This World is an Ugly Place

Chapter One- Regrets

A/N: This is my first time writting fanfiction, so I apologize if it extremely sucks.

Harry sighed heavily as he plopped himself on his small, child-sized bed, and stared up at the chipping ceiling in his room. Once again, he found himself at Number 4 Privet Drive during a hot arid summer, anxiously anticipating his return to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. However, this time, he didn't really desire going back to that magical place that he had grown to love so much.

So many emotions were coursing through his head, it was making him sick. He was thinking of Sirius again; of his barklike laugh, the countless times he helped Harry, the reassuring grins he would cast on his handsome face, the way he stood up for Harry, how he was like a father to Harry...

Then the memories changed, back to that cursed night when Harry stupidly went into the department of mysteries. Fastforward to the part where Sirius arrived and Harry was so sure that everything would be all right. The spell hit Sirius and he was stunned...slow motion...him falling back...back into the daie...falling into a place where Harry couldn't reach him...then he screamed.

Harry quickly sat up as tears began to stream down his blotchy face. He tried to stop crying but he couldn't; the drops of sorrow continued to spill unwillingly.

Siruis' Death was his fault. Not dumbledore's; his. No matter how hard he tried to tell himself differently, it would always and forever be HIS fault. Just like Cedric's death, that was his fault as well.

He furrowed his eyebrows furiously, stood up swiftly, and punched the wall as hard as he could with his fist. A small hole formed where he had made impact and specks of blood were forming on his knuckles. He wanted the physical pain to match the emotional agony he was dealing with, but it just wouldn't work.

He huffed in anger and sat on the bed, rubbing his eyes with his hands. He had no one. He lost his parents before he even got a chance to know them, and let the closest thing to a father he had slip through his fingers when he could of prevented it from happening.

"I'll probably lose my friends too because everyone I love seems to die," he thought despairingly. He squeezed his eyes closed tightly and slumped back against his pillow.

The boy who lived didn't want to live anymore.