What started on the 31st of October, 1981, was a life full of misery and sadness. But as it always happens, life gave him happiness, freedom, and hope, only for it to snatch them away along with the life of his Godfather, right in front of his eyes. All he could do was look. He wanted to jump after him, to accompany him to the other side, to laugh with him, cry with him, live with him, but someone was holding him back. He neither knew nor cared who. He just watched as his Godfather, Sirius Black, fell with immesurable slowness through the Veil of Death, in the Department of Mysteries, deap inside the Ministry of Magic, London.
He wanted to kick himself. It was all his fault. Ron, Hermione, Neville, Luna, and Ginny. All were hurt because of his stupidity, stubbornness, and because of being friends with him, and believing him.
He wanted to rage, to scream his heart out, to cry till no tears came, to fall asleep and never wake up.
But life went on.
After failing to cast a Cruciatus curse, and being possessed by Voldemort himself, he simply wanted the day to end.
He didn't know whether they would still want to be his friends. Yes, he liked them, but he knew that they would leave him. People always did in the past. It would hurt like hell. He knew.
But then they didn't. They supported him. This was new. Maybe they would remain. It was a foreign concept. But he dared to hope again.
And life went on.
He was sitting on the window, small as it was, and watching the street below. They didn't know. They were worried about paying bills, happy about their promotion, looking forward to the summer for a vacation. They were content.
Oh, how much he craved normalcy in life. But it always seemed to elude him. God knew he would give his every last Knut, his magic even, if he could get a family in return. A nice, loving family who cared for him.
But he had friends. And they were now in danger. And Merlin be damned, if he allowed them to come to harm.
So he was going to train himself. He didn't know how, where, or when. But he would. When they come, they won't know what hit them. The kid gloves were officially off.
He was also contemplating the past five years. He had wasted a lot of time. There was nothing wrong in goofing off, playing quidditch, etc. But he couldn't afford to do so. He had to know some good spells. He had to know them yesterday. He needed to know how his friends could be harmed. And he needed to know how to prevent it.
Albus Dumbledore was a good man. But he wasn't without his faults. He gave too many chances. He could win a duel, but not a war. It was upto him now. He needed information.
And where to go for that but a library.
He had to go to Diagon Alley. Get some gold. Buy so many books that Hermione would sallivate. And wing it from thereon.
It was as good plan as any. After all, he wasn't doing anything productive just sitting there. So he went for a walk in the garden, to scout out the invisible guards. Mundungus, again. Sigh. Some people wouldn't learn a lesson, if it was firing an Avada Kedavra in their faces.
And he was asleep too. It was just too easy.
He simply slipped out the front gate, wand in his sleeve, cap on his head, wearing rags for clothes. No Muggles gave him a second glance. He boarded a bus to Charing cross.