You've included an aspect that I've only seen once before. That Harry with his impetuousness caused the battle that brought about Sirius' death and the other story had Remus dismiss Harry's part in this with, "Of course, I don't blame you Harry!" This really got to me: "with Bellatrix still free, even with Kingsley jumping in, Harry wasn’t safe. Call it pack instinct: protect the young of the pack. Our pack. Sirius would have killed me if I’d let Harry go after him.
But there was more to it, of course. I held on to Harry harder than I had to, just then, to have something to hold on to. To anchor myself to where we were, what we were doing. To ensure that Sirius hadn’t just died in vain.
Then before I knew it, Kingsley went down—God, Bellatrix is a vicious duellist—and Harry tried to go after her. I had missed the chance to kill her myself, dealing with him. My first impulse was to stop him again, but when he wrenched away from my grip, I let go. I could tell myself that I didn’t want to break his arm by hanging on, but that’s not why I let go. God help me, that’s not the reason. I let go because at that moment, the reality hit me. In that instant, I’m ashamed to admit, I don’t know which of them I hated more: Bellatrix or Harry.
and of course, this:
But even as I told him to keep in touch, to take care of himself, I wondered if I could ever look at him the same way again. Severus, poor devil, looks at Harry and sees James. So did Sirius in a way, if it comes to that. I don’t see James in Harry. What I see is far, far more difficult to endure.
I wonder: Will I ever look at him without seeing a stone archway, a tattered veil, and the last, insufficient glimpse I’ll ever have on this earth, of Sirius Black?
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branchandroot
no subject
Date: 2009-12-08 05:19 pm (UTC)This really got to me:
"with Bellatrix still free, even with Kingsley jumping in, Harry wasn’t safe. Call it pack instinct: protect the young of the pack. Our pack. Sirius would have killed me if I’d let Harry go after him.
But there was more to it, of course. I held on to Harry harder than I had to, just then, to have something to hold on to. To anchor myself to where we were, what we were doing. To ensure that Sirius hadn’t just died in vain.
Then before I knew it, Kingsley went down—God, Bellatrix is a vicious duellist—and Harry tried to go after her. I had missed the chance to kill her myself, dealing with him. My first impulse was to stop him again, but when he wrenched away from my grip, I let go. I could tell myself that I didn’t want to break his arm by hanging on, but that’s not why I let go. God help me, that’s not the reason. I let go because at that moment, the reality hit me. In that instant, I’m ashamed to admit, I don’t know which of them I hated more: Bellatrix or Harry.
and of course, this:
But even as I told him to keep in touch, to take care of himself, I wondered if I could ever look at him the same way again. Severus, poor devil, looks at Harry and sees James. So did Sirius in a way, if it comes to that. I don’t see James in Harry. What I see is far, far more difficult to endure.
I wonder: Will I ever look at him without seeing a stone archway, a tattered veil, and the last, insufficient glimpse I’ll ever have on this earth, of Sirius Black?