Black Veil

Rubbing his head tiredly, Sirius leaned back against the wall of Buckbeak's room and sighed.

He'd given Harry the mirror over five months earlier. And he hadn't heard a single word from his godson. Not one letter, not one contact. Only a firecall when he was afraid of what his father had been like as a child.

Nothing.

He knew he was being far too hard on the boy – hadn't Harry had to look out for himself for twelve years already? That would be a hard habit to break – but he felt so very useless. He knew quite well that Harry cared about him.

If only for a moment…. It would have been nice to feel needed.

It had felt wonderful to feel needed. He remembered that moment when he had asked Harry to come live with him, that glorious moment when he had known his freedom was coming soon…

He'd scarcely felt more needed in his life. Or more wanted.

And he'd scarcely felt so since then.

What good was he to Harry, anyway? He was constantly in hiding – a prisoner here – and if he left to help the boy, well, he'd end up making things worse! Whatever Snape might say, he wasn't going to get himself thrown in Azkaban – or worse – again. He wasn't that selfish.

He didn't know if Harry needed him. He really didn't. But that… that was alright.

He knew he needed Harry. The boy was the only thing in the world that still gave him a sense of purpose.

Picking up another ferret, he tossed it absently in Buckbeak's direction.

He looked up when the door opened, ready to call out an absent but uninviting greeting to the person invading his space –

–and froze when Remus stepped through the doorway.

He didn't have to ask. He knew when he saw the look on Remus's face, his shuttered eyes. He knew what had happened.

But still, he asked. "What?"

Remus closed his eyes and said the word Sirius had dreaded most. "Harry."

Shooting to his feet, Sirius grabbed Remus's arm in a pincer-like grip. "Dead?" he choked out, paling.

"No," Remus replied sharply. "Ambushed."

"Where? When?" Sirius gasped, tightening his grip, but Remus didn't flinch.

"Department of Mysteries. Now."

"The Department–" Sirius repeated. "Prophecy?"

"Voldemort lured him there to retrieve it," Remus agreed. "Snape's in the kitchen with informa–"

Shoving Remus out of the way, Sirius raced down the stairs to the kitchen.

Snape sneered at him as he skidded into the room, Remus following only a few steps behind and carefully rubbing his wrist.

"Potter left the grounds of Hogwarts three hours ago, accompanied by five other students." Waving his wand, Snape conjured up pictures of Ron, Ginny, Hermione, a blonde girl Sirius didn't know and a boy who looked eerily like a cross between Frank and Alice Longbottom. "They departed via thestrals and are currently at the Department of Mysteries. Potter was lured there by the Dark Lord," he added darkly, "who sent him an image of Black–" Here, he glared at Sirius, "–being tortured in the Department of Mysteries. Specifically, Prophecy Hall. I was not summoned, but I suspect that there are at least a dozen Death Eaters who have ambushed the students. The Dark Lord has learned from his encounters with Potter, and has resolved to send excess help from now on."

"Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville and Luna against a dozen Death Eaters?" Remus repeated, cringing, and Snape nodded curtly.

"Right, then," Tonks spoke up quickly. "What are we waiting for? Let's go."

Remus, Kingsley, Moody and Snape exchanged dark looks.

"I've contacted Dumbledore," Snape said suddenly. "He's on his way here."

"Can't he meet us there?" Sirius asked anxiously. "Let's go!"

"Black, you can't go," Snape replied impatiently. "The thought of losing you sent Potter into such a frenzy that he lost whatever remained of his ability to think rationally. If you go, he's doomed."

"That's my godson you're talking about!" Sirius screamed. "We have to save him! Hang Voldemort, hang whatever goddamned prophecy everyone cares so much about and hang the Boy-Who-bloody-Lived! I'm going to save Harry!"

"You can't go to the fight anyway, Snape," Tonks pointed out. "You can wait here for Dumbledore."

"I'm going," Sirius said shortly, grabbing his coat off a nearby chair and flinging them over his clothes. "Anyone else?"

"Sirius," Remus began tiredly, "you can't–"

"Shut up, Moony!" Sirius barked.

Moony shut up.

PAINT IT BLACK

The sight nearly made his heart stop. There was the Longbottom boy, writhing on the floor, and Harry, was his hand outstretched, a glass sphere held out to Malfoy –

Racing forward, he jumped from step to step, his eyes focused on Harry as he shot spells at the Death Eaters.

He threw himself into the fray with a vengeance.

Only moments later, he saw Dolohov bearing down on Neville and Harry, his face twisted with malice and glee –

Racing forward, he rammed into Dolohov, sending him flying across the room.

The rest of the battle was a blur to him – he remembered Tonks falling, running forward to battle Bellatrix, the heady feeling that came from fighting the woman who had tortured the Longbottoms to insanity, who had attacked Lily in their sixth year –

"Come on, you can do better than that!" he shouted.

And then she did.

As the jet of light hit him right in the chest, he sighed inside. He'd gotten arrogant again. James had always told him that there was no place for arrogance in battle….

He fell.

As the Veil fluttered out of place, Harry's face flashed through his mind.

Harry.

He hadn't failed. Harry was alive.

Take that, Mother.