Challenge One:
"People, even more than things, have to be restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed, and redeemed; never throw out anyone."- Audrey Hepburn

Secret Sorrow

- By Lydia Nightingale -

- Hufflepuff -

He felt like he was going insane.

Thoughts raced around in Harry's head, refusing to release him. It was the same thoughts, over and over again. However, in truth, he didn't want these thoughts to let go. It was his punishment for placing his mentor in danger.

Dumbledore. Standing on the battlements. Weak, shaking, the affects of whatever strange concoction had been in the pensieve-like bowl still torturing him. Pleading -- for his life, or for his death?

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. He had stood there, paralysed by some strange magic. He had watched as Snape withdrew his wand and pointed it. He had wanted so much to stop what was happening, but he had been frozen solid. Harry wanted to punch something at the very thought of his failure.

"Avada Kedavra."

Snape had sneered with these words. How could Dumbledore have trusted him? How could Snape have kept up the charade for so long?

A shiver slithered across Harry's back and shoulders. He felt cold in his stomach, as if he had just swallowed a whole glass of iced water. He leaned his head against the window. Fireworks blazed in the sky, and the church bells could be heard ringing. Harry was painfully aware that he wasn't standing on the ledge back at Hogwarts, but rather, he was sitting in the darkness of a small bedroom, in a "safe house", completely alone.

Dumbledore's death had left the wizarding community shaken. Since then, people had been moving house, and often had close friends or relatives perform the Fidelius charm to protect them. The Weasley family had likewise been advised to relocate. Professor McGonagall had placed them under the Fidelius charm herself. She had also allowed Harry -- albeit, somewhat reluctantly -- to visit the Weasleys during summer and Christmas. Now, it was New Year. Ron and Hermione were downstairs, presumably enjoying the cakes and butterbeer with Lupin, Tonks, and the rest of the Weasley family.

Harry got to his feet, staring around the room. His eyes had adapted to the dark, and he could see the outlines of the beds, a bookshelf, and a wardrobe. He felt like he was being watched, and given that there was at least one portrait in his room, this feeling was probably right. Deciding that the library would be a little more... private, Harry wandered from the room, out into the corridor. Even as he walked, the guilty thoughts wouldn't leave him.

Ever since he first arrived at Hogwarts, Harry had faced the dark arts in some form or another. Always, his friends and their families were placed in danger by these encounters with evil. Ron had been knocked out on an oversized wizard chessboard, been attacked by Sirius Black in the form of a dog, had a brain latch on to him like a leech and nearly been hit by curses several times. Hermione had fared better, though Harry reminded himself that she had nearly been killed when he and Ron had accidentally locked a troll in the girls' toilets, while she was still in there. Ginny had been possessed by Tom Riddle, hit with jinxes and placed in life-threatening danger when Death Eaters had invaded Hogwarts. Cedric Diggory had been killed in the final Triwizard Cup challenge. Sirius Black had fallen to his death behind a mysterious curtain. Dumbledore's life had been brutally removed from him with the Avada Kedavra curse. Harry grimaced. He was a danger to all who knew him. There was no escaping it. Neither was there any way he could redeem himself. People insisted that these things were not his fault, unwilling to hear his sorrows, his regrets.

New Year was supposed to be when grudges were forgotten and records wiped clean. There was no such salvation for Harry. Ron and Hermione had left him on his own, at his behest. They had just looked at him with sad, concerned eyes, and following some protests, went downstairs. As much as Harry wanted to confess his guilt to someone, he felt that it couldn't be to his two best friends. They didn't understand. They would never understand. They, too, insisted that the deaths were not his fault, that he had done nothing wrong. As he wrapped his hand around the library doorknob and entered the room, Harry found himself wondering why he felt so awful, if he had indeed done nothing wrong?

In the library, a fire had been lit in the hearth. A few gas lamps were dotted around the room, which also had lights dancing within their glass confines. Harry glanced around. No portraits adorned the wall. Just endless rows of books, the pattern broken only by a window. The walls were a deep shade of red where they could be seen, with golden fleur-de-lis arranged in a haphazard pattern on the wallpaper. It would do, Harry thought, and located a chair by the window. About to sit down, he growled, and closed his eyes again, frowning and shaking his head. He wondered long would it be until he placed another person in danger, if he was risking the lives of everybody he cared for by being here, at their safe house.

"Harry?"

Remus Lupin's voice broke the silence of the library, causing Harry's train of thoughts to derail. He hadn't even seen the former professor, who was sitting by the fireplace. In spite of the coal fire and gas lamps, the lighting was poor, but it didn't hinder Harry's view of the worry etched into Lupin's features.

"What are you doing up here? Why aren't you downstairs with Ron and Hermione?" Lupin enquired.

Harry shrugged as he trudged towards Lupin, recalcitrant and tense. He hoped the sudden growing warmth in his cheeks would be hidden by the darkness of the room. Lupin was frowning. His brandy coloured eyes seemed to be looking right through him. It wasn't the first time Harry had seen that look on the professor's face. The last time Lupin had gazed at him like that had been in third year, when he had been caught with the Marauder's Map, following a little trip into Hogsmeade. This time, however, the stare wasn't one of disappointment, but one of concern.

"I know something is wrong, Harry," Lupin said at last. "Ron and Hermione are very worried, and I must say, I agree with them."

When Harry didn't reply, Lupin continued, "this said, I do understand. When I was your age, I often worried that… my condition… would lead to an accident, placing my friends and family in danger," Lupin stared past Harry, remembering. "As it happened," he said softly, "certain events did indeed lead to someone being placed in danger by my condition, more than once."

Harry gazed down at his feet. "Dumbledore died because of me, Professor," he said bitterly. "It wasn't an accident. I couldn't stop Snape from killing him. Just like I couldn't stop Sirius from dying in the Department of Mysteries."

Lupin winced at the mention of Sirius. Harry didn't notice.

"Cedric had nothing to do with Voldemort, and because of me, he died too!" Harry exclaimed, then paused, his anger at himself growing. "They trusted me, and I betrayed them," he muttered. By now, he was blushing profusely, but he didn't care. He deserved the shame and pain that he felt.

"Harry, one thing you are not is a bad friend," Lupin said mildly. "Yes, you've made the wrong decisions before, and yes, you've walked into danger, fully knowing what could have happened. But how often have you done these things to protect your friends?"

Harry halted, and stared at Lupin, who nodded at him. "When you tried to protect the Philosopher's Stone, you did it to help Dumbledore. When you rescued Sirius from execution, you wanted to protect someone who reached out to you, even if he hadn't done it in the most honourable way."

Harry nodded. It was hard to escape the truth of the words Lupin was speaking. "You tried to stop Voldemort, and that takes a lot of courage. You were even responsible for the capture of many Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries."

"Why does it feel so wrong, Professor?" asked Harry.

"You're mourning," Lupin replied gently. "You've been hurt, and I'm barely surprised by your feelings. I'm also certain that Dumbledore would not hold his death against you." He paused, then slowly added, "Harry, listen -- there was nothing you could have done."

Harry knew this was true, even if he didn't want to accept it. He remained silent, frowning at his knees.

"He needed you to live," Lupin said, "and if you had tried to attack Severus or Draco on the parapet that night, you would be dead, your chance to defeat Voldemort taken from you."

"I know," Harry mumbled.

Lupin glanced at his pocket watch. The church bells had stopped some time ago, though occasional fireworks were still banging loudly in the sky.

"You should go to bed," Lupin said as he replaced his watch in his pocket. "It's late. Perhaps some sleep will do you good."

Harry nodded and stood up. His heart seemed a little lighter than before, and he was no longer blushing. Lupin had hit home with many of his words -- he was mourning, and more often than not, he had walked into danger to protect people, rather than harming them. However, he had also pushed his friends away recently, to the point of worrying and possibly hurting them. With this thought in mind, Harry looked up as Lupin followed him to the door.

"Professor?"

"Yes, Harry?"

Harry paused, then said, "I'm sorry."

"I know," Lupin nodded, leading Harry out of the room. "And I forgive you."