Falling

Darkness dwelled in him every day. Its thickness lurked near the back of his head and neck and settled down his spine. It was always there, even when he laughed at Ron's jokes and listened intently to Hermione's lectures. As he held Ginny's hand it became a mantle across his shoulders. At moments its sludge lay in his gut, but he continued to move about the hallways, to take notes, to play Quidditch, and to smile while they all ate dinner together.

He dealt with the gloom this way. He knew no other avenue. He kept moving through it, pulling his legs into steps, drawing his arms above it to lay his them across his girlfriend's shoulders. The effort at times was more fatiguing than the existence of the umbra itself.

No matter how he detested living this way, he preferred the hours of daylight. This angst emanated from his frequent dreams. As it faded from day to day, it would renew its strength nearly three nights a week in his sleep trapped mind.

Always the same dream, it varied only in who appeared with him. Sometimes it was Ron or Hermione. Ginny joined him as much as the other two together. Less frequent was the presence of one of the other Weasleys, but lately, and understandably, Sirius played the role of Harry's torment.

In his dream, Harry stood alone, his hand extended before him. In his flat palm stood a miniature of Sirius, or whomever his subconscious chose to taunt him with. A living, breathing, walking, talking smallest version of Sirius, and for moments too short for Harry's liking, he conversed with his godfather.

His favorite conversation between them detailed a talk, between Lily Potter and Sirius, late one night during her pregnancy. Sirius told him the things his mother had hoped for him, her love for his father, and her joy of life in general. Just when each discussion began to diffuse through Harry, warming him and lifting the dense smog, Sirius would stumble and fall.

It all happened in slow motion, and for those precious seconds there was no darkness, no weight on Harry. He obtained the ability to move as freely as he had as a child. All he had to do was curl his fingers around Sirius. He could bring up his other hand and catch him. He knew he could. Every minute part of him, every cell and nerve ending awaited his brain's command. But he didn't move. He stood there and watched Sirius spill out of his hand, falling to the floor.

Just before Sirius reached the ground, Harry could see his face. Harry looked into Sirius's eyes as he met the floor. Tiny fissures needled their way through him, drawing finally near his face. The moment before the spider web cracks covered Sirius's body, Sirius opened his mouth to say one last thing.

Harry's eyes opened to see the canopy above him. He could feel the weight had returned, stronger than ever. Harry lay there, wishing for the fluidity he felt in the dream. Wishing he could return to the dream and change his inaction. That he could prevent the fall, instead of standing there and watching what mattered most in his world drop away and shatter into bits.