Harry collapsed on his bed, grateful for the softness of the mattress, the warmth the blanket afforded him, and the comfort the pillow provided. All he wanted to do was sink into a sleep from which he would never wake up; he'd never have to face the world again; never have to feel the pain of loss and bereavement that had constantly been torturing him.
He still couldn't believe Sirius was gone: he was so used to relying on his godfather for any and every thing he might come across. Sirius had always been there to help him, to advise him, and now, he felt horribly alone. Even Dumbledore seemed to be of no consequence now that Harry's biggest support was gone.
Suddenly, he remembered the clumsily packed parcel that Sirius had handed him some time ago, that he, Harry, hadn't opened for Sirius' own good. Now he could safely do so, because there was nothing in the world that would bring his godfather back.
Scrambling off the bed, he rummaged about in his trunk, knowing that he had put it at the very bottom. He gritted his teeth as an outburst of laughter reached his ears, no doubt from the common room, which some people must have been leaving for the feast. How could there be happiness and laughter in the world at a time like this? His fingers struck something hard, and a rustling sound was produced. He immediately tugged the object out, messing up the contents of the trunk as he did so, and saw that it was, indeed, Sirius' gift. With trembling fingers, he ripped off the now tattered brown paper to reveal a small rectangular mirror. Turning it over, he saw a note written in Sirius' neat handwriting, and he read it eagerly, feeling as if it was his last link with the man.
"A two-way mirror…" he murmured, running his fingers along its edge. It was slightly dirty, so he brought up the hem of his t-shirt to wipe it clean. As he did so, a sudden thought struck him. What if Sirius had had the mirror with him when he fell through the veil? What if he could talk to him through this mirror? "Sirius Black," he said, his voice rather high-pitched from his excitement.
Nothing happened.
"Sirius Black! Sirius Black!" he repeated frantically, his eyes beginning to prickle uncomfortably. Thoroughly ashamed of himself and overcome by disappointment, he allowed the mirror to slip from his fingers, and he turned away bitterly. He sunk down on his bed again, wishing that sleep would finally claim him and put an end to his pain, if only temporarily, when he heard a voice behind him.
"Harry?"
He shot up at once. He recognized that voice, although it was much weaker than what he had been accustomed to. Hardly daring to hope, he slowly turned around and, sliding off his bed onto the floor, picked up the mirror. A familiar face looked back at him. It was gaunt, and the eyes were as sunken as ever they had been, but it was obvious that, bit by bit, Sirius Black was getting better.
"Sirius?" he repeated himself rather lamely, unable to think of anything to say. Sirius blinked back at him, rather disorientated. "How'd you… I mean, is it possible to- to speak to me from where you are?"
"Evidently," replied Sirius, looking around him in confusion. Apparently, he didn't understand where he was. "Who did it?" He asked the question bluntly, without any trace of sadness.
"Bellatrix," replied Harry, anger surging up inside him. "I tortured her for it, though. I chased her into the atrium and I tortured her. I hope she remembers it for the rest of her life…" At this point, something compelled him to be realistic and absolutely truthful with his godfather. "She won't, though. It hardly affected her at all." Another horrible thought struck him. "Sirius, listen…" his voice went hoarse all of a sudden and he had to stop for a moment before continuing. "I'm sorry. If I hadn't believed what Kreacher told me, you might not have… you would still be…"
"No." Sirius spoke the word with conviction. Harry stopped speaking at once and stared at him in surprise. His eyes were still rather wet. Sirius either didn't notice this, or pretended not to, as he continued. "No. I would have died anyway, sooner or later. It wasn't your fault at all. Kreacher—the little slime ball—he betrayed me."
"Yeah," agreed Harry, feeling angry again. "He did. If he hadn't lied to me…" he went silent again. An odd smile twisted Sirius' mouth.
"But I begin to see where Dumbledore was coming from when he told me to be nicer to Kreacher," said Sirius quietly. "Granted, I had no reason to be, but if I had been… so you see, Harry, blame can fall on anyone?" Harry nodded, albeit unwillingly. "Don't look back. Look ahead always. You have the fate of a lot of people in your hands. So no pressure." He winked in an attempt to cheer his godson up, and it partially worked. Harry achieved a small smile.
"None at all," he agreed. "So… where are you, exactly? Is there anyone else?"
Sirius looked around again, and his brow furrowed. Already he looked younger, his eyes less sunken, as he replied. "No, no one else. Strange, isn't it that so many people died, yet it's only me in this — this — actually, I'm not sure what this place is. Somehow, it reminds me of a railway station. A very clean, very deserted railway station."
"A railway station?" Harry repeated in astonishment. Suddenly, Sirius gave a start. "What's wrong?" he asked quickly. Sirius somehow looked less confused now; a small smile played about his lips.
"This is just a transition place," he said slowly. "This is where I go on."
"Can't you come back?" Harry asked hopefully. "As a ghost, I mean?"
"I don't think I can," Sirius said heavily. "Harry, you understand, don't you? If I came back as a ghost, I would spend the rest of eternity as one. There's no going back from whatever choice I make right now. We all have to die some day. When it's your turn, Harry, tell me: would you choose to be a ghost?"
"I—" he thought for a moment, fiddling about with his glasses, taking them off and wiping them with the hem of his shirt before replying. "No. No I wouldn't, and I don't expect it of you either."
"We will meet again someday," said Sirius confidently. Then his smile faltered. "I don't think that I can take this mirror with me." His voice now took on a pleading note. "You do understand, don't you?"
"Yeah," said Harry hastily. "Of course." There was a short silence, during which godfather and godson looked at each other solemnly, as if they were drinking each other in, to store the memory for years to come. Finally, "How much time till you go on?"
"Very little," responded Sirius, looking around him and smiling again. At that moment, Harry heard his dormitory door creaking open. His head swiveled around to see Ron entering.
"Hey, mate," said Ron, a little uncertainly. "Listen, Hermione told me to leave you alone for a while, but I think that you should join us. There's no point in hanging around upstairs and thinking about… you know…" He looked down at his hands, feeling rather uncomfortable.
"I'll be down in a few minutes," replied Harry, staring at Sirius again, who was smiling at him encouragingly. "I just need to… to wait for Sirius to go on."
"Go on?" Ron sounded worried. "Er… he's already gone, isn't he?" To both of their surprise, Harry let out a chuckle and shook his head gently, looking into the mirror.
"A few minutes," said Harry, still smiling. "A few more minutes…" Ron, looking extremely worried, left the room, saying, "Alright, mate. Your choice. Be careful."
"That was Ron, wasn't it?" asked Sirius. Harry nodded. "Tell him and Hermione bye from me. Say thank you to them for helping me all those times. And now, Harry…" Harry was struck by how young and handsome he now looked. His face was fuller, his eyes no longer sunken, his hair falling to his shoulders. "It's time," he said simply.
Harry gulped convulsively, swallowing a lump in his throat. His eyes stung again but he sternly repressed this. "Then I should say bye." He hesitated, wondering how he could put everything he felt into words. How grateful he was to this man who had become a combination of father and brother to him, and how much he would miss him. "Sirius, I—I'm going to—What I mean is, I'll—"
"I know," said Sirius simply. And then he was gone. Harry once more let the mirror fall away from his grasp, but this time it shattered… he thought of Sirius, of his parents, of all the people who had died for him and probably would die for him in the future…
But somehow, it no longer hurt so much.
A/N: No flames, constructive criticism is appreciated. Please do review...