Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling is the Goddess of Harry Potter and co. I claim no right to anything, nor am I making any money - this is purely for my enjoyment and (hopefully) others.

Summary: Harry returns from the summer holidays after the incident at the Department of Mysteries in a drastically more subdued mood and Snape takes notice. Reigning one's temper is all well and good, but losing all semblence to human emotion along the way is most certainly not.

Spoilers: PS/SS - OotP

Ships: RWHG. HPSS friend/mentor - not slash. Implied SBRL.

Warning: Some suicidal themes.

A/N: Er- my first... constructive criticism, welcome; flames, not. Any ideas for anything are also welcome and greatly appreciated. I am still in school and therefore do study so do not expect too many updates during the term.

"Speech"

Thoughts/emphasis

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Prologue: Do Not Go Gently Into That Goodnight

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The third night into the school holidays found Harry Potter of Number Four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging at his desk reading. A short glance would leave the viewer with the impression that he was enjoying some much-needed relaxation at the end of the school year by indulging in a long forgotten fairytale remnant from his youth. This was not the case. Harry Potter was studying the art of Occlumency. And even if he wasn't, he hadn't exactly been read any fairytales as a child to have one to look back on. If one took a closer look, they would find the faded impression of the Hogwarts emblem on the back.

Harry sighed. God, he missed Sirius. He missed him so much it was like the grief had taken a physical form of pain in his chest. Returning to his studies he let the feeling of loss melt into the jumble of thoughts taking residence in his brain.

Ever since Voldemort had posessed him that night, Harry felt as though he no longer had reign over his emotions - they had reign over him. He found he couldn't help fuming in anger everytime Dudley - the fat lump - voiced his opinion on an all matter of delicate topics in the wizarding world. This wasn't ever in the presence of his parents, though, because they would not stand for any talk of magic, vague or otherwise. If there was one thing Vernon Dursley was perceptive about, it was anything relating to magic and there was no way anyone could question or talk about it without him knowing or finding out.

Glancing up at the clock above his desk, Harry decided he really should turn the light out and get some rest. Quickly changing into something that barely resembled clothing, but were his pyjamas nonetheless, he waved his hand at the switch across the room and slipped under his covers. Placing his glasses on his bedside table Harry shut his eyes and attempted to sleep.

That was another thing that had changed after his Voldemort Posession (as it was understandably dubbed) - he seemed to have developed strong wandless abilities. Not that he was complaining about that. The Ministry tracked wands and while it was possible to track spells, wandless magic was almost like the ambient magic that resided everywhere in varying degrees of strength. Therefore it left nearly no impression on the surrounding area that people, favourable or otherwise, would be able to trace.

Finding a comfortable position, Harry allowed all thoughts to drift to the edges of his consciousness as he cleared his mind and faded off to sleep.

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What is that bloody racket? That boy is going to get it if he doesn't shut that bloody mouth of his and stop that God-awful moaning!

Vernon continued along this vein of thought in the misplaced hope that his 'well-meaning' would reach the boy and he would shut up. A few minutes passed and his annoyance overroad his desire to stay in bed.

What could he possibly be doing at this hour of night to make such a noise?

Grumbling to himself as he pulled on a night-gown, Vernon fumbled for his watch and pressed the button along the side of it, lighting up the face and the disgustingly early time that it was.

3-bloody am! Does he have no respect for anybody?! The little runt is going to get it!

Lumbering down the hallway and pulling back the numerous bolts that adorned Dudley's second bedroom door, he found himself glaring down upon the twitching, sweating and moaning form of the Potter-boy twisted in his sheets, the blanket kicked off onto the floor.

"Boy! Stop that this instant! The neighbours will hear you!"

Vernon Dursley was by no means an intelligent man, but yelling (quietly) to the boy who was in the throes of a nightmare and expecting him to respond, and coherently, well, that was slightly stupid. Pulling his arm to see if he would respond to touch and finding that he wouldn't, Vernon turned to the window as he thought up a large number of scathing and angry remarks he would pelt the boy with when he did wake up.

As it was, desire became reality and the boy awoke. Screaming.

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And there you have the prologue. I'm trying to do a story where the means are slightly off the beaten track so any help would be wonderful.

-soon-