Falling

At night he sees Him falling, over and over again, even though he wasn't in the right place to see it at all, on the other side of the towertop, but then Harry has always had a better imagination than he would have liked.

Falling, forever falling... where did the portrait come from, that hangs in Professor McGonagall's office, now that it is her office? Was it painted by some human hand, when He took up the job of Headmaster, ready for its inclusion in the wall of advisors, or did it appear by magic, walking and talking and moving but not really alive at all? If so, why didn't they make one for Sirius, a portrait that he could at least pretend was the same thing and then maybe he'd have someone to talk to when Ron and Hermione were feuding over kisses?

Harry jerks awake in the middle of the night tangled in his messed-up blankets, breathing huge gulps of air and remembering perfectly every second of that night, every expression that passed across Dumbledore's face, each one more horrifyingly true than the last.

I never saw it. I didn't see him fall.

Once he fell out of the bed entirely and for a moment it was like living it himself, falling from his broom in front of a thousand spectators, all crying out for somebody to save him, but where were they when Dumbledore was thrown from the parapet like a puppet?

It is only occasionally that Harry remembers that the Headmaster was already dead when he fell, killed instantly by a curse that spared him the terrible fall Harry sees over and over again, sometimes changing the old man for someone else dear to his heart, someone else he can't bear to lose.

Sometimes he even sees Sirius fall again, fall beyond his reach and beyond his ken and beyond his understanding, and it seems everyone he loves falls further than he can catch them from, slipping through his imperfect and Quidditch-callused fingers, and for his sake.

Ron, pushed over a cliff by a dark-hooded man.

Hermione, disappearing into darkness as a hex flips her head-over-heels down the dark stairwell of a castle they had traced a horcrux to.

Ginny, falling forever, forever crying out to Harry to save her.

The images play out in his head like memories, and Harry wakes with his teeth clenched so tightly together his jaw aches, hand thrust out as though holding his wand and ready to shout 'Levicorpus!' though he never does for fear of waking the others. No need for them to know what he sees of them at night, no need to tell them, because as smart as Ron and Hermione are they know that he sometimes has true dreams and they'd just worry. Nobody should worry, nobody should care, because if they don't care then they won't do anything to fall for Harry's sake, but he doesn't have the strength to push them away and do this on his own as he intended.

His mother and father fell to the floor like lifeless puppets when his fate came to call.

The rush of wind in his hair, robes flapping around his falling body like some obscene and useless parachute -

At night, when the other two are asleep wherever they've ended up on their so-far fruitless quest, Harry paces the floor as silently as he can and plots for every eventuality he can think of, arms folded behind his back and lower lip caught in his teeth while he thinks. If this happens, do that. If that happens, do this. Don't look down. Don't fall. Don't hesitate. Don't fail them all again.

Who is he to command such loyalty, such self-sacrifice? A scrawny teenager with thick glasses and a stupid scar, and no idea what he's doing save what he's been told by his elders and betters, who because of him are no longer among the living. Perhaps he will be the next to fall, fall from grace, give it all up and hide somewhere, maybe in a bungalow where there is nowhere to fall from, no stairs or high ledges or towers or magic portals.

After all, it was the leader of the army that fought against the almighty power that fell farthest, that pulled them all down with him, as Harry knows because it was a tale of ultimate sin that Aunt Petunia drove him as hard as she could, thinking that religion would stamp out his perversity. Lucifer, who tried as hard as he could but tumbled from Heaven nonetheless, and who is Harry to say that he was wrong to try?

So Harry always goes up the stairs first, wherever they are, and he always goes down first, and he doesn't let people get too close to the edge, and he stays awake as long as he can without collapsing dead because he can watch that way and make sure nothing is going to happen. Ron and Hermione say nothing, don't mention it, even as they fall for one another, and so Harry doesn't say anything either, just grits his teeth and bears the weight of expectation and tries not to let it fall.