.:All That's Left:.

.:by:. StupefiedNarutard

NOTES: GUESS WHAT SIRIUS ISN'T DEAD. I'm taking liberties. Remus (SO HE'S ALIVE TOO FORGOT TO MENTION THAT) is going to be paired with him in this. So sorry if you don't like it. This takes place at the end of movie/book 7. Lyrics are from Nujabes 'The Sign'.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and characters affiliated.

Summary: When Harry faces Voldemort for the last time, he knows he'll be dying. What he doesn't expect, though, is to come back... and that the only person that can see or hear him is Draco Malfoy. Drarry. Sirimus.

C H A P T E R one

T h e † S i g n

You wanna watch it fall apart

Every time I walk, I watch

I look, I notice, I observe

I read the signs

And the signs are pointing in the wrong directions

Harry had stared at his grave for hours, rain drops falling around him, through him, without feeling anything. How long Harry had stayed at Hogwarts, wandering around, denying his existence, was approximately a week.

It was hard believing in one thing for a moment, then another, and then having your world turned completely upside down. Well, whatever this existence was. A part of Harry still clung to the thought that this was some sort of thing that happened to all people who died. Perhaps dead people stayed on Earth for a bit longer after their death, just to... well Harry hadn't quite figured that part out yet. But he was absolutely sure there had been some mistake, that they'd delayed sending him to the correct place and would soon pop up and say, 'Oh hey, we accidentally forgot to collect you.' He walked around the campus, through the still destroyed halls of his childhood, thinking 'I'm not supposed to be here. I'm supposed to be with my parents. I'm supposed to be at peace.' He watched the other ghosts of Hogwarts, but even they couldn't see him. So Harry had just thought, 'Oh well, I'll go along with the joke.'

He had stayed in that state of delirium for a week before he had the sudden urge to leave. He didn't really know where he wanted to go, he just wanted to get out of there, the place of his life and of his death. So when he'd thought, with an ache he couldn't quite feel in his chest, of Sirius, he appeared suddenly at Grimmauld Place.

One weird thing about being dead, Harry thought, was the fact that he could go just about wherever he pleased. He thought that ghosts were doomed to haunt the places where they'd died, but he certainly wasn't chained to the Forbidden Forest. He had walked out of there as easily as if he'd been alive and he wasn't feeling anything pulling him back there. In fact, all he had to do was think about the place he wanted to be and he was there.

He'd only been there for a few hours, sitting-hovering- awkwardly in the living area, when Sirius had flooed in.

"Sirius!" Harry's exclamation was filled with happiness, but Sirius didn't hear him, couldn't hear him, and kept walking into the kitchen. Harry stood, distraught, for a few moments before he followed his godfather, who was making himself some coffee. Sirius was moving mechanically, as if this was just something he had to go through, with no feeling on his face at all. Harry hated it. It reminded him that he himself could not feel and he didn't want Sirius to feel this way too.

There were no sensations at all, in fact. He couldn't feel anything, not the cold, not warmth, and he couldn't taste the rain in the air, or smell the musty scent of Grimmauld Place. It was disconcerting, and he rather missed it. This numbness, this nothingness... it reminded him of the darkness he'd been in, of loneliness. It felt like being a caged animal, watching other animals play and not being able to participate. But at least he could still think and could still feel emotions. He could still see and hear and, speaking of, he could see a distinct color around Sirius. It was of gray hue, dipping into black every so often. It was interesting to watch, swirling around Sirius like smoke and going through him, like he was a part of it and it was part of him.

Suddenly, Sirius threw his coffee mug into the wall, a deafening crash making Harry jump and watch the china break into fine pieces. Though he knew, if it had been thrown at him, it would've went right through him. Harry swiveled back to Sirius who let out a hoarse sob, raking a hand through his hair roughly, pulling it away from his face. He put that same hand over his mouth, eyes crinkling in what Harry could only call grief, as he choked back tears.

"Oh, Harry..." Harry could make out from between Sirius' cries, and his heart shattered into a million pieces. He moved to touch Sirius, to tell him that he was here, he wasn't hurt, but he stopped short, hand paused above Sirius' shoulder. He didn't quite want to know if his hand went straight through someone yet. It would make this all... more real.

"Sirius," Harry said softly, dropping his hand back to his side. "Sirius, it's okay."

But Sirius kept crying for a good while until he remembered he'd busted a glass. Coffee and remnants of the china were still all over the kitchen. Something to do made Sirius' face go blank again and he picked up pieces of the white mug like he was counting them, even the tiny slivers and shards. He sopped up the sticky coffee with a towel, taking a long time to get all of it up. Harry watched him in morbid fascination.

So this is what it's like? Am I being punished for something? Did I do something wrong? What did I do? What do I do?

Sirius made his way upstairs and Harry followed behind him. His godfather moved as if his bones were made of lead. When he finally reached his bedroom, he curled up into his bed like a child and stared at the ticking clock. Harry couldn't take anymore, so he closed his eyes and wished he was far away.

When he opened his eyes, Lucius Malfoy was staring at him.

Call it force of habit, but Harry scrambled back and went straight through Narcissa Malfoy, reaching for a wand that wasn't there. The small moment he passed through Narcissa it felt like he was actually breathing himself and when he came out of the other side of her, he felt like he was choking for air before he realized he didn't have to breathe. He stared at the back of Narcissa's head in shock, watching as a tendril of rose colored water circled her like a snake, passing through her.

He'd just gone through her. So he really wasn't alive. So he was a spirit. This was only further proof.

"Draco isn't eating properly," Narcissa's voice wasn't as he'd imagined it to be. It was motherly and concerned, contrary to the cold, acerbic voice he'd given her in his thoughts. Lucius frowned as she said the words, though Harry had hardly paid attention to what she'd just uttered. His red rimmed eyes, circled in darkness, and scruffy face was so much different than he was used to, even with flames from the fire beside them casting light onto his face. His hair, Malfoy platinum, still looked the same, though. It was like he could take care of his hair, but not the rest of himself.

"He tries to eat for my sake, but I can just tell it makes him nauseous. He doesn't want to come out, except for showering, and even then it's brief. Lucius," she sat on her knees in front of his chair and grasped his hands. "I don't want to lose him after all we've been through."

Harry quirked his head to the side, listening out of curiosity. Lucius looked pained, a new expression that Harry thought he'd never associate with the once proud man. However, Harry wasn't exactly visible and this was supposed to be a private conversation. A piece of Harry felt like he shouldn't be intruding, but another part of him was whooping because it served the Malfoys right to have their secrets laid out before him.

"I don't know what you want me to do, Narcissa," Lucius said down at her, holding her hands too. "He doesn't want anything to do with me anymore." The pureblood seemed to be defeated. Narcissa laid her head down on his knees, her hue of rose changing to a silver at his words. Lucius seemed to be silver as well. Harry stepped closer until he came to the side of the chair, so he could see both of their faces.

"Everything has changed," Narcissa whispered, looking pained. Lucius placed a hand in her hair and stroked it softly.

Harry turned away, not admitting to himself that he felt sad for them, and realized he had the entire manor he could look through. It would prove a good distraction from Sirius.

The manor, like Harry had figured, was dark. It seemed to have a deep emerald color scheme, silvers and blacks interweaving to make it forboding enough for a Gryffindor, but just right for a family of Slytherins. There were large archways, the floors shining with dark marble, covered in rugs in the same color of dark emerald that the walls were. Candles lit everything, as well as expensive looking chandeliers, though everything still remained quite dark. There was an odd hush to the manor that seemed to sink into sadness, a desolation left by memories of anger and-

"Murder," Harry shivered, though he felt not. He realized, belatedly, that this had been the headquarters where Voldemort had stayed and had... done his business in. Everything echoed the fear of those that had died here, everything was tainted copper if Harry really looked hard. The remnants of those souls was a bit suffocating, but at least they weren't here anymore. They had long since fled the scary world they'd been in before their untimely demise.

But why had he come here? Why hadn't his wish to be away from Sirius lead him to Burrow instead? Wouldn't he have been comforted better by the warmth that Molly seemed to radiate, or the earnestness of his best friend... former best friend?

No. Best friend. Current best friend.

The scarred spirit continued on, until he came to a door that was cracked open. A slightly odd sensation filled him up and he slipped past the door to find a large bedroom... and someone lying on the bed. Harry didn't have to guess that this was Draco. His entire countenance was a celestite hue, shimmering like stars. Harry didn't know if he should be glad to understand that this color wasn't good. The brunette felt a bit weird, being here in his long-time enemy's room, but he scooted close enough to the bed to look at Draco. He looked sallow, pale, dark circles under his silver eyes. His hair was disheveled, most likely from tossing and turning on the bed, and he was dressed in in what looked like a black jumper and dark, pressed pants. His feet were bare and Harry was interested to know that they weren't clawed, but normal, a normal person's foot.

"Well, you're a right mess," Harry laughed at his joke, and Draco shot up from the mattress, eyes bugging. He threw the covers from himself, normal feet indenting the white of his bedroom carpet, before he stomped right into his private bathroom and slammed the door shut. Harry laughed again, grinning. "It's not like I couldn't follow you in there," Harry said jokingly, wondering why Draco had suddenly went to bathroom. Did he normally wait until he had to pee so bad he had to run to the privy?

He sat-well, hovered on top of-Draco's bed, wishing he could see if it felt heavenly soft like he'd imagine it would be. Not that he imagined Draco's bed all the time, certainly not! He'd thought about how Draco lived during the summer, away from Hogwarts. Did he lay on sheets of silk, people manicuring his nails? Was his room plain, or was it decorated with dark, vile things? Harry looked around... he was disappointed that he saw nothing vile. Actually, the room was kind of plain. There weren't any decorations, aside from the Slytherin color scheme... but that was all over the house. Didn't Draco have any personality at all? Not even a Slytherin Quidditch poster? Getting up, Harry moved around to the other side of the bed, where the windows, covered in silver curtains, illuminated the room.

There was a book case on this side, Harry noted. It was actually substantially large. There were so many books, one could assume Hermione Granger lived here. But she'd never be caught here. Harry went to pull at a book, but his hand went straight through it. He sighed, miffed. Geez, even dead I can't quite get things right, can I? Even other ghosts can't see me. He opted to look at the titles instead, seeing things like 'Potions, An Extended Study', 'Hogwarts, A History', and 'Poetry Through the Ages'.

"Poetry through the ages... I like poetry, too, Draco," Harry yelled at the bathroom door, but Draco didn't come out. Of course not, because no one can hear me either. His thoughts were matter-of-fact, sarcastic even. "I like poetry," Harry repeated while he traced the embossed letters of the title, and longed to see what poems rested on the sheets of paper just outside of his reach. Harry had not been much for learning in school, well, except for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Yet, sometimes, when he'd been in that tent while on his horcrux hunt, isolated for so long, he wished he had a book to keep his mind off of things. Hermione had been immersed in her own book for hours before taking a break. Harry never asked to read it because he knew Hermione had been proud to recieve her part from Dumbledore, and that book was it. Still, it didn't mean he couldn't wish and he had to pull the crisp, musty smell of the library at Hogwarts from his memory. Now, he couldn't even do that. He didn't even remember what smelling was like.

Shaking his head, Harry turned and blinked at the bathroom door. Draco sure is taking his precious time using the loo. Perhaps he didn't have to pee after all. Harry rolled his eyes. Of course Draco would take a long time in the bathroom. Suddenly, the door opened, Draco looking around like he had something to hide. Harry gazed at him like he was an idiot, because he was, obviously. Pursing his lips, the Chosen One watched Draco come out, shoulders relaxing like he'd figured something out. The blonde frowned, moving to his bed to tidy it up.

It was funny, seeing Malfoy tidy up his own things. Harry realized that his thoughts of Draco in school had been fairly childish... of course, having Ron as a friend didn't quite help that. It seemed like he hated Draco even more than Harry did. Harry's green eyes followed the Malfoy's movements, long-fingered, graceful hands fluffy his pillow and setting it back. No wonder Malfoy was so good at Potions. His movements were light, coordinated, which was needed when slicing ingredients and stirring in complicated motions. Harry remembered Draco being good at Potions, something he'd never really gotten the hang of. Having Snape as a biased Professor didn't particularly help Harry excel, though. Perhaps if he had had some other interest in it. Looking back, Harry realized there might've been a lot of things he would've been interested in, had he not had the background he did.

Draco was coming towards him now and Harry thought maybe he should move, but he didn't. Draco passed through and it didn't feel like it had with Narcissa. This time he was prepared for it, the shock of sharing a breath with someone that was still alive. It felt like being fluid, wisps of his own spirit flowing like ribbons around that of Draco's. It was unnervingly intimate, and Harry felt a tinge of the color he'd been seeing before; celestite, shimmering and melancholy. Draco seemed to freeze and Harry wondered if perhaps he'd felt him there. It was the first sign of someone acknowledging him at all. The blonde turned and they were nose-to-nose, Draco frowning and looking around anxiously.

Harry took this chance to study Draco's face up close. He'd never been so close to him before without trying to hex him or think of some witty comeback. He was really pale, but it went well with his platinum hair, silvery eyes, and dark clothes. His lips were chapped, parted, and Harry could see a bit of light scruff on his sharp jaw. His nose was a bit pointed, his cheekbones high. Like before, Harry noticed Draco's dark circles, maybe from lack of eating? He definitely was skinnier. Then Harry remembered who he was, who they both were, and backed away, appalled he had been so close without even being bothered by it.

Draco swallowed nervously, but turned back towards his bookcase, hesitating before he pulled out the book of poems Harry had been looking at before. Harry smiled, in spite of himself. Draco moved to his re-made bed and sat in the middle, crossing his legs and opening the book. Harry hovered behind him, so that he too could read the book. Draco read at a languid pace and the spirit found it easy to read the poem before Draco turned the page. There were many different poets, including American poets. Harry crossed his legs in the air as well, propping his hand in his chin. If he was going to be here for a while, he might as well be relaxed.

Harry found that time moved at a sluggish pace. Perhaps it was because, long after Draco had fallen asleep, he was still awake. Maybe it was because his life had moved in frantic heartbeats, while in this existence there was little to worry about, er... besides being dead and being stuck here for no apparent reason. He spent days at the Malfoy manor, and came to understand that the colors surrounding the Malfoys, like it had been with Sirius, were actually emotions. That was the only thing Harry could really come up with. The colors changed often, sometimes the emotions on the family's faces gave everything away, and sometimes Harry had to puzzle his way through it. He'd come up with a catalogue of sorts, referring to it in his mind when the colors changed.

Draco's seemed to stay at the same celestite color, shimmering and beautiful. Though, Harry wouldn't admit that to anyone. Not that he could. Still, he did think it was rather fascinating to watch. Only sometimes would Draco's color change to something only Harry could describe as a blush and that was when he was talking to his mother. Harry thought that perhaps the blush color meant affection, because Draco seemed to care for his mother greatly. And maybe Harry felt a bit more respect for Malfoy for it.

Sometimes Harry wondered about what his own colors looked like. Did they shimmer and flow like ribbons like Draco's, move like water as Narcissa's did? Or did they curl like smoke like Sirius'? Maybe his was more like lightening. He laughed at that because the irony of it would be too much and Harry thought he could understand why some people started laughing while they cried.

Draco, like his mother had said, stayed in his room most of the time. He rarely ate, but mostly slept or read a book. Harry was okay with that. He would explore the manor while Draco was sleeping. His favorite person to follow was Narcissa. He thought she'd be vile, being Draco's mother and all, but she was actually very pleasant. There were house elves that she would address like a maid instead of slave of sorts. Her colors were always pleasant, too. She was mostly pinks, though sometimes she'd slip into despair and her water-like essence would dip into Bordeaux or orchid. Harry wanted to hug her then, because he knew she was worried about their future, especially Draco's. She gardened most of the time, pausing to watch the sky or sit at a table, letting her helper house-elf have some tea with her. Did she treat Dobby like this? Harry would often ponder. But maybe she didn't, especially if Lucius was watching.

Speaking of, Lucius seldom did much either but sit in a chair by the fire, eat dinner with Narcissa, or walk around alone in his old office, cleaning out papers. He seemed closed down, all of his pride stripped away from him. He was cordial with the house elves, though he refused most of them when they asked if he had need of anything. He dressed in button-up white shirts, and gray slacks, like a business Muggle. He seemed to be gray most of the time, which meant maybe aloof, worried? Harry couldn't really tell. The old Slytherin's face seemed to be neutral most of the time.

If their family was always so separated, then no wonder why they always acted like they had a stick up their arse, Harry mused to himself dryly. They didn't act like a normal family at all. Not that Harry had much to go on, but he was sure normal families spent time together more often than this. Pursing his lips, Harry contemplated how he could possibly get them together. Maybe they just needed a friendly push back together?

Shaking his head, the brunette thought about his own family. He felt guilty about leaving Sirius like that, but he just couldn't stand to watch him like that. Wasn't anyone checking up on him?

I guess I should pay the Weasleys a visit. I haven't seen them since the funeral.

"Bye, Malfoy house. I'll be back, don't you worry about that."

And just like that, he was in the kitchen of the Burrow. Since it was afternoon, the kitchen wasn't bustling with people trying to get to breakfast. They do still do that, don't they? He didn't know. Were they still mourning Fred? Of course George would be. They were the closest. But Harry didn't have to wait long before he saw Molly walking into the kitchen, a light green color fluttering about like a bird. He thought that suited her, essence fluttering like a mama bird preparing a nest for it's babies. Molly was very much like that. Harry hadn't seen much green before, so he'd have to keep an eye out for that meant. She pulled out her wand and pointed it towards the cabinets and-

Holy Merlin I can feel that, Harry realized, the magic from her wand sparking and flowing, pulling from lines of magic in the air that were suddenly visible. It was like feeling electric pulses throughout his body and it felt absolutely amazing, given that he hadn't quite felt anything since he'd been dead. The magic was bright, not as bright as it had been when Voldemort had used it, but bright enough. Mrs. Weasley went about the kitchen, pulling out lunch items and making sandwiches as she went. Harry floated, stark still, enjoying the feel of feeling.

I'm being a bit redundant, but oh well.

As soon as she was finished and she stopped using her magic, Harry sighed. If only she'd use it again.

"Lunch is ready!" Mrs. Weasley called from the kitchen doorway and Harry could hear footsteps on the stairs. His friends started pouring into the kitchen, looking morose, colors mixing together so that Harry couldn't quite tell who was feeling what. Hermione was still staying with them, Harry realized, and watched as she held onto Ron's hand. He smiled at them, loving that they'd stayed together thus far. They were both known for their tantrums, though Hermione was the logical of the two. They were good for each other, though.

It made Harry want to have a stomach so that maybe he could throw up to get this feeling from the pit of his nonexistant gut.

Everyone looked fairly morose, Ginny seemed to pick at her sandwich. George stared at his sandwich like it was the most boring thing he'd ever seen. Ron and Hermione were the only ones who seemed to be okay and that stung at Harry a little bit. They didn't need him if they had each other, right?

"Remus said he was moving in with Sirius," Arthur said after he swallowed a piece of his sandwich. Harry furrowed his eyebrows. Since when?

"Oh, is he? It'll be good for both of them. Merlin knows Sirius needs someone there with him," Molly commented.

It should be me there. I should be there, alive.

"He's taking..." Arthur swallowed, "everything... quite hard."

"Yes, well, if I know him like I think I do, he feels like an utter failure at the moment. But he shouldn't," Molly chided, not looking away from her sandwich. Harry knew she was speaking in doubles, directing her comment towards not only Sirius, but everyone in the room. All of them were Gryffindor and foolish enough to blame themselves for everything. Everyone in the room was silent and it was a little awkward, even for Harry, who nobody saw.

"We need to talk about Harry," Ginny said suddenly, and Harry looked at her in surprise. She looked determined, jaw set. "We haven't talked about him since the funeral, and we didn't talk about him before that at all. We all need some closure, Sirius included. It seems wrong to just completely stop talking about him."

Molly patted Ginny's shoulder gingerly, knowing the girl had had romantic feelings towards the Chosen One.

"Ginny, darling, it's hard on us al-"

"No! We talk about Fred. I miss him, I miss Fred so, so much. We should talk about him. But I don't think it's fair just to talk about him and not Harry. It's like we're trying to force Harry from our heads because we're guilty. Like you said, Mum, we shouldn't feel that way... but we do." Ginny looked as if she might cry and Harry wanted to vomit again. Molly looked at her hands.

Harry looked to Hermione and Ron. Hermione seemed distraught, her colors flaring to an orange-gold. Harry surmised that that must be guilt. She stopped holding Ron's hand in favor of pushing her hair behind her ear nervously. Ron was orange, too, but a different color. Annoyed. Harry scowled at him, despite himself.

"Well, dear... what do you want to say about him?" Arthur asked quietly, smiling gently at his daughter. She frowned, wiping a tear from her cheek.

"I miss him, too," she whispered, and completely broke down.

If Harry could see his own color, he would be orange-gold now. Even though he wanted to be thought of, it hurt him to see people in pain because of him. Again.

They were all quiet, his friends... no, his family. They were all he'd had... when he still lived.

"Why am I still here?" Harry wheeled on Hermione. Out of everyone, she would certainly know. She was the smartest, after all. But she couldn't hear him, didn't even flinch at his words, his face contorted in rage. He went around to each of them then, screeching. He thought his throat would become hoarse, but it didn't, because it wasn't physical. He wasn't physical.

"AND IT'S SO UNFAIR," he yelled, swiping at objects, though he could move none of them. He tried to touch his family, but his hand went through them and they didn't move at all. Why could the people he loved so much not feel him? He covered his ears in frustration as they spoke highly of him, tuning out anything the rest of them said, and closed his eyes tightly.

When he opened them again, he was cross legged in front of Draco again.

A/N: Hey all! I wanted to thank everyone immensely for such lovely reviews! You're all so wonderful! Please drop me a review for this chapter if you can.