A/N: This is the beginning of part 4, which takes place the summer before the Half-Blood Prince (Harry's 6th year); thus, you are to assume everything (more or less) that happened in the Order of the Phoenix (Harry's 5th year) occurred before part 4 begins. Because this is in Percy's POV, I will use American spelling and terms and sentence structure (e.g., double quotes) to represent how he'd think. Without further ado, let the story continue!
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Harry looked dead, devoid of life. I couldn't blame him. He'd lost so much only to lose even more. Mom and Paul knew everything, of course. He couldn't hide it from them. But at least they didn't have to see the haunted look on his face the night Harry's godfather, Sirius Black, was murdered right in front of his eyes.
I was contacted when it happened. Someone named Minerva—who I thought was the Roman version of Annabeth's mom for a split second—wrote a letter and sent it via owl. It was vague, it was short, it was only two sentences, but it was urgent.
Dear Perseus Jackson,
Padfoot has, regrettably, met his end. We are expecting your arrival within 24 hours, or we will send someone to fetch you.
Solemn regards,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Without a second thought, I called for Blackjack to fly me over. We soared at speeds like never before. He was in worse shape than after the Battle of Manhattan by the time we landed in front of the stone castle. I pushed him harder than I ever had in my haste to get to Harry. He made me promise two dozen donuts when we returned.
Upon arrival, some teacher informed me that Harry was in the hospital wing. I thought the worst: he was dead or near death, he was horrendously injured, he was in a rage from grief.
What I saw wasn't too far from the last one, except rage was replaced with sorrow and heartache.
His friends sat around him in various states of injury. None were talking. They were all hurt, but Harry looked the worst.
When our eyes locked on each other, I could see all the emotions that ran through him. He was angry, angry that I wasn't Sirius; he was relieved, relieved that he wasn't completely alone; and he was guilty, guilty over his godfather's death. The dolorous countenance never left.
I slowly moved closer as if approaching a frightened animal and sat next to him. He let one tear slip, sliding down his cheek, past the bottom rim of his round glasses. Then he let another fall, tracing the same path before diverging slightly, eventually slipping off his chin and onto his shirt. The rest that came after fell onto my shirt as I pulled him closer. Harry wrapped his arms around my neck as he buried his head into my chest, towards my shoulder. Then a sound of anguish came. It filled the room like a soloist in a concert hall. And it killed the silence like a viper paralyzing its prey.
I simply held him tightly. My worst fear came true: my little cousin, practically a brother to me, faced horrors in the world no child should even think of, and would inevitably face them again. Gods of Olympus, I would trade anything, my very soul to Tartarus, if it meant Harry didn't have to experience any of it.
I took him home soon after. Unlike last summer, he hated to be alone. He didn't want to say much or do much or hear much, but he'd rather be with someone than only with his thoughts. I wouldn't deny him company if that was what he needed. But no one could give him what he wanted; no one could bring Sirius back.
He had been so excited to have Sirius in the same building. Harry wrote to me nonstop about it all year, asking about every detail. It was completely set up too—down payments made, furniture bought, spells cast, documents signed. And Sirius had stuck to the agreement throughout the year for Harry's future. He forced himself to ignore his boredom and overcome his feelings of uselessness. Sometimes that meant he spent all day in bed. Other times it meant he deep cleaned various rooms. But he had no contact with the outside world save for carefully worded letters or fire-calls. I was honestly surprised he hadn't tried to sneak out once.
However, I knew that for the same reason he stayed in his house all year—Harry's future—he answered the notice for the Battle of the Department of Mysteries. I knew he could not, in good conscience, remain in a safe house when his godson was fighting for his life against Death Eaters. And it made me feel guilty for keeping them separated all this time. If he was going to die either way, perhaps it would've been better for them to have seen each other more.
I was worried Harry would blame me for the same reason I blamed myself. Maybe he would have if I weren't one of the few people he had left in his life, if I weren't one of the few family members he had still. Harry was in such a vulnerable state that he wasn't able to keep hold of blame when his arms were full of grief.
He woke up often from nightmares. Replaying Sirius's death, criticizing himself by pointing out what he could've done better, mourning the man he thought he'd have a whole summer with, a whole life with.
It pained me knowing I couldn't take away his pain. I couldn't offer more than a sturdy shoulder for him to lean on, cry on. I'd tuck him back in bed and be a silent comfort that he wasn't alone as he tried to drift back to sleep.
At some point, he realized how much his grief was affecting me and Mom and Paul. He tried to move past his sadness for their sake. It almost fooled me. But I had pulled that card far too many times to be fooled by it completely. It was time to confront him, to have him slowly process his feelings before they overwhelmed him all at once. I prayed to the gods this wouldn't backfire.
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Fanfiction[Completed] Harry Potter's world turned upside down. He no longer had to spend lonely summers at the Dursley's. In fact, he would never again spend his summers at the Dursley's. But was that a good thing? It meant leaving his friends, people he cons...
