Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any Harry Potter equivalents; but I do own this plot! Mwuahahahaha.

Note: I have no idea where this story is heading, what it's about or what else to do next. I'm just writing it as it comes. The first chapter is pretty pathetic, but hey, I had nothing to work with in this chapter apart from whatever came to me! And it is my first fanfic, so blah.

Updates might take a while too as I'm not on the computer for a while. Maybe 30 minutes a day.

Chapter 1- Journals and Books

Darkness, it encompassed him. He could feel it, taste it, touch it; he couldn't escape it. Faces of those he knew, of those he felt guilt towards to, blended within the darkness as tears brimmed his eyes. His parents, his fellow student, his Godfather and lastly his mentor. Their eyes emotionless as they stared at him never relinquishing their gaze.

His nightmare vanished bringing him back to reality. Sweat hung from him, drenching the bedsheets as his eyes portrayed his fear. The shimmering light that lingered within the emerald green was not there, only filled by blind panic. Pushing his black locks of hair from his face, he turned as he put on his glasses, sparing a glance at his clock. 05:45 in the morning, early enough to get up and perhaps spare himself something to eat. Putting on raggedy jeans and a beige shirt, all once belonging to Dudley, he went downstairs and found himself in the kitchen making toast. His mind wasn't in it, nothing was in it. He felt despair and guilt once more, slowly eating away at him the farther he thought of it. No parents, no Godfather, no Dumbledore; it was just him now. Harry Potter against Voldemort, and nothing else was in Voldemort's way. Slumping down on a chair beside the kitchen table, he ate his toast in silence. His eyes gazing into his own future, seeing everyone that knows him dead and a Voldemort triumphant. It angered him, it made him seethe and felt his bones growing hot in rage. That image never escaped his mind, just like his recurring nightmare.

"What are you doing down here?" the broad voice whispered from the doorway. There stood Dudley Dursley, Harry's overlyweight cousin. Startling Harry from his thoughts, he answered in a monotone voice he's been using since he got to this house.

"Eating." Harry replied, shifting his gaze back to nothing. "I thought the message would be simple to get with me sitting here holding a piece of toast."

Dudley shot him a look of loathing and receeded from the doorway, most probably back to his room. Harry sighed, finishing his toast before following suit and going back to his room. Picking up a letter from his desk, one he's been a few days to read and sat down on his bed, ripping the envelope open and reading the neat writing of Hermione's.

Dear Harry,

What can I say, Harry? Comforting words that have never helped you before? You're too stubborn for your own good. But anyway, I can't wait to see you, nor can any of the others. It's a sad time, Harry, and probably the worst since what happened to Dumbledore. All I can say is it's not your fault once again, Harry. Dumbledore must of had a reason to stop you, and made you not able to help him! So please, Harry, don't blame yourself. Dumbledore had his own reasons for not wanting you to get involved in what happened. We'll see you soon anyway!

Love from,

Hermione

Harry stared blankly at the piece of parchment. Did they all know him so well that he would beat himself up over Dumbledore's death? Sighing once again as he put Hermione's letter on his desk, he stretched and sat on his chair. Harry had figured out that sheer power wasn't going to defeat Voldemort, Dumbledore stressed that to Harry, but it was the power of love. What type of power? he thought warily. Power of love to fight till his last breath? Power of love to protect his friends to his extent? Power of love to create a new spell? The last one caught Harry off guard, for never has he thought about creating his own spell, if it was at all capable of doing. The more he thought of it the more it seemed to be possible, for how can all the spells they use now have come to existance. Caught in this pondering a bright glaze of fire erupted above his bed, frightening Harry as a book escaped the clutches of the flames. As they dissapeared just as they came, Harry got back up off the floor he fell on to and peered onto his bed, a single red feather lay ontop of a dark red leathered covered book.

Slowly touching the cover he was supprised to find it was rather cool, and picking it up gold letters were embroided on the side. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore- Notes, Thoughts and Ideas. The hair on Harry's neck stood up. "Dumbledore's book?" he said out loud in a barely contained whisper, showing his enthusiasm yet skepticism. His face plastered astonishment as he turned the cover to the first page, reading an entry from what seems must of been before he was born.

Tom Marvolo Riddle shows incredible aptitude in all but 1 case of his studies. His work ethic is only surpassed by his ill feelings towards muggles, and all muggle-related areas. A cautionable note is required for one such a young promising student.

Harry guessed these notes and thoughts went back to when Dumbledore was but a teacher at Hogwarts, filling the position as Transfiguration teacher. 50 years backwards maybe, back to when peace was here after Grindewauld. Skimming the pages, he caught sites of ideas for an Order, thoughts of spells that are in some use now, and even more cautioned notes of Tom Riddle. The last entry was his idea to take Harry to the cave for the horcruxes, and Harry closed the book. Reading about it too early brought up the sour feelings as he subconsciously rubbed the locket in his hand. Bringing him out of his reverie once again as another burst of flame and another book, laying a single red feather once more on the cover. Reading the spine of the book, it once more bare weight to Dumbledore's full name and a Potent spells, potions, and theory. A book of Dumbledore's spells? Now Harry couldn't even dare hide his delight at such power to, even if little, hold off Voldemort.

Opening the cool leather cover of this book a small envelope fell out. Picking it up Harry gave a confused look towards it, noticing his name was on the back. Without hesitation he pushed his hair back again, as it had grown considerable during the first week of summer, down to just inbetween his ears, and opened the envelope.

Dear Harry,

If you are reading this, Harry, then I am sorry to say I have passed away. I must take pleasure in presenting one of my own books to you, though, for it contains such genius spells and potions that I can suggest you learn. I have asked Fawkes to give this book to you in the summer before you are 17, or if I have, as mentioned, passed away. But never both in the same time! Yes Harry, I knew my death was keenly infront of me very soon. How I know, I cannot say. By how, I cannot know. But what I can say and do know is that you can defeat Tom Marvolo Riddle, Harry, with or without my help makes no difference. I also suggest you show this book to a a few secluded friends of yours, as I know doubt you are very keen to let a certain female know of.

But as I have said before, you can defeat this Wizard with your love, Harry. You must figure out the puzzle in those words to understand your true power. And migh I suggest the spell on page 176? I'm sure it will come on handy.

Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

The light reflected from the tears forcing their way through Harry's eyes. He placed the letter down on the bed and opened the book to page 176, slowly reading the passage.

The Pheonix Requim

The Pheonix Requim is a simple charm to master, yet such a talent can only come from those that have a certain bonding to a Pheonix. The song a Pheonix produces calms the soul and mind of each individual in certain ways, bringing a serence tranquility to each person. This charm imitates that particular song bringing calm and peace to such a surrounding and to all that want to hear it, an easy way to keep it from helping the wrong people. The incantation is Carmen Incendia. Wand movement is to follow the picture.

And below the paragraph was a picture of a wand imitating the correct movement needed. A few more weeks Harry though. Just a few more weeks. Harry spent the rest of the day confined to his room, pouring all the knowledge Dumbledore wrote down inside him. He couldn't get enough, and was already practicing the wand movement and learning all incantations by heart. 1:25 the clock wrote, supprising Harry that he hadn't noticed 6 hours go by. A tapping at the window broke Harry away from Dumbledore's books and he let in a beautiful snowy white owl known as Hedwig, placing an envelope on the desk before flying to her cage. Harry noticed the neat writing of Hermione's again, probably concerned Harry hadn't written back yet. Afterall, her letter was 6 days old originally. Placing it down on his desk, Harry yawned and went to bed, knowing he'll have a scolding to wake up to in a letter.