Disclaimer: Obviously, I didn't write the Harry Potter series. J.K. Rowling is responsible for those masterpieces, and I will always worship her for it. Please don't sue me. I'm already poor and all you'd get from me is a fifteen year-old TV, a futon and some clothes that fit me better than you. The only way you would get my computer is by prying it from my cold, dead fingers.

Author's Note:

Sorry it's taking me so long to update lately. Contrary to the last delay, though, there is a reason this time. I have been busy helping my grandfather take care of my grandmother, who was recently diagnosed with esophageal cancer. It's really very sad; my grandpa just lost my dad/his son last year to lung cancer, and now he has to go through it all over again with his wife. I'm doing my best to help out around their house for a few days, and driving them back and forth from appointments at the hospital. I'd say from now on I will be updating every 7-10 days. If I take any longer than that, feel free to yell at me. Now, for review responses:

Wiccan PussyKat—Happy Belated Birthday! As a present, I will dedicate a chapter to you (not this one though, it's not really worthy. I have some good ones coming up soon though, you'll get one of those!) Sorry I once again failed to fulfill your wish, but I did write a lot faster for you. Yes, I certainly am familiar with the Stensons…Flawed Perfection is my current favorite fic. Liked your comment about Harry having fun. Take it easy on Heather, though, she is a clueless muggle! Yep, that's why I wanted to know about probation, and thanks for answering for me! As for the self-defense stuff, I've often thought that wizards need to think more outside the box. One of Voldie and the purebloods' weaknesses is they are so disgusted by muggles that they don't know much about them at all. Harry and co. could use this to their advantage by surprising them with the creative weapons muggles have (like the example you gave in the review!) And the dream—it's shameful how much I enjoyed writing that…I just can't resist the opportunity to torture Harry. Answers to your questions will be in this chapter and the one following. As for the stages of grief—I've been through it and I'll just say they aren't the same for everyone…unless I'm still stuck on denial and don't know it…that's not a pleasant thought… (:0 Ugh, why do I always update so late? I need sleep…As always, I don't call it a chapter until I get your review, so thanks for reading and thanks for the entertaining comments!

Eschiva—sorry I'm taking so long. I'm having a bit of writer's block at this point in the story; I have a lot of exciting things planned for later in the fic, and I guess that makes me a little bored with this part of it. Also, I have a lot going on in the dreaded "real life" right now.

Omagic—I found it really interesting that you think Voldemort was afraid to touch Harry after books four and five. Personally, I thought book four made it seem quite the opposite (touching Harry's face, although maybe that was more to prove that he could, not because he wanted to. However, if that was the case, why touch his face? Why not just smack him or punch him in the arm or something?) Not that I'm contradicting you, it's just cool to get a different perspective on it. I'm not so sure about book five—Voldie really didn't get a chance to touch him in that one as far as I can recall. As for your question, I have noticed a few spelling errors I've made, but I think I've gone back and changed most of them. I have no beta; alas, I can't even get my little sister to finish reading what I've written so far and help out. She's only up to chapter four! Maybe I should get one, though. Right now I'm especially worried about this part of the story getting boring, and it would be nice to have someone either relieve my fears or help me spice it up a little.

DeathWind—I love you! You have really boosted my confidence. I would be honored if you put my story on your website. I must admit that I am not J.K. Rowling under a pseudonym (blushes), but I'm flattered that you asked!

thesteffis—My current plan is to finish up the summer, take a break then do a sequel covering Harry's actual sixth year. No ships for the summer. There is, however, a ship that I've always wanted to see, but I don't know if I have the guts to write it. If I did it, it would take place in the sixth year. If I did a ship, it wouldn't take the main stage and it would not, under any circumstances, be the least bit "fluffy". Anyway, thanks for the compliment and for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you like the story!

Dweem-angel, tansy1354, kjkit, Madfoot Moony, jeff, Faceless One, Rhysel Ash, jbfritz, gaul1, dragongirlG, cintishortstop, mooncinder, shy3wolf, LunaLovegood61,

Chapter 11: Keep Myself Awake

Petunia Dursley sipped her morning tea and watched with disdain as her nephew hustled purposefully around the kitchen. As it was barely six in the morning, she had hoped to have at least an hour to herself without having to face a grumpy husband or a moody son that barely spoke to her anymore. Luck would have it that her life's curse, Harry Potter, would choose that very morning to make an appearance.

As far as Petunia was concerned, that boy was the source of every conflict her once happy family was now plagued with. Dudley used to be such a happy, talkative child, but since The Boy caused those wretched Dementors to attack him, he hadn't been the same. Her little Duddiekins hardly said a word to her unless it was to ask for spending money, and he was always out with his friends, sometimes all night. What horrible tortures had those creatures submitted her baby to in order to instigate such a drastic change?

Even Vernon was different lately. Now that he had to do much of the handiwork and yard work while that little brat lazed about upstairs or did lord knows what with the tramp down the street, her husband's temper had been much worse than usual. Petunia knew how frustrated he must be; after all, she now did most of the cooking, housework and gardening on her own. Still, she was hurt that Vernon had taken to snapping at Dudley and herself at the breakfast table in place of The Boy, who was probably lying about carefree in Dudley's second bedroom, gloating at his good fortune.

Somehow, feeding and housing her sister's wretched disgrace of a son for fifteen long years wasn't enough on its own to be rewarded. That strange old man with the strange ugly clothes held the money over Vernon and her heads as if they were the unworthy ones. The nerve! Sometimes even the enormous payment he promised didn't seem worth the strain it was putting on her family. She and Vernon had both decided, however, that they must stick to the agreement. It would only be one more year after this—only one more summer, actually, even if it felt like a whole year…

Which it certainly did, especially on a day like today. Petunia had only just sat down to enjoy a nice, steaming cup of black tea with honey when The Boy came plodding into her kitchen. Locks of unruly black hair bounced about as he rushed about making a pot of coffee, which she was sure he was only brewing to be a nuisance. As far as she knew, he didn't even like coffee. In addition, that despicable hair was shaggier and messier than ever, and The Boy was probably elated to wear it that way knowing she couldn't comment on it.

Hopefully a dirty look and an annoyed "humph" would be enough to make the boy leave her in peace…no, The Boy only paused a moment to glance over his shoulder with confusion written in his dark emerald eyes. Lily's dark emerald eyes, she thought, softening momentarily. The nostalgia for her long lost sister was over as soon as it struck, however, as she took in the whole picture. They may have been Lily's eyes, but they now inhabited James Potter's face.

It pained Petunia to remember Lily as a child, when she had been clean and unaware that those freaks even existed. Her sister had been a quiet, timid girl who had looked up to her, but all that changed with the arrival of that dratted letter on her eleventh birthday. In one fell swoop, the sweet, submissive little sister was replaced with a chatty, excited child who couldn't wait to become a 'witch'. She stepped onto an garish train at King's Cross in September and didn't even look back to wave goodbye to Petunia.

When Petunia and her parents went to pick Lily up from the station the next summer, her eyes were bright with excitement and she prattled on the entire trip home about all the 'wonderful' tricks she had learned. Mr. and Mrs. Evans had been so happy for their youngest daughter; she was more confident and talkative than ever before, and had finished her school year with top scores in most of her subjects. At that point, it was too late for Lily. The freaks had already swayed her over to their side, and the more Petunia tried to convince her sister how unnatural and dangerous magic was, the more distant the girl grew. Still, every summer she had tried to get the old Lily back—the Lily would have laughed at the very idea of wands, spells, and wizards. It wasn't until her sister announced her engagement to that arrogant Potter prat that Petunia gave up and cut ties with her for good.

The Boy was doomed from birth; Petunia knew that as well as she knew that Mr. Walters down the street was having a torrid affair with his housekeeper behind his wife's back. Harry Potter's life was tainted with the world of magic, and it was obvious to Petunia that magic thrived on the taking of young life. After all, it had devoured her sister and her parents, even that vile James Potter. Thanks to Vernon, Petunia had just managed to escape the clutches of Lily's abnormal world and start a family of her own. All that had changed with the unwanted arrival of her sister's child on her doorstep.

Looking at her nephew now, Petunia wondered over the same question that entered her mind everyday for the past fifteen years. What had possessed her to take in that scarred, abnormal infant that fateful November morning? She knew the danger he represented, and the letter in the basket with him implied that he was even more of a risk than most of his kind. All she could ever come up with to answer that question was the lost look in those tragic green eyes, eyes that were an exact match to those of the sister she had once loved. Harry had been an adorable baby, Petunia hated to admit, even with that terrible scar disfiguring his forehead, and she just didn't have the heart to do the right thing and take the child to the orphanage straight away. Her maternal instincts must have overridden her common sense that day.

Cradling her fast-cooling mug and watching detachedly the scrawny, bespectacled, yet striking boy bustling about her kitchen, Petunia Dursley feared now as she did everyday that her moment of weakness would, one way or another, destroy her family. That thought was all it ever took to squash any sympathy she may ever have felt for The Boy.

…

Were it not for powers of caffeine and an ice-cold shower, Harry would have been lying face down in bed, sleeping deeply and a sitting duck for Voldemort's trespasses. He was on his fourth cup of coffee, tastelessly taking huge gulps with every page he flipped of the Occlumency.

Despite the exhaustion he felt from studying non-stop all night and morning on only several hours of sleep, he thought the progress he was making was remarkable. It probably helped that he was more desperate now that he realized the severe consequences of not learning Occlumency. Never would he have believed it was possible to learn Occlumency in a day after the lessons with Snape last year. However, he now felt confident that he could effectively block out and stave off the persuasion of a wizard with moderate will power. This only encouraged Harry to study more diligently, though, because Voldemort was far more than a mediocre wizard.

…

By noon, he had finished the book and begun working on the strategies it instructed to build strength in Occlumency. One idea was to fill the practice area with as many noises and distractions as possible, so Harry had turned up one of Dudley's old radios to full volume and let his alarm clock buzz. It was enough to drive a person insane, and he sincerely hoped the Dursleys were being affected by the noise as much as he was.

Once he began meditating, he forced the sounds into the background, and they slowly faded from his notice. Whenever a stray thought or memory that could be used against him flickered through his mind, Harry quickly brought up his anchor thought. The book had recommended keeping the thought of a meaningless object at the ready to distract from thoughts that could actually be used to link to more important ones. Since he was already well-practiced at using French toast as a distraction, the anchor thought had taken very little consideration.

It seemed to Harry that Occlumency was little more than learning to recognize an intrusion into one's thoughts and developing complete faculty over one's own mind. Not that either task was nearly as simple as the definition made it sound, but it certainly explained Occlumency better than "Clear your mind!"

During the day, it was easy enough for Harry to recognize interference by Voldemort as his burning scar would alert him. Controlling his thoughts was the problem, of course. Voldemort had proven last night that he was willing and eager to stoop to any level to take what he wanted. A stereotypical Slytherin.

That was where the other Occlumency strategy came into play. "The only way to be entirely prepared to fight a Legilimency attack is to know your greatest emotional weakness and be capable of putting it aside during the invasion like any other thought," the book read. It also said that the only way to do this was to confront the weakness and accept it, or else it would not matter how good he was at every other aspect of Occlumency, he could still be taken advantage of.

After his last nightmare, Harry figured it was pretty obvious that his greatest emotional weakness was Sirius. Or more specifically, Sirius' death. He was only just now beginning to accept his godfather's death, and the horrible dream the previous night made moving on seem even more impossible.

Reading half a book on Occlumency in less than twelve hours was taxing enough; finding that all his hard work was meaningless because he couldn't move past Sirius made the exhaustion unbearable. Harry climbed up from the hard floor and flopped bonelessly onto his bed; tired, aching muscles protesting the whole way. Can't fall asleep, he reminded himself, so I'll just lay here for a minute until I get a little strength back. As he lay there, he forced himself to think of Sirius and nothing else.

All that came to mind was the nightmare version of Sirius. In a flash, he once again felt the sensations of being pinned helplessly to the floor with his godfather's fingers digging into the skin of his neck, thumbs crushing his throat. Harry squeezed his eyes shut and willed the memory away. That was certainly not how he wanted to remember Sirius. When he reopened his eyes, all he could do was stare blankly ahead. It was then, staring at the parchment on his nightstand, that he remembered the will.

The last thing on earth that he wanted to do right now was read his godfather's will. It would be like surrendering; giving up on the man who had eaten rats just to be near when Harry had needed him and accepting money or objects in his place. As if any amount of money, property, or gifts could ever replace the man who had loved him and offered him a home. What sickened him even more was that fact that he had been listed in the will at all when he was the one most responsible for Sirius' death.

Unfortunately, Harry had been sent a will. If Sirius had named him in it, then that could only mean that Sirius would have wanted him to open it and accept whatever it said. He had already put it off far too long, and perhaps it could give him some of the closure he so desperately longed for…even if he didn't deserve it.

Reluctant yet determined, he reached out and picked up the will with a shaky hand.

Last Will and Testament of Sirius Black

Harry took a deep breath before continuing. The first bit was a lot of legal jargon which he skimmed through quickly before surprisingly finding a section written by Sirius himself.

To My Beloved Godson,

First of all, I must apologize for dying on you. I was never a very good godfather, and I'm sure I'm even less satisfactory dead. The most I can hope for concerning my death is that I went down fighting—or even better, that I went down fighting for you.

If I know you at all, you are most likely feeling sad or guilty about my passing. Since I understand a thing or two about loss, I won't tell you not to be upset on my account. What I will ask is that you do your best to move on quickly and allow your family and friends to help. Yes, I said family, because you know as well as I do that it is love and not blood that determines family.

I wish I had lived to see you in a time not overshadowed by war with Voldemort. As that was not the case, all I have to offer are a few terribly depressing but utterly honest words of advice for you and your friends: Appreciate each other and everyday that you have together, because war is unpredictable. Hell, even in times of peace, life itself is unpredictable. Take it from someone who knows: Don't leave arguments to be sorted out tomorrow, because you never know if what you said in the heat of the moment will be the last words you'll ever speak to that person.

Also, train hard and learn to defend yourself, but don't forget to have a little fun. While there is so much of your father in you, one major difference is that you never seem to take a break. It wouldn't kill you to take a day off from saving the world to play a few harmless pranks to relieve some stress. You probably don't think you have time for fun anymore, but that's why I'm telling you this. Constant worrying will dig you an early grave.

As for me, don't fret. I know I'm not. By now, I should be kicking back with your mum and dad and letting them hear what a troublemaking little prat you are. Only kidding of course; I'll be telling them what a strong, compassionate, and most importantly, quidditch-star son they have. Then I'll tell them about all of your adventures, which will probably make your dad proud and your mum faint.

Speaking of things that would make your mum faint, I beg you to enjoy all of the nice, um…things I am relinquishing to you in this will. Check out vault number 771 in particular as it holds some very interesting items you may want to make use of someday—remember the Marauder's Map if you come across anything requiring a password. Another thing to bear in mind: I will be very upset if the next time I see you (a century from now, after you've grown up, married, had seven children, and passed away painlessly in your sleep), I find that you did not use up every last galleon of the Black family fortune you inherited.

Although I did not show it well, know that I did love you, Harry. The greatest regret in my life is that I handed you over to Hagrid the night your parents died, and foolishly attempted to exact my revenge on Peter instead of fulfilling my duties as your godfather. Your parents would have been ashamed of me, as I myself am. It is too late, I think, but I would like to ask your forgiveness anyway.

My guardianship of you will pass now to Remus, who would have been the better choice to be your godfather anyway. I hope that you are happy with this decision, and that Moony gives you the attention and support that I shouldhave given you all along. However, you can trust that if it is at all possible, I will be watching out for you even now.

I could not be prouder of the man you have become, and I look forward to meeting you again in happier circumstances many decades from now.

With Love,

Sirius

Even after finishing the letter, Harry couldn't take his eyes off it. Before he even realized it, a silent teardrop slipped down his face and splattered on the parchment. Holding back tears was the furthest thing from his mind at the moment.

He couldn't have cared less about reading the rest of the will; it would have to wait a little while. As far as Harry was concerned, the best gift of all was his godfather's last (and unexpected) words. It stirred so many emotions in him that he didn't know whether to sob, scream, or do nothing at all. He settled on rereading the letter several times before doing all three, muffling the sounds with his pillow.

…

That evening, he sat on the back step of the house with his arms wrapped around his knees, lost in thought. The setting sun seemed an external reflection of the closure he finally felt. There were still so many issues to sort out, but the most important one had finally been put to rest. Sirius loved him, and didn't blame him for his death.

Although Harry would never admit it, he had been surprised by Sirius' declaration of love. He figured that all godfather's were supposed to love their godchildren and he had certainly loved Sirius, but "I love you" was just not something he was used to hearing. In fact, he wasn't sure if anybody had ever said that to him. In a way, he was sad that he and Sirius had never exchanged the words vocally when they had the chance, but on the other hand, he was sure it would have made both of them uncomfortable to say it out loud.

Sirius had spoken so nonchalantly about death that it appeared he wasn't at all afraid of it. Granted, he hadn't had any idea how soon he would die when he wrote the will, but still… Maybe there really wasn't anything to fear. If what Luna had said was true, then he would be able to see Sirius and his mum and dad again when he died.

With all the trepidation brought on by knowing that his destiny was to either conquer or be conquered, it was soothing to think that either outcome may not be all that terrible. In this world, he could have the Weasleys, Hermione, Remus, and his other friends. In the other, he could have his parents and godfather. Which did he want more?

As always, it didn't come down to what Harry wanted. It came down to what others needed. What the world needed was for him to end Voldemort's existence once and for all. He still didn't know if he could; in fact, he very much doubted it, but he had to try. As long as he was the one with the supposed 'power the Dark Lord knows not', it was his responsibility to give Voldemort hell. His parents, Sirius, and Cedric Diggory deserved no less from him.

When the sun was almost completely hidden from view and the first stars in the east were becoming visible, a soft trill and the click of talons on cement announced Fawkes' arrival. As always, his presence was calming and warm, and Harry couldn't help but smile at him and stroke his bright crimson head. The phoenix scrutinized Harry with his wise, compassionate eyes before getting down to business and holding out a leg with a note attached to it.

I believe I may have a solution to the problem you spoke of last night.

This letter is a portkey that will become active at ten o'clock sharp.

Please be ready; you must be holding it at that exact time as it will

only activate momentarily.

Harry had been expecting something like this all day. Dumbledore no doubt would be worried about the possibility of him revealing secret information to the enemy in his dreams. He just hoped the headmaster's 'solution' wasn't to obliviate him. In any case, he would probably get the chance to finally test his skill in Occlumency tonight. If he could hold his own against the most powerful wizard alive, then maybe he could finally go to sleep without worrying about his mind being easy prey for Voldemort.

…

A/N: I'm beginning to realize that a great deal of this story is taking place inside Harry's head. Sometimes that strikes me as boring, and other times I think it's necessary. When you think about it, though, my only other option to get Harry back in fighting form so that his sixth year can be action-packed and less depressing than OotP, is to somehow get him a psychiatrist for the summer. I can see quite a few problems with that… The point I'm getting at is this: Please bear with me. I promise there WILL be action in this story, but not until the right time. I won't sacrifice the plot and characters for cheap thrills.