Harry came awake suddenly, his entire body jerking violently as a gasp of terror escaped his lips. The horrific images that had swirled around him all night, tormenting him, came to an abrupt halt as his emerald eyes flew open, and they darted frantically around the room as his breaths came hard and fast.
As he tried to come to grips with his surroundings, he felt someone gently place his round-rimmed glasses on his face, and the room came into focus. He was lying on a familiar bed in the Hogwarts hospital wing. He felt the hand that had touched his face rub his shoulder gently, and he looked around, coming face to face with a haggered, exhausted-looking Sirius Black.
The two stared at each other for an indefinable moment, and then, it was as if a huge wave broke over Harry, containing an overwhelming current of memories within its depths. The third task ... he and Cedric deciding they'd take the cup together ... Peter Pettigrew, carrying the deformed, grotesque Voldemort in his arms ... the shouted Killing Curse .. Cedric, eyes wide open but lifeless, a look of shock and fear forever imprinted upon his handsome face ... pain exploding as Harry's arm was cut open ... Voldemort, slithering out of a massive cauldron ... pain, humiliation, torture ... the bowing and scraping of the Death Eaters ... being on the edge of death ... the ghostly figures of Cedric, Bertha Jorkins, the old Muggle man, and ... Merlin ... his parents, their gentle pleading for him to hold on, to be strong ... sshrieks of grief and howls of sorrow as the students and staff learned what had happened, while Harry held the lifeless body in his arms, never wanting to let go.
"Harry. Harry!"
The boy's body jerked again, and he suddenly realized that Sirius was speaking to him urgently as he rubbed comforting circles on his back. "Harry, kiddo, it's okay now. It's all right."
Harry looked into his godfather's worn face, and his eyes prickled with tears. He furiously blinked them back; he simply would not cry. Through all his years, there had been one lesson which had been pounded into his mind, and it had stuck, no matter how the world had tried to break him. He remembered back to a time when it had been shouted at him in his aunt's shrill voice as he was dragged into his spider-infested cupboard: "No tears, you stupid boy. They mean nothing to me, and won't get you what you want. Your tantrums won't move me, nor will they anyone else." And to this day, he lived by those words. No tears would make any situation better ... especially not this one. As visions of Cedric's terrified face swam before him, he knew no amount of weeping could ever fix this.
He then felt arms tenderly coming around him, folding him into an embrace filled with something that felt extremely soothing to him. The closest he'd ever come to feeling something like this was when he'd been hugged by Hermione and Mrs. Weasley, the latter of whom had done so last night. Harry was ashamed to admit that he'd felt those traitorous tears pressing at his eyes again when Molly had enfolded him in her arms, like he'd often seen mothers doing to their own children. But to his credit, not one of those tears had fallen.
No, he hadn't broken then. But now, in the arms of his godfather ... the man who he had heard defy Albus Dumbledore himself ... it weakened every defense Harry had built around the stone structure that was his emotions, and he felt his walls come close to crumbling down, though he tried to rebuild them with every breath he took. But for the first time in years, he failed as the tears came streaming down his face. And after they started, it seemed as though they'd never stop.
Harry's whole body shook with sobs he could not suppress, and as they clawed their way through his body, the warm arms never once let go of him. There was something so familiar about this embrace; it spoke of home, love, and security, and it awoke in him something inexplicable, something long buried. If he had recognized it for what it was, he would have known that his mind remembered knowing Sirius from when he was just months old. But the truth was, he consciously didn't remember; all he knew was that he could trust Sirius, without knowing how.
For how long Harry wept, he did not know, but when the flood of tears had eventually ebbed, Sirius finally let him go. Softly, he said, "Here, kiddo," and he handed Harry back his glasses, which he shakily placed back on his face. He hadn't even realized that Sirius had removed them during his breakdown.
Then, Harry looked down to the ground, far too ashamed of the fact he had given in to his weakness to even look at Sirius. As cowardly as it sounded, he couldn't bring himself to actually see the disgusted expression on the man's face. If he'd had the clarity of mind to think at the moment, however, he would have wondered why Sirius had been so gentle, if he was ashamed of him.