Disclaimer: I own none of this. I wish I did, but I don't. All I own is the plot.
Like a Nightmare
It was 6:00pm and growing dark. An average height boy with scruffy black hair was sitting on a swing in the park, the pinkish glow from the horizon shone in his eyes, unusually green, but with an intense sadness to them. There was a thin scar on his forehead in the shape of a lightening bolt. This one scar made him a remarkable boy. He was known throughout his kind as the saviour, as the boy who lived. Harry Potter.
But it had all changed. The dark wizard who gave him that scar, the one that killed his parents and tried to kill him, the one whose name wizards everywhere fear to speak, Lord Voldemort, was back, and more powerful than ever before. Lord Voldemort had terrorised people for years, he killed people who he deemed not worthy to live, people who crossed him, people who got in his way, and people who stood up to him. Harry spent most of last year tying to persuade people it was true, that he had indeed returned to full power, but now that everyone did know, it made it all too real. Before, when everyone thought it crazy to even consider he was alive, he could almost imagine that it was true. That he was indeed dead. But now it was out.
That wasn't the only thing that had changed. Two weeks ago in the Ministry of Magic Harry had come face to face with Voldemort for the third time since that night when his parents had died. His godfather, Sirius Black, had died. As Harry swung slowly on the old rusted swing, he pictured his face just before he died. Still a twinkle in his eyes, laughter had not yet died from his face. It had been killing Harry inside. The closest thing he had to a parent. Gone forever.
Angry beyond belief Harry got up off the swing and kicked a stone as hard as he could. Harry started back towards number four Privet Drive. He had become so absorbed in these memories for the past two weeks, that Dudley had stopped picking on him. He didn't react at all. There was no fun in it for him. The only thing that could keep his mind off things was schoolwork. Even though they hadn't been set anything, he just read all of his old schoolbooks that he had gathered since his first year.
Harry got up to the front door and opened it. A voice bellowed to him from the kitchen,
"Where in the ruddy hell have you been boy? I hope you haven't been making trouble for yourself again."
Harry ignored his Uncle Vernon and stomped up the stairs to his room
"Are you ignoring me boy? COME DOWN AND TELL ME WHAT YOU WERE UP TO!" Vernon roared up the stairs. Harry took no notice.
Another reason that Harry was particularly angry today was that it was his sixteenth birthday, and NONE of his friends had contacted him a tall. Not a present, not a card, not even a note to say that his friends were still alive. But when he got into his bedroom he was shocked, and almost let out a yell of surprise. Because his best friend's younger sister was sitting on his bed, whispering furiously into a walkie-talkie.