Growing up you never wished for anything material; for what could a pureblood need that he could not easily acquire? Never wished for anything, no, you demanded, of your house elf, of your brother. Sirius Black did not do such a frivolous thing as wish. Did not gaze at the stars in hope of spotting a shooting star, you gazed so you could see yourself in the sky, see the power you held even in the night. Even when your parents put the cruciatus curse on you did not wish for it to end, you breathed in the pain, swallowed it into your lungs and spat it out with the other waste. You did not wish for things that other wizards did, you had the looks, the skill, the friends and the girls. Even when the sorting hat was placed on your head, you did not pray to not be in Slytherin, you commanded to be placed in Gryfindor. The impeding and growing war that was growing outside did not even break your any wishing policy, wishing was for those who were too weak to act, you would go out and fight, there was no need for wishing.
But when you bumped into Hagrid, you wished with your whole being that it was not true. That Prongs and Lils were safe, alive, and not betrayed by a friend. You wished to go back into time and not suggest Wormtail for secret keeper, wished that you had kept it, for the torture Voldemort would put you through could not be worse than the only people you truly loved dead from betrayal. Helplessness had never struck you like this before, shutting down your senses, barely registering Hagrid flying off on your bike. For tonight you wished, for tonight you were weak.