"He's back."
It seemed as though half of Britain's magical reporters had arrived, all clamouring to get a shot of the newly vindicated Boy-Who-Lived. Their cameras flashed, releasing smoke which drifted overhead. Harry stared down at the floor, looking at nothing, and his eyes were dull. He thought they would at least stop surrounding him, pressing in on him, vying for his attention. Anger grew within him.
"Stop it!" He yelled, but they carried on anyway. He tried again. "Stop!" He shoved one of them away, stumbling slightly in the process.
"Mr Potter! Mr Potter!" The reporter he had pushed shouted. "What was your role in the Sirius Black case?" Why would they ask him that? He thought they would know what it was like to lose somebody, to realise that they weren't coming back. It was that which made him snap.
Harry's head jerked upwards, his eyes were flashing furiously. "Don't talk about him!" The reporters face looked triumphant when he saw Harry's agonised expression. How much pain did they want him to feel? Was this really all for a good story in the morning edition?
"Do you believe that he was guilty or innocent?" Shouted another.
"Why was he here tonight?"
The demands for information about Sirius went on and on and on, for what seemed like hours, but in reality was only a few minutes. Harry could see the others being interrogated as well, and his heart gave a painful lurch when he realised it was entirely his fault. He had led them into this, led them to what could have been their deaths. His mind turned back to Sirius. His shaking knees gave way, unable to hold his weight any longer. Harry dropped to the floor like a stone and screamed.
It was a scream unlike any he'd ever let out before, that spoke of the deepest emotional pain. It seemed to go on forever. Once again, Harry wanted to black out, to die; he didn't want this torment to continue. Amazingly, the reporters backed off, fear clearly written on their faces. They didn't know how this pain rivalled the cruciatus curse, how it crippled him and made him break to pieces. They didn't know what Sirius had started to become to Harry, like a mixture of father and brother, someone he could go to for anything, no matter how trivial. They just thought he had gone crazy.
Maybe he had, Harry thought wryly. He was already forgetting who he was, consumed as he was by the agony. It wasn't until now that he realised he had curled up into a ball and was rocking back and forth, high keening sounds coming from his throat. Hermione had finally freed herself from her knot of reporters, and was kneeling by his side, Ron joining her seconds later. They held him tight, reassuring him that they were still there, and shielding him from the camera flashes.
Harry went completely limp. Sobs wracked his too-thin frame, as tears streamed from his eyes. He shut them, screwed them up in a vain effort to remove the image of Sirius falling through the veil from his mind. He knew then, that he would do anything to get rid of that image. Harry barely noticed being pulled up and led away. He didn't give any thought to the object being put into his hands or the horribly familiar pull behind his navel that signified a portkey. All he knew was that Ron and Hermione were still there, like they always had been. That was the only thing he needed right now.