This is my updated revival of Ghost of the Past, for more info on this please see the Authors Note on Ch. 3. If you've read this story already, this chapter has been completely edited and rewritten, so take another gander if you will. I'll be rewriting the second chapter as well, and will place a note there when I do. Please enjoy this story, rate review ect. I'd love to hear what you have to say
DICLAIMER: These fabulous sources are not mine.
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"Who shot that arrow in your throat?
Who missed the crimson apple?
It hung heavy on the tree above your head
This chaos, this calamity, this garden once was perfect
Give your immortality to me; I'll set you up against the stars"
-Wine Red (The Hush Sound)
It was on the third day of staring at the door that Harry decided to breach solitary state, and enter the bedroom. The task had been weighing down like a rock on his lungs, making him anxious and gloomy for days. He's spent the previous two days contemplating its appearance, from the dark staining of the chestnut wood to the faint shine of the brass doorknob. There is nothing nerve wracking about the outward appearance of the door, but still Harry could not gain any strength to move past it. A door is just a door until it is not, until it becomes more.
His anxiety didn't come from the door itself, it came from it's significance. It was the barrier between him and the untouched bedroom it guarded. A no doubt messy room, with books and parchment and old clothes littering the floor, an unmade bed and a layer of dust covering almost every surface. The bedroom belonging to the bespectacled boy's godfather, Sirius Black.
A room that had not been entered since it's owner's demise.
Harry's breath caught in his contemplation, falling into the deep pit of grief he had made a home in these past few days. He had long grown accustomed to the feeling of nausea that settled into his stomach and the rock that became caught in his throat when he thought of the shaggy haired man, the closest Harry ever came to a father figure in his short life.
By the third day of his contemplation of the door, Harry found he could not wait any longer, as the sickening feeling on anxiety wasn't keen to leave any time soon, and only grew as time passed. So quick, like a bandaid, Harry strode over to the door, gripped its handle and thrust the door open. His movements were rigid, as if every step broke his heart a bit more with the loss of his godfather. Without a breath in between he entered the room and closed its door, enclosing himself in the space that had belonged to Sirius.
The room was the same as it always had been, but every piece of furniture or item was like a flashing light to Harry, everything striking him. He swallowed the breathless feeling that threatened to overtake him, and instead silently reviewed every inch of the room.
The bed, with it's red and gray blankets, was in a disarray, the maroon pillows astrew. The floor was a familiar dark wood panelling and the wall were a dusty gray color. A red Gryffindor flag harshly contrasted the rest of the room, but it could not look more right to Harry. The dark wooden desk in the corner was what drew his attention the most, as if it's surface held the wonders of the world.
The desk, like the room, was dusty and unorganized. spare pieces of parchment littered it, with an uncapped bottle of ink and a missing quill. An old mug sat on the corner, with some old coffee left at the bottom. More junk, and dust were haphazardly placed on the desk, filling its surface.
It was a glossy piece of paper that stole Harry's attention, mostly covered by a leatherbound book in the corner of the desk,an aged photograph he would realize. Drawn to the image like a gravitational pull, he pushed the book aside, pulling the picture into the light for him to see.
He had braced himself, but couldn't help but be taken aback by smiling face of his Godfather that the picture held. His stomach clenched as he stumbled for the bed, the familiar blur of tears barely phasing him in his desperate searching of the picture, as if he could pull the man back if he stared long enough.
The image itself was completely still, clearly taken with a muggle camera. The picture was ages old, and it held several young figures, each more painful for Harry to see than the last.
Who else could it be but the Marauders, in their seventh year of Hogwarts (plus Lily). They all sat at what looked like the grassy patch near the lake at Hogwarts, on a sunny day. Each person was sporting a large grin, an aura of content coming from the group as a whole.
Lily and James took a place in the center of the photo,his father sitting on the ground with his mother sitting beside him, her legs in his lap. They both had happy smiles, but even then, you could see their eyes straying back to each other, as if magnetic. They each had a secret in their eyes, as if they had found an unknown completion just being with the other.
Remus was to their left, a book in his hand and a bright grin on his face, no sign of the sadness the werewolf always seemed to carry these days. Peter sat behind him, grinning contently and leaning on Remus with ease. Harry frowned at this, anger filling him as he stared hatefully at the man who smiled oh so obliviously, unaware that he would lead to the ultimate death of the happy couple next to him.
His wandering mind stopped dead as the glowing face of Sirius burned into his eyes. Harry could not remember a time, even at his happiest, that Sirius had ever looked so young and full of life and comfort than he did in the photo. His face glowed with happiness, a wide grin with only a hint of its usual wolfish smirk. Deep blue eyes were wide and crinkled at the edges, fully reflecting every bit of passion and emotion he was feeling,free of the haunted look Harry had always seen lingering in his Godfather. His dark curly hair flowed around his head in a handsome mess, and he had a youthful tan showing on his exposed forearms. He sat cross-legged, leaning back with ease.
Harry couldn't look away, the image too striking to put down. The Sirius in this picture was a Sirius Harry had never known, never met. He was a Sirius free from darkness, unburned by the pain of his friends deaths and war. This Sirius had no idea that he would lose everything, be imprisoned and forced to face the torment of war. This Sirius was young and free, full of life and joy.
After a few minutes of gazing at the picture, Harry narrowed his eyes as he noticed something he had not before. Leaning forward, his scrutinized the picture, observing Sirius again. On Sirius's right, Harry could see the beginning of another person's arm, and a bit a head leaning of Sirius's shoulder. The mystery person's hair was an almost unnoticeable tint of blue that he had first mistaken as Sirius's dark hair. The rest of the person's body was cut off, and the picture's edges were slightly jagged, as if cut roughly off from the original.
For a reason unknown, Harry could tell this was no accident, that somehow this missing figure's absence was important and purposeful. What point is there in removing someone that had no significance? Looking back at the picture, Harry could see that Sirius's eyes were tilted slightly to look towards the person. Eyes that held a glint of what could only be described as pure love and hope, with almost awe held within it.
'Who could the mystery figure have been? ' Harry furrowed his brow as he tried figuring it out, but he could not come up with anything.
This need to know found a way into Harry, and he couldn't explain the urge to find out. He needed every piece of his Godfather he could gain, and some instinct told him that this mystery person, who was leaning against his Godfather and who Sirius looked upon with an adoring gaze was extremely important.
The distant sounds of footsteps and conversation eventually brought Harry out of his deep train of thought, and he wiped his face, clearing the tears. He stuffed the picture into his pocket and left the room, just as he was called for dinner.
'After,' he decided, he would ask Remus about it. Surely the old werewolf could give him the answers he craved.