English is not my first language, so please take that into consideration :-) …

Disclaimer: Of course none of the mentioned characters belong to me. They solitarily belong to the marvelous J. K. Rowling…

A/N: If you think this story simply sucks then don't bother reviewing. If you do nevertheless then be assured that flames will be ignored while CONSTRUCTIVE criticism is highly appreciated. Thank you.

Reviews that mark any of the characters a "mary sue" will be ignored just the same… Ok? While it is not intended to be one, I cant help it if some still thinks a supporting character can be one…. Got me? Understood? Has comprendo? Verstanden? Tu comprends? Alright, then here you go…   

Unnoticed by the various neighbors in the surrounding back yards of the respectable houses in Privet Drive, a slim teenage boy with untamable black hair, a remarkable lightning shaped scar and round spectacles was laying on his back on a blanket in his aunt and uncle's backyard, his eyes closed and his glasses next to him. The sun was burning down on him and while feeling completely lazy, he drifted of into a doze…

It wasn't easy for Harry Potter to relax at all, contemplating on his last school year attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. His mind seemed to constantly drift of to a specific occasion involving him and his best friends fighting Death Eaters, the horrible followers of the most gruesome dark wizard of all times, Lord Voldemort. Even weeks after he felt his stomach clench painfully at the thought of the hazard he had brought his best friends into because he had Voldemort luring him into the Ministry of Magic in the first place.

Although he thought that there were no tears left to cry - and the extreme sorrow he had felt when he witnessed his godfather die, had turned into what felt like a deep black hole in the deepest of his soul - he felt his eyes stinging once again.

Even though he kept them closed, hiding their emerald green from sight, he felt them moisten and his throat tightened. He couldn't believe and he couldn't accept that Sirius Black has ceased to live. It just couldn't be. And though hearing people assuring him that this wasn't true, over and over again, he still blamed himself for it. Sirius, the person he cared most about in the whole world, the person that was the father to him that he never had, was gone. Gone because the love Sirius felt for his godson would not allow him to sit in the safety of Grimmauld Place while he believed Harry to be in danger.

Wiping away the tears that were threatening to run down his cheeks, he opened his eyes and corrected his blurred vision by putting on his glasses. He sat up and for the first time in what seemed hours realized that it was terribly hot and he rather went inside…

Life at Number 4 Privet Drive was far from being as horrible as it used to be in years past. That was merely due to the absence of his least favorite relatives, the Dursleys. As impossible as this still sounded to Harry's ears, they actually went of on vacation to Mallorca, a beautiful but completely tourist-invaded island in the Mediterranean Sea, leaving their least favorite relative, that being Harry of course, alone in their house! If somebody would have told him this a few months ago, he would have been hard pressed to fight the fit of laughter that would shake him. But it turned into reality! Explainable only by the threats that the members of the Order of the Phoenix made towards Uncle Vernon the day they met him on King's Cross Station. They told the big man with the piggy like eyes and the big mustache that he was to treat his nephew the best way possible and that he would regret every complain that reached their ears. Mostly thanks to Mad Eye Moody's intimidating appearance, Uncle Vernon was scared enough to not mistreat Harry as he used to all his life.

Harry thought of the pile of letters lying on top of on his desk in his bedroom. All sent by owl post from his best friends, Ron and Hermione, Ron's parents, family and several by the members of the Order. All asking him, pleading with him and insisting on him to come and join them for the last time of his vacation. The tone of them growing just a little more impatient every time.

Of course they tried their best to understand him, understand the way he felt and the pain that was so fresh and hurting. But deep down, he felt like they couldn't. After all they haven't suffered a severe loss like he did.

Harry reached the backdoor, leading into a devastatingly clean kitchen. He tried his best to not alter anything in the house that Aunt Petunia tried to keep as clinically clean as possible.

Sitting down at the kitchen table, he poured himself a glass of cold, sweet juice from a jug that he took out of the refrigerator. Unconsciously marveling at the superb taste of pumpkin juice, he found himself lost in thoughts once again.

The pumpkin juice was sent to him by Hagrid, the gamekeeper at Hogwarts. Harry considered him one of his best friends ever. Along with Ron and Hermione it was Hagrid's company he enjoyed most of all. Still, nothing the man with the gigantic beard and the beetle black eyes said could help. His remarks to Harry at his first and only visit following Sirius's death only increased Harry's ache.

"I knew Sirius longer 'n yeh did… he died in battle, an' that's the way he'd've wanted ter go…"

One thing was true about this insensitive remark: He hadn't known Sirius for long.

Harry ran his fingers through his raven-black hair, making it even messier, if possible.

It was one of the many things that aggrieved him so profoundly:  The little time he got to spend with this great person that was his godfather. His parents best friends, their preferred secret keeper. Meaning that they trusted him with their lives, and with their child.

He thought of his two best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. From their letters he knew that they were spending the summer at the Burrow, the house of the Weasley family. Harry used to consider this the place to be, besides Hogwarts that is. Surrounded by the love of a big family, sharing their lives and their laughs, he felt at home for the first time in his life.

But it was so different this summer. He just couldn't bring himself to face them already. Noticing their concerned and worried gazes, whenever they thought he might not see it, was just too much to bear right now.

Being alone in Privet Drive, surrounded simply by muggles that neither knew nor cared about such things as prophecies, Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort, nor wasting much thought on the "Potter-boy", he felt secure.

In really weak and gloomy moments he even considered the option that he might not go back into the magical world at all. Whenever this thought slipped into his mind though, he was terrified of his own reflections. How could he even think of this? He had nowhere to go, he hasn't learned anything besides magic and above all, this was where he belonged. He belonged into the world of magic and mystery, belonged into the world where it wasn't unusual to have mirrors talking, ghosts zooming around, dragons, games played on flying broomsticks and books that shriek at you when you open them. There was no way around it; he belonged there and to no other place in the world. And nothing could keep him away from there, could it?

Nevertheless, the time he spent in the magical world was far from being pleasant all the time. Having all the bones in his arm growing back in one night, facing his nemesis, Lord Voldemort numerous times, seeing friends die right before his eyes, hearing his parents live through the last horrific moments of their short life, brought about by hooded creatures that lived for sucking all the happiness, preferably even the soul out of a person's mouth, wasn't enjoyable to say the least. Misery seemed to find him. No matter where he went or what he did.


Again he reflected the battle at the Ministry of Magic. Besides losing Sirius, he could have very well lost at least one of his brave and loyal friends. Seeing Hermione being hit by a spell and falling down, Ron being attacked by a gigantic brain and all the others in mortal peril, he came to believe that it was him who attracted danger. What was the use in this?

He sighed. It just wasn't fair. Sometimes he couldn't stand the thought that the weight of the wizarding world seemed to be put on the shoulders of a boy, the "boy who lived", this is. He was so tired of this. So tired of having people staring at him, marveling at his lightning shaped scar, wondering how he escaped Lord Voldemort yet again, while he didn't have the answer to this.

Another thing was that his best friends tended to annoy him occasionally during his last year. He could imagine them vividly, sitting there at the Burrow, playing exploding Snap while constantly picking on each other. They just couldn't give it a rest. Arguing 24/7 while it was an open secret that Ron had a severe crush on the brown-eyed girl with the bushy hair. Harry didn't mind. His only fear was that he might be the third wheel once the two of them acknowledged their feelings for one another. But even worries like that seemed to be so far away now. As if they were in a parallel universe, much too trivial to ponder on them for too long.

Even Cho Chang, the raven-haired beauty from Ravenclaw house seemed to have drifted into this universe. Seeing her with another boy would hurt, yes, but just the same it would never come close to the constant pain in his chest. He wondered lazily if smaller pain was absorbed by this immense hurting that never left him anymore…

He let his head drop onto the table, closing his eyes once more, feeling his breath being pressed out of him. His whole body felt so heavy, as if he could never move again. And he felt cold, so cold… It was a feeling similar to the one Dementors usually invoked in him. What if he would never be happy again?

Piercing through these deep depressing thoughts he heard the bright, electric, uncomfortable sound of the door bell. He jumped. Who could be ringing the door bell of Number 4 Privet Drive with the Dursleys gone?

He ran towards the door, opened it and found himself face to face with a girl.

"She must be a Veela," Harry thought breathlessly.