Disclaimer: I of course don't own any of this and neither do you I'm afraid, unless...nope sorry you're not JKR either.
A/N: This is actually pretty boring, but hey maybe it'll get better... who knows eh? Anyways R&R and leave any ideas you have for future chapters. In fact I'm writing the next one as we speak, or as I speak anyways...
Chapter One: Oh, the Memories...
It had been a long, muggy midsummer's night. Most people would sleep at this time of night, but not everyone. One boy sat in a quiet, dark room at Number 4 Privet Drive just staring outside into the night skies like he did most other nights since the end of the school year. This boy just so happened to be the famous Harry Potter, the "Boy Who Lived".
Such a small amount of sleep had not settled well on Harry and for this reason every morning Harry was left dazed and angry. The summer dragged on for Harry because of the death of his godfather, Sirius, last year. Sirius was the last thing left that he considered to be family. He and Sirius had grown very close since Harry's third year of school when the truth was uncovered about what really happened that night, many years ago when Sirius was taken to Azkaban. Every minute Harry spent alone in his room, he grew evermore guilty that the unfortunate death had been his fault.
Harry half wished his friends, Hermione and Ron, would send him an owl soon, but he knew in his head, he wouldn't want to talk to them after reading their short, one-sentence letters. It just didn't seem fair that they should be at Number 12 Grimmauld place without him. Instead he was at the Dursley's, confined to his room except for the occasional bathroom break.
"It was Dumbledore who did this to me." Harry thought as he studied the heavens. Harry had lost all respect for the man; in fact, if Harry never saw Dumbledore again he thought he would die happy. If he had told Harry about the prophecy beforehand, Sirius would still be alive. But Dumbledore didn't and Sirius wasn't. Harry decided to push these thoughts to the back of his mind and pulled out the book they had been assigned for summer reading: Standard Book of Spells: Grade Six.
It was slow reading, but it did the trick to pull Harry's thoughts away from Sirius. Anyways it wouldn't kill him to pick up his studies, after all he had quite a bit of catching up to do if he was expected to "defeat the dark lord". Harry laughed at the thought. He had escaped Voldemort several times before, but how was he expected to finish him for good? Every single time he had gotten by, it was because of his "sheer dumb luck". Harry now snorted at this. He remembered Professor McGonagal say those same words in his first year, after he and Ron saved Hermione from a mountain troll on Halloween.
"Those were good times," Harry said to himself. And with that, Harry fell asleep at his desk as those memories of better times filled his dreams.
A/N #2: yeah, its really short more otw