Harry Potter and the Missing Element
Author: Larna Mandrea
Start Date: July 6, 2004
Summary: Memories of Sirius, new relationships, intense classes, the Dark Lord, Quidditch, and the prophecy are just a few of the things Harry Potter has to deal with during his sixth year at Hogwarts— can he handle it all? Rated PG-13 for language, mild violence, and some kissing.
Disclaimer: It all belongs to Jo Rowling; if I wanted to share her sixth book, I would have at least titled it Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince! However, I didn't, so you lawyer types can go back to your coffee and scones and leave me be, the poor little author that I am.
A/N: This chapter is extremely short. Really, its more of a prologue than anything; the others will be longer, I promise. I've got the whole story planned out and its going to be intense! If anyone wants to be my beta, just let me know via review! Now, read on, and review! It makes a soul soar to see reviews (or I imagine it would, it hasn't happened yet). I don't mind flames—it means you've actually read my piece, and that's all I can hope for. Thanks and enjoy!
Chapter 1: Countdown
Sunlight streamed through a small clouded window of number 4, Privet Drive, its bright arc falling squarely across the face of the house's most unusual resident, a boy with jet black hair whose eyes remained stubbornly closed. Through his bangs, a thin lightening bolt-shaped scar was barely visible, and it was prickling uncomfortably as usual. Most people would be extremely worried about such an occurrence, but for Harry Potter, it was merely an annoying regularity. His scar had not stopped bothering him sense the all- too recent confrontation at the Department of Mysteries, but the pain was mild and Harry was accustomed to it. Besides, there were other things that were troubling him a great deal more; one thing in particular absolutely refused to leave his mind, and it brought Harry tremendous amounts of pain, although he did not physically show it.
The boy-who-lived rolled over and buried his head under the covers, attempting in vain to empty his head. His nightmares had gotten considerably worse after the incident at the end of the school year; he was now haunted nightly by visions of Sirius, falling through the mysterious veil. Harry could not manage to dispel the bubbling guilt that greeted him whenever he was reminded of his dead godfather, which happened often in an empty house that offered little in the way of distractions. Memories of Sirius dominated his thoughts, and in the few moments he was able to allay the blame he placed so heavily on himself, he was reminded of the prophecy that was revealed at the end of term, predicting either Harry or Voldemort's death, or quite possibly both. The combination of the two horrors left Harry feeling extremely depressed for the first half of the summer, and as a result, he had accomplished very little on his break.
People were moving around downstairs, but Harry didn't rush to rise from his fitful slumber. His relatives had thankfully given up on trying to force him to do anything, largely because Uncle Vernon was terrified that Harry might alert the Order if he was dissatisfied. The correspondence was dutifully kept up as required; Harry sent a letter each night before bed to confirm his safety and well being. Well, they reassured Lupin that he wasn't being mistreated, at any rate. Harry's sense of well being had long been dissolved, and it was unlikely to recover anytime soon. The letters were always short and emotionless, closely matching Harry's expressions; they were devoid of the anger, hate, frustration, and guilt that resided within the teenager. Most of his days were spent shut in his bedroom, lying lethargically on the bed, dwelling on thoughts of his deceased godfather or reading the Daily Prophet to stay connected with the wizarding world.
Hermione and Ron both wrote often, trying desperately to keep Harry's spirits up, a task that had proved to be near impossible, although they didn't realize it. The mail they sent was always cheerful and as full of news as the pair could manage. Harry could tell from their letters that they were both at 12 Grimmauld Place, headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix, the place where Harry had spent his last summer vacation and the former residence of his godfather. While Harry was glad to be leaving the Dursley's in a day's time, he didn't want to return to the place Sirius had hated so much. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to see Hermione or Ron; both would worry about him, and Harry didn't want to feign cheerfulness to assuage their concerns. Letters were easy to fake, but his two best friends knew Harry too well not to notice his true feelings in person.
There was also the matter of the prophecy. Harry had told no one about its terms, but he knew he would have to reveal the truth to his friends eventually. He personally wasn't too worried about it, as there was little he could do to change it, but he was positive that Ron and Hermione would overreact considerably. He had imagined their reactions many times during the summer and wanted to put off the moment as long as possible.
Groaning, Harry crawled out of bed. Every time he closed his eyes, he was confronted with visions of Sirius, so breakfast seemed like a worthy distraction. The Dursley's had already finished eating when Harry reached the kitchen, which suited him just fine. Dudley could be heard yelling at the television in the living room, but Harry ignored him in favor of fixing a few slices of toast, which he proceeded to shred rather than eat as he stared distantly out the window.
Vernon Dursley strolled purposefully into the kitchen, the morning paper clutched tightly in his left hand, and sat down directly across from Harry without saying a word. Harry got up to head to head to his bedroom, eager to escape conversation, but stopped when his Uncle grunted at him.
"You—your lot. Told 'em you're fine, haven't you?"
Harry stared. His Uncle never discussed the magical community if he could at all avoid it. "Yes," he answered tentatively.
"So they're not... not just going to just show up here, are they?" Mr. Dursley continued, choosing his words very carefully and avoiding Harry's gaze.
Now was the time to weigh options. Mr. Dursley would be glad to be rid of his forced relation, but Harry didn't feel like discussing the details of his arrangement with the Order. "No," he responded slowly, choosing to keep his plans in secret. In less than 24 hours time, it wouldn't make a difference.
"Right. You, erm, you just make sure they don't do anything funny," he barked, staring determinedly at the paper without really reading it.
Harry took a few cautious steps up the stairs, still watching his Uncle carefully. When Mr. Dursley's eyes began scanning the newsprint once more, Harry stole away soundlessly back up to his bedroom and clicked the door shut. Heaving a rather large sigh, he collapsed on his bed, suddenly devoid of all energy and overcome with exhaustion.
When he awoke, the room was barely lit by a steady stream of moonlight. The clock at his bedside read 11:56, and Harry vaguely realized that it was nearly his birthday. In four minutes time, he would be 16 years old. A small grin flitted across his face, the first in a very long time, as he remembered his past birthdays and imagined what this one held in store for him. Jumping up in a subdued excitement, he checked over his packed belongings to ensure that everything was ready. It was extremely lucky that he had woken up when he had; only two minutes remained until he grew another year older. Harry took a seat on his trunk and ran his hand absentmindedly along his Firebolt, trying desperately not to think of Sirius at such a time. He instead turned his attention to Hedwig, who was sitting contently in her cage, staring back at him.
"Just one minute left, Hedwig," Harry murmured, stroking his snowy owl gently, recalling with a faint smile being presented with his first birthday present ever. "One minute to a new year. This one's going to be different, I can tell," he added quietly.
"I imagine so," came a woman's voice from the doorway.