Many Waters

Many waters cannot quench love; Neither can the floods drown it.

~Song of Solomon 8:7

In his dreams, Harry mutters Sirius's name.

In daylight his guilt is hidden from any and all who look for it- his grief, too, is silent and angry, graven in stone like the line of his brows. Though it has been over three years, it is still the memory of his lost godfather that spurs him on. He torments himself, waking nightly shuddering with shame and self-loathing.

He is alone in this, he believes, because he alone is to blame. He is responsible for the extinguishing of this life- in a way, he thinks, he killed Sirius himself, though it was not his wand that struck the killing blow.

He has long since ceased rationalizing what he did with the excuse of love. Love, he knows now, is equal parts trust and care. His love lacked the more important half, and now he has lost it. He has vowed never to repeat the mistake.

Sometimes he wakes in the small hours of the morning sweating, eyes wide with horror. He wakes from dreams as real as those of the hall in the Ministry of Magic, but instead of a hall of closed doors he faces a stone arch with a fluttering black veil. He passes through it and is confronted by his godfather's shade, face furious as it was when faced with the traitor Wormtail. He opens his mouth to speak, but Harry knows what he is going to say before the whispers reach his ears.

If you had only trusted me, I wouldn't be here. If you had done as you were told, Harry, if you had only listened...

Harry tries frantically to explain, but Sirius, slightly blurry at the edges, begins to fade even further and soon joins the other voices beyond the veil.

When he wakes from one of these dreams he fears returning to sleep. His heart aches with loneliness and guilt, and he flees his bedroom for the dubious comforts of the sparse living room. He wraps himself in the afghan Mrs. Weasley knitted him for Christmas last year (he had specifically asked not to get another jumper, as he'd now accrued ten of them) and pours himself a cup of tea with brandy in it. He presses his aching forehead to the cold windowpane and stares at the dead embers in the fire grate, wondering if he's dreaming true again, or just paranoid.

In the aftermath of the battle at the Ministry he had put a tremendous amount of effort into mastering Occlumency, as if trying in retrospect could make his gross mistake a little more bearable. It didn't. All it did was make him impervious to yet another kind of attack. It protected his mind, but could not heal his scars.

Still, sometimes he dreams of his old friends, his adopted family, his enemies, and knows he dreams the truth. He doesn't tell anyone about this- it is his private gift, something that occurs rarely and is meant only for him to know. He remembers each one vividly, and can replay them like Muggle videotapes.

Ron has been dueling with a pair of young Death Eaters in black robes and white masks. They lay bound and unconscious at his feet, and he steels himself to unmask them. The faces of Pansy Parkinson and Cho Chang are revealed, and Ron retches into the snow...

Hermione and Draco are shut into a building being torn apart piece by piece. They are skeletal, bleeding, exhausted, but alive. They sit huddled together, arms around eachother, in the corner of a room as another piece of the wall falls in around them and they wonder if they will get out alive...

Remus Lupin sits alone in the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place, a meager meal in front of him. He looks down the table at the set of photographs, pulls one toward him and stares at it for a moment before his face crumples and sobs wrack his body, silvered brown hair falling in front of his face as he weeps for his dead friend...

The Malfoys liberate Bellatrix Lestrange from the supposed impermeable Ministry cell. Lucius sniffs, but Narcissa grins and embraces her sister warmly. They casually dispatch the three Ministry officials guarding their cronies, one of whom is Percy Weasley. Percy's face as the green light hits him is surprised, slightly confused, as if he had been expecting his death for months but had not anticipated the way it would come...

Harry fears his dreams of Sirius are this kind of dream, though he cannot be sure, as he has never dreamt of anyone else who is dead. He does not need dreams to make him shoulder the burden of an innocent man's life, but he fears that, when he crosses that black veil through which his recklessness pushed his godfather, he will meet that livid face in truth.

He fears most of all that it will be joined by the disappointed and angry faces of his parents.

He has lost, not only his godfather, but the timid flicker of hope that ignited in his heart one warm June evening when he was thirteen years old. He has lived without it so long he barely misses it. He is resigned to being the source of pain and death to all those he loves.

Love is dangerous. He never thought of it like that before- he was always taught that love was good and pure, the highest value and quality to be sought. But now he knows that love has a darker side too. It can lead you to do rash and stupid things, both from wanting to test your love and from fear of losing it.

He remembers Lupin's arm tight across his chest, preventing him from following Sirius into death, even though they both would have gone through the veil without a second thought if it meant bringing him back alive. He remembers Lupin's voice cracking and thinking his former teacher's heart must be equally broken.

He once heard it said that difficult magic is like a sword with no hilt- there is no way to hold it without cutting yourself. Now that is how Harry thinks of love- it hurts and heals, like Umbridge's quill, forever cutting and healing and reopening the wounds. He is lucky to have the love of his friends, but most of the time it feels like his love for them is suffocating him. He sits awake at four a.m. for the hundredth night in a row, hot tears squeezing out of the corners of his eyes as he wills himself to forget. Forget his visions, forget his fear, forget his guilt and just live, just be "just Harry" again...

It is Neville's appearance on his doorstep the next day that jogs him out of his stupor. It has been a month since he heard from anyone in the Order, at least two since he did anything to help out. He's feeling as useless and forgotten as he did right after fourth year, before the dementors attacked.

Now, suddenly, Neville is there, wide eyes blinking, adjusting to the dim light in Harry's house, stammering that he found out from Hermione where he, Harry, was living, and thought he would stop by, but he can see Harry is busy and by that he means not wanting to see anybody, because he can see the three-day-old bags under Harry's eyes and the wrinkles in his t-shirt and figures Harry's in bad shape and he doesn't know what to do, that's more Hermione's department or maybe Draco's...

But Harry grabs him by the arm before he can make a getaway and drags him into the kitchen, rinses out a dusty kettle and puts it on the fire. A light shines in his green eyes as he rummages around for tea things, and he listens avidly to what Neville fears is meaningless babble. But he keeps talking, and Harry keeps listening, and ends up by inviting him back for dinner the next day.

As he's leaving the next night Harry scratches his head awkwardly, running his fingers through his hair in a gesture unconsciously characteristic of his father. Neville looks at him questioningly and Harry blurts out that he'd like to see them all again. He feels they've been avoiding him, disliking his anger and singleminded devotion to their cause. He has been selfish, he realizes, to keep to himself for fear of hurting them. He knows they're all more hurt apart than they could ever be together.

Neville is speechless. Harry's never poured out his heart to him like this, and he's touched. Harry can see it in his eyes. And Neville promises to bring some of them with him next time.

And he does. Next week Neville is followed by Hermione, who kisses him softly on the cheek, and Blaise, who remarks dryly that he looks like he's been borrowing clothes from Dung Fletcher, and Ginny, who throws herself at him in an exuberant hug. He thinks it's too good to be true, that they will come once and the rest will not bother to come at all. He is wrong.

Soon they are all seeing each other regularly, and Harry is able to be happy, if not hopeful. He knows it can't last. These people he loves, he will also lose them. But he has learned to take each day as it comes, and to love who he can, while he can.

He loves them so much it hurts. Ron of the riotous laugh, Hermione with her gentle and constant support, Neville with his endless perseverance, Draco's passionate pride, Padma's beautifully rare smile, Blaise's dry humor, Luna's quiet spirit, Susan's eternal optimism, Ginny's acceptance of every part of all of them, Lisa's quick thinking... when Harry has them all around him, he thinks his heart will burst with joy.

Sometimes when they are together he will remember Sirius, and his face will fall. No one usually notices, except sometimes Luna or Neville, and they will do little more than squeeze his hand or give him a sympathetic smile. They, after all, could see thestrals back then too.

He loves them all so fiercely, so tenderly, that he wonders if it can be real. Surely after throwing away Sirius' life like he did, he doesn't deserve this. He knows he is blessed beyond his comprehension. He's just waiting for the other shoe to fall.

It falls the night Remus Lupin comes to Harry's house. Remus has been scarce since Harry graduated Hogwarts, throwing himself into his work for the Order since, Harry reflects, he has nothing left but his work. He remembers his dream of Remus crying and feels a twinge of sadness, but says nothing.

It's been quiet lately, Lupin explains. Harry knows, they've talked about it at dinner sometimes. How Fred and George went looking for clues almost a year ago and haven't come back yet. How they know Voldemort is often not in Britain but elsewhere, gathering support, raising an army just as they had long ago raised one in Dumbledore's name.

But it's time now for things to change, Remus says, looking at each one of them in turn. He's come not as their friend and old professor, but as their superior in the Order of the Phoenix. And he has an assignment for each and every one of them. They look at each other in fear, and Harry thinks, ah, so this is how it will end.

They are not allowed to know the destinations of those who are leaving. Some will be staying. Harry's not surprised that he's one of them. He's surprised that Draco is, and Luna, and Ginny, and Ron. But, Lupin says, the upside is that they can all stay here in Harry's house, together. Protected by the Fidelius Charm, they will be safe. And not without work.

Harry doesn't care about the work. He cares that half his heart is spreading itself out over the globe, in places he won't know about, and some of the pieces may come back and some may not. The dreams of Sirius' ghost, long kept at bay by the soft kisses of the one he has come to love the most, return. Not even the arms of his lover can give him a full night's sleep now, so tormented he is with guilt and fear. When he wakes, crying and scared, the quiet voice and gentle fingers brushing away his tears cannot soothe the hurts on his soul. He is broken once more.

After a few weeks in the house they fall into a routine. Don't ask for the post. Don't contact the Order. They don't want to know. Especially not after Fred came home alone with no memory of the last year except for George's death at the hands of Rodolphus Lestrange; and Padma sent them a letter telling them she'd finally found Parvati, and was sending her home to be buried with their family; and Kingsley was poisoned in his own home by a servant who turned out to be in the pay of the Malfoys... it's better not to know.

Except when they get the news that Neville is missing. Mad-Eye comes himself to tell them; feels they have a right to know this, at least. Ginny turns white and starts to cry, not even knowing she has tears running down her face. Ron starts to smash things, as usual, and hides in an upstairs room where he can rage in peace. Luna closes her eyes and, Harry knows, utters a silent prayer to the Goddess for his safety. Draco says nothing.

But then three days later Draco is gone, too, and they mourn all the more. They know he's gone looking for Neville, are astounded and touched and moved, but secretly feel his sacrifice isn't worth another loss, doesn't change how badly they want him back. They can't believe they will see either of them again, or any of the ones who have been gone for almost eight months now.

Harry comes to hate the house. Everywhere he goes his guilt is staring him in the face. Draco gone. Neville missing. Sirius... still dead, still accusing him silently from his sudden, violent dreams every time he lets his eyes fall shut. He stops sleeping. It feels like the weight of a hundred textbooks on his chest, pressing him so he cannot breathe. My fault, my fault, my fault, he chants to himself as he goes about his work. It is trivial, and he knows the Order is saving him for something big. It was saving all five of them, till Draco had to go and be an idiot, had to take on Harry's "saving-people thing" and be the hero in his place.

He cannot smile anymore. He has stopped believing in anything. All he wants, now, is to kill Voldemort so he can fulfill the prophecy and be done with this life of heroism. He has no faith in heroes; all they ever do, he reasons, is get their loved ones killed. He's not about to be that kind of hero.

The day before Christmas Eve dawns bright and white and cold. Like me, Harry thinks as he dresses himself mechanically. He frowns at his shirt; Draco would tell him it's hideous. Luna likes it, though, and he knows Ginny helped Ron pick it out, so he leaves it on. Draco's not here to complain, anyway.

He is trying to help Ginny put some glass snowflakes in the windows one night when she drops one. It smashes into tiny fragments and she starts to cry. I'm sorry, she says, weeping, I didn't mean to. He steps off the ladder and kneels down next to her where she is trying to gather the pieces together. All she's doing is cutting her fingers and getting blood on the carpet. He takes her hands and wraps his arms around her, soothing her.

I just miss them so much, she says into his chest. A lump rises in his throat and his voice, when he speaks, is exactly like Remus Lupin's when he told Harry that Sirius was gone.

I miss them too, he says hoarsely, pain twisting in his stomach. I want them back too.

Ron comes in, sees them like that and doesn't say anything, just sits next to Harry and lets him rest his head on his shoulder. Luna enters a moment later and curls up into a tangle with them, holding Harry's hand, head on Ron's lap, Ginny's hair in her fingers. They clutch at each other wondering how this can be right, how the world can go on when they feel so much pain.

Harry remembers what Dumbledore told him while he was trashing the Headmaster's office. You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it. He is bleeding with it now, he thinks, and knows the old coot was right. He can't help caring. It's who he is.

They fell asleep there, Harry realizes when he wakes up the next morning, Ginny's head on his solar plexus and Ron's shoulder digging into his ear, Luna's fingers freezing cold in his. He murmurs, get up, and they slowly do, because there is a knock on the front door. He figures it's Mad-Eye stopping by for a bit of breakfast.

It's Hermione and Blaise. Harry just goggles at them when he opens the door, unable to believe what he's seeing. Blaise's right arm is heavily bandaged and Hermione's face is a mass of bruises. He lets them in and yells for Luna to put coffee on.

Solstice and Christmas are quiet and somber, but that's the way Harry likes it. They exchange small presents, remember those who have passed on. Harry does not sleep that night, but stays up rereading A Christmas Carol. He feels like Scrooge- twisted by hate and fear and shame, haunted by ghosts and scores of evil words spoken behind his back.

A few weeks later Padma raps on the knocker and screams for them to let her in before she freezes her broken nose off. She's got Michael Corner in tow, having picked up her former Housemate from a Death Eater prison in France. Around the middle of January it's Lisa and Susan, who bring with them Ernie MacMillan, whom they had all thought dead a year ago.

Harry can't believe it. They're almost all home. Home, in a house that's not big enough to support them all, but somehow it will manage, because they've come through snow and danger and Dark magic to be with each other. Maybe redemption is possible, he thinks, hearing Ginny and Luna sing together as they cook dinner. He feels a rusty expression on his face, and realizes it's a smile.

They gather to celebrate Imbolc on February first. Draco was the one who had started this, Harry remembers, Draco and Luna. They were the Goddess-worshippers, who had insisted on a feast in Her honor on Her holy days. It's practically tradition, now, and they invite Mad-Eye and Remus and Tonks so it's a family gathering.

They're just getting to the invocation of the Goddess when the front door bangs open and there stand Draco and Neville, dripping wet and grinning like idiots. The festival is forgotten and the prodigal brothers are conducted into the living room, where a fire warms them enough to tell their story.

Harry stands on the sidelines and watches them. His family. He realizes now what it must have been like for Remus, those last two years that Sirius was alive and free. There, in front of him, within his reach, are the people he cares for most in the world. They trust him to love them, to love as an action rather than a feeling. He realizes that Sirius loved him with his actions- loved him enough to come to his defense, even though it cost him his life.

He will probably still dream of Sirius' accusing face, he thinks. But for now, at least, he has a houseful of people to love. Looking over each firelit face and the animated beauty of each person there, Harry feels whole for the first time since he watched his godfather disappear through the veil.

Luna looks up and catches his eye, and he smiles at her. She raises an eyebrow at him and looks pointedly at the space next to her. His eyes filled with tears of happiness, he goes to take the seat, not failing to notice the smile on the face of the portrait above the mantel. The last Black grins irrepressibly down at them, and Harry knows he has taken a step in the right direction.