Disclaimer: I own nothing; it all belongs to J.K.Rowling. I’m just borrowing the characters to play with for a while. This is for pleasure only, no profit is being made and no copyright infringement is intended. The Chapter title belongs to Matchbox 20. I love that song, and it makes me think of Harry’s state of mind at this point in the story.

As the week went by, Harry realized that it was getting easier to be back at Grimmauld Place. He found he liked to have the company, which helped to lift the awful weight of loneliness. While thoughts of Sirius still brought the heavy emptiness of loss, mentions of his name didn’t sting quite as badly. He found himself thinking of the good times, too, not just the Veil.

Remus came up to see him the day after the meeting, and they’d begun talking. He didn’t want to be called ‘Professor Lupin’, and Harry had trouble with ‘Remus’, so they’d settled on ‘Moony’. Harry liked that; using the nickname helped him feel a connection to both Sirius and his parents. Harry was surprised to discover that talking with him about Sirius helped, rather than hurt. It seemed to help Remus, too.

Remus told him how nothing could have kept Sirius away from the Ministry of Magic that night; he’d had enough of being locked up and was going stir-crazy. It was only a matter of time before he left the house; helping Harry was just the excuse he needed. He loved Harry and would have done anything for him. He died the way he would have wanted, with honor, in battle, and not being tucked away ‘for his own protection’. The only thing that would have hurt Sirius more than anything was knowing how Harry blamed himself. Harry still couldn’t banish that feeling, but it had lessened. This was Voldemort’s fault, and he, Harry, had to find a way to stop him.

Harry’s days went by with games of chess or Exploding Snap, or just talking with his friends. He received constant attention from Mrs. Weasley; she would ruffle his hair, pat his cheek, or encourage him to have another of whatever she’d made. Although sometimes it was frustrating to be treated like a child, no one had ever done these things for him before, and he found it was rather nice. The dark circles remained beneath his eyes, but he began to gain weight, looking healthier than when he’d first arrived.

Nights were still the worst time for him. Madam Pomfrey insisted that he should only take the Dreamless Sleep Potion every third or fourth night to avoid becoming dependent upon it, and the nightmares he experienced without it were brutal. He often became physically ill. These visions occurred more frequently as Voldemort’s activities increased. Muggle newspapers had begun to carry stories of strange deaths and unexplained happenings. The authorities were unable to find a cause of death in the increasing number of victims and were at a loss to explain the strange fireworks that appeared in the sky. Rumors of a terrorist threat using biochemical warfare led the headlines, while panic over a plague filled the newscasts. Harry vaguely wondered what the Dursleys’ reactions were to all these events.

Ron had watched in confusion that first night as Harry placed his emptied trash bin next to his bed before turning in for the night. He understood later, when he was awakened, terrified, to Harry’s screams, and watched as Harry rolled over and used the bin to be sick. Harry was embarrassed about interrupting everyone’s sleep and knew the tired looks on all their faces were due to him. He apologized profusely and repeatedly to whomever entered the room and tried to shoo them back to bed immediately. Harry planned to ask Ron to put a Silencing Charm around his bed as soon as they returned to Hogwarts and were allowed to do magic again.

One night, after a particularly bad attack, as Harry had come to call them, he again apologized. Molly was exasperated. "There’s nothing to be sorry about, Harry. You can’t help them. I’m just sorry you have to be put through this. Who would ever be upset with someone for having a nightmare?" His withdrawn, downcast expression told her all she needed to know. Damn those Dursleys to hell, she thought, her eyes flashing.

Harry was still dreaming of Sirius falling through the Veil, too. At these times, Ginny usually entered his room, offering quiet comfort. She never said much, just stroked her hand through his hair, soothing him back to sleep. He wasn’t sure how she knew when to come, but she never brought it up, so he didn’t either.

He had been avoiding her, still embarrassed about breaking down on her. He really wished he hadn’t done that; he hated showing weakness more than anything. She didn’t mention it, and certainly didn’t seem to be treating him any differently, so gradually, he was letting it go. He found his eyes wandering to her, when he thought she wasn’t looking. He couldn’t figure out what it was about her that had changed. She’d grown up; she wasn’t the same little girl he’d met on platform nine and three quarters all those years ago, but it wasn’t just physical. There was a power about her, a sense, a feeling that he couldn’t put a name to. He found himself being drawn to it like a moth to a flame. She confused yet intrigued him, like a puzzle he needed to work out.

For her part, Ginny was well aware of the intense looks Harry was giving her, and she tried to ignore them. She could never figure out what was going on behind those intense green eyes. She liked that he was looking, though, but was annoyed that she did. She had got over him a long time ago; she wasn’t going back to that painful stage of her life. She didn’t look at Harry that way. Still, each night as she snuggled close to him to soothe him back to sleep, she couldn’t help feeling that flutter in her stomach. She had to squash the overwhelming desire to protect him and take some of the pain from his eyes. But I don’t like him that way! she’d insist to that annoying little voice inside her head.

As they settled down for sleep in their shared bedroom the previous night, Hermione’s voice had broken the darkness. "Ginny?"

"Hmmm?"

"What’s going on between you and Harry?"

"What do you mean?" Ginny felt her heart start to beat faster. She knew the older girl had been studying the two of them since she’d arrived the week before.

"He watches you."

"Harry watches everyone. He’s always been observant."

"Maybe. He talked to you that night in Sirius’ room though, didn’t he? About that night."

Ginny had known this was coming; she’d just wanted to avoid it. "A bit."

"About Sirius?"

"He misses him."

"Yeah. How did you get him to talk?"

Somehow, Ginny knew Harry wouldn’t want her to give his confidences away, but she also knew how tenacious Hermione could be when she wanted to understand something. "I asked him."

"You asked him? That never works with Harry." Hermione’s voice sounded annoyed, and its tone was rising. Ginny remained silent. "You asked what was wrong, and he just told you?" she persisted.

"Yes."

"Ginny, what are you hiding? Why are you being so evasive?"

"I don’t mean to be, Hermione; I just don’t think it’s my place to tell you what’s on his mind. Besides, I get the feeling you’re annoyed it was me he chose to talk to."

"Don’t be ridiculous. I’m thrilled he’d actually admit something was wrong, but I just can’t understand why he won’t talk to Ron and me."

"I’m sure he will, when he’s ready."

Hermione rolled over and pulled up her covers. Ginny could hear how disgruntled she was but couldn’t think of what else to say. She could see how Harry pulled away from her insistence on knowing everything but couldn’t tell Hermione that. She wasn’t going to get in the middle of this; she’d finally been accepted into their little group, and she wasn’t about to start making waves now.

That had been last night, and all seemed fine today. Hermione and Ron seemed to be happily making lovey-dovey eyes at each other, and Hermione was perfectly friendly with Ginny. She caught Harry’s eyes on her again, and this time turned to stare right back at him. She saw a blush rise to his cheeks, before he quickly looked away. She shrugged and went back to reading her book.

Harry had to do something to get his mind off the puzzle that was Ginny Weasley, but it was proving to be difficult. The house had been quiet all day; the usual activities of the Order seemingly absent. With his feelings about Sirius’ death resolving, thoughts of the prophecy were getting harder and harder to push aside, leaving him, at times, on the verge of panic. He knew he’d have to broach the subject with Dumbledore sooner rather than later, but he hadn’t seen the headmaster since that first night. He thought perhaps Remus could help him begin to sort it out. Not sure where he was, Harry headed up to check his room first. He could hear voices inside that sounded like Remus and Tonks, so he opened the door and walked in and felt his breath catch in his throat.

Remus sat in a chair by the fireplace with a huge grin on his face, staring at the other occupant of the room, who stood by the window. There, in full, living, breathing color stood Sirius Black, well and alive as could be. Harry let out a gasp as he felt all the colour drain from his face. He stepped back against the wall and slid down to the floor as his legs gave out. He fought for air as his vision blurred. The smile disappeared from Remus’s face, and he was at Harry’s side like a shot. Sirius’s face was replaced by that of a horrified-looking Tonks, who also rushed over to them. "Oh, shit, Harry, I’m so sorry! I never would have done that if I had known you were there."

Harry stared at her in dull shock, still confused by what had just happened. Remus helped him to his feet and walked him over to the bed. "I’m sorry, Harry, that must have been a shock."

"I-I d-don’t understand," he said.

"I was just fooling around, Harry," Tonks apologized. "I was telling Remus how rare it is for a Metamorphmagus to be able to do cross-gender transformation. There are so few of us as it is, never mind being able to control it to that extent. When I first learned I had inherited the ability, I was supposed to practice on family members; it’s easier to begin transforming into those who share similar characteristics. I was telling Remus how Sirius used to get such a hoot out of me doing him, and Remus wanted to see. Bloody Hell, I’m so sorry, Harry."

"S’alright," Harry whispered. In truth, he felt as if he’d just been punched really hard in the stomach. He wanted nothing more than to flee the room and the concerned stares the other two were giving him. His curiosity won out, however. "Sirius liked to see you do that?"

Tonks smiled, her eyes taking on a misty, far-away glaze. "He thought it was a riot to see a scaled down version of himself."

"Scaled down?"

"Well, I can change my features to match his, but I can’t control my height or body frame. That’s why it’s difficult to duplicate someone exactly. Sirius said he wished he’d inherited the ability; it would have solved a lot of his problems. The ability runs on my mother’s side, though she’s not a Metamorphmagus, either. I think it’s always bothered her that it bypassed her but ended up with me."

"It’s just you in your family?"

"As far as I know. My grandmother was one, though Mum says not as advanced as me. Mum always used to try and imitate her but never had any luck. She’s a Healer at St. Mungo’s, and she said she’s never seen anyone who could transfigure as far as I can."

"I’m sorry, Harry. We didn’t mean to upset you. I can see how Sirius would enjoy you putting on his face, Tonks. I’m sure his mind was plotting tons of clever scenarios in which to use your talent," Remus said, laughing, a fond smile lighting his face. He watched Harry closely. All the color still hadn’t returned to his face. "Was there something you needed to see me about, Harry?"

"Er…yeah. I was wondering if I could ask you something?"

"Why don’t I leave you to it, then?" Tonks said as she slipped past Remus and out the door. "I’ll see you later, Remus." An odd look passed between the two of them, and it suddenly occurred to Harry that Remus and Tonks had been spending an awful lot of time together recently.

"What can I do for you, Harry?" Remus asked, placing a tentative hand on Harry’s shoulder.

Suddenly, Harry found he didn’t want to talk about the prophecy. His head was aching, and his stomach was starting to roil. He thought he’d rather just go lie down. "It’s nothing, Moony. D’you think we could talk about it tomorrow?"

"Anytime you want to talk, I’m always here, Harry. I want you to believe that. I’m sorry we gave you such a shock."

"I shouldn’t be just walking into your bedroom anyway," Harry said, grinning, as the older man suddenly colored a bit.

"We were just talking."

Harry raised his eyebrows, and Remus began fumbling on his desk. "Tomorrow, then? Good night, Harry."

"Good night, Moony."

Harry’s head was beginning to throb. He considered asking Mrs. Weasley if she had anything for it, but decided he didn’t want to deal with her fussing. He was just going to say good night to Ron and Hermione and head up to bed. He poked his head into the living room and stopped in his tracks. Ron and Hermione were lying on the couch, snogging each other senseless.

Harry knew they were together; they’d talked to him about it the day after he’d arrived, but this was the first time he’d actually seen it. Harry stood frozen in his tracks, his mind unable to completely comprehend what he was seeing. He suddenly was very glad they had been trying to be discreet around him, because this was just gross.

At this moment, Ginny entered the room and took in the sight of Ron and Hermione on the couch, blissfully unaware that they had company, and Harry standing there like a deer caught in the headlights. This was just too good to pass up. "Get up, you two. I think you just scarred Harry for life."

Ron and Hermione pulled apart, and scooted to opposite ends of the couch. Hermione’s hair was in disarray, and both their breathing was labored. "Really, you two," Ginny went on, a merry twinkle in her eye. "You have to find some more private places for this. It’s revolting to walk in on; I don’t want to see it. Do you, Harry?"

Harry’s eyes were round and wide; he just stood there staring at her as if he didn’t quite know what to make of her. Or maybe it was just the situation. Hermione seemed to have recovered as she joined Ginny in teasing Harry. "Oh, come on, Harry. It’s not like you’ve never snogged anyone before."

"Yeah," chimed Ginny. "Cho Chang told the whole school about the two of you under the mistletoe."

Harry’s face coloured as bright as a Weasley’s. "I…not…what? She what?"

Ginny burst into a fit of giggles at the look on his face. "Not the most discreet, that one."

Harry was really feeling sick. "I’m going to bed. Good night, Ginny. Ron and Hermione, continue as you were." He smirked as he left the room with Ginny giggling behind him.

"Good night, Harry."

"Harry…Harry…Harry! Wake up, Harry. Come on, you’re all right."

"What happened, Harry?" Remus asked, breaking the tense silence.

"Voldemort. He spoke to me."

"Spoke to you? What do you mean he spoke to you?"

"He knew I was there."

"What did he say?"

Harry’s mind went over the dream, and he squeezed his eyes shut. The pain in his scar was receding, but was replaced by a searing pain in his heart. He felt the corners of his eyes prickle, and he fought to maintain his composure. "Dumbledore. I need to talk to Dumbledore." Harry felt a single tear streak along his cheek and angrily wiped it away.

"We’ll let him know, Harry," he heard Mrs. Weasley take over. He could sense her glaring at Remus, willing him not to press Harry further, and was grateful to her for it. He didn’t want to talk anymore. He was extremely pale, and Molly continued to stroke his hair as his breathing returned to normal. He heard the room clear out, and Ron climb back into his own bed. Harry said nothing, but waited patiently, letting Ron’s breathing fall into a deep, regular rhythm. Once he was sure Ron was asleep, he sat up and adjusted his pillow to support his back. He knew sleep would not be returning tonight.

Voldemort knew he was there. He’d threatened the Weasleys, Hermione, and Lupin. They were the ones closest to Harry. There had to be a way to keep them safe. So help him, he wouldn’t lose anyone else. So lost was he in his own tortured thoughts, he didn’t hear the door ease open again, and Ginny make her way to his side.

"Are you okay?" she whispered.

When Harry didn’t answer, she sat on the edge of his bed and began her nightly ritual of running her fingers through his hair, calming him. Abandoning all pretense of dignity, Harry snuggled in close to her and leaned his head into her hand. Too tired to care what she thought, he pressed against her and shut his eyes. He wanted comfort and a human touch; she was offering it and it soothed him. After a few minutes of silence, the gentle feel of her fingers lulled him, and he began to drift off to sleep. Right before the darkness claimed him, he thought he felt the soft flutter of a gentle butterfly kiss on his scar.