Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related characters belong to JK Rowling.

A/N: Lousy title. I know this is ... cliched, to say the least. And it's a really bad chapter (hence the "overly creative" chapter title. But hang in there, it'll get better, I promise. This is my first try at a romance, so any advice would be greatly appreciated.

Chapter 1 – Moping

Harry Potter had lived at Number Four, Privet Drive for fifteen years, and he had not much longer to go before he could finally be rid of his dreadful relatives for good. By the middle of next summer, he'd be able to live on his own.

Harry liked to visit the nearby playground often, where he could just sit in peace without thinking, where he was alone … Those were the best times. When he was with the family, he was reminded far too often of his godfather, how Sirius … Comparing his late father's late best friend to his aunt and uncle over mealtimes was simply unbearable.

But Harry couldn't go to the playground often. Aunt Petunia had, for the first time in three years, decided to keep him in the house all summer. He knew why this was, Dumbledore, his headmaster, had explained it all to him three weeks ago, how he was safe from Voldemort wherever his mother's spilt blood still lived on, like in her sister, his aunt. But knowing this didn't make him feel any happier about it.

Dumbledore had also told Harry why Voldemort had tried to kill him as a baby and was still after him – Harry was the only thing standing between Voldemort and ultimate power. During most of Harry's sixteen years, the wizarding community had lived in a state of tentative peace between two wars. According to the articles Rita Skeeter now wrote in the Daily Prophet, the second war had finally, after years of waiting, begun.

This meant that Harry was in more danger now than ever before. Which was why his aunt wanted him to stay inside the house the whole summer – to keep him safe.

Harry couldn't figure out why the same woman who had tried to make his life miserable for nearly ten years was all of a sudden so concerned for him. Perhaps a new love for her dead sister had awakened in her, perhaps she felt Harry's presence would protect her family as much as his own.

In any case, living in the Dursley household made for a long and boring summer.

Harry was in his bedroom, gazing longingly out the open window into the brilliance outside. He hadn't felt sunshine on his face in weeks …

And then there was the matter of the men who kept haunting his every waking moment. One, of course, was Voldemort. The second was Cedric Diggory, a boy only a little older than Harry was now who had been killed at Voldemort's rebirth a year ago. The third was his father, James. Harry imagined his father would be disappointed with the way he was acting now. He hadn't written properly to either Ron or Hermione, his best friends, since the beginning of the summer. He knew they'd be worried about him, but he couldn't bring himself to write to them, to address the issue he knew they were thinking about.

That issue had the face of the final man who was haunting his every waking and sleeping moment: his godfather, Sirius Black.

Sirius Black. The veil … fluttering as though a high wind had flitted through the underground dungeon … a look of shock on his face as he tumbled backwards … his eyes had caught Harry's, had tried to express so much in that last second, yet they had left out so much.

Harry pulled a piece of parchment towards him and scribbled down that thought. … eyes had caught Harry's, had tried to express so much in that last second, yet they had left out so much.

He tore off that scrap of parchment, ripped off a piece of Spellotape, and taped the parchment to the wall beside his bed, next to other memories, thoughts, pictures, and drawings of his godfather. Memory Wall. Memorial. A Memorandum to Sirius Black. Farewell.

Slowly, painfully, Harry straightened up and sat back down at his desk, once more facing the outside.

He ought to tidy up his room, it was getting very messy. He ought to take a shower, he hadn't washed at all that week. He ought to … he ought to …

Harry folded his arms on top of the desk and rested his head heavily on them with a sigh.

That was when the unthinkable happened.

Harry's wand, lying on the back edge of the desk, had toppled out the open window, landing two stories down in the bushes below.


A/N: This is (like I said before) my first romance, so bear with me, please! I have a whole bunch of other stories up at my other account, TeeBee, so don't worry if I can't post very often. Leave a review? Pretty please?