Harry lay down on his bed and he stared at the ceiling, thinking. Mixed emotions swelled through him, each deeper and more complex than the last. He was asking himself the questions that he had not asked any other person and he found his answers to be blurry and unsure. He was attempting to convince himself with solid evidence, not just emotion and beliefs, that there was a hope that his Godfather Sirius Black still lived. But he was just going in circles like he had all summer—he had no real proof to convince himself with. From his right his thoughts were disturbed as a scratching sound came from his window. He looked up to see Hedwig unsuccessfully attempting to claw the window open from the outside. He opened up the window and she reproachfully screeched at him then unceremoniously dropped a letter onto his head. He couldn't remember ever seeing this writing before—it wasn't Hagrid's messy scrawl, Hermione's tiny neat handwriting, Ron's messy print, or—He stopped. Or like Sirius's. He began reading the letter written upon the parchment.

Harry,

I know that you do not by any means want to listen to me right now. I fully understand that you would tear up this letter and throw the remains in the fire because I am going to tell you about a matter you do not want to hear.

I also know how difficult it must be for you to lose Sirius.

Harry paused reading at the name. He didn't want to read the rest of the letter, just as the writer had said he wouldn't. No one could understand what it was like for him to lose Sirius and no one had the right to talk to him about it. No one knew how painful it was when someone said that he was dead—after all, he couldn't be. No one understood fully the pain that seared his heart whenever the name was brought up. No one knew the abyss that had opened when he'd lost Sirius. No one. He managed to—barely—focus his gaze onto the parchment and he continued to read.

I terribly miss him as well. But, Harry, do not believe that this isn't so. I knew him longer than you did

Harry bitterly laughed. Hagrid had said the same thing to try to comfort him—the words meant nothing to him. No one had cared as much about Sirius as he had.

and I cared about him nearly as much as you do. I went to school with him; don't you remember me telling you that? But you have to know some things and have someone to talk to about his disappearance and listen to another. Sirius was a very good friend of mine, Harry. I will not tell you that he would be satisfied with how everything turned out—because he wouldn't. For one thing, he would definitely not have wanted to lose to Bellatrix, his cousin. He would not have wanted to been kept tight in his house for so long, the very one he'd grown up in. And, mostly, he would not have been satisfied with how he's separated from you. I know that this probably isn't helping—but there was—and still is—nothing you can do to change the events of everything.

Just know, Harry, that you are not alone in this world nor in this raging war. Your friends will always be there for you, and, I shall as well.

We have both lost the same people who had much importance in our lives. We've both lost different people as well—as have many of your friends. Your parents and Sirius were all wonderful friends of mine. There were hundreds of times we were together and laughed. You hardly knew your parents and you were only beginning to unravel Sirius. I knew them all like I would a brother, believe me, I have felt your pain. But they are all proud of you nonetheless. Neville's parents were tortured until they cracked—he's lost people too. Ron's brother, I believe his name is Percy, is no longer who he once was; he is now greedy for power such as the kind the Ministry can provide. Luna Lovegood lost her mother (you probably wonder how I know this, but I do and it doesn't matter why). Hagrid lost many as well. Dumbledore lost your parents, and Neville's among many more close friends. My point is that we've all tasted pain and something more terrible than death, at times. We would all come together and help you with your burden. We could all try to help each other a bit.

Harry, Sirius may be gone, but you still have friends who will gladly help you bridge your gap, if you'd only let them. I'd like it if you could reply; if only to know you did not do as I suggested you might. It pains me as well to speak of Sirius but it has to be done if I'm to remain sane,

Lupin.

Harry read the letter a few times but he didn't know why. It was as if a small hope that someone genuinely did understand what he felt like. He had wanted someone to understand how much that it had hurt—but he still felt oddly isolated and alone. After all, it would all come down to him and Voldemort, wouldn't it? In the end it was down to them. "Neither can live while the other survives," wasn't that what Professor Trelawny had said? Dumbledore had confirmed that one would have to kill the other. A cold, sickening feeling came to his stomach as he wondered why his life would either include or end in murder. But Lupin was right; there were other people, people very close to him that had suffered losses. He wasn't alone. Then his thoughts came back to a conversation he had had with Luna before the Year-End Feast.

"Anyway… why aren't you at the feast?"

Harry shrugged. "Just didn't feel like it."

"No," said Luna, observing him with those oddly misty, protuberant eyes. "I don't suppose you do. That man the Death Eaters killed was you godfather, wasn't he? Ginny told me."

Harry nodded curtly, but found that for some reason he did not mind Luna talking about Sirius. He had just remembered that she, too, could see Thestrals.

"Have you…" he began. "I mean, who… has anyone you known ever died?"

"Yes," Luna said simply, "my mother. She was quite extraordinary witch, you know, but she did like to experiment and one of her spells went rather badly wrong one day. I was nine."

"I'm sorry," Harry mumbled.

"Yes, it was rather horrible," said Luna conversationally. "I still feel very sad about it sometimes. But I've still got Dad. And, anyway, it's not as though I'll never see Mum again, is it?"

"Er—isn't it?" said Harry uncertainly.

She shook her head in disbelief.

"Oh, come on. You heard them, just behind the veil, didn't you?"

"You mean…"

"In that room with the archway. They were just lurking out of sight, that's all. You heard them."

They looked at each other. Luna was smiling slightly. Harry did not know what to say, or to think; Luna believed so many extraordinary things… yet he had been sure he had heard voices behind the veil too.

Did that mean that, seeing as how no one else had heard the whisperings besides Luna, Neville, and him, that only if you'd seen someone die you could hear beyond the archway? Was that who was whispering? Was he actually hearing the whisperings of Cedric and other people who had died? Did that mean that it was like a bridge between life and death? It was a way to get to those who had died… and it was a way for them to speak to the living? Was Sirius alive, walking among dead people trapped by the veil, or was he dead? If he were back at the archway would Harry be able to hear Sirius whispering? If he walked through the veil what would happen? Harry looked out of his window and sighed, knowing that he was getting more questions than answers.

It had only been four years ago that there had been bars on that window, and he'd awoken to see the red haired Weasley twins and Ron in a flying car. The next year he'd met Sirius and believed him to be the man responsible for his parents' deaths. How could he have ever doubted Sirius in the short time that he'd known him? At least he and Hermione had saved him in the end, with the help of her Time Turner—wait! If he could get his hands on a time turner and spin it enough times he could save Sirius… He could do something! Excitedly he jumped over to his desk and pulled out a piece of parchment and his quill. Hurriedly he scrawled:

Hermione,

Do you still have your Time Turner? If you do, could I borrow it?

Harry.

He then sent Hedwig off to deliver his message to Hermione.