Disclaimer: If J. K. Rowling is 15 years old. Has dark brown hair and a obsession with Snape and Ginnatrix, then there is the tiniest possibility that I could be J. K. Rowling. As J. K. Rowling is not 15 years old, does not have dark brown hair and (I assume) does not have an obsession with Snape and Ginnatrix, I think it is safe to say that I am not J. K. Rowling.
Another disclaimer: The song used is Perfect World by Simple Plan. Didn't write it. Just love it.
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Well, I don't know about you, but I was seriously miffed about the lack of angst in HBP, especially at the beginning. Somehow the page of dialogue and sparse mentions through the book did not justice to Sirius and his influence in Harry's life.
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Perfectly Imperfect
Sighing, Harry heaved his trunk up the all-too familiar staircase of number four, Privet Drive. Even though he knew why he was here, he wasn't happy about it. Not at all. He would rather be anywhere but here. A shiver ran up his back as he thought of serpentine doorknobs and doxy infested curtains. Almost anywhere.
I never could've seen this far
I never could've seen this coming
Seems like my world's falling apart
Aunt Petunia's voice rang out through the house, calling the family for supper. Harry barely heard her. He barely felt anything anymore. It was as if his senses have slowly encased themselves in ice, numbing to the point where the pain seemed less. Harry liked it this way. The ache in his chest diminished with every emotion he suppressed, the knowledge that he would never hear that bark-like laugh seemed to fade into the background.
Two more minutes of staring blankly at the ceiling later a harsh knock sounded at Harry's door, dragging him from his lethargic state.
Another knock later, the door was edged open and a certain aunt Petunia was dithering on the edge of the landing, as if stepping on Harry's carpet would cause her to erupt in giant orange boils.
Mind you, if she stepped on the spilt box of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes she was highly likely to.
A brief smile crossed Harry's face as he imagined Petunia's face coated with orange boils. Though, he thought to himself, they would have looked better purple.
Yeah
Why is everything so hard
I don't think I can deal with the things you said
It just won't go away
A few seconds later the smile slid off his face. He hadn't smiled properly since before the incident in the Department of Mysteries. Deep down Harry knew he hadn't been truly happy since the summer of his fourth year. The Quidditch world cup seemed so far away.
"I hope you are planning on coming down for dinner." Aunt Petunia's voice barely made a dent in Harry's thoughts.
Quidditch. Sirius had come to visit his matches during the third year, risking his life, just for Harry. And what had he done? Lead him to his death.
"Your abnormality doesn't prevent you from being civilised and arriving for dinner on time!"
Sirius had never told him if he played as well as James. They had never had the chance to talk about mundane things like that. Voldemort was such a big presence in all of their lives, it left little time to discuss normal things.
"Are you even listening to me, Boy?"
A tear slid down Harry's cheek, unnoticed by Petunia whose gaunt cheeks were starting to gather a tint of red.
"I demand you come down to dinner this instant!" screeched Petunia as she forcibly dragged Harry out of his room.
Harry forced down his dry mashed potato. He hadn't had an appetite for what seemed like forever. He sometimes had to remind himself that you had to eat to stay alive.
Yet another image of Sirius's body curving gracefully before disappearing through the veil entered his mind. He should have been used to it by now. And usually he would have been able to swallow hard and shrug it off. Usually he didn't have a clump of Aunt Petunia's especially dry mashed potato in his mouth.
Coughing violently, Harry didn't bother to wipe the tears streaming down his face. He knew that only a small proportion of them were due to chocking.
Emerging from his coughing fit to see Petunia's disapproving face and Dudley's laughing eyes, Harry turned to Vernon.
"Could… Could you get me a glass of w-water, please?" Harry croaked out, still resisting the urge to cough.
"You really want me to stop in the middle of a perfectly good meal to get you a ruddy drink! Are you serious?" Harry winced. Harry was sure Sirius had annoyed everyone to high Hell with the infamous Sirius/serious pun, but Harry didn't find it remotely funny anymore. "Get off you arse and get one for yourself, Boy!" Glad for the excuse Harry jumped from the table.
In a perfect world
This could never happen
Neither can live while the other survives.
Why did it happen to him? It wasn't as if he deserved it… maybe he did. If he weren't alive his parents wouldn't have died. Sirius would still be here….
After all, his parents were murdered trying to defend him. And if he hadn't been born, he wouldn't have charged off to the Department of Mysteries, leading Sirius to his death.
In a perfect world
You'd still be here
Who would be next? Dumbledore? Lupin? Ron? Hermione? Or maybe Ginny? For no apparent reason, Harry's insides lurched uncomfortably with the thought of Ginny dying. A image of her lying cold, unconscious in the Chamber of Secrets flicked to his mind before he violently squashed it away.
He was being stupid! Wasn't he? If Voldemort killed one of his friends, would it really be his fault?
And it makes no sense
I could just pick up the pieces
Collapsing on his bed, Harry furiously tried to push away the overwhelming emotions that coursed through his body. Crying would do no good. Crying wouldn't bring back Sirius. He'd already let too many tears fall.
He was supposed to be a hero. Everyone saw him that way. Even Ron and Hermione saw him that way, even if it weren't as extreme as the rest of the wizarding world. He had always known that he was the leader of the golden trio. The way Hermione ran his plans through with him instead of Ron. The way Ron tended to turn to him when discussing the future.
And heroes didn't cry.
But to you
This means nothing
Nothing at all
It was an hour, maybe two before Harry's intense depression began to subside, a deep, resentful anger taking its place. He wasn't the only one responsible to Sirius's death. He could never blame Dumbledore. He had done what he thought was best for Harry. His tears were enough to show that. Of course, Dumbledore could have stopped Harry if it weren't for Umbridge.
Harry gave a harsh bitter laugh at the memory of Umbridge being dragged away by the dementors. Subconsciously rubbing is hand, Harry let his anger swell and grow. He hated Umbridge. He hated the Ministry. He hated the whole bloody wizarding society for being so bloody ignorant! Fury bubbled up inside Harry. He had the insane urge to jump up, out of his bed and smash something, anything. Harry preferred it this way. Anger was so much better than the immense sadness that had overpowered him.
Then, as suddenly as it came, the anger went. Grief washing over his troubled mind once again. Shuddering despite the warm summer weather, Harry huddled in the foetal position and sank into a not-so-restful slumber.
I used to think that I was strong
"You failed us, Harry." Harry looked around in confusion. Where was he? This certainly wasn't his tiny room in the Dursley household. All he could see was a dense fog with a slight tinge of green to it. Occasionally a dark shape would pass in front of his vision, but it was too blurred to make out.
"How could you, Harry?" A chill ran up his spine; the voices sounded vaguely familiar. He knew that he wasn't supposed to be here. The hairs pricked up on the back of his neck. Someone was behind him, he was sure of it. He tried to turn, but his body seemed to be paralysed.
"I thought you loved us, Harry! How could you do this to us?" Lily and James Potter stepped through the mist into Harry's vision. Harry's breath froze. Blackened flesh hung off both their frames. Their faces were gaunt; their eyes hollow, staring blankly at Harry. Blood oozed out of scabby wounds all over their bodies. They were barely recognisable as human, although there was no doubt they were Harry's parents. Harry's whole body froze, a anguished cry caught in his throat.
"We loved you, son." They took a step closer to him. "How could you do this?" Harry knew what they were talking about. It didn't take a genius like Hermione to work it out.
"Sorry," Harry whispered; the words barely audible.
"Sorry isn't good enough. You failed us."
"I didn't mean… Sirius was… It was an accident…"
"Well, it doesn't matter now, does it, Kiddo?"
Harry's eyes widened in surprise as the ghostly image of Sirius stepped out from behind him.
"No!" It was at that moment that Harry realised this was a nightmare. He immediately started to struggle against his subconscious, pleading with himself to wake up.
"We're here because of you, Harry." His parents and Sirius didn't seem to notice his struggles.
"You failed us."
"NO! LEAVE ME ALONE!" Harry's dream self screeched, finally breaking free of the nightmare.
"Its all your fault!" Was the last thing he heard before he broke free of the malevolent nightmare.
Until the day it all went wrong
Harry's eyes bolted open as he sat up in his bed, breathing heavily, sweat covering his body. His skin was tingling all over and he could taste salty tears on his lips. He pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around himself in a pathetic attempt at comfort. Variations of the same dream had been haunting him since his return to Privet Drive. He could do nothing to stop them. However much he tried to remind himself that they weren't real, however much he told himself that his parents or Sirius wouldn't blame him. The harsh nightmares wouldn't go away.
Yeah
I think I need a miracle to make it through
Sitting on his bed at two o'clock in the morning, with nothing to do but wait until his Aunt and Uncle demanded their full English breakfast, Harry's thought drifted from various subject to subject. Where were Bellatrix Lestrange and Voldemort and what were they doing? How long would it be before Voldemort made yet another attempt on Harry's life? How long would it be before the wizarding community saw the 'Chosen one' for what her really was; a mediocre teenager, who's close friend and family were constantly haunted with death? How long before they finally realised he would never be up to defeating Voldemort?
I pictured I could bring you back
I pictured I could turn back time
If only Harry had broken free from Lupin. He was still so sure that Sirius was waiting behind the veil, wondering why Harry hadn't come to save him… If only the time turners hadn't smashed to bits. It would have been so simple to stop himself from gallivanting off like the fool he was… If only Dumbledore had revealed the prophecy to him earlier… If only he had taken Snape seriously when he was told to close his mind…
'Cause I can't let go
Harry had never felt like this before. Yes, he had lost his parents. But he missed the concept of having loving parents, rather than Lily and James themselves. Sirius had opened up that world to him. And then it was gone. And it hurt more than Harry could describe.
I just can't find my way
Yeah
Without you I just can't find my way
There were so many things he had never had the chance to do with Sirius. Stupid little things. Things he knew Ron and Hermione took for granted. Going out somewhere once his name was cleared. Pranking Snape. Talking about insignificant things, which were nothing to do with the subject of He-Whose-Name-Must-Be-Hyphenated. Having the infamous talk about girls, and trying to get some idea of how their minds worked. Just trivial things.But it was the trivial things he missed the most.
In a perfect world
This could never happen
Harry sighed as he heard the door slam, leaving him alone in the house. Vernon was at work, Petunia has popped round to the corner shop to pick up some microwave shepherds pie to make her famous homemade shepherds pie and even Merlin didn't know where Dudley was.
Pulling up the floorboards, Harry carefully lifted out the photo album Hagrid had given to him all those years ago. Opening it at the right page, having done the same almost every day so far in the holidays, Harry gazed upon the photo of his parents' wedding. This time, the focus being the handsome best man, giving a cheeky smile from James's side
Harry wished he had more photos of Sirius. He flicked to a photo of his Dad playing Quidditch, speeding towards the hoops with the Quaffle, a look of intense concentration on his face. Harry could almost see his Sirius in the same position, catapulting towards a Bludger, drawing back his Beaters Bat, ready to throw his weight into deterring the Quaffle.
Harry never knew what position Sirius had played, even if he had enjoyed Quidditch at all. But the Beater position was so completely Sirius; there was no doubt in Harry's mind.
Not that it mattered anymore. Sirius being dead.
In a perfect world
You'd still be here
And it makes no sense
It was at times like this, Harry wished he could be someone else, anyone else. There had always been a small sense of jealously to those who took normalcy for granted, but now it as overwhelming. Harry still couldn't properly understand why Ron had been jealous in his fourth year. Harry would do anything to have his life. Two loving parents, who loved you no matter what, even when you dove the family car into a Whomping Willow, nearly got expelled and nearly exposed the magical world to the muggles in the space of a day. Harry would give anything to have five brothers and a sister to look out for him. To tell him when he was out of line or just to take his anger out on. And, of course, they were all still alive.
Ron was everything Harry wanted to be: normal.
I could just pick up the pieces
Harry sighed restlessly, showing the conflicting emotions that bubbled inside him. Sorrow, depressing, apprehension and… anger?
But to you
This means nothing
Nothing at all
Sirius was gone. He just had to get over it. He needed to. It wasn't fair on the rest of the world if he spent the rest of his life in a depressed lethargy, that Sirius had caused by-
Sirius had caused it! Bloody stupid Sirius. Dumbledore had told him to stay in Grimmauld Place. He knew he'd be in danger trying to pull Harry out of trouble. But he had to deny common sense and follow the Order to the Ministry.
But Harry knew he had done exactly the same.
I don't know what I should do now
What were you supposed to do when you found out the lives of all your friend depended on you? How were you supposed to deal with it?
Harry was pacing his room again. Giving his open truck a kick every time he passed it in an attempt to let out his emotions. He just wished he had a choice in the matter. It wasn't as if he could quit being the Boy Who Lived. He couldn't walk away from something that was prophesised abut him before he was even born, could he?
Of course, he could tell the world to stuff it and deal with it themselves instead of lumping all the responsibility on a fifteen year old boy. But what choice was that? True, it would be incredibly easy, especially given his current state of mind, but Harry knew it was not right.
I don't know where I should go
Kicking his trunk again, Harry's thoughts tuned to Hogwarts. Quite frankly, he was dreading the coming year. Now that Voldemort was back in the open there was bound to be an increase in the amounts of stares people gave him, both friendly and malevolent. And the tense atmosphere inside the castle would be unbearable. Especially if they had someone, Merlin forbid, with a personality of Snape for a Defence teacher.
Before, Hogwarts had been a home to him. His refuge from the Dursleys. But now, with all the bad memories of Umbridge, Harry knew he wouldn't have the same level of comfort with Hogwarts.
I'm still here waiting for you
I'm lost when you're not around
I need to hold on to you
I just can't let you go
It was yet another dinnertime in the Dursley household. Harry barely saw what he was forcing himself to eat. He was lost in memories again. Standing in the wake of the Whomping Willow, each realising that their imprisonment was over. Sirius could truly escape from Azkaban; Harry could escape from the Dursleys. The overwhelming sense of freedom. Later, watching Sirius disappear into the night on Buckbeak's winged back. Getting his chance at freedom. The look of pure concern on Sirius's face as Harry recounted the events of the third task. The brief, one-armed hug on the doorstep of twelve Grimmauld Place.
Harry longed to be in that short embrace again. Just to feel Sirius's arms wrap around Harry. That bittersweet Christmas seemed like a lifetime ago. It was in the past universe. The universe where Sirius was still alive.
Yeah In a perfect world
Yeah
This could never happen
But, Harry realised as he sat himself down on his bed again, staring at the sky that had begun to cloud over slightly, life wasn't perfect. The existence of Voldemort was all the proof Harry needed of that fact.
Reality hurt. And there was nothing anybody could do about it.
In a perfect world
You'd still be here
Sirius wasn't here. He never would be. But at least Harry had known him. Sirius was gone, but Harry's memories of him weren't. And they never would be. He would never be like Ron, and take anyone for granted. Life wasn't to be taken for granted. And he was going to live his and enjoy every possible moment of the good times. While they still existed.
And it makes no sense
I could just pick up the pieces
With a slight pang of longing, Harry fished the smashed pieces of mirror from the bottom of his trunk and set them on the floor, so they glinted slightly in the dim light of his room. Harry stared at them. Harry knew that they pieces couldn't be fixed with spellotape. That would be the easy answer. He just had to accept the fact that it was broken, and could never be repaired. It was going to hurt him. Slicing into his flesh unexpectedly. But there was no denying it. The mirror was smashed.
But to you
This means nothing
Nothing at all
You feel nothing, nothing at all
Nothing at all
A sense of peace finally filled Harry. There was nothing anyone could do to stop tragedies occurring. You could only appreciate the good times, however few and far between they were.
There was a tap on the window. It was Hedwig. She seemed to be carrying a very tightly rolled scroll in her scaly claw.
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