Disclaimer: I don't own anything Harry Potter, it's all J.K. Rowling's and I admit complete ownership to her and her publishers. So don't sue me. I'm poor anyways.

A/N: Okay, so, here's my first multi-chapter story. My rendition of the 6th book. How is it different from other six year fics out there? Well, I wrote it, I suppose, and I didn't write any of the other ones. That's as far as my logic goes on that one. I guess you'll just have to have faith in me. :-)

This story contains spoilers for all five books, so don't read on unless you either know what happens or don't care about finding out.

Update: Now that this story is finished and being reedited, I just want to say thank you to everyone who has reviewed this story, whether you left a one-worded review or a three paragraph one. The criticism (which I can take, I'm a big girl :-) ) has really helped me improve my writing skills and format while the compliments have given me encouragement to keep on writing. So thanks to everyone, I appreciate you taking the time to leave me reviews. And thanks in advance to everyone who WILL review in the future…grins as she emphasizes this unsubtle hint

And now, on with the story.

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Harry Potter and The Year of The Quarrels

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Chapter One: That's What Friends are For

It began as a dully normal evening at Number 4 Privet Drive, as all eventful evenings often do. A young boy—more of a young man, actually—lay fully awake and fully dressed across his bed, his stomach grumbling as it begged for food, his eyes stinging from lack of sleep. He hadn't eaten anything in two days—or maybe three, he couldn't remember. Food and sleep were not really on the top of his priorities list, which was quite uncommon for the average teenage boy. Although, of course, Harry Potter was not so average after all. He was the Boy-Who-Lived. And he was also the boy who watched as his loved ones were killed off, one by one.

The image of Sirius haunted Harry constantly. He watched in an endless stupor as his godfather glared at Bellatrix Lestrange with a virulent piercing in his eyes, a piercing so full of hatred that it could compete even with Voldemort's hatred of Harry. And then the spell would hit the lively man—that stupid spell—and that terrifying hatred in his eyes would dissolve into surprise, and he would fall. Fall behind the veil. Never to be seen again. Because he was dead.

And it was Harry's fault.

Or at least that's what Harry kept telling himself. He had witnessed the horrible scene over and over in his nightmares, and even while he was awake, each time trying to create a way in which Sirius's death could have been prevented. These futile imaginings only caused Harry to sink into an even greater depression, however, and so he simply resorted to laying on his bed all day long, refusing meals and drinks, and feeling too lethargic and worthless to do anything of actual use. The fact that Albus Dumbledore had sent Harry a letter describing how Sirius wanted everything to be left behind to Harry, including his home, did nothing to improve Harry's mood. It was simply one more thing to remind him of his godfather, and he didn't want to be reminded. He had therefore tucked the letter away under his bed, choosing to deal with it later, much later, when thinking of Sirius didn't cause his insides to writhe around his heart.

Harry's aunt and uncle, meanwhile, hardly took notice of his depression and oftentimes forgot he existed, simply because of how quiet he was. And Dudley, Harry's piglike cousin, was too busy bullying neighborhood children to care whether or not Harry was still alive.

Harry didn't mind. He appreciated the solitude. He was quite afraid that if he happened to speak to someone that he would end up biting their head off, and so he didn't believe company was worth the effort. Unfortunately for him, however, two other people did not realize his wish to be left alone.

At about two in the morning one night, Harry heard a strange noise outside his window. He glanced over at Hedwig's cage and saw that his owl was sound asleep, not emitting a single sound. Harry shook off his uneasiness and rolled over in bed.

But then he heard it again. And again. It sounded like muffled swishing noises, followed by some scratching or whispering, he couldn't tell, coming from outside of the house. Harry sat up and shoved his glasses onto his nose, then grabbed his wand and pointed it towards the window in defense.

Suddenly, before he could react, the window flew open, tossing in two tangled people and a gust of freezing wind. Harry's sweaty grip on his wand became tighter, and he was about to murmur a hex when one of the mysterious people on the floor suddenly yelped.

"Ow, Ron! That was my knee!" It was a woman's voice. No, a girl's. Harry recognized it immediately along with the next voice that spoke.

"Sorry there, Hermione. Now if you could please get off me, but just watch where you put your—OUCH! YOU JUST KICKED ME IN THE—"

Ron didn't have time to finish before Hermione slapped a hand over his mouth. "Oh, sorry, Ron. My foot must have just slipped or something. I told you we shouldn't have come here by broom. We've completely broken the window and caused a racket loud enough to wake all of England…"

"Well what were we supposed to do?" Ron demanded, throwing her hand away from his mouth. He was still crouched in a fetal position. "Apparating's out of the question, and this fireplace isn't set up to the floo network, and neither of us is authorized to make something into a portkey…come to think of it, I don't even know how to make something into a portkey…"

"There must have been some sort of other way," Hermione huffed. "I mean, broomsticks—honestly! I would have even preferred a thestral over the flight I just experienced!"

"Not now!" Ron hissed, lowering his voice. He tried to stand but it was too painful, and so he stayed crouched on the ground. "Bloody hell, Hermione! Are you trying to wake Harry up?"

"Too late," Harry groaned, speaking up for the first time. Ron's head shot around to Harry's slouched form, and Hermione gasped in surprise. They all stared at one another in silence for a split second, and then Hermione shrieked, "Oh, Harry!" and practically dove onto his bed, throwing her arms around his neck and knocking him over backwards.

"Hermione," Harry choked, "…can't…breathe…"

Hermione immediately let go. "I'm so glad to finally see you! You look absolutely exhausted, do you sleep at all? And when was the last time you ate, because I could feel your bones through that hug, and—"

"More like an onslaught," Ron mumbled, limping up onto the bed beside them.

"Oh, it doesn't matter," Hermione sighed happily, "Just so long as Ron and I are here now. You know, Harry, we've been trying to come here sooner, but Dumbledore wouldn't let us, and you know him—and you weren't answering any owls we sent, so that did worry us a bit—but as I said before, as long as Ron and I are here now and—"

"Hey mate," Ron cut in, pushing Hermione to the side with one hand as he gave Harry a slap on the shoulder. Hermione shot him a glare, which he readily chose to ignore. "I'm glad to see you too," he continued to Harry, "but I hope you don't mind if I skip the whole hugging, blabbering, crying, dramatic—"

"I get the point, Ron," Hermione said bitterly.

For the first time in a long time, Harry managed a weak smile. He actually felt reassured with them close by, as if the world had suddenly reverted to how it used to be before things became so scrambled together and confusing. Harry felt lighter already, although heavily fatigued, and his hunger also became much more prominent. Ron heard Harry's grumbling stomach and said, "Oh yeah, almost forgot!"

He pulled out an extremely large, extremely chocolatey birthday cake with the iced words 'Happy 16th Birthday Harry' scribbled on the top. Harry had completely forgotten it was his birthday in the midst of everything else invading his mind at the moment. He was able to form another weak smile and Ron and Hermione then pulled out their gifts for him.

"Did you two come all the way out here just to bring me this?"

Ron shrugged. "Er—well—yes and no—"

"Ron and I, as I said before, have begging to come and see you Harry," Hermione cut in. "and last night Dumbledore finally agreed to let us come. Of course," she added hesistantly, "he also wanted us to check on you, to see if you are all right."

"I'm perfectly fine," Harry said dully, "why wouldn't I be."

Hermione and Ron exchanged a quick, unreadable glance, and then, very softly, Ron said, "We know you miss him, mate—"

"Oh really," Harry shot back. Hermione almost fell off the bed in fright. "Really? Do you know how I feel about this, then? Do you also recall how I basically killed him? I basically gave him to Voldemort, and now he's dead, because of me—"

"Hey mate, calm down, " Ron interrupted, holding up his hands. "We didn't come here just so you could yell at us. Let's talk about something else, shall we?"

Harry was too exhausted to argue. He fingered around with his wand for a few minutes while Ron and Hermione cut up the cake, and then he asked, "Did you two get your O.W.L. results, then?"

Harry could see Hermione's eyes light up even through the darkness of the room, and if he hadn't been feeling so low he would have laughed.

"Yes, we did! Ron got four O's and I got nine. What about you?"

"Seven," Harry replied with a weak grin.

"I actually thought my History of Magic essay could have been a lot better," Hermione continued matter-of-factly. "It was a bit lacking in the second paragraph and I believe I spelt a word wrong. And then there was that charm that I caused to turn light pink instead of dark pink…oh and that one Arithmacy problem that I left blank—oh my, I still can't believe I let myself do that—"

Ron and Harry exchanged raised eyebrows as Hermione went on and on. As he took a bite of cake, which tasted extremely delicious, Harry studied his two best friends.

Ron still looked quite tall, with his famous array of freckles, but his red hair seemed a bit shorter and slightly more tamed. He wasn't completely gangly anymore, although he could still benefit from gaining a few pounds. His personality was still the same, which Harry was more grateful for than he could ever say. At least some things never changed. Now, studying his red-haired friend as he devoured his piece of cake, Harry suddenly had the very strong urge to challenge him to a game of chess.

Hermione, meanwhile, still looked to be about the same height, with the same bushy brown hair. She seemed, however, to be a lot thinner than usual, which Harry worried about considering that she was already thin to begin with. Considering the way she went on and on about her schoolwork, and the way her face brightened to compliment her narrations, Harry could safely assume that she was still the bookworm he'd known for five years. His wonderings about his friends, however, were interrupted when Ron handed him a wrapped parcel and instructed him to open it.

Harry tore off the wrappings and opened the brown box to find a package of chocolate frogs and a strange but familiar looking device that Ron immediately grabbed back.

"This is a knife like the one Sirius gave you before," Ron explained, hesitating as he spoke Sirius's name. "I thought you'd need a new one since your other one broke. This one is a bit different though—it will only work for the people whose names I've programmed into it. Bloody brilliant, if you ask me."

"Don't curse, Ron," Hermione scolded, thrusting her own present into Harry's lap.

"Thanks, Ron," Harry said as he began to open Hermione's present. Ron grinned and had another piece of cake.

Harry tore off the paper of a very small, elongated box. As he lifted the lid, his eyes lit up and he felt a rush of astonishment. There, lying in a row, were three shining snitches. The first two were perfectly golden and polished, while the last held a somewhat dull luster. A piece of cake fell out of Ron's mouth back onto his plate as he gaped at the snitches.

"Let me explain," Hermione said lightly. "Each of these are not just normal snitches. The first one is charmed with Obedienta, meaning that it will do whatever you want it to, Harry. I was a bit hesitant at first, but seeing as how you and Ron love playing pranks on Malfoy—that stupid prat—I gave in. Just only use it when I'm not around, please. I don't want to lose any points from Gryffindor. Now, the second snitch is simply a regular one, but I had your name engraved in it, Harry—see, 'Harry James Potter', and the years in which you are a student at Hogwarts, and the Gryffindor lion. And the third, well the third was the hardest for me to get, but I had to have it."

"Why?" Harry asked, still in a state of awe.

"Because," she said softly, looking down, "that third snitch was your father's, Harry. That's the one that he would always carry around with him every year, and it was one of his most prized possessions. Dumbledore had it, and I had to beg him for it until I mentioned that it was for you. Then he gave it to me right away. Your dad left it in his care on the night before graduation."

Harry gently lifted the third snitch into his hand. His fingers warmed around the former possession of his father's, and for once his insides didn't feel dead upon thinking of James Potter. It was weird, really…such a small token, so simple, and yet it meant so much. It made a world's difference, and Harry didn't know how to phrase what he was thinking. "Thank you, Hermione," he finally said, "this really means a lot."

"I'm glad, Harry," Hermione smiled as Ron still shoveled cake into his mouth and grinned at the snitches.

For the next two hours, the trio discussed their summers and upcoming school year. Hermione had visited France for a week, and Harry could see that she still had the sunburn to prove it. Ron had spent a lot of time in Diagon Alley, helping Fred and George with their joke shop.

When they asked Harry about his summer, he changed the subject and suggested that they get some sleep. He snuck downstairs to grab some blankets and pillows for them, and then crept back up silently to the beat of Uncle Vernon's heavy snoring. He let Hermione sleep on the floor on one side of his bed and Ron on the floor on the other side, so as to prevent any night quarrels between the two of them, knowing how they went on about things.

But, also, it simply made him feel more secure.

An hour later, Harry Potter listened to the soft breathing of Hermione Granger on his right and the uneven snoring of Ronald Weasley on his left, and for the first time that summer, he was able to fall into a peaceful, dreamless, sleep. One that he most certainly deserved.

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The first chapter of my first story. It's not my best work, but I feel satisfied. I would appreciate any and all comments, because even though this story has already been completed, I still check for new reviews. So, you know, don't be shy! And thanks for reading!