Title: Why?
Author: Finni
Rating: PG for language
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, situations, and settings are © J.K. Rowling and I do not claim them in any way, shape or form. However, by writing this piece, I have full writer's copyright over my writing. Basically, don't steal it and call it your own, idiots.

A/N: SPOILER WARNING! Those who have not read Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix should NOT read unless they want to have the story spoiled/have already had the story spoiled for them. Now that that's out of the way, this fic was written because I felt that Harry's feelings after Sirius' death in OotP was far too insufficient. Death is not something that is easy to cope with, trust me, I know, and I felt that Harry deserved some time to reflect.

Yes, I am still a Slytherin. But everyone has feelings, and I guess this is also a little outlet for my little emotional outbreaks. A lot of character angst, mind you, but this is sincerely how I think Harry would have felt in the aftermath of what had happened. And I love Snape.

Keep in mind that Harry has two voices in his head. The italics mean Harry's usual thoughts, as it starts out with just this voice. But, to keep from confusion, his second voice is written in bold. Any other voices will be written within *stars*. Now, enjoy.

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Why?

The top of the Dursley's car had never looked so dull yet so sad, almost as if a pair of red slits like eyes were to suddenly pierce its gaze down at him, laughing sinisterly, yet without sounds nor words. Voldemort's eyes. Voldemort's eyes, his life, his soul – if he even has one – that would stare down into him and laugh.

Uncle Vernon sat in the driver's seat looking like he just had a gun pointed at his head, his enormous rump barely fitting in the seat, which had been flattened to the extreme, while Aunt Petunia wore a frail white mask of horror and fear. Dudley, of course, took up the space of two seats and pretended not to notice the boy sitting next to him. A boy who had just endured pain that could outmatch the fiery pits of hell.

Why had it been Sirius? Why was he the one? Why did he have to care about me so much?

A single teardrop splattered on the cleanly kept seats but Harry didn't care anymore. It was as if nothing really mattered anymore. Here he was, about to spend another dreadful summer at his aunt's horrid home full of Muggles, yet, there was no choice but to return. He had to. He had to live where his mother's blood lived, at one with the wizard blood that now boiled through Harry's veins.

Why? Why couldn't have it been me? Why didn't he just stay behind? Why?

Because you're a weak fool, Harry, said a voice back to him. You're too weak to have told your godfather how much you loved him before his death, before he sank through that veil. If only you had taken Snape's lessons more seriously, if only you had paid attention, if you didn't exist, your parents would still be alive, and Sirius would still be alive.

Yes... it's my fault... it's all my fault... if only I wasn't so keen on following my dreams, if only I wasn't so stupid as to if only I didn't... if only I wasn't me, Sirius would still be – Harry gasped for breath. He couldn't admit it. Sirius couldn't be dead. He couldn't be. Just what felt like a few days ago, he had seen Sirius' worried father-like face through the fireplace in Umbridge's office. It felt like just a few days ago... but it was weeks, months... so far out of his grasp that he choked again, realizing he had been holding his breath.

Sirius can't be gone. He's playing a trick - that's right, one of his ol' Marauder tricks again, and 4 weeks into the summer, I'll see him again at Twelve, Grimmauld Place, smiling and laughing and relieved to see me again.

Quit fooling yourself, Harry. He's dead.

No he's not! He shouted back mentally, while these same words escaped his mouth, gaining strange looks from his adoptive family, but they said nothing, and went back to pretending he didn't exist. He can't be dead, thought Harry, further, now trembling from head to toe, feeling cold white and as if a heavy iron spear struck through his heart. He couldn't recall feeling like this before. He had never wanted to blow something up, yell, scream, cry, and commit suicide all at the same time.

Give it up. You can't deny the truth any longer. No! That's not the truth! He's not dead! He's alive! I just have to go back to the Department of Mysteries and find that room... the veil... I'll see him again... I found the mirror, he can't be dead! Harry's face squirmed a strange shape of holding back tears, rage, and doubt. He opened his eyes, took a few well needed breaths of air and found the floor of the Dursley's car just as dull as the roof.

And then he saw it. He saw the faces of everyone. He saw Dumbledore's sad smile as a tear continued rolling off his cheek; he saw Ron and Hermione's worried faces at him, Ron nudging Hermione to be quiet the moment she started edging closer to the subject of Sirius; he saw the determined looks of Neville, Ginny, and Luna when they were to accompany him to whatever lengths he took them; he saw Lupin, Moody, Tonks, blasting into the Department of Mysteries, looking heroic, Sirius at their side....

...Then he saw his mother's glaring face - glaring down at him, glaring at James, yelling inaudible voices at what they did to Snape when he looked into the Pensieve... And she smiled at him. She smiled at him and mouthed a few simple words.

I'm proud of you, Harry.

Mum? What do you mean? He reached out his hands to where an image of Lily had stood just seconds before, but even with the restraint of his seat belt, he crashed his hands onto the floor, head banging into Aunt Petunia's seat in front of him. Lily Evans-Potter was no longer there. She was a mere image, impalpable as a wisp of fog on a cold stormy day. He could never touch her, never again be held in her embrace where he could cry like his heart was longing to do. The pain from the collision burned across where Voldemort had marked him. Marked him as equal. But this little physical pain was nothing but a mere touch compared to the pain gnawing at him from inside.

It chewed at his heart. They're dead, Harry. All of them. And one by one, they'll all die. Everyone dies. No... it's not my fault, it's not my... It is your fault, Harry. Who are you trying to fool!?

Harry sniffled, restraining more tears that were coming as he pushed himself up from the uncomfortable bent over position, head tucked so his spine was parallel to the padded seats. He didn't care when he cut his hand on something sharp as he pulled it up from where it lay below the seat in front of him. His mother was there. She was there, and she told him something. She's proud of me. How? How can she be proud of me, when all I did was just a lucky draw of fate?

How can she be proud of a boy who's existence is a mistake? All because of one night, a spell rebound upon me, because of some stupid prophecy made by my stupid Divination teacher. How? I'm a failure. Harry found that he could not lift his head from where he stared at the empty space between his legs as he sat on the back seat. It was only then he noticed the entire area was wet and damp, as were his cheeks, eyes, neck and back covered in tears and sweat.

I miss you. Mum, Dad, Sirius... I want you back at my side. Another teardrop fell and was absorbed into the cushion below. All was silent for just that moment, the Dursleys being too afraid of Moony and Lupin's threats to say anything bad, and yet, Harry had nothing else to say.

*We already are.*

Harry spun around in sudden surprise at hearing this trio of voices and an overwhelming feeling of longing washed over him, so much that he jumped up and slammed his head on the roof of the car with a loud thud. He winced in pain but kept darting his eyes all over the place, half expecting to see Sirius in his giant flying motorbike, smiling and waving at him, or even his parents...

There's no one there and you know it. It's useless to hope, said a voice inside him. He tried to push it away. Nothing will change the past. No! Face it, there's nothing left for you to do. And at this, Harry agreed. There was nothing he could do right now. Dumbledore said if there was anyone to blame, it was him. So I blame Dumbledore.

But a part of you still knows that you're partly to blame.

Shut up! Stay the hell out of my head!

How can I? I am you, as you are I.

Shut up, shut up! I don't have to listen to any bloody fucked up theories right now! He suddenly burst into a cry of pain, half yelling and half crying, one hand grasping his head, the other grasping his chest where his heart was, smearing blood from the cut finger all over his shirt. It hurt, it burned, it felt as a part of him had been destroyed. Forever.

It took all it had left in Harry not to burst out in tears again. He lifted a hand onto the window and tried to push himself upright. Instead, his fingers smudged blood on the clean class like two slit-like eyes staring back at him, even in the broad daylight. Harry looked away and smeared the blood on the window until it tinted the window a light shade of pink.

What am supposed to do now? I might as well just commit suicide. Why should I live on if I'm doomed to die a fatal duel against Voldemort anyhow?

No, you idiot. The obvious. Live on with life. Your parents, Sirius, they've given up theirs so that you would see the light of another day. They were willing to die so that you might live. There's no greater love than that.

It made sense. He was going to live on his life. He couldn't understand all those people outside the car that walked down the streets, face full of smiles and joy and the sun shining brightly outside when it was raining inside of him. Raining, heavily, storming, flooding his insides and washing away all the happiness and drowning out all the laughter. But he would never forget this. No, he couldn't. It's changed me too much to ever let it go. I don't think I'll ever be able to let it go.

The prophecy said I would have to destroy Voldemort. I would have to kill him, or he would kill me. The car pulled into a more familiar looking neighborhood, and Harry took no notice of it. Would I be taking my revenge? Or simply fulfilling some damned prophecy? Were their deaths fated? Was there no escape from it? Questions flooded his mind over and over until it might explode with not only pain, but regret and remorse.

And then a thought struck him. I'm never going to see them again.

Never again.

Unless I go back to the veil. I'm going back. I have to. I need to.

"Harry, we're home," said Aunt Petunia while she was helping Dudley out of the car.

"Let the boy get into the house by himself," grunted Uncle Vernon in response. "I'm sure he can do fine." Petunia looked looked back at his nephew; head lowered in pain, anger, suffering, and regret, blood from his cut now hardening into a dark red scabs, looking like he was freezing to death though it was sunny outside. She pushed Dudley into the house and followed him, not bothering to look back.

I'm going back for you. I'm going to find you, Sirius. Mark my words, I will get you back.

It's not a question of why. It's a matter of time.

I will get you back.

I promise.

-End-

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More A/N: Note that the voice in bold isn't evil. There's always another voice in your head that not only disagrees with you, but also comforts you and guides you into the most logical solution possible. Hope you all liked it, as I will be revising this through and through, so please leave reviews on critical points. Yes, it feels rushed (at least I think so) but this will do for now because I must study/do trig homework now. -Finni