In Daylight's Shadow

Chapter One

Harry Potter's summer at the Dursley's had been, for the most part, boring. Excruciatingly boring. Vernon, Petunia and Dudley had apparently, prior to his arrival in Little Whining, decided that if they couldn't see, hear or touch Harry, he obviously no longer existed. As such, Harry's three closest relatives spent much of their time pretending he wasn't there. While Harry had initially enjoyed following Petunia around, trying in vain to place himself directly in her line of site, the amusement didn't last much longer than a week. It seemed no one had spoken with him in years. Dudley was being continuously praised for his improvement at Smelting, along with being paraded by his beaming parents around local gyms, giving demonstrations on the finer points of boxing. Harry had not been invited to any of these excursions, and, as bored as he was, decided he would probably jump at the chance to see Dudley huff and puff his way around a punching bag.

His only contact to the outside world, to say nothing of his world, was currently sitting next to him on his bed in number four Privet Drive, absently nibbling on his little finger. Hedwig had been Harry's first real present, a gift from Hagrid, and he loved her dearly. She seemed to be flying out his window every other day, delivering replies to his best friends Ron and Hermione. He had even begun a rather tentative correspondence with Neville Longbottom, whom he felt a great deal closer to after the incident at the Ministry of Magic. The events of that day still weighed heavily on Harry's mind, as it seemed, to him at least, that every direction he turned offered him another reminder of his dead Godfather. Sometime he half expected to see a great black dog come lumbering down the road to greet him at his window, but, with a sad sigh, he always reminded himself that it wasn't going to happen. Sirius was dead, and it was all his fault.

Harry groaned to himself and flipped his legs off the bed, sending Hedwig away in a flurry of feathers.

"Calm down now, Hedwig," he said, holding out his arm for the owl to land on, which she reluctantly did, "I didn't mean to scare you. I just don't feel like lying in this room all summer." He stroked her head softly with his fingers as he continued, dropping his voice to a low whisper, "You at least get to out every once in a while. What I wouldn't give for one hour on my broom."

Harry's broom was one of his most prized possessions. For the summer, it was safely tucked away in his trunk, along with the Marauder's Map, his father's invisibility cloak and the rest of his school supplies.

"Damn," Harry said aloud as he thought about his broom and the man who gave it to him. "Not having much of a time, are we, Hedwig?" he asked as he stroked the bird's feathers. Hedwig merely hooted contentedly.

He moved to his desk and sat Hedwig on the perch of her cage, where she promptly startled nibbling on the feed in her tray. Looking at the papers on his desk, he took a stack of scrolls and returned to his bed.

The first was his O.W.L. reports from Hogwarts. It had been better than he'd expected. Twelve. O's in both the written and practical Defense against the Dark Arts, and the same in Charms and Transfiguration, an O for the Potions practical and an E for the written, an A on the practical and an E on the written for Herbology, and double A's in Divination wasn't a bad lot, even if he had miserably failed History of Magic and Astronomy. Harry's only minor concern was Professor Snape's declaration that he would only accept O's into his N.E.W.T. Potions class, but Harry was sure Dumbledore or McGonagall would find a way to help him along. His dreams of becoming an Auror seemed to have solidified when he actually held the results in his hands, and knew for the first time it was something he could do.

Hermione, as the letter Harry was holding told him, had of course managed to pass every one of the eighteen she had attempted; all O's except for one E in the Astronomy Practical (which, her letter said, she wanted re-administered, considering the havoc during the exam the previous year). Neville had gotten ten, which surprised even Harry, with O's in Defense and Herbology. Even Ron managed nine O.W.L.'s, with emphasis on Charms and Defense, sending Mrs. Weasley into one of her bouts of maternal glee ("Isn't that wonderful Harry!" she had scribbled on the side of the note Ron had sent him).

Harry put down Ron's note and picked up the first one he had received from Neville. It had come as a bit of a shock to see Neville's new, mammoth brown owl come flying at his window. Neville told him before they left Hogwarts that the bird, which he named "Sheen" had been a gift, along with his new wand, from his Grandmother. She had been particularly proud of his actions in the ministry. After mentioning the event he had blushed, mumbled an apology to Harry, and hurried away. Harry figured he had written the first letter to apologize. He read it slowly to himself.

Dear Harry,

Hi. This is Neville. Neville Longbottom. I just wanted to write to you to thank you for how nice you where to me last year. I really learned a lot in the DA, and I'm pretty sure it might have even helped me to pass the Defense exam! I know the Ministry wasn't good, and that it must have hurt you a lot, but it really helped me to know that you trusted me. Thanks again!

Yours,

Neville Longbottom

P.S. This is Sheen's first delivery, would you please make sure she makes it home safely?

Harry had replied to Neville immediately, his had actually been the first letter Harry received all summer, and they begun a regular correspondence. He heard from Neville more than Ron, who was at the Burrow with a recently returned Bill and the twins Fred and George, or Hermione, who was with her parents in Prague. He guessed it was because Neville was alone with his grandmother, and might be just as lonely as him. Either way, it was nice. He had always liked Neville, but, since Dumbledore had told him the nature of the prophecy in the ministry he felt a strange connection to the boy. He was glad he had gotten to know him better. He had even considered asking Neville about his parents in one of the letters, but decided it was better to do that face to face.

Flipping through the rest of the pages in his hands, he finally came to the one letter he had received that summer from Dumbledore. Things between them, Harry remembered, had been strange since the ministry. He knew Dumbledore never meant to hurt him, and only wanted what was best for him, but he couldn't shake the nagging voice in his head that told him it Sirius' death was partly the old man's fault. Harry's anger was confounded by the little news he was receiving from the Order. Everyone seemed to be keeping secrets from him. Even Hermione had, in her own way, reminded him that the adults knew what was best. Harry tried to reason with himself, but he felt like on of the adults. He had faced Voldemort more times than most of them, and survived. He knew it wasn't entirely his success, but he still felt he had the right to know what was going on, particularly as, in his mind, the war would only end with him killing the Dark Lord, or the man who murdered his parents killing him.

Harry looked again at the letter. He had read it enough times to know all it said, but reading it still comforted him.

Dear Harry,

I know you must be sad at this point, and most likely angry with me. Believe me when I say I am sorry things turned out like this, and that I never intended to cause you more pain than you have already had to deal with. While I do feel that you will need to remain with the Dursleys as much as possible this summer to ensure your protection, I have spoken with Mr. And Mrs. Weasley, and have agreed to let you attend a birthday party in your honour at their home. I will speak to you then.

Yours,

Albus Dumbledore

Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Order of Merlin, First Class

Harry smiled at the mention of his party. It was the only thing he had been looking forward to all summer. A real birthday party. From what he had heard from Ron, the Burrow had been abuzz as the day in question approached, and several members of the order, including Remus, Tonks, Bill, Moody and the Twins had all announced their intent to attend. Just as Harry was imaging Mad-Eye Moody in a pointed party hat Hedwig ruffled her feathers noisily and gave a single hoot, her signal to announce the arrival of another owl.

Harry jumped quickly to his feet, laid the papers on his desk, and moved to the window. He always opened the window when an owl approached, in case it was the Weasley's Errol, who had a habit of flying directly into it if closed. Fortunately, Harry saw the wide brown wings of Sheen on the horizon as he locked the window open. The bird banked gracefully to the left, then slowly descended and landed on Harry's window sill. Giving a cursory nod to Hedwig, she stuck out her left leg, and hooted. Harry slowly unwrapped the letter from her leg, then held out his arm for Sheen. She obliged by jumping quickly on to it.

"Good girl, Sheen," he said as he took the bird to his desk and rummaged about for a treat, "you're getting much better at that last dive." He gave the owl her reward then left her to her own devices. He sat and unrolled the letter.

Dear Harry,

Good news mate! Gran said, because of my O.W.L. results, that I can shop by myself this year in Diagon Alley for school supplies. I wanted to see when you where going, hoping we might be able to meet up.

Let me know,

Neville

Harry smiled at how quickly Neville had started thinking of him as his friend. The boy had always seemed slightly left out; not one of the trio, and not quite fitting in with Dean and Sheamus either. Harry decided he would like to go shopping with Neville, and took out a quill and parchment to reply.

Neville,

Congrats mate! I think it would be fun to go shopping; as long as we get to go to the new Wicked Weasly shop. I hear they have some great new stuff. As for when, I'll have to ask Dumbledore at my birthday party

Harry stopped writing with a start. He realized, to his dismay, that he had forgotten to invite Neville to his party. He thought to himself for a minute, then quickly erased the last line and started again.

You may not know, but my birthday is next Monday. I know it's a bit late, but do you think you can come? Let me know if you can come so I can tell the Weasleys.

Yours,

Harry

Motioning for Sheen, Harry quickly tied the letter onto her leg, and then took her back to the window.

"Up for another flight already, girl?" he asked. The owl hooted an affirmative, then took off into the open sky.

Harry was glad he remembered to write Neville's, and gladder he had thought to invite him to join in the celebration. He was busy imagining the fun they could get up to as he slowly drifted off to sleep.

Five hours later he awoke with a slow, throbbing pain in the lighting shaped scar that jutted down his forehead, and a slight trickle of warmth dripping from his eyes. He had been having a pleasant dream, soaring high over Hogwarts quidich pitch, the stands decked in red and gold, and his hand was about to close in on the snitch that danced tempting before him, when, suddenly, the world around him exploded in white light. He sat up quickly, and instinctively reached for the glasses on the nightstand. His scar burned furiously, and he gritted his teeth fiercely against the pain. As he finally located his glasses on the nightstand and reached to slide them onto his face, his fingers grazed against a warm, soft liquid on the side of his face. Positioning the lenses on his face, he looked down at his fingers, and gasped as he saw the crimson blood glistening softly in the moonlight. He stood up rapidly, swearing to himself under his breath, and as quickly and quietly as possible, made his way to the bathroom. Once inside, he locked the door with a dull clink, then turned on the light and looked at his reflection in the glass.

Streaks of drying blood licked the side of his face and trailed down his neck onto his chest. The blood seemed to have pooled at the base of neck, bordering his clavicle, as if pulled by some unknown center of gravity. Clearly visible against his pale white skin, Harry made out the letters the blood had formed. I. I. V.

"No," he said aloud, his voice shaking slightly. He knew he had to concentrate. The mirror reflected the image; "V.I.I."

As Harry stared at the letters, focusing his mind as Snape had taught him to, he slowly felt the pain in his scar dissipate, leaving only a dull pinch. He watched his own outline in the mirror, and, slowly, the blood on his neck and face seemed to sink back into his skin, leaving no trace that it had ever stained his body.

He staggered back against the wall, and pushed his fingers roughly through his unkempt black hair. He frowned as he felt the soft pull of his skin as his fingers dug into his scalp, and he tried to make sense of what he had seen. Harry was not sure if this was some new form of attack, or something else entirely random that simply conspired to make his life all the more complicated. The thoughts rolled over and over in his mind, and, suddenly, he was reminded of Sirius.

"Arrrr," he groaned as he clenched his hands into fists, "Why does this always happen to me? I didn't ask for this!"

He shook his fists at his own reflection, hating the confusion the image brought him. Without warning, a ripple moved sharply threw the glass itself, then the pane shuddered violently, and exploded outwards toward him. His reflexes moved his hands over his face, and he turned his shoulder to try and absorb the impact. The impact didn't come. After a few moments, Harry slowly turned back and looked ahead of him to where the mirror had been. Hanging listlessly in front of the bare wall, a thousand shimmering pieces of glass hung in the air, like dozens and dozens of stars. Harry shook his head hard, and blinked. The glass didn't move. Slowly, he reached to try and touch one of the glistening pieces, but, as his fingers neared the orb, the entire cluster seemed to melt, forming a silvery liquid that pulled itself into a tightly fitting ball, the sprang back up in a sheet against the wall. The next moment, the silvery sheet solidified, and Harry was once more staring at his own reflection.

Scrunching his eyebrows, Harry ran his fingers across the glass, and, to his surprise, it was the same smooth, cold feeling it had always been. He was about to examine the edges of the mirror when a loud bang interrupted him. Harry turned and saw the door vibrate as Uncle Vernon yelled to him as he pounded against the door.

"What do you think you're doing?" his uncle's furious voice came through the wall. "Have you any idea what time it is? I have a very important meeting with a very important man tomorrow, and I don't need your delinquent banging keeping me awake. Now open this door!"

Harry reached out and turned the handle on the door, swung it open, and looked up at his uncle with the most innocent expression he could muster. For the first time that night, he was glad the blood had disappeared from his face and neck.

"I'm sorry, did I wake you? I just needed to use the loo and..."

Vernon Dursley cut him off by grabbing the scruff of Harry's neck, and dragging him to his room.

"Now, GO TO SLEEP!" he bellowed as he pushed the door open. "And I don't want to hear another bloody peep from you!"

He pushed Harry into the dark room, slammed the door, and marched back down the hall. Harry waited until he heard the muffled footsteps finally stop, and, assuming Uncle Dursley had made his way to his own bed, turned on the lamp on his desk, and drew out a parchment and quill.

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

Something has happened that I can't explain. I don't know if I should talk about it in a letter. My scar is hurting again. When can I speak with you?

Yours,

Harry

He removed Hedwig from her cage, and, as the bird shook its head slowly, tied the message to her leg.

"Here now, girl. Get this to Dumbledore as quick as you can"

Sensing the urgency in her masters voice, Hedwig hooted quickly, then set off out towards the window. Harry barely had time to open it before the white bird shot out into the night sky. He watched her for a few moments as her wings beat against the air, and then slowly closed the window again. Leaving the light on, he returned to his bed, lay down, and started to slowly stroke his temples with his fingers.

"Doesn't look like I'll be getting much sleep tonight." Harry muttered to himself, as the moon shone innocently down, bathing the room in a soft, peaceful light.