:All That's Left:.

.:by:. dohimdraco

NOTES: GUESS WHAT SIRIUS ISN'T DEAD. I'm taking liberties. Remus (SO HE'S ALIVE TOO FORGOT TO MENTION THAT) is going to be paired with him in this. So sorry if you don't like it. This takes place at the end of movie/book 7. Lyrics are from 'There Was a Whisper' by the BANG GANG.

I'd like to thank the new moon for giving me inspiration, and to the full moon for carrying that thanks heavenwards.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and characters affiliated.

Summary: When Harry faces Voldemort for the last time, he knows he'll be dying. What he doesn't expect, though, is to come back... and that the only person that can see or hear him is Draco Malfoy. [Drarry. Sirimus.]

C H A P T E R three

There Was † a Whisper

There was a chill,

there was a sound,

there was a whisper that I found.

It went along, wandering...

It will return, while I stay, searching.

Between balancing restoring the library at Hogwarts, which was going painfully slowly because he could only focus on one book at a time, and talking to Draco, Harry was feeling a lot more like himself. Actually, he was feeling more like the him that would've been had he not had a life made of fast-paced pain, loss, and destruction.

Though the two didn't always get along, there was a mutual understanding between the ex-enemies, that neither could find with anyone else; Harry, because he couldn't and Draco, because he wouldn't. Harry found that Draco's company wasn't so bad, even when he was being particularly like his old self, which wasn't often. Like Draco had said, something had snapped inside of him during the war. He didn't care about much anymore. Draco hadn't really talked about his feelings since the night he'd eaten dinner with his family for the first time in a long time.

The brunette stared down at the illuminated face of the Malfoy. Harry had been waiting for a while to wake Draco up. He knew the other wasn't a morning person, but they had a busy day. And Draco would like it. Grinning to himself smugly, Harry leaned over the blonde and-

"I'M HARRY THE EIGHTH I AM, EIGHTH I AM, I AM, I AM," Harry sang obnoxiously, right in Draco Malfoy's ear.

The blonde punched out his arm on instinct, but it went straight through Harry, who laughed heartily at Draco's disheveled appearance. "Sod off, Potter," Draco answered, pulling his cover up over his face. Harry rolled his eyes and stood, yanking off the cover. Draco maneuvered his pillow over his head then, and Harry huffed in impatience.

"I GOT MARRIED TO THE WIDOW NEXT DOOR, SHE'S BEEN MARRIED SEVEN TIMES BEFORE AND EVERYONE WAS A HARRY," Harry yelled, greatly out of tune. Draco slammed his arm over the pillow to further smother the ghastly yodeling, but to no avail. Harry continued his rather loud rendition of 'Henry the Eighth'.

"Alright!" Draco threw the pillow, which Harry dodged, though he had no need to. The Malfoy sat up, looking around blearily. "Just please stop singing."

"Fantastic," Harry agreed, flopping down onto the bed. Draco watched the bed indent with fascination. It was always weird seeing nothing, but watching things move. He supposed he should have been a bit used to it by now, Harry running around and moving things since he'd figured out he could do it but two weeks ago, but it was interesting.

"Why on Earth have you woken me up so early and what rubbish were you just spouting?" Draco uttered, rubbing his eyes. Harry snorted.

"This isn't early, Malfoy, it's ten o'clock," Harry pointed out, but Draco rolled his eyes.

"Excuse me, that I don't act like some hick farmer and wake up with the sun," the blonde sneered, but it didn't bother Harry. He just smiled in response, bouncing a bit.

"That song is from a movie about a ghost I saw once while living with the Dursleys. I deemed it only right to use against you. Today is the day we leave your room and conquer the rest of the house!"

"Oh?" Draco asked, noting Harry's sarcastic enthusiasm, smoothing his hair down a bit. It was sticking out in all directions and one piece didn't want to cooperate with him. "And why, pray tell, Potter, did you plan this without my consent?"

"You sound like Snape, stop," Harry joked, though he tinged his voice with disdain. "Anyways, I thought it would be beneficial that you start leaving your room more often. Why not start on a lovely Monday morning?"

"You're so wrong, everyone knows Mondays are anything but lovely," Draco replied, standing from his bed and pulling the sheets up, tidying it, despite the fact that Harry still sat on it. Harry flattened himself against the bed, making it hard for Draco to tug the covers over his pillow.

"As proclaimed hero of the ages, I have to rescue you from your Slytherin despair," Harry chortled and Draco scowled at him, pulling at the sheets harder until Harry released the weight of himself. Draco stumbled a bit and scowled in Harry's direction.

"I don't need rescuing from despair. I'm perfectly content to stay in my room," the blonde sniffled indignantly as he made his way to the bathroom. Shutting the door in the spirit's face, Harry leaned against it, still talking.

"Well, your mother isn't perfectly content with you staying in your room. Appearances at dinner are nice, but she's not going to be happy if she only sees you each day for 30 minutes at tops. Plus, I know you love your mother, if your colors are anything to go by," Harry glanced at the nails of his fingers. Had his body been in that coffin and not dust in the wind, his nails would still be growing. Harry wrinkled his nose at that thought. He'd look like some sort of rock group from the eighties by now, except a lot more emaciated and... rotten.

"My what?" Draco asked as he opened the door quickly, but instead of falling, Harry simply floated where he stood.

"Your colors. Your, er, emotions...? Huh... well, I guess now that I think about it, it's a little hard to explain. All people whom are alive exhibit these auras that you can read, if you pay attention. They're like emotions, but more the essence of your personality. I like to refer to them as souls, because that's all that makes sense to me, really," Harry finished lamely, not able to capture what he was trying to say. Draco looked in his direction like he was crazy and Harry shrugged for his own benefit.

"So you can tell what I'm feeling all the time?" Draco asked, looking uncomfortable.

"Basically, yes, I guess you could say that," Harry answered, watching Draco for his reaction. He remained uncomfortable looking and his color matched his expression, but he shut the door again in Harry's face. Harry rolled his eyes and flopped back onto the bed while Draco showered.

Harry was determined to fix Draco's family. They were all just too stubborn and closed off to do it themselves. The family was fractured and since Harry would never have a real family of his own, he thought that maybe he could try and make someone else's family more together. Narcissa surely didn't deserve to live like this for the rest of her life.

Neither does Draco, Harry thought, and though he wanted to do it grudgingly, he felt the truth of his thought very clearly.

The door opened and out stepped a fresh looking, impeccably dressed Draco. He was wearing all black, like this was the death of his comfort level. Harry grinned at his dramatics.

"Are you ready?" Harry asked, standing and reaching to the bridge of his nose before he stopped himself. Oh yeah... I don't have glasses.

"Not really, but I don't think you're giving me much of choice here," Draco muttered, brushing a piece of lint off of himself. He looked up, silver eyes flashing in the light of the sun streaming in from behind the curtains. Harry thought they were probably his best feature, his eyes. Even in school, Harry had always been attracted, for lack of a better word, to Draco's eyes. It was because even though his face said otherwise, Draco's eyes would always reveal his true emotions. When he feigned superiority, Harry could tell when something he had said bothered the smug bastard. It was probably the one thing that made Harry pity him back when he was still alive. Now, they were something Harry found himself staring at more often than not. While Harry still felt emotions, fiercely, there was a certain numbness to him, a shadow that covered him so that he was cut off from being human. Draco never lost that emotion in his eyes, even after all this time of being shut off.

"Okay... let's go then," Harry answered after he snapped himself back to the present. Draco pursed his lips, but followed the ghost when he opened Draco's door.

"What exactly are we doing... and where are we going?" Draco asked, body stiff. His arms were pressed firmly to his sides, while he kept glancing around, like he was trying to avoid running into anybody.

"I want you to give me a tour of your gardens," Harry smiled, though he knew the blonde couldn't see it.

"My gardens?" Draco asked lightly, thoughtful look on his face. "From what you've told me about stalking my mother, you've already seen the gardens."

"I didn't stalk your mother, I just... kinda... watched her garden for a bit. I would have alerted her to my presence if I could have," Harry said quickly, and it was Draco's turn to look smug.

"Whatever you say," the blonde said sarcastically. "Will my mother be there?" The thought sobered the blonde up a bit.

"Not this early," Harry replied. He thought he would start small. The first step was to get Draco to get out of his room. That was easy enough, thanks to his talent of horrible singing. He was glad he paid attention to Muggle movies when he was younger. That song would definitely come in handy. He would slowly introduce Draco back into the family, very gradually. The blonde seemed so reluctant to give his mother and father much of a chance, his father moreso. Harry couldn't exactly blame him. Lucius hadn't really been the ideal father, he was hardly an ideal person. Harry could tell that the war had changed Lucius as well, though, for the better.

Draco seemed relieved he wouldn't be facing his mother and the awkward silences that would inevitably happen. For what would they talk about? Harry almost laughed at the mental picture that made.

'Oh, Draco, how have you been?'

'Good, I've just been staring at my ceiling a lot and, you know, talking to dead people.'

'How lovely.'

'Yeah.'

The pair of unlikely friends made their way through the manor until they got to the glass doors of the entrance to the gardens. It was a sunny day, thankfully, and it was mid-summer, so all of the greenery was striking against the blue of the sky. Draco and Harry stood just outside of the back of the manor, and Harry took in the gardens like he always did. From here, it looked as if Draco were royalty. The gardens were large and well taken care of, pruned to a 'T'. The flower selection was huge, littered with the most simple flowers to exotic ones Harry had never seen before. There were statues all along the gardens, some that Harry couldn't make out because they were so far away. He was excited to hear about their history. He assumed Draco would know.

"So... are we going to move or are you imitating the statues?" Harry asked, and Draco rolled his eyes. They moved to the first row of flowers and Harry asked questions, while Draco answered. Just as Harry had thought, Draco's knowledge of the flowers and statues was perfect. The pair made it half way through the gardens before they came upon a statue that was interesting to Harry.

"Who are they?" Harry asked, looking at the intimate sculpture, white and immobile. Two lovers were entwined, a man holding a woman from behind. It looked like the woman was falling, and the man held her up as she grasped his arms. Her face was completely smitten and the man's gaze was soft. The woman was half naked, a breast peeking out from under her wispy clothing. It was rather romantic, if Harry would admit it to himself.

"She was a part of the Malfoy family," Draco touched the woman's arm as he said this, "Lumeria Malfoy. She wasn't important to the family, being a girl and not the heir. She brought great fortune to the Malfoy family, though, on accident, as it were. She saved his life. He fell in love with her and she with him. It turns out he was pureblood and very rich. The influence made the Malfoys even more favored than before."

"It's beautiful," Harry remarked, taking in the detail, reaching out with his see-through fingers, brushing the 'fabric' of the woman's dress.

"I didn't know you liked art," Draco commented, staring at the life-like figures. "Being a Gryffindor and all, I thought you too... brusque and Weasel-like to have an opinion about it."

"There are a lot of things you didn't and don't know about me because of your family's preconceived notions about me and the house I was sorted into. You know, the Weasleys aren't bad people. Plus, there are plenty of Gryffindors that weren't chivalrous or threw themselves into situations without thinking," Harry bit out, and threw a chilling glare at the blonde, hoping he could at least feel his anger at the Malfoy's sheer ignorance. "Let me ask you this, do you actually like art or is it something all Purebloods are supposed to prefer instead of doing normal things like spending time with your family or, Merlin forbid, getting a little dirt on yourself from honest, hard work?"

"I like art! Mother always said that art-"

"Your mother isn't you, Malfoy. Try again," Harry interrupted, voice low.

"The knowledge of art is a value that all Malfo-"

"You, Malfoy, I want to know if you like art. Forget what you've been taught, forget what your parents said, and forget being Pureblood. Do you like art or not?" The brunette's tone was impatient and bordered on accusatory, making Draco feel like he was being made fun of. He was about to answer again, but held his tongue. He was going to say something about what his father had told him once. What did he think about art? Did he like it? Did the knowledge of it make him happy?

"I... I just-" the blonde fumbled for words, looking to the ground in frustration. Taking a deep breath, instead of shouting about how Harry wouldn't know anything about it because he was Harry fucking Potter and best friends with a boy who thought his mother's knit sweaters were acceptable to wear in public, Draco thought about it. Past him would've already been teasing Harry about his lack of knowledge. In fact, past him wouldn't have even been out here, wouldn't have talked to Potter in the first place. But it was so irritating that Harry had been able to crawl under his skin so easily. Past Draco would've known exactly what to say. This him, defenseless, wandering, didn't know a thing. It felt like being blind. Sighing, he answered slowly.

"I do like art. Not for the knowledge of it. Really, I could care less what movement was when or how things were done. I just like the ending product. I like evaluating art. I enjoy getting lost in a painting just as much as I enjoy getting lost in the words of a poem. Art as my father sees it is boring. He wants uniformity, black and white, old wizard portraits staring down their pureblood noses at you as you walk down the halls. I like the messy, thrown together things. I like impromptu Muggle art-" Draco stopped there, silent. There. He'd said it. He liked something Muggle.

"Well, that wasn't so bad, was it? You're a rather romantic fellow, Malfoy, aren't you?" Harry inquired, smugly, and Draco could hear the laughter in his voice. He scowled in the direction of said voice.

"You're lucky you aren't alive anymore, Potter, or you'd be so dead," the blonde snarled, stomping off.

"Wait," Harry exclaimed between chortles, "you haven't shown me the Gardenias! They'd go so well with your fair skin!"

After Draco settled down, Harry asked him to show him the rest of the house. He agreed that Draco could avoid taking him to places he knew his parents might be. They were just getting to the kitchens when the blonde flattened himself against a wall. Harry might've thought it a bit comical, had he not seen who was coming. Lucius.

Draco looked sufficiently panicked, holding his breath as his father neared. Really, what did he fear? That his father would...

That his father would expect him to be the same? That his father would force him to do things he never wanted to do? That his father would burden him with things he knew he wouldn't be able to accomplish? Harry threw the blonde an empathetic look. Biting his lip, Harry nodded. He flickered from his spot in the hall into the room from which Lucius had come from... his office. Smirking to himself, Harry began throwing books from Lucius' shelf onto the floor, as hard as he could. The noise would most definitely alert Lucius to the fact that his precious office was being reorganized. Just as he thought, the office door was thrown open and Lucius looked around, bewildered.

"Wh- I don't-What the devil?" Lucius floundered for words, gripping his hair, surveying the books all over the floor and his desk. He circled the area, mouth wide open, looking for clues as to who might've done it, but Harry was already gone, urging Draco to move it.

As they ran, er, Harry floated, rather, Draco barked out a laugh and then proceeded to break out into spontaneous giggling. If one asked Draco if he giggled, he would outright deny it, but Harry thought he sounded very child-like... it suited him. There was a light in his eyes as he ran, breathing ragged, trying to contain himself. His hair was askew, his eyes were wrinkled at the corners, and the normal stormy-grey color of them was tinged with silver. Harry laughed, too, remembering the look on Lucius' face.

They reached Draco's room and Draco shut the door behind him, sliding down it, trying to breathe.

"Did you hear the pitch of his voice when he spoke? I haven't heard him so confused in a long time. What did he look like?" Draco urged, grinning.

Harry snorted, "He looked crazy, that's what he looked like. He looked like he was going to pull his hair out!" Draco peeled into laughter again, tears springing to his eyes.

"That was hilarious," Draco breathed after he stopped laughing, sitting cross legged by his door. "We have to do something like that again."

"What? Pull pranks on your father? I'd love to, Malfoy, I didn't know you had it in you," Harry agreed, hovering over the carpet, legs crossed as well.

"As long as I can't get in trouble for it, why not? I've never been able to do anything to him like that," the blonde pondered, and smirked wickedly.

"That's very Slytherin of you," Harry commented, and Draco nodded sagely.

"Of course it is. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were a tad bit Slytherin yourself, Potter."

"Well, the Sorting Hat did want to put me in Slytherin," Harry said, but threw his hand over his mouth after he'd said it. Draco arched a fine eyebrow, looking skeptical.

"Really? Saint Potter in Slytherin?"

"No, it was a joke," Harry covered quickly, hoping the Malfoy would believe him. He'd never really told many people that he was considered for Slytherin, mostly because of who he was and who people thought he could become.

"Something tells me you aren't joking," the blonde announced, narrowing his eyes, "You always had that Gryffindor courage, but there were parts of you that were so Slytherin, I wondered why you weren't in my house. Then you opened your mouth," Draco looked pleased with himself and Harry rolled his eyes.

"Yes, all the intelligence that spilled forth from my lips made it impossible for me to be in Slytherin," Harry countered and watched the man in front of him grin a bit. He'd never seen the Malfoy smile so much in all his years, but Harry thought it suited him much better than the shit-eating grins he sported when they were still in school together.

"Did you ever want to be in Slytherin?" The question from Draco startled Harry.

"I don't suppose I ever did, no," Harry answered, "...but that was because people told me Slytherin was where all the bad people ended up. And, no offense, but none of your class really tried to deny it."

"No offense taken, we were badasses, what can I say?" the blonde said smugly and waited for Harry to continue.

"Yes, well, I think in light of recent events, I can say that I misjudged your house... and maybe there is a part of me that thinks about what it would have been like to have been in Slytherin. I think it would've been hard for me, because people would've thought I was just another Voldemort waiting for my chance. But when everyone realized I didn't plan on turning bad, my own house would've rejected me."

"We would've been friends," Draco said softly, looking around for any sign of the spirit, but he couldn't see him and that made Harry feel particularly lonely.

"I think maybe we would have," Harry nodded, and pursed his lips. "Are we friends now?"

Draco seemed to be debating with a part of himself for a few moments, looking down at the floor and pulling at a shoe string absently.

"I think so," the blonde answered after a while and the brunette seemed to sigh in relief. If Draco wasn't his friend, who else did he have in the world? "Don't let it get to your head, though, Potter. I'm not anything like loyal Weasley or naìve Granger."

"I don't want you to be," Harry answered and it startled him to realize how true that was.

"Let's plan something to prank my father with," Draco grinned and picked himself up, going for a pen and some paper. Then he shivered, and made a face. "Ew, I sound ridiculously like a Gryffindor."

Sirius Black was a mess.

Everyone knew it. Even Sirius himself knew he was a mess and he hated himself for it. For who was he to mourn so long for friends he couldn't even save? The entire Potter family had come to ruins and Sirius might've been able to save them all, had he only been there but moments earlier. Moments, singular pieces of time that slipped through his fingers as if he were holding sand and held him back from saving a good family, the best people he'd ever known, that should've been alive.

"They were all so fucking sacrificial," Sirius cussed to himself as he sanded the material of car, rubbing harshly to illustrate his terrible mood, using his hands to emphasize his point. "The lot of them! James stood in front of Lily, Lily stood in front of Harry, and Harry stood in front of everyone else!" It was good thing Sirius had started a private painting business, no workers around to stare at him strangely while he muttered crossly to himself. It had almost been two months since Harry's death and other people could mention him without breaking down... but not Sirius. Sure, the others were still upset. No one could get over a death in but a mere month and a half, but, to Sirius, it was like a wound that didn't heal.

"Sirius!" A voice interrupted his angry ranting to himself, and Sirius glanced up at Remus. Standing, he made his way over to his long-time best friend. He'd just moved in not too long ago and he'd been the only consistent, stable thing in Sirius' life. For that, Sirius couldn't explain his thankfulness. Remus smiled at him warmly, never with pity, as Molly did, or sadness, as Hermione did. It was just a warm smile that still left Sirius with some form of dignity. "I thought we could eat lunch together. They've let me out early for the day," the man commented, holding the door open for Sirius.

It had taken them some time, but they'd turned Grimmauld Place into a Muggle car painting service/home. They'd extended a garage, magically, of course, but the Muggles didn't know that. It worked out very well. Sirius mostly used the Muggle way of painting the vehicles, though sometimes, if he'd messed up too bad he'd use his wand. They had also cleaned out most of the house, which had distracted Sirius for a while, and redone most of the furnishing. Now, instead of a dark, dreary home, Grimmauld Place looked mildly inviting. Remus had taken Regulus' old room, and Sirius had taken back his own.

Remus himself worked for the Ministry, and had been christened a war hero. Sirius was glad for him, that people were accepting of him even after they all knew he was a werewolf. Since Severus wasn't making any more potions for him, Remus was having a rough time with his curse, but people were supporting him and that's all that mattered. He still took potions, but none were as good as the ones Severus had concocted. He truly was a potions master.

Smiling a bit to his longtime bestfriend, Sirius moved into the house to make his way to the dining room table. Remus had made them sandwiches with crisps on the side, and tea makings sitting in the middle of the table. Sirius looked at the werewolf again, and Remus smiled at him, warm and full of hope. It made Sirius feel even worse, because he here was Remus, trying to make him better, trying to make everything better and the Black wasn't even trying to feel better. He was punishing himself, for what Remus said was never his fault. But Sirius couldn't help it. He felt personally responsible for the loss of all the Potters.

"You've been working really hard lately," Remus commented when they sat down, pouring hot water in a cup with a tea bag inside of it. He reached over to pour some for Sirius and glanced at him pointedly, expecting him to answer.

"There's been a lot of work for me, especially since summer is afoot," Sirius answered solemnly, dipping the tea bag to distribute the flavor in his cup. Remus sighed quietly and did the same, folding a napkin into his lap.

"Don't you think you should use some magic?" Remus asked, picking up a sliver of sandwich. He'd cut it into fours, like mini finger sandwiches, something that told of Remus's personality, neat, reserved, and calm. Sirius might've guessed he was like that because his wolf side was so feral and maybe Remus was overcompensating, like he assumed his feral side could spill over. Sirius hated that his friend still worried so much over his condition.

"It keeps my mind busy not to," Sirius replied, clipped. He hoped Remus would understand and quit scratching at wounds that hadn't even had a chance to heal yet. The werewolf cleared his throat a bit, looking down at his sandwiches and then looked back at Sirius.

Taking a breath, he said, "Sirius... We haven't really talked about... Harry since-"

"Remus, I cannot have this discussion with you," Sirius exclaimed, pushing his chair back with a loud screech.

"Sirius, I don't mean to hurt you," Remus said calmly and Sirius shook his head, moving away from the table and towards the hall leading to the front door. "We must talk about this, Sirius!" He heard from Remus before he slammed the door and paused at the top of the steps. Closing his eyes and holding his breath, Sirius counted to ten and then opened his eyes again, tears falling down his face.

Harry perked up from his position across the street from Grimmauld Place. He watched Sirius close his eyes and stand at the top of the stairs and then his godfather opened his eyes again, tears rolling down his cheeks, and then he was moving, away from the house, and Harry hadn't seen him leave the house for weeks. The spirit pushed himself away from the lamp post he had been leaning against since he had left Malfoy's and followed his godfather from across the street.

The man was walking briskly, not even pausing to say sorry to anyone he bumped into along the way. Harry's eyebrows furrowed and he crossed the street so that he was directly behind Sirius, close enough to see his black aura, tendrils of smoke ghosting about him, going through him. The man turned sharply and then, suddenly, apparated. Harry stopped dead in his tracks, but had been back as the dead long enough to know what to do. He focused his attentions on the aura he had seen previously, connecting dots until he traced Sirius's own unique signature and then followed.

Sirius was standing on the edge of a cliff, out looking a rocky ocean below, and beautiful, dark, stormy waves that looked darker than black stretching vastly, far and wide in the horizon. For a moment, Harry was concerned with Sirius' train of thought. Would he jump? But then Harry dismissed that thought because if he knew his godfather at all, he knew Sirius would not put any more grief on the people he loved and who loved him back. Sighing, Harry turned into ocean mist, letting the air carry him past Sirius, only for the wind to whip around and bring him beside the ex-Azkaban prisoner.

He stood beside him, overlooking the ocean and wondered to himself why he hadn't made himself go the beach before his death. The only memories he had of the ocean were frantic, fear-drowned flashes of the cave where the fake horcrux had been, where he was forced to make Dumbledore drink from the magical water surrounding the fake locket, where things dwelled that he did not wish to remember. Shaking his head, as if that would shake away those times, he tried to remember the scent. But he couldn't recall it, could only remember the smell of sweat and tears. The ocean was a beautiful thing, large and seemingly endless. What would happen if Harry chose to dive into those seas? Perhaps he would fade into the waters, so dark and deep they were that he would forget he existed and everything would just be nothingness, for the rest of eternity. He wouldn't have to hear his godfather's strangled hiccuping, or see the darkness of his aura or know that he was the cause of both of those things.

Then he thought of Draco, lost and alone, his would-be enemy. Draco had been so nice to him, letting him come to his house because the blonde was the only living thing that could hear him. And Harry had made a promise... to himself... that he would help the Slytherin get his family back in order. He could not submit to his utter grief.

"I'm so sorry," Sirius lamented and the wind carried his words and dispersed them out into the sea, where they, in Harry's place, would turn into nothingness.

Sometimes Harry grieved for Sirius, though Harry wasn't the one who had lost anyone he loved. Yet, he had lost himself. Perhaps he mourned the person he used to be, filled with valor and kindness and strength, to this thing he had become now, bitter and cold, but still so helplessly guilty about everything.

"I cannot bring myself, back, Sirius," the brunette whispered, though Harry knew his godfather couldn't hear him, "but I will be with you always. I hope that someday you can think of me fondly, instead of with sadness. I never learned how to think of my parents fondly when I was still alive... I continued to mourn them until the very last. I wish I had given them some relief."

Silence reigned and the two men stood side by side, one crouched over in grief, the other standing straight in acceptance, and Harry's whisper began to wander.

A/N: Thank you so much for your feedback, everyone who reviewed. I really appreciate it very much. :D