RemusLupin: Hi, this is my first ever fanfic, and I hope you R&R and enjoy the story. Also, I do not own Harry Potter, just the story line!

Thanks.

Harry Potter And the Darkness Of The Daughter

CHAPTER ONE: The Letter

Harry James Potter, a very untidy, jet-black haired fifteen-year-old teenager with very, bright green eyes he had received off his mother. He looked exactly like his father, James Potter and loved it when people noted on how much like his father he was.

With the cunning knowledge of a fox, and the quick reflexes of a cheetah, Harry Potter had grew to be a well, taught and found wizard at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Harry ran a smooth, firm finger down the edge of the white envelope, Hedwig had just arrived with. He wanted to open and read it; it was addressed correctly to Harry James Potter, but couldn't bring his, tired self to do so.

Harry sighed, tossing the letter aside. It was the summer holidays, a light breeze rattled the leaves outside and the sun was going down, with a reddish, lit horizon. The only printed image locked within Harry's mind, which was cursing his life. Flash back kept occurring to him, when Bellatrix Lestrange blasted his godfather through the veil. The look on Sirius, at one second, sneering with a wide grin on his face, the next, drowned in agony and terror as he plummeted towards his death.

Thinking about it only made matters worse, not to mention the never-ending baffling and blabbing from hid aunt, uncle and cousin, the Dursley's. Which came to consider, the year before, a howler was sent to his aunt, Petunia, with a short phrase 'remember my last, Petunia' stapled with it. No answers were given away, but there was defiantly a sign of appreciation towards Harry, coming from his aunt and a complete change in attitude to him. It was as if aunt Petunia knew something nobody else knew.

Harry screwed his eyes up, re-opened them and let out a long, deep yawn. He decided the letter could be somewhat important, so without futehr ado, he crossed the room swiftly, crouching low, seized the message off the floor, walked to his bed and slumped back down lazily on it.

The untidy, dark haired wizard re-read the addressee's name:

Harry James Potter In Dudley's spare bedroom 4 Privet Drive

It wasn't a surprise to Harry in the least the writer knew exactly where he lay, most of the wizarding letter arrived with that information on their front. More and more, often.

Turning the envelope around, shakily, Harry ripped open the covering to reveal a long piece of parchment with writing written in blood-red ink. He began to read to himself, keeping a good ear out for the returning of the Dursley's:

Dear Harry Potter,

What a pleasure it is, to finally meet the most famous wiz. Your eyes like your mothers, your look from your dad, but here you are now, hidden away in your covers, ever so sad. Your godfather has just died, and the miseries taken you for a hell of a ride, but you mustn't dwell on the past, allow your sun to cast. Think about the future, this poem as well, who wrote this? Can you tell? Someone shadowed and knocked aside by you-know-who, and played as a joke, a servant too. You wonder right now, is this a prank? No, no, its not thanks. Sirius was a misfit a traitor in fact, if you asked me he should have been hacked. You have certain knowledge, that you and they lack.

The order of the Phoenix, a group after 'him' but its far from fixed, I fear you shall never win.

Signed.

Nobody...

Harry stared at the strange piece of writing as if it had just talked. He squinted an eye, and twitched his head slightly to the right, absolutely puzzle-struck.

What was that about or who it was from, Harry had no idea whatsoever. Still lying on his dingy bed, he placed the letter on the bedside cupboard.

Harry tried his hardest not to think of the mentioning of Sirius, but it was useless. His face still buried well inside his head, burning at his heart and lungs, trying to force him to do something rash. The mirror across the room, had smashed slightly (due to when Dudley threw it at Harry), but still allowed it to send back reflections. Harry looked it dead on, his green eyes, glasses and dark, stuck up hair. But the thing he really saw there, deep in his mind, over all the hatred and misery, was his mother, Lily Potter, his father, James Potter and his godfather Sirius Black, behind him, all smiling, as if still alive in the present day.

Anger clouded his mind, who ever had sent the message had deliberately meant to upset him, by calling him, 'a misfit, a traitor in fact' Clenching his teeth, and clasping his hands together into tight, fists, he bolted up and punched the mattress and sank back into his covers.

As upset as he was, he wanted to forget it, move on, but entitled a misfit and traitor, calling a dead man; he had had enough.

Although it was Bellatrix who had blasted Sirius through the veil of death, he could not stop viewing that it was himself, Harry, who had caused the demise of him. He couldn't help beating himself up. A horrible sinking feeling enclosed itself in Harry's stomach, a awful lurch of sorrow gurgled itself around the wizards body and mind but had already destroyed his soul. If it was not for Harry, Sirius would still be alive and well.

He heaved a great sigh and punched his mattress – once again – sadly, and turned over onto his side. Three years ago, halfway through his third year at Hogwarts, Harry had wanted to kill Black for himself, but a lot had changed since then, back then, Harry believed he was a murder. But now, Harry knew very well, Sirius had never killed a single person, in fact, Sirius was his godfather, who was an escaped convict from the prison of Azkaban-

The unmistakable rumble of the Dursley's car, skidding into the drive erupted blankly from outside, amongst the peaceful backdrop, then a screech of the break turning on came, The Dursley family had returned since their expedition to the Supermarket.

Aunt Petunia, uncle Vernon and Dudley Dursley were the worse sort of muggle folk parents anyone would expect to have, especially for Harry. You see, you Dursley's hated wizard-kind and magical mischief-makers (e.g. Fred and George Weasley). No doubt the booming voice of the fat, pig-like faced, Vernon would be shouting up at the wizard for some slight misfortune.

Last year, Lupin, Moody, Tonks and the Weasley's had made a permanent agreement with the Muggles to allow Harry to drop by the Order Of The Phoenix anytime he wished and thought necessary. This built Harry's hopes high, but was not interested in returning. Yes he would see Ron and Hermione again; yes it would be better than at the dull Privet Drive. But Harry felt dull himself, and wouldn't want to ruin time for other people because of his hardship off his death godfather, he felt dull where ever he roamed.

A click of the keyhole and the rub of the wooden, old, door opening came. His 'family' had re-entered the house, with a racket of muttering and shouting between themselves. Already uncle Vernon was cracking shouts were booming from downstairs.

Every time Harry heard that voice, impatience grew and his temper rose. If aunt Petunia hadn't calmed Vernon down and prevented him from shouting any longer, the dark haired wizard would have had no reason not to jinx his uncle.

After hours of silence, Harry drifted off to sleep, and into a head hurdling, scar burning nightmare.