Aligned

Harry woke on a blistering night in late July, soaked in cold sweat. A black veil and immeasurable amounts of pain awaken

his senses as he stares at the familiar wall and tousled sheets. Breathing heavily, he stares out the window into the

luminescent shadows trying to remember better times. The slow ticking of the clock brought him out of his reverie.

Reminded that reality was not very far away he glared at the glowing hands of his alarm clock. He noticed, just like every

other night that he had awaken before it was sensible. Putting his head back on the pillow he hoped, just for this once, he

could sleep again, peacefully. But his restlessness continued.

At least he was awake for a good reason, today, now that it was past midnight, was his birthday. For the last five years after

he had the thought something astonishing happened. At eleven he met a certain half-giant who let him into his world. At

twelve, someone with a long nose and huge eyes tried to 'save him'. When thirteen came around, he saved Errols' life, and

got presents for the first time. At fourteen, Voldemort was planning revenge. At his last birthday, fifteen, he had met the

people who saw his godfather die. Right now, as he lay on his bed, all but one of those were unimportant to Harry. That one

had ceased his pitiful attempts at sleep throughout the summer. Yet again Harry strives to come to terms with it.

"Sirius Black is dead. Sirius Black is dead, my godfather is dead," Harry mutters softly into the darkness.

Try as he might, Harry still believed that his godfather was just beyond the veil, waiting, waiting for Harry.

Once again Harry futilely tried to depart into the shores of sleep, but, as always, the shores were oceans away. Suddenly,

soft voices called out from the darkness, voices that were muffled, as if behind something. One sounded vaguely familiar to

Harry as he strained to hear the sounds. As quickly as it had come, it soon vanished, leaving Harry bewildered. The more he

thought about the voices the more he envisioned Sirius falling backwards into . . . it. Soon the overwhelming memory had

Harry beginning to seek anything that could tear his mind away from it. 'Quidditch through the Ages', 'Flying with the

Cannons', 'Potions Homework' anything. He dove for the loose floorboard, and pulled out the first thing that came into his

grasp. A thick book that he could barely lift came out into the open, it was 'Hogwarts, A History'. Hermione had given it to

him and Ron as an end of the year present, so they could stop being ignorant. Desperate as he was he opened it to page one.

By the time, the actual morning came and the ogres in the adjoining rooms had arisen, Harry was on page 327 and reading excitedly.

"Hermione wasn't kidding when she told us we should read this, there is a lot of stuff in here," Harry thought, while turning page after page after page.

There were thousands of facts, dates and random information contained within the heavily endowed vault of knowledge

called a book. Surprisingly enough, the book wasn't dry or boring, and had extensive facts of past and 'present'(present

being, 1897) Quidditch teams. Harry finally realized that Hogwarts was the best wizarding in the world. Hogwarts even had

graduates who were internationally known (even by Muggles). Merlin and Morgana were Head Boy and Head Girl in the

first ever graduating class. King Arthur was a student until his fifth year until he used magic outside of school. Apparently

he used 'Wingardium leviosa' on a sword but not a stone. Mr. Ollivander was even mentioned briefly, if only for his ability

to make wands. He graduated in 1868! Harry continued reading until a sharp, high-pitched voice came from downstairs.

"Duddykins, don't touch those pancakes. You know you are on the Atkins diet, no carbohydrates."

This was replied with a loud grunt and a deeper voice saying,

"That's right, son. You're trying to bulk up. Remember what Coach said. Now, eat all the meat you want."

This statement was also replied with a grunt, but a louder one, accompanied with the soft sound of someone stuffing their face.

"That's my boy!"

Harry shuddered and put down his book, he had to eat. He slowly walked down the stairs, hoping that they would creek. He

would hate to startle his 'family', especially the one that was now the Eastern Britain Boxing Champion. As he reached the

last step, he could see into the kitchen. There sat Vernon, as purple as ever, drinking coffee with bacon bits in it (Probably,

because of the constant, flying projectiles coming from his son). Petunia moved busily around the kitchen, forever

supplying Duddykins, with bacon, eggs, ham and sausage, while staring at a book called 'Atkins Diet: high protein, low

carb, miracle diet' . As she was bustling to and fro, Dudley shoveled enough bacon into his mouth to feed India, while

motioning for more. Unfortunately, all the bacon didn't make Dudley any softer. His biceps rippled, as his now callused

hands cut up ham, which was soon to be shoved in his mouth in twos and threes. The newly sixteen year old, Harry sat

down unnoticed and quickly grabbed the only food still stationary, pancakes. Out of the corner of his eye, Uncle Vernon

noticed the pancakes move in the opposite direction of the human vacuum, and made a strange grunting noise. Harry

noticed that all of the Dursley males seemed to be good at it. Uncle Vernon then interrupted the sounds of rapidly

dissolving food.

"Petunia, do you remember that Black fellow? He was on the news a while back, killed a bunch of people. Well it looks

like they've caught him! Get out the guillotine!" (Of course ignoring the fact that he was Harry's godfather)

He said this with sidelong glances at Harry as if hoping for a reaction. Harry looked at his uncle and realized that he had

not turned the page since Harry entered the room. So Harry asked quizzically,

"So, Vernon how's Hagar?" Vernon did not realize that it was Harry who had spoken so he replied,

"Hilarious," looking more closely at the paper, "today he said..." he trailed off and turned a lovely shade of puce after he finally figured out who had spoken.

Harry gave his Uncle a smirk and made his exit into the morning sun. As he walked around the house, he came to realize he

had not been outside in weeks. He had reached the backyard and was completely shocked by what he saw. There was no

more garden, it was now a full blown, roped, spring-loaded, boxing ring. On the ropes there was a huge sign that had

written on it in very bright colors,

4 Privet Dr. home of

DUDLEY DURSLEY

Eastern Britains boxing

CHAMPION

Harry was appalled by the brazenness of sign but it was quite understandable, Dudley was always meant for big things,

even if it is not just his weight. Beside the ring there was the garden shed, but it was bigger. Harry wondered what they

would put in there, so he went to find out.

He opened the door into . . . blackness. His hand fumbled for the light switch, suddenly light flooded the room, showing

Harry its contents. There was a weight machine in one corner, a punching bag and speed bag in another. There were jump

ropes and free weights near a television set that had the movie Rocky lying beside it. On the wall to Harry's left there were

shelves, shelves full of trophies, medals, trinkets and pictures. On the opposite wall from Harry there was this big metal

door. Confused, Harry went up to it, he put his hand on its surface, it was ice cold. Stunned, Harry grabbed the handle and

wrenched open the door, to find something very unusual. Behind the door was a small freezer, with animal carcasses

hanging from the ceiling. Upon closer inspection, there were fist indentions in the meat. Harry slowly backed away and

shut the door, then he burst out laughing.

"It seems Duddykins can't separate reality from the movies," Harry thought while shaking in laughter.

"This boxing stuff can't be too hard if 'Rocky' can do it," Harry presumed, as he walked over to the punching bag.

Harry stepped back, set his feet and took a swing. His hand connected and it kinda hurt, but it felt good at the same time.

He hit the bag again pretending it was Vernon, he hit it again imagining it to be Dudley, again as Malfoy, again, and again

and again. Swing after swing he hit harder and harder, as what he was trying to forget was pushed into the open. At every

hit the bag swung back then forward as blow after blow kept coming,

"My parents! Peter, Rat! Death Eaters! Voldemort!" His line of thinking got him angrier, and closer to his main issue,

"SIRIUS!" Harry threw punches as the bag swung like a pendulum, hit after hit.

Harry suddenly feels weak, his punches slow as his head drops and tears start to fall from his eyes. He lets them come. He

hasn't cried for everything. He slumps down into the corner, his head in his hands, shedding guilt, fury, grief, and innocence

onto the cement floor. Then with a sniff, clearing of the throat and a sleeve he slowly stands, his knees weak. He allows

himself one more look at the freezer before he goes back into the house. He slowly trudges up to his room, weighed down,

but lightened by emotions tarnished, revealed, then absolved.