The Thunder without Lightning [ Tomarry

Chapter I

Sixteen year old Harry Potter didn't sign up for the life he lived. Sure, being a wizard was all cool and would be awesome when he was considered an adult, but that was only if he was ever considered normal, per se. Even in the Wizarding world he was given strange looks— and that was in a world where people wore neon capes and thought they were the height of fashion.

Honestly, he was okay with being a wizard. In fact, it was amazing. But did he want to be the boy who lived? No. Harry couldn't help but worry that he would never be able to defeat Voldemort— he was sixteen! Why couldn't he have been given the choice back when he was a one year old to participate in this magical arms race?

The whole 'saving the world from evil' thing only really caught up to him at the end of fourth year, when Cedric Diggory was literally murdered in cold blood right before his eyes by the same man who had murdered his parents. Until then, Harry hadn't really believed it. Now, he knew better than to underestimate it. Besides, if he couldn't trust himself, who could he really trust? His friends were nice, but they were so quick to turn on him. The ministry is somehow still in denial after seeing Voldemort in the Ministry itself— Harry still couldn't understand how they could be so closed minded. Dumbledore was keeping something from him, and Harry knew it. But what? The only person who had never lied to him was the one person who wanted nothing more than him dead in the ground.

Until Harry figured his life out, he'd have to go with the flow and act like he trusted everyone. But truthfully, he barely even trusted himself.

That evening during dinner, a random second year ran up to him in a flustered manner, shoving a letter in his hands before rushing off to her other giggling friends. Raising a brow, Harry ripped open the letter to read the insides.

Meet me in my office at 7:00 for further studies.

Ps. My favourite candy is Lemon Pops.

'Well,' Harry thought as he casted a quick tempus over his food, 'there's only one person that could be. I'll just have to take a breadstick for the road— if the man wanted me at 7:00, why couldn't he get in contact before 6:55?'

His friends, whom had previously been talking about Lavender Brown, Ron's current girlfriend, noticed Harry's hurry to get up. "And where are you going?" Seamus questioned. "Explosive diarrhea or what?"

"I've just realized I've got a Potions essay to finish," Harry lied easily, "and Slughorn expects me to be a model student, right? See you all later."

Everyone said goodbye as Harry walked out of the Great Hall. The corridors were empty, save for the few students scurrying around the hide in closets or those who wanted to get back to their dorms. Harry munched on his breadstick in contemplation. What would Dumbledore show him now? He knew it would be about Tom Riddle, but what now? He didn't really care as long as he got to bed at a half decent hour tonight— he'd hate to go McGonagall's class tomorrow morning with half a brain, she'd have his head on a stick.

By the time he reached the Headmaster's office, he'd finally finished his breadstick. Dumbledore, of course, was seated on his regular chair with his phoenix Fawkes to his left. The room was very ornate, that was certain, but one of the objects that could never be overlooked was the grand pensieve in the middle of the room.

"Hello Headmaster," Harry greeted as he eyed the pensieve. "Is today another memory journey, or..?"

"No," Dumbledore replied briskly. He seemed more nervous, and he was twiddling a gold chain in his fingers, something Harry had never seen him do before. "Now, I'm afraid, we have to put all your knowledge to good use."