Dark clouds hovered ominously over the identical square houses of Little Whinging. In one of these identical square houses, in one of these identical, neat streets, was a very unusual room indeed.

For one thing, there was a cat flap in the door, accompanied by no less then three locks, and several ghostlike orange blotches that looked suspiciously like tomato soup stained the beige carpet.

At first glance, inside, it appeared to be a normal teenager's room; clothes littering the floor, half finished meals, and posters and cuttings plastered all over the walls. But on closer inspections, a visitor may notice the open cage in the corner, in which a snowy white owl was free to come and go, a book desperately straining against the belt that bound it, or that the posters and clippings actually contained pictures that moved.

But perhaps the strangest thing in the room was the head and torso of a boy with untidy black hair, bright green eyes, and a thin, lightening shaped scare on his forehead. The legs that belonged to this boy currently hung dangerously over the window ledge, and were desperately waving in a hope to find the top of the trellis that was positioned slightly to the side of his window.

The reason for this method of exiting the house may seem a little strange to someone who does not know Harry Potter's situation well, but a more knowledgeable viewer will find it a perfectly acceptable explanation.

After the horrible incident the previous summer, in which Harry's cousin, Dudley's, soul was nearly sucked out by a Dementor, and given the knowledge of Voldemort's return, Harry had been confined to the house. If they couldn't banish him altogether from Little Whinging, or preferably from the whole of Britain, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia could at least prevent their neighbours discovering their biggest secret if another attack happened; because Harry Potter was a wizard.

Since everywhere in the house he was followed by nervous glances, Harry kept mainly to his room, but even here he had little privacy. He was constantly interrupted by his Aunt Petunia, who, several times a day, would poke her nose round the door to check on him. Or check that he hadn't attracted some nasty little creature or something that would make a mess on her clean walls and floors. She would survey Harry and his room with a combination of emotions; largely fear and disgust, but Harry thought that he sometimes saw a look of compassion glint in her eyes.

So, whenever he had a letter to read, Harry would climb down the trellis, hurry down to the tall, deep privet hedge at the bottom of the garden, and bury himself in the stories and salutations that filled the envelopes that arrived daily with various owls.

Harry clutched the letter he'd received to his chest. It was early evening and an unusual time to receive an owl, and this one he didn't recognise. It had a stately look about it, and a proud posture. Hedwig wouldn't have like him, as she would've felt inferior; the owl radiated such an amount of power. Hedwig was used to being the noblest of her companions, though among these were owls such as Pig, Ron's small and excitable owl who could barely lift a letter without flying crazily out of control. Harry had heard his classmates complement her.

He looked down at the seal of the letter. It had the silhouette of a witch on a broomstick flying against the background of a full moon in the top right corner, and in the bottom left corner was a plant that looked suspiciously like devil's snare that curled up the side of the shield.

Harry slid his thumb underneath it, took out the parchment, and unfolded it inquisitively.

It was written in a hand he did not recognise, and he was curious as to who had sent him the letter. However, Harry didn't have to wait that long to find out whom it was from, and it made his stomach jump unpleasantly at the memory of his last encounter with the author of the letter.

Dear Harry Potter,

Yourself and my grandson, Neville, have been attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for some time, and it has come to my attention that you and my grandson share the same birthday. Therefore I would like to invite you to a celebratory dinner. Obviously, I'm sure you'd like to spend the day itself with your family, so the date of the dinner would be 1st August.

Please reply as promptly as possible,

Yours sincerely,

Mrs. Longbottom

For a moment, as he remembered Neville's mother and the bubble gum wrapper, Harry's stomach wrenched in sympathy for Neville, and his mind, which near to constantly dwelt on the events of the previous month, was briefly torn away from the death of Sirius. But his thoughts slowly made their way back. After all, Neville's parents were there because of Bellatrix Lestrange, and Bellatrix Lestrange…

Harry shivered and clutched his stomach. Every time he thought of Sirius' death he felt a jolt in his stomach and the feeling he was about to throw up. There were so many things that were his fault. If he'd studied Occlumancy properly, Sirius would be alive. If he'd opened the package containing the mirror, Sirius would be alive. If he'd spoken to Sirius about how useless the man was feeling, Sirius would be alive. There were so many moments that Harry looked back on, and could say 'Sirius would be alive if I had done this' or 'hadn't done that'. He knew he hadn't killed Sirius, but in his mind, he was already a murderer.

Why already? You may ask. Because if he didn't become a murderer, he would be murdered himself. It was prophesised and the prophecy had to be true, because it had already been partly fulfilled, and the same person had made a true prophecy over two years before that had rung as true as daylight.

All summer he'd been preparing himself for this moment that had to happen. He'd been convincing himself that it wasn't bad to murder Lord Voldemort, because dozens, hundreds, would live, and thousands would live without fear. It was fine to kill Voldemort because he was barely human. But always nagging at the back of Harry's mind was that Voldemort was still flesh and blood, and though he was barely human, he was still human, he had a mind, a soul and, deep, deep down, he had a heart.

Harry shook himself free from these morbid thoughts and pulled out a quill and ink from his bag. He scrawled out a hasty reply, but thought better of the brief and simple acceptance. He pulled out another scroll of parchment and wrote a polite and dignified letter to Neville's grandmother.

After a pause Harry pulled out another scroll of parchment and wrote Neville a friendly letter. The whole time the fact that it could've been Neville in his position stuck in his mind. Neville was in a situation quite similar to Harry's, when you looked at it in a certain light. Harry wondered which was worse; dead parents or crazy parents who don't even recognise you. He didn't even remember his parents, so he couldn't really miss them. Neville must've gotten a lot of grief from his grandmother when she thought he was a squib. He still got a lot of grief from her though he was about to enter his sixth year at Hogwarts. And then there was the birthday.

This got him thinking about the links between himself and Voldemort. It was funny about that. The coincidences between himself and Voldemort and himself and Neville were quite amazing. If his fate was mixed up with Voldemort's, why couldn't it be mixed up with Neville's too? All that past year, before he knew about the prophecy, he'd felt himself grow closer to Neville. In the DA, he'd swelled with pride at the boy's progress, and had grown a strong sense of protectiveness for him. This had existed as long as he'd known Neville, but it had never been this strong.

Harry rolled over onto his back and scratched his neck thoughtfully. He could see the coming out stars through the foliage above him. Tilting his head to the side, he began to name the stars and constellations in his head. His eyes rested on Orion. That was the only constellation that he'd known before Hogwarts, and that he'd been able to identify. The others seemed to be evasive and unwilling to be identified, but Orion had always seemed to stick out like a sore thumb.

He parted his lips and began to sing gently to himself, so silently that his voice cracked trying to keep at that level.

'Twinkle, twinkle little star

How I wonder what you are

Up above the sky so high

Like a di… diamond in – the – sky…'

He stuttered to a gradual halt and stared up at the sky. Just as he decided to reach over and grab another letter, a dark shape briefly blotted out the constellation of Orion. Harry sat up with a start.

'Hedwig,' he said, pleased. 'You got something for me?'

The owl hooted softly as she dropped a small rat in his lap. Harry grinned as he held it up by the tail and chucked it at her, and she caught it and commenced ripping it to pieces. Harry watched her in silence, and when she had finished, he tied his two letters tenderly to her legs and watched her fly away.

Harry turned again to the letters, and chose one. He smiled when he recognised Ron's handwriting, and ripped it open enthusiastically.

Dear Harry, it read

We wanted to invite you to ours for your birthday, you know, all the family together - after all, you might as well have fluorescent red hair and freckles - but mum said you'd want to spend it with your 'real' family, so we can't. How about the day after, then? We can have a party celebrating your escape from the Dursleys'. Hermione arrived yesterday, and she and Ginny are up to their usual giggling. Can you believe that Dean Thomas? The cheek of it! You know, you think you know a guy, and he just goes sneaking around your back. I'm mean we've slept in the same room for five years! Five years, Harry. Mum's screaming at me to come down to dinner, so I'm off. Ron

Harry brightened up thoroughly at the thought of seeing Ron again. Ron'll make him feel better.

He missed his friends at Hogwarts; he so desperately wanted their company. He found that in his isolation, though he had his family (which were better than nothing, though not much) and his letters, he couldn't help but dwell on the issues that insinuated his life more and more. It was like trying to stop yourself from hearing, if you try, even the silence becomes a roaring din. He knew that if he didn't try to keep himself above water, he'd sink into a depression a deep as the deep Atlantic Ocean.

So, he'd found a way to battle it. All he had to do was pretend that he was stuck in Azkaban, and that he had to struggle to keep his sanity. He felt that this disrespected Sirius and his incarceration in the prison, but it was the only way he could enthusiastically deal with the problem.

Harry wrote a brief letter to Ron explaining that he couldn't arrive until the day after, as he'd already accepted an invitation from Neville, but that the good thing was that he could just use the floo powder to get to the Burrow.

Harry sent Hedwig off with the letter and stretched himself out on the ground. He produced a Kit Kat from his pocket, and chuckled for the umpteenth time at the caption; 'Remember – you are not a salmon'. He opened the packet, wishing that they were still made with the old packaging; running your thumb along the foil and breaking off a length was so satisfying. He snapped off a piece and bit the end off. These were the moments he lived for. So simple, just those tiny comforts that you usually passed off, took for granted. But Harry didn't take it for granted. These little moments were like little pools of moonlight shining down into to dark, dank cave.

Life at the Dursley's was mundane and boring, the only times that disproved this trend was when he climbed down from his room, and read his letters. But even this didn't compare to the time that came after the letters were read, and he was left in the silence and a calm tranquillity came over him. Even if it just lasted a few minutes, it was enough. He couldn't ask for more than that.

He checked his pockets for anything else edible, but found nothing except bits of fluff. Dudley, and therefore the rest of the household, was still on the diet, but its severity was much reduced, largely due to Dudley's participation in the school boxing club. He no longer spent half the day, when he was unable to help himself to snacks because of Aunt Petunias watchful eyes, hungry, and was quite satisfied with the situation, because he still had the amusement when Dudley got a jam doughnut or jumbo packet of crisps confiscated.

'ARRRGGGGH!'

Harry jumped up, sending an owl flying. It squawked and flapped it wings at him, but deposited a letter at his feet anyway and flew off with contempt. Harry must have been dozing off, because the owl had had to jump on his face and peck at his ear to get his attention. When Harry's heart slowed down sufficiently, he reached over to the letter and froze, straining his ears out into the night.

There was someone in the garden next door. They must've heard him yell. The footsteps were soft and quiet. Whoever it was, they were placing their feet cautiously on the ground as they walked. Surely someone curious about the noise he'd made would call out. Who's there? Hello? Maybe they had, but he'd gone temporally deaf. Harry tried to stop himself thinking, because he knew where his thoughts would lead him. Paranoid delusions would run rife through his mind, and he'd panic. His heart rate would speed, beating out it's own rhythm, sweat would start to accumulate under his armpits, his mouth would dry out.

Where had the noise gone? He held his breath. Sh!t. Where was it? He gripped his arm and dug his nails in with frustration. Then he heard the soft, wet sound of a mouth softly open. Harry let out his breath slowly and kept his ears open.

The fence creaked and, in the darkness, Harry saw two hands grasp hold of the top of it. The hands were followed by a pair of eyes that rose up unsteadily, and then swayed around a bit before disappearing out of sight with and thud and a curse. The eyes were wide and looked startled, intense in a kind of strained way. They rose up a second time, and Harry could just make out them sweeping the garden, and they disappeared, and after a scrambling noise they were back up, and a girl's face followed this time. She looked like she could be a pretty girl in the darkness, and a sharp tongue poked out between her teeth and her lips in the effort of maintaining her position. She had a round face, though her chin was slightly pointed, and her hair was quite unkempt, though that was probably because she'd been asleep a little while before.

Harry lay there taking her in, she didn't live here last year, he was positive, and this year he hadn't seen her, because mainly he only came out at night. Maybe Aunt Petunia could tell him about their new neighbours, maybe they'd have a boy near Harry's age. He wouldn't ask straight out, of course, Petunia would tell him it's none of his business, he'd have to find something that she would react to, and criticism so she'd start gossiping; Aunt Petunia loved complaining about people.

Harry froze yet again as those roaming eyes rested on him. He stared back at her, unable to break her gaze.

'What are you doing?' she asked, her face creasing up in a puzzled frown.

'I, eh… I…' Harry said, his brain stuck in neutral.

The girl waited patiently.

'I couldn't sleep,' Harry finally managed to say as his brain kick-started. 'It's so hot in my room, I thought I'd get outside.'

She nodded thoughtfully.

'Do you,' she said. 'Do you live here? Only I haven't seen you before, and I've been here nearly a year. That boy, eh, De-, Du-,'

'Dudley,' Harry said.

'Yeah,' grinned the girl. 'That's it. Well, Dudley, he goes to boarding school,' she cringed her face in disapproval, 'but he came back at Christmas, and Easter, and you…'

'I, eh, I go to a boarding school to, just a different one, special. I, eh, I have special needs. They're kind of personal.'

Harry congratulated himself on this explanation, and they weren't even that far off the truth. After all, it was special to get magical training, and it is personal, no muggles, unless they have magical family, should know about it.

'Oh, right,' said the girl, and she didn't seem that bothered about knowing what was so personal, just content with the information she had. 'I'm Lau…'

Once again she crashed out of sight and a string of swearwords, which quite impressed Harry, as she didn't repeat a single one, came shooting out from behind the fence. Harry looked around the garden quickly, and found a large, empty terracotta pot, which he manoeuvred over to where 'Lau' had been standing, or hanging, as it was, and turned it over. He climbed up onto it, and peered over the fence. He saw the girl sitting down and looking irritable in the middle of a destroyed bed of flowers.

'Harry,' he said. She looked up at him and frowned.

'What?' she said.

'I'm Harry,' he said. 'Harry Potter.'

She laughed unexpectedly.

'You have such a boring name,' she said. Harry looked slightly offended, and her mouth formed an o of apologetic explanation.

'I never thought I'd find somebody with a name as boring as mine,' she said. 'Laura Jones. I bet there are a million of me in Britain alone.'

'Yeah… Harry Potter,' he repeated.'

This had got to be the first time in years where someone hadn't gaped open mouthed the mention of his name, their eyes racking his forehead for a sign of his famous scar. Even things like, you look so much like your father, or, you have your mother's eyes, which once made him beam with pride, was starting to grate on him. He was feeling increasingly relaxed and free of the stresses of his school life.

'Looking forward to getting your results?'

Harry looked sharply down at Laura, his mouth slightly open. She didn't know about his OWLs, did she? How could she? He'd been too worried about other things to think about them much, but when he remembered them his stomach would twist up into a tight little knot.

'Your GCSEs?' Laura said. 'No need to look so confused. You are in year eleven, right? Or were, or something. Unless you do some weird thing at that boarding school of yours, like 'O' levels.'

Year eleven? Seven, plus one two three four five, eleven.

'Oh, yeah,' he said. 'I try not to think about them. GCSEs are just so stressful.'

'Yeah, that's the spirit,' said Laura. She squinted down the garden to her house. 'I'm gonna go back inside. I'll see you another time…?'

'Yeah, sure,' said Harry.

'Greayt,' she said, and started off down the garden. Harry jumped down from the pot and scratched his head. That was one of the only proper conversations he had during the holidays, even though it was a very short one. The only other times were when he spoke with Mrs Figg, which were far and few between. Since Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon thought she had nothing to do with magic, she'd come by playing the annoying, attention seeking elderly woman, and talk to Harry on the sly when they weren't paying attention.

According to her, there were still wizards and witches from the order, as well as a couple of daft Ministry employees, keeping an eye on him. They were brilliant at hiding, because the only signs he'd found of them were a couple of cracks of them apparating or disapparating and the rind of a sandwich in the place where one of them had come from.

Harry looked down at the letter in his hand, and sat down on the plant pot. It had a Hogwarts seal on it. His stomach jolted. This was his results. The envelope was thick and heavy, which was a good sign, wasn't it? He turned it over and read the address, written in the familiar green ink.

He hurried back down to the end of the garden, and clambered back up the trellis to his room. He turned on a lamp, not the main lamp. Harry started rooting around in his room, found what he was looking for, and started clearing a space in his floor.

With a fork he prised up a loose floorboard. He used to keep his school things there when he wasn't allowed to have them, but now his aunt and uncle knew they couldn't lock them away anymore, he kept the things that were special to him in there.

He stuck his arm down into the hole and rummaged around, eventually withdrawing a box. With a key, which was what he had been looking for and was on a silver chain, he unlocked the box and looked cautiously at the contents.

He locked it again, and, clutching it and the Hogwarts letter to his chest, returned to his hiding place in the garden.

Harry unlocked it again and this time started to remove the contents of the box. One by one he laid the long shards of mirror on the ground, matching them up like a puzzle. He'd done this many times before, as even when he extracted a piece from the box which had none of it's neighbours laid down yet, he placed them without hesitation.

This, as you might have guessed already, was the remains of the mirror Sirius had given him. When it was whole, and when Sirius had been alive, all Harry had to do was look in it and call his name and they'd be in contact. Harry knew Sirius was gone, but he couldn't help bringing this out now and again. He half imagined that Sirius could still see him through it, and Harry wanted him there when he opened his results. He could even picture it on a wall in his marriage, if he ever got that far.

Harry looked a his fractured image in the mirror and whispered out into the night, watching his lips form the words;

'Sirius! Sirius.'

Nothing happened. In fact, everything seemed to get even stiller than it was before. Harry sighed and turned back to the letter. This was it. He'd know whether he'd be able to become an Auror or not. He couldn't imagine being anything but an Auror. Working in the Ministry like Mr Weasley? No. Code breaking like Bill? Well, it sounded exciting, but he didn't study ancient runes. Charlie's job? That would be alright, he had already proved that he could deal with dragons, but it brought up too many bad memories. Quidditch? Now, there was something. But, only for a decade or so, then he'd be chucked off for being too old. What would he do then? Mad-Eye Moody was ancient, and still an Auror. He couldn't see himself in the Weasley twins' job, teaching, or tons of other jobs.

Harry weighed the envelope on the palm of his hand. It was thick and heavy, so that must be a good sign? Harry could feel his stomach turning somersaults. It felt like the bacon he'd eaten at lunchtime had suddenly come alive and was trying to eat him from the inside out, or that the fish he'd had for dinner was swimming around in his guts. Harry didn't seem to be able to open it. On one hand it could lighten his life, if only temporarily, but on the other hand, if the results were bad…

Harry violently tore open the letter. If he stopped to think about it he knew he'd never do it. His mind would work out the old cliché that what he did not know would not hurt him. Several folded pieces of paper fell to the floor. He picked one which had fallen further away from the others up and turned it over. He stared down at his OWLs grades.

He was confronted with several surprises and disappointments.

Transfiguration-------------------E

Potions----------------------------E

Charms---------------------------E

Herbology------------------------E

Defense Against the Dark Arts--O

History of Magic-------------------A

Astronomy------------------------P

Divination-------------------------D

Care of Magical Creatures-------A

Four Exceeds Expectations, he was impressed. The two he failed Harry wasn't too worked up about, in the Astronomy exam there'd been an incident when half a dozen wizards had attacked Hagrid out on the grounds, and he hadn't expected to do well at all in Divination, though he had hoped for Poor rather then Dreadful. Ah well, at least it wasn't a Troll.

His Potion grade brought up mixed feelings. First of all, he never felt like Potions was an 'Exceeds Expectations' subject for him, but he need an 'O' to study it in his NEWTs, and therefore become an Auror. Harry sighed. He remembered McGonagal saying that if it was the last thing she'd do she'd help him, but that was only in the face of Umbridge. Harry shuddered in the memory and touched the back of his hand, but she was gone now, as was Harry's chance at becoming an Auror.

Harry picked up another piece of paper. It was about the subjects you could do for NEWT levels. It said that you could do a maximum of five NEWTs, but had to do a minimum of three. Well, if he studied to become an Auror, he'd have to study five, now he could just trundle along with three.

He put it down, he'd finish that later, it had descriptions of the courses and stuff you could do next year. He picked up another piece of paper and swore. In big, bold letters, it said 'You have been invited to a presentation on what it is like to be an Auror.' Harry immediately ripped up the letter, which made him feel a lot better, and picked up the details on NEWTs again.

Defense Against the Dark Arts would be up there, as long as they had a half decent teacher he'd enjoy that, and he always done well at it. Charms, too, maybe Herbology, definitely not Divination.

He nearly kicked himself when he skimmed through the Potions description and noticed the minimum OWLs grade. 'E'. Harry couldn't believe his eyes. He could still study Potions. In all his time at Hogwarts, he'd never thought he'd feel this good about being able to study that damn subject. He grinned out at the world, and then noticed the scraps of paper on the ground.

He dived down and frantically started to piece them back together.






I'm a slow writer, so the chapters won't come that quickly; but after the next one (which is nearly finished) they're going to be smaller so they'll be quicker to write.

Comments for some of the reviews:

May contain slight spoilers, so don't read if you are one of those really finicky people who don't like any kind of revealing of a book, like me.

loverdaisy520: I woudn't worry about the Laura thing; she's a muggle and Harry is spending most of the year at Hogwarts. Plus I don't think a slight love interest at this stage would effect the Ginny/Harry thing, after all, Ginny has had a lot of boyfriends, and probably still has one now.

LunaSealeaf: No, Laura isn't me; none of the characters are based on me or anyone I know, or at least not any more than the odd habit or way of talking.