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on the anniversary of the death of sirius harry sat in his bed and he ached and slipped candy into his mouth. one after another. each so sickly sweet that he wanted to throw up the whole lot of them. his stomach roiled and when he opened his mouth for another sweet he could feel the bile creeping up his throat. it burned and his eyes felt so tight and dry. like hot pieces of glass that had been stuck in his face.

once ron had called to him but he had not answered. not even to hiss a reply. he was afraid that if he talked the rage would burst out like screams. he did not want to see the pale faced ron. he did not want to see neville with his nose that was no longer broken. it was as if the healing of that broken nose, of hermione being let out of the hospital wing, and the scrapes and cuts on all, was a denial of sirius' death. it was as if it had never happened. magical healing denied the scars that would be like memories carved into the flesh.

he remembered the nights at grimmauld place and how he sometimes would sneak up to sirius' room and they would talk. his godfather would laugh and the world would be right.

'harry!' his godfather grinned and in that moment youth came back into his face.

'i just wanted to see you, sirius. there's always too much going on here that sometimes there's not the time,' his smile was wistful and he looked oh-so-hesitant. his glasses slid down his nose and his face looked naked without them. in that moment sirius' face changed and he suddenly looked frightened. as if the ghost of a memory had suddenly turned its cold eyes on him.

then the look was gone and harry climbed up on the bed next to sirius. sirius put his arm around him and they talked.

night after night they talked. sometime sirius slipped his arm around harry's shoulders. other times it slid down so it was gripping his hips. that warm touch that reminded him that someone who loved him was alive and not merely a skeleton in a grave.

when sirius slid his hand into harry's lap and gripped him through his robes harry looked wildly into his godfather's face and saw a steady, intent looked in which he wasn't there. sirius said, 'steady, harry,' but harry was not in his eyes, only a paltry reflection that looked so small. sirius took off harry's glasses and the world became fuzzy. harry looked into the other man's face but only saw two dark holes where eyes should have been. his mouth felt flooded with saliva, metallic and strange.

sirius guided harry's hand to his crotch and harry was flushed, he could feel sweat break out all over. the hand guided him; it wasn't even flesh underneath his hands, only meat. meat covered by a scratchy old robe that needed to be replaced.

sirius groaned as his hand moved over harry's, it was like steel. harry did not try to pull away. he loved sirius and rejecting him would end the long talks at night and the scratchy feel of his godfather's whiskers when he hugged him.

the hard lump, harry could not say the word in his mind it could not be connected to sirius, was thrust repeatedly into his hand as sirius' hips thrust. he thought of a big black dog panting, his mouth pulled into a grin. the way that sirius was panting into his ear now. his breath moist and hot.

when sirius gave the last thrust he said a name and that made harry feel funny. his stomach roiled and his eyes were hot and scratchy. everything was so blurry.

sirius removed his hand from over harry's and harry could almost feel the grooves where his nails had dug in. gently and almost reverently sirius put on harry's glasses. he ruffled harry's hair afterwards and told him he was a good boy.

when harry looked into sirius' eyes this time he could see himself clearly reflected in them again.

'i love you, harry. you know that, right?'

harry remembered the touch of sirius' fingers on his face as he had replaced his glasses. he remembered the world coming into back into focus. his very teeth ached for the feel of those strong hands ruffling his hair. for the words that sirius had said.

sometimes he wondered if it had even happened. then he would wake in the night, sweating, and the world would be out of focus and he could see the dark hole's where sirius' eyes should have been and his mouth would be full of saliva. it had been real and it opened up the wound inside of him that seemed to be festering and full of pus.

on the anniversary of the death of sirius harry sat in his bed and he ached and slipped candy into his mouth. he ate one after another and it brought back that roiling feeling. it made him remember. he remembered his godfather best on those nights when they would talk and sirius would put his arms around his shoulders and they would laugh together.

still, that night he woke hearing sirius say that name and his hands were so cold. as if a ghost had touched them.