Well, I have finally pulled myself together and sat down to write something decent. This is unusual for me, but once I start you'll probably get a lot out of me. So...read on, this will develop a lot, I think. And will include every character you would expect of a book etc, etc, etc. Please read and review 'cause that's why I write and I do love responses. The story is basically a version of what I think the sixth book might be like.

Chapter One


He had to fly faster and better and straighter. But most importantly, he had to fly faster. With his eyes closer to almost slits against the harsh wind and his body lying flat against the broom stick, he flew lower to the ground. He dodged one of the prim and proper trees as he neared his destination. For a split second, he realised he wasn't sure where he was going but then he remembered why: Sirius and the thought of where was gone.

Sirius was in trouble and he needed Harry's help. This one simple notion urged him on, his firebolt sped up another notch despite the pull that the air was having. Harry closer his eyes fully, squeezing them shut as the tears leaked out. He was going to be too late. He always was. But he could never stop.

Turning right as his eyes sprung open he suddenly found himself in that same dark room with the tiered steps and the arch settled quietly in the middle. And there was Sirius. Kneeling in the centre of the room, barely an inch between himself and the arch. Harry stood just inside the door, feet locked to the ground as he begged the universe to let him run forward. But he couldn't. Instead he was screaming with all his might for Sirius to get away. But he didn't seem to hear that either, or Harry's voice wouldn't work, either way, Sirius obviously couldn't hear.

Harry stoped screaming, utterly helpless as he watched the one person left on the earth that he loved lean forward, his finger inching towards the arch with a mixture of what appeared to be curiosity and daring until it was through. Harry could still see it, it hadn't disappeared and it hadn't been distorted or passed through some weird liquid layer. It was just there. Harry's face fell as he realised what this meant, it meant that he was about to loose Sirius forever...again because there was no warning sign, it just happened, one minute it was a normal arch, the next you were gone.

And as Sirius dived through the barrier, disappearing from sight, Harry left screaming on his knees, he awoke in a cold sweat in his own bed, at home, no arch or veil or Sirius to be seen. He was sitting bolt upright, the white sheet tangled around his legs, his heart still pounding in his throat, a droplet of sweat falling down the side of his face and onto the bed sheets as the reason he had been awoken from the nightmare was repeated as a harsh, loud knocking rang out from where the door stood.

"Coming," Harry yelled out to his uncle, quickly climbing out of the bed and stumbling blindly over to the desk. He snatched his glasses up and placed them on the bridge of his nose, his eyes finally focusing as he looked around the room for a shirt to throw on. He smiled grimly. If only one good thing had come out of the entire fiasco of his fifth year at Hogwarts it was the slight change in the way he was treated during the holidays. When he was at home, as Dumbledore would call it.

He had a lovely room upstairs, still not as good as Dudley's and with far fewer possessions but far better than his old cupboard under the stairs. He had a small television that only picked up two channels and a little radio. His bed finally had a proper mattress and two nice fluffy pillows. The walls, he'd painted a deep shade of blue after dragging up the courage to ask for paint and being shocked, almost off his feet, when his aunt had curtly nodded and gone and gotten him the paint and brushes.

Finding the shirt he'd been looking for, he pulled it on over his head, pulling it down to his boxer shorts which he quickly covered with a pair of jeans that he found lying on the floor. He rushed out the door, meeting his overgrown cousin at the head of the stairs. Staring at each other for a second, Harry bolted down the stairs in front of Dudley, the ghost of a smile on his lips as he heard, rather than saw, him come stumbling after him.

Slowing outside the kitchen, Harry walked in looking as bright as usual and hiding with in himself. He kept out of the way, still not seen by anyone in the house and ignored when he was there. The subtle differences that had come into play after the warning presented to Veron and Petunia were present however in Harry's breakfast which already lay on the table, aside from the other three but laden with pancakes and bacon.

He ate in silence, his mind working to dispel the dream which he had expected he would experience as he had lain down the night before. He'd had one, much simular, every night since his return, so why should that night have been any different? He had expected he would grow used to them over time, that he would become desensitized and that they would become easier and easier to forget. Quite the opposite had occurred. He was still waking in fits and cold sweats, his scar would prickle for no obvious reason and the dreams were becoming more vivid. He was not desensitizing, but instead growing more anxious to return to school so that he might have the chance to talk it over with Hermione and Ron and perhaps even Dumbledore, though he wasn't sure he was prepared to talk to him at all. Anyway, he needed a cure; he needed to escape the dreams, the memories, no matter how he did it.

Gobbling down the last piece of bacon, he wondered again why he was getting no replies from his two best friends. In three weeks, he had heard neither hide nor hair from them and he was beginning to worry. Hermione had stated in her second last letter that her family was planning on a trip overseas but that was no excuse and Ron, he knew, should still have been at the Burrow.

He sighed heavily, earning himself a distasteful glare from his uncle whose frown morphed into a sneer as he heard a scuffle upstairs. Harry jumped up at once, knowing that it had to be a school owl, finally arriving with his book lists and such. He raced up the stairs, intent on his glimmer of hope being there, on his window sill. It was strange, really; he had expected the owl about two weeks before and now there was only a couple of days before he was due to get on the train. Even Petunia had brought it up at dinner a few nights ago to which Harry had only been able to shrug.

He honestly had no idea what was going on, perhaps there had been a mix up in which case he would just have to turn up at the train station and hope for the best. He was sure that once at Hogwarts all the problems of missing books and new robes could be fixed up. He dispelled the thoughts from his mind as he turned into his room, ready to see one of the brown owls from school waiting for him. To his dismay, this was not what was sitting on his window sill.

Usually I'd write about 1500-2000 per chapter, but I tried to keep this short cause that way you wouldn't get bored. Please review so I know what you want to see and whether or not this is worth continuing. Thanks, Donna.