DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER, NOR WILL I EVER.

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A Happy Celebration

Harry Potter tossed and turned for the fifth night in a row. He hadn't gotten a good nights rest since before Professor Dumbledore had died and he didn't think it was because he felt insecure, which he did, but it was something else. He kept having the strangest dream of the same girl every night. She had pale white skin and piercing green eyes and a thick mane of dark brownish auburn hair. She wore a lot of many colored necklaces and bracelets and was obviously a muggle. Or she looked that way, but for some reason she didn't seem like one. She had an air to her that seemed powerful and magic, she also looked familiar. Not familiar enough for Harry to know her name but he was sure he had seen her somewhere. He just didn't know quite where. It was as if the dream was trying to tell him something. One eighty seven Broker Street. It flew through his head like an annoying fly buzzing in his ear.

Harry woke drenched in sweat, fevered thoughts running through his mind as he surveyed his room. Hedwig's cage sat vacant upon the dresser on the far side, a wind whipping through the window she had left in and would return through by dawn. Harry looked around at the walls all plastered in Chudley Cannon posters that made you feel like you had just walked into an inferno to his trunk that lay at the foot of his bed, littered with quills, school books, spare parchment, the marauder's map one such, ink bottles, and broken glass he had never bothered to remove. His firebolt stood perched up against the wall where he had left it the day before after a rousing game of quidditch with Ron, Fred, George, Bill, Charlie, and Ginny. Hermione had elected to sit on the side reading but they were one person short of playing four on four so after a few minutes of begging she gave in.

It was extremely awkward to be around Ginny again. He still had strong feelings for her, and there were times when he nearly forgot that they weren't seeing each other anymore. He was sure there were times for her just like it too because sometimes he saw her gazing at him, unabashed when Harry caught her doing so. Somehow Fred and George had found out that they had been going out though and were constantly nagging Harry (and he had a nasty suspicion they were doing the same to Ginny) why they still weren't and who broke up with who and why. Harry conveniently went deaf when they did this. Harry smiled slightly remembering when, on his way back to Ron's room, where he Ron and Hermione had been talking, He had run into Ginny and they both stood there awkwardly for a few seconds before Ginny had reaching up and kissed him lightly on the lips.

"Ginny…" He reminded softly, quelling the urge to hold her.

"I know." She replied quietly, stood there for a second as if waiting for him to do something then walked away when he just stood there. Harry had sat down next to Hermione on his bed and let her and Ron battle out whatever they were bickering about, and only when they had stopped fighting did they realize he was considerably quieter than he had been before he had gone to the bathroom. As these thoughts plagued his mind he had fallen into a doze.

A picture of the pale girl, this time holding a wooden box emblazoned with the letter "R" on it in gold shot through his mind so fast he woke out of his half-awake-half-asleep state.

Harry reached up and traced the scar on his forehead, trying to figure out, yet again, if he was seeing things through Voldemort's eyes, it had happened before. There was no pain though. None at all, and that led him to believe that it was something else. The scar was unusual, not only for it's lightning bolt shape, but also because of the fact that it was the reminiscence of his first encounter with the Lord Voldemort. The killing curse had been meant to kill him, but instead left him with just a scar and some amazing talents, one such being a Parselmouth, or the ability to speak to snakes. But it also left Voldemort weak, and barely alive. Harry couldn't help but wish sometimes that he was as blissfully ignorant of all this as he was before he had come to Hogwarts.

He felt his pocket which now always contained his father's old invisibility cloak. He had come to treasure it not only for its usefulness, but also for the connection it had to his father, James Potter. Harry still didn't know what he thought about the memory he saw in Snape's pensieve, when James and Sirius had terrorized Snivellus just because Sirius had said he was bored, but he had come to the conclusion that everyone had times when they did stupid things (he knew this first hand) and he had obviously witnessed his father's even if he hadn't liked what he saw. Plus he was less pitiable to Snape than he once was. Now he felt ridiculous for ever feeling bad for that evil, greasy haired murderer. Lily Evans back then had obviously thought of his father and Sirius as "arrogant little berks" as Sirius so affectionately put it. She was completely in her right to say so though, ofcourse, Lily Evans eventually became Lily Potter.

Now Sirius Black was another story all together. He had spent thirteen years in Azkaban, the wizard prison, for a crime he never committed: the killing of twelve muggles and Peter Pettigrew. Startling evidence that Harry could not ignore though, showed that it had been Peter Pettigrew who had betrayed his parents, getting them killed by Voldemort, then killing twelve muggles and cutting off his own finger and transforming into a rat as an unregistered animagus (but then again, James and Sirius had been unregistered animagus too, along with Remus Lupin who was a werewolf), to make an everlasting escape. It had only been in Harry's third year at Hogwarts that he had found out that Sirius was his godfather. It was still hard thinking about Sirius… after…his death. It was just hard to believe he was really gone. Forever. Sirius had been Harry's last visible connection to his parents but now he was gone and he only had a tattered old cloak and nothing more to cling to the parents he barely knew and a broken mirror at the bottom of his trunk to remember the godfather he had just begun to know. The mirror had turned out to be useless after Sirius had disappeared and he still felt immeasurable remorse for not remembering the mirror before rashly heading off to Sirius' demise and by his own family none the less! If he had just learned occlumency…like he was supposed to… Harry thought angrily, but deflated after a while, feeling the sadness of Dumbledore's death cursing through him again.

Harry couldn't help but blame himself for all the deaths he had just counted off, one by one. He was born at "the waning of the seventh month", and it was him who Voldemort was after, and he who stupidly went to the ministry on a whim, and it was him who was supposed to destroy Voldemort... It washed over him all at once, his head spinning. James Potter, Lily Potter, Sirius Black, Dumbledore….Harry even went as far as saying Quirrell's death was his fault too. The guilt was immense, so immense that he could barely stand it. So he stood up and walked to the bathroom intending to splash his face with cold water, to try and wash away the pain racking through his body. And he hadn't gotten to all the times he had encountered Voldemort and failed to kill him or even to Cedric Diggory… wasn't it Harry the one who said they should grab the Triwizard cup together?… where the hell was this guilt trip coming from? It was Bill's wedding! But an anger burned in him now, fearing to swallow him whole. He walked up and down the winding stairs of the Weasley house in an attempt to just forget for a little while. He finally made it to the bathroom and splashed water onto his gaunt, pale face. He was surprised at how much of an Azkaban convict he looked like at the moment. How much he looked like Sirius.

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