Last Mistake

Chapter six - Separate Emotions

"Lupin, you better be still before I change my mind to let you rest in your own dormitory."

"Poppy..."

Remus tried to pull down the shirt he wore under his robe.

"Oh, don't even try, young man!"

Remus signed in resignation and allowed Madame Pomfrey to examine his bruises. When she saw the injuries, she shook her head in disapproval. With a quick tap of her wand, the purple bruise began to fade and she removed her wand once all trace of it was gone.

"Now wait here while I go fetch you a potion."

"I'm fine!"

Madame Pomfrey poked Remus' ribs, causing him to grit his teeth in pain.

"When I can make contact with your ribs without you making that face...then you're allowed to say that you're fine. Until then, you'll do well not to disregard my instructions. I'll even tie you to the bed if need be," she said, warningly.

Remus opened his mouth, but snapped it shut when she shot him one of the most piercing glares he's even seen. 'I swear she practices that during her free time. No wonder she was able to keep Harry here whenever he was injured. How controlling... '

Of course, he'd never say that aloud.

----------

He haphazardly threw his bloodstained shirt on the floor, nonchalant about the traces of red on his torso. He then placed the package in his hand onto the lumpy, unbalanced mattress before heading towards a small cabinet and grabbing a bottle of hard liquor. Pulling out the cork, he took a long swig, savoring the burning sensation that was forced down his throat. After more than a handful of swigs, he drank enough to feel somewhat numb and be less cognizant of the dread he had earlier on. The alcohol made him a bit high...keeping him awake for the moment.

Unsteadily, he stumbled across the room and allowed himself to fall on the bed.

"You know James didn't mean to take it out on you," said Remus, appearing out of nowhere.

The young man jumped at the sound, but calmed down quickly at the familiarity of the voice. He continued what he was doing before the interruption - drowning his sorrows in a bottle.

"Come on Padfoot, he was angry--and upset. He probably didn't mean half of what he blurted out. When he snaps out of it, I bet he's going to regret those words and apologize profusely until you forgive him."

"I don't care if he does," he mumbled, taking another long drink.

Remus signed and sat beside his distressed friend. His eyes seemed to widen at the bottle in young Sirius' hands.

"Where did you manage to get that?" asked Remus, incredulously.

"The Bastard's wine cellar," Sirius answered. He smiles smugly for a second.

"You do realize you're chucking down a thousand-galleons bottle of liquor as if it's cheap whiskey?"

Sirius shrugged in indifference. "Want some?" he asked, lazily.

"As much as I hat--dislike your father, I don't think it's a good idea to be drinking that."

"Knew you'd back out. Whatever. More for me," said Sirius, as he continued taking large gulps.

"I think you've had enough."

When Sirius was about to put the bottle to his mouth again, Remus stopped him by taking the bottle out of his hand easily and pouring the rest of its contents on the street. Sirius protested weakly, but he gave up trying as he fell tiredly back on the sidewalk he sat on.

"I'm surprise you're still as awake as you are," said Remus, his eyes on his drunken friend.

"Wasn't my first time--hic--drinkin'," Sirius replied, his speech beginning to slur.

Remus tried not to look surprised.

"H-how long have you been drinking, Sirius?"

"Awhile. W-eh-Bastard first hit me. Went down to his precious little wine cave and drank no more than a quarter before I passed out. I was five."

"What happened afterwards?" asked young Remus, apprehensively.

"Oh...well...Nimik-"

"Who?"

"Kreatcher's cousin. Found me in the morning when she was cleaning-didn't know what to do. She tried to help me out, but I wasn't fast--hic--enough. HE came down. Saw the opened bottle--and gave me a worse beating. I thought he was going to kill me."

Remus was silent. He knew how horrible Sirius' family treats him, but he never knew that it was so bad that it drove a five year old to start drinking.

"I really admire you, Padfoot," said Remus.

Sirius though nearly asleep, heard Remus' comment nevertheless.

"Hmm. For what?"

"For having the rebel in you to stand up against your family. And for hanging out with us despite their animate reprimand and disapproval."

"What?" asked Sirius dumbly, not absorbing one word Remus said.

"I said that I admire how you still go against them to hang out with us," Remus repeated.

"Oh, that. Yeah... wh-um...no problem."

Remus laughed lightly.

"You are so out of it."

"I'm sorry, Padfoot," said a new voice.

Remus stopped laughing. A regretful looking James walked towards them. When he reached the pair, James sat on the other side of Sirius, who was still lying on the pavement, pretending James wasn't there.

"I'm really sorry for what I said. I didn't mean any of it. You know how I lose control when I have a temper. Please forgive me, Padfoot. I'm sorry for blaming you. It wasn't your fault what happened-"

"James."

"What?" James replied, frowning. Sirius never called him by his name unless he was mad...which he obviously still was.

"Just shut up. You're rambling," he said irritably, feeling sick.

James' frown deepened. "Have you been drinking?"

"Yes. No. Maybe."

"You have!"

"Shit...James, haven't you yelled at me enough tonight?" Sirius scowled, clutching his head.

"Well, your head wouldn't be hurting if you weren't drinking!"

Sirius moaned. James turned his angry gaze at Remus. "Why didn't you stop him?"

"I did. But he already drank a lot before I got here."

"Well then you should've gone to look for him sooner!"

"I wasn't the one who chased him off in the first place, JAMES."

"Wh-"

"Would the two of you just shut the bloody hell up!"

Both of them fell silent. James looked guiltier than ever. He shoot Remus a scolding look and walked over to Sirius who looked to be in pain on the ground. Slowly, he pulled Sirius up and lifted him with his shoulder.

"What--are--you--doing--?" asked Sirius.

Remus quickly went to Sirius' other side before James dropped him.

"Taking you home."

"Wha-! No-"

"I mean my home. OUR home," James quickly added.

Sirius didn't reply. He passed out about halfway on James and Remus' shoulder. Thanks to Remus' werewolf strength, they were able to drag Sirius' motionless body to James' residence.

"I'll get him a wet towel and maybe a potion. Can you take him up?" asked James, once they were inside.

"Yeah, sure."

Remus took Sirius' weight off of James and carried Sirius up the stairs on one shoulder, while James went to the kitchen. Once upstairs, Remus lightly used his foot to kick open the door to James room. There, he laid Sirius on the bed on the left, which looked almost exactly like James' Gryffindor-colored bed, only in--what else?--black. Sirius started mumbling.

"Heum emm hmm..."

"See, I told you he'd beg for forgiveness...even though he did get into another argument."

James came through the door then, with a wet towel in one hand, a potion in the other.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Prongs. Tell me how it goes," he said, amused. He knew Sirius would probably keep James up. James caught the smug tone in his voice.

"BYE Moony," he said, pushing him out of his room. Remus laughed.

After Remus was gone, James went to place the towel on Sirius' head. He also managed to give him some of the potion to relieve Sirius' oncoming hangover. Getting into his own bed, James heard Sirius mumble. James tried to block out the noise until he heard...

"Hmm forgive Prongs."

Sirius had no idea how he ended waking up on the edge of the bed, nearing falling off. When he tried to get up, he knew why. 'Bloody hangover.' It wasn't uncommon for him to wake up like this. He even had a routine.

Wake up. Conjure wet towel. Lie still. Think of what miserable thing had happened to cause him to do this to himself. Face problem. Sleep.

However, today, he'd have to cut out the sleep part. His eye landed on the cause of his drinking session and his previous feelings of dread and apprehension returned. The package. From Harry.

Part of him wanted to rip it open and see what was inside. Another part of him, wanted to leave it unopened and discard it as if he'd never seen it.

Because opening it would be like creating an official confirmation that Harry was never going to come back.

----------

"Now I know. Is that the end of your job or do I need to pay you to leave?"

"Unfortunately, my job is not done nor do you have to pay me anything. Helping you remember is only the first step of many others."

"For what reasons am I having to go through this? Is it some kind of challenge that I have to complete to move on? Is it a game? Are you just a fragment of my imagination created by my mind to keep me company?"

"No. You don't understand yet-"

"That's exactly my point! Because you seem to be avoiding the moment when you have to tell me all you know about my situation. But it's alright. You keep what you know to yourself because I doubt I'd believe a word out of your mouth even if you told me. I don't know you and I don't trust you," Harry finished, hotly.

He had allowed his emotions to take control over him and he knew it. No one has been able to make him lose so much control since before he decided to shut himself off. There was just something concerning this individual that riled him up and he was worried. No one should have such control over his emotions. Especially not a stranger.

"Eavan."

"What?"

"My name is Eavan."

Harry was taken aback by her sudden decision to reveal her name.

"Eavan?"

"Yes," she replied, as if she had just told him something very personal.

Harry really wasn't all that interested at that information. It's not as if it would give him any insight into anything. There were more important things he needed to be doing, like finding out what his purpose was and why he is the way he is, in appearance and form. He was pretty sure from all the times he's come across the ghosts at Hogwarts that ghost aren't invisible to the living.

"That-um was nice of you to share," said Harry awkwardly. "But I've got to go and find answers."

Harry turned away from her despite the fact that he had no idea where to even begin in his search. At least feelings like he was doing something would help to calm his nerves a bit.

"You don't want to know?" she asked after him.

"Know what?" Harry asked, without turning around.

"You know, everything."

"I have been wanting to know but I can't know if no one will tell me anything."

When she fell silent again, Harry shook his head and started walking away.

"You can go back!" she yelled, abruptly.

Harry's heart leaped at the word back but he quickly squash it down. Back could mean many things. Back to...to... Alright, perhaps back can't mean anything else, but it was still no reason to get his hopes up and set himself up for disappointment.

"You're not completely through the process of death and if you let me help you, there's a good chance that you'll be able to go back to your life."

"Just because you told me your name, doesn't mean that it's guaranteed that you'll have my trust. How do you expect me to believe you?" asked Harry.

"Because I have never lied to you. Nor will I ever. If you must have knowledge in order to trust, then I will give it to you."

"Then tell me," said Harry, heavily.

"I'm an angel of the middle ground or mid-realm. Which means that matters concerning ghosts and those passing through between transitions are my concern."

"You, an angel?" said Harry, questionably. "Tell me, are angels suppose to patronize and ridicule people?"

"With any luck, your stay here won't be long. That is, if you follow my instructions."

Harry caught her attempt to avoid his question and he decided to leave it alone, for now.

"So, I'm a ghost then."

"No, you're an exception."

"Surprise, surprise."

Eavan ignored his comments.

"You are actually just a free-spirit...that don't belong here"

"Thanks for that elaborate explanation," Harry replied, sarcastically. "If I don't belong here then why am I here? I'm not quite sure I understand. I'm dead, where else am I suppose to belong?"

"Well, that's because you're not really dead yet."

"Back to your usual vagueness, I see. I know what you're doing. You are telling me all these things and yet you tell me nothing at the same time. If you're just going to continue adding more questions and confusions to my mind, then I'm afraid I can do that well enough for myself," said Harry, on the verge of stepping through the walls and into the street.

"Bear in mind that I'm the only one that can see you and that you can see!"

"What good will it do me talking to you if all you do is cause me confusion? I'll find my own way. I always have," said Harry, as a final word.

----------

"Hermione, it's only a dinner. There's no need to panic."

"Easy for you to say! I'm the one doing all the work!"

"Hey, I helped!" Ron replied, indignantly.

"Oh yes, with what, may I ask?"

"W-with uh...the invitations! A-a-and I went shopping for the food. I would cook if I knew how. So you can't say I haven't done all I could," said Ron, seemingly proud that he was able to name so many things.

Hermione looked up from tidying the various assortments of furniture in the living room. She gave Ron a you've-got-to-be-joking look with her hands on her hips.

"The invitations. Right. If you call handing them to the owl as a great help...a-And as for shopping for the food, I was there with you. If I hadn't gone with you, we'd have nothing but butterbeer, whisky, and chips--chips!--for dinner. I would accept your reason for not cooking if you had actually tried to learn when Mrs. Weasley was teaching you."

"Well, I'm not a bloody cook! My dad doesn't even know how to cook and I doubt any of my brothers know either. Besides, who knew it could be so difficult to choose which bloody type of chicken to buy. I didn't even know there were types of chicken!"

"Alright, perhaps I shouldn't have expected you to know what to buy. But for your information, you dad could make a nice bowl of clam chowder."

"Clam chowder? Have you been teaching him muggle cooking? That would certainly explain why he's happier to see you than his own son when we visit."

"That's nonsense, Ron. Of course he was happier to see you. Oh, and by the way, on my research trip to Romania, I bumped into Charlie. I had no idea he could cook such a delicious dish of nisetru la gratar, a grilled Black Sea sturgeon."

"What?"

"It's fish, Ron," said Hermione, as if it should have been obvious.

"Alright, so I can't cook unlike my brothers-"

Ding-dong!

"Who's that?! No one is supposed to be here yet! It's not even six!" squeaked Hermione, more panicked than before.

"Calm down. It's probably just Remus deciding to come early to check up on us," said Ron, trying to stop Hermione's frantic state.

"That's it. I'm going to my room! Next time you decide to hold a get together with all our family and professors, get it catered!" said Hermione, as she stormed up the stairs of their shared apartment.

"Former professors, you mean!" Ron yelled after her. Ron shook his head as he walked to the door, not understanding why Hermione was making such a big deal out of a dinner, much less with people who we've known all our lives.

'Maybe it's a girl thing. I should ask Remus...maybe he has some useful advice to pass on.'

When Ron opened the door, it wasn't someone he thought in a million years to show up. It was George.

"George! W-what a surprise! You came a bit early, nobody's arrived yet, but come in," Ron ushered.

George walked in without a word. It was so strange seeing his brother. It was even stranger to see his brother...alone. As far as Ron knew, if you saw one twin, the other was bound to be somewhere close. But not anymore, he thought sadly. Not anymore.

"Um, do you want something to drink?" asked Ron, feeling the tenseness in the air.

"No," George answered.

"So...how's the shop going?"

"I sold it."

"That's grea-what?" Ron's eyes bulged.

"I sold it as a franchise to Zonko's."

"Why? It's doing well, isn't it?"

"It is. I just thought I'd try doing something else."

"But that is your-yours and Fred's dream!"

"It was, Ron. Just not right now," George sighed.

Ron suddenly noticed the dark circles around his brother's eyes and the five o'clock shadow on his chin.

"Listen Ron, I can't stay. I've got some...things to do. I only came by to ask you to deliver something for me."

"Come on George, I haven't seen you for ages. I'm sure mum and dad would love it if you could stay, even just to say hi if you won't stay for dinner," said Ron, pleadingly.

"I-I can't. T-tell them, I'm fine and to enjoy their dinner."

George then pulled out four identical looking envelopes with names written in ink on each of the letters. He put them in Ron's hands.

"Give them to everyone for me later, alright? There's also one for you," said George, already walking towards the door.

"But-"

"I'll see you around little bro," he said, his hands on the doorknob.

Just then Hermione came down the stairs. She was just as surprised to see him as Ron had been.

"George! W-where are you going? Aren't you going to stay for dinner?"

"No thanks. I've got plans. Maybe next time."

"Oh, alright..." said Hermione.

"Ron, remember to give those out," said George.

"I will," Ron replied, numbly.

They watched as George walked out and closed the door behind him. It was only when Hermione shook Ron by the shoulder did he snap out of it.

"Are you ok?" she asked, concerned.

"I'm fine..."

"What happened?"

"I don't know. He...just stopped by to drop off these letters, telling me to give them out."

"He seems a bit better..." Hermione tried to say.

"Hermione, he sold it."

"What?"

"Weasley Wizard Whizzes. They worked so hard to get it started after dropping out of Hogwarts. I can't believe it."

"I'm not surprise he did that," said Hermione a moment later.

"Why? I don't understand how he could give up the dream that he and Fred had accomplished."

"Ron, you said it. It was their dream for so long to create their own joke shop. Now that Fred you know, George probably can't handle staying in the business-"

"He can hire for more help or a new manager-"

"Ron, that's not what I mean. It's probably painful for him to work in a place that the two of them started. I bet every item in the shop reminded him of Fred because they had created them together. If George was there day in and day out, he would never be able to stop thinking about him. I mean, would you be able to work in that environment?"

"No...I suppose not."

"If we hadn't graduated, it would probably be the same situation for you and me at Hogwarts. We'd probably see Harry everywhere."

"Hermione, what did I tell you? Don't say his name around me!"

Hermione couldn't believe what Ron just said to her. Unbelievable!

"I thought you were over that. You told me you were!" Hermione shouted.

"Just don't mention-"

"I can't believe this! I can't believe you! You're still mad, aren't you? After everything he's sacrificed for us, after he died for us, you still haven't forgiven him, have you?!" she said, incredulous.

"I don't mean it that wa-"

"NO! Don't say anymore. I can't listen to you. I feel disgusted just being in the same room with you," said Hermione, tears in her eyes.

She ran towards the stairs, but Ron grabbed her wrist before she could get away.

"Ron, let go!" she shouted, vehemently.

"I-I'm sorry, Hermione. I shouldn't have lied-"

Hermione stopped struggling.

"No, you shouldn't have. I'm ashamed, Ron. Harry had no choice-"

Ron's eyes flashed.

"No, Hermione. He did. It was to save Fred or kill him. Guess which one he chose?"

Hermione finally broke away from Ron, her eyes flashing with tears and anger.

"It was an impossible choice that no one should be forced to make. But he made it, as hard as it was. I'm not saying that Fred's life wasn't important, but if Harry had made a different choice, billions would've died and even then, Voldemort could've killed Fred on the spot. If you're mad that Harry chose what he did, instead of trying to save your brother, then I won't argue with you there. But if you can believe that Harry intentionally committed murder, I don't know if I can live under the same roof as you," Hermione finished.

Ron had nothing to say. He wanted to scream, but no sound came out. Hermione tried to keep her composure and her tears until she was safely inside her room.

"They'll be here in an hour. For everyone's sake, I suggest we pretend for tonight that this conversation never happened," she said, going upstairs, not expecting Ron to elicit a response.

He didn't.

----------

"Anywhere particular you're heading?"

"Not yet."

"Have you seen the sky?"

"Yes, it's blue, like always."

"That's not entirely true. It's gray when rain is imminent. It's bright when the sky is clear. It's orange, pink, purple, and blue when the sun is setting. It's black when it's night. It's unclear when there are clouds. That is also apparently the way that Eavan is."

Harry kept his eyes on the road ahead, but his mind was clearly distracted by this new voice that's speaking to him.

"Are you a lonely ghost with nothing better to do?" asked Harry.

He was so tired of encountering strangers, especially one named Eavan.

"No, I'm far from being a ghost."

"Are you sent by Eavan?"

"No. But while I'm here, maybe you can answer a few questions and I'll answer a few of yours."

"I don't know why you think I would have the answer to anything you want to know."

"How are you doing?"

"That's complicated to answer," Harry replied, not at all up to more conversation.

"Fair enough. How's Eavan doing then, in terms of her performance in your aid?"

"Lousy," Harry muttered.

"Harry, I'll let you in on something about Eavan and angels in general. Angels are more humanistic than you think. Each one has their own personality that streams from their past lives and they aren't necessary all knowing. They also may not be the wisest in their ways sometimes...so you see, they still processes many human qualities. An angel that's skilled at his or her job is not one that blocks out all their emotions. An angel that's skilled is one that uses what they know about emotions to understand and help their charges. New ones are always being trained through given tasks, and mistakes...they make many."

"And how do you know so much about it?"

"I've experience it. I've seen in a lot of cases when an angel learns something from their charge instead of the other way around. The major difference between humans and angels is their priorities."

"So you're another angel."

"In a way. I came to you to excuse Eavan's attitude so far. Perhaps...I'll come down more often to see that less mistakes are made."

"Are you sure Eavan didn't sent you?"

"Harry, I'm beyond her authority. If tomorrow she fails to give you adequate explanations to your questions, then you'll be seeing me."

"Who are you?"

"I'm The Mid-Realm Angel or Kevil, for short. Whatever you prefer. And go a little easy on Eavan. She's a new pupil of mine."

Harry watched, fascinated as The Mid-Realm Angel disappeared. He noticed that the head of this place looked like he was in his twenties. He felt a bit better after that encounter. Kevil gave him reassurance that he'll soon find out all he needs to know...whether Eavan provides it or not. That was a comfort to him. If it was really possible, he'd do whatever it takes...to go back.

----------

It was night. A large shaggy black dog sat alone in a room, his large eyes trained on a brown package on the floor. It growled roughly at seemingly nothing. There was something in the dog's demeanor and eyes that illustrate an inner turmoil too complex for a dog to be experiencing. In a determined way, the dog gritted its teeth, opening his mouth wide as if to swallow the package whole...so that no one would ever be able to see what was inside...ever...