UnExpected

Chapter 68

It was his fault Sirius had died; it was all his fault. If he hadn't been so stupid, so naive enough to fall for Voldemort's trick, if he hadn't been so convinced that what he had seen in his dream was real, if he had only opened his mind to the possibility that Voldemort was, as Hermione had said, banking on Harry's love of playing the hero...

But it was too late. Sirius was dead. Sirius was dead, and Harry stood in the Headmaster's office, going crazy with guilt.

After Voldemort had vanished, and Harry regained his senses, Dumbledore had sent Harry out of the Ministry by Portkey while he stayed behind to deal with Fudge and his questions. Harry didn't care who answered those stupid questions, he didn't want to recall or defend anything that had happened; more than anything he wanted to be left alone, but even if he was the lone body in the Headmaster's office, it would be evident he wasn't the only presence.

A picture behind Harry gave a loud grunting snore, and a cool voice said, "Ah...Harry Potter..."

Phineas Nigellus gave a long yawn, stretching his arms as he surveyed Harry out of shrewd, narrowed eyes.

"And what brings you here in the early hours of the morning? This office is supposed to be barred to all but the rightful Headmaster. Or has Dumbledore sent you here? Oh, don't tell me...another message for my worthless great-great-grandson?"

Harry couldn't speak. Phineas Nigellus didn't know that Sirius was dead, but Harry couldn't tell him. To say it aloud would be to make it final, absolute, irretrievable.

Filled with terror at the thought of being interrogated, Harry strode across the room and seized the doorknob.

But it wouldn't turn. He was shut in.

The guilt filling the whole of Harry's chest like some monstrous, weighty parasite now writhed and squirmed. Harry could not stand this, he could not stand being himself any more...he had never felt more trapped inside his own head and body, never wished so intensely that he could be somebody, anybody else...

The once silent fireplace burst into emerald, green flame, and Harry leapt away from the door in surprise. He stared at the man spinning inside the grate and watched as Dumbledore's tall form unfolded itself from the fire.

*****

"You all right back there?"

"Yeah, yeah, not as heavy as he looks."

The door shut behind them, and Remus and Mad-Eye were just steps into the entryway when they came across the shocked figure of Joyce Summers.

Joyce had come running the moment she heard the unmistakable squeak of the front door hinge as it opened, and she stopped dead when she saw them. Her heart felt cold and dread spread through her veins at the sight of Buffy lying motionless across Remus's arms, of Sirius appearing just as lifeless slung over the shoulder of Mad-Eye Moody. The world around her became fuzzy and then still. Her body felt weak and nothing felt real.

"Joyce," Remus said gently, hoping to extinguish her anguish before it burst out of her. God only knows what she must be thinking, and from the expression on her face, it was definitely the worst of it.

Joyce snapped out of her trance at the sound of her name, and the world started back up again as if someone had pressed play on the remote. She ran over to them, her eyes moving back between Buffy and Sirius, her mouth open and closing, unable to form the questions she desperately wanted answered.

"They're all right," Remus assured her. "Both breathing. Both unconscious but all right."

The air no longer strangled her, and Joyce breathed deeply in relief, but despite hearing that they were both breathing, which was a good sign, the fact that neither of them was standing on their own two feet and conscious meant they were not all right.