Gone

Harry has never cried. Not once, not when he was bullied by Dudley and his cronies, not when Ron had fought with him over the stupid Goblet of Fire incident, not any of the times he woke up, panting in the night, his head echoing with his mother's screams. Tears had never seemed enough to explain the big, heavy feeling of sadness and depression welling up inside him each time something like that happened.

Remembering the night Sirius Black died is a struggle for him, because the incident in Dumbledore's office seems to have blurred his memory. He is dimly aware that, afterwards, Ron kept asking if he was okay, only to be nudged furiously by Hermione who kept sending Harry anxious looks. He could see the pity in her gaze, and knew that she felt badly for him, but Harry didn't care. His thoughts had felt distant and hazy then, as if his brain was doing its best to numb itself against the pain.

He didn't fall asleep that night. He sat, long after Ron and his other classmates had drifted into peaceful slumbers, watching the moon out the window. He recalled throwing things around in Dumbledore's office, just wishing and wishing for it to be over. I don't care, I've had enough, I've seen enough, I want out, I want it to end, I don't care anymore ...

He had sat, completely still, staring hard at the huge, glowing orb out the window, trying to find a glimpse of Sirius in his head. It seemed that no matter how hard he tried to retrieve it, the memory of his proud, adventurous godfather was quickly swallowed up into the darkness.

Ron awoke the next morning to find his best friend ridged up against the wall, his face pale and tired, his eyes dull and lifeless. Harry didn't smile at him, or say hello like he usually did.

'What do you think it's like to be dead?' he asked in a monotone.

Ron became alarmed. Thoughts of Harry committing suicide raced around his head shrilly, screaming and screaming to be noticed. 'Whatever you're thinking, mate, don't do it. I know that you and Sirius were really, well, you were really close, but it's not worth dying for.'

Harry slowly turned his head towards him, and for a moment Ron was afraid he had said the wrong thing. But Harry only smiled, a forced tight smile, and said, 'I'm not going to kill myself, if that's what you're thinking.'

Ron was relieved. 'That's great, Harry. Um, do you want to go have breakfast now?'

Harry shook his head and turned back again. Rays of early sunlight seeped through the window, filling the room with a warm golden glow.

Ron left without him, and consulted Hermione in the Great Hall.

'Well, of course that's how he would act!' said Hermione, sounding disgusted at Ron. 'He's feeling awful, don't you understand? Why did you have to go and provoke him like that?'

'I didn't do anything!' Ron replied angrily. 'He asked me what he thought death would be like! What the hell was I supposed to say?'

Their raised voices were starting to gather attention; several students craned their heads from their respective tables to look at them. Ron and Hermione finished their breakfasts hurriedly and ran up to the Gryffindor tower to see how Harry was. He was still in the same place, but was staring down into the photo album Hagrid had given to him in his first year. Hermione knocked and entered timidly, with Ron following.

'How are you, Harry?'

'Fine.' They could see right through his lie, and he knew it.

'Harry, we can understand what you're going through, and we're really sorry. I know you don't need our pity, but-but, well, if you need anything, we'll always be there.'

Hermione watched him anxiously and Harry gave an almost imperceptible nod. Accepting the fact that he wanted to be alone, the two of them left the room. Harry knew they were worried about him, and he was grateful to them, but he couldn't quite seem to express his feelings in words. It seemed so much easier to just lie there, numb and careless, completely oblivious to the bustling outside world.

Days passed slowly after that. He returned to the Dursleys, endured their frightened and frustrated looks, went to stay with Ron and Hermione at the Burrow and went back to Hogwarts for his sixth year. He turned down the offer to stay at Grimmauld Place for the holidays. Everyone said they understood, but they didn't really. He was sick of hearing that-"we understand, we really do, the pain you're going through" blah blah blah. They hadn't lost their parents at the age of one, they didn't live through life trying to escape a murderer, they didn't feel guilty for putting loved ones in danger without meaning to. Harry wished, not for the first time in his life, that he could just live a normal life. Was it really that much too much to ask?

Harry is old now. He was never really young anyway; his experiences made him wiser before his years. He lives in comfortable old house near Diagon Alley, where Ron visits him sometimes. Hermione has died long ago in the War, and Harry has never particularly gotten over all the people that died at the hands of the Death Eaters, Hermione among them. It was, he reflected, worse for Ron-they had just gotten married before she was killed. Ron is not himself anymore-Harry cannot remember the smiling, humorous red-haired boy anymore than he can remember Sirius.

There is a knock on the door, and Harry opens it to find Ron standing on his doorstep.

'How are you?' Harry asks.

'I'm fine,' Ron replies, with an almost non-existent smile.

They sit down and talk but Harry finds himself not really concentrating. He is remembering all the people he once knew, all the Gryffindors, all the Hufflepuffs, the Ravenclaws, even the Slytherins. He wishes for the carefree days of Hogwarts again, the days where the biggest worry was whether he had written enough for homework.

He comes out of his reverie, in time to see Ron staring puzzledly at him.

'Are you alright?' he asks.

In a blinding flash, Harry realises how much he has always depended on Ron. They were always together, since the beginning, and he is wholly grateful Ron is still there, as he had always been-a sturdy rock of support.

'Thanks Ron,' he says.

Ron understands and smiles. A tired, worn smile, but a genuine smile all the same. 'You're welcome, Harry.'

~Fin~