Promises Fulfilled

Promises Fulfilled

Chapter 3

Back at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place

Harry awoke the next morning in the gloomy high-ceilinged space called a bedroom. Sitting up, Harry reached for his glasses on the nightstand and put them on, bringing the darkened room into focus. It looked even more depressing now that Harry could see it. He looked over to the other twin bed where there was a lump and a mass of flaming red hair poking out from beneath the covers. From the light bit of snoring that filled the room, Harry was sure that his best friend, Ron Weasley, was still asleep.

He stood and stretched slightly before changing out of his bedclothes and putting on a pair of jeans, his shoes, and a baggy T-shirt. Stumbling into the bathroom, Harry took care of some business before brushing his teeth and running a comb through his hair carelessly.

"Hey, scruffy, get yourself a haircut!" the mirror said to him.

Scowling at the mirror, that cackled to itself quietly, Harry left the bathroom and went back to his trunk where he threw all of his toiletries. He then stood and sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his old, dirty Converse. Crossing his legs, he looked at the side of one of his shoes, reading the untidy scrawl that belonged to both he and Ron. It was from the previous couple years when they had gotten extremely bored in Professor Binn's History of Magic class. There was an unfinished game of Tic-Tac-Toe and a bunch of little stick figures that ran around the base of the shoe after Snitches with little speech bubbles saying absurd things. On the other shoe, there were small phrases like Malfoy is an Ugly Git and Hermione loves Lockhart. Harry smiled slightly. That was a very old one. There were more on the reverse side of the first shoe he looked at: Professor Lupin kicks ass! and I love the amazing bouncing ferret. Harry laughed softly. Ah, when his all-time rival, Draco Malfoy, was transfigured into a white ferret and then bounced around the entrance hall...oh yes, good times.

Ron stirred in his sleep, muttering something incoherent; Harry found himself frowning. He had thought that all he wanted to do was be alone after...well, after last year. But what he really needed was some company. After having someone you care about just ripped away from you...well, Harry wanted to make sure he didn't waste such precious time with his friends. He just silently prayed that his friends wouldn't want him to talk about it. It was bad enough that he had to relive the incident every night...the last thing he wanted to do was to say it out loud; it sounded more...final.

Harry sighed and leaned back on his bed, staring at the high, cobwebbed ceiling with dislike. This whole place reminded him of Sirius and what could have been, what should have been. But now...it was just the painful reminder that Sirius was gone and he was never coming back. Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes as he thought of it; he fought them, refusing to let them fall. Ron let out a strangled sounding snore before rolling over. After a moment, his sleepy voice filled the room.

"'Arry? Mate is that y-y-y-you?" Ron asked through a yawn as he squinted through the dark.

"Hi, Ron," said Harry quietly.

There was a pause as Ron registered Harry's reply in his still-hibernating brain before he jumped out of bed, taking a seat on the end of Harry's mattress. Harry turned his head to the side and looked at him. Ron had surely grown a couple more inches since the last time Harry had seen him. He was very tall and lean, not gangly anymore, and his hair seemed to be a bit longer, like he was trying to imitate his older brother, Bill. Harry felt very small next to him for he hadn't grown a bit and still remained his skinny, knobby-kneed self.

"Hi. How's your summer been? Sorry all of our letters were really short but we couldn't put too much in them. Dumbledore'd have our heads on platters if he found out we wrote more than what we were supposed to," Ron said, wide awake, immediately launching into an excuse before Harry could get mad and start shouting.

But Harry wasn't mad. He wasn't angry anymore. He felt sad and detached and just so...he couldn't even describe it. He realized that his hot-headedness was the reason that he no longer had his godfather, the closest thing to a family that he had left, and he decided that no longer would his temper rule his life. No, he would take everything in and be calm about it. He would be numb to pain and anger. That was the way he decided to live.

"It's okay. My summer was kind of lame, but whatever. Have you been here since the end of last term?" Harry asked, inwardly laughing at the look on Ron's face.

Ron must have been in shock at Harry's calmness and it was written all over his face. In fact, Ron appeared to be impersonating a goldfish; his mouth was stuck in the shape of a giant "o" while his eyes were wide and bulging.

"Yeah, but, um, we went back to The Burrow for a while, just to...you know, be home for a while...together and stuff. Charlie came from Romania for dinner a couple nights and Bill stopped by once or twice. Fred and George are doing really well on their joke shop you know. Business is booming for them! They still live with us but they're normally in and out all the time. They're thinking about renting a flat near Diagon Alley. Of course, Mum doesn't want them to leave, but they say it's for the business. Percy's still being an arrogant jerk, too. Mum and Dad tried to get him to come home one last time and it blew up in their faces. Mum wouldn't stop crying for days..." Ron replied, looking sad.

Harry felt bad for Ron. All Ron knew was family and then to have one member leave so bitterly and then having two more want to leave must have really been hard on him. No matter how much Ron always used to whine and complain that his brothers were annoying, he really loved them with all his heart. Now, it was only him and Ginny at home. No wonder Mr. Weasley had looked so strained. His children were just up and leaving like there was no tomorrow. He had seen Mrs. Weasley too, last night before being ushered in a hurry to his room. She had looked sad and worn, just like all the other Order members, but it was because of her children, not because of Voldemort.

"But I got to practice with Ginny for Quidditch this year. I really hope they give you back your broom and your spot, mate. It wasn't any fun without you on the team last year. Ginny I think is gonna try out for a Chaser position, that way you can be Seeker again. We've got those two moron Beaters from last year so we'll only need two more Chasers and we'll be absolutely brilliant!" Ron said, his eyes glittering.

Ron loved Quidditch. Harry was so happy he found something that he was really good at, but Harry didn't want to play Quidditch again. It seemed so pointless. But the way Ron's eyes lit up like that with happiness, Harry didn't want to bring him down from that high he was on. Harry couldn't remember, but had he had that look in his eye when he talked about Quidditch? He couldn't remember for the life of him. He couldn't remember what it was like to play, to fly on his broom, the rush of excitement...everything. It was all just a fading memory. And to be honest...he really didn't even care anymore. Not after...

"Oh, and Hermione's here too. She's just upstairs with Ginny. They'll be thrilled when they find out you're here," Ron told him, standing up and walking to his own trunk at the foot of his bed.

"Didn't they tell you that they were coming to get me?" Harry asked; he realized that his voice just didn't sound the same as it used to--sad and worn.

"No, they don't tell us anything anymore. Ever since the Ministry thing...well, they basically leave us in the dark. Even Fred and George's Extendable Ears don't work that well anymore; they put all these charms and enchantments up on the kitchen door so we can't hear a thing," Ron said, picking out a shirt and jeans before changing out of his nightclothes.

"Oh. So you don't know anything?" Harry asked, feeling slightly put out.

"Well, we do know some things. Whatever's in the papers we hear about; Hermione's still got that subscription to the Prophet so we get all our information from there and from the little bits and pieces that we hear from the hallway downstairs," Ron explained.

"I see. Did you see that article about the Werewolves in yesterday's paper?" Harry inquired; Ron pulled a face.

"Yeah, the Ministry is a bunch of duffers in my opinion, pulling all that rubbish and such. It isn't right. But Mum says Professor Lupin's safe because he's in the Order," Ron said, pulling on his shirt.

"So the Ministry knows about the Order?" Harry asked, confused.

"Oh, heck no. But he's safe; Dumbledore spoke for him," Ron amended, slipping on his sneakers.

"Oh. Good," Harry said, running his hand through his hair.

Just then, the door to their room burst open and Harry found himself being hugged by two very happy young girls. Ron sulked over in his corner of the room.

"I could have been changing you know," Ron said impatiently.

His complaint was drowned out by the excited greetings towards Harry from Hermione and Ginny. When they finally realized that he needed oxygen to breathe and continue living, they lessened their grip and stood before him. Hermione was beaming, looking positively radiant. What had she done? She looked very pretty...Ron seemed to be watching him carefully out of the corner of his eye. Oh, so it was like that. Harry thought it was about time; Hermione and Ron should have gotten together ages ago. And little Ginny wasn't so little anymore. She, like her brother, grew over the summer. Her hair was longer, her skin was tanner, and she looked, like Hermione, very beautiful as well. When did all the girls around him just decide to grow up into mature young women? Harry felt so small and out of place. He was very aware at that moment how unattractive he must look, with his baggy clothes, mussed up hair, pasty complexion...not to mention the fact that he was dorky looking with his glasses that were still too big for him and his baggy clothes and his old shoes that hadn't been replaced since first year and...well, he decided to stop because he was starting to feel pretty low by that point.

"We're sorry we didn't write much," Hermione began, looking at Ron nervously as she laced her fingers together.

"It's okay. I understand. Order stuff, right?" Harry said, not wanting the sentence to hang in an awkward silence.

"Yeah. We're sorry though," Hermione continued, looking down at the floor.

"Well, I'm here now, aren't I? Now you're stuck with me for the rest of the summer," Harry replied, forcing some humor into his voice.

"Oh, it'll be fun," Ginny said with a smile. "It's been such a bore around here lately. Nothing to do and no one really wants to talk to us and it's been so gloomy since--"

"Ginny!" Ron and Hermione hissed at the same time.

Ginny turned red before hanging her head to look down at the floorboards, tracing the grain with her foot in a slow, apologetic circle. The silence hovered over them for a moment and Harry saw Ron and Hermione's nervous looks. Their eyes were so full of pity for him; Harry felt suddenly angry at them, but chased the demon away, telling it to leave him. It was because of that anger that there was such an awkward silence. Harry vowed to never lose it, for the sake of his friends' lives.

"Well," Harry said, breaking the silence by clapping his hands together.

Hermione, Ron, and Ginny all jumped at his falsely cheery tone and exchanged a worried glace between them at his phony smile.

"I'm hungry," Harry continued, walking towards the door. "Let's get some breakfast, 'kay?"

He opened the door and headed out on the landing towards the stairs; Ginny, Hermione, and Ron followed dumbly behind him. They were about half-way down the stairs, passing the heads mounted on the wall to their left along with bunches of other unpleasant artifacts and pictures, when Harry felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked to his right and saw that Ron had put his arm around him and was squeezing his left shoulder gently; there was a serious glint in his eye as he pulled Harry close to him in a small, one-armed hug.

"Mate..." Ron began; Harry silenced him by shaking his head. "But what can I do for you, Harry? Please. Let me do something. You're my best friend! Your pain is my pain and right now...I just want it to go away. Please. Tell me what I can do."

Harry looked into his brown eyes that were accented by flecks of gold that he had never noticed before. They were so full of friendship and love that Harry almost broke down right there. But he retreated within himself. No more would he burden his friends. No longer. Because eventually...they'd just get hurt. They'd die. Everyone he loved would die.

"Just be you, Ron," Harry replied; he looked up at Ginny and Hermione, who had stopped a couple stairs up to watch them. "That goes for you two, too. Just be you."

Hermione and Ginny nodded. Ron looked stubborn, but said nothing and gave a brief nod. They continued down the stairwell in silence, being careful not to wake anything up, no matter how disturbing it sounded. They ended up in the downstairs hallway, just outside Mrs. Black's portrait, being extra careful not to make a sound so they could rouse the screeching woman. Ron walked up to a giant, wooden door that led to the basement kitchen and knocked twice, then paused, and knocked again. Mrs. Weasley opened the door, looking tired and frazzled at the same time.

"What are you all doing up?" she asked, though it came out as more of a bark; Ginny jumped at her tone of voice. "All of you get back to bed this instant. It's very late!"

The four teenagers looked at each other before switching their attention to Mrs. Weasley.

"Um, Mum. You are aware that it's daylight out?" Ron asked slowly, as if his mother were hard of hearing and very stupid.

"Daylight?" Mrs. Weasley asked, looking utterly surprised at this piece of information.

"Yes, you know, when the sun comes out and people are up and about...awake!" Ron continued, raising his voice a notch on the last word to emphasize.

"Oh my! Arthur! Kingsley! You too, Tonks, dear. Get a move on! You have to get to work!" Mrs. Weasley turned and shouted into the kitchen.

She turned and went back inside the kitchen, leaving the door ajar so that the four of them could enter. It looked like they had been in the middle of an Order meeting and time had slipped away. None of them quite seemed to be able to grasp that night had passed and it was the next day. All of them except Tonks who was dozing lightly in a chair in the corner.

"Is it really morning already?" Mr. Weasley asked, looking about the window-less room with a puzzled expression on his face.

"It seems so," Kingsley commented, jerking his head in Harry's general direction where he and the other three were taking seats at the wooden table in the center of the room.

"Time sure flies I presume," said Mr. Weasley, bustling about the room with Lupin trying to collect all the papers and such that littered almost every surface in the kitchen.

"Tonks. Tonks! Wake up!" Kingsley was shouting, shaking her.

Tonk's head lolled onto her shoulder and she continued on in her dreamland, mouth slightly open with a bit of drool protruding from the corner of her mouth. Moody limped out of a darkened corner of the room, coming up from behind Hermione, nearly scaring her senseless. He stumped over to Tonks before barking loudly in her ear: "Nymphadora!"

Tonks jumped about a foot in the air, her eyes wide while her head darted around in every direction. She was fumbling for her wand as she looked about, but it became caught in her robes; she made a violent movement with her arm to wretch her weapon free and ended up hitting her elbow painfully on the edge of the chair, causing her to whimper in pain. But she stood up and through the pain she gritted her teeth together.

"DON'T CALL ME NYMPHADORA!" Tonk's shouted, not looking very intimidating with her neon green hair.

"It's the only way to get you up; you sleep like the dead," Moody commented seriously, though his scarred face was twisted into an amused smile.

Harry looked down at the table, his eyes sliding over to where Sirius always used to sit in the chair at the end before the hearth. Dead...yes...Sirius was dead. Harry was reminded of Sirius in so many ways. May it be an expression, an object; a person even...Sirius was all around. He was everywhere. Harry could not escape his presence. It was a horrible thought, but Harry just wished that Sirius's presence would leave. It was bad enough that Sirius was gone...the last thing he needed was the constant reminder that it was all his fault. Everything was his fault.

"MAD-EYE I SWEAR THAT I'LL--" Tonks continued on, but was drowned out by the sounds of Mrs. Black screaming at the top of her very annoying voice.

"Filthy half-breeds, vile mutant scum! Blood traitors, freaks, children of filth! Dishonoring the house of my fathers!"

Kingsley left the kitchen and returned only when the sounds of Mrs. Black had been successfully silenced.

"Shall we be off then? Tonks, Arthur?" he asked, looking at the both of them.

Tonks merely growled and stomped out of the kitchen, muttering something incoherent while shooting evil glares at Mad-Eye when his back was turned. Harry was sure that Moody saw however because the magical eye kept swiveling around in its socket in the general direction of Tonks. Mr. Weasley, Kingsley, Mad-Eye, and Tonks all left the kitchen silently as Lupin and Mrs. Weasley continued to pick up the plans all over the place. When the four of them offered to help, Mrs. Weasley and Lupin shared a nervous glance before Mrs. Weasley began distracting them by asking for their assistance in making breakfast; Lupin cleared all the papers away before they could even sneak a peak at what they contained, vanishing them with a small pop!

Mrs. Weasley prepared a wonderful breakfast: eggs, bacon, toast, sausage, and brisket all with just a few simple waves of her wand. Lupin took his seat at the long, wooden table, conjuring himself a cup of strong black coffee to keep him awake. Hermione and Ginny set the table while Ron merely stood around, walking back and forth just to appear as if he was doing something useful. Harry just sat at the table, looking down towards the fire at the empty chair where Sirius always used to sit before...Lupin was watching him; Harry could feel the burn of his gaze on the back of his neck.

"Harry..." Lupin said, pulling Harry's attention away from the empty stool.

Harry looked up at him, feeling so guilty just looking at Lupin. All those years, Lupin had been looked down upon and treated unfairly because of his Lycanthropy and the only real friends he had were Harry's father, James, Harry's godfather, Sirius, and Peter Pettigrew. And what did he have now? James was dead and Sirius was dead now too. The only one who deserved to be dead was Peter for being such a traitor, but yet he was still alive. Harry really hoped what they said about Karma going around and coming around was true, because if it was, Peter was going to get slapped in the face and knocked on his ass by it.

Mrs. Weasley put breakfast on the table and everyone sat down to eat. There was some light conversation between the Weasley's and Hermione about what idiot they were going to get to fill the position for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Ron was moaning something about that if Snape got the job he was going to up and kill himself on the spot. Or maybe pull a Fred and George by hopping on his Cleansweep 11 and flying away to do something else with his life. Mrs. Weasley lectured Ron on the issue of dropping out of school for about ten minutes before they commenced in their conversation about school, making desperate attempts to get Harry, who would merely nod or murmur a quiet sound of agreement, involved in conversation.

Meeting Lupin's eyes for the first time, Harry noticed the dullness of those amber-tinted orbs. He could distinctly remember that when Lupin had begun teaching at Hogwarts, he always had a certain light to his eyes. Now, that light was gone. It was all his fault too. Harry killed Sirius. Harry made the last little bit of happiness in Lupin's life die. After all those years of friendship Lupin and Sirius had been separated, and then they were reunited, but only for a short while. To have something like that just ripped away from you for a second time...yes. Harry killed that light in Lupin's eyes. That was all his fault too.

When breakfast ended (Harry basically picked the whole meal while Lupin didn't eat anything at all) Lupin stood and made to leave the kitchen, leaving the chattering group behind. He lingered in the doorway for a moment, sending a pointed glance at Harry indicating that Lupin wanted him to follow; Harry noticed that Mrs. Weasley was looking between them with a very sad glint in her eye. And in that moment, Harry knew what was coming.

He followed Lupin out into the hallway where he was pulled to the side and into the unnatural darkness; Harry could barely make out Lupin's face in the dim light, but he knew that Lupin's expression was sad and sorrowful, laced with pity and grief...all of the things that Harry felt at that moment. He wanted to tell Lupin that he was sorry. So very sorry for being so stupid and juvenile, but the words would not come to his lips.

"Harry..." Lupin began; his voice wavered slightly.

Harry looked down, clenching his hands into fists. Why did he have to go to the Department of Mysteries that night? Why couldn't he have just stayed at Hogwarts and celebrate the end of exams with the rest of his classmates. Why didn't he listen to Hermione? Why didn't he do all of these things? Harry thought about it. He was so hot-headed, always convinced that he knew everything. For the first time in his life he felt like the most worthless being on the planet. What if one of his friends had died too? What if that night, it wasn't only Sirius's life that had been taken so unfairly? What if...

"Harry?" Lupin asked, his voice more controlled; softer.

A warm hand made contact with Harry's shoulder, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze, much like the one that Ron had given him earlier. That simple gesture made it complete. Harry knew that it was real. Sirius was definitely gone for good. Why else would the air be so thick with a tense sadness? The tears that had been threatening to fall over the past month were welling up within the corners of his eyes once more. Why was life so unfair?

"Are you...all right?" Lupin inquired softly, his hand never leaving Harry's shoulder.

Harry knew that Lupin was very aware that he wasn't all right. He would never be all right ever again. He had killed his godfather. He was no better than Voldemort. He was a murderer. Everyone who died, died because of him. He killed them. He was a murderer. Harry was afraid. Who would be next?

"Fine," Harry choked out, his answer sounding high-pitched and unnatural.

"I know it's been...hard. It's been hard for me too," said Lupin.

"I miss him," Harry whispered.

He couldn't let the tears fall. If even one escaped his eye, the dam would break and Harry would be sobbing pitifully for hours on end. When would the pain go away?

"I miss him too," Lupin replied.

"Does everything...does everything happen for a reason?" asked Harry.

Harry never had an adult to talk to before. As a child, he was forbidden to ask questions. But that was the one question that had always been plaguing him, lurking in the back of his mind during those long nights he'd lie awake in the cupboard under the stairs. Why had his parents died? Why were his relatives related to him? Why didn't he have any friends? Why did weird things happen around him? Did it all happen for a reason or just because it could happen?

Now, the questions had changed. He knew all those answers. He had new ones. Why was he so unlucky? Why was he so alone? Why did people always die around him? Was he destined to be alone? Would he ever have a girlfriend? Would he ever live to be married and have children? Would he even make it to his seventh year? Would the Wizarding world really be safe once he defeated Voldemort? Why did he, a fifteen year-old boy, have to worry about saving the world all the time?!

"I...don't know. I suppose they do," Lupin answered truthfully.

"Heh. Stumped you, did I?" asked Harry, trying to lighten the mood; he could tell that Lupin smiled in the dark.

He had been so depressed. All Harry wanted was for it all to go away. That everything would just go away, leaving him the way he was. Would he ever smile again?

"Yes, quite a difficult question to answer. Perhaps you should seek guidance from Professor Trelawney?" Lupin replied, a touch of sadness breaking through his humorous attempt.

Harry pulled a face at the mention of his Divination teacher before scoffing at the ludicrousness of the thought of asking her for help.

"By her book, I've died about a thousand times, each more tragic than the last. That old bat wouldn't guide me in anything but pointless crystal gazing. Man, I really hope I can drop that class..." Harry muttered to himself; Lupin chuckled quietly.

Then, they lapsed into a silence. Lupin's hand was still on his shoulder and Harry could feel it trembling slightly.

"So..." Harry began, forcing the sound through his constricted throat.

"You know what I'm going to ask...don't you, Harry?" Lupin said quietly; Harry became silent.

He knew that Lupin wanted him to go and pay his respects to Sirius. To go and see his grave. To know that the whole thing wasn't just a bad dream. To know that it was real, that it happened. That one notion was enough to break Harry inside. The day he saw that tombstone with his godfather's name written on it he would know that he was a murderer. That he killed another human being. The night in the graveyard from his fourth year came back to him; those wide staring eyes...Harry hated cemeteries.

"Yes," Harry replied.

"I know...I know it's difficult. It was difficult for me too...at the funeral..." Lupin trailed off.

"Was it nice?" Harry asked in a hushed whisper.

He felt suddenly even guiltier than ever. He didn't even help pay for Sirius's funeral. Harry felt his stomach sink to his toes. Sirius deserved better than all the rest for everything that he had dealt with all his life. If possible, Harry's stomach sunk even lower. Sirius died still a guilty man in the eyes of the Ministry. No. Harry was going to fix that. He would make sure that Sirius wouldn't have that burden in death. He was going to get Peter Pettigrew and make him pay. Make him pay for all the pain and anguish and suffering...

"Yes. And he's in a...a lovely place as well," It was a sob; that hand was trembling horribly now.

Lupin needed comfort--solace--that moment and Harry did too. He moved closer to the Werewolf in the dark and reached out before hugging him tightly around the middle. Lupin was thin and skeletal; Harry could feel his spine and shoulder blade bones sticking out right through his tattered robes. When Lupin pulled Harry closer to him, he could hear the soft whimpers and sobs coming from his former teacher. He could smell the salty aroma of Lupin's tears--or were they his own?--and he could detect a barely-there fragrance of cinnamon mixed with the scent of old books and volumes.

Happy memories flashed before his eyes of a time when everything was all right. Before the death, before the war, before everything. Everything was just...great. It didn't seem like it at that time but now...years passed seemed like heaven. People were alive and smiling. But that was changed now. Everyone was afraid, people were dying, and no one was smiling. Harry wondered if maybe he would find something within himself to be able to smile again. But the feeling of Lupin's trembling body against his own and the accursed memory of Sirius falling through the veil made him highly doubt ever being happy again.

And in that moment, Harry gave in. He wasn't the Boy-Who-Lived. He wasn't the savior of the Wizarding world. No. He was just an average boy, crying over the death of his beloved godfather.

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Later that day, Harry managed to escape from beneath the watching eyes of Mrs. Weasley and the worried glances from his friends. He needed to be alone. He needed some "Harry Time" is what he had told them. Harry had to define it at least five times when he caught his friends following him. After Ginny fell out of yet another closet, Harry explained to them in a painfully calm voice that he just needed to be alone and that if they didn't abide by his wishes he would hex them into the following week. They eventually gave in to his wishes (not taking any of his threats to heart however) when Mrs. Weasley called them down to help her prepare lunch.

Harry walked about the house, finding rooms that he had never seen before along with objects and several creatures that did not register in his memory. He climbed slowly to the upstairs landing, pausing when he heard the soft jingle of a bell from up above. Harry held his breath, almost expecting Sirius to walk by with a box of Christmas decorations singing "God Rest Ye Merry Hippogriffs" at the top of his voice as he passed. But Harry was disappointed when it turned out to be Hermione's annoying house pet, Crookshanks; he shooed the animal away with an irritated wave of his arms.

He continued on in his slow, steady pace on the second floor landing and stopped when he heard the sound of Mrs. Weasley calling him for lunch. Harry leaned against the wall, letting her voice wash over him and the rest of the dead house. His pain worsened and he put a pale, shaky hand to his chest, touching his heart.

"What would bring you peace?" Harry asked his heart; when there was no reply, he sighed.

The sound of a pair of hurried footsteps coming up the stairs alerted Harry that someone was coming to fetch him for lunch. And judging by the clumsiness of those footsteps, Harry deduced that it had to be Ginny as Ron had a louder sounding tempo and Hermione's you couldn't even hear at all. Harry sighed again; he really didn't want to undergo another mealtime with people until he had all his emotions back behind the mask that he had cleverly been devising over the summer.

Harry quietly ducked into his and Ron's room, silently shutting the door behind him and locking it with a small click. Ginny's footsteps slowed and walked down the landing once and then back again before coming to rest outside the door; from his place on his bed, Harry could see the shadows of her feet against the crack at that bottom of the door. She knocked once softly.

"Harry?" she asked timidly.

He didn't know if he should answer her, but decided to because he didn't want the rest of the house to think that he had gone and keeled over.

"Yes?" said Harry after a moment of thought.

"Lunch is ready," Ginny replied from the other side of the door.

"I'm not really hungry right now...Sorry," Harry added at the end.

"Well, erm, Mum made some corned beef sandwiches and they're very good. Even Ron's eating them! They're not too dry this time..." Ginny coaxed gently.

Harry could still remember the day he met Ron on the train going to Hogwarts and how he had mentioned his mother's sandwiches. Having bought half of the little witch's candy cart, Harry offered to swap some candy for a sandwich; he had never had anything to share with anyone before and it felt kind of nice.

"You don't want this, it's all dry," Ron had said, pulling a face. "She hasn't got much time, you know, with five of us."

What he would give to have that innocence back. To be worried over something so trivial like corned beef sandwiches...

"Harry?" asked Ginny; Harry forgot she was still hovering outside the door.

"Sorry, Ginny. I didn't get much sleep last night. I'm just having a lie down," Harry replied, lying down on his bed.

"Okay, well, er, if you get hungry...just head down to the kitchen and Mum will fix you something," Ginny offered.

"It's okay; I'll eat at dinner," replied Harry with his head in his pillow.

There was a pause from the other side of the door.

"Harry, if you...you know, want to talk about...well, anything..." Ginny began.

"Thanks," Harry said quickly, yet truly grateful.

"See you at dinner then," Ginny replied, and walked away.

He listened to her retreating footsteps before letting out a breath that he didn't know he was holding and rolling over onto his back. Harry really hated to lie, but sometimes it was necessary. He just needed to be in the quiet without someone staring at him constantly, making sure that he wasn't going to go and kill himself or something.

Emerald green eyes opened and gazed upwards, counting the cracks on the walls and ceiling before closing again. He breathed deeply, trying to rid himself of the toxic thoughts and emotions that threatened to gain the upper hand. Fighting all those demons for so long was beginning to take its toll on Harry. The thoughts and emotions wanted to reach the surface, wanting him to act. He found himself thinking longingly of the blade in his trunk that Sirius had given him. It had melted in the Department of Mysteries, rendering the knife completely useless. Harry sighed; he couldn't even complete a suicidal thought without running into an obstacle.

He stood and went over to his trunk, kneeling down before it. Staring at its leathery surface, Harry ran his fingers over the material before lifting the lid. He moved contents aside, digging for that one item that would bring him a moment of brief solace: his photo album. Pulling it out gently, he closed the lid to his trunk and went to sit back on the bed again.

Opening the book, he was watching a moment in time that was so long ago. His mother and father waved at him. Their smiles were so happy...their eyes so alive. He reached out a finger to touch his mother, a ghost of a smile flitting across his lips when she jerked away and hastily fixed her hair as James laughed at her from behind. Harry wondered what his father sounded like...when he wasn't screaming in Harry's nightmares.

He turned the page and gazed upon more photos of his happy parents. They were dancing in a park, they were sitting by a Christmas tree together in front of a roaring fire--he turned the page--they were studying together (in black and white) with their hands over each others, James had his arms around Lily, touching her pregnant belly, their wedding rings shimmering in the light.

Turning the pages, Harry felt his stomach lurch to his throat, as if he had been on the very top of a carnival ride that took a sharp turn downwards. It was his parent's wedding day. Lily was wearing a full-length white gown and James was in a tuxedo, looking sharp as ever (though his stubborn hair would not lie flat) while Sirius stood next to James with his arm around him, laughing and smiling along with them, occasionally throwing some rice over their heads

On the next page Harry was reliving his past as he looked down at the moving photo of him, Ron, and Hermione in their second year, laughing out in the snow. The next picture was of them two years later in Hogsmeade outside of Zonko's Joke Shop. On the opposite page there was a photo of the whole Gryffindor common room celebrating a Quidditch victory, spilling their butterbeers over each other as Fred and George turned ickle first years into molting piles of feathers with their Canary Creams.

He flipped through a couple more pages of photos containing the highlights of his last five years as Hogwarts. Quidditch victories, the Triwizard Tournament, and some random school pictures just capturing the moments of happiness that now seemed so far away. The next page held some newspaper clippings, like the time the Weasley's went to Egypt after winning the annual Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon Draw, the article with the pictures of all the escaped Death Eaters, and the three page article in the Quibbler about him that had stirred up Professor Umbridge's wrath in his previous year.

He continued to turn through the book, looking at the empty manila pages. Harry wondered if he'd live to finish the book as he absentmindedly flipped through until towards the end when the page was weighed down with something heavy. Picking it up and holding it up to whatever light there was in the room, Harry realized that it was a large shard of the mirror that he had smashed at the end of the school year.

Holding the shard close to his chest, Harry bowed his head and screwed up his eyes, concentrating hard on Sirius's face and voice before whispering in a desperately soft whisper: "Sirius?"

The room was silent as Harry waited expectantly for an answer. When none came, he squeezed his hand over the piece of glass tightly in anger; the sharp side sliced his palm wide open, causing droplets of blood to trickle down his hand and onto the album below. His blood drops dribbled on the paper, creating an abstract work of art on the tan surface.

Transfixed, Harry watched as the blood soaked through the page, absorbing into the paper, causing a blot that spread into a delicate circle of swirls and veins. Harry opened his bloody hand to look at the shard, now coated in crimson, and thought how easy it would be to...

Looking down at his wrists, Harry could see the spidery blue crisscrosses of his veins in his pale arms and was shocked to find himself smiling wickedly, clutching the broken piece of glass in his hand. The pain would go away. No longer would he feel so burdened...carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. And all he had to do was cut the right way...

The sounds of his parents screams filled his head as well as that bright flash of green light.

"Your parents died so you could live. How is this repaying them?"

The voice in his head was right. Why should he throw his life away that had been given to him through a sacrifice made by both his father and mother?

"Yes. But if they knew how much pain you were in, they would forgive you."

That was true too. The other voice had a point. Would his parents really have wanted him to live if they knew that all he would have was a lifetime of agony and misery? He gripped the shard tightly, causing more blood to trickle through his fingers in a warm rush.

"Don't do it! Don't be so selfish!" said the first voice.

"Do it! Do something for yourself for a change!" screamed the second voice.

"No! Stop telling me what to do!" Harry shouted aloud.

"Still talking to yourself, loony?" came a snickering voice in the corner of the room.

"Sod off, Phineas," Harry said darkly, stomping off into the bathroom.

He dropped the shard into the sink where it clattered and stained blood all over the porcelain surface. Harry looked up into the mirror at his stark-white reflection as he turned on the water and washed the blood off his hands; the scarlet fluid spiraled down the drain in elegant swirls. Bandaging his hand wasn't that easy, seeing as he only could use one of his two, but when he was finished, Harry could now feel the pain stinging in his hand all the way up to his fingers.

Looking down at the shard in the sink, Harry picked it up and threw it into the trash can before leaving the room. A couple moments later he returned to the bathroom and fished the object out of the trash. Even if it was broken, like his knife, it was a piece of Sirius. A piece of him that he couldn't throw away no matter how hard he tried.

"Hey, scruffy. What'd I say about that hair, hm?" the mirror asked; Harry replied with a one finger salute.

He put the shard into a small leather pouch that his knife resided in after he returned his photo album back to the bottom of his trunk.

Standing, Harry walked to the door and left the room, heading up to the third floor. He walked to the end of the hall where there was a pair of double doors. Opening them, Harry stole inside the darkened room. There was a broken dresser in the corner, a mirror on the far wall, and a towering wardrobe to his right. In the center of the room, there was a huge, four-poster bed with acid green hangings around it. Next to the bed there was a small night stand with a couple of picture frames on its dusty surface next to a rather horrid table lamp.

Harry looked at the pictures, watching the smiling faces of the Marauders in one photo. In another it was a picture of Lily and James holding Harry when he was just a little baby. The last frame held a photo of Sirius cradling a baby Harry in his arms. Sirius looked so proud, his eyes held a glimmer of life and happiness that Harry couldn't remember seeing. He could barely remember what Sirius's voice sounded like...

A rattling noise startled him out of his reverie. Harry looked up and around the room, searching for the source of the noise. It continued and Harry followed the sound out into dark hallway on the third floor. He walked down the corridor and found that the last door on the right was shaking and shuddering. Something was clawing against it.

Opening the door a peak, Harry was face to face with a brilliantly fierce orange eye. He took a step back as the door opened fully and Harry was met with the large, round-shouldered, eagle-headed Hippogriff, Buckbeak. The creature stared at him, bristling its large wings while stomping at the ground menacingly. It was obvious that Buckbeak didn't recognize him.

Remembering a lesson from Care of Magical Creatures, Harry recalled that Hagrid had told them to bow. Just as it had been three years ago, Harry was reluctant to expose the back of his neck to the Hippogriff. Buckbeak's huge talons and beak could rip right through his body in a matter of seconds. However, Harry bowed to Buckbeak, keeping eye contact, before straightening up. The Hippogriff bowed back to him and Harry made his way forward to stroke his head. Buckbeak made a contented sort of noise, closing his eyes.

Harry led the Hippogriff back into the dark room, closing the door behind them. It was a gloomy and depressing room with no windows and ebony colored walls. The curtains were black, the bed sheets were raven, and the hangings around the four poster bed were in dark tatters. The room felt suffocating and small and very unwelcoming. The odor of brandy and burnt chicken lingered in the room.

Buckbeak jumped up onto the bed, which moaned loudly in protest, and stretched his wings out before folding them down upon his back. The Hippogriff regarded him with one lazy red eye, flexing its talons every so often. Harry sat down next to Buckbeak, who put his head on Harry's lap, and began stroking his feathers. No longer did those feathers gleam like they did before in the sun. Now they were dull in appearance, results from the Hippogriff having to stay inside day in and day out.

"It's not fair for you, is it?" Harry asked.

Buckbeak sighed in response.

"Maybe when this whole war is over, you'll be free. Would you like that?" inquired Harry.

The Hippogriff raised his head to look at Harry square in the face before nodding vigorously. Harry smiled.

"I'll do my best for you, Buckbeak," said Harry.

Buckbeak lay his head down on Harry's lap again, swishing his long, horse-like tail. He moved his talon to rest on Harry's knee where every so often it would knead against his leg, those sharp claws being so gentle in not to hurt him.

"Did they tell you yet?" Harry asked him, looking down at the inquisitive glance. "About Sirius?"

That head was up again, sending him a sharp glare. Harry suddenly felt awkward. He wasn't talking to a dumb house pet, but to a very large, very dangerous magical creature. But even magical creatures had feelings. Harry knew that Buckbeak would be upset. Perhaps not as floored as Harry was, but still, nonetheless, upset. Buckbeak had to leave Hagrid to live with Sirius--two fugitives on the run from the Ministry--and now...Buckbeak was alone again. Harry smiled sadly at how much he and Buckbeak had in common.

An irritated sounding squawk issued from the Hippogriff and Harry looked at Buckbeak right in those orange eyes.

"No one had the decency to tell you?" Harry asked.

Buckbeak shook his head in the negative; Harry sighed. How could breaking the news to an animal be so...

"Sirius...well, you know he was my godfather," Harry explained.

The Hippogriff cocked his head to the side as if to say, "Wow, really? I had no idea..."

"Yeah, I guess he would have told you about me, huh? You two used to spend a whole lot of time together, right?" Harry said.

Buckbeak nodded. Harry felt so jealous of Buckbeak. The Hippogriff got to spend more time with Sirius than he did. It wasn't fair.

"Well, there was...there was an accident that happened..." Harry explained, looking down.

Feathers ruffled and a strange sound came from Buckbeak as Harry continued.

"There was this accident and...well..." Harry trailed off.

It was final now. It definitely happened. Harry didn't even have to see that gravestone, he knew. It was over. Sirius was gone.

"Sirius died," Harry whispered softly.

Buckbeak twitched before holding up his great eagle-like head. He let out a series of sad, high-pitched moans of despair. His talons squeezed at Harry's knee a little too tight and ripped right through the jean material. When Buckbeak was through, he lowered his head and whimpered softly, just as the night Harry and Hermione had forced him to leave Hagrid. Harry saw a small, crystalline tear fall from the Hippogriff's giant orange eye before Buckbeak lowered his head back onto Harry's lap. He stroked Buckbeak's head and neck for a moment.

"I miss him too," Harry said; Buckbeak nuzzled his hand.

Tears fell from Harry's eyes as he said this, landing on Buckbeak's feathers, making them shimmer for a brief moment as if a drop of the sun had befallen upon them. Buckbeak swished his tail and adjusted his wing to get more comfortable on the bed.

"I'll set you free one day, Buckbeak. I promise."

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