Harry shot up from his sleep, body drenched in sweat and eyes wide with fright and tears. He sat still gasping for breath as his mind went over his nightmare once more, ignoring the warm breeze that played with his sweat filled shirt. He couldn't escape them… the dreams… no matter how hard he tried, he was always forced to watch as Voldemort committed his atrocities… and yet the order continued to ignore his existence and Ron hadn't sent him a single letter…
Harry slowly reached for his glasses and placed them on before looking at the battered second hand alarm clock that Dudley had chucked into the room at he start of the holidays… he ad hit it and now one of the lights didn't work… It was either 6 or 8:12… he couldn't be sure but since the Dursley's hadn't forced him up yet he was going to assume it was 6. His mind finally registered the breeze that was still playing with his shirt, and the small rustling sound it made as it wound through the pages of his books sprawled out on the floor.
Homework and studying had been his only escape… since he returned to what he was forced to think of as his home… one of the only things that allowed him to temporarily forget about Sirius' death, and ignore the constant pain in his chest that that knowledge caused. But he had finished all his homework now, and aside from chores had taken up simply re-reading all his text books from his previous years at Hogwart's… it was amazing how much easier the stuff was to understand once he actually had a basic understanding of the theory behind the spells and potions… why hadn't he done thins before? Though one thing was for sure… the theory behind the potions may be interesting, but he highly doubted he would ever be able to concoct a potion wit the same grace that he had seen Snape and Malfoy use.
He moved slowly to the open window and sat on the sill, absently staring out at the sky, trying to see if Hedwig would be returning soon. He had found upon arriving at the Dursley's that Hermione had already sent him a letter… he wasn't sure what it was about it, maybe the sincerity that he could feel, but he immediately took the words to heart and had in return poured out all his own feelings to his best friend… he trusted her completely… his only true confidant… and in his sister in everything but blood.
Seeing no sign of his faithful familiar Harry sunk back into his thoughts Its all so confusing… Voldemort, he's growing stronger everyday, and loving the pain that he can cause… especially the pain that he can cause me…but the order are still keeping me in the dark, even after last year and Dumbledore's promise not to… it really goes to show exactly how much his word should be worth…What he needed at the moment was someone he could turn to… he didn't trust adults any more and Hermione would try to something but he knew realistically the chances of her succeeding were very slim. He needed someone who would tell him what was going on… train him for the confrontation that was sure to come… but no one would.
Harry's hand stopped playing with the bottom of his shirt as a female voice drifted from behind him… "I can tell you what you want to know, Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived" actually Harry couldn't decide if he should scream for help or try and curse the intruder… in the end he settled on a middle option and turned around slowly to assess his 'attacker'.
She sat on his bed elegantly, everything from her fine silk Black hair and blood red lips to the blue robes and the dress she wore underneath it screamed aristocrat… and since the aristocrats of the wizarding world were mostly loyal to Voldemort, he could be in trouble.
He jumped when a small tinkling laugh rand through the room and couldn't quiet suppress the fear that Vernon would come in again and take his anger out on him… slowly she patted the bed beside him and spoke, in a sweet voice, and not the false sweet that his aunt used. "Come sit down Harry and we will talk…"
It was an interestingly new way for Voldemorts death eaters to try and catch him… he never actually thought they would stoop so low as to offer an invitation… some how it just seemed wrong… as wrong as the fact that he felt compelled to do as she asked… and the fact that Death Eaters really shouldn't be allowed to wear anything but black… old snake face would chuck a fit if he found out one of his followers was walking around in style… he was after all an obsessive megalomaniac that had a fascination with death and the colour black as a whole…
Harry realised his thoughts had wondered when she laughed again, this time slightly loader and again patted the bed "Don't worry Harry, I am neither a follower of Voldemort nor a blind follow of your headmaster…" she said and Harry was surprised when his body instinctively started to move towards her, coming to a stop three steps after he began to move.
He realised there was something about this woman that his instincts screamed for him to trust, somehow over coming the distrust that had built up around Dumbledore's constant lies. Maybe that in itself was a reason to distrust the woman, yet his instincts had never been wrong before… his actions in the MOM/DOM were not instinctive they were based upon a blind need to help and save, a need that he was starting to think Dumbledore himself built up and nurtured in him. He frowned in thought before finally speaking "How do I know I can trust you?" he asked, voice amazingly neutral, considering the waring emotions that were flying through his head.
