The dark skies moved slowly closer, hesitant, almost as if they knew they were heading to a place that was darkened in its own sorrows so deep that it was afraid to be overpowered. Though still they came, determined in their quest to increase the gloomy atmosphere of number 4 Privet Drive. Distant thunder soon followed its path, like the steps of a giant in the far off distance. Small raindrops began to fall, mingling with the dripping Windex in the glass of a well-kept greenhouse. It was quickly wiped away by a raven-haired teenage boy, eyes as dark as the brewing storm above him.

Harry Potter was in a state of monotonous mechanicalism. Wax on. . . wax off. . . wax on. . . wax off. So much for the exciting life of the rich and famous. At the moment Harry was more interested in the oncoming thunderstorm above him. He found it ironic that the weather could seem to mimic his mood each summer. Last summer he was living an incredibly dull, dry existence, so the weather at the time reflected him in a dull, dry heat. He also found it incredibly pathetic that he was musing on the weather somehow reading his mood. His life this summer was also dull in a certain respect, but the weather

above him was nothing of the sort. Harry's life seemed to begin and end with chores, or mostly washing the greenhouse windows.

At the moment the Order of the Phoenix seemed more pathetic than himself. How could the mighty Order ever expect to continue the fight against Voldermort if they couldn't even sedate the rage of a muggle? For the threat that was Vernon Dursley lived on. More vengeful than cowed, as Harry had hoped he would be at the threat of the Order's imminent arrival. Now Harry Potter was not one to be cowed either, but if the life of another was at stake he would do whatever it took to keep his friends from harm. Even one as small as a snowy white owl. If Vernon did not get a well-behaved nephew and complete secrecy, his nephew would no longer have a well-behaved owl.

Harry realized he had finally finished washing the last windowpane in the green house, and with that he slowly packed up the bucket, rag, and Windex. In order to avoid his aunt's penetrating gaze he left the greenhouse from the door that led out into the garden, and forced himself past the powerful wind and rain to the garage. After properly replacing the cleaning supplies in there proper spots he made his way back into the storm and through the front door. Harry stood in the doorway and kicked his shoes off, and threw them outside onto the front porch, no need for his aunt to fuss at him about wet floors.

Quietly, and stealthily he trotted up the stairs praying to whatever higher power existed that Aunt Petunia wouldn't here him. Harry stepped through the threshold of his doorway and breathed a sigh of relief. He glanced at the digital clock on his bedside table, quarter to five, shite. Harry dropped to his knees near his bed and carefully felt for the loose floorboard. When he felt his fingers catch on the raw wood, he used his other hand to fish for his packet of saltines. When successful Harry threw himself on his bed and ate with as much gusto and speed as possible. His uncle would be home at five, and even though Aunt Petunia had received permission to give Harry the crackers for the week, Uncle Vernon still wasn't pleased at the sight of Harry eating.

Vernon also hadn't been in the best of moods recently. He had hired Colonel Fubster as a new employee, as a favor to Aunt Marge, and though Vernon hadn't had a problem with Colonel Fubster, he did have to stay late and help train him in the workings of Grunnings Drills. This made him especially irritable when it cut down his time at the pub.

Harry reached over to his nightstand, and lightly caressed his shiny new Quidditch Captain badge; he also took another moment to review his O.W.L results.

History of Magic: Poor

Divination: Dreadful

Potions: Exceeds Expectations

Transfiguration: Exceeds Expectations

Charms: Outstanding

Defense Against the Dark Arts: Outstanding

Care of Magical Creatures: Outstanding

Herbology: Acceptable

That was six O.W.L.s not a record breaker, but certainly decent. The letter had also included a note from Professor McGonagall that he had been accepted into NEWT potions, despite Snape's adamant argument against it.

When Harry finished his ration for the evening, he jumped off the bed and hid the package back under the floorboard.

Harry was just getting off his feet when the sound of gravel crunching out on the driveway reached his ears. He flopped back on the lumpy mattress and reached over to his beside table to grab the most boring book he could find, "How to Make Money, and Look Good Doing It." As he heard the door slam, Harry quickly appeared to become immersed with in its pages. He listened intently to the conversation going on below him.

"Petunia! I'm home."

"Good evening dear, I've just finished dinner."

"That boy better have gotten some work done today!" Harry quickly turned back to his book, as he heard the heavy booms of Uncle Vernon coming up the stairs. Not three seconds later the large purple faced man was standing in his doorway blocking the light from the hallway, and casting a dark shadow on his bed. When he opened his mouth to speak Harry caught a whiff of the strong scent of alcohol.

"Did you finish washing the greenhouse windows?" Harry may have been acceptant of his Uncle's forceful behavior, but he was in no way intending to give him the respect he wanted, he did still have some pride left.

"Yes," Harry said, eyes not leaving the text.

"Don't you lie to me boy!" He finally succumbed to putting his book down, in the wake of his irritation.

"Why do I even bother speaking at all? No matter what I say you always think I'm lying!" Harry regretted his words before they were out of his mouth, and most especially before his Uncle had backhanded him in the face. Vernon grabbed his hair and pulled Harry to face him. Harry was looking directly into his uncle's piggy eyes, not blinking, and refusing to break his resolve. Vernon blinked first, and released Harry's head like it was a venomous spider.

"Go help your aunt set the table." With that Uncle Vernon stalked out of the room.

The next morning Harry pushed the swinging door open, and entered the sterily clean kitchen. Leaning over the stove, while tending to the sizzling eggs and bacon in the frying pan, he stared off into the sky outside the window. It was still overcast, and by the looks of it, still very chilly. The gray skies seemed in no way to be ready to fizzle out, another storm looked fast approaching. The scent of the cooking breakfast reminded him of his task at hand. Harry dished out large heapings of the grease-saturated food onto three plates. Harry took the food to the table just as Dudley waddled in, followed by Aunt

Petunia who was feverishly smoothing down her son's hair. He set the first plate on the table, with a clatter.

"Keep it down boy," said Vernon who was nursing a cup of coffee, obviously recovering from a hangover. "You need to wash the windows in the green house today, as well." Harry knew better than to argue that he had done the same task yesterday. It had been this way everyday of the summer. Every evening after work Vernon got drunk at the local pub, the effect of his irresponsibility was the morning hangover, and forgetting the chores he assigned Harry the previous day. This would have been fine for him, as window washing wasn't a very strenuous task, if it weren't for the fact that Harry thought

He was suffering from severe wrist arthritis.

Vernon picked up his briefcase, pecked Petunia on the cheek and to the shock of Harry; he cast Dudley a rather cool glance. As he started picking up the dishes, he chanced a half glance a Dudley who was head was bowed. Harry realized as he

was walking into the garage for the cleaning supplies, Dudley didn't have the telly on.

Wax on... wax off... wax on... great Merlin what has my life come to. Harry stopped his washing for a moment, and looked out to the postage stamp houses that were Privet Drive with unseeing eyes. How could thing have come to this, how could he be letting Vernon use him like this, was it because of all he had lost? Stop it, Stop thinking... wax off... wax on. Harry felt a draft hit him in the back of his neck; he'd must have left the door open.

Cautiously he moved to shut the door, something caught his eye in the corner of the greenhouse. Did plants move? And certainly none of Aunt Petunia's plants would have wilted. Moving closer to the very healthy and thriving begonia bush, a minute owl fluttered out on to his arm. It wasn't pig, but rather one of those from the Hogsmeade mailroom. The little bird stuck out its claw and unfurled a tom piece of parchment. Harry gently took the note, who would send him a letter from an unfamiliar owl? Go to it then.

H-

Meet me in the park, by the swings.

Moony

"Shite." If he didn't go that would arouse suspicion with the Order. Vernon would just hit him anyway, even it he did do the windows, and he'd just have to do it again tomorrow. Screw Uncle Vernon. Harry stuffed the note in his pocket, and ran down the driveway.

As he cut through the open field on Magnolia Crescent (in order to avoid running into Dudley's gang) silent raindrops had begun to fall from the sky. When he came through the edge of a wood Harry saw the thin frame of Remus Lupin hunched in a swing that should have been to small for a man his age, but fit him quite perfectly. Professor Lupin wasn't yet aware of his presence, so Harry stood for a moment just observing. He suddenly felt as if he were invading a very private moment, and decided to make his presence known. Though not in so many words, he swiftly took a seat at the next swing suddenly feeling incredibly awkward.

"Hello, Harry."

"Professor."

"I'd prefer Remus," Harry shrugged in response, his jaw working in nervousness. The awkward pause that followed was silently deafening, what an oxymoron. He finally worked up the courage to say something, though not as respectfully as he had intended.

"Why are you here?" Remus cleared his throat, and in the corner of his eye Harry notices Remus glance cautiously at him.

"Sirius left a will, all of the Order are required." Harry mused on the fact at how abrupt such an important conversation could go. "It's all very straight forward, half the Black fortune goes to both you and myself. The second half goes to some of his other assets. Sirius's house naturally, goes to the order. Dumbledore is to remove Kreacher from the house, and do with him as he pleases. I personally voted to cut his tongue out, keep his mouth shut once and for all." Harry was surprised by the hostility coming from his normally gentle professor. "Also the captured Death Eaters from the Ministry

Battle proved to be of some use. They gave Fudge sufficient evidence to have Sirius's name cleared. A little to late if you ask me." Remus sat for a moment taking a deep breath, "Well that's it then, I'd best be off. It's getting late, your aunt and uncle will want you home." Harry gave an involuntary snort.

Remus stood up; he reached over to give Harry's shoulder a squeeze. He jerked away at the sharp pain that shot down his arm; Remus had hit an old bruise Uncle Vernon had bestowed upon him on his birthday. Remus pulled his hand away immediately.

"Are you all right, Harry?"

"Fine, I'm fine." Remus nodded, and with one last glance over his shoulder he was gone. Harry sat and swung for a while, thinking about all that Remus had told him. He didn't think he could ever have the relationship he'd had before with his old professor. There was too much history, dark history. Harry assumed by the red colors peaking through the overcast clouds, that dusk would soon be arriving.

Getting up from the swings, he felt as though he had just woken up from a deep sleep. Perhaps it was because of his overwhelming drowsiness that he didn't think twice when he took the road leading to Magnolia Crescent instead of cutting through the woods as he had done previously. Harry took a right onto the road where he had first lain eyes on his godfather. It took him a few moments to notice the bulk that was Piers Polkiss, cowering over a small boy. Upon closer inspection Harry realized the boy was Mark Evans. Harry wondered briefly why Dudley wasn't joining in this little escapade. He only had to debate with himself for a split second, on whether or not to defend the boy. Damn Gryffindor nobility.

Harry sped across the street to the cauldasack, and managed to squeeze himself between the two. "Polkiss, isn't this boy a bit out of your league? Looks like he could take you." Harry chanced a glance at Mark. His eyes were moving side to side as though he really didn't know what was taking place in front of him, nor did he care. Harry looked back at the bulk of a teenager in front of him, "Especially with me on his side."

When Piers opened his mouth, Harry was in the mind to offer him a tic-tack, if what came out of his mouth hadn't stopped him in his tracks. "Please, Potter. From what I hear Vernon takes you often enough. I think I can manage." He blanched back as if struck. Harry noticed Mark suddenly become much more interested in the events now transpiring. "You look flustered Potter, did I hit a nerve? Or were you out moping over your dead friend? Sirius, I think his name was." Mark was openly staring now, but Harry didn't have time to contemplate why this kid was so fascinated, because he was too busy throwing a punch at Piers.

Harry turned back to Mark, who's mouth was open in awe. "Get out of here," said Harry. Mark stares at him uncertainly. "GO!" Mark took off, glancing back all the way home. Harry was distracted when Piers stood up, cast him one alarmed stare, and he too took off. Harry looked up at the sky, which was now fading into a dark evening sky. Ugh, he ran his hands through his hair and took off down the street.

As Harry swiftly approached number four, he noticed the dim lighting creeping through the glass pains in the front door. Once again he cursed his Gryffindor qualities. He methodically untied his shoes, to leave them on the front porch, anything to delay his upcoming fate. Harry stood there for a moment just starring at the doorknob, as if it were the last time he would ever lay his eyes on one. The door opened with a loud creek that made him flinch.

Entering the house he first saw Dudley crossing the hall, he spared a quick and frightened glance at Harry before he trotted up the stairs. Aunt Petunia stood in the threshold of the door leading to the living room. She looked out from her beady eyes, down her large nose all the way to, in her eyes, was the scum that was Harry Potter.

"Your uncle wants to see you in the kitchen." Harry said nothing; he silently walked past his aunt and into the stuffy living room. Uncle Vernon was facing the lacy curtained windows; not being able to read his uncle's face worried Harry.

"You're late." Harry may have had his pride but he also wasn't a fool, tonight would not be a good night to irritate Uncle Vernon.

"I'm sorry."

"Petunia told me you didn't get your chores done." Shite.

"I also got a call from Mrs. Polkiss."

"I can explain..." started Harry.

"I don't want to here your explanation, your behavior is unacceptable," Vernon started to turn. Harry was trying to prepare himself on which way to duck, but it was already too late. In one blow to the stomach Harry was on the floor. Trying as quickly as he could to scramble back on his feet, but for once Vernon was to fast for him. Another swift kick to his stomach and Harry was out of it, mentally and physically. Numbness was all Harry could recall later. A numb pain and then blackness.

After that point in time life was a blur to Harry. He woke up three days later in his room, where he assumed he'd been taken after the incident. Every day soup was pushed through the cat flap in the door, so that was at least enough to look forward to. His life was spent watching the clock and his hand made calendar that counted down the days to his return to Hogwarts.

This was probably the worst part of his punishment, Harry decided. The waiting, with nothing to do. Being left alone with his thoughts. Thoughts that he did not want to think about. Harry began to worry about how he would get to Kings Cross in the first place. What if Uncle Vernon never came to retrieve him come September first? He knew that the order or Dumbledore would come for him if it came to that, but simply the thought of staying in this house longer than necessary made him sick. He needn't have worried though...