Title: The Wall
Rating: PG-13, for violence
Summary: An alternate Universe fic. Sirius only killed Peter. And was released from prison. Now ten years later, Harry's' sparked interest in his godfather leads him to a man who calls himself 'The Grim.'
Disclaimer: I don't own this, if I did, I wouldn't be writing a disclaimer.
A/N: Hi everyone! How are you? Are you ready for more or do you want to avoid this fic from now on? Of course you don't! Otherwise, why would you be here? Unless you were really stupid... Anyway, I will try to get the next chapter on soon, but it might tale a while. I'm lazy, you see. Thank you all who reviewed! You guys are great!
The Wall, chapter 3.
*******************
Harry woke up the next morning feeling strangely content. As the events of the previous night came rushing back, he sat up and reached out for his glasses, looking around for Cyrus. No, he said he would be gone, and he was. Harry's hopes fell. He had been looking forward to at least saying good-bye.
But now that he thought he looked back on it. That was really stupid. Running around England with a complete stranger, let alone one who wouldn't show his face. Harry wondered what Hermonie would say now and laughed. He pulled himself up more and looked around the room. His eyes fell on the nightstand beside the bed and Harry noticed something that had not been there before.
On the table was a letter, written on what looked like a piece of parchment from Harry's own stash.
Harry grabbed and opened the letter, and his eyes widened in shock.
It was not just any piece of parchment; it was his, Harry's, Hogsmede permission form. And on the bottom line, where it said parent and/or guardian signature was a name that Harry had never heard of before. S. Black.
'Who in the world is S. Black?' Harry thought.
He racked his brains for a moment and came up blank so he guessed it must have been Cyrus who had signed it.
'So.' Harry thought ' He wasn't telling the whole truth. He didn't even tell me his real name, though I'm not surprised. But why did he sign my form?'
Harry folded the form back and reached over to put it in his trunk. When he opened it the wooden box that Vernon had thrown at him the night before fell out and Harry gasped. He had forgotten all about that.
He reached down and picked it up. Turning the box over in his hands. Harry guessed it was meant to hold letters.
'Well, open the thing the thing and find out, stupid.'
He did. And he had guessed right. There were four letters separated by small slits on the inside of the wood. Two of the letters, Harry realized, were from Hogwarts. Harry grabbed the oldest looking one, which also happened to be the only one that was opened. And read.
Dear Mr. and Ms. Dursley
I am sorry to inform you that the Potters, James and Lily, were killed yesterday evening. A dark wizard named Voldermort, who they had been working a resistance against, killed them. I am terribly sorry, the funerals will be held next Sunday, if you wish to attend.
Now, as you know, the Potters child, Harry here, now needs a home. His godfather has offered to take him in, however. I am afraid that that is no longer possible.
I am sure this may come as a shock to you. If you have any questions, do feel fee to contact me.
I am sure you can offer a loving home to Harry and treat him as your own son.
Signed,
Albus Dumbledore
Harry sat there for a moment, stunned. He had a godfather? NO WAY! Harry felt a strange sense of bliss go threw him. Maybe he wouldn't have to go to the orphanage! No, it couldn't be, there was no way...Nothing this good happened to him.
Harry looked down at the remaining letters. The other Hogwarts letter was one of many that were sent to him on his 11th birthday. Harry had already read this one. So he turned his attention to the remaining two.
These were different, instead of the usual brown parchment; these were red, blood red, with black writing. Harry grabbed the most faded looking one. And opened it eagerly. Hoping beyond hope that this shed light on the best news Harry had had since he had found out he was a wizard.
My Dearest Harry,
Let me start by saying that I am sorry for any pain that I have caused you. I assure it was not intentional and I never meant for things to turn out the way they did. I would do anything to change the past and our fates, but alas, I cannot.
I apologize for not being there for you, not being able to protect you, as I should be. But certain...problems that have presented themselves, and I myself have made some rather large mistakes, that, I am afraid to say, are unforgivable. I probably owe you an explanation for my absence, but I cannot, at least, not without placing you in harms way, and I can't put you in more danger than I already have.
What I can tell you is this, your parents loved you, more than you can possible know, you were their dream come true. All their hopes and dreams are in you. And all their love. I can give you no more comfort than this. And I love you, like my own child. Please forgive me for not being there for you.
I hope someday soon you will be able to understand why. It is not because you are not loved, and it is not something you have done. This is a result of my mistakes; again I am sorry that I can't give you a better explanation, but it's better that you don't know.
Perhaps we will see each other again, I sincerely hope so. Until then, though, never doubt that you are loved and wanted, not only by your parents, but also by me as well.
Yours forever,
Your godfather
Harry stared at the letter in his now shaking hands. He then read and reread the letter at least four times before realization came over him.
He had a godfather. This was real. He was not just misreading Dumbledores letter, and he was not getting the information second hand. This man had just declared his love for him and apologized for what he did, what ever he did. Harry found himself not caring.
Harry sat the letter down and willed himself to stop shaking. And whipped a few stray tears from his face. There was one more letter in the box, and it looked like it was from the same person.
Harry grabbed the last letter from his godfather and carefully opened it. The date was that of Dudley's eleventh birthday. The day they went to the zoo..
My dear bright eyes,
You've grown so much since last I saw you. I haven't scene you since.that night. Yet I have no trouble pointing you out in a crowd, you look exactly like James, except for your eyes, you have your mothers bright green eyes. We used to call them angel eyes.
Can you remember them? You were so young, I don't know if you can. Have you seen any pictures of them? If I remember correctly, your mother and Aunt were not on speaking terms when you left. Has she changed? I have so many questions for you. I bet you have more for me though.
Meet me tonight, please, at the bench on the curb. If you want to, that is. I'll understand if you want nothing to do with me. I don't want to have to anything to do with me, but if you give me a chance. Let me explain, even if I can't take care of you. At least let me talk to you, give me a chance to explain to you what has happened. You must know the truth.
With all my unconditional love,
Your godfather
Harry took a deep breath and sat the letter down. He had started shaking again. He had been locked in his cupboard that night, no that week, for the little incident at the zoo. How long had his godfather waited, an hour, two hours? Before he had given up hope? Did he think Harry didn't want to know him? Was he mad at Harry? No, he couldn't be. He must've thought Harry just didn't want to know him, he said he would understand if Harry didn't want to talk to him.
But Harry did want to talk to him. He did have questions. Could he still find his godfather? Or had the trail gone to cold?
'I HATE THE DURSLEYS!'
Now that he had that off his chest.
Harry lay down. He had slept through the night, but he suddenly felt very tired.No not tired, empty.
He had spent his whole life in his abusive relatives so-called home. But no amount of beatings could make up for this. He had not only been starved physically, but mentally, as well. He had been love deprived.
He had noticed the complete lack of parental love last summer, at the Weasleys. They were Harry's favorite wizarding family. But while he was visiting their home, he couldn't help be a little jealous of them. Ron, the Weasleys youngest son and Harry's best friend, had five brothers and a younger sister, two parents and a home. Not a house, not a place to live. A home. It had made Harry see his life in a whole new light. He might have been famous, and his parents certainly didn't leave him penniless, but he was poor when it came to the money-tight Weasleys and their loving home and large family.
And now, he had found someone who loved him, someone who wanted him. And he had lost him. Like sand through his fingers. His godfather was probably waiting for him all that night. And he couldn't come. He couldn't get to him.
Harry wondered vaguely if he had met him before. At Hogwarts, or at the Leaky Cauldron or even in the middle of the street.
Cyrus!
Was Cyrus his godfather? That would explain a lot. Like what he was doing out in the middle of the night, following him.
No, Cyrus said someone sent him, didn't he? Did Harry's godfather send him? Or was he just making that up?
'He lied about his name.' Thought Harry. Looking down at the form amongst the letters and the wooden box on the bed. ' But why didn't he say anything? Especially when he found out that Vernon.He said he was sorry didn't he? Maybe he was sorry he couldn't stop it from happening. Godfather obviously blames himself for not being able to 'protect and look after me,' was that what Cyrus meant when he said he was sorry? Was he blaming himself? Well, he shouldn't.It's my fault, really.'
Harry shook his head.
'I have to find him. I have to.' Harry felt a cool shiver go down is spine as he re-read the letter.' With all my unconditional love.He makes it sound as if I'm his son, or at least, he loves me like his son.that's an odd feeling, to know that you are loved. I think I like it. I don't have to find him. I need to, badly. '
Harry glanced over at the clock on the nightstand. It was almost 10:00 clock. He hadn't slept in that late since his last Sunday at Hogwarts.
'I'm starving, maybe their still serving breakfast in the inn.' He tucked the letters carefully in the box and put it in the nightstand. 'Maybe Cyrus is still down stares, maybe he can help me.he might know something.'
'Ron may be down here, too. Didn't he say he was meeting Hermonie here before term?'
Harry changed and hurried down to the dinning room in the inn. But he couldn't get the feeling of loneliness off of his chest. And the possibility of either Cyrus or his friends being just down stairs and added with the fact that he had thrown up what scrapes he had had at the Dursleys the night before, was just to tempting.
A/N- Kind of ends abruptly, don't it? Thank you all who reviewed, YOU RULE!! Yes, Pink Floyd rules, but no, that's not why the fic's called the wall. Cyrus's hands will be explained later in the fic and yes, everyone thinks Sirius betrayed the Potters to Voldermort (Well, almost everybody, next chapter will explain). But we'll get to that later. If you have any more questions, just ask. I confuse myself sometimes, so I'm sure it will make no sense to you. So I'm sure it will make no sense to you.
Rating: PG-13, for violence
Summary: An alternate Universe fic. Sirius only killed Peter. And was released from prison. Now ten years later, Harry's' sparked interest in his godfather leads him to a man who calls himself 'The Grim.'
Disclaimer: I don't own this, if I did, I wouldn't be writing a disclaimer.
A/N: Hi everyone! How are you? Are you ready for more or do you want to avoid this fic from now on? Of course you don't! Otherwise, why would you be here? Unless you were really stupid... Anyway, I will try to get the next chapter on soon, but it might tale a while. I'm lazy, you see. Thank you all who reviewed! You guys are great!
The Wall, chapter 3.
*******************
Harry woke up the next morning feeling strangely content. As the events of the previous night came rushing back, he sat up and reached out for his glasses, looking around for Cyrus. No, he said he would be gone, and he was. Harry's hopes fell. He had been looking forward to at least saying good-bye.
But now that he thought he looked back on it. That was really stupid. Running around England with a complete stranger, let alone one who wouldn't show his face. Harry wondered what Hermonie would say now and laughed. He pulled himself up more and looked around the room. His eyes fell on the nightstand beside the bed and Harry noticed something that had not been there before.
On the table was a letter, written on what looked like a piece of parchment from Harry's own stash.
Harry grabbed and opened the letter, and his eyes widened in shock.
It was not just any piece of parchment; it was his, Harry's, Hogsmede permission form. And on the bottom line, where it said parent and/or guardian signature was a name that Harry had never heard of before. S. Black.
'Who in the world is S. Black?' Harry thought.
He racked his brains for a moment and came up blank so he guessed it must have been Cyrus who had signed it.
'So.' Harry thought ' He wasn't telling the whole truth. He didn't even tell me his real name, though I'm not surprised. But why did he sign my form?'
Harry folded the form back and reached over to put it in his trunk. When he opened it the wooden box that Vernon had thrown at him the night before fell out and Harry gasped. He had forgotten all about that.
He reached down and picked it up. Turning the box over in his hands. Harry guessed it was meant to hold letters.
'Well, open the thing the thing and find out, stupid.'
He did. And he had guessed right. There were four letters separated by small slits on the inside of the wood. Two of the letters, Harry realized, were from Hogwarts. Harry grabbed the oldest looking one, which also happened to be the only one that was opened. And read.
Dear Mr. and Ms. Dursley
I am sorry to inform you that the Potters, James and Lily, were killed yesterday evening. A dark wizard named Voldermort, who they had been working a resistance against, killed them. I am terribly sorry, the funerals will be held next Sunday, if you wish to attend.
Now, as you know, the Potters child, Harry here, now needs a home. His godfather has offered to take him in, however. I am afraid that that is no longer possible.
I am sure this may come as a shock to you. If you have any questions, do feel fee to contact me.
I am sure you can offer a loving home to Harry and treat him as your own son.
Signed,
Albus Dumbledore
Harry sat there for a moment, stunned. He had a godfather? NO WAY! Harry felt a strange sense of bliss go threw him. Maybe he wouldn't have to go to the orphanage! No, it couldn't be, there was no way...Nothing this good happened to him.
Harry looked down at the remaining letters. The other Hogwarts letter was one of many that were sent to him on his 11th birthday. Harry had already read this one. So he turned his attention to the remaining two.
These were different, instead of the usual brown parchment; these were red, blood red, with black writing. Harry grabbed the most faded looking one. And opened it eagerly. Hoping beyond hope that this shed light on the best news Harry had had since he had found out he was a wizard.
My Dearest Harry,
Let me start by saying that I am sorry for any pain that I have caused you. I assure it was not intentional and I never meant for things to turn out the way they did. I would do anything to change the past and our fates, but alas, I cannot.
I apologize for not being there for you, not being able to protect you, as I should be. But certain...problems that have presented themselves, and I myself have made some rather large mistakes, that, I am afraid to say, are unforgivable. I probably owe you an explanation for my absence, but I cannot, at least, not without placing you in harms way, and I can't put you in more danger than I already have.
What I can tell you is this, your parents loved you, more than you can possible know, you were their dream come true. All their hopes and dreams are in you. And all their love. I can give you no more comfort than this. And I love you, like my own child. Please forgive me for not being there for you.
I hope someday soon you will be able to understand why. It is not because you are not loved, and it is not something you have done. This is a result of my mistakes; again I am sorry that I can't give you a better explanation, but it's better that you don't know.
Perhaps we will see each other again, I sincerely hope so. Until then, though, never doubt that you are loved and wanted, not only by your parents, but also by me as well.
Yours forever,
Your godfather
Harry stared at the letter in his now shaking hands. He then read and reread the letter at least four times before realization came over him.
He had a godfather. This was real. He was not just misreading Dumbledores letter, and he was not getting the information second hand. This man had just declared his love for him and apologized for what he did, what ever he did. Harry found himself not caring.
Harry sat the letter down and willed himself to stop shaking. And whipped a few stray tears from his face. There was one more letter in the box, and it looked like it was from the same person.
Harry grabbed the last letter from his godfather and carefully opened it. The date was that of Dudley's eleventh birthday. The day they went to the zoo..
My dear bright eyes,
You've grown so much since last I saw you. I haven't scene you since.that night. Yet I have no trouble pointing you out in a crowd, you look exactly like James, except for your eyes, you have your mothers bright green eyes. We used to call them angel eyes.
Can you remember them? You were so young, I don't know if you can. Have you seen any pictures of them? If I remember correctly, your mother and Aunt were not on speaking terms when you left. Has she changed? I have so many questions for you. I bet you have more for me though.
Meet me tonight, please, at the bench on the curb. If you want to, that is. I'll understand if you want nothing to do with me. I don't want to have to anything to do with me, but if you give me a chance. Let me explain, even if I can't take care of you. At least let me talk to you, give me a chance to explain to you what has happened. You must know the truth.
With all my unconditional love,
Your godfather
Harry took a deep breath and sat the letter down. He had started shaking again. He had been locked in his cupboard that night, no that week, for the little incident at the zoo. How long had his godfather waited, an hour, two hours? Before he had given up hope? Did he think Harry didn't want to know him? Was he mad at Harry? No, he couldn't be. He must've thought Harry just didn't want to know him, he said he would understand if Harry didn't want to talk to him.
But Harry did want to talk to him. He did have questions. Could he still find his godfather? Or had the trail gone to cold?
'I HATE THE DURSLEYS!'
Now that he had that off his chest.
Harry lay down. He had slept through the night, but he suddenly felt very tired.No not tired, empty.
He had spent his whole life in his abusive relatives so-called home. But no amount of beatings could make up for this. He had not only been starved physically, but mentally, as well. He had been love deprived.
He had noticed the complete lack of parental love last summer, at the Weasleys. They were Harry's favorite wizarding family. But while he was visiting their home, he couldn't help be a little jealous of them. Ron, the Weasleys youngest son and Harry's best friend, had five brothers and a younger sister, two parents and a home. Not a house, not a place to live. A home. It had made Harry see his life in a whole new light. He might have been famous, and his parents certainly didn't leave him penniless, but he was poor when it came to the money-tight Weasleys and their loving home and large family.
And now, he had found someone who loved him, someone who wanted him. And he had lost him. Like sand through his fingers. His godfather was probably waiting for him all that night. And he couldn't come. He couldn't get to him.
Harry wondered vaguely if he had met him before. At Hogwarts, or at the Leaky Cauldron or even in the middle of the street.
Cyrus!
Was Cyrus his godfather? That would explain a lot. Like what he was doing out in the middle of the night, following him.
No, Cyrus said someone sent him, didn't he? Did Harry's godfather send him? Or was he just making that up?
'He lied about his name.' Thought Harry. Looking down at the form amongst the letters and the wooden box on the bed. ' But why didn't he say anything? Especially when he found out that Vernon.He said he was sorry didn't he? Maybe he was sorry he couldn't stop it from happening. Godfather obviously blames himself for not being able to 'protect and look after me,' was that what Cyrus meant when he said he was sorry? Was he blaming himself? Well, he shouldn't.It's my fault, really.'
Harry shook his head.
'I have to find him. I have to.' Harry felt a cool shiver go down is spine as he re-read the letter.' With all my unconditional love.He makes it sound as if I'm his son, or at least, he loves me like his son.that's an odd feeling, to know that you are loved. I think I like it. I don't have to find him. I need to, badly. '
Harry glanced over at the clock on the nightstand. It was almost 10:00 clock. He hadn't slept in that late since his last Sunday at Hogwarts.
'I'm starving, maybe their still serving breakfast in the inn.' He tucked the letters carefully in the box and put it in the nightstand. 'Maybe Cyrus is still down stares, maybe he can help me.he might know something.'
'Ron may be down here, too. Didn't he say he was meeting Hermonie here before term?'
Harry changed and hurried down to the dinning room in the inn. But he couldn't get the feeling of loneliness off of his chest. And the possibility of either Cyrus or his friends being just down stairs and added with the fact that he had thrown up what scrapes he had had at the Dursleys the night before, was just to tempting.
A/N- Kind of ends abruptly, don't it? Thank you all who reviewed, YOU RULE!! Yes, Pink Floyd rules, but no, that's not why the fic's called the wall. Cyrus's hands will be explained later in the fic and yes, everyone thinks Sirius betrayed the Potters to Voldermort (Well, almost everybody, next chapter will explain). But we'll get to that later. If you have any more questions, just ask. I confuse myself sometimes, so I'm sure it will make no sense to you. So I'm sure it will make no sense to you.