Harry had always cared too much.
He cared about the way he looked sure, but right about every teenager did.
He cared about what his teachers thought of him. If they saw yet another dirty orphan or saw him. Harry. That matters a lot to him. He wanted to be someone great out of his own merit. Someone people he was knew could look at, look at. Not through and not behind him.
He cared about what Ron and Hermione thought of him. Especially, Ron, he loved Hermione of course – But Ron was his first friend. His first great love let him into his home and family. Hermione was his sister in many ways. They were both the two constants in Harry’s life that he truly appreciated. His two twin pillars guided him gently through the years and kept him safe. They’d lay their lives down for – though he was horrified at the idea of someone dying for him – he’d do the same for them in a split second.
Harry once read in a book that love was a dangerous and fickle thing. That it would tear everything and everyone apart. For it transformed one’s imagination, it made the world seem and look more beautiful with closer inspection. It made the flowers bloom and suddenly spring seemed to go on forever when in love. Harry didn’t agree with it. For one, it was a bunch of sappy things some equally soppy sod wrote long ago. But also, because he believed that if you were to truly love someone you’d fight for them. If you don’t want the world to fall apart, be ready to fight tooth and nail to keep it together. Grab life by the drapes and bring it back together if you bloody must. Harry believed that if you truly cared and loved someone everything impossible should be made possible for them if that person was truly worth it.
That is love. In its truest and purest form if you will.
And this philosophy was only reaffirmed when he met Sirius Black. The man was loyal and loving and didn’t care who or what knew it. He paraded his love for his people on everything he wore. Harry knew this through the many stories he told him of Sirius playing matchmaker for his parents. He still wore the rings Lily had gifted him from a muggle shop long ago, he still whipped out the leather jacket James had gotten him for his birthday whenever necessary – he still wore the necklace Remus gave him in their final year of Hogwarts which often resulted in long and uncomfortable staring contests. Because all those gifts were reminders of mortality, that his loves lived. However short and rigid those lives were didn't matter, it mattered that Sirius had been part of it. That Sirius was there and loved when he could. Sirius had welcomed Lily into the Potter family with open arms and as her new brother-in-law, he frankly couldn’t give a shit’ if his old family gasped and ooh’ed at him hugging a muggle-born. When people yelled mudblood after her in the halls of Hogwarts Sirius was always with his wand at the ready to go to war. And James was always right behind him. Lily could hold her own and be well-known for her prowess in dueling, but the family didn’t leave their members to fight their own battles.
Because if someone truly mattered to you, if they truly had carved out a place in your heart, you’d do anything for them. Because people are meant to protect their own. Meant to protect their homes and where they belonged. And Sirius Black belonged to Lily Evans, Remus Lupin, and the Potter family.
Harry knew this because when Sirius ran away from home, he went round' his dad’s place. From then on, he became Euphemia and Fleamont Potter’s second son. Their good and beloved boy who’d sit at the dinner table, laughing with Fleamont about his newest prank and aiding Euphemia and him embarrass James in front of Lily when she visited. He was theirs in the same way any mother would muss her son’s hair only to tenderly fix it again. In the same way, any child would sit with their parents on Christmas eve smiling until their cheeks hurt. In the same way a good parent's love would burn bright as their child smiled, a love so strong it’d make them want to rid the world of everything horrid and dark to keep them safe and warm – a parent that would guard his innocence, not rid him of it.
Sirius had told him of the way his family had treated him, how the propriety and upholding the name of the Black family was worth more than their own flesh and blood. He told about the lashes and screaming, the nights of searing pains because of punishments. Of Regulus and his guilt. He told him about how life will always try and take away from you – your integrity, your dignity, your shame – are all pointless in the grand scheme. That Harry should guard his loved ones with his everything because at the end of the day, ‘people are all we have.’
'People are all we have, Harry.' Sirius said. Gripping his hand tight the man let go, staring out of the window his form slouching over the lazy boy. 'They're all we have, never forget that.' His tall frame sinking into the chair and Harry didn't think he'd ever seen someone so small before. Sirius was curling in on himself staring out of the window a hazy gaze in his storming eyes.
The grimmauld place seemed to paint the outside world in grey strokes, everything looked dead, decaying right in front of his eyes. Harry stood firmly by his side and looked outside, wanting to see exactly what Sirius saw, what he might be thinking. He presses his hands further into his pockets as if wanting to store his entire body in them.
And so Harry changed every day little by little. He had always cared a lot for the select few around him. Because before Hogwarts no one had wanted to be around him, but he did it silently in the shadows. In the quiet of the night, he’d lay in his dorm bed and think of how lucky he was – now he said it. In so many words. He’d thank Ron and his family whenever they were around. He’d hold Hermione’s hand more fiercely when people threw slurs at her and was the shoulder to cry on whenever it became too much. He’d pat the red and brown hair alike, stroking and holding his friends closer than ever. Harry did this now because these people were all he had; they were his world. Because he belonged to Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Sirius Black – as he had once belonged to his parents.
*
Harry wasn't an expert in love. If he was perfectly honest he didn't know which one was up or down. He didn't know what to do when he had a crush, he blushed whenever people other than Ron and Hermione touched him - he shied away from most affection.
'Do you like her?' Hermione would ask at times whenever a Gryffindor girl would brush past him.
'No.' He'd always reply even if he did find them pretty. He'd push his tongue to the top of his mouth and hold it there, not knowing what to do from there. Love and affection were confusing to him. He felt like a fool falling headfirst into whatever was around. He would get anxious just thinking about it. An anxiety that would choke him and leave bruises on his throat for days, making it hard to swallow. It was like walking down a long dark corridor not knowing, never knowing what was gonna come out from hiding. Harry had this sense that his real-life was happening somewhere very far away, happening without him and he didn't know if he'd figure out where it was and become part of it.
Now he'd clap Ron on the back frequently to remind him of his support, he tried even if it'd just come off as an awkward off-beat thudding on his shoulder. He'd pat Hermione on the shoulder and smile meekly at her, even if it'd come off as a unsightly grin that just made him look even uglier.
But what he did know was that he loved Sirius dearly. So dearly. When he was away at Hogwarts he missed him like a missing limb. Missed his hugs and warmth and smiles that were growing back with a newfound glow. He missed his many endearing nicknames because it was like Sirius remembered a side of Harry he hadn't even unearthed himself yet.
Because Sirius didn't see an ugly dirty orphan he saw - Harry J, Prongslet, Bambi - baby Haz' that hadn't been battered by lifes harsh reality yet. A sweet child who looked for affection with expectation and not uncertainty. A child who got a broomstick as a birthday present from his Godfather at the age of 1. A child who had parents and a house and a cat.
Sirius reminded him of what he could've had been but it never hurt to be reminded. It only felt like a promise. A promise to be loved, to be protected and cared for, like a parental kiss after a long day and someone to blow on his hurt knees.
Safe and secure. Someone to hold onto.
And Harry relished in it.
*
His world shattered when Sirius died. Without him, the world had become a new mighty stranger with an integral part missing. Like a light in his life just ceazed to exist in the blink of an eye. His world was in shambles, and he died again and again in Harry’s head.
Harry James Potter cared too much. He suffered and died again and again after Sirius’s death. His heart was restarting and wished he could see him smile just one more time. Felt like half of his soul was gone and suddenly his treasured memories of him became painful. Sirius Black was a man made up of memories, Harry could only wonder what he must have felt when almost every member of the Potter family had died when Regulus died – when Peter betrayed them all. Harry remembers how Sirius used to smile when thinking of his time with them, he smiled and his face was like the sun – but if Harry was feeling only a fraction of that grief, it must have been awful. It was a shame really, that behind that exquisite smile there was such a tragic thing.
After that night, Harry could only cry and cry. And one evening he had to go meet Professor Dumbledore.
‘Harry, suffering like this proves you are still a man!’
He wondered what Dumbledore had told Sirius after that Halloween night if he had said anything at all. If he hadn’t this must be some deranged privilege that was conserved just for Harry – it didn’t feel good.
‘Grief is only made up of love with nowhere to go! This ache – this pain is part of being human- ‘
Harry didn’t feel like he was in love, didn’t feel like he belonged, and certainly not in Dumbledore’s office. The only thing he felt now was rage. Unadulterated, unfiltered rage about his own stupidity, at how something painful and bad had happened to Sirius again and it was his fault this time. He was angry because he couldn’t protect him, and Sirius was his family. Which in turn then meant that he couldn’t protect anyone.
Harry was ashamed. He felt a shame so deep and cutting it bare and vulnerable - it was so ferocious, so fierce he was being marred by an animal. An animal he couldn't even see. Shame, what a funny thing. Makes you lose the sense of everything.
‘THEN-I-DON’T-WANT-TO-BE-HUMAN!’ Harry roared.
Just like Sirius, he was now a mosaic of memories. In his mind there was a gallery of framed pictures, where people were grinning and hair glowing, they were happy and healthy and alive. At night he’d close his eyes and think of a broken man, so miserable after having his world crumble around his ears, so hurt and still suffering from that hurt – but still strong enough to smile like the sun. To touch Harry with such gentle hands. To hug and love him as his own even though Harry bore the face and eyes of his lost loves.
In the darkened rooms of the department mysteries a battle begun. ‘Nice one James! – ‘Sirius yelled after him and Harry whipped around to look at him. He could see Remus’s startled look at hearing that name but couldn’t catch Sirius’s eyes. Sirius wasn’t looking at him. Mere minutes later Sirius was floated away in the Veil, his body light and greying from death.
Love is a wonderful thing that makes people whole, it brings people together. But love is also a fickle friend, that burns bright but dies just as easily. Love tears people apart, and Harry was a ruin. Harry cared a lot for the people around him and even if he didn't know how to love normally just yet - he felt proud that someone like Sirius taught what it was meant to be like.