and can tell from my own notes, it’s mainly been acknowledging what happened and nailing down the facts,” said Marie. “But we haven’t fully put the pieces together with what all of that means to and for you.”

“But I leave for Hogwarts tomorrow,” said Harry. “There isn’t time to…”

“That’s one thing we should talk about, actually,” said Marie. “It’s entirely up to you, of course, but some of my colleagues see Hogwarts students during the year. Sometimes it’s once a month, sometimes it’s more frequent. But we set up time and space through the hospital wing and Madame Pomfrey so that we can meet. How do you feel about continuing?”

“So… so the goal was never to cure me before the start of school?” asked Harry.

“No, no one had that expectation for you, Harry. It’s just not realistic. Even though you have been very willing and agreeable to our sessions, this isn’t something that can just resolve itself in a few weeks,” said Marie. “That’s not typical for anyone.”

That was a comfort for Harry to hear-- he wasn’t doing therapy wrong after all.

“I do want to continue. But maybe with school and Quidditch and all that, once a week would work better,” said Harry.

“I’d agree with that,” said Marie. “Watch for my owl once you get settled in school. For now though, let’s focus on what’s top of mind before your departure tomorrow. You said you were having nightmares. Every night?”

“Yeah, they’ve been every night lately. I’ve woken up Ron a handful of times,” said Harry.

“What are your dreams usually about?” asked Marie.

“Well, sometimes I get glimpses of the graveyard, but lately they haven’t been lasting all night. I’ll see flashes of Voldemort or Cedric or bits of what happened, but then the nightmare will morph into something else,” said Harry. “I mean, it’s disturbing enough, but lately it hasn’t been enough to wake me up.”

“What woke you up last night?” asked Marie.

“I… was in my cupboard at my aunt and uncle’s house. Someone-- I later realized it was my uncle-- wrenched the door open and dragged me out of there by my shirt. He started hitting me and yelling at me and encouraging Dudley-- my cousin-- to do the same thing to me. I don’t remember why I was in trouble… But then while they were hitting me, I heard Voldemort’s voice. All he said was my name in a whisper and a flash of a door surrounded by dark tiles. I don’t remember the images at the end of my dream being particularly frightening, so I think it was the voice that forced me out of sleep,” explained Harry.

“You’ve mentioned the door before. It keeps coming up,” said Marie.

“It seems to end most of my dreams, regardless of what they’re initially about,” said Harry. “Any idea what it could mean?”

Marie shook her head.

“Some people think that our dreams can be interpreted-- that they’re trying to send us messages. Maybe that’s true, maybe not. That’s not my area of expertise. But more likely it’s our minds trying to make sense of things that happened to us or something we saw,” said Marie. “Do you remember seeing this door before? In real life?”

“Not at all. But it still feels so familiar somehow…” said Harry. “If only my divination class taught us the difference between just a regular dream and something more.”

Marie smiled at that.

“I’d like to caution you though… just because the door feels familiar or like it might represent something bigger… that doesn’t mean that it definitely does. Take it all with a grain of salt,” said Marie. “We’re entering into unprecedented times…”

“My whole life is unprecedented, so not a huge difference there,” said Harry.

“I suppose you’re right,” said Marie. “But my point is, given your past connection with You-Know-Who and given that he’s returned… even your own mind might not be as safe as we’d like to assume…”

“That’s a scary thought,” said Harry.

Marie nodded, a grave expression on her face as she scribbled in her notebook. 

“It’s something to keep an eye on, for sure,” she agreed. “Since you’ve brought it up, let’s talk about your family. In your dream.”

“Okay,” said Harry.

“Has something like what happened in your dream ever happened before?” asked Marie.

“Not for a long time,” said Harry. 

“How did you feel or what did you think after waking up from this dream?” asked Marie.

“I remember feeling surprised-- like that shouldn’t have happened. I mean, the cupboard was one of the only safe places I had,” said Harry. “Even if they locked the door behind me, at least I knew they couldn’t just come in. I’d have some warning. But this time I didn’t have any warning.”

Marie recorded that and when she glanced back up at Harry, his expression looked troubled and he studied his shoes.

“You’re thinking about something,” said Marie.

“It’s just… I said it was one of the few safe places I had, but now that I think about it, even that might be a stretch to say,” said Harry.

He paused, visibly gathering his thoughts.

“Things like what happened to me in my dream… that happened a lot growing up. But if that wasn’t my punishment, I was locked in my cupboard… sometimes for a few hours, sometimes… longer… depending on what I did. So… if that was a consequence, that doesn’t make it totally safe, right?”

Marie tilted her head to one side, watching Harry. He was grappling with something and she got the sense that he wasn’t looking for her to answer or clarify anything, just give him a moment.

“But parents send their kids to their rooms all the time when they do something wrong. So maybe it’s the same thing,” said Harry. “I’m sorry, I’m obviously overthinking this.”

“Keep in mind, Harry… a majority of children don’t sleep in tight cupboards, let alone locked rooms. When they go to their rooms, they still have space to move around, their belongings… did you have those things when you were sent to the cupboard?” asked Marie.

“Well… no, I suppose not,” said Harry.

“And, theoretically any way, were you able to leave if there was an emergency or you had the need to? Say, if you needed to use the toilet? Or so you could come to dinner?” asked Marie.

Harry didn’t say anything but fidgeted in his seat and fixed his eyes on the floor. His unspoken answer hung in the air. After a little while, Marie spoke again.

“Remember Harry, the point of talking through this is to make it obvious in your mind where your relatives wronged you and work to fix any distorted thinking you might have. Does that make sense?”

Harry nodded.

“Since moving into your new space, have you ever been back in the cupboard?” asked Marie.

“No, not until right before coming here,” said Harry. “They put me in there twice. After I woke up screaming and again after the dementors.”

“What was it like to go back?” she asked. “Either the first time or the second time.”

Harry paused for a moment, recalling that moment of terror at being forced back into the cupboard after so long away. Of his head hitting the the underside of the stairs, his shoulders colliding with the surrounding walls…

“I was scared,” said Harry. “It’s like… you know, when I moved up to Dudley’s second bedroom, I had gained a small amount of freedom. The room may not have been very big, it may have had a lot of Dudley’d old and broken things, but if they locked the door, at least I had a window and I had a lot of my things with me. So… to suddenly be ripped away from this life I’ve worked to build and to lose having a window… all of that kind of put me back inside my head as a little kid,” said Harry. “But the weird thing is, I don’t really remember feeling afraid of my cupboard as a kid. So I don’t know why I felt afraid going back.”

“Our minds tend to do a lot to protect us, even when we’re not aware that we’re doing it. Adrenaline can make it so that any fear or pain we’re feeling is muted until we’re in a relatively safe enough position to really process what happened to us,” said Marie. “It sounds like even that last time you remember, a lot had happened to really get you in a heightened state. The nightmare, your Uncle, the cupboard… it sounds like it all just hit you at once. Your system was overwhelmed.”

“Marie… I’ve told Dumbledore before, but… I really don’t want to go back there,” said Harry. “I don’t know how to express how much I don’t want to go back there…”

“What did Dumbledore say when you told him?” asked Marie.

“He didn’t seem to listen to me. He just reassured me that my family did love me. It doesn’t matter whether I say they hate me or not,” said Harry. 

“Going back is clearly not an option for you,” said Marie. “Not with the state you were found in and certainly not with the history of abuse that has followed you in that house.”

Harry held her gaze but otherwise didn’t react.

“You don’t believe me,” said Marie. It wasn’t a question.

Harry shook his head slowly.

“Dumbledore has made the decision about where you will live during the summers up until now,” said Marie. “But the difference between all of those times and now is that more people know what has happened to you. And those people have reported it and it’s being handled. So no matter how Dumbledore feels, you will not be going back to that house.”

Harry looked unsure but didn’t say anything in response.

“What Dumbledore did was… irresponsible at the best of times and downright cruel at the worst of times. You don’t have to make excuses for him and no one who truly cares about you, Harry, will make excuses for him either,” said Marie.

Harry did his best to quell any rising hope he felt in his chest. He’d been told things like this before. He’d felt this kind of hope before, but nothing had happened. He had been stuck in this sick game where he had to do everything in his power to stay in line, where he could never actually do the right thing, where he’d be forced to take whatever beating or punishment that was handed to him and pretend that everything was normal for a person to endure. He’d believe it when he saw it happen. And even then, he’d probably still be waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Marie’s expression fell and her gaze rested in the same spot on the floor as Harry’s. She knew she wasn’t going to convince him today. He’d just have to see for himself.

“I have a feeling there’s something you’d like to say,” said Marie earnestly.

“I feel like I’ve said all that I can say to Dumbledore and he still hasn’t had the decency to say something back,” said Harry. “He’s spent all summer brushing me off and trying to get all of my friends and what little family I’ve been able to find to keep things surface-level with me. Who does that?”

“It feels like betrayal,” said Marie. It was not a question.

“Betrayal and… inhumane, I guess. Would he do this to anyone else were they in my position?” asked Harry. “It’s not fair. It feels like I’m being punished for what happened back in June…”

Harry paused and his eyes widened.

“Is that what he’s trying to do?” asked Harry, mainly to himself. His hands began shaking and he felt something burning in the back of his throat.

Marie came a little closer and gently brushed Harry’s knee with her fingertips. He tensed. She lightly touched his face, tilting his chin up. Harry opened his eyes, looking right at her. Marie saw they were glassy.

“Where did you go just now?” she asked him.

A tear escaped Harry and he quickly wiped it away, his eyes finding their usual place fixed on the floor in front of him.

“Dumbledore thinks this is all my fault,” said Harry.

“Harry, remember, we talked about this. None of what happened during the tournament and in the graveyard was your fault. You didn’t know,” said Marie.

“I know… but…” Harry took a deep breath. “I guess it’s easy to believe that if you think everyone else believes that too. You’re all on the same page. But with Dumbledore it… i-it feels like I failed. Like he expected me to do better or to fulfill this role that I never signed on for and I didn’t fall in line.”

“What expectations do you think Dumbledore had?” asked Marie.

“He… maybe expected me to do what I’ve always done,” said Harry. “When I went after the Sorcerer’s Stone, I sent Hermione back to take care of Ron and go for help while I headed off… well, it turned out to be Voldemort. Anyone I could have reasonably saved, I did. When Ginny was taken into the Chamber of Secrets, I went after her and I helped bring her back. When Sirius was about to receive the kiss from the dementors, Hermione and I rescued him. And Buckbeak. But this time… I didn’t do that… I got out with my own life, barely, but Cedric is dead…”

“Whether or not these are Dumbledore’s actual expectations… do you think this is reasonable to expect of a fourteen, now fifteen-year-old wizard in training?” asked Marie.

“I wouldn’t expect that of anyone,” said Harry. “But I’m not just a wizard in training like the others in my class. I’m supposed to be The Boy Who Lived, I’m supposed to be the one who did something to Voldemort to make him disappear… there has always been this extra set of expectations on me. Even before I knew what I was.”

“And you think Dumbledore might be disappointed because you didn’t deliver on this reputation you’ve acquired,” said Marie.

Harry nodded.

“I mean… that’s not so unreasonable to want, right? I mean, Dumbledore is in the middle of this war now… and I am too…” said Harry.

“So we know what has your mind turning in circles right now. What would you like to have happen now?” asked Marie.

Harry thought about it. He wanted Dumbledore to know how he was feeling. He wanted to hear the words Marie had been saying to him for the past three weeks come from Dumbledore’s mouth. He wanted the validation that he hadn’t done anything wrong and that he could help fix the situation he had unwittingly become part of. He wanted Dumbledore to at least look at him and say something of substance to him for once. He wanted replies to his letters, not a return to sender.

“I… I… want a conversation,” said Harry. “I want to talk to him. Before things fully get started with school.”

“I think he’s coming to Grimmauld Place this afternoon,” said Marie. “Would you be amenable to having a conversation this afternoon?”

“I don’t think I have a choice. We leave tomorrow,” said Harry.

“What do you think you’ll say?” asked Marie.

“I don’t know… I don’t--”

“Pretend I’m him,” said Marie.

“Excuse me?”

“Pretend I’m Dumbledore,” she said. “You’ve asked me to sit and have a conversation with you after today’s Order meeting.”

“Okay, um…”

“Do you envision anyone else there with you and Dumbledore?”

“I don’t know if it would help…” said Harry. “Maybe it’s better to… keep it simple, you know? Just the two of us. That’s how we’ve usually had conversations in the past.”

“Alright then,” said Marie. “Hello, Harry. It’s been a while. I trust you’ve had a good summer.”

She’s being Dumbledore. Just go with it. It’s probably better if we practice this any way.

“Um… hello, sir. Uh, actually, no, I’ve had a pretty terribly summer, thank you for asking,” said Harry. “Listen, about that… we really need to talk.”

“Oh? Certainly, what would you like to talk about, my boy?” 

“‘My boy’? Damn, you have been paying attention…”

“Stick with it, Harry,” said Marie.

“Right, sorry,” said Harry. “You’ve spent the past… however many weeks brushing me off or completely ignoring me. You dismissed me and kept me in the dark about things that I think I should have been informed about. You’ve treated me like a child when I’ve proven that I can handle things that no child should have to deal with in the first place.”

He drew in a measured breath that gave an unexpected shudder as he exhaled.

“You’re doing great,” said Marie. “Let’s keep going.”

They spent the rest of their session workshopping what Harry would say in his conversation with Dumbledore.

“Harry, I think you’re ready,” said Marie.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” agreed Harry.

“They should be coming out of their meeting in the next ten minutes. Are you okay to wait on your own?” asked Marie.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” said Harry. “Thank you… for everything.”

“Watch for my owl in a few days,” smiled Marie.

***

Harry sat at the bottom of the stairs facing the closed kitchen door. They had cast charms on the door so no one could listen on the other side, but Harry knew they were there. And they couldn’t stay in there forever.

A handful of long minutes later, Harry could hear through the wood of the door again and the door swung open, allowing the Order members to trickle out.

“Harry! How are you doing? You must be hungry…” said Mrs. Weasley.

“No, no, I’m really fine,” said Harry. “I was just hoping to talk to Professor Dumbledore.”

“He was in there talking to Kingsley, but I’m sure he’ll be out soon,” said Mrs. Weasley. “He did mention that he has an engagement of some sort this afternoon though…”

“I’ll try to be quick,” said Harry.

Looking over her shoulder, he said Dumbledore emerge, speaking to Kingsley who followed him out of the kitchen. Kingsley patted Dumbledore on the shoulder, gave a smile, and then made his way to the front door with the others.

“Professor?” called Harry, sidestepping Mrs. Weasley.

Dumbledore glanced in his direction but his eyes seemed to pass over him. Harry didn’t miss that detail.

“Professor, could I please talk to you?” asked Harry moving as quick as the space would allow towards the old man. 

“Sorry Harry, I have a prior engagement. I haven’t the time to stop and chat,” said Dumbledore. He said it over his shoulder, not turning to so much as glance at Harry.

“Please sir, if I could just have a few minutes of your time-- it’s important,” said Harry.

“I’ll see you at school, Harry. We can find time to talk then,” said Dumbledore.

Harry paused in the front hallway, watching Dumbledore walk away. After talking with Marie over the past few weeks and pinpointing how the old man’s behavior had affected him, he was livid. Completely pissed off. How dare this man, whom Harry had looked up to since Hagrid had first shared his admiration for the elder wizard, walk away without even glancing his way? He might as well have not said anything to Harry at all. He may as well have turned to Kingsley  like a petulant schoolchild and said “Tell Harry I’m not speaking to him.” Harry saw red in that moment, his fists clenching and his jaw clicking into place, willing himself to not say anything he might regret.

“Would you fucking LOOK at me?!” yelled Harry.

Too late.

Dumbledore turned his body halfway to partially glance at Harry, which just infuriated the teen more.

“What did I do that was so wrong?!” said Harry, his voice straining more than he anticipated. He swallowed the emotion that rose in his throat. Now was not the time. He had to get ahold of himself…

“Potter, you can’t talk to the Headmaster like that,” said Kingsley. He spoke calmly enough, but Harry had the sense that Kingsley wasn’t someone who needed to shout to convey just how serious he was and make you understand that you had crossed a line. Harry felt thoroughly put in his place.

“I’m sorry…” said Harry quietly. 

“As I said, Harry, we will talk when you’re back at school. For now, I must go,” said Dumbledore.

Harry leaned against the wall of the front hallway for support as Dumbledore and Kingsley left through the front door. He let out a frustrated breath and then turned on his heel, heading back upstairs. He took two at a time in an effort to reach his room faster.

“Harry?” came a woman’s voice.

He didn’t respond. He couldn’t look back. Everyone must have heard his outburst. He didn’t want to have to answer for it any more than he just had. He moved faster and slammed the door to the bedroom where he slept.

Marie stepped outside the secluded sitting room on the upper floor at the sound of the door and she understood what had happened. She sighed. She would be fire calling the elderly wizard later that evening.

***

“Headmaster?” Marie called through her fireplace several hours later.

“Ms. Gerard? Is that you?” returned Dumbledore.

“It is. I need to speak with you urgently,” she said. “May I step through?”

“By all means,” said Dumbledore.

Marie came through, landing gracefully and in practiced form on the hearth, brushing the soot off her skirt.

“Please, come in,” said Dumbledore. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“We need to talk about Harry,” she said pointedly.

“Harry?”

“Harry Potter.”

“Yes, certainly.”

“I left Grimmauld Place a few hours ago-- not too long after you departed, actually. I did a session with Harry in the late morning and I left after he unsuccessfully attempted to have a conversation with you,” said Marie. 

“Yes. I told Mr. Potter that we would have a conversation after he returns to Hogwarts,” said Dumbledore.

“And do you intend to follow through with that?” asked Marie.

“Of course, of course. As soon as I’m able,” said Dumbledore.

“Which is when, exactly?” asked Marie. She crossed her arms over her chest, holding Dumbledore’s gaze. She had a look that you couldn’t just tear your eyes away from. Her patients both hated and appreciated that about her at the same time.

“Well, I haven’t a calendar at my disposal at the moment--”

“You’re not planning on meeting with him then,” said Marie.

“Ms. Gerard, what is this all about?” asked Dumbledore. Marie’s stomach flipped at that look of slight amusement in the old man’s eyes. What was he doing ?

“I can’t betray healer-patient confidentiality and I know this is already overstepping more than normally would, but… I heard your interaction with Harry this afternoon-- if you can even call it an interaction,” said Marie. “You completely blew him off.”

“As I said, I had a prior engagement that couldn’t wait,” said Dumbledore. “I can’t just drop everything to have a catch-up.”

“He wasn’t asking for a catch-up, sir,” said Marie. “It was important to him that you take him seriously and have a down-to-earth talk. And don’t lie to me and tell me that you plan to do that. You may be accomplished in occlumency, but there are some discreet ways mind healers are taught to use legilimancy that are better at slipping beneath your shields. I know you were planning to avoid him for as long as you could possibly manage it.”

Dumbledore rested his gaze on Marie’s chin so he wouldn’t have to look her in the eye.

“I just want to know: why?”

“Ms. Gerard, that isn’t something I am at liberty to discuss with you,” said Dumbledore. 

“Understood, sir. You’re not obligated to tell me anything,” said Marie. “But I think you may have some obligations to Harry. He’s tied up in a lot of the same messes I’m sure you’re finding yourself in. The difference is, you have so much wisdom and resources and he is terribly confused and now has no one he can meaningfully turn to.”

“Mr. Potter is a highly resourceful young man,” said Dumbledore.

“Yes. And he needs his mentor to help guide him,” said Marie. “You don’t get to be a coward and pull away just because things got more complicated. He needs you now more than ever.”

For the first time since Marie had met Dumbledore, he had no response. The silence was suffocating. His gaze returned to match hers. Marie’s heart was thudding loudy in her chest, but outwardly she was calm and collected.

“I’ll be going now,” said Marie. “If I hear from Harry that you two still haven’t met, trust me when I say you will be hearing from me again and you won’t be able to send me away at your whim.”

Marie turned back to the fireplace, threw in a pinch of floo powder, and returned to her home.

***

Harry did not meet with Dumbledore shortly after settling into Gryffindor tower for his fifth year. He did not meet with Dumbledore in the first month of school nor the first semester, aside from briefly when Harry had had a nightmare that revealed Arthur Weasley had been viciously attacked by a snake while on guard at the Ministry one night. Dumbledore had been gone for most of the second semester, driven out by Umbridge. Harry had kept most of this from Marie, though she had reached out to him when she heard that Umbridge was taking over Hogwarts. Harry had refused to talk about the Headmaster in his sessions otherwise.

It was June and Harry was sitting on the other side of the desk from the elderly wizard in his office. The remnants of delicate silver and brass instruments were scattered all over the floor. Harry’s hands were shaking in his lap.

I’m so tired… he thought to himself as he held Dumbledore’s gaze. He had no more fight in him. That fight died with his wave of destruction in this very office, died when he was denied leave of the old man, died with Sirius in the Department of Mysteries… 

Here he was trapped in this office with the man who had avoided him at all costs for months. He’d rather be at the bottom of the Black Lake fighting mermaids and grindylows in the dark. He’d rather be back in the Chamber of Secrets facing the memory of Tom Riddle. He’d rather travel to Romania and cuddle up with the Hungarian Horntail. Maybe even in the bowels of the castle being strangled by the Devil’s Snare… anything but sitting here across from his greatest betrayal, forced to listen to whatever the old man had to say.

“Harry, I owe you an explanation,” said Dumbledore. “An explanation of an old man’s mistakes. For I see now that what I have done, and not done, with regard to you, bears all the hallmarks of the failings of age…”**

“Bullshit,” said Harry.

They looked at each other for a few seconds. For once, Dumbledore looked hesitant to say anything at all.

“It’s not that you forgot to talk to me or that you were trying to look out for my wellbeing or whatever the hell you convinced yourself you were doing all of this for,” said Harry poisonously. “You made the deliberate choice to keep me in the dark. You made that choice again and again and again.”

Dumbledore’s face looked sadder and sadder with each verbal lashing Harry struck him with.

“You did it to protect yourself,” said Harry. “You thought I was too dangerous to be trusted with anything you had to say.”

The air was heavy between them.

“Say it,” spat Harry. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“... Yes,” Dumbledore said finally. “I’ll admit, I was afraid. This connection you have with Voldemort is unpredictable and unstable. Anything could have happened. Who knows what secrets could have seeped through to him?”

Something inside Harry broke. He resisted the urge to leave the room and hide away.

“How do you think that makes me feel?” asked Harry weakly. “To go all summer and then all school year not understanding what was happening to me?”

“I imagine very helpless,” said Dumbledore. “And like I said, Harry, all of this was the mistakes of an old man.”

“I thought you hated me,” said Harry. “I thought that you were punishing me because Voldemort returned. I had no idea . And I didn’t have a clue about how I could try to fix things.”

Dumbledore nodded, breaking eye contact. A tear fell from the elder wizard’s eyes.

“I don’t blame you for what happened last year,” said Dumbledore. “You can put that thought out of your mind. I could never hate you, Harry. You were put in terrible danger and we were all powerless to do anything to meaningfully correct it. The old magic in place couldn’t be easily broken.”

Harry had been waiting for so long to hear these words from Dumbledore… so why did hearing it only bring him minimal relief?

“All of the choices I made have let to putting you in more danger and more pain than I ever anticipated… I did not heed the signs or the warnings I received from others. Ms. Gerard? She warned me that I needed to talk to you sooner rather than later; that you needed to be heard at all costs. But I didn’t listen. I didn’t take her words seriously as I ought to. Your friends and family tried to grab hold of my attention and I would not let them because I was so sure I was doing the right thing. But I was wrong,” said Dumbledore.

Harry noticed that his hands had ceased shaking uncontrollably as he focused on Dumbledore’s words.

“I’m terribly sorry for all that I have put you through all of these years. I know the last year has been particularly trying. I’m sorry for not being there for you when you most needed someone,” said Dumbledore. “And I’m sorry for not giving you the information that you should have had a long time ago. I’d like to share that with you now…”

Harry didn’t know if he would ever be able to forgive the elder wizard his mistakes or when that might happen if he could, in fact, find it in him to forgive. But it was a start. His heart was heavy with the amount of loss in his life that weighed him down, but there was some levity in this moment where Dumbledore could shoulder the parts he had contributed to. Maybe now, in this moment, at least, that was enough.