Time Bubble – 15 th July 1995
Harry yawned and stretched atop his bed.
He cast a quick tempus spell and frowned when he realised it was early evening. He'd taken a post lunch nap as he was still prone to exhaustion and his post lunch flight around the Valley as Snitch had knocked a fair bit of energy out of him.
He clambered to his feet and headed for a warm shower. The past week had been better, Harry mused. He'd managed to physically regain some strength and doing something, rather than simply sitting drowning in thoughts of everything that had happened, had helped him regain some perspective.
He still didn't want to talk about it, but he was beginning to accept his own actions and others.
The routine of his treatment helped. Every morning he was up early to do a Tai Chi class; that was followed by a jog and some gym time. He and Sirius exercised together just as they had the previous Summer and Harry enjoyed the faint competitiveness of sprinting the last distance to the gym or performing his exercises before Sirius; teasing Sirius without words about his age.
They'd return to the cabin and would have breakfast together. Harry had made efforts since overhearing Sirius talking with Noshi to eat more so Sirius wouldn't have to force himself into eating things he didn't like so Harry would eat. It helped that with Dobby there, the elf was feeding them their favourites most of the time and had stopped experimenting. Truthfully, with the resumption of his physical exercise regime, Harry was hungry; his body demanding the fuel even if his mind still wasn't in a place to enjoy food as anything other than that.
Late morning was spent in art therapy. Harry had four days before handed Sirius a paintbrush and an easel. He remembered the mural and how Sirius had been responsible for drawing and painting it. He figured if art therapy was good for him, it would be good for his father, and Sirius was happy to indulge him.
Sirius had already completed two paintings; one of James and one of Lily. Both of them as school children, smiling and happy. They were stunning pictures. Sirius had gifted them to Harry who had immediately displayed them in the den.
Sirius was working on a picture of the Marauders; the Forest in the background, Hogwarts in the periphery with the four Marauders front and centre.
Harry didn't have to be a mind healer to realise the paintings were an act of mourning; of remembering the good times and grieving their loss.
His own paintings were more abstract, mainly a confusion of colour and splatter without form. Healer Fay seemed pleased with them noting that Harry was using the paint to express his emotions and the confusion he was feeling.
Confusion was probably apt, Harry thought as he left the shower and went to put some clothes on. He wasn't sure what to feel and his moods had a tendency to swing from apathy to anger within the space of a thought.
Spending time in his animagus forms helped.
It had been Sirius's suggestion. Animals ran on instincts and needs; things were much simpler for them. Padfoot was Sirius's retreat when the world got too much to deal with because as much as he kept his own brain, he could let himself sink into the animal's world for a while.
It was another way to gain perspective, Harry mused as he pulled on a t-shirt. Because his animagus forms could see he was safe, fed and warm; that he was loved. They didn't wonder if he'd done the right thing; didn't feel guilt over the death of Riddle only an animalistic satisfaction at the elimination of a threat; didn't feel guilt over the death of Dumbledore only a sense of rightness that the elder had gone before the youth.
He glanced at himself in the mirror and was pleased; he looked better. He grimaced at his hair and went to find Sirius.
His father wasn't too far away; bustling in the kitchen with Dobby. He was humming off-key some tune they'd heard at the clinic's gym that morning.
Harry watched for a long moment, drinking in the sight of his father. Sirius was alive and healing.
And so was he.
Sirius finally caught sight of him, smiling widely. "Hey. I'm making tea. Noshi finally got a delivery from London so proper tea and not that awful stuff they usually serve. I was thinking it would be nice with some scones and jam."
"Sounds great." Harry winced at how hoarse his voice sounded after weeks of disuse.
Sirius froze and darted a look at him before he casually went back to making the tea, although Harry didn't miss the flash of relief that crossed his face. "Let's go on the deck. It's a nice evening."
Harry watched as Dobby arranged the tea-tray and rolled his eyes when Sirius levitated it through to the outside rather than just letting Harry carry it. They settled at the table and poured the tea.
Sirius regarded him thoughtfully as Harry sipped the tea enjoying the soothing liquid against his squeaky throat. "Good?"
Harry nodded. He tightened his grip on the cup. "Do you…do you remember when we were here last year and we promised we'd talk about our school years every year?"
"I remember." Sirius said.
Harry set his cup down, his hands beginning to shake. "I think…I think I'd like to talk about my fourth year now."
Sirius reached out a hand and Harry grasped it, holding it tightly. "Whenever you're ready, Harry."
Harry took a deep breath and began.