AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hey, this is Jess. I'm happy you decided to come read my ff. I'm just going to say that I'm winging this first chapter. Tell me if you like it and maybe I'll write more! Thanks!

Jess

Chapter One: On The Rusty Park Swing

It was an unusually cold night for mid-July in Little Whinging. Not a soul stirred as a thick mist crawled along the dark streets. It moved quickly, slithering quietly, innocently, it seemed to strangle its victims as it wrapped itself tightly around lampposts and trees. It squeezed little bits of life into forgotten corners, leaving them to shiver and hide, as they waited for the following morning. A blanket of silence was wrapped tightly around the sleeping neighborhood. The only sound was the creaking of a rusty swing in the play-park off Magnolia Crescent.

The swing was occupied by a boy of nearly sixteen years of age. He had unruly, dark hair that hid a thin, lightning bolt scar on the forehead of a skinny, tanned face. His faded gray sweatshirt and worn jeans looked as though they hadn't seen a washing machine in months. From behind round glasses that were beginning to fog up from the thick mist, Harry Potter's intense green eyes stared, brooding, at the mulched ground. His arms dangled limply at his sides, fingertips well hidden inside the sweatshirt's massive, soiled sleeves. The boy dragged the toes of his trainers through the damp earth as he swayed slowly back and forth.

But if you were to have walked by the play-park that night, you would not have seen this boy. You would have seen an empty swing, shifting slowly in a non-existing breeze. This was because Harry Potter had taken special precautions not to be found. He did not want to be seen. All he wanted to do was sit and think. He wanted to be alone. He did not want to be bothered.

Harry had not eaten in days. He had left his uncle's house three nights ago for no known reason. He had spent the last two days and nights on this very swing, hidden by his invisibility cloak. Harry had not moved once, drifting in and out of consciousness, swimming in depression and sorrow. Several times his mind had brushed on thoughts of suicide. There was only one thing that kept him alive.

A mere memory, it was his candle in the dark, his beacon, and the fuel that kept him running. As he starred at the damp woodchips by his feet, two faces swam in and out of focus in the back of his mind. The faces of Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, his two best friends at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, were smiling brightly at him. This kept him from complete insanity.

Suddenly, the deafening silence was broken by a low, growling voice.

"Potter." A man said quietly, " Well, it definitely took us long enough to find you!"

Harry didn't move. He recognized the voice and wondered how long Moody had been standing behind him. Mad Eye was the only person who could have spotted Harry rocking back and forth on the rusty park swing. His magical eye could see through anything, even invisibility cloaks.

Moody continued to speak.

"People will be glad to know that you are alright, Potter. Molly's been in a right state since you went missing. We've all been worried sick about you. You've caused us all many sleepless nights."

Harry still said nothing. He felt a pang of guilt about making Mrs. Weasley worry. The boy leaned his head against the iron chain of the swing and felt it dig into the side of his head. He stared straight ahead, not seeing anything through the water droplets that had condensed on his glasses. The mist had soaked him through and he was shivering uncontrollably. Still, his face remained hot and his eyes were clouded with fever.

"Harry, I've come to take you to Headquarters." Moody's voice seemed to become softer, friendlier.

Harry still did not move. He issued a hoarse whisper.

"No."

It was the first word he had spoken in days. His throat hurt. He felt like getting up and screaming his heart out at the man behind him. Moody didn't understand. He could not go back to Sirius's house. It was his fault that Sirius was dead. Everything was his fault.

"I am taking you back to Headquarters, Potter," Moody repeated. This time he seemed more forceful. His voice was drained of all emotion.

Anger boiled in Harry's chest. He raised himself from the swing, teetering and unbalanced on his weak, sleep-deprived body. He grabbed at the swing chains to stable himself and yelled at Moody with all his strength.

"I can't go back! I won't. You don't understand! Nobody understands. It's my fault he's gone! He's dead! I can't go! I won't, I won't…"

Harry's knees gave way. He sank to the ground, unconscious.

Moody sighed and bent down. He hoisted Harry's limp body over his shoulders and Disaperated, vanishing into thin air.