Bound By Blood.

ch85~Shame, guilt, pain.

There were no recovered or unsent correspondents

found from Order Member Alexandra Brooks, to Death Eater Mattheo Riddle

from February 2004, to April 2004.

The Order Safe House, 2004.

Alexandra.

Minutes faded into hours. Hours into days. Days into weeks, and now it was February.

Six weeks since the incident that causes me to scream into my pillow, and lose more sleep. Not that I got much to begin with.

Six weeks since I saw his vacant eyes staring back at me from the box Death Eaters left on our doorstep.

Six weeks of screaming matches in the meeting room, each one a desperate, accusing finger pointed at someone else for being the traitor.

Six weeks of mourning.

Six weeks of eerie silence. No one knew who to talk to anymore... who to trust.

Hell.

My life was hell.

Oh, and six weeks since I last heard from him.

The worst part?

Some part of my fucked up brain was trying to justify his actions. Trying to come up with a story that left no blood on his hands, no blame to put onto him. Trying to tell myself there is a reason he confessed my secrets.

What's worse than that?

I knew I couldn't entirely blame him.

I made my bed a long time ago, climbed in with eyes wide open.

I knew the risks of being with him, of being infatuated with him, of needing him.

It didn't mean it didn't hurt. It didn't mean the betrayal didn't sting like acid on an open wound.

The floorboards groaned under my feet as I headed downstairs, the early morning light painting long shadows across the worn rug.

I needed the caffeine to jumpstart my system, to numb the incessant ache. Instead of the kitchen,

I found Harry sitting on the porch steps, wrapped in his own grief like a shroud. He looked utterly lost.

I went into the kitchen, made a pot of coffee, and grabbed a thick, woolen blanket. I poured two mugs and carried everything out to the porch. The air was crisp, a promise of the slowly approaching spring, but the chill still bit at my skin.

I settled beside Harry, draping the blanket around both of us, pulling it tight.

"Here," I offered, handing him a mug.

He took it with a numb nod. "Thanks."

"You okay, Harry?" It was a stupid question, but I couldn't think of anything else to say.

He didn't answer for a long moment, just stared out at the slowly brightening horizon. "I didn't even know he was alive," he finally said, his voice barely a whisper. "I lost him all over again."

"He was a good man," I said softly. "Sirius. He was... understanding. Comforting."

I swallowed hard, the memory of our last conversation burning in my throat. He'd given me advice. He'd listened. He'd been there, a constant, unwavering presence in a life that often felt like a swirling vortex of chaos.