Chapter 1-An early Departure

Harry lay on his bed in his room at Number 4 Privet Drive staring up at the ceiling and trying hard to force back the tears that were threatening to spill over his eyelids. It was the first night back at the Dursley's, and he lay awake thinking of that night. It had been the worst night of his life, and he could not get it out of his mind the fact that it was all his fault.

Voldemort, the darkest and second most powerful wizard known to Wizard kind (Dumbledore was first, of course), had lured Harry into the Ministry of Magic's Department of Mysteries. Harry had been foolish enough to fall into the trap, and because of Harry's pride and rashness, his godfather, Sirius Black had…No, think about something else. And then he realized that trying to think about something else would only make him think about his godfather's--well--even more. He took a deep and shuddering breath. There was no getting around it. Sirius was--he was---dead. There, I've done it. I've said it.

He had been avoiding the pronunciation because he didn't want to believe it. It's just not fair, he thought. Everyone who has ever meant anything to me has been killed. This was only somewhat true. He still had Ron and Hermione and the rest of the Weasleys, and pretty much everybody at Hogwarts (excluding the Slytherins, of course), but the fact of the matter was that he never had the chance to know his parents because they were killed by Voldemort, and now the only parent-figure he had ever known was gone as well. I wish you were still here, Sirius, Harry thought, desperately trying to maintain some kind of connection-even if it was imaginary.

Out of nowhere, in the back of his mind, Harry heard his godfather's voice saying,

"Me, too Harry. But you have to let go. You have a job to do. You have the weight of the entire Wizarding community on your shoulders, and the last thing you need to worry about is me. No pressure, though." There was a smile in his voice.

Somehow the voice comforted Harry, and he knew it was true. He just didn't want to give it all up.

He let his thoughts wander elsewhere for a moment or two, and they stopped on something that happened on the last day of term the previous year.

Her voice flooded into his head as he recalled the conversation:

"Well, I've lost most of my possessions," said Luna serenely. "People take them and hide them, you know. But as it's the last night, I really do need them back, so I've been putting up signs."

She gestured toward the notice board, upon which, sure enough, she had pinned a list of all her missing books and clothes, with a plea for their return.

An odd feeling rose in Harry--an emotion quite apart from the anger and grief that had filled him since Sirius's death. It was a few moments before he realized that he was feeling sorry for Luna.

And at that moment those same emotions filled him up in his room at Privet Drive.

"Oh, no," she said, smiling at him, "They'll come back, they always do in the end. It was just that I wanted to pack tonight. Anyway…why aren't you at the feast?"

Harry shrugged. "Just didn't feel like it."

"No," said Luna, observing him with those oddly misty, protuberant eyes. "I don't suppose you do. That man the Death Eaters killed was your godfather, wasn't he? Ginny told me."

Harry nodded curtly, but found that for some reason he did not mind Luna talking about Sirius.

Harry sat there for a while thinking about Luna and what she had said that night, and he actually momentarily forgot to think about Sirius's death. He shook his head and sat up. The clock on the bedside table showed 9:30. Harry looked outside and saw a brilliantly bright sun showing through the window. Apparently he had spent the entire night thinking, which left no time for sleeping. And so the summer begins, he thought.

Two weeks had passed, and Harry had resigned himself to the daily drone of the Dursley dwelling. His Aunt Petunia had been unusually quiet and reserved and had quit ordering him to do so many chores, and his Uncle Vernon had been even more pushy, reminding him to send a letter to one of his "freak friends (if you could call them friends)" every three days. Dudley was as massive as ever, but his "baby fat," as Petunia had called it, had melted away to be replaced by pure muscle bulk. He was not, however, any less afraid that Harry might jump up and start cursing his entire family into oblivion, and Harry supposed that the dementor attack last summer was an occurrence Dudley was not anxious to repeat.

It had become apparent to Harry that his wizard friends were more worried about Harry than he was about Voldemort when he had received four letters on his first full day back from school, one each from Ron, Hermione, Lupin, and Dumbledore. They all were nothing special, and all of them also contained the same points. To put it blatantly, everyone wanted him to get over his godfather's death and focus on the something else. Easier said than done, he had thought when he was reading the first of these letters. They also seemed to want him to practice occlumency 24-7, which Harry had started doing the moment he stepped into his relatives' house. It had been difficult blocking his mind, though, seeing as his godfather had just recently died, but he knew that he had to do it. He always had the prophecy lurking in his mind…and either must die at the hand of the other…for neither can live while the other survives. Kill or be killed. And Harry was not giving in without one heck of a fight.

Every day thereafter he received at least three letters, and every three days he sent one. Just like the previous summer, Harry was cut off from everything in the wizarding world, in his world, but this year he didn't blame anyone. He knew that they couldn't send anything that contained real information. It might be intercepted. If he had learned anything last year, it was cautiousness. Do not go into a fight without a plan. Someone's always watching. Still, he was anxious to get out of the hell-hole that was the Dursley's, and what little patience he had was waning away quickly.

"Potter, get down here!!" It was Vernon, screaming the same way he did when Ron had called on the "felly tone," and made the mistake of yelling into the receiver. He sounded a bit frightened.

Harry got up reluctantly, and only because of the scared tone in his uncle's voice, and descended the stairs tiredly. What he saw at the bottom when he finally looked up from the floor made his jaw drop.

It was Sirius, standing there looking just as he did at his parents' wedding. His hair was short and well-washed, and he was smiling so widely that it looked unnatural.

"Are you ready to leave for my place," he asked Harry, still with that ridiculous smile.

Harry couldn't contain himself; he jumped for joy and sprinted back up the stairs to grab his things. When he returned from the trip to his room, the scenery had changed. He was not at the top of the Dursley's stairs, but at the top of the stairs in the room in the Department of Mysteries. He was there, watching the scene with panic as members of the Order rushed passed him, most of them locked in battle with a Death Eater. Then he diverted his attention to the center, where an archway with a black veil was raised on a stone dais, and where his godfather was dueling with Bellatrix Lestrange, a Death Eater and his own cousin. And then he saw it again, as if in slow motion, the video that had been playing in his mind since that night in the Ministry of Magic. Sirius was hit with a jet of red light--there was a moment in which his facial expression went from that of triumph to one of surprise--and then he fell through the veil.

Harry woke up on the dirty floor of Number 12, Grimmuald Place, sweating profusely and crying. Ever since the guard had taken him from the Dursley's a week ago he was having the same dream. They had arrived in much the same fashion as Sirius had in his dream, scaring the wits out of the Dursleys (not that they had any wits in the first place) and causing him complete joy. But now the joy that had filled him when he first found out that he was going to leave Privet drive only two-and-a-half weeks into the summer term was gone. The house reminded him so much of his godfather that he could not stop thinking about him no matter what he did.

Number 12, Grimmuald Place, however, had changed considerably since his visit last Christmas. Sirius had left nearly everything in his possession to Harry, but also gave plenty to the Weasleys, as well. After he died the apparent Permanent Sticking Charm had worn off all of the Black family heirlooms, including the portrait of Mrs. Black, the shrunken house-elf heads, and the family tree tapestry. When Harry wrote a letter asking Hermione about this she had told him matter-of-factly, "Dumbledore says that certain types of Permanent Sticking Charms only work as long as at least one member of the family of the person that used it is alive. After that, it wears off." As a result, the house cleaning duties had become enormously easier and the house took on a more cheery expression. The only reminders that the previous owners had been adamant supporters of the Dark Arts were the snake-shaped doorknob handles.

When Harry arrived at his house-because that's what it was, now-he was welcomed by a small number of people. He has expected Hermione and all the Weasleys to be present already because he had become accustomed to being the last to arrive, but there were only Albus Dumbledore and Mundungus Fletcher there to greet him, and the latter was actually just leaving.

Harry immediately opened his mouth to start asking questions-why he was here so early, what was happening with the Order and Voldemort-but Dumbledore stopped him before he could utter a single syllable.

"Harry, I know you have a lot of questions, but let me tell you a few things first. I don't know whether you are getting the Daily Prophet anymore," and Harry shook his head, "but there have been quite a few incidents that make me believe that you are no longer safe at your aunt's home anymore, even with the protection I told you about. You see, Voldemort cannot touch you there, but other things-like dementors-still can." He paused to gaze at Harry. "Harry, the dementors have joined Voldemort, and all the Death Eaters that were in Azkaban are now free. He has put all of his efforts into finding you and figuring out a way to kill you. Most importantly, Harry, he has--" Dumbledore wavered for a second here.

"What is it, professor?"

"He has discovered another source for the prophecy."

"What?!? Voldemort has heard the whole prophecy, now? So much for having the upper hand!" Harry was nearing a state of panic, now. He started pacing the entrance hallway in his newly-acquired house.

"No, Harry, I said that he has discovered another source. He has not yet heard it in its entirety. The Order, very fortunately, found out about his discovery only hours after he knew it himself. We now have it heavily guarded. It is safe for now."

"But what is the source? The only other place I can think of is your pensieve, and it's easy enough to remove your memory from it."

"You're right, Harry, it is not my pensieve he is after." He had a slight twinkle in his eye when he said this. "But I am afraid that if I disclose the information to you it would make life more difficult for you. Voldemort does not know that we know what he has discovered, and he assumes that we have always had all sources heavily guarded. If I tell you what it is he could have access to it-through your mind, of course. Which brings me to my next point. Harry, have you been practicing occlumency?"

Harry looked down to the floor and mumbled, "I've tried, I really have. It's just that it's so hard just now." He hoped Dumbledore would understand why he wasn't having much success in his practice.

"Harry, I understand. But I want to test you to see how far along you really are. Take out your wand."

"But, professor, what about the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery?"

"Not to worry, Harry. I've discussed the matter with Amelia Bones, the new Minister of Magic, and she has consented to let you us magic outside of school, as long as you are in this house. But you are not to use it for every little thing, understand?"

Harry was grinning broadly. "Yeah, alright." He took out his wand and readied himself for the attack on his mind that he knew was coming.

"Let's go somewhere out of the way, Harry. I don't want you to be distracted, and if someone walks in here just now, this would look a bit awkward, don't you think?" He half-grinned and lead Harry to a separate room to the right of the doorway. "Ready Harry," and he nodded, "one, two , three."

Dumbledore had not even said the incantation, but the force of the spell hit Harry hard. He had prepared himself for the intrusion, emptying his mind of all thoughts and emotions, but he was nonetheless surprised when the spell hit him. It wasn't the same as Snape's Legilimency. This was a pleading, prodding spell, and it felt like someone was trying to wake him up, at first gently asking, and then a more rough shake. Harry lasted about 15 seconds before Dumbledore was able to break Harry's barriers, and then the images started rushing past his eyes, just as they had when Snape was teaching him.

Dumbledore released his hold on Harry and helped him off the ground. "That wasn't bad, Harry, but I want you to try something. You know how to produce a patronus, correct?" He waited for Harry to nod. "I want you to do the same thing here. When I cast the spell, I want you to focus on a single memory, a very happy one, and I want you to try and project that feeling around you. It will serve as a barrier-you will force whoever is cursing you to see that one memory. Try again. Ready? One, two, three."

He cast the spell before Harry had sufficient time to think of a memory to use, and Harry rushed around in his brain trying to come up with one. And then he remembered the time during his third year when he thought he was going to live with Sirius; he remembered how happy he had been, and he focused on that emotion. He soon forgot that someone was trying to enter his mind, and he opened his eyes (he had closed them in concentration) to see Dumbledore smiling at him.

"That will do for now Harry. I will be giving you lessons regularly from now on, every time I get the chance." There was a tone of finality in his voice that prompted Harry to leave, but he still had questions that he wanted answered.

Dumbleore answered his thoughts. "There will be time for questions, later, Harry. I must ask you to wait a little longer. Your questions will be answered in due time." He left before Harry could utter another syllable.

A/N: What did y'all think? I know, pretty standard, nothing original, but I promis it will get better. ; )