The Curtain

Harry

I hate him. I hate him for dying. I hate him for being stupid enough to trip. He fell through a bloody curtain and died. I hate him. I hate him for dying on me like every other SINGLE person who ever meant ANYTHING to me in my life did. Even before I knew or realized how much they did. I hate him. I want to KILL him for being stupid enough to die.

Hermione would tell me, very carefully, that I was stupid. It would defeat the purpose of his being alive. I’m not an idiot. I know it would. But that’s completely beside the point that I want to kill him anyway.

I practically destroyed Professor Dumbledore’s office last night. I suppose that I should apologize, and I would if I gave a damn. At the moment though, I don’t. He was my godfather and he was supposed to be RESPONSIBLE and he was supposed to have stayed where he was. He knew better than to leave Grimmauld Place, even if he thought I was in danger. Lupin was there, and Tonks, and Kingsley and the Weasleys. Any one of them could have come to get us. But the prat had to come. He HAD to be the one.

Hermione thinks I have a saving people thing? Ha. She obviously didn’t know Sirius very well. And now she never will. Because he had to be stupid enough to go and DIE. He was supposed to be there for me. And now he never will be. His name was supposed to be cleared and I was going to get to leave the Dursley’s and live with him and Lupin at Grimmauld Place. And now he’s gone and died, leaving me alone.

Again.

*****

Tonks

In my mind, there are no words to describe the utter anguish that Remus Lupin must be feeling at this moment. My mind, capable of believing and understanding so much can not seem to comprehend the fact that my cousin, his...lover...is now dead.

Oh, I’m not an idiot. Everyone thinks I’m a bit daft, but you shouldn’t ever mistake me for that. I may walk around with pink hair and chew bubblegum, but I’m not an idiot. Anyone could see what those two meant to each other. I mean, you’d have to be a doorknob not to. Then again, some of the doorknobs in the house probably had a very good idea of how close those two are to each other. Were.

Damn it.

It’s going to take some time to get used to the past tense.

The coolest person I have ever known in my entire life–the man was the first to escape from Azkaban –is now gone. He was the only person in my family who loved me, who thought I was worth anything, for all that I was a half-blood. We were both learning what it felt like to have someone care about us. To not be considered an outcast by those who should have loved us most. Learning to survive despite Aunt Cissy and B–the one who killed him.

I want to kill her so badly that it’s messing with my magic. My Metamorphagi skills have sunk down the loo.

And Sirius is dead.

*****

Remus

There are too many words. And too few. Nothing can begin to describe the hollow feeling that is inside me; nothing to describe it because I’m too detached to feel. I’m floating on helplessly, hopelessly, unable to believe that it’s happened. I keep on thinking that it’s a dream, turning in our bed– the bed that’s mine alone now–expecting him to be there. Reaching out to trap his heat in the night only to find that his side of the bed is cold. There will never be any warmth there again. Only wetness as I cry and cry, my tears seeping into the sheet as I curl up, trying to get closer to the memory of him. To what once was and what could have been.

Oh God. I feel like I’m broken in half.

There’s no logical reason for it. None at all. No reason why it was him instead of me. Or Tonks or Kingsley. It had to be him. And I told him not to come. I told him that we could take care of it without him, that he had to stay hidden. And he wouldn’t listen. He never listens–listened.

Gods, but I hate him for leaving me again, just when I was getting to know him, learning how to live with another person for the first time in over a decade. Living with another person’s routines and nightmares. Another person’s dreams. Learning how to melt my own into someone else’s until I wouldn’t know where I ended and he started.

Oh God.

We had such plans the two of us. We were going to bring Peter to justice. We were going to bring Harry to live at Grimmauld Place and get him away from Lily’s sister. We were going to take down the Dark Lord, just the two of us and live happily ever after all we had been through. We were going to. We were going to. We were going t–

We deserved it.

But we weren’t going to get instead it. I was never going to get it. I would never have happiness; the dreams I had had for my life upon leaving Hogwarts were crushed to the ground. They had no hope to lift them up. After all, there are very few things that are as final as death. It’s not the sort of thing you can argue with, is it?

So instead of my dreams, instead of having the person most important to my life, I would have the headline of the Daily Prophet to keep me company in my loneliness: Sirius Black. Thirty six years old. Male. Former Marauder. Godfather to The Boy Who Lived. Convicted believed-to-be murderer. First person to ever escape Azkaban-and live to tell about it. Former member of The Order of the Phoenix. Cause of death: curtain.

Sirius would have laughed his arse off at that.

I cried.

****

Dumbledore

There are no words to describe the ache of a broken heart, a broken home, a broken future. There are no words to describe what might have been, what could have. There are no words when a man as loyal and true as Sirius Black was dies. None.

No words for his loss...and none for ours.



A/N: And I love this poem by W.H. Auden for it, so have it as well:



Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone


Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone


Silence the pianos and muffle with muffled drum


Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come





Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead


Scribbing on the sky the message He is Dead,


Pet crepe bows round the white necks of public doves


Let the traffic policement wear black cotton gloves





He was my North, my South, my East and West


My working week and my Sunday rest,


My moon, my midnight, my talk, my song;


I thought that love would last forever:I was wrong





The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;


Pick up the moon and dismantle the sun;


Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood


For nothing now can come to any good.