Fantasy Of Spring

Sunlight shone through the window, which was rather rare for the occupant of number 4, Privet Drive. He had been having another nightmare, and he felt out breath like riding on a roller coaster. It was always the same, Voldermort's high pitch laugh waking him from his horrible dream that ended with Sirius falling through the veil in the Ministry Of Magic.

Harry hated the dream and furthermore, he hated what had become of his life. He had been chucked out of Hogwarts for 2 months just because Dumbledore had not allowed him to stay in for the summer holidays. Even after the warning Tonks, Moody, Lupin, and Mr. Weasley had given Uncle Vernon, he had never endured a worse stay at Privet Drive. Uncle Vernon had let Harry have his bedroom back, and he didn't have to sneak about to do his homework. Vernon also allowed Hedwig to fly at night and Harry could walk wherever he wanted in the house, but he was still in misery.

In response to everything that had happened, Harry had permanently closed his bedroom binds, and shut the world away. To her great displeasure, he had forbidden Hedwig to fly around, worried that he might receive dozens of letters from Ron, Hermione, and the rest of the Order. He didn't want them pitying him, or giving him advice. However, most of all, he didn't want to hear them grieve about Sirius. He could only imagine what Hermione would say. "Harry, don't do anything stupid. Sirius' death isn't your fault. We're trying to talk to Dumbledore about you being able to leave the Dursley's." He allowed himself a slight smile. Hermione was a good friend, but how could he ever recover from this? His godfather was dead, and he had never felt more alone.

Regardless of what Dumbledore had said, it was his fault. Famous Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived. If only he hadn't believed the word of that damned house-elf. Because of Kreacher, he had dashed to the Ministry Of Magic, walking into the Death Eater's trap. And then Sirius' fateful fight with Bellatrix... Harry should have remained calm and not been so rash. If he hadn't run off to the ministry, the worst thing that would have happened would have been enduring the wrath of Umbridge. His thoughts were interrupted when he heard a soft tapping noise at the window. Hedwig jerked up from her bored daze, and Harry opened the window allowing a small brownish owl to topple in. Everything changed from the moment he opened the letter the owl left. Harry was surprised to find that it was a Howler. Who in the world would give him a Howler? What could he have possibly done now? Perhaps Lupin had decided to blame him for Sirius' death. Or maybe it was from Hermione and Ron, angry for not receiving replies to their messages. He approached the Howler cautiously, trying to prepare for the shrieking voice that would soon fill Privet Drive. Harry had been about to open the Howler when it exploded, and a scream came out from nowhere.