Harry Potter and the Prophecy of Faith

Chapter 1

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A Summer’s Distance

It seemed to take Sirius an age to fall. His body curved in a graceful arc as he sank backward through the ragged veil hanging from the arch…

And Harry saw the look of mingled fear and surprised on his godfather’s wasted, once-handsome face as he fell through the ancient doorway and disappeared behind the veil, which fluttered for a moment as though in a high wind and then fell back into place.

Harry heard Bellatrix Lestrange’s triumphant scream, but knew it meant nothing – Sirius had only just fallen through the archway, he would reappear from the other side any second…

But Sirius did not reappear.

“SIRIUS!” Harry yelled…

“SIRIUS!” Harry had awaken, still screaming for his godfather. His heart pounded mercilessly as he attempted to keep quiet as to check to see if anyone else had woken up. He heard a few snorts from the room down the hall, and then assumed that no one had heard him.

This is what the summer had been like for Harry Potter, the boy who lived, not just once, but five times. Harry had survived an attack by the Dark Lord Voldemort, stripping him of his powers, as a baby; later surviving him four more times in his years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Last year ended worse than ever before.

The previous summer had been nearly unbearable for Harry. After being forced to watch his friend’s murder and then dueling Voldemort himself, narrowly escaping, he was forced back to his lonesome house with his abusive aunt, uncle, and cousin. He knew his best friends, Ron and Hermione, were together somewhere, and he knew there was something no one would tell him.

But this summer had been by far much worse. Harry, with another loss for which he blamed himself, was tortured in his dreams once again. Sometimes the dream did not end like it did in reality, but instead showed Sirius climbing back through the archway as if he would have survived if Harry had helped him. Even though Harry knew this was impossible, the guilt weighed down upon his chest more heavily each night, a growing burden which he felt he must carry alone.

When Harry was not dreaming of Sirius, which was rare, his sleep was disturbed by a figure draped in shawls, with large glasses that magnified her eyes to enormous proportions, using harsh tones.

“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives… The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…”

This prophecy came from no one other than his Divination teacher, who in her time made two true prophecies, and otherwise was a fraud. Dumbledore had allowed Harry to see this from the Pensieve the night of the battle in the Department of Mysteries. This is what Voldemort had been after and he tricked Harry to retrieve it, although it was lost before it fell into his hands. Voldemort only heard the first part through a servant sixteen years before, and only knew this boy would have the power to defeat him- nothing about marking Harry as his equal, and the transfer of power that took place that fateful night.

Harry blinked hard and rubbed his eyes, willing himself not to tear up. He had not told anyone about the prophecy, nor did he talk to anyone but Luna and Nearly Headless Nick about Sirius’s death. He was sure that Ron and Hermione knew, but he did not want to bring up the subject. In truth, he did not really want to talk to them either.

When he received a letter from either of them, he would read it hastefully, and he usually did not reply. Harry felt alone in the world, and especially since Sirius’s death and the newfound knowledge that he must kill Voldemort alone, he feared for his friends’ protection. He felt it best to protect them from himself, and this seemed to ease his conscious mind.

Harry glanced at the clock, the red numbers glowing back at him: 1:03AM. He rolled over, knowing he would not fall back to sleep, but attempting nevertheless. As a small, sharp pain reached his forehead, he recalled his brief study of Occulmency, but ignored it, even with recent events. He had far too much on his mind, and he had given up on the idea of clearing it soon before. His thoughts never ceased to haunt him.

* * *

Harry rose with the sun, physically and mentally exhausted from fatigue and an overloaded mind. He moved quietly down the stairs, hoping that no one would wake up so he could sit in peace for awhile longer. He was ready for a change of scenery- locking himself in his room began to remind him of the times he was constantly shut up in the cupboard under the stairs; yet he did not want to run into anyone at all.

He found his way to the refrigerator, pulling out the orange juice and pouring himself a small glass. Feel nauseated just by the look of the juice, he swirled his cup aimlessly, lost in thought. Minutes, or maybe hours later, he heard a thump from upstairs and knew Dudley had finally made his way out of bed. Harry returned his eyes to his orange juice, contemplating whether or not to drink it. Before making a decision he watched the pulp dance mournfully past the glass from his constant movement, and decided to put the drink down the sink.

Most unfortunately for Harry, the first person to the kitchen was not his cousin, whom he could handle as much as seeing, but his Uncle Vernon.

“Boy, what are you doing here?”

Harry moved away silently, prepared to continue back up to his room.

“You’ve been quiet for far too long. You’re planning something, eh? You’d better not be!”

Harry took three more steps up the stairs before he could not bear to keep his silence any longer.

“Boy if you don’t tell me what the bloody hell you’re doing, you can leave, because I don’t want to be involved in another one of your damned schemes.” He started muttering under his breath, but Harry knew it involved the Best Lawn Competition that he was relayed to last year so Harry could be moved to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. He turned around slowly.

“Leave me alone.”

Uncle Vernon’s face turned a slight shade of puce in his anger that followed. He trudged to the stairs and pulled Harry down by his ear.

“Get out…”

“Fine, it’s not like I want to be here anyway!”

Harry stormed toward the door and slammed it after he left, just to anger his uncle more. He knew he would be in trouble later, but that did not matter to him now. He crossed the street and headed down to the park, which would be empty until the neighborhood woke up. It was a Saturday, and Harry was sure the only reason why Uncle Vernon had awaken was to torture Harry yet again.

“Hullo, Harry, dear, how have you been?”

Harry groaned. This he did not need right now. As he attempted to walk faster, feigning deaf, he heard the footsteps behind him speed up, as well as the clanging of aluminum cat food cans.

Ms. Figg, Harry’s batty cat-loving neighbor, who he found out in the previous year was a Squib sent to spy on him, stepped beside him.Harry assumed it was no good to keep moving.

“Hullo, Ms. Figg.”

“How’ve you been, considering recent events?”

“Fine.” Harry started walking again, not towards the park, but back to the house. Maybe he could find a decent hiding place for the time being.

“Harry, you can talk to me, dear.”

Harry turned towards her, gazing past her so that he did not have to look directly into her eyes. “I don’t feel like talking about it.”

“I understand.” As Harry looked toward the asphalt, he heard the clinging of cans growing more distant. He felt a mixture of pity and relief, for forcing her to leave, and then her leaving; and anger, because she did not understand. No one could understand.

When Harry realised there was no reason to return home just yet, he decided to continue on his walk after all. When he returned that night, his stomach growling from the lack of nutrition, his eyes burning from the lack of sleep, and his mind stinging from the lack of rest, he found himself face to face with Dudley, whom, although he gave a threatening look to, called for his father.

* * *

The screaming that followed only worsened Harry’s condition. Now his head was throbbing in pain, and it worsened every time his mouth opened again to retort. In the end, Harry found himself grounded, locked in his bedroom. Nothing more than Harry could have hoped for.

So for another month, Harry spent him time in his room, coming out only to use the bathroom from time to time. Harry gained a bit of weight, despite his lack of eating, which he did not even notice due to his severe stress.

Once or twice a week, he would receive an owl from Ron or Hermione. He knew they meant only for the best, but despite this, he only felt worse for ignoring his friends. He would reply in short notes simply to let them know he was still alive, nothing more.

Harry finally understood what Hermione meant when she had explained to him the depth of emotions. At first, he and Ron thought it impossible for one person to feel so much at one time, yet he understood quite well now. He briefly thought of Cho Chang, and then he hated her- hated her for thinking she had such a tough life. She lost her boyfriend. Maybe Harry was not being fair, but Harry had lost his link to the world of the past, his parents' world. He had lost his godfather, who would have adopted him in a heartbeat. Harry could have been out of here.

And in his mind, it was entirely his fault.

The final month of vacation came, although Harry did not notice it. Constantly locked in his mind, he never even remotely knew what time it was, except when he looked outside and knew as much as whether it was day or night. From time to time, Harry attempted to work on his homework, but his attempts proved futile. Books lay scattered across the room with spare pieces of parchment. On the back of his door was a large dripping black mark, leading from near the door frame, down to the carpet, staining it in a few places. This came when Harry woke up, once again screaming his godfather’s name; and soon later when he discovered he still could not concentrate on his studies, he smashed his ink bottle against the door in his frustration.

* * *

Eventually a notice arrived from Hogwarts that returned Harry to his consciousness. His school supply list had arrived. Harry dared to sneak down to the kitchen and check a calendar to find that school started in two weeks.

As much as Harry did not want to see anyone, he knew it was time to leave Privet Drive, the first time in his life where he sincerely wanted to stay.

* * *

The first problem that Harry encountered was deciding how to get to Diagon Alley. In the past years he had either been taken there by the Dursleys, the Weasleys, and before his third year, the Knight Bus. Considering he wanted to avoid people he knew, and it was obvious that the Dursleys would not help him in the least, he chose the latter.

Harry decided that the best way to go about this was to spend a week on his homework, travel to Diagon Alley, and spend the final week in the Leaky Cauldron. Now Harry found a difficult challenge in his war between motivation and procrastination. He somehow managed to focus his mind strictly on his work for hours at a time, leaving no more room for thrown ink. By the time the final week of summer came, Harry had successfully completed his homework.

Now that his mind was clear of his workload, it swam, once again, with continuous thoughts of Sirius and Trelawney. He prayed his condition would not worsen when he saw Trelawney, even though she had no recollection of her prophecy. The only person who knew besides himself was Dumbledore.

Harry felt guilt once more, for he had not even attempted to use Occulmency. He should learn it, especially since it got him into trouble once before, but it was so difficult for him.

He packed his trunk, attaching Hedwig’s cage to the top, even though she was out. Harry decided to send his plans to Ron and Hermione, assuming they would reply if staying away from home seemed like such a horrible idea. He concluded that Ron spent most of his summer break helping at the Order of the Phoenix Headquarters doing chores, while Hermione spent the summer with her family, especially to make up for being absent during the previous summer and winter breaks. A small piece of the burden was lifted off of Harry’s chest. He was now up to date with both his friends and his school work.

Now, to save him one last bit of grief, Harry decided he would spend the night home, allowing for either of his friends to reply. He could then leave in the morning after finally having a good night’s rest.

* * *

The next morning Harry woke up hours later than he had meant to, although he was not quite positive that he would sleep in the first place. Instead, he had slept an uninterrupted ten hours. Feeling quite refreshed, he stretched and double checked to make sure everything was packed. He went downstairs to the kitchen, leaving his trunk by the door, and then made himself toast with marmalade.

While crunching on his toast half-happily, he tried to recall how much money he had and how much more he would need for supplies and the year. While contemplating his finances, Aunt Petunia came down the stairs, as shocked to see Harry as she would have been if a thief was stealing her appliances.

Uncle Vernon soon noticed too, and he took a place opposite of Harry at the table.

“What’re you doing here boy?”

Harry looked up from his toast in an almost humoured disbelief.

“I live here.”

“When’re you going back to that ruddy school of yours?”

“Actually, I’m leaving today.”

“Well I’m not taking you anywhere!” Uncle Vernon’s face seemed to inflate. In the meantime, Aunt Petunia had made her way into the kitchen, quietly making breakfast so that she could hear the argument herself.

“If I knew you were so willing, I’d have asked. On the other hand, I have transportation, and now seems as good a time as any to leave.”

As Harry stood up and turned around, he could hear Uncle Vernon call him back. By the time Harry made it out the door with his trunk, Uncle Vernon was screaming again.

Harry took out his wand and waved the Knight Bus down. Stan Shunpike helped to load his luggage, and after Harry paid him, he rested in a sofa towards the back of the second level.

* * *

Hardly before Harry could close his eyes, he had already arrived at the Leaky Cauldron. He was escorted off of the Knight Bus and then, once inside, requested a room for the rest of the week. Tom, the innkeeper, helped him to his room, leaving Harry with Hedwig, who was already waiting.Hedwig carried two responses. Harry unrolled both pieces of parchment.

Harry:

Mum already purchased our school supplies, so she says there is no need for me to go to Diagon Alley. I suppose I’ll be here until the start of the term. See you on the train.

Ron

Harry:

I will be in Diagon Alley towards the end of the week to buy my new books. We should try to meet up, possibly on Thursday around two o’clock? Ron says he won’t be able to come, but worst comes to worst, we’ll all meet up on the Hogwarts Express.

Hermione

Harry considered Hermione’s proposal. After all, he had not seen anyone all summer. His mind was clear now and he felt mildly blissful. He could not understand this, but he enjoyed his good mood while it lasted. He responded to Hermione, telling her to meet him in the Leaky Cauldron, and that he was in room eleven. If his poor mood returned by then, he could just say he was not feeling well and needed to rest.

Harry still had three days until her arrival, and during this time, he bought his own supplies and walked around, browsing shops for useless items he was tempted to buy. He decided, then, to spend his money on a small set of wizarding encyclopedias for Hermione, whose birthday was the following month, and a broom servicing kit similar to the one Hermione had given him years before for Ron, even though Ron’s birthday was in March. Instead Harry thought it could make a nice Christmas gift.

By that evening, much of Harry’s cheer had worn off, and his mind wandered back into a depressed state of being. For a moment he was tempted to try a cheering charm, but then quickly realised he was not in school yet, so he still could not perform magic. He instead fell lazily across his bed and remained there until morning, not quite asleep.

That morning he sat on a curb thinking about nothing in particular, sometimes trying to figure out what to say to Hermione, running through scripts in his mind. Suddenly he thought he heard his name. He looked around somewhat anxiously, but did not see anyone. When he heard his name again, the voice came from behind him.

Lupin was standing near a lamp post holding a small bag from a place Harry could not identify. Harry at first felt a leap of excitement, but that was concealed by a creeping sensation a moment later. Lupin would want to talk to Harry, and Harry was not ready to talk.

“Harry.” Lupin said for a third time as Harry’s eyes moved toward the pavement. “How have you been?”

Harry did not reply verbally. His mouth went dry and he simply shrugged.

“I understand more than you’ll admit to realising.”

Harry looked up and into the usual warm eyes of his friend, which now showed more sadness than he had seen in the past. In those eyes, Harry was allowed to recall that Lupin and Sirius had been the best of friends at Hogwarts in their time, and that Lupin was the first to believe that Sirius was innocent, forcing Harry and his friends to see it too. His only link to the world of his parents was not Sirius, but now was Lupin. He would understand what Harry was feeling.

At this point, Lupin had begun to walk away. Harry looked toward him, following the back of his typical torn robes. Lupin was slightly paler than Harry had seen him last, if that was possible. His robes seemed shaggier than usual. Lupin seemed to sense Harry’s tracing eyes, and turned around. When their eyes met, Harry finally opened his mouth to speak.

“I miss him.”

* * *

Lupin froze for a moment in his paces before turning around to rejoin Harry at the curb. Harry suddenly felt grateful and longed for closer relationship with Lupin, maybe simply out of displacing his feelings for Sirius, and the need for that fatherly figure. The two walked together back to Harry’s room in a gloomy silence that longed to be broken. In his room, Harry sat on the bed and beckoned Lupin to join him.

The two were finally able to talk freely, something neither had done since the tragedy itself. The subject was too sensitive for either to hold onto for long, but they managed to form a mutual catharsis. Their discussion lingered on their strained emotions for short period of time, and then moved onto a topic that Harry had not much considered.

“The Ministry is having a difficult time believing that Sirius was innocent, but Dumbledore’s word is pretty strong evidence nowadays. They are currently gathering evidence to prove Wormtail’s betrayal, and eventually Sirius’s name will be cleared.”

“I wish they’d done this earlier. I wish he had a chance to live as a free man.” Harry’s eyes began to form tears, but Harry pushed his eyelids shut, and the tears subsided.

“I know, but at least he can rest in peace. He deserves that much.”

* * *

Lupin soon had to return to his business, of which he did not inform Harry, and Harry was left alone once again. The burden Harry carried had once again been lifted ever so slightly, but it eased so much suffering. After eating a small lunch, Harry gave into his fatigue and slept peacefully for a few hours. When he awoke the sun had already begun to set, and Harry decided against leaving for dinner, instead falling back to sleep until the next morning.

* * *

Harry felt a sharp pain in his hand and jerked it away from the end of his bed. Another sharp pain met his elbow, and Harry opened his eyes saw a great white blur. Jumping up a bit startled, he reached for his glasses and the blur instantly became Hedwig, who was hungry after she, too, missed her dinner the previous night. She carried a letter and a pouch, and Harry took both before feeding her a piece of his leftover sandwich from his last lunch.

Harry unrolled the parchment, instantly recognizing Hermione’s neat handwriting.

Harry:

I’m so sorry, but I’m not able to meet you tomorrow. My mum’s not feeling well and I wanted to stay here with her before school starts. If it’s not a problem, please purchase my supplies, using my list so that you don’t forget my additional classes. I’ve left you enough money in a pouch with Hedwig. Thank you so much.

Hermione

Harry sighed, wishing for her company. After breakfast, he bought what she needed and placed them with his books so that he could not forget them. Then he glanced at his calendar and realised he only had five more days until the start of the term.

* * *

The final days of summer break passed fairly quickly. Before he knew it, Harry was once again packing his belongings to return to school. Once he was positive that everything he owned was on his cart, he sat down for breakfast. He thought about Ron and Hermione, of what they would say, and of how he would respond. The last time that Harry was so nervous was on this same day, five years ago, when he first entered Platform 9¾ after discovering that he was a wizard, and yet knew nothing about magic.

Part of him did not understand where his nerves were coming from. After all, these were his friends. They would know him enough to comprehend that he would be sensitive and that they could not bombard him with senseless questioning.

Okay, maybe I’m not necessarily nervous. I’m uneasy. But I can get through this. It’ll be better, being back with my friends, acting as if everything was how it was before.

Yet it’s not how it was before, and I can’t pretend nothing’s happened. He never leaves my thoughts. Nevertheless, I can still get through this.

Harry returned to his room for the final time. Hedwig was sitting on her perch, waiting to leave. He had brought her some food for the journey, and she sampled it affectionately.

It was too early to go just yet, so Harry sat on his bed and let his thoughts chase themselves around in his head. Now that school was here, he remembered more, especially his rival, Malfoy. Malfoy and his cronies were hard enough on Harry before, but now Harry was the cause of their fathers’ imprisonment.

Just what I need, more harassment. The fun never ends.

He also wondered about the Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry of Magic. What had they done to prepare themselves for the growing threat of Voldemort?

Finally it was time for Harry to leave, and he arrived early to the King’s Cross Station. After waiting for the barrier to open, Harry passed through onto Platform 9¾ and was the first person on the Hogwarts Express. Choosing a compartment near the back, he changed into his robes and sat down, waiting for more people to arrive.

Ginny was the first to find him. They exchanged quick “hello"s and not much more. She soon left, possibly to find Dean, who was her boyfriend from the last bit of information Harry had gathered at the end of the previous year.

Not much later, Neville took a seat across from Harry and after failing to start a conversation, took to staring out the window. Neville had been there when Sirius was murdered and he knew what it was like for a loved one to be lost. After all, his parents were tortured to insanity by the same Bellatrix Lestrange.

Eventually the train began to move. At first Harry could not figure out why Hermione and Ron were still missing, but then he realised that they were still prefects, and therefore had a prefect meeting.

After about a half hour in which Neville had managed to fall asleep, Hermione entered the room, followed closely by Ron. They both sent him aimless smiles and greeted him softly. He noticed that they both seemed a bit more edgy then he.

Harry wanted to start a conversation between friends, but he found it harder than he could have earlier imagined. Luckily, Ron mentioned Quidditch and the two of them began predicting the new teammates they would have on the Gryffindor team, as well as their chances against the other teams. At this Hermione rolled her eyes and turned towards Hogwarts, A History, but later joined their discussion of their N.E.W.T. level classes.

Somehow Harry had managed to hold a normal conversation with his friends, and during this time he felt better than he had in months. A summer’s distance from the life he knew had come to a conclusion.