AN

I don't own anything. I wish I did, but I don't. I've been in Fanfiction for about nine years now, but I made a new account. I will write ahead of updates. Currently I am around 30k words, which I plan on making most chapters besides the first a minimum of 10k words. I am going to continue writing it to get this idea out of my head, so it's up to you if you want to review or not. As I am doing this on my own please bare with me as I write it. I will do my best to avoid any mistakes in plot or grammar. Enjoy!

Harry Potter stared out the window of his bedroom at number 4 Privet Drive. He gazed out at the overcast sky, reflecting on the similarities the clouds had to wizarding Britain. Both dark and dreary, and both moved by unseen forces. Not moved by magic but rather forces of seemingly worldly power. Both the clouds and the world were constantly shifting, swirling, as if every second the powers were shifting and turning. A small patter of rain fell on the window, as if to wake Harry from his thoughts. Glancing over at Hedwig sleeping in her cage with her head under her wing, Harry was starkly reminded of the innocents within the world, both mundane and magical. They might live in the world, but they had little control over the proverbial winds moving it. Hedwig just learned to ride the winds and make the best of it. Little did she know that her very existence was in danger both due to the nature of the world and her being associated with Harry.

Sighing miserably, Harry reflected on the month that had just been. The third task had been terrifying enough. The maze hedges closing in and strangling Harry had plagued his dreams over the past month. Perhaps it stemmed from living in a cupboard for the first 10 years of his life, Harry mused. Regardless the fear of being in small places was something Harry did not like to admit too. It wasn't all consuming fear that made him incapable of doing anything, but it was a situation he would rather avoid. The monsters of the maze had little effect on Harry. Harry reflected on the creatures he had meet in the past four years, and wasn't necessarily surprised the monsters didn't bother him. "After a Basilisk does a large spider bother me?" Harry mumbled to himself. No the monsters weren't really a factor in the fear of the third task. What bothered Harry was the isolation of it. When the entirety of your world is twelve foot hedges, one gains a perspective on isolation.

Thanks to his nightmares, Harry had little trouble recalling the events of the Graveyard. It was a bittersweet memory for Harry that also contained horror and helplessness. Still a small part of Harry was happy to have talked to his parents, even if it had only been a few brief moments. For the first time in his life Harry had come face to face with what ,many would consider the loss of his parents. They weren't just other people's stories or faces in the Mirror of Erised. He had his own tangible memory of them now. It made Harry reflect on his choices. They had given their lives for his. Harry had always thought; if he could give up his life to save another would it be worth it? But reflecting on his parents sacrifice would he in turn be sacrificing their sacrifice as well as his own life? Shaking his head Harry thought of Cedric. If only he had been faster or stronger. He could have saved him. Regardless of all the evil Harry saw that night, the most sickening thing to him was not the murder, or the ritual, but rather the feeling of helplessness he had in the Graveyard. Harry realised his life wasn't about playing chess with Ron all night anymore. He couldn't afford to do that. Looking at his own reflection in the window, and the clouds behind it, Harry came to a sad conclusion. Whatever was left of the minimal childhood he had was over. His enemies would not treat him as if he were a child. He had a duty to become stronger, not just to himself, but to his parents.

Harry sat on the edge of his bed thinking about his previous four years at Hogwarts. They were dangerous at best, and deadly at worst. He had to kill someone in his first year, self defence admittedly, but it still happened. How many 11 year old's had blood on their hands? His second year hadn't gone much better. The isolation of everyone thinking he was the heir of Slytherin made for quite the lonely year. Then to make matters worse he had to go and kill the damn snake. Harry had protected those who had bad mouthed him all year. Not that he would change it, but it did leave a slightly bitter taste in his mouth. Third year in a way was Harry's favorite year. The dementors were both a wonderful thing and a terrible thing at the same time. For the first time Harry had a memory of his mother talking. It was odd that Harry would sometimes long just to relive his worst memory just to hear her voice again. Gaining Sirius that year was a godsend for the next year to come. Harry hoped to this day that he and Sirius could live together, whenever his godfather was free. Last year had only served to enforce Harry's bitterness towards the population of students at Hogwarts. Everyone hated him for becoming a champion even when he didn't want to be one. That wasn't really the part that bothered Harry though, what bothered him is those same people started to cheer for him when he did well. How fickle can people get?

Harry leaned back onto his head board making a sudden realisation. Why did it seem like Voldemort was fixated on him? Harry had always thought of it as Voldemort having nefarious plans, that he stumbled onto, but he had been sought out in second and fourth year. What was so special about him, that Voldemort would go to such lengths to get his hands on him? Voldemort put a fake teacher in Hogwarts for an entire year, and the only thing they did was send Harry to the graveyard? Harry didn't consider himself an evil mastermind, but he would have done more than that with that kind of mole in place. Getting up and heading for his desk, Harry grabbed a quill and parchment and began to scribble a letter to Dumbledore.

Professor,

I was sitting on my bed thinking about my last few years at Hogwarts, and with a bit of self reflection discovered a scary coincidence. It seems Voldemort is fixated on me. Do you know why he might be focused on me, other than what happened when I was a baby?

Regards,

Harry

Harry set his letter on his desk making a mental note to send it tomorrow night after Hedwig got some rest. Regardless of Dumbledore's reply, one thing was certain to Harry, and that was that he needed to get stronger faster, as Voldemort seemed to target him. Harry would not go down without a fight, he would survive as long as he could. There was no way he was going to just sit back and let people walk all over him. Not just Voldemort, but also all the people who called him the heir and a cheat. Gone were the days when Harry would let someone else dictate his life. What Harry didn't know was that as he was stealing his resolve about his future, thousands of copies of the the Daily Prophet were rolling off the press calling him a plotter, and claim he made up the story of the graveyard to gain more fame.

A quiet tapping on his window woke Harry the next morning. Grumbling about a terrible night's sleep and having to walk across the room, Harry made his way to the owl who had dared raise him this morning. It was Harry's first bit of mail this summer break, and Harry wasn't as excited as he thought he would be. Harry, rightfully so in his mind, was grumpy with his two friends. It had been a tough year for the three of them. With Ron's attitude at the start of the year, strain had begun to work its course of the "golden trio". Harry scoffed as he look the letter from the owl. They were friends, yes, but that didn't mean they were as inseparable as the rumor mill as Hogwarts seemed to believe. Hermione had ended up being between the two boys most of the first half of the year. As a result both Harry and Ron were unhappy she had taken the other side so to speak. Was it Harry's fault Ron had been a prat? No, so why did Hermione spend time with Ron after the disagreement? Obviously it was a tough situation for Hermione, but Harry couldn't help but feel slightly put off. Besides, it had been 15 days into the break and neither Ron nor Hermione had written.

Turning over the letter and opening it with a slide of his finger, Harry recognised the messy scrawl of his Godfather. Smiling inwardly, Harry retreated to his bed to read the letter. After picking a spot without springs poking through, Harry straightened his glasses and began to read.

Hey Pup,

Sorry I haven't written sooner, but I had to lay low for a while. I have a lot to tell you so I wanted to meet up to this afternoon. Go on a walk, and I will find you. Bring your Dad's fancy attire yeah? See you soon,

Padfoot

So he wanted him to bring the cloak? It was a risk for Sirius to come to Little Whinging, but if it was important to talk to Harry, Harry couldn't fault him. Mild curiosity peaked in Harry. What was so important that Sirius come all the way here? Not that Harry was complaining, but it seemed like an odd trip on such short notice. Glancing at the clock Harry saw he had a few hours until it could even start to be considered the afternoon. Throwing his shirt and trainers on, Harry made his way to the front door. His daily run was calling. Harry had been running for the last week, and it still seemed pointless at times, but Harry kept telling himself it would help in the long run. If he had learned nothing from the Triwizard Tournament, he had learned the importance of endurance in magical battle. He had briefly considered working out to build muscle mass, but thought losing his quickness wasn't worth the base muscles. Besides, Harry rather liked being wiry and quick. It fit with his dueling style at the moment. Harry barely noticed the raining hitting him as his feet made the repetitive motion of dropping one in front of the other. Each stride seemed to jar his body and drain what energy he had. He hoped that in time this damn running thing would help him, and would be easier as time passed. Harry hated feeling weak. Harry hated his morning runs, but he hated the memory of being exhausted at the graveyard more. Each time he felt a bit of fatigue and felt like quitting he steeled his will and gave another burst of speed. It was a punishment to his mind. Harry was not a quitter, so he was conditioning his mind with punishment each time he felt like quitting. The one nice thing about going for runs was the wind in his face. For some reason, Harry never felt more comfortable and more powerful than he did with wind in his face, swirling his bangs up and to the right. Flying, regular wind, or running it didn't matter what the source was. The physical act of wind blowing against him filled him with confidence and resolve to push harder and go further.

Realising he was close to getting back to his relatives house, Harry pushed hard and sprinted the last 100 meters. Panting, Harry looked to the sky, blinking each time a drop of rain hit his glasses. Could he move the clouds? Harry would try his damnedest, he would not be forced to go with the flow of the wind. He, Harry James Potter, would be a force moving the wind. Drawing closer to the front steps harry shook himself off. He didn't want to get an ear full about disrespecting the house and all the hard work put into it. Slipping inside Harry made his way to his room in search of a change of clothes. Upon arriving at his trunk, Harry searched in vain for clothes that would fit. Harry decided that he really needed clothes of his own. He should really get a few sets in Diagon Alley this summer he mused. After pulling on a shirt that only had a few holes in it, Harry picked up his Standard Book of Spells Grade 4. Cursing the fact he couldn't do magic, Harry pulled out his parchment and began to take notes of spells that could help with fights. He wished he could do more than read a few silly books, he already knew, in the summer. But wasn't magic spells? He needed to get better at magic for the years to come if he had any chance at all. Avis. A spell that conjured birds around the caster. Potentially useful Harry thought. Could he dictate where the birds went? What made the decision of where the birds came out and where they went afterwards. In his notes Harry labeled birds with the idea that intent might have some effect on control of the birds. Harry really was curious what caused magic to react the way it did.

The dog flap on the door signaled his "lunch" had arrived. He might be free of the locks on the door, but he still wasn't allowed to get food from the kitchen. The threats of a convict Godfather only went so far. A single piece of stale toast and a half glass of water. Turning to Hedwig, Harry gave her half of the bread. "No need for you to starve because of me," he said to his owl. Hedwig hooted reproachfully, but ate the bread anyways. Stroking her soft white feathers, Harry nibbled on his own bread. Glancing at his clock Harry noted he only had a few more minutes before he went to go see Sirius. Dumping his water into Hedwig's container, Harry turned towards his trunk. Tossing in his notes and Spell book, Harry withdrew his Invisibility cloak. Harry quickly ducked out of the house as to not "disturb" his relatives. Harry decided to walk to the nearby park. He approached the curb where he accidentally summoned the Night Bus in his third year.

"Hey there cub! You look tired," came Sirius' voice from behind him. Harry spun around, and jumped.

"Sirius!," he cried enveloping him in a hug. "What's with all the cloak and dagger?" Harry wordlessly handed him the invisibility cloak. As he watch Sirius throw the cloak on, Harry sank onto the park bench. Feeling a weight settle down to his left, Harry turned and ask, "Is everything ok? Did something happen?"

"Besides what happened to you?," asked the pointed voice. "I came to talk about the future, for both you and me. I wanted to make sure you took this conversation the right way."

"Meaning? Are you worried about me being upset?" asked Harry, looking out at the park and the merry-go-round shifting in the wind. The sun had come out and was shining a few rays down through the low clouds.

"Not particularly," sigh Sirius. He paused as if trying to pick the right path to follow. "I want you to prepare. The time for a childhood as come and gone, not that I imagine you had much of one to begin with." He tone darkened, "What with me going off and leaving you here."

"It's not your fault. I'm fine." muttered Harry uncomfortably. Harry would never tell Sirius the extent of what happened at the Dursley's but it didn't take a genius to figure out some of what had happened.

"Well in any case," started Sirius before shaking his head ruffling the cloak. "I wanted to make sure you are taking the right steps towards the future. I want to protect you from Voldemort, but I can't. What I can do is help you Harry. I can help train you by getting books, answering any questions you might have, and you can sure as hell bet I'll be right there fighting beside you. As much as I want to shield you from Voldemort, it's impossible. He has hidden allies in the least likely places." Sirius sounded as if he was admitting all his faults and was asking for forgiveness.

"I don't expect you or anyone to shield me," said Harry. "He wants me, I just have to make sure to make him regret his choice. Which means hard work. I've been thinking over this the past few weeks. It seems to me I have two choices. I could bemoan my life and complain how it's not fair, or I could just do it. Ya know? There really isn't much of a choice. Who knows what will happen. The only thing I know is I don't want to feel as weak as I did in the graveyard."

"You are too wise for your years Harry," Sirius began, "I want to help you. I can't train you in person. I can give you the tools and knowledge to succeed however. I have a book for you. It's not published or anything, but it was Lily's. She seemed to think there was some connection between mundane science and magic. Both in anatomy and Chemistry. It was her personal research book. I had taken it to show it to my cousin Andromeda to check her ideas. She is a healer you see, and I got left at my house when it all… happened."

"My mum's book on magic theory?" Harry looked down at the journal being offered by Sirius floating hand. He took the book almost reverently. It was a bound brown leather journal. Unmarked but well worn.

"Bare in mind Harry, not many people are as insightful as your mother, but she is by no means perfect in the field of study. Think of it as a starting point. How can we truly use magic if we don't understand it? It's my understanding that mundanes are progressing faster and faster with science. Never before has there been enough knowledge on both sides to understand the difference of magic and science. Your mother was on the verge of a breakthrough, but had to go into hiding. I can think of no better starting point than your mother journal."

"Sirius I…," started Harry at a loss for words. "I can't thank you enough. Even if I can't understand it, its something close to her."

"Trust me Harry," laughed Sirius, "you will understand it. I learned more about the theory of magic in 15 minutes of reading that than I did all of my last year. And I had a lot of time to study since your parents were running around like bunnies that year." Harry could hear the smile on face though his words.

"That's more horrifying than anything I needed to hear," yelped Harry yaking as if it could help him un-hear Sirius' joke. "But seriously there is magic theory? I thought it was just spells?"

"There are many types of magic," explained Sirius, "like spells yes, but also rituals, ambient magic, loose magic, elemental magic, and physical magic. Hell there is magic almost everywhere. You can push magic into muscles to move faster. It kinda makes your blur into smoke in a way, but yeah, there are many types of magic. Once you find your magical core you can expand it and tighten it much like your abdomen. It's what makes auras. It's often used in duels too."

"Why duels?" asked Harry interrupting. "It seems like a waste of magic that you could turn into more spells."

"Imagine a water hose. If you were to widen the hole more could come out yes? What would happen if you put your thumb over the hole? The flow out would become faster but less controlled. It would use less magic if you constricted it. So for a barrage of spells, many tighten up their core so to speak, but harder magic you have to loosen up and let your aura show a bit. It's like charging up your power for a difficult spell. Now powerful wizards like Dumbledore and Voldemort, perhaps Moody, can fight the whole time in a powered up state. More importantly, they can control the excess magic to shield them and power their muscles. That's why even though he is 150 years old, Dumbledore is still a formidable opponent."

"And how do you find your magical core?" asked Harry. The idea of magic helping in duels appealed to him.

"Meditation. You have to look inwards and find what makes you… you," said Sirius simply. "It's a personal journey. No one's journey is the same as anyone else's."

"I can't wait to try it in September, said Harry excitedly.

"You know magic that's not done with a wand isn't traceable. I wouldn't go making visible smoke behind you as you run, but you can certainly try meditation and ambient magic as well as elemental magic probably. I wouldn't advise fire if that's what you find you can do. Think of it as pranking the ministry," laughed Sirius. "Listen Pup, it's getting late and I'm not even suppose to be here according to Dumbledore. Before I forget… I made you my heir. Due to my time in Az… well that place, I can't have kids of my own. It doesn't mean much besides being a part of my family officially. That is assuming you don't mind?"

"I can't imagine another person alive I'd rather be family with," answered Harry thickly. "Sirius, I'd be honored."

"Good we will have to go to Gringotts together soon then. Perhaps when you go shopping we will get it done. I'll talk to Dumbledore and see when we can go as, it needs to be done somewhat soon."

"Maybe I can get the Shopping list early this year, and we can go in a weeks or so," said Harry hopefully. "Plus maybe I can finally get some clothes that fit, and maybe some books to study."

"I will talk to Dumbledore and see what I can do. In the mean time continue to exercise and practice Harry. I want to see you get through all this and have the life you deserve."

"I will," replied Harry. "My days of playing chess and Divination are over. I will be strong and I won't let anyone walk over me."

"You are your mother's son Harry. Don't ever forget that. Take the cloak I'm going to change into Padfoot."

"Thanks for coming Sirius," muttered Harry. Grabbing the invisibility cloak revealing a massive black dog on the bench. Barking happily Padfoot trotted off towards the trees to the right. A spot pop later, and Sirius was gone back to where ever he was hiding. Sighing Harry got up and wandered back down the sidewalk, pondering his conversation with his godfather. Only Sirius could drop a proverbial bomb like that at the end. "Oh yeah, you are my heir now no big deal." Harry snorted. What could have happened to Sirius in Azkaban? Harry wasn't sure he wanted to know really. Depression scared Harry. It wasn't that he was depressed so to speak, as much as he wasn't really sure how to deal with it. Harry knew intellectually Azkaban weighed on Sirius more than he could imagine. What was he suppose to do about it though? It wasn't that he felt obligated to help or felt pressured in anyway. But he was sure that there was something he could do to help his godfather. Perhaps it was simply doing the best he could to overcome Voldemort's death wish upon him. Harry sighed as he got to his relatives house. He went in to do the chores we would undoubtedly have to do today. He really wanted to avoid another fight with his uncle.