Disclaimer: I do not own anything except the plot in this story. Please don't sue!!!

Summary: Harry's life is falling apart. Hermione broke his heart, Ron is dead, and Ginny isn't speaking to him. In desperation, Harry turns to a forgotten friend for help, much to that person's surprise. But is it real, or is it all just a dream?

A/N: Okay, I know what you all are thinking. "Sydney is an idiot! She already has four stories, three of which she is working to update. What in the world is she writing another one for?" Yeah, I'm kind of thinking the same thing myself. Which is surprising, really, 'cause I hardly ever think…oh well. Anyways, this idea popped into my head the other day when I was in Biology class. Okay, well, this is kind of a turn-around from the happy/humorous/fun stories that I have been writing. It's going to kind of be a depressing sort of fic. And, yes, I'm sorry, but Sirius is dead in this story…at least, at first. Hmm…oh well. I hope you enjoy!! Please R&R!!!!

Just so you know:

Anything in italics symbolizes things that are memories, flashbacks, if you will.

Chapter 1: Remembering

Sixteen-year-old Harry Potter sat at his desk, staring out the window of the smallest bedroom of Number 4 Privet Drive. His emerald-green eyes were scanning the sky for a sign of his snowy owl Hedwig, whom he hoped was bringing a letter from one of his friends. He knew this was a false hope, but he still wished it to happen all the same. He absently ran a hand over the lightning bold-shaped scar on his forehead as the memories came flooding back to him against his will.

Harry quietly opened the door to the Room of Requirements, not wanting to disturb the curly-haired witch sitting on a couch in the farthest corner of the room. Her nose was buried in a book, as usual. Harry stepped into the room and silently shut the door behind him. He walked over to the pretty brunette and watched her intently, willing her to look up and see him standing there. When she didn't, he smiled.

"Good book?" he asked amusedly. She jumped and looked up, startled, ready to strangle the idiotic person who had disturbed her reading. Her expression softened when she saw who it was.

"Harry, great Merlin, you scared me," she said, closing the book and setting it down on the table next to her. "Come on, sit down." She patted the spot on the couch next to her. Harry gladly obliged.

"So, what did you want to meet me here for?" he asked his girlfriend. To his surprise, she suddenly looked a bit nervous, and she began wringing her hands, a habit that Harry had not seen her do since their fourth year. "Hermione? What's the matter?"

"Nothing…nothing's the matter, Harry," she said slowly, not looking him in the eye. He was not convinced. He tilted her chin up with two fingers so that his emerald orbs were looking straight into her chocolate brown ones.

"Hermione Granger. I have known you since the first year. All those years spent with Ron and me, hearing us make up excuses on why we didn't get our homework done, and you are still a lousy liar. What's wrong?" he asked again, more firmly this time. Hermione sighed, realizing that she was caught.

"Harry, I…I don't really know how to say this," she began hesitantly.

"Well, plain English would be best, considering that's all I understand," he joked, trying to ease some of her nerves. She laughed a little, but became somber again as quickly as though the laugh had never occurred.

"Harry, I really…I don't…I think we should…" she stammered, obviously trying to find the right words to say. Harry was a bit worried. He had never, in all of the six years of knowing Hermione, never seen her speechless before. He had to admit, it scared him a little.

"Yes?" he prodded gently. Hermione took a deep breath.

"I don't think we should see each other anymore," she said quietly, looking back down at her feet. Harry blinked.

"What?" he asked, dumbstruck. "But…but we've been together since the end of fifth year! Why on earth would you want to end it now?"

Hermione turned a slight shade of pink. "There's someone else," she said, this time so quietly that Harry wasn't sure if she had said it at all.

"What?"

"There's someone else," she said clearly, looking straight up to meet his eyes. Her heart broke when she saw the hurt in them, the hurt that she was causing. This was killing her, but it had to be done.

"Who?" Harry asked quietly, unsure if he wanted to know the answer. Hermione looked a bit surprised, as if she wasn't expecting him to ask that.

"I really don't think I should tell you that," she said, looking once again at her feet.

"Hermione," Harry said, but she wasn't finished yet.

"You really don't want to know," she continued.

"Hermione," Harry said firmly, causing her to look up again. "If I didn't want to know, I wouldn't have asked. Now, tell me, who is it?"

Hermione took another deep breath and mumbled something.

"Hermione, I told you, I only understand English," Harry said. "Now, I'm only asking one more time. Who. Is. It?"

"Draco Malfoy."

Harry felt as though someone had dropped a piano on him. He was crushed. Hermione Granger, his best friend since they were eleven, the love of his life, was leaving him for their—his—worst enemy. He couldn't speak, he just stared at the Gryffindor girl that was ripping his heart to pieces.

"Harry?" she asked, reaching for his hand. He jerked it away and stood up. Hermione stood up as well, and faced him. "Harry, you've got to believe me, this is killing me."

"Then why are you doing it?" he asked, looking into her eyes, searching for some sign that this was all a trick, that it wasn't real. "Why?"

"Harry, I love you, I really do…" she began, but Harry cut her off.

"No, Hermione. Don't give me any of that crap. I don't want you telling me that you love me, when you're leaving me for that slimy Slytherin git. How long has this been going on?"

"Well…" she hesitated. Harry grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her slightly.

"How long?" he asked. She sighed.

"Three months," she admitted. Harry let go of her and stepped back.

"Three months," he echoed. "Three months. Three months, Hermione? I can't believe you! How could you do this to me? How? After all we've been through? I though you actually cared about me, but I guess I was wrong."

"No, Harry," she said softly. "You're not wrong. I care about you more than anything in the world. I just…I just…I don't know. I feel like I need to do this."

"You need to do this?" he yelled, his temper getting the best of him. "You need to do this? You need to use your brain. Come on! You're the smartest witch in the school. Use your brain. Think about what you're doing. Malfoy? You're leaving me…for Malfoy? Hermione, I know you are not that stupid. Follow your heart, Hermione."

"I am, Harry," she said. "And my heart is telling me that I can't keep doing this to you. Doing this behind your back, I mean. I love you, Harry, I really do, but… when I'm with Draco, I feel something that I don't feel when I'm with you. He gives me more…meaning, I guess is the word. I love you, but I can't keep lying to you. I'm dating Draco, and I'm sorry." She swiftly kissed his cheek and without a word, turned and headed for the door. Once there, however, she stopped and looked back. "Good-bye, Harry." She turned and walked out.

Harry sighed. He had thought that Hermione was the one for him. But she had broken his heart. No, that was wrong. She hadn't broken his heart. She had torn it out, thrown it on the ground, and stomped on it. She had no idea how much she had hurt him. Harry sighed again. Hermione was one person he could cross out of his address book.

There was still no sign of Hedwig. It was nearly midnight, and she had been off hunting for the past hour. Harry wished that she would come back. He was beginning to feel pretty lonely, seeing as how she was the only friend he had left. Despite his mental protests, another memory came crashing back.

Harry was sitting at the kitchen table, eating his bacon slowly, savoring the taste, seeing as how he wasn't getting seconds. Dudley was already on his fourth plate of pancakes, and he was still going. Harry didn't think it was possible, but it seemed that his cousin had gained ten more pounds during Harry's term at Hogwarts. He was now on his way to achieving the same weight as a small elephant. Harry watched in amazement and disgust as Dudley shoveled still more food into his large mouth. Harry was strongly reminded of Ron eating, and he snorted. Uncle Vernon shot him a look and he shut up immediately.

Just then, an owl tapped on the kitchen window. Aunt Petunia shrieked and opened the window, letting the bird inside before the neighbors saw. The large tawny owl landed in front of Harry, clutching a copy of the Daily Prophet in its beak. Harry quickly paid the bird and it took flight again. Ignoring the looks he was receiving from his family, he unrolled the paper to read it, and promptly choked on his orange juice.

There on the front page was a picture of The Burrow. Ron's house. Harry's heart sank. This couldn't be good. He quickly turned his gaze to the text and began to read.

Attack on Local Wizarding House Baffles Ministry

Late last night, an attack was plagued on a local Wizarding home, where the Weasley family lives. The reason for the attack is unknown. Arthur Weasley is a highly respected member of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office in the Ministry of Magic, and the Minister himself has no reason to believe that Weasley did anything to provoke the attack.

Arthur lives in "The Burrow", as he has christened it, with his family. His wife, Molly, his sons William, Chares, Percy, Fred, George, and Ronald, and his daughter Virginia all reside in the house with him. But last night, their happy family of nine was sadly and tragically reduced to eight. Seventeen-year-old Ronald Weasley was killed in the attack, much to the bewilderment of his family and ministry members, as none of the rest of his family was harmed in any way. Molly found her youngest son on the living room floor early this morning. Services for the boy will be held this weekend for family and close friends.

Harry's heart seemed to have stopped. Ron, his best friend since he was eleven, was dead. And he was only seventeen. He was only two months older than Harry. It was too young. And none of the other Weasley's were harmed. It was remarkable. Well, to any outside person. Harry had a good idea of the real reason that Ron was killed. It was because he was a friend of Harry's. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the one destined to kill Voldemort. Ron was in acquaintance with Harry, so it was more than likely that he had been placed on Voldemort's hit list. But it was a bit surprising that none of the other Weasley's were killed. They were all in acquaintance with him. Maybe Ron was considered more of a threat.

Harry excused himself from the table and ran up to his room, where he stayed for the rest of the week.

Harry laughed bitterly. He really wished these horrible memories would quit coming back to him, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't come up with a happy memory. Ron was yet another person he could cross off his list. Ron. Thinking about his now deceased best friend made a lump appear in Harry's throat. He hadn't cried since the funeral, when Ginny…. Before he could stop it, yet another memory burst into his head.

Harry walked slowly up the steps to the large church that Ron's funeral was being held in. He had at first been reluctant to attend the funeral, as it meant saying good-bye to his best mate. But he realized that Ron would be at his funeral, no matter how hard or painful it was. So he put on his best robes, grabbed his Firebolt, and flew to the church.

He opened the door and looked around. He immediately spotted Mr. and Mrs. Weasley sitting on the front bench. Mrs. Weasley appeared to be sobbing, and Mr. Weasley was attempting to calm her down. Fred and George were sitting on chairs in the back, their normally cheerful faces pale and somber. Bill and Charlie were standing up in the front, and Harry wasn't surprised to see Percy standing with them. Even though Percy had had disagreements with the rest of his family, it was obvious that Ron had been his favorite brother. Ginny was nowhere in sight.

Harry's eyes scanned the church. Hermione was sitting towards the middle, and Draco Malfoy's arm was around her, comforting her. Harry's heart gave a jealous twinge and he quickly looked away. Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan were sitting across the aisle from Hermione, and Neville Longbottom was sitting behind them. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil were sitting in the same row as Neville, but three or four chairs down. Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks were sitting in front of the Weasley twins. Mundungus Fletcher was sitting next to Tonks, and Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody was next to Mundungus. Luna Lovegood was standing against the wall, staring into space with tears running down her face, and Cho Chang had her arm around her, comforting her. Harry was sure that Sirius Black would have been there…if Harry hadn't gotten him killed. There were also an assorted number of other Hogwarts students that had apparently had known Ron. Harry made a mental note that Malfoy was the only Slytherin present, and he had a feeling that the blonde was only there because Hermione was there.

Albus Dumbledore stepped up to the podium next to the coffin in the front of the church. In chairs behind him sat Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Trelawney, Sprout, Hagrid, and, much to Harry's surprise, Snape. Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"Would everyone please take your seats? The ceremony will begin in five minutes," he said somberly, before turning around and sitting down in an empty chair behind him. Harry felt a surge of anger at Dumbledore's words. Ceremony? This was not some sporting event, or awards banquet, or something like that. This was Ron Weasley's funeral, for Merlin's sake. Harry was about to approach Dumbledore when he felt a hand on his arm. He turned around and found himself face-to-face with Ginny Weasley.

Harry smiled shakily. "Hey, Gin," he said quietly. The redheaded girl did not return his smile. Harry noticed that her eyes were red, as if she had been crying (which, he reminded himself, she probably had been), but they were also hard and cold, not a trace of the usual warmth they usually held when she looked at him.

"Harry," she replied coldly. Harry's small smile faltered as he looked at the person he had come to know as his little sister.

"How…how are you holding up?" he asked. He knew that she probably hated that question by now, but he didn't know what else to say. Sure enough, her face took on a shade of red.

"How am I holding up?" she asked in disbelief. "How could you even think of asking me that? I can't believe you even dared to show your face here."

"What?" Harry asked, bewildered. Ginny snorted.

"Oh, don't pretend you don't know," she snarled, so ferociously that Harry took a step back in alarm. "Don't come in here, pretending like you're upset, like you actually care that he's dead."

"But, Gin, I do care," Harry said, now completely confused. Why was Ginny acting like this?

"No you don't," she said, staring at him as if she wanted nothing more than to rip his head off. "You don't care that he's dead. You're the one that got him killed in the first place."

"Ginny, what are you talking about?" Harry asked her.

"Like you don't know. He's only dead because he was friends with you. I'm only glad that none of the rest of us were killed. I can't believe we ever trusted you," Ginny said, advancing toward Harry, who was slowly backing up. His back hit the wall and he knew he was trapped. Ginny put her face very close to his.

"I want you out of our lives," she whispered. "For good." With that, she whirled around and stalked up to the front of the church, where the rest of her family was sitting. Harry stood, stunned, for a few moments, before seating himself in the available chair next to Remus. Tears began to slowly make their way down his face.

Ginny Weasley, his best friend's little sister, his own little sister, walked away from him, and hadn't spoken to him since.

Harry ticked off the names on his fingers. Ginny was not an option. She blamed him for her brother's death. To tell the truth, Harry was actually starting to believe it himself. It was obvious. Associate with Harry Potter…and die. It had happened to Cedric, it had happened to Sirius, and now it had happened to Ron. And Harry was desperately afraid that it would happen to someone else, so he had temporarily cut himself off from the Wizarding world.

But something didn't feel right. It was almost as if all of the things that had occurred had been a dream, and he would wake up the next day in his four-poster bed in the Gryffindor dorm, with Ron hitting him with a pillow and telling him to get up, and then they would walk down to the common room to find Hermione asleep on a book because she had studied so hard that she forgot to go to bed. It was as if none of it was real. None of it had happened. Oh, how he wished that were so. But, as much as it felt that way, he knew that it was all true. But still, one had to wonder…

Hedwig still had not come back, and Harry was getting tired. It was one o'clock in the morning, and no one had written him, so he figured that he would go to bed. As he moved across the room, he caught a glimpse of the calendar. July 31. His birthday. He was seventeen. The age Ron had been when he died. And for once, he had not gotten a single thing from his "friends". He threw his glasses down on his night table and climbed into bed. And, surprise, surprise, his dreams were filled with bad memories of his old life.

His life that no longer existed.

A/N: Okay, how was it? Was it completely horrible? Please review and tell me what you think. I'm not going to post the next chapter until I get at least three reviews. So, please, people, if you want the next chapter, then review!!!

Lots of Love!!!