Rating: PG-13 for dark subjects in later chapters.
Summary: An AU of Harry's sixth year. The ever increasing threat of Voldemort looms over all, but a beam of light may be found in the form of four friends: the leader, the strategist, the smart one, and the optimist.
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter™ universe and characters belong to a wonderfully lucky person named J. K. Rowling. I am not that person. Seriously – if I did, do you think I would be hanging around here? I do, however, own Sheridan Parker, Samantha, Professor Stanton, Sara Stanton, Lizzie Parker, Robert and Diana Parker, and the plot. And I am very possessive.
A/N: For those of you who are homophobes, or simply don't like this take on Harry – this is Slash, people. Which means male/male, yaoi, shonen ai, whatever you wish to call it. It is extremely gradual. And no smut. Definitely no smut. There shalt be no smutty-ness. Sorry to all you smut fans.
This is an AU place, btw, in which Sirius is alive. But events at the Ministry after the Veil unfold much the same as they did in the book, cuz Harry does not know that Sirius is alive until after the battle with Voldemort. Thank yuz.
Dedicated: To Rachel, who read it first and kept kickin' me in the arse to write more. It is thanks to her that this is up here now. Go thank her. (She is "demonfairy", btw.) And, to Angelle, who encouraged me to post it. Thanks to both of yuz so much!
Pairings: Harry/OC, Ron/Hermione, no Sirius/Remus, they're just good friends. Anything else is totally unplanned.
Chapter 1: A Midsummer Night's Encounter
"Where are you going, boy?"
Harry halted, his hand upon the doorknob. The sharp, brusque question harbored no real concern for his well-being, but for the speaker's own if Harry was to be harmed in any way. Harry wryly reflected upon this irony before replying, "I'm just going out for a walk."
His Uncle Vernon, who had posed the question, turned a ruddy sort of puce. "Don't take that tone of voice with me," he harrumphed gruffly, turning back to his paper, not really protesting at all. Harry wondered idly what tone he was supposed to have used; lately, his voice had become rather dull and flat, toneless in quality.
He shrugged in response to his uncle's half-hearted posturing and stepped outside into the cool July night. He shut the screen door firmly behind himself, exhaling a deep sigh of relief at the sound of the click. He felt … stifled, in that house. It was hard to breathe. If not for these nightly rambles he had taken to having, and of course the weekly checks from Tonks and Remus, Harry was certain that he would have gone mad long ago.
Not that the Dursleys were being particularly horrible this summer – no, not at all. They were doing their level best to avoid Harry, of course, but when they were forced to speak with him, they took pains to be civil, although the meals were as skimpy as ever. Harry's stomach growled as the teen ran a critical eye over his reflection in a rain puddle. He had grown a little bit over the summer, but he was still very short compared with most boys his age, and painfully thin from lack of food. He hadn't been very hungry lately, and only picked at the meager meals that the Dursleys served him.
He strolled along the sidewalks, not headed in any particular direction, just intent upon enjoying the temporary feeling of freedom, the cool night air, and the hum of nighttime beings coming to life underneath the long-darkened sky.
Harry was not particularly surprised when he found himself at the nearby park – he'd come there many times before, to sit, think, and reflect. The swing-sets creaked in the breeze as he sat down upon one, rocking back and forth slightly as he idly ran his gaze over the rest of the playground. His roving emerald eyes came to rest on a lone figure spinning lazily about on the old carousel.
Must be Tonks, Harry thought, slightly surprised. He'd just seen her five days ago, and she normally only came to see him once every seven days – it was too dangerous for anything shorter. Maybe something's happened?
He slowly stood up, pondering what could possibly have happened that would give Tonks cause to check up on him. He could only think of two things; something serious had happened concerning Voldemort (which Harry doubted, as it would probably have been posted all over the Muggle news), or something had developed with …
… with Sirius.
No one knew what had really happened to him. When Sirius had fallen through the veil, one leg had remained sticking out. Kingsley had later informed Harry - who had been chased off by Death Eaters, being herded into the main hall, at that point - that Professor Lupin (or Remus, as Harry now called him) had thankfully had the presence of mind to yell Accio!, pulling Sirius back from the veil.
Sirius had been unconscious, but seemingly unharmed. Kingsley and Remus managed to smuggle him back to Grimmauld Place without anyone in the Ministry noticing, and the returning Order members had been immensely relieved to find Sirius alive and not gone forever, as they had feared. But, after a few days had gone by, that relief was giving way to worry once more. Sirius had not woken up. He was breathing and apparently perfectly healthy, except for the fact that nothing the Order members had done could awaken him.
They brought him to St. Mungo's, as soon as the Minister cleared his name, which was almost immediately. But the Healer's were stymied – they had never seen anything like it before. Remus and Dumbledore had asked to bring Sirius back home, where those who cared for him could watch over him and try to revive him. Their request was granted at once.
They kept the loyal dog Animagus fed and comfortable, but all they could truly do was pray. Sirius had been comatose for over a month now. Several distant Order members had suggested that perhaps Sirius' soul was no longer present, and they should just dispose of the remaining shell. Dumbledore had – politely – refused, while Harry and Remus had protested rather more … vehemently.
After that incident, Dumbledore performed a special charm that affirmed that Sirius' soul remained within his body. After that, there was no more talk of 'putting him out of his misery', though a faint sense of hopelessness steadily pervaded the Order as the days and weeks slowly dragged by without change.
As Harry approached the form, still half-lost in his reverie, the lone figure did not move towards the young wizard, or even acknowledge his presence. No wave, no determinedly cheerful "Wotcher, Harry!". Nothing. Harry realized with a sudden start that the figure was not Tonks at all, but somebody else.
Harry very nearly halted his approach before his curiosity returned. He reminded himself that the neighborhood was under careful watch by the Order, and none of Voldemort's followers could come here. It was probably one of the neighborhood kids. Not one of Dudley's gang – too scrawny – Harry could tell that even from a distance. Harry couldn't remember seeing him around, but then, most people around here did their best to avoid him.
He was about to turn and leave when the stranger quietly spoke up; "Hello."
Harry halted, surprised. "Hello …" he replied warily. "I haven't seen you around here before." Not the most intelligent thing to say, but it was the only thing that came to mind.
The strange teen shrugged. Harry could just barely make him out in the darkness – very thin and small of stature, like Harry himself. If they stood next to each other, Harry would probably be several inches taller than him. He had very, very long, shaggy hair pulled back at the base of his neck in a kind of sloppy ponytail. Harry had never seen a guy with hair that long – it reached the boy's waist.
"You wouldn'tve," the figure said dismissively. He had a strange accent Harry had never heard before. Before Harry could reply, he added, "I just moved here about a week ago. Where do you live?"
Harry gestured back towards Privet Drive. "Back there a ways with my aunt and uncle."
The strange teen glanced in the direction Harry had indicated with a wave of his hand, and nodded. "D'you know that great troll of a guy that wrecks things?" he asked suddenly. "Whatsisname, Dummy?"
Harry's mouth quirked slightly. He hadn't smiled since Sirius' … accident. "Yeah – Dudley. He's my cousin." He walked over and sat next to the boy, adding, "From the voice of long experience, a good thing to do when confronted with Dudley would be to leave. Quickly."
The teen chuckled. Closer, Harry could now see that he was about Harry's own age, with light-colored hair that seemed silvery in the starlight. If there had been more moonlight, his outlines would have been clearer, but it was now new moon, so it was dimmer than usual.
"What's your name?" the strange teenager asked after a moment.
Harry couldn't see anything wrong with giving it to him. "Harry. Harry Potter."
The boy nodded. "All right, Harry. My name is Sheridan. You can call me Shi, if you like. Personally, I think Sheridan is a bit of a mouthful."
"Shi?" Harry repeated – it seemed a strange nickname.
Sheridan grinned over at him. "It was either that, or Sher."
"Ah." Harry mused on that for a moment before inquiring curiously, "Where are you from? You have a funny accent."
"You're the one with the funny accent," Sheridan retorted. "I'm from America. Virginia, actually. My folks, however, are English."
Harry nodded, mildly interested in spite of himself. "Cool. What's it like in America?" A world without Voldemort, he thought wistfully to himself.
"Warmer. Cleaner, in places." Glancing about at the grey and beige houses surrounding them, Shi added, "More colorful."
"Almost anyplace is," Harry muttered, thinking wistfully of the brightly decorated corridors of Hogwarts before recalling the grey, desolate halls of Grimmauld Place that the Order had endeavored to brighten.
Shi chuckled, white teeth flashing in the starlight. "Heh. I can testify to that!"
When Harry didn't grin back – his face seemed to have forgotten all expressions of happiness – Sheridan leaned back against one rusty bar-handle of the carousel upon which they were seated, staring upwards into the night sky.
"Where d'you go to school?"
Shi's question caught Harry off guard. He most certainly could not tell the truth, that much was certain. But, even though Shi would eventually hear it from someone else, Harry could not bring himself to tell the first friendly being he'd seen in over a month – excluding Tonks – that he went to "St. Brutus' School for Incurably Criminal Boys".
"Around," Harry settled for vaguely. "Boarding school. I live for September."
Sheridan snorted. "That bad, huh? Around here, I mean."
"Hell yeah," Harry replied with loathing, remembering the coldness that the town's occupants treated him with, the violence of Dudley and his gang, the mocking names, everything …
Shi sighed heavily. "Yeah, I can tell," he murmured, half to himself. "Y'know, you're the first person that I've had a real, honest-to-god conversation with since I came here. Hard to find anyone friendly that doesn't kiss Dumbo's ass to stay outta trouble."
Harry shrugged. "People around here … don't like strange things," he muttered. "Scared of what's different. Like foreigners."
"You don't seem to mind," Shi told him frankly.
"I …" Harry paused a moment before continuing. "I'm different."
Sheridan grinned wryly. "So am I. I'm very different. People around here'll probably despise me. Go figure, eh?"
Harry shrugged again. "They already despise me," he informed Shi. "It's not that difficult after a while. They just tend to leave you alone." They did, too.
"Except for whatsisface Dudley."
"Except for Dudley," Harry agreed with a sigh.
They sat in companionable silence for a time. Neither wondered at the fact that they got along so well – felt so comfortable with one another – when they had just met. It never occurred to either of them to be surprised at this – it felt natural. Like they had always been friends, and just hadn't known it.
"Why do you live with your aunt and uncle?" Shi asked after a while, sounding curious.
"My parents are dead," Harry replied flatly.
"Oh." That was all. No awkward "I'm sorry", no uncomfortable apologies, and, most especially, no pity. Just a kind of sadness colored the other teen's voice – as if Death was a thing that should bring sadness to everyone. "Dudley must've been a horror, eh?"
"Yeah … 'horror' doesn't do him justice," Harry replied, feeling slightly distant. He didn't know exactly why he was practically spilling his guts to some Muggle teen had had just met. But something seemed to be telling him that Sheridan could be trusted. Maybe it was because Harry was so lonely … because he was missing all of his friends, and ached for somebody to just talk to. Whatever the reason, he soon found himself telling Sheridan the edited, non-magical version of his life. Shi, in turn, told Harry about himself.
Sheridan was not an only child. He had a sister about six years older than him. He'd been born in America, but his parents were from England, and his sister had lived there for about six years before they moved to America. Now that his parents had decided to move back to America, the sister was already living on her own. Shi had stayed with her for about half a year while his parents got "settled in".
The more Harry talked with Sheridan, the more he realized what the teen had meant when he had said he was "very different". Shi was slightly crazy. He jumped from one topic to another completely at random, breaking off of his narrative once to ask if Harry had ever swung on the swings standing up. When Harry had stared at him as if he had asked if Harry had ever committed suicide before, Shi had merely thrown his head back and laughed, long and hard. That had startled Harry – it had been a long, long time since he'd heard anyone, even Tonks, laugh.
They talked for a long time; Harry wasn't sure how long exactly. Eventually, however, he was forced to bid his new-found friend goodbye and head back to number four Privet Drive. When Harry had told him "Bye", Sheridan had grinned brightly and said, "See you tomorrow, Harry?"
Surprised, Harry blinked, then allowed the smallest ghost of a smile to flit across his face. "Sure – tomorrow night," he replied.
Walking back towards the Dursley's house, Harry pondered the night's events. He found, to his mild surprise, that he truly regretted the fact that Sheridan was a Muggle. If he'd been a wizard, he would've been going to Hogwarts this year … Harry shook his head. Sheridan was a Muggle. A friendly, interesting, unique Muggle, but ignorant of the entire wizarding world and the war in which it was currently immersed. Soon, Harry would be leaving for Grimmauld Place, and this … acquaintanceship, friendly rapport, whatever it was – would be over.
These increasingly gloomy thoughts slowly faded as Harry stumbled inside the Dursleys house, by-passing the occupants as he headed to his room, flopped onto his bed, and proceeded to have the first nightmare-free sleep he'd had in over a month.
A/N: Soooo ... love it? Hate it? Not sure? Wishes to murder me? REVIEW, THEN! Please? I gives cookies! By the way, I started writing this looooong before the sixth book came out. There will be similarities, but the plot is, on the whole, my own. No stealing!