Remus couldn't sleep until after two, and he was wide awake before seven. He kept thinking about Harry, and more specifically, why Harry had come to him.

Remus couldn't save Harry from Umbridge. Any of the professors at Hogwarts could, but Remus couldn't, and Harry knew it. Dumbledore may have been distant, and the ministry might have been exercising more power than they ought, but no one would leave a professor in power after she had physically tortured a student. Remus was actually surprised Professor McGonagall hadn't figured out what was happening already—she always was perceptive, especially with the Gryffindors.

Still a bigger surprise was that Harry hadn't even gone to the adult he trusted the most. Remus knew all about the offer Sirius had made to Harry on the night of their reunion—Sirius talked about it enough, longing for the days when he could be the one to care for Harry.

Remus didn't say anything—it wasn't his place, since James had named Sirius Harry's godfather—but secretly, he didn't think it would be a bad thing if such an arrangement didn't become possible until Harry was already of age. The years in Azkaban hadn't changed Sirius's personality, exactly, but that was the problem. He acted much the way he had twelve years ago, while everyone else their age had matured and settled down.

Harry trusted Sirius. Adored him, actually. Sirius loved Harry as well, but in a different way from how Remus did. Sirius didn't really want to be Harry's father; he wanted to be his friend.

And maybe somehow, subconsciously, Harry had known that. He'd known that Sirius would react to Harry's feud with a professor the way he would have reacted if James had fought with a teacher: treating it as a battle to be fought directly and recklessly, rather than a situation to be examined carefully in order to best advise Harry. Sirius would play the role of a friend, not a guardian. He would put himself in danger rather than do what was best to ensure he would survive to guide Harry through his next challenge.

Harry had clearly thought this through, if he had gone to Remus instead of Sirius. But if he'd thought through the reasons why he shouldn't talk to Sirius, he probably had already thought through his reasons for not speaking to a Hogwarts professor. Which meant that Harry had intentionally gone straight to someone who couldn't do anything about the situation.

That meant he was quite serious about not wanting Umbridge to know she had gotten to him. He wasn't willing to seek help, and he didn't want it, which raised another question: why had Harry reached out to anyone at all?

Remus remembered the redness and inflammation of Harry's hand, the swelling around his eyes, and the paleness of his face. He'd been exhausted, and in unbearable pain. He'd reached out for advice because he'd been driven to it by desperation. Remus grimaced.

Harry was trusting Remus to be careful with the information and think it through completely in order to act wisely. Having Harry stay the night hadn't been wrong, but now he had to figure out what to do about Sirius.

As much as he hated lying to his friend, even by omission, it would be best to leave out some details for now, for his protection. It wouldn't be for long—Remus was hopeful that he had planted enough encouragement in Harry's mind to prompt him to speak up to a professor. If he did, Umbridge wouldn't be at Hogwarts for much longer, anyway.

Sirius didn't make it out to the common areas until after nine, long after Remus had already sent word to Dumbledore requesting a day's rest for Harry, and for Dumbledore to grant the request.

"Morning," Sirius mumbled.

Remus brought a finger to his lips, then nodded his head over to Harry, who was still sleeping on the couch.

Sirius's eyes widened. "In here," he whispered, and brought Remus to his room.

Once they were both inside, Sirius closed the door behind himself. Remus kept his demeanor calm and casual, having prepared what he was going to say in advance.

"You didn't tell me Harry was coming here!"

"I didn't know until last night. Harry found himself in a bit of trouble with one of his professors."

"Which one? Snivellus? I'll teach him to hassle my godson, I'll—"

"It doesn't matter which one." Remus and Harry had both been right—Sirius would tear Umbridge apart if he knew the whole truth. "Harry's been in detention for the past two weeks, and the detentions have been running past midnight for most of the days. It's taken a toll on him, and he reached out for help. Dumbledore sent him here last night. He's taking a day away from his classes to rest."

"He's suspended?"

"No. He's exhausted. I told him he needs to sleep until at least noon. He can have lunch with us when he wakes up, but he's going back to Hogwarts by dinnertime."

"I'll never complain about the company." Sirius's mood had brightened considerably, and Remus was thankful for that. He didn't seem to suspect that there was any more to the situation than Remus had implied.

It wasn't ideal. But it was for the best.

It took Harry a couple of seconds to remember where he was when he woke up. He was warm and comfortable—a bit stiff from sleeping on a couch, but the back of his hand stung less than it had in days. Actually, other than a mild, dull ache, it didn't hurt at all.

He rolled over to face the room, and readjusted his glasses, realizing he'd fallen asleep with them still on, as well as his clothes. Sirius sat on the couch across from him, a newspaper open on his lap.

Harry sat up straight, shoving the blanket aside. "Sirius!"

"Hey." Sirius set aside the newspaper and scooted to the edge of the couch. "Heard you were too much of a troublemaker, Hogwarts couldn't handle you."

Harry allowed himself to grin, but he didn't say anything. He had no idea what Lupin had already told Sirius, and he didn't want to tell him any more than necessary.

To his relief, Lupin came into the living room just then. "Good, you're up. Sleep well?"

Harry nodded. "I feel loads better already."

Lupin smiled. "Well, Harry, I've already told Sirius everything."

"Er . . . everything?"

"That you've been having some trouble with one of your professors, serving detentions that have kept you up past midnight, and that you're taking a day away from classes to recover from the tension and exhaustion."

"Oh. Right."

"And—" Lupin looked him right in the eyes— "that you're going to be upfront with Professor McGonagall or Professor Dumbledore about your encounters with the professor who's been giving you grief, so that they don't get worse in the future."

Harry swallowed. "Yeah." He hadn't decided how he was going to handle the situation. Lupin had made some good points the night before, but he wasn't sure he was ready to play the part of a coward by complaining to McGonagall, even though he had already been a coward by going to Lupin. He didn't feel the need to tell Lupin all of that, though.

"And if that all fails," Sirius said, "and ol' Snivelly is still getting on your nerves, you're going to come talk to me, right, Harry?"

Harry blinked. He should have realized Sirius would assume it would be Snape, if he didn't say otherwise. "Yeah."

Sirius winked, then he looked down, his eyes falling on the bandage. His brow furrowed, but he didn't say anything.

Harry held up his injured hand. "Fell off my broom at Quidditch practice. I'm fine."

"Ah." A distant smile filled Sirius's face, as often did when he had started thinking about Harry's father. "Have I ever told you any stories about your father's Quidditch games?"

"Not nearly enough." Harry sat up a little straighter, always thankful for the opportunity to learn more about his parents, and also grateful for the change of subject.

"Lunch first," Lupin said.

Harry frowned. "I'm not hungry."

"You're a growing boy, you need to eat. Come on, into the kitchen, we'll fix something. You two can talk while you eat."

Harry and Sirius exchanged a shrug, and followed Lupin into the kitchen.

They exchanged stories about Hogwarts during the meal and through the afternoon, and for the most part, Harry found himself in a better mood than he had been for months. The only distraction from his perfect day off was the fact that he still had detention tonight, which meant he was going to have to take the Murtlap-soaked bandage off and cut his hand open again.

That was, unless he was willing to speak to McGonagall today, between dinner and detention. And he wasn't sure he was ready to do that yet.

But Lupin didn't need to know that.