Requirements

Requirements

*

Care

*

There weren't tears in Harry's eyes. There hadn't been for a long time, he'd ages ago cried himself dry of them. But there was a sad look in them as he walked through the corridors of Hogwarts, his head bent down in sorrow and remorse.

Remus had gone now, too. He'd tried to prevent it, tried to save the one person he still had left to remind him of Sirius and his parents, but he had failed. The werewolf had died, and he hadn't been able to even avenge his death. Harry had failed Remus, like he had failed everybody who ever cared for him.

But he hadn't anybody left who would care for him, now had he? No, he didn't. The people who now fought did watch him, expecting to see their saviour. They did not, however, see a dear friend or an almost-relative. When they died, their eyes would blame the enemy, not Harry, who'd failed them.

It didn't mean that it wasn't his fault, no. Every time he saw a warrior of Light who had fallen, he watched them, making sure their face was carved into his memory. There were so many, and every day there would be more. But none of those new people anymore hurt him, not as much as he had been hurt by the death of those he actually cared for, and received the same in return.

Well, he would never be hurt that way again, since there was nobody close to him anymore. Dumbledore, no matter how gentle and caring he seemed to be, only saw him as a pawn in his never-ending battle against the Dark Lord. To Snape, he was only a way to free himself of the burden of the Dark Mark, and to everybody else, he was just a warrior -- a warrior fighting for them, true, but nothing that held any personal value to anybody. Not a friend, or a son. Not anymore.

"Nobody really cares for me," he muttered to himself. "Nobody but you, Sniffles. They only care about the War, and destroying Voldemort. As long as I'm still alive and preparing to kill the old snake-face, I could cut my hand off and nobody would care -- unless it was my wand hand, of course."

The dog walking on his side barked once, then licked his hand. Sniffles had grown to be a beautiful dog, and a fierce fighter. He was like a replica of Snuffles, a fact that pained Harry every time he set his eyes on his last remaining friend. Still, Sniffles was his own being, and brought joy to Harry just by being there.

The young wizard couldn't help wondering just how long Sniffles would remain with him, how long it would take before the curse of his caring took the dog down also. After all, everybody else he'd ever cared for had died. Why would Sniffles escape that fate?

Suddenly, Sniffles stopped on his place, looking up at the young wizard like expecting him to do something. For a moment, Harry was confused. However, then he noticed where they were standing.

They were in front of the Room of Requirements. The very place where Sniffles had come from. And the dog was looking up at him, obviously expecting him to do something about the matter.

Harry sighed, and began to walk. As soon as the door appeared, he stepped forward to place a hand on the doorknob. For a moment, he hesitated. Did he even know what he needed?

Oh, he did. He needed to know that somebody still cared for him, that he hadn't failed everyone. And he needed to know that those whom he had already failed were still all right, and that they forgave him.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the room. Once again, it was almost empty. In the middle of the room, however, he saw a familiar-looking stone bowl.

A Pensieve.

Bracing himself for whatever would come, Harry walked to the magical object. Then, Sniffles's pale blue eyes sharp on him, he entered the Pensieve.

*

Harry was staring straight ahead himself, not really seeing anything. The adult members of the Order exchanged concerned glances over his head.

"Hey, Harry?" asked Tonks suddenly. "Would you like some more toast?"

Harry turned towards her, and shook his head slowly. "No, thanks, Tonks," he said quietly. "Thank you for offering, though, but I'm not that hungry."

While his eyes were locked at the witch, and he was momentarily unaware of the plate of food in front of him, Mundungus, who sat on his other side, added some more food onto his plate. Then the not-so-law-abiding wizard just sat on his place, completely oblivious to anything else but his own meal when Harry turned back, not noticing the addition of food on his plate.

*

Harry, exhausted from the battle that day, had fallen asleep on the couch in the Grimmauld Place. The door was opened silently. After a second, like the incomer had hesitated, somebody stepped in.

A tall, slender form walked to the couch. Glancing down at the exhausted young hero, the person shook his head slowly. Then he conjured a blanket and tucked Harry in, took his glasses off and placed them on the nearby table, and then wiped a strand of jet-black hair away from his face. For a short moment, the mysterious figure just stood there, looking down at him as if deep in thought.

After that, Severus Snape left the room just as silently as he had come.

*

It was dark and quiet in Harry's bedroom. Only a couple of quiet whimpers broke the silence from time to time as the young saviour of the Wizarding World turned and tossed on his bed. The blanket that had been covering him had fallen aside, leaving him bare to the cold air in the room.

"Harry?" asked a deep, quiet voice from the doorway. "Harry, are you having a nightmare?" As no coherent answer could be heard, Kingsley Shacklebolt sighed and walked to the room. He lifted the blanket from the floor and tucked the young hero in. A flicker of his wand lit flames into the fireplace.

Then he just sat there beside Harry's bed, petting the young man's unruly hair until the nightmare left the young wizard and his sleep became even and undisturbed.

*

It was oddly dim. There wasn't light, nor was there darkness, just dimness, like a soft shadow had enveloped everything, covering the world with its almost-light. And in the middle of that shadow, a man walked.

His robes were no more shabby, his steps no more tired. His walk was brisk and fast, his prematurely greying head held proudly up, his amber eyes shining with a new power. He was a new Remus Lupin.

"Oi! Remus!" shouted a happy voice as the werewolf approached something that seemed to be light in the middle of the shadow. After a moment, a motherly-looking woman strolled forwards, and enveloped the frail man in a warm hug. "How is everyone over there?" Molly asked in her usual mother-hen manner. "Harry is fine, isn't he? Have you heard anything from Bill and Charlie?"

"Let him be, Molly," Arthur laughed behind his wife. "He's barely reached our new land yet, and you're already fussing over him. I'm sure there are some people he'd like to talk with first."

"Oh, of course," the Weasley mother said. "Come on, Remus, I'll show you to Lily and James. We're all staying around them, you know, 'cause that's where Harry will come then... And they're such pleasant company, and so young! Oh, it's like I was seeing Harry again, they resemble each other so much..."

Remus smiled and shook his head at the motherly woman's endless chatter. "Calm down, Molly," he said. "I'm sure Harry will stay over there for still some time. It's not like we should tell him to hurry dying, now is it? He has a war to win, and then he'll surely want to enjoy normal life when he's finally given a chance to that."

"Oh, of course," continued Molly. "It's just that the young are getting bored here -- Ron especially, he's so frantic to hear some news from Harry. I've heard that Hermione won't cross the line here until she's done everything she can for the War. Is that true?"

"Oh, it's perfectly true," confirmed Remus. "Would you ever expect anything else from her? Besides --"

He was interrupted when somebody ran to him and closed him into another embrace. "Moony!" exclaimed James Potter. "Really, we've been waiting for you so long! What took you down, old mate?"

"A too well aimed silver dagger, that's what did it," Remus told with a little grimace. "Come on, James, I didn't come all the way here only to tell you how I died. Surely there's something else to talk about?"

"Of course, of course," the other Marauder said, mirth in his eyes. They were now reaching the light. There Remus saw a whole new world -- flowers, trees, houses, and familiar faces everywhere. "Now come on here, Lily has already put the kettle on. You can tell all the latest news of Harry!"

Molly smiled. "He never wants to talk about anything else," she informed Remus. "Well, not much anything else. Sometimes he also asks of you and Sirius, and whether Wormtail has been caught."

"Figures." Remus grinned. "Very well, my dear Marauder friend. Let's discuss your son over a cup of tea."

A moment of time later -- although there was not really time, not anymore -- they were sitting around a table in a house that resembled remarkably the Potters' previous home at Godric's Hollow. "You would be so proud of Harry," Remus said quietly, watching Lily and James over the rim of his cup. "He's grown to be a wonderful young man. He's so brave, and powerful. He has done more than any of us could have ever imagined -- and he's still fighting."

"That sounds like my son," James said, a bit sad smile gracing his lips. Then he frowned. "Everybody who comes here and recognizes us keeps telling that Sirius is dead. If it is so, then why isn't he here already?"

Remus raised an eyebrow. "He loves Harry, James, that's why. He would have happily given his life for him. The boy's like his own son, and he probably thinks Harry's more his than yours. Do you really think that he will ever come here before Harry's there to walk with him?"

*

Harry didn't cry. He hadn't cried for years. But there was a slight glimmer in his eyes when he came back to reality.

Ron missed him, the Weasleys missed him -- they didn't think he had failed them. And Sirius...

Sirius was waiting for him. He had not gone forward, he was still waiting for Harry somewhere -- perhaps in that dimness Remus had walked through? Or was there still something before it?

It didn't matter. All that mattered was that some people still cared for him, hadn't abandoned him -- both alive and dead.

Or somewhere in-between, like Sirius.

*