"To the horribly cursed and totally lost, an unnatural revelation is born",--

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A Life Never Meant To Be

A Desperate Act

The long, thinned branches of the dead tree outside the window couldn't wake the boy from his slumber as they scratched and tapped against the cold pane of the glass in the wet, frosty night. He wasn't deaf--he heard them scratching, but knew there was very little he could do about it. It was too cold and he just wanted to lay in bed and drift away in his dreams. At least, he hoped he could. Lately, his head had been filled with painful memories of his dead godfather. His godfather Sirius, who was presumably killed by falling through a cursed veil. Like the disturbing scratchy noises coming from the trees and the low howls from the wind, Harry couldn't do anything to change it. He would just have to live with it.

He was trying to as he laid in bed. It was 9:30 p.m, but Harry wasn't tired enough to fall asleep. He was, however, tired enough to lay there and stew over his only guardian. He turned over on his stomach and rested his head on his arms in order to stare at his sixth year school supplies that sat untouched on the end of his bed. Sirius couldn't help him get them this time; this time they were purchased by the Weasleys, with the help of the Order of the Phoenix members of course. They understood he was having a hard time dealing with the death and wanted to help him in anyway that they could. He greatly appreciated it, but for some reason...he felt school books weren't enough.

For a while, the oddest feeling kept running through his mind. He couldn't explain it, but he knew what it was. He didn't know why it was there, but he knew where it was coming from.

It was the feeling of immortal impossibility. The strangest feeling that he could do the most impossible act in the wizarding world; the act of bringing back the person he had lost in battle. It was crazy though. How could he of all people perform such an act, especially when he knew it couldn't be done; not even with the best magic in the world. Dumbledore had made that perfectly clear. Strangely his brain didn't agree with that, nor did his heart. He wished he knew why though. He had only contracted this feeling three weeks after returning to the Dursleys' and it hadn't stopped since. 'Maybe it's because of the veil' he thought to himself. He didn't know what it was, nor did he have the strength to question it and get the possible answer of what happened to Sirius. He regretted not asking about it. If he did ask, he would have been able to push aside this extrodinary idea and get on with his life. He should have been able to move on whether he questioned the veil's purpose or not; just because he felt it was possible, it didn't mean he knew what to do about it. How would he, Harry, go about bringing the dead back to life. A couple of SciFi movies about spritual rituals wouldn't help, nor would a look in Wicka Blanchett's, A Witch's Guide to the Other Side from Flourish and Blotts.

Nope, nothing. He would just have to get real and realise that there was no solution to raise Sirius from the dead. When the idea had first hit him, he had played around with the sick idea that if Sirius was killed in another way, a way in which his lifeless body would still be present, he might actually perform some kind of seance or ritual, found in Wicka Blanchett's book, to return his godfather. Of course the Order members would stop him, so he would have to do this at his grave. Depending on the procedurefound in whatever book he chose, he might be desperate enough to dig up the body and use the method.

When that thought came to him, he found himself filling with sick, just waiting to errupt on the Dursley's kitchen floor. How could he think of such a thing? How could the idea even cross his mind?

He knew how; he missed him and needed him terribly. What else could he do? Take advice from his friends? They were all the same, all the letters he had recieved: Move on, Get over it, Sirius wouldn't want you to be unhappy...

They were right though. Deep down inside, he knew it was the right thing to do. But if there was something he could do to change it, he just might, regardless of whether it was right or wrong.

Thunder sounded over the tree's scratches and the wind's howls. He could hear movement downstairs. It sounded like Dudley's fat behind moving upstairs. Out the mode of depression, Harry actually recieved a spark of delight. He knew Dudley hated thunderstorms and was probably moving to his parent's room to ask if he could leave the light on. Lately, Aunt Petunia took it upon herself to have the whole family, including Harry, conserve energy. This means everyone must not use electricity unless it was an emergency. She most likely saw this idea from the telly and passed it along to her husband. Uncle Vernon wasn't thrilled with the idea, and only caved into her idea when he recieved an unbelievable high electric bill.

"Mommy, mommy, can I have on the light?" Harry grinned at hearing Dudley's question to his parents in the room next door.

"Whah, what is it?", Uncle Vernon asked in a sleepy voice.

"Can I have on the light? It's only for a little while."

"I don't know...ask...ask your mother."

"Mom?"

"Alright dear. Just for a little while." Dudley proceeded to leave the room when his caring mother called for him again. "If you're having that much trouble sleeping, you can always get into bed with mommy." Harry predicted he was blushing at the thought. He was way too old for that. What he wouldn't give to see Dudley lying curled up next to his mother and father. It would make a great story to tell to his punk friends.

"No thanks." He turned and made his way back downstairs.

Harry turned over on his back and looked up at the ceiling. Another day and soon another night would pass by with troubled and unwanted thoughts and ideas.

The next morning wasn't any better. Harry was to get up early and prepare breakfast for the family. He wasn't doing anything special, so it didn't matter that he was sleepy. It was understandable why that was. Uncle Vernon was already here and reading the newspaper, muttering about expenses as he read. Aunt Petunia came down, along with Dudley. All Harry had to do now was finish the bacon and eggs.

"You know Dudley, I think you should get that old night light of yours out of the closet and use that instead of the lamp. We want to be careful about using too much energy."

"But mom, night lights are for babies. I'm too big for them."

You're too big to be scared of the thunder too. Harry grinned.

"What are you smirking at boy? Is breakfast ready?" Harry turned over to his uncle and nodded.

"Almost done."

"Well hurry up. I don't want to be late for work."

Harry didn't care if he would be late for work, but part of him did. With Uncle Vernon gone, Harry could concentrate on dwelling over Sirius. He could also try and solve the mystery of his feeling of bringing Sirius back. It was pointless though--he knew it couldn't be done.

"It doesn't matter any more really, I think I can sleep without the light." He made his way over to the table. "And I think that's the last thunderstorm for a while. Where's my breakfast?"

"I was wondering the same thing!" Uncle Vernon thrashed his paper aside and stormed over to Harry. He pushed him aside and started removing his breakfast from the pan.

"Oh let me dear, you go on and finish reading your paper. Get out of the way boy. Go get the post." Aunt Petunia took his uncle's position in front of the stove, while Harry did as he was told.

Just the usual, average routine in the Dursley's home. No one here cared if he lost anyone or not. All they would care about is when he would be leaving them for good. He approached the mail slot in the door, only to see there was no mail. He was about to return to the kitchen when he felt that strange feeling of immortal impossibility taking over. Actually, it was the feeling that he was not alone. He pulled back the window shades to see a tall man in shabby light blue robes with a mail carry like bag around his shoulder, pacing back and forth across the street in front of the house. He seemed lost and stopped every now and then to look through a couple of notes and letters he had in his hand. He had a light blue Robin hood like hat on top of his curly light brown hair. He also had the gentle appearance of an old story teller, but he was very young. Harry couldn't imagine why a wizard would be here. If he was sent to deliver a message, why not send it by owl. Taking a second glance at the kitchen to make sure the muggles didn't catch wind of the odd stranger in front of their house, Harry sneaked out of the front door.

"Petunia! What have you done! You've burned the eggs!"

"I'm sorry dear, but did you hear what that woman said about the healthy way to prepare eggs."

"Burning them is not a healthy way to prepare eggs!"

Harry slowly closed the door behind him, all while keeping his eyes on the stranger. He knew it was stupid; stupid to go across the street to a perfect stranger and probably end up hexed because he turned out to be a death-eater, but for some reason, Harry didn't believe he was a death-eater. After all, why would a death-eater go through the trouble of tricking him when he could come right through his bedroom window and curse him. Harry stood there and watched for a moment. After a while, the man stopped pacing and pulled out a scroll and read. Harry started toward him and stretched out his voice as he went.

"Er.." But there was a lack of vocabulary in his throat. He didn't know what to say to this man. Taking a closer look at him, Harry still couldn't recognise him. Once Harry got within hearing distance, he heard the man's soft voice.

"I must be at the wrong house. I don't see why. I haven't taken a wrong turn have I? Bellzeba will pay for this. Um, excuse me young man, is this 665 Dark Circle avenue?" His voice was as soft as his face.

"Um, no it isn't."

"I should have known. This area's just too bright and cheery to be that depressing place. Well, I must be off."

"Who are you anyways?"

He stopped in his tracks and gave a small bow to Harry. "So sorry my dear boy, I am Christoff, Archavius Christoff at your service. Special delivery man of the darkest of arts." Harry frowned at him. He had never heard of such a person. As far as he knew, all delivery was made by the owls.

"Um, if you had letters to deliver, you could have just used the owls."

"Oh, no I couldn't. Not with the type of spells, potions and books I'm delivering, no. Special people ask for me."

The way he said "Special people" actually sent a shiver up Harry's spine. This guy was more than just a wizard mailman. "I'm sort of a dark arts wizard delivery man. You know about the dark arts don't you?" Harry knew about the dark arts alright. He especially knew dark wizards in Voldemort's league were specialist in the dark arts, but this guy didn't look like a Voldemort supporter.

"Well, if there aren't anymore questions, I think I should...hang on a sec. You wouldn't happen to be interested in anything I'd have to sell would you?"

"No, I don't think-"

"Because you look like you're in need of something special." He set down his carrier and reached deep inside and pulled out a small package. He studied Harry very carefully before continuing. "Don't deny it, I can see it in your face. I could feel it when you came up to me. That's what makes people like us very special. That's what makes us exist. There's something troubling you isn't there ?...hmmm, yes, probably, and I'm only guessing, a loss in the family am I right?"

Harry was stunned. Not even Professor Trelawney could make such a prediction.
"How did you...hang on-"

"Hmm, how did I know. Well, that sad face of yours makes a good clue and secondly, it's my gift to know. How else would I be here selling this to you." He presented the package to him, but Harry only eyed it causiously. "Of course, you don't have to if you don't want to. Just thought you could use it. Some of the things in there can be quite useful in changing that mood of yours."

"I don't think you can help me."
Harry turned around to make his way back to the house, but was stopped when the man touched his shoulder. "I think your wrong my boy. I think you do believe, somewhere in the back of your mind, that this book has the answer to your question. Whatever that may be. If you don't think so, ask yourself this. How do I feel, right now? I can feel it on you. You've changed since we've had this discussion. You're not as sad as you were before."

Harry thought about it for a moment. He didn't have to ask, he did actually feel better than he did when he first approached the man.

"I'll tell you what, why don't you go ahead and take that catalog. I have plenty of them so don't worry about it. Just flip through it and if you see anything you like, anything at all, send me a post. My number's inside the cover. Don't worry about pay, it's free of charge."

"Look, I told you I don't want it."
"Well, if you decide you don't want a subscription, just burn it in an ordinary fire. That way, you'll never know you had it. But do look through it before you do. Sales have been dropping lately and I don't want to have to report to Bellzeba about losing customers." He straightened up and looked at his watch. "Ooh, I must be off, good day." With a tip of the hat, he disapparated from the so-called cheery neighborhood and left Harry standing with the catalog in his hands.

The catalog was no longer in his hands as it now laid untouched on Harry's desk. He had no reason to flip through it like Christoff had suggested and decided to pretend it wasn't there. He could, of course, just burn the book like Christoff said, but for some reason he couldn't. Not just yet. Christoff was right about one thing; his fears did ease up a bit. It was like his appearance had made him feel better and that the book had comforted him in his feelings of loss. Because of this, Harry wasn't ready to burn it just yet. When he could completely convince himself that the book was not dangerous, he would take a quick look at it to see what Christoff was talking about.

It was 8:30 in the evening, and after a hard day's work of cleaning the house with Aunt Petunia (though Harry did all of the work), Harry sat on his bed, skimming through the books he would need for his 6th year. He hoped his new school books would take his mind off of his meeting with Christoff, but it didn't. Every now and then, he would look up at the package as though he expected it to transform into some terrible monster. Maybe it wouldn't hurt just to flip through it like the man said. He knew what Hermione would say if she found out about this.

"Harry, that book could be dangerous.You should leave it alone and tell Professor Dumbledore about it." Ron on the other hand would probably gawk at it with curiosity. "Blimey Harry. What do you suppose is in there? Let's have a look and see if we can find any hexes to curse Malfoy with."

They weren't here so it was his decision to make. While keeping his eyes on the book, he closed his 5th grade book of spells and reached over to scan through the catalog. He opened the package to find a blood-red catalog, with the image of a skull and crossed bones under the title, "Dark-Arts' Enchantress Bellzeba: Our Guide to the Dark Side." There was also a smaller, longer package that was wrapped up in the paper with the book. Harry wasn't interested in that part yet. Upon skipping through, he didn't see anything remotely dangerous or different. Most of the merchandise up for sell were potions, cauldrons, and various dark objects that Harry had learned about in his previous dark arts classes at school. There were a couple of books and spells that Harry had wished he hadn't noticed, that was complete with a picture example: Charms to shrink down your enemy's head while it was still attached to his shoulders, death potions used to bring out the ghost of a wizard, temporarily, spells to rid a person of an unwanted dead body--complete with moving pictures of a wizard using the spell to vaporize the corpse.

Harry shook his head in annoyance. There wasn't anything here he should really be taking an interest in. If he needed this kind of catalog, he would just buy one when his professor told him he needed it for class. He threw it at the end of his bed and looked out the window. Hedwig had been gone for a long time now. She was probably hunting mice. He got up and started placing his books back in the trunk. Just then, the wind picked up and blew in hard through the window. Harry quickly moved over to close it, but did so slowly as he noticed that the wind had blown the pages of the catalog to a very familiar page. He walked over to the bed and saw that the page featured a variety of what were most likely gateways of some sort. One gateway that stood out from the fancy or ancient look of the others, was the stone like gateway with a veil instead of a gate. It was obvious what it reminded him of. But, that couldn't be the same veil. Could it? He looked closer and saw that the page was advertising a book called, "Doorways to Death"

There was even a brief description under it.

Considering the events which recently occured at the ministry this year,

many of you are perphaps curious about all of the Minister's secerets.

We believe the public has the right to know what is hidden behind those

doors. That is why we present you this book which will give you an insight

on one of the Minister's darkest collections. Considered to be a chamber of death,

these gateways possess a powerful connection with the afterlife, more specifically,

the dead. It is believed that the dearly departed are intertwined with heaven or

hell and can use this gateway to pass to and fro to connect with the living.

It is also believed that this gateway allows the living to...

That was all is said. It had left a nasty little cliffhanger in order to get wizards to buy it to read more. It didn't matter to Harry--he was already captivated by the brief description. His heart raced. All his worries, all his thoughts, all his fears could be answered by purchasing this book. Yet there was an odd foreboding feeling about it in which he knew he should listen to. But he had to know, even if it was a hoax. He pulled out the second package and found out it was the parchment he needed to fill our his order. Making a last minute decision to check with himself to see if he really wanted it, he grabbed a quill and started filling it out. He wrote down Christoff's name and number (666-00-667) along with his own name and the book he wanted and placed it in the envelope it came in.

As though answering his prayers, Hedwig arrived, pecking at the window. Harry grinned and rushed over to let her in.

"Hedwig, you're just in time to deliver this letter."

Hedwig gave him a scornful look. She wasn't in the mood to deliver a message tonight.

"Oh, come on Hedwig. This is important. It's a matter of life and...well, just deliver it for me okay?"

After a moment of deciding whether or not she should follow orders, she allowed him to tie on the letter and flew out the window. Harry grinned and watched her fly across the night sky. He couldn't help feeling he had overcome the impossible. Even though he had no idea whether or not the book could really help him bring Sirius back, he knew, for unknown reasons, that something would come from this. Some kind of answer would definately come.

Though Harry never thought about whether it would be good...or bad.

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disclaimer- I don't and never will own Harry Potter

My 2nd story on Yes,!!! and it's the kind I consider to be a challenge. I do find Harry potter hard to write about, but I guess it depends on what you write. So goes a story in which Harry tries to bring his godfather back, but I seriously doubt there's one like this one. This won't be your friendly little story. I like the drama of the books and was further pushed to write such a story after I read a really dark sirius story on this site. The idea for this came long ago, and I'm just writing it now.

Since I'm finishing other stories, my update on this one will most likely be one chapter a week. Like just about everything I write, it's planned out all the way to the end. Reviews are greatly appreciated and needed.

Enjoy.