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Chapter one : Thoughts

Harry Potter sat up straight in his bed, droplets of sweat beading down his forehead, the famous lightening-shaped scar burning so much he wondered if something terribly hot had fell on his head. He breathed heavily, as though he had run an entire race track without stopping for a break.

Looking around him, the sixteen-year-old sighed, realising he was still at Number 4, Privet Drive. Harry took his glasses from his bedside table, placed them on top of his nose, and tried remembering his dream. He remembered following pawprints on the ground, made with blood, leading to a blank door and dissapearing behind it. Harry remembered seeing himself running towards it, but the door seemed to get further and further within every step he took.

This had been the 10th time Harry had had that dream since he left Hogwarts for the summer holidays and he was getting rather bored with it. He knew that even if he'd have to push himself towards that blank door, he would never make it through. No matter how hard he tried. Harry knew his dream had something to do with Sirius dying, but he couldn't find out what. He was dead. Gone. There was no way he, Harry, could bring his Godfather back. Sometimes, he even wished it was he who had fallen through that veil and not Sirius. He wished Bellatrix had pushed him through it, not his Godfather.

Harry sighed in a deep, depressing way once he had forced himself out of bed and got dressed. All summer he didn't get not one letter from any of his friends. Not even a single warning from any member of the Order, besides the letter from Lupin saying that he shouldn't go back to the Department of Mysteries and look for the veil to try and get Sirius back.

Even though he had thought about doing it, Harry wasn't that stupid; he knew very well that he wouldn't be able to come back if the veil swallowed him, too.

A great ball of anger was growing inside of him, like a parasite eating his insides in order to make place for itself. If only he, Harry, hadn't fallen for Lord Voldemort's trick, Sirius would still be alive and smiling at him. Harry was not only angry at himself, but also at Bellatrix, the woman responsible for Sirius falling in the archway. Harry had a craving for revenge, and would do anything for it. He'd do anything to make her pay.

Without knowing it, Harry had rolled up his palm into a fist and was shaking with fury. He thought of what Dumbledore might say if he'd go looking for Bellatrix and give her the pain she diserves. But no matter, that old man won't stop him from getting his revenge. He did not understand how he, Harry felt.

Harry opened his door and stepped out. Why was it so silent? Where were the Dursleys? He flicked the light switch on and looked at the clock : it was already noon, yet he was not hungry at all and there was no sign of the Dursleys whatsoever. He blinked as he scanned his surroundings, but there was still none of the Dursleys in sight. After a moment, he remembered Uncle Vernon saying they'll be going to Aunt Marge's place for a couple of days and that she didn't want him in her house. Uncle Vernon didn't want him messying up everything, especially after what he had done three years ago.

Finaly he'd be away from his Aunt, Uncle and Cousin. He can finaly be in peace without having to deal with them.

But what to do? Hedwig was gone, neither Ron, or Hermione were available and Sirius was dead. Might as well get packed for tommrow, he thought, sighing miserably. Harry wasn't at all ready to start a new year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Too many things are going through his mind and for the first time in his life, he was actually afraid to go back, unaware of what could happen this year now that he knows about the Prophecy and that Lord Voldemort was after it. He might go attacking students in the school now. Killing them one by one untill Harry and Neville are the only ones left. He could also attack members of the Order, including Remus.

His scar began to prickle, but Harry ignored it, and headed back into his room where he began to pack his belongings and his clothes in his trunk untill he stopped when he came upon his father's old Invisibility Cloak. Harry stared at it for a moment, his thoughts turning to his father when he saw him in Snape's Pensieve last year. Shaking his head, he stuffed it in his trunk, followed by his Firebolt. He wanted to ride it again, feel the cold wind whistle in his ears and blowing his hair. It had been such a long time since he had played Quidditch, thanks to his most recent Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, proffessor Umbridge. Harry hoped that this year, he won't have to suffer under her teaching and that he would get a better Defence Against the Dark Arts proffessor; one who will not take away his broomstick or who will let him use his wand during class like he's supposed to and not use books instead.

Harry jumped; Hedwig had just landed with a whoosh on her cage, carrying a letter written in red ink. It looked exacly like the last letter he had received from Remus during the summer. Harry took the letter from Hedwig and opened it, stroking his owl's white feathers as he ripped it open and began to read. The letter was, as he thought, from Lupin.

Dear Harry,

I've just heard that the Dursleys have left.

Whatever you do, don't leave your Aunt and Uncle's house. I'm afraid I can't tell you why… Buisness, you see?

We'll send members for you and they'll bring you to Headquarters.

Ron and Hermione are here, too. So you won't have to worry about them.

Remus J. Lupin,

Number Twelve Grimmauld Place

In the Kitchen

Harry read through the letter twice and frowned. Not even a Happy Birthday? That was the second time Lupin had told him to stay inside, and at the moment, he was not in a very good mood to go to Grimmauld Place. Especially after what happened to Sirius last year. He wished the Order would just leave him be and stop following and spying on him. Why didn't they go after Neville? Why aren't they follwing him? He was part of the Prophecy, wasn't he? And yet, he didn't have to suffer as much as Harry did.

Sighing once again in a frustrated tone, he sqwashed the letter in his fist and threw it roughly in his trash bin. 'Bloody Order,' he thought, crashing backwards and landing into his bed.