----
Ron remembered that his mum had been cooking when he had burst into the kitchen, crying and cradling his dead puffskein. The four year old's face had been nearly as red as his hair when he had stammered out,
"M-mum, he's dead."
Molly had been in the middle of preparing dinner for nine and replied absentmindedly,
"Oh, that's nice dear."
Ron was so taken aback by his mother's unsatisfactory response that he actually stopped crying for a moment. He resumed with admirable intensity.
"B-but Mum, Albie's dead."
Molly stopped chopping peppers, put her wand on the counter, and looked down properly at her youngest son. Kneeling, she gently took the lifeless pet from his arms and examined it all over. There was no escaping it. The poor creature had snuffed it and her baby boy was heartbroken and staring at her as if she could raise the tiny beast from the dead.
"Ron, come here and sit down at the table with me."
He complied and Molly temporarily vanished the puffskein and sat with him, pulling him onto her lap. She surveyed Ron with an expression of love and pride which only a mother can wear. She pulled the hair out of his eyes and let her hand drop to cup his round cheek.
"Oh, Ronnie, I'm sorry about your pet. I know you cared about him a great deal. You must know that nothin lives forever. You only get the things you love for a short while."
Molly's touch had a great effect on Ron. His stormy tears were gradually subsiding into light hiccups.
"But I wanted Alb-bie to live forever, and now he's not h-here anymore."
He screwed up his face to cry again but Molly took his hand and said,
"Now Ron, do you want to remember his death, or do you want to remember the happy times you had with him?"
"The h-happy times."
"Alright, I've an idea."
Molly looked around the room furtively, and leaned very close, whispering in his ear,
"Can you keep a secret, Ronnie?"
Ron's tearful eyes sparkled with excitement as he said,
"Y-yes I can, Mum!"
"We're going to have a little party, just you and I. Don't tell the others, this is a big secret just for the two of us."
Ron had cottoned on to the importance of the secret, and whispered back,
"What'll we do?"
"Well, we're going to have a cookie each, and maybe a glass of hot cocoa. And you're going to tell me the funniest thing you remember about Albie. And then, I'll tell you a really good story about your Uncle Gideon and Uncle Fabian. But remember, this is just for you and me."
Ron was smiling brightly as they got up from the table to prepare for the big secret, and whispered,
"Mum, can I ask you something first?"
"Anything, love."
"Can Ginny can come too?"
Molly grinned before swooping down and catching up her little boy. She twirled him around and blew a raspberry onto his neck, answering him,
"Of course Ginny can come."
----
Harry stared out the window, looking at the brick wall and roof of the tenement building across from them. The day was dark and dreary, not uncommon in London. He could smell that dinner was going to be ready soon which meant that Hermione or Ginny would shortly come by his room and tell him it was time to eat. The aroma of slowly roasting chicken did not, however, arouse his interest. He had no appetite. Even when he was feeling hungry, he would remember Sirius and the hunger was painfully knocked away, replaced by a choking feeling in his throat.
He tried very hard to act normally, but he was upset and angry. Fred and George would often come by and Harry would almost forget Sirius for a while, but whenever that happened he would freeze and think, 'What am I doing? It's only been a month since Sirius died, and here I am, laughing as though it hadn't happened.' He would retreat into himself if he felt he was forgetting too much. He never wanted to forget Sirius. He never wanted to forget the strong, brave man who had died because of Harry's laziness. He found himself wishing a thousand times a day that he had worked harder at Occlumency.
Harry's head shot up as he heard a floorboard creak. Looking under the door, he saw a shadow flit away and knew that someone had been watching him. It was probably Ron. Unlike Hermione, Ron had not tried to get Harry to talk about anything. Ron would invite him to play a game of Wizard's Chess or Gobstones, would attempt ordinary converstion, but instead of hounding Harry, he would accept each rejection without repeating the offer. Harry appreciated this but never said anything to him about it. But even through all that, Harry knew that Ron was worried about him. He would often see Ron looking at him as though he wanted to say something but he never did.
Harry felt bad for keeping things from Hermione and Ron, but was slightly comforted by the knowledge that they were hiding things from him as well. They had all changed somehow that night in the Department of Mysteries. Ron had never had nightmares before, and now he was constantly plagued by them. Sometimes if he was taking a nap, he would wake up suddenly looking shaken. Then, like clockwork, Mrs. Weasley would find him, carrying a potion for Ron to drink. Harry knew that something had happened when the brain attacked Ron; he had wondered whose brain it was. He had known that it was serious when Madam Pomfrey had taken Mrs. Weasley alone into her office to talk about Ron's injury. Every morning and night, Ron had to swallow potions and medicines from a vial and Harry would always look away. He sometimes wondered about it, but Ron wasn't telling and Harry wasn't asking.
Hermione was as bookish as ever, and studied feverishly since she had arrived for the summer. Ginny would often have to pry books from her if she wanted to turn the light off at night. Hermione trying to learn as much as she could about the Order and what Voldemort was doing now. She plagued the Order members for information, and had even sunk to trying to use Fred and George's Extendable Ears once at an important meeting. She tried to get Harry to talk about what he was thinking and feeling, sometimes joined by Ginny, so the summer had turned into Harry using every device in his power to avoid meaningful conversations with anyone.
Harry hated being here. He hated every beam of the house and wanted nothing more than to destroy the whole thing, but Sirius had left it to him. He owned it now. Of course, he let the Order keep on using it just as they had all year. Since the house was now his, he could have slept in the master bedroom if he wanted, but continued to share a room with Ron. He wanted to be back at Hogwarts, away from this house which was a constant reminder or his godfather. But at the same time, he didn't want to leave this house for fear of forgetting him. Once when he had been dreaming about the veil, he woke up and thought he saw Sirius in the doorway. Half asleep, he had run to follow him and tripped on the nightstand. The fall had skinned the palms of his hands, shaken the sleep from his brain and reminded him of the fact which had been throbbing through his mind every moment since that night: Sirius was dead.
Sirius was dead, and it was his fault.
----
Just a short story idea I had, it's not going to be very long.
Hope you enjoyed.
Allyson