1. Unnexpected Arrivals

The morning sun dawned softly over the horizon, making life seem all too real. it made you feel as if you were watching yourself try and fail through someone else's eye. But when you looked out across the green fields and saw the hint of day staring back at you, things didn't seem so bad.
A man was sitting at a rickety table on an old porch, looking back on the past few months. The man was only slightly an adult on the outside, but on the inside, he guessed never being loved or treated like a child meant that he'd always been an adult. He'd never had someone wake him from his nightmares, take care of him when he was sick, or hold him when he was frightened.
The man had stunning green eyes and an extremely untidy shock of jet-black hair. He had a long, sloped nose, round, wire-rimmed spectacles, and a tall, muscular build.
He was wearing a rather dirty set of black robes, and worn trainers that had begun to peel at the sole. His sweater was torn, and unfortunately a cold front was well on it's way. He had several bruises and scars, but one was most peculiar.
It was this scar that made him a legend. this was the scar that seperated him from the poor, weak, and cowardly. This was the scar that made the man hate himself for who he was. It was on his forehead. In the shape of a bolt of lightenting.
The scar was infamous, as well as the man wearing it. This man had not been seen in seventeen months. The man's fate was in the hands of the Dark Sorcerer for whom he would soon be hunting. And the man knew it. For this man's name was Harry James Potter.
Harry Potter was barely eighteen now. His birthday had been almost two weeks ago. Harry let out a hollow laugh and glances at the red scar on his forearm, still tender and painful. That was what he had gotten for his birthday. One hell of a scar. Nothing else. His best friends Ron and Hermione had wanted to make him a cake and take him into Diagon Alley as a treat, but there had been more important things to do at that moment. So they had gone to search for the fifth Horcrux; Slytherin's Locket. They had found it that day in Number 12, Grimmauld Place, London, but with a great price paid.
Harry had known that finding it would be the easy part. He had ended up destroying it only to get a very painful scar and the satisfactory reassurance that he might have a chance in the last battle, which he knew would be soon. He could feel it. It felt like a time bomb, counting down until the minute when he would have to, (In the words of Albus Dumbledore) "choose between what is right, and what is easy."
The trouble was, Harry knew neither what was right or easy. Because the 'easy' part always led to the subject of Ginny Wealey, whom Harry did not like to think. For the innocent thoughts of just holding her hand led to ones of her being tortured and hurt by Lord Voldemort.
But no matter how much it hurt to think of Ginny, his Ginny, he knew that not thinking about her could lead to pure insanity. it was unnerving really, the battles that went on his head. It seemed that there were three sides to him in there, arguing that "Ginny could be in danger if you contacted her in any way!" or "But I think I might love her!" and "First sign of madness: Arguing with yourself."

He didn't know how much more he could take.

But as the golden sun rose to the sky and the birds twittered happily in the trees around, Harry made up his mind. He stood up out of his rocking chair, looked at his watch, and sighed. It was 8:53 A.M. But more than that, it was August 11th. Ginny Weasley's 17th birthday.
So Harry went inside the small, run-down house behind him, told Ron and Hermione that he wanted to go somewhere, and the three of them Apparated to a small village called Ottery St. Catchpole...