Barely There

BARELY THERE

"Oh bear my loving heart to him,

Who bled and died for me,

Whose blood now cleanses from all sins

And give me victory.

I've almost reached my heavenly home.

My spirit loudly sings,

The holy ones behold they come

I hear the sound of wings.

All come angel band.

Come and around me stand.

Bear me away on your snowy wings,

To my eternal home.

Bear me away on your snowy wing,

To my eternal home."

~Angel Band~

Harry found himself staring into the portrait Moody had shown him in 12 Grimmauld Place almost one year ago. He had framed the old tattered Wizarding photograpgh and placed it in his and Ron's room of the Black House. The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Toujour pur.

He felt his eyes burning as he stared at the ratty old picture.

He found himself touching the glass over where Sirius stood, much younger and naive. In this photo he had no clue that some years later he would be falsely accused for killing thirteen other people, enter Azkaban for thirteen more years, escape for a couple years and then be dead just like that. Or... was he? Harry wasn't sure what exactly happened to Sirius at the dais. There was nothing in front or behind the viel so how could he have gone anywhere? And Luna... she'd heard the voices too.

Harry's head shot up as the door creaked open a few scant inches. Ginny appeared.

"Mum's made some supper and wants to know if you're hungry," she said timidly. It was almost a question. Almost.

He forced a weak smile. "No thanks, Ginny," he said hoarsely. "I'm not very hungry."

She nodded and left, the door squeaked when it shut.

Harry continued to ponder, holding the oak wooden frame in his hands.

The scene at the dais, in the Atrium, played and replayed and played again in his mind. What he would have done to save Sirius from his fate.

Reckless, a voice quite quite like Hermione's whispered in his ears. He remembered hearing that before.

I was reckless, Harry thought miserably. Hermione was right. Like always. It was a trick. A damn tirck and I was a fool to believe Kreacher. I was an idiot and I killed Sirius. It's my fault he's gone and there's nothing I can do now.

The door opened again many minutes later, and Harry thought it might be Ginny again or even Mrs. Weasley insisting he try to eat something, but he was wrong once more.

It was Hermione.

Harry quickly wiped his face with his sleeve and hid the frame under his pillow.

"Hey," she said, shutting the door.

"Hey," he replied quietly, not daring to look at her. "Aren't you supposed to be eating with the others?"

Rumbling conversation from the Order and the Weasleys could be heard from downstairs.

She shrugged. "I wasn't too hungry." She took a seat at the foot of his bed. "You?"

He shook his head, biting his lip, unable to speak.

"You hanging in there, Harry?"

"Yeah, I'm just thinking," he confessed.

Hermione suddenly looked horrified, feeling like an intruder.

"Oh..." she trailed off. "Should I leave, then?"

"No, he half laughed, "that's all right."

She shifted uncomfortably. "Well, then, can I ask you something?"

"Hmm?" He knew what would be asked.

"I've just been wondering w-what happened after I became unconscious." She looked a bit anxious.

Harry sighed. He would have to tell her some day and now was as good as any other time. He told her how Neville carried her off, how he'd found Ginny, Luna, and Ron, how Ron was attacked by the brain, and everything he could, up to Sirius falling through the veil.

At the end of his story, Hermione's hands were covering her mouth and her eyes were furrowed painfully like she was trying not to cry.

"Oh Harry --"

"I should've listened to you, Hermione. You were right. If only I had done what you said -- he'd still be here." Sirius. "But I didn't and now I feel like I'm losing everthing."

His eyes stung again.

"It's all my fault." His voice was breaking unbearably.

"No, Harry," Hermione said weakly, on the verge of tears. "Don't you dare blame yourself. Don't you ever--"

"But--"

"No," she whispered, tears brimming in her eyes. She moved closer and snatched his hand from his lap, placing it on her own. She squeezed his hand. "It's not your fault." She repeatedly shook her head.

It was much harder to speak now. "He was barely here, Hermione. And now he's gone. I didn't even get the chance to -- I wanted to ask him if I was as good as my father," he managed. He didn't speak anymore. He felt the tears come and he bowed his head in shame, heaving a shuddering breath, placing his head in his hands. He shook profusely as he fought to keep the wracking sobs at bay.

"It's okay, Harry," Hermione said in a soothing voice, a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It's okay."

He couldn't hold it in anymore and completely broke down.

Hermione allowed him to weep on her shoulder, clinging to her for dear life. She just whispered to him and stroked his hair.

"Harry, you were always as good as your father."

FIN