(This takes place two weeks into the summer after Harry was rescued from the Dursley's. Ron is in Australia visiting relatives. Harry had been rescued and sent to Grimmauld Place.)

Harry was running. Running for his life. He heard his footsteps echoing around him. He didn't know where he was running but he knew that if he stopped he was dead.

" Why Harry?" a voice that Harry recognized as Sirius', boomed around him. Harry broke out in a sweat, the echoe burning his skin.

"Sirius....SIRIUS!" Harry called, finding it harder to breathe.

"Harry...." Sirius called again. Harry's eyes began to water and the temperature in the dark hall increased.

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry, my fault...It's my fault." Harry cried, his voice cracking with emotion. Replacing the echo of Harry's anguished voice was a cold, menacing laugh.

Harry shot up in his bed, cold sweat beaded on his forehead. That nightmare, the reoccuring nightmare, always left him disoriented and sick. Harry Potter, only 15 years old, had his world come crashing down just a month ago. He felt fifty years older than he really was. Harry's shoulders had slumped as if the weight of the world was really hunching his back. Other than that the changes Harry had gone through last year were evident. No longer the short, vaunerable eleven year old, Harry Potter had matured more than any teenager should have. He was now an intimidating height of six foot two, his jet black hair longer and contrasting his pale skin. He hadn't seen sun the whole summer. He had chosen to confine himself in his room that he normally shared with Ron. The only light in the room was the dim light beneath the door and the gentle yet angry glow of the jade orbs that were mirrors into Harry's very soul. Ever since the Department of Mysteries the pools were filled with anguish and sorrow that had yet to be lifted from the boy's shoulders.

Harry looked around his glum room. The gentle pitter of patter of the rain outside reflected Harry's mood, steady and bleak. There were several broken or damaged books, quills and pictures lying on the floor as the results of spurts of Harry's rage. He thirsted to get out of the room that was a reminder in itself of Sirius and hurt something, someone. Harry knew that he should be the one to pay, that Sirius' death, his friends injuries, they were all his fault. He knew it, Dumbeldore knew it, Voldemort knew it, and worst of all, his friends knew it. Sure, Hermoine had come up ocassionally bearing food as an attempt to coax him out of his room. When he didn't open the door she would place the food on the doorstep. Returning twenty minutes later it would have gone. Ocassionally there would be a slip of paper with a "Thank You" scrawled untidily on it. Other than that Harry hadn't spoken to any of them that summer at all. He was afraid that if he did he would turn around and kill them or cause their death.

Harry heard the step outside of his room creak before a heavy knock came to his door.

"Harry, open up. It's me and Hermoine." Ron's voice said. Harry just lay back in bed and stared at the ceiling above him.

"Harry if you don't open this door we'll get Remus to blow open the door." Hermoine threatened. Harry just sighed and flopped over to his stomach. He heard his best friends footsteps retreating.

"Harry," Dumbledore's old, strained voice came from the landing, "Harry, we are all sad about Sirius but you are handling things the wrong way." Harry was out of bed in a second, ripping the door open.

"THE WRONG WAY? ARE YOU OFF YOUR ROCKER? SIRIUS IS DEAD! DEAD! YOU KNOW WHY? ITS MY FAULT! NOW EVERYONE JUST BUGGER OFF AND LEAVE ME ALONE!" Harry bellowed. He slammed the door, hearing the lock click as he paced the room in his blind rage.

Dumbledore left the landing and entered the kitchen of the Order of the Phoenix's headquarters. He had known that Harry was angry, sad and confused and he couldn't help but feel responsible for Harry's emotions. Dumbledore often found himself thinking "What if..." but he knew, ever since he was a little boy, that wondering what could have happened isn't good for you and that there was no hero to come and save you. You had to be your own hero and that, when the time came, Harry could step up and take his destiny in his own hands. Albus Dumbledore also knew that if someone, anyone, didn't get through to Harry soon, Harry's developing powers could get out of hand and Harry couldn't control them because they fed off his anger.

"Hermoine, I've been reading something on how to help Harry." Ron said that day after dinner. Hermoine and Ron had often sat up late talking on how to talk to their friend. Ever since he had left the Ministry of Magic last year he hadn't been himself. He had distanced himself. They had an idea of why but they needed to talk to Harry. They had talked to their Headmaster to see if the elderly man could shed some light on their hopless situation but the man just told them to talk to Harry. They flinched when they heard Harry's explosion upstairs but sighed silently. At least he was talking.

"Are you going to share?" Hermoine asked wearily as Harry's voice stopped and a door slammed shut.

"Well, I'm going to try tomorrow. But if we get into the room then you have to be careful. From what I've heard, Dumbledore's afraid Harry's so angry he could accidentally hurt one of us. I'm stronger than you so you have to stand by the door. We are going to sit him down, tie him down, what ever we need to do, to get him to talk." Ron said, sighing as he leaned back into the leather chair.

"Alright. Care to explain this elaborate plan Mr. Weasly?" Hermoine asked. Ron smiled half heartedly. He had bags under his eyes, as did Hermoine. They had spent many nights tossing and turning, their dreams haunted with thoughts of Harry. Ron's were filled with Harry leaving him to fight Voldemort, Hermoine's were of Harry commiting suicide.

Ron filled her in on the idea he had. When he finished Hermoine had to say that she was impressed.

"You know, it just might work." Hermoine said.

"It's been a while now. He needs to talk. You heard Dumbledore, he's afraid of Harry being able to do some serious damage. Dumbledore even admitted Harry will be a more powerful wizard them him when he grows up and learns to control his emotions. He even said that Harry can become an animagus within three months if he focused." Ron said. He felt so old, so tired. Hermoine groaned.

" I know. Any wizard dreams of being as powerful as Harry yet Harry would give the power to any body else though he would feel guilty about giving them that burden. Honestly, his caring is his weakness. Voldemort found that out. Now Harry's punishing himself for being human. We have to talk to him Ron. We're his last hope."

Harry hated night time. Day wasn't much better but at least he could do his homework then. At night he had nothing to do except dwell on his thoughts and sleep. When he was a little boy he welcomed the night time. It had been his opportunity to lie down and dream of flying away from the Dursley's one day and going to his mom and dad. Harry would give anything to be able to go back to then. The Dursley's seemed like a barrel of laughs when it came to himself at this moment. Harry felt lonelier than he ever had, the hollow space in his heart consuming him. He often wondered how he went on without Sirius' gentle and guiding hand before they met in his third year. Harry tried to pretend he never knew his godfather but that only ended in more tears of anger and another piece of broken furniture on the ground. Harry slipped into his bed and tried to clear his jumbled mind before falling into a merciless, nightmare ridden sleep.

The next morning, Hermoine tapped Harry's door lightly with the tray of his breakfast balanced in her arms. Ron stood on one side of the door, pressing himself to the wall and breathing as softly as he could so as not to be detected.

"Harry? Breakfast." Hermoine said quietly. She already knew that he wasn't going to open the door. She set the tray down then began to desend the stairs. After going down she crept up silently and went to Ron's other side. They waited with baited breath for Harry to come out and grab his food. Finally, after nearly five minutes of waiting, the door knob turned and cracked open. Harry grabbed his food and turned to shut the door before Ron lept and pushed it open. Harry whirled around, eyes blazing.

"Get out." Harry whispered menancingly. Ron was startled, his friends eyes burning heatedly into his own, before he composed himself. Hermoine slipped in and shut the door and locking it after herself.

"No." Ron said defiantly.

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Ye-"

"Shut up the both of you. Harry, sit down and eat. We're going to wait while you do so." Hermoine said. She sat on the floor opposite Harry and folded her arms expectantly. Harry sighed heavily and went to work on his breakfast.When he was finished Ron put it on the dresser nearby.

"Talk." Ron demanded. Harry just sighed and shook his head moving his gaze from his hands to the ceiling. Hermoine was strongly reminded of Neville when he told them his parents were in St. Mungo's because of Bellatrix.

"We are not leaving till you tell us whats going on." Hermoine demanded, standing up straight by the door.

"You want to know whats going on, do you." Harry said, his voice rough and cold.

"Yes. You left us in the dark for two weeks. Everyone's fed up. You are being a baby. What would Sirius think?" Hermoine asked.

"I don't know. I don't know what Sirius would think because he's dead. You want to know why he's dead? Hmm? Do you? He's dead because of ME! ME! I KILLED HIM! I KILLED SIRIUS. I KILLED MY GODFATHER!" Harry screamed.

"That is not true Harry. Bellatrix killed him. You are over reacting. All of us are sorry about Sirius' death. Look at Remus. He knew Sirius since he was nine and you don't see him holeing up in his room, refusing to talk to anybody." Ron said, not flinching as Harry shouted in his face.

"But did Remus jump to conclusions? Did Remus drag you, Ron, Luna, Neville and Ginny to the Ministry which could have had you all killed? Hermoine almost died from Dolohov's curse because I was to stupid to think faster, Ron you started playing with the brains because I wasn't there to stop you. Ginny broke her ankle and Neville broke his nose. My parents were murdered because of me, Cedric too. So, its just better if you two just stay away. Everyone stay away. I'm a hunted man and anyone close to me join's me when I go. Let me tell you, when I go its not to a resort in France." Harry said feircley, his voice low and meaningful.

" Harry, when I said you had a 'saving people thing' I was trying to get you to slow down and think. I don't think the guilt of Sirius' death is the only thing hanging over you Harry Potter and you had better tell us whats going on." Hermoine demanded, her voice and chin raised stubbornley.

"No. Don't you get it Hermoine? If I told you what was going on you and Ron would both be murdered! I couldn't live with myself if I told you or anybody about what I know. It's a death sentence Hermione!" Harry said, his voice strained to reflect how old he truly felt.

"That's a risk we will take. You're my best mate Harry. Tell me, we can help."

"FINE! YOU WANT TO KNOW WHATS BLOODY WRONG WITH ME? I'LL TELL YOU BUT DON'T COME CRYING TO ME WHEN YOU DIE BECAUSE YOU PUSHED ME INTO TELLING YOU ABOUT THE STUPID PROPHECY. THAT'S RIGHT LADIES AND GENTS, THE PROPHECY, THE ONE THAT WAS DESTROYED! I KNOW IT. DUMBLEDORE TOLD ME!" Harry hollered, trying to fit all the anger he had into his raveing, earning only a sore throat.

"Care to tell us?" Ron asked. He hadn't even batted an eye lash as Harry screamed.

" I'm going to give you the summary. Basically its me or him. Neither can live while the other survives. The big show down between me and Voldemort can happen any day now and I cant do a thing about it." Harry sighed. He was still angry, very angry.

"Yes you can. You get get off your butt and do something about it." Hermoine said.

"No I cant. It's my bloody fault four people are dead and it'll be my fault if the whole world is destroyed because I failed to kill the strongest dark wizard of all time. It's my fault Voldemort came back and my fault Sirius is dead." Harry cried. Ron crossed the dim room in a stride and grasped Harry's arms. He looked into the deep green pools that had tear's sparkling unshed.

"It's not your fault Harry. It's not your fault." Ron said. Harry tried to pry his arms back but Ron's grip was iron like.

" SHUT UP!' Harry yelled, tear's ready to spill.

"Its not your fault Harry. It's not your fault." Ron repeated.

"STOP TEASING ME! SHUT UP RON! JUST SHUT UP!" Harry yelled. He tried to cover his ears but Ron yanked his arms. Hermoine watched her two friends, the men she regarded as over protective brothers, in a type of sick awe. Harry was sobbing, trying to yank his arms back unsuccessfully from Ron who was staring at Harry. Hermoine's eyes began to fill with tears, the effect of what Harry had been going through hitting her.

"It's not your fault Harry. Its not your fault. Its not your fault." Ron kept repeating, over and over.

"Not...my...not my..." Harry murmured, tear's streaming down his face.

"No its not. It's not your fault." Hermoine whispered.

"Not my fault. Its not my fault." Harry repeated, his knee's weakening.

"No its not Harry. It's not your fault." Ron said.

"Oh god! God its not my fault! It's not my fault." Harry cried, breaking down onto his knees. He buried his head in his hands as the hot, angry tears flowed from his eyes. Hermoine crossed the room and circled her friend in a hug as grief coursed threw Harry's body, his sobs raking through him. Ron put one arm on her back and one on Harry's. Harry just let out all of his emotion, Ron squeezing him as if trying to wring out the guilt and responsibility Harry harbored. Harry let the raw anger, grief, sadness, depressed thoughts flow into his friends as he shook and shivered as the hot tears stained his face and soaked Hermione's shirt. That's the way the trio sat for nearly an hour after Harry stopped crying, Harry on his knee's on the floor, Hermoine next to him wrapping him in a hug and Ron clasping his shoulder. No words were needed but somehow they knew that, as long as it would take, the wounds would heal.