Broken

Broken

I wanted you to know that I loved the way you laughed

I wanna hold you high and steal your pain away

I keep your photograph and I know it serves me well

I wanna hold you high and steal your pain

Coz I'm broken when I'm lonesome

And I don't feel right when you're gone away.

Harry had been in this place before, or so it seemed to him. Sure, this room he had walked on looked nothing like any of the Dursleys', but even as he stood on the threshold, clutching his trunk with Hedwig's cage on top, he couldn't help but feel that the place was familiar - like some place he'd seen but didn't notice before or something. Then again, it could have been simply the fact that he was dreaming (and indeed hoping) that he'd be in a place like this, probably out of the desire to have somewhere else to be, to live in, away from prying Muggles - some place he can call a home.

That must have been it. And like waking out of a trance, Harry started bringing his belongings inside the house. Finally, after 15 years of misery at Privet Drive, he finally had a place to live in - and with the Dursleys gone, no less! No more scornful remarks about him being abnormal, and there won't certainly be any sneaking around with owls or doing homework anymore. He was starting to have a decent home and living at last, all thanks to ...

Looking around, Harry's thoughts turned to the person with all the credit for this - the very person that made all this possible. Upon examining the place he found on the mantelpiece a framed photograph. Walking closer to it he saw what was in the picture, and then smiled. Just like what he had promised, he thought, fighting down the urge to laugh. He could have cried with mirth at the sight of the photo, inside this house, on that fateful day. Only one thing, or person, was missing, and where was he? Then it hit him.

Harry crossed the living room, passed the bathroom that came after, went up the staircase to the upper floor and into a plain brown door that must lead to the bedroom. With no hesitation he opened it then went inside.

Incredibly, the room was considerably larger than what it should be. It seemed more like a chamber actually, lined with staircases encircling the sides going all the way down. Further in he descended the dark deserted room, looking into its center. Upon reaching it he realized it was an archway on a dais, a black veil just covering the view of the other side. And in his very eyes he saw, falling into it, disappearing into the blackness within -

"SIRIUS!" Harry yelled. "SIRIUS!"

"THAT'S IT!"

Darkness met Harry's eyes. He reached into the gloom as he sat up. He moved his arms desperately as though to catch something - something falling, but it was to no avail. All he could hear (with him being obviously blind at the moment) were loud stomps of footsteps headed for his way. Without warning, a door opened, revealing a very purple bur pouchy-eyed Vernon Dursley.

"WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO DO, BOY? WAKE THE BLOODY HELL OUT OF US?! LET ME REMIND YOU, YOU - DO - NOT - HAVE -A - SINGLE - RIGHT TO DO ANYTHING WITHOUT OUR PERMISSION! AS IF WE HAVEN'T GOT ENOUGH TO HANDLE WITH YOU AND YOUR ABNORMALITY UNDER OUR ROOF -"

Reality slapped like hell - Harry was in his bedroom all the time, and now, getting yelled at by his uncle. He sighed into the dim interior of the room, the light only coming from the hallway outside. It was obviously the after midnight.

Just as he thought about it, he knew that things - including moments without the Dursleys, and even fantasies of him being away from them - were simply too good to be true. Heck, he may only exist because he was doomed to experience misfortune - being set apart from others, near-fatal accidents, loss - all (from what he had observed) just to make things happen as they were foretold. Maybe there wasn't anything good in store for him, although at this rate death could be sweet if it came for him, finally ending all misery.

Harry sighed again. So it had been a dream.

"- AND THOSE FREAKS YOU CALL WIZ- " Uncle Vernon stopped in midthought at the word "wizards", then changed his choice of words - "WEIRDOS THREATENING US ALL OVER THE PLACE, AS IF THEY CAN COMAND ME LIKE A FOOL, JUST BECAUSE THEY HAVE THOSE STICKS FOR WEAPONS -"

Harry's mind was still reeling. He couldn't have cared less if his uncle went ranting on until morning, but then -

"- NOT TO MENTION THAT MURDERER OF A GODFATHER YOOU HAVE, AND THOSE - WEESLEYS - OR WHOEVER THEY ARE, I CAN'T BELIEVE WE'RE CONNECTED TO SUCH KIND OF PEOPLE, YOUR WHOLE LOT OF CRACKPOTS REALLY- WHAT THE DEVIL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!"

For Harry had grabbed his wand from under the pillow and pointed it at Uncle Vernon. Breathing heavily, he moved to the edge of his bed, wand still pointed at his uncle. Uncle Vernon backed away.

"Get out," said Harry hoarsely. "Get out before I blow your guts out."

"You're not supposed to do m-"

"GET OUT!" Small sparks shot out of the end of his wand, which was the cue for Uncle Vernon. He cowardly ran as fast and heavily as he could towards his (and his wife Petunia's) bedroom. The door to Harry's meanwhile, slammed shut on his own. And with that, darkness covered his surroundings once more.

Sirius. Yet for another night dreams of his late godfather kept Harry Potter awake and indeed, miserable. He's not really considered "late" or lamented for that matter in Harry's case though. Acceptance is actually far from sinking in. He's not bound to get back to normal soon.

Ever since Sirius fell (not died) in the Death Room of the Ministry's Department of Mysteries, Harry has been bothered every single day about the loss. Not even as he came home to Privet Drive with his pestering aunt, uncle and cousin Dudley did he get distracted once from his mourning trance. Everyday from morning to night he would stay locked up in his room, only to dwell on memories of his godfather. Never knowing the time, not even thinking about hunger or thirst, it's either he scribbles hard then discards wasted pieces of parchment in the attempt to do homework or stay in a corner of his room, sometimes crying hot, angry tears.

Ron and Hermione send letters almost everyday though. Lupin even wrote to him once. All were too-comforting although they obviously try to avoid mentioning Sirius. Only one particular message from Hermione's braved through the unhelpful pile of parchment. It read:

Dear Harry,

I believe it would only be a waste to ask you how you're doing, since I know you're still not okay. Nevertheless, I (and Mrs. Weasley asked me to) wish you well. Look, I know this is still a rough time for me to talk to you about Sirius and all, but I can't help but worry about how you're possibly forgetting yourself amidst all this. Losing someone is hard, much more when it's Sirius, but all of us (here in Grimmauld Place) feel grief like you did. You have to understand that you need not make things worse by making yourself suffer because we share in your loss and care about you, no matter how distant you are from us.

Remember this as well: Time heals all wounds. In your case, we'll all heal from Sirius' death together, as long as it takes.

I'm hoping to see you as soon as possible. Unfortunately, Dumbledore hasn't sent word yet regarding when they're to come and fetch you. In the meantime, take good care of yourself.

Always and again wishing you well,

Hermione

I know you're still not okay... this is still a rough time for us to talk about Sirius... darn right it is... Harry is downright miserable with no hint of moving on yet... you're possibly forgetting yourself amidst all this... Harry hasn't eaten for days... he even forgets to take a bath sometimes... we all feel grief like you did... we share in your loss and wish you well... they don't understand, they've not even known him like Harry did... we'll all heal from Sirius' death together... time heals all wounds... it's more like Harry's dying as every day passes... or may well be experiencing death daily. Then again, he didn't think he would live for that long.

Sighing heavily, Harry put his wand back to where it was. He had been staring into space again, immobile, forgetting what he had done a moment earlier. At the mention of Sirius he seemed to burn with anger and feel terribly weak at the same time. Unluckily for his uncle the latter overpowered his weakness, leaving Harry indifferently outraged, with his wand to show it.

Although tired from his brief and sudden awakening, he opened his bed lamp, stood up from his bed then headed for the direction of his trunk. Apparently trying to keep himself busy, he rummaged through the stacks of letters, his wizard's robes and cauldron, looking for something to prevent him from sleeping and indeed, dreaming of Sirius again. And just when he thought of it, he found the one thing that ruined the last of his hope. Feeling something sharp underneath his clothes, Harry pulled out a piece of broken glass from his trunk. Realizing what it was from his hardly-seen reflection in the dim room, he felt around then gathered up the broken pieces that came with the glass. Leaving the rest of his disheveled, he went back to sit on his bed, the shards rattling dangerously in his hand.

The mirror. It was the two-way mirror that Sirius had given him, but Harry had used it far too late. He sat there for several minutes, staring stock-still at the broken pieces, which he had arranged to form its former shape. If only he had opened it, used it when he got back to school last Christmas, he

could have told Sirius everything. How much Harry had cared about him, how he had looked up to Sirius as a father, how grateful he was for having him... everything was left unsaid.

"Sirius..." Harry choked, fighting back tears. "Sirius..." Even as he spoke, looking at his jagged reflection, he knew it was to no avail. The sides of the mirror had only formed mist, which was clouding up towards the center of the glass.

Mist? Harry started, looking apprehensive. It was summer, and no amount of wind in his room could fog up the mirror. Slowly, very carefully he watched, all the while his reflection was barely seen at the mist covered mirror.

Sirius? he thought. "Sirius...?" he said aloud. Feeling of foreboding increasing rapidly, he stared as the white smoke entirely filled up the pieces of glass. And for the first time, he felt alive and wary. "Sirius Black!" he said, almost shouting. With his last words the smoke (mist, or whatever it was) started to clear up. A second later, Harry looked at the mirror again, which was forming an indistinct figure. Looking closely he found that the figure wasn't his reflection, although he saw that it had started to become definite and less vague by the minute. Then he saw, with his own eyes (although he could hardly believe it) who it was.

"Sirius!" Harry bellowed, both surprised and elated.

"Shh!" the figure hissed. Indeed, from the broken pieces of the mirror, smiling, was the once-handsome face of his godfather.

"How did you - why are you -?" Harry didn't know what to ask first. He was smiling, though, seeing Sirius again(although the face was roughly separated into parts because of the broken mirror), alive and well, and now, speaking to him.

"Settle down, Harry, don't get too excited!" Sirius laughed. Harry beamed more at the sight of him laughing. It was real - Sirius is alive. "I probably should apologize to you for not seeing you after I fell in that archway. There's no landing cushion there, I tell you. My back still huts a little," he added, still beaming.

"N-no, it's okay," Harry replied, not knowing whether he should laugh or not. "Anyway, you had us all in a right state. Are you alright? What happened to you? Where are you now?"

"Never mind where I am now, I'll discuss that to you in a minute," Sirius said. "Again, I'm sorry for worrying all of you. You know I wouldn't leave you for anything, Harry, don't ever forget that. I just had a rough time getting out of that hole, see. But I'm quite alright now, as a matter of fact. I

was starting to wonder when you'd call for me in that mirror. I couldn't contact you through there when I was out. Did you by chance lose or break it at some point? That's the only way I think would hinder me talking to you."

"Y-yeah," Harry said apologetically. "It's a bit broken. Sorry 'bout that. Anyway is that why you weren't answering when I called you once?"

"I told you, I was trying to get out of that hole," Sirius explained. "I didn't realize I had it with me when I fell, actually. I only found out about it recently when I got out. But enough of that now. You ready to come here now?"

"What?" Harry couldn't believe his ears. "You mean I could go there? But -" he looked around "- I'm still in my pajamas, and my things aren't arranged -"

"That's okay, you can fix those later when you come back. I just want to show you where I am now. It's probably a good place for us to talk as well," said Sirius. "So - you ready?"

"But what will I do? How can I get there?"

"Drop a tear into the mirror and think of the place where you want to be. That's where I am now, more like, but since you don't know where it is... anyway you can close your eyes if you want to. Good to go?"

"Yeah," Harry said anxiously. For a moment he sat there, clueless on what to think of. Upon closing his eyes he remembered his parents, imagining how they were killed, trying to protect him. As a wave of emotions swept over him he felt something wet forming in his eyes.

"Here I come," he said. Tightening the closure of his eyes he abruptly changed thought. Take me to where Sirius is, where we can be together...

******

After a fleeting moment, Harry felt winded. He felt as though he had been running for miles. Breathing heavily he started to open his eyes.

Darkness. He felt around. Sure enough, he was alive. Feeling his body he found he was sitting on something soft, his legs and torso covered in a sheet. Then he knew, as he touched his face, he would feel by his cheek, a single cold tear.

You know I wouldn't leave you for anything, Harry, don't ever forget that.

Harry sighed. So it had been another dream.

You've gone away

You don't feel me

Anymore