A/N: Well, after a long break from I'm back! This story has already been submitted on SIYE and FA, but now you can see it here too. This is H/G, Hr/R and RL/NT as far as I can see at the moment. Also, the name 'Zephyr' for a broomstick was the idea of Alshain, on a fantatsic thread about broomstick names at Fiction Alley Park. Therefore, no credit for the name of the broomstick goes to me.
Summary: Harry's sixth year has finally begun, and with it are a few changes: there are two new members of staff, Harry starts to develop feelings for a certain someone, Ron and Hermione finally get their act together, there's a new Minister for Magic and Malfoy is no longer attending Hogwarts.
Meanwhile, Voldemort - inspired by the DA - is building up his own army using a school for the dark arts. Harry takes it upon himself to find this school before it's too late, but there are few questions he still needs to answer, like where is the Hogwarts teacher that left and what is he doing? And who is spying for Voldemort at Hogwarts? And, perhaps the most important question of all: how do you tell a girl that you like her?
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling is the puppeteer, I've simply hired the puppets!
Once again, fifteen-year-old Harry Potter woke from his dream screaming. He had been dreaming of Sirius again, remembering the day he died. It had all been Harry's fault of course. No matter how hard he tried, he could not stop from blaming himself.
Time and time again Harry had gone over the events in his head, wondering how he could have done things differently and prevented Sirius' death. If only he hadn't let himself get so close to Sirius, or if he had remembered the two-way mirror Sirius had given him, or that there was in fact a member of the Order still at Hogwarts, or if he had listened to Hermione's warning... the possibilities were endless.
Harry shook himself. He had to stop thinking of Sirius, he knew he did, but it was just so hard...
Trying desperately not to think of his late godfather, Harry climbed out of his bed in the small room he had hired in the Leaky Cauldron, where he had been staying for several days now. He knew he was supposed to stay at the Dursleys', where his mother's blood would protect him from Voldemort, but it was just not possible.
It had all started about a week ago, when a documentary about escaped prisoners had come on TV. Harry happened to have been in the room when it came on, and couldn't help hearing that it had mentioned Sirius. It reported that he was a madman right up until his death, and the programme had interviewed families of those he had 'killed' fifteen years ago. Each of them had insulted Sirius, said that they were glad he was dead and that he should have been hanged for his crime in the first place. As if this hadn't got Harry angry enough, Uncle Vernon then took it into his own hands to judge Sirius.
"I knew he was filth the moment I set eyes on him," he had said, with Aunt Petunia nodding solemnly next to him. "What with that messy hair and that ugly face – it was always obvious that he was no good. Just like that Potter your sister married, Petunia," he had continued, as though Harry weren't there. "That Potter was trouble. He always messed up his hair and he always had that stupid smirk on his face. I suppose it's to be expected, though, eh, Petunia? No one else would marry your no good sister, and what with them both being that kind -"
Of course he had got no further. Harry, who had been sitting in the armchair, attempting to control his temper as he listened to both the angry voices on the television and Uncle Vernon's voice, had heard too much. It was hard enough reading the Daily Prophet's no good lies about Sirius, but hearing them from the Dursleys was somehow worse. Furiously, he rose to stand in front of him, pulling his wand out, aiming at Uncle Vernon's chest.
"You utter one more word about my parents or Sirius -" he threatened, "- and that will be the last thing you ever say!"
However, he hadn't stayed around to find out if Uncle Vernon had any more insults up his sleeve. Instead, he ran to his room, shoved everything he owned into his trunk, shut a squawking Hedwig into her cage and made for the front door. Of course the Dursleys hadn't protested, and Harry had simply stuck out his wand arm and jumped on the Knight Bus there and then.The thought had crossed his mind at the time that he could go to the Burrow, home of his best friend Ron Weasley. But he knew immediately that this wouldn't work. He wasn't in the mood for company, and all he wanted to do was dwell on Sirius. He didn't want anyone acting weirdly around him. Besides, he would be protected at The Leaky Cauldron anyway – there were so many wizards around, Voldemort would not be stupid enough to attack.
As he walked down the stairs into the pub, he examined his cooked breakfast, pushing his food around with his fork. He hadn't felt like eating in a while now – not since he had come home from Hogwarts and had had enough time to himself to really think about Sirius' death, to really mourn him. However, Harry was saved the trouble of telling Tom, the toothless Landlord, that he really wasn't that hungry, by the arrival of Hedwig, who was carrying a couple of letters in her beak. With a sigh, Harry took them from her and began to read.
Harry, (the first letter said, in Hermione's neat handwriting)
WHY HAVEN'T YOU REPLIED TO ANY OF OUR LETTERS? We understand that you need time to mourn, Harry, really we do, but that doesn't mean you can't talk to us. Ron is shouting at me to tell you that his dad is going to drive all the way to your aunt and uncle's to pick you up and bring you back with him if you don't reply to this letter.
Anyway, I got here about a week ago and it's been madness ever since. Ron's dad's working overtime at the Ministry so I haven't seen him much, apparently Voldemort is really getting powerful. Ron's mum and Fred and George have been arguing constantly – Fred and George say business is booming and they want to move into this flat in Muggle London, but Ron's mum says that's too far away - she wants all the family where she can keep an eye on them now that Voldemort's back.
Are you worried about our OWL results? I am. I just don't know what I'll do if I don't get good enough results to take my subjects up to NEWT level. Of course I'm not expecting much from History of Magic or Astronomy - needless to say I was a little distracted in those exams!
Harry paused, biting his lip with guilt. The reason that Hermione was not expecting much from her History of Magic OWL was because he had collapsed in the middle of it. Knowing Hermione, she would be fretting about not having enough time to check through her answers. If only I'd closed my mind like Dumbledore said, he thought bitterly. If he had only been able to resist Snape's jeering, not only would his friends have been able to complete their History of Magic paper, but Sirius might still be alive too.
Attempting to rescue himself from the dangerous waters that came from thinking about Sirius, Harry continued to read the letter.
Ron's telling me off now; he says I shouldn't be depressing you with talk of OWLs.
I'd better go, please reply to this owl – tell us what you're up to, how you are, what OWLs you're hoping for...
Hermione and Ron
P.S. Hedwig is worried about you, too - she flew over here and didn't stop nipping us until we wrote to you. I think the cuts on my fingers are even worse than they were last year, if that's possible! If your owl has sensed something's wrong, Harry, there must be something really wrong. Please don't let yourself get too down.
Harry sighed, realising that he had better write a quick reply to stop them from going to the Dursleys'. He wished that they would stay out of his business and let him get over Sirius' death in his own time, but clearly this wasn't about to happen. He grabbed his quill from his pocket and began to write on the back of the parchment.
Ron and Hermione,
Thanks for your letters, but I really want to be alone right now, which is why I'm not replying. I'll see you on the Hogwarts Express.
Harry
P.S. I'm not at Privet Drive anymore so it's useless sending anyone down to get me.
He then gave the letter to Hedwig, who had been nibbling at his breakfast, watching as she flew away with it and wondering what their reaction would be. It was then that he remembered, however, that there had been another letter with Ron and Hermione's. Curiously, he opened it up and found that it was a letter from Ginny.
Harry,
I'm not as stupid as Ron and Hermione. I'm not buying your 'I'm okay, honestly' act. I'm also not letting you slip into a whirl of depression and non-stop mourning - you're going to get addicted to self-pity if you're not careful. You need to forget about Sirius' death, realise that he's dead and there's nothing you can do about it. What good is dwelling on his death going to do anyone?
The fact of the matter is that it is up to you to save the world. It's obvious - you're the only one who's ever survived the killing curse. So if you don't pull yourself out of this trance, the whole of the wizarding world will pay the price with their lives. Is that what you want? Do you want to see the satisfied look on Malfoy's face when You Know Who makes himself Minister for Magic and you've done nothing to stop him? Do you really think that would make Sirius proud? Would that really make your parents proud?
I'm sorry for your loss, I really am, but I realise that Sirius would not want you to be dwelling on his death like this - Sirius would tell you to get out there and defeat You Know Who once and for all, and then you can finish mourning for him. Besides, Sirius died trying to save you - he wouldn't have been there if he wasn't trying to save your life. So if you go and let You Know Who kill you, he's pretty much died in vain.
Please listen to what I'm saying. If you don't, I'll send a Bat Bogey Hex with my next letter - my speciality!
Ginny
P.S. Mum wants to throw you a party for your birthday so you'd better show yourself soon or she'll be really worried and upset. I know you wouldn't want that after all she's done for you. You're like a son to her, Harry.
Harry abruptly dropped the letter, letting it fall onto his breakfast plate. He didn't like the guilt Ginny was putting on him. She seemed to understand him so well, to understand that he wanted to be alone, but if she understood him so well, why did she try to guilt him into showing himself at the Burrow? Yet he knew she was right and he was grateful that at least one person wasn't going to cower under the fear of his temper - he admired her honesty. He wondered how someone he had been friends with for so little time could know him that well - better, in fact, than two people who had known him for the best part of five years.
Re-reading the letter, he caught his eye on the words 'it is up to you to save the world'. He was suddenly unwillingly reminded of the prophecy, the prophecy that predicted that he would either have to kill the most feared wizard or be killed by him, therefore allowing him to kill the rest of the wizarding world. He sighed. Life clearly didn't like him.
Picking up the letter and scraping off the bits of breakfast, he shoved it in his pocket and made his way out of The Leaky Cauldron and into the busy streets of Diagon Alley. He already knew the place pretty well after his third year so he knew exactly what he wanted to do and what to spend his money on.
He walked down the cobbled streets, attempting to keep his head down so that he wouldn't be spotted by anyone who might know him, or anyone who might have read the Daily Prophet last summer. He wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone, least of all those who just wanted to hurl insults at him.
Soon he arrived at Quality Quidditch Supplies, his favourite shop. He noticed a new broom in the window, a Jet 5000 by the looks of it, which claimed to be far better than any broom in the Nimbus series and better even than the Firebolt. While many witches and wizards were queuing up to buy it, Harry found that for the first time ever, he wasn't interested in the latest broom. His Firebolt had been a gift from Sirius and however old and battered it got, he always wanted to use it, as a reminder of his godfather. Since Sirius was no longer alive, he had to treasure every memory he had of him and if that meant using his Firebolt for the rest of his life, then that was what he would do.
He walked inside, pushing through the crowds, and walked into a lonely corner of the shop where a Firebolt stood, unwanted and unnoticed. Harry focused his attention on the various accessories that could be bought for it, including 'a flag that will announce to all which team you support', as the caption beneath it ran. But this could not interest Harry. Sirius' death had showed him that there were more important things in life than Quidditch.
"Hi, Harry," came a soft female voice.
Harry jumped. He had been in a daze and had not expected to be approached by anyone or noticed next to the big crowd of people. Turning, he saw Cho Chang standing there, a sympathetic smile on her face. Trying not to remember the bad experiences he had with her over the past year, Harry smiled back, finding that he was surprisingly glad to find a friendly face.
"Hi," he muttered back, unsure of what to say to an ex-girlfriend, having never been in a relationship before.
"D'you want to grab a coffee?" she asked. "As friends, I mean," she added hastily when Harry looked unsure.
Smiling, Harry nodded, feeling relief that Cho just wanted to talk as friends. He still felt slightly used by her, though he found he had more pressing matters to be thinking about than holding a grudge against her. Somewhere, deep inside his mind, he found himself hoping that she didn't cry. If there was one thing he couldn't deal with right now, it was the emotions of others. His own were enough to think about while he mourned.
Pushing past the crowds, Cho guided Harry towards Wizbucks, a Muggle-themed coffee shop that was near to Quality Quidditch Supplies. From what Harry understood, Wizbucks was based on the Muggle coffee shop called Starbucks and it was popular amongst wizards who wanted to go to a Muggle café whilst still being able to talk about and practise magic openly.
An irritated-looking witch stood behind the counter, attempting to make and take orders from a long queue of customers. "The house elves are on strike," she explained to Harry and Cho as they ordered.
Dutifully, Harry paid for the order and took the tray towards a small table on the first level that Cho had found. As they sat down, Harry was uncomfortably aware of the tensioned silence, both unsure of how to start the conversation.
"I heard about your godfather," Cho said finally, breaking the silence.
Unsure of what to say to this, Harry simply nodded, answering, "Yeah."
"I'm really sorry," Cho continued. "He must have meant a lot to you."
Again, Harry nodded.
The silence returned while Harry stared determinedly at his coffee cup, picking at his chocolate muffin with his hands.
Finally, Cho sighed. "Look, Harry, I'm really sorry about how we left things," she said. "I - I realise I wasn't the world's best girlfriend, and though I really liked you, I s'pose I was sort of hoping that you would talk to me about Cedric. I - I just - I wanted to dwell on his death and no one else understood or even admitted that he'd been killed by - by You Know Who."
"That's okay," Harry replied sheepishly. "I understand."
And he did. Sirius' death had showed him just how Cho must have felt when Cedric had died: he wanted to dwell on the death, to remember his godfather for as long as possible, yet very few people were willing to admit the real circumstances of his death, let alone his innocence.
"You know," Cho began, pushing a strand of her dark hair behind her ear, "I understand how you must be feeling. But - but I think you should know that you can't dwell on the death for too long. Cedric's death has showed me that. You can't let life pass you by just because you lost someone."
Harry was surprised at how well Cho knew what he was feeling. The last person he expected sympathy from was an ex-girlfriend with whom he had ended things on bad terms. Deciding that she would understand, he decided to tell her exactly how difficult it was.
"I s'pose you're right," he said, taking a gulp of his coffee. "But it's - it's so hard. All I want to do is remember Sirius. I mean, first I lost my parents and then I saw Cedric die and now Sirius - it just feels so... so..."
"Harsh? Unfair?" Cho supplied. She gave him a sympathetic smile. "I know what you mean. But life's not going to get any better if you're dwelling on him all the time is it?"
Harry supposed she was right. After all, he hardly had a right to complain about how miserable life was if he didn't make an effort to make it a bit happier.
"Thanks," he said finally.
Cho shrugged. "Isn't that what friends are for?" she said kindly.