It's My Fault

Written By: Buttered_Onions

Warning: Contains Spoilers for Order of the Phoenix.

Summary: Harry blames himself on Sirius' death. Short, one-chapter piece.

Disclaimer: I don't own it.

He wandered.

All around him, people were laughing, enjoying themselves. Laughter was the furthest thing on Harry's mind.

Could he ever laugh again?

The Dursleys had been surprisingly nice to Harry during the summer. Actually, they had ignored him, mostly, which for Harry was nice. They had taken a day trip to the beach, and he had walked off to be alone.

But why did I go? he thought, miserably, To think, or to suffer?

He had been aimlessly walking for hours, now. His feet was aching, his brain was telling him to go back. He knew he should, or else the Dursleys would leave without him, but he couldn't make himself turn around. Harry stopped and sat down on a rock, still wrapped in his cocoon of misery. In front of him, a father reprimanded his son.

"You don't pick up a shell that still has an animal in it. You scare the poor creature, and you don't want to do that, do you?"

"No, dad."

"Then put it back and let's go." The boy dropped the shell and Harry watched the two of them depart. Could that ever have been him? If his parents were still alive...if Sirius had never been arested...

If he had never...never...

The Boy Who Lived, Harry thought, That's what I am. Living through everything, while those around me die.

How much more could he take of this? With everything going on, what would happen next year at school, and in his final year?

What about once it was all over?

"WHY DID YOU HAVE TO DIE?" There was nobody around to hear him. The first tear fell, and for the first time since Sirius' death, Harry cried.

Why, Sirius? Why? The answer came to him more abruptly then he could've realized.

It's MY fault. If I had learned Occlumency, I wouldn't have had that dream. I wouldn't have gone to the stupid Department of Mysteries, and Sirius wouldn't have to had come after me...

It's my fault.

"Boy?" Harry looked up, startled, to see his uncle staring down at him.

"What are you crying about?" Harry hastily wiped the tears away.

"Nothing," he said.

"Right," his uncle said, eyeing him suspiciously, "Well, we're leaving now."

"I'll be along in a moment." His uncle seemed to accept that and walked away. Harry stared out at the setting sun. A small voice spoke in the back of his head.

The light dies every night. But in the morning, when the sun rises, it comes again.

So? Harry thought.

So there's hope, said the little voice, If the sun can rise again, you can swallow your grief and move on. It's what Sirius would've wanted, Harry.

"BOY!" his uncle's voice yelled.

"I'm COMING!" Harry yelled back, and started walking.

You can move on, the little voice whispered, You can.

"You're right," Harry said, to nobody in particular, "I can."

And with that, the last rays of light faded. But there was still the hope of tomorrow's sun.

There was always hope.

***END***