Disclaimer: Nothing of Harry Potter is mine, because it all belongs to JK Rowling and her brilliant imagination.

Hey guys, I’m back! And better than ever! Sort of.

Okay so now to talk about this fic a little bit. For those of you who didn’t read my sixth year one, you may be slightly confused at some parts, but I’ve tried to write this so that you can understand almost everything without being TOO confused. For those of you who did read my sixth year fic and have come back—well, you rock beyond belief and deserve all the chocolate in the world.

:-)

Just a taste of what’s to come in this fic: Old friends, new friends, new relationships with old friends, house rivalry, a game besides Quidditch, an excellent betrayal, a “new love,” a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, new Defense Against the Dark arts tactics, discoveries of loyalty and bravery, Dumbledore’s lemon drops, and, of course, that final meeting with Voldemort……

And by the way, I am obsessed with quotes. Quotes from anyone, about anything, as long as they really stand out to me, so from now on, I’m gonna put a quote at the beginning of each chapter that sort of relates to what’s happening in the chapter. Okay? Okay.

I think I’ve delayed you enough by now, so get to reading! I hope you like it.

“Only solitary men know the full joys of friendship. Others have their family; but to a solitary and an exile, his friends are everything.” –Willa Cather

Chapter One: Owls at Number Four Privet Drive

Rain splattered softly against the windowpane, and the sound of trees rustling against the wind could be heard through the glass. A young bespectacled boy—no, he was almost a man—could see his blurry reflection in this window as he lay motionless on his bed, listening to the battling forces of nature outside.

The room he lay in was dark and quiet, and devoid of most color or anything that a normal sixteen year-old boy would usually have in his bedroom. The walls were dreary and full of shadows, and a silent phantom seemed to hang about the shadows in a manner forlorn enough to compete with the boy’s dull emotions.

The room had been dark and quiet and devoid like this ever since he had returned from England’s most prestigious school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Hogwarts. At first, the boy had been relieved and relaxed to get away from the craziness of his life, the rubbish ways of people surrounding him. But as each day had proceeded to go on—as days stubbornly do when you don’t want them to—something inside him had begun to change.

No longer was he a young boy who had experienced troubles in his life, and was trying to learn to deal with him. No longer did he feel relief or comfort when his thoughts rested upon his two best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. He didn’t smile much anymore, for he could think of nothing to smile about. Food didn’t seem quite as important as it used to, and neither did summer homework. Sleep, however, was something he cherished. When he was asleep, he didn’t have to feel anything. Or think about anything.

Like the fact that his old teacher and—more importantly—dear friend Remus Lupin still lay in a coma some miles away in a cold, sanitized, dreary hospital bed.

Or there was the knowledge that during the last few weeks of his stay at Hogwarts, he had experienced such a hatred from people he used to call friends—and allies—that it seemed as if hell had released its wrath on them. And on him.

Also on his mind was the idea that this was his seventh—and final—year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The last time he would take the Hogwarts Express, sit in the Great Hall for Dumbledore’s speech, stay up until midnight finishing an essay for Potions, take his friends on dangerous and heart-stopping adventures……face Lord Voldemort……

No, he sternly told himself, sitting straight up in his bed. No, I won’t think about that. Not yet.

He sighed and glanced over at the clock on his bedside table. Two-thirty a.m.

He sighed again and brought his hands up to his face, where he began to massage the sore lightening bolt scar on his forehead. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the stack of Daily Prophet newspapers piling up in the corner of his room, reaching almost halfway up the wall. Just in the beginning of the summer, Hermione had advised Harry to get a subscription to the Prophet, so that he could keep up on everything happening in the wizarding world. However, she had also advised him that for safety measures, he should subscribe under another name, so that the people working at the prophet wouldn’t catch on as to where Harry lived.

Because of this, each issue of the Prophet was delivered every morning at Number Four Privet Drive to “Mildred Wagner”.

When Harry and Hermione had been creating this alias, Ron had found it to be extremely amusing. Whenever mention of the name Mildred came into conversation, he would burst out into laughter for minutes at a time. Or so he said. Harry hadn’t seen either of his best friends since the end of term.

He was, however, pleased with his alias as well. The last name, Wagner, he had suggested because it was somewhat a combination of Ron and Hermione’s last names, which Hermione had thought was quite clever of him.

Harry furrowed his brow as he continued to stare at the papers. He hadn’t heard from Hermione in quite a while, now that he thought about it. His last letter from her he had received in the beginning of July, and it would now be the end of the month in three days’ time. Ron hadn’t mentioned anything out of the ordinary in any of his letters, so Harry presumed that Hermione was busy burying her nose in different books, trying to do as much extra work on her summer homework as possible.

But that presumption was about to change.

A loud, somewhat painful sounding object banged against Harry’s window just then, causing it to burst open and hurl the object through its pane, along with quite a bit of rain and a few large gusts of wind.

Harry didn’t jump, nor did he stare at the window in amazement or trepidation—no, by this time, he was quite used to strange things—or people—flying through his window at different points during the day or night.

Harry simply rolled lazily over on his bed to see what had flown through his window this time.

It was Hedwig.

A sudden burst of energy shot through Harry at the sight of his poor, battered owl, and he abandoned his lethargic position to rush over to her aid. She was sitting in what seemed to be a very painful position, with one of her wings bent and several feathers missing.

“Hedwig,” he said quietly, as she pecked at his hand weakly. “Why were you flying around in the storm? You should have waited awhile…”

The owl only shuddered and cooed painfully at Harry. He grimaced with another look at her wing, and as he gently lifted to put her back in her cage, he noticed that there were three letters tied to her leg. He gave Hedwig a good deal of food and extra water, shut his windows before any more rain could pour inside his room, then sat upon his bed to read his letters.

The first was from Ron.

Hey, mate!

Long time, no talk, eh? Okay, so it’s only been about a week…but well, anyways, the real reason I wrote besides the fact that Hedwig and Pig are trying to bite my head off now is because something has…well, something’s happened. It’s not dangerous or life threatening or absolutely horrible, or anything—well, at least not for you and me. But I think that you should come over here as soon as you can, mate. Maybe you can help sort things out. I was just going to fellytone you, but Ginny said that I would probably push the wrong buttons or something and end up calling someone in Beijing.

Right. Beijing. She’s nuts, I tell you.

I mean, all I have to do is press the buttons with the letters of your name on them, right? But there’s one thing I don’t get, mate. There’s three letters on each button! I just need one H, and one A, and so on. Honestly, these muggles. Raving mad.

But anyways, back to the problem at hand. Someone (most likely Fred and George and me) will come pick you up day after tomorrow. You NEED to get here fast, mate, and I MEAN fast. It’s just—okay, I can’t explain it here. Pig is driving me stark mad. See you soon.

Ron

Harry raised his eyebrows in curiosity at the note. He picked up a scrap of parchment and his quill from his bedstand, began to write a reply, but then thought better of it. He had no way of sending any letters to Ron, or anyone for that matter, because of the storm and Hedwig’s current condition. He sighed and set Ron’s note aside, moving on to the next one in the stack. It was from McGonagall.

Dear Mr. Potter,

I hope your summer is going well thus far. Upon entering your seventh year at Hogwarts, you will need the following books and supplies:

Harry scanned the list of supplies he would need and sighed again. Just a school letter, nothing exciting.

He picked up the third and last letter and slowly tore through the seal. It unfolded in his hands and his eyes grew ride as he realized what it was.

St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries

July the Twenty-Ninth

Mr. Potter:

We realize that the condition of one of our patients, Remus J. Lupin, concerns you greatly, and therefore we are pleased to inform you of his recent condition. As of yesterday, the twenty-eighth of July, the patient is released from our care and is hereby deemed cured. We thank you for your concern and wish both you and Mr. Lupin luck during the remainder of his recovery. We hope our correspondence has been most helpful.

Sincerely,

Harold Humpfink

Manager of Maladies Correspondence

St. Mungo’s

Harry nearly fell off his bed. He had been receiving letters from St. Mungo’s almost every week, with updates on Lupin’s condition, thanks to a speech that Dumbledore apparently gave the hospital staff some time after term. But he had never expected his friend to recover so quickly as this. Now, more than ever, he was anxious to get to Ron’s house as soon as possible.

At Ron’s house, he wouldn’t have to face the Dursley’s. At Ron’s, he could go shopping for all his school supplies and see Ron and Hermione. And maybe, at Ron’s, Lupin could come. He could see Lupin.

Up until this point, he hadn’t even known if he would ever see his old professor again.

“Just hang on two more days, Hedwig,” he said quietly to his owl, with a smile forming on his lips. “Two more days, and everything will be better. Much better.”

He didn’t know just how wrong he was.

But he was soon to find out.

“Boy! Get down here now! If ONE MORE OWL flies down the bloody fireplace, you’re going straight down to the basement for the rest of holiday!”

Harry was unable to stifle a short laugh as he hurried down the staircase. “Certainly, Uncle Vernon. I’m sure the house is much easier to blow up from underneath, anyways…”

Uncle Vernon turned purple and Aunt Petunia dropped the omelette pan into the sink from in the kitchen. Dudley appeared to be unaffected as he grumpily changed the channel on the television with his pudgy fingers.

Harry rolled his eyes at his relatives and accepted the Daily Prophet from the owl fluttering above him, attaching a few sickles to its leg in the paper’s place. It hooted gratefully and flew back up the fireplace, just as it had come.

Harry glanced down at the front page, up at his Uncle’s growing purple face, then quickly back at the paper again. His mouth dropped open.

Hogwarts May Finally Be History was printed in bold letters at the top of the front page, alongside a picture of the book Hogwarts, A History.

Below it followed an article describing why Hogwarts may have very well been closing. Obviously, word of the dead Hufflepuff girl had spread fast throughout the wizarding world, and parents of Hogwarts’ students were not happy about this. They had begun to send letters to Dumbledore, complaining and completely blaming him for everything that had happened the previous year, for all the people who had been captured and for the death of the young girl as well. Because of these things, they claimed, they felt that Hogwarts was no longer a safe place for their children and therefore were not going to send them back for the beginning of term.

Harry stared at the paper in amazement. But, of course, that was only the beginning of it. There was more.

Apparently, Cornelius Fudge and the rest of the Ministry of Magic, which had remained strangely quiet during Harry’s sixth year, were drawing complete support away from Hogwarts. They didn’t seem to have much support in the school or Dumbledore to begin with, but now Harry supposed they REALLY were going to try to separate themselves. And that really couldn’t be good.

Harry stared at the paper in disbelief. How could the Ministry of Magic, the government of all magical people in England, draw out support from Hogwarts, the school for all magical people in England? Harry read down a bit further and, to his horror, found the answer to this.

Recently, following the horrific events of the previous school term at Hogwarts School

of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the prestigious Bronte wizarding family has agreed

to donate funds for the building of a new school, yet to be named. This school is

promised to be both the safest and most efficient school in the entire wizarding world

as we know it, with new advances in magical courses, safety measures, and recreation.

All teachers will be tested and thoroughly examined in their histories, achievements,

and magical abilities upon being hired at this school, so as to avoid previous

difficulties Hogwarts has had with its faculty. A new development, also, that will be

put into effect immediately upon the opening of this school will be the lack of a head-

master in power. Instead, for safety purposes and educational matters, the Ministry

will have complete control over all school procedures and runnings, and will place

all rules and regulations as it feels necessary. We hope that the development of this

new school and the failure of Hogwarts will prove to the country and to the world

just how far we have all come in our magical abilities, intelligence, and

accomplishments—for the better.

Harry stared at the paper, his jaw still hanging open. Vernon suddenly ripped it from his hands, read the first few lines of the article, and then let out a little laugh. “This Hog-whats-it-called, isn’t this your crackhead school?”

Harry could only nod. He grabbed the paper back from Uncle Vernon and looked back down at the article to see if it was still there and still real. It was.

“Some school it must be, if people are dying all the time and everyone wants to shut it down. I don’t blame them. Excellent idea to shut that crackhole down. And why haven’t those murderers reached you yet, eh?”

“What’s this?” Aunt Petunia asked, hurrying out from the kitchen with a soapy pan in her hands.

“Hogwarts,” Harry managed to say heavily, rubbing his forehead, “they want to close Hogwarts down.”

Aunt Petunia laughed and continued drying off the pan. “Rubbish. Those stupid papers of yours are always reporting rubbish, you know. Never say anything important, like the weather, what’s actually going on in the world, gossip columns…”

“I don’t care if they are closing that school, boy, you’re going,” Vernon said sternly, pointing his pudgy finger straight at Harry. “You can’t stay here for the whole year, I won’t allow it.”

“You think I want to stay here?” Harry practically spat at them. He turned on his heel and hurried up the stairs back to his room, slamming the door a bit too forcefully behind him.

Hogwarts couldn’t close. Dumbledore wouldn’t allow it. And Dumbledore was the most powerful wizard in the world, the only one who Voldemort was afraid of. What good did the Ministry possibly think they could do by separating themselves from him?

Harry sank down onto his bed and brought his hands up to his face. The sooner he got to Ron’s, the better.

Yes, first chapter done! So exciting!

But anyways. Next chapter Harry’s going to the Burrow! I don’t know why I didn’t put the burrow in my last fic…but now I get to make up for that. Leave me a little review…and I’ll leave you one back!

-Audrey  (: