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.

Harry felt like he’d jumped from the frying pan into the fire. The room looked like it hadn’t been touched since that night. All of Sirius’ things were still scattered about, right down to dirty clothes on the floor and his cloak strewn across a chair by the fire. There were several coins lying on the floor beneath the cloak, obviously having fallen from the pocket when the cloak had been tossed there. A hairbrush, some parchment and a quill lay on the bureau and, even from across the room, he recognized Sirius’ writing. A book lay open on the nightstand, its cover creased nearly in half from lying open so long. He could see shoes scattered everywhere, never touched again after they’d been kicked off. Harry felt like the walls were closing in on him. He took deep, trembling breaths, trying to control the emotions threatening to overwhelm him. Today has been too much; I’ve had enough.

"What are you doing in here?" he choked to Ginny, who sat straight up and stared, unmoving, at him. She blinked, obviously trying to gauge his mood.

"I wanted to be alone, and this seemed like the best place. There isn’t much space for solitude here, as I see you’ve noticed. What’s going on, Harry? What are you doing in here?"

Harry was no longer listening. Instead, he stared at a desk standing under a window. There, sitting right on the desk, was the other half of the mirror Sirius had given him. Harry felt a knife twisting within his heart. It was right there. If only he’d thought of it, none of this would have happened. Slowly, as if in a dream, he moved toward the desk and reached for the mirror. How could he have been so stupid? Picking the mirror up in his trembling hands, he sank to his knees and gave in to the emotions he had kept at bay for so long. He couldn’t stop them now; it was beyond his control.

Images of Sirius flew through his mind at a furious pace, the thought of his face as he fell through the Veil dominating everything else. Shocked, stunned, yet still, somehow, knowing. He remembered how happy Sirius had been to have him here last Christmas. It was the only Christmas Harry had ever spent with real family. Giving Harry that mirror had been his way of trying to help. Everything about their relationship revolved around Sirius trying to help him, he was always watching out for him. Use it if you need me…use it if you need me.

Seeing Harry’s shoulders start to shudder as he went down, Ginny leaped off the bed and raced over to his side, wrapping her arms around him. "It’s okay, Harry, just let it out. It’ll get better if you let it out," she whispered as she rocked him back and forth. She wasn’t sure what had upset him so, or the significance of the mirror, but it obviously meant something to him. He was shaking as she held him and his sobs were harsh, soul-wrenching, and full of misery. She felt her own eyes well up at the sound of it. Still, she held him and stroked his back, whispering kind, gentle words that he didn’t seem to hear. He turned his head and buried it into her robes, clinging to her in his need for comfort.

She could feel the front of her robes grow wet from his tears, and she continued to gently rock him. He seemed past caring that she was there now, not even aware of her presence. Once he’d opened up and allowed himself to cry, she didn’t think he was capable of stopping it. In her heart, she knew this was what he’d needed – to finally reach his breaking point. He’d bottled everything up for too long. This was just more than anyone could deal with alone. Still, it was painful to witness, yet she was so grateful to be able to help in some way.

She heard the soft click of the door unlatching and looked up to see her mother peering in. Ginny shook her head, warning her not to enter. He would close right back up if he realized he had an audience. Molly seemed to understand this and she closed the door just as quietly. Ginny had no idea how long they sat there like that, but, eventually, his crying slowed and then ceased, as his breathing returned to normal. She knew he’d be embarrassed now and would try to pull away, so she was ready for it. She wasn’t going to let him close back in on himself.

She continued holding him until finally he pulled away and sat back up straight. Wiping his face on his sleeve, he took a deep breath and whispered, "Sorry," without looking at her.

"There’s nothing to be sorry about, Harry. I’m sorry I was in your alone spot when you needed it. We’ll have to set up a schedule and time our bouts of misery accordingly," she said lightly, not sure how he would respond.

He snorted slightly and finally raised his teary eyes to look at her. "Thanks, Gin."

"Not a problem. Have you seen Dumbledore?"

He reached up and used the pad of his thumb to wipe a tear from her face, staring at it in wonder for a moment. It seemed beyond his comprehension that she would actually be crying because of his pain. "Yeah. I think I just told off a whole room full of the Order. I don’t remember all that much after Kreacher showed up. Snape was being a git."

"When isn’t he? You certainly have a way with people, Harry. You’re going to have to do something about that temper of yours."

Harry didn’t respond. He knew she was right; he needed to find a way to rein in his emotions. He’d been flying off the handle at the slightest provocation and he really wasn’t even sure why. He suspected it had to do with losing Sirius, or so he had hoped. The alternative — that Voldemort was somehow tapping into his emotions — was something he definitely didn’t want to contemplate. That possession at the Ministry scared him; it scared him more than he was ready to own up to yet.

"Kreacher was there? He wasn’t supposed to get near you. They’ve been keeping him locked up."

"Well, he wasn’t locked up tonight and I swear when I had my hands on that traitorous–"

"It’s okay, Harry, I understand. Kreacher betrayed all of us, and I think he ought to be mounted on the wall with the rest of his relatives."

"Okay by me."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really," he sighed. "I miss him. I can’t believe I was so stupid."

"You weren’t stupid. Harry, you were tricked. Any one of us would have done the same thing in your place. Sirius would have done the same thing; he did do the same thing."

"It’s my fault he’s dead. I as good as killed him." Harry’s voice was flat and emotionless, yet the tone conveyed his grief louder than any scream could.

"Don’t let me hear you talk like that again," Ginny responded, holding his chin in her hand so he was forced to look at her. "Bellatrix Lestrange killed him, Voldemort organized it, and Kreacher plotted it! You were used as a pawn in all of it. I do know how you feel, Harry; I once had the same feelings. I felt responsible for what happened to Hermione, Penny, Colin, Justin, and you. Merlin, I thought I had killed you! But I finally came to accept it was Tom, not me, who did those things. He simply used me to suit his ends, the same way he did with you. You didn’t kill Sirius; he’d hate to hear you say that and know you felt this way. Don’t let Voldemort win — don’t let Sirius’ death be for nothing."

Harry was quiet as she spoke, but she knew he was listening. She didn’t think he quite believed her yet, but at least he was listening.

"I had the other piece of this mirror," he whispered finally, holding up the glass in his hand. "It-It’s a two way mirror Sirius gave me last Christmas to use if Snape was giving me a hard time. I didn’t want to get Sirius in trouble, so I stuffed it away and forgot about it. I-I didn’t find it again until after Si…I found it again the night of the Leaving Feast when I was packing. If I’d only used it that night…it was sitting right there." The last two wordw were ripped from his throat in agony as he blinked away tears once again.

Her heart ached for him. How could one person hold up under so much guilt? She remembered that he had never showed up for the feast that last night. She and Hermione both had wanted to go check on him, but Ron had said to leave him alone, that he needed some space. Now, she wished she’d listened to her own instincts and gone after him.

"Harry, you were still trying to protect him. You can’t change the past, but your heart was in the right place."

He shifted in his seat, ready for a change in subject. "How come you needed to be alone?"

She was silent for a moment, not quite sure what she wanted to tell him. Not sure herself, really. "Just feeling sorry for myself, I suppose."

"Er…I’m sorry about Dean. Ron told me."

She sighed. "It’s okay. I don’t think it was really working anyway. I seem to chase them off at an alarmingly regular rate." Besides, it’s not like he was the great love of my life…

He chuckled at this; he was surprised at how easy he found her to talk to, particularly after breaking down like that. He wondered what she really thought about that; she didn’t seem to think any less of him. Still, his behavior had been shameful, and she must be thinking poorly of him to display such weakness.

He did have to admit that he felt slightly better; his heart was lighter, somehow. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a crying jag like that…not since he was very small, anyway. The Dursleys’ punishments were always much more severe if he cried, never mind the ridicule.

He didn’t think Ginny would do that to him, however. She’d been nothing but gentle and understanding so far. He didn’t like to think about facing everyone on the other side of the door. He just wanted to stay here on the floor with her, talking about nothing, really. All the tension he’d carried with him for so long rolled off him as he listened to her ramble on.

********

Molly Weasley left Sirius’ old room and made her way back to Ron and Hermione, who were anxiously waiting in Ron and Harry’s room.

"Did you find him?" Ron asked, peering over her shoulder in an attempt to see around her.

"Is he okay? Did he say anything?" Hermione said at the same time.

Molly put both of her hands up to quiet them as the twins entered the room, the same questions in their identical eyes. "He’s fine. He’s in Sirius’ room talking with Ginny. I think it best if you give them some time before going in, though."

"Why?" Ron demanded. "There is something more going on between him and Dumbledore, and I want to know what it is."

"Ron’s right, Mum," Fred said. "Harry is not okay, and there was definitely something unsaid going on in that room."

"I know that," she answered, "but Dumbledore wasn’t willing to elaborate further, and he said Harry would talk when he’s ready. We are all going to respect that," she said, glaring particularly hard at Ron as she did. She looked at each of them in turn, then continued more gently, "Look, losing Sirius was hard on all of you, but you’ve had time to talk with each other, share your grief, and begin to move on. The loss is even harder on Harry, and he’s been trapped in that awful house alone all this time. I don’t think he’s even addressed the fact that Sirius is gone. Being back here at Grimmauld Place is hard for him. It’s going to take some time for him to heal, and you’re all going to have to give it to him. Be supportive, but you have to remain respectful of the space he seems to need."

"Bloody hell," Ron cursed.

"Language, Ron!" both Hermione and Mrs. Weasley scolded.

"What was the deal with Snape?" Fred asked. "Something was going on there as well."

"Professor Snape, Fred," his mother said.

"He was talking about Harry’s dad," Ron said. "Harry never said what it was that happened during his last Occlumency lesson, but what happened downstairs had to do with Harry’s dad. Snape always criticizes him in front of Harry. You wouldn’t believe some of the things he says to him."

"Nice," George spat.

"Yeah. Well, Professor Snape seems to take it as some sort of cosmic insult that Harry looks so much like his father."

"Git," responded both twins.

"Let’s go upstairs then and just see how he is," Hermione said.

"Give them a little time first, okay? He seemed to be reaching out to Ginny, and if she can help, let her," Mrs. Weasley said.

"Why would he talk to Ginny and not us?" Ron demanded.

"I don’t know, Ron, but he is, so let them be."

"Come on," began George, "let’s put together a plate of some sandwiches and drinks, and we can all head up there after it’s done. Harry never ate his dinner; he’s probably hungry. I promise not a trick sandwich on the plate – Wizard’s honour."

"Like you’ve ever had any honour to begin with," Ron said, snorting, but seemed to accept the idea as they made their way down to the kitchen.

Both Harry and Ginny’s heads turned as the door opened, and Hermione, Ron, Fred and George all filed in, bearing a plate full of sandwiches and crisps along with a tray of drinks. Ginny glanced nervously at Harry; his eyes were still red rimmed – it was obvious he’d been crying. She prayed her fool brothers would keep their mouths shut and not embarrass him. Trying to set the tone, she began the conversation, "Ah, food, just what we needed! I was just telling Harry here how you lot used to tie my dolls by their necks from the tree fort and make me beg for their lives."

All three Weasley brothers grinned at this as Fred spoke up. "Ah, but did you tell him how you always managed to see your dolls up there when Mum was in hearing distance? You could walk by them fifteen times a day and not care less, but if you were able to get Mum to see what we’d done…what a show you put on. You could have won awards, Gin Gin."

Ginny grinned, ducking her head. "Caught on to that one, did you?"

Harry laughed out loud. "You set them up."

"I had to!" Ginny stated. "I had six older brothers to contend with! I learned fast how to play my cards."

As the conversation continued, Ginny felt an upsurge of affection for all her brothers. She’d noticed the concerned looks they’d all given Harry, but not one mention was made of his blotchy face. They really are decent blokes, she thought proudly. It was Hermione who made Ginny nervous – she kept casting odd glances at Harry and then at Ginny. She couldn’t figure out what Hermione was trying to decipher, but wished she’d be less blatant about it.

Harry, too, noticed the furtive glances Hermione sent his way, but he was trying to ignore her. He was also aware of all the other eyes in the room watching as he managed most of a sandwich. For the first time in he couldn’t remember how long, he felt hungry. He supposed it was normal that they wanted him to eat; he was very thin. He knew they were merely concerned, but he also couldn’t help that it was grating on his nerves. All in all though, he was enjoying himself, and the sounds of merry laughter rang from the room well into the night. Sirius would have been proud.

When Harry reached for a glass of pumpkin juice, George pushed a specific one towards him. "Mum put a dreamless sleeping potion in that one, but she said to warn you this time. She thought you might need a peaceful night, but it should be your decision."

Harry hesitated for an instant, then took the glass, drinking it as he listened to the banter around him. His eyes began to get heavy, and he felt Ron’s arm tugging him up. "Come on, Harry, let’s get you to bed before the girls decide to give you a makeover or something while you’re sleeping. Ginny and Hermione might even join them."

Hysterical laughter answered this, but Harry was only vaguely aware as he allowed Ron to guide him back to their room. Ron pulled the covers back on the bed and Harry lay down fully-dressed as Ron tugged off his trainers for him.

"Are you all right, mate?" Ron asked, keeping his eyes focused on Harry’s feet. "I’m here if you want to talk."

"Thanks, Ron. I’m getting there," he whispered as his eyes fluttered shut.

As he lay in bed drifting off to a blissfully dreamless sleep, his mind kept going back to Sirius’ room and how nice and comforting it had been to be in Ginny’s arms. She was quite pretty, actually. He didn’t know why he hadn’t noticed that before. He’d enjoyed her company and had drawn comfort from it when he needed it. He wasn’t exactly sure what to make of that, but he’d think about it tomorrow.