Unforgivable Promises (Snarry story)

Chapter 1

For the first time in his life, Harry thought three weeks after leaving Hogwarts, he was almost happier locked up with the Dursleys on Privet Drive than at the school. He still recalled his first night in the Gryffindor dormitory and the first real feeling of home-coming he'd ever experienced. But he no longer wanted to be home. Hogwarts, Dumbledore, even Ron and Hermione, all reminded him of what he'd lost.

"Sirius," he thought as the familiar pang of loss and guilt swept over him. His wand and books remained in his trunk, unopened since he arrived at the house. He barely even looked at Hedwig anymore, except to send out his promised letters every three days. As much as he wanted to avoid thinking about anything having to do with the wizarding world, he knew that Moody an Mr. Weasley would be true to their word, and if three days passed without a letter from him, he'd likely look outside to see Tonks entertaining the neighbors with her newest hair color as Moody laid siege to the house. No, the last thing he wanted was a visit from anyone.

The Dursleys, though, did not know anything about what had happened in the past few months. Harry was disinclined to share, and the Dursleys certainly would not ask. The peace, though, was starting to fade. His Aunt had started making comments about him being even more depressing than usual, and his uncle could not resist grunting and rolling his eyes whenever Harry indulged in some well-earned self pity.

And worse, Harry knew that outside the walls of his habitual summer prison, war was fast approaching. As painful as such thoughts were -they all began and ended with his godfather's death- Harry's conscience refused to allow him to forget the lives that were still at stake. But always, grief won out as Harry cried himself to sleep on more than one night.

Last night had been such a night, and a bad one at that. It was always worse when he had to write to Moody and the Weasleys. The letters were always short -just enough to keep the Aurors from "rescuing" him.

"Dear Mr. Weasley," the latest had read. "I continue to fare well. Tell Moody and the rest (and Ron and Hermione) that they needn't worry about me."

But he was lying. He was not fine. Yes, his uncle was too terrified of Moody, and worse, Tonks with her ever-changing hair color (What would the neighbors say?), to so much as raise his voice at Harry. But, still, Harry was anything but fine. Sometimes, he wanted his uncle to yell, to scream, maybe even hit him, to lash out, so Harry could feel something besides his terrible loss. That never happened, though, and so Harry was left alone to his mourning last night, just like all the nights before.

A soft flutter of wings and the gentle ringing sounds of Hedwig settling into her cage woke Harry from another restless sleep. With a soft hoot, Harry's beloved owl noticed him waking and dropped a folded slip of paper from her beak. Harry glanced at the parchment, which bore no writing on the outside, before stepping over it and getting dressed.

Harry was in no rush to read another letter from any of the Order members. He had already received enough of them, all sympathetic, all offering to share his loss as they, too, had known and cared for Sirius.

But dammit! They didn't love him the way Harry had. They had their own brothers, their own fathers, their own uncles -Uncle Vernon certainly didn't count as an uncle in anything but name. Sirius had become his entire family, and now he was gone, No one could understand how much he had lost, and he resented them for pretending they could. And the letters from Ron and Hermione were almost worse. He had made it perfectly clear during the last few days of school that he did not want to talk about Sirius at all. Even as he read their transparently upbeat letters, he could see them dancing around the subject. That depressed him even more.

So, it was much later that day, after helping his aunt clean most of the house, that he finally succumbed and picked up the missive. He knew he would be expected to respond, and putting it off would not make it go away.