Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't sue. It'd be terrible waste of time seeing as I'm a high school sophomore worth about a nickel and a toothbrush...

...

Given Breath

...

Misery – it knew no mercy for him.

It was beyond escaping, beyond knowing. He'd felt the same pain surround him, following his trail every waking moment of his life – but never had it trailed so close as to make him stumble.

Harry knew he'd fallen. But with the dying image of Sirius falling through the veil awoken so often by the mere thought of memory, Harry felt he hadn't the will to pick himself back up.

Forsaking the gaze directed at him – watching him struggle to speak – Harry closed his own eyes. He felt like a child – so helpless without a home to think of – yet couldn't help but feel he'd aged as far as an old man, waiting to rest his head and sleep without waking again.

Despite himself, he found his mouth mumbling audible words, coming as softly as a passing sigh of breath. "He's gone."

"Yes, Harry. But we've got to get past that for now, alright?" The voice spoke in steady, dull tones of monotony, but with a hidden irony and pain.

"Professor – "

The man held up a hand. "I'm not your professor anymore - I haven't been for years."

Harry turned his head, his eyes growing hard, yet his face softening more with growing sorrow. "Professor Lupin..."

Remus felt he could almost laugh at the boy's persistence in using the title, yet lacked the capacity to utter so much as a smile. "Yes?"

Harry's answering words sounded hollow, however solid and pure they truly were. "I won't get past it."

Remus choked back a sigh, catching a glimpse of himself in the boy's eyes. Remembering with a wistful ache the same exact torture of losing Sirius the first time – along with James and Lily – Remus smiled sadly. The boy needed honesty now rather than petty denial. "Neither will I."

Almost immediately, he saw a release in Harry's shoulders. "Then what's the use?" he said with particular strain.

"Perspective," Professor Lupin mused.

"Sorry?"

"It's all about how you see it."

"See what?"

"His death," Remus said, feeling the words stab him before coming out.

Harry winced. The face again – the pain again. "How can I see it a different way if I – I don't want see it anymore at all..."

"You won't," Remus assured him.

"What?"

"You won't see it as death... merely release."

Harry laughed bitterly. "Release? From what? The man's lost to feeling anything ever again."

"No pain." Lupin smiled at the thought.

"No joy," Harry replied, a cold voice speaking that morbidly enough fit his mouth, but not his character.

Lupin sighed, unable to sway Harry with pleasant words. The truth was as raw as a rough sword, but equally forgiving if taken by the right hands. "He knew he would die, Harry. We all do."

Harry lowered his eyes to the table, lost in the carvings.

"You'll die as well – in time."

Harry's head snapped up.

"Sirius knew he wouldn't live forever – despite popular belief when him and James roamed the hallways."

Memories. That was stupid to do.

"No. No matter how much he'd hated the thought his whole life, he died the way he'd want to."

Harry clenched his teeth, unable to focus on the wood anymore as his vision blurred.

"He died like your father... and you mother..."

"What," Harry spat miserably. "Defeated at the foot of his enemy?"

"No," he said. "Saving you."

Harry stopped, tears flowing freely now. "A sacrifice..."

"Yes," came the pained reply.

Harry sighed shakily, his voice trembling with cynicism. "This breath... was his..."

"Given," the professor corrected emphatically. "Your father, your mother, and Sirius even... they gave all they had for you to carry on. It'd be awfully pointless to even consider giving it back, because you can't. You can accept it, or you can throw it away – killing them."

Something would have broken inside if there had been anything left.

"Just know, Harry, I only wish I could have done the same."

There was a hollow thank you, a hollow good bye, and an empty moment of eternity in which Harry waited... just waited... for time to pass him until he could prove his pain – his tortured wretched agony in which he could feel no guilt whatsoever in doing what he had to do...

Killing the very source of every last tear his family had shed.

Given breath for murder... and justice...

...

AN: I swear I've got a comedy on the way... it's just a matter of whether I can still do humor...