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Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, destined to defeat the Dark Lord and protect all wizards and muggles.

Or, at least that was the plan.

It was that way until the night Sirius died and Voldemort got into Harry's head. Harry had just seen his godfather die, and Lupin had to pull him back, to keep him from jumping through the veil to Sirius, and to his own sure death. He chased Bellatrix Lestrange up to the Atrium, wanting to kill her. As they were shouting spells at each other, she demanded the prophecy. Harry told her it was broken, and no one was able to hear what it said—which made his scar start burning like molten iron. It became worse as he yelled at Bellatrix, finally yelling, "Don't waste your breath! He can't hear you from here!"

"Can't I, Potter?" said a high, cold voice.

Voldemort told Bella that Harry hadn't been lying, and as he was about to kill Harry, Dumbledore intervened, saving Harry from getting killed. The two most powerful wizards known were fighting; neither getting killed nor hit with spells. What astonished Harry more was that Dumbledore was also protecting him. When the battle seemed to end, Dumbledore shouted "Stay where you are, Harry!"

For the first time, Dumbledore sounded frightened. Harry could not see why. The hall was quite empty, except for themselves, the sobbing Bellatrix still trapped under her statue, and the tiny baby Fawkes croaking feebly on the floor—

And then Harry's scar burst open. He knew he was dead. It was pain beyond imagination, pain past endurance—

He was gone from the hall, he was locked in the coils of a creature with red eyes, so tightly bound that Harry did not know where his body ended and the creatures began. They were forced together, bound by pain, and there was no escape—

And when the creature spoke, it used Harry's mouth, so that in his agony he felt his jaw move...

"Kill me now, Dumbledore..."

Blinded and dying, every part of him screaming for release, Harry felt the creature use him again...

"If death is nothing, Dumbledore, Kill the boy..."

Let the pain stop, thought Harry. Let him kill us...End it Dumbledore...Death is nothing compared to this...

And I'll see Sirius again...

And as Harry's heart filled with emotion, the creatures coils loosened, the pain was gone. Harry was lying face down on the floor, his glasses gone, shivering as though he was laying upon ice, not wood...

And there were voices echoing throughout the hall, more voices than there should have been: Harry opened his eyes, saw his glasses lying at the heel of the headless statue that had been guarding him, but which now lay flat on its back, cracked and immobile. He put them on and raised his head an inch to find Dumbledore's crooked nose inches from his own.

"Are you alright Harry?"

"Yes," said Harry, shaking so violently he could not hold his head up properly. "Yeah I'm—where's Voldemort, where—who are all these—what's—"

As Harry gazed around the room full of people, he felt as if something was touching his mind; caressing it. He stood up, getting a head rush, causing him to close his eyes. Only, he saw red eyes on his eyelids, causing him to open his eyes, soon being sent back to Hogwarts. The first thing he did was seek out a reflection of himself and check his features. He looked the same, except that he was pale. With being possessed again, he figured it was quite normal to say the least from what could have happened. With that thought, the back of his mind itched, almost as if something was touching and probing inside of him.

The more Harry thought about how everything had happened, how it was his fault for killing Sirius, the guilt filling Harry's chest was like some monstrous, weighty parasite that writhed and squirmed. Harry could not stand this, could not stand being Harry anymore...He had never felt more trapped inside his own head and body, never wished so intensely that he could be somebody—anybody—else...

Dumbledore returned and Harry yelled at him, breaking anything he could to get all of his anger out, especially when Dumbledore stared at him with the cool complexion. When Harry finally calmed, Dumbledore explained everything, from how it was his fault for Sirius dying, to his explanation for Harry's Occlumency lessons, to what happened after Harry had given Snape his message. He also explained the reason for Harry's scar, and that Harry had to kill Voldemort in the end, or vice versa. Harry mellowed out, and when they came to the topic for why Voldemort failed to continue possessing Harry for long, Harry felt a short, sharp pain at the back of his skull, so brief he wasn't sure if it was a remnant of the action from the night or his imagination.

Dumbledore finished his explanation with telling Harry why he wasn't made prefect, and Harry left the room, feeling selfish and bad for Dumbledore. He went back to the dorms, just wanting to sleep. He felt alone as Neville and Ron weren't there, Seamus and Dean still not talking to him but unknowing of the adventure the gang had just experienced. He hoped that they weren't going to ask any questions as to where he had been all day. He preferred their silence over anything.

When he woke up, he didn't remember having any dreams and he felt distant from everything. He assumed it was from having Sirius suddenly ripped out of his life. He snuck down to the kitchens to eat his meals, and hid either by the lake or in the hospital wing. Hermione mentioned his depression, explaining it was normal to feel this way, that with time his heart would heal. Ron simply didn't say anything except he was there if Harry ever wanted to talk. They all thought they knew what he was going through, but they didn't. They couldn't relate to his emotions at all. He felt like he had been drowning, and the hand that was to save him had been pulled back, leaving him to die in the dark currents of life.

Harry became very moody, and only talked to Ron and Hermione. When he was alone he wanted to be with somebody, but when he was with somebody he wished he was alone again, and made whatever excuse to leave, only to feel lonely soon afterwards. When Ron and Hermione were released, it was three days before the term ended, and the pressure in the back of his head began to increase. He continued to assume it was from stress and lack of sleep, in which case Hermione and Ron didn't need to know about it. He didn't want to have anyone worrying about him anymore. When the term ended, Harry was happy to get away from everyone. For once, he was happy—of sorts—to go back to the Dursley's. They wouldn't treat him like he was some fragile toy that needed to be put on the highest shelf.

On the train ride home, he contemplated how he would have a quiet life for the summer, and he would enjoy it. It'd be like back when he was twelve. Never knowing someone was out there who actually cared. He was going to be lonely once more; a feeling that only seemed to spike the pressure in the back of his head. The only fun he had was when Moody, Mr. Weasley, Tonks, and Lupin threatened his uncle and aunt. He felt better, once he realized that the he did truly have family in the wizarding world that cared for him. The sudden emotion drove the pressure in the back of his mind away for moment, until he was in the car back on the way to the house.

The first two weeks of the usual summer schedule kept Harry away from the house, brooding in his own dark thoughts. He thought about many things that had happened, and tried putting his life in a different perspective. He was tired of people using him, was tired of his family being killed, and especially tired of the pressure in the back of his mind. It almost felt like someone was there, listening to his every though, wanting to jump in at any second to intervene and give their two cents. In his spiral of despair, when a voice seemed to speak in his ear, he quickly took to the mature voice, relaxing the more the two conversed with each other.

The first time it spoke to him, he was at the park down the street, sitting on the swings and watching the sun set. The darkness reminds you of the veil, doesn't it? something asked. Harry turned around, almost falling off of the swing. When no one was there, he asked "Where are you?"

Everywhere. Around you, above you, below you, in you.

"Who are you?" Harry demanded, unknowing of where to face.

A friend. A Wiseman. One who has seen hard times, and has pressed through them to achieve his goals. Consider me something that can help you through this hard time. Your friends would only understand this pain of you losing your godfather, if they were to lose you themselves.

As much as Harry hated to admit it, the voice was right. "Yes. But, how can I stop feeling like this?"

It's easier said than done. You'd have to face life alone. Literally walk your own path. Give up your love of your godfather. Sirius, his name is? Surrender your love, and you will feel better soon, as well as you will become stronger as a person. Future deaths will be easy to get over. It'll be easier to reminisce. No grief, no what ifs, no depression. Life moves on.

Harry didn't know how to respond. "But...Sirius is what my life...was. If I stopped caring, it would mean everything he ever did was wasted effort. He's what saved me from Voldemort."

Holding onto your love of Sirius holds onto your belief that he isn't truly dead. I see that here in your mind. It's why you're still upset, and you will continue to be upset with everything that reminds you of him. Hold onto your memories, cherish them; they won't harm anything. Learn from the lessons he's taught you. If you continue to love this figment of a person though, you're not going to get any better. He's dead. Let it go.

He's dead...Let it go. The simple words rang through Harry's mind. Sirius was dead, and he was never coming back.

Say it aloud, the voice pushed.

Whispering, his voice barely audible, he said "Sirius is dead. He's not coming back."

Louder.

"Sirius is dead. He's not coming back." His voice was wavering, but he continued. "Sirius is dead, he's not coming back."

You have to believe what you say. Pour your emotion into your words.

As Harry repeated the words, the flood of memories washed through him. He began to accept that his godfather was dead and gone, but it hurt. It hurt much worse than what he had been feeling. But, he felt a bit of the stress lift from his shoulders. It wasn't as much of a burden to constantly wonder if he'd receive another later stating the latest news from the Order, or if his loveable dog face would appear from around the corner, motioning for him to follow and escape this hell hole. With the final admittance, there was relief, but he hated knowing that one of his best friends was never coming back.

Tears streaming down Harry's face, he finally acknowledged them, attempting to wipe them away. He only met failure as the salty drops slipped through his fingers and landed on the sand, gathering into simple, round balls. The voice stayed silent, Harry relieved, yet agitated that he had allowed such an inanimate object to guide his emotions. At the moment though, it was the best option he had, and he was willing to take it if it brought any comfort.

Hello! To those who have made it this far down the page :) This story is currently under construction. I'm attempting to edit the whole story and try to make it flow a lot smoother. Being that i started this story when i was 17, I didn't have this as planned out as it should've been. There's a lot of mistakes that can be fixed and a lot of loose ends that need to be tied. So, please, tolerate the mistakes in further chapters and hopefully i will soon be able to update and continue the story.

I do not own the cannon, so when i incorporate it into the story, it's simply for plot sake. Not trying to steal J.K. Rowling's work at all.

Let me know what you think, and i hope you enjoy the story from here on out :)