All was quiet on the little street that was Privet Drive in Little Whinging, Surrey. It was dark outside now, so all the inhabitants were tucked up safe and warm in the confines of their almost identical houses. If you looked up and down the street you could see the flickering of television screens beyond the front windows of the thirty or so living rooms. Every other house had an upstairs light on, mostly they were from grumpy teenagers forced to remove themselves from the comfort of the sofa and the enthralling television shows to go and do their homework. Number 4 was no different, the curtains hadn't yet been drawn and so the casual street observer could see that Mr and Mrs Dursley and their rather robust son Dudley were like so many others seated in their favourite chairs and glued to the television. If the back of the house could have been seen from the street then it could have been observed that the light was on in the smallest bedroom, and its occupant was leaning on the window peering desperately out into the night. He was a rather skinny boy, looking very pale considering it was the middle of summer. He once again had the look of someone who had grown rather a lot in a short space of time, it would be a surprise if he was anything under five foot ten now. His messy black hair standing up in all directions, as it always did, and probably always would, not that he would have it any other way. His brilliant green eyes were, hidden behind the reflections from his round, black rimmed glasses. Etched into his forehead was a most unusual scar shaped like a lightening bolt. As he stood staring at the sky, contemplating his life, he had no idea that he was being watched. If he had more presence of mind he would have realised that from where he was right now he could just, through the gap in the houses see into someone's kitchen. A kitchen that happened to be two streets away, that housed a loveable squib known to him as Mrs. Figg. As she stood with her steaming hot chocolate, absent mindedly stroking Mr. Tibbles she could just make out the brooding figure of Harry James Potter looming in his bedroom window, one look at his desolate face told her what she needed to do. She went to her empty fireplace, where there was a cup with a very small amount of floo powder and knelt as close as she could. She threw the powder in to the fire where it immediately sprang into green flames, "Grimmauld Place" she said as clearly as her voice would let her.

Upon his arrival back at number 4 Harry had went straight to his room to unpack. The Dursley's had said nothing to him in the entire journey back from King's Cross, which in Harry's opinion was for the best. He had watched Uncle Vernon fume at the steering wheel the whole way home. At least he was saved from suffering a long tirade of insults. Unfortunately it gave him a chance to consider yet another long summer with what could only be described as the family from Hell, with no thoughts of returning to Sirius to save him. Although he was hoping that Moody's warning would have some effect on the number of chores he would have to perform this summer. When he had instantly headed for the staircase no one had argued but he saw his Uncle Vernon shoot him a rather nasty look.

Once safe in the confines of his room, Harry heaved his trunk on to his bed, opened and began to sort through his belongings. He dutifully hung his school robes up in the wardrobe and organised his schoolbooks in a pile on his desk. He pulled his newly regained Firebolt out of his trunk and decided that now was the perfect time to use his Broom Servicing Kit, which Hermione had bought him for his birthday almost three years ago, back before he even knew that he had a Godfather. He threw himself into cleaning his broomstick, with so much intensity that he didn't notice the sky dimming significantly outside, he only became aware of it when his Uncle's voice bellowed up the staircase "If you want feeding you'd best get down here now boy." Harry carefully stored his now gleaming broomstick in the bottom of his wardrobe and made his way downstairs.

In the kitchen his aunt, uncle and cousin were already seated at the table and had begun eating, apparently Dudley's diet was still ongoing, judging by the pitiful amount of food on the table and the way Dudley was eying the food set out on the fourth plate. As Harry sat at the table to eat, none of them even dared to look at him. Dinner was eaten in silence, and when he was finished Harry made to leave the kitchen, until Uncle Vernon hissed "dishes" at him.

"Actually," Harry replied in a kind of nonchalant voice, "I was just on my way to write a letter to my friend Mad-Eye, let him know I got here alright and so on. He'd be so worried if it took me too long to write to him." Harry knew that although Uncle Vernon didn't know the name he would associate it with the horrific man in the station. He had been right; his uncle's face went from crimson to a deep and violent shade of purple.

"Very well, don't forget to mention that you've been fed," he barked,

"I won't," Harry waited until he was safely into the hall before letting a smile sneak on to his face.

Once back in his room Harry realised that he had very little to do, because he'd just sat his OWLs, he didn't have his results and didn't know what subjects he'd be taking next year. For this reason he didn't have any homework to do. For the first time in his life he actually felt that this was a shame because he was in just the right mood for getting everything done. He sat at his desk in a kind of trance, until a clicking noise shook him out of it. It was Hedwig banging her beak against her cage. Harry reached over and undid the little latch that held the cage door shut, he then manoeuvred round his desk to open the window and let her out. He watched as her huge wings stretched, beating strongly, carrying her away into the distance. He didn't move from the window for what seemed like hours. He just stood there with his chin resting in the palm of his hand staring in to the sky as it continued to darken before his very eyes. He watched as birds flocked back and forth across the sky, and bedroom lights were switched on and then off again. After some time it seemed as though the world outside his window was a recorded video running on a loop, and he began to see the same things all over again. He sat down on the edge of his bed and realised for the first time just how tired he was. He hadn't slept properly for so long. He changed out of his clothes and decided to go to bed. He tried to clear his mind of all that was swimming around in it as he lay down to rest. As soon as his head hit the pillow he fell into a deep sleep.

Like so many times before, Harry found himself deep in the department of mysteries. He watched as Sirius fell, as if in slow motion, through the veil once more. Harry felt himself calling out, moving towards his godfather, he had to save him, to stop him from falling through the veil. As he broke into a run, he felt something strike him in the back; he fell forwards on to his stomach. He rolled over and looked up to see the red slit like eyes of Lord Voldemort staring down at him, "Well, well, we meet again, I have grown very tired of you. And now Mister Potter, it is your turn to die." With that there was a flash of green light and Harry woke in his bed in Privet drive, only he wasn't alone. Sat on the end of his bed was Remus Lupin.

Sorry the chapter was so short, but it's just a brief lead in, I promise to bring you more next time.