Grimmauld Place Part 1
Aaand He Finally Snapped.
Chapter 2: Grimmauld Place Part 1
Harry entered Grimmauld Place in silence. In fact, he hadn't said a word to anyone since they first came to pick him up at Privet Drive and Moody had insisted on confirming his identity. As if a Death Eater would be capable of infiltrating a Muggle home, get super beaten up to the point their face was almost completely purple, and then pretend to be Harry Potter. They wouldn't have even been able to pull off wearing the baggy hand-me-downs properly.
Upon entering, Harry saw Sirius—well-fed and looking happy. Initially, he was glad for him, but he squashed that feeling, as he had numbed all his other emotions. His godfather, escaped convict, had the chance to hide from the Ministry in a big, comfy house, surrounded by magic and people who were apparently secretly meeting to discuss the upcoming war against Voldy-sport, while Harry, a minor, supposedly under his care, starved—literally and metaphorically—because Sirius wasn’t even telling him what was going on, and beaten up to a pulp.
Alright, Harry knew he wouldn't be able to hold it against his godfather for too long, and he also knew Sirius would crack first and come to his side, never betraying him again if Harry held out long enough without speaking to him. So he did. Sirius smiled and hugged him as if nothing had happened since they last saw or spoke to each other. As if Harry hadn’t been sent to the worst place a traumatized teenager could be sent after almost dying and witnessing another student being killed in front of him. Not even mentioning the physical torture he had endured—all in one day. He focused hard on those thoughts, keeping his body motionless as Sirius hugged him. Slowly, he saw his godfather's smile evaporate as he took a good look at him. His expression turned to anger toward the Dursleys, and when he couldn't get Harry to say anything or explain what had happened, his face twisted with guilt. Harry had to focus so he wouldn’t try to mitigate or dismiss that guilt. He needed Sirius to feel guilty, to understand that there was no other side than Harry's side, and that simply allowing others to take control of every situation without stepping in meant endangering his godson's life.
Other people started walking through the hallways toward a double-door room. Some he recognized, like the git Snape, who, to his credit, didn’t cringe or show any reaction at the sight of Harry's face. Then Molly appeared, ushering him upstairs where his "friends" were, saying the meeting was about to start and he needed to get some rest and get healed. He didn’t even attempt to enter the meeting. He knew he was being treated like just a kid, and not the main reason these meetings were taking place. He knew they were going to talk about him—not just his injuries (which he was sure were the least of their concerns), but the fact that now that Voldemort was out and about, Harry was probably his main target.
Molly guided him to one of the rooms near the stairs, which was thankfully empty. She gave him a potion and a salve to apply to his face, saying she would be back later with something stronger. Harry imagined these were from a basic first aid kit, not really suited to his kind of injuries. Of course, they didn’t know the full story, but either way, Harry felt a sting of anger at the thought that the idea of him being physically hurt at the Dursleys' hadn’t even crossed their minds. He had told Dumbledore. In fact, he had told Sirius. His friends knew, and Ron's parents should have at least suspected something, given that he had escaped the house in his second year. Sure, this time he had "forced" his bigger and stronger cousin to play punching bag with him in order to numb his emotions and quiet his brain, but they should have known better.
Ron and Hermione decided it was a great idea to barge in just as Harry was stripping down to his underwear to apply the salve. He had started with his face, and the cold, slimy paste felt so good on his wounds that he began applying it everywhere he hurt—which was practically his whole body. To say that their smiles froze when they entered, ready to hug him like nothing had happened, would be an understatement. They stood at the door with horrified looks on their faces.
To their credit, they didn’t immediately fuss over him. Ron quietly closed the door, and Hermione approached him as if he were a wounded but dangerous creature. And Harry made sure to look dangerous. He wasn’t going to play indifferent with them. Yes, they owed him an apology and an acceptable explanation for why they hadn’t told him what was really going on in the magical world, but Harry knew them better than anyone else, better than Sirius or anyone at the Order. He needed them to be on his side, to choose him over Dumbledore, over the other professors, over the rules, and even over the law. Because Harry wasn’t stopping or accommodating for anything or anyone else. Sure, they had broken rules for him before, but now he needed more. He needed them to give what he was willing to give for them—everything.
The interaction didn’t last long, fortunately. While Harry finished applying the salve, Ron tried to explain how badly he had wanted to tell him everything (he had been living at Grimmauld Place since the start of summer break; he could have at least mentioned Sirius in code). Hermione said she had only arrived a few days before Harry, and that she had only learned about the Order then. They went on and on about how the Headmaster had made them promise not to compromise the Order by mentioning anything in letters. That even writing to Harry could have put him in danger now that “You-Know-Who” had recovered his body, and he could intercept any messages and ruin any advantage they had gained over him, etc.
Bollocks.
Harry wasn’t having any of it. He managed to control his anger—which, if you asked him, was an amazing achievement—and simply looked at them, disappointed. Let them come up with a better excuse over the next few weeks, he thought.
Then the twins came in, babbling about an invention to eavesdrop on the Order's meeting. Harry seized the opportunity to kick everyone out of his room and lay down for the night. His friends were incredulous that he wasn’t the least bit curious about the meeting. And, of course, he was. But he knew that at best they’d manage to catch a few words before getting caught. Dumbledore was in there, and the old man wasn’t stupid enough to let a secret meeting be overheard by some kids. Besides, if Harry’s plans worked as expected, he’d have an informant inside the Order by the end of the week who would report everything to him. Maybe even sooner, judging by the look on Sirius’s face after that hug.