Some things aren't meant to be, a fact of life Harry has had hammered into his head, his heart, his soul. And somehow, it never fails to surprise him how unfair life really is.
He fell. There's not much to say, other than that, really, Harry knows. No one is completely sure what lies beyond, only that no one has ever come back.
If anyone can escape, it'll be him. This is something else Harry knows, without a doubt. He doesn't know if it is possible for him to escape, but if anyone could, it would be him. He hasn't said anything else about the subject to Hermione, after she scolded him for holding out hope for the impossible. But what she doesn't understand is that his very existence is a long line of improbable and impossible events. And it isn't holding out hope – he doesn't expect even him to figure out how to escape this new prison. It's just that, if anyone can, it'll be him.
He doesn't know why he keeps going through the motions. Some days, it feels like he's on autopilot, a golem made of rock and stone, devoid of feeling and emotion. Some days, he is hypersensitive to every movement, breathe, sound, taste, and sensation, and he can almost hear the emotions that chase through the minds of everyone around him.
There are moments of perfect clarity. And other moments which are so shrouded and blurry, he can't be sure they actually happened. Time – always a fickle thing, and forever uncertain – has reached new records changing between going slower than molasses and faster than light. It's reached new records for being both at the same time, as well, now that he thinks on it, standing at his window, looking out on the darkening sky. He knows that he fertilized the flowers, earlier today, but he can't quite remember it. He begins to understand the phrase "time has no meaning". It hasn't been a month, not yet, but he feels like years have passed, at times, and then in a gut-wrenching reversal, it has only been mere seconds and if I just move faster I can stop it from happening …
He knows there are other things to think about. There are people depending on him to save lives, after all, depending on him to stop Voldemort and the Death Eaters. He has spent some of the indeterminable time studying fiercely. The D.A. will be continued, although he may change the name, because Ron and Hermione need that training to survive being his friend. It is almost a trivial fact that it helps everyone else. Well, everyone else, except for Neville. Neville's place in this war is assured, because he has already told him "It could have been you. If it hadn't been me, it would have been you. We're both caught in this, so it's up to us to end it." Neville had agreed. The trio was going to be expanded to a quartet, and if Harry was taking point, Neville would be rear-guard.
Surprisingly, it had been Neville who found Harry crying, not Ron or Hermione. And Neville … had understood, in ways that neither of his best friends could. They never spoke of it, in the time honored tradition of teenaged males, but it made all the difference, to know there was actually someone else other than Tom Riddle who knew the pain of being parentless. He hadn't ever really thought of it in the way before – Neville had been raised by his grandmother, even if it wasn't a particularly loving relationship – but it was a sort of kinship that the two were finally acknowledging. In a way, he was glad he fell, gone all at once, rather than the persistent sense of failure Neville's parents engendered in their son.
But he had fallen. It wasn't fair, that it wasn't meant to be they would be able to spend another holiday together. It wasn't fair, that it wasn't meant to be he wouldn't be there when his first child was born, presuming he actually lived long enough to sire a child.
It wasn't meant to be.
But Sirius had never been one to go with the rules, so if there was ever a time and place for "it wasn't meant to be" to explode like some of the twins' fireworks when met headlong by "if anyone can do it, it's him", this is the time, place, and reason for it to happen.
Harry has always had a fondness for fireworks.
He knows it wasn't meant to be, that he would keep a father he loved, but he can't help but believe that he's trying to break through this prison, too. To rescue him from all the not-meant-to-be's that are his lot in life. He did it once.
He fell. So slowly.
It wasn't meant to be.
If anyone can, it's him.
It wasn't meant to be.
He will try. For me.
Time stops, starts, and cartwheels around, as always.
And he realizes, staring up at the Dog Star, he has found something to believe in, at long last. It wasn't meant to be.
But if anyone can, he's the one. And he'll do his best, for me.
And somehow, Time settles down, and he can breathe again. It doesn't have to be today. It doesn't have to be ever. Just as long as he believes Sirius is trying to come back, he'll make it. And he knows now, why he has kept going through the motions. Because it wasn't meant to be, that he would stop fighting as long as there was a chance in the hell he is going to make sure Voldemort burns in that Sirius will come back.
It wasn't meant to be. But since when had that ever stopped either of them?