Disclaimer.
I fully disclaim everything.
None of the characters mention in this story belong to me. All belong to J. K. Rowling and Warner Brothers.
References to other song lyrics belong to Robbie Williams.
Other similarities between this and any other stories or films are unintentional.
Thank you
The authoress.
To everyone who reads.
This fic contains issues such as eating disorders and attempted suicide. If this disturbs you please do not read on.
This is my first attempt at this kind of fic, and obviously full research into the issues mentioned would be impossible. Some things you see may be wrong, or inaccurate, I apologise in advance if this offends anyone. Enjoy the story, and please review. No flames welcome.
Claire
Summary
Harry Potter gets very depressed and ill in the aftermath of Voldemort's return. He gets help to fix things but not before some serious mistakes. This time it's not Snape, but someone more unexpected who pulls him through the worst, but he does help a bit in the end.
Also this probably will have a sequel that will be set in 6th year and include some H/Hr, and lots more Voldie.
The musings of an old man.
It was the summer of 1995, the summer I turned fifteen, the summer the dark lord rose again with my aid, the summer Cedric Diggory died, the first in a line of many terrible deaths, many of whom I knew, some whom I loved, many of which I witnessed. Writing that made it sound like I had taken part in these murders, or had wanted the dark lord Voldemort to rise. That would be untrue, I above many others risked my life to ensure he didn't come back, but Voldemort was nothing but persistent. No the summer of 1995 I was an innocent who was far too caught up in a war which should have by passed me the way it did so many others of my age, it didn't. I was deeply involved, for reasons I did not know, but I had a certain knowledge that the war was my responsibility. Now I know the reasons, to some extent I still believe I should have known then too, it may have helped prevent the course of action I chose. The summer of 1995 was long and hot, and will be remembered by many of my generation, the previous generation are now dead, mine is nearly. However I have my reasons for remembering it slightly differently, almost immediately after the dark lord rose, I was sent home to my borderline abusive muggle relatives for the summer. All I could think of on those long, hot days was killing myself. I developed rather an obsession with my own mortality. I had my saviours, I am still here after all, I have them to thank for everything past that fateful summer, and in their own way the world has to thank them for the downfall of the dark lord, had it not been for them I would have been in a early grave, with a faded headstone, and the dark lord may have ruled the wizarding world. The Autumn and Winter of 1995 brought it's unpleasantly too, no doubt, after all I was incarcerated in St. Mungo's hospital psychiatric department, but none I will remember so clearly as the summer. So I sit here now to tell my tale, I know that I will die soon, my wife passed just a few months back and I am lonely without her, I am old, it is my time, and I will die in peace for many summers I have lived, but none so terrible or soulless as The Summer of 1995.
I fully disclaim everything.
None of the characters mention in this story belong to me. All belong to J. K. Rowling and Warner Brothers.
References to other song lyrics belong to Robbie Williams.
Other similarities between this and any other stories or films are unintentional.
Thank you
The authoress.
To everyone who reads.
This fic contains issues such as eating disorders and attempted suicide. If this disturbs you please do not read on.
This is my first attempt at this kind of fic, and obviously full research into the issues mentioned would be impossible. Some things you see may be wrong, or inaccurate, I apologise in advance if this offends anyone. Enjoy the story, and please review. No flames welcome.
Claire
Summary
Harry Potter gets very depressed and ill in the aftermath of Voldemort's return. He gets help to fix things but not before some serious mistakes. This time it's not Snape, but someone more unexpected who pulls him through the worst, but he does help a bit in the end.
Also this probably will have a sequel that will be set in 6th year and include some H/Hr, and lots more Voldie.
The musings of an old man.
It was the summer of 1995, the summer I turned fifteen, the summer the dark lord rose again with my aid, the summer Cedric Diggory died, the first in a line of many terrible deaths, many of whom I knew, some whom I loved, many of which I witnessed. Writing that made it sound like I had taken part in these murders, or had wanted the dark lord Voldemort to rise. That would be untrue, I above many others risked my life to ensure he didn't come back, but Voldemort was nothing but persistent. No the summer of 1995 I was an innocent who was far too caught up in a war which should have by passed me the way it did so many others of my age, it didn't. I was deeply involved, for reasons I did not know, but I had a certain knowledge that the war was my responsibility. Now I know the reasons, to some extent I still believe I should have known then too, it may have helped prevent the course of action I chose. The summer of 1995 was long and hot, and will be remembered by many of my generation, the previous generation are now dead, mine is nearly. However I have my reasons for remembering it slightly differently, almost immediately after the dark lord rose, I was sent home to my borderline abusive muggle relatives for the summer. All I could think of on those long, hot days was killing myself. I developed rather an obsession with my own mortality. I had my saviours, I am still here after all, I have them to thank for everything past that fateful summer, and in their own way the world has to thank them for the downfall of the dark lord, had it not been for them I would have been in a early grave, with a faded headstone, and the dark lord may have ruled the wizarding world. The Autumn and Winter of 1995 brought it's unpleasantly too, no doubt, after all I was incarcerated in St. Mungo's hospital psychiatric department, but none I will remember so clearly as the summer. So I sit here now to tell my tale, I know that I will die soon, my wife passed just a few months back and I am lonely without her, I am old, it is my time, and I will die in peace for many summers I have lived, but none so terrible or soulless as The Summer of 1995.