When the Snow Melts

Prologue

Author's Notes: This story takes place in their 6th year with some facts altered to suit the needs of the plot. If you cannot handle graphic sexual content, violence, torture, substance abuse, and rape, then this will be a most unpleasant read. I recommend that you find a different story. Oh, and this story was fleshed out before the 6th book was even out so I didn't have the benefit of knowing what was going to happen in the last two books. Have fun reading and please remember to vote if you are enjoying it.

Sirius was dead – taken by some damnable archway that lay unguarded in the Department of Mysteries. The absurdity of that fact alone was burning through his disbelieving mind. And to what purpose? What had they gained? Some stupid glass ball telling Harry that he had to sacrifice himself in order to defeat Voldemort. He felt like he was going to be sick just thinking about it.

"I never wanted you to find out," Headmaster Dumbledore admitted, watching Harry from behind his desk with sad blue eyes. He sat in his chair, sagging against the weight of his failures – a broken man with a thousand regrets.

Harry took a shuddering breath. "Who else knows?" he questioned darkly, wondering who else was in on it, who else had watched him grow up with this secret poisoning their heart.

The Headmaster sighed. "Not very many. I didn't have it in me to tell the rest of them. Sirius never would have accepted it if he had known."

Hearing his godfather's name spoken aloud was a dagger to his heart. Sirius would not have accepted this. He would have taken on the entirety of The Order and Voldemort's Death Eaters just to save him from this fate. But he was gone and Harry didn't have any fight left in him. It was all too much to bear.

"Am I free to go?" he asked, acutely aware of Dumbledore's mournful eyes on him. "I have a lot of packing to finish before we leave."

"Yes, you can go." Dumbledore gestured towards the door, shifting uneasily in his chair, worry lines prominent on his ancient features. "Just promise me you'll talk about this with someone. If it can't be me, then please just find someone. This knowledge will eat you up if you let it."

Harry nodded in agreement even though he didn't intend to talk to anyone about this. What would it change if he did? Would it make death any less final? No, it wouldn't help him at all.

He walked resolutely to the dorms, his heart conflicted. He was going to die and he didn't know how he should feel about it, not with the loss of Sirius' so fresh in his mind. It seemed unfair that he had to mourn two people now – his godfather and himself.

A single thought started playing on loop, repeating over and over again. I'm going to die. Everyone had to eventually, but this was different, this wasn't some far off probability. This was final and seemed so unbearably close.

I'm going to die.