Author name: Elysia_Snape

Author email: my_severus_snape

Rating: PG

Spoilers: SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, FB, QTTA

Summary: Harry Potter Sixth Year

DISCLAIMER:

This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Hello All! This is a repost of Harry Potter and the first sixth year fic, due to several complaints (justified) I changed the name. The repost has a few corrections in it but no major changes so please keep enjoying the story. Please review as it makes the experience better for both of us.

To my fantastic beta's who made this possible. I have had several come and go and will thank them all here, thanks Lumos (Julie), Kitty, Ron Weasley, Amber Ford, Jackie, Darque, Tracey and Nick Wags!

Harry's summer had been more painful then the last. He sat in the dark of his small clustered bedroom of Number 4 Privet Drive and rubbed away the pain stinging in his famous scar. His scar had woken him again and he cursed the fact that he was locked up in Privet Drive.

There had been one small improvement this year. The news was out.

But this did little to improve Harry's depression. After another painful battle Harry longed to know what it would be like to have a normal year for once. The pain from losing his Godfather had finally sunk in once he had returned to the stark loveless house on Privet Drive once again.

I am never going to leave this place. Harry thought painfully as he trudged up the stairs with his luggage that first day back. The pain that had engulfed him was huge, and he lay on the floor of the room a shaking sobbing mess. His cries of pain didn't even stir the retorts of his bullying cousin Dudley. The Dursleys were being particularly ignorant of Harry's existence after Mad-Eye had threatened Uncle Vernon at the train station.

Harry's pain, anger and guilt that had festered dangerously during his last weeks at Hogwarts and now they had all but absorbed into feelings of loss and helplessness. He grieved like he had never grieved before, not for Cedric, not even for his lost parents. Sirius was gone.

Harry could hardly do anything that first week, forcing himself to move, sleep, and eat. His eyes were constantly fogged with tears and every thought was painful and sad. He cried for Sirius. The Sirius he loved, the Sirius he knew. The Sirius he endangered. The truth was more painful than Harry contemplated. Devastated with grief he felt alone like a bare tree atop a hill ravaged by a violent thunderstorm.

Harry trudged around Privet Drive and the surrounding suburbs with the weight of the world on his shoulders. And it really was nothing, after days of crying he felt blank.

He still read the Daily Prophet hungrily to hear of Voldemort's activities. The Dementors had escaped Azkaban, and the Wizarding World had been thrown into chaos. Fear flew among the people who had ignored the rumours of Voldemort's rise. They finally had proof, there were few sceptics now the Ministry had confirmed it. Harry wondered if Percy believed him now.

The newspapers, surprisingly, were not riddled with deaths, Dark Marks and disappearances as Harry had expected. Harry set his teeth in a grimace. This hadn't meant it was over, far from it, just that The Order and Voldemort must be acting in secret. In secret from him, Harry had grumbled, once again feeling lost and exiled from the Wizarding world. The newspapers were issuing speculation, and increasing fear, Harry tried to set the stories from his mind however with nothing else to entertain him but the echoing grief it was a difficult task.

Harry got out of bed and stumbled over to his small desk that was clustered with broken toys. He shook the small torch that was kept there and the batteries rattled until they gave light. Harry longed to cast Lumos and he felt his wand pulse gently. He had taped it to his arm, safely away from both buttocks, and was never without it. He could not face any further trouble from the Misuse of Magic department especially with his record.

He was looking for some stationary. He needed to write to Dumbledore. That first week at home had been an important part of the grieving process, but it had left him confused and vulnerable, and he knew it. Luckily Voldemort was busy trying to reform his loyal followers and protect himself from the openness of the press, otherwise he could have taken advantage of the connection he had with Harry. Harry tried hard not to think about his connection with the Dark Lord but after another restless night and painful twinges of his scar he knew he had to write to Dumbledore.

Harry began writing quietly listening for the sleeping sounds of his family.

He scratched the letter angrily. He needed to communicate to Dumbledore without putting the Order at risk. Or himself. If Voldemort knew of Harry's current state he could surely control him. Harry shuddered desperately and wondered if Voldemort was feeding him subliminal messages. It was too frightful to think about. He put his head in his hands and tried to find a solution.

If only he had a wizarding picture that he could send to do his bidding. Wizarding pictures were unique in the fact that they moved and talked - the picture could float, as pictures do, straight into the Headmasters Office to deliver his news. He wondered if he should write to Dumbledore and ask for one, that way Dumbledore would know he wanted to communicate.

Maybe he could summon Dobby the house-elf, Harry thought eagerly. He could send Dobby with a message. House Elves were able to Apparate in and out of Hogwarts and Dobby had been to Privet Drive before! Dobby would always be willing to help Harry. But Harry wondered idly how house-elves were summoned, and then about house-elves in general. This led him onto thinking of Kreacher… and Sirius. His heart hurt more painfully than the scar had ever done.

"Sirius."

Harry whispered alone in his room his eyes filling again with tears. The name was painful to even think - but to evoke it, to say it aloud - alas. Harry struggled to gain his composure wiping the tears from his face roughly and taking deep ragged breaths. The loss of Sirius was incomprehensible at first, denial had been so easy… but Sirius had never left him alone, would never. Harry had been hit hard when the realisation struck home, but he was struggling to stand; he knew he wasn't ready to fight, the pain in his scar told him so. But he would be ready, ready to fight. He wasn't going to give in, Sirius wouldn't have.

Sirius was a good man, and Harry smiled at the fact. It brought him small comfort. Harry had always compared his actions to what his father would have done in that situation, or what he thought his father would have done. Now, a man who had been cruel, a father who he didn't even know, tainted Harry's memories. But he had known Sirius, and Sirius was brash - yes, but he loved Harry more than anything in the world. Those who sort to blame Sirius just proved they didn't know him very well, because while Sirius put himself in danger, it was only for the one he loved. To live in Sirius's image wasn't something that Harry thought undesirable. He would survive for Sirius.

Thinking of Sirius struck Harry with an idea.

He pulled open the floorboards under his bed to withdraw the Wizarding things he hid there. Sure enough, hidden at the bottom of the dusty hole under the floorboards were a pair of Uncle Vernon's old socks. Inside these socks was the mirror Sirius had given him and the broken shards of glass. He pulled the pieces out carefully and placed the mirror frame on the floor. He wondered why he hadn't thrown it out once he'd broken it.

Fingering the pieces of mirror gently, he wondered if he could risk a simple 'reparo' spell. It had worked on his glasses often enough. But the Ministry was a long way from welcoming Harry as their hero. He still had many enemies there including Umbridge - he shivered, hatred building up inside of him with her memory – and he was not going to risk expulsion from school again.

Harry tried to look for glue in the mess that was Dudley's second bedroom. Some of the broken toys looked at if Uncle Vernon had tried to mend them, so Harry concluded there must be some glue around here. He tried to be as quiet as possible as he shuffled around the room at the risk of waking his Aunt and Uncle.

Dudley had apparently never been interested in repairing anything he'd broken as Harry was unsuccessful in his search for glue. Harry gingerly placed the pieces of mirror back in the square frame as if completing a puzzle. Fitting the broken shards together he looked as he saw his cracked reflection. Taking a deep gasp he watched in the torchlight as the mirror shone with a soft silver glow and the glass cracks melted back together. The glow faded and the mirror looked just as old and unmagical as it always had. He was looking into it, his face looked eerie, lit by the torchlight as if he were about to tell Muggle ghost stories.

He lifted the mirror and held it directly in front of his face. Running his fingers slowly over his features. He noticed how old he was getting as he etched his finger gently over the dark lines under his eyes. His face was still damp and his fingers drew lines in the path of his tears. He longed to call 'Sirius' and see his Godfathers face in the mirror – but he knew that wasn't going to work. He paused for a moment and then reached his fingers up to his scar. They were cold as he pressed them against his head. Feeling forlorn and remembering why he was looking for the mirror he cleared his throat and it echoed throughout the room.

"Hello," Harry called into the mirror. The glass fogged up with his breath and he marked little holes in the mist to see his eyes.

"Hello?" he asked again beginning to feel stupid. But suddenly his eyes vanished. The reflection had gone.

"Harry?" he heard a deep-confused voice reply.

"Hello! It's me!" Harry called excitedly. Could this be Sirius? he wondered excitedly. "Is someone there?"

"Harry, where are you?" the voice whispered. It was lost and desperate.

"Harry," the forlorn voice cried, it was shaky and frightened.

Harry recognised it, it was also full with feelings of loss he felt he had dealt with, but the feelings came crashing back down. The mirror was still empty but the familiar voice floated around Harry's bedroom.

"Professor?" he asked, and then shaking himself mentally, "Remus?"

"Harry? Where are you?" asked Remus, wondering if he was going mad.

"I am talking into the mirror that Sirius gave me," Harry replied dutifully, and he listened as he heard sounds of thumping.

"Keep talking Harry," Remus instructed. The noises were growing closer.

"Ahh," Harry began nervously, "Hi? How are you?"

"Good," Remus said, and his smiling face appeared in the mirror, "and glad I am not hearing voices!" His brown eyes looked surprisingly happy as his greying hair fell over them.

"How are you, Harry?" Sirius' friend asked, looking out at Harry taking in every aspect of his appearance. Harry adjusted himself pulling a mask on his face and smiling at Remus.

"Okay," Harry answered. Remus' eyes clouded over his face etched in concern.

"I know Harry," Remus said dolefully, as he watched Harry look down as if interested by the dust on the floor. "I know."

Harry nodded and eventually looked up and at Remus.

"It's so good to be able to talk with someone," Harry said honestly, feeling naked in front of Remus. He could not hide his grief from someone who was also in so much pain.

Remus smiled, "I always wondered whatever happened to these old things, got us out of a lot of scrapes in our school days..."

Remus trailed off, all those memories were compounding on his chest making it difficult to breathe. He let go of the breath that he was holding.

"Of course, it's good to speak to you too, Harry," Remus said gently.

In the silence that followed Harry felt as if a great amount were said. They had an understanding. Harry had not known Remus as much as he would have liked to. Yet he thought about the similar pains that Remus must be feeling and how they probably outshadowed his own by far.

How it must feel to think that Remus was finally getting a friend back and then to have him rudely snatched away again. Yet Remus, did not break down in grief or swell in anger. He fought to protect Harry, to stop Harry from running after Sirius when he must of felt that he wanted to do exactly that. And here Remus was, smiling gently and trying to help him again. Harry choked up, thinking of his old school teacher and all the kindness he had shown him over the years.

"How do you do it?" Harry asked, "How do you go on…." He trailed off as he bit back his emotions.

Remus shook his head gently and took a moment to think, "I think," he began and then trailed off, "A man like me," he started and then stopped as if trying to put his emotions into words.

"Suffering is a blessing, Harry," Remus stated, and Harry snapped up to look at the man whose emotions were spread clearly over his face.

"That's one thing I have learned through the years, through my unique difficulties." Remus' voice sounded reflective and soft. "I guess it is easy to hate the place you're in - how you got there - the people who you think did this."

"That hate consumes you." Harry looked into the deep eyes of the older man. He could still taste the hate he felt, towards Snape, Dumbledore, Voldemort….

"Harry, I once hated everything with my life, but then some people loved me - Sirius, your father - these people loved you too, Harry. And that love, it was a blessing."

"Suffering is not about being weak, or in my case over powered by something else, it is about learning to rely on others, trust them, love them, know they suffer a little with you, but it's okay. Because in suffering we grew stronger, we grew together. I am always here for you Harry, you have to know that."

Harry hadn't even noticed the tears that were streaming down his own face.

"Thankyou Remus," Harry whispered.

"You're welcome Harry." And he gave Harry a minute to compose himself.

"Now, why are you playing with mirrors at three in the morning? Has something happened? Are you okay? What was it you wanted to communicate, anyway?" Remus asked, grounded back by reality and motherly concern. He had just unknowingly stepped up to the rank; of course, he had always been there, but not like now. Not like Sirius, and he never would be, not ever.

"I wanted to get a message to Dumbledore," Harry said feeling a little silly. "My scar has been hurting."

Remus' mouth tightened and his brows pinched, "This is serious Harry."

"I know," Harry said, "I didn't even notice at first but now the pains have come more often. Tonight it woke me up. Is everyone safe?"

"Everyone's fine Harry." Harry suddenly got anxious and realised how much he actually wanted to say.

"Where are you? What happened to the Order? How are the Weasleys? Hermione? Percy? What's Voldemort doing? Does anyone know? What about Lucius Malfoy and the others? Are they locked up?"

Remus listened carefully and tried to give Harry all the answers. Knowing that Harry was best treated as an adult, openly and honestly. He nodded as Harry shot him with questions.

"Harry, Harry," Remus said calmly, "I'm still at the Black House, the Order is still here. The Dementors have left Azkaban but the Death Eaters from the Ministry are still locked up. The Weasleys are all fine; I think they are trying to work it out with Percy. They are back at the Burrow temporarily as Charlie has been in to visit. He has a great deal of support from the European Wizards; he's a good chap. Hermione is staying with her family and Dumbledore and Flitwick charmed her house so it's safer this year. We have been out of touch with Voldemort as Snape has had difficulties convincing his loyalties. All we know is that he has moved base and is in temporary hiding with Bellatrix." Remus stopped a moment to wipe his mouth clean of the name.

"They are probably working out how to set captured Death Eaters free. The Ministry is still holding Lucius and that lot but now that the news is out other Dark sympathisers will be trying to get in contact with Voldemort. We think he is at the Malfoy Manor, but Narcissa is holding everyone at bay."

Harry wasn't satisfied, "What about Kreacher? Isn't the Order at risk? Why are you still at the Black House?"

Lupin shook his head sadly, "Kreacher is dead, you know what a House Elf has to do when they betray their master. And Kreacher took it to punish himself - he committed suicide. We found him beheaded, hugging a photo of Sirius' mother. The Order is still safe here as Sirius left the House and its possessions to me. We aren't sure about Snape though, and if his real confidences have been betrayed."

Harry scowled in an unwittingly Snape like manner. He couldn't care less about Snape and his troubles. Although it would probably have a huge impact on the information, it must be why they don't know anything about Voldemort's whereabouts. Harry gritted his teeth and tried to repress the anger. Harry hesitated for a moment.

"When can I come?" he asked, "I hate being stuck here." The Black House wasn't home, it was dark, dusty and the family portraits were rude and frightening. But Harry had worked to clean it, and Sirius had lived there. They had shared Christmas there together. Even though it was nasty, he felt as if a piece of himself and a piece of Sirius would always be dwelling there.

Remus looked uncertain, "I'm not sure Harry, it's not safe for you here. The Weasleys are coming back this weekend so maybe once they're here Ron will start his protesting for you. Now that the Ministry has left Hogwarts it is more of a safe haven again; we could move some operations there. You might be able to return early. No promises. I'll ask Dumbledore when I tell him about your scar."

Harry nodded, "Okay." It was fair enough; he was upset, but he hadn't expected Remus to whisk him out of Privet Drive.

Remus grinned at him, "I'll keep this close by Harry, so you can always call on me, and when Ron and the others come you can talk with them too."

Harry gave a genuine smile, he felt more relaxed than he had all summer. Suffering had been a huge part of his life but he wasn't going to let it consume him, he was going to stand, and prepare to fight. He had to, it had been prophesied.

"Remus is our champion but noone will replace Sirius."

"A tad depressing."

"Great start"