Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this chapter, or in the Harry Potter series. All of the characters are property of J.K. Rowling, Scholastic, her managers, publishers, etc. I do not claim any credit for this wonderful series of books, nor do I make any profit out of this fiction that I write. It is all for personal enjoyment.
Chapter 1: Summer
During the months when school was in session, and all of the children who resided near Pivet Drive were neglecting their books and homework for more important things like television and jump rope, the Dursley's, of number four Pivet Drive, were the most normal of people. Nothing out of the ordinary happened to them, certainly no funny business occurred that would ever distinguish their house from the ones sitting right next to it. And this is how Vernon Dursley, his wife Petunia, and their immense son Dudley preferred it. To the Dursley's, a life full of witches and wizards, house elf's, ghosts, and evil villains, was not one that respectable, normal, sane people lived. For the Dursley's, being forced to live life amongst a person who associated with these types of people, would be a living hell, a fate that should not be wished upon one's worst enemy. Which would explain why, during the summer holidays, when school was out and the kids of Pivet Drive didn't have books or homework to worry about, Vernon Dursley would sometimes climb the stairs of his house mumbling, "What did I do? Why do I deserve this?" And then he would immediately quiet himself, just in case a passing neighbor had heard him through an open window.
A teenager like Harry Potter was a nightmare for the Dursleys. Harry, after all, was a wizard. But he was not merely a normal wizard, Harry Potter was The Boy Who Lived.
When Harry was less than one year old, the darkest of wizards, Lord Voldemort, was at the height of his power. The Dark Lord destroyed and killed; when someone got in his way or opposed him, they were marked for death instantly. And whenever Lord Voldemort wanted someone dead, there was no escaping it. That is, until one night, 15 years ago, when Voldemort entered the Potter home with intentions of ending the lives of James and Lily Potter, and most importantly, their baby son. On that night, something unexplainable happened. After killing both Lily and James, Voldemort turned to the baby, lifted his wand and spoke the death curse "Avada Kedavra," but the spell didn't work, in fact, it seemed to backfire. Harry survived the attack escaping with only a scar, while Voldemort was reduced to nothing more than a wisp of life. A one-year-old Harry Potter had defeated the evil Dark Lord, and had almost instantly become the hero of the wizarding world.
However, Harry was not to know this for 10 more years, because the very night of the attack he was taken by a wise old wizard to his only living relative's house at number four Pivet Drive, where he would live in ignorance of the wizarding world, and who he truly was, until the day the first letter came.
Harry Potter lay on his bed remembering the first letter. It had been the most odd thing for Harry to receive a letter at Pivet Drive, a place where he had been stuffed in the cupboard under the stairs for so long that he was sure no one in the outside world knew he existed. He had been allowed to go to school, but even there he was bullied by Dudley who was easily twice his size, so school wasn't much of a release. Yes, Harry had been convinced that he would be stuck with the Dursleys in that awful and cramped cupboard for the rest of his life. And then, one afternoon Harry picked up the mail that had been thrown inside the house through the mail slot in the door to find that a letter had been addressed to him. And it was addressed in the most peculiar way too:
Harry Potter
The Cupboard Under the Stairs
Number four, Pivet Drive
Surrey, Little Whinging
It was from a place called Hogwarts. Harry had been so surprised to receive the letter that he had forgotten that it might have been best to stash it in his "room" until he had privacy to read it alone. Instead, however, Harry had walked straight into the kitchen with it, staring at it absurdly. He hadn't even had a chance to open it before it was ripped out of his hands by Dudley, and then burned by Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. They did not want Harry seeing what was in the letter, but Hogwarts was not so easily avoided.
Reliving the memory of the onslaught of owls that soon followed, Harry smiled. It was his first smile in weeks.
This summer had not been an easy one for him. While sitting in his room he often tried to remember the times when he would eagerly await going back to school That had been another thing that made Harry different: he enjoyed school. Harry attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the only wizarding school in Britain, and headed by arguably the most powerful good wizard alive, Albus Dumbledore. Harry had always trusted and respected Dumbledore, but because of recent events of the past year, he wasn't sure whether he still could. Dumbledore had let him down…
Yes, Harry reminded himself, I'm not sure who I can trust anymore. His two best friend's faces, who had been through his many adventures loyally by his side, passed through Harry's mind. Ron and Hermione. Harry cared about them more than he cared about anyone else in the world, he would do anything for them. Yet, right now, Harry didn't want to think about his friends. He didn't want to think at all.
Harry lay on his bed; his body sprawled out over his rumpled sheets. His gazed fixed upon the ceiling; his eyes unfocused. Harry spent most of his days like this, wasting away in his room. He only ever left to shower, use the bathroom, eat, and write an occasional letter to the people of the Order. He had promised Mr. Weasley and Mad-Eye Moody that he would keep in contact with them over the summer, writing them every three days at least. (If they didn't receive a letter within this amount of time, the two older wizards had promised to come to Pivet Drive, and see what was up, for themselves. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had panicked at the mere threat of such a disturbance.) Harry filled these letters with meaningless feelings of happiness and contentness, and false stories of how he was joyfully passing his summer. When replies to his letters came, Harry read them out of a lack of anything better to do, but rarely cared about the information contained within them. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's letters were always reassuring, Moody's always warned of impending danger, Tonks told of happenings around Grimauld Place, and Ron and Hermione's letters were stuffed full of news regarding their own lives, and questions about Harry's. No one spoke of news of Voldemort. They were all happy Harry was having such a "wonderful" summer.
Harry wanted to shut the world out – the sunny days, and singing birds, and the cheers of children on the street below his window playing ball. Harry would never be a part of that world again, he would never see things the way those children could. He was blind to the bliss they enjoyed. Harry was changed, and he felt alone.
No one else could have understood his pain. No one else had lost their godfather. Sirius. Harry's only major link to his parent's past, the only one he could relate to. He and Sirius had shared the same pain – the loss of Lily and James. And now Sirius was gone, he was dead.
Understandably, Sirius' death was the hardest thing for Harry to think about, but no matter how hard he tried to push it out of his head, he couldn't forget. There was an ever-present pit in Harry's stomach that served to remind Harry that Sirius' death was his fault. It was so sudden, Harry would think. If only I had remembered the mirror, if I had just stopped to think, then maybe…maybe.
Harry was changed.
Voldemort was back now. After performing a bizarre spell and returning to human form in Harry's fourth year at Hogwarts, Voldemort had risen again. Harry had seen it firsthand. Voldemort had tried to kill Harry, but once again, did not succeed. Harry survived and lived to tell of Voldemort's rebirth to Dumbledore. Few had believed them, however, and both were ridiculed endlessly. But after what had happened the day Sirius was killed, not even the person most in denial, Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge, could deny that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was back, and as strong as ever.
Now was the time Harry should be most cautious: watching the news closely, reading The Daily Prophet, asking Ron and Hermione for every bit of information on what was happening…but Harry was doing none of these things. This summer, Harry just wanted to forget who he was, why he was hurting, and so far, he wasn't succeeding.