A/N: Hey everyone, sorry I've taken so long to post another chapter and I know I've already posted chapter seven. Due to a couple of reviews from my previous version I've re-decided slightly on the direction of this story. I was a little too eager to get back to Hogwarts and didn't really want to write the summer holidays…I've realised now that was a bit of a mistake. The first half is mostly the same but from there it will be different, enjoy!

Chapter Seven:

Harry was out on one of his walks. It was hot, but he liked it; it meant less people would be wandering the streets. Harry had discovered that Vernon had told the neighbourhood that Harry had gotten on the wrong side of a pyromaniac as his school, who, while they were fighting, splashed petrol in his eyes and had set him alight. Harry thought it was a lame and unbelievable excuse but it was better than anything normal that he could come up with. He had also, of course, told that neighbourhood that he liked to scare people with his scars and most of the neighbourhood gave him even more distance than usual.

The neighbours mostly stayed inside when it was hot, but Harry liked the heat. It was the closest thing he had to being able to see light. And the heat was the only thing that reminded Harry just how far away he was from that graveyard. Every night since leaving Hogwarts he'd revisited the graveyard in his nightmares. With the knowledge that he would never see another image in his life made it difficult not to relive it in his darkness.

He turned a corner, focusing on the tapping of his cane to distract himself from his thoughts. The park was not too far away, he would sit on the swing and remember when he was younger and would swing with his eyes shut. He could kid himself that he was young again and Petunia was about to call him and he would open his eyes and follow. Silly, stupid, juvenile, even naïve, but it helped…

He had thought that with Hermione and Ron present he would feel more connected to the Wizarding world. But as none of them are allowed to do magic, he feels just as isolated as every summer; more so that it's only on his walks that he can actually be alone. Alone to think about what's happening. His only real connection to the Wizarding world is through the Daily Prophet and things aren't looking good.

The Ministry is practically divided; those that believe Fudge and think he's doing the right thing and those that don't believe him and are trying to discredit him at any opportunity and get him kicked out of office. Of course with that discrediting comes a lot of Harry-bashing. How can Fudge rely on the word, and I repeat the word, of a lunatic and a fifteen-year-old wizard that a dead man has come back to life? Just thinking about it made him feel sick. He did, however, feel a rush of affection towards the Minister who, despite his present situation, hasn't revealed the Dark Mark. Although it would the physical proof that the rest of the Ministry is calling for, Harry didn't even want to think about how they would interpret Harry Potter having the Dark Mark.

He had just stopped the swing and was sitting when he heard voices. Someone was singing a loud, crude song. He could hear the soft ticking noise of several racing bikes and others laughing. It was Dudley Dursley and his faithful gang.

Harry scowled and wondered who they were going to beat up tonight. When he had first got back they had ganged up on him. Thankfully, Hermione had been there and had told them, quite calmly, that if they didn't leave Harry alone she would be reporting them to the police for violating the Anti-discrimination Act. They'd left him alone after that.

Harry bowed his head, his hair tickling his face as it fell to hide him. He hadn't got it cut since summer had started and it was growing quite long. He didn't mind, it hid him. He didn't need it out of his face anymore and if less people could stare, who was it hurting?

His stomach clenched painfully as he remembered last night. He'd received his first letter from Sirius this summer. At first he was excited, ripping the letter open with the enthusiasm of a child, then dejectedly handing the letter to Hermione to read. He hadn't said much, just to be ready the next day to be picked up. Hermione tried to cheer him up by arguing that he probably couldn't say much in case the letter got intercepted. Harry sighed and got up; he should probably be heading home. Hermione and Ron were getting almost unbearable about his walks.

Harry turned down Magnolia Crescent and heard Dudley and his gang further down the street. He back up and took a more scenic route not wanting them to see him by himself. As terrified as Dudley was of him, it hadn't stopped his cousin's relentless torture about his perpetual nightmares. He shivered as, apparently, the sun finally set and the temperature dropped a few degrees. His mind finally turned onto a topic that it always eventually made it to; Hogwarts. He had no idea if it was still possible to do magic while blind. He'd tried on the Hogwarts Express against Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle but he had no idea if it had worked or not. Even if he could, miraculously, still perform magic fine then what about Potions, or Herbology? And then how would he be able to take notes or write essays? He'd been practicing writing but he was hopeless, missing the paper, smudging the ink, writing over the top of previous letters or leaving too large a space between letters. He supposed that the teachers might accept Braille essays but it was going to be hard, near impossible.

He sighed, turning down Wisteria Walk, hoping he would at least avoid Dudley's gang if he couldn't avoid his cousin. Tap, tap, tap. He rubbed his arm, goose bumps rising along his skin as a cool breeze blew across him. Dumbledore would let him stay at Hogwarts though, he thought. Even if he couldn't do magic, it would be safest for him. He dodged someone's dustbin, maybe Hagrid would let him live with him in his hut.

Silence.

He stopped suddenly, his cane about an inch from the pavement, frozen. There was no sound whatsoever. The distant murmur of cars had ceased, the whisper of leaves brushing through the trees had gone. The wind had dropped. And the temperature…it was dropping, leaving him colder and colder and colder…

It wasn't right; it might be night but its still summer. And the sound, where did the sound go? He strained his ears into the silence, trying to find something, anything. Then; a distant shout, a clatter of feet, and a long, cold rattling breath that froze Harry's insides.

"Harry! Run, Harry! Get away!" someone yelled, who Harry pinpointed as the source of falling feet. He didn't think, he just turned and ran….straight into a light post. Ha, you still see stars when you're blind, he thought absentmindedly. The running man pulled Harry up by the back of his collar and guided him. "Harry" he puffed and Harry recognised his voice with a jolt; Sirius. "Dementors. Ten or so. You hide, run." He was desperately out of breath as he stopped and pushed Harry to keep running. "Run, hide, leave me!" he yelled and Harry heard him start running in the opposite direction.

Harry froze, again. He'd dropped his cane along the way and there was no way he could possibly get anywhere without it. Even if his godfather and these Dementors vanished he would have to crawl home. He made a split decision. He spun around, pulled out his wand and, thinking of leaving with Sirius, screamed Expecto Patronum.