What can I say? The HBP seems to have inspired me. BTW, I apologize in advance for this fic. Also, I'd like to thank everyone who has taken the time to review my other stories. I really appreciate it, it's great to know that people actually enjoy these.
Title: Not the Only One
Author: Erika
Rating: PG
Summary: Remus doesn't know how to help Harry cope with Sirius' death but he's standing in front of number four, Privet Drive, anyway.
Timeframe: Before the HBP.
Spoilers: Only if, by some miracle, you don't know who dies at the end of the OotP.
Category: POV, Angst
Disclaimers: Hogwarts and all of its characters belong to JK Rowling, I'm only borrowing them to have a little fun and I promise to return them unharmed (well, at least mostly unharmed). I'm making no money from this and this is written for entertainment purposes only.
Feedback: Both positive feedback and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated and will be cherished!
Archive: Please ask first.
Author's Note: Okay, this is just a short fic that I know, according to what was said in the HBP, didn't happen. This has just come about 'cause I would love for there to have been more interaction between Harry and Remus in that book, even if that interaction sucks (like this does).
Remus:
It never gets easier to lose someone that you love. I essentially lost James, Lily, Peter, and Sirius all in one night. Twelve years passed before I learned that the friend I lost to betrayal wasn't truly lost at all. It took nearly that entire length of time for me to truly grieve for them. It took nearly that entire length of time for me to overcome my guilt. Even still, I was left scarred and alone.
Now I've lost Sirius. This time there is no mistake. This time there is no coming back. This time he's really gone. Forever. Despite the fact that he was my best friend, despite the fact that he meant so much to me, I find myself wondering, hoping… Shouldn't it be easier this time around? Shouldn't it hurt less?
I've done this before. In a flash, four of my friends were ripped from me. Some by death. Some by grievous misunderstandings. When I first heard the news that the Potters were dead, that Sirius betrayed them, that Peter died trying to avenge them, I was in my flat. I remember leaning back against the wall and sliding down it until I was sitting with my knees drawn to my chest. I remember staying there for hours, too shocked and too horrified to move.
But I did move. Eventually, I did move. Eventually, I pulled myself together. Now, it's not so hard to think of James and Lily. Now, their faces and the multitude of memories I have of them don't fill me with pain. They'll always fill me with sorrow but sorrow is not so bad a thing. Sorrow, I can handle.
So why isn't this easier? It's Sirius but it's only one person? How can this be more difficult than before? How can this hurt so much? Why do I fear I'll never be able to think of Sirius and feel sorrow instead of only pain? Why does it seem like this is something I'll never recover from? Why do I feel like there's a hole inside me I have no hope of ever filling?
I don't know. One thing, however, is devastatingly clear. It never gets easier to lose someone that you love. If anything, it only gets harder. Oh, I've forced myself to move. I've forced myself to continue through each day as if I don't feel shattered inside.
I've erected a mask behind which I hide. That mask allows me to mechanically crawl through existence. I wake up every morning. I do my duty as a member of the Order of the Phoenix because there's a war coming and I have no other choice. I eat. I sleep. But always behind a mask, a mask that allows me to convince everyone that I'm all right, everyone except for myself.
Because it doesn't get easier to lose someone that you love.
That's why I don't understand why I'm here, standing in front of the door of number four, Privet Drive. What can I possibly hope to accomplish? How can I help Harry grieve when I cannot help myself? I'm damaged. I'm alone. I don't think I'll ever feel whole again. So how can I do anything for Harry?
I want to leave, I want to return to the new headquarters of the Order, but I don't move. I can't. I found an old picture in a photo album that I lent Sirius, hoping he might garner some comfort or joy from it. It was looking at that picture that brought me here. There were several other times when I almost came to visit Harry. I always convinced myself not to because I don't see how I can make him feel better. There's something about that picture, though… When I look at it, remember when it was taken, it makes me think that maybe I don't have to help him grieve. Maybe it'll be enough to show him that I care. I'm not his godfather, but I care.
"Professor?" A surprised, confused voice filters through my thoughts.
Turning slowly, I find myself facing Harry. He's standing at the bottom of the steps that lead to the front door. It's only been two weeks since I last saw him at the train station but I'm surprised that he's already lost weight under the Dursleys' care. I'm also taken aback by how weary he looks. There are dark circles under his eyes and as obvious as it is that he hasn't been sleeping well, that's not the tiredness that concerns me. He seems too emotionally drained and overwhelmed by sorrows and burdens that no person his age should shoulder.
"Harry," I acknowledge, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Is something wrong?" he asks. A hesitant glimmer appears in his eyes. Sadly, I realize that it is hope. "Have you come to take me to Grimmauld Place or the Burrow?"
"No, Harry, nothing's wrong and…" I wish I could tell him that he doesn't have to stay here any longer – I know how much he hates it – but I must. "And I'm sorry but no, I haven't come to take you away."
"Oh." He's clearly disappointed but doesn't say anything more.
"I wanted to talk to you," I tell him, walking down the steps and coming to stand before him. "I have something I want to give you. Why don't we walk a bit?" I gesture towards the sidewalk.
Obvious confusion furrows his brow but Harry nods his consent and within moments we are walking side by side down the street. For a few minutes I don't say anything. I'm not entirely sure what to say. I won't offer him false reassurances or meaningless expressions of sympathy. I won't tell him that I know how he feels or that he has to talk about this loss because talking will help. I won't lie to him or make it seem like I know what he has to do to accept this loss.
No. I won't do any of that. In the end, I can only be honest.
"I found this in a photo album this morning." I slip my hand inside my pocket and pull out two pictures. Glancing at them quickly, I give him the one that is of him and Sirius. He was nearly a year old when the picture was taken. It shows his godfather – features young and unblemished – rocking him to sleep.
Harry steps falter as he examines the moving image. His eyes immediately fill with sadness but a small smile flickers across his lips. I can tell that his hands are trembling but only because of the slight fluttering of the photograph. By the time he looks at me again, he's come to a complete stop. "Thank you, Professor," he murmurs sincerely. I'm not sure but I think he's seen what's so obvious to me when I look at the picture. Sirius loved Harry. He always loved Harry.
I smile faintly. "I also found this," I hold out the second photo, my true reason for paying this impromptu visit.
Curiously, Harry reaches out to take it from me. At first his expression is one of surprise. Then he actually grins and I can tell it's genuine. "This…this is you and me…"
I nod once. The picture shows me waving a rattle in front of an enraptured Harry – then only nine months old. "That rattle was the first present I bought for you, shortly after your birth. Sirius and your dad didn't think you'd like such a…er…boring toy but there were times when it was the only thing that would stop your crying."
Harry is clearly taken aback. "I knew that you knew my parents but I never– I thought it was just Sirius that knew me as a baby. I guess I should have realized… I just never thought about it. I thought it was only him that–"
"No, Harry," I interrupt mildly. "He wasn't the only one." Sirius wasn't the only one that cared for the son of James and Lily since the moment of his birth. He was the one chosen to be Harry's godfather because he was James' best friend. He was the one Harry quickly came to look to for guidance and support, perhaps for that same reason. He was never, however, the only one to care. We both loved James and Lily. How could we not love their child? "He was never the only one," I add softly.
Harry's smile slowly gives way to a more somber expression but I can see the gratitude and renewed fondness in his eyes. He doesn't respond but it doesn't matter. I can tell that I've accomplished my purpose. I haven't made it easier for him to remember Sirius, to grieve for him and overcome the guilt I know he feels, but I've at least shown him that I care and that he's not alone.
We won't ever connect the way he and Sirius did – I'm too withdrawn for that – but we don't have to. Any connection is better than nothing. Any connection will help him, especially while he's dealing with this loss. As we, by silent agreement, wordlessly continue our walk down Privet Drive, I realize that it may even help me as well. It'll only be the occasional visit, a few letters here and there, but it'll be enough to temporarily breach my solitude. And even a temporary breach is better than none at all.
THE END
Okay, it didn't at all come out the way I wanted but I had it in my head and I had to get it out. Sorry.