INCEPTION.

Chapter Eleven - The Firebolt.

December 20th, 1993

After our Hogsmeade visit, Harry spent the whole day in his dorm.

Ron claimed he couldn't get a word out of him, so we let him be.

But the day after that, Harry still didn't leave his room.

All the other students headed back home for the holidays, leaving the Hogwarts castle empty.

I spent most of my time with Ron and Hermione, but it didn't feel right without Harry being there with us.

"Harry?" I knocked on his door and opened it slowly.

There was a big lump under the covers of one of the four beds in the dorm room.

I caught him closing his eyes and pretending to be asleep as I walked in.

"Harry, I know you're awake." I sighed, sitting on the end of his bed.

He didn't budge.

I noticed that he had a photo album open right next to him, so I reached over to grab for it tentatively.

When he didn't protest, I pulled the album onto my lap.

I opened it to find a moving picture of a family on the very first page.

A red-headed mother smiled as she kissed the hand of her one-year-old son.

The father, who looked identical to Harry— with his untidy black hair and glasses, grinned proudly and smooched the top of younger Harry's head.

"This is lovely, who gave it to you?" I asked Harry, peering at him.

"Hagrid." He grumbled back to me, without opening his eyes.

I hummed in acknowledgment, letting him know I heard and flipped through the pages.

One of the pictures that stood out was Harry's parents' wedding.

James and Lily Potter waved happily and right next to them stood an attractive guy who I assumed was their Best Man.

After overhearing our teachers and Minister Fudge's conversation at the Three Broomsticks about how close James and Sirius were, I knew that the handsome man was a younger Sirius Black.

He looked so distinct here from the image shown in his mugshot.

"He was their Best Man. How could he go from being their Best Man to betraying them in the worst possible way?" Harry growled.

I looked up at him to find him staring up at the ceiling of his four-poster bed.

My words were stuck in my throat.

I didn't know what to say, my heart ached for him.

I couldn't imagine what he was feeling at the moment.

He suddenly sat up, snatched the photo album from my hands, snapped it shut, and stuffed it into the drawer of his nightstand.

"Harry, no..." I berated him sternly.

He was trying to bury himself back underneath his bed covers but I snatched them before he could.

He glared at me.

"So that's your plan then? Bury yourself in bed throughout the holidays?" I challenged, glaring back down at him.

"What is it that you expect me to do, (Y/N)?"

"I don't know, Harry! But don't hide away in your bedroom when your friends are worried about you! Whatever you're going through, you don't have to go through it alone. Now get dressed and go downstairs. Now!" I grabbed his nightrobe, which was draped over a chair, and threw it at him.