Summery: Sirius is gone, and Harry understands that – sort of, anyway. But will he be able to move on?
Warning: Don't have one. Except to say English is NOT my own language and I've haven't had this one beta'ed.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter's not mine? Really?
He is gone, no doubt.
His black hair was as untidy as always, but sweat ran down his temples and he was panting and sobbing from the pain in his side and legs, but it was a nice change from the throbbing pain inside, all the same. His emerald green eyes were steamed up with tears. It was time he stopped running, though running away seamed to be the only way to deal with the pain inside, but he knew that he had a responsibility to face up to.
As he went up the stairs at number 4 Privet Drive, he could hear his uncle and aunt in the kitchen, talking. Dudley was undoubtedly in the living room, watching television on the big screen.
Harry dragged himself the rest of the way and then paused outside his room, watching the door for a minute or so, before he had gathered enough courage to go inside.
The floor was covered in pieces of glass from the broken window and photographs and letters lay scattered on his bed and bedside table.
He stepped over the broken lamp that lay shattered in front of the door, still blinking hopefully every now and then. He hadn't realised how much damage he had done. A defeating pain rose through his stomach and threatened to bring along his breakfast.
Was it two hours ago? Five, perhaps? He wasn't sure. All he knew was that he had broken down completely. For some reason he had felt just like he had that night, back in Dumbledore's office. Like no amount of damage or screaming could heal his broken heart.
Suddenly the tears came welling up in his eyes, blinding his vision. He was so tired. Normally, just simple things like getting up in the morning, making a cup of tea or putting on his shoes, seemed to weary him out.
His wand lay forgotten under the closet. He was sure he would never use it again.
He had spent nights and days in thoughts about his life. He had blamed everyone from Dumbledore and Remus to Kreature and himself for what happened to Sirius, the only one, he could not bring himself to blame, was Sirius.
But he knew it was time to stops searching for who ever were to blame for what went wrong. It was no use anyway. The only thing that was certain was that Sirius was gone, no doubt.
But Sirius had not died because Harry had been foolish, because Remus had held Harry back, because Snape had ridiculed Sirius, because Kreature had betrayed Sirius or because Dumbledore had forced Sirius to stay inside Grimmauld Place no. 12. Sirius had, like Dumbledore had said, died because of his irresponsibility. An irresponsibility so close in contents to Harry's own, it seemed.
Would he too die for his irresponsibility? Or could he succeed in ridding himself of it?
No matter what, he would have to move on, and let his Godfather be a happy memory of the past. Right, fat chance!
He let himself fall on to the bed. How was he ever supposed to accept that Sirius was truly dead, when he was still expecting him to walk trough the door any minute?
He had no one to talk to about what was going on in his head. The Dursleys' was so conveniently pretending that he was a part of the furnishings, which could not be helped. Ron and Hermione had both written him long novels about how sorry they were and how much they missed him, and it had only been two weeks. He could not see himself writing them to tell them that he was slowly going insane.
He would have written Sirius. He could have helped Harry, he could have made everything all right, and he could have put Harry's broken world back into place. But Sirius was dead, he was gone and he could not help Harry ever again.
Harry awoke when there was a knock on the door. Uncle Vernon stuck in his head. "Are you awake, boy?" Harry lifted his head from the pillow and thought for a moment that he could detect a flicker of concern in his uncle's voice.
"Yes." He said simply.
Vernon Dursley and Harry's aunt, Petunia, both entered the darkened room. Vernon gave a muffled grunt, and Harry suspected that his uncle had stepped on the broken lamp.
"Turn on the light, Vernon." Said Petunia's startled voice.
As the light was turned on, Harry was blinded for a short time, and coloured circles were dancing in front of his eyes. He looked at his aunt and uncle, waiting for them to yell at him for breaking the window.
"Well…" said uncle Vernon in a very diplomatic voice. "Your aunt and I have written these Weasleys, and they have agreed to pick you up tonight."
Harry looked confused. "When did you write them?" he asked, and a vain in his uncle's forehead started to pound. Aunt Petunia put a warning hand on her husband's arm.
"Don't ask so many questions!" she warned. "We wrote them this morning, after you ran out. They have just replied."
"By owl?" asked Harry even more confused.
"Don't ask…"Started uncle Vernon, but Petunia stopped him.
"Yes, by owl." She hissed. "They will be here soon, so clean up your room! This place is a worse mess than I thought." And with those words his uncle and aunt left the room.
Harry didn't know if he could face Ron and Hermione. He was not sure what to tell them, but he knew he had to tell them the truth about the prophesy.
He remembered how they had reacted when they thought that Sirius had escaped Azkaban to kill him, and when he had told them about his dream about Voldemort. He was not sure he could endure them fussing about some prophesy.
He had not taken the time to think further about the contents or the meaning of the prophesy, since he left Hogwarts. He knew that to realize what it meant, would be even harder than to realize that Sirius was dead.
He got up from his bed and started to pick up the pictures and letters that had fallen to the floor. Then he picked up the pieces of glass and the broken lamp. He lifted the chair back up and put his school books into his school trunk. He even cleaned Hedwig's cage and folded his robes neatly before fitting them on top of the books in his trunk.
Then he sad down on the bed and looked at his wand, which lay useless, tossed away. Was that supposed to help him against Voldemort? He shuddered and wrapped his arms around himself. He felt cold and sick at the thought of what the prophesy had said. He got up and picked his wand up off the floor, turning it between his fingers.
No. The magic didn't come from the wand, it came from inside him. He would be alone to defeat Voldemort.
The doorbell rang downstairs and he heard muffled voices. Next minute he was covered in Ron and Hermione.
"Oh, Harry. We've been so worried. Lupin told us that you had been writing the Order, to let them know you were all right, but when you didn't write us…" she stopped and hugged him again.
"You can't keep us out, mate." Ron said forcing a smile. "We're in this together."
"I'll get Hedwig's cage." Hermione took the empty cage from his desk and Ron helped Harry to carry his school trunk downstairs.
Mr. Weasley waited by the door, closely supervised by uncle Vernon.
"There you are, Harry. Are you ready to go?" Mr. Weasley asked.
Harry nodded and turned to his uncle and aunt. "Thanks." He said and smiled weakly. Aunt Petunia just nodded and uncle Vernon made no movements at all.
He closed the door behind him and got onto the waiting Knight Buss, where Ron and Hermione sad waiting for him.
Yeah. They were in this together. For now, anyway. The day would come, when he would have to stand alone, but even then, he would have his two friends. Not by his side, but in his heart, to give him strength.
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