Death Is Only The Beginning

So far, summer at number four, Privet Drive was like every other other summer that Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, had lived. It would have been exactly like the last summer, were it not for the death of his godfather, Sirius Black.

Harry sat quietly in his room, ignoring the blaring television downstairs. His fingers traced over the picture of his parents' wedding, trembling slightly as they brushed over the happy, laughing image of Sirius, winking at the camera as James faked a punch at his back. Why did he have to go? Harry thought bitterly, tears threatening to fall from his eyes. Why did I fall for it?

Harry tossed the photograph back into the drawer. The photo landed on shards of glass - the remains of the two-way mirror Sirius had given him last Christmas. Next to it lay a twisted knife and many letters - an untidy, rushed hand on crumpled parchment, all signed with the name 'Snuffles'.

More letters were scattered on Harry's desk, unopened and unanswered. Harry recognised the even, neat writing of Hermione, the smartest witch in their year. There were also many envolopes that bore Ron's hand, which was changing daily. The only ways Harry could tell they were from Ron was the 'Chudley Cannons rule,' declaration emblazoned on the front of the envelopes and the varying statements, telling Harry just what Ron would do to him if he chose not to reply.

I don't know, Harry thought, looking at the pile of envelopes. Don't you guys get it? I'm not going to answer your stupid letters... leave me alone!

It's not as if I'm... going to commit suicide or something. Hell, no.

"Boy!" Uncle Vernon's voice broke Harry out of his reverie. "What the hell are you doing up there?"

"Nothing," Harry muttered to himself as he went downstairs into the kitchen.

"You better not be doing any of your crackpot..." Uncle Vernon trailed off, not wanting to say the word 'magic.'

"Magic?" Harry said innocently, sitting in a nearby chair. "No. But thanks for the idea," he continued, smirking to himself as Uncle Vernon's expression changed from rage to panic in record time.

"So, I'll just be heading back upstairs, now that we've got that cleared up," Harry said conversationally, getting up.

"Oh, no, you won't," Uncle Vernon's piggy eyes narrowed. "Petunia and I are going out to dinner tonight. Dudley'll be home late; let him in when he comes back. He left his key on the mantlepiece again... tell him where it is as soon as he comes in."

"Where is Dudley, anyway? Beating up some poor kid up the road? Mark Evans' mum was a bit upset when she found her little boy's arm nearly broken. I heard her telling old Mrs. Figg that she's going to sue whoever did that to Mark..."

"That's a whole lot of bullshit, boy, and you know that. Dudley's out at the library, studying for school, while you're in this house sitting on your backside on our lounge, watching our television, eating our food..."

Harry snorted. They both knew that he would get out if he could.

"Don't give me that, boy. You understand me?"

"My name's Harry," Harry replied coldly. "And yes, I understand."

"Right then. Come on, Petunia, let's go... we'll be late for Mr. Mason's dinner party, and this is probably my last chance, after the pudding incident four years ago. I've explained to the boy," Uncle Vernon glared at Harry, "what he's to do when Dudley gets home."

Aunt Petunia came through the kitchen, her bag swinging dangerously by Harry's head. Uncle Vernon gave a last, parting glare and followed his wife to the front hall.

Harry ignored him and turned away, preparing to head back to his room. As he mounted the stairs, he heard the slam of the front door and the faint roar of the Dursleys' new car.

~

Harry rolled his eyes at the pile of letters on his desk. New ones floated from the top of the pile to the floor. In the distance, Harry could almost see two owls, probably bearing yet another two letters.

"Honestly, don't you two think I can survive without Sirius?" he asked a piece of parchment with 'Love, Hermione' written at the end. He knew that he needed Sirius. He wasn't blaming himself anymore. How dare Voldemort trick him? How dare Bellatrix kill Sirius? ...How dare Sirius die?

The amount of parchment Harry had wasted, accidentally writing 'Dear Sirius...' on them whenever something good - or bad - happened. The amount of times he had whirled around suddenly, thinking he saw a big, shaggy-haired dog, or heard Padfoot's bark. Sirius couldn't be dead. Did he think Harry could live without him?

Hedwig hooted reproachfully and pecked Harry on the arm. She landed on the pile of letters, her eyes disparaging.

"All right, all right, I'll read the damn things," Harry grumbled, gently pushing the snowy owl away. He opened the first one, from Hermione.

"Dear Harry,

Sirius' death wasn't your fault. Really, you should stop thinking that. He's with your mum and dad now, don't you think? We all miss him, Harry, but he's in a better place..."

Harry screwed the piece of paper up angrily and tossed it to the floor.

"I don't care if he's with my parents now. I want him here. I need him here," he whispered bitterly as he opened Ron's letter.

"Hi Harry!

Don't get the Muggles get you down... I heard from Mrs. Figg that they wouldn't let you watch Muggle tellyvishon television. (Hermione just told me how to spell that... she could've told me before.) Well, can't be better than Quidditch, can it? I mean, you can't be missing out on much...

Listen, Harry, I know you're probably thinking about Sirius' death..."

The sound of parchment being hastily crumpled filled the room. Did everyone think that he was dwelling on Sirius' death? That he couldn't live without Sirius? That he needed constant reminders that he couldn't live without Sirius?

Harry tore through letter after letter, each being crushed and hurled to the floor. All about Sirius, and 'don't worry,' and 'everything will be all right.'

"Honestly, Ron," he muttered as he tossed Ron's last letter on his bed. "I'm not suffering from mood swings... okay, maybe I am. I don't need you to tell me how I'm feeling."

Hermione's last letter caught his attention.

"Harry,

The Daily Prophet's reported on something that Ron and I thought you should know. I asked Dumbledore about it, but he doesn't seem to know anything about it. I can't find anything in any of my books, either. The Ministry's panicking... Godric Gryffindor's sword is missing."