Promises Fulfilled

Promises Fulfilled

Chapter 4

Durem Creek Cemetery

Harry didn't sleep that night. He spent the whole night lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling and trailing the creases in the sheets with his finger. When Ron asked him to come down to dinner, he pretended to be asleep and Ron left. About half-way through the evening, Mrs. Weasley came in and felt his forehead to make sure he hadn't come down with something that was making him so tired. When she felt no sign of a fever, she got up and left, still under the impression that he was in the realm of dreams.

Ron went to bed that night quietly, and soon after, his light bit of snoring filled the room. Harry rolled over and opened his eyes to look around the room. The scarce moonlight shone through the curtains, illuminating large molecules of dust that were floating lazily about the gloomy space. The flood of light also created a gathering of shadows in the darkened corners of the room. Both light and dark, like good and evil, coexisted. Would there ever be a day when there would be no shadows?

The minutes crawled agonizingly slow throughout the night. When he heard the sound of a clock chiming somewhere down the stairs, he figured that it was sometime around midnight. As the sounds of tired footsteps made their journey up the staircases and to their rooms, Harry lay still, fearing any movement would reveal that he was not sleeping like he was supposed to. Lucky for him, Mad-Eye wasn't residing in Grimmauld Place, so he didn't have to worry about that magical eye finding him out.

At around one or two in the morning, all footsteps and voices ceased; only the sounds of breathing, the brief roll over in bed, and the occasional snore from an occupant of the house were the only things that broke the still silence. Harry sighed and sat up, wincing when the bed squeaked loudly from his movements. He slipped on his high-tops, tying them quickly and accurately out of habit before grabbing his wand from beneath his pillow, which he put into the back pocket of his jeans; Harry hadn't bothered to change from his day clothes back into his pajamas.

Standing, Harry made his way to the door. Stealing a quick look at Ron to make sure that he was still sleeping soundly, Harry opened the door and closed it behind him quietly. He walked up the hall and ascended the stairs to the third floor landing. He found himself standing outside of that pair of double doors again. His hand hovered above the ruby-encrusted knob for a moment before reaching for it and opening the door.

Once again, he was in Sirius's room. The dark green curtains hung in tatters before the moon, creating an odd assortment of shadows on the far wall that danced like grotesque puppets in a morbid play. Harry stepped forward and sat on the edge of the bed, gazing at the lamp and wishing that he could light it to shed some brightness into the dreary room. However, Harry was forbidden to do magic and he didn't have any matches to light the old oil lamp on the stand.

And so, Harry sat in the darkness, clutching his wand, waiting for something to jump out and scare him. He wouldn't even have been angry if it was Sirius playing a joke on him, hiding behind the wardrobe until the perfect moment when Harry's back was turned. Harry choked back on a sob at the thought.

"Sirius," Harry said softly.

The room was still, and so was Harry. He couldn't go on with this depression any longer. Harry needed to put everything behind him; to lock it up deep within himself where even he couldn't find it ever again. He needed to forget to ease the pain, but to overlook what a wonderful man Sirius had been would be a sin. It was time to say goodbye for good. Sirius wasn't coming back and he couldn't hold on any longer to that one little bit of hope that maybe it was all just a nightmare. He needed to say goodbye one last time. But still...it was so...hard...

"I'll say goodbye tomorrow," Harry concluded for the empty room.

Tonight was for saying goodbye. It would be the last time that Harry would wallow in Sirius's death. From then on, he would continue living for his godfather. Sirius would have wanted it like that.

"Goodnight, Sirius," Harry said, lying down on the bed.

He held his wand in his right hand, letting it rest beside him as he buried his head in the pillow. It still smelled like Sirius. Like pine trees and ocean with a hint of aloe mixed in with it all. Harry felt so safe. It was like Sirius had just lain there moments before. And as Harry fell into a light slumber, he could have sworn he felt someone touch the top of his head softly.

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In the morning, Harry awoke to the sound of a soft knock on the door. Harry's eyelashes fluttered open, his gaze falling on the thin figure of Lupin standing in the doorway. Lupin looked tired and drained as he always did, with dark circles under his eyes suggesting that he had not slept well, or at all, for that matter. He closed the door behind him and walked over to the bed, sitting next to Harry. Lupin was looking at his hands that were twisting in his lap; it seemed as if he couldn't meet Harry's eyes.

"I knew you'd be here," Lupin said softly to him.

It wasn't an accusing sort of voice and Harry was glad for this.

"I was just...saying goodbye," Harry replied, hoping that Lupin would understand.

Lupin's nod clarified that he knew what Harry was talking about and Harry was glad that he didn't have to explain it, seeing as how he didn't even know himself. There was a brief moment of silence before Lupin stood and straightened his shabby robes, holding his head up high, trying to be brave for Harry's sake, the teen was sure. With his back to Harry he said: "We're going to be leaving soon."

"Oh," was all Harry could say.

What else would he say? It was awkward and depressing at the same time. It felt like someone had rammed their hand right through his chest and was squeezing his heart in a painful, pincer-like grip.

"I'll see you in the kitchen then," Lupin said, and departed.

Harry sat up and rubbed his eyes, running a hand carelessly through his disheveled hair. His gaze traveled to the nightstand by the bed. Reaching out a timid hand, Harry touched the lamp and then each of the frames, feeling everything, trying to imprint it into his brain. This was it.

Standing, Harry walked about the room. He went to the wardrobe and opened it, running his hands over Sirius's clothes, fingering the buttons on his favorite cloak. On the dresser were some personal belongings: a hairbrush, a watch, a class ring--Harry touched them all, feeling closer to his godfather than ever before. Harry found this ironic, feeling closer to someone after they've died then when they were still alive. He bit his lip and pulled his hand away. That would have to do. All of the things he touched would remind him of what Sirius used to wear. All of the things that Harry had smelled would remind him of what Sirius's scent was years and years into the future. All of the things that Harry saw would remind him of what it all looked like when it wasn't there anymore.

Harry was shaking, but, like his previous professor, held his head up high so he seemed a lot braver and more stable than he felt. A shower would probably help. Yes, he needed a long, hot shower. He made his way out the door, stopping to look back one last time.

"Sirius..." Harry began.

No, he still wasn't ready. He just couldn't say goodbye. Not yet. Turning, he made his way back to the room that he and Ron shared in deep thought, thankful that it was empty.

After taking a quick shower, Harry dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a black sweater. He wore his school cloak over it to keep himself warm. He slipped his wand into his robe pocket. Outside it was raining hard; the windows were shaking in their frames as the rain pounded relentlessly on its glass surface. The whole room was colder and greyer than it normally was. Harry breathed deeply, closing his eyes.

"This is it," he said, preparing himself for what he was about to do.

He walked out of the room and down the stairs. Tiptoeing by Mrs. Black's portrait, Harry found the kitchen and knocked once, then twice as he had seen Ron do the previous day. The door opened, revealing the tired face of Mr. Weasley, who opened the door a little wider to let him pass.

Tonks, Mad-Eye, Lupin, and Mr. Weasley were the only ones in the dimly lit kitchen. He was obviously the last one they were expecting by the way they all got up and stood awkwardly. Mrs. Weasley broke the silence when she bustled into the room.

"Who wants breakfast?" she asked, as sweetly as possible.

Everyone answered in the negative. She put her hands on her hips and gave Harry a disappointed glare.

"You have to eat. You're just skin and bones, look at you! Skipping out on lunch and dinner yesterday! I won't have it! You'll sit down and eat something solid before you go," Mrs. Weasley scolded.

"Molly," Mr. Weasley said softly; she looked at him and he shook his head.

"Oh. Fine. You all get going now. But Harry, I do want you to have a little something when you get back, all right?" Mrs. Weasley relented, looked defeated.

Harry nodded dumbly, watching as she left through the large wooden door. He was left with the rest of the Order in the dimly lit kitchen; they were all standing there as if they wanted to say something encouraging, but doubted their abilities every time their throat began to make a sound. Harry's eyes fell on Sirius's stool before the fire. He could almost see his godfather sitting there and laughing...

"Well, then. Shall we?" Mr. Weasley said, breaking the silence by holding up an old, chipped tea kettle.

Everyone reached forward and put their hand somewhere on its yellowed surface; Harry mimicked them, realizing that they were going to be traveling by portkey. Harry didn't like to be transported like that. It made him feel unstable and woozy when they landed.

"All right, is everyone touching it?" Mr. Weasley asked.

Their nods confirmed it. This was his one last look at the house with the memory of Sirius still in his mind. Would it look a lot more welcoming once it was all over? Harry hoped so.

"On 3. 1, 2, 3!" he said, just as something tugged just behind Harry's navel.

They were lifted up into the air, their shoulders brushing every now and then as they traveled through a sea of mixing colors and shapes. Then, just like that, it was over. Harry managed to stay standing, but felt windswept and a bit nauseous. He looked down at his feet to see concrete. Turning his gaze upward, Harry saw that they were in a sort of shelter house that overlooked hills and hills of tombstones and crypts. It was pouring down rain and there was lighting off in the distance.

"This way, Harry," Lupin said softly in his ear.

Lupin put a hand on his shoulder and led him out into the rain.

"Impervius," Lupin muttered, holding his wand in the air.

Suddenly, it was as if a large, invisible umbrella towered over Harry and Lupin as they made their way down a cobblestone path. Moody, Tonks, and Mr. Weasley were surrounding he and Lupin as they walked. They did not perform the water repellant charm over themselves like Lupin had, but instead held their wands in a ready, defensive stance. Then it all clicked in Harry's brain that they were his Advance Guard, tagging along to make sure no one tried to attack him. And Voldemort would do something that low: attack someone as they mourn the death of someone beloved who had passed.

Lupin led him down the path that turned into a steep incline up a small hill. There was a tree at the very top of the hill and beneath its branches, standing all by itself, was a gravestone. Harry felt a lump form in his throat and a knot tie in his stomach. This was it. Sirius's grave. The end of the road. It was time to say goodbye.

The steady clunk clunk clunk of Moody's wooden leg had stopped somewhere behind them, along with the footsteps of the other members of the Advance Guard. Harry looked back and saw them standing a respectable distance away from him, yet already forming in a secure position around the area to protect him. A light squeeze on his shoulder made him look at Lupin instead of the other members of the Order. Harry was trying desperately not to look at the grave. Why couldn't it all just be a bad dream?

Harry forced himself to look at the tombstone. It had Sirius's name, the day he was born and the day he died on its grey surface. But the small caption at the bottom made the tears, which Harry had tried so hard to control, fall:

Beloved Godfather and Friend

He looked down, wiping his eyes angrily on his sleeve as he shook with sorrow; Lupin squeezed his shoulder gently in empathy. Harry looked back up at the grave, begging it to change, knowing that it wouldn't, but still hoping that maybe, just maybe, it would. Walking forward and out of the charm that Lupin had cast, Harry stood before Sirius's grave; Lupin made no move to pull Harry back to him.

The rain hit Harry like a thousand stabbing needles of ice. In a matter of seconds he was thoroughly soaked and freezing. He kneeled before the grave in the mud and stared at the stone surface, the true marker of death, letting Harry know that it was real. Sirius Black was dead. Stone dead, just like his tombstone.

With numb fingers, Harry reached out and touched the grave, running his fingers over the words--over Sirius's name--again and again. Harry could feel hot tears streaming down his cheeks, mingling with the cold moisture on his face. His glasses were fogging up with condensation; he removed them and put them in his coat pocket.

It wasn't fair. It really wasn't fair. After a lifetime of having no one, Harry had that one little glimmer on the horizon: that Sirius would come and take him away from the Dursley's forever and so that they could live together in happiness. But no. Fate was not kind to Harry, and when Fate saw that for a brief moment that the Boy-Who-Lived was happy...Fate whisked away the one last, treasured bit of family that he had left.

"If I hadn't gone to the Ministry that night...If only I would have thought a little bit more...Why was I so stupid?! Why did Sirius have to die?! Why...why couldn't it have been me?! It was my fault! It should have been me!" Harry thought, more tears cascading down his face at full force.

He gripped the edge of Sirius's grave so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Turning his gaze back to the headstone, Harry thought of how Sirius had died a guilty man in the eyes of the Wizarding world. He shouldn't have had to die with that on his conscience and Harry would make sure that his name was cleared. Everyone deserved to know how much of a hero Sirius was. He was the bravest man that Harry knew. Harry bit down on his lower lip, clutching the grave a little tighter with his white, shaking hand. It was time. Time to say goodbye.

"Sirius," Harry said softly, his words drowned out in the horrible onslaught of rain.

Running his hands over the words Beloved Godfather, Harry continued, trying to keep his lower lip from trembling.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I was so stupid. If only I would have not been so rash..." Harry continued, stopping for a brief moment to look past the memorial and down the grave-covered hills.

He could see Moody and Tonks walking back and forth, their wands drawn, waiting for the first sign of danger. To the left of him down on the steep slope of lawn below the hill was Mr. Weasley, clutching the broken teakettle in his left hand, his wand drawn with his right. Sighing, Harry looked back at the grave.

"Look at this place. It's not safe anymore. Everyone is so afraid. People are dying everyday. People are being tortured...Why do I have to be the last hope for this world? I don't know if I can be that strong. I don't know if I can do it. I...I-I'm scared, Sirius."

Harry took a deep breath, shivering when a large gust of icy wind pierced right through him, freezing him down to the marrow.

"Well, I just wanted to say that...I love you. I know I never said that when you were alive...and it kills me now because I'll never get to see the look on your face...and I'll never hear your voice...say it back to me," Harry sobbed, his shoulders shaking dreadfully as tears stung and fell from his eyes; he couldn't even see Sirius's grave anymore.

He breathed in deeply once more, shivering uncontrollably. It had to be done now.

"I'll never forget you, Sirius. You were...you were the greatest. I only wish...that you were still here so I could say this to your face...not your grave. And I want you to know...to know that I'll fight my hardest...my bloody hardest for you, Sirius. And I'll win! Your name will be cleared, I promise," Harry swore, touching his hand to the tombstone one last time before standing.

Looking over the grave, Harry straightened and composed himself. Thunder boomed from somewhere in the distance. He turned and was face-to-face with Lupin. Their eyes met for a moment; Harry could have sworn he saw tears forming in those dusty amber orbs. Staring straight ahead while holding his head up high and proud, Harry walked away from the grave.

Away from the memories.

Away from the pain.

Away from Sirius.

Halfway down the cobblestone path, Harry looked up towards the heavens where, through all the rain and thunder, there was one small ray of sunlight shining down on him. And that's when Harry knew that Sirius was watching over him; all of them. It would all be okay.

"Goodbye, Sirius."

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