Erised's Bane

Author's Note: I started thinking of this story about five minutes after I finished Order of the Phoenix, and have thus written it so that I can deal with my grieving process, namely the death of the wonderful, incredible, and adorable Sirius Black. I begin this story in tribute to our fallen hero, who we all remember and love as the only family that Harry ever had, and the closest friend and confidant that the savior of the free world could ever have.

We love you Sirius.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter enterprise. If I did, I would NEVER have killed off Sirius. In case you haven't noticed, I'm a tad peeved....

Chapter One: Casualties of War

Every member of the family that lived at number four Privet Drive was bustling through the house with activity, getting ready for the coming day. That is, every member but for a certain fifteen-year-old boy who sat on the edge of his bed, peering through the dingy glass of his window to the world outside, the dim gray shadows of early morning dancing wraithlike over his pale, drained face.

As the sun began its slow ascent over the horizon light began to glitter on the lens of his glasses. He made no move to get up from the bed, or to shutter the windows though the light was shining directly into his eyes. Instead, he sat still, taking deep, slow breaths as he waited--for what, he did not know.

The moment was broken when he heard a faint tapping at the glass. Reluctantly he sat up and walked over to unlatch the window. When he did a dark gray owl fluttered in, landing at the base of Hedwig's empty cage. He hooted softly as Harry crossed over and took the letter, opening it quickly when he saw Tonk's hasty scrawl.

Harry,

Hope you're doing well. This is just to tell you that things are going as expected on the home front...not good, not exactly bad. Dumbledore hasn't given any clear indication of when we will be able to come and get you, but by the sound of the things it will hopefully be soon. I am looking forward to seeing you again. Tell the Dursleys I said 'hi', in whatever context you choose to deliver the message. Signing off,

Tonks Remus Moody

Harry smiled brokenly as he resealed the parchment and tossed it on a steadily growing pile that included Remus's methodical writing and Moody's broken, hastily scribbled script. He looked up as the first owl fluttered out and another fluttered by to take his place. He took the paper from the owl's leg and placed a Knut in the leather pouch on his foot. With a weary sigh he glanced at the front page.

MUGGLE ATTACK IN SURREY

Early Thursday morning it was reported that several muggles between the ages of thirteen and fifty were enjoying a muggle entertainment called a 'drive-in movie', a sort of photograph that tells stories outside, when they were attacked by several hooded figures who identified themselves to the group as Death Eaters. This comes on the heels of the recent revelation that You-Know-Who has indeed returned to power.

The muggles...

With a sick feeling Harry remembered the police sirens he had heard the night before and quickly folded the paper. Shaking his head he turned and left his room, keeping an eye out for the Dursleys as he made his way to the kitchen. They were gathered around the table, staring blankly at the television screen.

"It has been reported that the attackers of these young people last night escaped capture by the police, though one of the survivors has said that a young man around the age of sixteen was one of the attackers." Harry shook his head as he took his seat. It was all happening, and even the muggles knew something was going on.

It wasn't just England anymore, either. The attacks were coming from as far away as America now. Of course, nobody was telling any of the muggles the truth...they all thought it was terrorism, except for the odd few screaming government conspiracy--how strange it would be if they were to find out that they were closer to the truth. The only muggles that had been told the truth were those with high-ranking positions in muggle government, such as the Prime Minister, who himself had gone often on the television lately warning of suspicious persons.

It had become even worse than Harry could have imagined, and in such a short period of time. It appeared as if once people finally started believing the truth, the Death Eaters had found no more reason to go about in secrecy and had already started their work. And the Order of the Phoenix hadn't prevented nearly as many people from becoming Death Eaters as they had thought.

Harry was jerked out of his thoughts when he heard the television click. He glanced up quickly and saw Aunt Petunia readying their breakfast at the stove, her horsy face pinched and pale. Easing the tension out of his shoulders Harry unfolded the Daily Prophet and began reading about the attack.

"What are you doing with that codswallop at the table?" Uncle Vernon said suddenly. Harry looked over the top of the paper and gave him a dark smile.

"Reading the news. There's a lot a more information about those muggle attacks in our paper than there is on your television news." He said slowly.

Uncle Vernon glared at him for a moment before speaking. "What are you talking about?" he spat. "That was a bomb that went off at that theater. It has nothing to do with your kind."

"Of course it does." Harry said dryly. "But the Prime Minister isn't about to tell everybody that we exist, is he? Voldemort's keen on killing people now. Nobody's safe."

"Rubbish." Uncle Vernon sneered. "He's after your lot...let him at it, I say. Maybe he'll kill you all off."

"Don't be stupid, Voldemort hates muggles." Harry shot back. "Almost as much as he hates me, I'd say." He smiled grimly at the astonished look on his uncle's face. "Of course, if you don't believe me, you can always ask him yourself. I dare say he'll be after me soon enough trying to kill me."

"If he wants to kill you so much why isn't he after you right now?" spat Uncle Vernon. Harry shrugged.

"I don't know." He said simply. The truth was, this was something he had wondered about often himself. Dumbledore had told him the reason his aunt protected him against Voldemort, but hadn't he also said that that type of magic was one he had always underestimated? It seemed to Harry there was something more Voldemort was waiting for...just what it was, Harry couldn't tell.

He looked up when Aunt Petunia began placing their plates on the table. Wryly Harry smiled, saying, "Thanks. You're a real life-saver."

At this statement she gave him a dark look, though his Uncle and cousin glared at him with anger and resentment. Dudley in particular had been giving Harry looks of pure hatred ever since he had returned for the summer, each time remembering the incident with the dementors late at night. Of course Harry had saved Dudley's life, but the Dursleys, even though they knew the truth, weren't exactly keen on seeing things that way.

He lifted the fork to his mouth but felt a churning deep inside. His fork clattered as he threw it back on the plate. "I'm not hungry." He said simply as he stood and turned, walking without a word back to his room. He threw the paper on an ever-growing stack in the corner and collapsed on the bed, pulling of his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

I hate this. He thought miserably. I wish I could just go back to two years ago, when Voldemort was still gone. I wish I could go back to two years ago, when I still had Sirius to talk to...

The sick feeling returned and he sat up so quickly he gagged on the bile that rose in his throat. Swallowing down the anger in his chest, he turned back to Hedwig's empty cage. It was stupid, he knew...blaming everybody wasn't going to bring Sirius back. But he didn't understand why it had happened that way.

It's all your fault. Hissed a familiar voice in the back of his head. You killed him, Harry. You should have thought things through. You might have talked to him through that two-way mirror, you might have done something but no. You're stupid, Harry, so stupid, and it was all your fault.

"It-was-not-my-FAULT!" he screamed as he picked up one of his books and threw it crashing against the wall. Panting he leaned back, laying his head on the pillow. "It was Snape's fault." He tried to convince himself. "He shouldn't have taunted Sirius, he should have done something to let me know he understood what I said that night..." he muttered for the hundredth time that summer. Rage rolled up in his chest. "It wasn't me...I would never kill Sirius."

But you did. The voice replied. "Shut up." Harry said out loud. Shuddering, he tried to focus, to bring his mind to a blank as Snape had tried to teach him in Occlumency lessons, but nothing could take from his mind the image of the veil fluttering softly in an unseen wind, and the words, the last words that Sirius had ever spoken...

"Come on, Harry, you can do better than that." Harry said out loud to himself. He shivered uncontrollably gripped his head in his hands. Voldemort was taunting him, now, and the dreams were as real to him in the day as they were in the deep of night when he had nothing else...and Voldemort knew it now and he was using it against him, to drive him to madness...and with a lurch of disgust, Harry knew that it was working.

He stood quickly and exited the room, walking quickly down the stairs and past the Dursleys, who were eating in silence, and quickly left the house. He walked idly down the street, walking as always past his favorite haunts save the place where he had first seen Sirius--a place where his feet had refused to let him go.

Seeing the anxious look of one of the neighbors, who thought he and his cousin the worst things ever to happen to Privet Drive, he rolled his eyes and turned his gaze back to the pavement as he slowly scuffed along. He was hated now more than ever on this street, because now that everybody knew something was happening, anything different was seen as something dangerous, and Harry Potter was as different as they came.

He tucked his hands into his pockets and began his idle trek down the road, feeling the sting of the rising sun on his skin. The drought wasn't as bad as it had been the summer before, but certainly it had come as the year before. Running a hand through his hair Harry found the path that led him to the now closed playground that Dudley and his friends had finally demolished. Cigarette butts saturated the ground and obscene words marked the high wooden fence that surrounded the place. He pulled up one of the wooden boards around the playground and squeezed through the hole, vaguely aware of his height as he hadn't been in awhile.

He walked slowly to the swings remembering that night almost exactly a year before, when the real story of his fifth year at Hogwarts began. A year that had ended in a haunting prophecy and the knowledge that one day Harry would have to kill...unless he was murdered himself.

But he was shaken out of his thoughts when he felt a prickle go up his spine. Swiftly he turned, his hand reaching automatically to the wand he kept hidden under his T-shirt. He looked around sharply when his eyes rested on a small figure huddled up near the fence. He took a cautious step towards it when a tousled brown head emerged from the blankets.

A moment later a young girl emerged. She scrambled up to her feet--Harry noticed that she was wearing a tattered pair of jeans and an old shirt. A long scratch went across her cheek and her eyes, a dark blue, were bloodshot from crying, and her short brown hair was covered on one side in blood.

"What happened?" Harry said quickly. "Where do you live?"

The little girl scuffed her shoe on the ground and looked down, apparently unwilling to speak.

"Do you want me to go get somebody?" he said just as quickly. At this she shook her head fiercely. Suddenly Harry thought of all the different ways people could disguise themselves and his hand crept slowly back to his wand. "Who are you?" he said, his voice suddenly dark and icy.

She looked up quickly. "A-are you H-henry P-potter?" she stammered, her voice high and tremulous.

"Harry Potter." He responded--either she was a muggle or she was trying hard to sound like one.

"I heard about you." She whispered. "You live with your aunt and uncle, don't you? People say you're a...a hoodlum."

"I guess they do." Harry responded, feeling his hand slowly go back down to his pocket. "Who are you?" he repeated.

"Megan Wyatt." She said softly, turning her gaze back down to the ground. "I expect they are looking for me now, but I wanted to talk to you."

"What do you mean?" he said, debating in the back of his mind whether he should move closer to her or not.

"They attacked my mom and dad last night." She whispered. "The people in black. You know something about them. I know you do. My mum and dad died last night...they told me so and I ran away. Your mum and dad died too...I once heard it was a car accident but I don't think it was. I think they died the same way." Harry shivered as he looked at the girl.

"No." he said firmly, swallowing down his hesitation to speak. What did this girl know? Was she another figment of his imagination? "My--my parents were killed in a car accident. I'm really sorry about your parents though. Really."

"I've seen the owls." She whispered. "I saw the owl come to your house and then an owl came to me. It brought me a letter, about Hog-something. It's a school for people like me. I can do things. I told my mum once but she didn't believe me."

Harry looked at her cautiously. "Do you...have the letter?" he asked slowly. She gave him a curt nod and pulled it from her pocket. It was as tattered as her jeans. He read it through before handing it back to her--definitely authentic.

"Do you have any family around here? You need to go back to them, Megan." She shook her head quickly.

"No. It was just us. But they're gone." She said quietly.

Harry felt a familiar pain go through his chest. "Why don't I..." but he never finished what he was going to say. Suddenly he heard sirens blaring. In a moment the door of the playground fence had been wrenched open and several police entered.

"You! Get over here, now!" one of them shouted. Harry froze and stared vaguely at the officer.

"What?" he said in confusion. "What do you want?"

A female officer had just rushed over and pulled Megan into her arms. The young girl was screaming loudly, calling out Harry's name. He started towards her but stopped when the officer shouted at him to halt.

"What do you want?" he repeated darkly.

"You're coming with us, Potter." The officer spat. "We've heard enough from your neighbors to know that you were the young man spotted at the attack last night." Harry felt a strange feeling wash over him.

"You think I attacked those people?" he said in confusion, staring at the officer.

"Don't play stupid, boy." He spat. "We had reports of you walking home at two in the morning...or are all five of our witnesses lying to us?"

"I always walk when I can't sleep!" Harry said in astonishment. This much was true--in all the time that he had been back, almost every night he had had such difficulty in dreams that he had woken many times and snuck out of the house to wander idly down the street.

"We don't have time for this." He sneered. Walking forward quickly, he clapped a pair of metallic handcuffs over Harry's wrist and began speaking to him as he pulled him towards the police car. Harry drowned out the words and listened in deep surprise. What was this all about? Why did they think he was the one who had done this?

The officer pushed him roughly into the car. As he did so, Harry's wand fell out and clattered on the grass, but the officer didn't notice. "Wait!" Harry shouted, but it was too late. The officer had already slammed the door closed and all Harry could do was watch in shock as they sped away, the only protection that he had laying uselessly on the ground.

In the car in front of him, the little girl had turned and was looking at him, tears streaming down her face. She started slamming her fists on the window and the woman in the back seat with her pulled her back.

Harry felt rage building up and started shouting, though he knew with the shield between them the officer couldn't hear a word he was saying. He was hoarse by the time they reached the station, his wrists chafed with the cuffs around them. People stopped to stare at him as he was ushered into the station, pressed onto a hard wooden bench as the officer walked to the man at the desk.

What is this? He thought in irritation. What did they think they were getting at, saying he had killed people? Cringing, he turned to look at a man who was leaned over, his hair dirty and matted, and then his gaze flitted to a woman who was clutching a bandage over her arm and talking loudly to an officer nearby.

In a moment, the man who had arrested Harry walked back over with a new person, a gruff figure with shadowed eyes. "Do you realize what you've been accused of?" the man said slowly, his voice husky and tired.

"I didn't do anything." Harry said shortly. "You're making a horrible mistake."

"Oh really?" the man said slowly. "Do you or do you not attend St. Brutus'?" he said slowly.

With a sneer, cursing his aunt and uncle, Harry nodded.

"And were you not coming from Violet Parkway yesterday evening at two in the morning, exactly fifteen minutes after the attack took place, from the direction of the theater?"

"I was, but that was because I heard the sirens. I couldn't sleep, I was out on a walk, and I wanted to see what the fuss was about. Is that a crime?"

"It is when six people have been killed." The man sneered. "Harry Potter, you are under arrest for the murder of..." Harry stared at him in astonishment, cold prickling over his skin.

You are a murderer, though. Said the voice. You did kill Sirius, Harry, and you're getting what you deserve. You know what muggles do to murderers, don't you? Even if wizards consider you a hero, to muggles you're nothing but filth. Harry shivered and looked back up at the man, who was gesturing for him to enter a cell in the farthest corner. The man unleashed him from his chains and slammed the door behind him. Harry turned quickly and looked back out. He caught a quick glimpse of the girl before she was pulled wailing into the back room.

He turned and sat down. What was going on? Did people really think he was capable of being a murderer? Sure he had been walking along the street, but what could they prove?

A lot knowing Dudley and his friends. 'Big D' was sure to want to get back at Harry, but would he resort to putting somebody who was innocent in jail?

He knew the answer. Yes.

He crossed to a low metal cot and sat, looking out of the barred window. Is this how his life was going to be? He wasn't worried about the muggle jail--he obviously wouldn't be here long. But were there always going to be people that hated him in one world, people that revered him in the other?

Wasn't he ever going to have a normal life? To this he had another answer. No. It was impossible, and the prophecy had proven that. As far as everybody else knew, Harry Potter was a hoodlum, a criminal...the boy-who-lived, the one who so far had defied Voldemort four times, more than most grown wizards. There wasn't one single person who thought of Harry as a normal kid, with problems that any other sixteen-year-old had.

Only Sirius had ever thought of him that way. Sirius had understood that Harry had wanted only to have a few laughs with his friends, and he had been there when the going had been tough. Maybe the others had the idea, but nothing they could say could take away the part of him that was now empty and dark. Nothing could take away that part of him that would never again be whole, the part of him that had been family.

The Dursleys arrived at noon, and though Aunt Petunia had meekly protested, he hadn't been freed--Dudley had given him a triumphant glare, and Uncle Vernon had been washed with relief. After all, he couldn't be blamed for Harry being arrested by police, could he?

And so Harry spent that day, delving deep within his mind to keep the madness from overwhelming him, and where every other sixteen year old wizard who attended Hogwarts was eagerly devouring the results of their O.W.L.S. exams, he lay on a miserable cold cot as the hour grew later, with a mixture of anger and the greatest sadness he had ever known laying hot and heavy on his chest, cursing Voldemort, Trelawney's prophecy, and every wizard who had ever raised their glass to the boy-who-lived.

Hiya! So, what do you think? I hope this wasn't too rambling or anything. I know it is a little strange but I have a good reason for what I'm doing so bear with me. I will always remember Sirius but I must warn you that I do not think Sirius will ever return to us, loathe I am to admit it, so if you are looking for a fuzzy Sirius Lives story this won't be it. I just got finished writing my good old fifth year story, and it turns out that I'm quite aggrieved to find things couldn't be so happy as they might have been. Well, please Read and Review, and tell me what you think.

Thanks!