Summary: This story is about HP's 6th year, and I will try to be as true to Rowling's world and characters as possible. Besides using my own writing style, I will allow myself a certain significant change from Rowling's technique: I will be writing using an omniscient narrator perspective, and will focus in on other characters as well as Harry. As far as accuracy allows, I might in the future have a short relationship between Hermione and Draco Malfoy; particularly for insight into Draco's character, not at all buttered up, but harshly accurate (in my opinion, of course). However, the focus will be on Harry Potter's story.

Most probably, the rating of this story will increase in the future, as things get more intense.

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Chapter Two – Breakfast

Harry's thoughts and resolutions were abruptly interrupted by a loud cross between a snore and sniffle, followed by several noisy and sloppy-sounding coughs. In the other room, Dudley woke up and began cursing. Harry found slight amusement and irony in the similar foul manner, of which both he and his cousin had greeted the new day. Harry picked up the last bit of his finished work, packed it in his trunk, and shook himself slightly. He was finally prepared to engage in contact with his blood-relatives, and decided upon making for the kitchen, where they would all, surely, soon congregate. His face was firmly set, stern and grim, as he reached for the door handle.

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Dudley's stream of swear words returned as he looked at the clock, which indicated the earliest hour he had seen all summer. Dudley's roars eventually reached the master bedroom of the house and Harry heard, in response, the shocked and remonstrating voice of his aunt choke out his cousin's name. The high pitch of Petunia's voice was highly aggravating to the ears, and undoubtedly, the cause of Vernon's arousal. For the third time, that morning, the bright sunrise was welcomed with a string of obscenities. Harry snorted in amusement, and Petunia's voice rose once again in the same manner, although directed to her husband. Vernon scowled and muttered something unintelligible to his wife.

"What was that you said?" Petunia asked menacingly.

Vernon, sensing danger, opened his eyes wide in apprehension and cowered, scooting over to the edge of the bed and trying to placate his wife. "Nothing, my dear, just saying good morning."

For a moment, Petunia retained her scowl, but quickly accepted his excuse with a cheesy smile and an abrupt "'morning". She leaned over and placed a swift kiss on Vernon's cheek, with her lips pursed tightly, making it, Vernon thought, as sharp and abrupt as a peck from the beak of one of those damned owls which always visited 'The Boy'. She turned around and got up as Vernon wrinkled his forehead in distaste and rubbed the spot where she'd kissed him. He drew his large body lethargically out of bed, still grumbling, as Petunia briskly changed, walked out of the room, and unintentionally slammed the door behind her. Vernon languidly changed and followed his wife after a short interval.

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Harry opened his door slightly, squeezed through the small opening into the hallway, and mutedly shut the door. His gait, as he made his way towards the stairs, emanated an inner strength, and there seemed to be careful consideration behind each footfall. Reminiscent of a Doric column, it seemed that he would not be moved from his path, and would remain through the rise and fall of many civilizations. However, upon noticing his Aunt Petunia, making her way swiftly towards the kitchen, he flattened himself against the wall to let her pass, somehow, not at all diminishing the effect of his apparent strength and resolve; Perhaps a Greco pillar was not an apt analogy for Harry Potter. Harry was not unwavering, not unmoved. He swayed viciously with the harsh winds, but always remained standing. Although inches from the rocky bottom, he remained: torn, broken, but existing sturdily.

Harry remained against the wall, waiting for his uncle to follow in his wife's steps towards the kitchen. As predicted, Vernon emerged from his room and walked by, making note of Harry by glaring at him warily along the way. As Harry was about to start forward once more, Petunia's voice resounded from downstairs, sickeningly sweet, "Duddy, dear, please come down for breakfast." Yet again, Harry stepped aside as the door to his cousin's room opened, revealing a groggy and grouchy-faced Dudley. He stomped out of his room, and upon seeing Harry standing there, quickened his pace, avoiding eye contact.

Eventually, Harry entered the kitchen, took a plate and a piece of bacon from the counter, and sat down at the table where his family currently resided. Vernon snorted in derision, and appeared uncomfortable that his nephew had joined them. This discomfort, however, seemed different than his usual discontent at Harry's wizarding background; Vernon looked as though he had been forced to witness a secret of Harry's which he did not fully understand, nor did he desire to in the slightest. Glancing at his aunt and cousin, Harry noted similar expressions upon their faces, each feeling the same unease, but reacting to it in different manners. Petunia's eyes shiftily darted to different points on the table, occasionally glancing at either Harry or Vernon. Dudley pointedly looked between his mother and father, and occasionally at Harry, as if hoping that they would console his anxiety and deny any change in his perfect life. Understanding the reason behind their odd behavior, Harry made an angry noise, pushed away from the table sharply, grabbed his piece of bacon, and stormed up to his room, leaving the inhabitants of the kitchen utterly confounded.

Throwing himself on his bed, Harry steamed in anger. He was no longer certain of who or what the anger was mostly directed towards, but contented himself by directing it at himself. Of course he knew what they were uncomfortable about. Who wouldn't be uncomfortable after hearing some of Harry's darkest demons replayed at night while he slept? Harry's world was spiraling insanely out of control. Not only did he have no control of his destiny, but apparently he also had no command over the emissions from his mouth or his torrents of emotions. He was never safe from them, not even when he dreamed.

Finally calming down, Harry picked up the last bit of his finished work, packed it in his trunk, and looked up at the sound of wings. Expecting Hedwig, his face dropped slightly as a Great Horned Owl dropped an official looking envelope at his feet and swept away. Harry bent down and opened the envelope, unconcernedly taking out his OWL results. For a second time, upon hearing the sound of wings, Harry looked up as Hedwig returned. He put down the paper he had been holding, without even looking at it, and went over to stroke her. At Privete Drive, Hedwig was the one thing that kept Harry sane; she was his one reminder that he wasn't alone in this world, and that someday ... someday everything might just turn out alright.

After Hedwig nudged him with her beak, reassuring Harry that he wasn't forgotten, he sat back town to look at this OWL results.