Claire James was beautiful. But she never let it show.

Perhaps that was better than flaunting it. Harry didn't care. He would never hear her story. What she was like. The soul behind her piercing, big and beautiful blue eyes, her long black hair, and bee-stung lips. This description Harry described in his mind sounded a little bit creepy to him, no matter how he phrased it. All he knew was that she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen.

She must have felt his stare on her, with her eyes intensely focused on her Potions paper, her shiny black hair tucked behind the ear nearest Harry, biting her quill in thought. Probably a sugar quill. Harry felt a shiver down his spine when their eyes locked, as he always did. He used to just look away quickly, embarrassed and feeling stupid for staring. But this time, a smile crept across his lips. Small, but visible. To his amazement, she smiled back. It was the first time he'd seen her smile.

And that was it. That one small moment.

It was September 7th and Harry's sixth year so far seemed to be very demanding with homework. Nothing strange had happened so far, but he was sure something would come up. Something always did. He almost missed the drama. It was actually quite boring with nothing to focus on... except homework. As stared at the fire, the world around him seemed to fade and he became lost in his thoughts once again.

Ron and Hermione bickered as usual. Now that their positions of prefects had been passed down to the new fifth years, Harry had to listen to this more than usual. If only they could cross the line from hate to love, then Harry's headaches might disappear, with their lips smacked together instead of pointlessly squabbling.

As for Harry's love, he didn't know. He wasn't all that interested in it anymore. Even if he did get together with someone, he didn't care to put someone through the drama he faced every year. It just wasn't fair for them.

Now that Voldemort was back in full power, Harry felt more and more trapped. He couldn't go to the bathroom without a teacher insisting he bring a friend along. It seemed pointless, since Dumbledore was still Headmaster. But Harry knew he should be grateful for having people who cared so much about him. He's the boy who lived. The boy who saved them all from the murderous, evil Voldemort.

Harry wondered if people would care as much as they did now if his luck ran out that night he survived Voldemort. That kind of typical life seemed so foreign to him. He craved it more than anything. Sometimes he wished his mother never saved him, so he would never have had to deal with Voldemort and he could be with his parents. Sure it seemed selfish of him, since so many people would be dead if he stayed powerful for those fifteen years. But why did it have to be him to be The Boy Who Lived? Why couldn't it be someone else? He couldn't be the best person for the title.

As Harry thought of these things, the time seemed to fly by faster than he would have liked. He didn't feel like starting his second week at Hogwarts already. He was still living in the summer. It was eight o'clock on a Sunday night when Harry drifted off to sleep on that big, comfy couch in front of the fire. And the truth was, he never wanted to wake up.

A/N: I know, I know, very short chapter. It's just the prologue, though. What about Claire, that mysterious girl I put in there? Too perfect? Too strange? Too random? Tell me. I was going to make this chapter primarily on Claire, but I changed my mind as I began to get into the flow of writing. I'm having a very big trouble on staying awake at the moment, so this chapter may be crap. I'm also only fourteen.