Chapter 1

Harry lay in his bed at the Dursley's, crying for the third time that day. Despair flooded him as he pondered his life up to this point, especially now that Sirius was gone, and the whole prophecy had been conveyed to him. Everything just seemed so hollow and meaningless now, devoid of the essence that it once had. Thoughts swirled through his head, one after another, assaulting him. Why did everyone have to get hurt around him? Why did they have to die on him? Specifically, why did Sirius have to die?

'It's your fault,' a voice whispered in the back of his head. 'You fell for the trap and dragged all those people into the fray with you. Your friends were hurt because of you. Sirius died because of you.'

Sobbing now, Harry knew that the voice was right, it was all his fault, it was always his fault. Because of him, his parents had died, Cedric had met his end, and now Sirius was gone too. He choked at the pain and tightness in his chest, his guilt burdening him to his core. Various images of all the times he had seen people be hurt on his account flickered through his mind unbidden. Ron on the ground after the chessboard in first year. Hermione stiff as a board after being petrified in second year. All the injuries of third year, including Ron's broken leg, Hermione's bruises and scratches, and all the damage Sirius received whilst fighting Lupin on his behalf. This all flew behind his eyes, increasing that grasping grip on his chest, clutching and cloying its way at his very being.

Gasping, he barely managed to roll over onto his side, as more recent events started floating through his head. The damage that had been wrought on Hermione, Ron, Luna, Neville and Ginny when they had followed him to the ministry frightened him. Nobody would have been hurt if he hadn't been a fool to fall for such a pathetic trap. He had so many other options, but instead had tried to rush in himself, in turn, causing the exact opposite of what he wanted, with a battle and Sirius being killed.

Blackness crept into Harry's vision now, as he choked in another gasp of air, no longer in control of his lungs as his chest constricted. Trying to will himself to breathe didn't help, and he was starting to notice the darkness looming at the edges of his eyes, making it harder to think.

'Why bother,' that voice spoke in his head again. 'They would be better off without you anyway. Just being around you causes them pain and suffering; they could be happy without you.'

With that, Harry took one more strangled pant of air, letting the black completely cloud his vision.

The next morning, Harry awoke with the worst headache he had ever had and feeling just as miserable as the night before. He groaned as he looked at the clock he had fixed, noting that it was almost 11. Thank God the Dursley's had left him alone that summer, he couldn't be bothered to deal with them right now; it felt like he had been run over by a lorry. Sighing, he slowly rolled himself over to look at the wall, wincing slightly as he did so; he stared at the calendar he had placed there, counting the days until they would let him leave. At least this year he had been given an actual date, about a week into the summer; they were to get him the day after his birthday at 11:00. Why after, he wasn't sure, but it bothered him to no end; usually they made an effort to get him before then, and he was feeling neglected more than average this year. He lazily crossed off the day, realizing only then it was his birthday.

Smiling weakly, then grimacing at the pain that caused, he wished that it could be tomorrow already so that he could see his friends again. They had barely exchanged any letters over the holiday so far, and what had been sent was vague and terse on both ends. Maybe seeing them in person would make things easier.

'No,' the voice in the back of his mind spoke. 'It won't make things easier, nothing will.'

Suddenly the doorbell rang, sounding like a shot ringing through the otherwise still house, making Harry's head throb in agony. Laying there unmoving, he willed the door be answered before they rang again. His wish went ungranted though when after a minute, it chimed again, buzzing in his head. Grumbling, he fumbled his way out of his room and down the stairs to the door, just as the bell went off a third time, almost launching him to the floor from the sound.

Annoyed and in pain, he ripped open the door, only to be met by a serene looking Albus Dumbledore, standing there in a muggle pinstripe suit, with his beard tucked into the belt. He gaped, unsure what to say about it, until Dumbledore spoke, startling him out of his haze.

"You are ready to go, I presume?" he inquired, eyes scanning up and down Harry's obviously bedraggled appearance.

"B-but… t-tomorrow…" Harry stammered, unable to process what was happening whilst his head ached so miserably.

"Just so happens to be today, my dear boy," Albus replied, his eyes twinkling though maybe not as brightly as usual. "Now, let us get your things and be off."

With that, he swept his way past Harry, into the quiet house, heading for the stairs. After a stunned moment, Harry turned and went to follow, then stumbled into the wall, as a pulsing wave of pain pierced his head, leaving black spots in his vision. He slid down the wall, unable to breath, doing his best to keep himself together. It wasn't enough though and with a strangled groan, he succumbed to darkness.


Albus stood by the door, after ringing the bell to Number 4 Privet Drive, waiting patiently for someone to answer. When no one did after a minute or so, he rang again. Concern started to fill him when, after another minute had passed, no one had yet to answer. Ringing a third time, he vowed to only wait half a minute more before he broke in to find out what was happening.

The door suddenly flung open in front of Albus, and a scraggly, clearly unkempt Harry Potter revealed himself. Albus was slightly agape at his appearance, but more concerned with the look in the boy's eyes; they held a pain that seemed far too deep for one such his age.

Taking a closer look at Harry, he asked, "You are ready to go, I presume?"

"B-but… t-tomorrow," the boy stuttered, clear bewilderment on his face.

'Ah, he must have lost track of the day; that's rather unusual of him' Albus thought, while saying, "Just so happens to be today, my dear boy. Now let us get your things and we'll be off."

With that, he proceeded to enter the house, heading towards the stairs that he knew led to Harry's room. Halfway up the flight, he heard a thump and saw Harry slumped against the wall at the base of the stairs. Something was wrong with the boy, as he looked like he was unable to breathe, or hold himself up any longer. By the time Albus reached Harry, he had whined and slipped to the floor, unconscious.

Albus stooped and checked on Harry, noticing that he wasn't breathing. Pulling out his wand, he cast a resuscitation spell on him, relieved when it took, and the boy gasped in a breath of air. Hovering him to what he presumed to be Harry's room, Albus lay Harry in bed and then cast a Rennervate to wake him.

Harry moaned, then bolted upright, whimpering. His hands clutched at his head and pain danced in his eyes. Albus had never seen Harry like this, and it startled him greatly. What was causing so much agony, that it had made the boy collapse?

"Whatever's the matter?" Albus queried, hoping to receive an honest response.

"Headache," Harry cringed, as though the word itself hurt him.

"Ah," Albus said, knowing that wasn't the whole reason, but unwilling to press further at the moment. Reaching into his suit jacket, he pulled out a small phial of headache relief potion that he always carried with him, proffering it to Harry. "You are lucky I always have one of these with me; never know when the odd headache will spring up."

Harry grabbed the bottle, opening it and tipping back the contents. He shuddered and grimaced, but when he opened his eyes again, they looked brighter and less pained, which Albus was grateful to see.

"Thanks for that, sir," Harry said.

"No need to thank me, my dear boy. Also, I think that you've earned the right to call me Albus now." It was true, Harry definitely deserved that at least, after the events of last year; the boy had been through hell and back, some of it at Albus' own fault.

"Okay, sir- I, um, mean okay Albus," Harry replied, slightly shyly, his head bowed. "Um, do you… do you think you could call me Harry?"

"Of course, Harry," Albus smiled, glad to see that Harry seemed better, though still determined to find out the true cause of what was going on. "Now, we had best get your things and be off. We are already behind schedule."

With that, he swept his wand across the room, zooming Harry's few scattered possessions to his trunk. Before he could close it though, Harry stopped him by placing a hand on his arm.

"Just give me a moment," he said. "I have a few more things to grab." Then, oddly, he proceeded to climb under his bed. Albus could hear the faint scratching sound of something being shifted, a momentary pause, then more quiet sounds, and finally Harry emerged with an armful of goods. This puzzled Albus, because his spell should have gathered all of his belongings in the entire house, but clearly these were protected somehow.

Promptly, Harry deposited these belongings in his trunk and sealed the lid closed. Grabbing Hedwig's cage (the owl was a smart girl and had already gone on ahead), he stated, "Now I'm ready."

Nodding in satisfaction, Albus shrunk down the trunk and cage, placing them in his obviously expanded pockets, before beckoning Harry lead the way out.


Harry groaned awake, then jolted up, remembering collapsing, only for a wave of agony to sweep through his brain. Grabbing his head, he willed the pain to stop.

"Whatever's the matter?" Albus' piercing voice suddenly asked him.

"Headache," Harry barely managed to get out, grimacing as anguish seared through him.

"Ah," Dumbledore knowingly hummed. Digging through his pocket, he pulled out a phial, offering it with a simple, "You are lucky I always have one of these with me; never know when the odd headache might spring up."

Harry snatched the potion and chugged it back, wincing at the taste, then instantly feeling a release of pressure and tightness in his skull, though it did nothing to relieve him of the clenching in his chest.

"Thanks for that, sir," Harry practically sighed.

"No need to thank me, my dear boy," Dumbledore dismissed him. "Also, I think that you've earned the right to call me Albus now."

Taken aback slightly at the offer, but seeing this as an opportunity, Harry answered, "Okay, sir- I, um mean, okay Albus. Um, do you… do you think you can call me Harry?" He had always hated it when the old man called him boy; it stung too much after what he had been through with the Dursley's.

"Of course, Harry," Albus replied, almost causing Harry to smile. "Now, we had best get your things and be off. We are already behind schedule."

Harry watched as Albus magically gathered almost all of his belongings, except what he had hidden under the floorboard. Before the headmaster could close the lid on his trunk, he stopped him, saying, "Just give me a moment, I have a few more things to grab." Crawling under the bed, he lifted the loose plank, pulling out his stash of items, then replaced it, shimmying back out with his arms full.

With them deposited safely in his trunk, he grabbed up Hedwig's cage. "Now I'm ready."

Albus simply waved his wand, and they shrunk. He then placed them in his pockets, and gestured Harry lead the way.

Stepping out into the hall, his footsteps reverberated in the silence. The Dursley's were definitely not here, and he vaguely remembered them mentioning that they wouldn't be here when 'his kind' came to pick him up. Heading down the stairs, it finally struck him that yesterday had been his 16th birthday, and that he had spent most of the day crying, lost in sorrow. 'How pathetic,' that voice berated him again. 'But you always have been weak.'

Trying his best to shake off the voice, he exited the house, never once looking back. Outside in the drive, where Uncle Vernon's car was normally parked, was a sleek, black car. Albus walked over to it, and climbed into the driver's seat, gesturing for Harry to come to the passenger side. Shaking his head at the absurdity of his headmaster driving a vehicle, Harry clambered into the car, buckling himself in as soon as seated; he wasn't taking any chances. Once firmly strapped in, Harry turned to look at Albus holding the wheel and gasped in shock and horror; he hadn't noticed until now being too wrapped up in the pain cloying at the top of his chest, but Dumbledore's right hand was blackened and withered, as though it had been burnt after being mummified. It seemed to spread to just up past the base of his wrist, where he could faintly make out a leather bracelet at the point that it stopped.

"What happened, professor?" Harry breathed. He could scarcely believe that anything could ever happen to the headmaster; he seemed untouchable.

"I will answer on the way," Albus supplied.

"Where are we going?" Harry queried.

Albus' eyes flashed their usual merry twinkle as he just put the car in gear and backed out of the drive, and they were off.