Chapter 1

Dear Mr. Potter,

I am sorry to inform you that the department of magical devices and artefacts are unable to provide you with a time turner at this present time. This is in accordance with the restriction for underage wizardry, as well as our own strict guidelines regarding the use of time turners.

Many apologies,

S. Cogsworth

Ms. Sarah Cogsworth

Head of the Department of Magical Devices and Artefacts.

Harry slammed the yellowed parchment down onto the wooden table of 12 Grimmauld Place, causing the rickety surface to shake, and sending the official – looking eagle owl back out the window with an indignant screech. Harry glared resentfully after the offending bird and stormed in the direction of his room, passing Lupin on the way out.

"Is he all right?" Lupin asked worriedly.

"Just normal adolescent angst," Tonks offered from her place by the fire. "He'll be over it in no time."

"I don't know," Lupin replied. "He's been so moody lately, and he's spending so much time in his room. It isn't healthy."

"Ah, don't worry so much, Remus," said Tonks kindly, tripping over the footrest as she stood up. "He'll be fine when the other kids arrive. When are the Weasley's coming? They're staying for the end of the summer again, aren't they? So the order meetings are easier to organise."

"Two more weeks," replied Lupin "When will Dumbledore be here? Bill should be arriving tomorrow morning to give his report."

"I'll check the letter…"

sshpss

Remus' voice drifted away as Harry climbed the staircase to his room. They were talking about him. Again. Saying they were worried about him, when they really only cared about the saviour they all expected. At least Sirius had never talked behind his back. Sirius had told him everything, but Sirius wasn't here.

Harry felt his anger drift and slip away like red smoke on a windy day. He had tried. After Sirius death Harry had found himself thinking back on their time together, and remembered the time turner. If it worked on a few hours, why not a few days or weeks, or even years? He could stop Voldemort back then, before he came to full power! But he needed a time turner, and that is exactly what he was missing: a way to reverse the years.

Perhaps Dumbledore could help. Harry hated that the man kept so much from him, but he had to admit the Headmaster had power. With that thought, Harry lay down on his Gryffindor-red bed.

Sirius had decorated this room with him. Last Christmas, when he was still happy and Sirius had sung 'God rest ye Merry Hippogriffs'. Harry tossed in the too-warm bed, cursing it's creaky springs and all the memories that were painted across the yellow walls.

Last year Harry had come here after a normal summer, instead of after a summer in which simple hard work couldn't erase the churning thoughts and memories and "what if"s. A summer in which Harry had found the perfect plan, only to have it pronounced a failure like every potion he had ever handed in. A failure like the belief that Wormtail would keep to the rules and fulfil the Wizards Pact formed in the Shreiking Shack, instead of acting the coward and taking Harry's blood for his master. A failure like himself.

sshpss

The thoughts swirled on inside Harry's end, an endless pensive of guilt, and the night failed to cloak his thoughts. When the blackness is the enemy, and the light can provide no comfort, there will never be relief.