To Whom It May Concern (or There's No Guarantee)

By Richan

Disclaimer: Don't own. Don't make me say it again.

AN: This is the last part, and I will not be continuing. Conclusions are left for you to come up with.

Part 3

Harry hadn't known what to think when he'd found himself waking up. He had made sure that no one would be able to find him by going directly into the heart of the dungeons. He had spent months searching for a place that was quiet back in his fifth year and after having discovered that even the Slytherins avoided it decided that it was perfect for being alone.

Now that he was awake, he felt much warmer along his right side. Curious to know what it was, he had opened his eyes to find Sirius half-laying next to him. From what he could see of his face as the man looked out of the room, Harry surmised that he had cried earlier, judging from the stained tracks down his cheeks.

The vague thought that there would be somebody to cry over him was ridiculous. He wasn't worth anyone's tears, let along a man who grieved for someone Harry could never be. Sirius must not have read the note - otherwise he wouldn't be here. Maybe the note was lost or whoever found him didn't see it.

Sirius turned back to look at him and Harry saw that he was shocked to see Harry awake. Had he not wanted to be here and now he was found out?

"Harry?"

That sad voice could not be Sirius' at all. His voice was supposed to be filled with happiness and mischievousness. It wasn't to sound like his life had suddenly stopped and he didn't want to re-start it.

"Siri..." He wanted to reassure his godfather that he would be fine but couldn't. Harry knew that he was too screwed up to ever be considered a good godson now. Even if he didn't want that anymore - wanted something much different = he wanted to make sure that Sirius would be fine after he was gone.

"Harry."

Was Sirius pleading with him? Harry didn't know what to think, other than:

"I want to die, Siri...."

Sirius' eyes flashed briefly, but the room was too dark for Harry to see what it was that had crossed them.

"Don't leave me, Harry. Don't leave me alone," he whispered in a desperate voice. "Don't leave me with nothing."

Desperate? Why would Sirius want Harry to stay?

No. Harry couldn't stay. Look at all the destruction he had caused just by being born. He had lost Sirius his best friend because his father tried to protect him. Sirius had endured twelve years in prison because of Harry, and had been on the run up until four months ago when the Head Auror, cleaning up the latest Death Eater raid, had caught Wormtail.

Harry couldn't believe that Sirius would have nothing if he completed his task to die. The older man had Remus and his freedom and a house. Why would he want Harry in his life?

"Siri," he started to say.

"Harry," Sirius interrupted. "Just listen to me. I love you and I have always loved you. I don't know if I can ever love you like you love me, but please.... Please give me the chance."

He didn't know what to say. From what Sirius had said, it was obvious that he had read Harry's note. And he wasn't disgusted by what Harry felt? And just what did he mean by giving him a chance? A chance at what?

Then the rest of what he said sunk in and Harry stared at him. Sirius loved him? No, he couldn't do that and was just saying it to him to make him feel better.

"No, you don't," Harry whispered.

"Harry!" Sirius shouted, startling the both of them.

"You just see James in me," Harry said. "That's all everyone has ever said to me! 'You look just like James!' or 'That's what James would have done.' How could I know this? It was because of me that he's dead and I never got to know him!"

Sirius reached over and grabbed his shoulders, shaking him.

"Harry!" he said, still shaking him lightly, "I know that you are not James and will never be him. Yes, I do miss him and I see part of him in you. But that will not change what I felt the moment I first held you in the hospital. You have been a part of my family since then and no matter what happens you always will. Nothing can change that!"

Harry tried to process what Sirius was saying, but he didn't know what to think of it. Never had he even considered this and it made him feel ten times worse than he already did.

"I'm sorry, Siri," he whispered, wanting to say the words ten thousand times over for hurting the person he loved most. "I'm sorry."

Sirius' heart broke at Harry's little voice. He didn't understand why the boy was apologizing, but he accepted it all the same, knowing that it would help just a little. And with the knowledge of Harry's letter in the back of his head, he did what he'd been wanting to do since the first time Sirius had seen Harry in the boy's third year.

He slowly wrapped his arms around the thin body, tightening his hold when he felt Harry tense up. If this was part of what he had to do to keep Harry in his life, he would do it forever. He felt Harry gradually relax in his arms, a sign that he'd fallen asleep, but Sirius didn't take his arms away.

He was going to hold onto Harry any way he could and nothing was going to stop him.

It was nearing dawn when Harry stirred again.

"Siri...?"

He looked down at the boy in his arms before sliding one up so that he could stroke the soft cheek. "What is it, Harry?"

"Can I disappear?"

Sirius didn't know what to think for a moment. His eyes searched the thin face before settling on pleading green eyes. He knew what Harry was asking but wasn't sure it was the right thing to do. Still, he had promised to himself that he would do whatever it took to make his godson happy and if this is what he had to do, then so be it.

"I'll see what I can do."

Harry's eyes lit up to what Sirius remembered they should look like. It was then he realized that he hadn't seen such a look since sometime in Harry's Fourth Year when they'd met in the cave outside of Hogsmeade. Then all Harry had to worry about what the Tri-Wizard Tournament, which was nothing compared to the horrors that had awaited him since the night of the third task. After that, the green eyes had gotten dull as time went by.

Sirius kept all of this to himself as Harry fell asleep once more. He knew he should have seen the effects of war on Harry. He should have been there when he was growing up, but nothing in the world could change the past. All he had was a shot at the future, and if Harry wanted to leave...

Deciding what was to be done, he made a note to only tell Remus and Dumbledore about Harry's decision. They would be able to help him.

******

Dumbledore watched the Great Hall with sad eyes. Any minute now the morning mail would be coming in, and along with it would be this morning's Daily Prophet, with the news that Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived to Defeat Voldemort Twice, had died the previous day.

He hadn't wanted to do it this way, but Harry had insisted. There were six people who knew what had happened, and none of them would ever say a word about it.

The funeral was to be held two days from now, the end of the first week of school. Already, several of Harry's classmates had wondered where he had gotten to, as well as a frantic Ron and Hermione wearing out the carpet outside of the infirmary waiting for news. But Harry wasn't there.

Dumbledore counted down from sixty as the owls came flying through the Great Hall. When he got to one, a terrible sound echoed through the large room as the students read the paper. It was a cross between a scream and a painful moan, and he knew that for some it was.

Beside him, he could hear Minerva whispering "no" over and over again as she read the paper. But he already knew what it read - after all, he'd been the one that had sent notice to the paper. The article stated that Harry Potter had succumbed to the coma he'd been in after attempting suicide four days before Christmas. He'd been sent home to Sirius and Remus when it was found that he wouldn't wake up and they had taken him home to die in comfortable surroundings.

They, of course, were devastated by the death of their friend's son, Sirius' godson, and would not be at the funeral due to the traumatic events leading up to Harry's death.

He was startled out of his thoughts by screams from the Gryffindor table. Looking over in that direction, he found several students in a circle and he could guess that either Ron or Hermione, or both, had not taken the news well at all. Walking swiftly, Dumbledore made himself act impartial even though inside he was screaming at the mess he had helped create. Together with Minerva, who'd also tried to put aside the news in order to help the living, he moved Hermione and Neville Longbottom to the infirmary, a shell-shocked Ron staggering behind them with help from Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas. Behind them trailed Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. They had been the only class that all members had survived up until now, and Dumbledore hated that it had finally broken.

******

A soft, summer breeze drifted over the grassy knoll three men were sitting on, a picnic basket half-emptied as they enjoyed the sunshine. The two older men, Robert and Stephen Markham, were cajoling the youngest of the three, Hayden Markham, to eat just a little more or he'd be one of the stick people he drew when he was bored.

The three of them had moved to this little place in the world with no one but three for the wiser. Everything had been set up, and in the seven months since they had arrived things had been going better and better. The first few months had been hard to get through, and it was only on account of extreme stubbornness on Robert and Stephen's parts that Hayden had survived the dreadful illness he had. The few people they had spoken to since their arrival all offered their sympathy on the youngest man's illness and if they could do anything to let them know. All offers had been kindly refused, saying that Hayden was very shy and it was best for him to recuperate with just the two of them.

Over the course of those seven months, they had three visitors who never spent more than a couple of hours with them. One, an old man with a long, white beard, walked in a somber man and walked out with a much brighter outlook. A middle-aged woman was a much more frequent visitor, and judging by the large, black case she carried, the few nosy people that lived in the area figured that she was the nurse to check on her young patient. The third visitor had only been there twice, and the tall, balding, red-headed man had both entered and left with a morose expression those two times, although it seemed for different reasons.

On the top of the knoll that the locals avoided because it was haunted, the older man with black hair scooped the younger man into his lap and began to tickle him, giving mocking nips along his neck as the other man, with his graying blond hair smiled on. Laughter rang happily through the little deserted-by-all-but-them valley.

******

End.