The rain relentlessly hammered the small courtyard, turning the stone floor slick and dark grey. The storm seemed to be thrown around by the strong wind, coming in intense waves of solid walls of water powerfull enough to erase any memory of the sky. The rain made it almost impossible to see anything beyond a few steps ahead. The rest of the world separated from them and faded.
Harry draws his knees up to his chest, trying to rearrange himself on the stone bench. He takes a drag from his cigarette and shivers. He’s not cold (despite the wet weather and the fact that he’s only wearing his Gryffindor jumper), just really tired. God, he feels so tired. Like his bones are made of lead, like every breath he takes weights a few tons.
He closes his eyes and leans toward the body on his left. Sirius doesn’t mind, he thinks. If anything, the man’s going to be happy that Harry doesn’t try to hide how he feels. On his right, Remus gives a little cough and puts out his cigarette on the wall.
“I feel like our traditional ‘this is not your fault' speech is losing its glamour,” he says, looking out at the drowning courtyard. He goes silent for a bit. Perhaps stringing the words differently this time, to make it sound more convincing.
Then he turns to Harry, voice firm, “but it is our duty to remind you, that none of this is actually your fault. Ron got poisoned because somebody is after Dumbledore, not you. You, in fact, saved your friend's life.”
He has his eyes trained on Harry, expecting some sort of an argument. But Harry is tired. Exhausted. Just opening his mouth feels like such an ordeal. Let alone articulating his thoughts (which is hard enough on good days). Instead, he just closes his eyes and listens to the waves of rain rhythmically beating the stone. Maybe, if he tries hard enough, he can skip to the part where this is just another annual near-death experience memory.
His effort to disappear is wrecked by Sirius breaking the silence and dragging him back to reality, “Moony’s right, of course. All that guilt is something you can’t keep with you. There will be time for real regrets, for real mistakes, but so far you only blame yourself for things you play no part in.” There is a pause. Harry can’t see it, but he feels Sirius’s chest expand with an inhale of smoke. He continues in a soft tone, which Harry knows is reserved for a real crisis, “you are a part in this war, Harry. Undoubtedly, undeniably. But that doesn’t make it about you. That doesn’t make terrible things happen because of you but to you. You didn’t choose this; you didn’t do anything to cause any of this.”
The thing is, Harry has come to terms with that. Even though he still feels guilty and doesn’t fully believe it yet (Remus and Sirius are working tirelessly on that). He feels a different fear nowadays. Something else is gnawing on his insides. Something much more selfish.
He lets the sounds of rain fill the corridor archway leading to the hospital wing doors again, gathering the strength to tell them.
“I don’t even feel like that anymore,” he starts, moving so he’s sitting snugly against the wall and between the other two men. Looking straight ahead so he doesn't have to face either of them he continues, "I don’t think it’s my fault necessarily. I didn’t kill my parents or Cedric, nor did I attack Sirius and Mr Weasley last year. I didn't give Ginny Tom’s diary and I certainly didn't poison Ron.”
He takes a breath, his gaze falling on the unfinished cigarette between his fingers. He throws it through the window arch and into the rain. His hand is shaking slightly and the scar from Umbridge seems to stand out more than ever on his dark skin. He startles as another, pale hand marred with scars covers his. The soft presence grounds him and he suddenly realises just how much he owes these two men. Just how much they became his guardians in the most profound meaning of that word. Deep inside of him something shifts; he has more than he ever had. He has so much to lose.
With a small quiver in his voice, he persists, “but all those things have me in common. There is a certain proximity to me, that is proximity to this war. And I just worry,” he starts crying silently, tears rolling down his cheeks slowly, "I’m afraid that they will get scared. That they will rightfully choose to be safer. That he will leave me. That you will leave me…” He's crying in earnest now.
“Not fucking likely,” grumbles Remus as he squeezes his hand over Harry’s and Sirius wraps his arms around them.
“And I feel so stupid and selfish because he could have died tonight and you both risk your life daily and I just…I worry about you of course, so much. But I also worry about you deciding to be safe, without me. I worry about him having enough of this.”
The rain stops suddenly and the moment they cultivated carefully in its shadow ends just as quickly. The intimacy and quiet of the storm give way to a small patch of the sky and the faint sounds of the castle.
Harry feels much more exposed suddenly, much more like a part of this world than he did a minute ago. His words gain so much gravity all at once, not being contained by the white noise and a wall of rain. He feels his heart rate pick up and cold sweat creeps down his spine. He feels Lupin’s hand leaving his and Sirius arms losing their grip on Harry’s shoulders
It takes Harry by surprise when Sirius cups his face in his palms, tilting it so Harry's facing him, and very slowly says, “Harry, we will never leave you. Not out of duty, but out of pure love. Understood? We cherish you. We will always be here to listen, understand, offer opinions, to argue. We will never leave your side.”
“Never,” seconds Remus almost aggravated, just like he always gets when he's emotional .
“You bring the people around you so much joy Harry,” Sirius goes on. "The dangers of war are something we can escape only seemingly, and it will always reach us in the end. All of us are too deep in. We were even before you were born. But the moments of joy we make in the midst of that are much less fleeting. Ron’s going to fight this war anyway, and he would be daft not to do it in your company. You think you make this fight harder, but the exact opposite is true. I am sure…”
Sudden deafening noise interrupts him and all three men look in the direction of the infirmary doors slammed open. Harry's heart nearly stops beating as Levander Brown storms past them and throws Harry a look of pure fury, her eyes full of tears. He jumps to his feet and followed by both older men storms to the ward. He feels faint. There is only one thing that could upset Levander like that, he thinks as his mind jumps to the worst-case scenario almost immediately.
He gets to Ron's bedside in a few seconds, but it feels like years. He falters a little when he sees the Weasley family surrounding the bed. Suddenly he wants it to be years before he gets to them… He takes a small last step towards the bed so he can see, the awful exhaustion coming back in full force. He nearly topples over when he sees Ron's pale face, his freckles standing out in a way he was sure he could admire endlessly any other day.
Ron's alive. He is alive, and just as his big blue eyes notice Harry his face splits into a loopy smile. He doesn't say anything and dozes off before Harry can do or say anything, the smile still lingering on his face. To his left, Hermione looks at Harry meeting his confused look and with an amused grin says, “he came to and asked for you. Repeatedly.”