Disclaimer: no matter how much i would wish it i do not own any of Harry Potter and Co.

Reviews:

Cithara- Well thank you for the compliment on my writing technique, i do try curtsey. As for the plot line, as i have said, this is my very first fanfiction... of all time... so take pity please. I am trying to be original while still following the actual characters pesonalities. (i may hvefailed at one point or another but 'que sera sera' i suppose)

Princess Vasira- was this soon enough for you? i hope so. the next chapter is forthcoming.

Thakn you for reviewing, hope you enjoy this next chapter.

Chapter 2

Summer was definitely Harry's least favorite holiday. It was not that it was always hottest when he had to work outside or that his room seemed to hold that heat like a sauna. It wasn't even that fact that Voldemort seemed to enjoy causing mayhem during that particular season, if his constant nightmares were anything to go by. The reason Harry hated the summer was because of the Dursleys. Here he was, gardening for the third time that week, waiting for the screech from his aunt telling him to make dinner. /Thar she blows/ he thought dryly. He stood up, brushed himself off and made his way into the house, going through the daily motions. Go in, clean up, make dinner, serve the family, eat the scraps, clean up, get yelled at. All the while the ever present mask of coldness that had accumulated in the first week of vacation, never slipped. After dinner, Harry headed out to the back yard for practice. There was a Forget-Me charm surrounding the perimeters of the house so that when the members of the order came by to train him, as they had been doing for five days out of every week, none of the neighbors would remember anything they saw or heard of his newfound training. He was learning knives from Mundungas, defensive spells from Moody, the real one, offensive spells from Snape of all people, and fisticuffs from Tonks. Harry called it fisticuffs but really it was more an amalgamation of martial arts, aerobics and kickboxing. He was learning how to fight with various weapons, from guns to axes to spears and anything in between. The only weapons he was lacking in was swords, the only swordsman that the order knew of was Sirius.

Harry paused at that thought and put away the wand he had been practicing spells with. His face never changing, he slipped out one of his hidden knives and pushed up his sleeves. Slowly, he made two long incisions into his forearms, crisscrossing previous scars. Then came the binding spell that Moody had taught him. It wouldn't do to go and bleed all over Aunt Petunia's clean floor now would it? He cast a quick cleaning spell on his knife and slipped it back into place at his waist. He studied his scars with a cold indifference, and there was allot of them. One on each arm for every time that he thought of Sirius. The scars were a reminder of what an idiot he had been, and the pain he had caused with his rash actions.

Something snapping behind him startled him out of his reverie. He spun about, two knives from his wristband in his hands, and slipped into a defensive posture. His instructors did say that he had picked fighting up with incredible speed, he must be a natural. Now, however, was not the time for self-praise.

Dudley was standing there making high-pitched gurgling noises. Harry sighed and let his mask cover the scowl that had slipped past. Harry settled his knives back in their sheaths while pulling his sleeves down as Dudley hightailed, well as fast as that tail of his could go, it back into the house. This was not going to end well.

"Boy!" Vernon bellowed as Harry walked in the door. It didn't matter that his was only a foot away of course. Harry silently assumed that it was his uncle's goal for the summer to make Harry deaf.

"Yes sir?" his tone was cold, emotionless.

Vernon scowled, "did you just pull some blasted knives on my Dudders?" His face had turned a lovely shade of purple at this point. His uncle's spectrum of colors never ceased to amuse him.

Harry looked to Dudley, who was looking at his father in disbelief, "But Dad that's not-"

"Yes, I did." Harry didn't want any of the Dursleys, let alone Vernon, to know that he hurt himself.

"That is enough! I will have no more of this weapons nonsense in my house! I want you to take them off. Now! On the table boy!"

Harry looked from his supposed family; his aunt and cousin were huddling behind Vernon, to the table that his uncle was pointing a meaty finger at.

"If that is what you wish."

He started with the knives he had supposedly attacked Dudley with. Next came the dagger hanging below the nape of his neck followed by the poison darts strapped to his upper left biceps. Then came the extra wand on his right biceps. He looked to the trio, their eyes as wide saucers, and very nearly smirked for the first time in a month or so. He brought out the 45AP caliber Ruger P90TH Semi-Automatic pistol, with its hard rubber grip and dark chrome finish, that he had gotten from Tonks for his Birthday. She had gotten it charmed so that it never ran out of ammo. Moving to his legs, he took out the knives from the top of his new dragon hide boot he had gotten from Remus who, because of Sirius' death, now had money to spare. Harry twitched a bit at that but he would have to punish himself later, away from the prying eyes of his extended family.

Taking off the over large shirt he had from Dudley's leftovers, he unclasped the holster vest that he had gotten from Snape; he had been quite shocked when it had been handed to him, Snape avoiding his eyes the whole time. One half held a row mean looking throwing knives while the other held small vials of healing potions and antidotes. Each one was a full dose and Snape ad drilled Harry for hours until he knew the contents, and how to replenish them, by heart. He also took off the short sword that hung diagonally across his back before slipping the vest off. He may not be great at swordplay but he still wasn't going to get caught without it. After some thought, he took off his glasses as well. He hadn't needed them since two weeks after had arrived at the Dursley's. This was due to the fact that Tonks and Remus had taken him to see a magical specialist to get his eyes fixed; they were a liability the way they were. He still wore them because his bright green eyes unnerved people and, for the people that thought him still practically blind, it gave him an edge.

He turned back to Vernon and Co. glaring. All three took an involuntary step back and Vernon's face had turned an odd shade of green as he was sputtering. Petunia and Dudley were both staring at his chest though. He looked down.

/Damn/. He had forgotten about his scars.

"W-where…?" His aunt whispered, almost to afraid to ask.

Harry only raised a condescending eyebrow, "Don't tell me that you haven't seen my training." He turned to gather his things when he heard Dudley suck in a sharp breath.

"That's not from any training I've seen!"

/'CENSORD' /He hadn't thought of his back, usually the halter and blade covered it. Turning slowly, slipping the shirt over his head, he faced Dudley. "So you have never seen a tattoo before? My aren't we sheltered." He tried on his best imitation of Snape during class. He returned his piercing gaze back to his uncle, who was returning to his usual shade of red.

"Enough boy, take those blasted things up to your room. I don't want to ever see them again."

"It's not like you saw them before now." Harry said, grabbing the halter vest and short-sword. " And besides, I need to where these. Otherwise my trainers might come into the house asking. I'm quite sure that we both don't want that." He looked steadily into his uncle's eyes, glasses still on the table, while he casually slipped his weapons into place.

Vernon growled, "Fine! But if you ever threaten my son again, you are out of this house. Do you hear me?"

Harry gave him a curt nod, slinging the vest and sword over his shoulder and grabbing his glasses off the table. He made his way outside again but this time instead of returning to his practice, he made his way around to below his bedroom window. Using the piping that ran by his window, he scaled the wall, dropping his vest and sword into the room as he went, and climbed onto the roof.

Laying there, staring at the sky, Harry lost himself in the openness of it. He watched as the sky turned from cheery blue to a midnight dark. As the stars started to pop out, he started to count them, making up constellations as he went. It wasn't until well past midnight that he was broken out of his daze. Someone was calling his name. At three in the morning.

"POTTER!" Harry peeked over the edge of the roof. A black figure was making its way down the street dragging a haggard broom and a bag. "Where in the blasted hells is he? POTTER!" this earned the stranger shouts from the neighbors and the sound of a shoe hitting pavement, "Bloody hell!" the stranger exclaimed, picking up the shoe. "If you are going to throw a bloody shoe at me you could at least make it a nice one. Not this second rate, bargain sale, hand-me down." More yells answered and he stepped into the light of a nearby street light, weakly tossing the shoe back. "Though from the looks of things, I'm sure that that shoe was one of your more extravagant purchases."

"MALFOY!" Harry yelled, losing his balance and slipping off the roof. Luckily he grabbed onto the rain gutter in time. He heard a strangled cry as he centered his balance and let himself drop down the two stories. Turning gracefully, he stalked towards the blond boy who was gaping at him. At any other time, Harry would have found this funny. But right now it was just dangerous.

"How the fuck did you find me? Why are you here?" Malfoy's eyes were wide and a little glazed.

"I found you…" he whispered.

"I can see that but how did you find me?" harry snapped, circling him like a vulture until he was facing him again.

"Muggles…" Harry blinked. He had found him the muggle way? Malfoy had stooped to the ever frowned upon muggle methods to find Harry Potter? Something was obviously wrong with this picture.

"Malfoy what…" he stopped as the boy stepped forward and Harry saw the barely healed cut running down his face.

"I found you," he repeated, "thank the gods!" It was only Harry's newfound reflexes that kept Malfoy from hitting the pavement hard.

Harry heard cheers coming from the nearby houses. /They must think that I knocked him out./ He smirked to himself. /It's not like I couldn't./ Harry discreetly shrunk Malfoy's broom and bag and pocketing them while still supporting the boy in his arms. He dragged the limp figure towards the house opening the doors with a wave of his hand. He'd have to thank Snape for teaching him wandless magic next time he saw him.

Harry froze on the threshold of the house. Now those were two things he had never thought that he would associate together. /Snape and thanks indeed./ Harry snorted, he must be losing his mind.

Somehow he got Malfoy all the way to his room without waking the human earthquakes next to his room. Really, you would think that at least a few of the neighbors' wold have complained about the snoring by now. Harry shook his head to himself./I must be nutters, bringing a known enemy into my only place of protection./ Too many things had happened though. Malfoy was not the sort of person to use the muggle methods for anything, and he most certainly would not faint in front of Harry unless some thing was terribly wrong.

He dumped Malfoy in the chair by his desk and moved to unshrink his stuff when he noticed two damp, dark stains on his arms and one on his chest. Pulling off his shirt he found it covered in blood. Moving swiftly to Malfoy's side, he noticed that his collar had splotches of white. Slowly it dawned on him that Malfoy hadn't started out with the red shirt that was clinging to him right now.

A/N : well thats all for now. im already workign my woay through the 3rd chapter so that should be up soon. Review if your willing, i shall wait with avid breath.