Disclaimer: The author of this fanfiction does not, in any way, profit from the story. All creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s).
Mourning
by Pout
That summer, when Harry found himself back at Grimmauld Place, groping through dark hallways and biting back angry rage and pain, Hermione and Ron kept a respectful distance and comforted the boy when he felt his lowest.
They spent a great deal of time together working through Harry’s grief. When Harry broke down the third day for the first time, Ron and everyone else turned a blind eye and let him cry for the rest of the afternoon and all through the evening. Hermione shook her head and dabbed at the corner of her eyes and Ginny ran to her room and quietly shut the door behind her. Molly made eight different pies that day.
Remus Lupin was almost entirely gray at that point but he and Harry spent many quiet evenings in silent companionship, recollecting, reminiscing, and remembering together. And Harry learned to cry and to talk and after a long time, to heal.
Remus remembered the good ole Marauding days, when Padfoot prowled the halls of Hogwarts, a master mischief-maker, a good friend. Remus would take a drink and smile fondly, reliving better days.
Harry would think back on that man who had become his last remaining family, his godfather, the man who had loved him like a son and cared for him when no one else would. Harry walked the hallways on quiet feet and thought of the house’s previous owner and tried not to forget.
Ron walked around with a smile on his face at all the right times, and a neutral grin for all the others. He said all those comforting things and consoled his best friend as best he could. But Ron, too, would think back on dark hair and laughing eyes. And so, every night, he would sneak into Sirius’s dark room and crawl into Sirius’s now empty bed and he would try so very hard, all alone between the cold sheets, to remember exactly how everything used to be.
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