The first few days of holidays went by in a tense daze as Harry's mood swings and Mr Weasley's injury were on everyone's minds. The first day, Harry pulled Hermione, Ron and Sirius into his room and showed them his new books, explaining his theories and asking for their opinion. After that, four of them spent most of their time in Harry's room, going over the books and discussing the possibilities.

To Harry's surprise, none of them mentioned Dumbledore.

They narrowed down the possibilities and added a few more theories, but overall, they made little headway.

Harry didn't spend all his time in his books though. He had a godfather to spend quality time with; a godfather he was just getting to know, and even Hermione agreed studying could wait occasionally.

All in all, the first week of holidays was fun in a tense sort-of way which meant the other shoe was about to drop.

It was a couple of days before Christmas when it did. After an Order meeting, Snape stalked Harry to the library where he and Hermione had set up shop when Mrs Weasley pitched a fit about proper behaviour when she caught them alone in his room with Ron hanging out with the twins, playing the unwilling guinea pig.

"Potter, Headmaster, in his infinite wisdom, requested me to teach you Occlumency. We will begin when the term starts. Every Monday and Wednesday at eight. You will study hard and show up on time."

Harry watched and listened to the potion master's monologue with amusement, tapping his foot absentmindedly. "No," he said when the greasy man finished.

Snape raised a single eyebrow in surprise and his lips turned up in a cruel smirk. "No?"

"No, I don't believe I will."

"And do tell, why not, Potter?" the sneaky man asked as he stalked forward to intimidate Harry. "Or is this your arrogance talking again?"

"Call it what you will. I won't have you rummaging around in my mind."

Snape's amusement faltered for a moment. "And how do you know what Occlumency is?"

"I read," was Harry's monotone answer as he looked at the hook-nosed man right in the eye, daring him to pull a stunt.

Snape's amusement left his face completely, leaving an ugly sneer in its place. "Just like your father, Potter. Always thinking you know best. Always arrogant and disrespectful."

Why is it always my father with this arsehole?

This time, it was Harry who took a step closer, getting into the greasy-haired man's face as the dangerous and wild thing resurfaced, coating his skin in greenish grey smoke. "I suggest you don't mention my father ever again."

"Is that a threat, Mr Potter?"

"No, it's a promise of pain if you insult my dead father again," Harry answered in all honesty.

Snape's sneer turned to a smirk and eyes shined in delight. "Like I said, just like your father. He'd resort to threats when faced with a smarter man as well. He was a no-good Gryffindor like you too; always breaking the rules, strutting around like he owned the place. He never did learn. That's what got him killed. A freak, just like you."

Harry breathed through his nose, trying to calm himself with little success but he refused to be goaded by the pitiful man in front of him. "Yeah, yeah. And all that comes out of your Death Eater arse are rainbow bridges and all that bullshit. Now, if you are done, I have plenty of things I'd rather do with my time than to spend time listening to you moan about what a terrible man my father, who incidentally fought your master and was one of the legendary figures of the war," Harry said with a forced smile that turned more and more genuine as the pale figure of Snape reddened in madness.

"Sure, it got him killed, but he died fighting for what he believed in and with his honour intact. You still live, but there is little to speak of in terms of honour in you. You prostrate yourself to two different masters, lying to both. You take your jollies from tormenting children as if that makes you a big man. You…"

Harry's harsh monologue was cut short by a sudden trip down a memory lane, and he never knew that maxim could be so literal. His whole life flashed before his eyes, his worst memories taking the forefront of the trip, the most painful memories repeat themselves in a vicious cycle.

He saw Vernon, throwing younger Harry into his cupboard, listing off reasons why he was a good-for-nothing freak, not realising the boy's arm wasn't supposed to bend that way. He saw Petunia screaming in anger, brandishing a hot frying pan like a club. He saw himself running from Dudley and his gang and getting caught after tripping on his overly large clothes.

He saw Quirrell with a leech on the back of his head; a leech that claimed to have the power to bring back his parents and he saw himself refuse the tempting offer.

He saw himself standing in Chamber of Secrets with a bloody sword on one hand and an inky-black fang on the other, a phoenix on one shoulder and a hat in his back pocket, tired and hurting all over.

He saw dementors, countless of them, all vying for a taste of his soul.

He saw Cedric dying, over and over again. He felt the awesome pain of cruciatus course through every cell of his body, over and over again.

And he saw many more things. And he felt many more things. He felt everything he felt when lived through those moments. All the pain and desperation and fear and anger. Never the triumph or joy or love or serenity.

More than anything, he felt angry. He knew what was happening, he understood it the moment he began this trip, but he was powerless to stop it.

Well, we aren't exactly powerless, now, are we?

Because even as he thought about it, he felt a dark mist surround his mind and suddenly, the mist was also surrounding his body, and he was back in the real world, watching as Snape reeled back in shock.

Harry felt his lips quirk up in a grin, and in a flash, he was all over Snape, his hands moving out of their own accord and with more power than he would have thought possible if he had the mind to recognise his actions.

A crunch of bones coming from the centre of the despicable man's face had Harry chuckling even as he continued to pummel into him, a soft, sizzling sound of burning skin reaching his ears each time his skin touched the other man's, a cloud of dark smoke rising from the injured skin. Snape was on the floor now and Harry was on top of him, continuing his unrelenting assault on the other man.

He continued until he was bodily lifted and thrown aside by his old, sandy-haired professor, but by then, the damage was done. "Harry, that's enough!" Lupin yelled before turning his attention to the broken man lying in his own blood. "Severus, are you okay?"

"He's about to get worse," Harry snarled, trying to get up but unable to because of the hands holding him in place. He looked up to see those hands belonged to Sirius and Hermione. "Let me go."

"Harry, calm down," Sirius said soothingly. "What happened?"

Harry didn't hear him though, his attention on the greasy haired bastard pushing the only helping hand trying to aid him, moaning pitifully. No, this time, not even the image of a writhing Zacharias kept his worst instincts at bay. "Let go of me!" he yelled, and his wish was granted when both Sirius and Hermione jumped back with a yelp. In the blink of an eye, he was standing over Snape again, and he wrapped his hands around the man's throat, ignoring his wide eyes and sizzling skin. And he squeezed.

Snape's pained screams were a balm for his broken soul.

The world disappeared from around him, and he kept squeezing. There was only the burning skin of the man before him, the delightful and desperate screams and smoke. His heart hammered against his chest with unrestrained delight, his blood burned in extasy.

Just a little bit longer.

He squeezed harder, loving the song of this magic and Snape were singing in his name. He wanted to hear more of it. Magic wanted more of it.

And that was the last thing he knew.

He woke up in his room — his room —, and for a moment, wondered how he got there when a moment before he was with Hermione, looking through some of the books in Black Library. Then it hit him.

The first thing he felt was anger, burning through his veins like the basilisk's venom. How dare he?!

But anger soon left him, leaving behind only the horror of what he had done. He had almost killed a man — might have even succeeded. And as despicable as Snape was; as murderable as Snape was; he, Harry Potter was no killer!

That's probably what Quirrell thought right before you burned him alive.

That… That's not true! Quirrell was already dead. He was dead the moment he accepted Voldemort's possession!

Is that what you tell yourself?

Harry didn't have an answer to the arsehole in him. He sank to his knees, sobs escaping him finally. He cried and cried and cried and cried and cried, he didn't know for how long.

He was brought out of his misery by a knock on the door. "Harry, are you decent? I would like to have a word."

Harry let go of the knees he was clutching against his chest but did not rise from where he was sat on the floor against the bed. When did I change positions? He cleaned his face with the sleeve of his shirt and took a shaky, heaving breath. "Pl- Leave me alone."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, dear boy," Dumbledore said, his voice soft.

Harry would have felt angry for how fragile Dumbledore thought he was, but the man was probably right, and he had no fight in him to feel anger. Only misery. Misery was less taxing.

"Please. Leave me alone. Please."

"Harry, we must discuss what happened between you and Professor Snape." The ancient headmaster was patient, and his voice carried no judgement, and Harry yearned so much for a sympathetic ear, he thought to agree.

He didn't. That tiny part of him that hoped against all hope to reconcile with the man, that part of him wanted to lose himself in the man's calming voice was tired, and the rest of him felt all the more disconnected from everything, especially the man who ignored his plight for so long. "Please, please, please. Go away. Go," Harry cried, desperate.

And Dumbledore must have heard the desperation in his voice because, with a sigh, he did so.

And Harry sat there, in a daze, with no more tears to shed, and with an odd sort of buzz travelling through every cell in his body, and he heard his own voice whisper, again and again, and again and again: you are a killer.

He sat there through the night, staring off into the darkness and only seeing an image of himself with bloody hands, his normally vibrant green eyes dull and lifeless.

And he was still sat there when the sun shone through the open window, illuminating the darkness, only to show nothing had changed in the room, and that he was still alone, and his hands were still bloody.

A knock on the door, so sudden Harry would have jumped up in fright if he had the life in him, brought his gaze to the door that protected him from the world. Or is it the other way around, he wondered, now that he accepted his new title as the Boy-Who-Killed.

When he spoke, his voice was scratchy, like he was speaking through sandpaper, but he didn't care. "What?"

"I brought you breakfast," answered the surprising voice of Ginny Weasley. And the fact that it was Ginny and not Hermione, Ron or Sirius, or even Molly Weasley, that stayed Harry's poisonous tongue.

"Okay."

Ginny entered the room tentatively, not fearful of him but fearful of how fragile he might be. Harry didn't blame her for it. He was broken. He knew that now better than ever. He had always been aware he was not normal, that his mind worked slightly different than other people's. But now, in the aftermath of another incident where he almost took a life — perhaps even did so — that reality was unavoidable. He couldn't find a lie to console himself with, couldn't find a way to spin this last incident around to alleviate the guilt he felt burning through his guts and fear he felt that he might turn into another Tom Riddle.

And maybe it was a good thing he didn't have the control of his magic anymore. He couldn't become another unmentionable dark lord if he couldn't even cast magic.

Ginny approached Harry slowly, but her footsteps were confident. She lowered herself to the ground in front of Harry and sat with her legs crossed underneath her. "Are you okay?"

Harry didn't even try to smile to alleviate her worry, his dead eyes on her freckled face was enough of an answer. He still felt the need to verbalise and did so with a mumbled, "Sure, let's go with that."

The redheaded girl sighed and put the tray of food next to Harry. "Snape will live if you are worried. Not that you should be, the bastard deserved what you did to him and more."

Harry stared.

"Sirius was heartbroken when he heard the news, of course. He even tried to sneak off to finish the job. Remus caught him before he could get far," she said with a light snort and a smile. "Only when McGonagall told him the shape of Snape's nose, did he relent."

Harry stared.

Ginny sighed. "You are going to have to speak to me eventually, Harry. You know I'm relentless."

Harry stared.

Ginny settled on the floor and gave Harry a look of such focus, he was intimidated for a moment. So, he stared.

Ginny's focus didn't relent. "You know if anyone understands what you are going through, it's me," she said, and Harry had to fight an urge to snort at the ridiculousness of that statement.

The redheaded girl was quick to shatter his momentary amusement though, and with cold facts too. "When that damned… diary had its dark magic all over my brain or whatever, I would wake up missing time. I would wake up in blood covered hands and dirty clothes with no memory of what I did the night before. It was… It was a nightmare."

She took a shaky breath, her eyes never leaving Harry's. "There wasn't an attack every time I woke up without a memory, but there was enough of them that I made the connection. I was so scared. I didn't understand what was happening at first, so I confided in my wonderful diary, and Tom was oh-so sympathetic to my plight. But there was something fishy. Something didn't add up with the way he spoke. The words he used, they were… odd, for lack of a better word."

Harry stared.

"He didn't outright say he was a psychopath or anything like that, but he would always ask about you. What was your reaction to this latest attack? How did you feel about the suspicions that you were this extraordinary Heir of Slytherin? Were you frightened?" She chuckled. "He was obsessed with you. More than even I was, and I was obsessed."

Harry stared and snorted.

Ginny gave him a bright smile before her face regained an appropriate level of seriousness for the horrors she was recounting. "I tried to get rid of it, you know. Well, of course, you know. You had to find that damned diary. You of all people! Tom was so upset with me for stealing him from you."

Ginny's eyes widened and she froze momentarily. "Damn! That sounded like a line from one of those cheesy romance novels mom loves to read," she said with a shudder. And Harry laughed.

And then they were laughing together. Then Harry was crying. It was all so confusing. He didn't know when the laughing stopped, and when he started using Ginny's newest Christmas sweater as a tissue while he bawled his eyes out on her shoulder. But he held on to her all the same, held on to her with the same desperation he felt when he was summoning Triwizard Cup, hoping against all hopes it would provide him with a miraculous escape.

He cried and cried and felt Ginny's soft hands running all over his back and heard Ginny's soft voice whispering soft encouragements into his ear. And he cried some more.

After a while and after shedding enough tears to make him woozy and light-headed because of dehydration, he let out a shuddering breath and let go, surprised to find dried tear tracks on her face as well. And he smiled. "You look awful," he wheezed, his throat hurting just by producing a sound.

"Don't go breaking my heart, now, Potter," Ginny drawled, and they laughed. "Now, why don't you drink some water and eat a few bites."

Harry nodded his tired acceptance of her orders. As he ate, his mind ran wild, and watching Ginny, now, as she there, calm and accepting and oh-so understanding, he realised he had never talked to her about what she went through that year, under the spell of a monster and commanding a monster. "How are you so… you?" he asked, unable to articulate his thoughts.

Ginny quirked an amused eyebrow and waited for him to elaborate.

"How did you get over what happened to you? You were so young. It must have been terrifying, even after the diary was destroyed."

She cocked her head from side to side, again and again, as she thought. "Well, I had my family, not that they knew how to handle what happened, of course. No one does, I don't think. But they were there, and they were the same family I grew up with and that normalcy, I think, helped more than anything else." She chuckled. "Then, of course, you were there."

Harry raised a surprised eyebrow, knowing he wasn't really there for her. Not in a way that counted anyway.

"You don't understand. You don't understand just how big a hero you were to me, even before you saved me. You were — are the Boy-Who-Lived. And then, you saved me. From Voldemort. And you fought an enormous snake to do it."

She shook her head, looking at him with such adoration, he was disturbed a little bit. "I was dreading returning to Hogwarts for my second year because I thought it would remind me of what happened. But then I returned, and you were there, and I slept better than I had all summer." She shrugged. "I know it doesn't make sense to you, but you are my hero."

Harry let out a deep breath, closing his eyes in frustration even as it bubbled out of him. "I'm no one's hero!" he whispered harshly.

He felt her soft hands on her chin and cheeks, prompting him to open his eyes, only to meet her brown ones, looking at him with such softness that it broke his heart a little bit. "You are many people's hero, Harry Potter," she whispered. "Hermione wouldn't be here if it weren't for you. Sirius wouldn't have his soul. Mr and Mrs Diggory wouldn't have a body to bury."

"You are a hero," she whispered again, her conviction absolute and her voice strong. "And you will always be," she said. "Even when you are being a moody git."

Harry's glare lost his heat, and he chuckled at her last description. He closed his eyes for a moment, and just let himself enjoy the soft caress of her hands on his cheeks. When he opened them again, there was more a bit life in him. "You say that," he said, his lips quirking up. "But I haven't seen you put your elbow in a dish lately."

"Maybe you just haven't looked closely enough," she whispered, her breath hot against his skin, leaving behind a pleasurable burning sensation.

His eyes dropped to her lips just then, pink, soft and oh-so-enticing, but he regained his senses quickly enough. "Perhaps I should correct that mistake."

She grinned and lifted a satisfied eyebrow. "Perhaps you should."

"Perhaps I will."

"Just kiss her already!"

Both Harry and Ginny jumped up at the unexpected voice, not having realised the door had opened. Sirius stood on the threshold, leaning against the doorframe with the biggest shit-eating grin ever, amusement dripping from every pore. The two unlucky teenagers stood frozen like they were caught with their hands in the cookie jar until Ron spoke from behind the amused man, "Should I gather the Weasley clan for a talking to about not hurting my sister, Potter?"

Hermione entered the room, pushing both Sirius and Ron out of her way. "Boys!" she complained and rolled her eyes, emphasising her exasperation perfectly with just one word. "We need to talk," she said though she refused to look at either of them, her cheeks tinged with pink.

Harry shook himself out of his stupor first, glaring at Sirius. "Oh, please, no need to knock. Make yourselves at home."

Sirius ignored the sarcasm, entering the room proper with a haughty rise of his nose that reminded Harry of the only time he saw Narcissa Malfoy. "I think I will, seeing as this is, you know, my home."

"This is a dump not fit for a boggart, let alone a human," Ginny said, perching herself on the windowsill, ignoring the lingering embarrassment even as her cheeks remained a healthy pink.

"You wound me," Sirius deadpanned as he threw himself on Harry's bed, fitting in oddly well with a group of teenagers.

"What are you guys doing here?" Harry asked, folding her arms over his chest.

"We need to regroup and plan for what we are going to do," Hermione explained. "What happened had slightly more effects than you would think."

"Oh?"

"Mate, you scared the crap out of people," Ron said with brutal honesty. "Snape was in pretty bad shape. Not that I'm complaining. The git deserved it, as far as I'm concerned. He deserved it years ago, I reckon."

"As foul as Ronald's mouth is, he's essentially right," Hermione picked up. "About people being scared, I mean. Most of the order members are terrified about what you did. They are beginning to wonder if you are lying after all, and that maybe you fooled Dumbledore."

"People are stupid," Harry said offhandedly, even as he felt guilt stab viciously at his heart. "We knew that already."

Sirius snorted. "Preach it, brother."

Hermione glared at Sirius, but her eyes softened when they found Harry. "The thing is, they are questioning if you should be allowed to return Hogwarts. Some of them think you are too dangerous to be let loose on innocent student population. Stupid as that is."

Harry sighed and leaned his back on the window. "Maybe they are right, though. I don't know if you noticed but I've become more violent lately. What I did to Zacharias in that toilet…"

"Aha! So, it was Zacharias who attacked you," Hermione said with a victorious grin before she realised how inappropriate her reaction was. "Umm…"

Harry chuckled and gave Hermione a soft look of amusement. "Yeah. He cornered me with three older years. I beat them easily but… Well, let's just say I knew long before yesterday what I am capable of when I get angry."

"If you beat them easily, why were you bleeding all over the floor when they found you?" Ron asked, his hand raised in the air like he was in a classroom.

"Eh? What's this about you bleeding all over the floor?" Sirius asked, not a sign of levity on his face.

With an exasperated sigh, he recounted what happened that day, the day his problems first began. It was painful at first, like picking at a scab, but the more he talked, the lighter he felt, and by the end of his story, he felt recharged, refreshed. And when he looked up to see his friends' reactions, the sympathy they had for him was a breath of fresh air.

I was a fool to keep this myself.

You are a fool.

Better a fool than a monster.

Sirius gave him a calculating look, one that reminded him of Hermione, as odd as that was. "Your problems with magic began right after that… incident, you say?"

"Yes, I made that connection. And I realise most of my problems are psychological," Harry said and shrugged impotently. "But I found no references to people suffering from a similar reaction in any of the books I've gone through. The closest thing I could find to what is going on with my magic is obscurus, but… I don't know. That doesn't sound right."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, now seated on an antique chair that seemed to barely hold together.

"It's like…" He rubbed his face in frustration at his inability to explain himself. "Everything I've read about obscurus… They sound familiar but like… only thirty-five per cent familiar, you know? I think there is a connection there, but that's not the whole story."

"Well, of course, it isn't," Sirius agreed like it was obvious. The four teenagers turned to him askance, Harry and Hermione more so than the Weasley children. "Never read any book about magic like reading a formula. Magic does not follow any formulas," he advised with an air of seriousness.

"Magic is not science," the old Marauder explained further. "With gravity, you know when you let go of an object, it will fall, and you can calculate where it will fall and how fast it will travel if you know all the variables. Magic isn't like that. It's ever-changing and never the same."

Hermione's eyes shined with a frightening hunger as she leaned forward. "But we all cast the same spells with same wand motions and same incantations. That's a formula right there. Incantation plus wand motion plus intent equals magic."

Sirius shook his head, tutting at Hermione. "We use these formulas, as you say, like mnemonic devices. Have you never seen anyone cast without uttering a word or without even using a wand?"

The children all looked at each other in puzzlement before the answer came to them at the same time. "Dumbledore," they all supplied in harmony.

"Not surprising," Sirius said with a shrug. "He's one of the smartest men there is and certainly one of the most knowledgeable. It's indisputable that there is a direct correlation between knowledge and skill."

"Hah!" Hermione's smug smile, aimed mostly on Ron, was a sight to behold.

But Sirius was quick to burst her bubble of ego. "Not so fast. When I say knowledge, I mean internalisation of magic, understanding it. Not reading every book there is. You can read thousands of the deepest books there is, but if you don't internalise it, if you don't understand it completely, they will be of no help to you."

"This is all well and good," Ginny cut in before Hermione could question Sirius more on the subject. "But what does that have to do with Harry's thirty-five per cent obscurus theory?"

"Ah, yes, we went a bit off tangent there," Sirius said as he raised himself on his elbows and put his chin on his palm. "Okay, how to explain this best so your childish brains could understand it?" He tapped his fingers on his nose, pretending to think hard while Hermione glared at the obscene man. Sirius must have realised the danger because he was quick to continue. "Magic is personal. No two people's experience of it is ever the same. Take Harry, for example. Why, I've never seen a man with so little enthusiasm about learning magic have so good grasp of it."

"Me?" Harry said in a high-pitched tone. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Me? Most basic Lumos is a coin toss for me."

"True," Sirius said. "But I doubt it's something you can't overcome with our help. When I say a good grasp of magic, I mean the general ease with which you manipulate it, use it, whatever you want to call."

Harry looked doubtful, perhaps rightfully so. "That's so not true. Hermione always casts every spell we learn first. Hell, I'm rarely the second to cast successfully."

"You are missing the point, Harry," Hermione said. "Take the summoning charm, for example. Yes, I've learned it before you did, but I doubt I could summon a broom from over a mile away and with no line of sight too. And I've known that spell for over a year now."

"Of course, you can," Harry scoffed in disbelief.

"Mate, don't sell yourself short," Ron butted in, looking oddly uncomfortable. "I get that you are into this 'I'm just a normal teenager' bullshit you deluded yourself into believing, but honestly, you are not."

"Not you too," Harry groaned, his face between his hands, his cheeks inflamed. "It's a bloody summoning charm. Not a — I don't know — a patronus!"

Harry realised his mistake a moment after the words left his mouth, and Hermione's smug grin he could see from between his fingers only caused more blood to rush to his head. "That's a good point. How many adults in Britain can conjure a patronus, do you think?"

"One in three aurors," Sirius supplied with a straight face. "And they learn it after they are accepted into the mentorship program."

"I've read all about patronus charm, you know," Hermione said needlessly. "I haven't come across any references to an underage wizard conjuring anything more than a mist."

"Well, they didn't have the same motivation to learn that I did, did they?" Harry shot back heatedly, getting more and more uncomfortable. "They didn't hear their mother's death every time they were near a dementor, and most children don't even get close to a dementor so the need never even arises!"

"Yes, but-"

"And it took me nearly the whole semester! And say what you will about Lupin, but he was a pretty amazing teacher!"

"Yes, but-"

"And summoning charm, I've learnt under the same pressure. I had to learn to survive against the dragon. So, sure, I'm a bit better at it than your average student. It was a matter of survival, both those instances."

"We are going in circles," Ginny cut in, again, giving Harry a sympathetic glance. "Sirius was making a point, I think."

"Ah, yes," Sirius said with a rueful grin. "The point is, our perception of magic is widely different, and as a result, our experience of it differs just as much. Have you never noticed we don't ever heal a sickness that originates from magic by magicking it away? Ask any healer you want, you don't fight the sickness, you fight the symptoms. That's because even the simplest infections can have different reactions in a person. So, it stands to reason that Harry's symptoms don't match perfectly with the books."

Harry gave Sirius a narrowed look of suspicion. "How do you know so much? You know how many aurors can cast patronus and healing techniques? I smell something fishy."

Sirius raised his hands defensively and lost his balance, flopping on the bed. "Just because I was always a ruggedly handsome delinquent doesn't mean I didn't study when I was at Hogwarts. Do you know how long it took us to become animagi? Or how many sleepless nights in the library it took to figure out the spells to use on the map?"

Harry raised a dubious eyebrow. "None of that studying should have given you statistical knowledge on patroni and the general methods of healing."

Sirius raised his head from the bed and grinned. "I've always been easily bored as a kid, and bugging Poppy was the only source of fun I could get during my various stays under her care. And my cousin is an auror."

"Somehow, I'm not surprised to learn you are easily bored," Hermione said with a roll of her eyes.

"And easily distracted too," Ginny commented with a glance at Harry that told him she was onto him. "Can we stay on point for more than a few seconds, please?"

"Eh, what was the point?" Harry asked, looking for a way out of what he knew would be an awkward conversation.

Sirius gave Harry a puzzled look before it turned to one of embarrassed understanding. "The point was, you may very well be an obscurus. We can't brush off that theory just yet."

Harry gritted his teeth and gave up on changing the subject with a glare in Ginny's way. "It doesn't fit. Trauma, I know first-hand, yes. But I don't fear magic, I don't view it as a bad thing. Fuck, I love magic. It is the second-best thing that ever happened to me."

"Second best thing?" Sirius asked, leaning closer to Harry. "What's the best thing then?"

Harry could just imagine the ideas running through his deprived godfather's head and had to stop that. "Well…" The embarrassment wared with embarrassment, and Harry chose embarrassment. "It's you guys, isn't it? I mean, I had no one, you know. At Dursleys, I mean. Hagrid was the first friend I ever made, and Ron and Hermione were close seconds. And you," he said pointing at Sirius. "Well, you are my only real family, right? It's not like I can justifiably call Dursleys my family. They are more distant relatives I never want to see but must, really. Acquaintances, more like."

There was an awkward silence at that, and Harry felt the irresistible need to fill it. "Ginny too, of course. I guess Pince too, for that matter. Perhaps twins too? I don't know. I'm not good at identifying this stuff, you know. Emotionally stunted and all that rot. There was a joke about it in a newspaper I commandeered from Vernon this summer. What did it say? It's like the joke is right at the edge of my mind but I can't remember. How irritating is that? Does that ever happen to you guys?"

Harry babbled on and on, speaking faster and faster while refusing to look at anyone. He stopped talking nonsense only when he felt Sirius embrace, and he fell promptly silence. Sirius held on to Harry for a minute or two, taking shaky breaths.

He pulled back after one of the best but equally uncomfortable moments of the young boy's life. "You know we love you too, right?"

Harry gave an unsure nod. Sirius must not have liked his response because he spoke again, "We love you, Harry. Each person in this room and probably many more outside it love you and would die for you. Never doubt that."

"Okay," Harry said with a more confident nod. There was silence then, a bit more comfortable but it still felt too charged for Harry's liking. "Good. Of course, you should. I'm goddamn lovable."

"Awkward to confident in a speed of light," Ron said with a laugh. "You are a regular Superman, mate."

Harry puffed his chest, grinning. "Superman got nothing on me."

"He's a fictional character," Hermione said with apparent boredom before turning to Ron with a shrewd look. "What I'm curious about is just how Ronald knows about it."

Ron ducked his head, his ears reddening. "There is not much I could buy in Ottery St. Catchpole," he mumbled.

"And you've bought and read comic books? You read? Without someone beating you over the head?" Hermione asked, her shock genuine and even more comical for it.

"It's a comic book though," Ginny pointed out. "Not that much of a chore to read."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Harry disagreed. "I remember Dudley throwing a fit so Petunia would buy him one. Spider-man, I think. He took one look at the first page, saw the words and threw it out." He shrugged. "Never again did he want another comic book."

"Gee, thanks, Harry. Your support is overwhelming."

"You are welcome, mate," Harry said with an unapologetic grin.

"Anyway," Hermione said after another puzzled glance at Ron. "We should discuss what to do about the order. We can't let them lock Harry in her like he's a deranged lunatic." She paused a moment, looked at Sirius and grinned. "No offence."

Sirius gave a brilliant smile. "None taken. I know I'm a perfectly normal lunatic."

"And I'm a bit deranged. We'd make a pretty good team, you and I," Harry said as he sat next to his godfather, grinning.

"Like Bonnie and Clyde?" Sirius asked enthusiastically.

"No clue who they are, but why not."

Ginny folded her arms on her lap. "Can we focus, please? And don't think I haven't caught on to your deflection back then," she said, giving Harry a knowing look.

Harry grinned with teeth. "I have no clue what you are talking about."

The redheaded beauty huffed but couldn't fight the upturn of her lips. "Emotional manipulation does not look good on you, Harry Potter."

"And what does look good on me?" Harry asked, leaning a bit forward.

"Well, I thought you looked striking with a phoenix on your shoulder and a sword in your hand," she answered, copying Harry's movement.

"Oh, I forgot all about that sword," the boy said excitedly, jumping off the bed and racing to his trunk. And he felt it again, that tingle that raced through his bones. He snapped open the trunk and withdrew the sword with great care, feeling magic thump through him. He gave a twirl of the sword, still surprised how well it fit in his hands.

"Like this?" he asked Ginny with a big smile, feeling energised and oh-so-excited for reasons he couldn't comprehend.

Ginny flushed a bit and nodded, giving him a sizing look, her brown eyes shining and looking oh-so-beautiful.

"That's the sword?" Sirius asked, lifting himself up from the bed. "Gryffindor's sword?"

"Oh, yeah," Harry answered in an oddly self-satisfied voice. "Goblin forged and bravely wielded.

"Impressive," Sirius said his hand reaching towards the sword.

"Ah, ah," Harry said, keeping the sword just out of the reach of his godfather. "It was coated in basilisk venom, and Dumbledore said a nick with it could kill a person so be careful." He held out the pommel for Sirius to take.

Sirius tried but as soon as her hands closed around the pommel and Harry let go, he jumped back in fright, dropping the sword. "What was that?!"

"What was what?" Harry asked, picking up the sword and checking it for any damage, knowing he wouldn't find any.

"It… It pushed me away."

Harry gave Sirius a dubious look, wondering if his godfather was losing the last of his marbles left from his time in hell. "Umm…"

Hermione raised from her seat and held out her hand towards Harry. "Let me try."

Harry shrugged and held out the pommel to her. When he let go, she yelped and dropped the sword.

"That's odd."

Ginny and Ron tried and had the same reactions.

"I've got a theory," Hermione said, biting her lower lip. "According to Dumbledore, the sword would appear to 'only a true Gryffindor,' right? Perhaps it requires a great heroic on the part of would-be wielder?"

"See, hero," Ginny gloated with a satisfied nod.

Harry smiled at Ginny and shrugged at Hermione's theory. "As good a theory as any. But I have a better one," he said and held out his hand. Soft knocking sounds came from the bedside table. Harry kept his hand up. The drawer of the bedside table flew open and out flew his Phoenix tail and Holly wand, smacking right onto his hand and filling him with the same joy he felt when he first held it. "Ah," Harry moaned in absolute delight. "That's what I'm talking about." He gave a wave and a whispered incantation, and a bright, silvery mist appeared out of his wand, solidifying into the form of a stag with great antlers.

The familiar feeling of joy and triumph filled the air, almost a physical thing. And when the stag ran around the room, circling the five occupants, no one dared to make a noise, their focus absolute on the manifestation of all the love Harry felt from those in the room.

The stag held their attention for over five minutes, running around like a kid on a sugar rush, before dissolving into thin air. Collective breathing of five people told Harry he was not alone in trying to stay as still as possible.

No one spoke for a moment, everyone still under the spell of the impressive piece of magic. It was the raggedy breath Sirius let out that broke the silence, the man's eyes suspiciously misty. "I see you miraculously regained your magic, godson," he said in a tremulous voice. "Mind sharing that theory you mentioned?"

Harry gave a soft smile at the only man that could understand the pain he felt for the loss of his father. "You guys remember how Fawkes… encouraged me to take the sword when we were Dumbledore's office?" he asked, pointing to Ron and Hermione.

Ron nodded but Hermione shook her head. "Oh, right. You weren't there yet. Anyhow, while we were waiting for news on Mr Weasley, Fawkes flew onto the case that held the sword. Somehow, I got the feeling he wanted me to take it. When I moved to do so, I got this feeling… the same feeling when I cast a spell for the first time. I wanted to test if it was just my imagination or real."

"Well, that's a load off our mind," Sirius said enthusiastically. "Your magic is back."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I can't carry the sword with me all the time, Sirius."

"Why not?"

"Because it is a deathly instrument of war," Hermione pointed out the obvious. "And it was coated in basilisk venom."

"I repeat, why not?" Sirius said, waving his arm around.

"Because he can't," Hermione said, looking at Sirius like he was an odd specimen she couldn't figure out. "It would be dangerous. To himself as much as to those around him."

Harry nodded at Hermione. "She's right. And it's not like I'm in best of places right now, mentally speaking. I'm liable to carve out a new arsehole to Malfoy and his ilk the next time they irritate me."

"Would that turn him double the arsehole he already is?" Ginny asked, her head tilted in contemplation.

Adorable.

"I'm okay with that," Ron piped in. "What? I missed the show on the train," he complained when Harry and Hermione turned to him with raised eyebrows in an odd harmony.

"You know, the more we discover about your condition, Harry, the more confusing it gets," Hermione pointed out. "If we take your word on not being an obscurus at face value, which I think we should, and add this new impossibility into the mix… I don't think we'll find anything even remotely like your case in any books."

"Oh, great," Harry groaned childishly. "I'm freakish even among freaks."

"Well, duh," Ron said helpfully.

"So," Sirius said after a moment of everyone looking at Ron blankly. "What happens now?"

Harry gave a wicked grin, bolstered by his own patronus and just by holding the sword of the man that embodied bravery in his lifetime. "Now, we figure out what the path of most resistance is."