A Child's Regret

Harry Potter

It was the little things. The things that made his breath catch in his throat, heart pounding relentlessly, and made his eyes itch to let fall the tears he promised to never let see the light of day. And while he stood straight and stiff, locked in an endless struggle within his mind and green eyes blank and cold –his friends stood by his side, trying to reach him from the depths of his mind and yet, no matter their efforts or dedication –it was never enough, would never be enough. For someone like The-Boy-Who-Lived, for a boy that never knew the love of a family, for a boy that never knew the life of a child, for Harry James Potter, he lost more than he gained, and the saddest part of the whole affair was that even he did not know what he lost by living the life he had been dealt with.

There were many regrets he had –most of them were caused by Voldemort himself –and yet, there was one, just one, regret that had nothing to do with the Dark Lord. It was stupid, useless, worthless, childish, and still, Harry thinks –knows – that it's probably the regret he grieves the most, his dirty little secret to hold and guard until his death. Compared to his regret about Sirius, Cedric, and the countless others that had died because of him, Harry feels so selfish for lamenting that particular regret above all others.

It hurt. More than his scar, more than his hand when he had used the blood quill, more than anything he had faced and would face in the future. It was a different pain, not physical, not mental nor emotional; if he had to guess, he would say it was more like a pain that came from the soul –a pain that had been with him so long he had forgotten what it felt like to be free of it. It was rooted too deeply within him to ever heal, and to be honest, Harry didn't think he wanted it to heal, because for all the grief and sorrow it brought him, it had been the one and only constant in his life.

No one knew this regret.

No one would ever know.

He would know.

Just him, and only him.

Only Harry.

Harry didn't know when he started to let his guard down around them –them being none other than the two Weasley twins. He supposed it was because he never thought that they of all people would be the ones to see behind all the half-smiles and rough laughter he showed the world. But they did, and to this day, remained the only ones to have ever seen his soul's greatest regret.

It had happened during the summer before sixth year when Harry had been visiting Diagon Alley along with Hermione and Ron. The sun's rays had been warm against his cool skin, and he had been mostly quiet that day, only speaking the bare minimum as he watched his two best friends –his first friends –bicker between themselves as all young couples tended to do. And Harry couldn't stop the small smile that appeared on his face as he simply faded into the background, letting the sounds of insults that were meant in good fun wash over him, creating a sort of peace Harry rarely felt. He kept on following his two friends without making a sound, content to follow for a single day instead of having to lead –and all the while, watching the many people walking to and fro from shops, some alone, some with friends, and still others with young children clutching at their robes.

And that's when he saw it.

Displayed so proudly on a golden stand, its dark color –black – a sharp contrast against the bright colors of the store, and its size! Harry had never seen one that huge, though really, he didn't have much to compare it to since he had only ever seen the ones his aunt had given to Dudley years ago. But that didn't matter, not now, not when he was staring at one so much grander than anything his dear cousin ever owned. And for a moment, just one single moment, Harry relaxed his unseen mask, allowing all the childish yearning for the object he was now beholding to slip through and be displayed so clearly on his features.

Young, that's what Harry looked like at that moment in time –for that fleeing second, he was neither the Savoir of the Wizarding World nor the Gryffindor Golden Boy. One would only have to look at the boy's eyes –wide emerald green eyes that shone brightly with the first traces of tears –to know that Harry was only Harry then.

He was only a boy.

Only a child that had never really been one in the first.

The moment ended. The mask slid back into place, features once again holding a certain harshness to them, and eyes now harden with the knowledge that the time for such trivial things –'It's not trivial! It's not, not, NOT! I never had one, never touched one, was never given one! I want one! I…want…it…'

A bitter sneer formed on Harry's face at his foolish thought, he was too old for it, and besides, it wouldn't be the same if he bought it for himself. What he had dreamed about was someone else, a loved one –Sirius – giving him one, and Sirius would have probably done so too knowing him, if only he had survived…if only.

A distant shout caught his drifting attention.

"Harry! What are you doing? Come over here mate! We need to stop by my brothers' shop!"

"Yeah, sorry Ron, I spaced out for a bit there!" There was only a slight hitch in Harry's voice to indicate there had ever been something wrong.

Harry started walking –when had he stopped? – towards his friends, face schooled into a perfected look of happiness with a touch of remorse even if his mind was miles away from the present.

He wouldn't come back to this particular part of Diagon Alley, he wouldn't.

Fred Weasley

He was back again. Standing a little ways off of the middle of the street, half-hiding in the shadow of shops was none other than Harry Potter himself. Now, it wouldn't have bothered him if it had been the first time, or the second, or the third for that matter, but by Merlin! It was the twelfth time Fred had caught the Gryffindor hiding among the shops, all the while staring at something Fred didn't know. But not any longer, as soon as Harry left the area, he would find out whatever it was that made the Gryffindor linger so long in Diagon Alley every single day.

And he would put a stop to it, because if he was brutally honest with himself, Fred didn't want to see that pained, lonely, expression on the younger boy's face anymore. It scared him, because ever since he had met Harry at King's Cross Station when the boy had been only eleven, Fred had never seen Harry look so…lost.

Catching sight of the end tips of long raven locks of hair –Harry had grown his hair in honor of his Godfather over the summer – Fred was momentarily distracted, thinking, that if only Sirius Black had survived, then perhaps Harry wouldn't need his help with whatever the hell was wrong with him.

Shaking his head, Fred quickly made his way out of the joke shop, the loud noise of Diagon Alley reaching his ears as he opened the door and stepped into the crowded street. He made his way towards the corner Harry always occupied nowadays, a frown forming on his face as he saw what exactly had Harry captivated so much.

The wind blew across Fred's face, and it brought a sudden, shocking –terrible, saddening, sickening, pitiful –realization to the redhead. Staring at the shop, at the bright colors that so enchanted young children –and Harry too, Harry was enchanted by it too – Fred's freckles stood stark against the sickly white of his face.

He had to tell his brother –his twin –George would know what to do, know how to help Harry. After all, out of the two of them, it had been George that had inherited the warm kindness and gentleness that their mum had. Rushing back towards the joke shop, Fred's face was grim with determination.

George Weasley

He had been helping the last customers of the day when Fred came bursting through the door, spots of bright red on his twin's cheeks while the rest of his face was pale. Showing the customers the way out, George hurriedly closed shop, glancing at his brother from the corners of his eyes all the while. Once Fred saw he was finished, he begun, "George, I need your help –Harry needs your help."

His twin's tone was serious, and judging by Fred's appearance, whatever was wrong with Harry was something big. "I don't know how useful I'll be, but tell me Forge."

Fred cracked a smile at him, accepting his attempt of easing the conversation and going along with it. "Why my dear Gred, you, with the brains of a Ravenclaw will know exactly what to do, but alas I," here Fred lifted a hand to his chest, right above his heart, "have the intelligence of a troll compared to you, oh Wise One!"

And with tone of the conversation set –somewhat light-hearted at Fred's expense – his twin brought him up to speed with regards to Harry.

Listening, George quickly came to the same conclusion that his twin had come to minutes earlier.

"Well my dear Forge, there's only one thing to do! Our little Harrykins can't be allowed to be sad anymore, and with the way things are going I'm afraid he's going to end up with a frown stuck on his face forever!"

Fred gave him a small smile, another sign of how deeply Harry's situation had managed to affect his twin, and with good reason he supposed.

"You know that we own Harry a lot, he's the reason we managed to make our dream into a reality, so really, Harry won't be able to argue with us when he sees his birthday present –isn't that right Forge?" Anyone would know there was a smirk on his face by the tone of his voice.

An identical smirk appeared, "Why yes Gred, little Harry won't have any other choice but to accept his present."

With that said, the two Weasleys brought their heads together, throwing idea after idea of how, exactly, they would go about giving Harry the best present he would ever receive. And if they thought about it, it was rather sad that he had never had something as simple as that.

Days bleed into weeks, and before anyone knew it, July thirty-first finally arrived. The Burrow was loud with the sounds of cooking and cleaning since early morning –courtesy of one Molly Weasley – while the rest of the redhead family –Hermione included – waited for their guest. The clock struck twelve and with it came the tell-tale green flames from the fireplace. Fred and George lingered in the back while the rest rushed forwards to greet their dad and Harry. Lunch passed easily, filled with pleasant conversation as Ron, Hermione, and Ginny each told Harry how their summer had been.

Silence descended as their mum brought Harry's presents in, most of the presents small enough to be carried in her arms while their dad came in carrying only one present –a huge one, the size of a bear if one though about it. Harry stared at the present –a shocked look on his face before he turned his attention towards the smaller ones. Opening them one by one, and thanking each person, Harry had only one more to unwrap –and only two people that he had yet to thank.

Seeing how Harry made no move towards their present to him, George decided to give him a little push, "My little Harrykins! What are you waiting for? You still have one more present left to open, so get to it! It won't open itself, now will it?"

Fred chimed in with his own brand of encouragement, "I'm starting feel a little hurt Gred, it seems our Harry doesn't like our present!" Fake sobs escaped his twin while George decided to add the last touch, "Come, come Harry, if you don't like it after you open it we will return it and get you something better –though really, after you see it I don't think that will be the case, eh?"

Harry looked at them one last time before slowly unwrapping it –everyone but the twins holding their breath and leaning a bit closer to see what the mystery present was.

Harry Potter

The present stood innocently in front of him as his fingers –they were shaking slightly – touched the brightly colored wrapping of red and gold. Gathering his courage, he ripped it opened, slowly at first and then faster, and before long, the wrapping laid scattered at his feet while a plain brown box stood hiding his last present.

Looking around the room, the Weasley matriarch smiled gently at him, "Go on Harry, open it, even we don't know what Fred and George got you so we're curious as well."

Nodding, Harry did just that. And what he saw made his breath catch in his throat, made his eyes sting ever-so-slightly, and made his mouth too slow to trap the breathless, "Oh!" from escaping. Because there, there in front of him stood the very thing he never thought he would ever owned, what he had wasted hours looking at all summer long.

The bear-sized, coal black fur-covered stuffed dog stared back at Harry with grey eyes that seem to shine with a light that wasn't there, mouth opened slightly with a long pink tongue draped lazily on the side of its mouth.

"Pa-Padfoot…" A pained whine escaped Harry as he stared at the huge stuffed animal, emerald eyes overflowing with tears. Before anyone could react, Harry pulled the large black dog towards him, clutching the stuffed animal desperately as he cried into the dog's silky fur. The scent of dog breath, of the grass –Sirius had smelled like grass, it had always been what he had smell like, even after he had spent years in Azkaban – and of something else he didn't know –home, it smell of home –overwhelmed Harry, giving him a glimpse into what his life had been before Voldemort had come along.

Looking at Harry right at that moment, everyone at the Burrow didn't see a boy that was almost a man, no, what they saw was a tiny child hugging a stuffed animal, seeking comfort in the most basic way a child could.

Harry lifted his head, his wide, slightly red eyes looking for the two people that were responsible for all of this. The Weasley twins stepped closer, "We're over here Harry,"

"Thank you, I…I don't know how you knew…but thank you." Turning his head to look at his –his! –first stuffed animal, and one that reminded him of his Godfather, he could only hug the dog closer, too overcome with emotions to speak more.

And later, much later –years and years from that day –the large black dog sat guarding a little grey stone, slightly worn by time and by tiny childish hands that eventually had grown bigger and that had stilled hugged it repeatedly day after day for years.

And that's a wrap! Honestly, I don't know where this monster, this creature from beyond came from! The idea stuck with me for days until I finally sat down and wrote it all down. Anyways, after writing this I was just plain depressed! Just thinking about Harry's childhood is enough to get me sad and here I go and make it even sadder for me! I hope you guys all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing. It's a one-shot, but maybe something will come to me and I'll expand on this, somehow. Well then, if you ladies and gentlemen would be kind enough to leave a review, I would be most happy, and if not, then I hope you enjoyed the story well enough. Until next time! –Uchiha Yukime