The Lost Wizard

Chapter 1 - Lost and Rejected (Return to prison)

Harry left King's Cross with his relatives in tow for Privet Drive. The warning Moody gave his uncle was enough to give Harry the confidence he needed to survive the summer; he knew Vernon was afraid of the Auror.

"We expect an owl every three days, or we'll come to investigate," Moody instructed both Harry and Vernon.

'Now I can keep in contact with Ron and Hermione without worrying,' Harry thought, 'until it's safe to leave Privet Drive.' He would have them relay any messages to Grimmauld Place and the Order.

As soon as they arrived at number 4 Privet Drive, Harry pulled his trunk to his room and began writing to his friends. He was full of fervent hope for a better summer than usual, and that included being able to write Ron and Hermione with regularity.

He wrote a quick note to Ron.

Ron,

Just a quick note to let you guys and everyone at home know I made it here safe and sound. Uncle Vernon is still being the same git he's always been, but he's not stepped out of line, yet. I'm SOO looking forward to getting out of this prison and back to... his house with you guys.

I'll write in a couple days.

HP

He carefully folded the note, addressed it to 'Ron Weasley, the Burrow'. Now for the second letter, he stopped for a moment and his pulse raced while he tried to think of what to say.

Hermione,

I'm so glad I can write to you without worrying about my uncle getting mad. I made it here safe and sound. Uncle Vernon is still being the same git he's always been, but he's not stepped out of line, yet.

How are you feeling? Have you recovered from that night at the Ministry? I still worry about it, and I wish it never happened.

I miss you and Ron already and can't wait till we are back together again and out of my prison

Harry.

PS. Send me your phone number, I can use the phone to call you from time to time.

He folded her letter, sealed it and addressed it to 'Hermione Jane Granger'.

"Hedwig, I have two letters for you to deliver, bring the first to Ron and the second to Hermione. If she has a reply for you, wait for it, ok, girl?"

She hooted and stretched out a leg for the letters. Once they were tied in place, she hopped to the windowsill and flew off.

That night while he tried to wait patiently for the replies, he left his bedroom, which was his prison cell while away from Hogwarts, to see how his relatives took to Moody's message. Petunia had dinner on the table, ready to serve, and as usual, they did not call him down, hoping he'd skip the meal.

His dreams of living with his Godfather are gone, forever, but he still wanted for a more normal life. He had hopes of a tolerable summer, and maybe build some relationship with his relatives. After all, Petunia did show she knew more of his world than she ever admitted.

He quietly walked down the stairs while they were at the table, and overheard their conversation, Uncle's Vernon snipes in particular .

"...worthless lot. All of them. And he believes all the trash they've been feeding him."

"...ahem -er...actually, it's all true. I remember Lily whenever she came home for the summer, and how she was with James."

That was the first time Harry ever heard both his parents name's in the same sentence without cruelty. He felt a sudden surge of gratefulness to Aunt Petunia.

"Mark my words. He'll be the worst of the lot. Bad breeding, as Marge said."

"Still, she was my only sister, and he's her son, " Harry heard his aunt say.

"A mistake of birth, I assure you. The lot of them are all frauds. Good thing they both were killed, shame they didn't take the brat with them." Harry's temper began to rise when he heard that.

"But Mum, what about what happened last year with that thing Harry scared off?"

Petunia's face paled at the reminder of her son's encounter with a demon that James had described many years ago. Harry had indeed saved her son's life, but that fact was never acknowledged. "Let's not worry about things we can't control," she finally said, to put the incident to rest.

"Rubbish. He must have hit you from behind and claimed it was part of his fantasy."

"Well, Harry was in front of me the entire time, and how could a runt like him surprise me?"

"You did say the lights went out just before you were hit. He must have broken them somehow and hit you from behind. Simple as that. No demons, just that brat. Now I'll have no more talk of this foolishness. The sooner we get rid of him, the better. I don't want any convicted murderers showing up on my door step."

Harry lost what little appetite he had as he fought back his feelings about the way his loved ones were maligned.

'These people never knew mum, dad or Sirius, who could that talk co callously about them? Sirius wasn't a murderer.' he thought.

Although his aunt Petunia did say a few kind words about his parents, but that was the only bright spot. Vernon wished Harry had died with his parents, just so he wasn't burdened with him

He quietly turned and went back to his cell. No need to lock the door, Vernon would see to it later. He picked up one of his schoolbooks, and absently turned the pages, glancing at the words without reading a single one. A picture fell from the heavy volume . As he pickd it up, his hands began to tremble. It was a picture of a group of old friends. The three were smiling after they had learned the truth about his Godfather that he wasn't the murderer the Ministry claimed. He was just a man trying to fulfill a promise he made on the day a young baby was greeted by the world. He just wanted to teach him how to live, love and be happy. The picture was taken just after Sirius had left on the hippogriff, Buckbeak, to find a safe haven . The three in the picture were the happiest they've ever been. It was a time before Voldemort returned to ruin his life. That seemed like a lifetime ago.

Sirius was gone.

Harry felt responsible for his godfather's death. He had almost caused Hermione's death. He was responsible for Cedric's death, if he hadn't suggested they share the Cup, Cedric would still be alive.

Another picture fell from the volume- a picture of a woman and a man: he, with jet-black hair and round glasses, and she, with cinnamon red hair and the deepest green eyes. They were radiating their love for each other. They too, were gone. He only remembered them from a handful of pictures and a couple memories of a mirror and the night HE came back.

He let the book of spells and pictures fall as he raised his hands to his eyes. He had been crying inside for many days, weeks actually. Now, the tears were real. There wasn't a soul to see his weakness.

Harry couldn't bear being away from his friends for such a long time, and now the only family relations he had were bad-mouthing his very existence behind his back. Harry took a deep breath and wiped away the last of his tears. Actually, he was sure that Vernon had done so for years, but it was just that his cruelty was so painful to Harry at the moment. He couldn't bear that, as well as his awful loneliness, too. The last year had taken a heavy toll on him. He had started out the summer so hopefully, but now...

He could hear talking and some laughter in the hall.

"They must be laughing at me again," he thought. "Well, let them laugh! I don't need them. They don't want me." He vowed to himself in the dark of his room that night to never rely or care for another person ever again.

He was just beginning to drift off to sleep when he heard a scratching at his window. A stern-looking bird was hovering outside his window. In its talons, it held an official looking document, complete with seals and ribbons. He opened the window, to allow the bird to enter, and removed the document. The bird flew off.

'Looks like something important. Could be my OWLS, but it's too early for them, ' he thought as he nervously opened the letter.

Mr H. Potter

4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging

RE: The Estate of Sirius Black

Sir, this is to officially notify you of the disposition of the will and estate of Sirius Black.

The will left with his solicitor at Gringotts had named you, Harry James Potter, as the sole beneficiary of the aforementioned Sirius Black. In addition to the various accounts in Gringotts for the Black family, there are properties that remained in his possession to include 12 Grimmauld Place, and the property in Godric's Hollow.

Due to his status as a convicted murderer escaped from the Azkaban Prison, the execution of that document is pending an official hearing on July 30. Should the Ministry void the document; the inheritance will be awarded to the nearest living Black, a Narcissa Malfoy.

Thank you.

After reading it, Harry continued staring unseeingly at the letter in his hand. The letter reinforced the fact that Sirius was truly gone; the truth of the life lost was obscured by a vindictive politician. Harry couldn't stand it. His eyes felt like they were going to well up with tears again, but he furiously blinked them away. The letter landed in the trash bin.

He fell into bed and closed his eyes . The growl from his belly finally stopped, upon realizing there'd be nothing tonight. He fell into a deep sleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

A black cauldron large enough to cook a man is balanced on a bed of red-hot coals. Whiffs of a silvery smoke flow from the massive pot. A splash is heard from the other side of the pot. He felt a searing pain in his arm followed by the familiar warm ooze of his blood. A scream of pain and another splash was heard, followed by a rhythmic chanting from the ring of hooded figures surrounding the scene.

He shot out of a deep sleep with a searing pain from his forehead, his bedcovers soaked in sweat. It's the same dream he'd had for over a year. The pain burning in his forehead reminded him who planted that dream. "Why can't I have a normal dream," he said to himself. "It'll never happen; I'll never have any kind of normal life. I might as well die now and be done with it."

His eyes swelled again and the memory of his empty belly added to his torment. This time he drifted off after tossing and turning for nearly a half hour.

...The Great Hall was crowded for the end of year feast. The seventh years had just graduated and were reveling in their success. It was a cheerful sight. Then a scream, a hooded figure drifted from behind the girl, she stood there as in shock, looked down to her chest to see the end of a sword extruding from her. The crimson of her robe glistened against the blue cloth. She never fell to the ground, but instead floated in air, under the figure of a black skull and snakes. Her blood drips into a dark red pool.. .

"NOOOOO!" he screamed. He shot up in his bed.

"SHUT UP POTTER!" Vernon screamed from down the hall.

Shaking, he looked at the clock on the nightstand, 3:45. And he'd had little restful sleep. His cold damp sheets reminded him of the blood dripping in his vision. He was shaking, from the terror or cold sweat, he couldn't tell. He stripped the soaked covers from the bed, grabbed a cloak from his closet and curled into the fetal position, and again waited for sleep to rape his mind. His mind raced with the fresh images of the blood dripping from the girl, he could still see the blade through her chest, but not her face. After tossing in his bed for what seemed like days, sleep finally claimed him.

He watched her body suspended several feet above the ground, blood poured from her wounds. Bright crimson fluid ribboned down her leg, pooling at his feet, the moon light ... He could see a green glow surrounded her body as she screamed in agony.

His head snapped up again, his heart felt as if it were about to explode from his chest. He remembered the blood and the girl, but not her face. He had seen her die twice tonight in his dreams... twice? He shook the dream off, and sat on the floor with his knees pulled to his chest, afraid of his bed and afraid of sleep, cold drops of sweat rolled from his brow. All his eyes could focus on was the second hand on his clock, moving... with... each... tick... of... each... second... Until his chin drooped to his chest.

After that fitful night, he was awoken by an owl tapping on his window. His head snapped up so quickly, he felt shooting pain down the left side of his neck. 'Hedwig, she must have brought a message from Hermione.' he mumbled to himself. His heart beat revived as he thought this could be a ray of hope. "Come here, girl. Let me have the note." He took the letter from his faithful owl, and saw the perfect script handwriting on the envelope, as he tore it open not noticing the shaking in his hands, he realized it's from Hermione.

Harry,

I'm glad to hear that we can write each other, and even more so that you're willing to write. Please don't forget to tell me everything that happens. I'll always be there to help you, I promise.

My parents are planning a trip to the United States for the summer, my dad wants to visit a distant cousin, didn't even know I had relatives in America. I don't think your uncle will allow you to make a call overseas, but you can call my cell phone, it's 07202349845. I don't know if it will work there, but I'll bring it. We're planning on leaving in 2 or 3 days and I'll be back for your birthday.

Please keep yourself safe, I don't know what I would do if... please be safe.

Love always,

Hermione

Harry continued staring at the letter long after he had finished reading it, thinking:

'Love always'. She always signs his notes like that, but this time it seemed different, almost mocking him. And 'keep yourself safe'. Not that she cares, does she? ...No. Of course she couldn't care a jot about me! She just doesn't want to lose her 'hero'. I'm tired of being everyone's hero. And she'll be gone most of the summer, there'd be no way to owl or call her.

Harry completely had forgotten the fact that Hermione had posted her mobile phone number in the letter. He angrily crumpled up the letter from the one of the few people that didn't think he was crazy, or a hero- wannabe 'grandstander'. He couldn't see or remember that Hermione knew the real Harry Potter because his mind was fogged with self-doubt and denial. Hermione's letter also landed in the trash bin.

He tried to pull himself up, to face the day. But his body was still numb from the images that ran through his dreams all night. He'd had bad nights, but two horrible dreams in one night? 'Two, or was it three?' he scratched his head and tried to remember the details of yet another horror fille night, 'Oh, yes, it was some girl dead hovering over a pool of blood. I wish I knew who she was...Why do they keep coming back to me? '

Grrrrrrr! His stomach grumbled. He pushed the visions to the back of his mind where they would have to wait, 'maybe with a full belly things would make sense.' He reasoned. His stomach reminded him of his neglect. Reluctantly he forced clean clothes on his body so he could go to the kitchen for food. He glanced at the clock, 5:15.

"Good those animals will still be asleep."

He opened his door, thanking Merlin it wasn't locked, and crept down the stairs. He avoided the 5th and 9th steps, remembering those step creaked and slipped into the kitchen.

Food. It was one of the many things that he'd been denied in this house. Many times he'd had to resort to parcels of food from his friends; now he'd have to resort to stealth. As quietly as possible, he opened the refrigerator, pulled out a bit of leftover sausage from dinner and a slice of bread, wrapped the bread around the sausage and ate without warming it. He pulled out a bottle of milk, and took a deep pull from the bottle. He looked around the kitchen for anything he could stockpile in his room, and only found a box of biscuits. Satisfied the box wouldn't be missed, he carried that and a bottle of water to his room. He had a supply of food for Hedwig, and besides, she could hunt her own dinner in the fields.

As quietly as he had slipped into the kitchen, he made his way to his room. Down the hall, past the cupboard he spent his first 10 years in, and up the stairs. He counted in reverse, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9 skip that step, 8, 7, 6 CRREEK...

'DAMN!' he thought, 'another loose board.' He froze in his track, not thinking he could skip the next two steps, he waited to make sure he wasn't heard. He raised his foot, reached past the next two steps and made it to the landing. Sighing in relief at having successfully traversed the stairs, he slipped into his room. It was now 5:25. He had escaped his "cell" for ten whole minutes .

The biscuits were hidden under the loose flood board, next to his most personal possessions- his broom cleaning kit from Hermione, and a photo album given to him by Hagrid at the end of his first year. He left the volume where it was. He didn't feel like looking through it at the moment. Seeing the smiling faces knowing he couldn't be with was too painful .

At his desk, he began to ponder his situation. He would be trapped in this house until his birthday. At best, they might come for him sooner; after all, the hearing for Sirius' Will was the day beforehand. Harry desperately hoped that they would think it necessary for him to leave earlier in order to prepare for it . He knew it would be painful for him, since he loved Sirius so much. So much and now they're trying to take away his last link to the man. He could loose 12 Grimmauld Place.

Sirius' possessions had been seized and that included 12 Grimmauld Place. Where would the Order go now? The Order... he had forgotten about them. He wondered if they're going to remember that he's stuck in this prison. 'Would they remember Sirius now he's gone or is this just an inconvenience for them?' He thought. 'No one there really believed me anyway.'

He had to sneak to the kitchen for his food, to avoid confrontation with his uncle. Petunia seemed to have softened her position on his world after he saved that pig of a cousin last year.

Hermione was going away for the month; he was looking forward to sharing more with her this summer. His chance was gone.

Ron... Ron's at home with his family. He's enjoying his life. No reason to bother him with his problems now.

Voldemort still had spies everywhere trying to kill 'The-Boy-Who-Lived'.

He silently watched the clock as the second hand slowly moved. He tried to focus on what he could do, but his problems kept seeping back into his thoughts. The old clock ticked the seconds into minutes. The minutes seemed to take hours to pass. He finally blinked.

"If this is going to be my summer, I might as well end it now." He said to himself as he glanced from the clock to the pile of books on the desk, next to a thin piece of wood. Thoughts raced through his head, voices in his mind kept saying 'Do it, the pain will be gone.' He reached for his wand and held it in his hand, pointing it at his chest. 'It will only work if I truly want it to happen.' He thought.

He closed his eyes tightly, and began to think of the incantation. His lips parted to begin the spell, when he heard another voice in his mind, his voice of reason, that of a young girl. 'This isn't what you really want, Harry. It's not in you.' The voice said in an uncharacteristic soothing tone. Through his clinched eyes, he felt a tear leak through as he dropped the wand.

His lips parted again, this time to draw a deep breath, a cleansing breath. He desperately needed to clear his head. The visions continued to gnaw at him, he wished he could either forget them entirely of see them with total clarity. 'Push them aside, busy your mind with other endeavors.' The voice of reason commanded.

He looked back to the pile of books and pulled out the list of summer assignments, and thought that maybe this would take his mind off his problems. And maybe he'd finish them early; after all, he had nothing else to do. Potions, skip that. Care of Magical Creatures, not in the mood. Defense Against the Dark Arts, nothing was assigned since Umbridge was in charge last year; shit, she didn't teach a thing anyway. Divination... he opened the book and it fell open to the chapters on Dreams and Dream Interpretation. 'Dreams, maybe there's a clue in here.' He hoped.

As he read the large tome, he heard the muted voices of a family waking to the day, blissfully ignorant of the dangers facing them and the hours passed into days.

- - -

He read the chapters on Dreams, and re-read them, trying to understand the meanings. He focused his mind on this one topic, ignoring all other assigned work. He hadn't worked out the details of his two dreams, except the first was simple enough, Voldemort's resurrection. The other dream was more mysterious. If only he had seen the girl's face . He had refused to sleep last night, or the night before, not wanting a repeat of his dreams. "How I wish I had a dreamless sleep potion," he said to himself, as he's the only one willing to talk to him.

It was 11:45 in the morning, the box of dry biscuits was long gone, and he had no desire to spend another minute listening to his relatives telling him how worthless he is and how he and parents were frauds, to boot. He sighed at the book, rubbed the sleep from his eyes and realized he needed to send a "status report" to Moody. He thought of sending a note to Ron and having him forward it on, but Ron hadn't answered his first note yet.

"Guess he forgot and is too busy to remember me," he said to his other self, half waiting for a reply. None come. He tore a piece of parchment from the sheet he'd scribbled on, no sense wasting an entire sheet for this.

Moody

I'm fine.

Harry

He folded it once and called his owl.

"Come here, girl, I need you to deliver this to Mad-eye," he said to the owl while he tied it to her leg.

There were three more days before he had to send another message.

He opened his books again and tried to concentrate on them. This time he picked up his Defense Against the Dark Arts volume from the year when Remus taught class; that was the best year they had with that topic. He decided to re-read the book from the beginning. He made it through the first two chapters before his eyes grew to slits, his head began to bob, and it fell to rest on the page he had been trying to read for the past hour.

" STUPEFY! WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!" He was reeled back; the girl in his arms was torn from him. He watched the girl rise in the air, her back to him. Her blood pours from her body to pool at his feet ... A green glow surrounded the body; he heard a voice and an unfamiliar curse.

His head jerked up, off the damp pages of the book he had been reading. The sun was gone from the sky and he had missed another day's worth of meals. It was the dream again, but different. This time he grabbed a scroll of parchment to record the dream. With unsteady hands he wrote every detail he could remember. "I'll figure it out; I need to know what it means," he told his other self. It was in a battle and he was helping a casualty, but who was she?

It took more then an hour to write the details of his dream; he was trying hard to remember every detail. He looked at the clock on his desk, 12:35, past mid-night. He thought of writing to Remus to talk about this dream, but when he looked at the moon, it was full. But Moony would be having a bad night, probably locked in some basement to help keep him from hurting someone. He'd be unable to help anyone, let alone himself, for a few days at least. He wouldn't write Dumbledore, not after last year. He was still angry at the deception.

Hermione... he could ask her to help interpret this dream, but Divination is a load of garbage according to her, she'd just write it off and try to rationalize its meaning. There was Ginny, she was good at interpreting dreams, but she'd tell Ron and Ron would tell Hermione, and Hermione would go to Dumbledore. Luna Lovegood, he thought. Luna was decent at Divination too; he'd get her help. He'd tell her it was something he saw in a TV show and thought it would make an interesting essay. That's his plan. He'd add to the scroll any new details he remembered, and if it recurred . He'd record it all.

The clock quietly turned to 2:45 in the morning; time to raid the kitchen. He put his papers away under the loose floorboard and went to the door, and turned the knob but it wouldn't budge. It was locked. With a sigh, he resigned himself to his cell and tried to sleep.

He managed a full 4 hours of peaceful sleep, and woke when Petunia quietly knocked on his door. It had been five full days since they had seen him and with the warning of a three-day interval of reports, Vernon was worried. The coward that he was, he sent his wife to defuse the bomb in the smallest room of the house.

"Harry, dear."

'She never called me that before, they're really afraid of me.'

"Come down for breakfast."

Harry felt that he would rather starve then have to put up with them. How could such cruel and thoughtless people even have the nerve to bag him behind his back, and then invite him to breakfast with them?

"GO AWAY!"

"You haven't been out of your room in days; you really need to spend some time outside."

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" he shouts, "BEFORE I REALLY GET MAD!"

" Okaaaay... Ummm.... I'll leave the door unlocked, we're going to Marge's for the day, are you going to be ok?"

"JUST GO!" Harry yelled.

Marge's, that's what he needs, time alone, and with them gone, he could leave his cell for a little while. Maybe watch some TV and catch up on the news. An hour later, he heard the front door slam shut and the car start.

After he heard the sound of the car fade, he opened his door and ventured downstairs; his first stop was the kitchen.