Disclaimer: This is for all the chapters. I don't own HP or anybody else from JKR. If only I did…

A/N: This story starts out as relatively normal, but I may turn it darker towards the end (which will be a long, long time from now). Also, I may have a romance later on, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.

Oblivious to the cold around him, Severus Snape stood silently in the shadows of Privet Drive. It was a very chilly night in mid-July, and the sun had set hours before he had even arrived at his post. He looked across the street, into the front windows of Number Four, home of the infamous Harry Potter. He looked up and down the street as he had done every few minutes for the last three hours. As before, there was no one to be seen. He couldn't feel any magic in the air around him, but was still not assured that no one else was present.

Suddenly Snape whirled around to face the silent person behind him. His wand drawn and senses completely alert, he was not prepared for what was in front of him. However, Severus Snape was not a man to be taken for as unprepared. Before any emotions could surface on his face, he schooled his features into a mask of apathy, though inside he was seething.

"What, may I ask, inspired you to leave your safe haven? Surely house-watching is not a past-time of yours," he drawled smoothly into the night air.

Snape was talking to the air, or so it seemed. With a ripple in his line of vision, he was suddenly face to face with a very annoyed underage wizard.

"It may not be a past-time of mine, but surely babysitting the Boy Who Lived is not your favorite activity. Wouldn't you rather be coddling him as the rest of the wizarding world does? That seems to be a favorite among those who've met me, anyway," said Harry coolly. "Or are you once again under orders from a great wizard who has, for some reason, convinced every one of his followers that I need to be under supposedly covert supervision day and night? Because if that is the case, I'd just as soon invite you in to the warm, loving home that I share with these wonderful people. You may have heard some things about the Dursleys but I assure you, meeting them is an experience to remember."

Snape scowled menacingly at the boy. "How dare you speak to me in such a manner. You know perfectly well that I may not leave, no matter how enjoyable it is to stand in the dark for hours on end, ensuring your safety. He would have it no other way. We've said enough in the open air. Get inside before you're attacked again."

Harry didn't return the scowl, but stared at his Potions professor with cold, empty eyes. "What difference does it make if I am attacked? I'm the Boy Who Lived, remember? If I can survive the other great wizard of this century, surely I can hold off a few of your buddies. And besides, I have nothing to live for anyway."

Before Snape could respond, Harry was striding across the street. He was inside in seconds, the door making no sound when it shut. The professor watched through the front windows as Vernon Dursley heaved himself off the couch, his screaming voice carrying far past Severus' ears. Harry was going to be punished for entering his house, even though he hadn't made a sound. Just as he began to ponder why someone would react that way, he heard a small pop to his left. Wand out and ready for the second time in just a few minutes, he waited until Hestia Jones confirmed her identity with a secret password before Apparating to the seemingly peaceful town of Hogsmeade, which was reassuringly close to the safety of Hogwarts.

Harry stormed into the house, but was careful not to slam the door. He heard Vernon yell at him from the living room.

"Boy!" came the growl. Harry quickly folded up his invisibility cloak and tucked it safely under his arm.

"Boy! Come here – what do you think you're doing, storming into this house, making all that racket? We're trying to watch television, but with you clanging about my Dudley can't hear a word of his program. Go to your room, and don't come out for at least a fortnight. We'll see about food."

Harry wasn't disturbed by Vernon's typical outburst, but quickly climbed the stairs to avoid further wrath. He slipped into his room, shutting the door quietly behind him. He leaned against the back of the door, gathering his thoughts.

Snape had been watching him from across the street. He was wearing his own robes, which meant that at the very least he was there on behalf of Dumbledore. But that meant that they were watching him again, and still without his knowledge. Lot of good that had done last summer. Mundungus was nowhere to be found when Dementors had appeared on Privet Drive. Then again, it was Dung. Still! Harry thought that the least Dumbledore could do was let him know that his every move was being monitored.

Oh, what does it matter? Sirius is gone. The last of my family that actually loved me. Gone. Harry felt a bout of anger coming on at the memories of Sirius, so he quickly cleared his mind to calm down. He paced the room for a few minutes, glancing occasionally at Hedwig's cage. He had sent her out a few days ago with replies to Ron and Hermione's latest letters. Hopefully she was just taking a break from the constant traveling, and nothing had happened.

Harry lay on his bed, hands behind his head. Sirius was gone, slain by the wand of Bellatrix Lestrange. That damn woman, Sirius' own cousin. But a Death Eater nonetheless. It was all his fault, Harry rationalized. If only he had been better at Occlumency, hadn't seen the memories in Snape's pensieve. He should have known that it was a trap. How dumb was he not to have realized that Voldemort would know about their connection, that he would exploit that option. Voldemort was evil – of course he would use any devious method available to try and trap Harry. And it had worked; Harry had taken the now obvious bait and was reeled in, inch by inch. And Bellatrix… Harry hadn't felt much of anything since Sirius' death, but he was filled to the brim with anger toward his godfather's cousin. All Death Eaters were the same. Except perhaps Snape, but Harry didn't quite know how to classify him. The Potions Master was a greasy git, and he had joined the Death Eaters like so many others. And yet, something had made him switch sides and become a spy for Dumbledore, who trusted him implicitly. Harry couldn't even begin to fathom what miraculous act Snape had performed to gain the Headmaster's trust.

His musings were interrupted by a fairly loud tapping noise at the window. He hurried to open it so he wouldn't disturb Vernon any further. Hedwig was outside as well as another, unfamiliar owl. They were both supporting a large picnic basket, and immediately flew to Harry's bed to set it down. Harry closed the window as the strange owl followed Hedwig to her cage. He pulled a package of owl treats from underneath his mattress and gave a few to both owls. After a minute of allowing Harry to pet both him and Hedwig, the other owl gave a soft hoot and flew over to sit on top of the basket.

"Oh, so you want me to open it, do you? If you insist," Harry whispered. He pulled his wand out of his waistband, just in case something was lurking inside. He doubted that very much as Hedwig had been helping to deliver it, but it couldn't hurt to be prepared. "Constant vigilance," he muttered with a small grin.

Slowly Harry unfastened the top of the basket, opening it just a little bit to make sure nothing was going to burst out at him. When he was certain it was safe, he fully opened the lid. The contents were wrapped in red cloth with gold trim, and there was a folded piece of paper sitting on top of it all. He picked up the note and sat down next to the basket to read.

Harry,

Ron and Hermione mentioned that you didn't seem to be feeling your best, so I thought a bit of food might perk you up. Especially with the food those horrible Muggles must be feeding you.

Love,

Molly Weasley

Mrs. Weasley's note struck a chord within him. The Dursley's hadn't fed him much of anything since he'd gotten home at the beginning of June. They rarely talked to him, let alone notified him of when meals were ready. The most conversation he'd had was when he was on the receiving end of Vernon's anger. Harry had been quite dejected since Sirius' death, and had no energy to argue with his uncle. He had taken to waking early in the mornings and going for long walks, returning home even before the Dursley's woke for the day. Occasionally Harry was around when they sat down for a meal, but even then he wasn't very hungry. The rest of his days were spent locked away in his room, rereading his old textbooks, attempting to glean any additional information that he might have missed during the year. (There was actually a lot Harry had missed, so it was just as well he had nothing else to do, as his summer homework was long completed.)

Suddenly feeling a bit of an appetite, Harry uncovered the contents of the basket. Mrs. Weasley must have charmed the basket to have an expanded interior because by the time he had completely emptied the basket his bed was covered in various foods. She had sent him mince pies, roasted chicken, salad, rolls, homemade fudge, treacle tart, pumpkin juice, and a small container of what looked to be marmalade. She had even included a packaged set of two plates, forks, knives, spoons, and glasses, along with a little note that told him they were self-cleaning. He repacked all of the food, leaving only a bit of treacle tart to nibble on, and hid the basket in his closet.

Harry pulled out a piece of parchment, his quill, and a small bottle of ink. Just as he set the quill to paper – Dear Mrs. Weasley, - he heard another tap on the window. Looking out, he saw Ron's overexcited little owl, Pig. He opened the window and took the letter from the tiny owl. He reached for an owl treat, but before he could even retrieve one the small owl had zoomed out the window and disappeared into the night. Wondering where the little owl was off to in such a rush, Harry closed the window once more. He held the envelope in his hands, looking at Ron's messy handwriting scrawled across the front. He pulled the letter from within, hoping very much that it wasn't another one of his friends many attempts to cheer him up.

Harry,

Hope you liked the basket Mum sent you. We didn't say anything to her, but she insisted on sending it anyway. Great news mate – Dumbledore said you can come and stay with us – finally! Hermione's not here, but she's going to come visit when you get settled in. It probably seems like forever, but we're going to get you on the 27th. Don't worry about the Muggles; Dumbledore's taking care of them. Also, this letter is charmed so that only you can read it, so don't worry about anyone knowing what's in here. Oh, and the new owl is Ginny's present for becoming a prefect; she named him Folly. See you soon!

Ron

Harry was surprisingly cheerful after reading his friend's letter. Not only would he get to leave the Dursley's in 12 days' time, but he would get to stay at the Burrow for his birthday. All in all, this night was balancing out to be ok. He was still annoyed at learning that the Order was still watching him, and that Snape had been outside his home. It wasn't that bad, though; now he had treacle tart to nibble on.

He finished the quick thank you not to Mrs. Weasley, and sent it off with Folly after giving him another owl treat.

Harry sat cross-legged on his bed, nibbling on treacle tart, and thinking about his stay with the Weasleys, and how exciting it would be to play Quidditch in the back yard again. He couldn't wait to be back in the air – it made him feel more alive than anything else, and right about now he could use something really good in his life, even if it was only for a few moments. His excitement dissolved as he heard yet another tap on the window.

Heaving himself off the bed, Harry opened the window for a third time. Another unfamiliar owl flew in, bearing a letter as well as a small rectangular package. The owl let Harry take it's burden, and flew to Hedwig's cage to have a drink of water. The neat and precise writing on the letter told him immediately that the post was from Hermione. He decided to open the letter first because he was sure the package contained a book.

Harry,

I'm so excited that you'll be going to the Burrow. I don't know if Ron mentioned it, but I'll be coming to visit for a bit, so I'll be there for your birthday! I thought you might be running out of things to do, so I sent a book I thought you might find interesting. I haven't read it, but it seemed to be informational, even though it didn't look like the most popular book on the shelf. You'll see what I mean when you open the package. I'm pretty sure you'll like it, but at the very least it's something to look over for the next few days.

Love,

Hermione

Harry wondered what book she could possibly have gotten him that would be informational yet interesting. He hadn't found a book like that yet, except for his book Quidditch Through the Ages. He opened the package with fervor, revealing a plain black cover. He pulled his wand from the waistband of his jeans just to be on the safe side, and as he did glittering silver letters spread across the cover revealing the title Of Darkness. He swept past the first few pages and began reading the introduction.

In this world there is both darkness and light. The path one chooses is inherent, not of free will, and not influenced by our surroundings. Each of us is born with either predominantly light or dark tendencies. There is not good and evil in a soul, for those terms are relative. One can be considered good, but have "evil" tendencies. Light and dark encompass a much more generous range. To say that one is dark can mean that while a person has "good" ideals, they are inherently "evil", etc. Many have said that regardless of what seems natural to a person, the mind has a strong enough will to turn over a theoretical new leaf. While some would hold this as truth, it is not so. One is born either of darkness or of light, and nothing in life can redirect a person from that path.

Harry continued the introduction; his curiosity peaked by the strange book. He was about to go on to the first chapter when the last sentence caught his eye.

Having said all this, one thing is certain: whosoever reads these pages is inherently of darkness, for no other could turn even one page.