A/N: Hi, I've rewritten again, because I found errors in my appalling writing. The title has changed too, and if you're wondering what the title used to be, it was 'talking to teenage pranksters'. The title at the moment is temporary because it sucks.

Wish me luck.

P.S. This is dedicated to my friend Charlie aka Choccie.

Disclaimer; I own nothing but the plot.

Harry Potter sat on his bed, in number 4 Privet Drive, extremely depressed. He felt like his world had ended. Almost every good thing he had ever known had been taken away from him. Anything that remained, he was sure was going to go too. Wasn't it enough that his parents had died before he could even get to know them? Wasn't it enough that his only remaining relatives hated every fibre of his being? He had only one option, and it would leave him more miserable than he already was.

Isolation. He would have to leave behind everyone he held dear. Or rather everyone that was associated with him. Or else Voldemort would kill everyone he knew. Including his best friends Ron and Hermione, Ron's family who treated him like one of their own, his teachers, and even the Dursleys, He would kill anyone that got in the way of killing Harry.

Sirius Black, Harry's godfather, and the closest thing to a parent Harry had ever known, (A/N: I know, I stole that bit from OotP. smacks hand Bad me! Sorry!), had died just over a month ago. It was then that Harry's world had collapsed around him. His last hope had gone.

And the worst thing about Harry's life right now? He could talk to no one. No one understood. If only he could talk to his dad… Not his mum because he kind of wanted a… a… well there was no other word for it man-to-man. He laughed bitterly; he truly was an odd teenager. Every other kid on the planet did everything they could to get out of "talks" with their parents, and here he was asking for one. The only things he could ever remember his dad saying weren't even directed at him. One was an order to his mother to take him and run before Voldemort came and killed them. Another was that memory of Snape's, where his dad had been bullying Snape, and Snape had ended up hanging upside-down in the air, flashing his pant to a crowd of onlookers. And the last one was an echo of his teenage father and his friends trapped in an enchanted map writing insults to Harry's potions teacher, Professor Snape. Wait a second…

If Snape could talk to his father, why couldn't he? With a sudden burst of energy, he leapt off of his bed and wrenched open his trunk. Inside was everything magic-related that he possessed, including a very weathered piece of parchment. Praying that this would work, he lifted it out, tapped it with his wand, and said, "Harry Potter, Gryffindor student of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and son of Prongs requests that you yield the information you conceal."

Some words appeared on the blank parchment. It read…

A/N: Ooooh cliffies! Don't you just love 'em? I know, I know, it was short, but I couldn't resist putting a cliff-hanger in there, so think of this as the prologue. Well, go ahead and tell me what you think!