centerChapter One/center
centerbLooming Darkness/b/center
"He can't come back, Harry.because he's d-" "HE-IS-NOT-DEAD!"
These two sentences had ringed in the mind of Harry Potter all summer. The dreams of his godfather burning into his subconscious, seeing him fall back. The dreams of sitting by a lonely grave, watching as he had been lifted down into the deep, damp grave below, just before he found himself being hurtled into a world of darkness in which he could not escape, and for that he was now alone, with no one to run to, no where to go. He was trapped within himself, and he had no way out. Sirius was dead, and he was alive.
"No!" Harry yelled, jumping up from his bead, finding a soft tear trickling down his cheek. And then he knew as he panted and released deep breaths, that he was back inside number four, in his own bed, in what Ihad/I to be his home, until the summer had passed by. Until he was out of Hogwarts.
But it was then and there that it had dawned upon him, what if once he had graduated from Hogwarts and was then a wizard, what if then he was not able to become an auror? He would have no one to turn to, he would live with the Dursleys. For three long and tedious years he had believed that one day he would be able to go and live with the only fatherly figure he had ever known. But now with Sirius was gone, and he was quite alone, he felt so, even though he had received several messages from his friends over the summer. Even Fred and George, his best friend's twin brothers, had sent him several of their new creations from their joke shop on Diagon Alley. But nothing helped, everything seemed petty, and he was growing angrier at both Ron and Hermione for pretending that knew what it was like, that didn't know a damn thing what it was like, neither of them at all. They had both their mother and father, and they had a home. He, however, had nothing.
Ron-what had he done? The Weasleys had Ipromised/I him they would take him away this summer, that they would rescue him from this hell he was living through. But had they? No. They hadn't. He couldn't rely on anyone. Sirius was proof of that. Right when he had needed him, Sirius had died, leaving him alone and defenseless. With all these thoughts mingling with fury he had long since needed to let out, he found the anger climaxing into a wave of yelling that he suddenly let out, ringing across the house. It was only one curse word that he had muttered, but it had been sufficient enough to gain several yells from his Aunt and Uncle's room, as well as what he thought to be a yelp from his cousin Dudley's room. He cared not, for they would not dare try and do anything to him, members of the Order of the Phoenix had made sure of that, when Mad-Eye and Tonks as well as Professor Lupin had threatened him.
Lupin-the only one left that he knew, the closest person to Sirius he could think of. It was Lupin who had been best friends of Sirius and his father, it had been Lupin that had muttered those words. "Because he'sd--" Words which had been ringing in his ear all summer. Harry still had Lupin, but he was angered even more when he began to fill relieved, as if Lupin could replace Sirius-or his father.
It was then Harry realized, that from his anger and grief his eyes had produced more tears, and his forehead more sweat. His head was pounding, and his lightening bolt shaped scar on his forehead was suddenly surging with pain. The tears and the pain were causing his head to go numb, and he suddenly could see nothing but darkness, he was fading back into a world of blackness, flying through space and times, past the stars and planets, and finally landing, hours later, into a world unknown to him of clouds and sky, and then moments later he was sitting bolt right up in his bed, someone pounding on his door.
"Wake up, wake up!" Came the sound of his Uncle Vernon's harsh voice, as more pounds began to beat upon the door.
Harry groggily stood up from his bed, trying to pull his eyes apart as the dry tears had pushed them together, then picking up his black circular rimmed glasses off his night stand and straightening them onto his face. He moved over to the door, his bones crackling, and forced it open, to find his boisterously large uncle staring down at him, his gray-black mustache twitching furiously.
"Well, don't just stand there!" He snapped, peering down at Harry. "Get a move on, fix the breakfast!"
Harry smirked, and looked up at him. The anger he had built up during the night had clearly not gone away just yet. "No, I don't think I will," he smirked, his pupils constricting at the sight of his uncle.
"What did you just say boy?" Roared Uncle Vernon, a purple vain popping madly in his temple.
"You heard perfectly well what I said," Harry retorted, becoming angrier by the second, "Why don't you fix your own damn breakfast?"
Uncle Vernon's mouth flew down, as if ready to hit the ground at this, his eyes popping in outrage. "Excuse me, I will not tolerate being talked to that way!" He was now gritting his teeth, his face so scrunched up that it was now rattling wildly.
"What way?" Said Harry curiously, returning to his usual drowsy voice he had when talking to Uncle Vernon. "I'm just a bit too sleepy to do it this morning, you know, I need to write to some of my Ifriends/I to let them know I'm alright and that I'm not being mistreated, they told me I should write every three days or they would be down to check-but wait, I believe they told you, didn't they? Yes, you met them, remember, at King's Cross?"
Harry smirked even though the anger and grief deep inside was still there, but it was nice to be able to anger and frighten his uncle like this, and not have to worry about being punished for it. And indeed, his uncle was now allowing his open mouth to shake and his mustache to twitter madly, as if showing the movements of his brain at current, fighting a battle as to how he was going to reply to such rudeness and behavior. "Fine!" He snapped back, at what seemed like several minutes of Uncle Vernon thinking on this, "I'll get Dudley or Petunia to do it this time--"
"Dudley?" Harry heaved back a laugh. The thought of Dudley even attempting to cook his own food was absolutely laughable, as most of Dudley's time was spent on the sofa eating and watching the new movies on the family's new DVD set.
Uncle Vernon shuddered his shoulders violently, his head looking up towards the door facing, as it went from a light shade of purple to a shade of magnificent bright red. "Fine oh fine, I'll ask Petunia to do it, but I'm warning you boy, you may get away with it this time, but come dinner you're doing the cooking!"
"Says who?" Harry snapped back, grinning slightly.
Now Uncle Vernon's expression changed violently and rapidly and he gave away the appearance of an angry red bull, ready to charge, as his whole body began to shake in a surge of anger. "F-FINE!" He bellowed, before slamming the door shut.
"He can't come back, Harry.because he's d-" "HE-IS-NOT-DEAD!"
These two sentences had ringed in the mind of Harry Potter all summer. The dreams of his godfather burning into his subconscious, seeing him fall back. The dreams of sitting by a lonely grave, watching as he had been lifted down into the deep, damp grave below, just before he found himself being hurtled into a world of darkness in which he could not escape, and for that he was now alone, with no one to run to, no where to go. He was trapped within himself, and he had no way out. Sirius was dead, and he was alive.
"No!" Harry yelled, jumping up from his bead, finding a soft tear trickling down his cheek. And then he knew as he panted and released deep breaths, that he was back inside number four, in his own bed, in what Ihad/I to be his home, until the summer had passed by. Until he was out of Hogwarts.
But it was then and there that it had dawned upon him, what if once he had graduated from Hogwarts and was then a wizard, what if then he was not able to become an auror? He would have no one to turn to, he would live with the Dursleys. For three long and tedious years he had believed that one day he would be able to go and live with the only fatherly figure he had ever known. But now with Sirius was gone, and he was quite alone, he felt so, even though he had received several messages from his friends over the summer. Even Fred and George, his best friend's twin brothers, had sent him several of their new creations from their joke shop on Diagon Alley. But nothing helped, everything seemed petty, and he was growing angrier at both Ron and Hermione for pretending that knew what it was like, that didn't know a damn thing what it was like, neither of them at all. They had both their mother and father, and they had a home. He, however, had nothing.
Ron-what had he done? The Weasleys had Ipromised/I him they would take him away this summer, that they would rescue him from this hell he was living through. But had they? No. They hadn't. He couldn't rely on anyone. Sirius was proof of that. Right when he had needed him, Sirius had died, leaving him alone and defenseless. With all these thoughts mingling with fury he had long since needed to let out, he found the anger climaxing into a wave of yelling that he suddenly let out, ringing across the house. It was only one curse word that he had muttered, but it had been sufficient enough to gain several yells from his Aunt and Uncle's room, as well as what he thought to be a yelp from his cousin Dudley's room. He cared not, for they would not dare try and do anything to him, members of the Order of the Phoenix had made sure of that, when Mad-Eye and Tonks as well as Professor Lupin had threatened him.
Lupin-the only one left that he knew, the closest person to Sirius he could think of. It was Lupin who had been best friends of Sirius and his father, it had been Lupin that had muttered those words. "Because he'sd--" Words which had been ringing in his ear all summer. Harry still had Lupin, but he was angered even more when he began to fill relieved, as if Lupin could replace Sirius-or his father.
It was then Harry realized, that from his anger and grief his eyes had produced more tears, and his forehead more sweat. His head was pounding, and his lightening bolt shaped scar on his forehead was suddenly surging with pain. The tears and the pain were causing his head to go numb, and he suddenly could see nothing but darkness, he was fading back into a world of blackness, flying through space and times, past the stars and planets, and finally landing, hours later, into a world unknown to him of clouds and sky, and then moments later he was sitting bolt right up in his bed, someone pounding on his door.
"Wake up, wake up!" Came the sound of his Uncle Vernon's harsh voice, as more pounds began to beat upon the door.
Harry groggily stood up from his bed, trying to pull his eyes apart as the dry tears had pushed them together, then picking up his black circular rimmed glasses off his night stand and straightening them onto his face. He moved over to the door, his bones crackling, and forced it open, to find his boisterously large uncle staring down at him, his gray-black mustache twitching furiously.
"Well, don't just stand there!" He snapped, peering down at Harry. "Get a move on, fix the breakfast!"
Harry smirked, and looked up at him. The anger he had built up during the night had clearly not gone away just yet. "No, I don't think I will," he smirked, his pupils constricting at the sight of his uncle.
"What did you just say boy?" Roared Uncle Vernon, a purple vain popping madly in his temple.
"You heard perfectly well what I said," Harry retorted, becoming angrier by the second, "Why don't you fix your own damn breakfast?"
Uncle Vernon's mouth flew down, as if ready to hit the ground at this, his eyes popping in outrage. "Excuse me, I will not tolerate being talked to that way!" He was now gritting his teeth, his face so scrunched up that it was now rattling wildly.
"What way?" Said Harry curiously, returning to his usual drowsy voice he had when talking to Uncle Vernon. "I'm just a bit too sleepy to do it this morning, you know, I need to write to some of my Ifriends/I to let them know I'm alright and that I'm not being mistreated, they told me I should write every three days or they would be down to check-but wait, I believe they told you, didn't they? Yes, you met them, remember, at King's Cross?"
Harry smirked even though the anger and grief deep inside was still there, but it was nice to be able to anger and frighten his uncle like this, and not have to worry about being punished for it. And indeed, his uncle was now allowing his open mouth to shake and his mustache to twitter madly, as if showing the movements of his brain at current, fighting a battle as to how he was going to reply to such rudeness and behavior. "Fine!" He snapped back, at what seemed like several minutes of Uncle Vernon thinking on this, "I'll get Dudley or Petunia to do it this time--"
"Dudley?" Harry heaved back a laugh. The thought of Dudley even attempting to cook his own food was absolutely laughable, as most of Dudley's time was spent on the sofa eating and watching the new movies on the family's new DVD set.
Uncle Vernon shuddered his shoulders violently, his head looking up towards the door facing, as it went from a light shade of purple to a shade of magnificent bright red. "Fine oh fine, I'll ask Petunia to do it, but I'm warning you boy, you may get away with it this time, but come dinner you're doing the cooking!"
"Says who?" Harry snapped back, grinning slightly.
Now Uncle Vernon's expression changed violently and rapidly and he gave away the appearance of an angry red bull, ready to charge, as his whole body began to shake in a surge of anger. "F-FINE!" He bellowed, before slamming the door shut.