Hurting and Healing
Grimmauld Place had always felt like a prison, but this summer, the walls seemed to close in even tighter. The once-grand house was suffocating, its dark, oppressive atmosphere pressing down on him. The heavy curtains, the dim, dusty halls, the thick, stale air—it was all like a constant reminder of his family's rigid, suffocating values. Normally, the summer was bearable because he could rely on the letters from James, those bright sparks of hope in the otherwise bleak landscape. But this summer, those letters had dwindled, until there were barely any at all.
The mirror, which had once been a lifeline, had fallen silent. For the first few weeks, Sirius had convinced himself it was just a busy time for James. After all, they were about to enter their 6th year, preparing for N.E.W.T.s and their futures, and the pressure would be on. But as the days bled into weeks, and the letters grew more distant, he felt a gnawing sensation in his chest. The brief, fleeting exchanges that came were more out of obligation than the camaraderie that had once defined their friendship. The mirror remained dark.
Sirius had tried to brush it off, telling himself that James was probably dealing with his own family. He wasn’t the only one with pressures and burdens. But still, the silence between them felt like a betrayal, and the resentment had started to simmer. He wouldn’t admit it, but it stung.
Then came the whispers.
The hushed conversations between his mother and father, always occurring in the dead of night. He couldn’t escape them. Their voices would echo up the grand staircase, curling through the narrow halls, carrying with them venomous intent. It was always the same—fragments of words, whispered with such reverence, such hunger, that it made Sirius' skin crawl.
Sirius stood at the top of the staircase, his hand gripping the polished railing as his parents' voices filtered up to him. The scent of old wood and dust filled the air as he stood motionless, every fibre of his being aware of the darkness below. The voices—his mother's shrill tone and his father's low, calculating drawl—carried easily through the house.
"Have you heard about him, Orion?" Walburga's voice was almost a whisper, but the weight of it made the air around her feel charged. "Thomas Avery... he is the one to watch. They say... the Dark Lord himself has his eyes on him."
Orion Black, with his sharp, hawk-like features and dark, cold eyes, answered with a voice that was equally measured, though laced with dark amusement. "Yes, I’ve heard. There’s talk of Avery being more than just a survivor. He’s become... an asset." His gaze drifted to the mantle, where a few trophies from past encounters with the Dark Arts lay, untouched for years. “He’s one of the few the Dark Lord... has his eyes on. There’s power in that. We must... keep our eyes open.”
Sirius’ blood ran cold. It wasn’t just that his parents were discussing Avery—they were speaking of him with a mixture of awe and ambition. There was no talk of his bravery, no mention of the fact that Avery had defied the Dark Lord. They didn’t care about his soul or what he stood for. They saw only an opportunity, a stepping stone that could further their own ambitions.
Walburga’s voice returned, her words heavy with malice. “Regulus should befriend him. He’s younger. More impressionable. And... the family needs to be close to someone like him. I can already tell—he’s destined for greatness. I’ve heard rumours—whispers from inside that Avery is something of a favourite. He could offer us more than we could ever dream of."
Orion grunted, a low, guttural sound of approval. "Regulus has always been our best hope. He’s like me—sharp, strategic. I’m sure he’ll manage. And I’ll be damned if we let an opportunity like Avery slip through our fingers."
Sirius felt his heart pound in his chest, a sickening mixture of rage and helplessness building inside him. Regulus, his brother—so eager to please, so willing to follow the path they had set for him.
“Of course,” Walburga added dismissively, as if the thought was obvious, “Sirius is of no use here. He’s a Gryffindor—too brash, too reckless. They’ll never trust him. The Dark Lord would never have him. No... it’s Regulus who will work this to our advantage."
Sirius flinched at the words, though he didn’t let it show. It was nothing new. His mother’s disdain for him was as constant as the air in Grimmauld Place. His very existence was a stain on the family name in her eyes. To her, he was a failure, a disappointment, a blood traitor who dared to defy the Black family’s sacred traditions. A Gryffindor. A proud Gryffindor.
The thought of Regulus—his younger brother—being groomed to befriend Avery twisted the knife further. They weren’t just using him to get close to Avery; they were treating him as a pawn in their dark games. And Regulus was eager to play along. How easy it was for him to fall in line, to be moulded by their twisted ideals.
Sirius gritted his teeth. Orion replied in question "What of the other one? Any hope?", “If you think that boy will do anything worthwhile for you,” Walburga sneered, “you’re deluded. He’s a Mudblood—unworthy of our time. If not a Mudblood then a no name Halfblood.”
Her venom was sharp, cutting through the air. The word ‘Mudblood’ was spat like an insult, though it was more a hollow dismissal than any real concern. They were no longer even pretending to be interested in Harrison Evans. He was a non-entity to them. Evans was a supposed Muggle-born, and that was all he would ever be in their eyes.
But Avery... Thomas Avery was different. His name was spoken in hushed tones, as though every syllable was a coveted secret. He was powerful, dangerous, and, above all, useful. To them, he wasn’t just a boy who had supposedly defied Voldemort; he was someone who had survived. Someone who had potential.
It made Sirius sick.
“You should have been more like Regulus,” Walburga hissed suddenly, her eyes narrowing in his direction. "You’re an embarrassment to this family. If you had any sense, you’d see what Thomas Avery represents—power. Strength. You’d realize that aligning yourself with him could have opened doors for you. But no, you chose to play the fool, to let your stubbornness ruin everything."
Her words cut through the air like daggers. There was nothing left in her tone but cold contempt. And Orion—silent as ever—simply nodded, agreeing in his typical, distant way.
Sirius balled his fists, every nerve in his body screaming for release. Regulus was their pawn. Avery was their prize. And he? He was nothing but an afterthought. A stain.
He turned on his heel, heading toward the door, his movements sharp and precise. Every word, every gesture, burned with resentment. They had written him off. They had already chosen their path, their future, and he was no longer a part of it. Not in the way they wanted him to be.
As he walked away, the bitter echo of their voices followed him—chilling him to the bone. And yet, something in him hardened. Something in him said no—he wouldn’t be a part of their game. They had chosen their future. And he would choose his own.
---
Sirius stormed down the hall, his thoughts a maelstrom of anger and hurt. His parents’ words echoed in his mind, each syllable a fresh wound that dug deeper into his already bruised heart. He had always known that they’d never accept him, but hearing them speak so casually about his brother and their twisted allegiance to someone like Avery made his stomach turn. Regulus, so eager to please, so eager to prove himself worthy of their approval. And now Avery, a boy they had once dismissed, was suddenly the key to their ambitions, their hopes for power.
But what stung the most, what twisted the knife even further, was the realization that they were talking about the Potters.
Sirius had always considered James and his family to be his refuge, his sanctuary from the suffocating confines of the Black household. The Potters had been his true family, the ones who had opened their doors to him when his own parents had shut him out. They had never judged him, never treated him like a stain on their bloodline. But now, with every passing day, it became clearer that things weren’t the same. His once constant correspondence with James had dwindled, and the warm, constant friendship they’d shared had begun to feel strained, distant. The mirror had remained dark for weeks now, and though Sirius had told himself it was just James being busy, the truth was that it was much more than that.
His parents had dropped the bombshell like a stone, and Sirius stood there, feeling the weight of their words pressing down on him. The Potters were housing Evans and Avery. The Potters were housing them, two boys whose presence in their home could bring nothing but trouble. And worse still, James had been distant, possibly because of them.
His mind raced, replaying every moment, every word. Had James been avoiding him? Had his parents made it clear that he was no longer welcome, that their house could no longer be a sanctuary for him? The thought of James distancing himself from him, from their bond, sent a surge of anger through him like a fist to the chest. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as his thoughts spiralled further out of control.
But it wasn’t just the hurt from James that twisted in his gut. It was the guilt. The fear. If the Potters were housing them, then they were part of the web that had become so tangled, so dangerous, for all of them. The Potters—his family—had already seen the dangers of the war, of what was coming. They had fought valiantly, but now, Sirius realized, they were pulling in even more danger by sheltering Evans and Avery.
His parents had spoken of Avery with a strange reverence, calling him a “future asset.” But there was something far more chilling about the fact that they were now targeting the Potters. The Black family had never been one to shy away from their ambition, their hunger for power. And now, if Avery’s name was being whispered in the same breath as theirs, if they were playing their cards with Regulus, then the Potters were suddenly in the line of fire.
Sirius had always promised himself that he wouldn’t allow his family to drag him down, that he would carve his own path. But now, he couldn’t help but feel the weight of his choices pressing on him, threatening to break him. His blood family was determined to use his brother and Avery, twisting them into the people they needed them to be. And his chosen family, the Potters, were in the crossfire.
“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath as he strode towards the drawing room. His mind was a whirlwind of anger, worry, and betrayal. The Potters didn’t deserve this.
The house felt colder than it ever had before. His parents’ shadows seemed to stretch even further, creeping through the cracks in the walls. And for the first time in his life, Sirius couldn’t escape the suffocating weight of it all. His own family, his flesh and blood, were using those he cared about, the people who had loved him, as pawns in their twisted game.
He didn’t know how much more of this he could stand. But what scared him more than anything was the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach: Was it too late to protect the Potters? To keep them safe from the chaos his family had set into motion?
There was nothing he could do now but make sure that, somehow, they wouldn’t be dragged into the hell that was coming. He couldn’t let them suffer for his mistakes, for his family’s mistakes. But what if it was already too late?
Sirius felt the sting of tears in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He wouldn’t cry. Not now. Not when he had to make sure his family, the one he had chosen, would be safe.
He would protect them. No matter what.
----
Sirius sat on the Hogwarts Express, watching the landscape blur past the window, his stomach tight with anxiety. It was the beginning of a new school year, but all his usual excitement was drowned out by a gnawing, constant worry. James had barely contacted him since they’d last spoken over the summer. No letters, no messages, not even a quick note to check in. For someone as close to him as James, this silence was deafening.
The train car was crowded with students, some laughing and chatting about their summer holidays, but Sirius couldn’t focus on any of it. His gaze kept flicking to the door, hoping James would come strolling in, as casual as ever, with that lopsided grin of his.
But there was no sign of him.
Peter sat beside him, chatting in his usual, nervous way, but Sirius hardly noticed. His thoughts were consumed by one question: Where is James?
Peter glanced at Sirius, clearly sensing the tension radiating from him. “Sirius, you alright?”
Sirius nodded stiffly, but his tone was sharper than he intended. “Yeah, just... thinking.”
Peter shifted uneasily, then hesitated before speaking again. “You know, I haven’t heard from him much either. Not like usual. It’s... kind of odd.”
Sirius clenched his fists in his lap. Odd was an understatement. James was always the first to send an owl or pop by for a chat—this silence felt like something was wrong. What’s going on with him?
He leaned forward, staring hard at Peter. “Have you heard from him at all? What’s he been up to?”
Peter shifted uncomfortably, lowering his voice. “Well... Remus said James has been talking a lot to him about this new kid—Thomas Avery. Apparently, Avery’s some kind of scholar, and James keeps going on about how they’d get along great.”
The mention of Avery hit Sirius like a punch to the gut. That name had been floating around over the summer, it was everywhere. But James? James never mentioned it to him. Though he was able to mention it to Remus clearly. Sirius tried to keep his tone casual, but there was a sharp edge to it. “Avery, huh? Sounds like James is really into him.”
Peter shifted again, sensing the tension in Sirius’s voice. “Well, not exactly. I mean, it’s just... Remus said James was telling him all about Avery. They’ve really hit it off.”
Sirius could feel his jaw tightening, his thoughts swirling with frustration. Hit it off? Why hadn’t James mentioned it to him? They were supposed to be best mates, yet James had been so absorbed in this new kid that he hadn’t bothered to fill Sirius in on anything. The jealousy gnawed at him, though he forced himself to stay calm. He wasn’t going to let this bother him. Not yet.
But the discomfort was hard to shake.
When the train finally arrived at Hogwarts, Sirius couldn’t stop himself from scanning the crowd of students exiting the train, his heart hammering with anticipation. He had to find James. He had to know what was going on, why he’d been so distant.
But still, there was no sign of him.
They walked to the carriages, but the worry didn’t subside. Sirius was almost panicking now. Where is he?
When they finally arrived at Hogwarts, the evening sky had darkened, and the usual bustling of students felt strangely muffled to Sirius. They waited in the Great Hall, the minutes ticking by painfully slowly. Dumbledore still hadn’t arrived, and there was no sign of James. Sirius’s worry was now full-blown panic. What if something had happened to him? He was so caught up in his thoughts that he almost didn’t notice the headmaster’s late arrival.
The doors creaked open, and there, in the doorway, stood James.
Sirius’s heart leapt, but a sharp pang of frustration followed quickly. James looked... fine. Completely fine. His hair was ruffled, his usual mischievous grin in place, like nothing had changed. Sirius quickly masked his hurt and acted as if nothing was amiss though he couldn't help the hurt in his heart.
----
To further fuel his anger, Thomas Avery had been sorted into Slytherin, almost as if to solidify everything his parents had said about him. Seeing Evans act so buddy-buddy with James stung more than he wanted to admit. But Sirius knew that Avery was trouble—he could see it in the way Evans defended him, the way he let him get too close to James. It all just felt... off.
After they’d gone to bed, Sirius tossed and turned, unable to sleep. He wanted to talk to James, to clear the air and figure out what was going on, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. He rolled over, glancing at Evans’s bed... but it was empty. As though he'd never even been there the night before.
Suspicious, Sirius frowned, his mind racing. Where could he have gone? What was he up to? Did he really not realize how easily he could get lost in the castle at night?
As if on cue, the door creaked open, and Evans slipped in, looking somewhat dishevelled but otherwise composed. And just like that, the anger that had been simmering inside of him finally erupted.
Evans stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening in surprise. But Sirius didn’t care. His frustration had reached its peak, and nothing was going to stop him now.
----
Sirius was still fuming when he turned toward the bed, where Evans had bolted to the bathroom, his face flushed with embarrassment and frustration. The anger that had been simmering for weeks finally boiled over, and Sirius couldn’t hold back.
He didn’t even realize how cruel he sounded until it was too late.
He hadn’t expected the hurt look in Evan’s eyes when he answered. He hadn’t expected him to run to the bathroom, clearly upset and trying to escape the onslaught of his anger. But there was no turning back now.
Sirius stood there, heart racing, anger seeping out in sharp breaths. The silence felt suffocating, even though he was still alone in the dorm room. He clenched his fists at his sides, but before he could even begin to stew in his thoughts, the bed near him creaked.
James was awake.
Sirius could see it in the way James's tired eyes narrowed. He was still groggy, but after a few seconds of silence it was as if a switch flipped. He stood up from his bed, alarmed. “What’s going on?” James demanded, his voice hoarse but with an edge of concern. “What did you say to him? That made him run to the bathroom?”
Sirius didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he took a step back, trying to mask the fury that coursed through him. He was furious at James for being so distant—so utterly caught up in this ridiculous friendship that it felt like Sirius didn’t matter anymore. And he was furious at himself for being jealous of a kid who didn’t even seem to know what was going on.
James’s eyes flicked toward the bathroom, where Harry had disappeared. “Sirius, what did you say to him?” His voice was firmer now, demanding an answer.
Sirius could feel his patience snapping, the weight of weeks of unspoken frustration crushing him. The words spilled out of him, sharp and uncontrolled.
“What did I say to him?” Sirius repeated, voice rising. “I just—” His breath came in ragged bursts. “I don’t get it, James! Where the hell have you been?! You barely talk to me anymore. You've been so caught up in them, like they are the only thing that matters, and I’m just... I’m just here, waiting for you to notice me!”
James stepped forward, a frown creasing his forehead. “What are you talking about?” His tone was confused, almost defensive. “I’ve been here—what’s gotten into you?”
Sirius couldn’t take it anymore. He snapped, his voice filled with anger and hurt. “You’ve been so distant! Not a word from you all summer. You’ve barely even looked at me. And then this... , and suddenly I'M JUST NOTHING TO YOU!”
James recoiled as if he’d been struck, his face momentarily blank with disbelief. But then it changed—his frustration, his confusion turned to anger.
“Are you SERIOUSLY accusing me of that? After everything we've been through?” James snapped, his eyes flashing with a mix of hurt and disbelief. "You think I’m ignoring you? You think they matter more than YOU?"
The tension in the room was so thick, Sirius could hardly breathe. He wanted to argue, to scream at James, to make him understand how hurt he felt, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, all he could do was stare, a mixture of frustration and regret rising in his chest.
James took another step forward. “I don’t know what’s going on with you right now, but if you want to push me away, then fine. But don’t—don’t ever make me feel like I don’t care about you. And DON'T hurt Harrison who has absolutely nothing to do with this just because of a problem YOU have with ME!!”
Sirius didn’t respond, his throat tight, his heart racing. But the hurt inside him only grew worse, the frustration and confusion boiling over.
James took a deep breath, clearly trying to control his own anger. "Sirius, I—"
Before he could finish, Sirius spun on his heel and stormed out of the room, not caring if anyone saw him. His footsteps echoed down the hallway as he shoved past students, ignoring their confused stares.
His mind was a whirlwind, everything about this year feeling so wrong, so out of place. He couldn’t breathe, couldn't think, couldn't stand it anymore. He felt like everything he had built with James was slipping away, like he had no place left in the world that made sense.
Sirius kept running, not sure where he was headed, just needing to escape.
And even as the anger tore through him, the emptiness left in its wake made him feel more lost than ever.
----
Tom entered the Slytherin common room with measured steps, his expression composed despite the irritation simmering beneath the surface. The room was dimly lit, the greenish glow from the lake casting eerie shadows over the dark leather furniture and stone walls. A fire crackled lazily in the hearth, and the scent of aged parchment and damp stone lingered in the air.
His arrival did not go unnoticed. A small group of his housemates, lounging near the fireplace, turned towards him. Some regarded him with curiosity, others with mild annoyance.
“Well, well,” drawled a blond boy, leaning forward with an unimpressed smirk. “The prodigal son finally graces us with his presence. You weren’t here when the first-years arrived. Didn’t even let us welcome you properly.”
Tom barely spared him a glance. “I had things to take care of,” he said smoothly, offering no further explanation. “We can do it tonight instead.”
A few exchanged glances at that, some amusement flickering into something more appraising.
From the staircase leading to the dormitories, a low chuckle sounded. Rabastan Lestrange stepped into view, arms crossed, expression unreadable but his intent clear. Older by a year and thoroughly convinced of his own importance, he moved with the casual arrogance of someone who knew his place in the hierarchy—and expected others to fall in line.
“You don’t decide that,” Rabastan said smoothly. “There’s a hierarchy here, Avery. You’re new, unproven. Until you prove yourself, you should treat your superiors with the proper respect.”
Tom tilted his head slightly, regarding Rabastan with something like amusement. “Respect is earned,” he said simply.
The smirk vanished from Rabastan’s face. A quiet tension settled over the common room, the kind that made people hesitate, waiting to see who would move first.
“You’ve got nerve,” Rabastan muttered, voice cooling. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”
Before anything could escalate, a quiet voice cut through the air.
“Avery,” Severus Snape murmured, stepping forward from the shadows. His expression was unreadable, but his dark eyes flickered with something calculated. “Come on.”
Tom held Rabastan’s gaze for a moment longer, then turned and followed Snape toward the dormitories. They walked in silence, but Tom noted the small shift in the air. Whether Snape had intervened for his sake or for his own reasons, it didn’t matter. Tom had gained something—however minor—that would be useful later.
They didn’t linger in the dorm. Tom fixed himself up quickly in the bathroom. Then, they grabbed what they needed and made their way back out, following the slow trickle of students heading down.
The common room was still buzzing, but the subject had shifted.
“Did you see him?” someone sneered. “Sirius Black, running out of Gryffindor tower like his tail was on fire.”
“Pathetic, really,” a girl added, her voice dripping with amusement. “He thinks he’s so much better than us, but look at him now—just another reckless Gryffindor throwing tantrums.”
Tom barely listened, uninterested in schoolyard gossip, but the conversation took a darker turn.
“He’s done enough to deserve some payback,” another muttered. “All the pranks, the hexes—”
“Especially to Snape,” a boy cut in, eyes flicking toward him. “If anyone deserves to join in, it’s you, Snape. You gonna come?”
Snape stiffened. A slow, tense silence stretched between them as they all waited for his response.
For a moment, it seemed like he might refuse, but then, after a long pause, he muttered, “Fine.”
Smirks spread across the group’s faces as they stood, already forming a plan. Tom, however, remained where he was.
“Not coming, Avery?” someone asked, half-mocking.
Tom only raised an eyebrow. “I prefer battles that are worth my time.”
They scoffed but left him be, too caught up in their excitement to care. Tom instead decided to follow silently maintaining a respectable distance lest he get caught up in it.
Sirius Black, however, was far from an easy target.
The moment the Slytherins confronted him, he fought back with unrestrained fury. It wasn’t like the casual duels or pranks he was known for—this was something else entirely. Furious, reckless, and completely unrelenting.
“What, thought I’d just roll over?” he snarled, dodging a poorly aimed hex and countering with a spell so quick it knocked one of the Slytherins flat on their back. “You lot always talk big, but you can’t handle an actual fight.”
Some Gryffindors arrived soon after, evening the odds, and the fight descended into chaos—spells colliding, students shouting, tempers flaring.
And then—
“Enough!”
Professor Flitwick’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding. With a flick of his wand, the spells fizzled out mid air, leaving both sides panting in the sudden quiet.
“This is completely unacceptable!” he scolded, his usual cheerful tone nowhere to be found. “Detentions, all of you—tonight! I’ll be reporting this to your Heads of House.”
There were muttered complaints, but no one dared argue. The crowd began to break apart, some students slipping off to breakfast, others still throwing glares as they went.
Sirius exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. His fists were still clenched, and there was a slight tremble in them—whether from adrenaline or rage, Tom wasn’t sure.
But the matter wasn’t over.
Tom had lingered back longer than necessary, half-listening as the Slytherins exchanged smug remarks about their confrontation with Sirius. He had expected them to gloat—it was in their nature—but when their amusement turned to something sharper, something more vindictive, his interest sharpened.
They weren’t satisfied.
“We’ll make sure he really learns his place,” one sneered.
“He thinks he’s untouchable,” another muttered. “We’ll see how well he holds up when there’s no one around to step in.”
Tom could have ignored it. Should have, perhaps. Sirius Black was reckless and arrogant—his current predicament was entirely of his own making. But Tom wasn’t thinking about Sirius.
He was thinking about Harry.
Harry, who wouldn’t look at him the same way if he knew Tom had stood by and let it happen.
And so, with silent steps, he followed them through the corridors, unseen, unnoticed, as they lay in wait.
Sirius appeared minutes later, walking alone, his shoulders stiff with the remnants of barely restrained anger. He didn’t notice the shadows shifting behind him, the way wands were already raised.
A sharp hex struck first, hitting him square in the back. Sirius stumbled, but before he could recover, another hit—harder this time, slamming into his ribs. He gritted his teeth, barely catching himself, just as one of the attackers stepped forward.
“Not so tough without an audience, are you, Black?” The boy smirked, wand still raised. “Thought you could humiliate us and walk away?”
Tom moved before he could overthink it.
“You’ve made your point.” His voice cut through the dim corridor like a blade.
The group startled, heads snapping toward him.
“Avery?” one sneered. “Didn’t take you for someone who cared.”
Tom met their gaze with an unreadable expression. “I don’t.” His voice was smooth, deliberate. “But if you keep this up, you’ll draw attention. And none of us want that, do we?”
It was enough. The hesitation settled in, uncertainty creeping through their earlier confidence. Sheep, the lot of them. Without a superior like Malfoy or Lestrange they were worthless. Eventually, one of them muttered a curse under his breath, shoving his wand back into his robes. One by one, they disappeared down the corridor, leaving Sirius where he was.
Tom regarded him carefully. Blood was smeared along his lip, his breathing uneven, but his eyes still burned with defiance.
Sirius pushed himself upright, wiping the blood away with the back of his hand. “I could’ve handled it.”
Tom tilted his head slightly. “Clearly.”
Without waiting for permission, he flicked his wand in a sharp, precise motion. A soft golden light pulsed from the tip, seeping into Sirius’s ribs, knitting the bruised flesh beneath his uniform. Another flick, and the blood vanished from his face as if it had never been there.
Sirius stiffened at the unexpected touch of magic but said nothing, testing his ribs with a cautious breath. His gaze flickered between Tom and the now-empty corridor, suspicion lingering.
After a moment, he exhaled and muttered, “...Thanks.”
Tom merely watched as Sirius straightened his posture and walked off without another word.
This was for Harry, he reminded himself. Nothing more.