DISCLAIMER: HARRY POTTER, characters, names and related indicia are trademarks of Warner Bros Entertainment Inc, and Property solely of J.K Rowling.
A/N: I will let you know that, as of right now, I have NO idea were I may go with this story, as with all of my stories, I write what relates to my life as it happens. There is no knowing where this may go, or what may take place between here and the end. Think of it as an adventure, with out having to leave the comfort of your computer chair...
Chapter 1: Loneliness
Number four Privet Drive was quiet as Vernon and Petunia Dursley had taken their only son, Dudley to a new movie with a couple of Dudley's friends from school. Unknown to them, their sixteen year old nephew sat at home, fighting not only with his own internal thoughts and feelings, but with a sever illness, that with out intervention and treatment would only get worse and bring him close to death.
Harry sat at his desk, his head resting on his hands, his eyes staring at a piece of blank parchment, wondering what he should write, or more importantly, if he should write anything at all. He felt overly tired and had a heavy cough which had developed a week or two into his summer holiday. He missed his friends, and he missed Hogwarts, his home away from home. He had been home for the holidays for a few weeks now, and had not received a single letter from Ron, Hermione or anyone else for that matter. They had even missed his birthday! At first Harry had been worried, but as the weeks went by he started becoming angry, surely someone would have told him if something had happen to his friends. This left either Dumbledore or his friends to blame. Dumbledore could have forbidden them from writing again, but if Harry was in their position, he would have sent something, anything to keep them informed, and if it wasn't Dumbledore's interference than perhaps they had decided that he was too dangerous, too reckless, too marked, to be around. After the Department of Mysteries, he wouldn't be surprised if this was their new take on the life of Harry Potter. Thinking over the last year events, Harry started wondering if he still had friends. He started coughing violently and struggled to inhale enough oxygen. Once the fit was over he thought over all the years and adventures that Hermione, Ron and he had overcome together. The idea that they may no longer want to be friends with him made him feel very alone. He thought of Sirius. If Sirius had still been alive, if he had not gone to the Department of mysteries to save Harry, and if Harry had only listen to Hermione when she told him it could of been a trick, if only, then Harry would have someone, and something to write about. Harry was slowly becoming depressed from the isolation and his own thoughts.
He sat upright, one hand pressed tightly against his scar, which was now burning beneath his fingers; Harry got the brief impression that Voldemort was very unhappy over something. As the burning feeling faded, Harry ran his fingers over his scar, it was still painful, but it was slowly fading to an annoying tingling sensation. He went back to staring at the blank parchment and wondered if he should write about the burning in his scar, but decided against it. So instead, he sat staring at the piece of parchment and thought back on the last few weeks...
The day after Harry had returned from Hogwarts he had been woken early by his Aunt and informed that he would be working for his keep, she had given him a list of all manners of chores, and everyday since he had been woken up around six and after showering would start the day's list of chores. Many consisted of out door work, such as gardening, mowing the lawn and washing his Uncle's car.
On days that it was raining, he was set to cleaning out the basement, which they were going to turn into a lounge area for Dudley and his friends. Harry found the musty air of the basement nearly suffocating, and had spent a huge portion of his time down gasping for air and coughing his lungs out while working. So far Harry had moved the boxes in the basement all to one side. He had started with the boxes of Dudley's old clothes and toys. He threw away anything that he thought would not longer fit Dudley into a neat pile along one wall, which surprisingly was a lot, as Dudley had lost a lot of weight since the run in with the Dementor's the summer before fifth year. He threw out the majority of the toys as many were broken or damaged beyond repair.
Dudley had developed the annoying habit of coming down into the basement while Harry was working to rifle through the piles of discarded items. He would sit on the floor cross-legged beside the piles of discarded items for about half an hour each day, pulling things out of piles and then throwing things back in. Sometime Harry would stop working to sneak a glance at what his cousin was doing. A few times their glances had met and Harry had thought his cousin was going to say something to him as his cousin would open his mouth as if to speak, but his cousin would then just look down and go back to rummaging. The rummaging annoyed Harry because he would then have to spend extra time cleaning up the piles again.
Harry had planned to do the photo album boxes next, but it had stopped raining before he had begun on those.
His Aunt and Uncle had so far ignored his existence, going so far as to not even talk to him. The only words he had heard from any of them was Aunt Petunia explaining the chore arrangement.
Harry was jaunted out of his thoughts as he fought to stop coughing. His throat was becoming sore from the effort so he gave in and waited it out. Deciding that staring at a piece of paper was pointless and moving from the desk, Harry paced the floor in front of his bed instead. He stopped pacing as he crouched over coughing, gulping for air in between each wave.
"I'm coming down with something" he said to himself sarcastically, and he waited for the last of the fit, then layed down on his bed, exhausted, and fell into a deep sleep within moments.