Chapter 1: A Nightly Visit

It was an early July morning, and the sun was slowly beginning to rise over Privet Drive. The air was dry, and even the birds seemed too exhausted from the immense heat to be willing to sing. It hadn't rained for more than a fortnight, and the normally meticulously kept gardens of Little Whinging were now dryer and more yellowish than ever. Instead of the birds merrily singing the only sound that could be heard was the soft humming of innumerable air conditioners. All the inhabitants of this quiet and perfect little neighbourhood were sound asleep in their perfect little homes, in their perfect little beds, enjoying the perfect artificially cooled air coming from their perfect air conditioning apparatuses.

That's all except one. Harry Potter of number 4 Privet Drive awoke with a tremendous ear-splitting scream, sweating and panting, and completely entangled in his sheets. Harry had had another nightmare about his godfather's death. Harry had these nightmares every night since that horrible day in May. Every night Harry would re-experience the events in the Department of Mysteries, leading up to the part where Sirius would mock his cousin Bellatrix, and she would hit him with that fatal stunner. Sirius would gracefully fall backwards trough the veil, and Harry would wake up screaming out all of his sorrow and anger. And every morning Harry's uncle would come trampling into his room and scream Harry's ears off about what a freak and degenerate misguided youth he was. Harry would apologise and internally curse the fact that he couldn't put a silencing charm on his room because of the restriction of underage magic.

When his uncle Vernon was done screaming, he would stomp out of the room and shout over his shoulder that "Harry better not show his face today, or else…". Harry really wasn't scared of his uncle, but nevertheless he stayed as far away from the Dursleys as he could. All he really wanted to do was to lie down and die. The memory of Sirius was all that was on his mind, and he felt an immense amount of guilt. Many times during the day Harry would just break down and cry his heart out for his godfather, but nothing seemed to help his feeling of sorrow and guilt.

That's how mostly every day had been for Harry since his uncle and aunt had picked him up at Kings Cross at the end of the school year. He would wake up screaming, spend his day in his room crying in his bed, or sitting at his desk looking out of his window, without ever seeing anything. In the evening his aunt would push a bowl of soup and a piece of bread trough the cat flap his uncle had installed in his second year, but mostly Harry only ate the bread and took a spoonful or two of the soup. Then he would push the bowl back out trough the cat flap and lie down on his bed and cry himself to sleep. During the night he would wake crying from various nightmares he never could remember. And in the morning he would always wake up screaming after seeing Sirius die yet another time.

The door to his room was never locked, but Harry really didn't want to see his so called family, and he was pretty sure that they were happy with the fact that he only left his room once a day to go to the toilet. After living like this for weeks Harry was getting very thin and looked very ill. He had blue and black rings under his eyes and he was almost ghostly pale.

In the start of his summer, Harry's friends had sent him letters every day, but after a series of particularly pushy letters from Ron and Hermione demanding to know how he was and how he was handling everything; Harry had begun to just send the letters back unopened. After he started this practise the letters didn't come nearly as often, but he could tell that they were getting longer and longer. But he just couldn't bring himself to care. He wanted to be with his friends, but after witnessing Sirius die he had come to the conclusion that the only way he could protect them was to alienate them. And so he kept sending their letters back unopened.

He still sent a letter addressed to the order every tree days, but it always just said the same three words:

I'm fine,

Harry

One day as he sent his only companion, his snow white owl Hedwig, off with the usual message he wondered briefly if there were someone out there who cared and worried about him, but then quickly banished the thought from his mind and instead resigned into his usual self pity.

One night Harry was lying awake crying silently in his pillow, when he heard a faint CRACK. Automatically his hand shot out for his wand, but as soon as his mind could react, he dropped it again- He really didn't care who from the magical world was now in his room. He just lied there with his head in his pillow and waited for something to happen. He knew he should be worried about deatheaters and Voldemort, but his heart resisted every urge to begin beating faster. He just didn't care anymore – Sirius was dead and he would gladly follow him.

After a minute or two Harry heard his desk chair being pulled from his desk and sat next to his bed, and then there were the sound of someone sitting gently down.

"Harry we have to talk" came a familiar voice, a voice that Harry thought was probably then one he would have least expected to ever hear in his room in the middle of the night.

Harry had no doubt that there was a note of command in the voice, so slowly sat up, and looked into the blue eyes of his Headmaster.

Albus Dumbledore looked older and more tired than Harry could ever remember seeing, and the familiar twinkles in his eyes were completely gone.

"I'm sorry professor, but I really haven't got anything to say", Harry said as he slowly lowered his head to look at his feet.

"Then you will just have to listen to what I have to say then", said Dumbledore, now a definite tone of command in his voice.

"Harry I want you to know that I'm truly sorry about what happened to Sirius, but you need to believe that it wasn't your fault. Sirius died fighting and both you and I know that's how he would have wanted it. On top of that he died defending you, his godson, and nobody could have stopped him from coming to your aid, when he learned that you were in the Department of Mysteries. I also want you to know that I think you are making a tremendous mistake in alienating your friends Harry – they are worried sick about you, and they really deserve better than for you just to ignore them like this. But I have finally learned that I can't tell you how to live you life, so instead of lecturing you any further I've come here to offer you some advice and a means to handle Sirius's death."

At this point Harry's eyes were streaming with silent tears, and he was shaking slightly.

Dumbledore put a hand on his shoulder and kept it there for a couple of seconds, before getting up and walking over to Harry's desk. Harry could hear Dumbledore mutter something, but couldn't quite make out the words.

Dumbledore sighed, and turned towards Harry again and said, "Harry I want you to do an old man a favour. I want you to read these books for me. Learn them. And practise what you find in them. You should start with the top most one, and when you are ready, someone will let you know how to practise the information in the rest of the books."

Harry couldn't look up. He didn't want to see his Headmasters eyes without the familiar twinkle, so he just lowered his head even more, and muttered "yes sir."

"Goodbye Harry, I hope to hear of your progress with these books. If not for yourself, than do it for Sirius.", and with that Dumbledore disappeared with a silent "POP".

Harry just sat in his bed for several minuets thinking about Dumbledore's last words: "…If not for yourself, than do it for Sirius…". Dumbledore was right he thought, he would do it for Sirius – he would do anything for Sirius. Suddenly he realised he didn't have the faintest idea, what it was, that Dumbledore wanted him to do, and so with a new resolve he stood up from his bed and walked over to his desk to look at the books there. In the soft shine from the moon he read the titles of the four books on his desk.

The top one was a fitness and stamina training book, obviously bought in a muggle bookstore. Harry opened it to the first page, and found a small note scribbled inside in midnight blue ink:

Harry start building up your strength, and spend the rest of the time while not training studying the rest of your books. If you get your strength up to an acceptable level, I will make arrangements for you to be able to train what you will learn from the other tree books.

Then he turned to the other three books. They were all very big and heavy, and as far as Harry could tell several centuries old. The first one had the, to Harry very exciting, title: "THE COMPLETE AND MOST ADVANCED GUIDE TO PRACTISE AND DEFENCE AGAINTST THE DARK ARTS". "Wow", Harry thought, "That probably isn't even in the restricted section of the library at Hogwarts"

The second book had no apparent title, but was very dusty, so Harry ran his hand over the cover to wipe the dust away. As soon as his ran had ran across the width of the cover, the old tome suddenly seemed brand new, and gold letters appeared spelling out the title of the book:

Wandless magic – You've got the skills!

A guide to the most powerful wizards of ANY time

Harry was stunned. His mind just went blank as he read the title. How did Dumbledore want him to study from THAT book? He wasn't powerful. He wasn't even especially talented. Dumbledore was loads more powerful than Harry would ever be, and he used his wand almost always. And Hermione was so much better at magic than he was. All he could think of was that Dumbledore must have given him the wrong book. He had probably meant to give him "wandless magic for dummies". "Oh well", Harry thought, "I'll just return it when I get to Hogwarts". As soon as Harry put the book down the dusty and old appearance presented itself again, and the title vanished, but Harry didn't notice, as he was already picking up the final book.

The final book looked newest of the three wizarding books, and had the title "Duelling Through The Ages", and was to Harry's surprise written by none other the Alastor Moody.

As Harry by now was wide awake, he did as Dumbledore had instructed him, and picked up the muggle training book, and started reading.

When the sun started rising, Harry was half done, and had a good basic understanding of muggle fitness training, and with the help of the book he had devised a beginners training schedule. It mostly consisted of short runs in the mornings and evenings, accompanied by some stretches. In the afternoon he would do some push ups and other muscle training exercises. He was for the first time in weeks not on the verge of tears, and if someone could see him, they would se an expression of sad determination. He changed in to some of his baggy sweatpants, and wore a hooded jumper over a t-shirt.

30 minuets later Harry was back in his room after his first ever morning run – and he felt as if he was ready to die. His entire body hurt more than he would have ever dreamed possible after just doing a bit of running. But he was determined not to let Sirius down again, so he did his stretches, and went to take a shower.

Before the Dursleys woke up he went down to the kitchen and ate two large slices of bread with cheese on, and an apple. The book said he needed to eat to have energy to burn, so he had decided to eat as much as possible, even though it made him feel like throwing up.