PROLOGUE

Harry slept on his bed at No. 4 Privet Drive, thinking of the disaster that was his life. He regretted every decision he ever took in his life.

He regretted meeting Hagrid, making friends with Ron, refusing Draco's hand, accepting Hermione's friendship and being tolerable of Ron and Hermione's fights, going after the philosopher's stone alone, after the Basilisk, after Sirius, though it was mostly not his fault, and finally putting an effort in that stupid tournament.

He doesn't even know where his survival instinct had gone whenever he was in danger all his four years at Hogwarts. He doesn't understand how Hogwarts is the safest place in Wizarding world.

It's been two weeks since he arrived at Privet Drive. His aunt and uncle left him alone after seeing his state when he returned from the school, and of course, also in fear of his mass murderer godfather.

He ate, slept, woke up from nightmares thrashing, and kept staring at the wall or his books in a catatonic state.

Today, two weeks since he left the wizarding world, he still has all the doubts that kept plaguing him since he first entered it.

Why was he left with the Dursleys? If it was for the blood protection as Dumbledore said, why was he not checked up on? Why didn't Remus visit him? Why did Sirius, the most caring and responsible Godfather, as much as he can say, leave him and have a sudden urge to chase down the rat?

Sirius did confess that he promised Lily and James, his parents, that he would take care of Harry and push revenge for their death, if they did die, to the back of his mind and focus on only Harry and his need to take care of him.

Why did Dumbledore not teach Harry how to fight? Why keep him out of the loop? Why did Sirius not get a trail when Dumbledore has three very important and high positions in their world? He was after all the chief warlock, Supreme Mugwump, ICW and the head master.

Why Harry was never told anything about the wizarding world or his fame beforehand? It would make sense that he should be prepared for the world where he was considered a hero? If Dumbledore wanted, he could have met Harry and told him things one at a time instead of overwhelming him with the amount of things he was supposed to know.

Harry desperately wanted to blame someone for the mess he landed in. He wanted to blame someone for Cedric's death.

"Are you going to keep on staring at the wall all summer?" He heard a voice. He turned his head to see the door to his room open and aunt Petunia standing in the doorway. Harry didn't reply. He heard her voice, had seen her but he was not present, he was still reliving the day of Cedric's death. He didn't receive any important news from his friends; he got up to check once in a while.

"You achieve nothing by lying there all day, Harry. Whatever happened was not your mistake." She said slowly. Now, Harry did reply.

"How do you know it wasn't my fault? You don't know what happened, do you?" He asked.

"No I don't but you share so many traits with my sister, not just her eyes." She said with a small, broken voice, from remembering her sister. "We may not get along well Harry, but I and my sister were best friends and sisters until she left for that school and I lost her." She walked into the room and stood at the edge of his bed.

"You are kind-hearted, intelligent, a book lover just like her. She would have felt guilty for anything gone wrong if she was there at the moment of the incident even though she could not change anything or done anything differently." Harry sat up and listened to what she was telling.

"That was the most I've ever heard about her." He said with a small smile. Petunia frowned. "There is no one to tell you about her in your world?" She asked, at least she wasn't completely changed. She still didn't like to utter the words magic or anything related.

"No, I was told she had a best friend and she was sadly not well enough. My godfather doesn't talk much about them. It still hurts him as he had no time to grieve their loss."

She walked out of the room and came back after ten minutes with a small box. She walked to him and gave it to him.

"Keep it. I don't need it or want it. It has her childhood photos along with a few of yours she sent when you were one. And it may or may not be useful, but it is not your fault." She said and walked out. She stood in the doorway, her back facing him and added, "Don't think that I hate you or love you all of a sudden. I tolerate you as her son. I expect everything will be as it is every summer. Dudley and Vernon will be home in an hour. I expect you to clean up your room and shower."

It translated into nothing changes just because I spoke about my sister.