December 19, 2004

OK... sort of getting back to where the plot begins. In the end, lets hope this is more than the, ah, what was it..? Ah yes, "meaningless drabble". Oh, and by the way, to my lovely flaming reviewer, forgive me if I don't even make an effort to flame you back. You see, I'm not a small person who needs to put people down, nor am I a coward to hide behind an anonymous name. If you're going to be a jerk, at least have the decency to post your user name, so I can see whether or not you can write.

Rant finished. Thank you to everyone else who has posted a review on this. You don't have to like it, so long as you're nice!!!

Luv XTINE

Chapter 4: Car Crash of a Heart

Harry leaned against the cold stone wall, drawing his knees up and burying his head in his hands. Snow drifted in through the open windows, tiny crystalline flakes that drifted into small piles on the rough wooden planks, and swirled in small spirals when caught by the wind.

High in the rafters above the silent boy, owls rustled their wings, hooting quietly as they fluffed up their feathers and huddled together for warmth.

Sniffling, Harry lifted his head long enough to peer at the feathered bodies through tear-blurred eyes, searching for the flash of white that would indicate the presence of Hedwig, but all he could see were endless rows of grey and brown.

Despairing, Harry leaned his head back against the wall, allowing the fluttering snow to settle on his cheeks, melting there, and blending with his tears. He wished suddenly, violently, that he could just fly away from Hogwarts whenever he wanted to – just like the owls. Using a broomstick just wasn't the same…it was cheating, somehow. He just wanted to fly away, just like Hedwig…just get away.

Rising from his huddled corner, Harry stood in front of one of the giant holes in the wall, feeling the winter wind lash sharply at his face. It wasn't like Hedwig to be out this late; she loved to be inside on her perch when she wasn't out delivering a message. She had only ever been gone this late when trying to find Sirius.

That thought carried with it a fresh wave of misery. Harry slumped back down onto the floor, pulling from his pocket the small mirror that his uncle had given to him last year. Too late, Harry had learned what it was for; too late did he learn to keep it with him. It was worthless now; the owner of its match was…was dead.

And it was his fault.

In a sudden fit of utter hopelessness, Harry flung the mirror from him, watching it flash briefly in the scarce moonlight as it spun across the floor. Then he screamed. Screamed with all the rage and hurt and utter loneliness that had been festering in his heart since the day his Godfather had fallen through that curtain and out of his life.

Sirius' death had been much harder than that of his parents, or even of Cerdic. Sirius had been… had been his friend, his confidant. If not like a father himself then at least like an uncle, or a big brother. Someone Harry could talk to.

Like family, or as close as Harry had ever come to having a family.

But he hadn't confided in him when he should have, no, he had been stupid, and proud, and ungrateful. He hadn't told Sirius about those dreams; he hadn't listened closely enough to Snape, he had persisted in being arrogant.

He had been used by Voldemort.

And he had gotten the only family he had left killed.

Now he was completely alone, hiding in the empty, draughty expanse of Hogwart's Owlery, hiding from the only two people he had ever called his friends, because he couldn't stand the thought of the two of them together.

Together, leaving him by himself.

He wasn't stupid; he knew how those things worked. Threes in friendship were never good; it was almost inevitable that people would end up taking sides, two against one. But when two of those three were a couple, then the third person just ceased to be important. It led to secrets, and stolen kisses out of sight on the roof of the Astronomy Tower.

He didn't want to be left alone. When he had first arrived at Hogwarts, he had been alone. He never wanted to go back to that small, grey, dreary feeling.

Gently, Harry pulled the mirror out of the small snowdrift it had buried itself in, brushing away the flakes that had settled on the mirror's silvery surface with the sleeve of his robes.

If only he could talk to Sirius, then everything would be all right. Sirius had helped him pull through his fourth year, when Ron had been pissed off at him; he would know what to do now. Harry would listen to him this time.

If only he could talk to him….

He didn't hear the footsteps until too late.

TBC!!

Please leave a review and tell me what you think so far!! Should I find either the time or the inclination, this one could be finsihed in another chapter or two!

Xtine the Pirate. Arrrrrr.