Hmmm, I do rather enjoy cliff-hangers, don't I? My sincerest apologies, I never realized that I leave people hanging at the end of just about every chapter. I think it's just natural. I guess I'm going to have to work on that.

Anyway, I'm asking for honest feedback on the full story so far on this next chapter, all right? Please give me real juicy reviews because, well, as you know, everyone loves those. Also, I'm open to suggestions. My muses, Sirius and Remus (yes, they are my official muses for Harry Potter stories) seem to have taken a very long tea break and I'm left in the dry dust over here wondering what the heck I'm going to pull up next for you folks.

Many thanks to the reviewers. I appreciate all of your kind words.


Harry did not meet Ron's gaze that morning.

His conversations with anyone were brief and delicately worded. No one asked about the bruise on his jaw or the knot on his temple so Harry assumed Ron had already told the story of their row upstairs. He dismissed the concerned glances cast at him from all Weasleys and took to reading the rest of his book on the Dark Arts in the secluded study near the back of the Burrow. Everyone was wise enough to leave him well alone for most of the day. Even Ginny kept her distance, though part of Harry wished she hadn't. Still, the space was a relief that Harry had been in need of for some time. The Weasleys were wonderful, and the closest thing to a family Harry knew, but he needed his liberty. There were times when he just wished he could leap onto his broomstick and soar to nowhere in particular and linger there for hours. Of course, no one would allow such a thing. With Voldemort nearing full power and his followers growing in number and strength, allowing Harry out on a solo evening broom ride would be the equivalent of painting a very large target on his chest and placing him in the center of a Death Eaters' convention. At least in the eyes of his paranoid protectors and friends it would be.

Unfortunately, Harry could not argue that no matter where he went, trouble or attention always followed. It was simply for his protection, and he knew that as well as anyone. Unfortunately, the vigilant eyes of so many came as more of a bother than a relief, and part of Harry wished to just get his final encounter with Voldemort over with, regardless of the outcome. At least then everything would be over in one sense or another.

That thought caused Harry to stop reading for a moment. He lifted his gaze and peered at the wall. Someone looking in on him might have thought he had just suddenly been fixated with the thing, but that wasn't the case. Harry's mind was entirely somewhere else. The thought, the very possibility of death had lingered in the back of Harry's mind since the hour Sirius had gone. What he hadn't considered, however, was what he might do were he victorious.

Such a thing seemed unlikely, though Harry knew well enough that he had once before vanquished Lord Voldemort as a mere infant. The likelihood of it happening again was not feasible to him. But what if he did win out over Voldemort? What if he succeeded in killing him? Then what? What would life be like for him? Avenging the dead did not bring them back. From the moment Voldemort ceased taking breath, his mother and father would still be very much dead, and Sirius would remain forever lost to him. The question that had haunted Harry the other night in his dream came back now in the waking world, and the fact that Harry had no answer was both unnerving and depressing.

What do I have to live for?

As hard as it was for Harry to swallow the tears that were pressing at the back of his eyes, he somehow managed it. When he forced himself to look up, he was fortunate enough to spy, of all things, the clock nearest him. It was closing in on twelve o'clock, and everyone had gone to bed. Harry sighed and closed the book, rubbing his dry, tired eyes with the palms of his hands. Everyday was becoming a personal battle to hold on to his sanity, and everyday Harry's grip loosened on the end of that rapidly fraying rope. It wasn't fair, but Harry was used to that.

It was the lingering pain that made the simplest points of existence so hard.

"You must hate me," Harry said, not looking up from where his face was nested in his hands. Something in his head had slipped out of place, and Harry was talking not to an empty chair near the fire, but the shadow of a memory that he had buried in his head.

"How could I hate you?" said the memory. "After all I've done for you, how could you ever think that?"

"Then why did you leave?"

A sad smile came across that worn face. Harry looked up and saw the ethereal shadow of his godfather sitting before him, just as casually as ever; as if they'd been living together at Grimmauld Place all this time. It wasn't real, simply a manifestation between Harry's grieving heart and his exhausted mind. It was real enough, however, to give Harry a few moments of pure comfort. He allowed himself the illusion of words he'd never gotten the chance to speak to Sirius when they were alone.

"And before you tell me you haven't left me, don't. You can spare me that if you don't mind."

To Harry's surprise (even though it was his illusion he had made) Sirius laughed. "All those nightmares catching up with you?" Harry nodded. "You shouldn't think on them."

"How can I not? In every damn one I see your face; I hear your voice; I feel your presence. Tell me how to dismiss that, Sirius! Tell me!"

Much to his dismay, Sirius only shook his head. "I don't know what to say Harry, just that you need to let go."

"I can't let go," Harry argued. "You're all I ever had to hold on to."

"So everyone keeps saying," Sirius stated with a knowing grin. Harry frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"You think you can't do it without me, when you never thought back on all those years you did do it without me."

"That was different," said Harry as he started up on the defense. "I didn't know I had something to hold onto then."

"So why is it different now, Harry?"

He sighed. "Because I had something wonderful given to me, and then suddenly, just when I had grown accustomed to the idea of your presence, of having something like a family, you were taken away." He paused. "I feel like life is just taunting me. I get something good and then it's ripped away, and all the while I hear a little voice inside my head saying 'You lose again, Harry.'"

It was Sirius' turn to sigh. "You haven't lost, Harry."

"Not yet."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Harry shook his head. "You told me once, that I didn't understand. That there were things worth dying for." He paused again, trying desperately to find the right words. "If I didn't understand then, I do now. You were worth dying for Sirius."

"No, I wasn't," Sirius argued, pointing a finger in Harry's direction. "Nothing is worth your life."

"That's your biased opinion," Harry snapped.

Frustration flared in Sirius' eyes. He gritted his teeth for a few seconds before finding his words. "Mine and the opinions of at least a dozen other people, and that's not even counting the Weasleys."

"Let's not then and leave it at a dozen."

"Why are you so against it? You'rr fifteen, going on sixteen, according to the books you should fear death."

"What books, Sirius? And you can't fear something you've stared in the face, especially if you've done so more than once."

"Voldemort doesn't count the same as death."

"Then I can still name experiences of staring death in the face. Pick a time and I'll tell you the story."

"It's late. You should wait."

"What's the matter, don't want to hear about it?"

Sirius frowned. "Maybe I don't."

"Pity."

"Harry?"

He jumped and turned to find Ron staring wide eyed at him from the threshold of the study.

"What is it?" Harry asked, not bothering to hide the bitterness in his voice.

Ron bit his lip, glanced around the room, then allowed his gaze to fall back on Harry. "Who are you talking to?"

"Myself," he answered sardonically. "What do you want?"

Ron didn't answer. He slipped away from the door and went back to bed, or so Harry guessed.

"You need to work on your relationships a bit more."

Harry's eyes rounded in the imagined Sirius for the last time that night.

"As if you're one to talk. Why don't you go find a curtain and fall through it or something?" With that he stormed out.


The next day, Harry retreated once more to the study in the back of the burrow. He continued on with his reading for most of the morning and early afternoon when a light knock rapped on the door.

"May I come in?"

It was Remus.

"Yes, of course."

The door creaked open and snicked shut behind him. Remus cleared his throat, making very few motions. None of them very fast or eager. Harry frowned. "I don't bite, you know. You can take a seat."

Remus forced a laugh. "That's not what I've heard." He took a seat hesitatnly across from Harry.

"Well I suppose that would depend upon the credibility of your source," Harry said shrewdly. He let his book drop to the floor and peered intensely at his old school professor. "You're not here for a happy 'Howdy-do' are you?"

A thin and steady stream of air hissed through Remus' teeth. He seemed tired and worn. The lines in his face emphasized by a brow creased in growing concern. Without a word needing to be spoken, Harry realized that he already knew what Remus was trying to bring himself to say.

"I was informed this evening of your, erm, episode earlier today." Remus paused, fiddling with a fraying thread on his sleeve. The action annoyed Harry, and he wished that Lupin would just get on with it. "I don't think I need to tell you that we're all worried about you."

"No, you don't," Harry said shortly. "Is that all?"

Remus frowned. A flicker of annoyance crossed his eyes, both surprising and intriguing Harry, though he wasn't sure why.

"Molly wants to take you to see a healer at Mungo's."

It was Harry's turn to frown. "I'm not ill."

"Yes, you are."

His frown deepened. "Am I?"

Remus sighed before continuing. "In a sense. There are different kinds of illness, Harry."

"You all think I'm going mental, don't you?"

Lupin's eyes shot a firm glare in Harry's direction. "We're all going mental, if you want to use that terminology, Harry," he spat. "But you're taking it worse than anyone. We want to help you because we care about you."

Harry fell silent. He didn't want to argue that statement. He wasn't certain that he could. A look of bemusement fell across Remus' features. He stood from his chair and kneeled beside Harry, taking the boy's shoulder in his right hand.

"You've been through a lot, Harry. Too much, especially for someone so young. But you can't keep hiding behind a curtain of denial. You're going to have to accept that Sirius is gone."

Harry stood, not comfortable with the gesture Remus had bestowed upon him. The other night they'd wept side by side beneath a nighttime sky...now Harry was finding it difficult to even look at his old professor.

"I have accepted, Remus," Harry snapped quietly. "The fact is, Sirius won't let go of me."

Remus frowned, standing before Harry with his arms crossed over his chest. His brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"He haunts me!" Harry nearly bellowed. "Every waking moment and every night when I try to sleep. I hear his voice at breakfast when I'm talking to Ron and Ginny! I feel his presence when I'm alone in this study! I feel his arms when I'm sleeping and I hear him calling my name! I'm not the one who needs to let go; it's him!"

Remus' face paled noticeably, even in the dim lighting of the study. He stiffened and exited the room with Harry's eyes following after. A few moments later, Remus returned. His outdoor robes, and Harry's, folded over his arms.

"Let's go."

"Where?" Harry asked, his brow furrowed as anger crept into his chest.

"To Mungos. You're worse than I expected."