Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Harry Potter, Harry Potter's Universe, and all things relating in any way to Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling and various publishing companies that I'm far too lazy to mention. I am making no money, unfortunately. This goes for every chapter.

A/N: There are spoilers for books 1-5. Harry's sixth year. Harry/Sirius slash.

I Can't – Chapter 1, Lost

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I've been gone from my birthday party a while. Remus has probably sent out a search party to investigate the rest of the house by now. He knows that I'm not stupid enough to leave the protections of Grimmauld Place without a way to protect myself, no matter how much this place reminds me of the childhood that Sirius hated. It reminds me of who Sirius had grown up with. Not this section of the house, though. It was apparently abandoned long ago. Mrs. Black had forbidden anyone entry because of the cheery aura this part of the house radiated. The Order doesn't know whether or not it would be inhabitable, and thus had dared not enter here. Sirius hadn't bothered to correct them in their assumption, much preferring the solitude this place provided. He could just disappear from the world for a while whenever he wanted. This is actually the best part of the house, despite the thick layer of dust covering everything.

Everything looks untouched by time. I especially like the music room. It has to be the most casual of all the rooms in this entire house, besides a bedroom filled with Quidditch posters. There are guitars, pianos, flutes, violins, lyres and all sorts of other instruments. The room with the Quidditch posters had been Sirius's room when he had lived here as a child. God I miss him. Sirius used to bring me up here sometimes. We would sit and talk most of the time, kissing every now and again. We would do more than that, sometimes, but Sirius and I wanted to take things slowly. I wish to Merlin now we hadn't. I think we were both afraid of what people would say about our relationship. I knew that Sirius would get the brunt of it, too. He still bore scars from Azkaban and the last thing Sirius needed was for someone to yell at him that he was disgusting and that he was the same age as my father. That was the last thing I needed, as well. I wouldn't let them take him from me. At least not yet.

At first, at the beginning of my fourth year and the summer before it, I would write both him and Remus in my letters. Sirius was infinitely amused with me calling Remus "Professor Lupin". Eventually I started writing each of them separately. Remus would complain occasionally about Siri's teasing, but we both knew it was good that he was doing anything at all after spending twelve years in Azkaban. Sirius could have sunk deep into depression, and I'm truly surprised that he didn't then. He was kept in Hell for twelve long years and came out fighting on the other side. He didn't talk about Azkaban often. I knew when and when not to push the subject. Some days he needed to be upset and others he needed to pretend like nothing had ever happened at all. I know the feeling.

We didn't just talk about Siri's problems, though. We talked about my life at the Dursley's, mostly, when we talked about me. If you could call what I've lived with a life. I certainly don't think that spending the time up until I received my Hogwarts letter sleeping in the cupboard under the stairs, being fed just enough to keep from dieing, and getting the shit beat out of me for things I had no control over – like accidental magic or Vernon's business going downhill for a time – constitutes as a life. I have no reason to complain, though. I was much better off than some Muggle friends of mine. The only friends I ever had before Hogwarts were street urchins. They learned quickly that I could hold my own when it came to hand – to – hand combat or knife fighting, and that earned me respect, at least, on the streets.

Dudley and his gang always scared away any friends I could have possibly made at school, though. Except for this one girl. She had mousey brown hair and was a year younger than me. We would talk about mythology and books we had read. Yes, I was a regular Hermione in my old school; burying my head in books. Of course, I was reading for a different reason than 'Mione does. I was trying to escape my little cupboard under the stairs. Anyway, for a short time I had a friend. A few weeks before she moved, my friend started going all misty eyed and would let her mind drift. She told me that she was moving because her mother had died and her father couldn't stand to be there anymore. This person sounding familiar yet? Yes; Luna Lovegood was my best friend and I've probably written more about her personal life than this journal wants to hear from me in an entire lifetime. I just keep yapping on and on and avoiding the point, though, don't I? I'll end up rambling on in this sense for a while, I imagine, so there's no need to continue reading if you don't want to. Have I gone spare now? Writing to my journal as if someone is reading it. Bloody Hell, I'm even talking to myself. But back to the subject. I need to tell someone this and I don't think that anyone else will understand.

Sirius always knew where to pry to get me to tell him what was on my mind. He knew what to say when and how to say it. I loved him and hated him for that. Sirius could calm me when I wanted to be angry, make me laugh when I wanted to cry, and keep me around people when all I feel like doing is pushing them away. He may have soothed my anger and pain even when I didn't want him to, but Siri never forced me to love him. He could never force me to love him, because I already did.

I still love you, Siri, with all my heart. I can feel your presence here with me again. It's a different feeling from when I look back around a corner and expect to see you there, smiling at me with that roguish grin of yours. I can actually feel you now. It's a nice, warm feeling. Won't you please lay with me? I just want to feel your chin resting on my head again, your arms wrapped around me. Remus or someone from the search party is bound to check here soon and I'd like to cry one last time before I get truly involved in this war. I haven't cried since your death, and before that when I was four years old. There won't be time for tears again until after this is over. I'll end this war. . .one way or another. I just want to cry for all the wrong done and that will be done. I want to cry for the world, and I'd like you to be here to hold me. I love you, Sirius Black, forever. It would be a shame to burn something like this, even though we discussed that if I ever wrote anything about our relationship it would have to be gotten rid of. I just can't toss something this precious to me – my writings about you – to burn. I'm sorry, but I just can't do it. I can bury the journal, the memories it holds, but I won't burn it. I love you, Siri.

Always and forever,
Harry.

Harry lay down on the bed, then, silent tears streaming down his face. He could feel warm, comfortable, familiar arms wrap around him from behind and the equally familiar weight of a chin on top of his head. Harry snuggled into a more comfortable position and whispered to the comforting presence in a choked voice, "Thank you, Siri love."

He cried for about an hour before falling to sleep.