Kite

Harry closed the bedroom door and leaned back onto it, shutting his eyes against the massive headache raging in his skull. After a moment, he pushed himself forward and flung his rucksack onto the bed. He glanced around the room; it looked just as it had at Christmas, down to the mismatched pairs of socks Ron had the habit of leaving lying about.

Sitting down heavily on the bed, Harry drew a shaky breath. They meant well. They all did. And they'd put up with his foul temper for so long, he was surprised they'd even let him in the door. But Tonks and Remus had arrived on Privet Drive that morning, announcing in kind but firm voices that Harry was to spend the last few weeks of the holidays at Grimmauld Place.

Which, coincidentally, was exactly where Harry didn't want to be. Everything about this place reminded him of Sirius. Just thinking about him made Harry's insides wrench. Why did his own stupidity have to be the death of someone he loved? Harry had been nothing but a burden to Sirius since the day they'd met. Sirius would be off on some tropical island, very much alive and happy as a clam with Buckbeak, if Harry didn't have so many bloody problems.

Harry sighed and opened his bag. His trunk, and therefore all of his clothes, was still downstairs, but he could put some of his other things away. It would take his mind off...people. He pulled his Invisibility Cloak out and walked over to the bureau, opening the drawer that had been his on his two previous visits. Ron had left it empty. Except...

Harry reached into the drawer, a small frown creasing his forehead. A plain parchment envelope lay there, his name written across the front in an achingly familiar scrawl.

"Ah, Mr. Potter has returned," said a voice behind him. It was a cool voice, though perhaps not as chilly as it had been on previous occasions.

Turning slowly, and not at all surprised to see him, Harry nodded at the portrait on the wall. "Phineas."

Phineas Nigellus raised one slender eyebrow and gave Harry a ghost of a smile. "Back for more, eh?"

Harry nodded again and turned back to the envelope lying in the drawer.

"My great-great-grandson left that," Phineas continued after a moment, in an uncharacteristically quiet voice, "sometime last spring. Told me, in no uncertain terms, that I was to direct you to it if you didn't find it yourself." He paused. "Well. I'll leave you to it, then."

Harry glanced over his shoulder. Phineas had vacated his portrait.

With a shaking hand, Harry picked up the nearly weightless envelope and ran his fingertips over the handwriting. Ignoring the lump rising in his throat, he turned it over and opened the flap, pulled out a piece of parchment, and unfolded it.

Dear Harry,

For a while now, I've known that something is going to happen, probably soon. I was always crap at Divination in school, but this is different. Something's about to change, and I think it means we won't be seeing each other for a while. I'm not afraid - I just want to know that I've done everything I possibly could with the life that was given to me. You've helped me do that.

I've been a bit worried about you lately, what with everything that's been going on. You're still young, too young to be dealing with all of this. But I want you to know that you don't need me anymore. You're strong, Harry, and you're going to be okay.

I wonder what your life will be like. Hopefully, wherever I am, I'll be able to look in on you from time to time, just to see how you are. You'll probably wonder what's become of me, but don't worry - your dad and mum will show me the ropes. I'll tell them you said hello. Can't wait to hear what James thinks about your Quidditch playing.

Knowing you, Harry, was maybe the best thing that ever happened to me. You brought grace and happiness into a cold and lonely life. Whatever happens to me - know that I would do it all over again for you. You've been like a son, and better yet, a friend.. I've never been prouder of anyone than I am of you.

Please don't cry for me. This isn't good-bye.

Love,

Sirius

P.S. Tell Moony that Padfoot sends his love.

Through his tears, Harry chuckled at the postscript. Then he sank back down onto the bed and stared at his godfather's words.

Sirius had been proud of him.

Even all of last year, when he'd been nothing but a prat to everyone who was important to him, Sirius still loved him.

Very carefully, Harry folded the letter back up and replaced it in its envelope. He rummaged around in his knapsack for a moment and pulled out the photograph album Hagrid had given him years ago. He found the page with his parents' wedding picture. Everyone looked up at him, smiling happily and waving glasses of champagne. Sirius tousled James' hair and then grinned up at Harry. For a moment, it seemed to Harry that Sirius really was looking at him, and his throat constricted again. But the next minute Sirius looked away, now kissing a blushing Lily on the cheek.

Harry sighed and tucked the envelope behind the picture, placed the book into the bureau drawer, and closed it. He leaned against the wall for a moment, sadness hanging heavily on his shoulders.

And yet, Sirius had been proud of him.

Harry straightened. Sirius had believed in him even when Harry hadn't believed in himself. From now on, Harry would give him something to be proud of. He was tired of being so sad all the time, tired of making his friends worry, tired of hating himself. He was going to be the best person he could possibly be, because somewhere, far away, someone was watching.

Squaring his shoulders, Harry strode across the floor and opened the door. He paused before leaving, hesitating when he thought he had heard a noise. Nothing. He shrugged and continued into the hall, shutting the door behind him.

The room was still for a moment, and then a faint, whispery voice broke the silence.

I know that this is not goodbye.