Written for the International Wizarding School Championship Season Two.

Round : Round Two—Working at the Ministry Of Magic

School : Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Year : Year 5-Deputy

Theme : Department of Magical Transportation—transportation points at travel, and that points to journey. The theme is used by showing Harry's journey through the stages of grief following Sirius' death.

Prompts : 9. (Spell) Portus [Main]

10. (Action) Explosion [Additional]

12. (Occupation ) Auror [Additional]

Word Count : 3281 (+ 10% leeway used)

Please note, the chapter starts from the heading 'Grief'

"SIRIUS!" Harry yelled, "SIRIUS!"

He had reached the floor, his breath coming in searing gasps. Sirius

must be just behind the curtain, he, Harry, would pull him back out

again. . . .

But as he reached the ground and sprinted toward the dais, Lupin

grabbed Harry around the chest, holding him back.

"There's nothing you can do, Harry —"

"Get him, save him, he's only just gone through!"

"It's too late, Harry —"

"We can still reach him —"

Harry struggled hard and viciously, but Lupin would not let go. . . .

"There's nothing you can do, Harry . . . nothing. . . . He's gone."

—The Order of the Phoenix, Chapter 35 - Beyond the Veil (J.K. Rowling)

Grief

In which Harry journeys through the stages of grief after Sirius' death.

Harry struggled against Lupin's hold even as he repeated again and again, "It's too late, Harry, there's nothing we can do … nothing …"

He stared at the curtain in fury and confusion, his wand aloft, still struggling against Remus as he screamed, "SIRIUS!"

It was just a curtain he had fallen through, surely he would come back?

"SIRIUS!"

He would, of course he would. Sirius always came back. Sirius always came. And he'd come back now. Perhaps he was a bit hurt. Perhaps he couldn't hear him.

"SIRIUS!"

If only Remus would let him go, he could help him up, and Sirius would look at his worried expression and laugh his bark-like laughter. He was just teasing him, of course. Only teasing. This was another one of his pranks. But this wasn't funny. Everyone was dumbstruck around him, and Bellatrix was cackling triumphantly even as she sparred against Kingsley. Structures were exploding left, right, and center as they got hit by wayward spells. And Harry's heart was racing—dear Merlin it was hammering so fast in his chest that Harry felt it would explode. His breathing had become ragged, a numb sort of pain was beginning to appear in his chest, and he had tears in his eyes that he was trying to blink away. Still, Sirius didn't appear.

"SIRIUS!"

Why was he making him wait like this, in such agony? Why won't he come? Why would he make him wait now, in the middle of a battle, when he had never before? Sirius had never made him wait for him. Sirius had come even when his life had been on the line. Sirius had escaped Azkaban for him. Why won't he come?

"SIRIUS!" he screamed harder, his scream choked with a sob, eyes trained hard towards the dais and the curtain, not even blinking. He barely noticed the stream of hot tears rolling down his face as he stopped struggling all of a sudden, and seemed to collapse in on himself, his chest feeling hollow and painful, and his throat dry. Sirius had battled against life and death to come to him. If he didn't come now, it meant he was … he was—

"Why won't he come, Remus?" he asked, his voice hollow and despondent as he looked at his former professor, who was also crying. "Why won't he come!"

He screamed again. Not words, he screamed pain. He screamed grief. He screamed agony. He felt Remus draw him against himself as he mumbled words that had lost meaning to him, words that were meant to console him but were serving instead to fuel his anger. He couldn't breathe for the rage, and the world had gone mum. Harry only heard silence, and Sirius' gasp right before he had fallen echoed in that silence. And then the silence exploded in a crackle, and it kept echoing until his ears were ringing, and the only thing he could see was Bellatrix, her retreating form, and his anger exploded.

He got up in a rage and began running in the direction of the retreating witch before he collided with what felt like a mound of feathers, and saw Dumbledore wave his wand forcefully in Bellatrix's direction. The stairway exploded beneath her, and Bellatrix fell, her wand rolling away from her, and Harry struggled against the now weakening spell to reach her even as Kingsley and Neville held him back.

"She killed Sirius!" he screamed. He had been screaming for what felt like ages. "I'll murder her! I'll fling her off the Astronomy tower! I'll Crucio her to death! I—" he stopped suddenly, feeling incredibly drained and incredibly tired, and found that he barely had the energy to stand, let alone scream. It was as if the weight of all that had happened in the span of the past hour had accumulated on Harry's shoulders and was weighing him down. Kingsley let go of his arm tentatively, although Neville didn't, and Harry was grateful—he didn't trust himself to keep standing on his own. He was shaking.

He saw out of the corner of his eyes Bellatrix being tied up along with the other Death Eaters, Lucius Malfoy included. He saw Moody forcing Tonks to drink a disgusting potion, and a striking thought came to his mind which made his heart go cold.

"The others," he said to Dumbledore, who was standing a few feet off, "the other students—DADA members. Hermione had gotten hurt, and she had fainted, and Ginny had hurt her leg, and Ron and Luna and Neville …" he trailed off, cursing himself heavily. He had forgotten, in his rage, about his comrades. What if something had happened to them?

"They're in that room over there," Neville spoke from beside him, "near the circular chamber. Hermione will require immediate care—she has a pulse, but it's faint. She has lost a lot of blood."

Harry looked at Neville in both surprise and relief. He was taking charge and clearing messes that he was obviously responsible for. If he had learnt Occlumency, Voldemort never would have been able to enter his brain, never would have been able to plant those dreams in his head. He wouldn't have led his friends into mortal danger. And Sirius, Sirius would have been alive had it not been for him. Guilt and revulsion exploded inside him, and his mouth went dry. It was all his fault. It was all his fault. It was his fault that Sirius was ... dead. And it would be his fault if Hermione—

No. He stopped himself before he could complete his thought. Hermione couldn't die. Hermione would be okay. She'd be okay. She had to be … He felt an arm around his shoulders draw him into a hug, and Harry was grateful to Remus for trying to comfort him—he really was—but he didn't deserve to be comforted. It was his fault they were in this situation. If anything, he was a criminal.

Remus shouldn't have been comforting him, he should've been recoiling from him—he had lost his friend—his lover—because of Harry. Neville shouldn't have been supporting him, he should've been screaming at him—he had led all of his friends into mortal danger. Dumbledore, Dumbledore shouldn't have been looking at him with guilt and sorrow, he should've been ordering his execution. All of it, all of it … his fault. All his fault. He pulled away from Remus abruptly and fixed his gaze onto a broken portion of a wall—he couldn't bear to meet his gaze, see the grief there, see the hatred. He must hate him—how could he not? So must everyone else …

His attention was caught by Moody and Tonks levitating Hermione out of the chamber on a makeshift stretcher. She looked deathly pale, her blood-soaked t-shirt a stark contrast against her skin. She was unconscious but breathing. Harry let out a shaky breath. Ron and Ginny followed them, Ron supporting Ginny as she hobbled on one leg. The ankle of her other leg was visibly twisted. Ron looked at him in concern as they passed, but Harry avoided his gaze. They must all hate him.

"It's not your fault, Harry," Remus said to him quietly, his tone matter-of-fact, although it wasn't completely devoid of emotion.

"Of course it's my fault," Harry hissed, anger laced in his voice. Anger directed at himself. "Had I learnt Occlumency, had I forced Voldemort out of my head, none of this would have happened. I am an idiot who stopped learning Occlumency simply because he didn't like his teacher, and it cost us …" he swallowed, "it cost us Sirius, and it might even take Hermione." His sentence ended quietly, his blood running cold at the thought.

"No, it isn't," Remus said again, placing a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry shrugged it off. "No one blames you for it."

Harry spun around, his hands balled into fists at his side, anger regaining its hold on him. "Well, you should. Because—"

"There is no point in wondering about the Whos, Whats, and Whys," Dumbledore said from behind him in a serious voice. "it's no more your fault that this tragedy took place than it's your fault that the Chudley Cannons are at the bottom of the League."

If Dumbledore's words had intended to calm him, they had failed. Harry didn't uncurl his fist. Dumbledore continued, looking Harry in the eye. "There are some things we need to talk about, Harry. Things we should've discussed a long time ago. Perhaps … perhaps doing so could've prevented this." He felt guilt and remorse in his voice. "We should head somewhere more private … and somewhere more safe."

"Dumbledore," Remus interrupted him firmly, "however important your conversation might be, it can wait until later. He has been through a lot today—he is yet to come to terms with it. We all are."

"I understand your concern, Remus, but—"

"No, you don't, Albus. You don't. Had you understood our concerns, mine and ... and Sirius', you would have told us all the whole truth fourteen years ago, instead of putting all of us—Lily, James, Harry, Sirius, and I—through this. Instead of leaving a child traumatised by Voldemort to his own devices without any guidance and company, it would've done you well to keep him close and protect him." He put his hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Remus—"

"Petunia and Vernon do not have a care for him, and he has just lost Sirius. I shall now act as his guardian, and you owe it to us—to Harry—to tell us the whole truth. Both of us. I need to know what other harebrained schemes you intend to put the child through." He tightened his grip on Harry. "Right now, all of us need to rest and reflect."

Dumbledore heaved a great sight, then nodded. "Very well," he said, pointing to a chipped piece of metal.

"Portus." The piece glowed blue. "This will take you to Hogwarts. I invite you to stay the night, Remus." Remus nodded tersely and picked up the piece of metal in his hand, nodding to Harry, who put his finger on it, bracing himself for the unpleasant journey.

It had been a week since the fateful night at the ministry—a week since Sirius' death. The others were okay, thankfully. Ginny, Ron, Luna, and Neville had sustained only minor injuries. Hermione's situation was more serious, but she was recovering well. He was sat at the foot of her bed at a rather late hour, whispering to her about the situation outside of the hospital wing.

Hermione and Ron were the only people he could bear talking to just yet, apart from Remus, and even those conversations were limited now, and not just because they were inside the hospital wing. Harry didn't much feel like talking to anyone anymore, nor did he feel like smiling—which was unfortunate considering that after The Prophet's article, everyone wanted to talk to him. He avoided people throughout the day by remaining in his dorm, or in the library, which was deserted given that it was the end of the year. He barely ate at all, and when he did, it was in Remus' company.

He would visit Ron and Hermione during particularly harsh nights when he couldn't sleep or keep his thoughts away from Sirius, and they'd distract him as though through an unspoken agreement. And then he'd return to his dorm to stare at the ceiling until morning came. It had finally sunk in, he supposed, that Sirius was gone. He'd never return. The realization had left him feeling … hollow. Empty. Miserable. It was just his luck, he supposed. Just when he had thought he finally had a family … Sirius was taken away from him. It wasn't that he didn't have people who cared for him—he had Ron and Hermione, and the Weasleys were like a surrogate family, but it was different from having your own family. It was different having someone who would go all out for you, having someone who valued you more than anything. Someone who wouldn't think twice before dying for you.

With Sirius and Remus, he had that. They were his parents. He had felt safe with them. He had been happy. Now, with Sirius gone and the prophecy looming over him, he doubted if he'd ever be happy again.

"So they believe you now?" Hermione asked, her indignation palpable. Harry nodded, even though he wasn't entirely sure she could see him—the hospital wing was lit only by the light of the full moon, which meant that Remus was out in the shrieking shack all alone in his wolf form.

"Hypocrites, the load of them!" she hissed and put to use some words which made Harry turn red. Ron was asleep due to the influence of the potion Madame Pomphrey had given him for his pain. "At least they won't be making your life miserable anymore."

Harry hummed distractedly, twisting the corner of Hermione's duvet. "Listen, Harry," she said suddenly, sitting up straighter. He looked up inquiringly. "Are you going to be sent back to your Aunt and Uncle's?"

Harry sighed and nodded again before he replied. "Dumbledore says it's necessary. There are some charms and wards there, which will keep me safer than anywhere else. There's going to be more security around there, and Remus says he'll visit often. I don't know if I'll be able to visit the Weasleys at all during summer."

"Oh. That's … that's terrible, Harry," Hermione said, and Harry hummed again.

"Harry ... this silence that you have taken to," she said tentatively after a moment. Harry raised his eyes to meet hers, filled with worry. "It's not healthy."

"I know."

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked gently.

"No." His tone wasn't particularly harsh, but the topic was dropped.

The train ride to King's Cross was different than any other journeys they had made. He supposed the looming war made things different. Many students had been taken home by floo or portkey instead of the traditional train ride, so the train was emptier than usual. To Harry, its emptiness felt desolate. He was looking forward to the hum and buzz of chatter in the train ride to distract himself, but they were all submerged in an uneasy silence which refused to be broken.

The train had Professors and Aurors on board for protection—Moody, Tonks, and another wizard that Harry didn't know, and Professor McGonagall, Professor Aurora, and Remus, who was taking up the position of DADA professor again.

Harry was accompanied by the entire entourage as he deboarded the train. They made their way over to the Weasleys first—Mrs Weasley enveloped him into a tight hug upon seeing him, and Harry allowed himself a small smile. Mr Weasley handed Harry a small, wrapped package, whose purpose was explained to him by Remus as they made their way over to where the Dursleys were waiting with their noses upturned.

"This is a portkey," Remus said, opening the brown cover slightly to show him the tin can inside, "which will take you to Grimmauld Place."

Harry stopped dead in his tracks for a moment, his eyes wide. Remus was not surprised at this. "You don't have to come if you don't want to. I understand how you feel Harry, I really do. Grimmauld Place has … memories, and it's not easy for me either, but …"

Harry glanced at Remus and nodded in understanding. It was already hard enough for Remus to get a place to live. Sirius had left Grimmauld Place to Harry, and Harry had gladly welcomed Remus into the equation. He would be living there.

"If and when you feel comfortable coming to Grimmauld Place after all, or if you want to talk or anything, this portkey will send you there. You'll have to say 'Portus' to it, and tap it with your wand. That'll do it."

Harry looked at the brown package in his hand and nodded, turning to look at Remus, who was smiling sadly. He placed the package in his pocket carefully, and gratefully returned the hug that Remus gave him, returning his weary smile.

"Take care, Harry," he said to him seriously, "and keep your wand with you at all times. Aurors will be patrolling the area but …" he trailed off. "Write to me from time to time, yeah?"

Harry nodded again, swallowing. "You take care of yourself too." Remus returned his nod. With a small sigh, both of them made their way over to the Dursleys, where Mad-eye was already waiting. He too nodded at Harry and repeated Remus' instructions—"keep your wand with you all the time."

He then turned to the Dursleys. "Don't try anything funny, understand? We'll know what you're doing. Be warned."

They turned on their heels and walked away, leaving Harry with the Dursleys again.

Harry had spent most of his summer in his cramped bedroom, pacing, worrying, and swearing, from time to time when Dudley set up traps outside his door. Aunt Petunia didn't call him for chores anymore, and he didn't have anyone to talk to. But that was okay. He was a little relieved, truth be told. He found talking to people draining nowadays, although he was starved to talk to Remus and to meet him.

He looked at the brown package he had been given daily. He thought about leaving Privet Drive and going to Grimmauld Place every day. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. Because he was scared. Scared of what he'd find once he got there. How many memories would come up if he went there, memories that he was trying to bury deep down inside of him? Sirius had hated the place, sure, but it was still a part of Sirius. He didn't know if he was ready yet, to face something that reminded him so much of Sirius. He sighed and plopped down into his bed. He'd have to face it someday. Someday he would come to terms with it, he hoped, but right now, he wasn't sure. The wound was still ripe. He missed him terribly.

He rolled over and began to sift through his trunk, looking for nothing in particular, until his hand found the Marauders map, which he hadn't opened since Sirius' death. He opened it but didn't activate it, waiting for the flourishing handwriting to appear.

"Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs are pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Who might this young lad be?"

Harry smiled, even though his eyes burnt with tears. Sirius had told him all about it—how they had made it, how much fun they had had making it, and how they had made him do all the writing because he was the only one who had decent handwriting. Harry tranced the letters stroked onto the parchment softly, as if he were afraid they might fade. But the letters remained stark a contrast against the parchment, and somehow the parchment felt warm—as if words had only now been written on it. He clutched at the map tightly and sighed, but this sigh was not of sorrow. It wasn't one of happiness either, but one of … release. For the first time in three months, Harry felt light and unburdened. It still hurt that he was gone, of course, but thinking of Sirius didn't make him feel so … miserable anymore.

He got up from the bed in a flash—he knew what he had to do. He removed his wand from his pocket and grabbed the tin box wrapped in brown paper.

"Portus," he said firmly and closed his eyes as it took him to Grimmauld Place.