Disclaimer: J.K Rowlings owns the characters.

Change of Heart

A young man stood alone, facing the sky. It was already past midnight, but the shining reflection of the sun stood bright. He was at the clock tower tonight, the moon reflecting off a tear that slid down his bruised face. Another tear followed, but he wiped them away. His forest green eyes glimmered with tears that threatened to fall. He wouldn't cry. His hands formed into fists, ready to fight the overwhelming emotions he was feeling.

Suddenly, a loud screech echoed through the night. It was Buckbeak. His fists tightened, and losing to himself, his fists loosened and he fell down to his knees. His tears made it's slow trek down his bruised face, interlacing with each other. Embarrassed by his weakness, he buried his face into his hands. He slumped down, and gave in fully.

It wasn't fair. This was too painful. Sirius was the only family he had left. Voldemort took him away too. Why did Voldemort hate him so much? Why him? He was just Harry. He wasn't some super hero. When he looked in the mirror, all he saw was a teenage boy with a cool scar in his head. How come everybody that looks at him sees a freak, someone different? He just wanted to be normal.

It was Sirius' fault. If he didn't meet him, he wouldn't have been able to love him like the father he has always dreamed of. For a small amount of time, Harry thought he finally had a loving parent figure, but he faded into the shadows as well. He took their time for granted. He could never get that back, just relive it in memories. Harry wished he never met Sirius, so this deep hole in his chest would disappear. No! It wasn't Sirius' fault, it was his! Hermione warned him. He didn't listen, he thought he was right. He shouldn't have been so rash, so stupid.

He stood up abruptly and punched the nearest wall. His anger was rising from guilt and pain. He kept punching the wall. Every memory, every smile, every plan and every hope he had with Sirius, he smashed into the wall with his bleeding knuckles. His chest hurt with the heaviness of regrets. He beat the wall with his fists, his blood marking on it. His tears were endless, and he groaned in the unfairness of it all. He grunted in anger. Anger and hate directed to himself. No one else could be blamed but him.

He hissed, when he finally felt the physical pain of his hands. He looked at them blankly. Then he suddenly gasped and looked away in fear. There was blood in his hands. Cedric and Sirius' blood were on his hands. It was his fault they were dead, they were just in the cross fire between him and Voldemort. Not just them, his parents too. He needed to stop this. He needed to stop Voldemort soon, or else many more will get involved. He had to this, alone. His tears still flowed, but his resolve hardened.

He may have lost this battle, but he will win the war. He needed to be stronger, smarter, skilled, and fast. He needed to start training. He was never going to be normal, he was never meant to be 'just Harry'. Harry wiped away his last tear, and stood up tall. He looked at the moon, and promised to the night. He was going to defeat the thief of his childhood, the murderer of his loved ones, and the terrorist of the World he loved. He stepped forward and breathed in the fresh air. Tomorrow he will start.


Author's note:

This is just a short piece I wrote, because I got inspired by some songs. I hope you guys liked it, and if not I still appreciate that you read it.

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