See The Sun

-- See The Sun --

A Songfic

Saturday. The end of another long, tiring week. We have been back at school for only a short period of time--it is just mid September now--and the workload is already getting to us. Sure, we are taking courses at NEWT-level, but nonetheless: I never expected them to be this tiring.

Not that I'm not managing okay, but there is a lot of work involved. Harry and Ron seem to have understood how important school is and are actually working hard--Harry even more than all of us, even harder than me, Hermione Granger, top student. He does nothing else but work these days; he has dark rings under his eyes and is stricter than us prefects in telling the younger students to respect the silence of the common room.

On top of normal school work, he has his duties as Gryffindor Quidditch captain, team practices to plan, as well as attend, of course, and he still leads our DA meetings (we decided to keep the name of Dumbledore's Army). Harry has also taken up Occlumency lessons, with the Headmaster himself though, and he has started training for his last battle with Lord Voldemort. So do we, Ron and I, to a certain extent, but not quite as often or quite as hard as Harry does. Next to duelling lessons and learning even more spells than we do in the DA meetings, it contains also physical training: Things like endurance, strength and reflexes, as well as running, boxing and other fighting arts. It's become a regular obsession with Harry.

Ever since he arrived at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix this summer, he has been training and working, in other words, he has been keeping himself busy--to distract himself, no doubt. It started with Potions work during the summer holidays because he passed all of his OWLs except for History of Magic and Divination. Harry is taking Potions at NEWT-level to become an Auror. Forgotten are all dreams he had of, one day, playing Quidditch professionally, forgotten all doubts of leading a life like Moody, like Kingsley, like Tonks, all forgotten. He barely eats, he barely sleeps; if you mention Sirius's name, you can be sure that he will storm out of the room two seconds later, and if you try to reconcile with him, he pushes you away roughly. He seldom talks about anything but work and never smiles; he spends his free time in the library reading big, thick volumes about self-defence and combat, totally absorbed in them.

And it all worries me tremendously.

Harry has not said a word about his godfather's death once since the end of fifth year and he blocked off any conversation about it all summer. Now that he is back at school, it is even easier for him to get away from us; a rough, "I've got work to do," and he is off, to the library, to the common room, to the dormitory, anywhere, basically, as long as he's away from us. Ron has tried, I have tried, god, even Ginny has tried to talk to him, but nobody can penetrate through his defences.

And now it is Saturday morning, nearly eleven o'clock, I'm on my way back from the library and I'm wondering. I haven't seen Harry all morning. Actually, I haven't seen him since I went to bed late last night, leaving him alone in the common room, brooding over an essay for Herbology; something about Fireseeds. I'm wondering where he is, because I know that he will have finished that essay before having gone to bed last night and because I know that he would have come to the library to work. He claims it to be less noisy than the common room, especially on weekends. And he didn't show up in the library once.

Ron is doing some additional prefect work, preparing something special for Halloween, as far as I know, even if Halloween is only in over a month. I'm not doing it--Professor McGonagall said one prefect per house would be sufficient. Ron claimed that I had enough to do as I'm taking far more NEWT-level classes than him, so he told her that he was taking over the responsibility. I can't deny I'm not grateful for it. The other two prefects, Colin Creevey and Judy Sparks, the fifth years, were glad about it as well. They've only been prefects for a few weeks and aren't experienced enough yet.

I nearly trip over the uneven stone floor as I turn the corner. Luckily enough, I catch myself again, but the books I had been carrying in my arms go flying and fall to the floor. Drat. I drop to my knees and pick them up hastily before hurrying on to Gryffindor tower.

The common room is mercifully empty as I stumble in through the portrait of the Fat Lady. The students that have already got up are working in the library or have gone outside to breathe some fresh air before autumn takes over, before winter comes, before snow falls and they are bound to the castle walls. Others might still be sitting at breakfast, and a few are still in bed.

This thought makes me stop abruptly on the way up to my dormitory.

Harry was not in the library. Harry is not in the common room. But Harry does not get up late anymore--so where is he?

I turn on my heel and walk back down the steps, laying my books onto my usual table and starting to make my way towards the boys' dormitories, even more worried than before. Where could he be? I just want to check if he's in his dormitory before going to the unused classroom we train in and dragging him out. It has already happened once. I already found him training at six o'clock in the morning, doing crunches. He did not understand what my problem was.

My footsteps are unnaturally loud and I find myself stopping again, halfway up. Something stirs in my mind. There was an important day sometime mid September, I know there was something really, really important. What was it? What?

Feeling like I'm living a deja-vu, I turn on my heel and rush to the table where I laid my books down, searching for my organizer. Ancient Runes: Revealing Their Secrets, Advanced Transfiguration (Grade Six), A New And Revised Guide To Arithmancy, Astronomy: Getting To Know The Universe, and The Essential Knowledge to Potions (NEWT-level Studies). Where is that damn organizer? In my haste, my Ancient Runes dictionary lands on the floor. I pick it up and realize that I haven't looked in my schoolbag yet. Frantically scanning the common room for the Indian-style red, orange, yellow and black bag with the little mirrors that Ginny gave me, I find it hanging on the back of the chair opposite me. I roll my eyes and reach for it, pulling the bag over the table and wrenching it open to find my organizer in it, its shiny yellow surface twinkling at me innocently. Very funny. I open it and start searching...fourteenth of September...fourteenth of September... My stomach lurches.

Saturday, 14th of September 1996

(Sirius's birthday)

I sink down on a chair numbly. Today would have been Sirius's birthday. I'm just happy I remembered that there was something important and didn't run into Harry's dormitory totally unprepared. Damn. Sirius's birthday.

I don't know how long I sat on my chair in a deep trancelike state, but as a log in the fireplace crumbled to ashes before my eyes, I snap out of my daze. Sirius's birthday. Suddenly, everything makes sense. Well, it makes sense that Harry has not been around all morning. I close my eyes as my hand clenches into a fist around the page of the organizer and tears it out in frustration. This is bad. Really bad.

I think I should find him. I think I should go and find him and talk to him and try again, even if I have been pushed away so many times before. I should try to reconcile with him, try to help him. Perhaps he will listen to me today.

There's a sick patch in my stomach as I stand up slowly and head towards his dormitory. I have a feeling that I will find him there. No, it's not only a feeling, I know I will find him laying on his bed, hangings drawn, in the dark, on his own. I cling on to the cold stone wall, a few steps away from his room, my head spinning. It's so quiet here with nobody around and my breathing is ringing in my ears. I wait for a minute or two to calm down again and then climb the last few steps up to the sixth year boys' dormitory.

((I'm coming round to open the blinds

You can't hide here any longer))

I stand at the door to his dormitory quietly for a moment, listening. No sound meets my ears, but what was I expecting anyway? I notice that my hand is trembling as I touch the cold, gleaming door handle, hoping that the door will be open, hoping that he hasn't locked himself in.

And to my astonishment, the door swings open easily.

It's completely dark in the room, and the air is stale, making it hard to breathe. The curtains of the only window are drawn and I know that he is lying in his bed, blaming himself, the way he always does. Surely, he has heard someone come in and knows exactly that it is me, not Ginny, not Ron or any other sixth year boy, just me, Hermione. But he stays quiet. Perhaps he's hoping that I will go away again, but I will most certainly not. This time, I'm not giving in.

I don't speak, but go over to open the curtains as well as the window. It's a dull, cool, windy day and I welcome the fresh breeze on my face. I step away from the window and see, now that the little sunlight illuminates the room weakly, that the hangings of his four-poster bed are drawn, something that doesn't surprise me in the slightest. He always does that when he wants to be left alone.

But I will not leave him alone. Not again. Not this time.

I go over to his bed and push the hangings aside carefully to find him turned away, turned towards the wall, lying in bed as I knew he would be. It pains me to see him like this and yet, it's not the worst part. The worst will come when I'll see his eyes, I know, I have seen them often enough since that day...since that day in the Department of Mysteries. The eyes that used to sparkle, emerald green, shining eyes, so real, so--so alive.

And they are dead now. They died the day Sirius did.

I am strong, I tell myself again and again. I am strong. I have to be strong for him. I haven't seen him this vulnerable for ages, not the whole summer, not since the day of Sirius's death. I take a deep breath and sit down on his bed silently. My hand reaches for his shoulder, and I squeeze it lightly. He doesn't react, but I didn't expect him to either. For a while, I just trace soothing circles on his back, saying nothing. Finally he moves and turns over to look at me for a brief moment, and I am surprised. His eyes are not dead today, they are alive...alive, and expressing pain, deep, deep pain. He has hidden his face in his pillow again by the time I catch myself and am ready to say something, and I see his back heaving suspiciously. I know he is crying and he does not want me to know. He has been doing it for a while, I assume, by the way his eyes were all puffed up and shining with tears.

((My god, you need to rinse those puffy eyes

You can't lie still any longer))

I bend closer to him and whisper in his ear. "You need to get out of here now, Harry. I'm waiting for you in the common room, okay? I'll see you there in a few minutes."

Then, with a soft stroke of his messy black hair, I get up and leave his dormitory for the common room, hoping against my firm belief that he will come. I don't want to force him to talk to me, and I don't want to force his thoughts into other directions, but I must at least try. If he does not come down on his own, I will have to go back up. But I am giving him the chance to do it by himself.

I settle down in my usual armchair, staring at the fire, thinking. Sirius. It hurts me as well, still. I cried when Sirius died, I did. To myself. I--I didn't tell Harry, or Ron, or Ginny. Nobody. Though, I think Lupin saw me crying once. I cried because I was sorry for all the bad things I had said about him, I was sorry for accusing Sirius for many, many things, saying he was reckless, many things like that. I still am. Sorry, I mean. And it still grieves me that he died, it probably always will. At least in secret.

Waiting for Harry to arrive, although I don't believe he will, I have time to think a lot of things over. Sirius was like a father to Harry, and, at the same time, like an older brother and a friend. A mixture of a parental figure and a mate. And Harry was a mixture of a son and James for Sirius...but Sirius does not have to live without Harry anymore. Harry has to live without Sirius.

What would I do if my parents died?

The thought makes me shiver. I don't know what I would do except crying. I would want to be left alone. I suppose Harry wanted to be alone as well and I'm sure he did his fair amount of crying in the dark, when nobody was listening, when nobody could see. It's just that I believe, after a while, you have to move on. The pain will stay, it will never leave you entirely. Every so often, you will be reminded of what happened, you will see things that remind you of the person you lost. Always. And there really is very little you can do about it, and you don't want to change that either. You believe that if you can think of the person without being sad, it's an insult to their memory.

But I don't think it is.

Life goes on, I know it must, I know it does. My life went on earlier than Harry's did after Sirius's death, because I wasn't as close to him as Harry was. I think Harry has been clinging on to Sirius for too long. He must learn to let go. He must learn that letting go is not an offence to Sirius's memory. He must let go.

((And yes, they'll ask you where you've been

And you'll have to tell them again and again))

I jump as I hear a door creak open and footsteps coming down the staircase. I recognize them at once. They are Harry's footsteps. I get up from my armchair and turn around to face him. He stands still, halfway down the steps, his right hand holding on to the wall, his once again hollow gaze fixed on me.

"Come on," I say, going over to the portrait of the Fat Lady and taking our cloaks off the hooks.

Harry comes down the last few steps and takes his cloak, wrapping himself into it. I can sense him asking me where we are going, even though he does not voice the question out loud.

"We're going for a walk, Harry," I say simply, slipping into my own cloak and pulling him out of the common room by the hand before he can protest.

The corridors are nearly deserted. We only meet few students on the way, and nobody we are really acquainted, luckily enough. I'm still holding Harry's hand tightly as I pull him after me. I feel that he is slightly reluctant about it, but he is too weak to resist today. We don't speak at all; there is no need to. He knows that I've realized what day it is. And he also knows that he has been hiding long enough. He knows. Perhaps he does not want to hear what I have to say, perhaps he is happier not listening to my words. But he knows they are true, deep inside, even before I have spoken. He knows I am right.

((And you probably don't want to hear tomorrow's another day

But I promise you, you'll see the sun again

And you're asking me why pain's the only way to happiness

And I promise you, you'll see the sun again))

We reach the Entrance Hall and descend the sweeping marble staircase. The doors to the Great Hall are closed, and no noise meets our ears--but then again, I hardly notice anything else but his cold, clammy hand in mine as I push the front doors open and lead him outside. The fresh air meets us as we cross the grounds slowly, hand in hand, the wet grass soaking the hems of our cloaks. The little sun barely has enough power to warm up our cheeks that are flushed from the cold and the soft wind ripples our hair as I pull him towards the lake with me. Its surface is not calm; tiny waves form a peculiar pattern of coming and leaving. The giant squid is not in sight and we take the path that leads around the lake.

((Come on, take my hand

We're going for a walk, I know you can

You can wear anything, as long as it's not black

And please don't mourn forever, he's not coming back))

We sit down on a big stone that reaches into the lake halfway round, facing the castle. It's windy, but I welcome it. My hair dances in the breeze smoothly, and we both watch it with fascination. At one point, Harry even manages to lift his hand and touch it, and from the corner of my eye, I see a miniscule smile playing around his lips, something I haven't seen for so, so long. I feel a soft smile creeping into my face as well, as his eyes light up and he stops thinking, for once, about Sirius. I didn't know I had the power to do that. I reach for his hand and squeeze it lightly, laying my head onto his shoulder.

((And I promise you, you'll see the sun again))

Silence has a lot of power, I find, and realize that Harry does not need me to speak to understand what is on my mind, what is bothering me. We understand each other in silence, much better than can be said in words. Harry, who has been blocking me off for nearly three months, is slowly coming to his senses again. He is opening up, he is letting his emotions show, the hurt, the pain, the loss. He reaches up to his face, and I know he wants to wipe away tears. I look up at him and catch his hand in mine, so that he can't. He tugs a bit and tries to pull his arm away, but then gives up in face of my firm grip. The tear drops from his face onto my hand and we both watch it, as if in slow motion. I can feel tears mounting up in me as well, I feel that my eyes are shining with them, just as his, when I reach up and wipe another one of his tears away with my thumb. More and more follow, and soon, silent streams are running down his face. I pull him into a hug and let my tears fall freely as well.

((Do you remember telling me you'd found the sweetest thing of all

You said one day of this was worth dying for

So be thankful you knew him at all

But it's over))

My shoulder is probably soaked by now, I would not know. If it is, I do not feel it. His grip around my neck tightens until it is nearly painful and he is holding me tightly, like a drowning person close to death would cling to a life-saving piece of wood in a hectic sea. He sobs as I whisper soothing words to him, even if nothing I say, nothing I do, nothing anybody does, can take the pain away.

And so the two of us hug silently on the rock that reaches into the lake as the wind picks up and bigger waves form, splashing against the stone, spraying us with little drops of clear, cool water. I stroke his messy hair softly, thinking about everything that has happened in the last few weeks and I notice that his shoulders are not heaving so strongly anymore, that he is slowly calming down. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a tissue and start dabbing his tears away as he lets go of me, only holding on to my left hand while he looks out on the lake, the strong breeze playing with his hair. For no specific reason at all, I suddenly let go of the tissue and it gets caught up in the wind, torn away, flying up high, like a white dove, until we cannot follow it with our eyes anymore.

"I'm sorry," Harry mumbles after a long silence. I turn back to him; his eyes are still fixed on the lake and the castle but he is not taking any of it in. I know he isn't. I can see it in the emptiness of his gaze.

"Don't be," I reply, squeezing his hand, although I'm not really sure what he's sorry about--it could be anything. It could be because of what happened to Sirius, it could be because he was crying, it could be because of what he has become in the past months. But either way, whatever it is, my answer is true. He doesn't need to be sorry for any of it.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he repeats, still not looking at me, "it wasn't fair on you."

"Oh, Harry..." I say, a little helpless, but now sure what he is talking about; it is indeed because of the state he has been in these last weeks. "But we understand. You don't have to be sorry for it, we understand. It's just..."

I bite my lip uncertainly and he turns to look at me, his green eyes searching mine, as if he could find the rest of that sentence somewhere in them. But I don't finish the sentence. I don't really know how to.

A distant noise brings us back to reality; students are pouring out onto the grounds. I think the Quidditch match between Hufflepuff and Slytherin takes place today.

"Shouldn't you be there?" I ask him with a nod towards the Quidditch pitch.

"No," he answers, getting up and pulling me up with him. "Not today."

Slowly, we make our way back to the castle in silence, ignoring the sounds from the Quidditch pitch. The wind is not so strong anymore, but it is not good weather for a match all the same. The sky is a dull, greyish white and it will be hard to spot the Snitch in this, I know, although I am no Quidditch player. A shrill whistle sounds. Madam Hooch must have started the game.

We walk past Hagrid's hut, holding hands, sunk into thought. I don't know what Harry's mind is on, but I am still thinking of my last sentence. I just want to find a way to finish it.

((And you probably don't want to hear tomorrow's another day

But I promise you, you'll see the sun again

And you're asking me why pain's the only way to happiness

And I promise you, you'll see the sun again))

Harry pushes the great oak front door open and lets me step through before him. It closes behind us with a dull thud, blocking out the little remaining noise from the stands completely. Wordlessly, we head up the big marble staircase, back towards Gryffindor tower. Nobody will be there. It is the first match of the school year and our house is outside, cheering with the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, hoping for a Slytherin defeat.

"Bubblesnap Juice," Harry mumbles and the portrait of the Fat Lady swings to the side to let us into our common room.

He takes my cloak from my shoulders and hangs it up with his before going over to his usual place and sitting down in front of the roaring fire. I watch Harry in his seat for a while.

"You haven't sat there in a long time," I finally say, leaning against the mantelpiece, a smile playing around my lips. "It's...sort of, well...good to see you here again."

He smiles slightly, then runs his hand through his hair, staring into the fire, and his tiny smile fades. "Sirius appeared in there so often," he mumbles. I walk over and sit on the side of his armchair. He glances at me and then looks back into the fire. "How did you know?"

"Know what?"

"Today. What day it is."

"Oh," I reply. "I had noted it down in my organizer ages ago." Harry nods as I speak, playing with his robes nervously. "I'm worried about you, Harry."

"I know," he mutters and sighs, "I know...I'm sorry."

"You don't need to be, Harry. I--I just don't want...just don't fall back into it, that's all I mean to say. I've been worried sick about you since school started. You don't do anything but work anymore and I can see that you're exhausted. You're doing too much. You haven't got enough strength for all of that, Harry. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about. Look at my third year."

Harry does not reply, but looks back into the fire. I stroke his hair again, gazing into the fire with him. The only noise issues from the flames licking the logs, crackling and crumbling, heating our cold faces up. It is nice and calm and I have not felt this peaceful in a long time. I'm happy I had the courage to go up to his dormitory and check on him. He moves in his seat a little and pulls me down next to him. His hands are not cold and clammy anymore, I am glad to notice.

He hugs me and whispers in my ear. "Thanks, Hermione. I don't know how this would have ended if you hadn't managed to wake me up."

"Hey," I whisper back, "that's what friends are for. It's normal if the thought of Sirius hurts; it will for a long time. But life does not wait for you to get over his death. It goes on all the same." I pause and study his face carefully. His expression is calm, his eyes are alive again, sparkling emerald green. "You're allowed to hurt, you know. But Sirius won't be disappointed if you laugh and have fun sometimes. He doesn't want you to be sad forever."

"No, probably not," he says. "But I still am, Hermione. The pain is not going away or getting less."

"Think about it, Harry. Why is it that the pain is not going away? Don't you think it's because you're not letting it go? Because you're clinging on to the memory too much, instead of letting it go? Harry," I say in almost a whisper and run my thumb down his cheek, "it's not an insult to Sirius's memory to live on. You cannot spend the rest of your days mourning. The days might be dark right now, dark and dull, but you can't leave it at that forever."

((And I promise you, you'll see the sun again))

A tear runs down his cheek. "Thanks, Hermione," he repeats thickly, "Thanks. You know, you should really go into psychology or something," he says with a smile.

I smile back at him and we hug again. "I'm glad to have you back," I whisper, hot tears running down my cheek as well. "I'm glad to see you smile, Harry. It's been a long time."

I press a kiss on his forehead, holding him in my embrace. I have my friend back. I don't want to let him go again.

And through the window looking out onto the Forbidden Forest, a ray of light shines through the grey clouds.

((And I promise you, you'll see the sun again))

-- The End --