Disclaimer: So far, I don't own anything in this story-nada! Got that?
Good.
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Tomorrow Is Another Day, Unfortunately Chapter 1: Wracked With Guilt
***"Harry, why did you do it? Why weren't you braver? You could have saved me, but you didn't. What kind of a godson are you? The Boy-Who-Lived. a better title would be, The-Boy-Who-Killed." Sirius shook his head in disappointment. He then turned to exit the circular, blinding white room through the solitary door.
"Wait! Sirius! I didn't mean to let you down! I'm sorry I wasn't brave enough. I'll try harder, I promise. Just, don't leave me!" Harry saw an exact replica of himself chase after Sirius and grab a handful of his cloak, sinking to his knees. Tears were pouring silently down his cheeks.
"Harry, I would believe you, but this isn't the first time it's happened: The students who were attacked by the basilisk, Ginny getting possessed, and almost killed, and Cedric being killed. Not to mention your parents deaths, my imprisonment and death, and the deaths and sufferings of Lord Voldemort's victims. It was all your fault. If you weren't here, none of it would have happened. Voldemort is after you. He kills to get to you." Sirius turned the doorknob, opened the door, and stepped out, only to be encircled by black smoke gradually, until he eventually disappeared.
"Sirius! Don't leave me! I need you here, I have no one left! Please, Sirius. Come back." Harry broke down on the floor, heaving heavy sobs. After a few minutes he sat up, eyes wide with realization.
'It's my fault. It's all my fault. I'm the reason I have no one left. No one."
"Cares?"
Harry looked up and straight into two blood-red eyes which seemed to be peering deep into him. The snake-like face was set upon a skeletal body, which was covered with worn and torn, faded black robes. A bony arm reached out, paper-white fingers tracing Harry's jaw line. Harry swallowed audibly, his Adam's apple moving as he did so.
"You're right. No one cares for you, myself least of all. You've spoiled my plans time and time again. You are getting what you deserve. Crucio." Voldemort said the unforgivable curse with ease and carelessness. He paced in front of the tortured boy, tossing his wand with a thoughtful air. Finally, he stopped pacing and looked at the whimpering boy. He chuckled to himself, as if observing an inside joke. Soon, the chuckle evolved into full-blown laughter.***
Harry jolted straight up in his sweat-soaked bed. He was gasping for breath and shaking uncontrollably. He slowly looked around the small room he now occupied. His eyes wondered over the miniature hand-me-down dresser with only two small drawers, the cemented window, the cracked mirror, Hedwig's empty cage, and the makeshift bed, covered with disheveled sheets. After discovering the death of Harry's godfather, the Dursleys decided it was time to move Harry into a much smaller bedroom, which was actually the remainder of his old room. The rest of the room had been turned into a storage room. The two rooms were separated by a concrete wall and a thick wooden door with about three different locks on the outside which were currently disengaged and a slot at the bottom large enough to fit a plate of food through.
Harry looked at the ancient clock hanging on the wall beside his dresser. It read four o'clock AM, but it wasn't as if he would be getting anymore sleep that night. He slid out of bed quietly and slipped into loose- fitting black jeans, a white undershirt, and an extremely baggy black long- sleeved shirt. Around his neck hung a silver chain and a single silver earring donned his left ear. He stole a quick glance in his mirror, ran a hand through his unruly hair, and silently crept out of his room, then out of the house. He needed to take a walk to sort through his dream.
Harry had indeed changed over the summer. He was now roughly six feet, three inches tall, had nicely toned abs and arms from hours of working out at night in the Dursleys' basement, and had a bad boy-ish air about him. The greatest changes though, were not physical, but mental. Gone now was the optimistic, do-good boy and in his place was a realistic, kiss- my-ass, in-your-face teenager. His mind was constantly wracked with one thing-guilt. Guilt for the deaths, the suffering, and the danger he was putting everyone through. Guilt for. everything.
In Harry's eyes nothing he did was ever good enough. Nothing he did could live up to the expectations of the "Boy-Who-Lived". He could never please anybody, and always ended up letting everyone down. No one knew who Harry really was. No one would understand him. Everyone only saw the 'wonder boy', Harry Potter. This was possibly with the exception of his two best friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Then again, that was before this summer. Now, even they wouldn't understand him.
Harry shook his head and snapped out of his deep thinking. He realized that he had already been walking for quite some time, and was about a mile and a half from the Dursleys' house. He decided to start heading back, because all he was doing was getting himself even more depressed.
When Harry arrived at the house he quietly let himself in and went to his bedroom. It was five thirty now, so he had an hour until he had to start cooking breakfast. Being alone in his room, Harry absently allowed his mind to wonder to the subject of Sirius and his death. He now had no family left, no one to care for and love him. The chance of ever having a real family was now gone. Going over all of the times he had spent with Sirius in his mind, then ending with his death, Harry found himself with tears in his eyes.
He just couldn't stand it. He needed to, no matter what anyone else said or thought. It was his shelter from the harsh reality. It was his savior, his liberator. It temporarily relieved him from all of the burdens in life, it was his safe haven. Harry found himself walking absentmindedly walking over to his dresser and opening the top drawer. Reaching underneath his clothes, he pulled out the knife that Sirius had given him. As he took it out, it glinted slightly in the light. He smiled at the sight and rolled the knife between his fingers. Sitting on his bed, Harry rolled up his sleeve to his elbow and exposed the underside and inside of his wrist. He could make out dozens of pale lines crisscrossing every which way. He placed the knife gently on his skin and sighed at the contact of the cool blade and his warm skin. Gradually he pushed the blade further into his skin as he pulled it along, forming a line about an inch and a half in length. At first, the line turned white, then the blood started to flow. It formed a bubble in the middle of the cut which expanded until it looked as if it would burst. Finally, the bubble collapsed and the blood trickled down Harry's arm. Harry shivered with delight and relief, and a small smile played on his lips.
After a few moments he grabbed a sheet off his bed and wiped off the blood. The then tore a piece of the same sheet and wrapped it around his wrist securely to stop the blood flow. He pulled his sleeve back down and made his way to the kitchen to start on breakfast for the Dursleys.
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A/N: Well, there it is-- the first chapter of my story. Please write a review and let me know what you think and if I should continue writing. Constructive criticism is welcome. Please, if you are going to flame my story, do so with some sort of consideration. Thanks so much!
*~*Cecilia*~*
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Tomorrow Is Another Day, Unfortunately Chapter 1: Wracked With Guilt
***"Harry, why did you do it? Why weren't you braver? You could have saved me, but you didn't. What kind of a godson are you? The Boy-Who-Lived. a better title would be, The-Boy-Who-Killed." Sirius shook his head in disappointment. He then turned to exit the circular, blinding white room through the solitary door.
"Wait! Sirius! I didn't mean to let you down! I'm sorry I wasn't brave enough. I'll try harder, I promise. Just, don't leave me!" Harry saw an exact replica of himself chase after Sirius and grab a handful of his cloak, sinking to his knees. Tears were pouring silently down his cheeks.
"Harry, I would believe you, but this isn't the first time it's happened: The students who were attacked by the basilisk, Ginny getting possessed, and almost killed, and Cedric being killed. Not to mention your parents deaths, my imprisonment and death, and the deaths and sufferings of Lord Voldemort's victims. It was all your fault. If you weren't here, none of it would have happened. Voldemort is after you. He kills to get to you." Sirius turned the doorknob, opened the door, and stepped out, only to be encircled by black smoke gradually, until he eventually disappeared.
"Sirius! Don't leave me! I need you here, I have no one left! Please, Sirius. Come back." Harry broke down on the floor, heaving heavy sobs. After a few minutes he sat up, eyes wide with realization.
'It's my fault. It's all my fault. I'm the reason I have no one left. No one."
"Cares?"
Harry looked up and straight into two blood-red eyes which seemed to be peering deep into him. The snake-like face was set upon a skeletal body, which was covered with worn and torn, faded black robes. A bony arm reached out, paper-white fingers tracing Harry's jaw line. Harry swallowed audibly, his Adam's apple moving as he did so.
"You're right. No one cares for you, myself least of all. You've spoiled my plans time and time again. You are getting what you deserve. Crucio." Voldemort said the unforgivable curse with ease and carelessness. He paced in front of the tortured boy, tossing his wand with a thoughtful air. Finally, he stopped pacing and looked at the whimpering boy. He chuckled to himself, as if observing an inside joke. Soon, the chuckle evolved into full-blown laughter.***
Harry jolted straight up in his sweat-soaked bed. He was gasping for breath and shaking uncontrollably. He slowly looked around the small room he now occupied. His eyes wondered over the miniature hand-me-down dresser with only two small drawers, the cemented window, the cracked mirror, Hedwig's empty cage, and the makeshift bed, covered with disheveled sheets. After discovering the death of Harry's godfather, the Dursleys decided it was time to move Harry into a much smaller bedroom, which was actually the remainder of his old room. The rest of the room had been turned into a storage room. The two rooms were separated by a concrete wall and a thick wooden door with about three different locks on the outside which were currently disengaged and a slot at the bottom large enough to fit a plate of food through.
Harry looked at the ancient clock hanging on the wall beside his dresser. It read four o'clock AM, but it wasn't as if he would be getting anymore sleep that night. He slid out of bed quietly and slipped into loose- fitting black jeans, a white undershirt, and an extremely baggy black long- sleeved shirt. Around his neck hung a silver chain and a single silver earring donned his left ear. He stole a quick glance in his mirror, ran a hand through his unruly hair, and silently crept out of his room, then out of the house. He needed to take a walk to sort through his dream.
Harry had indeed changed over the summer. He was now roughly six feet, three inches tall, had nicely toned abs and arms from hours of working out at night in the Dursleys' basement, and had a bad boy-ish air about him. The greatest changes though, were not physical, but mental. Gone now was the optimistic, do-good boy and in his place was a realistic, kiss- my-ass, in-your-face teenager. His mind was constantly wracked with one thing-guilt. Guilt for the deaths, the suffering, and the danger he was putting everyone through. Guilt for. everything.
In Harry's eyes nothing he did was ever good enough. Nothing he did could live up to the expectations of the "Boy-Who-Lived". He could never please anybody, and always ended up letting everyone down. No one knew who Harry really was. No one would understand him. Everyone only saw the 'wonder boy', Harry Potter. This was possibly with the exception of his two best friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Then again, that was before this summer. Now, even they wouldn't understand him.
Harry shook his head and snapped out of his deep thinking. He realized that he had already been walking for quite some time, and was about a mile and a half from the Dursleys' house. He decided to start heading back, because all he was doing was getting himself even more depressed.
When Harry arrived at the house he quietly let himself in and went to his bedroom. It was five thirty now, so he had an hour until he had to start cooking breakfast. Being alone in his room, Harry absently allowed his mind to wonder to the subject of Sirius and his death. He now had no family left, no one to care for and love him. The chance of ever having a real family was now gone. Going over all of the times he had spent with Sirius in his mind, then ending with his death, Harry found himself with tears in his eyes.
He just couldn't stand it. He needed to, no matter what anyone else said or thought. It was his shelter from the harsh reality. It was his savior, his liberator. It temporarily relieved him from all of the burdens in life, it was his safe haven. Harry found himself walking absentmindedly walking over to his dresser and opening the top drawer. Reaching underneath his clothes, he pulled out the knife that Sirius had given him. As he took it out, it glinted slightly in the light. He smiled at the sight and rolled the knife between his fingers. Sitting on his bed, Harry rolled up his sleeve to his elbow and exposed the underside and inside of his wrist. He could make out dozens of pale lines crisscrossing every which way. He placed the knife gently on his skin and sighed at the contact of the cool blade and his warm skin. Gradually he pushed the blade further into his skin as he pulled it along, forming a line about an inch and a half in length. At first, the line turned white, then the blood started to flow. It formed a bubble in the middle of the cut which expanded until it looked as if it would burst. Finally, the bubble collapsed and the blood trickled down Harry's arm. Harry shivered with delight and relief, and a small smile played on his lips.
After a few moments he grabbed a sheet off his bed and wiped off the blood. The then tore a piece of the same sheet and wrapped it around his wrist securely to stop the blood flow. He pulled his sleeve back down and made his way to the kitchen to start on breakfast for the Dursleys.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
A/N: Well, there it is-- the first chapter of my story. Please write a review and let me know what you think and if I should continue writing. Constructive criticism is welcome. Please, if you are going to flame my story, do so with some sort of consideration. Thanks so much!
*~*Cecilia*~*