Bookmark

By AmonVera

Disclaimer: I own NOTHING. Harry Potter and related characters belong to JK Rowling.

Am I just a bookmark in some book you'll never read?

You've never seen the truth around you,

You've never known it's me you need.

I'll be here when I'm wanted; I'll remind you where you are

I'll bring you back to Earth

You're always gone, so far…

I would be your salvation

If you would realize you need saving

But I'll be just a bookmark

In the only book that you're not craving…

Am I just a bookmark in a book you'll never see?

You'll find the truth in everything, when you're the one you'll never be.

He waited there for her. Well, obviously, she never came. But he was there. Waiting. What made him think she would come at all? What even possessed him to ask her presence? She hated him almost as much as he did. Silly. Just silly. Things are funny that way, aren't they? A lot of things about this day were funny. Any normal person who could hear him say it would have thought him heartless, or perhaps in denial. But, really, he couldn't remember any moment when he had understood…even accepted something so easily. With Lucius gone, maybe his life could be restarted now. Maybe now things could change…

A very distressed Harry Potter was sitting at a desk in the abandoned Gryffindor common room, scribbling away in a very old looking diary, desperately hoping that this last attempt at contacting his godfather would not be in vain. Up to this point, all the others had. After Sirius's death, Harry began to go into a sort of frenzy, despairingly poring through textbook after textbook at the start of his sixth year, looking for a way to bring the man back to him. Hermione, seeing through his suddenly secretive manner, understood what Harry was trying to do, despite how cautious he was, only reading late into the night when all were asleep, fibbing that he'd been landed with detention for Snape, when really he would dash off to the boys' dormitories to try his latest idea. Hermione had expected this, but soon Harry seemed to develop a kind of obsession. Even Quidditch couldn't lure him away from his desperation. She and Ron, deeply concerned for Harry, had almost managed to convince him that Sirius would never return from behind the veil, that he was gone forever. But one last idea, one last chance at contacting Sirius, had struck Harry that night while he lay in his four-poster, unable to sleep. He swore to himself, though, that this would be his last try; if this failed, he would let Sirius go. Ron and Hermione were right. But maybe…just maybe…

So there he sat, alone in the common room, reenacting an event from his second year in which he came across an old diary and was able to contact its previous owner, merely by writing in it. Harry, now seated in front of a similar looking book with a deep red cover and Sirius Black in gold letters embroidered at the top, did not begin by writing, "My name is Harry Potter" as he had in his second year, but began with "Hello, Sirius." Except, instead of waiting for a response, Harry was possessed by a fervor he had not known he had and could not seem to stop writing…and had no intention of doing so. Perhaps some bit of him knew there would not be a response as there had been the last time he communicated through a diary, because he who Harry had spoken to was, in fact, alive; Sirius was not. Perhaps it was this fact that kept Harry writing through the night and early into the next morning, so he wouldn't have to face the agonizing disappointment of realizing that his final idea had failed in one fleeting moment of silence. But eventually, Harry had to stop. It was time to stop. It was time to stop…it's time to…

"Harry…Harry come on, it's time to stop. You've had enough. He's gone Harry, and he's never coming back." It was Hermione. Ron was standing behind her, looking very worried. Harry, whose head had been rested on his arm as he slept, looked, bleary-eyed, at them both.

"What time is it?" He mumbled to no one in particular, squinting at his watch. It read 8:18. Thank goodness it was Saturday. How long had he been sleeping here…?

"Harry, listen. This has gone on long enough. Now, you're going to get up, take a shower, and then meet us in the Great Hall for breakfast. You need to start living like normal again," Hermione said sternly, reminding Harry a bit of McGonagall. He looked at Ron, ready to share an exasperated glance as they had done on so many occasions. To Harry's surprise, though, Ron nodded fervently in agreement with Hermione. Seeing no point in arguing, and feeling rather defeated anyway, Harry saw nothing for it, so he complied. Heading off to the boys' dormitories, Harry realized his left arm was virtually useless as his head had been on it the entire night. Figures. How big of a prat can you be? Why did I think it would work? Nothing else has…

"Malfoy Manner," he stated clearly as he had done often in the past, this time wondering how it would be to come out of the flames and not be greeted with pretentious welcome by his father. When he did step out of the blazing fireplace, he saw, with dull surprise, his mother, seated, as though awaiting his return. When he considered it, she probably was. She looked at him expectantly.

"Well?"

"Not many people came."

"Bellatrix?"

"She's in Azkaban, Mum."

"Oh yes…yes I'd forgotten…"

"How are you?"

"There's no need to make a scene, Draco."

"Mum, we're at home. It's just us, there's no one around." She looked away.

"Go into the kitchen until you've composed yourself. This is not a time for sniveling."

"I wasn't—"

She rose from her chair and walked away without a word, as Lucius had done often when Draco was a young boy, leaving him alone. She's right, you puny, worthless excuse for a Malfoy. You're no better than Potter. He loosened his tie and examined his reflection in the mirror above the drawing room fireplace. He made an attempt at a smirk, but it was to no avail; there was nothing for him to rejoice in here.

Draco secretly wished his leave of absence from Hogwarts could have been just long enough for him to attend the funeral and then begin his sixth year the very same hour. Being here sickened him, especially now. But Dumbledore, the old fool, had it in his head that Draco needed the time off to recover. So he was stuck in this place for the whole first week of term. It was Saturday though, so he would only have to bear the rest of the weekend. Only the weekend…yeah, only eternity…

A/N: Review please! Please, please!