Disclaimer: Nothing in the world of Harry Potter belongs to me. I am simply here to practice my dwindling skills as a writer. Yes, dwindling.

That’s right folks, I’m back for another round. And let me tell you, I think this is going to be the most fun to write out of the series. If you HAVE NOT READ my previous two stories, don’t fret: several things are explained in this first chapter so that you’re nicely caught up to what’s happening.

Although, I still read any reviews I receive for both of my other fics. Just, you know, in case you wanted to drop me one … (very unsubtle winking)

For those of you returning for more of my madness, welcome back! I’ve loved writing for you so much that look what you’ve done—you’ve made me write two more full length stories than I had originally planned (meaning DD and this). I hope I don’t let you down with this one, and now I won’t delay you any longer. Let the games begin!

“Nobody has ever measured, not even poets, how much the heart can hold.”-- Zelda Fitzgerald

Harry Potter and the Year of the Lonely Horrors

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Chapter One: And So It Begins

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Robbery at Gringotts

Just yesterday evening, at a half past midnight, dated the third of July, an unidentified group of death eaters stormed Gringotts bank in what is thought to be an attempted robbery. The bank, which is one of the most efficient and safeguarded banks in the wizarding community, remains in shambles this morning. The goblins guarding both of the bank entrances ,the secret passages, and the vaults, do not remember any disturbances—the death eaters in question presumably used memory charms. However, one goblin has stated the following: “I was sitting behind the counter counting money one minute, then I blinked, and the place was in complete disarray at the very next moment. It was almost as if the entire night passed by in one second.” Several other witnesses have been questioned and a surprising number came to the same conclusion, leading Ministry investigators to believe that perhaps an illegal time-turner was used for the task.

Another strange thing about this robbery was that it actually wasn’t a robbery at all—so far, nothing appears to have been stolen. No money is yet missing and all keys for the vaults are intact. So if nothing was stolen, although it appears that stealing was the initial intention of the villains, then I suppose only one question remains:

What were they looking for?

Harry let out a yawn and rolled off his bed.

Another attempted robbery. Another mystery.

The sunrise had been rather pretty that morning. Harry hadn’t slept for more than a few minutes during the entire night, yet he wasn’t very tired. His limbs ached and his shoulder burned, but those were for different reasons. His shoulder still boasted the large gash he’d received from the fighting just a few weeks previously, and his neck was sore from bending over his books for the majority of the previous day. The sight of the sunrise, however, had earned a small sigh of gratitude from him that morning. With shades of pink, orange, pale and midnight blue, it had been a perfect blend of serenity – probably the only thing that helped to soothe Harry’s qualms about that article concerning Gringotts and the many others he’d seen before it.

The death eaters were certainly holding their own against each other, as Dumbledore had predicted they would. It seemed as if a new dilemma arose everyday, each caused by a different group of death eaters looking to be the most frightening and the most powerful. Harry couldn’t shake the feelings of uneasiness and frustration that accompanied his thoughts of the death eaters. He yearned for the start of his auror training classes – the sooner he started them, the sooner he could help put an end to the destructive antics of those death eaters.

He found that ever since confronting Voldemort, ever since the attack on Hogwarts, ever since he’d almost been witness to the murder of his best friends – the one thing he wanted second-to-most in the world was to make sure that it never happened again. The thing that he wanted most, however, was to lead a normal life for that year. Just one year.

Yet he had a feeling that the chances of his having a normal year were, in fact, very slim to none.

Tossing the newspaper aside and taking another look at the bright sun out of his window, Harry slid into his slippers and trudged downstairs to the kitchen of his extremely loud and temporary residence.

Ron, Ginny, and Mr. Weasley were already sitting at the diningroom table of the Burrow —all also in their pajamas—staring at the largest array of food Harry had ever seen in his life. Mrs. Weasley, meanwhile, was fluttering around the kitchen with pots and pans flying past her in midair, muttering and shrieking at random intervals. Harry sank into the chair beside Ron and raised his eyebrows as well.

“I think she’s trying to convince us to live here a bit longer, mate,” Ron whispered. Mrs. Weasley shrieked again as boiling water began to overflow from a pot on the stove, earning a grimace from all four seated at the table.

“Again?” Harry asked. “If she keeps this up, you aren’t going to have any food left in this house.”

Mr. Weasley looked down mournfully at his plate. “Trust me Harry—I know.”

Ginny dug her fork into a stack of about eight pancakes. “When are you two moving into Grimmauld Place, anyway?”

“After we take our N.E.W.T.s this afternoon,” said Ron, swallowing before he spoke.

“We’re all packed and everything,” Harry agreed. “Or at least…I hope we are. I feel like we’re forgetting something.”

Ron shrugged. “Hermione’ll probably bring enough of everything to last us a year. Don’t worry about it.”

Harry nodded. Hermione probably would bring everything she thought they might even slightly need if they were to be living on their own. Taking a bite of his potatoes, he felt a warm rush of excitement at the thought of living on his own with his two best friends. He remembered how relieved he’d felt when Hermione had agreed to live with him and Ron at Grimmauld Place rather than move to France or Spain. It had certainly brightened the end of the year for him, especially when he’d been finding it very difficult to feel content about anything at all.

Sure, he’d defeated Voldemort—murdered him, actually, and he grimaced at the thought—but he’d lost so much in the process. Lupin, for one thing. He missed his former professor and friend every single day; there was hardly a moment where something didn’t remind him of Lupin, even in the smallest way. And when he thought of Lupin, he thought of Pettigrew—the scum of a man who had been the werewolf’s murderer. Then again, Harry thought, now he’s got to clear Sirius’ name. At least that will be something good that comes out of all of this.

Harry recalled dimly the last time he’d seen or talked to Pettigrew, just a week and a half ago. He’d made the pitiful rat-faced man understand that his only punishment would be to clear Sirius’s name, to let the world know that he had been innocent and had deserved to be a free man. Amelia Bones—the witch filling in the shoes of former Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge—had approved the punishment and agreed to schedule a hearing for sometime in the near future.

Lupin, however, wasn’t the only thing Harry had lost. A few students at Hogwarts—sixteen or seventeen, he couldn’t remember—had lost their lives in the siege on Hogwarts. Parvati Patil and Dennis Creevey were still missing—no one knew if they were even still alive. Padma Patil, meanwhile, had almost been killed; Lucius Malfoy had been murdered, although that wasn’t really a loss to anyone but Draco, who’d been in self-seclusion ever since the end of term; Fang had turned rabid and been sent away, and eventually he too died. Earlier than that, when the Burrow had been attacked, Charlie Weasley had suffered through a serious coma—he was still recovering slightly from the effects—while Percy had been killed. And Harry still thought often about Tonks, who had been killed in his sixth year under very tragic and surprising circumstances.

Meanwhile, the school building itself had been very nearly destroyed—Harry could still feel the staircases swinging wildly out of control and smell the dust rising from the crumbled walls every time he closed his eyes or tried to sleep. As he glanced around the Burrow’s dining room and lounge area, he could still see cracks in the walls and areas that needed new paint. Most of the house, just like the school, had needed rebuilding after the attack.

And, thanks to the near-destruction of his beloved school, Harry now had to make the journey back to Hogwarts with his seventh year classmates in order to take the N.E.W.T.s exams, which Dumbledore had delayed due to everything that had happened at the end of the year.

“Bloody exams,” Ron groaned through a belch. “We could be moving right now, Harry, if it weren’t for them.”

Mrs. Weasley, hearing this, dropped a pan that hit the floor with a rather loud clang. “I’ll bring out some fresh fruit!” she called to them.

Mr. Weasley threw down his napkin. “That’s it,” he decided. “Molly, please—save some food for tomorrow! And next week!”

“There’s plenty of food, Arthur!” she hollered back. “These boys need to be well-fed! We’ll have plenty leftover for their breakfast tomorrow!”

Ginny glanced at the boys, who were exchanging half-guilty, half-exasperated looks. “Will you break the news to her for the—what is it? Oh yes, for the eighteenth time, or shall I do it?”

“You,” Harry and Ron said at once.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Mum!”

Mrs. Weasley’s face appeared around the doorway. Her hair was frazzled and tied under a headscarf, her apron was covered in something blue, and her flustered cheeks were splattered with flour. “Ginny? Is there something else you need me to make?”

“No mum, thanks, I think I’ve eaten enough to last me till school starts, but the boys here just wanted me to remind you that they’re moving today after they take their exams.”

A few more pots and pans clamored cantankerously as they hit the floor, one by one.

Harry and Ron meekly tried to grin as innocently as possible.

“Today?” said Mrs. Weasley in a very strained sort of voice.

“Yes,” Ron said slowly, “remember we told you, mum? We said that right after exams, we’re setting out to Grimmauld Place—the place where we’re going to live.”

“With Hermione,” a new and familiar voice added.

“For forever,” the voice’s twin agreed.

“Starting today,” Ron added for emphasis.

Mrs. Weasley, not noticing the entrance of her twin sons, looked to Harry for some sort of confirmation. He guiltily nodded in agreement, then looked down at his pancakes, which had suddenly become very fascinating.

Fred and George seated themselves at the table. “Are we having company?” Fred asked, eyeing all of the food.

Mrs. Weasley whimpered and disappeared back into the kitchen. “I’m coming with that fruit!” she hollered over her shoulder.

Mr. Weasley slapped his hand to his face. “I’m going upstairs. Call me when our food supply is completely gone. And boys—be out at the car in fifteen minutes.”

“Oi mum,” George called, “do we have any oranges?”

Harry, Ron, and Ginny sighed hopelessly and slumped even further into their seats.

The twins exchanged a glance. “What’s with you three?”

“Mum isn’t going to let us leave,” Ron groaned.

“She won’t stop feeding us,” Harry sighed.

“All I wanted was one pancake and some juice,” Ginny said morosely.

“Ah,” said George, snapping his fingers, “it’s all becoming clear. She’s trying to make you so fat that you won’t be able to lift yourselves from your chairs and will therefore be unable to leave her. It’s easy to see where we get our brilliant scheming methods from, Fred.”

“Definitely dad’s side of the family,” agreed Fred.

“I always thought it was from our dear Aunt Mildred who isn’t really our aunt—how’s she related to us, again?”

“She married dad’s brother’s attorney’s healer’s sister-in-law’s godmother’s nephew.”

“Right. And her husband, Uncle Sedgewick, the brilliant old geezer—how’re we related to him?”

“He’s our uncle.”

“Oranges!” Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, setting a basket of about thirty oranges in the center of the table.

“Actually mum, we should get to the train station, it’s almost time to leave,” Ron said cautiously, as Harry tried to rise from the table as unnoticeably as possible.

“Nonsense, you have time for an orange or two.”

“Or fifteen,” said George, glancing into the basket.

Harry was almost at the doorway, and Ron was rising slowly as well. “No mum, I think we really should go—wouldn’t want to be late for the exams that basically determine our futures……”

Mrs. Weasley, seeing that this was a battle she wasn’t going to win, ran hastily back into the kitchen with the oranges. “Well, then I’ll pack you each a lunch for the train! Wouldn’t want you to get hungry!”

“Is that possible?” asked Fred.

“Do we get to eat any oranges?” asked George.

Harry and Ron took this opportunity to hurry upstairs as quickly and quietly as possible.

Ron’s room was in complete shambles. Clothes and books had been strewn everywhere in the previous night’s attempt to simultaneously study for the N.E.W.T.s and pack for their moving escapade. Harry tripped over a pile of pants while Ron stubbed his toe on a trunk, and both boys spent the next few minutes grumbling and throwing things left and right as they dressed and packed their things.

“So,” said Harry, “the plan is, we’re taking the exams, coming back here, and then moving into the house?”

“Right,” said Ron. “And Fred and George are going to move our trunks and things to Grimmauld Place through flooing while we’re gone, so we can just come back here, make sure we’ve got everything, say goodbye to mum and dad, and then head out to our freedom!”

“Sounds good,” Harry sighed.

Ron raised an eyebrow. “You don’t seem as excited as I am.”

Harry looked up. “Oh—no—yeah, it’s great, it’s just—it’s a big change, I guess.”

Ron shrugged, then he grinned again. “A big change, but a very necessary one. And come on Harry, admit it—it’s going to be more fun than anything—anything we’ve ever done!”

Harry managed a grin. “We can only hope.”

They packed in silence for a few more minutes, and then, “Wait—have you heard from Hermione ever since school let out?”

Ron looked up, frowning. “Nope. I think she wanted to spend time with her parents before moving.”

“Well, yeah,” Harry reasoned, “and she always has wanted to spend time with her parents during the summer—but she’s always owled us.”

“Come off it, Harry. We’ll see her today.”

Harry brightened. “I’d forgotten.”

“That’s because Ron’s thickness is contagious,” Ginny said from the doorway. “Fred and George say to hurry up,” she added. “They don’t know how much longer they’ll be able to hold off mum. There’s so much food out there now that we can’t see the table anymore.”

The boys murmured a response and hastened their process of getting ready. Ginny, meanwhile, picked up the newspaper that Harry had thrown aside that morning, frowning as she read through the cover story. “There was a robbery at Gringotts?”

“Attempted robbery,” Harry and Ron said in unison.

Ginny read on. “And it was supposedly by death eaters … but that doesn’t mean anything, right? You don’t think any of them will become as powerful as Voldemort was, do you?”

There was a split second of silence after this question, not only because Ginny had said Voldemort’s name so abruptly, but also because both boys had been skirting around that question ever since reading the article.

“Course not,” said Harry. “Voldemort was a special case.”

“A nut case,” Ron muttered.

“I don’t think anyone will ever be as powerful as he was again. At least, probably not in our lifetimes.”

Ginny shrugged, tossing the article aside as well. “That’s good news for us then. I suppose that’s not such good news for our children or grandchildren, though—telling them that there might be a mass murderer sometime in their lifetimes.”

Ron paled. “Children? Grandchildren?”

Harry and Ginny exchanged a grin. “Yes Ron,” Ginny went on, “I suppose that if a girl is ever unlucky enough to get you for a husband, then you just might have children and eventually grandchildren.”

Ron shuddered at the thought.

“Oh Ronniekins!” one of the twins suddenly bellowed from downstairs, “You’re going to miss your train!”

Even from upstairs, Harry could hear the distinct sound of a pot or two clattering against the kitchen floor. He turned a raised eyebrow towards Ron, who was grimacing back at him.

“Holy beard of Merlin,” Ginny sighed, tromping back down the stairs before Harry and Ron, “I swear I live in a house of basketcases …”

Mrs. Weasley stayed very true to this statement when the three friends arrived downstairs. She had packed two bags – two large trashbags – full of more food than Harry could have possibly devoured in one week. “I hope this is enough,” she was saying. “Then again, if you need more, you can simply help yourselves to the kitchen, and I’ll be sure to make you both a very nice dinner, and then, before you go to sleep, perhaps we can all gather by the fire for a bit of hot chocolate and some of Ginny’s cookies—”

“I don’t make cookies, mum—”

“You will, Ginny, and then after that, I have a box of pictures of when you were younger, Ron, do you remember those! I know just where they are, up in the attic, and then after that we’ll—”

“—eat,” finished Fred, “because we would’ve gone without food for a whole thirty minutes—”

“Oh, yes, good idea, Fred! We’ll definitely eat something, and then—”

“Mum!” Ron said, growing very irritated, “we’re going to be late! Will you move away from the front door please?”

“We’ll back after our N.E.W.T.s to say goodbye to you, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said quietly.

Everyone cast a glance in Harry’s direction, apparently surprised that he had been the one to bring up his and Ron’s departure.

Mrs. Weasley looked from Harry to Ron then back to Harry again, and then she let out a heavy sigh. Looking very much as if she was trying not to cry, she forced a grin and nodded at them, then quietly retreated back to the kitchen without another word. Mr. Weasley, however, managed a genuine grin and led the boys out to a car that was parked in the driveway.

“That’s not our car,” George said, raising an eyebrow. He, Fred, and Ginny had followed the other three outside.

“Borrowed it,” Mr. Weasley replied. “Just for today, to get to the station.”

Ron raised an eyebrow at the vehicle. “It looks sort of expensive, dad—”

“Don’t think of it,” Mr. Weasley said quickly, ushering them into the backseat of the car. “Thanks to your mum, we’re going to be late to the station as it is.”

Fred, George, and Ginny waited in the driveway as Mr. Weasley pulled the car out into the street – Fred and George were waving in mock hysterics, apparently imitating the absent Mrs. Weasley, while Ginny, still in her nightclothes, rolled her eyes at them and waved goodbye with a simple grin.

The car ride to the station was quiet. Very quiet. Ron stared out the window, looking neither happy nor disheartened, while Mr. Weasley kept his eyes straight ahead on the road. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

Harry was slouched so far down in his seat that he could hardly see out of his window. Out above him tips of passing trees met the bottoms of darkened clouds – that was all he could see. The thought of rain comforted him much more than the thought of returning to Hogwarts for his N.E.W.T.s – more than the thought of returning to Hogwarts at all, actually.

But, as such things in his life always seemed to happen, it was only a short time before he found himself back at Platform Nine and Three Quarters, standing in front of the Hogwarts Express. Mr. Weasley put a firm hand on his shoulder. “Right then, Harry. Ready for those exams?”

“I guess so,” Harry sighed. He accepted his large bag of food from the red-haired man. Ron did the same, casting a glance sideways at Harry, but saying nothing.

Another voice spoke instead. “Hey Harry! Ron!”

They turned around simultaneously as Neville Longbottom sauntered pleasantly on over to them.

“Neville,” Ron grinned, “long time, no see, eh?”

Mr. Weasley shook Neville’s hand and inquired about his grandmother, and then the boys insisted that they had to get on the train. Mr. Weasley therefore bid them a last good luck, but before Harry could follow his two friends onto the train, his arm was grabbed and he was turned back around. “Harry, are you sure you’re all right? You look a bit sick.”

Harry shrugged. “I’m fine, Mr. Weasley. It’s probably just nerves.”

Mr. Weasley didn’t look very convinced, but he let go of Harry’s arm nonetheless. “Very well … good luck, Harry. I’m sure you’ll do just fine.”

Harry nodded and stepped onto the train.

“Come on,” said Neville, “Dean said he and Seamus would save us a compartment at the back.”

The boys followed Neville back to the end of the train where Dean and Seamus were already sitting, both of them pleasant as pigs. They were deeply immersed in a conversation about their new flat when Harry, Ron, and Neville arrived – they hardly seemed to realize that the newcomers were there at all.

“So then,” Dean was saying, “I told her, ‘Eh, you can come over any time you want –we’ve got our own flat.’ Naturally, she said yes, and so she was supposed to turn up last night but—”

“Well that explains it.”

“Explains what?”

Seamus massaged his forehead. “Why Lavender turned rabid on me last night. She probably knew the girl and was miffed that we didn’t invite her along, too.”

“And how exactly would she know the girl?”

“She’s Lavender. She knows everyone.”

At the mention of females, Harry glanced around the compartment. “Has anyone seen or heard from Hermione?”

Dean and Seamus jumped. “Whoa, Harry, didn’t see you there.”

“I haven’t heard from her,” Neville said, looking befuddled. “I thought she would’ve owled you and Ron.”

“Nope,” said Ron. “She’s probably in a different compartment, trying to get some last minute studying in.”

Harry was still a bit uneasy. “I don’t know. It seems really unlike her that she wouldn’t try to find us.”

“Harry,” Dean sighed, leaning back pleasantly with his arms crossed behind his head, “relax a bit. It’s summer. After these tests, we’re free to do as we please for the rest of our lives.”

“Not really, a female voice snapped from the doorway.

Harry, who’d been jumping at the sound of any female voice on the off-chance that it would belong to Hermione, spun around on his heels.

It was only Lavender. “Really, Dean,” she said, “you have no sense of responsibility.”

“What if we invited you over tonight?” Seamus proposed.

Lavender’s expression indicated that she had tossed all ideas of responsibility aside. “Should I bring anything?”

Harry and Ron exchanged a glance involving an eye-roll and then spent the remainder of the journey in mutual silence. The others were quite loud, boisterous, and very anxious to get the exams over and done with so that they could move on to the “better” part of their lives. The free part.

Harry just wanted to go back home.

“D’you think there’ll be reporters?” Harry suddenly asked Ron, just a few minutes before the train pulled up to its destination.

Ron frowned. “What? Where?”

“Grimmauld Place. Once we move in.”

“Well … no one knows about it except for Order members, right?”

“Oh, right—you’re right.”

Ron raised an eyebrow as Harry continued to stare out the window. “Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“They won’t find us.”

Harry’s gaze stayed upon the scenery. He didn’t reply.

“Well,” Seamus said, slapping his hands on his knees before he rose, “looks like we’re here. Ready to take those nastily exhausting exams?”

“Not at all,” Lavender groaned. “Can’t we just stay here and pretend that we’ve forgotten?”

Dean rolled his eyes and shoved her through the doorway. “Right. It’ll be much easier to get a job that way.”

It was much less busier than was usual upon arrival. Harry glanced around at his classmates and noted for the first time just how much smaller his class was in comparison to the entire school’s population. It was strange to see the obvious absence of little clueless first years skittering around everywhere as Hagrid tried to direct them to the boats that would lead them to their first adventures at Hogwarts. Harry suddenly had a flash of meeting Ron on the train during their first year – with one swallow, he could still remember the exact taste of that first chocolate frog Ron had given him. And then Hermione, with her large hair and teeth and overly perfect school uniform, asking about Neville’s toad … …

“Harry, mate, are you there?” Ron waved a hand in front of Harry’s face. “I suppose we could stand here all day if you wanted, but the train might run us over. Your choice.”

Harry snapped out of his trance. “Right. Sorry. Let’s go get those exams over-with, shall we?”

“Right. Onward we go.”

As the two boys became one with the anxious crowd of their classmates, they didn’t notice a certain pair of eyes watching their every move and listening to their every word. The owner of the eyes formed a very slow and knowing smirk, then whistled an innocent tune, turned around the corner, and was gone.

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First chapter! I’m quite excited. Now that that is said, let’s move on to my second author’s note because, let’s face it, you can never have too many author’s notes.

And if you can – well, then, I don’t want to know.

Second Author’s Note: Allrighty, I suppose I should address updates: they most likely won’t be weekly. Weekly updates would be my goal, obviously, but you know how life is. I should hope that there won’t be more than two weeks between each update, so we’ll see what happens.

And will I embark on another cliffhanger rampage, you ask? Perchance. There won’t be as many as were in Darkest Days, but there will definitely be a few.

And you know what else there will be? A very small and hint-ish hint of ROMANCE! But only slightly. Notice that this story is NOT under the romance category, after all.

I think that’s all. Thanks so much for all of you who have returned, and welcome to any and all newcomers! I hope this madness is as fun for you to read as it is for me to write!