PS: Hey! Well welcome, come on in! This is my first attempt at some really intense emotional HP stuff. I'm actually writing a Ron/Hermione comedy so stay tuned. Personally I don't think this piece is really good but I'm gonna give it a shot. It takes place after Order of the Phoenix and basically, I'm trying to capture Harry's sense of loneliness and helplessness

Numb

He was gone. Sirius Black, his godfather, was gone. His only link to his parents, gone.

What is this feeling? Harry wondered. It was so...empty. So shocked. So scared.

He had never remembered his parents. What he had was a photo album from Hagrid and awful memories from Dementors from the night they were murdered. Harry's mind tried to focus. Who was it that said Sirius and James were like brothers? Flitwick? McGonagall?

It didn't matter now. Sirius was gone. Ever since third year Harry dreamed of being able to live with Sirius, to escape from the Dursleys. He loved Sirius because he was the closest thing to a father Harry had ever known.

The shock was almost overwhelming. One moment he was there, fighting, taunting Bellatrix and the next, gone. Beyond the curtain.

He hadn't had a decent night's sleep since that night.

Every time he closed his eyes he would see Sirius, looking proud and then all of a sudden the image would flash-forward to moment Sirius fell. The look on his face Harry remembered all too well but couldn't place the expression. Shocked. Surprised. Prepared? It was a known risk that many members of the Order, as had happened almost 15 years ago, would die.

Why Sirius?

Harry remembered the day he asked Sir Nick if Sirius would be a ghost. He tried to cling onto a thin thread of hope that somehow Sirius would still be with him. He remembered the look of pity and sympathy as Sir Nick explained what Harry refused to believe. That Sirius wouldn't be coming back. It was the same look Ron and Hermione had given him every time they looked or talked at him. It was the look he had received all his life for being an orphan, for facing Voldemort and countless injuries, for being "The Boy Who Lived." It was the look he was tired of.

Harry remembered that day how in his room he had taken a glass of water from his nightstand and dropped it, letting it fall and watching it shatter into many sparkling pieces. It reminded him of his own pitiful life.

When Ron came back, he immediately waved his wand and the glass gathered itself up again, repaired and new. A simple spell his mother always used, Ron had said awkwardly.

I'm so scared Sirius, I don't know what to do.

Harry didn't want to cry. Instead he forced himself to close his eyes and think of Quidditch. But even the glorious feeling of soaring above the clouds wouldn't be enough to soothe the numbing pain that consumed him.

PS: Ehhhhh it's not very good but I was in the mood to write something angsty for once. It's all like typo-ed and tons of fragments and stuff but yeah. Ta-da! R&R please, keep flames mild k? I know this sucks.