Discaimer: Not Mine. I never plan on owning Harry Potter. Ever.

Harry was shocked out of his street gazing by an owl suddenly flying into his face. He sighed. 'Ruddy owls,' he thought to himself, 'always somebody wanting to make sure that the hero child is alive.'

He took the letter that had been attached to the leg of the large tawny owl. The owl hooted, stared at Harry for a second, then flew out the window again. It was from Dumbledore. Lovely. Just lovely.

Harry,

I do hope that this letter finds you well. -Harry tries not to tear the parchment up after reading that line alone- I can not begin to imagine how you feel right now, Harry. I will tell you, Harry, that I had both of my parents well into my ninetieth year on Earth. They helped me through times that I needed them the most, as all parents do. They were my support. I do not know where I would be without them.

I want you to have the same support that I had, Harry. That job was supposed to fall to Sirius. An old mans mistake, I know. You could not begin to imagine how I feel at this point. Your parents, James and Lily, were two of my favorite students. Lily was bright, talented, witty, kind, and extraordinarily vindictive at times, I must say. James was smart, kind, but yes, Harry, he was arrogant. Not in a bad way, though. I can tell you for certain that it was an act. A show.

Sirius himself was another story. A crazed, starved hippogriff wouldn't have kept that man away from the Department of Mysteries, Harry. He believed that his godson, his beloved godson, was in danger. The reincarnation of Merlin himself wouldn't have been able to stop him, Harry. He loved you. I ask that you let him continue to love you, from beyond the veil. Oh, that was an awful, unintended pun, I am sorry.

Harry, we will be coming to get you tomorrow morning at six o'clock sharp. Please be ready to leave then. We will travel by Portkey.

Harry, if you listen to just one thing I say in this letter, please let it be that you are not guilty for the death of Sirius. He loved you. Do not lie, you would have done the same for him, and you and I both know it. Better him die for you, than he die by you, don't you think?

Albus Dumbledore

Harry reread the letter at least five times. He wasn't sure whether or not he could be angry with the Headmaster of Hogwarts. Had it been the mans fault? Not entirely. Had Dumbledore intended for the death of Sirius? Not likely. Had Harry blamed the man entirely? Yes.

Noticing that it was now dark outside, Harry stood from the chair by the window. He had been sitting on the stiff backed chair for almost four straight hours, and was slightly sore.

Walking to his bed, Harry caught sight of himself in the full length mirror that was on the inside of the door to his wardrobe.

He looked at sight, to be sure. His hair, usually sticking up in all directions, was now laying flat. It was about an inch long, but still black as ever. His face held a tight, pinched look. Almost as if his cheek bones had grown without alerting his skin.

Speaking of his skin, it looked pale, almost yellow in color. His once delicately pale face was too Snape-like for his well being. Then came his eyes. Once full of life, happiness, innocence, and joy, they were now dark, and mysterious.

His clothes, no longer the cast offs of Dudley, had fit him perfectly at the beginning of summer. They fell off of his bony shoulders now. He had to wear a belt to keep the pants on his hips, and not his ankles.

He sank wearily onto his lumpy bed, sighing contentedly. Tired and sore from a morning full of gardening and cleaning, his aching muscles reveled in the relaxed position they were now in.

He thought back to the events of little less than a month ago. He saw Sirius fall into the veil over and over again. It reminded him of the one time he had been allowed to go to the cinema, and the film was not working properly. It kept playing one shot over and over again. Of course, Vernon had blamed Harry, and had never allowed him to the cinema again.

Sirius mocking Bellatrix, the look of utter shock on Sirius face, then, no more Sirius. Ever again.

No! he wouldn't think like that! He had to get passed it. It wouldn't help. It does not do to dwell on dreams, and forget to live! That was it.

Not working. Harry felt his resolves breaking. For the first time since he had lost his godfather over a month ago, Harry Potter cried. He cried himself to sleep.

Waking up the next morning, at five, Harry felt more alive than he had in the past month. He looked at the calendar and took note of the date. July thirty first. His sixteenth birthday.

Noticing the mirror again, Harry nearly fell over in shock. He looked different than he had the night before! Not seven hours ago he had looked like hell warmed over! Now he was taller, almost the same height as Ron! His shoulders were broader, as well. His skin was back to its usually pale color, and it was almost healthy looking!

He got up and dressed, noticing that his clothes fit better, packed, and went down stairs. Nobody in the house was awake besides him. If it weren't for the inhuman snores echoing from upstairs, he would assume he was there alone.

Making himself toast, he sat at the kitchen window, watching the sun rise.

'Ding!' Who would be there at this hour, ringing a bloody doorbell? That only served to give him a headache, and cause an abnormality in the rhythmic snores. Honestly, it was like synchronized nasal passage blockage.

Harry opened the door, and found only one person one the other side. "Dumbledore?" he asked, not exactly meaning to sound as suspicious as he had. The man merely smiled sadly.

"Yes, Harry. 'Dumbledore'." Harry just stared at him blankly for a few moments. Then his eyes narrowed.

"How do I know you're really Dumbledore?" Harry asked, eyeing the other person closely.

"How many other people do you know that are willing to dress in purple robes?" Dumbledore answered. Harry noticed, almost for the first time, that he was wearing vivid purple robes.

"True. But I would be more suspicious if you weren't wearing atrocious robes," Harry answered swiftly. "What was written across the top of the mirror of Erised?"

"Erised stra erhu oyt ube cafru oyt on woshi," Dumbledore said. Harry continued to eye him critically. That had defiantly been too broad of a question.

"How many turns?" Harry asked. The real Dumbledore would know that.

"Three," came the reply. Harry saw that 'Dumbledore' was looking over Harry's shoulder, and his eyes were wandering around the house. Harry moved out of the way of the door.

"Come on in then… Mad Eye." Harry nearly laughed when 'Dumbledore's' eyes widened in shock.

"How did you…?" he asked. Harry leaned forward and pulled him into the house by his robe.

"I was not lying when I said atrocious, Moody. Robes like that will get the whole street talking, honestly. This from the man that's all high n' mighty because he can practice constant vigilance," he said dully. Harry closed the door, only to see two Dumbledores in the hallway that lead to the kitchen when he turned around

Dumbledore, the real one, looked very happy, for some strange reason or another. "Well done, Harry. Alastor, I believe you owe me a bag of Lemon Drops. Are you ready to leave, Harry?" Dumbledore asked. Moody was himself again. The mans eye was spinning madly in his head, which creeped Harry out a bit.

"I will be if he stops doing that," Harry muttered, and began to walk up the stairs. In his room, Harry put his MP3 player in his pocket. He had stolen it from Dudley a few days before. He had found that listening to music made him less likely to lash out.

It also gave his blank stares a sort of rhythm.

Harry had spent hours trying to cope with Sirius' death back at Hogwarts. It didn't work so well. He'd set fire to the room of requirement. Twice. And they say that red heads have bad tempers…

In the end, Harry found it much easier to not acknowledge the incident, and hope it went away…

Remembering what he was supposed to be doing, Harry picked up his trunk and walked to the door of his room. He tripped when he got to the first stair. He fell down all thesteps, landing between two people. Hecursed vehemently, and picked himself up.

Bloody great, his arm was broken, and on top of that, the back of his head was pounding. He tensed the muscle around his arm, and concentrated. A glowing yellow light appeared around the area of the break. With a 'pop', the bone was healed. He heard to gasps.

"What was that, Potter?" barked Moody. Harry leaned against the wall.

"What was what?" Harry asked slyly, not looking at the man, rather rubbing the back of his head. Yep, a lump was already forming.

"Whatever you just did!" Moody exploded. Harry didn't even blink. A vein in Moody's neck was throbbing.

"What did I do?" Harry asked. Now Moody looked ready to attack him. Harry almost took a step back.

"You just healed your arm!" Moody thundered. Harry carefully raised an eyebrow.

"If you knew that, why did you ask me what I had done?" Harry asked. Moody muttered incomprehensibly for a few moments, before Dumbledore stepped forward.

"Are you all right, Harry?" Dumbledore asked. Harry nodded. "Good, then. Here, take this," Dumbledore was handing him a book.

Harry paled, but he took it anyway. He felt a very familiar pull behind his naval, then he landed at twelve Grimmauld place. He stared hyperventilating. Damn, he hated port keys. They always reminded him of the third task, back in his fourth year.

Suddenly two strong hands grabbed his shoulders and gently pulled him to his feet. Harry had his eyes tightly shut, and he was taking deep breaths.

"Can we just take a taxi next time, maybe?" Harry asked. "I really dislike port keys," mumbled Harry.

"Are you all right, dear?" Molly Weasley asked.

"I'm fine," Harry said automatically. 'Yeah, she's believing that one, Potter,' Harry thought to himself. He had said it with such a lack of conviction that he almost laughed. Harry noticed Moody hadn't come with them. Odd.

"Of course you are, dear," Mrs. Weasley said placating. She led him into the kitchen, and sat him down. "Are you hungry, dear? When was the last time you ate anything? How about a little soup?"

"Ah, no, thank you, Mrs. Weasley. I'm not really hungry. I ate eh… No, I'm not really hungry," Harry said. Mrs. Weasley's eyes narrowed.

"When. Was. The. Last. Time. You. Ate?" she asked calmly. Harry appeared to be thoughtful for a moment.

"Two –ckgckgs- ago," replied Harry.

"Excuse us, Harry, but we didn't exactly catch that. Care to repeat it?" Dumbledore asked from behind him. Harry turned to him and glared fiercely.

"Two weeks!" Harry hissed. Suddenly he had four very angry people ganging up on him. Not just angry, but fully trained adults. "Oh! Hey! Not cool! What are you doing? Hey, put me down! Ow!" Harry had been forcefully lifted and pushed into a chair. "I told you I'm not hungry!"

Dumbledore, Mrs. Weasley, Tonks, and Remus glared at him. "Okay, I'll eat if you stop looking at me like you'll kill me!" Harry surrendered. His plate was piled high with food. As soon as he took a bite, fifteen years worth of appetite came back to him. It took two hours for him to

be done.

POV change to Dumbledore
"So, Harry, just how not hungry are you?" Albus asked. Harry didn't even look up from his plate of food. Albus saw Tonks looking at Harry in surprise. "Yes, Nymphadora?"

"He can eat more than Kingsley," the metamorphmagus remarked. "And that man can out eat every other auror in the ministry. That is not normal, professor," Tonks said knowingly. "The only time people eat like that is during magical maturation."

Albus studied Harry a bit. He had known since Harry was a toddler that the little boy would grow to be quite powerful. It had been in his eyes. How often had he visited the Potter home, and had his beard lit on fire, or seen Peter being thrown across the room? Harry was powerful, and was never afraid to use his power.

It seemed, however, that from living with the Dursleys, Harry was unknowingly blocking his power. "Harry?" Albus asked suddenly. Harry was started out of his eating, and looked at Albus. "Did the Dursleys ever say anything to you about magic, before you got your letter?"

Harry stuttered for a second, would not make eye contact with anybody, and then sighed. "Yes." That's it?

"And?" prompted Remus. Harry looked as if he were seriously considering escape. His deep jade green eyes darted from the door to the window.

"And… What? Imagination was banned at that house. The subject never came up much, OK? Can we move onto a different topic, now?" Harry asked, his voice harsh. Albus leaned forward.

"Harry, did any of the Dursleys ever hit you?" Albus asked. A stray, unidentifiable, emotion ran across Harry's seemingly blank eyes. Then he stood up.

"That's it. I'm going back to bed," Harry said, trying to leave. Albus and Remus both stood up quickly and stopped him. "Damn."

"Harry, answer the question," Albus said sternly. He watched as Harry sighed, and pulled a hand through his short black hair.

"What was the question?" Harry asked.

"Did any of the Dursleys ever hit you?" Albus asked, he was slowly becoming impatient with this diversionary tactic.

"Eh…? Other than Dudley, no. Can I go? I didn't get much sleep last night…" Harry drifted off.

Albus was concerned now. Harry hadn't been eating or sleeping? Not good! "Yes, Harry, go to sleep. But, it is eight thirty, and I have no doubt that your friends will be up soon," Albus said. As soon as Harry was out the door, he turned to Tonks, Remus, and Molly. All three of them looked worried. "That did not go well," Albus sighed, sinking back into his chair. Molly started making coffee.

"Have you told him of your plans, Albus?" Remus asked, slowly. Remus did not agree with the plans for Harry, but it had been the only thing Albus could think of.

"No, Remus, not yet. He will be told when he wakes up." Remus rolled his eyes.

"You bloody coward," muttered Lupin.

"You're hiding stuff from Harry again, aren't you?" a sharp voice from the doorway startled all in the kitchen. Hermione Granger was standing there, arms crossed, and a very angry look. "This had better not be something that will hurt him, Dumbledore."

"It is not, miss Granger. I promise. I would not do something like that to him again. I couldn't," Albus said, looking down at the table. Hermione sat down next to him, not taking her eyes off him the entire time.

"You care about him, don't you?" she asked softly.

"As if he were my own son, Miss Granger. I couldn't stand to see him hurt again. Not because of me." Hermione looked him over again, then nodded.

"Then I trust you," she said, simply, firmly. The sounds of people waking, and Harry screaming at them to shut up, filled the house.

It was bound to be an eventful day, at the very least.

Good place to stop, no? I think it is, yeah. shall be updated soon, I think.

Now, should Harry befriend Draco Malfoy at school, or not?

Should Draco be good, or evil?

Will Draco help the order?

I'm trying not to make this a slash story, because I've read so many that they seem cliché. So, what should the ships be?

Review and tell me, then!

MountainDewIsDeadly