--Chapter One: An Unexpected Visit--

Harry Potter awoke the morning before his 16th birthday with a slight headache and shivering with cold. For two summers in a row, he had not one decent night's sleep, and it was beginning to take a toll on him. Last summer all he could dream about was Cedric and the graveyard; he would hear the high, cold voice of Voldemort telling his servant to "kill the spare" and then watch Voldemort, more powerful and terrible than ever, rise from the steaming cauldron. His voice would continuously echo in Harry's ears:

Bow to death Harry. It might even be painless.

However, this summer's nightmares, if possible, were even worse. Every night he would watch his godfather Sirius fall repeatedly in to the abyss of the black veil on the dais in the Department of Mysteries. Each time he tried to reach for Sirius' hand and pull him back, a blinding pain would strike his body and he once again would feel as if he was locked in the coils of a creature with red eyes, unable to speak and unable to pull back his godfather. The high-pitched laughter of Voldemort filled his ears, as always, but even worse was the shriek of triumph from Bellatrix Lestrange. Harry, in his dreams and in reality, wanted nothing more than to curse her into oblivion, but he could never get to her before she stuck Sirius and caused him to fall beyond the veil. Then he would wake, find himself tangled in sheets and soaked in sweat, and wipe the tears running down his face. Then his endless guilt for causing all these events to happen would consume him again, causing him to want nothing more than to go back to sleep forever and never have to face his guilt again. He remembered everything from Snape's worst memory to not practicing occlumency to his weakness for heroics. Every single horrible memory of his fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry would come rushing back as soon as he opened his eyes. Sirius' death had caused a gaping hole to form in Harry's heart, for he had never experienced a loss this bad. He came close to feeling this miserable whenever he would practice the Patronus Charm with Professor Lupin in his third year, when he would pass out from hearing his mother's screams as a dementor drew nearer to him. But truly, Harry was so young when Voldemort murdered his parents that he did not remember much of anything, nor did he experience the pain after such a loss. But now…

The weather at Number Four Privet Drive seemed to be reflecting Harry's mood. Unlike the heat of the previous summer, most of Surrey had been rainy and cool for the last few weeks. Harry sat up in bed and put his glasses on, then wiped sweat off his brow with his sleeve. Sirius had been the closest thing to a brother and a father that Harry had ever known, and the shock of losing him was more than Harry could bear; due to growing up with the Dursley's, he never received any sort of parental love or guidance until he met Sirius. In all fairness, it was not until Harry realized Sirius was wrongly accused of the betrayal of Harry's parents that Harry began to accept him and love him. Harry's heart ached with the fact that he never told Sirius how much he cared for him, how much he appreciated all Sirius had done for him.

As instructed, Harry wrote the Order at least every three days to assure everyone he was being treated decently by the Dursley's, but Harry hardly read letters from his friends, because even though he knew they wanted to help and comfort him, he felt they would not understand his depression. He still had not told them about the prophecy. He just wanted to be left alone, but when he was alone all he could think of was Sirius, and his pain was not healing. Dumbledore was even writing to him almost daily, which was a nice change from ignoring him as Dumbledore did the previous summer. But even Dumbledore's words brought little comfort to Harry.

Dear Harry,

I know you are feeling alone and I know you are secluding yourself from everyone. We all want to help you, and we want to get you out of Privet Drive for the rest of the summer. But you have to try, Harry. You have to begin to heal yourself before we can help you. I will not push you, but you must try. Sirius would have wanted you to live, to love and be happy. I will not allow anyone to take you away from your aunt and uncle's unless you are ready to do these things. You must be strong; there is much learn and much to live for.

Professor Dumbledore

Harry read this most recent letter of Dumbledore's again while sitting up in bed with a feeling of mixed guilt and anger. He was sick of all of Dumbledore's riddles. Dumbledore still didn't get it! How could he possibly know how Harry was feeling? Sirius' death was his own fault, no matter what anyone told him, and Harry knew that even if his friends and Dumbledore were ready to help him, Harry would never forgive himself.

'Much to live for?' Harry thought. How could I have much to live for when I already know how my life is going to end?

Harry's heart was so burdened with guilt over the death of Sirius that he barely cared about what Dumbledore told him about his destiny. The prophecy Harry heard in Dumbledore's office after Sirius' death still lingered in his mind, but Harry no longer cared what Voldemort was doing, or where he was. He was not nicking newspapers and lying in hydrangea bushes trying to hear the news. The whole wizarding world new Voldemort was back, that Dumbledore and Harry had been telling the truth, and Harry seemed to be the only one in his world who did not care. He really did not care about anything anymore.

Harry's aunt, Petunia Evans Dursley, was the first to notice something was wrong. Harry did not share information about his world with the Dursley's, mostly because they didn't want to hear it in the first place. He also thought they would especially keep their distance after being threatened by Remus Lupin, Mad-Eye Moody, Nymphadora Tonks and Arthur Weasley at the end of the school year. But they had hardly seen Harry since he came home from Hogwarts since he was content with just staying in his room all the time. In fact, Harry felt so miserable that, remembering his life before he knew he was a wizard, the cupboard under the stairs didn't seem so bad after all.

"What's wrong with you? You haven't eaten a bite in almost 24 hours," said Aunt Petunia as she knocked on Harry's door in the late afternoon.

"I don't feel well," Harry replied coldly.

Petunia opened the door and came into the room. Harry had the lights off and he was lying on his bed with the curtains shut, and even though it was the middle of the day his room was almost pitch black.

"Do you mind?" Harry told his aunt as she entered.

"You haven't been up and about for a while."

"Well, I thought you and Uncle Vernon would be happy about that. You're always complaining about me when I'm around. You never wanted me in the first place, so I'm making it easy on you," Harry said.

Petunia blinked, and a strange expression fluttered across her face as Harry looked at her. Harry thought for a second that she actually looked hurt by his statement, but she recovered quickly.

"I would have thought you would be a little more grateful. I know that crazy headmaster of yours told you why you have to stay here. Believe me; it would have been better for us if he never dumped you on our doorstep. If you are so desperate to leave then so be it." Petunia then stormed out of the room, slamming Harry's door behind her.

Harry simply rolled his eyes and turned over on his bed. This was the latest scuffle with any of his relatives since Dudley noticed the I must not tell lies scar on the back of Harry's hand one morning. Dudley, forgetting his fear of magical retaliation, ridiculed Harry until Harry lost his temper and caused Dudley's glass of orange juice to shatter. Now, lying in bed, he tried to subdue his emotions, so he took a deep breath, closed his eyes and attempted to get some sleep.

He woke a few hours later to the sound of his bedroom door closing again. On his desk was a plate with a small salad and a chicken leg. Harry was initially shocked to receive so much food, but Aunt Petunia apparently did not want him to starve to death, even though she was still angry enough not to talk to him. Harry had no energy to be grateful, but he sat down and tried to eat all the same. He took a bite of the salad and then began to eat the chicken, but three bites into it his stomach lurched and he realized he couldn't eat. Passed the point of caring, Harry went back to sleep, hoping he wouldn't dream.

At two in the morning, Harry sat up with a jolt. Sweat covered his body as it always, but this time it was not his dreams that woke him. He had felt a pain in his scar so powerful it had caused him to wake, and he hadn't felt that kind of pain since Voldemort possessed him on the atrium floor of the Ministry of Magic. His eyes watered as he fumbled for his glasses and the switch to the lamp on his nightstand. He got out of bed and held hid breath as he slowly drew the curtains back enough for his eyes to see the street. Could Voldemort be here?

Great, he thought gloomily. Another great start to what will undoubtedly be another great birthday.

After months of not caring whether he lived or died, suddenly facing the prospect that he might be face to face with Voldemort once again was enough for Harry to change his mind. His instinct always told him to be ready to fight, to defend his life.

However, when Harry did not see anything outside his house after about ten minutes, he began to close the curtains and allowed relief to spread through him. Suddenly, an explosion of blinding hot pain surged through his scar. He fell to his knees with a yell and knocked the lamp sitting on his desk onto the ground with a crash. He thought he saw, in his mind's eye, two flashes of green light, which made his stomach and his heart contract at the same time. Harry, through his pain, barely heard the shouts and the footsteps coming from his aunt and uncle's bedroom.

"POTTER! What the bloody hell is going on in there? It's two in the ruddy morning! I swear you're going to get it, boy!" screamed Uncle Vernon at the top of his lungs. When he received no answer, Vernon opened the door to reveal his nephew writhing in pain on the floor.

Harry retched as the pain in his scar increased, and did not notice his relatives entering the room. Everything was beginning to blur, and there was a ringing in his ears. He felt close to unconsciousness. Aunt Petunia rushed forward and knelt next to Harry as he collapsed. She rolled him over on his back, his head in her lap, and looked up at her husband, who looked confused yet unconcerned. Harry's cousin Dudley had now entered the room as well.

"What's wrong with him?" asked Dudley. Dudley looked just as frightened as he did the night the dementors attacked, but then he had been afraid of anything even remotely connected to magic since he ended up with a pig's tail at age 11.

Harry clutched his forehead as the pain worsened. "He's here," he whispered to his aunt, willing himself not to pass out. "He's found me. I'm sorry…" Harry trailed off.

"Who's here, Harry?" Petunia began to look frightened. Harry grabbed her arm and tried to pull himself closer to her. "Tell me, Harry? Who has found you?"

"Voldemort."