Harry Potter and the Second War

Hi! I'm a Huge Harry Potter Fan, and I just finished crying my eyes out after reading Order of the Phoenix. Sirius Black was my absolute favourite character. As Much as I would love to bring Sirius Back in this book, I don't think I will. I might give Harry some closure, however, so look out for that. Anyways, I don't own any of the characters. I'm planning to stay as close to the books as possible. Flame me, good reviews, bad, whatever, just let me know what you think, or if you have any suggestions. This is a continuation to my ficlette, Easier to Run. Read that too!

Never Forget Sirius Black

Chapter 1: I Promise

The Moon was high as it shone it's light down on Number 4 Privet Drive, in Little Whinging, Surrey. Stars flickered like candle flames, and all was ordinary.

Unless one looked through the window into the smallest bedroom, where a boy of Sixteen was thrashing about on his bed, sweat pouring off him in buckets. He muttered under his breath, whether he realised it or not, and words like, "Sirius....I'm sorry...." were all that could be derived from the inane babble that spewed forth. His tousled black hair was matted to his forehead, where a lightning shaped scar stood out vividly, red as the day it was made.

With one last gasp, and a tortured moan, Harry Potter shot up from his restless sleep, his chest heaving as he struggled to get himself under control. It hadn't been long since . . .

"Sirius," he sighed, a tear rolling down his flushed face. His emerald green eyes were dulled, clouded over, and with great effort, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and buried his face in his hands.

It was like it had been yesterday. Seeing Sirius fly through that archway in the Department of Mysteries, a look of shock and fear on his weathered face.

"There's nothing you can do, Harry . . . nothing . . . he's gone."

"SIRIUS!"

"Stop it," Harry muttered into his hands. "It's not going to bring him back." As much as he hated to admit it, Sirius was gone. Where he had gone, however, was a different story. The Arch he had fallen through, the one with the veil, was very narrow, and Sirius had not re-appeared. But there had been voices. He had heard it, and so had Luna. Of course, Luna was a bit odd, but Harry knew he had made another friend. She had lost family as well.

But what really bothered Harry was the prophecy. One way or another, either he or Voldemort would be killed, by the other's hand. "I Guess Trelawney was good for something after all," Harry said to himself as he raised his eyes and looked at his snowy owl, Hedwig. "What am I going to do?" He asked the owl, who offered no reply, and Harry raked his hands through his hair. Even his birthday, his Sixteenth Birthday, had been more subdued than ever. He never left the room, as much as his cousin Dudley tried to taunt him. And several times, Harry had almost driven himself to hex his family members (who were once again ignoring him, save Dudley) into Oblivion, all because he felt like it.

And with the connection between him and Voldemort, Harry could never get a good nights sleep. The nightmares and emotions, feelings and images were too much. It was like an overwhelming wave, and Harry was threatening to drown. And then . . . just then . . . it hit him full force, just as it had in Dumbledore's office, and Harry couldn't help it. He broke down.

Sirius Black. Supposed murderer, but innocent of all crimes. His Surrogate Father, his Brother, his best friend, was gone. The Link to His dead parents. And he was gone. He wasn't coming back. Ever.

Guilt crushed him like a vice. If it weren't for his own stupidity, Sirius would have been alive. Harry was Gullible, trusting, and it got Sirius Killed. Harry curled up into a ball on the floor, crying into his pyjama shirt, which was now soaked through. "It should have been me," Her gasped during sobs. "It should have been me."

Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and even Luna Lovegood, someone he barely knew, had all written to him. Neville Longbottom had written once, a very touching letter that Harry couldn't help smile about. Here was Neville, not a very strong wizard, but an amazing person. But even the letters couldn't dissuade the guilt that Harry felt on a constant basis. "Sirius . . . I'm sorry," He sobbed. "I'm so sorry."

Harry knew he would never forget the look on his godfather's face as he tumbled into the veil. Harry knew that he would never forgive Bellatrix Lestrange, Sirius's own cousin, for knocking him backwards. And Harry knew, most of all, that he would have his revenge.

"He's not - not coming back." Harry wiped his eyes on his sleeve and looked at his trunk, where the broken mirror lay at the bottom. He didn't want to throw it away. Sirius gave it to him. His Firebolt was most likely still at Hogwarts, where that insane woman Umbridge had kept it locked up. He'd ask Professor McGonagall.

"If I ever go back," he muttered darkly as he attempted to tame his wild hair. Maybe the Wizarding world would be better off without him. How many deaths did he have under his belt? His Mum and Dad, Bertha Jorkins, That old Muggle, Frank, Cedric Diggory . . . "Sirius," Harry finished out loud, his usually bright eyes now empty. Eyes had often been regarded as the window to the soul. Harry had just pulled the shutters closed.

He was tired. Tired of death. Tired of those around him dropping like flies. "Is that what you wanted, Voldemort? Is that it, Tom?" Harry asked with a sneer. The room offered no answer. "Is that what you've been trying to do? Trying to Kill me isn't enough, is it? You have to kill those around me. You're trying to make me BREAK!?" He screamed to the room. "NO! NOT ANYMORE!" Harry was breathing heavily as he struggled to control himself. "I'm Sorry Sirius," Harry whispered as he sank to the floor and leaned back against his bed. "If you can hear me, or see me . . . I'm so sorry. I didn't - didn't want this. I didn't want any of it. The Pain, the d-death, this s-stupid scar. I didn't want it."

Harry's tears continued to flow, but he didn't sob. He just sat there and stared at the wall in front of him. It was blank, but Harry could see pictures forming. He could hear it all again, like a broken record in his mind.

"It seemed to take Sirius an age to fall: his body curved in a graceful arc as he sank backwards through the ragged veil hanging from the arch."

"-Sirius did not reappear-"

"SIRIUS! - SIRIUS!"

"-It's too late, Harry."

Too Late . . .

Too Late . . .

"Stop it," Harry muttered to himself. "Just bloody stop it." Harry stood from his position by the bed and looked at the mirror. The Person looking back looked like him. Had the same messy hair, the same emerald eyes, the same scar on his forehead. But it wasn't him. It couldn't be him. Because he didn't feel alive. He looked it, but he couldn't feel it at all. He had died with his Godfather. He couldn't bear to look at himself anymore. Because it was his fault. Because he too should have died that day.

With a cry of rage, Harry picked up the closest thing, which happened to be a small lamp, and hurled it at the mirror, shattering it into a thousand pieces. The glass tinkled to the ground and lay at his feet, reflecting thousands of small Harrys, all staring accusingly at him. He couldn't bear it anymore.

He collapsed to the ground once more and sobbed into his shirt, ignoring the sounds of footsteps, the opening of his door, and the shocked noises made by his relatives as they watched their nephew sob his heart out, cry and scream in rage, and ultimately sink into a heap of trembles.

Harry sniffed softly and wiped his eyes on his sleeve, looking up at his confused relatives and letting out a small chuckle. "Bet you think this is funny, eh? Bet you think I deserve to feel this way. Go on, tell me. Tell me what a horrible, waste of a space I am. Tell me what a pointless being I am. TELL ME!" He screamed, and Aunt Petunia whimpered slightly as Harry turned his back on them and controlled his emotions as best he could. "Just leave me alone. I - just go." He murmured, and he hear the door close behind him, heard the mumbling, muffled voices of his relatives, the Dursleys, behind the closed barrier. He had just shut the door on his family. He had just shut the door on his friends. He had shut the door to himself on everyone. And he wasn't going to open it. Not anytime soon. Because anyone he got close to, anyone he opened to, ended up dead at the hands of Lord Voldemort and his followers.

He stood shakily and lowered himself onto the windowsill, however small it was, and looked up at the sky. The stars twinkled like flames, flickering, some dying out. And Sirius had his own little candle. Harry couldn't see it now. It only came in winter, but Harry knew it was there. His Godfather's namesake. Sirius, the dogstar, fitting considering that fact that Sirius had been able to turn into a dog.

And Harry knew that candle would never be snuffed out. It would remain bright, to remind Harry, to both taunt Harry and make him feel safer. Because as Long as Sirius was there, he would never be alone, or be left alone.

"I'm sorry," he whispered one last time. "If you can here me, believe that much. I'm sorry, Sirius."

The sinking feeling in his stomach, in his heart, wouldn't go away, and stifling a yawn, Harry made his way slowly to bed, curling up into a ball and steeling himself for the impending nightmares that were sure to come.

*

"Harry."

"Harry, I'm sorry I left you."

"I'm sorry that I couldn't be there."

"I'm sorry that you have to bear this burden."

"Talk to Moony. Remus. He'll be with you."

"He'll take care of you."

"Talk to Dumbledore. He can help you."

"Prongs and Lily say hello-"

Harry snapped up and looked wildly around his room. For one fleeting moment, he thought that Sirius was talking to him. But all that greeted him was an empty room, glittering shards of glass, and a heavy feeling of guilt and confusion.

"Sirius?" he called tentatively. "Sirius?" Harry shook his head fervently. "No, He's not here. He can't be." Harry pulled himself out of bed and looked at the blue sky outside. He had slept moderately well that night. He wasn't sure why. There had been one nightmare. And Harry chuckled lightly. He hurriedly changed into some clothes, ones that fit, because the Dursleys had been so terrified by the warning they had received at the end of Harry's Fifth year that they had treated him as well as could be expected. He silently opened the door and listened for any sounds of his relatives. They were talking quietly in the kitchen, and Harry made a deliberate pound as he walked down the stairs, alerting them to his presence. At once, the talking stopped, and Harry made his way into the kitchen. Dudley whimpered slightly, and Both his Uncle and Aunt gave him very long looks before going back to their meals. Harry sat down at the table and placed his head in his hands, staring unblinkingly at the window ahead of him.

"Er, b-Harry," Vernon said, Startling the young teen out of his revere. He looked sullenly at his uncle, and noted that he was trembling slightly. "Do you need to go get your s-school things? We're going to London tomorrow." Harry looked blankly at Uncle Vernon and slowly nodded before turning his attentions back to the window, where he watched the trees sway in the slight breeze.

Just like the veil had swayed. Fluttered, before going silent-

Harry stood abruptly, earning a shriek from his cousin, and he walked briskly to the front door, jerked it open, and walked outside onto the front lawn. He could see Mrs. Figg's street in the distance. Harry could hear the laughter of the children who played in the park a few streets over. Harry sat down in the flowerbed, as he had the summer before, and placed his hands in his lap.

The summer before had seemed almost bearable compared to this. He was treated fine, but he felt completely and utterly alone. Like no one was there. Like no one cared about him. His next door neighbours looked curiously at him as they walked by, but he paid them no attention as he looked at the flowers he sat in. They were in full bloom, looking joyful, and Harry had the sudden urge to tear each and every one of them from the ground, relish their destruction. He couldn't bear to look at something so cheerful, and he closed his eyes, took in a deep sigh, and counted to ten.

"Harry?" He heard a voice say, and he looked u to see his aunt, staring down at him with confusion in her eyes. "Yes Aunt Petunia?" he asked monotonously, and she continued to stare. "We've decided to go to London today." She said, and Harry looked at her before standing and dusting himself off, nodding once, and entering the house without looking back.

*

Harry stepped out of the car in front of the Leaky Cauldron, and he walked towards the pub without a backwards glance. As soon as he opened the door, the pub went silent, and Harry took a deep breath before walking past them all, a blank look on his face, which was hard to maintain as he felt like hexing each and every one of the patrons. He stepped into the small courtyard, and tapped the bricks that led to Diagon Alley. He waited as the arch opened before entering the cobblestone street. Many threw him curious looks as he passed, but he kept his stony facade long enough to buy his supplies.

As soon as he finished, he made his way back up the street, laden with packages, and was trying to push through the crowds when he heard the familiar drawl of his most hated enemy.

"Potty decided to grace us with his presence?" Asked Draco Malfoy in a very condescending tone, and Harry sighed, turning to face his nemesis. "What is it now, Malfoy?" he growled out, and he placed his packages on the ground next to him. "I told you Potter. I told you you'd pay for what you did to my father."

"Far as I'm concerned, I did society a service," Harry replied coldly, colder than he ever though he could be, and he noted in satisfaction that Malfoy trembled ever so slightly. "I'm warning you, Potter. You've made my life hell-"

"Your life?" Harry growled out again, and he didn't even register that people were staring. Didn't care that people were watching him. "You haven't fought Voldemort five times. You haven't had to deal with pain, Malfoy. You Haven't watched everyone you care about drop like flies!" His voice rose with each word, and he trembled even more, gritting his teeth. "You haven't WATCHED EVERYONE YOU CARE ABOUT DIE! You- You HAVEN'T WATCHED THEM DROP - DISAPPEAR BEFORE YOUR EYES." He screamed in rage. Tears were spilling from his cold, green eyes, and he balled his fists up at his sides. "Don't lecture me about life, Malfoy," Harry spat out, "Because you don't know hell. You can't. You haven't lost it all. You haven't lost anything. You haven't lived through what I have, SO DON'T LECTURE ME ABOUT LIFE!" The tears continued to flow. "Don't," he whispered through gasps. "Don't . . ." He shook his head slowly and pushed his glasses back up his nose, as they had begun to slip off. His fists unclenched as he felt blood pour from his hands after his nails had dug into the palms. His trembling lessened as he noted, with grim satisfaction, the look of terror on Malfoy's face. Without a word, Harry picked up his packages and pushed through the stunned crowd, tears flowing behind him. He didn't care what people though anymore. He didn't care if they thought he was crazy, delusional, psychotic. He didn't care about anyone anymore. And as he left behind the crowd, he continued to cry, continued to cry through the entire car ride home, and through the night.

*

"Harry."

"Don't Cry."

"You don't need to cry."

"I'm right here. I'll always be here."

"You can't see me, but I'm watching you."

"Prongs and Lily are watching you."

"They're proud of you-"

Once again, Harry found himself looking intently around his room, for any sign of his godfather. Any sign of Sirius. But there was nothing. Just a cold, dark room, devoid of life, save Hedwig. Harry shook slightly, shivering from the wind that blew through the open window of his room. He could sense that people were watching him, and he realised that Dumbledore must have placed Aurors around the house.

"Think I can't take care of myself?" Harry asked the silent night, and he gave a humourless laugh. "Harry Potter, the boy who lived, can't even save the life of his own godfather. I'm worthless." He spat in anger. "I'm that weak." He muttered, and he sat down on his bed. A feeble hoot sounded from Hedwig, and Harry lifted his eyes to look at the owl. "Hedwig, if I asked you to find Sirius, could you?" he asked in futile hope. "Of course not," he answered his own question. "He's dead. You can't get to the dead, can you girl?" Hedwig fluffed her wings and hooted softly again, shifting on her perch and burying her head under her right wing. "Harry watched the owl for what could have been hours, without moving a muscle.

"I don't think I can do this anymore." Harry said abruptly, breaking the stony silence. "I can't do this. I - I can't feel anything about anyone ever again. Because as soon as I do, Voldemort is going to take them away."

And the only emotion that Harry could feel at that moment was Anger. Pure and undiluted anger, coursing through his veins at alarming speed. Anger towards Voldemort, who had started Harry's nightmare of a life. Anger at Peter Pettigrew, who had spurred it along, and Anger at Bellatrix Lestrange, Sirius's own cousin, who forced Sirius back into the veil. Hot Anger swooped through him as flashes of red and black danced before his eyes. It was his fault that Sirius had died. But Sirius had to be avenged, and Harry ground his teeth together.

"I swear, Sirius. If it's the last thing I do, I'll kill them. I'll kill them." And the tears came back full force. "I promise, Sirius." Harry muttered,

"I Promise."

A/N: Bit short, but I believe it gets the point across. Please review. If you have any questions or comments, don't hesitate to tell me, even If they're not exactly . . . sweet. Thank you for reading, and I'll Update as soon as possible.

Never Forget Sirius Black.