Disclaimer: You know I don't own Harry Potter, so do I have to say it? And sorry if below it sounds like Riddle's diary, but I didn't realize it until after. It's NOT dark magic so don't get ideas.

Harry awoke that day with a throat sore from his silence. He walked over to the stone gargoyle in the wall of the dormitory, watching the cold, clear water issue from its mouth. The words Sirius had spoken in his dream were haunting him. As long as our hearts beat... As long as the earth spins... As long as the sun burns...
            He would not, however, tell anyone about the dream. It was so painful, losing Sirius again. The grief was felt anew. Why did it all come back in sleep, when he worked so hard to push it away during his waking moments?
            Occlumency would not help in this situation, as it pushed away Voldemort, and visions, and such. What Harry needed was a way to push away ordinary dreams. He sat back on his bed and pulled out a blank book. It was the journal Hermione had given him for his 16th birthday. "To let out your feelings somewhere, since you're not telling us," she had said. "Yeah, mate. You can't just hold your feelings forever," Ron had said. They were right. He couldn't have held it forever.

He opened it up with his left hand while dipping a quill into an inkbottle with his right. He then began to write, and, unknown to him, another boy sat silently on the bed next to him. Ron was staring at Harry's profile, silhouetted against the moonlight coming from the window. 'He's using that journal Hermione gave him,' Ron thought. And he was glad.

I have decided to not talk to anyone. Harry wrote. It hurts too much. And isn't it a common saying, actions speak louder than words?


Suddenly, in handwriting that was not his own, it said, I'm sorry to hear that. You won't even talk to you friends?

Harry started. No. I won't talk to anyone. Who are you anyway?

That's beside the point. You know me in life, so you shall know me here. I share your pain and sorrow, your longing for Sirius.

No you don't. Don't talk to me about Sirius. You may have known him, but not like I did.

I knew him longer. He died when the Order was saving you and you friends. It was brave, it was noble, and if he had to go, that was they way he would have wanted to.

The Order was there because I was stupid. His blood is on my hands.

Don't feel that way, Harry.

I'm not going to listen to you until I know who you are.

You will know in good time, Harry, in good time...

Furious and slightly scared, Harry slammed the book shut.

~~A couple minutes back~~

Remus Lupin was sitting at his desk, writing up some document for the Order of the Phoenix, when the blank journal beside his arm flashed. He opened it hurriedly and stared at the words appearing slowly in Harry's handwriting: I have decided to not talk to anyone. It hurts too much. And isn't it a common saying, actions speak louder than words?


Remus replied: I'm sorry to hear that. You won't even talk to your friends?
Remus inwardly congratulated Hermione on thinking of this tricky spell. If Harry wouldn't talk to anyone out loud, he would eventually have to let it out somehow, she had said. A diary is perfect, she reasoned, so she gave him one for his birthday. She had charmed it with the same principal as the two-way mirror Sirius had given Harry. He could talk to someone on the other end. But it had to be someone whose handwriting he wouldn't recognize, who could give him a kindness he needed. They decided on Lupin.

You will know in good time, Harry, in good time... Lupin wrote. The book flashed again, symbolizing Harry had shut it. It had flashed rather brightly. "Hope he didn't slam it too hard," Lupin muttered to himself, pushing the book aside and continuing with his document.

~~To Harry again~

Harry swore inwardly at the diary before tossing it onto his bedside table. In doing this, he noticed Ron looking at him. The look on Ron's face brought a lump to Harry's throat. It looked helpless, hopeless, and sad, as if he wanted to help his friend. Don't give in, he told himself. You don't need anyone anymore. The lump slowly slid away. Oh, Ron, the other part of his brain thought. I'm so sorry...