Prologue

The Sorrows Of One

Harry Potter, the savior, the boy who lived, the boy that had defeated the Dark Lord Voldemort. Where all the names that Harry hated. Harry Potter was of course his real name, but it was well known and all he wanted to be was just Harry. Just Harry. No Potter… no savior… no nicknames that they had given him. He always wanted a normal life, but fate hated him. He was stuck with a burden that he should have never have carried at such a young age. He was a child, still is, but not as innocent as before. Harry never wanted any of this. It was their war never his, he wasn't even born when the first war hit, he was born in the middle of the first war. Dumbledore, Voldemort, Death Eaters, the Light members, they all started the war in the first place, he was just a victim, that was all, he would never have been in this war if it wasn't for that fateful night that his parents had died.

Everything was a lie. He did what they wanted, he had killed Lord Voldemort. And not too long after, they showed their true faces. Ron and Hermione were not really his friends. They were persuaded by Dumbledore to become his friends. They never really cared for him. And Dumbledore, he has lied about everything, he made up the prophecy, he was the one that killed his parents. Voldemort was the one that shot the killing curse, but it was Dumbledore that put his parents in harm's way. Dumbledore also knew what the Dursley's had done to him through his childhood, he knew about the abuse. All Dumbledore wanted was a puppet that will listen to every word coming in and out of his mouth. It is sickening.

It hurt, figuring out the truth. Everything he had ever done was a lie. He is a lie. He wanted it all too end. He was sick and tired of everyone and everything. He wanted no more Dursley's, no more light wizards, no more dark wizards, no more Harry Potter.

Glancing up at the midnight sky, glancing at every star, looking for one in specific, Harry let out a small sigh. Finally finding the star he has been looking for, Harry said its name barely over a whisper, "Sirius."

As he whispered the name he moved to stand up from the rooftop of the half burnt down house of his dead parents. As Harry was about to climb down, he heard a whistle in the distance, similar to a flutes sound. As he stood there, the tune grew louder by the minute. Harry knew he must run, for there was something happening that he cannot explain. But he could not move, the tune that resembled a lullaby warmed his heart like never before. It was a pleasant feeling, the feeling of being wanted, of being cared for.

As the feeling grew he started to feel light on his feet and before he could do anything he blacked out and was gone from the world forever.

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