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.

Chapter Three – OWLs

He looked over the paper in indifference.

Astronomy – 'Acceptable'

Care of Magical Creatures – 'Outstanding'

Charms – 'Outstanding'

Defense Against the Dark Arts – 'Outstanding'

Divination – 'Poor'

Herbology – 'Exceeds Expectations'

History of Magic – 'Dreadful'

Potions – 'Exceeds Expectations'

Transfiguration – 'Exceeds Expectations'

Harry mildly acknowledged his 'Exceeds Expectations' in potions, and detachedly realized that he no longer had a chance of becoming an auror. For that, he would need six NEWTS. Harry listed on his fingers, the classes he would be taking next year: NEWT level Care of Magical Creatures, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, and Transfiguration. Unless, perchance, the NEWT level Astronomy class accepted an 'acceptable' grade. He had never bothered to find out the marks needed for astronomy; he never thought he would need it. And even if Harry were able to take NEWT Astronomy, thereby completing the minimum requirements for an auror, it was doubtless they would accept anyone with the minimum requirements, not to mention anyone lacking in advanced training in Potions. No use contemplating that until it was upon him.

At least, it seemed, he would no longer have Snape for a teacher.

Although distantly cheered by this prospect, thinking of Snape evoked, seemingly the only emotion he had left, anger.

Harry's hatred towards Snape had increased triple fold, though he had yet to come up with an adequate excuse for it. Snape was Harry's outlet, sufficiently involved in both Sirius' death and Voldemort's Death Eaters to take much of the blame for anything concerning either. If Harry had ever taken the time to think about it, he probably would have had to relent to the fact that these horrors of his life were, honestly, not Snape's fault. However, at least in this self-created ignorance, Harry had found a way of survival; how could he keep from hating himself, if not by diverting his pain and anger towards another. Another who, more or less, welcomed it.

Harry laid, inert, in his room, alternating between disturbing or dreary thoughts, a sort of mindless trance, bits of sleep, and horrifying nightmares for the next thirty-six hours.

It wasn't until he heard a loud banging on his bedroom door, followed by the crash of his door banging opening against the wall, that Harry finally noticed a sharp pain and growl coming from his stomach. Petunia, standing in the doorway, hands upon her hips, softly glared at him, with a slight undercurrent of emotion that deftly surprised him.

"I don't want you dying of starvation in this house. Those ... things," she shook her head deprecatingly, "will blame us!"

On his back, Harry shifted to a half-sitting position placing his weight on his elbows, and simply looked at his aunt with seemingly no emotion. Petunia walked over to his bed, intoned, "UP!", and made shooing motions with her hands for him to get up and leave the room. Harry listlessly obeyed.

As 4 Privet Drive came more into focus, Harry, out of habit more than anything else, internally cursed the house of his childhood misery.

What he wouldn't do to leave here forever... Harry sighed. However, there was a legitimate reason for his presence here. Therefore, the best he could do was to wait until he could leave for the rest of the summer.

Harry hoped that before the month was out and, he grimaced, his birthday arrived, he would be able to see the Weasleys again, cutting short his stay with the Dursleys to just over a month. Although, he was forced to admit that – overlooking his previous biases and the extenuating circumstances of Sirius' death and the prophesy – the Dursleys hadn't been particularly awful this summer. Nevertheless, his stay was far from enjoyable, and he was quite anxious to leave.

As a matter of fact, he had been mildly surprised at his Aunt's behavior. Vernon and Dudley had been quite as unpleasant as ever, though somewhat subdued by Moody's threat. But Petunia, albeit she usually kept up her unconcerned demeanor, seemed to be almost worried by her nephew's withdrawn and indifferent attitude. It wasn't that she was any kinder to Harry, and when she asked if he'd written "those freaks", it certainly had nothing to do with any anxiety for his wellbeing. However, this evening was not the first time she had shoed him out of his stupor, in his bedroom, to eat.

Occasionally, Harry could have sworn he saw an odd expression on her face which had nothing to do with him being a wizard or her sister's son. Oddly, at times like these, Harry had occasion to wonder what was the truth reason lying behind Petunia's hatred for her sister. Perhaps it was merely jealousy which caused Petunia to have despised his mother so, and because this was such a menial reason, she might have allowed herself a small bit of compassion towards Harry. Or, maybe, as was more likely, the root of her loathing was fear. Fear of what she could never understand; fear of the unknown. If so, the miniscule amount of compassion she had been showing might have been due to her comprehension that the reason for Harry's behavior was loss of a loved one. This explanation was, surely, mundane enough to allow her at least limited understanding, and therefore reprieve from her fear.

Whatever the reason for her concern, Harry was somewhat grateful for the times when she shooed him out of his room because it reminded him that no matter how painful, eventually life will go on, Sirius or no Sirius, prophesy or no prophesy.

Harry resignedly followed Petunia into the kitchen, and sat down at the table for dinner, ignoring any of the stares and glares aimed at him by his family. As Petunia laid out on the table a steaming plate of Roast Beef, Harry's stomach gave another uncomfortable twixt. After Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley had helped themselves to the condiments, Harry – for the first time since he'd returned to Privet Drive – filled his plate to the brink with food. His aunt and uncle raised their eyebrows and Vernon scowled.

"Gonna eat us out of house and home, huh? Boy?"

Harry pointedly glanced at Dudley who was ravishing his plate of food with the intensity of a starved wolf, and then ignoring Vernon, turned his face downward to the vicinity of his food. He began to eat, very slowly, as Petunia started up a conversation with her husband about some new neighbor in the block. Eventually, the three family members finished eating and trickled out of the kitchen, sending a few glares Harry's way, as he just began to start on the second half of his plate.

Alone in the kitchen now, he poked and prodded his meal, not feeling quite up to finishing it. Finally, he gave up, threw the rest away, and washed his plate. Not in the mood to return to his room, Harry decided to slip outside.

Wary of the Dursleys, still digesting their food in front of the television, he stealthily slipped down the hallway towards the door. For once, he appreciated the Dursley's compulsive neatness; the front door was well-oiled and shouldn't be too hard to slip through unnoticed.

He was certain Vernon and Petunia would assume he was in his bedroom again, and they certainly wouldn't bother to ascertain this hypothesis before baring the front door to intruders. However, Harry recalled them informing Dudley a few days ago, about a key hidden outside in a flower pot, in case they were late returning in the evening. Harry, of course, didn't know of the key's exact location, but was certain he'd be able to find it before the sun rose and they got out of bed. It wasn't as though he'd miss the sleep anyways. At least he'd be free of the dreams for a few hours.

Gradually opening the front door, Harry bit by bit received a view of the cold street. Stepping out, he shut the door silently behind him, and stood for the first time, outside, since he returned to Little Surrey. His knees were suddenly weak, and he had to lean against the edge of the house to regain his balance and to allow his eyes to focus again.

Once he regained his composure, Harry abruptly set off down the street at a fast pace. The sudden change in manner, left Harry's unseen observer with the impression that he was trying to escape his own shadow.

(...to be continued)