He had always wondered how he could have possibly been famous for surviving such a terrible murder. He was the boy who lived the only curse that can't be blocked, yet Harry would have preferred to have died than to have survived so much, lived through people who knew, respected and some he even loved, been killed by such an evil force. Everywhere he went, he got the usual flutter of eyes float up towards his scar and back down again. The gawking at him like he was some freak, every time the ministry decided to spin some tale that he was mad and dangerous. His best friends even sometimes felt fear when with Harry. Harry laid back on his bed at Privet Drive and stared at his grubby ceiling. The ceiling had not been cleaned regularly like Aunt Petunia's kitchen ceiling, which was spotless just like the rest of the kitchen. The rest of the house, apart from Harry's room, was in fact exactly like the kitchen. Unnaturally normal! Harry rolled over onto his side and stared out of his window, which was dimly lit from the streetlights outside of the house. It was a few days until September the 1st, which was when the Hogwarts express left to go to Hogwarts. Harry use to dream of going back to Hogwarts, but Harry couldn't care less if he went back to Hogwarts or not, he didn't care much anymore. It was still warped in his memory. The way Sirius's body wavered in mid air after being hit with the red beam of light from his own cousin. His ageing face full of laughter, slowly fading into a look of surprise, his godfather gracefully fell towards the veil in the arch. The veil flickered around like wind prancing through the trees as Sirius fell through, and the veil stop flickering and died. Harry remembered yelling for Sirius to resurface, like Sirius would normally have done, shaking his long locks from his face, giving a handsome smile and thrusting his wand forward eager to re-enter the battle. But Sirius never returned. Harry felt so guilty for giving up his occlumcy, which in return could have saved Sirius's life. He would not have gotten the fake dream of torture, and he would not have gone to rescue Sirius, in return needing rescuing themselves. Harry dared dwell on these thoughts, as he finally knew it was not his fault that Sirius had gone. Every time he tried to think of happy thoughts, he just got even more upset and would have rather forgotten, but he neither could nor wanted to forget.