Remembering
By: Demonic Psycho
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling
The only thing worse than remembering is... forgetting.
– Jim Borgman, cartoonist
It was one of those days where you simply just want to lay back on your bed, go to sleep, and die painlessly. And everything Harry Potter thought was painful and dark. The train of thought speeding through his numb mind was hurtling at full speed, risking a crash but somehow having a vague premonition that it wouldn't.
And that bit cow arse.
Harry knew that if he forgot, then Sirius would be a meaningless void, just another portal of blissful nothingness he could forget, numb the pain with not remembering. He had been playing the hero, the hero with a big fat head with bits of fluff and dust in the hollow space. He didn't even have a big fat brain to go with the big fat head on his scrawny little shoulders. Maybe they were damaged with the Killing Curse Voldemort had tried so many years ago or maybe they had poured out through the famous scar on forehead. That fucking, stupid scar. Without it, and his love of playing the fucking hero, Sirius would be living.
And that prophecy that batty Professor Trelawney had made, the old buffoon Dumbledore...
Harry just wanted to forget it all, slip into the oblivion Lockhart was blessed (well, sort of) with.
But then he would forget.
And that was the only thing worse than remembering.
The thought of forgetting.