Feel

By: Lady DeathAngel

Disclaimer: not mine, not profiting, 'nuff said.

Warnings: angsty Harry

A/N: well, we'll just see where this leads. I'm thinking the next chapter will be the last and whether or not it wraps everything up will determine if there's sequel. In the meantime, thanks for the good feedback and here's another chapter for you.

Being back at Grimmauld Place was, quite possibly, the worst he had ever felt. Tiptoeing through the halls and into the room he shared with Ron was excruciatingly painful because, whereas last time he'd walked this hall Sirius had been somewhere in the building, living and breathing . . . now he was gone. He'd felt a fraction of it before. Sitting in the Great Hall after Cedric's death, looking over to the Hufflepuff's table and not seeing him and knowing that he would never see him again had been a bit like this. This sense of never-again.

Still, back with Cedric it had been different. He'd gone through those last few days in a fog. His mind worked a hundred miles an hour in a thousand different directions and he felt like he'd never felt before. Guilt waged with acceptance, fear with resignation. He would feel hollow one minute and the next he felt so much he wanted to just jump from the Astronomy tower and shut the voices up. He'd been too occupied with sorting things out and facing reality to really feel the impact of his death.

Now he knew exactly what death meant. And now it was more than just self-hate for being so damn noble and leading Cedric to his death. Then he'd been naive, young and blind-sided. But with Sirius . . . it was his fault. If he'd used the mirror or if he hadn't trusted Kreacher or if he'd gone to any professor rather than straight to a fire or if he'd gone back and pleaded with Snape to teach him more or if he'd used what he'd learned more efficiently . . . the list was endless.

Anyone could say it was Sirius' fault but he knew better. And being back in this house . . . the last place he'd ever seen his godfather alive . . . it was killing him inside.

It didn't help that people couldn't quite figure out what to do with him. Some, like Hermione, tried the 'non-coddle' approach. She was harsh and unrelenting and it really didn't help him any. Some, mostly Ron, tried the 'return to normal' approach. He would play games with him and talk about Quidditch and the new season and anything but death and darkness. Ron often wondered aloud why they'd wanted to rush so fast into it and he'd laugh in an un-happy way that just didn't fit him and say that it was funny because now they only wanted to return to days where they didn't know all the things they knew now.

Mrs. Weasley was probably the worst of anyone he'd dealt with. She had, sometime between the previous summer and now, developed Ron's lack of tact. Well, Ron could be more tactful than she could as long as he wasn't nervous. She tried the approach that combined everything. She wanted to be his mum. She'd tell him not to worry over things so much and be happy. She'd tell him it wasn't his fault and Sirius had been determined to rush to a glorious hero's death. She would coddle him while telling him to relax and not to blame himself. It was hard to handle.

He remembered the last summer when she'd said he was as good as a son to her. He'd been happy to hear that and it iced over her words. The ones that had almost demanded that Sirius keep a distance. Now he wished she'd let Sirius be what he wanted to be with him. Brother, friend, father figure . . . anything. He wished she hadn't always looked at him like he didn't deserve to be his godfather. He wished that whenever they'd laughed and had a good time she hadn't ruined it by making some comment about parenting or his father and mother.

He tried not to be resentful. For Ron and Ginny's sake. But it was hard because he wondered what it might have been like if he'd been able to freely accept what Sirius had to give without Mrs. Weasley and Hermione always saying he was too reckless or unfit to be his guardian . . . if they hadn't always made those inconsiderate comments about Azkaban and their third year.

Sometimes, late at night with Ron's snores wrapped about his senses, he'd wish that it could have been just him and Sirius and Remus. He could still remember the conversation in the fire and how happy he'd been. Not just happy as in that shallow feeling of being happy that didn't extend past a bright smile and slight warmth in the pit of his stomach. Instead it was the kind of happy that filled him and made him content and would have lasted ages if circumstances had been different.

He would fall asleep with that thought and he'd dream. In the dreams it was just the three of them, laughing and sharing stories. There weren't any well-meaning people lurking in corners to destroy what happiness they all deserved. But he always woke up to a world where Sirius was dead and Lupin was avoiding him. And he would go through the day trying his hardest to reign in the anger and bitterness. He would play with Ron or talk with Ginny and stomach the daily comments from random people about his animagus running amok and knocking things over.

Nyx, at least, was enjoying herself. And getting into loads of trouble. It was, he decided, rather amusing to watch Mrs. Weasley's reaction to the kitten's mischief. She would want to yell at Harry for being irresponsible, and she would. But then she would catch herself and go back to coddling him. Tonks hated her, mostly because she always found a way to trip her. Hermione thought she was pretty, but Nyx wasn't too fond of Crookshanks and, therefore, didn't care for Hermione much either. She tolerated Ginny because she played with her and she adored Ron who emphatically declared he didn't like cats, but would be found with her in his lap during a chess game anyway.

Sometimes she would disappear for hours and reappear to jump onto his shoulder and curl around his neck. She always smelled familiar but he couldn't place the scent and she was content enough to purr into his ear and relax him better than anything anyone else tried. Those times were the only ones she spent out of his sight not getting into sugar bowls and Ron's collection of Canons paraphernalia.

A week passed. A slow handing over of days that never got easier. He would round a corner and see something that looked like Sirius and turn with the biggest smile he'd ever had grace his features to find it was nothing. Some nights he just wanted to be alone and found himself in his room, sitting and staring at nothing. If he concentrated hard enough he could hear a barking laugh or a muffled curse and he could pretend that everything was as it had been.

It was unhealthy and stupid, but it was how he coped. A few times Ron suggested he talk to Lupin.

"I mean . . . he's the only who really knew Sirius so . . . maybe it would help." he'd said one afternoon.

"I disagree." Hermione replied. "He mopes about as much as you do Harry and you don't need that. He won't make you feel any better."

"But Hermione, he understands better than we do . . ."

She shut Ron up with a look and he sighed.

"It doesn't matter. He's avoiding me anyway. I haven't seen him since I got here."

"Well, that's all well and good then."

For her, perhaps. But not for him. Ron was right, he knew it. He knew that it was getting harder and harder for him to hold everything in. He'd already spent eleven years doing much of the same, never sharing his pain at the hands of the Dursley's, eventually pretending it wasn't that big a deal. This was too big for him to handle alone though. And despite the fact that he didn't want to get attached to Lupin and lead him to a death that was all his fault, he needed him.

Needed the man who had taught him to fight his fear. Needed the man who had first told him about his parents. The man who always seemed to know what to do and what to say and who was almost too easy to talk to.