DISCLAIMER: Please see prologue. Thank you!

Author's Nook: So…yeah…college; beautiful in some aspects, Evile (note the capitalized 'E' as well as the additional, medieval 'e' added to the end), dangerous to your overall mental health in others, non? . As a Junior, so many things happened this past semester, the worst being my battle with strep during flu season; I was so weak I couldn't move for twelve hours . . And this next one is looking to be a doozy as my English Portfolio is due by May 15 (my friend's was 400 pages long *sob*).

At this point, I would like to apologize to those of you kind enough to review and add this story to your watch list; I am so sorry this chapter took two years!! .

A thousand [and one] thank yous to everyone who reviewed and/or visited, I really appreciate it! Here, have a cupcake! (Distributes virtual cupcakes of awesome ^_^)

Enjoy, and review! It's good for your soul! O :)

Chapter Four

Tip of the Iceberg

Last time:

"Harry, I need you to tell me everything," the soothing tones of Professor Dumbledore's voice echoed throughout his splitting head. "P'fessor, s' Misser Weasley," he gasped hazily, his words slurring together as a slimy, yet refreshing potion was gently tipped down his throat. Leaning against Professor McGonagall, his senses distorted by both potion and dream, Harry answered the Headmaster's questions to the best of his ability before darkness consumed him, his body slumping forward of its own accord.

"Mr. Potter?!"

"Harry? HARRY!"

"You ever have one of those dreams as a kid? You know, where you live the perfect life, no one screams at you, and there's an unlimited amount of every sweet imaginable? Well, I had them too. The only difference was, well, mine were a little more real than most."

At first the world seemed bright and cheerful when he had first entered it, but now, due to his corrupting presence, the colors seemed muted, the flora and fauna a little worse for wear, and the laughter of the occupants in the little house before him warped, as if a record had been scratched or set to "ultra slow". Vermillion eyes watched amusedly as the lithe figure of a woman, the picture of maternal love, exited the house to usher the children inside as the sky turned to dusk. Taking a moment to breathe in the crisp summer night air, that one moment she took was all he needed. With a short cry, Mummy panted in exertion as the invading force slowly and painfully erased her very essence, until only her shell existed.

It was the perfect disguise for the Dark Lord to remain within the realm of Harry Potter's mind.

Yet Harry did not feel his "Mummy's" suffering. Instead, he relished the feeling of a warm, sturdy hand engulfed in his unruly hair, and the dreams that came with it.

Once upon a time in a far away land, which, for conventions sake, we shall name Privet Drive, there lived a little boy whose very survival depended on his performing the various household chores for his Aunt, Uncle, and Cousin. He was currently engaged in those chores, polishing his Aunt's newly set hardwood floor. It was a lovely color of burnished red-brown, ("Teak," Aunt Petunia had called it), and took a very long time to polish, as Aunt Petunia was wont to claim he had missed spots and make him start all over again.

Now, however, Uncle Vernon was at work while his cousin was sleeping over at a friend's house, and his Aunt had just left to go speak with Mrs. Next-Door in the backyard, leaving him all alone in the house. Looking up from the rag dipped in the special polish, (no tools for the dratted boy, after all), the little boy smiled when he saw the leaves from the tall, gangly sugar maple in the front yard were turning all sorts of fall colors, from the deepest red to the palest yellow gold. Smiling dreamily, his bulky black frames slipping down his elfin nose, the little boy began to dream.

Suddenly, the echo of footsteps up the path could be heard, heavy, as if the owner were wearing a sort of heavy boot. If he squinted and looked out the long, rectangular piece of glass accenting the doorframe, he could almost see the swish of long midnight hair. Trembling with excitement, the little boy rose when the newly installed shrilling doorbell began its shrill chime. Swallowing with anticipation, small trembling hands worn and slightly red from the vigorous polishing closed around the golden brass doorknob and twisted it slightly.

As the door swung open slowly, bright green eyes looked up expectantly as the afternoon light streamed through the open door, obscuring the stranger's face.

Even if he never saw that man's face, he knew he was smiling, and just for him! Bending down with the ease of nobility, the stranger picked up little five-year old Harry Potter and led the two of them away from the stuffy, monotonous neighborhood on an antique Harley Davidson motorcycle, which flew them both into the puffy white clouds in the sky above.

It was then Harry knew he had never been so happy in his entire life.

With a startled jolt, Harry sat up in the warm, slightly musty bed he'd been placed in faster than you could say "Padfoot". The dog animagus in question, who had, moments before, been running his hands through his godson's unruly hair, snorted and blearily cracked his eyes open, before shooting up and eagerly sitting on his godson's bed as he checked his scarred forehead, smoothing back the unruly cowlicks tenderly. "Hey, kiddo," he rasped, voice hoarse from disuse. Rubbing his eyes in disbelief before placing the glasses Sirius handed to him on his nose, Harry blinked owlishly as the world came into focus, and promptly cracked a bright smile. "Sirius!"

Lunging forward from his position at the head of the large, plush bedding, Harry wrapped his arms around his Godfather. When his mind caught up with his surroundings, he pulled back and looked at Sirius worriedly. "Wait—why am I at Grimmauld Place? The last I remember I was…oh no," he choked up, recalling the dream featuring Nagini and Mr. Weasley. "Sirius…is Mr. Weasley…is he…" he licked his chapped lips in worry. Sirius moved so he sat against the headboard, wrapping an arm around Harry and forcing him to lean into his side. "He's fine, pup; your dream let us know about the attack and Mediwizards were able to reach him in time. It's been about a week since the attack, and Arthur's healer will have him staying until the twenty-third, just in time for Christmas." Harry sagged against his Godfather in relief. "Thank goodness. Bloody hell…that dream was so…so…" Harry shivered, mind and body numb as he recalled the horror of seeing and feeling Nagini sink her teeth into Mr. Weasley.

Hugging Harry to his side in a tighter grip, Sirius let his mind wander to the other tidbit Hermione and Ron had told him and Remus upon their arrival two days ago.

"It was awfully strange, Sirius, Professor Lupin," Hermione said, her brow knitted together in worry and confusion. "Really; kept mumbling to someone named Minnie about an Olivia," Ron added thoughtfully, frowning as he tried to recall any past occurrences that may have manifested before the past few weeks. "It actually reminds me of something Fred and George said they'd seen when we resc—erm, picked up Harry from his relatives summer before second year. Found a picture crammed between two of the stairs. Had Harry's name on it—all five-year-old scribbles they said—and what looked like a picture of a family."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully, "I've read about this phenomena before; children who lack an official parental or guardian figure will often picture their own ideals about a family in their minds. And Harry said the Dursleys had no pictures of his parents so," Hermione gestured helplessly, her eyes lost in reminiscence.

Remus and Sirius traded concerned, angry looks. "So…Harry never knew what Lily and James looked like?" Remus said in a hushed tone, his amber eyes tight with anger. Ron nodded, "Oh yeah; I still remember first year…it was over Christmas break and Harry and I had stayed at school. He'd gotten the invisibility cloak for Christmas, went exploring with it one night, and found the Mirror of Erised. It was the first time…he…well…he was so happy. And Hagrid was awful nice; he's the one who collected the photos of you and his parents for him. Harry didn't even know where to start looking for information about his parents or anyone else in his family."

Hermione nodded, a wistful smile on her face as her eyes held a faraway gleam. "Oh yes; we couldn't find anything at the time. Even Flourish and Blotts didn't have anything except those silly history books, which only covers that night. We were going to inquire with the Goblins if Harry's parents had left him anything else in another vault, perhaps, but I guess…we just never got around to it." she finished morosely.

Smiling brightly as he answered another of Harry's tentative questions, Sirius shoved his outrage over the unfairness of his and his Godson's life to the back of his mind. There would be time enough to go over it later. Ruffling Harry's hair to get something for him to nibble on from the kitchen, he sighed, running a hand over his newly shaven face, the increased signs of weariness and grief heavy on his once handsome features. Passing Hermione and Ginny's room—the former bedroom of one of his grandmothers, if he remembered correctly—he couldn't help but become curious over a few of the book covers stacked in the corner near Hermione's trunk. Curiosity grabbing hold of him, Sirius edged forward to examine some of the titles on the shiny plastic book cover:

"'Child Abuse: Implications for Child Development and Psychopathology'…what in Merlin's name…'A Child Called "It"'… 'Child Abuse: Justice across the Magical and Muggle Communities'…" flabbergasted by some of the other titles in the stack, he bent down and removed several of them. Perhaps Hermione won't mind if I borrowed a few…he mused, his mind focused on the subjects contained within the muggle and magical print texts. Perhaps, just as James and I studied to help Remus, I can study to help Harry escape those blasted relatives of his. It's not like the Order's letting me be helpful, anyways. Nodding in resolution, he banished them to his bedroom, he continued down the stairs, his back straighter and some of his joviality returned.

Sirius Black had found a Purpose.

Having dosed off for a while after Sirius had left to get some food for the both of them, Harry blearily blinked his eyes open as he took in his surroundings of the room where they'd put him up.

Similar to the other rooms in Grimmauld Place, this one also held its fair share of dust and grim; yet unlike the others, where the prominent dark wallpaper gave the rooms a serious, morose feeling, this one was coated from ceiling to floor in posters. Teenage posters, Harry recognized after a moment, a smile blooming on his lips. Pictures of Quidditch teams, motorcycles, and scantily clad female models were stuck up in nearly every corner of the room. Twisting sideways, Harry bit back a laugh as he caught sight of the great three by four meter Gryffindor flag and other scarlet and gold paraphernalia of his house tacked on the wall like trophies. The only signs that this was part of the rest of the house were the moldy green velvet curtains, the ornately carved bed frame of the canopy bed, and the rusted iron candle chandelier dangling just in front of the bed.

A quiet tap on the door pulled him out of his musings. "Come in," he called out hoarsely as he licked his chapped lips a bit. Within seconds, a bushy blur wrapped her arms around him. "Oh Harry! I'm so glad you're all right!" Hermione sniffed tearfully, her eyes slightly red. Readjusting his skewed glasses, Harry scooted over to make room for her on his side of the bed. "It's good to see you too, Hermione," he smiled before a hacking cough overtook him. Picking up the glass of water she'd brought in, she passed it over to him and helped him drink when she saw his hands tremble. "Thanks," he said after a few gulps, his throat relaxed.

After watching him drink a bit, her eyes searching his face, Harry peered at her curiously. "Are you…all right?"

Hermione sighed heavily, her hair in disarray around her pale and withdrawn face. "It was so horrible, Harry," she whispered at last, leaning her head on his shoulder. "When we found out—Ron was so pale and worried—we both thought he'd—and you were behaving so oddly before—" she started to blurt out disjointedly, hugging him when she began to cry. Patting her back with a sigh—she'd done this before—Harry leaned his head on her shoulder. "I—I know. I can't tell you how sorry I am. It's just that—a lot's been happening lately and I can't—" his voice cracked. He just couldn't keep it in anymore; and she might freak out, but he needed someone to understand and What if he disappointed Sirius?

"I just can't keep doing this anymore. I just—" Hugging Harry tightly as he caved, Hermione's eyes widened over his shoulder as she realized This was it; what she'd been waiting for—now Harry could tell her what was wrong and she could finally help him—

A loud bang permeated the room, making the two jump apart as Sirius strode in with a reckless grin on his face, an exasperated Professor Lupin following behind him. Hermione nearly bashed her head against the wall in frustration; she'd been so close, damnit all!

"Hey, Harry! Finally weaseled some food from Molly—chicken broth for now, some water, and a potion from Madame Pomfrey that should have you right as rain again. Oh, hello Hermione," Sirius chattered as he beamed at the two of them. Remus shook his head, "Honestly, Sirius, you have no tact whatsoever," he murmured, eyeing the two teenagers carefully, remembering their quick reaction to their entrance.

"Me? Tactful? Mr. Padfoot is always tactful, Moony. What were you lot talking about?" Sirius asked, setting the tray across Harry's lap. Thanking him and starting in on the food, Harry nodded when Hermione merely said, "Oh, just a few things; I was just really worried is all, especially since Harry's hand is infected," Hermione said with a frown. Harry's head twisted toward her in horror, choking down the food. "Hermione," he hissed warningly as Sirius and Remus frowned, "Hand? What about Harry's hand?" Remus asked, his tone protective. Moving Harry's sleeve back before he could push him away, Remus' eyes bulged. "What in bloody hell is this?" He snarled, his eyes a fierce amber. Sirius pushed past him, his face turning red when he saw 'I must not tell lies' on Harry's hand. "Oh you have got to be joking—DUMBLEDORE! YOU'RE A DEAD MAN!" he roared, tearing out of the room and racing down the stairs, Remus at his heels.

"We'll return soon, Harry, and you had better be willing to tell us the truth as to who did this to you," Remus said in a tight, heavy voice as he followed Sirius out, "I can't believe this—a Blood Quill of all things!—WAIT FOR ME SIRIUS!" The duo heard the werewolf bellow, and the heavy clump of feet on the stairwell. Wincing as the receding voices began to amplify, they traded nervous looks when Ron and the Twins burst in, panting heavily. "What the bloody hell was that?" he asked incredulously, eyes wide and hair rumpled as much as Harry's. Seeing Harry awake, he smiled, his face pale and drawn, clapping him on the shoulder as he sat down on the bed. "Harry, glad you're awake—budge over, would you, 'Mione? What set Lupin off?"

"This," Hermione gestured to Harry's scarred hand, wincing when Sirius' voice became so acidic he sounded like Snape. The Twins hissed, their eyes wide as Ron nodded in comprehension. "What the heck is that, Harry? Did someone do this to you?" Fred demanded, his own withdrawn face dark with anger. "Umbridge," he said unhappily, yanking the sleeve of his pajama shirt down over it, face pink with embarrassment. "I don't know why they're kicking up such a fuss over it; it was just a Blood Quill." The duo paled. "A BLOOD QUILL!" George yelped, falling off his perch on the other side of the bed. Seconds later, his disheveled red hair and incredulous gaze poked over the edge. Helping his brother up, Fred and George began waving their arms madly through a hurried explanation. Downstairs, Professor Dumbledore's voice started to raise with Sirius and Remus', some of their conversation drifting up through the floor. "—don't care if you think it's a security risk! We'll take him if necessary—"

"Harry, mate, those things were banned over two hundred years ago! To use one—"

"—never said that! And what about the Blood Protection at Privet Drive? Harry needs—"

"Bollocks! What would you know about his needs—"

"—is a crime punishable by thirty years in Azkaban. It was very popular for blood oaths, but—"

"—to torture a student? She's bloody mad! Why didn't—"

"—suspect abuse…came to me a few days ago with things she noticed—"

"—you say anything?" "—tends to overreact to little things, Remus—"

"I tried," Harry protested, his body drooping forward in defeat and helplessness. Beside him, Ron and Hermione traded worried looks. This was very atypical of Harry, "but McGonagall just brushed me off; said I should just keep my head down as much as possible."

"Oh! How could she! She's a teacher—oh what am I saying," Hermione interrupted her incredulous thought with irritation, "so were Quirrel and Lockhart; and look where they got us," she huffed. A loud crash from down stairs made them all flinch.

"ENOUGH! I've had enough," Sirius' weary voice, still clipped with anger, was heard from upstairs, "I want you and the Order out for the rest of the day—no, the next two weeks. You can return after News Years unless something urgent comes up. But right now, my instincts are telling me to keep you as far from Harry as possible. And I'm inclined to agree."

"You know you're still not fully stable, Sirius," Dumbledore's serious voice echoed back, "And in good conscience I cannot let you—"

"Oh yes you can," the furious tones of Kingsley butted into the ongoing verbal battle, "Sirius is correct. And, if he lets me,I will be the one to keep an eye on them, if that is your concern, Headmaster."

"I'll show you out, Headmaster," Tonks' bitter tones rang out, "We'll see you after New Years."

Creeping out into the hallway, Harry supported by the Twins, they watched over the banister as Tonks escorted Dumbledore to the fireplace in the front hall, her hair darkened to auburn. Throwing Floo powder into the fireplace, he turned to face her before stepping through. "Please, Nymphadora, try and make Sirius see sense—" his parting words went silent as Tonks evidently completed her morph, into something none of them could see. Peering down through squinted eyes, Hermione's mouth dropped open with a silent gasp as realization came to her. "Goodbye, Headmaster. We shall see you after New Years," she said firmly. Nodding in complacence, Dumbledore stepped into the fire and left. Whirling around to return to the kitchen, everyone stared in shock and awe as the angry, determined visage of Lily Potter faded back into the bubblegum pink hair and patrician visage of Tonks. Clinging to Fred and George like a barnacle, Harry attempted to hide his trembling, tilting his head so his long bangs could hide the longing in his troubled gaze.