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Harry didn't expect his fourth year at Hogwarts to end in an intervention, but there he was, surrounded by his friends and Mr and Mrs Weasley, their eyes unblinking as they waited for his answer. Only, he had none to give, because he genuinely didn't know how to respond.
Because, really, what should he have said when Mrs Weasley placed a warm hand on his trembling arm and asked, "Are you okay, sweetheart?"
'I'm fine' seemed like a lie, and 'of course I'm not' would only be the cause of more concern. So he stayed silent, and maybe that was an even bigger mistake.
"Harry?" Hermione inquired, her eyebrows furrowed in concern.
It had been just under a day since Voldemort was resurrected, since Harry appeared back on Hogwarts grounds battered and bruised, arms wrapped tightly around Cedric's body like it was a lifeline. He still remembered how chilly Cedric's skin was to the touch, and even a day later he couldn't help but wrap a blanket around himself just to combat the ice that had overtaken him. It was no use. No matter how many cups of tea he drank, the cold never fully went away.
Now, he looked at the sea of red heads, at Hermione's curls and worry written all over their faces, and sobbed.
"I don't know," he choked, and that had to be enough.
He must have dozed off after a while, because when he came to again, he was alone in the infirmary, surrounded by the smell of herbs and healing potions. He used to think the infirmary quite a calming place, but that was before a swarm of teachers and politicians, and Aurors forced their way into the room and grilled Harry for what felt like hours. The stream of important people lessened the more he insisted Voldemort really was back. Either they got bored, or didn't want to believe the words of a wounded child.
Whatever the case, they left Harry alone, allowing the Weasleys to sneak in and stay by his side until he passed out again.
He was ashamed to admit he wasn't much of a conversationalist, not with Voldemort's resurrection still fresh in his mind, and the image of Cedric's last moments haunting him every time he closed his eyes.
He mostly stayed silent and let the others do the talking while he dozed off, not quite asleep and yet not fully awake.
That left him in his current state, exhausted despite hours of rest, bed-ridden and in shock.
Only, something felt off.
He couldn't quite put a finger on it, not in his current state, but there was something that woke him up and didn't let him go back to sleep.
Harry looked around, took in the drawn curtains, the solitary candle standing dutifully by his bed. As the only patient in the infirmary he had the privilege of privacy he rarely experienced - even if every bone in his body begged for any sort of company. The sky was pitch black when he got a glimpse of it. Even the Moon was gone. Harry couldn't remember if that was just because of the phase, or because it was covered by the clouds or fog.
The flame wavered, catching Harry's attention.
As it danced, the shadows in the room elongated and twisted, like tentacles of a sea creature hidden away in the depths of an ocean. Harry felt 5 again, scared of his own shadow, with no one to go to for help. He wasn't a child anymore, and there were people in his life that wouldn't beat him bloody just because he disturbed their sleep, and yet for a brief moment Harry couldn't feel more alone.
Something tapped on the floor, an unmistakable sound of paws on wood, and an animal emerged from the shadows. It was a big black dog, blending perfectly with the darkness until it decided to move.
Harry had seen the animal before, most memorably during his third year when Sirius escaped Azkaban.
"Hello, Harry," came a rough voice from the foot of his bed, and a rugged-looking Sirius appeared in the place of the dog. He looked... awful, for the lack of a better word. There were deep circles under his eyes, much deeper than the ones Harry remembered from the last time they'd seen each other. He was wearing just a thin undershirt and a pair of slacks, like he came here in a hurry, not bothering to change from his night clothes.
Sirius opened his mouth, but Harry cut him off, his own voice barely over a whisper.
"Please- please don't ask me how I am." Harry closed his eyes. "If I have to hear those words again, I think I'd prefer it if you cast Crucio on me. It would be more bearable."
The chuckle Sirius gave in return was unexpected. "I wasn't planning on that, kid. Sorry to disappoint."
The bed dipped under his weight as he sat near Harry's legs, an arm's reach away. Without thinking, Harry closed the distance between them, settling into Sirius's embrace. The ice in his fingers and around his heart subsided but didn't melt fully like Harry had hoped - but the temporary warmth was enough for now. For a long while they just stayed like that, leaning into each other.
"Why are you here? What if someone sees you?"
Sirius brought a hand to the back of Harry's neck, pressing the boy's face into his chest gently but firmly.
"Don't worry about that." He spoke in a gravely voice, like he'd been screaming all night. Harry supposed he himself didn't sound any better. "I had to see you, Harry. I heard what happened-"
Harry extracted his head from the crook of Sirius's neck to look the man in the eyes.
"And you believe me?" Even to his own ears it came out weak.
"I know you wouldn't be in this state is something didn't happen to you. I know you, Harry. You've been- you've been through so much, all your life, and now this... I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you before."
"That's okay." Swallowing hurt, but Harry did it anyway. "You were in prison."
Sirius shook his head. His long hair tickled when they brushed Harry's nose and cheeks.
"I won't make the same mistake twice, Harry. Not when I know what it has cost you." The words didn't make much sense to Harry.
"What are you saying?"
The candlelight cast Sirius in ethereal golden light when he said, "How would you like to go live with me during Summer?"
Harry didn't know how Sirius convinced Dumbledore (or whoever it was that held the power to place Harry in his care now that Sirius was still technically a fugitive), but a week later Harry was holding Hedwig's care in one hand, while the other was in Sirius's tight grasp. The touch felt reassuring, if a bit overwhelming, but Harry was glad to have Sirius by his side. Sirius hadn't left Harry's side since he first arrived at the infirmary, keeping Harry company as a dog during the day, and as a man under the cover of the night. If the guests of Madame Pomfrey noticed anything odd about the large dog that suddenly appeared in Harry's room, they didn't say anything to him.
Once Madame Pomfrey cleared him, Sirius helped him get his things on the train, and they began a tedious journey to London.
Together, they sneaked past the busy London streets until they arrived at Grimmauld Place.
"There's nothing here."
Sirius chuckled, half of his face covered by a hood. Harry tried to tell him it made him look suspicious, but Sirius insisted on wearing it. Said it made him feel like a spy from one of those Muggle novels.
Sirius smiled conspiratorially and took out his wand.
"Watch this," he said, his eyes gleaming with badly hidden excitement.
Indeed, in an instant a building appeared right before Harry's eyes. It seemed to have grown from the space between one house and the other – one second there was an empty lot in front of them, and the other – there was Grimmauld Place 12.
Harry looked at this fabulous display of magic that even a few months before would bring him joy, and couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment when he felt nothing but indifference.
Sirius patted him on the shoulder, "Let's go inside. And..." he hesitated, biting his lower lip, "don't mind my Mother."
"What?"
But Sirius wouldn't elaborate, and as they got closer to the door, confusion mixed with worry began to swirl inside Harry.
He expected to be greeted by an older lady, but instead the door swung open to reveal an empty corridor and stairs leading up. To his right, there was a dark cloth hiding something from view.
Harry grabbed the corner of it, asking, "What's that?", only to fall on his behind as the painting under the fabric began to scream bloody murder at him. "What-"
"That's," Sirius sighed, tucking the fabric back around the painting, "my dear Mother."
"Oh."
Harry's ears kept on ringing long after the painting was covered. If he ever thought Aunt Petunia's voice was taxing, the notion was wiped away by the memory of Sirius's Mother.
Slowly, they made their way inside the house. The space was cosy, each inch covered by memorabilia, paintings, crests, photographs and things Harry didn't even have the name for.
"Apologies if it's not to your liking." Sirius was glancing at him with an almost skittish look in his eyes. "I haven't had a lot of time to make it my own yet."
Harry shook his head, his glasses sliding dangerously low on his nose. His throat felt tight, and no words wanted to come out.
"Here's the fireplace, I talked to you through here. You can even see the piece that broke when I hit my head." He pointed towards the chipped brick at the top right corner. "I thought about fixing it, but it kind of grew on me."
He raised his hand slightly, "And see the frames over here?"
Harry nodded, coming closer. Inside, there was a picture of two young men, probably Harry's age. They wore Hogwarts's uniforms and were smiling wildly at the camera and waving. Harry recognised Sirius in one of them, and one was hard to mistake for anyone else but James Potter.
"It's me and your father, just after our fourth year."
They looked happy, carefree.
Next to that photo was another, with a piece of it missing, like it was bitten off by an animal. It depicted three men – Sirius, James, and Remus – and a woman, Lily. There was also another person, but the picture was damaged around their head. Another frame, another photo, this time a Muggle one, again of James and Sirius together, a bit older, but equally cheerful. There were a few other, both magical and Muggle snapshots mixed together.
Sirius came to stand close to Harry, giving him an opportunity to stand back before pulling him into a tight hug. Over the last few days, Harry had gotten more hugs than he ever expected, and the notion made him dizzy with emotion, in a good way.
Not to say Ron or Hermione avoided touching him, but they hardly wanted to cuddle as frequently as Harry seemed to need it. His friends were nice about it, of course, even if they didn’t quite understand what he needed, or why.
Not that Harry himself knew exactly what he needed either. It was all very confusing.
“I was thinking,” Sirius said after a while, tentative, “maybe you’d want to add your photo to the collection?”
Harry swallowed. All his life he spent hiding away, bending his neck to his Aunt and Uncle (and later, to Dudley). He had learnt how to be invisible before he even laid his hands on an Invisibility Cloak. Learned to desire that invisibility. Here, with Sirius, the feeling floated far away from his mind.
Every morning back at Hogwarts, he would wake up in fear, thinking Sirius would be gone, but the man stayed at his side just as he promised. It felt unreal, like a dream Harry didn’t know he had. For the first time in his life, Harry felt wanted.
“I would love that.”