Sanity is Fleeting but I'll Live Forever
-Chapter 1-
Summer begins
12:34pm,
July 30th
– Little Whinging
Vernon
Dursley was a very proud man. He had a lovely wife whom he loved very
much, and a brilliant son who was growing into a fine young man. Not
only that but he had also just received a very nice raise at the firm
where he worked, Grunnings. It was this generous raise that allowed
Vernon to purchase the brand new, very expensive Mercedes which he
was currently driving around his neighbourhood purely to flaunt his
shiny new toy around.
The only thing wrong with Vernon's life right now was that blasted nephew of his. The good for nothing brat had appeared on his doorstep 14 years ago and had been nothing but a pain in the arse since. Vernon shook his head 'Mustn't think about the brat' he thought. 'Oh, there's Mr Steckel…' he smiled and waved furiously at his middle-aged neighbour, who simply gawked at the three Dursleys and their brand new car.
He glanced at Petunia and smiled at her, his boastful glee showing full blast. "Oh I'm so proud of you Vernon!" gushed Petunia. "It's about time those greedy pigs at the company gave you the pay you deserve."
"Yeah dad!" piped up Dudley from the backseat. "Way to rake in the big bucks! Does this mean I can get a new TV now? My old one is too small."
Vernon gritted his teeth slightly. That old TV was only about 5 months old and had a screen that was about 28 inches! It had cost him nearly 500 quid! After a second he smiled. 'Dudders is right' he thought. 'I can easily afford a new one now'
He let out a loud, throaty chuckle. "Of course Dudders, we can get loads of new things now can't we Petunia?" He boomed turning to his wife with a smile on his face. "Watch the road Vernon" she replied nervously. "You're going awfully fast."
Vernon turned his gaze back on the road ahead of him as he sped along in what he considered to be the greatest vehicle of all time. He laughed again before turning back to look at his only real son. "You wait Dudley," he said with a giant cheesy grin plastered all over his round face. "Soon we'll be roll-"
"VERNON LOOK OUT!" screamed Petunia pointing out the windscreen.
Vernon looked sharply back to the road just in time to see his car driving full speed into an oncoming lorry. He swerved violently to the right but it was too late and his brand new car clipped the side of the lorry. The speed he was travelling at ensured his death as the Mercedes spun horribly out of control, flipping onto its side in a horrible screech of metal and shattering glass.
Vernon could vaguely hear the screams of his wife and child as they spun and flipped at incredible speeds, eventually slamming with incredible force into a gigantic tree just on the side of the road.
His head hanging out the window, Vernon could faintly hear the screams and shouting of pedestrians, vaguely feel the warm flow of his own blood coating his neck before his vision blurred and faded to black.
At 12:36pm, July 30th 1996, Vernon, Petunia and Dudley Dursley died on the corner of Privet Drive.
12:32pm, July 30th – Magnolia Crescent
The coke can clattered noisily across the hot pavement, bouncing along erratically before rolling to a stop. A few seconds later a foot clad in an old sneaker kicked it again, forcing the bit of metal to continue its journey down the street. Harry Potter, The Boy-Who-Lived, was very, very angry. His school year had ended in pain and battle as well as the death of one of people he cared most for on the whole planet. Not even an hour after watching his godfather die, Harry's headmaster Albus Dumbledore, arguably the most powerful wizard in existence and leader of the light finally decided to tell Harry something of great importance.
As it turned out, Harry was destined to either kill, or be killed by the one wizard who could stand against Dumbledore, Lord Voldemort, who happens to be the most feared and powerful Dark Lord in a century. To top it off, now Harry was being forced to deal with his less than desirable family members who were being their usually snotty selves.
Harry felt a hot flash of annoyance as he recalled his last conversation with his family.
Earlier
"BOY,
GET..." Vernon Dursley began to yell up the stairs, disturbing the
calm peace that had overtaken Little Whinging, before he glanced
furtively out the window, a fearful look on his face. He cleared his
throat, a disgruntled expression overtaking his features before
trying again. "Harry!" he called up the stairs. "We're going
out and I don't want you in the house. Get down here and out the
door!" he yelled, his voice rising and losing composure with every
word. Harry woke with a start at the noise, throwing the
sheets of His door
slammed open and in walked the bane of Harry's peaceful slumber,
his face a strange shade of purple. "Listen boy." He hissed, his
beady eyes staring at Harry in annoyance. With a dejected sigh, Harry
rolled over and cracked open an eye to stare at his Uncle. Years of
experience had taught him it was better to look at Vernon if he was
talking to you. "You may have your freaky little friends looking
after you, but this is still my house and you will follow my rules!"
he finished, bits of spittle flying from his mouth. "Get out of bed
you lazy little sod, and out of the house." "Fine" Harry
growled. He was not in the mood for this. All he wanted to do was
crawl under his sheets and sleep, not get up and go for a walk in 40
degree weather. He clambered out of bed and made his way sleepily
over towards his dresser. He paused and stood up straight, before
addressing his uncle without turning around. "Do you mind Uncle
Vernon? I'd like to get changed now please" he said smiling.
Taking advantage of his 'family' as they struggled not to hurt
him was one of the few pleasures he'd had this summer. Uncle
Vernon blistered at the comment before turning around and stomping
down the stairs. Harry smirked. 'Filthy fucking pig' he thought.
'I'm not going to take any of his shit this summer, not this
time'. He pulled on his surprisingly well fitting shirt and jeans,
before grabbing his wand and stuffing it into his jeans pocket. He
looked at his clothes in interest and then he snarled, realising the
only reason they fit was because they were Dudley's when he was
13. He walked into the bathroom to do his usual morning (or
midday) ritual. As he towelled off the refreshingly cold water from
his face, he saw his reflection on the medicine cabinet's mirror.
Deep bags under his eyes showed his lack of sleep due to nightmares,
and his pale stretched skin announced to the world exactly how little
he had been eating. He looked in disgust at the face that stared back
at him. This was the face of the most famous wizard alive? This was
the face of the Chosen One? At the thought of the prophecy
Harry felt a horrible mix of fury and depression stir in his chest.
'Sirius…' he thought, his mind drifting back to that night in
the Ministry, the night he lost Sirius. 'It's my fault' he
thought furiously. 'I should have known better, I should've tried
harder!' He knew there was no point in moping about it.
He'd done enough of that in the two weeks that had immediately
followed his godfather's death. He had cried, screamed and slipped
into hour-long bouts of deep depressing thought. Sirius was dead and
it was partly Harry's fault. This thought had Harry in a constant
feeling of self-loathing and depression. He recovered from this
pretty quickly though. Of course he knew that he would always
carry some of the blame for his godfather's death, it was after all
Harry who had caused his godfather to come rushing to the Department
of Mysteries. By now Harry had long accepted that most of the blame
was to be put on two people. It was Lord Voldemort and Bellatrix
Lestrange. "Lestrange" Harry spat, his voice oozing with
vile loathing. Never before had he felt such pure, burning hatred for
a single person in his life. He had watched that filthy whore take
away the only person he had ever had that somewhat resembled a
father. Sirius could have been freed! Sirius and he could have
finally had a chance to get back the years they had both lost. Now
there was no chance at all. All because of that one, evil woman! He
felt a flare of unbridled magic vibrate though his body as he
clenched his fists in fury. 'I'm going to get you one day
Lestrange. We'll meet again. And when we do I'm going to fucking
ki…' "BOY!!" Uncle Vernon's voice echoed through the house,
shaking Harry from his thoughts. He better get downstairs before he
really got in trouble. Casting one last look at his reflection, he
turned and left down the stairs. "About time you graced us
with your holy presence." Vernon sneered up at Harry as he reached
the living room. The raven-haired wizard stared furiously back at
him, but he refused to take the bait. Vernon's eyes narrowed as he
looked in barely hidden loathing at his nephew. Harry glanced quickly
at his bony Aunt Petunia and the broad, beefy lump that was his
cousin. Dudley had actually transformed his body quite well since he
had taken up boxing. Obvious muscle was starting to replace the fat
that he had carried for his whole life. 'I should really consider
getting into shape' thought Harry. 'I've spent too much time
flying around on a broomstick.' "Anyway, we're going for
a drive around the suburbs to test drive the new Mercedes."
Vernon's smug voice snapped Harry back to reality. 'Of course,'
Harry thought looking at his smug Uncle. 'Always up for a chance to
show off aren't you Vernon?' "You are to stay out of the house
while we are gone, I don't want you breaking anything." snapped
Vernon, the biting tone that he seemed to reserve only for Harry
creeping back into his voice. "Whatever" muttered
Harry as he began walking to the door, now desperate to get away.
"You listen here boy, you will show me respect!" Harry paused at
the door, half reaching out to the handle, looking back at his
'family'. Uncle Vernon was puffed up and purple and opened his
mouth to speak again. "We took you into our home so you will…"
"Uncle Vernon!" interrupted Harry, annoyance showing in his
voice. He cast one last look at the members of his family before his
emerald green eyes rested on his uncle's piggy little black ones.
"Goodbye" he said wrenching open the door and stepping into the
bright, hot world that was Little Whining, Surrey.
Harry shook his head, breaking away from the thoughts of his loving family. He didn't know why the Dursleys were annoying him so much this summer. They were being fairly tolerable considering their past record. He put it down to contributing pressure, Sirius for one.
He'd recovered from his godfather's death relatively quickly. He thought he might have worried quite a few people with his surprisingly swift acceptance of such a horrible death. He worried himself actually. He was expecting to mope around for the whole summer, consumed by grief and self-loathing. But after a while something inside him spoke up, forcing him to forgive himself and try to overcome the depressing feelings.
It was as if a small little voice was telling him to suck it up and accept it. Sirius was gone and instead of crying Harry should be practising to kill those responsible for his death. Now instead he tried to focus his mind and anger on other matters, the most obvious being Voldemort and the Prophecy.
'Fucking Dumbledore,' muttered Harry angrily, kicking the can once more and watching it fly down the street. 'What's he playing at? How does he expect me to fulfill the prophecy if I can't train myself up? What's he expect me to do, 'Rictusempra' Riddle to death?'
He shoved his hands into his pockets muttering curses that no wizard would dream of hearing from the Boy-Who-Lived. 'Screw it, I saw the way Ron and Hermione were looking at me as I left the station, they're worried about me. Think I'll turn into some nutter with Sirius dead now.'
Harry needed to beat something. He needed some violence to
take his mind off the death of Sirius and the weight of the prophecy.
Of course, due to the underage magic laws he wasn't allowed to
practise any magic. 'I'm not going to be able to fight anyone
with what I know right now. I need to train.'
Harry screamed out
in frustration, breaking the eerie silence that had gripped the
familiar scene of Magnolia Crescent. This was where he had first seen
Sirius….
As the sadness gripped him, thoughts turned back to Sirius' killer and the depression quickly shifted back to rage. "Fuck!" Harry yelled again, fists clenching. Bellatrix Lestrange will get what she deserved, Harry swore on it.
Just then, he heard a horrible sounding crash, like 2 cars colliding followed by shouting and screaming. Worried, he started jogging towards all of the commotion and found himself on the corner of Magnolia and Privet Drive. Looking down his street, he could see a large crowd of people gathering around what he thought looked a little like a car wreck. He started to walk closer so he could get a better look at what the hell was going on.
Suddenly he heard several loud cracks and he froze in his tracks, his blood suddenly running cold. He knew that sound. Every witch and wizard knew that sound. Someone had just apparated into Privet Drive.
12:35pm, July 30th – Number 4 Privet Drive
'Merlin am I bored…' thought Mundungus Fletcher as he sat on the parched lawn of Number 4, Privet Drive. He was slouching back, resting on his elbows with his legs stretched out, idly tapping his wand against the ground.
He had been instructed to guard Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived at his home in Little Whinging. Why in Merlin's name he had to do this, Fletcher didn't know. But Dumbledore had given him an order and he was going to follow it. He owed Dumbledore his life and if his old friend needed help with something, Fletcher would meet the task.
He was just thinking about going to meet Borgin in Knockturn for a few minutes before he heard a horrible, screeching crash and people screaming. He jumped up, immediately on guard and sprinted up the path to see what was going on, fully prepared to apparate back to headquarters for re-enforcements. He sighed when he saw it was only a muggle car crash. Curious, he started to move a little closer, pulling off his invisibility cloak as he went.
The screaming and shouting was getting louder. People were running around, pulling out little rectangle plastic things, a telpone Fletcher thought they were called, screaming for an ambulance. Fletcher was looking at the car...he could've have sworn he'd seen it before.
All of a sudden, there was an almighty explosion that threw Fletcher off his feet. A huge plume of fire erupted from the car as the gas inside it lit, violently exploding. Now there was screams of pain mingled in with panic from the people as those that had been too close to the car when it blew now suffered burns and cuts from the debris.
As he clambered slowly to his feet Fletcher felt a quick sliver of fear. Now he was positive he had seen the car before. He caught a good look at the shiny, silver thing before it blew. Then the trickle turned to a full blown flood of cold, nauseous dread flowing through his body. That was the new Dursley car. They were dead. 'The blood wards…' he thought fear gripping his heart. 'POTTER!' He turned and sped back down the street to Number 4. He arrived just in time to see a group of black cloaked figures leave the house.
He gasped as he realised the sheer enormity of the situation. Too stunned and scared to move, he watched in fear as the group of Death Eaters strolled up the drive. "I have a track on him" said one, moving quickly and waving his wand intricately. "He's not far from here, we can track him down on foot. I have a trace on his signature. Thatcher, erect the wards, we don't want anyone else getting in or out."
Just then one of the Death Eaters turned and saw Fletcher, before he cried out in alarm and raised his wand.
Mundungus Fletcher was never a fighter. He was never brave. He was never a competent wizard. He didn't think to apparate as the Death Eater turned a wand on him. All he could do was force himself to turn and try to run as he heard the shouted words of the deadly curse. He couldn't do anything at all as the eerie green light washed over him, and everything went black.