Loss
By Hpfan
Chapter IV-Dreams, cuts, and bitter hot chocolate
Harry made his way to his bedroom; scarring cuts etched over his upper arms, able to be covered by a tee shirt. He lied his head down on his pillow, and couldn't manage to let himself sleep. It was getting later into the morning, and the more he larked about, the less time he had before he went out and talked to Sirius. 'It's not that I don't want to talk to him; I just don't know what to say. Is he going to look down on me? I mean I did ultimately kill my only family, accidentally or not. He's not going to come out and say it, but I guess I'll never know what he's thinking. I can't ask him. What would I say: Sirius, do you consider me a murderer?' It sounded ridiculous even in his head.
'Then again, Sirius probably feels the same way about me. Or, he did when he first knew me. Probably thinks that I consider him the murderer of my parents. All of these questions I can't, or don't know how to ask.' He sighed to himself. Maybe it wasn't just Sirius he didn't want to face, maybe it was a roundabout everyone. Facing Sirius meant facing the rest of the world. He could put it off all he wanted, but Hogwarts meant more rumors, more shunting glares. No one would care that he lost his family. That would think they died at his hand. And it didn't look good to the wizard world. First, Cedric Diggory mysteriously vanishes along with Harry Potter, and who comes back alive?
Now, after a summer of living with his relatives, they die. Once again, who made it out alive? Since the Daily Prophet had been know for all of it's gossip, everyone would assume that he was really the murderer, and they were just making up this convincing story to cover it up. Then again, would they realize the stuff Rita Skeeter wrote about him before was just gossip?
'Wow,' he thought to himself, 'I never knew I was so shallow as to think of the worlds opinion of me before my friends and…well- I guess I no longer have family. I never thought of their opinion of me before though.' Harry determined that he would talk to Sirius. He was practically Harry's family. He shook his head. Before the Dursley's died, he wouldn't even consider them his family, but more of a skeleton in his closet. Not because they were muggles, but because they were just so anti-wizard. He felt ashamed to be related to them.
Now, he realized that, despite how his relationship with his family was, he couldn't change the fact that they were his blood. Friends come and go in your life. 'Well, in my case, they stay, but some friends; like Seamus, and Dean, you'll drift apart.' He couldn't do anything about bloodlines. He guessed that it was all how you considered family.
'I suppose I have two family's, or I did. Hermione and Ron, and Sirius and the Weasley's, they're my family. But the Dursley's, and my Parents; I never had the chance to learn to love my parents, but that doesn't mean that I don't. Those are my blood. I have to honor the fact that they were related to me. It doesn't have to be a public statement, but privately, I'll cherish it that I knew some of my kin.
Harry looked at his arms. The blood had clotted, but his arm was scratched over and over. He looked as if he had been through a nasty encounter with a cat, but that argument wouldn't work, because they looked too direct. The scratches where only in a place that would be covered by his tee shirt. If anyone were to see them, they would instantly know they where self-inflicted.
Harry didn't regret what he did. As he cut, he felt like the pain was to make up for all of the hell he had put his realities through. He had accepted the fact that they were dead, just not the fact that he had their blood on his hands. Voldemort didn't feel guilty for killing them, so Harry, in the back of his mind, felt the urge to avenge their death, even if it meant that he was causing harm to himself. Someone had to feel the guilt of their death.
Just as it happened with Wormtail, he couldn't kill or let someone be killed. He just couldn't live with the guilt that he could have saved someone from his or her death, and did nothing. At least he had no choice in the matter with the Dursley's. He just stood there, trying to help, knowing he couldn't do anything.
Harry lay there, contemplating more and more, and didn't realize it when two hours went by. He looked at the clock, and saw that it was already mid-day. Where was Sirius? Was he even in the house? Maybe he was out shopping again. Harry went down the stairs to the kitchen and tried calling his name. He saw a letter on the table.
Harry,
I'll be out for a bit. See you soon,
Sirius
Harry just shrugged. He had no idea where Sirius could be. He felt slightly let down that he wasn't there to talk to him, but he guessed that he would just have to get over it. He looked on the back for a P.S., but found none. He supposed that he was to get started on the work himself. He quietly walked outside. He noticed that the gate was open, but that was all. He looked at the house and walked the perimeter of it. He noticed that they where pretty much encircled by tree's, and a small path led away from it. It was big enough for a car to pass through, or more importantly, a motorcycle. There was perhaps one-and-a-half acres of land surrounding the house; perfect for playing Quidditch, as the trees would block out any wandering muggle eyes.
Harry just walked up to a hose, and filled a bucket with water and soap, and started washing the filthy outsides of the windows. When he finished the first floor, and walked out to the garden shed - apparently they had one-and fetched a ladder to climb up to the next floor. After he finished, he went to the upper stories to fix up the rooms of the house.
Finally, after almost two hours past, Harry had finished his bedroom, decorating it with some Quidditch stickers, and posters, and fixing the color-with a magical paintbrush- to light blue (AN- HA! You thought I would do Scarlet and gold, or green! In your face!). He set up some furniture to make the make the room look better, as he had a pretty large room.
He then fixed up some other rooms with furniture, and went down stairs to make himself a late lunch. It was nearly two O'clock in the afternoon when he heard the roar of Sirius's motorcycle. When he came in the house, Sirius didn't question what Harry had been doing and Harry didn't grill Sirius as to where he had been-though he was interested.
Harry had left him a sandwich on the counter, and Sirius just ate it, with out uncertainty. "So, how have you been?" Sirius finally asked.
Harry didn't let his annoyance slip into his voice. "I've been fine; just fixing up the house a bit." It really wasn't that big a deal. Sirius was a grown man; he could go out where ever he wanted to.
"That's nice. Say, how would you like to get out of the house today? You've been pretty confined all summer, right?" He asked. To tell the truth, Harry was confined every summer since he went to Hogwarts, and before, he was usually locked in his cupboard. But he pushed those thoughts away, as it reminded him of the Dursleys. Harry merely nodded to show his approval of a break outside-doing something besides hard labor.
Sirius and Harry agreed to do have a few games of Quidditch. Sirius proved to be almost as good a flyer as Harry. They played a few rounds of non-traditional style, Quidditch. Finally, Harry asked, "Say Sirius, where you ever on the Quidditch team?" Harry asked.
A flash of resentment displayed over his face, when he said in a voice very unlike his own, "No.", in a very closing proclamation. Harry didn't press the subject, as it seemed to bother his godfather.
Harry silently walked back to the house after the game. There was no clear-cut winner as they hadn't been keeping score, but Harry felt like he had just won a Quidditch game. Quidditch always had the effect of clearing his mind. In the sky, all fear, all anger, all frustration was left on the ground. Sirius and Harry rarely talked during the game, but Harry didn't mind, he simply let the wind rip through his hair in delight.
When they got to the house, Sirius sat on the couch, and motioned for Harry to join him. Harry felt the dread that had left him while flying, grow to an intense pressure. While he had some anxiety, he knew that this was bound to happen. It was only a matter of time. He walked over to the chair sitting perpendicular to Sirius's. Harry sat stiffly, as did Sirius, as if they both didn't want to be there, or at least in such an awkward situation.
"Harry," Sirius began, "I'm worried about you. Is there something you want to talk about?" It was a basic conversation starter, but mostly, it wasn't a question. It was just a polite command.
Harry sighed- something both of them had been doing a lot lately. "About what?" It wasn't really a question either, because both of them knew exactly what they needed to discuss.
Sirius returned his sigh, as if saying, 'your not going to make this easy on me, are you?' He just gave Harry a scrutinizing glance. Finally, he broke the act. "I know it's hard, what with the Dursleys being dead and all, and now this paper comes out and says everything but 'it's your fault', but you can't just go to your room and hide away. For one, you have to go back to school, and you have to know what you're facing, and I'm going to be straightforward, there will be a lot of people who will give you suspicious looks, with you being on the top of Voldemort's hit list. Plus, you're just burying yourself in depression, and guilt, and let me tell you, it'll drive you mad. Literally. I've seen it happen. People just curling up in corners and shunting out the rest of the world, and they go crazy and try to kill themselves."
Harry just lay back against the chair. "I know. I'm not going to kill myself though." He said.
"Promise me that you'll never go to that. Swear you'll always talk to me when things get too out-of-hand." Harry wondered if Sirius thought he was withholding something. Did he know about the cuts?
"I promise I won't. I'll talk with you whenever I feel bad enough to even regard it as it an option-but I'm not. I didn't even take it into consideration." Harry said, feeling good he was finally being honest.
"Okay. Now, is there anything else you want to talk to me about?" Harry thought about asking him where he had been, but decided against it. He shook his head. Sirius stood up, and gave Harry a hug. Then he led the way to the kitchen.
He motioned for Harry to sit down at the table. "Now, I want to give you your birthday present. I totally forgot about it until today. Sorry." Harry simply shrugged. He handed Harry a small package. Harry opened it to find a watch.
There where almost seven different dials on the silvery metal watch. "It's magically powered so you don't have to worry about the battery or winding it or anything like that. It's waterproof, and pretty much indestructible. I didn't know what else you would like. I know you liked Quidditch so I got you a broom, but I don't know what else I could get you involving Quidditch. One of those dials will time your capture of the snitch."
"Wow. This is cool. How did you know that I needed a new watch?" he said. He took off the cheap watch he had bought, and put on the new one. It seemed to suit him a lot better.
"I don't know- Godfathers intuition?" he gave him a goofy grin.
"So, what do you want for dinner?" Harry asked. His appetite had increased lately. Maybe he was having a growth spurt.
"I'm not hungry. Why don't you make yourself something, and then we'll try to get the rooms finished." Harry nodded in agreement. He made himself a big bowl of pasta, which he downed in almost ten minutes flat. Even Harry was shocked at his dramatic boost in hunger.
He went up the stairs and saw Sirius looking at Harry room. "'S going on?" Sirius looked startled, but he didn't say anything about it.
"Nice job on your room Harry. Light blue though?" He asked with a quirked eyebrow.
"Hey, it's better then florescent orange, like in Ron's room." Sirius's eyebrow rose higher. "He's a Chudley Cannons fan." Harry gave him a look and they both burst out laughing.
"Well, I'll go paint my room." So they worked for an hour, painting the rooms of the house. Harry went up to explore in the attic. There wasn't anything too amazing up there. The previous owner, or owners, must have died, or suddenly moved away because all of their things where still there. Harry did find an almost ancient chess set. The chess pieces seemed to be hand crafted, because they had very elegant designs.
Harry brought it down the stairs and set it up on a dinning room table that they would probably never eat on unless someone special came over. It made a nice decorative- old English touch to the room. Finally, after quite a few cleaning spells, the house was finished.
Harry laid out his homework on the study, and attempted to finish his potions essay. After reading the potions book three and a half times over the summer, he still couldn't figure out how the variety of ways to chop up potion ingredients would have any effect on how the potion turned out, but he finally decided that it had to be a trick question, and the answer was that it didn't.
Finally, after finishing his very drawn out paper, he played a few games of exploding snap, and settled on the couch to read some more of the book Hermione got him. Sirius walked over to him after about 15 minutes, and began talking to him. In the middle of his sentence, he burst out laughing.
"What? What's wrong?" he asked in bewilderment.
"Your-your face! It's all black!" Harry felt his face. His hand came back with soot on it. He cracked a grin.
"I was playing exploding snap." He said. Sirius shot him a knowing look.
"Well, anyway, when do you usually go to bed by?" It was nearly eight O'clock, but Harry normally didn't stay up late. He would probably go to bed at nine.
"I don't know; whenever I'm tired. Probably not for another hour." Sirius looked almost tense, but Harry couldn't think of any reason why Sirius would want him to go to bed so early. "I guess I can just read upstairs in bed, and then go to sleep when I'm tired."
Sirius just shrugged, but his eyes defied him. It was clear he want Harry to do just that. So he got up and made his way up to his room. He read his book for a half-an-hour, before finishing it. He picked up Quidditch Through the Ages, and skimmed it in a bored way, as he had read the book countless times. Finally, he decided he might as well go to bed.
Harry showered and washed his ash-black face off. He changed into nightwear, and after tossing and turning for five minutes, he settled down into slumber.
___
Harry stood on the graveyard infront of a fairly large grave. It was a windy night, and Harry felt slightly exposed in his short-sleeve pajamas. He looked around and saw Cedric's body lying on the ground with his cold glassy eyes staring up at him. Suddenly, Cedric stood up and stared at Harry; his unblinking eyes filled with hatred and fury. His face contorted into a look of disgust, and Harry seemed to be shrinking, or Cedric seemed to be growing.
"You killed me Harry. You killed me, just like you killed your mother! Your father died trying to protect your mother and you, and he died in vain, because you murdered your mother, and you grew up to be a killer, so your just as bad as Voldemort." He said in a cold voice, very unlike his own had been.
Suddenly, his uncle appeared next to Cedric, and Harry didn't remember him being half as tall as he appeared here. "You killed me and my family boy! You disgusting piece of scum! You don't deserve to live, but you are alive while we're rotting in a grave somewhere."
Harry tried to protest, but couldn't think of anything to say in his defense. "I- I'm sorry. Your right, I should have died. You should be alive right now, but I can't do anything about it. I wish I could." His parents appeared next to him. He flinched, expecting hard, cruel words to be spat, but all they did was stand there, looking disappointed. It was like a slap in the face. He wished they would scream or shout at him, or hit him, but all they did was stand there, looking at him with sad, let down faces that made Harry feel as though he had committed a mortal sin.
Inside, he knew he didn't really kill them. Voldemort and his Deatheaters had done the dead, but with his Uncle and Cedric shouting, and his parents looking heartbroken, he couldn't help but feel responsible. "Please. I'm sorry. If I could have taken your place, I would have. I wish it could have been me, but I can't do anything now." He pleaded.
His mother looked away in shame, and he realized that nothing he could do or say would ever penance for actions- or lack of actions, so the circumstances called for. He knew that even if he begged for forgiveness, it wouldn't be given, because nothing could be done. A tear slipped down his face, with this revelation, and he saw his uncles face turn into that of mocking. Cedric looked at him with revulsion. His aunt and cousin appeared with sneering faces and his parent looked disgusted.
"Go and cry, baby. You know you want to." His cousin's face shouted to him. Harry took a step backwards, and then another. He wanted to run, but it was as if he had anvils in his shoes. He edged backwards and tripped over the gravestone. The world went fuzzy as he landed with a thud on the ground. Everyone was standing over him, looking at him with disapproval, revulsion, or malice, shouting crude words of hatred or profanity.
Harry put his hands over his face shielding himself as if his hands could block out the insults, but they came in full force. The tears spilled down his face with drive as he coward, saying, "Please, just leave me alone. I'm sorry. I can't do anything. Please just let me be. I didn't wish for any of it. Do you think I wanted to grow up without parents? I may not have been the biggest fan of you, Uncle Vernon, but I never wanted you, or your family dead. And I never wanted Wormtail to kill you, Cedric. There wasn't anything I could do." He opened his eyes, to not ominous faces, but the light-blue ceiling of his room.
___
Harry breathed a sigh of relief. The dream had felt so authentic. He wiped off some of the sweat and tears on his face. Finally, he put on his glasses and walked out into the hall. The shadows cast over it making it look eerie. He quickened his pace and walked down the semi-dark stairs and into the living room. He grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around himself. Despite the muggy weather, Harry needed some form of comfort. He felt cold all over his body, but even though the blanket made him feel stifling hot, he felt as though there were dementors in the room.
He wandered into the kitchen and leaned against the wall. He realized that wandering aimlessly around the house would get him no-where, but he couldn't bear to go back to his empty, unwelcoming bedroom. He banged his head against the wall. He felt like there was nothing he could do. Every night, dreams were going to plague him, and every night, he was just going to have to suffer through them. Sirius must have been sleeping, but when he went back to Hogwarts, there would be four other boys in his room. He couldn't wake up screaming and expect them to just ignore him.
Then there was Ron. 'What would Ron think?' He wandered. Would he take it as a sign of weakness, or would he just blow it off? Maybe they would stop by the time summer ended. But, maybe they wouldn't. What if he would have to live with them until he died? Harry sunk down against the wall.
"I'm screwed," he said quietly. He finally stood up, and when to the stove to make himself some hot chocolate. Then he sat down, he took one sip and let the cup rest. He didn't know how long he sat there, staring into oblivion. He just keep wandering if he would ever get over his problem, and no amount of optimism could help him, it just made him feel like he was fighting a losing battle and the more he smiled and pumped himself up, the more he was destined to be disappointed.
Harry couldn't tell if it was two minutes, or two hours when he heard a buzzing noise. At first, he didn't even realize he had heard it, but after a moment, he noticed it. The first thought was Sirius's motorcycle, but he blew that off, knowing Sirius was in bed. After it went away, Harry just ignored it. Finally, he looked down at his hot chocolate, and subconsciously took a sip. His taste buds had been in a stupor along with his brain, but his throat noted that it was room temperature, and the aftertaste made him gag, as all of the cocoa mix had sunk to the bottom, leaving the taste bitter.
He must have been sitting there longer then he had thought. Suddenly, the door to the kitchen opened and Sirius came in. He looked startled for a moment, seeing Harry. Harry wandered what he was doing up, when he noticed that Sirius wasn't wearing pajama's, but normal robes. He didn't look like he had just gotten up, but like he had been out all night and needed some rest.
Harry stared at him, wondering what had happened. Sirius looked uneasy, as if he didn't want to say anything that could get him in trouble. Finally, he said, "Hey, Harry, what are you doing up?"
"I, uh, had a nightmare, and I came down here to get some something to drink." Harry felt an urge to leave, so he followed his instincts. "I'll just be going now." And with that he went up the stairs and into his bedroom. He noticed that the sun was shining brightly from beneath the border of the horizon. He took of his glassed and got into his rumpled bed, and just laid there, facing his pillow, and breathing in the scent of his hair, until he had to come up for a breath from being smothered.
After two minutes, he heard the door creak open. He didn't look up, knowing it was either Sirius or the wind. He knew it was Sirius as he heard shuffling footsteps. "Harry? You all right?" he asked, coming into the room. Harry turned around to face Sirius.
"Yeah, I'm fine." He really didn't feel like discussing his dream, because he knew what the response would be. Sirius would just say that what happened wasn't his fault and no one blamed him because of it. Harry knew that. It wasn't his fault. It was like Sirius said, people just naturally feel guilty, even when they couldn't do anything about it.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked. Harry could see the tiredness in his eyes. He probably didn't want to talk at all; he was probably just being considerate.
"Nah, I'll be fine." He said. Sirius sighed, and came to the bed to sit down.
"Have you been having bad dreams a lot lately?" Harry supposed that once every two weeks wasn't really that big a deal, but he couldn't really be sure. It was more then he usually had, except for the time right before he went after the philosophers (AN: Sorcerers if you want to.) stone in his first year. Harry didn't want to lie, but he didn't want anyone worried about it either. It wasn't that big a deal- it was just that this dream had been so- lifelike. He could see the looks on their faces: the sneering, and the disappointment.
It wasn't the nightmares that bothered him, but that it seemingly had no solution. At least in first year, he had known that if he finally went down the trapdoor, the dreams would stop, but now- now his problems were in the past, and would haunt him incessantly.
"I- I'll be fine. I've got bigger things to deal with then nightmares." He said, hoping that he didn't sound to pathetic. Sirius's frown deepened. Apparently that wasn't the right thing to say either.
"Look," Sirius had a perturbed look, like he wished Harry would just come out and say what had happened, "If you don't want to tell me, you don't have to. I've had dreams before that I really would rather keep to myself; let alone, tell an adult. Next time I'm out I'll buy some dreamless sleep potion. That should get you to bed after a nightmare, but if you ever need to talk…"
Sirius seemed ill at ease. He must have considered that he had been out that night. Harry still wondered where he had been, but Sirius would say something had he wanted Harry to know. Plus, he would probably find out sooner or later anyway. Finally, Sirius continued, "Well, don't hesitate to knock, and if I'm not there, we'll talk when I get home."
Harry just gave him a look that said; 'whatever!' thought the prospect of dreamless sleep potion was good. Sirius ruffled his hair and gave his shoulders a squeeze, and then he left for his own room. Harry merely shrugged and rolled onto his side. Sirius was a cool godfather.
End Chapter IV-Dreams, cuts, and bitter hot chocolate
Once again, thank you all for reading. Even if you don't like my fic, can you review and insult me? I want to know how you think I'm doing with this…
Note to the readers: You will find out soon enough where Sirius was… well, maybe not soon, but you'll find out, or you'll figure it out. I hope you all weren't too confused with his cutting. He wasn't committing suicide, he was just cutting.
Notes to the reviewers:
A.Dee The Anglophile: Uh, wow meaning, good, or wow, like, whoa, that sucked? Or maybe somewhere in the middle? Yup, Harry is, er, he's being stupid! I mean, well, he's being an idiot, yes… but that's how I wrote the fic… he's acting stupidly. Anyway, thanks for your review- I think. I'm just kidding, you know I how much I luv you, and your fics… right? You know I would never kill Harry!
SarahPeach: Okay, there is obviously either some kind of conspiracy going on, or I'm just making a big deal out of something stupid, but it seems like the irony just never ceases! I got the idea of cutting from that episode of 7th Heaven! It was an old one, and I've just started watching the show recently, but I saw it on ABC family, and the idea stuck with me to do a fic, involving cutting. Is it a famous episode, or is there just something really creepy going on?
It was self-mutilation, but, well, it seems a lot worse when you call it that though. It sounds like your taking a saw and taking off some limbs (I was thinking Wormtail right then). Also, you mentioned about how Harry got pissed off cause Sirius called him girly. I was taking a trait of my best friend Matt. Whenever I insult his manhood, he freaks out, and his voice gets all high-pitched. It makes me laugh so much that I do it just to make him mad. (And no, he's not gay) The one thing that I have noticed with boys in my school is that the worst thing that you can do to insult their pride to question their sexuality, or masculinity; it just seems to be the age group, or maybe it's just all straight men everywhere!
The article wasn't really aimed at blaming him; it wasn't how it was phrased, it was what it said. He was reading between the lines. I wanted Ron's letter to be what caused him to question Sirius about it, but it didn't come out right. I was kind of worried about how the readers would take to the whole Dursley thing because they treat him so bad, he doesn't seem like he would stand up for them, so I was trying not to focus so much on them, but how he feels like he's putting his friends in Jeopardy, so that's why he felt so accountable.
Congrats on the success of your prom! I'm happy for you. I hope your friend doesn't have tetanus.
Next chapter: (It may be out anytime in the next week) PDA's and a TV. Harry goes out ot Diagon alley, meets some people, witnesses some interesting events, and above all, buys a TV. That reminds me, if any of you British people out there can tell me what it is you watch, I would be grateful. Right now, I know that you have the Simpson, and Who's Line is it Anyway over there, but if I'm not told, then I'm just gonna assume that you watch the same things we do.