Hey, everyone. This story is just to kill off this horrible plot bunny that's been hanging onto my leg for about nine months- Argh! I don't mind if I don't manage to get all that many reviews, though a few would be nice =) I'm just enjoying writing this story, however corny that may sound. I know some references in this story may sound similar to some stuff in Lord Of The Rings, but I just get inspiration from there. And I got all the Wicca stuff from the Wicca series by Cate Tiernan. I am NOT making any adverts; I'm just making some stuff clear.

Disclaimers: All Harry Potter characters belong to JK Rowling, no matter how many letters I've written to her. I don't make no money outta this here story, but you can send me a pay check if ya want, I ain't stopping y'all :P And any OC's I've created, weeeelll, they b'long to me, so youse gotta have mah permission to use'em. Sorry!

Begin with the story! Hope y'all enjoy it! P.S. First fic, so y'all be gentle, 'kay?

Sweet Sixteen

Chapter 1

It was cold; a bitter cold night in Surrey, and everyone was feeling it, including a certain 15- year old wizard in No. 4, Privet Drive. Although it was summer the weather had been very strange those past few weeks and there had been quite a few thunderstorms. The average temperature had been ranging from about twenty degrees down to about as low as nine. Everyone had shoved their bathing suits and picnic baskets back into their wardrobes and cupboards in gloomy resignation as they realised they were in for quite depressing holidays. Dudley had been in an especially bad mood, as now Mrs. Dursley had forbidden him to go out with his friends because of such bad weather- "Ickle Popkins will catch such a dreadful cold, won't he now?"- but this was very bad news for Harry Potter, Dudley's cousin, who also happened to be a boy wizard. Dudley, instead of going to his friends, was bringing his friends to his own home. Here, unfortunately, Dudley & Co. had full reign of the house and had sworn to make Harry's life a living hell.

Well… a few of them, anyway. For Dudley had not yet recovered from last year's Dementor attack. He still steadfastly believed that it had all been Harry's fault. So every time his gang got a bit hyper he'd try and calm them down or distract them with something else- he was now absolutely terrified. He normally succeeded, as his gang didn't really mind not beating up Harry- as long as they had something else to smash- e.g. Uncle Vernon's best suit or the dining room's coffee table- they were quite satisfied.

As for Harry, though, he couldn't have cared less. He had his own problems to deal with. All through the day, and all through night, his thoughts were focused on one thing- the death of Sirius Black.

Harry could not stop thinking about his former godfather. It didn't seem real that Sirius had only been killed just a month ago. He was still waking up every morning expecting Hedwig carrying a letter from him, when the reality would sink in and his shoulders would sag helplessly. Dead, dead, dead, Sirius is dead, he'd tell himself… but he still wouldn't accept it and a horrible depression slowly became part of his attitude. As in the case of all depressives, he had a nagging feeling that Sirius' death was all his fault. He thought that if only he hadn't been so hasty to get to the Department of Mysteries Sirius wouldn't have had to leave the safety of his hiding place to save his, Harry's, life.

Actually, a brief skirmish from Dudley's side would have broken Harry's monotony nicely, would have distracted him from his current misery. What Dumbledore had told him at the end of the year really hadn't cheered him up one bit. The knowledge that either him or Voldemort would be dead in the near future wasn't exactly what you'd call uplifting. Harry couldn't get the Prophecy out of his head, no matter how hard he tried. Especially the events that had preceded its discovery… Neville's broken nose, Ron's temporary madness, Hermione's bitter struggles before falling into unconsciousness, Lupin, trying to comfort Harry, and Bellatrix Lestrange, and her horrible, mocking voice as she taunted him… the thought of Sirius' murderess made Harry's fists clench and his insides churn as if on fire with hot, nauseating liquid. It wasn't the first time that, during thoughts like these, Harry had to leave from whatever he was doing to go the lavatory to feel sick. They were truly horrible, those moments, when he'd lean his head back from the lavatory pan weakly and wipe vomit off his lips, his head pounding, then to look in the mirror, and his whole self would fill with self-loathing…

It wasn't as if he was surrounded with empathy, either. The Dursleys were obviously far from capable of understanding what he was going through. At least this time they were too scared to lock him into a cupboard or a room, or to mistreat him too badly- the image of Moody evidently hadn't yet disappeared from Uncle Vernon's head. Only this kept getting Harry three meals a day (when he felt like eating them, that is) or a place to sleep at night.

At times, Harry thought he'd catch Aunt Petunia looking at him in a strange way. She'd look away quickly then, snapping at him to quit staring at her, but he thought he knew the reason for her behaviour. Ever since last year's Howler he'd felt the slightest, smallest connection to his mother's sister. Not a deep connection, certainly, but still… Harry guessed that out of all the people in that house Mrs. Dursley was probably the only one who could imagine what was going on in the wizarding world at that moment.

He'd spoken to her once, during those three weeks he'd been there so far. He'd asked about the Howler of last year, when he'd been ordered to help clean the dishes with her. Standing at the sink one day, he'd popped the question.

"It was never really a secret, what went on in that crackpot world of hers went on in our household most of the time," she had replied curtly. The wet dish she was holding in hands almost slipped out of her hands. She caught it clumsily, muttering furiously under her breath. Harry suspected she'd in a way been expecting this, and was now trying to avoid it. Ignoring the slight about the "crackpot" world, he asked,

"But- didn't you have any idea of what had been going on? You must have, I mean, even when she was living with my father, there was such a huge war going on. Even Muggles were-"

This time Aunt Petunia did drop a plate- it cracked into little pieces as soon as it hit the bottom of the sink.

"Don't- say- that- WORD!" she hissed at him, eyes madly peering out of the windows, in all directions. As if she was expecting a million neighbours to fall down, clutching their hearts and gasping in horror at the sound of the word "Muggle".

She turned on him, furiously. "Whatever your mother was going through when you were born- when she married that James- had absolutely nothing to do with me. Oh, we heard stories- on the news- and sometimes from letters and- owls- from Lily- about people dying, people fighting here, and there, about this – this-" Her voice lowered to barely a whisper-"Dark Lord, who went around, killing- do you think we wanted to be a part of that? No, we didn't! But one fine day, you showed up on our doorstep, clutching that letter in your hand. Saying that we out of all people were the only ones who'd be able to protect you, after your foolhardy parents had gone and got themselves killed! You don't know how lucky you are- I could have easily let Vernon send you off to an orphanage! But I couldn't because I didn't want anything to happen to my family, to my son- I was terrified of what those- those people would do if I dared do otherwise…"

She paused, breathing heavily, staring at Harry, whose heart was hammering wildly against his chest. He'd never heard such an impassioned speech from his aunt before- not since that long- ago night in that hut when Hagrid had first visited him.

Suddenly she straightened up. The flush in her face that had appeared in her face whilst she was talking began to fade. "I'd like you to leave now, please," she intoned.

Her face was expressionless.

"But-"

"Out! Now!" There was even a touch of pleading in her voice.

Harry turned swiftly on his heels and left the kitchen. As he made his way upstairs to his room his ears were pounding with anger at the injustice of it all. He, Harry, was only alive because a bunch of idiots were terrified of what other people would do to them. He truly felt worthless.

He flopped, sitting down on his bed, and gazed miserably around his room. He hadn't even bothered to unpack once he'd arrived. His room was as bare as he's left it the previous summer. His Firebolt, which used to be his most precious possession, had been shoved as far as possible underneath his bed. It was too, too painful looking at it. He'd have thrown it out of the window had it not been for the fear of it being discovered by Muggles.

He didn't really care about Quidditch any more.

He lay back on his bed, screwing up his eyes painfully as he struggled against the overpowering emotions waging battle inside him. He lost the battle, and turned over on his duvet as he succumbed to the tears rolling down his face…

Nighttime. Harry blearily opened his eyes and saw a shaft of moonlight cutting in through his open window, which had wind blowing through it. Realising he'd fallen asleep with his glasses on, he shivered and got up to close it. It was cold.

However, before he could shut the windowpane, something soft whooshed past his face and perched on his bedpost. Hedwig. With a letter.

He pulled down the blinds. "Hey," he said, and moved over to get the letter- no, letters, he noticed, as he untied them from her leg.

His owl hooted softly, as well as an owl with a dead rat in her beak could, and settled down into her cage to eat her dinner.

The first letter was from Ron; in reply to a letter Harry had sent out of obedience to the promised correspondence.

Hey Harry, how're you holding up, mate? I know you're feeling lousy at the moment, and I got to admit I don't know what to say to help that- I feel lousy too. We're trying our best to have you over, as soon as we can, Mum's desperate… nothing much is going on here, we'll keep you posted this time though, don't worry…

On and on it went… Harry quietly let the piece of parchment drop from his fingers to the floor, without finishing it. He was stuck in that same feeling he had when leaving Hogwarts a few weeks earlier… when with Ron or Hermione, he felt as if he'd rather be alone, and when alone, he'd be desperate for company.

He read the first few lines of Hermione's letter- I know you must be feeling absolutely terrible, and I know you probably don't want to hear tomorrow's another day… I'll see you these holidays hopefully, and I'll let you know what's happening… have you spoken to Ron lately?… Happy Birthday by the way, it's next week isn't it…Sweet Sixteen…

Huh… Sweet Sixteen? Harry had forgotten completely about his birthday. He stopped reading and, yawning, reached for the third letter. As he unrolled it he started, recognising Dumbledore's firm, flowing script.

A letter from Dumbledore! Finally! Maybe he'd learn something useful for a change… Without further ado Harry settled into a more comfortable position and began to read.

My dear Harry,

I hope this finds you in good health, as am I. Of course, I do not expect that you are feeling on top of the world at the moment, but that is understandable, given the events of the past few weeks.

Harry, for some time now, or rather, all the time, I have become increasingly worried about you. This might sound strange given that you are safe under the Dursleys' wings, but for once, it is not about Voldemort's effect on you that I am concerned about. No Harry, it is about you, what you have been feeling, the turmoil that must be going on inside you. I am worried about the state of your emotional health.

I have come to realise that you cannot stay at the Dursleys' this summer.

Harry's heart gave a gigantic leap. This was the first time that Dumbledore had actually said that. Feeling a hundred times' lighter, he continued reading.

I am not however, going to send you to the Grimmauld Place, The Headquarters Of The Order Of The Phoenix. I can imagine that that would be far from ideal. Nor am I going to send you to The Burrow. No, Harry, I am going to send you to De-allón.

What is De-allón, you might ask? Well, De-allón is another magical world, but it lies parallel to our own. It can only be reached using special Portkeys obtained from the Ministry- these Portkeys are often very expensive and their use must be supervised under special Ministry circumstances. However, thanks to Mundungus Fletcher, obtaining this Portkey has not been a problem.

Anyway, back to De-allón. De-allón, Harry, is a special healing place where wizards are sent when they have been through a particularly horrible trauma, such as you. It's a place where time is timeless, where age is ageless, and where peace is almost everlasting. It did not used to be like that, though, in the past- far from it. Wars were fought and people torn apart, Dark Lords and Enemies came and went- a bit like our own world, in fact. Now it is dominated mostly by Men, although there are still colonies of Elves and Dwarves.

I am going to send you to stay with the Elves, Harry. They are truly delightful people. The place where you will be staying is a Tree- City, called Alerien. It is the most beautiful place in De-allón. The Lord and Lady of De-allón have long since passed away, but now it is inhabited by a few lingering elves, who have built small villages there, for our purposes. The Leader of these villages is Naisiltirtha. You will be staying with her.

Moody and Lupin will be calling tomorrow to pick you up to escort you to the Portkey Point. Be ready at 11.00am. They will answer any questions you may have.

You will be staying there for the rest of the summer, until you begin your scholastic year at Hogwarts. You will be staying at the Weasleys' for a week until the beginning of school. I have just sent an owl to Molly Weasley informing her on what is happening.

Harry, I hope that this will work out for your sake. I hope that when you arrive at Hogwarts this September there will be a noticeable change in you.

Best wishes,

Albus Dumbledore

Harry stared at the letter in disbelief. Last year, he had been treated like a little, naïve boy and was never told anything he should have known. Now this year everyone was handling him as though he was an invalid… sending him over to be "healed" by a bunch of… what were they called?… Elves. Harry started to feel extremely frustrated. He was simply a puppet, no less. Everyone did what he or she wanted with him.

On the other hand…

Being away from the Dursleys was always definitely a plus point. The further away the better. On another world… well, postage bills would definitely be a bit over the top.

He'd also be away from all his friends…

Come to think of it, Harry wasn't sure he'd miss his friends that much if he went. He still cared about them but he wasn't sure whether they'd be able to empathise with him.

What the hell, he suddenly decided on impulse. He'd go. What difference could it make anyway?

He checked his watch to find out it was 23.11pm. He had 11 hours and 49 minutes before leaving for this De-allón thing. His stuff was already packed. So he made the most of his remaining time on Earth by wrapping the duvet around him to drown out Dudley's snores, and sleeping.