A/N: This is a fic of Harry's 6th year. It will have a lot of twists and turns and bumps along the way, so hold on tight! This also contains a lot of fluff and mush, you are warned!
Disclaimer: The characters you recognize belong to JKR, but Emili belongs to me!
Rated PG-13 for slight language and violence later on, along with some slightly sexual scenes.
Chapter One: Privet Drive
Harry woke in a cold sweat. There was a sickening feeling in his stomach and a searing pain across his forehead. That only meant one thing, and it was not good. Harry buried his head in his hands. He didn't want it to be real; it couldn't be real. It was though. A whole muggle family was now dead, along with two people from the order that Harry didn't know. He sighed and pulled his hands though his unruly hair. He was so sick of having these visions. Voldemort hadn't blocked Harry out totally, he just simply chose the visions he wanted Harry to see. Voldemort used the connection as a way of torturing Harry, and so far it was working. There was hardly a night when Harry didn't have a dream about a muggle dying, and then waking up feeling sick to his stomach. It was apart of his daily routine now. It didn't take Harry long to figure out what Voldemort was up to, he could only see and feel the most gruesome and sickening things that Voldemort would witness. After Harry had figured this out, he had worked harder than ever to try and master Occlumency, but he hadn't succeeded. Every night Harry would clear his mind to the best of his abilities, but Voldemort was still able to break through.
Harry was extremely frustrated. Once again, he was left with the bare minimum facts, and hardly any contact with the rest of the wizarding world. The only letter he had received so far was from his best friend. Hermione had written a short and to the point letter, saying that she couldn't say much, but she hoped he was well and safe, and she would get him out of here shortly. She had said that she was still with her parents, so that made Harry feel slightly better. At least she wasn't with Ron. Harry couldn't bear another summer where his two best friends are together and he couldn't be with them. Especially when his best friend likes the girl he likes.
Harry hadn't even known he'd really liked her until just recently. He couldn't stop thinking about her, and it was driving him mad. He didn't even think about Cho this much when he had liked her. Harry had constantly replayed every conversation in his head, every smile that Hermione gave him, and all the times that she had been there for him. The way she twirled her hair when she was reading, the way her eyebrows went together when she was arguing with Ron, the way she spoke soft when Harry was in a bad mood, and these were only some of the things Harry had been thinking about.
Harry picked his glasses up off the nightstand and put them on. The sun was lightly shining through the window, dancing on his face, revealing early morning. Harry closed his eyes, letting the warmth soak in to his skin. A shadow was cast over his face, and Harry opened his eyes. There was a beautiful snowy owl flying across the skyline. It soared gracefully, no cares in the world. It was dropping, altitude equaling the height of Harry's window.
"Hello, Hedwig," Harry said as she flew effortlessly through his window, landing on his outstretched arm. He stroked her head for a little bit, before he realized there was a piece of parchment attached to her leg. He pulled it off and set her in her cage. Harry ripped the letter open and immediately recognized the curvy handwriting.
Hey Harry!
I don't know if you've heard, but there have been more muggle attacks and two more Order members were killed. Dumbledore insists we both go to headquarters at once to ensure our safety. He wants us to go to the Burrow first though, just to make sure we are safe. We'll pick you up tomorrow morning at 11, so have your things packed and ready to go!
See you soon!
Love, Hermione
Harry's face broke in to a smile. Not only had he heard from someone, he got to leave the next morning. He went to his closet and pulled out a pair of pants and a shirt. He changed quickly and headed down the stairs to the kitchen. His uncle Vernon was sitting at the table, reading the morning newspaper. His aunt Petunia was standing at the stove, cooking breakfast. Ever since the day at Kings Cross at the end of the school year, the Dursley's have hardly spoken two words to him. Harry was fine with that; he liked the silence better than the Dursley's screaming at him all the time.
Dudley kept with the same routine every day. He would leave in the morning, return late at night. Harry knew just where he went too. Dudley hadn't given up boxing yet. Every day he prowled the streets with the stupid blokes he called friends, searching for someone smaller than him so he could beat them up. It was pathetic, really. The times Harry had been down sitting in the park, he had seen them walk past, bragging about their latest outgoing. Once he had even encountered a young boy coming and sitting down next to him on the swing set, crying. Harry could remember the situation perfectly.
It was two days into summer.. Harry was already fed up with being trapped inside the Dursley's. He came to the spot he had been the previous year, just before the Dementors had come; when Sirius was still alive. It had only been a couple of weeks since his godfather's death, and he still hadn't been able to cope with it. He had come to the spot he knew all too well. Dudley and his gang had just walked by, laughing and talking, much like they had the previous year. It was almost eerie, the resemblance. The only difference was that Dudley was fatter, and Harry wasn't angry. It was so weird to think that just one year ago, Harry had been so angry over nothing. Now, he just felt empty. He almost wished the anger would return, envelope him, take over. It would be something; something to fill the void and make him whole.
Harry had been so lost in his thoughts, he hardly noticed a boy sitting on the swing next to him. Harry only looked up when the boy let out a sniff. Harry noticed the boy was pretty bloodied up, probably the work of Dudley.
"Are you okay?" Harry asked the boy. The boy looked at him and shook his head to the side. Harry felt his heart fall.
"Did a group of big stupid gits do this to you?" Harry asked him, but he already knew the answer. The boy nodded slightly, and Harry sighed. When would they stop? Dudley and his cronies think they are so much better than everyone else. A tear escaped the young boy's eye.
"Oh, don't let them get to you. They think they are so much better than everyone else, just because they have more muscle than brain." The boy let out a little laugh. Harry became curious of this small boy.
"By the way, what is your name?" Harry asked him. The boy wiped his cheek and looked at Harry.
"Mark," the boy replied softly, "Mark Evans." Harry looked at him for a moment, not sure if the words sunk in right.
"Evans?" Harry asked, needing to make sure. The boy nodded. "I didn't know there were any Evans in this area." Harry said, a confused look forming on his face.
"That's because there aren't. I'm adopted, and my parents thought it would be best if I kept my real name." The boy answered, looking at Harry curiously. Of course! Why hadn't he thought of it before? Dudley had beaten up a Mark Evans last year, but Harry had never made the connection, nor did he think twice about it. How in the world could he be related to him? Was he even related to him? Harry thought his mother only had the one sister, unless this boy next to him was a distant relative of some sort. It was possible; crazy, but certainly possible. Harry sat pondering this for a few moments, until the boy disturbed his thoughts.
"Well, it's getting dark. I should be getting home," Mark said, standing up. Harry nodded and stood up also.
"By the way, if that stupid git I call a cousin ever wants to beat you up again, just tell him that he'll have to answer to dear ole Harry first," Harry told Mark, smiling. The boy smiled and turned to walk away. Harry turned to head back to Privet Drive, when a voice called out to him.
"Thanks, Harry," the boy said to him. Harry turned around, but Mark was already on his way to his own house. Harry smiled to himself as he made his way back to the Dursley's.
"What the blazes are you smiling about?" Vernon asked, scowling at him. It was only then he realized he was sitting down with a plate of food in front of him.
"Oh, just that I get to leave tomorrow. My friend is picking me up at 11 o'clock." Harry replied, picking up his fork, still smiling. 3 … 2 … 1 …
"I WILL NOT HAVE SOME CRACKPOT FREAKS-" Harry just laughed. His uncle was only slightly predictable.
"Relax!" Harry practically yelled, interrupting his uncle. "Her parents are Muggles, err, they don't have magic in them." Vernon's face softened slightly.
"Oh, well, what do they do for a living then?" he asked, a hint of superiority lingering in his voice.
"They are both dentists" Harry replied, stabbing a glob of eggs with his fork. His uncle was quiet after that, but there was a small smirk plastered on his face. They all ate their breakfast in silence. After Harry finished eating, he went upstairs to pack. Most of his school things were still packed, minus the Muggle clothes he had been wearing and a few assorted school books. Harry spent most of the afternoon collecting and organizing his things. He had come across his Firebolt, but had tried not to think who it was from. Harry packed it inside his trunk, having mixed feelings. Here was an object that brought him so much pain, yet so much joy and freedom. Harry came across the broom repair kit that Hermione had given him. He smiled. She may not like Quidditch, but she was still willing to go out of her way to give him a gift like this. It made him smile wider. There was a knock on his door.
"Come in," he called, not wanting to take his eyes away from the repair kit.
"It's time for supper, Harry" his aunt said softly. Harry looked at her. Her eyes had a hint of sadness in them. She smiled faintly and turned, leaving the room swiftly. He placed the kit in his trunk and stood up. Harry walked downstairs to where his relatives were eating quietly. He took a seat at the table. There was a plate of food in front of him, but he wasn't all that hungry. He pushed the food around his plate, taking a bite occasionally. Eventually he just excused himself from the table and went back in to his room. Harry walked in and closed the door behind him. He pulled off his shirt and dropped it lazily to the floor. Harry fell on to his bed, not having the energy to undress further. He lay there, staring at the ceiling before he drifted into a dreamless sleep.
-->