(Sarra: Hello, this is not the author. Well, I'm a co-author.

I'm Christin's friend, Sarra. Yes, I have my own fanfic.net account, but the following chapter is the first chapter to a fic we're writing together.

It started out Christin told me she had a dream. It was a HP dream. So she explained to me the plot, and now you're seeing it on paper... or the screen... Of course, I've put in my own flairs here and there. But we're writing this fic together.

I really hope you enjoy it. Christin is also restricted from the computer for a while, which is why you might not see a chapter from her in the weeks to come. DON'T FORGET HER THOUGH! Ok? Great. I hope you like this.)

*Chapter 1*

*Remorse*

(Summer, after Harry's fifth year)

The inky sky drooped low over Privet Drive. It slid quietly into the houses, filling them with undesired darkness. Not all of it was unwanted, Harry Potter drew it around him as a cloak, prtecting him from a chill winter wind. He stared ahead at the blank wall, almost waiting for it to crumble under his gaze. Memories rolled over his vision like a neverending film, no matter how he tried, they would not shut off.

Lord Voldemort's chill laugh as Cedric's sorpse lay with an astonished expression chisled eternally on his face...

Quirrell meticulously unwrapping his customary turban to reveal the mangled face of malice...

The blurring image of young Riddle as he coldly cackled over the petite, red-headed figure laying postrate on the ground...

Hermione falling into a faint as a freezing hand gripped Harry's gut. No mater what he did the Dementors edged ever closer...

Sirius's look of shock as he tipped back into the ragged black curtain and didn't return...

Harry screamed in the dark as terror and despair overwhelmed him. Harry cursed silently as Uncle Vernon snorted loudly, interrupting his low roar of snores. During the interlude of silence a soft tap echhoed through the room. Harry sighed as he saw an owl at the window, he opened the window. He mechanically threw the impending letter to his mound of unread mail. About twice a day Hermione and Ron wrote Harry and about twice a day Harry tossed their letters aside. He wasn't even reading the Daily Prophet. Harry flopped tiredly back onto his bed, willing beter memories to come to his mind.

But none came.

They seemed to be hiding in the dreary crevices of his subconcious. Harry didn't want to think, to breathe, to be. He wanted the pain and greif to end, but at the thought of ending...

But why not? He could see Sirius again, he could apologize to Cedric, he could finally meet his...parents. What did he have to lose? Only becoming a murderer...

Albus Dumbledore's blue eyes glinted like cold steel as he looked directly, as it seemed to Harry, into his thoughts.

"What are you thinking?"

HArry glared at the old man, not even blanching at the sudden sight of him. "Why are you here?" Harry's gaze harden, "You weren't here for me before."

"Harry James Potter." Dumbledore spoke slowly, each word rang with righteous anger. "Killing yourself would only seal the fate of all else in this world."

Harry looked up defiantly as if to speak, but Dumbledore cut him off.

"You SHOULD care."

Harry started with a jolt, How did he know what Harry was thinking?

Dumbledore continued, "You should care. Because if you ended your life tonight, you would burn with regret for eternity. Two words would haunt your mind...'What if?'." Dumbledore folded his hands, furrowing his brow. "What if I had lived long wnough to firmly put an end to Voldemort? What if I could have lived in peace afterwards? What would my life have been like?" Dumbledore continued with the questions until Harry's mind was riddled and dazed.

Realization sturck Harry's heart like a heavy mallet. He looked up apologetically, but Dubmledore cut him off once again. "No need to apologize. You are just like your father: Rash, but in time you see reason."

The thought gave Harry comfort.

"It seems the owls are ineffective to you," Dumbledore smiled warmly and pulled a letter from a fold in his robes. It was Harry's Hogwarts letter.

Harry grinned sheepishly and accepted the letter.

"Harry," Dumbledore spoke again, his voice solenm. "I know you grieve, but there is a time for grieving. It has passed. The time for preparation is upon us. Take up your letters, ALL of them... And live how Sirius would have wished."

Harry nodded and a golden feeling of resolve flooded his being, and Dumbledore left as unexpectedly as he had come. Harry sighed and flopped on his bed, sweet sleep overtaking him for the first time in weeks.

(Sarra: I hoped you liked it! See that little button down there? It says "Submit Review" PUSH IT! ^^ Christin loves you all for reviewing!)