Warnings: Order of the Phoenix spoilers. Low level violence. Low level romance/sexual activity.

Chapter 1: The Scar

Harry woke up gasping, clutching his scar. He looked around the dorm apprehensively. His bed curtains were flapping innocently and there was a long white streak of moonlight reflecting off the polished wooden floor. He lowered his hand from his head and felt a burning pain sear across his palm. He looked down and saw a sizzling red mark indented into his hand, the exact shape of his scar – only backwards. He started at it for a second. That had never happened before. He shivered as a gust of cold air blew his curtains. His eyes flickered over to the window. It was open. Shivering, Harry walked across the room and closed it with his other hand. He stood at the end of the room looking straight forward at the wooden door to the staircase. He wasn't one bit sleepy anymore. His eyes snapped to Ron's bed as he heard a scuffle from behind the curtains. He waited for a second, and when he heard Ron snore he sighed and walked back to bed. He lay staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the pain in his hand. His couldn't straighten it out, his skin was red raw. His scar had never burnt his hand before. Harry lay awake for a while, confused but eventually fell into a light sleep, to be woken by Neville tripping over his slippers at 8 o clock.

He got out of bed and pushed his feet into his own slippers. Ron's curtains were hanging open and his bed was made. Harry tugged half-heartedly at his own velvet blankets and walked downstairs to the common room. Most people were at breakfast but he found Hermione, Ginny, Ron, Seamus and a few giggling second years still there. He sat down next to Ron yawning.

"Morning Harry!" Hermione said cheerfully.

"Mornin'" Ron said.

"Morning to you two too," Harry answered stretching. As he did he felt a snap of pain dart across the palm of his right hand. With a jolt in his stomach he remembered the dream he'd had last night and the fact that his scar had imprinted a copy of itself onto his hand. Hermione must have noticed the brief flash of pain that had captured Harry's face for a second as she asked, "Are you ok?"

Ron looked at him surprised, wondering what she was talking about. "Er yea. Yea I'm fine," Harry said rolling his hand into a fist. He wasn't sure why he wasn't telling them about his burn, but he knew he didn't want to tell them about his dream. Hermione gave him a funny look but then said simply, "Ok."

Harry was in his 6th year at Hogwarts and having to face an enormous lot of things he had never expected having to face. No-one seemed to notice what Harry was going through and if they did, they certainly weren't showing any signs of care. Harry had been loosing sleep rapidly. His dreams were disturbing him frequently, and leaving is scar red hot. One thing was obvious, Voldemort was gaining power. Luckily the Ministry had finally accepted that so at least now half the school didn't believe him to be a nutter. Not that he wasn't used to it. It had happened in his 2nd year too when he found out he could talk parseltongue. But this year was looking to be one with a lot of pain and uncertainty. Dumbledore had warned him via owl at the end of the holidays that this year was going to force a lot of surprises on Harry and that it wasn't going to be easy. Nothing major had happened yet, and if it had Harry couldn't care. Not when he was still sore about what happened on his trip to the Department of Mysteries last year.

The summer holidays had been bad too. He'd received more letters than he'd ever had on any other holiday, but this time he didn't care. He would have given up all the letters he received for one letter, just one… from Sirius. He hadn't told the Dursley's about him, they barely knew who he was anyway. And they wouldn't treat him any different even if they knew he'd lost someone he loved. Luckily, he didn't have to stay with them very long – despite the ancient magic protecting the Dursley's home Dumbledore had agreed to let Harry stay at the Burrow with Ron. It was great seeing Fred and George again. They'd worked hard on the jokeshop products and Harry had a fantastic time experimenting with some of them. News about Voldemort had been scarce for the two months away from Hogwarts. The Daily Prophet was constantly reminding people to be careful, but no new discoveries had been made – and as of yet Voldemort was still attempting to lie low.

Ron yawned and stretched too. "Ay Harry wanna go have breakfast?" he asked.

Harry was about to nod when Hermione said "Again?! You already had breakfast! With me remember! You had bacon and toast and pumpkin juice!"

"I know," Ron said sighing, "But Harry hasn't and besides that bacon was really good."

Hermione shrugged and pulled out some parchment from her bag. "Very well, I have Arithmancy to do anyway."

"I don't know how she can do homework so early in the morning," Ron muttered as he followed Harry back up the staircase. Harry nodded in agreement and they went into the boys dorm where Harry pulled on his clothes and shoes. They walked to breakfast together, Harry keeping his cut hand inside his jeans' pockets.

The Great Hall was buzzing with students all helping themselves hungrily to their food. Harry put a forkful of buttery scrambled egg into his mouth and Ron said, "Harry were you ok last night?"

Harry almost spluttered as he swallowed his egg wide-eyed. "What?"

"Well I heard you get up and wander round a bit, and er – you were sort of … muttering in your sleep." Ron'd lowered his head in the pretence of helping himself to more toast.

Harry shoved another forkful of breakfast into his mouth and swallowed. "Well I um …" he paused, "I was just having another nightmare."

"Must've been pretty bad," Ron said fairly.

Harry nodded, "Yea it was awful." Only after he'd said it did he notice how much emotion had been in his voice. Ron seemed to have picked up on it.

"If they're getting worse you really should talk to D-"

"No! No it's ok. I'm just having a few little nightmares it's ok!"

Ron said nothing for a little while. "Harry, they're about Sirius aren't they?" he asked finally.

Harry dropped his fork onto the table with a clatter. He picked it up quickly as if nothing had happened.

Avoiding Ron's gaze he started to shake his head in reply, but changing his mind half way he slowly nodded.

"Buddy, I'm sorry," Ron said sincerely.

Harry shrugged and forced another lump of scrambled egg into his mouth.

Ron seemed to be at a loss for what to say. Clearing his throat he said, "If you ever wanna talk … you know I won't tease you or – or anything."

Harry took a deep breath and nodded. There was an awkward silence. "Hey I don't feel like eating anymore," Harry said.

"Me neither," Ron agreed quickly.

The pair pushed their plates to the middle of the table and left the table immediately. They walked most the trip to Gryffindor Tower without saying a word.

Tell him, said a pesky voice in the back of Harry's mind. Tell Ron! Harry ignored it and continued walking, acutely aware of his marked hand swingy rigidly by his side. Ron opened his mouth to try to say something, but closed and continued walking determinedly. Tell him about your scar! Tell him! Harry looked down at his hand, the red groove still imprinted on his palm. Suddenly he stopped walking. Ron stopped, two paces ahead of him and turned around confused. "You 'right Harry?" he asked.

Harry looked down at his hand. "Ron look at this," he said.

"What?"

Harry opened his hand slowly, the skin tearing at the edges of the cut.

Ron's mouth fell open. "W – What is it?"

Harry shrugged, "My scar burnt into my hand."

Ron, who seemed to have suddenly noticed he was gaping, closed his mouth. "What's it mean?"

"I don't know," Harry said shoving his hand into his pocket.

Ron looked up at him, "That's never happened before has it?"

Harry shook his head.

"We should tell Hermi-"

"No. She'll go ballistic. It's ok it'll heal. It doesn't hurt anyway," he lied.

"No way," Ron argued, "This is serious. Your scar's doing something weird to you."

"No I reckon it was just a bit hotter than normal," Harry muttered awkwardly.

"What? A BIT hotter? It put a scorch mark on your hand! Something's happening you know your scar gives you weird warnings and visions and whatever else! This isn't something you can just ignore! What have you been dreaming about Harry!? This is really important you've GOT to tell Dumbledore!"

"Ron!" Harry said looking at him disgustedly, "You're sounding like Hermione!"

Ron shrugged, "Look, let's just get back to the dorms," he offered in a defeated voice. He started walking and Harry followed him. He pulled his hand out of his pocket and looked at it gingerly, blood was seeping out of it. Thankful that Ron hadn't noticed he wiped on the inside of pocket and caught up with him.

The weekend passed without much event, unless you counted Dean being rushed to the hospital wing and Neville getting very angry with Hermione and attempting to hex her. Happenings like this were becoming more and more regular as the stress of accepting what was true pushed harder against all the students. Neville apologised to Hermione who was in tears, he admitted that he hadn't meant what he'd said and that he was just paranoid and wasn't always sure about what he was doing and that he'd been loosing sleep recently.

Ron looked sideways at Harry, "Guess your not the only one," he said.

Harry nodded, betting that he knew what Neville had been having nightmares about. Last night, on his now routinely prowls he'd found a piece of paper flapping around the floor in the boys dorms. He picked it up and recognised it as a sweet wrapper he'd seen Mrs Longbottom give her son at St Mungos last school-year. Feeling a sudden surge of an emotion he couldn't put a name to, he'd put the wrapper carefully back on Neville's dresser and climbed back into bed, his mind heavy.

If it were at all possible Harry hated Bellatrix more than Voldemort. She'd tortured Neville's parents and pushed them into eternal darkness and neverending confusion for the rest of their lives. Then, when she'd faced Neville in the flesh months ago she'd grinned and mentioned what she'd done, as if she took pleasure in seeing his pain. Harry's stomach turned. Had she no heart? And besides – she'd killed the only person who'd ever seemed like a real family member to him. Harry felt a fresh surge of fury burn through him. Not Sirius, why Sirius? Of all deatheaters he loathed Bellatrix Lestrange well above the others, even Lucius Malfoy.