Disclaimer: Harry Potter and the Potter world belong to J.K. Rowling. If you recognize it, it's not mine.

Chapter One- His Only Friend

The day dawned beautiful across the quaint neighborhoods of Little Whinging. The golden plumage of the sunrise scattered across the neat and green lawns of the small houses on Privet Drive. Pansies, Begonias, Roses, and Petunias danced in the early morning breeze, awakening to the glorious day ahead of them. All was still as they day approached; everything waited for the summer day ahead. All, that is, but one inhabitant of Number 4 Privet Drive.

A scrawny teenage boy lay on his bed staring at the ceiling, his skinny arms bent behind his head. His hair stuck out in unusual ways, as it usually did. His unusually baggy jeans and oversized T-shirt embellished his thin frame. His emerald green eyes, normally dancing with laughter and life, enhanced his haunted look as the shadows and clouds of pain and worries rested in them. The lines on his forehead barely covered the lightning-shaped scar that resided there; this scar was what made this unusual boy so extraordinary.

Harry Potter was The-Boy-Who-Lived, the boy who survived He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He was the boy who, at a very young age, had lived through Lord Voldemort's killing curse when no one else had survived. But, most importantly, Harry Potter had defied Voldemort more than once; he had escaped You-Know-Who's grasp on many occasions, four times to be exact. At their last encounter, just three weeks before, Harry came out with no injuries but with pain. Harry had watched as his godfather, the infamous-yet-innocent murderer Sirius Black, fell from the unforgivable killing curse administered by one of Voldemort's Death Eaters.

Harry was now laying on his bed, drained of all emotion as he thought of his loss. He didn't want to move ever again; he wanted to die just so he could be with Sirius again, so he could be with his mother and father again. He wanted them back; he wanted to see them again, to feel their love again. He didn't want to be The-Boy-Who-Lived anymore, nor did he want to be The-Chosen-One, as the Daily Prophet now called him. He just wanted to go back in time to when he was known only as Harry Potter.

But he couldn't go back in time; even if he had a Time-Turner, just like his best friend Hermione Granger had in their third year, the Ministry of Magic would not allow him to have one. It was too dangerous to have one, and he would still remember everything that had happened to him since his eleventh birthday when Hagrid, the Keeper of grounds and Keys at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, told Harry that he was a wizard.

A soft clicking on the window brought Harry back to the world. He looked at the window and saw a small fluff of feathers, his other best friend Ron's owl Pigwidgeon, at his window with a letter attached. He strode to the window and lifted it to let the owl into his room. Twittering with joy at delivering his letter, the small owl zoomed over Harry's head.

"Come here," Harry demanded while trying to catch the feathery snitch. His fingers finally grasped themselves around the owl and brought him down. Harry removed the letter and freed the bird as it nipped at his fingers in a way that the owl thought was affectionate. Opening the aged-like parchment, Harry walked to the desk and sat down.

Harry,

How is your summer going? Did your cousin get any bigger since we last saw you? I know you want to know when you're going to get out of there. I asked Mum, but she doesn't know yet. No one will tell us when, but they keep saying soon. We'll let you know soon.

See you soon!

Ron

Harry sighed, his shoulders slumping forward, as he rolled up the parchment and placed in under the loose floorboard with his other trinkets. He wasn't sure if he really wanted to go back to that world again. He hoped that someone might tell him something other than what they had said the summer before, but no one said anything again. He fell back onto the bed and stared back at the ceiling while Pigwidgeon danced around his head, twittering in his usual manner.

Deciding that he should write Ron back, Harry rose from the bed and walked to the desk. He pulled out his eagle-feather quill, his ink, and some parchment from under the loose floorboard, and he sat down at the desk.

Ron,

Yes, Dudley got larger. I hope to see you soon!

Harry

Reading over his short letter twice, he decided it would be okay. He didn't know what else to say. My summer has been horrible, but that's only because of the small fact that my godfather was killed in front of me at the Ministry, he thought of writing in the letter. He didn't really want to write that because he didn't want to worry anyone of his feelings. He knew that they understood how he was feeling, but he didn't know what else to say to anyone. Part of him didn't want to admit how he felt at the moment, but part of him wanted to tell someone. He just couldn't think of whom he could tell.

Although Ron was his best friend, he didn't think Ron could understand Harry's feelings entirely much less his own feelings. Hermione, his other best friend, would give him advice from some book that she had read; somehow, she always thought the answers to everything were in some book. Harry didn't want to read about how to get over his feelings of grief and guilt; he wanted to forget them altogether.

As he tied the letter back on Pig's leg and threw him out the window, Harry stared at the morning skyline and heard his stomach rumble. He thought of when he last ate, but couldn't remember. I might be able to nick something quickly from the kitchen if I hurry, he thought to himself, If I hurry I can grab something before everyone else gets up. He stepped away from the window and quietly opened the door. Looking down the hallway, he heard nothing. Catlike Harry crept down the stairs, avoiding the third step that creaked, and tiptoed into the kitchen. He sighed with relief. No one else was up yet.

Although he knew that it didn't matter if anyone else was up, he felt better when he wasn't near anyone. This summer had been better, however, than his previous summers; most of the other inhabitants of Privet Drive had ignored him. No one yelled at him for odd occurrences that always happened around him. No one told him he needed a haircut that would never help with the mess of locks. No one leered at him for his abnormality, as they normally did. They simply ignored him, which made him feel as comfortable as he could be.

He grabbed a couple slices of bread, some cheese, and a glass of milk. Carrying everything in his hands, he walked back upstairs to his bedroom. As he closed the door and set the items on his desk, he noticed that his snow-white owl, Hedwig, had returned from her nightly hunt. He smiled at her and saw a letter attached to her leg. He relieved her from her duty and watched as she returned to her perch. Turning his attention to the letter, he frowned. He didn't recognize the handwriting. It was neither Ron's untidy scrawl nor Hermione's neat letters. It wasn't Professor Dumbledore's loopy characters or McGonagall's precise scroll. Harry shrugged and opened the letter, figuring that it was a letter at the least.

Harry,

Hi! You know of me, but you do not know me. I know you fairly well, not just as The-Boy-Who-Lived but as Harry Potter himself. I have watched you for years, and I think we have a lot in common. Even if you don't know who I am, I thought I would write you to keep you company all the same.

I have an idea of how you are feeling, now that someone you love is gone. I, too, have lost someone that I love to You-Know-Who. I just want you to know that if you ever need anyone to talk to, I am here for you. Just send a letter with your owl. She knows where to find me.

Hope to hear from you soon!

Your Friend

Harry read through the letter again and decided to write back to this mysterious writer at least to thank them for their words. He picked up his quill again and dipped it into his inkwell, thinking of what to say. Idly eating the bread and cheese, he set his quill to the parchment and wrote.

Dear Friend,

Thank you for your letter. I assume, since you know me so well, that you attend Hogwarts. What house are you in? What year are you in? Do you play Quidditch? Since you know so much about me, maybe you could tell me something about you. I feel awful that I don't know you. Are you enjoying your summer so far? How far have you gotten on your homework?

Hope to hear from you soon.

Harry

Harry read over his letter, hoping that it sounded right. He really didn't want to admit how he was feeling in case this mysterious person was an enemy. If it were a Death Eater, then Voldemort would know how much he had affected Harry when Sirius was killed. Harry sighed and looked out the window before turning to the self-created calendar on the wall beside him. Large black crosses filled several of the dates on it; the next day in the row, the present day, had black letters written on it. He needed to write the Order for the usual check up. He grabbed another piece of parchment, dipped his quill back in his inkwell, and hastily scribbled his note.

Everything is fine here. No change in the situation.

Harry

He read over his note to the Order quickly. Nodding in approval, he walked over to Hedwig. He stroked her and smiled at her, feeling that she was his only friend. He tied the letters to her leg and continued to stroke her, hoping that she knew where she was going.

"Okay, Hedwig," he started quietly, "the small letter is for the Order. You know where to take it. The second letter is for the person that wrote me. They said you would know where to find them. Can you take this to them?" She nipped his finger affectionately and flew out the open window. He watched her fly off against the sunlight, wondering who his mysterious friend was and wondering how long it would take to get a letter back from the mysterious writer.

o-o-o-o-o

"BOY!" Uncle Vernon bellowed out from the parlor almost three days after Harry had received the letter from his friend. Hedwig hadn't returned with a reply yet, which saddened Harry. He missed having her around, especially since she was the only person in the house that understood him, that didn't flinch when he walked into a room, or that looked at him with sincerity radiating from their eyes. Harry shuffled down the stairs, eager to get back to his room and to his homework. Although he had finished it—the first time he had completely finished his summer homework—he wanted to look over it again and correct it.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon?" Harry asked halfheartedly while entering the room. He looked up at his uncle's beefy face.

"We will have company over this week," his uncle warned, "The Sanders are very important clients for my business. They do not know about you-"

"Well, that's a first," Harry snorted.

"-and they will not know about you," Uncle Vernon continued as though Harry had not spoken, "You will stay in your room."

"Fine."

"And you will not make a sound."

"Okay."

"We will bring your meals to you through the door flap."

"Whatever." Uncle Vernon eyed him suspiciously for Harry's lack of anger. Harry stared back, wondering if that was the only reason why he had been asked out of his room.

"Can I go back to my room now?" Harry asked. His uncle glared at him before motioning him to leave. Harry shuffled back to the stairs and started up them.

"And get a haircut!" Vernon Dursley yelled as Harry reached his bedroom door. Harry rolled his eyes and closed his door. He leaned against it and sighed, closing his eyes and knocking his head against it. After a minute, he straightened up and looked out the window, hoping that Hedwig would return soon. The hot summer day beckoned him outside. A silent voice called to him to go out. But he couldn't go. Going outside meant that he would have to join the world again. He wasn't ready to do that yet.

He sat back down at the desk and looked at his homework assignment, The Uses of Animal Transfiguration and How Animal Transfiguration Can Go Wrong, and sighed again. He couldn't look at his homework anymore. Shuffling to his school trunk, Harry wondered how he was going to survive the next few weeks until school started again. He rummaged through his books until he came across his copy of Quidditch Through the Ages. Shuffling back to his bed, he flipped through the book. As he laid back against the pillows again, a snow white owl flew through the window.

"Hedwig!" he called with joy. He had never been so excited to see his owl, nor more grateful. He jumped up and raced to her, relieving her of her baggage. Harry quickly opened the letter and spread it out on his desk.

Harry,

Yes, I attend Hogwarts. I will be starting my fifth year this year, the OWL year. I'm very nervous about my O.W.L.'s, since they are so important for your future. I cannot tell you what house I'm in, for you would surely know me from that. Sorry!

I do play Quidditch, but I played for the first time last year. I can't tell you what position, because you would know me and I want to keep my identity a secret for now. I love playing Quidditch, though! I cannot believe that troll Umbridge banned you from the team last year! But, now that she's gone, I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will remove the ban. It was all Malfoy's fault for what happened. I just wished I could have hit him like you did. I think I've said too much on that subject. You probably will know who I am after that.

I'm not even half-way through with my homework! I'm stuck on the magical properties of Asphodel for Snape's class. I wish I didn't have to be in Potions anymore! I can't stand Snape, with his usual ugly black robes and greasy, stringy, hair! Has he ever washed it? I can't believe that Dumbledore trusts Snape! I don't trust him, but that's probably because he's head of the Slytherin house. He always favors them! It's so unfair!

Hope to hear from you soon!

Your Friend

Harry read over the letter again to make sure he hadn't missed anything. He smiled at his mystery friend, thinking about them. They definitely aren't in Slytherin, he thought as he pulled out a piece of parchment. Dipping his quill into his ink, he wondering what he should say to them. As he placed his quill on the parchment, the words began to flow.

Dear Friend,

If I'm going to continue to write to you, I'm going to need some sort of name to call you, even if it's a nickname. This 'friend' business makes it seems so informal. What do you think?

I can't agree with you more about Umbridge. I'm just glad that we no longer have to see those ugly bows and that cardigan again! 'Hem hem'. I hated that! In fact, Ginny Weasley can do a good impression of Umbridge's cough. I don't know if you ever heard Ginny's impression. It scared us all at the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade last year when we met for the D.A. Were you in the D.A.?

I don't know much about the magical properties of Asphodel. Sorry! My friend Hermione Granger knows a lot about that. I don't know if you know her at all. She's the top student of our year. She might be able to help you. Just tell her I sent you. She's the person my friend, Ron Weasley, and I turn to for help on our homework.

I couldn't agree more with you about Snape! He always takes points off of Gryffindor for things that the Slytherins do! I'm glad you aren't a Slytherin. Malfoy is so infuriating! I have to admit, it felt good to punch him last year. That is the only thing I don't regret about my Quidditch ban.

I still don't know who you are. It's sort of scary to be writing to someone that I don't know, especially since you know me. But it feels nice to talk to someone about something besides what my friends want to talk about.

Hope to hear from you soon!

Harry

Harry read through his letter and nodded with content. He left the letter on his desk and turned to Hedwig, smiling at the only one in the house who cared for him. He stroked her snow-like feathers for a few minutes, thinking of what to do for the rest of the summer. He would have a lot of time on his hands and nothing to do for that time.

As he thought about his worries, he heard a car door slam and the front door open. Tiptoeing, he peered out of his door. There in the foyer were a man and woman. They were both Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia's age. The man, with dark hair on top of a head that threatened to turn bald at any moment, had a thick neck and a large pot belly. His suit was tight, especially around the middle, just like Uncle Vernon's. The woman, her blonde hair pulled into a bun that would have made McGonagall's bun look loose, wore a frilly blue dress similar to Aunt Petunia's. Her mouth pursed like Harry's Aunt's mouth did whenever Petunia found a spec of dirt. Harry quietly closed his door and sighed. Another set of the Dursley's, Harry said to himself as he crossed his room to Hedwig's perch again.

"Okay Hedwig," he started quietly, "I need you to take this letter to my 'friend.' If you have any more letters for me, make sure you come back when it's dark." She nibbled on his finger to let him know that she understood him before she flew out the open window. He picked up the letter from the mysterious friend and placed it under the loose floorboard with the others before settling on his bed. No sooner had he done that, Uncle Vernon opened the door.

"I'm warning you, boy, no sounds," he whispered menacingly, "and no owls!"

"My owl is gone," Harry said without looking at his uncle, "or couldn't you tell? I sent her to my friend's house for the next few days."

"Fine," Uncle Vernon remarked coldly, "but, you have been warned. Any funny business and you'll wish you were never born!" He closed Harry's door and left Harry alone to think of what to do for the next two days while the Sanders were there.

Soon it grew dark in Harry's room. Not wanting to draw attention to himself, Harry didn't turn on the light. He didn't move. He stayed on his bed, his arms bent under his head, and found himself thinking of Sirius. More than anything, he wanted Sirius back. Then Harry would have a real home and a real family. He would have someone that would have cared about him and would have cared about how things were for him.

All Harry wanted to do at that time was go back in time to when he first saw the vision Voldemort planted in his mind, before he went to the Ministry of Magic. Why hadn't he just checked the two-way mirror? He would've found Sirius, safe and at home, tending to Buckbeak the Hippogriff. Sirius's house elf Kreacher wouldn't have been able to lead Harry astray, and Harry would've moved to Grimmauld Place, even if Harry himself didn't like the place. But he would've been with his godfather, and he would've been happy.