Harry walked over the Quidditch Pitch, trying to clear his head. Dumbledore had just told him of a prophecy that Professor Trelawny had told him years ago. Surprisingly, this one was supposedly true!

Well, if he was going to fight Voldemort, then he was going to fight Voldemort. Simple as that. Others might wish never to see Voldemort, but Harry found that he wanted to fight and avenge his Godfather.

Harry looked up and found that he had wandered to the edge of the forbidden forest, looking into the darkness that seemed to radiate from it's heart.

The darkness in the forest matching the darkness in his spirit. Casting an Unforgivable on Bellatrix Lestrang and enjoying it. Watching Sirius disappear behind the veil. All that had happened in the past year.

Strange how he felt so connected to the Forest. But then again, perhaps not. Both were reluctant to allow people close, but once you got in, it was very hard to get out again.

The Grim Reaper seemed to like Harry (or dislike, depending) because in all the life threatening situations he had found himself in, he always seemed relatively unscathed. He wondered how long it would be before Death started tolook fora more permenent relationship.

Harry hated how prophecies seemed to plan other people's lives for them. No one was born good or evil, but destiny seemed to label them in black and white, rather than the varying shades of gray that formed the world. Perhaps even Voldemort would not have been evil, had circumstances been different.

For now, that was enough on Harry's plate. He symbolized what the Order of the Phoenix fought for, while Voldemort was his counterpart, heralding the Death Eaters.

He wished that it were otherwise, but what it all boiled down to was that no one would be with him at the end. They might help him learn, or train, or live until the confrontation but in the end, it would be just him and Voldemort. Surrounded by the rest of the proverbial forest, but ultimately, Harry was the lone tree that stood apart. Ultimately, he could rely on no-one but himself.

If he admitted it to himself or not, the fact remained that he was ultimately by himself. Over a decade of having no one to love him had caused him to erect a wall around his heart that no one could penetrate. Could he even let it be broken? Sometimes, Harry felt like reaching out for love was like reaching for the sky, with just as much chance of success.

He let Ron, Hermione, Hagrid and the Weaslys close, but had never fully opened himself to them. He wasn't sure if he was even capable of allowing access to his heart to anyone.

Alone. He was doomed to always be surrounded by people yet at the same time, stand separate. On the outside looking in. Watching others with their families and friends and being forever barred from that joy.

Ron and Hermione didn't understand. They tried, but they would never fully comprehend how it felt to be always alone, hated and belittled for who you were and what you were. They had family and would (hopefully) never know the pain of losing them. Did he even belong in this world? It seemed that no matter where he was, he would never be normal

He couldn't risk Voldemort or his Death Eaters hurting them. It seemed that everyone who was associated with him always got hurt, in one way or another. Cedric was killed simply because he was there, Ginny was possessed by Tom Riddle because he wanted to unleash the basilisk to kill Harry. He couldn't risk it happening again.

Dumbledore had tried to push him away when Harry had needed him most. He had denied him his prefect badge and ignored him all year because he was worried that Voldemort would realize that Dumbledore supposedly cared for him. Like it would have made a difference, he was either first on the Dark Lord's 'People-to-Kill' list or tied with Dumbledore for that honor.

He could not afford to let people in without knowing that they would always stand by him. Ron had a severe tendency to be jealous of Harry or make hasty judgements, causing fights. Hermione had always stood by him in these situations, never allowing other people to cloud her judgement, yet she relied so much on logic, not realizing that sometimes you had to take things on faith.

He started back toward the castle, knowing that they would demand to know where he had been and why he had not told them where he was going. Couldn't let anything happen to Gryffindor's Golden Boy, after all. At least until he had killed or been killed by Voldemort, anyway. Then most of the world wouldn't care what happened to him.

Lovely. No matter what happened, he always seemed to swing between being revered and reviled by the mass public.

He would reassure them that he was fine and that he had only wanted to think about what had happened. They would persist for a few minutes then let him be. He would go to bed, as it was quite late now, go to sleep and hope that Lord Voldemort would not try to influence his dreams.

He would go back to the Dursleys for at least the first part of the summer holidays. He wondered if they might have changed their attitude considering the events of last summer. Harry doubted it. In a way he was glad; the Dursleys hating him was one of the few constants in his messed-up life.

But life went on and he had training to do if he wanted to stand a chance against an older, stronger and vastly more experienced Dark Lord. Hopefully the Dursleys would leave him alone to practice the theory, if nothing else.