ONESHOT. Harry comes to terms with his loss. warning: Spoilers for the sixth book.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its characters. They belong to J. K. Rowling, free to murder as she wishes...
Harry sat looking out of his window, at the neat lawns of his quiet, boring, nosy neighbors. The calm afternoon unnerved him; didn't these people know who they were up against? No they didn't, they weren't up against him, and he was the one who was. The remainder of the curse that failed stung again, and he wished again, for almost the millionth time that it hadn't failed. Why didn't he just die on that day? It would have been better to die slowly like this, to have everyone he cared about taken away from him one by one. Feeling sick, he got up from his place, and decided to take a walk.
Sirius had died, and now Dumbledore. He had almost always taken the head master for granted, he was always there. When things got bad, he was always there to save their necks, always there to give him lots of house points in the end. Harry thought of all the times Dumbledore had rescued them from whatever he, Ron and Hermione had gotten themselves into. With Sirius it was different, for one fleeting second it was easy to pretend he wasn't dead, he was still there, somewhere. But Dumbledore was dead; Harry had seen the body, lifeless and cold, distant. There was still so much he had to know; so much he had wanted to understand.
His mind went back to his first year, how Dumbledore had dissuaded him from coming back to the Mirror of Erised. Harry almost grinned at Dumbledore's reply to his question, what he saw in the mirror. Socks? And the end, Dumbledore was the one who saved him from Voldemort; Dumbledore was the one who had seen Harry through hospital wing; Dumbledore was the one who gave him and the others the necessary house points to beat Slytherin. He remembered just how happy he had been on that day, having his house members hug him and cheer, and professor McGonagall's smiling face.
And in the second year, Harry still remembered the terror he had felt when Dumbledore had to leave and the relief he had felt when he, Ron and Ginny had emerged, bloody and shaken, from the Chamber of secrets to find the head-master back in his room. He would give anything in the world to go back in time to that wonderful moment, to find out that he was very different from Voldemort, that the choices that you make decide who you are, not the blood or heritage or family or anything else.
Memories of his third year came floating now, the first time he met Sirius. His heart contracted at that thought, he would never see Sirius again, there wasn't any trace of him at all, and it was as if he'd never been there. Bitterness filled his mind, what drove Voldemort to kill people? What was he going to achieve from all this? He would never know death; he would be here forever. Didn't he feel anything for anyone? So many people he had killed, so many more whose lives he had ruined. What drove a person to do that? What was he going to do after taking over the world, each day becoming but a torturous monotony, each night filled with fear and guilt?
A slight drizzle began as the clouds closed up the sky, darkening the street. A few defiant beams of light still peeped through the blanket of clouds, as the smell of fresh earth wafted through the window. It was the same smell they came across whenever they passed by Hagrid's cabin or whenever he stepped on to the quidditch pitch before a match. To fly out into the clouds, to have time stand still for that brief time, to leave all his worries back on the ground. It was time to go home. It was strange, walking through these familiar streets. He knew them, but somehow felt disconnected, like he was walking through a memory.
Snape. How could it have been him? Dumbledore had trusted him and had done everything in his power to keep him out of Azkaban. How can betray someone who trusted you and protected you? How can you look into someone's eyes and lie, and yet not be tortured by your conscience? How could Snape kill him after that and live with the rest of his pathetic life, hated by all? The memory remained frozen in his mind, his waking hours filled with it, his nights with his parents. He went up to his room again, and stared out into the darkness, into the mist.
The drizzle intensified as twilight approached, and he felt himself slipping into sleep. The now-familiar dreams came now, strange images of his parents and his friends. Only it wasn't strange now, not this time. It was like somebody had turned on the lights, the dream was flooded with light. Everybody, his parents, relatives, and he realized with a start, Sirius and Dumbledore. His family. He felt his heart rise, and unbelievable happiness shoot through. Lily Potter fixed her beautiful green eyes on him, and whispered softly- "We're always there for you. Whenever you feel you're alone, close your eyes and we will be there" his father smiled proudly at him, and Sirius gave a short bark. His mother took him in her arms, the most loving caress he had ever known. "Remember, we will always be here".
He woke with a start, expecting all of them to be there. The room was empty. Hedwig crooned softly from a dark corner. We will always be there. A strange new hope sprang up. He always had them, he didn't lose anyone. Maybe in his dreams, but what was the difference between dreams and reality? Was any of this real? He went up to the window and opened it, revealing a glorious star-studded night. The clouds need not always part to a sunny day. He smiled, understanding, and turned away from the window to feed Hedwig. "I have a job to do" he said to Hedwig, who looked at him appreciatively, her amber eyes glinting in the starlight. "They'll wait for me"
Hmmm...how did that turn out now? Anyways, read and review!