Harry Potter and the Tome of Truths
by InkCessation

Rating: PG13
Ship: Harry & Hermione
Canon: Books 1 - 5
Genre: Action/Adventure, Romance
Status: In progress
Length: 8,469 words in 3 chapters
Published: 20 Jul 2004
Last updated: 6 Sep 2004

Friendships are challenged, Snape's a jerk and Fluffy makes a return; see Harry through his sixth year and the
adventures that take place during.

From the Unofficial Portkey Archive: https://portkey-archive.org/story/2596/

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1. Howling in the Morning

Authors Note: Well, I’m finally getting ready to contribute my story to a website; that site being PortKey, for reasons
that should be obvious. This will be a novel length upon completion; the way it’s planned out right now, it should end
up being Goblet of Fire length. It’s a Mystery/Adventure before anything else, I’m attempting to write a story as
realistic as possible using the canon that’s available; so I’m sorry to say Harry won’t magically fall in love with
Hermione overnight, the aforementioned woman won’t become a dirty slut, and the rating NC17 has no place here.

This story follows Harry through his sixth year at Hogwarts, where as seems to be the case, strange things start
occurring. Beyond the usual looming threat of Voldemort, there’s the obligatory new Defense teacher, creepy letters from
no one, another tournament (Though our favorite redhead is the one taking part this time) and a whole shite load of
friendship troubles.

I hope you’ll all enjoy; this is my first FanFiction and any comments would be appreciated, perhaps excluding flamers. I
don’t have a Beta, so… Here’s hoping my errors are minimal. Here we go!

Chapter 1: Howling in the Morning

Small screams permeated the windows of this modest suburban home, with its white carpets and its white walls; walls
covered with precious memories of a trio of individuals, all smiling and laughing. Upon a mantelpiece was a family
portrait; a dark-haired, bespectacled man, a beautiful red-headed woman with dazzling green eyes and a small child, who
appeared some physical meshing of the two adults. The young boy, lodged comfortably into his mother’s arms, gripped
tightly onto her index finger, with an appearance of half incredible joy, and half unquenchable tiredness.

The outside screams continued to invade the silent homestead; but mixed in were bouts of laughter, and raucous singing
from hoards children, most likely enjoying weighing themselves down with candy, on a warm Halloween night. A loud cry
echoed through the living space; and as if on call, James Potter bounded loudly from the attached kitchen, and up the
long ivory staircase, making a sharp right, and stopping just before he reached his child’s door, to the sound of a soft
singing voice.

‘Dream, my child, until the dawn,
Wakes the daisies on the lawn,
Dream you float in a boat,
Under starry heavens;
Dream of brooks and singing birds,
Scented breezes, tender words…’

James slowly opened the door, making sure to abstain from making any noise, and walked into the dimly lit bedroom. In
the far corner, was a small crib, and facing it, with her back to him was the beautiful singing voice; undisturbed by
his entrance. James leaned against the wall by the door, taking in the sight before him, unable to keep from grinning to
himself.

‘Things serene and lovely;
Fairies, Lambs and Butterflies,
Sleepy clouds in summer skies,
- Sleep all night in my sight…’

He watched as the woman rose from the chair she’d been sitting in; bent over and placed a small kiss on the baby; lying,
now silently, within the crib. James slowly made his way over, sliding has arms casually around her shoulders, looking
down at their son.

‘Why do you have to sing him those ridiculous Muggle songs?’ He asked playfully, resting his head lazily onto her
shoulder.

‘Well I suppose you could do the singing if you want,’ Lily quipped.

‘Naw, you know, I think he’ll turn out alright; even with the Muggle poisoning.’

Lily spun around and rolled her eyes slightly; the outdoor festivities continued, as the couple slowly wrapped their
arms around one another and stood silently, eyes closed for a great long while. The darkness outside became more
pronounced, causing the room itself to become near lightless; minus the small candle on the little child’s dresser; and
not until the two of them heard a slight scurry on the floor from outside in the hall did they move. A small draft had
closed the door, and as quickly as it took for James to hear the sound, he had his wand out and pointed directly at the
door.

‘Stay here with Harry,’ he muttered.

Then without so much as a second glance, James opened the door, slowly peering each way down the corridor before
stepping out of the room. And again, he heard a slight scuttle, this time coming from downstairs. He turned left, and
made his way to the head of the stairs, peaking around the corner to see if anyone was there, and what he saw, instead
of bothering him made him smile. He shook his head slightly, then bound down the stairs, two at a time.

‘What were you trying to do Peter, give me a heart attack?’

James laughed; approaching the now human form of Peter Pettigrew, shaking the short mans hand and leading him into the
living space. Hastily the pair sat down on opposite couches and James was a bit taken aback by his friends less then
pristine appearance; granted he never looked great or anything, but he looked like he’d suddenly lost a lot of weight,
and a lot of hair in a very short amount of time.

‘Peter, what’s up? You look horrible.’

‘W-what? No, I’m j-just, a little tired is all.’

James raised a singular eyebrow and took in Peter’s profuse sweating and jittery attitude; his hands clasped almost
painfully onto knees.

‘Seriously Peter,’ James started, ‘Is there something wrong?’

‘N-n-n-no, nothing’s wrong James,’ he stuttered.

But James noticed something else as Peter had responded; his eyes, darting repeatedly through their front window, and as
James’ eyes followed, he caught a momentary glimpse of a green flash before he’d reacted. He pulled out his wand with
frightening speed, and shouted ‘STUPEFY’ at his guest.

He dove over the back of his couch and for the stairs, yelling at the top of his lungs.

‘LILY! HE’S HERE!’

As he made it to the first step; the front door, immediately behind him exploded in a shower of fire and shattered wood,
sending James hurling forward on the steps. He continued to climb, aiming his wand behind him shouting random spells at
the intruders, while dodging various green whooshes of light that came his way.

‘LILY! TAKE HARRY AND AAAAAARGH…’

A curse had caught his right leg as he’d made it to the top step, and it felt to James as though his leg had all but
been ripped from his body, and as he looked down, after pulling himself safely behind a corner, he realized he wasn’t
too far from the truth. His knee only appeared to be attached to the rest of his leg by a small amount of skin and
muscle; blood was pouring freely from the wound.

He continued shouting to Lily in between throwing curses at the intruders. At one point, when glancing down the hall he
saw a bright rainbow of colors shining from his son’s room, and he hoped against hope she was escaping. Lousy
anti-apparition wards. Almost as suddenly as the onslaught had begun, the curses ceased being fired at him, and a low
hissing voice became prominent above the crackling fire that was now rising up his family’s walls.

‘Leave them to me,’ it said, ‘Take what you want.’

James closed his eyes tightly, listening to his house being pillaged, smelling the acrid smell of his home being
engulfed in fire. Engulfed in fire. Engulfed in…

‘INCENDIO,’ he called above all the commotion, unfortunately from the brief glance he got, he’d missed Voldemort and
speared one of his followers right in the face. The Death Eater’s screams were added to the noise, ravaging his sense of
hearing. The sound was such he couldn’t even hear his calls to his wife anymore. James decided, regardless of what it
meant for himself, he had to go see that they’d found a way to escape; so heaving himself onto his one leg, he hopped
painfully forward.

‘Just a few more steps,’ he muttered.

He was vaguely aware of the green flash of light that had hit the floor next to him; but he couldn’t worry about that.
There was only enough worry for Lily; for Harry.

‘Almost –‘

But before he’d even finished the thought; his body sunk to a low heap on the ground, engulfed in an eerie green light.

James’ son jerked awake, hands directly covering his mouth to prevent the vomit that had decided to make its presence in
his throat. Sweat was pouring down his face, drenching his skin, and the clothes he was wearing. Struggling to cease the
heavy beating of his heart, and the rapid gasps for air; the black haired bespectacled youth, stared blankly around his
surroundings, not really taking them in.

Harry’s dreams had been extremely unnerving for most of the summer, though he couldn’t see any deeper meaning behind the
trips to Godric’s Hollow, to dark graveyards and the Ministry of Magic. Somehow the very blunt, obvious nature of the
misery behind these dreams left Harry wondering the point of them. He attempted to avoid sleep if at all possible, for
these dreams were having an incredibly negative impact on Harry.

He turned his head to the left. Sheets of rain ravaged the windows of Privet Drive; seldom had such an onslaught of cold
and wet weather lasted this long. Harry, still gasping for air, bitterly remembered arriving back at the Dursley's
household, already having to shield his head on the short trip from the car to the front door. That was two and a half
weeks ago, and it had only gotten worse. There was about an hour, the week before, that it had turned into a small
drizzle, unfortunately for Harry, he'd been in the middle of dinner with the Dursley's (an oddity in itself) and he
couldn't excuse himself in time to send Hedwig on a delivery.

Which brought Harry to another set of depressing thoughts (The type he’d been plagued with all summer), as his head
lolled off the edge of his bed, while both his feet were planted firmly on the wall. He'd only received two letters all
of the summer, and it came at the cost of Hedwig's health. He couldn't quite stand being isolated as he was, so he
forced Hedwig to deliver a message to Ron and Hermione (Conveniently avoiding talk of himself) just three or four days
before. She came back with nice long responses from each of them, unfortunately the trip did some damage to her wing and
without her, ironically, he couldn’t get help for her, because she was his only contact to the outside world.

It seemed that the rain not only deterred Owls from coming by, but people too. He certainly hadn't been able to send any
messages to members of the Order, yet not one individual had bothered to come and check that he was okay. This didn't
bother Harry too much; all their arrival would do is force Harry to get up and face their scrutiny. For without a doubt,
Harry looked far worse for wear then he himself could remember. Meals came few and far between, not because the
Dursley's were being cruel, infact they'd been downright pleasant in comparison to previous summers, but because Harry
just couldn't bring himself to rise from his bed more often then was necessary. Perhaps only to use the Washroom,
anything else was infrequent and not worthy of mention. Instead he found himself staring blankly at the ceiling, wall,
floor, desk and whatever other junk was littered about his room. Which wasn't really much, he hadn't bothered to open
his trunk, and he hadn't touched a fraction of his homework (Though, most of it wasn’t necessary, as he wasn’t even
aware what classes he’d be taking the next year at school).

Harry shifted slightly on his bed and stared longingly at the pair of letters he had, lying haphazardly on the floor;
wishing he could see Ron and Hermione now; nothing about sitting at the Dursley's alone was appealing. The only part
that made him feel any better, and he was slightly ashamed to admit it, was he knew they were both trapped alone in
utter boredom as well.

In Ron's letter; true to form, he never mentioned Sirius... He never even mentioned not mentioning Sirius. Harry played
this thought over in his mind and suddenly realized he must be incredibly tired. Nope, Ron just complained about how
he'd been subjected to the perpetual company of Ginny and Luna, who had apparently become fast friends. Harry supposed
Ron would prefer misery with those two, then misery alone though; otherwise he was sure Ron could just avoid them. The
twins, whose business had initially been booming, were also being affected by the weather it seemed; no one appeared to
want to venture out when they could drown just by standing in the street.

Hermione of course couldn't restrain herself; she spent the better part of three sheets of parchment suggesting ways in
which he could cope with his loss and another page consoling him and offering her support. Harry appreciated the thought
and everything; but the only suggestion she left from her 'essay' was the one Harry seemed to prefer most, and that was
just containing the misery and forcing other thoughts to the forefront. Not necessarily pleasant, but, at least a little
less depressing then thoughts of his Godfather. If he didn’t think about it, it couldn’t bother him; hence his
displeasure with sleeping, and the inevitable dredging up of horrible memories.

Hermione of course mentioned how eager she was to receive her O.W.L. marks; somehow Harry couldn't bring himself to be
as excited about test scores as Hermione was, but he did wonder a few times if they would be arriving soon, any bit of
post now would make him feel one-hundred times better.

Glancing at his clock and only registering the time after about five minutes of staring, Harry decided a little midnight
stroll for a bite to eat was exactly what he needed. So, slowly sitting up, several of his malnourished bones cracking
along way, he stood up, opened his door and ever so slowly crept down the stairs (casually stepping over the creaky
bottom one) and into the kitchen. Making himself a sandwich and getting a glass of water, Harry sat down at the dining
room table and slowly began to eat, admiring the sheer will of the rain to last this long; and listening to the nearly
musical howling of the wind. Harry thought, had he not lived in a cupboard for eleven years, he'd have a severe case of
cabin fever already.

While taking a large gulp of water from his cup something caught his eye outside. He wasn't entirely sure how he could
see through the darkness and the rain, and for all Harry knew he was imagining things, but he could have sworn that he
saw a dark figure flying in the distance. Polishing off his sandwich, Harry made his way upstairs a little quicker then
he may have under normal circumstances and came to a stop right near his window. Peering out, looking high and low, near
and far for the figure. Harry laughed at himself in a sort of pitying manner; upon looking again, there definitely
wasn't anything within sight. Another case of yearning for some sign of home he supposed.

He found he'd been doing that a lot. He'd hear a swish of something, and look for a spell being cast; or a crack of
something from Dudley's television, and look around hopefully for some apparated figure. Even once he thought someone
within the household had said Hogwarts, unfortunately it was just the radio; something about Soggy shorts.

Harry grabbed the single copy of the Daily Prophet he’d acquired (Courtesy of Hermione), and glanced at the front page,
and what it meant for him, and undoubtedly the entire Wizarding populous. It seemed Draco Malfoy, one of Harry’s least
favorite people in the world had been correct, the Dementors had vanished from Azkaban, the Wizard Prison; no doubt to
go and join the ranks of Lord Voldemort and the army Harry could only assume he was attempting to amass.

According to the Prophet, Minister Fudge had attempted to remove the Dementors and replace them with Ministry Aurors
under the guidance of Albus Dumbledore (Harry had thought he was dreaming; Fudge listening to Dumbledore again?).
Fifteen Aurors lost their lives, all had the dementors kiss performed on them; Ministry officials arrived soon afterward
to find the prison empty of anyone but decaying corpses.

Collapsing heavily onto his bed, Harry tossed aside the paper and closed his eyes in the darkness of his room, and took
to thinking about going back to Hogwarts. Only when he stepped off the train, he realized that no one had been on it
with him, he quickly checked every compartment but none of them contained students. They must be at Hogwarts, was all
Harry could manage to think; and for reasons he couldn’t explain he was drawn to taking the first year boats instead of
the carriages.

He hopped on the boat, only it wouldn't set off for the castle, so Harry quickly put his hands into the cold, motionless
water to paddle his way to the school. It took him what felt like several hours, but he had finally made it half way
across the lake. Completely out of breath, and sweating profusely, Harry leaned back into the boat and stared blankly
into the starry sky, and the ever bright moon. Harry felt a little tickle on his stomach, and looking down, Harry
noticed a small rat scurrying across his stomach. He picked up the rat by its tail and watched it thrash around, as if
it were expecting its fate; and then it was tossed into the lake without so much as a second glance. Just as Harry was
about to lay back down and gaze back up into the sky, the smell of smoke reached his nostrils. He looked up quickly for
the cause and his eyes glossed at the site of, not Hogwarts, not even the forbidden forest; but Hagrid's Hut, engulfed
in flames.

Just as suddenly as he'd apparently fallen asleep, Harry woke… again. Very rarely did his dreams stray from those of
death, but when they did, they were equally as annoying; though Harry had trouble finding any real meaning in them. His
scar never caused him any amount of pain; it prickled a little constantly, but Harry thought he'd be more worried if it
'stopped' doing that. Just random distresses he guessed. He’d thought the one of his parent’s death was likely the same,
for as far as he could remember, he didn’t have any memory of their death. Overactive imagination he supposed.

Harry casually glanced over to the clock to register how long he'd slept, but before he could make out the time, he
noticed that the clock appeared to be issuing large amounts of black smoke.

'What the...' was all Harry could muster.

Noticing almost immediately that the smell that had met him in his dream was now filling his small room incredibly fast;
Harry turned on the lamp next to his bed and found the cause of the disturbance. There sitting on top of his clock was a
crimson envelope, black clouds billowing from the seams. But before Harry could think of anyway to stop the inevitable
racket that was to ensue... it did. But unlike the times he'd heard a Howler before, this time there were no words
mingled in; all Harry, and he supposed half the neighborhood could hear, was a high pitched wailing that went on for
what felt an eternity, but was more likely a mere minute. Harry attempted to shield his ears from the onslaught, mighty
unsuccessfully; before the letter burst into flames in front of his eyes and his Uncle's stomping approached his door.

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2. The Least Exciting Escape

Author’s Note: I’m pleased with the response I got on my first chapter, thanks a lot everyone. Sorry its taken me so
long to get this chapter up; I’ve been incredibly busy job hunting (I have my parents threatening to kick me out unless
I pay rent), so suffice to say, writing FanFiction isn’t deemed nearly important enough by the powers that be.

This chapter is hardly as exciting or entertaining as it should be; not in my mind anyway. I find it a little
disappointing overall. Thanks for your exuberance ‘Lily Evans Potter’, your review was by far the most flattering I’ve
ever received, but now I’m worried about disappointing you. Alas, here’s the chapter, the third chapter (The shortest
I’ve written so far unfortunately) should be up within a week! Thanks for your support everyone!

Chapter 2: The Least Exciting Escape

The sheer emotional pounding Harry received from his Uncle that evening was beyond anything he'd ever experienced.
Granted; Harry understood to an extent why someone wouldn't want to be awoken by painful screams in the middle of the
night; but it wasn't as if he'd made the howler and set it loose in his room; and worse then that, it didn't make him
feel any better when his Uncle tore up his letters from Ron and Hermione, clearly blaming them for the disruption. Harry
attempted to point out that the lack of wailing from either letter should tell him they weren't responsible, but, as
stubborn as he was mean, his Uncle Vernon burned them the first chance he got. Harry supposed he got off easy
considering, but he still couldn't help but feel a little saddened at not having those letters as some form of
reassurance anymore.

Then again, the Howler appeared to be some kind of blessing in disguise, if only because it occupied Harry's thoughts
day and night. Of course he suddenly wished he was in Hermione's company, she could at least offer some tangible reason
as to why someone would send a screaming letter to him. He supposed it was some type of joke, some horrible type of
joke. Yet, he couldn’t help but feel that the voice was familiar.

Harry was a bit bothered too, by the fact that his bedroom window had been closed at the time, and for most of the
summer because of the rain. All evidence showed that it hadn't been opened either; so Harry naturally wondered if
someone had actually been 'inside' his room. He then of course remembered the dark shape he’d seen in the night, and
immediately assumed it was an Owl who’d found a way inside; after all, that was all that made sense really.

It had been three days since the howler, and Harry was sitting for breakfast with the Dursley's for the first time
since. Dudley, who actually didn't appear to have grown any wider; not to say he was any skinnier, was scarfing down all
his greasy morning favorites while Aunt Petunia made a note of cleaning his chin with a rag every two minutes or so.
Uncle Vernon, as always was reading the morning paper, keeping a running commentary to no one in particular about all
the things that bugged him; his favorite of late was 'teenagers'; apparently he'd caught wind of some kids frolicking
nude in the rain somewhere near Little Whinging.

In the nights Harry couldn’t sleep, he’d frequently hear Dudley whimpering from his bedroom; something about
‘Dismembers’. He occasionally felt sorry for him, but it tended to pass when he remembered Dudley punching him painfully
in the jaw. His Aunt Petunia seemed even more hysterically frightened of the word ‘magic’ then she’d been in previous
years; Harry figured she was trying to forget her little outburst the year before.

Harry bit into a piece of his toast and stared into the back yard, as a giant plaid table-umbrella came soaring out of
the sky and crashed into their outside fire pit. He watched it spin, rising slowly again into the air, almost
hypnotically, before it was carried by another updraft into some other persons yard further down the street.

It wasn’t much brighter out now then it was during the evening; the days and nights seemed to meld together that way.
Harry carefully averted his eyes from the glare his Uncle was giving him while eating; he likely appeared more ratty,
dirty and unkempt then ever, and if there was one thing you could say for Uncle Vernon, it was that he didn’t like
anything remotely unclean, especially Harry. Turning his eyes back outside, Harry jumped suddenly from the table,
sending his chair crashing to the ground, and ran to the patio door; pressing his nose painfully against the glass.

Squinting, Harry tried to make out what he was seeing; it was that same shape in the sky he’d seen a few nights before,
and it was definitely no Owl; but his search was interrupted by a succession of very loud, obtrusive noises. First,
there was what sounded like a tiny explosion, and as Harry spun around he saw a small ball of fire converging on itself
before vanishing; there was Aunt Petunia letting out horrible shrieks; there was Dudley falling into the floor, causing
more of a racket then any so far, and then of course his Uncle Vernon, wailing in indignation, flaying his arms all over
the place as if it was raining inside the house now too.

Harry noticed a letter had dropped into the middle of the table, directly below where Fawkes had appeared; He grabbed it
and moved back a good few feet from his Uncle’s clenched fists.

'What is it this time boy?!' Vernon asked menacingly.

Harry eyed his Uncle with great dislike and opened the letter. He had expected it to simply be his OWL results; he then
of course doubted why Fawkes would be used to deliver those to students. Reading it, a smile slowly playing on his lips.

Harry,

5 O’clock tonight; be ready to leave.

Be well.

- Albus

Overall, Harry found it slightly inadequate, but he wasn’t ready to complain about leaving the Dursley’s this early in
the summer.

'Well? What’s the stupid grin for boy?'

Harry muttered something about 'leaving', and then dashed from the kitchen.

*

Harry decided he might just want to take a shower, as he hadn't been extremely hygienic in lying around his filthy room
doing nothing. So he did that, organized the very few objects that had managed to escape from his school trunk and
waited. He wondered why the letter had been so terribly short; perhaps Dumbledore was still cross with Harry for
destroying huge portions of his Headmasters office. And he waited; staring out the window, wondering how best to shield
himself from the downpour on the way to… ‘Wait’, he thought. Where ‘was’ he going? Surely not Grimmauld place he hoped.
And still he waited; he also prayed he wouldn’t have to fly again; he’d surely die of pneumonia.

The anticipation was slowly driving him mad, and so he paced up and down the room, sending irritated glances at his
clock. It felt like the clock had been stuck on 4:30 for an hour, before Harry finally noticed that it likely had been.
Mentally kicking himself, he turned around to open the door, but before reaching the doorknob it quickly burst open,
sending Harry crashing to the floor. Though Harry was slightly perturbed by the fact that no one seemed to be there, he
could feel a body sprawled on top of him.

Harry lay still for a moment, reaching for his wand, but before he had, the invisible figure was suddenly in plain
sight.

'Oh. Alright there Harry?' asked the man, clearly unphased by his position on the floor, and carrying a silky robe in
his right hand. He noticed Harry’s stare and added, ‘It’s Mad-Eye’s.’

Mr. Weasley slowly rose and offered Harry a hand. And only then did Harry hear the familiar shouts of his Uncle from
just down the stairs. Harry looked at Mr. Weasley, and then at the muddy mess he'd apparently brought all through the
house (Harry wondered what use the invisibility cloak was if he was going to destroy his Uncles house anyway). They
shared a knowing look and quickly gathered Harry's things. Harry carried Hedwig and his broom, and followed right behind
Mr. Weasley who had his trunk. Without so much as a backwards glance they exited the house, and Harry observed yet
another reason for his Uncle's apparent unrest; it seemed Mr. Weasley was parked half way up the Dursley's lawn.

He silently chuckled to himself when halfway to the car, Harry discovered another reason why Mr. Weasley was so wet and
filthy; beyond the now drenching rain; he managed to take an ungraceful plunge, face first into the Dursley's flooded
flower bed. Unfortunately Harry's hands were full and he couldn't offer a hand - not that it mattered, Mr. Weasley got
up with the dumbest grin on his face; Harry and he just laughed together, only stopping when they finally reached the
trunk of a rustic red car and hastily tossed his broom and luggage in, next to another school trunk.

Harry, soaking and frowning, was half way into the back seat when he was accosted by a huge set of hair that appeared to
have arms; quickly telling him who the other trunk belonged to.

'Her... Hermione let me get in the car first!' He laughed heartily.

She scurried back quickly and beamed at him as he sat down in the car. He smiled back. Far pressed be it for him to be
miserable when sitting next to him was one of his best friends, smiling so widely he was sure he could count each
individual tooth in her mouth.

'Alright there Hermione?'

'Fantastic,' She began, 'I mean, it was a mite boring sitting here alone on the car ride, Mr. Weasley was far too busy
enjoying the driving, but with you to talk too...' She paused; then quickly launched into a barrage of questions for
Harry; and he had the distinct feeling she'd rehearsed them thoroughly before he'd been picked up. Quick and eager to
get off the subject of himself and his feelings, he inquired about her OWL's.

'Oh. Why? Did you get yours?' She asked; Harry quickly shook his head. 'No me neither,' and thinking this must be odd,
Hermione did as she always does, she consulted an adult. 'Umm, Mr. Weasley, do you happen to know why we haven’t gotten
our test scores yet?'

'What? Err, no, I... haven't any clue,' was all he had to say.

Harry knew Mr. Weasley too well to take his word for it, he may have been sitting behind him, but the shade of red his
ears turned was unmistakable, but as so often Hermione did, she took his word for it (Harry half wondered why she was so
trusting), and continued on discussing this years lessons. Harry casually zoned out, occasionally nodding and adding 'Go
on' if she took a long enough breath. It was actually quite comforting sitting there listening to her ramble on about
things he couldn't care in the least about; there were more important things then lessons.

Harry absentmindedly petted Hermione’s cat Crookshanks; who had very secretly slipped onto his lap. Harry glanced
outside as Mr. Weasley backed up off the pristine lawn of #4, Privet Drive, and started to drive off. Harry hesitantly
rang his clothes and hair out with his hands; he hadn’t realized how wet his short trip outside had made him. He
wondered how they’d be able to make it across the countryside without drowning. Driving passed Mrs. Figg’s, Harry saw a
large plaid umbrella lodged halfway into her ceiling; with Mrs. Figg on her front lawn, slowly shaking her fist. He
chuckled slightly, looking at his reflection in the window, just as a pair of eyes that didn’t resemble his own, looked
back at him through the window. He jumped slightly at the sight of those familiar red slits.

'Harry?'

He snapped out of his daze and noticed Hermione staring at him in quite a scrutinizing manner.

'What?' he responded possibly more loudly and defensively then he'd intended.

'Is there something on your mind; you seem a bit preoccupied.'

Come to think of it, quickly pushing what he’d seen out his head; chalking it up to paranoia; Harry saw no reason not to
mention the Howler he'd received, yet at the same time he cast a significant glance in Mr. Weasley's direction that
wasn't lost on Hermione. She nodded in response and turned and stared quietly out the window for the rest of the trip;
they passed long fields (Filled with oversaturated crops), through winding streets (Bristling with grumbling people),
over monstrous hills and through forests (Crookshanks peering interestedly at the passing birds). The scenery changed so
suddenly Harry feared he'd miss something interesting if he closed his eyes. He cautiously focused on his reflection and
saw, to his immense relief, only himself staring back. He sighed and rested his forehead on the glass. Mental. Suddenly;
and far sooner then he'd expected they approached the Burrow.

They hazardly parked in front of the Weasley's home and Harry half wondered if parking was Mr. Weasley's only problem
when driving. Harry glanced over at Hermione and saw her wringing her hands together with a rather unsettled look on her
face. He briefly thought to himself that he didn’t appear to be the only person who had something on their mind. She
turned slightly to look at Harry and smiled at him, before the pair exited the vehicle; her bandy legged cat bolting as
quickly as he could to the house, to avoid the rain.

Hermione, Mr. Weasley and Harry dragged their belongings through the lake that had situated itself around their home,
and through the front door; tossing their trunks aside immediately when Molly came and continued the suffocation of
Harry through hugs; though Harry was surprised to find Hermione have her a run for her money in that department.
Hermione didn't look like she was spared from the wrath either.

'It's simply so good to see you dears; oh look at you all; you’re soaking. Here let me,’ and she dried the three of them
off with her wand. ‘I'd been writing Dumbledore ever since the beginning of the summer to try and get you two over here,
but you know as well as I do how he is sometimes,' Molly said with a slightly more bitter tone then they may have been
used to, yet one Harry had heard more frequently as the years passed, 'Anyway, Ron and Ginny are upstairs with that
strange Luna girl, they'll be quite happy to see you.'

Molly smiled at them then turned back and entered the kitchen, Mr. Weasley tagging along behind. Harry and Hermione
shared a look and both silently decided to bring up their things later. They then made their way upstairs. Hermione
couldn't hear anything coming from Ron's room but Harry knocked anyway and wasn't disappointed when he heard footsteps
and the unlocking of the door. He was a bit taken aback when the ever dazed looking Luna Lovegood, who actually appeared
more lost then usual, had been their first sight, but that quickly passed.

'Oh. Harry how good to see you,' she said dreamily, 'and you Hermione.'

Hermione nodded to her, and they both stepped in and realized why it was so silent, apparently Ron and Ginny were in
deep concentration playing Wizards Chess; they both looked up, offered casual hello's and went back to playing, watching
as Ron's bishop took a swipe and demolished Ginny's pawn; the sky rumbling and the wind howling all the while.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

3. The First Barrage

Author’s Note: If you lot couldn’t tell already, punctuality isn’t my strong point. I got kicked out of my house a
couple weeks ago (I went to live with my mom for a week), until I got a decent paying job, and my dad let me come back
home. On top of that, I’ve actually been working on two other novel length Fic’s (Because I clearly suffer from ADD or
something); so my writing has been spaced up between all of that.

I was contemplating waiting a little while longer to post this, so I could give you chapter four simultaneously (For
lengths sake), but I decided I’d just give this to you now. I’m on my final edit for Chapter 4, so realistically it
shouldn’t be nearly as long a wait between chapters. I also want to find a Beta for the AU fic I’m working on (If you
want a rundown of the premise, send me an email).

I’m still in the process of moving this plot along; chapter 5 they reach Hogwarts, and we’re introduced to a pair of
obvious plot points, yay! Be patient with me! Thanks to all my reviewers for the support. Thank you Sondra for
half-beta’ing, and keeping me company the last few weeks; and thank you Libby for being the only person to read all my
fics and encouraging me to keep at the lot of them! So without further adieu!

Chapter 3: The First Barrage

Several days passed and Harry wore a fairly genuine smile most of that time; it only managed to falter when he noticed
two or three people whispering furiously and then suddenly ceasing and heading different directions as he approached;
which actually seemed to happen a couple times a day at least. Truthfully, by the time he reached the fourth night at
the Burrow, he was growing kind of tired of it.

They’d had a pretty boring couple days; going outside wasn’t really an option, so instead the three of them spent a lot
of time reminiscing and playing chess/exploding snap/gobstones and various other wizarding games. Just the day before
Harry beat Ron for the first time at Wizards Chess; Ron claimed his mind was elsewhere. Thinking on it, Harry decided
‘boring’ wasn’t the right word for the last few days. Quiet. Quiet was the word; and he went to bed each night enjoying
the simplicities of a summer at the Burrow.

Lying in his bed staring at the ceiling he slowly turned his head over and was quite sure Ron was sincerely asleep.
Harry gave a deep sigh; he’d had this intense urge since arriving to talk to Ron about the dreaded prophecy. He knew Ron
would take it better then Hermione; so he’d convinced himself it would be easier telling her if it was the second time
he relived it. Part of him wanted to keep it secret; part of him even wanted to flee from them… spare them; but he knew
he never could, and he also knew if they had a say, they’d never let him.

It was eating a small hole in him and he had to get it off his chest, but he couldn’t bring himself to shatter the nice
quaint life they’d been living since he and Hermione had come to the Weasley’s. He decided finally he’d let them know
when they arrived at Hogwarts. Now wasn’t a good time. Harry closed his eyes lazily and drifted off into a deep sleep;
aided by the singing wind.

A loud chorus of 'Weasley is our King' was being chanted from somewhere in the distance; Harry, seemingly trapped in a
small room with one hundred doors, pondered slightly before moving. He made to open one door and yet he appeared to come
out another door, entering the same room. Odd. Slightly confused Harry took to listening at each door in hopes of
hearing where the chant was coming from. After checking three quarters of the room, Harry opened another door that led
into a long Hallway, Harry ran for what seemed an hour before he reached the end, where there was a single battered
wooden door.

A dim blue light emanated from underneath, and he pushed it open; the chorus of 'Weasley is our King' became supremely
louder and slightly painful to his ears. He took in the room; there were dozens of blue flamed torches surrounding the
room and hundreds of people Harry didn’t recognize loitering and drinking to their hearts content. It appeared to be a
party; Harry looked around for his friends, and he finally spotted Ron, who for all appearances had noticed Harry enter
five minutes before. His red head friend slowly ambled over to; equipped the most superior look on his face he could
manage and said.

'Harry… Harry, wake up!'

Tangled in his blankets and a small amount of sweat on his face, Harry slowly opened his blurry eyes and hazardly
searched his bedside table for his glasses and finally throwing them on.

'You sleep like a rock mate; I’ve been trying to get you up for near twenty minutes now, its almost noon, come on.' And
with that Ron yanked the blankets from Harry and tossed his clothes roughly onto his face. Harry slowly dressed, and, as
was a forced habit by this point, stared outside the window into the pouring rain. Just the other day Harry had thought
he’d seen the same dark shadow floating ominously; he’s wiped his eyes furiously to rid of the image, and succeeded in
eliminating it from his line of sight; further implying his madness. He slowly descended the long narrow stairs, playing
that dream over in his head, but again, he couldn't make heads or tails of it, so Harry shrugged it off, entered the
kitchen and was a bit stunned by the sight that met his eyes.

Hanging from the ceiling was a huge banner, emerald green, with the ivory white letters 'Happy Birthday' written on it.
On the table was a pile of presents, large and small, various colors and patterns... and yet, surrounding the table was
the biggest group of frowns he'd ever seen at a 'celebration'. Ginny even appeared to have tears in her eyes. He briefly
wondered if his own birthday, which he'd completely forgotten himself, was such a horrible experience. This was of
course ridiculous and that was enforced by the sight of two copies of the Daily Prophet sprawled on the dinner table.

Hermione looked up slowly from the paper and put on a forced painful looking smile, 'Surprise.' was all she could say.

The rest of the party; Fred, George, Ron, Ginny, Luna and Mrs. Weasley all chimed in with unenthusiastic Happy
Birthday's and 'Surprises' of their own, as Harry made to the table; swallowing the sudden lump in his throat, to grab
one of the papers. He didn't have to look hard to determine what everyone was so glum about; infact Harry had only read
the front page headline and already he was thinking of the horrible implications. Free of any generic play on words that
the paper usually used, this was straight to the point; 'Forty-Five Dead; Thirteen Dark Marks Later...'

Harry looked darkly at the only image on the front page; the too familiar Dark Mark, lingering over top a pile of ruins
that looked to have once been nearly the size of Hogwarts. He scanned the related article and was struck again by
another sudden pang of distress; the rubble in question happened to be Durmstrang Institute. The only relieving part of
that scenario Harry noted not too soon afterwards; was that the school was completely empty, so no one was harmed. Harry
flipped through the pages, his scowl becoming ever more pronounced.

'...family of four muggles, dead... ex-auror Sigmund Lark, dead... healer Priya Patil, dead...'

'Patil...' Harry murmured.

He looked up from the paper at Hermione and knew at once his fear was indeed founded. He suddenly felt like he was going
to be sick; tossing the paper lightly back on the table, Harry turned around and stumbled back up into his room and
collapsed face down onto his bed. Forty-Five Dead; in a single night, how on earth could this happen? Harry pondered
that for nearly a half hour, thought of ways they could have prevented it; how the Order 'should' have prevented it...
or the Ministry even. Then of course the obvious oddity that was the lack of warning; Harry could almost always sense
these things… What did it mean?

Yet still, his thoughts rested primarily on Parvati and Padma; two individuals he didn’t know on a particularly deep
level... Who had lost what he assumed to be their mother; without much evidence mind. How could he possibly express how
sorry he was... You can't; was the only response his brain gave him.

'This is all my fault...' Harry cursed under his breath.

But Merlin forbid allowing Harry to mope, there was a small knock on his door in the middle of his thoughts; and whoever
it was didn't wait for a response to enter. Harry sat up roughly in his bed and saw Ron sitting on his own bed now,
staring right back at him a bit apprehensively. He made to open his mouth once; but closed it quickly again, then said
ever so slowly, and incredibly solemnly.

'Look... I know, this is really distressing for you... and... and everyone else but... Mum had a cake baked before the
mail arrived and... and you have all those presents to open still.' Ron looked down at his feet midway through his
sentence and didn’t bother looking up.

Wanting less then anything to face they day, he sighed; Harry figured he may as well; if only to get the whole event
over with so he could simply go back to wallowing in his own misery. So he nodded his head very slightly and rose from
his bed. Ron followed close behind as they both descended the stairs and entered a slightly less miserable kitchen. Mrs.
Weasley seemed to have taken it upon herself to get everyone in a better mood, she was handing out pieces of chocolate
cake for many plates, though not nearly as many as he'd thought. He noticed quickly that the twins seemed to have
vanished, as had Luna; he wondered for what reason briefly before Mrs. Weasley interrupted his thought process.

'I hope you enjoy it Harry dear; and Happy Birthday.' as she gave him a large hug, 'No one deserves it as much as you
do.'

Harry cringed a little at this proclamation, but thanked her and slowly ate the cake, although his appetite had
effectively vanished along with any good mood he'd had upon arriving at the Burrow. Even Ron appeared to be intaking his
food at an amazingly slow pace in comparison to his usual eating habits; Ginny only took about two bites of hers before
she pushed it away, and Hermione only managed to mutilate her piece with her fork.

Sensing the uncomfortable nature Mrs. Weasley rushed in and cleared the table of plates (and most of the cake from three
of the four plates; Ron of course managed to maintain a decent appetite), and quickly procured a decent pile of gifts
that were promptly pushed directly in front of Harry. She sat down and he was suddenly very aware of how close all his
friends were to him. Hesitantly he reached over and grabbed the top present, rectangular in shape and about the size of
a shoebox, he only half wondered what it was; and opening it, sure enough Ron had done the usual junk food thing. He
wasn't exactly surprised, but it did usually manage to last him the better part of the year. He thanked him quickly then
turned back to the pile and grabbed the next present.

Without even having to guess; he 'knew' it was a book; he was only surprised when he saw that it was from Ginny and not
Hermione. He eyed her as he unwrapped it; she had a small sincere smile on her face. He thanked her quickly for the
Quidditch book, throwing the best smile he could in her direction, though truth be told it was still fake, he just
couldn’t bring himself to smile at a time like this. He went through the gift from the Twins; small samples of their new
products; some random colored bean shaped items, and something that looked like a chocolate galleon. He made a note to
put them at the very bottom of his trunk for fear of turning into a Canary. He received another book, this time from Mr.
and Mrs. Weasley. Then there were only two left.

He grabbed the smallest one, small enough to sit comfortably into the palm of his hand. He noted that it was from
Hermione as he tore off the dark blue paper, and opened the pull up lid. There was only a small scrap of parchment
inside; he pulled it out and read it slowly to himself; eye’s darting from left to right down the scrap of paper. He
shook his head slowly, smiled, and looked up at Hermione. Harry gave her a curt nod then slid the paper into his robe
pocket.

As he reached for the last gift in its crimson red wrapping, there seemed to be a collective intake of breath from
around the room. Harry eyed each of them individually before Harry checked to see who the gift was from. Sirius. Harry
looked around the room, perhaps delusionally thinking that Sirius had dropped this off himself. Get a grip. No, Sirius
wasn't here he thought.

How on earth was this from Sirius? Perhaps someone found the idea humorous. He looked around the table; Mrs. Weasley
smiling slightly at him, Ron suddenly very interested in his finger nails, Ginny looking at it… anticipating, and
Hermione with a slight frown on her face. Harry stared at the box again for a good long minute then spoke softly.

'Thanks a lot for the gifts everyone... I think... I'm going to go lie down for a bit... Thanks, for everything...
Yeah.'

And with that, Harry rose; Sirius' present in hand, and climbed the staircase. He entered his room, placed the gift on
the desk and collapsed onto his bed, staring at the box he'd received from his dead Godfather. He was so grateful coming
to the Burrow, being able to avoid unnecessary reminders of his late Godfather, and yet here he was popping up unwelcome
in a place he felt he could be safe and comfortable.

On top of that he had the unpleasant nature of Voldemort sending his minions out to kill innocent people; and somehow
Harry just couldn’t warrant being happy here anymore. He rolled over facing the wall, eyes swelling slightly, and dozing
into an unhappy sleep.