It was yet another hot, steamy day in Privet Drive, London. Everyone was out enjoying themselves, everyone except for one boy. A boy with messy black hair, brilliant green eyes, and a scar, a scar that resembled a lightning bolt. This boy is Harry Potter. Harry Potter is not your usual fifteen-year-old boy. He is in fact a wizard. And even by wizard standard he is special for he is the-Boy-who-lived.
A skinny, bony disheartened Harry does not seem to be living today however or any day for that matter. He has been lying on his old, creaky bed ever since he came back from Hogwarts, that was three weeks ago.
Mail stacked high in the dark room, none of them opened, just sitting there collecting dust. Things from books to ink wells dominated the small space. An empty birdcage full of old droppings, droppings that have stunk up the small room, but Harry does not seem to have noticed or cared. Hedwig has flown off to places unknown since the start of Harry depressed behavior. Just another flaw in his miserable life, for Hedwig was the only living thing in Privet Drive that knew and cared about his presence. Now he has no one, not even a bird.
He has been grieving his godfather, Sirius Black's death; for it was he that led him to his tragic end. Harry for the life of him cannot seem to get in a good nights sleep ever since his return to Privet Drive for nightmares constantly plague his mind. He hasn't been eating but his Uncle and Aunt does not seem to mind, in fact they don't even care.
And so Harry is set out to just lay there to brood in his own misery, all day, all night. Everyone said that Sirius died a hero, but did he? That is the question constantly lingering in Harry's mind. Did Sirius die a hero? He died saving a pathetic boy who led his best friends into danger because of some fake vision. Sirius did die but not a hero's death, more of a useless death. A death that was not supposes to happen. A death that was wrongly placed upon.
A man that Harry cared so much about, a man that Harry considered a fatherly figure stripped from him in the process of a mere two years.
Is it all my fault? Yet another question that has taken up a mental spot in Harry's conscious.
Power started to pour out of the pores of young Harry, dangerous, uncontrolled power. Dazzling white eyes appear out of the gloomy, sinister room, eyes full of intense hate.
Why is this happening to me?
What have I done to deserve such a life?
This world has brought me nothing! Nothing but hate and death!
That damned Voldemort! He caused misery to my life since the age of one.
I will get him! Beat him! Have him beg for mercy! Slice of his head! And feed it to the dogs!
I will avenge you, Mom, Dad, Sirius. I will…avenge you.
For I am an avenger…
For I am an avenger…