Learning to Forget

Learning to Forget

Sirius is not dead.

He didn't really know why he had crept into Umbridge's now-deserted office that night, after another long afternoon spent with Ron and Hermione in the Hospital wing. At the time, he had told himself he wanted to check whether she had confiscated anything to any students, besides brooms, but he knew deep down it was a fake excuse. If she had, then they would soon be returned to their owners, as soon as somebody had the time to take care of her office. He needn't meddle with it, and he knew she hadn't stolen anything from him.

Sirius is not dead.

The hideous kittens were still mewing softly on their plates, and Harry had crashed them down to the ground with a vicious joy, refraining from setting fire to all the flowery curtains, comforters and cloths that littered the walls and furniture. He could still see himself sitting at that table, during so many nights, writing, writing, writing... He could still see her sadistic smile when he had first understood exactly what she meant by "writing lines", could still see Ron's panicked look when he had found out about it a few days later.

Sirius is not dead.

He had fumbled through some drawers, without much enthusiasm, but when he had gone back to Gryffindor Tower to get some sleep (he wanted to sleep in the Hospital wing, but Pomfrey wouldn't let him), he had felt lighter, somehow.

Sirius is not dead.

The Dursleys? Oh well, they were still as horrible as ever, even though Moody had done a good job of terrifying them. Harry had never gotten so many decent things to eat, and Dudley's hateful glares made it all the more fun...if only he was feeling remotely hungry. Instead, he barely ate, to the point where Petunia was (secretly) more worried about his health than about the possibility that they might be accused of starving him. Harry had been so surprised when she had finally relented and scolded him that he had agreed to try and eat a bit more, although he always had to force food down his throat, and went to puke it all more often than not as soon as his aunt wasn't looking.

Sirius is not dead.

He wasn't feeling so bad though. He guessed his body had just decided that for once his angst would be taken care of through his stomach, rather than through the lack of sleep, or the feeling of being trapped in a cage. He wasn't in too much a hurry to find out what the Order was up to now. He only wished he was strong enough to go to Voldemort and kill him once and for all, slowly. Very slowly.

Sirius is not dead.

He thought that now he could probably cast a Cruciatus curse, an effective one. He had had the best teacher, after all.

Sirius is not dead.

He got letters from Ron and Hermione, who were obviously back at Grimmauld Place. He wondered why Hermione didn't spend more time with her parents. Talk about ungratefulness. What he wouldn't give to have some parents to spend time with. Or some other relatives, at least.

Sirius is not dead.

He had gotten a letter from Lupin two days ago, informing him that they would come for him soon, that Dumbledore deemed Grimmauld Place still safe enough. Kreacher, after all, couldn't give away the address, since Dumbledore was the Secret Keeper. They hadn't told Hermione, but Harry knew they had finally shot the house-elf. They didn't have any other choice, after all. They had told Hermione he had killed himself when they had said he would have to obey Tonks from now on.

Sirius is not dead.

Tonks. Harry thought about her a lot. He hoped she would be at Grimmauld Place when he would go there. He couldn't wait to see...to see her again.

Sirius is not dead.

Hedwig flew into the room, hooting softly, a letter tied to her leg. Harry threw his parchment to the bin and put his things away, wrapping his hand in a napkin before touching the owl. A letter from Lupin. They would be there in two hours...that meant in thirty minutes, Harry deduced. He slowly packed his things, ignoring the glares Hedwig was sending him. She wasn't stupid, of course.

Sirius...

Harry shook his head. It had become a mantra, a stupid false mantra, over the summer. When he heard Uncle Vernon's voice downstairs, he straightened up, waiting.

"Hello Harry," Lupin softly said when he opened the door to his room. He hugged him awkwardly, and Harry wondered if he was feeling as bad as Harry felt. If maybe he had the same mantra now.

"Let's get your trunk downstairs, shall we?" Lupin said, taking hold of one of its handles. He knew better than to do magic under the Dursleys' noses. Harry shrugged and took Hedwig's cage with one hand, gripping the trunk with the other one. The napkin had slipped away at one point or another, while he was packing up. Lupin smiled, then suddenly his eyes went wide and he let the trunk fall down with a dull "thud", striding to Harry. Harry didn't even try to back away, he didn't care about anything much anymore.

Sirius is not dead.

There, engraved in his flesh, angry red lines carved every day of the summer, for long bloody hours. His mantra.

Lupin slowly fell to his knees, taking Harry with him. Harry sat beside him, sighing. He actually felt a bit stupid now that somebody else had seen it. It wasn't just him and the quill and the words anymore, it wasn't just some stupid, hypnotic thing he did to prevent his brain from thinking. Lupin made it all real. Lupin probably thought he was some weird kid.

"How did you do that?"

"Umbridge's quill. Used it for detentions," Harry answered in a monotone voice, avoiding Lupin's stare.

"Why did you do that?"

...because I've been praying every day that he wouldn't be, that he couldn't be. Because there was no body to prove it. Because life just can't be so unfair. "Because I needed to feel pain."

Lupin was crying, Harry could tell even without looking at him. Silent tears. Pitying tears, probably.

"You don't need to feel pain," Lupin finally said, after what seemed hours. "None of us needs to feel any more pain than we're already feeling."

Harry finally looked at him, waiting for more. Lupin took his hand in his, stroking the thin words with his thumb.

"I haven't been taking my potion the last full moon. Severus had made it for me, but I didn't take it. I thought a bit of pain would be welcome, that it'd help...somehow."

Harry was listening intently now, wondering how come he hadn't thought of that before. Jealous because the pain must have been so much more powerful, it must have been numb-rendering, just what Harry wanted.

Lupin's eyes were sad, very sad, but somehow they looked more alive than Harry had ever seen them. "But you know...it didn't help. At all. It only reminded me that when I used to hurt like that, he would be there. To make it all better. I don't need that kind of pain to remember him, or to accept that he's gone. And you don't need it either."

Harry nodded silently, not sure if he was agreeing, but he could see Lupin wouldn't let him do it again anyway.

"Do you think he'd have wanted you to do that because of him?"

Harry shook his head. And this time he meant it.

"Where's the quill?"

"Under the floorboard. Under the bed."

Lupin stood back up and kneeled beside the bed, trying to find the loose board. He took the quill out, looked at it with the deepest disgust. Harry thought he'd pocket it, he thought with anger that he'd pocket it and use it for himself later on. But Lupin snapped it in two, made sure to crush the point, then burnt it all.

Harry looked down at his hand.

Sirius is not dead.

He wondered if the words would ever fade away. It had been a long summer.

Sirius is not dead.

He thought he didn't want them to stay on his hand.

Sirius is not dead.

The thought made him smile.

THE END.