Chasing the Sunset

RONIN10

Rating: PG
Genres: Angst
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 04/12/2004
Last Updated: 04/12/2004
Status: completed

Upon returning to Privet Drive after his fifth year, Harry becomes transfixed by the setting sun. However, his desperate attachment to this nightly occurrence is threatening to consume him, providing him with a numbness that pervades his soul and prevents him from seeing that another sunrise is patiently waiting for him as he clings to the fading light.

Chapters

1. Chapter 1 and only

1. Chapter 1 and only

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and the characters from it are the creation of J.K. Rowling. I am merely playing in her sandbox.

Summary: Upon returning to Privet Drive after his fifth year, Harry becomes transfixed by the setting sun. However, his desperate attachment to this nightly occurrence is threatening to consume him, providing him with a numbness that pervades his soul and prevents him from seeing that another sunrise is patiently waiting for him as he clings to the fading light.

Chasing the Sunset

A final razor-thin beam of mid-July sunlight cut through the evening sky to illuminate a pair of emerald eyes far too weary for their nigh sixteen years. As the last rays of the day danced amidst the summer heat and faded from view, Harry scrambled up the incline of the roof, perching himself atop a dormer, desperate to catch one last bit of sunshine before resigning himself to the night. Tugging his glasses from his face, he let his blurry vision diffuse the light, enhancing the luminosity of the setting star.

Harry had followed this routine since leaving Hogwart’s at the end of his fifth year. It began at the Dursley’s; he would discretely remove himself to the roof after the evening meal. His aunt and uncle didn’t seem to notice or care so long as he was out of sight. Harry’s departure from Privet Drive scarcely two weeks later merely meant that he had a new vantage in which to continue his nighttime vigils. The skyline of the neighborhood surrounding Grimmauld Place presented a clearer, albeit danker view of the horizon.

Coming to Grimmauld Place was something of a bittersweet experience for Harry. While always happy to leave the Dursley’s, Harry felt he was merely trading once house-of-pain for another. The misery that hung over his godfather’s home was palpable. With Remus and Harry as its only full time occupants and the two suffering the most from the loss of Sirius, grief hung thickly about the household.

Opportunities for respite from his dark thoughts were few and far between. As Remus was channeling his sadness into a furor of activity for the Order, Harry was frequently left to his own devices. The two had a few brief conversations about Sirius, frequently involving Remus reminiscing on the escapades of the Marauders, but this did little to assuage Harry’s sorrow. Letters to and from Hermione and Ron offered some degree of escape, but Hermione’s letters were always etched with concern and worry lurked just below the surface of her tidy script. Ron seemed content to leave well enough alone and prattled on about the latest moves the Chudley Cannons made and their future prospects. Beyond these limited moments of solace, Harry found refuge in the numbness that came with his nightly sojourns to the rooftop.

Harry gave a mournful sigh as the last remnants of the sun’s radiance gave way to the growing dusk and nestled himself in the valley between the dormer and the roof proper. He felt the last bit of the departed sun’s warmth emanating from the shingles beneath him. Harry watched the night settle in around him, intentionally ignorant of the passage of time.

Eventually, a warm summer breeze picked up, dispelling the emptiness of his mind and he vaguely noted the absence of the warmth the roof had possessed when he first lain against it. Rising, the night wind washed over him, tempting him to the skies ever more urgently as the seconds turned to minutes.

He unconsciously felt himself recalling the simple diversion of flying from what seemed to be ages ago. A brief thought of what the others might say flickered across the landscape of his mind, but it was such a small, distant voice bereft of any influence when compared to the vast emptiness he so desperately sought.

Unbidden, he made his way down to his bedroom to retrieve his Firebolt. The night was moonless and Harry needed to fly. He crept stealthily through the house, pausing to avoid squeaky floorboards and to quietly open the door to his bedroom. He arranged the blankets and pillows in his bed to give the appearance that he was sleeping before retrieving his Firebolt from the closet.

Harry stole back to the roof, cursing himself bitterly at the slightest of sounds. Though the hour was late, a distant murmur of voices drifted up the stairwell from the kitchen below. Emerging once again on the roof, Harry mounted his broom, kicked off and hovered for a moment, uncertain of his destination. Impatience got the better of him and with little thought; he turned his broom to the west, gaining altitude rapidly. When he reached an altitude he felt Moody would be comfortable with, Harry leveled out and flew straight ahead, his heading unaltered.

Harry felt the same sense of numbness he felt each evening at sunset; a dull reprieve from the flood of emotions he fought to contain just below the surface. He carried on this way for hours until reality wormed his way into his mind, reminding him that he needed to return to Grimmauld Place before dawn. A forlorn sigh issued from his mouth and he turned his broom around, beginning the return flight to the Black house.

As Harry approached the house, the numbness faded and the pain and anguish returned in full measure. He touched down on the rooftop as quietly as he could, landing on the opposite side of the roof from where he had sat earlier. He listened for any stirrings that might indicate someone had heard him arrive. Moments later, the sound of rustling cloaks followed by two soft taps in rapid succession reached his ears from behind him, indicating he was no longer alone. He spun quickly, dropping his Firebolt and reaching for his wand.

“It’s all right, Harry,” he heard a familiar voice say from the emptiness that filled Harry’s vision. “It’s Remus and Moody.”

Harry recognized Remus’ voice, but was suspicious nonetheless. Harry bent his knees in preparation for any potential attack, keeping his wand held tightly before him.

“Show yourself,” Harry commanded, his eyes fixed on the space the noise had come from.

Harry heard Moody’s voice muttering a brief incantation Harry found vaguely familiar and Remus’ form faded into view. Moody’s voice repeated the charm and Harry saw Moody appear as well, lowering his wand from his head. Both men were clutching their own broomsticks.

“Concealment Charm, Harry,” Remus said half smiling. “Moody saw you depart earlier.”

Moody tapped a gnarled finger to the corner of his magical eye and winked at Harry with his normal eye. "Well, I leave you two to it, then,” he growled as he made his way off the roof.

Harry relaxed his wand and sat down on the roof next to his fallen broom. He knew he wasn’t going to avoid a lecture. Remus leaned his broom against the chimney and made his way over to Harry, sitting down beside him and staring off at the brightening sky in the east.

“I must say your Firebolt is difficult to keep up with, Harry,” he said after several moments of silence. “I just may need to replace my broom if you are going to continue this nighttime wanderlust.”

Harry nodded, not sure where Remus was going with this.

“May I ask where you headed, Harry?” Remus continued.

Harry didn’t know how to respond, honesty seemed to be best. “I don’t know. I wasn’t really heading anywhere. I just felt the need to fly.”

Remus paused for a moment, apparently choosing his words carefully.

“You were heading perfectly west, Harry.” Harry turned to regard Remus curiously. “You did not drift from this course even the slightest. You’ve really no idea why you would fly in that direction so unerringly?”

Harry was at a loss. He had not really thought about where he was going; he had not even felt the slightest joy of flying during his whole excursion, just a vacant sense of nothingness.

“I… I don’t know Professor. I was just flying up there. I didn’t really put any conscious thought into it,” Harry responded.

They both fell into a quiet stillness for several minutes watching the sun crest along the eastern horizon. Remus broke the silence.

“Harry, people dealing with their grief will usually find peace in the fullness of time. But sometimes, those grieving get so caught up in their sadness that they forget that they themselves have not ceased to live.”

Harry could feel the tears begin to burn at the corners of his eyes.

“The sun has set on Sirius’ time with us, Harry. Now, you can decide to go out every night chasing the sunset and I will continue to follow you at a distance, but neither of us has any control over the heavens or fate. Eventually, we must face the night, remembering fondly the day that preceded it and rejoice in the sunrise when it comes, because it will rise more brilliantly than before allowing us to see with a clarity that we would never have possessed otherwise.”

Remus rose, but paused before departing and rested a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Take your time with this, Harry, but I should tell you that Hermione plans on arriving early this morning and Professor Dumbledore said that she has been, er—, vigorous in her efforts to see you. I don’t doubt she will pull out all her hair if you don’t talk to her soon,” he said with a warm smile.

Harry nodded and allowed himself a brief smile, imagining a fleet of owls littering Dumbledore’s already cluttered office. “Thanks, Professor.”

“I haven’t been your professor for years, Harry,” Remus answered. “Please call me Remus.”

Harry nodded again and Remus left after collection his broom. Harry sat for some time longer on the roof considering Remus’ words and replaying the events surrounding Sirius’ death in his head. Thoughts and feelings that he had carefully avoided over the past weeks bubbled to the surface, emerging wrapping themselves around him like a blanket. His tears fell unhindered, wetting his shirt and slowly, he came to accept Sirius’ death. The pain and sense of loss was still there residing solidly in the hole in his heart where Harry kept his love for Sirius, but now that the initial step of accepting his death had been taken, he felt like he could walk forward in his mourning and life could continue on.

After several minutes, a loud bang startled Harry from his thoughts and he leapt to his feet, wand at the ready, rapidly wiping the tears from his eyes. He crept quietly over the rooftop, searching for the source of the sound. Another loud bang echoed through the neighborhood and Harry caught a blur of purple disappearing down the street, leaving a solitary figure standing at the curb struggling with several large, heavy trunks that likely contained the complete contents of her considerable personal library.

The first genuine smile Harry had felt in weeks lit upon his face as he moved to retrieve his Firebolt from the other side of the roof. Harry quickly made his way to his room stuffing the broom haphazardly into his closet. He knew he wouldn’t go flying tonight; he had to greet the sunrise.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this quickie. Please read and review, all responses welcome. Cheers!