Author's Note (PLEAS READ): Just like all the other fan fiction writers out there, I do not own any of the characters (except for the one newly introduced) or anything else that is related to the brilliant JK. Heck, I wouldn't have a good story line if it wasn't for hers. I also do not own the lyrics to Back in Black by AC/DC. So for all those law suit seekers, I'm not making any money off this so back off!
Now, I wrote this fanfiction in Microsoft Word and am too lazy to go back and edit all of my following chapters, so I hope you will read this and it will clarify all your questions. 1.) I write all my thoughts in italics, which, unfortunately does not show up in fanfiction.net form. If you see a sentence that is suddenly in first person, note that it is a THOUGHT. And "" means that the point of view has been changed (you'll see in Chapter 5 I think). 2.) I would write sentences with dot, dot, dots, but I was unaware that you had to space them out, so if you come across a sentence like, "Don't...leave...me!" please read it as, "Don't. . .leave. . .me!" Alright, well that's it! and I hope you enjoy my first ever HP fan fiction!

The Darkness of his 6th Year

1. Unexpected Sympathy

The summer heat seeped under the window sills of Number 4 Privet Drive.
The Dursleys sat on the living room couch in tank tops and shorts,
watching the news. The heat was almost unbearable. If it had not been for
the new air conditioner installed by Mr. Dursley the previous week, a
great deal of heat stroke and dehydration would have spread throughout
the house like a deadly virus. Sweat was peeking out from under Mr.
Dursley's massive chin. Flies buzzed around Dudley's crevices in his arms
and legs. Mrs. Dursley sat fanning herself with a piece of paper and
Harry, Harry James Potter was upstairs, locked away in his room, lying on
his bed.

There was no vent for cool air to come in from in Harry's room. The only cool air that was present was from the space between the floor and Harry's door or from a breeze that was occasionally cast into his room by his open window. His thoughts were filled of memories of Sirius and it was hard to distinguish nowadays if Harry's cheeks were stained from tears or sweat. The tears however were not because he wept for Sirius's death, but because he was furious at the thought that it had occurred. He'd let his mind dwell on the event and become frustrated to the point where it was impossible to hold the tears back. He was frustrated that Bellatrix had been so ruthless. Frustrated that he had lost another loved one. Frustrated at the fact that Sirius's death was so simple that it didn't seem real. And because it didn't appear real, Harry had succeeded in convincing himself that it never happened, only to wake up discouraged the following day.

Despite his anger, he did miss Sirius. Every time Harry saw a black dog pass by on the street, his face grew hot and his heart sunk. Every time he over heard someone say "black" a storm cloud of depression swelled inside him. Every time he smelled a musty, old odor, it reminded Harry of the smell of Number 12 Grimmuald Place, and breathing became sharp little intakes of air. As much as he missed his godfather, Harry couldn't help the fact the Sirius was everywhere and in every one of the five senses. When Ron and Hermione wrote to him, he barely wrote anything back. He ate very little of the little helpings served to him and life sort of lost its meaning. Despite what Dumbledore told him, Harry took all the blame. If only I could go back and change everything, Harry thought to himself. Then the first burst of joy all summer consumed his body as he pulled out a quill and parchment.

Dear Hermione, I thought of a way that might bring Sirius back! I can't say anything suspicious yet if the intercepting of the owls is still taking place. Write back when you get this letter and please don't think of me mad!

Sincerely Yours,

Harry

He shook a sleeping Hedwig awake and quickly tied the letter to her leg. She squawked in protest, but Harry knew this was urgent and didn't allow Hedwig a couple of minutes to wake up completely.

"To Hermione," he said breathlessly, "and I want you to stay there until she writes back. This heat isn't good for you, you know." With that said he took Hedwig on his arm and carried her to the half open window where she took flight. He watched her for a few minutes until anxiously flopping down again on his bed. Harry's mind was racing and his stomach was still fluttering after the back flips it did when he first thought of the idea.

Minutes turned to hours and all Harry had been doing was sitting on his bed getting his hopes up. There was a sudden commotion outside and Harry turned and saw the outline of an owl flutter from the shadows. It wasn't Hedwig. The owl short and plump, and somewhat resembled someone he knew. It fluttered into the room and landed on the bed post. Its feathers were mousy grey and the beak was short and pointed, looking as if it were wearing an annoyingly familiar smile. The oddity about this owl was its miss-matched eyes. One was a foggy green with a black slit for a pupil and the other was crimson with a gold slit. Harry barely took notice of this and untied the letter from the owl. It pecked at his hand as he did so. Then, without waiting for Harry to scribble a reply (or even open the letter for that matter) it flew out of his room. He carefully opened the letter, excited and somewhat scared to see what it contained. Horror struck him like lightning when he saw who the letter was from.

Potter,

Stop with this nonsense. Black is dead. You know it. I know it. The ministry knows it. And we all certainly know that there is no way to bring him back. Don't even try Potter.

High Inquisitor,

Dolores Umbridge

p.s. I was authorized to intercept your letter, but you should be thankful that I sent it to its rightful owner anyway.

A wave of rage over Harry. His lip curled and his stomach twisted into a tight knot. Why are they still keeping a close watch on me! Authorized to intercept my letter! I'll show that Umbridge woman some authority! Hedwig suddenly fluttered into his room and onto his arm. Her feathers were a bit rumpled but nothing was broken or torn from being intercepted. He untied the letter, and recognizing the writing, knew it was from Hermione.

"Lucky you didn't get caught carrying this back from Hermione eh?" he asked Hedwig. She cocked her head slightly to the left in a comprehending way. He tore open the letter and read it out loud as if someone where listening.

"Dear Harry, if you're talking about the thing we used in the third year to save you-know-what from being executed from Hagrid's backyard (I'm not mentioning the name of this thing incase this is intercepted) then I'm sorry, but...but that won't work this time. You see I felt so guilty after doing what we did and knowing we could have been caught and expelled and even worse, that I gave it to Dumbledore and we destroyed it." All the excitement that had been swelling inside Harry was flushed out and gone. He swallowed several times and reread the line over and over to make sure he hadn't read wrong and then continued, "Plus Harry, even if I did still have the thing, it wouldn't stop you from thinking those thoughts and if we tried to stop ourselves from going to the Ministry, we were going to get caught anyway, being seen by ourselves and all. I'm terribly sorry to spoil your happiness Harry, I really am. Can't wait to see you—Hermione." He slowly turned to Hedwig who had crawled back into her cage and his sweat streaked face became hot with disappointment. He lay down and fell asleep.

"DINNER BOY! YOU HAVE ONE MINUTE TO GET DOWN OR YA AIN'T GETTIN' ANYTHING!" The hollers of Uncle Vernon awoke Harry with a jump. He was bleary eyed and found his glasses lying on the floor. His joints were stiff and he hobbled downstairs to the kitchen table. The heat had obviously gotten to all three of the Dursleys because no one was talking. Once again, Harry had gotten the least amount of food, but that didn't bother him now, he wasn't even hungry anyway. The sounds that filled the Dursley's house were that of knives cutting and clattering against the ceramic plates. No one looked at each other. Harry sat at his seat, stabbing at his steak, asking himself why he even bothered to come down in the first place. Someone mumbled and broke his concentration.

"What'd you say?" Harry asked, looking directly at Uncle Vernon.

"I didn't say anything! Don't you listen? That was your Aunt Petunia," Uncle Vernon spat. Harry shifted his gaze to Aunt Petunia and raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"Why should I repeat myself again if you didn't even bother to listen the first time?" she pursed her lips, apparently annoyed she was not heard. Harry mumbled a sorry, but wanting to always be heard, Aunt Petunia spoke up again.

"I said I..I...," she stammered. "I'm s..s..sorry to hear about Furious Mack or whatever his name was!" she smiled triumphantly. Harry's jaw dropped.

"Sorry? Sorry? You can't even remember his name when you mean to make the death of my godfather a joke! What do you mean you're sorry?" he burst out in rage. Aunt Petunia looked bewildered that Harry was actually upset at her. Uncle Vernon stood up and looked down upon Harry.

"That was no joke boy! If you recall, we never made the death of your mum and dad a joke! WE WOULDN'T STOOP THAT LOW! SO WHEN YOUR AUNT PETUNIA APOLOGIZES, YOU BETTER BE GREATFUL OR I'LL GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO BE UPSET ABOUT!" Uncle Vernon roared. Dudley was lost in a fit of silent laughter. Harry whirled around to Aunt Petunia, fists clenched.

"How can I believe you? You've never said anything nice about my mum! You never loved her!" Harry said, fury burning his throat.

"She was my sister! Of course I loved her!" Aunt Petunia shot back. Uncle Vernon looked like he was on the verge of fainting. His wife actually said she loved some weird witch! Uncle Vernon and Harry were both frozen with surprise. Even Dudley had stopped laughing.

"And I knew Sirius!" she exclaimed. Harry's heart suddenly sunk. She continued, "You think once she went to that stupid school that I never heard from her again? She talked about James and Sirius all the time in her letters to my mum! They both showed up at my house for Christmas one time! Total nutters both of them," she quickly reassured Uncle Vernon. "I didn't know him as well as you did, and I'm not sad he died, but when I try to apologize, remember, I grew up with a witch and her crazy friends Harry." That had done it. She, nor Uncle Vernon, or Dudley, had ever addressed him as Harry. His head began to swim, unaware of his fingernails digging into the palm of his hands.

"But I knew you loved him and I am a fool for love. So what I'm—Harry look at me when I'm talking to you," he slowly lifted his head to meet her eyes. "Harry, I am sorry Sirius died." Harry's eyes swelled with tears, but he fought them back. He cleared his throat and barely above a whisper asked, "Dumbledore or anyone else didn't put you up to this?"

"Did you see any ruddy owls fly through here boy?" Uncle Vernon answered for her.

"No one," Aunt Petunia said. Harry looked around the room. He looked at where the pudding once sat on the table until Dobby dropped it on Mrs. Mason's head. He looked at the floor, ceiling and at the scrawny, undercooked sliver of steak in front of him. Then he looked at Dudley, Uncle Vernon, and especially at Aunt Petunia. Harry unclenched his fists, placed them on the table, and began to smooth out the table cloth. For a split second, he wondered if he had suddenly gone deaf because the only audible sound that echoed throughout Number Four Privet Drive was the perpetual hum of the summer heat.

"Well," he paused, breaking the silence, "well th—thank you."