Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine; this story is.

A/N: This is the first of the Sirius chapters, and it fittingly takes place at Hogwarts. I have an idea for one other Sirius one. If anyone else has any suggestions that don't include Remus, I'm all ears.

Mornings are the worst. Harry thinks he's getting used to them, but whenever he wakes up, he lies there for a full minute before he remembers. And then it's like it's happening all over again, and he's watching Sirius fall backwards, a triumphant smile on his face and then – nothing. And nothing makes it easier.

There is this huge, aching hole where Sirius used to be. And Harry walks around without seeing anything. Where any other year he would be relaxing now, these days it's all he can do to remember to breathe every morning when he opens his eyes. This time, it really is his fault. And there's no one to tell him otherwise.

Sure, everyone has tried. Well, Ron doesn't know what to say, and Hermione would like for him to open up, but he knows that neither of them holds him responsible for what has happened. Which just makes it worse. Because it is his fault. IT'S HIS FAULT. If everyone could just ACCEPT that, then maybe he could move on. But whenever he even gets close to saying it, the other person's face closes down, and he knows he's about to make his argument to yet another brick wall.

So he's stopped talking to everyone. No one understands, and this time is much worse than last time. Because last time, he'd thought no one understood, but it turned out someone did – Sirius. Now … well, he can't let himself think of that because then that lump in his throat starts to swell, and he has to find an excuse to quickly get away from his friends. He's running out of excuses.

There is one brief moment when he thinks that Luna does understand, at least a little, and it does help. But it's brief, and it's Luna, and as much as he's glad they've become friends, she's not the person he wants to talk to. He wants to talk to Sirius.

He can't imagine that he will ever be ok with this. The days pass, and he expects each one to be easier than the last, but it isn't. It's just another day where he can't talk to Sirius, can't imagine a future with him, can't stop thinking that if he hadn't been so bloody STUPID, none of this would have happened. And then he thinks about his conversation with Dumbledore, and on top of all of his fear of the prophecy, he's still so ANGRY. If he'd only not been locked up, he wouldn't have been so quick to get out of the house. He wouldn't have rushed to the ministry to save Harry.

And this is all wandering through his mind on the day before they leave Hogwarts for the summer, and he's wandering through the castle, trying NOT to think about any of it. It's not working, of course, which is why he's wandering through the castle. This is turning out to be one of those bad days, one of those days where he's constantly swallowing around the lump in his throat and is constantly worried that any word might set him off crying so hard that he won't be able to stop. And that hasn't happened yet, and he's not about to let it. So he just keeps walking.

He doesn't even realize where he's ended up at first, but the swampy smell gives it away. It's what's come to be known as the Weasley hallway, and he almost smiles when he sees the small murky greenness roped off from the rest of the hallway. He slows down for the first time all day, and he's just standing there, staring, when a small noise behind him makes him freeze. He's NOT alone, and now it seems like it's too late to keep going.

"Pretty impressive, huh." It's Ginny. Instead of making him relax, he tenses even more. This isn't good. Ginny is one of the few people who reads him. He doesn't know how, but she does. If he so much as looks at her, she'll know how close he really is to completely losing it. He can't look at her.

He continues to stare at the swamp, and she sighs. "Ron and Hermione are worried about you, you know," she says quietly. She seems to be waiting for a response, so he nods. He does know.

When she realizes he's not planning on speaking – or looking at her for that matter – she's not sure if she should even stay here any longer. Maybe he really does want to be alone. But then she remembers how that chocolate egg from Mum made him feel when she brought it to him in the library that day, how he bit his bottom lip and looked terrifyingly close to tears, and she knows she can't leave. But what can she do? Is there any way to get him to talk?

It's a full five minutes later when he decides to try.

"What are Ron and Hermione doing now?" he asks. It's a safe question. It won't make him think about anything he doesn't want to think about. But he doesn't anticipate Ginny's answer.

"They're talking about how you feel guilty about what happened. They don't know how to make you see that you aren't."

His breathing changes. She hears it, and she knows what it means, but she also knows this: She can't say anything. She can't look at him. She has to pretend that she doesn't hear it.

He, meanwhile, struggles to stay in control. He knows she can hear him struggle, but he can't exactly walk away now. He just hopes she won't say anything else.

She only manages to wait a minute or so before she says, "It isn't, you know. Your fault. You were there because you loved him. That means that there's no reason for you to feel guilty – about any of this."

He wants to answer her, to tell her she's wrong, but now he's even more afraid of what will happen if he opens his mouth, so he says nothing. She just can't look at him. He can do this as long as she doesn't look at him. But nothing stops Ginny Weasley when she knows the right thing to do even if it is the hard thing.

And when she turns those brown eyes on him, the lump in his throat swells, and no matter how hard he swallows or how fast he blinks, the tears are filling his eyes, and he chokes, "if he hadn't thought I was in trouble, he'd still be in Grimmauld Place now."

Ginny nods, and all of the sympathy she doesn't quite know how to express is in her eyes. Harry looks away, unable to bear the thought of anyone looking at him right then, but Ginny grew up with six older brothers. She's seen her brothers cry even if they won't admit it to anyone else, and she knows what Harry needs.

She approaches him slowly, and even though his head is turned away, she slips an arm around his waist. He instinctively does the same, but he doesn't turn his head, and he doesn't speak. His shaking just grows more violent, and she holds on even more tightly. The only sound in the hallway is Harry's desperate sniffling as he tries unsuccessfully to wrest himself under control. When it takes longer than even Ginny expects, she knows it's time to talk again, and she says the words she's been formulating even as they've been standing here.

"There was always going to be a time when you were in danger, Harry," she says softly. He doesn't look at her, but she knows he's listening. "Sirius would never have forgiven himself if he hadn't tried to rescue you. And make no mistake about it – this happened because of You-Know-Who and NOT because of you. He was controlling your mind. Occlumency lessons be damned, he's stronger than you are right now, and you couldn't have been expected to know that what you were seeing wasn't true."

She runs out of breath, but she also realizes that Harry is calmer, and now he finally looks at her.

"Thanks," he whispers, and even though his eyes are tinged with red, he manages a brief smile – which fades just as quickly. He glances down at his feet, his arm still around her shoulders, and he mumbles, "I just – I miss him. It wasn't supposed to be like this."

"No it wasn't," Ginny agrees, and he lets out a shaky breath.

"Let's go back," she suggests a few minutes later once he's calmer. He nods, wiping his face with his sleeve. Neither of them speaks as they walk. The understanding is enough.