Warning: This *will* be slash. If that offends you, please read no further, and please leave no comments like "That's disgusting, etc," because they will just be laughed at, printed out and stuck up on the Idiot's Board. Thankyou.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything connected to the Harry Potter universe. That honour goes to the wonderful JK Rowling. This story is pure fiction and the product of a warped mind.

Updated – Author's Note

I started writing this fic about two days before OOTP was released. I have now decided to make this a post-OOTP fic and have amended the first two chapters accordingly. A new chapter will be following shortly. I am also merging this story with Hero in the Shadows (). Thank you to my two reviewers, wavey avey and Moon Fairy2. I hope you find the new, improved version to your liking.


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Picture a nice, normal house, in a nice, normal street, in nice, normal Surrey on a nice, normal summer night. The last place on Earth that you would expect anything out of the ordinary. Imagine the streetlights bathing the neatly clipped and trimmed gardens in a pale orange glow. Imagine a cat slinking around the corner. Imagine Volvos, Toyotas, the odd Mercedes, nestling in their neat little drives.

Imagine a scream shattering the calm night air.

Harry Potter awoke with a start, and gazed about him, confused. He wasn't in his room. Where was he? He couldn't see. His scar hurt. His breathing slowly returned to normal and he realised he wasn't wearing his glasses. He gazed at the sulphuric orange glow above him and only then did he realise that he was outside.

"POTTER!" Harry turned around and cringed to see his Uncle Vernon standing framed in the doorway of Number Four, clutching his dressing gown around him and bristling with fury.

"What are you doing out there? Come back here this instant! This is the third time this week; if you can't control yourself then you'll be locked in the cupboard until Kingdom Come, with no meals!"

Harry wandered back inside in a daze, letting his uncle's tirade wash over him. He'd heard it all before, and since the Dursleys had found out that his godfather was a convicted criminal, Harry had found that they very rarely meted out the punishments that they threatened anymore, for which he was grateful. Of course, he hadn't told them of Sirius' death – how could he? They didn't know him! And it's not as if they'd have cared, anyway.

Since the events of the previous year, there was a growing fear that Voldemort was amassing his strength for one final attack on Hogwarts. Harry's scar had been plaguing him a lot lately, and all too often he had found himself experiencing more and more visions. Even with the tips on Occlumency Dumbledore had given him, he couldn't shut them out. The last one had been particularly gruesome - the torture of a Ministry of Magic worker. On each occasion, Harry often awoke to find himself outside, and to say that he was troubled would be a colossal understatement.

Harry lay down on his bed and gazed at his familiar wall chart, counting down the days in which he would return to Hogwarts. Two days to go. He had wanted to spend at least the last couple of weeks with the Weasleys, but Dumbledore had insisted that he stay with his relatives, as he would be safer there. Even Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place would have been better than this . . .

No, it wouldn't. Grimmauld Place was too full of memories of Sirius; he never wanted to go back there ever again, it was the place Sirius had hated, the place where he'd been forced to stay behind closed doors while everyone else in the Order had more important things to do.

Harry closed his eyes, forcing away memories of Sirius, and the images of the vision leapt into his mind. The wizard had resolutely refused to give any information and by the time that Voldemort had finished with him, he was a wreck, muttering only two words over and over - "Don't know." Harry shivered as he recalled that Voldemort had been after information about him.

Still, two days to go, and he would be back where he belonged, under the watchful gaze of Albus Dumbledore. The safest place in the world. Hogwarts. He briefly considered sending the Headmaster an owl informing him of the new vision, but decided that the information could wait for another couple of days.

Harry rolled over, and completely failed to get back to sleep. He had the nagging suspicion that he didn't want to in any case. He had such horrible dreams . . .

He shivered again, despite the fact that it was a stifling night, and pulled his blankets closer around him. He was terrified, more terrified than he'd ever let on. The most powerful Dark Lord for a hundred years was gaining in power all the time . . . and was after him. And when he wasn't experiencing visions, he was having horrid dreams about graveyards, and veils, and prophecies. And quite apart from anything else, he was having serious doubts about his sexuality; in fact, one of his most recurring dreams featured . . . No. Best not to go into that.

On top of all that, he was the boy who was expected to defeat Voldemort once and for all, or be killed by him. He was barely sixteen, and carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.