Chapter 1: Morning Thoughts

He sat at the shabby desk, his hands carefully scrawling letters on a piece of parchment. His hand was shaking a bit as he finally signed his name on the bottom; the letter contained a short amount of text about how he was feeling and what he had been thinking about, most of which was excluded the excruciating pain he was going through. He glanced over the long letter again; he rolled the scroll up and proceeded to coax the beautiful white owl from its gilded cage. Once the letter was securely tied to the owl's leg he gave the animal a pet and whispered, "Take it quickly to Hermione. Remain there with her, she seems a bit sad to not to be seeing me. Maybe your stay will brighten her mood."

The owl nipped his finger lovingly, and hopped to the window sill and flew off into the night. Hermione, he thought as he watched the night, was his only correspondence this summer and that would end soon; Hermione had plans to go on vacation with her parents for the rest of summer. Somewhere that he couldn't send his owl, a muggle resort of some kind but it didn't matter; he was happy that she was going to be getting out and having fun, though he dearly wished he could go with her. When he thought about it, his stomach tingled a bit, he felt uneasy about the situation; he pushed it out of his mind though, thinking about her would only lead to pain.

He often sat and thought in his room like this, since he didn't have much else to do. The Dursley's didn't seem to want to make him do chores, in fact, they had barely even talked to him; when he had come home they didn't call him for dinner, instead they just pushed a note under his door that said he could eat anything in the fridge but he had to make it himself. The boy didn't mind this situation at all, he knew how to cook and he the he preferred not having any company, of their type at least. Any interaction with them would lead to thinking about family, or the family he didn't have. Thinking about that family would lead to thinking about Sirius, thinking about that, well: that's just pain. There he was again, in pain, his stomach churned and he felt like he was going to be sick.

"I've got to focus on this," he struggling to push his thoughts and fears away. He slowly cleared his mind of everything except the darkness. The darkness slowly turned into the darkness of the veil, but once he recognized it he lay down on the hard floor; if he couldn't clear his mind he would work his body to exhaustion, using sit-ups he forced everything out of his mind. After he thought he was significantly prepared to sleep he slowly walked to the bed. He had a funny feeling that tonight wasn't going to be easy, the night continued as usual with a little tossing and turning.

The next morning he woke yelling, his scar was burning hot and there was nothing he could do about it. His mind cleared enough for him to stop screaming, and he was able to look at the clock. Early, he knew had it been any other summer he would have been in trouble but nothing seemed to affect his life on privet drive anymore. When his scar had settled down he got up and paced around the cluttered room, he didn't mind the arrangement. The broken toys and electronics only seemed to spur his desire to get out of there every morning and go for a run. Running had turned into a full exercise every morning, he knew that it was good for him to get out and exercise but he never thought about the affects on his body. He had become very lean and muscular, but when he was wearing the baggy pants and shirt his cousin handed down to him, you would have never noticed. Once he was dressed his white owl had returned from Hermione's, it bore a letter written in neat hand cursive.

He grinned as he pet the bird, feed it and sent it back off to Hermoine's, there was no need to write back. The note said that she might get to see him sooner than both had thought, but nothing of what she meant. Such information could not be transferred by mail, he had found that out last year when his bird was attacked by the cruel woman.

Umbridge, how could he forget that evil woman, he thought as he started his jog around the block. Hermione would probably tell him off later for worrying about her, there was that feeling again in his stomach. It kind of reminded him of how he felt around Cho, he thought as he had rounded the swing sets and proceeded to the monkey bars. Why was he thinking about Cho again? His mind never seemed to keep track of his tangents anymore, but his focus on the pull ups he was now doing never failed to distract him from the ever perpetuating pain. Thinking about Cho, made him think about Cedric, and thus Voldemort, then Sirius; everything came back to that stupid decision he had made last year. It was entirely his fault, if he had listened to Hermione, Sirius would still be alive. There he was again, thinking about Hermione; He wondered if she thought about him this much while they were apart.

Dawn was just breaking when he was getting back to four, privet drive, and the relatives would be just waking. Sure enough he heard the shower going as he walked swiftly past is Uncle and Aunts room to his own. Starting his set of push-ups in the only clear area of the room, he tried to concentrate on what today had in store for him. Dumbledor had previously written him expressing his concern about the ever increasing frequency of pain at his scar, but he just felt that it was about something else. He would be meeting him at Ms. Figg's house of cats, a place he had never enjoyed going to but found it slightly more appeasing now that he knew that she was a squib.

Later: he checked his watch several times on his short walk to the Figg's house; he was still dreading the hundred or so cats that Ms. Figg took care of. He had planed on arriving early, but his morning thoughts had extended his shower a bit longer than usual, and he was rushed to gather parchment, a quill and his wand. When had had finally arrived at the door, he was greeted by her familiar face and ushered quickly inside. The familiar odor of cats infiltrated his senses and he sneezed, he hated being there. She offered him a cup of tea, but led him into the quiet living room where three people stood, waiting for them.

"Harry!" he heard a girl squeal, as he was rushed by a mass of chestnut hair that smelled of sweetly of oranges. Her head rested on his shoulder, he felt her sob lightly as if she was crying. She was crying, he wondered about why she was there and what had happened; he nervously looked at the other two people, his red-headed best friend and the elderly Professor Dumbledor stood awaiting his presence.