Chapter One

Petrified was on top of Fear's station,

clinging to the edges and looking in all directions.

Cruel was burying Despair in the sand,

And when Anxious began to push me up to help Despair,

Vengeful held me back...

Dreary came over and lay down next to me.

Nervous kept yelling at Curious

To stop going so far into the ocean.

Stephen Bohler

"Vernon!" Petunia screeched from the foyer, rousing Harry from a rare, and needed, rest.

Harry quickly thought of the few things he had done lately. Certainly he hadn't done anything to deserve that particular tone today. He had not even ventured down the stairs since his Uncle's return from work. In fact, he rarely made the trip when anyone besides Petunia was on the main floor. He had no desire to be in Vernon's presence, and Dudley avoided Harry as though he had the Plague.

Harry felt more badly than he would ever admit about what happened to Dudley that day last summer. He didn't know what Dudley felt but everyone's horror was their own. And Harry was not one to pry. At least Petunia knew that this was not Harry's doing. Delores Umbridge might have been the cause but Dudley was feeling the effects as much as her intended victim.

Harry pulled himself out of his bed dumping a Potions text on floor with little thought. Out of his room in a flash, and crouched halfway down the stairs to eaves drop through the open door to the kitchen.

"An American in our neighborhood, Vernon! It is a disgrace! What if you have a client over and she is running around! Disgraceful! I went to bring her a cake to welcome her and she did not even invite me in! Terrible manners! I'll not have it. We must organize an association of the neighbors and make her leave." Harry tuned her out as she started to get on a roll.

An American in the neighborhood. That might actually make him look good for once. He half hoped the new resident of Privet Drive would serve Petunia a bit of her own medicine. The small smile that found its way to his face was more positive emotion than he had felt in the weeks since, well, just since.

He returned to the small room that said so much about him. His invisibility cloak spilled out of his trunk with a metallic shimmer. An empty cage sat on the corner of the small battered desk closest to the window. A stack of letters several inches high on the opposite end. A framed picture placed prominently next to his bed, the only item on his bedside table besides a lamp missing its shade. His parents smiled proudly and waved madly at him. He often waved back.

That was simply further example of Harry's young life. During he holidays he talked to his long-dead parents. He knew they would never answer back. But part of him did feel that where ever they were they could hear him. Perhaps Sirius could hear him as well. Of that he was not so sure. Of his parents' death he was certain, painfully so. But he still felt so many doubts in regards to his godfather. The obvious lack of an infamous blast of green light was making it hard to accept, or even believe.

Harry realized he had only seen death by the Killing Curse. He had seen Cedric and his parents die at the hands of a ruthless man who used a flash of green light like matches. Sirius's major foe was physics. Momentum, trajectory, gravity, and chance overwhelmed righteousness and just.

In his head Harry knew that Bellatrix cast the spell that pushed Sirius through that veil. He knew that he really did. He is continually assuring the others that he really did know that. He knew that in his head.

His heart was another manner. For Harry Potter was a strange adolescent male. He led always with his heart. He would never admit this either, but then perhaps he did not know. His heart was broken with the loss of his one true advocate. He had lost the one person whom he thought would always be in his corner. In his heart, he felt he had brought Sirius to the Ministry that night. His decision to fly, at night, on a large winged creature from Scotland to London killed his champion.

But really he knew that Bellatrix Lestrange killed Sirius Black, her own cousin. He did.

Harry's success with Occlumency went from dismal to nonexistent on a daily basis. Each night producing differing results. Soon he began to hope for the routine pain of his nightmares. These, of course, revolved alternately from his parents to Cedric to Sirius and back again. He could handle these in his own way. It was the others that were tough. The ones the slipped through his weak shield were more painful than those his own mind sent at him. Voldemort was not always the culprit of these attacks, often enough it was the link they shared. It seemed that Harry's nemesis had far more control of the link than he. Voldemort would inevitably sense Harry's presence in the link and turn what would be painful to downright torture. This was not always the case. In those, Harry learned more than he should. So often he'd wake afterward and scramble to write what he'd seen even as it slipped away.

His current feelings for Professor Dumbledore aside, he always sent the information he had. Though he suspected that Snape had more, Harry was not going to sit idly by. He was doing what he thought might help. He realized it was minimal at best, but it was something. Hedwig was exhausted from the trips back and forth between Scotland and Surrey, not mention Hermione, the Burrow, and the Order.

Days later as his birthday approached, and he hoped the end of his imprisonment at Number four, found Harry in the shade of the tree in the small park. He knew there was a minder near by, though he did not care. He was used to it now. He thought it might be Tonks but she hadn't made any noise in a while, so there could have been a change. Harry flipped the page on the book he'd stolen from the house. It was a war novel of Uncle Vernon's. A hardcover early edition, only the best for him of course. Though Harry knew it had not even been opened since they purchased it. He found it interesting. It was primarily the accounts of soldiers during the Second World War; officers, survivors of dead soldiers, and reporters were mixed in as well. Perhaps he might be able to find something similar for the last war with Voldemort. That might be a bit of a help, Harry thought not without sarcasm. After this war, if he survived, he could write one. Give a true account of what happened.

Harry looked up to see the sun setting lower in the sky than he's anticipated. He imagined it must be near dinner time now. He'd best head to the house. Petunia was convinced that if she fed him as much as she fed Dudley the Order would leave them alone. Not that Harry was complaining he'd not eaten this much at home in years, if ever.

Harry was lost in thoughts of Hogwarts feast past as he walked up Privet Drive. He stopped and quickly checked for cars, as he was about to step into the street a door slammed behind him.

"Hey!"

Harry turned to the voice and was met with the sight of his new neighbor. She stopped in front of him and smiled up at him. He had to be several inches taller than she was, but he had this feeling she could take him in a fight with little trouble.

"You live with the family across the street, yeah?" she asked him. Harry looked at her strangely. Her accent sounded strange in his ears. It was American, of that he was sure. But he really thought he could hear something British in there.

He finally responded, "Er, yes, I live with my Aunt and Uncle."

"That fat bloke is your cousin right," she continued. That sealed it. She was British. Harry was confused and he was a little uneasy. If she was passing herself off as American and she was really British, why was she hiding it? He took a step back from her. He was full ready to sprint across the street and away from this liar.

"Yeah, he is," he offered carefully. He was finding himself a bit protective of Dudley as of late.

"Nasty little bugger. He and his friends rode their bikes through my lawn. It was a very nice welcome to the neighborhood. Not that his mother was much better, I could hear her yelling about me from my backyard. I'm Kate by the way. Kate Sawyer," she smiled kindly at him and held out her hand.

He shook her hand, "I'm Harry."

"Fab to meet you Harry. You up to making some extra cash this summer?" The slight woman asked.

"Yeah, sure, I guess," Harry hesitated.

"How are you with a paint roller?"

The next morning found Harry spreading pink primer on the living room walls of Kate's house. The pink primer was starting to give him a raging headache. A few more feet of wall and he could take a break. He had to finish this before Kate returned from London. He still didn't trust her, but she was paying him, and he was keeping busy.

Needless to say Petunia and Vernon were less than pleased when Harry told them he'd be helping out the new neighbor for a while. Petunia had screeched for twenty minutes on how Dudley would have been a much better choice. Harry found this endlessly amusing since Dudley had never done anything even resembling hard labor in his life. Why should he when Harry was the family's indentured servant.

Harry sat on the sofa in Kate's living room admiring the job he'd done. He'd never painted with red before. The Dursley's painted everything white to show off how normal and clean their lives were. The red took two coats and that vile pink primer but it looked good. It reminded Harry of Gryffindor. Kate should be back soon, and hopefully she'd think he did a good job. He didn't see any streaks but that was probably because he didn't want to see any.

The door from the garage opened and Kate called out to him in a fake Cuban accent. "Honey! I'm home!" Harry smiled. At least if she was lying she was funny.

"Harry!" Kate exclaimed. "It looks great! I didn't expect you to have it all finished today! And no streaks!" She looked around in wonder.

Harry was confused. Why wouldn't he have had it finished? She asked him to do it today. Kate looked at Harry.

"You hungry? I stopped and got Thai on the way in from the city. Do you like Pork Satay?"

Harry nearly devoured the take-away. This in hindsight was probably not the smarteset thing to do when he didn't entirely trust the person providing the food. Though after years of near starvation, he rarely refused any food offered him. Plus, it was really good.

Harry still had not heard from anyone about when he'd be able to join his friends. His minders weren't talking and neither were Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Lupin was currently unavailable, but then that was understandable. They had written quite a lot this summer. Usually the letters were full to the brim with small talk and homework questions and the requested answers. Remus, as he requested Harry call him, found it fun to often throw responses back at him while he was on duty. Harry had nearly hexed him into the new millennium the first time. Imagine you are a strung out, sleep deprived, armed teenager and a ball of parchment smacks you in the face out of nowhere. You'd react in the same way. The memory still made Harry smile. He got the feeling that Remus had risked exposure that day for that seemingly small action.

He was headed back to Privet Drive from a lazy walk around Little Whinging. With each step he had to resist the urge just to run away. If all of his things weren't in that house he might just do that. Disappearing for a while seemed like a superb idea to him. He knew that would be neither safe nor smart. So he continued to keep it as a nice safe, not-so-secret fantasy.

He turned from Magnolia Crescent on to Privet Drivve when he felt the earth give a mighty tremor.

"Odd, there aren't usually earthquakes in England," Harry said aloud to himself. He knew of course, that anything supremely odd in Little Whinging usually involved him and magic. And that was never a good thing.

As he stood on the sidewalk in front of number 8 Privet Drive, he felt a wave of power crash through him; he saw it ripple in the air toward Number four. The wards had fallen. He knew this. He could feel it. The majority of protection granted him was gone. He needed to get inside. He broke into a sprint. They were coming. He knew they were.