The scratching of a quill was the only sound that split the silence of the night. It was persistent, adamant, steadily continuing with no sign of slowing. The owner, a rather short and scrawny raven-haired boy, was currently sitting at his desk, hunched over a rather long piece of parchment that already looked as if it had a novel on it.

Harry Potter paused for a moment, taking time to flex his fingers before they grew numb and he wasn't able to work anymore. Sighing, he glanced over his half-finished essay.

Human Transfiguration is among the most complex branches of magic. Unlike standard Transfiguration, Human Transfiguration not only requires the release of magic, but also, the wizard must weave his/her magic with the spell and will the subject's magic to transform. Research has shown that Human Transfiguration is much easier when done on oneself instead of another witch or wizard, as you do not have to will your own magic to follow your command……

Harry was interrupted from his readings as a small breeze from his open window fluttered his parchment. Blinking tiredly, the young wizard furiously rubbed his hooded eyes and forced himself to finish the last foot of his essay. It was almost three in the morning and he desperately needed sleep if he ever wanted to finish the list of chores Aunt Petunia would give him. But he refused to sleep. Sleeping meant nightmares, and nightmares meant Sirius….

Harry swallowed the rising lump in his throat and angrily turned back to his essay, scanning his textbook for any other useful information. He brutally shoved the thought of his late godfather out of his mind.

What was next? He had already finished his Herbology and Charms homework (though he was purposefully avoiding his Potions'). He did anything to keep himself busy. Being busy meant that he didn't have to think of Sirius or the revelation of the prophecy.

Kill or be killed….

Harry snorted and pushed that thought out of his mind as well. At least he didn't have to worry about not being busy during the day. It was the nights that got to him. During the day, Vernon and Petunia gave him a rather long list of chores, all of them expected to be finished before Vernon got home. Harry was reminded briefly of his second year all over again…without Dobby of course. But despite the small similarities between his the summer after his first year and this summer, it was different, much different.

He stretched, wincing as he stretched the fresh bruises Vernon had inflicted upon him only hours before. Harry closed his eyes and focused on how summer had been, anything to avoid thinking about Sirius.

Vernon had been furious with him when they had gotten home, Harry knew. Even Petunia had thrown her husband wary glances but his uncle had remained strangely silent for the first few weeks into summer. He had been forced to continue his chores, which he hadn't had to do since the summer after his first year. In a way, Harry had been rather grateful that they had given him something to do, even if it was to be their personal house elf. Not that the Dursleys knew of Sirius's death.

But life had gone on for Harry, much as he had wanted it to cease. He continued doing his chores in a dead, zombie sort of way, finding that he held absolutely no feeling toward whatever he did.

He received letters from Ron and Hermione ("You-Know-Who's lying low now, mate. Mum's begged Dumbledore to let you come stay with us but he keeps saying you're safer with the muggles."), he had gotten the Daily Prophet, this time actually reading the thing ("At least Minister Fudge has finally stopped posting lies about you and Dumbledore, Harry. I don't think he will be in office much longer, nor will that horrid Umbridge woman."), and he sent the once-every-three-days letter to the Order.

Unfortunately, his strenuous, yet composed schedule wasn't meant to last the whole of the summer, starting with three days ago.

With nightmares of Sirius's death still plaguing him, and the constant strain of the prophecy hovering over him, Harry had found himself exhausted, barely able to finish the tasks his Aunt gave to him. He had watched with slight fear as Vernon grew increasingly irate with him for not finishing his chores on time until the man had finally snapped when Harry had stayed in his room to sulk the whole day after a particularly painful nightmare.

Harry never even saw it coming. One moment, he had been in his bed, trying to catch a little shuteye and desperately shoving the horrid nightmare he had had the night before from his head when the door had banged open and Vernon had strode in looking enraged.

"How dare you laze around while your Aunt slaves over a hot stove to put food in your ungrateful stomach? How dare you disregard the small chores we've asked of you?" the man had roared, steadily growing red.

And Harry, being exhausted and grumpy had sluggishly replied, "By asking me to do these chores you give me the freedom of choice, you know."

The moment the words had left his lips, Harry knew he was in trouble. Vernon had stared at him for a moment before striding over to the bed, grabbing Harry's shoulder in a death grip, and slamming his meaty fist into Harry's face.

Harry frowned at the memory and sighed, looking hopelessly down at his essay. He remembered clearly how panicked Vernon had been after the first blow had reigned, evidently thinking that Sirius was going to come bursting in the room to turn him into a slug at any moment. He had then dazedly told him, "You will tell that godfather of yours that you're being treated right or you'll regret it, freak!" in a sorry attempt to regain his composure but made no further move to hurt Harry with fear of Sirius.

Sirius…who was dead.

Harry's heart gave another throb. Only a few hours after the first punch, an owl had arrived for, surprisingly, Vernon, and, after the man had ranted furiously at Harry, had finally read it only to find out (from Albus Dumbledore himself) that Sirius Black was indeed dead.

"'Mr. Potter has suffered a terrible trauma involving the death of his godfather, Sirius Black. If you would be so kind to insure that he does not leave the house and mind his mental state we would be most grateful,'" Vernon had read in a trembling voice before turning his piggy eyes to Harry, who almost cowered.

"So, decided to leave out that little part did you, boy?" Vernon had hissed before he had thrown himself into a bout of rage, which he seemed to deem fit to take out on Harry in a rather unpleasant way right in front of Petunia and Dudley.

He shivered at the reminisce that had happened only a few nights ago. He recalled the look of shock on his Aunt's face even as she had disguised it expertly and resumed eating her breakfast, completely ignoring his pleas for help.

Harry had always been verbally abused by the Dursleys, degraded with words of what a disgusting creature he was, put down because he was the son of his mother, and hated because of something he didn't understand until he was eleven. Dudley's gang had always beaten him up but his Aunt and Uncle had never outright abused him before. Not like what Vernon had done, out of cold-blooded loathing with fury and hatred enough to cause him to bleed and actually enjoy the sight of it and the sound of his cries.

Harry closed his eyes and let his head slump against the desk. He rubbed his eyes again, absently noting that he didn't need to wear his glasses anymore. Many things had been changing during the summer. His hair had grown at an even more rapid speed then usual, falling just below his ears, though Harry was sure it still had more then a few inches to go. He was paler as well, though he didn't know if it was because he didn't go outside as much. His mind wandered as unconsciousness started to overcome him.

The last thought in his mind was that he desperately hoped he wouldn't dream of Sirius tonight….

&&&&&&&&&

Morning came far too soon for Harry. He found himself stretching stiff muscles littered with bruises and felt as if his eyes were made of cement. Nevertheless, he awoke to his aunt's screeches as usual and slowly, painfully limped downstairs to help with breakfast.

"Set the table!" she snapped from the stove, where the bacon was sizzling. Harry complied, his movements automatic and time-consuming.

Aunt Petunia dished the bacon into a large plate and turned to set it on the table when she gasped, nearly dropping the bacon.

"What?" Harry asked blankly. Petunia was staring at him as if he'd grown three heads.

"What the hell have you done to yourself, boy?" she snarled, her pale eyes narrowed in familiar anger. "What have you done to your hair? And your glasses; you haven't broken them again have you?"

Harry's hand automatically reached for his hair at his aunt's comment. He felt surprise well up in him as he touched rather straight, tamed hair that was now past his shoulders. It was impossible! A person's hair didn't just grow that much overnight! And how could he see so well?

"I-I don't…"

"Change yourself back now! If Vernon sees that your doing that...abnormal stuff here then he'll be in a bad mood all day and I don't feel like putting up with him!" Petunia hissed, looking highly insulted.

But before Harry could respond, the telltale heavy footsteps were heard trudging down the stairs. Harry felt an involuntary shiver travel up his spine. Petunia pursed her lips, but turned back to where she started making eggs, obviously knowing what was about to take place.

Vernon entered the kitchen and immediately purpled. "What the hell did you do to yourself freak!" he barked. "How dare you use that freak nonsense in our house after all we've done for you!"

"But, Uncle Vernon, I didn't-" He was cut off as he fist connected with his jaw and he stumbled back, smacking his head on the table. One of the dishes fell off and shattered on the floor.

"See what you did!" Vernon roared. "More money wasted on you, you damned freak!" He drew back his leg and kicked Harry in the ribs before the young wizard had time to regain his bearings.

Harry let out a yelp as the foot connected with his ribs and bit his lip to keep from howling. He reacted in defense mode, and curled into a ball to prevent Vernon from cracking any more ribs. Surprisingly, the man halted his assault and when Harry cautiously peeked up, Vernon was staring at the calendar on the wall.

"Here," he said gruffly, thrusting a paper and pen on the floor next to Harry. "Tell them….tell them we're treating you right and you're fine." He straightened his suit that had gotten rumpled during his attack and sat heavily in a chair, pointedly ignoring the fact that Harry hadn't gotten up yet.

"And make sure to say that you miss your….godfather as well," Vernon grunted lazily, helping himself to breakfast. Harry swallowed painfully and struggled to pull the pen and paper to him, though his wrist was aching horribly. He looked up at his aunt, who walked by him to set the eggs on the table, sparing him only a single glance.

Harry almost let out a sigh of relief. All letter days were a bit easier then others, though it was only morning. Carefully he wrote the message, taking caution to make sure that his hand didn't shake too much.

'Hey guys,

I'm fine, you can say. Mostly I've been in my room doing my homework since the Dursleys won't let me out of the house. Haven't been getting much sleep lately, but hopefully the dreams of Sirius will fade a little like the ones with Cedric did.

Hope to see you soon,

Harry'

Short and simple, easy enough.

Vernon snatched the paper from him as he set the pen down and scanned the letter.

"Fine," he grunted. "Get that ruddy bird to deliver it and don't forget boy."

Harry nodded. Hedwig was out hunting, but he knew she'd be back today. She always came back on the letter days.

"Where's Dudley?" Vernon asked Petunia.

"Out with his friends, dear," Petunia replied breezily as she settled herself in a seat, trying not to look perturbed at the sight of her bloody nephew still lying on the floor.

'Happy Birthday to me,' Harry thought dully to himself as he went upstairs to start on cleaning Dudley's room. He felt his heart throb as he realized that neither of his friends had even sent him a letter for his birthday.