I don't own Harry Potter or any thing else that might seem familiar. It all belongs to the great J.K. Rowling.
This is my first Harry Potter Fan Fiction, and I'm hoping it goes a little better than my last one. I really wanted the first chapter to be longer but it stopped were it wanted to. I really hope to update on this on and I will try to attempt to finish it.
It was his 6th summer at Privite Drive and Harry Potter was not happy, to say the least. As a matter of fact one can almost assuredly say that this was Harry's worst summer by far.
But, for once, it wasn't his horrid aunt and uncle, or his abnormally large cousin Dudley who were causing his current state of mind. As a matter of fact they had been strangely civil to him since he got back from school. No, it wasn't them, although ever since he got home (yeah right as if anyone in their right mind would call the Dursely's place home) he did have a tendency to take out his anger on whatever unfortunate being was in his presence at the time. It was usually one of the Durselys or as had become recent practice over the last two weeks on the walls of his bedroom resulting in bruised knuckles and dents in the wall.
You see Harry wasn't exactly allowed out of the house. It doesn't mean that every once in a while, in between his stalkers (as he had taken to call the order members who watched him) shifts he didn't sneak out though a back door to get time alone. Something he truly needed after the events of last year. But unfortunately it was slowly becoming harder and harder to accomplish due to fact that one of the many order members who have been keeping watch over their charge realized what he was doing in between shifts, and so overlapped them. 'Probably Moody Harry thought with a frown, and a roll of his eyes.
Therefore the great, the one and only Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, was currently, by no force of his own, trapped in his room with only his thoughts for company. And they weren't happy ones.
He was filled with grief and anger, but most of all guilt over what had occurred the previous year. His Godfather, the only adult he trusted, died. There was no body left behind, nothing to show that he had ever died at all, nothing but a black veil rippling in an unfelt wind.
Every morning when he woke up he almost expected to see him standing there, in front of his bed, laughing as if it was some great prank. But he wasn't and every morning when Harry woke he remembered, remembered how he went to the Department of Mysteries against his friends' warnings, remembered it was a trap, set by Voldemort, a trap that achieved the very means it was meant to. Remembered the dual between Sirius Black and Bellatrix Lestrange. Remembered him taunting her, remembered the look of shock on his face as her next curse hit him and he slowly fell backward into the veil. Remembered as the feeling of despair washed over him and he began to run towards the black veil. Remembered when Remus Lupin grabbed him, stopped him from going after Sirius.
Then he remembered the prophecy. The sound of Trelawney's voice echoed in his head as she spoke the words that would damn him to either kill or be killed, the words of the prophecy…
"THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK
LORD APPROACHES… BORN TO THOSE WHO HAVE THRICE
DEFIED HIM, BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES… AND THE
DARK LORD WILL MARK HIM AS HIS EQUAL, BUT HE WILL
HAVE POWER THE DARK LORD KNOWS NOT… AND EITHER
MUST DIE AT THE HAND OF THE OTHER FOR NEITHER CAN
LIVE WHILE THE OTHER SURVIVES… THE ONE WITH THE POWER
TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD WILL BE BORN AS THE
SEVENTH MONTH DIES…" (OOTP p. 841)
It was like a mantra that wouldn't go away. It was up to him, and he didn't know if he could do it. How was he a skinny not quite 16 year old boy with messy black hair, emerald green eyes, glass that god forbid ever came over his face he couldn't see two feet in front of him, a sudden temper and a lighting bolt shaped scar in the middle of his far head that erupted with pain if he even got close to Voldemort supposed to defeat him? He was the wizarding world's last hope, it's savoir? 'I pray for the world' he thought sardonically.
That and his godfather's death was what plagued his mind this summer. He had nothing to do to stop it. No letters to read; his two best friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger had each sent him two letters in the beginning of the summer saying that they weren't allowed to write him for fear of the owls getting intercepted, so therefore he couldn't write them either. No homework to do, 'stupid OWLs', all Harry could do was a) lie on his be and study the cracks in his ceiling b) reread his school books for the umpteenth time, or c) write his letter to the order telling them he was fine, nothing odd, the Durselys are behaving; all of which did not sound very appealing to him at the moment.
'I'm losing it' he though 'I am going to die in this room from pure boredom.'
Meanwhile in the Department of Mysteries a black veil rippled in an unfelt wind as a figure of a man stepped out.
Sorry please don't kill me. I'll try to update as soon as possible.