Harry Potter and the Sokoke Diamond

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Chapter One

~Home Is Where The Heart Is~

The morning light stole silently over the houses of Privet Drive, and into the smallest bedroom of number four, where a teenage boy was pacing back and forth after another sleepless night. Harry Potter, for that was this boy's name, was a wizard. Lord Voldemort, the most feared dark wizard in over a century, had killed his parents soon after Harry's first birthday. However, when Voldemort turned his wand on the infant Harry and uttered the killing curse, the spell rebounded and Voldemort's spirit was ripped from his body.

Harry had come face-to-face with Voldemort since, and on more than one occasion. He had witnessed his rebirth just over a year ago, during his fourth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, and was present for Voldemort's public declaration of his return at the Ministry of Magic just a month prior.

Harry scowled at his reflection in the mirror. He still thought he didn't look the part of the hero he was meant to be. He had grown taller, and stood much taller than Dudley now, which made Dudley's threats that much less intimidating. He was still rather wiry, but had made a vow to get fit over the summer. It had started to show, but he was still rather unsubstantial for his age.

Harry was still rather distressed about the events at the Ministry of Magic, not least losing someone he considered a mixture of father, brother and friend. Sirius. Harry's mouth went dry at the very thought, and his mind started reeling. Not a day went by that he didn't curse his stupidity and rashness. And not a night went by without a nightmare. Often he would see Sirius falling through the veil at the Department of Mysteries, but sometimes the face would change perpetually. He sometimes saw Ron and Hermione, his best friends, falling through. At times it would be a member of the Weasley family (although strangely enough not Percy - who incidentally had still not apologised to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley).

He mourned Sirius deeply, the place in his heart where Sirius used to reside was now heavy, filled with broken memories and unfounded regrets. Harry had long since taught himself not to cry, to the point that he believed he physically couldn't. It was a survival mechanism for life with the Dursleys.

But now Harry paced back and forth, wondering why he hadn't heard from either of his best friends. He had made the mistake last year of expecting to be kept up-to-date with everything that was going on, and losing his temper rather severely on numerous occasions. Now, all that fire he had was no more. He had a deadened look behind his eyes, akin to the one that Sirius wore just after his escape from Azkaban prison. And once again his thoughts returned to Sirius. How his death could have been avoided, how his death was Harry's fault.

Harry was abruptly jolted out of his morbid musings by the shrill voice of his aunt waking the house up for breakfast. After a reasonable breakfast, Harry returned to the solitude of his room, not intending to spend any more time than was absolutely necessary around his aunt, uncle and cousin.

He withdrew some parchment from his trunk and set himself down at the cramped desk and decided to scribble a few notes to his friends, to see how they were holding up. Hermione, he knew, was on holiday in Greece, and he assumed that Ron was at number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Where Sirius used to live. Harry silently berated himself for dwelling on Sirius too much, but it was then with a smile that he started to write, remembering all the good times that he had shared with Sirius.

Several hours later, he had completed letter to Ron and Hermione, as well as an impetuously drafted note for Ginny. He often wondered when the rather squeaky and bashful Ginny had turned into a confident and outspoken girl, with a blue streak to match Fred and George at their best. She had also become a rather stunning young lady, Harry thought. He suddenly sat bolt upright, shocked at how those thoughts had come to be embedded in his mind. He soon shrugged it off, thinking he could do much worse than Ginny. At least she wouldn't be like Cho, crying over every little thing that reminded her of Cedric. Yet again, Harry found himself at the receiving end of his own scolding. He had often thought about a relationship, but had always come to the conclusion that if there was ever to be one, it would have to wait until after he defeated Voldemort for good, or in the instance of his death, for all eternity and then some.

However, he was still a teenage boy, and his fantasies were permissible by his rather bossy and logical conscience (which often spoke with Hermione's voice). The other reason he was thinking of a relationship was to keep him occupied. The rather badly disguised soap opera that could be construed as Ron and Hermione's courtship was, in Harry's estimation, due to reach its peak anytime, and he didn't want to be a third wheel in the early stages of their relationship, or be left alone for extended periods of time either.

Ron and Hermione, Harry thought, when are they going to get a clue? While it was rather interesting to see their rather unique relationship unfold, it also got rather tiresome for Harry to listen to their constant bickering. It was one of the things that gave Harry such a short fuse during his fifth year, among other things (Umbridge, OWLs and Voldemort completed the list). At that point during his train of thought, his façade of good humour collapsed as he was engulfed once more by depression. Sirius' face drifted in and out of his memory as his vision became blurred by tears that obstinately refused to fall.