The Prince of Darkness (A Harry Potter Fanfic)

Chapter 1

A/N- okay so if you've read the chapter before, you've probably noticed ive changed it, A LOT and that's because, comparing the first and second chapter together, the first one has a lot more reads than the second one, and I've realized that, thats, probably because the first one wasn't interesting enough, so, with the help of my friends, I've decided to increase this chapters length and detailedness. I've also made it a lot sadder(ish). 

A/N- BUT, if you've hadn't read this chapter before, WELCOME! This is my first Wattpad story, so feel free to give me some tips! None of these characters belong to me, and make sure to vote and comment!

The night was still and heavy with the warmth of summer, but Harry Potter lay restless in his bed at Number Four, Privet Drive. Moonlight slanted through the thin curtains, casting shadows that danced across his cluttered room. His trunk sat half-packed in the corner, his school robes draped over a chair, and Hedwig, his snowy owl, slept silently in her cage, her head tucked under her wing.

Harry shifted beneath his thin blanket, his brow furrowed in thought. He hadn't heard from Ron or Hermione all summer. No letters, no cryptic messages about anything strange going on in the wizarding world—just silence. It wasn't like them. The last few summers, they'd always kept him updated, even if there wasn't much to say. But this time, nothing.

"Maybe they're just busy," he muttered to himself, though he didn't believe it.

Harry had sent several owls, even asking if everything was alright. But each time Hedwig returned, she came back empty-clawed and visibly irritated, as though Harry was wasting her time.

A strange knot of unease tightened in his chest. There had been a time when Harry would have shrugged it off, thinking Ron was preoccupied with Quidditch or Hermione buried in her books. But after everything that had happened last year—the battle at the Ministry, Sirius's death—he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Were they avoiding him? But why?

His eyelids grew heavy, and despite his worry, sleep began to creep in. As he drifted off, the last thought to pass through his mind was a question that had haunted him all summer:

Have I done something wrong?

Harry stood at the edge of the Gryffindor common room, staring at a familiar scene, but something was off. He wasn't sure why, but the air felt tense, filled with a thick sense of unease. He took a step forward, and his heart leaped into his throat. Ron and Hermione were seated near the fireplace, speaking in hushed tones, their faces turned away from him.

Instinctively, Harry took a step closer, his curiosity piqued by the secrecy in their conversation. But as he moved closer, his stomach dropped.

"Honestly, Hermione," Ron said, his voice low and bitter. "I don't even know why we bother with him anymore. He's always dragging us into his messes, and I'm sick of it."

Harry froze. The words pierced through him like shards of glass. His best friend—Ron, who had stood by his side through everything—was speaking about him as though he were a burden.

Hermione nodded solemnly, and Harry's heart clenched even tighter. "I know, Ron," she said softly. "I've been thinking the same thing. It's like... we're always cleaning up after him. He's reckless. Always jumping into danger, never thinking about how it affects us. I just... I just don't know if I can do it anymore."

Harry wanted to shout, to demand what was going on, to ask them why they were saying these things. But no sound came from his throat. His feet were glued to the spot, his body stiff with shock.

"You're right," Ron said, his voice colder than Harry had ever heard. "This year, I'm done. He can deal with his problems on his own."

Harry's heart shattered. He wanted to run, to wake up from this nightmare, but the scene dragged on, a cruel reminder of how isolated he had begun to feel.

With a sharp intake of breath, Harry jolted awake, his heart pounding violently in his chest. His room at Privet Drive was silent, save for the soft rustling of the trees outside. It was just a dream. A nightmare.

But the words still lingered in his mind. What if it wasn't just a dream? What if Ron and Hermione really did feel that way?

He lay back down, staring at the ceiling, but sleep didn't come again. The uneasy feeling gnawed at him, leaving him wide awake long before dawn.

The next morning, Harry moved mechanically through his routine. He dressed in silence, pulling on his faded jeans and a plain t-shirt, not bothering to check the mirror. The bags under his eyes were heavy, a stark contrast to the casual way he had packed his trunk the night before.

Downstairs, the Dursleys were nowhere to be seen, which was typical by now. They were perfectly content to ignore him until the moment he left for King's Cross Station. He wasn't particularly bothered by their absence, though. His mind was too occupied by the lingering effects of his dream.

He snapped his trunk shut, giving Hedwig's cage a small glance before heading out the door. His thoughts were miles away—on Ron, on Hermione, and the strange feeling of dread creeping over him as he prepared to leave for Hogwarts.

A part of him hoped that once he saw them at King's Cross, everything would make sense. That they would smile, joke, and explain why they hadn't written. But another part, the darker part of his mind, feared something worse.

Harry stood on the platform at King's Cross, watching as families hurried by, owls hooting from their cages, trunks being hauled onto the train. There was an odd stillness in his chest, a weight that wouldn't shift.

Would Ron and Hermione be there waiting for him, smiles on their faces like they always had been?

Or would they have already boarded, whispering about him behind his back?