hey all, this is my first fic so try to be nice.thanks

Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize

Just when you realize life's a bitch, it has puppies. - Adrienne E. Gusoff

Harry Potter lay sprawled out on his bed one lazy June day. He was bored. And depressed.

Why you may ask? Looking around his room, you would see many strange and unusual things most would love to fiddle around with. Stacked precautiously on a small desk by the window, were piles of books with titles like: 'Quidditch Through the Ages' and 'A Compendium of Common Curses and Their Counter-Actions'. Next to the desk, on the floor, was an owl cage, complete with dozing snowy, white owl. A trunk over by the window stood open, robes, a caldron, and an amazingly designed broom were sticking out of it. And, strewn all around, were dozens of letters and newspaper articles, some even featuring the room's occupant on the cover. But Harry was too deep in thought again to care.

He was remembering the Department of Mysteries again. The room that would haunt his nightmares, the room where his godfather, Sirius Black, was murdered in.

He couldn't forget about it. He didn't even cry over it. He hadn't really cried since he was four years old and his Uncle Vernon yelled at him. He wasn't about to restart now. But he could still blame himself.

Harry told himself it wasn't his fault. Dumbeldore told his it wasn't his fault - though, as Harry was still not speaking to the professor, his word didn't hold much water. Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ginny, Lupin, Moody, Mundungus, Tonks, all of the rest of the Weasleys, even, Luna Lovegood had told him it hadn't been his fault, too. Harry's eyes strayed over to the pile of letters at the foot of his bed. He had only been home three days and already he had received more mail then all of his other summer breaks combined.

And, as expected, on the threats his friends had given the Dursleys, his aunt, uncle, and cousin had been treating him surprisingly nice (so far). Harry could eat what ever he wanted, as much as he wanted. Nobody bothered him to do chores. It was the best that the people of 4 Privet Drive had ever treated him.

But this really didn't cheer Harry up. No matter what he did, he couldn't get the events of last year out of his head. The way Sirius's face look as he was falling through that mysterious arc: laughter mixed with surprise. The memory of detentions with Professor Umbridge, possessions by Voldemort, new revelations about his father, and how wonderful it felt to attack Bellatrix Lestrange.

Bellatrix had murdered Sirius. Harry, in a fit of furious revenge, had ran after her when she tried to escape. And he had cast, or at least tried to cast, the Cruciatus on her.

That was one of the things Harry felt the most regret for doing. He had sunken to the level of a Death Eater - of Voldemort. He had caused another living thing pain and enjoyed it.

'She killed Sirius,' Harry always argued with himself. 'She deserves everything she got.' But then that nasty little voice in the back of his head would pipe up and return with, 'Yes, but according to Voldemort, every person he kills deserves it - even if it's just for being what they are.' Harry couldn't deny that.

It also didn't help he had more important matters to put his mind on. Like the prophecy, 'Neither can live while the other survives'. Harry would have to defeat Voldemort, he had always known that. Only now was the first time it really sunk in. To see it in writing like that. It was simply surreal.

But it was getting around to the time that he stops mopping around and started getting something done. But that would wait till the morrow. Right now he would finish grieving for the only man he had ever loved as a father, uncle, and a brother. Sirius.

A/N just so you guys and girls know i like reviews soo...(hint,hint)(nudge,nudge)