**DISCLAIMER** I am not the creator of Harry Potter and this wonderful world I wish I lived in, all of that credit goes to the one and only, J.K Rowling. Do not mistake me as the creator of the Harry Potter masterpiece, although I really wouldn't be mad if you did! Although my writing below is original, the characters/world is taken from the Harry Potter books. Yes, all of the characters are BORROWED from J.K Rowling's Harry Potter as I am sure you all know.
A/N: This is my first fan fiction ever! I have been a reader of Harry Potter fan fiction for so long, I figured it was time I write one! I am super new to this and would appreciate your reviews. Good criticism, bad criticism. I'm sure I can take it, *cries herself to sleep after bad review* hit me! But super seriously, thank you reader, for taking the time to read my work. Publishing this story is accomplishment enough, and it's my hope that others find my stories and enjoy it! This version of Harry Potter, the Harry Potter that I have chosen to write, is someone that I am very close to. I've struggled with depressive episodes and depressive thoughts like this Harry here. This story is a good reminder to check in on your loved ones and seek help if you need it. There is no shame in asking for help, and like the great Albus Dumbledore once said, "You will also find that help will always be given [at Hogwarts] to those who ask for it."
Anyways...with further ado...I give you the first chapter of There Is No Shadow Without Light!
Chapter 1: Dutifully Dreadful Days at the Dursleys
"I am fine. Thanks. And you mate?"
"I am fine mate. And you?" Come on Potter, less teeth.
"I'm fine. Thanks." Harry told the bathroom mirror, now eyeing his mouth. And then ask them back Potter.
"I'm fine thanks. You mate?" Harry said, giving a half smile at the end. Perfect. The response was flawless. Nice smile, even but also optimistic tone, respectful attitude and reflects the question back onto the questioning party.
It was a response the young man needed to practice. Without measuring his smiles or heightening the interest of his tone, someone might learn the truth. They might see right through the forced laughs and fake smiles. They might catch onto the way his eyes flitted slightly in panic when someone asked how he was doing. Or they might listen to how his breathing hitched if Sirius was mentioned. There was the risk of someone figuring out his 'I'm fines' were all part of the facade that told everyone he was coping well. That he was sleeping peacefully. That he was eating right. That he didn't see Sirius's body floating into the Veil every time he closed his eyes. Or hear Voldemort's voice whispering into his ear any time the house was quiet. That he didn't wake up each night screaming, with the urge to vomit, his hands clammy and his face wet with what he convinced himself was sweat.
It was a response Harry needed to practice because he didn't know what he would do if someone figured him out. He already knew exactly how Ron or Hermione or Remus or any of the Weasleys would confront him on his new behavior. He could see their wrinkled forehead, their mouth stretched into a hard frown, and eyes laced with concern as they took his hand, or maybe patted his shoulder or rubbed his back and pleaded with him to tell them what was wrong.
He shook away that thought—no—nightmare and told himself the act was to relieve his friends from the burden of his problems. And of course, protect himself from the questions. Oh god. The questions they would ask. He shivered at the thought. They would trap him, backing him into a corner, and force him to answer their questions and talk about his feelings.
No. The worry, the prodding, the talking would all be much worse than simply burying his emotions. Besides, everyone was already happy enough. People were clearly trying to get by on what little joys of the world were left with Voldemort looming close like a dark shadow. Who was Harry to add to their distress? Place himself as a burden of guilt and feelings when people were clearly trying to figure out their own lives. You're supposed to be the Boy Who Lived. People need you to fix their problems not add to their mess. Stop moping and get a gri-a sudden rapping on the locked bathroom door jostled Harry from his thoughts.
"BOY! I know you're not wasting our precious water with your disgusting little filth! GET OUT! And make breakfast! NOW!" Aunt Petunia's shrill voice rang through the bathroom walls. Then he could hear her slippers scuffling away as quickly as they came, as if talking to the filth for too long might contaminate her clothes.
Harry looked at the bathroom window and cursed. The sun was already peaking over the square houses and neat little trees of Little Whinging. Now turning back to the mirror, he ran a hand through his thick, raven locks, trying to remember the last time he slept. His reflection spoke volumes for this answer. His face was alarmingly pale and his darkened eye bags announced his insomnia without question.
"You gotta sleep Potter, you look like death." He mumbled to his pale reflection. As the raven haired boy made his way downstairs and into the kitchen, he decided a quick glamour charm could solve his eye bag situation for the next time he saw his friends.
Thinking of his friends, as he reached for the frying pan and turned on the stove, the young wizard wondered when he would see them again. Ron's letters said soon, "Summer mate." But honestly it was starting to look like he wouldn't see them until the Hogwarts train.
By the time Harry finished making breakfast and served the Dursleys, who, weren't in the worst mood—today they decided to ignore him entirely with the exception of Dudley swatting Harry twice from the back with his Smelting stick—-Harry decided he would send a letter to Ron one last time about meeting for summer. His last message from his best mate sounded less Ron than usual and he had the feeling his friend was holding back.
Harry munched on his toast over the kitchen sink, making sure to remain as "out of sight" from the Dursleys as possible. Probably some Order stuff, Harry thought bitterly on why his friends would keep secrets in their letters. Seriously, if the Order thinks keeping secrets is still smart after the Department of Mysteries their bloody stupid. With the thought of that strange Ministry chamber, flashes of the cold dark veil gripped at Harry's heart, quickening his breathing and making him gasp for air. Darkness filled around him as whispers of the voices behind that eerie opening slithered into Harry's ears and surrounded him. Black edged his vision and the teenager tugged at his shirt fighting to breathe.
"What are you staring at? Stop it before I lick those eyes right off your face and GO DO YOUR CHORES," Uncle Vernon's abrupt voice came through Harry's clouded thoughts.
The teenager started, his uncle's threat dissipating his panic attack immediately. And although guilty thoughts of Sirius' death still pulled at his heart, one look at his uncle's purple face and large, clenched knuckles pushed him out of the kitchen and made him run to the yard.
Once out of his uncle's clutches, Harry's feelings of grief and guilt bubbled back up to the surface. As the young man walked towards the shed to grab the lawn mower to trim the grass, Harry shoved his feelings down into his stomach and thought more about his letter to Ron.
Pulling the latch to start the mower, he started walking the mower in a tight line down the lawn. Once reaching the end, Harry pulled the machine around and walked down with it trimming the grass in another line right next to the first. The wizard chuckled thinking of how appalled some of his friends at Hogwarts would be to know of the way he mowed his lawn. An easy flick of the wrist could surely trim this grass in no time.
With the thought of Hogwarts, again his mind drifted to the Weasleys. Harry was reluctant to send Ron a letter at all. As miserable and lonely as the orphan was at the Dursleys, he didn't want to seem whiny or invite himself over. Wait. No. I'm not lonely. Came Harry's defensive thoughts. I can handle the Dursleys for a couple more weeks. In fact I like the quiet. Harry convinced himself. Geesh, Potter. You can't go crying to the Weasleys just because you hate it here.
Harry reached the end of the lawn again, stepping slightly to the side and turning tightly around in the opposite direction to make sure he didn't miss any patches of grass.
But, Harry thought. I have gotten plenty of alone time. The quiet of the summer had served as the perfect opportunity to grieve peacefully and reflect.
Harry finished another row of grass. And then another, nearing the middle. Harry found the whirring of the lawn mower therapeutic.
The time summer left for Harry to grieve was helpful, needed, enjoyed in fact. He reasoned it would be fine to see his friends for a bit. Bring his life back to normal. Or whatever normal it loosely resembled before.
Harry paused in the center of the lawn. The lawn mower still whirring.
Before. Harry thought with a sinking feeling. Before Sirius died.
Harry began to shake, a terrible mixture of sadness and anger rising in his throat. The same feelings that had taken over him when he screamed at Dumbledore and trashed the Headmaster's office after the Department of Mysteries.
He shook his head roughly, not wanting to revisit that terrible place. Snap out of it Potter. The wizard took a deep breath and continued walking with the mower.
The problem was, Harry had decided long ago he was done grieving. He had to be. He had more important things to take care of than his sad feelings for his dead godfather. Like ending bloody Voldemort. It was this lust for revenge and urge to redeemed Sirius and his parents that kept Harry going. He had to. He was the bloody Chosen One after all.
Another two rows done. And then three more. The lawn was coming together quite nicely.
Besides, he already spent four days waiting to reply to Ron's last letter, if he didn't respond by the end of the week the Weasleys would worry. As tolerable as the Dursleys have ever been (Harry suspected someone-probably Remus-had threatened them to leave alone this year with the death of Sirius and all), Harry still didn't want the Weasleys coming to Privet Drive like they had to rescue him every summer or something. He was doing fine, thanks.
"WHIIRRRR! SPIRRTT!" the mower began spitting awful noises as Harry had mowed right into the pavement without noticing.
After quickly turning off the lawn mower and doing a once over for any damage, Harry rolled the machine back to the shed and made his way back inside.
Still, he thought of the red headed family. It was nearing the end of the break and if anything, he needed the Weasleys to take him to Diagon Alley to get his school supplies for the next semester. Remembering the stack of books he had to buy last year Harry could only imagine all the things that would be required for Sixth year.
Yes. Harry would write to Ron one last time and ask him about coming over for the summer.
"BOY! What took you so long? Walking around like you're done! Finish these chores before dinner!" Aunt Petunia handed him the list of chores the same way you would pet a filthy animal. "And when you're done, cook some stew. Company is coming over so I need this house SPOTLESS and I can't have your filth stinking up the place when they arrive, " Aunt Petunia shrieked all of this as Harry entered the door. She paused as he quietly took the paper from her hand, and eyeballed Harry suspiciously, as if he had been conspiring something in the front yard. "And HURRY UP!" The thin, horse looking woman screeched before scurrying into the kitchen, no doubt to make her key lime pie, tradition to all Dursley guests.
Harry let out a sigh once she left. Guess I'll write later.
A/N: Thanks for reading my first chapter! Chapter 2 is coming soon, sometime in the next week! Feel free to leave a review, I would love to hear from you.
Preview
Chapter 2: A Trio Reunited
To Harry's great disappointment, he didn't see Ron and Hermione until the Hogwarts train. But, to the Weasleys' credit, Molly Weasley had fought the Headmaster tooth and nail to bring Harry to the Burrow, only to be matched by the conclusive decision of the calm, twinkly eyed Headmaster.
Ron's letters said that Dumbledore wouldn't move Harry to the Burrow when Wizarding families were dropping like flies. What Harry knew were Death Eater attacks causing the disappearances, was described by the Daily Prophet as "suspicious, but unexpected family vacations" or "sudden and indefinite relocations of Ministry workers overseas". Whatever that meant. Honestly, the Ministry wasn't even trying.